"Listen," Phoebe would say, dramatically, cupping a hand to her ear."What is it?" Marcia, who knew by now the familiar punchline, but playedalong."Not...ing! For crissakes, not even the birds are up at this hour!"Which was Marcia's cue to do her best chirpy bird whistle. "Listen,"she'd say, "I think I just heard one!"Then she'd laugh and Phoebe would harumph. But Phoebe's role as put-upongrouch was little more than a playful act, part of the routine, asroutine as the making of the coffee and the. “Spread your legs.”She gives a small laugh, thinking about that last thought. There is the possibility that he may really hurt her, that this is all just some sick game for him. She smiles. “This is getting a little weird. I’ve always been treated nice ... I...” she is shaking her head.The man sits silent watching her until she stops talking. “Spread your fucking legs.” She starts to look away when she feels his hand gently grip her hair in the back. He slowly forces her to look at him again.. More

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