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He laid the book on the table and put Sumoko and Batman next to each other on their backs, with the book as a pillow, looking towards the mountain. We'll see what happens, he said to himself and to Rhiannon, who was probably at thirty thousand feet. What a sweetheart. He slid the lanai door closed and made himself sit at the computer and enter what he had written earlier.
As he worked, he forgot about himself and Sumoko. He was pleasantly surprised, later, to see her with Batman. They seemed to be getting along. Morgan's father, an historian, once told Joe that habits are a writer's best friends. Joe stuck to his practice of writing all morning in coffee shops and then walking home and entering the words into his computer.
"Tell her," Max said, and added, "where's my quarter?" "I'll invest it for you. She's the real thing, Max." Joe paused. "When you see her, tell her Sumoko and Batman are spending a lot of time together." "Cool," Max said. "Who's Sumoko?" "She'll explain." Good old Max. Maybe he and Rhiannon would get together. Impossible to predict, Joe thought, but he could keep his fingers crossed.
She was dressed in a kimono and had Japanese features, an eternal bittersweet look. She was gorgeous. A note read, "Her name is Sumoko. I made her for Batman. I'm leaving today. Love, Rhiannon." Joe took the doll and a Napoleon Bonaparte mystery out on the lanai. "Batman, someone is here to meet you."
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