Is this really Anneke? you ask yourself, as you lie in bed in the child-sized room in the attic of Anneke’s old gabled house in Amsterdam. This is only your second night here, but already things are not going well.
He wants me to look hot. So I look hot. As hot as a sixty-year-old woman can look on Halloween without a bra.
“She’s suing me for two million,” the retired entrepreneur says to the other guests, still seated at the table after a huge turkey dinner in the loftlike space of an old but renovated hunter’s cabin, bordering a state park, deep in the woods.