Viola could tell Frank Sinatra her secrets without any worry that he would spill the beans. She loved the velvety feel of his ear as she whispered to him. She told him how much she loved the sound of distant thunder, the way the wind cooled down with an approaching storm. She told him how much she couldn’t stand Mindy Mooreston. How Mindy always made her feel as if she had put her shoes on backwards or had gotten gum in her hair or had a chocolate milk mustache. Frank understood. He had his insecurities too. He sometimes desired to be as elegant as an Arabian stallion. He imagined himself galloping across the deserts of Egypt. Viola could come along if she wanted. She knew that. She told Frank he had his own elegance that she wouldn’t trade for the world. Frank nuzzled her to make her understand how special she was.