83 comments/ 138148 views/ 12 favorites Love and Sacrifice By: Matt Moreau Marci trembled. She'd killed him. She'd actually killed him with his own gun. Marshall Whitcomb had been blackmailing her for sex for over a year. Today had been the last straw. The pictures he had were damning. That she'd lain with him that first time, fucked him, was not the issue for her. The issue was that he'd filmed it and had demanded she service him ever since. He'd taken her almost weekly since that first mistake, but today she had determined to cut him off even if he did show the pictures to Mickey. He'd taken her, laughed and fallen asleep secure in the belief that she was helpless to deny him. The gun had been in the dresser drawer; she'd seen it more than once over the past months. It had been a simple matter of getting up from beside him while he snored, getting the gun, and firing it once into his chest; he'd never moved after that. Now she trembled. She stared at the reddening sheets. The gun lay on the floor where she'd dropped it. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. There was nothing for it. She had to call the police. It would be the end of her, her seven year marriage to a wonderful and kind man, a man she'd betrayed, an end to everything she loved. She'd considered killing herself, but it wasn't in her to do it. Mickey, her husband, would leave her; she knew it. But, she at least wanted him to know the truth from her mouth before they hauled her off to prison or death row or wherever her last days would be spent. The tears came now. She was afraid and sad and guilty and despairing. She went to the phone and dialed. "Mickey?" she said, as he answered. She sobbed and talked and somehow managed to get him to understand that she needed him now. He'd have to leave work and come to her. She needed him at least this one last time. It was bad, she said, very bad. ****** I sat on the arm of the chair and looked over at my stricken wife. Oh, for the record, I'm Mickey O'Rourke. Age twenty-nine. I've been an electrician almost since I left high school when I was apprenticed to my uncle Donald. If it matters, I'm five-seven, maybe one-sixty, and average in every other respect. Likewise, if it matters, Marci is also five-seven, but one-ten, and darling in every way. Her longish brown hair, dark eyes, and very female build make her the envy of her peers. She is the love of my life. The love of my life has cheated on me. Not once but over the course of almost a year. She'd thought to play just once, as she said, but had been caught up in a scheme by her black lover to blackmail her into continuing to service him. Now, he was dead, and I was faced with a decision. I could feel tears rolling down my own face as I came to the only decision I could. Marci could not go to prison; it would kill her. I looked around for anything that might undermine the story that I would be telling the cops. I felt strange. At that moment, I knew, I'd never loved this woman more. She needed me. "Marci, this is the way it's going to play out. You will do exactly what I say. Am I clear?" "Yes sir," she said, still sobbing. "You will tell them exactly what I tell you to tell them and not another thing. Am I understood?" "Yes sir," she said. Jesus, I thought, this is going to be hard. Over the next minutes I laid it out for her. Her eyes got big when she realized what I was saying and my reasons for saying it. "No!" she said. "You can't. I did it not you. I'm the one that cheated, not you!" "Marci, we will get the minimum if I plead temporary insanity. I'll do some time, but I will get out in a few years and we can start over. The way you did it; it could go down as murder-one that must not happen. I need you. We'll be apart for a while, but in the long run my way is best. "Remember, what I say now. I caught you in bed with him, saw his gun on the night stand, picked it up and shot him in a moment of rage! Am I clear?" "Mickey! No!" "Yes, damn it. The cops will be here soon. Do not deviate from this story or we're both done. Got it," I said. She wrapped her arms around me and held me tight. I was sick at heart on any number of levels, but I had to do this for her and for me. Don't ask me about the logic of it. It just had to be. She was still holding me tightly as the cops separated us. They cuffed me, read me my rights, and manhandled me out the door to the waiting cruiser. Marci was screaming at them to be gentle with me, but they ignored her. The dead man was a cop. ****** Marci was a good witness, and my lawyer Elsie Cass, was able to get me manslaughter with extreme provocation: I saw them fucking and lost it was the gambit. I was sentenced to ten years in state prison. There was the hope that I could be paroled in seven years. I was allowed a visit with my wife while waiting to be transported upstate two days hence. "Marci, for godssake quit the crying. I need to talk to you," I said. "Okay," she said, but she continued bawling. "Look, I'll be okay. We'll write, and maybe you could visit me once in a while. Okay? It's kind of a long drive, but once in a while," I said. "Every month, my husband, every month. I promise," she said. I smiled. I hoped she would. But, I knew it was going to be hard on her. We would lose the house. She didn't make enough to keep it. But, she'd be able to get by. I was sure of that. And when she visited I would advise her. I knew she'd listen to me. She needed me still, even with me behind bars. And there was still the mail, I knew she'd write me. ****** My first exposure to prison life assured me that I had done right to take the fall for her; she could not have survived it. For that first year, she did indeed visit me every month. The visits were poignant. She assured me she was fine and refused to consider moving out of the house. She said she'd work extra to make the payments. I could see she was worried though. Something seemed not right, but then, she was under a lot of pressure. It was clear to me that my being inside was tougher on her than it was on me. About the middle of my second year of incarceration, she began to miss our visitation schedule. She wrote me each time that she was working overtime to keep the house. I couldn't fault her for that. We loved the house, but I did miss her visits. By the third year her visits were down to three times for the entire year: our anniversary month, my birthday, and Christmas. Things stayed like that thereafter. She was always apologetic and made few meetings we did have as much about me as possible. It was Thanksgiving of year six that I caught a break. The prisons were too full. The governor was releasing inmates not considered a threat to the community. I was paroled. It was so sudden that I had had no time to even inform Marci. But, I decided that I wanted it that way. I would surprise her. The warden literally kicked me out two days before thanksgiving. I'd be home for turkey and mashed potatoes. God, how I was looking forward to that. There were several cars parked in the driveway and on the street in front of my house. I was all smiles. ****** Entering the front door, I noticed a crowd of people I didn't know. They looked me up and down. Some nodded others went back to their business. I headed into the kitchen. The scene I witnessed made my blood run cold. She didn't see me at first. His hands were all over her ass. She broke the kiss. She saw me. "Mickey!" I stood there stunned. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open. "Marci? Marci! What the hell!" I said. I was beginning to lose it. The man looked at me and didn't exactly smile, but he looked—glad. "Mr. O'Rourke, I presume," he said. "Glad to see you're out. It makes things a lot easier. Marci and I have some things to tell you." I just stared at him. He came toward me and offered me his hand. I looked at it and slugged him. The fight didn't last long, but I won. Well, I won the fight. I also got a free ride back to the pen. A half dozen witnesses testified that I'd punched first and stomped on his face when he was down. Well, they didn't lie. I wanted to kill the bastard. Marci had screamed just as she had that last day with her former lover. She screamed again this time as they cuffed me and hauled me away to serve out what figured to be the rest of my term. I'd made the papers. "Con beats man half to death." Not, exactly true, but Mr. Howard Willens would be eating mostly liquid meals for a while. In county jail waiting to be transported yet again, Marci tried to see me. I refused. There was no point in it. Our life together was over. At least my lawyer, Elise Cass, without me even being present, was able to dissuade the judge from adding on to my sentence. She was also able to reinstate my potential for parole. That turned out to be a lucky break for me. I was again released a bit more than a year later. But, this time, I didn't go home; I didn't have one. Marci had driven up to see me at Christmas, but I wouldn't see her. Let her rot. She dumped on me, and that was that. I did get a few letters from her. I was going to send them back, but I read them—call me curious. Her loverboy had moved in with her. It had initially been the idea for him to pay rent and thereby we'd save the house. But, she'd fallen for him, and she was sorry-blah-blah-blah! She was going to divorce me and marry him; she hoped I'd understand. She still loved me, but we both had to move on. Not a word about the sacrifice I'd made. I wondered if her asshole lover knew the truth; I doubted it. I seethed at night, but only for a while. I refused to feel sorry for myself. I'd done a good deed, I told myself, and I could feel good about myself for that. It was a few days after thanksgiving this time before I was released. Elsie, my lawyer, and now my friend, had gotten me a job. I was good at what I did after all. I'd been useful in the prison too, not too many electricians there, and hell I was free labor. I was working for a good guy, Rob Cranston. The pay was a bit below the union scale I used to get, but what the hey, beggars couldn't be choosers, right? I'd been working for a few months before my lawyer, whom I'd only seen a couple of times since the day after my release, dropped by my current work site. I saw her first. She was dressed in a beige skirt and black short-sleeved blouse. Her long black hair was curly and seemed to bounce as she walked. She looked gorgeous; well, I hadn't had a woman since getting out, and for those of you who don't know it, women are in short supply in prison. I suppose I could have found a whore somewhere, but that would've violated my parole if I were caught, so I had pretty much decided I'd just have to wait until I clicked with somebody, and that hadn't happened so far. She waved to me as she neared. "Hi, Mickey," she said. The tone of her voice brightened my day. "Hi lady lawyer," I said. "You know you're in hard hat area don't you?' I said. "Let's go over there by the office." The construction office was near the gate. I leaned back against the trailer that served as the control center for the project we were involved in. "So ma'am, what can I do for you. I know I haven't done anything wrong, right?" "No, no, you're fine. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Got time for lunch?" she said. "Give me about half an hour, and yeah," I said. "There's diner a block over." I nodded off down the street. "Good. I'll meet you there in a half," she said. "Okay," I said. She smiled, touched my arm and strode off in the direction of her car. ****** The diner was so fiftyish. Hell, there were pictures of Elvis and Humphrey Bogart on the walls. I loved it. "So how is the job going?" she said. "Real good actually. Pay's not bad, and the boss likes me. No complaints," I said. "But, changing the subject, what are you doing here? Not, that the scenery is all that bad," I said, leering at her and smirking my smirkiest. She smiled. "Glad to hear it. I've wanted to come around to see you. But, I figured you needed time to adjust. I know how hard it can be for a guy just getting out of that place," she said. I waited to hear more. "Anyway, I was interested to know if you'd like to go to dinner this Friday evening," she said. To say I was surprised just wouldn't cover it. "Dinner?" was my brilliant reply. "Friday's the day after tomorrow." "Yes dinner, you know, a date. And, I guess you must have majored in calendar; Friday is indeed the day after tomorrow." she said. I looked at her like she was something from outer space. "Uh-uh-a date?" I said. "Yes, you know, that girl-boy thing," she said. "A formal meeting where you open the car door for me and help me with my chair. You know, a date." She was laughing. I was nodding. "Hell yes," I said. "I'm not even gonna ask why. If you need me tonight I will be at church thanking God for the biggest surprise of my not all so wonderful life." Now, she really was laughing. There was no possible way this woman could be interested in me. But, what other possible reason could there be? It sure as hell wasn't my money. I was gonna go with the flow. ****** The Riot wasn't. It was a very high class bistro that Elsie had insisted on taking me to. The food was great, and the dancing was of the mellow variety, which was a good thing; I hadn't exactly had much practice in recent years. It was maybe 10:00PM when she laid it on me. "Heard from your ex," she said. "No, I mean just the papers last year telling me she was dumping me for something better," I said. "Dumpin' you yes, but for something better is arguable. You didn't kill that guy did you?" she said. I looked at her. My heart sank in that moment. She was here on business, not because she thought I was sexy. I should've known. I took inventory. I'm short, I'm an ex-con, I'm makin' but four bills a week, and I'm possessed of less than thrilling social skills. "So that's it. I mean this date. It's not me you cared about it's just the law. I think I'll be going. Have a nice evening, and thanks for all you've done for me," I said, getting up to go. "Sit your butt down, buster," she said. "You are exactly wrong. I am out with you because I feel something—female—for you. And, the fact that you sacrificed yourself for your woman told me that you might be the one." "What?" I said. She wasn't making any sense. "Sit your ass back down. I don't need an audience," she said. I did as she dictated. "You didn't did you?" I knew what she meant. "It doesn't matter. All water under the bridge. But, again, why would you ask that?" I said. "Your ex came to see me. She was all teary eyed. She feels like she betrayed your love for her," she said. "She did," I said. "Well, she confessed to me; I mean about the killing of Whitcomb. I wasn't sure I believed her, but as she continued with the story, it all began to make sense. "You're a helluva guy, Mickey O'Rourke," said Elsie. "Mickey, I've been successful as a lawyer. I make good money. I win my cases. But, in the romance department—well, let's just say the men I've been with have not measured up. They've all been so full of themselves. They all wanted to bed me, but none ever asked what they could do for me. "But, you. You gave your all for the woman you loved. I want that for me. "For the record, she still has a place in her heart for you, and it isn't any phony baloney either. But, she does have her new man too, so she is torn," she said. I think my mouth was hangin open. But, as I regained my sense of reality, what she was saying began to register. "You want me? Torn?" I said. Now, I wasn't making any sense. "Yes, torn between her love for him and the love and the guilt she is living with relative to you. I don't envy her her life. She has to live with the knowledge of your sacrifice and her own double betrayal," she said. "Oh, and yes, I want you." "Elsie, I am so honored by what you are saying. But I— "Wait, wait, she's torn you say. Yeah, well life is hard, just ask me," I said. "Yes, I guess you would know about that wouldn't you," she said. "Damn straight," I said. "She wants to meet with you and talk to you," she said. "What? Why? She has what she needs. I wasn't good enough for her, so what's her problem. If she feels guilty about double-crossing me, tough. I've been trying to get over it, and I almost have. What would I get out of listening to her tell me how she couldn't help herself, that it just happened, that I'm a wonderful guy, that I didn't deserve to be screwed over like I have been. No, just tell her, no," I said. "Okay, I'm just the messenger. Anyway, let's dance," she said. I smiled and thought to myself, maybe tonight. Nine years of going without a woman. Oh, my how would I handle it. ****** The ride to her home, a nice but modest three bedroom ranch style in the Valley, was quiet. The night at the Riot had been fun, and now I was actually in the car, with a woman, on the way to her house—to play house. She ushered me into the front room and told me to have a seat and wait there for a minute. I obeyed her. She disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with two glasses of white wine. I stood. She handed me mine. "To us," she said and we tilted glasses. "For sure," I said. Things were stone quiet as we sipped our wine and looked at each other. "Elsie, it's been a while. I mean, I don't know if..." "They say it's like riding a bicycle, Mick. You never really lose the skill." I was feeling giddy. I mean really giddy. Maybe even silly. "Elsie?" "Yes?" she said, so softly I could almost not hear her. "If I fell down on my knees, would it be all right if I kissed the front of your dress," I said. She laughed so hard she spewed wine all over the front of me. "Only if you lift it first and pull my panties down," she said. I was on my knees and staring at the great mystery of life in seconds. Her pussy was shaved clean. This was a truly hot momma! I kissed her slit and then I kissed it again. I had to hold her still as she started to sway. "That's tickles," she said. I sucked her into my mouth. I didn't notice her sliding the spaghetti straps on her dress down from her shoulders. I looked up and her pouty breasts were among the most beautiful things I had ever seen. I pulled her down to me. I gently laid her down on the carpet. I felt her breasts and sucked first one nipple and then the other into my mouth. I fantasized about her mothering me, suckling me. Her little hands caressed my face and hair. She rolled me over on my back and unbuttoned my shirt. She followed that by unbuckling my pants and pulling them down. She felt my hardness through the fabric of my skivvies. She pulled it out. She stroked it for some moments and them bent forward and took the knob in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around it and began to suck me off. It took me less than a minute for me to detonate. I sucked air. I couldn't talk. I exploded inside of her mouth and she took it all. "I wanted to get you off once before you fucked me," she said. "I want you to last a while." Now, I was worried. She had expectations, and I was not at all sure I could meet them. But, by God I was going to try. She teased me up again, and I went down on her getting her as wet and ready as I could. I rolled on top of her and began poking at her slit. I was not doing well. She took hold of my cock and aimed to true. I pushed, she pushed, I thrust; I was in. I waited a moment and began screwing her. I have had few moments like that in my whole life. Soon I was drilling her. I did last and she did come. I wondered if Job had had a night like this in his latter days. I rolled off of her and we both rested for a bit. "I want to take you from behind," I said. "Would that be all right?" Love and Sacrifice She smiled and giggled. "I love it when a man masters me from behind," she said. "Do me." She presented her butt to my worshipful gaze. I leaned in and kissed her ass. First her cheeks then her anus. I licked her. I pushed my tongue as much as I could into her butt. I wasn't intending to take her there. I did want to show her how much I loved her and needed her. Yes loved her. At that moment, Marci was history. She'd been my life, now she was nothing but my ordeal. And yet, my sacrifice for Marci may have been the catalyst that made, my new woman consider me. Elsie Cass was way out of my league, but she had said she wanted me. Well by God, come hell, high water, or the German army, she was going to have me! I positioned myself behind her and drove my cock deep into her. She grunted. "Oh yeessssss!" she squealed. "Do it! Do me! Oh God, oh God I feel it. You're in so deep." I pounded her for some minutes. The first two rounds had all but drained me, but I felt my cum rise in me. Finally I blew my load deep inside of her soaking pussy. I made her raise her butt up higher and I began to licked and suck my juices and hers out of her. She grunted and groaned and squealed and cried; and I fucking loved it! We fell asleep on the floor where we'd screwed. We awakened an hour or so later and she led me by my now thoroughly humbled cock into the bedroom. We didn't even shower. I didn't want to. I wanted to smell her all night not soap. Tomorrow would be a new day for me, a new day in many respects. I was sure of that. ****** Well, reader, you knew it wasn't gonna end there, didn't you. Elsie was adamant. I had to talk to her. So, here I am waiting for her. She's late, she has the unbelievable nerve to be late. I looked over at my lawyer, and new girlfriend my future wife. "She's ten minutes late. Let's go. This was a bad idea," I said, rising to do just that, go. "Be patient? She's coming. The traffic's bad this time of day," said Elsie, smiling benevolently. "Yeah, I can hear her now," I said. "Oh, sorry I'm late. The traffic was just awful. Well, prison was awfuler! I'm going; you can sit here and wait for her." I was half way to the door when she came storming in. She saw me up and the expression on my face must have clued her to what I was doing. "Oh, Mickey, I am so sorry for being late. The traffic..." "Save it Marci. You're here, so whaddya want?" I wasn't being kind. "Well, I'll leave you two alone for a little bit. "Mickey, give me a call when you're ready to leave. I'm going over to the pizza place and get a bite," said Elsie. I nodded. "Oh, I can drop him, Miss Cass," said Marci. "It'd be no trouble." "Like that's going to happen," I said. "I'll call." Elsie nodded in my direction and then she was gone. Marci and I were still standing. She looked around and took a seat on the couch. I took the chair across from her. The silence was pregnant with something—shit came to mind. I waited. It was her party. I was merely the reluctant guest. "I'm sorry, Mickey. I will never really be able to forgive myself. I didn't mean it to happen. But—Howard—filled a place—in my heart. My broken heart. Broken for you." "And your point is?" I said. "Mickey! You're killing me! I need you to forgive me, Mick! I do." She started sobbing. The last refuge of the desperate female—tears. I wasn't moved. I waited. "Can't you say something?" "Okay, since you asked. While he was comforting you, my wife, in my bed, I was dreaming about you comforting me when I got home. What a joke on me, right! You must have thought that one was funnier than hell; I'm sure he did," I said. "But, when I did get home, the happiest day of my life became the worst day of my life. And, to top it off, because I got angry and kicked the shit out the guy, who was making me his wimp, his cuckold, I got another fourteen months in prison. Well, you did ask." "No! It was never like that. You're no cuckold. You have never been any kind of a wimp. We both felt awful at what happened. You were suffering and so were we," she said. She actually said that. "And, so you'll know, he doesn't blame you at all for you hurting him like that. You know he spent a week in the hospital." "Well, dear Marci, I suffered more. Wanna hear a couple of the gory details? I was butt fucked a dozen times before I learned to fight well enough to preserve whatever dignity I had left. As you can see, I'm not very big and those big black lifers just love white pussy! I was their white pussy. While you were Howard's white pussy. For the record, who is it, you think, suffered more?" I said. She howled. "Miiccckkkkeeeeyyyyy! I am so awfully sorry. I know there is nothing I can do. I would do anything to make this right. To make it up to you even a little bit," she was choking on her own spit. "Anything?" I said. "Yes, anything. Just name it," she said. I knew there was not the slightest chance of me getting what I would have died for nine years earlier, but I wanted to push her buttons. "Okay, here's my new cell phone. Elsie gave to me as a gift a few days ago. Call good 'ole Howie and tell him you're leaving him for me. That we're getting back together. Call him now. You can stay at my place tonight, and we'll get your things tomorrow. My place ain't much. I ain't been out long enough to get anything better. But it's dry and warm and clean," I said. "Huh?" she said. "You heard me. I ain't speakin' Greek," I said. "But, I can't—I mean—things are different..." she was stuttering. "Yeah, well, I guess 'anything' means something different than before I went inside, huh?" I said. I was not making it easy for her. I had no intention of doing so. "I talked to Howard before coming over," she said, trying to change the subject. "We want to give you your fair share of what the house is worth. Howard's got a good job; we can afford it." "Oh, and what if you couldn't afford it? Then, it'd be just fuck over good 'ole Mickey, he'll be okay, right? "Keep your fucking money; I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. "Just for the record, Marci, and I really want to know. What were you willing to do to make things right by me, as you put it? How far were you willing to go? You're not willing to marry me, to be my wife; you know, the man who would do anything—and I really do mean anything—for you. What were you willing to do," I yelled. She had a blank look. "Well, whatever you asked, I mean whatever I could do to make you..." "To make me happy? Well, that's not true is it because you just turned me down on that one. Was there anything at all you had in mind? I mean anything you thought I might ask for?" "We—I—thought that maybe your share of the equity in the house. You know to give you a start," she said. "Well let's see. How much exactly would that be," I said. "I mean we've owned it for how long?" "Well, you made the payments for the first six years, and..." "So six year's worth of equity. That about right?" I said. "I mean not the seventeen years you've gotten to live there." "Well, yes, I mean Howard's been making the payments these last nine or ten years. It wouldn't be fair..." "Did you actually say that? I mean that it wouldn't be fair to him for me to have more than six years worth of equity from the house? Let me ask you. How fair has he been to me, Marci dear?" "I—I—I see what you're saying, Mickey. Let me talk to him. I will get you more; I promise. How would that be?" she said. Now, reader I may be just a tradesman, but I am not an idiot—well, actually the jury may still be out on that one—but I am smart enough to have the little micro-recorder I'd bought yesterday with me and running. I wanted Elsie to hear it all; I was afraid she would not believe me, my emotions about it all being what they are. "How would that be? Well, dearheart that wouldn't be worth a fuck to me. Again, keep your fucking money." I said. "Oh, and have a nice fucking life." I pulled my cell and dialed. "I wanna leave now. I mean right now," I said into it when Elsie answered. I hung up without waiting to hear her say anything apart from the initial hello. "Mickey, I'm not very smart, but I know I still love you, deep down apart of me still loves you. It's just that things are different now. I don't know what to do. Coming here, I thought maybe I could say or do or give you something that would make a difference. I guess I was wrong. I will never be able to make what I did to you right. Please, my good man, my Mickey, live well; you deserve better than someone like me," she said. She was sniffling now. "Trouble is, Marci, you were all I lived for, all I dreamed about for all of those years." The room went silent for the next few. I saw Elsie's headlights pulling in. I went outside and down to the lot to intercept her. Elsie got out of the car, passed me, and went up the steps to her office. I watched her wondering what she was doing. She passed Marci on the steps. She went inside, turned off the lights, came out and locked the door. She returned to the car and me. Marci had just driven off. I looked at her. "Well, you didn't think I was going to leave the place unlocked all night did you? It is my office in case you'd forgotten," she said. I laughed. "Oh, right. No, I guess not," I said. ****** Elsie listened to the tape. She was as shocked at the shallowness of Marci's behavior as I had been. "Do you want me to go after the equity?" she said. "I can get it? Hell I can probably get the whole house." "No. The truth is the money is always going to weigh heavily on her, and maybe even him. It's worth more to me that way than having it in my hand," I said. Elsie and I were married six months later. Marci tried to get me to talk to her a couple of times after that night. But, I had nothing left to say to her. She even called Elsie at the office and asked to get together with us for a barbecue or a night out. I have no idea what was going on in Marci's head. That one, wanting us to go out with them, surprised even Elsie. Elsie's answer had been no. But she kind of left the door open for something to happen down the line. Marci and Howie seemed to be getting on well. I'd had visions of them crashing and burning, but it hasn't happened yet, but who knows. Life is far stranger than fiction, and anyone who thinks different has his head up his ass. And, no, I never used the truth about who killed Whitcomb against Marci. And, I swore my wife to secrecy too. In a sense, it was the best kind of revenge. She had to live with what she'd not only done to me, but with what she did with and to Whitcomb. I knew Marci's mind set. It had to be eating at her, and it always would. Now, a year later, my anger has abated some. I have come to feel sorry for her. I always wondered whether Howie baby knew what she'd done. I doubted it. At any rate, if he did, he didn't learn it from me. I got the news today that Elsie is pregnant. Finally some good things are happening to me. I feel a little like old Job must have felt. I mean his world had turned to shit too, and then, after a long period of infinite patience; things turned around for him. My conscience is clear, my heart is good, my wife is beautiful, and a little baby is about to make my day; well, in about seven months that is. Oh, and we're meeting Marci and Howie for drinks tonight. But, Elsie will be limited to her tea.