51 comments/  26544 views/  25 favorites

Der Witwer (The Widower)

By: PostScriptor



by PostScriptor, copyright 2011, all rights reserved

The first half of this story is a modern rewrite which closely follows the plot of a story written by an Austrian writer, Arthur Schnitzler.  The original story was written in 1894. Schnitzler is best known today as the author of the novella upon which the movie "Eyes Wide Shut' was based. Schnitzler died in 1931. 

I didn't like his rather abrupt and inconclusive ending, so I continued the story and wrote my own. This story uses a number of terms, phrases and place names that are in common use by Angelenos.

Please note that the voting will be turned off since the first part of the story, although retold in modern day California, is a derivative work.

Two additional things I should mention up front: There is almost no dialog during most of the first half of the story, because the character is by himself, and the story line moves rather slowly. But have no fear, it picks up in the second half. The second issue regards surnames. Schnitzler didn't use any surnames in his story, so in keeping with his story, I am not assigning them either.

********

Kevin was sitting in one of the padded lounge chairs on the balcony of the condo that he and Jessica owned on the sixth floor of the building, overlooking the Marina.

He looked down at the masts of the sailboats at the dock, sails secured, row upon row. The large power yachts of Los Angeles's wealthy, tied up at berths they rarely left. Gulls engaged in their usual raucous fighting, flying, walking, in the eternal quest for a quick, free, meal.

The brown pelicans were sitting in small groups on the tops of buildings and boats, watching hungrily for the fish inexperienced enough to enter the shallow waters of the marina.

There were always a few boats entering or leaving the marina, under power inside the breakwater, watched by the vigilant eyes of the Harbor Patrol.

The sea breeze lifted a salty tang to Kevin's nostrils.

He recalled not an hour before, overhearing one of his erstwhile guests making the comment, "It's a tragedy. He's is too young to have to deal with this kind of grief!"

He took a sip from the Corona that he'd opened after the last visitor had left, when he was finally alone.

"Damn straight," he thought silently agreeing with the remark, crying inside his mind.

The reality of the thing was that Kevin wasn't sure if he had even reached the 'grief' stage yet. He was still in shock, and more numb than anything. How else could he possibly be?

It wasn't four hours ago that they had put his wife, inside that damn box, into the crypt. For god's sake, he and Jessica were just thirty-years-old; they had only been married four years. They weren't some older couple with a history of heart disease or cancer, or even just old age.

He and Jessica were young and vibrant — he an up-and-coming lawyer with one of the name firms in downtown L.A.; Jessica, an engineer with one of the few remaining aerospace companies in the South Bay. Their future was ahead of them.

She was an aero major from MIT — a rocket scientist, a female rocket scientist, one of the few, with high visibility in the company. She was already a second-level manager, expecting to be elevated to Director level within a year or two. If she stuck to her trajectory, she would be a Vice-President, maybe even President of the Division.

Some people didn't think that sounded like much, but considered in isolation, her division of the larger conglomerate was a multi-billion dollar revenue company. By itself it would be in the Fortune 500. As some sage once observed — space junk doesn't come cheap.

Kevin was a business lawyer, one of those combo-degree guys, with an MBA from Wharton and his J.D. from Michigan. Dynamite. And he was paid accordingly. That's how he and Jessica could afford to own one of these fucking-dollar condo's in Marina del Rey.

"But now," he thought, "what's it all for?" Confronted with her mortality, he understood his own just a little better. What is life worth without your soul mate? She was Helen to his Paris; Cleopatra to his Anthony. Yet, in the twinkling of an eye she was gone.

Worse, how she died seemed so trivial.

According to the people who were there — she worked in a classified facility, so Kevin had never actually seen her office — she was in the break-room, getting something from one of the lower shelves, and somehow (no one was admitting to culpability) a cabinet door above was left open.

As she stood up, she cracked her head into the corner of the door. Hard, but no significant harm done. A little bleeding, a bump, but not enough, she felt, to warrant even going to the on-site nurse. She had a minor headache, but stuck it through the rest of the day. The headache was bad enough that she decided to go home on time for a change, to lie down.

No big surprise, Kevin, one of the young Turks in the firm, was working with his team reviewing the minutia of the contract on a large land deal for one of the big national home builders. Not a jot or tittle would escape their vigilance.

He left a message on the machine, not to hold dinner, he would be late. No problem for either one of them, they both understood that if they broke their balls now (even though, Jessica joked, her 'balls' were virtual), the rewards would come, and they could taper off within a couple of years.

So, for once Jessica made it home by about 5:30. She poured herself a glass of wine from an already open bottle of a '05 Merlot in the 'fridge, turned on some music, and sat down in her recliner. They knew they shouldn't keep the Merlot cold, like a white wine, — it was just habit. She took a couple of sips from the glass, and then leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

That was how Kevin found her at 8:00 when he finally arrived home. Actually 8:00 wasn't late for him — it was pretty early, considering the normal state of traffic on the I-10 West at that time of the evening. Thank goodness, the CHP had already gotten the accident at La Brea cleared up before he got there.

He unlocked the door and walked in, and hearing the music was a little surprised that Jess was still in the living room, and there was no smell of food. Normally, if she arrived home earlier than he, she would have fixed something to eat and there would be dinner waiting for him to reheat. But as he passed the kitchen, there was no sign of any cooking or food prep.

"Maybe she's fallen asleep in the recliner," Kevin thought to himself, smiling. It had happened before. He was going to sneak up and give her a quick kiss to wake her. Then he would volunteer to make a quick dinner, or take her out someplace local.

He quietly walked up behind the recliner, taking advantage of the music to cover the noise, and reached over and kissed Jess on the forehead where she reclined in the chair. It took a second before he understood that there was something wrong. She didn't respond; her eyes didn't open, she didn't say anything. Shit. He touched her face, and it seemed damn cool. She wasn't breathing. He couldn't find a pulse.

He called 911. He pulled her to the floor and as she lay there on the carpet, tried to apply CPR, something everyone at the law firm had been forced to train in. He tried mouth-to-mouth, hoping to breathe new life back into her. Truthfully though, Kevin knew, even before the EMT's reached the condo, that Jess was dead. Had been for awhile.

It seemed so stupid.

The EMT's looked at her, and tried to find vital signs. To their experienced eyes, in the grim humor of their profession, it was clear she wasn't going out dancing tonight. She'd been dead for some time, probably shortly after she arrived home. They speculated between 5:30 and 6:30 o'clock as the estimated time-of-death. The coroner would eventually agree with them.

Way too long to expect to resuscitate. All they could do now was haul her down to the hospital where the arbiters of death would declare the reason, the rhyme, the season, the time.

It didn't take long for the wheels of modern medicine to grind Jessica through their mill. Beneath the florescent lights in the hospital corridor, smelling of vile antiseptic cleaning fluids, Kevin sat while words and phrases were thrown around; 'sub-dural hematoma', 'intracranial bleeding'.

They gave the usual reassurances: "She most likely just fell asleep and never woke up again." "Maybe a headache." "Do you remember the actress who bumped her head on the bunny slope, and died?" Perhaps such things were comforting, knowing she didn't suffer long, but they didn't mitigate Kevin's sorrow thinking of his future with his empty condo and empty heart.

Her fellow workers came forward to tell their story from inside the 'island of secrecy', as Jessica would call her workplace.

The LAPD detectives decided that there was nothing to investigate, after getting the report of her accident at work, and the death certificate listing a cause — plus checking with a legal secretary who confirmed that Kevin had been at work until close to 7:00. Nada, zero, nothing to cause them to suspect foul play.

Good for husband Kevin, who, if there was a whiff of suspicion, would have become suspect number one. In shock, he never noticed the look on the faces of the still not-entirely convinced cops, hoping as late as the funeral, that he might break down and spew a confession to the gathered crowd. Instead he was, they agreed, just boring. They couldn't quite hide their disappointment.

The lawyers who represented the large aerospace conglomerate were prepared to haggle and delay, and all of the normal tactics that they would use to avoid paying. Or to make the opposing party wait so long that, assuming they were still alive by then, they would accept a reduced settlement.

That lasted until it was brought to their attention that this particular grieving spouse had the resources and the connections within his own firm to create a legal nightmare for the company. Consequently, their offer to prevent a wrongful death suit from being filed was generously larger than the normal jury awards for similar accidental deaths. Kevin, not in any state to fight about money, took his lawyer's advice and accepted the deal. In addition to the life insurance policy the firm provided for employees at her level, he was getting enough money that most mere mortals would consider retiring.

Fortunately for him, his brother, Jim, and his sister lived up in Santa Clarita — only about 35 miles north of the Marina (although, driving south down the Antelope Valley Freeway to the 405 as far as the 90, the Marina Freeway, was never a picnic). His sister-in-law, Tess, came down and took over organizing the funeral, taking him through the necessary steps for having his beloved interred. She had done the same thing for her dad two years before when her mother had passed on.

Even Tess found the price of a double-crypt in the West Side cemetery to be outrageous.

Kevin didn't care. He had plenty of money, and it was one of the few things he remembered his wife ever saying about death and dying: "I don't want to be cremated, and I don't want to put into the ground." That only left one option.

There you have it — seven days after her death, his Jessica was sealed up in a wall, waiting for the time when Kevin would join her.

After the funeral, everyone had come back to Kevin and Jessica's condo purportedly to console the grieving husband, but also, of course, to deal with their own shock at the death of a young and beautiful woman. Tess had caterers put together a small spread for the friends, relatives, as well as the flotsam and jetsam — representatives from her company and his law firm.

After about an hour Tess, thoughtful of Kevin's needs, quietly but efficiently started convincing mourners to leave. Another hour later, having cleaned up the mess, and placing the left-overs in the refrigerator (insuring that Kevin would have something available to eat over the next few days), she and her husband left as well.

"You're sure you don't want someone here with you?" she asked, one more time just to affirm Kevin's desire to be by himself.

"Thanks, but yes, I really need some 'alone time'. Tess, thank you so much. I wouldn't have made it through the week without your help, your kindness and your sympathy," Kevin told her; it was the gods-honest truth.

He shook his brother's hand, and as Jim walked down the hall towards the elevator, Tess hung back long enough to give Kevin one last hug, kiss, and a long look at his face, before she too turned and left to join her husband.

Savoring the first real quiet that he'd had in a week, he went into the kitchen, fetched himself a Corona, and went out onto the balcony.

Sitting there along, looking out over the harbor, Kevin knew there was only one person he really wanted to see. That special friend who he could share his feelings — in a 'spilling his guts out' and getting disgustingly drunk sort of way. His friend, Steve. Steve would hear him out, and get drunk with him, and Kevin knew it would be a catharsis for his soul that no one else could provide.

He had known Steve from the time they were in Junior High, down in the O.C., in Costa Mesa, where their families had lived at the time. When Kevin went back east to start his undergrad studies, Steve stayed in California, matriculating, as they say, at USC, where he was deeply involved in the campus 'Greek' life. At 'SC, you could just look at the frat guys and tell which house they were with. Steve, with his golden boy good looks, and his 6' 4" athletic body was no exception.

Not an exceptional student like Kevin, Steve did graduate with a decent, but not jealousy provoking, GPA from the business school. Shamelessly using his frat connections, he was hired into a commercial real estate firm, where his social skills and network — honed to a keen edge at 'SC — served him well.

Financially, Steve was doing well, and was living the life of the moneyed single out of a condo in Manhattan Beach, where the night life was hot, and the ladies available. Surrounded by college chums and frat brothers, it was if he still had one foot in the university, and one foot in the real world.

But through the years, Kevin and Steve stayed in touch, and when Kevin (by then married to Jessica) arrived back in the City of The Fallen Angels, Steve was there to welcome them at LAX.

They would hang out together when they could, sometimes meeting for dinner and drinks, other times going to one another's place to watch a game. Of course, the three of them were all working, all busy, and didn't get together as often as they might like to. In fact, as Kevin recalled, they hadn't seen much of Steve for the past year or so.

When Jessica had her accident, Steve was nowhere to be found, and it wasn't until the day before the funeral that it was discovered that he was on vacation up in some remote cabin that didn't have 'net, or even cell coverage. We're talking isolated. They finally got hold of the manager of the large ranch, who promised to give Steve the message the next morning, when he went out to the cabin.

So Steve had missed everything. And Kevin sorely missed his calming presence.

When Kevin finished his cerveza, he went back into the condo, considering whether to get another or not. "Not," he decided.

Instead, he wandered aimlessly for awhile. Into the kitchen, looking around the room, seeing the signs of her presence everywhere. A NASA calendar they handed out to her at work hanging on the wall. The funny porcelain figures of French Chefs that Jessica placed in the little niches around the room. The expensive set of cookware that she bought as a joke for Kevin for his birthday, after he'd gotten her an ironing board as a prank on hers. As a joke the cookware backfired, because both Kevin and Jess loved to cook with those pans. Now they were his alone.

He gradually made his way into the bedroom, looking at their king-sized bed. He knew intellectually that he and she would never be together there again, but the emotional impact of that hadn't hit him yet. He noticed that Tess had packed a lot of Jesse's clothes into storage boxes, but there were still some left in the closet.

He had kept the t-shirt that Jess had taken from him and used at night in lieu of a nightgown, hanging on its peg on the back of the bathroom door. He couldn't confess to anyone his compulsion to hold it, and smell Jess on the shirt. It was something he could have told Steve, but no one else.

On the bedside table on Jessica's side was a wedding photo of the two of them. The time machine seized Kevin and threw him back four years — standing there at the alter, waiting for his Jessica, with her shoulder-length light-honey-colored hair, and her blue-gray eyes, to walk down the aisle. The smile that lit the room when she walked in.

In her high heels, Jessica was almost as tall as Kevin, not that Kevin, at almost six-feet tall, was short. He remembered thinking that Jessica, in her wedding gown, really had the proverbial 'hour-glass' shape. He stood there for a moment lost in the photo; frozen, a lost soul.

Some time passed and Kevin returned to the kitchen, and feeling a pang in his stomach, ate a meal that was tasteless and habitual. It did, he realized after he finished, make him feel a little better.

He finally got up the courage to confront what he had studiously avoided for the past week, and went into Jessica's office.

The condo was a three bedroom affair, with a large master, and two smaller bedrooms. Not having any children, indeed not even sure yet whether they wanted children, Kevin took one of the smaller bedrooms as his office, and Jessica took the other for hers.

Her office was her haven, her refuge, the room in the house that was entirely devoted to her needs. Kevin was practically shaking when he slowly crept in, afraid at what memories might linger in her sanctum sanctorum.

Even as he took the first step, he understood the emotional danger that he faced. There was the subtle odor of the citrus oil, always one of her favorites, rising from a glass bottle on a shelf, up through thin wooden dowels that acted like wicks to disburse the scent into the air.

Jessica had changed the floor of her office, having the original carpet removed and replaced with a Brazilian-cherry hardwood floor, full of reddish color tones, over which in the middle of the room, she covered up a substantial amount of the area with an oriental carpet. The carpet wasn't a true 'hand knotted' rug, as a 6' by 8' hand knotted rug would have been outrageously expensive, but it was a high quality wool and silk carpet, even if it was factory made.

Kevin walked past the bookshelves, his fingers lightly touching the wooden shelves as he passed. Jesse's books? Honestly, there was nothing there to be sentimental about. Mathematics, scientific reference books, engineering texts — completely useless to Kevin and hardly a meaningful connection to Jessica. A few paperback romance novels, for the few occasions when she had time to sit and just read for pleasure and 'veg out', as she laughingly described it.

Those remaining on the shelves looked brand new and unread, which made sense, because once Jess had read once of her 'trashy' novels, she would dump it into the box in the Rec room on the first floor of the condo building, where anyone could come by and take books to read for free. Jess had availed herself of books from the 'box' several times.

"Oh god," thought Kevin, when he reached the shelves where her personal CD's were stored. Kevin laughed a little looking at her collection of CDs. OK, music was not one of his and Jesse's areas of mutual taste. But at least her music was a reminder of her and the good times they had shared.


Der Witwer (The Widower)



Kevin looked at some of the nick-knacks on the small corner table, most of which were from the time before they were married. Those he would either keep, or check with Jesse's mother to see if she would like to have them as mementos of her daughter. There were more photos in ornate frames, silver and wood, of Jess with her parents, or with Kevin. Their wedding, their honeymoon in Paris, a trip to Mexico; familiar scenes with joyous memories to be kept, savored and treasured.

Only halfway through the room and Kevin was drained and exhausted by the ghosts that haunted him here. He gave up, and almost feeling led, sat at her desk, in her chair.

This was her special chair, the one they had to buy after she had been through an 'ergonomic' training session for the managers in her company. Too many 'worker's comp' claims were being filed by employees who found themselves with sore arms, backs, whatever. Her concerns followed her home, and $900 later, she had her 15-axis adjustable chair. Not really '15-axis' — that was just how Kevin sarcastically described it to friends when he was implying that she overly-pampered herself.

Directly in front of her chair, on her desk, was her laptop. He pressed the power button and waited for it to boot up, mindlessly watching the screen. He had no specific reason for using her computer, other than the urge to see its light again on her desk, as he used to when he would pass by her open office door in the evenings.

The screen came up demanding a password. That was a response to the concern that Jess had about computer security pounded into her psyche at work. There was no real work related reason for protecting her computer — her work was Secret, and she wasn't allowed to copy any of it or take it out of the building in any form: paper, disk, flash drive. The only work related materials she kept on her computer were a few phone lists of people, in case she had to call them from home, and a few memos and letters of an administrative nature that she drafted at home and emailed to herself at the office.

It didn't matter anyway, because Kevin knew the password. Jess told him, in case he ever needed to get into the computer for any reason. In the two years that she'd had the laptop, he'd never accessed it. Tonight was the first time. He logged in.   

He'd never especially paid attention to Jesse's laptop before. Their work schedule was such that often one of the other of them seemed to be working late at home. They were both computer users, although Jess was, as a consequence of her engineering degree, more computer literate than he. She could program, if necessary in Java, Fortran (yes, for you unbelievers, there is still a lot of old Fortran code out there in the engineering world), and a number of other 'scripting' languages — whatever that meant.

But at home, she was like the rest of us, cruising the web, getting and replying to emails, and doing any number of repetitive chores that the computer does so well.

And that's what Kevin found when he fired up her laptop.

First there were a lot of apps. There were also folders of photos that he could identify by their labels: Paris, Mexico Vacation, Family, and Christmas. He would certainly have to download those and make sure they were safely stored. The last thing Kevin wanted was to lose were the photos that would keep the memory of his beloved wife alive.

Videos, again all clearly labeled by date and activity. Music that Jess had either ripped from their CD's, or downloaded to listen to. Her contact lists, the Christmas mailing lists (that somehow, he recalled could be directly printed out onto labels), Excel spreadsheets. It was so normal and mundane.

He did all of the family financial record keeping on his computer, so there wasn't anything to worry about as far as paying bills, or other money issues.

Then there was the folder labeled 'Jessica Documents'.

He opened that, and no surprise, it was as organized as the rest of the computer, into subfolders by subject. So there was a folder labeled 'Mom', and another 'Sis', and even a folder for her sister, 'Tess'. There were folders for communications with several of the professional groups to which she belonged, both engineering related, and those dedicated to woman's professional groups.

Kevin wondered for a moment if he should find someone who he could inform of Jessica's passing in those groups. That could wait a few days, he was sure.

There were other folders dedicated to various friends, her college sorority, even one for the travel agent who they had used on a couple of their trips. All the usual boring debris of modern day communications.

He was about to close the folder and go on when Kevin noticed an anomaly in Jesse's world of clarity. There was a folder labeled 'OM', and nothing else.

"That's weird," the thought came to Kevin when he saw it, "Wonder what it is?" Kevin was sure that as soon as he looked at one of the email contents, the acronym would reveal itself. God only knows, the aerospace world that Jess worked in simply loves its acronyms.

Kevin tried to open the file, but instead of opening, it asked for a password. "Even stranger," was Kevin's immediate response. He wondered if this file had gotten locked up accidentally, so he right-button clicked on it and looked at the file properties. He was no expert, but it looked like it was password protected, and had been set up almost a year ago. Kevin sat there feeling stymied. Could he hack his way into the folder?

Kevin just mulled over the problem for a time, knowing that if he wasn't so exhausted there was probably an answer staring him in the face, if he could just think. He would have looked for slips of paper on the desk, but Jess, who hated clutter, didn't have any on her desk. He tried to remember, because there was a memory on the edge of his consciousness that was nagging at him.

"Damn!" he exclaimed out loud when he finally seized the memory.

Jess had complained to him often about all of the on-line sites — shopping, news, almost anything these days — were demanding that to use the site you had to set up a password protected account. 'I don't mind memorizing my banking information. But how can I remember all of these other passwords?' she muttered at the time. When he asked her about it later, she told him that she had them listed at the back of her day-timer, sitting there on her desk. And there it still was, sitting not a foot from Kevin's hand.

He picked up the day-timer, and sure enough, there on the back page was a list of passwords. Yahoo, her Hotmail account, passwords for her Land's End, Williams-Sonoma, and a half-dozen other shopping sites. But nothing for the protected file.

Frustrated, Kevin was ready to throw the day-timer across the room, when he noticed something. Jess had a kind of algorithm she was using for her passwords.

When he looked at it, he recognized the first four digits were the day and month that he had proposed to her, 1205, for the twelfth of May. Jess insisted that they celebrate the date every year; although he couldn't understand why. If it made her happy, he was happy.

Then there were two letters, an acronym that he and Jess had used in their private emails: HJ, standing for 'Hot Jess'. The code ended with two letters that came from the name of the site: LE, for 'Land's End', "HM' for "Hotmail', and so on. Kevin wondered.

He went back onto the laptop, and tried to open the folder again. This time when it asked for the password, he typed in, '1205HJOM', and it opened.

Later, reflecting on the chain of events that followed, he would wonder if it might not have been better if he'd never cracked her code, leaving her memory untarnished, and not opening a wound directly into his heart.

Inside the folder were emails between his wife, Jessica, and his supposed 'best friend', Steve. He selected a couple of the emails at random to look at, and in the twinkling of an eye, Kevin felt the grief in his breast being replaced with rage.

"Fuck," he said out loud, as the light went on in his fevered brain. " 'OM' — Other Man!"

Kevin stood up suddenly from the desk, and went over to the printer and turned the power on. Returning, he set up the emails to print. Close to two hundred email exchanges were in the file, amounting to a betrayal beyond Kevin's comprehension.

Since many of the emails were limited to times and places of assignations, they were only a line or two long. Others were longer, and the most recent, some of them a page or more in length. Kevin turned on the printer.

As soon as they were all printed out, Kevin took the stack into the living room, sat in his reading chair, turned on the light and began to examine them in his best critical lawyer manner. He started with the earliest communications and reading in order of date, up to the present.

The emails exposed in stark black and white, that Jess and Steve had been carrying on an emotional affair for roughly the past year. The actual physically intimate affair was for nine months, or so.

For the first couple of months, Jess and Steve were just meeting for a lunch here and there, nothing that couldn't be called 'friendly', except that they were doing it on the sly, concealing it from Kevin, so they wouldn't make waves and upset boats.

What pissed Kevin off, even in the emails from this pre-sexual period of the dance, was the way that the two closer-than-friends were so gleeful at their ability to be together behind Kevin's back. Jessica's job existed in a secret world, where Kevin often couldn't reach her. Steve's position allowed him the freedom to wander far and wide in L. A. County. The lovers had plenty of opportunities to meet and share their secret sins.

If the emails were to be taken at face value, it took Steve several months before Jess succumbed to his tall good looks and sleazy charm. Then for awhile, it was furtive meetings at his condo for 'nooners', and quickies in cars, hidden in isolated parking structures. Then, they kicked it up a notch, and Kevin understood in a brilliant flash of insight that the late evenings and overtime at work for the past four or five months, were a 'special project' (as Jess described it) alright — special for Steve, and playing Kevin for the fool.

The last month, there was a change in the atmosphere and tone of the communiqués, as the intensity and desires of this sordid duet increased at an upward pace, like the national debt, suddenly going for broke. Torrid, wild, unrestrained sex. Reading between the lines, when he read Jesse's most recent emails, there was a kind of pleading tone. It sounded to Kevin as if his wife, Jess, was getting ready to leave him for Steve. That she wanted to leave him for Steve.

Kevin quickly perused the last email communication between the lovers (oh, how ugly to contemplate) and saw that it was dated just days before his now deceased wife's accident. It explained one thing, at least. Steve told Jess that he was going on a business trip that he would be combining with a fishing vacation. The ranch where he was staying was very isolated. Don't expect to hear from him until he gets back in town. Then they could come to some hard decisions to determine where their future together would lead them.

Well, at least the part about Steve being isolated from civilization was true.

Kevin put the pages down on the small table next to his chair and collapsed into a flaccid lump.

"Unbelievable!" he thought, and after a minute it struck him, "Well, the bitch is already dead; not much more I can do to her now. Too bad.

"But that shit, Steve. I thought he was a friend. No wonder I haven't seen that SOB for almost a year — he was afraid to look me in the face, man-to-man. How low can you go, stealing your best friend's woman?" The answer to his rhetorical question was easy: if you were a completely amoral prick, who thought of nothing beyond your next piece of ass, you could go pretty damn low.

The light of the afternoon sun dimmed as Apollo drove his chariot westward, across Santa Monica Bay, while Kevin sat, staring into space.

It was dark before Kevin finally got up and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle out of the 'fridge and poured himself the last glass of Merlot; the same Merlot that had been the final taste to touch his bitch wife's lips. He almost laughed at the thought.

He raised the glass.

"Here's to the wine that escorted my unfaithful harlot into the afterlife. May she drown and die again in the river Styx; her ass kicked out of the boat by Charon, unworthy even to enter Hades."

Not long after the wine glass was drained, Kevin knew he was too. Drained and wrung like a damp rag, and hung out to dry.

He took a pill and went to bed. If he dreamed, he didn't remember anything except his vague sense of uneasiness by the morning.

********

The mindless alarm went off, thankfully at 8 AM instead of the usual 5:30. The traffic report that came on wasn't going to do Kevin any good today. He wasn't going to work. Well, maybe he wasn't going to work. He had to consider his now changed circumstances. There was a lot to think about now in the full light of the day after.

Habit kicks in, and Kevin found a certain comfort in making his coffee, and eating a fried-egg and English muffin for breakfast. Kevin's life might have been turned upside down in the past week, but ritual helped him focus.

A night's sleep had refreshed him physically, but he was still in mental turmoil.

What should he do about Steve?

It was a paradox, a conundrum.

If Jessica was still alive, there would be no question. He would kick the bitch to the curb, and Steve would become his best-old-ex-friend. Just like the Jim Croce song.

How well that whole scheme would have worked was somewhat dubious to Kevin's lawyerly logic. If the Jessica/Steve relationship was as intense and close as the emails indicated, Jessica was already half-way out the door, and Steve's condo would have two permanent residents instead of one. That wasn't exactly getting revenge on the pair. It was probably doing just what they wanted. And if Kevin was a real ass, it could even mitigate any feelings of guilt that might or might not have lingered in what remained of their collective consciences.

And it was a moot point. That certainly wasn't going to happen now. Oh happy day.

So the question, Kevin considered, "Should I make a permanent break with my oldest friend, because he had an affair with my now deceased wife? Or, should I not let him know that I discovered his betrayal, and let it go? Hell, it takes two to tango. Jessica was just as culpable in this affair as Steve, so should I hold him wholly responsible because she's not around to accept her share of the blame?"

"After all," Kevin though, "I've hardly seen him for the past year. If I don't reveal what I know now, who knows how I'll feel about him a year from now. Maybe I'll be able to forgive him. And if I don't — well, what have I lost? I dump him." He liked the imagery of the phrase.

That was Kevin's final decision, after throwing his options back and forth in his mind for an hour or so. He wouldn't brace Steve about the affair, but he would minimize his contact for awhile, and see how he felt after some time had passed. It wouldn't be hard for him to justify keeping a low profile — he was, after all, a man in mourning. And not likely but maybe after the initial anger settled down, he would find that he could still keep his old friend at some level. It would never be the same, but it wasn't like he was married to him.

It was later that afternoon when Kevin's reverie was interrupted by the doorbell.

He lifted himself out of his sofa, slowly, painfully, like an old man, not a thirty-year old. He'd been sitting there all morning, the television droning in front of eyes that didn't see. Kevin wondered what kind of insensitive lout was ignoring his peace and solitude.

He opened the door to find Steve — former best friend, and back-stabbing Benedict Arnold — standing in the hallway.

Before he could say anything, Steve had stepped forward and grabbed him, giving him the kind of hug that two old buddies could give each other. Even if one wasn't sure that they were 'old buddies' anymore.

"Oh god, Kevin," Steve blurted out, his demeanor serious, his face showing the grief for a friend, although, Kevin thought, not for the death of a true love.

"I got here as soon as I could." He walked in automatically, his arm around Kevin's shoulder, moving them both back into the living room, closing the door behind him.

"We just couldn't believe it when we heard about Jessica. I don't know what to say! It's horrible, like she's there one minute, and gone the next. I can't imagine the pain you're going through."

Kevin thought to himself, "You can say that again."

"There was a snow storm up in the mountains a couple of nights ago," Steve continued, completely oblivious to his friend's negative aura, "so I couldn't even drive myself out. We had to wait until the ranch manager was able to get up to the cabin in his four-by. Then I got to the airport, but there are so few flights out of there that I couldn't get a seat on the regular puddle jumper. I had to charter a private plane to take me to Denver."

"Really?" Kevin replied rather flatly, "You went to a lot of effort." Steve didn't notice the sarcastic undertone to Kevin's remark.

Steve waved his hand in the air, as if to dismiss Kevin's remark.

"Kevin, you are my oldest, closest and best friend, I couldn't leave you here alone dealing with this tragedy. And there was only seven or so inches of snow. It's probably already melted by now."

With that Steve walked out into the kitchen, and in a couple of minutes, brought back two glasses of red wine, handing one to Kevin and keeping the other. That act reminded Kevin of just how close they had been. Steve knew where to find everything in the kitchen; he knew where the wine was kept, where the wine glasses were, he knew Kevin's preferences.

Kevin looked at the wine in the glass, and gave it a quick smell.

"The Cab?" he asked. Steve nodded his head in the affirmative, and lifted his glass, getting Kevin to touch the two glasses together.

They both took a sip of the wine, which was exceptional, even if it hadn't had a chance to breathe.

"I'm so sorry that I didn't get back in time for the funeral."

Kevin just nodded.

"You know I thought the world of her. She was a really great wife, and the two of you made the perfect couple."

"If only it were true," thought Kevin, wistfully.

Kevin had started to calm down. Clearly, Steve was not affected by Jessica's death to the depth that Kevin had expected. Maybe, despite Jessica's view of things, Steve really hadn't been as attached to her as she thought. Maybe the 'future' to which Steve alluded in the last email, was along the lines of, "We can't keep on betraying Kevin. Jessica, it's been fun, but now it's over. You go back and love Kevin, so that he never knows about us, and I'll go on, becoming his best friend once again."

"You there, bro?" intruded Steve's voice.

Kevin realized that he'd drifted again.

"Yeah. Sorry, it's just the memories..."

"Sure. Just staying here must...wait a minute! You need to get out of here. Will your firm allow you to take a couple of weeks off? You know, for mourning?"

"Absolutely," Kevin replied, a little uncertain as to what was going on in his friends head.

Steve leaned forward in his chair, and looked directly at Kevin's eyes with an excited look.

"We gotta get you outta here. Come up with us to the cabin — it's huge. Take a couple of weeks to find your center again. The mountains are so peaceful, and the river is filled with trout. We have elk and deer walking by the lodge in the morning, right outside the window while we're eating breakfast. There's a herd of buffalo on the ranch. The place is too cool. Come on, think about it. Come and join us."




Der Witwer (The Widower)



"Steve," Kevin finally asked, since he'd noticed something in his friend's speech, "Who is this 'us' you're talking about? You keep on talking as if you aren't alone at this mountain hideaway of yours?"

Steve looked up, his entire visage suddenly lighting up.

"Oh! I forgot. You don't know about my fiancée, Francesca. You and Jessica never met her. She's why I've been so occupied the past year. I can't wait to introduce you to her. I fell in love with her the first time I met her at a party last year, and I've been completely obsessed ever since..."

Steve continued to speak, but Kevin couldn't hear a word of it.

"You BASTARD!" Kevin screamed, grabbing the printouts of the emails from the table next to him, and throwing them at Steve.

(This is the point at which the original Schnitzler plot/story ends)



********

That would have been Kevin's gut level response, but he managed to restrain himself.

He didn't really shout. He didn't really throw the emails.

It took Kevin a second before his lawyer's training kicked in, and he backed off from the fantasy. He instantly understood that if he revealed his cards to Steve now, he would never have the kind of retribution he wanted against this monster.

Kevin's mind went into overdrive at Steve's revelation. His fiancée? The past year? The depth of betrayal that Steve was capable of increased by an unheard of order-of-magnitude in Kevin's mind.

This man was literally betraying everyone around him all at the same time, Kevin realized.

He was betraying his best friend by seducing his wife, and fucking her for close to a year. He was betraying Jessica, because he was leading her on, to the point where she was willing to risk it all for this worthless scum. Jessica planned on leaving her husband for him for god's sake. And he was also betraying his fiancée, who he had asked to marry him — claiming she was the love of his life, while he carried on an affair with another woman. Staggering.

The idle question touched Kevin's fevered brain: when the hell did this guy have the time to get any work done? He filed that thought for later.

Kevin dragged his mind back to the present, to do what he knew, as a lawyer, would do the most good. It was like preparing a lawsuit. Don't be angry, don't be hasty. Plan. Get a strategy together. Only then, act.

The first thing Kevin needed was more information.

He glanced at Steve, who by then had noticed that Kevin was staring into space again.

There was a moment of panic when Kevin realized that the stack of emails was still sitting on the end table next to his chair, right out in the open where Steve could see them, if he looked.

"Hey, Steve, sorry. I'm so easily distracted these days. Could you do me a favor and get me a refill on the wine?" he asked, oozing sincere, exhausted, helplessness.

"Glad to," Steve replied, grabbing both the glasses and heading for the kitchen.

The instant that Steve was out of sight, Kevin scooped up the printouts and rushed them into his office, where he placed a couple of legal reference books atop the incriminating documents.

"Where'd you go?" Kevin heard from the living room.

Kevin walked back into the living room.

"Sorry, I thought that my stomach...you know. It seemed like a good idea to get to a bathroom real quick but it was just a belch" he explained, for the first time he could remember intentionally lying to his former friend. It didn't cause him the slightest guilt.

Kevin came to a quick decision.

"Steve, I think you're right. I need to get away from here, and going up to a remote mountain cabin sounds better than anything I could imagine. I'm not going to intrude on you and your fiancée am I?"

"No, no. I told you, the place is huge — three stories tall. It was made to allow up to a dozen hunters to stay there at one time. We are in the master suite, on one side of the lodge, and we can put you on the other side of the place. It's a separate suite with its own sitting room, a large bedroom with a queen-sized bed and a full bath. And you won't bother us. In fact, it was Francesca who suggested that I try to get you to join us, so you wouldn't be on your own down here."

"That was really considerate of her," Kevin answered, the outline of a plan for revenge coming together in his mind, even as he spoke. "When do you want to leave?"

"We could be out of here this afternoon, if you wanted," Steve replied.

"I would need maybe two-and-a-half hours to pack and call work to let them know what I'm doing. Would that work?"

"Absolutely. Then I'll take off and go check out my place, make sure every thing's alright. I'll come back in, say, three hours, and we'll be on our way." Steve said agreeably, heading for the door.

It turned out that three hours was more than adequate time for Kevin to prepare.

The trip to Steven's vacation hideaway was excruciatingly long for Kevin.

LAX to Denver, a regional turbo-prop to Rapid City, South Dakota, then pick up Steve's rental car from the long-term parking. From Rapid City south by freeway almost to Hot Springs in the Black Hills. Then on to secondary roads, to a twenty-mile-long improved gravel road. Another five-mile drive on a dirt road, past the ranch manager's place, and finally four miles to the lodge. They weren't kidding when they said 'isolated'.

What made it so excruciating was that the whole trip Kevin was forced to listen to Steve going on and on extolling the many virtues, great beauty, the extraordinary intelligence and charm, oh, and did he remember to mention the breathtaking beauty of Francesca. His fiancée.

How she walked into the party being held by Steve's firm about a year ago, and captivated Steve from that moment on. The weeks that he'd spent trying to convince her to go out on a first date with him. The months of trying to advance the relationship past the 'just friends' stage. And at last, the repeated proposals, wearing her down until she saw the light and said 'yes'! That, only the month before.

It was past 11:00 PM when they finally crawled out of the car, and dragged Kevin's bags into the lodge. Steve had called Francesca earlier (it turned out that they had a satellite phone with them so they could receive phone calls, but no one in L.A. knew the number, except Steve's boss). Steve told her not to stay up, they would arrive late.

She didn't pay Steve the slightest attention of course, and was awaiting their arrival.

Her entrance was, as clichéd as it might sound, dramatic.

Steve and Kevin were standing in the entry foyer, and Kevin was taking in his first impressions of the lodge.

The entryway was the full three-stories high, with a wide staircase descending from the second floor down towards the front door. Kevin took stock in the light given off by a single large crystal chandelier hanging above the center of the entryway.

The walls were replete with hunting trophies from years past — several large bull elk with huge racks, both white-tail and mule deer who could have been listed in the Boone & Crockett records, if the owner of the ranch had wanted the publicity. A moose, a huge buffalo bull (which the ranch manager corrected by saying "American Bison" each time he heard their verbal transgression), pronghorns, even a caribou, hanging on the walls.

It was in this atmosphere of shadows and light, that Kevin first saw the figure descending the staircase.

She was dressed in a flowing black dressing gown, which seemed both absurdly gothic and completely appropriate for the circumstances. Was it a concession to Kevin's mourning? The light coming off the chandelier onto her auburn hair created a halo for just a moment. Her pale skin stood in stark contrast to the gown. She looked down at the men standing at the bottom until her eyes met Kevin's. She seemed to glide, rather than walk down the remaining stairs, until Francesca stood directly in front of Kevin.

Before that moment, Kevin had never believed in witchcraft. But when he looked at Francesca, he was caught like a rabbit in a trap, much as Steve had described himself a year earlier. She was bewitching.

Francesca's oval face had a rare symmetry. She had her hair pulled into a loose pony-tail at the back, which revealed a high, but not overly so, forehead. Her hair cascaded back below her shoulders.

Her green eyes were deep-set, and beguiling. Kevin found it difficult to look elsewhere. Her nose was straight and strong, of a good length, and clearly untouched by a surgeon's knife. How rare for an L.A. woman.

Her delicate neck emerged from her gown, teasing Kevin's imagination with its gentle curves and smooth skin. He suddenly envisioned his lips caressing her neck with kisses soft as the movements of a butterfly's wings.

The line of her jaw was soft, and begged him to reach out and feel the contours of her face with the tips of his fingers.

But it was her lips, moist, and full, that held the promise of delights untold.

Unaware of his body, Kevin's face was moving forward, lowering on its own accord, his lips on a collision course with Francesca's.

But the spell was suddenly broken as she stepped forward and took his hand and held it between both of hers. She was suddenly both more and less. She felt less like magic, but she was still incredibly beautiful.

He would later compare those first moments with the lines of the Poet:

"To all who see, so gracious is her charm,

That through her eyes, her sweetness strikes their hearts,

As those who have been struck alone can know..."

"You must be Kevin," she looked deeply in his eyes and said in a soft alto voice. "I'm Francesca. I'm so sorry for your loss, but I hope you can stay with us and find comfort in the quiet, peace and seclusion of this place."

Kevin smiled gently when he replied.

"I'm sure that I will be much happier for being here. I want to thank you for allowing Steve to invite me. I've already told Steve how pleased I am to have the chance to stay with you, even for just a couple of days."

She looked at Kevin's face as he spoke, and he was suddenly afraid that she could read his thoughts, because her eyes narrowed, and her head tilted slightly to one side, as if she was listening to the unsaid as much as the said. There were unspoken questions in her look.

Francesca nodded though, content with what Kevin was willing to tell her for the moment, and spoke again.

"Steve, do you or Kevin want anything to drink? Or would you prefer just to get settled for the night?"

"I think that I would just like to get settled in and go to bed," said Kevin, before Steve committed him to staying up until the wee hours of the morning, reminiscing about memories of the past, all of which were now tainted for Kevin.

Kevin was pleasantly surprised to find himself ready to nod off as soon as he was in bed, and he slept the sound, dreamless sleep of the righteous.

********

The new day began early for Kevin, with the morning sun entering his window. It was actually his error from the night before. There were opaque blinds he could have drawn, but he hadn't seen them, so the light of dawn was his alarm clock through the thin, translucent drapes.

When he looked out his window, he didn't mind the early hour. It was just as Steve and Francesca had claimed. He noticed a pair of binoculars sitting on the dresser, which he picked up and adjusted. There in the distance he could see the buffalo herd, as well as deer and elk in scattered groups on the edges of the wooded areas.

After he'd completed his morning ablutions and dressed, Kevin went down the grand staircase to the dining area on the first floor, where to his surprise he found Francesca already standing at the granite covered work island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Good morning, Kevin," came her bright greeting.

Kevin looked at her, this time in the morning light. She was dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, and appeared as if she had lived on a ranch her entire life.

"Help yourself to some coffee, while I rustle up some breakfast," she continued.

"Thanks, Francesca, but you don't have to..."

She laughed. It was music to Kevin's ears.

"I like to eat, so I'm cooking. It's no trouble to throw on a couple more eggs and more slices of bacon."

"Can I do something?" Kevin asked.

"How about getting out some bread and making toast? The bread is in that drawer," she said pointing the chef's knife in her hand at one of the kitchen cupboards.

"Where's Steve?" Kevin inquired.

"He won't drag himself out of bed until he smells breakfast being served. You've known him long enough to know he isn't much of a morning person!" she declared with that positive attitude that morning people have and unconsciously use to irritate the rest of the world.

Kevin passed close behind Francesca, almost touching her, to reach the bread. She gently leaned back into him, and drew in a deep breath.

"Hmmmm...Kevin! I love how you smell. What is it?" she asked, turning her head, her eyes again connecting with Kevin's.

"I don't really wear anything," Kevin replied without hesitation, "except -- maybe it's the moisturizer I put on my face after I shave. It's sandalwood, I think."

"Well, it's very nice. Clean and masculine," she said, smiling at him. Kevin almost melted on the spot. Her eyes were killers.

Soon their breakfast was cooked and Kevin found himself sitting with Francesca chatting, eating breakfast, getting to know one another. It was an intimate domestic scene, despite the reality that they were two people who barely knew each other.

By the time Steve wondered down in his bathrobe, still looking half-asleep, Kevin and Francesca had already cleaned up their plates.

"Oh, isn't this cozy!" Steve observed, sounding half-jealous already, and then seeing that breakfast had already been eaten, "Don't I get any?"

Francesca smiled at him, "Good morning, sleepy-head. I made extra, but you'll have to heat it in the microwave." By then, she was walking out of the room.

"I'm going to take Kevin up to the balcony and watch the animals," she called back into the kitchen without consulting Kevin, who was happy enough just to follow.

From the balcony, Kevin and Francesca used the binoculars to watch the wildlife. The lodge itself, a large structure built with huge fir logs, but much larger and more luxurious than any early settler would have conceived, sat on a knoll at the bottom of a small valley. Around the lodge was an area clear of trees, a meadow lush with grasses and shorter plants, bisected at the bottom by a creek bed. Further back was a line of trees, where the landscape rose to low mountains. Straight out from the lodge, the road was visible as it cut across the meadow and through a break between the mountains.

As they watched, Francesca pointed to specific animals that she had already, over the brief time that she'd been there, christened with nicknames. A huge bison bull, she called Roman Nose, after the Cheyenne warrior. He saw the white-tail doe she named 'Lightfoot', because she walked so delicately along the tree line. 'Caruso', was the bull elk, whose voice wasn't anything like the Italian opera singer, but who loved calling in the strangely high-pitched bugle that was so much at odds with the large bodies of the animals themselves.

Kevin and she laughed together at the antics of the quirky Chickadees, landing close to them in the hopes of getting hand-outs. She tossed out crumbs from a couple of old bread heels she had brought from the kitchen. They talked about schools, growing up, anything except Jessica, and strangely, nothing about Steve.

And Kevin would sometimes catch Francesca looking at him, patiently waiting, as if expecting him to say something more.

By the time that they came back downstairs and settled in the living room, Steve had dressed for the day.

"Kevin. Let's take a hike around the place. It's so isolated up here; it's great. Francesca, you want to come along?" he asked.

"No thanks, Steve. I've got my book, and I'll just enjoy the peace and quiet," she replied, reaching to a side table and picking up a book with a bookmark mid-way in the pages.

As Steve and Kevin walked out into the meadow, heading towards the creek at the bottom, Steve turned to Kevin and spoke.

"Well? Isn't she everything I told you? Beautiful, charming, captivating — and from the first moment I set eyes on her, that's how I've felt about her. And it's really strange, because she's about as far from my usual 'type' as she could be. You know the kind of woman I would usually go after: blond haired, big breasted, tall girls..."

Kevin interjected, "More like Jessica?"

Steve hesitated a second and took a furtive sideways look at Kevin.

"Yeah. Sure. I guess your right," he admitted, followed by a forced sounding laugh, "I guess I just never thought of her that way, Jess being your wife and all."

Kevin silently nodded, not giving away his true feelings.

Steve continued, "But Francesca is almost completely opposite that 'archetype.' I just love her, and I know you'll get along great with her too. That's why I stayed up in bed so late this morning, so you and she would have a chance to get to know each other without me being there every minute. Doesn't she just knock your socks off?"

"She does have a certain 'je ne sais quoi'," Kevin had to agree, without admitting to the degree to which she had disturbed his psyche.

Right then, they arrived at the little stream.

"See," Steve pointed into the water, "Look at those trout!"

"Where?" Kevin asked.

"There in the shade of the far bank."

"Oh, yeah. I see them now."

Steve and Kevin sat down by the stream and talked for awhile. More accurately, Steve talked about Francesca, while Kevin listened.

It was getting close to lunch time when the pair heard Francesca calling from the lodge.

"Steve! There's a phone call for you."

Steve turned to Kevin, "Oh crap. What is it now? This vacation has already been interrupted once. Sorry Kev. I'm glad I got the call about Jessica, and that I returned to L.A. for you, but I hope this isn't anything serious. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Kevin replied, watching as Steve turned and loped across the meadow to the lodge. Kevin followed in his wake, but at a walk.

At the lodge the makings for sandwiches were laid out, and Francesca was waiting.

"Kevin what kind of sandwich do you want? We have ham and cheese, we've got sliced elk roast — I'm not kidding, we have elk and venison and buffalo in the 'fridge here — or you could have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Kevin smiled as he walked to the kitchen sink and washed his hands.

"Tell you what, you made breakfast, so let me make the sandwiches for lunch."

Francesca acquiesced, pleasantly surprised by this man who would voluntarily take over kitchen duties. Soon three ham and cheese sandwiches were on the plates along with potato chips, and even a couple of chocolate chip cookies.

Steve came in from the office, where he'd taken the phone call, and joined them for lunch.

"Damn! I've got to go back to L.A. again!"

He turned to Francesca.

"You know that high-rise down off of Fifth Street in the Downtown? Someone is bringing in an offer on it tomorrow afternoon, and the boss insists that I have to be there when they meet.

"I have a car coming out to pick me up early tomorrow morning to take me to the airport. I'll leave the rental car here so you two aren't stuck. I should only be gone overnight, and be back by lunchtime the following day."

"That's too bad," Kevin sympathized. Not.

The rest of the afternoon, Kevin took out a book and read, while Steve tried to prepare for the meeting the next day, and Francesca took a hike on her own.




Der Witwer (The Widower)



Dinner was a subdued affair, since Steve was in a less than stellar mood. But before he went to bed, he sought out Kevin.

"Francesca hasn't been to town for almost a week, so maybe you could drive her in tomorrow. The ranch manager supplies us with groceries, but ask her to check if we are low on any other necessities. Custer is the closest town from here, and there are a couple of stores and specialty shops, as well as restaurants there. There's a bookstore too. Maybe you could get lunch in town. Go up and see the Crazy Horse memorial. It's only a couple miles out of town."

Kevin nodded, and added, "If I don't see you in the morning — have a good flight, and I hope your deal goes through."

Steve agreed, "Yeah, if this deal goes through, it's millions of dollars for the company, and it will probably get me a Vice-Presidency. So it is a high-priority. Otherwise I would have to be dragged away from Francesca kicking and screaming."

They said their goodnights and parted.

The next morning as Steve got into the Hummer that had been sent to pick him up; he didn't notice Kevin watching him leave from the bedroom window in his suite.

Kevin was downstairs in the kitchen, when Francesca arrived. It was a strategic role reversal from the day before. Kevin had the coffee going in the coffee-maker, and was chopping green onions and mushrooms then putting them on a plate. On a similar plate was a pile of shredded sharp cheddar cheese. The strips of bacon were sitting on the counter-top ready to be placed in the pan that Kevin already had on the stove pre-heating.

Kevin grinned at Francesca, "Help yourself to some coffee. Would you care for an omelet?"

"Oh, that looks good. Yes, thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Sure. Could you make us some toast?"

Francesca was laughing lightly at the exchange, recognizing her own words from the morning before.

As she passed behind him, Kevin felt her hand gently touch his shoulder. It was if a spark had jumped from her to him. Her simple fragrance, which lingered in the air as she passed, said 'Spring' to his olfactory sense.

"So what is the plan for today?" she asked with a smile, when she and Kevin finally sat down to breakfast. She was so lovely and vivacious that it took his breathe away.

"Steve told me that you hadn't been away from the cabin for awhile. We could drive out to Custer or Hot Springs, if you'd like."

"Oh no — you're not getting off that easily. I want to get out to the BIG city — Rapid City!" she said with a gentle laugh. Kevin couldn't help smiling at her, at her obvious joie de vivre, her enthusiasm.

Rapid City wasn't really a long drive, once you got back on to the paved roads — however it still took close to forty-five minutes. There was a compensation for the time though; the sight of literally hundreds of white-tail deer, and wild turkeys. All that caused Kevin to mention how different it was from L.A.

"No kidding," exclaimed Francesca in agreement, "When I take a walk in the mountains around L.A., there are always hundreds of other hikers. Around here, you can be the only person for miles in any direction.

"Plus, you can make your own trails as you walk through the forests and fields. There aren't all of those signs telling you, 'Keep on the trails — if you set a foot off into the field, you'll cause an ecological disaster!"

Kevin had to laugh with her, because while Francesca was going a little over the top, it wasn't that far from the reality of L.A. living.

Rapid City is small compared with L.A., but it is large enough to have most of the national chain stores and restaurants represented, shopping malls, and the other amenities of modern 'city' life. Kevin and Francesca walked together around the downtown area, astonished to find life-sized bronze statues of the Presidents lining the streets.

The hours of the day rushed by for Kevin.

Lunch at a small, out of the way restaurant; Francesca's bright eyes and his, meeting across the table as they touched their wine glasses. He was charmed by the way she took his arm as they walked along the streets, browsing in the odd shop, examining books, arts and crafts by local artisans. Hearing her laughter lightened his pain, and eased his memory.

Late in the afternoon, they shared an early dinner in town before returning to the ranch. Kevin couldn't help but to gaze on his friend's fiancée with envy, and regret, and guilt at what he knew he was going to do.

Let her have her day to be happy and light-hearted before he opened her eyes as his had been opened only days before.

Kevin was subdued as he drove them back the long drive to the lodge. Francesca wasn't saying anything either, but she kept looking at Kevin as if she expected him to speak.

When they had arrived back at the ranch, Kevin ran up to his room, bringing down a folder from his luggage. He found Francesca waiting in the great room.

"Do you want a drink, Kevin?" Francesca asked quietly, "I mean a real drink?"

"What are you having?" he responded.

"I think that tonight is a Jack and Coke night. Well, Jack and diet Coke."

"I'll have the same," Kevin agreed.

Once the drinks were in hand, Francesca finally sat down on the couch across from the chair that Kevin had selected.

"OK, Kevin. Out with it. Now. I know you have something to say to me, and I've been waiting for two days for you to say it. Steven isn't around, if that's what has been holding you back," Francesca demanded, proving Kevin's suspicion that she could read his thoughts. At least to some degree.

"Francesca," he started, "This isn't easy for me, because I've really come to... appreciate you, the past few days.

"First, before I came up here I arranged for Steve to be lured back to L.A. and kept there for a couple days. Tomorrow evening, after a series of intense negotiations fail, the 'offer' for the building will be withdrawn, and he will return here. I don't expect to be here when he gets back.

"In short, yes, the purpose was to give us some privacy.

"Now I come to the meat of the matter." Kevin opened up the folder and took out the print-outs.

"Read these Francesca and then we can talk. They are print-outs from my wife's computer that I found after her funeral." He handed her the pages that had crushed his heart and changed his world. Then he walked up to the second floor, and out onto the balcony, where he sat, sipping his drink beneath the starry, chill, South Dakota sky.

"It's funny," he thought, "how many more stars you can see when you're so far from the city lights. And when you leave the distractions behind and take the time to look," he added to himself ruefully, wondering whether if he'd spent less time working, and more time looking and listening to Jessica, maybe he could have staved off her affair.

"Too late to worry about that now," he realized, vowing at the same time never to be caught in the same position again.

He heard her, rather than saw her, when she joined him. Together, sitting in the dark, each alone in their thoughts.

"It must have hurt you beyond your capacity to describe," came Francesca's voice.

There was another pause before Kevin replied.

"I hope that you can forgive me for doing this to you. I wonder if I wouldn't have been better off and happier not knowing that Steve and my wife were betraying me. And I'll confess that I want to see Steven hurting as much as I do.

"Perhaps it's unfair of me to take that choice of knowing or not knowing away from you. But I thought that it was important that you should understand the kind of man you were going to marry.

"Maybe you can deal with his betrayal. I couldn't. I still can hardly imagine that a man who calls himself a friend of mine could act in such a despicable and reprehensible way."

In the darkness beside him, Kevin heard an ironic laugh.

"He is a piece of work, isn't he?" Francesca said.

Kevin couldn't see her in the dark, but she didn't actually sound either terribly surprised, nor crushed. No tears, no weeping.

"Did he tell you much about me?" she asked.

"No, not really. Kind of superficial, really — how beautiful and intelligent you were, how well you complimented each other, that kind of thing. No deep, dark, secret insights," Kevin answered.

"Then first let me tell you a little about myself and my family," Francesca began.

"My family is not one of the 'super-rich' that you read about in the magazines, but by most people's standards, we are wealthy. Not entirely in 'money-in-hand', but in assets. My father owns a number of commercial buildings, up-scale apartment buildings, and other income producing real estate in the greater L.A area.

"I have my own business, which I started to help out my father and mother when they decided on a timetable to retire. My company manages their properties for them. In fact, that was how I met Steve originally — at the annual Christmas party that his firm holds to get clients in to socialize with their account executives.

"You have to understand something about families like mine. We grow up suspicious of people. Every time we make a friend, we wonder if this person is trying to find a way to part the family from its money. It's almost sick, in a way, but also necessary. You wouldn't believe how completely venial and two-faced people can be, and the many ways that a family's wealth is under constant attack.

"Everyone has a 'script' that is guaranteed to become the next block-buster movie; everyone has the perfect idea for a new business. A lot of the approaches are just plain old con games. My family has seen them all, and sent them packing.

"One of the consequences, though, is you become socially isolated. In High School, I didn't date. I didn't go to my Senior Prom. All because I was certain that any guy who asked me out was doing it because of my family's money.

"When I met Steve at the party, he started coming on to me before he even knew who I was. And Steve can be charming and persuasive, as you know. Better than anyone, I guess. For a woman who had never gone out much, quite honestly, Steve is impressive. Tall, good looking — he went to a good school. And he wasn't interested in me because of my money.

"Not that I was a push-over," she laughed a little, sad, laugh again.

"I was still suspicious enough that it took me a couple of months before I would even go on a date with him. Oh yeah, persistent. That's another one of his qualities.

"He began asking me to marry him every couple of weeks. And until a month ago, I put him off. I told him I just wasn't ready yet. He still didn't give up.

She paused again for a moment.

"Part of my hesitation was the result of going out with Steve while he was entertaining clients. He was his usual charming and attentive self when we were with them; his manners impeccable — he was a perfect gentleman. But afterwards, when we were back in one of our apartments, he would talk about them in ways that showed me that he was as two-faced as anyone I've ever seen.

"It seemed...sleazy to me. You know Steve, though. He convinced me that he was just trying to amuse me with funny anecdotes, and that he really got along with his clients. He claimed that they were very likely saying the said the same things about him, behind his back. Well... in fairness, that is probably true.

"Anyway, the nitty gritty is, that I was finally convinced just a month ago to become engaged. I guess I must have still had some reservations about him deep in my heart, because I wasn't totally surprised when you showed me the emails between him and your wife. I am feeling disappointed alright: disappointed with myself. I finally allowed myself to let loose, and take a chance with a guy, only to find out that he is — how did they used to say it — a cad and a bounder! Two-timing me before we even got married. What does that say about my judgment?"

"I guess maybe it's better to know before you get married, than like I did, finding out afterwards," Kevin stated philosophically.

Francesca finally asked, "I'm getting a little cold. Do you mind if we go back inside?"

Together they picked up the remnants of their drinks, and went back into the lodge, and back downstairs. This time they sat together on the couch, at opposite ends, looking at each other.

This time it was Kevin who could see that Francesca had something to say to him.

"So what's the plan, Kevin?" she asked, a little aggressively, although not in an antagonistic sort of way.

"Were you going to try to get me alone up here, expose Steve's duplicity and 'bed' me to even up the score?" she flat out asked, rather than beating around the bush.

Kevin blushed and stammered at the suggestion.

"Francesca, I would never propose such a thing — it would be, just...out of the question. I hope you don't seriously think I would be so...so...well, inconsiderate of your feelings. As angry as I am about how my wife behaved, I would not expect you to..." and Kevin just tapered off.

Francesca looked at Kevin as they sat in silence and after a time a malicious little grin appeared on her face.

"Why not?" she asked, "As it stands right now, the symmetry between your actions and Steve's is so far out of balance, only a radical solution can restore the world to its proper harmony!"

Kevin's eyes practically bulged.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his body involuntarily pushing back against the arms of the couch, as if to increase the distance between him and Francesca.

She, on the other hand, was counting.

"To do this right... do you need the clothes you're wearing? Can you leave them here in the lodge when we leave?"

"I guess I can. They're nothing special," he said, barely above a whisper, still completely flustered.

"Let's see. I'm wearing eight pieces of clothing; you have seven, so fifteen. So, follow me!" she instructed Kevin as she jumped up from the couch, her hand caressing his face as she past by him. Kevin followed docilely.

On the first step of the stairs, she took off a shoe and placed it down, on its side.

"There. Come up three steps, and you take your shoe off and leave it."

"You don't have to do this for me!" Kevin exclaimed, looking up at her standing on the stairway.

"I'm not doing this for you, Kevin. I'm doing it for me, and if it helps you get some payback, well that's fine too. Now, come up three steps, and take your shoe off and leave it."

He did. And every three steps thereafter, Francesca and Kevin, taking turns, left a piece of clothing as a descriptive trail, until they arrived at the door of the master bedroom, naked as the day they were born. Kevin, seeing Francesca looking like Botticelli's Venus arising from the foaming sea, found himself responding in a most embarrassing and predictable manner.

Francesca's only response, when she noticed his condition, was to mummer an approving sound, and with a slight smile on her face, she took his hand and led him to the bed.

Two hours later found Kevin laying on his back thinking, staring at the ceiling. Francesca's arm was across his chest, her leg entangled with his.

This was not an outcome that he had anticipated. He was adrift emotionally. He might be scarred for life. It's possible. He smiled in the low light.

"Well," came Francesca's voice speaking gently into his ear, while simultaneously trying to kiss it, "I will guarantee you that it wasn't because of sex that your wife was wandering. Kevin, that was wonderful. Steve is not even in the same class as you as a lover." She frowned in the dark.

"Maybe that's the real problem — with you, it is truly 'making love'. With Steve, it's having sex. I knew every moment that you really cared about me as a person, and you were worried that I was receiving pleasure, not just providing it. And I feel so entirely safe with you. God only knows, I've but known you for a couple of days, and in a lot of ways I feel more comfortable with you than I ever have with Steve.

"Maybe this getting even with Steve thing is going to be better than I anticipated," she said, the last phrase in a thoughtful tone of voice. Kevin was wondering what the hell she meant by that, but not for long, as they drifted off to sleep in a lover's embrace.

Early the following morning found Kevin and Francesca packed and ready to leave the lodge for the last time.

They had left the trail of clothes leading to the master bedroom in place. The room itself was closed up, to help retain the intense sexual atmosphere of the night before. And there, in the middle of the bed, atop the location of the wet spot, lay a set of the print-outs from Jessica's computer. Lastly and emphatically, resting on the printouts was an engagement ring.

They had made breakfast, but didn't bother to clean up. They came to a consensus: let Steve wash the dishes.

In the car, they looked at each other. Kevin voiced the question.

"So? Rapid City or Denver? We have all day. Steve won't get back until this evening at the earliest."

"Denver, then. We can drop the car off there and grab a direct Southwest flight back to Burbank, where my car is parked," Francesca suggested. Kevin nodded and started forward. Francesca gently took his arm and leaned her head over on his shoulder for a short hug. She looked a great deal like a woman in love.

By the time they were back in L.A., Kevin added 'efficient' to the list of Francesca's many attractive attributes.

While Kevin drove to Denver, Francesca was busy on her cell phone arranging things. By Two-Mule Junction, she had airline tickets arranged for them to pick up at the airport in Denver. As they rolled through the small town of Lusk, she was arranging to change from her current apartment (in one of the buildings her family owned, naturally), to a larger, furnished condo (in another of the buildings her family owned). One of her assistants from the business would oversee the move.

"It will drive Steve crazy, if he gets back to L.A. and doesn't even know where I live anymore," she explained, grinning at Kevin.

By the time that the couple was gliding down I-25 through Cheyenne, she had contacted a moving company that would move Kevin's belongings into her new condo as well. ("And don't forget to clean out the refrigerator while you're at it," she sternly admonished.)

"Steve will be devastated when he figures out we're living together. He is so egotistical that he just can't conceive that any woman would find another man more attractive than him. And you're so attractive, Kevin!" she told him, as she reached over and stroked his leg through his jeans.

"Should I have your clothes moved into the guest room, or into the master, with mine?" she asked, with a wicked smile, certain of the answer.

She called her parents and let them know that she and Steve were a thing of the past, and that he was no longer entitled to information regarding her.

Actually, Francesca was astonished at herself. What had happened since the previous evening was so unlike her, but she couldn't help herself. There was a fire, a connection between her and Kevin that overpowered her reason.

When they dropped off the rental car at the airport in Denver, she had made reservations for them to stay out of sight at one of the exclusive hotels in Santa Monica, overlooking the Bay.

After an unremarkable flight back to Burbank, and equally unremarkable drive (although slow and irritating — but that is unremarkable on the 101 and the San Diego freeways during rush hour where Carmageddon is more or less the natural state there). They took temporary shelter in their hotel, the Loews, facing the pier and beach in Santa Monica. And turned off their cell phones. 'No one there I really wanted to talk to', as the song goes.




Der Witwer (The Widower)



Kevin's mind had not been idle either, even as he was driving from South Dakota to Denver. He had things to do.

The day after his return found him sitting in the same office where such a short time before he had purchased an expensive double-crypt in a West Side cemetery.

"Sure," the salesman told him, "There would be no problem getting your money back on the crypt. Moves and changes are made all the time. We are dedicated to providing our clients with complete satisfaction.

"In fact," the man confided to him, "we can resell the unit for even more than you paid for it. Have you thought of selling it privately? You could make a few bucks. Just put an add in the paper, or on the 'net. I'd bet you it sells within a week."

Kevin thought for a minute.

"No thanks. I'm sure that you're right, you know about your business, but I'm less concerned with making money than taking care of this 'situation' with the least trouble and effort.

"You see, it wasn't until this weekend that I found my wife's instructions on her burial wishes. She specifically asked to be cremated, and buried. I had completely misunderstood her when I originally purchased the crypt."

"I see," nodded the salesman. "Would you be interested in a pair of burial plots then?" he asked.

"No. Her family owns several plots at another cemetery out in Lancaster, and she wanted to be laid to rest there," Kevin explained.

They spent another hour clarifying the details before Kevin left.

He knew that he was elevating the art of pettiness to an altogether unmatched level, but it satisfied some of the visceral anger that had seized him upon discovering Jessica's secret life. He almost laughed, thinking of how he was, ultimately and in an irrevocable way, getting in a last stab at his already dead wife.

Kevin had been assured that within two weeks, his wife's body would be cremated, and her ashes buried in the small, desert cemetery, at the northern end of Los Angeles County.

And lest she be remembered, or her final resting place easily found, he had cancelled his order for a bronze memorial plaque. Somehow having her final resting place marked with a plaque that said: "The most beautiful, loving wife a man ever had — taken from us too early," just didn't appeal to Kevin anymore.

After a late lunch together in the Marina, Francesca and Kevin were able to pop up and check the status of his condo. Then off to Santa Monica for a walk on the beach, and back to the hotel room for a little afternoon delight. Kevin was definitely recovering his equilibrium, as the scales of justice were balanced.

The staff at the hotel assumed that Kevin and Francesca were newly-weds, since in their experience that was the only explanation for two people who couldn't seem to keep their hands off of each other.

They lay there together in bed, in the afterglow, when Francesca got a malevolent look in her eye, accompanied by an evil grin.

"Shall I turn it back on?" she asked Kevin.

"Sure, why not? It should be interesting and may provide some entertainment," he added.

With that, Francesca reactivated her cell phone. There were thirty-four messages awaiting her. She turned on the speaker so they could both listen to them together.

"Where the hell are you?" was how the first one started.

"You goddamn whore, the minute I'm out of sight you and my best friend..." was about the tenth.

"Did you have to rub my face in it..." went the twentieth.

"Listen Francesca, give me a call and let's talk about this, I'm sure we can get past it..." at number twenty-eight had a certain pleading tone to it.

"Please, Francesca, please call me, I beg you. It was always you I loved. Jessica was just sex..." the final message leaving no doubt that Steve was discovering the unrelenting and brutal nature of karma.

A naked Francesca looked at Kevin in the bed next to her.

"Shall I call him back?"

Kevin grinned.

"It might be amusing," he suggested.

Steve was still one of Francesca's speed dial numbers. She didn't bother with the speaker, so Kevin could only hear her side of the conversation, but he suspected he would pretty much know what Steve was saying anyway.

"Hello, Steve! How ya doing?" she asked, her voice as joyful as her face was radiant.

"Me? Just laying around enjoying myself. No, I'm having a great time without you, Steve.

"Hmmm. The doorman wouldn't let you up to my apartment? No, I guess not. Not that it matters. I don't live there anymore. No, you don't need to know where I'm living now.

"Am I breaking off our engagement? Well, duh. What did you think I meant when I left the ring on top of the emails in the bed? Damn right I'm breaking off our engagement.

"Yes, leaving a trail of clothes up to the bedroom was intended to convey a message. I thought that it would be clear enough for even a dolt like you to understand.

"Oh you can't find Kevin either? Here, let me hand him the phone."

"Hey Steve. You were right about Francesca. She's a wonderful woman. Beautiful, intelligent, charming, witty, fun to be with. Sexy and passionate too. You were holding out on me, man.

"Where are we? We're in bed.

"Of course 'together'."

There was a pause while Steve shouted into the phone. Kevin moved it away from his head until the outburst passed.

"Steve, that's rather small minded of you, everything considered.

"No, I'm not angry about you and Jessica anymore, but I don't think that I am likely to forgive you anytime soon. For one thing, you were supposed to be my best friend. Instead, you proved that you're a complete douche-bag.

"Oh, I'm not living there anymore either. I've rented it out. I actually don't know where the new place is, but I will be sharing it with Francesca.

"The same to you bro!" Kevin ended the conversation laughing.

"I don't think Steve is happy," Francesca asserted.

"I'm totally desolate at the thought," replied Kevin, not looking or sounding the slightest bit desolated. With a sympathetic look, Francesca reached over and stroked the side of Kevin's face.

"Oh, poor baby!"

Francesca and Kevin both got new numbers for their cell phones.

********

Over the next several weeks, Kevin and Francesca began their life together, sharing her new condo in a downtown high-rise. He tried to get her to accept money for rent, but she refused to accept it — part of her notion of balancing the symmetry of the world. She explained that she wasn't paying rent, so why should he?

While Kevin returned to work, he was still regarded as 'in mourning' and not putting in the billable hours that had been typical of his work ethic before Jessica's demise.

Despite his presumed grief, he and Francesca had become a notable 'item' around town. They could be seen watching Laker's games in the season box Francesca's family had at the Staples Center or dining out at WP24, the Yardhouse, or sometimes old standbys like El Cholo's. They went dancing at the newest, most faddish clubs on Sunset, in Hollywood.

Francesca even had a 'house warming' party at the new condo, inviting her large circle of friends, acquaintances and hangers-on from the L.A. upper-crust scene.

A slightly drunken Steve tried to crash the party, but the doorman, assisted by the building's security guy, quickly quashed that notion.

********

"Do you mind if I change the subject? I have a question," Kevin asked, leaning over and nuzzling Francesca's neck.

"I'm an open book," she replied.

"What is the perfume you wear? Do you know I just about swoon every time I get a whiff of you. You always smell so fresh and delicious. It makes me want to be close and inhale the air around you. Whatever it is, it's just lovely."

"How intuitive, darling!" Francesca exclaimed with a laugh.

"What ever do you mean?" Kevin asked, now suspicious, knowing that like most men his intuition was not his strong point.

Francesca continued dressing, putting her pants and blouse back on as she spoke.

"It's called 'Lovely.' 'A fresh, light scent smelling of apple and musk' is how I recall it described. I used to wear a similar scent called 'Light Blue', but I changed recently. And, by the way, men don't swoon. But if you ever feel like buying me a gift..."

Kevin had finished dressing, and was folding up the ground cloth and blankets they'd used. They needed the blankets because even though the days were warm, the high desert could be cold after sunset. He shook the ground cloth to knock off the dirt that had been picked up from the newly turned earth.

"Around you, I can swoon," he claimed. "Why don't you get into the car. I need to take care of one more thing before we drive back to L.A."

That said, he turned back to the patch of dirt, and relieved himself, taking a long, leisurely pee. Finished, he shook his penis a couple of times, arranged himself, and zipped up his pants.

He looked down at the barren earth, still waiting for the sod that would cover it.

"Sweet dreams, Jessica. And what dreams may come, when freed, et cetera."

As Kevin's car passed the gates of the cemetery, he could feel Francesca looking at him. That had been freaking him out lately, as he realized that he didn't have to actually see Francesca to know what she was doing. He'd been a little mystified by the connection between them ever since he'd watched her come down the stairs at the lodge in South Dakota.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't want to do that again. It's not that I mind making love outdoors, but I swear that dirt was so hard and lumpy it left bruises on my ass. You don't want my rear end to be all mottled and ugly looking do you?"

Kevin sighed.

"That was a one-time thing. And next time we do it outside, I'll make sure to get one of those blow-up mattresses. Besides, your ass would never be ugly to me."

He could feel the smile on her face.

********

Kevin had mixed feelings about what he was doing.

Should he take Francesca out to one of the expensive and exclusive restaurants in L.A., or should he prepare dinner at home. The food gods seemed to push him towards cooking at home, when, as he was making his decision, his boxed cooking set was delivered to their condo. They might have been a gift from Jessica, but he liked using them, and was not going to throw them away out of spite.

Actually, his own self-serving opinion was that using the set to cook for Francesca was another way of thumbing his nose at Jessica, post mortem.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Francesca had been over to visit her family. Kevin had met them several times, but begged off on this occasion. That hadn't stopped Francesca's mother (who was still quite attractive, with a magnetic personality like her daughter's) from calling him to complain that he hadn't accompanied her daughter that afternoon.

Kevin had gone all out for dinner.

The menu was determined by what Kevin could find fresh at the market. He was looking for something light and healthy, yet interesting, and something that he would enjoy cooking.

It was the Halibut that inspired him. A Macadamia Nut Crusted Halibut would be the main dish, with Asparagus wrapped in phyllo dough and sprinkled with fresh grated parmesan cheese. A Spinach Strawberry salad made with sugar coated walnuts and a steamed Balsamic reduction with blueberry jam added to taste would provide an interesting flavor. Baked Alaska would be the perfect finale to the dinner. Kevin liked Baked Alaska because he could prepare it first, put it into the freezer, and bring it out at the last minute to flambé. And it wasn't nearly as difficult to make as most people thought.

As he worked on his culinary masterpiece, he mulled over his recent life.

He had never expected Jessica to die; on the other hand he'd never thought that she would have cheated either. He anticipated that when he showed Francesca the emails between Steve and Jessica, that she would break up with Steve. But that was the extent of what he expected.

That she would bewitch him at first sight and before the week was over, that they would be lovers, was completely beyond his wildest fantasies. Now, for a couple of months after first meeting Francesca, they were openly living in sin together, as his parents would say.

"Life is just one, big, cosmic mystery," he thought out loud. "Or maybe one immense and eternal practical joke. Or perhaps some things are just meant to happen."

Late in the afternoon, when Francesca arrived back at the condo, Kevin escorted her to the bedroom, past the kitchen, without letting her see his preparations. He was already dressed, including a long-sleeved shirt and tie -- the sort of thing he would normally wear if they were going out to one of the fancier restaurants.

"Dress for dinner tonight," he requested of Francesca.

"Why?" she asked, "Aren't we eating here? It smells heavenly."

"Humor me," he replied with a smile.

They looked into each other's eyes and an unspoken message passed.

"And stop reading my mind," Kevin complained, in a light hearted way.

She smiled at him, they kissed briefly, and she turned a pirouette, and disappeared into her walk-in closet.

Kevin was waiting for Francesca when she returned to their dining room, now dressed in the proverbial 'little black number' with a matching pair of heels. Of course, she had refreshed her perfume, and as she neared Kevin, she could see his nose twitch. He raised his arm to his forehead.

"I think I'm feeling faint!" he said, trying to make his voice sound weak.

He didn't faint. Instead, he smiled and offered his arm to Francesca, and walked her into the dining room, illuminated by candlelight and sat her at her place.

"Oh, my," she exclaimed, looking at the formal place setting. Her best silver, surrounding a beautiful set of China plates that she didn't recognize. She wasn't going to ask.

"I bought them from Neiman Marcus last week," Kevin said, without even looking at her. "They weren't Jessica's."

She wondered how he could do that, answering questions she hadn't asked out loud.

"Wine?" he asked.

"Certainly, good sir!" she replied, her smile now bringing out the dimples on either side of her mouth.

He poured them each a glass of a nice Pouilly-Fume Sauvignon Blanc, and lifted the covers from their plates.

Without a word, they lifted their glasses and touched them together in an unspoken toast to each other.

Though the entire meal, Kevin and Francesca talked, laughed, ate, but most of all, they looked at each other, both convinced that they had finally found the partner of their destiny. Their eyes spoke for them, communicating passion and desire, humor and comfort, warmth and tenderness.

Kevin had just bussed the dinner plates into the kitchen, when the doorbell rang.

Francesca was at least mildly surprised to find her parents, Reynard and Mercedes, at the door, dressed a little more formally than she would expect for a casual visit. Kisses were exchanged, and Francesca's look of curiosity compelled her mother to explain.

"Kevin asked us to come over for dessert."

"Ah!" Francesca sighed, slightly annoyed that Kevin had kept it from her. She wondered if this might also interfere with her plans for an early evening, followed by a long night in bed...

"So romantic!" Mercedes remarked, with a sly smile, as she was led into the candlelit dining room.

By then, Kevin had re-set the table for four. This time Kevin seated Mercedes, while Reynard assisted Francesca.

Kevin brought in the Baked Alaska's on a tray, and flamed them while Reynard, at Kevin's request, poured Champagne into the fluted crystal glasses. The process of burning off the alcohol from the dishes was dramatic in the low light of the dining room.

There was a general agreement that the dessert was superb, and the ladies were impressed by Kevin's culinary skills. They all knew that this was a prelude, but to what?

"Francesca, I have one final act of revenge to perform, but it will require your assistance."

Francesca looked completely taken aback.

"I thought... well, I thought we were done with that, after visiting your wife's..." she stammered.

"Just this one last thing," Kevin explained with a very serious look on his face, his audience mystified.

"And it could take a lifetime," he firmly stated.

He grinned as he dropped to one knee before her, her parents there to witness his heart-felt request.

"Francesca, I have been yours from the moment that you descended the staircase the first time that I saw you. I know that we've not known each other for a long time, and that it may be unseemly for a man so recently widowed as I to ask, but...

"Will you marry me? Will you be the mother of my children, my partner for the rest of our lives; my other half, my lover, my friend, the light of my life and soul?"

With that, he pulled a small box from his jacket pocket, and opened it to reveal a diamond ring set in white gold.

"Oh, Kevin!" Francesca quietly responded, "Of course I'll marry you. There is nothing in the world that I want more than to be your wife.

"But not as revenge," and she took Kevin's face in her hands and kissed him.

Kevin smiled at her as well, "No, not as revenge; that was a canard. Because I love you."

"Because we love each other. Kevin, I have to confess, that when I saw you from the top of the staircase, and our eyes met that first time, I was so drawn to you. I felt as if we were meant to be together, and everything from that moment until this has been fated."

Kevin asked for, and received Francesca's parent's blessings for the marriage, which they were vocally more than happy to give.

"I never did warm to Steven," Mercedes whispered to Kevin.

The happy couple kissed again, and seeing that they were no longer needed, her parents excused themselves to go home.

Once the door closed behind them and as they walked towards the elevator, Reynard took a sideways glance at his wife.

"Didn't I hear you tell Francesca this afternoon about seeing Kevin leaving the Tiffany store in Beverly Hills yesterday?"

"I suppose so," was his wife's cryptic reply.

"Ah. Well she seemed so surprised tonight," he cynically observed.

"I suppose so."

"And when do you start planning the wedding?" he asked, as he pushed the elevator button that would take them back to the garage level.

"We started a couple of weeks ago."

At that point he turned and stared, goggle-eyed at his wife.

"You and your daughter are both like your mother! A bunch of brujas!" he exclaimed.

"Bah," she responded, "We aren't witches; we just 'see' things. Not the same at all."

"What about Steven, then?"

"I warned her he wasn't the one. He was tall and good looking, but not right."

"And what do you see with Kevin," he demanded.

She smiled.

"Many grandchildren, a long happy marriage and a long happy life."

Since his wife seemed satisfied, as Reynard opened the door of their car for his wife, he was happy too.

Back in the apartment, Kevin and Francesca had stopped kissing in the dining room, and moved their activities to the bedroom.

They were both in the walk-in closet, hanging up their clothes.

"Kevin, reassure me. You aren't marrying me as an act of revenge?"

Kevin laughed.

"Of course not, Francesca. I was just teasing.

"It will be enough revenge for me to know that Steven will spend the rest of his life envying me, and regretting that the direct result of his affair with Jessica was you and I meeting each other and falling in love.

"You were expecting me to ask you to marry you tonight, weren't you?" he asked.

"Mia culpa. I was. My mother told me she saw you buying the ring yesterday at Tiffany's."

Kevin nodded — sometimes L.A. was a surprisingly small place for a huge city.

"Oh, by the way, regarding Steve — I hear he moved out of state, after he lost his job," Francesca said, repeating a tidbit of gossip she'd heard from her father. "You didn't have anything to do with his being fired, did you?"




Der Witwer (The Widower)



At the moment the happy couple was pulling down the bedspread, folding it at the foot of the bed, and pulling back the covers.

Kevin stood still for a moment, looking into space.

"When I discovered that Steve had been wooing you, and still carrying on an affair with my wife, I wondered how he found the time to manage it. I may have mentioned my observation to a couple of people.

"Somehow that information got to Steve's boss, and they did an audit of his activities and expense reports for the past year. They didn't actually fire him, from what I understand, they let him resign. It should look better on his resume."

"Enough of that," Francesca said, looking up at Kevin from the bed. "Turn out the lights and join me. I want to show you just how much I love you, my one and only!"

He looked down at her in her still repose, and he felt the words of the Poet reach him through the ether:

"And from her face there ever seems to come

a gentle spirt full of love which flies

into one's soul, and whispers simply: Sigh!"

Kevin turned off the lights and came to bed, thankful as he realized that in the end, regardless of how it had come about, all things considered he had magnificently traded up.