30 comments/ 39352 views/ 9 favorites Out of Focus Pt. 01 By: Flavian ---------------- This story has a very slow start. But, I believe that, once you make it to Parts 2, 3, and 4, you will find that it begins to gain sufficient speed. So, please hang in there ... Flavian ---------------- Chapter 1 Well; I had finally seen it. My grandfather's headstone was no different from any of the others--marble, simple, neatly aligned with others in its row; and even aligned with others in almost any direction I looked throughout the Fort Snelling National Cemetery, just outside of the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Except that the lines of the inscription on his headstone connected with my life and me personally, and the others did not. Andrew C. Blasington CW3, US Army Vietnam May 7 1937 Apr 5 1971 Purple Heart Silver Star Beloved Husband And Father Yeah, my grandfather had flown a helicopter gunship in Vietnam. Not ever being in the military myself, I later learned from some veterans that he would have been called a 'Snake Driver'--strange term, if you ask me. It was on his second tour there that he had caught the magic bullet that had somehow reached him through the barriers of his cockpit, including a supposedly armored seat. He had exited this life, according to what Gran told me, while his number two guy brought the Cobra gunship ('Snake') back to Pleiku with Granddad's body in the seat behind him--he didn't even know that his partner was already dead until they had landed and the medics showed up just as they got the canopy open, even before the rotors had stopped turning. Before Granddad had gone through the Army's Warrant Officer Candidate School--where he became a Warrant Officer Candidate, or WOC; and later became a trained Army Aviator at Fort Rucker in Alabama--he had served as an Enlisted Soldier in "The Old Guard" at Fort Meyer, Virginia, just outside of Washington, DC. The Third Infantry Regiment, or "The Old Guard," performs many duties in and around the nation's capital, including the very photogenic and ceremonial guarding of the Tomb of the Unknown at Arlington National Cemetery. As a tall, handsome young Soldier (I had seen his pictures in his dress blues), Granddad had served in the Caisson Platoon, participating in the ceremonial burials of the remains of many a returning young hero who had given the 'last full measure' from one of our nation's conflicts --or even an old hero who had simply passed away in due time well after his or her own conflict was well into the past. It was during one of these ceremonies that Granddad had spotted the daughter of one of the Arlington Ladies, and had immediately fallen for her; later looking her up and dating and then marrying her in 1957--making her my Gran. Back in 1948, Mrs. Gladys Vandenberg, wife of then Air Force Chief of Staff, General Hoyt Vandenberg, had noted the burial of a young Airman with no family present--it was too expensive in those days for many families throughout the country to travel all the way to Arlington, Virginia. She had vowed that, from that point on, no Airman would be buried without "someone" present besides the honor guard and the Chaplain. She had organized ladies from the Officers' Wives Club at nearby Bolling Air Force Base to form the Arlington Ladies group to ensure that, on a rotating basis, at least one of the ladies would see that no Airman was buried without "someone" to represent the absent family members. The Army wives began to do this in 1972 and the Navy wives joined the cause in 1985. Regardless of service affiliation, The Army's Old Guard had provided honor guards for service members buried at Arlington Cemetery for decades when Granddad was assigned there in the mid-to-late 1950s. Being from Minnesota himself, he had been proud to learn that The Old Guard traced some of its unit history to frontier units that had served at Fort Snelling, Minnesota, during the Black Hawk Wars of the 1830s. That was when he had decided that, when he finally died, he wanted his interment to be at Fort Snelling, near his boyhood home and his extended family, instead of at Arlington. His death, needless to say, happened earlier in his life than he or his family had anticipated; and Gran had grieved, had him buried there with honors according to his wishes, and had settled down back near her family in Maryland at the ripe old age of 33--never marrying again. My mom, who was just short of twelve when he died, had been born just two years after Gran had married Granddad, having been conceived during a brief leave he'd had in the fall of 1958, when he and Gran had arranged a 'hop' on an Air Force cargo plane and had flown to Hawaii for a week of passion in Waikiki. Mom had many stories of Granddad during her childhood and pictures that she had collected from Gran while growing up in Leonardtown, Maryland. Later, Mom had met Dad at the University of Maryland in College Park; married him; and settled into life--first as an Air Force wife, and then as the wife of a pilot with Delta Air Lines and living in Covington, Georgia, just outside of metropolitan Atlanta. My younger brother, Carl, and I were born and grew up there; me in 1979, and him in 1981. My name is Louis Chandler, by the way--Lou to my friends--and "Lou-Zer" to my ex-wife. **** Why am I here in Minnesota, you ask? Well, my job had brought me here--my new job, I should say. Even as the divorce papers had been served, my now ex-father had fired me quicker than a circus cannon. That way, he could bring the full pressure of his money and influence down on me with a top-notch legal team to hammer me on behalf of his daughter--his princess--the bitch. The speed with which my ex-father had gotten rid of me had not really surprised me. After all, he had become aware that I had begun to gain some insights into some of the devious methods that he was using in his business dealings--not that I would have had the guts to confront him or do anything with the information; but, numbers do not lie. Not only that, but he had had his IT guys come in on the day that I was fired so that they could wipe the hard drive on my computer; as well as my shared folder on the network server where I had begun storing evidence of his ... well ... let us simply call it his 'imaginative' ways of handling his responsibilities where the Internal Revenue Service, the Federal Trade Commission, and the Securities and Exchange Commission were concerned. My proof of his criminality and ethical lapses had disappeared from the company's network faster than my building and office keys and parking pass had disappeared from my personal possession. Thankfully, I had maintained a personal network of friends and professional connections in the area so that I could land another job near my home; a friend named Bill Gray had snatched me up and put me to work within a week of my being let go by my father's company. I would not be destitute, but I'd had to take an appreciable cut in income in order to start over with Bill's company. At least it was only about a fifteen-minute drive from where I had been working for well over seventeen years. As for my Minnesota trip, Bill, my new boss, had needed to stick someone on a plane to go and straighten out an account in St. Paul and I was the stuck-ee. Normally, one of the other accountants who work in my department would get that task, but Bill knew that I needed a fresh outlook on life in general. My divorce had been final for three months and I was still morose. After fifteen years of marriage--mostly a period of strife and turmoil--I was now a thirty-nine-year-old bachelor again. My ex-wife, Francine, along with her lover, had really taken me to the cleaners. She had gotten the house (where Asshole Baby was now shacked up with her openly), custody of our two girls (Gracie, 12, and Chelsea, 14), and a sizeable chunk of our joint finances in terms of lump sums and alimony. She and the asshole were also not planning to marry anytime soon; which meant my alimony payments kept coming to her until they did. During courtroom hearings involving visitation deliberations, I had discovered that my ex had been turning the girls against me for years. So, I was not surprised to find that my 'visitation rights' were minimal and just might become almost non-existent due to 'difficulties' with the timing of my visits--Bitch! I was now living in a small apartment in Sandy Springs, off Mount Vernon Road, on the north side of Atlanta, just outside the I-285 Perimeter. It wasn't quite a dump, but it was not luxurious either. I did not consider myself as 'living' in Sandy Springs; I only slept there. It seemed that, nowadays, I 'lived' at work; and work was much more enjoyable these days, although less lucrative, than it had been for over a decade before. And now my work had required me to travel to the Twin Cities; and I was taking a short break to see where Granddad was buried before returning to my hotel. I was flying out of MSP in the morning, but it was still early in the evening. So, I decided to get a drink before calling it a night. **** That is how I ended up meeting Mukhtaar Faruk Dhuhulow. I was just about to reach the bar located near my hotel--located using one of my phone apps--when I heard a commotion in the alley nearby. Now, I am not a brave soul at all; but I am normally curious about the world around me--sometimes to my detriment. But, this time, when I indulged my curiosity by stopping to glance into the alley from its entrance, I set events in motion that would have profound implications for my life. Three men were standing over and around the form of another man on the ground in their midst just a few feet into the alley. The man on the ground was attempting to rise when one of the men kicked him and said something in a language that I could not understand. Then another man, who seemed to have the air of being the one in charge of the others, said something in English. "You owe me nine thousand, Mookie (at least that's how it sounded to me), and I want it now." His English was clear, but with the trace of an accent that I could not place. Seeing one of the men suddenly brandish a knife in one hand, I reacted out of shock and fear without thinking. "Hey!" I yelled. They all looked at me as I stood at the end of the alley. I guess my shadow and the silhouette of my form in the fading daylight must have made them believe that I was bigger than I really am; or else the three assailants may have been unsure of how many other men might have been with me. In any event, the man who appeared to be in charge kicked the man on the ground once more in the side before leading the other two away at a slow run. Suddenly realizing what I had done, and the danger in which I had placed myself, I began to shake. I stayed rooted to where I was standing for a moment until I could get my breathing and heart rate under sufficient control to keep me from fainting or running away in stark terror. I guess it was the pitiful groan of the man lying before me that caused me to move out of the panic mode and into the help mode. "Are you okay?" I asked as I stepped closer to him, before realizing that had to be just about the stupidest question anyone can ask at a moment such as this. "I mean ... do you need an ambulance, or ..." "No!" the man said with emphasis. His voice was relatively strong, indicating that he was simply taking a moment to get himself together before rising. He was taking deep breaths and holding his side--the one that had received the kick--as he evidently performed a hasty self-assessment. Then he said, "Do not call anyone; please." His voice was relatively clear, with no trace of accent. In the glow of the light fixture at the back of one of the buildings framing the alley, I could see him now as I got closer. He was Black. I do not simply mean that he was African-American; he was really Black--as in African 'Black.' "I just need a moment," the man said as he rose now to one knee, took a couple of deep, testing breaths, and then extended one hand, obviously seeking for my assistance to him. As I pulled, the man stood and looked in the direction in which his assailants had run. Seeing that they were nowhere in sight, he turned to me and I saw what could be interpreted as a smile in the dim light. "Thank you, My Friend," he said. "You saved me from what would probably have been a terrible beating at their hands. I guess that is what I get for borrowing money from the MWA." I only found out later that he was referring to the Somali gang, Madhibaan with Attitude, who owned significant gang 'turf' in the Twin Cities area, and were opposed by a rival gang, the Somali Outlaws. I nodded and looked around, suspecting that, at any moment, other gangbangers of the same stripe as those I had seen attacking the man earlier would step out of the nearest shadows to get me. Seeing my unease, the man placed a hand on my elbow. "Now," he said, "We must leave this place. Come with." I was too keyed-up to have the inclination to respond to his statement by asking him, "Come with ... whom ... or what?" Midwesterners with whom I'd had business dealings during my adult life had often left me hanging with their proclivity to end a sentence with this phraseology. It left a Southerner, like me, with the feeling of leaning forward mentally, waiting for the rest of the sentence. I simply nodded and turned back to the entryway to the alley and access to the street ... and safety--I hoped. Moving my feet on autopilot at that point, I walked on toward the bar that had been my original destination with this man still gently holding my elbow. When he saw that I was turning in toward the doorway of a bar, he hesitated for a moment, and then continued inside with me, after a furtive glance in both directions along the sidewalk. I asked for CC and ginger at the bar, but the man with me simply waved his hand when the bartender looked his way. My companion shrugged and told me that he was Muslim--nominally, anyway--and did not drink alcohol. I threw my first drink down my throat and asked the bartender for another. While I was waiting for the second drink, I realized that my own bodily and emotional functions had returned to a sufficiently normal level in order to ask the man about what had been happening when I had intervened on his behalf. "Oh, I am behind on the payment of a loan that I had gotten from them," said Mookie, as he asked me to call him, after telling me his whole name and hearing me mangle it in my attempt to pronounce it. "Today, I discovered just how much ... or rather, how little ... patience they have when collecting on unpaid debts." He went on to give me a brief idea of who these gang members were and how they fit into the way of life here in the 'Little Somalia' section of Minneapolis' Cedar-Riverside neighborhoods. I did not say anything, as my second drink arrived and I took a sip. Mookie went on to give me a short, but thorough, description of life among the fifteen-to-twenty-thousand-some-odd Somali expatriates living in the Twin Cities area. Most of them had fled the civil war in the east African country in the early nineties, but some, like his family, had come in the early eighties. Mookie had U.S. citizenship by virtue of having been born here. Mookie told me a little more about his growing-up years in Minneapolis among the Somali ex-pat community and described his learning to survive independently of his family. He evidently had been able to support himself by a series of low-paying jobs--some of them not necessarily above-board--so he had never been truly destitute. But, the one time he had needed some money above his normal means, the MWA had turned out to be his only salvation--at least temporarily. From that point on, they were his nemesis--demanding usurious rates of return on his unpaid debt. "Speaking of unpaid debts," Mookie said at last, "I cannot repay you sufficiently for your assistance back in the alley." I simply waved my hand in his direction, indicating that it was nothing, really; and it had been just that--nothing; as I really had been frozen in place after calling out before thinking about the possible consequences. "But," he said, reaching with his right hand over toward his left wrist, "honor demands that I should repay you with something." He unclasped a small wrist chain with some sort of round decorative item on it and handed it to me. I took the object without thinking and it felt warm in my palm--from his own body heat, I imagined. The object was a simple gold chain in two parts, with an equally simple clasp and with what appeared to be a mounted stone in the middle, where the chains came together. As I gazed at it, the stone seemed to shimmer with a dark green glow. It was not faceted, but it was not exactly gemstone smooth either. "This is my gift to you, My Friend," Mookie said to me. I was still looking at the object and did not say anything as he continued. "This is a Nasiib stone. It is supposed to bring good fortune to its wearer. And I would like for you to have it as a small token of my appreciation." "Good fortune, huh?" I said with a small smile and a wry shake of my head. "You mean 'fortune' as in good luck or an actual fortune, as in money and other riches?" Mookie smiled, revealing his almost white, but slightly uneven teeth. "I really do not know for certain, but my father explained that I should rub it with a circular motion with my finger whenever I was in a highly emotional situation and allow the stone to take me to a 'place of peace,' as he called it." Mookie smiled and continued. "I am not sure what he meant by that, as I never experienced any changes in my fortune or my situation when I found myself rubbing it in bad situations. And, believe me; I have rubbed that stone frantically several times in my young life." He chuckled at this, and I could not help but smile. "Tell me," I said with a dubious look at Mookie's smile, "is this one of those mystic gifts that only really works if you present it to me with your dying breath?" Mookie laughed at that and said, "You have been reading too many Al Steiner stories, My Friend." When I gave him a blank look, he simply laughed again and said, "No, no; but it is all I have with me today that I can use as repayment to you for saving me, possibly from terrible harm. Will you accept it, along with my thanks?" I nodded and shook his hand, placing the chain in my pocket for the time being. We spoke for about another twenty minutes, simply being friendly as we both finally got ourselves fully under control from what had been a harrowing moment earlier in the evening. "I must go now, My Friend. I have a cousin who may be able to help me raise the cash that I need. Meanwhile, I will not burden you with any more of my problems," he said as he rose. He quickly shook my hand, and walked out a parting smile and a wave. I had thought only briefly of perhaps offering him a little cash from my own wallet, but then I realized that I only had a small amount there. I was ashamed of my situation, but was even more ashamed by the circumstances in my life that had left me in that situation in the first place. **** Ever since I was in middle school, I had been risk-averse and had tried my best to avoid confrontation--physical, emotional, or otherwise. The one time I had entered willingly into a fight during my first week in sixth grade, I'd had my ass handed to me by an eighth grader, who left me bleeding and bruised. That had basically established my mindset and my actions for the remainder of my time in Georgia's Newton County School District. I had remained virtually invisible during middle and high school. I even went on to maintain that aspect during my tenure at Emory University at Oxford, just outside of Covington; and later at the Goizueta Business School on the main campus of Emory University in Druid Hills, near Decatur. Out of Focus Pt. 01 This personal invisibility talent of mine was part of the reason that I did not date much in college, although I had gotten laid once before graduation. A friend and fellow student had lined me up with a girl who simply loved sex and saw no reason to deny a young male virgin the opportunity to lose his status as such--with her as the very willing partner. Since graduation, I had not been able to exercise a repeat performance with anyone before entering the work force. My first job after graduation had laid the foundation for my future career. I got a job in accounting with a small firm in Decatur and I had worked there for not quite two years when I met my future wife. Francine Thompson captured my attention from the first time I met her in the break room of our small firm. She had been hired as the PA of my boss, and I was somewhat smitten at first sight. Even hearing from some of the guys in the company weeks later that she was a gigantic prick-tease; and furtively from other guys indirectly in overheard conversations in the men's room that she was a sex fiend on dates with other guys they knew--I still maintained my mild infatuation with her. Francine, I learned, came from a fairly well-off upper-middle-class family in a rather affluent section of Stone Mountain. She had great physical beauty, as she was almost a mirror image of a young version of fashion model Stephanie Seymour--brunette, bountiful (where it counts), and extremely beautiful. As naïve and inexperienced as I was, I got the distinct impression that she had gotten the job here based on more than her degree in Business Management from Agnes Scott College. One would think that, with a bachelor's degree such as that, a woman with her social pedigree could find a position with more prestige than simply that of a PA in a small contract accounting and human resource management firm. It turns out that this supposition would be correct. It only took just over four months for the true agenda to reveal itself. It seems that Francine's 'Daddy,' J. Carter Thompson, president of a chemical and textile conglomerate--headquartered in Decatur, just adjacent to Atlanta--wanted to acquire our company to augment his business development efforts. And Francine had been his trusted agent to scout out our company's bona fides. When the smoke had cleared after the buy-out, I was left as one of the group of two-thirds of the original employees remaining after Daddy let the others go--counting them as 'dead weight.' The atmosphere in the accounting and business development offices of our part of Daddy's newly-expanded company had taken on a darker look and feel as well. One did not buck the system, as defined by the upper offices, and one did not openly speak ill of J. Carter Thompson or his princess, Francine. **** Mr. and Mrs. J. Carter Thompson "requested the presence" ... of me ... at their home--or so said the invitation in my jacket pocket. Of course, all the employees had one of these, and word was out that you failed to attend one of J. Carter Thompson's soirées on pain of dismemberment, or firing--or both. So, I dutifully showed up and walked the three blocks to the Thompson home, since there was no place to park nearby with the curbsides filled with the cars of those in attendance. Even though it was January, this was Georgia, and it was only in the fifties today, so the walk was not too uncomfortable from the weather standpoint. The party was in full swing as I walked in the front door and tried my best not to stand out. That tactic worked for a total of fifteen minutes. "You should know that what you are tryin' to do just will not work," said a very soft and feminine voice behind my left shoulder. I jumped a bit, as I was startled. I had been befriending a potted plant after having shaken the hands of J. Carter Thompson and his wife as they made the rounds. But I did not really want to mingle with this bunch, even though I knew a handful of them from work. So I had been sipping my drink and biding my time while standing just off the front hallway until I could gracefully depart without raising too much ire with my hosts. Turning to confront the challenging voice, I paused to gape open-mouthed at a true vision of loveliness. The young blonde woman standing there slightly behind me was smirking at me knowingly. She wore a pink high-low sweetheart chiffon cocktail dress that was perfect for a party on a mild winter day in Georgia; and it highlighted perfectly some very nice curves. In fact, the beaded band at the waist allowed the gathers flowing down from the built-in cups covering her magnificent breasts to form the outline of a heart shape--with her breasts as the heart's globes and her waist as the focal point--that would truly capture any man's eye ... and his imagination. "Y'all are a-gonna to be catching flies if you let your mouth hang open for much longer," she said with a glimmer in her eyes. I dutifully closed my mouth and I swear that someone standing ten feet away might have heard the click of my jaw closing. "What ... what do you mean--what won't work?" I asked as I began to feel the heat of my embarrassment reach my face. "Tryin' to hide out in this crowd," she said. "You ah just simply too tall and too nice-lookin' to be completely invisible." Now, I was really feeling embarrassed. This young goddess was saying that I was nice-looking? And the classy Southern drawl that dripped from her gorgeous lips was giving me electric thrills--that, along with her beautiful face and form. Thankfully, she continued speaking, so that I did not have to say anything more to cause me additional embarrassment. "I am Alicia Thompson, by the way," she said, "and I guess you must work for ma daddy." As she said this, she looked around furtively. "I was wonderin'," Alicia continued, "if y'all could slip over to the baa and sneak a drink over here faw me. Daddy does not want me to be seen publically drinking alcohol--what with me bein' under the age of twenty-one and all; but I am so fed up with all this party bullshit that I really need one." She gave me 'that' pleading look that all good-looking women learn how to use, starting when they are about ... oh ... six, when they want the nearest male to do something for them. "A Manhattan, please," she said now with a seductive smile. What could I do? Piss off her daddy, my big boss? Piss her off by refusing? I took the short-term survival route and went over to one of the bartenders hired for the party and asked for another CC and ginger; along with a Manhattan for Alicia. Returning to give Alicia her drink, I thought that would be the end of it. But she surprised me by linking her arm in mine and pulling me through the French doors to the patio out back. I could hear music coming from somewhere, but no one was dancing on the area that had been cleared for the purpose. Alicia pulled me aside and asked me about myself. I gave her the short, half-a-dollar version of my life to date. As she told me about herself, I learned that she was already eighteen and would be completing high school this year and that 'Daddy' had already mapped out her future for her. She would attend Agnes Scott, earn her degree, and become part of the Thompson business empire in the same manner that her older sister, Francine, had already done. I saw the distasteful expression grow on her face as she related this to me, along with her dislike for the way that her father was trying to dictate everything about her life to her. I could sympathize with her wanting to live her own life; but I was in no position to offer any suggestions--and I was not about to say anything negative about my boss or his ideas. After all, I was but a lowly peon in the Thompson business hierarchy, and I had only known Alicia personally for less than an hour. Also, I was still looking for an excuse to make my exit from this party. Never underestimate the visual power of a good-looking woman, though; and never underestimate, as well, the stupidity of a man within the effective range of her aura of beauty. I just had to open my big mouth. "I would say, 'Go for it, and take that international travel offer while it is still good," I said in answer to Alicia's request for an opinion. She had been explaining how a friend of hers was taking a break for part of the summer between high school and college to see the world. And she had offered to include Alicia in her plans to work on a project in Kenya as part of a non-governmental organization, or NGO. The two women would look after each other during the trip abroad, while gaining some life experiences and traveling a bit before having to face the so-called 'real world' expectations back home--college and maturity, courtship and marriage, work and parenthood, etc. Naturally, Alicia's parents were not in favor of this. Calamity fell on me just as soon as I got the words out of my mouth! "Alicia!" came an angry female voice from behind us. I turned to find Francine Thompson standing there, scowling at the two of us. "What do you think you are doing; airing our family's personal issues to a ... a ... stranger?" She looked at me with mild contempt as she scolded her younger sister. "Stranger?" I asked, suddenly incensed. Normally, I would have kept my mouth shut about any subject whatsoever in the presence of Francine Thompson. I guess, for a moment, the little bit of alcohol I had been imbibing took control of my tongue, temporarily resulting in my emergence from self-imposed world of obscure non-confrontation. "You and I have been working in the same business offices for the past year; and I am suddenly a stranger?" "Mr. Chandler," so she did know who I was. "I was referring to my little," she emphasized the word here, "sister's short acquaintance with you. As for your recommendation that she simply ignore Daddy's wishes and travel to the ass-end of the world; just who do you think you are to try to get her to defy the plans of her family--plans that were designed long ago--with her best interests in mind, I might add?" Then, I made another of the many bad decisions of my life--I caved! "I ... uh ... I guess you are right, Francine. I'm sorry that I stuck my nose in where it did not belong." I was in full kowtow mode now. Francine still glared, but not as much. Then she turned toward her younger sister with a superior look. As I glanced at Alicia, I saw her expression go from one of surprise at the audacity of her sister to one of disappointment that bordered on contempt for me. I was now lower than worm shit in her opinion, evidently. Then Francine just had to pour it on as she turned toward Alicia. "And don't think that I will not mention to Daddy that you are doing more underage drinking in public." When Alicia heard Francine say that, she immediately turned on me and vented her frustration at my sudden lack of backbone, as well as my lack of support for her. "He got it for me. I would not be surprised if he was just trying to ply me with alcohol for nefarious purposes." Suddenly, she had turned from friendly soon-to-be high-school graduate seeking advice from a slightly older man to an offended society belle, lashing out with scathing commentary toward a cad who was obviously trying to seduce her. I was goggle-eyed at this accusation, and could only turn beet-red and stammer, "I ... no, I ..." Francine got me out of my immediate predicament by saying, "Mr. Chandler, I would recommend that you make your parting respects to my parents and leave the premises as soon as possible." It was clear from her tone that this was an order rather than a suggestion. Cowardly I may be; stupid I am not. "I ... I will simply ... say goodbye to the hostess and see my way out," I stammered as I set my glass down on the patio table. Both Alicia and Francine glared at me. Francine nodded. Then Alicia snorted in disgust and shook her head before looking away from me. That was not the end of things with Alicia and me, however. **** Chapter 2 I received a summons from Mr. Thompson one day a couple of weeks after my less-than-glorious showing with his daughters at the party at his home. His PA escorted me into his office after the obligatory twenty-minute wait in the outer office. "Chandler," he said to me in a 'no-nonsense, I-really-don't-have-time-for-this' manner. "My wife and I are attending a gathering over at Scott next Tuesday." Everyone in the Decatur and Stone Mountain areas knew that his reference was to the prestigious college for young ladies, Agnes Scott College. "We have donated quite a lot to that place since Frankie attended there, and we expect Alicia to go there as well." I simply nodded without saying anything. Thompson continued. "Alicia will be attending with us. I want you to be her escort." He looked at me with a predatory expression that just dared me to object. "Uh ... Sir ... If I may ask; why am I being drafted for this? I mean, your daughter surely has young men more appropriate to her age range and station in life that ..." Thompson raised his palm to stop my babbling. "Look, Chandler," he said, showing mild impatience at my question, "regardless of her 'station,' as you call it, and regardless of all the money I spent to get her into and through private schooling for elementary, junior high, and high school, she still has not grasped the need for preparing to face up to her responsibilities as part of this family's enterprises. And a big part of that is her attendance at an 'appropriate,'" I could see quotation marks in the air as he spoke, "college or university. And, in this area, Scott is the place for young ladies." From what he was saying, and the way he was saying it, I just knew that he meant that Alicia was resisting 'his' plans for her. "And, as for those clowns she has been dating," he almost snorted as he shook his head in obvious disgust, "they are all just scrambling to get in her pants and into my wallet. They have no clue as to the path they need to take in life in order to be successful or to be suitable for her. I want her escorted on Tuesday by someone I can count on so that none of us will have to worry about personal situations interfering with the business of getting her into Scott next fall. "She can start to get serious about the opposite sex later," Thompson went on, "when she is in the proper season of life; and with the right kind of fellow." I could just see Thompson and his wife going through the social registers on a regular basis, in pursuit of the 'right kind of fellow' for their young daughter; regardless of her preferences. So that was it! I was a 'safe' date; even if I did not necessarily rate as the 'right kind of fellow.' Thompson would use me as a male version of arm-candy for his supposedly rising socialite daughter so that she would not appear to be unescorted at this big event. AND he would not have to worry about Alicia's having to focus on a horny suitor; thus allowing her to focus on schmoozing with the 'heavy breathers' at Agnes Scott College. I shook my head when Thompson was not looking, as I was under the impression that, since it was already the end of January, college acceptance letters typically were already out--if not on the way. My tiny brain did a quick calculation and came to the conclusion that Alicia had evidently not received an acceptance ... or else she had been placed on stand-by or conditional acceptance status; none of which would be pleasing to J. Carter Thompson. So, Daddy was now evidently putting on the full-court press; trying to put some monetary pressure on the movers and shakers of the alma mater of his older daughter at a social setting in order to finagle final, full-fledged, no-bullshit acceptance for his younger daughter at the prestigious college. I started to tell Mr. Thompson about the abysmal impression that I had made on his daughter--well, both of them, actually--but he had evidently made up his mind. Before I could object, he said, "My driver will pick you up from work here on Tuesday afternoon, take you to your place to change for the evening--please try to find a nice suit to wear before then--and deliver you to my residence. You will join my wife and me there--and Alicia, of course--and we will all travel together to the reception." He looked down at his computer and began to work on something. This was obviously a dismissal. I started to say something, but my usual cowardice in the face of authority took over and I simply turned and left his office quietly. As I returned to my quiet office, my mind was in turmoil. But what could I do? I had been drafted and I was stuck. But I could not help but smile to myself at the memory of the delightfully beautiful Alicia. Even though I was twenty-three and she was only eighteen, the age gulf did not seem to be too great, given her obvious maturity when I had spoken to her at the party at her house earlier in the month. This could prove interesting; or disastrous! **** The evening had turned out to be rather tolerable, once I had overcome my terror at meeting Alicia again--offset by her beauty, as she swirled into the front foyer in a dark green cocktail dress that molded to her; along with her perfect hair, makeup, and natural beauty. I was more enchanted than anxious after seeing her. I also had to overcome my trepidation at riding with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and Francine and her date in the limo from their house to the college. Francine Thompson's date that evening was a fellow named Steadman Carstairs, someone Francine had known for a years, dating him off and on. And a more obnoxiously stuck-up, self-centered, social-climbing, brown-nosing ... well, you get the picture ... individual I had never met in my life. He was babbling away with Mrs. Thompson about the beauty of her daughters, and how it was a reflection of her beauty; the enormity of Mr. Thompson's business success and how he was a titan of industry; blah-blah-blah-blah-blah ... Needless to say, I was simply a fly-speck on his radar and, thus, beneath his notice. Francine seemed to put up with him, though; so there must have been some reasonably good history with those two. It did not matter to me, though. I thought that Steadman Carstairs was simply a dick, with a capital 'D.' Nevertheless, I 'played nice' and conversed and smiled on cue at the appropriate moments. Fortified by a cocktail before dinner and wine during the meal, I began to relax and endure the situation with a modicum of grace. I even contributed to the conversation once in a while, and actually got in a couple of comments that turned out to be complimentary of Alicia's conversational points of the moment. This earned me at least a smile from her by the end of the meal. There was no entertainment but there was dancing, and there was some after-dinner mingling and socializing that took place. During that time, Alicia and I actually got to sit alone together for a while and get comfortable with each other. We even danced a bit, so that she could see that I knew what I was doing on the dance floor, and did not trample all over her feet, like some of her other dates--as she informed me, along with giving me a compliment on my dance skills. Before I finally left the Thompson home that evening, after it was all over, Alicia and I had actually gotten to the point of being pretty friendly. Unbelievably, Alicia asked me to the Spring Dance at her private high school in March--they did not have a 'prom' as such. I was surprised, but I accepted--more out of curiosity than anything else. I don't know if she informed her parents of this arrangement beforehand or not. As it was, she chose simply to have me pick her up at her residence and she said that she would deal with any consequences of her choice of dates with her parents later. Out of Focus Pt. 01 Needless to say, I was a bit nervous when I did pick up Alicia at her house. I did not want to anger her parents, after all. But, it turns out that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson were out for the weekend themselves; so I did not expect to have to confront their ire either when I picked up Alicia or when I dropped her off afterwards. As it turns out, we had a great time at her Spring Dance. Alicia told me partway through the evening that she had asked me for two reasons: it would twist her daddy's tail that she was dating one of his employees; and having an 'older guy' would impress the other girls at her school. Girls outnumbered the guys at her private high school by four to one, and the guys who attended there were not considered by most of the girls to be 'date material.' Before the evening was over, I had grown very comfortable in the presence of Alicia Thompson and she appeared to have more appreciation of me. When I say that, I mean that I had been told by some women my own age that I was reasonably good-looking; and, thanks to my mom's insistence that I participate in cotillion when I was a teen, I knew how to dance well and handle myself in social situations requiring the proper manners. This evening, all of that youthful preparation and effort was paying off by the number and intensity of smiles I was receiving from Alicia. Even the school's chaperones for the dance, who had frowned at my presence early in the evening, were smiling in appreciation at the gentlemanly manner in which I was escorting Alicia. I got called into Mr. Thompson's office when I got to work on Monday and was admonished that, while Alicia could have me as her escort for such things as her high school dance, I should definitely NOT consider myself an appropriate suitor for her affections or a long-term relationship. By this time, I was getting a bit angry at his presumption, but I held my tongue and simply nodded my understanding. Regardless of her father's warnings to her, Alicia arranged to see me more often after that. She would be waiting at my apartment in her convertible, and we would go out for dinner or a movie. Or, we would arrange to meet somewhere and share the better part of an evening. Alicia still complained about having missed out on the trip to Africa with her friend. But, now that she and I were seeing each other occasionally, these complaints diminished. Her attentions now tended to focus more on enjoying her last summer before college--with more of that time being spent with me. By the end of June, Alicia told me that she did not care what her parents thought about my so-called 'unsuitability' as a suitor. She was enjoying my company and she said that she would like to step up our relationship over the rest of the summer and into the fall, even after she started at Scott--yes, that acceptance letter had arrived in February with a personally penned note apologizing for its lateness from the Registrar himself. I was ecstatic! And Alicia and I became an 'item' from that point on, even if it was sort of on the QT. I did not say anything to anyone at work, and I don't know what Alicia had told her father, but we began to see each other seriously, including the enjoyment of sex together. Since we were both rather inexperienced, we began learning together over the rest of that summer and, when we got to a point in time that was within a few weeks of her starting college, we were both a lot more experienced at sex and a lot better at pleasing each other. We had been reading and experimenting a lot and discovered just how to expand our sexual horizons together, including oral and role-play; but we stayed away from anal at Alicia's insistence. I will admit as well that I was becoming more deeply attached emotionally to Alicia. But I knew that it would be best not to push things in a more permanent direction until she was closer to graduating from college in a few years. One of the stranger things that had been happening at work during the approach of the end of summer was the very sudden change in Francine's attitude toward me. At first, I noticed that she was actually speaking to me in personal situations, like meeting in the break room or passing in the hall, instead of only in business meetings. She was also now actually smiling at me more often, for some reason. Idiot that I was, I just assumed that Francine was becoming accustomed to my presence in the office, or else she and Alicia were talking about all my 'good' qualities--ha-ha. At any rate, Francine and I seemed to be getting along much better than we had earlier in our acquaintance, and before the situation had developed between her sister, Alicia, and me. Finally, Alicia had had enough of the ambiguity of the situation and she invited me to her family's home one Friday in August, ostensibly to let her father and mother know, right out in the open, that she had decided to be in a serious relationship with me. Before the meal, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson listened and questioned both Alicia and me--they also lectured us and tried to dissuade us from getting in too deeply, as it was still the season of education and preparation for Alicia. I found my own feelings to be a mixture of terror and confusion. Naturally, I was scared of pissing off my boss and his wife; but I was confused as well. During the entire exchange, it appeared that Mr. Thompson was being stern but unusually relenting. Mrs. Thompson was taking the lead from Mr. Thompson, but she obviously held quite a lot of what she was thinking and feeling inside; I got the feeling that she was being restrained, for some unknown reason, from really unloading on me and sending me on my way. Additionally, during the conversation with Alicia's parents, I noticed the other presence in the room. Francine was there as well, but she simply smiled at me with an intriguing expression. If I had been at a bar somewhere and had seen her giving me that look, I would have thought she was coming on to me. But, surely, she would not be doing that in her own house ... and to the apparent suitor of her younger sister; would she? The mild tension among us was broken just a bit by the call to dinner. After a nice meal prepared by the family's hired cook, everyone retired to the recreation room for drinks. Mr. Thompson might not have been totally pleased about Alicia's and my relationship, but he still did not voice any outright displeasure. Even though Mrs. Thompson appeared to tolerate me well enough by the end of the evening, I could still detect some bottled-up feelings that I could not recognize coming from her as well. Mr. Thompson, after a while, said that he needed to get to bed so he could be fresh for golf in the morning--sensitive fellow that he was. He appeared to give a deliberate and hard look in Francine's direction as he left the room. I noticed that Francine had simply sat through the evening after dinner in relative silence, with that same strange expression on her face I had seen earlier. She had mostly listened to her sister and other family members discuss Alicia's intentions for us as a couple while she sipped her drink or enjoyed her meal. Now Francine seemed to be enjoying an aperitif, which she had poured for all of us and handed out personally, since the staff had left for the evening. Alicia had invited me to stay in one of the guest rooms that Friday evening, for propriety's sake. I am not a heavy drinker and I did not think that I had drunk that much that evening. But, not very long after enjoying my aperitif, I had begun to feel groggy and unstable. I had needed assistance in getting up the stairs to my guest room, as I was overtaken by major unsteadiness, as if I were high or something. I do not know how I got into bed that night or who might have undressed me. I was definitely out of it. I was awakened in the early part of the morning by a shout of indignation. When I opened my eyes, and sat up, I saw Alicia standing in the doorway to my guest room with a look of combined rage and anguish. "You bastard! How could you?" Alicia shouted. I shook my head--mistake number one, as I had a roaring headache. But, still, I could make out that something just was not right. That something turned out to be the warmth and proximity of a naked female body in my bed--and the female was NOT Alicia. I pulled the covers back to get a better look. Francine smile up at me! Correction--a very naked Francine smiled up at me. And it might have been a pleasant smile, but I did not care at the moment. I was so stunned at this turn of events that I could only gape in silent, just-awakening, very-hung-over-for-some-reason, uncertainty. Mrs. J. Carter Thompson, with a modest robe covering her nightclothes, appeared next to Alicia and put an arm around her younger daughter as she glared at me and said, "Young Man; I expect you to be out of my house before my husband gets back from golf today. Otherwise, you may end up being physically harmed." With that, she stalked away, leading an obviously distraught Alicia with her down the hall. I finally got my voice and turned, dazed as I was, toward Francine. "Francine; what ... I mean ... how ... why are you here?" Francine, obviously unashamed by her nakedness, said, "Louis," which was a change; she had always referred to me as 'Chandler' before, "I simply could not resist being with you. I have had a crush on you for quite some time now. Knowing that you were right here in my own house and available, I simply had to take the chance." She smiled at me with an almost-believable expression of affection. "And you did not disappoint me last night either." Francine even did the demure look of a sexually satisfied woman well. I was not necessarily buying it, as I did not feel the after-sex twinges and itches that I had routinely been feeling in my groin area on the mornings after the times when Alicia and I had had sex. But that strange dizziness that I had had the night before--and my losing track of events after that--left me at the mercy of Francine and whatever was being laid at my feet as consequences for my actions--conscious or not. I finally said, "Francine, while I am gratified at what you are saying, I must tell you that I only have feelings for Alicia. And, thanks to you, I am going to have to try to mend things with her." Francine's eyebrows furrowed as she said, "And just how do you intend to do that ... My Love?" The way she said the last two words made me shiver--and not from excitement; there was, rather, a feeling of dread in those two words; 'My Love' as Francine had voiced them. "I ... I don't know ... but I simply have to tell her ..." Francine cut me off and hugged her beautiful naked body to mine. Then she said, "Well, you had better figure out a way to do so later and far from here ... My Love ... because, in her current state, and with the way my mother reacted a few moments ago, you need to get going. I would hate to think of what Daddy would do to you, given the way things are. I ... I am sorry, in a way, for causing you any distress, My Darling. I really want us to be together; and I will speak to Momma and Daddy and try to smooth things over ... for us. Maybe even ..." Then, Francine stopped speaking, rose up, and kissed me. Her full lips would have felt wonderful against mine a few months before. Now, they felt like more of a warning of an approaching storm. Why was this happening to me? Exactly WHAT was happening to me? But I realized that I was in an untenable situation right then. The coward in me was in full control. I dressed quickly and got the hell out of there. **** I lived in a perpetual state of terror for the next three weeks. It had taken me three days of calling in to work and feigning sickness before I actually got up the nerve to go into the office. When I did, I was very surprised that I was not called into Mr. Thompson's office to get my pink slip, my ass kicked, or both. Needless to say, I tried to contact Alicia, but all my calls went to voicemail. When I tried to call the house, the servants would say she was not available and Mrs. Thompson simply hung up the phone on me. Email was a waste of time as well; as Alicia did not answer any of the ones I sent--trying to explain that I had no memory of any intimate activities with her sister, and that I still loved only Alicia. "Louis," said the voice that startled me at my work station one morning. Francine had sneaked up on me in my office near the three-week anniversary of the night of my personal train wreck. Quaking internally, I swiveled my chair around to face her. She had tried to talk to me in passing since that awful morning, but I had been able to avoid being in private with her, and she certainly did not want to speak of our situation with other co-workers around to hear. She had written me two snail mail letters, but I had been too intimidated by all that was happening with her to open them and read them. Now, for some reason, Francine was absolutely glowing today. She was so beautiful; and her smile seemed to light up the room. Even with that, I still felt darkness grip my heart because of the situation that had developed around me as a result of my relationship to the girls in the Thompson family. "What is it, Francine?" I finally asked. "Sweetheart," hearing that term of endearment should have thrilled me; but it only intrigued me--and made me wary; "I have some news that I wanted to share with you, as the first one to hear. It's important ... for us." Francine's smile slipped a bit as she looked around to see if anyone in the nearby office spaces could hear us. Then she said the two words that would have profound impact on me for the next decade or more. "I'm late!" I must have looked confused. I mean; it was the middle of the morning and we were both here at work, so we were both here on time. What did she mean by saying that she was late? "What do you mean you are late, Francine?" I asked at last. Francine gave me a demure downcast smile and said, softly, "My period." Time stood still as I attempted to register this second set of two-word blows to my life. Maybe I should have been just a tad more gallant, but I just had to say it. "You mean ... you ... me ... us ..." Francine looked up at me with a grin tinged with condescension, as if she were speaking to a small child. "Of course ... you ... me ... us!" She moved closer to me inside my office, placing a hand on my chest, and invading my limited space with her presence and her perfume and her beauty and ... Oh, God! What a mess! "I am going to have to tell some other people soon. I took the home pregnancy test last night and it confirms it. We will need to tell Momma and Daddy soon, so that we can prepare for the next step." Francine had said all of this with a calm tone; quite different from what I would have expected from what folks a generation before mine would have termed, 'a girl in trouble.' "Next step ... what ...?" I was still having trouble processing all of this; and what about Alicia? "Yes, the next step ... My Love," Francine said, although there did not appear to be the heartfelt feeling behind her term of endearment that one would expect. "You are not going to leave a girl in the lurch, are you? I mean; what kind of man could to that to the woman carrying ... his child?" She suddenly had what appeared to be an uncertain and fretful look about her. My father had raised me to be responsible. Even if he had not had any luck trying to get me to be more assertive and to face confrontation confidently, rather than avoiding it, he had instilled in me a sense of what a man had to do to make things right when it came to something like this. "When do you want to tell them? I ... I can come by your place any evening this week. I mean ..." I let what I was saying trail off, waiting for Francine's input. "We can tell Daddy this afternoon in his office. That way, he can vent and get his feelings out of the way before we confront Momma." She had this all figured out. And she knew her parents better than I did. I guess she figured she could wrap her father around her finger, regardless of the strange circumstances. Then she could co-opt him so that he would at least not add to the sure condemnation that she anticipated from her mother. Needless to say, I got my ass reamed that afternoon in Mr. Thompson's office, as did Francine; but he was especially scathing toward me--I was not his princess, after all. I was the cad who had gotten said princess into the situation known colloquially as the 'family way.' Nevertheless, for some reason known only to God and Mr. Thompson, he did not simply fire me. Oddly, at the end of the workday, I was still employed and had not had any of my body parts removed. Given the circumstances, I would have thought that Mr. Thompson would have been on a major tear. But he was more reserved than I thought I would be, if I were the one in his shoes. That evening, still somewhat surprised at the overall turn of events, I got hit with stage two of the family acrimony--her mom's blast was positively venomous. Mrs. Thompson basically accused me of being sixteen different kinds, colors, shades, and textures of motherfucker--although she never swore nor used anything close to such street slang during her entire tirade; but that was the message she wished for me to internalize. Mr. Thompson, again, surprisingly, simply stood by and let his wife cut into me. Alicia was nowhere around. Francine, bless her little heart, stood by me and held my hand during the whole tirade. After everyone had had a say that evening, Mrs. Thompson finally looked at me and, with venom dripping from every word, asked, "And what do you plan to do now, Young Man?" I looked briefly at each of Francine's parents, and then at Francine, and told them what I planned to do. The save-the-date cards for Francine's and my wedding went out in the mail before the end of that week. **** "Passengers for Delta Air Lines flight 1991 with non-stop service to Atlanta--we are boarding now at Gate G2. Anyone needing assistance or traveling with small children ..." The voice of the Delta gate agent in Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport brought my thoughts back from the abyss of my miserable past and into the present. This was the early morning flight out of MSP, and it would actually get me back into Atlanta in time to catch a late breakfast at one of the places on Virginia Avenue. Folks in Minneapolis or St. Paul wouldn't know what 'grits' was if a spoonful of it hit them in the face. I stowed my laptop in the overhead compartment, having checked my one bag at check-in time. I had the latest W.E.B. Griffin book loaded on my Kindle, but I was now checking my Smartphone for any email or text messages before the flight attendant could ask me to shut it down for takeoff. Finishing up, I put my phone in 'Airplane' mode and leaned back against the headrest and pondered the miserable sack of shit that was my life now. It had been bad enough before I had met Francine Thompson. Then, I had had a brief glimpse of happiness with her sister, Alicia; only to have that glimpse snuffed out by the strange turn of events that had left me preparing to marry her sister ... **** "What do you mean--pre-nup?" I asked, confusion obvious in my expression. Oh, yeah; I was still as naïve as they come back then. We were a week out from the date of the wedding. I had been summoned to Mr. Thompson's office to meet with Thompson himself, Francine, and Thompson's lawyer, a man with a very nice suit and a mouth full of very white teeth. I would only discover later just how sharp that shark's teeth actually were. I was so overwhelmed by the fast pace of recent events and the powerful presence of Mr. Thompson and his lawyer that I caved and signed where they pointed. Francine also signed where designated and then sat back. She and her father shared a rather satisfied smile between them. Out of Focus Pt. 01 "I will have this registered at the DeKalb County courthouse this very afternoon," declared the lawyer, as if it were simply business as usual. I guess, for him, it really was. I would only find out years later, during the divorce, that the pre-nup was entirely one-sided. It turned out that provisions concerning penalties in any divorce proceedings that might be related to infidelity really only applied to me! Any infidelity incidents that might be associated with Francine were basically covered in the pre-nup as if it were a 'Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free' card. I was basically screwed! And it turned out that Francine's infidelity had not only started before we had formally sent out the wedding invitations, as I found out many years later in conversations with acquaintances--she had actually mentioned her escapades at my expense to some of her friends. She had even allegedly let herself get caught up in a frenzy of suck-and-fuck antics at her bachelorette party, along with some of her friends from school. Her mother did not attend that party, and I heard only later that her sister, Alicia, had reluctantly attended, but had left early when things had only started to get out of hand with some of Francine's friends. My own bachelor party had consisted of my brother and best man, Carl, taking me out for drinks and fun, along with a couple of my few male friends. We had hit a couple of the strip clubs for which Atlanta is infamous--to the extent that, at one point, the NBA had had to establish an "Atlanta Rule" for the visiting teams, along with expectations of the players' maintaining some semblance of above-board actions NOT overtly involving the strip clubs in Atlanta when the they came to town. We had stayed relatively tame, though. Carl had bought a lap dance for me from one stripper, but she was about fifteen years older than I was, and there were no untoward or lascivious activities later, like a one-on-one visit to the VIP room or anything like that--like I said, relatively tame. None of us had even got stinking drunk, although we were definitely feeling good by the end of the evening--if a little tired. Rehearsals, rehearsal dinner, wedding, and reception were all top-of-the-line. My dad, a pilot for Delta, could afford a reasonably good rehearsal dinner, and did so--at a nice restaurant in Decatur. The Thompsons threw a gala event for the reception following the wedding at Druid Hills Country Club. It was at that reception that I noticed that Steadman Carstairs was back in town for the event. I had heard around town and in the offices that he had had to break things off with Francine well before she and I had become an item. He had gone north to get his MBA at Harvard and would be studying in Cambridge for almost the next year or so. Evidently, he had already met and was pretty involved with a Wellesley girl. Francine, while making the appropriate rounds with me, and welcoming everyone, nevertheless appeared to be paying special attention to Steadman Carstairs. I thought, at the time, that it was simply sentiment left over from their former relationship. Many years later, I would discover that I should have paid closer attention to Francine's 'special' attentions to Carstairs and those 'special' attentions that he paid to her. Our honeymoon, paid for by J. Carter Thompson, found us having an enjoyable week in Grand Cayman. Intimacy between Francine and me seemed to deepen, and I began to believe that, despite the gynecological imperatives of the timing of our nuptials, we were actually developing love for each other. Upon our return, we settled into the condominium that Francine and I had purchased and set up as our home together in Decatur, only a few miles from her childhood home in Stone Mountain. **** The plane from Minneapolis lifted off smoothly while the video screening of the safety information--that was no longer demonstrated these days by the live flight attendants--finished on the screens that extended from the ceiling above the center aisle. The head flight attendant got on the intercom and announced that cabin service would begin once we were at a suitable altitude and the captain had turned off the 'Fasten Seat Belts' sign. Then she said, "Our estimated flight time to Atlanta is two hours and forty-two minutes. Current temperatures in Atlanta ..." I simply tuned her out at that point. **** Out of Focus Pt. 02 ---------------- It helps to get a better picture of the events of the story if one were to read Part 1 before continuing here. Lou has lost the one true love in his life, has led a hum-drum existence, and has been trapped in an all-but loveless marriage for years now. After he is framed, fired, divorced, and all-but forgotten, he seeks a new start. Little does he realize how a chance encounter in Minneapolis would provide that new--if unusual--start for him in life. Read on ... Flavian ---------------- Chapter 3 Chelsea Pamela Chandler was born to Francine and me just short of seven months following the wedding. I was thrilled to be a father, but I was surprised that Francine did not appear to be overjoyed to be a mother. She assured me, after I had noticed it enough to mention it, that it was probably just her hormones still being out of whack; coupled with a possible touch of post-partum depression. I bought this explanation and we settled deeper into our little domestic bubble--as your typical young upwardly-mobile parents in the modern world. I went out daily into the world to serve as the family's bread-winner and Francine remained at home to be the nurturer. NOT! Francine hired a nanny without consulting me. When I asked about the strange woman I had seen leaving the condo as I was getting in from work one day, Francine simply passed it off as a done deal. Given Francine's social position and her professional ambitions, she simply could not let the presence of a child in our midst hold her back. Francine went back to work not two months after Chelsea was born. Although we both worked for her father, Francine insisted that she drive her own car to work so that she would not be perceived as having lost any of her independence simply because she had become a wife and mother. Business 'demanded' her presence, she explained, and her father was counting on her. Meanwhile, Alicia rarely entered the picture whenever I was around. It seemed that every time there was a gathering at the Thompson household where I might be in attendance with Francine, Alicia also seemed to have an appointment elsewhere. I still had feelings for my wife's younger sister, but my sense of duty to my wife and my obligations toward our marriage and our new family had already begun to outweigh those feelings. Alicia's absence from things, primarily due to her college schedule--yes, at Scott--did not seem to faze Francine in the least. And, even when she was around, Alicia had nothing but frostiness--and even outright hostility--toward me, toward her parents, and even toward Francine. No; I was definitely not going to be 'Friended' on Alicia's Facebook page. All marriages finally settle into a routine and young couples establish the working arrangements and the house rules that work best for establishing domestic tranquility. That was as true for Francine and me as for any other couple. Except ... The working arrangements and house rules for our family turned out to be whatever Francine wanted them to be. In order to maintain 'domestic tranquility' in our household, I found that I simply needed to go along with whatever Francine wanted. Oh, once in a while, I could get my way in something innocuous. But, by and large, how often and where we went out, who we had as our circle of friends, and how we managed 'our' finances were all determined by my loving wife. I simply wanted peace in the arrangement, so, risk-averse as I was, and with my finely-honed tendency to avoid conflict, I went along with Francine's wishes most of the time. It was evidently her wish to avoid further pregnancy for the time being as well, since our times of intimacy were reduced to roughly once a week within the first year; and then down only to about once every two weeks after that. Francine did not appear to be very adventurous sexually, as she was only in favor of fucking in the time-honored missionary position. As for oral sex, in either direction; her on me or me on her--as they say in those shows and movies set in New York City; Fuggeddaboutit! And I was forced to use condoms whenever we fucked. Francine claimed that her body could not take the chemicals involved with implants or the pill. So, you can see that sex was not very exciting--at least for me. I found out much later, though, that Francine was definitely getting her jollies when it came to sex--and pretty often at that--just not with me. About a year-and-a-half after our wedding, I spotted Steadman Carstairs walking through the offices at work. When I asked Francine about it, she simply said that Carstairs had finished his MBA at Harvard and had found a position with a Boston-based firm. But, evidently, he would be taking care of the southeastern region clients for his company, and would be visiting almost every other month. Wasn't that nice? Yeah, sure. What could I say; that I simply did not care for the smarmy bastard? Not on your life; I was not about to start a confrontation of any sort over this; even if it meant that I had to put up with what appeared to be Carstairs' somewhat inappropriate closeness to my wife. Almost exactly thirty-one months from the birth of Chelsea, little Grace Anne Chandler made her debut onto the world stage. Francine had been pissed at being pregnant for a second time in her life and blaming me for using poor-quality condoms, but she appeared to adapt with just as much motherly love toward Gracie as she had shown to Chelsea--more than enough in Francine's opinion; nowhere NEAR enough in my own humble opinion. I gave both of my girls all the attention and love that I could muster, and they seemed to gravitate toward me as they grew. And, while they did not appear overly tight with their mother, they still had the childlike love of both parents that is only natural. By the time that our girls were both in elementary school, a certain dullness had entered into our marriage. I could not put my finger on it, but it was there, nonetheless. **** The sudden quiver through the Atlanta-bound plane startled me out of the doze that had overtaken me. I looked around and saw that the refreshment wagon had passed beyond my seat and I had missed out on my opportunity at having a soda and some Biscotti. The two flight attendants in coach, where I was sitting, were struggling with the service cart, as it had tipped and was leaning against the seats on the ... what is the right side; port--no ... starboard side. The coffee pot had tipped on one gentleman, who was shouting in pain from the hot liquid. Once the service cart had been righted, the nearer of the two attendants attempted to help the man wipe up some of the hot liquid with a handful of the cocktail napkins. I heard a swish and looked forward to see that the First Class flight attendant had whisked the divider curtain aside. She strode purposefully toward the other two flight attendants manning the service cart and whispered to them in a low voice, but with a sense of urgency that could not help but alarm those who witnessed it. Rushing back forward, with the other two flight attendants and the service cart now following, although at a slower rate, I could see the First Class flight attendant reach for the intercom phone. "Ladies and Gentlemen," I heard her begin a bit breathlessly--although she had plastered a smile on her face as she turned around to face the passengers, "I apologize for the inconvenience, but we seem to have encountered a bit of turbulence. As a result, we have decided to curtail the beverage service. Depending on the flying conditions, and the time we have before arrival, we will await instructions from the flight deck before resuming ..." Another violent shake hit the plane, causing that rollercoaster feeling in the gut. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking," came a male voice over the cabin speakers--and the earpieces of those who were still listening to music, news, or comedy over the plane's sound system. "We are encountering a rough patch here. If you are not there already, I ask that you quickly return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. Please remain seated with your seat belt securely fastened until we have attained more peaceful conditions; at which time, I will see about turning off the 'Fasten Seat Belts' signs." The voice of authority and decisive action seemed to have a calming effect of all of us. I still was not entirely comforted, and I pulled my seat belt just a bit tighter and leaned back. **** When the economy tanked, my job became a bit more exciting; if you want to call busting my ass 'more exciting.' This means that I had to work harder to keep the numbers on track for the clients in my portfolio. The slightest movements by the markets could cause major trouble, so I had to be on top of things. And I had to work harder and for longer hours; and I did stay on top of things. In business, anyway ... With respect to my marriage, I had no idea that I was not only NOT on top of things. I was not even in the middle; and I was actually pretty near the bottom of the heap--enough stacking metaphors; you get the imagery here by now, I'm sure Francine was still working for Daddy here at the company, supposedly in Marketing, but I never was able to get a good handle on what she did exactly. She would shut me down and evade every time I tried to show an interest, by taking advantage of my mild nature; thus, keeping me in 'my place.' Even though I was not sure of the extent of her duties, I figured they must be important to the success of the Thompson business empire. After all, she was now traveling more often; and on short notice sometimes. And the trips must have been physically and mentally demanding on her, as she would not be in the mood for any form of intimacy with me for a couple of days following her return; and, even when we were physically intimate, she did not seem to be 'into it.' And when she was not traveling, Francine was going out more often, supposedly with 'the girls from work.' Naïve I may be, but I could tell that these nights out involved more than simply letting off steam with 'the girls.' But, even if she was cheating on me, she was at least not rubbing it in my face. And I was too whipped to confront her. I did not want to end up in a divorce, with its repercussions: sporadic contact with my children, destitution on the financial front, and ... worst of all ... no pussy. Nevertheless, that is exactly what happened. **** The economy had been slower to recover than projected, and I kept slaving away in my attempts to hold on to my position within the company and keep the boss happy; while still trying to be a good and faithful husband and father. I did not realize just how hopeless my situation was until my father called me into his office one day. When I arrived, I was surprised to find not only Mr. Thompson, but also my wife--his daughter, Francine--along with the lawyer whom I had met right before my wedding and another person. This other person was in her late twenties, was dressed in a fashion style that screamed 'Early Target,' and she was actually chewing gum as she stood noticeably to the side of the other three. You can tell from the stereotype description exactly who she was, I am sure. Yep, right out of the Process Server casting call ... "Mr. Louis Chandler?" she stepped forward and asked, as the others smirked and stood silently. "Uh ... yeah." Brilliant response ... really seasoned with experience. Just the kind of thing a junior executive in a thriving business would say at a time like this, right? A man's man kind of statement. "Mr. Chandler, you have been served," she said as she placed a large sealed envelope in my hand. I did not say anything at all. I was still confused. I simply stared at the packet in my hand. I was mildly startled by the flash near me. Looking up, I saw that she had taken my picture with her digital camera; I am sure that it included the designer clock on Thompson's wall behind me to help support the date-time stamp on the picture she had taken of my being served. As the process server departed, I became aware of Francine sniffing and turned to her in my shock at the rapidly unfolding events; and in curiosity at what sounded like her crying. "Louis," she said softly, not looking at me. "How could you?" Needless to say, I had no clue about any of this, especially about that comment. Well, Mr. Shark Teeth made sure to clear that up in a hurry. "Mr. Chandler," Thompson's lawyer declared, "I am in possession of a deposition by one Joan Hartmann--who was an employee within a department over which you have hiring and firing and promotion influence--claiming that you coerced her into having sex on more than one occasion in the past eighteen months." He waved a piece of paper that had all the hallmarks of being official. "You, Sir," the lawyer continued, "are not only guilty of adultery against this ... innocent young woman." With that he pointed at Francine, who was busily pressing a tissue against one eye, evidently wiping a tear. "You are also in violation of the pre-nuptial agreement that you signed before entering into your union with Francine Thompson. "And, I might add," I could see Thompson looking at me with an expression that did not so much show anger, but satisfaction, "you are in violation of company policy against inappropriate personal relationships between senior and subordinate employees." He leaned toward me and pulled off his glasses as he made his next pronouncement. "And you should simply be glad that Mr. Thompson, here, is not going to press for your prosecution under state or federal labor law infractions." I was numb. I had no clue who anyone named Joan Hartmann might be. I had no idea why this was happening to me ... and why now? But, true to my nature, I simply shrank into myself and remained silent. "You have thirty minutes to clear out your desk and office of any personal belongings. Needless to say, you may not log into the computer network from this point forward, as your network access has been revoked. One of these two gentlemen behind you will take your keys and the swipe card for the parking garage." Thompson was on a roll. "And, you bastard," Francine cut in. "Your things have been packed and stacked by the front door of the condo. I have changed the locks, so you need to come by when I am there this evening, but before eight p.m." I finally found my voice. "The girls ...?" "They are at Mother's for the next few days," Francine interrupted me. "I have also filed asking for a restraining order to keep you away from us, since I am afraid that your previous indications of a violent nature might endanger me and my children." I had finally had enough. The mouse roared, "What do you mean 'violent nature,' Francine?" I was now shouting, probably for the first time in over a decade, "I have never raised my voice--much less my hand--in anger either toward you or my girls!" At this point, Mr. Thompson chimed in with a thin smile, "See, Jim?" He looked over at his lawyer and continued, "If you need a witness as to his problem with anger issues, all you have to do is call me to the stand during the hearing." I knew now that I had been cornered by professionals. I was shocked, angry, disappointed, and totally out of my depth. I felt a hand on my elbow, and noticed the two guys from security there to escort me to my office. By that evening, I was driving back out I-20 toward my parents' place. My car was packed with the box of stuff I had removed from the office, along with about eight large trash bags with my clothing, toiletries, and a few other things from the condo that I was now no longer sharing with my 'loving family.' I was still smarting from the way I had been treated by my wife and her father, along with their predatory lawyer. I might have been confused about the claim of my so-called harassment by this Joan Hartmann woman, but I was finally really pissed--probably for the first time in my adult life. I had been set up! It was just so obvious to me. As I drove, and tried to avoid the semi trucks and other cars headed out toward--and beyond--the Perimeter highway around Atlanta, I stewed over what had happened. They had gotten some poor low-level employee to lie--probably intimidated her with a threat to her job or something else that affected her personally--so that I could be fired. The 'adultery' affidavit was framed in just such a way as to cause the pre-nup to kick in at the same time as the divorce filing was taking place. The only part I could not understand was the frame-up over my so-called anger issues, causing the restraining order. I blew out a breath and shook my head. I could only surmise that Francine was using this opportunity during my 'lock-out' to turn my girls against me. Well, I would fight like crazy to prevent that ... somehow. **** Two weeks later, I still had not had any contact with my girls. Of 'our' friends, I could only count on a couple of them who weren't actually just Francine's friends--all of whom had cut me off as well, refusing even to speak to me or return my calls. One or two of them even told me that they should arrange to have me beaten for the way I had cheated on 'Poor Francine.' Well; so much for a fair hearing from any of them! One of the few friends I could count on was Ted Stafford. One evening, over drinks, he let me in on a little of what was going on. "Lou," Ted started to tell me after I had been badgering him for information for about thirty minutes, "I don't really know what to tell you." "How about the truth, Ted?" I asked him. "Look, I haven't heard a thing; and I miss my girls like no one's business!" Ted got really uncomfortable at that comment. Then, evidently coming to a decision, he took a sip of his JB, put the glass down, and looked at me. "Okay," Ted began, "but you ain't a-gonna like hearin' it." I frowned slightly and nodded for him to continue. "Well," Ted told me, "You asked for it, so here goes ..." And, with that, my world continued to crumble. Francine had not only moved me out; she had moved my replacement in. Wow! It had not even taken her a week before she had moved her new man in with her ... and my girls! You got it one, I am sure. It was Steadman Carstairs. That asshole, Carstairs, was finally divorced from his wife now due to his own infidelity. He had left her back in Massachusetts with their child and had moved back to Decatur; and back into the residence--and, evidently, back between the legs--of my soon-to-be ex-wife, Francine. From what Ted could gather, Carstairs and Francine had never let go of their feelings for each other over the years. Carstairs had only broken it off originally with Francine when I had evidently gotten her pregnant at the same time that he was beginning the Harvard graduate program. And, after he had moved to Cambridge, he had eventually gotten some girl from Wellesley pregnant and ended up having to marry her. The girl's father was a very well-off guy who had worked his way from being a simple Irish Southie in Boston to the head of quite a successful business empire in the Northeast--but he still maintained his contacts with the Irish gangs in his old stomping grounds. Thus, Steadman Carstairs had found himself facing the northern equivalent of a shotgun wedding, or a thorough beating ... or both. Now, though, Carstairs was divorced from his own wife, and was living in what should have been MY house; sleeping with MY wife; and being around MY children. And that sort of opened my eyes as to a possible explanation about the timing in all of this. When Francine had first gotten pregnant, she had wanted to be with Carstairs. But he was not available, since he had already moved to Cambridge and had become involved with a girl up there. Mr. Thompson could not have his princess left as an unwed mother, so the Thompson family needed a patsy. They had not liked the idea of my sniffing around Alicia, but they could not simply shut off the feelings there; thus, Francine latches onto me with a sexual splash that pushes Alicia away for good. Out of Focus Pt. 02 But, why keep me around for so long after using me to 'solve' Francine's pregnancy problem? Love? Shit! Control? Probably. After all, Thompson had known for a while now that I was collecting information on him. The second half of the old adage, "...And keep your enemies closer" came to mind. Why hit me now? Obviously, now, Carstairs was available for Francine. Thompson no longer needed me, since his IT guys had destroyed my evidence against him and I no longer had access to it. I was now expendable. Shit! I vented my frustration at all of this to Ted. Ted now looked very uncomfortable. At my urging, he continued. "Lou, you ain't gonna like this either, but I heard through some of Francine's other so-called friends that she wants her girls now to call Steadman Carstairs 'Daddy.'" Before I could explode, he continued. "Francine has even been saying to some of her friends that, if it weren't for the potency of her 'main man's' sperm, she would not even have her two girls. Now, don't shoot the messenger, Dude." Ted held up his hands as he saw me rise from the barstool in anger. I was hot! How dare she--my wife of fifteen years, saying such things about the two precious girls that I had sired ... and raised ... and took to dance class ... and ... hmm. Now, I was really shocked as Reality took a swing with a wet mop and slapped me across the head. I sat back down on the barstool and remained quiet for the next few minutes as I heard Ted order another round for the two of us. As an accountant, I could do the math. At that moment, I was, in fact, 'doing the math' with respect to our--at least Francine's--possible contact with one Steadman Carstairs back in The Day ... or should I say 'The Days'--plural--associated with her being pregnant. Unfortunately, the numbers didn't lie. And they did not appear to be lying to me now as I looked back with a new set of eyes on the last sixteen years of my formerly fairly satisfactory if not happy life--a life that I now realized was based almost totally on lies and deceit. I had endured it because I had not had the balls to do anything about it back then. And there was not a damned thing I could do about it now either! **** The actual divorce proceedings went quickly. I hastily got a lawyer--a cheap one, as I did not have access to a lot of funds, what with Francine and her old man working to freeze me out of our formerly joint assets. But my young lawyer, try as he might, was still unable to stop the shit tsunami that came down on top of me. I was forced to continue to pay for the condo, since it was the residence for 'my kids' and they needed the stability of remaining in their 'familiar' home. And, of course, they needed the nurturing of their 'loving mother' in the trying times following the divorce--the divorce caused by alleged improper sexual activities with a female employee on my part. My lawyer tried objecting strenuously to the many issues presented by Francine's attorney, especially the work-related stuff, and the judge agreed with us sometimes. Nevertheless, I could tell that the work stuff inevitably worked its way into the consciousness of the woman serving as the judge in our case, leaving her to believe that I was simply another philandering guy, trying his best to pollinate all the women in my workplace while I could still get it up; and to hell with my family. I also ended up having to pay a ton of child support. I loved my two girls; and I would never have resented the child support payments. Except that the comment Ted had made about Francine's relating how I might not be the sperm donor for either of them still ate away at my brain stem. **** "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking," came the voice over the plane's sound system once again. We had all been getting nervous at the continued jarring and bouncing we had been experiencing. "An unusually violent storm front has moved in from the Gulf of Mexico, extending now from New Orleans all the way through Little Rock and up toward Louisville. And it is between us and Atlanta. As you can tell, we have been experiencing some of the turbulence from the fringes of that front for a little while now. "As of now, Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport has all flights grounded. The gates are all full and we would have no gate to pull into, even if we were to land there. Consequently, we have been diverted to Nashville International Airport to wait out the storm. Please keep your electronic devices turned off, and we will ensure that the announcement of the diversion and consequent delay of your arrival is passed on to the gate agents at Hartsfield-Jackson. "I remind you that we are on the edges of the storm front and we need you to remain seated with your seat belts securely fastened and follow the instructions of the members of the cabin crew; they are professionals and are there for you safety more than for anything else." With a loud click his message ended. Folks on the flight were getting a bit anxious now; as was I. The plane was lurching and I could see the flashes of lightning all around us now and then as we evidently were well into the western edges of the storm front. As I felt the Captain turn the plane into a hard left bank, I could feel the panic beginning in me. Not a very brave person to begin with, I was also routinely a bit leery of flying. And this situation was really getting to me. For some reason that I cannot remember, even to this day, I remembered Mookie's admonition about the Nasiib stone set in the simple metal bracelet that I had slid into my pocket--it had drawn absolutely zero attention as I had placed it in the cup, letting it pass through the TSA checkpoint at MSP. Now, for some reason, I reached into my pocket and quickly put the little bracelet on my left wrist, fastening the simple clasp. While I was praying for a safe landing, almost unconsciously, with the forefinger of my right hand, I was rubbing the stone in the little bracelet in a circular motion. I only hoped that God did not mind that I was engaged in a superstitious action all the while that I was praying. Suddenly, my vision blurred, at the same time as I heard and felt the aircraft shudder a bit as the Captain began lowering the landing gear for his now very bumpy approach to Nashville International Airport. Strangely, the blurring seemed to be in my left eye only. As I became aware of this, my left side vision cleared and my right side blurred. It was as if each of my eyes was going in and out of clarity independently of each other--or even in an alternating rhythm. I was really frantic now. I prayed harder and I rubbed faster ... and my eyes alternately dimmed and cleared more rapidly. Then, I guess I passed out. **** Chapter 4 When I came back to consciousness, it was rather strange. The strangeness was that I was neither in a plane nor was I reclining. And everything was so quiet! I was leaning forward against the sink counter in the men's room down the hall from the stairs leading up to my office. And here's the real shit--it was the office in my old work place, the one from which I had been shit-canned a few months before! As I was thinking that I had better get out of here before Old Man Thompson discovers that I am trespassing, I noticed my reflection in the mirror over the sink. While my eyes were still doing the left-eye-right-eye dim-and-clear action, I could see, from my reflection that my pupils were expanding and contracting in an alternating manner. At the high point, the pupil would almost completely cover the iris, so that I could not even tell the color of that eye. At the low point, it was as if the eye was almost all color, as the pupil was just a tiny pinpoint. I washed my hands and rubbed some water on my face as the dimming out began to lessen. After about thirty seconds, I saw from my reflection that the alternating pupil activity in my eyes had subsided and was no longer noticeable. I panicked for a moment as one of the security guys who had escorted me out of here a few months before came in to do his business. I thought for sure that he would grab me by the scruff of the neck and the seat of my pants and hustle me out of the place via the nearest door or window--regardless of its being open or not. "Hair yew, Mr. Chandler?" the guy asked in a friendly manner as he headed toward the urinal. The way he had said it was the same way that he might have said it before all the shit began to happen around here. I took advantage of the guy's distraction due to his having to take a leak and walked out of the men's room, wondering how I had gotten from the turbulence aboard a plane landing in Nashville, Tennessee to the quiet men's room of my old work place in Decatur, Georgia. The men's room was just off the lobby here on the first floor, so that I could see the television in the waiting area. It was tuned to CNN (hey, this is the Metro Atlanta area, and Ted's networks rule here). I almost passed out as I saw what was on screen! There was a live news feed of a spectacular car chase taking place in Houston, TX on the screen. That is not what made me feel the tendency to pass out. It was my memory of the event from months before; also, the date and time were indicated on-screen right above the news ticker that was streaming across the bottom of the screen. This had taken place almost a year ago--well, seven or eight months ago, anyway. I looked out the windows and did not see the dull brown of the winter-dormant grass around the building, as it should be today in late November. Instead, I saw the smoothly-cut Zoysia grass and budding ornamental trees of mid-to-late March. "Mr. Chandler, are you all right?" asked Marge, one of the receptionists at Mr. Thompson's company. I was leaning against the wall and looking gray, I guess. At least that is how I felt. Thank God, I was too shocked by what I was seeing around me to say anything. I would probably have said something stupid or sufficiently off-the-wall to have Marge calling for the guys with the nets and the straightjackets. "Yes, yes, Marge; I guess I must have eaten something at lunch that disagreed with me," I said lamely. Marge smiled at me and went back to the front desk. I turned down the hallway leading to the stairs and ascended to the second floor. I encountered nothing but familiar faces and smiles along the way to my old office. What I did NOT encounter was anyone or anything to explain my presence here ... in this place ... at this time! I closed the door to my office and sat down to gather my thoughts. I looked around my office at the decorations. Nothing had changed from all those months ago. I saw the family pictures on the credenza behind my desk and gloom settled over me once again. Francine and the girls still smiled at me from the frames there. Also in a frame was an extended family picture from our wedding reception sixteen years ago ... well a little over fifteen if the date on that television had been correct. There was the extended family, including Alicia. Oh, Alicia; if only ... Now, not only was she still not mine, she was no one's. Alicia had passed away last ... well, earlier THIS year from cervical cancer. The cancerous growth had not been detected early enough, since no one would have believed that someone as young as she would develop it. If it had been detected early enough, and if she could have had a complete hysterectomy, she could have perhaps lived many years longer--even decades. Now she was simply ... gone. Alicia had left behind not only her own extended family, but also her little three-year-old boy and her asshole of a husband, Frank Deal--an abuser that she had been paired up with by her father well after our breakup and right after her graduation from college. It seems the Deal family, with an extended family base primarily in the Savannah area, was very prominent in business and politics in Georgia; and Daddy had wanted Alicia to marry someone well-connected. Frank had turned out to be less-well-connected than expected--even his own family came close to disowning him--unless one was referring to his connecting to Alicia with a right hook or left jab; the asshole. Yeah, Alicia had left all that behind all right. Well ... and me, of course; she had left me behind as well. I had never lost my deep emotional attachment to Alicia. My thoughts of 'what if' would often intrude whenever I got depressed over the way my life with Francine and the girls had turned out. Just then, my worst fear about being discovered trespassing in the Thompson building was confirmed. J. Carter Thompson himself pushed into my office without a knock or any of the other usual courtesies. I stood and braced myself for enduring another of his angry outbursts, as well as his call to security to toss my trespassing ass out of his building. But, he was grinning at me hugely instead! "Congratulations, Lou," my supposedly ex-father said in a friendly voice that was far from the norm--even before the divorce. "You got the Allen Brothers to come around for us. There will be a significant bonus in it for you this month! I'm proud of you, Boy!" Then Mr. Thompson, gave me an arm chuck and turned and purposefully strode out, leaving me almost about to pass out again. The Allen Brothers! I had gotten them to come to an agreement on ... shit! The date on the CNN feed from downstairs. I looked outside to see the early spring instead of the late fall. This was that relatively peaceful time just a few months before things had all gone to shit in my life! Not believing this was possible; I sat down and put my elbows on my desk. I lifted my hands to cover my face. That is when I saw it! Around my wrist was the chain of a simple bracelet with a strange stone mounted in a simple setting. There was nothing beautiful or outstanding about it. It was simply there--where I had placed it when I was on a plane from Minneapolis ... months from NOW! I looked at my Outlook calendar on my workstation. Yep! This really was eight months BEFORE I had gone to Minneapolis! Yet, I had a bracelet that my mind was telling me that I had received there--and then--as a gift from a guy named Mookie. I had a panicked thought--what if I had not just returned mentally and emotionally to an earlier time? What if I had physically come back--what would I do if I ran into my other self who belonged in this time line? Nahhh ... somehow I knew that I had simply backtracked on my own time line and was in my own body from months before. YET! The Nasiib stone bracelet had evidently 'come back' with me. Somehow, some force ... or whatever ... associated with this Nasiib stone had brought my consciousness back in time; along with the Nasiib stone. I could only guess that the presence of the stone was to serve as an assurance that it had really worked and to reinforce the fact that it was truly behind the strange circumstance into which I had been thrust. But! Now, I knew about what could have been; and about what would probably be coming down the road in a few months. Now, if what my eyes and other senses were telling me, I would not go to Minneapolis or meet Mookie or receive this Nasiib stone set in a bracelet from him--yes, I actually knew its name--and maybe I would not be served with divorce papers or fired... Whoa! If my dates were correct, then I was only a little over four months from having my world implode on me. What could I begin doing now in order to keep that from happening? I got out my pen and a legal pad. I had to make plans of some sort, taking into consideration just what my 'loving' wife and my father were planning for me. I finally reasoned that I could not actually expect the divorce not to happen--I remembered just how quickly in the other time line that Francine had had Steadman Carstairs firmly ensconced in my house and in what was formerly OUR bed. Anyway, I had not grown balls of any greater size that I had had before. I was still afraid of confrontation and still deferred to my boss and father's authority; as well as submitting most of the time to Francine's wishes and desires. No ... it was too late to change the course of events that would lead to my divorce and firing. But I had a little something extra in this time line that I had not had before. I had forewarning; and I had anger! I had been divorced and left almost destitute in that other reality. I had been replaced by a guy who had evidently been fucking my ever-loving bride for many years and was evidently still doing it; even now. My girls had been turned against me. My career had come to an end here and I had been forced to find new employment. Oh, yeah; and I had been sent along my merry way with threats of possible prosecution for sexual harassment if I made things difficult in the process. And it had all started with a lie; a lie supported by a perjured deposition from some woman named Joan Hartmann, whom I had never met, as far as I could remember. I might not be able to change much of the outcome of my pending divorce--oh, yeah; I was resigned to the inevitable this time. But, at least, I was not going to be kicked out of this company without some sort of repercussions--and a hell of a lot more compensation! And I was DAMNED sure going to get me a better lawyer and be better prepared! Oh, and I was going to get some emergency funds squirreled away as well this time. I wanted to be able to do more with my finances afterward than stand around rubbing my last two nickels together in my pocket, as had been the case previously. I looked for a moment at the Nasiib stone in its mounting in the chain-style bracelet that I wore. This thing had evidently given me a chance to prepare to correct at least a portion of a pending injustice that was coming my way. But, what if things still did not work out? What if I encountered other highly-charged emotional challenges ahead? Was the Nasiib stone going to be able to help me again? Or was it just a 'One-Shot Wonder?' Well, there was no sense worrying about that now. I had enough on my plate to worry about for the foreseeable future. I put the legal pad down and thought about things. I was starting to feel less of the emotional turmoil that I had felt during and following the divorce in that 'other' time line. I still did not feel courageous enough to take on all of my adversaries and set about in a scorched earth policy; after all, I had never demonstrated that kind of forcefulness before in my life. But I was now actually feeling just a little bit in control somehow. That left me suddenly feeling a little more at peace about things. Peace! That Mookie guy had said that his father had told him stories about the Nasiib stone taking its owner to a 'place of peace.' This might not truly be a 'place of peace' in the long run, but I felt a strangely peaceful feeling in this place and time--for the moment, at least. And that feeling was truly a blessing that I had not had for a long-ass time. **** It did not take long to make my position for the near future just a little more tenable as the days of trouble approached. I had already been collecting information about Old Man Thompson's shady business dealings for many years now, almost since the time that he had taken over the small company with which I had been employed and which Francine had infiltrated. In this time line, I was already aware that he had discovered my little electronic cache of evidence on my computer and on the network server and had made plans to deal with that accordingly. So, within my first couple of days 'back,' I made backup copies for off-site storage of all my materials to DVD-R, while leaving the files that Thompson knew he would find on my work station hard drive and on the network shared drive. The DVD-R copies went into a safe deposit box at a local bank that was completely unaffiliated with the bank that Francine and I had been using for all these years together. Out of Focus Pt. 02 I also opened my 'contingency fund' account and began to liquidate whatever assets I could in order to feather my nest for what was coming over the next few weeks following my 'return.' Francine even mentioned a few days after this had started that I seemed to be making ATM withdrawals more frequently and she hoped that I was not becoming a wasteful spender. Francine! She was still the same as I remembered from before the divorce. She was still harping on me all the time, and demanding 'her way or nothing' in all the decisions concerning our family. The only weapon I had in my defense, given my still-somewhat-meek personality, was information. I knew the 'what' and the 'when' of the pending storm. But, THIS time, I was a little bit better prepared. Nevertheless, preparing still was not the same as preventing; and it had already been too late when I had found myself 'back' at this slightly earlier point in my life. Francine still only agreed to sex about once every ten-to-fifteen days; and she still insisted that I wear a condom. What she did not realize was that I had finally developed enough anger for what I knew was on the horizon that I had changed the plan for our next sexual encounter following my recent 'return.' I had only been 'back' about a week, when Francine broached the dreaded subject. "Lou, what is wrong with you?" Naturally, she said it without any frame of reference to anything we had been discussing that night after we got home or had supper or evening activities before we had sent the girls off to bed. She just laid it out there. "Nothing is wrong, Sweetheart," I said, pouring all the faux Southern charm I could into that endearment. "Why do you ask?" "You just come across as ... as ... well ... moody, I guess you would say. That's it; moody." She actually nodded as she finally settled on what she was describing. I actually smiled then and said, "Well, Sugar, if you must know; it HAS been over two weeks since we made love. You know that horniness can make a man a bit testy. Maybe that's all it is." Francine could see what was coming and I could see the cloud descend over her expression. Then she must have decided that I needed to be placated a bit--what with the grand scheme that she and her father were about to spring on me; because she sighed and put down her magazine. "Okay, I guess we can do it tonight. Just give me at least fifteen minutes to get ready before coming up." With that, she stood up to head upstairs. I noted that she went over to her purse and reached in to get her cell phone on the way to the stairway; and I was hit suddenly with a premonition. Needless to say, Francine was barely up the stairs before I leapt up and removed my shoes so as not to make any noise as I dashed up the stairs and down the hallway to a spot just outside our bedroom. From there, I could hear her speaking in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Yes, you know that I have to do this a few more times. "If I don't, then Lou-Zer will suspect that something is up. That means that I still have to play the part of the loving wife and give it up once in a while. "Of course I still make him wear a condom. You know that yours is the only love juice that I like to have in my body." Well, that confirmed what I had suspected about her infidelity. Amazingly, though, I had absolutely no sense of outrage--simply resignation to what was, and evidently had been, happening. "But it won't be long, My Love. Then Frankie can come back to her Stud Man." I shook my head in disgust. While I was not yet 100% sure that she was talking to her old beau, Steadman Carstairs, the nickname she was using for whoever was on the other end of her call seemed to indicate that. Yeah; this marriage was SO dead. And it had evidently been dead for quite a while. Before my 'return,' I simply had not paid close enough attention to my relationship with Francine. Either she, or my own timidity, had kept my attention focused elsewhere--like in emotional self-defense from her constant brow-beating. Not now, so much; I mean that I was still not prepared to stage a confrontation. But I was not as devastatingly upset as I would have been before the 'return.' "Look; I gotta run. He'll be up here any minute and I will have to give him another mercy fuck ... No; of course I don't do anything with him besides the basics. You know that I reserve myself and everything else for you, Sugar." So, Francine was not simply an ice queen when it came to sex--as long as it was with someone other than her loving husband. I was simply someone to be placated in bed while she enjoyed sex with wild abandon with her lover--or lovers. Not tonight, 'My Dear,' I thought. **** "Whew!" sighed Francine after she had experienced a mild orgasm. I was somewhat surprised, since it did not happen often when we had sex. I guess the special attention that I had paid to her breasts--biting her nipple just as she seemed to be getting wetter during our fucking--must have sent her over. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself so far, Sweetheart," I said, withdrawing my condom-covered six-and-a-half-inch cock from her pussy and watching her catch her breath. In the past, I had noted that, in the few instances when Francine had experienced orgasm with me, she would be like a limp noodle for about a minute or so afterward. That was what I was taking advantage of now. I pulled away and, before she could get her wits about her, I had flipped her over and raised her hips so that her weight was supported by her knees and upper body. Francine suddenly realized that she was in a different position; and I guess it must have registered to her that I had not ejaculated yet. "Lou ... what ...? What do you think you are doing, Lou? You know I don't ... we don't ..." Too late! Before she could move away, or complete her objection, I had already positioned my stiff cock, stripped off the condom before she could see it, gripped her waist above her hips to hold her in place, and ... I slammed my cock all the way into her wet pussy, savoring the feel of bareback sex for the first time in several years. The forceful entry must have felt good to Francine, despite her previous determination to keep things plain vanilla--meaning missionary. She sighed with what I could tell was pleasure. I guess she actually liked the forceful entry sometimes. It is just a shame that she had not been enjoying it with me ... until tonight, that is. I began to jackhammer my cock into my bitch of a wife, taking her as a man should. "Lou ... no ... I don't want ... Oh ... yes ..." Francine moaned as her tone went from one of objection to acquiescence. I smirked as I noted that she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. Then, surprisingly, she began to get vocal and nasty, in a manner that was very un-Francine-like. "Yes ... Fuck me ... Do me harder ... Yes ... yes ... AAAaaahhhhh!" She actually had another mild orgasm and I still had not let loose my load yet. This was getting interesting. Then, she just had to say it. "Oh ... Fuck me, Stud Man ... Take that pussy ..." Under other circumstances, hearing her call out to someone else, along with her other nasty talk, might have caused me to lose my firmness and that would be that. Not this time! I was enraged to hear her call on her lover to give her pleasure while her husband ... her supposed only lover ... her supposed teammate and partner in life ... was making love to her. In my anger, I picked up the pace and the forcefulness and simply pounded her hard. I could hear the sharp smacks as my hips popped against her beautiful ass cheeks. I could hear myself growl in a low snarl of carnal enjoyment. Francine actually began to get louder and move in a rhythm with me. She shook violently as the big one finally hit her. "Oooohhhh ... AAAAHHhhhhh!!!" Before she could collapse, I grabbed a pillow and jammed it under her tummy so that I could keep her hips up and not slip out. I continued for another twenty seconds or so, rapidly pounding that pussy that was supposed to be exclusively mine ... but evidently was not. When I came, I could see stars; it was so intense. My loud growl sounded almost like that of an animal; even to me. It felt as if I had unloaded about a quarter of the national Strategic Reserves into my unfaithful wife's grasping pussy. My groin pulsed and it pulsed ... and it pulsed again for about four or five times, I guess, before I stopped jamming my cock in and out of her cunt. Pulling out and rolling away finally, I breathed out a loud satisfied sigh, saying, "Honey, that was wonderful." Then I mustered what I believed to be my best adoring look and turned to face her, saying, "You are wonderful! Oh, Honey, I just love you!" Then I kissed her, having a difficult time, since quite a bit of her face was still down in her pillow and she was only about three-quarters turned toward me. After a few seconds of lip contact, Francine suddenly jerked away from me and looked startled. She swung away from me to put her feet on the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed. From the way she was moving, I could gather that she was actually touching her pussy and discovering my unwelcome deposit. "Lou!" Francine almost screamed, as she stood and gave me an eyeful of her complete nakedness. Whatever degree of a bitch this woman was, she was still extremely beautiful and sexy. I would miss that quite a bit when this was all over. And it would be over in a few more weeks, I knew. "What were you thinking? Cumming in me? Not using a condom?" She was thoroughly enraged now. I simply put on my shrink-away-in-fear-and-submission look. It wasn't hard; after all, I had had a lot of practice. I then tried for 'hurt,' but I don't know if I succeeded, as the mirror for the dresser was behind me, not behind her. "You IDIOT! What if I were to get pregnant? What if ..." and she was off to the races with her 'what-ifs' while I did my best to show the face of a husband being rightfully chastised by a 'wronged' spouse during an intimate moment. But inside, I was, surprisingly, in a 'peaceful place.' **** I had done some research in advance of the anticipated figurative sounding of the death knell for my marriage. HR for our company was outsourced for us under contract and I made a surprise visit to the company that was doing it. I had my lawyer--a much more experienced one than in my previous reality--meet me there. He was already on retainer, in preparation for what he thought was my expected request for a divorce from my wife--I couldn't let him know that I knew she was about to serve me! "Just why are we here, Lou?" my attorney, John London, asked. "Well, John, there seems to be a string of malicious rumors going around the company about alleged inappropriate activities on my part. I just want to check out something for the record and I felt that I needed you to be with me in case I ran into any stonewalling in getting what I need today," I said. John simply shrugged and said, "If you say so," as he looked at his chronometer--a stylish lawyer would not stoop to wearing a simple 'watch.' I guess he was counting up the billable hours he was charging to this wasteful client. I was the only one who knew that the payout as a result of this visit could very well offset his legal cost many times over when the truth finally came out. John followed me into the offices of the contract HR firm and watched as I identified myself and requested the job history of one Joan Hartmann with the Thompson Corporation; submitting the proper forms and showing my company identification to authenticate my access to the records. The young intern working the counter was just full of Southern hospitality and a willingness to please; I did not even need to introduce my attorney. Twenty minutes later, I stood beside my car in the parking lot outside with paper copies of the records of Joan Hartmann, who had indeed worked for Thompson Company a while back. It turns out that, when she had left the Thompson Company--FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER, even before the small firm I had been with at the time had been absorbed by Thompson--she had become Joan Burns, having married someone not associated with the company. There was even a copy of the glowing letter of recommendation for her--if she ever sought employment elsewhere--that had been forwarded to her new address ... in Tacoma, Washington. "Okay," my attorney asked at last. "You obviously did not need my help getting this. Now what? I mean what does this all have to do with your seeking to divorce your wife?" I simply smiled and said, "John, I wanted you to see me obtain these files legitimately and firsthand." I breathed deeply of the fresh air and said, "I just have a feeling that these documents are going to come in really handy in a short while. So, you make sure that you protect them at all costs. You heah?" 'My client definitely has a screw loose,' is what his expression said silently to me. Nevertheless, he tucked the papers into his valise, shook my hand, and bade me goodbye. **** To Be Continued ... Out of Focus Pt. 03 It helps to get a better picture of the events of the story if one were to read Parts 1 and 2 before continuing here. Lou has been given a chance to try to redeem himself a bit from the misfortune that had been laid at his feet previously. A mysterious trinket has allowed him to prepare for the misdeeds planned by his 'loving' wife and his boss-her father. But, have his preparations placed him in the path of sure peril? Read on ... Flavian ***** Chapter 5 On the morning of the day that I was to be called into Thompson's office so that they could drop the hammer on me-thinking that I was still the clueless Lou-Zer-I had already arranged for my attorney, John London, to drop in to see me about an 'urgent matter.' I had to be a bit vague when he asked me just what was so important. John arrived approximately twenty minutes before the time that I remembered from my 'previous' existence as 'hammer time.' When he came into my office, he started right out by saying, "Lou, just what is so damned urgent-and why all the secrecy?" I shrugged and smiled thinly as I crossed my fingers below the level of the desk and replied, "John, I have been getting strange reactions from folks around here over the past day or two. Also, one of the other employees who came to this company with me sixteen years ago-back when we got bought out and absorbed by Thompson-slipped me the word on the DL that my position here may be in danger. He said that he heard it was all coming to a head today around lunchtime. That's why I felt that I might need you here." Okay, so I was lying through my teeth about the hints and the so-called informant. But I really did need John here to represent my interests from the moment that the shit was scheduled to start rolling downhill on me. And that would be just ... about ... And, just as I had remembered from that awful 'last' time, I got the call at 11:30 a.m.; right on the button. "Mr. Chandler; I'm afraid that Mr. Thompson stated specifically that you were the only one to be admitted," said Thompson's PA; as if that settled the matter when John and I entered the outer offices leading to the Executive Office of J. Carter Thompson. But, this time, instead of simply following her instructions, I looked at my attorney and then back at her and quietly but firmly said, "This gentleman is John London, my attorney. Regardless of what Mr. Thompson said, Mr. London IS going in there with me; understand?" She simply sat back down with her mouth hanging open at my sudden defiance. She had expected me simply to do as instructed-as I had done so many times in the past-especially since I had always been a pushover; even for a lowly PA. If any of the three main conspirators were surprised that I strode purposefully into Mr. Thompson's office without knocking, rather than using my routine meek shuffle, they did not say anything. It was when they spotted the fellow with me, dressed in the well-tailored suit and wingtips carrying a leather valise, that they began to get vocal. "Chandler," stormed J. Carter Thompson, "this is a private meeting! We will be discussing important matters ... personal and private matters that affect our family and this company. Just what do you think you are doing bringing a stranger into my office without as much as a 'by-your-leave' before doing so?" He was obviously annoyed; but I could also tell that he was curious. Without waiting for my response, he said, "This man will have to leave until we are finished here." As before, the supposedly distraught 'wronged' wife, Francine; the shark-toothed lawyer for the Thompson interests; and the twenty-something process server were all there with Mr. Thompson. I did not look around when I detected movement behind me, but I knew that the two security guys had slipped in quietly behind me-same as last time. I simply stood in the middle of the office and looked directly at Thompson's face-unlike the last time-when I'd had my head bowed and could barely bring myself to look at him. This time, I threw the first jar of gasoline into the legal fire that they had already ignited here. "I'm afraid that I must insist that my attorney, John London, remain at my side during the course of whatever may occur here." The looks on the faces before me were priceless as I noted their surprise and dismay when I had uttered the word, 'attorney.' "What ... what do you ..." Thompson was not having a very successful time in regaining his aplomb, as he began to see this carefully scripted situation not just slip away from his absolute control; but cascade away quickly. But J. Carter Thompson was a major player in the business world, and had not risen to his position by being slow to react. And he was a world-class negotiator; and he brought those skills into play now. "See here, Chandler," he began in what I am sure he thought was a more reasonable and conciliatory tone, designed to put me off my guard so that he could strike. "I am sure that we can resolve our little difficulties here without things getting too far out of hand. After all, I am sure that you knew that we would discover your little peccadilloes sooner or later, given the security and oversight measures in place here; correct?" I guess that he figured I would succumb as usual. He would be wrong on that one! "Mr. London stays; so that he may witness everything that you may have to say to me," I said simply and softly, without bravado. I did not raise my voice or smirk, even. After all, I was still shaking in my shoes at having to confront anyone either physically or emotionally-that type of confrontational person simply was not me. But, a tiny voice deep down assured me that I absolutely must stand my ground on this. And I did-but it was not easy. Thompson, his attorney, and Francine spent about ten seconds looking among themselves. I guess they were trying to decide with facial expressions alone who would try to salvage the stage play they were producing here this morning. Finally, Mr. Thompson said, "Fine." Then he looked over and nodded at the young woman holding the evil envelope that I had been expecting for weeks. She stepped up to me and went into her spiel. "Mr. Louis Chandler?" she asked, as the others stood silently and looked on; this time they did not smirk as broadly as they had before. "Yes, I am." I did not say this with any bravado, but I was nowhere near as uncertain this time. "Mr. Chandler, you have been served," she said as she placed the large sealed envelope in my hand. I guess I could see the identical look of shock on the faces of the Big Three standing before me this time that they had seen on me in the previous time, when I did not even glance at the envelope that was handed to me. I simply held it up under my chin and turned to the process server with a posed smile as she took my picture. I then handed the packet to my attorney. 'Now, he gets to go into action,' I thought, as I passed the packet to John. And he most certainly did! "My client has nothing to say at this time," John stated quickly as he tucked the packet under one arm and flipped his valise open. I could tell from the way he had said it that John's statement had been intended for me-reminding me not to say anything-rather than for the others. He pulled out a fancy letter knife and easily slit the packing materials open. The process server had taken advantage of the distraction of all this and slipped quietly out the office door. Pulling out the divorce paperwork, John glanced it over, doing that lawyer page-flip action that only they can do so theatrically and with what the viewing public would call, 'with such gravity.' "You can expect that we will take the appropriate amount of time to review these documents thoroughly, before delivering our response." So much for my idiotically signing on all the dotted lines, as I had done in the previous installment of this episode; that was just not happening this time. John slid the pages back into the original packing material and slipped the whole thing back inside his valise before closing it. Pausing with it only halfway closed, he noted the expression on my face and the slight shake of my head. "Is there anything else?" my attorney asked; now sensing that there was more from the expressions on the faces of my three adversaries. Mr. Thompson cleared his throat and glanced at Francine. I almost laughed at that point, and would have if I had not still been somewhat cowed in the usual manner by the simple existence of conflict in my presence. But Francine evidently got the hint and followed her stage cues well. "Louis," she said softly, but looking at me this time around with an unconvincing expression of hurt and outrage. "How could you?" Since I knew what was coming next, I simply turned to Mr. Shark Teeth and awaited his next pronouncement. "Mr. Chandler," Thompson's lawyer declared right on cue, "I am in possession of a deposition by one Joan Hartmann-who was an employee within a department over which you have hiring and firing and promotion influence-claiming that you coerced her into having sex on more than one occasion." He waved that now-familiar piece of paper that had all the hallmarks of being official. Upon hearing the name 'Joan Hartmann,' I glanced to my left and saw John London twitch in surprise. I looked hard at him and held up a hand briefly to keep him from jumping in and saying something. I could tell he remembered the name 'Joan Hartmann' and it took only a split second for him to realize what was happening, to give me a microscopic nod, and then assume a position of stern attention to the details of what was going on. "You, Sir," Mr. Shark Teeth continued, "are not only guilty of adultery against this ... innocent woman." With that he pointed at Francine, who was busily now reaching for a tissue from her purse, since I had broken the rhythm of the meeting that would have otherwise allowed her already to have one dabbing at her eye, evidently supposedly wiping a tear. "You are also in violation of the pre-nuptial agreement that you signed before entering into the union with Francine Thompson. "And, I might add," I could see Thompson looking at me with an expression that did not so much show anger, but it was more curiosity at my reaction than the satisfaction he had expected to have by seeing me squirm, "you are in violation of company policy against inappropriate personal relationships between senior and subordinate employees." He leaned toward me and pulled off his glasses as he made his next pronouncement right on cue. "And you should simply be glad that Mr. Thompson, here, is not going to press for your prosecution under state or federal labor law infractions." "As I have already mentioned, my client has nothing to say at this time," John London said to the three people who were looking at me now with a bit of relief that their carefully orchestrated setup had not completely come unglued by my acting a bit out of character as well as by the unexpected presence of an attorney as my legal advocate. They had expected me to be clueless, unarmed, and alone in all of this. But I was not so clueless-I had been expecting this. I was not unarmed-information is the most valuable weapon that a combatant can possess; and I had already resolved in my mind that, as unaccustomed to it as I was, this was combat of sorts. Finally, I was not alone-John London gave me a 'you-may-have-set-me-up-but-I-thrive-on-this-shit' look as he turned toward the door, with my elbow in his hand, trying to get me out of there. But Mr. Thompson and Francine still had some more lines to deliver. "You have thirty minutes to clear out your desk and office of any personal belongings. Needless to say, you may not log into the computer network from this point forward, as your network access has been revoked. One of these gentlemen will take your keys and the swipe card for the parking garage." Thompson delivered this in a manner that was obviously rehearsed, but he still managed the 'indignant boss' look. "And, you bastard," Francine cut in. "Your things have been packed and stacked by the front door of the condo. I have changed the locks, so you need to come by when I am there this evening, but before eight p.m." I guess I was amazed that I could still surprise Francine at all, because I really got a thrill at the way her jaw dropped open in shock when, instead of crying and begging or looking frantic, I simply said, "Okay." I did not even ask about the girls, as I knew already that she had them at the Thompson house in Stone Mountain with her mother. Francine then overstepped a bit as she went on, despite the fact that I was not reacting as expected. "I have also filed asking for a restraining order to keep you away from the girls and me, since I am afraid that your previous indications of a violent nature might endanger me and my children." Mr. Shark Teeth passed me another document; which I again took without looking at it, and then passed on to John London. Instead of seeing me explode in anger or hack in surprise, they saw me stand there without any expression, as far as I could tell-I could not see my own face, but I had practiced putting on the unfamiliar aspect of what I thought of as a 'stone face' and said softly, "Okay," again. Even J. Carter Thompson began to show that his plan was not going anywhere near according to how he had anticipated. He seemed to be at odds within himself as to how to proceed at this point. But only for about five seconds. "Get him out of my office and off the premises as quickly as possible," Thompson said to the men behind me. In an unusual step for me, I actually smiled once before turning around to leave. As the security guys moved to put their hands on my elbows, my attorney intervened by stepping in front of me and saying, "If you lay a hand on my client, you can be assured of standing in front of a DeKalb County judge in short order on charges of assault." The security guys looked over my shoulder to take a cue from the boss. Evidently, they got the right signal, since they backed off and simply flanked John and me as we walked out of Thompson's office, down the hall, into my office, and-later-out the door leading to the parking garage. "Well," John said to me with a thin smile, "you evidently got some good and timely heads-up information. I applaud you for cultivating the right kinds of friends. That could have gotten really nasty in there." He paused and looked away for a second, as we both began moving toward my car, before he spoke again. "Now! Are you going to tell me just what this 'Joan Hartmann' bullshit is all about?" London asked me. "I remember your showing me her file. And, since she was gone from this area before you even went to work for Thompson, we both know that their entire case for the divorce and for your firing is established on a firm foundation of pure bullshit and possibly perjury. So, what are you thinking?" By now, I had reached my car and was putting my box of stuff from the office in my trunk. Closing the lid, I said, "My marriage is a farce, John. So, I am not too cut up about separating from Francine for good. As for the kids, I really love them a lot and I do not want to lose them, but I just don't know what to expect from these people on this so-called restraining order based on my alleged anger issues." "Don't worry," John replied. "It may take a week or two, but I am sure that I can get that one overruled. Now; what about all this 'Joan Hartmann' issue?" I looked at my attorney and grinned fully as I said, "John, you are about to make me a very rich man with a lawsuit for wrongful termination-and, on contingency, you are not going to do too badly yourself. After the divorce ruling is handed down-and only then-based on this bullshit allegation, I want you to file for sixteen million dollars in damages. I am basing that on a calculation of one million dollars for every year I have been with Thompson and Joan Hartmann has not been. Then, I want you to go up by two million more and threaten them with going to the DA on perjury charges if they try to counter sue. Then, I want you to go up by another half-a-million dollars every time they offer an alternative settlement amount." John's grin started to match mine and he told me, "You know that the final judgment for a suit like that probably will not come nearly to that much. I mean that the judges do not usually go that high in awarding for the plaintiff in this type of case. But, we should sure see a hell of a good return from a suit with this much evidence stacked in our favor; along with the obvious audacity of Thompson and his attorney! Oh, yeah! We should do very well!" We both started laughing together as he shook my hand and headed off to his car while I climbed into mine for my ride to the new apartment that I had already arranged for and to which I had already had furniture delivered. My new place was in Sandy Springs, just as it had been in my past existence, but this time I had had time to prepare, and I had found much nicer accommodations. I had also put away enough financial resources to handle things like deposits and ancillary costs for the time being. As for my stuff at the condo that Francine had mentioned? Shit! I might as well go get it; that way, I could piss her off a bit more by not being beat down and needy, as she no doubt expected me to be in all of this. As for my girls, I knew that Francine would try to use my love for them as a weapon against me. But I also realized that there was nothing I could do about it right now. The indirect reference that I had gotten in my 'previous' existence, a few months after my divorce-to the effect that I might not be the biological father of either of my daughters-was still there in the back of my mind. But biology does not trump the love of a father for his children; they were still 'my girls,' regardless of who had made the sperm deposit inside of Francine's cheating cunt. I had simply loved Chelsea and Gracie for too many years to turn off my feelings for them in their innocence. And that innocence definitely did not extend to my cheating slut whore of a soon-to-be ex-wife. I cruised out into the street and turned on the local news-talk radio station so I could listen to Rush. As his standard bumper music began, signaling the beginning of another hour of what he called, 'Broadcast Excellence,' I began to laugh out loud; more at relief that today's confrontation was over than with just how it had concluded. **** "Divorce is hereby granted," the judge stated and banged the gavel once, bringing our final hearing to a close, after months of documentation, evidence, testimony, and waiting. We really did not need to be here physically for this particular event, but John London had arranged it so that he and I would be here and that Francine's-who was also Mr. Thompson's-attorney had to be here as well. I was standing beside John when he looked at the back of the small courtroom and nodded to the DeKalb County Sherriff's Deputy standing just inside the door. The Deputy approached Francine's attorney, who was obviously pissed at being forced to be physically present for what amounted to a simple pro forma announcement that would just be published in the newspaper anyway. "Ah you, by any chance, Mr. James Cantrell, the attunneh fuh Ms. Francine Chandler, née Thompson, and fuh Mr. J. Cahdah Thompson and Thompson Cawpuhration?" the Deputy asked almost nonchalantly. I guess Francine's attorney was simply still irritated at having his morning ruined and was not paying too much attention; as he idly responded, "Yes, I am James Cantrell." What happened next really caused him to pay attention! Out of Focus Pt. 03 "You, Suh, ha' done been served," said the Deputy. He handed the packet he had been carrying to Cantrell and left quickly. John London and I simply stood there and watched Cantrell's face morph through a series of different expressions, mirroring the changes in his emotions as he first opened the envelop and then blanched in shock at the documents that he held. Finally, he registered anger and outrage as he turned to John and me. "You are insane! There is no way that you can expect this suit to achieve any credibility before the court. It will never ..." began Cantrell. The hands with which he held my petition for grievance against his client-and the huge amount-based on wrongful termination, shook noticeably. John interrupted by holding out a packet containing certified copies of the Joan Hartmann documents that he had been securing at my request for the past few months. "You may want to review these before you use words such as 'never' in relation to this suit," he said. As Cantrell began to look at the documents, I could see now that, when he was prepared, he was good at his job of putting on the confident face in court on behalf of his clients. But he was not good enough to keep me from detecting that slight deflation of his confidence in his position as he reviewed the truth of the situation that he faced. Cantrell now knew that his clients had set him up with false documentation; not only as a basis for my just-concluded divorce, but for my firing from Thompson Corporation as well. The highlighted dates showed that I had not even worked for Thompson at the same time as this Joan Hartmann, with whom I was supposed to have had an affair, and that she had left the company over sixteen years ago-just when I had come on board. I could tell, even with my lack of experience in all of this, that he realized he was screwed-well, his clients were; attorneys are almost never screwed. Finally, he said the only thing he could say at a time such as this. "We will get back to you on this." John flashed a predatory smile at Cantrell and said, "Well, just don't take too long. You can call my PA and set up a meeting." I had one more thing that I had to accomplish personally this morning, though. I reached out and handed Mr. Cantrell a DVD-R, containing copies of the electronic documents that pointed to the many years of unethical and illegal business activities attributable to Mr. J. Carter Thompson and his Chief Financial Officer at the Thompson Company. I said, "You be sure to give this to my former father as well-for his eyes only-not yours. It just might cause him to want to hurry this along. Assure him that I will be discrete if he does not delay his acquiescence to my suit." My own attorney snapped his head around before he grabbed my arm with one hand, while snatching up his valise with the other. He then quickly hustled me out the courtroom doorway and into the hall. "Do you want to tell me just what kind of boneheaded stunt that was? What was on that disk that you gave him? If you have, in any way, screwed up this case with your actions, you can just find yourself a new attorney-after paying all my fees, of course." John London was livid, and I guess I did not really blame him. And, true to my nature, I shrank back from his verbal attack on me. When he had wound down and was waiting for me to respond, I finally took a breath and answered. "Thompson has been conducting shady and illegal activities for years; since long before I first came on board," I said. "I am simply offering him a bit of incentive to get this lawsuit settled; or I just might have to walk a copy of that disk over to the DA's office, or maybe even the FBI's Atlanta Field Office." "Look," John told me, still very angry at me. "That's the kind of thing you are supposed to let me handle" "John," I said, "you and I both know that if you had actually read what was on that disk-or if Cantrell were to read any of it rather than giving it to Thompson-either one of you would be duty-bound to make a beeline for the DA's office. After all, even though are my attorney, you are still an officer of the court; right?" John made it clear that he did not approve of what I was doing; and he had to concede that he would have been required to take any evidence of Thompson's criminal wrong-doing to the DA. After yelling at me for another minute or two simply to vent, he got himself under control and said, "It's lunch time and we are going to Sonny's; you're buying." I smiled and we walked out together to my car with my mouth already watering for some of Sonny's barbecue and sweet iced tea. And, with that, we entered the next exciting phase of my 'return' to this particular time line. **** They came after me within a couple of weeks! I mean they really, honestly, physically came after me! I guess J. Carter Thompson was not about to be threatened with either the possibility of public censure or the potential for jail time; because he sent two men after me late in the evening. I was still getting myself used to the routine of living by myself. For instance, the layout and schedules for my new apartment were going to take some getting used to. This evening, right before going to bed, I remembered about the trash. My kitchen trash can was almost overflowing and I needed to get it down to the building's dumpster before the morning; for two reasons. First of all, it was starting to smell. Second of all, the truck was coming early in the morning and I wanted to take advantage of that. Add to that the fact that I was still keyed up over all that had been going on for the past few months with respect to my domestic and work situations. I had just dropped the lid to the lift-top dumpster outside after tossing my garbage bag in when I saw them. I don't know why I was startled, but I was. These two men just did not belong here. There was a weekly social mixer for the residents of the apartment complex each Saturday evening, and I had been to the last two and met the other residents here-these guys were definitely NOT residents. Unfortunately, they had seen me turning away from the dumpster. They evidently did not recognize me in the dim light, or else they were simply targeting a location, because one of them asked me in a friendly sort of way, "Hey, Buddy! Which one of these places is Apartment 106-D?" My apartment! While these apartments were a step up from those I had lived in during my previous existence, they were not too clear on labeling of either the apartments or the parking places for the residents. So the confusion these two were exhibiting confirmed for me that they did not belong here. "Oh," I croaked out. "That one is on the other side and up the far stairs." I was barely able to get that sentence out without my voice squeaking. Once again, I realized that they had been asking about my apartment-meaning me! What did these two rough-looking guys want with me? And why were they wearing windbreakers on a warm summer night in Georgia? The only answer that I could come up with almost caused me to pee in my cargo shorts as my brain began to put the facts together! These guys were armed; armed and looking for my apartment; armed and looking for my apartment with me in it; armed and looking for my apartment with me in it in order to do me harm-or kill me! And they were arrogant enough to ask confirming questions of some guy at the dumpster without worrying about his being a witness later! I waited until they had begun to move off to the far corner of the building, looking for the 'far stairs' that were not really there. I was not remaining still to fool them as much as I was simply too scared to move for a moment. Thankfully, I'd had my wallet, phone, and keys with me when I had walked out of the apartment. Having been locked out of my apartment by accident during my first week there had taught me the hard and expensive lesson about the fifty-dollar lockout fee from the apartment complex manager. It had also taught me to keep my cell phone available as well, since that incident had shown me how difficult it was trying to get another apartment dweller to open up after dark to let me use a phone to call for help. Now, I knew that I had to get to my car and call for help; but who? The only one I could count on that I knew of was John London, my attorney. As I finally began to move toward my car, I was hitting the speed dial. "Hello?" I heard, just as I had closed my car door and was fumbling with the car keys to get the hell out of there. "John! This is Lou," I began, as the voice on the other end continued. It was the dreaded, "You have reached the number of John London; please leave a message." Shit! I had finally gotten the car started just as the two goons realized that the guy at the dumpster had lied to them; meaning that he was very likely to be their target; and they were now running in my direction as I finally got the car in motion. I saw one of them raise his arm and then I saw a flash. The passenger side of my windshield developed a star-pattern in it that began to spread quickly. These fuckers were shooting! AT ME!! I pulled out of the parking lot, but had to stop at the automatic rising barrier before hitting the street. I heard a few more thumps in the back of the car and saw another two star patterns appear across my rear wind screen in my rearview mirror. Finally, reaching the street, I fucking dropped my phone in the split between the driver's seat and the center console. I could not reach for it and watch the street at the same time. So I just drove. I could get the phone later. I made it about three blocks when the car simply died ... right there in the middle of the street! Evidently, those guys had gotten lucky with their aim, even in the semi-darkness. I knew that I could not get this beast going again, and I did not have time to fish my phone out from under the seat! Those guys would on me for sure before could do that! So I got quickly out of the car and ran around it and up over the curb, into the small wooded lot that stood between two apartment complexes as a landscape barrier. As I crossed the sidewalk and headed into the peripheral shrubs lining the edge of the wooded lot, I could hear the gunning of another car engine coming from the direction of my apartment complex. It had to be them! I moved in as deeply as I could into the wooded lot ... and ran into a security fence! I was really trapped if those two thugs saw my car and came looking. As I began to turn one way and then another, I reached both hands up to my face in terror. Then I saw it on my left wrist ... the Nasiib stone bracelet! Was I so desperate that I was willing to rely on superstition; even a superstition that had already appeared to work once? Could it work again? How many charges did this thing have in it, anyway? I heard car doors slam just shy of about fifty or sixty meters away. Shit! I sat down in some bushes that were in deep shadow and began to rub that damned stone. This time, I began to get the distorted vision within about fifteen seconds of beginning the rubbing. I was really rubbing that stone hard and fast! While my vision was bouncing back and forth from clear to out-of-whack and from left eye to right eye, I could still hear the approaching of the two goons. They seemed to be coming right at me. Just when it seemed that they would be on top of me, I heard someone say something very strange... **** Chapter 6 "Louis, what is wrong with your eyes?" Francine asked me. Instead of cowering in a wooded lot, awaiting possible death at the hands of two men evidently sent to kill me, I was fucking my wife-missionary style, and with a condom, as usual. Then I felt my cock expand and felt the satisfying release of sperm into my wife's pussy! It was glorious. As I rolled away from Francine, I closed my eyes and fought to get my breathing back somewhat to normal. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes and saw clearly, without any distortion. "Louis, what was that all about-with your eyes?" Francine insisted. I finally found my voice and said, "Sweetheart, I guess you had me so excited that my eyes got out of whack there for a second. Wow! That was some orgasm! You really excite and thrill me, you know!" I felt Francine move next to me as she reached for her panties and nightgown instead of wanting to cuddle. This was post-coital bonding-Francine style, as I very clearly remembered. I simply watched as she dressed for bed and prepared to go to sleep, shaking my head at the realization that this was just as I had remembered married life with Francine. And it had actually been a pretty shitty experience-with an extra shot thrown in by my first Nasiib-stone-regression. I guess the only reason that I had stayed with Francine before was because of Chelsea and Gracie; along with my own fear of confronting her or her father by trying to divorce the unloving and unfaithful bitch. And now I knew that the only reason she had stayed with me before was because Carstairs had not been available yet; that and her daddy had wanted me under control to keep me quiet about his business illegalities. As I got up to clean myself in the bathroom, I felt the ever-familiar spent condom on my deflated cock. Wrapping it in a tissue as I pulled it off and flushed it, I shook my head in disgust as I reflected on just how much I had been controlled by Francine and her father in just about every aspect of my life before my acquisition of the Nasiib stone from that guy in Minneapolis. The Nasiib stone! The Nasiib stone had evidently done its thing again-after all, it was still on my wrist; and I was here in the 'new now' with no gunmen shooting at me. I just had to make some determination of 'when' I was before saying anything that might arouse suspicion or cause my family to doubt my sanity. Francine sort of gave me a clue about 'when' I was by what she said next. "Louis, please do not make a lot of noise. It took me forever to get Chelsea to sleep and I don't want your rooting around in the bathroom to wake her." How romantic! After making love, all Francine cares about is getting to sleep and not waking Chelsea. I noticed right away that she had said nothing about Grace. That could mean that this time frame might be before Grace came along. That would put me back to just about a year-and-a-half after my marriage to Francine! "I promise I'll be quiet ... Honey," I said, forcing myself to use a term of endearment that I definitely no longer felt. After all, I had already had two rounds of shitty outcomes with Francine. I did not expect this one to turn out any better-and this one was already appearing as if it could be much longer, if I did not do anything about it; and starting soon. "I just want to check that the alarm is set and get a drink of water." Francine just mumbled and turned away from me. After going to the kitchen in our condo to get a drink of water, I checked the calendar on the downstairs computer. It was indeed before Francine had gotten pregnant with Grace-somehow. After all, sex with Francine still involved condoms for me in this reality. So, Francine's getting pregnant a second time would really have to be some kind of fluke. Yeah, right! In any event, I also knew that this was the time period just after Steadman Carstairs had finished his MBA up in Cambridge and had come sniffing around Francine on his business tips to the Atlanta area, despite his having already marrying and expecting a baby of his own. That meant that this 'existence' for me just might be a bit more interesting and challenging than the one I had just barely escaped. **** I had made a decision that I was not going to let events shape me this time around. No! It was NOT going to happen the same way as before! Had I grown a set of balls now that I could see things more clearly? Well, no. But I might have grown at least one. I had decided that my life this time was definitely going to be different. But I needed to make sure of several things, starting right away! The very first morning after being 'back,' I hugged and kissed Chelsea, with a tear in my eye at seeing my little girl again. Then I kissed Francine's cheek as she was preparing for her own departure for work after the nanny got there. I went in to the office as usual and immediately tried to access the network and the server. I had to get one of the IT guys to help me log on first thing, since it had been several 'years' now, and I could not remember my network password. Once that was reset, I got down to the dirty business of making backup copies of the evidence I had begun to gather on Thompson's illegal and unethical business practices, lo, those 'many years' ago-meaning now. Naturally, there were not nearly as many files as I had accumulated before-but I was convinced that there were enough. During lunch, I took the DVD-R with the off-line copies of my electronic evidence against Thompson and once again opened a new account at a different bank from the one that Francine and I had been using. I got a safe deposit box for the DVD-R evidence. I moved a few hundred dollars into a new account at this bank and began to plan my campaign for financial independence from Francine. But, independence from Francine, simply because of the situation that I had let myself become trapped into, meant that independence from J. Carter Thompson must come first and foremost. Thus, I had established my little 'insurance' portfolio against Thompson before setting up anything else with respect to my attempts at changing the direction-and, hopefully, the very much different outcomes-of my sham of a marriage and life. I had become, in the other time line-well, time 'lines' now-quite adept at understanding how to multiply investments many times over through appropriate selection and timing in buying 'call' options in stocks associated with volatile commodities and making many times over what normal investments would yield. The risks were very much higher than simply dealing with the usual stocks or mutual funds in the normal scheme of investments. But the payoff was much higher; and it definitely WOULD be much higher for me, with my awareness of coming events and their effects on commodities prices. I had just never had the balls to do this previously. Now I felt quite a bit more confident in pulling off this risky venture. And it was exhilarating, when I thought about it. Just imagine-Louis 'No-Risk' Chandler now playing in the big leagues, financially! Thus, the second thing I did that first morning 'back' was to initiate contact over the phone to establish an account with a new, young, energetic, and 'hungry' broker at a local investment firm. After making sure that he understood my intentions with respect to investing in the commodities market, he and I came to an agreement about just how much of a contingency fund I would need to establish with his firm. During lunch, I went to my new broker's offices and signed the appropriate paperwork to establish my account. I confirmed the transfer of the appropriate amount of contingency funds, and met his supervisor-who was salivating at his anticipation of making his cut from all the money that I intended to make with his young associate's help. The third thing that I did that day was make a plan concerning Alicia. Somehow, I needed to ensure that Alicia would not die too early in this lifetime. Even if she still hated me because of my situation with her sister-and how it had come about-I still cared for Alicia very much. Okay, I may as well admit that I still truly loved Alicia. I guess I still held out hope that there might be something for the two of us. If only ... Out of Focus Pt. 03 First of all, Alicia had to learn about the threat that her own body posed to her in the form of genetically-related cervical cancer down the line. Additionally, since, in this time line, she was still just a sophomore at Scott, she had not yet been set up by her family to marry Asshole Frank Deal-that would not come about until her senior year. I had to make sure that Alicia was not condemned to an abusive situation, even if I could not work out something for her and me. In any event, I could not sit idly by and let disaster fall on Alicia; the only girl-I now realized-that I had ever truly loved in my life. I had to try something! **** "What the hell do you want, you little shit?" I had plopped down with my coffee directly across from Alicia and her books and laptop at the table on the patio of the student coffee bar on campus. I had checked on her schedule in a roundabout way the week before so that I would be able to catch her without the pressure of classes so that I could speak with her. "Alicia," I began, "I am not here to fight with you." "Well, I don't have anything to say to you; and I definitely have no desire to be around you at all. So," she started gathering her things, "if you are not going to leave, then I will." "Sit still and listen to me for a moment," I said, using an irritated tone and a raised voice that I had never used before with anyone; much less, this girl with whom I was still emotionally attached. "I need for you to hear me out. It is literally a matter of life and death!" Alicia paused and sat back, crossing her arms and giving me a nod to continue, even though she carried a look combining skepticism and disdain. "During one of Francine's OB/GYN appointments, she learned that she may have a genetic predisposition to certain types of cancers," I told her. I had to lie a tiny bit about its coming from Francine; although I was pretty certain that Alicia would not make an attempt to verify my claim by checking with her sister. Alicia and Francine had basically written each other off after that terrible night when Alicia had caught her sister naked in bed with Alicia's supposed boyfriend-me. "I simply wanted to pass this on to you so that you could mention it to your primary care physician or your gynecologist the next time that you have an appointment. That's all. Will you please do this for me?" "Why should I do anything for you, you sonofabitch?" Alicia spat at me. "You shouldn't, I guess," I acknowledged, surprising her a bit. "But, at least, do it for yourself. I kinda get the impression from just about everyone I meet that he or she does not want to die anytime too early in life. May I assume that is true for you as well?" Alicia looked away from me, but did not say anything. Well, at least I had tried. "I'll be going now," I said to her. "Just remember always, despite what has happened with your sister and all, I still love you." Alicia did not acknowledge my comment with anything more than a glare. But, it did seem that some of the hard edge was coming off that glare as I stood to leave. **** It took a couple of weeks after my 'return' to get to the fourth thing on my list. Well, I guess it was a combination of four A and four B, since it involved the same appointment that I had made as soon as I had contacted Alicia about getting a cancer screening. I hired a PI! "Let me get this straight," Leon Atwater, the private investigator, asked me. "You want me to watch your wife to see if she is cheating on you. And you want me to build a file on this Deal guy. You think she is cheating on you with him?" "No, no," I answered. "I think she is cheating, but with someone else; a fellow named Steadman Carstairs. I have other reasons for asking you to build a dossier on Frank Deal." "You know it's a-gonna cost ya a bit; right?" he asked as he lifted his eyebrows a bit. "I understand," I responded. "But this is important to me. Both investigations are important to me in the long run." Yep! I was checking on Francine's activities, especially when she was not with me. That included when she was traveling on business or whenever she went 'out with the girls from work' or for any other activities that did not include me. But, I was also trying to get a clearer picture of Frank Deal. In that manner, maybe-just maybe-I could keep Alicia from being tied to that asshole. I did NOT want the woman I still loved-and I don't mean my 'loving' wife-married to an abusive bastard! **** It only took a couple of months to get the reports back from the PI. NO! I could not afford the cost of their time for the whole period. They only charged for the time they actually spent when they were not waiting for something to develop with Carstairs and Deal. And the whole period had involved a considerable amount of waiting between events. Yes, as it turned out, Francine was spending quite a bit of extra time in the company of Steadman Carstairs whenever he was in town. And it appeared that he had been to town at least three times over the past six weeks. And, in those times when he was here, he evidently had spent 'intimate' time with Francine; I had been at home watching Chelsea on those evenings after the nanny had left. This simply pissed me off on a basic level! I mean; sure, Francine and I, for all intents and purposes, just existed together as a married couple. Nevertheless, Carstairs had no business interfering in my marriage. After all, regardless of how I felt about Francine, I still had Chelsea to consider. And I knew that my daughter's welfare was best served by being raised in an environment of an intact family-with both her Mommy and her Daddy-and that was me; her REAL Daddy, regardless of who had inseminated Francine with her. Therefore, I had to shut 'Stud Man' Carstairs down somehow. It still rankled my memory of my 'other' existence in which I had heard Francine refer to her lover by that stupid nickname. The PI had been really thorough in checking out Carstairs, as the correspondent in the affair with Francine. After all, Leon Atwater was charging me for enough information to build an air-tight case for a countersuit against my wife for adultery, if it came to her trying to divorce me. In doing that, Leon needed to give me details about the guy she was screwing. After all, I would probably be launching an alienation of affection suit against the sonofabitch as part of my countersuit. I read in Leon's report the account of how Steadman Carstairs had begun dating a girl at Wellesley College shortly after my marriage to Francine, while Carstairs was attending graduate school at Harvard for the MBA program. He had later married the girl after getting her pregnant and being forced to the altar by her Irish-gang-related daddy. I smiled as I thought about what Carstairs' wife's 'Daa' would think about his son's running around on his daughter. "Hey, Leon," I said into my phone, after the niceties of greetings, "do you think you could get a copy of the report on Carstairs and my wife sent to the big guy in Boston without his finding out the source? I would not want this to come back on me." "You know that this guy is connected up there, don't you?" asked Leon. "And if he gets hold of this report, I pity this Carstairs guy when his father finds out about his-how should we characterize it-'extracurricular activities' when he is on the road." "Yeah," I said with a grin, "that would be terrible if something bad were to happen to Carstairs because of his wife's daddy wanting to beat the shit out of him; wouldn't it?" I paused and then said, "See to it; will ya?" Leon chuckled and said for me to consider it done. I hung up the phone and figured that Steadman Carstairs was facing a bad divorce, at the very least; and a massive ass-whuppin', at most. As for Frank Deal, I thanked Leon for his report on that ass wipe as well. It seems that Frank had already begun to show his true colors even before he had graduated from Georgia Southern, in Statesboro, just the year before. Frank Deal had been arrested for possession of cocaine and his family had pulled some strings to keep him from having an adult felony arrest record, but it had been close. He also had been accused, on at least two other occasions, of swinging his fist at his then-girlfriend during instances when he had been drinking heavily at fraternity parties-connecting only once. I asked Leon to hold onto this report, as I knew that it would not have the desired effect of breaking up the plan that J. Carter Thompson might have to try to play matchmaker with Deal and Alicia until another year or so. I hung up the phone and smiled to myself as I thought about how things were coming together quite nicely in this time line. I fingered the Nasiib stone on my bracelet-but I did not rub it! I was feeling quite a bit more decisive in this incarnation of my life, and I found that feeling to be very satisfying. I had already prepared to take Thompson down whenever I felt it might be necessary, or whenever I might feel threatened; or feel that my family was threatened. I had evidence on my 'loving' wife's infidelity; and had taken steps-hopefully-to remove the intrusion of at least one of her lovers, even if I did know about any others at this time; or from any time before now. Additionally, I had tried to take care of the one woman in this world for whom I actually carried around a feeling of real love-Alicia. I had warned her about the coming cancer potential. And I had set things in motion to keep her from ending up married to an idiot wife-beater. I was in that 'place of peace' that some future Mookie guy had described to me in another existence. Life was good! And then it wasn't! **** I was in Chattanooga when the call came in from Leon. I had been in meetings all day, with my cell phone turned off. When I finally turned it on to check messages, I noted six missed calls from Leon. This had me curious, as my business with Leon was basically in the wrap-up phase of things. Why could he be calling me now; and so often in one afternoon? Instead of checking voicemail, I hit the contact dialer on my Smartphone for Leon's number to talk to him directly. "Thank God! Lou, why don't you keep your phone turned on?" Leon asked, obviously disconcerted. "Well, Leon, I do have a life, ya know, and that includes my job. Today, my job had me in important meetings all afternoon," I answered, surprised at Leon's obvious agitation. "Okay. But you need to know something, and it could be urgent. You need to be sure to keep your wife away from that Carstairs guy for the next day or two," Leon said. "What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly concerned. "I mean that Southie bastard in Boston got the report you had me send him," Leon revealed to me as I approached my car and hit the key fob to unlock it. "But, evidently, instead of putting the hurt on Carstairs there in Boston, he sent two guys from his previous life-if you know what I mean-to follow Carstairs to Atlanta and deal with him here! My guys in Boston say that they are even flying down on the same plane with Carstairs today; and it is scheduled to get into ATL at about five-thirty!" Francine! Chelsea! If Steadman Carstairs were to go to my place-especially since I was not scheduled to be back from Chattanooga for another two days-my wife and daughter could also be in danger if those two Irish gangsters tried to deal with my wife's lover at our condo! Shit! It was already three-forty-five! As I peeled out of the parking lot, heading for I-75, I called the PA for my department chief at Thompson Corporation. It was evidently too late for anyone still to be hanging around the office, because the call went to voicemail; so I left a message, telling them that I had to return home for a family emergency. I tried calling the condo to warn Francine, but either I could not get a cell signal along the way or else the call went to voicemail in those few times when I could get through. It was already getting dark when I hit the Perimeter on the North Side of Atlanta near the Galleria. Shit! Traffic at the end of the work day in Atlanta was just as bad as it usually was; but it seemed much worse to me now. I was frantic to get to my condo and try to protect my family-dysfunctional as it may be. I may not be 'in love' with Francine, but I still loved her in the way of any husband for the woman who bore a child that he had raised as his own; and with whom he had been intimate for almost two years-even if that intimacy had been limited by the wife to plain vanilla sex with condoms the whole time. I did not want to see her harmed-or worse-and I did not want Chelsea to be anywhere close to that kind of situation! I did not pull into the parking lot to my condo until after seven-thirty. I was dismayed to see a strange car already there in my space, right next to Francine's. It was obviously a rental; and probably the one being used by Steadman Carstairs. It took me only a matter of about twenty seconds to park my own car in the space reserved for my most asshole-ish neighbor. Tough shit! I had more pressing matters to deal with. Instead of rushing in to warn the two cheaters about what might be coming their way, I pulled out my phone to call. Now, I got four bars; if only she would answer instead of letting the machine pick up! I know; I was supposed to have a bit more courage now than in my previous 'life.' But, on the drive down from Chattanooga, I had decided that, if they were in the act of fucking at my place, I simply did not want to see it. Knowing about it is one thing; seeing it and having that image burned into your brain-especially when you were trying your best to keep the family intact until your child was older-was another thing entirely. "Hello, Lou," said the matter-of-fact voice of Francine. She must have been upset at my calling her while her 'Stud Man' was with her, but she was trying to stay calm. "What's up?" No 'Honey' or 'Sweetheart;' just, 'What's up?' Man, how this marriage had deteriorated! "Francine," I said with a force to my voice that I had never used with her, "listen to me and do not argue." "Louis, don't talk to me that ..." was as far as she got before I unloaded on her. "God damn it, Frankie," I had not called her that for a long time, as she hated it and only let her father get away with it. "Shut the fuck up and just listen for a change!" When I heard her say quietly, "Okay, Lou. What has you so excited?" I told her. "You need to get Chelsea and get in your car and visit your mother ... right now! This minute!" I told her. "Louis, what are you talking about? I can't just walk out with Chelsea and go to Mother's. I would need to pack a diaper bag and a change of clothes for her and ..." "Francine!" I shouted at her to get her just simply to shut up. Then I took a breath and let the moment of truth descend on us both. "There are two men who are probably coming to our condo right at this moment; and they have nothing but bad intentions. Don't ask me how I know; just trust me. These are really bad men. I need for you and Chelsea to leave; right now!" "What do you mean two men; and coming to our condo? Louis, have you...?" That's as far as she got before I lowered the boom. "They are not coming to our condo for you or me," I said. Then I told her with as much ice in my voice as I could muster, "They are coming for Steadman!" There was a pause of about five seconds with no sound from either end of the phone conversation. "What ... who ... you mean Steadman Carstairs?" Francine stammered. "But why would ...he lives in Boston. You know that, and ..." "God damn it, Francine! Regardless what you may think, I am not that dumb!" I told her tersely. "Now you get Chelsea and get your ass out of there before you get hurt as part of the collateral damage. I don't give a shit one way or another what happens to Ass Wipe, there. But I want my wife and daughter safe. Now, get your ass in gear! Do you hear me?" I thought I heard a sob, but it may have been simply a gulp. Then I heard Francine-for the first time in our married life together say-MEEKLY-"Yes, Louis." Then she hung up. I had not felt the need to tell her that I was parked downstairs. It really did not matter. I just felt the need to be there and to keep watch, I guess. And I did watch, as my wife's erstwhile lover bolted from the shadows of the building to his rental and got out of there in a hurry. With that, I breathed a little easier, but did not relax all the way. After all, Francine and Chelsea had still not appeared-my God; why does it take so much time and effort to get an infant or a toddler ready to go some place? Another dark rental pulled into the lot and parked in my space-the space that Steadman Carstairs had just vacated. Two large men got out of the car and looked around. Oh, my God! They were here! They must have lost contact with Carstairs in the rush-hour traffic and had simply come here, based on the information in the report! Francine! Chelsea! Shit! I hit the trunk release, pulled the door open, and hurried up and out of the car. Running around to the now-open trunk I looked inside and found the tire iron. Then I turned toward where the two men were now standing in front of their car, conversing before entering my condo. I hurled the tire iron at the rear wind screen of their rental and watched as it hit with a major 'Smack,' leaving a massive star pattern in the now ruined safety glass. "Looking for me, you Mick bastards?" I yelled. Maybe in the dark they would believe that Carstairs was their assailant and I could divert them from going into the condo with Francine and Chelsea. Given their mindset, that would not be too hard for them to believe. I saw them reach inside their coats and produce handguns as they turned toward where I had been standing. 'Had been,' being the operative term, for I was now hot-footing it out of the parking lot! I glanced over my shoulder once to see them take chase on foot, following the sounds of my footfalls when they could not see me through the landscaping around the condos. I turned to look forward and just tried to continue running. After about two minutes of running down the sidewalk, with their running steps right behind me, I heard the squeal of tires and the roar of a car engine. Then, I saw Francine's Subaru flash by me. I was between street lights at the time, so I am sure that she would not have seen me, even if she were on the lookout for me-which, in her terror of the moment, I was quite sure that she wasn't. I turned the corner at the next street and tried to cut through the next set of condos, looking for somewhere that I might use as a hiding place to keep from getting hurt or shot by the two thugs pursuing me. I settled for a dumpster that I encountered. I pushed the sliding opening closed using friction, since the handle was on the outside; then I settled down in order not to move or make noise. Wow! Coffee grounds, egg shells, used cat litter, and carrot peels! What a wonderful combination of smells and textures! Nevertheless, I was too busy trying to get my loud and heavy breathing under control to worry about dumpster ambiance. Then I heard the two guys moving among the dumpsters. I could hear them sliding the openings open as they moved in my direction. They must have figured that the dumpsters were the only hiding places available and were systematically checking! Okay! Panic Time! The only recourse open to me was that damned stone ... NO ... I meant that 'blessed' stone, if it could get me out of this mess! Out of Focus Pt. 03 I frantically began to rub that stone for all it was worth! Meanwhile, I could hear the two Irish mob guys getting closer. Not now ... please don't let me get killed by someone thinking that I am Steadman ... Fucking ... Carstairs! As dark as it was in that damned dumpster, I could not tell if the alternating eye dimming was taking place. It was just too damned dark! Then the sliding door nearest to me opened and ... **** To Be Continued... Out of Focus Pt. 04 ---------------- It helps to get a better picture of the events of the story if one were to read Parts 1, 2, and 3 before continuing here. Lou has been given a chance to try to redeem himself a bit from the misfortune that had been laid at his feet previously--losing his true love, being trapped in a loveless marriage, getting framed and sacked and divorced. A mysterious trinket has taken him back and allowed him to prepare for the misdeeds planned by his 'loving' wife and his boss--her father, but, placed him in a couple of dangerous situations. Can he use the powers of the trinket to bring about a happy ending? Read on ... Flavian ---------------- Chapter 7 Alicia jumped into my arms and gave me a huge hug, followed by a very tongue-filled kiss! "Oh, Sweetheart, thank you! This trip means so much to me! And I just know that Daddy will listen and agree if you support me when I ask him; and if you speak to him on my behalf!" my true love said to me as I held her. "Are you okay, Honey? Your eyes look like they are dilating or something." I looked back at Alicia and slowly she came into clear view. I took a few seconds to get my head around where I was simply by leaning down and kissing her again. As I looked around, I could see that she and I were in my office at her father's company. She had rarely come there, not wanting to flaunt her relationship with me in front of her father early on in our relationship. It now clicked as to 'when' this was. This was only just over a month-and-a-half after the Spring Dance her senior year in high school, at which we had finally clicked. The following week, her father had warned me not to get any ideas about starting any kind of serious relationship with his younger daughter--after all, he had plans for her. As I have already related, Alicia and I had continued seeing each other, despite her father's admonitions; deepening our relationship into one that showed signs of true love. The 'last' time through, I had had no balls whatsoever when in the presence of J. Carter Thompson, and I had succumbed to that awesome personal presence of his in the conversation to come in just a few minutes' time. This was the event involving the final request by Alicia to be allowed to work with her friend in Africa for the month of June and part of July between high school graduation and the start of college in the fall. Although I had promised Alicia that I would support her request, in that 'other' existence, I had caved and agreed with her father before the meeting was over that maybe it was not in her best interest. It had taken me almost four weeks of apologizing and begging afterward before she would even go out with me simply for a lunch meeting; much less a date. Thankfully, that lunch date had caused the healing process in our relationship to begin. And, before the summer had been halfway over, we had truly become an 'item.' And we had become fully engaged in all manner of sexual activities as well; all leading up to that awful night at her house... Enough! Let's take one event at a time here! As we entered her father's office together this time, J. Carter Thompson looked up and smiled at Alicia like a loving father. Then he scowled at me, like a loving father trying to protect this daughter from some lower life form. "Well, Sweetheart," Thompson said as he turned back to Alicia and began smiling again. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit by my darling daughter?" "Oh, Daddy," Alicia said sweetly. "I know that you said before that you did not want me traipsing all over 'Hell and half of Africa,' as you put it. But this is such a worthwhile trip; they really need volunteer help over there. And the deadline for my telling Marsha whether I can go with her is coming up and I really need to know whether or not I can go. Pleeeeeeeasse, Daddy?" She said this with all the sweetness of a manipulative daughter to her loving father--of course, aren't they all? "Sugar," began J. Carter Thompson, "I just don't know about that. I mean; what if something were to happen to you over there? You know that Africa can be a dangerous place." "Daddy," Alicia replied, "I know that you don't want me to be harmed, any more than I want for you to have to worry about that. I have gone online and checked out both the fact sheets about Kenya posted there by the CIA and State Department--Kenya is where we will be working with the Doctors Without Borders. And where we will be is actually safer than shopping in downtown Atlanta in the evening." Thompson was well known to be a hard case negotiator--except with his daughters. In the cases of both of his daughters, Francine and Alicia, he was simply a pushover if they pressed him. This time, he did the same thing that he had done in that previous time line. He turned his fearful countenance on me and tried to get me to be the bad guy. "What do you think about all this Africa nonsense, Chandler?" he asked me with a growl and a frown--daring me to come down on Alicia's side and cause him to have to yield to his daughter's influence. Was he surprised this time! "I think that a trip such as this can only be viewed as educational, eye-opening, informative, and helpful in the larger sense of aiding the relief organization with which she will be serving, and for her own personal development. How could Alicia NOT get a better outlook on life by taking this outstanding once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?" Thompson looked at me in shock and anger. Alicia looked at me with nothing short of adoration. "I say that she should go for it with all the gusto she can!" I finished, looking as relaxed as possible. And that was pretty possible indeed; now that it had finally appeared that I was capable of growing a set of balls. Regardless of the outcome of this meeting for my career, I had no reservations about what I had just said. I had meant it, and I cared too much for Alicia to see her denied this opportunity, even though I would miss her terribly and worry about her while she was gone. Alicia squealed in delight and hugged me as she jumped up and down next to me, causing me to rise and fall a bit with her movements. J. Carter Thompson did NOT squeal with delight. He fixed me with a death stare--until Alicia let me go and then turned to give him a hug as well. That was when he smiled at her and nodded to her; and, with those indicators, she knew that her upcoming trip to Kenya was now a done deal. After Alicia had left--but not before she had given me a toe-curling kiss when no one could see us--I got called back into Thompson's office to get the obligatory ass-reaming for my daring to give him the wrong answer in response to his 'obviously rhetorical' question in front of his daughter. It lasted about five minutes before he shooed me out of there with a warning not to cross him again. **** "Isn't it gorgeous?" Alicia asked me, when she got back from her trip to Kenya. I met Alicia as she emerged from the escalator leading up from the airport rail tram tunnel that had brought her from the E Concourse, which was all the way out at the far side of Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. That was where all the international flights arrived so that everyone arriving directly into Atlanta from overseas could go through customs. In the case of Alicia's flight, though, the passengers had already cleared customs at Dulles Airport in Washington, DC. For having been traveling for over twenty-seven hours, Alicia still looked wonderful. Mrs. Thompson, Alicia's mother, had gotten the first hug from Alicia when she came up the escalator, naturally. Then Mrs. Thompson had looked on with mild dismay at her daughter's public display of affection for me--a lowly employee of her husband's business, no less--in the form of Alicia's giving me a soul-searing, toe-curling, nuclear-powered kiss, complete with tongue! Alicia's journey back to 'the world' had taken her from Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi, Kenya to Hartsfield-Jackson here in Atlanta by way of Zurich and then Dulles. She had left Kenya at 11:25 PM yesterday evening and had arrived in Atlanta the next evening--today--at 6:43 PM, after a trip that included a 3-1/2 hour layover in Zurich and just over an hour layover in DC. Her total travel time, not including the initial ride to Kenyatta Airport on a very rickety diesel-smelling bus, had been of just over twenty-six-and-a-half hours. Despite her obvious fatigue, she looked and felt wonderful in my arms. Now she backed off and was showing me her pendant. It was a single stone in a beautiful setting on a silver chain around her neck. "I got this from a Kenyan lady who had sought refuge with the MSF to keep from being mutilated." Alicia shuddered when she thought about what she had experienced over there. She went on to tell me briefly that MSF, or Médecins Sans Frontières, the French term that was used as the official name for the organization we in the U.S. called Doctors Without Borders, had offered shelter to many Kenyan women threatened by genital mutilation, a horrible practice that was--and still is, unfortunately--very common among some tribes in Kenya. Alicia had befriended one of those ladies sheltering with MSF, and the Kenyan woman had gifted Alicia with a chain that contained what the woman had called a Bahati stone. I shivered at how similar that sounded to my own situation with the Nasiib stone, which I still wore in the bracelet on my left hand--the hand that had been tempted to drift toward Alicia's deliciously rounded ass before I realized that Mrs. Thompson was still watching me closely with at least a tiny bit of disapproval. "Well," I said to Alicia with a final quick kiss to her lips, "you need to get home with your momma and get settled. After you have caught up with your family a bit ..." I glanced at Mrs. Thompson and smiled, hoping to have won a couple of points with that comment--no such luck, "we can see about maybe getting together soon for lunch or something." With the eye that Mrs. Thompson could not see, I winked slowly at Alicia. Alicia grinned at me and said, "We'll just have to see about having you come on out to the house to stay for a weekend, Sugah! Lunch is just so ... so ... I don't know; tacky, I guess, since we mean so much more to each other now. I just think that you need to come on out and let me show you off to my family a bit more officially ... as my boyfriend. What do you think?" I was floored! This was turning out to be version one-point-five of the scenario that had led to my emotional and relational demise in my 'other' time line. Could I make the necessary corrections this time to keep disaster from happening? This time, I felt courageous enough to face it head on, though. Hell, yeah, I would go! And I would fight for Alicia and for my relationship with her this time with all I had in my power. And, if I were strong enough emotionally, and careful enough, I could pull it off. We would just have to see! **** Yeah--sigh--Francine had been playing up the friendly role all week long in the days leading up to my visit to the Thompson household for Alicia's big announcement that I was officially her boyfriend. That part was no different from before--indicating that Francine was working herself up for her big play. What WAS different this time was the fact that I was a bit forewarned of what Francine had in mind; along with my own newly well-developed attitude about how to face things with a firm approach to self-preservation and self-interest. This time, I was not going to be saddled with the wrong sister, just as Jacob had been strapped with Leah in that Old Testament Bible story. Alicia was the sister that I intended to end up spending the rest of my life with; NOT Francine. And I was definitely NOT going to end up raising the bastard children of Steadman Carstairs in this lifetime! I would still love 'my girls,' but maybe as a loving uncle rather that as 'Daddy.' I couldn't help it. I would always have a special place in my heart for the dear, sweet memory of my daughters. Chelsea and Gracie were still very special to me, even if they had been sired by someone else in that 'other' existence, and even if they had not yet been born in 'this' existence. Friday evening, I arrived at the Thompson home with a better plan than I'd had the previous time. In 'that' time, I had let events control me. Not this time! I had triple-checked that I had packed everything I would need for my weekend stay--including actually feeling the Nasiib stone bracelet on my left wrist multiple times to ensure that I still had it. I did not believe that I would require its services in order to regress to another 'peaceful place' but I wanted to be ready for anything. Alicia must have been watching for me, since she dashed out of the house to greet me as I was pulling my case for the weekend out of the trunk; jumping into my arms to give me a huge hug and kiss--all very un-lady-like behavior for a debutante among the society elites of Stone Mountain! Alicia brought me inside and allowed me just enough time to offer greetings to Mrs. Thompson before leading me upstairs. She had me thoroughly ensconced in the guest room and was giving me a very nice kiss within about five minutes of my arrival at her home. I was a bit earlier in my arrival this time, since Mr. Thompson and Francine did not arrive until later in the afternoon. Alicia's dad simply shook my hand and acknowledged my presence without making any more of it than he had to. Francine started in on the doe-eyed looks, just as she had in that 'other' time line--I simply smiled without offering any sign of encouragement to Francine, but remained alert. Early evening went as it had before. We had dinner, accompanied by the all-important conversation, whereby a couple of things were emphasized. Alicia was determined that her family be clear in their minds that she was choosing me to be her boyfriend. Mr. Thompson was voicing his pushback at that idea by pointing out the inappropriateness of an employee's being in that role, and Alicia's need to face up to society's expectations of a young lady in her position--THAT got her back up. Mrs. Thompson was only interjecting every now and then, trying to walk the fine line of being supportive of her daughter as an emerging adult, but not disagreeing openly and completely with her husband's wishes. Francine simply gave me the odd smiles and remained silent, except for the occasional, 'Would you please pass ...' request during the meal. My contribution to the conversation may have surprised Alicia's parents, but they appeared to have no effect on Francine--after all, I knew that she had her own agenda for this evening. After the family members had voiced their opinions, I took advantage of a short lull and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, I need to let all y'all know that I have developed very strong feelings for Alicia." My girl beamed at me and scooted her chair a bit closer to my left side as I continued. "In fact, I am reasonably sure that I am thoroughly in love with Alicia. While I realize that we cannot make formal commitments to anything more than a relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend until she completes her season of education, I see no reason not to predict that we have a very good likelihood of spending the rest of our lives together." With that pronouncement, I could see the Thompsons widen their eyes in surprise and note that Francine's strange smile began to falter a bit. Mr. Thompson glanced at Francine and the two of them locked eyes in some sort of silent communication for a few seconds. Mrs. Thompson, while not overjoyed at what I said, broke the stalemate of the moment by suggesting that we retire from the dining area for after-dinner drinks; also, I could tell that she was holding back on some of what she was meaning to say and what she was actually feeling. I was paying more attention now. I watched as Thompson nodded to Francine once we were all seated in the recreation room of the Thompson's large house, and she nodded back faintly. Francine, as before, then began to give off those 'come on' vibes in my direction as if she were trying to pick me up at a bar. Mr. Thompson, also as before, said that he needed to get to bed so he could be fresh for golf in the morning. He again appeared to give a deliberate and hard look in Francine's direction as he left the room. Francine went to a side board and poured that damned aperitif for all the rest of us who remained. With her body shielding what she was doing, I could not tell if she added something to my drink; but I was sure that she would--based on what had happened last time this had played out. Francine smiled strangely again as she handed me my drink. I thanked her with a smile as I placed the glass to my lips and pretended to drink. As she turned to pass the other glasses out to Alicia, sitting next to me, and her mother, sitting opposite me, I silently offered the hope that the drink I had just poured behind and below me so that the chair would shield the spill would not stain the carpet beneath it too badly. Wrapping my hand around the small glass to disguise the absence of any liquid, I pretended to sip from it for the next few minutes. Remembering that the effects of whatever had been used on me before had taken approximately fifteen minutes, I watched the grandfather clock in the corner of the room carefully before going into my act. "Wow!" I said, putting the empty glass down on the low table in the center of the chairs in which we had been sitting while continuing the dinner discussions, but without as much negativity from Mrs. Thompson since her husband had gone upstairs. Francine had been silent as she'd watched things unfold. Alicia had stayed firm in her determination that she and I should be allowed to continue on the course we had set together. I had simply agreed with Alicia a couple of times and had begun to give off the appearance of losing the clarity of my thought processes. "I ... I don't feel well. I think I need to get to bed, if you will excuse me," I said to all present. Trying to portray the helplessness of the previous occasion, I allowed Alicia and Francine to assist me up the stairs and to the guest room. By that time, I was supposed to be out completely, so I pretended to be. Believe me; it was hard to keep that up when Alicia and Francine--both of them babes, remember--began to take off my clothes, leaving me in my boxers and bare-chested. Alicia gave my cock a squeeze--or was it Francine?--before I heard a whispered feminine voice say, "Sleep tight, My Love." I desperately wanted to open my eyes to see, between the two sisters, just who had said and done these things, but I needed to maintain the subterfuge for a while longer. Soon, one of the girls draped my covers over me and footsteps and whispers receded toward the guest room's doorway. The light switch flicked and the room dimmed to almost full darkness, and then the door clicked as it closed. I was alone--at least for the time being. I carefully opened my eyes and confirmed that I was alone in the darkness of the guest room. Remembering the layout, I was able to move out of the bed and find my pants; and, thus, my phone. I was getting a bit nervous now, as I knew that the big moment was rapidly approaching and I needed to play this out carefully. The phone glow when I activated the screen was quite a contrast to the gloom of a moment before. I tapped the icon for the messaging app and sent of a quick note to Alicia's phone, praying as I did that she still had it close, so that she would hear the beep or the vibration buzz that indicated an incoming message. Me: RU up Alicia: yes Me: can U cm to my rm Alicia: not a gd id mom up Out of Focus Pt. 04 Me: dnt care imprtnt PLS!!! Alicia: k mpls I was expecting another message, but instead I heard the guest room door click open and it got slightly brighter as the night light from the bathroom across the hall silhouetted a female form in my doorway. I tensed, expecting it to be Francine. "Lou," came the whispered voice of Alicia. Thank God! "Oh, Sweetie, thank God it's you!" I said softly as I held her to me as she came into my arms. Even in my state of worry, I could not keep my body from reacting to the scantily-clad angel in my arms. Little Lou was starting to make his presence known. "Baby, what is so important that you need me here and now?" I could barely make out her features, but I got the distinct impression that Alicia was smiling at me. "Are you that horny?" I was still too nervous about the situation to respond with any levity. "No; but I need for you to trust me and follow my instructions on something." "What are you talking about, Lou?" Alicia asked. She was still young enough and headstrong enough that she was simply not used to taking directions or going along with anything blindly or without asking a load of questions or arguing sufficiently until she was completely convinced of something. I tried to emphasize the urgency by asking point blank, "Do ... you ... trust ... me?" Alicia was frowning now, I could tell in the glow of my phone's screen. But I could tell by her body's reaction and her short sigh that she was going to go along ... at least conditionally, for now. "Okay, Honey. Yes. I trust you, but you are really beginning to freak me out. Just what do you want from me?" At last! "Sweetheart, I know all this is strange, but I need for you to get into the closet over there and stay as quiet as you can." I could feel her tense, as if to object or begin asking another series of questions, so I forged ahead. "We don't have very much time, so I really need for you to trust me on this. You will see, hopefully in short order, just what I believe is going on tonight." Alicia did not say anything, but if I were in her position, I would believe that my boyfriend had lost his mind. But--bless her heart--she moved close and hugged me and said, "Louis Chandler, you have to be the craziest boyfriend a girl could have." Then she sighed and said, "But I love you enough to let you show me what you want me to see; even if it seems completely off the wall." I led her over to the closet and opened the door. Before letting her go in, I moved along the wall and took one of the side chairs in the room and moved it into the closet. "Here, this will give you a place to sit so that you won't get too tired if this takes longer than I expect it to." "Are you sure about all of this, Lou?" Alicia asked as one more effort to resist. "Honey, believe me; within a period starting from a few minutes from now and going as long as a couple of hours, you are going to see something play out in this room that will more than likely surprise you beyond what you would ever imagine." Alicia started to say something, but I continued. "But it will also reveal to you the truth about something that could have otherwise caused us to be apart forever after this weekend. Would you want that to happen?" "No, Sweetie, I don't want anything to keep us apart. And you know that," Alicia confirmed to me with another short hug. "Then, please trust me, sit here, and remain completely quiet. When what I suspect will happen, actually does, I want you to remain quiet--no matter what! You will need to see the whole event in order to understand what has me going right now. Can I count on you to keep quiet until I personally ask you to come out?" I looked at her in the gloom; my phone's screen had blanked out now, so there was very little illumination. I felt her nod and then she sat down as I closed the closet door on her. The louvered openings of the top half of the door would have let some light into the closet if there had been any lamps on. As it was, if there were to be any light coming on in the room, Alicia would be able to see partially through the slats of the louvers. And she would hear what went on regardless of the light situation. I got back into bed and pulled up the covers as I began what I hoped would be a short wait. Needless to say, the inactivity in the house and the silence was a bit eerie to me as I waited for what I knew was likely to happen. I mean ... it had happened before, and all the indicators were there for it to happen the same way. But, I was determined that the outcome would be very different this time around! The silent wait had been ongoing for almost forty minutes, when I felt my phone vibrate. Not wanting the glow of the screen to give anything away to anyone entering the room, I ducked under the covers. Alicia: how long need 2 p b4 2 long Me: can U hold on Alicia: ill try It turned out to be five of the longest minutes of the night after that last text. The screen had dimmed out after about fifteen seconds following Alicia's last response, leaving us both in the dark and the quiet. The tension had my guts in turmoil. Then I heard the knob rattle and the guest room door clicked softly as it opened. I had my head turned so that I could see what might be transpiring at the doorway without giving away the fact that I was actually awake and alert. I was expecting Francine to enter. What I did not expect was someone else to be with her! I could not make out the form initially, except that its silhouette was larger than that of Francine. When they began to speak softly, believing me to be out of things and under the influence of whatever had been in the drink, I was startled to realize just who it was. I silently prayed that Alicia, despite her own likely shock as she sat in the closet and witnessed what was happening, would stay quiet for just a bit longer. "Are you sure he's out?" asked J. Carter Thompson of his daughter. I thought I might have heard Alicia gasp behind the concealing louver door, but it may have been my imagination, hearing things in my heightened state of anxiety that were not actually there. "Yes, Daddy; I put enough in his drink to keep him out for hours. By the time he finally does stir in a few hours, I may have even gotten a couple of hours of sleep myself," replied Francine, causing them both to chuckle. "We just have to time things right so that Alicia is the one to wake him and discover us together after a 'night of passion.'" I could just imagine Francine doing finger quotes in the air, but it was still too dark in the room to tell. 'Please, please, Alicia ... Stay in place and stay quiet for just a bit longer,' I prayed silently. Either Alicia heard me through ESP or else 'Someone' was hearing my prayers. "You know that this is not my first choice of how to solve our little dilemma," said Thompson. "I know, Daddy," Francine answered in her half-whisper, "but Steadman hasn't been around since he left for Cambridge over two-and-a-half months ago. And I will be showing soon enough. We have to get this settled now." It took me a second to register exactly what she had said. Steadman Carstairs, the guy who had evidently knocked up Francine, had been away from the area for well over two months now. As I quickly ran the math, remembering when Chelsea had been born in that 'other' time line, I realized that the dates did not match up somehow; they were off by about a month. What was different this time? I did not have more than a few seconds to think about that before they spoke again. "Well, just remember to play the adoring lover until the wedding; and then play the loving wife until we can settle back into our routine, Frankie. And maybe we can even bring your sister on board with you and me eventually," said Thompson. 'Just what did that mean?' I thought. "Don't worry; I am a pretty good actress," Francine responded. "After all, I fooled everyone at his old business for several months before you bought them out. Remember?" "Yeah," her father answered softly, adding a quiet chuckle, "I remember it well. Just be careful. That's all I ask, Sweetie; okay?" "Don't worry," Francine answered with what sounded like pride, "I will. And after I have Louis here snagged and tagged, you and I can get back to being ... Frankie and her Stud Man." What! I may have only thought it; or I may have said it out loud. But, it did not matter either way, because I suddenly sat upright in the bed, throwing off all vestiges of subterfuge, along with my covers. My shock had caused me to react without thinking, as I shouted at them both. "YOU'RE HER STUD MAN!" When the lights came on, temporarily dazzling all of us, I could see Francine's hand on the switch. J. Carter Thompson was standing there momentarily startled by my outburst. "Louis!" said Francine, haltingly, and then she paused for a second ... evidently attempting to think of some way out of her predicament ... and that of her father. In that pause, my mind wrapped itself around the truth of the matter! J. Carter Thompson had evidently entered into a forbidden, incestuous relationship with his own daughter, Francine! Not only that; he had evidently impregnated said daughter! The horror of this was huge in my mind! Francine, while she was actually attracted to and had wanted to be with Steadman Carstairs, was having to entrap me as a simple matter of timing in all of this! But, worst of all, Thompson was even envisioning going after his other daughter, Alicia, the love of my life, in an attempt to expand his evil web! Not in my lifetime! "Give it up, Francine!" I said with all the anger I could muster. "You bitch! How could you stoop so low as to fuck your own father?" Francine suddenly had a panicked, little-girl-who-was-terrified-of-monsters expression. "And then to get pregnant by him?" I continued. "And you! You sanctimonious bastard!" Thompson was uncharacteristically quiet at the moment as he evidently tried to think his way out of this one. But that did not last long. "Now, see her, Chandler...," he began. "Oh," I interrupted, "I see, all right! You finagled your way into the bed of one of your daughters; you got her pregnant; you could not get her married off to the guy that both she and you want her married to; so you went to Plan B and tried to trap me!" I was hurling saliva with almost every word I spoke. And then I added the part that really tore at me. "And, you were even planning to try to worm your way into Alicia's bed!" Both Francine and Thompson knew that they were screwed now. But I knew that J. Carter Thompson, mighty mover and shaker in business and in upper-middle-class society in the Atlanta area, would launch into the offensive once he had a moment to think. Alicia did not give him that moment! "YOU BASTARD!" Alicia had finally had enough and burst forth from her hiding place in the closet, causing the door to slam into the wall loudly. I could not image that anyone in this house was still asleep with all the racket going on--and I was correct. I saw Mrs. Thompson move to a spot in the hallway just outside the guest room. All the players were now here. Alicia continued her tirade. "You actually fucked my sister, your own daughter, and got her pregnant?" Tears were starting to roll down her cheeks as her own little-girl love and respect for her father dissolved within her. "And you planned to try to fuck me too? Daddy, how could you even think it; much less do it? What kind of monster are you, anyway?" As I got off the bed to stand next to Alicia and perhaps restrain her from lashing out physically, I noticed two things. First, Mrs. Thompson was no longer in the doorway. Second, Alicia was wearing the pendant that she had brought back from Kenya--that Bahati stone, she had called it. And she was holding it and actually fingering it nervously as she shouted out her frustration and anger. "And you," Alicia now shouted at Francine, "My own sister is trying to break me up with the man I love and trap him into a loveless marriage to hide what you have been doing ... and with our own father!" I moved closer and wrapped my arms around her midsection to let her know I was there for her and to restrain her if necessary. The two shots that we heard caused all of us to jump! It appeared as if J. Carter Thompson had simply flopped over stiffly from where he stood. He was thrown down as if his feet had been fixed in place and his body had been hinged at his feet. Francine was standing next to her father's fallen body in shock with her hands against her mouth. Alicia was fingering her Bahati stone more anxiously and I had raised my left hand to hold her up as I felt her body begin to sag with what I assumed was resignation, shock, or simply the failure of her strength following the expenditure of her adrenaline. I was only peripherally aware of Mrs. Thompson entering the room with her arm extended as she held what looked like a revolver. 'Shit! She just shot her husband!' my mind said to me. "I have had enough of all this, you bastard!" I heard Mrs. Thompson shout as I tried to turn Alicia to face me, as a way of shielding her from having to witness her father bleeding out on the floor of the guest room; and her mother holding the murder weapon with which she had assured both her daughters that they would soon no longer have either parent in their lives. As I turned Alicia toward me, I could see that the pupils of her eyes were reacting in a manner with which I was VERY familiar recently. The iris of her right eye was almost entirely obliterated by the expanded pupil, while her left eye was almost entirely blue due to the smallness of its pupil. Then the two eyes began to alternate in that shape and manner. With my arms wrapped tightly around my one and only love, and a sudden foreboding, I began to rub my own Nasiib stone with the thumb of my right hand. I heard two things, one after another. The first was Francine, calling out, "Momma, no!" The second thing was Alicia; asking me a question. "Louis, what is happening to your eyes?" **** Chapter 8 "Louis," Alicia insisted, "What is happening to your eyes?" My arms were still around Alicia, yet several things were different about the situation. First, it was the middle of the afternoon, rather than the dead of night. Second, I was in business casual clothing with a sports jacket instead of just boxers, and Alicia was wearing a very familiar pink high-low sweetheart chiffon cocktail dress rather than just her Shorty nightgown. Third, we were no longer upstairs in the guest bedroom, but were standing with our arms around each other next to a very familiar potted plant just off the front hallway on the ground floor. I felt my wrist and the Nasiib stone bracelet was still there! My heart jumped when I noticed that Alicia was still wearing the Bahati stone pendant. Yes! It had come back with her to a time and place where we were together, so 'this Alicia' was more than likely 'my Alicia'! But I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure just yet. All around us, there were people moving around and chatting as they shared hors d'oeuvres and cocktails. This was a party! But not just any party ... This was THE party ... at which Alicia and I had first met! And yet, I had distinctly heard her call me by name, as if she already knew me. I tried to clear my head and my vision as I remembered very well the effects that the Nasiib stone could have on my vision for a few moments after it did its thing. As I looked into Alicia's eyes I saw her pupils beginning to stabilize in the same manner I had witnessed mine doing in that mirror the first time this phenomenon had happened to me. "Alicia?" I asked tentatively as I loosened what must have appeared to be an intimate embrace of the young lady in my arms. "Is it you? Or ..." I halted, fearful that I might have somehow lost contact with 'my' Alicia; my love. "Lou," Alicia answered. "Of course it's me, Sugah. Who else would it be, Silly?" Then, as her vision cleared, I could detect the beginning of panic in her eyes at what she was seeing ... and remembering about the horrors we had just experienced together in the other time line right before we showed up here. Before she could say anything, I had to act. "Don't say a word," I ordered her softly and firmly. I offered her a smile in an attempt to calm her. "Just come with me to the patio and I will explain these strange things to you." Alicia was still shocked at the unusual nature of what she was experiencing, but she evidently recognized me and trusted me; and she nodded, following me without a word as I held her hand and led her out the French doors to the patio beyond. There, I had her sit down and went over to one of the bartenders to get her a Manhattan, just a bit extra strong, and a CC and ginger for me. I felt the need for a bit of fortification, and I was sure that it would help to steady Alicia's nerves, and ... what the hell, the booze was free at Thompson's party. I had her take her Bahati stone pendant in her hand as I spoke to her. I quickly, yet quietly gave her the short version of just what type of power her pendant apparently possessed. When she asked how I knew that, I showed her my Nasiib stone bracelet and explained that it had been given to me with an explanation of its power; and that I had doubted the story I had been told as simple superstition ... until I had needed to use it. I told Alicia that my stone had saved me from difficult situations on more than one occasion and I promised to tell her more about the current situation in which we now found ourselves once we could get away from the crowd and her family to talk at length. That was when Francine stepped out onto the patio and made a bee line toward us. "Alicia, what do you think you are doing?" Alicia's older sister scolded. "Don't think that I will not mention to Daddy that you are doing more underage drinking in public." Before Francine could say another word, and before Alicia could respond to her sister in anger, I interjected, "I got it for her, Francine. After all, she's eighteen, in her own house, and handling herself as a responsible adult so far. What's got your panties in such a twist?" Francine Thompson--this one--had obviously never had anyone challenge her in a manner such as this. And by one of Daddy's underlings, no less! "Mr. Chandler," Francine said frostily, "I would recommend that you make your respects to my mother and father and leave the premises immediately." This all sounded familiar, and rightly so. What happened next in no way resembled what I remembered from the first time. "Francine," I told her with a snort and a shake of my head, "I will be glad to leave the premises. But when I do, Alicia is coming with me." Francine and Alicia both turned to look at me in surprise. Francine reacted first. "You, Sir, are sadly mistaken. My little sister is going nowhere with the likes of you ..." "Blow it out-cher ass, Francine!" Alicia said to her older sister. Then turning toward me, she said, "Lou, you wait out front, Sugah! I'm goin' upstayuhs to pack a few things and then you can git me the hell outta heah." Francine came out of her surprised stupor, put a superior expression on her face, and said, "Alicia, you have absolutely no right ..." Alicia cut her off with, "Look, Bitch! Get out of my way and let me get my things and get out of here, or I will make sure that everyone here knows that you've been fucking your daddy!" Francine's face completely drained of color. She did not say anything, but I heard her try to make vocal sounds as Alicia stormed off toward the stairs. I went over to where Mrs. Thompson was standing after just finishing a conversation with an older couple who had just walked off. "Mrs. Thompson, you probably do not remember me, but I am Louis Chandler. I am afraid that I must leave a bit earlier than I had planned. But I want to thank you for hosting me here at your lovely house." Out of Focus Pt. 04 "Why, thank you, Mr. Chandler," my hostess said with what appeared to be a genuine smile. I felt a bit sad as I thought about the difficulties she unknowingly faced at this point. For I had made up my mind not to wait even a bit in 'this' existence to be the instrument of her husband's undoing with what I knew of his business practices ... and his 'other' practices. And, while his moral depravity was reprehensible, it would serve just as well to have him face the prospect of prison for illegalities in business as it would to put his wife and family's reputation through the sewer of an incest accusation and its repercussions. I would have to ask Alicia to keep what we knew to ourselves for now. Francine might be aware that we knew, and her mother would surely need to know everything eventually, but it was no one else's business; at least until we could get the girl some professional help. I was waiting just below the front porch when Alicia appeared from the side of the house. She had changed from her party dress into pants and a sweater top suitable for a mild winter's day in Georgia. She had evidently wanted to avoid any contact with either of her parents in her haste to depart. I smile broadly and held my hand out to take her bag; but she would not relinquish it until she had given me one of her trademark hot kisses. **** Bottom line? J. Carter Thompson was sentenced to only three years in prison once the DA received the anonymous package containing a DVD-R with many incriminating records about his business dealings and launched a raid on the company with a team of auditors. But Thompson's short time in prison turned into a life sentence when he died as collateral damage during the authorities' armed response to a prison riot--he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and caught a bullet in the throat. Mrs. Thompson was scandalized by her husband's prosecution for business misdealings and saddened a tiny bit by his death. But she was not nearly as distraught about his death as she was furious about his actions when he had been alive when Alicia informed her mother quietly about her late departed father's inappropriate advances on her sister, Francine. Mrs. Thompson and all the rest of us were very supportive of Francine, realizing that her caustic attitude had actually been generated, for the most part, by her actual deep resentment of her father's inappropriate sexual advances toward her. Francine quit work to enter into counseling with a psychiatric team specializing in helping victims of forced incest. By the time that Francine was finished with her therapy and was living back at home with her mother, Steadman Carstairs had become legally divorced from his wife and had moved back to Decatur. Francine and Steadman, it turned out, had really had a thing for each other for years and, when Francine and he were finally married to each other, the child she was carrying this time really WAS his. While the Feds had worked out the details of transitioning what was left of Thompson's company, I had quietly started my own consulting firm in order to provide for me and Alicia in our anticipated new life together. I had also opened another brokerage account dealing in high-risk--but high-yield--options in conjunction with the commodities market. Needless to say, with what I knew was ahead, I did quite well financially. Mrs. Thompson and Alicia were saved from financial disaster by protected trusts. Thus, Mrs. Thompson could continue to live in her own house, and Alicia could continue to plan to attend college--at Agnes Scott, of course. It pained me to have to wait a couple of years to marry my true love; but, for the sake of her being able to focus on her studies, we did wait until her last year to marry. I told Alicia the whole story of my various experiences within the alternate 'lives' that the Nasiib stone had allowed me to live. What proved to be the most beneficial tidbit of information for Alicia, as well as for her mother and Francine indirectly, was the alert to their genetic predisposition to certain cancers--a genetic condition passed through the mothers' sides of families in that situation. Armed with that information, following Alicia's medical findings concerning her genetic risks, Mrs. Thompson scheduled an immediate exam and her primary care physician confirmed an odd situation with her ovaries and referred her to a gynecological oncologist, who removed a small growth that had the potential to turn cancerous, but was not yet at the dangerous or threatening stage. Francine eventually decided to have a hysterectomy a couple of years later, after she and Steadman had already given birth to three children, two girls and a boy. I could not help but ponder the similarities and differences between her two daughters sired by Steadman and Chelsea and Grace, whom she had had with me--well, with her father--in a previous existence. As for me, I had learned two valuable lessons during all of this strangeness. The first lesson was that I needed to stand for the important things in life--like love of family, the desire to do right by people personally and in business, and maintenance of my self-respect with dignity while helping others to do the same. And then there was the other lesson. **** "Glenn, you watch out for Stuart, you heah?" hollered Alicia as our third and fourth raced around the monument area next to the entryway to the actually burial plots of the cemetery at Fort Snelling. Yeah, I was back in Minneapolis. We had come to Minnesota for the wedding of one of my cousins and I had convinced Alicia that I needed to pay respects to my grandfather's burial place before we hit the road back to the sunny South. Thomas and Paul, our older two, stood around looking bored and basically ignored the younger two. Yep! We had four boys. With what we knew about Alicia's potential for cancer, she and I had agreed that we needed to get busy in the baby-making activities as soon after we got married as possible. Thus, just a few months after Alicia's graduation from Scott and ten months after our wedding while she was still a senior, Thomas came on the scene. Fifteen months later, Paul joined us. It took another two years before we had Glenn and another two-and-a-half before we realized that daughters were probably a lost cause for us, as Stuart popped out. Alicia finally waved the white flag on continuing to try for a daughter and had a radical hysterectomy done to preclude any of the cancer-related issues about which we were now suitably warned and prepared. We only had mild regrets at not having a daughter, but the boys kept our lives filled with enough joy and adventure to keep us entertained--and busy. I know what you are thinking. What did we do about those two mysterious stones? Well, Alicia's Bahati stone pendant is stored at the bottom of our safe deposit box at the bank, right along with my Nasiib stone bracelet. We had decided that we were now in our mutual 'peaceful place' and would work together as a couple to maintain that peace. Not that we did not argue at times--we certainly did. But we did so in such a manner that we did not burn any bridges. And we showed our boys how a married couple can argue constructively, without being truly mean to one another. Of course, we did NOT show the boys how a married couple celebrates making up afterward. The way Alicia and I did that was just WAY too erotic! As we were finishing up our visit to the cemetery, and were headed back to our Suburban, parked in one of the nearby parking spaces, I spotted one of the cemetery workers. Something about him triggered a memory. He was Black--not simply African-American--the guy was really African 'Black.' As we passed him--he was riding a gas-powered gator utility vehicle--I noted that he might have been Somali, but he was not Mookie. I grinned to myself and, when Alicia looped her arm in mine and asked me what was so amusing, I just snorted a short laugh. "Nothing really, Sweetheart; I was just distracted for a moment by a memory." Alicia looked at me with her sweet smile and said, "Well, you just remember what our motto is when we begin to get distracted by the unimportant things in life." I laughed softly at her friendly admonition, since we had said this line to each other many times in our first decade together. That was the second lesson I referred to earlier. "Yeah, I know--Focus! Always keep your eyes open and really focus on what is important in life!" THE END