Year of the Cat

Year of the Cat

Some Time you're bound to leave her

A tribute to the Al Stewart song of the same title. Well, sort of. I've had no less than six titles for this story, none of which invoked any special feelings in me. Then I heard the song on my wife's 70's playlist and knew I had to look up the lyrics. It's widely accepted as a mysterious love affair of a man on vacation, in "a country where they turn back time". However, things can go lots of different ways, as we all know as LIT readers.

I strongly suggest you listen to the song, with the lyrics up, before you immerse yourself in this story.

I've been working on this one, on and off, for several months. Life has been very busy, so writing has taken a bit of a back seat. As I commented on the recent Metropolinational story, the writing inspired me enough that I thought it was worth going back and working on the emotive schemes in this piece. Inspired or not, that proved difficult, since this mostly real-life story was retold to me by an old high school friend I ran into on a business trip years ago. I think you'll find that, in this case, truth is stranger than fiction.

The story is long; be warned: 8 LIT pages. Stop when you need to, then come back at your leisure. At least it will be easy to find, and you won't have to wait for the next chapter to drop. My genuine thanks to StrikesandBalls for his editing.

I have a confession and a few disclosures about my most recent story "Fake". If you are interested, keep reading; if not, skip to the beginning of this story. "Fake" was quite the facetious title. Here's why:

I received plenty of comments, and the most direct feedback came via DM on the story. The long and short was that people didn't like it, were confused by the emotion (or lack thereof), and didn't like the character development. In the most recent story, by the author named above, I had to wonder by chapter 2 if, in fact, the story was AI-assisted, or worse. I ran it through AI, as the author admitted he also did. You know the results, because the author told you in the explanation for why chapter 10 was never published.

I will never use AI, not even one word, in my stories. I hate it. But the aforementioned got me wondering. So instead of creating a storyboard and characters like I usually do, I gave AI a plot line and asked it to come up with the rest. Interestingly, AI created a storyline, arc, and characters with almost no emotion. I had a hard time writing it as laid out because it went against everything I believe a good story should be. What you all got as readers was my best attempt to put human creativity into something artificially created. So now you also know that I'll never conduct another experiment like that.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

[Copyright 2026, all rights reserved, including section 107 of international copyright law. Reproduction, in any electronic format, including vignettes, is prohibited]

The hard, pounding rain was a strange and unwelcome phenomenon for mid-February in 1982. David Shaw cursed several of his fellow Michigander drivers, wondering how they could handle a foot of snow falling on the roads, yet seemed completely lost in a downpour.

David had at least one thing in common with them. He felt lost, trapped in a time of change. His new job was exactly the exit from his old life, his most recent life, yet it didn't bring him the challenge or satisfaction. He was also single again, after a two-year relationship went south.

Changes in jobs, financial issues, and loving relationships were supposed to drive people into depression, he'd heard. He wasn't as depressed as he was melancholy. He yearned for something more, something ten notches above mundane. In fact, he wanted his life dialed up to ten, at least. Adventure, sure, but the kind of full life that made a man fall straight asleep when his head hit the pillow at night.

And still, David knew deep down that he was barely a man at the ripe young age of twenty-four. His current restaurant management job at a chain called 'Busters' offered partnership opportunities down the road. But he'd spent the last ten years, starting as a busboy at fourteen, working at a country club that was run mostly by Sicilian mafia families. Some days, he'd forgotten where the restaurant job ended, and the 'errands' for the mob started. He'd kept his wits, though, and strange as it was, he learned quite a lot from those gangsters, especially on the business side. When he felt it was time to leave, he had black in his ledger, which meant no forced ties.

Leaving the club, though, also meant leaving his girlfriend of two years, Melanie. While David knew he felt some love there, Melanie was a handful. Needy and immature, the worst for David was her lack of street smarts. He appreciated her book smarts, since he'd gotten straight A's throughout school, but he needed a mate who could engage with him on a deeper level. Melanie couldn't keep up when it came to civics, politics, religion, and societal issues of their time, and when he tried, he'd notice the blank look he came to despise.

Still, he felt the weight of a man starting over, and it often left him feeling disconcerted or disconnected. He no longer enjoyed sitting in his lonely one-bedroom apartment. His father was long dead, and his mother and younger brother, eight years his junior, had moved to California the previous year. He yearned for more, a life of substance, a yearning that wouldn't let him go, like a screeching, high-pitched noise in his ears.

David suppressed those feelings as he pulled into his favorite after-work watering hole, the Rusty Spur. Changing jobs, regardless of the experience, put him back down the totem pole, which meant mostly afternoon shifts. It was all bullshit, he'd thought often. He had more experience than his boss, the general manager, just not at Busters. David didn't consider himself an egotist. In all honesty, behind his back, those who knew him best would describe him as humble, unless you ruffled his feathers. That's when David would casually show the 'other guy' who the smartest person in the room was.

Gerald Ritter, "Jerry" to his friends, sat on a high stool at the door, like he did most nights the bar was open. He collected the cover charges, but more importantly, he was the first face, the guy who greeted his customers. That's what made The Spur one of the hottest spots on Detroit's north side. The bar offered live music all five nights it was open, with bands playing Top-40 hits from the 70s and early 80s.

David had developed a good relationship with Jerry, since they were both in the hospitality industry. For a few months, since starting at Busters, he'd come in, sit at the bar, and run a tab until last call at 2:00 am. Past midnight, Jerry would usually leave the door and spend time behind the bar, checking on the bartenders, who were mostly crooked. David talked with them too, when they weren't asses and elbows in drink orders from the cocktail waitresses.

He preferred to sit by the service bar so he could converse with the servers while they waited on the bartenders. Shelly was a great blond with a huge rack and a million-dollar smile. Gracie was tall and lean, but she oozed femininity. There were other servers who seemed to dislike chit-chat while working, and David understood that. One stood out to him. She had above-shoulder-length auburn hair with slight blond and black tints, and her movements and expression gave off that tomboy vibe. Her body, though, was a work of art. She didn't dress as sexy as Gracie, often just well-fitting jeans and a tight T-shirt with the bar's logo on the front, but imagining what she probably looked like under those clothes always caused David to readjust on his stool.

As David watched her that night, she furiously wrote on her little notepad, then crossed things out. She blew out a stress-filled breath and, without thinking, reached up and mussed her hair. Then she looked up, and David was caught staring. For the first time, she gave him a crooked half-smile and turned her attention back to loading her tray with drinks.

The rest of the night was spent fending off the drunken chicks who had struck out over the course of the night. David was a prime mark in a place like the Spur: dressed in a suit and tie, sitting alone at the bar late in the morning, after the women had fought off the Chaldean players with their oversized gold chains, cheap cologne, and Trans Ams.

Since it was Friday, David paid his weekly tab at last call. Forking over $312.00 made him rethink his lonely apartment and a few six-packs. Most of those drinks were for other lonely people, the ladies that hounded him, and were meant as a bribe to return to their own table, where the other girlfriends waited eagerly to hear what solo Dave had said to them.

David spent his days off on chores and, later, with his very good friend, Kurt Richter, a coworker from his former job. He and Kurt were not very imaginative with their time off. Each week it was bowling, followed by a few drinks in the lounge and throwing darts for about an hour. For David, it was cathartic, being the only constant in his changing world.

The following week found him driving in the rain once more, again to the Rusty Spur. Maybe there was something to this ozone commotion and aerosol gases. It was far too early for spring in Michigan.

Coming out to his car at closing time, David found the freezing rain turning to snow. His gas gauge showed he needed to stop at the all-night gas station on his way home. David stood pumping his gas, his mind on nothing at all, when a cherry-red sporty Camaro pulled up to the pump next to him.

And just like that, there she was: the tomboy. He hadn't noticed her earlier that night, but she was dressed in her uniform, although she wore tight jean shorts and her work shirt. Her legs were thin. Everything about her was thin and petite, which David liked.

She quickly jumped out and ran inside to pay, stumbling a bit. David's pump had finished its work, yet he stood there watching her. She came out and gave him that same smile from a week earlier as she pulled the nozzle out of its holder.

"Dave, right?" she questioned him out of nowhere. For a moment, David found it impossible to speak.

"Yeah, that's me," he replied foolishly. At least that was how he felt. He tried to silently shake loose from the trance she'd put him in. "How did you know?"

"I've seen your name on the tab behind the bar." There was that smile again. "How come you always leave alone? You seem to draw a lot of attention."

David stood perplexed. She'd never given him the time of day.

"Not from you," he stupidly answered. Where did that come from?

Ignoring his comment, she went on. "I was starting to wonder if you were gay or something." Then she belted out a low, guttural laugh, the kind only a woman with an agenda puts forth.

"Definitely not gay." he felt better about that reply. Maybe he was coming around.

"Why are you always dressed up?" she asked inquisitively. "In my line of work, I peg you as either a gangster or a tax man. Don't tell me you're undercover."

"No, I'm in hospitality, like you."

She laughed. "That's what you're calling the Spur, is it? I think you're being very generous."

She started pulling the nozzle from her gas tank. "I think you're done," she smirked, pointing at his hose with her eyes.

David suddenly felt uncomfortable; his gas had long since been pumped. He removed it like it was on fire and twisted his gas cap back on.

"Get in," she said. He looked at her again, not seeming to get it - or was he hesitant?

She gestured to her passenger door. "It's fucking freezing out here."

David didn't think, only reacted. He opened her passenger-side door and got in. She was already climbing in on the other side. David was telling himself over and over, 'Get it together, you moron.'

"So, Dave from hospitality - can I call you Dave?" She was in full-on teasing mode then. It felt more familiar to him.

He nodded as she kept talking. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

She leaned across the console and locked lips like a starving woman. David was so unprepared that he didn't immediately return her passion. She broke away and stared incredulously into his eyes.

"What?" she asked indignantly. "You don't like me?"

"No," he stuttered, "NO! It... that was just unexpected, is all."

That guttural laugh came again, like a skinny, short-haired demon. "Well, get with the program. It's late, and I have to get home to my son... eventually."

For a long second, David sat there, dumbfounded. Was she suggesting they have sex right here under the lights of the gas station, in full view of the night-shift cashier?

As if reading David's mind, she started the engine, revved it, then pulled over by the air and water stand. There was no subtlety involved. She leaned across to him again, and this time David was ready. He was still trying to catch up, wondering if maybe a creature that looked like her was talking about an adopted son. She certainly didn't look like a mother.

Subconsciously, he put a hand on her stomach. One of her hands reached down and lifted her shirt up to her bra. David was so beside himself that he suddenly felt sick. He broke the kiss and just stared at the crazed woman.

"Dave," she said impatiently, "if you want to get lucky, you better get started. Are you married or something?"

He shook his head, and then, determined to get back inside his own mind and body, replied, "Not married. Plenty experienced, although I'll admit, I've never moved this fast before."

She scowled. "Are you implying I'm fast or loose?"

He thought that to be the funniest thing he'd heard all night. It was obvious what she was. Maybe she was drunk or high. He recalled her stumbling a bit when she headed into the gas station. He fought back the laugh inside of him.

"Listen," he tried to reason. "You're incredibly beautiful and sexy. I've watched you at the bar. If sex is what's on offer, I don't want to waste it sitting in a cramped car at 3:00 in the morning. You aren't worthy of a sport fuck. A man needs to take his time with something as precious as you, unwrap you, take you hard, and then worship you. In my opinion, you're worth all that and more. You're not some cheap hookup, and I won't treat you like one. If the offer stands beyond tonight, I'd like to take you to dinner sometime, and then we can do this properly."

Her expression changed on a dime, tears welling up in her eyes. "You... you really think I'm beautiful? Precious?"

"I do." Dave was back to himself, and he felt extremely relieved. "Let me have your phone number, and I'll call you tomorrow."

"You'll have to give me yours," she said, calm and collected. "I live with a roommate. She looks after my son when I work. We work opposite hours, which helps. She doesn't like men calling our condo, or me having any men... anyone over. I saw you here, and I've been thinking about you lately. You were there, alone, and I thought I'd take my shot. Sorry if I spooked you."

That explained some things to David. "I'm rarely home," he told her, realizing it was accurate. "How can I get ahold of you?"

"At work," she responded. "Come in tomorrow night, and we'll set up our date. I was off tonight and sitting with a few girlfriends over by the stage. I wanted to come over and talk to you, but I decided the time wasn't right."

"Alright, until tomorrow night then," David said, getting out of the car. He stopped abruptly. "Wait, I don't even know your name."

"It's... Eunice," she said, looking down. David wondered just what the hell was misaligned in that pretty head of hers.

"Alright, Eunice. Tomorrow, then."

David struggled to get any meaningful sleep that night. First, it took him a long time to get the tomboyish waitress out of his head. He couldn't remember a time when a girl in high school or any woman had that kind of effect on him. As hard as he tried to tell himself that she caught him off guard, especially with her forwardness, he'd been completely tongue-tied.

When he finally dozed off, he couldn't quite get to R. E. M. sleep. The dreams, if one could call them that, found him with Eunice in a constantly changing menagerie. He picked her up for their date, and there she stood in a dark hooded robe, and turning to face him, it was Stevie Nicks' face. Later, he broke a kiss, and as he opened his eyes, an Egyptian princess stood there before him, trinkets adorning her face and neck; then, with a lightning strike, she changed into a skeleton. David tried to pull away in horror but was lifted a few inches off the ground and pulled back into the embrace. His lips opened against his will, and a freezing cold black tongue snaked its way into his mouth as he sat straight up in bed, shaking, with sweat pouring from his forehead.

With several splashes of cold water over his face, David looked at himself in the mirror. 'What the hell is going on?' he asked himself.

It was only 7:00 in the morning, but there was no way he was going to try to sleep more. David spent the entire morning feeling... haunted. He wanted to drop or throw that word like a red-hot coal in his hand. He didn't believe in the supernatural. Tomboy was no demon, he thought. She was a no-nonsense woman who knew what she wanted, and she wanted him.

So then why was he so beside himself over it, he wondered. That question took more introspection. David was a confident, quick-on-his-feet kind of guy. He had dated more than his fair share of women, if what other men said about themselves was true. He was probably in the twenty percentile. He couldn't speak to his looks, but the women never seemed to have any problem.

Being aligned with the mafia for so long had, at least in that situation, made him who he was. Confident, at least until the previous night. Cock-sure, headstrong. A surveyor of people, of reading their 'tells'. At the Spur, he could literally watch the different women, some alone and others in groups, through the backbar mirror. He often played a game with himself, guessing which ones would approach him in that last hour before closing time.

David found it ironic that he had never played any such game with the cocktail servers. They were people too; Jerry let his employees have a few drinks during their shift. David had never thought to observe them like that.

Every unoccupied moment at work that night was focused on Eunice. He wrestled with the idea of going to see her that night. He wasn't exactly scared of her, but he was used to having the upper hand, and the tomboy firecracker was likely unfamiliar with the concept of any guy having that upper hand when it came to her.

As it turned out, the decision was made for him when the midnight cook called in sick. David spent the bar-flow hours flipping eggs and hotcakes, took a power nap in his office between 3:30 and 4:30, then spent the next few hours setting up his breakfast cooks and cooking for the early risers. He was exhausted when he got home at 7:30.

When he woke up in the early afternoon, he made several decisions. First, he wasn't going to the bar tonight. Second, since he was off that day, he was going to catch up on his personal chores, including making his apartment spotless. If Eunice had a roommate who wasn't cool with her bringing home guys, then it was almost certain that when they did get with it, it would be at his place.

By 11:00 pm, Eunice was feeling like a pressure cooker about to blow its top. Her face and ears were red and hot, and she had been short, even rude, to several patrons. She had never been stood up in her entire life. 'Two fucking nights in a row,' she grumbled to herself.

David was pleased with all he'd accomplished. The place looked great. He'd even gone to Walmart and purchased some high-thread-count sheets that better matched the bedroom. After work the next night, he'd show up in a big way, then take her home with him, breaking the uneasiness and whatever spell he'd fallen under. Fuck the dinner date.

Things didn't go that way. David left work a half hour early when the midnight cook and manager had shown up early to make up for sticking him with a double shift. He sat at the bar for over an hour, and Eunice wouldn't even make eye contact. He was pissed and about to leave when she finally looked his way over her shoulder as she headed toward the restrooms. He somehow knew to follow.

In the hallway, she jumped at him as soon as he rounded the corner. "You fucking stood me up!" Her green eyes burned through him.

"I..." He was immediately cut off.

"If you ever do that again, it will be the last time," she admonished. "I waited after closing for you, you prick."

"I had to work a double, damn it." he didn't sound manly with his response.

"And your restaurant doesn't have a phone, 'cause I find that hard to believe," she kept up.

He knew she had him there. Jerry or one of the bartenders would have answered and passed her a message, since they all knew him. His problem that night had been that he didn't want anyone else from the bar to know he was meeting her. That self-realization forced his next move.

"Fuck off," he told her. "You're just a lot of trouble for someone who hasn't even dated me. Hasn't even been out to dinner or a movie or fucking mini golf. You don't know me. Guess what? I don't know shit about you either. Don't get in my face; I had a job to do."

With that, he turned and began to walk away. She grabbed his arm and pulled. She was damned strong for such a skinny bitch.

"Wait, Dave," she implored. "I'm sorry, okay? I was pissed, and then you weren't here last night either. I thought the worst. You changed your mind about me, maybe even went to a different bar to avoid me. I'm sorry; my brain went bad, and I couldn't let go of the ugly thoughts. I'm sorry I screamed at you like that."

She stood there, giving that uniquely female look of a wet puppy. He wanted to resist her, but that look even eclipsed her best and brightest smile. That's when David knew he was in trouble. His heart and his good sense were no longer on his side.

Those thoughts of his own inner betrayal kept him from thinking the obvious: There had never been a date. They weren't going together. What did she have to be pissed about in the first place? Had she even deserved a phone call?

"Look, I have to pee and get back to work," she said, setting the stage. "Please, will you stay, and we can talk after closing?"

David had little willpower in reserve. He told her he would, and then he went to take a leak. As he sat at the bar interacting with Jerry and the bartenders, he'd catch a look or sideways glance from Eunice. It wasn't subtle, and he worried Jerry could easily see what was happening between the pair.

David had to leave the bar and wait in his car until Eunice and the staff finished doing their jobs. Other servers left sporadically, and then one of the bartenders. David knew no more than three people could be left inside, including the owner.

Finally, she emerged, looking in all directions nervously. David's car was one of six in the lot and the only one running. She looked at him through the windshield as she walked to her Camaro and motioned for him to follow her. She got in and again drove around to the back of the lot, which shared a driveway with a small industrial complex. David followed like a pet follows its owner. He parked next to her, and she jumped out and climbed into the passenger seat. The look of desire on her face forced David to adjust himself.

Eunice saw his hand go to his crotch and smiled a knowing smile. She immediately leaned across the console and kissed David deeply, her hand moving to replace his. Her tongue was like an Anaconda, a sexy, slithering tongue snake. David couldn't ever remember a kiss like that. His cock was hardening fast.

She squeezed him and broke the kiss, wiping her saliva-covered lips. "Are you ready to forgive me now?" The voice was so different, so voluptuous, and dangerous. There was extreme hunger emanating, which spurred David on.

He only nodded. "I can't wait, Dave," She teased. "I've waited long enough anyway, don't you think? Let's go to the Swan."

The Swan Motel was a pay-by-the-hour place, two blocks west of the Rusty Spur. David had been a semi-frequent visitor since he broke up with Melanie. On those nights, the rendezvous at the Swan had been his idea, his plan. Tonight, something didn't feel right. Once again, he'd been unprepared.

Seeing his hesitation, maybe even conflict, Eunice enticed him further. "Come on, you can take me to dinner some other night. I need to feeeel you inside me." She had dialed up her animalistic nature to ten.

David started his car. The noise it made reminded him it was already running.

David went quickly into the small office and paid. The clerk only nodded as they both recognized each other, and David handed him the cash. The door to room 11 wasn't even closed before Eunice attacked him, pushing him against the wall. Her right hand deftly undid his snap and zip in record time. David's boner was dying to be set free, and the cooler air seemed to make it grow impossibly harder.

Eunice was doing all the work, and David sensed it right away. Her mouth was on his earlobe, her warm, soft hand stroking him for all she was worth. Maybe, for all he was worth. After another sloppy kiss, she went straight to her knees and engulfed him fully in one fluid go.

He felt her throat, which was an exquisite feeling, but he also felt teeth. That triggered the dreams. He felt lost, getting the best blowjob of his young life, while also not being able to push the horrific visions of the dreams to the back of his mind. His cock was completely embedded then, her nose, and really, her entire face buried in his pubes and tightly against his pubic bone.

Finally, she pulled back, gasping for breath and coughing. She stood, dragging him by his dick to the bed. She was out of her T-shirt and jeans in seconds. David noticed the absence of any underwear. She lay back, legs spread widely, fingers finding her own sex.

They hadn't been in the room for more than four minutes. "Fuck me!" she said as her eyes rolled back in her head. That only exacerbated the dream recollections. As David leaned forward and knelt between her legs, and to his absolute horror, he noticed his cock softening. In a panic, he quickly tried to get it into her, which worked until he started the familiar thrusting motions. Just as quickly, the limp noodle flopped out. He looked at his appendage in shock. It glistened with her excitement.

"What's wrong?" Eunice asked with a mixture of alarm and frustration. Her expression matched his shock.

Eunice was right on the edge. She had been since preparing herself in the bar's bathroom. She had been looking forward to finally getting this handsome young stud that she'd daydreamed about while rubbing herself off many nights over the last six or eight months. He had to be six or seven years her junior, at thirty-one. Now, being so, so close, it didn't look like she'd get what she desired.

She reached out and began roughly stroking the object of her desire. If anything, it was deflating even more. She looked up into David's eyes.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to sound as if she cared. "Don't you want me?"

David found that question most unsettling. He pulled back, grabbing her hand in the process to release her grip.

"It's all... It's too fast," he said, backpedaling. "Can't we slow down?"

"What?" She couldn't comprehend. "It's... I'm into you, baby. That's all. Here, let me help you." She moved toward him, so he backed up further, forcing her to leave the bed.

Her face then showed anger and shock. "What the fuck, Dave? Don't you want me? What's wrong with me?" That's when she noticed the look on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry, Dave. You're serious, aren't you? Okay, we can go slower if that's what you want. It's just so late, and I want you so bad, baby."

Subconsciously, David was already pulling his underwear back up. He was still staring at her like she was a psycho. He was even starting to believe that she was. She stood and came to him.

"No," he warned her. "Not tonight. For fucks sake! I'm not into this wham-bam, thank-you shit. I'm sorry, maybe this isn't going to work."

"No, baby," she pleaded, reaching for his hand. "Don't say that. Come back to bed, and I'll help you get hard again."

"I said no," he stated. "Not tonight. We can try again on Thursday." Where in the fuck did that come from? He wondered. Thursday was two nights from then. He had to gain control.

"I'm into you, I am," he reiterated. "But this isn't me; not my style. Even when I'm fucking and not making love, it isn't this... hectic. We're not being timed. Fuck, what's the hurry? It's not a turn-on for me. If you want to do this on Thursday, when we can both learn each other and what gives us both pleasure, I'm game."

Eunice was stunned into silence. No man had ever reacted this way before. She had assumed, incorrectly, that the way she attacked her men like prey was irresistible. As she watched the emotions play across Dave's face, her turbulent mind already thought that maybe she needed to play a different role.

The three-minute drive back to her car was silent and felt much longer. As she got out of his car, this time, no kiss, he reminded her he'd be at the bar on Thursday. She only nodded.

He watched to make sure she got in, and her car started, then followed her until he reached the turnoff toward his apartment. It was another night of restless sleep.

David had finally decided that Thursday he would slow her roll. She was older than he was, by how much he hadn't even had the chance to ask yet. She was a dynamo. She oozed sex and desire, and just looking at her made him hard and filled him with all sorts of lurid thoughts, but David wasn't about to be steamrolled in his effort to bed the hot woman.

On Thursday, things started much better. She let him disrobe her, to unwrap her as it were. They kissed more slowly, even romantically. When David moved to go down on her, she gently stopped him.

"Not tonight," she told him just as gently but with authority. "I've been working all night. Let's save that. I want you in me. I've been daydreaming about it."

She sucked him instead. Then they began fucking, tenderly and then faster, building up. And as they sped up, both getting closer to the craved end, David once more found to his surprise and horror that his cock had a mind of its own. He was shrinking inside the smoking hot woman. There had been no thoughts of the dreams. Nothing to trigger the blood out of his unit. On top of that, he was oh, so close.

Eunice noticed as well. She was even closer. And frustrated beyond anything before. When David slid out of her, she sat up and grabbed his left hand with her right and thrust it between her legs, against her clit. She then lay back, legs spread wide, as her other hand went under her leg, and thrust a few fingers into her wet vagina from underneath. She hoisted her legs up, propping her ankles onto Dave's shoulders. She then squeezed her legs together tightly, forcing more pressure on everything going on in her crotch.

She held his hand tightly against her sex and rotated her hips until she got off. Then, disgustedly, she got up and dressed.

"Tomorrow, I have to spend a week with my father and brother. The next time we do this will be the last, if you can't get it... perform. Let's call it strike three. I like you. You've got a week to figure things out, and I truly hope you do, because you turn me the fuck on."

Eunice left David with a slight, tender kiss. They had come in separate cars that night. As she drove home, her mind drifted to the following night. She wasn't visiting her family for a week, only for one day. Beyond that, she had domestic things to take care of.

Eunice's mother died when she was seven. To be sure, that happens to people often enough. But Eunice's mother, Sarah, had seen the car driven by the drunk man as it had left the road and come rushing up onto the sidewalk. Like many a mother, her heightened senses took over, and she pushed Eunice - almost threw her - out of the way. Eunice watched in horror as her mom was struck, her body leaving the ground with such force and flying across some neighbor's yard. The car came to a stop.

People began to emerge from homes. A woman stood over Eunice's mother, looked at her, and screamed. A man appeared. He knelt down and touched her neck. That was when Eunice saw the blood. Until that moment, she had been rooted to the spot on the grass. Something overtook her - emotionally.

She got up and ran to her mother, yelling at the man not to touch her. Eunice almost flew between the man and her mother's prone, bloodied body. Another man soon picked her up, literally pulling the young girl from her mother.

Eunice still had dreams about that day. She was the youngest of four siblings. Every member of the family struggled with the matriarch's death. Eunice's father had no profession and little money. He cleaned a bowling alley from 11:00 pm until roughly 6:00 in the morning.

There was no money for therapy. There was no money for a damned funeral. Eunice hated her dad most for that injustice. Just a jar of ash on the mantle.

It took her years to adjust to any kind of life this side of normal. Boys flirted with her in high school. They wanted other things too. Eunice cut her hair short. Wore baggy clothes. Learned how to throw a baseball, and later a football. She begged her brothers to teach her.

After high school, Eunice moved in with a woman - a co-worker she befriended at her job at Target. The two women went on the prowl together, and Eunice was shown what it felt like to be with a man. Of course, on nights they struck out, the friend would act as her lover when they returned to their apartment.

Much later, Eunice met the man who would eventually help to set her on a new, more stable path. She spent time in therapy, paid for by the man, but she soon grew bored of it. Still, the new man in her life helped her, without provocation, and with no apparent need for the kindness to be returned, at least not at first.

Eunice's thoughts came back to the present. She'd healed over the years with the good man's help, but her family had not fared so well. Her father quickly became a drunken old fool after the death of her mother. Her two oldest brothers were serving time, one for home invasion, the other for beating a man nearly to death over a bet in a bar.

That next day was Friday. It was also the first of the month. For several years, Eunice had been the good Samaritan for her dad and youngest brother.

First, they would receive the check in the mail. At the end of each month, they were desperate for money, even for food. Her old man would do odd jobs, like shoveling people's snow, even at his advanced age. Tony, her brother, would sometimes help, but the better money was in the adult theatres on Eight Mile, the boundary of the Detroit city limits. He'd take the bus because it cost almost nothing.

He'd offer to assist the horny men stroking themselves. It took a while for him to learn how to spot the needy ones, the ones who would pay. On a good day, he'd get six or seven to pay him $20 each for the assist, and that exact number of loads in his belly.

But when the first of the month fell on a Friday, things were worse than normal. By the time Eunice would arrive, the monthly assistance check would be cashed, the booze and weed and cocaine would be bought, and the two of them would be feeling no pain. Eunice would bring them several bags of chips, a big jar of nacho cheese, and an oversized bag of popcorn. She'd sit with them until they were beyond blasted, making sure their bodies didn't go into shock. Once they were completely out of it but calm, it would be nearly 11:00 at night. She'd become quite good at their tells, knowing when they were about to pass out.

Usually, she'd go back a half dozen times over the weekend to check on them during the extreme bender. This weekend, she had plans with her Tommy. She'd been feeling bad about neglecting him lately.

When David and Eunice got together exactly one week later, it was at David's apartment. He'd insisted on that. It took him most of the week to sort himself out, but once it dawned on him, it became a simple matter of adjusting his thinking. He'd been looking at her the wrong way. She wasn't girlfriend material, so she became a slut. His slut.

His cocktail server slut, and he looked at her that way for the entire two hours they had sex together. David was a young man, but he could only remember one time when he'd been able to maintain an erection fully for round two, and he'd never before experienced a round three. Both he and Eunice were sweating when they finished.

"Shit, Dave," she gasped, laying her head back on the pillow. "Whatever it was you worked out this week, make sure you never forget it!"

The couple christened the Swan Motel properly later that week and then again on Saturday night. Three more times the following week. Gone was the nervous... whatever it had been. Washed away by the pure intensity of their couplings. The tomboy was a banshee or a minx; David wasn't sure. He just knew how the magnetism felt between them.

Eunice had the kind of body that David loved. Not just the tiny titties, but the firm, round yet small rear. Thin. Muscular calves and perfect, stubby, straight toes. Her body always seemed warmer than the normal body temperature, and yet her hands were always cold. He loved that sensation when she touched his cock. The fact that she was better, probably more experienced at sex than any other woman he knew, was simply a bonus. David considered himself fully and roundly back in the saddle. Gone too were the dreams.

But they were developing feelings for each other, too, he thought. He loved her deep, guttural laugh. It played to the tomboy thing. She had this crooked little incisor, right next to her top canine on the right-hand side, like it hadn't grown correctly. It wasn't an attribute most people would think made a person cute, so David took it as one of the many things that proved he was starting to fall for her, even though they barely knew each other. He determined to remedy that.

David also arranged a proper date for them the following weekend: a movie and dinner. Afterward, Eunice wanted to stop by the Spur for a few drinks before heading back to David's apartment. He opposed the idea at first, worried that others they knew there would see them as a couple. The more he considered it, though, the more he thought about how much fun he was having with the sex-crazed tomboy. He still hadn't been to her condo or met her son. But things didn't have to move at breakneck speed.

Sitting at a table near the stage, David carefully brought up a next date and meandered about meeting her son, Tommy. Eunice finally relented, after most of her flimsy excuses fell by the wayside. That made David uneasy, but he filed it away in a side compartment of his brain.

A few minutes later, Eunice asked him to dance, and as they walked out onto the dance floor, he clearly saw her giving Russell Biggs a look. Looking up at the stage, Russell gave a contemptuous look back, then smiled.

David suddenly felt a competition brewing. Russell Biggs was the lead singer and guitarist for the band "Inverted". Jerry had seven, maybe ten bands that alternated playing the five-night-per-week gigs at the Rusty Spur. All of those bands played the club circuit in greater Detroit and Ontario, Canada.

Russ was a ladies' man for sure. Of all the times David left the bar with a one-night stand, Russ was one of only a handful who matched or beat him in sheer numbers. He and his band truly had the following, and their presence always ensured the bar would be completely full at some point in the evening.

David danced with Eunice, which meant he basically moved around trying to stay close to her. The songs the band played seemed well received by Eunice. She bounded about like that chick in the movie when the band played "Maniac." Her head dipped, then lifted, her short hair bouncing. Some of the others on the floor simply stopped dancing to watch her.

After the third song, the band announced a break, and she just reached out for David's hand and led him back to their table. She excused herself to use the restroom. Looking over at the bar, he caught Jerry glancing his way. To his surprise, Jerry gave a little crook of his neck, like a "Hey, come over here."

David got up and headed towards the bar. Jerry had been pouring a beer, one that David always drank, and then he headed down to the far end of the bar, farthest from the entrance to the bar and the back storeroom. Two stools sat at the end of the long bar; the one closest to the wall had one of those ancient bar-top table poker games. David joined him there.

Handing David the beer, Jerry got straight to it. "What's going on between you two?"

David gave him a strange look, as if it were none of his business, but said nothing.

"She's my employee, David. You're a good customer, good enough to run a weekly tab. I like you, and I employ her. I've got a right to ask."

David still felt put off, but answered, "Nothing really; we're dating, I guess. She's a little mysterious, maybe guarded. We're just getting to know each other."

"Well," Jerry replied pointedly, "be careful. She's... complicated is the best way I can put it. I don't want to see either of you get hurt, and I don't want any trouble in my place. Don't get too attached to her, okay?"

That really put David back on his heels. He liked Jerry, quite a bit, actually. He was easygoing; they had plenty in common, chief among them a keen understanding of how the hospitality industry worked. Both were successful, while so many others constantly failed.

"You know me." David's response was forced and apprehensive, hard as he tried to mask it. "I'm Mr. Easy Going. I'll be gentle with her, if that's what you're driving at."

That made Jerry smile, a putrid smile that went through David like a knife. "That's definitely NOT what I'm worried about. Get to know her, if that's on your agenda, David, but pay close attention while you do. Like I said, it's complicated. She's complicated."

Jerry walked away, and David instinctively looked back towards the table he'd been sharing with Eunice, hoping she hadn't been watching the interaction with her boss.

She hadn't returned to their table yet, which was a relief at first. Then, when he started wondering how long it took to take a piss, he began looking around the bar for her. Jerry's words were already haunting him, as distrust seeped through his bloodstream, affecting his heart and his mind.

David got off the stool and casually began walking around the bar. The place was packed, and Eunice, with her petite stature, would be hard to find in the crowd. He got as far as the entrance when someone suddenly grabbed his arm. Then her heard her voice.

"David, where are you going?" Eunice sounded concerned. "You're not leaving, are you?"

David turned to her. Eunice's face seemed overly concerned. "I was looking for you. Where were you?" His tone was somewhat accusatory. He saw the change in her expression.

"I was just in the ladies'," she said, sounding calm and honest. "Then I saw you weren't sitting at our table and started looking for you."

David took her home to his place for a quickie, as she had to 'get home to her son.' It was less satisfying than their other romps had been, and David was left in his bed, pondering the night and Jerry's words - or were they a warning?

Tommy was a cute little boy, with blond hair cut in a bowl. He was inquisitive; the questions never stopped coming. Still, David was impressed that a boy of that age could speak so concisely.

Eunice's love for her son was quickly evident. She coddled the boy, never once ignoring him as they made their way around the Detroit Zoo.

David also noticed other things he felt were important. He studied the woman intently as the day progressed. He knew she was thirty-one, almost seven years his senior, yet she looked so much younger. David noticed, in the sun's light versus the bars, that Eunice didn't wear makeup, or very little. He had noticed this at the club, but it didn't settle into his brain. That only lent to her persona: the tomboy. He witnessed her motherly side, the domesticated side. Other things made sense, too, and, being honest with himself, he was drawn to her even more for having seen them. To the allure.

In some ways, Eunice was the man-eater David tried to pretend she wasn't. But she was also a tender mom, an astute caregiver. She'd been aggressive when they first met, but David was left wondering: was it simply a woman who knew what she wanted and went all in to get it? She could be shy, too. He'd seen that side of her at work. Hell, she'd never even tried talking to him before the gas station encounter. Jerry was right about one thing: Eunice was the most complicated woman he'd met in some time, perhaps ever.

Other things happened over the next week. Eunice became increasingly agitated when women came over the bar and started chatting David up. Some were regulars and some newbies, as always. In his suit, David was a man with a target on his back, like a flame attracting a moth, for an unlucky woman who'd struck out on the prowl, especially when a girlfriend she'd come to the bar with had scored. The fact that he came in late, sat at the bar, and didn't roam the joint hitting on the woman still there gave him a mysterious edge that women were eager to discover.

Eunice hovered nearby, trying to hear the conversations. Whether David sat near the service bar or further down, she was always nearby. David noticed that Jerry was paying attention to it as well, and on Thursday, David told Eunice, after they'd had sex, of course, to stop, or at least be more elusive about it. He reassured her there was nothing to be jealous of, which then prompted a discussion about their exclusivity.

"I don't even know much about you," David began the conversation he knew would come. "You live with some roommate; I've never been to your house. I know you're a good mother. You're an incredible lover, but you're also quite elusive. It's like there are things you don't want me to know. That said, I'm there every night - for you. I'm a little embarrassed to say, but I'm even infatuated with you. I want to know you better, and no, I'm not seeing anyone else. I'm hoping this develops into something more serious."

Eunice's warm smile heated the room. She held his face softly in her hands. "I feel the same way, Dave. My feelings for you are stronger every day. I just can't stand to watch all those bitches making their play for you. Some have asked me about you when I'm delivering their drinks, and I want to rip their tongues out of their heads. I guess I am a little jealous."

David looked in her eyes. "Don't worry about them. Have faith and trust me that that is all. Most of them are desperate. Look, we only see each other there, so we can get it on. Maybe we need to set some parameters. Maybe I shouldn't come to the bar so often. We can make other arrangements to spend quality time together, surely."

David added that last part, hoping to take the opportunity to pin her down into a more stable, even traditional relationship. The truth was, he'd been coming to the bar for several weeks just so he could fuck this woman into the mattress when she got off work. It was costing him a fortune, not to mention a ton of sleep.

"I suppose that would be okay," Eunice responded with a slight hesitation. "I don't like all these women looking at you like prime beef. It's throwing me off doing my job."

And so began another new elevation in their short relationship. David spent more time with Eunice and Tommy. They took him to a kids' movie. He couldn't stop talking about it on the way back to David's apartment. That was new for the couple, too. David cooked dinner for the three of them, and it felt like a family affair.

Later that week, it was simply a trip to the park. David chased Tommy around the play equipment, the little guy laughing his head off. That made Eunice laugh too. She mentally noted it was more fun than she'd had in a long time.

The sex was changing too. Eunice was more intimate and less aggressive. They kissed more, and there was more foreplay. She'd had some orgasms on David's fingers and tongue. There were no "I love yous," and David didn't expect that. He certainly wasn't there yet, but he was having a great time courting Eunice at his pace.

Four more weeks elapsed. Spring had sprung, and with it the natural biology of life coming together. David wasn't just becoming more enamored with Eunice, but with Tommy as well. Since the couple both worked nights, they spent most of their days together. In the shadows, an observer lurked.

It was a Wednesday, and David had offered to accompany her to Tommy's routine checkup. She begged off without really giving a reason, and David took the time to catch up on some household chores.

A knock at the door made David wonder if Eunice had changed her mind. He flung the door open and smiled to find a stout, short man in a suit that didn't quite fit.

"Can I help you?" David asked, his body leaning into the partially open door.

The man produced a badge, something that looked more like a name tag one would wear on a lanyard at a convention. "I'm Deputy District Attorney Thomas Radcliff."

He quickly put the identification in his lapel pocket, while his other hand pulled the bottom of his suit back, revealing a holstered pistol.

David stood there stunned. All he could think about were his mafia days, and he wondered if some part of it had come back to haunt him.

"I need you to stop fucking my wife, Sandy." The man said without emotion.

That ripped David out of his stupor. "You have the wrong guy, buddy. I don't know any 'Sandy'.

"I can assure you, I have the right guy." He then let go of his suit and balled his hand into a fist. David prepared to defend himself.

Thomas opened that same fist one finger at a time as he recited, "Sandy, Sandra, Bella, May, Trixie, Kimmy." He paused before putting up his seventh finger and spoke distinctly.

"Eunice." He deadpanned. "Is the name I believe she goes by with you." Thomas waited for the recognition to set in, which took very little time.

"She never mentioned being married," David tried to defend himself. "She told me she was divorced and lives with a roommate in a condo in Roseville."

Thomas made a putrid noise, like a wounded laugh. "That's what she tells all of them. It's her M. O. Most don't last past the first or second time. I'm here because she's developing feelings for you, you little cocksucker. So is my son."

David was taking a big risk, continuing with him - a possibly enraged and armed husband- but his mind was a twisted mess in the moment. He was no lothario. He wouldn't prey on someone's wife. This guy had to be told that. David had already decided that Thomas was likely the ex-husband trying to intimidate.

"How do I know who you are?" David took the chance. "You could be the ex, or some jealous asshole from the bar. I don't fuck other men's wives."

"Sure." That sick, small laugh came again. "You keep telling yourself that. The way I hear it, before you met my wife, you were doing pretty well for yourself at closing time. At that club you used to work at, too. You think none of those women were married? How fucking old are you anyway?"

David quickly decided to stop pushing his luck. The guy was becoming more agitated. But he also wasn't going to leave it there, and wanted to defend his honor.

"Hey, I don't knowingly mess with married women. If I'd known, I never would've let it get past hello. Still, I'll have to talk to Eunice to get her side. I'm not just going to take the word of some guy I just met."

Thomas quickly cut him off. "No, you won't. I'm telling you not to see her again. If you must go to the Spur, then tell her you two are finished. Break it off any way you want, but let me be clear - you break it off, or I'll break you."

"Alright," David said, wanting the guy off his stoop. "Message received."

"Smart kid," Thomas said, turning and walking away.

David was shaken. He sat down on the couch so he wouldn't fall down. Could all of it be true? He wondered. The man seemed pretty straightforward and sincere. He tried to recall the conversation, bit by bit.

Finally, David decided he needed to talk to someone. He dialed his friend Kurt. They'd been friends a long time, and even if he didn't have the proper advice, he'd be a sounding board.

Kurt didn't answer his phone. While David tried to think of another friend, he remembered Kurt was the only person he knew with one of those home personal computers. David looked at his watch. It was 3:30. If Kurt was working, he got off at 5:00. He took a chance.

David changed, grabbed a bite of fast food, then sat in front of Kurt's apartment and ate. Kurt arrived at 5:15. The two caught up and, accepting a beer, told Kurt the entire story.

"That's why you've been MIA lately," Kurt said. "You've been a very bad boy."

David asked if he had the means to check out this Thomas guy. Kurt fired up his computer.

"You really need one of these," Kurt said, beaming. "Let's see if the county has a website."

Not five minutes later, after waiting for the pages to load on the dial-up phone line, Kurt smiled again. "Here, come check this out. Is this him?"

There was Thomas Radcliff's picture. He definitely was a deputy prosecutor for the District Attorney's office. His bio only said that he'd graduated from Cornell University.

"Dude, you need to run, not walk," Kurt cautioned. "Run straight and far away from that chick. Too much bad news. Too much risk. If you don't get your head blown off, do you really want to raise this guy's kid? David, put the stupid pills back in the medicine cabinet and dump this broad."

David was hearing but not listening. He couldn't believe it was really happening. How could she want him so bad, and still lie to him?

"I've got to confront her about this," David said, shaking his head. "Things don't add up."

"Hello, Earth to David," Kurt tapped the top of David's head pretty hard. "Did you not hear the suit with the handgun? He didn't say, 'Go talk to Eunice and get back to me.' And he knew about you working at the club. He's a district attorney, David. You're playing with fire."

"Deputy District Attorney," David replied, stupidly.

"David," Kurt said, grabbing him by both arms and getting right in his friend's face. "Walk the fuck away. Don't risk it, man. It's not worth it."

The problem was, David thought it was worth it. He knew what a shakedown looked like from his time with the mob. This Thomas, he didn't seem like the kind of guy Eunice would fall for or stay with. There had to be more to the story. He determined to put his friend, Kurt, at ease, but still go to the Spur the following night to have it out with her.

The next day, David was busy even though it was his day off. He stopped and made two purchases, putting both in his glove box. Then, he went to dinner before heading over to the Spur around 8:00. Jerry was at the door, and when he saw David, he quickly scanned the bar for something or someone. David followed his eyes. When they landed on Eunice, he relaxed a bit and handed Jerry a ten for entry.

David sat at his usual seat at the bar. The place was busy. A dozen or so women that he knew, or had been with, casually chatted him up. He made excuses about having a bummer of a day, and that he'd be leaving early. That didn't dissuade the women from trying to get him over to their table so they could 'cheer him up.' Exasperated, David wondered what those women were doing there. He wondered what HE was doing there.

It took Eunice more than forty minutes to notice him there. Her eyes wandered. She looked at the floor and other telltale signs. She knew. David's gaze wandered too. He wanted her to sweat. He wanted to read her. But Eunice kept working, like she was too busy to even say 'hello.'

Finally, David had to piss, and she intercepted him in the hallway by the restrooms. "Dave, wait!" She said desperately. "Please talk to me. He came to see you, didn't he?"

"Why, who do you mean, Sandy?" That took the wind out of her sails, and her shoulders slumped.

"My real name is Sandra," she said, a lot more quietly. "I go by Eunice here, so all the dirtbags don't know my name."

"Tisk, tisk," David shook his finger. "Wouldn't want Jerry hearing you talking about the paying customers that way."

"He recommended it when I started. Why are you treating me this way? What did Thomas say to you?" He wasn't about to blink first or answer her questions, for that matter.

"Are you talking about Thomas, your husband?"

"Don't do this, please. I didn't tell you some things, mostly for your own good. Some for mine. He's my ex-husband, or at least he will be when I can figure it out."

"Figure it out?" David asked in shock. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I can't explain it all now, here at work." She looked back down the hallway towards the bar. "He probably told you to stop seeing me. He follows me. He won't let go."

"Where does he live, Eunice?"

Her head went down, eyes on the floor. David knew her answer before she said it. "He lives with me, still. He won't leave, Dave. He won't let me leave. He gets drunk and loud and threatens me. Tells me we're not done yet. He says I owe him. That's why I told you I had a roommate. Told you she didn't like me bringing anyone home. I was trying to protect you. He's crazy!"

"That doesn't make any sense, Eunice." David's voice was getting louder. Eunice put her finger to her lips. "Divorce is pretty cut and dry. Get an attorney, get an order to physically separate. Do the money thing. Work out custody. Simple."

"It is not simple!" Then she was getting loud. "He's a fucking lawyer, and a pretty good one. Even the attorney I spoke with... she told me to try to wait it out. Live my life for me and my son. Said he'd probably realize sooner or later that he's not wanted. She said that's how a man's ego works. It isn't enough to try to hold on, she said; the wife has to desire the man."

David was beginning to see that his senses were spot on. It was more complicated.

"Does he hurt you?" David asked with concern. "Is there abuse?"

"No," she admitted. "Not like that. It's more of a mental torture. I told you he's crazy. He wants to lock me up in a bad marriage; he wants me home with him and for him. Make his dinner, keep the house. Raise Tommy, be available sexually. He wants me to get pregnant again. I hate him. He knows the law and how to skirt the outer boundaries. Now he's trying to interfere with us."

"Why don't you go to the authorities?" David kept up his questions. He'd thought them through, along with the many different scenarios.

"I just told you!" she was steaming mad then. "He's a fucking lawyer. He tries the cases that the cops arrest for. He has them all on his side. There's nobody to help me. If I could just get out..." She suddenly went quiet. Before David could ask anything more, she started again. "I don't have the money to get out. He makes me use all my money and tips, so he can force me to remain. I have to buy the food for Tommy, and therefore for all of us. He pays the mortgage, but makes me give him money for the utilities and other bills."

"Don't you have relatives that could help?" It dawned on David that she'd never mentioned a family member, and the thought made him sick to his stomach. Who was this woman he was tripping over himself for?

Eunice... Sandy laughed sarcastically. "Sure, I have family. A drunken father and an addict brother, who live in a tenement over on Main. I'm sure they'd be a great influence on Tommy."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" David had to get to the heart of the issue.

"Oh, and how do I do that? Hey, Dave, sweetie, um... I'm going through a divorce, and, ah, you know, he still lives with our son and me, because he... well, he won't let go. Doesn't want a divorce. Oh, and by the way, I watched my mother die in front of me when I was a kid, and my family never recovered. Two are in prison, and the other two are free, but working themselves slowly to death row. I just thought you should know."

"Forget the false bravado, Sandy," he replied bitterly. "You could have told me in a hundred different ways. Shit, if you hadn't been in such a rush to get me to fuck you into the mattress, we'd have been having a drink together, or coffee, or some other damned thing.

"Your fucking husband came to my door, Sandy, making sure I saw his gun. The implications were pretty straightforward, by the way. Spelled it all out for me."

"So you believe him," her voice caught somewhere in her throat, "Over me? Listen, I know I didn't tell you everything. I know how that looks, okay? But for the few months we've had so far, don't I deserve some consideration, some respect?"

David chuckled evilly at that. "Look... you're lying to me or not telling me the whole story. Then, your so-called husband threatens me and tells me not to ever see you again. How do I give you consideration after that?"

"You have to! Please. I know what I've done but please."

"Okay, Eun... Damn it, Sandy. You get one chance to explain. No bullshit, the whole truth. And just because I'm curious. Don't expect anything from me. I'm leaving, but I'll be back at closing time. Then you get one shot to explain yourself. I'm warning you: no more lies. I'm..."

"No!" she screamed and then looked around, frightened. "Did you not hear me? He's crazy! With a capital "C". He's probably having you followed. He or someone will be waiting for me to get off. I have to go straight home." The fear was genuine, David determined. There would be no talk that evening.

Later, Sandy handed David a note detailing how they could meet the following day. The instructions were bullet points and looked like something out of a Bond movie.

The next day, at precisely 10:30 am, David pulled into the Westmont Hotel. He'd checked multiple times along his route to ensure he wasn't being followed. Convinced he wasn't, David drove around the back of the midsize hotel and parked among the employee vehicles. He then walked around the side of the building, past the rooms, and into the front lobby, and sat in an oversized chair where he could watch the door.

At 10:45, Sandy's Camaro entered the lot, pulled under the large overhang, and parked. She entered the hotel, rocking a plain white sleeveless T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans. She walked past David to check in but didn't talk to anyone at registration.

A few seconds later, a man entered the lobby area. David expected a frumpy, wrinkled suit, but he wore casual clothes that fit the warm spring day, probably trying to blend in with other guests. He walked over to the unmanned concierge desk and pretended to be reading something. Sandy headed for the elevator and got in. David noticed the man's roaming eyes and a quick gaze his way.

He peeked at the sign above the elevator. David watched also, noticing it stopped at the fifth floor. The man lingered. He hadn't been expecting it to go down that way, but it wasn't his first rodeo. He picked up a flyer about Belle Isle and acted interested.

David waited a full minute, then stood and walked to the same elevator. There was no doubt the man knew who he was. David boarded the elevator and pushed the button for the 4th floor. As the door opened, he pressed the button for the fifth floor, then stepped out. Then he moved quickly to the end of the hallway and entered the stairway. He moved quickly down the flights of stairs, reached the first floor, turned left down the shorter hallway, and went straight through the kitchen entry. He nodded at several employees as if he belonged there. He'd been in the business long enough to act naturally.

When he exited the kitchen, he found Sandy waiting impatiently at his car. "Let's go." She said as she climbed in.

David drove out to a park along Lake St. Claire, popular with moms and their kids. It would be unlikely anyone would look for them there. Sandy kept silent on the drive, looking ahead, while David occasionally prompted her with a gaze. Finally, when parked, she turned toward him and started.

"Thomas is my husband," she told him. "He's Tommy's father. We've been married seven years. He used to be a decent man, before his life - his job - held so much ugliness, pain, and anger. It's eaten away at him to the point that he's no longer recognizable to me. He uses people to get what he wants. What he wants is to be the ultimate legal authority in this county. Beyond that, I'm not sure; maybe a federal prosecutor. He's made me a part of his game. Things I've done - things he's made me do - I'm too embarrassed to tell you. Now, because we've gotten together, he's checked you out too. He knows about your past at some club where you used to work. I don't want to cause you any more trouble, but I've got to get away from him. I had a bad childhood. Eventually, I'll snap, and if I don't kill him, he will kill me, or Tommy."

David listened, trying his best to remain indifferent. The shaking voice, the tears, the wringing of her hands were all authentic; of that, he was sure. The question was: did he want to be involved in this tragic tale? Could he really help her without risking himself? Sandy saw the indecision.

"Look," she said. "I'm not trying to jack you up. I'm asking a lot, but I have nowhere else to turn. My family can't help. Jerry and others at the Spur can't or won't get involved. What I'm asking for is a place to stay. I only have enough cash for the first month's deposit and maybe a bit more. I can't cover last month or anything else I need for a deposit. There's a condo on River Road. It's ten miles from our apartment and closer to my work. I'm only asking for financial help. I'll have to buy food and find decent furniture. I'll need a toddler bed for my son. You can stay with me for as long as you like. You're a great guy, and even if I can't repay you for some time, I'll give you what you need."

David became infuriated. "You'll pay me with your body?" he asked incredulously. "Like what we've been doing was nothing at all? Meant nothing at all?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" she cried out. "I'm desperate here, Dave. I don't know what else to offer. Giving you pleasure, just because, or as repayment, doesn't hold the same meaning for me as another woman. I love sex... with you."

David loved sex with her too. By the end of their conversation, he was back to thinking mostly with his little head. It wasn't that he was stupid or lovestruck, for that matter.

Working with and for the mob had taught him caution and to question everything. Nefarious games were certainly being played, and he suspected that he wasn't now, nor would he get the complete truth from Sandy. Either she or Thomas was a liar.

Still, Sandy seemed to genuinely fear her husband. David understood that, as Thomas came off as a loose cannon, a loose cannon with some legal weight. David made his decision. Half an hour later, and after forcing some promises from Sandy, he agreed to help her with the condo. He dropped her back at her car, uncaring who saw or was watching.

Three days later, David and two co-workers were carrying furniture up to the second-story abode. David double-checked the locks and made sure he had both sets of keys from the previous owner before giving one set to Sandy.

He asked Sandy what had transpired between her and Thomas. She told him that he was surprisingly lucid when she said she was leaving, and that she would let him know when she retained counsel for the divorce. Sandy said she assured Thomas that she just wanted out and would be as accommodating as possible regarding custody. He only asked that they work out some temporary arrangements for their son before she left. She did not tell him where she was staying; she told David.

One week turned quickly into three. David worked his job, and when Sandy was also working, he went home to his own apartment. Not only did he want to give Sandy some space, but something in him that he couldn't quite identify didn't feel right about spending the night there with her, just yet.

But finally, he caved under the pressure of Sandy's constant hounding. On their respective days off, they had been doing things together: the movies, a trip to the casino, a concert at Harpo's. She liked bowling and going into the lounge afterward to toss darts. Sandy needed the physical closeness as well, and she pushed until she got what she wanted. The first night they came back to the condo, both had had a fair bit to drink, and the sex was hungry and needy. Clothes flew, leaving a trail to the bedroom. Desperate kisses and groping turned into an all-out melee, leaving them exhausted at the end.

The second night, a few weeks later, turned out much differently.

Their lovemaking was slower, not exactly gentle, because it never was. It was more like an addict getting a fix. After round one, Sandy turned her back to David, scooting her backside up against his recovering member. He started kissing the back of her neck when she took his hand and stuck a few of his fingers in her mouth, coating them with saliva.

"Get me ready, baby," she stage-whispered in her smoky sex voice. It took David a moment to figure out what she was asking.

"You sure?" he asked, mad at himself for doing so. Sandy gently nodded.

David wasted little time teasing her hole with his digits, finally pushing one, then two into her tight orifice. She moaned back against him as he continued his assault on her neck and behind her ear.

After a good five minutes, she rasped, "Go on - do it."

David was careful. Not out of love or respect; instead, he wanted to ensure her compliance. If he screwed up the entry, or it hurt too much, she might put a halt to their naughty actions. Finally, the head slid past the tight ring, with Sandy still encouraging him.

Their movements came to a complete stop when they both heard pounding in the living room. They froze as they next heard a loud, threatening voice.

"Open the door, Sandy!" It was Thomas, and he sounded drunk and angry. Finally, they caught each other's gaze. "Open the fucking door, right now, damn it!"

David was as deflated as a popped balloon as his cock slid out of Sandy's backside. He started to evaluate. Where were his clothes? Shit, they were in the living room where the evening had started with a nice blowjob. Where was the secondary exit?

There wasn't one. They were on the second floor. David scrambled to put on whatever clothes he had nearby. His underwear, shoes, and socks.

Sandy watched him in momentary shock, then said, "What are you doing? He'll go away if I don't answer. Or someone will call the cops on him."

"Are you nuts?" David asked incredulously. "Does he sound like he's going to go away? He sounds like a crazed lunatic."

"Let me go talk to him," she said, trying to reassure him. "I know how to handle him." All the while, she was following his eyes, wild and scared like a caged animal. David did not want to alert Thomas to his presence by going into the main room. Or the kitchen. He quickly considered his options. The small balcony was too far a drop for him to attempt. A cement patio lay below. He looked out the bedroom window.

About six feet from the window was a young Scotch Pine, only about as tall as the condo roofline. If he could get on the ledge and spring himself toward the tree, the branches should break his fall somewhat. If he was lucky, he could grab a branch and hang there before letting himself drop the six or so feet to the ground. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It showed 2:23 in the morning. David made his decision.

"No!" Sandy said a little too loudly, realizing what he was about to do. "This is crazy. Just let me send him away."

They heard a racket. The jimmying of a handle. "Does he have a key?" David asked, anger seething in him.

"No! I... no, there's no way he has a key."

They both heard him scream, "I'm coming in, Sandy. I know the fucker is in there with you. You fucking bitch. Don't make me shoot this lock."

That was it for David. He grabbed Sandy's hoodie from the foot of the bed and forced the way-too-small garment over his head and pulled it down, stretching it as best he could. He said nothing more, not even looking at her as he kicked the screen out, balanced on the window ledge, and leaped toward the tree.

David overshot his jump. He hit branches and the main trunk with force, enough to knock the wind out of him. It had looked farther away. Before falling all the way, he grabbed the lowest branch with one hand and held himself there, trying to regain his bearings. Then he let go and fell to the ground with all the grace of a rhinoceros.

His apartment was over a mile away. There would be few people out, but he was sure to get picked up if a cop drove by, in his underwear and ridiculously small hoodie, socks, and shoes. He was thankful for the latter, especially since it began to rain just two blocks from Sandy's condo. His condo, he thought offhandedly.

David made it home, nearly forty minutes later. He'd had to duck behind some bushes when a car passed. He stood behind a tree when he was sure a local cop passed him. He had scratch marks all over his legs and was bleeding just below his left knee. He was sure this Thomas fucker was going to pay.

The more he thought, though, the more he realized this had been one of the reasons he'd been reluctant to spend the night there. Thomas seemed to be stalking his soon-to-be ex-wife.

David spent the better part of two days deciding how to jettison the crazy bitch he'd developed feelings for. There were few good options. The entire family belonged in the looney bin. If he kicked her out of the condo and to the curb, there was no telling what her father or brother might do if Sandy bad-mouthed him, especially if they went on a good bender. Thomas, well, Thomas was going to get his, one way or another, but that would take some damned good planning, considering his chosen profession.

David didn't have to wait long for trouble to come to him. He'd been thinking about his best options, and who among his friends he might have to involve. His brain was working on those and other things as he strolled into work, two days after his leap.

He did as he always did: put his coat in the manager's office, check the communication log from the previous day and this morning. He walked through the kitchen and glanced at the prep lists and headed out to the front.

He talked with a server for several minutes when he heard the familiar voice and froze in his tracks. The voice, unlike the last time he'd heard it, was jovial and convivial as he talked with some of the regulars sitting at the counter to the left of the dining room. Eleven stools sat there, where all the 'old guys' sat and drank coffee until their bladders nearly exploded. He looked up and stared at Thomas. Just a second later, Thomas caught his gaze and sneered.

"There he is, good ole, Dave." Thomas was in the middle of a new game. "Hey old buddy, let's step out to my car, and I'll give you that thing we discussed."

David's blood ran cold, his heart and his resolve hardened. "Sure, I'll meet you out there, Thomas." He emphasized his name, letting it hang in the room for everyone to consider.

David headed back through the kitchen he'd come from and out the back door. He moved quickly to his car, opened the door, and reached under the seat for his Sig Sauer 9mm. His upper body was coming back out of the vehicle as Thomas rounded the corner. David had the gun in his hand, and Thomas watched him release the safety. He wasn't sneering anymore.

"Let's head back there," David said, pointing to the alleyway beyond the employee parking. "Old buddy."

"There's no need for that," Thomas tried to sound cool and collected, though his expression and movements made it clear he wasn't. "I'm not here for anything you need that for, and I'm not carrying." Thomas pulled his jacket and suit coat back on both sides to show he was telling the truth.

David used his gun hand to indicate they move to the back lot. "I'm not going in the alley with you, David," Thomas said decisively. "Too many chances for problems neither of us need back there. If you don't want to listen to me in the car, I'll stand right here and talk. I have a proposition for you."

"I don't care about any proposition," David stated. "You've already become too big a problem."

Thomas considered his next move, and David could see it written on his face. David made the next move, taking the option off the table. He left his driver's door open, backed up, and circled around the car, not taking his eye off Thomas.

"Get in," David ordered. Thomas considered the proposal without moving.

"Last chance, asshole," David reiterated, waving the gun around for effect.

Thomas moved to the car as David got into his own passenger seat. "Talk," David said coldly, the gun in his lap but pointed at the man.

"Can you put that away, please?" Thomas tried using a soft tone. Typical lawyer, David thought. "I'd prefer to tell you my proposal without worrying about that thing going off."

"Oh, it won't unless I want it to," David assured him. He relaxed his hand on the weapon and pointed it at the console, instead of Thomas, but that didn't change its possible trajectory much. He raised an eyebrow, indicating that Thomas better get started.

"Okay, first, I'm sorry about the other night," he apologized. "I was out with a client, and later some friends, and I was feeling sorry for mys..."

"I don't care," David interrupted. "Did you have a key to my place, or were you really going to shoot the lock off?" Thomas looked surprised when David mentioned it was his place.

"No, I just wanted to talk to her. I really didn't know if you were there."

Bullshit," David retorted. "You know my car. I'm not stupid. You're stalking her, and me."

"Of course, I am." Thomas stopped, looking like he hadn't meant to divulge that fact.

"Did you fuck her? After I left?"

Thomas finally let a smile reappear on his face, as if the conversation had turned in his favor. "No. It's not that I didn't want to. I was too drunk."

There was a silence as David tried to process that info. Thomas continued.

"She's my wife," he said, almost pleading. "Not some ex, not someone going through a bitter divorce. She's my wife, I love her, but she has a condition. A sickness."

David resettled in his seat uncomfortably. Thomas didn't miss the movement.

"She has an addiction, David. Her dad and brother are addicted to drugs and alcohol. She's addicted to sex. Not surprising really, considering how her mother was killed right in front of her. She's a nymphomaniac, David. She's also my wife and mother of my child."

"If that's so, why isn't she in a treatment facility?" David challenged. "Getting some help for her... illness."

"There is no treatment," he answered flatly. "I could have her institutionalized, but that would hurt my son, and me, for that matter. Besides, that's simply cruel."

"You know what I think?" David said, getting agitated and waving the gun around, not paying much attention, until he saw Thomas tracking its movement. He made an effort to calm himself. "I think you're some kind of sicko. I think you're her pimp, even if she has a condition, as you claim."

"I can provide documentation," Thomas matched. "Put the gun down, David. You're not going to shoot a district attorney. I know all about your past."

David looked at him, unfazed. "Deputy." He stated.

Thomas gave another questioning look. David sighed and rolled his eyes. "Deputy... district attorney. Hardly anywhere near as important as your boss. Besides, I can make all the evidence disappear."

"C'mon, David," he replied with a certain superiority. "You don't really think we'd be having this little meeting without me letting someone in my office know about it, do you? Some people close to me at work know about Sandy's condition. They help keep an eye on her, and they did all the background workup on you.

"Listen, Sandy is a beautiful woman, and I fell hard when we met. Too late, I realized her strong urges for sex. By that time, I was moving into the DA's office. A divorce would have been... unfavorable. Plus, I took pity on her."

Thomas noticed another uncomfortable shift in David's posture.

"I think we're not all that different in that regard, David," he continued. "I think you figured Sandy out, probably faster than I did, embarrassed as I am to admit it." David knew then that Thomas was right. Those had been some of the unanswered concerns, issues with David's performance in the beginning. He'd ignored the signs, in his own lust for the bombshell. The most regular-looking, sexy bombshell David had ever met.

"What do you want?" David spat with venom.

"I want you to keep seeing her." The statement took David totally by surprise. He looked at Thomas like he was out of his mind.

"Actually, I wish you'd never met her, to be honest. But she has attached herself to you in her mind. She's infatuated; she probably thinks it's love, because she can't process love like normal people can. I want you to continue with her. I'm giving my permission to keep seeing her, keep having... sex with her. For the time being."

"You sick fuck," David was growing tired of his antics. "You are her pimp. You get off on this, don't you?"

"I can assure you, I do not," Thomas denied. "But I'm in the middle of a high-profile case, and I cannot control her while she's rejecting me in lieu of her feelings for you."

"You're... what?" David said, incredulously. "Asking me to fucking babysit her for you?"

"I'm asking you to keep doing what you've been doing. Better you than those vultures at the Rusty Spur. But I also want something else."

David just gave him a disgusted look. "I want you to provide me with some information when the time is right. Information about the Giampetrini family."

David couldn't believe the nerve of the man in his car. "I don't have any information about that. Even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."

"Well, that's too bad," Thomas followed. "This current case, it's big, and some informants are already showing a willingness to talk about their mob connections. I'd hate to see you getting jacked up for something you aren't involved with anymore."

"Listen to me." David was done with the conversation. "You'll get nothing from me. If I decide to keep screwing your wife, it will be my decision, not yours. The next time you roll up on me, you're going to get one round in the head, and then people will be looking for you for a long, long time. Understand?"

Thomas' expression had gone sour and angry. "I said, do you understand? Nod your fucking head if you do." David pointed the weapon at Thomas, thrusting it up against his ribs. He gave one purposefully slow nod.

"Now, get the fuck out of my car, and off this property. You aren't welcome in this establishment."

Thomas's final scowl told David he wasn't going to go away quietly. The pistol David now carried would need to be a permanent part of his wardrobe.

It was actually worse than that. He'd just threatened an officer of the court out loud. If Thomas had a recorder or was wearing a wire, David was already sunk. All this for a woman and his infatuation with her. Even with her wanton lustfulness, her extreme desire and hunger, and her ability to melt steel rods, the sex was beginning to lose its luster.

David knew he needed to talk to someone. More than that, he needed help. He thought of his friend Kurt Richter, who would do almost anything for him, as if they were brothers. David didn't want to get Kurt involved in this. He needed juice. A sudden shudder went through David's body as he thought about the one person who could help him.

Carlo Giampetrini was heading off the golf course. Alongside him on the left was the Detroit Mayor. On his right, Michigan Governor George Rooney walked stride for stride. As the men entered the building, headed toward the locker room, Carlo saw David.

"Great round, fellas," Carlo told the others. "I'll meet you in the card room."

David had chosen a Monday, as he knew the club was closed. People were busy at work, in the massive kitchen, and setting up tables and floor plans in the banquet rooms. The course wasn't closed out of necessity, but rather by design. It allowed certain mob bosses the freedom to wine and dine some elite politician or union leader.

"Well, well," Carlo said with a familiar domineering smile. "Look what the cat dragged in. What's up, kid? You looking for a job?"

"No, sir," David answered. "Just some advice."

"Well, you came to the right place." Carlo motioned for them to head into the empty Grille Room and took a seat. "Let's see what I can do."

They sat as David described his ordeal with the Radcliffs. Carlo nodded, pressing his fingertips together on the tabletop. When David got to the parts about Thomas, Carlo waved a hand, indicating he should be quiet.

"Kid, my oh my," the mobster chuckled. "Thinking with your schmeckle, as the Jews would say." The chuckle turned into a full-on laugh, as Carlo often did at his own humor.

Carlo leaned forward, the fun and the smile gone in an instant. His intimidation was instinctive.

"Kid," he began, "you're fucking someone's wife." As David made to speak, Carlo waved him off. "I may have, and I say maybe, taught you some lousy things, but I never taught you to do that. That kind of shit will get you killed for no good reason; I don't care if the pussy is made of 14-carat gold.

"That said," he continued, "this Thomas fuck, is a deranged individual. He's a bigger problem for me than he is for you, and that's saying something. I suspect he wants you to keep fucking this Sandy, so she can wring some information about us out of you. He doesn't know what you know, or don't."

"Has he done this before?" David asked, swallowing hard, unsure any answer was what he wanted.

"It shouldn't matter to you," Carlo said, sensing his uncertainty. "But yes, he has. He's offered her to one of my trusted associates in exchange for information. He put her up for two members of a Grand Jury to gain an indictment against the bikers we use. That's part of his case now. The way I hear it, she did have sex with both of them, but I don't have proof. She was even offered to a circuit court judge for signing a questionable warrant."

Both were quiet for a moment, which was amazing in itself for one of them.

"Can you tell me anything about the Bar owner, Jerry?"

Carlo laughed again. "I can tell you everything about that lucky SOB. First, he let, or used to let, underage kids that look old enough into his joint. That's why he works the door. Except one left there one night about three years ago, hit a pregnant woman, some State Assemblyman's kid. Didn't kill her, but he crippled her. Jerry was on the hook, even worse than the perp. Thomas basically got the case thrown out. He was supposed to prosecute the bastard, ain't that some lousy shit? Said in the end, there were no security cameras that could place him at the Spur. No one at the bar saw him or would give him up. In exchange, Jerry hired his wife and kept an eye on her... activities. Mostly."

More silence between the two.

"Kid, here's what I want you to do." David felt a chill run through him at those words. He came for advice, not to be dragged further into a quagmire of crime or legality.

"I want you to keep seeing her. Do what that stupid bastard suggested. Don't interact with him whenever you can help it. I doubt he'll bother you, or her, for that matter. He wants something that he thinks she can fuck out of you. But you don't have the kind of information he needs. Keep your head up and on a swivel, but treat her like she means something. It's a façade, but it will help me. Can you do that, kid?"

David nodded stupidly. "Good, and kid, it's only temporary, so don't worry. You'll know when it's over, and then you'll get an invitation to some function. Make sure you go, and take some money to donate."

David only nodded as he swallowed hard. This hadn't been what he came for, but he understood then that more was going on than he could have ever imagined.

Carlo gave one short nod and began to stand, then he stopped. "And kid, after... I won't be in your debt, but I will give you some priceless advice. The next time, vet the damned woman before you dip your wick in her. Okay? This one here, she's mental. After, if you want to help her, come see me, and I'll tell you how."

Carlo walked away, as if David meant nothing beyond the conversation they'd just had. David sat there for several minutes, trying to piece together what had happened and what the conversation meant for him. Did Giampetrini give him a sentence, or was he offering a trap door out of his troubles?

Two nights later, David showed his face at the Spur. That earned him a scowl from his supposed friend, Jerry. David now knew his connection. Sandy saw him before his ass even hit the barstool. Her gaze held both anger and apprehension.

David stayed cool and collected, ordering a beer and chatting briefly with the bartender. He knew how this worked. He'd wait her out, just like he had every other woman since the first day he set foot in the place.

Sandy had a lot to think about. She also had plenty to worry about. David was the most dangerous man she'd ever gotten involved with. Seven years younger, and still he had a magnetic hold on her heart, not to mention other places. He was like the sun coming back up again, drawing her close and pulling her in. He was her Kryptonite and dreamcatcher all wrapped into one. Some days she could take a slice out of him and run. Other days, she could almost leave her son and run away with him.

With Thomas in the picture, David complicated her life, and she didn't do complicated. She was the most carefree person she knew, clouded as she was.

Finally, she excavated the nerve, like so many other nights, and approached him. "David, what are you doing here?" Where did that come from? She wondered.

"What do you think?" he responded with his own question. She didn't answer. She knew.

"If you've come to apologize, I'm busy," she said, as if that settled it.

"I came for a drink," he replied with a smirk and a sideways glance. "And to see if you're ready to apologize."

He turned back to the bar and took a long sip of his beer as Sandy huffed away, serving her drinks.

The night continued on like that until closing, with David talking to other patrons, many of them female. Sandy pretended to get angrier and more jealous for his benefit.

David left the bar, presumably alone, while Sandy worked hastily to finish serving last call. She didn't see him leave, and her heart suddenly sank as her mind played all sorts of tricks and 'what-ifs' on her. She rushed to close out her chits and balance her tabs.

By the time Sandy was finally ready to leave, only Jerry and one of the bartenders remained. They walked her out the door as usual, and that's when she saw him.

David was leaning against the rear fender of his car, smoking a cigarette. "You should have saved that for after," Sandy teased, smiling from ear to ear.

She walked toward him, moved both sides of her jacket aside, and pulled up her T-shirt, revealing those perky, tiny titties. "You going to take me home and fuck me, or what?"

"Depends," David replied. "Who's gonna be there to bother us?"

By that time she had let her shirt fall back over her taut stomach. She wrapped his arm in hers. "Don't do that, Dave. Please. Nobody's there. Tommy is with his dad, and I need you back with me... in me."

He stared at her, trying for a dispassionate look, but he wasn't fooling her. "Come home." That time, she didn't beg or demand. She just said it matter-of-factly. "It's cold out here, and it's almost Christmas. I know we'll both be busy, so I want as much of you as I can get."

David got into her less than five minutes after entering the condo. He hated that she had such an intense effect on him, but he couldn't help but love how it felt.

Sandy gave very good that night. They were both exhausted by 3:30. In the morning, she tried to finish what they'd been rudely interrupted at a few weeks earlier. Knowing what David knew then, he kindly refused. There was no way he would put his cock in her ass without a condom in the early 1980's. He probably shouldn't be putting it anywhere without a covering, he thought.

Instead, he told her he had a rare early shift that day. Driving back to his other place, he fought with himself about how stupid this all was. Two homes, all for a woman that he liked fucking, but held very little interest in anymore.

Christmas came and went. And the two fucked. Sandy made him a mixtape as a gift. She also gave him a cylindrical box of CDs, telling him that he could put the mixtape on a CD so it would last longer. Her gift was as thoughtful as a turd in a rest stop toilet, caring whether it floated in piss. He gave her only a card, which made Sandy frown immediately. She'd expected something 'really nice'. Then he went to his car and brought back another wrapped gift. This one, a sweater she'd commented on at the mall months earlier.

New Year's Eve was a drunken affair at the Spur. Jerry had broken the bank with two bands and an extra hour of selling drinks, per state law. And they fucked.

They continued to do so every night they could get together. David's group had purchased a new location fifteen miles south of the existing one. Some afternoons, he had to go there to set up the dining room or to clean the second-hand equipment left by the previous owner. He hated those days.

Thomas was working late hours on the case of his life. The biker's trial could lead to bigger things, but he grew increasingly frustrated with his wife's inability to get any information from David.

Sandy spent most nights alone with Tommy, some of them at her old home where she used to live with Tommy and her husband. They still hadn't discussed a custody arrangement, and she knew her future ex-husband all too well. He was stalling. She made sure not to give Thomas any sex, or to even dress in a manner that might make him think her body was on offer.

February sixth was David's birthday. His first true encounter with Sandy had occurred one year earlier, just after his birthday. Sandy had been planning for weeks.

She took him to a nice lobster dinner at the Sixpence, and instead of the movie David had asked for afterward, she decided they should celebrate at the Spur, which was a mile and a half from the restaurant, in the wrong direction from the condo. David mildly complained for the entire five minutes it took them to drive there.

Sandy had been increasingly sad. The strong feelings that she once had were now slipping away, ever since her damned husband had interfered. She wanted more than sex with her lover, wanted it all, whatever that entailed.

It saddened her to think that things had changed, that she might have to find yet another new stud who could love her for her. But what she was really thinking about was inside the Spur, and how she could pull off a promise she'd made.

David walked in, clearly unhappy that they were there. Sandy hadn't behaved this way - impulsively - for at least two months. Now it seemed she wanted to parade him around as her new boyfriend, which he was not at all comfortable with.

He found them a table on the far side of the dance floor, furthest away from the bar, the back room, and the restrooms. He was hoping for more privacy. The Inverters were playing, so the bar was pretty packed.

Sandy marched straight to the bar and ordered drinks. Jerry stepped over to her from the far end of the bar, and they started a discussion. Jerry looked David's way a few times, which unnerved him.

Sandy came over carrying the drinks and sat down. That didn't last long, as the band started a Top 40 hit she liked, and she stood and dragged her date onto the dance floor.

They danced four songs in a row before David wanted a break. He headed to the restroom as the band announced a break. On his way back, Jerry stood at the end of the hallway.

"You got a sec for me?" Jerry tried to seem nonchalant, but it didn't work. David didn't want to spoil the evening, and with his newfound information, the thought of 'talking' to Jerry made his skin crawl. Still, he was as polite as he could be, following Jerry once again to the far end of the long bar where they could have privacy.

"David, can I ask you about Eun... I mean Sandy? I want to know where things stand between you." Damn, the guy had some nerve, David thought.

"Jerry, I don't think that's any of your business. I also..."

"It is my business," Jerry strongly affirmed. "This is my bar. She is my employee."

"And I'm a patron, a paying customer, but if you keep pushing me, I won't be much longer. What Sandy and I do in our free time does not involve you. I hope I'm making myself clear enough for you."

"She's a married woman, David," Jerry would not relent. "I know her husband quite well. We have a history. You and she being seen like this, publicly, is not a good thing."

Jerry kept making his case as David walked indignantly in the other direction, back toward his table. He intended to collect Sandy and get out. He hadn't wanted to be there in the first place.

Sandy was not at their table. He scanned the bar. Thinking she had gone to the restroom, he headed that way. The room was busy, with people up and out of their seats, talking and gathering, while the band took a break. He had to go around most of the tables and down the aisle by the bar in order to complete his route, a route that took him past the back storage room; a place where he heard an unmistakable laugh. That loud, guttural laugh of the woman he came with.

Blissfully ignorant, David stopped and headed for the back room. The door was closed almost all the way, but that was normal when the bar was open and hopping. He saw Jerry coming from the far end of the bar, almost sprinting, which seemed very out of place. He pushed the door open, fully expecting to find Sandy with a co-worker, laughing or chatting about something.

That wasn't what he found. There, on her knees, on the tile floor, Sandy had musician Russell Biggs cock out of his pants and deeply embedded in her mouth, as she held his hips with both hands. David knew that 'no-hands' blowjob style well, as he'd experienced it many times. Jerry, or someone, stopped behind him. Russell looked up and saw David standing there like a statue, astonished.

"Get the fuck out of here, man," he screamed, causing Sandy to stop and also look up. "She'll be back out in a minute. My break's almost over."

David instinctively grabbed a bottle of something off the shelf and threw it at the singer. He ducked and, in the same motion, deflected the bottle, which crashed to the floor behind Sandy and broke into a million pieces, spraying what smelled like gin all over the place.

He turned to storm out, and Jerry was right in front of him. "Get out of here, David. There won't be any altercations. Just leave, right now."

David bumped the larger man's shoulder - hard - as he strode away with purpose. He got as far as the entry door when he heard Sandy's voice, wailing above the crowd noise.

"David, wait!" he could hear behind him. "Please wait for me!"

David sped up, nearly jogging. He beat himself up for his own stupidity. He was out the door, knowing it was time to finally end this charade.

"Please, Dave." She was running now, in the icy parking lot. "Please, let me explain." That did it for David. Something inside him exploded. He stopped and turned to face her.

"Oh, sure, by all means, this should be good," he literally spat.

Sandy, seeing the look on his face, also stopped. She tried to gather herself. "It was his birthday three days ago. I had promised him. He watches out for me, you know, when I'm here at work."

David looked at her like she was from another planet. "He watches out for you? So, what, you blow him whenever he wants, as some sort of payment?"

"No!" It was a feeble 'no' with no real teeth. "I mean, well, he asked me to stop by tonight and..."

"Wait just a fucking minute, Sandy," David was boiling over. "You brought me here on my birthday, so you could sneak off and blow the fucker? What the fuck is wrong with you? Never mind, I already know."

Sandy bent over at the waist as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. The tears were bitter ones, and she quickly regained her posture, standing tall.

"That's right, Dave, you asshole," she yelled. "I'm a whore, just a fucking whore. That's what you think of me because it's true. Russ has helped my stupid husband, just like Jerry, so I have to do my duty. I don't care about him like I do you. It was just a fucking BJ. Can we go home now, so I can start making it up to you? I know I've spoiled your birthday."

David finally saw things so clearly, and he was even madder at himself. He'd let this happen, let them manipulate him. Thomas Radcliff was going to pay; he already knew that. He'd be somewhere else, and not implicated, but the hatred he had then was overpowering. Sandy was another matter. She was a whore, but not always a willing one, or so he'd told himself. The truth was, she was as complicit as her fucking husband: two peas in a pod.

"Are you gonna brush your teeth when we get home?" David goaded her.

"Of course. What do you take me for?" Sandy actually got it before he said it; she'd walked into the trap.

"So, if I wouldn't have caught you red-handed, you would have come back to the table and kissed me, wouldn't you?"

Sandy's shoulders slumped. She watched him get into the car, without so much as a look back. She walked more carefully now on the slippery surface, heading back inside.

Two days later, David called Sandy at the Spur and told her he wanted to give her some of her stuff back. For her part, Sandy tried to play it off, as if his ending things was some sort of surprise.

"C'mon Sandy, no more games, alright."

"Alright, have it your way. I've apologized; you know I love you, but I won't beg. Meet me at Dad's place tonight, if that's what you want. It's another Friday."

David knew what that meant after all this time. Pops and brother would be inebriated, and not knowing how they might react, he decided to go there packing.

He walked up the two flights of stairs, already hearing the loud rock music inside the apartment. The party was in full swing.

There was no use knocking. No one would hear it. David opened the door carefully, screaming in announcement that he was coming in. Her brother called back, " Come in."

He looked around the filthy apartment, amazed at all the bottles of booze strewn about. Sandy's ole man sat in a ratty recliner, staring at the TV. The sound was either off or just drowned out by the music.

"Where's your sister?" David asked Tony.

"You probably passed her, my dude, on your way up," he said, unable to focus his eyes. "Thomas stopped by, told her they needed to talk."

Subconsciously, David reached inside his jacket to make sure his gun was in its holster. What the brother said next shocked him. Apparently, a person could be alert while completely ripped on a booze and a cocaine high.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned. "Thomas is probably packing too."

David knew from first-hand experience that was likely true. That didn't stop him from clicking the safety off. Neither of the men said goodbye to him, or anything as he left the apartment.

David's heart began to race as he stepped out the front door. There was no inherent danger, just a really bad feeling, as if something was about to come to a head. That's what he'd come there for, he reminded himself.

Still, he wasn't looking forward to a showdown at the O. K. Corral. He was a pretty good shot, and he went to the range monthly on average. But in the dark, and twenty or more feet away from a potential target, plenty could go south. He moved slowly around the side of the large Victorian home. Finally, he heard whispered voices from the alley behind, near a beat-up garage.

"Don't come over here," he heard Sandy's voice, soft yet sharp. David stopped dead and instinctively reached into his jacket. He'd lost the element of surprise, probably had lost it when he first arrived. He strained his eyes toward Sandy's voice.

"Do you want your stuff or not?" he asked, surveying the immediate area around him. The old man's junky pickup truck was about ten yards to his right. The side yard was very dark, which was an advantage, possibly letting him get over there if bullets started flying. Sandy did not answer, but Thomas did.

"You can just leave them," he stated. "Then you can get off this property. You're trespassing. I won't tell you twice." David's eyes had adjusted sufficiently to see the two figures still in the yard, but near the alley.

David slowly crept toward the truck. "You back to threatening me, old Tommy boy?" David didn't feel anywhere near as intimidating as he tried to.

He saw an arm movement, heard the familiar racking of the pistol, and he moved much quicker, pulling his sidearm and doing the same.

"We gonna shoot it out, right here, Thomas?" David said, finding the cover he needed. "Right here in the yard. Is that what you want?"

"It wouldn't bother me." Thomas' sickening laugh came out under the words. "You've taken a lot from me, you little shit. Besides, I have the law on my side, and you were just upstairs making a drug deal, allegedly."

Sandy didn't like him using her family as a pawn, and David heard her chastising him in a loud whisper.

"Good old Thomas, the DEPUTY district attorney," David goaded. "Always some angle, right? Tell me, are you pissed because I've spent the better part of a year with her, or because you didn't arrange it to further your career or wallet?"

Sandy then spoke, and in the shadows, it seemed she moved to stand right in front of her husband. "Stop it, Dave." She warned him, or was she protecting her hubby? It was hard to tell anymore. "You don't want me anymore, so I'm going home."

"Oh, home to the condo, or to your REAL home?" David couldn't help but chuckle. "Home with your husband, I imagine."

By then, it had become much easier to see. David saw Thomas holster his weapon as he said, "Go home, little boy. Don't let me see you again."

David wanted to retort, "Oh, you'll be seeing me," or something to that effect, but held his tongue. He already knew how this story would end.

Walking slowly backward, toward his vehicle, David responded. "Don't worry about it. You two are pieces of work, and you deserve each other." When he got to his car, he got in and tossed the few items - props, really - out the window before driving off into the night.

The next morning, David found two sets of keys to his condo, his new home, if he chose it, in his mailbox. He spent the next several days in a melancholic mood. Part of him was sad about how things ended. Part of him screamed inside about how stupid he'd been in the first place.

Further adding to the mood was an underlying feeling of dread. He'd been fucking a married woman for almost a year. The circumstances, he knew, were special, if not extreme. He didn't know until the first day he'd met Thomas Ratcliff. Then, all that happened after. Another part of him knew he had matured in the year that had passed. He now knew things about women, especially women like Sandy, that he couldn't even imagine a year ago. He'd dodged a bullet too, literally and abstractly. What he'd learned in bed with Sandy would benefit him with the woman he eventually married and settled down with.

When David emerged from his fog, his first order of business was to schedule a doctor's appointment at the free clinic. It was the 1980s, after all, and he didn't want to die. His second task was to find a new watering hole to frequent after work.

Two weeks later, Kurt threw him an impromptu birthday party. David requested no strip clubs or such nonsense. He asked Kurt for a group of friends, men and women, to just go out and have some fun dancing and drinking.

David did get lucky that night, but for him it was only sex, just getting back in the saddle. The woman, whose name was Jill, seemed to enjoy herself enough to give David her phone number.

Even with things settling into a new groove for him, there were periods of melancholy. David struggled to understand it. He wasn't, and never was, in love with Sandy. In fact, he often loathed her. He wondered what sort of things she could have imprinted on him.

It took nearly three weeks, but he did figure it out. He was driving and listening to the radio when an older song came on: "The Year of the Cat", by Al Stewart. The words had nothing to do with Sandy, but possibly someone just like her. It wasn't Sandy or anything she'd done to or with him. It was his own subconscious. It was the things about her, things that clashed with his own set of morals, that brought him to a decision compelling him to one final act.

Three weeks after the confrontation in the dark, with Sandy and Thomas, David received an invitation in the mail. It was to a fundraiser for the new public library and performing arts center. David wanted to question his old Italian mentor's decision. This seemed like the kind of event where he might run into the deputy district attorney, not provide the distance they needed.

But a few days later, David saw the news vans out in front of the county building and courthouse. Later, the news channels all ran stories about the guilty verdict of the bikers and the murder case that had been going on for the better part of the past year. Thomas stood proudly on camera, just to the district attorney's left.

A banquet and fundraiser for the DA's re-election was scheduled for the same night as David's invite. He marveled at Carlo Giampetrini's deviant mind.

David left an envelope with a $300 check in the bin that looked more like a bingo cylinder than an offering plate. He mingled for several hours, meeting some fairly influential people in town, including a well-respected psychiatrist named Rebecca Warner.

The woman herself was incredibly beautiful: tall, lean, well-proportioned all around, and with a smile that would melt iron. David was able to capitalize on some of her time, and when he told the woman about Sandy, not mentioning who her husband was or his involvement with her, Rebecca explained a temporary diagnosis based solely on David's observations. She also told David that her particular mental issue could only cause pain in the future for Sandy and those around her. If he could arrange it somehow, she'd love to meet this Sandy.

The very next day, Thomas Radcliff made the front page. Not for his excellent trial skills, but for his brutal beating after leaving the event for the DA. The paper speculated the bikers had sent a message. Bloodied and helpless to defend himself, someone in a non-plated, ragged old pickup truck had backed up and driven over his midsection at the waist. Then they put the truck in drive and drove over him again. A truck that wouldn't ever be seen by anyone.

The paper went on to describe Thomas' injuries. For the moment, he'd been paralyzed from the waist down, and surgeons were slightly optimistic they could perform surgery that might repair his lower spine. The 11:00 news that night showed a visibly distraught wife, crying for justice. David felt empathy for the woman he'd spent almost a year with.

Sandy's troubles were far from over, though. The very next afternoon, her father and brother were arrested on multiple drug charges, including possession with intent to distribute. That one was on David. He knew that with Thomas fighting for his life, there would be no one around to cover for Sandy's relatives.

It was a damned shame, yet David wasn't going for revenge. He had a plan for Sandy, one he only hoped would come to fruition for the person he now saw her to be: a basket case.

It took another six weeks to develop, and David spent that time planning. Some parts of the plan would require schmoozing, and others, direct but gentle threats. During that time, Thomas had two unsuccessful surgeries and was then sent to a 24/7 infirmary facility where he could learn to live with his permanent injuries.

The detectives had come to see David twice. Once, at his home, which was now in the condo, and another at his workplace. That time was probably to catch him off guard. David gave his statement. He admitted to the affair with Sandy, as he also admitted to two encounters with Thomas. He knew that Sandy, after the confrontation in that side yard, probably suspected him, over the authorities' theory of the bikers.

The detectives told David they knew about his former mob connections, and that both men had pulled a sidearm on the other. They were specific about witness statements of the blow-up at the Spur. David stuck to his statement of where he was the night of Thomas' attack; that he didn't know any bikers. That he was happy to end the affair with Sandy, as she'd been more trouble than she was worth. He was warned not to leave the county without the detectives' permission.

David knew he'd barely dodged a proverbial bullet. Maybe. They could press this for a long time, considering Thomas' occupation and the timing.

It was a full ten weeks since Thomas' unsuccessful surgeries before Sandy returned to work. A few weeks prior, in anticipation that she'd need to work to put food on the table for her and little Tommy, he went to see Jerry.

Jerry was not friendly about David's proposal or his presence, and made that clear. That was, until David told him what he knew about Jerry's "activities" in the community and his situation with the many minors who frequented the establishment. David bluffed that he'd been surveilling the bar for weeks and had pictures of minors being allowed in, with Jerry clearly present at the door, letting them in.

Jerry got very upset about being set up and blackmailed. David reminded him what his original mission was concerning Sandy and why Thomas had made the deal in the first place.

"What you're asking," Jerry told him, "isn't going to work. She's too strong-willed for that; too stubborn. Nobody can control her. Why do you think Thomas put up with you and the others?"

"I know why Thomas put up with me," David pointed out. "If you know anything about what he knew, you should probably take heed and honor my request. Sandy has a mental problem, not a pussy problem. I'm not here to argue with you. Now, are you going to cooperate or not?" As proud as Jerry was, he worried David might have had a hand in Thomas' demise and decided not to test his luck.

Sandy was beside herself with worry and grief. Her entire life had gone to shit. Thomas, her old man, was a cripple and an invalid. When he got out of the long-term care facility, she'd have two fucking kids to look after, not that she felt ill will toward her son. Quite the opposite, she loved him like no one ever before.

She just needed to figure things out. Tommy was still a baby, really. She just needed a few hours of relief each week. Some time to relax, chill, see some people, and spread her wings, among other things. She'd finally found a nice teenage girl in the apartment complex who was willing to babysit a few nights per week. Sandy decided she would ease back into her lifestyle, working those nights at the Spur and seeing what presented itself.

And, if she were to be totally honest, she missed Dave. He was young and strong, and those damned cute dimples made her melt from a heat centered between her legs. Just thinking about him fucking her at all sorts of odd times during the day could force her into the bathroom to knock off a quick one.

Yet, Sandy knew he was gone now, so it was on to something... new. She was going to need some money as well, more than she made at the Spur. She knew she'd have to be selective in her next conquest.

She didn't relish the prospect of taking care of Thomas forever. She owed him, she knew that, but at some point, they'd be even, and then maybe, just maybe, she could mesh into something that resembled a normal life. Thinking about her family, she was actually grateful they were going to prison; someone else would look after them.

Sandy strolled into the Spur at 6:00 p. m. for her shift. Right away, she noticed Jerry there behind the bar, which was odd for this time of night. Other than Jerry, only two guys sat at the bar, and one bartender was there.

She punched her timecard, cleaned a sticky bar tray in the sink, and headed back out onto the floor. To her shock, she saw Dave sitting at a table over in the corner by the stage, tucked behind the large amplifiers. Worse, he was leaning across it, talking and smiling with some brunette bimbo. The motherfucker.

"Jerry, did you see who's here?" she spat. "Did you see him come in? I'm not serving him, Jerry, fuck that; you can't make me."

"Calm down, Eunice," Jerry said, looking across the room. "Shit, he's never here this early. Let's go over and see what he wants."

"No, Jerry!" Sandy became hysterical while trying to keep her voice down. The damned jukebox wasn't even playing yet, and the two guys at the bar were just staring at them.

"Go back to your drinks and mind your own business," Sandy told the patrons.

"Eunice, seriously, settle down," Jerry said more quietly. "Just come over there with me, and I'll tell them to leave."

Sandy took a deep breath and nodded at her boss. They strode tentatively toward David and his guest. He still hadn't looked up.

"What are you doing here, Dave?" Sandy couldn't wait for Jerry.

"Hello, Eunice," David said with a forced smile. "How's tricks?"

"Fuck you, buddy." She leaned in closely. "You have a lot of fucking nerve showing your face here. I know you had something to do with what happened to Thomas. Get the fuck out!"

Jerry put his hand on her shoulder. "David, I'd like to know what you are doing here?"

David looked up at the man, without saying anything at first. Then, "I'm sorry, where are my manners. Jerry? Eunice? I'd like you to meet Rebecca Warner. Dr. Rebecca Warner."

Jerry said nothing, and Eunice just stood there, hands on hips, waiting for Dave to get up and leave.

"Sit down, Eunice," David said forcefully. "I'd like to talk for a moment, and then I'll leave."

"Fuck off, you asshole," she hissed. "Get the fuck out of my bar."

"Actually, it's my bar," Jerry butted in, trying to sound conciliatory. "Eunice, take a seat, please."

Eunice knew something was very wrong. It felt like - NO! - it was. An intervention. She'd been on the receiving end enough times.

"Jerry, please don't do this," she practically begged. "Look at what I've been through; just let me go home to my son. I want my son!" Her eyes were wild with anxiety.

David reached out and touched her hand. Appalled, she tried to pull it away, but damned if the tingle didn't immediately start between her legs like she'd been hit by a falling power line. Then she did rip her hand from his clutch.

"Eunice," Dr. Warner spoke for the first time. "I recently met David at a fund... well, an event. It was I who asked for this meeting. He spoke so fondly of you..."

"I'll bet he did," Sandy said with venom. "A guy who seduced and fucked a married woman for almost a year."

Dr. Warner ignored the sarcasm and delved further. "I think we all know it isn't that simple, Eunice. Can I please have a moment of your time?" She looked at David and then Jerry. "Could you two excuse us for a moment?" The two men walked over to the bar.

"Eunice... may I call you Sandy?" Rebecca knew she had limited time to help the young woman.

"It's Eunice when I'm here."

"Alright, Eunice, I just have a few questions for you. Call it professional curiosity. What drew you to David? You know, I mean, in the beginning?"

David thanked Jerry as they stood at the bar, occasionally glancing across the room at the two women. Jerry shrugged it off, but David reiterated that he could have refused, despite the innocuous threats David alluded to.

Back at the table, Eunice was becoming agitated. "Look, Doctor, whoever you are, I'm a fucking slut, okay. I've always been one. If you have some feelings for him, or you just want his cock for a while, don't you worry, I'm the one who seduced him. I have a lot of experience; he was putty in my hands. See, doesn't that feel better on your conscience? Anyway, I'm done with him, so he's all yours. You're welcome in advance for what I taught him."

Dr. Warner seemed nonplussed. "Do you enjoy being a slut?"

"Dammed straight, I do." Eunice sat up tall and uncomfortably proud.

"And what happens when you lose your health? What happens when you're all used up at 39? What do you think your son will feel?"

"Fuck you, you prissy bitch. This conversation is over."

"What would you say," Warner kept at it, not relenting, "if I thought we could help you have a better life? A life of purpose, free from the shackles of lust."

"I'd say you don't know what you're talking about. This is my life."

"I saw you when David touched your hand. You're not even in love with the man, and I saw how you reacted. You're not alone in this. I've treated hundreds of women... who feel the same way you do. We've changed people's lives at Brighton, our treatment facility."

When Eunice didn't reply, the doctor continued. "David's offered to pay for your intake fee, and until we can get you some health insurance."

"Every time he pays for something, I end up paying for something," Eunice said, bitterly.

"Nobody can force you, Eunice. I'm only asking that you think about it. Think about your son. We have daycare there while you're getting well, and you can spend plenty of time with him. Here's my card."

Rebecca stood up, leaving Eunice sitting there, looking at the card but not reading it. She looked up to see David.

"Think about it, Eunice," David told her. "Regardless of what you think, I care about you... and Tommy."

As he turned, Eunice reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. "Wait!" she sounded so small behind him. He almost didn't turn around because he didn't want to show any emotion.

"I'm sorry that... that I let you down. I'm pretty fucked up, you know." She smiled that half-sideways smile then, that had endeared David to her, the crooked tooth prominently on display. "Will I see you? Will you come in for drinks?"

"No, Eun... No, Sandy, I'm sorry, but I won't."

"You've been so good to me... and Tommy. Please."

Sandy," he spoke to her like she might to Tommy. "What I've got to offer isn't enough. Shit, it isn't even what you need. As much as I cared for you, you still shit all over me. You've got no other barometer to go by. My advice is to forget about me, and call that number on the card. Who knows, in a few years, you may be well on your way to raising your son in a normal environment, and being truly happy."

"David, I..." She stopped herself.

David turned and walked straight to the door. It would have been unwise to look at her then. She'd been a slut, and a whore when her husband had needed her to be. On occasion, she'd even been his slut. Her life had been unfair, surely, but David had no intention of becoming the next Thomas. He hoped Sandy would call Dr. Rebecca Warner, but it was time for him to move on. To move on from the year of the cat.