The Lovely Chocolate Mob

At the House

Franklin Burke drove home, getting there in record time. The party was still in high gear, and there were bicycles everywhere in their front yard, showing that young people were still around. He parked his car in the street, not bothering to drive into his own courtyard and garage, then headed up the steps and around the house, looking for anything out of the ordinary, like wires or cameras, and walked into the kitchen from the back.

The maid and cook were surprised to see him, greeting him with “Happy birthday, Dr. Burke,” but he brushed by them quickly, walking toward the center of the house. Helen spotted him entering the dining room area where all the children were congregated, saying to him, “Franklin! I’m so glad you’re home… Franklin?” She noticed his wild-eyed look, as though he’d seen something terrible. He breezed past her, entering the area where kids were playing video-games, and found J.R. Kneeling down where J.R. was seated, he struggled to compose himself, saying, “J.R…, “ then hugged his child. Helen watched the episode without a word, knowing something had happened. J.R. looked up as if nothing were out of the ordinary; his father was home. “Happy birthday, Dad!” he said.

“Thank you, son”; he gave his J.R. another hug. Seeing this little scene made Helen wonder what had happened. Franklin stood up; the other children in the room hadn’t noticed anything; they were playing among themselves. He turned to Helen and asked, “Is the clown still here?” looking very angry.

“No, he just left.”

Almost under his breath, he mumbled, “Did he say or do anything unusual?”

Helen searched Franklin’s wild eyes, trying to put all of this together. “He was a clown; everything was unusual! He did balloon tricks, told a few jokes, and did some magic… you know, the usual things that birthday clowns do.”

“Did you get his name? What company he worked for?”

“The ‘Happy-Go-Lucky’ company called and said their regular guy was sick and couldn’t make it, so they were sending a fill-in, who supposedly had a good reputation in the business… Franklin, what’s this all about?”

“Nothing, dear, nothing. I’m just being … careful. You can’t be too sure of anything these days.”

Helen looked at him but didn’t say anything.

Franklin then looked as though he thought of something. He turned to her again, saying, “Helen, is anything missing, or have you noticed anything misplaced around the house?”

Helen looked puzzled and said, “Why no, no, I haven’t noticed anything missing. Have you? What’s wrong, Franklin? What’s going on?”

“Where do you keep our wedding album?” he insisted. “Where are our wedding and family photographs?”

“In the library, where we keep most of our photographs, in records and albums. Many of them are on display on the wall in the hallway. Some of the albums are upstairs in our closets. Why?”

“I’ve seen some of our family pictures recently. If somebody got into the house, they could have taken photographs of the hallway portraits.”

He focused on Helen to ask more questions, saying, “Who’s been here recently? Plumbers? Electricians? Who?”

“Franklin, you’re almost out-of-control; you’re scaring me!”

“Just tell me what I want to know!”

“Daddy, do you want to open presents now?” asked Lucia, who walked up on them without suspecting that anything was wrong.

“Not now, dear,” said Franklin. “Soon.”

“Okay. We’ll play some more games,” Lucia said, then turned to go back to the other children.

“Lucia!” Franklin said loudly.

She stopped and turned back to her father. “Yes, Daddy?”

Franklin looked down at Lucia, got down closer on her level, and hugged her. “Thank you for reminding Daddy. I love you,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.

She hugged her Daddy, Franklin stood up, and Lucia returned to playing with the other children, as though everything were normal.

Helen watched all this, knowing something was wrong, but figured the quickest way to remedy things was to answer Franklin’s questions. “Franklin, we did have some work done on the back guestroom; we had a painter in to touch it up last week. I was volunteering at the animal shelter, and Sylvia let him in. He’d have to go through the long hallway on the way back there… he’d see all the family photographs, but no pictures are missing. Why would anybody want our photographs, Franklin?”

“That would explain it,” said Dr. Burke. “I’ve just seen some pictures pop up that shouldn’t be out there, but now I know how they did it. Did you pay him by check?”

“No, I left money for Sylvia to pay him with cash; some of them prefer it that way, you know.”

He looked down at Helen, realizing he’d caused some tension in the home; Franklin winced, then said, “It’s nothing, dear, just some people playing a prank on me for my birthday.”

“Must be some prank! For a minute there, you had me worried, dear.”

“Fellow workers at the hospital were wishing me a happy birthday and somehow they got our photographs, pictures of me when I was younger, you know, the typical birthday stuff.”

“They must have really gone out of their way to mix with painters. Maybe they came in with them?”

“Yes. Maybe. Perhaps,” thought Dr. Burke. “Maybe they weren’t doctors.”

“You must really be well-liked at the hospital for your co-workers to do something like this,” said Helen, still hoping for a better explanation.

“They do this sort of thing a lot,” said Dr. Burke. “At the hospital.”

“Maybe you could invite me to some of the birthday parties so I could see for myself.”

“Oh, it’s just foolish stuff, dear. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

“If you say so,” said Helen. “Happy birthday, dear.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed his bride, but kept an eye open, looking for anything, or anyone, out of place in the room full of children; anyone was suspect, now.





At Estella’s

David had joined Walter and me at a back table, being waited on by Kim, who brought us our drinks, then left us alone to talk about whatever it was that older gentlemen wanted to talk about in secret; she really didn’t want to know. David was looking around, soaking in the atmosphere; I was accustomed to it by now, and Walter was in his second home.

We refrained, or tried to refrain from congratulating each other, even though there was an obvious feeling which was mutual among us; we had accomplished something of worth. We had taken a bold step to save a family and directed a wayward husband back to the fold, where he ought to be. We were well aware that this wasn’t necessarily the nicest or kindest way to do it, but there was a consensus that this had been the most effective way. Without knowing who we were, Franklin Burke would wonder for the rest of his life who the three mysterious gentlemen were, men who had invaded his life, knew his secrets and forced him to make a quick and good decision. We also left him with another mystery that he would have to wonder about: Would we tell? Would we blackmail him? We knew his secret, and his wife (and daughter) had suspicions, but perhaps nothing more needed to be said about his recent poor choices. Let the fellow live with his mistake; he’d taken his lumps and now would walk the straight and narrow.

David had successfully snuck in and out of his home as a painter, and we all had done the same with the hospital, complete with audio-visual equipment, and had timed it so any maintenance workers who usually walked around the basement were at lunch. Walter had rerouted the elevator controls, and rendered security cameras he came upon as useless. We were quite pleased with ourselves. We drank our drinks and tried not to smile, but we couldn’t help it.

By now, Franklin had cut all ties with Susan Lovely and turned his mind and hopefully his heart back to Helen Ceraldi-Burke, his wife, the mother of his children.

A saying at my workplace among the engineers, which had a ring of truth, was, “It’s cheaper to keep her.” This should appeal to men who think highly of their financial well-being, and so it ought to apply to Dr. Franklin Burke, as well, if he ever figured it out. This saying is usually true, unless the wife was a dedicated spend-thrift.

“Wish I could have seen his face,” said Walter. “I’d have paid real money to have been there for that.”

“You were needed at the party; you did your part well,” I said, trying to make up for Walter’s loss. “He wouldn’t have budged without your holding the picture.”

“I wonder if we should have brought the kids into this,” mused David.

“What do you mean?” said Walter. “Of course we should have brought them into it. You heard Randall; he wouldn’t have cracked without them being involved!”

David wasn’t totally convinced. “Why couldn’t we have just confronted him with his wife? After all, he knew he was cheating; why not have Helen be a part of this?”

“We could have done that,” I replied. “But do you think it would have been as effective? After all, as you said, he knew he was cheating on her. He just hadn’t thought out the consequences; that’s all.”

“I just feel kind of dirty about this,” said Dave.

“You’re feeling sorry for Franklin,” I said. “You may be feeling some remorse for what we’ve done. Look at the brighter side: We haven’t killed anybody. We haven’t stolen anything. We didn’t show that photograph to his children; we only threatened to.”

“Yeah, but what if he didn’t crack?” asked David. Would we have gone through with it? Walter, would you have done it?”

Walter didn’t reply; he only concentrated on his drink.

“Do you see what we’ve become?” continued David. “We’re a type of vigilante group, almost home-grown terrorists. We scared that man to death!”

“Yes, yes, you’re correct,” I said. “We did all that. We’re guilty. We’ve skirted the law and circumvented common decency. But sometimes common decency is slow, and we needed to move fast, before this relationship with the chocolate lady became more serious.”

Walter chimed in, “It’s a good thing we nipped this romance in the bud, before anything else developed… like a new rich chocolate baby.” He laughed and turned back to his drink.

David looked unconvinced; his attitude was beginning to bother me, so I had to do some fast-talking.

“Besides,” I said, “if we had been gentlemanly, if we had been civil about this, Dr. Burke might have simply said ‘No’ to us, and that would have been that. Don’t you think it’s better to operate in anonymity, without him knowing who we are and where we live?”

“You act as though we were super-heroes, with secret identities, like Batman,” said David.

“More like ‘The Shadow,’ I said. “We didn’t beat anybody up, we only had the ability to cloud men’s minds.”

David began to respond a bit. “I suppose…,” he began. “Life is preferable living in secret than being exposed as to what we’ve done: scaring a man straight.”

“Scared straight,” Walter repeated. “Where have I heard that before?”

David and I laughed at this. Walter’s time in stir had had a “rehabilitative” effect on him; it convinced him he’d be a better man with his skills. As a result of prison, he’d also become much better at learning how not to be caught.

“David, you haven’t done anything wrong,” I said. “You were invited into their home to paint a bedroom, and you did a good and honest job, only in disguise.”

Walter and David looked at each other.

“Then you took some pictures of the family portraits and photographs, for which you charged nothing.”

Walter and David laughed a bit at this, then David replied, “And I drove Walter to the party also!”

“Well, yes,” I agreed. “He couldn’t drive and put on clown make-up at the same time!”

We all shared in a laugh. It was late, and we were tired and felt a bit silly. We felt as though a weight had been lifted off our shoulders.

“Maybe we did do something good after all,” said David. “Maybe we did save a family.”

Walter piped up, “If we’ve done nothing else in our lives, this ought to count for something. Those kids need their daddy….the bum.”

“And Helen needs her security,” said David. He looked at me and said, “How would you feel if they wound up getting divorced anyway, because of his antics?”

“If this works, I don’t think Helen needs to know about his infidelity,” I said. “I won’t tell on Franklin, because hopefully he’ll be a good daddy and husband now. You two need to keep this under your hats, also.”

Walter took a drink, and said, “You’re doing too much for her, Randall, after how she screwed you over in college.”

“We’ve been over all that,” I replied. “Why mess up her life, or her kids’ lives?”

This seemed to placate Walter and David, and we remained quiet for a moment, thinking on this. This was going to have to be a lifetime secret.

Wanting to break the heavy silence, I tried looking at this from another angle. “You’ve seen Susan Lovely, Walter. Do you think you could resist her charms if she were to throw them in your direction?”

“Ha! Sure I could!” said Walter. “There’s not an underwear/bikini millionaire model on the planet I couldn’t resist!”

This made David laugh out loud; I grinned at this.

“And do you really think she’d waste her charms on me?” asked Walter. “I’m no doctor. I’m not a millionaire, nor a male model.”

“I heard that,” I said. “No such luck here either. But if, and that’s a big ‘if,’ she happened to like either you or me, just by some sheer infinitesimal chance, do you think you’d be able to turn down something like that?”

Walter took another drink, then plunked his mug on the table. “Probably not.”

“Yes. Probably not. Me too,” I said.

David sat there with a momentary silence out of respect to us. He was the only married one, the only married man. He’d found happiness in romance and matrimony, and we were glad for him.

I looked at David, then at Walter. I nodded towards David, and we focused in on him. “Well, David, we’ve corrupted you. You’re one of us, now. One of the trio. A vigilante, an underground man of righteousness, a judge. An honorable man.”

“Oh, sure, I’m sure I’m all of those things,” chuckled David. “I’m more of a coward than you two; I have more to lose. I don't know how you talked me into this.”

“David,” I said, “we needed your insight and judgment. Walter is all know-how, and I’m mostly a bundle of nerves. We needed a healthy balance between the two. You’ve given us that. The three of us together managed to hammer out a plan that seems to have worked. Let’s stop this wondering and drink to the happy marriage.”

We all raised our glasses, and finished up for the night. Kim was glad; it was getting late for her, too. She probably thought it was time for those foolish three men to go home; it was probably past their bedtimes. We left her a big tip as an apology.

After getting home, I e-mailed Helen and Mindy with a message saying I had done some research, and according to my findings, Dr. Burke was innocent of any suspicions. He was merely a friend to the Lovely family, and had probably used poor judgment while comforting Miss Lovely after her grandfather died, but poor judgment didn’t make him unloyal. Case closed. Marriage saved.





Back to the Routine

The next day I showed up for work with a splitting headache, and couldn’t figure out if it was from the soda pops, from the lack of sleep, or the new ravages of entering early old age, or all three. Anyway, there I was at the drafting board, trying to concentrate on how to make water run away from the building of our latest project.

The bosses popped in and out, looked over my shoulder at the drawings, gave a “Hmmm” and an “Uh-huh,” but didn’t say anything else. They stood around a little bit; that was part of their job, then left to go do something else. They just showed up because they were expected to do that. Guess they knew I didn’t want to be bothered with a bunch of questions; goodness knows I didn’t want to answer any, especially early in the morning.

I calculated and figured for a few hours, concentrating so much it was as though I were drawn into another world; that happens when one deals with math; for a short while, you really are in another dimension. The biggest concern I had all morning was making sure all the numbers added up, and to remember to carry the “2.”

I would have this project done in a week, then I’d turn it over to the other engineers so they could check my work. They wouldn’t find any problems; they’ll make suggestions and try to add to or take away from it, but after they look at it for another week, they’ll give it their okay and pass it on to the other inspectors.

At just before noon, I went to visit Miss Planter; that is, I went to my mental health appointment. Nobody at work knew that I was visiting a mental health counselor, since I didn’t want anybody asking any foolish questions or coming to conclusions that I was depressed or suicidal or losing my mind. There were some people who seemed to look for a reason or an excuse to fire others, so I didn’t want to give them one. Besides, it was none of their business anyway; if I wanted to get my brains checked over, that’s between me and my counselor. Why involve the general public in this?

Phyllis welcomed me in a pleasant manner at noontime. While sitting in the waiting area, I could hear her talking on the work phone, making plans for lunch. Since appointments were scheduled during my lunch break, I wondered: Had I been taking up Miss Planter’s lunch time as well?

Miss Planter came out of her office, greeted me, and after we went into the office I asked her if I was ruining her dinner plans. She looked a little surprised, then said “No, it’s no bother; I schedule people whenever they can make it.”

I said, “Let’s cancel today’s session. Let me take you out to dinner.”

There was even more surprise on Miss Planter’s face. “Don’t you think this would blend into the area of your personal life, or my personal life?” she asked. “I’m a counselor and you’re a client/patient; there are rules to this game.”

“Well, then, let’s have a session, but go out to eat,” I replied. “You can still charge for the session and you won’t miss a meal. In fact, I’m hungry and don’t think I’ll enjoy this session without something in my stomach.”

She gave in, smiled, and got her purse. We went out to the waiting area and told Phyllis that we were walking down to a local restaurant; we asked her if she wanted us to bring her anything. She said no, that she was meeting her boyfriend and would be back at 1 p.m. Yep, she’ll be married soon.

Miss Planter and I took the elevator down to the first floor and left the building, walking down to a nearby barbecue place, a locale we could agree on. We found a booth, got comfortable, and ordered.

“You seem a little chipper today,” Miss Planter said. “You’re acting as if something good has happened. Has it?”

I smiled, and said, “I think it has. I think I’ve been useful in someone else’s life. This helps me to justify my existence, I suppose. I feel good about myself.”

Miss Planter paused for a moment, then asked, “Does your existence need justifying, Mr. Owen? Did it ever need it, or do you need to have a reason to exist?”

“I suppose not; however, it feels good to have been useful, or helpful.”

“Can you tell me about this?” she asked. “It might prove interesting, maybe even give me some insight into our other sessions.”

I hesitated, and she saw that. “If you don’t want to share, Mr. Owen, I quite understand.”

“Oh, no, I want to share,” I said, “but… it’s complicated. I’ve got reasons to keep this story to myself.”

“I hope you haven’t done anything illegal or underhanded,” she said with a laugh.

I laughed along, but she also saw something with my nervous laughter.

“You didn’t, did you?” she asked.

“I… well, I did something good, but maybe perhaps not in the best way possible.”

“Now I’m really curious,” she said. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but this is your money you’re burning, not mine.”

I sat for a moment, then replied, “Miss Planter, it’s… I think I may have saved a marriage.”

We received our plates from the waitress, and Miss Planter began eating, as though my talking wasn’t anything at all to her. This of course was an act; she wasn’t fooling me any more than I was fooling her.

“You’re talking about your old school love, of Mrs. Helen Burke?”

I was like a deer in the headlights. “Yes. Helen Ceraldi-Burke. I think I’ve saved her marriage. Or at least, delayed anything that will make it deteriorate any further.”

“And how is this a good thing?” she asked, as a follow-up.

“Well, as you know, she has children, and if there’s a marital break-up, who knows how this would affect the kids.”

Miss Planter stopped eating and looked up at me. “So this isn’t all about Mr. and Mrs. Burke? It’s about the kids?”

I stopped and stammered for a moment, then said, “No, it’s about Helen, too. I still have feelings for her, although they’ve changed, mutated over the years. Perhaps I’ve changed, I hope.”

“I would think the only feeling you would have for her would be anger, after her previous treatment of you,” she said, looking for my motivation.

“Yes,” I agreed, “there was great anger, for many years. There was also great hurt. But much of that has faded, now. It’s more than just me and Helen. It’s a bit difficult to explain.”

“You’re seeing your old girlfriend after many years. Did you ever hold out any hope that she might have a divorce and come running back into your arms, so you could be the comforting hero and fix everything that was wrong?”

Suddenly I felt anger, and I guess it showed, because Miss Planter sat up straighter, and said, “I really must have struck a nerve!”

I got up from the booth and said, “I’ll be right back,” and headed for the men’s room. I pushed the door open and went to the sink and washed my face, two or three times with soap and cold water. Grabbing for paper towels, I looked up into the mirror, eye to eye with myself. “Boy, she really got under your skin, didn’t she? What the heck’s wrong with you; she’s just doing her job! Get back in there before she thinks something’s wrong.”

I then looked under the stalls for feet, but they were all empty, thank goodness. People shouldn’t have to listen to me talking to myself.

I wandered back into the dining area, where Miss Planter was sitting, waiting for me. “Your dinner’s getting cold, Mr. Owen. Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Yes. I’m hungry, remember?” and grinned. She smiled back. We ate in silence for a few minutes, then I said, “Miss Planter, in our sessions, are you bound by any oaths, say, like an oath of silence?”

“Yes, there’s this patient/doctor confidentiality issue, but you must bear in mind, I’m not a doctor. I’m just a counselor.”

“Is there a patient/counselor confidentiality oath?”

“It’s not an oath, but there is a code for that, yes.”

“What does it consist of?” I asked.

“If you think it would help in our sessions for you to tell me matters of great importance, then I am bound by confidentiality not to disclose it to others,” she said, “Unless of course you plan to do something drastic, like kill somebody or do yourself harm.”

“I don’t plan on doing either of those things, Miss Planter.”

“I didn’t think so, Mr. Owen,” and she smiled.

We ate in silence again, until I said, “I don’t like keeping you in the dark, Miss Planter.”

“That’s good, because I don’t like being in the dark, Mr. Owen,” she replied with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll start with the question you asked earlier. Yes, for years I hoped that Helen would come back to me. I prayed to God to bring her back. Of course this would go against all His rules for family and involve a divorce on her part, but I didn’t care. I just wanted the pain to stop.”

Miss Planter just looked at me. She stopped chewing her salad and was focused; that was a good sign. At least she was listening, and seemed to understand.

“I hope this doesn’t upset you, Miss Planter.”

“No, this doesn’t upset me, Mr. Owen. This sounds quite within the realm of normalcy.”

“I’m glad you think I’m normal, because there’s more.”

And with that stated, we finished our meal. Miss Planter was a picky eater, or else was watching her figure because she really didn’t eat very much. And she had a fine figure.

I walked slowly with Miss Planter back to the medical building, rode up the elevator with her and made sure she got to her office. Phyllis was already back, and I could see a little gleam in her eye watching us. I don’t like kids sizing me up; it’s not very comfortable.

Once in the office, Miss Planter said, “I’m curious as to how you managed to save a marriage all by yourself, Mr. Owen. Did you sit them down and have a little heart-to-heart discussion?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not with both of them, at least. I did have a little talk with her husband.”

“Indeed? What did you say to him?”

“I reminded him of his past with his wife and with the children, who he really loves, by the way, and …. then I threatened to tell his children about his mistress.”

Miss Planter froze, standing behind her desk next to her chair. “You did what?” she said.

“I said if he didn’t call it off between him and Susan Lovely, I would tell the kids that their daddy was having an affair and were likely to get a new mother, after their dad divorced their real one.”

“Oh… my… God,” she said while slowly sitting down. She stared up at me, since I hadn’t sat down yet. Her mouth was open; I’d laugh, but this was a time of honesty for me, and a time of shock for her. “You blackmailed him!”

“Yes…,” I said, “…and no. He didn’t know it was me. I was wearing a disguise.”

“Whaaaat?” was all she could get out.

“That’s right. I dressed up like a doctor and went to see him at the hospital, and met with him and locked him in a room where we had a discussion, and I let him know that he was suspected of having an affair with Susan Lovely, and that I threatened to tell his kids if he didn’t stop the whole affair. And he agreed.”

“And he didn’t know who you were?”

“That’s right.”

“Didn’t anybody else see you, in that disguise?” she asked, then again, “You dressed like a doctor?” as though that were the last thing on earth anybody should dress as.

“No, nobody saw me. I took steps to remain hidden. We had to be discreet.”

“We?”

Oops.

“There were more of you?” she pressed.

“Yes. I had accomplices. But we’re not a gang or cult or anything. We’re just friends who don’t want to see a family split up.”

“I-I-I…,” Miss Planter was on information overload.

“I’m sorry to tell you so much at one time, Miss Planter. I should have just told you a little bit, maybe a little bit at a time.”

“I… you… we…,” was all Miss Planter said. She was going into an implosion; I had to talk fast.

“We didn’t hurt anybody or damage anything. We only fixed what was about to break. We only helped people, not hurt them. It’s like what you do; you help put people back together. Well, that’s what we did.”

“What… he…”

“And blackmail is such a strong word. We didn’t ask for or demand any money. Money wasn’t a factor in this operation.”

Miss Planter put her head in her hands. She covered her face; her elbows were on her desk. I hoped she wasn’t going to start crying. Women like to do that, especially when they’re upset. I hoped I didn’t upset her too much.

There was a knock at the door. Phyllis opened it and said, “Miss Planter, your 1:30 appointment is here.”

Miss Planter looked up. The receptionist probably thought I was taking up too much time. Maybe she was right.

“Guess I’d better make tracks,” I said. “I’ll call and schedule another appointment. I’ll head out the back way.”

Miss Planter just nodded, watching my every step as I left the office. She didn’t seem very happy.





Back at the Grill

“You did what?” bellowed Walter. “You told a woman?”

This reaction wasn’t expected. “What’s the big deal?” I asked.

Walter looked at me as though I had a hole in the middle of my forehead. Then he said, “Don’t you know that’s the quickest way to spread a secret around town?”

I had to laugh at Walter. “Don’t worry,” I said, “she’s bound by a code of confidentiality! Besides, I didn’t say anything about you or David. I didn’t mention your names, at least.”

“You’ve already said too much!” continued Walter. “It only takes one leak to sink us; loose lips sink ships! L-L-S-S, don’t you know that?”

I just laughed some more. Walter was going overboard with his ship references. David sat there with his drink, but he wasn’t laughing.

“I’m with Walter on this one,” he said. “You shouldn’t have said a darn thing.”

“Hey, I’m in therapy!” I said, defending myself. “We haven’t broken any laws; there’s no stealing going on; no crimes have been committed. What’s the harm in my clearing my conscience with my counselor?”

“Your counselor is a woman, that’s what,” said David. “What’s worse, a woman with credibility. She’s educated, probably refined and sophisticated. Somebody might believe her!”

“She won’t tell.”

“How do you know? How do you know that?” said Walter. “Women can’t keep secrets. They have to SHAAAARE,” putting great emphasis on that word while leaning over the table towards me.

“We’ll see about that. Kim!” I called. “You two are way off; you’ll see I’m right.”

Kim was a bit surprised to be called by a voice she wasn’t used to. Usually, only Walter hollered for her, but now here was another customer who might be getting a little bit too demanding. I hoped she didn’t find me to be that way. She walked over to our table.

“Yes sir?”

“Kim, Walter, David, and I are having a discussion on the trustworthiness of women. After a lively debate, we have come to an impasse; we need someone to break the tie.”

“Tie?” said David. “There’s no tie; it’s two-to-one!”

“My friends here feel that women, not you, but women in general, can’t keep a secret. I say they can. What are your viewpoints on the subject?”

Kim laughed for a moment; I guess she thought we older gentlemen were being silly. Then she said, “I think it would depend on the woman. If you mean women in general, I’d say ‘No,’ but if we’re talking about one woman, then I’d say ‘Yes.’ If a woman feels like it’s important enough, she’ll keep a secret. At least, that’s how it’s always worked with me.”

“There, gentlemen!” I said. “I win. Buy me another round.”

“Win? You didn’t win!” said David. “She said ‘No’ to women in general, which proves us right!”

“Are we gonna argue, or are we gonna drink?” I said.

“We might do a little of both! Kim, bring us some more drinks, please,” said Walter.

“Yes, sir.”

Kim trotted off, and Walter said, “Isn’t she the cutest thing? If I had a daughter, I’d want her to be it.”

“Didn’t you used to date her mom?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You could have been her stepfather.”

“I’d have to give up my freedom,” replied Walter. “I’ve been in jail.”

“That’s right; I forgot,” I said, agreeably.

David laughed at the both of us. I guess we were a sad sight. David had married a woman of the Orient, bypassing all liberated western women and their tell-all flaws. But who knows what faults the women of the Orient possessed? I wouldn’t know; I guess he’ll have to find out on his own.