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." You're not going to fight for me?" I asked him."Do you want me to?" he asked. "What do you want me to say?" Never mind." I frowned and we were quiet for a few minutes, until the waiter came and took our order and our menus away."I love you, Amber," Richard told me. "I don't understand why you were upset. Why you left me. And now this ... What do you want from me?" I want you to be jealous, Richard." I stared back at him. "I want you to be mad, okay? I want you to slap my face and call me names. That's what I want."Richard looked around as I'd gotten a little loud and I dropped my voice, leaning across the table."I want the man I married," I told him. "I want a man who thinks I'm worth more than ... jerking off!" Shhh ... Amber..." Richard cleared his throat. "You're making a scene." What?" I laughed. "Fuck it. Make a scene, Richard! That's what you should be doing. Not me. You!" Why are you doing this?" He shook his head. "I just want you to be happy, that's all." Do I look happy?". She could also feelthat she was naked under the sheet covering her and her ankles were boundtogether. As she started to struggle, she could hear someone opening a door.She went rigidly still, hoping they would not notice she was awake. ??????????? ?You mustbe wondering where you are by now,? said a distorted, deep voice. It soundedlike it came through some kind of speaker, maybe even a voice-changer. Gwencontinued to lie still, hoping the voice would go away. ?That?s okay, I don?t needyou to talk, just listen. Your days of freedom are over. From now on you?llserve me and do what you?re told. I?ve missed you.? He let that sink in for amoment. ?Any questions????????????? Gwenhesitated. Clearly this man already knew she was awake, but she was stillscared to say anything. Her heart pounded in her ears as she began to speak.?But who are you????????????? The voiceentered the room and brought her racing mind to a halt. The distortion was goneand the voice was all too clear now. ?It?s been.
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I’m sure it was a ploy. ‘It’s forgotten,’ said Jeff. It sounded sincere, with an edge of dismissiveness. I was awed by the performance. I had expected my Father to destroy Jeff. Instead, he was suffering the death by a thousand cuts. Jeff was late, my Father’s fault, and his rudeness to point it out. Everything Jeff said sounded gracious as he characterized what my Father said as ill-mannered. He caught him on snooping to get information on him, though he surely didn’t do it himself. Jeff apparently planted some stories on the internet to make his ‘brother’ match the name on his phone making my Father look like an idiot talking about a fictitious person. I was sure he wasn’t done. My Mother seized on Jeff’s graciousness by saying, ‘Why don’t we sit down to dinner and start again?’ ‘What a wonderful suggestion,’ said Jeff. He walked over to my Father, offered his hand and said, ‘I’m Jeff Goldberg. Pleased to meet you…’ The sound of the ‘you’ was up and elongated. There was no.

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