Everhard shifted the bright red Viper into 5^th gear as the speedometer leapt to 100 mph. Morning traffic was heavy, so he opted to cruise at a more sensible 75. He reduced his speed and settled into the fast lane for a leisurely trip to Dallas. WW must be thinking that he was a real jerk, throwing a temper tantrum just because things hadn’t gone his way today, and driving away, running away really, from disappointment. "Why do I continue to act so impulsively?" He asked himself aloud. "That kind of behavior is so juvenile," he thought." You’re not getting any younger, you know," he told himself, "not as old as WW and his 64 Knight friends, but getting up there just the same. And what, pray tell, do you have to show for it?" "I’ve accomplished a lot," he answered himself defensively. These somewhat schitzophrenic arguments, although rare, did take place whenever he was perplexed and had a difficult decision to make. "I got a JD and passed the bar!" he said, "True, you certainly did. But have you ever had a practice, or even tried one lousy case? He asked himself. "I don’t like courtroom work," he muttered in reply. "But I’m a damned good investigator, first rate, primo!" giving the steering wheel a triumphant thump. "Yeah", his conscious skeptically replied, "that and a quarter might buy you a phone call." "I ‘m a decorated Navy Seal!" he countered. "Ancient history, you has been!" his conscious rebuked. "Shit! what does a guy have to do to please you?" he asked his conscious point blank. Silence. Then his conscious said, "How about finding a nice girl and settling down, raising a family?" "Oh Bullshit! Not that again!" he cursed himself. Motorists that he passed in the red convertible stared as he sped by, arguing bitterly with himself. "They must think I’m crazy "he thought aloud, "and perhaps I am." he snickered..

He had had this argument with himself a dozen times in the past few months. "Was this his mid-life crisis?" he wondered. "Thirty-six and never married. Hmmm, What, are you gay?" his conscious taunted him. "I have a couple dozen ladies who’ll testify to the contrary," he replied pompously. "Is that it? Is that it? " His conscious came back viciously. "your fricking claim to fame? The number of women you’ve slept with? Sounds pretty damn shallow and superficial if you ask me." He had no comeback for this. He remained silent from Thackerville to nearly Denton. Then he said, "I have often wanted a family. You know, a wife to come home to at night a kid or two to teach all my old tricks to." His conscious remained quiet, it knew that it had won the battle, it had him thinking. He gazed at the huge, unfinished mansion on the west side of I-35E, just north of Denton. He wondered what was going to be done with this place? He wondered if it were for sale? He bet his old friend Tom Mann, would know. Might make a good little investment for him if he good get it cheap enough. He knew a great contractor and a cranky old architect who would help him finish it. "A nice little place to raise a family." he thought. He picked up his cell phone to call his old friend Tom.

Everhard’s old friend Tom Mann answered the phone on the first ring. "Hello", Tom’s signature, deep baritone voice said. "Hello, Tom, this is James Everhard. How have you been pal?" Well, well, well, the infamous James Everhard. How the hell are you, my friend?" Tom inquired. "I’m as crazy as ever Tom, and I need some information," Everhard queried. "Shoot, James", Tom told him, "everything I know is at your disposal." "This has to do with some local real estate Tom. A three story mansion a little north of Denton. On I-35E. It looks like it was once a cattle or horse ranch. The house has never been finished. I drive by it every time I go to Dallas, and I’m very curious about its history. It has a realty company’s number on the front gate but I wanted to get your input before I called a stranger. Know anything about it?" James asked. "Are you in the market for a ranch James?" Tom asked. " I might be Tom, if the price were right. This place has always intrigued me and I’d like to know its story Tom". "Man, you surely can pick em’ James," Tom said reluctantly, "Why that place? Why, there are at least two dozen ranches for sale in this area James. "Come on Tom, I know you know all about it, now fill me in." Reluctantly, Tom Mann began telling his friend about the peculiar mansion. "That’s the old Ridley place James. It has a long and mysterious history," Tom told him. "I’m all ears," Everhard told him. "Too long a story for a telephone call. Why don’t you come by here, we’ll go to dinner, I’ll tell you all I know about the old place, then if you’re still interested, we’ll take the chopper over in the morning and look it over, Tom told him. "Can’t beat a deal like that," Everhard told him, "I’ll be at your place in 40 minutes." "Okay James, drive sanely." Tom said half heartedly. Everhard, clicked his phone off and brought the purring V-10 engine up to a growl which translated to about 110 mph, and headed for the fairly upscale Dallas suburb of Addison.

Everhard eased the red Viper into the luxury condo’s 4 car driveway. Tom had made his first million in real estate and was working on number 14 or15 now with his very good string of investments. Tom Manning knew virtually everyone in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex and had been the source of a plethora of very good information on more than a few of Everhard’s cases. Everhard shut off the engine and looked up to see Tom Manners smiling down at him. Manners was tall, an inch or two over six feet. He was fit and tanned from his hobbies of golf, tennis, and travel to the most beautiful beaches on the planet. His long, wavy black hair showed not a speck of gray despite his 57 or 58 years of age. The man was an amazing specimen, and Everhard considered him his true friend and trusted advisor.

"Hello James. I haven’t seen your ugly ass in almost a year." He joked. "Seriously, I have missed you my friend." Tom said, vigorously shaking his hand. "Come on inside, I’ll fix you a drink or two, we need an old fashioned 'mano en mano' talk." Everhard followed Tom Manners into the luxury condo. The décor inside was definitely masculine, rich bachelor décor, if you will. The furniture was colorful and contemporary in style. In the large living room, there was a big, red chair that looked very much like a hand with five fingers. One would sit in the palm of this "hand" chair; if one were so inclined. The whole place was full of African looking sculptures that reminded him of some sort of native, fertility rites. But then, most things had a tendency to do that to him. The highly polished hardwood floors were partially covered with expensive looking Persian rugs. "No doubt they were souvenirs from Tom’s world travels." Everhard deduced. Manners put an index to his temple and said,"Let me see, you’re a Rusty Nail drinker if I remember correctly." "That’s absolutely correct, what a marvelous memory," Everhard remarked. "Equal parts Chevis and Drawbore?" Manners asked. "Yes, thank you," Everhard answered. Manners blended his drink. It tasted wonderfully smooth, if not a tad strong. Let’s sit in the den and talk. The large den featured several luxurious, leather upholstered, sofas and love seats. James sat on one and was impressed at how cool the expensive leather felt against his skin. "You’ve redecorated since my last visit," James said, "I like it." "I’m sure Tiffany will appreciate that," Manners replied. "Surely not!" James exclaimed, "Not the Tom Manners I know, the most eligible bachelor in all of Dallas! Is this Tiffany the missus?" James asked in astonishment. "Oh my God no!" laughed Manners, "Just someone I’m seeing. She’s a decorator. I’m helping her get a start in the business" "Okay, I was sure I had a huge scoop for Sherry at the Times!" Everhard joked. Changing the subject Manners asked, "How is dear Sherry?" "She’s happily married to a really great guy, a newspaper publisher. She writes her own column in the local paper. They live in a beautiful place in Ponca City." Everhard related to him. "Pity, I thought that you and she might have made a splendid couple," Manners said. "Me too! But I think she wanted some stability, not a nomad like me. And dammit, she just seemed to fall in love with the guy I guess!" As the alcohol began to settle into his brain, Everhard prepared to further bare his soul to his friend. "And how about Daisy, Daisy Dakillo, that’s it!?" Tom inquired. After a reflective silence, Everhard said, "We just sort of quit communicating. She never came on line anymore; we never saw each other, never called… Oh, she’s married too. She married a rancher in Missouri, another great guy. She’s teaching school. Can you imagine? Daisy a ‘school marm?’ "Everhard chuckled, "Things sure change. Hell Tom, I fell in love with her in the first grade, never really stopped loving her I guess". He took a deep pull on his icy drink. "But, at least she’s happy." A bit of self pity surfacing, as Everhard reflected and took another sip of the potent drink. "Let’s see," Manners scratched his chin trying to remember, "Donna, that’s it! Donna Vadelle. What about her, my friend?" Everhard smiled, "I still see her now and again, "he said. "It’s strictly platonic, on the up and up, nothing between the sheets or anything like that; James told his old friend, laughing and beginning to feel the buzz of the potentially volatile mixture he had been drinking.

"You see, Miss Vadelle has now become Mrs. Douglas Tacker. Also, disgustingly, happily married." They both laughed uproariously. Tom seemed to magically appear with a fresh rusty nail for his friend; which was served in a huge, triple old fashion glass, and which, Everhard graciously accepted. There was a momentary silence as both men seemingly arranged their thoughts. Then Manners broke the silence with this, "Don’t stop now, not while I have you running the gauntlet. Tell me about the others. His voice dropped to just above a whisper as he asked, "What about T.J.?" Everhard’s eyes moistened, "Ah, T.J." he smiled, "T.J. never stopped loving her late husband, Henry. And probably never will. It is impossible to replace a legend, some say. I love T.J. for her incredible devotion. Never have I known a woman more totally devoted to one man than is she." Everhard said with conviction. "Man, that’s a rare trait anymore," Manners philosophized. "She’s one in a million my friend, however, just like the others, she’s already spoken for." Everhard sighed. "I know! What about that young gal, what was her name? You know, she lives down in Florida somewhere." Manners asked, trying to remember. "You mean Kim," Everhard said warmly. "Kim is beautiful, warm, intelligent, talented, and athletic and she is every man’s fantasy, and most important, Kim is freshly married." "Holy Shit! Everhard. Are you chasing these lovely ladies off?" Manners laughed, beginning to feel his personally mixed gins & tonics hit their mark as well. "It seems that every woman you ___, how should I put this? Befriend? Seems to jump right out of bed and runs (not walks) straight down the alter to some other guy. What is it with you Everhard?" Picturing the scene of a buck naked beautiful woman (wearing perhaps only a veil) running down a church aisle mentally, Manners howled with laughter, spilling his drink. "Do you think I haven’t asked myself this question a hundred times?" Everhard half slurred, sloshing a little of his drink on a priceless Persian rug. "And that’s not all!" Everhard exclaimed, "Remember my telling you about Melany? You remember, we became lovers years ago, behind the Hollywood sign in L.A.? "Yeah, I always wondered about the stickers up there," Manners said, howling with laughter. "We had a harrowing adventure in California together, on a canoe outing, "Yep, you guessed it, she’s married, too! To a guy in West, fricking Virginia, of all places! I can’t catch a break!" Everhard slurred. Both men howled drunkenly, fell down and rolled on the Persian rug in hysterical laughter. The two intoxicated gentlemen continued laughing uncontrollably for several minutes, before they staggered to their feet and fell on two of the many sofas in the room and each began snoring loudly.

Awaking with a tremendous headache and a very dry mouth, Everhard looked around, trying to get his bearings. It was the richly upholstered den of his friend, Tom Manners. It all started coming back to him now. He had started talking about his romantic problems and he had gotten blind drunk on Rusty Nails. So had Manners; he assumed, but he was not here now. Everhard surmised that he had retreated upstairs to get ready for dinner. God, his head hurt! Looking at the clock, Everhard saw it was 6 PM and his stomach, as if on cue, growled. Everhard knew where the guest quarters were, so he headed for the pool cabana house/guest quarters to get ready for dinner.

A beautiful young blonde was swimming in the pool as Everhard was walking by. She surfaced, looked at him, smiling broadly, and said, "Hi, you must be James." Everhard stopped, smiled back at the beauty, and noticed that even though she was not wearing even a hint of a swim suit, the lovely blonde seemed not to be concerned at all by his presence. "Yes," he said, "Everhard, James Everhard. And you are ---?" "I’m Tiffany," she giggled and came out of the pool with one graceful move, taking Everhard’s hand and shaking it firmly. She was totally nude and totally ravishing. Everhard was momentarily dumbstruck. The handshake continued for what seemed an uncomfortable length of time. At last, Everhard regained his composure and handed the beautiful woman a towel that had been tossed over a nearby lounge chair.

"Thank you." She said him and began toweling her long, blond hair. She still seemed totally unconcerned about her nudity. Everhard searched desperately for something intelligent to say. "Uh, I love what you’ve done with the house," he finally stammered.. "Why, thank you. Tommy is so sweet. He gave me an unlimited budget. It was great fun to do." Tiffany glanced at the huge, poolside clock and said, "Oh, my gosh, I’ve got to get ready! Tommy has a big, fancy, evening planned for you. Your bags are all in the cabana," and she pointed to the guest cottage. "If there’s anything you need, just pick up the phone and dial "8." The staff will get it for you. Dress is casual. It was so very nice to meet you." "Thanks, very nice meeting you as well" Everhard said, as he watched her jog off toward the main house. "Very nice," he said to himself as he returned a wave and big smile to Tiffany as she entered the house. The pounding in his head from his hangover had subsided. He thought it might have had something to do with a major shift in blood flow from his temples to another part of his anatomy. With this thought fresh in his mind, he retreated into the guest cottage.

After a much needed cold shower and a shave, Everhard donned a pair of off white slacks, a yellow, ribbed tee shirt and a navy blazer. He chose a pair of Bass penny loafers with parchment colored socks. This outfit had been recommended by his old buddy and fashion expert, Stan Rathjen. Everhard wanted to look a little bit special tonight. Not for the dinner with Tom and Tiffany, but for an unexpected drop-in birthday visit with a very special woman in Dallas. He had something very important to discuss with her.

Tom, Tiffany and Everhard relaxed in the back of the stretch limo as the driver maneuvered the long, luxury vehicle through the heavy Dallas traffic. "I think you’ll like this restaurant James," Manners told him, "they specialize in excellent beef and blues." Everhard smiled. Manners knew of his passion for really good blues music. They arrived at a small, out of the way place called Sandy’s. Everhard got out of the limo and read the marquee. "One night only, Miss Etta James." "I didn’t know she was in town." Everhard told the couple, "you know I’m in love with this lady." "We know," Tiffany said, "our gift to you."

Inside the crowded restaurant, the threesome made their way to a reserved table right next to the stage. A waiter came and took their dinner orders and then brought drinks to the table. "Well, while we’re waiting, let me tell you all I know about the old Ridley Mansion," Tom said. "A horse rancher by the name of Alan Ridley was just barely scratching out a living on that land, raising quarter horses. It’s the classic story, I suppose, during the early 80’s, they discovered oil on his place and he became an overnight millionaire." Everhard listened intently. "He bought cars, planes, boats, you know, like a typical oilie!" Everhard knodded, indicating his awareness of the familiar personality type. "Ridley started this glorious mansion on the side of the hill for his beloved wife Maria." Tiffany sighed audibly. "The house became the proverbial money pit, costing more and more and more. This was putting a strain even on the oil rich Mr. Ridley’s resources, but he kept pumping in cash, just the same. Everybody around here but Ridley knew that his contractor was not only bilking him for millions, and building his own little bungalow with the money, but the rat was making a deposit or two with the lovely Maria, as well, if you catch my drift." Everhard shook his head in dismay. Tiffany looked heartbroken. "Long story short, the oil bust came, Penn Square Bank fell, Ridley’s loans were called in and Ridley was left a homeless pauper. The contractor and the lovely Maria fled to California to their fabulous, ill gotten new home and their ill gotten millions. Alan Ridley was found hanging from the third story of the unfinished mansion’s roof. Poor guy just couldn’t take the loss The bank has been trying to sell the place ever since" Before either of the listeners could comment, the waiter brought their juicy steaks, and consuming the rare beef became the immediate priority.

After their dinner was finished, the waiter cleared the table just in time for a drum roll, a spotlight and the emcee to say, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the matriarch of the blues, the living legend, Miss Etta James." There were cheers and thunderous applause. The curtain to reveal the wonderful lady, no longer able to stand for a performance, she was confined to a chair by arthritis. Etta sat in a large overstuffed chair, she smiled and thanked the audience graciously and acknowledged their applause. Then she and Everhard made eye contact and a special smile came over her face. "Ladies and Gentlemen I’d like to welcome you all here to Sandy’s tonight and thank you for coming to see an old lady sing the blues’ Miss James said, "And. I want to make a special welcome to my old and dear friend, Mr. James Everhard, who has surprised me by being here tonite. And this first song is dedicated to you James". A spotlight briefly shown on Everhard as he blew Miss James a kiss. The orchestra started the familiar tune and Etta began singing her greatest hit, "At Last."

Etta James sang for an hour and a half, doing a 20 song set. Her band, was marvelous, as always and she was in excellent voice as well. The crowd cheered and gave a thunderous standing ovation for her when she did her last number. Her road manager came up to the trio’s table and handed James a handwritten note form Miss James. "She has invited us all backstage," James told Tom and Tiffany.

Minutes later James lightly knocked on the blues legend’s door. "Come on in!" Etta called to her visitors. The trio, led by Everhard stepped into the plush dressing room. "James," Etta called excitedly and held out her arms, demanding an embrace. Everhard hugged her warmly and kissed the large woman on the cheek. "James honey, It’s been so long. You okay baby?" Everhard told her that he was fine and introduced her to his two friends. "You know this man saved my big ol’ black ass a few years back. I had a former road manager back in L.A. mad as hell at me, he was sabotaging my shows, runnin’ off my musicians, really messin’ with me, you know? Hell, he finally even tried to kill me. JE here set the man straight though, put the fear of God in him I guess. Nigger never bothered me again! Me and this white boy been great friends ever since! James, you ever get married?" she asked him. "No Etta, I’m still on the loose." He answered. "Good, then maybe I still gotta shot at getting you in my bed, you folk’ll excuse us I hope," the 70+ year old woman was laughing loudy. The group visited and Miss James entertained the trio with her stories for almost an hour when James looked at his watch and said, "I hate to break this up, but there’s a lady I need to see before it gets too much later." Etta said, "goodbye" to her new friends, kissed James warmly on the cheek and said, "I’ll be appearing in Oklahoma City on April 19^th. You gonna’ be in town?" "I don’t think so sugar, I’ve got a real estate transaction to get going down here, but I know that W.W. has tickets, look for him there." "I will baby," she told him, and "be careful, will ya’ darlin’?" The trio left the dressing room amidst hugs and well wishes. "What a great lady!" Tom said. "Yeah, she’s something special," Everhard told him.

Tom’s chauffer dropped Everhard off at Tom’s place so he could get his Viper. Tom thanked the couple warmly, and told them he’d be back tomorrow so they could go and take a look at the Ridley place. Tom said something to the chauffer and the limo drove away, the couple off to enjoy some more Dallas night life. Everhard unlocked the sports car and slid across the leather bucket seat and started the powerful engine. He backed out into the street and headed across town. Twenty minutes later he turned into the winding drive of a large , stately looking home. He passed a small sign that said, "Hamptonsworth Studio"..

The red Viper rumbled down the long driveway to the house. Everhard doused the car’s lights before reaching the house because he wanted to surprise Dona Hamptonsworth, He had not seen the gorgeous brunette in nearly a month, and his heart was racing with the anticipation of both seeing her again and the gravity of the question that he intended to ask her. He felt for the small, velvet covered box in his pocket. It was there, ready for the moment. As James approached the house in the Viper, he noticed that a red corvette was parked next to the garage. "Hmmm," Everhard wondered aloud, "wonder if she has company? Perhaps her sister came down for a visit. No matter, It just means more folks with whom to share the news." At the end of the driveway, Everhard parked the Viper and hopped out. He felt as though he were gliding, his feet not even touching the flagstone walkway that lead to the large house. He hadn’t felt this wonderful in a very long time. He was finally going to do it, make a commitment, buy their dream house, finish the mansion and design the place just for his lovely, intended bride. He made a mental picture of he and Dona, together, watching the place being completed. He was grinning like a kid, he was so in love with her! As he "glided" onto the porch and reached for the huge, brass door knocker, he saw two people through the large window by the door. One was Dona, the other was a tall, handsome man. He was apparently leaving, and they were sharing a poignant goodbye. Everhard became numb, he watched in shock as the man took her in his arms. Although the kiss was brief and landed mostly on the man’s cheek, the embrace was warm. Everhard read Dona Hamptonworth’s lips as they formed the words, "I love you." Everhard turned quickly around and hurried back to the Viper.. He jumped into the car, fired it up and tore away from the house with a cloud of dust raising and tires squealing. How could he have been so stupid! So arrogant as to think that Dona would quietly wait for him to settle down, when HE was ready! On HIS terms! God, he felt like such a fool!

Slowly sucking the sweet juices of margarita through the straw, I hid behind my sunglasses and studied JE from a short distance away. He hadnt seen me arrive. Wearing no clothes was his usual custom at Orient Beach, so I had been watching him. I chuckled to myself. Reclining on the chase lounge, he had readjusted himself, once again.

Good lord, he was huge. Whenever I told him he should have been a porn star, he just had laughed at me. Today, though, I feared there would be no laughter between us.

I ordered another margarita from the red roof bar. Mixing alcohol and the tropical sun was a lethal combination for me and I knew it. But, I didn’t care. I knew he shouldnt either.

Zipless fucks, Erica Jong had called them and that rationale had been the basis of our recent relationship encounters. Once lovers and committed to each other forever, JE and I were now relegated to the lowly status of formers, seeking companionship.

Jangled by a frantic call at 12:49 a.m., he had awakened me last night from a sound sleep. Could he use my villa in St. Barths, he queried. Beginning tomorrow, he further informed me as he sped to DFW, trying to escape his misery by making the last flight out for the night. He sought the refuge of the soothing blue waters of the Caribbean.

Of course, mi casa su casa, I told him in my best Spanish. Shall I join him, I inquired from the comfort of my stateside home.

I’ll be at Orient Beach before youre even up tomorrow, he challenged before hanging up. A typical JE invitation I later mused to myself as I nestled back under the covers and went back to sleep, already feeling the warmth of his body next to mine. But not before I had set my alarm for five after six.

Barely twelve hours now after his midnight-hour call, I picked up my tote bag and margarita, leaving the sanctuary of the bar. I walked slowly towards JE. Eyes behind darkened sunglasses followed my every step as I approached him. Nothing goes unnoticed in St. Marten.

Three cruise ships were in port, plus those island visitors who would stay three days, a week or maybe forever. The white sand beach was littered with the voyeurs from the ships and the now so-called regulars. JE and I were neither considered only in transit according to local immigration rules.

He had saved me a lounge chair under the umbrella, knowing my disdain of this pedestrian beach. I bent down to kiss his cheek, but he must have seen me coming after all. He removed his aviator glasses.

Hi, Sweetie. Long time no see, he whispered into my ear as his hand reached up gently to pull my face into his. I savored the delicious kiss that followed.

‘Oh, Baby,’ was the only thing I could say to him knowing that his kiss was meant for someone other than me. So what happened?

Later, he delayed answering, but nonetheless properly greeted me as he stood erect and pulled his chair close to mine. He took my drink and tote, and set them on the table. Rummaging through my bag, JE found the sunscreen and continued. Our flight to St. Barths leaves in three hours, dinner reservations at the Carl Gustaf are at nine in the meantime, enjoy.

Slowly he untied the knot on my sarong, letting it slip from my hips into the sand. I shook my head from side to side. Later, I echoed to him, stepping back from further undressing, but now more eager than ever for the solitude of a St. Barths beach.

JE smiled sheepishly. You’re always there for me, aren’t you Sweetie?

And, you for me, I acknowledged. The problems of the world could wait, I silently concluded. For the time being, I drank up the flavors of the cool blue waters lapping at the shoreline nearby, biding my time until later, much later.

Running away again. He had driven, far too fast, from Dona’s house to DFW to book a flight out, but to where? Then he envisioned a white sandy beach and impossibly blue water. A place to heal, a warm place, a friend.in whom to confide. Everhard went to a phone booth, and dialed Kim’s number in Tampa. He had turned his cell phone off after the unexpected encounter at Dona’s house. He didn’t want to hear from her. JE listened as the phone rang once, twice, "My God," he thought," what time is it?" His Rolex read; 11:39 PM. "Not too late for Kim," he said aloud, "Hell, I’ll probably interrupt she and Marshall’s lovemaking at this hour." He chuckled at the thought. "Serves him right," he thought, "stealing away the best lover I’ve ever known!" Had he really said that? Until now he had not admitted this, not even to himself. But, in fact, it was true. Kim was, the best lover he had ever known. On the fourth ring, Kim answered with a sleepy voice, "hello?" He was a little disappointed that he had apparently not interrupted the newly weds, mid coitus. "Hiya Sweetie" Everhard said. "James, what are you up to at this hour?" Kim said, squinting at the clock. James replied," I was wondering, sweetie, If I might use your villa at St. Barths for a few days? I need a place to do some thinking, and try to put my life back together." She knew instantly what must have happened to him. "Of course darling, mi casa su casa," she told him warmly. Before he could even thank her, she added something that shocked him. "Shall I join you James?" she inquired in her most provocative voice. He hesitated, wondering what was currently going on in her life, before saying, cryptically, "I’ll be at Orient Beach before you’re even up tomorrow," thereby letting her make her own decision about joining him. Everhard replaced the handset on its cradle and hurried to the Sunworld ticket area to purchase a seat on the last flight out tonight. Later, sitting alone in the first class section of the 727, Everhard placed a call on the seat mounted telephone to his old friend Tom Manners. Reaching only voicemail at this hour, Everhard left a message apologizing for ducking out, but that he had been urgently called out of the country. He added that he would return in a week or so and explain completely. That taken care of, Everhard curled up in the broad leather seat for a couple of hours of much needed sleep. Slumber however, was evasive as visions of Dona and her gentleman friend kept invading his mind, chasing away any hope of getting the much needed sleep.

Hours later, Everhard was basking in the warm sun and sand of Orient Beach, wearing his favorite Orient Beach attire, nada. He watched as Kim stealthfully approached him. He pretended not to notice her. As she move close to him, he removed his aviator glasses, and they caressed. "Hi sweetie, long time, no see," he whispered into her ear, and gently pulled her face to his. The kiss was the kind of kiss that former lovers fondly remember forever, warm, tender and as packed with emotion as any single human act could be. "Oh baby," she said with a touch of sympathy, sensing his hurt. "So what happened?" "Later", he said, not wanting to spoil the moment. "Our flight to St. Barth’s leaves in three hours, dinner reservations at the Carl Gustaf are at nine; in the meantime, enjoy." He started to remove her skimpy bikini but she stepped back and echoed his earlier comment, "later." He smiled at her and said, "You’re always there for me aren’t you sweetie?" he said and smiled. "And you for me," she acknowledged. For the moment, their own problems could wait. There would be time for seriously discussing them and more, later, much later.

Scene 9 REWRITE

[ADULT CONTENTS: READER DISCRETION ADVISED.]

‘Oh, my God,’ I muttered aloud to myself, throwing USA Today down in the sand next to my lounge chair. What a jerk. 

‘Huh?’ a voice next to me questioned groggily. Startling JE who was asleep on the chase lounge, I really hadn’t intended to awaken him. ‘Who, me?’ he further queried in a half-sleep, half-paranoid response.

‘Not you, goofball’ I shook my head in disbelief. ‘John Ramsey, you know, JonBenet’s dad.’

I had JE’s attention now, if only momentarily. ‘What about Ramsey?’ he asked.

‘According to the paper, he’s running for public office in Michigan. Well, he’s thinking about it anyway. He’ll make his decision at 5:15 p.m. next Tuesday.’

‘FIVE FIFTEEN,’ I repeated louder to ensure JE had heard that all-important time, a code number which would keep the press at bay. Hobbled by fame, fortune and power, the media had become mere puppets of the masters in the nation. The Thirteenth Amendment had abolished slavery for everyone, except them. The gatekeepers of democracy were now the prisoners of capitalism. I was incensed.

‘Oh, that,’ having heard my theory time and time before, JE groaned as he now turned over on his stomach to suntan his backside. ‘And, I hear O.J. Simpson is going to run for governor of Florida.’ He taunted me sarcastically, his usual fashion whenever we talked politics which, known to both of us, we did more frequently than his liking.

‘Well, James, your little tight, white butt can just burn&,’ I snipped back at him and thought about adding ‘ ‘in hell’ ‘ but, I didn’t. Why start off our trip in a tiff about something over which we had no control, I had to remind myself.

Also trying to rein in my unexpected adrenalin rush, JE consoled me, ‘Fanny, sweetie, come on, I was just giving you a hard time.’

‘Hmm,’ I retorted, keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself as I finished my margarita, the ice melting from the heat of the day. And how I wanted another before our flight left for St. Barths. Instead, though, I looked apologetically at James and smiled.

He smiled back and murmured sensuously, ‘Fanny, I can’t wait to attack your body.’

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at him. Taking the sunscreen from my tote bag, I moved over to sit on the edge of his chair and started to rub it in, first on his strong, broad shoulders. Then slowly, very slowly I started working my hands down the small of his back. Picking up the tube a second time, I held it up high and let droplets of sunscreen spill on the round of his cheeks. I made him wait for my touch before I began once more.

Even on Orient Beach, the voyeurs had become gawkers the moment I had shifted from my chair to his. ‘You know, we could be arrested for this in the states,’ I reminded him as I started massaging the remainder of the sunscreen into his exposed buttocks.

His groan this time was an acknowledgment of pleasure as the creamy white liquid dissolved under my strokes and the worries of the world seemed 5000 miles away. ‘Who gives a fuck anyway,’ I thought I heard him say before he dosed off again.

The Beechcraft’s twin engines droned on as they cruised high above the green Caribbean. Everhard gazed over at the soundly sleeping, Fanny Ever-Ready. She was truly a beautiful woman. He looked at her deeply tanned face, it was flawless. Her perfect nose. Was it the work of some Miami plastic surgeon? Who knew? What difference did it make? It was perfect! Her lips, full and sensuous, they may have had a little collagen shot into them as well.. Her impossibly blue eyes, closed at the moment, but impossible to forget. Were they just clever contact lenses? Why was he mentally trying to find fault in this ravishing girl he had met in Tampa? She is perfectly beautiful! Accept it, enjoy it,. Hell, take full advantage of it! He chuckled softly, and continued his appraisal. Her breasts. Now those promised to be veritable works of art! He hadn’t yet seen every gorgeous inch of them, even though her very brief string bikini had given him a good idea. He couldn’t be totally sure about their true beauty until he had "tasted the fruit", so to speak, for himself. He estimated them at a 36 D, and his was generally considered an expert’s opinion. Her legs, long, and muscular, but not like a Russian gymnast’s, sexy, very sexy. And her tush, now that was a piece of work. He wondered if she had had a Brazilian Butt lift, the latest craze in body enhancement. Stop that! He scolded himself mentally, you sound like a jealous woman! Why do you try to find fault? Complaining about surgical enhancement? Hell, it looks great; and more power to her if she has gone under the knife! It was a great investment! But he knew what his crazy conscience was trying to do. Keep him for falling for her, hell, from sleeping with her! His conscience was trying to keep him from forgetting about Dona. But it wasn’t going to work! That’s what this trip was all about, drowning his sorrows in rum and tequila and soothing his hurt pride and ego with gorgeous blonde and carnal athletics! He smiled wickedly as he again looked at Fanny’s breasts through a light cotton blouse. He could see the outline of a very sexy bra underneath, and he could hardly wait until they got to the hotel and he unhooked the thing, thus freeing the creamy beauties. He felt a stir in his slacks as he began to react physically to the mental images. But his conscience would not give up! A thought crossed his mind about the 26 messages that had been left on his cell phone. Each with Dona’s Dallas number. He had not listened to one of them; but instead, had angrily deleted them al without listening to them. Maybe he should hear her out, talk with her, his conscience pleaded. Hell no! He told the meddling, do-gooder conscience. He ordered his conscience back into the dark recesses of his cerebral cortex, and began the business of nibbling on the ear lobe and neck of the sleepy Ms. Ever-Ready.

The Beechcraft banked sharply as they approach the air strip at St. Barths. The Beech ‘s tires barked as they touched down and the plane taxied to the passenger egress area.

Scene 11 omitted by numbering error

Wayne Wallace cursed under his breath as he dialed James Everhard’s cell phone number for the 100th time this morning. That no good, SOB, why is he being such a stubborn jackass? W.W. muttered. He doesn’t deserve someone as sweet as Dona! he huffed. For the 101st time, Everhard’s voicemail answered, Hey, Everhard here, I’m waist deep in the Caribbean with a blonde on each arm and a snoot full of tequila. I’ll have to get back to you, leave your number. The message abruptly ended and the beep signaling when to begin the message sounded. This time W.W. would leave a message. Hey you arrogant, boozed up loser! Dona called. Not that It matters, because you’re being such an unreasonable asshole, but the guy you saw at Dona’s was her brother, whom she hadn’t seen for years. If you weren’t such a self-absorbed, egotistical, turd, you would have given her a chance to explain that. She has tried and tried to reach you, and frankly, I don’t think she’ll try any more. Sober up, start thinking with the correct head and call her! Goodbye you frickin’ Jerk! W.W. disconnected from the cell phone and shook his head in disgust.

[ADULT CONTENTS: READER DISCRETION ADVISED.]

Ten minutes to paradise, I sighed to myself leaning back in the comfort of our air conditioned Jeep. We’d just left the private jet and breezed through immigrations at the airport. Luckily we were between commercial flights and first time tourists to the island who were still pale from a St. Barths landing: Over a precipitous cliff into a short runway, the only approach. Not much unlike a carrier landing, except this runway didn’t roll with the waves lapping at its edges.

My late husband, a former fighter pilot, used to say: Clear that son of a bitch, emergency

decent, and hit the numbers. A nads landing, he called it when we would make the flight in our own jet. His mind, however, still shooting for the number three wire. He loved to stick that landing. That, along with sticking other things as well.

They say the wife is the last to know, unless of course she has hired a private detective.

Initiating another young tart into the mile high club, my husband met his fiery death just over two

years ago. Thank God the media had been discreet about the accident: Prominent civic and business leader dies in airplane crash en route to conference, the headlines lamented. In much smaller print deeply embedded within the article, the papers also revealed a passenger had been onboard, a young business associate, name withheld pending notification of kin.

And then from all parts of the country, they flocked to the funeral. JE included. And, he stayed to

console me as he had done countless times in the past when my husband had been on one of his infamous out-of-town business trips.

St. Barths had become my place of refuge. Far away from my civic responsibilities and reminders of the past, I would escape to the island each stay just a little longer. Sometimes traveling alone, sometimes not. Until recently, JE had been joining me at the villa more often than not.

Startled by JE’s middle of the night call less than 24 hours ago, more than slumber had awakened within me. I knew all along there must have been another woman in his life, but never in a million years would I have dreamed he was thinking about marriage. Settling down, a family? A primal instinct in me had responded, and I notified my staff in St. Barths to prepare for me, and a very special guest.

Now back on the island and protected from the ghosts of our pasts, the Jeep wound its way up the mountain side and pulled to a stop in front of the rod iron gate. As the gate swung open and we drove slowly into the courtyard, JE reached over and stroked my inner thigh. Neither of us spoke.

When the vehicle finally stopped, my groundskeeper silently slid out of the driver’s side and opened my door before carrying the luggage into the villa and disappearing into his quarters for the night, per my instructions.

Within thirty minutes of our arrival and finally alone together on the terrace, JE pulled my hand to his lips, softly brushing his lips against it. In turn, I drew his hands to my breasts. More precisely, to my nipples, already erect in anticipation of his touch.

"Time for a dip?’ He inquired as he dropped the towel draped around his waist and jumped into the plunge pool, architecturally designed with a panoramic view of the harbor below.

"Why not?" I responded. And, following suit, aware also that our dinner reservations were a mere two hours away, I slowly untied the sarong and let it fall onto the tile, the only article of apparel I likewise had worn for our reunion on the terrace.

Appropriately unclad, I then slipped into the pool. Tinkling in the background were the wind chimes, a gift from JE long ago. A reminder that he would always be there for me.

JE swam to meet me. His embrace made a dime store romance novel blush. His kiss electrified my every neuron.

Plunging himself inside me, he gasped, ‘You’re hotter than a bitch in heat.’

‘I am,’ I panted in ecstasy as I pulled him deeper into me. And, then we made love to the rhythm of the wind chimes. A chamber choir could not have been more melodious at that moment, and I knew deep within my being that JE would be a part of me forever.

After making love in the cobalt blue pool for almost an hour, the two spent lovers reluctantly left each others arms and took turns visiting reality. Our reservations are in an hour, sweetie, can you be ready? James asked his lover. Jesus James, after what you just did with my body, I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to walk any time soon! Fannie teased, and then added, Don’t worry Baby, I’ll be ready in thirty minutes. James took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. But not if you keep that up, she sighed and rose from the pool, I might decide to stay right here and screw the rest of your your brains out. She laughed as she wrapped a towel around her fabulous body and disappeared into the villa. James dried off and went to his room to dress.Thirty minutes later, just as promised,

Fannie Ever-Ready appeared in the foyer dressed in a gown that took James breath away. Her well tanned cleavage was showcased by the black gown and her hair was pulled back tight and piled in a cascade of ringlet curls on top of her head, she looked ravishing. James had donned a white dinner jacket and ruffled tuxedo shirt and black tie. The couple entered the chauffered Mercedes and headed for Carl Gustaf’s. The mountainside, gourmet restaurant offered delicious food, an elegant ambiance, an a breathtaking view of the Caribbean.

James had fallen in love with this island on his very first visit here, a few years ago. St. Barthelemy, commonly referred to as St. Barts, is a little piece of paradise located close to St. Martin. It is known for its sophistication and exceptional privacy. St. Barts is the perfect hideaway retreat. The island was named for Christopher Columbus brother, Bartolomeo, and it has evolved into a charming mixture of French and Swedish heritage. Narrow roads

wind along the mountainous terrain, offering dramatic views of spectacular beaches and the sea. Fannie’s private villa is located in Gustavia, the capital of St. Barts. The fabulous home is about 6,000 square feet, has six or seven bedrooms, and features its own private beach. It also has a beautiful pool with a waterfall and two spas, one heated, one chilled. James figured that this was one place where he could relax and forget about Dona; and Fannie seemed duty bound to the task of making him do just, exactly that.

At the restaurant, Phillipe, their waiter greeted them in French and offered them menus also printed in French. Just as James was about to sink, Fannie came to his rescue and carried the ball. She expertly ordered drinks and entrees for both of them in perfect French. James was relieved, but secretly hoped she had not ordered goat’s eyeballs and udders or something else equally as exotic.

The drinks arrived, a Manhattan for her and a Rusty Nail for him. "Good memory, James told her." There is a great deal I remember about your likes and dislikes Mr. Everhard, she said, smiling wickedly. Let me see, scotch & drambuie, preferably Chevis. Rare beef, preferably New York strips. Favorite wine would be a domestic merlow, Loves dogs, hate cats, allergic. Sheer negligees are considered a waste of time, verrrrry oral, feels that it is truly more blessed to give than to receive, but will allow a girl to reciprocate eventually. Sleeps nude, wears briefs, not boxers. She recited, How’d I do? she asked. Extrordinarily, Ms. Ever-Ready, truly extraordinary. Just then their dinner arrived. Fortunately for James there were no goat eyeballs or udders in sight.

[ADULT CONTENTS: READER DISCRETION ADVISED.]

Remarriage is not allowed. Not according to the trust agreement in place, courtesy of my late husband, to provide for me after his untimely death. Should I choose to marry again, I will receive a mere one-time stipend from the trust. Unfortunately, the stipend does not reflect the standard of living I am used to.

Yes, I had a prenuptial. Spent thousands of dollars on attorneys fees, we each did.

My late husband and staff had the last laugh because of it.

Or so they thought.

Nothing in the trust documents or prenuptial precluded me from having a family after his death. I suppose they assumed societal mores would control what they couldn’t. An oversight on their part? Maybe.

From my perspective, family and domestic relations law are antiquated. Should the former wife or widow live with someone of the opposite sex, no alimony or support will be forthcoming. Should an ex-husband be living with someone else, let him be forth coming, fifth coming& Whatever.

No, I’m not a bra-burning feminist. Just a pragmatist.

As much as I love JE, he and I will never marry. He cannot afford me, nor can I afford him.

But, good Lord, do I enjoy him and I know he enjoys me as well.

As I watch him now next to me sleeping like a baby, I wonder whether he will remember all from last night. He drank then like there was no tomorrow. And, his sexual appetite was as insatiable.

Seated at our usual table overlooking the harbor, we had been the last patrons at the restaurant. The musician had long since gone as was most of the wait staff. Left alone to savor the final fruits of the vine, JE’s hand had found its way under my dress and up my thigh. Slipping his fingers into my moistness, I had squirmed in eagerness.

And, as quickly as his hand had aroused me, he promptly removed it. I yearned for more. Instead, he poured us both another glass of Opus One and stirred his with the fingers we just had shared. ‘To the beach,’ he raised his glass in a toast.

‘The beach,’ our glasses clanked in unison.

Warmed by both wine and wantonness, we dismissed our driver for the evening and walked hand-in-hand down the steep and snaky, cobbled-stone street toward Shell Beach and directly into the love scene From Here to Eternity.

‘James, are you awake yet?’

‘Huh?’ He grumbled as he pulled the sheet over his face to hide the brilliance of the sun. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s almost noon and the 64Knights are still silent after Kim’s posting last night.’

‘So?’ Exasperated at my intrusion, James tugged at the sheet and rolled over.

Like I would put up with his going back to sleep right now. ‘Sweetie Pie, you know Wallace assured Kim she should post the next scene.’

‘When was that?’ James was not fond of Wallace and Kim instant messaging behind everyone’s back. He enjoyed the suspense as well waiting to see what the two authors had in store for their characters, plus JE also delighted in his own character pulling off a surprise or two.

‘I don’t remember& yesterday ‘ the day before? She was afraid the postings were becoming too steamy for the group.\ Like James, I knew too that the characters sometimes take on a life of their own once a story starts flowing, much to their author’s chagrin.

Everhard was sitting straight up now in bed. ‘Too steamy?’ He rolled his eyes in disbelief. ‘Did Chaple post last night?’

‘Yeah, but not boob related.’ I informed him.

‘What about Rig, Phil or Griffy?’

‘Quiet as little church mice.’

‘Oh, shit, Kim may be right,’ James uttered in amazement.

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT - READER DISCRETION ADVISED!

IF OFFENDED BY SEXUAL SCENARIOS, MERELY HIT THE ‘DELETE" BUTTON WITHOUT READING.

They hurriedly stripped off their evening clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the rocks above Shell Beach. Then, hand and hand they walked slowly towards the ocean, stopping only to kiss each other passionately and deeply. ‘My God James, you’re like a big chunk of driftwood,’ she told him, unable to make her small hand completely encircle his enormous, erect cock. Without saying a word, James lowered the beautiful blonde onto the sand and covered her body with his. She gasped as his engorged manhood found its mark and he entered her. The next twenty minutes were a swirling kaleidoscope of colors. It was like a symphony, combining the potent liqueurs they had consumed with the passion of their bodies and the heightened tingling of their senses until they came together in a powerful crescendo that left them both completely spent.

As James began the slow, regretful mental trip back to earth, and the reality of Shell Beach, he became acutely aware of the large amount of sand and salt water that had settled in tender places not meant for such intrusions, while the couple had been making love. He checked on Fanny Ever-Ready. She seemed to still be at about 20,000 feet. He took her in his arms,

picked her up from the sand and kissed her gently. ‘Oh God, James, you’re like a drug! That was totally beyond description!’ she half spoke, half moaned. ‘Come on sweetie, we need a rinse off swim, he told her and carried her into the frothy surf as its small waves broke against their bodies. The two lovers soaked, rinsed and frolicked in the surf for almost an hour. ‘We’d better get back home; the sun is starting to break over the eastern horizon.’ James said. ‘We could watch the sunset naked on the beach,’ she giggled. ‘No, I need a shower, still got some sand up my arse,’ he grumbled. The couple laughed and frolicked back up the beach toward the rocks and their clothes, stopping for long, romantic kisses every twenty feet or so. When they reached the place where they had left their clothes, they were both in for quite a shock. All of their clothes were gone! Not a stitch of clothing was on the rocks or on the couple as the sun rose and the morning began and the islanders went about their lives in the bustling beach community. ‘What now?’ James asked his lover.

[ADULT CONTENTS: READER DISCRETION ADVISED.]

Oklahomans knew him as OU’s all-conference and All-American third baseman, who after graduation was drafted by the pros. The pros knew him as the Toronto Blue Jays, overpaid third-basemen who blew out his knee during his rookie year. To me, however, he was my best friend, and sometimes date, ninth through twelfth grades.

Now as he stood before me, he was my bodyguard who shadowed me everywhere I went. There wasn’t a step I could take or a place gone unnoticed that he wasn’t there, lurking in the shadows, just waiting to pounce upon an unsuspecting intruder. And, I rewarded him dearly for his services.

‘Hello, Trey,’ I said as I retrieved a towel and my clothing from my bodyguard’s outstretched bronzed arms. I immediately began to robe myself in front of him, though I knew his eyes were not focused on me. Instead, he devoured JE in one gluttonous glance.

‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ JE questioned in anguish. Presumed stranded in the nude on Shell Beach, James now crossed his hands in front of himself, trying to conceal what was once his stalwart manhood. Both aggravated and perplexed as he was approached and appraised by this former Mr. Olympia, JE glared at me for an answer.

‘Ms. Eve.’ Trey acknowledged me. My bodyguard’s distaste for my late husband and the last name I inherited had offended him, so early in his employ he had coined a nickname for me more pleasing to his ear.

‘James, please meet Trey ‘ an old high school buddy of mine, who’s now my personal body guard.’ I explained to JE as Trey now handed him a fresh towel and clothing.

JE was too busy reclaiming his clothes to shake hands with his life preserver. That should come later, I suspected.

As JE scrambled to redress, I informed him that Trey and I were friends from way back: a common heritage, a common bond. Quite simply I explained, we had gone to high school together and had become friends.

What I didn’t tell JE was that Trey had been my date for the Sadie Hawkins dance and other events when I needed an escort. Or when I had broken up with my high school sweetheart, it was upon Trey’s broad shoulders I cried. It was his strong arms which protected me and carried me through those times of vulnerability as a teenager and now, much later, as an adult.

In turn, I had been Trey’s date for his senior prom. I had watched him play baseball when no one else had, especially those hot, dusty summer evenings at the Chandler baseball camp. And, more importantly, I had believed in him before he had believed in himself.

I asked him one time why he was called Trey. Was it because he played third base or was it because he had a roman numeral three after his surname? He admitted he didn’t know which came first. After all he had told me, his father had been a professional baseball player too; though, he’d never made it to the majors.

Neither had his father lived to see Trey’s fifth birthday. On a road trip, during a late night barroom brawl, he’d lost his life over a seventy-five cent pool game, or so the story went. And, Trey’s mother never forgave his father or any other man for leaving her marooned in the middle of the prairie with one young son and nowhere else to go.

If only his parents were alive to see him now, I mused, admiring the physique that had brought him worldwide fame and which now was standing next to us at the beach. As if reading my mind, Trey turned his face to mine and we locked eyes for only a moment before he turned back his attention to JE.

‘He’s mine,’ I warned Trey, also knowing exactly what he was thinking about James Everhard, who was still only partially dressed.

Oft portrayed as a shallow, self centered, buffoon. Not enough credit is ever given to James Everhard for his keen intuition and his sometimes admittedly slow to show up, but always on target, sense of the "right thing to do." This was one of those rare moments when everything became stunningly clear to him. The look shared between Fannie and her muscle bound manservant told James all he needed to know about the feelings those two people had for each other and who, in fact should be with whom. At the same time, he realized that he had done the true love of his life a horrible injustice, and that he had acted horribly immature and also that he had to make things right, immediately. He thanked a somewhat bewildered Fanny Ever-Ready for the hospitality, gave her a kiss on the cheek and began trudging through the sand, towards the airport. At the airport, Everhard, in a somewhat rumpled dinner jacket and tuxedo pants, still combing sand out of his black, curly hair, inquired about the next flight to Dallas. There was one leaving in ten minutes, he didn't even have time to get a makeshift shower in the men's room, but instead, without so much as a shaving kit in the way of luggage, he boarded a Lear jet headed to the lone star state.Everhard had, through the amenities offered by the airline, been able to at least, shave and brush his teeth, in the cramped aircraft lavatory before being signaled that they were preparing to land, please raise seat backs, buckle in, etc. Everhard returned to his seat and watched as the small craft landed at Love Field in Dallas. Everhard grabbed a cab and gave the driver Dona’s address. On the way, he called Tom Mann on his cell phone. ‘Tom,’ Everhard said, ‘Can you get me the old Ridley place today?’ ‘Sure James, but Tom sputtered. No, butts, Tom, just close the deal for me. I’ll call you tomorrow. And thanks!’

As the Yellow cab entered the long, gravel drive at Dona’ studio and home, Everhard saw Dona,

again standing next to the same, tall, handsome man apparently about to leave in his Corvette. Everhard had done enough running, he would face this reality, whatever it turned out to be. Everhard tossed the driver a fifty and hopped out of the cab. ‘Oh James!’ Dona exclaimed and ran to embrace him. ‘I’m so glad you’ve finally come back!’ She kissed him warmly and he kissed her just as warmly in return. ‘James, I’d like you to meet my brother, Eric Hamptonsworth. Everhard vigorously shook the handsome man’s hand and then embraced Dona again. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you James, including the fact that my sister fully intends to marry you and put an end to all your globe hopping.’ Eric told him, laughingly. ‘Dammit, Eric, you’re never supposed to give up a girl’s strategy!’ Dona said, punching him on the bicep. ‘That goes right along with my plans Eric,’ James told him, smiling broadly.

The End

Epilogue: The couple was married later that month on the grounds of their new estate near Denton, Texas. All the 64 Knights were in attendance. Dona’s sister was matron of honor and WW was the best man. Eric Hamptonsworth gave the bride away. The couple honeymooned in New York City. After a three week honeymoon, they returned to their home, still a work in progress. Bill Chaple barking orders to the workers, and David Griffy yelling at Chaple for yelling at his crew. The couple had faith that the feuding architect and contractor would eventually build their dream home perfectly.

This will be the final adventure for James Everhard, as he will be embarking upon a much anticipated retirement. In the future, watch for the harrowing adventures of the sexiest lady sleuth ever to grace a page, the infamous Fannie Ever-Ready, the creation of the extremely talented writer Ms. Kim Krone. Thanks to all of you for making the James Everhard stories so very much fun to do by letting the author drag so many of you personally into his adventures.

Chao’

James’

[VERY ADULT CONTENTS: READER DISCRETION ADVISED.]

‘You’e what?’ I shrieked at the top of my lungs to one mister James Everhard. The other characters at Rick’s Café Americain turned to look in our direction immediately following my surprising outburst. Conversations at the nearby tables halted in mid-syllable, awaiting Jamess response. Silence now filled the air in anticipation of the interchange to follow. The two of us were not known for our discreetness.

‘Retiring,’ he retorted smugly and promptly took another slug of the Rusty Nail the waitress had brought recently to our table.

Like I believed James would voluntarily retire. And, what? Become a Wal*Mart greeter,’ I sarcastically taunted him.

‘That’s a hell of a lot better than being butt-fucked by some queer body guard your whiney, hormonal, miss self-righteous creator was staging for the next scene,’ he claimed.

Trying desperately to convince him otherwise, I pleaded. ‘Oh, she wouldn’t do that to you, Sweetie Pie.’

‘The hell she wouldn’t,’ James shouted across the table. He could care less who was listening now. ‘And, don’t Sweetie Pie me. One Ms. Kim just went off in left field and created a sympathetic little homo orphan who had the hots for me.’ He pointed his index finger to his own chest. ‘Me, Baby, the one and only JAMES EVERHARD ‘ the man’s man.’ He continued to pound his chest with his finger.

‘Sympathetic homo?’ I was dumfounded. ‘That’s called characterization, Big Guy. You can’t fuck your brains out in every scene.’

‘And, just why not?’

Oh my God, he wasn’t joking. ‘James, you gotta have a storyline other than your big dick.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the size of my dick.’ He objected venomously.

Who is this character, I thought to myself. Joey from ‘Friends’?

And as if on cue, Detective Bill Chaple sauntered over to us from the next table. ‘verhard is right.’

I looked at Chaple in surprise. ‘our character is dead,’I reminded him. ‘allace wrote you out months ago. You don’ exist anymore, Mr. I Can’ Get Laid ‘at least not in public, Detective Chaple.’ What is it with men and their dicks, I shook my head in bewilderment.

‘You gals shouldn’ have messed with the Big Guy here,’Chaple reiterated, slapping Everhard on the back in a show of support. ‘ow you go back home to your computer and let your hoity-toity Ms. Kim know that Everhard is R-E-T-I-R-E-D. 

‘Well, he can’t I told them.

Both James and Chaple glared at me in defiance.

‘Sweetie Pie,’I reminded James, ‘yu’e bigger than Mr. Wallace’ imagination or Ms. Hoity-Toity’ lack thereof. Don’ you know you will continue to live in the hearts and minds of the 64Knights.’And, following a dramatic pause, I added, ‘Whether you like it or not, no way in the world they're going to let you RETIRE.’