The Thruway Killers

By Harvey Havel

Droogan McPhee is the son of a wealthy
entrepreneur who owns several liquor stores
throughout Connecticut and Massachusetts.
His step-mother is roughly Droogan’s same
age. Together they plot to kill his wealthy
father for the inheritance money, until
Droogan shoots his step-mother instead
by mistake. What follows is an odyssey
along the New York Thruway, as the police
will stop everything to make sure that the
fleeing Droogan is captured and brought to
justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harvey Havel
• Release date: Jul 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781370948628

Harvey Havel

HARVEY HAVELAuthorHarvey Havel is a short-story writer and novelist. His first novel, Noble McCloud, A Novel, was published in November of 1999. His second novel, The Imam, A Novel, was published in 2000.Over the years of being a professional writer, Havel has published his third novel, Freedom of Association. He worked on several other books and published his eighth novel, Charlie Zero's Last-Ditch Attempt, and his ninth, The Orphan of Mecca, Book One, which was released last year. His new novel, Mr. Big, is his latest work about a Black-American football player who deals with injury and institutionalized racism. It’s his fifteenth book He has just released his sixteenth book, a novel titled The Wild Gypsy of Arbor Hill, and his seventeenth will be a non-fiction political essay about America’s current political crisis, written in 2019.Havel is formerly a writing instructor at Bergen Community College in Paramus, New Jersey. He also taught writing and literature at the College of St. Rose in Albany as well as SUNY Albany.Copies of his books and short stories, both new and used, may be purchased at all online retailers and by special order at other fine bookstores.

Book preview

Chapter One

Everything looked perfect for the wedding. Arthur McPhee’s son from his third marriage had a grand wedding at the local church in Whispering Hills, Connecticut - a small New England, bed and breakfast town where only the very wealthy could afford to live. For the folks from New York City who owned summer homes in Whispering Hills, Arthur invited these somewhat unruly neighbors to the reception as well. What was supposed to be a small, intimate wedding had blossomed into a large and spectacular one.

Arthur believed that he had finally accomplished something with the birth and education of his second son, Donald, as Donald, despite being so young, had already pushed the limits of being a successful businessman with Arthur’s franchises of Wine and Spirits stores in much of Connecticut as well as parts of Massachusetts.

All of the champagne glasses had been filled, courtesy of the liquor stores Arthur owned, and now that Donald was old enough, the keys to kingdom would be handed over to him as soon as Arthur could get his lawyers to prepare and file the paperwork. Other than the marriage, this would be another milestone along the pavement of Donald’s successful life.

Sitting next to Arthur, Donald’s best man took the podium on the dais. He walked up confidently to the microphone to deliver his speech. Everyone wore their best-fitting tuxedoes, as these were not rentals, but clothing they had stored away for special occasions like this. What was supposed to be reminiscent of a celebrity roast, a roast that could make people uncomfortable, (as no one felt that comfortable around jokes anymore), Donald’s best man delivered a sincere tribute to his great achievements. The humor came in when Donald’s best man admitted that the groom was much too young to be earning the money he did, and that he was much too young to be a success story in the franchise business.

And in my closing remarks, said Donald’s best man, I’d just like to say that Don is in serious danger of becoming the richest man in Whispering Hills, and for this, I’m going to borrow enough money from him now so I never have to pay him back, simply because he can afford it, and no one else in this room can.

The crowd laughed heartily at this.

But in all seriousness, Donald, you have a great life ahead of you, and now that you have a lovely wife, your life will be enriched by the bonds that you two share. So I hereby toast to you, Donald, and may you have many happy years with your new wife. I can’t think of a better man to marry a more perfect woman. So drink up this afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, but not without giving a toast to my best friend, Donald McPhee, and his new wife Kathy Van Jordan-McPhee.

The crowd gathered there clapped for a long time, and then the swing band played, as the guests, especially the ones who were already drunk, took to the dance floor and tried not to embarrass anyone, should their spouses inform them how badly they behaved within the fog and nausea of their hangovers the next morning.

Arthur couldn’t have been more proud - his old tuxedo fitting well, the people around him swirling into swing, a few Arthur Murray dance students in the middle of it, and finally the newlyweds, Donald and Kathy, who took to the dance floor with everyone’s thunderous applause.

Arthur, for doing so well in the wine and spirits business, sat next to his beautiful wife on the dais who was seen clearly by many as a trophy. She wore a blue satin dress with her skirt well above her knees. She had curves in perfect places, her dress hugging her body such that it was easy to tell that she had once been a model or an actress but wound up getting married to a wealthy man - which is a common tale around Whispering Hills, especially for those who approached modern maturity and earned enough money during the course of their lives to take care of their spouses. After all, this was Arthur’s third wife.

Interestingly enough, though, Arthur’s third wife, Sabrina, who was a part of the bridal party and had dressed in exactly the same outfit as the other members, still seemed to be the most beautiful woman there despite her middle age. It was uncanny how some actresses looked in real life. Sabrina had a natural beauty, a beauty that didn’t need youth, make up, or even a nice dress for that matter. She seemed to have been born pretty. People around her always sensed that. She had highlighted her fading brown hair with streaks of blonde, and she squelched the level of her own boredom by going to the gym every day, taking vacations with Arthur, or commenting on the books she read for a reading circle she attended at the local library. She was also involved in local charities, like fighting breast cancer, the Red Cross, and donating old clothes to the Mission about ten miles south of Whispering Hills. Whatever she did, Arthur saw her as the perfect woman, and when he had taken the podium a short while after everyone started dancing, he thanked his wife for being the best.

No one knew whether or not love had a place in their relationship. Instead they were more like partners of the highest order - generating income and looking good.

In fact, all of the guests seemed to look pretty good. The women looked beautiful in their dresses, and the alpha males in their starched tuxedoes looked as though they could handle these women whenever they got out of line. Arthur thought of himself as a man who could handle beautiful women, because usually it came down to the question of who could really protect and care for these wives, with traveling to exotic places thrown in, and also give them everything they’ve ever wanted. The non-expert would be destroyed by these Queens of Diamonds, but within the McPhee family, both father and son thought it was far too easy to provide for them when money was concerned. Women, after all, needed safety and security - the best that money could buy - and so Arthur did just that. He spoiled his wife rotten and let her know every day that she was loved. It was obvious to him that his wife loved him more and more every time he provided for what she liked and wanted.

Again, it was a strategic partnership, especially now that the trophy wife’s son, Donald, just went through with his marriage and would now travel to a somewhat secluded resort in Madagascar for their Honeymoon, all expenses paid by Arthur.

Regardless of how these relationships worked, it seemed to Arthur that everyone at the reception was having a good time, whether they boozed it up at Arthur’s free bar or not. And the guests weren’t exactly there for the bride and groom exclusively either. Many businessmen and their wives attended the wedding to cement their contacts with other business owners, a few oil men, a couple of college professors from Hartford, and high-level bankers and lawyers from other areas within Connecticut. Even the President of Connecticut’s Chamber of Commerce attended. They all knew that Arthur was the man to beat. His many graces included giving free financial advice that worked wonders. Without question, Arthur had accomplished financial miracles, but he knew that he would soon fade into the deck-chair life of retirement.

Next on the agenda came the three-tiered cake that would be cut by the bride and groom. The waiter rolled it out on a metal cart, and everyone gathered around to see the ceremonial cutting. Donald and Kathy both did the cutting together - one knife and two hands on the handle. They carved out two thick slices of the vanilla-frosted, lemon-layered cake, and when they fed each other with it, Donald, being the fun-loving guy that he was, shoved it in Kathy’s mouth with force, such that Kathy had frosting all over her face. Kathy did the same to Donald, and fairly soon, to their guests’ delight, both of their faces were covered in thick frosting. They both laughed hysterically at what they did and then kissed each other on the lips. This was a couple that liked to have fun as well, and the cake fight was met with even more applause. After all, why does marriage always have to be such a solemn affair, thought Arthur? Only if marriages fail do they become serious.

Everyone who had the cake remarked of its good taste, and fairly soon, everyone had their piece. After cleaning their faces, Donald and Kathy happily skipped outside of the reception, and Kathy’s bridal party followed them. A Bentley limousine waited for them to take them back to Donald’s estate, and just before getting in the car, Kathy threw her bouquet of flowers into the thicket of the bridal party. One of her best friends who roomed with Kathy at Wellesley caught the bouquet, and with that they rolled onwards towards their new lives together.

When the bride and groom left, the bridal party went back inside, and the crowd followed. It was Sabrina who came up with the idea that the party shouldn’t end when the star couple left the building. In fact, it should still continue late into the night, just for the fun and excitement of it. Quite naturally, Arthur agreed, as he had always agreed with Sabrina over party matters, social protocol, and her lessons on etiquette.

During the course of their marriage, Arthur made sure that she didn’t know about his finances, although lately she had been bugging him to let her into his secret world of money and business. Arthur tried to steer her away from all that, as managing the money for him was a man’s job, and the woman should handle the domestic side of things - like children and grandchildren, food, home decoration, teaching, social work, philanthropy, and the arts.

When Arthur re-entered the reception area, he scanned the place for any help that he could provide someone, but apparently everyone was having a good time, especially the drunks whom Arthur sometimes laughed at.

Arthur drank despite the sour taste of alcohol. He thought of it as a stupid activity that chewed on a man’s achievement. His son, Donald, thought the same. But when he moved closer to the edge of the dance floor, he saw his son from his first marriage, Droogan, drunk and dancing wildly by himself, as there seemed to be no one on the dance floor whom Droogan could attract. He danced by himself, and, as Arthur usually thought, he became an isolated clown embarrassing the both of them.

There was too much of his first wife in Droogan, but when Arthur and his first wife divorced, Arthur immediately filed for custody by consulting his rolodex of lawyers. With his cadre of family attorneys, the courts awarded Arthur custody of Droogan. But now, as he watched Droogan make a fool out himself, twirling in his own sphere of space, the others on the dance floor merely ignored him, even though Arthur was well aware of his first son’s buffoonery. He should have let his first wife have custody, and he winced at the mistake he had made. He had some kind of obsessive conniption that brewed hatred in seeing Droogan dance. It upset his authority, his intellect, his hard work, and his mastery of finance.

Droogan’s shirt buttons popped from his chest, especially around the middle, and the sleeves of his jacket had vanilla frosting smeared all over them, a result of cutting himself a second and then a third slice of cake. His beard was scraggily - aimless, wayward whiskers hanging from his lips and chin. Compared to all the other guests there, everyone could have easily said that Droogan clearly did not belong. He didn’t even comb his hair for the event. He looked like he just got out of bed, which he kept in the attic of Arthur’s mansion. But more than any one flaw that Arthur found in Droogan was that he didn’t have a job and probably would never have one, now that he approached middle age.

Arthur witnessed Droogan’s flunking out of college and then flunking out of life. He drank insane amounts of alcohol, which often lead him to smoking crack on the wrong side of town, winding up in detox several times, ruining his relationship with the girl that Arthur had set him up with, and generally being a nuisance wherever he went. There was no mistaking Droogan. He was generally an eye sore, and he refused to grow up.

Arthur perhaps still thought of him as a college student who never turned the corner, which is why Arthur reserved a seat for him at the children’s table during the wedding. Arthur hoped that it would teach him to face the world as an adult and not avoid it all the time.

When he finished his dance, breathless and sweating, Droogan approached his father at the edge of the dance floor. His cummerbund kept slipping. Arthur really did not want to be seen with him, but he had no choice, now that Droogan had finally spotted him on his return to the children’s table. His long hair flowed from his neck, and when he finally reached him, Arthur fixated on the hair obscuring his face and pasted in sweat to his forehead, a perspiring mess to whom no one talked. Even the children stayed away from him. He scared them with his gruff voice and his tractor-trailer mentality. Even the zipper of his pants was open.

Dad! Can I ask you a favor? asked Droogan as he approached him

No.

Awww, c’mon Dad. Don’t be such a sourpuss.

Call me that again, and I’ll throw you out of the house.

No offense, Dad. No offense. I just wanted to ask you a favor.

Don’t you think you’ve used up all of your favors, Droogan?

Can’t we just try to have a good time? For once?

I tell you what, said Arthur. You wake up tomorrow at seven ayem, take a good long shower, brush your teeth, and dress in a nice suit and tie, and then step out of the house to get a fucking job for Chrissakes, and maybe I’ll listen! Then I’ll consider having a good time with you.

I’ll have you know, Dad, that I’m working on something big this month.

Oh, what can that be? Selling drugs on a school street corner? Marrying a seventeen year-old girl? Falling down at pharmacies to collect the insurance money? What could it possibly be, now that you have totally run out of things to do?

I want to start my own music company, if you must know the truth.

A music company? Do you even know how to play an instrument?

I wouldn’t be playing anything. I would serve as the Chief Executive Officer, and we’d produce and sell all of these talented artists that I have lined up. We’ll make a lot of money with this, I can tell you. All you need to do is give me some start-up money, and we’re good to go.

And how many other companies of yours went belly up? The fast-food restaurant? Remember that one? Or how about the adventure dirt bike races up in Vermont? Or here’s one for you: going to a film school and becoming an elite Hollywood director? That was a great idea, Droogan. It was so great that I never saw a dime of that money when I gave it you. I mean, is finding a job really that difficult? And we’re talking about any job at all - cleaning things, perhaps, or working as a dishwasher at the local diner - anything to get you off of your fat, lazy ass!

Dad, let’s not fight, okay? I just need some seed-money.

Forget it. You will not get another penny from me until you get a job working for someone else, you got me?

Dad, I’m begging you.

You didn’t go to the track again, did you? I remember that one went really well too.

No horse races, sports betting, card playing, or any thing like that. This is an important venture that any investor wouldn’t pass up.

I tell you what, Droogan. You find another investor that I can partner with, and I’ll give you that money. Sound fair?

But our company is too small as of now. We don’t need another investor. I’m the head-honcho, and you are the silent partner. It works that way.

The head-honcho? So what if you’re the head-honcho? Why wouldn’t you welcome in another investor? Another silent partner if you will? What difference does it make if you had a hundred investors lined up?

It just would. We’re very discreet right now, because there is so much competition among the music labels.

Listen, Droogan. Don’t bullshit a bull-shitter. I would never see a dime of that money again, and you know it. As of now I have now idea where you spend the money I give you. But it stops right here. I don’t care too much about the past, Droogan, but your track record with money is lousy. Even the children sitting at your table are more responsible than you. At least they know how to add numbers. The answer is no, and that’s final. Go out and get a job, and don’t ask me for money again.

But Dad, you don’t understand.

I understand plenty. If you’re in trouble with your bookies or prostitutes or business people, then you’ll have to take it on the chin. You will get no help from me any more.

But Dad, can I level with you?

What do you mean ‘level with me?’ You do want to start a music label, right?

What I do want to say is that everything is organized now to complete our productions. All we need is the seed-money.

Then learn how to write a business proposal, go to the bank, and apply for a loan - just like most people do - and stop bothering the hell out of me. If a bank won’t take you, why should I? Now go to the bathroom, fix yourself up, and sit with the children as you were told to do. I don’t want to discuss it anymore, you got that?

Droogan returned to the children’s table, and Arthur hardly felt any guilt for not giving him the money. Simply put, Droogan would lose the money, and he would never hear about such a proposal again. It was tough love, and it worked a lot better than spoiling him. Arthur felt like hitting him too, but instead he canvassed the dance floor as he was doing for most of the afternoon and looked for his wife, Sabrina, who had disappeared into the middle of the dance floor. He saw her dancing with a younger man, and that must have given her quite a thrill.

Arthur hated dancing. Sabrina, however, loved it. And so he let her slide in with the handsome man she danced with. Maybe Arthur would one day dance with her if she insisted. Sabrina, however, rarely insisted that Arthur do anything, but at times, she made sure that she and Donald would be financially secure after Arthur, God forbid, passed away. She wanted the security blanket that only a large life insurance policy carried, as well as control of the wine and spirits businesses that allowed Arthur to afford homes and estates all over the country.

Arthur was in his seventies now, and Sabrina was in her forties. They had first met at a bar in Whispering Hills one night, and ever since Arthur approached her, she had always been willing to give him the love that he needed, provided that he protect her against the unrelenting poverty that her former husband had fallen into when he tried to become a successful painter and sculptor.

After the wedding reception ended towards late evening, they both waited for everyone to clear out from their party hall before they went to bed. Both of them were a little tipsy and exhausted from the day’s festivities.

Arthur watched his wife undress in their cathedral-ceiling bedroom and admitted that she indeed had one of the most perfect bodies he had ever seen. Sabrina turned down the lights, and together they lay in bed with nothing on, as Arthur wanted to make love. But when she stopped his advances in favor of a late night conversation, Arthur had to talk things through and tend to her insecurities about life in general. Quite naturally, their conversation focused on money.

I hope Donald will be alright, said Sabrina.

Why wouldn’t he be, sweetheart? said Arthur. He’s probably one of the smartest and hard-working businessmen I’ve ever known. He got that from me, you know.

And what did he get from me, then? asked Sabrina.

That’s where he got his elegance, his charm, his charisma, and his good-looks.

I can live with that.

So can I.

The wedding went perfectly today. But there was one thing that kind of bothered me.

Oh, yeah? What was it, dearest?

It was Droogan, said Sabrina. I hate it when he makes a fool out of you.

He got that from his mother, said Arthur.

He made a fool out of us. Maybe we shouldn’t invite him to any more of our social gatherings.

I know exactly what you mean. Droogan is a disgrace. I know that. But he’s still my son.

Can’t you disown him or something? Your family is Donald and I now, not Droogan. Let him bleed people dry somewhere else. He’s old enough to be on his own, right?

I guess so. I’ve just about had it with him.

I see how you suffer when you’re around him. I know it can’t be easy.

Let’s not talk about Droogan, okay?

Sabrina’s nude body slid closer to his until she soon pulled away and returned to her side of the bed.

Honey, what’s wrong?

I just hate to see you suffer, that’s all. Our lives would be perfect with Droogan out of the way.

Arthur reached over her and turned on the lamp.

Okay, honey, said Arthur resignedly. Obviously something’s on your mind, and as usual it’s Droogan.

Don’t mock me, Arthur. Something has to be done, and you know it.

Like what?

Like suspending his allowance, and even cutting him out of our will if he doesn’t leave.

We’ve been through this before, honey. Even though it’s difficult for us, Droogan is still my son. He is my responsibility, and just today, I told him that he couldn’t have any more of my money and that he should grow up and face the world instead of being some vagabond gypsy. That should be enough for now.

Very well then, said Sabrina, turning off the light. Goodnight then.

Arthur reached over her again and turned the light back on.

Okay, you win, okay? I’ll be harder on him next time, but until then, why don’t you come over here and give me a kiss.

You promise you’ll do something about him? she asked.

Yes, I will.

Sabrina moved in closer and kissed him passionately. She then dimmed the light and got to work on him.

Arthur expected to see Droogan the next morning, but as usual, Droogan was late getting to the breakfast table. Arthur waited a solid half-hour for him, but to no avail. He sat with Sabrina who was half-starved herself, and after they reached the outer-limits of their hunger, Droogan came thumping down the stairs in his pajamas and joined them.

Droogan, go back upstairs and get properly dressed.

I plan on sleeping a bit after breakfast. I’m still really hung-over. It was quite a night.

Always trying to find your way out of responsibility, hey Droogan? Very well. Eat your food, and then I want you out of the house for the day. You’re not going to sleep away your time under my roof.

The butler that stayed with the family served them cheddar eggs and sausage, and after Droogan had requested another plate of them, Arthur told the butler not to serve him any more.

Well, I’ll be going then, said Droogan.

Arthur could only grunt as a way of saying good-riddance.

You really have to do something, said Sabrina after Droogan left.

I will, don’t you worry sweet-pea. He’s going to get a new education with the plan that I have for him. Let’s talk about something else.

Y’know, Donald is at the airport right now, waiting for that flight to Madagascar.

I can’t wait until he comes back. He makes me so proud. We’re lucky to be his parents. Think about how many parents get a bum deal with their kids. In this day and age it is so easy to get hooked on those street drugs, and I wonder how parents deal with that. Donald is a gem. All we have to do is stop him from taking over the world.

Sabrina let out a slight chuckle over this.

Pretty soon I’ll be handing over all of my franchises to him, and I hope he takes them even farther than I have taken them.

He will, said Sabrina, placing her hand over his. We’ll make sure he does.

The key item for Arthur, now that he entered retirement, was to find something to do with his retirement years. He would help Donald run the franchises if he needed to, but really what he wanted was a more simplified life, like volunteering or consulting. He would soon have a lot of time on his hands, and in order to avoid the pitfalls of retirement, such as depression, criminality, alcohol abuse, and bad driving, he needed to find a wholesome activity to pay for his sins, as he recognized that he finally moved towards heaven and would exit the world naked and suspicious just like he entered it.

He didn’t like thinking about death so much, but many of his steadfast business partners as well as his good friends had already passed away, and sometimes he wondered why the good Lord kept him on Earth for so long. After fitting himself within the perspective of a senior citizen, he intimated that the world was getting smaller and time shorter, and it seemed a bit ridiculous to believe that there weren’t some sort of afterlife. The human race had learned so little.

Arthur returned to bed just after breakfast, as he was still tired from Donald’s wedding. Sabrina woke him up and ran her fingers through his chest hair and then pleasured him while he lay in a half-sleep. There was nothing finer than sex in the morning with an attractive woman, and perhaps he had found it all with Sabrina, but he couldn’t overwhelm her by sticking to her side all the time. He had to find something to occupy his time by making himself useful. There was the idea that his parents had inculcated within him that if one is not useful to one’s society, then one is easily expendable within that society. He didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of that line.

Sabrina had a few errands to run after she left him, and he tried to keep himself out of her affairs, simply because he never let her into his no matter how many times she had asked. When she returned after completing a few of these tasks, Arthur asked her, so where would you like to go next?

I’m just about to run to the food store. You want anything?

How about if I come with you?

Arthur -

He knew what this meant. He intruded into her affairs.

Okay, if I can’t come with you, how about we go some place else.

Where would you like to go? We can go to the library if you like.

I was thinking someplace bigger.

We’ve already seen most of the world, dearest. We’ve summered on all the continents.

But not the Czech Republic.

The what?

The Czech Republic.

Where is that? she asked.

Eastern Europe, sweetie. We haven’t visited there yet.

Let me think about it, okay?

Okay. Well, I guess I have to find something to do today, now that Donald is on his Honeymoon.

I’m sure you’ll find something to do, honey. Why not try the library. A lot of people your age have started to read as a way of passing the time. Think about all of those things that you were interested in but could never learn about, since you’ve been in business all of your life.

I’ll try that, then. Thanks for the idea, and then he gave her a peck on the mouth, and prepared to head down to the library in town, even though he hated the idea of going to the library. He was a strict numbers man after all, and he hated reading. The last fleet of books that he tried to read he had a hard time finishing, and these days, everything he read - from newspapers and magazines, to books and manuals - put him to sleep within the first couple of pages. Nevertheless, he abided by his wife’s suggestion and went down to the local library where he could find very little in common with the whole idea of having libraries.

He would have rather watched television or go to another recycled movie at the theater, or at least make the library more entertainment-friendly, which would have never happened, even if he bought the building right out from under them. There was something about libraries, though. People found them extremely important in any society, but these same people hardly ever did anything more than sit there and read. Very odd.

Since he couldn’t decide what to do after twenty minutes went by, Arthur grew tired of the task, and he returned to his estate where such deliberations on how to spend his leisure time put him to sleep again. Sabrina would eventually become angry over this, but he realized that in retirement, one should do what one feels like doing. After all, he earned it.

Chapter Two

Aside from doing some clothes shopping in the quaint boutique village of Whispering Hills, Sabrina knew that it was time for her to get a massage. Ever since Donald’s wedding and her husband Arthur’s retirement just a week ago she was finding it impossible to relax. She thought that perhaps she missed Donald, or perhaps having Arthur around all day was poor compensation. Just having him home instead of his working with Donald on the franchises merited some kind of escape from him. She must have brought up a hundred ways that Arthur could spend his time besides hanging around the house. Hobbies - fishing, boating, collecting antique cars, making models, playing poker on the internet, even piano and painting lessons, but Arthur wasn’t interested. He was still in his working and making money high gear with no place to go that interested him.

She found little relief in making love with him and it had reached a point where Sabrina grew tired of hearing his excuses, and the task to get him out of the house proved insurmountable. She had no choice but to find things to do on her own outside of the home just to unchain herself from him.

The massage therapist’s office seemed like the best place to go. She knew that a massage would bring much needed relief so that she could have the strength to deal with the changes that Arthur’s retirement brought.

Her son, Donald, bought Sabrina a nice sports car to drive after the wedding - a shiny, lipstick-red Jaguar - which she parked at the therapist’s office. She walked into the cool, air conditioned reception area where they greeted her and told her that someone would be right with her. After she relished in the cool temperature of the place, a short Asian woman in business slacks and a white blouse greeted her.

Thank you for weeturning, said the woman.

Sure, said Sabrina. I can really use a massage today.

The woman in the business slacks clapped a couple of times, and out came four women and one man, all dressed in white uniforms.

Please choose for these people for your massagi.

The four women assembled there looked like fairly serious massage therapists, but the man in the middle was simply too good to be true. He was slender and muscular, as though he lifted weights after running marathons. He had deep, dark eyes, chocolate brown, and his face was clean-shaven. He wore cologne that overpowered the other women’s perfume, and without much hesitation, she chose the man in the middle to be her therapist for the hour.

Ms. McPhee, he’s top man for woman massagi.

She followed the therapist of her choosing into one of the massage rooms near the back of the office. He even opened the door for her, and asked her to remove all of her clothing. He then directed her to lie on the cushioned massage table face down where a space had been made in the cushion to rest her head. He turned on some relaxing elevator music - music that normally wouldn’t be heard by anyone except in a massage studio - and he then covered her in a single white flat sheet that had been washed in soft water. She thought that there was nothing like this in the world that gave her this much relief. The therapist continued with his preparation by pouring warm oil all over her back. He then ran his hands all over her shoulders and down her spine.

God, you are really good at this, said Sabrina.

The therapist did not respond to the compliment. He simply said, you are really tense. You’re all in knots. Just close your eyes and relax. Let the oil soak into your skin.

Aren’t you curious to know why I’m so stressed out?

Sure, he said after slowing his hands down a bit.

It’s my husband.

Of course, it’s your husband. He’s all we talked about the last time you were here.

Once he finished with her shoulders, neck, and back, he removed the single sheet that covered the lower part of her body. She was now completely nude face-down on the massage table.

This is a little forward of you.

I aim to please, he said.

I bet you do this with all of your regular customers.

Just with you, he said.

Why? Do you have a crush on me or something?

Something like that, yes.

His oil-slicked hands moved down to her buttocks, and he cupped his hands on both cheeks and gently massaged in more oil. Sabrina was turned on by this, as she let his hands roam wherever they pleased.

Turn over, please, he said as he patted her behind.

Now that Sabrina exposed her full-front, the therapist again went for the warm oil and massaged her breasts, her stomach, and her legs.

Just relax, he said softly.

How can I relax? she said. I’ve been missing you all week.

He moved his oily hands between her legs and messaged her inner thighs, until finally, he buried his fingers within her.

I want you, Harry. I really do want you.

So you’ve chosen, is that it? You choose me over your husband?

Just take off your clothes.

Harry removed his pants and his shirt. He too soaked himself in oil. Sabrina reached out and grabbed his oiled member and massaged it for a while.

How does it feel? she asked.

It feels great, he whispered.

He then climbed on top of her.

They made love in the massage parlor and relieved themselves just when the hour had come to a close.

So what are you going to do about your husband? asked Harry.

There’s nothing to do. I make love to him too.

So all you’re doing is using me, in other words.

I like how we have it arranged now, said Sabrina.

Well, I don’t like it at all. I mean I hardly see you as it is. You come around here once a week, and you call that a relationship?

It’s a temporary arrangement. That’s all it is.

What if I said that I don’t want to see you anymore, if that’s the case?

I wouldn’t believe you. I know you’re in love with me, and so I can take full advantage of that.

Bitch.

When you call me names it turns me on. It means that I’m actually getting somewhere in this world.

I don’t want you to come around here anymore. To hell with your stupid arrangements.

I don’t want you to take such an extreme measure, my love, because I do care about you. But you’ll just have to learn that the madam of the house will always offer you to me, because I am a well-liked customer. You can’t get out of it, even if you tried. You’ll have to see me every week anyway.

Harry rubbed her down with a damp towel to remove all of the excess oil on her skin.

Thanks for the massage there, Harry, she said while getting dressed.

Aren’t you forgetting something? he asked.

"Oh! Your tip. Sorry,