The Third Woman

By Gene Ligotti

Dr. Kenneth Balton, a dentist, was an ordinary man, a pillar of the community, a well-liked gentleman. How then did he end up embroiled in the murder of his ex-wifes lover? All evidence points to him as the killer; he has no alibi,witnesses place him at the scene,and he was overheard threatening to kill the victim. But he is innocent ... isnt he? This unusual mystery thriller will keep readers guessing the truth right up to the nerve-shattering ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 30, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462827619

Gene Ligotti

Gene Ligotti was educated at Adelphi University on Long Island and received his doctorate from New York University. After coming down with Rheumatoid Arthritis, he had to give up his successful thirty year practice of dentistry in Huntington, New York. After he retired, Ligotti began writing as just something to do, but it soon became a driving force. He is an American Revolutionary history buff, has given lectures about the impact the Revolution had on Long Island and he has written three novels of interesting characters of the American Revolution. Ligotti is also the author of the much acclaimed, Time Never Heals; the biography of the first battalion surgeon in Vietnam. He soon began writing suspense thrillers which has become his special passion. Each suspense thriller has a love story as a sub-plot, but Twisted Deception, the sequel to the much applauded, Incredible Deception, continues as a love story with the suspense thriller element as the sub-plot. As a freelance writer he wrote a monthly column for the Guide Magazine about the history of villages in the Catskill Mountains and of the romantic Hudson River. His widely praised articles on dentistry have been printed in various Dental Journals. Gene Ligotti lives in Smithtown, New York with his wife Corbina, where they can be near their family, Gina, Lisa, Nick, and their grandchildren: grandson, Gino and twin granddaughters, Gabrielle and Juliette.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The first real chill of autumn had come earlier that morning and the night proved to be even colder, an ominous portent that a frigid winter would follow. An occasional brusque wind sent leaves scurrying along the roadway like so many frightened rabbits running from an unseen predator. A late model Lincoln Town Car rolled slowly through the familiar, but dimly lit streets of a fashionable north shore community nestled in the fabulous and fabled Gold Coast of Long Island. Once the playland for extremely wealthy Americans, the area north of Route 25A, extending from Great Neck west and well past Huntington, is still dotted by mansions and estates. Although some are still owned by a few in the narrow percentile niche of those having the extreme of fortunes, most are now country clubs, schools, conference centers, rest homes, restaurants or catering halls, and the like. Nonetheless, here and there, pockets exist with old money and old families with still older traditions. These capsules, are surrounded by homes of grandeur owned by today’s wealthy. Judging these new mansions by the standards of the past, we would of necessity have to consider them to be middle class homes.

Kenneth Balton was driving to the house he had called home for many years. By force of habit he began to turn into the driveway, but Balton changed direction abruptly and the large luxury car rolled to a slow quiet stop in front of the house. The imposing brick house was of the French style with a Mansard roof featuring arched windows and matching shutters. Large two story windows graced the double door entrance and advertised a large cathedral center hall. Carriage lamps and wrought iron grillwork completed the picture of lavish elegance. Unlike other homes in the area, this house was darkened and appeared deserted. The car’s engine purred silently as Ken stared at the house. For a while he remained still, as if unsure whether he should be there. Everything was familiar and yet nothing welcomed him. The sense of being home was strong, however this place was alien to him as he had been neither resident, guest nor visitor here for quite some time. He shivered in the warmth of the car.

Ken glanced at the empty passenger seat next to him and placed his hand on a brightly wrapped package, complete with an ostentatious bow and trailing ribbons. Against his better judgment he had accepted the shopkeeper’s over-zealous endeavor. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and sighed. Looking again at the house he quickly shut off the engine and exited the car, taking the gift with him. Grim and unsmiling, unsure of the task before him, he stood on the graceful walk lined with variegated hostas and again hesitated; looking first back at the car and then again at the house. Hatless, and with his open coat flapping around him in the occasional stiff breeze, his thoughts were intense, and he seemed not to notice the cold. He started toward the house anew and once again he stopped. Ken took several steps back toward the car, but again he stopped. Chewing his lip, he took a deep breath and carried himself erect and with determination as he walked briskly up the brick path to the front door. Although he nervously fiddled with a key held in his hand, he dispelled the natural instinct to use it. Balton slipped his old familiar house key into his coat pocket. His finger hesitated over the button momentarily and then he jabbed it forward and punched at the bell. The sound was empty and hollow as it heralded the moment in time from which he could not turn back. Still wanting to run away like a mischievous child, he instead waited and then pressed the bell again eager to end the tension of waiting. There was no sound from within the house. No one opened the door. Not knowing whether to feel relieved or disappointed he turned to leave, but then remembering the gift, he fished the key from his coat pocket and without hesitation placed it into the lock. Ken heard the bolt slip back and he returned the key to his pocket.

Ken Balton opened the door slowly and just wide enough to place the gift inside the house. Using the door handle for balance, he stepped one foot through the darkened threshold and bending over, reached out to place the gift on the chair he knew was always standing by the door. Suddenly, the door was pulled from his hand and wrenched open. Unbalanced, Ken was propelled into the house. The lights sprang on illuminating the rooms, and the voices of thirty or forty people began shouting at him, Surprise! Surprise!

Jeez, said Ken, quite rattled by his intrusion into an unexpected surprise party. The shock of the moment unnerved him as he regained his balance. Thoroughly embarrassed, he shielded his eyes from the sudden glaring light. He also became aware that his name was being used by some of those in the party crowd in both disappointing and unflattering tones. Ken could hear remarks from the crowd, but he tried not to let the comments disturb him, as his eyes grew accustomed to the lighted room. With half a smile that seemed more like an apology, he suddenly realized that it had been a mistake to come here. He was no longer accepted, but how was he to know that a party had been planned? Ken was looking for a gracious way to leave when he saw Marcia Conlon angrily crossing the entrance hall and bearing down on him, her spike high heels beating a sharp staccato against the highly polished marble tile floor. Marcia was tall, slim, and energetic. Her short hair, black as coal, shimmered as she walked. As Ken waited for the inevitable, he could feel the others staring and tried not to look at them. The indignant intensity of Marcia’s dark eyes impaled him, and he wanted to crawl off somewhere and die. He could feel the hatred she had for him intensifying as she quickly approached. Lights were once again being shut down. Looking away, Ken waited for Marcia’s aggressive onslaught. He was not disappointed.

What the hell are you doing here?

Well, it’s Karen’s birthday and I, well I thought—

Haven’t you gotten it through your thick head yet? You two are divorced. You’re no longer welcome here, Marcia said angrily tapping her foot in an attempt to control her explosive temper.

Yes, but—, said Ken who couldn’t help but notice that all the invited guests were staring at him. Behind Marcia’s rigid posture, Frank Ewing, a man he hardly knew was glaring at him. He was wearing a party hat and a silly expression on his rotund face. Ken wanted to slap the silly expression off the man’s face, but instead he averted his eyes.

Never mind. You’ll ruin everything. Where’s your car? Marcia continued her harangue.

out front, at the curb.

Just take it and go quickly! Marcia yelled and forcibly turned Ken around to face the door.

I wanted to speak with her, . . . a private matter, Ken ventured, feeling he had nothing to lose. He turned back and stared at Marcia. He took a deep breath and waiting for her decision.

You’ll just upset her!

But, I—

All right! Damn it! This is ridiculous. I can’t waste time talking to you. Hide your damn car on a side street . . . just as those who were invited have done and then come back . . . but through the kitchen door. And you’re going to stay in the kitchen. Hear me? I’ll open the back door and meet you there. You hear me? You’ll stay in the damn kitchen! Now, get the hell out of here. Damn you! Move it.

Marcia shut the door behind Ken as he rushed out. He stopped on the step as the door slammed behind him. He could hear Marcia’s voice. It’s all right everybody, a false alarm. Just her Goddamn misguided ex. Karen will be here soon, so lights out, . . . everybody hide and hush up!

Waiting for Ken by the back door, Marcia opened the door as she saw him rushing across the back yard. Ken was breathing heavily and even in the cold his brow was damp with perspiration. He entered the kitchen and Marcia closed the door. Without speaking to him she moved quickly across the large brightly lighted kitchen. Ken reached out and grabbed her arm. She looked at him with contempt and then focused her attention on his hand until it was removed.

I know you don’t like me, but I want you to know that I appreciate this, Marcia, I really do, said Ken finally removing his hand from her arm.

You’re right. I don’t like you. Marcia took a few steps away from Ken toward the kitchen door. She appeared to be leaving, but Marcia turned and spoke again. Just stay in the kitchen. Don’t even take your coat off. I don’t want you at this party! I’ll bring Karen in here first chance I get. And that won’t be for some time, so settle down for a long . . . a very long wait. Christ, I should’ve figured that you’d show up.

Is my son upstairs?

He’s at your father-in-law’s, . . . your ex-father-in-law. He hired a nanny to help him, if you’re at all concerned.

Marcia turned and walked to the door. Even Ken, who disliked her, couldn’t help noticing the sexual allure about her. She was wearing a black cashmere sweater and snug black silk slacks that showed off her figure extremely well. A bright colored scarf was wrapped flamboyantly about her slim neck and pinned with a large diamond broach. Sizable diamond stud earrings and rings sparkled from her ears and fingers. The engaging woman walked to the kitchen door that led to the dining room and then turned back to Ken to give him a parting salvo. Marcia breathed in quickly through clenched teeth. Her eyes narrowed as she spoke to him.

I really don’t want you here.

Marcia. Try to understand. I just can’t let go. It all happened so fast. I never wanted the divorce. I still have feelings for her.

Yes, I know. You love her, right? said Marcia sarcastically with her hands resting on her slim hips.

More than ever, Ken said in a quiet, but firm voice.

You’re a joke, you know that? A stupid joke. Why don’t you just grow up? Marcia stared at Ken without expression, then turned and left. To emphasize her aversion for him, she flipped off the light switch as she left, leaving him alone in the dark.

Time passed slowly and all was silent except for the occasional cough from some of the guests hiding in the other rooms. He presumed that there were also whispers, but he couldn’t hear them. A street lamp shed some dim light into the darkened kitchen, enough for Ken to see and wander about. He picked up a small toy truck from the counter. He sighed and thought of his son and how they would play together. Then, after only a few minutes, he heard Marcia speak in a crisp clear, and for a change, a pleasant voice.

Her car just pulled into the driveway. She’ll be here in a few moments. You all know what to do.

once again the party exploded with shouts of Surprise! Surprise! Ken peeked out through the kitchen door as Karen came in. She was radiant and beautiful and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw her. Her smile was bright and seemed to light up the room. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. She was exhilarated by the surprise, so full of life and animated. Her dark hair spilling and flowing over her shoulders brought back memories of how, in times gone by, he would move her hair aside to kiss those soft shoulders. Others rushed to greet her, kissing her, hugging her. He rubbed his face trying to shake his sadness and mixed feelings. Once again he bit on his lip. He should be there. Ken closed is eyes and he was with her again as it was before. He could sense her soft skin against his lips and the delicate scent of her perfume as she moved seductively under him. Loud laughter from a guest snapped him from his reverie. In spite of his situation, he was happy for Karen, as she seemed unperturbed by the problems that beseeched his mind constantly. Music started to play and the crowd began to sing For she’s a jolly good fellow, a song he had never felt was apropos for a woman, but nevertheless, she and the party guests seemed to enjoy it.

He stared through the slightly opened door as the party moved into full swing. Marcia was everywhere. She had obviously planned the party and was acting as hostess. Bottles of fine champagne were popped open and Karen was toasted and cheered by the guests. Ken felt like a disobedient child who had crept to the landing at the top of the stairs just to get a glimpse of the adults at the party. He watched until the dancing began and Karen was in another man’s arms. Ken grimaced as if in pain. He closed the door and wandered into the darkened kitchen.

Standing in the dark, he had shut the party from view, but the sounds carried memories of parties that he and Karen had hosted for the same friends that were right here at this party in this house. His home . . . or it used to be his home. Ken walked to a cabinet, opened it and removed a glass. His fingers lingered on the smooth quality of the wood on the cabinet door. He had touched this cabinet door so many times in the past and never noticed the sleek texture of the wood grain. He glanced at the pantry door and remembered the times he and Karen would shop together and return to this kitchen and place the groceries on the shelves. Everywhere he looked, recollections came for ward. A wave of memories came rushing at him. He knew they would only torture his very soul and yet he embraced them as they flooded his mind and tore at his heart. Ken hung his head and tightly closed his eyes. This was the home that he and Karen lived and loved in. This is the home where their son was conceived. This is the home where they had planned to raise more children. This is the home where they thought they would live together forever. He shook his head, trying to stop the memories he knew would only destroy him, wounding him more and more with every thought. Still in semi-darkness, he moved to the sink, reached out, turned on the cold-water tap, and filled a glass for himself. He moved to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. It was then that he first realized that he had done this in the relative darkness, without thinking, so familiar were his moves in the diminished light of the kitchen. He took a deep breath and exhaled hard, biting his lip. He waited until he could sit no more. He stood and paced the floor. On the other side of the door the party continued without him. At times he heard boisterous laughter and Marcia’s unmistakable giggle. It all seemed directed at him.

After about an hour or so, but what seemed much longer to Ken, the door to the kitchen burst open. Ken could see it was Karen and Arthur Marks, a friend of his, or so he thought. Apparently, Marcia had forgotten about him or was deliberately making him wait. He was about to make his presence known to them when they swiftly embraced and kissed, passionately. He could see more than just shadows now since his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkened kitchen. He wished that he had called out to them when they first entered for now, as the seconds passed, the lustful passion of the two became heightened, and Ken became more and more embarrassed at his disagreeable predicament. The two moaned with desire as the kiss became more intense, their bodies rubbing together, groin against groin, their hands groping from shoulders to buttocks. Torn between stopping the lovers and attempting to hide, Ken remained motionless in the protection of the darkness. Upset beyond words, he was beside himself as to what to do with the situation. Again, Ken wished he were dead. His wife . . . for he still looked upon Karen as his wife . . . was in the arms of a friend who was a married man, and Ken was surely an unwelcome, undesirable, and certainly an unwilling observer to their sexual involvement.

What a surprise! I thought I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow, said Karen when finally their lips parted for a moment. They remained closely wrapped in each other’s arms giving each other little kisses as they talked.

Yes, it was hell keeping this party a secret from you.

You didn’t even mention my birthday, let alone a surprise party. Tell me, what did you bring me?

Bonnie has something for you inside, said Art kissing and nuzzling her neck.

I could care less what your wife brought me, snarled Karen with disgust. What do you have for me?

I do have something for you, but not with me. Tomorrow, if we can get away—

No. I want something now. Let me see, which pocket is it in? Ah, here it is. I found something, and I do believe it’s getting bigger—

Karen, are you crazy? My wife could walk in at any moment. Art danced nervously and made a half-hearted attempt to push Karen away.

Fuck your wife, said Karen angrily, but her resentment quickly vanished. She drew closer to Arthur and snugly her head against his chest. No, screw her, fuck me instead. Art, you said you’d divorce her. Tell her again tonight, and in no uncertain terms. I don’t think she believes you. Let it be my birthday present. Please, do it, please. You promised me you would last year. I’ve been patient. Perhaps you’d like me to tell her instead? Come on now. I divorced Ken.

"Don’t pretend that you did that for me. It was your idea.

You wanted to divorce Ken," said Arthur raising a hand in protest.

Let’s not quarrel, and I don’t want to talk about Ken.

Kiss me again and let’s get back to the party before we’re missed. I’ll talk to Bonnie again tonight. I promise, but now we should go inside.

No! Karen stammered and stamped her foot like a child. Let’s have a quickie. No one will come into the kitchen. We can do it . . . right now, right here up against this wall. All those people inside will never be the wiser. Karen was panting now, and she pulled Art closer as he tried to wiggle free.

That’s crazy.

Let’s do it.

Arthur Marks was hesitant and reluctant, but by now passion and lust had the upper hand. okay, but real quick, said Arthur as his hand touched Karen’s cheek and then slid under the top of her blouse. They kissed fervently as Arthur caressed her breast.

Ken began to sweat. Should he say something? Clear his throat? or just stay silent, bear the humiliation, and wait until they leave? The couple parted for a moment as he saw Karen lift her skirt and step out of her panties. The unmistakable sound of a zipper ripped through the still air in the kitchen as if it were a clap of thunder. The couple came together again, and Ken knew that it was too late to say anything. Karen and Art moved in slow rhythm, their hunger for a quick orgasm making them oblivious to the light switch as they moved against the wall.

Suddenly, there was a clicking sound and one by one, the florescent lights snapped on until the kitchen was ablaze with light. At that moment, Karen and Art realized that they were not alone, and had not been since they first entered the kitchen.

Oh, my God, Ken! Artshur said over his shoulder as he pulled away from Karen and adjusted his pants.

What are you doing here? asked Karen, both flustered and angry. Her face was aglow with embarrassment. Ken felt her uneasiness as well as his own agitation and embarrassment.

This seems to be my night for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Ken said slowly, avoiding Karen’s glare.

Arthur and Karen stepped farther away from each other. Ken stared at them. Karen seemed to be waiting for Arthur to say something. Finally, after an eternity, he managed.

Well. . . .

Well, Ken echoed. A touch of anger appeared in his voice, but he remained distant from rage and wrath and from all outward appearances he seemed to be in control of his feelings. Ken’s ire was real, but he felt more like a whipped puppy than a rejected husband.

The three remained speechless. Karen was about to break the silence when the kitchen door opened and Bonnie walked in.

So this is where you are, Arthur. Oh, Ken, how nice to see you again. Are you staying for the party?

Well, I don’t think so, Ken said, trying to maintain his composure during this break from the tension he had felt only moments ago.

Why not? It’ll be like old times, said Arthur trying not to look at Karen as he moved closer to his wife. Arthur glanced at his image in the window of the wall oven. He adjusted his tie and ran his fingers through his well-groomed black hair. He was a handsome man with patrician features, tall with a strong athletic body. Wearing an Armani suit, he was as well dressed as his wife who was dynamic in a stunning white Chanel suit and gold jewelry. Her dark chestnut colored hair hung over her shoulders in long spirals. Bonnie had beautiful large deep brown eyes. Her lips were sensitive and alluringly erotic. She was sparkling and bright eyed, the typical girl-next-door all grown up, ready to take on the world, and yet demure and shy.

Ken can’t stay, said Karen brusquely. He was just leaving. Looking at Ken she added hastily, Didn’t you say that you had an emergency waiting for you at your office?

Oh, yes, that’s right, . . . the office. I just wanted . . . well, yes, the office.

Come on, Bonnie. I need a drink and I think Ken wants to talk to Karen, said Art taking Bonnie and ushering her out of the kitchen. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ken, for my regular appointment.

Startled, Ken looked at Arthur in disbelief. Moments ago he and Karen were passionate lovers, and now he was acting as if the three of them had been having a pleasant conversation about the weather. Arthur was distancing himself from the recent events that had occurred in the kitchen; leaving the scene as if he had been the innocent bystander and not Ken. He led his unsuspecting and smiling wife out of the kitchen without even a glance in Karen’s direction. Karen was definitely miffed and annoyed. She waited until Bonnie and Arthur Marks had left the kitchen, then she turned and leveled her anger at Ken.

Now, what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen? In my house? she demanded.

Used to be our kitchen, our—

"Never mind that. Why are you spying on me? What are—

What am I doing here? Ken spoke in a calm and tranquil voice even though his mind was racing and his emotions tormented him. Why is it so difficult for everyone to understand? It’s your birthday. I wanted to give you something. I have a gift, . . . it must be inside. Some one took it from me.

I want nothing from you! Karen suddenly shouted and turned to get a glass of water.

Why are you so bitter? You got what you wanted, or almost everything. Now you want Arthur to get a divorce. Yes, don’t look so astonished. I heard everything.

And saw everything too, I suppose. You’ve turned into a voyeur, some pervert? We are divorced you know!

Arthur isn’t.

Karen stared at her ex-husband and took a swallow of water. She emptied the glass into the sink.

Ken, would you please just go. I have friends here, said Karen as she glared at her ex-husband with disgust.

Some of them are still my friends. And please, don’t do this, you don’t have any idea of how much it pains me to have you look at me like that, said Ken sadly. His hands rubbed at his face as if he could stop himself from becoming emotional.

You’re being here will make my friends uncomfortable. If you’ve nothing important to say to me then just get the hell out, said Karen as she walked to the back door and opened it. A gust of cold air burst upon them. She stood rigid and callously unmoved by his anguish. He walked to the door and looked at her. His lip quivered as his eyes began to flood with tears.

Karen, I want to say—

Oh God! Don’t start to cry. Just go. There’s nothing that I want to hear from you, she snapped and looked away from him.

Then I’ve nothing to say. Not now, not anymore.

Ken walked outside and stood waiting for the sound of the door he knew would be closing behind him. Instead to his surprise, he heard Karen’s voice calling his name.

Ken.

Yes, Karen, said Ken turning quickly and hopefully.

I didn’t realize that you still had a key. Give it to me. Now. Karen’s face was expressionless. Her tone was quiet, but sharp and demanding. Ken took the key from his pocket and placed in her outstretched hand. She turned without a word, entered the house, and slammed the door without looking back. Ken stared at the door for a while. He swallowed hard and then spoke the words he had come to say.

Happy birthday, Karen.

CHAPTER TWO

After leaving Karen, Ken’s anguished mind was filled with recollections and painful revelations. Ken’s mind repeatedly raced through the events of the evening. He was so distressed that he had no memory of driving to his apartment, parking the car, getting the mail, taking the elevator, or opening the door to his apartment.

Ken had rented the third floor apartment completely furnished during the divorce proceedings and although it was not to his liking, he had no interest or the desire to seek better accommodations. Home was just a memory. He just existed now; and home was a term for a place he felt he had lost forever. The apartment . . . two bedrooms, two baths, a living room and an eat-in kitchen . . . was in a good neighborhood and was quite agreeable although Ken had done nothing to make it an enjoyable residence. The apartment was only a place to stay, he had told himself, and something he hoped and prayed was only temporary. His feelings had never changed and he hesitated to get on with his life without Karen. He threw his keys on the table and without taking off his coat sat suddenly. He leaned on his elbows, the mail he had brought in with him was still clutched in his hand and he dumped it on the table and pushed it aside. Some of the envelopes cascaded onto the floor. He stared vacantly as they slid onto the floor, but with no desire to pick them up, he left them there.

His stomach growled, but he knew that he couldn’t eat. He had dropped more than ten pounds since the separation and people were constantly telling him that he looked good. He would smile and say thank you, but he wondered what they would say if his torment and anguish was also a visible entity. He steadfastly refused to believe that Karen, his son, and the life he knew was gone from him forever.

Finally taking off his coat and jacket, he loosened his tie and poured himself a scotch. No ice, or soda or water; just scotch. The drink was ‘Neat’ as the expression goes. He sipped at it slowly. Never much of a drinker, he resented the fact that he now drank most every night, or so it seemed. He ran his hand through his black curly hair and walked to the window and stared at the dwindling traffic on the main street outside his apartment building. Most people were home with their families and friends, but it was not so for him. He checked the refrigerator. Weeks before, during one of his ‘I can live without her’ moods, he had gone shopping and packed the refrigerator. Since then he had cooked one meal and after it was prepared he found he had no appetite at all and had thrown it out. He couldn’t bear the thought of eating a meal alone. He now sustained himself on take-out foods and sandwiches from the deli. Coffee had become a staple in his life. Scotch, he hoped, was also something temporary. Ken looked about the apartment he still refused to call home. He had never really moved in and boxes were piled here and there. Empty bags and cartons were strewn about. His bed was never made and sometimes he slept on a chair. The furniture had come with the rooms and he noticed now for the first time, that nothing really matched. Perhaps some might call the decor eclectic, but it was really a conglomerate of mixed styles, textures, and colors as if the apartment had been furnished at a ‘going out of business’ sale at the local flea market. The walls and ceilings had not felt the touch of a paint brush in ages. Where were all his books? Were they still in those boxes piled against the walls? Had he read at all since the divorce? Yes, Ken remembered, he had read to pass the time and those books were scattered here and there around the apartment.

He thought about his wife’s lover. His ex-wife’s lover, he remembered and corrected himself. Dr. Arthur Marks. The bastard. Local respected physician, husband, father, churchgoer, Little League sponsor, and now, adulterer. Karen’s new lover, Dr. Arthur Marks’ handsome patrician features gave him the look of breeding and culture. Arthur had inherited a great sum of wealth as well as attaining some through his own success as a physician. He was about six feet tall, about an inch or so taller than Ken, and his hair was black and wavy. Ken now remembered that Karen had once described Arthur’s eyes as warm and sensitive. Ken always thought of Arthur as a man too fond of his own good looks. Conceit also came to mind. Ken remembered the term ‘God’s gift to women’ used by women as well as men in referring to Arthur, although each used it differently with different intent.

It seemed as though Arthur and Ken had always been friends. Never really close, but friends nevertheless. Ken, a dentist by profession, had treated Arthur and his whole family. What was it Arthur had said in the kitchen? Out of the muddled haze, Ken remembered Arthur said that he had an appointment . . . tomorrow. If Arthur showed up, how would Ken handle that situation? Ken leaned on the table and held his head in his hands. Memories came flooding toward him once again and a deep sadness permeated his mind. This time he fought the feeling and shook his head like a terrier would a rag doll, but the feelings persisted. He had no choice. He would give into his emotions. A deep sob resounded through his body and he shuddered.

He was startled by loud voices in the hall and a pounding at his door. At first he decided not to answer, hoping whoever it was would go away. He changed his mind as the hammering became louder, more persistent and intense. Ken went to the door, determined to end the noise and get rid of whoever was adding further annoyance to his already miserable day. With angry intent, he quickly went to the door and opened it.

Ken, damn you, buddy. Been banging on this door. You asleep? Mike Kerne stood outside the door with a wide grin. Kerne, a colleague of Ken’s, was a bachelor who had no intention of ever marrying. Kerne was a good-looking man with straight blond hair and a bad-boy look about him. He had no trouble attracting the ladies with his firm athletic body and splashy life style, although the ladies he preferred were of dubious virtue.

How the hell was I to know that it was you making all that racket?

Only when it’s urgent, my friend, and this is urrrr-gent. Lookie, lookie, what I brought with me. Come here girls. Mike motioned to two women who had been standing back from the door. Lookie at these pretty ladies. One fer you’en, one fer me. See what a good buddy I am, I am, said Mike who, it became obvious, was feeling the several or so drinks he had earlier. The ladies were a bit gaudy, but nevertheless not unattractive. One was a blonde and the other a flaming redhead. Both wore too much makeup and clothing that exposed great portions of their more than ample figures. They swung their hips and pushed their busts forward as they smiled at Ken, somewhat gladdened that he was good-looking. He felt he was on display as their eyes roamed his body from head to foot as they mouthed moans of approval.

Didn’t I tell you, girls? Look at him. Curly black hair, blue eyes, great bod. A handsome devil. Makes you sit up and take notice. He’s a good-looking guy, said Mike. Their smiles disappeared when Ken ignored them, not at all delighted with the ‘all-too-willing’ attitude of the women.

Mike, I can’t. I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a lousy day.

Hey, man, that’s not healthy. It’s been too long for you. If you’re not in the mood, I’m sure these two can change your mind. I tell ya what. You take em both.

Mike, no! I’m sure the . . . the young ladies will understand. I’m not fit company for anyone, not even myself. Mike, come on now. This isn’t my style. You know that.

okay, my friend, said Mike. You girls wait two seconds for me. I wanna to talk to my friend, my buddy, all alone. Wait here. Mike stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

You’re not going to change my mind, Mike.

"Won’t try. Ken, what’s the matter? I’m worried about you. Is it Karen? I told you before. She’s not worth it. I know you