Your Kiss Is Like the Sweetest Fire

By Robert Trainor

Jaime and Renee--a brother and sister by adoption but still believing they are related by blood…their father a borderline sexual predator…their mother an obsessive/compulsive control freak.

Events and emotions drive Jamie and Renee closer and closer to each other…Renee beginning to realize that she and Jaime were adopted…a sudden surge of sexual desire in a teenage romance…a walk to the old mill pond in the twilight…a long kiss as the moon rises on the far shore.

Excerpt:

That first time! It had all begun while they were walking along a street near their house, talking in a secret language that only they could understand—sometimes, Renee would lean over and whisper into his ear as if she were telling him the world's greatest secret. She had always done that, practically from day one, but this time it was different. At first, he thought it was because they had hardly ever walked at this time of night before—and what a night it was! A warm and wild twilight in early May, with the strange whisperings of a gentle southern wind that made the new spring leaves rustle around with all their ghostly intimations.

She had wanted to cut off the road and walk down to the old mill pond where they had so often hung out together. He wasn't thinking about anything at all, not yet anyways, as they drifted along with the wind, the whispering wind. As usual, she was walking in front of him and leading the way—just the most intense, determined person he had ever met. But tonight, there was something else in the air, something sweet—later, he could remember saying to himself that "it was something like forever."

Only two young fools like themselves would walk down to the pond at this time of night. Lucky that the moon was full because by the time they reached there, it was so dark that they wouldn't have been able to see two feet in front of them. She told him she wanted to sit on the bench they always sat on when they came to this place--it was their special place in the world, the place where they always spoke their truest thoughts, the place where nobody existed outside of themselves.

As twilight turned into night, he began to feel spooked because he knew that she was leading him to a lot more than a bench by a pond. It was the first time he had ever felt sexually attracted to her, but even so, it seemed like he was being dragged into it. Dragged was hardly the right word, and he probably only used it to cover up the fact that what they were doing was really wrong. He should never be thinking this way…he should just tell her that it was too dark and they should go back home. But it was a little too late for that—she had taken his hand in hers and was leading him down the path that led to the bench, the path that led to forever.

The night before, she had told him that they lived in a world where no one really understood them or knew what was running through their hearts. But tonight, he was hoping that even she wouldn't be able to sense what was running through his heart. Not good—not good at all. Because he knew for an absolute fact that they were approaching a line they definitely shouldn't cross. But…if, God forbid, it did happen, then that meant that not only was he wrong, but also, she would have to be wrong. She couldn't be wrong—not when it came to something like this. And also, it would mean that this strange swirling wind on this night of the full moon would have to be wrong. And if everything was wrong and he was being led into a wrong thing, a terribly wrong thing, then it must be that he was just fated to be doomed or something. Because no one in their right mind would let them get away with this. Somehow or other, the truth would come out, and when it did…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Trainor
• Release date: Feb 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224829811

Robert Trainor

Over the past twelve years (since I retired at the age of 59), I've written nineteen novels, four novellas, four non-fiction books, and seven anthologies, all of which you can find in the Kindle Store. Instead of writing a biography of myself, which seems rather irrelevant, I would prefer to write a biography of my books. Here, in the order in which they were written, is a brief sketch of the plots, themes, and subject matter of these books.1/ The Voice of the Victim describes a series of murders in a small city. I've always felt a great deal of empathy for the victims of violent crimes, especially those who are murdered by guns. What, I wondered, would these people say to us if they could speak? When reading this book, it is important to remember that my intention, from first page to last page, was to present the voice of the victim. And, to me, this voice is not a straight-line accusation of weapons and murderers but tends to veer to a pervasive mockery and total indictment of modern culture. This novel is much different than anything else I have written, and there will be many who will object to what the "voice" is saying.2/ Some Things Are Sweeter than God is somewhat along the lines of a classic murder mystery but is certainly not one of those books where the conclusion is some wild revelation that no sensible reader could ever discern beforehand. The protagonist is a forty-year-old woman lawyer who, in her role as a public defender, is required to represent a man who is accused of brutally murdering his ex-girlfriend.3/ The Road Map to the Universe is a well-constructed novel--at one time, I was a tournament chess player, and this book required a great deal of planning and analysis. Essentially, it's a highly unusual murder mystery, but the perceptive reader may be able to identify a standard plot theme lurking in the background. The Road Map also examines an interesting philosophical question: In a universe of four billion galaxies, what relevance, if any, does the human being have?4/ The Great Barrington Train Wreck, a truly offbeat social commentary, includes a unique type of murder mystery and is one of my favorite novels. Although I almost never include anything from my own life experience in my books, I was, just like the protagonist in the Train Wreck, homeless for many years. So I'm familiar with the lingo and attitude that some of the homeless have. This is a catchy, captivating book where the plot seems to materialize out of thin air until it becomes the elephant in the room. Also, to my mind, this tale could describe what happens to Holden Caulfield, the anti-hero of the Catcher in the Rye, as he approaches forty. It's not all peaches and cream! Especially when he falls in love with the daughter of a millionaire, and even more especially when he ends up on death row.5/ Your Kiss Is Like the Sweetest Fire describes a teenage romance between Jaime and Renee, who were adopted at a young age into the same family. It seems illogical to me, but in almost all states, the law views a sexual relationship between adopted siblings who live in the same family as a crime of incest--exactly as if they were related by blood. So Jaime and Renee have this difficulty to contend with, and also, their mother and father are both rather repulsive characters who are totally incapable of helping them. Wait until you meet Renee--I love her.6/ Requiem for the West is partially based on an apocalyptic poem that I wrote during the 1990's. Ten thousand hours is a lot of time to spend on a seven-hundred-word poem! Requiem is also an examination of some apparently abstract themes that seem highly relevant to me: 1/ The pervasive role of explicit sexuality in our culture and the very different ways that people react to it; 2/ The often farcical, Dilbert-like nature of the modern workplace, in this case a college; and 3/ Is doomsday just around the corner? The 1960-2000 version of myself considered a nuclear apocalypse to be inevitable, but nowadays, I'm ambivalent.7/ Frontier Justice was easy to write because once Adriana Jones arrived on page 10, she took over the book, and all I had to do was keep up with her as she overpowered every obstacle that crossed her path. I hadn't intended for that to happen, but that's the way life goes sometimes. Do I agree with, support, condone, or advocate Adriana's way of doing things? Difficult questions. Adriana is my creation, so I have to take some responsibility for her, I suppose, but I look at it this way: To be true to a character, one has to let the person speak and act in a way that is appropriate to his or her personality. I just can't legislate them into political correctness! Adriana didn't just overpower the other characters in Frontier Justice--she also overpowered me. I really like this book--I wish, as a writer, I could think of more characters who are as dynamic as Adriana.8/ A Tale from the Blackwater River is a novella that is meant to be a satire on a certain kind of story that is showing up far too frequently nowadays, but on another level, it's just kind of a humorous tale that was a lot of fun to write. This book is written in the first person by a forty-two-year-old woman named Alanda Streets. I almost published it under the pen name Alanda Streets because I thought some people might say that no woman would ever write a story like A Tale from the Blackwater River, but for those who feel that way, I hope you will ask yourself this question: If the name Alanda Streets had been on the cover of the book, instead of mine, would you have felt that a woman couldn't have written it?9/ The Blackwater Journal is another Alanda Streets novel--this time, she is only sixteen. I couldn't seem to get away from Alanda--she does have a spunky survivor's attitude towards life that appeals to me. In this book, she has to call on all her resources when her evil father imprisons her in a room and tells her that she has only a week left to live. As the days pass by, the terror mounts on her own personal death row. Does Alanda escape? Maybe so, maybe no.10/ Love Letters (Soaked in Blood) is another murder mystery that has a humorous undertone, which many will probably miss. The problem with writing a murder mystery is that anything that can be thought of has already been done about a thousand times. The only original idea left would be to have the most obvious suspect turn out to be the murderer. Think of it--that's probably never been done! And so...maybe you can guess the rest.11/ The Book of the Dead is about a man who goes to his 25th reunion and meets his high school sweetheart. The two of them embark on an impulsive twenty-four hour car ride that will take them through three southern states and bring them face-to-face with death. This is a tale where the boundaries of ordinary reality are stretched out a little bit! I'll leave it to you to decide whether The Book of the Dead is a fantasy or a reality.12/ Destroyed by Malice sees the return of a character who played a minor role in The Voice of the Victim. He's the world famous novelist Barker Drule, but unfortunately, he (and his wife) exit the book on page 1 when they are gunned down in their driveway. It isn't long before detective Jeff Willard is convinced that the murderer is a member of the Drule family. Perhaps it's Lenore, the older daughter, who was, years ago, secretly raped by her father; perhaps it's the beautiful Raylene, who wrote a novel about a rape victim that her father managed to have the publishing industry blackball; perhaps it's Ricky, the cocaine-addicted son who is desperate to get his hands on his father's money; and perhaps it's Dalton Drule, Barker's irascible eighty-two-year-old father who just happens to own the gun that was used to murder his son. In the end, when the truth finally comes out, there will be very few left to tell the tale.13/ How to Write an Imaginative Novel takes you through the whole process of writing a novel and then uploading it to Kindle. Among the many things covered are: Where will you find a plot? What is the best way to find names for your characters? How important is it to punctuate your book correctly? Is there a quick way to learn punctuation and sentence structure? What is the best way to write dialogue? What kind of things should one avoid in a novel? What is the significance of the first draft and why is it so important? How does one begin a book so that it immediately commands the reader's attention? How does one revise and edit a novel? Is it possible to create the cover for your book without spending any money? How does one convert a book to the correct format so that it can be uploaded to Kindle? And finally, how does one upload a book to Kindle?14/ I Ching 2015 contains a complete translation (minus the Confucian commentaries) of this ancient Chinese classic. Also included are detailed instructions on how to consult the I Ching using either yarrow stalks, coins, or dice. (For those who have been using coins, one should be aware that a significant error has crept into the method that many people use to cast an omen. This error, which involves using either three or four similar coins will seriously affect the accuracy of the omens you receive.) Additionally, there is extensive advice on how to interpret an omen. By using the correct method of interpretation, you will be surprised at how much clearer omens become. As part of this advice, I have posed a number of questions to the I Ching and have then interpreted the omen I received. Finally, for each hexagram, as well as many of the lines in each hexagram, I have included my own observations as to the essential meaning of these hexagrams and lines.15/ Blood and Blackmail is an elegant murder mystery with an unusual plot twist that took me some time to piece together. For those readers who enjoy the challenge of solving a crime before the final chapter arrives, this novel should provide you with a truly interesting puzzle. I doubt many people, if any, are going to see the underlying deception that runs throughout this tale because...if I say anything else, I might help the reader unravel this mystery, and I certainly wouldn't want to do that!16/ Fairy Tales by Martians takes a humorous look at the theory of evolution. Science, of course, claims that the human being originated from an amoeba that eventually became a tadpole that eventually became a frog and so on and so forth. However, I just can't conceive of the fact that ten million years ago, two frogs mated in a swamp and because of that event, I eventually arrived on the scene. What kind of a genealogy chart is that? Neither does the seven-day religious version of events appeal to me, so what I'm left with is a very cynical view of both the religious and scientific theories concerning the origins of our existence.17/ The Book of Dreams repeats a very old idea that has been used in many a novel. But here, in this murder mystery, the idea is taken to another level entirely and contains a twist that not many will see coming. The clues are there, starting with the poem in the Preface.18/ The Dark Side of the Moon is a tale about an attractive high school teacher who falls in love with one of her students. However, Carolyn Black is nervous that her sexual liaison with the student will ruin her career. Eventually, she tries to break off their relationship, but when he threatens to commit suicide, Carolyn is faced with an excruciating dilemma.19/ The Murder of Nora Winters was inspired by John Dickson Carr who wrote a number of locked-room mysteries. In this type of mystery, the murder victim is found in a room that does not allow the killer any means of exit. The doors and windows are all bolted from the inside, and it's considered very poor form for the author to create a room where there are sliding walls or secret panels. The solution to the murder of Nora Winters is, I think, relatively simple, but I've woven in enough deceit and misdirection to confuse all but the most astute readers.20/ The Vanishing Victim is a tale of a psychiatrist and a troubled woman who comes to him for counseling. What she reveals to him proves to be a confession to a brutal crime, but he is unable, because of the doctor/patient privilege, from revealing this crime to anyone, including the police. But even more troubling is that the woman's confession, although it contains a number of factual inaccuracies, turns out to have a terrifying reality of its own.21/ The Fatality Game follows a series of innocuous crimes in a rich neighborhood that seem to be more pranks than anything else. But when a woman is murdered in her bed, Detective Cody Barnes realizes that there is something evil lurking under the placid veneer of swanky mansions that are inhabited by millionaires. And when Cody becomes romantically involved with one of the earlier victims, the beautiful Lucinda Kane, the case begins to take on a life of its own that will eventually lead to the deaths of three more people.22/ How to Write an Intelligent Murder Mystery describes some of the adventures I encountered while I was writing murder mysteries (of my twenty-one novels, thirteen are murder mysteries.) This is a somewhat unusual instructional book that attempts to relate the problems encountered in the writing of a murder mystery to the more general problem of writing fiction in today's market where any new novel is almost instantaneously buried under an avalanche of new novels.23/ The Real Meaning of Life is definitely one of my favorite books. It's written in the first person by Patrick Devlan, a twenty-seven-year-old guy who writes murder mysteries. But his father, who is dying of pancreatic cancer, wants Patrick to write something that will take his readers to a "better place." Patrick decides to follow his father's advice, but a few days later, his roommate's pregnant girlfriend is murdered, and Patrick becomes entangled in a real-life murder mystery. Eventually, after his roommate is convicted of the crime and sent to death row, Patrick is faced with a dilemma that will lead him to the discovery of the real meaning of life.24/ Flight 9525 is a non-fiction book that attempts to answer the question as to why there is so much suffering in the world. For the most part, this book bypasses the usual political, psychological, and social reasons for suffering and examines the following: If God is real, then why do human beings suffer? Why would an all-merciful, all-loving, and all-powerful Being permit its creations to suffer? The usual explanations, such as the hypothesis that God granted man free will, don't answer the question at all. In fact, this is a question that's never been answered satisfactorily.25/ The Scriptwriter is the tale of a man who becomes entangled with three different women. There's the incredibly beautiful woman, the incredibly rich woman, and the incredibly homeless woman. Which one will he choose? Events, mishaps, and character flaws lead him to an interesting decision.26/ The Murder of Marabeth Waters contains a considerable amount of subtle black humor and describes the investigation that ensues after a prostitute is found strangled to death. Detective Devin Driver is quickly able to focus on a suspect; not only did this man send a threatening note to Marabeth, but also, her blood is found in his car. As it turns out, the real murderer lurks elsewhere, and unfortunately, Devin isn't a particularly perceptive detective, so it isn't surprising when the wrong person is convicted of the crime. However, even if Devin had been Sherlock Holmes on steroids, he undoubtedly wouldn't have solved this murder.27/ The Trial of Shada King--a district attorney in Hartford, Connecticut, is charged with manslaughter in the shooting death of the man who had raped her ten days before the shooting. Shada claims that she acted in self-defense, and since she was wearing a recording device at the time of the shooting, her claim of self-defense seems to be valid. But why was she wearing the recording device? The prosecuting attorney is convinced the crime scene was an elaborate stage production that was intended to deceive those who would be listening to the tape and that the victim was murdered in retaliation for the rape.28-34/ Finally, I have seven anthologies on Kindle that combine complete versions of many of the books listed above: Four Novels, 5 Novels, Four Murder Mysteries, The Blackwater Novels, Dark Tales, Six Novels, and Five Murder Mysteries. The purpose of the anthologies is that it gives the reader a chance to buy, for instance, five novels of mine at the rock-bottom price of $2.99.I spend a great deal of time revising my books. After finishing the first draft, I go through the book at least eight more times--first page to last page. Each journey through the book is slow and painstaking--no less than three hours and no more than thirty-five pages a day. From my experience, the kind of errors that pop up on some of the later readings can be rather surprising, if not downright alarming! I particularly look for inaccurate punctuation, lackluster sentence structure, and inaccurate or repetitive vocabulary. I also do not permit confusing sentences to stand--I can't imagine that any reader will want to read a sentence twice because I couldn't find a way to explain myself clearly.Finally, I would ask you all to keep an open mind about novels by an author who has no brand name. I am quite unusual because I do not advertise myself in any way, shape, or form (outside, I guess, of this little biography). My books are well-written, entertaining, and thought provoking, but they are often truly original, and I worry about the page-six syndrome. That's the point where some readers abandon a book by an unknown author because of a single sentence, idea, or attitude that seems amateurish to them. Have faith that there are some genuine diamonds in the Kindle arena and have faith that your instinct to buy one of my books was a good instinct. If you read any of my books to the finish, I think you'll feel that your time was not wasted because these novels are not cheap imitations--they are real creations.

Book preview

Prologue

That first time! It had all begun while they were walking along a suburban street near their house, talking in a secret language that only they could understand—sometimes, she would lean over and whisper into his ear as if she were telling him the world’s greatest secret. She had always done that, practically from day one, but this time it was different. At first, he thought it was because they had hardly ever walked at this time of night before—and what a night it was! A warm and wild twilight in early May, with the strange whisperings of a gentle southern wind that made the new spring leaves rustle around with all their ghostly intimations. Another kind of whisper from another kind of God.

She had wanted to cut off the road and walk down to the old mill pond where they had so often hung out together. He wasn’t thinking about anything at all, not yet anyways, as they drifted along with the wind, the whispering wind. As usual, she was walking in front of him and leading the way—just the most intense, determined person he had ever met. But tonight, there was something else in the air, something sweet—later, he could remember saying to himself that it was something like forever.

Only two young fools like themselves would walk down to the pond at this time of night. Lucky that the moon was full because by the time they reached there, it was so dark that they wouldn’t have been able to see two feet in front of them. She told him that she wanted to sit on a bench near the water, the bench they always sat on when they came to this place—it was their special place in the world, the place where they always spoke their truest thoughts, the place where nobody existed outside of themselves. 

As twilight turned into night, he began to feel spooked because he knew that she was leading him to a lot more than a bench by a pond. It was the first time he had ever felt sexually attracted to her, but even so, it seemed like he was being dragged into it. Dragged was hardly the right word, and he probably only used it to cover up the fact that what they were doing was really wrong. He should never be thinking this way—it was awful! He should never...he should just tell her that it was too dark and they should go back to their house. But it was a little too late for that—she had taken his hand in hers and was leading him down the path that led to the bench, the path that led to forever. 

Or maybe he was just possessed by evil thoughts and was imagining everything. There was something about her that had always made his imagination go into overdrive, but until now, the fantasies hadn’t been about anything sexual, not exactly—more like sensual memories about the way she talked, the tone of her voice, the clever intonations, and most of all, the endless, subtle hints that seemed to point in only one direction.

The night before, she had told him that they lived in a world where no one really understood them or knew what was running through their hearts. But tonight, he was hoping that even she wouldn’t be able to sense what was running through his heart. Not good—not good at all. Because he knew for an absolute fact that they were approaching a line they definitely shouldn’t cross. It was so wrong that it was wrong to even have to say it was wrong. But...if, God forbid, it did happen, then that meant that not only was he wrong, but also, she would have to be wrong. She couldn’t be wrong—not when it came to something like this. And also, it would mean that this strange swirling wind on this night of the full moon would have to be wrong. And if everything was wrong and he was being led into a wrong thing, a terribly wrong thing, then it must be that he was just fated to be doomed or something. Because no one in their right mind would let them get away with this. Somehow or other, the truth would come out, and when it did...he didn’t want to think about what would happen, but he knew that it would be very bad—both for him and for her.

CHAPTER ONE: THE BASEMENT MAN

1

Adeline, Pennsylvania, is a suburban town that lies about forty miles northwest of Pittsburgh. Centered in a pleasant valley, through which runs the Saugus River, Adeline is an upscale community of nearly fifty thousand people that offers many excellent opportunities for employment. On the northern end of town is Lexan Enterprises, a large factory that makes computer chips, while seven miles down the road is the Saugus Woolen Mills, which employs almost a thousand people. And so, even during the recession years of 2007-2012, the unemployment rate in Adeline had never gone above 3%, and when one drives through the streets of the town, it is not uncommon to come across neighborhoods where the homes are selling for a half-million dollars.

It would, however, be inaccurate to portray Adeline as a wealthy man’s paradise. Riverside Boulevard, which runs the entire length of the town, is particularly depressing—four lanes that are constantly clogged with traffic and are bounded by auto repair shops, gas stations, cheesy restaurants, dilapidated apartments, closed up storefronts, and a whole string of ugly messes that are so common to urban areas. 

Politically, Adeline is conservative—the mayors, elected every three years, have all been Republicans since the Great Depression, with one notable exception. In 1985, the town elected its first Democratic Mayor since 1934, a former used-car salesman named Adrian Benson.  Adrian was a smooth talker and probably could have sold a tricycle to his grandmother if he hadn’t been possessed with some semblance of a conscience. Unfortunately, Adrian’s conscience had its limits, and towards the end of his term, it was discovered that he was a regular customer at an escort service in Pittsburgh.

However, except for the unfortunate memories associated with Adrian and the constant presence of the Riverside Boulevard eyesore, Adeline was a pleasant, picturesque town with an outstanding track record. Both of its high schools are ranked as among the best in the state, and there hasn’t been a murder in over two years—in fact, the crime rate is among the best in the country, if not the world. The streets are well-kept, the houses are beautiful, and the money is everywhere. What more could anyone want?

2

Jack and Rachel Hastings lived about two miles from Riverside Boulevard on Somerset Drive—somewhat misnamed because, after a half-mile, the drive came to a dead end. Jack had bought their pleasant, spacious three-bedroom house for a quarter-million dollars in 1995, a few years before the real estate boom exploded. By now, in early December of 2012, Jack liked to joke that if the assessed value went over a million, he’d have to put the house on the market. At that price, it would be ridiculous not to sell, he said, at one of his family’s many get-togethers with the Harringtons. Melissa and Dave Harrington lived less than a mile away—Melissa was Rachel’s sister, and the four of them saw each other frequently.

Dave didn’t think it was such a bad thing to have an overvalued house. It doesn’t bother me, he said to Jack. I’m looking at the house as my retirement plan.

Jack snorted derisively as he polished off the rest of his third gin and tonic. I’m telling you, Dave—at a certain point, the real estate market begins to seem like a Ponzi scheme that’s about to go bad. In another year, I’ll have the mortgage paid off, and I could just take the money and rent until the crash comes. Now that the Democrats are lording it over us in Washington, the crash can’t be far away.

Dave had known Jack for a little over fifteen years, but he kept his own political feelings to himself. It was senseless to talk to Jack about anything related to politics because he exaggerated everything to the point where it seemed like Democrats were either child molesters or drug addicts. It doesn’t matter, he said to Jack, in four years we’ll have another president.

Thank God for term limits—if we didn’t have them, Barry O would be there until he was ninety. This whole country has turned into a colossal countercultural mess—everywhere you go, you run into somebody who looks like they just got off the boat from—

Just then, the front door opened and Jack and Rachel’s two kids, Jaime and Renee, came into the room. Dave liked both of them—they were now seventeen and sixteen, respectively, and were well-mannered, happy teenagers who, as far as he knew, had never caused anyone much trouble. They certainly weren’t at all like his rambunctious kids who were always running around in souped-up cars driven by a lot of shady characters. Andy had already, at fifteen, been busted for drugs; Ashley, now sixteen, was on the pill for very obvious reasons; and Tricia had gone an entirely different but equally unpleasant route—she’d been an anorexic since the day she became a teenager, almost seven years ago. 

Hey, kids—where have you been? asked Jack

The mall—where else? said Renee. She took off her coat and placed it on a hook, and Dave had to force himself to take his eyes off her. Renee was definitely going to be a beautiful woman—no question about that! Dark brown hair, a nice figure, and a cute and impish face that was capable of a thousand different expressions. And since Renee was rather tall, almost five-foot eight, Dave could picture her as a fashion model.

‘I hope you were buying me my Christmas present and not lavishing money on yourself," said Jack, in a humorous tone.

No, Dad, I’m buying Mom’s present, and Jaime is buying yours.

So what did you get me? said Jack to Jaime. 

Jaime had dark blond hair and a slim, wiry build. Once again, Dave couldn’t help but be envious—Jaime was just so everlastingly polite and clean looking. He would have bet a thousand dollars that the kid had never touched alcohol or marijuana.

Before Jaime could say anything, Rachel and Melissa came into the room—the two of them had been holed up in the kitchen for over an hour as they held one of their endless confabs on what to cook for the upcoming Christmas dinner.

Rachel, with her large-framed black glasses and angular, austere figure was a rather homely woman, and Jack had often remarked to himself that she was nothing to brag about. Her sister, however, was quite a different story—even though Melissa was in her early forties and had borne three children she was, according to Jack’s private observations, quite the looker.

Jack knew, of course, that it was hardly honorable to be fantasizing about his wife’s sister, but his life had become so boring that he couldn’t really stop himself. In fact, about the only things that still interested him were his gin and tonics and his top-secret attempts to flirt with Melissa.

Had he received any encouragement from her? No, not really, but...

3

Jack was a dentist by trade, and he had met Rachel after she became one of his assistants. Back then, in 1993, she was reasonably attractive, and it wasn’t long before they began to take their relationship to another, much less professional level. For Jack, being around an available woman for five or six hours a day proved to be too much of a temptation to resist. He was only twenty-eight at the time, and to be frank, he was more than a little sex-starved when he became involved with Rachel. Nowadays, of course, he realized all too well that he was suffering from buyer’s remorse—a little too quick on the trigger, and now he was paying the price. Big time!

As often happens, Jack didn’t seem to realize that he was also nothing to brag about. Like Rachel, he wore glasses, was only five-foot seven, a little bit rotund, to put it delicately, and as bald as bald can be. He had, however, learned to ignore his downside and assumed that because of his wealth, he was a hot item. His dental practice was among the most respected in town, so he was raking in cash hand over fist. Thank God for all the idiots who don’t bother to take care of their teeth, he would remark, with some amusement. You should see the dirty looks I get when I tell teenagers to floss. But there’s no point in arguing with them because, eventually, they’ll just end up becoming another one of my many cash cows. It’s amazing how far you can get in life when you realize that other people’s stupidity can work to your advantage. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to apply to me and Obama—all he’s ever done is figure out another way to tax me. To be fair, Jack’s tax bill was significant since he had over two hundred grand stashed away in various bank accounts, gold stocks, and money market firms. He was certainly no fool when it came to investing money—he had, for instance, pulled out of the stock market about a year before the 2006 crash hit and had then made an enormous amount of money by taking his stock proceeds and investing entirely in gold.

Meanwhile, Rachel had gradually lost her zest for life and was becoming somewhat of a phobic. She was very fastidious to the point of obsession and drove Jack crazy with all her kitchen rules. Glasses in the second and third cabinets! Small ones in front! This pot here, that pot there. They had a digital alarm clock in their bedroom, and Rachel was very particular about what time she left the bed in the morning because, to her, some numbers were nothing but bad luck. Anything with a 9 in it was a total no go, and a 7 wasn’t so hot either. Jack wanted to send her to a psychiatrist but Rachel refused because all they’ll try to do is change my way of thinking. She was also an agoraphobic, which meant that she rarely left the house. Too dangerous!

The only upside to the agoraphobia was that Jack didn’t have to appear with Rachel in public and go through the motions of introducing her as his wife. The last time that had happened, the look of pity he had received was enough to turn his stomach. Originally, shortly after they had married, the two of them would take trips to fancy places like the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, but the best Rachel could manage now were excursions to the supermarket. And, of course, they couldn’t leave the house when any figure on the clock had a seven or a nine in it. Once they were inside the supermarket, Rachel always wore large sunglasses, even in winter, and skittered around as if she thought the Mafia was in the next aisle. 

Rachel was an excellent housekeeper and a fairly good cook, but it wasn’t really restaurant quality, which isn’t saying much. Still, it was good enough for Jack who couldn’t do much more than boil his own eggs in the morning, but in the evening, when Rachel’s obsessive-compulsive nonsense was reaching its zenith, he would mix himself a monster gin and tonic and go out to the living room while she was preparing dinner. There, he would switch on the tube and listen to the wild ravings of the national newscasters. The gin and tonic was mandatory because without it, he would never have been able to endure the almost unbearable torture of having to listen to clips of Barry O and all his cohorts as they scurried around with one insane tax plan after another, all of which would end up costing him more money. 

Early in their marriage, Rachel had a miscarriage, and after that occurred, she became extremely antagonistic to another pregnancy. Her doctor had told her that because of her build and her bones, any pregnancy would result in a long, difficult, and painful childbirth. Because of this, Jack had reluctantly agreed to go the adoption route, but except for their immediate families no one knew that Jamie and Renee had been adopted. Rachel had wanted to tell them when they were about ten years old, but Jack had put his foot down and squashed that idiotic idea.

Jack could still remember the night he had fought with Rachel about it. Listen, he said to his wife as he dumped a shot of gin into his half-filled glass, I know exactly what it’s like to be adopted.

Jack, I know that you were adopted, but I can’t see what’s wrong with telling them. Didn’t your parents tell you?

Of course they did—otherwise, how would I know I was adopted? But in the end, all it did was ruin my relationship with them.

Why’s that?

How do you think it made me feel when they told me I was adopted?

I would think—

Rachel, what difference does it make what you think? I was the one who had to go through the experience and suffer the consequences. I don’t know how many times my phony Mom and my phony Dad told me that I was their little man and a whole lot of other nonsense that made me feel like I was something special. And then, to find out that I had been bought like a side of disposable beef—I just...I can’t even begin to put it into words.

Rachel wondered what disposable beef was but decided it was better to go along with Jack. He had, after all, compromised on the decision to adopt them, and anyways, for all she knew, he might be right.

4

Although he had shown little enthusiasm for the adoptions, Jack soon became fond of his two kids. At least they hadn’t received a couple of lemons from the adoption agency. Both of them were healthy, and while Renee (named after Rachel’s grandmother) could be over-exuberant, Jaime (named after a character in Rachel’s favorite soap opera) was the kind of kid, so rare nowadays, who minded his own business and didn’t keep asking for things until you were ready to scream. And both of them were lookers! When Jack was out and about with them, even when they were only seven and eight years old, he felt like he finally had something to brag about. They were just so cute together! He bought a camera early on and was always taking pictures of them. And Rachel, who hardly ever bought any clothes for herself, was constantly lavishing a small part of Jack’s fortune on the kids’ wardrobes—always through mail order, of course—but Jack didn’t mind because the end result was that these two kids looked sharp. Modern, hip, little movie stars—whatever words you wanted to put to them.

If there was a downside to Renee and Jaime it was their casual disinterest in school. Neither of them ever showed much excitement for any of their teachers or classes, but even so, their grades weren’t too bad—mostly B students, but the problem was that they both seemed to assume they were going to college. Jack knew that with the combination of his wealth and their tepid academic performances, his kids wouldn’t be receiving any scholarships, which meant that he was on the verge of being scalped alive by the rampaging thieves in academia. Rachel was dreaming of big-time schools for her little sweethearts, but Jack had other plans. He had already had a heart-to-heart with Jaime, who had quickly acquiesced to Jack’s plan of sending him to a local community college at a mere three grand a year. What a great kid! Jack had also convinced Jaime that the best thing would be to learn a trade—either plumbing or electrical because those characters made a fortune. Now you’ll be able, he told Jaime, to stuff all that Shakespearian nonsense down the toilet and flush it straight to Washington because it’s impossible to make a dime off that outdated malarkey. However, when I had that moron electrician out here last year to fix the wiring in the basement, he hit me up for a hundred and ten bucks an hour! That comes out to almost what Obama makes, and he deserves about ten cents an hour.

Renee, however, had bigger dreams and was contemplating a four-year school, and when Jack had gone over the fancy brochures from some of the places she was considering, he had to leave the room and mix himself a double. Or maybe it was a triple. Later on that night, he had received a lecture from Rachel, who thought his whole attitude was ridiculous. Look, Jack, all Renee wants to do is further her education—how’s she going to get anywhere in life with just a high school diploma?

As if that were his problem! Rachel, what about the community college?

Are you serious? It may be good enough for Jaime, but I want Renee to become a teacher, so she’ll need four years of college—not only that, she’ll have to go to graduate school. So start saving your money, Jack—she’s going to need it because I’m not going to stand by and watch her become a beggar in the streets.

Rachel—

And while we’re discussing things, I think it would be a good idea if you would cut back on those highballs of yours.

They’re not highballs, Rachel—they’re gin and tonics.

Whatever they are—you’re drinking way too much lately. I don’t know how you can work on people’s teeth when I see the way you look as you’re leaving here in the morning. If I were sitting in the chair and saw you approaching me with a drill, I think I’d scream.

Naturally, Jack was tempted to lash out at his wife. In fact, with her looks, he was tempted to scream morning, noon, and night. He had to admit, however, that Rachel was probably right about the gin and tonics because over the past month, he’d botched two root canals and a crown. Jack knew that his mistakes were just the result of the endless monotony of his life, but it was difficult for him to find any solution to the problem. Eventually, after some serious thought upon this important issue, he had recently come to the conclusion that a woman with a hot physique was the answer. He knew from experience that it was way too risky to fool around with a patient, not that anyone seemed tempted lately, and his receptionist and assistants were all going through their raving-about-the-boyfriend stage. It was sickening to listen to that kind of adolescent drivel. You didn’t have to be a cryptographer to decipher what the winks and innuendoes were all about.

As Jack snuck off into the basement where he kept a stash of gin, he considered his options. Opening up a drawer in his desk, he took out his favorite picture of Melissa—the one that he had secretly taken of her when she was wearing a bikini. Man, she was a hottie. If only...if only Dave would divorce her! He knew that those two didn’t have the best marriage in the world because Rachel had told him about all their problems. She was probably exaggerating because Rachel was a compulsive exaggerator, but everyone knew that Dave was no wizard when it came to money. They’ve got debt right up to their eyeballs was how Rachel had put it. Dave had a reasonably decent job—he was a foreman at the woolen mills—but he liked