CHAPTER EIGHT

By then it was apparent to me that the core problem was distance. Although the six men who then comprised the Board had worked together closely for many years, they were scattered all across the country. Such an arrangement had worked reasonably well when the SIF had been narrowly focused upon raising and disbursing funds for the legal defense of former intelligence officers, but with the new mission it had become almost unworkable. To escape this dilemma, I had taken it upon myself to summarize the principle issues that required immediate decision, and to place them into the larger framework of the organizations stated objectives. I would have Pam type up the final draft Monday morning and, with any luck, I would have copies in the mail to each of the Directors that afternoon. With a written copy before them, I felt it would be a relatively simple matter to work out a consensus over the phone. I had included some 60 specific recommendations in the appendix; and my plan was to construct a straw vote, polling each member in turn. Once I had their input, I would present Mr. Angleton with a tally sheet and a summary of their comments. On that basis, I felt confident that he would exercise his authority as Chairman of the Board and approve most if not all of my recommendations.

To ensure better communications with and among the various Directors, I had instituted a number of other changes. The first of these were Telephone Conference Reports and Transmittals. Telephone Conference Reports - or TelCons - were printed forms with space provided for the date and time, who called whom, the general subject matter discussed and the decision or decisions made in the course of the conversation. The Transmittals were similar, listing what was sent from the office, when, to whom and by whom. All of these were retained on file; and each Friday afternoon complete sets were copied and mailed to each Director. Enclosed with a cover sheet was a very brief report that encapsulated the week’s developments.

The second major change was the introduction of a Six Week Bar Chart Schedule, updated daily to indicate work accomplished. I had first been introduced to these by Dave Kendrick when I was an engineer with McBro. The company was then the industry leader in hospital construction, and this was due in no small part to Dave's mastery of scheduling. He had been in the forefront of the managerial revolution that had swept through the construction industry in the late 1970's; and he had helped McBro dominate specialized construction through the application of Critical Path Methodology. This particular management tool made it possible to break down enormously complex tasks into logical components, and weight them according to the four basic construction variables of time, manpower, money, and materials. Once each work activity had been identified, sequenced, and assigned the proper values, they could be run through a mainframe computer. The computer would sort them in terms of logical sequence, thereby determining the Critical Path - that is, the optimum sequence of work activities. Once this had been determined, a Time Scale Logic Diagram could be constructed. 

Although the task was formidable, the Time Scale Logic Diagram made it possible to visually represent each and every work activity of a construction project - and all of their inter-relationships - in a single schematic. This enabled management to accurately predict virtually every problem that might arise in the course of construction, and to either correct or to compensate for them before the project began. By this means enormous savings were realized in the cost of construction; and because they were often in the range of 30%, McBro had earned enormous profits. Armed with Time Scale Logic Diagrams, the company could easily underbid the competition and still walk away from the completed projects with an astonishing profit margin.  

The Six Week Bar Chart Schedule was a take off from the master Time Scale Logic Diagram; and it was prepared onsite by the engineer responsible for scheduling. The graphic representations it contained made it particularly useful in communicating with the home office, the clients and the subcontractors. If it took a well-trained engineer to read the larger Logic Diagram, an idiot could take in the Bar Chart Schedule with a single glance. For that reason, it eliminated a host of difficulties throughout the construction process.

Although SIF's activities paled in comparison to a major construction project - a single project might, for example, entail 100,000 or more specific work activities - I saw considerable merit in adapting the Bar Chart Schedule to the applications at hand. By slightly modifying the Bar Chart, I was able to list upon it each specific work activity contemplated and in progress, and to establish clearly defined start and completion dates for them. This made it possible for me to monitor progress on a daily basis, and to budget with far greater precision. Most importantly, it gave the Directors a clear visual sense of what we were doing from week to week. For that reason, copies of the updated Bar Chart Schedule were included in each Reading File.

Effective management was much discussed but rarely seen in Washington; and innovations such as these were entirely unheard of. I was well pleased with these and other changes I had made at SIF; and I was gratified by the favorable comments I had received from the Directors.  

The successful implementation of these changes was important for the future success of the organization, and for my personal finances as well. Divisions within the Board had precluded fundraising efforts to date; and for that reason, I had been unable to draw a paycheck despite the many hours I had invested in the organization. Had I not stumbled into a remarkably lucrative part-time position with the Econolock Company, I would have been in serious financial trouble.

Privately owned by John Stewart, Econolock was a locksmith service then operating throughout Northern Virginia; and I had first come into contact with it when the safe had jammed at the gas station some three weeks before. It was late at night, but given the severity of the problem I had called Jean Larson at home. She had given me John Stewart's number, and told me to call him. Much to my surprise, he was unconcerned by the hour and promised an appearance within 30 or 40 minutes.

When he arrived a half-hour later, I found that I liked him immediately. He stood about 5' 6", and with his portly physique, white beard and hair, and engaging blue eyes, he might have been mistaken for one of Santa's elves. He was warm and friendly, and very funny. As he struggled to open the jammed safe he entertained me with tales of locksmithing in the nation's capital. Until that moment, I had no idea how lucrative a trade it was, nor how many doors it could literally open. For Washington is a city of secrets; and for that reason locksmiths are held in high esteem. As luck would have it, John was a staunch Conservative; and as I quickly surmised, an acquaintance or confidant of many of the most powerful and influential people in Washington. He was an obviously valuable contact, and I made a mental note to cultivate him. 

But as it turned out, there was no need. For as he opened the jammed safe, he explained to me that he was an old friend of Jeans; and that he knew Landmark Mobile was on its last legs. Under the circumstances, he expected Jean to vanish into thin air at any time; and he hoped I would be interested in joining Econolock. He knew I had found a public policy position, but from Jean's remarks he had surmised that I would need a part-time income for some months to come. And then he astounded me, telling me that I could reasonably expect to make $300 a week working nights and weekends. 

I was taken aback by his approach. John clearly knew Jean very well, for he was intimately familiar with the station's circumstances. But before responding to his offer of employment, I asked him if he really expected her to disappear. He paused for just a moment, and then shook his head sadly. He said there was much more than met the eye at Landmark Mobile, and made a veiled reference to Jean's former husband. Their continuing relationship and the fate of the business were hopelessly entwined; and for that reason Landmark Mobile was doomed. I had to realize that Jean's first and foremost priority were her children, and that she would do whatever it took to assure their future.

If his remark was cryptic, it was nonetheless all too clear. Jean was siphoning off the profits of the gas station so that she and her children could escape from her former husband; and given her accounting skills, she had been able to hide that fact for a very long time. Although she was surely aware that Bouchey and other investors would eventually figure it out, she had correctly reasoned that the legal tangle resulting from the bankruptcy would deprive them of any lawful recourse. With enough money she and her children could disappear, safe in the knowledge that they would not pursue her. 

It was an appalling scheme; but under the circumstances, it made perfect sense. There was no doubt that she was still deeply in love with her ex husband; but his drinking had long been far out of control. She was concerned for her safety, and for the safety of her children; and as a mother, she would do whatever it took to protect them.  

It took me only a few moments to ask John when he wanted me to start; and before he left, we had agreed that I would begin work the following Monday. It turned out to be a fortunate choice, for Jean and her children vanished almost immediately thereafter.   

On the appointed evening, I met John at his shop in the Crystal Underground at 6:00 PM; and by 9:00 PM that same night I had successfully attacked locks made by all of the major manufacturers. Picking came to me with remarkable ease; and much to my surprise, I found it enormously gratifying. An entirely new world had opened up for me; and I realized that with sufficient practice, no door would ever be barred to me again. As I expressed my sentiments to John, he thoughtfully agreed. It was a weird feeling, he said, to know that you can enter any house, office building or official installation at will. It was stranger still to know that you could break into  - or out of  - any jail or prison ever built. But he laughed and warned me not to try that just yet. It would take time to learn how to successfully attack the specialty locks that secure installations employed; and that I also would also have to learn how to defeat the electronic surveillance and alarm systems that defended them. He would teach me all this and more in time, but for now he wanted me to concentrate on more profitable activities. Econolock charged $35 to open a house or apartment door until 9:00 PM; and the fee increased geometrically after midnight. With a base rate commission of 50 per cent, I could hustle $75 to $100 a night and he wanted me tightly focused on the business at hand. Econolock was growing rapidly, and he needed all the help he could get.

All of this turned out to be true; for in my first four evenings with Econolock, I had made more than the average wage-worker in a full 40-hour week. But that was the farthest thing from my mind as I closed the Foundation's door and locked it behind me. For much to my surprise, I had yet another date with Lea Myers; and this time, I was looking forward to it.

Our first date had been a fiasco; and if she had not been so persistent I would not have seen her again. I had just started with SIF; and between the Foundation and the gas station I had been sorely pressed. The rush-hour commute served only to compound the problem; for I was losing two hours or more each day to Washington’s increasingly frantic traffic. I was getting three or four hours sleep per night at best; and given the stress associated with closing out one job and starting another, it took an act of will to maintain my composure.

I had carefully noted Lea's directions on my desk calendar at the gas station; but being generally unfamiliar with McLean, I had miscalculated the transit time. As a result, I arrived almost a half hour late, to her obvious displeasure.

Her father had opened the door and invited me in; and in a scene reminiscent of my high school day, he had grilled me with good-natured severity. With the implausible name of Jardon, he was a sports fanatic who had been fortunate enough to find employment with the Professional Golf Association. He was deeply disappointed to learn that I didn’t follow football, baseball, basketball, golf or even tennis; and although he was sufficiently well mannered not to say it, it was clear that he thought there was something very wrong with a man who didn’t know the Washington Redskins starting line by memory.

In Jardon’s mind sports and masculinity were one and the same; and so I would not have been surprised if he had suddenly asked me if I was some kind of queer. And so in an effort to appease him I explained as politely as possible that I had been badly injured playing football in high school; and during the year and a half convalescence that followed, I had lost all interest in athletic competition.

Mollified, he moved on to other topics. Given the extent of the injuries I had sustained, he supposed that they had at least kept me out of the draft. I laughed, and shook my head. Fool that I was, I had dropped out of college and enlisted in the Marine Corps when I was 19. Rolling his eyes in agreement, he asked if I had been sent to Viet Nam. In accordance with my instructions, I denied it; and in only a slight embellishment, I told him that I had been sent south instead. By now clearly curious, he told me that he had not realized that Americans forces had been involved in combat in South America. Hoping to head off any further questions, I coldly informed him that they had not. He looked at me for a moment, and knowingly smiled. He had heard that story before, during his tour of duty in the Green Berets. He knew all about covert operations, and he promised to ask no further questions.

At that point Lea emerged from the back of the house, and I stood to greet her. Jardon came to his feet as well, and shook my hand. He said it was nice to have met me, and told us to have fun. And then with beer in hand, he wandered off in an indifferent haze.  

I helped her with her coat, and apologized for having been late. It was OK, she said; for she had been running behind herself. But from the tone of her voice, I could tell that she was livid. She was a princess; and the fact that a mere commoner such as myself had kept her waiting bordered upon les majeste. 

The night went downhill from there. Unfamiliar with the McLean area, I had no idea where to take her. Moreover, it was getting late, and the better establishments would soon cease serving dinner. At her suggestion, we settled upon a farmhouse that had been converted into an out of the way restaurant off Route 123. It was pleasant, and the food was quite good; but from the location and lighting, it was clear to me that the establishment catered primarily to couples engaged in illicit affairs. It was the perfect place for a discrete rendezvous; but it was not particularly well suited for a first and stressful date.

We had talked during dinner, but shared no secrets. For the most part our conversation had revolved around favorite books and movies and songs; with an occasional personal anecdote thrown in for humor. 

After several drinks Lea had loosened up; and she steered the conversation back to films. I told her that the most recent film I had truly enjoyed was Raiders of the Lost Ark; and I expressed my admiration for the film's central character, Indiana Jones. His fictional life blended scholarship with rip-roaring adventure; and it did so in a manner that I could only envy. As I spoke, Lea had looked at me intently; and then quite suddenly lurched forward and said that she thought I was Indiana Jones.

Under any other circumstances, I would have dismissed her comment with a laugh; but she had said it with such power and intensity that I had been taken aback. After a moment's hesitation, I gathered my wits and contradicted her. I found the Indiana Jones character appealing because I shared his contradictory desires. An academic life approximated my ideal, but I knew I that it was something I could never have. More powerful forces drove me in another direction; and if I envied Jones for having found a way to balance these warring instincts I was, nonetheless and emphatically, not he. 

Lea had leaned back in her chair as she half-listened to my response; and when I had finished, she thrust her head forward and informed me that she didn’t care what I thought. As far as she was concerned, I was Indiana Jones, and that was that. On this subject at least, The Princess would brook no further discussion.

She spent the remaining half hour of dinner pouting; and after I had paid the check, I drove her home in wary silence. I had hoped to seduce her that night, but she had informed me that she had to get up early for work the next day; and in any event, I was by then in no mood to make the long drive to and from Arlington, and then back again at 3:00 o'clock in the morning. Moreover, it struck me as ill-advised to ravish the daughter of a former Special Forces soldier on the first date. And so with that thought, discretion triumphed over valor: when we arrived at her home, I walked her to the door and kissed her lightly goodnight.

As far as I was concerned, the night had been a total write-off; and had it not been so late, I would have proceeded on to Georgetown in search of Alan. He was no doubt besieged by a host of gorgeous women; and as his friend, and I felt a certain self-serving obligation to ride to his rescue. But it was by then almost closing time, and I knew that I had no chance of making it by last call.

My second date with Lea had been only slightly better. Disappointed by the first evening, I had discarded her telephone number. But by then she had acquired all three of mine; and after a month or so of trying, she had finally managed to catch me on the phone. Impressed by her tenacity and shamed by my cowardice, I had resorted to diplomacy. I explained to her that I had been so busy with my new job that I simply had not had time to return her calls. This was less than truthful, and I had no doubt that she knew it; but she thankfully changed the subject. 

A friend of hers had left the area for an extended period, she said, and as a favor, she was house sitting in the Maryland suburbs. She was living there alone; and to show her appreciation for the wonderful evening we had had together, she wanted to invite me there for dinner. Taken aback, I didn’t know what to say. It was not a particularly appealing offer, for aside from the fact that I really wasn’t interested in seeing her again, I knew that I was a terrible dinner guest and for that reason I tried hard to avoid such commitments. I was a picky eater, with a half dozen or more fixed aversions; and perhaps more importantly, I suffered from severe allergies. A fish sandwich at the University of Missouri's Student Union had once sent me into shock; and inadvertent encounters with chemical preservatives had resulted in several seizures. I explained all this to Lea, but she refused to accept no for an answer. Insisting that I tell her what I could and could not eat, she promised to take whatever precautions necessary to prevent misfortune. Pressed hard to the wall with my excuses exhausted, I surrendered. Dinner would be fine, I said, much against my better judgment.

In the event, the directions she had given me were true and complete. But she had left me with the distinct impression that it did not matter whether I went East or West on the Beltway to reach where she was staying. Having taken the Beltway East only once previously, I decided to take the more familiar westerly route. But far from equidistant, this added 20 or perhaps 30 miles to the trip. 

It is an unfortunate fact of life that dating in Washington is sharply conditioned by the District's hostile geography; and for that reason, the number of prospective lovers who have been spurned as Geographically Undesirable is legion. Had I realized how far away Ms. Myers was by either route, she would have surely joined their ranks.   

As it turned out, I didn’t realize my error until I had passed Silver Spring, Maryland, some 45 minutes after setting out. But by then there was no honorable exit, so I pressed on. I finally arrived well past 9:00 PM, after having stopped to call and confirm her directions.

I was embarrassed by my tardiness, and angry at myself. I had been around Washington long enough to know better than to date anyone in Maryland; and so as I knocked upon her door, I promised myself that I would not see her again. But when she opened the door she seemed genuinely pleased to see me; and after a half hour of small talk on the couch, I began to feel much more at ease. It would be a pleasant evening, at least; and that might make the drive worthwhile after all.

She asked in the course of conversation if I was still working at both SIF and the gas station. It was a simple question, and under the circumstances it was entirely apt. But for some reason it put me suddenly on guard; and so I deflected it with an incomplete truth. Avoiding the subject of the Foundation altogether, I explained that I had just left Landmark Mobil for a part-time job with Econolock.

As we sat on the couch sipping the wine that I had brought for dinner, I explained that locksmithing served my purposes well, for with a minimal investment of time I was realizing a high rate of return. But to my surprise she was neither pleased nor impressed; but instead seemed disconcerted. After a moment's hesitation, she asked me if I thought I could pick the lock on the apartment's door; and when replied in the affirmative, she asked if I would do it while she watched. It seemed like an odd request under the circumstances; but as her guest, I felt that I should comply. So I retrieved my tools from my car, and began my attack.

The lock had been pinned with mushroom pins, making it virtually pickproof; but at the time, I didn’t know such things existed. They were unusual for the Washington area, and perhaps for that reason John had forgotten to mention them. He instructed his locksmiths to spend no more than 15 minutes on a lock; and if it failed to open within the allotted time, it was his policy to drill it. This approach was both efficient and profitable, for replacement locks were sold in the field for premium prices. But so far I had opened every lock without fail. Except for this one… 

I had been at it for only a few minutes before I realized that I was in serious trouble. I had memorized John's instructions and followed them exactly; but for the first time in my short career as a locksmith, they failed to yield results. After emplacing the tension rod, I had begun the attack with a hook pick; and when that failed, I had raked it with an S pick, and then a diamond. I then attacked it with an impact gun and, when that failed, the ever-reliable electropick. But nothing worked; and as I knelt in the doorway before the lock, beads of sweat began to form upon my forehead. 

Having placed myself in an embarrassing situation, I was searching for a face-saving solution. After more than 20 minutes had passed I realized that I would have to concede defeat. In the doubtful hope that honesty would prove to be the best policy, I decided that I would simply inform her that I had failed. But when I turned around to face her, she was nowhere to be seen. It was only after the oven door slammed shut that I realized that she had stolen away to prepare dinner. 

Luck was with me, or so it suddenly seemed; and so I put my tools away and returned to the couch. If Lea noticed, she gave no indication; and so I sat there and watched her as she hurried about the kitchen. From my vantage point it seemed that her breasts were smaller than I had remembered them, and that her hips were wider than I had recalled. And while she was by no means unattractive, I concluded that she was definitely not my type.  She reminded me vaguely of a girl I had dated occasionally my junior year of college; but I doubted that she possessed the animalistic passion that had trashed my bed and shredded my back at MU. Her name was Cindy Anthony; and as I observed Lea preparing the meal, I wondered what had become of her...

Lea eventually emerged with a platter of steaks. She smiled at me, and gestured in the direction of the dining room table. She asked me to be seated; and after placing the steaks on the centerpiece, she returned to the kitchen for rice and corn. Removing her apron, she finally sat down across from me.

I lifted my wine glass to her in a silent toast, and we began to eat. It was frankly delicious; and after so many years of eating either fast food or my own culinary disasters, I was genuinely appreciative. She was a hell of a good cook, or so I thought. But in truth I had to admit that I was no judge. 

I complimented her in any event; and I apologized for having failed to pick the lock. She thanked me graciously for the first, and brushed off the second; and then in a deft move asked me about SIF. I had mentioned the Foundation in passing on our first date, and once again on the phone. But she had no idea what sort of activities it engaged in, and she asked if I would explain it to her in greater detail.

It was again an ordinary and altogether appropriate question, but some inner sense had urged me to silence and I remained on guard. Fortunately for me my mouth was filled with steak; and the necessity of chewing it and swallowing gave me ample time to collect my thoughts. After taking a drink of wine and wiping my mouth with my napkin, I explained to her that SIF had been recently reconfigured as a 501(c) 3 public policy center dedicated to the intelligence dimension of national security. As a result, it was in a transitional state, and for that reason I asked her to understand that I was unable to discuss it in any great detail.  

She smiled and said she understood; and remained silent for some minutes as she traced lines in the rice on her plate with a fork. After a while she looked up and tilted her head, and asked me if James Angleton wasn’t the chairman of the board. 
This surprised me, for I knew from previous discussions that Lea was not well informed on Washington politics. Despite the fact that Mr. Angleton had achieved considerable public fame - or notoriety, depending on one's perspective - after his abrupt dismissal from the CIA, it seemed unlikely that Lea would have been familiar with his name, let alone his more recent activities. So I nodded silently, and waited. After a brief moment she observed that he had caused a great deal of trouble as Chief of Counterintelligence, and asked me how I had met him.

I was completely taken aback, for her questions implied a degree of knowledge that even the most informed political junkies lacked. The national media and even the Washington press had routinely erred in reporting Mr. Angleton's past position and title, and the fact that Lea had correctly identified him as the former Chief of Counterintelligence suggested that she had done a great deal of research. Or perhaps, that she been properly briefed…

If this raised a red flag, her query as to how I knew him set off the alarms. Angleton had often been quoted as saying that counterintelligence begins at home; and his many enemies in the bureaucracy openly speculated that he had established a series of clandestine networks throughout the federal government. They were unmistakably concerned that he might still be running one or more of these supposed networks in his retirement; and that fear was said to haunt the highest levels of the CIA and the State Department. Indeed, there was strong suspicion within the Beltway that Deepthroat – Woodward and Bernstein’s clandestine informant of Watergate fame – was one of Angleton’s agents. 

The theory held a certain plausibility, for Angleton had been fired upon Kissinger’s orders; and within the machiavellian world of Washington politics, it was not unreasonable to suppose that he had taken down the Nixon Administration in an act of subtle revenge. For Watergate had done much more than force the resignation of the President: it mortally wounded Kissinger as well. Although his star had risen in the immediate aftermath of the scandal, Kissinger’s foreign policy required the unwavering support of the White House for success. For this the Ford Administration was too feeble; and in the course of the interregnum, Kissinger’s policy of détente with the Soviet Union collapsed.

Lea's question was uncomfortably consistent with this line of reasoning; and I could not help but wonder if someone, somewhere, wanted to know if I was one of Angleton's sleepers – uncorked, perhaps, for some special occasion. Although this was not the case, his enemies had no way of knowing it; and it seemed to me plausible that they would investigate the possibility. It further occurred to me that the opposition might, as well…

If that were the case I was in a world of trouble; and I couldn’t help but wonder if I wasn’t being set up. But rather than dwell upon that unpleasant thought, I repressed it quickly. I laughed politely for Lea’s benefit, and affirmed that Angleton had indeed been a controversial figure. But as far as I was concerned, it was all a tempest in a teapot. Bureaucratic politics is an exercise in brutality, and this was as true at the CIA as it was at any other government agency. Angleton had led an insurrection against Kissinger’s policy of accommodation; and when he lost, the victors had found it convenient to demonize him. The fact that détente had ultimately failed made them more venomous still.

And so I lied to her, and assured her that it was all in the past. Mr. Angleton was now a private citizen, with no connection to the Agency. Somewhat more honestly, I explained that I knew him only slightly, having come into his employ through the good offices of my friend and mentor, General Richardson. 

I wasn’t sure if she believed that, or knew the truth contrary. But she let it drop, and instead insisted that I help her finish the meal. As she passed me the bowl of rice, she said that she cooked far more than she could possibly consume, and asked for my assistance. 

It was not so much what she said, but rather how she said it; and given the husky tone of her voice, I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t a veiled enticement. By then I had pushed away my plate; and so I excused myself to fetch an ashtray from the coffee table. When I returned, I lit a cigarette and asked her to tell me more about herself.

There wasn’t much to tell she said. One her first date she had recounted her brief history, explaining that she was the oldest of four children. She had been born at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, while her father was serving in the Army’s Special Forces. After her gather had been discharged from the service her family had moved to New Jersey, where two younger sisters and a little brother had been born. It wasn’t quite clear to me if this was a precise chronology, or even what, exactly, had happened next; but as I understood it, her parents divorced sometime thereafter. Her father had then moved to Virginia with one or more of the children, and her mother had eventually followed suit with the rest. Lea had graduated from McLean High School and then attended the University of Maryland. After graduating from college, she had returned to Northern Virginia and taken a job in retail. Not much had changed since then; and aside from the house sitting, nothing at all since our first date. 

As I later learned the truth was far more complicated; but the story as told seemed sufficient at the time. I accepted it casually, and changed the subject.

Out of curiosity, I asked whose apartment she was occupying. With stunning nonchalance, she informed me that it had been leased by her former boyfriend. He worked for NASA; and he had been suddenly transferred to a post in the Southwest. Unable to break the contract on short notice, he had simply given her the keys to his well-furnished dwelling and departed. She didn’t know when or even if he would return, but she was happy to live there rent-free. After the experience she had had with her former roommates, she said, she considered herself enormously lucky.

I had to agree with her, for housing in the Washington area was enormously costly. But I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman was sitting across the table from me for she was or at least had been deeply involved with this man. Yet she seemed unconcerned with his sudden and enforced absence; and despite the jarring incongruence, she seemed entirely comfortable telling me all this, and with entertaining me in his home. To me this seemed strange, if not bizarre; and I began to wonder if something more than the wine was affecting her. 

I changed the subject and we continued with small talk for a few more minutes before I glanced down at my watch. It was very late, I said, and we both had to work in the morning. 

Surprised by the time, Lea agreed. But given the hour, she suggested that I stay there with her. There was a king sized bed in the bedroom; and with a seductive smile, she assured me that I would find it comfortable.

I was taken aback by her boldness; but after half a bottle of wine, it took no more to persuade me. And so I followed her into the bedroom, marching behind her in cadence to her swaying hips.

For one panicked moment I feared that I had broken the mood by spilling my glass upon a pillow; but Lea cleaned it up quickly and returned impassioned. She embraced me, and I kissed her; and then undressed each other with slow deliberation. I pulled back the sheets, and pulled her into the bed on top of me.

Her body was by then hot and glistening with sweat; and she moved her hips upon me with expert strokes. I grasped her by both shoulders and lifted her up into the air; and as I gently rolled her over, I kissed her breasts. 

Now on her back and almost beneath me, I kissed her deeply as my hand slid between her legs; but before I could begin to explore her, she pushed me away. Looking directly into my eyes, she said no, not on the first night together. She pushed me onto my back and climbed on top of me; and before I could protest, she was kissing my neck, then my chest, then my waist and my groin. I placed my hands upon her head and ran my fingers through her hair; and as her mouth closed upon me, I lay back in the bed, content to let it be…