There is an old saying that goes: "If you mess with the bull, you get the horn". It simply means that if you do something dangerous or stupid you can and most probably will get hurt.

Have you even had one of those days that start out in the toilet and goes downhill from there? Last Friday was just such a day; at least for me. I found out on Saturday that Friday hadn't been such a good day for my wife, Emma, either.

I was on a sales trip to Chicago and was due to fly back home to San Antonio Friday afternoon. Looking out my hotel window I could see the dark threatening clouds; they looked like snow clouds. As I walked into the airport the clouds made good on their threat. We were in a full blown blizzard inside of five minutes. I learned later that it wasn't considered a real blizzard but it was the closest to one I've ever been in. Of course all flights in and out were canceled.

Talking to the pretty little girl behind the desk she confided in me that the odds of a plane getting out of that airport before tomorrow morning were not good. This was in spite of the positive and upbeat announcements being made over the public address system.

She smiled and said, "Your chances of getting out of here tonight are slim and none, and slim just left town." She smiled while she said this, secure in the knowledge that she didn't have to fly to get home.

Great ... just great, I thought. First I lose the sale to a company that was providing the buyer with, well let's call them female companions. Oh the hell with it let's call them what they were, hookers. Then my flight gets cancelled and I've no idea when I can get home. And now I have to call my wife and tell her the "good" news.

Emma is not going to be happy. We were supposed to go to a big gala put on by her company tonight. It was sort of a welcome for Tom Sullivan the new V.P. and my wife's new boss. As I said, Emma was not going to be a happy camper. If I wait any longer to call her it's just going to make it worse, I thought to myself.

"Hello," Emma answered.

"Hi Honey, it's me. There's a problem at the airport and I may not be home until tomorrow," I said ducking my head waiting for the blowup.

"William Lennon, what do you mean you won't be home until tomorrow? The welcoming party for my new boss is tonight. You promised," Emma replied.

"I know Honey but I can't help it." I explained about the snow storm and all the planes being grounded.

"Okay Will, I know you'd come home if you could," she said disappointment heavy in her tone. "I'm sorry I yelled at you." Then she brightened a little and told me, "I'll just have to wait until tomorrow to show you how much I've missed you. Are you going back to the hotel?"

"Ground transportation is pretty much shut down too so I guess I'll spend the night at the airport." I thought of something and added, "Look, why don't you go to the party anyway?" I suggested. "I know it's a big deal for you and it might not look good if you weren't there to welcome the new boss."

"I can't. You know I don't like to drive at night and I wouldn't feel right going without you," Emma responded.

"Take a cab or hell, rent a limo for the evening. It'd make me feel better if you went," I said.

After several seconds hesitation Emma said, "I think I will go. Thanks baby." Now she sounded excited.

"I'll see you tomorrow Honey," I told her. "I'll call and let you know what time my flight is" and said goodbye. At least I hope I'll get out of here tomorrow, I thought.

Friday passed and with it my bad day. Early Saturday morning we were told that we'd be able to fly out. I called Emma both at home and on her cell but there was no answer. Strange, I thought and left a message on both voice mails. I finally arrived at our airport, about 30 hours later than expected. Retrieving my car from short term parking I headed home. It was just going on 2 PM and I stopped to get a dozen roses for Emma. She'd been a good sport about my being stranded and I thought it would be a nice thing to do for her.

I don't know if I'm physic or what but when I walked into my house I felt there was something wrong. There was coldness or a feeling of dread; hell I don't know it just didn't feel like home. I dropped my suitcase by the front door and called for Emma. No answer. As I started toward the stairs, I saw her sitting at the kitchen table.

When I got closer I could see something was definitely wrong. Emma's beautiful auburn hair was a mess; it was like a bad hair day on steroids. Her bright sparkling blue eyes were dull, a little swollen, and red from crying. Emma is tall at 5' 9 with a slender, pleasing, muscular frame but she looked shrunken and hunched over sitting at the table.

"Hi Honey, I'm..." caught in my throat when I saw the condition she was in. "What's wrong? Who died?" That was the only thing I could think of that would have made Emma look like she did.

She looked up as I entered the kitchen, shook her head, and started crying; no it was more like sobbing, almost uncontrollably. I walked over to her and put my hand on her shoulder but she pulled away from me.

I waited a few seconds then asked, "Okay, what's wrong. Please stop crying and talk to me."

Emma looked up sniffling, and finally said something. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. Please don't hate me."

None of which made any sense to me. I gave her a glass of water and pulled a chair next to her. "Honey, I don't understand. Stop crying and tell me what's wrong. What are you sorry about and what didn't you mean to do?"

Emma took a small drink of water and said, "I ... I ... I..." Then she started sobbing again. I put my arm around her and let her cry. This time she didn't pull away. It was obvious that I wasn't going to get anything out of her until she composed herself; I just had to wait.

But as I waited my mind was imaging all kinds of scenarios. Did she drive her car to the party and have an accident? Was someone seriously hurt in the wreck? Did she find out she has cancer? Did she find out from my last physical that I had cancer? No, her 'I didn't mean to and please don't hate me' told me it was something else. What?

After several minutes, which seemed like hours, I thought we needed to lessen the tension. "Emma, go upstairs and take a shower. Clean up and get dressed and then join me in the den," I ordered her. My orders shocked her, I never told her what to do especially in that tone.

Nodding she stood, sort of tentatively hugged me, and went up to our master suite. I heard the shower start almost immediately. I was sitting behind my desk impatiently waiting for her. It was close to 30 minutes before she joined me in the den. She looked better.

Emma's hair was still wet from the shower but at least it was combed. Her eyes were still red and slightly swollen but not as badly as before. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Emma had even put on a little makeup so she didn't appear so drawn and pale. I pointed to the love seat next to my desk as she hesitantly came into the room.

"Feel better?" I asked. She nodded and I said, "Whatever is going on, we can't deal with it until you tell me about it." She looked at me and after a few seconds I added, "So why are you crying? What are you sorry about?"

I handed Emma a box of tissues as she started to tear up again. No sobbing this time, she wasn't really crying. Just tears running down her face. She took a deep breath and told me what had happened while I was gone.

Emma said after talking to me, she decided to go to the party after all. She wanted to make a good impression on the new boss and really didn't want to sit at home being disappointed at me being stuck in a snow storm. A taxi delivered her to the large hotel that was hosting the event.

Inside she joined a table of people she worked with and explained that her husband was caught in snow storm and wasn't able to make the gala. Emma drank club soda with a wedge of lime before, during, and after dinner. The only alcohol she had was a sip of Champaign when a toast was made to welcome Tom Sullivan.

Emma seldom drinks more that a glass of wine or a very weak mixed drink; she can't handle it. She has a very low tolerance for alcohol. Once in a while when we go out she will have a second drink and becomes very, shall we say, amorous. Well, actually, she gets as horny as a Billy goat and I have to take her home before she rips my clothes off right there in public. So she doesn't drink when she's not with me.

Emma went to another table to say hello to some people and when she returned Tom Sullivan, his wife and the President of the company were at the table. The Sullivans introduced themselves and got all of their names in return. Adam Taylor was following the Sullivans around, playing up to the new V.P.

Adam worked in the same department as Emma. She had often told me how much she disliked the man. Adam had always followed his boss around and Emma said if the boss stopped too quickly he'd have Adam's nose up his butt. He took credit for other people's work and if he made a mistake he'd place the blame on someone else. No one believed his stories about his female conquests, but he was a self proclaimed ladies man.

Emma went to the ladies room, after asking her friend Shirley to order her a club soda. When she returned Adam was still at the table. Sullivan had given a speech earlier in which he said they all needed to be closer and work together. Adam told Emma he hoped they could let bygones be bygones and work together. He handed her a club soda.

She wasn't fooled by Adam's words but nodded and drank her club soda. Shortly she started to feel strange, like she was fading in and out of consciousness. Somehow Emma found herself dancing with Adam but was hardly aware of what she was doing.

"The next thing I knew I was in a bedroom being stripped," Emma told me. "At first I thought it was you but then my head cleared momentarily and I realized it was Adam. I tried to push him off but I didn't seem to have any strength." Emma paused for a few seconds and shuddered as if remembering the attack.

"I faded to black and woke up this morning, naked in bed with Adam next to me," Emma continued. "I started screaming at him, telling him I was going to have him arrested for rape. He laughed and said everyone saw you dancing and hanging all over me. No one will believe you."

At this point Emma started sobbing again. "On the way home it hit me what I'd done."

I put my arms around her and held her. "From your description he must have drugged you Honey. It wasn't your fault."

I called our friend and next door neighbor, Rick Barnes. He works in the medical testing lab at a nearby hospital. He came right over and the three of us went to his lab. He drew a blood sample from Emma and did a tox screen for drugs while we waited. The results were about what I expected. There was Rohypnol, the date rape drug, and cocaine in Emma's system. Clearly she had been drugged. A Gram test ruled out any STD's and there were no traces of semen; at least Taylor had used protection.

"The Rohypnol made it hard for Emma to fight this bastard off and the cocaine heightened her sexual awareness," Rick told us. "She may have tried to fight him but she didn't stand a chance with that drug cocktail in her."

"I'll have the son of a bitch in jail, if I don't kill him first," I almost screamed.

"Did anyone see this guy put the drug in her drink?" Rick asked bringing me back to earth.

Emma shook her head and he added, "Even if he did end up in bed with Emma you can't prove he drugged her." Rick got me calmed down a little and we returned home.

Emma and I went to bed and I just held her all night. By now she'd stopped crying and started to get mad. Now it was Emma that had to be calmed down.

"I'll have to quit my job," Emma said with regret.

"Why?"

"Everyone will know what happened and will think I'm a cheating whore," she replied.

"First, I don't think Adam's going to go around bragging about this. You've got a lot of friends and supporters at work and I don't think he'll want you claiming he drugged you. It could cause him some embarrassment."

"But he'll brag to that group he hangs with. People will think I..." Emma started.

"No people won't," I interrupted her. "Those guys will listen to him and live vicariously in his story. They won't really believe him." I thought for a few seconds and added, "It's like them reading erotic stories online."

Emma had her head on my chest with an arm and leg thrown across me trying to get as close to me as possible. I leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Second," I continued. "Even if the story gets out, the people that know you won't believe it. The ones that do believe it, I say the hell with them. They weren't your friends to begin with." And last, you're not going to let that bastard force you away from a job that you enjoy." This last statement was delivered in a firm voice. "We won't let the son of a bitch win."

Suddenly Emma giggled and then said, "I'm the main character in an erotic story?" I laughed and she laughed again and we had a bit of a giggle fit. It eased the tension and we finally fell asleep.

Sunday, after a lazy morning, I brought up what had happened again. "I think you should file a sexual harassment complaint tomorrow."

Emma got a worried look and replied, "Adam's right. No one saw him put anything in my drink and I was sort of hanging all over him on the dance floor. He's been there for almost ten years and they'll take his word over mine."

"Maybe, but with this toxicology report we might make a case," I responded. "If he did it once he'll do it again and if another woman files a complaint this will be in his work history. It could be a way to stop it from happening to someone else."

Looking down for a few seconds, Emma raised her eyes to mine and said, "But I'll be terribly embarrassed. All those people in the office will know what happened or at least will guess."