Chapter 3

In the car, they looked at each other. Kevin voiced the question.

"So? Rapid City or Denver? We have all day. Steve won't get back until this evening at the earliest."

"Denver, then. We can drop the car off there and grab a direct Southwest flight back to Burbank, where my car is parked," Francesca suggested. Kevin nodded and started forward. Francesca gently took his arm and leaned her head over on his shoulder for a short hug. She looked a great deal like a woman in love.

By the time they were back in L.A., Kevin added 'efficient' to the list of Francesca's many attractive attributes.

While Kevin drove to Denver, Francesca was busy on her cell phone arranging things. By Two-Mule Junction, she had airline tickets arranged for them to pick up at the airport in Denver. As they rolled through the small town of Lusk, she was arranging to change from her current apartment (in one of the buildings her family owned, naturally), to a larger, furnished condo (in another of the buildings her family owned). One of her assistants from the business would oversee the move.

"It will drive Steve crazy, if he gets back to L.A. and doesn't even know where I live anymore," she explained, grinning at Kevin.

By the time that the couple was gliding down I-25 through Cheyenne, she had contacted a moving company that would move Kevin's belongings into her new condo as well. ("And don't forget to clean out the refrigerator while you're at it," she sternly admonished.)

"Steve will be devastated when he figures out we're living together. He is so egotistical that he just can't conceive that any woman would find another man more attractive than him. And you're so attractive, Kevin!" she told him, as she reached over and stroked his leg through his jeans.

"Should I have your clothes moved into the guest room, or into the master, with mine?" she asked, with a wicked smile, certain of the answer.

She called her parents and let them know that she and Steve were a thing of the past, and that he was no longer entitled to information regarding her.

Actually, Francesca was astonished at herself. What had happened since the previous evening was so unlike her, but she couldn't help herself. There was a fire, a connection between her and Kevin that overpowered her reason.

When they dropped off the rental car at the airport in Denver, she had made reservations for them to stay out of sight at one of the exclusive hotels in Santa Monica, overlooking the Bay.

After an unremarkable flight back to Burbank, and equally unremarkable drive (although slow and irritating — but that is unremarkable on the 101 and the San Diego freeways during rush hour where Carmageddon is more or less the natural state.) They took temporary shelter in their hotel, the Loews, facing the pier and beach in Santa Monica. And turned off their cell phones. 'No one there I really wanted to talk to', as the song goes.

Kevin's mind had not been idle either, even as he was driving from South Dakota to Denver. He had things to do.

The day after his return found him sitting in the same office where such a short time before he had purchased an expensive double-crypt in a West Side cemetery.

"Sure," the salesman told him, "There would be no problem getting your money back on the crypt. Moves and changes are made all the time. We are dedicated to providing our clients with complete satisfaction.

"In fact," the man confided to him, "we can resell the unit for even more than you paid for it. Have you thought of selling it privately? You could make a few bucks. Just put an add in the paper, or on the 'net. I'd bet you it sells within a week."

Kevin thought for a minute.

"No thanks. I'm sure that you're right, you know about your business, but I'm less concerned with making money than taking care of this 'situation' with the least trouble and effort.

"You see, it wasn't until this weekend that I found my wife's instructions on her burial wishes. She specifically asked to be cremated, and buried. I had completely misunderstood her when I originally purchased the crypt."

"I see," nodded the salesman. "Would you be interested in a pair of burial plots then?" he asked.

"No. Her family owns several plots at another cemetery out in Lancaster, and she wanted to be laid to rest there," Kevin explained.

They spent another hour clarifying the details before Kevin left.

He knew that he was elevating the art of pettiness to an altogether unmatched level, but it satisfied some of the visceral anger that had seized him upon discovering Jessica's secret life. He almost laughed, thinking of how he was, ultimately and in an irrevocable way, getting in a last stab at his already dead wife.

Kevin had been assured that within two weeks, his wife's body would be cremated, and her ashes buried in the small, desert cemetery at the northern end of Los Angeles County.

And lest she be remembered, or her final resting place easily found, he had cancelled his order for a bronze memorial plaque. Somehow having her final resting place marked with a plaque that said: "The most beautiful, loving wife a man ever had — taken from us too early," just didn't appeal to Kevin anymore.

After a late lunch together in the Marina, Francesca and Kevin were able to pop up and check the status of his condo. Then off to Santa Monica for a walk on the beach, and back to the hotel room for a little afternoon delight. Kevin was definitely recovering his equilibrium, as the scales of justice were balanced.

The staff at the hotel assumed that Kevin and Francesca were newly-weds, since in their experience that was the only explanation for two people who couldn't seem to keep their hands off of each other.

They lay there together in bed, in the afterglow, when Francesca got a malevolent look in her eye, accompanied by an evil grin.

"Shall I turn it back on?" she asked Kevin.

"Sure, why not? It should be interesting and may provide some entertainment," he added.

With that, Francesca reactivated her cell phone. There were thirty-four messages awaiting her. She turned on the speaker so they could both listen to them together.

"Where the hell are you?" was how the first one started.

"You goddamn whore, the minute I'm out of sight you and my best friend..." was about the tenth.

"Did you have to rub my face in it..." went the twentieth.

"Listen Francesca, give me a call and let's talk about this, I'm sure we can get past it..." at number twenty-eight had a certain pleading tone to it.

"Please, Francesca, please call me, I beg you. It was always you I loved. Jessica was just sex..." the final message leaving no doubt that Steve was discovering the unrelenting and brutal nature of karma.

A naked Francesca looked at Kevin in the bed next to her.

"Shall I call him back?"

Kevin grinned.

"It might be amusing," he suggested.

Steve was still one of Francesca's speed dial numbers. She didn't bother with the speaker, so Kevin could only hear her side of the conversation, but he suspected he would pretty much know what Steve was saying anyway.

"Hello, Steve! How ya doing?" she asked, her voice as joyful as her face was radiant.

"Me? Just laying around enjoying myself. No, I'm having a great time without you, Steve.

"Hmmm. The doorman wouldn't let you up to my apartment? No, I guess not. Not that it matters. I don't live there anymore. No, you don't need to know where I'm living now.

"Am I breaking off our engagement? Well, duh. What did you think I meant when I left the ring on top of the emails in the bed? Damn right I'm breaking off our engagement.

"Yes, leaving a trail of clothes up to the bedroom was intended to convey a message. I thought that it would be clear enough for even a dolt like you to understand.

"Oh you can't find Kevin either? Here, let me hand him the phone."

"Hey Steve. You were right about Francesca. She's a wonderful woman. Beautiful, intelligent, charming, witty, fun to be with. Sexy and passionate too. You were holding out on me, man.

"Where are we? We're in bed.

"Of course 'together'."

There was a pause while Steve shouted into the phone. Kevin moved it away from his head until the outburst passed.

"Steve, that's rather small minded of you, everything considered.

"No, I'm not angry about you and Jessica anymore, but I don't think that I am likely to forgive you anytime soon. For one thing, you were supposed to be my best friend. Instead, you proved that you're a complete douche-bag.

"Oh, I'm not living there anymore either. I've rented it out. I actually don't know where the new place is, but I will be sharing it with Francesca.

"The same to you bro!" Kevin ended the conversation laughing.

"I don't think Steve is happy," Francesca asserted.

"I'm totally desolate at the thought," replied Kevin, not looking or sounding the slightest bit desolated. With a sympathetic look, Francesca reached over and stroked the side of Kevin's face.

"Oh, poor baby!"

Francesca and Kevin both got new numbers for their cell phones.

Over the next several weeks, Kevin and Francesca began their life together, sharing her new condo in a downtown high-rise. He tried to get her to accept money for rent, but she refused to accept it — part of her notion of balancing the symmetry of the world. She explained that she wasn't paying rent, so why should he?

While Kevin returned to work, he was still regarded as 'in mourning' and not putting in the billable hours that had been typical of his work ethic before Jessica's demise.

Despite his presumed grief, he and Francesca had become a notable 'item' around town. They could be seen watching Laker's games in the season box Francesca's family had at the Staples Center or dining out at WP24, the Yardhouse, or sometimes old standbys like El Cholo's. They went dancing at the newest, most faddish clubs on Sunset, in Hollywood.

Francesca even had a 'house warming' party at the new condo, inviting her large circle of friends, acquaintances and hangers-on from the L.A. upper-crust scene.

A slightly drunken Steve tried to crash the party, but the doorman, assisted by the building's security guy, quickly quashed that notion.

"Do you mind if I change the subject? I have a question," Kevin asked, leaning over and nuzzling Francesca's neck.

"I'm an open book," she replied.

"What is the perfume you wear? Do you know I just about swoon every time I get a whiff of you. You always smell so fresh and delicious. It makes me want to be close and inhale the air around you. Whatever it is, it's just lovely."

"How intuitive, darling!" Francesca exclaimed with a laugh.

"What ever do you mean?" Kevin asked, now suspicious, knowing that like most men intuition was not his strong point.

Francesca continued dressing, putting her pants and blouse back on as she spoke.

"It's called 'Lovely.' 'A fresh, light scent smelling of apple and musk' is how I recall it described. I used to wear a similar scent called 'Light Blue', but I changed recently. And, by the way, men don't swoon. But if you ever feel like buying me a gift..."

Kevin had finished dressing, and was folding up the ground cloth and blankets they'd used. They needed the blankets because even though the days were warm, the high desert could be cold after sunset. He shook the ground cloth to knock off the dirt that had been picked up from the newly turned earth.

"Around you, I can swoon," he claimed. "Why don't you get into the car. I need to take care of one more thing before we drive back to L.A."

That said, he turned back to the patch of dirt, and relieved himself, taking a long, leisurely pee. Finished, he shook his penis a couple of times, arranged himself, and zipped up his pants.

He looked down at the barren earth, still waiting for the sod that would cover it.

"Sweet dreams, Jessica. And what dreams may come, when freed, et cetera."