Jan was typing on her laptop when the doorbell rang. She quickly saved her work, turned off the computer, and went to the door. She looked through the peephole and saw the distorted figure of her x-husband.

“What are you doing here Peter?”

“I brought over some of your books. I found them in the garage at the house.”

Jan frowned, unlocked the door and opened it. Peter walked in carrying a cardboard box filled with books. He wore the same clothes he showed off earlier in the day when they met in Harry’s office. “You can drop it on the floor by the sofa,” she said.

He dropped the box and turned to her. Jan held the door open, an invitation for him to go. “I’m a little busy Peter.”

He took a step toward her and smiled, showing off his chest hair. “You look good Jan, but then you always looked good.”

“But not good enough,” she replied. “Not for you. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Yes…you had to sleep with other women in order for me to realize that you were never good enough for me.”

“I didn’t come her to pick a fight Jan. But I did want to let you know that Harry extended my contract for another year, and he likes my novel. He thinks it could turn the company around, so don’t try to undermine me.”

“I won’t have to do that. He knows damn well that you’re a second-rate writer. You were only first-rate when I did the heavy lifting for you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. There are hundreds of editors as good or better than you. You better find one to edit that novel you peddled to Harry this morning.”

“I’m the editor for that book, and we’ll see who turns the company around.”

Peter didn’t reply at first. When he did, a note of sympathy crept into his voice. “You have to get past it Jan.”

“Past what?”

“Your anger. Like I said the other day, wherever it came from, long before I came along…you have to get past it. I loved you once; maybe someday you’ll remember that. I know I will.”

He touched a nerve in Jan. She knew it, she felt it, but she couldn’t let him know it. She abruptly switched subjects, pressing her case, putting him on the witness stand. “Did you ever sleep with Liz?”

He looked surprised by the question. “I dated her before we met…you knew that.”

“But you slept with her.”

“Does it matter?”

“Did you sleep with her after we were married?”

He hesitated. “I don’t remember.”

Jan smiled…a wicked smile. “You bastard.”

“Peter?” A young, sexy-looking blond appeared on the porch by the open door. Peter turned around. “I’m coming babe,” he told her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” said the girl. “We’re going to a matinee at the Tower. It starts in ten minutes.”

Jan smiled at the girl but spoke to Peter in a low voice. “Your new editor?”

“She’s my inspiration,” he replied. “She picked up where you left off.”

“You proved it all over again, Peter. Good-bye.”

She put a hand on his back and ushered him out the door, closing it sharply behind him.

On the other side of town Liz Neaman sat comfortably on the upholstered chair in the up-scale salon, reading Vogue magazine while a young Asian woman painted her toenails. The cell phone rang on her lap. She let it ring four times before she peeled herself away from the magazine to answer. “Hi…everything all right?”

Jan’s eyes were on fire as she spat out the words, “Our friendship is over!”

“Jan!”

“You slept with him! You lied to me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You slept with Peter…while we were married! I should’ve known! You were always the one…in high school you were always the one they wanted. But I passed right by you, didn’t I? I went to college and you went on a man-hunt. I found a high-paying job while you were still man-hunting. Then I met Peter, and you let him go because he was living in a one-room apartment. When I made him a success you wanted him back, but he knew he couldn’t go back to you because he needed me to edit his second-rate novels. So you found yourself a rich stock-broker. What happens when the market crashes? You’ll be out on your butt and I won’t be there to pick you up. Oh yeah Liz, I’m a hell-of-a-lot better off than you.”

Liz gave in. “Okay…I admit it…I slept with Peter. We’re more alike, Peter and me. And I was jealous of you. You were the smart one. But Peter couldn’t handle your moods; he told me that. It drove him away. Sometimes it drove me away too. I did lie to you Jan…and I’m sorry.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“When there’s no trust the relationship is over Liz. Good-bye!” Jan hung up and put her head in her hands. Moments later the phone rang. “Liz? Oh, it’s you. Yes I read your text. All right…I’ll meet you by the duck pond. Yes, I know where it is.”

At 33rd and McKinley in mid-town stands McKinley Park, an oasis of calm amidst the bustle of surrounding traffic. The park, large, lush and green, contains baseball fields, soccer fields, picnic areas, horseshoe pits, a garden center, and a beautiful duck pond surrounded by a grove of magnificent oaks, dogwood and apple blossoms. Jan parked on the street and walked over to the duck pond, where Wes and his daughter were throwing bread crumbs to a horde of hungry mallards. Amanda smiled at Janet as she approached.

“Hello Miss Lehman.”

“Hi sweetheart.” She turned to Wes. “Can we walk and talk?”

“Go ahead,” said Amanda. “I know you adults want your privacy.”

Wes gave the bag of bread crumbs to Amanda. “We’ll be right over there,” he said, pointing to a bench.

As they started walking Jan said, “I have something to tell you.”

“I have something to tell you too,” replied Wes. What’s your surprise?”

“That woman the cop is seeing…she works in my office.”

“Wow, that’s a bombshell. Difficult to top that, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Better sit down,” he told her.

They sat down on the bench and Wes turned to her. “He has a wife and kids.”

Jan hardly flinched. She looked over at Amanda, happily throwing breadcrumbs to the ducks.

“You don’t look surprised,” Wes said.

“I’m not,” she said flatly. “People cheat all the time. Tell me, what should I do?”

“What do you think you should do?”

“You’re the lawyer; you’re supposed to know what to do. Should I forget about this whole rotten thing, let the creep go on being a creep, and let an innocent man go to jail?”

“Don’t give up. We still have six days, Jan. I’ll stay on it.”

Jan abruptly switched topics. “Did you pay my parking ticket?”

He smiled. “No…not yet.”

She returned his smile. “Stay on it.”

Jan stood up; he did the same. They looked at each other. “You like Italian food?” he asked.

Jan frowned. “I won’t mix business with pleasure. I learned that the hard way.”

Wes shook his head. “No, I’m not asking you for a date. Amanda’s grandmother invited us over for a pre-Christmas dinner. She’s making lasagna. If you care to join, you’ll be welcome.”

Jan appeared to ignore the invitation as she looked over at Amanda. “Does she have a nickname?”

“No…why?”

“When I was her age I had a nickname.”

Wes noticed the far-away tone in her voice. “Oh? What name was it?”

“I’d rather not say…I didn’t much care for it.”

Half an hour later they were seated around a small square dining table in Sophia Russell’s apartment, enjoying home-made lasagna and a bottle of red wine. The apartment was rather small, but tastefully decorated; prints and oil paintings, mostly European landscapes, adorned the walls of the tiny living room that featured an antique divan, two wingback chairs, and a solid hardwood floor covered with a nineteenth century Persian rug. A small decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner; a half dozen wrapped presents lay on the floor near the tree. Photos of Amanda, Wes, his mother and father adorned the solid oak mantelpiece. The separate kitchen, barely large enough for the dining table and chairs, had one unusual feature; a Bavarian cuckoo clock hung above the stove, a relic from the old country that Wes’s mother used to time her cooking. She didn’t like wearing a watch, and the timer on the stove didn’t work. The cuckoo was always on time; he came out of the clock every fifteen minutes to ‘sing for his supper’.

Sophia came from Naples; home to the Camorra Mafia and the woman she was named after – Sophia Loren. She had a good, earthy-looking Italian face; large dark eyes, thin brown cheeks that puffed up when she smiled, little crows-feet that crinkled at the corners of her eyes, a thin fleshy nose that looked much longer in profile, but almost beautiful from the front. Her high forehead was made higher as she piled her long brown hair on top of her head to prevent it from dipping into the food. Her sizeable, maternal bosom rested comfortably on the edge of the table as she leaned over to eat and ensure that everyone had enough food.

“So tell me miss,” she said in a pronounced Italian accent, “what troubles you have that you come to my Wesley for help?”

Jan put down her forkful of lasagna, glanced at Wes and Amanda, who were enjoying their food, and calmly wiped her chin with the cloth napkin on her lap. Wes broke the silence first.

“Mama, that information is confidential.”

“Oh, but it is only for business, yes?”

“Yes,” said Jan, “strictly business.”

Sophia looked a bit disappointed. “Mmmm…only business. You have a family, a husband?”

Wes interjected, “Mama…”

“My father lives nearby,” replied Jan.

“Ahh…and what is his business?”

“He’s retired.”

Amanda chimed in. “He used to design buildings Grandma.”

Jan glanced sharply at the girl. Wes stopped chewing his food. “How did you know that?” asked Jan.

“Daddy told me,” she replied, smiling at her father.

Wes cleared his throat to answer. “I did a little background check. Yes, Janet’s father was a well-known architect, and well respected.”

“You come from a good family,” commented Sophia. “So does Wesley. His father was a diplomat.”

Jan looked to Wes for further information. “He worked in the Italian embassy in Rome for many years. That’s where he met my mother.”

“Grandpa died,” interjected Amanda.

“He passed away a couple years ago.” said Wes.

“He was such a good man,” said Sophia. Her face darkened and she bowed her head. Then came a moment of silence as Jan surveyed the family, thinking of her father slipping away, and the mother she lost. When Sophia raised her head her face brightened.

“More food or wine?” she asked.

“No thanks,” replied Jan. “The lasagna was delicious.”

“Why don’t we go in the living room,” suggested Wes. “Amanda, you stay here and help Grandma clean up.”

Jan and Wes stood up from the table. Wes took his wine glass, and handed her glass to Jan.

In the living room Jan turned to Wes. “You have a sweet family…and I should be going.” She looked over at the Christmas tree. “Holidays are for families to be together.”

“People shouldn’t be alone during the holidays,” replied Wes. “Besides, we haven’t had dessert yet. My mother would be insulted if you left before dessert. She makes the best home-made tiramisu.”

Jan walked over to the mantel. She focused on a photo that featured Wes’s father, a good looking man, then in his thirties, standing on the beach, his arm around Wes’s mother, both in their bathing suits, smiling.

“I took that photo,” commented Wes. “Nineteen eighty four, the beach at Via Reggio, on the Italian Riviera. I was seven years old. A year after that we moved to the States. I’ve forgotten whatever Italian I knew as a kid, except for a few words: bonjorno…preggo…amore.” Wes looked at her and smiled. “Amore…you know what that word means?”

“What is this, a pop quiz? Yes, I know what it means. You Italians love to love.”

“I’m only half Italian, but the other half is okay.”

Jan turned away from the photos. “So what about my case? I can’t just wait around for you to pull a rabbit out of your hat.”

“I may not be a magician, but I can pass as a musician. I’ll go downtown and join Carter in a little jam session.”

“How’s that going to help?”

“I’m not sure, but he has to trust me. You have to trust me.”