Her spouse of some forty years had recently passed peacefully in the middle of the night reading a terribly boring book written by some Russian poet. ...he had tried to interest him in her writing now and then and all she got in response was a studied, "Well done, dear!" and a return to his television program. She certainly didn't read any of the spicier sections to him for fear he would criticize and she was far too fragile in her comfort zone to withstand negativity.It was a good thing they had. Yes ... I know..."I had raised a hand and was about to open my mouth to protest, but Deanna overrode me."I know night clubs are not your favorite thing. But trust me. Tonight will be an experience you will never forget. Go with it ... please? I want to do something with you I will never do with anyone else. Please... ?" Trust me. She asked me to trust her. And I did. But I didn't. I mean, I could, but I couldn't – or maybe I should, but maybe I shouldn't. This was troubling.I sat there, staring. More

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