She’d left him a note pad and a pen, on which he scribbled love notes, and occasionally sketches of Catharine. He’d tear them out and send them to...her with his empty meal dishes. He had a small bookshelf, contents: A Farewell to Arms, A Tale of Two Cities, Moby Dick and, last but not least, The Count of Monte Cristo. He felt akin to Dantes, there in his own Chateau D’If, but lucky for Dantes security cameras did not exist back then, nor did sadistic beauty queens with unusual ways of winning. I tried to register in my mind who Joe was. Certainly not 'tough as cement' c***dhood buddy policeman Joe? He didn't strike me as the kind of man who would be gay...but quite possibly-Wait a second, this couldn't be the SAME Joe who got married over a year ago! I looked at the phone number and my mouth dropped. It was indeed the same Joe- muscular, red-neckish, and married to his c***dhood sweetheart-that was 'having fun' with my man. As I pocketed the cellphone, I replayed movie scenes in my. More

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