” “PS: I am okay,” I added so as not to alarm her. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, the cursor hovering over the Send button. It had been over two years since I had dined with Addie under the trellis of grapevines in the heart of the City of Angels. I hadn’t talked to her since that night. I thought that seeing her might have been a mistake. At our twenty-fifth high school reunion, I had talked Addie for a long time. At the end of the evening, she came over to say goodbye. Rob, her indie film director boyfriend, was waiting for her by the door on the other side of the room. She had already turned to leave when the thought hit me like a piano falling from the sky: “Ask her to dinner, idiot.” I had a one-time-only overnight in L.A. in just two weeks. I had never been to L.A. on business before (or ever since). Addie lived in L.A. The dinner invitation caught me so unawares that I asked without assessing its propriety. “That would be nice,” she said hesitantly. Addie had been. Her sobs were making her chest heave and she held the flaps of her wool coat close to her body, crossways. Her thoughts were bombarding her with questions, statements, what could have led up to this madness. She was pissed, she was hurt and she was betrayed by her own husband. ‘How could he?! How could he?!’ Her brained forced the words at her constantly, ‘Fucking fucker! Fucking asshole!’ The vision of him and that fucking slut having sex together made her feel like her heart had dipped into her belly, and her chest set on fire. She kept coming back to thinking about how much she loved him and she began bawling all over again. She tried to convince herself that what she saw was a dream, another horrible nightmare. A car horn brought her back to reality and made her look to her right. The prick was in their car driving alongside her. He rolled the window down and stared at her. She tore her eyes from his and walked faster and turned a left corner. The traffic prevented him from.
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