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The Marin Family Chronicles--Volume 5-Book 4

The Vindicators by Charles O. Goulet

Chapter One -- Unemployment -- 1976

Vancouver, British Columbia, Tuesday, January 6, 1976

 Bruno Marin was bored. The Mass at St. Augustine’s Catholic Church did not excite him; as he knelt for the consecration, he looked down the pew where his family bowed in adoration.
 His father, Darrell, inclined his head in profound adoration; Laura, his stepmother, who married his father two years previous, shortly after his mother, Magnolia, died had her eyes closed; his five sibling brothers, Armand, Raymond, Timothy,Thomas and James were ranged in order beside him all with heads bowed respectfully; five-month-old Mary, his half sister lay asleep on the bench behind her mother, Laura.
 Somehow he did not share the devotion that his family did; somehow the importance of the Mass escaped him.  He was seventeen years old, almost finished high school, and he felt stifled, confined, and imprisoned by his parents and his siblings. His life seemed vacant and void. He had to get away from it all. What could he do?  Where would he go?  How would he tell his father that he wanted to quit school and find himself?

 Bruno entered the seedy cafe on Georgia Street. He glanced around: a few customers occupied one or two booths to his right; two others sat on the stools at the counter to his left. He moved toward the counter and slip onto a stool; a middle-aged Chinese woman with a white apron around her middle approached. “What you like?” she inquired gruffly.
 “Coffee, please,”  Bruno mumbled as he leaned on the counter. At that moment someone moved onto the stool beside him to his left. He glanced at the occupant, a young Chinese woman. She placed her hand on his left arm. “Sir, can you buy me a coffee?”
 Startled, he studied her. She could not be much older than he; a petite, slim woman with long jet black hair that fell like a curtain around her head. Her face was smooth and fine-complexioned and her eyes were almond shaped, so dark they were almost black. She would be attractive if she had decent clothes, Bruno mused.
 Bruno nodded and turned to the waitress. “Another coffee...for the lady.”
 “Thank you, sir!” his companion whispered. “My name’s Ivy. What’s yours?”
 “I’m Bruno. Do you live around here?”
 She laughed. “I live everywhere? But you don’t live here.”
 “No.”  He did not elaborate. After Mass, he slipped away and boarded a street car without thinking about where he would go. He arrived here without planning it.
 “What are you doing here?” She smiled at him in a most friendly way.
 He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just came.”
 “Will you stay?”
 The coffee arrived. They both added cream and sugar. Their hands touched as they passed the sugar and cream between them. Bruno was surprised by the warmth and softness of her touch. Their eyes met in a smile.
 “I’m looking for work.”
 “You won’t find any here. Are you new in town?”
 “Yes, I just arrived,” he lied.
 “Do you have a place to stay?”
 He shook his head.
 “There’s room at my place.” She bowed her head.
 Why was she offering him a place to stay? What did she want?  He did not have much money. “How much will it cost me?”
 “Not much. I just need a friend...and you’re very nice.”

Edmonton, Alberta, Friday, January 9, 1976

 May Marin was depressed. She was nineteen years old and lived by herself in a small room in the seedy part of Edmonton on 97th Street a few blocks off the main avenue--Jasper Avenue. For a while her mother Pak Mi-Ja, a Korean woman, lived with her after Pak left her father, but now she returned to the farm near Morinville.
 May was happy about that although she sympathized with her mother who suffered her father’s indiscretions and infidelities, yet she understood her father, because she had the same problem. Even at her young age, she knew many men and the thrill of another overcame her and her sexual urges. She was not a prostitute; she never charged for her favors because she was satisfied with the enjoyment she received. Yet she knew she could not continue living as she did.
 She studied her face in the cracked, soiled mirror of the small dresser in her room. She was not an ugly person: her thick dark hair framed her long narrow face with its slight Asian cast: her dark almond-shaped eyes, her high cheek-bones, and her slightly yellow complexion. She liked what she saw, and she knew that most men liked what they saw.
 Her body was attractive too, although she had small breasts and ample hips. She was tall and slim with a flat stomach, long legs and graceful arms with delicate hands. Yes, she had the equipment to get better men than she now seemed to attract. But she had to change her life style: she had to find a decent job and move to a better part of town.  Then maybe her life would be more fulfilling. But where would she start? She had few skills: she could type a bit--what she had learned in high school; she was good with people--extroverted and friendly; she learned quickly--she never had trouble in school; all she needed was a little self-discipline.

St. John, New Brunswick, Saturday, January 10, 1976

 Angele Marin glanced around the table: meal time was always a unique occasion with her family, especially when they were celebrating a particular event as they were this evening--her stepmother, Geraldine's forty-first birthday. Angele studied Geraldine, who sat at the end of the long table, opposite her father, Christopher, whom the family had christened 'Christophe' since his marriage seven year ago. Angele loved her stepmother and the new sentiment about their Acadian heritage she brought to the family.
 Angele smiled back as Geraldine caught her eye and smiled. "Happy birthday, Maman!" she half whispered, but the rest of the family joined in shouting "Bonne fête, Maman! We love you!" Angele joined the laughter and exuberance. Her heart swelled with emotion as she caught her father's eye. He winked at her; she looked down so he would not see the moisture there, tears only a short distance away.
 The past two weeks were heart-warming and satisfying. As if nothing happened, the family accepted her back after her sojourn in Fredericton. Christophe never mentioned her hiatus or the reason for it; Geraldine acknowledged her return without a word; Marie, her older sister, acclaimed her arrival with joy and happiness; Christine, her younger sister, acted as if she never left; Gerald and Henriette, her step-siblings, were too young to understand that she was away. Perhaps if her family knew what happened to her in Fredericton they would not be so forgiving and open-hearted. But that seemed far away and long ago, now that she was home.
 As the meal resumed and quiet descended around the table, talk became more general. Christine, fourteen years old, just developing into womanhood, and not very tactful, asked, "Angele, how was job hunting?"
 Angele spent most of past week trying to find employment in St. John, but no one was hiring. The economy was stagnant, business was slow, a sense of doom and gloom seemed to hang over the city.
 Angele shook her head. "Not very good." She sighed.
 Geraldine turned to her. "Oh...I forgot. You had a phone call today. He left a number."
 "Who was it? Was it about a job?" Angele tried to keep her voice calm and even.
 "He didn't say. He just asked for you...and left a number. It's by the telephone."

Toronto, Ontario, Saturday, January 10, 1976

 Eva Marin studied her naked body in the narrow full-length mirror on the door of her bedroom. She viewed it from all angles, pirouetting slowly as she kept her eyes on the image. “I’m beautiful!” she whispered. She cupped her firm, round breasts in her hands thrusting them forward to emphasize the pink cherrylike nipples.
 She would be sixteen in a few months, but she was already a woman and was since shortly after her thirteenth birthday. She shook her head sending her long dark hair swirling about her slim face and neck.
 “Sweet sixteen,” she muttered. “And I’ve never been kissed!”
 She ran her hands down her slim body to her groin and slowly ran her fingers along the lips of her vulva. The tingle excited her, and she moaned softly.  “Oh! If I only had a boy friend...but Maman and Papa...will never hear of it!”
 Her father, Emile Auguste Marin, was not well; several years ago he had a nervous breakdown and he never fully recovered from that. As a result, he could not work, so her mother, Huguette, resumed her career as a nurse in the Toronto Children’s Hospital. As a result, she seemed to have little time for Eva, as her time was taken up caring for the younger children: Hervé, at twelve years old was an energetic, hockey enthusiast; Huguette, her mother’s namesake, was almost a duplicate of her mother and so seemed favored; Arthur, at eight years old, was a quiet, introverted boy, who lived in his own world; and Jeanette, seven years old, ruled the household with her effervescent, clamorous personality. Eva felt left out and ignored.
 School was always difficult. She struggled to achieve adequate grades, even though she worked steadily and arduously at her studies.
 She glanced at the drab clothes that her parents insist that she wear to school, the clothes that hid her curvaceous body. She whirled before the mirror again. “I have a beautiful body...but nobody knows about it.  I would love to show it off!”
 She struck a pose, thrusting her well-shaped breasts forward. She tilted her head to show the best of her profile--her pert nose, her smooth cheeks, her full lips, her slim chin and neck. “I am a beautiful woman!” she whispered and she ran her hands over her body.

St. John, New Brunswick, Monday, January 12, 1976

 Angele sipped the Coke that she ordered as she waited for Fred Taylor. The small cafe was out of the way just off City Road where she met him on other occasions. She watched as he came through the door, looked for her, found her and smiled. She returned his smile. "He's still a handsome devil!" she mused almost aloud.
 Fred Taylor was a sturdily-built young man with solid shoulders and robust body. His dark, wavy hair neatly combed and trimmed except for a single small lock that curlicued to his forehead gave him a boyish, innocent look. He smiled as he slid into the booth across from her. "It's nice to see you again. Happy New Year!" He extended his hand across the table.
 "It is, Fred." She smiled inwardly as she remembered how he convinced her to pose naked only a few months prior. "Are you still into photography?" she asked with a grin on her face.
 "Yes...that's why I wanted to see you. I heard you were looking for work...and I need a model..."
 "You want me to pose for you again?"
 "Would you? The pay is much better now." He grinned. "I can pay you well."
 "I'll have to think about that!" Her mind turned back to the incident that so disrupted her life. She agreed to pose for Fred, and her father caught them. He banished her from their home; she fled to Fredericton where she met Henri Duhame, the politician. "You say the pay is good?"
 "Yes, it's very good!"

Montreal, Quebec, Tuesday, January 20, 1976

 Nicholas rustled the newest copy of Le Devoir. Since he and Ghislaine arrived in Montreal ten days previous, they spent most of their time looking for a job, any job, but to no avail.
 "Did you find anything?" Ghislaine shook her blond curls in irritation as she opened a can of pork and beans for their supper.
 They rented a run-down room in a slum section of the city near the railroad tracks off Sherbrooke. It was all they could afford.
 "No, but have you seen this?
 "What?"
 "The Quebec Court of Appeal has upheld the acquittal of Dr. Morgentaler...that abortionist...on charges of performing illegal abortions!"
 "So?"
 "Don't you think he's guilty?"
 "Of what?"
 "Of performing abortions."
 "The law's wrong."
 "You think abortions are all right?"
 "I think it's up to the woman. If she wants an abortion, she should decide. Not the law."
 "So you agree with the verdict?"
 "Of course...don't you?"
 Nicholas never thought too much about it, but killing an unborn child seemed wrong to him.
 "Any jobs?"
 He rustled the paper again. "Not much. What are we going to do? Our money is almost gone."
 "You could call your father for a loan."
 "Never!"

Montreal, Quebec, Friday, January 23, 1976

 "Look, Nicholas, I got a job today!" Ghislaine held up five twenty dollar bills.
 "That's great! Where are you working?"
 "At the Cafe Mediterranean. It's not even far from here."
 "How did you find that?"
 "I was walking by...a sign in the window. Help wanted. I went in and...voilâ...I'm hired. Did you have any luck?"
 Nicholas shook his head. "Nothing..."
 "Well...we'll eat on the weekend...but I may have to work."
 Nicholas studied Ghislaine. Her blond hair was phony; her padded breasts were phony; her eyelashes were phony; everything about her was phony, yet he found her attractive and exciting. Maybe it was her falsity that he found so compelling? He stepped toward her and drew her into his arms. She did not resist as he kissed her; she co-operated kissing him wetly as she started to unbutton his shirt.
 Nicholas slipped his hands under light sweater she wore and slipped it over her head, tossing it to the floor. Then he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. His hands cupped he small breasts; his fingers rolled her small ruby nipples between his fingers; she sighed and reached down to remove her skirt and panties. She crushed herself against his body.
 Nicholas could not resist her.

Edmonton, Alberta, Monday, January 26, 1976

 May entered the front office of the law firm of Olivier, Olivier, and Olivier quietly and discreetly.  She still could not believe that she was hired as the receptionist and clerk for this law firm located in the Tegler Building on the corner 101 Street and 101 Avenue.  A week ago she noticed the ad in the Journal and applied in person to the firm.  The past Friday she received a letter indicating she was to appear for work today, Monday.
 The office was quiet and no one seemed to be around.  She stood before the reception desk waiting.
 A voice behind her startled her. “Good morning! You must be the new receptionist?  I’m sorry I startled you.  I’m Arthur Olivier...the junior in this firm.”
 May took the hand that was thrust at her and survey Arthur Olivier. She estimated that he was in his late twenties--about her height, well-built with a firm handshake. He had dark, almost black, hair meticulously combed with a slight unruly wave. He was a handsome man with a broad smile and dancing dark eyes. She was not sure of the color.
 “Yes, I’m May Louise Marin. I was told to report to work today.”
 “Ah...and my grandfather...he’s probably the one who hired you...is not in yet. Come with me. I’ll show you around.”
 He led the way into the interior offices, pointing out the private offices of his grandfather, his father, and his own. He showed her the small conference room, the tiny secretarial offices, and a small staff room. In the staff room he took her coat and hung it in a cloak room. “One of your duties will be to make coffee and see that some is always available...for staff...and clients...but your main duty will be to meet people at the front desk.”
 May felt his eyes surveying her. She chose a simple navy jumper with a V-neck and button front. A white turtle-neck sweater with sleeves to just about the elbow completed her ensemble. She knew she looked modest and discreet. His expression seemed to indicate that he was pleased with what he saw.
 “Come...the others will be here soon.”

St. John, New Brunswick, Saturday, February 14, 1976

 Although it was her eighteenth birthday, Angele felt much older than her years. She accepted Fred Taylor's offer as a model and every day she went to the loft that was his studio. There, in the nude, she spent many hours before his camera. The more she did it, the easier it became, and Fred paid her faithfully every day in cash.
 "Happy birthday, my dearest!" Her father hugged her and whispered in her ear, "I love you...it's great to have you home again. Are you happy?"
 "Yes...Papa, it's great to be home."
 "How's the new job?"
 "I'm learning."
 "What exactly do you do?"
 "I'm learning Accounts Receivable."
 Her father nodded. "What is the name of the company? Do I know it."
 "I don't think so, Papa. It's new. It's a construction company...for the new bridge."
 Christophe nodded his head. He heard that the city was looking to improve transportation. "You like it?"
 "It pays well."

Vancouver, British Columbia, Tuesday, March 16, 1976

 Bruno sprawled on the bus stop bench enjoying the warm springlike weather. Since he left home in January he saw nor heard from his family and he made no attempt to contact them except for one brief phone call to let them know he was well, but he did not let them know where he was.
 Ivy Yeung, the young Chinese woman, was a kindred spirit: she ran away from her family in Calgary and like he sought freedom and independence. Together, they managed to pay the rent and to buy enough food, from the odd jobs that he did, and from her job as a waitress in one of the Chinese cafés along Hasting Street.
 He liked Ivy; she made no overtures toward him, and he made none toward her. Although they shared the same small room, they were discreet in their toilet and sleeping arrangement. She used the single bed while he used the worn sofa under the window.
 More than once he studied her and found her attractive, but they remained like brother and sister.
 Today was filled with bright sunshine after three days of cloud and rain. Someone sat down on the bench next to him.
 “Hi, I’m Renée.” The voice was musical and lilting. “What’s your name?”
 Bruno moved back. His eyes swept the young woman. She had the brightest yellow hair that he ever saw and it framed her face in a windswept manner. Her blue eyes twinkled as she smile. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were so saffron they seemed non-existent.  Her complexion was milky, but her cheeks were heavily roughed and her lips were startling scarlet.
 “Bruno,” he stammered.
 “Looking for some fun?”
 “What?”
 “You got a few dollars?”
 Bruno realized she was a hooker.

Edmonton, Alberta, Friday, March 19, 1976

 May worked for Olivier, Olivier, and Olivier for three months, three satisfying months. Her work appeared acceptable, and she was acknowledged by both the principals and the other women in the office, the secretaries.  Henri Olivier, the senior, a man nearing 70, seemed to take a personal interest in her, which this set the tone for the others. Arthur, Sr., Henri’s son, followed his father’s influence, but it was Arthur, jr. who was the most solicitous and considerate.
 May was not sure of his motives: he was married to a beautiful French Canadian, Anne Normand, who often came to the office to join Arthur for lunch. She always treated May with respect and friendliness, but she was aloof and distant. Today was a rather hectic day with the coming of many clients and many phone calls. May was tired as she glanced at the large clock on the wall to her right.  The day was almost over, and the weekend loomed.
 “May...can I see you in my office?”
 May nodded as she rose and followed Arthur Jr. into his large office at the far end of the bank of offices.
 “May, you’ve been here for three months...Did you realize that?”
 “Of course, Mr. Olivier. I hope I’ve done my job well.”
 “To be sure, May...and please call me Arthur when we’re alone.”
 May nodded. She liked Arthur, Jr. He was a handsome, attractive man, always friendly and considerate.
 “I would like to celebrate your acceptance as a permanent staff member. Would you let me take you to dinner tonight?”
 For a moment, May was speechless. “That would be nice.  Will the others join us?”
 Arthur laughed. “I was hoping it would be my way of showing my appreciation for the work you’ve done. I hope you have no other plans.”
 May shook her head. “No...but...”
 “But what?”
 “Will your wife be with us?”
 “No...I told Anne of my plan...and she endorsed it. She has an engagement for the evening...with the French Club. I hope you will accept.”
 May nodded her agreement.

St. John, New Brunswick, Monday, April 16, 1976

 Angele climbed the stairs to the loft and muttered, "What a beautiful day...and I have to be in this old, dingy studio!"
 "Good morning, Angele. Hurry, I have an important job this morning. Get your clothes off!"
 No other models were around. "Where are the others?"
 "They want you!"
 "What do you mean?"
 "This client saw your pictures...and he wants more of you."
 "What does he do with them?"
 "I'm not sure. But it doesn't matter. He pays."
 Fred fussed with the lights and cameras as she disrobed and prepared to pose. A large bed was part of the set.
 "What's this?" She pointed to the set.
 "He wants some pictures of you...in bed."
 "Naked?"
 "Yes...provocative poses."
 She stood naked, waiting.
 Fred came toward her. She saw that he was wearing a light T-shirt and thin trousers. She noticed the bulge at his groin. She stepped back, but he moved swiftly and caught her in his arms.
 "What are you doing!" She tried to remain calm as his arms wrapped around her pinning her to him.
 "I want you," he whispered hoarsely.

Toronto, Ontario, Friday, June 18, 1976

 Eva trudged toward the bus stop, her arms full of the books she needed for her homework. “Another weekend of study,” she muttered as she stopped and waited for her bus with a group of other high school students, laughing and giggling, as they discussed the activities they planned for the weekend.
 Someone pushed into her; her books jolted from her arms as she struggled to keep them from falling, but unsuccessfully. Three fell to the sidewalk--one a loose-leaf notebook that crashed to the ground spewing pages hither and thither.
 She crouched down, placed those that had not fallen on the ground beside her, and scrambled to recapture the scattered pages.  “Damn!” she muttered.
 A shadow fell over her as someone crouched beside her. “Can I help you?”
 She looked up into the greenest eyes she ever sawn. A shock of brown hair fell over a broad forehead giving the face a mischievous but earnest look.  Eva recognized Martin Hetherington, one of the most desirable males at the school. For a moment, she froze; her heart skipped a beat as she stammered, “Why...ye...yes.  Thank you.”
 Several others joined to help her retrieve her scattered books and papers, but she only noticed him.  She saw him before, but only at a distance as he always seemed busy and preoccupied with his activities. Never had she expected to be so close to him.
 “I’m sorry...it was my fault. I should have looked where I was going.”
 “Oh...that’s all right. It could happen to any one.  I probably was in the way.”
 “No!...no, it was my fault.  I’m Martin.”  He cocked his head in inquiry.
 Eva was tongue-tied.
 “You’re Eva...aren’t you? Eva Marin?”
 Eva nodded slowly, surprised and stunned.  He knew her name. He knew who she was!

Montreal, Quebec, Thursday, June 24, 1976

 "Ghislaine, are you coming to the parade?" Nicholas turned to Ghislaine who lay sprawled naked on the rickety bed in the corner of the single room they still called home. He had to admit she was a beautiful woman even though her blond curls where dyed; her body was firm and trim and she shaved off her pubic hair every day, but she exasperated him. Although she now worked as a bar-maid at the lounge in a nearby hotel, they had no money. She spent most of what she made on clothes, perfume, and jewelry. Yet he could not complain because he still had not found a job, so she was supporting him.
 "No, I have to go to work early today. The holiday...you know. The bar'll be busy."
 "You sure spend a lot of time at work."
 "Well, the pay's good. Don't you think?"
 Nicholas noted the sarcasm in her voice and nodded guiltily. "I'm going to the parade. Suppose I meet you at the bar afterwards."
 "Nah, I'll be too busy. Go some place else!" Her voice issued a warning.
 "You don't want me where you work?"
 "It would be better if you didn't come. The boss might not like it."
 "But I wouldn't bother you."
 "Dammit! Don't come! I'll be too busy!"
 "Okay. You needn't get angry!"

 Nicholas watched as the crowd cheered the bands, the floats, the organizations that took part in the celebrations, and he remembered similar parades in Quebec City. Somehow they seemed more significant in the province's capital. He recalled the many times his father had taken him and his brother and sister to old Quebec. Oh, how he missed those days!
 What was he doing in Montreal? He had no future here; he had no job; he had no prospects; he had no friends; all he had was Ghislaine and he was not sure about her. In the past months their relationship was nothing more than a sexual one. She seemed to like her work more than she cared for their relationship. She was gone most of the time; yet they never had any money. She discouraged him from coming to her place of work. On a number of occasions when he went there, she was not there, and her boss was vague and indefinite about her whereabouts. Was she seeing someone else? That was a possibility. Yet he forgot all his doubts when they made love. She was so satisfying.

Toronto, Ontario, Monday, July 5, 1976

 “Maman, Papa...can I go to work?”  Eva’s eyes moved from one parent to the other as they sat around the supper table.  They came to rest on her mother.
 “What kind of work?” Her mother’s voice was disapproving and annoyed.
 “At A and W. It’s a good job and it would be fun...just for the summer.”
 “You would be a waitress?”
 “Yes...”
 Emile Marin stared at his daughter.  “Jobs are hard to find. Why do you say at A and W?”
 “A friend at school works there. He could get me a job.”
 “What makes you so sure of that?”  Her mother’s voice was disapproving and suspicious.
 “He’s the assistant manager...and he’s sure I will be hired.”
 “And you want to work...at...this...kind of job?”
 “Papa...it would be fun...for the summer...and I could make a little spending money.”
 “Who is this friend?” Her mother’s voice vibrated with anger and annoyance.
 “Can we meet him?” Her father was calm and careful.
 Eva was surprised. Because her father was usually the one who was pessimistic and negative.
 “Bring him home!” Her mother’s voice was final and autocratic.

Montreal, Quebec, Saturday, July 17, 1976

 "Nicholas! I'm going to the opening! Are you coming?"
 "No...who the hell wants to listen to the queen?"
 "It's not the queen! It's the Olympics; it's the new stadium; it'll never happen again. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity."
 "Who cares? It's a big phony show for the rich...and the English."
 "Nicholas, that's not true. It's a Quebec event. It's our chance to show the world what Quebecers can do."
 "I don't want to go. That's all! Are you going like that?" He surveyed Ghislaine. Her blonde hair had just been re-dyed. Her lips were bright red, while her eyes were blue with eye-shadow. She wore a tight sweater that emphasized her padded breasts and her mini-skirt showed more than it covered. Her legs were bare and she wore high-heeled blue pumps. She looks like a whore, he mused. "Are you going like that?"
 "What do you mean?"
 "Look at you! You look like a two-bit whore!"
 "I like the way I look." She turned her back to him and wiggled her posterior provocatively. "Don't you like that?" she sneered.
 "Ghislaine! I'm leaving! I'm going back to Quebec."
 "You're what?"
 "I'm going back to Quebec. There's no future here."
 "And you're leaving me here?"
 "That's up to you. If you want to come, you can. If you want to stay, you can, but I've decided. I'm leaving!"
 She turned toward him, struck her face into his and shouted, "You can't leave me, you son-of-a-bitch! I won't let you! You belong to me!" She shook her right index finger in his face. "I won't let you go."
 "And how do you propose to stop me?" Nicholas laughed.
 "Remember...my brothers are in town...for the Olympics. They won't let you leave."
 "Ghislaine, what the hell are you talking about? Are you threatening me?"
 "All I have to do is tell them to take care of you...and you're finished," she scoffed. "They'll never let you leave me...unless I want to let you go."

Toronto, Ontario, Friday, August 6, 1976

 Friday night was always busy at the A and W on Toronto’s Bloor Street, and tonight was no exception. Eva was tired and looked forward to closing time, which would be in ten minutes. Only she and Martin Hetherington were left to close up. She sighed as the lights of the signs went out,and Martin beckoned to her.
 “That’s it, Eva. Are you tired?”
 She nodded as she locked the door to the parking lot. The only lights now in the small building were those to the back rooms where the staff were allowed.
 “Can you help me here?” Martin handed her a cleaning cloth, and their hands touched. A spark of static electricity shocked both of them and they jerked apart.
 “Wow!” Martin muttered, “We’re electric!”
 Eva was not sure what he meant by that. But the next moment, she felt his arms around her and his lips finding hers. Surprised, she accepted his kiss and reciprocated.

Edmonton, Alberta, Monday, August 9, 1976

 May surveyed her new habitation. It was a beautiful apartment in a new high-rise overlooking the North Saskatchewan River. Furnished tastefully with a modern motif, leather and glass furniture, light and creamy in color, it looked luxurious. And it was hers. She still could not believe it.
 Since becoming Arthur Henri Jr.’s mistress, she could not believe the change in her life. She now had a beautiful apartment, fashionable clothes, frequent trips out of town, for trysts with him. And she was sure she was in love.
 Arthur was always solicitous and considerate although secretive and discreet. She was sure that no one knew of her relationship with him. At the office, he was always businesslike and distant, careful to hide their affiliation. Only when they were alone, did his tender, passionate nature show itself.
 “Do you like it?”
 May flung her arms around his neck and kissed him vigorously. “Darling, I love it!”

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