Free Dream Lover by Suzanne Jenkins Page A

trying to convert the colorful area into one in which rich people just like Jack would be comfortable living. Of course, it was too late, the Jewish deli had already left the area and a taco stand had taken its place. Jack had waited too long.
    Although I learned little bits about him, he would continue to be a mystery to me until I saw his obituary. Actually, I missed it, but one of the other bartenders who saw me leave with Jack night after night for years and years saw it and saved it for me, waiting until closing time Monday night. Jack hadn’t shown up and I would have been wondering about him for weeks. He had done that in the past with no explanation, or a meager one if I pressed him. I figured out that he took vacations from time to time. The article that accompanied the obituary said he lived in Babylon. I thought of all those weekends wasted marching up and down Madison. He wasn’t even there in his apartment. But Babylon? Wasn’t it a quaint little village? Why would Jack live there? Wild Jack, sadistic Jack, secretive Jack? His antics would not have gone over well in Babylon.
    But I couldn’t stop from wondering what was there. Well, I would never know unless I spent some time digging around. I had nothing more to do. I had wasted over fifteen years of my life waiting for Jack. I was thirty-seven years old. I couldn’t afford to pay my rent because I was suddenly two grand a month poorer. I couldn’t do anything but tend bar. Could I?
    And then I had a thought. Jack had been a great teacher; he had shown me the tricks of a dominatrix. He kept his collection of devices and magazines in my dark little studio apartment. They were his legacy to me. I could place an ad in one of those magazines; he had used services from those classifieds often enough. I think I just figured out how I will make my rent this month.

8
    B etty and Maggie left Pam’s after the interview. Pam kept thinking of the albino girl. Over the years, she had seen her at several family functions, Little League fund-raisers, and the funeral. Pam couldn’t get her out of her mind. She went through the basket of sympathy cards sent after Jack died and found one she was sure was from the young woman; Melissa McMann. Pam wanted to search online for her phone number but the only computer in the house was Jacks, and it had not been used since the kids left after July 4 th . She picked up the mouse and turned the computer on. After a little research, she found out that Melissa didn’t have a landline. Maybe the number is in Jack’s cell phone . Pam’s heart did a little beat skipping. She opened the drawer of his desk and got out his cell phone. She had never done that before, never looked at his phone contacts, maybe because she was afraid of what she would find. Up popped a couple of hundred names; most appeared to be women. Feeling sick to her stomach, she scrolled through the alphabet to the M’s and found Melissa’s number. It was a Bronx exchange; seven-one-eight.
    It’s was late, after eight-thirty at night. As heat spread through her body, Pam decided to call Melissa because she’d never get any sleep if she didn’t confront her right then. Using Jack’s cell phone, Pam keyed in the number and it was answered right away by a shocked, “Hello, Hello! Who is this?”
    Melissa sounded younger than Pam remembered.
    “Melissa, it’s Jack’s wife. Please don’t hang up on me, I’m not angry, I’m not calling to admonish you,” Pam said, having forgotten that Jack’s phone number would show up on Melissa’s Caller ID.
    “Oh, God! I saw his number! I think I might throw up,” Melissa cried. She had been at the funeral. She had seen his body in the casket, but there was his number. Oh, God.
    “Dear, I am sorry to upset you. We need to talk, okay? I want to meet you. I want to know about you. I want to know what Jack meant to you. But we need to talk about other things, too. Can you meet with me?” Pam asked.
    “Yes, but