Free Interlude by Lela Gilbert

small, balding man in his early thirties. Vince had a halo of curly black hair, a cherubic smile, and a nervous manner. Betty introduced herself to him.
    â€œBetty! I was going to call you this afternoon!” Vince winked at her and spoke with a strong New York accent. “My you are a beauty, aren’t you? Jon told me, but I didn’t believe him.”
    â€œThanks, Vince.” Betty wasn’t feeling particularly beautiful at the moment, and she seriously doubted his sincerity.
    Don’t come on to me, pal. I’m in no mood.
    â€œLook, can I buy you lunch? I’d like to tell you a little bit about our trip.” Vince was fidgeting with a pen, trying to attach it to a notebook.
    They left the Capitol grounds, walked past the Supreme Court and toward Union Station. “Vince, do you know a man named Mike Brody?”
    â€œNever heard of him.” He was still struggling with the pen.
    â€œThat’s funny. He knows you—he just pointed you out to me. He was asking me about Jon’s friends in Lebanon.”
    Now she had his full attention. “Hmmm. Must be a spook. I don’t know anybody named Brody. The only friends Jon mentioned to me were the Badr brothers. They were a couple of guys he’d met there on another assignment, from the Bekaa or somewhere. He thought they might help us find some good human interest stories.”
    â€œWhen was Jon in Beirut?”
    â€œProbably in ’82, during the Israeli invasion. But I’m not sure. In any case, I just wanted you to know that he talked about you all the time and was really excited about the wedding. The last thing he said, or shouted as they were taking him away, was ‘Tell Betty I love her.’”
    â€œHe said that while they were taking him?” Betty’s hands covered her face. Her eyes closed. She was trying very hard not to visualize a scene that might never again leave her mind.
    â€œI heard him call it out while they were tying him up, before they gagged him. He was already blindfolded, and he just sort of shouted it toward us. He wanted one of us to tell you.”
    Betty was unable to speak. Nausea was creeping into her stomach. “You know, Vince,” she finally said, “I’m not at all hungry. In fact I’m really not feeling well. Would you forgive me if I took a rain check on lunch?”
    Vince looked at her sympathetically. She was white as a ghost. “I’ll hail a cab and help you get back to your hotel safely. You must be emotionally exhausted.”
    Yeah, and pregnant.
    â€œThanks, Vince. That’s nice of you. Is there anything else I should know about your time with Jon?”
    Vince hailed a cab, and they both climbed into the back seat. “One Washington Circle,” he instructed the driver. He turned to Betty, “Jon just said a lot of nice things about you, that’s all. I guess I’ve never seen a man more in love.”
    â€œWell, I’m in love with him too. I just pray this story has a happy ending.”
    â€œOh, they stopped murdering hostages years ago. He’ll make it. By the way, did you say this Brody guy pointed me out to you?” By now Vince was fussing with a wad of dollar bills.
    â€œYes. He said, ‘That’s Vince Angelo.’”
    Vince looked up at her sideways. “Was Jon messing around with the CIA, Betty?”
    â€œJon?”
    They stared at each other blankly. In some ways, Vince knew more about Jon than she did. The fact was, she hadn’t had time to really find out about his past. They had talked a lot about feelings, but very little about incidents. Maybe he was involved with the CIA. If so, would he have told her? Probably not.
    The cab pulled up at the hotel. When she tried to pay, Vince wouldn’t let her, peeling off several one dollar bills for the cabbie. “Thanks so much for tracking me down to tell me all that, Vince. I know Jon will appreciate it.” He kissed