I never told you my wife's name."Just as suddenly, her confusion melted into the same sultry smile."Oh, that. Jeez, you scared me. I thought you were ...reaking out or something." I'm not freaking out. I want to know how you know my wife's name!" I told you, Chuck loves to gossip, especially about his customers. He doesn't leave out many details. From what he said, your wife would have had any guy in the place running around with a tent in his pants tonight. I mean, it was pretty obvious when he. She had worn a little mascara, but no lipstick. Lipstick was not allowed for today.Dressed and ready, Angel looked again in the mirror, satisfied that she looked better than ever before. And older. Much older than her sixteen years.The group of lads were putting the finishing touches to the room. The windows had been covered in black card, so no-one would see in, and the low vaulting horse had taken centre stage. The lads were all from Angel’s school, but she had no idea who they were. And. She didn’t know how or when it happened, it just did. They fell apart. Her mother understood her and made the effort. One night after her mother scolded her father for not even trying to get along with her, she overheard the conversation. Her father called her a cold child and lamented the fact that he didn’t have a son who it would be much easier to relate to. In his new marriage her father got his wish and they had a son about a year ago. She walked home blindly. She was just an outcast. She. Marissa, the cute, blonde young femme tucked under her protective arm. Marissa, in her short skirt and heels and low-cut blouse. Marissa, who less than 10 days ago had left Vic a note telling her she was moving back with her old girlfriend. That note had been left not 24 hours after the last time she told Vic "I love you." Shit!" The word exploded from Vic. Moved by a flash of anger, she took two steps and swept the picture from the nightstand. The sound of shattering glass didn't make her feel.