Jeannette touched up her lipstick, pouted at the mirror and tossed her hair with her trademark swish, grabbed her purse and walked quickly through the massive house to the front drive. Clifford was just loading his golf clubs into the back of his Porche when she stepped into the warm sunshine. His shrimp coloured shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of blindingly white pants that matched the cap on his head. Aviator glasses completed his look as he turned to face her coming across the drive.

"Morning. Didn't wake you did I?" Solicitously insincere.

"No, I have meetings all morning and maybe this afternoon as well. Can you manage lunch okay?"

"I'll be eating with the guys at the golf course. Might even run into dinner. A problem?"

"No, I guess not." She opened the door of her car and slid behind the wheel. "Have fun."

He slammed his trunk lid and waved casually as she backed out of the drive and drove down the street. "Later."

Clifford Whyst was retired from business . . . the business of having to work, leaving him all the time he wanted to pursue his sole passion and career-- golf. His family had more money than the town's coffers, which allowed Clifford all the leisure time he wanted. They lived across the country on another coast, an alien planet from Santa Gordo, and paid little attention to his activities. If he asked for money he got it. If he spent it, he asked for more and got it. The family wouldn't run out if they had a dozen little Cliffords.

He revved the Porche and slammed it into gear, leaving a stain of rubber on the white cement drive. It was his defiant, petty gesture toward his wife over her endless meetings. It never occurred to him that his golf was equally, if not more, a divisive contribution to their platonic marriage.

A soon to be forgotten friend had wangled a spot on board for her as a hostess on a New Year's Eve golf cruise and Jeannette, licking her luscious lips over her good fortune, immediately aimed all guns at the man with the most money. Her faux interest in his golf, when she found him putting on the aft deck, had served her well in bringing them together during the voyage and with relative ease she maneuvered him into her bed and herself into his life.

With an impulsive shipboard wedding just too romantic to resist, particularly with over three thousand guests wildly cheering the lucky couple from every deck of the huge boat, Jeannette pulled the lever on her trap and the somewhat pleasantly stunned Clifford Whyst had a new wife.

She had landed one of the largest fish in a pond filled with the social elite, miles from what she considered her jerk-town roots, breathing deeply with pride at how she had parlayed a church scam into a new life and a new name. In the days following the euphoria of the event, when Jeannette moved into his house and began reorganizing to her taste, a realization settled on Clifford that what they had done was not all that responsible.

It wasn't that big a deal really; the marriage didn't affect his goals or lifestyle and in fact, provided a small advantage—a domestic stability for Clifford that gave his family a dollop of relief. As for Jeannette, she secured the financial independence she craved.

He raced through the streets to the highway and then let his machine take over, exceeding even the most generous limits of the highway act. Jeannette headed the other way into the downtown traffic of a busy workday where the bulk of the commerce was directed at tourists and corporate conventions.

Her first stop was at the Mayor's office to firm up times and attendees to the party she was hosting for the new Mayor. Lists were traded. Times confirmed. Outfits discussed and rumours elaborated. Next she visited the caterer who would be designing the food and drink for the evening. Once again lists traded. Times confirmed and more rumours discussed.

Finally she fell into her office chair in the Chamber of Commerce and faced a heaping in-tray of letters and memos, an intrusion on her thoughts of 'handling' the Mayor.

"Roger can you come in for a minute, please."

He did. Fussing as usual with his suspenders, he came to stand in front of her desk and had to move to one side to see past the vase of cut flowers sent by the new Colonial Palm Hotel for her personal testimonial in the county magazine. He noted it was signed by Hiram Belvedere and not just the manager.

"Roger, I think the reason you have the position of second chair on the board is because it was expected that you would make decisions on many of these items of correspondence." She slapped the pile in her tray.

"Nobody supports my decisions." He pouted.

"Now, Roger, that's not true. Many of your decisions have been adopted by the board."

"I've only made three. Two of those you vetoed."

"I'm sure you've contributed more than that. At any rate," she quickly shifted gears, "I am just too busy to work through this pile and I want you to go over them and make those tough decisions. You can do it, Roger." She practically cheered her own speech.

Roger gathered the mess from the basket and hurried out.

"Good." She picked up the phone and placed a long distance call, tapping her nails on the arm of her chair while she waited.

"Mitch Houser."

"Mitch, it's, Jeannette."

"Jeannette, hi. How's the sexiest woman in Santa Gordo?" The leer was almost tangible over the line.

"Just called to confirm your booking at the Posada de Jardines Friday night."

"Great. You going to check me in?" A very lewd laugh.

"I think your wife can manage that, Mitch. See you Friday, and Mitch, please behave."

"Will it behoove me to behave?"

"I think de-hooving you would be more productive."

"Oh a satyr-ic reference. I like it."

"Bye, Mitch."

She placed another call and reached the second couple who would inform the third and Friday was settled. Jeannette sighed and smiled at how quickly she accomplished those tasks. She peeked out to see if Roger was lurking and she took a moment to recall the surprise embrace from Gordon the previous night.

He had a naïve charm about him that sparked her interest and with Clifford wedded to his golf clubs and the 'Guys' at the club, her time was virtually her own. She drummed a long finger against her lips and mused about pursuing another new course in her extracurricular recreational activities.