Monday, October 13, 2008

The Class Reunion

I was in my room at the hotel on W. 54th Street in New York when my cell rang.

“Wilson here,” I said.

“You are crazy! What was all that stuff about nude pictures of me? I had everybody coming in here for an end-of-day meeting and you dropped that story on me! Damn, Wil. Maybe I should have sent you a picture so you wouldn’t be making up stuff,” Jackie said, laughing.

“Probably a good thing you didn’t. My fantasies are already in overdrive,” I said.

We talked for a bit, she told me where to meet her at 4:30 PM Friday-- a bar attached to a restaurant in the city near where we both grew up. It was in a new hotel I had never seen. She said they were supposed to have a good crowd after work on Fridays. That sounded fine to me. It might be best if we weren’t meeting in a quiet, subdued place.


I got to my parent’s house on Thursday night. I had checked into a Holiday Inn out by the interstate before going over to see them. We stayed up late talking about family stuff. The next day I went back over to the house in the morning and spent time with them until mid-afternoon when I headed back to the motel. I told my parents that I was going to take a nap—jet-lagged as I was—and then go out with some old college pals for dinner. I’d see the folks again on Saturday.

Since Jackie was coming straight from work I decided I shouldn’t be under dressed. She had her own real estate office, so chances were pretty good she’d be in business clothes. I put on a dark blue suit I had brought for a meeting on Avenue of the Americas in New York back on Tuesday. Normally I didn’t need to dress like this for business. But I wanted Jackie to be comfortable… I didn’t want to look like… well, hell, I looked pretty good in that suit. So, why not wear it? I checked the mirror on the way out the door. A new pale blue shirt and a dark silk tie. Shoes shined. If she showed up in jeans I'd feel like a complete dope.

I got to the bar early; 4 PM and it was about a third full. I found a table near the back where I could see the entrance off the hotel lobby clearly. Hell, I didn’t know what Jacqueline Sampson even looked like these days. Who was I even looking for?

The waitress came by, “Hi! I’m Cindy, I’ll be serving you tonight, what can I get for you?”

I looked up at an adorable olive-skinned creature of about 21. Her name tag said, “Cyndy.” How cute.

“Well Cyndy with two *y’s*, I’m Wil and I will be purchasing cocktails from you this evening. I’ll start with a Sapphire and tonic,” I said.

“Great, Wil! Is someone else going to be joining you, or are you on the prowl tonight like most of the people that will be showing up here in the next few hours?” Cyndy asked.

“I’m here for a reunion, Cyndy, with a lady I haven’t seen in nearly 25 years. I haven’t seen even so much as a picture of her since the early 70’s,” I said.

Wil! That’s so cool! When is she supposed to be here?” she said.

“Soon. And I’m nervous. I need that drink,” I said with a laugh.

“Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!” Cyndy grinned and went to the bar. Good Lord she was cute. In every way possible. Ah, sweet bird of youth.

I was on my second drink and it was close to 4:30. I had begun to size up everyone who came through the door for “could-that-be-Jacqueline?” potential. There was a steady stream of talent arriving. Cyndy came by every now and then to check on me. She simply loved the idea of our reunion and acted like she was on “the inside” of a secret deal. I gave her a little background, and I started to think she was as excited about our reunion as I was. Well, almost. Frankly, I wasn't this nervous on prom night.

I didn’t think Jackie would be coming in with a group, so when 3 or 4 women would come in together I’d look at them, some were quite attractive, but figured none were Ms. Sampson. The place was filling up. I was glad I’d dressed in a suit as this was definitely a downtown office worker crowd. But they looked to be mostly in their twenties and thirties—a bit younger than me. Cyndy kept my spirits up when it was 4:45 and there was still no sign of Jackie. “Another G&T, Wil?” she asked.

“Nah. I’ll just chew on some ice in frustration for a while, thanks, I don’t want to get drunk,” I said, “at least not yet.”

Cyndy put her hand on my arm, “Relax. She’ll be here. She’s probably so nervous about seeing you she can’t even remember where this place is. I know I would be all keyed up. Just sit back and watch the crowd. She’ll get here and you’ll forget she was late as soon as you see her!”

While young Cyndy was telling me to remain calm, I halfway noticed a platinum blond, seemingly about 35, in a light gray suit and pale pink blouse walk up behind her. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was stopping just behind my adorable waitress.

“Wil? Is that you?” the blond in the tailored gray suit and killer high heels said.

Cyndy stepped back from the table and I stood up. “Jackie? Is that you?”

She nodded with a huge smile. I threw my arms around her, we hugged, and kissed each other on the cheek. My waitress had backed up ten feet or so and she caught my eye as I looked over Jackie’s shoulder. Cyndy stuck both thumbs in the air, did a sort of touchdown dance, and mouthed the word “Yessssss!”

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Traveling Time

Saturday night and I was going to bed after taking the kids back to my house-- the house I didn’t live in anymore. Since I was flying to the East Coast mid-morning on Sunday I only had the kids for 24 hours this weekend. My clothes were packed so I would only need to throw together the last of my work stuff before the car for LAX arrived at 8 AM. I crawled into bed and called Jane. Thank God, she was home. I didn’t like calling her on a Saturday night. If nobody answered I wondered if she was out with some guy. We talked for an hour or more. Around midnight I told her I’d call her from the road over the next two weeks. I didn’t need to tell her that, she knew I would. But really, what difference did it really make if I was on the road or home? She was in the Bay Area and I was an hour plane ride away even when I was home. The only difference between calling her from Southern California and calling her from the hotel in Manhattan was the time difference. What a fucked-up deal. After a good-bye that took fifteen minutes I hung up and went to sleep.

What the fuck do you think you’re doing bitch? You’re dressed like a filthy whore… you wanna look like a whore then be a fuckin’ whore you dirty bitch… get on your knees, put your head on that pillow, and reach back and spread your ass cheeks… yeah, that’s a good slut… now hold still while I lube your tight little puckered hole… good girl… now take your hard ass-fuckin’ … that’s it baby, scream for it….......... now take that load all over your pretty face… lick it all up, bitch………………………

I gained consciousness slowly. I looked for the magazine with Jackie as the centerfold model. I had just seen it. I had just seen her in a glossy magazine layout. It was Jackie, except she wasn’t 20 like I remembered her. She was in her 40’s. She still looked great and her ass was in the air. I tried to remember what had happened. I was going to fuck her in the ass, but I never did. I was shooting cum on her face—or rather a picture of her face. In a magazine—Playboy? Penthouse? Hustler? But there wasn’t any stroke book in the bed. It had been a dream, right? In it she was real but she was also a picture. Pictures, plural. A whole layout in all sorts of poses. Dressed for fucking. But there was no magazine anywhere in the bed. There was a ton of cum though. I sat up in the dark, the only light in the room was from the streetlight just outside my townhouse.
Awake finally. I felt sticky, thick cum all over my stomach and on the boxers I had worn to bed. A huge wet spot on the bed too. Fuck, what a mess. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a wet dream. When I was getting regular pussy I never had nocturnal emissions. Hell, these days, with no pussy, I jerked off enough to keep this mess from happening. What the hell? I took the boxers off, wiped everything up as much as possible with them, tossed them on the floor and got on the dry side of the bed. Nothing to do about it now. Back to sleep.

The alarm sounded. I stripped the bed and threw the sheets and crusty boxers in the washer and started it up, the coffee maker was next, then I shaved, and showered. I thought of having awakened in the middle of the night covered in jizz. I remembered the first time I ejaculated. It was the summer I turned 12-- or was it 13. A summer day-- the family had just gotten home from church. I changed out of my Sunday school clothes and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I went out to the living room. My dad was in his chair reading the Sunday paper. Mom was in the kitchen—we always had a big lunch after church and then nothing but sandwiches or soup for dinner on Sunday nights. Mom said it was her half day of rest a week. My sister was probably in her room studying her Bible. She took Sunday school and church pretty seriously.

I took the comics from my dad’s “read” pile. I flopped on the couch face down so my head hung off the cushion and I put the comic pages on the floor and started to read. Read ‘em all, except Prince Valiant. P.V. seemed almost like school work, not the funnies. Peanuts, B.C., Blondie. That Dagwood was one lucky guy—Blondie was stacked, and she dressed nice for an old lady. Apartment 3G— I didn’t completely get the appeal of that one. Three girls in an apartment dating a series of dorks? Big deal. Then I saw Li'l Abner. It so happened that Daisy Mae was prominently featured that day. I was reading the strip, looking at Daisy and it just happened. I got a boner. I, seriously, did not really know the connection between Daisy’s huge tits, round ass, shapely legs and my hard dick. And then, suddenly, I was afraid I was wetting myself. I was not a bed-wetter! what the heck was happening? It scared me. I had taken a leak when I got home from church, so what was going on here? And then it was done. My penis started to get normal again. I kind of rolled over a bit and saw this big dark wet spot on the shorts I had just changed into. Jeez! Worse yet there was a wet spot the size of a silver dollar on the couch! Nobody had seen anything though. I got up off the couch and quickly went in and put on a pair of clean underwear and a fresh pair of pants.

Daisy Mae got my cherry. You know, it served Li'l Abner right—he treated her like she wasn’t even there. One of the running gags in the strip was that she was this incredibly sexy babe and he was too big an idiot to pay attention to her. She chased after him and he ran as fast as he could. He avoided her advances and her attempts to get hitched because that’s what guys and gals did… or something. The natural order of things I guessed. Comedians on Ed Sullivan always told jokes about wives as nagging shrews and spoilers of male fun. So, it all seemed to fit. Lots of that stuff wasn't very clear to me as a pre-teen. But now that I had ejaculated for gorgeous Daisy Mae things would never be the same. Daisy, the buxom beauty from Dogpatch, had opened my eyes. Sure, she was just a drawing, but she had made me spurt sticky stuff from my dick. Imagine that kind of power.

Thirty some years later and I was having a wet dream, like some teenager, about a woman I hadn’t laid eyes on in 24 years. I still wouldn’t see her for almost a week, assuming our meeting would actually take place, and I was cumming in my boxers dreaming about her. At least I thought it had been her—I still hadn’t figured out how she got in a magazine. And, since I was trying to ass-fuck her in my dream, was that an omen? I had no idea. At least this time my poor mother wouldn’t be the one putting my cum-stained skivvies in the laundry. Why wasn’t it Jane in that dream? I had just talked to Janey before “lights out.” I had even been thinking a lot about Kendra Saturday afternoon as I was getting ready to take the boys over to the house. No matter what had happened between Kendra and me, she was prime wet dream material. But, no, I had a really nasty, filthy, sexy dream about Jackie-- someone I hadn’t seen in years.

I rolled all of this around in my brain on the way to LAX. I considered it some more on the flight to JFK. Was this even a good idea, meeting up with Jackie again? I don’t often remember dreams. Maybe once or twice a year I could actually recall in the morning something I had dreamed. I assumed I had dreams but just couldn’t remember them. By the time I got to JFK I had decided. Yeah, we were going to get together Friday, Jackie and me. No doubt about it. And we were going to see just how far Jacqueline wanted to go with a one-on-one reunion. After all, I had dreamed about it.
Riding into Manhattan I called Jackie's cell hoping she was still at work.
"Hi Wil! Where are you?" she said.
"On my way to the hotel from JFK. May I ask you a delicate question?" I said.
"Sure, Mr. Wilson. What about?" she said.
I figured the "Mr. Wilson" was a sign people were coming into her office or something. "Did Playboy ever do an entire issue dedicated to you?" I said.
"Mr. Wilson, I don't know what to say to that. Let me think about that point and I'll get back to you in, say an hour. OK?" she replied calmly.
"Sounds great to me, Ms. Sampson. It was a spectacular layout, by the way. Especially that one shot on the bed in nothing but 5 inch heels with your ass in the air," I said. I caught the driver's eyes in the rearview and grinned at him.
"OK. Very good. I'll get back to you soon about that," she said.
And then the line was dead. I chuckled. The driver said, "Sounds like fun is brewing,"
"I hope so. I'm going to a reunion this Friday. A twenty-four and a half year reunion," I said and saw the driver look at me and furrow his brow.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Danger Close, With a Beer Chaser

I sat in the office trying to figure out how being “such a mean bastard” meant she could “count on me.”

First, how was I a mean bastard? I didn’t dump her all those years ago. I was the one who went into a year-long mope when we split up. Of course, she “could count on me”… that part made sense. People did that a lot. I was dependable—although Kendra would laugh if someone told her that I was. Jackie might not actually know it for sure, but I would have done anything for her from the first time I met her. Within reason. OK, that was a hedge.

As I drove back to my empty townhouse I tried to figure out what she wanted.

Let’s see, let’s list what Jackie wants with me after all this time… she wants to communicate… she wants to talk… to get together-- at least to see each other face to face… bullshit, she wants to fuck. That’s all it is… she’s been married three years after a long period as a single mom and it isn’t what she hoped it would be… her daughter is graduating from college next spring and will be gone away from her forever pretty soon… she’s simply having a mid-life crisis like most of us guys… hell, it’s clear, she remembers our *glorious physical relationship* fondly and, well, she wants to get nailed. It’s simple… she wants cock.

Danger! Danger, Wil! Second opinion required. Apply alcohol for truth detection purposes.

I stopped at The Dume Room for an adult beverage or nine. About three drinks in a guy came in whom I knew from Zuma on the weekends when hanging out with the kids. Kenny's a weekend dad too, which is how we got to talking one day while the kids were playing in the ocean. He was a regular at this bar. Me, a not so regular. An irregular? I laid the Jackie situation out for Kenny, but not with my conclusions attached.

“Congratulations, Willie boy,” Kenny said, “You are staring straight at some smokin’ hot, married pussy that wants to get laid.”

“I screwed up the story then,” I said, “I must have telegraphed a happy ending.”

“Nah, you did fine. I have a couple dozen unsold scripts in my desk drawer so I know a little something about screenwriting, bud. You hid the nugget OK. But, no fuckin’ way she doesn’t want your prick in her again. I’ve been there too, man. That way lays trouble. Or is it lies trouble? Anyway, the bit, um, girl could be trouble. Big trouble. Maybe.” he said.

“Kenny, with that word choice I can’t figure out why your scripts don’t sell. I mean, ‘prick stuck in her again’ -- that’s sheer poetry,” I said.

“Fuck you, Wil,” Kenny laughed.

“See. There’s that magic again. What a wordsmith. Hollywood hasn’t seen anything like it since William Faulkner came out from Mississippi to write for the movies,” I said.

“The same Faulkner that wrote those heavy novels from high school? He wrote screenplays?” Kenny said.

“Fuck, Ken, how do you think you’re going to be a big-time screenwriter when you don’t even know who the greats were in this little ‘burg? There’s a waiter over at Musso & Frank who can tell you all about when Faulkner was workin’ out here. The guy used to drink there all the time for fuck’s sake. I’ll take you to dinner there some night and you can talk to him. Anyway, Faulkner came out here on and off over twenty years. He had this young girl work for him as his ‘secretary’ and he had her wear these little flimsy white dresses and come-fuck-me heels. He’d parade her around everywhere-- Santa Monica, Hollywood back when it wasn’t so seedy, the studios, all over town. Grade A arm candy. He loved havin’ all the movie moguls, suckups and fuckups see what the old guy with the typewriter was bangin’ every night in his bungalow. Did I say bungalow in his bunghole? I’ve had my limit Kenny. Anyway, ol’ Bill must have had somethin' goin’ on too, the same girl was doin’ him all those years. He even introduced her to his wife when she came out from Oxford, Mississippi. And the two of them became friends! That boy musta had some fuckin’ magic, Ken. Good with the words, ya know. Anyway, he kept comin’ out here for the pussy. It's all about the pussy. Always. And the movie money was better than teaching and writing too, I guess, “ I said.

> Long pause for thoughtful contemplation and drinking. <
“Shit. The same guy who wrote those books? I mean he was like Hemingway, Fitzgerald and those guys,” Kenny said.
“Better, Ken. Better. Unlike those guys he had a cock and he knew what it was for,” I said, “Hemingway? Tiny putz-- size of an acorn. Fitzgerald? Pussy-fuckin’-whipped. Totally fuckin' whipped motherfucker.”
“Fuck, I thought I was the first guy who knew this town was built on pussy,” Kenny laughed, “Oh well. We both may be loaded to the gills, Wil, but I know one thing for sure. If you get within a mile of that Jesse chick, she’s gonna suck your balls right through your dick,” Kenny said.
“Sounds painful. But, you’re wrong as usual Kenneth. I would have to get within a quarter mile or so for that, my cock isn’t a mile long,” I said and then settled up the tab.
“And it’s Jackie, not Jenny… I mean Jesse. It’s Jackie.”
The alarm rang and it was suddenly Friday. My head hurt when I got up and made some coffee. I normally beat everyone into the office but today it would be 10 before I got in. On the drive down I called Lynn to make sure everything was fine. Then I dialed Jackie’s cell.
She answered, “Hi Wil. Did you think about me last night all alone in your big bed?”
“And hello to you. Apparently you aren’t currently with a client,” I said, “What makes you think I was alone?”
“You were. Anyway, no I’m not with anyone right now, I’m heading over to my office. What are you doing?” she said.
“Going into the office and calling you,” I said.
“You California types work short hours I guess,” she said.
“Keep that up and I’m not coming to see you,” I said.
“When?” she asked.
“Well, I need to make a two week bomber run out to the field this month and when I do that I usually try to work in a stop to see my folks on the weekend in the middle. So, I’m looking at being there on…..”
We worked out a time to meet. It would be a Friday-- late afternoon. She’d get back to me with the location she selected.
“I can’t wait, Wil. Really, I can’t wait,” Jackie said.
“Good. I feel the same way, Jacqueline,” I said.
After hitting END I wondered how bad it would be if we sat face to face and just didn’t like each other any more. How awkward would that be? Not good.
Then I wondered if I’d still want her to suck my cock anyway. Just because, ya know, just because-- she owed me that much. Right?

Tuesday, October 7, 2008


Several days after receiving Jackie’s last e-mail I was in the office at 8:30 AM. I closed the door to avoid the inevitable interruptions as my crew came in around 9. I called her cell at 11:30 AM her time. She answered and it was the first time I had heard her voice in twenty-four and a half years. I would have recognized that voice instantly if she had placed a blind call to me in the middle of the night. She just didn’t sound much different than how I remembered. Amazing.

But, she couldn’t talk to me at the moment. She was out of the office showing a house to a couple. It was one of those conversations where one person can’t speak freely so I asked her several silly questions and she answered in bright, chipper, non-sequiters. Eventually I said, “How do your clients like riding around in that old, beat-up Rambler?” Her *answer* was “Are you sure you want to make a counter offer on that property Mr. Wilson? *pause* Could you call me back later-- say in an hour and a half— to work out the details?” I, of course, responded that she had to talk to me this very minute or our deal was done. She said, “That will be good. I’ll talk to you then.” And she pushed the END CALL button.

I meant to call her back, I really did, but I got buried in the usual work stuff. Just after 7 PM my private line rang. I recognized my old home town area code in the caller ID window. It wasn’t Kendra, or Jane… but nobody else had this number.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Hi, Wil. God, I’m so glad you’re there,” Jackie said.

“When did I give you this number?”

“You didn’t. I just had my cell phone call back the number from when you called me this morning. They can do that you know.”

“So I’ve heard. It was great to hear your voice this morning,” I said.

“I loved that silly conversation. I was mad you didn’t call back, but I sold the house so I got over it,” she said.

“Good. You know what it’s like—I got buried in junk. Where are you? It’s after 10 there,” I said.

“I’m at a Sunoco station about ten minutes from the house. Told my husband that I was going out to get gas so I didn’t need to in the morning… some bullshit... I can't talk long. Jesus Wil, I can’t believe I’m talking to you. Is this your work number?” she said.

“It’s a private line in my office… almost nobody has the number. I was going to give it to you if you were good— it bypasses the switchboard during the day. So… a husband, huh? Interesting,” I said.

“Second marriage. The first one didn’t last long but I got a great daughter from him. She’s 22 and a senior at _______University. I was single for a long time after the divorce and then remarried three years ago,” Jackie said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why what?” she asked.

“Why did you get married to a guy you don’t love?” I asked.

“I didn’t say that,” she said.

“Yes you did. You just left him at home watching TV or building model airplanes or something and went off to a gas station so you could call some guy from your past that you located on the Internet. That’s not a Romeo and Juliet type scene exactly,” I said.

“You don’t understand. I do love him. I can’t explain it to you now on the phone… but it isn’t about me not loving him. It’s about more stuff… it's not as easy as you make it sound,” Jackie said.

“Jackie, I think the world of you, I always have, but you need to understand this. I’m separated… totally devoted to my kids… I work all the fucking time I'm not with the kids and, I'm also in love with a woman who lives 500 miles from me who I never get to see anymore. I’m not a great guy to, ya know, get back together with…” I said.

“You sure didn’t learn much from our time together. The one thing you should have gotten out of that messy ending was not to have a long distance love affair ever again,” she said with the hint of a smile in her voice.

“True. So what about getting together with someone 3,000 miles away? How dumb is that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I just want to see you. Can’t we see each other again? You must come back here to see your parents… right?” she said.

Long pause filled with cell phone noise.

“I do. And the next time I do you and I are going to go out for a drink or dinner or something,” I said.

“Good. That’s all I wanted to hear,” Jackie said.

“And you’ll explain to me why you dumped me like a worthless sack of shit back then,” I said brightly.

“You are such a mean bastard. I knew I could count on you. Gotta go now. Bye!” she said. And then the line was dead. She sounded happy as could be when she called me a mean bastard.

Friday, October 3, 2008

Return Serve. Volley.

Days went by and no message was received from Jackie. I thought I had sent a pretty good response to her out-of-the-blue e-mail. I liked her approach— kind of breezy, funny even. I thought I had matched that tone and moved things along in a friendly way. I also had convinced myself that she was reaching out
for… something. But, since I hadn't heard anything back maybe I figured wrong.
Jackie was somebody I had never forgotten about, but she also hadn’t been at the top of my mind every day. But now she was. If all she had wanted to do was tease me by inserting herself at the front of my brain she had succeeded.

Days went by and I wondered if I had put a foot wrong with my response? I was buried in work so the days at the office went by in a blur. But at night, when I’d get back to the townhouse just in time for a bowl of Wheaties before bed, my thoughts turned to Jackie. Then, one morning before leaving for work I found an e-mail waiting from her.

Dear Wil,

Please excuse the delay in getting back to you. I turned your calculations over
to my accountants and it took them a few days to get back to me. They agree that
I owe you far more than I had thought possible when I made my original suggestion
for payment in cups of coffee. Silly me. But they don’t agree with your calculations.
They figure it is actually a $796.50 debt. I see that you were willing to negotiate a “plan
for repayment.” In that spirit I suggest that we split the difference and call my
monetary debt to you $1,017.98.

Let me know what next steps you contemplate.

In response to your other questions: I’m great, I own my own business, I’m living in
________, a place you know well. Wil, I’m very glad I found you. It’s true
I contacted a few “William Wilson’s” trying to find you but I don’t think I disturbed
any of them all that much. :)



PS- Feel free to answer some of those same questions about yourself, too. OK?

Well. That was educational. She’s as full of life as ever. She’s doing well—"great" even-- but she doesn’t say anything about her marital status. Hmmm. She’s glad she found me… and… she wants to play. Oh, there is no doubt now, she wants to play.
But, she lives 2,289 miles away. It’s going to take some effort. It’s not going to be easy. But, it might just be worth it. Besides, there was that imaginary $1,017.98 debt. Certainly I had to give her a chance to work off that debt. It was the right thing to do. For her. I'm a giver after all. Yes, she would get her chance.

I considered waiting a week to reply. It seemed like I should make her wait as long as I had waited. But I found no fun in that. She had hit a nice lob over the net. It had a little spin on it, but it wasn’t too hard to return. I thought it might be good to put just a bit of pace on the volley. Nothing dramatic. Just a brisk, immediate response.

Dear Jacqueline,

Let’s just call it an even $1000 that you owe me. I have a few good ideas about
how to proceed with a payment schedule. I’m thinking several installments. It’s
definitely time to push the accountants and lawyers out and have all future negotiations
take place between the two of us.

I’m living in _________. I’m separated with ____ kids. I’m doing fine. I work
all day five days a week and goof with my kids every weekend. I travel 120-150
days a year on business all over the country. I'm either at work or with my kids.
That's my life.



I hit send and left for the office.

45 minutes later I was behind my desk and checked my personal e-mail account before heading to a meeting. Jackie had already replied—it was almost noon her time.


Any way you want me to pay the $1000 is fine with me. I’m up for as many installments
as possible but I could give you the entire sum in one transaction if you’d rather
get it that way. It's all up to you and what you desire, Wil.

If you want to know about my personal life, call my cell during work hours
XXX/XXX-XXXX. My work hours, not your crazy California time. Just about anything
you want to know I’ll happily tell you. But you have to ask.


PS- Do you ever get back this way to visit friends and family on all your travels?