Whether they were real or fake, they worked. When Hannah finished, the crowd erupted in a standing ovation. She blew a kiss, took a bow and disappeared backstage. The next amateur commandeered the microphone, and gradually the room returned to its self-gratifying inattention. Except for Tom. Watchful, he worked his way stage right. After about five minutes, Hannah stepped from behind a curtain, and waded into the crowd. Many stopped to compliment her performance. She acted modest, humbly said thanks, while steadily moving to the back. Once there, Hannah stood against the wall, and people left her alone. She wore a satisfied grin, looked happy. He’d seen that grin before, under different circumstances, and felt a pang of disappointment that he wasn’t there to share her moment of glory. Tom felt a strange pride, surprising warmth, toward the thieving whore. She had talent. Why did she throw her life away? A squeaky soprano broke into song and the male crowd cheered. The well-endowed. I was reaching for the heels to slide them on when I heard the front door click open. I hustled to get them on then stood at the front post of our bed…when I realized what if that wasn’t my wife? Panic gripped me for a second time, as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, I heard, “Very nicely done, Andrea.” Thankfully, my wife’s voice. “Thank you, Ma’am.” She sat down on the little sofa in our bedroom and said, “Now come over here and present yourself for inspection.” I walked over in front of her and stood ready as if I was actually being inspected. “Relax, a bit, Andrea…but just a bit.” I relaxed, and I began to feel her hands sliding up my arms, then down my shoulders. “Unbutton your blouse.” I did, and her hands were running around my now smooth chest and belly. Her hands then slipped down to my ankles and began travelling up my legs. “Very nicely, done, Andrea, but what is this?” I looked down to see where I had tented my skirt during her inspection. “I am sorry, ma’am.”.
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