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Street.”
    “Cover the desk,” Stew said as he ran out of the station.
    •  •  •
     
    The rain had just ended as Stew’s police car pulled up in front of Eleanor’s house. He got out of the cruiser and walked past Paul’s Fairlane parked in her driveway. He paused for a moment actually trying to figure out what he was going to do and say. Stew took a deep breath but held it, causing his chest to puff out as he walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
    He waited a moment, exhaled and rang the doorbell again. Getting no response, he knocked on the door. Then, he knocked harder. Infuriated, Stew slipped his billy club out of its holder and banged it against the door.
    Finally it opened. There stood Eleanor barely wrapped in a pink chenille bathrobe and her black mane of hair tousled.
    She smiled at him nervously. “Yes, Officer?”
    Stew used his gruff voice. “Tell Paul Hayes to come to the door.”
    “Who?”
    “Cut the dumb blonde . . . ” Stew paused realizing her hair was black. “Just tell the moron to come to the door.”
    Paul appeared at the door in just his boxers.
    “What the . . . ?”
    Stew puffed his chest up again. “Go home to your wife.”
    Paul pushed Eleanor to the side and filled up the doorway. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
    Making sure he kept his distance, Stew pointed his finger repeatedly at Paul as if he were digging it into his chest. “It’s your goddamn anniversary for Christ’s sake.”
    Stew turned away in disgust and walked back towards his car.
    “Oh that’s right, judge me and then run for cover.”
    Stew kept walking, holding his breath and trying to look larger than he was while sweat poured from his armpits.
    “Come back here, you sissy. OK. That’s it. Just keep walking. You’re going to regret you ever did this Parker!”
    Stew hopped into his car and with a shaking hand managed to get the keys into the ignition wondering if the brute was going to chase after him.
    He finally released his breath, deflated his chest and sped off.
    Paul screamed at the top of his lungs, “Asshole!”
    •  •  •
     
    Vivian stared blankly at the tail end of the Miss America pageant. She tugged at the hangnail she had prepped in Dr. Moody’s office as Bob Russell, the host, stood between the last four contestants. The television was flickering and scrolling and with a touch of the rabbit ears, she could have stabilized it, but her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes focused on the coffee table where the small wrapped present sat.
    Was there an emergency? Maybe Paul was hurt
.
She pinched the hangnail between her thumb and index finger and knew she shouldn’t do it.
There was obviously something Stewie wasn’t telling me. Why was he fumbling so? Maybe Paul was with another . . . 
and she ripped the skin off of her finger.
    There was a moment before the pain registered in her brain and then blood began to drip. “Oh geez.”
    Cupping her hand, she went into the kitchen and wrapped it in a napkin. After blotting some blood away she examined it.
Congrats Vivian. Tore this one down to the first knuckle.
    The pain she understood, the waiting was driving her mad. About to jump out of the rest of her skin, she went back into the living room.
    Bob Russell continued with the television show. “We’re down to our last two ladies but first we’d like to thank you, our television audience for tuning in to the first nationally televised broadcast of the Miss America pageant.” There was tremendous applause from the audience and a quick shot of the judging panel, which included Grace Kelly. “The two very excited and nervous gals standing beside me are Miss California, Lee Ann Meriwether and Miss Florida, Ann Gloria Daniel. And the winner is . . . ”
    Vivian turned off the television set. She walked over to the picture window and pulled the curtain aside, looking out. There was no sign of him. She tightened the napkin around her finger and was