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Seriously”
    She looked at the linoleum of the kitchen floor. “It wasn’t for them,” she whispered.
    “That’s right, because how would those…” He thought of smart-mouthed Frank in the studio audience. "…lazy assholes know you went out of your way to look nice, for Christ’s sake? Who cares?”
    She looked up. He was mildly surprised to see her eyes were wet.
    “I wanted to look nice for Byron,” she said. “In case he was watching.”
    Marc opened his mouth. He closed it again.
    It had not occurred to him that the Sovereigns might let Byron watch The Azarrio Show . That Byron might have seen them there. Or would have wanted to.
    She studied him.
    “Didn’t that occur to you?” Her voice was steady but subdued, like she had to stoke up the energy to let a sentence fall out of her mouth. “Don’t you think Byron would watch?”
    Marc shrugged. “Who knows if they even let him watch TV? They probably have him all…isolated, or shut away. That’s what kidnappers do . It’s part of the damn brainwashing shit.”
    Jeri kept looking at him. Marc disliked the attitude he was reading from his wife.
    “Brainwashing him,” she said. “Is that what you think they’re doing?”
    Marc spoke as if his wife was a retarded person. “Can you think of another reason your own son wouldn’t write or call for a year, Jeri?”
    Another two breaths, in and out, until Jeri looked away and slipped past him. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the lasagna.
    “Of course not, Marc.”
    She was not the woman he had married twenty years before. There was little left of the spitfire in the miniskirt he had chased all over the Santa Monica Pier that summer. Something had happened to her, something that made him almost sick to look at her.
    She had caved.
    Every now and then, though, he could still pick up the slightest hint of sarcasm, or even anger, in her mumbling whimpers. Every once in a while, she dared to stand up to him.
    Not often enough for Marc to respect her for it, though. She was too far gone. Too weak.
    “What was that?” Let her try to push him today, of all days. Let her try.
    She kept her back to him while she fussed with the plastic wrap on the casserole dish. “Nothing.”
    He realized he was a little disappointed she had rolled over so quickly. “Right.”
    He was still pissed off from the stupid show. Still worked up. He wanted to scrap, and Jeri was worthless as a sparring partner.
    He also needed a beer.
    “I’m gonna go have a few down the street,” he said. “I’ll eat when I get back.”
    He retrieved his wallet and keys from his discarded dress slacks. Jeri met him in the living room.
    “Can’t you just eat dinner? It’s been such a long day. What if Byron…”
    Marc grunted. “Byron, nothing.” He opened the front door. “Tell you what, Jeri. You sit by the phone.
    “Me, I’m gonna go get drunk.”

From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Six
    Lina scooped her black T-shirt off the floor and slipped it over her head. I pulled up my pants.
    She gathered her bra, panties, and skirt. I picked up my shirt, but I was suddenly lacking the initiative to put it on. I looked at it, there in my lap.
    Lina took her clothes down the hall. I heard the bathroom door shut.
    Alone in the living room, half-dressed, I felt self-conscious.
    I felt stupid.
    I put on my shirt.
    I put on my socks and shoes.
    There. I was all dressed for The Azarrio Show again. Just a little more wrinkled.
    Lina came back in the living room. I looked up at her.
    Her lip twisted. “So.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What was that?”
    “I…” I wanted to shrink into the couch. I felt cornered. “I’m not…I don’t know.”
    “I thought…” She looked like she could be as uncomfortable as I was, except for the residual anger hardening her eyes. “Nate, I’ve told you how…”
    “I know. I know.” Where had I gone? Where was I? “I didn’t…I felt…”
    “You got carried away.”
    She