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I didn't recognize the number so I answered it in my official business voice.

"Dalton Conrad," I announced.

"Hi, Dalton, this is Judy Anderson, how are you?" she asked in a pleasant tone.

I felt a little guilty hearing her voice; I had really intended to ask them over for a back yard cookout or something but never got around to it.

"Hi, Judy, I'm fine, how about you and Carl and little Stephen?"

"Everyone is doing good," she answered, "Listen, Carl's sister was over last month; she's the one who has the gallery on State Street, Tracy's her name..."

"Yeah, you mentioned her that day when I dropped off the print; did you ever really hang it up?" I asked not meaning to interrupt her.

"We sure did, it's right on the back wall of our living room, we just love it," she said.

I was a little surprised; I remembered her as being kind of shy in the park, and although there was absolutely nothing dirty or erotic about the shot, it did show almost her entire left breast as well as a portion of her right. I really thought they would hang it up in their bedroom or maybe the baby's room.

"That's actually why I'm calling," said Judy, "when Tracy saw it she went bonkers, she said she loves the way you captured the innocence of the scene; in fact she suggested we name it, 'Essence Of Innocence.'"

"Wow," I said, "I like that."

"Yeah, we do too, Carl is going to get a little brass plaque with that engraved on it and tack it to the wall under the picture; but there's something else I wanted to ask you; Tracy just called and wanted to know if she could display it in her gallery for a while; she'd give you credit of course; I know you don't normally do that kind of photography so I said I'd have to check and see if you had any objections before I said okay."

"Judy, the photo is yours. It's a present, you can do whatever you wish with it, but to answer your question ... no, I have no objections at all, in fact I'm honored," I told her.

"Oh, Dalton, thank you, I was hoping you'd say that. We have received so many compliments on that picture I can't even begin to tell you; Carl and I really want to thank you again, we will cherish it forever," she said with an excitement in her voice.

Up until that call, my days and nights had just run together in one solemn hour after another. What's that adage, 'There's no joy in Mudville?' Well, there was sure no joy in Conrad-ville either, not since I split with my wife ... except for that call. As an industrial photographer I don't get much praise, only money; it was really nice to hear from someone who appreciated my work like that.

Another month passed and things really weren't getting any easier, in fact if anything, things were getting harder. The more routine coming home to an empty house became, the more I hated it. I thought maybe once it was over, once I could start fresh, I might feel better; right now it was a waiting game, it seemed like my whole life was in limbo, but the closer it came to the end of my marriage the more I found myself sitting at the bar in Plato's Place at the end of the day. I've had several friends tell me it's just going to take time; I suppose they're right, but what to do in the meantime?

It was at that bar in Plato's Place that I had a little excitement; short-lived as it was, it broke up the monotony. I had been there about an hour talking to Pete, my favorite bartender, when a guy neither of us had seen before, came in and sat down a couple stools from away. He seemed like the sociable type so we struck up some friendly banter until nature called. As we all know, you don't buy beer you just rent it; I excused myself to my new buddy and wandered to the little room where all men hang out now and then. On my way back I noticed Pete talking to Big John, he's the bouncer and was just coming in for his regular night shift. The two looked like they were in the middle of an important conversation when John caught my eye and motioned for me to join them.

"Hi, John," I greeted him, "what's up?" From the look on their faces something was going on.

"That guy at the bar," Pete said motioning with his head toward my new best buddy.

"Yeah," I said wondering what this was all about.

"When I turned my back and went to the other end of the bar he slipped something in you drink," Pete told me.

"What; are you sure?"

"Yeah, I saw him in the mirror," said Pete nodding to one of the two mirrors in the corner of the ceiling. From those mirrors the bartender could see anything going on in the bar.

"I never saw that guy before in my life, why would he spike my drink?" I asked rhetorically.

"That's the sixty-four dollar question," whispered Big John, "Pete and I were just discussing the best way to handle this; we can call the cops, or take him in the men's room and find out ourselves." He looked at me like he wanted me to tell him what to do ... so I did.

"I'd like to find out what's going on gentlemen, I vote for a little men's room persuasion."

"Then let's do it," said Pete.

The stranger had just glanced over his shoulder in our direction as we all started walking toward him. He tried to make a run for it but Big John was on him before the guy got three steps from his stool. We dragged him into the washroom to, 'talk.' At first he denied drugging my drink, then Big John cracked his knuckles and the guy started singing like a canary.

It seemed the drug was phenobarbital; when taken with alcohol a person tends to get dizzy and sleepy making the person look very much like he's had too much to drink. My new chum was supposed to watch me and I when I started to exhibit those effects he was going to waltz me out to my car where my old friend Irv Peterson was waiting; it seemed Irv was bent on that revenge he promised. Between the two of them I would have been toast.

"What do you want to do, Dalton, call the cops?" Pete asked me.

I sighed, "The problem with that is Peterson will just deny it, it's his word against this guy's, nothing will happen and I'll have to keep looking over my shoulder. Nah, I want to end this right here and now," I declared.

None of us knew, or course, if the guy we caught was an asshole buddy of Peterson's or just some guy he hired, but the general consensus was that nobody trusted him, so Big Jim cuffed him to one of the stalls. We'd hand him over to the cops along with Peterson if everything went right. It was decided I would go stumbling out in the parking lot by myself and hope that Peterson would still have the balls to try something.

I made it look as real as I could; I stopped and leaned against the door frame on my way out, then stopped and leaned on the fender of a few cars on the way to mine. I saw neither hide nor hair of Peterson and thought he lost his nerve but continued my little charade when I got to my car by fumbling with my key in the door lock.

Finally I saw the reflection of someone approaching in the side window of my car and turned around while still keeping in character. When I did he stopped about five feet from me; he was standing there holding a knife; not a very big knife, it was a pocket knife with about a four inch blade, but still a knife. I saw the doubt in his face whither as he watched my eyes droop and my body weaving; a big grin stretched across his face as he took his next step, which put him with-in range. I swiftly advanced with my left foot then kicked with my right, catching him in the chin as hard as I could.

His reaction was typical, the knife dropped as he reached for his leg with both hands bowing down in a forward roll as he hit the pavement. I knelt down putting my knee in his chest and gave him four short right hands to the face. He was already pretty much down for the count, but damn it, this was the guy who ruined my life. I stood and hauled him back up to his feet by his shirt before slamming my fist into his gut. He folded at the waist with a loud groan; I straightened him up and measured him for one more good shot to the jaw; he flew back against my car and slid to the asphalt again. Big John had been watching from the corner of the parking lot in case something went wrong. He called the cops from his cell before dragging me from my intended assailant.

Once again my long standing association with the police played to my advantage; I knew three of the six cops who responded on a first name basis. With Big John as a witness, they arrested Peterson for assault with a deadly weapon. That was no misdemeanor, he wouldn't be getting out on his own recognizance this time; he would have to make bail, and if he couldn't, he would be in jail until his trial. The only thing spoiling my delight at Irv's plight was thinking about his wife and kids; they were innocent victims in the whole thing.

After giving my statement at the station I went home to soak my hand in some ice; it was throbbing like hell and really swollen; I wasn't even sure I could hold my camera for a while.

The next day was Saturday; summer was gone and it had turned down right cold over night; I was in the mood for nothing and that's exactly what I did, absolutely nothing. It's really not in my nature to lay around feeling sorry for myself two days in the row though, so Sunday I grabbed a shower, went down to Denny's for breakfast, and headed down town in search of something to do. More than likely I would wind up at Lincoln Park Zoo but I was still open to other suggestions from myself.

I was getting off the expressway when I remembered the art gallery that Carl's sister ran and wondered if they had my photograph displayed. I didn't know the exact address of the place but I knew it was down town and on State Street, it couldn't be that hard to find; I just wondered if it would be open on a Sunday.

As it turned out, I found it with very little trouble and it was open. I was immediately captivated; the place was big and had quite an array of impressive looking artwork on the walls. Right in the middle of the floor stood an easel holding my photo of Judy; hoping to eavesdrop, I joined the couple people standing around looking at it, but they moved away as soon as I walked up. I was about to go look at a couple of watercolors I saw when I heard a female voice behind me.

"It's an amazing photograph, isn't it?"

I turned and almost gasped out loud; standing in front of me was a beautiful, golden haired woman with striking blue eyes and a smile that would melt a glacier. I heard what she said but upon seeing this vision of loveliness, my mind went blank, so I answered the sophisticated lady in suave, James Bond like fashion..."Huh?"

"The photograph," she said again, "It's my sister-in-law, I think it's amazing."

Her sister-in-law; this was Carl's sister? I retrieved my mind from its maze of dumbfoundedness and actually spoke coherently. "Yes, I agree;" I said deciding to string her along a little; you can't be in the arts without learning some of the artistic colony's psychobabble.

I stood back pretending to ponder the exhibit, "The entire subject has such a fresh, innocent look; I love how the photographer used the low morning sun to highlight the hair; and look how it shines through the fabric of her blouse; it gives the material a translucent look and bathes the focal point of the shot with a warm, lustrous light. I see it was shot with a telephoto, I'm guessing a three hundred millimeter; you can tell by the softness of the background, then the corners of the print were darkened drawing the viewer's eye to the very essence of the shot?"

She looked shocked at my critique; Wow, you're either a photographer, an artist, or a critic," she said stretching out her hand, "I'm Tracy."

"How do you do," I replied shaking her hand gingerly, "I'm Dalton Conrad."

She ferruled her brow for a second; I know she was trying to place the name. "Dalton, that's sounds ... you're the photographer," she divulged with a start, "No wonder you knew so much about the shot," she laughed.

"Guilty as charged," I admitted chuckling.

She must have felt the swelling in my hand; still holding it in hers, she turned it over to look, "Yeah, I had a little accident the other night, it's much better than it was," I told her.

We started talking and I mentioned I saw a couple watercolors I wanted to look at. She gave me a personal guided tour telling me about various artists and who she thought would make it big in the future. We ended our excursion in front of the watercolors I was interested in; turns out they were painted by her father.

"Damn, Carl told me his dad was an artist but I had no idea..." I said letter my words taper off. "Does he still paint?" I asked.

"No, he developed Parkinson's disease a few years ago, that put an end to his career," she said sadly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, he's extremely talented; what a shame he can't share more of it," I said. I looked at the two paintings; I was trying to make up my mind which one to buy; they were both beautiful and just the thought of one hanging on my wall at home raised my spirits a little. I finally picked one.

"I'll take this one," I told my beautiful hostess.

"Really," she said sounding a little surprised, "I didn't realize you were a buyer."

I smiled; "Well to tell you the truth I just came in to see if you still had my photo but these caught my eye as soon as I walked in. I knew I wouldn't leave here without one of them."

She boxed it up for a safe trip to its new home and I felt really good for the first time in a while. It was funny, every time I'd glance at the painting I'd see Tracy's beautiful face looking back me.

I was in a good mood for several days; of course nothing lasts forever. When I looked at the display of my ringing phone I saw it was Jean calling.

"Hello," I answered in a non-committal type voice.

"Dalton, it's me; I just heard what happened, are you alright?"

At first I thought she was talking about me buying the painting but then I realized what she was talking about, "You mean about your boyfriend attacking me with a knife ... yeah, I'm..."

"A knife," she exclaimed, "Oh my God, I didn't hear he had a knife, only that he attacked you."

"Well to be honest it wasn't much of a knife, I think it was an after-thought when he realized his buddy wasn't around; there were supposed to be two of them but we had his friend cuffed to a stall in the bathroom until the cops got there."

I heard her starting to cry, "I'm so sorry, Dalton, this is all my fault," she wept.

I guess things did get better with time. A few months ago it would have torn me apart to hear Jean cry like that; now ... well, I won't say it gave me pleasure, but it sure didn't have the same effect on me that it once did. I knew that a lecture from me was probably the last thing she wanted to hear but I didn't care, she was going to get one anyway.

"Actions have consequences, Jean; because you were too shy to speak to your own husband about your sexual fantasies instead of some asshole, two families have been destroyed. Think about it, not only have you and I lost one another, but there's a single mother out there with two teenage boys who now has to tell her sons that their father will be going to prison; have you told HER how sorry you are, you should." I heard her wailing now, "If you remarry, Jean, I hope you've learned your lesson," I said before disconnecting.

Oh well, that was the end of my three day old good mood.

My attitude did pick up again a couple days later when I got a call from Bel. I hadn't spoken to her since our dinner a few months prior; she was nice, not my type, but pleasant to talk to so when she asked if I wanted to have a drink after work I accepted with a smile. This time I beat her there and already had a beer in hand when she walked in.

"Hi, Bel," I greeted her as I stood while she slipped into the booth opposite me. One thing I learned about Bel from our last meeting, she's not big on small talk; she goes right for the jugular.

"What the hell did you say to Jean the other day; she was still crying the next morning?" was the way she opened our conversation.

"Ah," I had to think back, "she kept apologizing to me; I told her she should apologize to Irv's wife and kids."

Bel kind of reared back; she was just about to say something when the barmaid interrupted us. She ordered a white wine and waited for the girl to leave before tearing into me again.

"Damn it, Dalton, I know she screwed up ... big time, but she is very fragile right now; you bawl her out like that again and you just might destroy her completely," she stated.

"Bel, I'm not trying to destroy anyone ... well, maybe Irv, but he's the only one, but she has to take responsibility for her actions."

"She is, Dalton; I'll bet you don't even know what she told the DA, do you?"

"The DA," I questioned, "No, I haven't heard from him yet."

"And you won't. When he decided they were actually going to prosecute her..."

"They did; I didn't know that. The cops said that was highly unlikely; how come I wasn't notified?" I asked; hell she seemed to have all the answers.

"Because it never got that far; Jean was assigned a public defender, he told her to plead not guilty, he said no judge would ever convict her for adultery, but Jean said no; she went to the DA and pled guilty; the judge gave her two hundred hours of community service."

"Bel, how the hell do you know all this?" I had to ask.

"My fiancé is a Cook County cop, he's assigned to the DA's office," she responded.

I glanced at her left hand and noticed the ring for the first time; I knew she didn't have it the last time we saw one another. "I'm sorry for not noticing, Bel; congratulations," I said.

She raised her hand to give me a better look "Thank you," she responded with a big smile.

"I know most of those guys, what's the lucky guy's name?" I asked.

"Dave Quinn."

"Dave?" I responded thinking what a small world it was, "I've known Dave for years."

"I know; as soon as he saw the last name on the arrest report he knew it was you; he didn't know I worked with your wife though until he told me one of his friends was having marital troubles and we started comparing notes." She took her first sip of wine.

"Anyway, my point is ... Jean could have most likely gotten off Scott free but she took responsibility like you said. She's trying to atone."

I didn't say anything, just sat there, staring into the glass I was twirling around in my hand and letting her words sink in.

"She still loves you, you know."

I nodded my head, "Yeah, I know; and to some extent I still love her, but we could never be a couple again, the wounds are just too deep," I said.

"I know," she said with a small sigh, "and so does she ... and she's accepted it, but that doesn't mean you have to keep hurting her, Dalton. God, she cried so hard after hanging up with you the other day we all went into her office trying to calm her down ... even Beverly tried to help. She was so upset we all knew she should go home but no one wanted her to drive; Mr. Jacobson came in and told me to drive her home. Dalton, she's a fricken mess. When I got her home I helped her mother put her to bed then sat and talked with her mom and dad for a little while; she was going to call you Monday about the fight but her folks talked her out of it; they know how much you're hurting and were worried about what you'd say to her. Of course she called you the next day anyway."

"Alright, I won't be so hard on her if we talk again," I promised.

Seeming to be satisfied with my proclamation, she sat back in the booth and stared at me as a small grin appeared across her face; "Now," she said coyly, "Tell me about the fight."

I had to laugh before launching into my soliloquy; I wondered how Irv must feel knowing there were so many people out there who enjoyed hearing about him getting beat up.

I told her the whole story. "Do you know if he's out on bail yet?" I asked Bel.

"No, he's not; and I doubt that he'll be out anytime soon," she said. "The other guy, the one who tried spiking your drink, he's going to testify that Irv paid him to drug you, so Irv is being charged with assault and battery with a deadly weapon, for trying to stab you, as well as conspiracy to commit assault and battery. His bond is a hundred thousand dollars and his wife won't sign the papers to put the house up ... so, it looks like old Irv boy will be in the clink for a while," she said never losing her smile. "Dave says the DA has a slam-dunk case and he figures Irv will get three to five."

I couldn't care less about Irv but I still felt sorry for his wife and kids. I also couldn't help feel sorry for Jean; as hard as our divorce was on me, it sounded like she was suffering even more.

A few days after talking with Bel I found myself with a couple hours to kill between jobs; I knew Jean would be at work so I headed over to talk to her parents. She had her own apartment but her folks didn't want her to be alone so they talked her into staying with them a while longer. They pretty much told me what Bel had, she was a mess. She went to work every weekday and came right home afterward; she never stopped for a drink with the girls, never talked to anyone on the phone, or went out for the evening; the only time she left the house on weekends was to go shopping with her mother.

I asked if there was anything I could do to help, short of taking her back of course, they said no. They were pretty confident; they had finally talked her into going for some grief counseling; between that and their love and support, they thought she'd make it through. They also expressed their regret for her actions and told me they would always love me like a son. That was nice to hear.

I reminded them that Jean would receive her copy of the final decree in another three weeks; they said they knew. I was happy to hear that they had arranged for her to take a week off from work and were going to take her with them to visit friends in Fort Lauderdale; Jean loved the ocean and the beach; maybe it was just what she needed to kick-start her life again.

As I left I wondered if I should do the same thing; just make reservations somewhere and go, the problem was I had a full schedule for the next several months, no way could I do it.

On the day our divorce became final I worked like a mad-man trying to keep from thinking about it; after work Jack and some other friends surprised me by dragging me out of the house and to a 'gentlemen's club.' The next thing I remembered was waking up on Jack's couch with his kids playing cowboys and Indians around me ... guess who the Indian was."

The following month I received a summons to appear in court as a witness for the prosecution in the matter of The State of Illinois vs. Peterson. The trial only lasted three days; Dave was right, it was a slam-dunk for the DA. Irv was sentenced to three to five years in Danville Correctional Center, a medium security prison.

It was over, I could close the book on that whole chapter of my life now and move on, but how do you do that? I decided a vacation was a good idea; I went home and looked at my schedule again. In addition to scheduling jobs myself, I also had an agency booking work as well; they got twenty percent of anything they listed. Between the two of us, my calendar was full right up to September, several months away; oh well, better late than never, I thought, it'll give me something to look forward to. I blocked that week out and told the agency to do the same; now all I had to do was decide on where to go and what to do; oh well, I had a while to think about it.

Life became pretty drab after that. I'd have a drink with a friend now and then but basically it was get up, go to work, come home and go to bed. I didn't have much of a social life; I hated to even think about jumping into the dating pool again.

As was the normal for Chicago, one day in spring it was forty-five degrees, the very next day it was eighty-two and summer was upon us. Shit, I thought, Memorial Day is less than two weeks away and I hadn't made any plans. I usually had a backyard party with all our friends and relatives but it was actually Jean who used to organize it. My heart gave a little flutter as I thought of her for the first time in a while; I wondered how she was doing, was she as lonely as I?

I guess my friends had already assumed I wasn't having a party, so by the end of the week I had three invitations for Memorial weekend get togethers. Jack was having a small cookout on Sunday which was great because it left me open to also attend Carl and Judy Anderson's BBQ on Monday. I was hoping that Tracy would be there. When I arrived I recognized a couple of the neighbors but was disappointed not to see Tracy anywhere. I walked around with a beer in my hand talking to a few acquaintances from the neighborhood but felt out of place since everyone had a spouse.

Finally, for lack of anything else to do I volunteered to be the official griller; that would have been my job if I'd had my own party anyway. Carl readily agreed, so there I was, handing out hamburgers and hot dogs on warmed up buns to the masses.

I was flipping a new batch of burgers when something landed on my ear; I shook my head and flicked at it with my hand at the same time but it came right back. This time I swatted at it hitting my own ear. I'll be damned if the fricken thing didn't come back. I was about to slap myself silly in an attempt to kill the lousy thing when I heard some laughter behind me. Suddenly my whole day brightened as I turned around to find Tracy standing there with that gorgeous smile and a feather she must have found lying on the ground.

"Hi sailor," she said seductively, "having a little trouble?" She had drawn a small audience who were having a good laugh at my expense but I didn't care, my heart started pounding from just being near her again.

"Nah, any troubles I have are as light as a feather," I said trying to come up with something clever.

"Ah," she said nodding toward the grill, "You should probably turn the rest of those before they're as black as the charcoal."

"Oh yeah," I said blushing as I turned, "So how do you like yours done?" I asked.

"I'm not fussy, anyone of those will be fine," she replied.

I picked out the biggest one and a nice warm bun and handed to her. She thanked me and strolled off to find a place to sit. I found Carl and told him I needed a break. I took a burger for myself and found Tracy; "May I?" I asked.

"Please," she said patting the blanket covered ground next to her. "I hope you didn't mind me having a little fun with you but I had to get you back for stringing me along at the gallery that day."

I laughed and assured her it was perfectly okay; it must have been the first time I laughed in months. As the day progressed that one laugh was followed by many more; damn I was having a good time, I think she was as well; we just seemed to click. We talked about art, Photography, dancing, movies, and things we still want to do; one of the things on her future agenda was the Monterey peninsula in northern California. She had been there as a small child with her dad; she remembered the scenery as being breathtaking and vowed she would return someday.

I was really sorry to see the sun sinking; I wanted that day to last forever. As night fell and the crowd thinned I knew we would be parting ways soon. Should I ask for her number, or just stop in and see her again at the gallery? Damn, I hated being indecisive but I hadn't pursued a woman in many years; in this day and age did guys still ask for a woman's number, or was that too old fashion?

She was getting ready to go and I was stammering all over the place, completely unsure of myself; it must have been obvious because she took pity on me. She reached into her purse, took out a pen and one of her business cards, "This is my cell," she said writing the number on the back of her card, "I really enjoyed myself today; call me if you'd like to go out some time." She handed the card to me and said she was going to say her goodbyes but would see me one more time before leaving.

I did the same thing saying goodbye to the few people I knew and my hosts telling them what a great time I had and thanking them for inviting me. As I shook hands with Carl he leaned in close so no one else could hear, "You're the first guy she's taken an interest in, in a long time," he quietly told me, "Go for it." I smiled and thanked him.

Tracy and I found each other one more time as we were both about to leave; I walked her to her car; damn, I wanted to kiss her, even just a small one on the cheek, but was scared to death. Once again I think she read my mind; sometimes I imagine that's much like reading a fist grade primer; Tracy stretched up on her tiptoes and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Call me," she said as she backed out of the drive.

It was a four block walk home; at no point did my feet ever touch the ground.

The next day I was about half way through shooting my second assignment for the day when I got a call from Jack. "Hey, pal, got time to stop off for a drink tonight?"