"My roommate is a patient of your father's," I reminded him, "and she is living here at your mother's request. She's a lovely girl who respects your father, and does not deserve to be maligned by you."

He started to yell, and I held the phone away from my ear. It was only seven o'clock, but John Richard and I were both early risers. The first year of our marriage this had meant lovemaking and fresh sweet rolls as strokes of sunlight swept the walls of the house. Later the fights merely started earlier; accusations came at sunrise followed by the recriminations and my learning to dodge the frying pan: full of hot bacon and grease.

In fact, I thought as I looked around the kitchen while I still holding the screeching voice at arm's length, the first thing I had redecorated after he moved out was this room where I now made my living. I slid my foot against the slick black and white tile that had replaced the brick-colored vinyl flooring. The walls and curtains now glowed with a muted red and white checked print. Think of something else, I told myself as John Richard continued to shriek. Breakfast.

"You there?" the Jerk was saying.

"If you're not going to tell me how Fritz is, then I need to fix breakfast," I said dryly. "Tell me something else, though. Why don't you ever blow up like this in public? Then people would know why we got divorced. Look. You called me. What do you want, anyway?"

"Nothing," he said. "Not a damn thing."

He hung up. I rubbed my temples, removed rolls, bacon, and coffee beans from the freezer, and put my mind on the day ahead. Probably the best thing was that the Broncos were due to play Green Bay, which promised to be an easy win. It was good to have the regular season underway. I disliked the preseason, with its mandatory shrinkage of team size. Getting cut was probably a lot like getting divorced.

During the time before kickoff, I needed to make calls canceling parties and food supplies on order. Talking to the Jerk was like waking up and not being able to shake a nightmare. Even worse, I realized as a sharp pain grabbed my chest, was that the more recent nightmare had come true: my business and I were separated.

I needed to think. Get things in perspective. For openers, there was figuring out what it was the flower sender thought Fritz deserved. Was the flower sender the rat poisoner? The impending questioning from Schulz was another dark cloud on the day's emotional horizon. If the Broncos didn't win, the day would be a complete loss.

First things first. Patty Sue and Arch were still asleep. I steeled myself to make the first call. It would largely determine the tone of the day.

"Vonette," I said brightly to her foggy greeting, "Goldy. Tell me how Fritz is doing."