Robert opened the mahogany-paneled door to his private office in the old City Hall building and stepped inside. He tossed his briefcase onto the couch and stepped over to the window. His view out onto School Street was marred by rivulets of water streaming across the outside of the window. He’d never experienced such a rainy March in Boston.

Behind him he heard his private secretary, Donna, come into the room, bringing his usual morning coffee and his usual stack of phone messages.

“Some weather!” Donna said. Her strong Boston accent made the word sound like “wethah.”

Robert turned. Donna had seated herself to the left of his desk to go over the phone messages, which was their usual routine. Robert looked at her. She was a big girl, almost five-ten. In her heels, she practically looked him in the eye. Her hair was dyed blonde, the dark roots clearly visible. Her features were rounded but not unpleasant, and her body was toned from daily aerobic exercise. She was a great secretary: honest, devoted, and dependable. She also had simple needs, and for a moment Robert wondered why he hadn’t married someone like Donna. Life would have been so much more predictable.

“Would you like sugar in your coffee?” she asked pleasantly. Coffee sounded more like “cawfee.”

“No, I don’t want coffee,” Robert said sharply.

Donna looked up from her notes. “Aren’t we testy this morning,” she said.

Robert rubbed his eyes, then came around and sat down at his desk. “I’m sorry,” he said to Donna. “My wife is driving me crazy.”

“Is it that infertility stuff?” Donna asked timidly.

Robert nodded. “She began to change just about the time we admitted that we might have a problem,” he said. “Now, between this in-vitro fertilization rigmarole and all the hormones she’s on, she is truly out of control.”

“I’m sorry,” Donna said.

“To make matters worse, she’s met up with an old medical school friend who’s in the same situation and who is behaving equally irrationally,” Robert said. “They seem to be feeding off each other. Now they are threatening to break into a health care clinic to get into their records. Unfortunately, I have to take her seriously in the state of mind she’s in. I wouldn’t put anything past her. But what can I do? And, on top of everything, this clinic has guards armed with Colt Pythons. I’m really worried about her.”

“They have snakes at this clinic?” Donna asked, wide-eyed.

“Huh? No, not snakes. A Colt Python is a revolver capable of stopping a black rhino.”