It was a slow night at The Pussycat that night being a weeknight. A few guys were sitting at the bar nursing their drinks and watching the girls with ...aded, tired eyes. It was a small dump of a place, dark with a rounded bar, glasses hanging from the ceiling. Imbedded in the counter of the bar were quarters under plexi-glass. You could see how drunks would try and pry them out at times. In the front window was a neon sign of a pink cat in a rhinestone collar. There were a few small tables on. I confess Iwas not a good wife. I was demanding, jealous, and smothering. I should nothave been surprised that the useless prick took refuge in the panties of hisbrainless, buxom secretary, then left me for her.I cried non-stopfor 10 days. When I stopped crying, I dried my eyes and resolved I would neverbe hurt again. With a ruthlesspassion I focused on property investment and became damn good at it. I did notallow myself to have private life; as to do so would leave me vulnerable. Oh, Ihad a. More

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