His wife, Harry decided, had a voice that belonged on a banshee. It certainly shrieked along his nerves. “Go without me.” Harry took what satisfaction he could out of the image of Marin County society’s own Gladys Morgenlicht moaning above someone’s rooftop and pulled the hurricane lamp a bit closer on the night stand. Damn, he wished the lights could come back on. This close the lamp light seared his eyes right through his closed lids, but he didn’t care. It was a warm, beautiful, light pain. “Harry.” Gladys put a lifetime of annoyance into his name. “You go. I’m not hungry.” “Stop talking stupid. I know – Ow!” Gladys stepped into the doorway, one hand on a hip, the other now shielding her eyes from the lamp light. Somehow she’d saved her favorite little black dress - a Versace, if Harry remembered correctly – along with a pair of stiletto heels that gave her a ballerina lift. The clingy little thing still showed off her figure. She’d kept her weight up these past few months. Unlike himself. Harry’s suit just hung on his thin frame now. Like the night hung on his soul… “For God’s sake, Harry, will you shut that light off and come on? What are you waiting for – an engraved invitation?” Gladys angled her back to the light, hiding her expression. “Now, c’mon…There’s a slam or rave or whatever they call them down in the Mission district. There'll be excellent pickings there after all those young Googlers crash.” “Since when did you even know the Mission existed?” San Francisco’s techie homestead might be the trendiest district in the city, but it wasn’t the kind of trend Gladys’ socialites followed. “What does it matter, Harry?” Gladys took her hand off her hip long enough to rub her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. Let’s just go, okay?” “I don’t want to go to the Mission. I want my sun porch and morning jogs and a well-done steak!” Harry leaned back against the bed stand. Above his head the lamp glow raised a sateen sheen on the crown molding edging the ceiling. “I want my life back!” “Let it go, Harry. The good old days are gone.” Gladys suddenly sounded weary. “We can get past this. We’re a team, remember?” She leaned her back against the door jamb, stared into the shadows away from the light. “We’ve got the time. We can rebuild.” “Rebuild how?” Harry shrugged off the theater cape he’d pulled over his head to shut out the night. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this! It was supposed to be better!” “It can still be better if you’ll just get the hell out!” Gladys’ patience gave out in a flash of white teeth. But she was too thoroughly Nob Hill to snarl properly. She bit her lips closed, did a visible ten-count. “Sorry,” she said when she had her voice under control again. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant…” “I have to go out. I know.” “Then do it.” Gladys softened her tone. “C’mon, Harry. It’s not that bad, really. You can see the lights of San Francisco from out here.” She held out a slender hand. “Come see.” Harry stared at her hand as if it were some magical, mythical creature. He could visualize the lights already, the beautiful, crystalline, safe light. To his surprise Harry felt his tongue moisten. He could do this. He could face the dark if he could see the light. And his stomach was growling … He took a long breath. Pushing himself upright he draped the cape across the bed and reached for the lamp.
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