Not really knowing if my instinct was right, I ran to my car telling Ellen I had an emergency at home, which was not a complete lie. My blood was rushing and my skull felt numb. I had called Shirley’s office to find out where she was working, but the best they could tell me was “North Rodeo Drive, where the movie stars live.” That was easy enough to find out, and unfortunately just as easy for Betsy to find out as well.

It was three o’clock and traffic was just beginning to pick up so I weaved from lane to lane, somewhat carelessly, hoping not to hit or get hit. I imagined Betsy telling Shirley of my affair, how disloyal I had been, and for the first I didn’t feel bad for myself-- I felt bad for Shirley. I knew it would hurt her considerably and that was the last thing I wanted. My goal was to make Shirley happy but the closer I got to Rodeo Drive, the more I knew I was doing the opposite. Shirley was about to get her heart broken because of me.

As I drove up the spacious street I saw Shirley’s white pick-up truck with a bell painted in blue on the door. I pulled in right behind her and as I got out of the car, I saw nothing.

Only empty poles. But within a moment of glancing up and down the well-kept street, I heard Betsy’s voice in the distance, “Shirley, Shirley, come down, I’ve got to talk to you.”

I took off quickly around the bend and saw Betsy standing at the bottom of a telephone pole, stretching her neck back. I followed her line of sight until I saw that Shirley was at the top of that pole looking down at Betsy, her hand up to her ear, unable to hear.

“Betsy,” yelled Shirley. “I can’t hear you.”

“BETSY!” I screamed.

Her head turned faster than a Greyhound on a track and with about as much determination. Instantly however, her focus swung back to Shirley and she yelled her name again. Shirley saw me standing there and a smile invaded her face but quickly she knew something was awry.

I wanted to tackle Betsy, take her down, like she was about to do to me, but I knew that was the wrong strategy. I yelled to Shirley, “I need to talk to you.”

I could see fear on Shirley’s face and she screamed back, “Is someone hurt?!”

“Only me,” Betsy whined.

Shirley slowly made her way down and as Betsy and I watched her lean her body to one side of the pole and then the other, I told Betsy, “If anyone is going to tell her, it’s going to be me. I don’t want her hurt anymore than she has to be.”

“You have no control of that Fran.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you can’t control me or Shirley, what we do, or what we feel.”

“And you’re trying to say that’s what I’ve been doing?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Power my friend, but you’re about to lose all of it.”

Part of me knew she was right so I said nothing. Shirley placed one foot on the cement sidewalk and then the other. It seemed like an hour.

I blurted forward, “Shirley, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I love you and I want you to stay with me, but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to be with me anymore.” I paused.

She looked at Betsy, knowing whatever it was it would be bad. “Get on with it.”

“I’ve been sleeping with Betsy.”

I watched as the woman’s heart that I loved broke into a hundred pieces--- and mine right along with her. She said nothing, turned around, and went towards her truck.

“Don’t you want to say anything?”

She turned back to me and calmly said, “Well, I’m really glad you don’t blame me.” And she left both Betsy and I alone on the street, the two of us clearly wanting to kill each other.