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theGreatxIam

Until Death Do Us Part
Part 3 (of 3)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

Of course, Steve thought, picking himself up off the
minister's carpet. Of course, he thought, wincing at
the tender spot on his shoulder that he'd managed to
land on yet again. 

Of course he would trip over the coffee table leg just
as he tried to make a graceful exit. Of course. He'd
been stumbling for weeks, ever since Paula discovered
him in bed with their nanny, naked and fucking up a
storm.

She had been furious, as she had every right to be. It
didn't matter that he'd never strayed before -- well,
not really, not on purpose, not nearly so, ah,
flagrantly. Nothing mattered except that his wife had
walked in just in time to see another woman coming
while she rode his rigid  cock.

Steve had stuttered through an apology, even as he'd
scrambled into some clothes, getting all the buttons
wrong and painfully catching his dick in a zipper.
Paula hadn't reacted at all, not even when the pain
made him flinch and he got tangled in his pant legs,
tumbling to the floor.

She had stayed quite calm as she threw him out of the
house, barely giving him enough time to grab socks and
underwear. She hadn't even let him stay around to tell
the kids, and when he called them later, from the
motel, he wasn't sure what Paula had told them, or what
he should, so he just mouthed some platitudes and hung
up. For a week afterward, Rick had barely talked to him
and Suzy wouldn't even come to the phone.

Then Paula told him he could come back home, and he
arrived with flowers and perfume. But she was gone,
with a note saying that since he was the cheater, he
should be the one to do the laundry and make the
dinners and deal with the kids. She was moving into a
hotel. A much nicer one than the place he'd been
staying, to judge by the first month's credit card
bill.

Far from welcoming him back, she'd followed up with
notice that she was filing for divorce. He'd tried to
call her, even staked out her hotel, but all that got
him was a temporary restraining order.

It had been an armed truce in the house. Suzy timed her
arrivals and departures to avoid him. If it weren't for
the dirty dishes in the sink and the towels on the
floor of her bathroom, he wouldn't even be sure she was
alive. Rick was taking it better -- at least he was
still obeying his curfews, so Steve saw him around the
house. But polite Rick had turned truculent and
developed a taste for raunchy rap played at
ear-splitting volume.

And Steve could not keep up with his job and the
housework on his own. The kids weren't going to help.
So, though he knew it was risky, he had Zosia come in
twice a week. Always when the house was empty. But he
needed the help, and she probably needed the money.
Paula had booted the nanny out just after Steve, and
she was living with some friends but not having any
success finding a job.

His life had fallen to pieces so suddenly, Steve spent
most of his days in a haze at work -- Mr. Kiefer had
chewed him out twice already for forgetting meetings.
His nights were beer and TV and feeling sorry for
himself. Weekends he reserved for worrying about how he
was going to pay the lawyer's bills on top of
everything else.

It was the financial squeeze that had him clutching at
straws. Paula was putting on a lot of pressure for him
to agree to the divorce and end their marriage quickly.
He wanted to fight for time, but he couldn't afford it.
Finally he made his offer: If she would go to
counseling with him, he would agree to sign the papers
if it didn't work out.

Problem was, he couldn't afford a certified counselor.
They had to settle for Rev. Michaels. He was a
white-haired smoothie who often forgot to get around to
God in his sermons, but at least he was free.

But then Steve had missed the first session -- Mr.
Kiefer wouldn't let him go without finishing the Zercom
report. 

He made the second, but it didn't go well. Paula had
evidently spent the first session filling Rev. Michaels
in on Steve's shortcomings. The minister spent the
second grilling Steve, gently but firmly.

At the third, just ended, Steve had started with an
abject apology and a heartfelt expression of love. Even
the minister looked moved.

Somehow, though, it wasn't enough. Paula insisted she
didn't trust him, could never trust him again. And he
wasn't supportive enough. And he was never home. And
the list went on and on.

The only thing Steve had on his side was their deal.
Only when the minister agreed that counseling was going
nowhere would Steve have to sign the divorce papers.
Rev. Michaels clearly wasn't ready to do that. He'd
even asked Paula to stay after. To take her to task for
being so hard-hearted, Steve hoped.

That's when he had gotten to his feet and promptly
fallen over. He slunk out, holding his aching shoulder.

---- ---- ---- ----

Of course, Paula thought, as Steve tumbled to the
floor. Of course, she thought, as he slowly got to his
feet. 

Of course he would find some way to delay his exit. Of
course. He'd been finding ways to dawdle and delay from
the moment she'd found him in bed with Nanny, fucking
each other's brains out, what little they had.

At first Paula had been merely furious. But, as Steve
had stalled, mumbling apologies and pretending to have
trouble getting dressed, she'd realized something.

She didn't have to forgive and forget. Not anymore. She
didn't need his paltry salary. She was rich. 

Or she would be, once she got Daddy's money. And she'd
be richer if she didn't have to share it with Steve.

So she threw him out and went to work. A quick call to
Jeff confirmed her suspicion: If she wanted to keep
Daddy's money for herself, she'd have to get divorced
first. Jeff was very helpful, giving her the name of a
sharp divorce lawyer, even managing to "misplace" a few
documents to delay the reading of the will and such.
She finagled a few extra weeks herself by suggesting
her mother go off on vacation before getting down to
paperwork, much to the disgust of Ephraim Carruthers
Esq.

But Steve was still refusing to budge on the divorce.
She'd agreed to the sham counseling sessions, but then
he skips out on the very first one, and takes up the
entire second yakking with the minister. Would they
never get it over with?

Her soon-to-be-ex-husband finally dragged his sorry
carcass from the room. Paula turned to the minister
expectantly. Surely he would agree that the marriage
was dead and she could get her piece of paper.

Rev. Michaels leaned back in his office chair, lacing
his fingers over his ample stomach. "Do you know," he
asked, "why I wanted you to stay tonight?"

"I'm pretty sure," Paula said. "You wanted to say our
marriage --"

"Yes. I wanted to say your marriage can be saved,
Paula. I appreciate the effort you're making to work
through your differences, and I'm confident they will
bear fruit."

Paula couldn't keep her eyebrows from shooting up.

"I can see you're surprised," he said. "Don't be. I
often find that even the most seriously damaged
relationships can be healed, if only both partners are
committed to it."

"But, Reverend -- Steve and I -- Well, you heard it
tonight."

"Indeed I did. It was so refreshing to hear someone so
determined to save a marriage that she would lay it all
out in the open like that. You truly impressed me
tonight, Paula. But then, you've impressed me all
along. Going ahead with our first session even though
Steve couldn't make it -- another wife, one less eager
to save her marriage, would have just walked out."

Paula could hardly see straight. This overinflated
gasbag actually believed the feel-good nonsense he
spouted. At this rate -- she had to ask. "So you think
we should keep meeting?"

"Oh, my, yes. We've made progress, but we're not out of
the woods yet. Slow but steady, that's the way."

Paula was getting hypnotized watching his short white
whiskers as his jaw flapped. This couldn't be
happening. "Slow? How slow -- I mean, how much longer?"

"Oh. Well. Months, certainly. Possibly years. There's a
lot to work on, you made that clear tonight, and we
won't have a clear view of the outcome until we've
tackled every issue, one by one. Yes, months, at
least."

"Then -- then you have no intention of declaring an
impasse? Of saying we've tried and failed?"

"Heavens, no. Don't worry about that, Paula. I give you
my solemn word, I will not give up. Not a chance."

He was leaning  forward by then, pounding his fist onto
the desk for emphasis. "Not. A. Chance."

Paula leapt to her feet and leaned over the desk
herself, her face inches from his. "You've got it all
wrong," she cried. "I'm not trying to save my marriage.
I'm trying to kill it. And you're screwing it up.
Screwing it up, do you hear me? You and your happy talk
and your 'we can work it out' crap. I've had it! This
marriage is dead. Dead! So why not just sign a damn
paper saying so and let us bury it?"

The minister's face grew red, but his voice remained
low and he was calm. Maddeningly calm, as far as Paula
was concerned. 

"Now, now, Paula. Please sit down. Take a deep breath."

She ignored his words and stayed where she was. The
minister sat back and said nothing for a full minute,
just looking at her. Paula grew uncomfortable under his
gaze, and she felt silly just standing there. She gave
up and sat down.

"That's better," he said. "Now. Let me see if I have
this straight. You do not wish to save your marriage,
is that right? You merely wished to 'punch your
ticket,' so to speak, with these counseling sessions?
So you could get your husband's consent?"

She pursed her lips. "Yes."

"I see. So all of these meetings, all of it, it was a
sham, was it? You just want to use me to get what you
wanted?" His voice was still smooth as glass, soft as a
summer morning.

Paula stood up. "Fine. Don't sign it. I'll find someone
else." She knew there wasn't time, but she couldn't
stand his sanctimony.

"Sit down." His voice grew harder. She sat down,
warily.

"I didn't say I wouldn't sign your paper. I was just
making sure we understood how things stand."

"But why --"

He cut her off. "You aren't the first wife in a hurry
to divorce, you know. What is it in your case? Lover on
the side you don't want him to find? Got your next
husband already lined up?

"It doesn't matter. I've seen them all. Whatever the
reason, they want their divorces on the fast track, so
they cut some kind of deal. 'Let's try counseling,'
they say, 'and if it doesn't work out, well ...'

"Quite a bargain, eh? Only what does Rev. Michaels get
out of it? A lot of wasted time and effort?"

Paula squirmed. She would have bolted except for the
hint that he'd sign after all. If she could just be
patient, it might still work out.

"Yes," he said, "I've been down this road before. And
you're far from the first wife in that chair. So what
shall e do about it?"

He leaned far back.

"I'll tell you this." The minister looked up at the
ceiling. "The other women in your position, they truly
wanted me to -- well, to bless their divorce. And I
know they did, because they were willing to do anything
to convince me."

He pulled his eyes down and stared straight into hers.
"What about you, Paula? Just how much do you want this
divorce? What will you do to get it?"

She looked into the minister's deep blue eyes and saw
her own staring back. Paula smiled. "I think," she
said, crossing her legs, "I think we can do business."

Rev. Michaels's lips twitched. "When?"

"No time like the present."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He got to his feet. "If
you would ... come this way?"

Paula stayed where she was. "I want to be clear," she
said. "Clear about the deal. It's one for one, right?
One time, one signature."

"Of course, Paula. One for one."

"So sign. Now. And let me have it."

He had been walking toward the door. He stopped.
"Paula. Surely you can trust me. After all, I'm a man
of God."

She didn't budge from the chair. "I trust the god," she
said. "It's the man I'm not so sure about. Put it this
way. I may not think the dealer's cheating, but I still
want to cut the cards."

He walked slowly back to his desk, pulled out a sheet
of paper and scratched out a few lines. He handed it to
her. "Satisfactory?"

She glanced at it and put it in her purse. "That will
do nicely. Now. Shall we?"

The minister led the way to his bedroom. With its dark
wallpaper and brown rug, it was a dim cave even when he
switched on the lone, small table lamp. She was
grateful for the dark when he took off his clothes. She
didn't want a clearer view of his wrinkles and his gut.
Nor did she need to see his leer when she stripped.

He invited her onto his small bed. She gave him a hard
look. "You first," she said. 

When he obeyed, she produced a thin smile. That, she
thought, was more like it.

The minister got on his back, his stubby cock pointing
straight up. Paula straddled his legs, letting the tip
of his dick ride along her slit. She considered having
him suck her, but he didn't look like much of an
expert. And the sooner it was over, the better.

When she was sufficiently lubricated, she put his cock
to her cunt and sat down on it. Rev. Michaels grunted
as she began to assault him, bouncing wildly.

He grabbed her waist. "Slow down," he begged. "Slower!
You're driving me crazy!"

She closed her eyes, threw her head back and kept
pounding. He didn't have the strength to stop her.

Give him credit, she thought: He did have stamina. For
all her pounding, he was staying with her. His fists
thumped into the mattress and his head rolled from side
to side as he moaned, but his cock stayed hard.

In fact, with her eyes closed, she could forget his
looks, and it wasn't half bad. With the right jiggling
of her hips, she could generate enough friction even
from his dick to get off -- which she did, her body
convulsing in a heat of passion.

As the flush wore off, she congratulated herself. But
the hands groping at her tits reminded her that
self-gratification was not the mission.

He was clumsy and none too stimulating, but she put
aside her own desires and concentrated on his cock.
With a fair amount of effort she could flex her pussy
muscles just enough to give him an extra thrill. She
rarely made the effort, but the minister was a tough
nut to crack.

It worked. Catching him by surprise with a squeeze or
two, she pushed him to the brink and over.

For all the effort, he had a rather anticlimactic
orgasm. If she hadn't opened her eyes in time to see
his face scrunch up, she wouldn't have been sure. But
as soon as he came she swung her leg over and slid off
the bed. She was dressed before he caught his breath,
and out the door while he was still floundering out of
the sheets.

---- ---- ---- ----

The morning after the third counseling session, Steve
called in sick to work. It was a risk given Mr.
Kiefer's attitude, but the session hadn't gone well and
he had to do something to save his marriage.

Only he couldn't figure out what. He'd tried calling
Paula after the session, TRO be damned, but got no
answer. He needed to talk to someone who had her ear,
someone who could tell her how much he cared.

He tried each of her girlfriends in turn, but the ones
he could reach hung up as soon as they recognized him. 

Steve looked at the clock and realized with a lurch
that Zosia would be there soon. He couldn't see her. He
just couldn't.

He started up the minivan and pulled away, still not
sure where he was going.

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula flipped off her cell phone with a disgusted
grunt. She had been trying to reach Steve all morning.
She finally got his secretary to admit he'd called in
sick. When she tried the house, she got a string of
busy signals, and now he didn't answer at all.

She swung off the highway and took the side street to
their house. He probably wasn't there, but she had no
other clues. At least she could leave a note for him to
call. With the minister's note in her purse, she was
eager to get it over with.

She saw through the garage window that the minivan was
gone. She began composing the note in her head as she
opened the front door.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she froze. That
sound, that ... singing.

Paula slipped off her shoes and crept into the living
room.

The other woman was facing away, dusting. Paula's eyes
narrowed. "You!"

Zosia turned, dropping her dust rag. "Mrs. Steve! You
come back?"

"Don't call me Mrs. Steve! And what the hell are you
doing here?"

"Zosia dust. I do two days a week for Mr. Steve. Dust,
laundry, cook." The younger woman paused. "No fuck.
Just clean. Swear to you. No fuck."

Paula sneered. "So that makes it all right?"

Zosia took a step toward her and stopped. "I sorry,"
she said. "I know you -- you and me -- special. But
Zosia only do what you say."

"What? When did I tell you to screw my husband?"

"When we -- you know. Last time." The nanny lowered her
eyes. "You say, Mr. Steve, he want to -- to fire Zosia.
You say, Zosia should make nice to Mr. Steve. Make him
not want to fire. So I do. Make nice. Only now I see,
you not mean fuck. So Zosia sorry. So -- you come back
now? All like before?"

"No. I'm not coming back. I'm leaving for good."

"Is Zosia's fault?" She was on the edge of tears, her
lips quivering.

Paula instinctively reached out to her, took Nanny into
her arms. "It's not your fault. You just -- well, I
guess you really were trying to help. But Steve
shouldn't have ..." 

She let the thought fade. Paula reminded herself that
she had a lot of reasons to leave -- millions of them.
But there really was no need to take it out on Nanny.
She should even be a little grateful.

Paula brushed a few wisps of dark hair from Nanny's
face and hugged her. Something long and hard dug into
her thigh. She reached down and felt something in the
pocket of Nanny's jeans.

The younger woman extracted a black plastic phallus. "I
found in my old room," she said. "Maybe I need, now
that we --"

Paula laughed, remembering the first time, when she
gave the vibrator to Nanny. "Remember the pancake
batter?"

Nanny laughed too. "All over! Big mess!"

Paula took it from her and clicked it on. It thrummed
in her hand. "We had some good times, didn't we?"

"Yes. Many good times!"

With a wink, Paula applied the vibrator to Nanny's flat
stomach. Nanny giggled. Paula touched it to the other
woman's arm, then to the side of her breast.

Nanny snatched it away and touched the humming rod to
the tip of one of Paula's breasts, then the other. The
older woman jumped back and put her hands over her
chest. Nanny faked toward them, then reached down and
put the vibrator underneath Paula's skirt, flat against
the crotch of her panties.

Ten minutes later they were both naked and locked in a
69 in the middle of the living room carpet.

As Paula tongued Nanny's cunt, she forgot all about
everything else. The younger woman had learned well
over the years, knowing just where to lick and just how
to suck to keep Paula sailing from orgasm to orgasm.

It had been a long time since they'd used the vibrator.
As the black rod slid into her hot box, Paula couldn't
remember why they had stopped. She rolled off of Nanny
and onto her back, lost in the sensation as millions of
ripples washed over her body.

Nanny plunged the rod deep within, over and over. Just
when Paula thought she couldn't take any more, it came
out, only to rub directly on her clit.

That lit the fuse on a spectacular thrashing, screaming
orgasm that hit so hard it almost lifted her into
mid-air. 

As she came back down, Nanny was licking juices off the
vibrator. Paula took it from her and deep-throated it.
They shared after that, running their tongues over
opposite sides of the slick plastic, down to hot, wet
kisses at the end.

Eventually they dropped the dildo and just kissed,
tongues hungry for each other. Their hands pressed into
each other's slits. They were off to the races again.

---- ---- ---- ----

Steve considered it fate that he ended up heading
toward his mother-in-law's house. It was a long drive,
but if anyone could get through to Paula, Mrs. Noonan
could.

Was it wrong to impose on her so soon after the
funeral? He didn't have a choice, did he?

More fate: She was home when he got there.

For an old -- older -- for a woman of her generation,
Mrs. Noonan was in excellent shape. Steve could tell
that because there wasn't much between him and her
shape. Her sleeveless yellow top hugged her substantial
curves and her white tennis skirt ended several inches
short of her knees, showing off an expanse of tanned
legs.

When they walked into the great room, streaming with
afternoon sunlight, he could see even more. Mrs.
Noonan's skirt turned translucent in the light as she
stood in the doorway. Steve couldn't help his physical
reaction, which he covered up with a throw pillow as he
sat on the couch.

He poured out his heart to her. She seemed very
sympathetic. She even moved over to sit close to him
and put a comforting hand on his thigh.

When he got to the part where he couldn't live without
Paula, he broke down. Sobs shook his body. His
mother-in-law drew closer, bringing his head to her
chest as he cried himself out.

He nestled at her breast, feeling at home in her
sheltering arms. He didn't come from a very warm
family; he envied Paula for having a mother so
embracing. 

When his tears were dried, Mrs. Noonan suggested that
he close his eyes and nap awhile. That sounded like a
great idea. She helped him off with his shoes and
loosened his shirt and pants so he could stretch out on
the couch and relax.

Steve drifted in and out of sleep, his worries battling
his exhaustion. He tossed and turned, almost falling
off the couch at one point. Mrs. Noonan suggested he'd
be more comfortable on her bed. She helped him take off
his clothes, slipping under the cool sheet in only his
shorts. He was embarrassed when his erection became
obvious as she massaged his aching shoulder, but Mrs.
Noonan just smiled and patted it as if it were an
unruly cowlick.

He snuggled into the bed as she puttered about in the
bathroom. He'd just nap for an hour, he thought, and
then head back. He was sure Mrs. Noonan would talk to
Paula, make her see reason. She was such a nice
mother-in-law. She was such a nice woman. She was ...
She was climbing under the covers with him! Naked!

Before Steve could say a word, his mother-in-law's
tongue was in his mouth and her hand was inside his
shorts, rubbing his dick. She was all over him at once.
No sooner did she stop kissing him than her tongue was
snaking into his ear. Her nipples somehow ended up
between his lips. And her hands -- they were fitted
around his cock like a tight pussy.

Her hands were so talented that Steve thought there
could be nothing better -- until she replaced them with
her mouth. She did such wonderful things to his dick
that he didn't realize what else was going on until her
pussy landed on his face. He lapped at her sex eagerly,
diving into her muff.

All too soon he felt the surge within him, and he
pumped wads of cum into Mrs. Noonan's throat. She drank
it down and kept sucking, making him shriek as her
teeth scraped his suddenly sensitive sheath. But the
sensitivity eased into sensuality and his cock grew
hard again between her lips.

They shifted around and he knelt between her wide open
legs. He eased into her, afraid to be too rough with an
old -- with a woman of her generation. That ended when
Mrs. Noonan brought her heels down hard on his ass.
"Don't dawdle," she said. "I want it hard and I want it
fast. Let's go!"

Steve lunged forward again and again, keeping up a
frantic pace until sweat poured down his forehead and
stung his eyes. His mother-in-law was shouting so much
and flailing so much that he couldn't tell whether she
was having multiple orgasms or one really big one.

It didn't much matter, because she kept yelling "More,
more! Faster!" He did as much as he could to keep up.
He was fucking so frantically that he didn't even
notice his own Big O until a hot wave seared his body
and a jet of jism squirted into her fiery cunt.

When it all settled down, Steve just wanted to roll
over and go to sleep. But Mrs. Noonan bundled him into
his clothes and sent him home. "You're a sweet boy,"
she said, "but it's time to go back where you belong."

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula had put on her best red dress and her most
expensive jewels for the reading of the will. It was
time, she thought, to start acting like the heiress she
was.

Waiting  for the old lawyer to begin, she opened her
purse and checked again. She knew it wouldn't run off,
but she liked to look at it: The paper with Steve's
reluctant signature that said he agreed to a divorce.
An agreement that left any inheritance hers and hers
alone.

He had seemed confused at first when she confronted him
with the minister's signature. And he asked if she had
talked to her mother, of all people -- when Mother was
the one who put the idea into her head in the first
place! Finally, though, he had signed. And she had it.

At last the old man began to read the will. As he
droned on, Paula's brow knitted into a frown. It
sounded -- it sounded as if her mother was getting
everything. That couldn't be right. That's not what
Jeff had said. What was going on? 

She looked at her mother, who had a smug
cat-who-stole-the-cream expression. Paula was
suspicious. Had Mother bribed Carruthers into changing
the will? That would be just like her. The minx.

She couldn't take it anymore. She leaped to her feet.
"Hold it! Hold on. Where's my name? Daddy wouldn't have
forgotten me!"

Carruthers snorted and stared her down. "As I was
saying," he intoned. "Ah -- oh, yes. 'In the event that
my wife, Loretta Johnson Noonan, shall have predeceased
me ...' "

He lifted up the page and turned to the next. " 'I
leave the whole of my estate to my only daughter, Paula
Noonan Oldham.' And then there is the customary
language sheltering the will from challenges -- shall I
read that, Mrs. Noonan?"

---- ---- ---- ----

Steve put the phone down and stared into space. Paula
was coming over? To talk? What was there left to talk
about?

He'd signed the paper. The divorce was as good as
final, their property settlement locked in. She'd been
surprisingly generous.

He had to wonder how generous she'd be if she knew
about him and her mother ...

Oh, god. Was that it? Had Mrs. Noonan confessed?

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula almost rear-ended the Volvo, screeching to a halt
an inch from its bumper. She ignored the raised digit
the other driver waggled at her. She had bigger
troubles.

Damn Jeff. What kind of nitwit reads the last page of a
will and doesn't think to tell her? That's what she got
 for taking legal advice from someone barely out of
diapers. Who knew what other crap he fed her.

And Mother! Laughing at Paula's hopes! "Don't count on
any money after I go, either," Mother had said. "I'm
spending your inheritance. Every penny!"

When Paula had protested that she needed money, with
the divorce -- surely Mother could spare some? All her
mother had done was laugh again and say, "Too bad
you're splitting up. Steve's a good man. You don't know
how lucky you had it!"

Damn, damn, damn. 

Paula smoked into the driveway and skidded to a stop.
Steve was waiting for her at the door. She had just
enough time to compose herself before she got to him.

He actually flinched when she went to kiss him on the
cheek! What was his problem?

And when she pulled out the divorce agreement and tore
it up, he almost passed out. It took ten minutes to get
him to understand she was calling off the divorce.

He still looked a little pale. "I have to sit down," he
said, weakly. "Let me -- let me sort this out. You're
really calling it off?"

"Yes." Honestly, he could be so dense.

"Paula, sweetheart! I knew you couldn't go through with
it. And to tell me today -- you planned it all along,
didn't you?"

"Today?"

He smiled. "Our anniversary. Perfect. Let me tell you,
I learned my lesson. I'm you're man, first, last and
always. And -- I'll fire Zosia, of course."

"No, you --"

"Consider it done."

"But the cooking, the cleaning --"

"I'll pitch in. We'll manage."

Over my dead body, she thought. But, wait ... "I know,"
she said. "We can hire my cousin Billy!"

The end