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  that might indicate senility, memory loss, or deterioration in mental functioning?"

  Linda felt herself recoiling from Malcolm's nephew. She regretted even more having agreed to attend the next symphony concert.

  "He's certainly not concerned with Malcolm's well being," she concluded.

  "Malcolm hasn't changed one iota over the last ten years," she testified. "He's always been concerned about his animals, gives them the very best of care, and makes wise decisions about their health."

  Lorne did not seem pleased at all by her answers.

  "What about this last incident? Swimming out into frigid water to separate two dogs doesn't seem very wise to me."

  "Malcolm is the most responsible person I know in all relations with his friends," Linda testified. "He thought he was to blame by bringing an untrained dog to the dog park and was just doing what he thought it was his responsibility to do."

  Fortunately the waiter interrupted the conversation with the bill. Linda was about to go back on her agreement to attend the concert with Lorne. However Lorne sensed her displeasure and switched back to talking about the local arts and culture scene, a topic that he sensed Linda was very interested in.

  "Some desert, Linda, or another cup of coffee?"

  Linda glanced at her watch, put down her knife and fork and stood up.

  "I'm sorry, I'm going to be late for an appointment. Thank you for the lunch."

  "I'll pick you up on Friday at 6:30 p.m."

  "Thanks." Linda decided to give Malcolm's nephew another chance. "Perhaps he is just concerned about Malcolm," she decided.

  Linda accepted Lorne Brook's quick kiss on her cheek and left the area.

  "She's too loyal to Malcolm," Lorne decided. "Maybe I'd be better talking to that latest girlfriend of his, Monica Mason, I think her name is. A no-brainer if there ever was one. The Montgomery Agency, I think she said she's with."

  Lorne pulled out his cell phone and got the number of her modelling agency. He gave the name of a fictitious magazine to the modelling agency, mentioned Monica Mason, a possible article and procured her cell phone number.

  "Monica?" he questioned as Malcolm's current girlfriend answered his ring.

  "This is Lorne Brooks, Malcolm's nephew. Would you like to attend the world championship boxing match with me next Saturday? I've managed to get two tickets for it."

  Monica screamed.

  "The championship. However did you get tickets?"

  "A scalper." Lorne realised it was going to cost him plenty to procure the tickets.

  He hung up the phone in a very positive mood.

  "One of those ladies, I'm sure, can give me the dirt on Malcolm I need," he sighed. "I'm going to be sixty-three years old soon and it's about time I got my chance to be the President of Brooks Enterprises."

  CHAPTER 5.

  Bea and Turk.

  Bea Broughton smiled to herself as Turk O'Brien's flashy, high speed sports car followed her classic Acura into her driveway.

  "I'm in the lead," she thought. "I've managed to lure one of the eligible singles to my house. The spinal cord injury research fund can really use the money from the wager."

  Bea opened her attached garage with her remote and drove into it. She waited as Turk jumped out of his car and opened the door of her car for her.

  "My Goodness. That good looking man is a gentleman."

  Bea moved out from behind her steering wheel and using her cane walked over and opened the door to the back yard. Her Pomeranian, Angus, rushed into it as he always did. The next door neighbour's large grey and white, Persian cat, Mistletoe, had a habit of sunning itself on the playground that Bea kept in her backyard for her grandchildren and Angus always expected to find the cat there.

  A loud barking barrage let Bea know that Mistletoe was indeed present. She smiled as Turk let Trump and Dogzilla out of the backseat and they bolted for the open door to the back yard to find out the source of the barking. A sharp yelp let Bea know that one of the canines had encountered Mistletoe's sharp claws. The large cat was not one to run from a threat.

  "The neighbour's cat," Bea explained. "We'll let the animals sort themselves out, shall we?"

  "Good idea!"

  A hail of barks, hisses and loud meows let Bea and Turk know that the animals were indeed doing just that.

  "Would you care for a cool drink, Turk?" Bea invited. She enjoyed the man's surprised look.

  "Thanks, I would."

  Turk followed Bea through a side door and into her modern kitchen. He noted that it was neat as a pin and he marvelled at the number of pots and pans and other culinary objects that were present hanging on the walls and on shelves.

  "You love to cook?"

  "I used to. Seems problematic now, though, with my husband gone.'

  "Too much food?"

  "Yes. Even if I freeze it I never seem to want to eat it."

  "I understand. I use restaurants a lot, myself."

  Bea motioned Turk to come into her living room. He entered and marvelled again at the tasteful antique furniture and art objects neatly arranged in the living/dining area. Bea's three university degrees were in frames on the wall. He felt oddly out of place amongst the display of degrees, fine china and artifacts from around the world.

  "This is a very educated and sophisticated lady," he concluded, feeling intimidated. "She's a beaut, too."

  He glanced down at the coffee table and did a double take at what he saw. A sales brochure for a luxury care home was open on the table. Turk felt himself reacting with anger. The brochure pushed one of his buttons.

  "Why is that there?" he demanded.

  "My son and daughter-in-law, I'm afraid. They think the house is too much for me and want me to sell it and move into an assisted care facility."

  "You're much too alive, young and vibrant for that if you ask me."

  Turk sat down rather hesitantly on one of the antique chairs. It creaked a bit. Bea looked a bit apprehensive.

  "Do relax on that lounger, Turk. I'm afraid these old chairs might not be up to a man of your size."

  Turk moved to a comfortable lounger by the television set.

  "Wine, or Ale?"

  Turk was surprised that Bea had his favourite drink on hand.

  "Ale would be great, thanks."

  Turk watched as Bea went into the kitchen area and returned with a bottle of ale and a glass mug. He poured the amber liquid into the mug and took a sip with appreciation. To his surprise Bea came back with a mug of ale herself.

  "You like ale?"

  "Uh, I imagine it goes well on a hot day."

  "Does one of your children have your Power of Attorney?"

  Bea started in surprise.

  "Why yes," she admitted, "my son John, but why do you ask?"

  "Take it back!" Turk decided to be honest.

  "Whatever for?"

  "A friend was slightly paralysed. Like you. Nothing serious. From a mild stroke. Her daughter got a Power of Attorney drawn up and before you know it the next time she had a fainting spell from the heat my friend was shoved into a nursing home against her will."

  Bea looked aghast as Turk continued to tell her about his unfortunate friend. He claimed that the stress of trying to get

  out of the nursing home caused another, stronger stroke and the poor woman was kept confined to her bed for several years until her son and daughter convinced a judge she was brain dead and her life support was cut off. He told Bea that when the actual will was probated little remained as care facility fees and unauthorized loans to her daughter had used up all the money.

  "That's horrible." Turk noted that Bea was not saying that such a thing could not happen in her case.

  "Take my advice."

  "Thank you. I'll consider it."

  "Would you like to have dinner with me?" Turk decided to ask Bea out. He was rather lonely and the former professor reminded him a lot of his friend who had wound up in the nursing home.

  "You don't have a sig
nificant other?"

  Turk smiled. "No, I'm divorced," he explained. "Long hours working on my race cars. And travel all over the country. Got home one day and my wife was gone. Took me a while to get over it. Found someone else but the same thing happened with her."

  "Did you ever tell either one of them that you missed them or ask them to come back?"

  "No," Turk laughed ruefully. "Truth of the matter is that I decided that 'man's best friend' was enough company for a man like me and I've had a series of Rottweilers ever since. Dogzilla is number five."

  For some reason Bea felt sorry for Turk O'Brien. "He's never learned to communicate with a woman," she concluded. "Maybe she could teach him." Bea thought of Gloria Gustafson's wager. "Funny if I won it instead of one of those able-bodied women."

  "There's a good restaurant down at Tynehurst Point. Overlooking the ocean. Staff are dog friendly. We could take the dogs. There are tables out front in the glassed-in porch and places to tie dogs up nearby. Don't hurry with your ale, though."

  "Sounds good to me." Bea ignored Turk's advice and drank down the ale rapidly. Minutes later Bea realised she was feeling a little tizzy as Turk opened the door of his sports car to seat her in the passenger seat. Bea wondered what the neighbours would think as she moved out of the driveway in Turk's faming red, custom built Porsche. Dogzilla and Trump were manipulating for room on the back leather seat. Little Angus was dominating the open window.

  "Hope the neighbours don't tell John about this," Bea thought of her problems with her son's control issues since her husband's death.

  "He won't even let me manage my stock options myself. It's like I'm spending his money or something."

  Bea felt a strange thrill as Turk accelerated quickly down the winding, scenic, curvy road along the ocean. The ale helped her to relax quickly as his big hands guided the steering wheel with great precision.

  "What an adventure," Bea told herself as she noticed a powerful attraction to Turk's physical presence. "Maybe I'm not yet ready for the 'Down Memory Lane Care Home' as my son insists." Bea started to feel quite rebellious.

  Bea stared at Turk's handsome face and his large arm muscles with a strange appreciation growing in her mind.

  "His penetrating, blue eyes do something to me," she acknowledged.

  "After all he is a racing car driver," she thought. "Something odd happened to me the moment he sat in my

  living room. I seemed to have changed somehow. First time I ever drank the ale I keep on hand for my son. I even liked it."

  An hour later Bea started as Turk brought his Porsche to a stop in the parking lot of the Tynehurst Ocean Restaurant. Turk had been playing crossover cowboy music and Bea had somehow lost herself in the melody, rhythm and words. "You're always on my mind," Bea laughed at the appropriateness of Willy Nelson's song. "He never called her, never sent her flowers, but she was always on his mind. Poor woman. Sounds like Turk's wives."

  If the staff thought something was rather incongruous at the contrast of the large T-shirt and jeans wearing, tabooed man with the Rottweiler plus the Sheep Dog and the Fortrel suited lady with the Pomeranian they never showed it. The hostess recognized Turk as a big tipper and seated Bea and the former race car driver at a table on the porch where they would have a full view of the sunset. The waiter even allowed Dogzilla, Trump and Angus to be attached to the base of the table. He brought each of the dogs a bowl of water and a large dog biscuit.

  "Drinks?" he queried.

  "A large ale and your biggest T-Bone steak," Turk ordered.

  "And the lady?"

  "A Lava Flow," Bea decided, feeling adventurous as she looked at the cocktail menu. "And I'll have a T-Bone steak as well."

  "Three burgers for the dogs," added Turk.

  "Certainly, Sir."

  "You're partial to Hawaii, I take it?"

  "How did you know that?"

  "Your cocktail."

  "I do love the islands. Such natural beauty and the underwater scene; beautiful, multicolored fish and corals."

  "You scuba-dive?"

  "Used to," Turk could feel the sadness in Bea's voice. "But I suppose I could probably manage to at least snorkel now. As long as my son wasn't present. He would never let me even enter the ocean, I'm sure."

  Turk gave her a lecture about the importance of exercise in maintaining muscle strength and mobility. He told her how he had been seriously injured in a car crash but managed to almost fully regain his strength by exercise and certain herbal products.

  "We'll go to Hawaii and I'll have you scuba diving again in no time," he promised.

  Bea suddenly thought again of her son, John, and her daughter-in-law, Orphelia? "I wonder how they would take that news?" she laughed to herself. Turk was giving her new hope that she could live a normal life. Bea suddenly realised that Tyneburst was one of John and Orphelia's favourite restaurants. She felt momentary sadness and a strange anger descend on her again at her son's unexpected insistence on her moving to a care facility.

  "I"m really not ready to let go of my house," Bea decided. "And that assisted care home won't take animals, I'm sure. Whatever would I do without Angus? Perhaps this man is right and I should revoke my 'Power of Attorney," Bea found herself worrying. "It must be Orphelia's influence but John doesn't seem to be disagreeing with her at all."

  The waiter arrived with the drinks and lit the candle on the table just as the sun set in a dramatic fashion. Bea could swear that a blinding fash of green had occurred just as the sun had sunk behind the horizon. The sky lit up with the

  downed sun's refection illuminating the clouds in the sky. It was as if an artist had splashed a series of red and oranges across the sky in a dazzling fashion.

  "Just for us," Turk O'Brien proclaimed. He lifted his ale glass and Bea clunked her Lava Flow cocktail glass against his.

  "That sunset was an omen. They're always like that in Hawaii. To the rest of the fall," Turk announced. Bea felt a shiver up her back as he gave her full eye contact.

  "This man is such a romantic," Bea thought in surprise. She downed her Lava Flow much too quickly.

  "Another?" Turk asked as the waiter arrived with the steaks. Bea nodded.

  "Two refills!" Turk ordered.

  "What's happening to me?" Bea wondered as his voice caused her body to quiver with excitement. She plunged her knife into the largest steak she had ever seen. "And I'm a vegetarian," she thought. Bea realised that something from deep in her subconscious was coming to the surface. She found herself eating the steak with unexpected gusto.

  "Repressed sexuality," her mind suddenly informed her. Bea strangely remembered that while her husband, Thomas, had demanded per functionary sex regularly, he had never provided the foreplay that would have heightened her appreciation of the act. She reached suddenly for her second Lava Flow.

  "Maybe this man is different," Bea felt some part of her mind hoping.

  As Bea downed her second Lava Flow, her feelings of deep pleasure suddenly vanished as she realised a familiar voice was addressing her in anger.

  "Mother, whatever are you doing here with this man?"

  Bea turned and realised with shock that her son John was standing slightly beside her and was addressing her in a very angry tone. His wife Orphelia was glaring at her two empty Lava Flow glasses.

  "Oh, Turk, allow me to introduce you to my son John and his wife Orphelia. This is Turk O'Brien.

  Turk O'Brien stood up and offered his hand to Bea's son. John Broughton just ignored it.

  "Turk? What kind of name is that?"

  Bea realised that Orphelia was glaring now at the large tattoo of a naked lady on Turk O'Brien's arm.

  The table suddenly lurched sideways as Dogzilla heard the anger in John Broughton's voice and moved, trying to get in front of Turk. He growled menacingly. Trump, now Dogzilla's close buddy, joined him in a sharp growl and the table moved closer to John Broughton dragging little Angus whose anxious barking filled the porch.

  "What the Hell ar
e you doing here with this man and his savage dogs?" John Broughton challenged his mother. Bea was completely mortified.

  "John, you're being very rude to a dear friend of mine!"

  "You're coming home with me, right now!"

  John seized his mother's arm, pulled her up from her chair and started to drag her out to the parking lot. Dogzilla lunged, pulled over the table and snapped his leash. He went for Bea's son.

  "Freeze," Turk O'Brien commanded as plates, glasses and cutlery shot into the air, landed on the floor and smashed into a thousand pieces. Dogzilla dropped to the floor and froze on the spot. Trump was barking savagely and the table was moving around. Angus was covered in coconut milk from the remains of Bea's lava flow and howled pitifully.

  "Back off!" Turk shoved John Broughton away from his mother.

  "Police!" Orphelia shouted at the top of her voice.

  Bea felt tremendous embarrassment flowing through her. People in the main area of the restaurant were now staring at them through the glass wall.

  "A problem, Sir?" the manager of the restaurant spoke to Turk.

  "Call the police," Orphelia demanded. "That vicious dog is threatening my husband."

  The restaurant manager looked at Dogzilla sitting absolutely still and silent on the floor.

  "Doesn't look like it to me."

  "We were just leaving," Turk advised the manager. "Sorry about this mess. This should cover the bill and the damage."

  Turk handed the manager several large bills, freed Trump and Angus from the table, put his arm around Bea and moved the shaking woman toward the parking lot.

  "Dogzilla, come."

  The large Rottweiler followed but kept his eyes on John Broughton.

  "Mother, don't you dare go off with that man," John Broughton yelled at Bea's retreating back. She turned.

  "I don't know when I've been so ashamed of you John!"

  Bea allowed Turk to escort her out of the restaurant. The manager stepped in front of John Broughton when he tried to follow.

  By the time Turk drove back into Bea's driveway the rich food and the two cocktails had loosened Bea's usually strong moral conditioning. The dreadful scene made her feel extremely rebellious toward her son. When what Bea was now viewing as a sexy senior sensed receptivity and pulled her close