Jim looked around. Like the rest of the apartment, the bedroom was not decorated in a frilly, feminine fashion, but it showed more care than most sing...e men would have taken. There was the white-washed oak dresser and matching night-stand, the French country-style iron bedstand with its cozy Ecru comforter, the mist-green walls decorated with soft watercolor landscapes and florals, a couple of which Billy had painted himself."You have nice taste," the TV repairman said."Thank you."Jim walked. The acid-etched memory of her mother with that horrible Marlowe man blazed in her mind like a neon billboard... her own mother, John Barrett's widow, sprawled nakedly across the bedspread like a central character in some five-dollar porno movie... pot-bellied, balding Jerry Marlowe hunched over her, his head stuffed between her lewdly-splayed thighs, his back arching and bobbing as he salaciously licked and sucked there at the banquet-table of her naked loins! Even now, over the pounding. More

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