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I wanted to drive all the way to Minneapolis, but I knew that wasn't prudent. There was a cafe across the street from my motel. The special was roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy. It was good. After dinner I went back to my motel room and called Jeanne. A man answered the telephone. “The Nolan residence.” His voice was familiar. I said, “This is Michael Nolan. May I please speak to Jeanne.” “Hi Michael, this is David, Ruth's husband.” “Hi David. Is Ruth there too.” “Yes sir, she is, but she's in Ms. Jeanne's boudoir with her boyfriend.” “Matt Haynes.” “Yes sir.” In the background a female voice said, “Slave, who's on the phone?” It wasn't Jeanne's voice. David responded, “Ms. Abby, it's Ms. Jeanne's husband, Michael.” “It's Michael? I was hoping he'd call.” It was Jeanne's voice. Seconds later she was on the telephone. “Hi Micheal, where are you?” “I'm in Cordele Georgia.” “Where is that?” “Just south of Atlanta.” “Did you have an easy drive?” “It was fine. I slept in so I got. Nice Guy” to the hilt, forgetting that it’s often this type of behavior that turns a woman off. Some women prefer their men to show their strength through a gruff exterior. James Bond was a good example, and I knew at the time that Ruth was really turned on by his character. She would frequently ask me to play that role for her in our fantasies, with herself as a demure “Bond woman” being swept off her feet by the suave Mr. Bond and his penchant for hard line charm. Yet, being young and naïve, I missed this point entirely. Instead of Bond I played the part of protector and defender of her honor, riding in on my white horse to save her from the dastardly “bad boys” she’d invariably flirt with and flee in terror from at their arduous advances. I even went so far as to call up one poor kid and give him the scare of his lifetime by pretending to be Ruth’s father and insisting that he leave my “daughter” alone. I was not her father, nor her brother, but I was her best friend. And.
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