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In the men's bathroom of the vintage reception hall, James Heller stood at the urinal, surprised to still be relieving what he reasoned was an obviously too-full bladder, running down a mental list of items that would require his personal attention while his liaison, who also happened to be his soon-to-be-married daughter, Audrey, was away honeymooning. As he began separating the tasks in order of importance, he fought the urge to laugh, suddenly recalling just why it was he avoided beer and chose to stick to spirits instead. The former wreaked havoc on his bladder.

"Really, Heller?" he chuckled. "One glass and you're pissing like a racehorse that just ran the Kentucky Derby!"

As the steady stream of urine continued to issue forth, he absently began to whistle along to the vaguely familiar tune being piped in over the sound system. He couldn't recall the name of the song exactly, but he did remember the chorus went something like, You can jump on a speeding goat/Cross the desert in a bag of oats/I don't care how you get here/Just get here if you can. . . Strange lyrics he mused, but then again, most of the music that was currently deemed 'popular' was strange if you asked him. Give him some Ella Fitzgerald, Nat "King" Cole, and Benny Goodman any day! Nevertheless, the current selection was a nice song he reasoned as the soothing piano solo began.

Still in the midst of emptying his bladder, seconds later it was all Heller could do to maintain control of his penis. A conversation – replete with the sounds of affection; kisses, sighs, and moans – that both parties undoubtedly—and erroneously—believed to be private was now being broadcast throughout the building.

A very intimate conversation. . .

"God, you look beautiful. . ."

"Has it ever been this good with anyone else?"

"No, Babe. And it never will be. . ."

Instantly, Heller recognized the voices. Surprisingly, his initial response was not one of anger; rather he felt a strange sense of relief. The sensation lasted only a few seconds as he realized if he was privy to the conversation, so was everyone else in attendance.

Especially Audrey.

In an execution of a most amazing economy of motion, Heller was able to stem the flow of urine, tuck himself back into his boxers, and zip his tailored trousers; all in one seemingly fluid move. He didn't bother to wash his hands; transmission of germs and bacteria were the farthest things from his mind. As if a man possessed, he tore out of the bathroom in search of the offending parties. Only one thing was of paramount importance to Heller.

Ending the unexpectedly public conversation between the two former lovers before anything was said that there was no coming back from.

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