THE ADVENTURES OF BERT AND BERNECE
  by Francis U. Kaltenbaugh

  In mid-town, the sun's brazen harshness was reinforced, as
it glared from a glass and ivory colored office building towering 
towards the heavens, stiff and erect in stature; symbolism oozed 
from its solar-heated shaft, as an unnoticed conversation unfolded 
ensconced near the tip of this man-made erection of glass and steel.
  
  "Stop squirming. You'll die for what you did," Bert threatened.
  
  "You'll never get away with this," I lied. "There are others, who 
know I came here for you."
  
  "You stole my woman; you're gonna pay," Bert accused.
  
  "What woman? I don't have a woman -- not me. I'm to enter seminary 
next month. I'm celibate," I babbled.
  
  "Sell a bit!  What the hell ... a polite way to say pimp or 
whoremaster?" he implicated. His eyes were bulging -- matching the 
bulge in my genes.
  
  The situation couldn't get worse.  
        
  On the roof of his office building, near the ledge, my hands bound -- 
there was little hope. Bert had gone over the edge and wanted to see 
me there -- too. 
  
  "I can help get your woman back." I entreated.
  
  "Ha. You took her from me!" he inculpated.
  
  "Bert, I couldn't take her from you. I'm your friend. I could never 
harm you. It'd be against my vows," I acquiesced.
  
  "To your death," he sentenced.
  
  "But, what of your lover...," I proffered.
  
  "What?"
  
  "Your *LOVER*! I arranged those meetings. It was ME! You, an 
attorney," I sighed, and gushed on, "I brought you two together. 
I responded to your personal ad. Yes, it was ME, who sent all those 
love letters you answered. There never was a woman. I dressed in drag 
to meet -- you. I'm your inamorato," I gushed imploringly.
  
  "Darling! Do write again, but be brief," lawyer-like, he taunted,
while holding me in his arms and nearer the edge, a sardonic smile 
etched his lips.
  
  I thought, "_He's smiling. He wants me. We'll live happily ever 
after, no children, but no dirty diapers; more time for us._" 
        
  The situation got worse.  
  
  I went over the edge -- literally!        

Copyright 1993 Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
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Francis is one of those kinds of authors. I'm still trying to figure his/
her political persuasions. One never knows does one. Writing for escapisim 
is a way of life, and sharing is a reward in itself, reports Francis.             
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