He gently lifted her hands and held them between his.

The light shone on her tears. The edge of the rope poked from the top of her bag like a fuse.

“Tie me up,” she demanded. “Make me feel like the dirty slut I am.”

“Not tonight, Beth,” he said softly, cradling her to him.

She seemed to recoil slightly before yielding. “You’ll be back?”

“Not tonight or ever again.”

Tony missed what she made him feel, but not how she made him feel. On the other hand, after nearly seven decades, it was good to feel challenged. More than anything, that was what life had to be about.

As soon as he got back to the city that night, he immediately went to Peter and Paul Church in North Beach and begged Jesus to forgive his sin. Like millions of lapsed Catholics, Tony loved Jesus, admired the Church less, and was no longer constrained by the sexual edicts of a corrupt priesthood.

***

When Jack finished editing the footage of Drabinsky, Tony was the first person he showed it to.

“Damn if I don’t have tears in my eyes,” Tony Antiniori said.

“Thanks,” Jack said.

“I mean it, that’s a helluva tribute,” Tony said. “You think you’ll run into any resistance from the networks?”

Jack shrugged. “My name isn’t exactly welcome, but considering what I’ve got here and the price I’m asking, how can they refuse?”

“Because they’re kind of like reverse terrorists,” Tony said.

“I don’t follow.”

“They will blow up an entire network news division just to keep one guy from the spotlight.”

Jack smiled. That was as good an assessment of the network mind-set as he’d ever heard.

“They’re putzes,” Tony added for good measure.

“That’s what my grandfather used to call my old man.”