Beth remembered the profound emptiness in her marriage. He was like his father. But it didn't start out that way. At least she didn't see it in 1969. She gets the idea of balance today. Maturity does that. Maybe that is why Giann frightens her so much. She wondered why he needs so much money. Could it be his recent glassy eyed, unshaven, unkempt appearance? Or drug dependence. Lack of balance?
As she left her apartment, Beth heard a familiar sound coming down the hall. A familiar bark. Then a white haired woman rounded the corner with her show dog. She said Giann tried to open her door that Saturday afternoon, just a few hours ago. He had the wrong one, he told the eighty year old Mainer. Said he wanted the next door. He did that to Beth on at least one occasion. He knew better. The Mainer was glad her husband was there. But Beth was alone in her apartment.
Beth mentioned the delivery of the small amount of paint the night before. Way after his 3:30 p.m. work day ended. Supposedly.
"Did he stand waiting?"
"Waiting for what?"
"A tip, that is what he wants. He always wants money," the Mainer said.
"He didn't get a cent from me. He ripped me off last fall. I have a short learning curve," Beth laughed.
"How is he he works sixty-to eight hours a week here? It wasn't that way the summer of 2012.Overtime maybe," Beth said.
Beth and the woman returned to their respective apartments.
"I'm keeping my door double latched," she said.
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