Here’s the beginning of a short story to appear, or so I’m told, in the next issue of Black Scat Review. It’s a rollicking tale of a love triangle. Although rather bawdy in spots, it uses no four-letter words.

TWO AND ONE

Ivy was the one for Ira, and Ira was the one for Ivy. “It’s tea for two ’til the two get old and die,” he’d vow. And she did too.
But one day, Max saw Ivy. And who was Max, you may ask? For now, all I’ll say was Max was the man who saw Ivy. And who did say, “Wow! Dig her red lip and doe eye! Her tan bod and dye job! I’ll nab the fox!” And Max was not shy, not one bit.
“Hey, sis!” Max did cry.
Ivy did eye the big lug, and was not put off. Max was her own age—not fit, yet not too fat. You can see she set the bar low. But she was coy, was our Ivy…