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Tory draws Big Daddy further into her lifestyle.
"You lying cunt," he spat out. And the rage swept over him. "Who?"
"What are you talking about?" Jasmine asked tensing up, still unaware of the bloody trail.
Richard started to slap her across the face, but caught himself. "Who are you whoring with?" He asked, his face was beet red and spittle had formed on his lips. He raised his arm again, but Jasmine warded him off by replying, "Warren. It was Warren."
"Warren?" Richard's arm dropped to his side.
"That little prick? Warren...the the guy who MC'd the roast?"
"Yes," she sobbed hoping he was over the worst of his anger.
"Get dressed," Richard ordered.
"Okay, okay, Richard. I'll get dressed. Would you...like coffee?"
"Get dressed and get out. I won't live with a whore," his face was livid with rage.
"Richard!" The alarm in her voice only served to inflame his anger more.
"Now! Get dressed or not, I don't care, but get out! Get out! Get out!"
Quickly Jasmine gathered several items in her arms and left the room.
She was in the kitchen, crying while pulling on her slacks and hoping her mascara wasn't smearing all over her face when she heard it. Later, she thought about that sound again and again. It wasn't a loud sound, more like a muffled thud, only she heard it twice. She finished pulling on her slacks, checked her face in the mirror and decided her makeup was satisfactory before walking to the bedroom and finding Richard sprawled across the bed, his head and left arm on the floor, eyes wide open, mouth agape. His face was blue and already turning darker. Richard had suffered a massive heart attack.
Jasmine screamed and screamed and screamed.
Eventually, the police broke down the door. They found her kneeling next to him, shaking with despair, her mascara trailing down her beautiful face.
Warren reached the emergency room driveway and managed to hobble from the car. In fact, he was struggling to pull on his pants when a guard spotted him and summoned help. The next thing Warren knew he was on a bed being hooked up to an intravenous feeder, with nurses and interns surrounding him. Several were talking to him at the same time.
"What happened to you?"
"What's your name?"
"Your health coverage is with whom?"
"How did this happen?"
"Get his temperature Grace."
"My God, I never saw one like that before."
"Shut up Bently."
"Are you suicidal?"
"Can you recall your Social Security Number?"
"Shut the fuck up, all of you!" Warren screamed at them out of pain and frustration, "Get my wallet, it's in my pants. Everything you need to know about me and my health coverage is in there.
Next...what happened is...embarrassing. I'd like anyone not directly involved with my treatment to get the hell out of here."
Several people left. Four remained.
"I think I tore my nuts off, but I'm not sure."
"Nurse get me set up to administer a shot for tetanus." A young doctor ordered, already making several vital decisions about the injury requiring treatment. "Now, Mister?" He said tersely and waited.
"Ammerman, Warren Ammerman. Christ, am I still bleeding like a stuck pig?"
"No, the compress has stopped the flow of blood and nature's doing its job by coagulating it."
"So far so good then," Warren muttered through clenched teeth."
"Actually, Mr. Ammerman, eight or ten stitches will put things to right again. It's more psychological than anything else."
"Well...in that case...Ya know Doc, I'll never forget the last thing my father ever said to me."
"What was that?" asked the doctor readying the syringe.
"Nor will I ever repeat it," Warren said, and then grimaced as the needle did its job.
The doctor laughed and said, "Your sense of humor is intact and that's good. I'd appreciate it if you stayed overnight."
"Well," Warren began in his W. C. Fields impersonation. "I'd rather be in Philadelphia."
The doctor laughed again and said, "It's not that serious, but moving around won't do you any good. Why not hang with us for the evening?"
"Sure Doc, why not."