*Story contains language typical of 1950’s (and slang).

I walked through the entrance gate of the Japanese Tea Garden and spotted Paul smoking a cigarette at the far end of the gardens near the red pagoda. I made my way down the meandering path passing the moon bridge, koi ponds and camera-toting tourists so I could stand within ear shot of him. We were careful not to make eye contact and spoke softly so as not to be overheard.

“Mona, what was so urgent you needed to risk being seen together in public?”

 “He knows. He knows about us!”

“How’s that possible? We’ve been careful.”

“I don’t know how he knows, but he knows!”

“So, what are you gonna do?”

&...

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