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Monday and Tuesday evenings consumed both Tom and his wife as they attended to the affairs of Tom's men. Decisions had to be made about their shipyard jobs, not to mention the changes required to handle moving and closing down their church. Their burdens were emotional and that sort of feeling didn't blend in with their affair with me. I understood. By Wednesday, the writing appeared on the wall saying Tom's old company wouldn't be able to recruit sufficient personnel to continue its operations. The youthful managers were all fired and more mature managers were sent in from nearby associated firms to pick up the pieces. First thing, those new managers approached Tom about coming back. Doubled his salary, agreed to fix the workers comp business, and begged him to get his people back to work. Tom took the job on conditions. He wouldn't, couldn't, get his men to return because they all had new and greater salaries. He did agree to try to hire and train new employees but he couldn't guarantee anything like normal performances for some time. He apologized but he was hired back anyway. Back at his old place of work, Tom's problems snowballed, even with the close support of the new managers. He began working two shifts a day, except break flashing nudity public spring wild for weekends. That schedule left Mary Beth essentially with me for most of several weeks in a row. Mary Beth went back to her place around ten each evening during that period to prepare Tom's dinner but, after she put him to bed, she came back to me to share their latest stresses deriving from Tom's workplace. I learned from her behavior that they were looking to me for my continued insight and sometimes outright advice. My after-midnight sessions with Mary Beth were serious affairs designed to allow Mary Beth to brief Tom early the next morning. I'm not complaining. Mary Beth took advantage of our newly mirrored situation as much as she pleased whenever. It might be said that she and I shared a period of outright debauchery then. And I recorded most of it on videotape. Tom had a breakdown after three weeks of double shifts. He came home from work on a Friday unable to talk coherently, not to mention his inability to participate within our usual efforts to produce our own form of Friday night bacchanalia. Frightened to an extreme, Mary Beth became a nurse on constant duty to her husband throughout the weekend. By then, Tom appeared prepared to go at it again but he received a telephone call that disrupted his plans. He took that call, talked quietly for a long time, and then he walked over to my place where he insisted on a beer with me out on my deck. He wanted my advice again. "God has called me! He's given me a mission! Can you believe it?" It took me awhile to believe Tom might not have had a stroke. To work around my vision of his communication from the outer bounds of ether, I began to edge around his intents with a few questions. "What's the assignment, Tom?"