The Second Hand Man
October 30th, 1980

I saw Linda Burgess in a book shop today. She’s the type of person whoprefers to buy and keep the books she reads. So, although she was an avidreader of all sorts of literature, she was seldom found gracing the halls ofany library. In fact, her father had turned one of the enormous spare rooms intheir house into a library in order to accommodate her vast book collection. Ihad been extremely impressed with it the first time she had invited me round toher folks place.

Although tall and buxom, she still gave the impression of being mousy.

She had appeared today, as I had originally known her, bespectacled andwith her auburn hair curling up on either side of her cheeks like a chickenwishbone.

She had a slight resemblance to Nana Mouskouri. Only she was shy andwalked with a slight slouch, always carrying a bundle of books crushed againsther large chest.

She was often derided and humiliated for her nerdiness by her fellowstudents, but I had seen Aphrodite beneath her disguise; I had seen thepossibility of her becoming my Wonder Woman!

In my first life I had met her in ‘81 when she had decided to join thecollege chess team of which I had been captain. Two years later we weremarried.

We had quickly fallen in love, but then slowly, with much time, hadfallen out of it again.

The fact that there were no children by the end of our five year marriagewas evidence to the fact that our love making had dwindled to an unimpressivemonthly romp that, more often than not, required the assistance of a medicallyapproved lubricant.

Linda, although a shy academic, had a great body. She carried a few extrapounds where it mattered, and I used to affectionately call her my big bookishwench. She had loved the term of endearment at first, but towards the end, haddecided that it was insulting and derogatory.

Shortly after she started wearing contact lenses and changing herhairstyle to something more audaciously evident, she had become involved withthe boss of the small publishing company for whom she worked.

By the time she had gained confidence that her new physical appearancewas alluring to the male population, evident by a new and proud sexy swagger inher strut, our marriage was over.

He was eighteen years her senior, but he was financially comfortable andrepresented the security I was not able to afford her at that time.

She had come from a wealthy family and was used to a certain standard ofliving.

I know this was the reason she left me because she had told me so; shewas not one to mince her words.

I had felt devastated like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights or Jay Gatsbyin The Great Gatsby. And like them, I had vowed to one day amass myself a greatfortune – but not in order to regain her favor – uh-uh!

I would do it in order to rub her snooty little nose it!!!

As is the case with many wealthymen who think they can use their affluence to influence the young and naïve,making love to a much younger woman is their hope and belief that it is thesame as partaking of the fountain of youth.

Linda was to him what the Consciousness Projector was to me; a link to ahappier, younger lifetime.

He had divorced his 1st wife after twenty five years of marriage in orderto take mine. And he and Linda had exchanged vows barely two months after ourdivorce.

Shortly after that, he suffered a serious financial setback due to sometax evasion schemes he had been employing over the past ten years that hadsuddenly come to light.

Apparently his ex had decided to spill the beans!

Yep, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! – Or in this case, rejected!

I can’t say that I didn’t smile just a little after hearing about theirawful predicament.

Still, it was after my first divorce that I had become highlydisillusioned regarding the fairer sex (I choose to use the word fairer asopposed to weaker as I have met many determined and strong-willed women in bothmy lifetimes.).

I had been young, naïve and gullible, but I vowed that no woman wouldever sink her poisonous claws into me again.

But I was mistaken!

And although it was many years before a woman was able to change myopinion, it was to be very briefly.

It would take only six months for my beautiful, scheming wife to provethat my original deliberations about womankind had been exceedingly accurate.

Dejected, I had spiraled into a self destructive world of alcohol, loosewomen and finally death!

Yep, if not for the saving grace, literally, of the ConsciousnessProjector, Cornelius Crane would be no more.

And yet, ironically, it was that second divorce that was to be thecatalyst leading to the construction of the greatest invention that the worldwould never know!!!