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It was obvious he was intoxicated, and for the first time, I felt awkward talking to him. Maybe it was because it was clear he was avoiding the massive elephant in the room that was my ‘coming out,’ maybe it was just the natural outcome of me realizing I wanted more in our relationship. Within a few minutes, a girl walked up to Dom, smoothly grabbed his hand, and pulled him into the other room to dance. Natalie, who had just passed Dom and the girl, placed a cup filled to the brim with an orange-red concoction in my hand—I knew it would taste sickly sweet but would get the job done nonetheless. “You look like you could use this,” Natalie said, moving into the space that Dom had occupied. She knew everything about me—well, almost everything at least. I had told her of my previous feelings for guys before, and I don’t think it would have taken a genius to put two and two together about how I felt for Dom. “Bottom’s up,” she said, touching the rim of her cup to mine carefully so as to. Smith had my complete attention. I sat utterly still staring into his eyes. He softly continued, "We know Otto was fired from MCL, then we lost track of him." Grace asked, "Who is this 'WE?' Don't you dare say you and the blonde Mrs." Smith smirked as he replied, "Wouldn't dream of it." Then, more seriously, he continued: "Friends who are disturbed by some of Kressinger's wartime activities." "Mossad" popped into my head. I decided I did not want to discuss Otto with any Mr. Smith. I said more calmly than I felt, "I haven't seen Otto since he left MCL." Mr. Smith looked at me carefully, and then asked, "You have time for a short story Billy?" I shrugged. "Sure. Fairy tales can be fun." Smith grinned. "Yes, exactly." He stretched as he asked, "Refills, ladies?" Gwen answered frostily, "No thank you." Mr. Smith began, introspectively staring at the table. "It was 1942 in Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp. About 150 counterfeiters, printers, and engravers were brought together for.
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