Viv's daughter, Ellen, Part 1: About a year prior to the "hairbrush" incident, Ellen was on the phone

laughing it up with a friend.  Needless to say, the mirth was at someone else's expense - quite literally so.  "You rock," exclaimed the voice from the other end.  Ellen downplayed the compliment with a "...such a dolt...seriously, serves her right for..." a siren wailed outside.  The conversation took a different direction - but not too different.  Such-n-such co-worker was also a dolt - for no better reason than assuming his or her workmates valued each others' privacy/workspace.  Of course, what Ellen didn't discuss was, sometime back, her almost getting caught - nope, that episode was airbrushed as a "needed change."  (Yeah, that's one way of putting it.)  

The conversation switched back some.  "...no, I don't think she'll be a good fit, and as for..." the ongoing conversation was preempted by the thump of little feet, and the crash of what sounded like a lamp.  But the details didn't fall on deaf ears; John had heard similar bits and pieces before.  While he couldn't prove anything, nor did he care to, the dialog he had heard before - and the fragments reaching his ears at present.  

This wasn't working out, and wasn't going to.  Sure, Ellen was fantabulous in bed, and - as a bonus - had not alluded to any type of jewelry, nor did she make even one remote peep concerning the "m*" word.   John and Ellen got along splendidly - well, most times - a guy could hardly ask for a better girlfriend.  "Figures!"  He quietly shut the front door.  "You meet someone who's still  lots of fun, still in great shape, and still doesn't bug..."   

In short, John heard enough to be creeped out a bit - especially, by the barely covert meanness coming from the tiny spare bedroom, where the cohabiting couple stored their outing gear.

John headed down the stairwell, and went outside for a walk.