Recently there was a mild earthquake in our city. I was on a chair and jumped up. Our dog barked. We had some guests from Italy who were experiencing their first shake. They were frightened and tried to run out of the house. I smiled and assured them that this was a mild shake and no visible damage was done. It took a long time, and a bottle of wine, to calm everyone down.

When I told my friend John Levy about this incident, he said that he had not felt it, as he was in his car driving. You don’t feel an earthquake in a moving car.

But John told me his story about another quake in a different place. It was when he lived in Bolivia, and was about 18 years old.

He had a young lady friend that he charmed and convinced to go to bed with him. When in the middle of love making; he being on top of her, both moving to the rhythm of penetrating sex, the bed shook! Furniture began to move. Pictures fell down, and the frames broke. It was a huge earthquake!

When I lived in New York, I had a friend, a young writer, who was living as a "boarder" with a married couple. Their bedroom and his had a very flimsy separation, and he claimed that he had very little sleep as several times a week he was awakened with the couple’s lovemaking. They had a noisy bedspring and their movements kept him awake. He always waited for them to stop so he could rest.

The conversation, after sex, never varied. When the two finished, he heard the man go to the toilet to urinate. When he came back, the wife always asked him if he was through with her, if he wanted to use her again? And if not, could she put on her pajamas now?

Bassya and I lived in New York City with a very nice couple that rented us a small room. They also rented out a few more rooms to single men - most were in the theater, or they were newspaper people. We knew each other and got along well.

Since I had a press card from my Los Angeles newspaper, we had tickets to many performances. Matter of fact, we were out every night for a whole year to various shows. One night, when we came home, one of the men asked us to retire to our room as a bachelor party was in progress. As we did so, we heard all kinds of strange sounds, including a lady's voice - so we assumed that this has to be a stripper, as is considered customary for pre-wedding bachelor parties.

In the morning, we found that this was not a bachelor party at all. This was a bachelorette party. It seems that a young lady from our circle was getting married in a few days and she wanted to have a last swing. So they invited about 7 or 8 of her former lovers for a good-bye party. And, she in turn had sex with each and every one.

Bassya was scandalized, and never talked to his woman again, or even to some of the men. I borrowed some money, and the next week we rented our own, private apartment.

There was a very good restaurant in the City in North Beach. I knew and liked the owners, the free atmosphere, and the good Italian food. I was there very often, met clients there, and of course, friends too.

As in all good places, regulars knew each other, bought drinks for each other, and talked about themselves. We got to know about their families, their love lives.

These were people who were well established in the community; judges, lawyers, good business people, and a few shady characters; ambulance chasers, detectives, and private eyes.

At one occasion, one of the regulars, my close friend, asked for advice and help. He, a married man with many children, had a few one-night stands with one of the ladies that we always saw sitting at the bar. She now claimed that she was pregnant with his child, and she needed money for an abortion. He gave her some money because she couldn’t work. We decided to help and a few people volunteered to recommend a competent doctor to perform the operation, but she rejected all offers. She wanted to select her own clinic in a nearby town. It didn't sound right, but my friend gave her the money and she disappeared. A few weeks later she reappeared with a sad story that she was still pregnant; the abortion was a failure, and it was getting too late to have another abortion.

She would, therefore, carry the pregnancy to its conclusion, and my friend better prepare himself to maintain her and his child in a livable way - and please start sending money.

Of course, our group smelled a rat, and quietly a plan was hatched. Forget about Watergate in Washington, this was a professional undertaking.

Her doctor's office was broken into; her medical files removed and photographed along with the records of her sessions with her shrink. We found out that not only was she not pregnant, she wasn’t able to conceive for the last 15 years!

When confronted with the evidence, she shrugged her shoulders, after all, a girl has to live - and she disappeared.

Everyone is welcome to visit her.