The Agreement
When his marriage to his high school sweetheart came to an end, Andrew Deacon was faced with the choice of either remaining single or finding another wife. Choosing the latter option meant having to pursue the unpleasant ritual of dating, a prospect that daunted him. He had not asked a girl out since he invited Pam, his ex-wife, to the homecoming dance in their freshman year.
A reserved, serious-minded young man, whose idea of a great weekend was to curl up in front of a fireplace with a good book, he was not one to frequent bars and clubs, places where men frequently met eligible women. Nor was he likely to encounter Miss Right at his workplace. The few women that came into the menswear store he owned did so to purchase gifts for their husbands and boyfriends.
"Perhaps I could meet someone if I got out of the store more often," he told Niels Larsen, his store manager and close personal friend. "But where would I look?"
"I've heard supermarkets are a good place to pick up women."
"Too many wives and mothers go grocery shopping. I can't see myself walking up and down the aisles of Weis Markets looking at women's hands for wedding bands or engagement rings."
"What about the laundromat? A lot of people, men and women, just sit there, bored, while their clothes are in the washer or dryer. You can casually strike up an innocent conversation with an attractive woman and see what develops."
Andrew shook his head pessimistically.
"I'd feel like a pervert sitting there while some lady washes her nightclothes and underwear. Besides, I have a laundry room in my house."
"I don't know what to tell you, then," Niels said, shrugging his shoulders. "These days, with all this #MeToo talk going around, it's not easy to meet someone. It's funny. Women spend a fortune on makeup, clothes and hairstyles to look pretty and get noticed, and yet they get offended so easily when a guy tries to make a pass at them."
"Are you speaking from experience?" Andrew laughed.
"Hell, no! I'm a monogamous creature."
"But if you were to suddenly find yourself single again, where would you look for love?"
"Me? I'd go down to the local sports bar. That way, even if I didn't meet someone, it wouldn't be a complete waste of time. I'd have a few beers and see a football or baseball game. If I were you, though, I'd probably go to the library—no! You're not supposed to talk there."
"It's hopeless," Andrew sighed.
"You can always try online dating."
"I don't know. How can you trust that a person's profile is accurate? I've heard stories of people using outdated or false photographs and inaccurate histories. At least when you meet a woman face-to-face, you can see what you're letting yourself in for."
When a customer entered the shop, all talk of dating ceased.
Poor guy, Niels thought as he saw his old friend greet the shopper and offer his assistance. Dating—ugh! I'd hate to be in his shoes.
* * *
Andrew Deacon sat alone at his kitchen table, eating the frozen dinner he had heated up in the microwave, while Murphy, his Irish setter, sat near his chair, waiting for a handout. Since the dog was not much of a conversationalist, he turned on the radio to dispel the silence that pervaded his home. The Eighties rock classic by Whitesnake, "Here I Go Again," was playing.
"I love this song!" he exclaimed, turning up the volume.
But as he listened to the lyrics, the song made him aware of his own personal situation.
"Here I go again on my own,
goin' down the only road I've ever known.
Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone."
"That's me," he told Murphy, as he handed him a Milk-Bone biscuit, "walking 'along the lonely street of dreams.'"
From Whitesnake, the deejay went to Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams." The lyrics, like those of the previous song, dealt with loneliness and saddened the divorced man even more.
"My shadow's the only one that walks beside me.
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating.
Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me.
'Til then, I walk alone."
"Jesus! Doesn't this station play any happy songs?"
Having finished his dinner, Andrew tossed the cardboard container into the trash and washed his fork and glass in the sink. Then he went into the living room to sort through his mail. Since most of his bills were paid by automatic withdrawal from his checking account, the bulk of what came through the post was junk.
Why do all these businesses keep sending me catalogs? It seems like when you order one thing from a catalog, everyone and his uncle gets your name and address. Collections, Harriet Carter, L.L. Bean, Oriental Trading Company, Lillian Vernon. Miles Kimball. What a waste of paper!"
Sandwiched between two envelopes—one offering him a credit card and another announcing a new restaurant delivery service—there was a cardboard postcard sent from a local florist, advertising a sale on roses for Valentine's Day. Memories of taking Pam out to dinner in a crowded restaurant every February 14 came to mind.
"Looks like this year, it'll be just me and you, Murphy."
Roses and restaurants aside, the truth was that Andrew missed being married and having someone to talk to when he came home from work at night. Whether he brought home fast food, ordered a take-out meal or Pam made an attempt to cook a palatable dish, the couple always ate their meals together.
I honestly thought we were happy, he mused as he attached a leash to Murphy's collar before taking the setter on his nightly walk. And all that time, she was bored out of her mind. Why didn't she tell me she wanted more excitement in life? Oh, well. I guess there's nothing I can do about it now. The divorce is already final.
As the dog pulled on his leash to follow a squirrel that had crossed his path, Andrew wondered if he was traveling Whitesnake's lonely street of dreams or Green Day's Boulevard of Broken Dreams.
Or maybe, like Elvis, I'll find Heartbreak Hotel down at the end of Lonely Street.
* * *
On Valentine's Day, the divorced shopkeeper gave his two part-timers the evening off so that they could spend it with their girlfriends. Although he rarely worked past six, he did not mind putting in the extra hours. It was not as though he had any other plans.
"I'll just run home, feed the dog and take him for a short walk," he told Niels around four o'clock. "And I'll be back by five."
"Take your time. I'm in no rush. No matter how late I get home, my wife still won't be ready to go out. You know how women are!"
"Yeah, I do. Pam used to try on three or four outfits and then spend what seemed like hours fixing her hair and putting on makeup."
Despite there not being a single customer between the hours of five and nine, Andrew kept the shop open. As the owner, he could easily have flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and gone home, but he did not feel quite as lonely in the store as he did in his house. Instead, for three hours, he kept busy sweeping the floor, polishing the counter, straightening the items on the shelves and trying not to think of the collapse of his marriage.
Murphy was waiting for him when he opened his front door at 9:15.
"Hi, boy," he said, stooping down to pet the lustrous red coat.
The setter, who loved attention, wagged his tail and licked his owner's face. Andrew went to the kitchen, took a slice of roast beef out of the refrigerator and gave it to the dog.
"Happy Valentine's Day, buddy."
After going through the mail—more junk mail and catalogs that went straight into the recycling bin—he showered and went to bed. Instead of reading, as he usually did, he picked up his laptop and went to his ex-wife's Facebook page.
I shouldn't torture myself, but I can't help it. I'll just send her a short message to wish her a happy Valentine's Day, nothing romantic or sentimental.
But when he saw Pam's latest post, he felt a stab in his heart. His ex-wife was engaged!
It didn't take her long to move on!
He supposed a better man would send her a congratulatory message, but Andrew was not that man. Having secretly harbored the hope that they would eventually get back together, he saw her engagement as the final nail in the coffin of that dream. It was at that moment, what could arguably be the lowest point in his life, that he decided to give online dating a chance.
"I never realized how many sites there were to choose from," he told the softly snoring Murphy. "Which one should I try?"
He read down a list and selected E-Mates. After signing up for an account, he answered dozens of questions about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies and his personal preferences. He laughed at some of the choices he was asked to make.
"Would you rather travel to the moon or to the bottom of the sea?" I can't imagine how the answer to that one will help me find a compatible woman.
Andrew was relieved when he came to the final question. After uploading a current photograph of himself, he was finished. Before his profile was accepted, however, he was asked to agree to the site's Terms and Conditions. As was often the case with Internet users, he checked the box accepting the agreement without reading the legal mumbo jumbo contained therein.
"Here goes nothing," he said as he clicked on the SUBMIT PROFILE button.
* * *
Wednesday, five days after submitting his profile to E-Mates, Andrew received a reply. With a mixture of excitement and dread, he clicked on the link to see the woman who had been chosen for him. Although never one to judge people by their appearance, he was stunned when he saw her photograph.
"She's gorgeous!"
Pam had been cute as a teenager, and by twenty-five, she was considered attractive. But she was never truly beautiful. This woman, however, could hold her own with top fashion models or Hollywood's most stunning actresses.
The picture must be photoshopped, he reasoned. Surely, no one who looks this good needs to resort to a dating app to find a man. If she really looks like this, she would have to beat men off with a stick.
Curious, he scrolled down and read the biographical information provided. Her name was Adriana Trudell, and she grew up on a farm near Cedar Rapids. After attending Iowa State University, she moved to Des Moines where she pursued a degree in veterinary medicine. A list of her likes and dislikes—many of which were shared by Andrew—was followed by a concluding paragraph stating that having recently relocated to Pennsylvania, she was eager to meet a man and enter into a serious relationship.
Two sides of his brain went to war with each other. The pessimist in him warned that Adriana was too good to be true. The optimist told him there must be plenty of women out there who, like Andrew himself, wanted to find a suitable mate but disliked having to resort to bar-hopping.
"No one who looks like that," the pessimist insisted, "is going to be happy with someone who looks like you. After all, you're no Brad Pitt, despite your blond hair and blue eyes."
"Remember what your father used to tell you," the optimist reminded him. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. When an opportunity presents itself, grab it! You may never get another one."
These two voices were soon drowned out by Whitesnake ("Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone"), Green Day ("I walk alone; I walk alone") and Elvis ("I'll be so lonely, I could die").
Dad was right. I don't want to pass up this chance, he decided and clicked the REPLY button to arrange an in-person meeting with Adriana Trudell.
For the next two days, Andrew tried to ignore the repeated warnings of Mr. Pessimism, who was convinced he was letting himself in for heartbreak or worse. Mr. Optimism, on the hand, remained strangely quiet. Perhaps he was waiting to see how the planned Saturday night meeting would go.
Even as he dressed for the arranged date, his cautious side was telling him not to go: "You have her number. Call and cancel. Or just don't show up. And for God's sake, delete your profile from that website."
But the image of Adriana's green eyes and long, red hair kept crowding out the doubts.
"I bet you'd like her, Murphy," he said as he removed the leash after their daily walk. "She's a redhead like you."
The setter barked as though in agreement.
At 5:30, Andrew got into his Subaru and drove to the restaurant where he was to meet his E-Mate. On impulse, he made a quick stop at Weis Markets and purchased a bouquet from their floral department. When he entered the main dining room, there was no redheaded woman in sight. Although he was early, he feared she would not show up. Maybe Mr. Pessimism was right. Maybe he was letting himself in for heartbreak.
The hostess showed him to a table. As he sat down across from an empty chair, he debated getting up and heading for the door.
This online dating idea was ridiculous! I never should have signed up for it. I really ought to just go back home and ....
As he rose to leave, he saw the hostess returning. Behind her was a woman with red hair. It was not until she took her seat that Andrew got a good look at his E-Mate. He flopped back down onto his chair, staring in disbelief. She was even prettier than her photograph.
"Your server will be right with you," the hostess announced, placing two menus on the table before leaving.
"You must be Andrew. I'm Adriana," she said without a hint of nervousness.
"Nice to meet you."
"Same here. This is a charming place. Is the food any good?"
"Yes. I used to come here quite a bit when I ...."
He stopped. It was never a good idea to discuss past relationships when you were on a date.
"... when you were married," Adriana said with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "It's okay to talk about it. I know from reading your profile that you're divorced."
She picked up the menu and studied the entrées.
"I'm in the mood for seafood," she decided. "I think I'll have the stuffed flounder."
"That sounds good. I'll have it, too."
After putting his menu down, Andrew faced the moment of truth. He was never very good at small talk, and he was at a loss for something to say. Thankfully, Adriana took control of the conversation.
"Nervous?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah!"
"No need to be. I don't bite. Although some of my patients have been known to do so."
Dinner began with her talking about her veterinary practice. The topic then switched to the men's clothing business. The pace of the conversation never lagged. From the appetizer to dessert and coffee, the discussion never dwelled on any one subject and thus never became boring. By the time the server brought the check, Andrew Deacon was falling in love with his E-Mate.
* * *
Two days later, the two of them had dinner at the same restaurant and then went to a movie. Afterward, since it was still early, Adriana suggested they stop at his house for a glass of wine. Andrew readily agreed, but when he put the key in the front door lock, Murphy began to bark.
"I didn't know you had a dog," the beautiful redhead said. "Your profile didn't say anything about it."
"I didn't think it was worth mentioning."
The door opened, and Murphy stopped wagging his tail when he spied his master's date. The hair on the animal's back rose, and his lip curled up as he began to growl.
"I've never seen him act like this."
"He probably senses that I'm a veterinarian."
"But he never gives me any trouble when I take him to his own vet."
Murphy continued to growl as though warning Adriana not to enter the house.
"Maybe we'll do this some other time," she suggested.
"No. I'll just shut him in the bedroom so that he won't bother us."
With his dog behind a closed door, Andrew went into the kitchen to get a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"I hope this a good vintage," he said apologetically. "I'm not much of a drinker. I got this bottle as a gift last Christmas, and it's been in the back of my refrigerator all this time."
"You know what? I'm not much for alcohol either. I'd much rather have a glass of milk if you've got enough to spare."
"Sure thing," he said, tossing the corkscrew back in the drawer. "Two glasses of milk coming up."
Behind the bedroom door, Murphy's growls grew louder. When Andrew put down his glass and leaned forward to kiss his date, the dog began to howl.
"What has gotten into that animal?" he wondered.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," the redhead said, getting up from the sofa. "Let's just call it a night."
I blew it! he thought as he drove her home. Or, rather, Murphy blew it for me. I don't know what's wrong with him. He usually loves people.
Rather than the romantic kiss on the sofa, there was a peck on the cheek from Adriana just before she got out of the car.
"Call me," she said. "If you're not busy on Saturday, we can go out again."
"Sure thing," he agreed, smiling from ear to ear.
I didn't blow it after all!
As Andrew drove back to his home, the deejay of the classic rock station played Journey's "Don't Stop Believin,'" a song that usually reminded him of the final episode of The Sopranos. This time, he took the lyrics to heart. He would not stop believing. Whether Murphy liked it or not, he was determined to see Adriana Trudell again.
* * *
When Pam Deacon saw her ex-husband's name on her phone's caller ID, she was hesitant to answer. Although theirs had not been a bitter divorce, she closed the book on that chapter of her life and was not interested in reopening it.
"What is it?" she asked, having finally decided to answer the call.
"I was wondering if you could do me a favor," Andrew said sheepishly.
"You do remember that we're divorced, don't you?"
"Yes, I know. And I know that you're engaged—congratulations, by the way. I was just wondering if you could take Murphy for a while."
"Of course. I'm all for shared custody of the dog. Why? Are you going out of town?"
"No. I'm seeing someone, and he's not too happy about it. He growled and barked when I brought her home."
"Murphy growled at someone? I find that hard to believe. He's the most lovable dog I've ever known."
"She's a veterinarian, and he's probably afraid of her. You know what a big baby he is."
"Why don't you bring him over after work tonight? I'll cook him his favorite dinner."
"Thank you. I really appreciate this."
"Nonsense. Even though he was technically your dog, I always loved him as though he were mine."
Murphy was delighted to see Pam. When she leaned over to pet him, he wagged his tail and covered her face with wet dog kisses.
Why couldn't he behave like that with Adriana? his owner wondered. Maybe the way to a dog's heart—like a man's—is through his stomach. My ex-wife will no doubt give him London broil for dinner tonight.
With the Irish setter out of the house, the next date ended quite differently. The romance quickly escalated, and it was not long before the two were ready to take the next step in their relationship.
"Your house or mine?" Andrew asked when they decided to move in together, a sort of trial run for marriage.
"Yours," Adriana replied. "Although my house is newer, the entire first floor is devoted to my practice—office, examination rooms, waiting room. And the upstairs is way too small."
"Is that why you never invited me inside?" he teased, referring to the fact that whenever he picked her up for a date, she had been waiting in the driveway for him.
"To be perfectly honest," she replied, "I'm not much of a housekeeper. I didn't ask you in because I'm embarrassed about the mess."
"Well, when you move in with me, you won't have to worry about housework. I have a cleaning woman come in twice a week."
Rather than be disappointed that Adriana admittedly did not keep a neat house, he was relieved. Since first reading her profile on emates.com, he thought of her as a perfect woman, one who was, frankly, too good to be true. This minor flaw made her seem more human.
The move was a gradual one. Every night when he came home from his store, he noticed there were more women's clothes and shoes in his closet. Next came cosmetics and toiletries, followed by books and other personal belongings. There was no need for furniture, linens, kitchenware or appliances to be transported since Andrew's house had everything the couple would need, from a top-of-the-line refrigerator-freezer to an electric can opener.
Adriana had been living under his roof for two weeks when the subject of Murphy came up.
"I think I'll pick him up this weekend and bring him home," Andrew announced.
"Do you have to? He doesn't seem to like me very much."
"He's going to have to get used to you eventually."
"Why? From what you told me, he's happy living with your ex-wife."
"But he's my dog. I've always had pets. A house doesn't seem like a home without them."
"Why don't we get a cat then? They're much easier to take care of than dogs."
"No. I want Murphy. He's like family to me."
When Andrew showed up at Pam's home, the Irish setter was delighted to see his owner.
"Ready to go home now, boy?" he asked.
"If you want, I can keep him," his ex-wife offered. "I won't object to your seeing him whenever you want."
"Thanks, but he's got to get used to Adriana sometime."
On the ride home, Murphy curled up in the back seat and slept. When the Subaru pulled into the driveway, his head popped up and he waited patiently as his owner attached the leash to his collar. It was only when Andrew opened the front door that the dog sensed the woman's presence. He stopped and pulled against the leash as though wanting to return to the car.
"What's wrong, Murph?"
Adriana appeared at the top of the staircase. The dog looked up and began to growl.
"Why don't you try to make friends with him?" the dog owner suggested.
As the veterinarian put her hand out to pet the setter on the head, the dog cowered and whined.
"I told you," she said, pulling her hand back, "he doesn't like me."
Murphy remained in the house for two days, going from one hiding place to the next. Finally, Andrew took him back to Pam.
"I've never seen him act like this. He won't eat."
"Don't worry. I'll fatten him up. And I meant what I said. You can visit him whenever you like."
"Thanks."
After a last look at the dog, who was wagging his tail as he devoured the chopped chicken in his food bowl, his owner left the house. He did not want Pam to see the tears in his eyes.
* * *
Niels Larsen had just arrived at the men's clothing store when he got a call from the owner.
"I'm going to be a few minutes late," Andrew told his employee. "Adriana forgot her phone when she went to work this morning, so I'm going to stop by the animal hospital and drop it off."
He was surprised to see there were no cars in the lot or parked nearby, only Adriana's Jeep. Even if the hospital was not open yet, surely there were assistants, technicians and a receptionist that worked there. A sign above the door read ADRIANA TRUDELL, DVM, but there were no hours of operation or an emergency phone number posted. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. After he knocked several times, the redheaded vet finally opened it.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, blocking his way inside.
"You forgot your phone."
"Thanks."
"Where is everybody?" he asked, showing no sign of leaving.
"I had to close the hospital today. Something came up."
Andrew looked over her head, which was easy to do since she was a good six inches shorter than he was. Unlike every other waiting room he had ever seen, there were no magazines for the visitors to read and no advertisements for flea treatments or expensive pet foods on the walls. There was a couch and two chairs, but they looked like they had never been used.
"What's going on here?" he asked, pushing past Adriana.
"Nothing."
"Nothing is the right word. There's nothing here. No file cabinets, no computers. The reception desk doesn't even have a phone. Are you a real vet or is this all some kind of a front?"
"Exactly what are you accusing me of?" she demanded to know, taking an offensive rather than a defensive role.
"I'm not making accusations. I'm just asking questions. What have you got in the back, a meth lab?" he laughed, although he found nothing amusing in her apparent deceit.
"The place is empty because I'm moving my practice to another, smaller building. Since I've moved in with you, I have no need for this white elephant of a house."
"And you didn't think to mention it to me?"
"Do you tell me everything that goes on in your store?"
"If I were relocating the business, I'd certainly say something."
"Well, I'm not you. I prefer to keep my professional and private lives separate. Now, if you'd kindly leave, I can get back to work."
"Look. I didn't mean to ...."
There was a loud crash from the second floor as though something had been knocked over.
"What was that?"
"It's nothing. I sometimes let my patients wander about upstairs."
"I think I'll go make sure. The place is empty at night; anyone could have broken in."
Although Adriana had tried to stop him from investigating, Andrew was not to be deterred. He opened several doors on the first floor—all of which led to empty rooms or closets—until he found the staircase.
"It's probably just one of the cats."
Paying no attention to her protests, he climbed the stairs. When he opened the door at the top, he reached his hand into the dark room and turned on the wall light switch.
"Good God!" he exclaimed in astonishment.
He had expected two, maybe three, cats. Instead, there were dozens. He barely had enough foot room to walk.
"What on earth?" he asked.
"In addition to my veterinarian practice, I run a no-kill shelter for cats. Most people want to adopt dogs or little kittens, but no one seems to want fully grown cats."
"What do plan on doing with them when you move your practice?"
Adriana hesitated before answering. Then, as though she had come to a painful decision, she finally spoke.
"There's plenty of room in your house. They can spread out over all three floors. And once your business is sold, I'll have enough money to keep going for several years."
"Sell my business?" Andrew asked, confused by her ridiculous notions. "What are you talking about? I'm not selling anything!"
"I'm afraid it's not up to you," she replied matter-of-factly. "You no longer own the menswear shop. I do."
"This is crazy! You don't ...."
"You signed the agreement."
"What agreement?" he asked. "I didn't sign anything."
"When you joined E-Mates. You signed an online contract agreeing to its terms and conditions."
"Oh, that! I never read those things. I just checked the box, clicked the button at the bottom and took a little test that proved I wasn't a robot. I never put my signature on any contract."
Adriana laughed, but it was not the delightful sound Andrew had come to love. It was much lower in pitch, sounding more like a man's laugh than a woman's.
"You stupid fool! There is no E-Mates. You went on a fake website. You were—what is the term for it?—oh, yes, catfished. I like that: catfished. Sounds yummy."
"You're insane! I'm leaving, and I don't ever want to see you again."
Suddenly, the beautiful redhead shrunk in size, going from five feet five inches to a little more than a foot in height (standing on all four paws). The red hair turned to fur and spread rapidly to cover her feline body.
"This can't be happening!" Andrew cried, while somewhere in the back of his mind he thought, no wonder Murphy didn't like her. He knew all along what she was.
"It's all mine," the cat said in an eldritch voice that was neither human nor feline. "Your business, your house, your car, your money—everything you own! They're all mine now."
There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his right ankle. The damned monster cat had bitten him.
I'll need to go to the emergency room and get a rabies shot.
It was the last lucid thought Andrew Deacon had before the transformation commenced.
* * *
Since moving away after her divorce, Pam had little cause to visit her former hometown. But it had been weeks since her ex-husband called to ask about Murphy's welfare. She tried to contact him, but he did not answer either his cell or home phone. Even more disturbing, no one picked up at the menswear store.
Maybe he went and got married and is on his honeymoon somewhere, she thought with a slight twinge of jealousy. But why close the shop? Niels is more than capable of running it in his absence.
It felt odd pulling into Andrew's driveway and parking her car behind his Subaru. Everything looked the same as when she had lived there, but it felt different—alien. It no longer felt like home.
She walked up to the door and knocked. It was not her ex-husband who answered. It was an elderly woman with graying red hair.
"Yes?" the old lady asked warily.
Pam could hardly hear her above the chorus of cats.
"I came to see Andrew Deacon."
"I'm sorry, but he doesn't live here anymore."
"That's his car in the driveway."
"That's my car; this is my house. He sold them to me along with his clothing store on Main Street."
"That's impossible! I've known him since we were children. He wouldn't do that."
"Nevertheless, it's true. You can contact my lawyer if you want. He handled all the paperwork. His name is Isadore Fishbein, and he has an office on Fourth Street."
"Thank you. I'll call him this afternoon."
"He's changed," Adriana announced as her unwanted visitor turned to leave.
"Who?"
"Andrew. I doubt you'd know him now."
Once the door was closed firmly in her face, Pam walked down the driveway, got into her Honda and drove away. Sadly, she took no notice of the yellow cat with the mournful blue eyes that watched her from the bay window. He, like the dozens of other men the evil sorceress kept prisoner in his former house, was doomed to spend the remainder of his life as a cat.
"Here I Go Again" written by Bernie Marsden and David Coverdale. Produced by Martin Birch. Recorded by Whitesnake and released by Geffen Records in January 1987.
"Boulevard of Broken Dreams" written by Tré Cool, Mike Dirnt and Billie Joe Armstrong. Produced by Green Day and Bob Cavallo. Recorded by Green Day and released by Reprise Records in November 2004. Performance rights owned by SESAC.
"Heartbreak Hotel" written by Tommy Durden, Mae Boren Axton and Elvis Presley. Produced by Steve Sholes. Recorded by Elvis Presley and released in January 1956. Performance rights owned by BMI.
When it comes to health care, Salem believes in the old adage: Physician heal thyself.
