It’s pretty obvious what’s going on with me: I’m terrified of what will happen at the trial. So’s Lois. She said if they come after our place on Star Island, she’ll go out with guns blazing. What a woman. By the way, she brought the silver Bentley in for service this morning. We were both terrified at the thought of the wine stain not coming out. It didn’t. So I bought her a Porsche Maybach. Heck, she needs a pick-me-up with all that’s going on with the investigations.

But maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe I’m just trying to make sure she still loves me. Sometimes I fear Lois and I are drifting apart and she’s just sticking around because I treat her so well and have done so much for her. It seems like just yesterday she was loading extra home fries on my plate and shaking that sweet, baby-soft ass until I was cross-eyed. Sure, I’m glad she’s off her feet and living the good life – but sometimes I’d love to go back to 1998, when she walked into my life in that tight little diner uniform, carrying a stack of blueberry pancakes and $30,000 of Discover Card debt.

Don’t get me wrong about turning back the clock...She’s still a knockout. Tonight, I found myself just staring at her as she was watching Lou Dobbs rant about my lack of ethics. She was wearing that silk robe I bought her in Bora Bora and looking scared to death about the case. It’s all she seems to care about right now. She flips from business channel to business channel, screaming “fucking cocksucker” at any commentator who drags her name into this mess. She’s right too...None of it is her fault. And the money she earned from her makeover book is all hers. That’s something she can be proud of.

I started rubbing her shoulders, but she smacked my hands away and called me a “fat, bald, crook” and screamed how she’ll never go back to Jacksonville. I liked it better when she called me her “roly-poly money man” and played naked keep-a-way with my hairpiece – but I still see love in her eyes. I really do. Even when she’s spitting Zinfandel in my face.

Later, we were watching Anderson Cooper together when she paused the show to teleconference me from her bedroom and say that I need to retire the navy blue raincoat fast. She said it makes me look like an 8th avenue porn merchant. Whatever. Gazing up at her image on my ceiling-mounted flat screen got me all emotional. I told her how much I loved her and how much it meant to me that she was sticking by my side. She said “yeah, right” before cutting the feed. It seems like she’s bottling up every emotion but anger right now. I wish I knew a way to help.

I texted her about doing something special this weekend. Maybe fly the helicopter up the Hudson with a pitcher of Margaritas like we used to. She replied that she didn’t want to get chased by a news chopper again. She’s right. Those bastards get so close, I’m afraid we’ll crash in the Catskills. And if there’s anything I’m afraid of, it’s dying in a fireball. Although prison sex with a member of the Aryan nation is certainly climbing the charts right now.

Anyway...with penitentiary life now a possibility, I’ve decided to get in shape. I knocked on Lois’ door and asked her what she thought. She suggested enlisting the help of “anyone who has seen success with the hopelessly bloated.” She’s a funny lady, but I’m afraid the caustic edge her humor has taken is a sign that what she’s most stressed about is a life without me. So I told her we could push for conjugal visits. She let out what sounded like a squeal of sheer delight. I asked her if maybe she’d like to “get conjugal” now. But she just cracked the door a few inches and asked “have you seen my goddamn Marlboros?” I don’t get her sometimes.

Before bed, I popped in the DVD of our 4th anniversary party. What a bash. Lois was mad that I couldn’t get Journey back together, but I still think Aerosmith rocked the island. I just hope they don’t play the video at the trial. That’ll make Lois mad at me all over again. I get so sad when she’s mad at me. But like I’ve said, it’s hard for her right now.