"Looking for America" (apologies to Simon & Garfunkel)

Carmel by the Sea Chris and Maid

Here's the first story - it was pre-written - when you do yours you will have eight days to finish it

2006...

The street looked pretty much the same, he thought. He scanned the small shops before the honk from the SUV behind him brought him out of his reverie and he accelerated the Jaguar and found a place to park.

If you come looking for America - this was one place to find it, Jim Driscoll thought as he pulled himself out of the driving seat and stretched. He wouldn't have done, once but...

He was still thin, his long legs still made him look a bit awkward. Now, though, he felt his lower back creak and grinned to himself ruefully; well it had been near enough 40 years since he'd been here; a lot of things had changed. He ran his hands through his thinning brown hair and grinned philosophically again. A lot of things - and not just hair and fashions. A wife had come and now had gone, children had come and grown and now were phone calls and Christmas cards away.

Yes, even Carmel-by-the-Sea had changed, like everywhere else had changed, despite trying to hold back the tide. The chains were threatening to oust the family businesses, people wore high heels now without permission from the city he was sure - but still... To him it looked like it had back in '67. That made him feel better; it was what he'd come to find. He flicked the central locking on the car and went wandering in the early afternoon Californian sun, wandering into nostalgia, into a rose tinted past...

1967...

He laughed when Steve came out of the convenience store and shook his head. He was supposed just to buy some fast food for them but Jim took the sunglasses Steve had bought, whose frames where in the shape of stars, and tried them on, looking through the rose tinted glass.

"Nice," said Steve, "You should keep them on." He took a bite from the hotdog he'd bought and Jim ate his and then fired up the VW van. He was a bit worried by the knocking from the cam shaft but he thought the old lady could get them down San Francisco - it was only another 80 miles to Haight-Ashbury. He didn't keep the glasses on.

As they ran down the highway Steve pulled a bottle of cheap red wine from the brown bag from the store. Jim rolled his eyes and Steve laughed, not having to say about his friend's worrywort mentality coming out again, even though he wore the hippy regalia.

"What?" said Steve, opening the wine and taking a swig from the bottle. He enjoyed goading Jim sometimes to make him act like the geeky student his Mom and Dad had wanted him to remain.

"Nuttin," said Jim; Steve didn't speak knowing that Jim would have to.

"It's just - well, we're short of bread, y'know?"

"I traded our bread for wine, it's a spiritual thing." Steve laughed and slipped lower in his seat and sipped more wine, offering it to Jim who sighed, checked the rear view for cops and took the bottle. He smiled and grinned then looked over at Steve who pulled a pill from the pocket of his neon green vest.

"Hey man, don't get stoned now!" Steve laughed again and swallowed the pill with the wine. Jim shook his head; Steve had started calling himself Dean over the last couple of hundred miles.

"Don't worry about the bread, Jack," Steve said, slipping into his Kerouac fantasy. "We can get a job -" he waved his hand vaguely, "picking apples."

Jim looked over to his friend and laughed. "This is June, man."

"Whatever," said Dean/Steve, getting very interested in the fabric of his jeans all of a sudden.

Jim shook his head and drove.

They were 20 miles from San Francisco and Steve had retired to the back to sleep and Jim spotted four people and various musical instruments by the bus stop. He looked over and saw her, sitting barefoot on the guitar case. She waved at him and blew him a kiss.

He stopped to pick up the band. Flower Soup. He made sure she got the front seat.

2. Carmel-by-the-Sea, Chris & Maid

1967...

"Groovy. How far you goin' man?" she asked him, laughing as she climbed into the front seat of the brightly painted minibus, the three guys piling into the back through the sliding panel door.

"San Francisco."

"Karma," she stated solemnly, nodding her head as if that could be the only explanation for his stopping to pick them up.

Jim took his first good look at her as she pulled back the sheer, gauzy expanse of her skirt and propped her ring-spangled feet up on the dash. The dark, puffy nipples of her small breasts were visible through her peasant blouse; pointing at him accusingly as he broke his stare. She laughed again, lifting it defiantly to give him a better look. "You like?"

He turned away quickly, embarrassed that she had noticed where his eyes had wandered, and eased the psychedellic caravan back out onto the road, grateful for the momentary distraction from... "You guys. You're a band?" He said awkwardly, swallowing his objection and suddenly feeling about thirteen years old.

"Flower Soup," she replied, laughing again and gesturing toward the labelled guitar cases in the back. "Eight, Kestrel and Thorn," she added, offhandedly and he glanced back in the rearview as they nodded and murmured, holding up their fingers in the universal sign of peace. "And you?"

"Jim," he replied after considering what it was she was asking. "Jim Driscoll. And my friend is... Dean." Jim didn't know why he hadn't used Steve's real name. Somehow he felt as though he needed to impress her after offering his own quotidian moniker.

"Magellan."

"What?"

A sweet/acrid scent, not unlike burning rope, filled the van as someone lit up a joint. She clapped her hands in delight, reaching back, her fingers wriggling impatiently for someone to pass it to her. Taking a deep drag, she held it and then exhaled, blowing the daydreamy haze in his direction as she leaned over.

She smelled of patchouli and sandalwood, earthy and exotic, and it made him even more dizzy than the heady smoke that permeated the bus. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her combing her fingers through her long, blonde hair that she sat on, like a silken pillowcase, her clear blue eyes fastened almost disconcertingly on him.

"Your name."

"What?" Jesus! He was beginning to sound like a pre-pubescent, pimply faced kid or a...

"Hundred watt light bulb," she chirruped as he blushed, laughing again, though there was no trace of meanheartedness in it.

"Magellan. Your name is... " She held the joint up to his lips and he inhaled, choking as the harsh smoke entered his lungs. She steadied the wheel while he recovered, explaining simply that Magellan had been a navigator and the first person to circle the earth. "One day," she added pointing skyward, "we're gonna be up there. A giant love-in. Saturn or Pluto or having cheese and wine with the Man in the Moon."

"Thanks," he finally managed, not wanting to interrupt the sound of her voice. It was mellifluous and her laugh bright and sunshiney, like lead crystal or birds singing. Jim, now suddenly dubbed Magellan, was entranced.

"It's all cool," she replied, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. "They call me Amaranth."

He quoted Milton's Paradise Lost without a second thought as she pulled a pen and a composition book from her shoulder bag and began to scribble:

"Immortal amarant, a flower which once
In paradise, fast by the tree of life,
Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence
To heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows,
And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life,
And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven
Rolls o'er elysian flowers her amber stream:
With these that never fade the spirits elect
Bind their resplendent locks."

1967

Let's go to San Francisco,
Where the flowers grow
So very high
Sunshine in San Francisco
Makes your mind grow up to the sky...

The VW crawled along Haight and came to a stop near a place Amaranth pointed to. It had a crumbling facade, on the steps of which sat people clad in peasant outfits, some wore approximations of togas. There were people wearing bells around their necks, beads and flowers.

Amaranth went over to a thin white man with tattoos of eagle's feathers down his arm. They kissed for a long time and Jim sighed and busied himself helping the band unload their gear from his van. Dean was already in conversation with a tall guy who Jim heard say his name was Merlin and he was offering a lesson in acid tripping to his friend.

Voices surrounded Jim, friendly voices and he found himself inside the house in a kitchen where the power still hadn't been turned off by the landlord and food was cooking. A blond woman Who called herself Aphrodite was talking to him he realised, saying something about vegetarianism.

He had lost sight of Amaranth but was surrounded by people who made him welcome.

"Cool van," said a young man with the sproutings of a beard. "What they call you man?"

Jim was about to reply when he smiled and said, "Magellen."

The man doing the cooking poured something onto a plate; Jim never really found out what was in it but it was palatable enough despite its appearance and didn't seem to contain any drugs.

Later, there was nother room, filled with candlelight and incense and Kestrel took up an acoustic guitar and began to play the songs that were cutting through time, opening up life as it had never been lived.

Jim lay back and let a woman pour wine into a jar that they shared and drank from. He kissed her lips as he was aware of other music starting and a hand sliding into his hair. He opened his eyes, the candle light's soft glow filling the room and he saw Amaranth's face. She reached over and took the jar and drank some wine before lying beside him her head on his chest listening to the music.

He was floating then, on some sort of magic carpet and he wanted to tell her a tale from the Arabian Nights but instead his lips touched hers and he felt her hand slide down between his legs.

He did his light bulb impression again but this time she didn't see it but felt him wriggling in embarrassment.

"What's the matter," he could hear the giggle in her voice as her lips played on his earlobe, then her tongue in his ear.

"Not here," he said, lamely, not loking around at the other couples who had begun to do it "there." The guitar played on, voices sang.

"Over here then," she whispered and moved towards the corner of the room, "I want to hear the music while..." she kissed his neck. He reached down to the peasant blouse and lifted it over her head; she sat back on her thighs and let the soft light flicker over her.

""You like?" She said it again as she put her arms around his neck and laced her fingers together there, her eyes on his before he bent to her shoulder, moving in closer to her. His hands slid up her sides, over her ribs as his mouth slipped down to her small breasts and sought out the hardening dark peaks of her nipples.

Around the room now soft cries and moans added to the music that still played across the bodies that grew close, made love. He no longer cared where they were, she was here, he was here, that was all that mattered. Clothing fell away and nudity was natural. His mouth was on her skin wetting her belly as he slid down her, tasting her as he kissed every inch of her as they listened to the music.

His tongue playing on her clit and her moans, in time with the song and with the more insistant beat of a bodrhan someone was accompanying Kestrel with, filled their corner of the room. As she spasmed, her hands running in his hair he moved up over her. She clawed at his pale skin, at his ass as she welcomed him with her open legs as he slipped inside her and she exhaled through gritted teeth and pushed her hips up to him.

She moved sinuously under him, accomodating the thrusts that kept time with the music. He felt her body moving too, moving with him as his mouth again lapped her small firm breasts and then went to her own mouth to plunge his tongue in her. She could feel him moving faster and harder as she heard the sounds of sex from around them. His fingers clawed against her arm and her waist as he pressed close and she felt the heat of his seed filling her, felt him panting against her breasts as she again came, more slowly, more deeply.

She pulled him into her heart right there.

2006

Jim walked along the neat streets of Carmel-by-the-Sea. He smiled to himself as he looked down to the recently rainwashed sidewalk, remembering Amaranth, the month in San Francisco with her, the band, the summer of love. He was glad to have been there, glad to be able to give her a lift back home, here, when she got news her grandmother wasn't well.

It was odd what you remembered, he mused, thinking of when they had just met and he slipped into geek mode and quoted Milton and how she had scribbled down the words. As they got to know each other over the days that followed she told him she was going to UCLA after the summer. "Maybe English Lit," she shrugged and he smiled telling her he was going to Princeton to do engineering. She scrunched up her nose at the thought until he told her his dreams of making spaceships.

He remembered how she had sketched the old houses on Haight in that book and he had scribbled down fragments of beat poetry he had remembered and how they'd written their own poems.

Different coasts, different lives. He looked around - somewhere near here he had dropped her off. He gave her his address, she gave him hers. They kissed and he watched her head off towards a conservative looking sedan that had stopped to meet her. She looked around and waved and smiled, a flower, a yellow one, still in her hair.

He never saw her again.

****

The bookshop made him grin; synchronicity, he thought as he looked at the faded psychedelic paint.
Reincarnation, Second Hand Books, the hand written sign said. He walked in and his grin grew bigger at the smell of incense on the air and the sound of sitar music on a CD. He wandered through the rickety shelving looking at the rows of paperbacks with well used spines and yellowing pages. No one seemed to be there; he thought it was fitting - some old, trusting hippy owner - not even a CCTV camera in sight to spot anyone making off with the stock.

He looked up to the wall near the counter and spied a photoframe. Inside was a photocopy of a page from a writing journal, with two poems written in different hands and a heart drawn in red crayon and the letters A and M inside it.

4. Carmel-by-the-Sea, Chris & Maid

She took care of her gran until she finally passed away eight months later. As for Magellan, well they wrote for a while. Their letters came and went, bits and snatches of news and poetry and silly little drawings that eventually grew fewer and fewer and further and further apart as their magical summer in San Francisco faded into white, and soon, became just a memory.

Missing her first semester at UCLA, she opted to start the following year, 1968. By then she was back to being Sarah Jane Bridger though in her heart of hearts she would always be Amaranth, a flower which once in paradise, fast by the tree of life, began to bloom.

She got married in '69, and he got called up in '70. SSG Robert F. Scherdin, USSF. He never came home but she still wears the bracelet with his name on it.

Funny how people do things like that -- clinging to tattered remnants of their past as if to keep it alive somehow. Like notebooks, with flowers pressed between the yellowed pages. There were nearly sixty of them now, lined up chronologically from first to last on shelves above her desk.

Every now and then she would take one down and open it, remembering the times and the places that inspired her to write in them. Memories. Photographs and memories.

2006...

She was standing behind the glass bead curtain that separated the inner office from the store itself when he walked in, immediately backing away so that he wouldn't see her. She wasn't young and thin anymore, but he had aged nicely, she thought. Still handsome as ever.

If she ever doubted that he would remember her, that thought quickly faded as he ran his fingers along the edge of the picture frame.

"For those who come to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you come to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there

If you come to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there"

Amaranth sang softly as she stepped through the glass bead curtain that had suddenly become a portal from the past leading to their now. "Hello, Magellan. Long time."

The End
or is it just déjà vu -- all over again?​

1. Forest Lawns

Penny had been aware of the man now for a while. He had wandered around the flower shop for at least fifteen minutes to her knowledge. It wasn't as if he was going to steal anything - who would steal flowers from the Forest Lawns Cemetery flower shop? Neither was it as if he were especially odd. True, he was wearing clothes that seemed as if they could come straight out of the 1950's but retro clothing was in. Besides, she thought he was kind of cute, in a gaunt sort of way.

Still, she did ask Mr Pemburton, the balding grey haired manager of the shop, who smiled at her.

"Grief does that some time, makes people distracted," he said and patted her elbow and returned to his accounts.

Penny bit her lip and looked again at the young man in the dark pin stripe suit and fedora. Her high school friends had all wrinkled their noses when she said she was getting a summer job at the cemetery but she didn't care - and the more she'd worked there the more she'd enjoyed it. Sometimes seeing someone young cheered them up when they came for flowers. "Life goes on," some said.

She took a deep breath and wandered out among the cut flowers and caught the eye of the man. She pushed a strand of blonde hair back over her ear.

"Was there - is there - something you're looking for especially?"

He looked up. His eyes were deep set and a glowing green and at first she thought he was upset at her speaking to him, then he grinned and she smiled back, noticing his dimples and blushing a little.

"No, nothing special," he said in a low voice that was hard to catch. "I'm a little early," he said.

"Oh, you're waiting for..." She forgot what she was supposed to call a funeral party that didn't sound quite so harsh so just stopped a little awkwardly.

He smiled again and shook his head, bending down to sniff a dark red rose.

"It's our anniversary," he said. "I always come this time - well, around this time -" he checked his wristwatch. "11 am, we got married. I like to come and see Annette this time, this day. Make sure she's OK."

Penny nodded and gulped, blinking back a tear as she walked back to the counter. She must have been so young when she passed on, she thought. She tried to busy herself with arranging some paper on the desk in front of her as she saw the man check his watch again.

2. Forest Lawn - Chris and Maid

The oversized black umbrella sheltered the elderly woman from the rain as she hurried through the Court of Remembrance toward the Sanctuary of Light pausing only briefly to look up at the statue of a mother walking with her child in hand. She smiled and sighed, glancing at her watch. She didn't want to be late. Especially today.

The wrought iron gate opened with a mournful squeal as she let herself into the private garden that was her destination. After all these years there was a sense of familiarity and the memories washed over her like the raindrops that beat down and dripped from the rim of her umbrella. It made her remember another time. Another place. Another... life.

"You'll get drenched." It had begun to rain in the early hours of the morning and showed no sign of letting up.

Annette nodded and grinned. "Maybe so, but I wouldn't miss today for the world. Now shoo while I finish getting dressed. It's bad luck to... "

"See you in your gown before the wedding. Superstitious tripe," David Armitage grinned, his green eyes sparkling as he looked down at his bride-to-be, the backs of his fingers tracing the firm, full line of Annette's breast as she playfully slapped his hand away.

They'd met on a set two years before, he the leading man, she one of the extras in the cast. She had been starstruck of course and never imagined that he would look twice at her. "Silly old fruit," David called her from his perch between her legs when she'd told him a year later before he had buried his mouth in her sex to convince her otherwise.

Annette shivered and smiled, her hands playing over the slight bulge in her belly as he let himself out of the suite to be replaced by her best friend, Millie Forbush. "You look dreamy, love."

"I am. I am," she replied with a sappy grin. "It's like a fairy tale come true."

And so it was, she thought to herself as she replaced the orchid in the vase with a freshly cut one she had brought from the greenhouse. She sighed again, kissing her fingertips and gently caressing the beautiful flower before turning away.

******​

The lights from the flower shop slash café shone brightly as a beacon amidst the steady deluge as she approached. This too, was part of her routine.

Glancing at the colorful array of flowers on display, Annette made her way toward a small table near the windows. She needed to watch the rain as she sipped at her steaming cup of coffee. Just as she needed to watch the young girl who worked behind the counter.

"Mom! Mommy!"

Annette looked up from her book, matching her daughter's smile with one of her own. "What is it, Felicia?" she asked, even as the young teenager blurted out her news.

"I have a date! Jimmy Parkinson. You know. The boy from... "

A gruff harumph interrupted Felicia's announcement. "A what? Annette... "

She grinned, placing her finger over her husband's lips as he leaned down to kiss her before wrapping his arms around the ebullient teen. Neither of them had looked forward to this day. It meant that Felicia was finally growing up and that they might have to relinquish their hold on her to someone else. Irregardless, she was still young. Way too young for...

David had finally come around though Annette remembered him eyeing the elegant prom dress Annette had helped their daughter to pick out with more than a little trepidation. It was too... risqué, he'd said, despite the fact she was as beautiful as a princess.

Two years later there was a sort of repeat -- Felicia's engagement and then her wedding. David protested... again. He just couldn't bear losing his "little girl". Truth, Annette still wasn't sure who had cried more -- him or their daughter. Tears of joy, of course, mixed with a tinge of loss.

But they still had each other. They would always have each other. Right?

Annette sighed, taking a sip and gazing out toward the downpour as a quiet voice asked if she would mind some company.

3. Forest Lawns.

Annette sat at the table looking around as she seemed to hear a voice. It often happened here, she felt so close to the past, so close to that big part of her life, when she had been so happy. Not that she wasn't now it was just - she could feel the memories here, feel all the people. Often when she was here she would talk and remember. The girl behind the counter had already reminded her of her daughter, then of her first marriage. She watched the rivulets of water bathe the glass looking out on the well tended grass and the monuments.

She looked around and saw the figure in the retro clothes by her chair.

"Company," she said, a little distractedly but then with a visible relaxation. Penny looked over at her as Annette said the word.

Annette smiled and checked her watch and went to the door, opening her umbrella again. Penny watched as both of her customers headed out into the rain.

Annette sighed as she approached the edge of the manicured lawn. "My shoes are going to take a battering David - and I hope none of the gardeners see what my heels do to the grass." She stepped gingerly across it heading for a rough hewn basalt slab and a brass plaque. She stood over it so the umbrella sheltered it from the rain.

"You remember why it's basalt?" the man said to Annette, even though he knew her answer.

Annette nodded and blushed. "I don't think the authorities here would have let me use it if they'd known. Happy anniversary." She drew a small black pebble, smoothed by years of touching, from her bag.

****

They'd been a double act, doing the theatres, doing radio, back in the 50's. When he'd got some bit parts in film noir she teased him about how being the big star had gone to his head. Of course it hadn't and what with the travelling and the long hours, David had always been a good husband and father.

It was the summer out west that they'd had a few days between shows, that Felicia had wanted to stay with her aunt and they walked the redwood forest. Walked until they grazed the sky and gazed out over forest and spread the blanket on the flat dark rock and made love.

A lovemaking that joined their spirits; they hardly had to speak, though they laughed and kissed. Their minds told each other's body what to expect and it happened. Slow pulses of pleasure radiating from their hearts, their souls into their bodies.

Afterwards, they sat naked, dappled by leaf shadow and spoke of love and hope and the future. They exchanged pebbles of the black basalt, vowing to remember the day as their special anniversary every year.

****

Penny looked out of the window of the flower shop and watched the two people, the older woman and the gaunt young man. She wondered if he were showing her the resting place of his wife, or if she was showing him the person she had come to visit.

As she watched they leaned closer and she frowned. The rain still fell but around them there semed an aura, a glow of sunlight as if from a distant place. She stepped closer to the glass and seemed to see a vista of treetops appearing in the glow and - the woman's clothes changed to a light shirt and shorts - and her body...was young. They turned and kissed one another.

Penny gasped and stepped back looking around for Mr Pemburton but she was alone. She looked outside again and saw only the solitary figure of the elderly woman, slowly turning her back on the black basalt monument.

4. Forest Lawn - Chris & Maid

The memories Annette's visit to Forest Lawn elicited were tempting. Life without David had left her with a vague sort of emptiness that longed to be recalled, relived. At first she had come every day, then once a week. Now, once a month. Reminiscences, reflections tugging at her. Always tugging. It wasn't fair, she thought. Not to her, not to... She closed her eyes and sighed.

"It's time, David," Annette whispered sadly. "It's time for you to rest and for me to continue."

"Annette... " he replied, placing his hands on her shoulders before drawing her into his arms. "I just can't... "

"You can," she retorted. "You will."

It was David's turn to sigh. He hadn't meant to leave her so soon. They'd often talked about growing old together, never considering that one would leave the other for any reason, never imagining the interference of a trucker who had fallen asleep at the wheel.

She was right, he knew. Annette was always right. He nodded. "Meet me beneath the redwoods?" he asked, hopefully.

"When it's time, dearest heart. When it's time." Annette blinked back the tears that welled up in her eyes as his image flickered and blurred and finally, seemed to evanesce.

As she walked away from the graveside, her eyes caught those of the young girl from the flower shop as she peered outwardly through the downpour. Annette smiled and waved, the girl waggling her fingers shyly as if she understood.

"Annette! You'll catch your death."

She turned to face the quickly approaching man with a smile. "No, Mac," she said with a broad smile, offering the shelter of her umbrella to her husband. "I just tossed it away. Let's go home now."

He wove his arm around her waist, taking the umbrella in his own hand as they walked toward the car. "I love you, Annette," he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose lightly.

"As I love you... " she responded, the word both bitten off as she spoke, a final farewell.

Vermont in the Fall Chris and Syren 1

It was time for warmer clothes, Michael decided. The summer had come and gone - quite profitably - and he knew he could make still more money while the good weather lasted. Fall in Vermont was very colourful, he mused as he checked his tubes of oil paint.

Wouldn't be much of a change in the modus operandi he had used for a few weeks yet. Select the right picturesque village, check the houses nestling in the woods and on the hills. Check for the right women owners of said houses...

It had worked well that summer, he recalled, sitting outside the selected houses waiting for the women to return, to spot him painting. They invariably offered him a drink; "the sun's so hot today," he recalled one of them drawling as she leaned over his shoulder and studied the canvas, her firm breast against his shoulder. What was her name? She'd been very generous with her bed and when buying the picture.

His looks helped, of course; the slightly wavy dark hair over the collar, his skin retaining some of the olive of his Italian ancestors, a swimmer's physique. What was the name of the one who'd swam naked with him? The water even in summer in Vermont was cold but afterwards on the towels...

They always commented on his eyes. Dark, penetrating, the painter's gaze, undressing them, appraising their line and form.

He went outside; the air had a slight chill, his breath froze a little.

"You weren't going to go without saying goodbye were you?"

He turned and looked at Sandra, the owner of the bed and breakfast and he smiled, slipping his arms around her waist.

"Of course not," he purred and kissed her neck, feeling her, still in her flowing ivory coloured lingerie, pressed against him. They both turned their heads and looked at the picture of the B and B on the wall. He'd tucked some business cards into the front of the guest book - just in case.

"Its been wonderful Liz," he stepped back and held her hands. She nodded and her face clouded a little as she tilted her head.

"Now don't you forget, you call me any time if you need to talk about..."

He nodded and smiled gratefully.

The story helped too - of how his wife had suddenly passed away and how Liz (or Sue, or Sandra or...) had been so understanding and how "it had been the first time for - such a long time," he would say before, after or - in one case during (which had had the unusual effect of making the woman cry and have the strongest of orgasms) sex. He tended to get a lot of hugs and smiles then.

He closed the door of his car and blew a kiss at Sandra and pushed away the real reason he was out here, why he had given up the galleries and exhibitions in New York and Chicago. No one had died, but his girlfriend leaving, the drinking afterwards and then disappearing - he'd decided then to spend the summer bumming round New England then realising he could have some fun and make pin money at the same time. Maybe he'd go back one day, that's what he kept telling Manny his agent who was worried about him - worried about the lost commissions on cancelled shows more like. Plus he probably wished Michael dead - more money in a dead artist.

He drove, having picked his next village fifty or so miles away. He'd already done his homework; "for a drop out I'm on the ball," he thought to himself and laughed over the song playing on the car stereo.

****

Madison she was called; he'd already scoped her place and today when he arrived the light was perfect. He stepped from the car and began setting up his easel, preparing his pallette, making sure he was visible from the windows of the house as he set up his folding chair and began to sketch.

The sound of shifting gravel in her driveway drew Madison from her reading. "Now just who could that be, hmm?” she asked, picking up her ginger colored tabby cat as she walked to the parlor window. "We weren't expecting company." she cooed, giving the cat a quick scratch behind the ears. Gently drawing the creamy lace curtain aside, she peered out onto the front lawn.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me!" she exclaimed softly on a laugh, unable to believe the sight before her eyes. There, sitting on her lawn, easel before him, brush at the ready, was none other than the "canvas Casanova". At least that was what the town gossips had called him, if Madison recalled correctly. Word had traveled far and fast, boasting of the artist that had charmed his way into beds and pockets of some New England's finest women. For weeks, Madison had heard the rumors, but she never expected them to be true, nor did she expect him to find his way to her door. The last thing she needed was some scam artist looking for a quick go.

"Come on angel; let’s go see what we're dealing with." Madison sighed as she opened the door and walked out on to the porch.

"Hello there!!" she called to him, waiting to see if he would turn to face her. He didn't. "Looks like I have to go to him" she grumbled, before setting the cat down and stepping off the porch.

She took her time in making her way across the lawn to where he was sitting. She marveled at the fact that even though the sun was shining brightly, there was very little heat to be felt in the air, autumn's chill was starting to settle.

“Is there something I can help you with?" she asked when she was close enough.

“Oh hi, it's a beautiful day isn't it?” He said smiling at her, fixing her with his dark gaze.

"Yes, it is" she frowned slightly, certain she had seen his face before. "You are aware you're on private property, aren't you?"

"Yeah I know, I'm sorry. I was driving by, and I saw the house, the view." he said looking around as he spoke. "All of it, and I just had to stop. All this grandeur and beauty, it's ..." He continued, gesturing at the surroundings. He paused slightly, locking his dark gaze with hers again, then said "Breathtaking."

Madison flushed slightly knowing he was no longer referring to the scenery. "I'm sure it is." she murmured, running a hand through her short auburn curls. In truth he wasn't lying, the view was beautiful. Nestled within a grove of trees, Madison knew that soon she'd be surrounded by leaves ablaze with fall's fiery splendour. She absolutely loved it, which was probably why she had never left. Here there was a sense of peace, she had never found anywhere else

"Look the truth of the matter is, I'm not comfortable having ..."

"The name's Michael." he said quickly.

"Nice to meet you Michael" Madison said, taking his hand, shaking it politely "I dont think..."

"And you would be?" he asked, cutting her off again.

Madison didn't answer, she was too busy concentrating on the way he still held her palm in his, the way his thumb stroked her wrist.

"Come on now, it can't be all that difficult to tell me your name" he grinned at her, cocking his head to one side. Persistant little thing, she thought to herself. It was obvious none of the others had turned him down, and he wasn't about to let her be any different. Sadly his luck was about to change.

"Madison" She said finally.

"There you go." he smiled.

Madison batted her eyelashes sweetly and pretended to blush. Why not play along, she thought, then laugh as he falls flat on his face.

"I was just about to make lunch." She said pointing over her shoulder to the house, having made up her mind. "Would you ...would you like to come in for a bit?" she asked with mock hesitance, knowing he wouldnt decline the offer. She had to surpress a laugh as she saw his eyes light up as if to say jackpot. Boy, was he was in for a surprise. She would admit he was handsome, and perhaps even charming, but she wasn't the slightest bit impressed.

They sat in the kitchen and talked as they ate. She listened quietly as he told her the story of his wife dying, showing as much sympathy as was expected. So that was how he hooked 'em, she thought with a slight shake of the head. Well she certainly wasnt buying anything he said.

"You know you have really great bone structure" he murmured at some point, as she leaned forward to take his plate.

"Do I?" she asked flatly.

"Oh yes, you certainly do" he replied stroking a finger tip across her cheek. "So defined yet so soft. It's been awhile since I've been this close to a beautiful woman."

"Wow! You certainly do know how to lay it on thick, dont you?" she asked as she rose to put their dishes in the sink.

"Excuse me?" he said blinking at her.

"Oh I think you heard me" she replied turning to face him. "You dont get it do you. I know your game, love. I've been onto you, since you got here.This is where I'm supposed to fall into bed with you right?"

He just sat there, staring at her. Madison couldn't help but smile.

"News travels fast in small communities like those around here. Especially when that news involves scandal and sex." she said smirking. You'd have known that, if you were from around here."

He still hadn't said a word, and Madison wondered if he was alright. Probably still in shock that she had him pegged from the moment she saw him. As she looked at him again she remembered where she had seen his face before.

"Now I remember you, you used to have shows in New York, right?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Yeah I went to one last spring while I was there. Your work is awesome, you're very talented" she continued, remembering how fascinated she had been. His portraits had held so much life, so much soul. She wondered what could have happened to make him want to waste his gift like this. What was he running from? "If I recall correctly though, landscapes weren't really your focus."

Leaning against the counter Madison said "So hotshot, why dont you tell me what really made you come up here?"

He blustered for a while, trying to continue his charade but she wouldn't let him. She gave him a few names of people who had shared the story. Gayle, he thought to himself when she mentioned a name, Gayle of course! That was the woman who...Yes, Gayle.

He sighed and returned his thoughts and eyes to Madison. It was a pity that it hadn't worked with her she was pretty and when she smiled - he began thinking of portraits. He noticed her tilting her head at him with a quizzical look on her face. She'd obviously asked him something.

"Sorry?" he said as if returning to consciousness, not registering her question.

She rolled her eyes.

"I was just thinking," he said again and his gaze returned to her face. He didn't notice her blush; she wasn't used to the intensity of such a look that wasn't in some way predatory or sexual - or as deep a love as she had ever known. His eyes though, his mind, were looking at lines and curves and light and shade. He drew a deep breath and smiled at her; he hadn't looked at anything - anyone - in that way for months. He felt his heart beating hard with the excitement of finding a subject.

"Like to stay for something to eat?" He heard her words and blinked and as he did so came back to himself. He rocked a little on his heels and drew a deep breath and nodded, the moment of reverie, of discovery passing away and smiled and began to wander round the room as she talked of the ladies book club and meeting in town and how his noteriety had built over several counties.

He stood in the kitchen, offered to help and she shook her head saying it wouldn't take long. He explained what had really happened to him that summer - or as much as he thought she might be interested in while not making himself look too much like he was just making notches in the bedpost for the sake of it.

When the meal was ready she smiled at him a smile he thought was some way between forgiveness and understanding. "Besides, my friends are grown ups, they knew what they were doing," she said with a shrug.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asked and drank some wine.

She nodded slowly and smiled, this time the sides of her mouth curled up more and he watched her take a strawberry from the plate before her and bite it. The red juice moistened her lips and he watched the tip of her pink tongue lap it away, watched the muscles of her neck move as she swallowed the piece of fruit. He watched her smile become less enigmatic than that of La Giaconda.

****

She took him to bed on her terms. He mentally smiled to himself - it was symbolic. She was riding him, she was in control. He lay beneath her and she told him how exciting it was to have someone look at her the way he did, the way he covered her flesh with glances that could have been butterfly kisses covering every inch of her at once.

She climaxed quickly the first time she told him that fantasy and her pussy squeezed his hard cock but she begged him. "Not yet," she cried out, her back arching and her head thrown back as she drove down on him, pressing her clit on his bone and grinding herself up to another peak. She pulled her head back with an effort and her eyes gleamed with lust.

"Not yet," she said huskily, "don't come yet." She settled down on him now feeling not only his eyes on her but his hands, on her sides, her breasts, her hips as she built again her rhythm. Faster, harder, she leaning forward him rising off the bed to suckle her nipples his hand on the muscles of her back a fragment of his mind illuminated by Michaelangelo, by Leonardo, the way they had drawn the muscles under the skin.

He began to push and she couldn't deny him, didn't want to deny him. She sat up and tugged her nipples, displayed herself before him even as she watched him writhe under her, impaled in her by his cock.

Their eyes locked on each other as he pushed her up, as she heard him moan, felt the heat of his seed released inside her spasming, hungry sex. She let her hands fall either side of his shoulders as they moved no more, to lean over and share a long kiss.

****

It was as she came out of the shower that it fell into place. He lay on the bed and watched her toweling her hair into a damp mass of curls, her body surrounded by another towel.

"Wait -" he said, frantically looking around.

"What?" she was worried, "what's the matter?"

"A pencil? Anything?"

She frowned her confusion as he looked on the bedside cabinets and found her pen on top of a local paper open at the crossword. The paper he used was from a book of notelets that she'd been given one Christmas or birthday and had never used. She smiled as he positioned her against the window.

"It won't take long, just a sketch."

She saw in his eyes the familiar burning stare but his body now had a tension born not of lust or pleasure in her body - but a simple love of line and form and light.

Watching him, Madison couldnt help but smile. His excitement was evident in his every move as he scrambled to find something to draw on. He sat at the edge of the bed, his face set in deep concentration as he sketched. He had said it wouldn't take long, that it would be only one quick sketch, but he had lied. That one sketch had quickly turned to two, and then two to three, soon enough the bedroom floor was littered with page upon page of her image. Her every pose ultimately leading to another, each one more provocative, more freeing than the one that had gone before. Her towel slowly finding its way to the floor.

At one point he told her he craved movement, so she obliged by making her way around the room. She could feel his eyes following her as she walked, like a predator watching his prey. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if she should be afraid but she wasn't at all. She loved the way he looked at her, the way his eyes seemed to caress and cherish her every curve. She had had her share of lovers but none had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her now. The glow she saw in his eyes made her heart race.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if she should be afraid but she wasn't at all. Being with him relaxed her, as the hours passed the talked about everything, about who they were and what they wanted. She told him her secrets, things she had never told anyone else, without truly knowing why. More than once he made her laughter ring out and fill silence the room. It was as she lay facing him on the bed, one arm streched above her head the other draped across the gentle swell of her hip, that she felt it. They were beyond words at this point, their eyes saying more than they ever could. She felt all her layers fall away and she lay bare before his eyes.

He saw her shiver and asked "Are you cold?"

"No, not at all" she whispered on a trembling smile. She knew he could see the truth in her eyes, the trust, the yearning. She needed him, and hoped he needed her too.

"Stay right there. Ok? I need to get my paints, I'll be right back." he said bending to pick her towel up off the floor, wrapping it around his waist. He walked closer to her side and kissed her forehead before leaving the room. She had drifted asleep by the time he came back.


******************


When she awoke she found him lying next to her his face inches from her own, his paint stained hand stroking her hair. She smiled at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Did you finish?" Madison asked softly. Her smile widened as he nodded yes in response. "Can I see it?"

"No" he said, causing her to frown in confusion. "Not yet at least."

"I don't understand"

"Well..." he began, trailing his fingertip along her cheekbone "How about you come to New York with me? I have a new show, you can see it then."

"What? What show are you talking about? I thought you said ..." she said trying to make sense of his words.

"It's new, it's portraits of you" he said quietly. "You helped me find my gift again, it's the least I can do."

"Michael..." she said breathily, rendered almost speechless by the intensity of his gaze. She knew he was asking for more than just a trip to New York, he was asking for her.

"Tell me what you're thinking" he said smiling at her.

She returned his smile. "I think we can talk more about New York later. Right now, I need warming up" she grinned. She moved closer to him and pressed her lips gently to his. Her answer to his question in her kiss, and the way she took him inside her once more.


********************


After they had made love, they lay wrapped in each others arms, her head against his chest as she listened to the steady beating of his heart. Some time later in the night, while she was drifting between wake and sleep she heard him pick up the phone from her nightstand.

"Hey Manny, guess what." he said softly, not wanting to wake her. "I'm back. Her name is Madison, you'll meet her in a few weeks."

With that she smiled and fell asleep.

Keeping Out the Cold. Maid and Chris.

Roger stood and walked to the picture window. He looked out on near blackness of the chill Vermont fall. Instead of the colours of the autumn trees he could see over on the hill on the other side of the valley a light burning from the Allington place. Mostly, though, he could see himself, instead of the small lake outside their house. He ran his fingers through his hair; still brown but thinning and looked at his somewhat gaunt face and steel rimmed spectacles.

He turned as Hannah, his wife, returned to the room and smiled at her.

"So, do you think it will be fun?" He asked her as she sat back on the floor, curling her legs beneath her.

She nodded "Yes, yes I do. We haven't had a dinner party in a long time," she said. He glanced into her gaze wondering if she was chastising him for his long hours at the law firm. Even last summer they had spent more time together but now - with the partnership he'd been offered he needed the hours. The golf was another thing that took him away from her - but it was for work too. The socialising...what was it she had said that time? "Doing it for your new "friends.""

"You're sure?" He said.

"Sure I'm sure. We have to ask Maria and Stewart. The accountant? She and I meet up for coffee now and then in Woodstock. She's trying to get me into the bridge club," she said and rolled her eyes. "On the up side her boy and Nathan are in the same soccer team."

Roger smiled and came back over to her. He sat in the burgundy leather recliner and she moved over to lean against the arm. She wrapped her arm around his leg and stared towards the woodburning stove, it's glass front showing the red heart of oak logs, almost burning themselves out.

Roger felt her hand run up and down the back of his trousers, caressing his calf and reached out to her head. His fingertips touched her hair and he wanted to bury them in it but something stopped him and he just gently stroked her instead.

She turned her head slightly trying to catch the touch of his hands on her cheek but he'd already withdrawn. She moved around to look at him.

"Fancy some wine?" She reached out for the bottle on the low coffee table and poured herself a little more of the Cabernet. He shook his head.

She turned around, on her knees now and holding the glass in two hands, took a drink. He met her eyes and couldn't stop a smile spreading over his face. She licked her lips and smiled in return, shuffling nearer; he opened his legs to let her lean against the seat with her hips.

"You remember?"

He nodded; yes, he remembered her drinking like that, on their honeymoon. He remembered...

He sighed. She put the glass down and leant her elbows on his knees and cupped her chin in her hands and studied her husband's face.

"You want to do it again?" she said, huskily. He remembered more. Them on the floor of the hotel in Milan; how they rolled over, one on top then the other...

"You want to feel the heat?"

He swallowed and half nodded and remembered the early morning meeting he had the following day and looked down at the glass she'd put on the floor between them. He felt her draw in a deep breath. She took his hand and kissed it.

"You know, you do look tired," she said. "Why not head off to bed? I'll put some wood on the stove."

2. Keeping Out the Cold - Chris and Maid

"Oak," he told her.

"Oak," she said, watching as he climbed the stairs to their bedroom.

Grabbing Roger's sweater off the coat rack that hung from a peg in the kitchen, Hannah made her way to the wood box in the cellar. "Oak," she repeated, letting her gaze wander to the nearby wood ring full of birch as the chill began to penetrate her body. It was almost as cold down here as it was outdoors.

Hannah climbed the stairs slowly, her heart weighing as heavily as the four logs she carried in her arms. "Oak," she sighed.

Setting them in the basket beside the stove, she turned out the lights and went upstairs.

She fought the bittersweet longing that washed over her as she walked quietly into their son's bedroom; Nathan's foot had come uncovered while he slept and he stirred when she tucked him back in.

"I love you, mommy," he murmured sleepily.

"I love you, too," Hannah whispered back, tears glistening in her eyes as she ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead.

In their own bedroom, she didn't turn the light on, choosing to undress in the dark before climbing between the crisp, cool, sheets, she leaned over and kissed Roger softly, combing her fingers through his hair.

"I love you," he murmured sleepily.

"I love you, too," Hannah whispered back.

******​

The morning dawned cold and crisp. Roger had awakened early, lingering long enough to share a single cup of coffee. "I love you," he said, kissing her forehead as he made his way to the door. "See you tonight."

"I love you, too," Hannah smiled and started breakfast for Nathan. "Have a great day."

An hour later, Nathan was running down the drive to catch his bus for school. "I love you, mom!" he called out.

"I love you, too!" she replied, her arms wrapped protectively around her body as she stood on the porch waving. "Have a great day!"

"I will!"

It pulled up a few minutes later, lights flashing, and the door opened to let Nathan board. She smiled, watching as he was swallowed by a sea of laughing children, and sighed when the doors closed and the bus moved slowly away.

Her eyes fell on the small stand of birch at the edge of their property. "Oak," she murmured with a resigned sigh.

Hannah finished the pot of coffee while she made phone calls. In the end, they'd decided on five other couples. Only one of them were friends. All of them accepted.

Life is good, she reminded herself while composing a shopping list. Squab, she decided, and wild rice. Green beans almondine and a rum cake for dessert. Oh, and that Italian Pinot Grigio from Castello Banfi that they'd discovered.

In truth, life was good. Very good. Even if she was longing for the heat. Hannah placed another oak log on the fire.

Robert fussed as the evening approached, while Hannah, more calmly spent the morning working and being interrupted by her husband as he asked her what he should wear. She wanted him to wear casual; she knew people weren't expecting black tie. She also knew her husband.

"Maybe semi-formal," she said looking up from the comptuter and chewing on a pencil. He nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose and disappeared into a walk in closet. She concentrated on more mechanical aspects of her work, knowing if, true to form...

After she'd sent Nathan's babysitter's an E-mail in case he wanted to hear from his parents, he was back. She nodded in aproaval at his sombre lookinging suit and suggested, "maybe a brighter tie?"

He squinted down at his own narrow chest and "Hmm'd." He went away again. A few minutes later there was his voice.

"Hey, you know, I could just not wear a tie at all - this isn't the office."

"Good idea," she called back.

Soon, the suit had gone the way of the formal and a sports jacket and cream chinois replaced them. Hannah grinned to herself and prepared for further nervousness as the hour approached. It was, after all, only 10am.

****

By 5pm Robert had made it to the shower and Hannah had sneaked in the room when she knew he was ready to come out. As the steamy glass parted Robert did his mole impression, flailing blindly for a towel (which she had moved) and she came at him from the other side and tickled him through the fluffy cotton. He laughed and he turned around and grabbed a flap of towel, wiping his face. She grinned at him and dried his ass (with a few pinches) as she realised his fingers had noticed she was naked.

He purred appreciatively and she ran her hands and the towel between his legs, gently squeezing his balls and feeling his cock respond. She let him kiss her before pushing him away.

"Time for my shower," she said primly.

"Tease," Robert said but grinned all the same.

"If you're a good lawyer you'll find some way of getting me..." she stepped into the shower and closed the glass and mouthed the last words she was saying to him.

"Uh?" He cleaned out his ear with the towel and she turned on the water.

****

They had got caterers in; both enjoyed to cook but they also wanted time to themselves - it was called a dinner party after all; they should enjoy it. Both knew the caterers and on other occasions they had eaten with the man and wife partnership who ran it. They knew Robert's tendencies to be over-fussy and so didn't worry about him sampling the food before the evening began. He relaxed a little realising it was good.

"Edward! Carol!" Robert opened the door to another couple and greeted them both. He took coats, he mingled, he relaxed. These were his friends. They golfing foursome were fiercely targeted by their "widows" and made to put away talls of chips and drives for the evening. Robert didn't mind really - he sipped a little more wine and caught Hannah's eye as she stood on the stairs. He smiled at her and remembered the afternoon after the shower. She looked beautiful, he thought, with a swell of pride.

He loved her. He loved his family and his work.

The memory of his honeymoon and of the first year of marriage welled up again and he swallwed and blinked. Hannah was still watching him from the edge of the group she stood with. It was just natural, he found himself musing, over time things change. They're not worse, he found himself thinking, just different. A nudge at his elbow drew him back from his reverie and into the conversaions about children and schools...

The trade-mark dinner gong sound that the caterers made people turn and begin to head into where the dining table stood. In the corner stood the woodburner, it's steady glow a backdrop to the meal. He walked towards the table beside Hannah. He wanted to reach out and take her hand - but he didn't.

4. Keeping Out the Cold - Chris & Maid

Roger and Hannah waved their guests goodbye from the porch and walked back inside. "That was nice," he said to her with a smile. "We shouldn't wait so far between for the next one."

"Uh huh," she replied. They shouldn't wait so far between for a lot of things.

The fire had burned down and a chill had settled on the room. Roger's eyes fell on the four birch logs that were sitting in a basket beside the wood stove. "I'll start a fire," he said. "Oak."

Hannah stood with her back against the door and shook her head. "Not tonight, Roger," she said quietly, her voice a near whisper.

He turned to look at her. "Too tired?" He was still buzzed from the lively conversations and the cheerful atmosphere of their dinner party.

She shook her head again. "No. Not tired," she said as she walked toward the kitchen. "I'll be right back. Lock up, okay?"

The scant leftovers had been put away, all of the dishes washed and returned to their proper places; Hannah's kitchen looked as though the earlier hustle and bustle of caterers and wait staff had been nothing more than a dream. Grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses, she walked back into the vacant living room and set them on the coffee table, listening. The sound of footsteps on the cellar stairs told her that Roger had gone down for wood.

For oak.

Hannah filled the glasses and knelt in front of the stove, moving the coals around before settling the four birch logs on top. Rocking back onto her heels, she watched mesmerized as a salvo of sparks burst from the wood, spluttering and popping and smiled with satisfaction as small tongues of flame began to lick at the curling white bark.

It was only as she stood and lowered the lights that she realized Roger had come back upstairs and was standing in the cellar doorway watching her.

"Oak... " he murmured shrugging boyishly, suddenly unsure what to do with the armful of logs he had brought from the woodbox.

"Birch," Hannah replied, her rejoinder as sanguine as the unspoken message in her eyes.

Roger nodded, pushing the door closed with his foot and moving toward the basket beside the stove.

"It's late," he intoned quietly, ineffectively, but his wife wasn't listening. He watched as she picked up the glasses and offered one to him.

Roger gazed into her eyes, unsure why or when he had become so reticent; once again rationalizing it all in his mind. Work. The need to maintain social contacts to further his business connections. Fatigue. He sighed. Complacency.

"To us," she said, tapping the rim of her glass against his.

"To us." He watched over the rim of his glass as Hannah brought the deep red liquid to her lips. That mouth, he thought. Oh, how he loved that mouth. And her. Roger sipped, but still he didn't move; Hannah had turned away and set her wine back on the table.

Hannah thought of heat. She thought of time. She grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it slowly over her head, shaking her hair free as she let it fall to the floor and turned, her eyes burning as she held her husband's gaze.

"Remember... " she whispered softly, her voice hoarse with desire as she moved into Roger's arms, melting into him as they kissed, long and deep -- sharing a fire that had never died, yet both knew bore rekindling.

"Oak," she grinned breaking the kiss and tracing the length and firmness of his erection through his chinos.

"Indeed," he replied, lowering her onto the rug in front of the birch fire. "Indeed."

The next story with myself and Lady Kit.

John Bertone looked in on his manager of operations, Bill Carruthers, something he did often these days as he was going through a rather nasty separation from his wife and he was working every hour he could it seemed. This no doubt was one of the things leading up to the separation John had reasoned.

He walked into Bill’s office, who was sitting with his head on the desk, and so John asked, “Feeling a little low are we Bill?”

Bill sat up sitting back in his chair and slumped at the same time, “Sue just called and said she had the separation terms amended with her lawyer.”

“What does that mean?” asked John.

Bill sighed and said, “it means I have to get out of the house, we can no longer share the joint property, and she would prefer if it was sometime yesterday.” With that he put his head back on the desk and covered it with his hands.

John shook his head and then recalled an odd add he had read that morning in the paper, “Hey I read something this morning, a place where you could go, at least for now.”

Bill just groaned, so John left the office and returned to his own, finding the paper he checked the rental ads looking for the one that had struck him as so unusual, then he recalled it was in the personals, and opening up that section found it there among the ads for paid escorts and gay dating services.

Returning triumphantly John read the ad to Bill;

AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY

There is now available, for a discerning individual, a small haven of tranquility in this ever increasing whirlpool of modern life, accommodations for one single person. To apply for this special place please feel free to call 864-7852, today.

Millicent Aberdale

Bill groaned again and John said, “You could use some tranquility in your life and besides it is available NOW. Call Milly whatever and see if you can get it, you don’t have to stay but it gets you out of the house correct?”

That afternoon Bill found himself standing on a huge Victorian wrap around veranda, in front of a very heavy ponderous looking oak door with a complex pattern of thick bevelled glass in the opening. John had convinced him to call though on speaking with Millicent it occurred to Bill that maybe this was not such a good idea.

When the door opened upon said Millicent he was not any more reassured. “William Carruthers I assume?” she asked a bit severly.

“Ahh yes but it’s just Bill.”

“Am I to understand, that your parents put Bill on your birth certificate?” she asked even more severely.

“No William,” he answered incredulously.

“Then since your parents saw fit to give you such a distinguished name, then within these walls you shall be William.” This was said in a tone that did not invite debate. “Come in William, and by the bye you are ten minutes late, it never ceases to amaze me that the faster the world seems to go the less able are people to keep appointments.”

With this introduction Bill, er William followed Millicent, through the entrance hall into what she called a parlour. William noted that none of the furniture seemed to have been updated since World War Two, if then. However even though it seemed a rather formal room it did seem indeed rather quieting.

Bill r rather William, was smart enough to resist the urge to call his hostess Milly, as she indicated a chair for him to sit in. She perched on the edge of a facing chair and started, “William, this is indeed a haven from the modern world, but I am not sure you are right for this place, tell me why you want to live here and tell me why I should allow you to.”

This was said without rancour just matter of fact, whatever the tone William suddenly felt that he needed to unburden himself, and he did just that. For close to an hour he spewed forth his confusion, anger, and general malaise. He told of his workaholic habits and his subsequent marriage troubles, and his seeming need to constantly strive to improve, and his he just became more miserable. When he finished to his own astonishment there were real tears on his cheeks.

All the time this went on Millicent never said a word she just sat with her hands clasped in her lap regarding him, as he divested himself of his troubles, her head sometimes straight up and sometimes cocked to one side or the other, but she never spoke a word just listened. William was not used to this, most people in his life competed for attention and would have been quick to issue useless platitudes and such.

Finally when he did finish Millicent like any good listener said quietly, “I believe William you really do need to come and stay here I think you should move in as soon as possible.” She went on to explain how often her residents would come all tense and worried and when she was done with them they were content.

Just then a very elderly, but fairly robust man walked into the parlour wearing denim overalls, and a plaid shirt, and oddly enough a miner’s helmet light and all. “I think our fortune is made Millicent I think I have found the mother lode.”

Looking at him with little surprise Millicent replied, “that is so good uncle, but remember you promised me you wouldn’t wear your boots in the parlour.”

“Ha yes of course Millicent, so sorry, I will get changed for dinner now.”

As quick as he was there he was gone leaving William just a bit astonished. Seeing this Millicent said, he used to be a mineral prospector for the large mining companies in Alaska and Northern Canada, and I am afraid he tends to reside there still, but he is harmless and prospects in the basement.

William nodded, and within two hours had the essentials of his being moved into a really nice Victorian style bedroom and as per instructions wore his best suit for dinner. He had no idea what this was all about but the atmosphere of tranquility was starting to work on him already.

Post #2

“Good evening, William.” Millicent greeted him from the door of the parlor. “You’re right on time for our evening glass of wine.”

Her demeanor was still cool, but friendlier now that William was a member of the household. Millicent introduced William to the two men already in the room when he arrived. Her uncle, Henry Aberdale, basement miner and Orson Brewster, a pharmaceutical salesman.

Millicent Aberdale was a practical woman, the last in a long line of practical Aberdale women. There were no practical Aberdale men, as evidenced by her uncle Henry. She was stern, rigid in her beliefs, and led a quiet regimented life within the walls of her family home. She also had a soft spot for squirrels, which she secretly fed through the winter months, and kittens.

The face she showed the world each day was that of a woman of slightly less than middle years, though she was far younger than she looked. Her persona inspired confidence and a desire to be left alone. The reality was quite the opposite, but Millicent felt that a woman who allowed gentlemen to board within her home had best have clear boundaries. And all her boarders understood that exile from the “haven of tranquility” she provided was just one breach of the rules away. Clear understanding made for a simpler life for everyone; at least so Millicent believed. At all times, Millicent maintained a proper level of separation between herself and her boarders. It wasn’t just decorum, though, it was self-preservation. The pain of the passing of a boarder was easier to bear if one did not allow too much attachment.

Boarders in Millicents’ home were treated like family. Their monthly rent included laundry, breakfast, a cold lunch and dinner in the family dining room each evening with Millicent. She graced the head of the long polished table each night (Uncle Henry sat at the opposite end), clad in conservative cocktail dresses, with her long auburn hair piled or twisted up to reveal the clean lines of her jaw and throat. No matter what she wore the men seated on each side of the table were attentive and adoring; she was June Cleaver and Sophia Loren in one package: untouchable and unforgettable.

Millicent watched her new boarder mingle with the other occupants of the house as the last two men gathered with the rest for dinner. There would be six at the table tonight, counting her uncle and their guests. The new man was handsome, Millicent thought to herself as she met Williams’ eyes across the room where he'd beend cornered by her dear, but daft, uncle. At his pained expression, she smiled in complete understanding as Uncle Henry began to describe the particulars of the “big dig” under way in the basement. Ever cautious about what might slip out, Millicent moved to save her boarder and put a halt to her uncles’ ramblings. The least said about the basement excavations the better. It wouldn’t do for word to get about what was buried beneath the old Victorian.

“Uncle,” she chided softly as she reached the side of the elder gentleman. “You mustn’t bore William with stories about the mine.”

The old man huffed, clearly a little put out, but willing to be directed by his niece.

“Not boring him, Millicent, just explaining the finer points of excavation.”

“My apologies then, but remember he has just joined us today. Don’t scare him away too soon. Besides, it’s time for us to take our seats in the dining room.” She turned gracefully to the others in the room and, like a mother hen gathering her chicks, led them all in to dinner.

POST no 3

Perhaps taking a cue from his hostess, William said little but rather listened during the supper. The pharmaceutical salesman Orson Brewster had a number of rather amusing tales of his exploits on the road, all very tasteful of course but entertaining nevertheless.William would smile and nod and show his pleasure quietly which seemed to meet with Millicent’s approval.

After supper, cleaned up by a maid who went home after, there was tea, as coffee did not contribute to a healthful rest, conversation and before he knew it, the hour appointed for retiring had arrived.

The house ran like a railway, on time and efficiently, all manner of rules and little reminders to contend with, but Bill, or rather William as he was now known seemed to thrive on it. Formerly he would have considered such rigid formality as restricting and old fashioned, which in truth they were. However he came to the conclusion that perhaps maybe society needed more not fewer rules and freedoms, as his blood pressure went down.

He also found it a bit disconcerting to have to trudge down the hallway to the guest washroom, past Millicent`s private of privates her bedroom, for his ablutions, but he got used to that as well. Things went well for a few weeks until an exceptionally busy day at work kept him away from supper, and he did not arrive back until well past eight of the evening.

Supper had been cleaned up and the conversation was going on in the parlour. When he entered Millicent motioned for him to follow her and she led him across the hallway to a small room she called her retreat, it contained even older furniture and a number of books.

“Sit down William,” she said, indicating a chair, the sort that you had to sit upright in whether you wished to or not. “You did not call William and you did not show up for the evening meal, that is a breach of my rules, do you have an explanation?”

“I had to work, there was a large issue that had to be dealt with,” William said weakly knowing it sounded weak to Millicent who he thought knew little of modern industry and executive expectations.

“I see,” said Millicent icily. “Then tell me this William, is this not why your marriage has become a travesty, because you had to work? Is this not why you are so agitated, and upset, and out of sorts with the world, because you HAD to work?”

William felt, rightly, that anything he said in his own defence would sound weak and self serving and so he said nothing trying desperately to consider a reply. Millicent went on showing a remarkable insight into modern business practise that caught him by surprise.

"If you were to pass away tonight William, and I do hope that does not come to pass, but if you did, do you think that that company you work for would fall into dire straits and rack and ruin subsequent to your departure." William knew the answer and wisely held his tongue. Millicent went on, "I suspect that should that happen the company has no doubt got several people who could easily step into your place and do a credible job. William you must prioritize your work do what needs being done and delegate the rest or put it off till it can be done. She smiled then and said now no more talk of this sort William, Join us for some tea."

Two things occurred to William, randomly as it happens, first Millicent was younger than her persona would indicate and two she was not unattractive. In fact even though she was probably not much older than William she seemed so much more mature than him.

William promised it would not happen again, and he was truly sincere in that which was doubtless noted by the ever observant Millicent. Later that night after going to brush his teeth before bed, he passed by Millicent’s door which was ajar just enough to afford him a peek into her inner sanctum. To his surprise he saw her standing there having just removed her bra, and he had an excellent view of her rather small but full breasts pale skin and pink nipples and areoles.

He hurried past after that sighting hoping deeply he had not been observed feeling somewhat ill at ease as if he had seen his mother not his landlady, a sighting that would have in other circumstances triggered a session of self love.

William settled in and after several months his rise in efficiency was noted by his superiors and more so, his wife had come to see the man she had married and started to make trips to his work for lunch’s twice a week. They came to an agreement and it was settled he would return home after another week.

Returning to the haven of bliss that evening earlier than usual, he took Millicent into the reading room and explained to her he would be leaving, at the end of the week and he thanked her for all she had done for him.

Millicent seemed somewhat guarded in her reaction.

Post number four when needed

1. Phone Calls (Maid of Marvels, qerasija)

Hi, it's Red.

Yeah, I skipped this morning. The alarm went off. Decided to sleep five more minutes. Three hours later, well, you know how it is. Did I miss anything?

He's still talking about that?

Yeah, I bet it's gonna be on the exam.

We did that in high school.

I think so. I can explain it to you.

Library?

Yeah. Tonight, after dinner.

Sure. Which dining hall?

Okay. Around seven?

Good.

Huh?

What did you say? Let me turn this thing down.

Oh. Didn't do much. Friday night, after the party, we came back here. Makoto knows the phone number of the phone in the elevator in the high-rise across the quad. We made random phone calls.

Some of them were funny. Especially these two girls who were wasted. We convinced them there was a camera in there and tried to get them to flash.

I never said I was mature.

Didn't get the homework done. Haven't started on the paper yet. My sister was in the city this weekend. I met her Saturday for lunch. After that, she wanted to look at apartments.

No, she didn't find one, but we saw three places.

Studios. They're tiny. About the size of two triples, with a kitchen and bathroom attached. Fifteen hundred a month.

Yeah. No shit.

Does it get easier? Probably not.

Sunday? Didn't do much. Recovered from my hangover. Sara can drink.

They didn't card me.

I heard about that. Resident Life is our university Gestapo.

So they need to move off-campus next year?

I was thinking about it. Nick and Makoto and I.

I just spent the weekend looking at apartments. I don't want to do this right now. Maybe in a few weeks. Or we'll let Makoto handle it. He's good at this sort of thing.

What about you?

The buses there are fine. They run late.

It shouldn't be a problem, especially if Deb has a car.

How much?

That's not so bad.

Maybe.

How was your weekend?

Really!

Wow. She was crying the whole time?

Well, Scott's a dick.

I told her that.

I didn't tell him, but it's not like I hang out with the guy.

She wasn't in lab.

Yeah, she should do that.

Hang on a sec. My Mom's calling.

Hey. Sorry about that.

She wanted to remind me to call Dad. Tomorrow's his birthday.

They're divorced, but they get along. They live across the street from each other.

It's weird. My Dad and stepdad watch football together. Mom used to try setting Dad up. They're friends. Good friends. They just can't live together. Drove each other crazy or something.

It was an easy divorce. Well, as easy as these things are. They didn't fight over it.

We lived in both houses.

Yeah. I guess.

Your parents are together?

A normal home life these days is simply bizarre.

So what are you doing?

Yeah, I hear the IM signalling.

Where does she go to school?

The weather must be nice.

Film school?

I forgot my lines in my class play in the fifth grade. Acting isn't for me.

Directing sounds like fun, but I think I'd rather write.

Fiction. Some poems.

You don't want to see them.

It's embarrassing, that's why.

It's different when it's published. This is just scribbling.

Well, you have to promise not to laugh and not say anything to me about it afterwards.

I didn't know you wrote, too.

Hell, yes, if you read my stuff, I get to read yours.

Listen. You doing anything Friday night? I-- um-- have tickets to the jazz trio. It's at Watford Hall. Eight o'clock.

You will? Um, yeah, that would be cool.

I played jazz trumpet until junior year of high school.

Not really. I brought it, but haven't played in an age.

At a party, when I am drunk, maybe.

I'd start with Kind of Blue.

I'll rip you a copy. There's this song 'All Blues' -- you've probably heard it. It starts out like a lullaby, just rocking back and forth. The three horns play on top of each other. It's like they're holding a conversation, just joshing, one of them talks and then the others do, riffing on that and moving forward. It's so effortless, just friends hanging out. They're talking about nothing special, but it feels comfortable. Makes you happy.

Yeah, sex is like that, too. It can be.

Hey, I need to get to the gym. I said I'd meet Makoto and Henry there.

I'll see you at dinner then.

Bye.

2.

I'm sorry it's so late. It's me...

Cathy.

I just missed a call. It sounded like... Was it you?

Oh.

I'm sorry. I'll let you go then.

Oh, okay. You sure?

Yes, it has been a long time. Too long.

Well, I didn't want to interfere with you and...

When did that happen?

I'm really sorry. You two were going out for ages. Are you okay?

Fair enough. New subject?

No, I'm not seeing him anymore. He said I was a nice girl but...

chuckle

Yeah, there's always a but. I was starting to fall behind in my classes, you know? It wasn't a bad thing. More like a wake-up call.

Yep, I've caught up again. Brought my GPA back up, too.

3.4 sigh

Yeah, it's good. I've worked my butt off. You?

That's fantastic!! I always said you were brilliant.

Well, you are.

What else is new? Hmm... Let me think. Not dating, obviously. I still see Pam and Scott. They're still breaking up every other week.

Uh huh. I know you never liked him much.

Home? My sister's getting married this summer. I'm going to be the Maid of Honor.

Same guy she's been dating since high school and yeah, he's nice. What about your sister?

She did? Cushy job. Does she like it?

Umm... what?

I guess. Go ahead and ask.

No, really. Ask. I won't get mad.

Where in the hell did you hear that??

I'm still here.

I know I what I said. I didn't...

Where did you hear it?

That BITCH!

Well, she didn't have any right telling you my personal business!

Yes, I know we're friends.

Yes, I know you care, but even so... That wasn't something I was very proud of and it was not her business to...

Yes, I'm all right.

And what would you have done if I had? It wasn't your problem.

Fat lot of good that would have done.

Okay, I'll admit there would have been a certain amount of gratification in it. All right... A LOT. chuckle

You know what?

I'd almost forgotten how much fun we used to have. Thanks for this.

Yes, I've missed you, too. Red?

Let's promise never to lose touch again, okay?

Yes. I cross my heart...

Yes?

Richard's Lounge? No, I've not been there yet. You?

Cool. Did you...

Me? I'd love to go. Are you sure?

Saturday sounds lovely. Sure.

Yes, I'll be ready. Eight o'clock sharp.

Uh huh. See you then. And, Red? Thanks. I'm looking forward to it.

3.

Hi.

Exhausted. I got home last night -- this morning -- at one and was back at work by seven, and the van from the hotel was stuck in traffic an hour.

It sucks, but that's the job. It's only one more week.

I told them before I came and told them again when I got here. It won't be like the last time. When my two weeks are up, if it is not finished, that's Adam's problem. I'm on the plane home no matter what.

Yes, dear, I have been eating.

Pizza, mostly. But tonight we quit early and went for a real dinner.

The Friday's across the street. It was real, but it wasn't real good.

I know. But I'm pretty sure they won't deliver.

Anyway. How're you doing?

I'm sorry.

I thought morning sickness was supposed to happen in the morning.

The kid's kicking?

But you can feel him move? That's amazing.

I am not being sexist. I don't think of our child as an it though.

I'd be just as happy with a she. With a her. Whichever is grammatical.

Do you think so?

You haven't changed your mind about not finding out.

I haven't either.

I am partial to the Greek gods. I would have killed for a name like Zeus.

I knew an Athena once.

Okay, how about Norse? I like Thor and Freya.

If we were in Greece, we could have gone with Christos.

Yes, I am being silly. But the kid needs a cool name. It's a requirement. I don't want there to be anyone else in school with the same name.

Don't you think that's a bit old fashioned?

Not that.

Maybe for a middle name. With the accent.

We'll talk about it when I get home. We still have months to decide.

What else is happening?

I think we should get the bedroom repainted.

I know you hate the smell of paint. Maybe we could have someone take care of it when we're away this summer.

The baby's not going to remember.

When was your earliest memory?

As young as that?

I am pretty sure it was our dog. Mom told me he died when I was three, so around there.

I am scared, too. I am sure we'll make our share of mistakes, but it will turn out fine.

My family has been making babies a long time. So has yours, come to think of it. We'll manage.

I can't wait.

I have missed you, too.

I'd like that.

I haven't masturbated. When would I have had the time?

I am saving it for you.

I can say with some confidence that I would like that. In fact, I am getting hard thinking about it.

Tell me more.

Oh, yeah?

I don't think that's anatomically possible, my dear. But we can try.

What do I think about my daughter having sex? It'll happen. I hope she enjoys it.

We'll be sex friendly. I am not going to beat up her boyfriends.

Maybe I'll menace them a little. It's no worse than what your dad did to me.

He didn't seem like a teddy bear at the time.

Yeah, I know.

How do you know what a she baby feels like? It's not like we've had one before.

Yes, I think so.

Mmm.

Right.

I am listening.

I know I sound tired. I am tired.

What time is it?

I need to get up at six.

You're right.

Call me tomorrow, will you?

I love you, too.

4.

Hiya. I know it's been a long time... I ran into Makoto and he gave me your number. I hope you don't mind. It's me... Cathy.

Yes, he told me. I'm so very sorry.

Heh. It seems I show up after every tragedy. Misery loves company and all that... jazz.

Kinda Blue? Yes, I remember it. Not much I forget.

I agree. Lots of tears under the bridge.

No. I never married. Too busy with work and stuff, I guess.

You read that? No way.

You're flattering, but I think it belongs in the category of most first novels - 'should never have been published'.

What? What night?

A phone call would have been nice, but that was ten years ago. Not much can be done about that now.

Me? I'm at mom's.

Yeah, same old house. chuckles She's doing well, but she still hasn't given up on trying to get me married before I'm too old to give her grandchildren.

Ack! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... Are you okay? nods

I'm only here for a few days. I really couldn't take more than that. I love the idea of small towns and neighbors, but I've gotten used to being more... solitary. It's the city, I guess.

Yes, I remember when we were both raring at the bit to get off to college and blow this one-horse town. chuckles I never thought you'd be the one to come back and settle down though.

Crap! I did it again.

I know. I just can't help feeling like I keep stepping in it though. I really am sorry, Red.

Well, I'm glad you're getting on with things now.

No, I'm not dating. Why?

Me? Do we really want to do a repeat, Red? I mean... things never seemed to work out for us.

Uh huh. Well, as I said, you could have called. laughs

Woulda, shoulda, coulda.

I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. Old times is old times. I'm thinking maybe bright and shiny new instead.

You what?

I'm sorry, could you say that again?

Ohhh... Red. I...

Sure, I'll hang on.

I will. I'm not going anywhere.

Okay. Promise. Go get the door.

"Hello, Red? It's me... Cathy. It's been an awfully long time and... I've missed you. Yes, I'd love to come in."