"The Comfort in Being Sad"
by Michael Dell

"The sun's gone dim, and
The moon's turned black;
For I loved him, and
He didn't love back."

-- Dorothy Parker

CHAPTER ONE (last trip to Twilight Zone)

Someone was hugging him. Michael had only been in the club ten seconds and already someone was hugging him.

Despite being slowed by the wisdom of alcohol, Michael's right arm instinctively returned a half-hearted embrace before he even realized exactly who it was that was pressed against his chest. He looked down to discover the very reason for his having ingested eight shots of vodka on this fine September evening. Her name was Melanie.

"Thank you!" were the first words from her mouth. She was smiling. That was trouble. One smile from Melanie and Michael fell apart. But he promised himself he'd stay strong. He wouldn't let her get to him this time. Not after what she did. But she was smiling.

"You're welcome," was Michael's humble reply. The thank you wasn't for the hug, but for a dozen roses that Michael had sent her on her 21st birthday. A birthday that had fallen from the calendar a full two months ago. Two months that passed without a single word exchanged between the two.

"I lost your number," offered Melanie, forcing the explanation through the overwhelming bass of some idiotic dance music that turned the air rancid and made Michael wish he had finished the bottle. "I couldn't find it anywhere."

"That's okay, don't worry about it," assured Michael with a wave of his right hand. She was still smiling. She looked so beautiful. Not even the dim lighting could hold back the radiance of her eyes. Even though he cursed the day she ever started working at the Twilight Zone, Michael couldn't help but be thankful for the black t-shirt with the goofy neon green club logo, the black short skirt, and black stockings that now comprised her uniform. She looked so damn cute. And she was smiling.

"Where've you been?"

Michael had to lean forward to salvage the question from the onslaught of hip hop torture. Three chords and angst. That's music. This was not music. This was a dance club. Michael hated dance clubs. Only the shield of alcohol was keeping his ears from bleeding beneath the assault. Once Melanie's inquiry fought its way to his Absolut-soaked brain, all Michael could think of was why it took her two months to ask the question. Two months of silence from the girl he fell in love with, from the girl he thought he knew. Two months of self-doubt. Two months of depression. Two months of his heart jumping each time he heard the phone ring. Two months of her seeing friends of his without ever once asking for the number she supposedly lost or even asking how he was doing. Two months of trying to work up the courage to see her again. Now was his chance to let her know he was hurt. Now was his time. But she was smiling. All he could muster was a shrug of his shoulders and a rhetorical, "Well, you know..."

Thankfully he had backup, and a designated driver. Michael's buddy Frank Japhy was home from the University of Michigan on account of the Labor Day weekend. It was Frank's idea to go to the Twilight Zone. He wanted to be present when Michael saw Melanie again. Frank was there the first time Michael ever ventured to the Twilight Zone to see Melanie. It was her first night on the job. Everything was golden between them. Seemed perfect. Things change.

"I'm Frank!" he laughed, slicing the awkwardness to introduce himself before Michael could stammer any further. Melanie smiled a cheerful hello and then turned focus back to Michael.

"You just missed the Rolling Rock brothers," said Melanie, referring to two friends of Michael's who always used to partake in Latrobe, PA's finest whenever she used to wait on them at her old job. She used to work at a Buffalo Wild Wings. Half bar, half restaurant. No dancing. No obscure lighting. No spine-rattling noise that passed for music in certain lame circles. And no assholes wearing silk shirts and gold chains looking to get laid, looking to lay cute waitresses with radiant eyes and haunting smiles.

"I didn't know they were going to be here," replied Michael, leaning in to make sure his response was heard.

"We're meeting people," added Frank.

They were standing in the middle of one of the main walkways and customers were pouring around them. Not wanting to get Melanie in trouble for slacking on the job, Michael figured he should move things along. "Where should we sit?"

"There's room up top," suggested Melanie. It seemed kind of an odd choice since she usually worked the bottom bar, but Michael wasn't going to argue.

"Anywhere up there?"

"Yeah, I'll find you."

With that they parted ways. Michael had played it cool. He didn't crack a smile once during the entire exchange. His head was swimming not from the vast amounts of alcohol in his system, but because of the unexpected welcome he received. He trudged his way up the three steps to the second level of the club, lifelessly drifting past the dance floor and settling in along the far wall behind the bar, away from the crowd and tucked safely behind a pillar. He and Frank snagged an open table and sat down.

"I didn't expect that," said a stunned Michael. "Of all the possibilities that went through my mind on how this might go, that was not one of them."

"See, I'm your good luck charm. Every time I'm here somethin' happens."

"I mean, she just hugged me. I didn't even see her. I had no idea who was hugging me until I looked down. We made no eye contact at all. She just hugged me. I thought she might ignore me completely. Or maybe act shy like she usually does. But I never thought she'd just walk up and hug me. The Mel I know wouldn't do that. My Mel wouldn't just hug me." Michael began looking around the club. "I fuckin' hate this place. I need another shot, you want anything?"

"No thanks."

The bar was about four feet away. Considering his current state, that wasn't close enough. He dropped into a padded red vinyl seat and patiently waited for the bartender's attention.

"What can I get ya?" asked a dark-haired woman in a similar uniform to Melanie's. It didn't look as cute on her.

"Can I get a shot of vodka?"

"What kind?"

"You got Absolut? Not Citron or anything, just plain Absolut."

"Yeah. You want ice?"

"No, straight."

He watched intently as his friend splashed its way into a small shot glass, rising to reach the rim. "2.50."

Michael dropped three ones. "Keep it."

"Thanks."

"No... thank you." He turned, being careful not to disturb his precious cargo, and returned to the table with his pal. Frank was there, too.

"How many is that?"

"Nine." Michael raised the glass gently to his mouth and bolted its contents down his throat. He couldn't even taste it. "I just don't know. What do you make of all this?"

"I don't know. I think it looks good."

"The Mel I know wouldn't just hug me. She'd be too shy to do that. And if she did hug me it would certainly mean more than that hug did. That was nothing. I didn't feel anything. It's like I'm looking at a different girl. It's just not the same. It's different."

"Because of what you know about her now?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

Michael surveyed his surroundings. One thing that had not changed over the past two months was his hatred for the establishment that was now feeding his need. But even the vodka couldn't relax his condemnation as he watched through confused eyes as mindless subjects danced and laughed, posed and feigned, hunted and chased all to a soundtrack of absurdity. Lives squandered amidst deceit and cheap strobe lighting. He despised this place. He abhorred it for the lies it prevailed, the insincerity it cultivated, and, most of all, for taking her away from him.

"I don't see Ruga anywhere, do you?" asked Frank, searching the crowd for a familiar face or at least a revealing blouse.

"No."

"You want to walk around a bit?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"There's Mel."

Michael followed Frank's clue to the front of the bar. Melanie, with her back turned towards them, was inspecting the dance floor and immediate tables in an apparent quest to find where they had decided to sit. The same pillar that had provided some solitude from the annoying masses was now obstructing Mel's view of their table. Michael fought the urge to walk up and let her know where they were sitting and elected instead to simply allow his eyes to drink in the intoxication of her form, the soft, angelic line of her profile, the heavenly innocence of her carriage, the exquisite chestnut locks that playfully fell along her back.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Frank didn't bother to respond.

The bartender who had poured Michael's most recent gift to his liver stepped forward to whisper something in Melanie's ear, perhaps a request of more olives for the lower bar was denied. The message sent Melanie on her way. Michael followed her path until the last of her glow was swallowed by the morbid sea of depraved beings that ebbed and flowed around the vast room if for no other reason than to add to his distress. He was drowning. The idea of her even being in the same vicinity as such a morally corrupt mob, the thought of them brushing against her, breathing her air, made him physically ill.

"I need another one." Michael collected his glass with some difficulty and managed to find his way back to the bar. He lazily reclined against the rail, more out of necessity than choice, and patiently waited for the bartender to finish handling a few customers at the far end from where he was currently rooted. His restless fingers found a way to fumble the shot glass they were entrusted to protect, and it fell from his hand, bouncing a quick hop off the counter before he smothered it with his palm and wrestled it back to an upright position. Fearing that some might consider this a sign he needed to be cut off, he spun an anxious glance in all directions and was satisfied that no one was even paying him the slightest attention. Michael carefully took three more ones from his wallet and placed them beside his glass in anticipation of the bartender's return. He spent the wait eyeing up the varieties of alcohol that were hidden under the counter across from him and recollecting times when each labeled bottle had sent him into a delirious, spinning realm of blessed nausea. Jagermeister, Jack Daniel's, Fire Water, Scotch, Bourbon, Schnapps, Rum... they had all at one time or another retched his stomach contents to the floor with considerable malice. Usually the final struggle and resulting hangover was so debilitating that the flavor of inducement was shunned until its mere thought no longer inspired dry heaves. But not vodka. No matter how much he drank or how sick he got, he was never turned off vodka. It was always there for him. Vodka was truth.

"You want another one, hun?"

"Yes, please." Michael pushed the three dollars forward and accepted his shot.

"Thanks."

Michael stood up and drained the tumbler with ease, returning it to the counter before forcing himself back to his table. He sat slouched and beaten.

"You sure you don't want to walk around?" questioned Frank. "I don't want to miss Ruga."

"Is he bringing his woman?"

"Yeah."

"What's her name again?"

"Julie."

"That's right." Michael knew that he had been introduced to Ruga's girlfriend before but could not recall the exact circumstances of the meeting. Yet in his current state, even recognizing her name was a noteworthy accomplishment. It called for a drink. He needed another drink. "What time were they supposed to be here?"

"He said around midnight. They had to stop at his uncle's first though, so he could be a little late."

"What time is it now?"

"Like ten after twelve. Why don't we move down by the door so we can see when he comes in?"

"Yeah, whatever. I don't care." Michael once again staggered to his feet and did his best to trail Frank through the virulent crowd, completely oblivious to the faces turning his way. He stared straight ahead and concentrated on Frank's back, stalking the green knit pullover shirt as it wove in and out of a maze of strange arms and shoulders and hips. The duo survived unscathed upon the lower level and decided to set up camp at a small circular table in plain sight of the main entrance and almost in the exact spot where Melanie had first met them. The table was neglected earlier in compliance with her suggestion of sitting at the upper bar.

As Frank sat down, Michael hesitated. "Let me get another shot while I'm up." He drifted effortlessly across to his new oasis, bolstered by the promise of ambrosia. After procuring another shot of Absolut, Michael cautiously dodged some passing traffic, breathing a sigh of relief when he returned to the safety of the table without spilling a drop of his life's blood. He placed the glass in the middle of the table and marveled at the liquid wonder held within, silently offering grateful tribute to the wheat that was sacrificed to make it possible.

"There you are!" Melanie had appeared from nowhere. Her siren voice was enough to pry Michael's eyes from the holy grail before him. They rose to see all that was good and lovely in the world that didn't come with a twist-off cap. Even the product of Sweden's finest grain couldn't hold a candle to Melanie's brilliant light. Michael's smile met hers and for a brief moment his existence didn't seem so dreary. Then he remembered. His smile withered and choked.

Frank stepped in to offer an unnecessary explanation of their southern migration. "Yeah, we moved down here because we're meeting someone and didn't want to miss them."

Melanie gave Frank a courteous nod of recognition and then turned her attention back to Michael, illuminating him with her full blaze. She noticed the shot glass. "No Jager?"

"No," a shy smile crawled back to his lips. "Not today."

"What is it?"

"Vodka."

Mel startled a bit, she had never known Michael to drink vodka. Somehow it seemed too hard and brutal for him. The surprise quickly faded and she pointed to it with gleeful command: "Drink it!"

Michael raised a hand in modest protest, "No, I better pace myself. I've already had ten or so."

Mel's eyes grew wide.

"He's just joking," interjected Frank, thrusting an arm in front of Michael. "He's only done two or three here."

"Here," echoed Michael with intent.

"Are you okay?" asked Mel.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Her apparent concern brought his previously dead smile back to life.

"Maybe I should bring you some water."

"Honest, I'm fine," smiled Michael reassuringly.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Melanie stepped back, never taking her eyes or smile from Michael's appreciative nature, and slowly turned and went off to check on her other tables. Frank punctuated her departure by drilling Michael in the shoulder.

"Don't tell her you've done ten shots!"

"Why?"

"You don't want her to think you're hammered!"

"She knows I can hold my liquor. Believe me, this girl knows I can drink. Don't worry about it."

On Melanie's next trip to their table she brought two glasses of water, one with a lemon wedge and one without. Michael's head tilted with affection at the kindness of the gesture. Melanie mirrored the subtle movement and cheerfully floated away without speaking a word.

"Aw, see, she remembered my distaste of citrus. How sweet is that?"

"Yeah, that's great," replied Frank with little interest as he guzzled his lemon-flavored water. "I'm really thirsty. You gonna drink yours?"

"No, you can have it." Frank helped himself. "But seriously, how sweet was that of her to make a special trip to bring us water? We didn't even ask for it. She did it strictly out of concern for me. And she remembered about the lemon."

Frank let Michael enjoy the moment. Michael celebrated with his eleventh shot. "She looks happy, doesn't she?"

"Yeah." Frank finished the last of the water. "And I think it's pretty obvious she still likes you. What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know. I just get the feeling she's putting on an act. Like she's only being this nice to me because I surprised her by showing up. But then why'd she hug me before I even saw her? She could have just pretended she didn't see me."

"She's the one that initiated contact," supported Frank in an effort to stir the pot.

"She just seems different. It's different between us now. It doesn't feel the same."

"I don't know how it could."

"I'm trying to see her as I used to, but all I can think about is how she lied to me. I love her, but she lied to me. By acting the way she is tonight she's still lying to me. It's no longer pure, it's all fake. Everything between us is fake."

Michael tipped his empty shot glass above his mouth and let the final surviving trickle of vodka roll slowly onto his waiting tongue. Replenished, he continued.

"And if that's all it was I'd be fine with it. I'd never even look back. But I know deep down the girl I fell in love with is still there. And I know she feels the same about me. She's just too scared to let me get close enough to find out the truth. She thinks if I found out who she really was, what she really did, I wouldn't like her anymore. But that insecurity is why I do love her so much. But I can't force her to be honest with herself. I can't force her to be honest with me. I can't force her to let me love her. There's nothing more I can do. Is there? Is there something else I can do?"

Frank was distracted. A parade of passing skirts had stolen his devotion.

"I did all I could, right?" His appeals falling short, Michael reached out and seized Frank by the arm.

"Oh, sorry, what?"

"I did all I could, right?"

"With Mel?"

"Yes."

"Oh yeah, no doubt."

"I'm not letting her down, am I? I did all I could, right?"

"You did all anyone could. You can't change people."

Michael didn't want to change Melanie. He wanted to save her. His head dropped with defeat. Yet tonight still offered a slim ray of hope. She was back in his life again for at least this night. The possibility for a happy ending, however slim, remained. Who could say what the night would bring? There was still a chance. He lifted his head with renewed purpose and began sifting through the filth around him for her light. She was no more than thirty feet away, gracefully hovering at the opposite side of the bar waiting for the bartender to fill an order for her tray. She seemed completely removed from the throngs of people milling about. Melanie stood alone above it all. Then Michael realized she wasn't alone.

Despite her face showing no signs of expression, someone was talking to her. Someone dared talk to her. He was sitting at the bar and looked to be no more than 21 or 22. Blond curly hair. Nothing of importance. Yet this audacious young man was talking to her. His full attention was focused on Melanie. It never wavered. Michael looked to her. She was blank. Michael looked to him. He was smiling. He was smiling at Melanie. Michael began to think what it would be like to drive his fist through the face of a 21 year-old punk with blond curly hair. Michael couldn't read the little weasel's lips but they were still flapping. They wouldn't be able to move so freely with a broken jaw. Then it happened. Melanie reached for a napkin and produced a pen from the change purse strapped to her waist.

"What the fuck is she doing?"

"What?" asked Frank.

"Melanie." Michael pointed her out for him. "What the fuck is she doing?"

They both watched as Melanie wrote something on the napkin and handed it to its anxious recipient.

"She just gave him her number," surrendered Michael with pained shock, his eyes still trained on the sickening spectacle. He knew this was who she was, this was what she did, but seeing it for the first time with his own eyes somehow made it real. It was no longer just stories passed along from an abundance of sources. It was real. He had seen it.

The young man looked at the napkin, smiled, said something else to Melanie and then got up and left. For her part, Melanie was extremely business like, almost as if she was bored by the proceedings. She never smiled at him or even seemed to utter a single word for that matter. But she didn't have to. She gave him her number. She'd be talking to him at some point in the future.

Frank found considerable humor in the transaction. He wanted to say something to comfort his friend but could do little to stifle the reflexive laughter that was now bellowing from his lungs. "Sorry, man!"

"She doesn't see me for two months and acts all excited to see me, but then she goes and gives her number to some guy right fuckin' in front of me!" raged Michael. "Like she can't take off one night from being a filthy whore! Like it would have killed her to tell him to come back tomorrow night. Right in front of me!"

"I'm sorry," began Frank, removing his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. "I don't mean to laugh, but you gotta admit it's kind of funny."

"That's it. It's over. I'm done with her. I keep thinking that maybe..." He paused. "No. I'm done."

Michael continued to stare at Melanie. She was still waiting for her drink order with no idea that her previous actions had been witnessed from across the room. Michael asked himself how he could have fallen in love with her. Deep down, he knew all along she wasn't the right girl for him, just as sure as he knew now that he was still in love with her. Even in the wake of what just transpired she remained the picture of fragile innocence. He wanted to race to her side. He wanted to hold her and protect her. She needed protection. She needed someone to take care of her and love her. Michael knew this. He also knew that she'd never allow it.

At the precise moment when he was most lost, Melanie finally felt his gaze upon her and looked up. Her face immediately brightened and her trademark shy smile was answered by one of his own. Michael waved to her and Melanie laughed. Apparently she either never considered that Michael could have seen her give out her number or she simply didn't care. He was smiling at her and she was happy. That's all she knew. Her order filled, Melanie picked up her tray and went back to work.

Tony Ruga and his girlfriend Julie arrived about twelve thirty. They were a happy, handsome young couple, exactly the kind one would expect to find at a night club. And they dressed the part. Michael took particular note of the knee-high black boots that complimented Julie's long slender frame. She was a wispy blonde of undeniable loveliness. Hand in hand with her formidable physical traits, Julie also brought with her a sense of maturity that made her all the more attractive. Dignity was a hard thing to pull off at the Twilight Zone, especially when wearing a sleeveless red satin blouse, a short black skirt, and knee-high boots, but she somehow turned the trick. Yet she hardly registered with Michael. All he could do was imagine what Melanie would look like in those boots.

"Malloy!" hollered Ruga. He extended a hand to Michael. "It's been a long time, man, how've you been?"

"You know, the usual." Michael shook Ruga's hand with sincerity and nodded a grinning hello to Julie as she settled onto a stool opposite him. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has. You still writing your book?"

"Yeah. I finished it a couple weeks ago. Started sending it out to places."

"That's awesome." Ruga turned to Julie. "Did I ever tell you Malloy was a writer?"

"No, I don't think you did. What's the book about?"

"Life, love, depression... I guess that sums it up. If those are even three different things. I don't know."

"It's funny though too, right?" asked Frank.

"Yeah, a bit. I usually just tell people it's a lot like '101 Dalmatians'... except with more dogs." A few confused smiles looked back at him. "Don't worry, that'll be a lot funnier after a few drinks."

"Speaking of which," Ruga turned once again to Julie, "what do you want?"

"I don't care. Maybe one of those blackberry things if they have them."

"Okay. Malloy, what are you having?"

"Are you gonna buy me a drink?" asked Michael with expectant glee.

"It's the least I can do."

"Aw, what a guy. I'll take a shot of vodka, please."

"Frank?"

"Nothin' for me, thanks."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

While Ruga was away at the bar, Julie and Frank were having some sort of discussion about something. Michael didn't care. He had a shot of vodka on its way. He accepted its arrival with both hands and promptly threw it back with frightening ease, not once displaying the slightest hint of tasting its powerful potency. The empty glass was on the table before Ruga could sit down. As Michael passed the knuckle of his right index finger across his lips in slow meaningful appreciation of what he'd just done, Ruga and Julie both gave Frank a somewhat troubled look. Frank simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Damn," said Ruga as he lowered himself onto his stool. "That was impressive."

"That was straight vodka?" asked Julie.

"Sure," answered Michael plainly. "Nothing tastes worse than the first shot of vodka, but nothing tastes better than the tenth."

"You've done ten shots?" asked Ruga, beating Julie to the question by the slimmest of margins.

"No, actually I think that was twelve."

Julie and Ruga both turned to Frank. The statement was confirmed.

"Is that girl here?" asked Ruga.

"What?"

"I told them about Mel," explained Frank.

"Oh," said Michael. "Yeah, she's here."

"Did you talk to her?"

"Yeah. Little bit."

"How'd it go?"

"Fine."

"We saw her give her number to another guy!" laughed Frank.

"Really?" smiled Ruga. "Damn. No wonder you're drinking so much."

"I could care less what she does at this point. I'm done."

"Where's she at?"

Michael looked around and spotted Melanie across the room clearing drinks from a recently emptied table. He pointed her out. "That's her."

Ruga studied her a moment. "What's her name?"

"Melanie Sayre."

"Mel Sayre! I thought she looked familiar. Yeah, I went out with her once."

Michael's shoulders sank. He looked first to Frank, who shared in the surprise, and then back to Ruga. Words weren't making themselves available.

Frank's laughter had returned. A moment of clarity stopped him long enough to point a finger at Ruga and say: "She was the girl from the candy store!"

"Yeah, she worked at that little candy place in the middle of the mall. That's how I met her. Remember when I worked at Nordic Track?" Michael nodded. "That candy place was right across from it."

Frank swatted Michael in the arm to get his attention. "Remember how every time we're at the mall and we pass that place I tell ya how Ruga used to date a really hot girl that worked there? That was Mel! I knew she always looked familiar." The laughter continued.

"I didn't recognize her at first, didn't she used to be blonde?" asked Ruga.

"Yeah, she just darkened it not too long ago," supplied Michael grudgingly as he considered how this night could possibly get more humiliating.

It dawned on Ruga that Michael wasn't exactly enjoying this stroll down memory lane. He lifted a hand as if to halt any ill feelings emanating from his friend. "Don't worry, we didn't do anything. Honest. We only went out once."

"Don't worry about me, worry about her," smiled Michael, tossing a nod Julie's direction. "If I was going to fight every guy that Melanie's been with I'd die of exhaustion long before I reached the Rs."

Despite Michael's attempt at levity it was apparent that his mood was slipping into a depressed state. Julie tried to change the evening's direction.

"Who wants to dance?"

"Okay," agreed Ruga, taking a final belt from his beer. "You guys comin'?"

"Yeah, I'll go," said Frank.

"Malloy?"

"No, that's okay."

"C'mon!" said Julie. She had decided that the raising of Michael's spirits would be her pet project for the evening.

"I don't dance."

"But it's fun!"

"I hate fun."

"How do you expect to get a girl with that kind of attitude?"

"I'm relying heavily on pity."

Julie couldn't help but comply with a pitying smile. "So you're just going to sit here all by yourself?"

"It's okay, you three go have fun. I'll be perfectly happy right here. Maybe if Melanie sees me alone she'll come over. Don't worry about me. Go. Have fun."

"All right."

Michael wasn't alone more than a minute before Melanie slipped in beside him. "Hi!"

"Hey."

She motioned to the bottles on the table. "I see your friends got here."

"Yeah."

"Where'd they go?"

"They're dancing."

"That's what I figured when I saw you here alone. I knew you wouldn't go dancing." Her accompanying smile flushed Michael with modesty. "You want me to get you another drink?"

"Sure. Vodka."

Mel picked his glass from the table and returned a moment later with its healthier twin. Michael insisted on paying for it. Michael watched hypnotically as reflections of red and green light danced in the clear, crisp surface of the vodka with each gentle caress upon the base of the glass. Melanie leaned forward on the table. Michael looked up and heard a question that he had once dreamed Melanie would ask him.

"You gonna need a ride home tonight?"

There it was. He could have her. She was his for the taking. She was everyone's for the taking.

"No," he lashed. "Absolutely not."

Melanie was taken aback by the blunt force of the reply. It wasn't the answer she expected and it was spoken in a decidedly foreign tone. She had never heard him speak to her like that, so brutal, so sharp. Flustered, she did her best to collect herself.

"I just wanted to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine." Michael was no longer looking at her.

"Okay."

Melanie began to ease her way past Michael on her way to a few tables behind him when she heard his voice once more.

"Like you care anyway."

The words, heavy with despair, slammed into Melanie. Her legs almost went out from under her. She hesitated a moment and then fled to the far side of the room, completely bypassing the customers in the nearby tables that were her original goal. She needed distance.

As soon as Michael said the words he regretted them. It wasn't his plan to let her know how much she had hurt him. All he wanted to do was see her again, reinforce to her that he was her friend, and then go home depressed. That's it. He had no desire to get involved in a deep emotional discussion about what she meant to him or why she had destroyed him. He just wanted freedom. He wanted out.

Frank returned to the table. "Did you talk to Mel?"

"Yeah."

"Well..."

"She asked if I needed a ride home."

"What did you say?" asked Frank excitedly, a very large smile breaking in honor of his friend's impending fortune.

"I told her no."

"What?" Disbelief. "Are you insane? She wanted to take you home!"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"And you said no?"

Michael nodded slowly.

"You didn't have to do anything," argued Frank. "You could have just let her take you home. I think you guys just need to be alone so you can talk."

"What's the point? I doubt she'd be honest with me anyway. And what am I gonna say to her, 'Oh yeah, by the way, I heard you're a filthy whore.' I don't want to talk to her about that stuff, but how can I be around her without talking about it?"

"I guess."

"The worst part is I was kind of rude to her."

Ruga and Julie found their way back to the table, both slightly out of breath. Frank didn't even wait for them to sit down. "Mel asked if he needed a ride home!"

"What did you say?" questioned Ruga with a grin.

"He said no!"

More disbelief.

"I'm sure it was innocent," defended Michael, slowly turning the still full shot glass in his hand. "She was just probably concerned for me as a friend."

"Yeah, that was probably it," agreed Julie. Even she didn't believe it.

"I just feel bad because I was kind of rude to her. I really should go apologize. Do you see her anywhere?" Michael drained his thirteenth shot. His three tablemates were all straining their necks to search the room for the entire evening's catalyst.

"There she is," said Julie.

Ruga and Frank honed in on her as well, but before Michael could turn to follow their lead Frank grabbed his arm and warned, "Don't look."

"What?"

Frank was smiling as he stared over Michael's head to some point in the distance. He repeated his warning. "Don't look."

Naturally, Michael spun around to look but could see only a structural support. "What's goin' on?"

"Isn't that Brian Brukowski?" asked Ruga.

Michael gave up trying to see for himself and switched his attention to Ruga's recent question. "Who?"

"That is Bruke!" laughed Frank.

"Who?"

"He went to high school with me and Frank," explained Ruga. "Yeah, that's him."

Michael started to catch on. "Is she giving him her number?"

"Yeah," said Frank with more apprehensive laughter.

"Unbelievable!" moaned Michael.

"It's probably not like that," offered Ruga.

"Yeah," joined Frank, "Brian's a good guy."

"I don't fuckin' care!" Michael felt the muscles in his body tightening. His right hand, which was previously resting lightly on the table's surface, was now contorted into a violently constrained fist, knuckles strained white against skin. "It's not his character I'm worried about."

Michael looked around the table. All three faces were still occupied.

"Wait, hold on a sec. Okay..." said Frank, stretching for time. All three faces now looked to Michael. "He's gone."

"I just so want to hit something right now," admitted Michael through clenched teeth, his chest expanded, thin bones aching beneath the taut muscles of his hand.

"Calm down," said Ruga. "You don't know, maybe she's giving them fake numbers?"

"I doubt it. It's all just so frustrating!" Michael ran his hands through his hair. "You guys don't understand. For months I thought she was one person, and then BANG! Out of nowhere I find out she's not who I thought she was."

"Some people are like that," offered Julie in an attempt to console.

"And she won't be honest with me. She won't let me get any closer to her. I mean, I was right there! It looked like we were going to start going out and then she just cut me off completely. I think she was afraid I'd find out the truth about her and she didn't want me to know that side of her. But I know about it. It doesn't matter to me. And I can't tell her it doesn't matter because then I'd be admitting that I know that other side of her. The whole thing's just a mess." Michael's body collapsed, as if free from a burden. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and held his head up with both hands. He wished he had another shot.

"I only went out with her that one time but she was kind of weird," supported Ruga. "Like when I'd see her at work and stuff after that she'd still be all happy but she'd act like she barely knew me. That's why I never even bothered to ask her out again. She was just strange."

"I don't know," said Michael dejectedly. "I just want to let her know I'm still her friend and then get out of here."

"She's over there by herself now," said Frank.

Michael lifted his head from his hands. "Really? Okay." He pulled himself to his feet and was impressed by his sobriety. Usually it wasn't until he stood up that the effects of a serious night of drinking became apparent, but his head wasn't spinning. Melanie's presence must have neutralized the alcohol. His count of reasons to resent her increased by one.

When Michael swung from behind the column that had spared him the sight of her giving out her number a second time, he saw Melanie making her way to the bar with an empty glass in each hand. It must have been getting late. The entire front section of the club had cleared out. Michael reached her a few feet from the bar.

"I just wanted to apologize for snapping at you back there. I didn't mean to..."

Melanie cut in. "No, that's okay." She was smiling. "I was afraid you thought I was awful for not calling you. I really did lose your number. I looked everywhere for that card you gave me and couldn't find it."

"That's okay. Don't worry about it."

"You know me, I can't even remember drink orders."

Michael tried to smile but all he could think of was if his number had been important to her she wouldn't have lost it. If he had been important to her she would have asked his friends about him. He wanted to tell her this and other things, the things he had heard. He wanted to be honest. But he couldn't. She was right beside him yet she had never been more remote.

"You know how I feel about you." He stated it as fact.

Melanie's eyes lowered. "I know."

"It's not gonna work out, is it?"

"No." Her answer was completely devoid of emotion. She would have given the exact same reply had someone asked her if it was raining outside. Michael sensed that this was not the first time she had taken part in such a conversation.

"I can't be one of many."

At first Melanie didn't know what to make of the line. Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to contemplate its meaning. Then she smiled and added, "Yeah, I know."

"You just don't want to get involved with anyone do you?"

"No." Melanie unleashed her big soft eyes on Michael. She was still holding the empty glasses.

"That's cool, I understand." He looked away as he spoke the words, not wanting to betray their sincerity. There. It was over. It was done. "I've missed you very much."

"I've missed you."

"I used to really look forward to seeing you every week."

"Me too," admitted Melanie, the speed of her response contradicting her cool exterior.

Just then a third party intervened. "Let's go, Mel."

Michael traced the command to its source and saw the back of a rather large man in a Twilight Zone t-shirt walking away from them, heading towards the dance floor. He must have been one of her bosses. That made three people Michael wanted to fight.

"I'm sorry," said Michael. "Now I got you in trouble with that guy..."

"No, it's okay," smiled Melanie.

Michael waved a hand carelessly. "Well, I'll be over there." He could feel Melanie smiling at him as he departed.

Michael assured his friends he was all right, freeing them to return to the dance floor. He sat alone quietly, without a drink, waiting for the night to end. This time Melanie didn't visit him. Julie did return once to try and persuade him to dance with her, but he politely declined. At two o'clock, the music abruptly stopped and white fluorescent lights chased away the darkness. Closing time. Drunken patrons spilled their way to the exits. As they passed his table, Michael wondered how many of them were carrying a napkin with Mel's phone number in their pocket.

Frank, Ruga, and Julie were three of the last ones to descend the stairs. Julie informed Michael that Mel was still up there. It was all the invitation needed.

"I want to say good-bye to her. I'll meet you guys outside."

Michael reached the top of the stairs in time to see Melanie cross directly in front of his path and swing behind the bar, depositing an armful of empty bottles in the garbage.

"Mel..." called Michael. She didn't hear him. The second try was more successful. She was happy to see him. Michael smiled and walked towards her. "I'm taking off. Take care of yourself. You know I'm your friend."

Melanie blushed. "I know."

Michael smiled and took a step towards the exit. Melanie wouldn't let him leave so easily.

"So you're not gonna come out and see me anymore?" she asked.

"You know I don't like this place."

"Yeah."

"And I get the feeling you really don't want me here."

"It's not that. But I know you hate this place..."

"I'll come out to see you if you want me to." It was a hollow promise. Images of her giving out her number besieged him. He couldn't endure such a painful night again. "But I get the feeling you don't want me here."

"I know you hate this place. I don't want you to be here if you don't want to be here. And it's pretty stupid how I only get to say hi to you like once every twenty-five minutes."

Michael suddenly realized that they were the only two people on the upper level of the club. He wanted to leave. He desperately wanted to leave.

"Do you still go to Wild Wings?" asked Melanie. Michael detected a shy hope in her voice. He could make a date with her. All he had to do was say yes.

"No."

"How come?"

"Justine got fired. So we quit going out there."

"Nuh uh! She got fired!"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"She was upset they kept making her cover for people so she just didn't come in one day, and they fired her. She's workin' at Sharky's now."

"No she isn't!"

"She isn't?"

"No, I mean, I just can't believe she's working there."

"I don't know, I haven't talked to her in a week or so. I haven't been out to see her yet."

"I can't believe she got fired." Melanie filled herself a cup of Coke from a spray nozzle behind the bar. "The last time she was in here she was really cold to me. I don't know why."

"I know why." And with that a subject he vowed to keep festering deep within his ravaged chest was brought to the surface, no doubt carried there upon the ample shoulders of alcohol.

"Is she mad at me or something?"

"Well, you know she's going out with that Anthony guy."

"No, I don't. I don't know who that is."

"Yeah, you do. You went out with him once."

"I don't know who you're talking about. I don't even know anyone named Anthony."

"Yes, you do. You went out with him once a while back."

"Don't tell me who I went out with."

"Just play along. You went out with him."

"No, I didn't! I don't even know who you're talking about."

At that moment another waitress came wandering up from the bottom level. Michael and Melanie both watched as she sauntered up to the bar. "I've got two guys waiting to meet me later tonight." The lurid proclamation was spoken with boastful pride, her body swishing to accentuate each and every word. It wasn't until she had made her way completely behind the bar that she realized Michael was present and that she had interrupted something of at least moderate importance. The pride in her face was supplanted by embarrassment.

"Can you give me a minute?" requested Melanie. The girl turned heel and hastily retraced her steps without another sound. Meanwhile, Michael was trying to ignore the fact that Melanie now kept company with a girl that would go and meet two guys at three o'clock in the morning.

Melanie turned back to Michael and picked up where she left off. "I'm telling you I don't know this guy."

"He's kind of tall, thin, blonde... balding."

"Oh, him."

"Yeah, him."

"That was a long time ago. He just said he wanted to hang out and go bike riding and hiking and stuff like that. He just wanted to be friends."

"I never said you did anything with him, just that you knew him. Anyway, he says that the last time he was in here you asked him how he was doing and he said that him and Justine were having some problems. Then you gave him your number and told him to call you to go out. And when he said, 'Aren't you friends with Justine?' you said 'No, Justine's not my friend.'"

"That's a lie. He's lying."

Michael shrugged his shoulders with indifference.

"He's lying," demanded Melanie. "That never happened. He had my number from before."

"Justine didn't believe it either at first but she asked a bartender and the bartender saw you give him your number."

"Which bartender?"

"I don't know." Michael felt sick. He didn't want to be having this debate.

"It's not true."

"Well, that's why Justine is mad at you. And when I heard about it I was mad at you." Michael paused. "And I heard other things..."

"Like what?" asked Melanie, unable to hide her nervousness.

"I don't want to say."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll hate me."

"C'mon, tell me." She was no longer the aloof, unemotional girl she had been all evening. Her control over him had been lost. She knew it. "What did you hear?"

"I don't want to say." Michael couldn't look at her.

"Don't you think I have a right to know what people are saying about me?" The panic she felt was turning to anger.

"I don't want to say it."

"What does it matter, Mike, if you already know." Michael looked at her. She was so beautiful. "What did you hear? Tell me."

Michael lowered his head. His frail body hung limp, stretched with misery. He didn't want to say it. He had begged her not to make him say it. "You used to take everybody home."

"That's a lie!" cried Melanie.

Michael didn't answer.

"Who told you that?"

Michael searched his brain for a name he could afford to give up. "Mary Jo... and others. People I didn't even know were coming up to me and telling me stuff."

"They're all lying!" Michael forced himself to look at her. She was visibly shaken. He wanted to hold her. "It's not true!"

"See, now you hate me," said Michael, in little more than a whisper.

"I don't hate you."

"I wanted to come see you after I sent you the flowers, but then I started to hear..."

"It's not true. They're all lies. They're lying to you."

Michael tried to tell her that it didn't matter, it didn't change how he felt about her, but Melanie didn't seem to hear him. She was too busy denying the accusations.

"I don't want to talk about it." She threw her still full cup of Coke into the sink and began to make her way out. "It's been a long night. I don't want to talk about this now."

"You hate me."

"I don't hate you, Mike." She clipped a quick look at him as she spoke his name. "I don't want to talk about this." She quickly turned her back to him and headed for the stairs.

Michael followed, drawing upon all the resources he had left to propel him after her. "Mel!"

She didn't bother to turn or even slow her pace. "I don't feel like defending myself against this trash with you."

"Mel, c'mon, don't do this," pleaded Michael. He darted down the steps and reached forward to grab her hand. The instant his hand touched hers she stopped. She stopped so quickly that Michael's own momentum carried him a few steps beyond her. When he turned to look at her, she was trembling. Her eyes were roaming the ceiling, her arms were folded in front of her, and she was trembling.

He didn't think it was possible, but Michael felt even worse. He was helpless. He couldn't make himself look at her. They stood there silently, neither one knowing quite what to do. Melanie broke first.

"I've gotta get my shit."

He never heard her swear before. Well, once. But she corrected herself and apologized afterwards.

"I don't know when I'm going to see you again..." He looked up to find that his words were wasted. Melanie was already gone, streaking her way around the far side of the bar and heading back to the upper level of the club. Michael was going to wait for her to return, but then he remembered what happened to Jerry the last time he came out to see her. There could be a back door up there. He set after her.

All the other employees were grouped at the opposite side of the bar, no doubt taking voyeuristic pleasure in Michael's suffering. Michael didn't care. He stormed past them in his pursuit of Melanie without even considering their existence. They wisely kept to themselves.

Michael had never been in this part of the club before. It wasn't until he noticed light seeping from behind a walled partition that he realized where she had gone. He turned the corner and saw Melanie alone in a small room. She was putting on her coat, a green backpack resting against her right leg. She hadn't seen him. Michael felt awful for not trusting her and stepped back from the door and waited.

Melanie casually emerged a few seconds later with the backpack now slung over her right shoulder. She was the picture of composure. She looked at Michael as if none of the earlier events had taken place. He knew it was useless.

"I thought you bailed on me," said Michael.

"I wouldn't do that to you," said Melanie. Michael couldn't tell if she was intentionally mocking him or if she honestly forgot about the last time he came out to see her. Either way he was not amused.

He followed her back down the stairs until she stopped directly in front of the bar where her fellow co-workers were lounging. It wasn't by accident. She tilted her head forward and used both hands to pull her hair from the top of her coat and said, "You be careful going home."

Michael didn't even bother to look at her. He gently raised his left hand to her shoulder as if to touch her one final time, then quickly withdrew it. "Yeah, you take it easy." He turned and made retreat. His chin fell to his chest. Had he walked any slower he'd have been going backwards. He could feel the eyes of the other employees. He was sure they'd be asking her, "Who was that?" He was just as certain she'd answer, "Nobody."

He ran his left hand through his hair and let out an involuntary sigh. As his one-man funeral procession continued, he began to grasp the finality of the situation. This could very well be the last time he ever saw her. And this was how he was going to let it end? He was just going to walk out? He knew he had hurt her. He hated himself for it. Why couldn't he had just kept his mouth shut? He was walking up the ramp to the main doors. His head still lowered, his steps deliberate. His right arm flashed across his body. He heard a loud pop. White dust appeared on the ground before him as he watched his feet carry him closer to the exit. He looked at his hand. It was covered with similar dust and there were scuff marks on his knuckles. He kept walking.

Frank, Ruga, and Julie were waiting for him outside. They were the only people there. The parking lot was empty. They must have heard the popping sound too.

"Did you punch a hole in the wall?" asked Ruga.

"Yeah." Michael still didn't raise his head.

"You know you shouldn't do that."

"I know." The others exchanged hasty farewells. When he reached the car, Michael turned around to see if anyone had followed him from the club. No one had.

"What do you want to do?" asked Frank.

Michael waited a moment to make sure no one was going to come out to challenge him. The doors were quiet. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

-----

CHAPTER TWO (Justine)

How long had she been sleeping? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that the pain had returned. She must be awake now. The pain must have awakened her. She had become so accustomed to the ever-present dull ache in her abdomen that she no longer took note of the days she felt sick; she marked the minutes she felt fine. She would look at others and try to remember what it was like to not have pain. She'd stare at their stomachs and imagine hers was as quiet, as healthy. Why couldn't hers be quiet? It was quiet once. Now it hurt. Everything hurt.

She was lying on the living room couch. She didn't even remember falling asleep. Someone had covered her with blankets to keep her warm. Must have been Matt. The clock above the TV said it was 3:30. It had to be 3:30 in the afternoon. The blinds were drawn but enough light forced through to provide proof of day. It was the only light in the room. Some fell along the bottom of the blankets, bringing forth the oranges and reds of the quilted design. Her stomach was probably all fiery oranges and burning reds. She tried to think of her stomach as clean and smooth, like sterling metal. Cold to the touch. Strong. But she knew it must really be cratered and raw, irritated and bleeding, oranges and reds.

With great effort, she forced herself up against the arm of the sofa. She ran a vain hand through her hair to try and force it back into place. Like it mattered. Even the blankets were heavy. She struggled to brush them from her body and swung her legs to the floor. She rested there a moment while the sudden lightheadedness passed. She had to kick her feet free from the blankets. She gathered her strength and stood up.

The first few steps were always the most difficult. Her muscles were sore. Her legs were slow to respond. She reached a hand in front of her as if to brace herself, but there was never anything there to support her. She had gotten so used to the movement that it became habit. She unknowingly groped the air aimlessly as she made a staggered, deliberate path from the room. She allowed her shoulder to slide against the wall. Her legs nearly buckled with each step. She kept going. She had always kept going.

The bathroom was reached with a sense of accomplishment. She vomited in the sink. She turned on the water and let it run. The water felt cool on her face. She cupped some in her hand and rinsed her mouth. There was no avoiding the mirror this time. It was simply right there. She stared at her reflection, studying its message. She once again ran a hand through her hair. It still didn't matter. Her skin was pallid and drawn. Her eyelids were struggling against their weight. She tried to remember what it was like to be beautiful. She wasn't sure she ever knew. She had cried so much the past few weeks that there simply weren't any tears left in her. Those rivers had long run dry. Someone else would have to do her crying for her.

"Are you okay?"

It was Matt. Justine forced a smile to comfort him. "Yeah, I'm all right."

"I heard the water running. I thought you were still sleeping."

Justine remembered and turned off the faucet. "I just got up."

"Do you need help?"

"No, I'm okay." She turned and smiled, not even knowing that her eyes were closed. "I was just on my way back to the couch."

"Let me help."

Matt's hand was swatted away in protest. "That's okay, I can do it. I told you I'm all right." She swayed her way past him and began the return journey. This time she didn't allow herself the benefit of the wall. She wanted to show Matt how strong she was. She was concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other that she didn't even realize he was never more than an inch behind her at all times, arms ready to rescue her at the first false step. He didn't relax until she was back sitting on the couch. He picked the blankets from the floor and placed them next to her.

"Do you want to lie down again?" asked Matt, straightening her pillows.

"I think I might sit up for a while."

"Are you hungry? Do you feel like eating anything?"

The idea of food made her stomach tumble and spin. "Not really."

"Are you sure? I'd feel better if you'd try and eat something. And you should have something before you take your pill. Can I make you some soup? Soup's good."

"No, thank you."

"How 'bout just some crackers. Feel like munching on some crackers?"

She knew the suggestions wouldn't end until she said yes. "Maybe a few."

"Okay, I'll go get you some crackers and water," confirmed Matt as he walked to the windows. "Let's get some light in here." He pushed the curtains back and opened the blinds. Justine squinted her eyes to the rushing world.

"Is that too bright?" worried Matt.

"No, that's fine." She swallowed hard. "Did anyone call while I was asleep?"

Matt tried to pretend he didn't hear her and continued adjusting the blinds. She had asked that very same question often over the past few weeks. The answer never changed.

"Matt?"

He looked at his sister with all the love in his heart. She returned his love mixed with more than a little hope. He couldn't bear to say the word again.

"I'll go get you some crackers. You'll feel better after you eat some crackers."

Matt hurried along on his mission of goodwill. He wouldn't be gone more than a minute. Justine needed the breather in order to collect herself. She had to be strong again by the time he got back. It wasn't going to be easy.

Justine closed her eyes. She thought of poetry and promises and words left unspoken. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter where she looked, there was no one at the end.

-----

CHAPTER THREE (Mel)

It was January. New year. New beginnings. Snow globe turned upside down. Snow flakes as big and soft as kind hearts floated the brisk night air, streets glistening with their melting dissolve. Headlights cast sparkling yellow light along empty thoroughfares. Houses and lawns cloaked in white. Not a soul except for herself and the car in front of her. She followed it through neighborhoods of memory, following the glow of red lights through a picture-perfect winter world. Red lights that stopped. Red lights that warned.

They were driving for far too long. They had to hurry. His car turned into an entrance for what an ice-encrusted sign announced to be the Evergreen Apartments. She had actually been there once before, long ago. She trailed him through the maze of identical buildings. They were stout brown structures set off in groups. Low-income apartments. A community all its own. Hundreds of people piled on top of one another, surrounded on all sides by inconsequential flesh, unknown neighbors in an ignorant existence. The roadways were laced with speed bumps, as if anyone would be racing home to such dwellings. His car came to a stop. It was a different building this time. Only one light was visible from the outside. All other windows were sleeping. She pulled into a parking spot across the lot from his, facing the exit. She checked herself in the rear-view mirror one final time before stepping from safety. He was already opening the front door and waving. She pulled her coat tight and hurried to meet him. She forced a smile. It wouldn't be long now.

The excitement. It made her forget. Only the moment mattered. There was no past. No future. Only the moment. But she promised herself it was never going to happen again. This would be the last. Her doubts had to wait. He was opening the door for her.

His apartment was on the first floor. She made sure not to remember the address. He welcomed her in and took her coat.

"I'm sorry, it's not real neat." He hurriedly collected loose clothes and assorted trash from the area. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Don't worry about it. It's okay."

The room was drab in color and emotion. The carpet may have never been introduced to a vacuum. The furniture in the cramped living area consisted of a two-cushion couch, a chipped and cluttered coffee table, a broken down easy chair, and a television. The walls were bare save for some random absences of tan paint. There was a definite aroma.

She made her way to the couch and accepted his offer for a drink. He rushed to the kitchen, which was only separated from the living area by the presence of tile flooring. He was chattering on and on about something. She didn't pay much attention to what he was saying. The coffee table in front of her was littered with empty soda cans and used napkins. A plate showed evidence of once holding pizza. There was an ashtray, its contents overflowing onto neighboring magazines, one of which featured a basketball player in a blue uniform. She didn't care for sports. Two others boasted women in bikinis and lingerie cavorting in various poses of seduction. She was about to reach for one of them when he made his return. He brought back two glasses and a bottle of peach wine. The glasses weren't wine glasses. They weren't glasses at all but merely yellow plastic cups that could have easily had held apple juice or doubled as Jell-o molds. She recognized the wine bottle from the liquor store. It only cost four dollars. She liked it, though. She had it many times before. He began talking about something of little importance. She laughed and smiled. She didn't listen. She drank her wine and was excited.

He wasn't as aggressive as some. It didn't matter. She needed to forget. She finished her second glass of wine, placing the cup to the left of a young woman in a black leather top with pouty lips, and kissed him. Her action seemed to surprise him. He was in the midst of what he thought was quite the roaring anecdote when her tongue cut him short. Flustered, he attempted to pick up the story where he had left off. She wouldn't allow it. His cup of wine found the table and he nervously returned her embrace. He said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god would condone such favors as were about to be bestowed upon him.

They spent the next few minutes exploring each other, his nervous hands doing their best to take in as much of her body as possible. She invited his touch with desperate need. Closeness. She needed closeness. She offered her breasts. He was all too willing. She let her body go limp under his weight. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, running her fingers through his hair as he unhooked the front of her bra. She could feel him against her and she knew she wasn't alone. Her eyes remained closed. His mouth began making its way down her stomach, his hands no longer as nervous. He opened her jeans. The couch wasn't big enough for such activity. He was kneeling on the floor, forcing the coffee table farther away from the couch with each movement. She was wearing white panties. When he tried to pull her jeans from her hips, he jarred the table once more with his back, sending the bottle of wine onto the bikini-clad women and the basketball player with the blue uniform. The noise, and ensuing expletive, caused her to open her eyes. He stood the bottle up straight, telling her not to worry about it. He then politely asked if she would like to continue things in the bedroom.

The little light there was burst from the living room. It was enough to reveal similar afflictions. Clothes were strewn on any surface that would hold them, including a weight bench that housed a bar with three red, circular weights on each end. The bed wasn't made and had the appearance of a recent struggle. They walked to separate sides of the bed. Without even looking at him once, she kicked off her shoes and dropped her clothes in a pile beside them. She stood naked, more worried about the precise location of her clothes than his probing eyes. He wished he had turned on the bedroom's light. Thinking quickly, he clicked to life the small reading lamp on his nightstand. He couldn't believe his luck. He had never been with anyone like her. She didn't even notice the increased illumination. She merely sat down on the bed with her back towards him and removed her socks. Her back turned, he began to undress. She made sure everything was in proper order. Her socks were on top of the heap, followed by her panties, bra, jeans, shirt, and shoes, which were black boots with heavy rubber soles that added at least three inches to her height. She made sure the laces were loose and the sides stretched just right.

Convinced of her preparations, she rolled onto her back and waited. He was talking. Saying something. She didn't care. He climbed into bed with her. She kissed him. They rolled around a little, kissing, her arms holding him tight against her skin. His fingers were inside her. She let herself go. This was escape. He again spoiled it by saying something. She blocked it out. He began to blindly rummage through the nightstand with his right arm, hand flailing madly at all within its grasp. Stiff plastic square, soft in the middle. He spoke again. She shouted internally for him to "Shut up!" He slid off her and opened the wrapper. His thick fingers fought heroically with the latex. She welcomed him on top of her. With little initial success, she had no choice but to reach down and guide him herself. His entrance was greeted with apathy. He apparently set out to make it the fastest orgasm of his life. The thought of being with such a sexy girl, he simply couldn't control himself. She held tight while it lasted, using the same amount of strength to clamp her eyes shut as she did to force him against her body. When it was over, he rolled over and let out a tremendous sigh. He began talking immediately. Her eyes were now open and searching for a way through the ceiling. She could only pick out occasional words such as "hot," "so good," and "thank you." It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

He had just finished carefully placing the soiled condom on top of its wrapper on the nightstand when he turned to find her sitting up at the edge of the bed. Her panties were already on, and she was adjusting her bra.

"Where you going?"

The young woman stood up, her back still towards him, and pulled her jeans on with a slight hop.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

She remained silent, finishing the last few buttons on her shirt and slipping her feet into her shoes without any difficulty whatsoever. Things went so smoothly that the placement of the left foot in her left shoe also served as her first step from the room.

"So that's it?" He was sitting up yet too uncertain to move any farther. "Can I call you?"

She grabbed her coat from the living room and made sure not to slam the front door out of respect for the hour. She paused just inside the front door of the apartment building. She could see through the frosted window it had started snowing much harder. She knelt down and tied the laces of her shoes, first the left then the right. She stood up and buttoned her coat. The doorknob was cold. She wished she had brought gloves.

There was a faint glaze of white crystal over the entire parking lot. Swirling wind and snow battered her pretty head. She tucked her chin to her chest, folded her arms around herself, and made a hasty dash to her car. She almost slipped upon arrival but was able to catch herself before any real threat of falling. She found her keys in her coat pocket and clumsily unlocked the door. Her hands were already cold. She turned the key and quickly clicked on the heater. It would take a few minutes to warm up. All the windows were blanketed. She huddled in the darkness, holding herself, hands tucked under arms for warmth, and felt incredibly alone. The sight of her own frosty breath broke the spell. She didn't have a snow brush with her, so the back and side windows were cleared with a coat sleeve. The windshield wipers along with the combination of the heater and a generous amount of wiper fluid made it possible for her to see well enough to manage the parking lot. The snow was unrelenting. She had to squint her way home, driving far below her normal rate of travel.

There were no lights on in her house. Her mother and sister were both asleep. Her mother used to always leave one of the lamps on in the living room for her but that tradition had long since ended. The walk down the hall to her bedroom was taken with a cautious step as to avoid areas of the floor that would betray her homecoming. Once inside the security of her locked bedroom, the young woman tossed aside her wet coat, caring little for where it landed, and went directly to her bed. The lights were off. The blinds were drawn. She curled up in a ball and tried to forget. But she couldn't. She was back in her house. Back in her room. Back in her life. The flashing red light from her answering machine, made all the more daring due to the darkness, brought her to her feet once more. She switched on the desk lamp. The light exposed a very girly room of pinks and whites, lace and frills. The desk itself carried school books and illusions. A push of a button made the flashing stop. There were three messages from boys she had met at the club. She erased them all.

Getting undressed for the second time in little over an hour, she peeled off her clothes and let them fall where they may. She pulled on an oversized t-shirt that acted as a dressing gown and stood motionless in front of the still-opened dresser drawer. She knew it was in there, carefully tucked behind her panties and bras, hidden from all but her. She knew it was there. No one had ever written her such a letter before or since. It contained the sort of lovely, thoughtful words most women live a lifetime without hearing. And there they were on two pieces of delicately folded paper addressed to her. She was the one that inspired those words. But she couldn't read them now. Not tonight. She carefully closed the drawer as if not to disturb its contents and returned to darkness. Another day was waiting.

-----

CHAPTER FOUR (Drunk)

"I am ripped."

"What a surprise."

"Dude, I am so fucked up. Shit's spinnin' on me."

"Just try and focus on one thing. Look at the clock."

"I can't. The numbers are floating."

"Well, don't look at the road."

"I looked at the road."

"Just don't throw up in here. We're almost there."

"How did he do it?"

"What?"

"How did he stay true to her all those years? How did he make it through all those days and nights without knowing?"

"Do you know what he's talking about?"

"Fuck no. He's crushed."

"I don't know why I'm so fucked up. I only did like twelve shots."

"Yeah, how could twelve shots of house vodka make someone sick?"

Gas station. Get out here and walk. "Just drop me off here."

"Why?"

"I don't think I'm gonna make it the whole way around. There's a shortcut through those weeds."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Where's the door handle? Is that the lock? No, that's the window. There's the handle. Damn, this fuckin' door's heavy. "All right, fellas. Thanks."

"Watch yourself."

"You know I will, Jer. Always do. Later, Geffel." Leave the door open. Geffel will get in front. Fuckin' vodka. Almost stepped in that puddle. Coyle's gas station. I used to love this place when I was little. Buy cans of pop. That was huge, going down the path to buy cans of pop. Chocolate Soldiers. Only place I ever saw Chocolate Soldiers was at Coyle's gas station. Toy soldier on the can. Was it just chocolate milk? It couldn't have just been chocolate milk. Had to be something else. Don't remember if it was carbonated. That hose if you jumped on rang a bell. That was cool. Wonder if they still have it. Turning my head is not a good idea. Just focus straight ahead. Find the entrance to the path. Gotta find the entrance to the path. Fuckin' weeds. At least in winter they'll all die. It would be easy to find the path in winter. It should be right here. Who the fuck would move the entrance to the god damn path? What kind of asshole would move the entrance to the god damn path? Oh. Christ, are those thorn bushes? Just keep goin'. Don't stop. Probably be covered in ticks by the time I get through this mess. Fuckin' Lyme Disease. Deer ticks. No deer around here. Almost there. Shit. That hurt. Should be a rock here shortly. There. Didn't trip. I'm not that drunk. Almost there. Since when are there so many damn thorns? My pants are gonna be shredded. Fuck my pants and fuck the thorns. Almost out. Just get up the slope. Muddy. Great, now I'm gonna have mud on my hands. Finally. That wasn't so bad. Better than driving all the way around the block. It's nice out. Maybe I'll stay out here a minute. It's so quiet. I like it out here in back. They really made it nice. That fountain's cool. Flowers. I'll just sit a minute. Bench is hard. Fuck my head. Oh fuck. Might as well get it over with. Hands and knees will make less splash. It shouldn't hurt the flowers much. Aim for the bark. That wasn't bad. Got more. I'm so good at this now. It's nothing. I can go again. Fuckin' dry heaves. Oh shit, their window's open. It's okay, they're sound sleepers. Don't sweat it. Just get inside. Don't want to wake them up. Gotta get up. Gotta get up. That was easy. Now walk. Watch out for that drainage thing at the corner of the house. I've never tripped on it. Never. Where the fuck am I going? I think I just walked in a circle. How come the ground is so crooked? It's the driveway. Slant's up. I'm actually staggering like a drunk. Must look like Otis. Where you at, Barney Fife? Better use the house as a guide. The brick is gritty. Rough. Can feel it coming off on my hand. Don't scrape. Be careful. Don't scrape. In Pittsburgh that time I scraped my knuckle on that wall. Took three weeks to heal. Be careful. Ow. Fuck. Has that tree always been there? Stick to the sidewalk. Watch out for the step. Open the door. What's the combination? Oh, I know. First try. I'm not that drunk. Close the door quiet. Push the lock button. Fuck wrong one. The lock button is the bottom one. Why can't I remember that? Gotta piss. Downstairs bathroom. Quieter. I can't believe I'm this fucked up. Grab the doorway. Shut the door. Careful. That light's bright. Too bright. Lift the lid. Pants. Boxers. There. Careful now. That's better. Flush. I missed the handle. How'd I miss the handle? Got it. Wash hands. Cleanliness next to godliness. Is that me? Damn. Barely recognize myself. I think I need to sit down a minute. Just follow the wall down. Bathroom's so small. I'll just close my eyes a second. No, that's even worse. I'm gonna throw up again. Get to the toilet. Since when did crawling get so hard? Fuck, I think some got on my face. That's four. Five. Six. Seven. Seven's not bad. What is that? It's red. What did I eat today? Just some crackers I think. Crackers aren't red. Can't be blood. I'm probably just seein' things. What does it mean if you throw up blood? Can't be good. Probably just seein' things. Flush the toilet again. Gotta get to my feet. Am I standing yet? Don't think so. C'mon, stand up. Use the towel rack and sink. Let's go, pull yourself up. On three. One. Two. What was I trying to do? Oh yeah. Let's go. Wash my mouth out. Dixie cups. I hate the South. Fuck Dixie. Better rinse some more. Get some water on my face. That feels pretty good. At least I can feel it. I'm so tired. Need to lie down. Gotta get up to my room. Fuck. Can't sleep here. I can sleep all I want once I get to my room. Turn off the light. Stairs. Only five. Crawl up 'em. Just go. Don't stop now. Can't stop now. More stairs. Use the railing. They left the light on for me. Gotta turn it off. Middle switch. Damn. Middle switch, jackass. Be quiet. Don't want to wake them. Shhhhh. Quiet. Close door. Get shoes off. Shirt. Pants. I'm not hanging 'em up, fuck it. Feels so good to lie down. Fuck! Forgot the towel. Can I reach it from here? God damn it. Just gotta get up one more time then I can sleep. Gotta get the towel. Second drawer. I'll close it in the morning. Spread it on the floor. Now I'm good. Fuck it feels good to lie down. Can't believe vodka got me so fucked up. Better lie on my stomach. Didn't John Wayne's son die from throwing up in his sleep? Dad told me that. Was it John Wayne's son? Who cares? Just lie on my stomach. Better go again. Eight. Good thing I got the towel. That's such a good idea. I'm so fuckin' smart. Nine. Dry heaves suck. I'm so tired. Stay on my stomach. Don't turn over. Maybe I'll take a break from drinking for a while. I won't drink for at least a week. It might be good to take a break. I have to be better for her. I'll see her again. I have to be better for her. I know I'll see her again. Maybe start lifting. Get healthy. I need to be better for her. Stronger. I'm done with alcohol. This is it. Last time. Honest. I'll be better for her. Go to sleep. Worry about it tomorrow. I'll worry tomorrow. I'll worry...

-----

CHAPTER FIVE (Claire and Michael meet at cabin)

It was unseasonably warm for the last week of December. The sun was shining, it seemed Spring had sprung. God bless the greenhouse effect. The day promised to be a good one. Alex was coming to pick her up any minute to whisk her off to Jim's cabin for a day of wine, whiskey, and song. Claire had never been to the cabin, but she had heard stories. Even if it didn't live up to expectations, it would still be a welcome relief from her tortuous existence as the Style reporter for the Hadleyville Picayune. Yeah, as if Hadleyville had style. She'd had to work the previous nine days, including Christmas. Today was going to be her day. She wanted to make the most of it. Where was he? She heard a knock. Right on time.

The cabin was located in Burnside, PA. The directions, left in Claire's charge, said the journey would take an hour and forty-five minutes. But Alex assured her it was more like an hour and fifteen at the most. He also assured her that it really wasn't a cabin. While the surroundings were definitely rural, it wasn't like they'd be totally removed from civilization. It was only a cabin in the most elastic sense of the term. It was more like a really small house, with electricity and indoor plumbing and everything. So that was a comfort. But Claire didn't care. As long as it didn't in any way resemble the offices of the Picayune, she'd be happy.

The drive was a pleasant one. The holiday traffic was surprisingly light. They passed through strange towns like Clymer, Arcadia, and Glen Campbell. Yes, Glen Campbell. Claire was thankful that the Picayune's circulation wasn't dependent on the Glen Campbell residents. After all, how many articles could she possibly be expected to write proclaiming the delicate sophistication of rhinestone-studded belt buckles and sideburns? The thought sent shivers.

Alex and Claire reached Burnside an hour and ten minutes after they had started. It wasn't long before they were driving over the grassy, gravel trail that took them to their destination's doorstep. Alex was right, it didn't much resemble a cabin. It was a small rectangular house with white siding, a flat roof, and a front porch made of uneven, weathered railroad ties that ran its length. They pulled into the last remaining spot in front of the porch. Three cars were already there. Claire gave the surroundings a quick survey. Even though there was a somewhat residential area no more than fifty yards away, the cabin still held a sense of seclusion. Its right side was flanked by a row of enormous pine trees that veiled it from its immediate neighbors. In all other directions there was nothing but grass and trees and Mother Nature. There wasn't a computer or assistant editor in sight. For that, Claire was thankful. She demonstrated her sincere appreciation by taking in a mighty breath of the crisp mountain air. Her coughing brought Jim out to welcome them.

"Are you okay?" asked Jim. The cabin's screen door barked displeasure as he allowed it to slam behind him.

"Yeah," gasped Claire, "I'm fine." She suffered the needless embarrassment of one final involuntary convulsion. "I think. I guess I'm not used to this fresh air stuff."

"It does take some getting used to," said Jim. "You have any trouble finding the place?"

"No, I pretty much remembered the way from last time," said Alex. "When did you guys get up here?"

"I think about nine last night."

"It seems pretty quiet."

Jim smiled. "Yeah, we've just been taking it easy all morning. Trying to recover. I think we might fire up the grill in a couple minutes. Did you eat lunch yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Hamburgers and hot dogs fine?"

"Sure."

"And look," cut Claire, proudly displaying a bottle and a large foil-covered dish. "I brought cookies and wine!"

"Nice. But you might want to keep the wine away from Malloy," grinned Jim.

"Who?"

"Mary Peterson's little brother," explained Alex.

"Oh, he's here!" Claire knew he would be but tried to sound surprised anyway. She had wanted to meet Mary's brother for a while now. Today was going to be her day. "Doesn't he like wine?"

"Oh, he likes the wine," laughed Jim, accepting the plate of cookies. "C'mon, I'll introduce ya." He turned and entered the cabin, holding the door open for the two newcomers. Claire stayed back and let Alex go in first. "Look who's here everybody! Alex and Claire!"

"Hey, Alex and Claire!" called a mocking medley of voices. Once inside, the first thing Claire noticed was a table directly to her left that boasted a dizzying array of empty beer bottles. Beck's and Rolling Rock seemed to be the specialties of the house. There were also three empty bottles of wine towering above the rest. It appeared Mary's little brother really did like the wine. The cabin's floor plan was rather elementary. The structure itself was rectangular. The main room where they were standing cut the rectangle in half lengthwise. There were four doors on the opposite wall. She guessed three were bedrooms and the fourth, to the far left, was the bathroom. Its door was marked by a "rest room" sign that had obviously been clipped from a less than vigilant restaurant. The main room was decorated in oranges and browns and reds and purple and... well, it wasn't exactly following any specific color scheme. Apparently whatever couldn't be used at Jim's parents' house found its way to the cabin. The walls were covered in hunting paraphernalia and trophies. There were a few deer heads of differing sizes mounted high on the far wall, orange hunting coats could be seen sticking out from one of the bedroom doorways, every flat surface was cluttered with something either having to do with hunting or alcohol. To her left was the kitchen area. She saw a sink, a stove, and, oddly enough, two refrigerators. A long kitchen table occupied most of the area. The large collection of liquor bottles acted as a centerpiece. There was also a girl Claire had never seen before stirring a cup of coffee. Matthew and Zippy were sitting on the floor in the middle of the room playing a hockey video game of some sort. They each looked up long enough to smile hey and went right back to their game. Claire stepped into the room a bit further so she could see around the door, revealing another stranger sitting in a chair reading a book while wearing headphones and yet another unknown face lying on one of two couches eating a snow cone.

Alex knew everybody and was already joking with the crowd as he poured himself a Coke. Alex's initial cheer of "Malloy!" was answered by the young man on the couch. So that was Mary's brother. Before she could get a good look Jim took the bottle of wine to place it along with the cookies on the kitchen table and turned to make introductions. Ladies first.

"Claire Hartley, this is Kelly Borden." Smiles were exchanged. "She's an old friend of mine from high school. She's just home for Christmas. She goes to school at Columbia."

"Wow," said Claire automatically.

"It's really not that impressive, I assure you," said Kelly, still smiling.

Kelly was attractive; her glasses and long straight black hair, parted in the middle, only added to the intelligent aura about her. Claire was also glad to see that she wouldn't be the only girl there. "What are you majoring in?"

"Creative writing."

"That's cool! So you want to be like a novelist?"

"Yeah, hopefully. At least I'm trying to be. But who isn't?"

"You can talk about all that later," interrupted Jim, "let's keep the show moving, I'm hungry. You know Matt and Zip..."

"Yeah, we go way back," shot Matt without taking his eyes off the TV screen.

"Over there is Jerry Fairish." Jim was pointing to the guy in the chair. Even though he was sitting Claire could tell Jerry was tall. He was a big guy. The cover of the book he was reading proclaimed itself to be a classic movie companion by the folks at American Movie Classics. Jerry noticed the attention that was focusing on him long enough to look up from the book and remove the headphones.

"Are you talking about me?"

"Yeah. This is Claire." Yet more awkward hellos. "I was just telling her you're an unemployed bastard that does nothing but smoke and drink all day."

"Cool." He replaced the headphones and went back to reading his book.

"And last but not least..." Jim motioned to snow cone boy. "I give you Mary's brother Michael. Malloy, this is Claire."

"Hey." He coupled the greeting with a shy smile and a gentle wave of his right hand. "I'm eating a snow cone."

"I see that," beamed Claire.

"Red's my favorite."

Claire simply smiled and nodded her head in agreement. Although he was covered up to his chest with blankets, she could tell he was somewhat frail. His hair was short and tousled, apparently he hadn't been awake long. His cheeks were sunken. He hadn't shaved for at least a day. And his face appeared to be all mouth and eyes, big, soft green eyes that seemed to betray the lighthearted smirk of his lips. If it wasn't for that reassuring smile, Claire would have sworn he was in some sort of physical pain. His arms were the only other parts of his body exposed. He was wearing a green flannel shirt, but its cuffs weren't buttoned and the worn sleeves peeled from his forearms each time he lifted the snow cone to his mouth. The prominent bones of his wrists exaggerated the thinness of his hands and forced a one-word description to her brain: gaunt.

"I'm gonna go start the food," announced Jim. "Are we gonna eat outside?"

"Might as well," said Alex. "Take advantage while we can."

"Matt, you gonna handle the fire?" asked Jim.

Without saying a word, Matthew dropped his controller and bolted to the kitchen cabinet, snatched a bottle of lighter fluid, a box of matches, and was out the door. Jim, Alex, and Kelly all followed, each carrying some necessity in meal preparation. Claire was still so busy contemplating Michael's frailty that she almost didn't realize he was talking to her.

"So you work with my sister, huh?"

"Yeah, her desk is right across from mine."

"How unfortunate."

"For me or for her?" smiled Claire.

His eyes sparkled, but his only response was to take more snow from his cone.

"Your sister's about the only person I like talking to at work."

"She's actually told me a lot about you. She's wanted me to meet you for a long time."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She's always spoken very highly of you."

"Well, I think very highly of her. I feel so bad for her, though. She has to deal with so many idiots calling her about the TV guide all day. I don't know how she puts up with it."

"Such is the burden of a television editor. I'm sorry," Michael sat up and pulled his legs in to open up the third of the three-cushion couch, "you wanna sit down?"

Claire accepted the invitation. "Thanks. Are you just getting up?"

"Not really. I've been up for a while. I'm just feeling a little under the weather this morning."

Claire did a double take. "Nothing contagious I hope."

"No," smiled Michael. "It's one of those temporary illnesses."

"Oh, I see. I hear snow cones are good for that."

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping." Zippy, now playing against the computer, and Jerry, still listening to music and reading, remained oblivious to the world. "My sister tells me you two are always lending each other books."

"Yeah, we seem to share similar tastes. She told me you're a writer."

"Supposedly."

"What does that mean?"

"My book hasn't been published yet. If it ever gets published then I guess I'll be a writer. I don't know."

"So you've written a book?"

"Yeah."

"What's it about?"

"Love, life, depression..."

"That's pretty much everything."

"Yeah," Michael smiled. "Just about."

"So we've got two writers here then."

"You mean Kelly?"

"Yeah."

"She counts. I'm not sure I do, though."

"Has she had a book published?"

"No, not yet. She's still working on her first one."

"Then why does she count and you don't?"

"I seldom count."

With that the screen door opened. Only a voice entered. "Claire." It was Alex.

"Yeah?" asked Claire, still looking intently at Michael.

"C'mere a sec."

"Okay, I'll be right out." The door closed. Alex was gone.

Claire got to her feet. "We're not done talking. I want to get you and Kelly together and talk books later."

"Okay."

Consent was nowhere near enthusiasm. He was back to his snow cone, trying to find a way to eat the red side without taking in too much of the blue. Claire wanted to say something else but couldn't think of anything. She went outside before he shared in the distress.

Jerry watched her exit. Once she was gone he removed his headphones and whispered across to his sickly pal, "So that's Claire?"

"Yep," replied Michael, mouth full of ice.

"She's pretty damn cute."

Michael didn't answer. He never even looked up. Jerry put back on his headphones. Michael kept crunching away. There was nothing left but blue.

It wasn't long before word was sent that the food was ready. Jerry and Zippy grabbed some beers and headed out. Before he left, Jerry stopped to ask Michael if he wanted anything.

"No thanks, I'll drink my lunch in a bit."

Michael ended up having the cabin to himself for about the next half hour. Jerry was the first to return. When he entered the cabin he found Michael sitting at the kitchen table. Combed, shaved, scrubbed; he looked like a new man. Jerry may not have recognized him at all if it wasn't for the glass of gin nestled in his right hand. Or maybe it was water? No, he looked happy. It had to be gin.

"You should have seen Matthew out there," said Jerry, placing the unfinished end of a hot dog in his mouth long enough to pop open a cold beer. He sat down at the head of the table. "He was just walking around looking at the ground. So I go to Zip, 'Zip, what's Matt doin'?' and Zip says 'He's lookin' for toads.' So I said 'What?' And Zip goes 'No, I'm serious.' Then he yells up to him, 'Matt, what are you doin'?' And Matt says, 'Lookin' for toads.' It was hilarious."

"Matt likes toads," stated Michael matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"He found one up here once so now every time we come up he looks for one."

"But it's December. Are toads even out?"

"It doesn't hurt to look," said Michael. He sipped his drink. A fresh grin creased his face. "It never hurts to look."

Laughter heralded the arrival of the others. Claire was the first one through the door. She stopped dead. "You're up!"

"Yeah," smiled Michael. "I'm feeling better."

"That's good." Their eye contact was accidentally broken by the passage of the others into the room. They practically had to shove her out of the way. She felt silly for having stopped in the doorway like that. Thankfully no one seemed to notice her mistake. She didn't dare look at him. Not yet anyway. She watched intently as Jim tossed away paper plates and Kelly returned condiment jars to their refrigerator shelves. When she worked up enough courage to allow her eyes to drift back to Michael, she found him staring not at her but at his glass of water. He was tilting it back and forth and watching the ice clank and clatter between his hands. He pulled it to his mouth. Water was healthy for you. You're supposed to drink eight glasses a day.

Soon everyone settled into a place at the table. Jerry remained at the head. To his left was, in order, Claire, Alex, Kelly, and Jim. To his right was Matthew, Michael, and Zippy. The liquor began to flow. Jim and Kelly were still nursing beers; Zippy was drinking Mad Dog from the bottle; Matt and Jerry were JB drinkin' buddies; Alex and Claire elected to go with the wine they had brought. Michael held with his glass of "water."

"I'm amazed you're even drinking today," remarked Jim in Malloy's direction, staring with admiration towards his friend. Claire started to doubt it was water.

"Yeah, what did happen last night?" asked Alex.

"Nothin', don't worry about it," offered Michael with embarrassment.

"No, c'mon, tell 'em about it!" laughed Jim. "Malloy threw up like, what, twelve times?"

"There's a lady present," said Michael, motioning towards Claire.

"I was here last night and it didn't stop you!" protested Kelly.

"What's your point?" smiled Michael.

"No, go ahead tell me. I want to hear about it," assured Claire, flashing a devilish smile.

"Well, I reckon I may have had a little too much to drink," relented Michael, eyes still on his glass.

Jim supplied the details. "He did three bottles of wine, three different kinds of wine mind you, in like an hour or so. Then he did some shots of JB. And the last I saw he was drinking a big glass of gin and vermouth. Is that what you got in there now?"

"Yeah."

Jim continued. "So me and Matt are just sitting out on the front porch. I was laying down in that recliner thing and Matt was sitting on the one bench playing guitar. We weren't botherin' anybody. So then all of a sudden Malloy comes staggering out of the cabin and just sits down on the other bench." Jim imitated Michael's posture from the night before, twisting in his chair so he could place his elbows on his knees and let his head hang limp. Michael kept looking down at his glass. A smile was starting to show. "And he's like, 'I'm just gonna sit here a minute, fellas'. So Matt keeps playing his guitar and I'm just takin' it easy listening to it when, like, not even ten seconds pass and I hear 'blaaaahhhhhh'." Jim mimics the retching movement. "And it was awesome because Matt quit playing the guitar for a second when he heard Malloy throw up, but then he went right back to playing like nothin' happened. And we heard Malloy throw up like one or two more times, then he just gets up and goes back inside!"

The room was laughing. Claire looked at Michael. His eyes met hers. He just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't feel that drunk until I laid down," he explained.

"At least you made it outside," said Jim.

"Yeah, I went twice outside, four times in the bathroom, and two times in the bucket you gave me," said Michael, feeling more comfortable about the story since Claire seemed to be laughing.

"You threw up eight times?" asked Claire with more disbelief than disgust.

"Yeah. Last night. I threw up four more times this morning. I got up and drank a lot of water, so that just all came up."

"What did you eat yesterday?" asked Jim. "Because when I was washing off the porch there was like little green stuff."

"Oh gross," joined Jerry.

"I didn't eat anything at all yesterday. But it might of been lettuce. I had a salad the day before."

"Would it kill you to eat a sandwich?" cracked Jerry.

"I never like to eat when I drink. It makes the vomiting process much easier," said Michael. He once again looked to Claire. "I'm sorry, you don't need to hear this."

"No, I find it all quite interesting."

"Tell her about the towel," laughed Jim.

"That's okay, I think we've all had enough of this subject," countered Michael.

"No, tell me!" pressed Claire, taking pleasure in his visible discomfort with the topic. "What towel?"

Michael melted beneath her attention. "Well, when I'm at home and I'm really hammered I just lie down in bed and put a towel on the floor. So if I have to throw up I don't have to get out of bed."

"That is so disgusting," said Jerry, sitting up in his chair and contorting his face to show displeasure.

"It's really not that bad," defended Michael. "I mean, it would be if I ate beforehand, but I never do. So all I'm throwing up is the alcohol. By the time I wake up in the morning the towel's dry and all I have to do is throw it in the wash. It makes clean up a snap."

Most of the table could do nothing but shake their heads and laugh. "The thing I find most remarkable," began Kelly," is that you've thrown up twelve times and you act like that's normal. Like nothing's wrong."

"What can I say? It's an acquired skill."

"Much like dry-walling," added Jerry.

Michael smiled in agreement and pointed to him. "Yes." Matthew, Zip, and Jim got the joke.

"I still think it's disgusting," continued Jerry. "I never throw up."

"No, you just black out and don't remember anything," said Michael.

"I do not," fought Jerry. "I remember everything."

"Like hell you do," said Matthew with a mischievous laugh.

"You remember us taking pictures of you last night with antlers on your head?" laughed Jim.

"What!" cried Jerry. "What antlers?"

Matthew reached behind him and picked a pair of small antlers off the wall where they had been hanging. He held them up on his head, moved them around a bit, and said, "Moooooooo."

"I don't think deer moo," contradicted Michael.

"What do they do?" asked Matt, holding the antlers still.

"I'm not really sure."

Matthew thought about it for a moment. He started to move the antlers again. "Mooooooooo."

"You took pictures of me with antlers on my head?" asked Jerry.

"Yep," said Matthew.

Jerry looked about the table in disbelief. Everyone assured him they had. "Whatever!" He poured himself and Matthew two more shots of JB. Matt dropped the antlers and downed his shot.

Claire reached across the table and pushed the antlers to Michael. "C'mon, let me see you with antlers."

"That's okay," smiled Michael. "I don't do prop comedy." He did, however, do a shot of straight gin.

A few moments and several shots later, the conversation slowly started to turn literary. "Did you tell Kelly you got an agent?" directed Jim to Michael.

"No, he didn't tell me," jumped Kelly.

"Yeah, I guess I forgot," said Michael as he downed some more gin. "I just signed the contract two weeks ago."

"Look at you!" said Kelly with genuine admiration. "Who is it?"

"Some place called Whittendale and Associates. My agent's name is Eleanor Gould." He tipped his shot glass high until the final drop found his mouth and then added, with a derisive tone, "She's very good."

"Really?" asked Jim.

"Oh, I don't know. They had nice stationary so I gave 'em a whirl."

"Where are they from?" asked Kelly.

"Someplace in New York."

"Did you find them in one of those books I told you about?" asked Kelly, hoping that she was at least of some assistance to the cause.

"Yeah, I think so," considered Michael. "Either that book or one of the magazines you told me about. I signed for a year. I figure it'll give me a break from worrying about it. Now I can focus on my second book and hopefully get that done by the time the contract runs out."

"How long did it take you to write the first one?" asked Alex.

"I guess about, I don't know, maybe eight months. But there was some stuff along the way that hindered the process. So I think I might be able to get the next one out in six if I really try."

"If you even get two books finished before I'm done with my first," warned Kelly with a good-natured threat.

"Why, are you having grief?" asked Michael.

"Pass the Scotch," requested Kelly.

"That bad, huh?" laughed Claire, ushering the bottle of JB along.

"Well, I've got the first fifty pages done," said Kelly, the musical sloshing of Scotch providing accompaniment. "But my professor wants one hundred pages by February."

"You can swing that," comforted Michael.

"How long is your book?" asked Claire.

"It goes about 260."

"What's it about?" asked Alex.

Michael smiled. "Well, as I always like to say..."

"Don't even," cautioned Jerry.

Michael proceeded undaunted. "... it's a lot like '101 Dalmatians'... except with more dogs.'"

"That joke is terrible," shouted Jerry. He sat up to command the room's attention and turned to Claire. "Now which is the better joke, that or... it's a lot like '101 Dalmatians' except..." He waved his hands in front of him. "...no dogs."

Claire thought for a moment. "No dogs."

"See!" celebrated Jerry with a pump of his right fist.

"'More dogs' is funnier," protested Michael.

"No it's not! Every time you tell that joke, no one laughs. And they always agree with me that 'no dogs' is funnier."

"Well, you're all wrong," insisted Michael with a confident air.

"What makes yours funnier?" asked Claire.

Michael seemed to delight in having the opportunity to educate the masses. He pushed aside his shot glass and leaned forward. "Granted, 'no dogs' is funny. That's the way I first wrote it. But 'more dogs' is funnier. Because what makes 'no dogs' funny?" The question was clearly rhetorical. "It's funny that someone would make such a comparison when the only thing making such a comparison valid is missing from the equation. Of all the possible comparisons out there, to choose '101 Dalmatians', a movie totally dependent on the presence of dogs, is funny. Right?"

"Exactly," confirmed Jerry.

"But see 'more dogs' is funnier. It's comedy of excess. You don't need 101 Dalmatians. I mean, that's a lot of dogs. In fact, that's too many dogs to begin with. They could have easily told that story with eighty-five dogs, eighty-six tops. But they wanted to make the number so extravagant that no one could help but notice, so they went with 101. Now, what makes my joke so funny is the thought that someone would spend eight months of their life writing a book that is exactly like '101 Dalmatians' with the only difference being that if you look really close you might be able to find a couple more dogs. See what I'm saying? There's already too many dogs. So to commit your life to the sole purpose of adding only a few more dogs to the already needlessly large number is pointless. Hence, the comedy."

Alex was laughing. At least there was one convert. Jerry had to force down a smile halfway through the oration. "Mine's still better" was all he said upon the conclusion of the defense's case. Michael only really cared what Claire thought. Sensing he was anxious to hear her findings, she hesitated a moment before passing judgement. She looked at him, smiled, and said, "No dogs."

"Aw, that hurts." Michael did another shot.

"But you still never answered the question. What's the book about?" persisted Claire.

"I don't know, I really don't like talking about it."

Jerry stepped in. "It's a romantic comedy but with lots of depression. It's kind of like a combination of 'Romeo and Juliet', 'Annie Hall', and 'Taxi Driver.'"

"Sounds interesting," was all Claire could muster. "So I take it you've read it."

"Yeah." Jerry swallowed another shot of Scotch. "It's really good. And I hate books. Matt, you read it, didn't ya?"

"Yep. It's really good."

"They just say that because they have to," said Michael, contemplating another ounce of gin.

"Would you let me read it?" asked Claire.

"I don't know. It's kind of personal," Michael smiled and looked down at his empty glass. "I don't know if I know you well enough yet." He could feel her smiling at him. It had been months since he experienced the warmth of such a smile. He liked it. It reminded him of her.

Before Claire could file petition, Jim directed their attention elsewhere. "Check out Zip."

All eyes turned to see that Zippy - Mr. Professional-shirt-and-tie-wearin' businessman - had fallen asleep where he sat, his chin supported by the palm of his right hand and his left still clutching the bottle of Mad Dog. A considerable amount of the fruity red nectar had been drained. Seeing how he was sitting next to him, Michael felt it was his duty to do the honors. He gave Zip's right arm a quick little shove, knocking it free and sending Zip's head crashing to the table. The blow to the skull seemed to awaken Zip from the cheap wine-induced slumber.

"What up, Zip?"

"Nothin', Jer. Nothin' at all," was Zip's drowsy, heavy-lidded reply.

"C'mon, Zip, let's go play some hockey, buddy," said Jerry, standing from the table.

"Okay, Jer." Zip pushed to his feet. He steadied himself on the back of Michael's chair for a second. "I'm gonna kick your punk ass."

"Whatever. Let's go, chimp."

Once Zip and Jerry left the table, the discussion of books continued. And continued. And continued. Participants drifted in and out of the conversation, venturing outside or to the living room area for prolonged periods of time before returning to the open confines of the kitchen long enough to secure alcoholic refreshment. The table did have two permanent residents throughout: Michael and Claire. Alex attempted to keep pace, waiting by Claire's side for her slightest need, but even his devotion was rendered insignificant in light of the other two's natural rapport. He eventually slipped away to the other side of the room. His departure wasn't noticed. Michael and Claire were blind to the movements of the others, completely absorbed in what masqueraded as intellectual pursuit. While they tried to lose themselves in topics such as the significance of Joyce's "Ulysses" or the courage of Faulkner's narrative in "The Sound and the Fury", it was painfully obvious to everyone else present that their discourse was nothing more than a pitiful attempt at a mating ritual. They in turn argued and blushed and fawned and lusted, searching always for an excuse to reach across the table and make physical contact, whether to punctuate a point, like Michael, or to offer playful reprimand for a sarcastic barb, like Claire. The display caused one party member to remark under her breath, when she was far from earshot, "Why don't they just fuck and get it over with?"

"He was not gay!" exclaimed Claire in the heat of battle.

"Yes, he was," beat Michael.

"Guys don't notice stuff like the pearls and the type of jam she used on her toast unless they're in love."

"I'm not saying he wasn't in love with Holly, he loved her very much. But he didn't love her as a man loves a woman. He loved her as a gay man loves a woman."

"No, no, no," muttered Claire in frustration as she shook her head.

"Yes, yes, yes," teased Michael. "I read it a couple months ago so I can't remember everything, but there are little clues throughout the entire book that lets you know the guy's guy. Like, why do you think he left home? And what about the scene where she gives him a bath!"

"What about it?"

"You don't just let a girl give you a bath and not do anything about it."

"He's just shy."

"If he was shy, he never would have gotten naked in front of her. The guy's gay."

Claire contemplated this most recent volley. "I'm losing this argument, aren't I?" Michael nodded in silent agreement. Claire smiled the smile of one knowing that the cause is hopeless without admitting total defeat. "I don't know if I like this. I'm used to getting my way."

"Then it's about time that changed."

"Maybe I'll read it again. Let's both read it."

"Why should I have to read it again? I understood it the first time." She reached to slap his hand, but he pulled it away as if to cower from her touch, laughing in triumph. "Have you ever seen the movie version?"

"No! I've always wanted to see it but never have."

"It's totally different. It's a true romantic love story. I guess Hollywood didn't want to waste Audrey Hepburn in a story about a gay guy."

"Assuming, of course, he was gay in the first place, which he wasn't."

"Sure. Anyway, you should see the movie. I could loan it to ya. I have it on tape."

"Yeah, that would be cool."

Michael hesitated. He concerned himself with his still waiting shot of gin, perhaps drawing strength from it, before speaking. "You actually remind me a lot of Audrey."

"Really?" asked Claire, somewhat taken aback by the compliment.

"Yeah," said Michael without lifting his eyes.

"But she's beautiful."

Michael looked up and smiled. No words were needed. Both began to silently curse the presence of the table between them.

"You two still at it?" asked Jim as he made his way to the nearby cooler for another beer.

"Yeah," said Michael, holding Claire's gaze. "It's nice to actually have a real conversation with someone. I don't exactly hang out with the Algonquin Round Table."

"I still don't know what that means," admitted Jim as he tossed the cap on the table.

"It was a collection of writers that hung out at the Algonquin Hotel in New York during the 20s," provided Claire. "They were known for their sharp wit."

Michael was shocked. Adoration flowed unchecked. "You're the first person to ever get that reference!"

"Oh boy, here we go again," moaned Jim as he walked away.

"Do you know who Dorothy Parker was?" asked Michael of Claire.

"She was a member of the Round Table, wasn't she?"

"She's my favorite writer. Have you ever read any of her stuff?"

"No, I haven't. What did she write?"

"Poetry and short stories. She never did any novels. But she's like my ideal woman."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she's perfect. She was beautiful, smart, sarcastic, depressed, bitter, and she drank like a champ."

"And that's your ideal woman?"

"Well, I don't know. It doesn't look like you can drink much."

Claire's heart fluttered at the blatant flirtation. She fought back the initial bashfulness to wage a new front. "I can to drink!"

"Not really. You've had what, two glasses of wine?"

"This is my third!" parried Claire, proudly displaying a full glass of mirth.

"Oh, forgive me!" joked Michael, raising his hands in defense. "But don't worry, I think it's kinda cute that you get drunk so easily."

"I'm not drunk!" laughed Claire. "You're the one who's been drinking gin all afternoon! How many shots have you had?"

"About thirteen or fourteen, I guess."

"You've done fourteen shots!"

"Yeah, so?"

"So I'd be dead. How do you do it?"

"Practice, practice, practice."

"Isn't gin awful?"

"I like it."

"Let me smell." In reaching for his glass she accidentally brushed against the bottle of gin with her arm, but recovered to catch it before it could even spill a single drop. The reflexive speed was quite astonishing.

"I don't think I could have caught that bottle if I was drunk," remarked Michael.

Claire looked him in the eyes and in her best I-told-you-so voice said, "Then that should prove I'm not drunk."

"Oh, so you'd prefer to be clumsy than drunk?"

"Yes." She passed the gin under her nose. "Oh god! How do you drink this stuff?" She took another whiff. "It smells like pine trees."

"I know, isn't it great?"

She handed the glass back to him, holding onto it a little longer than necessary. "Why don't you just go outside and suck on a pine tree?"

"I would have had to if you wouldn't have caught the bottle."

"Then you should be thankful for my sobriety."

"Or that you've got good reflexes for a drunk."

Claire laughed. She knew she had him. She pulled her hair back in both of her hands and held it tight. She tilted her head ever so slightly and did her best Audrey Hepburn imitation. "Do I look like Audrey, dah-ling?"

"Always."

Suddenly, the world rushed in. Jim, Kelly, Alex, and Matt were back in the kitchen. They carried their own conversation with them. Michael and Claire fell hushed, exchanging glances of tacit understanding among the commotion. Claire sipped her wine.

"Do you have anything that lights on fire?" asked Matthew of no one in particular. "Gin will light, won't it? Hey..."

"What?" Michael had been distracted by Claire's lips.

"Think gin will light?"

"Yeah, it should," concurred Michael, volunteering his shot.

Matthew produced a lighter from his pocket. He carefully tipped the glass a bit to allow the alcohol to creep to the brim. The flame struck its surface and gave birth to a faint blue blaze.

"Did it light?" asked Claire, squinting her eyes for a better view.

"Yep," confirmed Matthew.

"Turn the lights off," suggested Jim. Matthew began to make his way to the switch by the front door.

"It's givin' off a lot of heat," said Michael.

"Let me feel," said Claire. She reached her right hand forward. Fearing she might get too close in her drunken state and get burned, Michael met her hand with his left and held it in the air. "Be careful, it's really hot." He began to raise the glass when the lights clicked off.

A rich azure flame hovered in the darkness, dancing and spinning for all to enjoy. "Cool," said Claire. As the others likewise commented on the show, she carefully slipped her hand from Michael's grasp and reversed the situation so it was now her hand that was holding his. "It feels so warm." The blackness hid that their hands were nowhere near the flame. His touch was exciting. If only the lights would stay off forever.

The room flashed around them. Michael and Claire quickly let go of each other's hand, not wanting to broadcast their feelings to the rest of the world - a world that, unbeknownst to them, had already been witness to their shared affinity. Michael veiled his nervousness by promptly blowing out the flame and vanquishing the gin. It was very warm. So was he. Claire sipped her wine. Neither one spoke until the others had drifted away again. Claire's third glass of wine had come and gone. She was midway through a fourth. Michael's shot total was nearing twenty. The alcohol was only affecting one of them. They had been sitting motionless and simply staring at each other for what seemed an eternity when Claire leaned forward, both elbows on the table, and whispered "c'mere" while calling Michael on with her right index finger. He mirrored her movement across the top of the table, stretching over his folded arms until their faces were only a few inches apart. She wanted to kiss him. He was hoping she'd kiss him.

"I'm starting to feel sleepy," she whispered.

"That's because you're drunk," answered Michael, in an equally soft whisper.

"I'm not too drunk," she whispered back, almost as a suggestion.

Michael gently grasped her right hand in his. "Why don't you go over and lie down on the couch and rest a bit?"

"Maybe I'll do that." She reluctantly let go of his hand as she stood up. "But it's not because I'm drunk!"

"Of course not," smiled Michael.

"I'm just tired." She gave him one final peek and then turned to make her way to the nearest couch, stepping over a passed out Jerry along the way. Zippy was sleeping in the chair, an empty Mad Dog bottle clutched to his chest. Jim, Kelly, and Matt were sitting on the bigger couch. Alex was alone on the smaller one. They were watching something on TV. It sounded like it may have been the X-Files. She wasn't sure.

"Claire, are you drunk?" crowed Jim.

"Yes." She tossed a thumb back in the direction of the kitchen. "But don't tell him that."

"That's what you get for trying to out drink him." "Who was trying?" She fell into place on the smaller couch, nestling her head in the crook of the armrest and stretching her legs across Alex's lap. She closed her eyes and found sleep.

Claire was staring at an unfamiliar couch cushion when she woke up. It took her a moment before she remembered where she was. The TV was still on. She heard voices. She rubbed her eyes and went about the process of sitting up.

"Hey, you're awake."

It was Alex. Jim and Kelly were still on the other couch. Zippy and Jerry were now sitting at the kitchen table. They were eating something. She couldn't see Michael anywhere. "What time is it?"

"About nine," answered Jim.

Claire was trying her best to smooth out her hair. Her eyes were still squinting. The lights seemed really, really bright. "How long was I out?"

"Only about an hour and a half or so," related Alex. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I wasn't really drunk." She studied the room once more. "Where's Michael?"

"Him and Matt are sitting out by the fire," said Jim. "We cooked up some more hot dogs. They're over on the table if you want any."

"Are you hungry?" asked Alex. "Want me to go get you one?"

"No, that's okay."

"Hey, the drunk's up!" called Jerry from across the room.

Claire was starting to regain her senses. "Look who's talking! You were passed out on the floor!"

"I wasn't drunk," said Jerry, still chewing a bite of hot dog. "I was merely practicing my transcendental meditation. I can understand how you might confuse that with drunkenness, though. It's a common mistake."

"Hey, Jer," hollered Jim. "At anytime during your meditation do you remember us taking more pictures of you with antlers on your head?"

Jerry stopped chewing. "No you didn't." Alex, Jim, and Kelly all just smiled. "Fuck! Leave me alone, I'm trying to eat my hot dog."

"These hot dogs are awesome!" chirped Zippy.

"Damn right, chimp!" concurred Jerry. They clinked their beers together in celebration of the charred tubular meat they were ingesting.

Jim looked to Claire. "You should have seen Matt and Malloy cookin' 'em. They were throwing gin on the fire. The flame would shoot like ten feet in the air. They cooked the hell out of those things."

Claire needed a mirror. She started off for the bathroom. As she was squeezing behind his chair, Jerry murmured under his breath "Drunk." She gave him a slap upside the head and called him a lush. "Jim, Claire's picking on me!" She stuck her tongue out at him as she closed the bathroom door. "Promises, promises."

It was a few more minutes before Claire could slip her way outside. Alex wanted to leave. They both had to work tomorrow. She used it as an excuse to go say good-bye to Matthew and Michael. The air was very cold. Now it definitely seemed like December. She could hear music. Matt was playing the guitar. She didn't recognize the melody. The fire was a beacon in the frigid, black night. It cast an unearthly orange glow on the bodies of both men, spilling upon the grass and even finding its way to the front porch, highlighting the unevenness of its footing. She successfully navigated the treachery of the porch and set forth towards her light. He was sitting in the chair on the left.

"Hey," called Michael's voice as she approached.

"Hey." She was now close enough to make out both of them clearly in the glow. She crossed her arms in front of her and pulled her coat tight. "It got really cold."

Michael stood up, offering her his lawn chair. "Here, sit by the fire. It's actually quite warm."

"No, that's okay," declined Claire demurely. "Alex and I are gonna be leaving in a minute or two."

"That's still no reason why you should be cold until you do." He grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her to the chair. "Sit."

She did as she was told.

Matthew, knowing his role, helped things along. "You can take my seat, Malloy. I'm gonna go get another beer. You want anything?"

"No thanks."

He pointed to Claire. "You want anything for the road?"

"No thank you. I've had enough for one day."

Matt made his exit. When he was beyond Claire, he looked back and gave Michael a quick salute for good luck. Michael acknowledged his well wishes with a barely perceptible nod. He'd have to remember to buy Matt a drink sometime.

"So you're takin' off, huh?"

"Yeah, Alex and I both have to work tomorrow."

"That's too bad."

"How long are you guys gonna stay?"

"We'll probably leave tomorrow afternoon."

They both took a breather. It was going well so far. The pitch outside the immediate throw of the fire made it seem like they were the only two people in existence. It was nice. The crackling and hiss of the flames covered for the awkward silence.

"It was really nice meeting you," risked Michael.

"Yeah, you too," replied Claire almost before he had finished the sentence. "I can't wait to tell Mary I finally met her little brother."

Another break. The fire was the only one talking. But Claire felt adventurous. Maybe it was the lingering effect of the wine, or maybe she was spurred on my something more meaningful, either way she felt very bold as she began to speak. "You know, I'm off again Wednesday... I was thinking maybe we could get together and talk some more books or something..."

"What about Alex?"

"What about him?"

"So you two really aren't together at all?"

"No, we're just friends."

"Does he know that?"

"Yeah, of course. So what do you say?"

Michael hesitated almost long enough for her to think she had made a mistake before he put her concerns to rest. "Okay, yeah, that sounds cool. We can do something Wednesday if ya want."

"Cool."

"How do you feel about the DMV?"

"What?"

"I have to get my new license picture sometime this week. I was planning to go Wednesday. I mean, I could go some other day, but it would be cool if you came with me. I hate doing that sort of stuff by myself."

"You sure do know how to show a girl a good time."

"It's not that bad. It's actually a pretty nice place. I'll buy you lunch," enticed Michael.

"I was gonna make you buy me lunch anyway."

The cabin door screeched open. Other voices joined the night. Alex was ready to go. Claire gave a quick look over her shoulder and then handed Michael a card from her coat pocket. "Give me a call and we can finalize things."

"Okay." It was her business card. It brought back memories of when he handed a similar card to another's shy, lovely hand. He spoke quickly in an effort to dispatch the memory. "I half- expected it to say 'Claire Hartley, Traveling.'"

"Yeah, maybe I should do that," laughed Claire, picking up on the 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' reference. She stood up. "Well, I guess I better get going. So you'll call me?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be waiting." She spiraled away into the darkness. Michael didn't follow. He sat by the fire and studied the card in his hand. His thoughts were elsewhere. And they didn't leave her until he heard Alex yell a farewell to him from the porch. He answered and waved. He put the card in his pocket and watched as their car drove off. Someone was walking his way.

"Huh? How'd it go?" asked Jerry as he sat down in the chair recently occupied by Claire.

"Good."

"Did you ask her out?"

"Actually, she sort of asked me out. We're gonna go to lunch Wednesday."

"That's awesome. Now see that is the girl for you, my friend. That's the kind of girl you should be with, smart, funny, hot... and frail. She's almost as thin as you."

"I know, I do like the waifs," admitted Michael rather dejectedly. "If I was making a list of what I was looking for in a girl, she's it. Right down the line, she's it. But I don't know..."

"What?" Michael just looked at his friend. It's a look Jerry had seen many times in the past. In fact, he had seen it continually over the past six months. He knew what it meant. "If you even say she isn't Mel..." Michael gave it up with a lowering of his head. "Would you forget about Mel! She wasn't the right girl for you! Let it go! Listen, do you hear that? It's Mel fuckin' thirty more guys! Forget her! There's not enough chlorine in the world! You deserve more than that. You deserve a nice girl. Somebody who's not insane. Somebody who will treat you right. Trust me on this one, Claire's the girl for you."

"I know this is gonna sound stupid, but I almost feel like I'm betraying my love for Mel by agreeing to go out with Claire."

"Jesus Christ!" exploded Jerry. "You think Mel gives a fuck what you do? Do you think she's moping around her house waiting for you to come back to her? Fuck no! She's out having fun, and probably half the male population of Hadleyville."

Michael sat up straight. "Here's the thing. My head is telling me that Claire is perfect for me, but my heart still belongs to Mel. And I know I could fall in love with Claire real easy if I don't watch out. And if I do, that's gonna have to be it for Mel. Because it wouldn't be fair to Claire to be with her yet still be thinking of Mel. Yet if my love for Mel is true, then what the hell am I doing messing around with Claire? I love Melanie. I know you think I should give up on her, but did Gatsby give up on Daisy?"

"Okay, I'm gonna need some help on that one."

Michael tried again. "Did Mork give up on Mindy?"

"He would have if Mindy had fucked all of Ork."

"The bottom line is right now, at this point in time, I'm still in love with Melanie. What if I start dating Claire and then run into Mel somewhere? Because I tell you what..."

"Let me ask you this," sliced Jerry, pointing his beer to gain attention. "Do you like Claire?"

"Yeah," said Michael softly.

"She's cool as hell, right?"

"Yeah."

"She's someone you feel comfortable with, right?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't she somebody you'd like to hang out with?"

"Yeah."

"Then just think of it like that. Don't worry about anything else. Just go hang out with her Wednesday like you would with anyone else, have fun, and see what happens. Don't make anymore of it than that. See what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Trust me on this one. She's perfect." He took a hit of his beer. "There might be one problem, though..." Michael looked up. "You're both so thin that if you ever had sex your skinny little bodies rubbing together might start a fire. So be careful." Jerry got to his feet. "It's fuckin' cold out here. I'm goin' in. You comin'?"

"In a minute."

"Well don't sit out here and get all depressed. Because you're goin' out with that girl if I have to kick the shit out of ya."

Michael heard the front door close. He was alone. It was peaceful, quiet. Only the fire dared to brave the darkness and serenity of the night. He sat there in reflection, losing himself in the fitful movements of the flames and in the long dead promise of the past.

-----

CHAPTER SIX (Justine and Anthony)

"Car!"

The universal warning brought a momentary halt to the proceedings. Both teams of combatants drifted half-heartedly to the nearest curb. Automobiles were the scourge of any decent neighborhood football game. But there was nothing that could be done. No one's backyard was big enough to accommodate their needs, and the nearest park was still at least three years and a successful driver's test away. It was the street and two-hand tag or nothing. And they needed something. The new school year had begun. One forgot the despair of 180-day prison sentence when faced with a crucial third and goal. Homework mattered not to the NFL stars of tomorrow. Cars did, though.

Five of six watched with little interest as the aging grey Buick sedan passed between their ranks and came to rest a few houses down. The sixth noticed. He'd seen the car, and the driver, before. He drifted back into the field of play with eyes set on the girl that caused the most recent in a long line of official timeouts. She stepped from the car wearing an old pair of blue jeans and a charcoal cardigan that struck him as a bit unnecessary considering how much they had been sweating during the course of the game. She began to make her way towards the house with her arms folded across her chest in an attempt to keep warm. This was the fourth time he had seen her. He'd definitely seen her look better, like that second time when she was just wearing shorts and a t-shirt. It didn't matter. He knew she was beautiful.

"Hey, jagoff!" screamed a voice.

The noise snapped the sixth back to reality. He knew it was meant for him. He turned to see the laughter and smirks of the others. How long had he been watching her?

"Looks like somebody's in love!" taunted the third.

"Just hike the damn ball."

"We've been waitin' for you, dickweed."

"I've been ready."

"Whatever."

"Just hike the ball."

A draft of air found her as she was moving between the houses, causing her to pull her sweater even tighter. She was cold. She followed the line of the fence until she reached the back gate. The latch was stuck. It took an effort to lodge it free. Particles of rust clung to the palm of her right hand. The grass needed cutting. The sidewalk was split and broken. The entire yard was neglected. She could hear the TV as she reached the back door. Voices were arguing. Some sort of talk show. She passed her hand along the leg of her jeans and took a deep breath.

It required all her courage to knock on the door. Courage or a lack of pride. She preferred to think of it as courage. Justine Bush was courageous. She was strong. Yet for some reason she was still knocking on the door.

"Anthony!" cried Justine over her frantic pounding. "Anthony, it's me! Open up! Anthony!"

Her hand fell still when she heard the lock beginning to turn. The door opened a crack and stopped.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk," answered Justine, as if asking permission.

The door slammed shut.

"Anthony!" The pounding resumed. "Anthony! Please! I need to talk to you!" Flecks of green paint began to crumble beneath the beating. "Anthony!" She tried to turn the knob herself but it wouldn't budge. She never heard the lock fall back into place. He must have been bracing against the door with his body. Justine kept pleading. "Anthony! I'm sorry! Please let me in!" It was getting harder to still consider her actions anything but a lack of pride. "Anthony!" She tried the door knob again and this time it gave. The door swung open and Justine stepped into the apartment with determined will. Her pride was clearly a question for historians.

Anthony's back was to her as she entered and he was walking towards the bedroom. Justine shut the door behind her and wiped any remaining tears from her eyes before obediently following his lead. "Anthony, I'm sorry! Let's talk about it. We can work it out."

"I've got nothing else to say to you," fired Anthony over his shoulder, not feeling the need to look at her. Once in the bedroom, he continued the routine that was interrupted by Justine's assault of his front door. His clothes for the evening were waiting for him on the bed. He pulled on his best pair of blue jeans. They were Levi's. Button fly. Not too baggy, not too tight. As he slipped the final button into place, he became aware of Justine watching him from the doorway. "You're still here?" He never looked at her.

"Anthony..." Her voice died off. The tears started again.

Next up was the shirt. His favorite shirt. His lucky shirt. He had been laid seven times while wearing it. Justine was among the seven. It was a pale olive green color. Short sleeves. The material was very thin and light. He liked how it hung from his shoulders. It made him seem even taller, more lean. He liked that. At least seven others liked it, too.

"Anthony, I'm sorry."

"Why don't you go cry to your fag poet."

"I told you that was nothing. He's just a friend."

"A friend that writes you poems."

"He just did it as a joke. He didn't mean anything by it."

"If it didn't mean anything why'd you keep it?" He looked at her for the first time. Her head was down but he could tell she was still crying. She was bent slightly forward, arms wrapped around her ribs in a self-supporting embrace. "I mean, how do you think that made me feel when I found that?" Anthony continued to work the buttons of his lucky shirt. "I don't want guys writing you poems."

"But he just wrote it as a friend. It didn't mean anything." She hesitated. "He's in love with someone else." She still couldn't lift her head. Angry, combative voices banged off the walls. Why couldn't the TV shut up? It's too loud. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. "He's in love with Melanie."

The buttoning stopped. "Sayre?"

"Yeah."

"That's pretty funny." The buttoning resumed. A smile creased his face as he looked himself over in the mirror. He ran his hands over his well cropped hair, shaping it just so, and adjusted the thin gold chain around his neck to catch the light. He tilted his head a bit to the left. It was his better profile. Not by much. Just slightly better. He enjoyed both. Confident in his reflected image, his smile faded and he returned to business. "I still don't like him writing you poems. I want you to stay away from him." The command was punctuated with a threatening point of the left hand.

"Okay," whispered Justine, sensing hope.

"If he comes in to drink, let someone else wait on him." Anthony turned back to the mirror and mechanically lifted a bottle of cologne from the dresser without even having to check for its location. He applied a generous amount to his face and neck and continued. "And if there's no one else around, just serve him his drinks and that's it. If he tries to talk to you, tell him to fuck off."

"I don't think that's gonna be a problem," murmured Justine, doing her best to collect herself. "They fired me today."

"What happened?"

"I didn't show up for work yesterday. I was tired of having to cover for people all the time. You know how I always got stuck workin' for everybody else when they would just skip without calling off. So I didn't go in yesterday and they fired me."

"That's gay. So what are you gonna do?"

"I already made some calls." She wiped her eyes. "I should hear something tomorrow."

Anthony fixed the clasp of his watch and spun it into a comfortable position on his wrist. He looked at himself one final time in the mirror, voiced silent approval, and then made his way to the door. Justine was still blocking the way.

"Aw, my poor girl. Fighting with me and losing your job." He held her face and gently brushed away a few remaining tears. She didn't look so good. She really shouldn't cry so much. Makes her eyes puffy. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and hugged her. Justine returned the gesture, clinging tightly to the one sure thing in her life. Anthony slowly began to turn her from the doorway. "You know I love you."

"I know," answered Justine, strengthening her embrace.

"I just get so jealous. If you like poems, I'll write you poems. I don't know if I can, but I could try." He turned her a few more steps.

"That's okay, you don't have to." Justine closed her eyes. She just wished he would squeeze her harder. His arms weren't tight enough.

"I love you," repeated Anthony.

"I love you," echoed Justine.

Having successfully maneuvered out of the bedroom, Anthony placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled back a bit. He looked in her eyes. She really shouldn't cry so much. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and then broke off down the hall. He had left his shoes in the living room.

"So you forgive me?" asked Justine, following him once again through the apartment.

"I forgive you." He found his Doc Martins by the couch. It was his lucky couch. Eight times.

Justine felt safe again, as if the last two days never happened. She stood along the edge of the hall and quietly watched Anthony as he finished lacing his shoes. She was hoping he'd say something else. The next line should be his. He wasn't speaking. He was too busy attending to his laces. She spoke. "Do you want to do something tonight?"

"I can't." He was tying his last knot. He stood up and crossed to the kitchen, turning off the television as he went. Silence. He snatched his keys from the coffee table. "I promised Danny I'd go out with him tonight. I'm sorry, babe, but the plans were made when we were still broken up." He came to an abrupt stop, looked at Justine and threw a hand to the phone. "If you want I can call him and cancel. I mean, I did promise him I'd go, but if you want me to stay home with you tonight I will."

"No, that's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?" asked Anthony, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah."

"You want to come with us?" asked Anthony with secure confidence.

"No, that's okay. I really don't feel like going out tonight."

He took both of her hands in his. "You know I'll stay home if you want me to."

"I know," said Justine shyly, letting her head fall under the weight of his affection.

"C'mere." Anthony kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug. Even through the sweater he could feel the bones in her back. At least she was losing weight. "I'll call ya tomorrow and we'll do something. Maybe rent a movie or somethin'."

"Okay," whispered Justine, fighting back more tears. They pulled apart, and she greeted him with a cheerful smile.

"I really should get going," said Anthony. "I'm late already."

"Okay."

And they left his apartment together, walking hand in hand.

-----

CHAPTER SEVEN (Michael at mall)

At first, he used to try and come up with excuses. He wouldn't just come right out and admit she was the only reason he was going. It was far too pitiful. Instead, he hid behind needing new notebooks and pens or buying various family members presents for birthdays that were still months away.

Each trip was the same. He parked on the second level of the garage and entered through the Bon Ton. He quickly wove his way through the appliance department and the men's clothing section and emerged in the body of the mall. By the time he passed the Holiday Hair Salon, his arms and legs began to tingle. His breathing usually became erratic some point around the Baskin Robbins. He was always a complete mess by the time he got within sight of the food court. He would try to act the part of just an ordinary mall patron as he casually slid his hand along the cold, silver railing that overlooked the first floor. He would carefully peer over his shoulder to steal a glance at the candy store stationed beneath him, all the while trying to prevent any curious bystanders from ascertaining his true intentions. The first look often wasn't enough, either he couldn't locate an employee at all or was deceived by poor eyesight and frantic anticipation into thinking she was, indeed, present. If he wasn't sure, nervous excitement was enough for him to shun his "ordinary shopper" ruse and he'd blatantly stare from above at the candy store worker until he could divine that his heart wasn't there. Once convinced of her absence, a strange tranquility would take hold. Relaxed, he would continue with his shopping or simply turn around and go home. And so it went, at least three times a week, always at the same time in the afternoon when he first, and last, saw her, or sometimes twice a day in an effort to account for her possibly being scheduled to work evenings.

This day was no different. Second floor of parking garage. In through the Bon Ton. Tingling at the hair salon. A wreck by Baskin Robbins. Composed upon seeing she wasn't there. The checklist had been completed.

He decided to kill some time and see if there was a shift change at three o'clock. His first stop was the Sam Goody's. During one of his many failed attempts, he had discovered, completely by accident, a CD by some punk band that had a girl on the cover who looked eerily similar to her. The resemblance was aided by the girl wearing sunglasses. The eyes would have betrayed the likeness. No one had eyes like hers. The band's name was Intercourse, the irony of which was all too apparent. Checking for the CD had recently been added to the agenda. Once accomplished, he moved on.

He made his way around the food court to the escalators and descended into her realm. One could see the candy store from the base of the escalators. It was a good fifty feet away and he already knew she wasn't there, but his eyes were still drawn to its promise as he made a sharp left into Walden's books. He immediately drifted to the classics section. The first thing he always did was to check and see if they had any Dorothy Parker. They did. The Portable Dorothy Parker. His copy was at home so he read theirs.

Next, he pulled down Fitzgerald's "The Beautiful and Damned." He read a small selection describing Gloria. Then it was Gatsby's turn. He read all his favorite passages, from Nick's first encounter with Daisy and Jordan to Gatsby's reunion with his one true love. He ended his sampling with the book's unforgettable final paragraph. Renewed, he ventured forth into the world.

He tried to play it cool as he approached the candy store. For all he knew, she could be there by now. He took a deep breath and pressed onward. He attempted to act as if the store's presence on his right was of no importance as we walked past with his eyes trained straight ahead. Then, as natural as could be and without ever breaking stride, he turned to find that she still wasn't there. The girl behind the counter was the same one he had seen the last half dozen times. She saw him. There was a hint of recognition in her eyes and a faint suggestion of a smile upon her lips. He stared right through her and kept walking. She wasn't the only person beginning to recognize him. It seemed as though he was now familiar with the work schedule of every employee in the mall save one. His breathing returned to normal. His limbs were once again his own.

He gathered what was left of his spirit and returned to his car. Sitting behind the wheel, engine off, seatbelt unbuckled, he could no longer even imagine a time when he could be in her company and greet her with anything less than a penitent heart and nervous breath. He had been coming out to the mall for five weeks now in hopes of seeing her again, all the while being tremendously relieved when she wasn't there. Each attempt was emotionally and physically draining. Yet he continued. Truth be told, he wanted to see her more out of duty than desire. She was his responsibility. He had once promised her in a letter that he'd always be there for her if she needed him. There was no going back. He wasn't going to let her down again. But this simply wasn't working. Recently, he had begun to think of his continual failures at seeing her as a sign. It wasn't meant to be. Not now. Later. He'd live his life. She'd live hers. It would happen later. When he was ready. And she needed him. His only fear was that she would never need him.

The engine kicked. His seatbelt buckled. He drove home.

-----

CHAPTER EIGHT (Jerry, Michael, and Mel at mall)

Jerry went to school at Computer Tech in Pittsburgh. It was an eighteen-month course that, upon completion, would almost guarantee him the sort of employment opportunity so desired by the masses. All he had to do was pay attention, not goof around, do satisfactory on the tests, and attend classes on a regular basis. He had school from seven to four Monday through Thursday. Today was Wednesday. The afternoon. So naturally he was throwing football with Michael at Lynch Field.

"Have you been drinkin' already?" asked Jerry as they descended upon the public recreational park deep in the heart of Hadleyville. An ice rink, tennis courts, soccer fields, baseball diamonds, a track for joggers and one for bikes and rollerblades; Lynch Field had it all.

Michael smiled. "Why, can you smell it on me?"

"A little bit."

"My stomach was bothering me this morning so I just did a couple shots of Mandrin," explained Michael, gripping the football tightly in his right arm and stepping onto the grass field.

"Yeah, that's gotta be good for ya. That stuff is brutal."

"It smells good."

"It tastes like shit."

"I don't drink it for the taste."

"You drink it for the smell?"

"I think we both know why I drink it. Hey, how much more time you got down there anyway?"

"At school?"

"Yeah."

"Til March."

"Only five months left." Michael flipped the first pass of the day, just a short one to loosen up the arm. "Doesn't seem like it's been that long."

"Oh, it's been that long. Trust me."

Michael accepted the return pass with ease. It was the middle of October, so while nippy, the air wasn't cold enough for the ball to sting their hands. Both were even still wearing shorts. Michael, due to his diminishing weight, dressed more suitably above the waist, sporting a ratty old thermal shirt, its cuffs frayed and holes tearing at the wrists, underneath two layers of t-shirts. "Learnin' anything yet?"

"Fuck no." Catch. "The place is a joke." Throw. "I actually think I know less about computers now than when I joined. I don't even think I could recognize a computer at this point."

They gradually drifted farther and farther apart, testing the strength of their arms until they settled into a distance of about forty yards. The rhythmic pulse of catch reduced all conversation to a bare minimum, consisting mostly of comments such as "nice catch, jerky" upon a dropped ball or "way to go, Kordell" when a hopelessly errant throw found turf. Michael eventually began spicing things up by running patterns or scrambling around an imaginary pocket before flinging a toss downfield. Hey, it beat Computer Tech.

On one occasion Michael's pass tumbled from its planned trajectory due to the unexpected hand of nature.

"That was all wind," explained Michael.

Jerry collected the ball. "Autumn Wind."

Michael made the reception and froze. "What?"

"Autumn Wind," hollered Jerry. "At least it wasn't a Summer Wind."

"What a dick," smiled Michael. He then rifled a bullet at Jerry in hopes of tattooing an X on his chest.

After a few more tosses the proceedings were called to a halt when Jerry announced his need for nicotine. They both sat down on a wooden bench provided by the city for just such an occasion and watched the world age.

"I didn't even know what you meant at first," said Michael.

"I couldn't pass it up." Jerry lit his cigarette and took a deep, rejuvenating hit. "I figured you were thinkin' about her anyway."

"Yeah, but I didn't bring her up. You brought her up."

"It was only a matter of time." Jerry was enjoying the poisoning of his lungs. They weren't allowed to smoke at school. "You feel like throwin' anymore?"

"Not really."

"What do you wanna do?"

"I don't know."

They both knew what they'd end up doing, but they sat a while longer staring at the mundane scene before them, trying desperately to think of another alternative. Options were limited.

"There aren't even any joggers today," commented Jerry as he expelled second-hand smoke into the atmosphere.

"Yeah, that kinda sucks." The possibility of seeing an attractive young woman in the midst of an aerobic workout was always an alluring aspect of the Lynch Field experience. Once there was a particularly fit specimen that rendered all to silent observation with her firm, churning legs and the playful bounce of her ponytail. She had only been seen that one time, causing her existence to seem more fantasy than reality, but it was enough to keep them coming back.

Convinced that no such beguiling apparitions of feminine athleticism were going to make an appearance, Jerry extinguished his cigarette with the aid of the bench and flung its useless corpse into the grass. Keep America beautiful. "Mall?"

"Sure."

Westmoreland Mall had become a fixture of Jerry and Michael's weekly grind. It seemed almost every Friday afternoon, Jerry's permitted day off from school, found the two meandering through the mall without the slightest direction or hint of purpose. Well, that's not completely true. There was the Piano Girl. Trombino Music. Second floor.

"Yes!" cheered Jerry quietly upon seeing she was working. And, damn, how she was working. Piano Girl was positively stunning. She looked to be around 23, had long blonde hair, and possessed the kind of body that inspired sleepless nights. Today she was wearing a red, spaghetti-strap top and a long black skirt that was provocatively slit up the left side. She was sitting at a piano near the front of the store elegantly playing a piece of music in an attempt to lure customers. Curiously enough, of all the times they had seen her, not once was she ever waiting on a customer. They couldn't even recall ever seeing another person in the store when she was there. Who goes to the mall to buy a piano? Nevertheless, there was always heavy traffic in front. Granted, most of it was Jerry and Michael, but it was still traffic. The slit skirt made sure of that.

They tried to play it cool whenever they passed her. Jerry seldom looked at her directly, fearing that one look from her would send him into nervous convulsions. Michael was less reserved in his veneration of her beauty. On this occasion he couldn't help but stare. She must have felt his visual scrutiny, for in the middle of her one-woman recital she looked up from the sheet music long enough to make actual, sustained eye contact. Michael smiled and nodded, drawing forth a polite, yet faint, smile of recognition in return. She never stopped playing, he never stopped walking.

As soon as they were past the store front Jerry collapsed along the railing overlooking the first floor and shook his head in disbelief. "God damn..."

"Did you see that skirt?"

"I love long skirts on chicks. That's so hot."

"I actually made some eye contact."

"Really?

"I didn't mean to, she just caught me staring at her."

"That's why I don't even look at her. What did you do? Did you smile?"

"Yeah."

"What she do?"

"She kind of smiled back."

"No shit?" Jerry was impressed. "Go talk to her?"

"I can't."

"Why not? You said she smiled at you."

"Yeah, but I'm not one of those guys."

"Well, I think it's about time you start. We're talkin' Piano Girl here! C'mon, let's make this trip to the mall one to remember."

"I can't. Why don't you go talk to her?"

"I'd be too nervous. You know I can't talk to good lookin' girls. Do it for me."

"I can't. My heart wouldn't be in it."

"Here we go again..." Jerry knew what that meant. Before he gave up he needed to make one final desperate attempt at persuasion. He chose his words carefully. "Dude, she's so fuckin' hot." Yes, Jerry was a poet. "It's Piano Girl!"

"She's no Melanie."

"Yeah, you're right, I didn't notice her fucking two guys when we walked by." Michael had become so accustomed to the jokes regarding Melanie's questionable morality over the past few weeks that they failed to register. "I think it's time you get over her already. And Piano Girl is the perfect girl to do it." He shoved Michael. "Piano Girl!"

"I'm sorry, man," grinned Michael, "but I can't."

"What a puss." Jerry's face wore the expression of grave disappointment. "Would it kill ya to try and learn to play the piano? Let's at least walk by one more time."

She was still manipulating the ivory, not to mention their breathing patterns. The sight of her golden hair draped across her creamy white shoulders made both of their hearts skip a little as they passed. And then there was that skirt. Jerry didn't dare risk another glance. Michael, secure in his convictions to another, didn't hesitate to look over his shoulder as they passed in order to prolong the agony. Once again she looked up. Good solid eye contact. Another smile. She kept playing, he kept walking.

"God damn..." cursed Jerry. "Let's go to the food court. I gotta sit down."

The Westmoreland Mall food court was set up like a horseshoe; its ends attached to the main body of the mall, and its curve containing a main entrance from the outside world. The proud citizens of the food court included, from left to right, Rax Roast Beef, Pup-A-Go-Go, Sbarro's Pizza, Fajita Palace, a hallway leading to restrooms, Bane's Deli, Monchu Wok, the main entrance, a Ruby' Tuesday's restaurant, Teriyaki Japan, McDonald's, Tropical Bungalow, and Blimpie's Subs. In the middle of this arching array of fine eateries was the seating area, trimmed with pastels and plants and filled with clusters of white tables and chairs that when occupied for too long inspired comparisons to medieval torture devices. The food court also featured a raised center hub accessed by a ramp. This hub apparently provided sanctuary for those who enjoyed eating their fast food meals slightly elevated above their more common peers. If Hadleyville had royalty, they'd eat their lunch in the hub. The last remaining attraction was a coffee kiosk that straddled the boundary between food court and mall. Fat, grease, empty calories, abundant caffeine; the Westmoreland Mall food court was a modern day land of milk and honey.

Being a Wednesday afternoon in October, everything was wide open. Jerry really wasn't hungry yet and Michael's appetites couldn't be met by establishments without a liquor license, so the duo decided to merely loiter. They had free reign in choice of tables. Michael was about to secure a place at the far end of a long bench, the back of which formed one side of the food court's elevated center hub, when Jerry pulled out a chair at an adjacent table. Michael fell in line and joined Jerry, forsaking the bench. He had never sat on the bench before. Oh well. There was always next week.

"Have you heard from any of those agencies yet?" asked Jerry.

"Nope, not yet."

"That sucks."

"I just have to keep sending it out. Something will happen eventually."

"It's a good book. It's gonna get published."

"Let's hope."

"Did that stats place call you?"

"Yeah, I already started working for 'em. I had five games this week."

"So what's that, $250?"

"Yeah."

"And how long does it take you to do a game?"

"Like two or three hours. Four tops."

"What a cock. That's like the perfect job. You work out of the house, decent money, easy work, involves hockey... you're so fuckin' lucky. And you didn't even have to look for it, either. Just fell in your lap."

"Providence will provide."

"That's the kind of job I need."

"You're too busy with school."

"Oh yeah, I forgot."

Feeling guilty for constantly burdening Jerry with the woe of his failed love life, Michael decided to try and return the favor. "So how are things goin' with you and Stacy?"

"Things got a little ugly the other night," said Jerry, sliding down in his chair and stretching his long legs in front of him.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. She started on me again about getting a job and stuff. And the last couple weeks she's been droppin' all sorts of hints how she wants to get married, blah blah blah."

"And you do not wanna get married," repeated Michael from past conversations.

"Hell no. But that's like all she's been talkin' about."

"How long have you been goin' out? Four years?"

"Four and a half. But I told her before I don't want to get married. Anyway, so get this..." Jerry sat up, closing the distance. "I told her that she shouldn't be surprised if I break up with her once I get the money to pay back what I owe her."

The words even stung Michael. "You said that?"

"Yeah," muttered Jerry, embarrassed by his own cruelty.

"What did she do?"

"Nothing."

"You're lucky she didn't slap the hell out of ya."

"She didn't even go home."

"She stayed after that?"

"Yeah."

"She must have some low self-esteem."

"I'll tell you right now, Mike Malloy, this is it. Once Stacy and I are through, I'm done with women."

"You think so..."

"I know so. I will never be in another relationship. This is it."

"So you're gonna be a monk?"

"There's always internet porn."

"True."

"I just haven't been the same since Stephanie. Do you know that whole story?"

"I know she cheated on you."

"Yeah, but did I ever tell you she came back to me?"

Now Michael was sitting up. "No. When was this?"

"It was like two months after we broke up. She showed up at my house saying how sorry she was and how it would never happen again. I let her in and we, you know..." At this point Jerry made a genteel movement with his arm, thrusting it forward like a piston. "But then as soon as we were done, I kicked her out."

"What?"

"I told her to beat it. She was still trying to put her clothes on when I shoved her out the front door."

Michael held his tongue. He was trying to comprehend what he just heard. He wasn't having much luck. "That's amazing."

"I loved her so much. I knew from the first second I saw her she was the one. She's the only girl I've ever been in love with. I'm supposed to be with her. But she ruined it."

"And you couldn't forgive her?"

"She cheated on me. There's no going back after that. If she loved me, she wouldn't have cheated on me."

A young woman in flared jeans and a very small t-shirt that was straining to harness her obvious charms sashayed nearby. Neither noticed.

"Have you talked to her since?"

"Nope. It's been five years. I saw her once. I was driving to work and she was going the other way. That was two years ago."

"Do you still think about her?"

"Every day."

Admitting it caused numbness. He was immersed in reflection for a brief moment before realizing where he was. He needed to swing the conversation. "Is that how you feel about Mel?"

"Yeah," declared Michael. The mere mention of her name made his limbs tingle. "When I look at her, it's like I've been looking at her my whole life. I know she's the girl I'm supposed to be with. That's why I don't want to give up on her. I know the girl I fell in love with is still there. I know you're always ripping on her, but deep down I know she's who we thought she was."

"I don't rip on her because I don't like her. You know I like Mel."

"I know."

"Those are just good jokes. I can't pass 'em up. And I'm tryin' to help you get over her."

"I know your heart's in the right place. If I thought for a minute you meant the things you say about her..."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, you can't keep 'em all bottled up inside. You might hurt yourself. You'd probably explode the first time we walked past a vacuum cleaner. But you know if Mel and I ever get together the jokes have to stop."

"I don't think I have to worry about that. Are you still planning to go see her again?"

"Yeah, I have to apologize to her. I just want to make sure and give it enough time. I'll probably go out next weekend."

"I still don't know what the hell you have to apologize for."

"The last time I saw her I basically called her a whore."

"So what? She's the one that should be apologizing to you. She should be on her hands and knees. Come to think of it, she probably is."

"I was talkin' to Michigan Frank the other day..."

"Oh yeah? How's Michigan Frank doin'?"

"Good. He calls me every Friday because it's like free call Friday or somethin' with his phone card. So I was saying how hard Friday and Saturday nights are for me since I know she's out at the Twilight Zone and he was like, 'I thought you said she worked Fridays and Saturdays?' And I'm like, 'yeah.' And he goes, 'Then what are you worried about, it's every other night of the week she's out fuckin' everybody.'"

"Michigan Frank!" rejoiced Jerry with a pump of his fist. "That was a good one."

"I didn't expect if from him."

"Are they even gonna let you back in that place?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. That guy was real cool about the whole thing."

"How many times did you end up goin' back?"

"Like three or four. He was so nice about everything I figured it was the least I could do."

"What a fag. You should have never went back at all. Fuck that place."

"It's not right I punch a hole in the wall and then someone else has to fix it. Besides, even if Mel and I never do get together at least I've acquired a skill. I now know how to dry wall."

"You think that place still does good business?"

"Yeah, I guess. But did you hear that one of the bouncers got stomped into a coma?"

"When?"

"Like last week. Three or four guys jumped him in the parking lot. The one hit him over the back of the head with a pipe and then they just kept kicking him in the head when he was down. They had to life flight him to Pittsburgh. He'll probably be a vegetable if he lives."

"Don't worry, I'm sure Mel will fuck him back to health."

"And then some kid got stabbed there a few weeks before that. It scares the hell out of me to think she's out there."

"She's out there for a reason."

Michael hung his head. "I know... I know."

"I still say you should give Piano Girl a shot. I guarantee you Piano Girl is smarter than Mel. A bag of rocks is smarter than Mel."

"Watch yourself."

"C'mon, dude, you have to admit she's not that bright."

"I'll admit in some respects she may not be my intellectual equal but..."

"The word is 'dumb'."

"Okay, now this is starting to piss me off..."

"C'mon, she didn't even know who the Penguins were! How can you live a half hour from Pittsburgh and not know about the Penguins! Doesn't she turn on a TV? Pick up a newspaper once in a while!"

"So she's not into sports, who cares? I actually like that."

"There's a difference between not being into sports and being so dim you aren't even aware they exist."

"That's not her world. I'm sure she knows lots of stuff I don't."

"Yeah, like how to suck cock. And I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt on that one."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. But I think a lot of it is an act with Mel. You can't be dumb and manipulate people the way she does. She knows what she's doin'."

"You might have a point there."

"I almost wish I didn't." Michael began to play with the table's molded plastic centerpiece. It was a little stand that held two pieces of paper, advertisements slipped into the middle of the plastic and held firm. One was for a new variety of milkshakes at McDonald's and the other announced a concert to be held at the mall in a few days. Michael's sudden restlessness had the sign spinning and flipping between his hands. "My sister keeps telling me about that Claire girl."

"Is that the one she works with?"

"Yeah. She keeps threatening to set me up with her."

"Why don't you let her?"

"I don't know." He had now reversed the pieces of paper in the stand so that only their plain blue and pink backs were exposed to the world and Ronald McDonald could read about the symphony. "She keeps sayin' this Claire is perfect for me."

"Like you're gonna do anything about it."

"Probably not." Michael pushed the centerpiece away. "But you never know what'll happen. One time when I was at the Twilight Zone, it all just sort of hit me at once. I mean, think about it. If a year ago someone would have told me I'd be waxing the dance floor of a night club in Greengate Mall trying to make up for punching a hole in the wall because I was so frustrated at falling in love with a waitress that worked there, I'd have said they were nuts. A year ago I didn't drink, I would never be caught dead in a dance club, there wasn't even one at Greengate Mall, I'm hardly someone that goes around punching walls, and like I could possibly fall in love with a waitress... so who knows where I'll be next year."

"That's true."

"So I don't know, maybe I should just forget about her. Learn from it and move on. I keep thinking that she needs me, but I'm sure she's well over me by now."

"Yeah, and under someone else." Jerry spotted a cute little brunette in line at Sbarro's pizza. "Dude." He directed with a nod.

"She's all right," reported Michael.

"She's more than all right. Oh wait, you wouldn't like her, she doesn't have a dick in her mouth." Michael just shook his head in quiet disapproval. "Well," continued Jerry, "I think it's Mon Chu Wok time. You want anything? Some water?"

"No, I'm cool."

But Mon Chu Wok would have to wait. Jerry never even made it to his feet. He was rooted in place, staring in disbelief over Michael's left shoulder. "Oh no..."

Michael looked up and saw the bewildered expression on his friend's face. "What?"

"Is that her?" Asked Jerry of himself. "Yep, that's her."

Michael immediately spun around in his chair to see Melanie walking on the other side of the food court. She was wearing a blue sweatshirt, khaki pants, and tennis shoes. Her hair was pulled back in her traditional tight ponytail and she was holding a restaurant drink of some sort in her right hand. Another girl was with her. The mystery woman was wearing a green apron, obviously a uniform of one of the nearby stores, and carrying a tray of food. Melanie was several steps ahead of her and appeared determined to sit somewhere in the back of the food court out of sight from Michael when her friend placed her tray down on the nearest table and called Melanie back to her. Melanie didn't argue the point. She turned around, returned to her friend and sat at the far end of the very bench Michael almost chose for himself. So there they were. Michael and Jerry at one end and Mel and her friend at the other. All that separated them was a long wooden bench of about fifty feet and several empty tables. Not months, not lies, not regretted words. Just a bench.

"Did she see us?" asked Michael, turning back to face Jerry.

"Yeah. I saw her first and wasn't really sure it was her. Then we made eye contact. That's when I knew. No one else has eyes like that."

"Did she see me?" worried Michael.

"Oh yeah. As soon as she realized it was me she looked over to see who I was with. She saw you. No doubt."

Michael carefully peered over his shoulder, trying not to be too obvious about it. But the more he saw of Melanie the more he turned. He couldn't help but stare. All those weeks of regret and now there she was. Right there. He could see her. She was back in his life.

"Are you gonna talk to her?" asked Jerry.

"I have to apologize," said Michael, almost in a whisper. "I can't waste an opportunity like this. But I don't want to go say anything in front of her friend."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"I'll wait until they're done eating and then go over. It looks like that other girl works someplace. She's probably just on her lunch break."

"Maybe she works at that coffee place?" theorized Jerry.

"Could be."

"Fuck. I can't believe this. Like it's not bad enough I have to hear you moan about her all the time, now I have to be here for this."

"Just relax. Go get your food."

"I can't go now! If I get up she'll look at me."

"So?"

"I don't want her looking at me. Because then what am I supposed to do? This is gonna be so awkward."

"I'm the one who should be nervous!" countered Michael.

"What are the odds we'd see her today? And like she couldn't wait until I got my sweet and sour chicken."

Michael was leaning forward, his arms folded on the table, but periodically peeked over his shoulder at Mel. He continued to speak in hushed tones in fear she might hear his words. "It is pretty weird. You realize this is like the first time I've ever seen her away from work. She looks good, doesn't she?"

"Yeah."

Melanie was listening quietly as her friend carried the conversation. Michael hadn't even seen Mel open her mouth yet. That friend of hers was quite the little chatterbox. Michael could hear small bits of the monologue but really didn't care enough to try and connect them. He was too busy watching Melanie. She was clearly uncomfortable. She was trying so hard to not look Michael's direction that she appeared unnatural. Then, as her friend droned on, Mel lowered her head a bit to the straw of her drink and took a sip while stealing a quick glimpse at Michael. Then it was back to her friend, never letting on as to what she just did.

"Well, she saw me that time," said Michael, dropping his chin on his hands.

"Oh, she definitely knows you're here, dude," confirmed Jerry, staring at the floor and doing his best to appear completely removed from the happenings around him.

"I had a feeling I was going to see her today," proclaimed Michael. "I just had a feeling."

"So how long are we gonna wait?"

"As long as it takes. I have to talk to her."

And so it went, Michael waiting anxiously for his opportunity while contemplating the precise words to use in contrition, Jerry writhing humiliated in his chair, the no-name girl ignorantly blathering away, Melanie sitting quietly and stealing glances of confirmation whenever needing proof of Michael's existence. Then slowly, gradually, things began to change. Melanie, having come to grips with the situation, relaxed and actively participated in conversation with her friend. She spoke with confidence, she laughed, she joked, she told stories of her own. Stories that involved "He"s and "Him"s. She made sure to hit each masculine word, driving the point into the air for all interested parties. Michael was too busy rejoicing in the angelical hymn of her voice to feel any real jealousy.

It continued that way for several minutes. It was impossible for Michael to measure the exact time, all reality bent and contorted in Mel's presence. He had been waiting anywhere from fifteen minutes to fifteen days when Jerry spoke.

"Jesus Christ, how long does that girl get for lunch? She was done eating ten minutes ago. It's just a waiting game now."

"You think?" asked Michael reflexively over his shoulder.

"Oh yeah. They're just hoping you leave first."

"I'm not leaving without talking to her. I'll wait all day. I'm not scared. Hell, I do less by nine AM than most people don't do all day." Michael turned. "But I don't think her friend even knows anything's goin' on."

"How could she not? She has to notice Mel lookin' at you. It's not like she's doin' a good job of hiding it. If I wanted to ignore somebody, believe me, they get ignored. She's terrible at it. There! She just looked at you again, dude!"

Michael spun around to see Melanie taking another sip from her drink, completely engrossed in her friend's blank noise.

"I gotta get out of here," groaned Jerry, "I can't take this anymore." Just then a phone rang. "Ooh, here's your chance!" Mel's friend was producing a cell phone from her purse. "Go talk to her while her friend's on the phone."

"I don't know..."

"It's perfect!"

"I'd rather just wait until her friend goes back to work and I can get Mel by herself. I don't want to embarrass her or anything."

"What a fuckin' fag." Jerry rubbed his eyes. "Well, I gotta get out. I'm gonna get a drink of water. And I will be taking my time."

"That's cool. I'll be here."

"No shit." Jerry checked to make sure Melanie wasn't looking and then carefully slipped from his chair and streaked towards the restrooms. Michael turned to see that Mystery Girl was still on the phone. Melanie now had her right foot on the bench with her, sending her bent knee up to her ear as she kept busy with the laces of her shoe. Michael watched, smiling despite himself. Then Melanie disappeared. Michael discovered that another young woman had entered the picture. The woman in question, unbeknownst to her, had just placed herself directly in the line of fire. Sitting at almost the exact midpoint of the bench between Michael and Melanie, this poor innocent was simply trying to find a quiet place to eat her lunch, which consisted of the usual fast food staples that fill brown plastic trays at malls all over the globe. She was a downtrodden, homely sort, showing the signs of indifference and disenchantment with her current employment situation as clearly as she displayed the golden 'Bon Ton' name tag over her left breast. She unwrapped her sandwich and mechanically lifted it to her mouth. At least she was alone now. She had some time to herself. She would enjoy her lunch. The chicken tasted like rubber. She sipped her Coke.

Michael noticed nothing about the girl other than that she was shielding him from bliss. He frantically shifted in his chair so as to bring Melanie back into focus. His heart again beat in rhythm. Michael's abrupt movement drew the attention of the lunching Bon Ton employee. Was he looking at her? Men never looked at her. At least not in that way. But maybe he was. It's possible. No, it wasn't. The revelation didn't prohibit her from nervously dabbing her lips with a napkin. Once she was convinced there was nothing on her mouth, she carefully resumed eating. This time much more demurely, chewing each bite with royal precision. The stranger was still looking in her direction. Was it be so hard to believe that some guy would find himself staring at her? She was starting to feel uncomfortable. She didn't know what to do with her eyes or her hands, so she began to eat a little faster. She focused on the sandwich. Maybe she should say something? Maybe he'll say something? This kind of thing never happened to her. She should make eye contact. That's the first step in such matters as this. At least that's what she heard. She was going to do it this time. She was going to do it. She placed her sandwich back on its tray and casually rolled her face to his, fluttering her eyes ever so slightly, much in the same way she had seen Gwyneth Paltrow do in the movies. That's when she first realized he wasn't looking at her. His regard fell somewhere behind her. And worse, he seemed completely immune to the fact that she was now staring at him. Humiliated, she went back to eating. She was tempted to turn and see exactly what it was that so captivated him, but she didn't want to be obvious about it. Maybe it was some sort of trick? She didn't want to look foolish. She never wanted to look foolish. But what was it? What was he looking at? Oh. She knew he couldn't have been looking at her. She tried to go back to eating her lunch, beauty to her left, admiration to her right. The fries were too salty. The chicken still bounced. The Coke was watered down. Lunch was over. The thought of getting up and breaking his adoring gaze for the brief moment it took her to cross the table made her perspire about the waist. She nervously crept to her feet and hurried to the nearest trash can to deposit her meal. She was sure neither of them even noticed she was gone. No one ever did. She was right.

Melanie was still waiting for her friend to get off the phone. Michael's patience began to wilt. He called to her in a hushed tone, "Mel." She didn't even flinch. He tried a little louder. "Mel." Still no response. Melanie simply stared straight ahead, as if actively taking part in her friend's phone conversation. With the first step taken, Michael began to be more brazen. The next call of her name was accompanied by a tapping of the bench. "Mel!" Nothing. He continued to drum a distress signal with the middle knuckle of his left index finger. She laughed, either at his futile attempts at persuasion or at something her friend said. It didn't really matter. Melanie's companion flipped her phone shut and placed it back in her purse. Then the two friends picked up where they had left off as if never interrupted. Discouraged, Michael turned back to his table in time to see Jerry's return.

"Well?"

"Nothing," reported Michael. "I even tried calling her name and she just pretended she didn't hear me."

"Has she even turned her head to the right yet?"

"Nope. Not once."

Jerry reclaimed his familiar slouched position in his chair. Michael crossed his arms in front of him. Neither said a word. There was nothing more to say. They had to wait.

It was during one of Michael's occasional checks over his shoulder when events finally began to unfold. He saw Melanie say something that caused her friend to look in his direction.

"That's it," said Michael, spinning to face Jerry. "She just told her friend."

Jerry perked up. "They're leaving?"

"I think so."

"Together?"

"Looks that way. I saw Mel say something and then her friend looked over at me. So she knows now."

"Free at last, free at last," mocked Jerry. "So what are you gonna do, follow them out?"

"If I have to."

Michael prepared for action. He was going to simply walk over and politely ask Melanie if he could speak with her. If she refused, he'd first try more politeness, then begging, groveling, and finally tears if necessary. He marveled as Mel and her friend rose to their feet and began to leave in the opposite direction. Michael was about to follow when they began to circumvent the food court, skirting its outer edge without ever venturing into the main mall fairway. They walked very close to each other, hip to hip, with Mel to the outside. Michael watched vigilantly, prepared for pursuit, as they both turned back into the food court.

"Here they come," announced Michael to Jerry, who invented yet another way to squirm uncomfortably in his chair. Michael stood up as the two women approached. They were no more than twelve feet away. It felt like miles. The two had conspired beforehand on how this would work. They both appeared stiff and artificial, walking straight up, staring forward, and not speaking a word to one another. They were clearly on a mission of scorn. Melanie never once looked in his direction. She kept focused straight ahead and walked with conviction. Her friend was less determined. Whether it was to grade the appearance of Mel's devotee or whether Michael's standing up simply caught her eye, curiosity killed again. Mystery Girl tried to disguise her actions by lowering her head and pretending to fix the ribbon in her hair, but Michael saw that she was giving him the once over. He didn't care. His life was walking away from him.

"Mel!" called Michael, wearing a friendly smile.

She kept walking. Her partner continued to have difficulty with her hair.

Michael tried again. Harder. "Mel!"

"Oh, Christ, now he's waving," lamented Jerry under his breath, unable to watch any further.

"Mel!"

Nothing. Melanie kept walking, turning a deaf ear to Michael's pleas. She was the only one. Every other mall patron within range was now witness to Michael's humiliation. All eyes were turned to him except the two most cherished. He was frozen as she passed, suddenly aware of the torn thermal flapping from his shirt sleeve and the fact he was wearing shorts in October. Why'd they just have to come from throwing football?

"Did she even look?" asked Jerry.

"No." Confident they would be looping around to the front entrance, Michael set out after them. But his journey was only a few steps old when he saw them both duck into the corridor leading to the restrooms. Michael couldn't help but notice that Melanie took an unnecessarily sharp turn around the corner, as if wanting to disappear from sight as soon as humanly possible. "They're going to the bathroom." Michael, still cognizant others were watching him, retraced his steps back to his table without once taking his eyes from the entrance to the restrooms.

"What are you gonna do now?" asked Jerry.

"Wait for them to come out," answered Michael without hesitation.

"Well, I gotta get out of here. I can't take this anymore."

"You want me to meet you somewhere?"

"No, I'll just be walking around up top. I'll find you."

"Okay."

"Good luck."

Michael was alone. Of course, for all he knew Jerry could have been standing right behind him. He never watched him leave. He kept his eyes glued to the bathroom entrance. Michael couldn't see the bathroom doors from where he was sitting. They were positioned farther down the hall. All Michael could see was the edge of the wall behind which Melanie vanished and a few feet of the opposite side. His heart stopped each time someone emerged from the corridor. He had to be patient. Melanie and her friend were probably discussing what to do next. He began to consider all the possibilities as he monitored the passing stream of shoppers for his beloved's face. It wouldn't be out of the question for her friend to come out first and maybe act as a mediator, trying to broker some sort of ground rules for the eventual meeting. Or maybe Melanie herself would surface poised and controlled, much like she did when she returned from getting her coat and backpack during that last fateful trip to the Twilight Zone. Only time would tell. Time. Michael didn't even know what time it was, or how long he had been waiting. He looked around for a clock. Was this a mall food court or a casino? All the establishments seemed united in their lack of timepieces. The chopsticks in the "O" of the Manchu Wok sign almost fooled him. He was about to give up his search when he glanced above the entrance to the restrooms. No clock. But there was a glowing red "EXIT" sign. His blood rushed. He had been coming to the mall his entire life and he never knew there was an exit by the restrooms.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

It was a mall employee. An overweight, fortyish mall employee of questionable gender pushing a broom and dustpan. Michael got to his feet without even bothering to address the questioner. "Yeah, but I don't think she's comin'." There was an exit sign. Since when was there an exit sign?

Needing proof, he barreled his way down the hall and past the restroom doors. At the end of the hall, to the right of the water fountains, was indeed a heavy steel door but it lacked any promise of 'Exit'. No sign whatsoever. Michael flung the door open, letting it crash into the wall, and stalked through the adjoining fluorescent passage, following it through to another steel door that met with a similar fate as the first. He was outside. At first he didn't recognize his surroundings. It was a few seconds before he realized he was near the loading dock behind JC Penny's. The parking lot was conveniently close. The door must be an employee secret. He scoured the parking lot in vain for signs of Melanie's car. They were both probably long gone by now, enjoying a hearty laugh at his expense.

Michael stormed back around and re-entered the mall through the food court's main entrance. Other shoppers were wise to get out of his way. He angrily tore a path back to the restroom corridor and tried to calm himself with a drink of water. As he was turning to leave, a woman left the ladies' room and Michael saw what he thought was the reflection of a blue sweatshirt and brown hair in the bathroom's mirror. The door swung shut. Maybe she didn't leave after all? He'd wait a little longer.

He resumed his vigilant watch, this time positioning himself at a table directly in front of the corridor in able to have an unobstructed view for the length of the hall. He made a mental note of each and every woman that used the restroom. He marked when they entered, when they left. The business woman, the mom of three, grandma, average lady, two teenage girls. They all came and went. Still no Melanie. Action was needed. The teenage girls were the last of the group to leave the bathroom. They were elected.

"Excuse me," said Michael, trailing the girls through the food court. They were no more than fifteen. Both seemed somewhat startled by his approach, but the desire to appear cool quickly did away with any apprehension of strangers. "I'm looking for my sister and was wondering if you saw her in the bathroom." They kept walking as he spoke. "She's like 21, light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a blue sweatshirt and khaki pants. Did you see anyone in there like that?"

"No," answered the one walking closest to him.

"So there's no one in there at all?" They were out of the food court now and in the main body of the mall.

"Just someone acting like a baby," joined the other girl, more relaxed knowing that the stranger was only looking for his sister.

Michael didn't know what she meant. He needed clarification. "But it's not her?" They both shook their heads 'no' while uttering some form of nuh-uh. "Thank you very much." He pulled ahead of them and was gone. Every muscle in his body tightened. His stride was forceful and determined. The bones of his fists began to ache with pressure. Chest expanded, veins flushed, he sliced his way through the mall chaff. He spotted Jerry leaning against one of the railings overlooking the first floor.

"She left," proclaimed Michael, never slowing his pace. Jerry did his best to get in step.

"What?"

"She just left!"

"You didn't talk to her?" Jerry was struggling to stay at Michael's shoulder. Just when he was about to finally catch up, Michael came to a halt. Jerry, unable to stop his massive frame on a dime, kept lumbering forward.

"Did you know there was a fucking exit by the bathrooms?"

Jerry stopped. "So she just ducked out a back door?"

Michael was gone again, racing away from the past. Jerry, still trying to catch his breath, again chased after him. It wasn't easy. Sudden fits of movement weren't his thing. Asthma and smoking were quite the cardiovascular cocktail.

"So you never talked to her?"

"No."

"What were you doing that whole time?"

"Waiting. I didn't even know there was a fucking exit down that hall. But I still thought she might be in there so I stopped two girls that came out of the bathroom and told them I was looking for my sister."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

"Did they think you were nuts?"

"What the fuck do I care? They said she wasn't in there." Michael slammed on the brakes again. Jerry passed by. "Did you even know there was a fucking exit down that hall?"

Jerry stopped, turned around, and slowly walked back to where Michael was standing. "No, and I got a drink of water. Didn't even notice it."

Michael was off. Jerry again chased after him, wishing he had fatter, slower friends.

"She just left," echoed Michael. Neither spoke another word until they were closing in on the parking garage. Then Michael, voiced to no one in particular, declared, "I need a drink."

Wild Wings wasn't crowded. It never was in the afternoon. Michael and Jerry were the only two people in the joint. It would be crowded by the time they left. Pam was tending bar. Jerry handled the pleasantries. Michael just ordered his drinks. Vodka. Cheap and mean. The first one was down almost before Pam finished pouring. He instructed her to "keep 'em comin'."

"What's with you today?" asked Pam, refilling his waiting shot glass. Michael didn't answer.

"Take a guess," said Jerry, pulling a long, refreshing drag from his newly lit cigarette. Nicotine, Nicotine, Rah Rah Rah!

"Don't even tell me..." She looked to Jerry for confirmation. He rolled his eyes and blew more smoke into the air. "How many months has it been? Forget about her already." Michael still didn't speak. He threw back his second shot. Pam poured the third. This was the worst she had seen him in a long time. "Well, I gotta go in the back for a minute. I'm getting ready to leave. Try to make that one last 'til I get back." She waited to see if he'd say anything. He didn't. "I tell you what," began Pam as she started to walk away, "Just once in my life if I could have someone care that much about me. Just once..."

"Are you gonna be like this all day?" asked Jerry of Michael, who was still brooding silently over his security blanket.

"Probably. At least until I get drunk."

"Then hurry up."

The more Michael drank, the more he started to talk. He and Jerry were conversing rather easily by the fifth or sixth shot. Of course, much to Jerry's chagrin, they were talking about Melanie. But at least they were talking.

"That was such a cunt move," said Jerry, now working on his second beer. "She just better hope I never see her anywhere. Because I will rip into her."

"It's not her fault."

"What do you mean it's not her fault? It's all her fault! What did you ever do to her? She lied to you. She treated you like shit. Then for her to just ignore you like that and slip out a back door!"

"It's not her fault. Think about it. The last time she saw me I put my fist through a wall. She could have been scared I was going to yell at her or cause a scene or something. She probably thinks I hate her. I don't blame her for doing what she did."

"I don't know..."

"I'd rather have her do that then just come up and talk to me and act like nothing ever happened. That would be a lot worse. That would kill me."

"Well, I still better not see her anywhere."

"If you do, you better treat her with respect. Tell her I'm sorry and that I miss her. Understand?"

"Whatever. Do another shot, ya drunk bastard."

Michael complied and added, "She didn't take her hand away."

"What?"

"She didn't take her hand away. That's what bothers me so much. The last time at the Twilight Zone. After I said what I said and she started to leave I grabbed her hand and she didn't yank it away. She stopped. And when I said what I said why didn't she say, 'It's none of your business,' or, 'So what?' She said they were lies. She said they were all lies. She didn't want me to know about that stuff. She didn't want me to think of her that way." Michael paused to reflect upon the bottom of his shot glass before continuing. "And you know she asked about me that night. She saw Matthew and asked how I was doing and she told him to tell me to get out there to see her. He tried calling me but I had already left. I didn't find out until the next day. That whole night I thought she was just putting on an act like she was happy to see me. But she really was happy. If only I had known that beforehand, I wouldn't have had to get drunk to go there and I wouldn't have had such a chip on my shoulder. All those weeks of waiting to go out to see her and if I would have just waited another hour or two and gotten Matt's phone call everything could have been different. She wanted to see me." He paused again to regroup. "That's why I can't get her out of my head. There are two possibilities. Either she's a completely self-absorbed, inconsiderate, lying whore, or she's the sweet, shy, insecure, vulnerable girl that I fell in love with. And I know that's who she is. I know it. I know the girl I fell in love with is there, she's just too scared to show it."

"I'm gonna vote for that lying whore one myself," said Jerry. Michael kept his anger in check. "I just have no respect for someone who lies and acts all innocent and is really out fucking everybody in sight. She only acted all sweet and nice with you because she knew that's what you wanted. Maybe she just wanted to fuck a smart guy. I don't know. But once she realized you were a genuinely nice guy and weren't in it just for a cheap thrill, she didn't give a damn about you. She's a fuckin' man hole. You need an actual nice girl, not someone who pretends to be one."

"Ya know, you once told me everything would work out with Mel and me. Remember? You said, 'I know you and I know Mel, it'll work out.'"

"That's when I thought I knew Mel."

"Well, I still think we know her. I know she's the girl we thought she was. I know that girl's in there."

"Yeah, and so are about 350 dicks." Michael ignored the comment. Jerry changed the subject. "Why can't we run into Justine at the mall? I'd actually like to see her again. She still never called you?" Silence gave answer. "I didn't think she'd be like that."

"Well, what can ya do?"

"Have you tried calling her?"

"Don't have her number."

"You could look it up."

"Tried. Couldn't find her."

"You could try and get it from this place. I'm sure they'd have it on record somewhere. Pam could probably get it."

"Not sure I should do that. If Justine isn't calling me, she's not calling me for a reason. She has my number. She knows how important she is to me. If she's not calling it's because she doesn't want me in her life. Whether it's because of Anthony or whatever, she obviously doesn't want me around. I try not to think about her. There was a lot going on with Justine that you didn't know. I miss her very much."

"You never did tell me what the big secret was."

"I promised her I wouldn't."

"So you can't even tell me? C'mon, dude. Like you're ever going to see her again anyway."

"I gave her my word." Michael tilted his glass and waited anxiously for the last remaining drop of vodka to find his tongue.

"Does it rhyme with 'grape'?"

Michael faced Jerry with honest, non-alcohol-induced confusion. "What?"

"She wasn't raped was she?"

"No, no... nothing like that. I just don't want to talk about it. I think I actually get more deeply depressed thinking about Justine than I do Mel."

"Yeah, and we wouldn't want you depressed."

"Exactly." Michael got the attention of Renee, the bartender, with a slight wave of his hand. There was a shift change. Pam had left. The bar was much more crowded now. Renee was busy. But she knew Michael was a big tipper so she served him immediately.

While Renee poured Michael's shot, Jerry studied her chest a brief moment and then asked a question. "What's up with all the pumpkins?"

"What pumpkins?" asked Michael, tearing his eyes from the falling vodka.

"Those pumpkins." Jerry motioned with his hand all about the bar.

Sure enough, Michael looked around and noticed that there were little paper pumpkins taped all over every wall in the place. There were hundreds of them. Each one boasted someone's name scrawled in varying degrees of penmanship with thick black ink. "Oh. Those pumpkins."

"They're for charity," enlightened Renee, pointing to a poster behind the bar featuring Selma Hayek in a sexy witch costume, posing seductively in some sort of haunted pumpkin patch. "They're a buck a piece and all proceeds go to the Make-A-Wish Foundation."

"And people just put their names on them?"

"Yeah, their name, someone else's, whatever. You want one?"

"Sure," said Michael. "Bring me two when you get a chance."

Renee reached under the bar and pulled out two paper pumpkins and a black magic marker. "I had a chance."

"Fair enough." Michael handed her the two dollars. "Thanks."

Jerry sat up and bent forward slightly so he could watch Renee's ass as she walked away. "You don't think she's hot?"

"She's okay." Michael went about his work. Despite the large volume of alcohol he had consumed all afternoon and evening, his hand was rock steady as he carved the marker into the first pumpkin. To no one's surprise, 'MEL' was written across the top in large, capital block letters. Beneath her name, in the exact middle, was printed a tiny 'AND'. Then underneath, stretched neatly across the bottom half of the pumpkin, he placed 'JUSTINE'. He took a brief moment to appreciate what he had done. Now they were together somewhere other than his heart, immortalized for all time... or at least until Halloween was over. The second pumpkin was emblazoned with only one word: VODKA.

It was well after ten o'clock when Michael and Jerry left the bar, still sporting the shorts and t-shirts they had originally donned for an afternoon of throwing football oh so many hours ago. Michael staggered and swayed his way through the crisp night air, finding support from each cement pillar, sign post, and tree on the way from Wild Wings' front door to Jerry's car. His world was a numb, swirling mass of dull colors and bleeding shapes. He was in the moment. No time to think of anything else but the moment. Alcohol had come through again, just like he knew it would. Then came clarity.

"What if I wrote her a letter?" blurted Michael as Jerry, every bit as sober as Michael was drunk, began the drive home.

"Mel?"

"Yeah, there's nothing wrong with that, right?"

"What are you gonna say?"

"I'll just tell her that I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry if I ever hurt her. And I'd tell her how much she still means to me. There's nothing wrong with me writing a letter is there?"

"You shouldn't have to."

"I mean, she may not even read it. She'll probably just tear it up. But I would have written it. That's the important thing. I would have done my part. I would have apologized. Then maybe I can get on with my life."

"Then go 'head. Write her a letter."

"I'll write her a letter."

-----

CHAPTER NINE (Claire and Michael)

"You didn't have to come to the door, I was on my way out."

"I wasn't sure if you saw me pull in or not."

"Here's 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'."

Claire accepted the tape with glee. "Cool. I'll probably watch it tonight."

"You look nice."

"Thanks."

"I almost didn't recognize you at first since, you know, you weren't swaying and slurring your words." The comment drew a smile and a swat in the arm. "I don't know, how does it work? Do I still have to open your car door for you if you're the one driving?"

"I think I can manage," said Claire, gliding across to her side of the car. They got in. It was a Saturn. Silver.

Michael after secured his seatbelt. "Is this like an actual date?"

Claire started the engine. "Why?"

"I'd hate to think our first date would be you picking me up and going to the DMV and the library. That's kind of weak. I mean, if this were a real date, I'd pick you up and we'd go to the DMV and the library. It just feels a bit strange having you drive."

"Aren't you comfortable having a woman in charge?"

"I guess it depends on the situation," grinned Michael.

"Well," said Claire as she looked over her shoulder and began backing out the driveway, "get used to it."

Located in a renovated shopping plaza that used to hold a Montgomery Wards way back in the day, the Department of Motor Vehicles was no more than two minutes from Michael's house. It was their first stop of the afternoon. Claire had never been to the Hadleyville facility. She was impressed. The DMV actually only occupied a rear portion of the complex. Several stores, none of which Michael could name, still ran business as usual. To get to the DMV offices, one had to enter through an old steel door, distinguished by a small sign, and walk down a long corridor to a facade of glass doors that held within all the glories of vehicular motion. Driving is a privilege, not a right.

The room, with its grey carpeting and fresh white walls offering a variety of pamphlets on all things transportation, was enormous. A counter ran the front, with numerous partitioned sections occupied by far fewer employees. Along the far left wall were tables and monitors used in taking the written driver's test. There were two hopeful youths currently trying to find the right A, B, or C. Most of the area, though, was designated for waiting. A series of velvet ropes dissected the space, making one makeshift lobby for written exams, one for the actual driving test, one for picture licenses, and finally one for license renewals. Following signs was important in driving, and in negotiating the DMV. The waiting area for renewals was directly in front of them when they entered the room. Michael plucked a number from a shiny red dispenser and led Claire to two chairs of choice. There were two other people ahead of them, and another already at the counter talking to the clerk.

"At least it's not too crowded," commented Claire in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, it shouldn't take too long," agreed Michael. "But what do ya think of the place? Pretty nice, huh?"

"Yeah, it's a big improvement over the old one I went to. Do they give the driver's tests here too or are those still up at the State Police barracks?"

"I think they give 'em here in the back parking lot. They take 'em through town now too."

"Really? I'm glad I got through when I did."

"Yeah, no doubt. You know, I haven't parallel parked once since I got my license."

"Really?"

"I'll just keep driving around until I find an easy spot to pull into."

"What if there aren't any?"

"I'm not scared to walk."

"Did you pass your test on the first try?"

"Of course. You?"

"Second."

"Yeah, that seems about right."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothin'," smiled Michael. "So what was the problem the first time?"

"I forgot to signal once."

"And that was it?"

"Well, I kind of made my three-point turn a five-pointer."

"Oh."

"I also hit the curb. And I may have run over an orange cone or two."

"Maybe I'll just walk home."

"I got you here, didn't I?"

"Number 21," called the clerk from the front desk. An attractive woman in a blue business suit three seats down answered the bell.

"She's pretty," said Claire. "That's a nice suit."

"So you give her your style seal of approval?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"I read your article in today's paper."

"Which one was it? Fashions for the new year?"

"Yeah. How come you don't have a little picture of yourself in there like some of the other writers."

"Too young I guess. I think you have to be there a few years before they let you have a picture."

"Maybe I'll call and complain."

"You do that."

Another in need of a new photo took a number and sat farther down in the row of seats across from them. They halted their conversation long enough for him to pass and then resumed quietly on a totally different subject.

"I had to get a new band for my watch this week," said Claire, displaying her left wrist.

"Looks good."

"Thanks. I had trouble finding one to fit."

"You do have slender wrists."

"I know."

"Don't feel bad, mine are just as thin."

"Let's see." She pushed up her coat sleeve and held out her right wrist as invitation. Michael abided with his left. "Mine's still thinner."

"Yeah, but I'm a man. I don't think it's exactly a source of pride for me that your wrist is only a little bit thinner."

"Good point."

Michael studied the underside of his wrist. "Check it out, I can take my pulse just by looking at it." Sure enough, Claire could see a faint, rhythmic jump of flesh.

Claire immediately tried to duplicate the feat. "I never noticed that."

"Odd isn't it?"

"Somewhat." She pushed her sleeve back down before she became hypnotized by her discovery.

"Number 22," announced the clerk.

"Hey, you're next."

"Can't wait."

"So exactly how much do you weigh?" asked Claire.

Michael laughed. "I'm not sure I want to tell you. It's kind of embarrassing."

"C'mon. I weigh a hundred pounds."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I wasn't even sure you hit triple digits."

"Do I look that thin?"

"No, you look lovely. Just like Audrey. You're fine, don't worry about that."

"So what are you, like 140?"

"Not quite," smiled Michael. "I weighed 121 this morning."

"That's still twenty-one pounds more than me."

"Yeah, but you're like what, five-four?"

"Five-five."

"I'm like five-eleven. A hundred pounds is great for a five-five woman. A hundred and twenty-one isn't so hot for a five-eleven man."

"But you look good."

"You're very kind, but I know I look sickly."

"You do not."

"I wasn't always this thin. I'm actually quite the athlete when I want to be. I used to weigh like 148 not too long ago."

"How long ago?"

"Like maybe six months."

"You lost twenty-seven pounds in six months?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. It was all muscle. I didn't lose any bone or internal organs."

"That's certainly comforting. So why'd you lose so much weight?"

"I don't know. I guess I quit eating. I ate less and drank more."

"Why?"

"You don't want to get into all this, do ya?"

"Why not?"

"This is really the sort of thing that should come out over time. No need to scare you off so soon." It's a good thing he had such a disarming smile. She let things drop.

"Number 23."

"Hey, wish me luck," said Michael.

"Go get 'em, tiger."

Michael stopped in his tracks. "Tiger?" Her laughter sent him back on his way. It wasn't a far walk. This also meant that Claire would be able to hear the proceedings. Might as well work the comedy.

"Number 23?" asked the clerk as Michael approached the desk.

"Yes," he handed over his numbered slip of paper, "I'd like a pound of roast beef and half a pound of Swiss."

The clerk, a heavy-set bespectacled woman in her fifties, found the juxtaposition of deli humor to be amusing. Michael wasn't sure if she would, but he gambled. He turned to Claire and tossed a thumb in the direction of the clerk, "Hey, she's laughin'."

"Twenty years and no one's ever said that before," shared the clerk, still smiling. "Do you have your photo card?"

"Yes." Michael handed over the card from his pocket.

"And your old license?"

Michael produced it from his wallet.

"Okay, that's fine, now if you would, answer the questions on that screen there." She directed Michael to a small computer terminal to his left. It was raised to accommodate the standing. The first question was whether or not he wanted to register to vote. The second asked if he wanted to be an organ donor. No all around. Who would want his organs? Although, his liver could probably feed a family of four for a month.

"Okay, Michael," said the clerk when she saw he was ready, "now I'm going to need you to sign your name here." She handed him an electronic pen and pointed to a small black strip of surface imbedded in the counter. "That's how your signature will look on your license," said the clerk, swinging the monitor of her computer around for him to see. "Is that okay?" Even though it was an illegible squiggly line that in no way resembled his real signature Michael granted consent. "Now if you'll please go sit over there, we'll take the picture." Michael did as he was told. "Could you move a little to the left? Perfect. Now look at the red light. Smile." There was a burst of light. "Okay." Michael returned to the desk. "In a second the picture will appear on the screen. If you don't like it, we can do it again." It was a wait of about five seconds. "What do you think?"

Michael regarded the screen thoughtfully, rubbing his chin for effect. "Hmmm, I don't know." He paused. "Do you have anything in an elderly Mexican gentleman?" More laughter from the clerk. She must have lived a very dull life. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Okay," she was still laughing. "Go have a seat and I'll call you when it's ready."

Michael returned a conquering hero.

"I can't believe you," said Claire.

"It's no big thing."

"But what if she wouldn't have laughed?"

"That's the risk you take. Nobody ever said comedy was easy."

"That's true," agreed Claire. She delayed a moment before adding, "And I bet good comedy is even harder."

Michael looked at her with stunned appreciation. "Hey, that wasn't bad. Nice timing on the delivery."

"Thanks."

A couple minutes later Michael was called back to the front desk. "Okay, Michael, here is your old license." The clerk clipped one of the corners off. "It can still be used as ID. And here is your new license."

"Thank you very much," said Michael, accepting both cards.

"Okay, you have a nice day now."

"You too." He gave her a big smile. He then gathered Claire and they made their way through the velvet ropes and out into the corridor. "See, that wasn't so bad."

"It went a lot faster than I thought it would. Let me see your picture?" Michael handed it over. "Aw, that's a nice picture. Look, you even got that strand of hair falling just right. Let me see your old one?" They switched cards. "Well, you couldn't have done much worse."

The next stop was the library. The plan was that each would pick a book for the other to read. Michael, a veteran of the Hadleyville library, also promised to walk Claire through the process of getting her own card. Not having a library card was a great source of embarrassment. Her shame was tempered by Michael confiding that he had only gotten one himself about three months prior. In that time he had read forty-six books. He knew the exact number because he kept notes on each one.

"You sure they won't laugh at me for not having a card already?" asked Claire as Michael filled the parking meter with quarters. "Because I feel pretty stupid asking for one at my age."

"Don't sweat it. I won't let anyone laugh at you. Much."

"Gee, thanks." They headed up the street to their goal. She made the bold move of hooking her arm through his as they went. He didn't seem to mind. "I can't wait until you see the book I'm going to pick for you. I hope they have it."

"Given it a lot of thought, have ya?"

"Oh yes. And you have to read it, right? No matter what I pick, you have to read it."

"Yeah. Just don't make it like 'War and Peace' or something. Because I don't read books that weigh more than I do."

"Agreed."

They took the steps to the library together. He opened the door of the vestibule for her. He was a little upset when she didn't wait for him to open the second door for her, as well. The library was one of two cultural centers in Hadleyville; the other being the museum. Located across the street from the post office and in walking distance from the Court House, the library had been given an influx of cash in recent years. While it would never be confused with the book repository of a major metropolis, Hadleyville's pride and joy now had a brand new bank of computers hooked up to the internet to go along with its nineteen rows of varying degrees of literature. A display of the nation's top ten best sellers greeted them when Michael and Claire entered. She had read three of the ten. Michael barely heard of any of them. He was into proven texts that stood the test of time, not passing fancy. The check-out desk was directly to the right of the entrance. There were two ladies of advanced years sorting through new returns.

"Should I get my card now?"

"No, we can get it when we check out," assured Michael. "Do you want to look for any other books or do you just want to get right to it?"

"Let me see what you want me to read first, then maybe I'll get some other stuff too."

Michael confidently took her by the hand and led her to the main shelves of books, which occupied the back half of the building. The front of the library housed two small rows of new releases, several desks with computerized card catalogues, the new internet section, and a work area with a string of tables and chairs. There really wasn't much of a crowd. Wednesday afternoon was not its peak time. There were four people on the internet and a couple of old guys perusing newspapers at the tables. That was pretty much it. Reading never really was considered Hadleyville's hallmark.

Michael knew exactly where he was going. Nonfiction. The 820s. He was already reaching for the book before they stopped walking. He handed her a short, yet thick, book with a yellow and orange cover. Claire should have guessed.

"The Portable Dorothy Parker," she read aloud.

"It's a collection of her short stories and poetry. I don't expect you to read all of the stories, but there are a few must reads." He opened the book to the table of contents and ran a finger down the list. "Like 'The Lovely Leave', 'Arrangement in Black and White', 'A Telephone Call', 'You Were Perfectly Fine', 'Big Blonde', 'Just a Little One', 'Clothe the Naked'..." Claire was making mental notes. "'You Were Perfectly Fine' might be my favorite. It's a great example of comedy of escalation. This guy drinks so much that he can't remember anything from the night before and his wife keeps telling him not to worry, he was perfectly fine. Yet the more she tells about the night, the worse it gets. It's really, really good. It's tough to find such literate comedy."

"Are all her stories funny?"

"Not all of them. There are some serious pieces in there, too. I have no doubt that 'Clothe the Naked' will probably make you cry. And Mrs. Parker was also very vocal about racial equality. 'Arrangement in Black and White' is great social commentary."

"You call her Mrs. Parker?"

"Have to show respect."

"What about her poetry?"

"It's exceptional. It's really easy to read, all her stuff has a wonderful flow to it. Most of it deals with depression, love, and loss, but even the most heart-wrenching ones usually have a punch line to 'em. Her wit always rings through. I think you'll like it."

"Okay." She turned attention from the book to Michael. "Where's the fiction section?"

He once again led by the hand, escorting her to the other end of the library via the back wall. "What letter?"

"A."

"A, huh?" They swung into the proper row. "I should warn you that if it's Anderson I've already read 'Winesburg, Ohio', and 'Poor White'."

"It's not Anderson." Claire released his hand and skipped ahead in search of her prey.

"Oh boy..."

"What?" asked Claire, still searching for her prize among the crowded shelves.

"I think I know where this is going."

She snatched a book free and happily spun around to present it to Michael, a beatific smile animating her face.

"I knew it."

"I hope you haven't read it."

"I've never read any Jane Austen."

"'Pride and Prejudice' is one of my favorite books. I know you probably think it's real girly, being Jane Austen and all, but give it a chance. I think you'll like it."

"Are you saying I'm girly?"

"It's just a real romantic love story kind of deal. Some people find the language difficult, but I don't think you should have much trouble. You seem like a bright boy."

"Thanks."

"And she actually has some wit and sarcasm to her, so you should like that."

"I have to admit, I doubt if I'd ever read this on my own."

"So you'll read it?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I wasn't sure you would."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess I just don't think a lot of guys would like to read Jane Austen."

"I'm not like a lot of guys. Besides," he tilted his head to one side and spoke in a somewhat sarcastic tone, "how could I say no to you?"

"Exactly. Remember that."

Claire wanted to browse a bit more to see all the library had to offer. Michael followed a few steps behind to see all that she had to offer. Both were impressed. They compared personal reading accomplishments and found that Michael seemed to always hold the edge. He had read six Steinbecks to her four, five Faulkners to her two, five Fitzgeralds to her three, two Huxleys to her one 'Brave New World'; no matter what the author, he always held the advantage. Except for Austen. She had him with Jane Austen. She was disappointed to discover his dominance stretched to other female writers such as Carson McCullers, Virginia Woolf, Edith Wharton, and Willa Cather. She held strong to Austen.

When it came time to check out, Michael led Claire - again by the hand - to the front desk. There was one librarian on duty. It was a woman Michael had seen many times before. She was a friendly sort, always ready with a smile, and easily pushing seventy. The library had apparently cornered the market on old ladies seeking employment.

"Hello," greeted Michael merrily as he placed their two books on the counter. He put his hand on Claire's back as if to present her for consideration. "This young lady would like to get a library card." Claire smiled an embarrassed smile. "We're all very proud of her." Claire's embarrassment grew.

"All right," creaked the librarian, "I'll just need you to fill out this card," she pushed forth a small yellow piece of paper with the usual questions: name, address, date of birth, etc, "and I'll need to see two forms of ID." As Claire opened her purse in search of the requested material, Michael asked a question of the librarian.

"There's still no drug test, right?" The woman just looked at him blankly. Claire stopped rummaging through her wallet to do the same. Michael smiled and looked to Claire. "Then you should be okay."

"Don't mind him," said Claire as she produced her needed ID, "he's an idiot."

The librarian smiled to play along even though she didn't quite understand. Claire made quick work of the questionnaire. Michael made her show him her license photo before she returned it to her wallet. "Keep in mind, it's a couple years old." He was planning to make some sort of joke about it but all he could do was say it was "cute." The librarian then bestowed upon Claire her very own library card made of maroon plastic with a white outline of the very edifice on front. Claire felt empowered. Well, maybe not empowered, but her wallet did get an ounce heavier. She was then informed that the books had to be back in three weeks. They smiled and said farewell and were on their way.

"You're so bad," said Claire once outside.

"Aw, you loved it."

"Now that nice old lady thinks I'm on drugs."

"Yeah, like that dizzy old bat's gonna remember anything."

She went to give him one of her already trademark smacks in the arm, but her hand struck something very hard on the inside of his coat. "Ow!" Michael knew immediately what it was. "Oh, I'm sorry!" He gently grabbed her injured hand in his and kissed her aching fingertips. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." The open show of affection caught her off guard. It was the first time he had kissed her. Sure, it was only her fingers, but she was counting it. "What was that?"

"It's nothing, forget about it." He started walking to the car again, still holding her hand. Curiosity wouldn't let it rest. She felt his coat with her free hand and made out a very hard rectangular shape.

"Is that what I think it is?" He didn't answer her. "You carry a flask?"

"Don't be silly," smiled Michael. "The flask carries me." They reached her car. Doors and seat belts locked. "I'm sorry. I'm so used to its weight that I completely forgot it was in there. Honest. I would have never dreamed of bringing it along if I had known it was in there."

"It's okay, it's no big deal," said Claire, touched by his sincerity. Something was telling her not to turn the key yet.

"I realize it looks bad. And I don't want you to think I'm an alcoholic or anything."

"I've just never known anyone who carried a flask."

"See that, I'm opening up whole new worlds for ya." He smiled. "But seriously, I don't want you to think I'm a drunk. I mean, I've only been around you twice and both times alcohol has played a role."

"I don't think you're a drunk."

"I could quit anytime I want. I know every drunk says that, but I can. I can do stuff like that. If there's a choice to be made, I can make it."

"I believe you." He found comfort in her eyes. She did believe him. They sat in silence for another moment, but neither seemed to notice. "So where do you want to go for lunch?"

"It's your call," said Michael.

"How about that new Chinese buffet place out the highway? I heard it's really good."

"Yeah, that's fine."

-----

CHAPTER TEN (Justine and Michael)

Justine saw him walking towards her from across the club. He had waved to her earlier in the evening, but now he was coming over. She quickly put out her cigarette and sat up straight on her stool, adjusting her blouse in preparation for his arrival. She turned and smiled.

"She just left!" was his impassioned greeting. He seemed angry, nervous, and depressed all at once. He was standing tall, chest out, appearing ready to fight anyone and everyone, yet his eyes were adorned in sadness and his voice owned a quality she had never heard it possess. She recognized it immediately as that of a broken heart.

"Mel?" guessed Justine, her smile fading.

"Yeah!"

"She left?"

"Yeah, she just left without even saying good-bye to me! She said good-bye to my friends but not me!"

"What happened?"

"I don't know." Michael settled into the empty barstool to Justine's left. "She told me she was working 'til closing. I was throwing darts when she walked right past me to go over and say good-bye to my friends. So she's walking by me again and I say, 'Are you leaving?' and all she does is look at me and like shrugs her shoulders. And that's it! She just leaves!"

Justine lit another cigarette. "Maybe she had some homework to do or something..."

"So she can't say good-bye to me? That's just fucking ignorant! And she knew the only reason I came out here tonight was to see her."

"Well, don't feel bad, she didn't say good-bye to me either."

"And up until then everything was cool. Just like normal. Then she just leaves! And she knew the only reason I was coming out tonight was to see her!"

"What's wrong with you?" The question belonged to Pam.

"He's upset because Mel just left without saying good-bye to him."

"Aw, that's rotten," slurred Pam, placing an arm around Michael in consolation while the other reached for a beer. "She did that to you? That's terrible. No one ever appreciates people like us."

Michael was too upset to worry about the connotation of Pam's 'people like us.' Normally such an inclusion would have sent him into fits of internal laughter and silent prayer.

Justine blew more smoke. "It's Pam's birthday."

"Happy Birthday," muttered Michael before finding the bartender. "Hey, can I get three shots of Jager."

Justine nodded to the bartender, "He used to work at Wild Wings." She tapped loose ashes from her cigarette. The bartender set out three shot glasses in front of Michael and began to fill them with the dark brown elixir. "Donnie, this is the guy at Wild Wings who always used to order all those shots of Jager." Donnie looked up and gave a slight grin of recognition. "Those three are all for him." Michael handed over ten dollars and said to keep the change. Donnie left.

It had never occurred to Michael to share the shots. Now he felt guilty. "You want one?"

"No, I hate that stuff. Can't drink it."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Pam, how 'bout you? It's your birthday. Do a shot of Jager with me."

Pam didn't have to be asked twice.

Justine grimaced, "I don't know how you can do that stuff."

Michael emptied the second one.

"C'mon, Justine, let's go dance," commanded Pam, each word sloshing loose from her mouth.

"Go ahead, I'll be up in a minute."

"Well hurry up. It's my fucking birthday and I want to have some fun." Pam staggered up the stairs to the dance floor.

Justine sipped her beer. She gave Michael a playful tap with her elbow, "Cheer up."

"I can't."

"That's just Mel. That's how she is. I don't even know if she's even my friend anymore. She only lets people get so close to her and then she puts up a wall."

"Does she have any real friends?"

"None that I know of. She has her sister. But I don't even think she gets along with her. All she does is go to school and go to work. That's what she's focused on. And she's had a tough home life."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't say. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone." Michael respected the vow and didn't press the issue even though his mind was leaping to grand conclusions of tragic abuse and horrific misdeeds. "Mel's just Mel. You can only get so close to her before you hit that wall. And that's just how she is."

Michael spun the empty shot glass in his hand. "Maybe she's that way because no one ever took that extra step to get close to her."

"Haven't you tried? You couldn't have been any nicer to her and look how she treats you. How many times does she have to hurt you?" Justine rubbed out her cigarette and took a healthy swig of beer. "I'm gonna go dance. Wanna come?"

"No thanks."

"I'll be right back. If I don't go Pam will bitch at me all night."

Michael didn't watch her leave. He was immune to the chaotic scene around him. The pulsating music, the flashing lights, the presence of alcohol; nothing registered. He merely sat quietly at the bar and stared into nothingness, his mind busy replaying the events of the evening. He and Jerry arrived early before the crowd. Mel was standing outside talking to the doorman. She looked so beautiful. She walked inside with them and told them where to sit. With the place practically empty, she had time to talk. Things seemed to pick up where they left off Saturday night. Everything was natural, understood. Her admiration for him was so obvious that when she went to get their drinks Jerry even joked, "Looks like someone's gettin' laid tonight." Once his other friends arrived and occupied all the available stools, Michael pulled over another from a nearby table and Mel dutifully slipped in beside him. He felt so proud and strong with her by his side. She couldn't stay long. The place began to fill. She had to get back to work. She told him she'd be working until closing. Michael settled in for what was surely going to be a long night. She spent the evening hovering around their table, watching them play pool or throw darts. Michael was merely counting the minutes until closing, when they could really talk, when they could be alone. But then she left. Melanie walked out on him. She was gone. He didn't want to move. Only the touch of Justine's hand across his back brought him to life.

"You still moping?" She took a drink from her waiting beer. "Why don't you come dance?"

"No thank you." Michael suddenly remembered that he didn't come to the Twilight Zone alone. Jerry and the others were still there. Or were they? He scanned the far corner of the club for them and saw that their table was empty.

"What's wrong?" asked Justine.

"I forgot about my friends. I was so pissed when Mel left I told them I needed to get some air and was gonna walk home, but then I saw you and came over here instead. I think they may have left without me."

"You don't see 'em?"

"No. Maybe they're outside looking for me."

"C'mon." Justine took another sip and then motioned for Michael to follow her. She led him to the club's front entrance. The girl that collected the cover charges was sitting behind a counter and there was a rather burly gentleman leaning against the wall beside her. "Hey, Kelly." Apparently Justine knew everyone. "He got separated from his friends. Can he go check and see if they're out in the parking lot?" Kelly gave approval. "Go ahead, I'll wait here for you." Michael did as he was told. As he left, he could hear Justine ask Kelly how she was doing.

The parking lot was situated on a slight grade that rose away from the club. Michael could see the whole expanse at once and knew almost immediately that Jerry's car wasn't there. It was Wednesday, so the lot wasn't nearly as crowded as it would be on the weekend. Michael wandered up and down the first few rows of cars just to make sure. Convinced he had been left behind, he made his way back to the club. There was a kid sitting in a chair propping open the front door. Michael didn't even notice him when he left. The kid must not have noticed Michael either, because he asked to see some ID. Michael began to tell him how he had just left but relented when he realized it wasn't worth the effort and produced his driver's license instead. Once inside, he found Justine right where he had left her. She was still talking to Kelly. She broke off the conversation when she saw him. "Well?"

"I think they split."

"Thanks, Kel." Justine walked with him arm in arm back to their bar stools. "Where's your car?"

"At home. I didn't drive."

"Where do you live?"

"In Hadleyville. It's only like five minutes from here."

"I can give you a ride."

"It's not out of your way, is it?"

"No, I live over by the hospital."

"Yeah, I'm not far from there. Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem. You're in no hurry though, are you?"

"I'll stay all night, I don't care. I just want to get fucked up. Where's the bartender?"

Justine waved to Donnie who was serving elsewhere. "He'll be right over."

"Thanks. By the way, my name's Michael Malloy. I don't think we've ever actually been formally introduced."

Justine smiled, "I knew your name was Michael. That's enough."

"I don't know your last name."

"It's Bush."

"Is that s-c-h."

"No, s-h. And, yes, my dad's name is George."

"That's odd. My dad's name? Abraham Lincoln." Donnie arrived. "Hey, can I get three more shots of Jager." He turned to Justine. "You want anything?"

"Bring me another Tequila Rose."

Donnie went about filling the order. "What did you get?" asked Michael.

"A Tequila Rose. It's like tequila and milk or something. They're really good. I've been doing them all night. And my real name isn't really Justine."

"What is it?"

"Theresa. Justine's my middle name."

"Don't like Theresa?"

"Not really. I was named after a great aunt on my mom's side. But no one ever called me Theresa," Donnie handed Justine her shot. It was light pink in color. "Want a taste?"

"No thanks. I'll stick with Jager." Michael handed over fifteen bucks and told Donnie to keep it. Then he hoisted the first shot of Jager with Justine as she downed her Tequila Rose.

"Mmmm, that's good," purred Justine. "Why don't you come dance with me? Let's have fun!"

"I don't dance." Michael drained his second shot.

"I love to dance. I'm not supposed to be able to. I broke my leg when I was a kid and they didn't think I'd ever be able to walk right again."

Michael hesitated, the third shot in his hand. "How'd it happen?"

Justine paused to light another cigarette. "A motorcycle accident."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen. I had to have a couple surgeries and my leg was in a cast for like six months. I had to learn to walk all over again. That's why I love to dance so much now."

"Does it still hurt at all?"

"Not really."

"That's amazing."

"That's nothing. I've broken all sorts of bones." She took I long drag and exhaled. "My dad broke my collarbone."

"What?" The third shot still hadn't left his hand. "Tell me he didn't beat you..."

"Hell yeah he did. He used to beat the shit out of me." More smoke.

"Why?"

"I don't know. My parents never really had a good marriage. They always used to fight. He used to drink a lot. He beat my mom too. But he doesn't anymore. That was a long time ago. He's been really good to me ever since he broke my collarbone." Justine smiled. "I think it scared him."

"What about your mom? Are they still together?"

"Yeah. She just had a stroke, though." Cigarette to lips. "I moved back home to help take care of her. But she hates me. All she does is yell at me. She's always like, 'What the hell are you doing here.? Go away. I don't need you.' All she does is bitch ever since I came home. But if I wasn't there she wouldn't have anyone to take care of her during the days."

"I'm sure she doesn't mean it. She probably doesn't even realize it."

"I know." A puff of smoke marked a change in subject. "I once had a gun pointed at me." Michael's shoulders fell and he looked at her in stunned disbelief, horrified that all of this could happen to one girl. The Jager was now resting on the bar completely out of reach. Justine laughed at his expression and continued. "I was working the night shift at a 7-11 when a guy came in and put a gun to my head and tried to rob me."

"What did you do?" asked Michael, completely engrossed in the story and in the woman telling it.

"Well, the thing is I knew the guy. He was a friend of my brother. But he was so messed up on meth he didn't even know it was me. I was like, 'Kenny, put the gun down it's me.'"

"Were you scared?"

"Fuck no. It was just Kenny. He was screaming at me, 'Give me the money, bitch! Give me the money!' I just laughed at him. I told him to put the gun down and go home or I'd have my brother kick his ass."

"So what did he do?"

"He went home. He was so messed up I don't think he ever did know it was me. He just left. I called the cops and they arrested his ass. It wasn't until later when it was over that my legs started to shake. I mean, he could have shot me. The gun was pointed right at my head. So I figured I'd quit that job. I've had 17 different ones, including Wild Wings."

"Seventeen jobs?"

"Yep."

"I think I've had two."

"Yeah, you name it, I've done it... waitress, bartender, convenience store clerk, grocery cashier, sales person, telemarketer, whatever."

Pam floated back into frame. She looked quite overheated and was showing signs of all her 39 years on Earth. She poured herself what was left of the pitcher of beer she had been sharing with Justine. "We're out of beer."

Justine heard the call to arms and had another pitcher in front of them within seconds. Michael insisted on paying for it. Pam took enough time from drinking to bitch at Justine for not dancing. Justine drank another glass herself and started to sway to the music. Michael finally took care of his waiting shot of Jager. Refreshed, Pam insisted that Justine go back with her to the dance floor. Justine said she would and was about to follow when she saw Michael had drifted back into his depression. She hugged him around the shoulders and placed her head against his, whispering, "It will be okay." She kissed him gently on the cheek. When Michael turned she was already gone. He watched her climb the three stairs to the dance floor. She wasn't there more than a second before she was surrounded by hopeful young men vying for her favor. Michael watched Justine, her long, willowy body highlighted by the pulsing background light of greens, reds, and blues, as she snaked her way between the grinding hips and roving hands of admirers. He watched her delight in the orgiastic pleasure of the moment. She was the center of attention. Her leg didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. She was happy.

Michael wasn't happy. He had some drinking to do. Three more shots met their maker. The rate with which he dispatched them drew admiration. His remarkable tolerance for alcohol had long been admired by friends and foe alike. Two more joined the cause.

"Hey, what's wrong, man?"

Michael looked to his right to see exactly who asked the question. A couple empty stools away were two black guys, both overweight and looking enough alike to be brothers or at least buddies with similar eating habits. They seemed friendly, so Michael answered the question. "I had my heart broken tonight."

"That sucks," said the guy closest to Michael. "How long were you going out?"

"We weren't. But it looked like we were about to start."

"Don't sweat it. There's pussy everywhere. Ain't no ass worth getting all depressed about."

Michael shook his head in silent disagreement and went about wallowing in pity. Justine returned, having left the boys of the dance floor behind in throbbing frustration. "How you doin'?"

"All right."

She settled in beside him and went about the task of lighting another cigarette. Michael was occupied with misery. He could, however, hear her talking with someone else.

"How much have you had to drink?" asked Justine of Michael.

"Ever?"

"No, just tonight."

"All night?"

"Yeah."

"Like ten shots of Jager and a Scotch on the rocks."

Justine repeated the answer to her right. Michael heard a muffled 'Damn!' in response. He figured out she was talking to the two guys from before who were kind enough to offer words of encouragement. After a few moments of chatter, Justine slipped her arm around Michael's and snuggled up against him.

"Stick close to me," she whispered in his ear. "I think those guys want to hit on me."

Michael cracked a smile. It was quickly chased away by thoughts of Melanie. Justine laughed and drank more beer. They stayed until closing. The crowd, or what was left of it, had all emptied out by the time Michael and Justine walked from the club. Michael was still visibly depressed, head hanging low and hands buried in pockets. Justine had her left arm hooked through his right as they walked and was still trying to regale him with stories from her childhood in an attempt to get his mind off Melanie. She suddenly stopped and put her right hand to her head. "Shit! I forgot my hat." She untangled her arm from Michael's. "I'll be right back." Michael didn't even know she had a hat with her. He froze in place at the edge of the parking lot and waited as she ran back inside the club.

"It looks like you did all right."

Michael looked up to see the two guys who talked to him earlier. "What's that?"

"I was just saying it looks like you did all right," repeated the kind stranger, moving his head in the direction that Justine just ran.

"Oh, it's not like that. We're just friends."

"Yeah, uh huh. Friends." They both started to laugh as they walked past Michael en route to their car. "Take it easy, man."

"Yeah, take it easy."

Justine returned wearing a black leather beret. It was the kind of thing Michael would have surely made fun of on anyone else. But on Justine it looked nice. Or maybe he was just too drunk to care.

Justine pointed to a lone car in the far row of the now abandoned parking lot, "That's us up there."

"What about Pam?"

"She's coming."

They unhooked arms when they reached the car. It was a big, grey box of a car, four doors. They stood outside, Justine by the driver's door, Michael by the passenger's, waiting for Pam, who had been sidetracked. She was talking to Michael's two recent bar pals. They seemed to talk to everyone.

"What's she doing?" griped Justine. "Where did you say you lived?"

"It's like five minutes from here. It's over by Schaler's Bakery, if you know where that is."

"Okay, yeah."

"I still live at home," admitted Michael, half embarrassed. He would have been fully embarrassed if sober.

"Don't feel bad, so do I now."

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"You sure."

"Yeah, I'm not that drunk. I've driven a lot worse than this. I'm used to it."

"Do somethin' to let me know you're okay."

Justine stood up straight, extended her right arm, and touched her nose. "There. Happy?"

The field sobriety pop quiz did little to ease Michael's concerns. But then he remembered he didn't give a fuck. Mel had left. The idea of a fiery death never seemed more appealing. "Just don't hit anyone else."

Once he saw Pam getting close, Michael opened up the passenger door. "You better sit in the back," warned Justine. "We'll never hear the end of it."

"Oh, yeah, that's my bad. I wasn't even thinking." Michael opted for the backseat, leaving the front for Pam.

Pam entered with an explanation. "Those were the guys that rented Linda her apartment. I knew they looked familiar. They're nice guys." She noticed Michael. "What's he doin'? Is he comin' with us?"

"He needs a ride home."

"I don't know if they'll let him in."

Michael was confused. Justine shed light. "We're gonna go to an after hours place. You wanna come or do you want me to drop you off first?"

"I'd like to go if it's cool with you. I could drink some more."

"They'd let him in, right? You're a member."

"Yeah, I can get him in," relented Pam. "I don't even fuckin' care. Let's just get going. It's my god damn birthday."

The ride passed without incident. Justine was used to it. They pulled into a gravel parking lot behind a small, square building in the residential heart of South Hadleyville. There were houses all around. Michael recognized the neighborhood. He never realized it contained an after hours place. The term brought to mind images of speakeasies, gin martinis, and sexy flappers in beaded dresses and Louise Brooks haircuts. Maybe the flappers were inside. The outside of the building was anything but fashionable. Grey siding, cracked sidewalk, unkempt grass, three garish red letters - V.F.D. - prominently displayed above the entrance. So this was Hadleyville's seamy side.

There was no password needed to enter. Pam threw open the door to cheers of welcome. She was a regular and acted as such, exchanging salutations with loud, boisterous ease. Justine smiled a few "Hey"s. Michael trailed behind, quiet and depressed, wondering if they served Jager.

A bar ran the length of the front wall, taking up nearly a third of the entire room's available space. Five or six little round tables were scattered over the other two thirds. There was a jukebox. A TV hung over the bar. The walls were decorated with a dart board and seemingly every free promotional beer poster to come down the pike. The atmosphere was somewhat smoky and reeked of wasted lives.

It wasn't crowded. The people that were there seemed clustered just inside the door. All the tables were empty. The bar owned three men, a couple middle-aged women keeping them company, and three younger girls, without a trace of flapper in them, sitting at the opposite end. The place had a family feel to it. Everyone knew everyone else. Michael was an outsider. He felt their eyes upon him. He knew they were all wondering who he was and what he was doing with Pam and Justine. He didn't care. He saw a men's room door along the side wall. "I'll be right back." Justine nodded. The bathroom was surprisingly clean. Michael went through the automatic procedure, feeling the numb flush of drunkenness in his face as he stood studying the chipped enamel of the urinal. He washed his hands. The mirror reflected a stranger. He splashed some water on his face and tried to remember where he was. Mel had left. He spent the night drinking with Justine. They were now in an after hours place in South Hadleyville. He splashed more water.

Michael was met by Justine when he exited the rest room. "They need to see your ID."

Michael once again produced his driver's license. The bartender returned it without saying a word and went back to talking to the others at the bar, one of which was now Pam. Justine tugged on Michael's sleeve, "Let's sit over here." She carried with her a plastic cup of beer. They sat down at the nearest table. Justine removed her hat with care and placed it along with her purse. Michael slouched in his chair, right leg bent, left extended, arms folded across chest. Justine lit a cigarette and started talking.

"You still thinking about Melanie?"

"Yeah."

"I don't get it. What's the big deal? There are plenty of other girls out there."

Michael cut her off. "I think I'm in love with her."

Justine sank with a mix of disappointment and compassion, letting out an involuntary "Awww..." She wanted to hug him. At least. "I have some guy hopelessly in love with me. He's a writer, too. He said he's gonna have a book published pretty soon. He even wrote me a poem once. What color are my eyes?"

Michael squinted. He was too drunk to tell. "I don't know, green?"

"They're hazel." Justine tapped loose some ashes. "He called me his hazel-eyed goddess." She laughed and took another hit.

Michael's depression grew with the knowledge that someone who could pen 'hazel-eyed goddess' was going to be published and his book sat at home unfinished. "So what's the problem?"

"I don't know."

"Do you like him?"

"Yeah, I think I do. We've gone out a couple times. He's not like the guys I usually go out with. I think he could be someone special. "

"Then call him and tell him," pleaded Michael, feeling a bond with this questionable poet. There was kinship among the unrequited.

"He's always telling me how pretty I am and how much he loves me. And the last time we were together..." Excited, Justine sat up straight and moved her hands slowly around her body. "He kissed me all over! Michael, it felt so wonderful! Everywhere, ya know?"

Michael held up a hand in protest. "Yeah, I know."

"So you think I should call him and tell him how I feel?"

"Yes. If he loves you, and you love him, tell him. Don't waste time. Don't fuck around. Don't play games. It's too important. Tell him. Let him know."

"Maybe I'll call him tomorrow."

"Yes. Promise me you'll call him."

"I promise."

Michael felt proud of his achievement. If only someone would have a similar talk with Melanie. "I need a drink." He reeled to the bar and was quickly waited on by the lone bartender. Michael's heart rejoiced upon hearing that shots of Jager were only $1.50. The jubilation was spoiled by the discovery of only three dollars in his wallet. That sucked. As he waited for his drinks, one of the three young girls at the end of the bar slid in beside him.

"How old are you?" were the first words out of her mouth. Michael quickly sized her up. She was the standard milk-fed girl with crispy bangs and high hair. Possible GED. Goin' nowhere. If she lost ten pounds she'd still need to lose ten pounds. And she was drunk. Anxious for a throw.

"I'm twenty-four," answered Michael, his shots now filled and ready.

"You don't look it."

He looked at her apologetically, "I'm sorry."

"No, no..." stammered the girl, embarrassed.

"I owe it all to clean living." He punctuated the statement by killing the first shot. He carried the second back to the table. The girl rejoined her friends at the end of the bar.

"What was that?" asked Justine, trying to hide a smile as she stared down the girl.

"Nothin'. Hey, I'm sorry, did you want anything," asked Michael before sitting down.

"No, I'm fine." His wallet was hoping that's what she'd say. "I'm not even supposed to be drinking this," continued Justine, taking another sip of beer. "I'm not supposed to have any alcohol at all."

"Why not?"

She hesitated a moment. Michael wasn't aware of the extended pause. Everything was moving slowly for him. "Remember that night I was supposed to come out drinking with you guys?"

"And you didn't show," recalled Michael. "That was Mel's last night working at Wild Wings. She was the only waitress. She was so busy the only time I really got to talk to her was when she brought me drinks, so I drank eight Scotches. Then I got too drunk to ask her out. Ya know, I needed you there. I was counting on you helping me out with her."

"That's the only reason you'd want me there."

"You know that's not true."

"Anyway," Justine took comfort in her cigarette. "The reason I wasn't there is because I had a doctor's appointment that day."

"You okay?"

"I have cancer." Alcohol subdued Michael's reaction. He had never heard anyone say those words before; 'I have cancer.' They hurt. He didn't know what to say. He ended up just staring at her as she leaned on her cigarette instead. Their silence was filled by the laughter of the others in the room. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." She used the ashtray. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

Michael sat up. "No, it's okay." He put down his Jager.

"No one knows. I told my brother but that's it. My parents don't even know. So don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"I shouldn't have told you."

"It's okay."

"I don't know why, but I like talking to you. It's kind of like you actually listen."

"I do. I'll always listen."

"It's stomach cancer. It kind of runs in my family. Two aunts and an uncle have died from it. That's why I don't give a fuck about drinking. I figure I'm gonna die soon anyway so might as well have fun."

"Don't say that."

"What?" smiled Justine.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel fine now. But I get really bad pain a couple times a week. Makes it hard to eat."

"Do they think they can treat it?"

"Yeah, they think so, but what the fuck do they know? I have to go back for more tests Monday."

Before Michael could voice consolation, Pam rumbled over to the table. "What are you two doin' over here anyway? What's goin' on?" Pam sat down between Michael and Justine on the side opposite the bar. She was quite drunk. "Aw, what's wrong? Is Justine telling you all about her poor pitiful life and all the problems she has? Oh, boo hoo. Everyone always feels so sorry for Justine. Poor Justine! You don't know what problems are, little girl."

"Don't pay any attention to her. She's drunk. She won't even remember any of this tomorrow. She never does."

"Try having six ungrateful kids that all hate you and an ex-husband that's a good-for-nothing son of a bitch that never worked a day in his life!" At this point Pam thrusted her left arm out on the table, palm to ceiling. "Look at that!" Justine kept smoking, having heard all this before. Michael, new to the scene, observed a thick red scar near the base of Pam's hand. "That's from my oldest. My own fucking kid stabbed me! How's that for problems! My life would make both of you cry like babies. Neither one of you could deal with what I have to deal with every day!"

The outburst seemed to drain Pam of whatever energy remained, leaving her frozen, mouth partly open, gaping into space behind a heavy curtain of alcohol. Justine put out her cigarette and took a last sip of beer. "Let's go."

Michael helped Pam to her feet and they made their exit, the remaining occupants of the bar wishing Pam a happy birthday as they went. Michael's still full shot of Jager remained on the table untouched.

Pam lived only a few streets away. Cars lined both curbs. Justine came to a stop in the middle of the narrow lane and kept the engine running. Michael got out of the back and assisted Pam from the passenger side door. He held her arm until she was steady on her feet.

"You want me to walk you to the door?" offered Michael.

"No, no..."

"Okay, well, Happy Birthday."

"Yeah, yeah..." Pam staggered away, still grumbling about her kids and a life gone wrong. Michael took her seat up front beside Justine. They waited to see that Pam got inside before driving off.

"She doesn't even say thank you," complained Justine, a freshly lit cigarette in her hand. "I got her a cake, I took her out. Think anyone else wanted to? No one even remembered it was her birthday. And I don't even get a thank you."

"She's crushed."

"Still no excuse. I hate being around her when she's drunk."

The ride to Michael's house was an exercise in avoidance. Their relationship had definitely taken an unexpected turn. Neither wanted to test the boundaries of their newfound closeness. Michael, wary of forcing Justine into talking about her illness, only spoke when offering directions to his house. Justine, feeling stupid for having opened up so much to someone she barely knew, filled any dead air with the usual meaningless chatter. Thankfully, the journey wasn't long.

"That's it there."

The car stopped in the middle of a quiet, picturesque Hadleyville neighborhood. Houses rolled on each side. It was three in the morning. Peaceful.

"Nice house."

"Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime."

"And thank you for taking care of me tonight. I really appreciate everything you did for me."

"It was nothing. I had fun."

"Listen," Michael pulled out his wallet. "I know we haven't known each other that long or anything, but I want you to call me if you ever need to talk to someone." He handed her a business card with his name and number. "That's the place I used to write for. But that's my home number. Call me anytime."

"I'll do that." Justine studied the card a moment and then slipped it into her purse. "Thanks." She reached over and hugged him. Michael returned the embrace. Justine forgot she was still holding her cigarette. "Oh shit, did I burn you?"

"It's okay, don't worry. I'm fine." The cigarette had indeed found the bare skin of his right forearm, but he was beyond pain.

"I'm sorry!" Justine ground the cigarette into the dashboard's ashtray.

"I'm fine, really," smiled Michael. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay. I'll go home, light some candles, and read some poetry. And my brother's there if I need to talk to someone."

"You know you can call me, too."

"I know."

"And promise me you'll call that guy that's in love with you. Promise me you'll tell him how you feel."

"I promise."

"Good. And you know how to get out of here?"

"It's Hadleyville. How hard can it be?"

Michael looked at his house. He thought of the endless stream of lonely, miserable nights spent inside those menacing walls, each the same, each painful. He knew at least one more was waiting. And this one would be worse. Mel had walked out on him. "I so dread going in there." Hopelessly rapt in his own fear, he momentarily forgot there was another with fears of her own. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll call if you need to talk?"

Justine gave a shy nod. She hugged him again, this time venturing to kiss him on the cheek as they pulled apart. Michael looked into her eyes and smiled. He gave her hand a squeeze. "Thank you." He stepped from the car, closing the door quietly out of respect for his sleeping neighbors. He gave her one final wave good-bye, turned, and welcomed the inevitable.

-----

CHAPTER ELEVEN (Michael meets Melanie at mall)

Thirteen-dollar thesaurus. Now I'm good to go. I'm sure the book will just flow and flow and flow. I'm gonna start writing again soon as I get home. Maybe I'll wait until Monday. Start fresh with a fresh week. Enjoy my last few days of freedom and then bear down and get to work on Monday. That sounds like a plan. Maybe I'll give Claire a call tonight. Haven't seen in her in a while. I shouldn't let that happen. But it's probably for the best.

At least the mall is peaceful. Won't be much longer once the kids get out of school. Why can't they make the little punks go all year long. Maybe I'll start coming out here and hanging out during the day. Not like I have anything else to do. At least it'll get me out of the house. Might as well go check out the record store. Not much else to do. I got my thesaurus.

There's the place Mel used to work. I wonder how many times I walked right by her before I knew who she was. She was just some girl selling candy and stuffed animals at the mall. Probably dozens of times. She was nothing to me then. Didn't even know she existed. Now she's everything. And to think she used to stand right there in the middle of the mall. Right there in that little candy stand where that girl is now. Probably... oh fuck. Is that her? It can't be her! Christ, it's her! It's her!

Should I stop? Look up, Mel! She's so beautiful. Please, look up! Quit writing in that damn book and look up! If we could just make eye contact. I'd know right away what to do. Look up! She's not gonna look up. What should I do? I can't feel my arms or legs. Why the fuck can't I feel my arms or legs? Damn it. Keep walking. Don't stop. Keep walking. Just go. Don't look back. Go. Forget her. Go. Calm down. Get hold of yourself, you fuckin' dork.

"Hi, how are you today?"

Who is that? Oh, Camelot girl. "Fine, thanks." I gotta get control of myself. It's ridiculous that she should have such an effect on me. My whole fuckin' body's tingling. What is wrong with me? I'm a grown man for Christ's sake! She's just a girl. Just a little girl. I'm a writer, damn it. I've been read by thousands and thousands of people. I've been interviewed for newspapers. I've been quoted by ESPN. I've written a book. I've got an agent. I'm a somebody. But she's everything. She's Melanie. Then what the fuck am I doing here flipping through CDs when the girl I supposedly love is standing all by herself no more than a hundred yards away? After all these months I finally know where she is and I'm too gutless to go talk to her? I wanted a second chance. Here it is. Do you love her? Then prove it.

I hope she's still there. I've only been gone a minute. But it would be my luck that she's gone now. Maybe I just imagined her? There she is. She's walkin' right at me. Look at her. Does she see me? She's fixing the shelves of stuffed animals. Did she see me? She had to have seen me. Maybe she was ignoring me again. Can't take the chance.

"Mel?" Those eyes.

"Hey!"

She's smiling. But she looks blank. She probably doesn't even remember me. Smile back. Can't. "How've you been?" Fuck I'm nervous.

"Good. How've you been?"

"I'm all right." Good lord, I can hardly speak. I'm such a fuckin' loser. "You still working at the Twilight Zone?"

"No, I quit there about two months ago. I'm working at the Olive Garden now."

Does she even remember me? Maybe she doesn't recognize me. I have lost some weight. But I was really thin back then, too. Frail is frail. I'm wearing a hat. Maybe she doesn't recognize me with a hat. She probably just thinks I'm some guy that tried to pick her up one night at the Twilight Zone. I don't even think she remembers me. "I'm glad to hear you're not working there anymore."

"Yeah, it wasn't the best atmosphere."

"Yeah, you don't hear of too many people getting stabbed at the Olive Garden." What was that? My delivery was terrible. Why am I so fuckin' nervous? Because she doesn't remember me and I'm making a fool of myself, that's why. Where's she looking now? Old guy wants to buy some candy. Great. Where's she going? So that's it? She just leaves without saying anything? I know she has to wait on customers, but she could have given me a 'wait a second' or 'I'll be right back.' What the fuck! She just walks away! That's it. Just go already. She doesn't want to see you. Just leave. You don't need this. But I can't leave. I can't. Wait for her to finish ringing up the sale then go talk to her. Hurry up, old man. Finally. Now show some poise. I've been praying for this opportunity for months. Here it is. Don't fuck it up. "Do you still hate me?"

"No."

Hey, look at that. She does remember me. And she's getting all shy on me again. Just like in the old days. Look at that smile. Or maybe I shouldn't. It'll just get me more nervous.

"I got your letter."

She got the letter!

"I was mad at you there for a while, but I got over it. I'm a big girl."

"I feel just awful. I'm so sorry." There should have never been anything for you to get over. "I hope you didn't mind me sending you the letter."

"No, not at all. I still have it."

She still has the letter! That's something there. Six months and she still has the letter. I have to mean something to her if she kept the letter. She wouldn't have kept it if it didn't mean anything to her, if I didn't mean anything to her.

"I didn't read it right away. I was still kind of angry at you when it came. But I did read it."

"I was scared you'd just rip it up."

"No, I wouldn't do that."

Don't press the issue. She kept the letter. And even more important, she told me she kept it. She wants me to know she kept it. That's huge. But don't force it. Play it cool. I'm still fuckin' nervous. Calm down already.

"So how have you been?"

She just asked me something. What did she ask me? How I've been. "All right..." Would it kill me to smile at her? Why can't I smile?

"How's the book going?"

She remembered about the book. "Good. I've got an agent."

"Really!"

"Yeah. There are five publishers looking at it now."

"You don't seem too excited."

Quit being so depressed! She knows you're sorry. Get over it. I still can't even look at her. How could I have said that to her? "It takes a lot of time. It'll probably be months before I hear anything good or bad. Just gotta wait."

"Are you still doing that hockey thing?"

She remembered that too. "No, I quit that last summer to focus on the books. I'm working on my second one now." Thank God for the thesaurus, at least I don't have to worry about what to do with my hands.

"That's cool. But what are you doing for money?"

"I have some saved up."

"I wish I did. I'm just waiting for another girl to show up and then I have to go right over to the Olive Garden. Which is why I'm wearing this. I still have to put my tie on, tho'."

The white shirt and black pants must be Olive Garden standard. "Oh, I didn't recognize the uniform. Are you done with school?"

"Yeah, I graduated in December. But I want to go back."

So this lady picks now to look at fudge. Go away! She wants something. Mel doesn't seem too interested in her. I don't want to talk in front of her though. And I don't want to get Mel in trouble. But how can I? She's the only one here. I guess that's one of the benefits in working in a mid-mall candy stand. Nod to the woman. Mel's still not moving to her. I guess she didn't want anything.

"You can tell when they're just looking. And I always hate when salespeople bother me."

"Yeah, I always say, 'No thanks, I'm just looking.'"

"Me too."

There, that was a nice little shared moment. Something to build on. That should calm me down. How come I'm not calming down? What were we talking about? I don't know. I forget. "I'm just glad you're not working at the Twilight Zone anymore. I used to worry about you so much every time I read something in the newspaper about that place."

"You worry too much. You always try to take everything on your shoulders."

Aw, she's smiling at me again. "I know. I do." That was sweet of her to say. I feel so jittery. My mouth is getting dry. "And I'm kind of frail, so I really shouldn't take too much on my shoulders." Look at that smile. At least the mall isn't busy. My humiliation won't have many witnesses.

"How have you been eating?"

She remembered my messed up diet. "Better. I've been eating a lot of vegetables. Spinach, green beans, lettuce, cabbage, stuff like that."

"Sounds healthy."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Why can't a look at her. Look at the escalators. "I doubt if it is, but at least it sounds healthy."

"Do you guys still go out?"

"No, I kind of quit drinking."

"What! I don't believe it. You used to pound those Jagers pretty hard."

"I know, it's quite the shock." I wish I had a Jager now. My mouth is so dry. Can I lick my lips any more? Jesus, knock it off. "I still drink a little. Just not as much as I used to. If you want to be a writer, you have to drink."

"Yeah, and have a tortured soul, right?"

"Oh, I've got the tortured soul." Don't look at her. I shouldn't have said that. Now she'll think she's the reason I'm so tortured. But she is the reason.

"So you don't go out anymore at all?"

"No."

"You don't have to drink to go out."

She was the only reason I ever went out. Tell her. No, don't. Don't scare her off. Take it slow. "Yes, I do. I hate bars. Unless I'm drunk, there's no way I can stand being in a bar." Damn my mouth is dry. Maybe I should buy a Slush Puppy from her. That would hit the spot. There's the list of flavors. Cherry, Lime, Grape, Watermellon... do they have gin?

"So do all you guys still hang out?"

"Not really." How can she be so calm? I'm a wreck.

"Why not?"

"Everyone's got jobs. They're all busy with work and stuff. I'm the only one that has much free time." Should I keep talking? She looks so cool and controlled. I'm usually cool and controlled. I never used to be this nervous around her. Snap out of it! "And really the only reason they ever went out was to watch me drink."

"Well, you should get everybody together and do something. You know, whatever guys do."

That was cute. That was so Melanie. What is wrong with me? I should be enjoying this. My mouth is so dry.

"You seem very uncomfortable."

At least she smiled when she said it. No point in trying to hide it anymore. Yeah, because I was doing such a good job of hiding it. "I am very uncomfortable." Hey, I actually smiled! That wasn't so bad. Now look at her. There goes my smile. At least hers still works. "I'm just so sorry. I feel awful." Damn, stop it! I'm going to break down right in front of her.

"Well don't. There's no need for you to."

I hate being emotional. Get hold of yourself. But I have to say it. Be careful. "I feel like I let you down." There. I said it.

"You didn't let me down. I still adore you... and all your friends. You'll always be welcome. So don't feel bad. I'm not mad at you."

She's so sweet. She's always sweet to me. I'm drained. My body feels like it's shaking. Am I shaking? I better not be. I'm such a loser. She probably doesn't think I'm happy to see her. What's wrong with me? Don't touch her, but motion towards her. "And it's not like I expected to see you today." She smiled. She understands.

"I've been working here off and on for six years."

"Really?" Six years! I've been to the mall hundreds of times in the past six years. Hell, I've been to the mall hundreds of times in the past six months. All those wasted chances to see her. "I knew you used to work here, but I didn't think you still did." I can tell she's not sure how I knew. "Remember Tony Ruga?" Well, she obviously doesn't recognize the name. "He used to work at..."

"Is there a pop machine down here?"

Who's this jackass? No, go ahead, just jump right in with your all important pop machine question. It's not like we're talking here or anything, fuckin' asshole.

"Hi!"

Oh great, she knows this guy? She knows this ignorant tank-top wearin' prick?

"It's been a long time. Looks like somebody's all grown up!"

That means he wants to fuck her. Quit lookin' at her like that, Mr. Moustache! I'll fuckin' drop you right here. What are you, like 35? His fuckin' jeans are a mess. Maybe he works here. Looks like a maintenance guy. By the way, nice tank top. What are they saying? Why won't he shut up? He doesn't see me here? What an asshole. Wow, do I want to beat the fuck out of this guy. Dearly trailer park trash. Quit looking at her like that! If she even ever fucked this guy. I can't just punch him in front of her. I doubt if jealous rage is attractive. But he better start showing her respect. Go away. Shouldn't you be at a NASCAR race somewhere? Wait, Mel's lookin' at me.

"I don't know, is there a pop machine down here?"

"No." See, I smiled. I was friendly. "Try the food court." Because that's why they call it a food court, you dumb fuck. How 'bout that, he's leaving. I better not see him on the way out. I should tell her to stay away from that guy. I don't like the way he was looking at her. But that might be a bit much. Just play it off. Maybe I'll see him on the way out. "It's like old home week."

"What?"

"It's like old home week. Everybody you haven't seen in a while is coming back."

"Yeah, he used to live near me, but I don't even remember his name or anything."

Good. Keep it that way. "Do you remember the last time I saw you... up at the food court?"

"Yeah, I do."

She's smiling again. That's a good sign. "You wouldn't even look at me." Now it's kind of funny. It wasn't funny when it happened.

"I know, I'm sorry. That was terrible of me. I was still mad at you. I was just being a brat. I didn't know what to do."

She actually apologized. Didn't expect that. "Well, it was kind of awkward since I had Jerry with me and you had your friend with you."

"Yeah, that was Michelle. She's like my best friend."

"I just wanted to apologize to you. But I didn't want to go over and say anything in front of her and embarrass you. I was trying to wait for her to leave."

"I know."

Look at that smile. She's so beautiful.

"I'm sorry I just walked past you like that. It was very childish."

"It's okay." Hey, I'm actually starting to relax. Not feeling so bad now. I can't believe I'm talking to her again. All those months. I can't believe I'm this close to her. "Hey, remember how you two got up and ducked out the back door?"

"Yeah."

She's smiling because she already knows what I'm going to say. "I didn't even know that was an exit. I thought you just went to the rest room. So I sat out there and waited for you for like another twenty minutes before I noticed the sign."

"Yeah, that'll happen."

That's a good line. "Yeah, that'll happen." That's a damn good line. I'll have to remember it. She's laughing. It's so good to see her laugh again. Now she's the one that seems uncomfortable. As shy as ever. Back to being the fragile little girl around me. I love her so much. I'm still in love with her.

"There you are! It's about time."

"Sorry, I got stuck after school."

It must be her replacement. Looks like a high school kid. Damn it. Why couldn't she have been late a few more minutes. Now what?

"Well, I gotta get goin'. I have to be there by four."

"Okay." Say something. "Want me to walk you out?"

"No, that's okay. I still have to go to the bathroom and put on my tie."

What happened there? Was that a flat out rejection? Or maybe she just really has to go put on her tie? I can tie a tie like a champ. All those years of catholic school. I should offer to tie it for her. I've gotta say something. I can't just leave like this. "So that's it?"

"Yeah."

That didn't take her long. Fine. I guess she doesn't care about me after all. She's so tough to read. Her whole attitude has changed. It might be that she's just nervous to talk in front of that other girl. Or it might be that she just wants to get rid of me. If that's how she wants it to end, that's how it'll end. Start walking. "Okay."

"I'm sure I'll see you again."

"You will? How?" At least she said something. That was nice of her. But does she mean it? Was she just saying that? How naive is this girl? She just expects us to run into each other again? It's been six months. And if I didn't happen to turn my head to the left as I was walking by we wouldn't even have seen each other today. I'm not gonna look away this time. I'm holding the eye contact. I'm tired of it. Does she expect me to just come out here week after week and be her loyal little boy like I was before? I'm not going to go through that again. She knows how I feel about her. She read the letter. She kept it. She knows. If she lets me walk out it's because she wants me to. Aw, look at her. Now she's upset. I didn't mean it like that. Fuck. She probably thinks I don't want to see her. Why did I have to say it like that? Everything I say sounds sarcastic. Why doesn't she say something? Why doesn't she say 'call me' or at least tell me what days she works? Say something! I could ask for her number. Everyone asks for her number. I don't want to be like everyone else. But I could ask if it would be okay if I called her sometime. No, I can't. I can't. I don't want to come on too strong. It's been six months. And the last time we talked I basically called her a whore. I can't force it. She knows how I feel about her. She kept the letter. That means she still has my number. If she needs me, she'll call. She knows how I feel. It's up to her. It should really be up to her. Well, someone's gotta say something. We've been looking at each other forever. "I'm starting to feel uncomfortable again."

"Well, I don't know what else I can do! I told you everything's okay!"

Aw fuck, I think she's getting mad at me again. "So I should make the effort to come see you?"

"Yeah, you'll always be welcome."

"Okay then, I'll do that." It seemed to calm her. She's so beautiful. Get her to smile again. Smile at her. There. Don't ever forget that smile. "You take care of yourself."

"You too."

Now go. Be strong. Don't look back. Why is my head hanging down? Stand tall. At least it's over with. You knew it was going to be brutal. But now it's out of the way. And she did her best to make it as easy as possible for me. She was very kind. She carried me. And she kept the letter. The next time will be easier. If there is a next time. I still don't know when she works. I'll come out the same time next week. That'll probably be my best shot. If not, I can always come out the day after that. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. But I doubt she even wants me to come back. Now she'll probably be dreading each day she works. Why don't I just leave her alone? I have no right to be with her. She deserves better than me. The best thing she ever did was get rid of me. She doesn't need me. She's better off without me. What can I do for her? I don't have any money yet. I can't take care of her. It's just not the right time. I'm not ready. Now's not the right time. I wonder if she'll be working tomorrow...

-----

CHAPTER TWELVE (Claire)

The lights in Claire's apartment were turned down. The bottle of wine on the coffee table was nearly half empty. The TV was flickering an Audrey Hepburn movie. "Funny Face." Michael was by her side. She had seen enough of the movie.

"Hey, you're gonna miss Audrey's big dance number," warned Michael as Claire began to nuzzle against his neck. "Man, check out them crazy beatniks!"

"Yeah," breathed Claire. "Crazy." She began to run her hand up his thigh.

"I think I could use another glass of water," declared Michael, trying to get to his feet. "You want anything while I'm up?"

"No." She grabbed the back of his pants and pulled him to the couch. "And neither do you." She pressed her body against his. She could feel the muscles in his chest and arms. He had been lifting a lot lately. He'd put on weight. She liked it. He felt strong. Hard. She closed her eyes and kissed him. He pulled away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," strained Michael. He was very flustered. "It's just, you know, how often to you get to see Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn together."

She went back to work on his neck. "Forget about the damn movie."

"Claire..."

She kept kissing him. "Uh huh?" Her hand was roaming again.

"Claire..." He grabbed her wrist.

She pulled back to look at him. "What's wrong? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then relax already." Another attempted kiss fell upon unwilling lips. This time she hopped all the way back to the far end of the couch. "What's the matter?" Michael didn't answer. He merely let out a deep breath and lifted his arms as if to say 'I don't know.' "Is it just that you're nervous? That's really cute. But there's no reason to be. Unless... haven't you ever..."

"That's not the problem."

"Then what is it? There's definitely something wrong. We've been going out now for almost a month and I can't get you to do anything but hold my hand. I mean we're two mature, healthy adults, it's only natural that... oh, I'm sorry. Is that it? Do you have, like... you know..." At this point she may have unconsciously began elevating a finger as a visual aid. "... a problem?" "No!" yelled Michael, hurriedly fumbling to return Claire's extended finger back to the fold. "Of course not! Don't even joke about that!"

"Then what is it?" demanded Claire. "Is it me? Don't you find me attractive?"

"Of course I do! You're beautiful. You're lovely. I very much want to be with you, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't know if we should talk about this."

"I don't know, Michael, I think we should. It seems kind of important to me."

"I'm just... I'm just not sure if we should rush into anything. I'm just not sure if I'm ready to be in a real serious relationship right now."

"Okay..." She thought of how he made her feel when he smiled at her. She remembered the fun they had the past few weeks, the movies, the dinners, the numerous book discussions. He was always so gentle with her, so protective, so respectful. And he knew how to make her laugh. But this wasn't a joke. "Was I just imagining things? Don't you care about me at all?"

She was almost starting to cry. Michael knew this moment was coming. He had tried to put it off as long as he could. He knew getting involved with Claire would be a mistake. What right did he have to be happy? It was selfish of him. Now he had to pay the price. He turned to face her and took both her hands in his. "I care about you very much. You have to believe that."

"Oh, that's right. You care about me so much you won't touch me! Yeah, okay, now I see. That makes perfect sense."

He moved closer to her. "Claire, please try to understand. I do love you. I care about you very much. You're the perfect girl for me. It's just..."

"What! Tell me! What is it?""

"I have no right to do this. I'm sorry."

"Just tell me already! Is there someone else?"

"Sort of..."

"Either there is or there isn't!"

"Then, yeah..."

"You've been seeing someone else? When?"

"No. I haven't seen anyone else since I've met you. I haven't seen her in like four months."

"And you're still in love with her?"

"Yes," admitted Michael painfully. "Yes, I am."

With those words, Claire's chest became consumed by a numbing ache. The sensation of a breaking heart was unmistakable. She pulled one of her hands free and wiped the first hints of a tear from her left eye. "How long did you two go out?"

"That's just it, we never did. We never went out at all. That's why the whole thing is such a joke."

"I don't get it."

"She used to be a waitress at a bar I went to all the time. And we kind of got to know each other over the course of a few months. Or at least I thought I knew her. I was led to believe she was a very nice, shy, depressed, lonely kid and I fell in love with her." Hearing the story was almost as painful as telling it. But Claire endured. She listened attentively to each brutal word. "I didn't mean to fall in love with her. It just happened. But then right when it looked like we might get together, I found out some things."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say she wasn't the girl I thought she was. But even when I thought she was who I thought she was, she still wasn't the right girl for me. I mean, we have almost nothing in common. If I'm making a list of things I'm looking for in a woman, Melanie is like oh for four right off the bat." Claire flinched. Her name was Melanie. "But I guess you can't always pick who you fall in love with."

Claire didn't need proof of that last theory. "And you haven't spoken to her in four months?"

"Actually I haven't spoken to her in five months. Haven't seen her in four. The last time I saw her she wouldn't talk to me, or even look at me for that matter."

"Then don't you think it might be time to move on?"

"I know, I know. But I just can't. The last time I did speak to her, I was all ready to move on and try to forget her, but then I went and said something I regret, something I can never take back. And I think I hurt her. After that last time I saw her..."

"The time she wouldn't even look at you?"

"Yeah. After that I sent her a letter apologizing and telling her how much she meant to me, but I never heard back from her. Until I do, I don't think I can move on. Not yet anyway. I know this is going to sound awful, but if I was going to move on, it would be with you. I wasn't planning to get involved with anyone until I was completely over her. But then you came along. And you're like my perfect woman. I couldn't ask for anything more than you. But..." Michael's voice tailed off.

"I'm not her."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "I never meant to hurt you. We hit it off so well right from the start. I knew you were special. You were everything I was looking for. And I enjoy being with you so much, but I guess I was just fooling myself. I'm not ready to be with someone else yet. And I don't know when I will be. It was incredibly careless of me to lead you on the way I did. But I really wasn't leading you on. You have to believe me. My feelings for you are true. I'm so happy when I'm with you. And I'm never happy. But I just don't think it's right for us, if I'm still thinking of her. It's not fair to you. And I feel terrible talking like this, because I know I'm hurting you and I never wanted to hurt you. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm just messed up. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Believe me, I want to be with you very badly, you don't understand how badly, but if I would then..." He let go of her hands and sat straight ahead, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his neck hanging limp. He was unable to face her. He poured his confession into the floor. "I have some serious issues. You don't know. You have to understand, I don't get close to people easily. And if I were to take the next step with you then that would mean I'm done with Mel. And I'm not sure I want to let her go yet. I still feel she needs me."

Claire could see his hands trembling . This girl must have really done a number on him. The sight of his tormented being almost made her forget her own pain. Almost. Still, she couldn't help but comfort him. It was her nature. And it was actually kind of romantic in a way. It wasn't his fault.

She slipped alongside and put her arm around him. "It's okay." She kissed him on the top of his head. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't. This isn't fair to you. I don't want you to think I'm only with you because she isn't around. That's not true. I don't know what's true anymore. I'm just a mess. I should have never let myself get close to you. I shouldn't have allowed it."

"But I'm glad you did."

"I'm sorry." His voice was unsteady. He still didn't look at her. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I understand. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can take it slow like we have been. Then when you're ready..."

He lifted his head. His eyes were watery. Tears were being held back by years of practice. "Maybe I should go..."

"You don't have to," said Claire. "I don't want you to." She coerced him back to the couch. "Besides, the movie isn't over yet." She placed her head on his shoulder and held his hand tight. "And how often do you get to see Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn together?"

-----

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (Melanie meets Michael at mall)

Today was like a total waste. I sold what, two pieces of fudge? Not even worth writing down. The mall's dead. I shouldn't complain. It'll be crazy next week for Easter. Might as well enjoy it while I can. I should probably eat something, I may not get another chance until I get home tonight. But I'm not hungry. But I should still eat something. If I don't, I know I'll be hungry like an hour from now when I don't have time to get anything. But there's really nothing here I can eat. If she'd hurry up and get here I might have time to grab something from the food court on my way out. But there's nothing really good for me up there either. Forget it. I don't need to eat anything. I can afford to lose some weight. Quarter after three. Where is she? Might as well straighten up the stuffed animals. At least I'll look busy. C'mere, monkey. You shouldn't slouch like that. Sit up straight. That's better. You'll thank me...

"Mel?"

Mike? Oh God, it's him! "Hey!" Why today? Why today?

"How've you been?"

"Good." He looks good. Thin, but good. Aw, Mike. "How've you been?"

"I'm all right. You still working at the Twilight Zone?"

"No, I quit there about two months ago. I'm working at the Olive Garden now." Stay calm. He doesn't look real happy to see me. He probably still hates me.

"I'm glad to hear you're not working there anymore."

"Yeah, it wasn't the best atmosphere." He always hated that place.

"Yeah, you don't hear of too many people getting stabbed at the Olive Garden."

I don't know what to say. I gotta get out of here. Oh, there's an old guy that wants candy! Thank God! I don't know what to say to him. What do I say to him? Oh, Mike. Why today? Just go wait on the old guy. Maybe he'll leave. I don't want him to leave. Please don't leave.

"Hi." Chocolate lollipop. How much are the damn chocolate lollipops? "That's seventy-five cents." Don't leave! He's not leaving. "Thanks." Here he comes. Try to act mature. Show him you've matured.

"Do you still hate me?"

"No." Oh, he's so sweet. Look at him. He's still all torn up over it. "I got your letter. I was mad at you there for a while, but I got over it. I'm a big girl."

"I feel just awful. I'm so sorry. I hope you didn't mind me sending you the letter?"

"No, not at all. I still have it." Maybe I shouldn't have said that. "I didn't read it right away. I was still kind of angry at you when it came. But I did read it." He looks so depressed. I'm sorry, Michael. I'm sorry.

"I was scared you'd just rip it up."

"No, I wouldn't do that." I'm doing okay. Try not to say anything stupid. For once in your life, don't say something stupid! "So how have you been?" God, that was so stupid!

"All right..."

Ask about the book. He always liked to talk about the book. "How's the book going?"

"Good. I've got an agent."

"Really!" He has an agent. That's good news, I guess. I've never known anyone with an agent before.

"Yeah. There are five publishers looking at it now."

He's still all sad. He doesn't want to see me. He probably wishes he didn't even know me. I'm just the dumb waitress he almost made a mistake with. "You don't seem too excited."

"It takes a lot of time. It'll probably be months before I hear anything good or bad. Just gotta wait."

It's like he doesn't even want to talk to me. Then why'd he even come over? Keep asking him questions. Keep him talking. "Are you still doing that hockey thing?"

"No, I quit that last summer to focus on the books. I'm working on my second one now."

"That's cool." What right do I have even talking to him? "But what are you doing for money?" Stupid, stupid, stupid! Like it's any of my business.

"I have some saved up."

"I wish I did. I'm just waiting for another girl to show up and then I have to go right over to the Olive Garden." Yep, that's me! Stupid little waitress girl! "Which is why I'm wearing this. I still have to put my tie on yet, tho'."

"Oh, I didn't recognize the uniform. Are you done with school?"

"Yeah, I graduated in December. But I want to go back." I probably shouldn't have said that. Makes me seem even dumber, like I don't know what I want to do with my life. Like I want to be a waitress forever. What made me ever think I could be with him? Oh great, another customer. She's a browser. She's not buying anything. He's worried about her. Doesn't want to get me in trouble. Just like the old days. I can't believe he's actually here. At least she didn't take long. "You can tell when they're just looking. And I always hate when salespeople bother me."

"Yeah, I always say, 'No thanks, I'm just looking."

"Me too." That wasn't too stupid. But I should have said something else. He always makes me so nervous. Never know what to say.

"I'm just glad you're not still working at the Twilight Zone. I used to worry about you so much every time I read something in the newspaper about that place."

"You worry too much." That's so sweet. He's telling the truth too, he did worry about me. He wouldn't lie about that. He wouldn't lie. "You always try to take everything on your shoulders."

"I know. I do. And I'm kind of frail, so I really shouldn't take too much on my shoulders."

Aw. He's so cute. He always puts himself down. "How have you been eating?"

"Better. I've been eating a lot of vegetables. Spinach, green beans, lettuce, cabbage, stuff like that."

"Sounds healthy."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? I doubt if it is, but at least it sounds healthy."

He won't even look at me. I feel like I'm twisting his arm. He probably just wants to leave. Ask him something else. C'mon, think of something! "Do you guys still go out?"

"No, I kind of quit drinking."

"What!" Does that mean he found a reason to quit? "I don't believe it." He's probably going with somebody now. "You used to pound those Jagers pretty hard." Probably somebody older, smarter, and prettier than me. He probably thinks I'm cheap trash.

"I know, it's quite the shock. I still drink a little. Just not as much as I used to. If you want to be a writer you have to drink."

There was a little smile there. I miss his smile. "Yeah, and have a tortured soul, right?"

"Oh, I've got the tortured soul."

Why'd I have to say that? Now he looks even more depressed than ever. I'm such an idiot! "So you don't go out anymore at all?"

"No."

"You don't have to drink to go out."

"Yes, I do. I hate bars. If I'm not drunk there's no way I can stand being in a bar."

Is that his way of saying he won't go out with me? "So do all you guys still hang out?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"Everyone's got jobs. They're all busy with work and stuff. I'm the only one that has much free time. And really the only reason they ever went out was to watch me drink."

"Well, you should get everybody together and do something. You know, whatever guys do." Oh, that was so stupid! What's wrong with me? He looks so uncomfortable. Why am I putting him through this? If he wants to leave, I should just let him leave. "You seem very uncomfortable."

"I am very uncomfortable. I'm just so sorry. I feel awful."

He smiled there for a minute. I know, I saw it. Now he's all sad again. I hate seeing him like this. It's all my fault. "Well don't. There's no need for you to."

"I feel like I let you down."

Now he's gonna make me cry. Don't let him see you cry. Be mature. "You didn't let me down. I still adore you..." I shouldn't have said that! "... and all your friends." Don't want to scare him off. "You'll always be welcome. So don't feel bad. I'm not mad at you."

"It's not like I expected to see you today."

Maybe he doesn't hate me, maybe he's just nervous. I hope so. That would be just like him to be nervous. "I've been working here off and on for six years."

"Really? I knew you used to work here but I didn't think you still did."

How'd he know I used to work here?

"Remember Tony Ruga?"

Who? Probably some guy that told him those things about me.

"He used to work at..."

"Is there a pop machine down here?"

What? What does this guy want? Pop machine? Oh wait, I know him! What's his name? "Hi!"

"It's been a long time. Looks like somebody's all grown up!"

"Yeah, a little bit." What's his name? Ken? Carl? Who cares? Pretty rude of him to just interrupt us without even saying excuse me. Just keep smiling. Don't want to hurt his feelings. "How've you been?" Wasn't he going to marry what's her name?

"Can't complain."

"Did you guys get married yet?"

"No, that's off. We split up."

Who cares? "Aw, I'm sorry to hear it." Go away already. Why isn't Mike saying anything? He's just too polite. He's always so polite.

"Don't worry, it's for the best. I was just looking for a drink and I saw you so I figured I'd say hi. Do you know if there's a pop machine anywhere down here?"

This guy gives me the creeps. Still can't remember his name. Get Mike involved. "I don't know, is there a pop machine down here?"

"No. Try the food court."

"Is that upstairs?"

So you've never been to the mall? "Yeah."

"Okay then, take it easy. It was good seeing ya."

"Yeah, you too." Thank God.

"It's like old home week."

Oh, I didn't hear him. "What?"

"It's like old home week. Everybody you haven't seen in a while is coming back."

I'm such an idiot. "Yeah, he used to live near me but I don't even remember his name or anything."

"Do you remember the last time I saw you... up at the food court?"

How could I forget? "Yeah, I do."

"You wouldn't even look at me."

"I know, I'm sorry. That was terrible of me. I was still mad at you. I was just being a brat. I didn't know what to do."

"Well it was kind of awkward since I had Jerry with me and you had your friend with you..."

He always makes excuses for me. Can't he just see me for what I am? "Yeah, that was Michelle. She's like my best friend."

"I just wanted to apologize to you. But I didn't want to go over and say anything in front of her and embarrass you. I was trying to wait for her to leave."

"I know. I'm sorry I just walked past you like that. It was very childish." I'm sure I'm still just an immature brat to him. That's all I am. Just a stupid, immature little brat that doesn't deserve anyone as good as him. Why does he even still bother?

"It's okay. Hey, remember how you two got up and ducked out the back door?"

"Yeah." This is so embarrassing. I feel terrible. How could I have done that to him?

"I didn't even know that was an exit. I thought you just went to the rest room. So I sat out there and waited for you for like another twenty minutes before I noticed the sign."

"Yeah, that'll happen."

"Yeah, that'll happen."

I didn't mean it like that! But at least he's laughing. Oh great, she shows up now! "There you are! It's about time."

"Sorry, I got stuck after school."

"It's okay. We haven't been too busy today. Give me a sec, I gotta talk to him a minute." This is going to be tricky. "Well, I gotta get goin'. I have to be there by four."

"Okay. Want me to walk you out?"

"No, that's okay." Why did he have to come out today? "I still have to go to the bathroom and put on my tie."

"So that's it?"

"Yeah." You're free, you can go now.

"Okay."

Don't just let him walk out of your life again, stupid! Say something! "I'm sure I'll see you again."

"You will? How?"

He doesn't want to see me again! Is that what he meant? That's what he meant. I know that's what he meant. He doesn't want to see me again. Why would he? I can't blame him. Should I say something? I don't know what to say. Should I ask him to call me? He'll probably just say no. And I can't get rejected in front of Kathy. Why won't we ask for my number? If he wanted to see me again he'd ask for my number. Or at least when I work. Ask me for my number!

"I'm starting to feel uncomfortable again."

"Well, I don't know what else I can do! I told you everything's okay!" See, he can't get past it! It's never gonna be the same. He'll never think I'm good enough for him. And why should he?

"So I should make the effort to come see you?"

"Yeah, you'll always be welcome." Please please please please please. Smile at him. Aw, he smiled. He makes me blush every time.

"Okay then, I'll do that. You take care of yourself."

"You too."

He still looks so depressed. He hates me. I'll probably never see him again. I don't deserve to.

"Who was that?"

I almost forgot about her. "Nobody. You got everything under control here?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, because I gotta get going." Where's my bag? "See you later."

Why'd he have to come out today? I'm just not ready yet. Like it matters. I'll never be ready. We're just from two different worlds. It's no one's fault. I can't expect somebody like him to be with somebody like me. He's so not the right guy for me. Just forget about it. I've gotta hurry up or I'm gonna be late for work. No time to grab something to eat. Oh, I still have to put my tie on. I hate wearin' the stupid things. Where is it? I hope there's nobody in the bathroom. Good. I look terrible! Figures he'd come out today when I look awful. Can I get less sleep? Where's the damn tie? I still have his number. I could call him. Yeah, like he wants me calling him. What's the use? Right over left. If he really loves me, if he meant all those things he said in the letter, then he'll be back out to see me. Around, up, and back down. If he loves me, he'll be back. And I'll be ready next time. I'll be better. I'm going to be better for him. Why'd he have to come out today? He'll be back. I know he will. What if he doesn't? Then he'll be just like the rest. But he isn't. I know he isn't. He'll be back. He'll be back.

"Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah." I didn't even hear her come in. Now my eyes are gonna be all red. Try to smile. "I can never tie these stupid things."

-----

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (Memories of Justine)

When I think of her - and I often do - I always see her as she was that night, spirit broken, eyes desperate, tear-stained cheeks. We were alone under the night sky, sitting on the curb behind Wild Wings. Anthony had broken up with her. She was fighting back tears, trying to calm her nerves with a cigarette as she explained what happened. Always the loyal, dutiful friend, I listened. I wanted to hug her, hold her, kiss her, whisper tenderly in her ear that everything would be okay, that I would take care of her, that I wouldn't let her down like all the others. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. Instead I listened.

I first met Justine back in February. Actually, the first time I ever saw her was December 18. I remember the exact day because it was also the first time I ever saw Melanie. I didn't talk to either one of them that night. Well, that's not exactly true. I think I may have said "Oh, sorry" to Justine when I discovered that I was inadvertently blocking her way as she attempted to navigate the crowded bar with a tray of beers. It was my first time in Wild Wings and only the second time I had ever been in a bar. The first such occasion occurred about a year earlier. I lasted about a whole five minutes at some piece of shit dive before I slipped out the back door. I hate bar crowds. I'm more of a library kind of guy. I didn't drink back then either. I had only ever been drunk once in my life up to that point. It happened the previous summer when my friends and I took a vacation to Hilton Head. I remember the first night down there I think I did like one shot of Jager and got buzzed silly. I tried a sip of vodka and thought it tasted like kerosene. I couldn't believe people actually drank it. How things changed. Anyway, I was 23 and thought it was about time I knew what it felt like to be drunk, so the next night I downed five ciders in a little over an hour and got pretty fucked up. I was so drunk I couldn't walk. I think I threw up 16 times. They were scared to let me sleep. Matthew stayed up with me all night sitting on the back porch. We saw the sun come up over South Carolina. The experience was so sickening, the drinking not the sunrise, that I never even considered touching alcohol again until that night in December when I ventured to Wild Wings.

An old friend of mine was getting married. A quick little bachelor party-type get-together was planned at the last minute. Wild Wings was selected since it was half restaurant and half bar. They wanted some place where his little brother could go. Normally I would graciously decline such an offer, but since it was a special occasion I decided to attend. Jerry came too even though he never met the groom-to-be. He missed the trip to the beach and wanted to see me get drunk. So that's how it came to be that I was at Wild Wings on December 18. That's how Melanie and Justine entered my life.

Jerry saw Melanie first and pointed her out to me. I really didn't get all that excited. I mean, there was no doubt she was cute, but she didn't really seem my type. Although I did have the immediate feeling that I knew her already. Like, sometimes when you see people, you know they're strangers and they're always going to be strangers no matter what you do or say. Or at least that's the feeling I get when I'm around people. But it was different with Melanie. Somehow I knew she was going to play an important role in my life. It was going to happen. There was no choice. Her hair was still blond back then and she was wearing it in a long, tightly braided ponytail. To be honest, though, I didn't really look at her all that much. Things happen when they happen. I locked in on Justine. She was standing in the back corner of the restaurant area trying to figure out a bar tab when I first saw her. She was tall and thin, her blond hair running shoulder length and flipped up at the ends. She reminded me of Uma Thurman with her high cheekbones and long legs. I gave Jerry a shot in the arm and a directional nod. He wasn't real impressed and restated his preference for Melanie.

I spent the rest of the night rehashing old stories and getting ripped. I think I did about three ciders and three shots of Jager. That was quite the workload for me back then. I was pretty well lit when Jerry drove me home.

I was back at Wild Wings five nights later to help celebrate Jim's 23rd birthday. It wasn't like a big party or anything. I think there were six of us. They wanted me to come out and they knew Wild Wings would be about the only place I would go, since I hated new places and bars in general. Melanie was our waitress for the evening. I didn't really talk to her beyond placing my drink orders. I did four shots of Jager.

It was February before I returned to Wild Wings. The interim weeks were spent getting depressed and cultivating a love of alcohol. I still wasn't drinking all that much, but each time I did I wanted to drink more. I spent that New Year's Eve in my bedroom alone with the lights off drinking Jager. Jim and his girlfriend had given me a little bottle of it for Christmas as a joke. Everyone still thought it was funny that I was drinking. I wasn't comfortable yet going to liquor stores. But I knew Wild Wings had an eager supply of Jager waiting for me. I started going there on the first Wednesday in February. Melanie was working. I went back the next Wednesday. She was working again. I started going every Wednesday.

Jerry always acted as my designated driver. Other people would tag along too just to watch me drink. It was quite the attraction. My tolerance was growing by leaps and bounds. I definitely had a talent. Everyone was amazed at my ability to down shot after shot of Jager. While they came to see me, I went to see Melanie. She was completely not my type. She was only 20, very immature, was hardly into literature, but I couldn't deny that there was something there. I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew her or was supposed to know her.

The same, to a lesser extent, could be said for Justine. I saw her for the second time about the third week in February. We had just started making Wild Wings a Wednesday ritual. But that really wasn't enough, so Jerry, Michigan Frank, and I also tried it on a Thursday night. Justine was our waitress. We hit it off immediately. I seemed to have a way with waitresses back then. I was just much more outgoing. I cracked wise right from the start. Justine seemed to appreciate it. She was also amazed at my domination of Jager since she considered it to be vile. We had a great time that night. I actually drank them out of Jager. Tapped the bar dry. She offered to go down to the liquor store, conveniently located in the same shopping plaza, to get me a bottle, but I politely declined. Instead I did a couple martinis. Always wanted to try one. I hate olives. When we left, both Jerry and Frank said I should ask Justine out. I just laughed. I felt she was out of my league. Besides, my life was a mess. The only aspirations I had were in a bottle.

We went out the next Thursday. Jim was out of town and his girlfriend wanted something to do, so she came out with us. She picked me up and served as my driver. She was late. Everyone else was already there. So was Justine. She remembered me from the week before and greeted me with a big smile and said, "We've got plenty of Jager tonight." We both laughed. She gave Nicole a quick going over. She probably thought we were together. As soon as we found our table, Justine showed up with three shots of Jager for me. That was cool. Didn't even have to order. I downed all three in quick succession. She couldn't believe it and went to fetch more. Even though it was only the second time she waited on us, it was almost like Justine was one of our buddies. It was more like she was hanging out than serving us. The place wasn't real busy, so she had time to talk. She told a story about how drunk she was the night before. She also made a casual reference to her boyfriend. She didn't mention a boyfriend the week before. I think she only did it because she thought Nicole and I were together. Nicole had to leave early. Jerry said he'd drive me home. Once Nicole was gone, Justine definitely picked up the flirting. But she had a boyfriend. And I had a bottle of Jager.

Jerry asked her about the blond waitress with the ponytail. Justine told us her name was Mel. At this point Mel had only waited on us once. We never knew her name until then. I heard someone call to her across the bar, but I thought they said Belle. But her name was Mel. Melanie.

So we had two girls to see now. Justine told us she usually worked Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. We soon discovered Mel worked every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. She was only part time. She also went to school at Pitt's Hadleyville campus. Monday was bad for us. So we kept going every Wednesday as a group, maybe five or six of us, in order to see Mel. Then Jerry and I and whoever else was up for it would try and go either Thursday or Sunday to see Justine. But it wasn't out of the question for me to be at Wild Wings three or four times in any given week.

As the weeks went by, Melanie and I started to get closer. Everyone was saying she liked me, but I didn't believe it. I thought they were all crazy. I just went there to get drunk. Why would she be interested in a 24-year-old, slacker, go-nowhere nothing who was courting a drinking problem? I wouldn't say I was an alcoholic, but whenever I drank there would be scouts in the crowd. I was real close to turning pro. It wasn't just Jager anymore, either. I found a bottle of Jack Daniels at home and would do one or two shots each night before bed. At first I hated the taste. But I didn't drink for the taste. I drank to forget I was alive. And I was going to keep drinking until I only had enough money left for a bullet. It wasn't long before I was doing ten or more shots at the bar, not counting the ones I would do at home to get primed. And I wanted to keep ordering more because each shot ordered meant another visit from Melanie. Those visits were always accompanied by a smile and those marvelous eyes. Still, I was aware of our differences. She was hardly my dream girl. But the pressure continued for me to ask her out. They all said she liked me. And they used to laugh and ridicule me relentlessly each night we left without me asking her out. I just wasn't sure.

Then came a Wednesday in late March. The place was empty. So empty that they let the waitresses knock off early. Mel was already in street clothes and hanging out at the bar when we got there. Jerry said this was my chance. I mustered my courage, and I was completely sober mind you, so it wasn't easy. I was afraid my drinking might scare Mel away. I was dry all night. Sobriety couldn't have come at a worse time.

I walked across to the bar and attempted to strike up a conversation with her. It didn't go well. She was nice and everything, but the usual spark between us wasn't there. It all seemed forced. She was at the bar with a couple other of the waitresses and said it was a girl's night out. I offered to put on a skirt. She laughed. She said she'd stop over at my table and see me before she left. We stayed almost till closing. She never even made an effort. I got tired of waiting and left.

Basically, she blew me off. I was kind of upset, but it wasn't that big a deal. It's not like I was in love with her yet. I was only interested in her if she was interested in me. And it kind of looked like she was only interested in me if I was tipping. No big thing.

We didn't go out to Wild Wings the next week. I caught a cold, so drinking was pushed to the side. It was three weeks before I went back out. Michigan Frank wanted to drink. It was a Thursday. Justine wasn't working, but she was at the bar. When she heard that someone ordered a Jager she came over into the restaurant area to see if it was me. She joined us for a bit before she had to get back to her friends. She told me she was up for a promotion. They wanted her to be the manager of a new Wild Wings in Cleveland. She was excited. The promotion never happened. A couple weeks later the manager, some jackass we used to call Old Man River, told her he would never be able to manage without her. Yeah, right. That guy was such a dick. He used to always bitch at Mel for talking to us too much. If he wasn't pushing 60, I probably would have dropped him. But I figured he was about a month away from an artificial hip anyway, so why bother. Jackass. Anyway, before we left, Justine asked if we were going to be out there Wednesday night. She had to work until 7:00 and if we were coming out she'd stay and drink with us. I told her we'd be there.

I decided I wouldn't even talk to Melanie. She was completely out of the picture as far as I was concerned. At least she was until she smiled at me. She said she wondered where I'd been the last few weeks. I didn't really believe she was sincere, I figured she was just happy to see me ringing up $35 tabs again. But she kept up with it all night. Then when I went over to the jukebox by myself, she was quick to slip in beside me. I asked her if she'd seen Justine, because she was supposed to stay and drink with me. She said Justine wasn't feeling well and left work early. At the time I didn't think anything of it. I know better now. My only concern then was Melanie. "Well, I know you won't drink with me." She answered right away with, "It's kind of hard now since I'm working and everything." The way she said the "now" made it seem like all I had to do was ask some other time. I was still kind of mad at her, though. If she wanted to go out with me, we'd have to start over from scratch. She had to earn back my trust. The memory of her pretty much crushing my spirit three weeks ago was still alive and well. Then again, so were those eyes. Those lips. Those... Anyway, before I could decide whether or not it was the right moment to ask her out, my buddy Zippy joined me at the jukebox. Great timing, that Zippy. This turned the conversation to music. It was discovered that Mel and I shared a fondness for Frank Sinatra, which I found quite surprising since she didn't strike me as a Rat Pack kind of bird. She said her favorite Sinatra song was "Summer Wind." It just so happened that my favorite Sinatra song was suddenly "Summer Wind." I played "Summer Wind." The rest of the night went well. She was definitely back in the picture. I didn't ask her out. I was gun-shy. I wanted to make sure this time. The next visit went just as well. So did the next. I still wasn't sure how I felt about her, though. I needed some more information. So, naturally, I turned to Justine.

Justine played a huge role in my falling in love with Melanie. It was Justine who told me that Melanie was a quiet, shy girl who really didn't like to go out much. She said that Mel's life was pretty much school and work. She told me that Mel liked kind of quiet guys and that she hated it when guys came on to her at work. If someone hit on her, Mel just wrote them off. Justine advised me to go slow. It was through the rose-colored lens of her descriptions that I viewed Melanie. Mel didn't disappoint, either. She was always the quiet, shy, innocent around me. Because she knew that's what I liked. She knew that's the kind of guy I was, that's the kind of girl I wanted. That's also why Justine lied to me.

Justine's warning of "go slow" echoed always in my mind. I was willing to wait for Melanie. And I waited. And waited. And waited. I went out to see Mel at least once, often twice, a week and everything was golden. We were actually having conversations, not just immature flirtation. She was helping me with my book, trying to name characters and stuff like that. On one occasion we were trying to figure out a name for the book's main character, who was an artist. Jerry joked that it was too bad the guy wasn't Indian because then his name could be Michael "Likestodraw." That was good stuff. Mel found it particularly funny. From then on she took to calling me Michael "Likestodraw."

My weeks were spent looking forward to seeing Mel, being with Mel for a few hours, missing Mel, and looking forward to seeing her again. But I never asked her out. Each week I came close. Never happened. Jerry and the rest of the boys didn't hesitate to make fun of me. But I had to be sure this time. I had to take it slow.

Then things changed in early June. Mel had a rough time at work. Old Man River was yelling at her all day. She even said she was crying earlier. Oh, I wanted to beat the piss out of Old Man River. She was talking to us when he called her over and said she could go home even though it was only like eleven o'clock. There weren't enough customers to warrant waitresses. Needless to say, I wasn't real happy. The lack of customers meant Mel would have been able to hang out with us all night. And there was no way in hell we were going to stay at Wild Wings if Mel wasn't there. And she was so upset with Old Man River she didn't want to hang around. I couldn't blame her. When she came over to say good-bye, I asked her if she wanted to go out someplace else with us. She asked where we were going. I said the Red Star since it was the nicest bar/restaurant in town. But she said she couldn't go since she was still only 20 and the Red Star checked IDs at the door, plus she still had on her Wild Wings uniform and everything. But she told me her birthday was July 12 and after that she'd be happy to go out drinking with us. I was still so angry with Old Man River and disappointed that she was leaving early that I didn't even realize the significance of her statement.

I was back out at Wild Wings that Friday. A friend of Jim's was in town for the weekend and she wanted to go out drinking. So Jim, Nicole (Jim's girlfriend), Kelly (the friend), Matthew, Zippy, and I started the evening at Wild Wings. Mel wasn't working. Justine was. The place was packed. All the high school kids liked to go their Fridays and Saturdays. I guess it made them feel older to be in such close proximity to alcohol. It was so crowded and so lame that we didn't stay more than a half hour. Justine was really busy and didn't have much time to talk. When we were leaving I walked our bill over to her myself just so I could say bye. She reminded me we still never drank together yet. She said she'd come out next Wednesday. So that was cool. It would be her first chance to see me and Mel together. I figured she could help me decide whether it was a good time to ask Mel out or not, and to give me the extra little push if I needed it. After we left Wild Wings, the six of us went to some bar up town. I ordered a Scotch on the rocks. The waitress asked what kind. "The meanest swill ya got." I drank myself dizzy.

I couldn't wait for Wednesday to come. My two favorite girls were gonna be there. I decided I was definitely going to ask out Melanie. When we got out there Mel greeted us by saying it was her last night. She got a job at a new dance club called the Twilight Zone that was opening up inside Greengate Mall. The clock was ticking. And there was no sign of Justine. Mel hadn't seen her. To make matters worse, almost every table in the place was filled. And Mel was the lone waitress. The only time we had to talk was when she came to the table to get our order. I did nine Scotches. I felt I was too drunk by the end of the night to ask her out. It didn't feel right. She told me what nights she was working at the Twilight Zone and she hoped we'd come out and see her. She also gave us her Wild Wings name tag as a souvenir. I still have it.

I was so angry with myself when we left. I couldn't believe I didn't ask her out. I wanted to fuckin' kill myself. I was so pissed that when Jerry dropped me off at my house I didn't go inside but instead cut down through the wooded, empty lot beside my house and went for a walk. I was too charged up to sit still. Jerry, being the swell guy that he is, was worried about me and drove around the block and found me marching determinedly along the side of the road. I was walking back in the direction of Wild Wings. I'm still not sure if it was a coincidence or not. Jerry convinced me to get back in the car and we decided to go back out and see if she left yet. I only live like five minutes from the place. We figured since it was her last night she'd probably be staying later than normal, maybe they'd have a party for her or something.

The whole ride out there I was trying to think of what I was going to say to her, how I was going to explain why I left and came back without looking too pathetic. I didn't have to worry. She wasn't there. I could see that her car was gone as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. We weren't away more than ten or twelve minutes. She had to have split right after we left. That was odd because she usually had to stay late and clean up the place. I later learned from Justine that Mel didn't even tell anyone she was quitting. I guess we knew before anyone else did. Mel just said she quit and walked out. She had another day of work on the schedule before she would have had to start at the Twilight Zone. It kind of made me think that the only reason she came out that Wednesday was to see me. I never got the chance to ask her.

I think I'm getting off track. I wanted to write about Justine, yet here I am going on about Melanie. It's just hard for me to separate the two. They'll always be intertwined in my heart. After all, it was Justine who guided me along the path towards Melanie, it was Justine who led me astray, and it was Justine who was there to pick up the pieces once Melanie broke me. It was Justine all along.

Actually, Mel was responsible for Justine and me getting closer. I had gone out to see Mel at her new job and she skipped on me. She just bailed without even saying goodbye or anything. And it happened just when it looked like the two of us were gonna get together. Needless to say, I was rather destroyed. I was on my way out of the club in a fit of rage when I saw Justine sitting at the bar. She took care of me that night. She listened to my suicidal rants of depression and told me everything would be all right. I didn't believe her or anything, I knew it would never be all right again, but she did give me someone to drink with. We also kind of opened up to each other a lot. I told her some things. She told me some things. We became friends that night. I wouldn't trade that evening for the world.

Two nights later I went out to Wild Wings by myself to check on Justine and to see if she had talked to Mel. She gave me an enormous hug as I walked in the door. We made our way back to my usual table. It was along the front wall of the restaurant, the last of three from the front entrance. They were long rectangles with three tall stools along each length. The little computer where waitresses placed orders and printed up bills was located in the corner right beside it. That's why I originally chose the table. It put us closer to Mel and Justine.

The place wasn't real busy, so Justine was able to sit down and talk for a minute. I asked her if she talked to that writer guy who said he loved her. She said she called him but he wasn't home. She found out from mutual friends that he was in town partying with some other girls. So she said she was done with him. I think I was more upset about it than her. She launched right into another story about how her and her friend Alicia, a really hot redhead I saw once at the bar, were stopped by a cop the night before on their way home from an after hours place. Apparently the cop propositioned them. Justine told him to go fuck himself and drove off.

I showed Justine the cigarette burn on my arm. She apologized again. But I liked it. It reminded me of her. Then I asked if she had talked to Mel yet. She hadn't seen her but she was planning on going to the Twilight Zone later with some friends. Justine said she would talk to Mel for me and see what happened. I thanked her. I did a shot of Jager, gave Justine a big hug, and left. She told me to come out and see her next Thursday.

That Wednesday, me, Jerry, and Lance went to hit baseballs at Lynch Field and then hit the mall. We were sitting at the food court when Jerry said he felt like going out to the Twilight Zone. Jerry hated the place, but he said he felt like going out. I think he just wanted to see what would happen if Mel was there. I told him I didn't want to go. It did little to change his mind. Lance was all for it, too. So that night I stayed home and Jerry and Lance went to the Twilight Zone. I was trying to work on my book when Jerry called to tell me that Mel was working. He asked me again if I wanted to come out. I declined. He said he'd try and talk to her for me. Jerry called again a couple hours later. He was kind of pissed. I guess Mel was real cool to him and Lance, just like usual, joking around and everything. She got kind of busy but Jerry told her he wanted to talk to her about something before she left. She said okay and went back to work. Then, at some point, she slipped out without Jerry or Lance even seeing her leave. She had to go out a side door or something because they were sitting near the main entrance. So she blew him off, too. Jerry wasn't real happy about it. I knew how he felt. But I could understand. I mean, Justine was supposed to talk to her about me Friday and then just a few days later my best friend asks to talk to her. I'm sure she knew it was about me. She obviously didn't want to deal with it.

I lost a bet with Jerry on a hockey game so I had to pick up the tab and be his designated driver the Thursday we went to see Justine. Lance also came along for the ride. Justine came right over when she saw us. She said she talked to Mel. I could tell she was a little nervous about telling me. She said she asked Mel what was going on with me and Mel said that she didn't want to talk about it. It was her personal life and she didn't talk about her personal life with anyone. But Justine kept pressuring her. She told Mel that she had really hurt my feelings by just leaving like she did. Mel eventually gave in and said that it just wasn't the right time. She wasn't looking to get involved with anyone at the moment. It was just the wrong time. Justine was worried the news would crush me. But it really wasn't that bad. I was a little depressed by it, but I was more confused than anything. Jerry and Lance both offered to let me get drunk and said one of them would drive home. But I was okay. No big thing. I just asked Justine what I should do. We were all at a loss to try and explain Melanie. That girl was a walking Rubik's Cube. The presiding theory was that she had been hurt by someone in the past and was now trying to protect herself at all costs. I asked Justine if she ever knew Melanie to have a boyfriend. "No, not a boyfriend. Just lots of lovers." I was like "What?" The comment jolted everyone at the table. Jerry and Lance just looked at me with stunned expressions. I turned a similar one to Justine. She laughed. "Aw, I'm just kidding." Jerry and Lance let out some nervous laughter. I couldn't laugh it away so easily. Deep down I had a feeling Mel wasn't the shy, innocent girl she led be to believe but I always tried to beat it back. Hearing similar words out loud, even if as a joke, wasn't pleasant. Justine laughed at me for thinking she was serious and assured me again she was just kidding. And she said not to worry about what Melanie told her. If it was the wrong time maybe all I had to do was wait for the time to be right. It wasn't like the situation was hopeless. She suggested I send her flowers. Normally I wouldn't do something like that but Mel's birthday was only about a week away. The flowers could double as a birthday present. It sounded like a plan. But I didn't have Mel's address. Justine took care of that. She slipped into the back room and found Mel's address in one of the employment folders.

We had a great time the rest of the night watching Jerry get drunk. Of course, he didn't remember any of it. The kid blacks out whenever he has too much to drink. I may throw up, but at least I remember it. As Lance was helping Jerry to the car, I held back and asked Justine how she was feeling. She said she had been good of late and that the doctors were setting her up on a special diet with vitamin supplements and whatnot. She was going to have regular appointments every Monday afternoon. I hugged her good-bye.

I stopped out to check on Justine the following week but she wasn't there. And I could tell she wasn't there as soon as I walked in the place. It seemed so dark and cold. Justine always brought a presence. Wild Wings was a warm, friendly home for me when she was there. I found out from Pam, another waitress, that Justine wasn't working because she broke her ankle. There was some kind of accident at a swimming pool and she fell. Thoroughly depressed, I went home.

Now it's time for Nikki to enter the story. Nikki was a new waitress at Wild Wings. She was 19. I think she started like the week before Mel left. She waited on me once when I went out there with Jim and Nicole. We kind of hit it off. Like I said, I had a way with waitresses back then. I always thought she was really cute. She had long dark hair, a nice smile, and quite the ample rack. In a world without Mel and Justine, I might have taken a shot. But Nikki was also a little, how should I say this? Crazy. She was a really outgoing girl, kind of bubbling over with that 19-year-old enthusiasm. She was quick to share stories about how she used to drop acid just about every day or the times she had three-ways with her boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend. She proudly declared herself bisexual. And, yes, it was hot.

Anyway, Jerry and I went out to Wild Wings a few days after I heard about Justine's ankle and got Nikki as our waitress. She told us that Justine was back to work with a walking cast on her right ankle. A waitress with a cast. If that doesn't get tips nothing will. We listened to some more stories of Nikki's sexual experiences, got really frustrated, did some shots to calm down, and then got her to give us Justine's upcoming work schedule. She was working until seven the next Wednesday. I told Nikki to tell Justine that we were asking about her and that we'd be out to see her Wednesday. Nikki was cool like that.

While all this was going on, Mel's birthday came and went. I sent her a dozen assorted roses. I think on the card I wrote: "Mel, see, I didn't forget. Happy Birthday! Michael Likestodraw" Never heard from her. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she lost my number or she was just waiting for me to come out and see her in person. Her birthday was on a Tuesday. I gave her a week. Then I figured I'd go see her the next Wednesday at the Twilight Zone. The plan was for me, Jerry, and Lance to stop out first to see Justine and then meet up with Zippy, Jim, and Matthew later at the Twilight Zone.

Justine was waiting for us. She was all dressed up. She was wearing a long dark red dress, thin straps on the shoulders, slit a bit up the leg. She looked beautiful. The ensemble was topped off by a bright pink cast and grey walking boot on her right foot. She struck a playful pose to highlight her injured limb. She found my arms. She said not to worry that her ankle was fine. I told her how great she looked and she said she had a date with a banker. She met him at a bar the weekend before. She was meeting him at the same place. She still had some time before she had to leave so she sat with us and ordered some dinner. Justine and I were on one side of the table, Jerry and Lance the other. She had a hamburger. I was just happy to see she was eating. She told us the story how she broke her ankle. A bunch of her friends were having a party and some guy, just messing around in probably the same way little boys pull little girls' pigtails, picked up Justine and threw her in the swimming pool. His aim wasn't very good. Her ankle cracked off the side of the pool. She knew right away it was busted. I think, all told, the cast was on her foot for about four weeks. Once I was sure everything was cool with Justine, I started in about Melanie. I told her that I sent Mel roses (I wanted to send Justine flowers too when I heard about her ankle but didn't have her address) and that she never even called to thank me. I told her how we were planning on going out later that night to see her at work. Then Justine looked at me like she was keeping a secret. I pried it loose. She said she heard Mel was fucking one of the guys that worked at the Twilight Zone.

I still can't really explain how I felt at that moment. It was like I left my body. I was hollow. Empty. Jerry and Lance couldn't believe it either. I looked to them for support. Lance was laughing in disbelief. Jerry picked up the questioning of Justine. She said she never wanted to say anything before because she liked me and she liked Mel and she wanted to see us get together. She thought I would be good for Mel. But the truth was Melanie was far from the girl I believed her to be. Justine came clean. She began to unravel a seemingly endless string of sordid stories of how Melanie would go home with different guys each week, how she manipulated people at will, how she used to keep a sport bottle of vodka by the corner register and tell people it was water. Each word was a thorn in my heart. I couldn't believe it. None of this was the Melanie that I knew. Each tale was worse than the one previous. I was stunned into silence. I tried to block a lot of the stuff out, but one phrase still sticks in my mind partly because I would utter it weeks later and be plagued by regret for doing so. Justine said that she and Melanie were talking about guys once, what they looked for and the like, and Mel boasted, "I don't care. White, black, Asian, Mexican, I take 'em all home." My personal hell grew deeper.

It was just so hard to connect these words with my fair Melanie. Once the initial shock wore off, Jerry and Lance were quick to jump to my defense, taking turns ripping Melanie. A chorus of "Fuck her" could be heard along with such colorful phrases as "dick garage." Justine apologized. She held my hand under the table and did her best to comfort me. She was worried I'd still go out to Twilight Zone later and cause a scene with Melanie or try and fight her newest mystery lover. I could barely move let alone fight. Jerry, happy that at least we didn't have to go back to the gay-ass Twilight Zone anymore, prescribed massive amounts of alcohol. I didn't even feel like drinking. It was that bad. Justine got up and said she'd be right back. When she left, no one really knew what to say. Not much was said. Justine returned a couple minutes later bringing with her Mary Jo, another waitress, and a shot of Jager for me. Mary Jo asked what was wrong and Justine told her that I was in love with Melanie. Mary Jo said something along the lines of "Yeah, you and everyone else." Mary Jo was 38 but barely looked 28. She was divorced with two kids. We never really talked to her before, all the information we knew about her was passed along by Justine. But she was talking to us now. She joined in the sleazy cavalcade of Mel stories. She told us how Mel used to use guys and toss them away. She said some guys would send flowers to Mel the next day at Wild Wings. They still had a couple bouquets sitting in the refrigerator. She then told us about a time when I guy came back the next day and delivered flowers to Melanie in person. Mel grabbed the flowers, threw them away right in front of the guy, and went back to work. Mary Jo saw the kid leave crying.

At this point one of the bartenders came over and joined in the fun. I think his name was Denny or something. His favorite Mel story was a time when she met some guy at the bar and convinced him to let her drive his brand new camaro home. She wrecked into another car before they were even out of the parking lot. The only part of the story that shocked Denny was why some guy would entrust his camaro with a girl he just met.

I don't even know how I stayed on the stool after all this. I really should have been a puddle on the floor. Denny went back to work smiling at my misfortune. Mary Jo's shift was over and she was on her way home. Before she left she told me to bring the next girl I fell in love with by for her to see because she was a good judge of character. Bold words from a divorcee.

Justine apologized yet again. She brought in the others only to show me that she wasn't exaggerating or making anything up. With all the added ammunition, Jerry was on quite the roll when it came to Mel jokes. I just stared straight ahead. It was time for Justine to go meet her banker. She repeated how bad she felt about everything and how she hated to see me like this. I told her not to worry about me and go have a good time. She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the check. I didn't even watch her leave. Jerry and Lance did. She really did look beautiful in that dress.

I don't even really remember what happened the rest of the night. I'm assuming I drank my weight in Jager. I drank a lot in the days that followed. But the thing that really screwed me up was that the next day Matthew called me to see why we never showed up at the Twilight Zone. It seems Mel was indeed working that night. She asked where I was. Matt told her I was supposed to come out later. The place wasn't busy so she got off work early and hung out with them all night playing pool. She left when it looked like I wasn't gonna show. She never said anything to them about the flowers or asked them for my number. I hung up the phone and went to the liquor store. That's where I met a new friend named vodka.

The great thing about alcohol is that it puts distance between yourself and events from the past. Drink enough and it seems like stuff that happened yesterday really happened weeks ago. I couldn't drink enough in those two days following the truth. I was miserable. Jerry and I went to the mall that Friday afternoon to try and cheer me up. I was already buzzed when he picked me up. We walked a couple laps around the mall, but we both knew we were gonna end up at Wild Wings. It was like one o'clock, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and I was ready to get fucked up.

The place was usually deserted in the afternoons, so that was cool. I noticed a couple sitting at the end of the bar. It was Justine and some guy. They were eating lunch. Needless to say, I was really happy to see her, but I kept my greeting in check because I wasn't sure of the situation. I mouthed, "Who's that?" She laughed and said it was her brother. I thought it was the banker. She told me the banker turned out to be an asshole. We joined her at the bar. She introduced us. Her brother's name was Matt. He was a big dude. There was enough there for two brothers. He was built like a linebacker. His head was shaved clean and he sported a goatee. I shook his hand and was lucky to get it back in one piece. He also kind of talked with a slight speech impediment. Like you really had to listen to him when he spoke to completely understand him. Despite his size, he was Justine's little brother by a year. And just watching them together that afternoon I could tell she was very protective of him. Matt couldn't have been a nicer guy. He was cool as hell. He treated us like old friends right from the start. Of course, Matt and I had a bond. Apparently Mel had played him as well.

Justine could see I was still really depressed. It kind of pissed her off a little bit to see me still so broken up over Melanie. Justine asked the bartender on duty and fellow Wild Wing employee, Jenn (at least that's what the name tag said, I'd never seen her before), why everyone thought Mel was so sweet and innocent? Jenn replied, "Mel is sweet, but she's not innocent." I did another shot of house vodka. Justine made me promise that we wouldn't talk about Melanie for at least the next half hour. I agreed. I could wait. I drank more vodka.

So the four of us just had fun. Or at least I had as much fun as I could, considering the state I was in. We drank, played some bar trivia (Justine and I teamed up to beat everyone in the place in a Muppet-themed test of knowledge), and we listened to more stories from Justine's past. She told us about how she had to get a Protection from Abuse registered against one of her recent boyfriends. The guy would also send her dead flowers. Then she told us about the time she was 16 and almost drank herself to death on Jim Beam. She was in the hospital for a couple days. The paramedics actually dropped her off the stretcher when they were loading her into the ambulance. Matt still found humor in it asking sarcastically how anyone could drop such a tiny girl as his nearly six-foot sister. Justine flung her leg across my lap to show me and Jerry her cast which was now decorated in signatures large and small. She was gonna have us sign it but there simply wasn't room. I wondered how many of those names would be there when she needed them. Matt got up to throw darts with some guys he knew who happened into the bar. Jerry was content for the moment smoking and watching one of the TVs over the bar. Justine said how much she liked talking to me. Then she said I better not turn around and start hitting on her. I told her not to worry. I'd be a good friend to her. I told her to think of me as another brother. She smiled a heartfelt smile and kissed me on the cheek. Matt called for Justine to join him at the dart board. I didn't want to let go of her hand. Luckily, I had a shot waiting.

As the afternoon wore on, and more liquor was consumed, Justine got more playful. She was quick to snuggle up against me. She gave me a few more little kisses. I just kept telling myself "I'm her brother. I'm her friend. I'm her brother."

Later on when I thought Justine and I had a moment to ourselves, I asked her how the doctor appointments were going. She said they were okay. I told her that if she ever needed someone to go with her I would. She said she appreciated the offer but she preferred to go alone. She liked it better that way. I told her if she ever changed her mind to just let me know. I asked her if she still had my number. She said she did. It was still in her purse. Then she asked if it would be okay if she called me to go to lunch sometime. She had lots of free time in the afternoon since the ankle injury limited her work schedule. I told her I'd like that a lot. Matt asked what we were talking about. Justine joked that I was asking about her doctor's appointment Monday because she was pregnant with my baby. I said I should be so lucky.

They had to leave at like six. I told her how glad I was that Jerry and I decided to stop at Wild Wings. She was happy too. I was worried about her driving after the beers she had to drink. She said she was fine. I told her to be careful. She said, "Yes, dad" and gave me another big hug. Jerry and I stayed until a little after nine. On the way home I remember telling him that maybe things worked out for the best. Because if I could either have Mel as a lover or Justine as a friend, maybe it was better having Justine as a friend. Jerry agreed and then made a joke involving Melanie and the word "train." I continued to try and drown memories of Melanie with anything that had a proof. Nothing worked. At least I had Justine. We were back out to see her the following Thursday. It was me, Jerry, Lance, Matt, and Zippy. Nikki was our waitress. Justine had finished work but she was meeting some guy there later. She went home to change clothes and then came back to hang out with us. No dress this time. Just nice jeans and a blouse. She had gotten her cast off the day before. She met this guy over the weekend at some other bar. The two of us slipped over to a nearby table and she filled me in. His name was Anthony. He was 25. Worked as a jeep mechanic or something. She told me all the wonderful things he said to her, how loving and gentle he was. He was really shy and a truly good guy. Not like the others. He told her she was beautiful. He told her he loved her. I just kept drinking. She was really nervous about the date and wanted to drink. I asked if she thought it was okay for her to still be doing alcohol. She said not to worry. She did two Alabama Slammers. I picked up the tab. She thanked me. They helped her relax. I think I was drinking Firewater and Jager. I was getting completely bombed out of my mind. She told me how much Matt liked meeting me and Jerry the other day. I returned the sentiment. Then she said that Matt told her she should be dating me. He thought I'd be a good guy for her. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't sure if this was a test to see if now I'd hit on her or what. I just grabbed her hand and reassured her I was her friend. Reflecting on it after all these months it's kind of hard to deny that she was reaching out to me. If only I could have that moment over again.

She told Anthony she'd meet him in the bar, so when the time got near she left all of us in the restaurant section to go get ready and wait for him. Besides, it really wouldn't look good to be sitting with five other guys when your wanna-be boyfriend shows up for a date. Jerry, Lance, and I kept a constant vigil out the window so we could get a good look at this Anthony character when he arrived. Jerry bet he was some dork. I pictured a Gregory Peck type guy in a suit and tie. Jerry was right.

There was no way in hell I thought that guy was Anthony. First of all, he didn't show up alone. He brought a friend with him. I remember when we saw them walking in I was like "Well, that ain't him." This kid was, well, a kid. Him and his buddy looked like they were part of the high school crowd. He looked like someone who would hang out with me for Christ's sake. Justine was so far out of his league. We didn't even know it was him until Nikki came over and told us that Anthony had arrived. Jerry asked if he was the loser in the olive green shirt. Nikki confirmed and we were all like, "What the fuck?" Justine came over a couple minutes later. She asked if we had seen him. That's when I made an ass of myself. Keep in mind, I was pretty fuckin' ripped and I was still dealing with the astonishing fact that someone who looked like he could be one of my friends, or me, was dating Justine. Instead of saying, "Oh yeah, we saw him. He looks really nice." I said, "We saw him walkin' in and I couldn't believe that guy was Anthony!" She kind of took it the wrong way. She didn't storm off or anything but I could tell she was a little disappointed in me. She went over to talk to Nikki. As soon as she left, everyone at the table was laughing at me for being such a dick. I didn't mean to be. I went over to Justine and tried to apologize. She said everything was cool. Nikki came back to our table once Justine rejoined Anthony at the bar and said she thought Justine was mad at me. I was like, "No she's not, everything's cool." But when she left for her date she walked right by us without even looking in my direction, even though I was calling her name. Nikki was quick to point out the obvious. I felt bad. Just another reason to drink. And here's a little known fact for you: even though Jager is brown and Firewater is red, when you drink enough on an empty stomach and then throw up later, it actually comes out a bluish-green. That's odd.

I felt so awful that I may have hurt Justine's feelings, I drove out on my own Sunday afternoon, the next day I knew she was working, to see her. She was actually outside the place sweeping up the front sidewalk. There were blue and yellow balloons tied to anything that would hold them. I think it was Wild Wings' first anniversary. I just remember the balloons and how she punched a couple of them as we talked. She smiled when she saw me walking across the parking lot towards her, but I could tell she was still a little upset with me. I apologized right away and told her I hoped I hadn't hurt her feelings. She said I had. I apologized again. She accepted my apology and motioned for me to follow her around to the side of the building. There were no windows there and she wanted to smoke without her manager seeing her. I sat down on the curb while she leaned up against the wall with a freshly lit cigarette. I tried to explain myself, how I didn't mean anything by what I had said about Anthony. It was just I always pictured her with some professional man who wears a three-piece suit and carries a briefcase to work. She smiled and thought that was sweet of me. She said that Anthony's father was an amateur photographer and they had a darkroom in the house. That's when Justine revealed to me that it had always been her dream to be a photographer. She wanted to get out of Hadleyville. Maybe move to North Carolina and start a family. Then she told me that Anthony and her were going to spend next weekend up in the mountains taking pictures. It seemed like things were moving a might fast to me, considering they had only known each other for a little over a week, but I had to realize things always moved faster in Justine and Melanie's world. I was definitely on the outside looking in when it came to their shared reality. Justine continued to go on and on about how well Anthony was treating her and what a great guy he was, all the lovely things he said to her, how he told her he loved her. I knew even then that he was a fuckin' prick, but I didn't say a word. I asked if she told him she was sick. She said she didn't because she was afraid it would scare him away. It seemed to me if he was truly such a great guy and he really loved her, as he told her he did, it wouldn't matter.

I asked if she was happy. She said that she was. For the first time in a long while, she was actually happy. If she was happy, I was happy. Then she asked me, "I deserve to be happy, right?"

"Yes. Yes, you do. More than anyone else I know."

We talked for about fifteen minutes. It was time for her to get back to work. I walked her slowly to the door. She asked if I wanted to come in. I made up some excuse about how I had to get home. The truth was that I couldn't take another word about Anthony without it being accompanied by two-fisted shots of vodka. She said that she wouldn't be working Wednesday or Thursday this week and then she was going out of town for the weekend. I agreed that I'd come see her the following week. I opened the door for her and we parted without so much as a handshake.

There was no hug to greet me the next time I saw her. This was the night I talked about back at the start. It was just Jerry and me. We really weren't even planning on going out but Jerry had to go to a funeral, one of his neighbors passed away. Jerry didn't like funerals. Facing mortality has that affect on some people. He needed a drink. He was still wearing his shirt and tie when he picked me up.

It was like eight o'clock. Justine and Nikki were both working. Nikki was all excited to see us, as per usual, but Justine just cracked a weary smile and said, "Hey." They both walked us back to our table. Justine's brother Matt was there with his girlfriend. Jerry and I both said "Hi" and shook his hand on the way to our corner. I asked Justine what was wrong. She didn't say anything. I noted that Justine was way too sad and Nikki was way too happy. Nikki provided the answer. "She's all depressed because she has a boyfriend and I'm happy because I don't." Nikki went on to say that she had broken up with her boyfriend and was declaring herself a full-fledged lesbian. We congratulated her. But I couldn't get over Justine looking so tired and weak. And she was noticeably thinner. She had lost weight. I worried it was due to her illness, but I couldn't ask in front of Jerry and Nikki. Justine said she didn't feel like talking about Anthony but that she thought everything would be fine. I changed the subject. She had two pins on the collar of her yellow Wild Wings' shirt. All employees wore color-coded shirts. Waitresses were yellow, bartenders blue, and cooks red. Quite the system. Ol' Dewey and his decimals had nothing on Wild Wings. Justine told us that the one pin, a gold star, signified that she had been with Wild Wings for one year or, in other words, since the place opened. The only other two waitresses able to make that claim were Pam and Mary Jo. The other pin, a fireball - the symbolism of which is still lost on me - was awarded to her because she got a perfect five-out-of-five rating by an undercover manager who came in posing as a customer. Wild Wings is so tricky. Still, I could tell the accomplishment was a source of at least minor pride to Justine.

Justine brought Jerry and I our drinks, I think he was doing a Scotch and I did a Jager to warm up, but then she disappeared for a while. Nikki filled the void by telling us more about her liberation into lesbianism. We hadn't seen Justine in about twenty minutes. Nikki came back to our table to say she was done working and was going home to change clothes. She was supposed to go to some party later, but she said she'd be back out once she changed. Jerry asked her what happened to Justine, and Nikki said that Anthony came out and threw a note at Justine and left. The note said that he was breaking up with her. I asked where Justine was. Nikki said she was in the bathroom crying. My emotions were mixed. Part of me wanted to rush to Justine's side and comfort her while the rest of me wanted to track down Anthony and give him a severe beating. Jerry was with me in regard to the beating. I could see the ladies' room door from where we were sitting. I didn't take my eyes off it. We waited for a good fifteen minutes, time spent verbally assaulting Anthony. That's when I noticed Matt walking in from outside. I told Jerry I'd be right back. I went to Matt's table and asked if he knew if Justine was okay. He said she was sitting outside. Damn Nikki. I asked him if he thought I should go out there. He said I should. She needed a friend now. I did my duty.

I walked around the outside of the building and found her almost in the exact spot where we had talked before. This time she was sitting on the curb. On her left were Nikki and another young waitress who I had seen before but didn't know. They were on the curb that ran along the building to make the sidewalk, I sat down on the portion of the curb that shot out to form the fronts of parking spaces. So we were sitting around the corner of a right angle. Justine, Nikki, and the other girl were on one side, I was on the other. See how that works? Cool.

I told Justine I would have been out sooner but I thought she was in the bathroom. Nikki looked at me apologetically as if to say, "My bad." I asked Justine what happened. Basically it was just like Nikki said. Anthony came out, threw a note at her without even saying a word, and left. Classy guy, that Anthony. I so wanted to hear his bones snap. Justine handed me the note. Nikki said I should get a kick out of it since I used to work as an editor. It was dark out, but mall parking lots are well lit.

I couldn't believe what I was reading. It looked to be the work of a 12-year-old in both structure and penmanship. I'm guessing the only reason it was printed in ink was that a crayon wasn't available. He tried to present his case for why he was breaking up with her. He had like three reasons. I can't even remember what they were, I just know they were complete and utter bullshit. I only recall that there were three of them because he actually counted them out by saying, "Strike One. Strike Two. Strike Three." How gay is that? Man, I wanted to kick this guy's ass. And I can't stress enough how dumb the letter was. Spelling errors were rampant. My favorite, though, was at the end when he tried to put all the blame on Justine's shoulders. He wanted to say, "You could have been mine," but he spelled "been" b-i-n-e. What? How does that happen? While it's astonishing someone his age would be capable of misspelling the word "been," how do you come up with b-i-n-e? At least b-i-n I could understand, I mean, at least it would rhyme with "pin." But why the "e"? And he had "mine" right there! He obviously knew that "I" followed by a consonant and an "e" produces a long "i". You think it would dawn on him what "bine" would sound like. I wished this kid was smarter just so he'd realize how dumb he was. But then a rather sobering thought occurred to me: Justine was in love with this clown! What did that say about her? I was violently reminded of the vast differences between us. I gave back the letter.

Justine turned to me for support, the moon reflecting in her tears. She looked so amazing. What can I say? I'm very attracted to depression. I wanted to grab her right then and never let go. But I couldn't with Nikki and that other girl there. All I could do was place my hand on her knee and try to share strength.

Matt and his girlfriend appeared. They had to go meet her parents somewhere and wanted to check on Justine before they left. She assured them she was fine. The mood was lightened somewhat by a car that pulled into the parking lot. It was a good forty feet away. We heard a girl's voice call out in the darkness, "Is there a Tim over there?" None of us knew what the fuck they were talking about but I couldn't miss a chance to be a smartass. "No, but we've got a Michael." Justine's brother joined with, "And a Matt." Nikki capped off a perfect triple with "And a lesbian!" She punctuated her claim with fitful flicks of an outstretched tongue. The car drove away.

Justine told me to go back inside with Jerry and she'd be in in a minute. I stopped Matt before he left and said that I'd keep an eye on Justine and would make sure she was okay before I left her side. He said he knew I would and shook my hand.

I gave Jerry a quick recap of what happened. He was glad he wasn't there citing how bad he was at trying to comfort girls. I was still so fucking pissed at Anthony. I didn't want Justine to have to go through all this. She didn't deserve it. I even confessed to Jerry that I was thinking of stepping in once all this Anthony stuff was settled. He gave me the go-ahead. We both realized how different Justine and I were, but he thought she was cool as hell and he knew I would do right by her. And even though I was still in love with Melanie, I truly did love Justine. I still do. I'm not sure a relationship between us would have worked, but I would have done anything to make her happy.

When Justine came back inside, she found me right away with her eyes and cut a straight path towards me, almost running the last few steps. I got up and met her with a hug. It felt like she was clinging to me for dear life. I squeezed her hard and whispered how everything was going to be all right. She was definitely losing weight. Her ribs and shoulder blades were obvious. We stood there for several seconds before separating. She wiped a tear from her eye and sat down beside me. She must have picked up that I noticed her weight loss and said, without my asking, "Everyone says I'm losing so much weight, well this is why! Worrying about him!" But I still feared for her illness. Jerry didn't really know what to do. He took another hit of Scotch. She let him read the letter. He had to fight back laughter. We shared knowing smiles. Justine began to tell us how much she loved Anthony. She said she didn't usually fall so hard. Jerry joked, "Except in swimming pools." I thought it was funny. Justine didn't hear what he said. And once you repeat something like that it kind of loses its snap. Justine smiled anyway. After a couple more minutes she got up and said she had to get back to work. She said she was fine. Once she was gone, Jerry said I missed my chance. He thought I should have just kissed her right then and there. I told him that would have been wrong. Like it was taking advantage of the situation. He said, "I guess," and knocked some ashes from his cigarette.

Justine came back later and brought with her another shot of Jager for me. Nikki had returned and, well, looked really hot. She wasn't all dressed up or anything, just jeans and a sweater, but it was the first time I had ever seen her with her hair down. She usually had it in a ponytail. She looked nice. Real nice. She joined me and Jerry at our table, her and Jerry now sharing an ashtray. Justine was standing beside me, trying to look like the dutiful waitress, but I could tell she was about to start crying again. I spun around to face her, turning my back on Jerry and Nikki, and held Justine's hand. Jerry and Nikki went on talking like nothing was going on. Justine and I really didn't say anything. We just stayed there facing one another, holding hands. When it appeared as though she had her tears under control, I led her by the hand to the stool beside me. We started to talk about Anthony.

Jerry and I couldn't really take listening to her go on and on about this loser, so we began ripping him left and right. His intelligence was called into question with the description of him being "wicked retarded" used more than once. We just told her how lame it was for him to do what he did. It just showed what a little boy he was. I told Justine she was so far out of his league. She wanted to know how. I said that she was beautiful, funny, cool, and an actual real woman. Anthony was just a boy. She deserved more than that. Justine started to tell us a couple stories about what a prick Anthony could be. She said one time they were messing around (a thought that sent shudders) and she like accidentally touched him too hard in the ribs. He flipped out on her. He had been in a car wreck a while back or something and his ribs were still tender. What a pussy. I couldn't imagine being anything but thrilled by Justine's touch. Justine could have kicked me in the sack and I would have been like, "Yes! Justine kicked me in the sack!" Then she told us how he threw a glass of water at her one time at Eat-n-Park. Justine was there eating with Alicia one night when two guys Alicia knew were there and joined them at their table. Justine never saw the guys before and didn't know they were going to be there. Anthony came in with some of his friends and saw Justine. Instead of asking what was going on, he just threw a glass of water at her and stormed out. Did I mention I wanted to beat him senseless? Wait, that wouldn't be very hard. Okay, I just wanted to beat him.

Just when it looked like Justine was starting to turn the corner, beginning to see Anthony as a dork, she wavered. She started to remember all the lovely things he used to say to her. How he seemed like such a nice guy. That's when I gave Justine and Nikki my lecture on what makes a good guy good. Any other girls out there, please, take note.

A good guy will never just walk up and hit on you at a bar. You know who does that? Assholes. And you know why they do it? Because they've done it before. Repeatedly. It drives me crazy when girls complain about how all they ever do is meet one asshole after another. You know why? Because the majority of guys you'll meet at a bar are assholes. They're just there to get laid. If you want to meet a nice guy at a bar, look around and try and find the guys who look like they don't want to be there. Chances are, they're good guys. Go talk to them. Smile at them.

A good guy will never say things like "Oh, you're so beautiful" or "You're so sexy" or "I love you" when they first meet you. A good guy would be too nervous or respectful to say things like that right away. Assholes say things like that. Why? Because they've said 'em before and they know it works. And once they fuck you, guess what? Suddenly they don't love you so much. A good guy will let you know how he feels about you by the way he treats you, the way he looks at you, the respect he gives you. It will take longer for him to say the words because he's not in the habit of saying them. But when he does say them, he'll mean them. So pretty much assholes say nice things before you have sex, good guys usually say them after you have sex.

I knew Anthony was a fucking idiot as soon as Justine described him to me that first night and told me all the things he said to her. But what could I do? She was happy. She needed to find out for herself.

My lecture was interrupted at one point when I heard Frank Sinatra's voice. "Summer Wind." Jerry heard it too and started to laugh. I stood up to see if anyone was at the jukebox. No one was. Who the fuck would play "Summer Wind"? It must have been picked at random by the sound system. I went and got another drink.

The night passed. It was almost like an intervention. Hours spent warning of the harmful effects of Anthony. Soon we were all in agreement. Anthony was a crank. Case closed. Nikki left for her party. Jerry and I stayed until closing. I asked Justine if she wanted to go somewhere else and talk, go for a walk, or even go get drunk. She was there for me when I needed her, I wanted to be there for her. But she said she was okay. She was just going to go home and read some poetry and light some candles. She thanked me for everything. I gave her a hug. As we were leaving, she even apologized because she was sure she looked awful after having cried so much. I just laughed and gave her another hug. I told her to stay strong. She didn't need Anthony. She had a life before him. She'd have a life after him. She agreed and said, "I am strong, aren't I?" I said she was the strongest person I knew.

As Jerry and I made our exit, I gave the parking lot a quick scan. I didn't know what kind of car he drove, so I just looked for anyone who was standing around waiting or even sitting in the a driver's seat. Jerry knew what I was doing and asked what I would have done if Anthony had been outside. It would have really been up to Justine. Jerry said not to get too upset because the two of them would be back together by the time we saw Justine again. I couldn't help but agree with him.

I came out two nights later on my own to check on her. She was happy to see me but didn't give me the usual hug. She said that Anthony and her were back together. I didn't say anything but she could tell I was disappointed. She went on to say that she didn't care what anybody said, she loved him and they were going to make it work. All relationships are rocky at first. They were going to make it. I just said okay, whatever. As long as she was happy. Then she said, "Oh, and get this..." Apparently Anthony was at the Twilight Zone recently. Melanie knew him from before. They actually went out once. She asked how he was doing. He said that he was having some problems with Justine. Mel wrote her number on a napkin and handed to him saying he should give her a call. Anthony asked, "But aren't you Justine's friend?" She said, "We're not friends." Justine didn't want to believe the story, but it was confirmed by one of the bartenders and Anthony showed her the napkin. Justine recognized the little heart over the "i" in Melanie as Mel's trademark. She said she was done with Mel. That was it. They were through as friends. Meanwhile, my stomach began to wrap itself around my spine. Not only was that asshole with Justine, he also had Mel hitting on him. And how could I be hopelessly in love with a girl that signs her name with a heart over the "i"? Depression was taking over. I wanted to die. I ordered a Jager. I did my shot and left.

We were back out there the next Thursday. It was me, Jerry, Lance, and Geffel. This was actually the first time Geffel ever met Justine. I asked her how things were going with Anthony. She said okay... for now. It was kind of obvious that she was having second thoughts about Anthony. But she told us how she met his parents last weekend and how she was going to spend the upcoming weekend at some sort of family gathering with all of them. It was like an outdoor picnic kind of deal. She was worried about what she was going to bring. I think she was going to try and make potato salad. Then she told us how fed up she was with Wild Wings. People have just been calling off without notice and Justine was forced to cover for them. They were starting to take her for granted. She said she was going to pull the old switcheroo and do the same trick this weekend, not showing up Saturday without warning. I told her to be careful. She said why? They'd never fire her. She was too important. I told her to please not get fired because I wouldn't know what I'd do without her. I don't think she really heard my last few words. Jerry said something funny and everyone was laughing. But I knew I said them. I meant them.

Later on in the evening she started in on how romantic Anthony was, I think more to convince herself than us. She produced a note from her pocket that he had written for her that morning. He left it on her car. It read, "Justine, your the best. Love, Anthony" I couldn't resist laughing and telling her that what he needed there was "you're" for "you are", not the possessive "your." I went on to say that if they ever got married I'd know what to get them for a wedding present. A dictionary. She said it was still nice, misspelling and all. Then she said it was romantic. I laughed. She challenged, saying that it was more romantic than I'd ever be. I laughed harder. She asked if I'd leave her notes like that or write her poetry. Sure I would. She tore off a piece of paper from the notepad with which she took orders and handed it to me along with a pen and commanded me to write her a poem. Geffel requested writing materials as well.

Justine left while we composed. Keep in mind, I was pretty fuckin' ripped. I had been doing Scotches all night. Jerry used to hate to watch me drink Scotch. Most people would nurse the drink and enjoy it, sloshing the ice around and whatnot. But sometimes if I knew Melanie or Justine were coming back soon, and that I'd have to place a new order, I'd suck the drink dry through a swizzle stick in about two seconds flat. So at the moment I set pen to paper I had about eight or nine such experiences and was starting to get a buzz going. I had to really concentrate to get the creative juices flowing. I began writing. Lance and Jerry were trying to help Geffel with his. I still don't know what he wrote. But Jerry suggested "Roses are red, violets are blue, if you want a good time, call 555-6432." I was still busy writing when Geffel put his pen down and folded his paper. He wouldn't tell any of us what he wrote. I kept writing. Lance was making fun of me for taking so long, calling me Shakespeare. They thought I was working on another novel. I had to turn the paper over for the third stanza.

I actually still remember the poem. I wrote it down in one of my notebooks the next day while it was still fresh in my mind. It is reproduced here solely as a tribute to Justine, not for any pride in artistic merit or craftsmanship. And keep in mind, I was really drunk...

Go
try that path
I told you it was wrong
try it anyway
you'll be back before long.

Follow where it leads
over rocky terrain
a lesson will be learned
almost worth the pain.

So take that path
what's to lose?
broken hearts will mend
And when you emerge from the woods
I'll be waiting at the end.

It was closing time. Geffel left his poem on the table. I carried mine to the door. Everyone said their goodbyes to Justine. I timed my exit so the other three were already gone when I met her. She had just finished sweeping the carpets and was starting to wrap up the vacuum cord. I handed her my poem. "From one friend to another." My handwriting was a bit sloppy, but she said she'd figure it out. She folded the poem carefully and placed it in her pocket. I could tell she was excited to read what I wrote. I asked her if everything else was okay, meaning her health. She said it was. I gave her a big hug and started staggering my way to the door. She asked when I would come back out to see her, still busily wrapping the vacuum cord around her arm. She said she'd be working the next Wednesday and Thursday. I didn't stop, I just looked back over my shoulder and said I'd probably be out Wednesday. If I would have known I would have said something else or would have never been in such a hurry to leave. But I didn't know. I gave a little wave goodbye and left. That was the last time I ever saw Justine.

We showed up the next week and I could just tell something was wrong. We usually sat in the restaurant section, since that's where the waitresses worked, but the place seemed dead and there was no sign of Justine so we went and sat at the bar. Nikki eventually showed up. She had just gotten off work and was in street clothes. She was waiting for a date. A guy. The lesbianism didn't take. I asked her where Justine was. She said she got fired. My heart fell through the floor. Jerry and Lance looked at me and I could tell they were worried about how I would take it. I asked Nikki what happened. She said Justine didn't show up for work Saturday night without calling or anything. When she showed up to work Sunday the manager stopped her and told her to go home, she was fired. It didn't matter that she was one of the original employees, that she worked there for a year, or that she had a little fireball pin on her shirt collar. She was gone. Nikki said that Justine had already gotten another job at Sharky's, a bar in nearby Latrobe. Nikki also informed us that Justine and Anthony had broken up again last Friday but got back together by Monday. Nikki hung out with us until her date showed and then split.

I tried to put on a brave face, but I was really depressed. It hurt that Justine didn't tell me what happened herself. She could have called. She should have called. I guess she figured Nikki would give me the message and I'd start going to Sharky's. But Sharky's was about a twenty-five minute drive from my house. It would be a good fifty minutes for Jerry. Not real convenient, especially when we didn't even know when Justine would be working. Regular trips to Sharky's weren't gonna happen.

I couldn't even drink. I tried to do a Manhattan. I ended up just pushing the cherry stems around. I remembered how Melanie used to eat the cherries from my drinks. Jager wasn't going to get the job done. I ordered shot after shot of house vodka and forced them all down. The only other thing I can remember from that night was on the way home Jerry said he was sure Justine would call me. I wanted to believe him.

Three days later I found myself drunk on vodka and at the Twilight Zone with Michigan Frank. It was the first time I had seen Melanie since she bailed on me two months earlier. Things didn't go very well. I don't like talking about it.

Fate smiled on me not long after. Jim called me up one night and said that some friends of his from college, who I didn't even know, wanted to go out drinking. They were going to Sharky's. I was in. Since it was a new bar, I did a couple shots at home to loosen up. Soon as we got there I started doing Jagers. I couldn't see Justine anywhere. Our waitress was a cute little brunette. I struck up a conversation with her. I asked if Justine Bush worked there. She said she did but that she had called off the last three times she was supposed to work. Right away I worried about her health. The waitress didn't know when Justine was going to work again. I told her I was an old friend of Justine's and asked if she'd pass along a message for me. She said she would, so I handed her one of my business cards, the same kind I had given Melanie and Justine in the past. I asked her to give it to Justine and tell her I was out to see her. I spent the rest of the night pounding Jagers. I left a nice tip and made sure to thank the waitress again on my way out. I never heard from Justine. That was two years ago.

I used to check the obituary page of the newspaper for Justine's name. It became a morning ritual. There was a Bush once, but it was a 70-year-old lady. Seeing the name in print turned me cold. I don't do it anymore.

I like to think that Justine is alive and well and living in North Carolina. She's married to a guy who wears three-piece suits and carries a briefcase to work. They have a big house, nice cars, maybe a baby on the way. They're happy together. And Justine has nothing to do all day but take pictures of her beautiful life.

----

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (Michael)

The stars were alive, sparkling and dazzling in the heavens above his lifeless body. He lay there upon the cold grassy earth and fought for reasons to deny their influence. He could hear the laughter and strummed guitars from the campfire. But he was alone. He was purposely alone in the cancerous black night, removed far from them. Removed from her. He looked at the stars.

Someone was coming. It was too dark to see. But he knew it was her. He let her get closer before speaking.

"Hey."

"Hey" was her echoed response. "Where are you?"

He didn't get up to greet her. "I'm down here."

"Why'd you leave?"

She crossed above him and stood shyly a few feet away on his right side. She remained standing. While it was still too dark to make out any features, he looked up at her to see her basic outline silhouetted against the star-riddled sky above the tree line. She had her arms crossed in front of her. She was cold.

"I'm not much for community sings."

"We were all worried about you."

"There's no need to worry."

"You just kind of disappeared. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Honest."

It was so awkward with her now. He wasn't sure how to act. She was just as uncertain. Her attention turned to the sky.

"The stars are so beautiful tonight."

Each wanted to speak to the other, but neither knew the words. Silence. It was easier that way. It's always easier that way.

A new voice spoke freely.

"Claire?"

"Over here. I found Mike."

"Malloy, where are you at?"

"Down here."

"Yeah, don't step on him."

Alex came to a careful halt. Michael stayed exactly where he was. He was lying peacefully in the grass, arms still folded behind head, looking up at the stars with Claire on his right and Alex on his left. Both of their silhouettes now topped the trees. They were together in the sky, he was alone in the dirt. Their black, featureless masses menaced above him and tempted his tongue. He didn't speak.

"There are a lot of stars tonight," chimed Alex, completely unaware of the strained triangle of which he was now so prominently involved. His words drew no immediate response. At least none that could be seen. The uniqueness of the moment, and Alex's complete ignorance of what the other two had shared, brought forth a wry smile of recognition from Michael. It was swallowed and lost in the darkness of the July night. But Michael felt it.

"Have you seen any shooting stars?" asked Claire calmly in an attempt to hide her nervousness.

"Five," answered Michael.

The response drew Claire's ear. She spun her head in Michael's direction. "Did you make a wish?"

Michael hesitated a moment. "The same one all five times."

She was zero at the bone. "I'm getting cold." She once again crossed above Michael and joined Alex at his left. "Let's go inside."

"Okay," said Alex, placing his arm around her shoulders. "Later, Malloy."

"Don't stay out too long," cautioned Claire, suddenly needing Alex's arm, any arm, around her.

"I won't," assured Michael.

He turned to watch them leave until they melted into black. He couldn't hear anyone else. The guitars and laughter had stopped. They must have all gone inside. He'd have to go in soon, too. But not just yet. He wanted to be alone. Alone with his thoughts and alone with the stars. He succeeded. He was alone, empty, cold, desperately alone. And the stars all cried her name.

-----

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (First Trip to Twilight Zone - Michael and Mel)

It took five shots of Jager and a Manhattan to get him through the doors. He wasn't even sure she'd be working. She told him Friday. It was Saturday. He couldn't get any of his friends to go with him on Friday. The potential crowds of opening night scared them off. And he couldn't go to a dance club alone. He couldn't go to a dance club sober. That's why they had to stop at Wild Wings first. That's why the five Jagers and one Manhattan.

He paid the cover charges for his friends. They didn't like dance clubs either. It was the least he could do for their sacrifice. It was very crowded. Probably no different than opening night. It was the first dance club he had ever been in. He was hoping it would be the last. The lights were dim, the music was loud, and walking space was limited. Bodies everywhere. He forced his way through the horde. He passed one fully-stocked bar. Kept going. He was looking for someone.

More bodies. Pushing. Pulling. He wasn't nervous. He had five Jagers and a Manhattan. He drove forward. He knew his friends were behind him. He discovered a second bar. A wall of empty tables was behind it. Then he saw salvation.

She noticed him first. Her voice drew his eyes. He almost didn't recognize her. She had her hair down. He had never seen it down. It was always pulled back in a ponytail. Now it was down. She was happy to see him. She was carrying two beers. They had to scream to be heard above the music. He said he'd be over by the empty tables. She nodded and continued on her way.

He reached his destination. He secured two tables in the back corner of the club. It was peaceful along the walls. No crowds. His friends joined him. They all smiled at his expression. She arrived. She asked if they wanted anything to drink. He declined. She guessed he had already been drinking at Wild Wings. His friends ordered some beers. The bar was only five feet away. She got them anyway. Said she'd be back. His friends drank their beers. He sat and smiled. The others left to see all the club had to offer. She had been gone several minutes. He thought this would be the test. He was alone. If she really wanted to talk to him, she would come over now when he was alone. He couldn't see her. He started to doubt himself. Maybe she didn't like him? Maybe he was imagining things? She was there. She smiled at him. He smiled at her. They made each other shy. Music was loud. Hard to talk. She said it was her first night. She didn't expect to see him. They smiled. Work called. She said she'd be back. His friends returned. They had seen her on the other side of the club. She had asked them where he was. She had asked about him. He smiled.

She sat with him and tried to talk. They both complained about the club. He said he hated it. She said she wasn't sure yet. He said he hated to dance. She said she hated to dance. She saw no need for waitresses. The bars were close to everybody. He offered to order a drink from her. She said no. She said she didn't want him to have anymore. She said she wanted him sober. He smiled. She wandered away. Smiling. His friends all reassured him that he wasn't imagining anything.

She was at his table throughout the evening. She spent more time sitting with him than she did working. When the music was too loud to talk, they just sat and smiled at each other. She was so beautiful. Her hair was down. He was scared she was going to get in trouble for talking to him so much. She didn't care. It was so obvious, he felt like an idiot for waiting so long to ask her out. All that time wasted. Tonight was the night. But he had to be careful. She was very shy. He couldn't force the issue. He didn't want to scare her away. He had to say something tonight.

He stayed until closing. The bright lights came on. People started to leave. He told his friends to wait for him outside. He sat alone at the table and waited. She wasn't long. She began to clean the tables around him. No one sat there all evening. She worked hard to wipe them clean. He watched her and smiled. She was so beautiful. She started to clean his table.

MICHAEL: I don't think I can hang out at this place.

MELANIE: (Placing a hand on his knee) What about Wednesdays?

MICHAEL: I don't know...

MELANIE: (Removing her hand and drifting to the next table) Yeah, I'm not sure if I'm gonna be able to stay here either.

MICHAEL: I don't always have to see you at work, do I?

MELANIE: Well, we're still gonna go drinking for my birthday, right?

MICHAEL: Yeah, but couldn't we do other things? I mean, would it kill you to take my number? (flashing a smile.)

MELANIE: So we can go drinking? (Laughing, she playfully steps behind him to begin wiping another table.)

MICHAEL: (Embarrassed grin) Everything I do doesn't have to involve alcohol.

MELANIE: (Laughing) Yes, it does. I know you.

MICHAEL: That's a misconception. I'm actually looking for a reason to quit. (She floats in front of him. He punctuates his next statement with a casual touch of her right shoulder.) Maybe you're that reason?

MELANIE: I doubt it. (Her expression changes, she races away, leaving her towel on his table. He doesn't worry. He knows she'll be back. He watches as she makes one full lap around the now empty bar, straightening stools as she goes, before returning to him.) I forgot my towel. (She begins cleaning the same tables for a second time. He smiles.)

MICHAEL: Are you saying you'd drive me to drink?

MELANIE: (Smiling) Probably. You don't know me.

MICHAEL: I'd like to.

MELANIE: You only know me from work. I'm really weird.

MICHAEL: I don't believe it. (Prolonged pause)

MELANIE: Well, are you guys going to Wild Wings this Wednesday? I still have to pick up my last check.

MICHAEL: You'll be working here Wednesday. Remember?

MELANIE: That's right. (Nervous sadness)

MICHAEL: I'll try to come out and see you Wednesday, but why don't you take my number just in case?

MELANIE: I'm terrible with numbers. (Very nervous, reaching for pad and pen from her change purse.)

MICHAEL: I've already got it written down. (He gives her his business card)

MELANIE: Oh, cool. (Very shy and nervous) So I can really call you? (VERY SHY)

MICHAEL: (Gently places a hand on her shoulder) Yes.

MELANIE: I guess that's why you gave me the card. (Embarrassed, goes back to work laughing and smiling at herself.)

MICHAEL: You know you're the only reason I'd come back out here. You're the only reason I kept going to Wild Wings.

MELANIE: You're gonna make me blush. (Not making eye contact, wiping tables that she's already cleaned twice.)

MICHAEL: Okay, well, they're waiting for me. I better go.

MELANIE: Okay.

MICHAEL: I'll be out to see you Wednesday.

MELANIE: Okay.

MICHAEL: Bye.

MELANIE: Bye.

He never took his eyes off her. She continued to clean tables. She was luminous. Full of energy. He almost walked into a wall. He looked back to her. She was still smiling. She skipped her way across to the bar. He left, confident he had never seen anyone so beautiful or so happy.

THE END