"The Same Boy You've Always Known"
by Michael Dell

CHAPTER ONE

He was never at ease walking alone in public. He always felt somehow on display. He would hope to run into somebody he knew, but it never happened. No matter what the time or the day, the mall was always teeming with strangers. And he wasn't the type of person who could just walk up and introduce himself to someone. They stayed strangers. He would rarely even make eye contact. He once challenged himself to look five people in the eyes before leaving. Never happened. His personal record was three. And two were by accident.

On this day, however, William Lynch felt bold. He altered his normal flight pattern and stopped off at the Waldens to peruse the magazine racks. Finding nothing of interest, he made his way to the back of the store and searched in vain for a copy of "Hailing Taxi," a now out of print book about Alex Rieger, Louie DePalma, and the entire gang at the Sunshine Cab Company. The television section was weak. William leafed through a book of TV trivia and split.

Before exiting the mall completely, he decided to give something else a try. He cautiously eased himself onto a vacant bench. He always admired the old men who spent their days sitting at the mall doing nothing but watching the passers-by. William had already mastered doing nothing in private, so this seemed like the next logical step. But he immediately ran into a problem. Where was he supposed to look? He didn't want to make people uncomfortable by staring at them. Yet that really was the whole point of sitting down, to watch people. He also didn't want to dart his eyes around and look all shifty, although in truth this should have been of little concern since so few people ever noticed him anyway. While he attempted to make up his mind, he decided to fold his arms and gaze at the floor. William consulted his wrist every few seconds in an effort to create the illusion he was waiting for someone. The illusion was somewhat hindered by his not owning a watch. He elected to get up before he broke out in a cold sweat.

The drive home was slightly more enjoyable. He opened his apartment door just in time to hear his phone ringing.

"Hello."

"Hey, Billy." The voice belonged to Norman Holliday, a longtime friend and cohort. Norm went away to college to become an educator of minds and returned a burnout. Well, he wasn't officially a burnout, but he was about a dime bag away.

"Hey, Norm. What up?"

"Not much. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the mall. I have to pick up some glasses."

"Dude, I just got back from the mall."

"So I guess you don't want to go..."

William stared at the blank canvas in the corner of the room. "No, I'll go."

While it seemed a might powerful to visit the mall twice in the same day, going with someone else was a completely different experience. William was much more relaxed. Especially so when Norm was with him. There was someone else to draw the eyes of strangers.

"So, are we out?" asked William as they made their way into the main Sears store after Norm was through in the optical department.

Norm was quiet, a glazed look covering his eyes. William decided to ask again.

"Anywhere else you have to go?"

"I'm kind of hungry," answered Norm, each word coming at its own deliberate pace. "You care if I get something to eat?"

"No, that's cool."

Observing the two friends together was an interesting sociological study. There was William, the gaunt, misanthropic outsider with hands in pockets and a distrustful veil to the world, moving with a comfortable uneasiness, embarrassed that someone might recognize him from his earlier mall visit and think he had nothing better to do with his life. And then there was Norm, bopping along to the imaginary sounds of bongos in his head, standing tall and proud, completely unaware that other people were within a hundred-mile radius.

As far as physical appearances go, they had a few things in common. Both were dressed similarly, clinging to the Seattle fashion scene in jeans and flannel shirts. Norm's shirt was buttoned; William's was not, exposing at least two layers of T-shirts underneath, the top being an ode to Nirvana. Both were roughly the same height, but Norm owned about an additional twenty-five pounds, making him appear healthy and robust compared to William. A golf club looked healthy and robust compared to William. They both had brown hair, although William kept his shaved in the back and around the sides. It was a simple cut. It had to be. He did it himself. It was just another way to avoid human interaction. Meanwhile, Norm favored the "unkempt" look. At least he was trying to make it a look. It was slow to catch on.

As the two were about to cross the Sears border into the mall, a woman in a floral print dress smiled and asked, "Can I interest either of you in a Sears charge?"

William quickly fired back with, "No thanks, I'm driving."

As the woman shifted a confused eye towards Norm, he immediately greeted her with the timeless, "I'm twelve."

Norm laughed. Norm kept laughing. Norm laughed a lot. His laugh, a mindless utterance free of inhibition, was funny in and of itself. It alone always led to more laughter.

The Westmoreland Mall food court was set up in a horseshoe at the opposite end of the second level. It hadn't always been there. It was added about seven years prior when the mall underwent a significant facelift. One would think the charm would have worn off by now, but the food court was always crowded. People need food. Except for William, who went and staked out a table while Norm waited in line. William selected one on the outer fringe of the eating area. Naturally, the three surrounding tables were empty. But that old problem of what to do with his eyes returned. Luckily, there was a flyer on the table heralding an upcoming music concert. William studied the paper intently. It was all but committed to memory when Norm sat down with his food.

"Did you tell them you were Grimace's cousin?" asked William.

"Yeah."

"Did they give you a discount?"

"No."

"Someday, man... someday."

"What time is it?" asked Norm as he opened up a package of salt over his fries.

"I don't know. You picked me up at about seven. I'm guessin' it's like 7:30 or so."

"That clock over there says it's nine."

William smiled. "Dude, that's not a clock. That's just the O in the Monchu Wok sign. Those are chopsticks."

Norm stared blankly at the sign. The moment of recognition was obvious. The startling revelation brought forth another barrage of laughter. William just shook his head.

"So, how are things at work?" asked William, slouching back in his chair.

"They're okay. I haven't gone the last few days."

"Why not?"

"Just didn't feel like it."

"Don't they frown on that sort of thing."

"I haven't gotten any phone calls."

"So no one's noticed?"

"My mom's noticed." The comment drew an honest grin from William. Norm took a hefty chomp of cow flesh and continued. "I think I might go in tomorrow. Last time I worked I figured out how to use the loud speaker."

"Oh boy. Any plans?"

"No, I'll just wing it. Then I'll probably steal another case of Yoo Hoo."

Norm quit laughing long enough to take a bite of his hamburger. He followed it up with a sip of Coke and then went right back to laughing. He slowed down to ask a question of his own.

"What have you been up to?"

"Not much of anything," said William. "TNT started showing 'Starsky and Hutch' again, so that's pretty cool."

"When's it on?"

"It's not on every day. They just show it at 5:00AM when the movie doesn't run long. It was only on once last week."

"That sucks."

"I've been tapin' 'em, though. I've got about eight so far."

"Cool," Norm took another bite. "Have you been painting much lately?"

"Little bit. Little bit. I mean, it's not something you can force."

"Right," agreed Norm.

"If I don't feel like painting I can't force myself to paint. I shouldn't force myself to paint, right?"

"Yeah."

"Exactly."

William returned to the concert flyer. Norm seemed content on finishing his meal and didn't even perceive the sudden lag in conversation. Several silent moments passed before he shoved the last of the fries into his mouth.

"Hey," started Norm, taking a long hit from his beverage. "You still want to steal the Big Boy?"

The question caught William more than a little off guard. Swiping the Elby's Big Boy had long been a shared dream between the two. A large portion of their high school careers was spent plotting the theft of the family restaurant's famous overalls-wearing icon. At its best, the idea was stupid, immature, and pointless. In other words, it was very symbolic of life in Hadleyville. While the notion of kidnapping the pudgy, plastic punk was always enticing during their youth, William had given up on the quest long ago. For William, hearing its mention again after so many years was somewhat surprising, but catching himself giving the thought some actual consideration was deeply depressing. He didn't think this was something Vincent van Gogh would do.

"Are you serious?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I really want to do it," stated Norm confidently.

"You're serious?" asked William again as he sat up in his chair.

"Yeah, why not? I'm tired of talking about it. I want to do it."

"You know, we're not in high school anymore."

"So..."

"So, if we get caught we could actually get in real grief with the law."

"We'd just tell 'em it's a prank. We're not going to hurt the Big Boy, we're just going to take him for a ride somewhere."

"So telling them it's a prank will make things all right?"

"Unless they want to be dicks about it."

"What would we do with it? Putting it in the middle of the football field really doesn't have the same charm now that we're 23 and all."

"I was thinking we could put it up at the Court House."

Hadleyville was known for its Court House. It served the entire county. The building itself was quite unique. Looking more than a little like the Capitol, it boasted a massive yellow dome that towered over the city. The Court House was the town's landmark. Its pride. Its identity.

"That's not bad..."

"I'd like to do it as soon as possible. You in?"

"I don't know, dude..."

"Here," said Norm, finishing off the last sip of his drink and standing up. "I want to show you something."

With that he began to unbutton his blue and green flannel. In a move worthy of Clark Kent, Norm pulled the shirt back to reveal a white T-shirt with a mug shot of Larry King emblazoned on the chest.

William and Norm first discovered the picture a couple years ago while they were hanging out at the mall. It was included in a book of celebrity mug shots. Apparently Larry ran into some trouble when he defaulted on a personal loan back in December of 1971. The Iron Horse of Broadcasting was wearing a brown-and-white checked shirt complete with butterfly collar. He had a frightened expression on his face to go along with mammoth sideburns and black frame glasses. The picture alone on a shirt would have been pure comedy, but Norm didn't stop there. Centered underneath the photo were the words "Free Larry King."

William was stunned. He could do little more than mutter an obscenity under his breath. Norm stood there beaming, knowing full well what he had just done.

William collected himself. "Where did you get that?"

"There's this lady downstairs that puts pictures on T-shirts."

"Is it a new store?"

"No, just a booth across from GNC."

"How much was it?"

"Eighteen bucks."

"Did you have to buy the book to get the picture?"

"Yeah, but once she made the shirts I took the book back."

"Did you say shirts?"

"There's one for you in the car."

"No shit?"

"The Big Boy is like these shirts," began Norm as he sat back down, wearing probably the most serious expression of his life. "They didn't make themselves. I had to make it happen. And look at the result." Norm sat up straight to display his proud possession.

"No argument there."

"The Big Boy isn't going to steal itself. We have to make it happen. We can make it happen."

"I don't know "

"Even if it doesn't work out, we'll at least get a good story out of it."

William continued to hesitate.

"Do it for Larry."

"So there's really another shirt in the car?"

"Yeah."

"No lie?"

"No lie."

"I'm in."

"Cool."

"You got me with the shirt."

William spent the ride home admiring Larry King's sideburns. Along the way it was agreed they would need help in snagging the portly prize. It was decided that Norm would round up the usual suspects and invite them all to William's place the next night for a meeting. The details of the scheme would be discussed then.

As they began to approach William's apartment building, they noticed someone knelt down beside William's car, inspecting the right side of the rear bumper. William drove a 1989 Pontiac LeMans, affectionately known as Ol' Blue. Smooth ride. As they got closer the "someone" turned out to be a very attractive girl that William had never seen before. He saw so few that he would have remembered. She continued to study the side of the car without even being aware of Norm slowly passing her and parking a few spots away.

"This doesn't look good," said William.

"You want backup?"

"No, that's all right. You've got phone calls to make. I think I can handle it."

William stepped from the car and began to approach the stranger. As Norm executed a crude three-point turn and drove off, the girl looked up and met eyes with William.

"Hi," she smiled. "Do you know whose car this is?"

Lost for a moment in her presence, it took William what seemed like an eternity to respond. He was never the kind of guy to have beautiful girls just happen upon him. He mustered his senses long enough to reply.

"Why? What happened?"

"I was just pulling in and I bumped it. I don't know what happened. Do you think they'll notice?"

William walked behind her and peered over her shoulder to inspect the damage. That wasn't all he was inspecting.

"It's not too bad, is it? It's just a little scuffed up. I wasn't going fast at all. You probably can't even see the scratch unless you're down here looking for it..."

"No... no... there it is," deadpanned William as he stooped to point at the gash in question. The instincts were kicking in.

The girl stood up and ran her hands through her hair. "What should I do? I feel just awful. It was so stupid. I reached over to stop some groceries from falling off the seat and the next thing I know I hear a scraping sound. I've never hit anything before. It was so stupid." She turned to look at William. "Should I leave a note?"

She was beautiful. Yet she acted like she didn't know. She was a grunge goddess in blue jeans, a grey T-shirt, and an old maroon cardigan sweater. She owned the kind of simplistic beauty that inspired epic poems and marble sculpture. Silken curtains of shoulder-length black hair framed the delicate features of her face. William was mesmerized and watched helplessly as she pushed the raven tresses behind her right ear and gently bit her lip while awaiting an answer to her plea for advice.

"No, don't worry about it."

"But I should really tell the owner..."

"You already did."

"It's your car?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Like I said, I didn't mean to do it."

"It's no big thing," smiled William.

"I'll pay to have it fixed."

"Don't sweat it. I kind of like it. Gives it character."

"You sure? You're being way too nice about this."

"Honest. Don't worry about it."

"I just moved in here last week. This isn't a good way to make friends."

"Are you in 3E?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I'm in 3F across the hall. I thought I heard someone moving in."

"That was me."

"I should really look out the window more often."

"I'm sorry, I still didn't introduce myself. My name's..."

"Wait, don't tell me," interrupted William, sensing an opportunity for comedy. "I bet I can guess your name. Give me three chances."

"Okay," replied the girl, playing along as she opened the door of her car to reach a bag of groceries.

"Mary?"

"No."

"Here let me," William tossed the Larry King shirt on his shoulder and accepted a bag.

"Thanks."

"Let's see, it's not Mary?"

"Not Mary," she pulled out another bag and locked the car. Together they started walking towards the building's entrance. William opened the door for her. She nodded in appreciation and happily stepped inside. William tried again.

"Sally?"

"One left."

They began to ascend the stairs together with her slightly ahead. William was still thinking how glad he was that Norm drove to the mall.

"C'mon, what's taking so long?" urged the girl, glancing over her shoulder.

"I'm thinking. Give me a minute."

He continued to think the final two flights of stairs and the walk down the short hallway to their apartment doors. She turned her key in the lock and grinned back at William.

"Well?"

William raised an eyebrow in a quizzical expression and used his third and final guess.

"Mary?"

She laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made William want to say something funny again.

"Clever," she swung the door open and waved him in behind her.

Even though they lived in identical apartments, William found the surroundings to be quite foreign. It was probably the lack of dust. Her apartment was, like, clean and stuff. Everything was in its place. And the air was fresh and crisp, void of any lingering paint fumes.

"I can't take credit for it. It's an old Dave Letterman bit," admitted William.

"Oh, I don't really watch TV."

The words stunned him. He set down the bag he was carrying and bent at the waste, resting his hands on his knees in an effort to catch his breath.

"You don't watch TV?" he asked in disbelief.

"Sorry. I don't even own one."

"What?"

"I just never got around to buying one once I moved from home," she explained as she picked up the bag from the floor and placed it alongside its twin on the kitchen counter. "I gather you enjoy television?"

"Oh, I enjoy the television," he said with pride. "So you just watch no TV at all?"

"None."

"That can't be healthy."

"I haven't had any problems so far. I don't really feel I'm missing much."

"Not missing much?" asked William. "You know that whole gasping-for-breath thing I did over there?"

"Yeah?"

"Another Letterman bit!"

"Then I am missing out," she grinned.

She pushed her hair back behind her ear again and offered her hand in friendship.

"My name's Meghan."

William didn't let the opportunity for physical contact slide. "William."

"Nice to meet you, William. Thanks again for being so understanding about the car."

"No problem."

"Do you want something to drink or anything?" she asked.

"No, that's okay. I think I can last until I get home. So what do you do instead of watching TV?"

"I read a lot. Listen to music. Meditate..."

"Meditate?"

"Yeah, it's great. You should try it. It helps me stay centered and relaxed."

"See," started William as he looked around the room, "watching Mary Tyler Moore does the same thing for me."

"One can live a full life without television."

"I don't believe it."

William thought he saw a TV on a desk along the back wall, but his hopes were dashed when he realized it was a computer monitor. This girl owned a computer. William didn't even own a calculator. Next, he noticed a bookshelf in the corner crammed with what seemed to be actual books. William didn't own a book, either. Well, that's not completely true. He did have two books: "Gilligan, Maynard, and Me" by Bob Denver and The Nick-at-Nite Classic TV Companion. But these were real, honest-to-goodness books. Literature. While he had never read any of them, he did know most of the tales thanks to his loyal pal, television.

"So, you've read all these books?" he asked, studying the various titles.

"Yeah."

"I really liked 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. I thought Gregory Peck was excellent."

"The book's better." she said with a sly smile as she stacked a can of green beans in a cabinet. "You should read it."

"You know, I've been told I have sort of a Boo Radley thing goin' for me."

Meghan slipped her new neighbor an inquisitive look. "Is that a good thing?"

"It will be if some drunk, racist farmer ever tries to kill you on the way home from a school dance."

She laughingly changed the subject. "How long have you lived here?"

"Almost two years."

"You like it here?"

"Yeah, it's a nice enough place. I can't complain."

"That's certainly a ringing endorsement," replied a voice from behind the opened refrigerator door. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a painter."

Her head bobbed above the door as she searched for the last of the groceries. "Houses?"

"Canvases."

She quickly turned and seemed noticeably impressed. She closed the refrigerator and took a step forward. "So you're like an artist?"

"Yeah, I'm like an artist. I guess."

"How long have you been painting?"

"Just since I moved here. That's really why I came here, to concentrate on my work."

"What sort of stuff do you paint? I mean, do you have a distinct style or anything?"

"I hope so. I do mostly abstract stuff. That way it's harder to tell if I messed up."

"True," she smiled, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "Wow, to think I live next door to an artist!"

"It's really not that exciting."

"Sure it is! Have you sold anything?"

"No, I haven't really tried."

"What do you do for money? If you don't mind me asking, or it's probably none of my business..."

"No, it's okay. I used to work a few different jobs and just saved up my money. Once I had enough saved I quit 'em all and moved in here."

"That's so cool!" It was wonderful to see her smile. William never felt so important. "I wish I could be that dedicated."

"What do you do?" he asked, finding no difficulty in what to do with his eyes.

"Well, at the moment I'm working at the Barnes and Noble out the highway."

"There's a Barnes and Noble out the highway?"

"Yeah, it's just past Westmoreland Mall. It's been there for like two years now."

"I should really get out more."

"My dream is to be a writer, though."

"What do you write? Sitcoms?"

"Poetry mostly. But I'm trying to get a novel together."

"Would ya, would ya like to write sitcoms?"

"No."

"See, that was some more Letterman."

"Then maybe it's best that I don't own a TV."

"Aw, that hurts. What kind of novel?"

"Just your typical timeless romantic classic."

"Oh, is that all?"

"I'm suffering through a pretty severe writer's block at the moment. I guess it's the moving and all."

"Well definitely stick with it," assured William. "Future generations aren't going to care if you worked at a bookstore, but think of all the people your writing might be able to affect."

"Is that why you made the choice you did?"

"In a way. It would be nice if my life meant something. I don't want to be like everyone else."

"I can understand that."

"You seem to be about the only one." The sudden serious note brought everything to a halt. William did his best to pick up the pieces. "I'm just amazed that a writer and an artist could end up living across the hall from each other in good ol' Hadleyville, PA."

"It does seem a bit odd," agreed Meghan.

"A beautician and a bartender, yes. But a writer and an artist? That's like the Halley's Comet of career combinations in these parts. Sometimes I wonder if it's even possible for an artist, or in your case a writer, to make it out of Hadleyville."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just think it would be easier if I was in New York or somewhere like that. Surrounded by more artist types."

"I'm sure there are plenty of artist types around here if you look hard enough."

"Yeah, but who wants to look."

"Besides, talent shines through. I believe if you were meant to make it you will, no matter where you are. You know what they say, the cream rises to the top."

"But the top of Hadleyville is still pretty close to the bottom of everywhere else."

There was that smile again. She strolled back into the kitchen and picked a small vitamin bottle from one of the cupboards.

"So what..."

William interrupted before she could finish the question. "What's that?" he asked, nodding to the small plastic bottle in her left hand.

"Oh, it's ginseng." She offered the bottle. "Want some?"

"No thank you. I'm high on life."

She popped the tablet in her mouth. "Suit yourself."

"Isn't that stuff supposed to give you energy?"

"Yeah."

"Does it work?"

"I think so. I mean, I can tell a difference when I take it. It's supposed to help move the oxygen around your body."

"Oh, sort of like my lungs." He was even more thankful for that smile. "So you're into like herbs and vitamins and stuff?"

"I'm kind of a health nut. It's all just part of being a good vegetarian."

"I thought I noticed a lack of meat products among your groceries. So, you're a vegetarian, huh?"

"Actually I'm a vegan."

"Aw, that's too bad. What's the matter? Just haven't met the right guy?"

"No, a vegan. It means..."

"I know, it means you don't eat anything that comes from an animal."

"I usually have to explain it to people."

"I'm sort of one myself."

"Shut up!"

"No, it's true. I haven't gotten anything from an animal in years... unless you count the fifty bucks I won at the track last summer."

"Honest? Because it would be kind of nice to know another vegan."

"Honest. But my diet's even more limited than that. All I eat are potatoes, rice, and pretzels. And I only drink water."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Kind of carb heavy."

"I need my energy. No one said watching TV was easy."

"Seriously, why do you do it?"

"I've had some grief with my stomach in the past. Once I finally found a diet that worked I stuck with it."

"And you've been doing this for how long?"

"A little over three years."

"And you don't get tired of eating the same thing every day?"

"No, I'm all about discipline."

"I respect your will power, but how are you alive?"

"Beats me."

"And you feel good?"

"Well, I'm tired a lot. And I don't know if you can tell, but I'm kind of thin..."

"No."

"Yeah, it's true. And I do get real dizzy if I partake in any strenuous physical activity..."

"But other than that?"

"Golden. Plus I get to cash in on that whole heroin chic thing without the mess of all the needles and bleach." Yet another smile. William hadn't gone over this well since he danced like Rerun at his second grade talent show. He felt no need to press his luck. No wammy, no wammy, no wammy, stop. "Well, I should really get going."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay for something to eat? I still owe you for the car. And I should have a potato here somewhere..."

"I appreciate it, but no, that's okay." Meghan followed William to the door and watched from the frame as he made the brief journey across the hall to apartment 3F. "I've got some stuff to do. And I wouldn't want to wear out my welcome."

"No worry there. Maybe you can show me some of your paintings some time?"

"Yeah, I'd like that. But only if you let me read some of your stuff."

"Deal."

"Have a good night."

"You too."

Their doors closed. William tossed the T-shirt on the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom mirror. He was relieved to find that he actually looked pretty good.

He was tempted to immediately knock on her door just to make sure that he hadn't imagined the entire thing. But his fear of being perceived an idiot outweighed his curiosity. Even if it only happened in his mind, at least it happened.

Not wanting to get too excited over one chance encounter, William forced himself back into his own private reality. He once again found himself face to face with the blank canvas. Surely he'd be able to cultivate some inspiration from the day's events. His mind was still racing. He decided to turn on the TV to help him think. He picked up a brush. But before he could place the first stroke he noticed Greta Garbo's face filling the flickering screen. It was "Grand Hotel". He put down the brush.

Letterman was on at 11:30. He cooked some rice while he watched Conan O'Brien at 12:30. He was going to turn off the TV and go back to work until he stumbled across "The Graduate." Finding the story of Benjamin Braddock was quite the coup. He couldn't pass it up. That was followed by a series of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby pictures on AMC. He fell asleep halfway through "Road to Morocco."

CHAPTER TWO

The telephone woke William for the second straight day. That's the risk of sleeping until five o'clock in the evening. It was Norm. He had everyone coming over at eight. And eight o'clock came in a hurry, especially since Norm showed up at seven..

"Dude, it's only seven." Nothing. William tried again. "I didn't think you were coming until eight?"

"It's not eight?"

"No, it's only seven," repeated William.

"It feels like eight."

While Norm took a seat on the couch, produced a Yoo Hoo from his coat pocket, and watched "The Simpsons," William tried to prepare for the meeting. It must have been the previous night's visit to Meghan's, but he suddenly felt the need to tidy up. He moved all the painting supplies to the bedroom and dug out a vacuum from the hall closet. This was only about the third time the sweeper had been used since his mom handed it down to him when he moved out. It was like riding a bike. Except that when you run over a quarter with a bike it doesn't rattle like a chimp and start to smoke. The vacuum, now twenty-five cents richer, was promptly ushered to the closet.

William wanted to go over an outline with Norm for the meeting, but the Bizarro Jerry episode of "Seinfeld" put an end to that. The epic tale was coming to a close when the first of the would- be conspirators arrived.

"What's this all about?" asked Lou Wilson before he was even in the room.

"Patience. We've gotta wait for everyone," said William.

"Holliday."

"Wilson."

Lou was always the overweight kid of the group. Perhaps to compensate, he would talk a lot. He'd try to keep the air filled with chatter and tell comical stories, all of which supposedly happened to him. Whether true or not, the anecdotes were usually enjoyed even if they were looked upon with a suspicious eye. As an added attraction, Lou's build, along with his black- framed glasses, enabled him to do a swell imitation of Chris Farley's motivational speaker.

William was probably the closest to Lou of the immediate circle. While everyone else went away to school, Wilson was one of the few that stayed in the area and went to a University of Pittsburgh branch campus. The two would talk on the phone two or three times a month and William would sometimes visit him at work. Wilson hawked electronics at the Montgomery Wards. Being such an accomplished talker, he made an excellent salesman. He also sported a pair of sideburns that would do the 1971 Larry King proud.

It wasn't long before a second knock found the door. Sean Frye was a man of few words. He was at the other end of the spectrum from Wilson when it came to verbal communication. He was, however, a big, sturdy kid and a natural athlete. Even though William had never actually seen Frye involved in a fight, no one ever challenged him for fear of what might happen. He was a quiet, affable guy and it was considered best by all he remained that way.

After exchanging brief salutations, Frye slumped into the blue easy chair and everyone listened to Wilson regale them with recollections from high school. Some of the stories were flat out wrong or exaggerated to great lengths, but they were somehow better for the errors and no one bothered to interrupt. About twenty minutes had passed before it was realized that four members of the party were late. Surprisingly, just then there was a knock at the door. William opened it to find Matthew Miller.

"Hey, what happened? You're only about a half hour late."

"Well, you know," said Matt as he walked into the room, as if that was all the explanation needed. Matt's twin brother Martin was making it up the stairs, followed close behind by Dom Bauerchuk and Brian Kovitch.

Matt and Martin may have been identical twins, but they couldn't have been more different in personality. It was almost as if Matthew got sole possession of the right side of the brain, while his brother held firm to the left. They both graduated from Penn State with degrees in chemical engineering, but only Marty was now employed. He worked for a burgeoning technology company in Pittsburgh. He walked right from college into a $50,000-a-year job. Meanwhile, Matt had a lucrative gig at some chemical place over the summer but got whacked when the company disbanded his department. He didn't work long enough to collect unemployment, missing the target date by one week. Now his days were spent playing his guitar and getting drunk. While it had become easier to tell them apart with age, since Martin often employed some sort of gel in his hair and Matt went with the blow dry look, William never had difficulty. To him it was easy. He just looked them in the eye. Matt always gave the impression that there was mischief afoot or that the creative wheels were turning. Marty's eyes hid no such imaginative thoughts.

They may not have been brothers, but Dom Bauerchuk and Brian Kovitch were living under the same roof. They shared a trailer in neighboring Delmont, PA. It was a yellow rectangle containing two small bedrooms separated by a cramped living room and kitchen. Considering the two had never really been close, it was a marvel that they were able to coexist under such circumstances.

Dom was born in Canada. His family moved to Hadleyville when he was seven. He ventured back to the Great White North for his freshman year of college, but attended more happy hours than classes and flunked out. It was a full six months before he told his parents and moved back home. Now he was working as a bagger at the local supermarket.

A boisterous redhead, Dom's goal in life was to be cool. Sadly, he never quite made it. There was simply too much effort on his part. He went out of his way to try and impress people, often leaving himself open for playful ridicule. Take for instance the time in high school when he was too young to chew tobacco so he opted instead for construction paper, hoping no one would notice the difference and respect the lump in his bottom lip just the same. Then there was the occasion when Dom achieved immortal screw-up status by committing a blatant give-away in overtime of a championship hockey game, passing the puck directly to the other team's best player in the slot without even token pressure having been applied. The resulting goal against earned Dom the nickname "Center Pass" Bauerchuk and pretty much brought an end to his hockey career.

Kovitch didn't come around much. He hung out with more of a bar crowd, only dropping in with the old chums on special occasions. He, too, worked at a supermarket, except he cut meat, and his finger on one grizzly occasion.

William stepped out into the hall and greeted his final three guests with a "What up, boys?" They answered back with three distinctive, yet simultaneous, calls of "Billy!"

As he was shaking the last of their hands and gesturing them into the apartment, the door to 3E opened. Meghan appeared, carrying a bag of laundry and a book. She looked up and smiled at William.

Despite Kovitch showing some interest in meeting her, William abruptly pushed him into his apartment and pulled the door shut. "Hey, how's it goin'?"

"Having a party?" asked Meghan.

"Not really. I'd invite you in but my friends are all idiots."

She laughed. William pressed the advantage.

"Doing laundry on a Friday night?"

"Yeah, I live a real exciting life, I know. But it has to get done sometime."

"Are you familiar with the laundry room? It's quite lovely."

"Oh, yes." She took a few slow steps towards the stairs. "In fact, these clothes really aren't that dirty, I just like hanging out down there."

"Well, good luck."

"Thanks."

William watched her until she disappeared from sight.

"Who was that?" asked Kovitch upon William's entering the room.

"She's my new neighbor."

"Did you hit that yet?"

"Watch yourself. She's a lovely young woman, show some respect."

"Sorry." Kovitch paused. "Did you fuck her yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Speaking of girls," began Wilson, directing his attention at Kovitch, "are you still dating that chick from Eat'n'Park?"

"No, I'm going out with someone else now. She's a bartender at Bobby Dale's," said Kovitch, referring to a local watering hole.

"What's her name?"

"Jolene."

"I didn't even know you liked country music," cracked William.

"Fuck you, dude. What are we doing here, anyway?"

"If you'd sit your ass down we can get started."

"Just hurry up, already," urged Kovitch. "I'm missing valuable drinking time. Where are we gonna go?"

"Mr. Toad's," informed Matthew.

"Do we have to?" whined Wilson. "I don't know if I feel like seeing our entire senior class tonight."

"You can decide that later," interrupted William. "We've got business to attend to first. Norm?" Holliday left his place on the couch and joined William at the front of the room. "The floor is yours."

Norm tried to put on a serious expression. This prompted some reflexive laughter from the crowd.

"The reason we called you here today is that we need your help on a very important mission."

The air seemed to go out of the room. "The Big Boy?" asked Marty in disgust.

"Yes," answered Norm proudly.

The revelation didn't impress everyone.

Kovitch immediately got to his feet, walked across the room, shook William's hand and said, "I'll see you at Toad's." He was solid gone.

His swift exit drew some laughter from the gallery. Marty was next to voice his opinion.

"I thought you gave up on that. I mean, don't you think you guys are a little old to be stealing the Big Boy?"

"You're never too old to steal the Big Boy," responded Norm with conviction.

"Didn't that one kid you know try it and get caught?" asked Wilson.

"Henry Mathis," supplied William. "Yeah, he tried it. But him and his buddies did a half-ass job. Even with the lack of structure, the only reason they got caught was one of them locked his car door when he got out."

"He locked his door?" asked Wilson, as if hearing it twice would somehow make it more plausible.

"They were all pretty ripped to start with. He was fumbling for his keys when the cops pulled in. Everyone else got away but he dropped a dime on 'em."

"What happened to 'em?" asked Matthew.

Norm turned to William. "They let 'em off, right?"

"Yeah, they got busted for underage drinking but the Elby's folks didn't press charges or anything. I think they even gave them all little banks of the Big Boy."

"Sweet," Norm said gleefully. "See, they knew it was just a joke."

"But the key there is that they were all still in high school at the time," countered Marty. "People tend to be lenient with minors."

"They'd know it would just be a prank."

"And who doesn't love a prank?" assured William sarcastically. "But there's no sense even sweatin' it. Because we won't get caught."

"Oh, you won't?" asked Marty in a rather condescending manner.

"No, we won't. We're talkin' an A-Team quality strike here. Everything planned out to the second."

"That's right," supported Norm.

It was clear by now that Marty was out. But Dom, Matthew, and Wilson all seemed to be interested. Frye was on the fence. William felt a little extra incentive was needed.

"Norm," started William, confidently looking away and throwing a thumb in the direction of the doubters, "show 'em the shirt."

Norm smiled and obeyed the command, dutifully unbuttoning his top shirt to reveal the glory of Larry King. Norm and William looked at one another with a shared confidence that all was right with the world. The confidence was shaken in the face of indifference. Apparently, as far as the rest of the crew was concerned, all the Larry King shirt inspired was confusion and dismay. William stepped in front of Norm and began buttoning his shirt for him. "Okay, dude, cover up the shirt."

Dom was the next to speak. "What would we do with it?"

"We want to leave it in front of the Court House," answered Norm.

"That's the belly of the beast, gentlemen," said Wilson with some admiration.

"Like I said, we're gonna do this right," proclaimed William.

"Don't you guys have anything better to do?" asked Marty, unconsciously twirling the gold watch on his right wrist.

William took note. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know... get a job."

"You're a big enough corporate whore for the both of us," countered William.

Wilson gave Marty a shove. "Yeah, shut up, ya whore! So how would we transport the Big Boy? I don't think it will fit in Ol' Blue."

"My cousin's band has a van," said Norm. "I think I should be able to borrow it for the night."

"And he won't mind his van being used in a crime?" punked Marty.

"The thing's practically a bong on wheels. I don't think the kid's gonna care," said William.

Matthew broke his silence. "When did you want to do it?"

"After a great deal of scientific study, we've determined that the best possible time to make our move is 4:08 AM on a Sunday night."

"So that's like what, noon for you?" quipped Wilson.

"Granted, you guys might have to alter your schedules a bit, but it'll be worth it."

"But what Sunday?" followed Matthew.

"I'm not sure," William looked at Norm and received no help. "We haven't really picked a definite date. We've still got a lot of details to work out, we just wanted to see if any of you guys were interested in being a part of it."

"It would help if I knew what day, though," said Matthew.

"Well, how about next Sunday? Is that cool for everyone? Norm?"

"Sure."

"Well, boys, what do you say? You in?"

"I'm in," confirmed Dom. "We're gonna steal us a Big Boy!"

"What the hell?" said Matthew, shooting a look at his brother. "It's not like I've got anything better to do."

"Exactly. Wilson?"

"With you two guys being the brains behind the mission, how can we go wrong? Let's kidnap that mother."

"That's what I'm talkin' about. Frye?"

"I'll pass."

"What are ya, yella?"

"I feel sort of like he does," explained Frye, motioning Wilson's way. "Except with you two guys running the show, I'm not sure how we could go right."

"Aw, that's just wrong. But no pressure. I mean, if you want to be a pussy that's cool. Marty, I know you don't want to do it..."

"I would, but with work and all..."

"Whatever."

Wilson sat up and pointed to Frye and Marty. "Since you boys aren't in, I think you should leave before we get too detailed. And no rattin' us out!"

"Yeah, you've gotta keep this quiet," added William.

Marty got to his feet and followed Frye to the door. "Who would want to hear about it? We'll wait for you at Toad's."

"Later, Lynch," was Frye's final involvement with the conspiracy.

After the two doubters left, Dom got up from the floor and took Marty's place on the couch. He also slipped a pack of Marlboro's from his front shirt pocket. "When do we start planning?"

William once again looked at Norm. And once again it was a worthless action. It was clear now to William that he'd have to take charge of this fiasco.

"Well, we have to make sure we can get the van first. Norm, can you check on that?"

"I'll call my cousin tomorrow."

"Everything is pretty much up in the air until we find out about the van. No sense getting too into it until we know for sure. How about we get together again early next week? Is Tuesday night cool?"

"That's good with me," said Dom, holding an unlit cigarette in his right hand out of respect to William's hatred of smoke. "I only work Wednesday and Thursday this week."

"Let me check my schedule," joked Matthew.

"I know you're free. Wilson?"

"Yeah, I should be able to make it. I think I have to go in for some meeting at work, but I should be out by like nine at the latest."

"Okay, nine o'clock Tuesday night. I'll have a definite plan in mind by then and we'll work out all the details. If you guys have any suggestions you'd like to try, bring 'em with you on Tuesday. And remember, keep this quiet."

Wilson blazed a stare Dom's way. "Yeah, Dom!"

"Hey, don't look at me," snapped the Canadian.

"Are we done?" asked Matthew.

"Yeah, I'm done," said William. "Norm, you got anything else?"

Norm stood there a moment, his hands in his pockets, transfixed in deep thought.

"No."

"Cool," said Matthew, relieved. "Let's get fucked up."

"Do we have to go to Toad's?" argued Wilson, opening a door for sarcasm. "I just don't think that place is loud enough. I might actually hear someone talk to me."

"We'll start there but we could always move on later," compromised Matthew. "You comin', Billy? They've got water."

"As much as a I enjoy standing in a darkened room full of strangers, I think I'm going to sit this one out. But you guys go have a good time."

"You've gotta stay home and plan anyway," said Wilson. "Because if we get caught I'll pimp you out in the joint."

"Fair enough."

As the newly assembled squadron left the apartment, Wilson began to make a pitch for Dino's Sports Bar. It was wing night and he wanted to make sure he didn't miss out. William held up Norm a minute at the door.

"It's finally coming together. You excited?"

Norm smiled and let out a little laugh. "Yeah."

William was hoping for something with a bit more meaning, but then again he did ask Norm. He shook his hand, reminded him one more time to call about the van, and then sent him off on his way for a night of drunken mischief.

The moment the door closed William made his way to the bathroom mirror. He gave himself a quick once over, running his left hand through his hair, guiding it into its natural part on the right side. Once satisfied, he crossed to the living room window to watch his friends leave in Norm's red Mazda. He did have plans for the night, but they didn't involve plotting the heist of a portly restaurant mascot.

William locked his apartment door behind him and made his way down the back stairs to the laundry room. It was a cramped basement of cement block. Four washers lined the east wall, four dryers the west. A cheap folding table split the middle of the machines, along with three equally inexpensive orange plastic chairs. It seemed to William that there used to be four chairs when he first moved in, but those things happen. Damn crooks.

The room itself was lit by a bank of fluorescent lights running the length of the ceiling above the table. They gave the entire scene below a convenience store feel, the benefit of which was open to debate.

As he began to make his way down the final flight of stairs, William paused for a moment to compose himself. He could hear the crisp rustle of the dryer as it echoed its way off the exposed walls. He took a few deep breaths, thought to himself "I am calm," and entered the room. She was sitting in front of the last dryer on the left. Her legs were crossed and she held an opened book across her lap. While she was fully engrossed in her reading, William didn't feel at all guilty about speaking up.

"Hey..."

Startled by the noise, she lifted her head and seemed genuinely happy to recognize her visitor.

"Hey," Meghan smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Did the party break up early?"

"Yeah. It was just a quick get-together. I figured I might as well get some laundry done myself."

"Where are your clothes?"

William dropped his shoulders and glanced at the ceiling a beaten man. "I knew I forgot something. You mind if I stay and keep you company anyway?"

"No, not at all. I'd like that."

"Thanks." William sat down in the orange chair at the opposite end of the table. He gestured to the book that was now lying closed and said, "I hope I'm not interrupting you."

"No, it's okay, I've already read it three times."

"Wow. I can't think of anything I've read three times. Except maybe the occasional warning label." William tilted his head a bit to read the spine of the unjacketed book. "The Great Gatsby?"

"Yeah, it's really good. But I guess you never read it, huh?"

"Can't say that I have. Although..."

"I know, you thought Robert Redford was excellent."

"I was gonna go with Mia Farrow, but yeah, Redford was good too." He looked again at the thin blue book. "I always imagined it being bigger."

"No, it's a small one." She pushed it across to him. "But it's quality that counts."

William picked up the book and began leafing through it. He found the dedication on page three and read it aloud. "Once again to Zelda." He paused a moment. "That was a good game and all, but I don't know if I'd dedicate a book to it."

Meghan smiled. "That was his wife."

"Wasn't she nuts?"

"She had a hard life."

"So did Mary Tyler Moore, but not many people go around dedicating books to her. Hey, when you write yours think you could..."

"No."

"It was worth a shot." William placed the book back on the table. He began to pull his hand away only to stop and shift the book ever so slightly to the left. Studying its placement on the dark brown background of the fake wood table top, one more adjustment was needed, another slight tilt to the left, before William took his hand away for good and sat back in his chair. He watched the book intently for another brief moment, as if it would try to move the first chance it got, and then looked up to Meghan to find her more than a little perplexed by what she had just witnessed.

"I'm sorry," grinned William shyly. "It's kind of a habit I have. I guess it's the artist in me, but if something isn't placed just right it drives me crazy. Like it screws up the whole composition for me. Looking at it from here, the line of the book no longer matches the line of your body, it slides a bit to the left and it makes things much more interesting."

Meghan cracked a smile and waved a finger in the general direction of the book, "So you do this sort of thing a lot?"

"No, not all the time," said an embarrassed William. "Just whenever something is painfully out of place."

Meghan held her hands out in front of her as if afraid to move. "And everything is fine now the way it is? Nothing else has to be moved?"

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"Me? Never. Why don't you tell me more about your art?"

"Like what?"

"Who are your favorite painters?"

"That's a tough call." William slid down a bit in his chair and folded his arms. "It may seem kind of weird, since I don't paint anything like him, but I've always admired Michelangelo."

"Really?" Meghan asked with a sense of surprise.

"Yeah. He didn't even like to paint. He considered himself a sculptor first and a painter second. But his figures were so powerful and thick with life. For me, I think it all started with him."

"Is it true he died while painting the Sistine Chapel?"

"I believe so. Either that or he slipped in the shower. I can't remember which."

"Whom do you paint like?"

"I don't know. I'm just trying to paint like myself. I had these images in my head my whole life and I've just been trying to put them on canvas. I really don't study someone else's work and then try and implement something of theirs into my style. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah."

"If I do have an influence it would be Van Gogh. At least I try and pattern my life after his whenever possible."

"You're not going to cut off your ear are you?"

"He's a lot more than just a guy that cut his ear off. Van Gogh's really an interesting story."

"He did cut off his ear, though, right?"

"Sure. But not his whole ear. Just part of it."

"Didn't he give it to his girlfriend?"

"Actually, she really wasn't his girlfriend. She was what we like to call a 'professional girlfriend.'"

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I mean I think he knew her, but they weren't real close or anything. He just walked up to her one day, handed her his ear, and said 'Be careful with this.'"

"I always thought he mailed it to her to express his love?"

"He might have been trying to express something, but I doubt it was his love. Van Gogh was kind of messed up. He used to drink some serious alcohol. He also had a habit of putting his brushes in his mouth. The various paints and chemicals took quite the toll on his mental health. Then, of course, he also had the syphilis."

"And you admire this guy?"

"Well, not for the syphilis, but yeah, I admire him. Van Gogh was never a success when he was alive. He painted over 700 pictures before he made the first and only sale of his life."

"I didn't know that."

"Yeah, he only sold one painting his whole life. To the world around him, Van Gogh died a failure."

"If he didn't sell anything, how'd he support himself?"

"He didn't. His brother did. They were really close. His brother sponsored him and then Vincent sent him all his work. But the thing is, no matter how crazy he was or how few accolades his art received at the time, he didn't quit. He stayed dedicated and painted."

"So it's his perseverance to his dream that you admire?"

"Sure." William paused a moment. Meghan's attention remained. "I'm quite content to die a failure in the eyes of those around me if I can stay true to my dream."

"That's admirable. Not real socially acceptable, but admirable."

"I do what I can."

"What happens when your savings run out? Do you have a loving brother to sponsor you?"

"No, but that's okay. We're called starving artists for a reason. I could care less about money. I just want to stay true to my art, everything else will take care of itself."

"You said before that you doubted an artist could come out of Hadleyville. Have you ever given any thought to leaving town?"

"Sometimes. But like I said, I'm not really in it for money or fame. And when you get right down to it, it's really hard to be an artist no matter where you are. It gets harder with each passing day."

"How so?"

"Well, just think about it. Artists have to constantly break new ground. Like say one day I paint an exact copy of Van Gogh's 'Night Cafe' without ever having known it existed..."

"I don't think I know that one."

"Oh, it's cool. It's all reds and yellows. Anyway, so say I've never seen it before, but I wake up and paint it one day. It would be a masterpiece. Until I show it someone else, and then they'd say 'yeah, that was great when Van Gogh did it 100 years ago.' What was genius yesterday is no longer acceptable today. You always have to keep pushing the envelope, exploring new artistic territory."

"I see what you mean."

"But that's really true with any creative field, not just art. I mean, take writing. You could crank out 'War and Peace' tomorrow and it wouldn't be great literature, it would be plagiarism. It's all about being first to plant the flag."

"I never really thought of that."

"For all we know, there could be some girl in like Delaware writing the same exact book as you except she's two chapters ahead, will get it published first, and will render the last year of your life meaningless."

"How does that help me?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to illustrate the point. But you see what I mean, right?"

"Unfortunately. So are you willing to find that new artistic ground?"

"I'm trying."

"Have you painted your masterpiece yet?"

"I don't think so. At least I hope not. I've got an idea of what I want it to be."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but it's just not the right time yet."

"When will the right time be?"

"Probably around the time the money runs out."

"You could always get another job."

"And then what?"

"Well, maybe meet a nice girl."

"Now you sound like my mother.

"Maybe start a family..."

"And then what?"

"Retire in happiness and grow old together."

"And then what?"

"Die, I guess."

"Exactly. It's all just the same old song and everyone sings along. But even if you do avoid the trap nothing lasts forever. I mean, think of something that would give you the most happiness in life. At some point it has to end. And then what? I guess that's kind of why I paint; to try and capture those moments. Make 'em last longer."

Meghan's eyes filled with wonder. She was realizing that she was in the presence of someone different. This was her first encounter with what she perceived to be a real live tortured artist. She wasn't sure she liked it.

"How did he die?" she asked.

"What?"

"Van Gogh. How did he die?"

"He shot himself," William said with approval. He leaned forward and continued with noticeable excitement. "But the thing is he didn't shoot himself in the head. He shot himself in the chest. It took him two days to die. That's really all you need to know about Van Gogh. That says it all."

William fell back in his chair. He was lost in his thoughts a moment before he remembered why he was there.

"Now that I've thoroughly depressed you with the story of my idol, what writers do you like?"

"Well," said Meghan, shifting around in her chair to find some level of comfort from the harsh plastic. "I guess my Michelangelo would be Shakespeare. He's the foundation."

"I hear tell he's pretty good."

"You've had to read some of his work in school, right?"

"Yeah, they made us read 'Julius Caesar' in eighth grade."

"Was it really that awful?"

"No, I kind of liked it. Then we had to read 'Romeo and Juliet' the next year."

"That's probably my favorite of his plays. It's pretty much the basis of every modern love story. You had to like it."

"Yeah. But I really like Claire Danes, so..."

Meghan smiled. "Do you have any knowledge of literature that doesn't come from TV or the movies?"

"Sorry. I'd like to read more but I just never seem to get around to it."

"You obviously had to do some reading on Van Gogh."

"No, actually that was a 'Biography' on A&E."

"Amazing."

"Hey, if you don't watch TV how come you're picking up on all these references?"

"It's not like I've never watched TV. I used to. I just haven't for the past year or so."

"What shows did you watch?"

"Nothing special. Just whatever was on, I guess. There was nothing I really looked forward to."

"Want to hear my favorites?"

"Is there enough time in the day?"

"I'll make it brief. Just holler if you hear something you like. 'The Dick Van Dyke Show' is probably my all-time favorite, followed by 'Dobie Gillis', 'Taxi', 'Cheers', 'The Mary Tyler Moore Show', 'The Bob Newhart Show', 'The Honeymooners', 'Get Smart', 'Dragnet'... and if you get into dramas, 'Columbo', 'Starsky and Hutch', 'Banacek', 'The White Shadow'..."

"Some of those weren't too bad."

"What about movies? Do you like the movies?"

"Some."

"What's your favorite movie?"

"I don't know. I don't usually rank things like that."

"C'mon!" prodded William.

"Well, I don't know, I guess maybe 'Casablanca'."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"That's impressive. Usually people our age don't name such a classic. I was afraid you were going to say something really stupid. But 'Casablanca' is excellent. Humphrey Bogart is as cool as it gets. And I love myself the Ingrid Bergman."

"Is it your favorite too?"

"No. I mean, I really like it a lot, but I don't know if it's in the top five."

"You have a top five?"

"Sure. Want to hear it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No." William smiled and sat back up in his chair. "Number five is 'Shaft.'"

"'Shaft'?"

"Definitely. It's awesome. And I'm talkin' Richard Roundtree, not that remake garbage. On my list of heroes, John Shaft comes somewhere between Van Gogh and ALF."

"Congratulations."

"On what?"

"In the history of the planet, I don't think the names Van Gogh and ALF have ever been used in the same sentence."

"Like I said, I do what I can. Okay, number four would be 'Detective Story.'"

"Never heard of it."

"It follows a cop through a day on the job while his whole world crumbles around him. Kirk Douglas is incredible. He's so intense. There are times you think he might actually explode. It's great."

"Number three?"

"'Cool Hand Luke.' Paul Newman's a prisoner that keeps escaping from jail. It's so anti- establishment. It's all about being your own man and doing your own thing. And Newman's my favorite actor."

"Two?"

"It's gotta be 'Vertigo.' I'm a big Alfred Hitchcock fan. And this is as good as it gets. Did you ever see it?"

"Sorry."

"It's somethin' special. It's a real psychological thriller type, all about love, loss, and longing. I've seen it a dozen times and it still gets me."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense..."

"'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.'"

"I didn't expect that to be number one."

"You've seen it?"

"No, I can't say that I have. But I didn't expect a Western to top the list."

"It's sort of a Western, but not really. I like to think of it as 'Starsky and Hutch' with horses. Plus it's got the best ending in movie history. And there's also the Paul Newman factor, he's great in it, so that goes a long way to making it number one."

"You know, you're a very unique individual."

"In a good way, though, right?" smiled William.

"It's not often you find someone who wants to be a serious artist, yet is still so involved with popular culture."

"Odd, isn't it?"

"Yes, somewhat."

"It's more of a gift really. So let me ask you something..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you like unique individuals?"

The room drew silent. The whirring of the dryer had stopped. Meghan smiled and stood up to check her clothes. As she flipped open the lid she glanced over her shoulder at William.

"I think so."

Not since "Get Smart Again" have three words meant so much. Her clothes sufficiently dry, Meghan began to stuff them back into her laundry bag. William waited a few seconds before daring to speak.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way..." He stopped himself and started again. "I mean, I don't want to be too forward..." Meghan continued to tend to her clothes, although she did slow down in order to make sure she heard what was coming next. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... please tell me you don't have a boyfriend."

Meghan never turned around. "I have a boyfriend."

His dread for just that response is what tripped him up in the first place. While he feared those words - "I have a boyfriend" - would crush him, William surprisingly didn't miss a beat.

"In that case, please tell me that you sleep around behind his back."

Meghan couldn't help but turn and smile at the line. It was the only reaction she gave. And William couldn't tell if it was an appreciative smile or one of disbelief. The next few seconds were deathly silent. Only the hum of the fluorescent lights and the sound of cloth rubbing against cloth could be heard. Once the last of her clothes were unloaded, Meghan carefully shut the dryer lid. She pulled the drawstring of her laundry bag shut and slung it over her shoulder.

William tried to recover. "Listen, I'm sorry... it was just a joke... I didn't mean to..."

Meghan silently brushed by him and began to make her way out of the room. Just when he was about to punch himself in the mouth, William heard her stop on the stairwell and retrace her steps. She reappeared in the doorway.

"Are you coming or not?"

With that she turned around and once again began to climb the stairs. William was momentarily stunned. Did she just say what he thought she said? After replaying the events in his mind for confirmation, he sprinted from his chair and raced after her.

Without slowing down to wait for him, Meghan called out from the flight above, "Don't forget my book."

William darted back into the laundry room, swiped the forgotten item, and was half way up the first flight when he heard her voice once more.

"And turn off the lights."

Back down the stairs. Back up the stairs. It was the most exercise he'd had in months. He was already getting woozy. Despite the significant head start, William reached their hallway in time to see Meghan unlock her apartment door. She didn't even hesitate, leaving the door wide open behind her as she continued on her way.

William felt a little uncertain about what to do next. He eased his way into the apartment. The only light was spilling from the bedroom.

"Lock the door behind you," commanded an unseen voice.

Still clinging to the 'The Great Gatsby,' William flipped the lock and then began to feel his way towards the light. Having been in the apartment the day before, he was able to make the journey without much trouble. A few feet away from his destination he heard a click and the light's intensity faded. The door was open but he stopped a step short, as if waiting for permission to enter. That permission was granted with a kiss. Gatsby hit the floor.

Meghan was the aggressor. She was in control. It was a forceful, hurried exchange. They stumbled around blindly until they both tumbled onto the bed. Even though their mouths were busy, they conducted a broken, breathless conversation.

"Do you have any condoms?" asked William.

"No."

"What should we do? Is there any place open?"

"We're not going anywhere..."

"But..."

"Are you clean?"

"What?"

"Are you clean?"

"Sure."

"So am I."

"Are you on the pill?"

"No."

"Well... maybe we should just..."

"No." That was, without doubt, the hottest thing William had ever heard in his life. "Just pull out."

"You sure?"

"I trust you."

The usual awkwardness of being with someone for the first time was overwhelmed by the sheer energy of the encounter. It was obvious from the start that it wouldn't last long. Neither seemed to want it to. This was backed up by the fact that neither one had lost a stitch of clothing more than was absolutely necessary.

"Ow..."

William slowed to ask if she was okay.

"Yeah... I think your zipper scratched my leg."

That was about it in the way of verbal communication, save for a few purred commands from Meghan to offer guidance. William did his best to oblige. It wasn't long before a decision had to be made. While it was difficult, he knew responsibility came first in such matters.

He collapsed in her arms. She held him close and gave him a kiss on the cheek. William rolled over and a thick silence hung in the air, as they both lay motionless staring at the ceiling.

Meghan turned her head to look at her new lover. "That was nice."

William returned the look. "Yeah, I liked that. I liked that a lot."

They both went back to staring at the ceiling. The comfortable rapport they once shared seemed to still be down in the laundry room. William tried to lighten the mood.

"Sorry for the mess, what with you just having done a wash and all."

"Oh, that's okay. I don't mind."

More time passed.

"Do you work tomorrow?" asked William.

"Yeah. I actually have to open."

He turned again to look at her. "Then maybe I should go..."

"You don't have to."

"No," William zipped up. "I probably should."

"Okay."

With a wet spot on his shirt still clinging to him, William slipped from the bed. Meghan sat up as he made his way around to the door. He wanted to kiss her goodbye but the whole idea somehow seemed awkward.

"Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," replied Meghan, forcing a smile.

William gave a quick nod and once again found himself in the darkened hallway, this time feeling his way away from the light. The return journey was much more complicated. He ran into the wall once and then cracked his shin off something apparently made of barbed wire and jagged glass.

"Ow!"

"You okay?" called Meghan from the bedroom.

"Sorry," said William as he continued to limp to the elusive exit. "Yeah, I just bumped by shin."

His hand felt the cold metal of the doorknob. He was out.

CHAPTER THREE

Saturday. The day after. William regained consciousness around four in the afternoon. After rushing through the usual routine, he had the immediate impulse to go knock on Meghan's door. That plan was scrapped. He didn't want to appear desperate. He wanted to play it cool. Yet at the same time he didn't want to seem uninterested. Tough call.

After considering all the options, William decided it might be best to have a planned "accidental" meeting. He'd simply wait by his door until he heard hers open, then he'd walk out and pretend to be surprised to see her. Ingenious. It was with great pride that he sat down against the door and began his vigil.

The first two hours went by rather quickly. It was the third one that seemed to drag. He found himself checking the clock in four-minute intervals. Then the phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Billy."

"What up, Norm?"

"Not much."

"I'm kind of busy at the moment..."

"I just wanted to let you know that my cousin can't give us the van for three weeks. His band is playing some out-of-town shows the next few weekends."

"The van? Oh yeah, the Big Boy. My bad. Yeah, that's cool. We can postpone things a bit. Hey, I really have to get going..."

"I was thinking we could still go scout it out tomorrow night."

"Okay, yeah, whatever. Just give me a call."

William hung up the phone and returned to his vigilant position at the door. The minutes weren't exactly falling away; each one needed a rather severe shove. It was times like these that he wished he owned some magazines. William rested his forehead on his folded arms and began studying the carpet. He should really try and fix that vacuum. Then he heard it.

He sprung to his feet and did his best to try and casually open the door. He disguised his anxiousness by staring at the ground as he stepped into the hall, as if he was in deep reflective thought over the plight of homeless leprechauns. When he finally did adjust his gaze to eye level, it focused on an unfamiliar face, an unfamiliar male face.

"Hey..." said the stranger. He was about two inches taller and appeared some fifty pounds heavier than William, meaning he was roughly the ideal weight for his height. His dark blond hair was cropped short and he was wearing a dressy black leather jacket over a dark green sport shirt and belted khaki slacks. Yes, that's right. This guy actually owned a belt.

Doing little to hide his surprise, at the man and not just the belt, William was slow to respond. He finally countered with a, "How's it goin'?"

Meghan appeared behind the mystery man. She looked amazing. Dressed with more style than William had originally given her credit, she was sporting a loose black skirt to the knees, black stockings, and a charcoal grey sweater. It was the first time William had ever seen her in anything other than jeans and a T-shirt. He liked it. He also couldn't help but notice the apprehension on her face. Fearing that the situation could get ugly if not handled properly, he decided to use a little strategy.

"So, you must be my new neighbors," he said, extending his hand to the still unidentified man.

"Actually, she is." The guy sent a relaxed point Meghan's direction. "I'm just the boyfriend."

"Oh," William offered his hand to Meghan. "Welcome to the building. My name's William."

Meghan shook his hand coolly. "Meghan."

"Nice to meet you, Meghan."

"And this is Mark."

"Hi, Mark." The two rivals shook hands. He had a firm handshake. He also wore a ring of some sort. A ring? William didn't know anyone that wore rings, although he had seen "Ocean's Eleven" about five times. That Sammy Davis Jr. could dance like a son of a bitch. "I was just on my way down to check my mail."

"We'll walk you down," smiled Mark. The threesome began to make their way down the stairs. Mark and Meghan went first. As he trailed a few steps behind, all William could think about was how he wished it were his arm around her waist.

When they reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs, Mark turned and asked, "You lived here long?"

"About two years."

"What kind of place is it? I was a bit worried about her moving in here."

"There's nothing to worry about. It's pretty quiet."

"I'm glad to hear it." Mark gave Meghan a playful squeeze. She remained silent. Mark said something else, but it didn't really register to William. Whatever it was he must not have expected a response. When they reached the main entrance, Mark spoke up again.

"It started raining." He opened the door a bit and turned to Meghan. "I had to park on the other side of the lot. Wait here and I'll bring the car around."

"Okay," she said.

"Nice meeting you, William."

"Yeah, you too."

William quit fidgeting with his mailbox lid long enough to watch Mark slice his way across the parking lot.

"He seems like a nice guy."

"He is," answered Meghan, still staring out the window at the falling rain.

"Where you guys going?"

"Just out to dinner... maybe a movie." She still didn't look at William.

Mark put the forced exchange out of its misery by pulling up to the door in a car a whole hell of a lot nicer than an '89 Pontiac LeMans. As Meghan began to leave, Mark hustled around to open up her passenger side door.

"Have a good time," offered William, even though there really wasn't much sentiment behind the words.

This time Meghan did look back. "Thanks." Then she was gone. Mark shut her door for her and waved at William as he hurried back to the driver's side. William couldn't help but return the wave. He watched their car pull away and began the long walk home.

Back in his apartment, William was trying to come to grips with the situation. He really didn't have the right to complain. After all, he knew what he was getting into. He knew that she had a boyfriend. While he wanted to be with her, he had to respect the reality of the situation. The next move would have to be hers.

He tried to occupy himself with his mail, even going so far as to read two pieces addressed to "Resident." The only letter that had his name on it was from National City Bank. It was his statement. As of September 5, he had exactly $116.32 to his name. Hard to get happy after that one.

Aside from the usual $20 ATM transactions for food and the $9 penalty for account maintenance, there was one glaring deduction of $308.37 credited to Stan Baker's Sports. It couldn't be helped. It was something that he needed. Since it had to do with his art, he figured he could write it off, if he paid taxes.

William filed the bank statement away with his other important documents, which pretty much meant he crumpled it up and tossed it in the garbage.

He sat down on the couch. What now? His thoughts returned to Meghan. He did his best to turn them away. With no other option at hand, he decided to concentrate his attention on the Big Boy. What the hell? It was better than staring at a blank canvas.

Even though it had been years since the plot was first discussed, William had no problem recalling how he felt the mission should go. He always had enormous confidence that his plan would work. Now he'd just have to figure out a way to explain it to the rest of the crew.

A map of the area was needed. He considered painting one but saw no point in breaking his creative slump on something as trivial as this. Instead he ripped out a page from the back of a hammered old notebook that he seemed to have since grade school and began sketching a rough depiction of the battlefield.

The Elby's in question was located along a business strip of I-79. Two lanes of traffic going each way, one into downtown Hadleyville and the other rolling through nearby Youngwood and all points east. During the day it was a mad free for all. But at 4:08 AM on a Sunday night, it should be ripe for the picking.

The target was flanked by businesses on either side, to the right was a Mister Donut and a Dollar Bank, to the left a Burger King. None of them would cause concern. Directly behind the Elby's was a medical building and a storage facility. They could be reached by an auxiliary road that branched off from Covington Street, which shot out from South Hadleyville and intersected I-79. This tributary allowed rear access for patrons of both Elby's and the Burger King. To the conspirators, it would be their yellow brick road.

There was only one business across from Elby's. It sold mobile homes. The rest of the space was taken up by an exit ramp that wrapped around and spun to an overpass that eventually led to Westmoreland Mall. In Hadleyville, all roads lead to the mall.

The Big Boy itself stood on the far left corner of the restaurant's front walk, facing the I-79 traffic. It was definitely exposed. Word was that it wasn't even anchored down. It was pretty much asking to be kidnapped. Bruno Hauptmann wouldn't even have needed the ladder.

The map was complete. It may not have been a work of art, but who knows? If signed, maybe someday it could fetch stacks and stacks of folding green, but now it was just a piece of tattered paper covered with crooked lines of blue ink. It would do the job.

With the rest of the details outlined in his head, William broke for some food. Since he always baked his potatoes, he'd have to start preparation a good hour and a half, two hours before he actually ate. Planning ahead was crucial. He'd generally peel three potatoes, bake them in foil, and then mash the hell out of them. He'd also fire up some rice to go with it. He only ate one meal a day, so he liked to make it a good one.

He spent the time waiting for the potatoes to cook watching Saturday Night Live. It sucked. He still watched the whole thing. Afterwards he stumbled across a showing of "The Blues Brothers." Ray Charles was getting everyone to shake their tail feathers as he started his meal.

It was now 2:12 in the AM. William was so busy listening to Cab Calloway sing the praises of Minnie the Moocher, he almost didn't hear Meghan's door close. He wasn't sure if she was alone or not. He went to the window in an effort to try and find Mark's car in the parking lot but couldn't tell for sure. He decided to go for a walk.

It wasn't uncommon for William to venture outside for a late constitutional. He liked to walk at night. It was always peaceful, nobody around to cause worry.

The sky was clear, but the ground was wet from the evening's earlier rain. The weather was still warm enough that he didn't need to bother with a coat. The ever-present flannel shirt was enough protection from the elements.

His journey was only a few steps old before he found Mark's car parked on the side of the building. Meghan wasn't spending the night alone. That realization made William want to walk even more. He winded his way out of the apartment complex, across the main road, and into the neighboring residential area.

There didn't seem to be another soul in the world. No cars passed. Few lights, if any, were on in the houses. It was dead. William felt comfortable.

His mind began to wander away from the girl across the hall. He began contemplating the lives of the people hidden away in the stone boxes. He imagined that the walls were stripped away. Would so many different individuals still choose to live in such close proximity without their man-made barriers? He tried to envision a time when they'd all be gathered around one tribal fire, a time before radio and television, before toasters and clock radios, before dental appointments and mechanic bills, a time when people truly lived together. Now, even though a few thin layers of bricks and wood were all that separated them, these people were no more a part of each other's lives than the morning weather man on channel six. Such is the existence of the modern day house ape.

The landscape itself was different than when he was a kid. The hill above the houses in question used to be lush with vegetation. Several years ago men in machines came and cleared out the hillside. They uprooted trees and leveled the ground in order to construct a new welfare office. No one questioned it. Now a whole new generation of kids didn't know that there was once a forest where the government building stands.

But that's the way change is. It happens slowly over time. The people that witness the alteration rarely take notice, while the generations that follow never doubt its existence. Every young child will now grow up thinking that the welfare office was always there. They won't even consider the workers that built it or the land that was savaged. It always was and always will be. One day something's here, the next it's gone. The world keeps spinning.

William's thoughts often drifted to the subject of religion when he was caught striding beneath the darkened heavens on a quiet night. He was raised Catholic and attended a Catholic grade school. While he strived to be a good person, William gave up on religious faith long ago. Instead, he looked at life as a meaningless, random occurrence full of disappointment and false hope. When he was a little kid he used to say prayers before he went to sleep at night. Now he drifted off watching taped episodes of "Columbo." To him, that somehow seemed like a natural progression.

If he was truly so cold in thought and emotion, why was he letting this thing with Meghan get to him? He tried to write it off as just sex. He had sex with her so naturally he'd want to have more sex with her. It was merely a physical need, plain and simple. That's why he pursued her, that's why he hated to think of her with another man, and that's why he hoped to see her again. It was physical. That's all. Honest. At least that's what he was trying to convince himself.

His internal conflict was interrupted by a distant noise that called him back to real life. It was the far off rumbling of a locomotive. Hadleyville was somewhat famous for its connection to trains. The town used to be big in the rail industry in the early 1900s, with coal passing through its borders on a routine basis. Travelers knew the city as a stopover on the way to Philadelphia. While not many people rode the rails anymore, supply trains would still run through town most every night. They'd roll at all hours. Unless you lived in the immediate vicinity of the tracks, their passage went relatively unnoticed. Although, William did recall his grandfather once telling him that the nocturnal schedule of the trains was the main reason he and his wife had seven kids.

The train soon left William to his silent world. He spent the walk home kicking the same rock. When he reached the driveway to his apartment complex he deposited his traveling companion with the other gravel and flew solo the rest of the way. As he trudged around the final bend in the trail he could see that there were no lights on in Meghan's apartment. This somehow came as a disappointment to him, as if he thought Mark and Meghan would stay up all night debating whether or not the Rebecca years of "Cheers" were equal to the storied Diane Era.

A few hours later he was falling asleep, still trying to convince himself that he really didn't care for her. In the background, Peter Falk was asking, "One more thing..."

CHAPTER FOUR

William slept until close to eight in the evening on Sunday. If Meghan had tried to contact him he certainly didn't hear it. Norm eventually called and the two agreed to scout the Big Boy.

Norm arrived at William's around 11:30. They sat around and watched TV until about 2:00 AM. As expected, the city was sleeping. They didn't even pass another car during the brief six-minute drive to Elby's. They followed the course William had planned for the theft, traveling through South Hadleyville and taking the back street off Covington to arrive behind the restaurant. They pulled into the rear entrance and parked in the back of the lot.

As they got out of Ol' Blue, another car finally made an appearance. But it just kept on trucking down I-79 and headed into town. Everything else was clear.

They walked rather cautiously up to the front of the restaurant, as if any moment a SWAT team would descend from the roof and put an end to their dreams of glory. But there was no SWAT team. No police cars. No people at all. Only the Big Boy.

He stood about six feet tall from toe to hamburger. His red-and-white checkered overalls were straining against his chubby midsection. The lights from the parking lot gave a sense of animation to his grinning facade, eyes dancing with defiance, rosy cheeks full of glow. The challenge was real. He was right there before them, and he was real.

"Let's see if we can lift him," suggested Norm.

William gave the base a quick inspection. It was positioned in a row of shrubs and flowers in front of the main walkway that was set off by railroad ties. It was resting only on bark and soil. "It doesn't seem to be bolted down or anything."

They each grabbed one side of the roughly four-by-four square base. Surprisingly, it felt like the same material used to make the red plastic snow sleds of their youth. They both secured a grip.

"Ready?" asked William.

"Yeah."

Expecting the weight to be much greater, they almost lost control of the Big Boy as they easily lifted him from his perch. Once they regained balance of their burger-toting buddy, they looked at each other with a sense of disappointment. It was supposed to be harder than this.

"Okay, let's put him down," said William.

They gently lowered him into his original position and stepped back to admire him once more.

"I thought it would be heavier," said Norm.

"Yeah, so did I. And you think we'd at least need some bolt cutters or something."

"Yeah."

"It's almost going to be too easy."

They started back towards the car, turning on more than one occasion to steal another glimpse of their prize.

"I guess we shouldn't complain," said William, leaning up against the driver side door and resting his arms on the roof of Ol' Blue. "It'll be a piece of cake. Or, if you prefer pie, a piece of pie."

"There's nothing to it but to do it."

"Well said."

Another car passed. Except this one was different. It had lights on the roof.

"Rollers," warned Norm.

They both stood their ground and watched as it slowly headed towards town. William, feeling somewhat surprised by the fact that the cop didn't stop to see what they were up to, opened his door. "Let's skate."

They exited the way they came, sliding out the back entrance and heading through South Hadleyville.

"I thought for sure he'd stop," said William.

"Yeah."

"That's the one thing that could fuck us up, if a cop just happens to wander by."

"But how many cops do you think are working at night in Hadleyville?" asked Norm. "Two? Three tops?"

William hesitated for a moment before he answered. He squinted at the headlights coming his way. "You mean besides that one."

That would be police car number two. It was heading back towards Covington Street.

Norm turned in his seat to watch the squad car disappear out the back window. "You think it was the same one?"

"Could be."

"He's probably going to circle back and see if we're still there."

"Maybe."

"I still don't think it's anything to worry about. I say we just take our chances. Roll the bones."

"I'll come up with something to limit the potential danger. But I really don't think we'll have any problem getting the Big Boy. We should be in and out within a minute. The tricky part will be unloading it at the Court House."

The Court House was the epicenter of Hadleyville. It was positioned dead smack in the middle of Main Street. Hadleyville was nowhere near the thriving metropolis it once was, but Main Street was still the heart of the city.

The downtown area wasn't flat. Picture it as a long mound of earth with three major roads, all running north and south along the length of the hill. If one started at the bottom of the Eastern side and began to climb, about half way is Maple Avenue. Maple was most famous for housing the YMCA. It also had a parking lot or two. No real cause for fanfare.

Main Street would be at the very summit. This was where all the action was. At the South end of Main was the Police Department and City Hall. At the North end were two grade schools (one Catholic, one public), a church, a synagogue, and the Museum. In between were scores of small businesses, two banks, and, of course, the Court House. Since it was the widest road in town, traffic ran both ways.

Half way down the other side of the mound would be Pennsylvania Avenue. It had its own share of businesses to go along with the Library and the Post Office. It was the second busiest street in town, despite traffic only going one way, north to south.

Two relatively important streets, Otterman and Pittsburgh, intersected these three major thoroughfares. Otterman was two lanes running east to west, while Pittsburgh was two lanes running west to east. These five streets - Main, Maple, Otterman, Pennsylvania, and Pittsburgh carried the pulse of Hadleyville.

"What do you think would be the best route?" asked William. "Should we just roll right up Main?"

"That could work."

"The only problem is we wouldn't want to be exposed too long. I mean, if you're at the one end of Main you can practically see all the way up to the top of the hill."

"True."

"Maybe it would be best if we came up from underneath."

"By the Palace Theater?"

"Yeah, what is that?"

"North Main?"

"No, dude, North Main is just the top part of Main. It's the same street. I'm talking about the one that crosses Main."

"South Main?"

"Okay, the same thing I said before, but in reverse."

"I don't know what it's called."

"Well, let's just call it Bob."

"How about Harvey?"

"Fine. Anyway, if we come up that street..."

"Harvey."

"Yeah, if we come up Harvey it would give us cover, we could see the length of Main to make sure things are all clear as we're crossing, then we could pull over on the downhill side in the cover of the Court House, unload the Big Boy, and split. Plus, that street..."

"Harvey."

"...is just one way. So we'd only have to worry about cars coming from behind us when we're unloading him."

"Are we just going to leave him on the sidewalk?"

"I don't know. I guess it depends how much time we think we have."

"It would be cool to lean him up against the lamppost on the corner. Make him look like a male prostitute."

"I could see that."

Ol' Blue weaved its way through town until it reached the bottom of 'Harvey' Street. They cruised up the slope, crossed Main with no cars in sight, and then pulled over on the backside. They waited a good thirty seconds to account for the time it would take to drop off the Big Boy, then pulled away.

"Oh yeah, that'll work," said William.

"Definitely," agreed Norm.

They were back in front of William's apartment building by a quarter till three. William took solace in the fact that Mark's car was no longer present. He couldn't bring himself to check when they first left, but finding it missing was the highlight of his day.

"All right then, dude," began William as he headed to his building door. "I guess there's no reason to have the meeting Tuesday if we can't get the van right away."

Norm slowly shook his head in agreement.

"Keep after your cousin. Once you get a definite date for the van we can reschedule. Can you call everybody and tell 'em?"

"Sho."

"You the man." William paused, searching for a way to end the evening on a high note. "We got a lot accomplished tonight, though."

"Yeah. Definitely."

"We're gonna make it happen."

"Yeah."

William opened the door to his building and flipped a quick wave with his right hand.

"Asta lavista."

"Tommy Lasorda."

That particular goodbye was a bit they picked up from "Welcome Back, Kotter." It didn't make much sense, but Vinnie Barbarino said it, so that made it cool as hell. A few summers ago, William and Norm used to watch marathons of Gabe Kotter and the Sweat Hogs on Nick-at- Nite. After one such occasion, Norm's car wouldn't start. It had something to do with it being out of gas.

So at two in the morning the duo went to a nearby Uni-Mart to fill up a gas canister. The lone employee thought it was kind of peculiar that two kids would be getting gas in a container at that time of night.

"You guys aren't going to burn anything down, are you?" asked the man with a "Felix" nametag pinned to his red-and-orange-striped uniform shirt.

With the wisdom of Barbarino still rattling around his skull, Norm replied, "What?"

William nearly lost it.

Felix asked again. "Why you need the gas?"

"Where?"

William did lose it.

Felix turned out to be a good guy. They had plenty of chances to get to know him, since it took three trips to the station before Norm's car would start. The sad thing is that Norm again ran out of gas in front of William's house only a few weeks later. Felix wasn't on duty that night.

It was just that sort of thing that had William willing to take part in the Big Boy heist. He somehow felt he owed Norm for all the past memorable moments they had together. If that meant risking arrest for a completely juvenile act, then so be it. It was all part of the game. And there wasn't much time left on the clock.

CHAPTER FIVE

Monday started the same as every other day. No shock there. But one thing was different. William felt the desire to paint.

He carried his easel out to the living room. The same blank canvas from all the past weeks still mocked him. This time he was ready to answer the challenge. He selected his weapon of choice; a thick-bristled brush loaded with hunter green, and prepared to strike.

Was that the phone? The brush was still poised in the air as he carefully listened for the phantom ring. No, apparently not. Must have been his imagination. It was time to work.

Did he remember to turn off the bathroom light? Not wanting to waste electricity, William double-checked. The light was off. But it was better safe than sorry. He returned to the easel. The assault on the canvas was about to begin.

Maybe he should change shirts? He was wearing his favorite T-shirt. It featured a depiction of the cover of Nirvana's In Utero album. The shirt was pretty wrecked and was doing little to conceal its advancing age, but he still didn't want to get paint on it. He put the brush down and peeled off the shirt. Underneath was another white T-shirt advertising Busch beer. He couldn't remember how he came to own it. He didn't even drink beer. Someone must have given it to him.

William always dressed in layers. Not only did it create the illusion that he was more substantial, his poor circulation made it a necessity in order to keep warm. He tossed the Nirvana shirt on his mattress. Now was the time to paint. He was ready to paint.

He walked defiantly towards the canvas and pushed his chair out of the way. Placing his right foot in front of his left, he widened his stance and struck a powerful pose. Still focused on the empty scene in front of him, he reached down with his right hand and drew the still waiting brush before him. He took a deep breath. The time was at hand. Almost.

There was a knock at the door. Apparently the governor reconsidered his case.

"Thank Don Knotts." William often used the name of the googly-eyed sitcom star in place of a supreme being. He quickly set down the brush. It was rare for him to receive unexpected guests, but he wasn't about to complain. While always prudent to check the peephole in such circumstances, William never did. He always half-wished some maniac would try to rob him. At least it would be exciting. He swung the door open without even a "Who's there?"

"I think we need to talk."

It was Meghan.

"Sure," said a somewhat-startled William. "Come on in."

Her determination was clear in her demeanor. She meant business. Yet at the same time she couldn't help but be taken aback by the rather ramshackle appearance of William's apartment.

"Wow," she said, absorbing the surroundings. "I like what you haven't done with the place."

"Yeah, I'm going for that condemned look." He motioned to the couch. "Want to sit down?"

"No, I think I'd rather stand." William wasn't sure if her decision was based on her current mood or the condition of his sofa. He wasn't about to ask. Meghan noticed the easel and the brush still packed with fresh paint. "You weren't painting, were you?"

"I was just about to start."

"I'm sorry," apologized Meghan. "I could come back later..."

"No, no, it's okay. Please, stay."

Her arms were folded in front of her, giving a sense of control. This was betrayed by her closing her eyes in an effort to gather her thoughts. William stood a few feet in front of her with his hands in his pockets, feeling grateful for just being in the same room with her again.

"I'm sorry, I'm just not really sure how to start," she admitted.

"That's okay. No pressure."

"I just want to let you know that I really do like you."

"Thanks."

She seemed to be waiting for something else.

"Oh," William picked up the clue. He gestured to her with his left hand. "And I really like you, too."

"And what happened the other night was nice..."

"I agree."

"Wait, don't mess me up."

"Sorry."

"What was I saying?"

"That the other night was nice."

"Okay. Yeah, the other night was nice. I'm glad it happened. But it was wrong."

William felt like saying something but kept quiet.

"I mean, the act itself wasn't wrong. But the emotions... wait, no, the feelings behind the other night weren't wrong. But the act itself was. Know what I mean?"

William hesitated, not sure if he should answer. Since she didn't seem ready to say anything else until he did, he took that as his cue.

"Yeah."

"I mean I shouldn't have let it happen," she turned and began to pace. "As much as I wanted to, I shouldn't have let it happen."

"Because of Gary?"

She turned to look at William. "Who?"

"Your boyfriend."

"His name's Mark."

"Sorry."

She went back to pacing. "Yes, because of Mark."

William watched calmly as she continued to wear a groove in the floor.

"How serious are you guys?" he asked.

"Pretty serious." She came to a halt staring at the door with her back to William. "I just didn't mean for any of this to happen. My life was already planned. But you were so nice about the car... and you're a vegetarian... and you're an artist..."

"Hey, that's three for me."

She turned to face him. "And you make me laugh..."

"You know, listening to you I can almost forget why I hate myself."

Meghan smiled.

"Listen," continued William, "I can sort of understand how you feel. Believe me, I wasn't expecting to find the girl of my dreams across the hall. Up until two weeks ago a rather foul- smelling truck driver lived there."

"That explains the bedroom carpet." She paused. "You really mean it?"

"Oh yeah, that guy was a slob. I hardly saw him, but when I did he was always..."

"No," interrupted Meghan. "The part about me. Did you mean it?"

"Well... yeah, I guess... so long as you want me to mean it. I don't want to, like, scare you or anything."

"No... I... I just don't know what to do."

"We don't have to rush into anything. With the stuff I have planned it would probably be better if I wasn't involved with anyone. It would just be easier to commit to my art. Don't get me wrong, I'm willing but..."

"I think I just need some time to think."

"That's fine."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"It's not a problem. Honest. I understand."

"So we're agreed?

"Sure."

"We'll just take some time to think things over and then maybe..."

"Maybe."

With that she turned and slowly began to make her way to the door. William was still. He remained silent as he heard the doorknob turn. He had to let her go. He had to.

She opened the door a crack and hesitated. William awaited her next move with anxious anticipation the likes of which he hadn't felt since the conclusion of Starsky and Hutch's two- part Las Vegas adventure.

The door closed and she was once again in his arms. It wasn't long before they were on the floor.

"Are you sure we should do this?" he asked, looking up at Meghan. "I thought we were going to take some time to think?"

"This will give us more to think about."

"Fair enough. Wait, I still don't have any condoms."

"It's okay, I brought one."

"You brought one?"

"Well, two actually."

CHAPTER SIX

It had been two days since he saw her. Two days spent holed up in his apartment. The hours weren't just killed, they were dragged to an alley and shot in the back of the head.

Tuesday followed the usual pattern. He woke up and watched a stream of reruns and old movies. Then came Letterman, O'Brien, and a string of Nick-at-Nite viewing. The day wasn't a total waste. "Latka the Playboy" was the night's selected Taxi episode. William considered it the single greatest example of comedy in television history. Watching Andy Kaufman at the height of his performance art as he slipped into the skin of Latka's playboy persona, Vic Ferrari, was a truly transcendental moment. William knew the show by heart. It was the prize of his collection. He actually had it recorded on two different tapes. Safety first. But he never missed an opportunity to catch another airing. He cherished it like some do old family photos.

Wednesday saw William leave his residence. While he never made it completely outside, he did trek down to the foyer to check his mail. He thought he heard it raining outside but when he reached the building's front door the skies were clear. Great. Not only was he a self-loathing antisocial, now he was hearing things. A feeling of relief set in when he decided the onset of insanity would make his life more interesting. Then again, so could a letter from Mark Lynn- Baker, star of the hilariously funny late 80's sitcom "Perfect Strangers." Alas, there was no letter from Mr. Lynn-Baker, just a few random advertisements. Oh, Cousin Larry, why must you be so cruel?

William shoved the sorry excuse for mail back into the box and returned up the stairs empty- handed. When he reached the third-floor landing, he once again heard the mystifying tapping sound. It became louder the closer he got to Meghan's door. He gently pressed his left ear to the painted steel barrier. The noise was definitely coming from inside her apartment. After initially fearing that she was sending some sort of distress signal through Morse Code, the mystery's solution came to light. The staccato machine gun rhythm was that of typing. Meghan's bout with writer's block was apparently a thing of the past. Good for her.

William slipped back into his apartment and started anew his fierce regiment of television viewing; another movie (Hitchcock's "Shadow of a Doubt"), more Letterman, more O'Brien, and more Nick-at-Nite. The Taxi syndication cycle was at its zenith. "Jim the Psychic" followed the previous night's opus. It featured everyone's favorite downtrodden cabbie, Alex Rieger, trying to survive a prediction of doom dreamt by good ol' Reverend Jim. Life was bliss, for at least a half hour.

There were no good movies on Thursday evening. Something would have to fill the void. The canvas remained silent. He sat on his couch and stared at it, trying to find a meaning to spoil its dignity. There was none.

An hour passed and he was still barren. Something had to be done. He couldn't wait any longer. The more he put it off the harder it would be. It had to be now. William rose to his feet. He approached the canvas with a sense of purpose. Then, before he could even pick up a brush, the motivation vanished. He beat a hasty exit stage right.

He found himself outside in the hall trying to regain his composure. He actually felt out of breath. There was a light coming from under Meghan's door, but that was all. The rapid fire clicking was absent. He frantically stared back and forth between the two doors as he considered his options. A return to his place seemed a sure death sentence. He spun and placed a desperate knock for help.

Meghan's eyes lit up when she saw him. "Hey!" She brushed her hair behind her ear, as she was wont to do, and took his left hand in hers. "Come on in!"

William wasn't expecting such a warm response. He was equal parts relieved and confused. He happily allowed her to lead him into the apartment. She was practically glowing.

"I'm sorry I haven't talked to you the last couple days. Here, sit. You want anything to drink?"

"No, that's okay," answered William, still a bit overwhelmed at the sheer energy she was radiating. It seemed as if someone's mommy had given her too much money for the candy machine.

"Like I said, I'm really sorry," continued Meghan as she poured herself a glass of ice water. "I meant to stop over and see you but I've just been so busy I lost track of time."

"No problem."

"It's just been incredible!" She danced her way back into the room and sat down in the swivel chair in front of her still whirring computer, spinning the seat around to face William on the couch. "I've been typing nearly nonstop since the last time we were together. Your timing was great, I was just about to take a break. I don't know what it is, but it's just flowing. I wrote twenty-one pages yesterday! Twenty-one! I've never written that much before in one day!"

"That's great. I'm glad to hear it."

"It's just a wonderful feeling to be writing again. The words are just coming to me. It's almost unconscious. And it's all making sense. For the first time, the entire plot is making sense. There are no more uncertain areas. I realize exactly where I want to take it!" She highlighted her jubilance by playfully spinning around in her chair. "The creative process can be so liberating, don't you think?"

He could do no more than smile and gesture with his hands in silent agreement. Seeing her so happy was a joy unto itself. William couldn't help but sit there in amazement at her unbridled exuberance.

Her hyper pace slowed for a moment. She leaned forward. "It's really great to see you again." William didn't know what to do so he just kept smiling. "I'm sorry! Listen to me, could I be any more self-absorbed? How are things going with you?"

"Oh, they're going."

"Have you been painting?"

"Not really. I'm kind of experiencing my own slump at the moment."

Meghan sat up in her chair. "Aw, I feel terrible. Here I am going on and on about my... and you're..."

"No, don't worry about it. I'm happy for you. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, I just came over because I was looking to get away from it for a bit. But if you're working I don't want to mess you up."

"No, don't be silly. Besides I'm way ahead of schedule anyway. So, what, did you just want to talk?"

"Yeah, talking would be great. I like to talk."

"You want to go get a drink somewhere?"

"I don't know, I'm not a real big drinker." They both stared at each other while trying to think of another idea. William offered a half-hearted suggestion. "You feel like watching a movie or somethin'?

"No, not really. I think I'm a little too revved up to sit still for any length of time."

They both began to look around the room for inspiration. After a significant lull, Meghan chose to confront the obvious. "You want to..." she punctuated the shy proposal with a slight nod towards the bedroom.

William's response was a lightning quick "Okay."

As she did just moments before, Meghan cheerfully grabbed his hand and once again led him where he wanted to go. With this being their third time together, both parties were much more comfortable with one another. Yet Meghan was still on such a creative high that she remained in the role of the aggressor. William had all he could do to just try and keep up.

They finished with her on top. And unlike in the past when orgasm seemed to signal the end of the encounter, this time she curled up beside him and gave no sense of wanting to leave.

"I feel so alive," she proclaimed with a rather girly lilt.

"And that's good?"

She sat up and straddled him once more, still wearing the beaming smile that had been a constant since she first opened her door. "Of course it's good! It's wonderful! C'mon, let's go again!"

"You gotta give me a minute. You know I'm frail."

She leaned forward and kissed him before returning to her upright position. William took both her hands in his and just stared up at her with profound appreciation.

"What?" she laughed.

William cracked a smile. "You're so beautiful."

Meghan blushed a moment and then kissed him again, only this time she didn't bother to sit back up. She rolled into the crook of his left arm and came to rest. William kissed her on the top of the head and held her close.

"You know I still don't really know that much about you."

"What do you want to know?" asked Meghan.

"Were you born in Hadleyville?"

"No, I grew up in Jeannette." Jeannette was a neighboring town that was known for little else than having a 7-11 that served both Slush Puppies and Slurpies. That's a rare combination indeed.

"So you're a Jeannette girl?"

"Through and through."

"In that case I'll talk very slowly."

"Hey!"

"Aw, I tease in fun. But did you hear about the fire at the Jeannette library? It was terrible. They lost both books."

"Very funny."

"I'm not saying Jeannette is small, but you have to leave town just to change your mind."

"Any more?"

"Just one. I hear that everyone in Jeannette is scraping the paint off their houses. It's not that they don't like the colors, they just thought the town could use the extra room."

"I take it you were born and raised in Hadleyville?"

"And proud of it. In the world of mediocre, pathetically hopeless cities, Hadleyville is king. So when did you climb on board the bandwagon?"

"I went to school at Pitt at Hadleyville."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"I know some people that go to Pitt at Hadleyville. You ever heard of a kid named Lou Wilson?"

"No, can't say that I have."

"Sean Frye?"

"Sorry."

"It's probably for the best. So you moved into town just to go to Pitt at Hadleyville?"

"Yeah."

"That's kind of odd, isn't it? I mean, it's not that far from Jeannette."

"A friend of mine was getting an apartment in town and needed a roommate. Besides, I really wanted to get out on my own."

"I could see that. So you graduated with a degree in...?"

"Liberal Arts with a focus on Creative Writing"

"How do your parents feel about you going to college for four years and then still working at the Barnes and Noble full time?"

"They know I want to write my book. And I support myself, so there's not a whole lot they can say. Where did you go to school?"

"I went to high school at Salem, but I never made it to college. I'm not that bright."

"You just didn't want to go?"

"I'm not big on the school. I knew I wanted to be an artist. Going to school wasn't going to help me any. You're either born an artist or you're not. Those that can do and those that can't go to school. No offense."

"None taken. Did your parents give you a hard time?"

"If you don't mind I'd rather not talk about my parents at the moment."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are they a sore subject with you?"

"No, not at all. It's just I don't like to think about them when I'm not wearing pants. It's a personal rule I have. And I must enforce it."

"Okay."

"We'll talk about them some other time, but right now we're all about you. I want to talk about you. Like, why'd you move in here?"

"I was living downtown but they kind of wanted to demolish the building."

"Wow, sort of like 'Bosom Buddies.'"

"I don't know what that means."

"That's my bad. I forgot you're television impaired. 'Bosom Buddies' was an obscure early 80's sitcom starring Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari."

"Tom Hanks used to be on TV?"

"Yeah, he had to start somewhere. It's not like he could just jump into films like 'Bachelor Party' and 'The Man with One Red Shoe' without first paying his dues. Anyway, they played best friends and roommates that worked at an advertising agency, which accounts for the 'Buddies' portion of the show's title."

"Fascinating."

"It gets better. When their apartment building got torn down, they couldn't find another place they could afford until a co-worker and friend of theirs told them that there was an available place where she lived. Except the catch was that she lived in a hotel for women."

"Uh oh."

"Exactly. So with no other choice, they began dressing up like women in order to live there, which accounts for the 'Bosom' section of the title. Because, you know, women have breasts."

"No!"

"But not only does 'bosom' mean breast, it can also mean 'cherished.'

"You don't say."

"No, it's true. I looked it up. So not only were they close, cherished friends, but they also wore fake breasts, giving the title, 'Bosom Buddies,' a wickedly clever double meaning."

"Plus, 'Breast Buddies' really wouldn't sound good."

"Yeah, that might be a tough sell."

"And the point of this history lesson?"

"Well, you said your old apartment building was being torn down, so naturally my first thought was of 'Bosom Buddies.'"

"So that's how your mind works, huh?"

"Pretty much. I always associate things with television. Like, one time when I was a little kid I was watching Mr. Rogers and eating a grilled cheese sandwich. And there was a deaf guy on the show that day. So now whenever I see a deaf person, I automatically think of Mr. Rogers and grilled cheese sandwiches."

"Isn't there like a psychological term for that?"

"So you're saying I'm nuts?"

"No, that specific process of remembering things has a name. Is it just association? Or layering? Does layering sound right?"

"I don't know. I didn't go to college. Remember? From before?" She gave him a shot to the ribs. "Aw, c'mon, I'm fragile..."

"I want you to stay tonight."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She slipped her way back on top of him. "Unless you don't want to..."

"Oh, I want to. But I'm just a little worried. Well, not worried really..."

"About what?"

"About our situation in general... and how I fit in with Carl."

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend."

"His name's Mark."

"Well, don't you think that's something we should probably talk about?"

"Later."

"You don't want to talk about it now?"

"No."

She really had a way with negative responses. Just call him Charlie Two Times. Afterwards, despite the intense physical activity, William wasn't the least bit drowsy, somewhat lightheaded, sure, but not sleepy. It was still just 12:34 in the AM. He hadn't gone to bed that early in years. No matter how hard he tried, it just wasn't going to happen.

He also hadn't really eaten anything yet. He was in the habit of having his one meal between one and two in the morning. So there he was lying wide-awake and hungry in a dark room with a girl he just met one week ago. There aren't that many lucky stars in the sky.

For a moment he considered sneaking back across the hall to get something to eat, and after all, "Taxi" would be coming on soon. But he simply couldn't bear to pull himself away from her. And it wasn't just because she fell asleep on his left arm. It was more than that. For the first time in his life he didn't feel quite so alone. He felt whole. He felt as one. But he still didn't feel tired.

He figured if he just kept his eyes closed long enough he'd eventually drift off. His eyes opened and found the glowing red digits of a clock on the nightstand to his right. They read 12:56. He closed his eyes again. He made a game of it. He tried to see how long he could keep his eyes shut, and then he attempted to beat that time. The game was halted when he realized just how lame it was. Although, he did last 14 minutes on one occasion and momentarily entertained the thought of turning pro.

It was now 2:34. He began to recite in his head the original 43 episodes of "Columbo." He memorized them as most kids learn their state capitals. He had broken the episodes down into one easy to remember number: 73322213322322222. It was diabolical, really. There were seven episodes that featured women as the killer, three that starred Jack Cassidy, three Robert Culp, two Patrick McGoohan, two Robert Vaughn, two with a Star Trek connection (Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner), one with TV hero Dick Van Dyke, three that involved political crime of some sort, three involved food, two music, two art, three had other notable guest stars (Robert Conrad, Ray Milland, George Hamilton), two took place outside the United States, two involved buildings, two involved really smart people, two were wild cards that didn't fit in any other category, and the last pair was made up of the final two episodes of the series. It's just that simple.

He tested himself until he could rattle off the entire string three times without error. He checked the clock. It was 3:36. What the hell? One more time just for fun.

By now his left arm was completely dead. Maybe one day, after extensive rehabilitation, he would be able to regain a full range of motion. He didn't care. He wasn't about to ask her to move.

The drapes on the window were open. The combination of streetlights and a partially luminous moon allowed him to see into the residential neighborhood across the way. It was a good bit off in the distance, and he didn't recognize it at first since it wasn't the standard angle from which he usually viewed it, but the scene did create somewhat of a diversion.

The available light carved out a small patch of a distant hill from the veil of darkness around it. He concentrated on the highlighted area, counting a grand total of two cars in his hours of vigilance. He tried to make up background stories for the drivers. Where were they going at this time of night? Maybe they were heading home from an evening on the town? Maybe they just worked strange hours? Or maybe there was a medical emergency of some sort? One thing was for sure. This would have made the most boring television show in the history of the planet. No, wait a minute. He suddenly remembered that one episode of "Welcome Back, Kotter" that tried to create a spinoff for the Horshack family. Now that was brutal. William always considered Horshack like cheap wine; a little bit is okay, but too much and you'll wake up in a pool of your own vomit. Graphic, but accurate.

It was a little after seven when William finally found slumber. The next time he opened his eyes it was 10:27. He could hear the shower running. He tried to roll over on his right side and go back to sleep but his left arm stayed behind. After a few futile attempts to swing it over on its own, he was forced to grab it with his right hand and pull it into place.

He was just about to doze off again when he heard the shower stop. He rolled over and tried to rub some strength into his eyes with the heels of his palms. He took one of the CDs from the nightstand and used it as a mirror to give himself a quick once-over. Wow, he needed sleep.

"Hey," smiled Meghan, as she walked into the room still drying her hair with a towel. "Did you sleep well?"

William could barely keep his eyes open. "Oh, I slept like a log. In fact, I woke up in the middle of the night and found myself in the fireplace."

"That was terrible."

"What do you want? It's early."

And there she was looking so clean, looking so pure. She stood over him with her head tilted to one side as she continued to rub the dampness from her hair. She looked remarkable. How could she look so damn good this early?

"You look beat," she said, tossing the towel on the foot of the bed.

"I'm not used to these strange hours. This is about the time I usually go to bed."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So you're basically nocturnal?"

"No, heights really don't bother me."

Her smile got wider. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"A little bit... little bit." He tried to push himself up but his left arm gave out and he slumped to the side.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

"You sort of slept on it."

"Aw, I'm sorry." She climbed back into bed and began to massage some feeling back into the lethargic limb. "And you were awake all night?"

"Pretty much."

"Why didn't you tell me to move?"

"That's just the kind of guy I am."

"That's sweet." She kissed him on the cheek. "Does that feel any better?"

"Not really, but keep doing it."

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

He started to sit up to leave. "Yeah, maybe that would be best..."

"No, it's okay. Stay here as long as you want. It's no bother."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll just be out there trying to write." She got up and closed the drapes on the window. "Just let me know if you need anything."

"I'll be fine."

"Okay, well, good night, I guess."

"Thanks."

She gave a little wave and then gently closed the door behind her. Usually once William was up, he was up. But three hours is kind of silly.

As William tried to catch up on some needed rest, Meghan resumed the assault on her keyboard. The words were once again pouring forth without much effort. The past two days were no fluke. The writer's block was officially gone. Usually there was at least a warming up period where she'd go over her previous night's work and ease her way back into the flow. But on this day she just sat down and immediately picked up where she left off. She woke up with an abundance of creativity and wasted little time in transferring it to the screen.

Even though to her it only seemed like minutes, a few hours had passed when she heard a knock at her front door. She wasn't expecting anyone. She saved her file, shrunk down the program, and approached the door with a great deal of curiosity, thinking 'Wouldn't it be funny if it was Mark.' She gave a peek through the peephole. It was Mark. And it wasn't funny.

She didn't know what to do. Should she pretend she wasn't home? Should she go wake William? Both options were dashed by another knock and an "It's me."

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi!" she smiled, trying to fake sincerity. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey," he gave her a kiss and entered the apartment, even though he had to go in sideways to get around her. He casually made his way to the kitchen and began pouring himself a glass of water. "I had to come back home to pick up some disks, so I figured I'd swing by and see if you've had lunch yet."

Meghan reluctantly closed the door as she ransacked her brain for a way out. "Um, no, I haven't."

Mark leaned up against the refrigerator and took a drink. "So you want to go out somewhere?"

"Okay. Yeah, that'll work." She nervously gestured to the bedroom. "Just... just let me go change clothes."

"You look fine."

"No, these jeans are awful. I'll just be a minute."

Mark started to follow her back to the bedroom. "You wouldn't believe what Danny wanted me to do today..."

Meghan stopped dead in her tracks, causing him to bump into her and spill some water on himself.

"Geez!"

"Sorry."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." She grabbed his hand and started to lead him back into the living room. "I just got a new White Stripes concert the other day. Here, check it out."

She sat him down at the computer and turned the volume way up.

"Isn't that kind of loud?" questioned Mark.

"No, the louder the better." She began backing up the hallway. "You just sit there and I'll be out in a second."

Meghan, who had just raced into the bedroom, pulled the door behind her as she stepped back into the hall and hollered, "I'll be right out." Before she closed to door she popped back into the hallway as if to add something but couldn't think of what to say.

She shut the door tight and flipped on the lights. William started to regain consciousness.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" he asked drowsily through half-opened eyes.

Meghan sat down on the bed next to him and put her index finger up to her lips, which of course is the international symbol for shhhhh, and then tried to whisper a reply.

"Mark's here," she mouthed deliberately.

"Wha'?"

She attempted to further compose herself, trying even harder to clearly mouth her soft-spoken statement. "Mark is here."

"Who?" asked William, still half asleep.

"My boyfriend is here."

This time William comprehended the message. "Larry's here?" he said with some degree of panic. Meghan put her hand over his mouth in an effort to silence him and repeated her plea for shhhh.

William finally caught on and joined in on the hushed conversation. "What's he doing here?"

"He just stopped by to take me out to lunch."

"Aw, that's nice of him," said William with some admiration. "But kind of rude too when you think about it, I mean I would have at least called first."

Meghan stood up and began to undress.

William held a welcoming arm out to her. "Okay, but be quiet. He's just in the other room."

She gave him a disapproving look. "I told him I had to change clothes." She hurried to the closet and pulled out a pair of slacks and a sweater. "He might want to come back here after, so make sure you're gone when we get back."

"Yeah, okay."

William slid his way to the edge of the bed and pulled on his pants. He pushed his hands through his hair a few times and slowly got to his feet. He attempted to stretch out the kinks as he plodded towards Meghan, who was still frantically trying to don her sweater. When he reached his goal, he kissed her in an effort to calm her down. They both stood there for a moment staring at one another. He was smiling but she still wore quite the troubled expression. Just when it seemed she was completely lost, she snapped to life and kissed him. It was a hard, passionate kiss, at least until she heard the bedroom door open.

Meghan immediately broke it off and shoved William into the closet, sending him off balance into the thick row of hangers and eventually to the floor.

She snapped her head around in time to hear Mark's voice ask, "Meg, you ready yet?" through a cracked door.

"Yeah," she opened the door just enough for her to slink through and greeted him with a smile.

"That concert's really good."

"What? Oh yeah, I love it." Meghan stormed to the computer and turned off the music, doing her best to get Mark out of the apartment as quickly as possible.

"So where do you want to go?" he asked, as he opened the door for her.

"Wherever." She gestured for him to go out first. "I forgot my keys. Hold on." She streaked back to the bedroom and found William still sitting in the closet rubbing his shoulder. She knelt down to his eye level and put her hand on his knee. "Sorry. I'll be over to see you when I can."

"Okay."

She rushed back to the door and nearly forgot to pick her keys off the dresser on her way out. Mark was still waiting in the hall. "Okay, let's go." She locked her apartment door behind them with a great sense of relief.

William waited until he heard the front door's lock turn before making it to his feet.

"She doesn't look that strong," he muttered to himself, testing to see if his right shoulder still functioned. He gathered up the rest of his clothes and split.

He was in the hall before he remembered to go back and lock her door. He forgot to lock his the night before. Luckily, he didn't have much worth stealing. The TV was still there. That's all that mattered.

Dropping the loose clothing on the floor, he lumbered to the VCR and inserted a tape at random. He turned on the TV, hit play, and collapsed on the couch. Good. It was a Jack Cassidy episode.

William slept until about six in the evening. After showering and whatnot he took root on the couch and began to devour a bag of pretzels. He was thoroughly enjoying an episode of "NewsRadio" when he noticed a piece of paper that had apparently been shoved under the door earlier in the day. It was a note from Meghan that read: "Come over when you can." William ate a few more pretzels and enjoyed a cool refreshing glass of water before making the journey across the hall.

"I got your note," said William, holding the paper up as proof.

Meghan welcomed him inside. "I knocked but you must have been sleeping or something."

William cautiously looked around the apartment. "Where's Frank?"

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend."

"His name's Mark," she said with some exasperation. "He just dropped me off after lunch. He had to go back to work."

William took a seat on the couch. "And you guys aren't going out or anything tonight?"

"No. You want anything to drink or I still probably have that potato?"

"No thanks, I just ate."

Meghan sat down in her desk chair. She was sort of acting the same way she did the night she showed up at his door. William kind of knew what to expect. He tried to delay it.

"What does he do?"

"He works with computers, writing code and stuff."

"He probably makes good money, huh?"

"Yes."

"I'm not a big fan of computers myself. Kids today just have it way too easy. It's like having a big porn receptacle in the corner of your room. That's just not right. Back when I was a kid we had to get our porn the old-fashioned way, by bribing winos to go buy it for us. I'll never forget ol' Gus..."

Meghan didn't respond to the humor. She obviously had more important things on her mind, because usually any joke that includes a wino named Gus kills.

"You think now might be a good time to have that talk?" asked William.

"Yeah."

"Do you mind if I ask how long you guys have been going out?"

"We've been together off and on since our junior year in high school."

"Really? So you are serious then, huh?"

She kept looking at the floor. "Yeah."

"Have you ever talked marriage?"

"On occasion. Not all that much. But it was almost understood that one day we would."

"So you obviously care about this guy a lot."

"Yeah."

"Do you love him?"

"I thought I did." She got up and started pacing. "But we're two totally different people anymore. He's so involved with his work... and he's so... mechanical. There's really not a creative bone in his body. Just look at what he does for a living. I'd kill myself if I had to do something that monotonous every day, but he loves it. It just seems the longer we've been together the further we've grown apart. And he still eats meat. I can't tell you how much that bothers me."

"But..."

"But I still care for him. I mean, he was my first real boyfriend. And we've been together so long."

"And he still loves you?"

"I don't even think he's aware of any problems between us. I haven't talked to him about anything."

"And he treats you right?"

"He treats me wonderfully. He's just a great guy. He's honest, generous, caring, thoughtful, polite, hard-working... most girls would be thrilled to be in a relationship with him."

"From the sound of it, so would I."

"That's why I feel so terrible about what we're doing."

"I'm kind of feeling bad about it myself now."

"I just don't know what to do. I still care for him but you're so different. You're so... so... you."

"Thanks... I think."

"It was meant as a compliment."

"Well, do you want to take that time to think like we talked about before?"

Meghan sat down on the couch beside him. She took his right hand in hers and looked him in the eye. "Maybe we should."

"It's your call."

"What if we take a one-week break?"

"So we have no contact for a week?"

"Well, we don't have to like ignore each other if we run into one another in the hall or something, but I think the whole sleeping together thing should be off limits."

"For one week?"

"Yeah. And we'll take the time apart to think about where things should go from here. Are you okay with this?"

"Yeah, that's cool," agreed William.

"Like I said before, I don't want to hurt you. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"I appreciate that. And I understand. I think it'll be good for both of us to take a step back and evaluate things."

They sat there in silence trying to put the other at ease. William placed his left hand on top of hers. "I have a question, though..."

Meghan focused her attention but didn't speak. William waited a beat and continued.

"This no-sex-for-a-week thing... it doesn't start until tomorrow, right?"

"Oh, yeah, of course."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Saturday, the first day of William and Meghan's self-imposed prohibition, was for the most part uneventful. Norm did call to say that his cousin confirmed the van availability for Sunday night, October 4. That gave them two weeks to prepare for the Big Boy. It was agreed that a meeting of the conspirators would be held the next night. William spent his remaining waking hours putting the finishing touches on the plan.

It was about eight o'clock Sunday night when his guests arrived.

"Billy!"

"What's up, fellas?"

Norm, Lou, Matthew, and Dom all showed up together, with Dom carrying a case of Rolling Rock. It was brewed in nearby Latrobe, so it was sort of the official beer of all college-aged punks on the dodge.

"We brought beverages," said Dom, lifting the case for approval.

"And sloe gin," added Matthew, hoisting a bottle.

"Cool, make yourselves at home."

Everyone spilled into the room and found their niche. The cardboard was ripped open and Dom began passing out the beer.

"Billy?"

"No, that's okay."

"Is anyone else gonna want any of this?" asked Matt as he opened up his friend.

"No, that's all you," said Wilson.

"Then I guess I don't need a glass." Matt took a hefty swig and slumped back into the couch.

"So, how's it goin', Billy?" asked Dom.

"It's goin' great. In fact, if it was goin' any better I don't think I'd be able to walk."

"Whoa," said Wilson, rubbing his chin. "Sounds like someone's gettin' a little action."

"You know I'm a monk," replied William. "But how was Toad's last week?"

"Gay," shot Wilson.

"Whatever," countered Dom. "It was awesome."

"You accidentally brush up against some chick and you think it's awesome," returned Wilson.

"That was no accident. She wanted it."

"Whatever."

"Did you talk to her?" asked William.

"Yeah, I talked to her. I could have closed the deal too if wasn't for these guys bein' all gay and wantin' to leave."

"Listen to him," laughed Wilson. "You didn't even get her name."

"Names aren't important. It's all in the eyes."

"And if I recall correctly," said Wilson, "her eyes were saying that you're a dork."

"Fuck you, dude."

"That's the story of your life, Dom. Chicks, chicks, chicks... more chicks. But what happened to Toni?" asked William. "Did you guys break up?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"She fucked some guy in a cemetery!" declared Matthew, doing little to hide his delight. Norm and Wilson joined in the laughter.

"She slept with a dead guy?" questioned William with stunned disbelief.

"No!" said Dom.

"Oh, well that's a relief. How'd you find out?"

"She told me."

"Bright girl that Toni," quipped Wilson.

"She said she couldn't go back there with me anymore so I asked..."

"Wait a minute," interrupted William. "You guys used to go there all the time?"

"Yeah."

"You used to have sex in a cemetery?"

"Yeah," answered Dom, obviously not seeing anything wrong with the idea. "It's a really cool place."

"In a cemetery?"

"Yeah."

"Dude, you're fucked up!" shouted Wilson. Matt was turning red with laughter. A constant stream of merriment was emanating from Norm as well, but you really had to look at him to tell since he was sitting straight up and showing no other signs of life.

William continued the questioning.

"So, what? You did it on the tombstones?"

"No," answered Dom, as if it should have been a given. "In the grass."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm new to this whole swingin' cemetery scene. But, yeah, it does make much more sense to have sex right on top of the dead bodies."

"We weren't right on top of the bodies. We'd do it in between plots... mostly."

"Mostly?"

"There was one time when..."

William cut him off. "That's enough. I don't want to hear this."

"Toni Toni Toni has done it again!" laughed Matt, making a rare early 90s hip hop reference.

"That's what you get for dating your cousin," summarized Wilson.

"She's not my cousin!" countered Dom defensively.

"You always used to tell people she was your cousin before you started goin' together."

"We were just joking."

"Oh yeah, that old gag."

"Well at least I was gettin' some."

"It's not my fault I don't have any cousins," joked Wilson.

"All right, boys," cut William. "Settle down, settle down. Remember, we're a team here."

"With a mission," added Norm.

Dom stood his beer can up in the air, emptying its contents down his throat. He crumpled the aluminum in his hand and reached for another. "So what's the plan?"

"Well," began William, "first we're all going to try our best to get the image of Dom having sex in a cemetery out of our heads. And that's the last time I make a cemetery reference, cross my heart and hope to die."

Wilson found humor in the cheap pun. "Just make sure they cremate you. You wouldn't want to be starin' up at Dom's ass someday."

"Is that all?" asked Dom, hoping to bring the ridicule to an end.

"Yeah, that's all," said William reassuringly. "Promise. Anyway, getting back to business, I think I've got a foolproof plan."

"You're gonna need one with Dom around," cracked Wilson.

"Fuck you, dude."

"Norm, did you tell 'em we scouted it out?" asked William, guiding things back on course.

Norm thought for a moment before answering.

"No."

"Okay, well, me and Norm went out last Sunday night and checked things out. It should be a milk run. The Big Boy isn't even tied down or anything."

"Did you guys try and pick it up?" asked Wilson.

"Yeah, it's light," replied Norm, showing some initiative.

"It's real light. It's kind of cumbersome, though, we'll have to be careful moving it, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"And you got the van?" questioned Dom.

Norm fielded another one. "Yeah. Sort of."

"What does that mean?" asked Wilson.

"He said we could have the van. But he's going to be needing it the next few weekends."

"So when can we get it?" pressed Wilson.

"October 4th."

"Then why are we here?"

"It's never too early to plan," Norm stated matter-of-factly.

"I drew a map somewhere," said William, surveying the apartment for the needed piece of paper. "It might be in the bedroom." He exited down the stump of a hallway into the room in question. "Didn't you used to have a card table?" called Wilson from the living room.

"Yeah, it's in the closet." William was searching through a pile of clothes on the mattress. He found the map underneath a mess of shirts a split second before he realized what he had just told Wilson. He made a dash for the hall closet. It was too late.

Lou had the card table leaning against his left leg and in his right hand he was holding the barrel of a shotgun that was standing on its stalk in front of him. He looked up at William as he stepped into the hall.

"Expecting trouble?" asked Wilson.

"What?" inquired Dom as he got to his feet. "Whoa, cool gun!" The word gun brought Matt and Norm running.

"No, that's not even mine," said William, casually taking the weapon by the barrel and placing it deep in the corner of the closet once more. "The guy that lived here before left it."

"Who leaves a shotgun when they move out?" asked Wilson.

William shut the closet door. "I don't know, but he did."

"You didn't tell the landlord?"

"What do I care? The guy obviously didn't want it or he wouldn't have left it. Set the table up over here," said William, directing them to the area where his easel usually stood.

"So a guy just leaves a gun?" asked Dom, going over old ground.

"Yes," echoed William as he flipped out the table legs and set it upright. "Don't ask me, dude. I didn't know the guy."

"And he never called or stopped by to pick it up?" asked Wilson.

"No."

"It just seems like that's the sort of thing you should report to somebody," said Dom.

"To who?" asked Matthew.

"I don't know."

"I'm with Billy. Fuck it. It's not his fault."

"Free gun," said Norm.

"I'll drink to that!" Matt took another hit of the gin.

"This way the Big Boy won't give us any lip," smiled Norm.

"Yeah, let's get back to business," said William, spreading the somewhat rumpled map on the table.

Wilson looked at the crudely constructed diagram. "I thought you were supposed to be an artist?"

"Hey, it'll do the job. But I guess before we get into this I should set the foundation. We'll be taking two cars. One to scout and one to actually clip the Big Boy."

"Who's going to do what?" asked Dom.

"Well, I think it's only fair that Norm and I ride in the van and do the actual theft, since it's our caper. Any problems with that?" He looked around the table and received no objections. "But we're going to need a driver. Any of you guys driven a van before?"

"I drove a U-Haul to Philly," said Wilson. "I should be able to handle a van."

"Okay." William looked to Dom and Matt. "That means you guys will be the scout team."

"That's cool," said Matt between sips.

"We're also going to need two cell phones."

All hands, save William's, reached for pockets. "Check."

"Cool. We want to hit Elby's at 4:08 AM Sunday night. So we'll meet here at around 3:30 AM to go over everything one final time. I realize it's a bit late, but it's for the best. Plus, Dom, you're used to working the graveyard shift."

Wilson took particular enjoyment in the joke. Dom even cracked a bit of a smile.

"Sorry, last one. Anyway, you and Matt will leave here at approximately 3:50 and make your way to Elby's through South Hadleyville." William followed the route on the map with his index finger. "You'll turn off Covington and head back into town on I-79. The point of this is to just make sure everything's cool and that no cops are sitting anywhere. You'll take I-79 into town and then loop around and make your way back to Elby's."

William paused a moment to make sure everyone was still following along without any trouble before continuing.

"Okay. Once you guys do your first loop through, you'll call us on Norm's phone and let us know what's up. If it's all clear, the three of us will then head out in the van. You'll stay on the phone the rest of the way giving us updates."

"You think we should talk the whole time? What if someone picks up our conversation on a scanner or something?" asked Wilson.

"Is that even possible?" questioned William. "I thought companies took security against that."

"It's possible," assured Dom, as if he actually knew what he was talking about.

"Well, I think things should be pretty safe at four in the morning, but we can take precautions," said William.

"We could use code," offered Dom.

"I was thinking more Pig Latin than anything, but really I don't think we'll need a code," said William. "We'll only talk when absolutely necessary. Like if you see a cop let us know. Otherwise keep quiet. Cool?"

"Cool."

"Okay, once you call and say it's clear..."

Matt spoke up. "What if it's not clear on the first run through, do we keep circling back?"

"Yeah."

"Won't that look suspicious if any cops are just sitting down there?"

"If they get suspicious they'll probably follow you into town, which would open up the back door for us. But we're going to work on the assumption that the scene will eventually clear."

"Okay." Matt lifted the bottle again.

"So they call and say everything's clear. Then what?" questioned Lou.

"Then we leave and follow the same South Hadleyville route to Elby's. While we're on our way, Dom and Matt will make the circuit back through South Hadleyville and down Covington onto I- 79. Except this time they'll turn left and head out of town. Dom, you'll keep truckin' until you get to the used car lot. Matt, that's where you jump ship. You take the phone and wait by the road while Dom turns around and heads back the other way on I-79. Matt, it's your job to monitor any traffic coming into town. Give us a holler on the horn if you see any rollers."

"I can handle that."

"Dom, you shoot back past Elby's by a good 200 feet and pull over. Put your flashers on and get out of the car. If you see any cops coming your way heading out of town, lay on the horn to warn us, and then flag 'em down and ask for help."

"Maybe I should pretend I'm changing a tire?"

"If you want, but you really don't have to."

"No, I think it would be good. It would give me an excuse to ask for help."

"Whatever. It's your call. Once you and Matt are in position that means two of the three routes to Elby's will be secured. The only other way a cop could get there would be from Covington, and that's the way we're coming so we should be able to keep an eye on it."

William looked around the table for any signs of confusion, but everyone seemed to be on board. All four of them were studying the map with a great deal of intensity, almost too much intensity. The scene just reminded William how lame his life really was.

"In order to avoid any other non-cop cars, we'll take the auxiliary road off Covington that runs behind Elby's. This will also give us better visibility back into South Hadleyville in case the man happens to show. The Big Boy is positioned here at the front left corner of the restaurant. Lou, you'll take the van in the back entrance, pull in tight to the side curb and then peel off so the van is headed to the front exit while the back doors are lined up with the Big Boy. Got it?"

"So I'll swing in and make like a half circle?"

"Exactly. Norm and I will then exit the van and approach the target. Norm, you hop out the back of the van and get those doors open while I come from the passenger side."

"Sweet," confirmed Norm.

"We then gently slide the Big Boy in, you hop in the back, and I shut the doors and bolt back to the passenger side. We're all in and secure and Wilson calmly leaves the parking lot. No big thing. We're there 30 seconds tops."

"I could see that," said Matt.

"Norm, the main thing is that we have to be careful with the Big Boy when we're loading him in the van. We don't want to bang him around. If we damage him, it will seem more like a crime than a joke, so we can't mess him up."

Norm provided his assurance with a simple "Yeah."

"Once we exit the parking lot we'll proceed on I-79 back into town. Dom, when you see us pass that's your cue to go back and pick up Matt."

"Got it."

"While you're doing that, we'll be getting into position to make the drop at the Court House. We'll go slow to give you time to catch up."

"Which way are we gonna go?" asked Wilson.

William flipped the paper over to reveal another map, this one of the downtown area. "We'll turn right where Big Lots used to be and go past the old lumberyard."

"The old lumberyard?" asked Dom.

"Yeah, you know, behind Offitt Field," explained William, referring to the football field used by the local high school. Interesting little fact about Offitt Field: the Homestead Grays of the Negro League actually played some games there back in the day. The immortal Josh Gibson even cracked a titanic clout clear out of Offitt and onto the roof of the lumberyard. There wasn't even a plaque to commemorate it or anything. If William's grandfather hadn't told him the story it still wouldn't exist. Yes, Hadleyville is rich with history. It's just too bad none of its citizens know about it or even care.

"That used to be a lumberyard?" asked Dom again.

"Yeah, don't you remember the big fire down there a couple years ago?" asked William.

"That was more than a couple years ago," stated Lou with some confidence, since his house was a mere stone's throw away. "It was more like 12."

"No shit?" said a stunned William.

"I was in like the fifth grade when it happened."

"Well I'll be damned," said William. "Time sure flies when you're insignificant. Anyway, that's the road we'll take and then we'll come out and go up past CoGo's and turn left onto Otterman."

Norm threw William a glance.

"I looked it up, it's Otterman."

Norm seemed somewhat disappointed.

"Wouldn't it be quicker to just stay on Main?" questioned Wilson.

"Yeah, it would, but we're trying to wait for Dom and Matt to catch up and I think it would be best to stay off Main since we'd have to drive right past City Hall."

"So which way do we go?" asked Dom.

"You guys will just follow I-79 right into town and onto Main. Matt, once you guys get there let us know and we'll start to get into position. The ideal situation would to have you guys at the far end and able to see us as we cross on Otterman. You'll be able to get a lock on all of Main and be able to warn us if you see any cops. Then we'll pull over on the downhill side of Otterman, unload the Big Boy, and split."

"Where you gonna put him?" asked Matt.

"If we think we have time, we might run him over by the main entrance," said William. "But more than likely we'll plant him on the corner so all the passing traffic can get a good look at him."

"Then what?" asked Wilson.

"We get rid of the van. We can meet back here. We'll all get into Dom's car and take a few victory laps around town, see how long it takes before someone finds him."

"We should probably bring a camera," said Dom.

"I don't know, dude. You'll probably get a shot of us unloading him or something and then the crank at Foto-Mat will turn us in," cautioned William.

"No, I'll just take a few shots of him at the Court House once we've dropped off the van. No law against taking a picture of a Big Boy at the Court House."

"Just be careful," warned William with complete fear that Dom would somehow screw it up.

"I will."

"And that's pretty much it," continued William. "Does anybody see any problems with the plan? Any questions?"

Matthew contemplated things for a moment and then voiced an idea. "Think we should maybe leave a note?"

"Like a ransom note?" asked William.

"No. Like maybe write a letter from the Big Boy saying that he just got tired of standing around all day and wanted to see the town."

"I don't know, that could be pretty funny. What do you guys think?"

"It would just be another way they could track things back to us," warned Wilson.

"How?" asked Dom with a little "you're-a-jackass" tone in his voice.

"Fingerprints, handwriting, type of paper..."

William stepped in. "I don't think they're really going to call the FBI in on this one. A note might be a nice touch. Norm?"

"Sounds good to me."

"All right," conceded Wilson," but if it turns out we get caught because of the note I'll kick all your asses."

"Matt, you want to write it?"

"Sure."

"Once we load the Big Boy, I'll just slap it on the front window on my way back to the van. No big thing. Anything else?"

"I got an idea..." said Dom.

"First one's always the hardest," snapped Wilson.

"Why don't we dress Lou up as the Big Boy. Then once you guys snag the real one, he can take his place and just stand there until they open in the morning."

"Fuck you."

"They'd never know the difference. Then you can just walk away when no one's lookin'..."

William placed his hand on Wilson's shoulder and acted as if he thought the idea had some merit. "Lou?"

Wilson just shot back a fiery stare.

"I'll take that as a no. Any other ideas? Anybody see any flaws in the plan?"

"No, I think it'll work," supported Matt.

"Norm?"

"It's all good."

"It'll work as long as Dom doesn't fuck it up," sneered Wilson.

"You don't worry about me, jerky. I've got the goods."

"You know, I've heard that about you," said William. "But don't worry, I'm sure a little penicillin will clear it right up. So listen, I guess we're done then. I think we should try a practice run next Sunday night. Go at 4:08 as planned and recreate everything exactly, except without the van. That way we'll be good to go when the time comes."

While there were a few complaints about having to be up at that late hour for nothing more than a rehearsal, everyone gave their consent. The plan was finalized.

They sat around and drank a bit more. Things eventually broke up around 12:30 or so.

The apartment was quiet. It was always kind of depressing when he'd have his friends over. One minute everything was all laughs and the next he was alone in his own world again, his own never changing world.

As is usually the case on Sunday nights, he watched "The Dick Van Dyke Show" at 1:00. It was one of the classic flashback episodes of the series, with Rob recalling how he and Laura were once held up in an elevator by a crook named Lyle Francis Delp, portrayed oh so beautifully by the caustic Don Rickles. That's good stuff. William enjoyed it immensely. Once the curtain fell on the comedic gem, William decided to go for a walk. He went for a lot of walks the next few nights.

Meanwhile, Meghan was coping with things in her own way. She worked Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, even pulling a double shift on two occasions. She figured the work would keep her mind off her problems. It worked, to an extent.

But by Monday evening it was clear she had another concern to add to the list. Her writer's block had returned. There was just nothing there. She hadn't formed a single sentence since she last spoke to William. By Tuesday night she feared there might be a connection.

She got home from work at 6:30 in the evening. She wasn't hungry. She went straight to the computer. The glowing blue screen filled with her work in progress. She read the final chapter she had written in order to get a running start into the infinite void below. Nothing happened. She sat and waited. The stagnant cursor seemed to taunt her with each pulsating blink. She would periodically flick the arrow keys back and forth in order to keep the screen saver from kicking in. It was the only time she touched the keyboard.

Her frustration mounted for the next two hours. She finally lashed out, blasting angrily from the chair and venting a short scream of disgust. She didn't know what to do. Should she go see William? It had only been three days. He'd probably think she didn't have any character at all. Then again, he did say that he was suffering through his own creative drought, so maybe he'd understand? Her hand was on the doorknob before she decided she didn't want to take the chance. Thankfully, she had a Plan B, and a phone.

"Hi, what are you doing? ... You feel like coming over? ... I just want to see you ... I know you have to work ... I know ... But you can stay here tonight ... Yeah ... Okay ... Hurry."

She sat in silence, her back to the computer, staring at the door. Mark arrived shortly before 10:00. She pulled him inside before he could even say hello. She kissed him.

"Is everything okay?" he asked with concern.

She started to force him backwards towards the hall while she unbuttoned his shirt. "Yeah, everything's great." She kissed him again.

Mark grabbed her by the arms and pulled back. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Why? Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know what it is, but I like it."

"Good." She took him by the wrist. "C'mon, let's go."

She strong-armed him into the bedroom and basically attacked him. They proceeded to make love with more intensity than they had in months. When it was over, Meghan was lying on her back staring at the ceiling. Mark was lying on his left side, propping his head up with his arm, just gazing in wonder at the girl before him.

"That was incredible."

She didn't even turn to look at him. "Yeah."

"What got into you tonight?"

She didn't hear the question. She was trying to sort things out in her head. She didn't feel any different. She didn't feel much of anything. He kissed her on the cheek and rolled over to his back. He folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes, still being the proud owner of a contented grin.

"Mark?"

"Yeah."

"What did you think about when you heard they were tearing my building down?"

"Why?" He sat up again. "Don't you like it here? You know I wanted you to move in with me."

"I know, it's not that. I just want to know what your first thought was?"

"Why?"

"I'm just curious about stuff like that. What was your first thought?"

"When I heard your building was being torn down?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I wanted to make sure you had another place to stay and that you'd be safe."

"After that."

"I guess I thought about all the other people that lived there and hoped that they'd all find new homes. Is that the right answer?"

"What about deaf people?"

"What?"

"What do you think when you see a deaf person?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I've just been reading this book..."

"Deaf people?"

She turned to look at him. "Yeah."

After giving the subject some brief consideration, he attempted a response. "Well, I guess it makes me realize how lucky I truly am that I can take something like that for granted."

Meghan looked back at the ceiling.

"Any more questions, professor, or can I go to sleep? I've got an early morning tomorrow."

"No, that's all."

He pulled her right hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Good night."

"Good night."

The room was still. After a few moments Meghan began to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" asked Mark.

"I suddenly have this craving for a grilled cheese sandwich."

She pulled on some semblance of clothes and wandered out into the kitchen. She placed a lone slice of white bread with a piece of soy cheese in the toaster oven and turned the knob to dark. She watched the top of the crust as it gradually began to succumb to the heat. The sudden clang didn't even produce a flinch. She unplugged the toaster, dropped the slightly burned product on a small plate, and took a seat at her desk.

A slight bump of the mouse brought her book back to the screen. But there was still no creative energy found in her bones. The flashing cursor seemed all the more intimidating. She slowly turned her chair away from the monitor. The front door was her new point of interest. She took a bite of toast.

Tuesday night proved to be quite the revelation for William, as well. He had heard Mark knock on her door. He watched through the peephole as she yanked him inside. He didn't really know how to feel. The whole point of this week apart was so that she could think about their relationship. William didn't really expect Mark to stay away for an entire week; after all he didn't even know what was going on. But seeing him pay a late night visit made William wonder if Meghan had come to a decision.

It was still just ten o'clock. It was too early to go for a walk. There was nothing on TV. And he didn't feel like watching Columbo. He just sat there alone in a quiet room contemplating nothing. Then it happened. His inspiration returned.

He calmly walked to the waiting canvas and began to load his palette with fresh paints. His cold, routine actions made the past few months of inactivity seem like a lie. As he packed the thick bristles of his chosen brush with black paint, his eyes ravaged the space before him. He started to get that feeling again, the tingling feeling that warmed the right side of his body when his art consumed him. Whether physiological or imagined, the sensation was unmistakable. And it had been missed.

He began to paint. He set out to cloak the entire surface in darkness. At first the strokes were quick and free but they soon became more deliberate, more punishing. He battered the canvas with chilling malice, forcing his will upon it. He went over its entire surface again and again, heaping blackness in thick coats of hostility.

Feeling that the victim had suffered enough, he dropped his weapon into a cup of thinner and stepped back to inspect the damage. He wanted to give the blood time to dry. He studied the carnage. Each heavy-handed brush stroke was visible, having left rugged scars to prove its path. The work was pure in its emotion. It seemed to scream for solace. It received another beating.

This time the bruises were left in dark blue. He pounded his way around the outer edge of the frame, allowing the fluids to mix and swirl beneath the violence.

Taking a finer brush to task, he began to add touches of morbid greys and browns. His focus would become so intense that he'd actually lose sight from time to time. It didn't matter. His hand was now being guided by some natural instinct beyond his control. He slashed his way across the canvas with each seemingly reckless slice finding its intended destination and adding to the growing monstrosity.

By now the sun had risen on a new day. William failed to notice. His adrenaline was surging. He wasn't aware of his need for sleep. And the act of painting itself was all the nourishment needed. He didn't falter. He unknowingly endured. It was time for more black.

It was shortly after noon when he put some distance between himself and his creation. It was a melancholy collage of disappointment and depression. The black overpowered the senses and forced the other colors into minor roles. Nearly the entire work was bathed in an unrepentant gloom of despair. Its mere sight stirred a painful realization in his gut. But he wasn't done.

He selected the smallest brush at his disposal. He made sure its bristles were clean and rubbed them between his fingertips to give them body. The brush was tapped carefully into the yellow of the palette. Some orange was added. The two colors were intertwined until a rich, golden hue was formed.

The previous fourteen hours had led up to this very moment. He lifted the brush and placed one solitary speck of color in the upper left quarter of the piece. While its presence was not easily apparent at first, it was there. Even if not seen at all, it was there. It served as a meaningful, if minute, ray of hope in an otherwise disturbing wasteland. The painting was complete.

Coming off such a long layoff, William found the creative process to be quite draining. He backpedaled his way to the couch, not once taking his eyes off the fruits of his labor, and crumpled into a heap on the aged foam cushions. He laid there a few moments with his attention still glued to the exquisite particle of light that dared to brave the ominous landscape. His eyes shut, but its radiance remained. He slowly drifted off to sleep, still considering its power and wondering what right he had to claim her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was Thursday night. An interesting thing happened. William had yet to turn on the TV since he finished his painting Wednesday afternoon. He had spent all his waking hours either studying the newest creation or wandering aimlessly under the night skies. That all changed with a knock at the door.

"It hasn't been a week," reminded William upon seeing Meghan.

"I know. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." He stepped aside and welcomed her, completely forgetting that the painting was still on display. "How've you been?"

"Okay." Just then she turned and saw the picture. "Did you paint this?"

"Yeah."

"Recently?"

"Yeah, I did it yesterday."

She gave him a rather ecstatic, although quick, hug. "That's great! I'm glad you're painting again."

"Here, let me get it out of the way."

"No, leave it there. I want to look at it."

"I just feel awkward showing my stuff to people."

"Don't be silly. Besides, I've already seen your stuff."

"That is true."

"Now I just want to see your painting." She stepped back to drink in the scene. "I like it."

"You don't have to say that."

"No, I really like it. It's powerful. It has such a strong presence about it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think it's great." She squinted and stepped closer.

"So you're not just saying that?"

"Of course not." Something seemed to grab her attention. "I think it's great." She moved a little closer.

William didn't really know how he felt about all this. He liked the piece. He was proud of it. But the fact that she liked it somehow meant even more to him. He just quietly stood in the background and watched as she continued to appreciate the work. He stayed motionless as she raised her left hand and placed it on the painting. It was gratifying to see her connect this way to his art. Almost as horrifying as it was to see her scratch off the minuscule gold dot of paint with her left thumb.

Her back immediately straightened. She snapped her head around in a panic and told William a fact he already knew. "That was supposed to be there." She spun back around and began to frantically search for the remains of the vanquished paint. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I'll fix it!"

William couldn't help but smile. She was so cute when she was insane. It was all so Laura Petrie.

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

"I feel so stupid." Her hands were still busy searching for a solution to her mistake. "What's wrong with me? I had no right to even touch it. I'm so sorry!"

William was now laughing quite freely. He calmly removed a brush she had grabbed and wrapped his arms around her before she could do further accidental damage.

"I don't know what I was thinking. But I guess that's the whole thing, I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry!"

"Honest. It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes I did! I ruined your painting!"

"You didn't ruin anything. It's fine."

She turned to face him. "Do you think you can fix it?"

William looked at the canvas. "There's no need to. I like it like this."

"You're just trying to make me feel better."

"No, it's better this way. It's more true to life."

She hugged him. "I feel just awful."

"Don't. You did nothing wrong. You could never do anything wrong."

"I really do like it. Now and before, either way."

"That's all I care about." He moved her over to the couch. "Here, have a seat. You want something to drink?"

"What do you have?"

William opened up the refrigerator door and peered inside. "Let's see, I've got water and water."

"I think I'll try the water."

"Good choice. You know, it's nature's beverage." He poured two glasses of ice water and joined her on the couch. She politely accepted her drink with a "thank you" and continued the previous discussion.

"But it meant something."

"What?"

"The dot. What did it mean?"

"Well, I guess it could mean different things to different people."

"Don't give me that artist talk. What did it mean to you?"

"To me it meant, and notice I'm using the past tense..."

"I said I was sorry."

"It stood for hope."

"In what? Life?"

"Yeah."

"And that's all the hope you have?"

"Pretty much."

"Now I feel even worse, I just took away all your hope."

"No, that was done a long time ago."

"Are you being serious? I can never tell when you're joking."

"Which is always the sign of a good comedian, when he has to point out the jokes. But, yeah, I'm being serious."

"That's kind of a depressing outlook on things."

"I'm kind of a depressing guy."

"Since when?"

"Since always. You just don't know me well enough yet. Deep down I'm an antisocial punk that likes to wallow in self-pity. The rest is just an act. And a damn fine one, I might add." A sip of water interrupted his smile.

"So you're really depressed?"

"Yeah, but who isn't?"

"I wasn't until just now."

"Sorry."

"You want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About why you're depressed?"

"I appreciate the offer, but no, that's all right."

"Why not?"

"Because if I talk to you about it then maybe I'd have nothing to be depressed about." He delivered the line with a disarming smile that alleviated some of her concern. He had the ability to do that to people. He had a good smile. It enabled him to change subjects with ease during such discussions of depth without anyone being the wiser. Of course, he didn't get much practice since he so rarely had any discussions of depth, but he was still good at it. "Let's talk about you. Have you been doing any writing?"

"No, not really."

"What gives?"

"I don't know." She hesitated a moment and conducted an internal debate between her brain and heart regarding what she should say next. The side arguing pro-brain lost its note cards. "I haven't been able to write a thing since the last time we were together."

"I was that bad?"

She smiled. "No, it's not that."

"Wow, then I was that good, huh?"

She laughed. "I don't think that's it either."

"Admit it. You've got it bad. I've got you turned all inside out, don't I?"

"Whatever."

"That's what I thought. But since we're on the subject, how's Pete?"

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend."

"His name's Mark."

"I should really write that down," said William as he feigned looking for a pen and paper.

"He's fine."

"I saw he stopped over the other night."

"You saw that, huh?"

"Yeah."

"What were you doing spying on me?"

"I wasn't spying. You live across the hall. That's not spying. It's more of a neighborhood watch program."

"Did it bother you that he came over?"

"Bother me?"

"Yeah."

"That he... visited you?"

"Yeah."

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." One. Two. Three. "Did you fuck him?"

"What's it matter to you?"

"It doesn't. Hey, it's your life. You can do whatever you want with it, no matter how deviant or revolting I might find it."

"C'mon, now you admit it," began Meghan, leaning in with a mischievous smile. "You love me."

"How could I love someone that would cheat on her boyfriend?"

"But I'm cheating with you!"

"Good point. At least you've got that goin' for ya. So where's he at tonight?"

"He actually had to leave town this afternoon."

"So that's why you're over here, ol' Johnny boy is out of town and you figured you'd get a little action. Well I don't think it's going to work, sister."

"I just came over because I wanted to see you. Call me silly, but I sort of missed you the past few days."

"Yeah, I bet. You girls are all the same. You just stay over there on your side of the couch." William braced himself against the far arm of the sofa. "So where'd he go?"

"Buffalo. The company he works for was doing a project for this place up there and there was some sort of problem."

"How long's he gonna be gone?"

"He said it would probably be at least a week, maybe more."

"How you feel about that?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"I'm not sure if I like the sound of that."

Just then she noticed a piece of paper stuck behind the one cushion. It was the map for the Big Boy heist.

"What's this?"

"Aw, it's nothin'." William tried to reach over and grab it but she pulled it away.

"It looks like a map of Hadleyville." She flipped the page over and saw the little sketch of the Big Boy. She looked up. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"I have a feeling this is something I'm not going to want to tell anyone."

"My friends and I are going to steal the Elby's Big Boy."

"Why?"

"Because we can." She seemed a bit stunned. "I know it's stupid, but see I have this friend named Norm. And it's always sort of been his dream to steal the Big Boy. We used to talk about it all the time in high school."

"You're going to steal the Big Boy?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"We're not going to hurt him or anything. We're just going to swipe him and then drop him off at the Court House. It's gonna to be some funny stuff."

"Won't you feel pretty stupid if you get caught?"

"We won't get caught. Besides, I always feel pretty stupid. Especially when I try to watch those cultural shows on PBS. All the prancing around in tights, I'm sorry, but I just don't get it."

"When's the big day?"

"Next Sunday night."

"I don't know..."

"Aw, you love it. Just knowing that you're in the same room with such a wanton desperado is probably making you all hot."

"I can hardly contain myself."

"I could tell. Listen, I know it's weak, but what can I do? He's my friend. And I promised."

"Well, good luck with it."

"I get the feeling you're not impressed."

"It's just you never cease to amaze me. Just when I think I have you pegged as the tortured artist you make a smart-ass remark or sing the virtues of some common TV show. Then a minute ago I thought you were a deeply depressed individual, but it turns out you're planning to steal the Big Boy. I hope you can see why I'm a little apprehensive."

"I realize I'm messed up. If this was the 1600s I'd be an apprentice learning my craft from a master. But it isn't. Instead my life revolves around Nick-at-Nite and I'm planning to steal a plastic statue from a two-bit family restaurant. I'm not sure if that's the path to artistic greatness, but it's all I got."

Meghan smiled and placed her hand on his. "You've got more than that."

"You're right..." William looked into her eyes. He waited a full beat and then started to look around the room. "I do have a pretty nice apartment."

She smiled and stood up. "Where's the rest of your art?"

"Why? You wanna destroy some more?"

"Yes." She took a final sip from her water and placed the glass on the kitchen counter before making her way down the hall.

William got up to follow. "I should warn you that it's kind of dirty in there."

She looked back at him as she started to turn the handle to the bedroom door. "I'll brave it."

The bedroom made the living area seem like a palace. Clothes were thrown everywhere and paintings were stacked four and five deep along the walls. What could be seen of the carpet didn't look too promising. The drawers of the room's lone dresser were overflowing with painting supplies and the mattress remained covered with debris.

Meghan stopped dead in her tracks. She was a bit startled by the sight, or the smell, or both.

William stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders and offered encouragement. "Don't worry, it's a perfectly natural reaction."

"No, it's nice. Really. So did you decorate it yourself or did you have an angry mob come in and do it?" She gingerly made her way across the floor, trying hard not to turn an ankle in the process. "Maybe it would help if we opened the window a bit."

"Feel free."

She pulled the chord of the blinds and unleashed a torrent of dust. "How do you sleep back here?"

"I don't. I usually sleep out on the couch."

She ran her finger along the windowsill and came away with a thick grey coating for her trouble. "Don't you ever clean this place?"

"Not really. Why do you think I sleep on the couch?"

"Are you sure it's safe for me to even be in here?"

"Sure. What's a case of typhoid between friends?"

Her thoughts switched to the paintings. She seemed to marvel at their sheer number. "I didn't think there would be this many."

"There's some more stacked in the closet."

William continued to watch from the doorframe as she knelt down and began to flip through his work. It was kind of an awkward feeling. He really didn't want to be there, yet at the same time he couldn't look away. He was actually kind of nervous.

The majority of the paintings lying out in the room were abstract collages ranging the full gamut of color. There were a few still lifes present, but they were all rather abstract in approach.

"These are beautiful."

William kept quiet.

"You've never shown these to anyone?"

"You're the first."

"Why? These should really be shown. I bet if you called the museum they'd help you out. How many young artists are there in Hadleyville? You could become a local sensation."

"Just what I always wanted."

"Seriously, you should call them."

"That's okay."

"Why not?"

"I guess it goes back to that whole not-feeling-the-need-to-be-appreciated-in-my-own-time thing."

"Just because Van Gogh died penniless doesn't mean you have to."

"No, but it is something to shoot for."

She gradually made her way around the room, inspecting each canvas carefully. She truly seemed to be enjoying herself. It somehow made William proud of the past two years.

"What if I called for you?"

"I really wouldn't like that at all."

"But people should see these. Don't you want your art to affect people?"

"It will. In its own time."

"What's wrong with now?"

"I'm not ready yet."

"When will you be ready?"

"When I'm dead."

"How can you wait that long?"

"I can't wait a week?"

She shot him an angry look.

"I was just kidding," was his attempt to sooth the situation.

"Well don't even joke about that sort of thing." She made her way to the closet. "I don't want you to die."

"I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

The closet door opened to reveal a row of clothes and about twelve more paintings stacked on the floor. She carefully pulled them out and began to lean them up against the others lining the walls in order to view them properly.

It was pretty obvious from seeing the collective work that the person responsible was not a real happy individual. While not every painting hung heavy with despair, it was the overriding theme. Yet at the same time there was a handful of seemingly irreverent pieces, such as the one of a man in a raincoat.

"Who's this?" she asked at the sight of the rumpled, cigar-smoking subject.

"That's Columbo." She just looked at him. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? I like Columbo."

She stood in the middle of the room and once again looked over the impromptu exhibit. After studying the assortment with some care, she voiced a concern. "Where's your signature?" She turned her head to look at William. "Don't you sign your paintings?"

"No, not really."

"Why not?"

"Isn't it bad enough that I know who did 'em?"

"Well, I think they're great. You should really call someone."

"Enough already."

She took a step closer to one of the paintings along the far wall and knelt down before it. "I think this one's my favorite."

It was a painting of a lone individual standing on a mound of green earth. The background was pitch black around the outside edge but lightened ever so slightly as it made its way to the central figure, giving the impression of a promising aura around his body. Like most of William's work, the scene wasn't painted in great detail, but it did convey emotion and, to some extent, dread.

"That's probably the closest I've ever come to a self portrait. I'm planning to do another one, but so far that's it."

"So that's you?"

"I like to think so."

She studied it some more.

"Is the darkness overwhelming you or are you slowly starting to overwhelm the darkness?"

"I'll let you know when I do."

"I think it's the latter."

"I'm glad somebody does."

She turned to look at him. "Would you stop it?"

"What?"

"Quit talking like that."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to be more cheerful."

"Thank you." She went back to looking at the painting.

"You want it?"

"What?"

"You can have it if you want?"

She turned again. "You mean I can have this?"

"Yeah."

She stood up to offer protest. "No, I couldn't take it."

"Why not? You like it, right?"

"Well, yeah. But are you sure?"

He walked over and handed the painting to her. "I want you to have it."

"Really?"

"It would mean a lot to me if you'd accept it. From one friend to another."

"From one friend to another, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." She gave him a very appreciative hug. "Thank you very much." She stepped back and held the painting in front of her. "I've never owned a piece of art before."

"I'm still not sure you have."

"Are you kidding? When you're famous this is going to be worth lots of money. The whole world will want to see it."

"I hope you're right."

"And you know the best part?"

"What's that?"

"You'll be around to enjoy it all." He just smiled. "Let's go hang it in my place."

She grabbed his hand and led them on their way. It seemed like she had been doing that ever since they met.

"Where do you think it would look best?" she asked as they entered her apartment.

"I don't know. How 'bout the bedroom?"

"You might have something there."

They waltzed into the room, both knowing full well what would happen.

"What do you think?" She stepped up onto the mattress. "Over the bed?" She stepped back down and carried it to the opposite wall, holding it up for approval. "Or what about here? This way I'd see it every morning when I wake up."

William was leaning back against the dresser. "It's your call."

"I think this is the perfect place for it." She paused a moment and then looked over her shoulder while still holding the picture in place. "I just thought of something. I don't have a hammer or nails."

"Neither do I, that's why I stack 'em all in the closet."

"Well this isn't going in the closet." She gently lowered it to the floor and leaned it against the wall. "I'll just stand it here until I get some nails." She took a seat at the foot of the bed and continued to admire the gift. "I really do like it."

"I'm glad."

It was silent for a moment.

"Why don't you paint more portraits?"

"It's not really my thing. I just don't see the point. Anyone with a camera can make a portrait."

She turned her attention to the artist. "Would you paint me?"

He smiled. "I already have."

"When?"

"Who do you think that gold dot was?"

She nearly melted. William watched as she got to her feet and began to slowly make her way towards him. Their eyes never wavered from one another's. She kissed him.

"It still hasn't been a week," reminded William for a second time.

She kissed him again. William spent the entire night by her side, and this time she didn't even fall asleep on his arm. The rapid-fire sound of computer keys woke him up at a little before one in the afternoon. After stopping off in the bathroom to splash some water on his face, he drowsily stumbled into the living room.

"Hey, look who's typing."

She emphatically struck one final key and spun around in her chair to greet him. "Hey! How'd you sleep?"

"Like a log. In fact, oh never mind, I did that joke already."

"I didn't know whether to wake you or not. What time did you get to sleep?"

"About 5:00 or 5:30, something like that." William made his way to the couch.

"Thanks for not leaving in the middle of the night. I really appreciate you staying, what with your crazy schedule and all."

"It's the least I can do. And when I say that I mean it, because just when you think I do nothing I always find a way to do less."

"Well, I appreciate it just the same. Why do you keep the hours that you do? Is it because you feel more creative at night?"

"Yeah, partly. Plus daytime TV sucks. And for some reason when I wake up early I always seem to get tired in the middle of the day and I never feel like doing anything at all."

"You could always take a nap."

"No, I could never do that. Waking up once a day to realize who I am is bad enough. Twice would be unbearable."

Meghan shook her head in disappointment at his continued self-deprecation, but thought it would be best to simply move on. "You want any breakfast or anything?"

"No thanks. I rarely eat breakfast, or lunch, or even dinner for that matter. So I see you're writing again."

"Yeah. I don't know what it is but you seem to bring out the writer in me. Maybe you're my muse."

"That doesn't mean I have to paint my face white does it?"

"I think that's a mime."

"Hey, I was thinkin'..."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we should try and define our relationship a little bit more, you know, just so there won't be any confusion."

"Okay, we could do that," agreed Meghan.

"So how do you see it?"

"Well, that depends. How do you see it?"

"I asked you first."

"Yeah, but it was your idea."

"Aw, why do I have to be so darn smart? Okay, well, here's how I see it. We both like each other, right?"

"Right."

"You probably like me a little bit more than I like you, but hey, that's natural." It got the intended laugh. "The important thing is that we both like each other. We both care for each other. Yet at the same time you're involved with someone else and this does complicate matters."

"Correct."

"So I propose that we just stay really good friends. We still talk, we still hang out, we still have fun, but we keep it on a friendly level."

"So we wouldn't sleep together anymore?"

"No, of course we would. Why wouldn't we?"

"I'm not sure that's something good friends do."

"That's why I said we'd be really good friends."

"Oh, okay."

"It just doesn't make a whole lot of sense for us to be alone at night when we're no more than like twenty feet apart, does it?"

"When you put it like that..."

"It's only natural that friends would want to be together. And that's what we are. We're friends. I enjoy being with you. You enjoy being with me. And we're just in it for fun."

"I could see that. And there's no real commitment between us, right?"

"No, not at all. No commitment. Just fun."

"I think I can handle that. But what about when Mark comes home?"

"Who?"

"I don't know if I can keep seeing you behind his back. It doesn't seem right."

"Yeah, but you won't be cheating on him. You'll just be hanging out with a friend. Doesn't he have female friends?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't sleep with them."

"Well, hey, I didn't say it was fair for everybody. And he's out of town for the next week anyway, so who cares? We can worry about that later. But for now we're agreed on this, right? We're just friends."

"Really good friends."

"That sleep together."

"And have fun together."

"Without any attachments."

"Sounds good to me, friend." She extended her hand.

"Me too, pal." He accepted it and they shook on the agreement. They sat there a moment and seemed quite pleased with their new arrangement, like it was a modern day Yalta Conference or something.

"Speaking of having fun..." started Meghan.

"Yes?"

"You know what friends do?"

"What's that?"

"Friends often go to parties together."

"You don't say?"

"Yes, they do. And it just so happens that a friend of mine is having a little get-together tomorrow night at her place. And I would be honored if you'd accompany me, ol' chum."

"What kind of party?"

"Just a small get-together. Like maybe us and five or six other people."

"I don't know, I'm not a big fan of parties."

"Why not?"

"I think it has something to do with me hating people."

"You hate people?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"But you like me."

"You don't count."

"Well, I know you have friends, I saw them over at your place. And you're even stealing the Big Boy for one of them, for crying out loud."

"They don't count either. I've known them forever. If I had to just go about meeting them now I wouldn't."

"I think it would do you good to get out of the apartment and meet some new people."

"You do, do ya?"

"C'mon, it'll be fun."

"Who else is going to be there?"

"Well, the party's at my friend Karen's. She went to school with me. And her husband will be there..."

"She's married?"

"Yeah."

"How old is she?"

"She's our age."

"And she's married?"

"Yeah."

"So she's like an adult and stuff?"

"People our age do get married."

"I guess. So who else?"

"Just a couple other friends from school and their significant others."

"If they're all friends of yours then they have to know Tim, right?"

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend."

"Yeah, they know him. But he's not close with any of them or anything like that."

"Still, don't you think it might be awkward if you show up with someone else?"

"They won't care."

"Are you kiddin' me, we'll be the talk of the town."

"So what? Who cares?"

"Who cares? I think you've been hanging around with me too much."

"C'mon, what do you say?"

"You really want to go to this thing?"

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

"Plum."

"Plum? What is that, like a three-day trip?"

"You don't get out much do you? It's thirty minutes."

"That's almost a half hour."

"Almost."

"It's not gonna be formal or anything, is it? I like don't have to wear a tie or anything do I?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just a bunch of friends getting together to hang out, have some fun."

"You won't all be sleeping together afterwards?"

"No, we're just friends. Not really good friends."

"Just checking. Well, I guess I'll go. For you. But I just want to go on record as saying that this isn't the sort of thing I like to do."

"Your sacrifice is commendable."

"The things I won't do for a really good friend. So when is this debacle?"

"Tomorrow night around seven."

"What's on tap tonight?"

"Not too much I'm afraid. I have to go into work at four and then I have to open tomorrow morning, so I have to turn in early."

"You have to close Friday night and then open Saturday morning? What happened? You lose a bet?"

"I'm covering for somebody. But I'll be home in plenty of time for the party."

"If you have to work late I'll understand."

"Not a chance."

William stood up. "Well, I guess I should go practice my witty banter." They began walking to the door together.

"Not too witty. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, or anyone else."

"Don't worry, I'll be the perfect gentlemen. But even if I'm not, who cares? Everyone will just blame you for bringing me. What the hell? I didn't want to go to this thing in the first place."

"That's the spirit."

William opened his door and offered a parting salutation. "Happy writing."

"Thanks." His door closed but Meghan called after him, "And be ready by a quarter till!"

A muffled "Yeah, yeah, yeah" was his only response. She smiled and closed her door, feeling quite proud of herself that she persuaded him to go to the party. She was sure it would prove to be an interesting evening, probably more than a bit peculiar, but interesting nevertheless.

CHAPTER NINE

For not wanting to go to the party, William sure as hell worried about it enough. He sat around trying to plan a routine. Well, maybe not a full routine, but at least two or three jokes he could employ at some point during the evening, a little something to break the ice.

The only problem was that he didn't know who exactly was going to be at the party. This left him at a distinct disadvantage. It's tough to plan an attack when you don't even know the enemy. He decided he'd just have to wing it, stay close to Meghan at all times and just feed off any straight lines that came his way. Yeah, that'll work. Maybe.

The next big concern was what to wear. He woke up at the ungodly hour of two in the afternoon to address this very issue. He didn't want to come off looking like a poor orphan boy in front of her friends, but at the same time his wardrobe was limited. Aside from a dizzying array of T- shirts and thermal underwear, he didn't have much in the way of selection. He continually wore the same pair of battered jeans and merely rotated one of about six flannel shirts. However, since this night was special, he elected to bust out a pair of dark grey Dockers. The flannel was blue-and-green plaid. That's swank. And since it was such a special occasion, he actually buttoned the flannel. Of course, he still left the right sleeve cuff unbuttoned, but that was his tag. It was his trademark. Couldn't change that.

It was six o'clock before he finally felt confident in his appearance, or at least as satisfied as he could get. Then again, apathetic would be a more apt description. To William, indifference was bliss.

There was still time left to pay another friend a visit. He grabbed his wallet, keys, and coat, and carefully sat down on the couch so as not to mess up his pants. He turned on the TV and took in a rerun of "The Simpsons." It was the Krusty Klown Kollege episode. Things were looking up.

At exactly 6:45 there was a knock at the door. She's punctual.

"Are you ready?" asked Meghan with a sense of excitement. The rush of seeing her made William want to open the door again.

"I suppose so," replied William half-heartedly as he stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him.

"C'mon, it'll be fun!" assured Meghan.

"Doubtful."

"Well, at least you look nice."

"Thanks."

She took a step back in order to provide a better view. "And?"

"I think I look nice too."

"Hey!"

"I'm just kidding." He put his arm around her and they began to make their way down the steps. "I think I look great."

"You're such an ass."

"Thanks. I really don't think it's my best feature, but I get by. So, who's driving?"

"It doesn't matter to me."

William skipped ahead and opened the main door for her. "My car sort of has this nasty gash on the right back fender. I'm kind of embarrassed to drive it places."

Meghan lowered her head in guilt. "I'll drive."

"Okay. And, hey, while you're driving I'll keep an eye out for parked cars."

They spent the trip to Plum discussing the people who would be at the party. Karen, the hostess for the evening, had graduated from Pitt with Meghan. She majored in communications and worked at a radio station in Pittsburgh. Her husband Dave was an accountant. He was two years older. It was a fact that made William feel somewhat relieved. After all, he could get a job, a house, and a wife in two years, or maybe three. Well, four would probably be more realistic, what with mortgage rates being what they are. Okay, five years tops.

Also slated to show was an old high school friend named Nicole, who was still a medical student at Penn State. She was expected to bring her boyfriend Jim, who had graduated from Penn State with a degree in journalism and just started writing for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. William couldn't even afford to get a newspaper.

Those four - Karen, Dave, Nicole, and Jim - were the only ones Meghan knew would definitely be there. William was fairly bad with names, so he kept going over them in his mind the rest of the way. Karen, Dave, Nicole, Jim. Karen, Dan, Nicole, Jim. Karen, Dan, Michele, Gary.

Thirty-two minutes after they departed, Meghan and William pulled up to a picturesque split- level house in a pleasant looking neighborhood in lovely suburban Plum. There were already two cars in the driveway and two others in front of the house. At least they weren't the first ones there.

"So this is it, huh?" asked William as he shut his car door.

"Yeah."

"And they own this house? They don't live with their mom or anything?"

"It's theirs."

Meghan took his arm and escorted him to the front door. As she was about to ring the bell William grabbed her hand. "You know what? I think I left my oven on."

"Nice try." She rang the bell.

Almost immediately, an attractive woman with short brown hair opened the door. This must be Karen. Even though she was supposedly just 23, she seemed to have an added air of maturity about her. Owning a house does that to people.

"Meg!" Needless to say, she was delighted to see Meghan. They hugged. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"It's been too long," Meghan said with sincerity.

It was right about then that Karen turned her eyes towards William. Even though she was still smiling it was clear that she was somewhat taken aback by seeing someone other than Mark. William sheepishly raised his right hand in a meager excuse for a wave and offered a slight, "Hi."

Thankfully, Meghan came to the rescue. "Karen, I'd like you to meet William. William, Karen."

They shook hands.

"It's nice to meet you," said Karen, still showing some evidence of surprise.

"Yeah, you too."

"Here, let me take your coats."

William helped Meghan off with hers and then handed them both to Karen with a polite, "Thanks."

Karen motioned to the steps. "Everyone else is downstairs."

William waited for Meghan and Karen to go first and noticed that they exchanged a meaningful glance. He was really starting to wish that oven gag worked.

"Look who's here," announced Karen as she entered the basement, stepping aside to present Meghan.

"Hey, it's Meg!" exclaimed a stocky fellow leaning against the fireplace mantle on the far wall. "And some guy I don't know!"

"Everyone," began Meghan, "This is William. William, this is Karen's husband Dave." Dave was the stocky man in question. He happily greeted William with a firm handshake. Almost a little too firm, William was frail and all. Meghan continued the introductions. "That's Jim and Nicole. And that's Jerry and Melissa." William exchanged greetings with all four. While the other guests opted for a "hi", a nod of the head, or an informal wave, William went with the old six-gun point made famous by Paul Newman on Dave Letterman's first show on CBS. He liked to use it whenever possible. It always went over big with the kids.

The room itself was decorated in maroon and forest green, with tan carpeting and black wood paneling. It was a nice combination. Gave it an earthy feel. There were two full-length green cloth couches; one against the front wall underneath a pair of windows and the other was found on the same wall as the door. And the door was one of those wacky sliding deals that disappeared into the wall. This was done to accommodate the couch.

Most of the seating was already taken, but there were three wooden dining chairs set up in sort of a circular pattern with the couches. They were obviously striving for a night of conversation. And it would have to be, because there wasn't a TV to be found anywhere in the room. William noticed that before anything else. There was some music playing in the background, though. It was of the radio variety. An on-air promo revealed it to be the local alternative station, 105.9 WXDX. William never asked what radio station Karen worked for, but this seemed to put the matter to rest.

"Can I get you two anything to drink?" asked Karen, gesturing to a table in the back half of the room. "We've got beer, cider, wine, whatever you want."

"I wouldn't mind a small glass of wine," said Meghan.

"William?"

"Nothing for me, thanks." William never felt right about accepting food and beverages at someone else's house. He never wanted to be a burden to anybody. Even strangers.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks anyway, though."

Meghan and William sat down in two of the chairs. Karen delivered Meghan her glass of red wine and then found an open slot on the couch. Dave continued to hold his position by the mantle. He was apparently in the process of prolonging the life of a small fire. It added more atmosphere to the proceedings than heat.

"I didn't think you guys were going to be here tonight," directed Meghan to the people identified as Melissa and Jerry.

"I had to get away from the books for at least one night," replied Melissa. "I'm just fed up with school at the moment."

Meghan turned to William. "Melissa goes to Penn State with Nicole." William just nodded his head. He was still trying to get a read on the room. Everyone seemed nice enough. Karen was giving him a strange look, but the rest of the crowd seemed friendly. Either they didn't know Mark or they couldn't give a rat's ass about him. William even picked up the sense that Jerry didn't want to be there either, so that made him like Jerry.

"How do you know our Meg, William?" asked Karen bluntly.

"She moved in across the hall from me."

"You like your new place?" asked Dave.

"It's nice. It's not as big as my old apartment, but I think I'll get used to it. William's really helped me get adjusted."

"Oh, really!" grinned Nicole.

Meghan took a sip of her wine and sent a playful glance to William. It was met by a hint of embarrassment. He then shrugged his shoulders and turned up his hands as he offered, "I do what I can."

Karen continued her inquiry. "William, since you're the new face around here would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?"

"No, but thanks for asking." It got a laugh from everybody except Karen, and almost caused Meghan to choke on her wine.

"He's just kidding," explained Meghan. "He does that."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Go ahead, ask me whatever."

"Well, what do you do?" questioned Karen.

"As little as possible." He was starting to warm up.

Meghan laughed and gave him a shove. "He's an artist."

"Really?" joined Dave. "Do you paint?"

"Yeah."

"That's terrific."

"It's not that big a deal. I think everybody would paint if they could."

"Yeah, but not many people follow through with it. You're actually doing it." William was starting to like Dave.

"His stuff is excellent, too," interjected Meghan. "You should see it. I'm trying to convince him to put a show together locally."

"Don't listen to her, she gets carried away. I'm not that good."

"Believe me, he is," countered Meghan.

"We're still talking about painting, right?" asked Nicole with a sly smile.

"Anyway..." interrupted William, "this is a lovely house, Dave. How long have you guys lived here?"

"Don't change the subject!" snapped Nicole. "I want to hear more about how good you are?"

William looked to Dave in desperate need of assistance.

"We've been here about six months," cooperated Dave.

Nicole slumped back into the couch. "You're no fun. Meghan, we'll talk later."

Jim looked at William with some sympathy, "Just think, I get to be around her all the time."

"You're a lucky man," replied William.

Dave gave the fire one final shot with the iron poker and sat down beside William in the third wooden chair. "Before you guys got here we were talking politics. Are you as liberal as Meg?"

"I don't know," William turned to Meghan, "Am I as liberal as you?" Meghan just shrugged. William turned back to Dave, "We've never really discussed politics together. I'm not real big on the politics."

"Speak on, brother," chimed Jerry after taking a hit of a Rolling Rock.

"I take it then, that like our friend Jerry, you aren't registered to vote?" asked Dave with some disapproval.

"Oh, no, I'm registered," began William. "But I'm registered Whig. And since we really haven't had a viable candidate in over 200 years, I'm pretty much screwed come Election Day."

It wasn't often that William dipped into historical humor, but everyone seemed to enjoy it. Except for Nicole.

"I don't get it," she said.

"Would it have helped if I said Bull Moose? Because I was gonna go with Bull Moose, but then I switched to Whig at the last second."

"No."

"Well, don't worry, we'll print up a transcript and go over it after the show."

Dave tried again. "As an artist, don't you have any thoughts about the NEA?"

"No, I hate basketball."

Dave realized it was futile. "Well, if we can't talk about politics, what should we talk about?"

"No sports," warned Karen.

"She doesn't like sports," whispered Dave in William's direction. "Then I guess that just leaves religion."

"Oh boy..." moaned Jerry.

"Any thoughts on religion, William?" asked Dave.

"You guys don't fool around, do ya?"

"We like to get right to it."

"Is anyone here real religious?"

"We've been known to go to church," answered Karen.

"In that case, I think religion is great. Next topic?"

"Don't you believe in God?" asked Karen.

"You mean the invisible man that sits up in the clouds and watches over our everyday lives? Not really."

"What do you believe?" asked Meghan.

William did a comic double take upon receiving the question from her. He wasn't expecting an attack from the right flank. But they never really talked about this sort of stuff so it was only natural that she'd be curious. It would have probably been better, though, to bring it up at a different time. Oh well.

"I don't really believe in much. I just don't feel the need to have religious faith in my life. But if you do that's great. I'm glad you have something that makes you feel that way."

"So you have no thoughts about life and what it means?" followed up Karen.

"Seriously, is it warm in here?"

"Answer the question," prodded Meghan with a smile.

William turned to her and asked, "You love this, don't you?" Her smile urged him forth. "I just don't want to say anything that would offend you. I mean, I'm a guest in your house and..."

"Don't worry about it. Just answer the question," pressured Karen.

"Trust me, she won't leave you alone until you answer," advised Dave.

"Well, okay... I don't believe in god. I don't believe god created man, I think man created god. I think organized religion is a joke. I think life is meaningless. Basically, we're all born dead. What's the difference if we die today, tomorrow, or forty years from now? In the year 2312 we'll all still be dead. Take Michelangelo. He's been dead four hundred years, but, in the grand scheme of things, he's just begun to be dead. It doesn't matter. I think all life is an illusion created by a mess of electrical impulses that are sorted out by a fluke of a brainstem that just happened to develop over millions of years from a rare combination of gas and matter. But then you get into what created the gas and matter? And what was there before that? And why was there even a 'there' to begin with? And how can I even consider such thoughts constructed of words and phrases that were given meaning without my consent and drilled into my subconscious against my free will? After a while it just drives me crazy and I end up punching a wall and wishing I never existed."

He paused. The room was silent. He looked from face to face and found nothing but blank, emotionless stares. Even Meghan seemed a bit surprised at the casualness of the outburst.

"But, hey, that's not to say life can't be a good thing," continued William in an attempt to win back favor. "Everyone should strive to be a good person and respect one another, but I think you should do what makes you happy and then get out. That's what I believe."

There was more silence. Jim, somewhat stunned, stood up and announced, "Who wants another drink?" Everyone in the room save William raised his or her hand.

"I'm sorry, but you asked," said William to Karen. He then turned to Meghan, "She asked."

"It's okay," explained Meghan to the room, "he doesn't get out much."

"You know, that's true. She's right about that," confirmed William apologetically.

"And now I think we know why," cracked Jerry. He gave William a pat on the shoulder as he walked by to get another beer.

"Maybe we should try and lighten the mood a bit," suggested Dave.

"I think that's an excellent idea," agreed William whole-heartedly.

"Wanna play a drinking game?" offered Jerry as he flipped open another green bottle.

"William and I really don't drink that much," said Meghan.

"Really?" questioned Jerry as he stepped in front of William on the way back to his seat. "I would have thought you had alcoholic written all over you."

"No, I really don't have the commitment needed to become an alcoholic."

"So what should we do?" asked Jim as he was making his way back to his seat.

"If this was 'The Dick Van Dyke Show' we'd play charades," suggested William.

A surprised Meghan looked to William and asked, "You want to play charades?"

"No."

"Oh, I know!" said Karen with surprising enthusiasm. "My mom was cleaning out the closet the other day and found the old Trivial Pursuit game. What do you say?"

"That sounds good to me," confirmed Dave.

"I'm sure anything that will keep me from talking will be a crowd pleaser at the moment," said William.

"All right then, I'll go get it. Meg, why don't you help me?"

"Sit down, honey, I'll go get it," offered Dave.

"No, Meghan and I will get it. She hasn't seen what we've done to the upstairs. C'mon, Meg."

"Um , okay." Meghan looked at William with some trepidation and slowly got out of her chair.

"I'll help," said Nicole, lunging from her seat to join the parade. "C'mon, Melissa, let's help."

"Okay."

As Melissa stepped out into the hall she slid the door shut behind her, leaving the four men alone to contemplate what just happened.

"That game must be in a pretty big fuckin' box if it takes four of them to carry it," said Jerry.

Dave went back to stoking the fire.

"I don't think your wife likes me," admitted William.

"It's not that, I just think we were all a little surprised that Meghan brought you instead of Mark."

"Who?"

"Her boyfriend. You know she has a boyfriend, right? Or at least she had one..."

"Oh yeah, I met him. He's a nice guy. He was out of town and Meghan just asked if I wanted to tag along tonight to keep her company. That's all. Oh, you don't think? Me and Meghan? Oh, no, we're just really good friends."

Meanwhile, upstairs in Karen's bedroom:

"We're just really good friends," submitted Meghan before the inquisition.

"What about Mark?" asked Nicole.

"What about him?"

"Does he know about William?" demanded Karen.

"There's nothing to know. I told you we're just friends. He's been spending too much time on his work lately and I thought it would be good for him to get out and meet some new people. That's all. If I knew it was going to be such a hassle I would have left him at home. You don't like him, do you?"

"It's not that, I was just surprised to see you with someone other than Mark. You could have called and let me know."

"I'm sorry. You're right. I should have called. But what do you guys think of him?"

"He seems nice. A little strange, but nice," conceded Karen.

"I think he's kind of cute," contributed Melissa. "In, like, a sickly dog sort of way."

"Yeah, but what was all that gloom and doom stuff?" questioned Nicole. "You know, he could be nuts."

"I prefer to think of him as deep," defended Meghan.

It wasn't long before the women returned, with Karen bringing up the rear and toting the Trivial Pursuit.

"How did the four of you manage the stairs carrying such a massive box?" asked Jim sarcastically.

"We all took a corner," replied Karen.

"I carried the heavy end," boasted Nicole.

"How are we going to do this? Four teams of two? Just keep it by couple?" asked Karen.

Everyone agreed and formed a circle around the board. A quick review of the rules was given and each team selected a spoked-wheel of their choice. Of course, William selected brown, the most drab color available.

"I think since William's the true guest here we should allow his team to go first," said Karen, pushing the die across the board to him. Not quite an olive branch, but close.

"Here, you roll," said William, deferring to Meghan. "And you ask all the questions, too."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'll, like, answer all the questions and stuff."

She began to shake the die in her hand and smiled. "Well just let me know if you need any help along the way."

"Will do."

The roll came up a six. That's sweet right from the start. That meant they had their first crack at a piece of the pie.

"What color do you want?" asked William.

"What's literature? Brown? Go to brown."

"I'll read for 'em," volunteered Jerry. He reached over and pulled out the first card of the game. "Okay, for a piece of the pie, who created private detective Philip Marlowe?"

"I don't know," admitted Meghan painfully. She looked at William, "I don't read a lot of detective stories. Is it Dashiell Hammett?"

"That's a shame," sneered Jerry with delight. "The answer is..."

"Raymond Chandler," proclaimed William confidently.

Jerry looked up in disgust and slipped the card back into the box. "That's right."

"How'd you know that?" asked Meghan.

"I do what I can."

The next two rolls were a five and a two, putting them in line for their second piece of pie right out of the gate. The category was Science and Nature.

"What did Ira Remsen discover in 1879, perhaps proclaiming: 'How sweet it is!'?"

"Saccharin," answered William swiftly.

"What the fuck? How does someone know that?" complained Jerry. William merely shrugged and asked for the green piece of pie to be placed to the right of the brown one.

What followed next was an unbelievable display of trivial knowledge. No matter what the category, no matter how difficult the question, William provided the answer without the slightest hesitation.

"What football coach popularized the forward pass?"

"Knute Rockne."

"How many hoops are there on an Association croquet court?"

"Six."

"Which of Kahlil Gibran's books is considered his masterpiece?"

"The Prophet."

"What employment did Patricia Hearst claim when booked?"

"Urban terrorist."

"Who was The Peekaboo Girl?"

"Veronica Lake."

"Where is Loftleider Airlines based?"

"Iceland."

It was equal parts impressive and disgusting. Meghan was enjoying it immensely. She just rolled the die and then sat back and watched the show. After about the ninth consecutive answer a few protests of cheating were filed. They weren't sure how he was doing it, but he had to be cheating. They insisted that he covered his eyes before the next question was asked in fear that he was somehow seeing the back of the card as it was being pulled from the box or in the reflection of some object in the room. The restriction didn't hinder his performance.

"What was Jimmy Durante's theme song?"

"Inka Dinka Doo."

"Jesus Christ..." moaned Jerry as he slammed the card into the box.

"Who the hell's Jimmy Durante?" questioned an exasperated Melissa.

"How do you know all this?" asked Nicole in awe.

"More importantly, why do you know all this?" followed Jim.

"Just lucky, I guess," humbly replied William.

"I'm just glad he's on my team," said Meghan as she rolled another six.

"Someone else read to him, I'm tired," conceded a beaten Jerry.

In all, the string lasted nineteen questions and five pieces of pie. A geography question finally tripped him up when he couldn't name the currency needed to buy dinner in Iraq, Jordan, Tunisia, and Yugoslavia.

"The dinar!" exclaimed Melissa with obvious joy.

"Hey, you missed one!" shouted Jerry.

"I'm not real good with money," explained William.

While everyone else was relieved to finally get a turn, the feeling was short lived. Karen and Dave lasted three questions, Jerry and Melissa two, while Jim and Nicole were one and out. William then proceeded to string together seven more correct answers, accounting for the final piece of pie, and positioning them in the middle hub for the win.

"Here's a wild and crazy idea," began Dave, "but how about Meghan has to answer the winning question? We'll even give her Arts and Literature."

"That's cool with me," said William. "You up to it?"

"I don't know, I have kind of a tough act to follow."

"I have faith," said William.

"Okay," Dave pulled a card, "for the win... oh jeez, what painter's works included Potato Eaters, Cypress Road, and Starry Night?"

Meghan turned to William in a moment of panic, as if the answer had just fallen from her tongue. William gave her a "C'mon!" look and tapped himself twice on the chest with his left hand.

"Vincent van Gogh!" blurted Meghan.

"Yes!" celebrated William, raising his hands in victory and giving his teammate a well-deserved hug.

"Yeah, that was great," bemoaned Jerry before taking a mighty swig of beer.

"You realize that was probably the fastest four-team game of Trivial Pursuit ever recorded in the history of man," summarized Dave.

"Now what?" asked Jim.

"We could play again," offered Meghan.

The suggestion was beaten back by a collective "No!"

Karen quickly began to pack away the game before anyone changed their minds, and they all scurried back to the couches and chairs. Nicole pointed out the obvious, "That was sick."

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about Plato, would you?" asked Melissa of William.

"Why?"

"Dude, if you even say you know somethin' about Plato..." cried Jerry.

"We're supposed to talk about 'The Republic' on Monday and I haven't finished reading it," continued Melissa.

"What do you need to know?"

"You know about Plato?" asked Jerry in disbelief.

"Little bit. Little bit."

"So do you, like, know everything?"

"Where did you go to school?" asked Dave.

"He didn't," answered Meghan.

"But I do watch a lot of TV. So what do you need to know about Plato?"

"Well, we have this list of discussion points and one of them talks about a cave allegory. And I have no clue what that's about."

"Ah, the ol' Allegory of the Cave. I think I can set you straight on that one."

"Really?"

"Yeah, no problem. Does anybody mind if..."

"No, by all means," said Karen, "go right ahead. It should prove to be enlightening." Everyone, even Jerry, sat back in his or her seats and listened intently as William began to tell the tale.

"Okay, so there's all these guys imprisoned in this cave. And all they know of life is this dark, damp, dirty, filthy cave. That's it. They've never been outside. They've just been chained inside this cave their entire existence. The opening to the cave is right behind them, but no one ever even turns around to look. They're all too busy watching the light from the outside world create reflections on the walls of the cave. Then one day, one of the guys breaks his chains and splits for the exit. When he gets to the cave entrance he's nearly blinded by the sun. But his eyes slowly regain focus and he starts to see all the wonders of the outside world; the blue sky, the luscious green grass, everything Mother Nature has to offer. He goes out and wanders around a bit and then thinks, Hey, wait till the fellas back at the cave get a load of this,' and he sprints back there to tell them about all he's learned. But his fellow prisoners aren't real happy about hearing of his experiences. In fact, they even say they'd tear him limb from limb if their hands weren't shackled."

"Yeah?" pressed Melissa, hoping for more information.

"And that's about it. That's pretty much the whole story."

"But what does it mean?"

Meghan jumped in. "I think what Plato was saying," she turned to William, "You don't mind do you?"

"No, go right ahead."

"... is that some people are content to stay locked up in a cave their entire life without ever embracing new ideas. And that it was the job of the philosopher to venture outside the cave and bring back the new ideas of the outside world." She directed the last half of the answer to William. He accepted the challenge.

"Yeah, but don't forget about the other prisoners. While it's great that the supposed philosopher escaped and is willing to share knowledge that could improve their existence, they realize that they're still chained to the cave. Hearing about the beautiful things in life, things that they know they could never rightfully achieve, only furthers their pain." He looked Meghan in the eyes. "It tortures them to the point that they wish they never heard of such glorious things."

"But the philosopher broke his chains. They could too if they wanted."

"Not all chains are so easily broken."

"Would you two like to be alone?" interrupted Nicole.

"Sorry," excused William. "Did you get all that, Melissa?"

"Yeah, I think so," she said thoughtfully. "But let me just check... Meghan's the philosopher and you're the other prisoners, right?"

William turned to Meghan, "This is a tough room."

"Why can't you break your chains?" asked Nicole with devilish intent.

William leaped to his feet. "Hey, who wants to see me do some impressions?"

"What?" laughed Jim.

"Seriously, I'm the man of 1,000 walks. I can walk like anyone." William moved his chair out of the way and asked Meghan to slide over a bit to create a lane. He stepped towards the back of the room and then turned to face his audience. "First up is everyone's favorite Sweat Hog, Juan Epstein. Juan Epstein, ladies and gentlemen." He shook his shoulders a bit to loosen up and then began the magic.

Stooped ever so slightly at the waist and striding with an obvious bounce, William flung his left arm in front of him as he stepped out with his right heel. On to the toe, bend at the knee, right arm, left heel, repeat. He highlighted the performance with the classic line, "I got a note." Dave, Jim, and Jerry seemed to particularly enjoy the comedy, offering up a round of applause and even one or two stray whistles.

"Thank you. Thank you. And thank you. It's nice to see there are some 'Welcome Back, Kotter' fans in attendance tonight. I can really feel the love. You know what? You guys are so special, I'm gonna go right to my big gun. David Letterman." William returned to the back of the room before hesitating and heading to the door. "It will probably work better if I come in from the hall. It's easier to do around corners." He disappeared for a second and then popped back in to add, "Now pretend this is the door to the Ed Sullivan Theater and I'm on my way outside to do some wacky skit. Okay? Cool."

He returned to the shadows of the hallway and could be heard clearing his throat in preparation, which was kind of odd since he was just doing Letterman's walk. After feeling that he had allowed proper time for the suspense to build, he hurriedly bolted through the doorway with Letterman's classic stutter-step change of direction. The distinctive stride was accompanied by the ever present cautious waving of his hands, palms down of course, as if he was trying to sneak out of a restaurant without paying the check. It was a flawless characterization. The room erupted.

"Dude, that's fuckin' hilarious!" said Jerry, giving the ol' ringing-the-bell motion with his right hand in salute to the accomplishment. "Do it again!"

William obliged, retracing his steps as his gap-toothed idol and slipping back into the hallway. He emerged to take a bow and accept more accolades.

He motioned for everyone to sit down even though not a soul was standing. "You're too kind." He put up his hands in protest. "Please, you're embarrassing me!" Then he looked down at an imaginary watch on his right wrist while calling for more applause with his left hand. Back up with the stop sign. "Okay, that's enough. Really. Thank you."

"Who's next?" asked Dave.

"Did I do Epstein already?"

"Yeah."

"Then I got nothin'."

"I thought you were the man of a 1,000 walks?" called Nicole.

"I never said I was good with the math."

William spent the rest of the evening doing everything he could to steer the conversation away from his relationship with Meghan. He recited old jokes, told stories from his youth, and dispensed more useless trivia, anything to keep the night moving.

Shortly before midnight, the strain of the recent workload at the bookstore caught up to Meghan and she began to yawn. William seized the opportunity with, "You must be tired. Maybe we should go?" Meghan agreed and the two exchanged farewells with the other guests. Karen and Dave walked them to the door. William left the room as Letterman upon the request of Jerry.

"I'm sorry we have to leave so early," apologized Meghan.

"I'm just glad you were able to come," said Karen. " Let's not let so much time go by between visits." The two friends hugged good-bye.

"And it certainly was nice meeting you, William," stated Dave as he shook William's hand.

"Yeah, same here. I really had a good time." William then shook Karen's hand. "Thank you both very much for putting up with me."

"It was our pleasure," smiled Karen. William actually kind of believed the sentiment.

"You definitely made things entertaining," added Dave with understatement. "I hope we can all get together and do this again some time."

"Yeah, sure. That'll be great," agreed William.

"I'll call you," added Meghan.

William chipped in a "Thanks again" as they gave one final wave farewell on the way to the car. Karen and Dave watched from the doorway until the car started and Meghan began to pull away.

"I'm sorry," said a contrite William.

"For what?" asked Meghan.

"For everything. That was a mess."

"What are you talking about? They loved you."

"Somehow I doubt it."

"You were wonderful."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"I don't really like to be that outgoing. I hate myself like that, even more so than usual. That's why I'm always uncomfortable around people. I always feel like I'm on stage, like I have to perform."

"Well, I think everyone enjoyed the show tonight." She paused. "I do have a few questions, though."

"What's that?"

"Were you cheating?"

"At Trivial Pursuit?"

"Yeah."

"No, absolutely not."

"Then how'd you know all that stuff?"

"I have the game at home. I've pretty much memorized all the questions. A guy has to do something while he's waiting for his potatoes to cook."

"But there are like thousands of questions."

"Well, I don't know them all. I click at about seventy-five percent, although I could probably bump that up to eighty or eighty-five if I owned a map. It's kind of tough to visualize those geography answers without one. But we got the luck of the draw. And you were rolling the dice like a champ."

"Isn't memorizing the questions still sort of cheating?"

"Knowledge is knowledge no matter how it's acquired. Don't you worry about that. And it wasn't like I was expecting to play tonight. Because if I was, believe me, I would have brought more than six bucks and we could have played for money."

"But what about Plato?"

"There's this show on the Discovery Civilization channel called Great Books. I've seen 'The Republic' episode like three times."

"You know, you're probably the most well-read illiterate in the world."

"Thanks."

"If only we could harness your brain for good instead of evil..."

Traffic was light on the way home. It was twenty after twelve when they arrived in front of their building. Meghan was extra careful not to strike the car beside her.

"You had fun tonight," declared Meghan matter-of-factly as William opened the apartment building door for her.

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Want to go back next weekend?" asked Meghan, already knowing the answer.

"Let me think about it... No."

Upon reaching the third floor, Meghan moved ahead and started to unlock her apartment. Not knowing exactly what to do next, William slowly drifted towards his door and began fishing for his keys.

Meghan opened her door. "We'll have to think of something you...," she stopped mid-sentence when she noticed William brandishing his keys. "What are you doing?"

"I was goin' home."

She wrinkled her brow in disapproval, stepped aside, and held the door open for him. That was all the invitation William needed. He put his keys back in his coat pocket and joined her across the hall. Once inside, they shut the door together.

CHAPTER TEN

It was the third time that William woke up in Meghan's bed. He could get used to it. But he'd never take it for granted. The clock on the dresser read 3:13. He had once again spent the majority of the night lying awake beside her while waiting patiently for sleep to find him. All told, despite the afternoon nearly over, he had gotten about seven hours sleep. He'd prefer a solid nine. He wasn't about to complain.

As he sat up and began to collect himself, William noticed something peculiar. It was silent. No music. No shower. No typing. He got dressed and began to stumble his way to the bedroom door. That's when he saw it. He must have overlooked it the night before, but his painting was now hanging proudly on the wall. He fought the urge to take it down and continued his journey into the hall.

"Meghan?"

There was no answer. He gave the rest of the apartment a quick survey and came to a conclusion: she wasn't there. He was quick like that. Maybe she had to go to the store for something? Or maybe she finally came to her senses and got out while she still could? He found himself wishing she just needed orange juice.

Since she wasn't around, William decided to go back to his place to shower. He picked his coat off the couch and pulled her door shut behind him. One problem. He couldn't find his keys. He checked all his coat pockets twice before uttering the prerequisite "Damn."

He decided to go ahead and try the knob anyway and it actually turned. He'd really have to start remembering to lock his door. He tossed his coat on the couch and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he opened the refrigerator he thought he heard a noise coming from the bedroom. He remained still for a moment. There it was again. He wasn't alone.

After all those years of waiting, there was finally a burglar in his house! He was finally going to get to bust out some John Shaft on somebody's ass! He went over the quick checklist in his head. Lead with the left jab and follow with the right hook. If he throws first, slip it and roll left to right before snapping up into a right cross. And depending on his size, don't be scared to punch to the throat or, if he's really big, blow out the knee joint with a well placed kick. That Bruce Lee Biography on A&E comes in handy.

William was ready. He could almost envision himself throwing some turkey in a funky plaid jacket out the window. He was taking his first few cautious steps from the kitchen when he spotted his keys on the counter. He never kept his keys on the kitchen counter. A rather disheartening thought crossed his mind.

"Meghan?" called William.

"Wait! Don't come in yet!" pleaded the familiar voice from behind the partially closed door. She poked her head out to finish the conversation. "Hi."

"Hi. What are you doing?"

"I hope you don't mind, but I just couldn't stand to think of this biological hazard being so close to me."

"You cleaned my room?" asked William, trying to peek over her head.

"I'm actually still in the process of cleaning your room. I've been at it since before noon. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, not at all. You're a lot cheaper than a maid."

"You haven't seen my bill yet."

"So I can't come in?"

"Not till I'm done."

"When's that gonna be?"

"With any luck," she glanced over her shoulder to refresh her memory, "about another twenty minutes."

"Can I at least get a change of clothes so I can take a shower?"

He stepped towards the door but she extended an arm to stop him.

"I'll get them." She shut the door. She opened the door. "One question, how do you tell which clothes are clean?"

"You know all the ones that were piled on the bed in a heap?"

"Yeah."

"Those are clean."

She shut the door. He could hear her rummaging around searching for a serviceable wardrobe. She emerged a few seconds later shoving a pair of jeans, boxers, and a T-shirt through the sliver of open space.

"Give me another T-shirt."

"What's wrong with that one?"

"Nothing, but I always wear two."

"That's right. I forgot." The door shut. It opened. "Here." She provided a dark blue shirt featuring an iron-on decal of Huggy Bear. Her taste was impeccable.

"Thanks."

William took his time shaving. He still nicked himself repeatedly. He had the shakiest hand in the west. It was probably a lack of protein. Wanting to give his blood a chance to clot, and Meghan a chance to finish the room, he lingered in the shower for a good twenty minutes. Screw the water bill. He wasn't planning to be around to pay it anyway. By the time he dried off, got dressed, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth, it had been exactly thirty-two minutes. He had barely opened the bathroom door when Meghan bounced off the couch and down the hall towards him.

"For someone so thin you sure do take long showers," said Meghan.

"That was nothin'. Believe me, I used to take much longer ones before I met you."

She stepped in front of him and put her back to the bedroom door.

"Ready?" She backed into the room and unveiled her miraculous achievement. William was dumbfounded. The whole thing reminded him of the very first time he stepped foot in her apartment. Everything was spotless. There was nothing lying on the floor. The bed was actually made. He couldn't remember the last time the bed was made. He didn't even know he had sheets. All four drawers of the dresser were closed and the wood appeared polished. His paintings were stacked much more neatly along the walls and he also detected the faint scent of pine in the air.

"Where are all my clothes?" asked William.

"I did something kind of crazy and put them in the dresser drawers."

William went over to see for himself. Sure enough, there they were, all folded and filed neatly into the top three drawers.

Meghan joined him at the dresser with more information. "I put all the paints and brushes in the bottom drawer." She bent down and opened it to further illustrate the point. "They're organized left to right by the paint's color, from white to black, or by the brush's consistency, from fine to thick. I threw away all the empty tubes." She stood up and walked to the closet. "Any clothes that wouldn't fit in the first three drawers, I folded and put on the top shelf in here."

William stood in stunned silence.

"Well, say something," pleaded Meghan.

"I don't know what to say. This is incredible."

"So you like it?"

"I love it." William hugged her. "Thank you very much."

"I know it was rather presumptuous of me, but I didn't think you'd let me if I asked first."

"You're probably right," confirmed William, still looking around the room in astonishment at what she accomplished. "It's going to be weird sleeping in my own bed again. Hey, I got an idea! Let's see if it still works."

"I'd love to but I have to be at work by five."

"Again?"

"Yeah, they called this morning and asked if I could come in tonight."

"Wow, I must have really been out. I didn't even hear the phone."

"When you stay over I always take the precaution of turning the ringer off in the bedroom."

"That is so considerate."

"I do what I can."

"I don't know about you stealing my line, but other than that I think you're like the nicest person I've ever met. And I went to Catholic school."

"I should be home by midnight at the latest. The good news is that I'll have the next two days off."

"That's cool."

"I was thinking that since you went to the party with me, maybe we could do something that you want to do."

"Okay, but I don't even know where you'd find a cheerleader's outfit."

"I'm sure we'll think of something." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and started off. "I have to run. But I'll stop by when I get home."

"I'll be up."

"That's what I figured."

He heard the front door shut. She was gone, but her spirit remained. William was still trying to come to grips with what she had done to the bedroom. It really was quite the remarkable transformation. He sat down on the neatly pressed bed and studied his new surroundings. After a lengthy period of evaluation, he voiced his findings to no one in particular.

"I hate it."

William gathered himself and made his way out to the easel in the living room. He felt like painting. He removed his most recent creation, which was still missing its gold dot, and replaced it with a fresh canvas. He had only three canvases left. And since he didn't have money to buy more, he had to make them count. The destiny of one had already been chosen. It was merely waiting for its chance. That left only two open for interpretation.

He inspected his palette and the range of colors at his disposal. The black was nearly cashed. Who would have guessed? At least there was still an abundance of happy yellows, oranges, and reds. He returned to the bedroom to search the bottom drawer for other shades. There was another tube of black and a few similar dark hues, but he opted for a light green. It appeared the spirit of this particular piece was going to be upbeat.

The animosity of his previous work was nowhere to be found. In its place were soft, gentle brush strokes of fine quality that seemed to acquaint themselves with the surface of the canvas. He started at the bottom and gradually worked his way to the top with delicate, short strokes of rich gold.

When William chose to begin with the color he did, the first thing that came to his mind was Van Gogh's "Wheat Field with Crows." It was the great master's final painting. It depicts a flock of black birds descending on a golden field of wheat beneath a harsh, tormented evening sky. There's a path cut into the field that leads to nowhere, as if stopped before reaching its true destination. In the days following the completion of the picture, Van Gogh shot himself.

The image of Van Gogh's masterpiece stood in stark contrast to William's current mood. That bothered him. Yet he forged ahead with his scheme and feathered his own grains of wheat. Once he felt he had enough of a foundation, he switched to a lighter yellow and added highlights. Back up the canvas, inching his way along ever so slowly, adding definition and depth as he progressed.

As was usually the case when he painted, the hours passed without notice. By the time he was finished applying his third color variation to the theme, it was nearly eleven o'clock. The seven hours of intricate, precise movements left his hand a gnarled mess. He stopped briefly to rub some life into the taut, cramped muscles and took note of the time. Meghan would be home soon. He picked up a new brush and placed it carefully into the still frozen grip of his right hand. He added some orange.

After about twenty more minutes he set the brush down and stepped back to analyze the piece. It was actually quite appealing. An almost impressionistic collage, it had a sense of warmth that was seldom found in his work. It was downright jubilant. This was his first clue that something was wrong. He knew it wasn't complete. Something was missing. It was too damn happy.

William stretched his right hand a few final times and stepped forward to confront the piece. He carefully lifted it from the easel, wary of smudging any wet paint, and placed it on the floor, leaning its back against the arm of the couch. Burying his hands in his pockets, he contemplated the painting's meaning and the influences behind it. He didn't like what he found. No matter how hard he fought to convince himself it wasn't true, his soul spawned the work. And the work never lies. Thankfully, the work can be silenced.

He lashed out, driving his right foot through the canvas and snapping the left side of the slender wood frame that held it tight. He proceeded to stomp the battered remains until a burning sensation raced up his shin.

William buried the aborted creation in the corner of the room, hiding its remnants behind the two remaining canvases. It wasn't until he observed a broken trail of paint on the carpet that he realized the bottom of his bare right foot wore evidence of the attack. He hopped on one leg to the shower and washed away the stain. After stopping off to put on a pair of socks, he returned to the living room and attempted to scrub the rug clean with an old rag. But it's always a good idea to make sure the rag itself is clean before undertaking such a project. Otherwise, unseemly smudges of great complexity will result. Fuck it, he wasn't getting the cleaning deposit back anyway.

Sitting on the couch and feeling somewhat drained from the evening's events, only the pain in his foot registered. His bones weren't meant for violence. He was wondering exactly what a broken foot felt like when he heard Meghan come home. She knocked on his door without even bothering to go to her place first.

"C'mon in," called William without budging from his place on the couch.

"Hey," greeted Meghan. Seeing him sitting peacefully in a quiet room with the TV off brought the obvious question. "What are you doing?"

"Just waiting for you."

She joined him on the couch. "That's sweet."

"How was work?"

"Fine."

"A lot of people buyin' books?"

"Yeah."

William, still spent from painting, lazily nodded his head in response, looking every bit Barney Fife relaxing on Andy Taylor's front porch during a Mayberry summer evening. Meghan seemed to take this the wrong way.

"You know, don't you?" she asked uneasily.

"What?"

"That I didn't work tonight."

William just stared at her. Not because he was mad, but simply because he was still trying to process the information.

"I shouldn't have lied to you. I'm sorry. I just didn't feel right about telling you where I was going."

William remained silent. He was finally starting to catch up to the discussion.

"See," explained Meghan, "today was Mark's mother's birthday. And the family was having a big party. And since Mark couldn't be there himself he called and asked me to go in his place and deliver her gift."

"You could have told me, it's no big thing."

"I know, I just wasn't sure how you'd react."

"Do you get along with his mother?" asked William.

"Yeah. We're not real, real close or anything, but we are kind of friends, I guess."

She was a friend of his mother. William's stomach started to knot. "Are you feeling as guilty as I am right now?"

"More."

Lost in thought, neither one moved an inch or spoke a word in the moments that followed. Finally, after feeling enough remorse for one day, William changed speeds.

"I'm hungry. You hungry?"

"Not really. I ate at the party."

"Let's go to the store."

"What store is open at midnight on a Sunday?"

"Oh, there's one..."

It was Meghan's first time inside William's car. She offered to clean it, but William refused, fearing that it might be beyond even her powers of purification. Before venturing to the grocery store, they stopped at the nearby National City branch so William could hit the MAC machine.

After cramming the two new crisp twenty-dollar bills into his pocket, William walked back to the car while reading the transaction receipt. It said he had $13.46 left in the account. How'd that happen? By his calculations he should have had like sixty bucks. Oh well. Whatever. He crumpled up the receipt and tossed it on the floor behind the driver seat as he sat down.

"I didn't think you'd be one to keep paperwork," said Meghan.

"It's there if I need it."

From there it was a quick jaunt out the highway to William's one-stop shopping center.

"Welcome to Food 4 Less," he said as they pulled into a mammoth, yet empty, parking lot.

"I've heard of this place, but I've never actually shopped here," admitted Meghan.

"Then you, my friend, are in for a treat."

There were only five other cars there, so William had his choice of spots. Yet he still elected to park further away than he had to, simply to keep distance between his car and those of the other shoppers. "I could use the exercise," he explained to Meghan.

"See," said William, pointing to a sign as they crossed the parking lot to the door.

"So that's why you shop here, it's open 24 hours."

"Yeah, it's open 24 hours, but not in a row."

She looked puzzled.

"That's an old Steven Wright joke. I tell it every time I'm here. Even if I'm by myself, I still tell it. It's tradition."

"And what a grand tradition it is."

As they approached the gigantic glass payload style doors at the front of the store, William put an arm in front of Meghan to hold her back and warned, "Watch yourself." Just then the automatic doors slid open. "Them doors is haunted." Another set of haunted doors had to be passed before entering the actual store area. Meghan was somewhat amused to see the bargain basement conditions of the chain grocer.

"It's nice to see a store not caught up in trying to win over the customer with needless frills like tile floors and actual shelves."

"Hey, I'll admit they cut some corners. Sure, the floor might be concrete. And okay, not all the food is unpacked. But I don't care. You know why? Because they pass the savings along to who? To me, the consumer. Thank you, Food 4 Less."

As they wove their way through the produce section, Meghan couldn't help but notice that everything in the store was yellow. All the walls were yellow. The shopping carts were yellow. Even some of the oranges looked a bit yellow. Or maybe those were the lemons.

"If you hated the color yellow this store would really suck," she said, stating the obvious.

"Yeah, I don't know what happened there. But you know who doesn't care?" He paused a moment and then pointed both of his thumbs at his chest before adding, "This guy! And you know why?"

"Because they pass the savings along to you, the consumer."

"Exactly. I need potatoes."

Food 4 Less potatoes were just twenty-five cents a pound. That's a good twenty cents lower than the competition. That's called comparison shopping. Look into it. William carefully inspected each potato before allowing it into his plastic produce bag. In all, he found twelve that were suitable.

"So what do you look for in a potato?" asked Meghan in mockery of the selection process.

"Pretty much the same thing I look for in a woman. They have to be firm, ripe, and less than thirty cents a pound."

After double bagging his potatoes and securing them with the provided green twist tie, William began to eye up the scale. He handed the bag to Meghan. "How much you think they weigh?"

She hoisted them up and down once or twice and then ventured, "Seven pounds."

William took the bag back. "No way. I say no more than five pounds, six ounces." He placed the potatoes on the scale. The thin red needle flashed to exactly five pounds, six ounces. Meghan looked at him in astonishment.

"I used to work at a carnival," joked William as he lifted the potatoes free. "Don't kid yourself, carny folk are good people. Now I need some rice."

William went on his way. Meghan hung back with a suspicious eye towards the scale. She selected a potato at random and plopped it on the tray. The needle spun to a stop at five pounds, six ounces. "Cheat!"

William turned with a grin, "That's not cheating. That's called home field advantage."

Meghan replaced the potato in the bin with a flip and rejoined her guide. It was off in search of rice. When they swung on to the back aisle of the store, which included meat and dairy products, they noticed a fellow shopper lingering among the yellow.

"It looks like you're not the only one who keeps odd hours," said Meghan.

"There's usually at least one or two other people here. And I normally don't come until like two or three in the morning. Sometimes, though, it's just the stock boys and me. It would be easy as hell to steal stuff because half the time the lone cashier's off smoking a cigarette or something because they don't think anyone's in the place."

"But you never do."

"Of course not. I'm not a thief. I'm just an antisocial punk. Which, oddly enough, gets me a ten percent discount at all participating 7-11s. Hang a left."

He directed her down the rice aisle. Food 4 Less had quite the assortment of rice. He stepped back to peruse the vast selection.

"What kind do you usually get?" she asked.

"Uncle Ben's. But every once in a while I like to switch up and go with Minute Rice. Gotta keep it fresh."

"You can actually tell the difference?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. They're both very distinctive. Minute Rice is more like Chinese restaurant rice. The grains are smaller and tend to stick together. Uncle Ben's is longer and a bit fluffier. Aw, c'mon, Uncle Ben, it's you and me buddy." He reached down and picked the largest box available. It cost $3.79. That's forty cents cheaper than the recommended retail price. Food 4 Less does it again. "How cool would it be to have Uncle Ben as your real uncle? Just riding around on that steamship all day eating rice. That's the life."

"What's next?" asked Meghan in an attempt to bring the Uncle Ben discussion to a close.

"Pretzels. And then we're out."

The snack food section was clear on the opposite side of the store. They could really make things a whole lot easier on William if they grouped his foods together. Really, would it bust their ass to put potatoes, rice, and pretzels in the same aisle?

"Here, hold these," requested William, handing Meghan the sack of potatoes. He had to reach to the very top of the display in order to claim two massive bags of pretzels, which, of course, were thirty cents cheaper at Food 4 Less.

With all the staples of his diet accounted for, it was time to pay the piper. There was only one register open at this time of night. The cashier, the same woman who was always working whenever William made his customary Sunday night visits, saw him and Meghan at the pretzel display and knew their shopping trip was coming to a close. By the time they made it to register three she was waiting for them.

"Hey," said William, as he loaded his groceries on to the conveyer belt.

"Hi," answered the cashier mechanically, never once making eye contact. She hurriedly went about the business of ringing up his four purchases. William and Meghan shared a quick glance. "$11.46."

William had one of the new twenties all ready to go. She handed him his $8.54 in change.

"Hey, thanks," said William happily.

"Have a good night," responded the woman.

"You too."

The cashier then quickly left the register and went about straightening items on the nearby bread aisle.

"You have to bag yourself?" asked Meghan.

"Yeah, but you know who doesn't care?"

"Just shut up and bag the groceries."

William smiled and stuffed the rice and both bags of pretzels into one plastic shopping bag. He picked it up, along with his potatoes, and looked back towards the cashier.

"You know that lady?" he asked, nodding his head towards the woman that just waited on them. "She's here every Sunday night when I'm here."

"And?" asked Meghan as they strolled from the store.

"And that's all we every say to each other... hey, hi, hey thanks, have a good night, you too. Every week. I've probably seen her more than most of my friends the past few months but we never talk or anything. Each week it's like we're meeting for the first time."

"Why don't you say something?"

"Because I'm not sure she remembers me."

"She has to remember you. You said you're here every Sunday."

"Yeah, I remember her because I'm here every Sunday. But I never talk to anyone during the week. She probably comes in contact with like hundreds of different people each week. She's the Food 4 Less cashier to me, but who am I to her?"

"You're the freak that only buys potatoes, rice, and pretzels."

William opened Meghan's car door for her and stopped to think. "I could see that." After starting on their drive home, the discussion continued. "I think that's probably my greatest fear in life. That people don't remember me. Well, that and that they might take off 'Columbo'."

"You're kind of a hard person to forget," assured Meghan.

"You think so? Because I even have to introduce myself to my parents whenever I see 'em. It's like, Ma, remember me? Delivery room... twenty-three years ago... I was the one crying... anything? Anything at all?"

"I don't think I could ever forget you."

"Sure, that's what you say now, but give it time. I'm very forgettable. In fact, I try to forget I'm myself every day."

"Why do you say stuff like that?"

"It's just a joke."

"I don't like to hear you talk about yourself like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Do you talk that way with everybody or just me?"

"Well, you're pretty much the only person I talk to."

"You don't talk to your friends?"

"Yeah, but we just goof around. We never really talk."

"What about your family?"

"What about 'em?"

"Are you close?"

"Sort of. I mean, I don't fight with my parents or anything. I like them. And I'm reasonably sure they still like me. But it's not like I call them on the phone to chat or anything."

"Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"I've got one sister."

"Older or younger?"

"Older."

"How much older?"

"She's thirty. I think. Yeah, thirty. Or twenty-nine. Somewhere in there."

"Do you talk to her at all?"

"If I see her at the house. We don't call each other or anything."

"Why not?"

"I've got a hotel phone. Calls can come in, but I can't dial out."

"Seriously, why don't you call them more often?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just not the kind of guy that talks on the phone. I hate calling people. I don't call anyone. All my friends call me. I never call them. That's probably why we get along so well because I've never once called you on the phone. I just hate it."

"Why?"

"It's just really awkward for me. I think it's because I'm a counter puncher, ya know? I need someone else to provide the straight lines. That's why I don't mind if people call me because they've got the lead and I can just react off what they say. But when I try and call someone it's murder. And, really, what right do I have to bother someone else? They know that I'm always home. If they want me, they can call. If not, who cares? I'd rather be left alone, anyway." He thought about what he just said. "That doesn't mean you, though. I like having you around."

"And exactly why is that?"

"I'm not sure. I think maybe it's because when I'm alone with you I get the feeling that at least someone in the room likes me."

"There you go again..."

"I can't help it. I need my self-hate."

Meghan condemned the notion with an icy stare. When he couldn't take the chill any longer, William offered a meek "sorry." She merely shook her head in frustration. But he was simply too pathetic to stay angry at long. By the time they returned to his apartment they were once again on friendly speaking terms.

William tossed his groceries on the kitchen counter. There, they were put away.

"You sure you don't want any rice?" he asked as he began to prepare the steamer.

"No, that's okay."

William's rice steamer was one of his prized possessions. His mother bought it for him a long time ago when he first started his regimented diet. It cost about twenty bucks, but its real value could not be measured in slips of green paper. It made cooking rice a snap. He just poured the desired amount of rice into its plastic dish, mixed in some water so everything got all wet like, added some more water in the base, and plugged it in. Within fifteen minutes the rice was cooked to perfection. Somewhere Uncle Ben was smiling.

They spent the time waiting for the rice to cook flipping through the dial. Even after the rice was done he didn't eat it right away. William always let it sit for a while in order to let it cool. Room temperature rice was where it's at.

It was time for "The Dick Van Dyke Show". William attempted to entertain Meghan by accurately predicting lines of dialogue. Her initial amazement was soon replaced with fear, then pity. William finished eating his rice just as the closing theme began to roll. It was also clear that Meghan was about done watching TV. She seemed to lack William's stamina in this area.

"Next up is 'Cheers'," informed William, kicking back in the couch with his hands folded on his head. "And if the syndication cycle holds true it should be the first episode with John Allen Hill. Aw, it's so good."

Meghan, who had charge of the remote, had other ideas. She silenced the talking box with a click.

"No, see, the 'power' button turns it off," explained William sarcastically.

"Let's see if that bed still works," suggested Meghan as she began walking back to the bedroom.

William slowly turned his head to watch as she passed. "But I just ate all that rice." She continued down the hall without fail. William tilted his head back and yelled after her, "We're not going to be doing any swimming, are we?"

The bed held up just fine. William was hoping that she'd be able to stay awake the whole night with him and adjust to his schedule for once, but it just wasn't meant to be. She started to fall asleep somewhere around three. It was tough to say for sure because there wasn't a clock in the room. Although, a sudden knock at the front door seemed to tell William that it was about 3:30.

"Aw, fuck..." muttered William.

"What's wrong?" asked Meghan, still under the influence of sleep.

William slipped from the bed and started to get dressed. There was another knock, this time slightly louder. "Remember that whole stealing-the-Big-Boy thing I told you about? Well, we're supposed to have a practice run tonight."

"You're still actually going to go through with that?"

"Listen, if I'd have met you sooner I never would have gotten involved, I probably wouldn't do a lot of things I have planned. But I promised. So I have to. If a man doesn't have his word, he doesn't have anything."

"What is that?" asked Meghan drowsily. "Clint Eastwood?"

"No, actually it's from the 'Charles and Charge' when Charles had to pass up a date with Gwendylon so he could help one of those weasel kids with a science project." He slammed his feet into his shoes. "Just go back to sleep. I won't be gone long."

"Be careful."

"I will."

"Because if I even have to bail you out of jail..." She rolled over and went back to sleep. William quietly closed the bedroom door and motored down the hall to try and beat a third knock. He didn't quite make it.

"What the hell? Were you sleepin'?" asked Wilson upon William opening the door.

"No, no, I was just painting," answered William nervously.

"I would have called first to make sure you were around but then I figured you ain't goin' anywhere." Lou tried to enter the apartment but William blocked his way.

"Let's go wait outside for everybody," said William, pulling on a thick flannel jacket. "They're all coming, right?"

"Yeah, but why do we have to wait downstairs? It's kind of cold out there."

"I could use the fresh air."

"Do you have someone in there?" asked Wilson with a smile. "You dog you!" He gave it his all to try and look over William's shoulder to see what he could as he was being pushed back into the hall. "Who've you got back there?"

"No one. Let's go wait outside." William pulled the door shut behind him and took special care to make sure it locked. He finished adjusting the collar of his jacket as he approached the steps; Wilson remained staring at the apartment door.

"You sensitive artist types get all the chicks," cracked Wilson. He then began to follow William's trail down the stairs.

"What time is it?" asked William without even turning around.

"It's like twenty till four."

"You sure they're all comin'?"

"Yeah, they'll be here."

Of course they'd be there. What else did they have to do? Stealing the Big Boy was the biggest thing in their lives. They'd show.

Sure enough, the wait outside was only a few minutes before Dom's car pulled up. Norm and Matt were along for the ride. Car-pooling was fun.

"What up, boys?" greeted Dom loudly.

"Shhhh. Remember, it's four in the morning," cautioned William. "No need to wake the neighbors."

"Sorry."

"Are we ready to go?" asked William of his troops.

"Yeah," answered Norm on behalf of the crew.

"You guys got the phones?"

"Check," said Dom, proudly holding his for all to see. Norm signaled confirmation with a tap of his coat pocket.

"And we all know our roles?" Everyone seemed confident. "No questions?" No one spoke up. "What time is it?"

"Ten till four," replied Matthew after consulting his watch.

"Then I guess it's time to get rollin'. And remember, this is just a practice run. If something doesn't feel right, or if the cops are around, there's no need to tip our hand. All right? No unnecessary risks. Save bein' a hero for the real show. Got it?"

Understanding was voiced with silence. Dom and Matt both gave lazy salutes and were off on their way. The remaining three got into Lou's car and waited for the call. William took the passenger side and Norm sat in the back, just as they would in exactly one week's time.

"We wait for them to call and then we move out, right?" asked Wilson for clarification.

"Yeah," replied William. He checked the dashboard clock. It was 3:54. He had been away from Meghan approximately fourteen minutes. It was too long. Why was he even doing this?

"I'd get my IQ tattooed on my ass," said Norm completely out of the blue. That's why William was doing this.

"What?" erupted Wilson.

"Some guy at work was saying that in the future they should make everyone get their IQs tattooed on their foreheads so you'd know how smart someone is when you meet them." As Norm continued to stare out the windshield and ponder the proposal, Wilson and William just looked at each other with stunned smiles of disbelief. "I'd get mine on my ass," finished Norm.

The next sound heard was the ringing of the cell phone. Norm didn't react.

William turned to look at Norm. "Dude, I think the phone's ringing."

Watching him slowly draw the phone from his coat and clumsily figure out how to operate it made William and Wilson wonder if this plan was indeed foolproof.

"Yello... okay..." Norm kept the receiver by his ear but rotated the mouthpiece out of the way in order to give the word. "It's all good."

Lou backed out and they were on their way. When the car turned on to Covington Street it was 4:06. Everything was right on target. William surveyed the surrounding area for any cops and couldn't see a one. Norm kept watch out the back window. The Man must have been sleeping.

They cruised down the auxiliary road behind Elby's without incident. It was 4:07. Norm gave one final update from Matthew. "It's still all good."

Wilson swung the car into the Elby's parking lot and lined up the back end with the Big Boy just as planned. Norm skillfully handed off the phone and then he and William poured from the car. They marched towards the Big Boy like mission men. Their movements were concise and confident. They picked up their burger-toting buddy, held him for a few seconds, and then lowered him back into place. William pretended to slap a note on the front window before ambling his way to the car. Doors shut, Wilson handed the phone back to Norm, and they casually pulled out of the parking lot.

"Your baby's hungry, mama, make him some cornbread," was Norm's way of telling Matthew that they were leaving the scene of the crime. And that's what they did. They left. They didn't flee. There was no panic or excitement involved. Everything was calculated and controlled. It was flawless.

About a hundred feet down I-79 they could see Dom's car pulled over on the side of the road. His flashers were on and he was kneeling down by the back right tire. Wilson slowed ever so slightly as they passed and William gave Dom the old six-gun point to let him know everything was cool. As they drove into town, the Canadian Wonder Boy dashed back around to the driver's seat and continued his half of the plan, which included going back to pick up Matthew. And surprisingly enough, he did so without making an ass of himself. Everything was beautiful, straight down the line.

Part two: the dropoff. Once Dom picked him up, Matthew got on the horn and alerted the lead car of their progress. Wilson, displaying mad driving skills, paced things perfectly and was climbing Otterman Street at the exact moment that Dom and Matthew arrived into position at the far end of Main.

"All clear, all clear," reported Matt.

Wilson crossed Main and coolly pulled alongside the curb of the Court House. William and Norm vaulted from the car and went through the motions of unloading the imaginary Big Boy. They walked up to the corner, waited a few seconds, and then dashed back to their waiting chariot. The doors shut. Wilson pulled away. And that was that.

"Baby likes the cornbread, mama," confirmed Norm, informing Matt and Dom that things went smoothly and that it was time to return to William's apartment. They pretty much arrived there together, each car emptying into the gravel parking lot for an informal bull session.

"That was too easy," claimed Dom.

"Yeah, that was nice," agreed Norm.

"Did you guys see any cops at all?" asked Wilson of Dom and Matt.

"There were two of them parked at Sunoco," answered Matt. "But they were just sittin' there talking to each other."

"Protect and serve," mocked Wilson.

Everyone was so happy about the plan proving to be a winner that they really didn't notice William edging his way to the building door. He had already turned the knob and had one foot inside before he spoke up.

"All right then, fellas. Next Sunday night we make it happen."

"Where are you goin'?" questioned Wilson.

"It's past my bed time," smiled William.

"Whatever," replied Wilson sharply. "You've got at least another two hours before you have to be back in your coffin."

"I gotta go," assured William, gesturing to the stairs. "But you guys were great tonight." He pointed at them with his right index finger for effect. "And I'm proud of each and every one of you. Seriously." He placed his right hand on his heart. "I mean that." He closed the door, pointed at them one more time through the glass, and took off up the stairs.

Lou, Dom, Matt, and Norm just looked at each other.

"It's gotta be a broad," theorized Wilson.

William crept quietly into the bedroom, having already discarded his coat and shoes by the door. Not wanting to disturb Meghan, who was sleeping on her right side with her back towards him, he didn't even attempt to get undressed or climb under the covers. He merely lied down on his back beside her and took comfort in her warmth.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Waking up in his own bed was a strange feeling for William. He almost didn't recognize the surroundings at first. Meghan was gone but there was a yellow piece of paper taped to the bedroom door. William didn't even know he had tape, or yellow paper for that matter. The note read simply "Come over."

William was somewhat surprised when the bathroom clock informed him it was only one in the afternoon. After showering, shaving, and clotting, he made his way across the hall.

He could hear the thundering of computer keys. Meghan was writing. He momentarily considered coming back later, but there was never a good enough reason to postpone seeing her. He gave her door five quick knocks.

"Come in!" called Meghan enthusiastically.

"I could come back later if you're busy," offered William as he leaned into the apartment.

"No, I'm all right," she countered, spinning around in her chair to wave him in. "I didn't expect you to be up this early."

"Neither did I." William took a seat on the couch. "I think you're having a bad influence on me."

"Yeah, it would be a real shame if you actually start to live like a normal person."

"More tragic than anything. How's the writing goin'?"

"Great. I think I'm doing some good stuff."

"What page are you on?"

"217."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive."

"My target is to get it up around 300."

"So you've composed 217 pages of a book?"

"Yes."

"I don't think I've ever even read 217 pages of anything in my life."

"But you've probably watched a TV show about some guy reading 217 pages..."

"Oh yeah, sure. I mean, it was a little boring at first, but it picked up. And besides, there really wasn't anything else on."

Meghan hopped over to the couch. "What do you want to do today?"

"I don't know," said William. "You seem to be writing up a storm, maybe you should just stick with it."

"I don't want to write all day, though. We can still do something. How about we go out to dinner tonight?"

"Remember how I feel about parties? I feel the same way about going out to dinner."

"We won't go anywhere with a lot of people."

"It's not just that. It's just always awkward for me because I don't eat anything."

"We'll go to a Chinese place. You can get an order of rice."

"I've got rice at home."

"Yeah, but this will be real Chinese rice cooked by real Chinese people."

"Real Chinese people, huh?"

"And they're professionals. They really know how to cook rice. You'll love it."

"I do like-a the rice..."

"I know, so this will be perfect for you. C'mon..."

"Which restaurant?"

"We could just go to that one over here in the shopping plaza by Foodland. I think it's a Sezchuwan Gardens. Or is it a Lucky House?"

"Lucky House?" asked William with some wonderment. "Hey, maybe I'll get laid."

"Maybe," stated Meghan in mocking agreement.

"Might as well. It's not every day you get to eat Chinese food in that close a proximity to a Radio Shack. What time you want to go?"

"How about six?"

"How about seven? That way we'll miss the dinner crowd."

"Isn't that kind of late for dinner?"

"You're asking the wrong person."

"Okay, seven it is. And I'll drive."

"I can't help but think that's some sort of reflection on my car."

"No, it's not that. It's just, well, okay it is that."

"I see how it is. Just because it's a little dirty..."

"The streets of Calcutta are a little dirty."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'll drive."

"Whatever." William stood up and started for the door. "Just come get me when you're ready."

"Seven o'clock," reminded Meghan.

"Seven o'clock," confirmed William as he shut the door behind him.

While Meghan continued to busily type away, William returned home and turned on the TV. Monday afternoon at two was a glorious time to be alive. Yes, that's right; "Columbo" was on A&E. He was so busy the night before that he forgot to set the VCR to record it. Maybe that's the real reason he got up so early, his internal Columbo alarm rang. It was the episode with John Cassavetes. Good stuff. "Quincy" was on at four. Quince had to track down a nasty case of gonorrhea. Five was "Get Smart", 5:30 "Mr. Ed", 6:00 "Dennis the Menace", and 6:30 meant, as usual, "NewsRadio."

He was flipping to "Seinfeld" when he heard Meghan leave her apartment. He listened as she locked her door, stepped across the hall, and walked right in.

"Ready?" she asked, still pulling on her coat.

"So you don't even knock now?"

"I'm sorry. Should I have?"

"No, I like it," said William as he turned off the TV and got to his feet. "I'm all for anything that makes my life more like a sitcom." He went back to the bedroom to get his shoes, coat, and wallet and emerged with a wardrobe question. "Am I cool like this? I got kind of busy and didn't have time to change."

"You're fine."

William sat back down on the couch and pulled on his shoes - a pair of black Adidas Sambas, the official shoe of slackers everywhere. The left lace was knotted in place but the right needed tying.

"So what's it feel like to be leaving the house three days in a row?" questioned Meghan with a smile.

William pulled his bow tight and stood up. "It's not something I'm proud of, it's not something I condone, but I guess I'll give it a shot. Must be the pioneer spirit in me."

"You're a regular Davy Crockett."

"I was thinking more along the lines of the Monkees' Davey Jones and his ground-breaking work with the tambourine, but I'll take Davy Crockett."

The restaurant was about three minutes away from their building. It was part of a multi-store shopping plaza that also contained a Phar-Mor, a Fantastic Sam's, a tanning parlor, and the aforementioned Radio Shack. The Sezchuwan Gardens was at the far left end of the united storefront and was known more for its takeout than sit-down business.

William opened the door for Meghan partly because he was being gentlemanly and partly because he hated walking into places first. They were only standing by the "Please, wait to be seated" sign a few seconds before a cheerful woman, perhaps a bit too cheerful, welcomed them and showed them to their table.

The restaurant itself was one long, slender room. The dining area was a bit cramped, with four booths running along the left wall and five tables scattered over the remaining floor. The hostess placed Meghan and William in the third booth. Another somewhat older couple occupied the first, while one of the tables was being used by two guys and a girl, all appearing to be in their early twenties. Business wasn't exactly booming, but then again neither was Hadleyville.

"Can I get you something to drink?" asked the merry hostess after presenting them with menus.

"I'll just have water," smiled Meghan.

"Make that two, please," said William, accompanying the line by holding up two fingers of his right hand. Visual aids are always a benefit. "Thanks."

The woman smiled and was on her way. Even though he already knew what he was going to get, William checked the menu anyway.

"Seventy-five cents for a large order of rice. I can swing that. What are you gonna get?"

"I don't know," said Meghan, studying the various entrees. "I think I might go with the Moo Goo Gai Pan."

"Really!" responded William excitedly.

"Yeah, why?"

"There's this classic episode of 'The Bob Newhart Show' where Bob and his buddies all sit around and get ripped and then order up a whole mess of Moo Goo Gai Pan. Bob's so hammered that once he starts saying Moo Goo Gai Pan he just can't stop. He's like all 'More Moo Goo Gai Pan!' They end up getting like eighty bucks worth. The kid has to deliver it on a dolly. It's funny stuff."

"Sounds like it," said an unimpressed Meghan as she continued to survey her culinary options.

"Bob Newhart drunk!" reinforced William. "It doesn't get any better than that."

Meghan looked up and grinned. "How could it possibly?" She went back to the menu.

The woman returned with their water. "Are you ready to order?" William motioned for Meghan to go first.

"I think I'll have the mixed vegetable platter."

The woman turned to William.

"I'd just like a large order of rice, please." He felt the need to add "And that's all." The woman continued to smile and reached for their menus. William felt he had to say something else to justify his choice in meal. "I'm going in for surgery tomorrow." The woman just smiled and walked away.

"Do you think she got that?" asked William of Meghan.

"I don't think I got that."

"Aw, c'mon! That was quality. Rice and water is kind of a lame dinner order. I have to say something. I've got two choices; the surgery line or I could say I just got out of prison. And that's all I got."

"You don't have to say anything. It's a restaurant not a court. You can get whatever you want without having to defend it."

"Easy for you to say, you got the mixed vegetable platter. And what happened to the Moo Goo Gai Pan?"

Meghan took a sip of her water. "I figured it was the only way I could survive the night without hearing more Bob Newhart anecdotes."

"That hurts."

"Besides, I think the Moo Goo Gai Pan has chicken in it."

"Why you say that?"

"The little picture of the chicken at the top of the page and its being listed under 'chicken dinners.'"

"Hey, you did go to college." William took a hit of his water and began looking around the room rather uncomfortably. He seemed a bit jittery.

"You okay?" asked Meghan.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just getting a feel for the room."

"And?"

"It's not too bad. Put a TV over in the corner and I think I could get used to it."

"See, eating in public isn't so terrible."

"If you say so. I just always have three distinct feelings at times like this."

"When? When you're in a public place?"

"Yeah," replied William as he adjusted the table's soy sauce bottle so that the label was three- quarters visible and in harmony with its surroundings. "The first is to get the hell out of here. But I don't really have that option since, like, you're here and stuff."

"And you've got rice coming."

"And I've got rice coming. The second is to fight somebody."

"Really?"

"Yeah, like that kid over there," William flipped a casual nod over Meghan's right shoulder to the twenty-somethings. "Don't look."

She looked anyway. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing. I just get the feeling he wants to go."

"You get that feeling, do ya?"

"Yeah."

"May I ask why?"

"I don't know. It's a guy thing."

"Well, if you're going to fight wait until after we eat but before the check arrives."

"Will do. But don't worry. I'm a pacifist. Me and Gandhi." He took a drink of water. "Not only do we share similar beliefs, we're also very close on the height-weight charts. Which makes me wonder if Gandhi would have been so peaceful had he been 6'4, 220."

"What's the third?"

William was still sizing up his imagined opponent. "Huh?"

"What's the third distinct feeling you get in public places?"

"To get up and do something funny."

"Go for it."

"There's a better chance of me fighting that kid."

The woman arrived with their food. No service is speedier than in an empty Chinese restaurant. She served Meghan's first; a heaping plate of steamed vegetables and rice that could have been used as an advertisement for the restaurant. It was a wonderful composition of colors. Then the woman gave William his lone bowl with a solitary scoop of rice in the middle.

"Thank you, it looks delicious," beamed Meghan.

"Yeah, thanks," said William, feeling very much like Charlie Brown on Halloween.

The woman smiled and floated away. As Meghan took the first few bites of her meal, William, with his arms down at his sides, was still awed by the presentation of his rice. He'd never seen it given in the shape of a perfectly rounded dome. He looked back to the kitchen door. "I wonder if I could get a cherry and some chocolate sauce."

Meghan picked up his fork and broke up the rice for him.

"There."

William looked back to his bowl. "Hey, rice!"

"How is it?" asked Meghan.

William paused as if to evaluate the taste. "Good body. Good texture. A modest rice, but a good rice."

"Better than Uncle Ben's?"

"Don't get silly. How's your vegetables and whatnot?"

"Excellent. You should really eat some vegetables."

"They make me sick."

"Try some." She offered her plate. "I think it would be a good idea to add some variety to your diet. The vitamins will do you good."

"Thanks anyway, but that's okay. I'll stick with the rice."

"Aren't you worried that your body's just going to shut down someday?"

"Worried? I'm looking forward to it." He took a bite of rice. "Why don't you tell me about the book?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Am I in it? I bet I am, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I knew it," grinned William. "I bet I'm the romantic leading man."

"Actually, you're the Mexican immigrant farmhand, Miguel."

"Yeah, but I bet Miguel gets the girl in the end, though, right?"

"No, Miguel gets run over by a thresher in a farming accident."

"Hard to get happy after that one. Seriously, what's the book about?"

"It involves a love triangle of sorts."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Current day?"

"Yeah."

"Where at?"

"Just a small eastern town."

"Sounds familiar. I'm assuming it's one woman and two guys."

"Yeah."

"And is one of these guys incredibly good looking and hilariously funny?"

"Yeah, but don't feel bad. I did base the other one on you."

"How comforting."

"I thought you'd like that."

"I don't want to burst your bubble, but similar themes have been explored to great length in the world of classic television. Take, for example, the episode of 'Dobie Gillis' when..."

"Does everything have to revolve around TV with you?"

"Yes. Yes it does. You know, when I was a kid I thought everybody used to see in black in white. I figured people didn't start seeing in color until shortly before the first full season of 'Get Smart.'"

"Why? Exactly what makes TV so special?"

"Would you like it alphabetically or in order of importance?"

"I would just like some insight into your unparalleled admiration for the vast wasteland."

"There's no need for name calling," warned William with a smile. He took a bite of rice and gave thought to his next line. "TV is everything life should be."

"How so?"

"Well, take 'Dobie Gillis.' Every time you tune in you know what you're gonna get."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Dobie's gonna fall in love with a girl and go to comedic extremes to try and win her heart, all the while angering his dad with his flightiness and receiving hilarious help from the great Maynard G. Krebs."

"Who?"

"Maynard G. Krebs. Dobie's best buddy. A beatnik slacker and personal role model of yours truly. He was played by a young Bob Denver."

"That singer?"

"No, Bob Denver. You know, Gilligan?"

"Oh."

"Anyway, no matter how hard he tries, you know in the end Dobie's not gonna get the girl and his heart's gonna be broken. Yet he never gives up. Before long he'll be back in front of the Thinker with..."

"The statue?" interrupted Meghan.

"What?"

"He'd sit in front of the statue? Rodin's Thinker?"

"Yeah, it was one of the show's gimmicks. Helped show Dobie's depth. So, like I was sayin', Dobie would always be back in front of the Thinker with a message of hope for the future. And Maynard usually throws in one final joke to send everyone home happy."

"And that's what life should be?"

"Yeah. Every sitcom episode is a perfect blueprint for life. There's a beginning, there's a middle, and there's a definite end. All the slow parts get edited out. We don't watch Dobie making lunch or trying to fall asleep at night. We don't see Dobie grow old. He's spared from time. He'll always be Dobie. And he's always on. He's always scripted. Life should be scripted."

"Sometimes I think yours is."

"But the best part is when the credits roll, it's over. In real life people never recognize when it's time for the credits."

"How is everything?" asked the cheerful waitress upon returning to the table.

"Fine, thank you," smiled Meghan.

"Would you like anything else?"

"No thank you. We're fine."

The woman smiled and was on her way. William set out to finish his rice. Meghan tried to change the subject.

"What time is it?" she asked.

William gave a quizzical look to his bare right wrist. He then proceeded to tap it rather harshly with the index and middle fingers of his left hand. He held his wrist to his ear for a moment and then gave it three more frustrated taps. Having completed the shtick, William's attention returned to his rice. "I don't own a watch." He scooped up the last bite. "Something about wearing a reminder of my own mortality makes me uncomfortable."

"Is there a clock in here?" asked Meghan as she turned to inspect the walls of the restaurant.

"Why? You've got another date?"

"No, there's just someplace else I'd like to take you."

"I didn't even know the circus was in town."

The waitress made a final appearance, bringing with her the check and two fortune cookies.

"Excuse me, do you have the time?"

The woman consulted her watch and answered back, "It's a quarter till eight."

"Thank you."

As the woman slipped away, William reached for the check.

"I'll pay," offered Meghan, stretching to snag the slip.

"No, I got it."

"Yeah, but I have a job."

"Good point." William surrendered the bill.

Meghan accepted it with a grin. "You could have at least put up a fight."

"Just another benefit of being a pacifist."

"Do the fortune cookies have eggs in them?" asked Meghan as she dropped eight bucks on the six-dollar check.

William carefully studied the ingredients on the clear plastic wrapper. "It would appear to be fetus free."

"You going to eat yours?"

"No, that's okay."

"Well, you at least have to read your fortune."

They both busted open their respective cookies.

"What's yours say?" asked William.

"Wisdom will lead you true. Yours?"

William did a double take at his tiny strip of paper. "'Tip big.' What the hell kind of fortune is that? And it says my lucky number is 'H.' The whole thing's a scam." He tossed away the paper in disgust. "Let's get outta here."

They laughingly made their way out of the establishment, wishing their waitress the best as they went. The pleasant Sezchuwan employee then cleared the table of all traces of the dinner. Gathered up along with the plates and glasses was a discarded fortune that bore a promise of true love.

"Exactly where are we going?" asked William as Meghan spirited them away to their mysterious destination.

"It's a surprise."

Using his vast cognitive powers, along with his keen natural instincts, William was able to deduce that the eventual goal was the Westmoreland Museum of American Art. Of course, it wasn't until the car actually began to turn into the Museum parking lot that he came to the solution, but then again Columbo only taught him how to solve murders, not deduce travel plans. Either way, he wasn't happy.

"It's closed," declared William before the front wheels were even off the street.

"I thought it was open till nine," countered Meghan with a sense of hope. A sense that was challenged by the vacant parking lot and darkened building.

"Only Thursdays. Every other night it's open until five."

Meghan pulled the car to a stop by the front entrance. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Why Thursdays?"

"I don't know. I think it's Jell-o shot night."

"You come here a lot?"

"No, I haven't been here since I was a little kid."

"Then how do you know the times it's open?"

He gave her a look that brought into doubt the need for the previous question.

"Well, let's go check the times just to be sure," she offered apologetically. "Maybe we can come back tomorrow." William didn't immediately take to the idea. He seemed quite anxious to leave. But he never stood a chance. A cajoling "C'mon" and a smile were enough in the way of persuasion to get him to open his door. It would have been enough persuasion for him to dive on a grenade.

She waited for him at the foot of the steps and led him by the arm to the main entrance. The Museum was an impressive building, for no other reason than that it was found in Hadleyville. It was located on North Main Street, across from the Blessed Sacrament Cathedral Church and just below the junior high. Despite its prominence, it was an architectural throwback. From the outside it looked more like an orphanage than a museum. It was a modest three-story, redbrick structure that screamed small town. No hint of Guggenheim anywhere. The only extravagance was a somewhat ornate four-columned porch that welcomed visitors atop a brief set of stone stairs. A line of full-grown elm trees encircled the entire lot and protected the elite realm from the maddening town. It was a peaceful, serene place, for most people.

An autumn wind sent falling leaves swirling around them as they climbed the cold granite steps. All the while William had to be pulled towards the entrance. It seemed he was approaching his executioner more than the city's cultural center. The fact the Museum was closed did little to dull the anxiety. Just being in the building's proximity was enough to disturb him, to remind him of what could have been.

A placard in the window proved his knowledge of the Museum's schedule to be correct.

"What are the chances of you making it up here before five?" asked Meghan.

"Slim."

"That's what I thought." She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the front window. "I have to work Thursday night. Maybe next week?"

"Sure," conceded William, standing on the edge of the top step with his back to the building. He cowered in its imposing shadow and busied himself with the sights of the passing traffic. After a few strained moments he defiantly turned to find her. "Ready?"

"I really feel bad that it was closed," said Meghan as she opened the door to her apartment. "I thought that would be something cool for us to do."

"I appreciate the effort."

"What do you want to do now?"

"I don't know. You should probably get back to writing."

"I don't have to."

"I was thinking maybe we could go for a walk later."

"Where to?"

"Nowhere in particular. Just around the neighborhood. It's something I like to do."

"Yeah, that sounds fine. When do you want to go?"

"See, that's the catch. I don't usually go until like two or three at night."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's really peaceful out. No one's around."

"Aren't you scared that you'll run into some crazy person?"

"When you're out walking at three AM, you are the crazy person."

"And this is something you like to do?"

"Yeah. I just thought I'd see if you're up to it."

"Well, I don't work tomorrow."

"You'll like it. I promise."

"Okay. Just come over and get me whenever you want to go. I'll try and write a little bit more and then I'll take a nap in preparation for the big event."

"Sounds like a plan."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got some things to do. But I'll be over around three. Cool?"

"Cool."

William returned to his apartment with a sigh of relief. Sometimes the same old rut can be healing. He slumped on the couch and fired up the TV. He watched nothing in particular until it was time for Letterman and Conan. One-thirty brought 'The Mary Tyler Moore Show,' two 'The Dick Van Dyke Show,' and two-thirty 'Cheers.' It was time to go pick up Meghan.

The building was deathly silent, as it always was at this time of night. He was, however, encouraged by the light sliding from under her door. At least she was up. He gave three soft raps. The door opened.

"Hey," whispered Meghan. It was a drowsy-eyed greeting.

"You sure you want to do this?" asked William as she stepped into the hall and locked her door.

"Yeah, it'll be different."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A couple hours. I just woke up. I'll eventually come around."

"I really appreciate you doing this. It means a lot to me."

She smiled up at him. "I always do my best to help the less fortunate." She hooked her arm in his and they were off.

Winter was definitely on its way. The air had a snarl to it. Meghan assured him it wasn't a problem. It wouldn't be much longer before the cold would claim these late night excursions. William tried to make this one count. He delighted in sharing another sliver of his world with her, no matter how mundane. And stranger still, she seemed to cherish the opportunity.

He led her along his usual trail through the dimly lit suburban streets. They passed the quiet houses and, as William had done on many a night before, considered the ordinary lives slumbering within. Opinions were voiced and theories constructed on each brick box containing its own individual story of importance. And they walked past them all, hand in hand, without ever realizing they were beginning to write their own.

Not wanting to expose her to the chilling night air longer than necessary, William decided to shorten the course. He elected to turn back after reaching the stop sign that usually marked no more than the quarter pole of his standard journey. She filed a faint protest but he assured her it was all the exercise he could take and needed to get home. After all, he was frail.

The return trip was made in silence. Neither one seemed to notice the lack of conversation. Each was content in the knowledge that the other was there. Sometimes that's enough.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tuesday once again found Meghan and William spending the day together. Except this time they didn't brave the outside world. Convincing her that four straight days of leaving the apartment might indeed kill him, it was agreed that they'd just lull the day away inside the comfort of their own walls.

Because of the late walk the previous night, Meghan actually didn't wake up until two in the afternoon. She was not proud of the sleeping indulgence. William, on the other hand, considered it a true sign of accomplishment. Had she not balked at the idea, there would have been a ceremony held in her honor.

After spending a few hours chatting and doing nothing in particular, Meghan went to the computer and William went across the hall to paint. Or at least that's what he told her. It was more like he went home to just be home. He seemed to draw strength from it. Plus, there was a TV.

At about eight o'clock that evening he returned to her side. He couldn't stand to be away any longer. She was still typing. "You mind if I borrow a book?" asked William, reaching for an excuse.

Meghan turned from her monitor in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"I figured I'd give it a shot. There's not much on at the moment."

"Yeah, help yourself." She focused back on the blue screen in front of her and finished pounding out a series of keys.

He perused the available titles. "Any recommendations?"

She stood up and joined him at the bookshelf. "What are you in the mood for?"

"I'm not sure. I've seen most of these. Got anything that wasn't made into a movie?"

She pulled out an aging black-covered book with a picture of a flower on the front. "How about 'The Bell Jar' by Sylvia Plath?"

"What's it about?"

"Well, it's about this girl who... on second thought, maybe that's not such a good idea." She shoved the book back into its assigned place.

"Why not?"

"It might hit a little too close to home."

"I don't even know what that means."

"We'll find something else." She knelt down to inspect the lower shelves. "Any thoughts on Hemingway?"

"Didn't he kill himself?"

"Yeah, he shot himself when he was like sixty-two, I think."

"He committed suicide in his sixties?"

"Yeah."

"I don't even know if you can still call it suicide if you do it when you're sixty."

Meghan, hating herself for doing so, looked up at him in curiosity and asked, "What should you call it?"

William, his eyes still searching the upper shelves for a desired title, responded with a one-word answer. "Redundant."

She shook it off and presented another option for consideration. "You liked 'The Great Gatsby,' right?"

"Yeah."

She stood back up, handing him a nearly identical thin blue book to the one she was reading in the laundry room on the night they became, well, really good friends. "Here, give this a whirl. It's another one by F. Scott Fitzgerald."

"'This Side of Paradise'? Wasn't this his first published novel?"

"Yeah. I'd ask how you know that, but there's really no point." She sat back down at her desk. "You can stay here if you want."

"It won't bother you?"

"No, I don't care."

"Well, then maybe I'll just hit the couch. It is kind of nice to spend some time surrounded by different walls. It's almost like a vacation."

"Almost."

The intermission did little to stifle Meghan's creative output. She picked up right where she left off. Meanwhile, William did his best to take his first few steps into literature. He got comfortable on the couch, wanting to train his complete and undivided attention on the pages of Fitzgerald.

Page one. Damn, Meghan looked good. It was the only thought that filled his head as he peeked over the top of the book at the object of his affection. She seemed completely oblivious to his presence. But he couldn't ignore her. He tried to make sense of the words. His mind was somewhere else. His heart was somewhere else.

Every so often he would turn a page in order to continue the charade. But all he could think of was how she felt in his arms. How lucky he was to have her in his life. And how he'd do anything to be with her. Anything. And he also thought of her posture. She had excellent posture. Anyone who can sit that straight at a computer is someone special. He knew he had it bad when he noticed the posture. That's always a sign of devotion. Or obsession. Either one.

The phone rang.

Meghan froze. It rang again. William didn't say a word. They never even looked at each other, but they both knew who was on the other end of that call. She picked up in the middle of the third ring.

"Hello? ... Hey ... not much," she spun the desk chair around to see William, "just trying to write."

This really wasn't a conversation William wanted to hear. He closed the book and begged off, motioning to Meghan that he would go back to his place. She gave a quick nod of agreement without ever neglecting her role on the phone. "Do you know when you'll be coming home yet?" was the last thing William heard as he closed her apartment door.

It had been nice forgetting about the specter of Mark for the past few days, but he wasn't going to disappear. He would eventually reenter the picture. Their temporary respite was almost over. The phone call was just a reminder of things to come, things neither William nor Meghan wanted to consider.

Once she was out of sight, reading Fitzgerald suddenly regained its appeal. He needed something to occupy his mind in order to keep his thoughts from collapsing upon themselves. So he read. He read with great speed and purpose. He devoured the text. The pages couldn't seem to turn fast enough. He needed the diversion. Whether it came from the Voice of the Lost Generation or not wasn't important. All that mattered was that the steady stream of words flooded his brain and rendered his own problems a secondary concern. He was just glad he wasn't going to have to write a book report. He wouldn't be able to tell 'This Side of Paradise' from the south side of Jersey.

Exactly how much time had passed was uncertain. He was on page 86 when he heard her door open. Without getting up from his prone position on the couch, he turned his head to watch her storm the apartment. Their eyes met for only a brief moment and not a word was exchanged. She never even broke stride as she proceeded hastily down the hall to the bedroom. Sherman's march on Atlanta was less deliberate.

At first William didn't know what to do. He listened for instructions. None came. He waited a few anxious seconds longer before dropping his book to the floor and following her lead.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It had been several weeks since William had seen his parents. It was something he had been meaning to do, something that had to be done. He had planned for it. However, the motive behind the scheduled visit had changed somewhat in the wake of recent events. Make no mistake, there was definitely a hidden agenda at work, a purpose would be served. Now there was just some doubt as to the exact nature of said purpose. .

The timing of the visit was perfect. Not only was Meghan working, but Wednesday evening was traditionally family dinner night at the Lynch household. Back in the day it used to mean that William's grandfather and uncles would join in the ritual feast, but failing health and strained relations had rendered the evening a shell of its former self. Now, only William's sister, Elizabeth, was a regular participant.

On the rare occasion when William did show up, he never actually took part in the breaking of bread. His unique diet meant that he hadn't eaten a meal with his family in over three years. Even when he was still living at home he always prepared his own food at his own times. His participation in family dinners was limited to sitting on a stool at the border of the kitchen and dining room and offering smart-ass comments and one-liners whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was scarcely more than entertainment, contributing little of significance beyond the occasional witty remark or sarcastic barb. Such was his lot in life.

The infrequency of his visits was made all the more awkward by his still living in the immediate vicinity. His apartment was no more than ten minutes away, yet he still couldn't find time, or reason, to stop home more often. It wasn't anything personal. He just wasn't one to socialize, even with blood. His family gradually came to accept it. There wasn't anything they could do to change him. It's who he was. It's what he did.

Like the child it produced, the Lynch house itself was somewhat unusual. It was located at the very bottom of a steep, tree-lined hill. Only one other house shared the street's address, and that was the Robinson's, which was just above William's and to the left. To the right were a no outlet and a wooded vacant lot. Another street branched off directly in front of the Robinsons and ran perpendicular to the horizon, featuring houses galore on either side.

Growing up, it was a quaint suburban neighborhood. William could still recall vague memories of block parties and neighbors helping neighbors. And there were always kids around. Every day during the summer found the street taken over by a game of wiffle ball or some other athletic event. Friends were everywhere. It made for a happy childhood.

William's partner in crime during those glory days was Gregg Schneider. The two were virtually inseparable. Gregg, who was two years older, served the dual role of big brother and best friend. Back then it was hard to imagine one without the other. Even now when William drove down the street his mind would flash back to all the great times the two spent together. He couldn't help but smile. He also couldn't help but wonder whatever happened to Gregg. It had been years since they talked, and even then it was just a few forced words shared as they passed on the street. They spoke as strangers more than friends. As close as they were, they just drifted apart. It happens. Nothing lasts forever.

William pulled into his usual parking spot along the front curb. There was little question as to whose spot it was since the pavement was still stained black from where Ol' Blue had marked its territory with oil. His sister's car was in the driveway. It was a quarter after five. Dinner had already started. His timing remained impeccable.

As he skipped down the slope of his front yard, which was now beautifully landscaped with shrubs, bark, and rocks of all varieties, William couldn't help but reflect on all the changes the venerable split-level had undergone over the years, the paved driveway, the cement porch, the change in colors from black and gold to beige and red. Everything was different, yet it was all still the same. This was the only boyhood home he ever knew. No matter how different it appeared, it was his home. It would always be his home.

"Yello..." called William as he swung open the unlocked door.

"William?" questioned his mother's voice from the upstairs dining room.

William shut the door and took the steps with determination. "Yeah."

"What are you doing here?"

"You know I'd never miss the weekly family dinner."

"You haven't been here in weeks," laughed his dad.

"Yeah, but remember, I'm on the metric system."

His mother started to get up. "Well, isn't this the pleasant surprise. Do you want me to make you something? I think we have some potatoes."

"No thanks." He took off his coat and dropped it on the kitchen counter. "I just stopped by to say hi." He pulled up a stool along the half wall that separated the kitchen and dining room and immediately began rearranging the various knickknacks that occupied the ledge, finding each one its true home. His family had grown used to such behavior and didn't even allow it to register. "So, spaghetti, huh?"

"You sure you don't want some plain noodles?" tried his mother.

"No thanks. I don't even eat noodles anymore."

"What about some Italian bread? It's really soft," she tempted.

"No thanks. I gave up bread."

"You gave up bread?" snapped his sister in disbelief.

"Yeah, I was relying on it too much. Had to get the monkey off my back."

"Are you taking any vitamins?" asked is mother with concern.

"Sure." Of course that was a lie. The last vitamin he took had Barney Rubble on it.

"You better be. Look at you, you're all skin and bones."

"I prefer the term wiry."

"I don't know how you do it," admitted his father before inserting a fork of twined pasta into his mouth. He wiped some sauce from his chin with his left hand and added, "But at least you'll be healthy. You're probably healthier than all of us."

"But who could tell by looking at him?" cracked his sister. She'd get maybe one good line a night. William conceded it and admired her for trying. She held the floor. "So, aside from not eating, what have you been doing with yourself?"

"You know." He shrugged. "Whatever."

"Sounds constructive."

"I do what I can."

"Have you been painting?" asked his mother.

"Yeah."

"Anything good?" fired his father.

"All art is good."

"But does all art pay the rent?"

William was starting to remember why he didn't come home very often. "So..." He looked to his sister. "How's Jason?" The question was asked more to change the subject than hear of his brother-in-law's well being.

"He's fine" was her short response. It was kept short in order to allow their father the chance to pursue the previous topic.

"Do you need money?" asked his father.

"No, I don't need money," assured William.

"Are you sure? Because if you need money it's okay."

"But I don't need money," repeated William, shaking his head to further illustrate the point.

"Because you know we're here to help if you need us. You know that, right?"

"Yes. And it is appreciated. But I'm fine. I've got money."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Because I don't know how you've lasted this long."

"Is that why you don't eat?" inquired his mother with actual concern.

"Trust me, everything's okay. I've got more than enough money. But I do appreciate the offer and if a time comes when I do need help, you'll be the first ones I turn to."

"Just so it's understood," said his father.

"It's understood."

His father, content with fatherly pride, went back to twirling spaghetti around his fork. William watched as he soaked up excess sauce with a crust of bread and bolted it down his throat. His dad always ate fast. He blamed it on his time in the army.

Conversation eventually drifted away from William's finances and eating habits, winding its way through such topics as the weather, the rising price of paper towels, and the extent to which the new drapes in the dining room were superior to the old ones. Somewhere in between, William's father got up and returned to the sanctuary of the living room couch. He would always slip away without notice. It was a skill he had mastered over the years. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. And there was never even a cloud of smoke or a wave of a wand to aid the illusion. The only sure sign of his exit was that voices would have to be raised in order to compete with the intrusive volume of the nightly newscast.

The three remaining participants continued chatting, never giving the fourth party's exit a moment's consideration. After feigning interest in listening to his sister complain about her job, William skillfully steered the discussion towards a subject he enjoyed.

"Hey, I saw 'His Girl Friday'" was all it took. Elizabeth had long trumpeted the virtues of the Cary Grant comedy. Its mention was enough to spark a debate on various silver screen offerings. A love of the cinema was about the only thing William had in common with his mother and sister. Each one sensed this and did their individual best to keep the ball rolling. They were united in their admiration for the old movie stars like Grant and Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur, but their tastes differed greatly in regards to the films of today. While he paid absolutely no attention to the big budget movies, they, on the other hand, were still susceptible to the major studio's siren song. Knowing that his family members could actually enjoy a film that has a corresponding cup at Taco Bell was a great source of embarrassment for him.

They lingered in the kitchen and talked for a good half hour, progressing through the light romantic comedies of the thirties and forties to the reality driven films of the seventies. Needless to say, his mother and sister's tastes leaned more towards Frank Capra than Martin Scorsese. William did his best to explain the greatness of 'Taxi Driver,' but in the end he feared it still wasn't enough to sway their disdainful opinions. His defense of Travis Bickle was the last topic of the evening. Elizabeth had to leave to attend some sort of meeting. She said what it was for, but William wasn't paying attention.

As his mother and sister exchanged parting farewells in the kitchen, William sat down in a rocking chair opposite his father, who was still lying on the couch watching the news.

"So..." started William, realizing full well that it was time to address the true purpose for this brilliantly disguised scheme. This would take precision. "You've been good?"

"Yeah," answered his father. "No complaints."

William nodded his head in quiet agreement while pretending to care about the five-day forecast. After a moment's pause, his father picked up the earlier scent.

"And you don't need money?"

"Nope. I'm all good."

"You know your mother and I worry about you."

"Don't. There's no need to."

"I know, I know. But it would make us feel better if we knew you had some visible means of support. What are you gonna do when the money runs out?"

"I've got plans."

"Would you care to share these plans?"

William frowned a bit, in a funny way of course, and shook his head. "No."

They went back to watching the news. His sister departed. His mother was back in the kitchen, tending to any leftover mess. It was shortly after the sports that his father spoke again.

"I ran into Ed Weaver the other day. He asked about you."

"Really?" Ed Weaver was an old friend of his dad's. William and Ed's son, Tim, went to high school together and used to hang out on occasion. Mr. Weaver was still a big wig at the Sony plant in nearby Mt. Pleasant, PA. For some strange reason, whenever William came to visit, it would seem that his father had always just happened to run into Mr. Weaver. That's odd.

"He just wanted to know how you were doing."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said you were doing fine."

"How's he doing?"

"Fine. Fine. He's still at the Sony plant."

"That's good."

"He said that if you ever needed a job to just give him a call. He'd always be able to find something for you."

"That's nice of him." William tried to act surprised even though his father had told him about Mr. Weaver's offer every time he came to visit.

"Why don't I give you his number?"

"I don't know." William didn't want to seem too eager.

"I realize it isn't something you want to do, but at least it's something. If you need it, it's there. It's an option. Let me give you the number." His father got up and picked his glasses from the coffee table. "I think I have it written down somewhere." He was off like a shot to the desk drawer in the kitchen. William stayed put, cursing himself for what he was doing.

"What are you looking for?" asked his mother, who was folding a dishtowel over the handle of the stove, signaling an end to the cleaning process.

"I'm gonna give him Ed Weaver's number," said his father in a whispered tone. "Maybe he can get him a job."

"He needs money?" asked his mother, in a similarly hushed voice. It didn't matter. William could still hear every word they said.

"He says he doesn't, but at least this will give him an option if he ever does."

"I think we have it written in the front of the phone book."

"Here it is." His father scribbled the number on a piece of paper and tore it free from its note pad. He folded it crisply down the middle on his way back to the living room and handed it to his son. "It's his office number. Just give him a call whenever."

William rolled his eyes and grudgingly lifted his arm to accept the number. "Thanks."

"It will make us feel better to know you have it," added his father. "Maybe we won't worry so much."

"Well, if that's all it takes...," said William with a hint of sarcasm, dropping the paper into his front shirt pocket. Mission accomplished. They never knew what hit them.

When he left there were no hugs or heart-felt goodbyes. None were expected. His parents knew better. Their son was different than most. He'd float in whenever the spirit moved him and they welcomed him and enjoyed the time they shared. Then he'd depart, never making a promise for the future. It was taken for granted that he'd always return. That's why there were no heart-felt goodbyes.

That night William once again found himself in Meghan's bed. And, once again, he was wide- awake as she slumbered peacefully beside him. Having adjusted to the darkness, his eyes were trained on the shirt that now rested on her dresser. He was still thinking about the number in the front pocket. Just knowing it was there made him uneasy. The danger was there. The threat was very real. He could become the thing he hated most. He could become just like everyone else.

A decision had to be made. Stay the course or break away? His mind flashed back to a Robert Frost poem he was forced to memorize in school. There were definitely two roads diverged in yellow wood. Well, maybe not in yellow wood, but those roads were split like a mother. Which to choose? One thing was sure. He wasn't going to be able to make a clear-minded decision while lying next to her. He needed the night air.

Never before had he left her side without her knowing. Doing so required every ounce of strength within his wiry body. He carefully eased himself off the bed. She never moved. He gathered his clothes and quietly made his way from the room, or at least as quietly as he could. A bone cracked with almost every step. A calcium deficiency can be a real detriment at times. She never moved.

He was still getting dressed as he stepped into the hall. That's when a curious thing happened. He closed the door hard, too hard, so hard as to wake the sleeping. He didn't bother to analyze the subconscious motives behind the error. He made a brief appearance in his own apartment to grab his coat from the couch and then proceeded with great haste to the outside world.

The cold bit into him as soon as he emerged from the building. A normal person may not have considered it all that harrowing, but, with William's circulation, anything below sixty degrees was cause for concern. The cars in the parking lot were his only thermometers. They glistened with a coating of dew. While the intent was there, it wasn't quite cold enough for it to become frost. It was still only dew. Why couldn't it have been frost? At least then there would be a reason for him feeling zero at the bone. As it was, it merely served as another reminder of his frailty.

He had taken the first few steps along his usual path when his eye caught the grassy hillside behind the apartment buildings. There are times in life when a man should simply sit in the grass and be one with the earth. It owns a dignity that cannot be found in pavement.

The hill sloped down and ran a good fifty feet before being broken by a line of trees and a creek that had dried up long ago. On the other side of the creek were some more grass, some more trees, and the main road, which was flanked by houses on both sides. There were no houses directly in front of the hill, only a vacant lot and a mechanic's garage on the opposite side of the road. Not much of a view. But then again, it was Hadleyville, not the French Riviera.

William stepped from the gravel parking lot into the dew soaked grass. He could feel the dampness on his shoes. It really wouldn't be wise to sit in wet grass on a cold evening. He sat down. The thoughts screaming around his mind rendered the fear of pneumonia, not to mention the moist spot on the seat of his jeans, a moot point at best.

Before any problem can be solved, first the facts must be reviewed. Fact: He had thirteen dollars in the bank. Fact: He had no way to pay the rent. Fact: He had a potential job all lined up that would allow him to live. Fact: He loved Meghan.

The solution seemed easy enough. Call Mr. Weaver, work forty hours a week at a meaningless job, spend his life with Meghan, and live happily ever after. That's what most people would do. That's what everyone does. And there's the rub.

He ripped out a stem of grass and pulled it between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. He knew he wouldn't be happy wasting his life as the every man. He went that route once before. It was a necessary evil. He sacrificed for his art. He promised himself he'd never do it again.

But if he made the sacrifice for his art, couldn't he make the same sacrifice for her? She was worthy of such a gesture. And he knew it. That's why it hurt so much. He pulled the blade of grass in two and let the halves drop to the ground, replacing it in his left hand with the slip of paper from his shirt pocket.

Holding the possible key to his future, he began to imagine what a life with Meghan would be like. The happiness, the joy, the contentment, the daily grind of work, the awkwardness of meeting her parents for the first time, the marriage ceremony, the doctor appointments, the parent-teacher conferences, the disgrace of actually having to own an alarm clock. It wasn't him. It simply wasn't him.

The unmistakable creaking of the building's front door broke the silence of his contemplation. A crunch of gravel followed. Clearly, he was no longer alone. He looked over his shoulder as a shadowy figure cut its way across the parking lot. He knew who it was. He forced the paper back into his pocket.

"Meghan!" called William, conserving his volume out of respect for the sleeping.

She stopped dead in her tracks and paused, peering in the direction of the voice. She followed it to its source. William stood up to greet her.

"What are you doing out here?" was his version of hello.

"I heard you leave. When you weren't at your place I figured you came out here."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"So what's up?"

"Nothing. I just came out here to think."

"About what?"

"Nothing important. C'mon, let's go back inside. I don't want you to catch cold."

"It's not that cold out. Besides, you're the frail one."

"Yeah, I know, but it's no big thing if I get sick, I'm always tired and lightheaded." He stepped back onto the gravel and held a hand out to her. "C'mon."

"Let's stay a bit longer. It's nice out. And I could do some thinking of my own."

"Okay, but don't sit down," warned William. "The ground's really damp."

She sat down anyway. "I'll live." She grinned up at him and patted the earth beside her as a formal invitation. He reluctantly obliged.

There they were, sitting side by side under the serene canopy of night. Smile met smile. He began to play with more blades of grass. She pushed her hair behind her ear.

They sat quietly, never exchanging a word. Each lost in thought, thinking of the other. Neither one willing to take a chance and speak the words.

Decisions were made.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was Friday afternoon. William found himself alone in his apartment. The TV was off. He was sitting on the edge of his couch staring intently at the phone on the floor in front of him. Beside the phone, to the left, was the paper with Mr. Weaver's number. Its role was needless. The number had been burned to memory.

William had been motionless for several minutes when he suddenly lashed out and seized the receiver with extreme purpose. He pressed it firmly against his right ear and began to stab the first two digits of the number before stopping short and slamming the receiver back onto its perch. Luckily, the phone could take the abuse. It was a sturdy black and grey standard issue. William always liked it because the gang at "Cheers" had an identical one behind the bar.

"Is Mr. Weaver there?" practiced William nervously. That wouldn't work. "Uh, yeah, is Mr. Weaver there?" He sometimes found it more effective to stammer a bit. It showed casual sincerity. Then there was the polite route. "May I please speak with Mr. Weaver?" Nothing seemed quite right. He decided to just wing it. He usually performed well under pressure. He picked up the phone.

His heart began to beat a bit faster. This time five buttons were pressed before the attempt was aborted. The progress did little to encourage him.

William snapped to his feet and began barging about the room. "Just make the fuckin' call!" was his personal pep talk. He stomped his way to the bathroom mirror. "Make the fuckin' call!" He marched back to the living room and planted himself on the couch. After taking a deep breath, he once again pulled the receiver to his ear. It was now or never.

He hesitated. His left hand fell deathly still over the waiting numbered buttons. Now was passing quickly. He hung up a third time. It was never.

For a split second, anger flashed through his mind and he considered firing the phone across the room and screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs. But he wasn't one for theatrics. He merely ripped the phone from the wall and beat the hell out of it while skipping the obscenities part. Sliding back onto the couch, William realized what his failure meant. And somehow the rage was replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief. He reached for the remote control. It was 2:30. "McMillan and Wife" was on.

Some nine hours later William was once again sharing Meghan's bed. There wasn't quite so much emotion included in the usual nightly activities. It seemed as though both their minds were elsewhere. Neither one noticed. Upon conclusion, they were left lying side-by-side staring at the ceiling. Silence. It was very reminiscent of their first time together; except on this occasion, they both had things they wanted to say, that they needed to say, but were too scared to voice.

William turned his head to look at Meghan. She did the same. They both smiled and then returned to gazing at the ceiling. It was a waiting game, each one trying to fill their own personal reservoir of courage. Several more moments passed before Meghan finally stepped from the ledge.

"He'll be home tomorrow," she said, the words splintering the air like a hammer.

William waited for the shrapnel to fall before responding. "Did he like Buffalo?"

"Yeah."

"That's good."

The conversation took a needed intermission. Meghan regrouped and started again.

"I'm thinking about having a talk with him." William didn't offer anything in the way of a reply. She continued. "I think I might break it off with him."

William was hoping it wouldn't come to this. He thought somehow, someway, the situation would pleasantly resolve itself without any emotional confrontations. If he ignored them, things would merely fade away. Now that wasn't going to happen. He was going to have to risk hurting her. And he never wanted to hurt her. At least no more than was required.

He knew what he had to say next, yet the line wrapped its way around his throat and rendered him momentarily mute. Meghan wasn't expecting such an extended pause. William could feel her looking at him as he began to form his response.

"Are you sure that's something you really want to do?" he asked, never taking his eyes from the ceiling.

"Don't you think I should?"

"I'm just not sure it would be the best thing for you."

Meghan returned her focus in the direction of the heavens. "What are you trying to tell me?"

William closed his eyes. He dug deep and did what he knew was right. "I think you should stay with Mark."

There was no reaction. He slowly turned to look at Meghan. She was still staring upwards, showing no signs of movement at all. She had to have heard what he said. It would be impossible for William to repeat the words. He gave her ample opportunity to say something before attempting to elaborate on his point.

"It's the best thing for you..."

Meghan snapped up and nearly bore a hole through him with a furious stare. "Don't you think I know what's best for myself?"

William eased himself up with his arms and rested his back against the headboard. "You have to understand, I can't give you anything. He can take care of you."

"I can take care of myself," she fired back.

"With me you'd have to. And you deserve better than that. Look at me. I'm nothing. I'm nobody. I don't have money. I don't have a job..."

"You could get a job," interrupted Meghan.

"No, I couldn't."

"Why not? You don't have to quit painting. You could just get something part time and paint on the side."

"It's not me. That's not who I am. I can't be like everyone else. I just can't."

"I don't think you could ever be like anyone else even if you tried. And whether we're together or not, you're going to need money eventually. You're going to have to get a job sometime."

"And then what? Say I do get a job, and then what?"

"Knock it off!"

"No, seriously, and then what? There's just no point to it."

"Don't talk like that. I don't like it when you talk like that."

"I'm sorry. But I just can't do it."

"You did it before."

"I had to for my art."

"You won't do it now for me? For us?"

"Of course I'd do it for you. I'd do anything for you. But is that what you really want? I'd no longer be me. Would you still like me if I was like everyone else? I wouldn't be happy. You wouldn't be happy. No one would be happy."

She wasn't sure what to say. Her perfect posture was a memory. She appeared broken, her body hanging limp with defeat and her eyes doing little to hide her emotions. "Why don't you just tell me the truth?"

"That is the truth," assured William. "I just don't want you to make a mistake you'll regret for the rest of your life. Promise me you won't do anything with Mark until you think this thing through completely."

"I already have."

"Make sure. Take this weekend to make sure. Spend time with him and make sure. And we'll talk on Monday. But don't break it off with Mark until we talk again. Promise me you won't break it off with him until we talk again."

"Why not?"

"Just promise me you won't."

She didn't say anything. William reached out and took her hands in his. She grudgingly allowed him to pull her towards him. He nestled her at his right side, joining his arms around her. "My life is never going to get any better than it's been the past couple weeks. You know you're the one. You were always the one. You'll always be the one." He kissed her on the forehead.

She pushed back from him and asked, "Then what's the problem? Either you do or you don't."

"It's not that simple."

"Tell me why."

"You know I do. It's not a question of that."

"Then what? What is it?"

"There's just something... there's something I... I just want you to be sure. Think about it this weekend and we'll talk on Monday. Promise me you won't break it off with him until we talk again. You have to promise me."

"I still don't see why that's important." She turned her back to him. "My mind's made up. You're the one who seems uncertain."

"You're the only thing I've ever felt certain about."

She spun back around to face him. "Then why don't you want to be with me?"

"Believe me, there's nothing I want more. You have to believe that. I just don't want you to make a mistake."

"Do you really hate yourself so much that you can't imagine someone else loving you? Is that what this is about?"

He wanted to tell her then and there, but he couldn't. He was doing the right thing. In his mind, he kept assuring himself that he was doing the right thing. When her question received no answer, Meghan, feeling she had found the root of the argument, returned to the comfort of his arms. "I promise I'll be sure," she relented. "I promise I won't do anything until we talk on Monday. If that's all it will take to convince you, I'll gladly do it. But I'll feel the same. I'll always feel the same."

She could have sworn she heard him whisper "I love you." But she wasn't sure. Not wanting to spoil the moment, she never moved her head from his shoulder and merely closed her eyes and smiled. Whether he had said it or not wasn't important. She knew it was true.

And so William held her. He felt her fall asleep in his arms, contented and proud, and he held her. He never wanted to let go. But when Meghan woke up the next morning, William was gone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

William had been painting for hours, maybe days. He started the moment he arrived home after leaving Meghan's side and had not stopped. There was no difficulty in finding inspiration. The subject matter was obvious. The approach in dealing with it was somewhat unfamiliar, but it was the only real choice. And after all, he didn't own a camera.

Since he wasn't accustomed to portraits, the most difficult technical aspect of the undertaking was trying to mix the proper colors to capture the flesh. Her flesh. It was found with care.

He didn't need a picture to study. He didn't even have to close his eyes and concentrate. He saw her everywhere. It was his goal to see her on the canvas. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He left the easel only once, and that was for a glass of water. Upon returning, he never even realized he had left. The next brush stroke fell in time with the last, never wavering from its predestined path.

The painting was so all-consuming that William never heard Mark arrive at Meghan's door. And he never took notice of Mark leaving a few hours later. This same ignorance meant that he could not dart to the peephole and see the bewildered look of dejection on Mark's face, or the hollow gait to his step. William was blind to all these things. He was painting.

Over a background of pale gold, so faint it challenged the eye to find it, William discovered Meghan. Normally capturing the essence of a person in paint is an extremely difficult task, especially someone so dear. Yet not once did he strike a false chord. He found her as he always wanted to remember her, with the contrast of her raven hair framing the unparalleled beauty of her face, the sparkling innocence dancing in her eyes, the first signs of a smile beginning to grace her lips. It may have been the best thing he ever painted. It was flawless, almost beyond his ability.

The work's brilliance did not escape its creator. He was transfixed by its power long after his brush fell still. Convinced there was nothing more left to be done, William broke the spell long enough to take a seat on the couch. A consultation with the VCR clock revealed it to be 11:56 PM. But he had no idea of the day. All he knew was that the sun had come and gone more than once during his crusade. He needed to know for sure. The television hummed to life with the push of a button. The first image it produced was of Dr. Johnny Fever climbing out from behind a storeroom shelf to talk to Venus Flytrap. If it was 11:30, and it was "WKRP in Cincinnati," then it was Sunday.

But this wasn't just any Sunday. This was the Sunday of the Big Boy. They'd arrive soon and preparations had to be made. He forcibly lifted himself from the couch and addressed his newest creation. After standing before it in quiet admiration for an undeterminable amount of time, William carefully removed it from the easel and transported it to the more secluded confines of the bedroom. He placed the painting flat on the bed, looked at it a moment longer, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

William returned to the living room, putting on his shoes and flannel jacket and passing the time by eating a few pretzels and drinking some water. The actual nourishment did little to ease his mood. Despite his prolonged sleep deprivation, he was in the middle of a serious adrenaline rush that made the passage of time seem maddeningly slow. He waited. At precisely 3:27 there was a knock at the door.

There was no one there. Just as William was about to step into the hall to check for sure, a husky figure dressed in all black, including a ski mask, jumped into the doorway and struck a ninja stance. Wilson had arrived. He hesitated a second, without saying a word, and then barreled his away around William and into the apartment, attempting to punctuate the entrance with a summersault that was more John Belushi than Olympic gymnast.

"Nice," commented William as his friend was picking himself off the floor.

Lou reached his feet, flipped up the mask, and said, "I aim to please. So I guess I'm the first one here."

"Yeah."

"Where were you all day?"

"What do you mean?"

"I tried calling to confirm but you never picked up."

"The ringer must be off or something." Or the phone was in a broken mess in the hall closet. Either one.

"Shouldn't you go check?"

William flopped back on the couch. "No, it's okay. Don't sweat it."

"You okay?" asked Wilson, noticing the bizarre look in William's eyes.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I don't know, you just seem a bit wired."

"No, I'm cool."

There was another knock at the door. It was Dom and Matthew.

"Cute outfit," said Dom upon seeing Wilson's tribute to Johnny Cash.

"I come prepared, jerky."

"Anyone talk to Norm?" asked William.

"Yeah," said Matthew, "he's a comin'." Matt then handed William a piece of paper.

"What's that?" asked Wilson.

"It's the note from the Big Boy," supplied Matt.

William unfolded the paper and read its contents out loud:

"Dear Corporate Oppressors,

I will no longer stand quietly by and allow myself to be exploited for your greedy, commercialistic needs. Enough is enough. It's about time I start to live my own life. I need to find out who I am, who the person is beneath this suave haircut and glossy venear. I begin my journey of self-discovery today. And nothing will ever be the same.

Take it easy,

Big Boy

P.S. I hate you."

William was impressed. "Well done."

Matt nodded appreciatively.

"But you spelled 'veneer' wrong."

"No," began Matthew, raising his right index finger to accentuate the point he was about to make, "the Big Boy did."

"Fair enough. You got any tape?"

Matt reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a hefty roll of the clear plastic variety. "It's packing tape. Strong stuff. No chance of it blowing away."

William accepted the roll. "Cool." He was about to put the tape's potency to the test when an intrusive noise barging its way through the apartment walls from the outside world diverted everyone's attention. It owned the rattling, clanging, and sputtering qualities present during the death of something mechanical. William hadn't heard its like since he dropped two forks and a spoon down the garbage disposal. It was the spoon that did the trick.

Following a silent consideration of the facts by each man, the four cohorts looked at one another sharing the same feeling of dread.

"It can't be," offered Wilson.

"It has to be," said William, walking to the window in an attempt to achieve visual confirmation. "What else could it be?" He pressed his cheek flat against the glass in an effort to see as close to the building as possible. "I can't see anything. We better go down and check."

Upon exiting the building, the four conspirators found the night air to be free of any metallic racket and there was no sign of the fifth member of their party.

"I guess it wasn't him," said Dom. The others weren't so sure. Matthew slipped away to explore the side parking lot. As he reached the corner of the building he stopped and waved the others to join him. There was Norm, unaware that he was being watched, earnestly using his shirt sleeve to buff the hood of a decrepit example of automotive technology. The van was a monstrosity of light blue paint and patches of rust. Or it might be more precise to say the frame was rust with patches of light blue paint. The lack of both hubcaps on the left side led one to believe that the other two tires were equally naked, if in fact there were two more tires. A slight breeze snapped at the rare combination of cardboard, plastic wrap, and duct tape that combined to provide a window on the back rear door. Up front, the van's antenna was bent decisively in the middle, as if someone had started to break it off and then decided there was no point in completing the vandalism. Yet there was Norm, stooped over the right fender trying to make it sparkle and shine.

"Norm!" called Wilson. No response. "Norm!"

Norm answered "Yeah" without ever turning around. He took an appreciative step back from the van, looked it over with care, gave it one more swipe with his sleeve, and then turned to greet his friends with an enormous grin. "Hey, what's up?"

Dom, Matthew, William, and Wilson all began to approach the vehicle, spreading out and circling it with a sense of apprehension. All were rendered speechless. They weren't sure what to make of it. Matthew gave its beaten side panel a cautious poke with his finger. The rotted steel seemed to ache under the pressure.

William broke the silence. "Gee, Mr. Miceli, can Samantha and I borrow the van tonight to go to the school dance?" It's tough to pass up an obscure 'Who's the Boss' reference. The four stunned onlookers continued to circle the van in disbelief, finding wonderful new structural discrepancies and cosmetic flaws with each step. William had another one ready. "So, did you push this here yourself?"

"It runs," assured Norm.

"I'm guessing stagger would be a more apt description," countered William.

After each inspector had seen enough, they regrouped around Norm and looked to him for some sort of explanation. None was forthcoming.

Wilson finally spoke the obvious, "We can't use this van."

"Why not?" asked Norm.

"Look at it! It's not exactly inconspicuous." Norm showed no signs of recognition. Wilson started again, choosing his words more carefully. "It's kind of hard to not notice this thing. Any cop we see is likely to pull us over just because of the van."

"No they won't," was Norm's defense.

Wilson looked to the others for help. "It is pretty beat," began Dom, "but we're here. Might as well do it."

Matthew shared the belief. "Yeah, what the hell?"

Wilson's eyes turned to William. "I could fuckin' care less. It doesn't matter to me. You're the one drivin'."

"It handles all smooth like," cheerfully offered Norm in way of persuasion.

The group stood silent for a few moments. "Let's just get this over with," relented Wilson, realizing he was a man alone.

"What time is it?" asked Dom.

"Who cares?" snapped Wilson as he reached for the driver side door. "Let's just go."

"It's 3:46," said Matt.

"Close enough," approved William. "Let's roll. Dom, you got your cell phone?"

"Yeah, it's in the car."

"Matt, you got the number?"

"Yeah."

"And you guys know what you're doin'?"

"Yeah, we're making asses of ourselves for childish glory," said Matt.

"Good. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page." William gave them the ol' six-gun salute and Dom and Matthew were on their way. Inside the van, Norm was going over some finer points of the operation with Wilson when William climbed into the torn and tattered scraps of what was once a passenger seat. The lack of comfort found among the mass of protruding foam and exposed steel frame was of little concern. His mind was elsewhere.

"So Reverse is actually Drive and Second is really Reverse?" asked Wilson for clarification.

Norm, leaning in between the two front seats from the back, confirmed Wilson's grasp of the questionable gearshift and then offered more words of advice. "The windshield wipers don't really work. They're missing blades." The windshield bore evidence of this, with slight grooves worn into the glass in an arcing pattern. The windshield also featured a lengthy crack in the bottom right hand corner, but this appeared due more to some sort of blunt force trauma than a mere missing wiper blade. "The turn signals might lock up on you," continued Norm, "but just hit the flashers and they fix themselves."

"Anything else?" asked Wilson disgustedly.

"The emergency break doesn't work, but you really shouldn't need it."

"I'm starting to think I really don't need any of this," said Wilson. "Couldn't you have at least gotten rid of some of these beer cans? Or maybe aired it out or something? Just sitting in here makes me hungry for some Cheetos." He turned to William. "What are your feelings on all this?" William didn't respond. He was too busy gazing lifelessly out the passenger-side window. Wilson gave him a shot to the arm. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," answered William meekly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was just trying to find the inspection sticker."

"Good luck." Wilson reached down at his side for the seatbelt and came up empty. "Dude, where's the seatbelt?"

Norm could be heard rummaging around in the back. "Here." He presented Wilson with a broken strap connected to nothing in particular. Wilson accepted the gift with a sardonic grin and then threw it back at him. That was the last of the interaction until the phone rang. Norm recognized the ring almost immediately. Almost. He listened intently at the receiver and then gave word. "It's a go." A turn of the key brought the van to life; a whimpering, wheezing life where Reverse meant Drive and Second meant Reverse. The wheels were in motion.

As for the scout team, Dom and Matthew were having no problems whatsoever. Their first lap through town failed to produce even a single glimpse of a police cruiser. While that was enough to give the planned heist a green light, the knowledge that the fuzz was still lurking somewhere in the night gave Matthew a sense of uneasiness. He stayed alert, ready to provide the van a warning at the first sign of trouble. The sign never came. The duo progressed down I-79 without worry until they reached Matthew's drop-off point.

"This is where you get off," said Dom, pulling into the vacated Arby's parking lot. Matt stepped outside and let Norm know that he was in position. He then covered the phone and stuck his head back inside the still open door.

"Dom?"

"Yeah."

"Don't fuck up."

Matt held eye contact until Dom lowered his head as assurance that he'd certainly do his best. Matt recognized the gesture by closing the door and stepping away into the night. Dom sped back towards town.

"They think I'm gonna fuck this up," muttered Dom to himself. "I'm not gonna fuck this up." His right hand began to nervously scrounge around the console for a cigarette. "I'm not gonna fuck this up."

Meanwhile, the van continued on its way to the target. "See anything?" asked Wilson.

William wasn't sure what he meant. His mind wasn't on business. He decided to answer with a "No." Wilson seemed pleased. William decided to use "no" as his reply for every question that came up.

"How do things look to Matt?" asked Wilson of Norm.

Norm consulted his friend at the other end of the phone and came back with, "Solid." Wilson took that to be positive. Things were right on schedule.

Dom shot past the Elby's and pointed to the Big Boy on the way by. "We're comin' for you, ya fat bastard." He had his cigarette lit by the time he reached his destination the predetermined 150 to 200 feet down the road. He pulled over in the exact spot he had during the practice run. "I'm not gonna fuck up." He took a long drag of his cigarette and turned on the flashers. There was no traffic at all. The world was quiet except for Dom's footsteps to the back of the car and the hollow clicking of the pulsating taillights. His hand was jittery as he popped the trunk and withdrew the jack. Pretending to change the tire was his idea, his detail. This portion of the plan was his. It was a source of pride. "I'm not gonna fuck up." He hurriedly turned to proceed with the ruse, stealing anxious glances over both shoulders, only to have the jack clip the edge of the trunk and slip from his grasp. So blind in his determination to not have anything go wrong, Dom instinctively and recklessly lunged to catch the fumbled tool before it hit the ground. His head struck flush on the rear fender, knocking him senseless and sending him crashing to the ground in a heap.

Some 150 to 200 feet back up the road, the van was approaching its goal. It rolled freely down the auxiliary pass behind the restaurant without the slightest hint of opposition; completely unaware that one of its two vigilant watchdogs had been subdued through self-inflicted stupidity. At about that very same time, the other safety net was having some problems of its own.

Matt was getting restless. There wasn't another soul to be found anywhere. He expected there to be at least some cars. Hopefully not cop cars, but at least some cars. He began pacing in front of the Arby's, imagining what it would be like to wear a really big cowboy hat. Even though it went against the plan of only using the phone when absolutely necessary, he felt the need to talk to someone.

"Norm?" No answer. "Norm, you there, fool?" Nothing. At this point it became apparent that Norm had failed in the intricacies of operating his cell phone. Either the battery had died or he was holding the wrong end to his ear. Even money on which was the truth. Matt wasn't sure what to do. There was really no purpose in his staying where he was if he lacked the means to sound the alarm in case of trouble. He hesitated, fearfully looking in every direction at once. Calmly, as if not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Matt began to take a few cautious steps back towards town. It was like a thief getting away with the last cookie. He checked the coast one final time and then burst into a full sprint. For someone whose blood came with a proof, Matt could run all speedy quick. And he'd have to. The van was already where it was going.

The four-wheeled scrap was pulling into the rear entrance of the Elby's parking lot. There he was. The Big Boy. The moment was at hand. "What's the word from Matt?" asked Wilson with some excitement.

Norm, not hearing anything in his ear aside from the usual bongos, just said "Cool" and dropped the phone to the floor. Wilson swung the van into position. It was show time.

Norm exploded out the back, flinging the doors wide and bull rushing the checker-panted prize. William went about things a bit differently, barely expending any energy at all in sliding out the passenger-side door and ambling on his way. Norm had reached the Big Boy already and was fixing a grip on the base when he realized that his partner wasn't around. He dashed back to the van and urged William to hurry up with a frantic wave of his hand and then it was back to the Big Boy. William's pace didn't accelerate. He pushed his hand through his hair and put one deliberate step in front of the other. Even Wilson leaned out the passenger door to witness the indifference. Norm ran back a second time to check on William's progress, almost running into him as he turned the corner of the van. "C'mon." Back to the Big Boy.

"You ready?" asked William of Norm, even though the latter already had a firm handhold on their portly plastic pal. William stepped forward and began hoisting the statue without even the customary "one, two, three." As during their first run-in with the Big Boy, he lifted to the heavens with the greatest of ease. It really should have been harder. But it wasn't. At least until Norm turned an ankle stepping off the strip of landscaping that housed the Big Boy. Norm didn't fall, but his temporary loss of balance threw the hulking plastic frame off kilter. If William's heart was in it, he probably could have prevented what happened next. But it wasn't, so he didn't. He merely stood idly by and watched as the Big Boy pitched wildly and tumbled from their grasp. The hamburger hit first, striking the van's bumper and snapping the arm off at the shoulder.

Wilson spun in his seat and gave a somewhat hushed holler out the rear of the vehicle. "What was that?"

William and Norm didn't respond. The Big Boy, both pieces of him, lay lifeless and broken on the pavement in front of them. Oddly enough, despite what had to be excruciating pain, the Big Boy still wore a splendid smile. It was admirable really, and more than a little unsettling considering the circumstances. William and Norm remained motionless. The world was heavy with silence. Wilson tried again with desperation in his voice. "What the hell was that?" Nothing.

Finally, after allowing the scene and its repercussions to fully sink in, William spoke without once taking his eyes from the tragedy before him. "That can't be good." Norm remained mute.

Wilson, needing to see for himself what had happened, abandoned his post at the wheel and circled around back. "What the hell's taking so long? We gotta..." That's when he saw it. "What the fuck did you do?"

William looked up. "What are you doin' out here?"

"We weren't supposed to hurt him. Now what are we gonna do?"

"Get back in the van," commanded William.

"We can't drop him off at the Court House with a broken arm!"

"Just get back in the fuckin' van!" pleaded William, pointing the way. Wilson obeyed the order with considerable distress. William realized he'd have to get his head straight. He'd need to take control of the situation. "C'mon, Norm, let's go." William snatched the loose limb and tossed it in the van. "We gotta split." They both picked up the corpse and fired it through the open doors without much care for its safety. As Norm climbed aboard, William remembered the note in his pocket and made his way to the front window. He slapped the glass and turned only to find that the note was still sticking to his palm. That tape was strong stuff. He couldn't seem to pry it loose without having another finger entangled in its sinister web of adhesive. Out of frustration, he smacked the front window again. And again. And again.

"C'mon!" cried Wilson without even bothering to check his volume.

The note finally removed itself from William's hand and stuck to the window. He walked backwards the first few steps in order to make sure the paper stayed put. Confident in its security, William wheeled and raced to the van. He looked back one final time before stepping inside the waiting passenger door and noticed the paper was now blowing its way around the restaurant's front walk. "Mother fucker." This momentary hesitation was enough to throw off the timing of the getaway driver. Wilson began to pull away, forcing the door's handle from William's reach. "What the fuck are you doin'?" called William, standing his ground. The van lurched to a halt a few feet away. William slowly walked to meet it.

"I thought you were in," explained Wilson.

William just gave him a condemning look and slammed the door shut behind him. "Now I'm in."

Wilson floored it. The van roared from the parking lot, finding an exit through a patch of landscaping and over an unbroken curb. The highway was met with a crash and the van bounced among a cloud of sparks.

"Hold it," said Norm from the back. The van didn't slow.

"What's wrong?" asked William.

Norm, who was glued to the back window, replied, "Here comes Matt."

"What?" moaned Wilson as he brought the van to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. It's amazing there was no other traffic, a true miracle, one they wished for yet were all too busy to appreciate at the time. Norm pushed open a rear door and Matthew jumped in, a huffing, wheezing mess. The van started off again. Matt tried to talk while still struggling to catch his breath. "The phone... wasn't working." The back of the van was rather cramped and it was hard not to notice the Big Boy being short an arm. "What the hell happened to him?"

"Don't ask," answered William. Matt thought it best to leave it at that.

"But what are we gonna do now?" asked Wilson.

"Improvise," stated William with a degree of confidence. He then pointed to a white car off in the distance that was pulled to the side of the road with its flashers flashing. "But first we gotta clue Dom." As the van got closer, William began to make out Dom's prone body at the rear of the car. "Aw, Christ..."

The image didn't escape Wilson. "I knew it." Wilson pulled the van in behind the car, drowning Dom in headlights. William was the first to get to him, with Norm and Matt pouring out of the van's sliding side door in hot pursuit.

"Dom? Wake up, Dom." William started to slap his face a bit. "Dom, wake up."

"I specifically asked him to not fuck up," said Matt, now standing behind William. "Is he okay?"

"Beats the hell out of me. From the looks of that bump, I'm guessing he hit his head. Dom, can you hear me?"

The groggy Canadian was starting to come around. "Oh, hi fellas, come on in."

"Dom, what happened? You okay?"

"I like chicken noodle soup."

"Are you all right?"

"Grandma? Is that you, Grandma?"

"He'll be all right. Let's get him in the car. Norm, open up that back door." Together William and Matt managed to get Dom to his feet and stuff him in the back seat. Dom was deliriously proclaiming his fondness for his Nana when Matt shut the door.

"What now?" asked Norm.

William gave out his orders while returning the jack to its place and closing the trunk. "Matt, you take the car and follow us."

"Where are we goin'?"

"Just follow our lead." Matt did what he was told and trailed the van back into town. They passed two other cars. Neither one was a black and white. William directed Wilson to take the show to Middleton Field, the city's outdoor recreational center. The Middleton Field area included an aerobic center, an ice rink, a soccer field, two baseball fields, a running track, and a swimming pool. Middleton was supposed to close at 10:00 PM, but that was a suggestion about to be ignored. It was 4:14 in the AM. Finding parking spots in the first row was not a problem. The conspirators, all save Dom, filed out of their vehicles and watched as William began to unload the Big Boy from the back of the van.

"So what are we gonna do, take him for a jog?" cracked Wilson.

"We're gonna take him up to the tracks," said William, pulling the Big Boy free and standing him up. Norm hopped out toting the severed arm.

"We're gonna throw him in front of a train?" asked Matt.

"No. We're gonna give him a ticket out of town."

"I like it," confirmed Norm with a smile.

"But we gotta hurry," warned William, whose nocturnal wanderings made him familiar with the late night locomotive schedule. He was almost certain that a train would be rumbling through between 4:30 and 5:00. At least that's what he was telling himself. It was the best idea he had. Might as well give it a shot. But plenty of distance had to be covered first. They had a walk ahead of them. William and Norm lugged the Big Boy, Wilson carried the arm, and Matthew did his best to lead the still woozy Dom. The five of them, or six if you count the Big Boy, had to trek a good two hundred yards, traveling past the running track, beyond the swimming pool, through a thicket of trees, and up a few steep grassy hills before coming within sight of the railroad tracks. Luckily, the night was clear and the moon cast enough light to make the journey a little less arduous. Sure, they couldn't move the Big Boy three feet without breaking his arm, but they could carry him a country mile in the dark over rugged terrain without a misstep. Go figure.

The group set up camp in a patch of trees just off the tracks. Even though it wasn't real heavy, William and Norm took great relief in putting down the Big Boy. Matt was also relieved to separate himself from Dom, taking one quick step to his left and allowing the big oaf to collapse under his own weight. "Stay," commanded Matt. He then joined William, Norm, and Wilson in squatting around El Grande Nino.

"You sure a train's comin' tonight?" asked Matt.

"Pretty sure."

"And exactly how are we supposed to get him on the train?" followed up Wilson. "Ask it to stop?"

"I was thinkin' we'd just sort of throw him."

"Throw him?"

"Yeah. I mean, all trains have to have flat cars, right? We'll just toss him on one."

"Sounds like a plan," supported Norm.

Wilson wasn't so sure. "You know, it's going to be kind of hard to throw a six foot plastic statue onto a moving train."

"Nothin' to it but to do it," countered William with his trademark apathy.

"Why don't we just leave him up here in the woods?"

Matt stepped in. "This way the evidence gets out of town."

"Yeah, but whoever finds it is going to figure out where it came from," argued Wilson. "They'll just have to ask around to see which area restaurant is missing a Big Boy. I just don't see the point in even trying it."

Dom getting to his feet and stumbling around in the darkness provided momentary entertainment. "Dom, how you doin' buddy?" called William. Dom wobbled a second longer and then crashed to the ground with a thud. The discussion continued.

"See, I think the problem is that you're overlooking one important fact," began William.

"What's that?"

In a rare occurrence, Norm completed the thought. "It'll be cool to try and throw something on a train."

Case closed. They didn't have to wait long before the tranquil night air carried warning of the train's arrival. Once the engine passed, William, Matt, and Norm raced out from the cover of the trees with the Big Boy to get into position. Even though it was only traveling at about thirty miles per hour, there was no denying the sheer power of the locomotive. None of them had ever seen a real live train up close. The trio was awed in its presence. They cautiously inched their way closer to the tracks. Wilson, carrying the arm, hung back a bit in order to spy the placement of the needed flat car. "Here they come!" He sprinted to catch up with the others. "There's two of 'em!"

William, Norm, and Matt, now close enough to feel the breeze generated by the rushing steel, waited for the proper moment and gave the Big Boy a mighty heave, forcing him through the atmosphere with a complete lack of grace. He didn't fly far, barely reaching the edge of the first flat car. His chubby body struck the car and bounced and rolled its way across the floor before slamming into the back wall. He came to rest with his head hanging over the rear barrier, his still smiling face gleaming back at them in the moonlight. Wilson, remembering to do his part, sent the arm and hamburger into the second flat car with a running overhand toss worthy of Fran Tarkenton, if Fran Tarkenton were a girl. But at least it got there. The plan actually worked. There was much rejoicing. Now they were somebodies; they were the guys that swiped the Big Boy. Wilson, Norm, and Matt chased the train, laughing and hollering in celebration. As the others enjoyed the victory, William watched solemnly as the Big Boy disappeared from sight, leaving Hadleyville behind and inspiring a pang of sincere jealousy.

The walk back to the cars provided time to reflect on the evening's accomplishment. Wilson produced cigars from under his sweatshirt and handed them out while reminding that he loved it when a plan came together. Everyone was quite pleased. Even Dom regained his senses enough to share in the revelry, speaking as though he was there every step of the way. The excitement carried over to the parking lot of William's apartment building. More laughter and pats on the back were exchanged as they milled around the gravel trying to make the night last.

"I bet we'll make the papers," boasted Dom.

"I say we all go out tonight and celebrate in style," suggested Wilson.

"Yeah, c'mon, Billy, we'll all get wrecked," chimed Matthew with delight.

"No, I can't," answered William calmly.

"Why not?"

"I won't be around tonight. I've got something I have to do."

"Like what?"

"Just something. But you guys go have fun. Have a good time. You deserve it."

"Well, okay," conceded Wilson. "We'll just have to down a few extra ones in your honor."

"You do that."

"Take it easy, Billy," waved Matt as he and Dom split for their car. Wilson was already behind the wheel of his when Norm stepped up to say good-bye to William. They shook hands.

"We made it happen," smiled William.

"Yeah," said Norm with a tinge of disappointment.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm glad we finally did it, and it's great and all..." Norm hesitated. "But now what?"

William's smile grew wider. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Norm moseyed back to the van. Everyone departed in high spirits, waving farewell and honking their horns for good measure. William simply stood stoically on the front porch, hands buried in pockets, and witnessed the scene. He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He merely observed.

Even after he watched the three vehicles vanish, William stood transfixed in deep thought for several seconds before finally making a move to the front door. He knew the time was right.

He began his ascent. He was calm, cold, and emotionless, completely at peace. With his fate determined, the common worries of man no longer muddled his consciousness. His mind seemed to begin operating on a different level. The world around him was now painfully three- dimensional. It was as if reality was cleansed and he was seeing everything, as it truly was, for the first time. No detail escaped his awareness, from the individual threads of carpeting that seemed to stand at attention waiting for the approval of his step, to the grainy texture of the plaster walls that leapt to meet his touch as he guided himself onward with a probing hand. While his senses were heightened and reality never seemed more real, there remained a false sense of sincerity, as though it was all fake and he could reach out at any moment and tear the surrounding existence in half like a piece of paper to reveal the grand illusion. In an odd way, William never felt more alive. He always figured it would be like this.

He proceeded on his deliberate journey and reached the third floor still struggling with his new vantage point through the doors of perception. Even with his thoughts floating, William made a definite effort to avert his eyes away from the door to apartment 3E. There could be no looking back. He entered his apartment and locked the door behind him. He tossed his flannel and keys on the couch, both landing perfectly without need of adjustment, and went directly for the final unused canvas in the corner of the room. He placed it carefully on the easel, making sure it was squared and secured. His movements were very defined. Every motion was precise and determined, almost like he was tracing over a picture in his mind that had been created long ago and practiced over time.

His workmanlike progression moved him from the easel to the closet door without pause. He casually opened it to reveal a few empty wire hangers, the vacuum cleaner, the card table, the unhooked and battered black phone, and, leaning anxiously in the far rear corner, the brush with which he'd paint his masterpiece.

He had spent the previous two years building to this exact moment. It was his dream, the purest, most truthful expression of his art. More importantly, it's how he always wanted his story to end. But for some reason his mind suddenly began to lose its level of focus. He found himself hesitating. His destiny was within reach yet he remained motionless. Worse yet, he knew why.

The closet door slammed shut. William stayed rooted in place, with his hands hanging limp at his sides and his head heavy with defeat. No longer off on a plain, his mind was being filled with common thoughts and common concerns. Filled with thoughts of her.

He knew what he had to do. The realization pained him greatly. His shoulders sank under the weight of the decision as he lifelessly reached once more for the closet. The door open, he turned a blind eye towards salvation and moved instead for the phone on the floor. He hoped it still worked.

He had a phone call to make. And an ordinary life to live.

--- THE END ---