
"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 co