

A Divine Waltz

# Lacey Ann Carrigan

# Copyright 2014 by Lacey Ann Carrigan

# Smashwords Edition
CHAPTER ONE

"I can't believe you talked me into this!" Linda said. She looked upward for a moment, as dark rumbling clouds overhead sluiced torrents of rain onto the windshield. Wind rumbling across the highway kept trying to nudge "Myrtle," Linda's 1968 Volkswagen Beetle, into the other lane.

Lauren laughed. Her eyes sparkled in the overcast dimness and her long, dark hair tumbled in dancing waves over her shoulders. "Didn't you say that veewees were watertight? We could put a propeller on the end!"

Linda glanced anxiously at the gas gauge, which tickled the quarter tank mark. "Or we'll make you get out and push." They squinted together to look through the windshield.

Lauren ignored Linda's slightly caustic remark, the way she always did. "We're going to see Robert!" Lauren put her hands together and gazed heavenward in an overly dramatic gesture. "We're going to see Robert! For free! Isn't this great!" She excitedly patted Linda on the shoulder, so much that the steering wheel tugged to the right and the car nudged toward the shoulder.

Linda screamed. "Jeez, Laure! You wanna kill us both?"

Her friend's eyes opened wide. Linda glanced for a moment, to check their color.

In the year they'd known each other, Linda noticed that Lauren's eyes changed from dark blue to violet to brown whether she was happy, scared, or high. At that moment they were violet. Linda wondered what type of medical condition would cause that. She was studying nursing. Since she'd taken Psychology her first semester, she already knew her friend was crazy.

They would reach the exit for the west-east interstate soon. She was already running the defogger at full blast to keep the windshield clear but still struggled to see. "I still think it would have been easier to wait two weeks and go to St. Louis."

Lauren sighed deeply and shook her head. "But this is free! How many times have I got to tell you! Free! Free! We're going to see Robert and Jimmy, for free!"

"But they're playing on a Friday night at the Checkerdome! We wouldn't have had to miss class! And it's only a hundred miles away!"

"Free!" Lauren repeated. She spelled out the word, for extra emphasis. "Do you know how many people would give their left eyeball to see Zeppelin for free?"

"You're gross!"

Lauren settled back into her seat. "I can't believe I'm finally going to see them." She started to sing: " _Walking through the park just the other day baby..."_

Linda sang along: " _Whattaya, Whattaya think I saw?_ For the next few miles, as she entered the interstate and they cruised east, they sang more Led Zeppelin songs, going from "Misty Mountain Hop," and "When the Levee Breaks," then moving into "Kashmir," and "Dancing Days." Their singing helped Linda forget that her car only had an AM radio, that she was missing a Biology lecture and English 2 class.

When they had sung an album's worth of songs, Linda lost her musical train of thought.

She gazed at the road signs. "Navigator, navigator, I need your help. Where do we turn?"

Lauren shrugged. "Not till Louisville. It's quite a ways yet."

"And then what?"

"Then, we just stay on that all the way to Louisville. It's a piece of cake. Then in Louisville we catch I-71 and that takes us all the way to Cincinnati."

"Are you sure? I don't want to take a wrong turn and end up in Nashville or somewhere."

"It's easy! I've made the trip three times."

"Yeah? Were you driving?"

"No," Lauren replied.

"It's different when you're driving. You've gotta pay attention. Remember that party you said was 'just down the road' and we ended up in Podunk Missouri?"

Lauren shook her head again. "I wish I had some weed."

Linda laughed. "Like that's going to help. We'd end up in Chicago."

Lauren narrowed her eyes. "Hey, don't be ragging on my home town, farm girl."

"I'm not from the farm," Linda murmured. "How many times do I have to tell you?" She reached over to her glove box, flipped it open and checked inside for maps. All she could see was the registration and a pamphlet about the Illinois State Fair. When she glanced back at the gas gauge, she saw that the needle had dropped a hair below a quarter of a tank. It caused a twinge of regret. She could hear her father start to yell at her not to tempt fate.

They stopped for gasoline at a highway interchange in the middle of farmland. Linda felt glad that the rain had tapered off to a drizzle. "Okay. Let's fill her up," she said, opening her purse to get at her checkbook and wallet, for the twenty dollars she'd withdrawn from her bank that morning. "Want to contribute for the cause?"

Lauren poked around in her backpack and pulled out three dollars, grinning.

She handed them over to Linda gleefully, as if she'd been giving her a check for a thousand dollars.

Linda received the dollar bills, staring at them in disbelief as they wilted onto her palm. "That's it? That's all you've got?"

Lauren shrugged. "Hey, it's four gallons. It would get us all the way there, almost, right? Your car's a stick. It gets good gas mileage, right?"

"Not that good. What happened to that money you had last weekend? When you talked me into going on this little jaunt?"

Lauren glanced down at her feet, lifting them off the floorboard, wriggling her toes in huaraches so brand new they squeaked. She laughed.

"Aw, shit!" Linda said, wondering why she hadn't noticed the new shoes until just then. "You're incredible. I can see you when you're married. 'I'm sorry, kids. There's no dinner tonight. I had to buy myself a new outfit.'"

"Kids?I'm not going to have kids. Get all fat like my older sister did? No way!"

Inside, Linda and Lauren paid for ten dollars of gasoline. "Can you at least buy a map?" Linda asked, indicating a rack with maps priced at one dollar.

"I could," Lauren said. She looked down. "But then I'd only have three dollars."

"Four dollars?" Linda exclaimed, blatantly unaware of the impression she was making on the middle-eastern cashier. "You only brought eight dollars? What about food?"

"We don't have to worry about that. My cousins are gonna feed us. Probably get us drunk and high, too." She winked at the male cashier.

Back in the car, Linda unfolded the map and studied it, tracing out the route to Cincinnati using one of her highlighting pens from lecture classes from school. There were only two turns, just as Lauren had said.

"You're such a girl scout," Lauren said, shaking her head.

"So?" Linda tossed the opened map onto Lauren's thighs. She punched down the clutch and started the car.

Later, at a town called Santa Claus, Indiana, Lauren noticed signs for restaurants. She said for two dollars they could each get burgers, fries, and a soda. "We don't even have to get out of the car," she added. "They make it so you can just drive up to the side and get your food from a window."

Linda couldn't believe it until a brightly uniformed teenager younger than them emerged from a window on the other side of the eatery, took their money and handed over their sodas and a bag with burgers and fries. "What will they think of next? It's just like my fifth grade social studies teacher said. By the 2000's we'll be big fat blobs with little arms and legs because we won't have to do anything."

"Not me," Lauren said. "My legs are the second-best part of me." She tugged on her tight knit blouse to reveal an inch more of cleavage.

"Slut," Linda said.

They sang more Led Zeppelin songs during the next leg of the trip, which took them across the Ohio River and into Louisville. Only an hour and a half more to Cincinnati. "You remember how to get to your cousin's house, right?" Dusk approached.

Lauren shook her head. "We're meeting them at the Coliseum," she said. "They wanted to get there early, to try to get a good seat."

"Get a good seat? What? Don't these tickets have seat numbers on them?"

"No. Jeannie and Greg said that when the doors open, everybody just runs to find the best seat they can, until the whole place fills up. They can get more people in there that way."

"That's insane!" Linda said.

The anticipation of reaching their destination and seeing the spectacular concert helped the remaining miles fly by. Soon, Linda and Lauren in Myrtle the green Volkswagen putt-putted across the Ohio River and exited into a maze of side streets near the Coliseum. With a sinking sense of dread, Linda saw droves of people their age filling the sidewalks and parking lots with signs reading "Park Here - $5."

"Oh, this is not good," Linda murmured.

"What's wrong?"

She sighed. "We can't afford to pay five dollars and have gas to get home, too."

She smacked herself on the forehead lightly with the heel of her palm. "I can't believe we didn't think of that before."

"No problem," Lauren said, waving a hand dismissively. "Greg said we can park by the river for free."

After a few more turns and a scoot beneath an overpass, they arrived at a cobblestone paved area that curved downward to the river. Other cars streamed into there, and Linda found a space beside a dingy van that belched smoke. As they got out of the car and locked it, Lauren glanced at the gray waters of the Ohio, just a scant few yards beyond. "This isn't _by_ the river. It's _on_ the river."

Lauren grabbed her arm and led her toward the wall opening and the sidewalk outside.

"Don't be such a worrywart," she said. They blended into the swarms of people walking toward the coliseum but Linda could not help but look back toward the river and the cobblestones. She imagined the river rising and sweeping away Myrtle, carrying her down toward Louisville.

Though daylight savings time had arrived the weekend before the day was quickly fading into violet night and all the streetlights had tripped on. Linda looked down at her watch and saw that it read six o'clock. The trip took just under six hours, the way she thought it would. "I can't believe how late we are," Lauren said, as she sped up. "We're supposed to meet them at the top of the stairs over there." She pointed straight ahead.

Linda was going to open her mouth and say "We're not late," but then looked across the street at a tall bank building. A bright sign jutting out from the corner read "7:02," and she realized what happened. As she scampered along after Lauren she said "We forgot about the time change."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," Lauren replied, as she weaved her way past the crowds.

Until then the tall buildings along the river had blocked their view of the coliseum. When they made it to the open area surrounding the arena, Linda gasped at the massive crowd gathered on the concourse all around the building. It reminded her of educational movies she'd seen about beehives during elementary school.

A long, wide wooden stairway led to the concourse, the place where they would meet Lauren's cousins. "There they are!" Lauren said, jumping up and down.

Linda looked up at a two guys and a girl she recognized from the photo albums Lauren showed her. Greg was a stocky, sturdily built guy with a scruffy, round face and a wide grin. Lauren's other cousin Jeannie had fire-red hair, fair skin and green eyes. When Linda and Lauren reached them, she saw that Jeannie also had a light dusting of cinnamon freckles across her face. A much taller guy towered over them, with an angular face and coiffed, rock star hair and a goatee that looked out of place with the military jacket he wore. "You're just in time," Jeannie spoke, raising her melodic voice above the buzzing of the anticipant crowd. "The doors are gonna open in ten more minutes."

"This is my roommate Linda," Lauren said, as she tapped Linda's shoulder. Greg and Jeannie reached forward and shook hands with her.

Jeannie said "And you guys haven't met Seth yet."

The tall guy in the military coat gleefully smiled and reached down for Lauren's hand, kissing it, while Lauren giggled. Linda assumed that she would be ignored or at best receive a cursory "hello" from the charming guy but this time she was wrong. Seth turned toward her and also reached down for her hand taking it and kissing it with the same smooth continental flair.

Maybe he likes dumpy dishwater blondes, she thought.

"We gotta get in there," Greg said, indicating with his thumb toward the doors. He and Seth led the way as they strode aggressively toward the throngs of people surrounding the coliseum doors. As they moved deeper and deeper into the crowd and Linda felt bodies press up against her, she instinctively breathed in. Lauren, who was a few inches taller, stood beside her, stretching on tiptoe to see above the shoulders beside them.

Suddenly some people in the crowd began to chant "Zeppelin! Zeppelin!" as people pushed on Linda from all sides. She realized that if she lifted her feet, she could be carried around by the force of the crowd. The air around them smelled of stale beer, whiskey, tobacco smoke and smoke of another kind that she recognized from dorm hallways. Waves of nausea blurred her vision. She felt lightheaded.

Lauren looked down at her and laughed. As far as Linda could tell, her friend stood her ground, pushing back against the crowd. "What's wrong with you? Are you gonna barf or something?"

"I can't believe this!" Linda was able to wheeze out through her constricted chest. "Is this how they always do concerts? Someone's going to get killed!"

Lauren stretched on tiptoe and gazed ahead of them. "I can see them! They're getting ready to open the doors!" The crowd around them let out a hearty, expectant cheer, as if it had been a football game and their team had thrown a long bomb for the winning touchdown.

"Hold on!" someone shouted and Linda heard a series of mechanical clunks and thunks. The crowd violently pushed forward, carrying Linda with it. Whistles sounded as voices whooped with delight and the crowd surge shoved through the opened doors. Linda wanted to close her eyes and will herself to the point in time where it would all be over, but she dared not. Lauren had shoved ahead of her, causing Linda to panic, lunge forward and grab her arm. A loud crack like a rifle shot sounded and glass tinkled, followed by a young woman's scream. Linda's blood ran cold.

Up ahead she could see the door frame forming a bottleneck for the swarming crowds streaming through it. From behind someone pushed her and she got thrust the last several feet through the doorway and inside the coliseum. As bodies shoved and spilled into the building they reached a line of orange vested coliseum ushers frantically ripping tickets and shepherding people through. Linda bent over and let out a deep sigh of relief, jostled this way and that by people running beside her. Someone held her across her shoulders. Lauren spoke: "Are we all here? Good! Let's run down there and get some good seats."

Linda reached into her squashed purse for her ticket. When she looked up, she saw two people a short distance away shielding a third. With horror, she also saw blood on the concrete. She shouted "Oh my god," and ran to the three people. Lauren and Jeannie called after her. Linda found a girl with crazed eyes sobbing as blood poured out of a wound on her face, matting her brown hair against it. Her two friends standing above her frantically rubbed her shoulders, trying to calm her. Linda sunk down to her knees and wedged between them, reaching the injured girl, murmuring "It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay."

She reached forward and pushed back a few locks of the girl's hair, wincing when she saw an ugly gash running alongside her cheekbone, oozing blood. Linda shouted "We need help here!" while her mind raced through what could be done for the poor girl. She'd only candy-striped before, on a med surg ward at County Regional, helping nurses with dressing changes. At school she'd just completed her freshman year, with introductory courses in Biology and Psychology. At the pool during the summer she'd taken a group class in First Aid, but the girl clearly didn't need CPR. "Somebody get behind her," Linda said. "Keep her head up."

An angry male voice behind them said "Clear the way people! Clear the way!" and Linda sighed with relief when she saw two blue uniformed paramedics rushing to the injured girl's aid.

Lauren yanked Linda by the arm. "Come on!" She dragged Linda along toward Seth and her cousins. When Linda turned to join them she heard the crackle and squawk of voices on walkie-talkies. They all got their tickets ripped by the ushers and ran out into the corridor to find an entrance to the arena seating.

"Wow, are you okay?" Seth said, patting Linda on the shoulder as they walked briskly along. He reached down and took her hand and Linda leaned in toward him as they ran along.

Together they skipped down steps of the arena's first level of seating and Linda realized that they were all headed to the rapidly filling floor.

"Where are we going?" she asked, still feeling light-headed and faint, especially after witnessing the spectacle near the front door.

"To the floor, baby!" Greg said. "I wanna get close enough to see the reds of their eyes."

They all found a spot in the center of the floor, near a platform containing spotlights and electronic consoles. "I can't believe what happened to that girl," Linda kept saying. She, Lauren and Jeannie sat on the floor, yoga style, while the men stood above them.

Greg said "Aw, she'll be fine. Guys like girls with a scar. Besides, I've got just the thing to take your mind off it." He reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a folded clear plastic bag with green grains in it.

"Oh I don't do that," Linda said, pushing her hands toward Greg in a shunning gesture.

"Are you sure?" Seth said. "You'd be the only straight one in here."

Lauren poked Linda on the arm. "You do so do it. Remember in the cafeteria? With the hash under the glass? And the bong?"

It was true. At several parties they'd attended during the year Linda tried grass. She mostly wanted to see what all the fuss was about. She'd gagged on the harsh smoke, then giggled a lot before falling asleep Here, in this scary coliseum with the nightmarish happenings, she wanted to keep awake and alert "I have to drive later. I don't think I should."

"Aw, just a little won't hurt," Greg persisted.

"We'll see."

Seth carried a small contraption that looked like a skinny radio. With the precision of a chemist, he placed a small white paper along some fabric rollers and dropped grains from Greg's stash onto it. He twisted a couple of knobs on the side of it and moments later produced a perfectly rolled cigarette, a joint. Greg took the joint from Seth and lit it, smiling pleasantly as the coal ember on the end of it glowed when he inhaled.

Seth immediately began work on a second joint, painstakingly dropping the grains inside the machine and twisting the knobs. The first joint was passed from Greg, to Jeannie and then to Lauren, who held it out in front of Linda. "No, I really don't think so," Linda said, accepting the joint and passing it on to Greg.

Her four friends had begun to talk silly, as if they'd inhaled laughing gas at the dentist's office. She gazed around at her surroundings, noticing a haze in the air, drifting up toward the catwalks and rafters above. Jazzy music with heavy guitar played on the arena sound system and a beach ball bounced around from section to section. When the floor had filled with kids like them, the seats in the first two tiers quickly began to fill up. To Linda it looked like an ever-changing kaleidoscope.

Lauren, who sat beside her, at one point drew in hard on a joint and turned to Linda, blowing the smoke out at her. Linda laughed, waving the smoke away.

"Loosen up!" Lauren said. "We're gonna see Led Zeppelin!" She excitedly grabbed Linda by her shoulders and shook her as she bounced up and down. As if the arena director had been acting on Lauren's cue, the lights dimmed. Thousands of people inside the building let out a thunderous victory cheer as everyone around them sprang to their feet. A giant metal ball Linda had seen on the stage loomed toward them, not rolling, but moving forward as though it had been on tracks. Neon hued spotlights shined on it.

A public address announcer's voiced boomed from the loudspeakers: "Ladies and Gentlemen! Coming to you all the way from the Carpathian mountains, will you give a warm welcome for the death-defying Kasparovs!"

"What the hell is this shit?" Greg shouted.

A loud buzzing came through the speakers and Linda saw two men in glittery costumes ride flashing motorcycles across the stage. A woman with her blond hair pulled into a high, glamorous ponytail strutted toward the center. She wore a glittering high-cut maillot magician's assistant outfit, high heels and glittery hose. Something shimmered and flashed in her hand as she lifted it above her head and flourished with it, pointing the guys criss-crossing each other on the stage floor.

A trap door opened on the giant metal ball and one motorcycle aimed toward it.

The wheels leaped inside the ball, where the rider guided it in circles inside, riding sideways and upside down. That brought "oohs" and "aahs" from the crowd. The second motorcycle entered the trap door and Lauren shrieked. "No way! Those guys are going to crash into each other. Seth waved a hand dismissively at the motorcycle riders. "I could do that! That ain't nothing."

Linda stood up with everyone else. She'd never heard of a concert beginning with a daredevil act before. A pink poodle suddenly appeared onstage. Linda wondered if she was hallucinating, if she'd inhaled so much pot smoke that she'd gotten stoned herself. At the spangled lady's command, the poodle stood on its hind legs and jumped through the silver hoop while the men continued to ride the motorcycles around inside the metal ball.

The crowd soon tired of watching the lady with the dog. The motorcycles had escaped from the metal ball. People started to chant "Zeppelin! Zeppelin!" The neon lights turned off and the entire area went dark. Little flickers of light illuminated the sea of people on the floor.

The sparkles extended up the rows of seats to the metal rafters overhead. Lauren, Jeannie, Seth and Greg had joined in by flicking their lighters into flame and holding their arms high. Music started to play, but it sounded different from the rock and roll that had played on the system minutes before. Linda recognized strains of classical violin and majestic cymbals as, in front of them, the stage took on an eerie, bright pink aura. The large metal ball had receded backstage behind black curtains.

Linda strained on tiptoe to watch drums and guitars float forward from backstage, in the shadows. Greg had lifted Lauren onto his shoulders and she shrieked and whooped with the other jubilant people around them. Someone poked Linda on her arm and when she turned she saw Seth's pleasantly grinning face. "Hey doll," he said. "Wanna get a better view?"

He lowered himself down for her.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," Linda said, envisioning Seth crumpling over from the strain on his back.

Jeannie egged her on, nudging her toward Seth "Go ahead! Do it!"

Nervously, Linda lifted her leg and looped it around Seth's neck, feeling as if she was going on some type of wild horse ride. He lifted her onto his shoulders with swift ease, as if she'd been a little rag doll. Lauren turned toward her and at first laughed, but then shouted out "Woo-hoo!" giving Linda a high-five.

Onstage a few shadowy figures loomed about, racing here and there and the sound system emitted a few squeaks and squawks. Moments later a spotlight flicked on and raucous, rapid guitar notes filled the air. Jimmy Page, with his long, wavy black hair and shimmering, glittering guitar, picked the notes into the air. He smiled broadly, his eyes puffy slits as if he'd been joining in on a long smoking session backstage. Linda could barely hear: the crowd started cheering so loudly they drowned all of the notes out. She knew she should also hear the crashing drums and cymbals, yet only screams and cheers reverberated through her ears.

A spotlight shone down on Robert Plant. He stood toward the front of the stage, draped in a long, flowing, glittery crimson garment, looking like a warrior angel. Through all the cheering and screaming, Linda could still Somehow, Linda could hear the first words he sang: "I had a dream. Crazy dream..." She clapped her hands, giddily recognizing a song she and Lauren had sung on the trip over: "The Song Remains the Same." She lost herself in the music, gleefully bouncing up and down like the other girls perched on guys' shoulders.

When the song ended, Robert Plant smiled and said "Good evening!"

The crowd responded in unison, roaring back to him. Linda got jostled a little, sensing that Seth was staggering beneath her. She could hear him laugh, but all at once she felt horrified. She wondered if she was crushing him. Onstage, Led Zeppelin had already started into another song. Linda reached down to tap Seth on the shoulder. She looked down and shouted "I want to come down, now!"

Seth looked up and said "What?"

Linda repeated "Let me down! Please."

"It's okay. Stay up there!"

"No, I want to come down." She started to lean forward enough that Seth had no choice other than to lower down and let her dismount. When she hopped off his shoulders she turned to thank him.

"You could have stayed up there, honey," he said. "I was doing fine."

She cupped her hands to shout directly into his ear. "I was getting dizzy."

This he seemed to accept, as he leaned away from her and said "Oh."

For the rest of the concert, Linda stayed grounded with the other people cheering and shrieking with delight as Led Zeppelin played song after song, many of which Linda did not recognize. Around them, young men's voices shouted out "Whole Lotta Love" and "Stairway to Heaven." For the next few songs, she tried to stand with the rest of them and sway to the music, dancing along with them but instead, she felt a gathering sense of dread. She remembered the struggle, the broken glass and the girl with the gash on her face, bleeding onto the concrete.

She also remembered that they would be staying in a strange house that night, in a strange bed, and that the next day they would have to drive the six hours back to school. At the very moment she was having these thoughts, onstage, Robert Plant said "Does anyone remember laughter?" causing another cheer to erupt from the crowd.

Soon, her feet ached. She needed to sit down and found a place near the edge of the platform, where she lowered down to rest against it, alone. From that angle she could look up and see everyone completely focused on the performers in front of them, lifted up in rapture as though they were witnessing a great spiritual miracle. They were only people, though: four guys from England who knew how to play musical instruments well.

Lauren soon noticed her. She lowered herself down onto her haunches and cupped her hands to shout to Linda. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Well what are you doing down here?"

Linda shrugged. "Sitting."

Lauren paused to consider that for a moment. "You're missing it!"

When Linda felt she had rested herself well enough, had contemplated her navel for a long enough time, she lifted herself back upward to re-join her friends. She blanched at the strange sight of Robert Plant playing a harmonica, until she recognized the song "When the Levee Breaks" from the fourth album. The band did other things she and the thousands of others did not expect. All four of them, even the drummer, picked up folksy acoustic guitars and then sat together on a bench at the front of the stage playing a dreamy guitar number.

Just a couple of more songs later, the band left the stage. People still shouted "Whole Lotta Love," and "Stairway to Heaven." So many lighters had been lit and hoist high that it gave the arena a warm, amber glow, like a sepia toned picture from the reconstruction era.

Small lights had still been turned on behind the drum set and the stage remained empty. Linda sensed that the band would jump back in at any moment, to play the encore the audience so desperately wanted.

Instead of "Stairway to Heaven," Linda instantly recognized the opening power chords of "Kashmir." The spotlights flashed on once again and Robert Plant, Jimmy Page and the other musicians reappeared on the stage. Jimmy Page was still drying the back of his neck with a towel. To Linda, this version of the song sounded so much different from the one she and her friends had played on their record players for the past couple of years. Still it sounded as hauntingly lyrical as ever, with Robert Plant heightening the mysticism of it with his eyes and beseeching gestures.

Then, abruptly, the song ended. The four men musicians, sweaty and panting, gathered arm in arm at the front of the stage and took bows for the audience, who cheered wildly. Jimmy Page had reclaimed his towel, and used it to wipe back some fresh sweat. When the group broke apart, he flung the towel out into the crowd, for dozens of people to fight over. Robert Plant blew kisses to the audience as he walked toward the black curtains.

Everyone stood for several minutes, rhythmically clapping, raising their lighters, trying to exhort Led Zeppelin to come back for just one more encore. When Linda saw a scruffy looking roadie reach for the cymbals on the drum set, she said "It's over." Moments later, the house lights came on. The crowd emitted one long groan of disappointment.

"That's it?" Seth said, staring at the stage in disbelief. "That's all they're going to do? They didn't even play 'Stairway.' This sucks!"

Greg said "They didn't have to play 'Stairway.'"

When acceptance set in, the five of them joined in with the thousands of people shuffling toward the exits. Some people they passed still jumped up and down excitedly. Linda saw a girl cry. She wanted to rush up and ask her what was the matter. Lauren grabbed her by the shoulder as she stopped, though.

When they reached the stairway, Seth ran up beside Linda, looking down at her as they walked. "So how did you like it?" he asked. His words sounded garbled, as if he had been speaking underwater. Linda realized that the music had been so loud it had temporarily trashed her hearing.

"What can I say," she replied. "It's Zeppelin. Hey, where are we supposed to spend the night tonight?" She looked around for Greg and Jeannie, who were walking ahead of them, with Lauren in between.

Greg said "You're going to follow us to our house."

"Where did you park?" Linda asked.

"Underneath the stadium."

Jeannie piped in: "It might be good if you two just came with us and then we could drive you to your car. Where did you park?"

Wryly, Linda replied "On some cobblestones along the river."

"Uh-oh!" Seth said with exaggerated horror. "Let's hope your car's still there."

Linda felt her heart start to race. Sweat broke out onto her brow. Again she envisioned poor little Myrtle floating on the river toward a bridge piling. She reached out for Seth's arm, stopping, grasping it hard. "What do you mean?"

"Ow! Strong little thing, aren't you?"

"Seth, don't be such a jerk," Jeannie said. "Linda, your car's going to be fine. We park there all the time."

They emerged from the Coliseum on the other side, where the concourse overlooked the great square slab of the parking lot on which Riverfront Stadium had been built. Linda could already see streams of cars lining the roads spiraling away from it. Greg observed "It looks like we've got a long night ahead of us."

By the time they reached Greg's van, they had to sit there for several minutes waiting for traffic to clear enough for them to venture out into the snarl. Greg turned on the stereo to a radio station who was playing Led Zeppelin songs non-stop. Linda soon realized that the high notes of the songs were jabbing at the inside of her ears like ice picks. "Would you mind turning it down? I think my hearing needs to recover."

If it was going to recover, she wondered. When Lynard Skynyrd played at the County Fair, they'd seemed louder than Led Zeppelin. However, that had been held in an outdoor amphitheater, where the sound was able to dissipate into the night air.

Twenty feet at a time, the van crawled along through the ramps and turns inside the multi-tiered concrete parking lot. Jeannie, Linda and Lauren sat on the floor of the van, atop shag carpeting. There were no windows. Greg said it used to be a carpet cargo van.

He bought it, fixed the engine and put in the killer stereo, but that was it. Jeannie said "It ain't too comfortable, but it works!" Going by the stale smell inside, Linda knew she was talking about the fact that the van "worked" as a party-mobile because police could not see inside of it.

Linda leaned against the side panel, allowing her eyes to slit at half-mast.

"You're not going to fall asleep, are you? We still have to get to Greg's house.

I can't drive stick, remember?" Lauren said.

"If he lives far, we're going to have to stop off for coffee," Linda said. "He doesn't live far, does he?"

"No."

Eventually the van emerged from the labyrinthine parking lot and moments later Greg turned at the underpass entrance. Linda felt relieved to find Myrtle safe, sound, and dry. "That's your car?" Seth said, gazing at the window with exaggerated disgust.

"Yeah. Why?"

He shrugged. "Somehow, I just don't see you driving a green bug."

As Linda lifted herself toward the open gate of the van she puffed out her chest in a dramatic show of sassiness. "Don't make fun of my Myrtle. She'll run over you!"

When they both arrived alone in the car, Lauren excitedly poked Linda while she took off the emergency brake and started the engine. "He likes your ass, I can tell!"

Linda shrugged. "Then why is he making fun of my car?"

"Everybody makes fun of your car. But he likes you. I can tell!"

It helped greatly that Lauren bounced up and down in her seat as she plotted Linda and Seth's romantic future together, since it kept her awake and engaged. She had to drive pretty fast to keep up with Greg as he darted from lane to lane and made quick turns.

"I bet he comes out to your farm this summer to see you! He's got a motorcycle."

Linda sighed. "For the last time, we don't live on a farm! No matter what you Chicago-ites think, not everyone south of Calumet bales hay!"

"I bet he comes out before the fourth of July." For the rest of the way, they both concentrated on keeping sight of Greg and the van. Lauren said that she could not find her way to the house on her own. The van led them on winding roads that curved around hills and forests, causing Linda to wonder whether Greg and Jeannie were the ones who lived on a farm. A few turns later, they saw signs of suburban civilization such as a shopping mall and cookie cutter subdivisions nestled into the hills.

They arrived in a cul-de-sac laden neighborhood full of rectangular doll houses and the van stopped in the driveway of a half-brick, half-yellow house with three other cars parked in the driveway, along with a motorcycle. "This must be it," Lauren said.

Once everyone had parked, Lauren and Linda emerged from the Volkswagen onto the blacktop driveway behind Greg and Jeannie in the van, who hugged them and jumped for joy as though they'd just finished a five thousand mile trek together. Seth held his motorcycle helmet, having slipped a leather jacket over the army fatigues he wore. He said "I guess I'll have to say good night to you beautiful young ladies. I've got work early tomorrow." Seth leaned over to give Lauren a quick kiss on her lips, which caused Linda to panic inside, her stomach churning.

She nearly wished he would just put his motorcycle helmet on, swing one leg over the seat, and buzz on home. Instead, he turned to Linda. Quickly he leaned down and kissed her on the lips, also. She felt a few of his moustache hairs bristle against her upper lip for a moment. When their lips met for the briefest of instances, his eyes closed. As he pulled away, Linda suddenly felt woozy and unstable on her feet. "See you next time Seth!" Jeannie called out to him as she walked toward the front door.

When they all stepped inside the house, they found Greg and Jeannie's mother.

She was a smiling matron in a housecoat and curlers, sitting up to watch Johnny Carson, who said "I changed the sheets on the bunk beds earlier."

"Thanks, mom," Jeannie said. She turned to Linda and Lauren, adding "You two are going to get me and my older sister's room, like the Bobsey twins with the bunks."

Linda might not have minded if they brought her to a pile of leaves out in the back yard, so tired was she. The bunk beds were white with lathed finials at the top. Matching white bookshelves held dolls dressed in international costumes. David and Shaun Cassidy posters adorned the walls.

"I haven't slept in here since I was twelve," Lauren explained, as she handed extra pillows to the both of them.

Linda dressed in one of Jeannie's old footie pajamas and when she slid into the bottom bunk, she instantly felt alert, as if she'd received a second wind. Lauren put on an old football jersey, ten sizes too big for her, fitting like a nightshirt, and had climbed into the top bunk.

For awhile, Linda stared at the bunting and the slats of the box spring from the upper bunk. It was quiet; outside the window she could hear crickets chirp. She thought maybe she could talk herself to sleep. "Hey Laure. Are you asleep yet?"

Lauren grumbled before responding. "Not now."

"Sorry. Do you remember that girl we passed, who was crying?"

The bunk woodwork squeaked as Lauren shifted around on the mattress above. "Yeah."

"Well, why do you think she was crying?" While Linda looked up, she could see shadows from branches wavering in the breeze creating dancing webs on the wall and ceiling.

Lauren took in a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe her boyfriend hit her or something."

"No. I think it was something else."

"What? Like she lost her purse or something?"

"No." Linda paused to clear her throat. "She was crying because it was over before it even started. After all that trouble and all those crowds and the way the glass broke and people got hurt and then everybody was expecting to be transformed by the experience and it was just an ordinary show. That's why she was crying. I almost felt like crying."

"Oh," Lauren said, quietly. Before Linda could feel proud about sending her friend off into dreamland with that nugget of wisdom, Lauren spoke again: "Linda? Go to sleep."
CHAPTER TWO

Linda thought that Jeannie's old bedroom must have faced the east. Bright rays of sunshine beamed down on her early the next morning. As she started to wake up she could hear conversation drifting up from downstairs. She could also smell sausage cooking and hear griddles sizzling.

A clock radio across the room read "7:45." She thought that they should get in their clothes right away to venture downstairs but realized that Lauren still languished deep in slumber. "Come on, sleepyhead," she said, nudging Lauren's arm. "They made breakfast for us."

Lauren groaned. "Is it morning already?"

Linda laughed. "Yes. Duh."  
Her friend turned over to face against the wall, away from the sunlight. "I wanna sleep some more."

"Just a little more, but I want to get going soon." She went downstairs by herself. In the kitchen, she found Jeannie and Greg's mom busy at the stove while Jeannie and Greg sat down at the table, both of them still in their pajamas. By the time plates of sausage and pancakes settled onto the table, Lauren wandered into the room, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired.

"Good morning sleeping beauty," Greg said.

Linda realized that she was ravenously hungry. She attacked a stack of buttermilk pancakes covered with blueberry syrup, but delicately sliced and dined on three sausage links. The four of them carried on a spirited conversation about the concert. Jeannie and Greg's mother smiled and said "It's so great that these big time musicians come on out to play for all of you kids." The wall phone rang, startling Linda.

She wondered who would call so early, assuming it was the father, checking in from his business trip.

Greg answered it. As the other person on the line spoke, his features curled into a smile. "Hey buddy! What's happening?"

"Seth," Jeannie said, through a mouth full of toast."

Lauren, whose eyes had still flickered at half-mast, brightened and revitalized suddenly. She smiled and turned to Linda. "See! What did I tell you?" She nudged her playfully with her elbow.

"So?" Linda said.

Greg then called to her from across the kitchen, holding the phone. "Hey Linda, he wants to talk to you."

"He does?" she replied weakly.

Lauren started to laugh and rock from side to side in her hair, fully awake now. "What did I tell you? What did I tell you?"

Linda stood up to take the phone, receiving it in her hands daintily, as if the phone had been made of cut Swarovski crystal. She said "Hello?"

Seth's big, booming and frosty voice bellowed to her from the other end of the line. "Hey darlin'. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, I guess. How are you?"

"Not too bad. A little headache. I'll live, though." He paused for a moment.

"Hey, could I have your phone number so we could keep in touch?"

Linda's almost blurted out "Why?" Instead, she shrugged and gave him the number. That caused Lauren to squeal with delight and giggle loud enough for Linda to clap her palm over the speaking end of the phone. She motioned for Lauren to quiet down.

Later, after they both took a quick shower, dressed and said their thank-yous and good-byes, Linda drove them back onto the Interstate to start the long trip back to college. Lauren immediately jumped into a conversation about what had happened at the breakfast table. "He likes you! I knew it! I betcha he rides out on his motorcycle before Memorial Day."

Linda snarled her lip. "Be serious. He just asked me for my phone number. You're acting like he got down on his knee and proposed."

"But he's cute!"

"And blind, apparently." Linda watched the highway for the interchange signs.

"Blind? What are you talking about?"

Linda wished she kept her mouth shut. "Well, I'm fat."

"Fat? No you're not."

"I'm short and fat. Five four and a hundred and thirty pounds. Fat. I almost crushed him when he had me on his shoulders."

"No you didn't. He was holding you like you were a feather."

Linda distinctly remembered Seth staggering around at one point, as if he was straining under her weight. "Well then how come he almost dropped me?"

"Because he was drunk. Both those guys were. Couldn't you tell?"

"No. But that explains everything." She hoped they would talk about something else.

No such luck.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe Seth likes you?"

Exasperated, Linda shook her head. She turned the wheel and angled the car onto the entrance ramp for I-71. "He could get someone thinner and prettier right here. He doesn't need to chase after me, two states away."

"Lin, you put yourself down so much. You're very pretty and you have a cute personality. If you ask me, Seth's smart.."

"Okay, Dolly," Linda said. When Lauren flashed her a confused look, she briefly explained the character of Dolly Levi the matchmaker from the Broadway show "Hello Dolly." By the time they reached Louisville, Lauren had angled her seat into a reclining position and fell asleep.

That left Lauren on her own to ponder her life while the budding trees and sprouting grass dotted the scenery outside the window. In high school she'd had only one real boyfriend: Tom. He was a tall and skinny dark-haired guy with braces, who liked to impersonate movie stars he liked, such as Clint Eastwood and Al Pacino. She'd met him at the roller skating rink during her sophomore year and he'd taught her how to follow him, in skate dance routines, where he would whirl her around and she would skate backwards. At first it had terrified her but he held her with such strength and confidence her fears melted away.

A few times they'd also gone to the cinema together, with Tom's parents or her mother dropping them off or picking them up. One time they sneaked into an 'R' rated movie, "Magnum Force," with Clint Eastwood playing Dirty Harry. They'd giggled all the way through the movie, with its cussing, violent images and nudity they weren't supposed to see yet.

Unfortunately, they soon acted out a scene from another movie Linda had seen.

At the end of sophomore year, Tom took her skating the way he often did, but he seemed glum, downcast. When they sat down at the snack bar, he broke the news to her. "My father got a transfer. They want him to be a vice president at the home office, in Philadelphia. We're going to move there in July." When the reality sunk in, Linda started to cry, the way Susan did in the movie "Jeremy." In that movie, Susan had to move away from Jeremy After Linda saw Tom for the last time, as he lowered down into the family station wagon parked behind a giant moving van, she cried for two days after.

Though she still went skating every Friday night and skated couples with many different boys, she went through her junior and senior years without another boyfriend. When prom time came, no one asked her. Lauren pointed out that girls outnumbered boys at her school almost three to two and that she just hadn't tried hard enough to be noticed. It was probably true. And pimply-faced Lester Mahaffey from her Physiology class had acted like he was going to ask her, but his adam's apple bulged out and he stammered out something about fixing the centrifuge for their next experiment. He was probably afraid she was going to turn him down.

And no matter what Lauren said, she still felt fat, especially around that time of the month. Older sisters of her friends had warned about the "Freshman 15," referring to the number of pounds some girls gained from eating the starchy, greasy dorm cafeteria food. Her mother said "Just eat lots of salads and drink lots of water. Stay away from soda." Oh well, she thought, it did work, sort of. Instead of fifteen pounds, she only gained five.

Maybe she could start roller-skating again, during the summer.

The hills and sharp turns close to Louisville and a truck horn shook her out of her reverie.

Lauren jolted awake. Disoriented, her eyes peeped open and her head bobbed erratically. To Linda, she looked like a little robin searching after a dangling worm.

"Scared me half to death!" Lauren said.

Linda was glad it happened: now she'd have someone to talk to. "I was thinking we could get back in time for my class." She looked down at her watch, never having changed it during their short time in Cincinnati.

"You're gonna try to go to class? You're crazy!"

"Sure I am. He said he was going to cover some important stuff today."

Lauren shook her head. "Well, what time is your class?"

"Three."

"And what time is it?"

"Just past ten thirty."

Lauren straightened up righteously and turned to her, glancing at the road signs. "We're not even in Louisville yet. There's more than four hours to go. You're not going to make it."

"Where did you learn to count, dingleberry? That gives us four and a half hours."

"Get behind some semis."

"What?"

"You know. Big trucks. Like that one that honked his horn and scared the shit out of me back there. You might be able to drive faster."

On that Thursday morning, only trucks shared the road with them. They probably looked like a pea rolling along between two soda cans. "How is getting behind a truck going to help me go faster?"

Lauren shook her head and glanced up the roof. "They have CB's. And they know where the speed traps are."

Linda sped up to get behind one of them, with a gleaming silver trailer.

"Let's see if you're right."

"Just look up to make sure you can see the guy's face in the mirror on the side."

"Why?"

"So I can flirt with his ass." Lauren paused, grinning widely.

Linda wondered whether her friend was pulling her leg. It was a game they'd played all year: Lauren would make an outrageous comment or suggestion in a straight face. Most times Linda would go along until Lauren started laughing hard. "Flirt with him? He's probably in his forties with a big beer gut. Lauren laughed at her. "Gotcha! No, it's so that the guy can see you and knows you're behind him. We're you asleep in Driver Ed class?"

"No," she said, gazing ahead, looking for the big mirror on the side of the cab. She could see a guy smirking, wearing mirror sunglasses and a straw cowboy hat.

For the next few miles they tagged along behind the driver of the red truck with the silver trailer. Linda thought he looked like Jan Michael-Vincent in the movie _White Line Fever._ Everything seemed well until another big rig truck pulled up behind them, following them at a close distance.

Lauren shrugged. "So?"

"Well if Jan Michael Vincent slows down suddenly and the guy behind us keeps going, we're gonna be squashed like a beer can."

Lauren turned to look at the truck looming behind them. "You're right."

"You're right? That's it?"

"Well if he stops and we get squashed and our guts get splattered inside this car then both of our parents are going to be rich people, aren't they?" She regarded Linda solemnly.

Linda couldn't believe what her friend had just said and was getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute. She whispered "Are you serious?"

Lauren tossed back and let out an evil laugh like a crazed vampire girl in a Christopher Lee movie. "Gawd, you are so easy. You're too serious. When you get married, your husband is going to cheat on you."

"No he won't."

"He won't, huh? Why?"

Linda shrugged, still glancing in her rear view mirror at the second truck, who seemed to be gaining on them. "Because he'd love me too much. I wouldn't marry a guy who didn't love me."

Lauren waved a hand dismissively at her. "Let me tell you something, guys are dogs. They only care about one thing."

"Well, I know that! I've got an older brother, remember?"

"So you know. They're dogs. And your job is to make them fetch."

Linda was going to ask Lauren what she meant, but to her horror a third truck pulled up alongside them. Between the three tractor-trailer rigs, they were penned in like a hopeless little lamb in the middle of a wolf pack. "Oh my god," she said.

Lauren looked around at the three trucks hemming them in as they sped along.

Casually, she said "They're playing chicken in a basket with us."

"You think this is funny?"

She giggled. "Should I flash 'em?" She tossed off her jacket and pretended to start unbuttoning her blouse.

Linda reached out to slap Lauren's hands down. "Lauren!" she shrieked.

"Are you out of your mind?"

Lauren laughed long and hard, reaching for her jacket, poking her arms back through the sleeves. "It could be kind of fun." She grinned devilishly. "Watch one of them wreck."

"You are evil!" When things calmed down between them, Linda realized they were still in the same predicament, speeding toward seventy-five miles per hour, hemmed in between the three semis. "What are we going to do?"

"It's just bored trucker guys having a little fun. Besides, you're the one who wanted to make it back in time for class." She glanced out of the window at the road signs. "Look, we're almost in Santa Claus already."

"I don't like this," Linda murmured, envisioning the truck on their left closing in, forcing her to the shoulder.

"Then get off. At the next exit."

Thankfully, the truckers allowed Linda to angle her car for the Santa Claus exit. When they slowed down onto the ramp, Lauren watched the three of them thunder onward. "We probably broke their heart."

In Santa Claus, they stopped for fuel at the exact same gasoline station with the exact same middle-eastern cashier guy, who said "Ah, we meet again."

Neither one of them was hungry, after the big breakfast they'd ate hours earlier.

"You owe me," Linda said, when they climbed back into the car. "I bought practically all the gas for this trip."

"I already paid you back ten-fold," she said. "I got you to meet your future boyfriend."

It was still before one o'clock when they reached the Illinois state line, and Linda felt more and more confident about her chances of making it to class on time. When Myrtle pulled up into the edges of town at two-thirty, she knew she might make it with time to spare. Hurriedly she parked in the student lot across the railroad tracks and made Lauren run with her along the overpass toward the high rises. Once they arrived at their building and an elevator ride brought them to their room on the tenth floor, Lauren allowed herself to crumple down onto her bed. "You can be Miss Goody-goody and go to class," she said. "I'm going to catch some Z's."

"See you at dinner." Linda grabbed her notebook and her text from their perch atop her desk and ran toward the stairs, scampering down all ten flights of them. Gray clouds gathered overhead, obscuring the mid-day sun, causing her to wonder if a driving rain would stand as the beginning and end of her Led Zeppelin adventure. On the other side of campus she raced through the double doors at Essex hall, climbing another flight of stairs to take her to the lecture hall. Once there, she plopped down in her usual seat beside Marsha, a red-haired girl from Rockford. She poked her and said "You'll never guess where I've been."

When class ended, Linda realized she was famished. She started to head directly for the dining hall but continued back to the dorm room instead. Lauren might still be deep in sleep, and she wasn't in the mood to eat by herself that night. Linda did find Lauren in the room, but she was upright and active, wearing different clothes than before and twirling locks of her long, thick hair with a curling iron. She also wore her nicer, strappy sandals and had put on vampy swathes of thick liner on her eyes. "Are you trying to impress that tall proctor guy at the cafeteria?"

"No, I'm going to the Firm for quarter beer night. Wanna come?"

Linda sighed. "You know I can't." She wouldn't turn nineteen until September.

"Just borrow Janelle's ID," she said, pointing past the doorway and down the hall, to Janelle's room at the end.

"I don't look anything like her," Linda said. "They'd just laugh at me."

Lauren shrugged. "You're missing out."

"On a bunch of people getting drunk? I don't think so." She watched Lauren carefully arrange her tresses into curls that Farrah Fawcett would envy. "You're going to go to dinner first, right? It isn't good to drink on an empty stomach."

"Okay...mom!" Lauren finished in front of the mirror and reached for her jacket.

They arrived at Rutherford Hall, the dining cafeteria, at five-thirty. It was the most crowded period. They reached for trays, which were still warm and damp from being cycled through the steamy dishwasher, and checked over that night's offerings. Vats of mashed potatoes the consistency of wallpaper paste and pots of brown, watery gravy awaited them. "S.O.S," Lauren said, meaning "same old shit."

Linda stretched on tiptoe to see over some of the other students and learn what they were serving at the front of the line. "Is it gray grizzle or roofing tiles?" She referred to the Salisbury steak, and the sliced, processed turkey.

"Why do you care? You're just gonna get salad and cottage cheese and drown it in red dressing anyway."

"But I'm hungry. This time I might actually go for the main course. The spaghetti is pretty good, if you put lots of parmesan cheese on it."

Lauren laughed. "And you don't mind the noodles being like mop strings."

They were serving the gray grizzle that night. Linda reached for the stewed tomatoes and croutons instead, filling up another plate with salad greens and cottage cheese.

They'd arranged the cafeteria into long rows of tables, and Linda and Lauren usually sat around the center of the room with a few girls they knew from Bartholomew Hall.

As soon as they settled themselves, Lauren held court by beginning her brag session. "You'll never guess where Lin and I went yesterday."

Marie, Penny, and a couple of the other girls looked back at them with blank expressions.

"I'll give you a hint," Lauren went on. She pantomimed holding a microphone and twisted her features into a passionate grimace. She sang "Waaaaaay down inside! Woman...you need me."

Penny, who was a sassy accounting major from the northwest suburbs of Chicago, said "You...made a whole lot of love?"

"No," Lauren said, and then launched into a long description of the past twenty-four hours. "And Linda met her new boyfriend!"

Lauren rambled on about the concert for such a long time that Linda had finished her salad plate by the time Lauren took her first bite. She picked at the gray slab of Salisbury steak, flicking at the gravy, which had congealed and thickened around the mushy breading. "This is absolutely gross." She sneered down at the meat and runny potatoes. To start, she gobbled up a few slimy string beans, wincing as they swished around inside of her mouth.

Next, she washed a few bites of grizzle and potatoes down with a healthy swig of milk.

Marie, a music and theater major, raised an eyebrow exaggeratedly while she noticed Lauren eat. With a melodic voice and the appropriate pauses for dramatic effect, she said "My sister told me that by the end of the year they start to get sloppy with the food. And that, whatever you do, never eat meatloaf!"

Lauren set down her fork and said "Yeah. You know what? Fuck this place! We should get an apartment together. Like at Belmont Green or the Tuileries."

Marie and Penny nodded with agreement. They discussed how nice it would be to come home to a place with real carpet, for instance, with several rooms to roam around in, and the freedom to cook scrumptious meals of their own.

"Aren't those places four hundred dollars a month or more?" Linda asked.

Lauren flashed her a snide grin. "They'll be four of us, goofball. You'd only have to pay a hundred a month. Your daddy can handle that, can't he?"

"He kind of wants me to be in the dorms the first couple of years."

Lauren lifted up a forkful of mashed potatoes, allowing them to run off the tines and dribble back onto the plate. "Well, if you want to put up with another year of eating this slop, be my guest!"

=====================================================================

The Spring semester ended after the second week of May. Because Linda had made choices such as rush home after their road trip to attend class and avoid wasting evenings getting sloshed at the Firm's quarter beer night, she received all A's once again. Twice after she brought up the idea at the cafeteria, Lauren again proposed moving off campus for their sophomore year.

"I don't think I could afford it," Linda said. "Buying your own food can get expensive. And you have to pay for telephone and the electric bill, too."

"And you build up credit. That's how you make it in the real world. Don't you have friends back home who have their own apartments?"

She thought it over for a moment. "No. They're all in college, like me."

"Forget I asked. But Marie and I already signed a lease at the Tuileries for this fall. We need you and another girl. You can come with us and live in a place with carpet and nice beds or you can stay here or Bartholomew and get bloated by that disgusting food. Your choice."

The last remark was a low blow. Lauren knew how sensitive she was about weight matters.

Friday of that week, her father and her little sister Molly arrived in the big woody station wagon. Her mother worked as a teller at one of the largest banks in town and could never get Fridays off unless she was on vacation. Her father, a manager at a rail yard, brought shipping crates and a hand dolly. While Linda filled one of the crates with books, stuffed animals, blouses, t-shirts and records, he shook his head, snorting through one nostril the way he always did when he was exasperated. "Dang, girl. I should have brought one of the trucks instead."

Molly, who was fourteen but already boy crazy noticed the swarms of guys moving out of the Wilson Triads next door. "There's so many cute guys here! How do you get straight A's?"

Before Linda could respond her father gruffly interjected "Because she does the right thing and studies instead of playing games with them. Something _you_ ought to be doing."

On the way home, the three of them rode in the front seat since the entire back seat and cargo area had been filled with crates of Linda's things. To make conversation on the way home, she told her father about Lauren's idea.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he sneered and said "What the hell do you want to do that for? So you can watch that tramp bring guys home all the time?" Her parents had met Lauren during Parents' weekend the previous fall. That day, she was wearing one of her lower-cut blouses and tight jeans.

"She's not a tramp. She plays around like she is, but she's really not."

"Well then, what are you going to use to buy food? Your looks?"

"It'd work out. I'm a pretty good cook."

Her father cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was going to launch into a diatribe.

"That takes time, and it takes money. Why would you want that kind of aggravation? In the dorm you've got someone else cooking for you, you don't have to worry about the light bill and you can concentrate on what's important. Your aunt Sylvia will tell you. Those nursing boards are no picnic."

Linda sighed. "I suppose you're right."

He reached across Molly, in the middle seat, to playfully slap Linda on the thigh. "When you get your first job, and you start making real money. That's when you get your first apartment. Better yet, meet a doctor. Marry him. Move into a nice house. Don't even move into an apartment, ever."

Linda had planned out her entire summer.

She would go to work at the Nettle's feed store and candy-stripe at County General again. On her days off, she and Molly would go to the pool where she would meet her other friends. And, as she promised herself, she would go to the roller rink and start skating again.

When she went to the feed store, Lou and Nellie, the owners hugged her and squealed.

They acted as if she'd been a long lost daughter. Absolutely nothing had changed about the store in nine months. She cleaned up the files and helped at the register as if she'd just been on an extremely long vacation. To her delight they even raised her pay fifty cents.

Candy striping was a different matter. She'd already had experience from the summer before. The first chance she got, drove down to the hospital and bounded up to the personnel office. The whole building seemed colder, more clinical than she remembered. A receptionist wearing cat's eye glasses looked down her nose at her as she asked "May I help you, miss?"

"I'm here to start volunteering. I worked with Beth Callas last summer."

The woman, who wore her hair in a severely tight French twist, said "Oh. Well we have all the volunteers we need right now. You could check back in the fall, when some of the girls return to school."

Linda felt as if she'd been slapped. For a moment she stood there, speechless.

Apparently, she stood there for a long time. The receptionist pasted a fake smile on her face and asked "Is there a problem?"

"I don't understand. I spoke with Beth just last month. She said to just come to personnel, that you'd have me update my paperwork, and I could start right away." For the first time she noticed the receptionist's nametag: Rose.

Rose said "That's not the way it works anymore. Possibly something will become available in September. You should keep in touch!"

"I'll be back in school in September! Is Beth here? Can I see her?"

Rose squinted. "Well, she's very busy. I can leave her a message for you."

"Do that. Could you please?"

At dinner that night she told her mother and older brother Bobby all about the situation. Her brother Bobby worked at a stereo store, on commission. He often proudly remarked "That's what separates the men from the boys." When he learned of Linda's plight, he chuckled and said "They get a free employee. What's the big deal?"

"It's not that simple," their mother said, as she dropped the last of the sausages onto the sauce platter. "Things are really tight now. You may not believe it, but it does cost money to bring in volunteers."

"That's crazy," Bobby said. "How does it cost them any money? She shows up, she helps the nurses a little bit, and everybody's happy."

"Insurance. They have to pay extra to make sure everyone's covered, in case you slip and fall and hurt yourself."

"That's messed up," Bobby went on.

"It's called the real world, Robert," his mother murmured.

Real world or not, Linda had counted on working on the floor with nurses during the summer. What was she going to do now?

The next day Beth called her, just before she was going to leave for the pool with Molly. "I apologize for the misunderstanding. Rose is right. We did have a lot of girls show up for our regular positions on the floor. The med surg area, where you worked last summer, has all of the help they need."

"Well, what about the other areas? Do you have any openings on any of the other floors?"

Beth paused for a few moments. She was a zaftig woman with a resonant alto voice.

"Honey, there is another opening in another area, but I'm not sure if it's right for you."

"Tell me! Tell me! Where is it? OB? Emergency?"

"No. It's oncology."

Linda was vaguely aware of another wing of the hospital, where they practiced acute care. "Well, I'd be willing! I'm a quick learner. You remember, right?"

Beth said "Linda, I know you're in school and all, but do you know what they do in oncology?"

She shrugged. "Well, I know it's for longer term care."

Another pause. Beth solemnly said "It's where we treat patients for cancer."

"Oh. Well, I can do that."

Beth agreed to let Linda volunteer in the oncology ward. Her mother said "They probably were hoping for someone older, with a little more life experience. Those people are really ill."

Bobby leaned in toward her, smirking, his elbows on the table. "Yeah. You ever seen someone with cancer? It's ugly. All their hair falls out, they turn green and all they do is harf all over the place."

"How would you know? Have you ever seen anyone with cancer?" Linda asked.

"Sure."

"And on television doesn't count, numbnuts," she added.

Her mother swung around toward her. "That's enough!"

Linda's summer was all set. She would help at the feed store from the mornings until the mid-afternoon, and for four-hour shifts at night, she would candy stripe at County General. After the weekend, she was set to meet Beth at the personnel office at 6pm, for orientation. She wondered what there was to "orientate" for. Had things changed that much at the hospital? Just to show Beth how serious she was, she arrived at the hospital at 5:30.

To her relief, a younger lady with light brown hair, a moist complexion and sparkling blue eyes greeted her at the receptionist desk. Rose apparently only worked from nine to five. The night receptionist smiled pleasantly, invited Linda to sit in the lobby and promised to let Beth know she was there.

At six p.m., Beth's rich voice filled the entire lobby. "Linda! It's so good to see you again!" They chatted as she led her through the double doors and into the other building.

Linda told her how well she had done in her classes, even though she hadn't taken any real nursing courses yet. "Gotta get the general stuff out of the way first, make sure you're well-rounded."

Linda thought she was already round enough thank you very much. In her office Beth continued the introductory talk after they sat down. She spoke about how everything in the health care field was changing so rapidly, from health insurance to computerization to the look of the nurse's uniforms. "Pretty soon there might be colors, or patterns. White is so cold, and clinical when you look at it day after day. You're lucky in a way, that you get to wear those cute pink uniforms with the smocks."

"I still have mine from last summer," Linda said. "Is it okay if I use that?"

"Of course. Now, let me tell you a little about the opening." She took in a deep breath and her demeanor changed radically. Suddenly her eyebrows lowered and the corners of her mouth flattened out. "It's in the new outpatient center."

Linda nodded. "They can treat cancer outpatient? Like a regular clinic or doctor's office visit?"

Beth nodded, solemnly. "In the early stages, yes. We administer chemotherapy in the outpatient center. Each session typically lasts about three hours, and if the patient's well enough, they're free to return home."

"If they're well enough?"

Beth inhaled. "The chemotherapy can make folks pretty ill. They get nauseous, vomit. The usual."

Vomiting in the hospital was pretty common. The previous year in the med surg unit, Linda liked to brag about how quick she was with an emesis pan. "Sounds pretty routine."

"It can be. But I have to warn you that there will be much more than what you were used to in med surg. And it could be emotionally draining. Many times people who come to their first chemotherapy session are upset, in disbelief."

Linda thought about what she'd once learned in a psychology class, that a patient with a terminal disease goes through certain stages: denial, bargaining, anger, and acceptance. "That's fine," she said. "I think I'd be upset too, if I just found out I had cancer."

Beth nodded. "Are you sure you're ready for this? It's going to be way different from med surg, you know."

"Yes, I'm ready." She would start the next night.

She remembered all of the cinema portrayals she'd seen, of people with cancer or other terminal diseases. In _Love Story,_ Ali MacGraw just got pale and perpetually tired-looking, her eyelids fluttering around at half-mast. General Hospital also showed cancer patients as slightly washed out, with dark circles applied under their eyes to portray hollowness. Many times, they still put full makeup on the actresses, who would lie there with eyeliner and mascara while they were supposedly undergoing torturous medical treatments.

When she arrived at the Outpatient Oncology Center, her first thought was that it appeared to be the most bizarre blood bank she ever saw. The patients all wore street clothes: mostly comfortable sweaters and slacks or blue jeans. The three nurses at the center all dashed around from patient to patient. They quickly introduced themselves to Linda and started her off by putting her in charge of the Cart, which contained all the IV bags and medications along with the other supplies, including stacks of gleaming emesis pans.

The oldest of the nurses, a short Hispanic lady named Doris, took Linda aside for a quick orientation: patients could elect to receive treatment in either the front or the back.

The front of the center was the part that resembled a blood bank. At the back, patients could receive their treatment semi-privately, in a room rigged with curtains similar to what was used in emergency departments. "All of the patients have a pole with a light at the top of it. They're told to press a button attached to a cable when they're in distress and we need you to bring the cart to them."

"When they're in distress?" Linda repeated.

Doris smiled wryly. "When they're gonna toss their cookies."

For the next three hours, Linda raced from chair to chair with her cart, watching the nurses switch out IV bags for the patients, administer shots to them or bark at her to be ready with the emesis pan. One jaundiced looking lady wearing a bandana vomited with such force that it sprayed onto Linda's smock, and her chin. "Get another one," the nurse said.

"And wipe off your face."

Linda had to change into the new smock in a closet-sized washroom, where she also wiped vomit off her cheek. She took a moment to say a quick prayer: "Lord, please give me the strength."

Her shift wasn't even half over. As she passed through the aisles between the chairs, another nurse quickly whispered to her. "When someone's gonna rock and roll, the best thing to do is turn away and make sure your mouth is covered. You'll thank me later."

Awhile after that, she ran the cart to the semi-private area, where a man who'd lowered his chair so that it lie flat, like a bed, wheezed and thrashed around. Jenny, a tall, thin nurse said "Mr. Milton..." parted the curtain and said "Oh no." Linda frantically reached for the emesis pan but Mr. Milton spewed as if he'd been the old faithful geyser, raining chunks down onto her fresh smock, bits of it clumping in her hair.

Linda slumped, feeling like she was going to cry, but Jenny reached out to steady her. "Here comes another one!" Mr. Milton, who'd rolled sideways, opened his mouth and vomited over the side of the chair and onto the floor, well before Linda could scramble down to place a pan beneath him. They both looked down at the mess on the floor. "You'd better call housekeeping, darling," Jenny said.

By the end of her shift, Linda had tossed three smocks into the giant laundry vat. When Jenny passed by Linda stopped her. "Is it always like this?"

"Sometimes," Jenny said, quickly adding "but tonight was worse than usual. There could be a full moon or something. Hang in there, kid. You did great."

At home later, Linda tried to calm down by nestling onto the couch to watch TV.

While she petted her cat Veronica, "Hawaii-Five O" played. Her mother had whipped up a batch of chamomile tea, something she said "...was sure to make you feel a whole lot better."

"I just have one question," she said, softly. "How can God allow this to happen? I mean, you should have seen it! It was like being in hell."

Her mother, who had slipped on a pair of reading glasses shrugged, while glancing at a magazine. "That's one of those questions you're not supposed to ask. At least, not now."

"Those people were so sick," Linda went on. "It was horrible!"

Molly threw one of Veronica's little stuffed mice toys at her. "Get used to it. You're the one who wants to be a nurse!"

"Shut up, you little brat."

Molly started pretending to be sick and throw up, over and over, making gagging and hurling sounds. "I'll tell you what, I'll make myself throw up so you can practice!"

Their mother sat the opened magazine face down on her lap and glared across the room.

"Molly Ellen Serafina! That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard! If you can't say something nice, then keep your yap shut or you'll be grounded the rest of the summer." To emphasize, she pointed a threatening finger at her.

Molly's eyes widened as she rocked back and forth in the easy chair, the one where their father usually sat. "Okay," she said. "Geez."

After another relaxed and low-key day at the feed store the next day, Linda braced herself for what awaited her at the hospital. Surprisingly, she found it half as crowded as it had been the night before. Jenny said "No one likes to come here on a Friday night. We're slow. Enjoy it."

Linda looked over the cart and at the patients peacefully reclining in their chairs.

IV bags dangling from poles above hem dripped fluid down into their veins. "Well, good for that, I guess," but she wondered how she would pass the time if nothing was going on.

She strolled past the chairs in the front area, noticing that many people had spouses with them, sitting in little folding chairs beside the recliners, holding hands, whispering words of encouragement. A light flickered above one of the recliners where a bald woman with sunken eyes sat. Linda rushed over with the cart and nurse Doris followed. She patted the woman on the back and said "It's fine Mrs. Morris. Go ahead and let it out." Linda reached down for an emesis pan and held it for the woman, who turned on her side and faced it. After a few clicking sounds escaped from her lips, a polite, steady stream of vomit followed, flowing directly into the pan. When it was over, Linda reached down and dabbed at her mouth with a tissue.

Panting, Mrs. Morris looked up at her and said "Thank you, angel."

When nearly half of her shift had passed, Linda was starting to think that she could do this. Though it was much less hectic than the night before, the time passed much more slowly, also. To try to make herself useful, she casually walked past the patients and offered small talk.

A lady her mother's age sat and knit while her husband napped in the recliner. "My grandmother knits, too," she said. "Last Christmas she knitted really neat sweaters for my sister and me."

One lady arrived late, and though she was crying, looked healthier than anyone else in the center, with her long, gleaming dark hair and her pretty eyes. Her husband, a tanned man with wide shoulders, showed wrinkles and concern on his otherwise smooth forehead, helped her along toward a recliner. On the other side of the room, toward the wash closet, Jenny got Linda's attention by saying "Pssst!" She motioned her toward the closet.

"That lady is a first timer," Jenny said. "They cry the hardest. Be ready for anything."

Linda nodded. When she glanced over at the place where the new lady sat, she saw her continue to cry quietly as Doris started the IV. As the fluid dripped down through the tubing and into the woman's arm, her crying intensified and she let out a continual wail. Linda quickly walked over there as the man held his wife and Doris patted her on her other shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"We're fine for now. Just be ready. Keep the cart in the middle for now."

Linda backed away, feeling like a fifth wheel. She wandered over toward the semi-private area, where only a few patients lie. A girl's voice said "Hello?"

Linda followed the sound toward the edge of the room, pushing the curtain aside. She saw a girl her own age sitting casually on the recliner, her legs folded Indian style beneath her. While her eyes were bright and flashing, her head was completely bald and her shoulders formed sharp angles under the striped knit top she wore. "Hi," she said. "You're not a nurse are you?"

"No, I'm a volunteer," Linda replied. "Do you need anything?"

She sighed, looking at the IV in her arm and some boxes on the floor. "No, I'm okay."

Linda saw writing on the boxes and realized that they were board games. She introduced herself.

"My name's Cindy," she said, lifting her chin. The name seemed to rise out of her and create a glow in the air. "Do you like checkers?"

"I do, but I'm not very good at it," she said.

"Me neither, but let's play," Cindy said. "We can be 'not very good' together."

The phrase stuck in Linda's mind. It seemed like such a proper thing for a kid her age to say. She bent down to pick up the checkerboard box and opened it, wondering where she was going to sit. They'd not place a folding chair beside the recliner the way they had done with the other recliners in the room and the ones up front.

Cindy seemed to read her mind. She patted the lower recliner cushion, which jutted out parallel to the floor, where patients normally rested their legs. "Sit here."

Linda sat sideways on the recliner and opened the checkerboard. "Do you want to be red or black?"

"Red," she said. "Like the hair I used to have."

"I'm sorry." Linda placed the plastic round pieces on the board.

"It's okay."

She leaned back. "Okay, Cindy. Fire before ashes. Whenever you're ready."

Cindy moved one of her pieces forward, smiling. Linda lifted herself to try to see the pole lights or look toward the hallway at the open area. "What's wrong?" Cindy asked.

"Well, in case one of the patient's lights goes off, I want to be able to go over and help."

Cindy nodded. She pointed high above the doorway, to a point on the wall just below the ceiling. When Linda gazed up there she saw a black panel with numbers at it.

"When one of those numbers lights up," she said, "it means someone needs help."

"Okay," Linda said, looking up at the panel again, thinking that it reminded her of what they used at restaurants, to alert waitresses that orders were ready. She wondered why neither Doris or any of the other nurses had shown it to her the day before. Quickly, she moved one of her black pieces.

Linda searched her mind for something to say, since it upset her that someone so young was receiving chemotherapy treatment. They calmly traded checker moves in silence.

After a few more moments, she decided just to talk to her the way she did with anyone her own age. "So, are you in school, too?"

Cindy straightened up and nodded, smiling, showing two rows of perfect, white teeth.

"I like school. Don't you?" Her next move placed her in the line of fire for one of Linda's pieces.

"Well yes," Linda said. "I got all A's. My parents are really happy with me." She looked down at the board, wondering what to do next.

Cindy must have noticed this. "Oh, you can go ahead and jump me. I made a dumb move."

Oddly feeling as if she was taking a rattle away from a baby, Linda jumped Cindy's piece, picked it up and placed it by the side of the board. When she turned to look at the board again, one of the numbers had lit up. "Oh no," she said. "They need me." She pushed herself off the recliner, at the same time trying to steady the checkerboard, keeping the places where they were.

As Linda stood, Cindy said "You're a great dancer."

Linda turned to her. "What?"

"I mean, roller skater. But you do the dancing they do, on roller skates. It's really cool."

"Thank you," she said. "You've been to the rink before?"

"A couple of times."

"Oh." Linda turned toward the doorway. In the front room the light flashed above the recliner with an elderly man resting in it. Linda gathered her cart and rolled it in that direction, while the third nurse, Marie, reached for a needle from the top rack.

Marie was older and quieter than the other two nurses, with tendrils of gray hair framing her face. "I don't think he needs the pan," she said. "But be ready. Where does it hurt, Mr. Aragones?"

The man groaned and pointed toward his hip. Marie swabbed his arm with alcohol and injected a painkiller. "Is there anything else I can do?" Linda asked.

Marie glanced up at the IV bag at the top of Mr. Aragone's pole. "No, we're fine for now." She smiled at her. When Marie finished tending to Mr. Aragones, Linda wheeled the cart back toward the center of the room. Doris briskly walked past and Linda reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Is it okay if I play checkers with Cindy for awhile? I'll watch the board."

Doris narrowed her eyes in a quizzical expression and repeated "Cindy?"

"The girl my age back in the curtain room."

"In the corner? There's no one back there. Mr. Wheat and Mrs. Takashi are in the middle, under the light."

Linda started to walk back to the curtained area. "Well I was just playing with her a few minutes ago." When she entered the semi-private area she glanced at the wall where the black number panel had been. It was empty.

So was the recliner where Cindy had been. Doris had followed her back there.

"See? Now be up front in case you're needed up there. Mr. Wheat and Mrs. Takashi are just getting vitamins today."

No panel on the wall, and no Cindy. Linda shuffled toward the front room as though her legs had been made of lead. The clock on the wall near the check in area told her there was only an hour left. She idly arranged items in the cart, restacking the emesis pans, checking for lights above the poles the entire time.

At quitting time she tossed her smock into the laundry vat, even though it was still crisp and clean and headed out to parking lot. Jenny passed her on the way out. "See you next week," she said. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

For a moment Linda considered telling Jenny about the mysterious non-patient behind the curtain. Instead, she said "Just tired, I guess."

Linda hurried home so she could tell her mother what had just happened. While Linda later told her, she listened quietly, nodding here and there. When she had finished the story, Linda anxiously asked "So what do you think that was?"

Her mother cleared her throat. "I think it was God telling you you're on the right track, honey."
CHAPTER THREE

Linda chose not to think about it any further. There was nothing that any of the other nurses or even a priest could tell her about the mysterious Cindy. Saturday night of that weekend, she borrowed money from her father so that she and Molly could go to the roller skating rink.

It had been almost four years since she'd gone on dates with Tom there, and while she'd expected to run into some old friends, she was not surprised to find a whole new crop of people rolling and whirling about on the floors. When she first mentioned to Molly the idea of going to the rink, Molly said "Aren't you a little old, now? You're in college."

She'd replied "Is there some kind of a law that you can't go any more after you graduate high school?" but she knew what Molly was getting at. Roller-skating was a high school thing. The reason she didn't recognize anyone there was that a whole high school generation had cycled through since the last time she'd been there.

That was good, in a way. During the open skate, she made sure to skate backwards and turn so that the guys could see that she knew how to do it. During her roller skating days before, she'd often been picked for couple's skating over prettier and more popular girls because the boys knew she'd be able to follow their fancy moves.

The music was different, also. When she'd skated regularly, they'd played "25 or 6 to 4" and "Rocky Mountain Way" so often it felt strange for her to skate to new music. At the rink, they now played "Sweet Emotion," and "Free Bird." As Linda worked on her side-to-side movements and glided backwards, she saw Molly and a gaggle of her friends stumbling along, talking among each other, and laughing.

Soon after that, someone poked her in the back and she whirled around, startled.

Molly whizzed past, laughing. "Gotcha! Hey, how can you go backwards like that?"

"It's easy," she said.

"Well then show me!"

Linda guided her over to the side, and they cruised onto the carpet near the snack bar. "I'll show you here," she said, "so that if you wipe out you won't have a whole bunch of people falling all over you."

She tried to show her younger, smaller sister that going backwards was just like going forward in the way she should shift from side to side. The first time Molly tried it, however, she started flapping her arms and leaning backward, saying "Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

"Here, let me help you," Linda said, as other skaters swished by them. She reached out and held both of Molly's elbows tightly and gently pushed, leading her to the left, then to the right.

Molly looked down at her feet and started to stumble, but Linda pulled hard and got her to steady herself.

"And don't look down," Linda said. "Look at me. I won't let you fall." Away from the snack bar, in the corner of the floor, they had a much bigger area to work with. Gently, Linda swayed Molly to the left, then to the right as the both of them traveled in circles over the carpet.

"I'm doing it!" Molly squealed. "I'm going backwards!"

"See? What did I tell you? It's easy!"

Overhead, the lights dimmed, then the glitter ball threw rays of light everywhere, while the D.J. announced "Couples only!"

"Do you feel like you're ready to try it on the rink?" Linda asked. "Now's a good time."

"We're two girls!" Molly objected.

"So?"

"We can't go out there! They'll think we're queer."

Linda tried to guide Molly out onto the floor, but her little sister held back, as stubbornly as if she'd been a goat. "You said you want to learn how to skate backwards, right?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Well, if you don't do it now, you'll never do it!"

Molly's resistance broke, and since Linda was stronger, she was able to guide her onto the floor, steer her clear of the couples swishing and gliding beside them and carry on with her instruction. "I can't believe you're making me do this! I feel so stupid!"

"Just keep looking at me, and you'll be fine. Glide and push from side to side, just like we were doing over by the snack bar. There you go! You're doing it!"

Molly grinned sheepishly and then grimaced and ducked her head when she looked over the wall and into the snack bar area. Linda glanced over there and saw a couple of Molly's friends laughing.

"I feel so queer," Molly said, as together they completed one sweep around the skating rink floor.

"Would you stop that?" Linda told her. "Look, I'll put it in a way that you can understand: No one gives a shit!"

When they completed another arc around the floor, Molly loosened. Soon, she had straightened up and was now pushing and gliding on her own, with little help from her.

"I can't believe you," Molly said.

When they swung back around for a second time, the song wound down.

The D.J. had been playing the Anne Murray song "May I have this dance." As the couples only song ended and the lights came back up, the other skaters trickled onto the floor. Soon it became as crowded as it had before, and Linda released Molly, enabling her to swing around and skate forward.

After a few more songs, Linda began to get tired, and skated over to the snack bar to rest and relax. She ordered a coke and watched her sister and her friends joke around with each other as they skated together several times around the rink. Once or twice Molly swung around and coasted backwards for awhile, waving to Linda, showing a look of triumphant pride on her face.

By the time the D.J. announced "couples only" Linda sought Molly out once again, not to teach her backwards skating, but to tell her she wanted to go home.

When they rode home together, Molly excitedly gushed about all the cute guys she'd seen and the way she'd learned how to skate backwards. Linda stayed quiet. It had been fun to return to the place that had been so important to her in early high school, but now she felt like an outsider. It was time for something new and different, but what? She wondered if she would ever find out.

The guys at the roller rink had seemed so much younger than she remembered, also. Had they asked her to skate, she wasn't sure if she would have accepted. Many of them had pizza faces and even the guys who could skate backwards seemed like clunky, awkward bucks compared to Tom. But that was four long years ago! Maybe she needed a new guy in her life to concentrate on. For now she would try to be the best employee and candy striper she could.

Two weeks later, during Charlie's Angels, the telephone rang. Molly always commandeered the phone and all the messages that came through, snatching the phone from its cradle before anyone else. "Hey Lindy, get the phone! It's some guy."

When Linda answered the phone she heard Seth's husky, smooth male voice: "Hey gorgeous! What's going on?"

"Wow, this is a surprise," was the only reply Linda could muster for the moment. She asked him how things were in Cincinnati, and how work was going. In return, she told him all about candy striping, working the feed store during the day, and working on her tan at the pool.

When their conversation hit a lull, Seth told her why he was calling. "Hey, a couple of my buddies and me are going cross-country later in July."

Linda thought of skinny guys in shorts jogging around the school grounds when she heard the word "cross-country."

"We're going all the way to California," Seth went on. "And your place is kind of along the way. How would you like us to pop in for a visit?"

Linda shrugged. "That'd be fine, I guess."

Lauren called often, also, usually every weekend. Linda told her all about Seth's impending trip. "What did I tell you," Lauren said. "He likes you big time."

Over the past couple of phone calls from Lauren, Linda struggled over whether to tell her about the strange incident at the Outpatient Center. When she remembered this, it dampened her enthusiasm in talking about Seth. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You guess so? You guess so? Seth's fucking fine, and he wants you! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking about something weird that happened at the hospital." She told her all about the strange appearance of Cindy.

Lauren paused thoughtfully after Linda finished. She then made "Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo" sounds like the theme music from _The Twilight Zone._ "That's weird," Lauren said. "What do you think she was, a ghost or something?"

"My mom thinks she might have been an angel posing as a cancer patient."

"What? That doesn't make any sense. Why would an angel be doing that? They should be doing heroic stuff like pushing kids out of the way of cars or keeping people from falling off cliffs. Angels don't just show up to say 'Hey, howarya.'"

Linda sighed, shaking her head. "I suppose you've met an angel, and he told you all about what they do?"

"No. But a vampire came to my window once, and he told me all about it. Anyway, we've been furniture shopping." She'd gotten a summer job as a file clerk and fill-in receptionist for the city flood control office, which paid well. "We're going to have the coolest apartment on campus."

Linda groaned. She'd forgotten all about signing up for another year at the dorm, the same day her father and Molly came to help her get her stuff. "That sounds nice."

"Oh, by the way, could you send your part of the deposit, soon? They said they need it within the next couple of weeks."

Linda's stomach flip-flopped. She took in a deep breath, trying to steel herself for the confrontation. "Lauren..." she began.

"Don't tell me you signed up for another year at Camp Nasty!"

"Okay, then I won't tell you." She felt like she was going to cry.

"Linda! Another year of fire drills in the middle of the night? Another year of walking up ten flights of stairs when that fucking elevator breaks? Another year of that slimy, shitty food?"

"I just don't think I'm ready for an apartment."

Lauren sighed from the other end of the line. Linda envisioned her standing and pacing now, gesturing with her hands while she spoke rapidly and angrily. "We still need two girls. With you it would have only been one strange girl we needed to look for. Now we need two!"

"Well, it shouldn't be too hard to find somebody."

"Oh yeah? We could end up with two shitheads. Thanks! You just ruined my whole summer."

"Lauren, I'm sorry!" Before the word "sorry" completely escaped from her lips, Lauren had hung up the phone.

When Linda plopped back down on the sofa to watch the rest of the Charlie's Angels, her mother asked "What happened?"

Linda told her about Lauren's plan to get an apartment and how upset she'd been when she told her she would stay at the dorm rather than move into the apartment with her.

"Well, you don't need an apartment yet."

If only Lauren could see it that way, Linda thought.

Linda took a day off from both the feed store and the hospital, on the day that Seth said he would be passing through. The night before, she warned her father, who was watching a Cubs game on television. "He's going to be riding a motorcycle, with two other guys."

"What is he, crazy?"

"No, it's what he does for a living. He fixes motorcycles, and other kinds of engines."

"A grease monkey?"

Linda tried to avoid getting exasperated with him. He had a habit of pigeonholing whole groups of people, the way Archie Bunker did. "Well, he likes to work with his hands. And, before you freak out, he has long hair."

"A hippie, too? A long-haired hippie grease monkey is coming here to see you?"

"Daddy, not every guy who has long hair is a hippie. He just likes to wear it that way."

Her father waved a hand dismissively after shouting at the TV when a Philadelphia Phillies player hit a home run. "Long hair went out with the sixties. None of the guys at the yard have long hair anymore. If a guy has long hair nowadays, he's either a hippie who doesn't know the sixties ended or he's got some other type of problem." He smirked at her before returning his attention to the game.

Though she already knew the answer to the question, she said "What type of problem, dad?"

He put a goofy smile on his face and let his hand go limp, pushing imaginary strands of long hair with his other, free hand.

"Well Seth's definitely not that!"

The next day Linda stood before her dresser mirror, trying on various combinations of clothes. A tank top or spaghetti strap top was out, since it showed too much skin and she didn't want to give Seth ideas. At least not yet. A tee shirt made her look too plain, she thought, and her ruffled, dress blouses seemed too formal and starchy for a summer afternoon get together. Just about the time she was ready to give up, she found her cream and fuchsia striped light sweater with short sleeves. Cute and casual, with a scoop neckline that was just barely low enough to show a tiny smidge of cleavage. Blue jeans and cute sandals completed the look.

Downstairs she found her mother slicing chicken leftovers and celery, with a jar of mayonnaise and a loaf of bread on the counter. She looked up at her and her eyes widened. "You're not wearing that, are you?"

"I am. Why?"

"It's too revealing. It'll give him ideas."

Linda wondered what her mother would have done if she wore one of her tank top or strappy blouses. She adjusted the hem and neckline so that the little sliver of cleavage disappeared. "What about now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not showing any cleavage now."

Her mother smiled wryly. "That wasn't what I was talking about. The sweater is too clingy. You might as well be wearing a leotard."

"It'll be fine," Linda said. "I can take care of my self."

"When is Seth getting here, anyway?"

"Sometime today."

"Sometime today? Couldn't he have nailed it down a little bit more?"

"He said he still had a couple of things to check on at the shop. And one of his friends is riding down from Dayton, and he doesn't know when he'll meet up with him. It could be anytime."

Her mother frowned in disapproval. "Linda! Don't let a man play you like that. It's still early. Why don't you call him and get him to give you a better idea of when he's coming?"

"I can't do that."

"Of course you can. You have his number, don't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"Well then call him!"

"He'll think I'm being a nag."

"A nag?" her mother sneered, stretching out the word to two syllables in an ugly-sounding way. "A nag? You'd rather have him inconvenience you than risk being a nag?"

"Mom, it's not like it was when you and dad were dating." Her mother often proudly reminisced about how she required her father to call her no later than Tuesday night to ask for a date for the following Saturday. She'd said he went along with it like a trooper.

"Get his number," her mother said. "Call him. We're not going to waste a day waiting on pins and needles."

Linda knew it was an argument she couldn't win. To end her mother's prodding, she searched in her purse for Seth's business card. When she found it, she dialed the number, fighting back a queasy feeling. "Yo, you've reached Tony's," Seth said from the other end of the line. "What can I do you for?"

Linda laughed. It reminded her of the wacky ways Tom would answer the phone and annoy his mother: "Butcher shop. You can beat our prices but you can't beat our meat," or "City morgue. You stab 'em, we slab 'em."

"Hi Seth," she said.

"Hey! Hey!" he said jovially. "Pretty girl. Is everything okay?"

"I was hoping you could give me an idea of when you'll be leaving." Her mother patted her on the arm, as if to say "Good girl."

"I told you. Whenever Mike gets here and we get all of our shit together with the shop. Could be an hour. Could be five hours."

She knew her mother wouldn't accept that type of a noncommittal response. At the same time, she searched for a "non-naggy" sort of way to narrow things down more. "Well my mother wants to give you and your friends a bite to eat while you're here, and she doesn't know whether to fix lunch or dinner."

Seth sighed. "Tell her to make something for dinner."

That, at least gave her something to work with. "Does that mean you'll be here around five-ish?"

"Something like that."

"Okay. See you then." They said their goodbyes and she hung up the phone. She turned to her mother. "Around five."

"Good. I'm proud of you."

Late in the afternoon they finished making vegetable soup and a plateful of the chicken salad sandwiches. Her mother made a large pitcher of ice tea with lots of ice cubes. "Those guys are going to appreciate this after riding in the hot sun," she said.

When everything had been set onto the dining room table, Linda turned and started to walk onto the porch, where she could sit on the swinging wood loveseat they kept out there.

"What are you doing?" her mother said.

"Going out there to wait for him."

"Are you out of your mind? He's going to think you were out there pining after him all afternoon like a pathetic little puppy. Stay in here."

Linda shifted her weight from one foot to the other and place a hand on her hip when she said "What's wrong with staying out there?"

"Nothing, if you want him to walk all over you. Trust me. You'll thank me later."

When Molly came home all waterlogged from a day at the pool, they all passed the time by watching a grim faced television news man deliver dire sounding stories about tensions in the Middle East. "Can't we watch something else?" Molly whined. "This is too much like school."

Linda got up and turned the channel until she found a black-and-white Munster's rerun.

Six o'clock came and went. Her father was usually home by then. "Where's dad?"

Her mother said "At the hardware store or somewhere. He said something about getting a few things after work."

An episode of "I Love Lucy" followed The Munsters and the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed six-thirty. Shortly after that she could hear her father's old truck rumble up to the driveway outside. The unmistakable sound of motorcycle engines also roared.

After that, things went crazy. Her mother said "Sit down and relax. Your father is probably going to show him inside."

Linda touched up one of the place settings on the table while waiting. All three of them sat down. Muffled male voices talking back and forth could be heard, drifting in from the driveway. She recognized her father's voice, speaking in short, clipped tones. That was not good. A few moments later the motorcycles started up again. She wondered what he had done or said. To find out, she rushed out the front door and out to the driveway, just in time to see a trio of motorcycles roar out of it. Her father stood defiantly, grim faced at the back bumper of his old pickup truck.

"What happened?" she asked.

Her father turned to her and said. "They're not setting foot in my house."

Myrtle had been parked on the shorter, gravel drive beside the paved driveway where the pickup truck and the station wagon were parked. Linda scrambled inside and found her purse.

She dug around for the keys, ran back outside, yanked Myrtle's driver door open, and started the engine. Her father swaggered up to the window and said "Where do you think you're going?"

Molly had also run out onto the porch by then, grinning widely at her as she backed her car down the driveway. She'd seen the motorcycles turn left out of the driveway. Once they'd gotten out of her subdivision they were probably headed toward Villard Avenue and the edge of town, near the interstate exchange. If she hurried, and the guys were not driving too fast, she might catch them at one of the lights on Villard.

It was best not to get a speeding ticket, though. She switched lanes and shifted her head back and forth trying to see past the other cars. Twice she passed under a yellow light just as it was about to turn red. Quickly she reached the Allandale shopping center at the corner of Villard and McAndrew. When that light changed and she drove ahead to the next intersection, she leaped with relief at what she saw ahead. Three guys on motorcycles sat at the light, the last intersection before the entrance ramp.

Linda rolled down her driver window so furiously her arm hurt. "Hey!" she called out to them. "Pull over somewhere." Seth, who rode in the middle, wore mirror sunglasses and a leather jacket. His hair had been tousled by hundreds of miles of highway riding. Suddenly she understood why her father had turned them away. It still wasn't right, however.

They all met in the parking lot of a convenience store with gasoline pumps. Seth switched off the engine of his motorcycle and steadied it while Linda parked and opened her door, running up to him. He dismounted his motorcycle and reached down to give her a quick, strong hug that lifted her off of her feet for a moment.

When they parted, Seth introduced his friends Mike and Billy. With their leather jackets, long hair and scruffy beards, the three of them looked like a trio of marauders.

"So what happened?" Linda asked.

Seth motioned with his thumb the direction of her house. "Your dad thinks we're big bad motorcycle gang toughs," he said.

Linda looked at the gleaming chrome and flashing paint on the motorcycles. "Motorcycle gangsters don't ride motorcycles as nice as yours, do they?"

Seth nodded, his face suddenly turning serious. He'd taken off his mirror sunglasses before their embrace. "So what's the deal with him, anyway? He was talking to me like I was gutter trash."

Linda's cheekbones heated up with her embarrassment. "Well," she began, "you've all got long hair, which is one strike, and you're wearing leather jackets. That's another strike."

Mike shook his head. "Leather is the only thing you can wear on the road," he said. "If you wear cloth it whips all around your chest. Feels like shit."

"Yeah, well, my father isn't the most open minded person on the planet," Linda said. "Actually, he's kind of like Archie Bunker."

Seth tenderly stroked Linda underneath her chin. "So are we just going to stand here on this parking lot, go somewhere, or what?"

Linda realized they must look fairly silly just standing there. "Well, are you hungry?"

The guys looked at each other, and in comical unison said "Hell yes!"

When they hit the Big Boy in town, Linda sat beside Seth in the booth. As the waitress arrived with menus, she remembered it would be a good idea to tell her parents what happened. She searched for a quarter in her purse and used the pay phone near the front cash register. Her mother answered. "I caught up with the guys on the other side of Villard Avenue."

"Where are you?"

Linda told her about stopping at the restaurant. "Well, your father has cooled off. You could have brought them back here."

"I don't think they would have wanted to come back," she said. "This is fine."

When Linda made her way back to the table and settled herself beside Seth he casually reached up and put his arm atop the seatback, framing her shoulders with it. "Do your parents watch your every move?" he asked.

"Well, the way I ran out of the house, I thought I owed them an explanation," she said. Mike and Billy both looked at them, smiling, listening with interest. Linda wanted to deflect some of the attention away from herself. "What about your parents?"

Seth looked back at her as though he was drinking her all in. "What about them?"

"How did you get along with them, what do they think about you riding motorcycles, do they live nearby, you know."

"I get along with them a lot better now that I'm out of the house," he said, as the waitress arrived to take their order. "I don't know how you can stand it."

"I'm only home until late August," she said. "Then I get a nine month vacation from them. What do they think about your motorcycle?"

Linda, Seth, Mike, and Billy quickly gave their order to the fast-scribbling, freckle-faced waitress. "They think I'm going to end up with my head smashed in," Seth said, matter-of-factly.

"Do you ever think about getting into an accident on the motorcycle?" she asked.

"If it happens, it happens," he said. "When you ride a motorcycle, you have to drive defensively all the time. But I don't worry about wrecking. If your numbers up, it's up."

Mike started chuckling as he listened along, handing the menus back to the waitress.

"Tell her about the time you wrecked your dad's car!" Mike said, giddily.

Seth's lip snarled as he looked across the table at Mike. "Why don't you tell her? You were there, remember?"

Mike leaned forward to tell her the story. "We were fifteen. Some Friday night we snuck out after Seth here borrowed his daddy's keys. We went to a kegger my older brother was going to. It was the first time either one of us drank beer. On the way back we got almost all the way back to his house and then Bam! He hits a telephone pole. When we got back his dad was standing on the front stoop staring us down. I got out of the car and ran home."

Seth interrupted "And I was grounded for the whole rest of that year for that little adventure. He made me pay for the fender and the broken headlight, too."

"How did you do that?" Linda asked, knowing that most kids did not work until they turned sixteen.

"I went to work and got money to pay for it," he said.

Billy and Mike started snickering.

"Did you get a job?" Linda asked.

"I guess you could call it that," Seth replied, visibly turning red.

She was going to ask him what type of job, but Billy blurted out "He got a paper route. Every day at five o'clock in the morning, his ass was up and riding around on his old sting ray bike tossing papers onto yards up and down the street."

Linda tried to imagine the tall, handsome, headstrong Seth riding a bicycle and tossing rolled-up newspapers onto yards. She could not. "Hey," she said. "You paid him back and everybody was happy, right?

Seth smiled wryly and said "Depends on what you call happy."

They ate a pleasant meal of burgers, chili, and fries, after which Linda excused herself to go to the lady's room. When she returned, only Seth still sat at the table, with a pile of dollar bills on the center of it. "Where did the other two guys go?" Linda asked, anxious that it meant that this would be the first time she and Seth would be alone. "I told them to go ahead. So, when are you going to make it back my way?"

She looked closely at him, still not believing that a man who looked the way he did could find her appealing. "I don't know, Seth. That was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, the way we went to the concert."

"You should come out for good," he said, "when you're finished with college and you become a nurse."

"I don't know about that. It's a long way off."

"It'll happen sooner than you think." He pushed himself out of the booth and stood up, reaching for her hands. She reached for him and found his hands to be tough and callused yet still somehow warm and tender. Despite the other diners in the restaurant, despite the waitresses and the cooks in the back, she still felt as if they were the only two people in the world at that moment. With a gentle tug he guided her to him and while she instinctively fluttered upward, he leaned down to give her a warm, electrifying kiss.

Out in the parking lot, they kissed again, quickly, before he re-mounted his motorcycle and jump-started the engine. Seth and his friends thundered off toward the entrance ramp. Linda wondered whether she would ever see him again.
CHAPTER FOUR

Linda had promised herself that she would allow herself a true week of vacation that summer. One week without hoisting bags of feed or ringing up long orders or answering the phone or scrambling to position an emesis pan below a patient as they spewed. She stayed on, however, working at the feed store and the hospital right up to the Friday before Fall semester 1977 began.

She knew that the first couple of weeks of class were like a vacation, anyway. No one was going to get serious about school until after Labor Day. Saturday, she packed shipping crates with her clothes, hair dryer, shoes, and knick-knacks she would need for the next sixteen weeks. With her mother, father, and Molly, they had the station wagon loaded by Saturday night and would leave bright and early the next morning for Alexandria.

At the beginning of August, Lauren had called. She was glad to hear from her. Apparently, her failure to join her in the apartment hadn't pissed her off that much. "No, you're just different from me," Lauren had said, when Linda asked her about that. "But you have to go to my housewarming party! It's going to be great!"

Saturday morning, she set off for the three-and-a-half hour drive south to begin her sophomore year. When her father stopped at a diner where they could eat breakfast, an odd feeling overcame her, that the summer had passed by in a flash, that it had seemed like yesterday that she and Lauren had come back from the whirlwind trip to Cincinnati. Summers seemed to last longer when she was in grade school, and her parents would send her for two weeks of summer camp, where they took nature field trips for the entire time.

Now, she was nearly nineteen, with many more things to worry about.

At the campus of Little Egyptian State University, it looked like a reverse exodus.

Parents with station wagons or pickup trucks unloaded boxes and crates onto the sidewalk, where the students would used hand dollies to hoist them inside and onto the elevator. Linda tried to focus on the necessities yet still ended up filling three of the shipping crates her father had brought home from work. They rode with her crates up the elevator to room 929.

When they opened the door, they found a starkly empty room that smelled of disenfectant and seemed cool and clinical, like an empty room at a hospital. "Where's your roommate?" Molly asked.

"She must not be here yet," Linda said. "There's no way they'd give me a private room."

Her mother said "She'll probably arrive sometime this afternoon, honey."

When everything had been brought up from the parking lot, when all the goodbyes had been said (and her mother cried, the same way she had the year before), her family disappeared into the elevator and she was on her own.

Outside her door, in the hallway, loud rock music spilled out from some of the other rooms, with other students opening and closing doors, getting moved in. Linda sighed and unpacked all the crates, hanging her blouses and dresses, filling one of the dressers with her slacks, blue jeans and lingerie. By the time she placed all of her knickknacks and made the bed, the room instantly appeared more cheery and inviting, at least on one side.

Linda called Lauren's number. "Welcome back, stranger!" Lauren said, when she answered. They both discussed plans for her to come by and see Lauren's spectacular new apartment later that evening, when there was a knock at her door. Placing the phone down, she opened the door and saw a small, swarthy girl with curly, dark brown hair and a shy smile.

Two short parents stood behind her, each of them with barrel-shaped guts and sour expressions.

"Hi, I'm Nancy," she said, extending a hand. "You must be my roommate."

Linda introduced herself and offered help to move her new roommate in. She and Lauren had been complete strangers to each other that year before, and things had not started well between them. Gradually the ice broke and they became fast friends and by Halloween they laughed about it together. "I thought you were a stuck-up, miss priss," Lauren admitted.

"And I thought you were a spoiled slob," Linda admitted.

She took a close look at the girl she'd be sharing a room with for the next sixteen weeks and she wondered if they would become good friends, also. Nancy and her parents unloaded stacks of clothes, magazines, books, one box completely filled with stuffed animals, and another box that held a device that at first glance appeared to be a small fireplug. "It's my nebulizer," Nancy said, "I get really bad allergies."

Nancy's load came in big, major appliance boxes, which she and her parents stacked on the empty bed and beside the desk on the other side of the room. Among the items, Linda saw a couple of books written in Hebrew and a menorah. "I'm Jewish," Nancy said, answering Linda's unspoken question.

Her father placed a small refrigerator in a corner of the room. "We keep kosher," he said. "About the only thing Nan's going to be able to eat from that cafeteria is cold cereal, milk, and salad."

Linda let out a friendly laugh to let them know that Nancy's religion was not a problem. "I'm a sophomore," she said. "Last year, just about all I ate was cereal and things from the salad bar."

Nancy's mother said "We're going to be sending down lox, gefilte fish and bagels. I don't want my little girl to waste away to nothing, you know." She pinched her cheek, causing Nancy to blush visibly.

After most of the boxes had been opened but not emptied and they cluttered up the other side of the room, Nancy and her parents excused themselves. "They have a nice kosher deli here," her mother said. "We're going to get a bite to eat before we leave you both on your own."

Linda found herself alone in the room again. She took advantage of the opportunity to go visit Lauren and find out what apartment living in Alexandria was like. The Tuileries was so close that Linda could walk there. They had been arranged in a massive block, the driveway forming a maze through the Tudor style beige and dark brown buildings which caused Linda to say "They look like a giant 'smore" the first time she'd seen them. Each of the buildings had been set up like newer row houses. All of the apartments contained two floors. After wandering awhile through the maze, Linda found Building E, apartment 102, where Lauren lived.

"Hey, you made it!" Lauren exclaimed, smiling widely, jumping up and down, bumping into Linda for a long, warm hug. Lauren wore a canary yellow halter top and had teased her hair into soft, seductive curls. "Let me give you the fifty cent tour." Linda stepped onto fluffy shag carpet in a spacious den with a TV and a stereo on an improvised cinder-block and plank shelf with huge JBL speakers. "That belongs to Naomi," Lauren explained. "Rich bitch from Schaumburg."

In the kitchen a tanned, blonde haired girl dined at a table made of dark wood and high-backed chairs. She was eating orange macaroni and cheese. "This is Julie, who just moved in last week, from Rockford."

Julie stopped eating long enough to say hello. A cat had curled up on one edge of a colonial style couch with scarlet cushions in the living room. "That's Tiger," Lauren said. "Now come on upstairs with me. You won't want to go back to Bartholomew after this."

The upstairs contained two bedrooms that seemed twice as large as the one where Linda would live with Nancy. Lauren smirked when she opened the door to her room, revealing her full-sized four poster bed, her dresser and mirror, a vanity and an armoire, all of them tastefully matched cherry wood pieces. A glamorous floral bedspread and a huge, red-bowed teddy bear adorned the bed. Across the room lie an equally impressive beige twin bed with matching dressers and a vanity.

The room contained no desks or bookcases. To Linda it looked like the glamorous bachelorette pads girls lived in on television sitcoms, not an off-campus apartment for Midwestern college students. She shook her head. "Man, you weren't kidding," she said. "This is really swank. But where are you going to study? There are no desks here, and none downstairs from what I could see."

"Duh," Lauren said. "You think I'm going to ruin this apartment with one of those cheap desks like they have at the dorms? That's what the library and the student center are for."

Linda nodded. "I guess that could work."

Lauren's eyes widened as she made her next dramatic point. "And best of all, no more disgusting, greasy, tasteless cafeteria food. Last night we had lasagna."

It was one of Linda's favorite meals. "I hate you!"

For the rest of that afternoon they watched Romeo and Juliet on the big television and got acquainted with Shelley, who was a junior, majoring in Pre-med. During the summer she'd worked as an emergency room clerk and she traded hospital horror stories with Linda. When the movie ended Linda decided to call it an afternoon and return to Bartholomew hall, lest her new roommate think she was being snobby.

The dorm seemed depressingly Spartan as she entered the front door.

Lauren and her friends would be living high with exquisite furniture and two bathrooms while she and Nancy and their suitemates would have to share a small, closet style bathroom. Sometime during the semester, one or both elevators were bound to break down, forcing her to walk up and down nine floors. And there would be at least one late night fire drill, causing them to evacuate the building and stand out in the freezing cold in the courtyard in their pajamas and bathrobes. But she'd made her choice.

Back at her dorm room, Linda knocked, waited for a response, which did not come, then tried the key. She saw Nancy lying down, with both the desk lamp and her nebulizer turned on, creating a mist of steam on her side of the room. As Linda entered the room, Nancy sat up. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "The disenfectant they use here has given me a migraine."

Nancy had wallpapered most of the room with movie posters such as "Gone With The Wind," "The Wizard of Oz," "The Big Sleep," and "The African Queen." An extra wire shelf had been set up, wedged between the two desks in front of the window. It contained jars of a purplish substance that Linda discovered was borscht. Linda also saw jaws with what looked like wet, wadded up tissue or toilet paper (Gefilte fish), cans of sardines and anchovies, a few jars of vitamin supplements, and two medication bottles.

Linda looked at her all-in-one stereo and stack of records. "I could put some tunes on," she said, trying to think of something soft and smooth, like side two of "Frampton Comes Alive."

Nancy sighed. "Sure. That sounds fine. What did you want to put on?"

"Peter Frampton. Or Boston." She felt pretty sure that everyone liked Boston.

Nancy's nose wrinkled and she squinted. "Do you have anything from Helen Reddy or Peabo Bryson?"

"No." Linda tried to think of the closest she could come to those in her record collection. "But I've got Linda Ronstadt."

Nancy squinted and shook her head. "Do you have any good movie soundtracks? Like 'My Fair Lady' or 'West Side Story?'"

Linda sighed, her shoulders slumping. She knew that Nancy probably would not like Foreigner, Aerosmith, or Steve Miller either. Led Zeppelin was completely out, even side three of Physical Graffiti. "No. I don't have anything like that, either."

Nancy nodded, her head still on the pillow. "Well your stereo has a radio, doesn't it?"

"Of course."

"AM and FM?"

"Yes." Although Linda could not remember the last time she tried to play the AM radio.

"Well then. See if you can find NPR."

Linda wondered what on earth that was. She knew CPR, cardio pulmonary rescusitation.  
Was NPR some type of health show? "I guess we could try that," she said as she moved toward her stereo, to turn it on. "What is NPR?"

Nancy squinted again, her teeth showing in a mild frown of disapproval. "You never heard of NPR? National Public Radio?"

"Oh. Sounds like the educational channel on TV?"

"Something like that," Nancy said. "They have some good jazz programs on Sunday nights. And some good talk shows."

Linda tried the AM dial. All she heard was a crackly rock and roll station, static, another crackly rock and roll station, and more static.

After a few more moments of that, Nancy spoke: "Never mind. We'll try another time.

Go ahead and put Peter Frampton on. Keep it low though, cause my headache isn't getting any better."

Linda took the album out of its sleeve and set it on the platter, thinking that it was going to be a long night. She wondered if it would be a long semester, too.

Classes began on Tuesday, giving the students one extra day to find their way around, get their books for their classes and get used to being in college again. That morning she volunteered to show Nancy the dining hall and show her around campus. "That would be great!"

The cafeteria seemed more spic and span and organized than she remembered the previous spring, and the food set out in the large metal pans actually looked inviting. They served omelets with sausage on the side. Linda reached for a section of an omelet with the spatula they provided. "These are pretty good," she said. "Do you want one?"

"No, I don't think so," Nancy said, shaking her head.

"Don't like eggs, huh?"

"No, it's not that. The omelets have milk in them."

Linda nodded. "Yeah. That's how they get them fluffy."

Adopting a studious tone, Nancy went on. "Well, there's no way to know whether they were cooked on the same pans they used for the sausage."

Linda had vaguely heard of the Jewish kosher tradition, but up until that point only knew that they were forbidden to eat ham or shellfish. "No, I guess there isn't any way to know." She wondered why that would make a difference but kept her mouth shut to be polite.

"You see, we have to keep meat dishes and pans separate from milk dishes and pans. There isn't any way to know that, in a cafeteria like this." She reached for one of the miniature boxes of cereal, and further down the line, added toast to her plate.

Linda decided to make the best of things. After they sat down at one of the long tables in the dining hall, she asked her roommate about Chanukah, the Passover, Yom Kippur, and the Jewish New Year traditions. Nancy described all of her traditions in a friendly and animated way. After breakfast, Linda offered to show her the library and the student center. "That's okay. There's an orientation at ten o'clock for freshmen," Nancy said. "They'll probably show me everything then. Thank you anyway, though."

Linda spent the rest of that day getting her books, studying her schedule, and saying hello to old friends. Back at her dorm room after dinner, Lauren called. "How's your new roommate?"

"She's nice," Linda replied, glancing at the nebulizer, the medications on the steel racks and the movie posters. She resolved not to tell Lauren anything else until the next time she went to her apartment.

"Invite her to my party, then. This Saturday night."

Linda was incredulous, pausing for a moment to let the information sink in. "You're having a party, already?"

"What do you mean, already? We could have had one last Saturday night."

Linda was pretty sure there was some kind of Jewish law that would forbid Nancy's appearance at a party, but she invited her anyway. Nancy declined. She would be at someplace called the Hillel Foundation that night and every other Saturday night for the rest of the semester.

Four quick days later, Linda arrived at Lauren's apartment early, to see if she could help her set up or cook anything.

Lauren and her roommates were not serving any food at the party, but they placed two large kegs of beer in huge vats of ice in the living room. "How many people are you expecting?"

Linda also noticed the stacks of plastic cups and cases of soda.

"I told everybody I know," Lauren replied. "Shelley told everybody she knows. Marie told everybody she knows, and Naomi told everybody she knows."

"That's a lot of 'everybodys,'" Linda said. "Aren't you worried everybody's going to trash this place?" She looked at the expensive stereo and thought about the scrumptious bedroom furniture upstairs.

"Nobody's allowed upstairs, except to use the restroom," Lauren said. "And most of the party's going to be in the courtyard anyway."

Over the next few hours, Lauren changed into a low-cut teal floral top and her tight, hip hugger jeans to go with high-heeled sandals. All of her roommates dressed the same way, causing Linda to feel out of place in her conservative-by-comparison long sleeved knit top. Friends of theirs began to trickle in and by ten o'clock every inch of the apartment and the courtyard outside thrived with beer-addled joviality. On the couches in the living room, a guy named George started taking hits from a tall, neon red plastic bong. He passed it around the room, the girls and guys causing the water to bubble left and right.

Marie handed the bong to Linda, who politely refused it by shaking her head. "You don't want any?" she asked. "You don't know what you're missing."

But Linda knew what she was missing: a feeling of disorientation, dry mouth, and a sudden, ravenous appetite. She walked around in the living room, squeezing through crowds of people, weaving this way and that way, nursing one beer, witnessing guys and girls return to the spigot time and again, filling and refilling, knocking back cupfuls of beer.

A guy she didn't recognize, with round, John Lennon type glasses and a scruffy chin, brought in a six-pack of his own beer. A small crowd had gathered around him in the courtyard.

"I'm going to show you guys how to shotgun," he said. He took a can opener out of his pocket and cut a triangle opening into the bottom of the beer can, causing some to spray out sideways for a moment. He put his lips around that opening, held the beer can upright, sucking hard on it. With his free hand he reached up and popped the top on the can. With a whooshing sound, his eyes opened wide and he coughed and sputtered on twelve ounces of beer that rocketed down his throat in one gulp.

When it was over, he tossed the empty beer can onto the ground and chuckled victoriously. From a nursing student's point of view, Linda predicted that several of the guys and one or two of the girls would wind up worshiping the porcelain god. A short while later, she heard the unmistakable retching and coughing sounds in the bushes outside the window, followed by a splattering sound.

Linda moved away from the window and inched her way through the crowd toward the kitchen, where a few people stood. She figured that most people about ready to toss their cookies would have the decency to head for the bathroom or at least go outside. To keep occupied she gathered partially empty or empty cups and tossed them into the steel garbage can Lauren had hauled in from outside the building.

A tall guy with a round face and eyes that disappeared when he smiled tried to talk to her.

"So how do you know Lauren and Marie?" he asked.

Lauren passed by that very moment, moving from the back door toward the living room, on wobbly legs, her eyes glassy and bloodshot. She put an arm around Linda and looked up at the tall guy. "Don't listen to a word this bitch says, Gary" Lauren slurred. "She's a liar."

Linda looked up and answered Gary's question. "We were roommates last year." Meanwhile, she held Lauren steady, to keep her from falling face first into the dining room table.

Gary nodded. "You mean you lived here, and then you moved out?"

"No, we lived in the dorms. At Essex Hall."

Lauren started to giggle. "And do you believe, she still lives there? She could have moved here and she stayed in the dorms instead."

"Well I did go to Bartholomew. I decided to be safe," she explained.

Gary looked around at the party, the nice stereo and television, the kitchen with a dishwasher, and the separate bedrooms upstairs. "It looks like it would be much funner to live here."

Lauren said "Of course it is. But we couldn't get her to move. She's never adventurous, never takes a risk. Now she's living in Bartholomew with some hypochondriac Jewish chick."

Linda backed away in shock. In a movie she'd seen or a book she'd read someone said "The truth comes out when you're drunk." Her words stung.

She stood toe to toe with teetering Lauren. " I told you I can't afford to live here!"

"Then get a job," Lauren said. Someone else in the living room caught her eye and she stumbled over there. Gary and Linda spoke for a few more minutes before she got tired of the loud music, the stale smell of spilled beer and the odor of vomit drifting into the apartment from the bushes outside.

"I'll walk you back," Gary said, when Linda told him she was leaving.

As they walked in the cool, late summer night, Gary told her about his apartment and his engineering courses. Linda continued their discussion from the kitchen of Lauren's apartment. "It's just not true that I never take any chances or risks," she said. She told Gary all about her volunteer job at the Oncology Outpatient Center, and how they'd wanted someone older.

"But they gave me a chance, and I showed them I could do it." Cindy's face came to mind, the memory still as crystal-clear as ever.

When they reached the circle drive in front of Bartholomew Hall, Gary looked up at the building and said "So, do you think you'll be moving out of there, then?"

"No," she replied. "I think I'm supposed to be there. But I might get a job."

The next day, Sunday, she knew that Lauren and her friends would need help with their apartment. After breakfast at the cafeteria, she walked over there. As she approached their building, she already saw plastic beer cups still strewn on the grass, the sidewalks, and the driveways. She shuddered when she thought about what might await inside Lauren's apartment.

They had a doorbell and a peephole. Linda rang the doorbell and stood waiting for several minutes. It had been nine-fifteen when she left the dining hall. She wondered if they had all gotten up and gone to church or something. The doorknob then clicked and wobbled, as if someone on the other side was clumsily trying to turn it. The door soon opened just a crack.

She saw Marie's sleepy eyes and tousled hair. "Lauren's still asleep," she croaked.

"I thought you guys could use some help cleaning up."

Marie pushed the door open wider and her eyebrows lifted. "Okay," she said. "But don't hurt yourself."

Linda thought it was a strange thing to say until Marie pushed the door all the way open and she took her first few steps inside. The smell hit her first: their apartment smelled like a bar that had sailed through three weeks of happy hours. Both kegs, lighter now, floated around in the tubs, bobbing up and down. The carpet squished in places as she walked gingerly toward the kitchen. She didn't know if she was stepping in spilled beer or if the carpets had been saturated from water spilling over from the keg tubs.

Strange men lay on the couches surrounding the coffee table in the living room. A red-haired girl also lay on the floor, her head resting on a few rolled up jackets. Empty plastic cups had been strewn everywhere, and orange cheese puffs and potato chip crumbs littered every table and countertop. A pile of dishes smeared with ketchup and mustard had been stacked in the sink.

Linda decided to start with the dishes. She knew that simply placing them in the dishwasher and pushing the "on" button would only get them racks full of dishes with baked-on condiments. Instead, she braved the slimy mess in the sink, plugged the stopper in the bottom, filled it with water and let the dishes soak. They would sponge off easier that way.

Glasses containing beer and soda ended up poured into the bathroom sink.

She stepped on a dish towel to absorb water and other liquids from some of the squishier areas of the carpet. One by one she sponged off dishes and placed them on the dishwasher racks. Some of them clattered as they shifted around in the sink water.

Marie appeared at the bottom of the steps. She glared across at Linda, frowning. "Pssst! Try not to make so much noise. Lots of people are still trying to sleep."

Linda still held a wet dish in her hand, unable to reply at first. She winced, feeling as if someone had slapped her. Marie trudged back up the stairs. Linda dropped the wet plate back into the sink water, allowing it to clatter loudly against the other plates and cups. "You know what?" she announced, to the rooms filled with slumbering people. "You're on your own."

Once she left the Tuileries, she walked past the two high-rise dorms, to campus.

On Sunday mornings, the Student Center was nearly empty, except for a couple of restaurants at the other end. A few people sat or lied down on the couches inside the television lounge. Linda wandered past the front lobby, where a bored looking mousy girl sold magazines and cigarettes. Toward the restaurants on the other side, she arrived at the "pegboard," the campus announcements area.

The "pegboard" contained bulletin boards with short, metal rods protruding from them, slightly curved at the end. Each section contained different types of announcements: one board listed "Rides Wanted" and "Rider Needed." She'd used that board last year, to give a couple of students rides to places near her hometown, when she'd driven up one weekend.

That Sunday morning, she studied the "On-Campus Work Opportunities" board. Most of the jobs listed seemed too gross or physically demanding. The cafeterias needed servers and proctors, as well as strong-back types to help unload trucks for deliveries. One card read "Personal Hygiene Assistant" and when she read the attached card more closely she learned that the job involved refilling the tampon machines at various restrooms and locations around campus. It occurred to her that the mini store inside the Student Center, where the bored girl worked, might need some help. She checked the board for Retail/Store, and along the way she passed the listings for "Laboratory and Technical."

One listing there caught her eye. "Oneironaut. No experience needed." When she read the details of the listing, she learned that the job was in the Psychology department and that an "Oneironaut" was the name of a special lab assistant into the field of Dreams and Dreaming. She took a reply card from the pegboard, which told her where to apply for the job.

On Sunday nights the dining hall was closed. Most students ventured into town for a restaurant meal, either at Tony's Pizzeria, Ahmed's Emporium, or Slinky's Subs. Unexpectedly, Nancy invited her to walk down to Ira's the Jewish deli further down University Boulevard, near the intersection of Main Street. "You've got to try the Lox," Nancy said, when they stepped inside.

Linda ordered the Tuna bagel instead. As they ate, she told her about the "Oneironaut" job.

"How much does the job pay?" Nancy asked.

"It said fifty dollars per week."

"For how many hours of work, though?"

"Two nights." At that moment Linda realized that the listing had been fairly vague about the exact nature of the job and the exact hours required.

"But how many hours, though?" Nancy went on, between bites of a bagel with the thin orange strips of Lox adorning it. "Four hours is one thing, eight or twelve hours is another. If you're working a lot of hours, then obviously fifty dollars is going to break down to fewer dollars per hour. And you'd be working for cheap."

"Have you ever held a job?"

Nancy considered the question thoughtfully, shrugged and said "Sure. Babysitting. I charged three dollars per hour."

"And they paid that?" The last time Linda took a babysitting job, when she was fifteen, she only got one dollar per hour.

"I'm worth it," she said, smiling smugly. "This attorney and his wife, with an infant and a three-year-old paid even more. You just have to be smart, and know what you're doing."

Linda sighed. "Well, fifty dollars for two nights seems pretty good to me."

Nancy shrugged. "Suit yourself. I hope they don't put your head in a restraint and force your eyelids open, like they did to that guy in _A Clockwork Orange._ "

She would find out the next day.

Between her Statistics and her Advanced Composition classes, she headed over to the long, gray concrete building called Farnsworth Hall. Last year, when she attended orientation, the chirpy tour guide lady said that it was the second largest university campus building in the state of Illinois. To Linda, it just looked like a giant aircraft carrier. Inside, the walls and all of the chrome-edged modern couches and chairs looked sterile. The Psychology department had situated its offices there. If anyone ever came for counseling, Linda supposed, they might have felt like a lab rat in a skinner maze.

Wandering through wide hallways and looking up at numbers over doors, Linda found suite 323, toward the rear of the building. A massive window overlooked the quadrangle in front of the library. The bright sun illuminating the reception desk and the couches there gave this part of the building more warmth than the other places she'd seen. Carrels with students hunched over the desks ringed the outer edges of the wall. Linda counted five of them that she could see and wondered if they were taking a test.

"May I help you?" the receptionist, in a flame psychedelic blouse with a chambray shirt smock asked. She had golden, wavy hair and a smooth, alabaster complexion that reminded Linda of a modern day Mona Lisa.

Linda approached her. "I've come here about that Oneironaut position. Is it still available?"

The receptionist smiled warmly and said "Yes. She reached toward a file tray on the corner of the desk, retrieving a stapled stack of mimeographed papers and handing them to her.

"We need you to fill out this questionnaire," she said. "After the program directors review your questionnaire, they'll call you to arrange an interview. To tell you more about the job and what we do here. Do you need a pen?"

"No thanks, I have my own." She had to walk all around the edges of the office to find an open carrel, counting a total of ten other students also filling out the paperwork. At her carrel, in the corner, she got out her pen and went to work filling out the first part, which was her name, address, student number, and telephone numbers. The stack of papers was quite thick. She hoped she would be able to finish it and still make it to Advanced Comp on time.

The first questions asked about her sleep habits. That made sense to her, since the job would take place in a lab where they studied dreams. Linda always tried to get eight hours of sleep no matter what, since her ninth grade health teacher and every article she'd ever read harped on the importance of plentiful sleep. Usually, she went to bed around ten thirty and woke up the following morning at six-thirty and her answers on the questionnaire reflected this.

A short statement described the type of sleep mask she would have to wear in the dream lab. It sounded like an ordinary sleep aid to her. The questions following asked if she was prone to claustrophobia or panic attacks. She checked off "no" on both accounts. Another section with questions about her general health followed and she simply marked "no" for every one, thanking God again that she'd been blessed with excellent health. When she was eight she had a tonsillectomy (her throat felt like sandpaper afterward and she got to eat all the pistachio ice cream she wanted).

She blinked, taken aback by what she found on the next page. It was completely blank, except for a short line of text at the top: "Please describe a recent dream you've had." Linda paused, to think. She wondered how the directors could tell if people described real dreams.

Anyone could simply list a series of nonsensical images and symbols, claiming that was her dream. Instead, she sat back and thought about her dreams for the past couple of weeks. There was the time she dreamt about the outpatient center, when some patients showed up with hair covering their faces and cascading down their backs. Others levitated above the recliners the way Linda Blair did in "The Exorcist," also turning their heads around in a circle, spewing vomit in all directions, like a lawn sprinkler. At the bottom of the page she had to write smaller, so she could fit all of the dream there.

She hoped no one would think she was strange.

The last part of the questionnaire seemed like a basic personality inventory, like the kind she'd completed several times during elementary school or high school. Six multiple choice responses followed a statement: Agree Strongly, Agree, Agree Somewhat, Disagree Somewhat, Disagree, and Disagree Strongly. One statement that stood out was "I always tell the truth." Linda had to put down her pen and think that one out.

Sometimes it was hurtful to tell the truth, she thought, like the time a lady at the beauty parlor cut Lauren's bangs too straight, as if she'd been six years old. Lauren had asked her how they looked. She seemed happy with them for some reason, apparently unaware of how they made her look like a first grader. For Linda, to give Lauren her honest opinion would have just created anxiety. Lauren would have marched to the salon and demanded that the lady fix them for her. Knowing that this would create a hassle, Linda just said "They look nice."

She marked the "Agree Somewhat" response, hoping that the directors wouldn't think she was a habitual liar. The last pages of the questionnaire focused on her educational and career goals. When she finally reached the last page, she handed it to the receptionist, who was stuck on a phone call. She pulled the handset away from her ear and covered the mouthpiece.

"They'll call you," she said.

And they did. Two days later she revisited the Psychology department offices, and this time a tall, thin, dark-skinned man with wire-rimmed glasses and a short, frail looking Asian lady in her thirties brought her back to a small office with another window overlooking the library quadrangle. "I'm Raj Patel and this is Dr. Victoria Ling, one of the directors of the Lucid DreamWorks program," he said.

Dr. Ling held Linda's completed questionnaire, glancing at it as the interview went on. "So you've actually volunteered in a hospital," she said. "That's fantastic."

"Yes. Did you read about the dream I had about the Outpatient Center?"

Raj and Dr. Ling glanced at each other. "We did," Raj said. "Quite interesting."

They continued by asking her the usual job interview questions, such as "What brought you here?" and "How long of a commitment can you make?"

After each of Linda's responses, both Raj and the doctor nodded. Raj scribbled down notes on an index card. "Do you have any questions for us? Dr. Ling asked

"What, exactly is an Oneironaut?" Linda wanted to know.

Raj smiled, shifting around in his seat and clearing his throat. "We get that one a lot." He glanced at Dr. Long and they both laughed politely. "An oneironaut is the subject of a lucid dreaming research study in a Dreams lab."

Dr. Ling leaned slightly toward Linda and asked "Have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?"

Linda shrugged. "I think it's when you know you're having a dream, while you're dreaming. You're aware."

"Then you know more than most people out there," Dr. Ling replied, smiling.

"We do lucid dreaming research here, but for this project we're testing a new device for a manufacturer. It looks like a sleep mask that people use sometimes, especially when they're trying to sleep during the daytime. Have you ever used one?"

"Well, no. I've never had trouble getting to sleep. I don't usually try to sleep

during the daytime. Unless I'm sick. But then you could probably send a marching band past me and I'd still sleep."

Raj's tone changed to a more serious one. "Would you feel comfortable wearing a sleep mask?"

"Sure," she said. "Obviously you won't be able to do the study without it, right?

I'd be willing." Nancy's comment about the guy in _A Clockwork Orange_ returned to her.

"That's good," Dr. Ling said. "We've got two night schedules available: either a Monday-Wednesday or a Tuesday-Thursday."

Linda chose Tuesdays and Thursdays, since her Wednesday and Friday classes started at ten and she'd still have time to eat breakfast. "Good, then we'll see you tomorrow night at ten," Dr. Ling said. "The Dream Lab is another wing of the building so we'll show you where you need to go."

After Linda signed some more paperwork at the receptionist desk, for tax files, she hurried back to the dorm to tell Nancy. They would pay her in cash, every Friday. Linda happily daydreamed about what the extra money could buy: nicer clothes, getting her hair done more often, buying a stereo for Myrtle, the list was endless! Back at the dorm Nancy had turned the nebulizer up full force, wafting menthol vapors into the air. She was sitting at her desk, reading. "I got the job," Linda announced.

"That's great," Nancy said, closing the book to give Linda her full attention.

"When do you start?"

"Tomorrow night! You get to have the room to yourself on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Don't have any crazy parties."

Nancy nodded. "You know, I was thinking about this during my Business Law class. They didn't make you sign anything, did they?"

"Well, yes. Just a few forms and other paperwork, that you always fill out when you get a job."

Nancy's eyes widened. "You should always have an attorney look it over, first.

You don't know what you're agreeing to!"

"I do so know what I'm agreeing to. I'm agreeing that I'll sleep there at the Dream Lab on Tuesday and Thursday nights, that I'll be wearing a sleep mask like thing and that workers at the lab will wake me twice during the night to gather research about my dreams. Besides, I don't have an attorney."

"You do so. There's a student Legal Aid department, at the ombudsman's office. Did they give you a copy of what you signed?"

"No."

Nancy gasped in shock raising her hands and exclaiming "Oy! Linda, that's your right! They could slip you drugs while you're sleeping! This whole thing could be a cover-up for some kind of test for a new drug."

Linda paused for a moment, to let Nancy's words hang in the air. She hoped that her roommate would realize how crazy she was sounding. "I really don't think so."
CHAPTER FIVE

On Thursday night, Linda arrived early. The Dream Lab was much more Spartan than the regular Psychology department offices. A girl at the front reception area greeted her and said that Jay, the night supervisor, would come back to take her to orientation. Moments later a bearded guy wearing aviator glasses called for her. He wore a white lab coat with a pocket protector for his pens.

Jay gave Linda a quick tour of the sleep rooms, small, windowless cubicles with a plain twin bed set against the wall. Plain blankets and bright white sheets adorned the beds and each room contained an office chair on wheels. Linda knew that the cataloger would use the chair to write notes about the dreams.

Further down the hall, Jay opened the door on a room with three plain desks in it, which Linda assumed was an administrative area for the program directors and supervisors. Jay showed her the special sleep mask that the Psychology department was testing. On the side of it that would cover her face, she saw three tiny bubbles near where the eyeholes would normally be. "Those are very, very, very small light bulbs," Jay said, flashing a goofy grin, giggling. He suddenly reminded Linda of her cousin Jerry, a science nut who'd once destroyed the family room rug after noxious spills from his chemistry set.

"How does it work?" Linda asked.

Jay pointed again to the tiny light bulbs. "At regular intervals, these little light bulbs blink on and off, like Christmas tree lights. The theory is that you'll be able to sense the light while you're sleeping. During your dream, when the lights go off, well, it's your cue that you're dreaming and you can become lucid in your dream." He pointed to a socket on the mask's edge.

A wire would connect there, which led to a battery back that sent power to the light bulbs.

"It gives a whole new meaning to the saying 'A light bulb went off in my head,' doesn't it?" Linda observed.

Jay giggled again in his innocent but oddly disconcerting way. When he calmed down, he added "Did Dr. Ling tell you about the other sensors you'll be wearing?"

Once again, Linda envisioned having her arms bound and her eyelids forced open. "No. She didn't. What is it?"

"Well the other sensors track your eye movements," he said. "In psych class you may have even heard of Rapid Eye Movements, or REM. It clues us to the fact that you may be dreaming. We then wake you and find out whether or not you were lucid."

"I see," Linda replied.

He patted her on the shoulder. "But we promise to only wake you two times per night."  
After the brief meeting, her career as an oneironaut began. She changed into comfortable flannel pajamas that she felt might help her relax and fall asleep easier. Another lab assistant, Geraldine, fastened the sensors to her eyelids and helped her adjust the mask so that it fit snugly without being too tight. Geraldine was tall, also and wore her shimmering brown hair pulled tightly back from her face. She wore glasses.

Once Linda had placed the mask on her face for the night her entire world turned black. The door creaked shut as Geraldine walked out of the room. With only Jay and Geraldine plus a handful of other oneironauts in the room, Linda knew that she should have felt relatively isolated and secure. Still, she felt that the eyes of the entire Psychology department were upon her as she struggled to sleep. After what seemed like a half hour on her side, lights flashed in her eyes.

They startled her, but she realized it was the first of the tiny bulbs firing.

When she turned on her other side, to get comfortable, the wire for the battery wound around her forehead. She had to reach up and push it away, as if it had been a cobweb. Another half hour passed and she felt as wide-awake as she'd been when she arrived at the lab. As a last resort, she rolled onto her back and tried to lull herself by thinking of the most relaxing music she could. Eventually she would fall asleep, she told herself.

Halfway through the night, after Linda finally did fall asleep, she heard her name being called and her arm jousted. Instinctively she pushed up the mask, squinting at the bright light in the room, seeing Geraldine perched on the chair in front of her. Still groggy, she asked "What is it?"

Geraldine held a clipboard containing paper and had poised a pen above it. "You had a series of rapid eye movements. Did you dream?"

"No," Linda said, feeling embarrassed and guilty.

Geraldine stood, picking up her clipboard. "Okay. Then we'll let you get back to sleep."

Linda strapped the mask on and fell back to sleep quickly, though dreamlessly. In what seemed to her a short while later, someone knocked on her door. "Come in," she said.

She heard Jay's voice after the door creaked open. "Good morning," he sang.

After she'd crawled out of the bed, put the mask away and dressed in her street clothes, she drank a cup of coffee in the lounge with a couple of the other oneironauts. "I don't know if this is going to work out," she said. "I think I did it wrong."

Mark, a pleasantly scruffy guy her age wearing a beach bum t-shirt waved a hand dismissively, showing her a warm smile to go with his good looks and perfectly coiffed hair. "Don't worry about it," he said. "They don't expect much the first night, since you're getting comfortable with the lab, the masks and the sensors. You did fine, trust me."

She shrugged and walked across campus to the dining hall. Later that afternoon, she realized she hadn't spoken with Lauren since the Sunday morning after her party. The mess and her roommate's scolding attitude had bothered her, but Lauren shouldn't have to suffer for that. And she wanted to tell her all about the new job.

"Oneironaut?" Lauren repeated that night when Linda called her. "What the fuck is that? It sounds like Marvin the Martian or something."

"It's someone who lucid dreams," Linda explained. She described the process of being aware while dreaming and how they were field testing the sleep mask with the firing light bulbs.

"My dreams are so frigging weird. One time I dreamt I was making out with one of my old friends from high school."

"That sounds pretty nice," Linda said.

"It was a girl, ding-dong!" Lauren bellowed. "That freaked me out for days. I ain't no lesbo."

"That probably doesn't mean anything," Linda told her. "You could have dreamt about your friend just because you were thinking about her."

"Well, why would I dream about swapping spit with her, then?"

Linda grimaced, said the word "Ugh," and wondered why her friend sunk to the basest levels sometimes. "Just because you dreamt about kissing one of your friends, who's a girl, it doesn't mean you're gay. If it makes you feel any better, I've had one or two of those kinds of dreams, too."

Lauren laughed. "Miss wholesome, getting freaky. Was it me?"

"No." She made plans to come over the next week, after she got paid. "Would you guys let me cook something over there, if I bought it?"

"If you let us eat it, yeah."

That weekend at the library, she read about the world of dreaming, between her regular studying. Some books served as an encyclopedia about the meanings of certain dream elements or symbols. Some proposed theories about different types of dreams. One theory which intrigued her was the one that discussed how dreams could help heal the physical body. She thought about the patients at the Oncology center. She'd often overheard Jenny and the other nurses say to patients "You have to decide you don't want the disease."

That notion seemed foreign to her at first. Why would anyone "want" cancer?

Unless what they really wanted was death.

Possibly the dreams of these people would help them discover their most deep seated fears and desires, and help them uncover the secret about why they had given up on life.

One book she read proposed a theory that some dreams involved astral travel, that the person's conscious could actually leave the body altogether and travel to different places, different realms. She wondered what would happen if she had that type of dream during her night at the Dream Lab. Would they be able to tell?

That Sunday afternoon, her mother called. "So what's new, honeybun?"

Linda debated over whether to tell her about the new job. She would probably warn her about the Dream Lab workers injecting her with drugs, the way Nancy had. "Oh, nothing much," she told her mother. "Classes are hard, the food in the cafeteria is terrible."

All through the weekend she kept a spiral notebook the way one of the dream books suggested (so she could write down her dreams immediately after she woke up).

By Monday morning the pages had stayed clean. She'd been going to bed tired and honestly could not remember dreaming. Would she ever dream again? Or was her subconscious holding back, for a spectacular nocturnal cornucopia on either Tuesday or Thursday?

Tuesday night finally arrived and a smiling Jay greeted her when she walked in. His facial expression turned to one of concern when Linda gave a weak "Hi" in return.

"Everything's okay, I hope," Jay said.

Linda sighed. "I just want something to happen tonight. So I don't feel like I'm stealing from you."

Jay laughed. "You'll be fine."

Linda changed into her pajamas, fixed the mask and wire and eased herself into bed. She talked to herself, telling herself to relax, let go, listened to calm, soothing music and gradually let go of her cares. Within a few minutes she slipped into the intermediate realm between wakefulness and full sleep. She stayed there for a while and soon entered dreamland.

She swung, on a porch swing. The bright sun bathed the rest of the yard in a golden glow, yet she had been shaded by the canopy overhead. She turned and saw a glass pitcher with a curving handle on a small table beside the swing. It had been filled with lemonade, lemon slices and ice. Fireflies had swarmed the pitcher and the table. As she swatted away the flies she saw that her hand was smaller, with the round softness she'd had as a child.

The fireflies flew closer to her, or else they grew larger. When Linda looked closer she saw that they were round pools of light and not fireflies at all. And for the first time she realized that the porch swing seemed awfully big. Her feet dangled over the edge of it, and when she lifted one, she saw that she was wearing her favorite red "cut-out" shoes that she wore when she was seven years old.

She was dreaming! Oh my god, she thought. Let's not screw this up! Slowly she eased herself off the swing, letting her feet plant down onto the soft, loamy grass. She wanted to shout out "I'm dreaming and I know it!" but the voice coming out would have been the high-pitched wail she'd had as an elementary schooler. Once she'd stepped off the porch swing, she turned and saw the pillars of the house where they'd lived in Jefferson City, Missouri. Where was her mother? She ran around the yard, past the bushes, smelling honeysuckle in the air.

The house seemed grander than she remembered, with clean, gleaming windows that beamed her reflection back to her as she ran past, and lush flowers in beds forming a soft, surreal border around the foundation. Linda reached the heavy, arched oak front door that had gleamed with varnish. She put all her weight down on the latch and pushed it free, the door opening inside the house. "Mom!" she called out.

Details of the staircase, the decorative urns in the front hallway and the black rotary dial phone on the table near the coat rack started to fade. She jumped up and down, turning all around, looking at the floors and the wall, which were washed out by a bright light. Someone called back to her in a loud, booming voice: "Linda. Linda."

Her head felt lighter and the sound of the voice calling out to her dropped in volume. She found herself back in her nineteen-year-old body, with the mask over her eyes. Geraldine had been calling her, tapping her lightly on her arm. Linda pushed back the sleep mask so that she could see her and she immediately winced at the bright light.

"We got REM on the sensors," Geraldine said. "Were you having a dream?"

"Yes!" Linda sat up excitedly. "I got to be a seven-year-old girl again!"

Geraldine smiled. She held a clipboard with a pad of paper in front of her and began to write. "That's great. Were you lucid?"

"Yes, of course." She told her about the porch, the lemonade on the table beside the swing, and the fireflies. Geraldine worked pen to paper briskly as she attempted to jot down everything Linda was saying.

"That's what we like to hear," Geraldine went on, nodding as she wrote down Linda's description of her dream.

"So then I guess I get to keep my job then, don't I?"

Geraldine laughed.

"I want to do it again! It's like going into another world!"

When Geraldine finished up with her notes, Linda put the mask and the wire back on and smiled excitedly when she eased herself underneath the covers. She did fall back asleep, but what seemed like only moments later, she heard voices in the hallway outside the room. It was already morning. Out in the lounge Jay met her with a broad smile. "I understand we had a breakthrough last night!" he said. He extended his hand for Linda to shake it, but she jumped up, hugging him instead.

"It was so real," she said. "I want to go there again."

"Yes, it's quite a trip," Jay agreed.

Linda rushed through the rest of the day, attending the Statistics lecture, studying in the library, before returning to her dorm room to excitedly relate the day's events to Nancy. "It would be funny if you never came back," she said, when Linda had finished. "And you magically transformed back into a seven-year-old, with the knowledge and wisdom of a nineteen-year-old."

If that lucid dream had excited Linda, the next one shook her to the very core. Thursday night started out just like the other two nights, when she would put on her pajamas and sleep.

It always took her awhile to get comfortable, but when she did, she plunged into another dream scene.

At first she felt as if she was watching a movie that did a watery dissolve and flashed forward. Gradually her vision returned, and she found herself in an opulent, marble hall, like a giant ballroom, an empty ballroom. When she looked down at her feet, she saw them dressed in strappy, high-heeled, glamorous sandals. Folds in iridescent chiffon kissed her insteps and the tips of her toes.

The marble floor gleamed below her, sending up a reflection. Forties style jazz music played loudly above her: the kind with fifty band members, lots of horns and percussion ticking a rhythmic beat. Still, she was able to hear a man's voice say "Are you ready, love?"

She turned and looked up into his eyes. The soulfulness and compassion in them weakened her knees, yet she gracefully took two steps to meet him. She reached forward to hold his hand. He gently tugged her to him, causing her to spin lightly on the balls of her feet and twirl into his arm. She rushed forward into his strong arms and chest, which were covered in a supple black tuxedo jacket accented with shining satin. His eyes flashed out at her from beneath a curling swath of golden hair. When she had twirled into his quick embrace, he released her, sending her in flight as though she'd been a dove.

In perfect time to the lilting strains of the heavenly music, she stepped along the floor, rising and falling with his lead. He motioned to her with a twist of his wrist and she glided sideways to him, catching a glimpse of his smile. His other hand swept in an arc and gently touched the middle of her back. As they floated toward the other wall in the distance he gently nudged her away, then gathered her back in, nudged her away, and gathered her back in.

He'd led he through a large room with tall windows that sliced rays of sunshine down.

She could only concentrate on him, though, as he guided her through a series of exquisite pirouettes and turns on the smooth, marble floor.

She felt she could have stayed in that room forever. Light suddenly exploded through the tall windows, washing out the contours of the pillars, the floor, and the smiling, tall man. Strangely, she started to float up and away, as if she'd been an angel. Gradually, the bright light washed away and she floated downward. She realized she was waking up, and by instinct, she pushed the mask upward.

The room was still dark.

She had been partially disappointed about coming out of her dream, since she'd been enjoying it so much. It was thrilling at the same time, though, because now she had a fantastic story for Geraldine and the rest of the Dream lab staff. Linda knew that Geraldine watched a series of small screens that looked like the radar screen in submarine movies. The sensors on her eyes would have caused wavy lines on one of the screens, she assumed.

Sitting up, she took off the mask and her sensors. She turned on the light and sat on the edge of her bed for a few minutes. There was no Geraldine and no sound out in the hallway.

It was highly irregular and might even be frowned upon, but she got up and opened the door.

She ventured out into the hallway to look for Geraldine.

They met in the hallway when Geraldine emerged from the office, startling each other in the dim early morning. "Is something wrong?" Geraldine asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Linda replied.

"Did you need the rest room? It's down the other hallway?"

"I just woke up from a dream. I was lucid. I got there on my own, without help from the lights."

"I see." Geraldine gave her a confused look and started back toward the office. There were five screens in there, all of them with flat lines crossing them. Her clipboard lay on a desk beside them.

"There wasn't anything showing on the screen? Like a REM or something?"

Geraldine gazed at the screen in disbelief. "No. Not recently."

"But I had a dream," Linda said. "And it was just as real as you and me standing here. How could nothing show on the screens?"

"I don't know."

"Well, do you want to hear about the dream, for the research?"

A sheepish, confused look crossed Geraldine's features. "Normally I would, but if there was no REM activity, the report wouldn't be valid."

"I guess I can understand that." She returned to her sleeping room, put her sensors and the mask back on, and tried to fall asleep, to return to the glorious ballroom.

She did fall asleep, but what seemed like only moments later, the hallway outside her door buzzed with activity. It was seven a.m. After she dressed, Jay met her in the lounge area to give her twenty-five dollars (the payroll was a week behind, the same as at the feed store). She considered just going on to breakfast and then to a bank, but stopped herself.

"Jay, something really unusual happened last night." He squared all of his attention on her as she told him the whole dream about the ballroom and the dance.

After Linda told him the punch line, that the sensors had failed to record anything, he scratched his chin. "It's one of those things, I guess," he said, shrugging. "Most of the time dreams trigger rapid eye movements. Sometimes they don't. I guess this is just one of those times."

Linda went on to discuss what was really bothering her. "It's been three nights and I've only had one occurrence," she said. That was the word they gave to the event that resulted when the mini-bulbs in the sleep mask fired and helped bring on a lucid dream.

Jay patted her on the shoulder. "It'll all kick in soon," he said. "You'll be fine."

"But I feel like I'm stealing money from the department!" she wailed.

Jay gave a short laugh, probably to diffuse some of her tension. "You're not. Believe me, you're not. See you next Tuesday!"

On Saturday she took Myrtle to the good supermarket near the shopping mall at the edge of town. She bought ground chuck, tomatoes, seasoning, ricotta and mozzarella cheeses and a box of lasagna noodles. Lauren and her roommates cheerily welcomed her when she arrived and started working her magic with the stove and oven. Thankfully, between the four of them, they had all the right tools she needed: a large saucepan, a skillet, and a rectangular oven pan for the lasagna itself. All five of them greedily ate Linda's dry, cake-like, spicy lasagna.

Linda noticed that Marie was going out of her way to be especially nice to her.

She complimented her on how well the lasagna had turned out, and on how nice her hair looked that evening (when she'd just washed and dried it and to her it looked like straw). After everything was cleaned up and put away Marie said "We're going to the University 8 to see Star Wars later. Wanna come? My treat?"

"No, that's okay," Linda said. "I saw that movie this summer."

Later, she helped Lauren curl her hair and get ready for a party she was going to. While she twirled Lauren's thick locks with the curling iron, she said "You yelled at Marie, didn't you?" She was talking about the incident from a couple of weeks before, when Marie had hissed at her about clanging pans and plates too loudly when she was cleaning up after their party.

The remark surprised Lauren enough that she tried to turn quickly and face her.

"Ow!" The twirling curling iron pulled her hair before Linda had a chance to let it go. "Yeah, I did, kind of." They looked at each other through their reflections in the mirror.

"Well did you tell her to kiss my ass the next time I came over? Did you hear the way she was thanking me for the lasagna and saying my hair looks nice?"

"No. I didn't tell her. The lasagna was great and your hair looks beautiful, like always. When the hell are you ever gonna figure that out?"

Linda held a few locks of her hair. It was true, she supposed. She did have thick and healthy hair. Every stylist who'd ever worked with it told her so. Suddenly she remembered the dream about the glorious marble dance hall. "You won't believe what happened at the Dream Lab on Thursday night." She told her all about the striking man who'd made her heart melt with the way he led her through a waltz.

"Well that's cool, I guess," Lauren replied. "It sounds like something from a movie.

You know, those old black and white ones where everyone's dead."

"But I haven't even told you the craziest thing about it," Linda went on. "None of the sensors registered anything."

Lauren squinted, wrinkling her nose. "Sensors? What are you talking about? What do they have you hooked up to over there? Are they trying to turn you into the fucking bride of Frankenstein or something?"

"No." Linda finished up with the curls at the end of Lauren's tresses. She patiently explained how the mask, the firing lights and the sensors worked. "If I had that big, grand, glorious dream and none of the sensors were working, what does that mean?"

They were still looking at each other's reflections in the mirror to talk to each other.

Linda watched Lauren get that faraway look in her eyes. For a few moments they sat in silence. Softly, Lauren said, "It means that you weren't dreaming at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you left your body. You went to Heaven."

At first Linda could not speak. "Really?"

Lauren held her gaze in the mirror for a few moments longer, then suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. "Gotcha!"

Linda groaned, quickly reached for a towel, rolled it up and started pelting Lauren on her back and chest with it. Lauren jumped up from her own chair, grabbed for another towel, rolled it up and started pelting Linda back. They chased each other around the bedroom, knocking each other against the bedpost and dresser, creating a commotion. Julie poked her head through the door and said "Jeez! What is this, grade school?"

When things calmed down, Lauren turned to Linda and said "Hey, why don't you come to the party with me and Naomi?"

Even though it meant that she may end up playing nursemaid later, when Lauren had too much to drink, even though parties where people sat around getting stoned or bombed bored her, and even though they were showing _The Wizard of Oz_ at the cafeteria that night, Linda said "Okay."

For the rest of that semester, she slept at the Dream Lab every Tuesday and Thursday nights. At least once a week, she had an occurrence. While she'd hoped to return to the dashing gentleman in the ethereal marble dance hall, many of her trips to lucidity were interesting nonetheless. In one of them, she rode a vehicle on water that changed from a huge speedboat to a pair of rocket skis and then any sense of a vehicle disappeared altogether.

She simply flew high speed over cresting waves of water.

Another dream brought her into a cornfield, which she walked through with her friend Vicki, from high school. "Help me find my contacts!" Vicki said, even though they looked at the leaves on the high stalks instead of on the ground. The cornstalks turned into jungle vines with toucans hanging on them and cawing before Geraldine disrupted things by waking her up for the report.

And then there was the dream with Tom at the roller rink. He spun her and they twirled around on the rink, weaving and shifting to miss the other kids speeding past them. She was lucid: when extra lights pulsated along with the swirling multi-colored hues from above, she realized that the bulbs had tripped. While lucid, she remembered what Lauren had said about her dream with the tall man in the marble dance hall. "This is so cool, I love it!"

The roller rink seemed so much larger and more opulent than the one they had skated in, the one where she took Molly that summer. Everyone seemed happy and carefree as they skated past them. The roof overhead changed into a starry sky at one point, then a turquoise dome with flashing points of light. While the skating rink in real life could smell of spilled soda, stale popcorn and sweat, a crisp, clean scent like Oleander drifted through the air.

While in real life they would have turned in a giant circle around the edges of the rink, in her dream they traveled on and on as Tom twirled her and held her hands. Linda decided to test out what Lauren had told her. "Tom," she said, "Do you know we're in a dream?"

As they skated side-by-side for a moment, he looked down at her with a confused expression. From over his shoulder a bright light shone, getting brighter and brighter until it washed out the details of his face and his hair. "Oh no!" Linda exclaimed. She felt someone pushing on her shoulder, shoving her as if they wanted to push her off the ice skating rink.

She realized it was Geraldine trying to wake her up, having to tap her arm with a bit more force than usual. "Must have been a good one," Geraldine said, her eyes wide, as she got her clipboard and pen ready.

"So you saw something on the screens, I take it," Linda said.

"Like squiggly bolts of lightning," Geraldine replied.

Linda was glad for the occurrence, which would help the directors of the Dream Lab decide to keep her on as an Oneironaut. She rattled on for a half hour about Tom, the skating rink and the wonderful new dimension for partner skating. Geraldine scribbled on her pad furiously, trying to keep up. Twice she had to stop and shake her wrist, to keep her hand from cramping up.

By Halloween, Linda had saved enough money to buy a nice new stereo for Myrtle, complete with AM and FM plus a cassette deck. Naomi let her record several of her albums onto cassette using her cassette deck system so that Linda could play her favorite music anytime she rode around campus.

Best of all, just before Christmas break, when Linda planned to spend an entire month at her parent's house up north, Jay met her in the Dream Lab lounge. "They're continuing the program indefinitely," he said. "Because we've had so much success, thanks to people like you. You've got a job here as long as you want one."

Linda was so happy she jumped up and hugged him.
CHAPTER SIX

Fall, 1978

All of her friends had expected her to move into the Tuileries or one of the other nearby apartment complexes. Two years of living with roommates had left her unwilling to put up with another woman's quirks at such close distance. Whether it was Lauren's partying and disorderliness or Nancy's nebulizer, racks of gefilte fish or archaic musical tastes, Linda thought that, at the start of her junior year, she might be happiest on her own.

She could only afford two hundred dollars a month at the most. The apartments she liked were a smidge higher than that: two hundred twenty-five or higher. She knew that when she factored in the utilities she would have to pay, she would end up eating oatmeal sandwiches. Lauren snickered "All you're going to find are mobile homes. Where you freeze in the winter and boil in the summer."

Still, Linda looked at a few of them. One seemed large enough, and nice inside with soft new carpet and crisp, snappy looking paneling. Yet only fifteen feet separated each trailer. On top of that, beer can laden garbage cluttered the trash cans on both sides. It was a bright August afternoon when she looked at the trailer, and everything was quiet. She shuddered to think what a Saturday night might be like, mid-semester.

"Just get a friggin' apartment," Lauren said. "Before you end up living in a tent when the semester starts."

Was there one that had regular walls instead of cinder block? That didn't feel like a crypt in the middle of catacombs? On a Sunday morning, she checked the local area newspaper, wondering what they would have over the campus newspaper and student center pegboard.

Many of the listings in her price range said "No students, please." She was about to give up when a listing caught her eye: "Cottage: $195, utilities included." Further down in the text, along with the phone number to call, one line read "Older, working female preferred."

A classy-sounding older man's voice answered when she called. Linda told him she was interested in the cottage and he gave her directions. As she took them down, she realized she would be heading past the south end of campus. In two years at Little Egyptian, she'd only ventured that way a handful of times, to house parties amid the farmland down there. When she drove Myrtle to the address given by the man answering the phone, she maneuvered down winding roads with tall oaks shrouding them. It would be quiet, she told herself. It would be private, also, most likely.

The house on 2550 Jefferson Trail seemed like anything but a cottage. It rose two stories high, with rustic dark shingles and ornate woodwork framing the roof edges. A covered, redwood deck wrapped around the front of it. The wide, asphalt driveway led to a garage with a shiny, older model Ford Thunderbird parked in front of it, like the 1959, baby blue one that Steve

McCaffery drove back in high school (eight of them could fit inside of it; four in the front and four in the back).

Not knowing what else to do, Linda knocked on the door. A stocky, balding man who reminded her of Alfred Hitchcock answered the door. He gazed down at Linda appraisingly. "May I help you, young lady?"

"Hi, I'm Linda. I'm here about the cottage?"

The gentleman squinted, then his eyes shifted from side to side, as if he was searching his mind for something to say. "Are you a student?"

"Yes."

"Oh." He stood up resoundingly. "Well I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, but we're not prepared to rent the property on a semester-by-semester basis."

Linda envisioned herself bundled up against the freezing cold in a mobile home while raucous music played loudly from another nearby trailer. She had to think quickly. "Well I do have a job, and I plan to stay through the summer. I could commit to nearly two years. I'm just starting my junior year."

The gentleman paused, stroking his chin. "Tell me, Linda, what course of study are you pursuing?"

"I'm in the nursing program."

He gazed down at the floor, deep in thought, before finally shrugging. "Well it's against my better judgment, but let me show you the property. By the way, my name is George Glienke." He ushered her into the house, where she met his wife, a small, wistfully smiling woman who had been doing needlepoint in an easy chair.

Linda wondered where they were headed. The listing specifically stated "cottage," not sleeping room. Two hundred dollars was quite a lot to pay for a sleeping room, no matter how good the house privileges were. George led her through a doorway on the other side of the den and down a staircase to another door leading to the back yard.

When he opened the door and she looked at the back yard, she blinked twice, wondering if she was in a lucid dream. Stately oak and willow trees swayed gracefully in the breeze over a beautiful, sparkling blue pool. Beyond the pool, looking like a picture from a lavish fairy tale book, rested a small, Victorian style cottage. Linda gushed "I can't believe it! It's beautiful!"

George unlocked the dark, arched wooden door and welcomed her inside, with a smile. They stepped into a foyer, with a closet on one side and an old-fashioned coat rack on the other. Beyond the doorway, Linda saw varnished wood cabinets and shellacked, hardwood floors. To her left, a small sink beside a stove and oven, to her right, a sitting room with bookshelves and a desk built into the walls.

The bedroom and bathroom lie behind a door on the far wall of the sitting room. A four poster bed with a high, inviting mattress and an exquisite gingham quilt awaited her there. While the cottage was small, somehow there was room for a walk-in closet and a bathroom with checkerboard tile and a claw-foot bathtub. Linda excitedly turned toward George. "This house is a dream! Can I live here? Please?"

He allowed himself to smile widely. "Yes, dear. You can."

Linda giddily moved her things there the next weekend. Though the cottage seemed like part of a wonderland thousands of miles removed from her academic life, it only took her ten minutes to drive to campus. When she signed the lease, George and Jean Glienke presented her with their list of strict rules. She must keep the cottage spotlessly clean, top to bottom, on a weekly basis. No drugs or drinking were allowed. No loud music. No male visitors.

Jean Glienke, apparently sensing that the rules slightly overwhelmed Linda, spoke up. "My mother lived in the cottage," she said softly. "Mr. Glienke had it built especially for her. She was very happy there, for more than ten years. She passed away a year ago last March."

"I'm sorry," Linda said, reflexively.

"We wanted to be very careful about who we allowed to live there," George said. "But you seem like a fine young lady and we're glad to have you with us."

Linda loved her little cottage. She loved to cook herself meals with the small stove.

She loved the fine German dining ware and flatware that had been provided. She loved the claw-foot tub, which contained a curtain and a showerhead. She loved the loft above the bed, where she would sit and gaze out of the cathedral window at the back, whenever she wanted to relax.

The first weekend after the semester started, she brought Lauren and Naomi out to the Glienke's to see the cottage. Both of them had to meet George and Jean first, of course, and after he ushered them outside, Lauren's eyes widened and her jaw dropped when she saw the cottage.

"It's a doll house!" she said. From then on, that was what they called Linda's cozy little residence.

Linda loved studying at the handcrafted desk, also. That fall she delved into the most demanding coursework of her major: the demanding Anatomy, Terminology, and Clinical Studies courses. She loved the solitude. She loved the quiet. At night, when the rhythmic chirp of crickets would lull her to sleep, she hoped she would dream of the majestic ballroom and the glorious gentleman who lovingly held and carried her along the floor, through a waltz.

It was not to be.

At the Dream Lab, they increased her pay to sixty-five dollars weekly. Since she'd been with the program for a full academic year, she helped the new oneironauts through orientation, helping allay their fears and concerns. Many times she heard someone say "I haven't had an occurrence yet and it's been more than a week. They'll fire me, won't they?" and Linda always assured them that breakthroughs were just around the corner.

Most of the time, they were. Not everyone the directors hired was suited to the position, however. One night Linda had been startled out of a deep sleep by a girl's shrieking voice.

It was a new girl, who'd had a lucid nightmare in one of the other rooms down the hall.

"They're going to get me!" she cried, trying to climb the walls. "They're going to get me!" Geraldine and Jay had to work together to calm down the poor girl, as all four of the other oneironauts in the lab that night abandoned their beds to rush into the hallway.

At Christmas the Glienke's gave Linda a small, delicate tabletop Christmas tree with dainty, twinkling lights and tiny, silver and gold ornaments. She loved the iridescent, ethereal glow the lights cast over the walls and ceiling loft at night.

When the fall semester ended and the holidays rolled around, she traveled back to her parent's house to spend them with her mother, father, Bobby and Molly. Business had been good at the rail yard, Molly was excited about her freshman year of high school, and Bobby had found a good job as a welder. Lavish gifts awaited them on Christmas morning. Linda unwrapped a sharp, small color television with gleaming dials. That afternoon she joyfully celebrated with her parents over a turkey dinner. She wondered if it could ever get any better than this. Starting the Spring of 1979, though, things would get much more challenging.

Lauren, Naomi, Marie, and Julie still lived at the Tuileries together. By then they had to buy two extra chests of drawers to put in the living room near the stereo. All their wardrobes had overgrown the drawers and closets upstairs. To keep them separate, they labeled each of the drawers on the downstairs dresser.

While Linda felt she had done well to receive a brand new color television for Christmas, Lauren got a car, an adorable lemon yellow 1973 Ford Mustang convertible with tan plaid seats. "It belonged to one of my dad's friends wives," she said when she showed it off to Linda in the Tuileries parking lot. "I can't wait for it to get warm!"

In March, during a warm, sunny spell, she put down the convertible top for the first time. She, Linda, Naomi, and Marie took a victory ride through campus, waving and honking along,

as if they were the grand marshals in a parade of one.

Two months later, Linda stayed at her cottage while practically everyone else she knew headed north for the summer. For the first time she got to see what the campus and the town of Alexandria looked like from mid May to late August. She missed volunteering at the Outpatient Oncology center the most of all, even though the money she would have made at the feed store also would have helped.

She still worked at the Dream Lab, where along with her Tuesday and Thursday oneironaut duties, she also helped organize files and tidy up during the day. For that, the directors increased her weekly pay to one hundred dollars weekly. She still worried about finances. On a phone call home where both her mother and father spoke to her on different extensions inside the house, she told them "I think I need another part time job, like cashiering at a store or something."

Her mother said "What on earth for?"

Her father echoed "How are you going to have time for that, working at that headshrinker place _and_ taking classes?"

"I'll find a way."

Her mother's tone became tinged with concern. "Is there some reason you need the money?"

Linda wondered what her mother was getting at, like whether she had gotten herself knocked up and needed to pay for an abortion. She was still a virgin; it would have been an immaculate conception. "Well, when I used to work at the feed store, that money would go toward tuition. But since I'm not going to be working there and the Dream Lab is only part time, things are going to get really tight."

"No they're not," her father said.

"What do you mean?"

He hummed a triumphant bugle call and his voice took on the booming tone of a ringmaster. "Ladies and gentlemen! Will you please give a warm welcome to this year's winner of the Serafina academic scholarship: Linda Serafina!"

Her mother laughed.

"What are you getting at?"

When her mother stopped laughing, she said "We're going to pay your tuition until you graduate."

Linda was so happy she started jumping up and down, causing some plates on the counter to rattle. "Oh, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah, sweet pea," her father said. "You just concentrate on learning and becoming the best nurse you can."

She resolved to drive home that weekend, to show them how much she loved them and appreciated their help. Seconds after she placed the telephone in the cradle, it rang again. When she answered it, she heard a familiar, gruffly sexy voice from her past. "Hey, pretty lady! How's my favorite little angel of mercy."

"Seth! How are you?" It seemed like the perfect reward for all of her hard work: the affection of a very handsome, very appealing man.

"Hey, I miss you. When are you ever going to come up this way again?"

It still amazed Linda that Seth liked her so much, when there were probably pretty ladies in Cincinnati throwing themselves at him left and right. "Seth, that was a once in a blue moon kind of thing."

"Well, then, make it a _twice_ in a blue moon kind of thing. I _want_ to see you!"

Really? She wondered if the poor guy was blind or just desperate. Sighing, she said "My classes this summer are very difficult. I want to be able to pass my boards by next April. Plus I work part time on top of that."

"Well then you need a break," Seth replied. "You can fit me in for a few hours over a weekend, can't you?"

"What are you saying?"

He laughed. "Duh! That I can come there. For a weekend."

Linda felt the fluttering of a school of butterflies in her stomach. The Glienke's would never allow him over to the cottage, even for just a few minutes, to say hello. "Where would you stay?"

Seth laughed. "Well, they've got these really neat buildings, you see. You go up to an office, pay some money, and they let you sleep in one of the rooms in them. They're called motels. You've got those there, don't you?"

"Yes," she replied. As much as the prospect thrilled her, she wondered if she was ready to spend so much time with this roguish guy. Things might happen, things she wasn't sure she was ready for.

"All right then! Give me some directions and I can be there Friday night!"

"This weekend?" She fought back the terror she felt, hoping it didn't creep into her voice somehow. "Can it wait until next weekend? I've got plans for this weekend."

"What, competition? Is he bigger than me?"

"No, I'm going to my parents."

For the next ten days, she worried about Seth's impending arrival and how it would play.

It affected her on her trip back home to see her mother, father, Molly and Bobby. Over a scrumptious roast beef dinner, her mother said "You're awfully quiet. Is everything okay?"

"Fine, mom," she replied. "I'm just enjoying hearing what you guys have to say."

That night she saw her old friends Beth and Jenny at the Outpatient Oncology Center. Jenny and the other nurses especially jumped up and down like grade schoolers when they saw her. Linda stayed long enough to relive the comings and goings of a typical Friday night at the center. Interestingly, a kind, matronly looking woman in her forties now volunteered, pushing the cart, poising the emesis pan under people's chins. "Her name's Darla," Jenny said. "She's really good with the patients, just like you."

Linda wondered if Cindy had ever made any appearances again or whether Darla had played checkers with her.

After she returned to Alexandria, she spent the next five days in the sweet agony of dread waiting for Seth to thunder into town. Tuesday night at the Dream Lab she tossed and turned, finding it more difficult than normal to strap the mask and sensors on and drift peacefully into sleep. The dashing man in the tuxedo would help calm her. She lay there hoping to will herself to sleep, to will herself into his arms.

When sleep still would not come, she considered asking Geraldine for a sleeping pill.

Neither she nor Jay liked to use them, since they interfered with REM sleep, but for oneironauts struggling to drift off into la-la land, they sometimes helped. Linda just lie there, on her back, asking her toes to relax, then her feet, then her legs. When she reached her eyelids, her breathing slowed and she felt drowsy.

Next, she found herself walking along on a bright summer day, holding hands with someone much larger. A man. The sun's rays seemed to flash down at her, pulsating.

It seemed like bits and pieces had fallen off the sun and beamed down at her. Their bright light washed out the details of the gravel road on which they walked, and tree branches that dangled over their path. She realized it was the lights tripping on in the mask and smiled inwardly. Once the lights stopped, she turned and looked up at Seth, who was smiling broadly. He wore a light blue tank shirt and jean shorts.

This time she paid attention to the way things sounded, such as Seth's voice when he asked "Are you going to swim this time?" The words rang hollow, booming into her ears as if he had put his lips inches away from her cheekbone when he said them. In the distance she could also hear a faint trickling of water, such as a gentle stream tumbling down over a rock waterfall.

They entered a clearing, and the path angled downward. Linda said "Come on," and tugged on Seth's hand so he would follow her when she ran ahead to discover what was beyond the next bend. She saw a crystal lagoon more beautiful than any other lake or pond she had ever seen before. A thin, white layer of sand separated the lush grasses from the water's edge. The stillness of the water's surface made it seem like a mirror for the blue sky and friendly clouds above. Linda could see green plants and rock outcroppings below the surface of the water, which looked inviting and friendly, tempting them both to jump in.

Linda looked down at herself. She wore a one-piece floral bathing suit and thong sandals, which she kicked off her feet. Seth reached down for the bottom hem of his tank shirt and pulled it over his head. "Last one in is a rotten egg!" he said, and when he tossed his shirt onto the bank, he leaped into the water. It was deep. Even in her lucid state, she knew that this was not the type of thing Seth would say. But it _was_ her dream. When he jumped in he submerged and resurfaced a moment later, tossing his hair back. She could see his legs slowly working under the surface, treading water. "Come on in! It's great!"

She positioned herself on the bank and Seth maneuvered himself a little closer to her.

When she leaped into the water, she expected a shock at first, like the cold water in the pool when they first opened it every year at the end of May. Instead it felt warm, like bath water, caressing her, soothing her. Upon entering the water she'd outstretched both of her arms and opened her legs, like a scissors. Freshman year, in Water Safety class, she'd learned this technique as a way to jump into deep water without sinking.

Seth kicked toward her to take her into his arms and in the warmth of the water they melded together fluidly as he cradled her, lifting her toward him. "I've missed you so much," he said, before leaning in to kiss her. She gave to him, dropping away her fears, her inhibitions, letting the still water away as they kissed deeply.

A noise suddenly startled Seth as he lifted up his head and glanced around at the banks and the forest. It was a loud, rhythmic sound that repeated over and over, sounding mysteriously to Linda like the words "In, out, in out." As the sound's volume increased, visual details of the water, of Seth's muscled arms holding her, diminished, fading from view.

"In, out, in out", continued, until the sound quality changed, becoming more clear.

Eventually they became the words "Linda, Linda."

She woke up, finding herself lying in the bed at the Dream Lab, with Geraldine calling out her name and gently nudging her on the shoulder. As the grogginess seeped away from her, she lifted up the sleep mask and saw Geraldine poised, with her clipboard and pen ready. "Oh my god," she said. "You won't believe what I just dreamt."

As Linda began to tell her about the dream, Geraldine perked up and said "Ooh! Sounds enticing." She scribbled crisply and efficiently on her clipboard paper.

Linda took extra care in describing the lagoon, since she'd never seen water like that.

Geraldine paused for a moment, tapping the top pencil edge against her lips.

She gazed upward, in a contemplative pose. "You know, there is actually water like that. It's in Florida. They have these round pools in the ground with crystal, still water. A spring feeds them. Except the water is cold, not bathtub warm like in your dream."

"And the craziest thing about this is," Linda went on, "this guy is coming to visit me this weekend."

Geraldine's eyes widened as she continued to write on the clipboard paper. "Well then, that's probably why you had a dream about him."

The dream made her even more anxious than she had been before. She and Seth were definitely headed in a certain direction and she was not ashamed to admit, she deeply wanted to go there. But it was wrong! She hardly knew him, had only seen him twice in her life. Just giving in to him that way would change her forever. And Seth was not the type of guy who would stay around. He would hop on his motorcycle to claim the next desperate, passion-ignited virgin. No, she had to be strong.

Arriving at that conviction had helped ease some of her fear. Possibly part of the dream had to do with how she wanted to try out the Glienke's pool but had felt shy about it. They'd never explicitly said she was welcome to take a dip whenever she wanted, but would probably allow her. After class the next morning, she shyly asked Jean "Am I allowed to use the pool?"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes, honey, yes. Go right ahead! Enjoy yourself."

Linda put on a floral one-piece swimsuit like the one she wore in the dream and spent a couple of hours floating, swimming, enjoying the water, wishing that Seth was there with her.

By Thursday night she worried less about his arrival. She'd been studying hard and was tired. Sleep came easily that night. Soon, she found herself at a Fourth of July fireworks show.

Strangely, though bright, all of the fireworks exploded with the same pale yellow color.

Ordinarily, fireworks on the Fourth of July streamed spectral showers of reds, blues and oranges across the sky. Suddenly she realized she was seeing the lights trip inside the mask. After she realized she was in a dream, her senses heightened. When she looked down at her hand, she saw that it was small, with the puffy fingers she'd had when she was eight years old. She carried a pinwheel with glow in the dark lights at the tips, one of her favorite toys from back then.

They all sat in the bed of her father's pickup. As he pointed to the sky in the darkness she could see that his hair was thicker, and he wasn't wearing glasses. Her mother, who held little Molly in her lap, was wearing her hair long.

Geraldine woke her up when the booming finale occurred and Linda breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm still capable of having a normal, low-stress dream," she said.

The next day she spent hours tidying up her cottage, knowing that it was pointless to try to study. She needed to work off her nervous energy. Seth told her he would call just after he reached town and checked into a motel.

Her phone rang at nine o'clock. "I'm out here at the Shady Acres, near some kind of a mall," Seth said. "Do you know any good places to eat here? I'm starved."

Her heart pounded throughout the short drive from her cottage to the mall. By the time she found his room at the motel, on the second floor, her knees were weak from trembling. She lightly knocked at his door. A tall, clean-shaven man with a fashionable, feathered short hairstyle answered the door. For a moment she didn't recognize him as they stood there, studying each other. "Hey, beautiful," he said, taking her into his arms for a hug.

To her it felt just the same as when they floated in the warm crystal pool together, or when he'd thundered out to her parent's house with his buddies. Although this time, they were truly alone.

"Here's the room," Seth said, gesturing back to the bed with a bland beige spread and geometric shapes, a soft cushion against the wall serving as a head board, and plain rust carpet.

"Now, where's a good place to get something to eat?" He shut the door behind them, which instantly made her feel much better.

Linda found a nice, chain seafood restaurant not far from there and Seth lustily started off on the bread and rolls at the table's centerpiece. They kept their conversation on safe, comfortable topics, such as what courses she was taking and how much she had left before she could take the nursing boards in the spring of 1980. While they waited for their main courses to arrive, Seth rambled on about how swamped he was with repair business. "All these doctors and lawyers bringing their cycles in, wanting them tuned up perfectly so they can play motorcycle gang member for a week." Seth pronounced the word "cycle" so that it sounded like "sicle," the back end of the word "Popsicle."

"But you like it, though, don't you?" Linda said.

"I love it," he said. "But sometimes the guys and their wives act like assholes, wanting everything done yesterday. Like the world stops for them. What I really want to do is design motorcycles, and engines."

"Couldn't you just set up a shop and do that? You could get a loan. A friend of my father's did that and now he has a really successful printing shop."

As their salads arrived, Seth shook his head, rolling his eyes around. "Do you have a million dollars hanging around somewhere? That takes money."

"Well aren't there companies around that could hire you? Companies that make motorcycles?"

"They all want some college puke with a bunch of degrees."

Linda gestured around herself, indicating the world outside the restaurant. "Well then, go to college."

"Tried it. Ohio U. To me it was just a bunch of uptight dreamers trying to tell me what to read. It cost too much anyhow."

Linda tried to find a way to get the conversation going in a more pleasurable way. She didn't like to hear men complain about what put clothes on their backs and bread on their tables. Her father had done too much of that while she was growing up. "What did you want to do tomorrow?"

"I thought we could take in a movie, have another nice dinner like this, go dancing somewhere maybe and then...who knows?"

Thinking about her dream, Linda excitedly said "It's warm and nice outside. Maybe we could go swimming!" As the words escaped from her mouth, she had no idea where they could go swimming, other than the campus pools, which were indoors and open only to students.

"I didn't bring trunks," he said.

Linda giggled to herself over what occurred to her next. "Well, you see they have these really neat places, these big, rectangular buildings, filled with aisles and aisles of clothes and tools and everything you could ever want. You pick what you like and you bring it up to the cashier..."

Laughing, Seth stopped her before she could get the rest of the words out. "Okay. We'll go somewhere as soon as we finish eating." He shook his head, adding "You're funny."

The Glienkes had lived in the area for decades, Linda remembered. They would know a place where they could go swimming. She would ask them first thing tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVEN

Early the next morning, Linda noticed Mr. Glienke cutting hedges around the house. While she knew nothing existed on earth like the beautiful crystal pool she dreamt about, she asked her landlord to tell her about the best places to swim outside in the area. As was his habit, George Glienke paused for several moments to ponder the question, as if he was a student answering an essay question on a test. "There's Wild Orchard," he replied, "and Mystic City. If you don't mind driving a little further, there's Lake of the Woods beside the Granite Pillars."

Linda remembered hearing about Lake of the Woods during her freshman year. In Earth Science class, she'd learned that the glaciers advanced as far south as their area during the Ice Age. They pushed great slabs of granite ahead of them, which caused the one hundred feet high Granite Pillars. Someone had said that the water in Lake of the Woods was fairly clear, and nice for swimming. "Is the water pretty nice there?"

"Oh yes," Mr. Glienke said, returning to his hedge trimming. "It's a man-made lake, fed by the water table. It used to be a quarry way back when."

Linda blanched at the idea of swimming in a quarry, wondering if her foot might catch on a submerged crane or derrick. Yet, she'd also driven past Wild Orchard and Mystic City. Both of those lakes, while nice, seemed like giant mud puddles to her. If Lake of the Woods seemed too nasty a place to swim, also, they could always just picnic along the banks. She'd never been there, but Mr. Glienke wrote her a whole page of explicit directions including landmarks.

When she drove to the Shady Acres to pick up Seth, he was already dressed in the shorts he'd bought the night before. He seemed rested and happy, his hair perfectly combed, spicy after- shave recently splashed on. "Well you're in a good mood," Linda said as they descended the stairs toward the parking lot.

He gazed down at her quizzically, one side of his lip curled upward. For a moment he reminded her of Errol Flynn in _Captain Blood,_ a dashing pirate. "Why wouldn't I be? I get to spend the day with a beautiful lady."

Linda tried to keep from rolling her eyes at that remark. As they entered the car, Seth worked the seat levers to give himself more legroom. "This car's a trip," he said. "Does it take regular gasoline or do you just put butane lighter fluid in it every now and then?"

As they headed toward the edge of town for Illinois Route 49, Linda said "I packed some sandwiches and Kool-aid for a picnic." She pointed to a mini cooler on the small rear seat. "I've never been to this place. I have no idea if it's a good place to swim or not."

"Then we get to discover it together," he said.

Linda noticed, as they drove along, that Seth was a very active man, shifting around in the sea, placing one arm up, taking it down, inspecting her glove compartment, checking under the seat. "Hey, you've got tapes down here! Anything good?"

"Lots of stuff. Pick something out."

Seth opened the box and glanced over the titles on the rows of tape boxes. He mischievously extracted one, hiding it from Linda as he switched the mode on her stereo from "FM" to cassette. She decided to play along and wait for the music to begin. Side one of Led Zeppelin, "Physical Graffiti," started to play, with "Custard Pie" blaring through her speakers. A few songs into the tape, she had to ask him to turn it down, explaining "I need you to play navigator," as she passed him the paper with Mr. Glienke's directions.

They passed through farmland and onto a gravel, unmarked road with a sign reading "Lake of the Woods – 2 miles." Her heart started to race as pebbles pinged the underside of her car and gray dust billowed around them. Could her dream have been precognitive?

The forest thickened as they proceeded further down the gravel road. It was beginning to look eerily like the terrain in her dream. While she expected that the road would end near a swimming hole, instead they came upon rustic cabins that housed park ranger offices. There was also an ice cream stand and a convenience store.

The gravel road led to a large, gravel parking lot half-filled with cars and trucks at the sign that said "Lake of the Woods – Next Right."

"This kind of looks like a place we used to go to in Indiana when I was little," Seth said, as they parked the car and got out. He carried the cooler and the towels for them as they started walking along the pathway for the lake. Linda could hear the sounds of excited, carefree conversation and children's laughter. She knew that the lake already differed from her dream in that respect alone.

As they walked along the path, the forest became less and less dense until Linda could see the water and the granite cliffs in the distance. The path opened to a clearing where they could see a pebbly beach and a silver lake with ripples from splashing. Trees hung over the bank in a way that reminded Linda of her dream, but dozens of children and adults played in the water while others sat on the beach in aluminum folding chairs. A huge, brown sign near the water's edge read "No Diving – by order of the Illinois State Sheriff's Department."

Granite cliffs that rose forty feet above the water towered over the far edge. As Linda and Seth wandered to the water's edge, Linda realized she could see trunks and legs of the bathers playing in it. Seth said "Let's set our towels down over there. This looks like fun!" After Linda spread two bath towels beside a family with a portable radio and a large metal cooler, Seth reached down to lift his t-shirt over his head. He kicked off his shoes. Linda wore an old blouse over her swimsuit and shorts. She dropped those onto the towels and looked up.

"Last one in is a rotten egg!" Seth announced, causing a déjà vu that made Linda's head spin. Seth offered his hand to her as he led her out into the water.

"Ooh, it's cold!" Linda exclaimed as she discovered yet another way Lake of the Woods differed from the crystal lagoon in her dream. They had to side step small children playing in the water with shovels and pails. Once the water level reached their hips, Seth led go of her hand and swam ahead, diving down.

When he resurfaced, he jumped up and hugged his arms around himself. "Ooh doggie! It's cold! Feels good, though!"

Linda bunched her arms in front of her chest, her fists below her chin as she shivered, gradually gathering courage to venture out by Seth, into the deeper water that would cover her waist and breasts.

Seth laughed at her. "It feels good! Just dive right in!"

She shook her head. "No, just let me do it little by little."

Seth pushed his hand across the surface, with an evil smile on his face. "Here, you want me to help you?"

"No! No!" She jumped back toward the shore.

"Aw. Just kidding. But really, it's nice once you're in. A good way to cool off." He floated on his back while Linda edged forward, pushing herself into deeper water. This definitely was not like her dream, at least not the water temperature. Seth kindly, patiently watched her as she inched forward. Gradually the water level reached over her breasts and she gasped, bounding up and down on tiptoe. Beneath her the lake bottom was sandy in places, gravelly in others and boulders broke up the monotony here and there.

When she lost her footing on tiptoe over a boulder, she dipped in up to her chin.

Rather than push backward, to shallower waters, she glided forward, churning her arms in front of her in a breaststroke motion. She floated directly to Seth and he received her, catching her gently in his lean, muscled arms. "See? It's nice, isn't it?"

Part of her thought she should be splashing back in alarm, but most of her just gave in to Seth as he cradled her gently and smiled down at her, like the archangel Michael carrying a lost child. Instinctively she brought both of her hands up and laced them around Seth's neck. He lightly kissed her, pulling his neck back to look into her eyes some more.

"I've missed you," he said. "You have no idea how much I've looked forward to coming to see you."

"I'm glad you're here," Linda said softly.

Some younger teenagers who were tossing a ball made a splash that distracted them. Linda was almost grateful, and took the opportunity to lighten up the situation. "So when did you cut your hair?"

"Just a few weeks ago," he replied. "It was getting straggly and looking like shit. Nowadays the only guys who have long hair are rednecks. Or queer. And I ain't either one." They stayed in the water only a few minutes longer. When they strode onto the beach to find their towels and eat their picnic lunch, Linda searched her mind for something meaningful to say.

"Do you have any girlfriends in Cincinnati?" she asked, wincing as the words came out of her mouth, since they seemed too blunt. Yet, she remembered him carrying Jeannie on his shoulders during the concert.

"No," he said after swallowing a bite of a salami and ham sandwich. "I don't have time for one, really."

"Don't you ever meet anyone? Like through your job."

Seth laughed. "How many women do you think come through a motorcycle shop?"

"Not many," she said.

"What about you? How many guys do you have stashed away?"

Linda's turn to laugh: "None."

After they'd had their fill of sandwiches, potato chips and soda, neither of them wanted to go into the water again. The scenery of the gaggles of people splashing about in the lake, the large brown sign, and the feeling that her skin was on fire wore on Linda after awhile. It was only one o'clock, yet it already seemed as though they'd spent a whole day together. "Do I look like I'm getting red?" Linda asked, turning to show Seth her upper back and shoulder.

Seth took a moment to study her skin. "No. I don't think so. Don't you _want_ to get sun? Get tan?"

"No, I've got too much of my mother's side of the family in me. She's German and Danish. You can't get any more white than that."

Seth laughed. "Then I guess we should try to find some shade."

They stood up and left the park not long after that. Linda had brought along jeans in the car, but knew they would have to get back to Seth's hotel room so that he could get a change of clothes. Though they'd traveled long distances back and forth, she didn't mind because Seth was such a good conversationalist about nuances of the weather, movies he'd seen, and how the energy crisis was affecting his business.

Back at the motel room was another story. Linda sat in one of the chairs at the round, wooden table with the lamp attached to it. When Seth walked in the room and grabbed the pair of jeans from his saddlebag, he'd said "Make yourself comfortable," indicating the bed. He walked into the bathroom to change. Linda assumed he would just jump into his pants.

When the water came on from the bathroom, she realized he was taking a shower. She suddenly wished she could take one with him. The lake they'd just came from suddenly became the most foul, vile place in the universe. She knew there was no way she could go through the rest of the day with him being fresh and her being clammy from the lake water.

The time Seth was taking in the shower caused her to reflect on the past week and the preparations she'd made. She'd called Lauren to tell her all about Seth's upcoming arrival. "Do you have protection?" Lauren had asked.

Linda scoffed. "Things are not going to get that far," she said.

Lauren laughed. "It's easy to say that now, but when you're sitting together watching a romantic movie after a fun day together, and he touches you, cradles you...do I need to say more?"

"We're not going to do anything I don't want to do," Linda said.

"How do you know you're not going to want to do it?" Lauren paused for a few moments, to let her question sink in.

"Because I can control myself," she said.

"You've had one real boyfriend," Lauren went on. "When you were at the chaperone-date stage. You don't know shit. You need protection."

"Jeez, Laure, you make it sound like I should get a gun or something. Are you saying I should get prophylactics?"

"Well, I know you don't have a diaphragm. You're going to have to get some."

Thursday morning before her class, Linda trudged off to the Rexall drug store to buy two of them. She had to ask for them over the counter, from a starchy looking elderly lady who grinned at her snidely while retrieving them from the shelves. Linda put both of them away.

Seth had washed his hair, also. When he pushed open the bathroom door, he was towel drying his hair with his shirt completely unbuttoned. Linda jumped up and started to walk across the room to the bathroom door. When she reached him, he said "Well, hello," and reached down to gather her into his arms.

Linda gave him a quick hug, to distract him. " Can you do me a big favor," she asked. "Can I use the shower, too?" She did little more than spritz herself off. After she put her clothes back on and opened the bathroom door, she saw Seth provocatively arranged atop the bed, barefoot, with his shirt still opened. He'd turned on the television.

"Hey! They have HBO here! Jaws 2 is on!" He patted the other side of the bed with his opened palm.

To make a statement, Linda crossed the room and sat down at the chair beneath the lamp table. "That first one scared me so much I was glad we lived far from an ocean," she said.

Seth eagerly watched the screen as the great white shark caught up with a young woman water-skiing, then devoured her. When his attention returned to Linda, he patted the bed again. "Why are you sitting all the way over there? It's much more cozy and comfortable over here."

Yes, and an easier spot for you to make your move, too, she thought. "Do you really want to watch TV all afternoon? It's such a nice day. I can show you around campus. It's really fascinating, especially during the summer, when there are so many less people around."

Seth grinned wryly. "I thought you didn't want to be out in the sun any more, because of your white Danish and German skin."

It was true: mid-afternoon was when the sun's rays were strongest. Linda sighed, staying put in her chair, wondering what to do or say next.

"So, come on over here," Seth persisted. "I won't bite, I promise."

Linda picked herself up and crossed the room to the bed, circling around to the space beside Seth. When she sat down onto the pillows he'd lain there for her, he gave her a quick hug. True to his word, they spent the next couple of hours in light chatter, laughing at how fake the shark looked, talking about their own experiences of sailing or swimming in the ocean. Soon Linda felt as comfortable with him as she'd been in the dream, when he'd held her in the warm waters of the lagoon.

Later that afternoon, when the sun hung too low in the sky to aggravate Linda's sunburn, they took a short walking tour of campus. Seth seemed genuinely interested when they crossed over the train tracks on the walking bridge and Linda showed him the tall towers where she'd lived during her freshman and sophomore years. "Must have felt like living in the projects," he said.

They also walked past the student center and the library with its small pond out front and the maze of concrete walkways intersecting each other. She pointed to the great big gray concrete battleship of a building where the Psych department had been housed, where she worked part time at the dream lab. "I've had a few dreams you've been in," Seth said.

Linda double-taked when she heard that. "Really? What was I doing?"

"Being beautiful, mostly. We were swimming together in a lake, kind of like the one we were at today. Except the trees were more tropical, and they hung lower over the water. The water was warm too, almost too warm, like bath water..."

Linda stopped dead in her tracks, gazing at him in awe.

Seth had walked ahead of her a few steps, still talking, until he realized she had stopped. He turned around, looked at her and let out a short, nervous laugh. "What?" he asked.

"It's nothing," Linda said, trying to appear nonchalant, rushing to catch up with him.

They were walking toward the edge of campus, into town.

"It's not nothing," Seth said. "For a second, you looked like you just saw a ghost."

"No, it was just a déjà vu," Linda continued. "Hey, we can go to this really neat record store and look around if you want."

"A déjà vu about what?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Seth blinked, then motioned to her with upturned palms. "Yes, I do."

Linda took in a deep breath. "I had the exact same dream," she said. She told him about how she'd been lucid during it and that it had all been recorded on Geraldine's pad. All during her little speech, she monitored Seth's reaction, waiting for him to recoil in horror, or at least disbelief.

He just nodded. "It means we should be together. Do you know that when Indians have a dream, they have to go do the thing in real life the first chance they get? Like if they...I don't know, dream about riding their horse nude past all of the tepees, then the next day they'd have to do it."

She regarded him skeptically as they stopped at a light. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

"I read it somewhere," he said. "You don't have to be a college student to want to learn things, you know."

To Linda, it sounded like an elaborate line, a ploy designed to coax her out of her virginity. She quickly changed the subject to another walking tour of the bars and stores along University Avenue. They soon arrived at the Rutherford Record Exchange, where used records awaited them in stacks and stacks of crates arranged in aisles. Seth soon tired of that, however.

"If I find something," he said, "it'd be too hard to carry it back on my cycle. It'd be all warped and scratched by the time I got home."

Not knowing what else to do, they turned into the Staten Islander, one of the classier bars along the strip, where they'd just started happy hour. It was early, and summer session. "Saturday nights during the school year, you can barely breathe in here," Linda explained. It was the only bar on the strip remotely resembling a disco: a terraced placing of platforms held tables and chairs that surrounded a stainless steel dance floor in the middle, with flashing and strobing lights above it. At the far end of the bar, in one of the corners another dance floor raised up on a platform, with a smaller dance area. The management sometimes held amateur boxing matches on that second dance floor.

As they searched for a good table to sit down, Seth pulled out his wallet. "What'll you have?"

"Coke is fine," she said.

"Coke? Coke?" Seth repeated, wearing an exaggerated look of disbelief on his face. "We are in a bar. Now, I'm not going to drink alone. Can't you at least get some Jack or Jim Beam with it?"

"Can't. Technically you're supposed to be twenty-one to get mixed drinks. I won't be twenty-one for another couple of months."

"That leaves beer," Seth said, possibly thinking out loud. "What about wine? You like wine, right? You're Catholic. You've probably had it at mass. It's just like going to church."

"Okay, wine then."

"What kind?"

"What kind? I'm not picky. Whatever white wine they have."

Linda found a table on the other side of the dance floor, positioned on a platform just beneath the second dance floor. "It's like stereo dancing," she said to Seth as soon as he returned with their drinks. It was still early enough that only one waitress was working, and the bar tables were only about a quarter full. They played music on the sound system at about half-volume: Linda recognized the Kiki Dee song "I've got the music in me."

As Linda nursed her glass of wine she asked Seth about Jeannie, Greg, and all of his other friends in Cincinnati. He told a funny story of how he, Greg, and a couple of other guys had driven down into Kentucky for a weekend of camping and fishing. "Greg was all bummed out that he couldn't catch anything. So he sees this other group of guys a little ways downriver and they have a whole cooler full of fish they caught. So Greg _buys_ a few fish from him, takes them home and brags about how he caught them himself."

Seth also told stories about concerts they'd seen, football games they'd been to (in December, when the weather was way below freezing and they'd ended up with their shirts off) and how wild a friend of his wedding reception was. "Wow, it sounds like you guys all have such a good time."

"We do." He was still smiling, reminiscing over the fun of it all. Suddenly he twitched, as if he had an "ah-ha" moment and backed away from Linda slightly, to look her over with an appraising eye.

He stared at her for a long enough time to make her nervous. "What?"

"You know what? You should move to Cincinnati after you graduate. There's all kinds of hospitals there. You could get a job in nothing flat."

"Move to Cincinnati?" she echoed. "But that would be so far from my parents."

"No it wouldn't. You could still see them, and they could come see you. Just six hours.

Linda had considered Chicago or St. Louis as places where she could start her career. County General, where she'd done all that volunteering, might have positions open but they'd be lower paid and lower skilled than some of the other places. She wanted to be in a big city, anyway, had wanted it for her whole life. While she was considering this, she turned around to glance up at the dance floor above them.

A couple had started to dance, while the Boz Skagg's song "Lido" played over the bar's sound system. Linda turned all of the way around, so that her back was to her own table. She hugged the seatback and gazed up at them since she was so mesmerized by the dance they were doing. She'd never seen anything like it in any bar or wedding reception she'd ever been to.

A girl with frosted blonde hair, wearing a flirty satin dress that billowed out on her turns, was being led by a guy with a pompadour who was a few years older. Mostly the guy just stood, stepping back and forth. He forming a wall for the girl, as she would press against his hands and he would spin her out, twirling her, then wrapping his arms around her and leading her from side to side. She flashed long, glamorous nails in hand flourishes when her partner would lead her through a turn and spin her. At times she seemed to be a yo-yo that he would toss and spin through elaborate tricks.

Linda was so impressed that when the song ended, she clapped. They both looked down at her, smiling appreciatively but also showing bewildered looks on their faces. By now, Linda was standing. "That was great you guys!" she said. "What do you call that dance? It's not disco, that's one thing I know for sure."

The guy, who spoke in a nasally New York accent said "It's West Coast Swing. When the floor gets really crowded here, sometimes it's the only dance you can do."

"West Coast swing?" Seth said. "Dude, you sound like you're from the East Coast."

"I am!" the guy said, laughing, pointing at Seth. "Brooklyn. How'd you know?"

"Cause I watch a lot of _Welcome Back, Kotter._ I just knew."

By that time, the song "Dance the Night Away," by Van Halen was playing. The girl spoke: "Hey why don't you guys get up and dance?" She motioned them invitingly to the floor.

Linda bounced up and down, excited by the idea. "Yeah, let's!"

Seth slumped in his chair, allowing his eyes to roll. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for that," he said.

"It's easy," the guy dancer said. "I'll show you how."

By that time Linda had walked around to a set of steps leading to the smaller dance floor. Together the three of them called down to Seth to get up and join them. Finally, he shook his head, pushed his way out of the chair, and bounded around the tables to the steps, to join them.

"My name's Vic and this is Suzy, by the way," he said, when all four of them were up there. Vic stood side by side with Seth to show him how to rock and skip back and forth. Linda was surprised to see Seth catching on so quickly and even adding a bit of his own personal style as he rock-stepped back and forth.

Vic stopped and held his hands up for Suzy, who pressed her hands back against his. "At the end of the rock step," he said, "you nudge her away for a three count. Another three count, you bring her in." Suzy stepped forward to meet Vic's hands again, and they rock-stepped together.

"That's it?" Seth said. "That doesn't seem too difficult." He held his hands up for Linda, who pressed hers back against his. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment. She felt a twinge that felt like the sense of longing for her grand waltzes with the dashing gentleman in the tuxedo. Linda pushed back against Seth and stepped back away from him.

Suzy stood beside them and showed her the steps. Soon the two couples rock-stepped and twirled back and forth and Linda laughed with joy.

"Try turning her out," Vic said, "Like this." He pushed Suzy away and held her with one hand, which he lifted and guided her through a spin turn."

Seth shrugged. At the end of one rock-step, he lifted his hand for Linda to turn under, but she took two walking steps along with Seth's lead. Linda turned twice and nearly stumbled, but Seth caught her. "You pivot, like this," Suzy said, showing her. "Just like in band. Were you ever in band?"

With that little tip, Linda was able to turn smoothly the next time Seth lifted his hand. Vic and Suzy broke apart and clapped for them. "You guys are getting it! You look great together!"

Linda jumped up and hugged Seth, planting a kiss on his cheek. He held her and said "I can do much better than that," and lowered his lips to tenderly kiss her, pressing his lips softly against hers.

Vic and Suzy had to leave after a couple of more songs, saying that they had other places to get to. Linda and Seth just returned to their seats and their drinks. They watched the crowd inside the bar steadily thicken—still nowhere near what Linda had seen during the school year—but a busy Saturday night none-the-less. By then, Linda coyly sat beside Seth, raised up on her knees so that she could rest on his shoulder. "I'm so glad you came this weekend," she said.

He smiled warmly and said "Me, too."

After a few more songs and a couple of more drinks, he turned to her. "What do you say we spend some time together alone?"

Linda knew exactly what he meant, and she was ready. "Okay."

At Seth's motel room, they sat cozily together on the bed and watched _Same Time, Next Year_ on television together. The movie was romantic, with some comic elements. Soon Seth turned to her, leaned in for a deep kiss, and tenderly stroked her hair. His hands gradually moved to her neck, her shoulders, then her breasts, which were swaying lightly in the cups of a light, satin bra. She burned for, him, ached for him, and when his hand cradled her breasts she gasped, as if electricity had shot through her.

Next, their clothing became unbuttoned, or slipped off. Seth sat next to her, shirtless as she flitted her fingertips over his chest muscles and small tufts of downy, blond hair like butterflies. He groaned, reaching for the hook clasps at the back of Linda's bra, unhooking them with a twist of his fingertips. "I want you," he said. "Oh, I want you. I've always wanted you."

A twinge of panic raced through Linda's mind, as she remembered the stubborn roll above her waist, which would not go away no matter how much she dieted or how many sit-ups she remembered to do. Would it turn him off?

Suddenly Linda said something that only the day before would have been unthinkable: "And I want you." They helped each other work their jeans free until Linda felt the most vulnerable she'd ever been in her entire life. She lay on the bed beside him with just her panties on, and he just wore navy blue cotton briefs. He lay on his back and winced, since his growing hardness had created a bulge at the front.

"I'll be right back," Linda said, patting his shoulder.

"I ain't going nowhere," Seth wheezed.

Inside the bathroom, Linda saw her mane of tousled hair, the red blotches on her cheeks and shoulders from that day's sun, and the white bumps and bulges above the waistband of her panties. She brushed her hair and reached inside her purse for the tube of coital jelly.

Lauren had suggested, saying that "It makes it a little easier." Along with the jelly, she pulled one of the prophylactics out of her purse. She wondered how it should go. Should she just come out of the bathroom, hand him the little package and say "Take me." Or should she be bold and do what Lauren suggested, offering to roll it on for him (they'd even practiced, on one of her vibrators during Freshman year).

One thing was for sure: after what would happen in the next moments, she would never be quite the same way again.

Finally, she emerged slowly from the bathroom, expecting that Seth would have slipped off his briefs by then, with all his glory there for her to see. He'd kept them on, though. Linda started to kiss him, holding the prophylactic package in her hand. "Oh, Linda," Seth said, as together they worked the waistband of his briefs free, liberating his straining manhood. It uncoiled at her like a cobra.

At that point Linda held up the package for him to see. Seth gazed at it with a blank expression for a couple of moments, then squinted, his lip snarling in mild horror, as if he was looking at a dead rat. "A rubber?" he said. "I don't use those."

"But I really want you to."

"Babe, it's like taking a shower in a raincoat. Don't worry, I'll pull out."

Linda was prepared for this too, from the sex education classes she'd had, and all the giggly, late-night conversations she'd had in the dorm. "But some could seep out before you climax," she said. "I don't want to take any chances."

Seth's snake had started to wilt by then. He reached for her. "Let's just kiss and touch for now."

Linda kissed him tenderly as they held each other. She marveled at how easy it was.

Her satin panties had come off, and she and Seth lay nude together, skin pressed against skin. She allowed her hand to delicately graze against his straining hardness, amazed at the smooth velvetiness of it. Seth tensed up, groaning again. She held him between her hand, her face and mouth merely inches away. Lauren had described in great detail what it was like to suck a guy there: "If he's just had a shower it tastes really nice and feels good in your mouth. And it drives them crazy."

Linda could only bring herself to timidly kiss him there, at the tip of his velvetiness. Suddenly, Seth sat upright, searching the nightstand. "Give me that thing!" he said, clamoring amid a box of tissues and an alarm clock. When he found the prophylactic package, he briskly tore it open and unrolled it over his entire length. He helped Linda onto the pillows, where he had lain moments earlier.

"Be gentle," she said, her voice cracking. "Please."

He started slow, climbing above her, holding himself up with his arm strength as he gently thrust ahead. She wailed as his velvet met a wall. "Are you okay?" Seth said, pulling back, stroking her cheek.

"Take me," she said, guiding him back.

With two strong thrusts (during which she bit her lip to keep from screaming) he had parted her and slid inside. They lay still like that for a while. "Oh Linda, this is so nice," he said from above her. "Much nicer than I ever dreamed."

Linda thought for a moment about how her insides felt torn. At the same time she felt exhilarated, like a warm rain had fallen on her.

Just a few more thrusts from Seth and it was all over.
CHAPTER EIGHT

"What? You? Miss Cold Fish, Super-Student? I don't believe it!" Lauren bellowed into the phone, with such a loud voice Linda had to pull the receiver away from her ear.

"Geez, Laure, are you trying to tell all of Chicago, or what?"

"This demands a party! The first week after we get back, I'm going to throw a 'Linda Cherry-pop party!'"

"Don't you dare!" Horrified, Linda envisioned banners hanging down from the ceiling in Lauren's apartment that read "RIP – Linda's virginity: July 19, 1979."

"Why not? It'd be fun!"

"Why not? I'll tell you why not! Would you want it broadcasted to the whole world, when you lost your virginity?"

Lauren laughed. "I was fifteen. It would have freaked out my parents."

"Yeah! So just do me a favor and don't blab it to the world, okay? And no party."

"Well we're going to have a party that first weekend no matter what! It's only three weeks away."

"Well then no signs and no banners and no balloons."

"Okay. Gawd, you're no fun." She paused for a moment. "Tell me all about it. Did it hurt?"

"Uh, yeah!"

"You bled, didn't you?"

"Of course."

"How many times?"

"Lauren! Geez! Just once." Linda fondly recalled how Seth reacted to her bleeding.

For the rest of that night and on into Sunday afternoon, when he left, he treated her like a delicate porcelain doll. Early that Sunday morning, he put on his shorts and shirt and said something about stopping by the motel office for a cup of coffee. Minutes passed and Linda wondered where he had gone. He returned with a big smile and a full breakfast in bed for her, packed in cardboard and Styrofoam containers. She wondered how he'd managed to carry it all on his motorcycle.

"Didja suck him off, too?" Lauren went on.

"Wow! You are rude! You should be one of those Hollywood Gossip columnists."

"Well, didja?"

"I kissed him there, yeah. Not that it's any of your business!"

Linda felt strange that for the first time in her college career, she would stay put while most everyone else she knew would partake of the annual ritual of caravanning back for the fall semester. The end of summer session 2 and the Dream lab's August break meant that she had two full weeks to kill before the fall semester started. She knew exactly what to do.

She made sure all of the bills for the cottage were paid, along with the telephone, and she headed north to spend the time with her family. Two weeks spent at the old homestead, with nothing to do but visit old friends at the hospital and the feed store made Linda realize what a boring and sleepy little place she'd grown up in.

When she helped her mother cook spaghetti one night, she decided to break the news about her future. "After I pass the boards I'll be ready to go to work right away," she started.

"Of course, honey," her mother said, testing the spiciness of the sauce with a spoon.

"There's such a big demand for nurses nowadays."

"I'm going to have to move, probably."

"Well, I'm sure you'll be able to find a nice apartment once you're settled. And of course you're welcome to stay here in the meantime."

Linda felt a twinge in her stomach. This was not going well. "I mean I'm going to have to move. To Chicago, St. Louis, or Cincinnati."

Her mother stopped to regard her for a moment. "But they love you at County. They'd snap you up in a heartbeat."

"Yes mom, I know. But I want to be at a big teaching hospital, where research goes on. That's where the future is. And that's why I need to be in a big city."

At that point she expected her mother to throw down the spoon, take off her glasses and lecture her about how she didn't know what was in store for her. Instead, she shrugged. "Well, if that's what you have your heart set on, great."

She said it with wistful enthusiasm. Linda hugged her.

The Saturday night before fall semester began, her mother and father threw her a farewell party. They even draped a banner across the living room, which read "Good luck Nurse Linda!" The following morning they all saw her off as she drove south to start her final year of college. Her mother and father hugged her with tears in their eyes. Bobby was too cool to see her off, and Molly was starting her senior year of high school and turning into a young woman disconcertingly like Lauren. She punched Linda playfully on the arm and said "Don't kill anyone, okay?"

A few hours later, she arrived at the cottage in an empty car. The Glienke's hugged her.

"We missed you so much," they said, practically in unison. "You're like a daughter to us!" They showered her with hugs and a home-cooked meal to help celebrate her return and the start of Fall semester 1979.

Over the next few days she started her classes, resumed her Tuesday/Thursday routine at the dream lab and got herself re-acquainted with her hustle-bustle schedule. The first Saturday night of the semester, Lauren and her same three roommates staged a huge party with kegs and a whole bar full of liquor. As she promised, she kept the apartment and the walls outside free of embarrassing banners. Yet four perfect looking lattice-topped cherry pies lie neatly arranged on the counter. Small pictures of cherries had been posted everywhere: the refrigerator, the stereo, the mirrors in the bathroom, and the doors to the bedrooms upstairs.

More than one person asked "What's with all of the cherries?" leaving Lauren cheerfully willing to decode the entire mystery for them. One by one people approached her with congratulations and hugs, saying things like "Welcome to the Sexual Revolution!" and "You've finally joined the party!" While Linda was mad at first, by the time she'd drunk a few White Zinfandels, she laughed along with everyone else. After all, what was a few embarrassing personal details between friends? When Seth called her the next day and she told him, he laughed heartily for a full minute.

By her 21st birthday, when she let her friends escort her to five different bars for free drinks, the semester was in full swing and everything in her life was running smoothly.

A little too smoothly.

Around Thanksgiving something happened that would change her life forever. It started when Lauren drove her glamorous Mustang, top down, to the Glienke's on an eerily warm November day. "Hey you," she said, when she arrived at the cottage. "Are you up for another rowdy roadtrip for another free concert?"

"Who?" Linda asked.

"Yes, them!" Lauren said, pointing at her and laughing.

"What are you talking about?" Linda asked, noticing that her wild friend was wearing a cute blue and white striped bare-midriff top and torn jeans with sandals, as if it had been the middle of the summer.

"Jeannie and Greg got free tickets for another big concert! The Who!"

Linda finally got Lauren's joke and laughed. "In Cincinnati?"

"Well, they ain't coming all the way out here, child."

"Well, when is it?"

"Monday, December 3rd. We'd go on Sunday and come back on Tuesday. I'm driving."

Linda thought about her clinicals and her finals schedule. "No, I can't. No way. I need that time for studying."

"Finals aren't until the week after that," Lauren said.

"Not in my line of work." She thought about a presentation she'd have to give for a tough, starchy nursing supervisor at University Medical Center.

She batted her eyes and smiled mischievously. "Seth's going to be there. Don't you want to see him again?"

"I do. We agreed that I'd come out in January, when I have some time on my hands. If the snow's not too deep."

"It's the Who! You know! Tommy? Pinball Wizard? Won't Get Fooled Again?

And we get to see them for free!"

"Can't we just wait until they come to St. Louis?"

"But it won't be free then. And Seth won't be there. Come on! Please?"

Lauren's persistence mystified her. "Don't any of your cat-friends want to go? Julie, or Penny?"

"They're not as fun as you," Lauren said, without hesitation. "And besides, they don't have boyfriends there that are dying to be with them."

Linda allowed her eyes to roll. "Seth's not a boyfriend. For all I know, he's got three other women stashed away somewhere."

Lauren shook her head. "He loves you! When are you going to get that through your thick skull?" To punctuate her point she lightly tapped Linda on the top of her head, with her knuckles.

"It just doesn't seem like a good idea. It just doesn't."

Lauren let the silence hang between them for a moment. "Well you're going to miss a good time." She left a short time later.

Her strenuous schedule and the Thanksgiving Break caused her to forget all about Lauren's concert offer. The next time it occurred to her, she shrugged it off, knowing that Lauren would just find another one of her zillion friends to drag up to Cincinnati.

When the first weekend in December rolled around, she'd forgotten all about it. One Monday night, she'd settled in for a night of studying, which meant she wore her footie pajamas, drank lots of tea and kept the television set on in the background, to keep her company. A string of mindless, silly sitcoms played, with their annoying laugh tracks or studio audience chatter. At one point, she rested her head against the stack of pillows and fell asleep. The blaring sound from the television woke her. Suddenly all that mirth stopped, however, and the foreboding words "Special Report" blazed across the television screen, against a white background. A fatherly newscaster delivered the information in somber style: "We have breaking news of a tragedy in Cincinnati."

The word "Cincinnati" shook her away from her studying and drove her full attention to the images and words shattering her world in her cozy, safe cottage. "Before a concert at Riverfront Coliseum there was a crowd surge of more than fifteen thousand fans.

When the doors opened the resulting stampede caused the deaths of eleven young people, ages 17-31." Live footage showed shattered glass, winter coats strewn on concrete, and emergency paramedics tending to dozens of people stretched out on gurneys.

"Oh my God," Linda said, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh my God!"

A voice spoke to her, from outside of her head. It was a calm, reassuring voice, one like the mysterious gentleman in her dreams of lavish waltzes. He said "Go there." When she thought about all the reasons to stay, such as her upcoming finals and clinics, the voice calmly persisted: "Go there."

Without thinking about it, Linda packed two sets of clothes and some toiletries in her overnight bag. She dressed comfortably and headed out to Myrtle, starting up her car on the cold night. There was thirty dollars in her purse, since she'd just been to the bank that day, more than enough for the trip there and back. When she stopped for gasoline at a station on the edge of town, a guy no more than twenty accepted her money, with a concerned expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

She noticed her face in the reflection of the store window, with puffy eyes and tousled hair. "No," she said, shaking her head.

When she turned and walked toward the doorway, the cashier called out to her.

"Take care now!"

Linda had filled up her tank. Absently, she climbed behind Myrtle's wheel, flipped her lights back on, and headed east. She tried not to think of the six hour's worth of driving ahead of her or how late it would be when she finally arrived.

The highway through Illinois became a blur for her, of flat country and white lines. She turned up the heat, which only worked at the dashboard level or at the floor near her feet, but not both at once. For a few miles she would receive warmth on her chest, but her feet became numb in the cold. When she switched the selector to aim the heat down at her feet, she shivered.

A few miles into Indiana the highway climbed up and down rolling hills. There'd been rain that day, which had frozen at the sides of the road as fine, tiny snowflakes danced along before her.

She could see the lights of Santa Claus when she passed there and a few miles beyond, the wheels would spin and whine here and there on the roadway. It was getting late, which made her feel scared and lonely, but the good thing about that was that very few other cars had ventured out onto the road.

"Lord help me," Linda said, out loud as she pushed down on Myrtle's gas pedal, making the engine whine and tires spin as they hit slick spots on the roadway.

On the other side of a grade, the car careened down in darkness, without any other cars on the road. She had changed the heater so that it blew hot air on her chest but her numb feet stumbled around on the clutch and brake pedals. In overcorrecting, she veered toward the shoulder and hit an icy patch. To her horror, the car skidded sideways. Time slowed down and a mini-movie of her life up to that point played in her head. She saw herself skidding so far around that she faced backward toward the oncoming cars.

Two hands seemed to take control of the steering wheel, startling her. A voice outside of her head, a male voice, said "Relax," and she temporarily released her grip from the steering wheel. The steering wheel twisted in one direction while the car righted its course, swishing around on the icy tarmac and easing back into the correct lane and the proper direction.

She allowed herself to exhale.

For the next few miles, she gazed out ahead of the car's front end at the roadway illuminated by her headlights. The scenery seemed different from the time when she and Lauren had driven out there themselves. Leafless trees from the forests seemed closer than they had been. The whole world drew in on her. She had kept the radio off for the entire trip so that if the voices had any other help for her, she would hear it.

Clouds and mist hovered over the roadway. She worried that the fog would obscure the road so much she'd be driving blind. While wisps of it curled over Myrtle's hood, she was still able to see the road, the roadside and the signs well.

The moonlit mist caused her to shiver. She looked up, wondering whether streetlamps on high poles had been installed over the highway. There was nothing like that; only the warm glow of the mist. It occurred to her that she should soon emerge from the thick forest and see the lights of houses on hills as she neared Louisville. Small snowflakes still dusted against the windshield, and she still had to toggle the heat switch back and forth, to warm her feet or chest.

While she waited for the signs of civilization before a big city, they never came. She checked the gas gauge and saw that it was still well above a half tank. Switching on the dome light, she checked her watch. When she saw the time she had to double-take and shake her head, squinting to make sure she was seeing the numbers right. It was only eleven o'clock.

She had left the house at 9:30, she was sure of it. What had happened?

She didn't have much time to think about it. As the highway reached the next bend, she could see a glow emanating from above a hill. That meant she was nearing civilization, the city of Louisville, and the last leg of her whirlwind trip. When she reached the crest she expected to see lights, houses, and buildings. Instead the glow grew even brighter. It seemed heavenly.

Where was Louisville? For a panicked moment she wondered if she had taken a wrong turn, or had entered the wrong highway from the beginning. She knew that the highway leading east from Illinois to Louisville was Interstate 64 and that the highway leading northeast from Louisville to Cincinnati was Interstate 71. By the time the glow finally dissipated, she once again drove through miles of barren forest. She looked for the highway signs, to make sure she was on the right track.

The next highway sign she came to read I-71. I-71! To get on that highway, she would have had to have turned off onto it as Louisville. A calm woman's voice inside her ear said "Just drive." Linda also finally saw the signs of life of civilization and approaching suburbia: houses with lights on: valleys where she could see small towns, other cars (though still not many), and the big green highway signs that would tell her where she was.

One sign read "Cincinnati – 50 miles."

On one hand she knew that something was vaguely wrong. Did she miss something?

Still, a sense of calm came over her, and the same woman's voice inside her mind kept saying "Drive."

She checked her watch. It was a quarter past midnight. This was yet another one of the aspects of the trip she could not explain. As she neared Cincinnati, her sense of purpose in reaching her friends, of possibly helping, infused new energy into her. All she knew was that she needed to reach the arena. The concert would have started around eight p.m. and would last only three hours, yet there would still be people hanging around. The clean-up crew, for instance, would be at work.

A sense of dread also entered her, and she reminded herself of why she was taking the crazy, long trip in the first place. Eleven people had died on the concourse at the arena.

She felt a tug at her heart when she thought about Lauren, Naomi, Jeannie, Greg, and especially Seth. Around the next bend, she saw a sign that read "Cincinnati – 8 miles," and she hunkered down, noticing the patchy flakes of falling snow that had followed her all the way from Illinois.

From her trip in the spring of 1977, she remembered that they plummeted down a hill to arrive at the river and the bridges of Cincinnati. Around the next bend, the long incline downward started and she could see the glow of the city lights. She was there! Now she could literally see the arena in the distance ahead, looking like a block of cheese on a countertop. Though she knew nothing to the turnoffs involved to get her from across the river to the parking lots beside the arena, she followed her instincts, like a bat.

After the bridge carried her across the river, she exited into downtown and swerved through alleys and one-way streets until she reached the river and the cobblestone parking lots. They were empty, since it had been a while since the concert probably ended, but the telltale indications remained: beer cans and whiskey bottles had been strewn around the edges of the lot, along with wrappers and brown paper bags.

Exhilarated with the sense of victory at finally having arrived, Linda parked Myrtle, grabbed her purse, and ran along the sidewalks toward the arena. The bitter, cold whipped strands of her hair around her face and ears. Up ahead she could see the wide, wooden steps that rose from the street to the concourse level of the arena. She was almost there!

The first thing she saw when she reached the platform and arena doors was a fleet of news vans. A tower of lights had been erected, the lights still shining, but solemn, somber crews of workers swept up trash or communicated to each other with two-way radios. Linda wondered how all the vans had gotten up there. Crowds of people also shuffled around, many of them carrying candles and sobbing. A few police officers talked with various members of the crowd.

Linda felt queasiness in her stomach as she saw all the discarded winter coats and slick liquid on the concrete that looked like blood.

She rushed up to a tall, fatherly looking police officer with a mustache and sad eyes. He carried a flashlight. When she reached him, he looked down at her with his full, undivided attention. She started to speak loudly, so he could hear her over the drone of the sirens and the noisiness of the crowd, apparently holding a vigil.

"Officer," she started. "I've driven all the way from Illinois. Five of my friends were at this concert. I have to make sure they're all okay. Do you know where they took the injured?"

"Most of them were rushed to University hospital," he murmured.

"I have to go there! Can you tell me where it is?" She instinctively had grabbed hold of the man's jacket lapel. He looked down at her hand.

"Miss, I really..." he said, straining to remain calm and patient.

A calm, black woman dressed in a tan business suit and overcoat, her hair tucked under a fashionable fur hat, walked up to them. Linda assumed that she might be a reporter or an official. "Pardon me, I don't mean to intrude," she said, quickly and efficiently, "but I couldn't help overhearing."

Linda perked up. "That's right! I'm desperate to find my friends. I have a bad feeling some of them might have been hurt."

The well-dressed woman nodded. "My name is Stella. I'm with the news crew. We're just on our way over to University Hospital now. You're welcome to ride along."

It meant that she would somehow have to find a way back to Myrtle, on the riverfront.

But that was later. By this time, her heart beat quicker and she breathed rapidly, the frosty air assaulting her lungs. "Sure," she said.

Linda piled into a van with Stella and a bunch of guys who carried cameras or lighting equipment, talking amongst themselves about the horrors of the evening. The driver of the van aggressively worked the gas pedals and slung the steering as if he was transporting a heart attack patient to the hospital. The van careened from the concourse across a ramp to the parking lots beneath the baseball stadium on the other side.

All of the parking employees, in dark brown pants with a stripe down the side and fur lined jackets, most of them male, but some female, waved the van around the zigs and zags of the ramps in the lot. The wheels chirped when they rounded a corner at the bottom and burst out onto a city street. "We'll be there in just a few minutes, now," Stella reassured her, patting her hand. "The hospital is just north of the city."

Linda watched vacantly out the window as the van drove through city streets past tall buildings. It roared through a slummy looking area with run-down buildings with a few boarded-up windows. They climbed a hill, and passed nicer buildings that looked like they could have been part of a college campus. They arrived at a brightly-lit hospital parking lot which was a beehive of activity, Linda knew they had arrived at the hospital. Once the driver parked the van, all of the camera crew leaped out and ran toward the crowds of people gathered around one of the emergency entrances.

Stella was going to run after them, also, but reached down to hold Linda's arm, gazing at her with calm tranquility. "We have to be going, sweetie, but I wish you well." She ran off toward the crew members, who disappeared around the edges of the crowd.

Not knowing what else to do, Linda walked toward the swishing doors of the entrance.

She'd never seen so many people in a hospital waiting room before. Some wore casts on their limbs or held compresses to their heads, but most of them appeared to be concerned family and friends. There was the sound of an echo like whales mating on nature shows from public television, but Linda realized this was the chorus of wails.

She looked around and saw a sea of anguish on the faces of the people waiting there, with red eyes and noses and handkerchiefs dabbing. One voice rose above the others: "Lin....Lin....Lin...LINDA!" In a far corner of the room she saw Jeannie's mother, who looked so much older and more disheveled than she had two-and-a-half years earlier. A tall man stood next to her. Seth. In his tortured grief, Linda had not recognized him at first. She pushed past the swelling crowds at the door, and though welling tears obscured her vision, she made her way toward them.

Suddenly, a loud crescendo from the television woke her.

In her dazed state, she had to shake her head and lift herself from the pillow. She looked around at the cabinets, the floor, and the ceiling, finally realizing she was safe inside her little cottage. Out loud, she said "God, what a nightmare!"

But the nightmare was only beginning.
CHAPTER NINE

January 1983

Linda lay on her Murphy bed, taking a nap after a grueling day. It was late afternoon on a gray, bone-chilling drizzly day, and while she normally turned the television on and vegetated in front of it, today she could not accomplish even that. She lived on the bottom floor of a row house on top of Mt. Holyoke, overlooking the city. The place was as small as the cottage where at Little Egyptian. It was so small, the bed came out of a wall, the way she'd seen in old comedy movies.

Someone had painted a forest mural on the other wall. "Oh, we didn't have nothing to do with that," the landlord said when she moved in, "Some guy who was an art student did it." The kitchen was a bar, in front of which she'd dropped two bar stools. When the Murphy bed was up in the wall, she pushed her fifties style swivel chairs and her round, rattan, glass-top table in the spot where they had been. A small bookshelf held her books and personal knickknacks. She knew it wasn't much, but she loved her little nest on the hill.

She had been dozing in and out of sleep, still in college one moment, seven years old and at a family barbecue the next, and making love to Seth in the cottage after that. Three years at the Dream lab had taught her to recognize a dream and go with it. She kept laughing as she and Seth went at it hot and heavy on her little bed while yards away Mr. and Mrs. Glienke were in their den watching Humphrey Bogart on television.

The sound of a loud motorcycle jarred Linda out of la-la land and when she sat up abruptly, she scared Peaches, her ginger tabby cat. "Aw jeez," she said, recognizing him.

She was still wearing one of her double knit white pantsuits but not her starchy cap.

She'd placed it atop one of the stereo speakers. The motorcycle engine cut off. She put on her slippers. Grabbing a jacket from the coat rack near the door, she stepped outside into the moist cold, gazing down the walkway.

"Hey there," Seth said, as he held his helmet and sauntered up the steps. The drizzle drops glistened on his fierce looking leather jacket with the wide lapels. "How's my best girl?"

To be genial, Linda stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick peck on the lips when he reached her. Yet she was still annoyed. "I'm fine," she said. "Let's get inside, it's nasty out here."

The door to the inside of her apartment was only six and a half feet high, shorter than standard. Seth still missed the jamb by two or three inches, even with his boots on, but he always ducked when he walked through. When he walked inside her apartment, he always did the same thing: he glanced around at Linda's second hand furniture, the Murphy bed and the kitchen bar, shaking his head. And he always said the same thing: "Jeez, this place is so small." This time he added "It looks even smaller when you've got the bed pulled down."

"Well, thanks a lot," she replied, putting an elbow on her hip, confronting him. "Making fun of my place again. And I thought I told you to call first!"

"Excuse me," Seth said, dragging out the words to sound like Steve Martin doing one of his comedy riffs on "Saturday Night Live."

Linda walked over to grab the edge of the bed and swing it upright, and push it back into its wall box. Seth helped her, making the task much lighter and quicker than usual. As she reached for the chairs, pushing them into position, along with the glass-top table, Seth said "Hey, let's go down to Willie's View. I feel like a brew and I know you don't have any."

"Well then let me get my jeans on."

"Nah, just keep your angel outfit on. You look cute in that thing."

On their way up the cobblestone street to Willie's bar, Seth glanced at Myrtle, parked by the curb. She was losing paint now but still ran admirably whenever Linda needed her. "When are you ever going to get a new car? You've been driving that piss-mobile ever since I've known you."

"Don't call her a piss-mobile."

Seth laughed. "Okay. Martha, or Mary or whatever, then. I just don't get you. You're a nurse for shit's sake. In a frigging cancer ward. You probably make more money than me. You do, don't you?"

Linda sighed, searching her mind for a quick way to change the stupid subject. She didn't even really need a car. The bus took her all the way to Jewish and it ran all day. "Listen, don't start! I'm not in the mood."

They reached the front door at Willie's and Seth opened it for her. The bar was small, with just a few tables and a counter with a full bar and a couple of burners where Willie and a couple of his employees grilled hamburgers or steamed chili four-ways. The best attraction to Willie's was the balcony out back that overlooked the city.

There were only a couple of construction workers in layered, tattered plaids and jeans doing shots at the counter. Linda and Seth sat down at the coveted corner table near the sliding glass door to the balcony. Seth quickly rose to fetch a beer for him and a wine spritzer for her. When he returned, she said "Why did you come out here, anyway? To nit pick at me again?"

Linda was saving for...something.

When she'd first come out after graduation and got the job at Jewish, she lived in Jeannie's old bedroom. She helped Jeannie's mother through her long period of grief. Then, she found the place in Mt. Holyoke. After nearly two and half years at Jewish, she'd saved more than ten thousand dollars.

"No," he said, as he sat down. "I just found out they're finally making some headway on the case."

The last Linda had heard, the arena management company was dragging things out with appeal after appeal. "They are? Are they going to settle?"

"That's what they're hoping for."

"How much?"

Seth shrugged. "Five mill apiece." He took a swig directly from the long-necked beer, casually talking about the figure as if he was bragging about poker winnings.

"That's fantastic!" Linda said, thinking about all of the comfort it would bring to both sets of parents. "It won't bring Jeannie and Lauren back, but it would really help things."

"Yeah," he said.

As the day outside the window turned to dusk, the crowd inside Willie's gathered as men and women in business dress claimed tables and started rounds of cocktails. Seth got up and started to play darts against one of the construction workers, leaving Linda alone at the table, to reflect. During the recent holiday season, she'd driven out to her parents for a few days, when before, she'd spent them with Ruth Ann and Herb, Jeannie's parents.

She hadn't thought about Jeannie or Lauren in months.

About a year after the tragedy, Lauren came to her in a dream. They walked together.

It seemed as though it was autumn, since the field where they walked surrounded a school while the leaves turned yellow and orange and fell. Linda was lucid, absolutely locked in, riveted on Lauren. She knew she shouldn't hold her too close but couldn't help crying too hard. Both things could make everything cloudy and fizzle out, then Linda would wake up, frustrated.

"It's you! It's really you!" Linda kept saying.

Lauren nodded. Her hair was fuller and lighter, glistening in the autumn light. "And yeah, you, you really know what's going on! This is great!" Her skin was smoother, and glowed.

"I've missed you so much!" Linda went on, as they walked, arm in arm.

Lauren nodded, a shadow of sadness crossing her face for a moment. "Yeah, that really sucked, didn't it?"

Linda also nodded, her throat tightening as if she was going to cry.

Lauren poked her, for levity. "We didn't even get to see the fucking concert!"

Linda laughed. "How's Jeannie?"

"Oh, she's good. We really don't even see each other much. It's so big, and so many...well it's hard to explain. And it's really hard for me to do this shit."

"What shit?"

"Come see you."

Linda felt suddenly exhilarated. She also knew that if she asked too many questions, it could break lucidity. "What's it like?"

Lauren gave the same smug, cat-that-got-the-canary smile that Linda remembered so well from her time on earth. "Better than your wildest dream. But I shouldn't tell you more."

"You mean you can't? They won't let you?"

"You'll see. But it's really hard for me to do this shit. It's like taking a vacation around the world where you have to pay thousands of dollars and get passports for every fucking country. But it's a million times more complicated. It would take days to explain."

Linda laughed. "Then I won't make you." She stopped, to turn and study Lauren's face again, while she still could. She was so beautiful. "It's just so wonderful to see you."

"And it's fucking fantastic to see you, too," Lauren said. "I'll try to come again sometime."

Linda woke up not long after that.

Seth nudged her out of her daydream. "Let's go back to your place," he said. For the next couple of hours they sat together and watched "Three's Company" and a couple of other sitcom reruns on her little portable TV. She thought, that since Seth had drunk a few at the bar, that he would pester her to drop the bed down so they could cuddle together, or whatever. Instead, still early in the evening he announced he was going home.

December 3, 1979 had really changed him, Linda thought, as she watched him buzz away on the motorcycle.

When Linda first learned about the openings in the Oncology department at Jewish Hospital, she expected that a new nurse would have to work overnights. During the last two years of her nursing program at Little Egyptian, many of the instructors even prepared them for this. "You're going to be the low person on the totem pole," was something she heard over and over again.

It turned out that the overnight shift was very desirable. Tim in Personnel explained.

Many women with families needed to work those hours. He was wide=faced and red-haired, reminding Linda of an oversized elf. He told her that most of the entry-level openings were for something called "flex-mod," which was a forty-hour period jammed into four days per week. At first the new employees could not request the days, although they assured her that every effort was made to provide a stable schedule. "But, rest assured, you will be working a lot of weekends," he added.

During the beginning, Linda worked from six am to four pm for both weekend days plus two days falling at random within the week. She called her mother every Sunday night.

At the beginning her mother said "You'll get your weekends, honey. Right now just concentrate on getting the experience."

Linda always reminded herself how lucky she was to have a good, high-paying job and the start of a rewarding career. Her friends Naomi and Marsha had graduated at the same time. Naomi had majored in Comparative Literature and Marsha had majored in Sociology. Both of them accepted low-pay, long-hours jobs in retail management. Last December, when Linda called her, Naomi said "I should have gone into nursing like, you. Now I hate this time of the year!"

That early January of 1983, it was still dark at five-thirty in the morning, when she would board the bus headed for University Circle. Luckily it was just a short jaunt down the hill and across the parkway until the bus reached the neighborhood. In cold weather like this, she always wore her pantsuits. During the first winter, when she was still living at Ruth Ann's house and trying to save money, she wore her nylon down parka with her nurse uniforms. When Greg saw it one day, he laughed and said "You look like the Michelin Man with a couple of lollipop sticks for legs." The very next chance she got, she bought a classy, full-length coat like some of the older nurses wore. Hers was taupe suede, with a fleece collar.

Every day, she also thanked God and everything holy for her experience at the Outpatient Oncology center at County Hospital. Inpatients at the Oncology ward at Jewish were in crisis and when many of them received treatment, they suffered bouts of emesis. Other young nurses who worked alongside her seemed slightly distraught at some of the more violent outbursts. They would stand, immobilized, their hands making flapping motions. Linda had seen it all.

She just reached for the emesis pan. "I just don't know how you can always be so calm about it," a fair-skinned brunette named Tracy once told her in the nurse lounge. "Sometimes I swear their guts are gonna come flying out when they start that projectile shit."

The bus ride home, just after four, was always crowded. College students or high schoolers would flood the bus along with professors and maintenance men plus a scattering of other nurses. Many times she would stand and have to hold onto the hanging rail. A few times a rowdy student would look at her in her crisp uniform and say "You're a nurse! What are you doing riding the bus? Nurses make a lot of money, don't they?"

Linda had smiled and pleasantly ignored the young man with the unkempt afro, but to herself she thought: just because I make sort of a lot of money doesn't mean I like to spend it! Still, Seth's recent visit had gotten to her. Would it really hurt her to enjoy the fruits of her labor a little more? That weekend at the mall she treated herself to new blue jeans and a cute new top and she ate dinner at her favorite Chinese restaurant.

To gain some semblance of a social life, she started going to church again, at St. Michael the Archangel, the church where the funeral services for Jeannie had been held. Linda would drive over there immediately after work on Saturdays, so she could go to the evening mass.

She joined the singles group there. They would meet at different member's houses for parties and sometimes they all banded together for an outing to a Reds or Bengals game or to King's Island during the summer. If the outing was held on a Friday or Saturday night, Linda was always tired and looking ahead to getting up the next morning at four. "Can't you just call in sick one time?" Tony, one of the more playful, amiable guys said, but no, she could not.

She was happy, but still, there was something missing.

On a Saturday, Linda rode the bus to work at her usual, ungodly early time. Sometimes only three other people rode the bus with her, such as maintenance people for one of the university buildings, or people leaving for an early opening of a store. The weather was drizzly, but warm for late February. Upon leaving her little row house apartment that morning, she considered wearing a light jacket, but in Ohio in winter, cold winds could blow in at any time.

Early Saturday mornings on the ward were slow and relaxed, also. She greeted all her friends and co-workers and the patients who were awake and lucid at that time of the morning. As Linda made her run through first thing, the way she always liked to do, she thought she should have taken some computer classes. Tubes and wires snaked from patients into machines that whirred, buzzed and clicked, flashing neon green readouts in slots.

There was Mr. Gibson, a patient in the end stages of colon cancer. According to his daughter, whom Linda had spoken to at length during her visits, he was over seventy now but had been a high-ranking executive for an insurance company. For the past couple of weeks he'd been barely conscious and moaning lightly, like a distant wind blowing through a canyon. During the week his associates trickled through to visit and sit with him. They all wore business suits, whether male or female, mostly in dark, neutral colors. It led Linda to believe that the insurance industry must be stiflingly conservative.

That Saturday morning Mary, the Director of Nursing, came into Mr. Gibson's private room to gaze at the dizzying array of readouts and moving electronic parts. She shook her head, barely perceptibly. "This one's a regular marvel for modern American technology," she murmured, jotting a note onto his chart. To Linda, she added "Keep on your toes."

Everyone knew Mr. Gibson was reaching the end. There wasn't much for Linda to do in there anyway, other than check the bags and the flow. When she'd hired on at the Oncology department at Jewish, the personnel director said "Get used to death."

During her short career so far, she'd seen rabbis, priests and other clerical personnel perform an array of strikingly different "last rites" rituals. As often as not, a small group of family and friends would be huddled in the room at the foot of the patient's bed, consoling each other, crying. If the patient was young, say, under thirty, the mother, father, or both would wail uncontrollably as the life spirited away from their son or daughter. While the first few times had upset her, soon Linda accepted it as part of her job.

For crisis patients in the ward, there was still plenty of the type of work she'd excelled at during three years of volunteering at the Outpatient Oncology Center. The early stages of chemo often brought upon nausea and violent vomiting, and Linda was still as quick with an emesis pan as ever. Many times she offered a shoulder to cry on. A girl close to her own age cycled through once and screamed when she found clumps of her beautiful blond hair matted against her pillow in the early morning. Linda called the patient's mother and rocked her back and forth, crying along with her until the mother arrived.

Everyone expected Mr. Gibson to simply waste off into nothing, the machines emitting a steady squeal and a flat-line image when he did. A couple of the more callous and brazen nurses kept a "Dead Pool" where they took bets on what day a certain patient would die and how.

That particular Saturday, whenever Linda entered Mr. Gibson's room, she noticed that it seemed too bright in there. Predictably, the hospital's lighting system was fluorescent, with platters of lighting banks blazing down from overhead. They'd installed something called a scrim on them, one of the maintenance guys once had told her, like what they used in theater.

The scrim softened the harsh rays of the fluorescent light, taking away the green, washed-out quality the lights would otherwise give.

Sometimes patient's families would bring in floor lamps or desk lamps to increase the feeling of a home atmosphere. They also helped if a patient liked to read. Linda checked his room to see if any of these types of lights had been left on, but there were none. She realized that the extra light had a diffuse quality, that it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Mr. Gibson himself seemed to glow. Linda wondered whether she should note that on his chart, but instead she shrugged her shoulders and moved on to the next room.

Later in the afternoon, toward the end of her shift, Linda visited Mr. Gibson one last time. She checked his tubes, wiring, and readouts, noted the medication schedule on his chart and ran through his vitals. As she checked his temperature, he stirred slightly, his legs and feet moving beneath the bed sheets. This startled Linda, as she was used to him lying still. His bald, shiny head tilted and his lips moved, though for the moment, his eyes stayed closed.

He spoke: "Is that you, Linda?" His voice creaked and croaked like an old wrought iron gate during a winter wind. Luckily, Linda had trained herself to hear faint, minute voices.

She kept her voice to a murmuring whisper as she replied to him, close to his ears. "Yes, it's me, Mr. Gibson. How are you doing?"

His head slowly moved from side to side as his lips parted further and his eyes finally opened, revealing hazy irises and red bloodshot in the whites. Linda patiently waited for his next words, which finally came: "So beautiful."

He wasn't looking at her, but rather, staring out into space. She'd heard other patients say the same thing, many times. What happened next gripped her and would haunt her for years to come. Mr. Gibson's eyes opened all the way. His head lifted above the pillow a few inches.

Linda wondered whether he'd propped himself up by his arms or whether he'd found an inner reserve of strength. She thought about telling him to relax, to lie back, but something told her to keep quiet. He was gazing directly at her, a purposeful look in his eyes, stern, but with an edge of kindness. Linda imagined that he must have looked this way to his secretary when he called her in to his office to reprimand her or discuss another important matter.

He swallowed, and started to speak. "You used to dance," he said, his voice gaining a few extra decibels in authority, losing its creaky sound for just that moment. "Why don't you dance any more?" As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he closed his eyes and eased his head back down onto the pillow.

Linda knew he was lapsing into sleep but felt that she couldn't ignore his statement. She patted his hand and said "I'll give the matter some thought, Mr. Gibson."

When she arrived at work the next morning, Mary told her the news. "There'll be a new patient in 202B. Mr. Gibson died just after your shift yesterday."

Linda realized exactly what she had to do. She had to learn to dance.
CHAPTER TEN

She assumed she would learn to dance at a dance studio. She'd only set foot inside a ballet dance studio, when she was seven and her mother felt some lessons would help her gain grace and poise. Instead, all she remembered was jumping around the stage in a frog costume. Her only other knowledge about dance studios came from television. Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble stole away to a dance studio to learn some steps to impress Wilma and Betty. Herman Munster signed a long contract with a dance studio including a lucrative insurance policy that made the dance studio the beneficiary. She knew the lessons would be expensive. But she could pay as she went along, couldn't she?

On Sunday nights she ritually dressed in her pajamas and watched Sixty Minutes on television, reading the Sunday paper at the same time. Though Linda liked to skim over all the current events and check the coupon pages for upcoming bargains, her favorite section was called "Your Life." It contained all the movie listings and reviews along with human- interest stories and exposes. The horoscopes were in there, too, and even though Linda didn't believe in that, she still found them entertaining.

At the bottom of one of the back pages, where the horoscopes would normally be, an ad jumped out at her. "Learn to Dance!" The finer print of the ad told of The Next Step dance studio at the "convenient downtown location." They offered an introductory program for nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents.

When Linda called the next day, during her break at work, a chirpy young woman's voice answered the phone. "I've always wanted to dance," Linda told her. "And I've seen your ad in the Sunday paper, so I would like to take the introductory program."

"That's great!" the receptionist said, working out a convenient time for her (Linda chose Wednesday early evening, her next day off). When she gave directions, Linda realized she could walk there, over the wooden steps and the fenced concrete walkway skirting above the interstate.

Wednesday when the sun hung low in the sky, Linda put on one of the A-line floral dresses she owned and her hard soled Mary Jane flats. There was a chilly drizzle, which made her worry about her hair fluffing out. She wore more makeup than usual and secretly hoped that "The Next Step" would be situated in a glorious, marble pillared building like the one in her dream. When she arrived at the address, though, she saw a four story, drab brick building with the fading paint of a 1920's era cigar advertisement plastered along one blank side. Maybe it would be nicer inside, she supposed.

The receptionist told her that the dance studio was on the fourth floor. When she entered the building, she saw cracked and yellowing linoleum tile and a glass placard with the white letters. Under "N" she found The Next Step and saw "Suite 412" listed after it. She pressed the button for the elevator, waited for it, then entered, shocked to see her reflection staring back at her.

After riding the elevator up to the fourth floor, with her back against her reflection, she expected to see another linoleum floor and drab office appointments when the door opened. Instead, only two doors awaited her there: the door for The Next Step and the door for a restroom. Up here the carpet was a lush garnet and a Grecian plaster archway framed the door for the dance studio. This surprised her. Would she find a palatial marble ballroom on the other side?

The door opened to a reception area with potted plants and simple, plush couches.

Straight ahead a young woman with shining, smooth blond hair smiled and greeted her: "You must be Linda!" she said, with unaffected enthusiasm. "Thank you for coming early! We like punctual people!" She introduced herself as Sharon and lifted a clipboard over her counter and gave it to her.

When Linda sat down to fill out the paperwork, it first struck her that it was stiff and card-like. It reminded her of the chart papers she filled out day in/day out at work. She realized that they must keep a file of all the dance students, so that the teachers could refer to it and make notes. On the first page, most of the questions and spaces were demographic: her name, address, and telephone numbers.

Part two of the application got much more personal. What dances would she like to learn? She fought back the urge to jot down "All of them" and wrote Waltz, Swing, and West Coast Swing instead. The next section asked about her employment and she wrote "Jewish Hospital," no problem there. Immediately after that came the salary question. Then they asked about her assets. It came into her mind to write "None of your business," but instead she wrote the word "personal" in the blank.

The final section asked for emergency contacts. Okay, she thought, if she keeled over of a heart attack, they would need to know who to call. She entered Ruth Ann's name and phone number in that space, with Seth as a backup. Seth. Linda handed the clipboard back to Sharon.

Sharon took it from her and smiled sweetly. "Someone will be with you right away."

When Linda sat back down and waited for "someone," she realized for the first time there was no music in the dance studio. No music in the dance studio! And it was also completely empty. Part of it had to do with the dinner hour, she supposed. After seven p.m., they would probably pick up. As she waited she heard muffled sounds of talking coming from the other side of the studio and the click-clack of Sharon typing quietly. Linda guessed that she must be using one of the new CRT terminals.

Her heart started to beat faster. This was the moment of truth! Maybe that mysterious man from her dream would come to life and lead her in a glorious waltz! His face came to mind immediately; she would never forget it.

She sat for a few minutes longer, as the light washing in from the tall windows over the trellis started to dim. It occurred to her to ask Sharon if it was okay if she left her umbrella in the lobby. "Oh fine, fine," Sharon said.

Light footsteps on the hard wood floor sounded, the volume increasing as the person making them drew nearer and nearer. She heard the voice before she turned around to meet the man. With a rich tenor, he said "Linda! Hi it's so nice to meet you! I'm Ron Dartez." When she turned around, he had already extended a hand for her to shake. He was smiling warmly, a man about thirty years old or so, with a thick mane of black hair, a clean-shaven face, a wide, friendly smile and sparkling, friendly eyes.

"Hi Ron," she replied, meekly shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Come on back," he said, indicating the large, high-ceilinged room beyond the archway. "Let me give you the fifty cent tour of our place."

Linda realized the reason that the landing for the fourth floor elevator was so small. The entire fourth floor belonged to The Next Step dance studio. He showed her the main ballroom.

In some ways it reminded her of a scaled-down version of the palace where she'd danced with the mysterious gentleman so many years earlier. A gleaming, shellacked wood floor stretched out before them. It was as big as a high school gymnasium but with much better décor. The far wall contained archways over the windows with pillars molded in them.

Ron stepped quickly, floating on air with enthusiasm as he showed her the music alcove, the bar and the practice room where a couple of students were practicing a routine. As they stepped by, the man lifted the woman above his shoulders and she pointed her toes out in front of and behind her. Though it was a dark, rainy day, light still spilled in from the high windows, bathing the floor in a warm glow.

Perhaps unfairly, Linda compared Ron to the mysterious gentleman in her dream as he talked to her and showed her around. Ron was shorter, first off, only a scant few inches taller than her. Rather than a gorgeous, shimmering tuxedo, he wore a vest with a gabardine pattern and a burgundy silk tie to go with stylish, cuffed cotton and pleated slacks. He clapped his hands together and said "Let's dance!"

Linda was mortified. She knew that at some point they'd have to hit the floor but she also knew her feet would refuse to move in the carefree, patterned way she'd done in her dream.

Ron gazed back at her with wide eyes, his mouth forming a small "o." He gently touched her wrist. "It's dancing, darling, not brain surgery. We're going to have so much fun."

"But I don't know how to dance at all!" she protested.

Ron leaned back and let out a hearty, reassuring laugh. When he returned his attention to her, he said "You know how to walk, don't you?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"All dancing begins with walking. Let me show you what I'm talking about.

Here, grab the top part of my arm, you know, the bicep, the thing those muscle men flex."

Linda laughed as Ron guided her hands to the top part of his arms, just beneath his shoulders.

"Now push back on my arms hard, like you're closing a refrigerator door."

She worried about pushing him so hard that he would fall over. More surprisingly, he stood his ground, even pushing back. Linda took a step back and Ron continued to push, looking into her eyes. "Oh my god," she said, as she swung her chin down to look at her feet.

With a delicate, gentle touch, Ron reached down and lifted her chin, to look up at him. "We're walking! We're dancing!"

"We are?" Linda said. She was starting to feel like she did on the roller skating rink, with Tom.

"Yes, we're dancing," Ron announced, triumphantly. He stopped and she followed his lead, stopping along with him. "Now you know how to step to the side, right? Like you're moving along a really, really, narrow hallway." She side stepped with him, laughing at how fun it felt.

Still continuing to lead, Ron said "Now let's walk twice and step to the side once." They continued the sequence a few times, until they reached the other side of the room, and the music bay. "My dear, we have just danced!"

"We have?"

"We just foxtrotted across the floor so I can put on some music and we can have a really good time!" Ron let go of Linda for a moment and rushed over to the music alcove. They had three turntables stacked on shelves, on over the other. He pressed a button on one of them.

Classic, big band music filled the room and Linda recognized the song "String of Pearls."

When Ron straightened himself and returned to her, he smiled mischievously, and Linda could see the little boy he must have been. "Now that we know that you can foxtrot so well, we need to get into the best dance position so you can look extra pretty." At that moment, Linda glanced across the room and blanched: One entire wall had been covered by a series of mural windows. To distract herself, she paid extra attention to Ron.

He worked her around so that they stood across from each other and could look at each other in the mirror across the floor. "My god, I don't know if I can do this," Linda said as she tried to smile. To herself, she looked like a pear next to the trim and v-shaped Ron.

"Aw, you're beautiful," Ron said. "But we do have to get you into the perfect dance position." He gently nudged her around the shoulders and the small of her back to get her to stand up straight, with an arch tilted away. When her posture was to his liking, he lifted both of her arms and positioned them in mid air.

"I feel like a mannequin," Linda said. She felt better when Ron eased herself into the position he had created.

"Now give me some resistance," he said. "Like you're pushing away from me."

The moment she pushed back against him he lifted her and they breezed together along the floor, in perfect time to the woodwinds and brass of the Nelson Riddle orchestra. When they neared the corner, Ron gently steered her so that they danced by the tall windows over there. As they reached the other side of the room, a tall blond woman in her forties, wearing a smart skirted suit emerged from one of the offices. "Rondo!" she said, with breathy enthusiasm. "Having a great time, I see." She approached them with her arm extended and Ron stopped for her.

"This is Magdalene, the studio manager," Ron said. "And this is Linda Serafina."

"Call me Maggie, darling," she said, vivaciously shaking her hand, looking full into her eyes. "Ronnie's my best! I'd keep him all to myself if I could. Now don't let me keep you, you all have a great time!" She floated away from them, seemingly on a cloud of air.

"Now where were we?" Ron asked, turning his attention back to her and smiling. With no effort at all, the two of them fell back into their dance position and he once again lifted her up and glided with her across the floor.

Linda suddenly remembered the dance step from her dream. "Can you show me that routine where you pass me from one arm to another?" she asked.

Ron looked back at her with a quizzical expression on his face. "Where did you see that?"

Linda shrugged. "On television, from an old movie, I think."

Ron's expressive eyes suddenly lit up in an "Ah-ha" gesture. "I think I know what you're talking about. Now, in order to do that step, you're going to have to learn to go forward, too. Let me show you." He arranged them so that they stood, side by side. The record seemed to be fading out, but another, slower song took its place. Ron said that they would need to take two slow steps, followed by two quick ones, all straight ahead. When they would do the step she asked about, they would not be able to side-step the way they had before.

"And you have to know how to pivot," Ron said. "Were you ever in band in high school?"

"No, but I know how to pivot," she replied. "You just get on one foot and swivel, right?" She demonstrated for him.

"By jove, I think you've got it!" Ron said, in an exaggerated British accent.

"Let's get into dance position and try it!" At first Ron showed the step to her in slow motion. While she held onto his shoulder, Linda remembered how it felt to be passed from side to side by the mysterious gentleman in the marble dance hall. For her to pass in front of him, she had to step sideways and pivot at the same time he was walking forward. When they finished one dry run, Ron clapped, saying "Bravo."

"Now let's try speeding it up a little," he said. They would take two steps together, slow, slow, and when they reached the quick, quick, Ron would gently nudge her away with his left hand. She would pivot to his side. Once, there, they would take two steps together with her at his side. On the next quick, quick, he would gently lead her toward the center, she would pivot again and cross in front of him.

It felt just like it had in her dream! "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" She was so happy she started to jump \up and down in his arms. He stopped the dance and hugged her.

"Yes, this is fantastic!" he said. "You are so fun to work with!" Ron quickly showed her the side step, where they would face each other, step two slows, do a quick-quick to brush their feet together, and then he would swing her around so that she would again dance backwards.

As a celebration, Ron re-started "String of Pearls" and they danced a glamorous foxtrot around the perimeter of the room, with Ron passing her back and forth several times (he told her the dance step was called "Passing Twinkles") and also dancing side-to-side with her.

Maggie also clapped for them when she saw them.

"Let's learn another fun, fast dance," Ron said. He started to show her the "triple step" where they shuffled from side to side. Doing one triple step, then rocking back with her right foot completed one basic step of the dance known as "swing." Linda thought about telling Ron about her experience at the bar, years before, with the couple dancing West Coast Swing.

She kept quiet, listened and learned as he showed her how to do a turn, triple stepping under his arm as he held it high for her.

For the swing they danced to rock and roll, a new band that Linda had never heard of, called INXS. As they danced to a catchy tune, three other young dance instructors, a guy and two girls, all about Linda's age, came in through the front door. The guy, who was tall and had dark hair but fair skin, said "What a treat! You have the whole dance floor to yourself!" The two girls just smiled and waved.

At the end of their lesson, Ron scribbled a few notes on Linda's paperwork. "Let's go see Miss Maggie," he said. "She's going to want to know all about how you did."

Ron and Linda entered an office where Maggie sat. To Linda it seemed su prisingly small, and surprisingly bare. Only a few pictures on the walls, of people dancing in dance competitions, gave the room any character. There was a Spartan, wood grain desk behind which Maggie sat straight, preening as if she were holding court. Two non-descript stationary chairs had been set out in front of it. As they entered the room, Maggie beamed for them, showing genuine enthusiasm. "Finished already?" she said. "It really looks like you had fun out there."

Ron tugged a chair a couple of inches backward for Linda as she lowered herself into it. "I did have fun," Linda said. "It was a blast." She glanced at Ron, using her peripheral vision, and saw him leaning in toward Maggie, a wide smile on his face.

"That's great," Maggie said. She turned to Ron and tilted her head. "So, you're the boss. How'd she do?"

"Oh, we're going to have so much fun! We should go for bronze, silver, gold!"

"What's that?" Linda asked. "It sounds like the Olympics."

Maggie smiled warmly at her. "Actually, he's giving you a compliment. Bronze, silver, and gold are the levels of accomplishment for dances recognized worldwide. Gold dancers are the best, silver dancers are really good, too. But bronze is the first level everyone strives for. As a bronze dancer you can dance with anyone, anywhere."

Linda said "Well, I want to get really good."

Maggie brightened, opening her arms to Linda in a welcoming gesture. "Well then, bronze it is!"

Ron was so happy he lifted himself from his chair and leaned over to hug Linda. "I'm so glad," he said. "You're going to have so much fun."

Maggie's glamorous features took on a tinge of seriousness. "We can get you started on the program right away."

"Great!" Linda said, reaching for her purse. "Do you need me to pay the $19.95 I owe you for the first session?"

Maggie waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, let's not worry about that now. We want to start you off on your exciting and glamorous future as a dancer, don't we?"

"Yes, I would love that!" Ron reached over and held her hand. "Is there something I have to sign? Should I make an appointment for my next lesson?"

"We can make an appointment for you before you leave," Maggie said. "Now I saw what a good time you had out there, and I know you've wanted to learn to dance for a long time."

"That's right!" Linda said, wondering whether Maggie was going to shock her by saying that she also knew about the mysterious gentleman in the marble dancing hall.

"I say we make it official!" Maggie said, with a resounding air of confidence. "I want to show you the best program we have."

Linda suddenly felt uneasy, like the time she visited a Chevrolet dealership, when she thought she might want to retire Myrtle. They'd taken her car keys and kept her sequestered in a small room with two sales managers, the same as this one. "Okay," she said cautiously. "What is it?"

From a drawer beneath the desk, Maggie pulled a short stack of laminated placards, which had been written in old English script. "We have our gold, silver, and bronze instruction programs. First, the gold. This would be the program you'd want if you want to become a competition dancer and dance coach." The words had been stenciled across the placard with neat precision. "We have 100 hours of instruction, 100 hours of group lessons, and three years of dance parties. How does that sound?"

Linda shrugged. "It sounds wonderful. What's a dance party?"

Maggie and Ron glanced at each other and grinned conspiratorially. "We have them every Friday night," she said. "All of the students from the school are invited and we play three hour's worth of foxtrot, swing, cha-cha, tango, and rumba music. You get to socialize with the other students, practice your dancing, and enjoy a classy night out all at the same time."

"That sounds great," Linda said, envisioning the dance studio filled with students swirling past each other, schooled in the latest steps. "What does it cost?"

A flicker of anxiety fluttered across Maggie's otherwise confident features.

"I'm glad you asked," she said. "It shows me that you know a good thing when you see it. We're prepared to offer you a substantial discount if you'll enroll today, tremendous savings."

"How much is it?" Linda prodded, knowing in advance that she would be shocked by the answer.

Maggie reached into the stack for another placard and Linda looked at the bottom.

There was a dollar sign with four figures after it: $4,220.

"Four grand?" Linda exclaimed, letting her mouth drop open. "That's almost as much as a car! How can you possibly charge four grand? Are you crazy?"

At that point Ron leaned in. "I've got to get to my next lesson. I'll see you next time, sweetheart." He quickly kissed the top of her head.

"Yes it is almost as much as a car," Maggie said, nodding confidently. "But it's better. Nobody can ever take it away from you. You don't have to wax it, or insure it. You can enjoy it anywhere."

Linda continued to look at the dollar figure at the bottom. She suddenly remembered something even more outrageous. "And this is with a discount! What, in God's name, is the regular price?"

"Over seven thousand," Maggie replied, quickly.

"Seven grand?" Linda did some quick math in her head. "That's seventy dollars an hour! You're charging seventy dollars an hour, for dance lessons?"

"Yes, it's expensive," Maggie agreed. "Private lessons in anything are expensive, whether it's dancing, or tennis, or fencing. But don't forget you get an equal amount of group lessons and all those parties. We make it very comfortable and lucrative for you."

"Four grand," Linda said, still shaking her head in disbelief. "People actually pay this? They pay this much to learn how to dance?"

"Yes," Maggie said. "If you really want to commit to this, to make it a part of your life, you have to make sacrifices. We all have."

"But four grand!" Linda started to reach for her purse and rise to stand. "I'm not made of money. I don't think this is such a good idea."

Anxiously, Maggie said "Well, we do have smaller programs! I'd be glad to go over those with you!"

Linda allowed herself to ease back into her seat and listen. After all, she did want to learn to dance, to make it a part of her life.

"We have the silver program," Maggie went on. Sixty lessons, sixty groups, and two years of parties."

"And the price for that is?"

On cue, Maggie produced the placard with the dollar figure written at the bottom: $3,100. As with everything else, clearly it was least expensive to buy dance lessons in bulk. She nodded. "That leaves the bronze program. How much is that?"

Maggie brought out the placards. Thirty lessons, thirty groups, and one year of parties. The placard following that one read $1,900.

Linda shook her head. "I, I don't know. I just wasn't prepared for it to be this much. I thought..."

"You thought our lessons cost nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents an hour, right?"

"Well, yeah! Something like that."

"That's why we call it a special rate," Maggie said, with an authoritative voice. "Special, as in vastly reduced."

"I would say so," Linda murmured. "I would fricking well say so. This costs more than my college tuition."

"Yes, and you'd have hundreds of times more fun," Maggie replied. "So which program did you want to start?"

Fifteen minutes later, Linda emerged from the little office. She carried a slip of paper.

She had signed up for the smallest program and had given Maggie a two-hundred and fifty dollar check, with a promise to pay that same amount every month until the lessons were paid for. There was a cooling-off period: she could still decide to sign off against the contract as long as she brought it back to Maggie within three days. As she walked out of the studio, which was now a beehive of activity, she was just glad to be on her way to doing something else.

Out on the dance floor, Ron was dancing a glamorous waltz with a platinum-haired woman. He noticed Linda saying good-bye to Maggie, scheduling her next lesson, and fetching her umbrella and coat. When she started for the front lobby and the exit, Ron suddenly called out "Linda! Don't go yet! I need to tell you something." He turned to the platinum-haired lady and excused himself then jogged after Linda.

When he reached her, he gently took hold of her arm and guided her out to the lobby, away from the front desk. "I want to tell you again what a good time I had," he said.

She looked into his eyes and saw that they were warm and sincere. "That's great, Ron! I had a great time, too. See you in two days."

Ron lifted a finger into the air, as if he thought of something else to say, yet hesitated.

His lips parted to reveal his two rows of perfect teeth, but he shook his head instead. "That's great, hon. See you then!"

There was a method to Linda's scheduling of her second appointment. It would give her a second look at the studio, at Ron, and at learning how to dance. She would still have one day after that to kill the deal if there was any possibility she would regret it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

May, 1984

Though she hadn't seen him in months, Seth called her. "I've got some dynamite news, darling. Let's grab a bite to eat and celebrate."

In the past, they'd gone to family style places or bars with food in them on their dates. This time, Seth insisted on something different. "I want you to put on the best dress you have, fix your hair, pretty yourself up because we're going uptown."

Linda, who still lived in her row house apartment, did as she was told. These days the Murphy bed held sheets with a higher thread count and she was able to replace the ramshackle chairs with some comfortable chrome sling chairs from a place called Ikea. She dressed better. For their dinner date she would wear a suit with padded shoulders and a nipped waistline that everyone said made her look thinner. It was mauve, and she wore a fluffy, frilly feminine periwinkle blouse with it.

Her hairdresser talked her into getting a spiral perm. "You'd look just like Stevie Nicks," she said. True, while she never had to use her curling iron or styling gel anymore, many mornings she woke up astonished at the positions her hair would mold itself into during the night. After she tamed it, her hair behaved enough that she could sweep it to one side, accenting her part with a flower barrette. Her most sexy ecru stilettos completed the look. Hopefully they wouldn't have to stand for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

Seth always drove his work truck when he came to see her. He'd learned long ago that she would never get on the back of his motorcycle. Would his seats be clean enough, she wondered after she got ready and waited out on her patio for him. It was a work truck after all.

What if he'd gotten engine grease on the seats and it rubbed off on her best dress?

Hopefully he'd put some kind of a seat cover down on it.

A few minutes later, she saw a sleek, shiny silver sports car slither up the hill and stop by the curb in front of the walkway. The horn honked, with a beep sounding like the Road Runner from Saturday morning cartoons. Who was it? The windows contained a certain kind of tint and in the late afternoon sun she could barely make out the figure moving around inside. She could not even tell if it was male or female. A moment later the driver door opened on the other side, and a tall blond man emerged, wearing stylish mirror sunglasses. She knew that smirk anywhere. "Seth!" she called out, as he started sauntering up the walkway. "What is this?"

He looked back at the sexy car with the sharp, wedge shaped lines. "It's my new car, babe! You like it?"

Once she sunk down inside of it, she was amazed at how much legroom the car had. It felt like she'd lowered herself down into some kind of a rabbit hole. Seth flicked on the stereo, and the screeching notes from the Eagle's song "Victim of Love" pounded her ears from four overpowering speakers. "You like it?" he asked. "It's a Nissan 300ZX special edition. Just picked it up a couple of days ago." With that, he jumped on the clutch, shifted into first and made the tires chirp when he kicked down the gas pedal and rocketed them away from the curb.

Luckily, they didn't have too far to go. Seth parked at the four level garage across from Restaurant Row, a street containing four and five star eateries that ranked among the most scrumptious in the nation. After they rode the elevator down to street level, Seth stepped out onto the sidewalk and with a grand flourish indicated the city block of high-end restaurants. "Which one do you want to go to, babe?"

Linda looked at the faux cobblestone street, the old-fashioned gas lamp lighting and the tasteful signs hanging above the doors. "Seth, you need a reservation for places like this."

"Well duh!" he said, showing a glimpse of the party animal she'd met seven years earlier. Tonight he was wearing a light charcoal suit with a shimmering tie that made him look like a blond Mafioso. Business had been good at the motorcycle shop where he worked, but not that good. She wondered what was going on. "We're going to La Maison Jardin," he said. He offered his arm to her the way gentlemen did in old movies. She took it, wrapping both hands around it as was the proper way and together they crossed the street.

At the heavy oak and stained glass door for the restaurant, he made a big show of opening it for her and then ushering her through. As she expected, the moment they stepped through the threshold, an impeccably groomed maitre d' in a tuxedo and a pencil thin mustache greeted them. "Bonjour monsieur," he said.

Linda had heard of La Maison Jardin and the army of wait staff they had watching over each table, the ultra luxurious appointments, and how they'd managed to make the inside look like a cross between a French bistro and the Versailles gardens. The only thing Linda had ever seen to compare to this were the restored rooms of French villas from the 1700's, which she'd seen at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the year her mother took her and Bobby to New York for a fun-filled outing when she was thirteen. Some of the tables had been set up on risers, and partitioned off with pillars. It was in such an intimate table where it seemed like four white-shirted and black tied waiters helped her into her seat. Candlelight cast a warm, romantic glow in the dimness.

As soon as Seth sat down, Linda said "So what is all of this?" Had he won the lottery?

It was almost that big. "The management company at the arena settled," he said.

"Out of court. Ruth Ann and Lauren's parents are each going to get two mill."

The whole thing had been on the back burner of Linda's mind for years. The money was nice, but it wouldn't bring back Jeannie or Lauren. "But what does that have to do with you?"

"Ruth Ann cut me a check for a hundred grand," he said, with a carefree, smug expression on his face.

The numbers made Linda's head swim, as the wait staff doted on them. When she tugged the napkin through the elegant sterling silver holder and set the silver piece on the table, a busboy snagged it from there only seconds later. "Why would she do that?" Seth wasn't related to them, he was only a close friend.

"Out of gratitude," he replied. The maitre d' gave him a golden gilded pair of menus and he handed one across the table to her. When he opened it up and looked inside, his features contorted into a grimace. "Aw, shit! This is all in French! How the fuck am I supposed to order if I don't know what I'm looking at."

Linda received B's and A's during high school French and she looked at the menu. She could tell that "Poulet" was chicken and that "Cordon bleu" meant that a meat was stuffed with a hollandaise and ham sauce. "Ask the waiter to make a recommendation," Linda said. "Or ask them to get you a menu in English. They must have one."

Moments later a lady waiter, with her hair pinned up tightly, appeared with new menus. "That's better," Seth said. "Jeez."

Linda looked around them while Seth decided what to order. Another waiter pushed a silver dessert cart to one of the tables occupied by a well-dressed family. A plump boy sitting at that table broke into a cheer when the waiter set the cherries jubilee aflame. She knew that the meal they were getting might cost Seth hundreds of dollars. "So that's how you got the car."

Seth grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Walked right into the dealer and said 'Gimme that one.'"

"It's a cool car, no doubt," Linda said, as she decided on a braised veal dish. "But couldn't you have waited, let the money grow on you a little?"

Two waiters arrived to take their order and Seth spoke for them both. "I worked hard for it. Pressuring all those attorneys. I deserve it. Besides, look who's talking about blowing money."

The remark stung Linda like a slap in the face. "And what do you mean by that?"

"That dance place you go to, you don't think I know what goes on in those places? Those gigolos have probably gotten you for thousands of dollars already. It's why you still live in that rabbit hutch and drive that old broken down pissmobile."

Linda felt like lifting the elegant crystal water glass and tossing the contents of it into Seth's face. She didn't know what to get maddest about, the knock against Ron or her choice to hang on to her apartment and her car. Even though Ron had coaxed her into the four thousand dollar program that first year, that still left more than five thousands in her money market accounts, many of which were tied to lucrative mutual funds. And between the bus, the short distance to the dance studio and the jets and rental cars she took on vacation, Myrtle still had less than 100,000 miles on her.

She decided she was maddest about Ron. When the waiters brought out steaming soup, she hissed "Ron is not a gigolo."

Seth shrugged, unaffected by Linda's venom. "Well he's a fag, then. Probably goes home to his lover every night, so they can go out and blow all the commission money they get from you and all the old maids."

Linda threw her napkin down on the table in anger, and a corner of it dipped into the soup bowl. A moment later a waiter rushed to her side. "Would madame care for another?" he asked, indicating the soup bowl with a napkin corner dipped into it.

"Yes, that would probably be best," she said quietly. When the waiter made a hand motion, a white-coated bus boy spirited the bowl away for her. Linda leaned in. "I've got a great idea," she said, to Seth. "How about we don't talk about the dance studio for the rest of today?"

He forced a smile and touched her arm. "Hey, I didn't mean to get your panties all twisted. Sure we can talk about something else. "

Linda switched the conversation to how well Seth's business was doing, and he said that because of Ruth Ann's gift, he was able to buy a new set of power tools. For the rest of their dinner, their army of a wait staff delicately placed course after course in front of them. In the end they were treated to flaming cherries jubilee.

When they stepped out of the restaurant into the cool, early evening air, Linda said "So what do you want to do now?"

Unexpectedly, Seth edged closer to her and took her face into his hands delicately and tenderly. "I want to show you how much I love you."

He had never said anything like that before. It caught her off guard. "Love?" she repeated. "Seth, I know I'm not the only one."

For a moment he lost his composure and allowed his eyes to roll in their sockets, while he tilted his head away in exasperation. "You're special!" he said. "How else can I say it? He tenderly stroked the hair that framed the side of her face.

She glanced at the traffic passing and people stepping around them to get to the door.

"Now is not the time or place to discuss it." Reaching for his hand, she tugged him toward the curb so they could cross the street. When they reached Seth's new car and he jumped in and flicked the starter, she assumed they would go back to his apartment. She hated it there; it was all paneling and rough edges, a couch with grease spots and a huge expensive stereo blaring music. Instead, Seth turned left, toward the riverfront. "Where are we going?"

Seth grinned mischievously. "I have something special planned." Moments later he pulled into the parking garage for One Skyline Place, one of the newest and most pricey condominium complexes in town.

A couple of levels down into the garage, he parked his Nissan sports car next to Mercedes and Cadillacs. "Are we going to visit someone here?"

He shook his head. "No, we're going to have the place completely to ourselves."

Linda's mouth dropped open. "You didn't move here, did you?" One hundred thousand dollars only went so far.

He strode toward the elevators with the confident ease of someone who knew the territory. Looking down at her, he shook his head, speaking with the appeasing quality he did when he was exaggerating patience with her. "No, you just have to know the right people." He shepherded her into the elevator car. "Wait until you see it!" Seth pushed the button for the twenty-first floor.

When they arrived at the door of the condo, he used a plastic card that looked like a credit card instead of a key. The door latch clicked open and he pushed down on the handle and guided her in. Linda was first struck by the lush, cream colored carpet that softened their steps as they walked slowly in and explored. Leather couches with chrome accents awaited them along with a smoked glass top coffee table and original art on the wall, with brush strokes.

A full dining room with a dark Mediterranean dining table, matching chairs and a full dining closet occupied one corner of the floor. Several closed doors led to either bedrooms or bathrooms, Linda imagined.

"This is fantastic," she murmured, as Seth guided her over to what appeared to be a study, with a semi-circular library and a desk in the round made of highly polished cherry wood, with cozy cubbyholes on a hutch atop it.

Beyond the study a sliding glass door opened onto a balcony. "Wait until you see this!" he said. He opened the door for them and stayed close to her as they ventured out onto the hard concrete floor of the balcony. A couple of inviting looking lounge chairs had been placed there, but Seth stayed behind her, cuddling her in his arms as they gazed out over the view below.

Lights twinkled on the smooth, glossy river as Linda could see the Serpentine Wall, the fountains, and both the stadium and arena. Cars lazily drove on city streets during the young evening. She heard faraway sounds of trucks chugging along on some of the major streets. The inviting smell of charcoal burning told her that some people on some of the other floors might have been barbecuing. It seemed ironic, that on a night when they were celebrating the attorney's victory over the principles involved in the 1979 tragedy, that they would stay in a tall condo overlooking the very location.

Linda had a view, also, from her row house apartment, but she could only see twinkling lights at the tops of buildings the vague outline of the river, and the top of the stadium façade. This was much closer to the scenery. "This is really something," she said

Seth smirked. He'd eased away from her and leaned against the railing casually, looking at her. "Can you imagine if we lived here every day?"

"That'd be great," she responded, automatically, until she realized his implication.

She turned to him. "What are you saying?"

He breathed in deeply, looking down at her, reaching forward to take her hands in his. To Linda it seemed as if he had rehearsed this moment. "I'm saying that we should think about getting married."

It came completely out of left field. She hadn't even seen him in about a month. Her head swam with lots of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Finally, all she could muster was "Seth, why?"

He shook his head and started to snicker. "I knew you'd freak out. Let's talk."

Along with all of its other luxurious appointments, the owner of the apartment also kept a full wine rack and liquor cabinet, along with a smaller refrigerator that held bottled beer and mixers. Seth opened a bottle of Chardonnay for her, while he settled for scotch. They sat down cozily on the buttery leather of the living room couch. He started off by saying "Linda, I'm not getting any younger. This fall I'll be thirty years old. I'm tired of running around and I want to settle down."

Linda felt as if she were sitting in the middle of a soap opera with a bad writer. "But, why me?"

"You're the only woman for me." He gazed down at her and his look did seem sincere.

Linda nodded. Something suddenly occurred to her. "Are you serious? Is this a joke? Some kind of a bet between you and Greg or something?"

Seth's mouth dropped open and he sat, silently, staring down at her for a moment. He tried to speak, but his lips only trembled. He put his head down.

When he covered his face with his hands, Linda felt bad. She realized that he was serious and that she'd probably just humiliated him.

She cuddled in closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Seth, I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

For a moment, she thought he was going to cry, but instead he shrugged and talked normal, in one of his signature sentences. "What do you have to be sorry about?" he said. "I'm the one who just made a dork of himself."

"Well it took me so much by surprise," she said. "We haven't talked in about a month. I thought we were just friends. To tell you the truth, I'd given up on you."

"But I haven't stopped thinking about you!" he went on, looking boyishly vulnerable as his voice cracked. "If you're totally freaked out about this, maybe we could see each other more. Get to know each other."

She already thought she knew him well enough, but she said something she hoped she wouldn't regret. "I've got an idea. Why don't you come to one of the dance parties?" It would give him a first hand chance to see what they were like, that they weren't all filled with silvery haired matrons and gay man, the way he seemed to think they were.

After they talked for two hours, during which Seth confessed to a whole trail of different women he'd known ever since they'd met. He always came back to the same refrain "But you were always special to me." When he finished his list, it surprised Linda that it wasn't as big as she thought it would be.

Linda also told him what she wanted in a husband. Someone who would be supportive and caring ("This is a guy we're talking about, right?" he managed to squeeze in at one point). When they were all finished, they just held each other. Seth wanted her to spend the night.

He showed her the luxurious, four-poster bed with inviting linens but her shoulders slumped. "Seth, I couldn't possibly," she said. "I have to get up at four a.m. tomorrow."

"Of course you do," he said, not bothering to hide the tinge of frustration in his voice. They drove silently back to her neighborhood, through winding back streets and around the hairpin turns up the hill to her row house. "Just think about what I said." He walked her up to her door and kissed her.

When his car had rumbled safely away down the sharp turn, she shook her head. "Somebody please rescue me," she said out loud as she walked the rest of the way to her front door.

A couple of nights later, Linda dreamt lucidly. In the dream she found herself in a variation of the path that wound around the lake on the campus at Little Egyptian. The water was blue and sandy bottomed, as if it had been found in the Bahamas somewhere instead of in Southern Illinois. More varieties of trees hung over the gravel paths, including tall oaks, weeping willows and Spanish moss.

Even while she had the dream she started to interpret it and analyze it. She wanted to go back to a simpler time in her life, when all she had to worry about was her grade on the next test or coming up with enough money for rent if her car broke down. Every time she was lucid, she always had to be on the lookout for the same things. Don't stare at anything or even look too long in one place. Don't automatically jump up and try to fly. Don't shout or scream. So far, it was easy. Everyone she passed on the walking trail was unfamiliar, foreign.

The trail led to a clearing, away from the shores of the lake. On the other, driveways led to the Rohr-Lazenby residence halls. Still, she kept walking along, her senses heightened as she gazed all around her at the blues and greens that were always much more vivid than what she remembered.

Linda saw the wild, tousled mane of hair first, then the tall slenderness. She resisted the urge to shout out Lauren's name and run to her. This would break the momentum of the dream. To help things along, Lauren floated to her as if she'd had tiny jet packs mounted on her feet. She held the hand of a small girl dressed in a plain Navy sundress. When they reached her, Linda said "Laure! I can't believe it! How long has it been."

Lauren smirked. "Not long. You know there's no such thing as time on this other, side, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," Linda said. "And you don't have to eat, either, and you can choose what you want to look like."

Lauren reached out and touched her arm. It continually amazed Linda how real all actions such as those seemed. "Before you flicker off, I just had to say something," she started, in a tone more serious than she'd ever heard in Lauren, either before or after she died. "That whole thing with Seth proposing to you is bullshit."

"How do you know about that?"

Lauren smiled with an evil arch of her eyebrow, exactly the way she did when they lived in the dorms together. "We can see everything."

"Is it on a whole bunch of big screens or something? Can you switch the channel and see different things happening in different places on earth?"

"Something like that," Lauren replied. "But I don't want to tell you too much and make your head blow up."

Lauren was still holding the hand of the little girl, whom Linda officially recognized. "Who's this?"

She gave a big, unearthly, beaming smile that caused her whole body to glow, starting at her face. "This is your daughter. I mean, she will be."

The girl lifted her small, free hand and said "Hi."

Linda took a closer look at her. "You're kidding me." When she took a long look at her, she realized that the girl didn't look like her or anyone else in her family. She was red-haired, with large, pale blue eyes. But how could she point this out without seeming insensitive.

"I know," Lauren said, seeming to read her mind. "She doesn't look a think like you. Her name is Hannah. She was a little girl in Connecticut in the 1960's but drowned in a lake there. Now she wants to come down to earth again and she wants you to be her mother."

Not knowing what else to do, Linda got down on her knees so she could look at the little girl on her level. Hannah smiled warmly at her. "Thank you for choosing me," Linda said, and opened her arms. The girl leaped against her, wrapping her small arms around her neck and hair." Linda laughed with delight.

When she stood up again, she found Lauren still smiling beatifically. "I was so glad to see that you were awake," she said. "I've been dying to have Cindy come meet you ever since I found out."

Linda laughed. " _Dying_ to have her come meet me?"

Lauren grinned, shaking her head. "You know."

Linda lost it immediately after that: the green of the trees and grass faded. Lauren floated away as if she'd been a picture on an old black-and-white television. It had been a long time since she'd had a visit from Lauren, and when Linda woke up, she felt sad. She found a pen.

With the notepad she kept on her nightstand, she wrote "I just found out I'll be marrying soon, and I met my future daughter. "

Who would be her husband? Would she still meet the mysterious man from the marble ballroom? Would he be the one? Whoever he was, she was going to meet him soon. At work, most of the younger doctors she came into contact with already had girlfriends or wives. All of the other women on the oncology ward with her were married to men doing mundane things such as plumbing, banking, or lawyering. Could it be a patient? She hoped not.
CHAPTER TWELVE

September 1985

Linda was almost twenty-seven years old. As one of her friends on the floor used to say "tick, tick, tick!" Seth pestered her for marriage two more times during that summer of 1984.

She _still_ lived in her quaint little row house apartment overlooking the city, she _still_ drove Myrtle every time she needed to go somewhere any kind of a distance away. There had been a time when Myrtle belched black smoke and bucked all over the hairpin turn leading up to her street and she wondered if it was time for the old girl to meet her maker. After a repair job that cost only a couple of hundred dollars, Linda decided to keep her.

At work, dark and early on a Wednesday morning, the director of nursing took her aside near the employee lounge. "I'm telling everyone on an individual basis," she said. "We're all to start computer training in a couple of weeks."

When Linda thought of computers, she still thought of those great big honking machines taking up a whole room, with huge reels of tape on them. "Won't that take a really long time?" she asked.

"No. Just a couple of hours during your choice of days throughout the week."

During the first class, which was held in one of the old offices near the cafeteria, Linda met with a bunch of grumbling, sour-faced co-employees. Marlene, a tall lady with a short, black haircut that made Linda think of a black helmet, was the biggest whiner: "I went to school for nursing just so I could get away from office type shit like this."

Kelly, a girl who'd graduated from school a couple of years after Linda, said "That's the way everything is headed. You might as well get used to it. One of my teachers said he thinks that by the year 2000, there's going to be computers in every house."

Marlene looked at red-haired and freckle-faced Kelly as if she'd just said that the United States would sign a treaty with Russia. "What the hell for?" she asked. "Are we are going to be taken over by nerds by then, or what?"

For Linda, the extra computer classes took away from her relaxing time. At least twice a week she would go for lessons, and she used her days off for errands. Some days she liked to sit and do nothing, or yak-yak on the phone with friends or watch trashy television shows in her pajamas.

The highlight of her week was still Friday night. In the summer and early fall like this, she would just walk down the stairs and overpass to get there and catch a ride home with one person or another. She'd been a student at The Next Step for over two years by then and the male instructors loved to dance with her at the parties.

Maggie always made them like an event. Sometimes she would have "theme" parties, such as New Year's Eve in July, or she would throw a "Beach" party, even covering part of the floor with sand, playing ocean sounds on a big radio the younger kids nicknamed a "ghetto blaster." Back at that first lesson with Ron, she had no idea that so many people came to the dance studio, and that there were so many instructors. Along with Ron, there was Carl, a suave, ascot wearing guy in his early fifties, Ricardo, a Latin-American guy with swarthy skin and warm dark eyes who came from Puerto Rico, Tony, a fair-skinned and dark haired young guy with liquid eyes.

All types of people came to the studio besides the stereotypical lonely hearts. At least four sets of married couples came, including a husband and wife doctor who practiced at St. Joseph, just down the street from her. That Friday night when Linda made her entrance off the elevator foyer at the studio, Ron strode past the front desk. "Hey, sweetie."

He gave her a quick, glamorous peck on her lips, the way he always did. Tony always liked to hug her. He was just coming off a lesson with a short, zaftig, smiling girl.

On the other side of the room, the men students of The Next Step hovered awkwardly around the female staff. Linda sensed that Maggie liked to hire them young and pretty, with a certain seductive quality beyond that. First there was Wanda, a classy looking older instructor who liked to wear her ash blond hair pushed away from her face and piled atop her head in a sexy array of various chignons. Next, thin, frail dark-haired Janice was finishing up working on Latin motion dances with a short legged bald guy who looked like the maintenance supervisors at the hospital.

Third came Daisy, a dark-skinned girl who might have been either Hispanic or Italian. She was the newest teacher. Many times Linda had seen Daisy posing, on high dancer's heels, placing a hand on her hip for effect, tossing her long tumbles of glossy black hair this way and that. Linda wondered if the girl spent hours in front of the studio's massive mirrors practicing those types of moves. It was probably doing it to pass the time until she built up a client list like all the others.

Through it all, Maggie floated along classily on her designer heels and Halston outfits, shaking hands, offering her cheek for kisses, and giving loud gleeful hugs to various clients. As with all of the other parties, staff people had placed tables and chairs over the sides and corners of the dance floor. They'd hung streamers and balloons from the suspended ceiling tiles and taped orange and yellow construction paper stenciled leaves to the mirrors. Janice and her student had to dance around tables while they finished their lesson.

As it got closer to seven, Linda knew what would happen next. Ricardo grabbed a mike and said "Hello everyone! Welcome to Friday Night Lights!" He paused.

Several students still straggled in through the door, some of them hanging up jackets or light coats on the racks near the wall. "Tonight's group lesson is the Cha-cha. To get everybody working on that Cuban motion!" To punctuate himself, Ricardo juked his hips from side to side.

Linda greeted a few of her friends as they all stood and formed a line at the outer edges of the floor. There was Millie, and Ginny, and Fran, plus a few of the newer students she'd met recently, including Grace, Cathy, and Angelita. "This is the highlight of my week," Fran said excitedly, as they took their places, in a line directly across from the men. Linda had spoken with Fran many times before, sitting at a table with her and Ginny. Fran ran an insurance agency with her husband, who wasn't interested in dancing.

Ginny glanced across at the line of men forming, smiling as if the first course at a five star restaurant had just arrived. "Hmmm, it looks like we have some new talent here tonight," she said.

True, Linda had never seen the bald guy getting a lesson from Janice before. Now that Ginny had mentioned it, there were a couple of other men Linda had never seen before. Most of them had the same look on their faces the first time they participated in a group lesson. They would shift their weight from one foot to another, poke their hands around in their pockets, and let their eyes roam all around the studio at the floor, the other guys, and the women across the way.

One guy in particular caught Linda's eye. He looked neat-pressed and clean-cut, with sandy hair, bright, searching eyes, a mustache and a trim, disciplined look about him. Usually, men she'd met with that type of look came from the military. While checking him out, she tried to gauge his age. Since he was still thin and had all of his hair, he might be in his twenties or thirties. Suddenly, he looked directly at her, and Linda felt her temples and cheekbones flare up with warmth as she quickly glanced toward another corner of the floor.

Ricardo strutted confidently to center stage, in the middle of the two groups of men and women. He gave his little speech, the way he always did, welcoming all the new students and inviting the students who'd been there awhile to help them out. Linda could see Tony standing near the stereo alcove, his job to stop and start the music.

The instructors always started the group lessons at rock bottom for the benefit of the newest dance students, many of whom would be attending their first party. Like the good-looking ex-military guy across from her, Linda thought. Ricardo painstakingly showed a triple step and a rock step, as all the men followed along with him, moving rhythmically from side to side.

After showing the men the basic step, Ricardo turned around and showed the women their counterpart step, which was a mirror-image of the men's step. To be a good sport and a good advanced student, Linda rock-stepped and triple-stepped along with them. After they had done the step sufficiently well to Ricardo's liking, he returned to the center of the room. "It's time to take a partner and try this in dance position!" He lifted himself on his toes and counted the men and women in the room. "Gentlemen, it looks like we have more ladies here than guys, so those are really good odds! Get yourself a partner, everybody!"

Linda thought about making a beeline for the nice looking new guy, but Ginny swooped in on him like a pelican stabbing at a fish in the breakers. She smirked when Ricardo told everybody to get into dance position, and Linda settled on the bald plumber. In a huge group lesson, all of the men got to dance with all of the different women over the course of the hour.

Ricardo showed everyone how to do the side pass and the turn. He did something Linda hoped he would do: since that day's group lesson was large, he arranged everyone in two concentric circles, women on the inside, and men on the outside. Tony would play a little snippet of a cha-cha song, and everyone would try the side pass, or the turn. When the music stopped, the women would move one partner to the left. This further guaranteed that everyone would be able to dance with each other. As Ron had told her many times "It's good to dance with a variety of different guys, different leads, different styles."

The regimented looking newcomer was still three turns away from her. Unless Ricardo stopped the lesson in the next ten minutes, she would be able to dance with him, though. In the meantime, she felt slightly guilty for slighting the other guys by dancing distractedly, not looking at them, and anticipating her turn with the soldier.

Finally it was her turn. He was shorter than Seth, but his face and expressions were much nicer. To Linda he looked like the kind of All-American guy they would put in a commercial for lawn seed. "Hi," she said, introducing herself. "Is this your first time here?"

"Yeah," he said, as he took her into dance position. "I'm really nervous. Hope I don't step on your toes or anything."

His breath was nice; that was a good thing. Linda had about keeled over a few times when men, who were otherwise nice, starting talking to her at close dancing range and their mouths smelled rotten. "What's your name?"

"Aw shit, sorry. See how nervous I am? My name's Stephen."

"Steve?" she asked, as the music started.

"No, I like to be called Stephen." Despite his being nervous, he held a good dance position with good resistance and deftly lifted his arm at the right time to usher Linda through.

"You're doing great," Linda said, patting him on the wrist before she moved to the next dance partner.

The group lessons on Friday nights always went quickly because of the festive atmosphere. Soon Ron and Ricardo dimmed all of the lights in the studio and sent the glimmer ball at the center of the ceiling in motion. The studio instantly became a disco. Linda felt pleased that so many people came to the party this Friday evening. During the summer the parties often drifted off into lackadaisical affairs, since so many of the students were either busy with their kids, on vacation, or both. Here, in late September, the return of the children to school and the lowering autumn temperatures brought about a renewal.

All of the square folding tables in the studio would only fit four people around them. Maggie had dressed them up with elegant nylon table covers to make them seem posh. Linda always puzzled over where to sit. She loved to dance. If she sat too far in the corner, the men would be discouraged from asking her. That night, as always, she took her seat at a table near the floor. Ginny whisked into a chair across from her. "This is going to be great," she said, smiling. "I can feel it in my bones." She stretched her back and craned her neck at the crowd gathering to seek possible co-partiers for them.

Linda looked around, too, for Stephen. She found him sitting at a table in the corner, far removed from everyone, in danger of disappearing into the woodwork if he stayed there. Ginny noticed him, too. "Hey, studmuffin's over there by himself. We oughta go over there and drag him back."

"No, that'd scare him," Linda said. She leaned across the table and stared over in Stephen's direction, hoping that he'd return her gaze. Sooner, rather than later, he did. She tried to smile for him and motion him over with her hand. Stephen pointed a finger at himself and mouthed the word "Me?" with a jovial expression on his face. Linda was liking him more and more all the time. She nodded exaggeratedly, to encourage him.

Ginny started to get up from her seat. "I'll go get him."

Linda reached out with her hand, to stop her. At that same moment, Stephen raised himself from his chair. He was starting to walk in their direction. Unfortunately, Pete Rabelstein plopped himself down at the other empty seat. "Hey ladies!" he said, with his carnival harker voice. "Long time no see."

Ginny made no attempt to hide her disgust, her features curling into an indignant snarl. "How's things on the assembly line?"

He grinned at her through whiskers of a bushy mustache and beard. "Not bad. How's things at the dime-a-dance?"

Linda stifled a laugh, and thankfully Stephen arrived to divert the attention away from them. They introduced each other, while the tables around them filled up and the staff of the dance studio whisked about here and there, taking care of last minute details.

Stephen and Pete carried on a conversation across the table from each other, making the seating arrangement girl-boy-girl-boy. "Hey, Steve, this is your first party?" Pete asked.

"Yes, I had my first lesson on Tuesday," Stephen replied. "I was so danged nervous I wonder how I even got through it. And call me Stephen, please."

Pete smirked. "Ah, it's just like basketball. The crowd's all cheering and you're so freaked out your heart's gonna beat a hole right through your chest. And then the ref tosses the jump ball...and you play!"

Pete and Stephen laughed while Ginny shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so," Stephen replied.

"Hey Steve, did your teeth fall out of your head when they told you how much it cost?" Pete went on.

Stephen muttered "Stephen" under his breath, choosing not to dignify Pete's question.

Pete laughed. "Yeah, the way I figure it, we're all getting ripped off together."

Linda desperately wanted to change the subject. "So, Stephen, what do you do?"

She stressed his name and glanced over at Pete.

"I'm an engineer," he said proudly.

At that moment Ron took the mike to emcee the party. He started things off with a rousing swing. Linda looked at Stephen, but before she could say anything, Ginny grabbed him by the arm. "Let's go, hon," she said.

Pete reached across the table for her. "Let's cut it, baby!" and he ushered her out onto the floor. A catchy Michael McDonald tune played on the stereo as Pete took Linda into dance position for his loose, hammy lead. As the music played he tossed her into turns without holding his hand high enough, brought her into sweetheart passes with such a tight grip it squeezed her ribs, and stepped on her twice. Other than that, she supposed, he wasn't a half-bad dancer.

But she was glad when the song ended and she could go back to her seat. The "New York, New York" foxtrot music began to play, however, and Ron intercepted her. "Let's do our showcase," he said, gently taking her hand and guiding her back out onto the floor.

"If there's room for it," Linda said, glancing at the other couples streaming onto the floor. During the winter, she and Ron had danced in the Heart of America showcase at the Music Hall Ballroom in St. Louis. More than a hundred different couples had appeared over the course of the day, in a fine ballroom with gleaming shellacked hardwood floors and plaster pillars.

Ron had brought in a dance coach from New York to help him choreograph a special routine with her that swept the floor with triple twinkles, side-passes and turns that literally had the crowd oohing and aahing.

As Ron took her into dance position, she bit her lip. Would she remember all of the routine or embarrass herself? The routine opened with a triple twinkle, but Ron kept his steps small and confined; Linda realized that he was cleverly modifying it for the close quarters and other couples on the floor. Still, their dance swept around the perimeter of the floor, and when they passed by the table where she had sat, she saw Stephen sitting alone. He was watching them and smiling, having decided to sit that one out.

The song she and Ron had danced to in St. Louis was different: it was the Cole Porter tune "Let's Fall in Love."

When Ron gracefully delivered her back to the table, Stephen was clapping for them. "That was excellent!" he said, stars in his eyes when he looked at her.

The next number was a tango, a dance they'd probably not even taught to Stephen yet. Not many of the women knew how to follow it well, either, but both Ricardo and Ron had taught Linda well. She could feel eyes on her as the men scanned the floor for tango partners. To discourage them, she angled her body completely toward Stephen, putting her eyes on him, also. This would signal to all but the most doltish dancers that she wanted to sit this tango out.

"That was beautiful!" Stephen said, still beaming at her. "I wish I could lead you in a dance like that."

She patted him on the arm. "One day, you will," she told him.

"He takes lessons?" Stephen said, indicating Ron, who was tangoing with Millie.

"Yes," she told him. "They all do. They get coaching sessions and choreographing sessions all the time.

Stephen shook his head.

They spent the next few minutes talking about themselves and their lives. Stephen had grown up in Cincinnati. He had received his engineering degree from Ohio State. He kept asking Linda questions about life in a rural community, and how she'd come to decide to be a nurse. She told him all about candy-striping at County General during the summers, leaving out the parts about scrambling to get emesis pans beneath the mouths of vomiting patients.

Stephen told Linda all about playing Little League baseball, about meeting Pete Rose when he was twelve years old, and how he'd half frozen to death at a Bengal's playoff game a few years ago. Halfway through his discussion about that he stopped himself. "My god," he said. "I must be boring you half to death. Women aren't used to that kind of thing."

"Actually, I remember that day," she said. "I had to work. I put on hose and cable tights under my nurse pantsuit and still wore a sweater under my heaviest coat. The bus was late. They couldn't start it! But I made it. I can't imagine people sitting outside in the cold like that, for hours. The emergency room was all set to take in dozens of people with frostbite."

Daisy suddenly strode up to their table, when "Les Bicyclettes d'Enfant," a waltz, started to play. "Can I kidnap him from you for a waltz?" she asked. Linda nodded, and off they went. She started to watch them, noting how Stephen looked down at his feet too much until Daisy put a delicately manicured finger underneath his chin and turned his gaze upward. Daisy spoke to him continually while they danced. Linda realized that she must be his teacher.

Someone tapped her shoulder from behind. She turned around to see a tall man with chiseled features and smooth skin. He wore a nice dress shirt and slacks, just like all the men students in the studio. In formal, measured tones he said "May I have this waltz?"

Linda turned herself to him. "Sure," she said, wondering when she'd ever seen him in the studio. He reached down to her with a strong, gentlemanly hand and she placed her fingertips into it daintily, allowing him to help her out of her chair. Once they were on the floor, facing each other, he took her into dance position masterfully and gracefully, as if they'd danced before. But she swore she'd never seen him before.

To start off, he led her into a perfect side pass and entendre. "Have you been here before?" she asked him.

He smiled casually. "Oh, I've been around." He took her down the length of the floor in a triple twinkle, helping her float by holding her strongly during the rise and fall sequences. In the corner he executed a perfect single twinkle and turn so they could start the other way.

It occurred to Linda that instructors from other dance studios, even the national chains, sometimes visited The Next Step. "Are you a coach?" she asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head as they swept together, then apart, their palms touching, in what Linda knew was an advanced Silver step. "I just love to dance."

Their waltz, which had carried Linda off onto a cloud, had ended just as soon as it started, the way they always did when she lost herself in the moment of the dance. "Thank you for the waltz, Linda," he said, as he guided her back to her table.

She spun around to look at him closely again. There was something oddly familiar about him, yet she could not place him all at the same time. "How did you know my name? And who are you?"

"Michael," he said, with a short, genial laugh. "I'm sorry, I thought we'd already been formally introduced."

She looked at him again, still eerily unable to shake the thought that she'd somehow seen him before. "That's okay," she said, lowering herself into her seat. "It's been nice to meet you."

Linda wanted to watch Michael, to see who he would dance with next, but Pete distracted her. He was starting to get sweaty. "Hey Lin, if the next one's a swing, lets get on out there. They're playing too much of this slow shit."

Tony announced the next song, a cha-cha.

Pete gazed up at the ceiling, shaking his head in exasperation. "Ah, this Cuban motion stuff," he said, disgustedly. "My fat ass can't work like that. I ain't no disco duck."

Stephen, who'd been at the bar, reappeared at their table, setting his drink down. "C'mon, Linda! Let's try out what we learned in the group class."

As the rhythmic Spanish music played, Stephen took her into dance position, and paused, squinting while he listened for the correct start beat. Linda stood up on her toes to look around the dance floor for Michael and his next dance partner. When Stephen lifted his arm to lead her into a turn, his stiff jerky movement caught her off balance and she tripped, nearly losing her footing. "Sorry!" she said, allowing Stephen to gather her in for dance position again so they could start over.

He led her into two basic steps. "What's the matter?" he asked. "You seem a little distracted."

Linda instantly realized that it wasn't fair to Stephen for her to be so obsessed about her previous dance partner. She apologized. For the rest of the dance, she gave him her undivided attention. He stiffly, but gamely led her through several more basic steps and even a chase step.

He gently nudged her away during one of the rock steps, which was her cue to start triple stepping back and forth with him, making it appear that they were chasing each other.

Whenever a song finished, she would look around the entire studio for Michael again, but he was gone. Could it be that he had just slipped in for a few dances and then slipped out, unnoticed? Maggie walked by her, dressed in one of her shimmering designer outfits. "Hey Mag," she asked. "Did you know that guy who was here, earlier, Michael?"

Maggie paused, to consider Linda's question and search her mind. "Michael?" she said. "There haven't been any Michael's here that I know of."

"He was a great dancer," Linda said. "He led me through some silver and gold. I thought he might have been a visiting instructor, or coach. Didn't you see us?"

"No," Maggie said. "But I was on a long phone call in the office." She touched Linda's wrist lightly, excusing herself to socialize with one of the doctor couples sitting at a table in a far corner.

Who could it be then?

She then remembered the mysterious gentleman in the beautiful, marble hall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

August, 1986

Everything seemed to be happening to someone else. Linda was spending the last few weeks at the hilltop row house apartment she'd called home for over five years. She still rode the bus to work, but now she'd managed to land in one of the more desirable four day flex shifts during the week. Most important of all, on September 18, she would marry Stephen Herron.

The day he'd proposed, he held her face in her hands and said "You're the most pure, most decent, most kind woman I ever met."

Were it not for Seth, she truly would have been pure.

Ever since Seth's drunken, ridiculous proposal, he'd called her exactly twice and had come by to see her once. They walked up the street to the tavern with the view of the city, yet he started in on a familiar old refrain: "I can't believe you still live in this tiny-ass apartment and drive that fallen-apart VW."

Linda said "Seth, fuck off," and he reeled back away from her in shock.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "Where did you learn that? From some old man, pissed that his body's all rotting away?"

She got up from her bar stool, turned to him and said "I'm going home now. You are not to come with me. You are not to call, ever again. You can just forget I ever existed."

When she was almost halfway home she heard heavy footsteps running up behind her. "But I thought we had something special!" he said, trying to spin her around, to face him. She steeled up her will and continued walking forward, like a horse with blinders on.

"You're pathetic," she said, over her shoulder. "Go home and sleep it off."

On that August morning before work, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. As much as ever, she thought her shape resembled a bowling pin. Her weight would go up and down, usually between one hundred thirty-five and one hundred forty-five. She wore camisole pajamas with tap pants that revealed about three inches of her midriff and the pesky, jiggly little shelf that lingered above her hips. No matter whether she dieted or worked out, the jiggly little roll around her middle remained, like a mischievous old friend.

She would be twenty-eight by the time she and Stephen walked down the aisle. Her mother had gained crows feet and a dropped chin as she progressed further and further into her fifties. Would the same thing happen to her? Every now and then faint circles showed up beneath her eyes and she was starting to get a little crease around her dimples, but that was it. Her skin was staying taut against her face. "I might not ever win any beauty contests," she told herself, "but I look pretty damned decent." People still complimented her on her sun-kissed, multi-hued, lush blond hair.

As she sat on the edge of the Murphy bed to roll on her white hose, she noticed something with a square edge poking out from beneath her nightstand. She bent down to reach for it and discovered that it was a small writing pad. A chill ran up and down her arms and her spine. She realized that she had not dreamt lucid since the last time she saw Lauren, when she brought the little girl with her.

The notebook contained her own, barely legible, scratchy handwriting. She'd written in it during the small hours of the morning. The entry read: "I met the little girl who would be my daughter. Her name was Hannah."

Well, she was halfway there, since now she would have a husband. In two more weekends they would go away for a short trip to New York together, to celebrate their love.

They would spend time alone together, probably for the last time until they became married.

She would tell him then, about the dream.

At work she tried to keep her focus, her work life separate from her romantic life, but her friends kept reminding her. Over the past couple of years, Linda had gotten friendly with a nurse named Kit, who'd had a bad habit of becoming too close to her patients, until Linda helped her with it. That morning, Kit, who was younger, taller, and thinner than Linda said "So it's less than a month now, until the big day. Are you getting nervous?"

Linda was placing a line on Mrs. Lechowitz, an end-stage patient who was receiving mostly pain medication these days. She was more lucid than usual that day and croaked "What big day?"

"I'm getting married," Linda told her.

"That's wonderful," Mrs. Lechowitz said, smiling the first smile Linda had seen since she'd been re-admitted. "A nice, pretty girl like you should be married. You'd make an excellent mother. I tried to be the best mother I could, to my boys. I don't know if I succeeded."

Linda tilted her head. What was she talking about? Her two sons came to see her a couple of times a week, many times bringing their families. "But they love you," Linda said.

"A mother always worries," the patient said, and then she drifted off into sleep as the pain meds coursed through her body.

When she and Kit left the room, Kit picked up where she left off with the conversation about Linda's upcoming marital bliss. "So when you and Steve go to New York, that's when you're finally gonna give it up for him, isn't it?"

Linda replied, "I hate to disappoint you, but that won't happen until September 18th."

"But aren't you going to sleep together, when you go to New York? Won't the temptation be too great..." Before Kit got all of the words out of her mouth, she stopped herself, noted Linda's expression and nodded knowingly. She also gazed skyward, with an exasperated expression on her face. "You're getting separate rooms, aren't you?"

Linda methodically prepped the supplies for the next patient, double-checking readouts for dosages. "I think it's best."

Kit persisted. "But you have to make sure you know what you're getting into. What if you're not compatible? What if you don't fit right?"

Linda re-boxed some sterile gauze and gave Kit her full attention. "And what if we did? What if we're compatible and we have the greatest sex ever?"

Kit grinned deliciously. "Ooh, sounds like fun."

Linda said "I don't know. Sex always seemed like something you could get tired of really fast."

Kit squinted at her, putting her hand on her hips. "Is something wrong with you? Have you ever really had any? Because that's one thing I could never get tired of."

"Well then, that's one way you and I are different."

No matter how many times she and Kit argued over petty little things like this, Linda would never forget how they'd gotten close in the first place. There had been a patient named Mr. Petty, whom Kit had spent lots of time with. He was a World War 2 veteran and would enthrall Kit with stories about valor and survival in the carnage of Europe, and how he, his battalion, a few other American squads and some Russian soldiers had broken down the gates at a German concentration camp. "What I'm going through is nothing," he would often say. "I saw the hollow stares of all those people, who couldn't even feel joy at being freed."

Linda had taken Kit aside a few times and warned her. "I know he tells great stories," she would say, "but you shouldn't get too close to Mr. Petty. It's not good for you."

"But he doesn't have anybody," Kit replied. It was true. Mr. Petty married a woman he met there, one of the camp survivors. She'd been starved, raped and mistreated so much that it had permanently damaged her ability to have children. She and Mr. Petty had been married for over thirty years until she died, peacefully, in her sleep.

As far as she knew, only a niece and his sister had come to see him during the time he'd been in the unit. "Yes, but I still don't think you should get this involved. He won't be around much longer."

A few days after Mr. Petty stopped responding, when his bed resembled a spider web of crossing IV tubes and sensors, Kit walked around with heavy shuffling feet, expressionless, like a zombie. A doctor confirmed Linda's suspicions. "There's not much else we can do now, except make him comfortable," he said. Later that day Mr. Petty had been freed of most of his tethers.

"Watch for the glow," Linda told Kit when they sat together in the break room.

"The glow?" Kit repeated.

Linda nodded. "The glow means he's on his way to the other side. It's beautiful. Sometimes you can even see events from his life, flash before your eyes like the most beautiful movie you've ever seen."

"Really?" Kit said, smiling for the first time in several days.

"Yes."

It happened on a Wednesday morning. The director of nursing warned her about it when she first signed in. "He's had a drop of vitals," she said, expressionlessly, without emotion.

"He's barely hanging in."

Linda and Kit helped their other patients in their unit, but also kept their eyes on room 238, which Mr. Petty now shared with Frank Mills, a Hodgins Lymphoma sufferer. "Pull the curtain," Linda said, when it was revealed that Mr. Petty was barely breathing.

Kit did as she was told, and they both stood there silently watching him. A warm glow suddenly emanated from Mr. Petty, and his expression changed. His features, which had been slack for several days, showed a faint tinge of expression, the slight hint of a smile. The light brightened, and Linda watched shadows cross through it. "I see it," Kit murmured. "I see it!" Both she and Linda basked in the glow and warmth of the light and flashes of images of him joyously walking alongside a young, pretty dark-haired woman, of him climbing girders high into the sky as a construction foreman.

Just as quickly, the light and warmth faded, and Linda thought they'd been eased gently back down to the earthly plane, and she could hear the plaintive squeal of the monitor.

"He's gone," Kit cried, rivers of tears flowing out of her eyes as she covered her face in anguish.

Linda held her friend while she sobbed. "He's here," she said. "He's happy. He sees us and wants to know that he's in a better, happier place now." She held Kit and cried along with her, tears of sorrow, but tears of happiness, also.

As they both stood there, holding each other, she thought she could hear Lauren speak: "You're doing such a great thing. Keep it up!"

Through her years as a nurse at Jewish Hospital, Linda became known as the "Nature" lady. Family members would clamor for the doctors and nurses to step in, heroically.

They spoke of "fighting this animal" called cancer, as if it was a dragon or an invading army that could be vanquished. Many times Linda would tell the sons and daughters of patients that "We really don't know why the body grows destructive cells. Sometimes it's nature. Sometimes we ask the patient why they want the cancer."

Words such as those had shocked more than a few wives, husbands, mothers or fathers, sons and daughters. "Why in the world would anybody _want_ cancer?" they would say. Linda saw the disease not as an army to be conquered or an animal to be killed but as a learning experience for the patient. In her years she heard many patients say "I've learned more about life and love through this than anything else in my life."

The Thursday morning late in August finally arrived. Linda had packed all of her bags and thought about how nice it would be to wear normal, regular clothes for the next five days in a row. She put on her pale yellow and floral sundress to begin her weekend adventure with Stephen. Still early that morning, with the humidity rising from the river like a warm fog, Stephen arrived in his boxy, sensible Chevy. "I'll never buy one of those rice runners," he would say. "Jobs for people in this country just like me depend on me driving a homegrown set of wheels."

Linda and Stephen had spent entire weekends together before, checking out the antique shops in Warren County, or watching endless parades of videos together in between shopping trips and restaurant dinners. Going away for the weekend, to a distant, exciting place like New York City seemed like they were taking it to the next level, however. The clouds parted and they enjoyed clear skies and a smooth ride all the way there, on the plane.

When the captain came on the crackly intercom and said "Flight crew prepare for landing," Linda held Stephen's hand. The jet cruised over the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

Linda looked out the window and shook her head, thinking that the buildings of downtown Cincinnati could fit into a little sliver of that island amid all the glass and concrete behemoths. The plane dipped lower, and the next thing Linda saw when she looked out was a giant metal globe in the middle of a park. Stephen saw her looking at it. He said "That's where they had the World's Fair. We went there when I was a little kid. It was the last time I went to New York."

Linda had never been to New York. As the plane landed, she thought that the biggest city she'd ever seen was Chicago. She was a little girl when she rode the train up north with her mother and spent a couple of days gawking at the massive buildings and crowds of people. They also visited an aquarium with five floors. But New York seemed twice as large! The next few days would hold many wonders and discoveries.

It was the second time Linda had ever flown before, the first being her senior class trip to Colorado, for skiing. That ride had been bumpy, like a bus careening through ravines and over rough gravel, but thankfully the flight to New York had been velvet-smooth. As they emerged from the airplane corridor into the terminal, her first thought was that it seemed like the United Nations. She saw men wearing fezzes and turbans, and women in flowing caftans, sharply dressed stewardesses walking together in their navy blue suits, families searching all the signs and digital readouts overhead. Had they landed in another country?

"This way to the baggage carousel, babe," Stephen said. It had been so long since Linda had traveled that she had to buy luggage. The clerk at the store convinced her to buy a funny looking rectangular suitcase with wheels on the bottom and a telescoping handle at the top. He said that it was the latest and greatest thing, and that it would make getting around airports 100% easier. She noticed that all of the stewardesses pulled wheeled suitcases behind them.

"Are we going to rent a car?" Linda asked, after they found their luggage on the carousel.

Stephen grinned. "And mess around with New York traffic? That's the beauty of all of this, sweetie. You don't need a car in New York. They have the best buses, cabs, and subways in the world."

Linda vaguely remembered the movie "Death Wish," where a group of rough characters tried to rob a man on the subway and he shot all of them. It gave her a queasy feeling.

They walked down a wide corridor amid swarms of people and noise, following signs that read "Ground transportation." Soon they found themselves on a curb in a warm, sultry, New York afternoon, with taxicabs, vans, and airport shuttles whizzing past. "Did you call for a cab?" she asked him.

Stephen laughed. "Honey, you don't have to do that here. It's like fishing in a barrel. You just grab the next one that comes along."

That next cab was unlike any yellow cab she'd ever seen before. It was black and long and looked like a limousine that movie stars rode in. Yet it carried a white plastic sign on the top as if it were any other, normal cab. "This seems expensive," Linda said, as Stephen ushered her in. "Maybe we should just get one of the yellow ones."

"We're on vacation, remember?" Stephen said. "Live a little!" He piled into the back seat of the Lincoln behind her and told the driver the name of the hotel where they were staying.

"That's it?" Linda asked. "He doesn't need to know the address or anything?"

"These New York cab and limo drivers know the city like the back of their hand. Gosh you really are funny sometimes. You don't get out much, do you?"

"Apparently not." The ride from the airport into mid-town Manhattan should have been offered as a thrill ride at King's Island, Linda decided. The driver shifted from lane to lane, narrowly missing other cars and busses, driving with his pedal to the metal, causing the engine to whine and moan at several points. Every square inch outside their window had been covered with concrete or asphalt, with ribbons of overpasses criss-crossing over them. They passed through a man-made tunnel with lights on the wall before emerging onto a strait of land and factories with belching smokestacks.

The highway curved around to an elevated plane leading to a bridge spanning a slate gray river. The huge buildings of Manhattan awaited them on the other side. "Almost there," Stephen commented.

Soon the limo darted in and out of city traffic that crawled along, past storefronts and glass atriums with sidewalks bulging with herds of people. "I'm lost," Linda murmured.

Stephen laughed. "How can you be lost? You're with me."

"It's so big!"

The driver stopped at a curb in front of the high-rise hotel where they would be staying. "It's not the Waldorf, the Westin, or the Four Seasons but it's pretty damned close," Stephen said, as he paid the driver and helped Linda out onto the sidewalk, into the cacophony of blended traffic sounds, engines, horns honking, crowds of people talking, and a pneumatic jackhammer louder than any of it.

As they entered the hotel lobby, Linda shuddered to think of how the more expensive and opulent hotels of New York would be. The hotel Stephen had chosen featured Grecian plaster archways and a lobby with a high ceiling that curved above them, and front desks with granite countertops, with clerks in jackets and ties. Bellmen in the classic short maroon jackets and cylindrical caps pushed golden carts with covered suits dangling from them. A well-dressed woman passing by them carried an exotic, cream and gray Himalayan cat.

"I feel like I'm in a movie," Linda remarked.

Linda and Stephen rode in a mirrored elevator to their rooms on the ninth floor. The plane ride and the wind by the curb at the airport had tousled her hair. She gazed at herself in to mirror and pushed a few locks of her hair back into place. "Women always obsess so much about their hair," Stephen said.

She shrugged. "It's one of the best things about me." Indeed, one of the hardest parts of her job was helping to comfort women who lost their hair in thick tufts after the first few rounds of chemo. Sylvia, one of the nurses who wore hair extensions, was much better at doing that.

They arrived at a room marked "923" and Stephen dipped a key card into a slot to unlock the door. A pleasant scent of bayberry greeted them and inside Linda could see a king sized bed with a soft pad built into the wall above it, and crisply clean, inviting comforters and pillows atop of it. Stephen hauled his luggage inside while Linda still stood out in the hallway. Stephen, who had hunched down over one of his suitcases, looked up at her. "So, are you coming in, or what?"

"Well, I want to put my things in my room first."

He straightened up, and looked puzzled. "This is it."

"What? I thought you said you reserved two rooms."

He smiled wryly. "Well I did, kind of. It's a two-room suite."

Linda hauled her luggage inside and found that he was right. The first room was equipped with a desk, a small refrigerator and a bar. There was a small table with two chairs. A large door on the far wall led to a communal bathroom, with the second room of the suite beyond a doorway on the other side. She took her suitcases there. "Check out the view, Lin!"

She used a twirling rod to part the drapes and all she could see were buildings on the other side, across the street from them. "All I see are buildings!" she told him.

"You have to come out here on the balcony."

Linda had not even noticed the sliding glass door on her first trek through that suite. Stephen had opened it and waited out there for her. When she joined him she felt a cool breeze and smelled grilling steak and pretzels wafting up from the street below. Still, she could only see the buildings across the street, at first. He told her to look sideways. When she did she saw the twin towers of the World Trade Center in the distance, with the afternoon sun hanging over them. They could see them through a corridor of buildings, including the shimmering spire of the Chrysler building.

"And the United Nations is right beside it," he said. "Maybe we can go there, tomorrow or the next day."

Since they both agreed they were starving, since they only received powdered eggs and a dry, rubbery pastry during the flight, they decided to find a place to eat. "Chinatown," Stephen said. "Let's take the subway for a spin."

It seemed strange to be able to catch a train by descending stairs into darkness, and when they reached the platform and the tracks, the noise of the approaching trains with squealing wheels assaulted her eardrums with their volume. A long, light blue train slowed on the platform. Stephen read the placards on the side and said "There it is! Let's get it!" Linda could see rows of people standing inside.

"Can't we wait for one that's a little less full?"

"Aw, just grab the hook on the overhead rail, darling," he told her as he took her hand and led her onto the train. "Be like a real New Yorker. Besides, we won't be on it that long."

A sea of humanity surrounded them on the inside, from burly, longshoreman types to Asian girls carrying backpacks who appeared to be students, to businessmen who had folded newspapers into a narrow little section and studied them as the train rushed along. A man dressed in rags shuffled about approaching people and asking them for spare change.

When they stepped off the subway at the stop for Chinatown, they climbed stairs and emerged into a world that Linda swore must be in Shanghai. Chinese merchants sold fish and meat from open-air markets and Chinese youths rode bicycles through the streets. Other tourists like them snapped pictures of the buildings with slanting Oriental roofs and gilded accents. A couple of blocks down, they found a restaurant with a window reading "American Style cuisine." Stephen guided her through the door and she saw a little walking bridge and an artificial stream running beneath it, where large, colorful koi swam.

A polite hostess in a pea-collared gold jacket greeted them, and helped them to a circular booth in a dim, cozy restaurant. Well-groomed, efficient waiters in gold mandarin jackets breezed past, from the dining room to the tables. "American style cuisine?" Linda said. "This looks like some of the nicer Chinese restaurants back home."

"Well, I've heard that Chinese people don't actually eat Chinese food," he said. As they settled into the booth and looked over their menus, Stephen proposed a toast with their water glasses.

When the waiter arrived to take their order, Linda was surprised to hear him speaking plain, unaccented English. "Is it true," she asked "that Chinese people don't really eat Chinese food?"

He laughed. "Yeah, we get that all the time. No, they like it too."

When they finished their meal, they sat back and started a conversation over steaming cups of tea. "I can't believe all this is happening. It's like a dream," Linda said. She wanted to tell Stephen all about her experience with lucid dreaming in college and she'd continued to have a relationship with one of her best friends that way and...how she'd met their future daughter. But it was best to break it to him piece by piece. Realistic, practical people like Stephen sometimes did not take well to the world of the unseen.

"Oh yes, a dream," Stephen said. "Speaking of dreams, we can see those pictures of modern art at the Museum of Modern Art. They have lots of stuff there that looks like it came out of a nightmare. "

"I heard they have a big museum where they have world famous paintings that are two and three hundred years old," she said.

Stephen shook his head. "That's the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It's right near Central Park. We can go there, too, if you want."

"That sounds nice." Linda envisioned a long, lazy picnic lunch under an elm tree in the park. What better way for two people with hectic jobs to spend the afternoon? While they had a lull in their conversation during which the hostess seated a young couple just like them, she remembered something she always wanted to ask Stephen. "Can I ask you something personal?How did you come to want to learn to dance?"

Stephen smiled, blushing a little bit, also. "My mom said I should try it."

"Your mom?"

He nodded. "She taught at a dance studio, way back in the fifties, before she met my father. She said that I'd meet a higher class of woman there, among the dance students, than I would through church groups or reading clubs."

"Well, did you?" Linda asked.

"Yeah," he said, sniffing.

Linda met his mother once, at a Memorial Day celebration in Stephen's hometown. She still carried herself like a dancer, although she had completely committed to becoming the best homemaker for Stephen and the rest of the kids in the family. Since then, they'd spoke on the phone many times about the arrangements for the September wedding.

There would actually be two wedding celebrations: one would be the traditional ceremony with a mass back in Illinois, for Linda and her whole family, aunts, uncles, and cousins included. The other would take place in Cincinnati, and be more like a reception for their friends from the studio and all the other people in Stephen's family who were unable to make the trip to Linda's hometown.

Stephen then said something that unsettled her. "When we get married, are you still going to want to keep up your dancing as much as before?"

"Sure," she replied. "It's very important to me. It helps me be a better nurse, believe it or not." Sometimes married couples danced together in showcases and learned all their programs together, and performed at parties for the other students. Linda decided right then that she had to know Stephen's plans for his future dancing. Would he leave all of the dancing up to her? "What about you?"

Stephen gazed ahead at the aquarium on the other side of the restaurant. He would widen and narrow his eyes, snarling his lips from one side to the other. Linda knew, from their time together that this was never a good sign. "I like dancing," he began, but gosh, I wish sometimes it wasn't so danged expensive."

Linda nodded. She remembered Stephen's one try at dancing in front of people. He and Daisy had danced a tango at one of the parties earlier in the summer. For the occasion he wore black dancer's slacks and a garnet bolero shirt with balloon sleeves. Daisy looked very sexy.

She wore a matching red blouse that barely covered her breasts and shoulders and a long skirt that had been slit all the way to her bikini line. Together they'd made for a fetching couple and they'd danced a vibrant, dramatic tango. "How did you like that tango you got to do with Daisy?"

Stephen shook his head, whistling. "Oooh, that. I was scared to death."

"You looked so cute out there." She wished she'd thought of another way to put it, since guys generally didn't like that term.

He shrugged. "Well, she thought we should do a routine, and we did, and I'm glad it's over with."

"Would you ever want to do something like that again?"

"And get scared like that? And mess up the way I did? No."

The image of the dashing gentleman in the tuxedo came into her mind, but she chased it away. "How about with me?"

He smiled and leaned in toward her, giving her a quick kiss. "We don't have to have a whole, organized, choreographed routine to dance together. We can just do it, anytime."

"So do you want to continue on with dancing, then?"

Stephen paused and looked at her thoughtfully before responding. "We've got so many other things to think about, to plan for, to look forward to. There's our new house. Kids, if we decide we want any."

Linda thought about Hannah. Lauren had failed to give her any clue of when Hannah wanted to be born. "I want children."

"Yes, I know. That's what I'm saying. There's so much to life. Dancing is just a tiny, small part of it." He narrowed a space between his thumb and index finger to stress the point.

Linda heard what she wanted to know.

There was time, that late afternoon and early evening, for them to look at antiques in a furniture store and old books in a dusty bookstore. Around one corner of a shelf loaded with old books, Stephen appearing, looking down at her with a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous grin.

"Let's go back to the room."

Linda's heart fluttered as they walked back to the hotel and got on the elevator for the ride to their floor. Stephen turned to her, took her into his arms and they kissed, soulfully, losing themselves in each other as he stroked her hair and she held him tightly as she darted her tongue into and out of his mouth. She remembered their first kiss. It happened after the third party she and Stephen attended together. When everyone was saying their goodbyes and the front door, near the elevator foyer, Stephen smiled warmly, leaned down and kissed her gently.

This was different. While they'd both said they wanted to wait until their wedding night for sex, it was still more than a month away and their actions in the elevator were taking them somewhere whether they wanted to go or not. Before the elevator doors had opened all the way they rushed through them, walking swiftly down the hall toward their room, managing to stay arm in arm.

Inside the room they fell together on the bed in Stephen's suite. They kissed and held each other on the bed, rolling over each other, their lips staying locked together. "I want you," Stephen murmured. "Oh, do I want you."

They'd managed to unbutton each other, and Linda's blouse and Stephen's shirt lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. Linda straddled Stephen as she leaned over to kiss him passionately, and he expertly flicked open the clasps on her bra, letting her breasts swing freely. As she sat atop him, she could feel his rock hardness straining beneath the crotch of his pants.

She rubbed up and down over it deliciously, giggling.

He gazed up at her breasts longingly, lovingly. Linda realized that he was seeing them for the first time. She let him touch them and hold them, exploring them with his fingers. As he did, she closed her eyes and gave in to the wonderful, intimate feelings of being explored and savored. He took his time touching them softly, kneading them, until she decided it was time to take things to the next level. She leaned down and kissed him quickly. "I'll be right back," she said.

First she stepped through the doors into her suite and retrieved a little something she'd packed for an occasion such as this. Her topless reflection of her breasts swinging freely embarrassed her at first but then she was pleased at the way her tousled hair and flushed skin made her feel and look sexy. She slipped out of her skirt, and rolled her hose down, then stepped into the black teddy she'd bought at the naughty clothes boutique. The clerk had told her "The black will go good with your blond hair. He'll love it."

The high cut legs of the teddy had been trimmed with delicate lace, and it accented the roundness at the tops of her thighs in a way that for once they didn't seem full or chunky to her. She smiled as she brushed her hair, teasing it out more fully to give her a randy, vixen appearance. And she touched up her eyeliner and mascara and put on a fresh coat of frosty lip gloss. "Here goes,' she whispered to her reflection, backing out of the bathroom.

Linda expected that Stephen would have taken off his pants and underwear by then, and might even have pushed back the covers and sheets, to invite her in there along with him. She was touched by his gentlemanliness when instead she found him as she'd left him moments before, laying atop the made bed, with a visible, straining bulge in his pants. Now she could release him. Now she could satiate him. His eyes popped open when he saw her in the teddy. "Wow!"

She lowered herself down to him. She let her free hand flutter over his chest like a sensual butterfly, feeling glad that she'd thought to get a manicure, with frosty polish, a couple of days before their trip. She reached lower, and let her hand glance over his straining ridge as he moaned and closed his eyes.

Stephen wore the beltless, elastic waistband type of pants with a simple eyelet catch, which made Linda's next move easy. She reached up and simply pushed the waistband apart, found the zipper pull and grinned at him as she tugged the zipper open with a tantalizingly slow, languid motion. He was almost free. As she reached up to tug the waistband down, he helped her, pushing his pants down in one smooth, swift motion so that they shot from his legs, fumbling over the edge of the bed.

Only the underpants now. He wore tight white cotton ones, which tugged free of his straining manliness with ease. Once he lay there, completely freed for him, she touched him, cradling him, petting him. By then he was so aroused that the engorged velvet head presented itself to him as she leaned over and took the tip of it into her mouth. She kissed him and tongue-bathed him lovingly. He was so hungry for her, and his passion so fierce that after just a few strokes, he exploded for her.

When it was over she expected that they would just hold each other, then she would go to her room. But Stephen had other ideas. She groaned and ground her hips into his touch as he expertly pleasured her and she bathed him with her wetness. And just as she'd done, he climbed down there, took her thighs tenderly in his arms and loved her with his lips and tongue, touching off rolling rumbles of ecstasy that drove her to dizzying heights of pleasure.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

September, 1993

Linda had wanted to name her Hannah, but Stephen objected. "That sounds too biblical," he said. The one name they could both agree on was Hayley. Anyway, Hayley Herron was starting kindergarten that bright morning. She had spent the first five years of her daughter's life watching her, studying her, seeing if she would look like the little girl accompanying Lauren in the dream.

Instead, Hayley had blond hair like her mother and large, liquid eyes. Linda had spent the entire summer getting ready for this. She played with Hayley more, taking her to the park or the roller skating rink. Stephen would take them on drives to the country, either in Kentucky or Indiana. It all led to the procession of vehicles around the front entrance of the elementary school. "You're going to love going to school," she told her daughter, her voice cracking. "You'll get to meet other little girls and make friends."

Hayley calmly looked up at her. To Linda, sometimes she seemed like a much older spirit in a child's body, patiently enduring childhood until she could get to her twenties and thirties and all the good stuff. She sat like a perfect little angel on the car seat, her hands folded across her lap. "I know, mom. It's going to be fun." Hayley spoke in complete sentences shortly after her first birthday, which also mystified her mother.

Linda nudged the gas pedal to send the car ahead a few yards. Stephen had convinced her that they should get a Jeep. Until she saw them at the car dealer, she thought of jeeps as the open air, olive drab vehicles that carried soldiers. The Jeeps she and her husband looked at reminded her of the station wagons she saw when she was a little girl, only they were higher, with more headroom. With their room and cargo space, they were the perfect family car.

Much too quickly, Linda's car reached the front of the line. "This is it, pretty baby. Something you'll remember for the rest of your life." She unlatched the seat belt that had kept Hayley restrained in her seat. "Now come give me a hug. I need it."

Hayley lifted her small body and wrapped her arms tightly around Linda's neck. As she did, Linda began to sob and drip tears onto Hayley's arm. "I'll be home soon, mommy," she said, in her soft, sing-songey voice. "Don't be sad."

To distract herself, Linda ran a check for the umpteenth time. "Now you have your snack box, right? And your pencils?"

"Yes, mom," Hayley said, holding them up.

`A teacher's assistant opened the passenger door of Linda's car. Linda gave Hayley another quick kiss as her little girl struggled and scrambled to lift herself off the passenger seat and out onto the sidewalk. As soon as she emerged from the car, the assistant took hold of her hand and guided her toward the front door of the school. Linda crouched down and watched Hayley climb the front steps and disappear behind the glass doors, into the front lobby of the school. A honking horn startled her. Since Hayley had disappeared into the building, she had no other choice but to leave.

As her car pulled away from the school, she began to cry. And cry. Rather than a series of convulsing sobs, teardrops flooded from her eyes and splashed: onto her blouse, onto her arm, and onto her swollen belly. Linda was nearly seven months pregnant. During the last few ultrasounds and other tests she'd received, they confirmed that her second child would be a boy. Though he loved Hayley, Stephen was deliriously happy that he would soon have a son.

Linda drove aimlessly through the forested countryside surrounding their neighborhood. She was in her least favorite stage of the pregnancy, from what she remembered with Hayley.

It was way too far along to hide or even disguise, but far also from the glorious birth of her second child. For now she had to put up with the waddling, the baby pressing on her bladder, her swollen feet, and her moodiness. It might have helped if she could go back to work, to slip into the comfort of all the day-to-day details of all the patients in the unit and the new things she constantly had to learn. She'd taken that day off, however, since her daughter's first day of school was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Linda, Stephen, and Hayley lived in a house Linda jokingly referred to as a "McMansion." It was big, with five large bedrooms, an entertainment room with a stone fireplace and a balcony, with kitchen island and stainless steel appliances, and the house had been finished in a classic, tudor style with lots of brickwork on the facades. Still, the house had a thrown-together feel about it.

Once, when Bobby came to visit them after his traumatic divorce, he found a squeaky spot on the hardwood floors near the threshold for the kitchen. He jumped back and forth on it, making the floor squeak and squawk as if he were a vaudeville performer. It squeaked like that only if you stepped hard onto a certain spot, but the noise so annoyed Stephen that he called the builder. They could fix the floor squeak, but they would have to tear apart the floor and it would cost thousands of dollars. In the end, Linda bought a nice Persian rug and placed it over the spot to help dampen the squeak.

As she pulled the car into the circle driveway, she shook her head as she got reacquainted with another of the house's shortcomings: the lots were tiny! On a phone call from her old friend from college, Marie, she joked "I can hand the neighbor a bar of soap through the window." Still, it was home, and she lived here with the man she loved and a wonderful daughter.

She'd even created her own little sanctuary space inside, turning one of the extra bedrooms into a hideaway and steal an hour for herself here or there. There was a wooden daybed, a couple of bookshelves and a stereo boom box in the room.

Inge greeted her when she walked in through the side door. She was from the former German Democratic Republic, was about fifty years old and had a wonderful kind, matronly way about her. Inge had been married, but her husband had been killed during the scuffles that occurred around the time the Berlin Wall fell. Stephen and Linda hired her to help keep the house clean and to look after Hayley. They paid her a salary and her official hours were from seven to four, Monday through Friday. As part of the deal, Linda gave Myrtle to her. Inge found a quaint little apartment in one of the older, busier sections of the city a few miles away and constantly thanked Linda and Stephen for their generosity.

"No. Thank _you._ " Linda would always say.

Inge was such a quiet worker and person that Linda could spend hours in the house during the day and feel as if she was alone. At the same time, Inge had learned English well, and since she'd been to college and had raised two children of her own, she could hold a conversation on just about any topic Linda could think of. As she walked through the house, she found Inge near the fireplace, meticulously dusting all the pictures on the mantel. She was finishing up on some of the pictures to the left, which included her wedding pictures.

Glancing at her wedding pictures always warmed her heart. Linda stepped closer to the mantel to gaze at them. Something about the wedding party picture made her feel queasy, however. She picked up the frame to look at it in her hand. She was in her classic Victorian wedding dress, with the flounces and the train, which was long enough to sweep around all four of her bridesmaids. There was her sister, of course, as the maid of honor, then Becky, Penny, and Lauren! Lauren! She let out a shrieking gasp as she gripped the picture frame with two hands.

Feet wearing rubber soled orthopedic shoes padded up behind her. "What's the matter, madam?" Inge asked.

Linda kept staring at the image in the photograph, expecting it to metamorphose back to Julie, who had previously held that position in the picture. But Lauren kept looking out at her out of eyes that seemed alive. The most amazing thing about it was that this was not the twenty-one year old Lauren, whom she'd last seen thundering off on a trip to see a concert, this was Lauren with a few years of age on her, Lauren as she might have looked had she lived up till the day of Linda's wedding! Her hair was still long and full, but it had been styled into big, beautiful curls that cascaded loosely past her shoulders. Something about her expression, her style, or her lean look suggested a woman of twenty-eight rather than a girl seven years younger.

"What has upset you?" Inge asked, plaintively.

Linda realized that she'd better place the picture back onto the mantel, before she dropped it. Yet, her hands trembled so badly that she passed it to Inge so that she could place it back on the mantel instead. When the wedding photo had been placed securely as it had been before, Linda crept forward to study it some more, still seeing Lauren where Julie should have been.

"How can I help?" Inge asked, in her soft, soothing, kind tones.

For a moment, Linda considered telling her the truth, and explaining about Lauren.

To do so would have opened up a whole new can of worms, however. Would Inge feel comfortable continuing to work with a woman who saw ghosts? Would she feel comfortable telling her most intimate, long-forgotten about secrets to a woman who was, in reality, still a stranger? "I always get emotional when I look at the picture," Linda said, trying to force a smile. "I think I need to lay down."

Rather than climb the stairs to the bedroom, Linda shuffled toward the rear corner of the house, and her sanctuary. She lowered down to the soft, inviting daybed and closed her eyes.

"Would you like me to get you some hot tea?" Inge asked.

"That would be nice."

She could only lie on her back now. To make it easier, she arranged pillows in an incline and would try to fall asleep in a semi-sitting position. Most days it worked. Hayley would not need to be picked up for several hours, yet. Could someone have doctored the picture? With computers nowadays, all kinds of slick photographic fakery could be achieved. Who would do that, though? Stephen had only heard of Lauren a few times, knowing her as that "girl who died tragically at the Who concert." He'd only seen her picture once, and it had been a sloppy, drunken one where she held herself up against Linda and Julie and grinned goofily for the camera.

Lauren was trying to reach her. That was the only solution that made sense. Linda decided to check the wedding photo one more time after she finished her nap.

While she lay on the daybed, she reminisced about her wedding. To her it was hard to believe that the seven-year anniversary was coming up. She could picture all of the details in her mind as if it had happened last weekend. Her mother and father insisted on helping to pay.

This even though she made more money than her father and way more than her mother. They held the fancy church and wedding reception in Illinois, which meant that most of Stephen's family had to drive distances of two to three hundred miles. There were not many motels around the small town where Linda had lived, and many of them filled up with people who'd come to see a monster truck rally that same weekend. As a result, her mother and father's house filled up with out-of-town guests. The morning of her wedding, it looked like a flophouse.

Tradition dictated that bridesmaid dresses were ugly and in unbecoming colors such as seafoam green or unappealing shades of teal. Linda wanted her bridesmaids to feel good about serving her at her wedding. She chose strapless, shimmering gowns with gathered bodices in a flattering shade of dusty rose. Since all of her bridesmaids, including her sister, amped up their makeup a few notches for the event, Linda overheard someone snotty say "They all look like a bunch of high-class hookers."

Stephen wore a simple black tux, with only his silver tie differentiating him from his groomsmen. For all the preparation, the sending out of invitations, the flowers, reserving the VFW hall and choosing a cake and a buffet menu for the reception, Linda broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as she walked down the aisle, arm-in-arm with her father. What was going on, she wondered? Aren't I supposed to be crying my eyes out? As she met Stephen at the altar and took his hands in hers, the words the priest said boomed in her ear. When he got to the part where he said "If there's anyone here who does not want to see these two young people get married, speak now or forever hold your peace," Linda imagined a scene.

She wondered whether Seth would show up, banging at the back door of the church, the way Benjamin Braddock did in _The Graduate_ , saying "Don't do this! You love me!"

However, no such thing occurred. No one responded when the priest asked for any dissenters and he soon gave the magical command: "You may kiss the bride." Linda had gone traditional all the way and had chosen a veil that partially draped the sides of her face. Stephen, with a look of pure love on his face, and tenderness, reached up to part the veil as he leaned down to give her a kiss. It was a sweet, shy kiss and when he pulled back from her, he was smiling widely and glowing. Linda suddenly understood why so many women cried at wedding ceremonies.

As she lay there in bed, she shed a tear or two just from the memory. The priest had them turn around after that to face the congregation as he said "May I present Mr. And Mrs. Stephen and Linda Herron!" and all the friends and family applauded. The rest of the day went exactly as she and the wedding planner had hoped. The old ladies and children threw bird seed instead of rice when they exited through the high, arched front door, but rather than get into a car, they formed a line with the bridesmaids and groomsmen.

A parade of people strolled through the line to speak with everyone, with Stephen and Linda at the very end. One by one Linda's aunts, old co-workers from County General, and friends of her mothers kept on telling her how beautiful they thought she was. "I feel like a movie star," she said to Stephen.

He smiled warmed down at her. "Well, today you are a movie star." Quickly he had to return to shaking hands with all of his co-engineers who'd made the drive and accept a long, warm hug from his mother, who was red-eyed and clutched a handkerchief.

Linda had invited a couple of friends from the crazy apartment where Lauren had lived, since she'd had so many friends there and lots of good times. Marie suddenly appeared, dressed in a smart mauve suit with an orchid on one of the lapels. She'd driven down from Chicago.

"I work for a lawyer up there," she said. "It's pretty good." Linda remembered the time when she was trying to clean up after a party and Marie had crept down the stairs, hissing at her to keep quiet. "You look so gorgeous." Marie seemed awed and moved.

"Thank you. That's very nice."

Marie leaned in closer to her, taking her hand as she said "Lauren would have loved to be here."

Linda nodded, feeling choked up, not sure if she could speak just then. "I think...I think...that she _is_ here."

And Lauren had just proven it by showing up in her wedding picture, seven years later. Linda swung her legs off the daybed and tried to avoid dropping her feet to the floor with a bone jarring clunk. She didn't check a clock, but knew she'd been laying there reminiscing for close to an hour. Slowly, cautiously, she rounded the corner and stepped into the hallway for the entertainment room.

As she approached the mantel sideways, she could see the wedding picture at the very end, distorted by the glare of the late afternoon sun. The details of the picture came slowly into view. She could see herself and Stephen at the center. Before shifting her eyes to the right, she squinted and took a deep breath. When she finally allowed herself to study the details of the bridesmaid all the way to the right, she saw Julie's reddish hair, pale complexion and freckles. She was smiling like an all-American girl, a cheerleader.

And no, Lauren had not taken up another spot on the photo, nor had she cheekily gotten behind one of the guys on the left. Linda sighed. She backed away from the picture. For a moment, she did not know what to do. A pan lid clinked quietly in the kitchen.

Linda ventured in there, and she saw Inge working at the stove, stirring pots full of heating fluids. She turned and saw her. Still holding the wooden spoon above the pot, she said "Ah, finished with your nap? I'll have lunch ready soon."

Linda stood at the entranceway , once again torturing herself over whether she should tell Inge what happened. She lifted a finger and started to speak, but stopped herself.

Inge placed the wooden spoon down onto a towel on the counter. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave Linda her full attention. "What is it?"

No, Linda thought. She'll think I'm weird and about to draw pentacles on the floor and hold animal sacrifices in the fireplace. Besides, at that moment she realized who she should be talking to instead of Inge. But she had to say something. Searching her mind, and scrambling for something plausible, she said "After I pick up Hayley from school, we're going to be out for awhile. And Stephen and I will probably go out to dinner later. You can go home early if you want."

Inge smiled at her. "That's very nice."

Linda turned away and climbed the stairs for the master bedroom. Inge would probably stay until four the way she always did.

Later, after lunch, she happily drove back to the school to pick up Hayley. She drove up the circular entrance and waited in a line, the same as before. Rather than wait in the car for Hayley to pile in through the opened door, Linda put the Jeep in "park" with the engine running and stood in front of the passenger door, waiting for her.

As her daughter emerged from the glass door at the front of the school, Linda thought her heart would melt. Hayley's oval, delicate face broke into a wide, glowing smile as she saw her. She ran from the door, down the steps and to the sidewalk and the curb. At the last moment Linda knelt down so she could receive the hug that was coming at her daughter's level. When Hayley reached her they held each other for several moments, rocking back and forth and cooing, as if they'd been apart weeks rather than hours.

As a celebration for her first day of school, Linda took Hayley to the ice cream parlor. They reached the counter and played the same game they always played. Linda would look down at Hayley and say "What kind would you like?"

Hayley would shift back and forth, looking down, stepping over both her small feet, and say "That green kind."

"It has a name, you know. Pistachio. Say it. Pistachio."

"Pit-asho."

To keep the upholstery of the Jeep clean, they always ate their ice cream at the tiny table and chairs inside the bright parlor. "So did you have fun?"

Hayley sat at the edge of her chair, her feet dangling over. She supported herself with one hand against the table while the other hand held her ice cream cone. Splotches of pastel green melted ice cream dripped onto her lips and chin as she happily lapped. She nodded, her head bobbing with the zeal of her youth. Linda felt glad that she'd placed napkins over the front of her blouse and her jumper.

"What did you do?"

"We sang a song. The teacher read a story about a giant."

"Did you make any new friends?" Linda threw caution to the winds and ordered a double scoop of her favorite, Jamocha Almond Fudge.

She nodded her head again, like a little puppy. "Ellie."

"That's nice. What else did you do?"

"We took a nap. And we drew pictures."

"How is the teacher?"

"She's nice. She looks like grandma."

Later, when they arrived home, Linda cleaned Hayley's face more thoroughly and retrieved her camera. Just as she predicted, Inge was still there. "Could you take pictures of us out by the garden?"

"Aw, mom!" Hayley whined. "You always want to take pictures."

"Just indulge me, will you?" she said, as she guided her out the back door. As much as she complained, the girl always did smile for a picture. Inge patiently took several shots of them standing beside the rosebushes and the tomato garden. Linda knew she would look fat in the pictures, but she did not care.

For the rest of the afternoon, they waited for Stephen to return. Normally Linda let Hayley play with her dolls and her craft toys in her room, but today she wanted to sit with her, hopefully to get her to tell her more about the first day of kindergarten. Unfortunately, the only way she could get her to sit still was to put on a Disney video, such as _The Little Mermaid._ While they watched Ariel and the dancing crabs and sunfish, Hayley leaned her small head against her mother's chest.

She didn't seem to be watching the movie too closely. Instead, she started whispering "Hello" over and over again.

"What are you doing, honey?"

"I'm saying 'hello' to my little brother."

The thought warmed Linda's heart, but made her feel anxious at the same time.

"That's nice," she managed to say.

Hayley lifted up her head to look directly into her mother's eyes. "When is he going to be borned?"

"Soon." She stroked a few locks of Hayley's downy soft hair that framed her face. "By Halloween time. He'll be your Halloween treat."

Hayley looked down at her mother's round belly again. When she looked back up at her, she squinted, tilting her head. "Mommy, where did he come from?"

"From my belly!" Linda said, tousling her hair and jostling her shoulders. She pointed to the television. "Look, Ariel's meeting the prince!"

But it wasn't enough to distract Hayley from the subject at hand. "Mommy, how did he get in your belly?"

Linda took in a deep breath, astonished that she would have to have _this_ kind of a conversation with Hayley, _this_ early. She had prepared different types of answers for different types of scenarios and hoped her response would not come out sounding canned. "Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other the way your daddy and I do, little children in heaven see them. And the angels want them to come to the world to be with them, so they can love them, too. The angel sends the baby to the mommy and the mommy holds him until he's ready to be born." When she finished, she forced herself to smile.

Hayley looked back up at her. For Linda it was impossible to tell whether her daughter was waiting for her to say more or if she was just contemplating the answer. "Then he came from heaven?" she asked, so softly Linda could barely hear.

"Yes."

She turned her eyes away from her mother and looked straight ahead, saying "Oh."

After a few moments she looked up again and asked "Did I come from heaven, too?"

"Yes, you did, sweetheart!" She gathered her in for a long hug. "Yes you did." As Linda held her daughter, tears escaped from her eyes. They watched the rest of the movie together in happy silence.

When Linda turned off the VCR and searched for a television show for them to watch, Hayley suddenly pushed herself off the couch. "Daddy!" she shouted. She could hear the engine of his Chevy Lumina as it pulled around the driveway. With all her might she opened the doorknob of the front door and ran out onto the stoop and then to the driveway. Stephen had parked beside the Jeep and was just beginning to emerge from his car when Hayley ran up to him. He set his briefcase down onto the concrete to lean down and receive the hug from his little girl.

"Hay Hay! I've missed you so much," he said, as he rocked her back and forth. There was something extra special, extra sexy about watching her husband play with his daughter. He'd come up with that nickname for her when she was still a little baby. While Linda stood back to watch them she realized that she was seeing Stephen anew each time he hugged and held Hayley. His hair was starting to gray and thin at his temples a bit and with his years of working at a sedentary desk job, he'd sprouted love handles. But Linda loved him all the more.

He had hoisted Hayley up so that she sat on his hip and held him around his neck while he reached down to grab his briefcase. Linda rushed up to him for a kiss. "My two beautiful angels," he said.

As they walked inside Stephen kept looking her up and down. When they were in the house, he set Hayley down and she ran up to her room. Stephen said "You're wearing clothes."

Linda laughed. "It's an old habit. I picked it up in childhood." She modeled her dress.

After modeling it, she picked up a few folds of the lavender and blue fabric, showing it to him. She'd chosen the dress that morning because it was chic, felt comfortable and would help her feel good about herself despite having to walk with a waddle style.

"I mean, you can't have changed that quickly after work. Or do nurses have 'dress like regular people' days?"

"Well, if they do, no one ever told me about them. Listen, what were we going to do for dinner?" She thought that a visit to one of the nice restaurants on restaurant row would have been great. For that she would have to get dressed yet again.

Stephen took off his suit jacket, opened his collar and plopped himself down on his favorite leather recliner in the entertainment room. He shrugged. "Why don't you call out for a pizza?"

"Pizza? I thought you said you wanted to do something special?"

He laughed. "Well, you can make it everything except anchovies. And call one of the nicer places then."

"Pizza? Wouldn't you rather go out somewhere?"

Stephen waved a hand, dismissing that idea. "Out? No. I had to do programming all day. You know how I hate that."

They'd kept refrigerator magnets of all their favorite pizza places and restaurants. Before she searched for one, she thought about turning around to ask Stephen if the reason he didn't want to go out was that he didn't want to be seen with her, his tubby, waddling wife. But she knew he would say the same thing he always said "I love you just the way you are."

Hayley jumped up and down with glee when she found out that they would be staying in and ordering pizza. If it had been up to her, she would have eaten pizza every day of the year.

When she thought about it more, it made sense that Stephen would choose pizza. It was Hayley's special day, after all, and she should be able to eat what she liked. Stephen changed into an old golf shirt and slacks, further cementing the deal. Hayley came down in her little Lady Bug blouse with the wheat corduroy pants she loved. Linda followed suit and changed into a pink and white striped maternity romper and slippers.

Stephen and Hayley took up residence on the couch and brought out the Nintendo machine and the stack of game cartridges. They put in the Super Mario brothers one first, with Stephen saying "I'll bet I can get to a higher level than you can." Linda never could "get" video games whether it was hungry little yellow circles devouring dots or space ships blowing up asteroid chunks. To her it seemed like a waste of time, but Stephen and Hayley loved them. Instead, Linda prepared plates and towels, paid the pizza delivery man when he arrived and brought neat slices of pizza to them as they played.

While she sat alone in the kitchen, she reflected that she could not share the day's supernatural event with Stephen, either. He would have listened carefully and patiently to her story before speaking to her in soft, slow modulating tones, saying "Honey, there has to be a logical explanation. You've been under a lot of strain, what with the baby coming and your work pressures and all." This time it had to be something else, however.

She could call her mother. Mom would want to speak with her granddaughter after her first day of school, anyway. Excitedly, Linda reached for the cordless phone and dialed the same number at her house that they'd had since the 1960s. Her mother answered, delighted to hear from her since she and her father had been empty nesters for awhile now. As always, she said "How are things?"

"Fine. Listen, mom. I need to talk to you about something really important."

"What is it? Is Stephen okay? How about Hayley?"

"They're both fine, mom. They're in the other room playing their little games. This is about something else." She told her the whole story about Lauren appearing in the wedding picture.

"My word," her mother said, after Linda had revealed the last detail. "That _is_ amazing."

"Well, am I going crazy, or what?"

Her mother laughed, which helped ease her tension. "Well, sometimes pregnancy can take the mind where minds don't usually go, but no honey, I don't think you're crazy. Anything but. You know how proud I am of you."

"Well, what do you think this means, then?"

If she'd been there in Illinois, sitting across the room from her mother instead of calling her from two states and three hundred miles away, she would see her shrugging, her eyes opened wide. "Well honey, I think Lauren was just saying 'hello' to you in the best way she knows how."

It made as much sense as anything else. "Well next time she should just pick up the phone and call. It would have freaked me out a whole lot less."

They both laughed together for a moment. "Hey, mommy, who is that?" Hayley asked.

"It's grandma! Do you want to tell her all about your first day at school?" For the next few minutes, Linda listened as her daughter rattled on about drawing pictures and stories about giants and the colorful, soft mats they used during nap time.

If Lauren was trying to say 'hello' to her as her mother thought she was, Linda thought of a way she could say 'hello' back. After putting away the dishes and forks she realized how tired she was. Tomorrow she would have to return to work, and she would need to get up at 3:30am. After all these years, she was still working the early shift. She shuffled toward the couch and said "I'm going to turn in early. " She rubbed a hand down in the small of her back. "I'll be down here for tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Stephen said, with one eye on her and one eye on the television screen as he worked the game controller. "After I put this munchkin to bed I'll give you a massage."

Many times Stephen's delicious massages were a prelude for glorious, earth shattering sex, even as both of them had passed their mid-thirties, with a mortgage, children and all sorts of other concerns. It amazed her that someone with such a no-nonsense type a mind, a "gear-brain," as she liked to tease him, could touch her so sensually and soothingly.

Linda used the hand mirror in her sanctuary room to brush strands of her hair back into place and fix herself up so that she looked nice when Stephen came in after tucking Hayley in. On the way up, Hayley stopped in the room to give her mother a good night hug. Moments later, when Stephen returned, he sat her up in front of him, the way he always did. He would always start off with a neck rub, usually commenting about the stiffness and strain she carried there. This time he worked the area a little more gently than usual. "You're not mad about us staying in instead of going out, are you?"

"No honey, not at all. Hayley had more fun eating pizza and playing all those games anyway. Besides, it was cheaper."

He moved his hands down to her shoulders, which always caused her muscles to melt and her eyes to close. "What were you and your mother talking about?"

She shrugged. "Oh, nothing. The usual."

"Really? Well you were talking really softly, like you were trying to make sure I couldn't overhear anything."

She'd read in a magazine that guys usually couldn't divvy up their attention like that. They were usually focused on tasks at hand. It amazed her that her husband could do this. Still, she didn't think she could tell him the real reason she'd called her mother that night. "It was pregnancy stuff. Girl talk. I kept my voice down because I didn't think you'd appreciate hearing it."

"Okay," he said "But you know you can talk to me about anything, don't you?"

"Yes, I know."

Soon he finished his massage, kissed her good night and headed upstairs to get to sleep himself. Linda turned out the light, slipped beneath the covers of the daybed and lie flat on her back, propped up by pillows, wide awake. She wondered how long it had been since she'd been lucid. Had it happened at all while she'd been married? She'd thought not. The last time occurred when she still lived in the row house on the hill. It was like riding a bike, though, something she could never forget. It would help if she had the mask with the lights.

Maybe she could get lucid without them. She closed her eyes and sighed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The alarm clock rang for 3:30am. Linda groaned. Not having any other choice, she swung her legs off the bed and tried to avoid dropping her feet too hard onto the wooden floor. All of her work clothes, her makeup and toiletries were in the master bedroom, of course. She gingerly opened the door to avoid waking Stephen as she crossed the room for the bath. Along the way she let her pajamas drop and she placed them atop the chest at the foot of the bed.

Still groping in the darkness, she reached the doorknob for the bathroom and opened it, pulling the door toward her slowly. Once inside the bathroom, with the door closed behind her, she could turn on the light. Her naked reflection blazed onto the mirror in the vanity suite and she gasped, nearly shrieking. All she saw were folds of white skin and a smooth, shining belly that made it look as if she had swallowed a basketball. I look like a cow, she thought, as she swiftly stepped toward the bath and shower.

She let the warm, soapy water wash over her, suddenly breaking into tears over what had happened over the past couple of days. The final straw was her body being presented to her in its least appealing light, stretched obscenely by the ravages of pregnancy. Warm tears mixed in with the water, which she let wash over her face as well.

When she finished, she dried off and reached for the set of scrubs she always kept in the bathroom in an armoire. Many times she had to get herself ready hours before Stephen got out of bed. She put on her scrubs, greatly thankful that nurse's uniforms had gone that way over the past five years. Rather than purchase a bunch of costly maternity skirts and pants, all she had to do was go up to sizes on the scrubs bottoms, to accommodate her round belly.

It took a few more minutes for her to fix her hair into shape by fastening it away from her face with barrettes. It was a quick and easy way to make both her hair and her self presentable.

Before long she kissed both her husband and her daughter good-bye for the day. After a quick breakfast, by four-thirty she had climbed behind the wheel of the Jeep and headed for Jewish hospital. The good thing about continuing to work such an obscenely early schedule, she always thought, was that she never had to deal with traffic. And she would be able to pick up Hayley from school.

She arrived at work and saw her best friend Jodi on the job. Jodi gave her a briefing about what had occurred during the day when she was off. They checked the readouts together and the meds screens before starting on rounds at opposite sides of the unit. Little by little, the other nurses checked in as the third shift nurses dragged themselves away. When all the third shift nurses had left, Jodi smiled. "I love this time of the day, before the world wakes up."

Most of the patients were still asleep between four and five a.m. Only when the sun started to rise to many of them open their eyes and "rock and roll" as Jodi said. With her early morning nausea, Linda wondered if she would need the emesis pan before the patients. The director of nursing arrived and looked directly at her belly before even saying hello. "Are you sure you're only seven months along?" she said, making her feel even worse. "You look like you could pop at any time."

As the morning wore on, patients, and visiting family commented a few times about Linda's advanced pregnancy state. "I feel fine," she told them, knowing inside that she was feeling anything but.

Further on down the hall, Linda checked in on Mr. Jacobson. He was a white haired man with piercing eyes, who was suffering through end stage prostate cancer. That made his care easy for Linda: she did little more than administer pain meds for him. His eyes were closed when she first entered, but he quickly opened them and said "Well I'll be! It's Ginger Rogers!"

"One of the other nurses told me about your dancing," he said, in a thick, somewhat raspy voice, the same way all end stage patients spoke.

"Well it's been awhile since I've been on the floor," she said, as she switched out IV bags and reconnected one monitor.

"Dancing is a beautiful thing," he went on. She thought he was going to say more, but instead he closed his eyes and slipped back to sleep, snoring slightly.

While tending to the other patients for the rest of the morning, she thought about dancing, the studio, and her wonderful dream about the tall, mysterious man sweeping her through the grand foxtrot. It had been nearly a year since she'd been back to The Next Step, but Ginny called her every now and then to give her the latest news and gossip. That way she learned that Ron had resigned, to go to Florida to help a friend of his with a dance studio there.

By late morning, she knew there were no two ways about it: she had to get back out onto the floor. The best way she could think of was a dance lesson. She had over twenty hours on the books from the last program she'd bought, so the financial end was already taken care of. All she had to do was call.

On her next break she called there. A new woman's voice answered the phone. It seemed that Maggie was into hiring older receptionists these days. Linda hadn't been paying attention when she answered but she had to introduce herself. "I would like a lesson," she said.

"With the most experienced male staff you have."

The receptionist said "That would be Jared, and he's booked quite heavily." Over the phone, Linda could hear a couple of pages turn, most likely booking sheets. "Ah, but I see he has an hour available next Friday at three p.m. Did you want to come in then?"

"No, that won't do. I was hoping to come in for a lesson either today or tomorrow." As the words tumbled out of her mouth, she wondered how she was even going to swing coming in for a lesson later in that day. She'd have to drive in the opposite direction to go home and put on a skirt and a blouse or a dress with her dancing shoes and then return, through heavy traffic, to make it on time for the lesson. Meanwhile, the phone clunked and rustled on the other end, as if the receptionist was frantically perusing the booking sheets.

"I'm not sure what we can do, Mrs. Herron," she said. "I don't know if anyone's available over the next couple of days."

"Listen," she said. "It doesn't have to be the most advanced instructor. I know you usually have at least four there. I'd even consider a trainee."

"Well, what time did you want to come in tomorrow?" she asked.

Linda shrugged, as she heard the sound of retching coming from one of the nearby rooms. "Early," she replied. "Four p.m. would be good."

"I can get you a lesson with Roger. He's new, but he's really good."

"That would be fine." After she hung up, she tried to get all of her ducks in a row. She would have to have Inge pick up Hayley from school, then stay overtime until Stephen came home from work. It would probably be okay. Inge went to church functions, but most of those happened at the end of the week. Once Linda had made the arrangements, her spirits picked up.

Soon, she would be dancing again, feeling the magic again. For the next couple of hours, patients, doctors and family members commented about her smile rather than her extended belly.

An hour before she was to go home, the unit clerk Gayle paged her. She arrived at the central station and saw a line on Gayle's phone blinking. Gayle was a soft-spoken, mousy woman who'd been a convenience store clerk before she hired on to the unit, and often thanked God out loud for helping her find better employment. "You have a phone call," she said, soto voce, as if she was afraid of waking everyone on the floor.

Usually family members or co-workers called to get updates on patients and they would ask for the nurses by name. "Who is it?" She reached for the handset.

"Someone named Maggie," Gayle replied. "Said it was a personal business matter."

Linda wondered what could be going on. She took the phone and Gayle plunged down on the blinking line. After they exchanged pleasantries, Maggie got right to the point. "I'm a little surprised to see you booked for a lesson tomorrow," she said. "Aren't you pregnant right now?"

At that precise moment, the baby kicked, as if he was asserting himself. "Um, yes I am."

"Well then, do you think it's a good idea to come in for a lesson?"

Linda knew that she was technically supposed to clear such things with her obstetrician. But, damn it, she was a nurse, and she knew her own body. "It will be fine," she said. "I'm not that far along."

"Okay," Maggie said. "If anyone would know, it'd be you. My other concern is that you'll be having a lesson with Roger."

"Yes. I understand he's new, but that's fine."

"Honey, I know you haven't been here awhile, and I'm delighted that you're coming."

Linda sensed a very big "but" coming as Maggie paused to catch her breath. "But you're a silver and gold dancer. You've done routines with coaches. Roger is a good boy, but he's barely out of our training program. He won't be able to take you through any silver or gold. I'm just concerned. I think you might be better served working with Jared. He has an opening for later next week..."

"I appreciate your going through the trouble of calling," Linda said, interrupting her, "but Roger will be fine. I just want to dance."

Maggie let out a short laugh. "Well then come to the party on Friday, rather than burn a lesson."

"It's okay, Maggie. I want the lesson with Roger. I'll see you tomorrow."

The next morning, Linda searched her closet for the best dress to wear to the studio and she found her cute, denim prairie dress with the knit panel sewn in the front. It was attractive, she liked the way she looked in it, and most importantly, it did not scream "I'm pregnant!" to the entire world. Her silver dance sandals even went well with it.

When she had arrived home the day before, she arranged with Inge to have her pick up Hayley at school on Wednesday. Hayley asked "Do I get to ride in Myrtle?" after her mother told her about the arrangement.

"Yes, honey, you will."

"Yay!" Hayley raised her arm in the air and jumped high. For some reason she loved riding in that ancient Volkswagen with so much history.

Just before her shift ended, she went into one of the ladies' rooms to slip on her dress. When the director of nursing saw her she said "Wow! Where are you going? Do you have a hot date?"

Linda smiled and said "No, I have an appointment," and executed a perfect triple twinkle down the hospital corridor, complete with a double spin at the end.

"Whoa!" the director of nursing said, as everyone within range, who'd seen Linda's impromptu dance step, cheered. "I'll have what she's having!"

She left the building with a smile on her face and her nurse's gear in a little bag. Everything seemed to be working in her favor. Even the traffic, which could be horrendous at that time of the day, gave her a break. It helped that she only had four miles to drive. By the time she exited the highway near the studio, she realized that she was fifteen minutes early for her lesson.

It was only four o'clock, she told herself. When she'd taken her first lesson, more than twelve years ago, it was early evening. This would be the same kind of thing. It would be like she was taking a trip back in time, except, this time she would not have to fill out a questionnaire and sit anxiously in the lobby. Still, when she rode the elevator up to the dance studio, she felt a pins-and-needles kind of trepidation in her arms.

When the elevator door opened into the foyer for The Next Step, Linda held her breath. She then steeled herself and strode across the carpet to the studio's front door. When she opened it, she saw a plain looking woman with pulled-back auburn hair standing at the counter. She appeared to have been waiting, like a sentry, for the door to open, since as soon as Linda entered, she plastered a wide smile on her face and said "Mrs. Herron! It's so nice to meet you! I'm Emily! We spoke on the phone."

Linda crossed to the receptionist desk and shook Emily's hand. Rather than look at her as they shook hands, Emily's eyes tilted downward, looking at Linda's belly.

"Now, just have a seat, and I'll make sure Roger knows you're here."

Emily started to walk away from her receptionist post but paused, and turned back to look at her. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine," Linda said, as she lowered herself into one of the lounge chairs. Just the same as before, there'd been no magazines in the waiting area. When Linda asked Maggie about this, years ago, Maggie had just laughed and said that they weren't operating a doctor or dentist's office there. She said that if someone had to wait for a long enough time to read a magazine, then there was a real problem.

Maggie still kept the same studio motif as before. Only a six-foot wall separated the lounge area from the rest of the studio. Bright, upbeat music played, the kind someone would use in a swing, either east or west coast. Linda felt she barely had sat long enough to make the seat warm before Maggie floated through the doorway past the receptionist desk and turned to greet her. She still had the same, fluffy blond hair as before but seemed tanner, more wrinkled and thinner than Linda remembered.

The theatrical bravado remained however. "Linda!" Maggie sang as she swooped down with her arms extended to give her a hug. "It's so wonderful to see you!" She held Linda close and rocked her back and forth as if she were a cherished family member. When she released her, they still held hands, standing across from each other.

"It's nice to see you also," Linda said. "And it's so nice to be back."

"Yes," Maggie replied, then turned her eyes down, looking at Linda's swollen belly. "Can you step inside my office briefly? We can catch up, girl talk, you know." She punctuated herself with a coquettish nose twitch, something she'd undoubtedly affected from her years in the business. Linda followed Maggie to the little office along the far wall, the one where she would pressure students into signing long-term contacts.

As they stepped inside, Maggie took one of the regular chairs that had been placed in front of the desk. She invited Linda to sit beside her. This helped calm Linda a great deal. Before she spoke, Maggie reached out for Linda's hands again. "Now, you know you're just like family here, don't you, that we love you?"

"Yes, I know."

Before Maggie spoke next, her eyebrows knitted together, enhancing wrinkles Linda never knew the woman had. "It's just that this is such a delicate situation."

Linda decided to make it easy on her, by patting her hand. "You're concerned about my being pregnant."

A pained expression on her face, Maggie simply nodded.

"Well, you need not worry," Linda said, straining to sound confident. "I'm a nurse, remember? I'm fine. Really!"

For a moment, the two women paused, in silence. Maggie nodded, gazing at the carpet, deep in thought. When she turned her gaze up to Linda again, her eyes and expression were really soft. "Well, I know you like to do the waltz and foxtrots, those big, glamorous dances that take up the entire floor."

Linda smiled. "You know me well."

"And I know that you're not going to be able to get into dance position very easily."

Linda interrupted her. "I know that. Don't you think I thought of all that? You've had other students who've been pregnant before, haven't you?"

Maggie looked down at Linda's swollen belly again, a pained expression on her face. "Yes, but they weren't as far along as you! Listen, I'm in touch with your best interests here. Don't you think it would be better if you waited, say three months? You'd be rested, and fit."

Linda had anticipated this. She searched her mind for the words to tell Maggie that everything was okay. "I realize your concerns," she began. "but I would like a lesson. I'll sign whatever paperwork you need me to sign."

Maggie looked shocked. "Honey, it's not about that."

Linda persisted. "Tell Roger I'm ready for my lesson. I'm going to go back out to the lobby."

Maggie sighed. "Okay."

She escorted Linda back out to the lounge area. As Linda passed by the floor, she saw an intense, dark-haired man schooling a mousy woman in her forties on the finer points of Cuban motion. She assumed that the average sized, powerful looking man was Jared, the star instructor at the studio these days.

Once again, Linda sat for barely a long enough time to get her seat warm before Maggie reappeared with a pleasant-looking young man. He had brown hair, fair skin and an eighteen-ninetiesh look to him somehow. His eyes were expressive and lively when Maggie brought him over to meet her. Maggie said "Linda Heron, I'd like you to meet Roger, our brightest young instructor."

He smiled warmly for her. As he reached forward to shake her hand, Linda assessed him. He was an average sized-man, just a smidge taller than Maggie and thickly built. He looked nice, though, and Linda knew that many of his women students had probably fallen in love with him. She realized that it was unfair of her to compare her against the example of the dashing man in the marble ballroom from her dreams. At the same time, this reinforced her belief that such a man did not exist in this plane.

Roger took her hand and escorted her out onto the dance floor. There would only be two couples on the floor. Linda felt pleased that she was more-or-less getting the dance floor to herself. He guided her to the corner of the floor nearest the music alcove. Before he spoke, he clenched his teeth together slightly and motioned with an insistently pounding hand. Linda could tell that he'd worked a whole speech together for her and was having trouble getting the words out. Finally, he said "I've been looking over your chart, and I have to say, I'm really impressed!"

"Well, I love to dance," Linda said, reaching out to touch his arm, to try to get him to calm down.

"But I see here that you've done showcases, that you've danced in competitions, and that you're at the silver and gold level..."

"Yes, I know that, but did you also check the date for my last lesson? It's been over a year ago. I'm bound to be a little bit rusty. Roger, I just want to dance. I love the waltz and foxtrot. Maggie probably told you that. Now, I presume you know the triple twinkle, and the passing twinkles, right?"

Roger nodded, nervously. "Uh, yes. We work on those all the time."

"Well you could start off by working on those steps with me, kind of knock the rust off, you know what I mean?"

He looked down at her belly again. "Yeah, sure. We could do that." He had been holding onto her chart and looking down at it here and there while talking to her. Before he could begin his lesson, he had to lay the chart down on a stool beside the music alcove. "Let's get into dance position and try a few dry runs of the triple twinkle and passing twinkles. Before that, though, let's just do a few basics."

Linda put her arms up, to receive him in dance position. Ordinarily, a dance such as foxtrot would have been led from the diaphragm. This made it easier for the man to lead.

Linda's swollen belly would make it impossible for the two of them to dance diaphragm to diaphragm, however. Or would it? Was there any harm to someone pressing up against her? Roger kept his arms stiff and had bent forward at the waist slightly, avoiding any contact with her belly. He kept a strong dance position and Linda knew she would have no problems following him.

"Okay, let's groove," he said. He led her through two basics and then guided her out into a promenade before swinging himself around and turning her into position for the passing twinkles.

For a kid who could have been no older than twenty-three, he was doing quite well, Linda thought. He gently passed her from one side to another and she found herself rising and falling onto her toes, losing herself in the glory of the dance. From there, Roger led her through a couple of more basics until he successfully maneuvered her by leading her from the small of her back into the beginning of the triple twinkle. To her delight, he carried her with him effortlessly as they glided across the floor. When they finished, she could see Maggie standing at the other side of the floor, smiling. "Time to put some music on," he told her, as he strolled over to the music alcove. He called across the floor, to the other couple out there practicing. "Hey Jare! I'm putting on a foxtrot, okay?"

Jared gave Roger the "okay" sign with his thumb and forefinger. One flick of a button later, the Frank Sinatra song "New York, New York" played on the speakers, filling the whole room with music. Roger took her in dance position and swept her through a delicious array of promenades, passing twinkles, turns, and triple twinkles. He still kept her at arm's length from him, but she was still able to follow well from the strength of his shoulders and hands. When they had circled the floor a couple of times, Roger was smiling, as if he finally loosened up.

He finally allowed himself to surrender to the moment and enjoy spinning a good student through a trip around the floor through an exquisite dance.

As the song ended, he hugged her. He was still smiling, but a few beads of perspiration had broken out atop his brow. "That was great," he said. "What do you say we try a waltz now?"

"I would love that," Linda said.

Across the floor, Jared and his student were diligently working on a tango and needed the beat of that music for him to drill his points home. Roger looked sheepishly down at Linda. "On the other hand, we could work on a little tango, right?"

Linda shook her head. "I liked the first idea better."

Roger smiled, seemingly relieved. "On the other hand, we can just work on some steps in the meantime."

"Yes, let's."

He took her into dance position again, but before they moved, he made some adjustments to her carriage, getting her to arch her back more. She hadn't realized that the weight of the baby might have been dragging her forward. He also gently cradled her head, coaxing it into a slightly tilted-away, more flattering expression.

"That's very nice," she told him. "I've had many teachers who weren't so thorough."

As he held her, Roger shrugged. "Going with what I'm good at, I guess. When Tony was here he used to talk about dance position all the time. He said he could do an entire lesson on just dance position."

"I remember Tony," she said. He had left a little more than a year ago, just before she'd made her last visit to the studio.

"He was a nice guy," Roger said. "He taught me a lot. Now let's just do a few basics, make sure we mesh together."

At first he led her through simple boxes, the kind boys did at cotillions. Gradually, though, he traveled and pivoted with the step so that their waltz took on the form of a graceful diamond across the floor. He then took her into a promenade, which gracefully became a side pass, as they traveled in a line, rising and falling, as Roger would gently nudge her in and they would meet and their palms would touch.

With another flick of his wrist, he brought her back in front of him, danced a couple of traveling basics, and started a twinkle. Knowing that she could not press against his diaphragm, which would have been best, she paid full attention to him and tried to feel his lead through his arms instead. They spun around and he used the momentum to raise his arm and pass her through a turn.

The sound of clapping coming from the other side of the studio startled her. Jared said "That was nice! Hey, why don't you go ahead and put a waltz on so you can do the real deal?" Jared's student had also been clapping, and she smiled at them. Roger chose a nice, classic song, _Les Bicyclettes d'Enfant_ , which Linda had always enjoyed much more than the Anne Murray song _May I have this dance_ , which was often played at the parties.

When Roger returned to Linda to take her into dance position and start their waltz, he stopped a few feet short of her and regarded her for a moment. "You have the nicest smile," he said. "You really love this, don't you?"

"I do," she replied.

Roger started off simply, with a few basics and a promenade. As he felt more confident, he led her through another promenade with a brush step as they floated through a rise together.

She was enchanted: that was a step she'd rarely seen or danced to, one that usually happened only in demonstrations or routines. The long strides took them into a corner, and Roger took her into his arms for a reverse twinkle, which Linda followed only because she'd been paying such close attention.

From there, Roger passed her through a graceful turn before he gathered her in for a beautiful triple twinkle sequence in front of the mirrors. Linda could tell Roger had turned his head so he could watch their reflection as it dance by, but she could not bear to do the same. The memory of the horror in the bathroom mirror was still fresh. As Roger led her the rest of the way through the waltz, he pressed up tightly against her after gathering her in for one last turn. Linda could tell that the music was winding down.

Roger gently nudged her so that she pivoted sideways and he could lead her through an elegant passing twinkles sequence to finish off the dance. When the music finished, she had tears in her eyes, which seemed to startle her teacher, though he didn't say anything. Had anyone ever cried on a dance floor, she wondered. Dance was emotional and she was sure it had happened before.

"I want you to know I'm really enjoying this lesson," Roger said, as he held onto both of her arms and looked deep into her eyes. Linda couldn't help but think that the young man possessed all of the style and graces to be very successful in the business, whether or not he ever became a competition quality dancer himself.

Suddenly she felt a sharp pain on the low side of her belly. It caused her to wince and gasp as she bent over.

"Oh my god," Roger said. "Is everything okay?"

Linda held herself in the place where she'd felt the pain. She forced a weak smile.

"Oh, nothing. Just the baby making his presence felt."

Roger took her hand and guided her toward the receptionist desk and the lounge chairs. "Maybe we should let you have a little breather," he said.

While Linda walked along with him, she felt a warm wetness on her upper thigh. Not a gush, as if her water had broken, but a slight trickle. "Oh no," she said. "I need to get to the ladies room."

The Next Step contained two separate bathrooms. There was the one in the foyer, near the elevators (it contained a separate men's and lady's room), and another one, beside Maggie's small office. The bathroom inside the studio also contained a shower and lockers, as it was the place where people changed into their costumes for routines. Roger helped her toward the door. Maggie noticed them and followed Linda into the bathroom, with a distraught, desperate look on her face.

"Oh my word, what's going on," Maggie said, as the doors closed behind them.

Feeling a slight queasiness that quickly mushroomed into nausea. "I think I've had a leakage."

Maggie had one child and knew what to do next. "Lay down! On the bench. I'll get some towels."

"But I want to see," Linda wailed. When she touched the wetness that had trickled down, it felt viscous, like a raw egg white.

Seconds later Maggie laid towels down on the wooden bench so that Linda could rest on them. Voices and footsteps drifted in from the studio. A few of the other teachers were probably returning from lunch break, as Linda could hear feminine voices. Maggie looked down at Linda's exposed belly and her naked thighs, squinting and shifting her vision.

"I don't see any blood," she said. "Are you having any more pain?"

"No," she said, suddenly wanting to get better. She felt bad since Maggie looked so panicked. She also thought that the leakage had stopped, because the warm fluid that had leaked out of her was getting cold in the cool room and she could feel no other warm tricklings.

Maggie nodded. "We should get you looked at, now! I'll have Emily call your doctor."

"His card's in my purse, she said, suddenly feeling very weak."

Maggie left the room to get the business card and have Emily make the call, but she sent Daisy into the bathroom to have her look in on her. "Oh my god," Daisy said. "I'm sorry to hear what happened. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Linda said, as much to appease herself as anyone else. She wanted to ease the tension everyone around her seemed to be feeling. "My lesson went well. Roger's a good kid."

Daisy smiled warmly. "I know. We practice together."

After a few short moments, Maggie burst into the bathroom, which was becoming overcrowded. "He wants us to meet him at Bethesda North."

Linda's spirits sank. She was hoping that the nurse in his office would just tell her to take it easy for the rest of the day and lie down. "Well, if we're going there, then I need to tell my housekeeper, and my husband."

Maggie carried her purse and held her car keys, jingling them between her long, manicured fingers.

"What are you doing?" Linda asked.

"I'm going to be driving you." Both Maggie and Daisy helped Linda to her feet so she could go to the receptionist and make her calls.

Inge insisted on meeting her there, too. "I'll bring Hayley with me."

"Inge, you don't really have to go to all that trouble. I'm fine."

"Linda," she said, which surprised her since Inge rarely addressed her by her name. "You're like a younger sister to me. I need to make sure you're all right."

When she called Stephen's office, one of the bored-sounding secretaries said "He's in a meeting."

"Could you get him?" Linda requested. "This is urgent. I'm being taken to the hospital."

Not more than a few seconds later, she heard Stephen's excited, and panicked voice. "Lin! What happened?"

"I had a little leakage while I've been out. Probably nothing major. But a friend is going to drive me to North so Dr. Leifheit can get a look at me." After a few moments, during which she could hear Stephen pant, she added "It's nothing major. I'm not in pain or anything, and there's no bleeding."

"I can be there in half an hour."

As Linda and Maggie left the building, she realized that Stephen might make it there even before she did. Maggie drove a low slung, elegant Mercedes convertible. As she gunned the engine, Linda patted her wrist and said "Now I don't want you speeding all the way there. This isn't that big of a deal."

Bethesda North was on the other side of the city, but it was accessible by highways. It was not quite five o'clock. Linda hoped they would not get stuck in traffic. All along the ride, she marveled over how she got to see a side of the dance studio owner that she never saw before. Maggie was playing the role of no-nonsense savior of the day. She kept patting Linda and saying "Relax, everything's going to be okay." They reached the parking lot and found a space.

Maggie held her shoulders as they briskly walked to the door marked "Maternity."

The receptionist at the front window checked her in, asked her a few questions, and before Linda knew what was happening, two volunteers brought a wheelchair for her and brought her back to one of the birthing suites. "But I'm only seven months along! It's only a trickle, " Linda said, as they wheeled her away.

At the birthing suite, they had her change into a hospital gown and connected her to vitals monitors. Linda could not believe they were making such a big fuss, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Maggie, strangely enough, was not allowed to stay in the birthing suite with her because she was not family. This disappointed Linda, but she told Maggie that she only needed to sit in the waiting room until Stephen had arrived.

It turned out that Linda's obstetrician was already rounding at the maternity ward, and he checked on her within fifteen minutes of the time she arrived in the suite. A nurse accompanied him as they quickly checked on Linda together. He tested for dilation and additional discharge, squinting as he looked through a scope and registering a few hmms along the way. He had sat down on a wheeled stool to examine her, and when he finished, he pushed himself away to address her.

"Well, everything seems in order," he said. "We're you doing anything strenuous at the time it happened, housework, heavy lifting, or anything like that?"

"I was dancing," Linda said, knowing that she probably sounded sheepish. However, none of the literature she'd ever read about her pregnancy explicitly forbade dancing, just heavy duty physical activity like heavy lifting.

"Dancing?" the doctor repeated, narrowing his eyes, appearing incredulous. "Can you help me here? Was it belly dancing, ballet, or hip hop?"

"Ballroom dancing," Linda said. "We were dancing foxtrot and waltz. At one point, he pressed his chest against me to lead me. It's called 'leading from the diaphragm.' That may have caused it, I don't know."

The doctor nodded. He gathered the knees of his slacks and pushed himself up off the stool. When he stood he leaned toward Linda and patted her on the shoulder. "The main thing is, you're okay. But you might want to hang up your dancing shoes for another three months."

He was a nice guy. She laughed. As the doctor and the nurse walked out of the room, Linda called out for the nurse's attention. "Can I put my street clothes back on, now?"

She turned. "We'd like to keep you here just a little bit longer, if you don't mind, in case anything changes."

"No, I don't mind," she replied.

To pass the time, she picked up one of the women's magazines from a bedside table and started to read an article about gardening. She'd only read two columns of it before Stephen whisked into the room, his suit jacket off, his tie undone, sweat on his brow and an anxious expression on his face. Without saying a word, he leaned down to give her a big hug, rocking her back and forth. When he released her, he sat on the edge of the bed and his expression had softened somewhat. "They told me you're okay," he said. When he was concerned, his eyes always turned a paler shade of their normal hazel color.

"Yes, it seems to have been a false alarm," she said.

He nodded, and glanced across the room at her denim dress, folded over the seatback of a chair. "I saw Maggie out in the lobby. At first I wondered what she was doing here, and then she's the one who told me you were okay. And that she drove you here."

"That's right. I was at the studio."

"The studio? What were you doing there?"

She took a deep breath, knowing that he might not like her answer. "I had a lesson. I was dancing."

He sat motionless, expressionless, apparently allowing her words to sink in and percolate around in his mind before he acted. "A lesson?" He indicated her pregnant belly. "Why in God's name would you want to have a lesson?"

She reached over to give him a quick hug before she said anything. "Because I wanted to. I needed to." He responded to her hug, which she decided was a good sign.

As they spoke, he kept her close to him, another good sign. He had rested his hand on her shoulder. "Wasn't it...you know, kind of uncomfortable?"

"Yes, I would say so. The instructor and I couldn't do diaphragm, obviously. Other than that it wasn't too bad."

Stephen paused thoughtfully before continuing. "Honey I know you love dancing but couldn't you have waited three, maybe four months?"

"I wanted to dance now. I needed to dance now."

Stephen squinted and gazed away for a second, his lips opening to reveal his teeth as he pondered Linda's statement. "Linda, we've talked about this. We've got the kids now. The house. Better cars. Dancing is a luxury."

"I know. But it's how you met me."

She convinced him that she was well enough for them to go back to the parking lot near the studio to get the Jeep and drive it home. As she settled in for the drive home, she thought about what Stephen said. True, dancing wouldn't really fit into their budget. But she vowed to find a way to make it work, somehow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

January, 2001

Linda had nail-bited her way through the last couple of months of her pregnancy with Matthew. She worried that her impromptu dance lesson may have caused permanent damage, even though her leak had been relatively minor. Her water broke for good when she was safely at home hanging ornaments on their Christmas tree. Inge briskly drove her to the hospital, using the Jeep, and her delivery went smoothly and swimmingly. Matthew Harrison Heron was born a completely normal baby boy at 3:01 PM on December 14, 1993.

During the first years of his life, Linda watched him very closely. He gradually developed into a beautiful toddler with amazing auburn hair the color of a newly minted penny.

Would he come out of her womb with an uncanny love for dancing, she wondered. He liked to chase his big sister around the house and hit her with stuffed animals and dolls when she wasn't looking. His favorite toys were his trucks and his train set. To her he seemed normal.

She was working on her computer in her sanctuary room, which had been turned into a study and office, even though she still kept the wooden daybed in there. Both of her children had been instructed never to bother her when she wore the headset, unless it was an emergency. Since she was simply web-surfing, seven-year-old Matt knew it was okay to approach her as he leaned against the doorway and addressed her. "Mom, can I go sledding?"

The last time she'd said yes to that, one of his friends older brothers took him to a hill at the park miles away, where they'd spent three hours. Worried sick, she didn't know whether to desperately hug him or scream at him when he returned home. "Where are you going to go sledding?" she asked.

"At Warmby's hill." He shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked down.

When he did that, he looked so adorable to her that she wanted to pick him up in her arms and cuddle him. Many times she did, and he would say "Aw, mom! That hurts!" to get her to stop. She doubted whether it really hurt him or not.

Warmby's hill was safe, just a short little bunny hill at one of the houses down the street. "Okay," she told him. "But put on some warmer clothes. It's cold out there. And the second it starts getting dark, get on home.

"Okay," he said, pushing himself away from the door.

When Matthew started nursery school three years ago, Linda gave herself permission to get back into her dancing full zeal. Stephen was serious about them saving money and economizing, however. They had the kid's college fund and their own retirement accounts to think about. She felt glad that she hadn't jumped on the bandwagon for all those "dot.coms" that had been all the rage the year before. Many of her friends had jumped in, made lots of money, then lost all of it and then some when the bubble burst.

Their budget left room for "mad" money and vacations, but there was no room for her dance and coaching lessons, without raiding or borrowing from the 401K, something that Stephen forbade. That left no choice but for Linda to finance her dancing from earnings she made at a part-time job. At first, she wondered, seriously, if the University kept a dream lab and whether they hired oneironauts. She found out quickly that they did not, however.

Besides, she wanted to get a job where she could work at home, if at all possible. Of course there were plenty of envelope stuffing ripoffs, as always, but through a friend at work, she found out about something that seemed worth a try. The internet and fiber optic telephone connections could allow people to work from home in customer service oriented positions. One company hired registered nurses to work from home as medical information specialists.

The position, officially titled "Healthcare advisor" required someone to answer phones on behalf of several different health maintenance organizations. The advisor would speak with the caller about symptoms they or their loved one were having, and would offer advice (carefully given to lessen liability exposures) and make referrals to hospitals or urgent care clinics.

Linda thought it was worth pursuing. She found out immediately that their old Texas Instruments computer was not up to the job, however. In order to log in from home, a larger and faster computer was needed, along with a high-speed connection. The telephone, dial-up connection they had been using was strictly a no-go. She had to withdraw two thousand dollars from her personal savings to buy the computer.

From the start, however, it worked out and she could log on whenever she wanted, whenever she had free time during evening or weekend hours, as long as it was a minimum of twenty hours per week. She spoke with stressed mothers about their child's runny noses, adolescent boys and girls worried about faces full of pimples, and elderly patients seeking homecare advice for post-discharge situations. The money the company paid her funneled directly into her checking out every week, and with it she could afford to take a lesson a week if she wanted to. On rare occasions she went to the Friday night parties, mostly to dance with all of the instructors and catch up with her old friends.

When she wasn't working on the computer or surfing on it during her off-duty time, Hayley liked to use it. That was fine with Linda as long as she was in the room, too. Hayley was turning into a tall, willowy beauty; at thirteen she was already taller than her mother, and both boy-and-clothes crazy. She liked to visit a website that reminded Linda of paper dolls. Hayley had created a virtual, digital representation of herself that was quite good (except she made herself tanner, with violet eyes instead of blue) and she would try on different outfits.

That way, she could get an inkling of how they looked on her.

Occasionally, Hayley pestered Linda about being able to use the computer unsupervised. "Absolutely not, young lady," Linda always told her.

"Why?" Hayley would wail

"Because I know what kind of trouble you kids can get into on these computers," her mother told her.

"Aw mom, you're being paranoid. What are they going to do, reach through the computer screen and grab me?"

"In a way, they can."

"I'm smart," Hayley persisted. "I'm careful. I won't break the computer. We use them all the time at school."

"The answer is still no. N-O, no."

Linda pretended to put her headphones on and log in for work. Hayley forced in one last question. "Well, then, can I get my own computer?"

She knew this was coming. "Honey, we really can't afford it."

Hayley put her hands on her hips and started tapping her toe rhythmically. "How come? You can go dancing."

Clearly this was a subject near and dear to her heart, and she'd probably rehearsed her whole speech and argument. God, she was getting so beautiful, Linda thought. She had such a bright future ahead of her. She invited her to come all the way into the study and sit on the day bed. "It's true, I have my dancing, but I work really hard for it. Along with my regular job at the hospital and taking care of you kids I work part time, too." She motioned to her computer.

"I could work for my computer," Hayley said, raising up on the daybed a bit.

"Now you're talking," Linda said. "What kind of work were you thinking of?"

"I could babysit. Do extra chores. I'd do anything."

When Linda looked at her daughter, she still saw her baby. Yet, she would be thirteen soon, around the age when girls started to get babysitting jobs. "That sounds like a good plan. Maybe you could start on something like that this summer."

Hayley's features contorted in a mask of anguish. "But mom, I was hoping to get a computer before then."

Linda felt like shaking her head. At Hayley's age, the most expensive thing she ever pestered her mother and father for was a stereo and her own pair of roller skates. "Do you even know what _kind_ of a computer you want?"

"Yes, I want an iBook."

The name sounded familiar. Then Linda remembered she had considered getting a portable computer, a laptop, something called a Powerbook. They sold them at the Apple computer store. From what she remembered, they were quite expensive. "Is that made by Apple?"

"Yes."

Linda nodded. "Those cost more than a thousand dollars."

"Well, duh. I already know that."

Hayley's tendency to lapse into "valley girl" patterns was a little irritating. "Watch your mouth! Now, my other concern about you getting a computer is that your grades will suffer."

Hayley looked back at her as if she'd just told her the sun was square. "No they wouldn't. I'd be able to study better. I could use it to type assignments."

"Yes, and for that you'd need a printer. Another two hundred dollars. Chi-ching!"

"But mom..."

Linda really wanted the conversation to be over. "Look, here's my deal. You can try to get babysitting jobs after you turn thirteen. In the meantime you can help Inge with her cooking and house cleaning and we'll work something out. When you've earned half the money for a computer, I'll kick in with the other half."

Hayley broke into her smile, which showed her two rows of perfect, white teeth, for which Linda was exceedingly grateful. "Thanks, mom!" She rushed forward to hug her. They also shook hands on the deal.

"Now I have one condition," Linda said. "If your grades suffer, the deal's off. Do we understand each other?

Hayley's eyes rolled around in their sockets. "Yes, mom."

With her daughter satisfied, for now, Linda could turn her attention back to work at her part time job. She put her headphones and logged into the company's home screen. For the next several hours, she took calls about kids with runny noses and coughs, a man in his 30's with hemorrhoids that bled and concerned him, and a woman in her twenties who was suffering head pain that she called a "migraine." She kept a Mah Jong game opened in one window, which she played during the lulls between phone calls.

Talking to one person after another on the telephone and playing her game made the time pass very quickly. The next time she looked up at the clock, she saw that she had been on the system for well over four hours. The company she worked for liked to limit shifts to four hours, since this guaranteed they would always have "fresh" voices answering all the phone calls.

She logged off the system, propped herself up on the daybed pillows and treated herself to some mindless television, idly surfing over all the channels on their cable console.

After a couple of runs up and down the whole channel matrix, she realized that the stand-up comedian's line made sense: "400 channels and nothing's on!" Just political talking heads, science shows with a whale flapping out of the water and making a monstrous splash, old television shows from the black and white era (Herman Munster doing his trademark laugh), and movie channels from 300-450 showing movies too violent or testosterone driven for her taste.

When she whizzed past another grouping of channels, Gumby's sweet face flashed by. She backed up the selector to that point, learning she'd stumbled onto an old Gumby short rerun, with pokey and the houses made of clay that changed shape. The shows had been on since she was Matthew's age. She put the channel selector down on the side table and settled in atop the pillows, draping a quilt atop herself for extra warmth.

Once she had allowed herself to relax, she discovered how tired she'd become. As she watched Gumby and Pokey in a Wild West setup, her eyelids started to flutter, and she began to get that sense of falling that accompanies drifting off to sleep. She wanted to watch Gumby and Pokey, since the show had delighted her so much as a little girl. At the same time, though, she gave in to her body's demand for some shut-eye. She let herself drift further and further into sleep as she sank farther and farther into the pillows.

The next thing she knew, Gumby was six feet tall! He said "Hi Linda! Let's go play."

He started to glide away from her in his pixilated way, while she shouted after him to slow down. As she started to run toward him, she realized that each step propelled her forward as if she'd carried a jetpack on her back. She caught up with him and traveled quickly beside him.

They came upon a forest made of clay, just as it had been in the Gumby short movies.

As Linda looked more closely at the trees, however, they metamorphosed into green leaves and branches. She also saw real flowers mixed in.

Gumby also had changed. Rather than a plank-like, green character with big white eyes and a red dot for a mouth, he turned into a tall boy who looked like he might have been about seventeen years old. He looked a little like Tom, her roller skating partner from so long ago. As she thought about this, the young man who had been Gumby further changed. He started to look more like Tom. Two things then caused her breath to catch in her throat: Gumby had changed into Tom, as she remembered him, and she realized that she was lucid.

He took her hand, saying "It's good to see you! I've missed you so much!" They were gliding along, floating past the forest. Still there was a heaviness to their travels that told her they had connected with the ground. When she looked down, she saw roller skates on their feet. A wooden, ramped, and tiered roller skating rink had built itself beneath their feet. Tom swung her around and led her through a backward-skating waltz. She thought of something she always wanted to ask him: "Tom, are you asleep now, too?"

His clean, noble, male features took on an earnestness that straightened out his smile, but only for a moment. It was incredibly poignant. Linda wished she could take a snapshot of him and bring it back to her waking life with her. "Something like that," he said. They spun around and around together, a maneuver that would have caused her to become dizzy and nauseous in real life, yet in the lucid world she simply held onto him as they swung around and around in circles.

As soon as the swinging and the circling had started, though, it stopped. The wooden roller rink beneath her feet had disappeared, and so, unfortunately, had Tom. Linda found herself on a path through a dark, lush forest and felt a surge of tingling anticipation.

The next moment, a familiar voice called her name. Lauren! She ran toward the source of the sound as it echoed in her ears.

"Slow down, stupid! I'm back here!" Lauren said.

Linda stopped. Straight ahead, she could only see the forest on both sides of the path, with the tree branches hanging over. "Where?"

"Turn around!"

She shifted herself so that she turned a step at a time, since in the past, swiveling around too quickly would cause her to lose lucidity and wake up. A scene with bright, smooth rocks with marble skeins revealed themselves to her. Light intensified, becoming blinding and as her eyes grew accustomed to it, she could see the silhouetted outlines of Lauren's hair, her shoulders, and her upper body.

Gradually the light dimmed enough so that Lauren fizzed into view. Linda walked toward her, desperately hoping for all the details of her face to reveal themselves to her and confirm that it was indeed her long lost friend. Soon it became crystal clear. Lauren was sitting atop one of the rocks like a mermaid, but she was wearing the type of clingy-top, blue-jeaned look she always recognized. Linda rushed forward and hugged her. The two of them rocked each other and babbled cries of joy. Linda marveled at how Lauren seemed so real, of flesh and blood, which she could feel through its warmth and softness.

When they released their embrace to step back and hold hands, Linda said "You! You!

You were in my wedding picture!"

Lauren looked back at her, quizzically. "I was? When was that? "What are you talking about?"

Linda told her about the incident where she had taken Julie's place in the wedding photo.

Once Linda told her all the details, she made an "ah-ha" face as if everything suddenly made sense. "Well, I was at your wedding. You know that, don't you?"

Linda remembered crying when Marie spoke of Lauren on the reception line. "I had a feeling you were." She suddenly remembered something else. "My daughter Hayley doesn't seem anything like that little girl who was with you that time."

"Of course, not. She became your daughter, which is like becoming a totally different person."

Linda thought about the sassy talk and Hayley's lack of interest in dance or roller skating. "And she's not anything like me either. What's up with that?"

Lauren smiled knowingly, for a split second looking like the Mona Lisa smile. "That's because your children come _through_ you, but they are not _of_ you."

In the same way that Cindy became Hayley, Linda suddenly remembered something she'd always wanted to ask Lauren during these lucid times. "Are you ever going to want to come back to earth?"

She twisted her lip and gazed up for a moment, as if she were deep into giving the matter some thought. "Maybe someday," she replied. "Not now, though."

"Why not now?"

Lauren shifted her weight and winced as if she were suddenly uncomfortable. "Things are going to change. It's going to get a little scary. But it will be over soon."

"Change?" Linda was able to say. "What change? And how is it going to be scary?"

A deafening sound like a foghorn at ten times the volume pounded her ears. Details of the forest, the smooth stones and Lauren began to dissolve and swirl as the noise volume increased.

Linda had been awakened from her sleep by the sound of someone calling out her name.

The noise of the foghorn changed to "Lin-da! Lin-da!" When she woke up, grounded in reality though groggy, she saw Stephen walking down the hallway outside the door. "Oh, there you are," he said, stopping when he found her in her study. "We're getting ready to go to the mall. Wanna come?"

Linda lifted the blanket off herself. "But it's only about ten degrees out."

"Yeah," Stephen admitted, still smiling. "Wear a heavy coat and a couple of sweaters then. Do you want to come along, or no?"

"No, I think I'll stay here," she said. "Where it's warm."

Stephen laughed. "Listen to you. The car is heated you know. And we're going to the parking garage. We'll probably be outside a grand total of two minutes."

Linda shook her head. "No, I have some things I need to do here."

"Okay," Stephen said, moving away from the door. "See you in a couple of hours, then."

"Don't let them eat any of that junk while they're there," she called out after him.

Linda spent a couple of days thinking about what Lauren had said: "Things are going to change." She constantly wondered _which_ things and _how_ much. After a few days, though, she forgot about it, focusing instead on how nice it was to see Lauren again. In all of her lucid dreams, Lauren stayed the same, looking exactly as she did as a college senior, more than twenty years ago. Linda wondered if she appeared the same way in her dreams where Lauren appeared, not having aged a day since 1979, or if a mirror in the dream plane would reveal the ravages of two decades on her face.

Everyone had waited for mayhem to occur during the whole "1999" scenario, and when it was over, January 1, 2000 was just another day. Possibly she was reading into it too much. Anyway, wouldn't Lauren have the ability to incarnate into any dimension, possibly any time?

She could go backward or forward. Linda, on the other hand, was still fixed in _this_ plane, where she would try to make the best for herself and her family.

Two weeks later, after January had turned into February, and some of the severely cold and snowy weather broke, Stephen came home from work one evening carrying a stringed shopping bag with a telltale apple on one side. When he saw Linda, he raised his eyebrows twice like a silent movie hero character and grinned crookedly. He hung up his overcoat in the foyer closet and asked "Where's my princess?" as he called out her name.

Linda tried to lean forward and look inside the bag, but Stephen kept swinging it away from her. "What _have_ you done?" she asked him, as he ventured further into the house. It was a quiet, uneventful Tuesday until then. Matthew had just come home from his friend's house and now lay sprawled on the entertainment room rug killing space creatures on a Playstation game. Linda was going to reheat some spaghetti that Inge had made earlier.

Hayley wandered down from upstairs, where she'd probably been talking on the phone, one of her pastimes. "Hi Daddy," she said, casually. "What's up?"

Stephen held the bag behind his back, where she could not see it. He moved everybody toward the dining room and invited Hayley to sit down on a chair he pulled out. "Now close your eyes tight."

Their daughter sensed something wonderful was coming and she started to smile as she sat straight on the dining room chair, keeping her lap clear. Stephen glanced at Linda before extracting the box from the shopping bag and setting it delicately on Hayley's lap. The box showed a picture of a stylish, fluorescent lime green laptop computer, exactly the kind Hayley had yearned for. Linda mouthed the words "You are in so much trouble Mister" to him.

"You can open your eyes now, sweetie!" Stephen announced, as proudly as if he had just stated the words "It's a boy."

Predictably, Hayley's pretty eyes lit up and her mouth dropped open when she saw the box containing a brand new laptop. "It's a clamshell SE! With a DVD! Oh, daddy, I love you!" She quickly set the box down and leaped up to embrace her father, who swung her triumphantly from side to side.

When they settled down, Stephen said "Well, open it up! Let's see how she works!"

Linda wondered when she was going to get her husband alone to blast him over making such an extravagant purchase for Hayley. Their daughter happily broke the seal on the box, lifted one flap, and laid it open on the dining room table. The computer had been wrapped delicately in transparent plastic, gleaming and shiny. Another package contained a stack of compact discs, and yet another held a round disc-like object that looked like a miniature flying saucer. Hayley had everything unwrapped and sitting atop the dining room tablecloth within minutes.

"This is so cool, this is so cool," Hayley kept saying over and over as she set the neon green laptop on the table and creaked it open. The little flying saucer turned out to be the power adapter.

When Hayley was ready to turn the machine on, Stephen intervened. "Now here's where it gets a little complicated. You'll need to use some of these discs to set it up."

Linda jumped at her chance to pry him away and lambaste him over buying the laptop: "Before you get all involved in that, Stephen, could you help me with something in the kitchen?"

"Sure, hon." When he followed her toward the kitchen, Linda grabbed him by his tie, surprising him, leading him toward the patio deck, where she knew they would be out of earshot.

Once the door closed safely behind him (and they stood out in the cold, steam coming from their breath), she started in on him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He shrugged, casually. "Helping my little girl get ahead. Showing her how much I love her. Lin, I'm a little surprised. I thought you'd be glad! She'll have her own computer. She won't pester you so much to use yours."

"Well, I expected her to _earn_ it! Didn't she tell you about the deal we made?"

"Yes, she did. But hon, let's be realistic. It would have been next Christmas by the time she saved up enough money. In the meantime, I got her exactly what she was looking for at a killer deal."

"How much, Stephen?"

"They were phasing them out. The guy at the store said Apple's bringing in a whole new line of laptops."

"How much, Stephen?"

He swallowed, a momentary look of anxiety crossing his face before he straightened up and faced her, trying to sound confident. "Eight hundred."

"Eight hundred! Eight hundred!" Linda spun around, suddenly feeling very hot despite the freezing temperatures outside. "That's it. We're taking it out of her allowance."

"Well then what's she going to use for spending money when she goes to the mall with her friends? Lin, can we talk about this later? Hayley's in there waiting for me to come back and help set up her new computer.

"Fine," she said, and they went back inside, where it was warm. Rather than get herself aggravated by watching them set up the computer (and feeling like a fifth wheel anyway), she went to the kitchen to get to work on reheating supper. As she passed Matthew she stopped.

He was still on the floor, playing his games, and had probably missed all of the commotion going on in the dining room. "Your sister just got a new computer," she said.

"Good," Matthew said, as he blasted away another creature on the screen.

"Good?" Linda repeated.

Matthew looked back over his shoulder for a moment, to acknowledge her. "Then she's not going to hog the Playstation and the Nintendo so much."

Linda waved a hand at him as she turned and continued on to the kitchen. "Really, I wish you kids would spend more time in the three dimensional world." But Matthew hadn't heard her.

As winter moved into spring, to Linda's delight, Hayley behaved as if she was still trying to save up the money to buy the computer for herself. By word of mouth, she lined up three separate babysitting gigs. Sometimes she would take her "day-glo" laptop with her, but just as often she would not. "Most people haven't gotten wireless like we have here," she explained.

And when she brought home a report card with three A's and two B's, they all celebrated with a fun dinner at the pizza arcade restaurant.

One Friday night, Linda took Hayley and Matthew to the roller-skating rink, where she would prove to her daughter that skating was cool and not something that losers did. During the general skating, she even went backwards, taking Hayley's hands and showing her how to do the same thing, just as she had done with her little sister so many years ago. When the couples skate occurred, a tall, nice looking boy with dark hair and braces asked Hayley to skate together. She glanced coyly at her mother before she ventured out onto the rink with him.

Later that night, when they were driving home, Linda asked about him.

"So tell us about the nice young man you met."

Matthew snickered and added "Yeah! Tell us all about 'loverboy'."

"His name is Travis and he goes to St. Augustine's. And you want to know something crazy? He thought you were my older sister! Is he blind or what?"

Linda was very happy the rest of the way home and slept well that night.

The next week at work, strange things began to happen with the patients in the end-stage units. Nurses would often find patients thrashing about on their beds, straining their lines, causing their vital signs readouts to dip and skyrocket. Both actions triggered the call nurses, and when they would arrive most times the patient awakened. The more lucid ones would say "I just had the worst nightmare."

A couple of the patients on opposite sides of the floor had dreamt the exact same thing. They were walking around in the bright suites of an office building, on one of the higher floors, looking out over a big city beneath them. Suddenly a jet starts flying directly toward the window, causing the people inside to panic, and jump for cover, hiding under desks, tables, or whatever they could find. Unbelievably, the jet crashes into the window, the nose of it plowing through the glass, the desks, the floor, and all the tables and shelves. The room bursts into flames. People lit afire run around screaming. Some of them leap through the crashed-open window into the air outside.

When it finally happened to Linda on one of her shifts, August Pilarcek, an ailing symphony conductor was her patient. She had grown fond of him because they both spoke about music and dancing together. Mr. Pilarcek simply rang for the nurse as soon as he woke up, rather than thrash around on top of the bed for the nurses to find him. Linda ran into his room and asked "What is it?"

He was pale as a ghost, and his head rolled back and forth across the pillow as his lips moved. "I had that 'plane flying into the building' dream that's been going on," he said. "Except I was on the ground, walking, like I used to walk through the theater district, back in the forties. Then a plane hits this tall glass building, blows up, and fiery hunks of it start raining down on people."

Linda quickly checked his lines, his charts, and his readouts. "That's terrible. Did you want a sedative, Mr. Pilarcek? I'll get you one."

"But that's not the worst of it," he went on. "People started raining down out of the building, too."

"People?" Linda felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise.

August Pilarcek nodded. "They jumped out of the building, where the plane hit. Their bodies hit the concrete and splattered open like big bags of guts." His features contorted, and he lifted his head from the pillow, his eyes watery, as he looked around the bed and the side tables.

Linda quickly snatched an emesis pan from one of the shelves and held it underneath him as he spewed vomit into it.

She patted and rubbed his back as he continued, until the heaving subsided and he eased back onto his pillow. With a cleansing towel, Linda cleaned off the corners of his mouth and dabbed sweat from his forehead.

"It was terrible," he went on. "The most real dream I ever had. The worst nightmare."

Linda was suddenly glad she didn't have to fly anywhere soon.

She was going to bring up the incidents at the weekly meeting, but a crazy thing happened. The patients suddenly stopped having the dream. She was reminded of a credo.

"Death takes the mind where minds don't usually go."

By the time August arrived, she wished she could find a button to fast forward through the month like the fast forward button on a cassette tape player. They called April the cruelest month, but to her, it was August. Summer tightened its hot, watery grip in the air. There were no holidays in the month. She knew people in the helping and medical professions who took the whole month off. One doctor she'd met would vacation down in Chile, skiing.

Linda busied herself with one or two dance lessons per week, along with her job and her duties on the medical referral service at home. If New York wasn't also such a tiring and summer heat laden place, she would have suggested a getaway there, to take the children to see the Metropolitan and the other sites she and Stephen had loved so much. At night, in darkness was the time when she and Stephen had their most in-depth conversations. There certainly hadn't been much sex there recently.

"I want to tell you about an idea I've been thinking of recently," he said one night in the new moon, when it was darker than usual.

"What is it?"

He inhaled, causing her to wonder if he was steeling himself for a huge revelation or a life-changing decision. "I was thinking we should let Inge go."

Inge was almost like a family member. Stephen's idea fell across her shoulders like a cold, wet towel. "Why?"

"Well, we don't really need her anymore. The kids are both grown and in school now."

"Matthew still needs to be looked after. He's still a little boy."

Stephen waved a hand dismissively, which Linda could only feel by the breeze stirred by it. "Aw, Matt's a tough kid. I was thinking of signing him up for pee wee football."

"Football?" Linda thought about the ambulances she'd seen careening into the hospital drive, carrying players with their gear still on, barely conscious from the pain of torn knees or broken limbs. "Why? So we can see how many bones he can break?"

"They're really careful when they coach them at that age. The rough stuff really doesn't begin until he starts junior high."

"It sounds like you have all this mapped out for him."

"He likes it. Trust me. Now about Inge, what do you think?"

"The kids love her. They'd miss her. I'd miss her."

The sheets and pillows rustled when Stephen shifted himself around to prop up his head with his elbow. "Think of all the money we'd save! We pay her obscenely well compared to what other nannies and housekeepers get."

"She's worth it, though. She's practically a member of the family."

"There'd be more money for vacations. We could go to Paris like you're always talking about."

He'd hit a tender spot. Ever since Linda excelled in French classes in high school, she'd wanted to travel to Paris. It was tempting to have the extra income to travel, but in her day-to-day life, she would miss having such a loyal and helpful friend. "No. Let's keep Inge. We could find some other way to make the vacations."

He snickered. "Yeah. You could cut out the dance lessons."

"Don't you start about that!" Her voice raised, filling the entire master bedroom.

When the air stilled again, he continued. "Look, I'm sorry. Will you at least think about it?"

It took her two seconds. They were not going to let Inge go. Having resolved that, she turned over and went to sleep.

September, for her, was a time for renewal. The children would start school, companies started a new fiscal year, and the final quarter of the year brought about all the glorious holidays. The end of the month kicked off the beginning of the spectacular fall colors, as well. October was her favorite month of the year.

By the end of Labor Day weekend, the temperatures had dropped, bringing in the invigorating, crisp fall air that would greet her every morning as she drove to work. Everything was going right for her: she'd long forgotten Lauren's cryptic warning and the patient's horrid nightmares from earlier in the summer.

Then came the Tuesday morning Linda would never forget as long as she lived. It had started out so normally, a warmer day than it had been, with a clear sky and lots of sun. When she arrived, she checked the console and the new arrivals along with noting new chart entries from the third shift nurses. She greeted all of her friends.

By eight-thirty she entered the room of Jill Finnegan, a woman in her mid-thirties who was suffering through breast cancer. She was in such deep sleep that when Linda checked her vitals, she only stirred a little, rather than waking up. In the next moment, the sound of buzzing, anticipatory patter drifted in from the hallway. Connie, one of the unit clerks, was running from room to room. She poked her head through the doorway into Miss Finnegan's room, looked at Linda and said "Turn on the television, now!"

"What channel?" Linda called after her as Connie had already pushed herself away from the door frame.

"Any of them!" Connie said.

Linda had to rummage around the room beneath potted flowers, crumpled tissues and get well cards before she could find the remote control for the television atop one of the side tables.

She aimed it at the television and turned it on.

The image blazed onto the screen, of two tall towers with lots of glass. She recognized them as the World Trade Center in New York. A gaping hole in one of them belched fire and smoke. Though her mind swam with the ramifications, she could make out the voice of a reporter talking: "The plane hit the tower at 8:40 a.m."

As Linda gawked at the carnage playing across the television screen, a jet hit the other tower. She sat down.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

June, 2011

Linda wondered why all the earth-shattering events of her life always took place in an Illinois hotel room. She gazed at herself in the mirror as she applied her expensive, hypo-allergenic eyeliner. The wands of it cost ten dollars but nowadays she had no choice. If she used less expensive store brands, her eyelids swelled up, causing people to wonder if she'd been domestically abused.

She inspected her chin line, and the way faint creases appeared near the corners of her mouth when she smiled. Not bad for pushing 52, she thought, remembering a whole life full of cover-ups and sunscreen whenever she went to a beach or pool. As she brushed her hair, she wondered what her real hair color _was_ these days. She decided it was probably a pale shade of dishwater. In the past couple of years she'd gone through the change, and while in one way she was grateful to no longer have to shop the tampon aisle, she had to eat less and exercise more to keep her pear shape slim. And when her part widened and more hairs clogged the shower drain when she washed, it sent her screaming for women's Rogaine.

In her pretty, bright floral dress and short, sensible hairstyle with highlights and flips, she felt good about herself as the mother of a soon-to-be college graduate. A knock on the door startled her. "Honey, are you almost ready?"

She opened the door and saw Stephen, wearing one of his best gray worsted suits, with accents of teal sewn into the fabric, which made it seem cheerier. He'd developed deep furrows on his forehead from all the working and worrying over the past ten years. "Yeah, just a couple of more minutes," she told him, answering his original question. As she scrambled around the room putting things away and slipping into her shoes, her mother called. Where were they?

As soon as she finished in the room, Stephen piled her into the flex-fuel hybrid Jeep they now owned. He used the navigator in it to find Seward's stadium on the campus of Illinois Polytechnic, where Hayley's class would graduate in a lavish, morning ceremony. "This is really something," Stephen murmured, as they drove along past the flat fields and saw the white and glass buildings rising from the prairie. "At one time this was all an air force base. Then Clinton trimmed everything. One of my buddies was stationed here for a little while. There were these claptrap wooden dorms all over the place, and hangars. Now look at it!"

Linda felt her arms and legs tingle when they reached the parking lot "tailgate party" that her mother had told her about. Five SUVs and hybrid puddle-jumpers had been parked in a row along one of the edges. There was Hayley's aunt Molly and uncle Chris, who had Linda's beefy son Matthew with them, his short cropped athletic haircut shimmering in the morning sun. Linda's brother Bobby and his wife Sherilyn lingered nearby, with Sherilyn looking frail underneath a glamorous white hat with a navy bow. Next to them, her mother and father talked animatedly with Stephen's parents John and Mabel.

She hugged her mother and father and Matthew lifted her several inches into the air when he gave her one of his rib-crunching, manhandling type of hugs, borne of hours lifting weights after school at the gym. "I'm a little bit disappointed," her mother said. She'd been clutching a handkerchief, but hadn't appeared to be using it yet. "Hayley isn't here. She's with her friends, and they're coming straight here! What is that? I wanted to take pictures."

"Yeah, I know mom," Linda said, warmly patting her on her shoulder, feeling sagging, soft skin. "You'd think she was getting married or something, and we're all the groom and we're not supposed to see her until she walks down the aisle."

Molly laughed. She and her mechanic husband Chris had put up Matthew for the trip.

"I say we make a real tailgate party out of it!" Bobby announced. He was wearing a tie, a dress shirt and nice slacks but unlike the other men, wore some type of a windbreaker in the cool morning breeze.

"Hey Bob, did you bring brewskis?" Matthew asked his uncle excitedly.

Linda knew they were kidding but didn't like the conversation anyway. "That's enough."

They all stood on the pavement or sat on folded-down tailgates or car seats, catching up with each other while waiting for the ceremonies to begin. The men all crowded around Matthew, who'd grown three inches since he'd seen either set of grandparents the previous Christmas. They wanted to know what he thought about his chances for playing for a state champion during his senior year.

Mabel, Stephen's mother, approached Linda. She was a kind, silver haired woman with glasses, whose head bobbed when she walked. "Hon, what did you say Hayley majored in?"

Mabel asked.

"Computer gaming and rendering," she replied.

"Computer gaming?" Mabel echoed, squinting behind her glasses, deepening her crow's feet. "You can actually get a degree in that?"

"Oh yes. She's wanted to do that since she was thirteen. When Mr. Wonderful over there went over my head and brought home a new computer for her."

"Well, what type of a job does she hope to get with a degree like that?" Mabel asked, still incredulous.

"Designing and rendering graphics for video games, of course." Linda was proud of the fact that Hayley already had two interviews scheduled with companies in Chicago."

Mabel shook her head. "Whatever happened to nursing, home ec, or elementary school education? The things girls used to study?"

"It's a way different world now." Linda was glad her daughter had found her place in it.

Just a moment before Linda wondered if they would need to order out for food (since her stomach was rumbling and she was sure she wasn't the only one), people started walking toward the stadium. She walked between the two men in her life at the moment: Stephen and Matthew. As they neared it, Linda could see that it was little more than two big sets of bleachers on either side of a multipurpose football and soccer field. Rows of chairs had been arranged on the grass, yet the students stood around them, socializing with each other. Each of them wore a shimmering, royal blue gown and cap: the guys wore slacks and most of the girls stood bare-legged or wore hose. Droves of parents, relatives, and friends had started to fill the bleachers on either side of the field.

Matthew's nose wrinkled and he squinted while looking out over the metal bleachers and the field. "What division do they play in? One triple-J or what?"

Stephen said "It's Illinois Polytechnic, Matt. They probably don't even field a team at the national level. This is probably just for intramurals."

As they started walking over, Linda noticed that Molly carried a big, plastic bag filled with something that had to be light. Though the bag was big, Molly did not appear to be straining. After they walked through the gate to get to the field and the bleachers, Molly opened her bag. It contained about ten square, soft looking objects that looked like bases from a baseball field at first. She gave one to Linda, and Linda realized that it had a handle. They were seat cushions. "You'll thank me later," Molly said. "These metal bleachers can get awfully hard on the old tushie."

Unfortunately, she only carried enough for her parents, Linda and Stephen, Chris and herself, and Bobby and his wife. "What am I going to do?" Matthew whined.

"Suck it up," Stephen said, smiling. "You don't need it!"

Linda rushed to get them all seated so she could look around the field for Hayley. When they all settled in, she also gave thanks inside for the bright, warm sunny day. She remembered her own college graduation, thirty years before, and how happy she'd been. There'd been lots of trials and tribulations over the four years, of course. Lauren had died during the second to last semester of her college career, which made graduation more of a bittersweet experience than it would have otherwise been.

Thank goodness Hayley had been spared from anything that traumatic. Linda was so proud of her. She'd won a scholarship for her first year by submitting a plan for a new kind of video game called "Sand Castle City." Since Linda did not play video games herself, she was a little hazy on the details of it, but Hayley explained that the players would start by building a virtual sand castle on the computer screen, along the sand at a virtual beach. As the building of the sand castle proceeded, tiny little creatures would move into it, setting up societies and covens on the inside.

Linda's mother suddenly rose to her feet, pointing at the field. "Hey, there she is!" she said, excitedly, bouncing up and down on the bleacher. She's almost in the exact center. Just look for her long, blond hair. You can't miss her!" Linda rose up, also, and searched the sea of late-adolescent faces for her daughter. She found her near the center, just as her mother said, standing in a circle with her friends. They focused on themselves rather than the bleachers.

The podium and stage for the ceremony had been erected where the end zone for the football field had been, and they'd taken down the fork-shaped goal post. Beyond there, a band.

They'd erected a set of risers for all the woodwind, brass, and percussion players, but Linda also saw some string instruments and a stand up bass player.

The band started to play a pomp and circumstance style melody that Linda did not recognize. All of the college students in the center of the field took it as their cue to scramble into their chairs and sit back while the ceremony started. Linda knew that various college officials would get up and make one long officious speech after another, so her mind wandered elsewhere.

She thought about the long journey in helping Hayley get her education. During the summer between her junior and senior years Hayley had found a job at a video game store in a power center near the mall. Through talking with the manager there along with the customers who came into the store, she found out about college programs in video game design. One thing led to another, and she discovered Illinois Polytechnic University, located a mere twenty miles from where her grandparents and aunts and uncles lived.

During her senior year, Hayley found out about the scholarship competition. Not only did she continue to work at the video store all through her senior year, but she also babysat for a regular clientele of four different families. She was never the greatest student in the world, receiving mostly C's and B's, but her imagination and passion for video game art brought her the scholarship and put her in good stead for admittance to such a competitive college.

When Hayley found out that out-of-state tuition was nearly double the in-state admission, everyone put their heads together and came up with an innovative solution. The week after Hayley graduated high school, Linda and Stephen rented a trailer for all her furniture, her clothes, her computers, and her knick-knacks and moved her three hundred miles away.

She lived with her grandparents from the end of May through the following December, which qualified her to apply for admission to the university as an in-state student in January, when she began her college career.

Even for an in-state student, the tuition figure shocked Linda. She and Stephen had managed to save over $40,000 in Hayley's college fund by the time she started, that January of 2008. They decided to release $10,000 of it to Hayley at the beginning of each academic year, and she would have to provide the rest, through the scholarships she'd won, money she'd made at the video store and through babysitting, and loans she took out for the rest. "Kid, you have it way tougher than I ever did," Linda had told her more than once.

As the speakers droned on through their congratulatory speeches, Linda's mind wandered on a tapestry of her daughter's life, from that day she'd driven her to kindergarten, seventeen years ago. Even thinking about that incident caused her eyes to mist over, as she held her five-year-old daughter in her arms one last time, to be released into the world for an education in the formal and informal senses.

There were the arts and craft projects she'd brought home, such as her crayoned drawing of a turkey during Thanksgiving, which Linda proudly placed on the refrigerator door. As she progressed through the lower grades, Linda held bright, colorful birthday parties in the house for Hayley and seven of her little friends. They would squeal and babble loudly while Stephen rigged up a piñata and other games for them to play.

Through it all, Stephen and Linda spent hours in front of the television playing the Nintendo and Playstation games that came as birthday or Christmas presents. Linda would patiently help Inge cook and clean while beeping and roaring sounds emanated from the entertainment room.

The normal troubled teen phase occurred, of course, starting with Hayley's insistence on getting a computer of her own. Though the computer was a portable laptop and she could have played/worked on it anywhere in the house, Hayley would spend hours on it in her bedroom, while talking on her phone with her friends. Linda worried about everything: that Hayley would rack up hundreds of dollars in online purchases, that online predators would stalk her though all the social media sites she frequented, or that she'd simply get fat from the sedentary life of a web surfer and computer game player.

Through it all, Hayley somehow kept a slender, model quality figure and her height topped out at five feet eight inches, four inches taller than her mother. Much of her height was in her lovely, graceful legs. Where had she gotten those from? Every summer, when Hayley would prance about the house and yard in her short-shorts, Linda would wail "Why couldn't I have had legs like that?"

When the time came for Hayley to learn how to drive, both Linda and Stephen taught her, in many white-knuckle and anxiety ridden sessions in the mall parking lot on a late Sunday afternoon or at the high school on the weekends. She received her license at sixteen, the same as any other youth, and Linda braced for her daughter's order for a car of her own. Incredibly, though, the order never came. Hayley was content to borrow the Jeep if she wanted to go someplace with a group of her friends. "Why would I need a car?" she said, one night over the dinner table. "So it can break down and I throw away all kinds of money fixing it? Money that could go to programs and upgrades, not to mention minutes? Besides, that's what boyfriends are for."

Ah, yet another area in which Linda worried. In her last two years of high school, a parade of boys came calling for beautiful, blond Hayley. Linda and Stephen met them all.

They'd laid all those ground rules the year she turned fifteen. Once, a guy named Terry came by for Hayley in a black Mustang convertible that reminded Linda of a studded-out version of the car Lauren drove when they were in college. When he came in the house to meet her and Stephen, she realized that he wasn't a boy at all, that he'd been on his own for several years and worked in construction and landscaping. He charmed Stephen by carrying on a spirited conversation with him about the fortunes of the Cincinnati Bengals.

Before she let Hayley out of the house to go on a date with a guy who was clearly well into his twenties, she took her aside to get more information. "Where did you meet him?"

"Relax, mom. He's Stephanie's older brother."

"Does he know how old you are?"

"Well, duh, mom. He knows Stephanie and I are in the same grade."

A vivid memory of leather jacketed Seth occurred to her. "Eleven-thirty," Linda said, pointing a finger at Hayley for emphasis. "If this young man doesn't have you back here by eleven-thirty, I'm going to tell the police he kidnapped you."

"Aw, mom! That's so early!"

"Eleven-thirty, young lady, and not a minute after." She thought about adding You might hate me now but you'll thank me later," but did not want to see Hayley stomp her feet and roll her eyes.

At eleven twenty-five Linda heard the rumbling barrels of a powerful engine thunder up the driveway. The car idled, she heard two people speak, and a moment later Hayley walked through the side door. "There. Are you happy now?"

Linda had been so deep in reverie that she missed her daughter's name being called. Stephen had to nudge her to get her attention. He took her hand as they both watched her.

Hayley strode to the podium with confidence, her head held high, wearing a bright, megawatt smile as she shook the hand of the gray-haired dean and accepted her degree with her other hand. Before walking away from the podium, Hayley held her degree high above her head, triumphantly. Tears welled in Linda's eyes as she stood with the rest of her family and clapped wildly.

Soon, a student named Nicholas Zupmeyer entered and exited the podium, receiving his degree. As the dean spoke one last time and congratulated them all, seemingly every student took off their cap and tossed it high into the air. That troubled Linda slightly, as she still wanted to get pictures of Hayley and hoped she wouldn't lose her cap.

As the parents and family climbed down from the bleachers, the newly graduated students ran off the field to meet them. For Linda it was a scene of positive energy as she passed dozens of families giving their children hugs or high-fives. With so many people crossing by each other past the stadium gates, Linda kept stretching on her toes, trying to find Hayley. "There she is!" she heard her mother call out and she turned around to see them hugging.

When it was Linda's turn to hug her daughter, she rocked her back and forth just as she had in the front seat of the Jeep, when she first started kindergarten. "It's the end of a long road for you, pal," she said.

Once they made it to the parking lot, Hayley said. "If you want to get pictures, we should go to the Farragut building. That's where I had most of my classes." To Linda's delight, Hayley happily posed for dozens of pictures in her cap and gown with various members of her family. They took them in front of a white concrete building with a covered walkway in the front.

It looked like a "habitation zone" in an old, nihilistic science fiction movie but Linda thought it would make a clean background for all of the photos.

After all of the picture taking, the whole clan formed a caravan to search for the best restaurant for an early dinner. "Let's try Alberghetti's," Hayley had said, describing it as "a classy Italian restaurant. When they arrived, they discovered that half of the families of the graduates must have had the same idea. They could not even find a parking space. The same thing happened for her next suggestions: Normas, and The Blue Danube. By their fourth try, Linda thought she was going to pass out from low blood sugar. Hayley led them to "Ye Chop House," a steak restaurant on the far edge of town.

Luckily, they could get a table there. The restaurant featured a medieval motif, with the hostess wearing a low-necked dress with a bodice and a wide, hoping skirt. Candlelight had been simulated with the use of electric glass lanterns with gently flickering bulbs, with the wait staff not only wearing medieval garb (the men wearing flounced shirts and knickers) but speaking with lots of "thees" and "thous" as well. The waiter handed scrolls to everyone seated at the table, with everyone flashing confused looks until Stephen unrolled one and said "It's a menu!"

Linda sat next to Hayley for the dinner. At the end, while they lounged over coffee, she started saying her goodbyes. "If you get one of those jobs in Chicago, you need to come home for at least a week, first," Linda said, her voice cracking. "I want to be able to give you the proper sendoff."

"I know, mom," Hayley replied. "You always have."

After the dinner, she and Stephen spent the rest of the day at her parents house, with Stephen's parents as well. They spoke about Hayley and her bright future and the ceremony.

Later, the subjects turned to horror tales about the still-failing economy and the wretched state of the country. When the men started talking about sports, Linda coaxed Stephen to take her back to the hotel room. They would all catch breakfast together at the hotel's brunch buffet before Linda and Stephen would need to hit the road for the long drive home.

Back home, Linda settled in for an ordinary work week during the first bloom of what would be a long, bright summer. She had been at Jewish so long that she knew more than all of the administrators and the director of nursing. Most doctors requested her directly when they called to get updates on their patients. Who else would know more, they must have figured, than a strong, hard-working woman who had been there for thirty years.

Tuesday of that week after Hayley's graduation, however, Linda received an unusual call. Melody, a chummy, African American front desk worker, paged her from there. "There's some guy down here asking for you," Melody said when Linda answered the page. "He says his name is..." Linda's end of the line rustled and clunked while Melody must have set it down to ask a question to someone standing nearby. "...it's Roger Maitland."

The name at first did not register. She wondered if he could be a pharmaceutical representative trying a coy, new angle. Suddenly it occurred to her: the aborted dance lesson and Maggie rushing her to the hospital. "Tell him I'll be right down," she said.

At the front lobby, near the gift shop, she met Roger. She tried to remember how long it had been since the last time they'd seen each other. After he'd taught her in the dance lesson late in her pregnancy with Matthew, she waited four months to return. For the next four years after that, she alternated taking lessons from him, or from Jared, before Roger left the studio to accept a position with a competitor. Linda remembered Maggie being distraught over losing him. Why was he seeking her out now?

Passersby in the lobby turned heads and gawked when they saw Roger. Though only of average height and build, he seemed immaculate in a perfectly tailored, European style suit with a pastel rose shirt and coordinated burgundy tie. His sandy hair was still full, yet graying at the temples and while his face sported forehead grooves and smile lines, he had aged elegantly. Linda had noticed the same thing occurring among all longtime dancers whether they were male or female. "Linda!" he said, opening his arms when he saw her. "It's so nice to see you! You look great!"

Through their greetings and small talk, Roger apologized if he caused her any alarm by coming to see her at her work. He admitted that he had no other way to reach her. Linda nodded. "So what's this all about?" She had an inkling it was something a little more involved than trying to book her for a dance lesson.

Roger led her aside, toward the glass wall, out of earshot from the passersby. "It's actually a business proposition, but it's a little complicated to get into right here. Can we meet after you finish your shift?"

Linda glanced at her watch. "That'd be in about an hour."

"I'll meet you right here."

Linda kept a set of street clothes in the closet of the director's office, for a variety of situations that might come up, such as an on-camera interview for a medical satellite channel, as had happened five years before. Sometimes official business required business wear. She felt this might be one of those times.

Roger seemed surprised when she arrived in the lobby wearing a skirted mauve suit with dress heels. "Wow, what have we here? A quick change artist?" he joked. To get to the point of why he called on her, he took her to a coffee shop. He started to speak as soon as they sat.

"When was the last time you were in The Next Step studio?" Roger began.

Linda shrugged. "It's been at least three years. Stephen lost a lot in the big financial Armageddon and we had to cut back." Actually, she had to cut out the lessons just so she could afford to help him.

"Well, a lot of people got hurt by that mess, unfortunately, including Maggie."

Linda imagined that the grande dame of the studio must be getting on in years. "Yeah, I heard something like that."

Roger's eyebrows lifted. "Did you know she retired? That she closed the studio two years ago?"

The realization hit Linda like a splash of cold water in the face. "I guess I've really been out of touch. Didn't anybody buy it or try to reopen it?"

When Roger smiled warmly, she knew they'd hit on the reason for his impromptu visit. She agreed to go with him to see the site of the old studio. "I'll drive," he offered.

Roger brought a briefcase with him as he swiped an electronic key on a sensor outside the building's front door and then again on the third floor lobby that looked barren and sparse, with all of the plants taken out. The placard for "The Next Step" had also been taken away. Yet, Linda knew that additional shocks awaited her on the other side of the door.

Roger seemed to sense her trepidation. After allowing her to catch her breath, he poised his hand on the door latch, glanced at her and said "Are you ready for this?"

She nodded, and motioned for him to open the door.

When he did, Linda's first thought upon seeing the gutted, empty studio was that it reminded her of the Tower of Terror ride at Disneyworld. On that ride, the elevator passed by a long neglected hotel lobby, with cobwebs branching from the lobby chairs and key slots.

Layers of dust coated the countertop and the desk clerk bell, also. When Linda and Roger stepped into the empty studio, their footfalls echoed against the emptiness and hard wood. Layers of dust coated the floor and the short wall near the receptionist desk, which had also been long neglected and stained. All of the posters, the reception area Asian rug and the glass cases for trophies had been removed, so that all that remained was a skeleton of its former glory.

"Good lord," Linda remarked as they crept cautiously onto the dance floor, as though it might crackle and sink beneath their feet. "Hasn't anyone looked after this place?"

"No," Roger replied, as his foot kicked a small block of wood that scuttled along the floor, emitting puffs of dust. "Commercial real estate's been tanking for the past several years. I'm sure you know that. In fact, they've talked about tearing down this whole building. The lawyer's office on the first floor is the only one left."

"What a shock," Linda said, laughing.

Roger glanced at the late afternoon sun spilling in through the windows, the same way it had during Linda's most memorable lessons at the studio. "It's a good thing we're here during the daytime. The power's been off for a few month's now." Their voices echoed and reverberated in the hollow emptiness.

For old time's sake, Linda assumed a dance position and stepped back for a couple of slow-slow, quick-quicks in a foxtrot basic. She whirled around to face Roger, who now stood thirty feet away from her. "So, tell me why we're here?"

He smiled as he walked toward her. "I want to open it again."

To go over his business presentation with her, he opened his laptop and showed her a series of dry looking spreadsheets, which showed the decline of commercial rents in the area. "The point is," he said, "commercial rent can be had for a song."

"I get it," Linda said. "You move in, spruce things up, hang up a shingle and reopen. Do you need students?"

"Something like that," he replied. "I would like to reopen it as a Shall We Dance franchise and I'd like to offer you the first position as Grand Benefactor."

Linda knew the "Shall We Dance" organization well. They were national, and had studios overseas. Many times, the dancers who danced with celebrities in "Dancing with the Stars" came from Shall We Dance. "Okay," she said. "What's a Grand Benefactor?"

Roger cleared his throat and launched into some of the smoothest businesslike patter she'd ever heard. In order to get the loan for the franchise fees, he said, he had to show that he had receivables on the books. To get receivables on the books, he and his staff would have to sell lessons. But of course, without a studio, there would be no lessons to sell. A Grand Benefactor would pay a monthly fee for full access to the club and all the group lessons and parties, plus ten hours of private instruction free of charge.

"And the price for this privilege is..."

Roger stated it without missing a beat. "A cool five hundred dollars."

It was what Linda used to spend on dancing, back in the good old days of the mid 2000's, before the economic meltdown and the mini depression. She could do it again, but she and Stephen were maxing out their retirement funds. Roger would have to wait. There was no way she was making a commitment today. But she did want to know one thing. "Can I ask you a question? You said you were offering me the first position as Grand Benefactor, so I must be the first one you approached, right?"

Roger grinned, nodding, suddenly looking very boyish even though he was probably getting close to forty now. "Yes, pretty much." They stood in silence for a moment.

There were so many others whom Roger could have hit up for the money. Many white haired matrons, who'd become rich when they widowed or received fat divorced settlements, had taken lessons at The Next Step. The very foundation of the business came from these old women, anxious to live a glamorous fantasy at least once in their lives. Yet, Roger had come to her first, a well-paid but ordinary working woman. "So what are you thinking?"

She took a long, deep breath and looked over the sad, empty studio, imagining marble pillars and beams, and ornate stonework in the archway. "So, why did you come to me first?"

He once again smiled warmly. "You're a special lady, Linda Herron. I'll never forget that first lesson we shared."

She was touched. "Roger, I'm going to tell you a story about how I first became interested in dancing." She told him about her days as a poor college student, way back in the seventies, and how she accepted a job as an Oneironaut in the Psychology department. In vivid detail, she described her dream with the mysterious gentleman, dancing in the marble hall. She mentioned how the dream failed to show on the department's sensors, which had always mystified her. In some way, she concluded, she was always trying to recreate that experience every time she stepped onto a dance floor.

When she finished telling him, Roger seemed leaned away from her. His lips had parted slightly and his eyes had misted over. Linda knew there was no way he could fake that. He said "That's one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard."

They stood together in silence by the counter for awhile longer. Linda knew Roger was going to want some type of an answer. "About the Grand Benefactor...I won't be able to give you an answer tonight. I need to discuss it with my husband first."

"I understand entirely," Roger said, patting her on the hand before reaching into a compartment of his briefcase beside his opened laptop. "In the meantime, how about a dance?"

He pulled two small objects from the compartment, which at first looked like two big spools of thread. They were connected together with a wire, from which dangled a lead. Roger plugged the lead into the laptop. Linda realized that they were external speakers.

She laughed. "I suppose you have a music file on their somewhere?"

"You betcha," Roger said, as he kicked bits of wood aside and set about doing a quick cleaning of the large dance floor. Linda helped him. When they had cleared off the floor sufficiently, Roger pressed a key on the laptop and took her into dance position.

"I have to warn you, I'm a little bit rusty," she said, as she pressed up against him and rested her hand on his shoulder.

He grinned. "It's like riding a bike." The upbeat, jaunty melody of a foxtrot filled the entire studio as the little speakers were quite powerful. Roger led her through a flawless twinkle and they began.

After they shared three dances together, the falling late afternoon sun cast long shadows and made the inside of the studio too dim to go any further. Besides, Linda wanted to get home to her husband, her son, and a nice warm meal.

She waited a couple of hours past their dinner of Inge's scrumptious chicken and dumplings with vegetable stew. With Hayley out of the house now, Stephen seldom played video games. He would usually just vedge out on his recliner, sometimes pulling the laptop stand to him to go over figures or projects while his sports programs played on the sixty inch flat screen. That night, he kept the laptop stand in its corner and just watched a baseball game while taking sips of beer.

"Absolutely not," Stephen said, when Linda had finished telling him the details about Roger's "Grand Benefactor" offer.

It was the response Linda expected, but she still felt deflated after hearing the words. She knew his reasoning, too but she still asked him "Why?"

He turned his eyes away from the television to look at her while he responded. Since he had taken off his glasses, she could see that his eyes were getting slightly bulgy. How long had they been like that? "Linda, we've finally built things up to where they were before all the fallout. We're getting a good return now. If I let you take five hundred of those dollars away just because you still want to be belle of the ball, we could lose thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands."

Linda felt stunned by the "belle of the ball" remark. "That's kind of scornful, wouldn't you say?"

Stephen had taken a sip of beer, to punctuate his argument. But when he saw his wife's reaction, he sighed and his features softened. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound harsh. But it's true. At our age we have to look ahead. And with the returns I'm getting, we have to put every dollar we can in there."

To her, Stephen was least attractive when he talked investments. She noticed his pot belly and his wrinkles more. Whatever happened to the phrase _You can't take it with you?_ Quietly, she said "You're not into derivatives again, are you?"

"No," he said, stretching the one syllable word to two, looking hurt by her insinuation. "It's futures, pharmaceuticals. Healthcare companies. You, more than anyone else should know what a growth industry that is."

For all her desire to start dancing again, she realized that Stephen was partially right.

They'd both worked too hard all these years to spend their retirement in possible squalor. And on top of that, they had Matthew's college education to think of. There was no guarantee that one of the big universities would pay his ride because of his blocking ability. She found a nice movie for them to watch, a romantic comedy with action, and sat beside him, holding his hand.

She did her best thinking in the morning, before work. Roger had been so charming, to seek her out, pleasantly ask her for her help, and then treat her to a few gloriously romantic dances. He was a good kid. She wanted to help him. As she cruised down the interstate in her hybrid, it occurred to her to make him a counter offer. By scrimping her, saving there and accepting cash from her co-workers for shift changes and other favors, she could come up with two hundred dollars a month without even thinking about it. The money would never show on their statements or accounts. Stephen would never have to know.

Later that afternoon, she called him. "Two hundred dollars, three lessons, and access to the groups and parties?"

"You've got it babe," Roger said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

August, 2016

City of Industry, California

"It's so hot," Linda said, as she put on the tennis dress she'd chosen for this occasion and the wide-brimmed hat and big sunglasses. "Aren't those kids going to fry out there?"

"None of them are going to mind it, trust me," he said as he tried to keep his eyes on the road yet follow the GPS readouts at the same time. "Besides it's a dry heat, not like all the sticky humidity we have back home. Plus they've got water, electrolytes and cool misting fans on the sidelines. I think they're going to be okay."

They'd rented a Honda for their stay in California, but Stephen insisted on parking it at a train station lot and riding something called "Metrolink" to the stadium. "Wouldn't it be a lot less hassle just to drive there? It can't be too much farther."

As they arrived at the station platform, Stephen added "Listen, the more we stay out of L.A. traffic, the better. This is going to be huge."

Linda shrugged as she looked up and down the tracks for an approaching train, amazed at the amount of people on the platform wearing red, white, and blue colors. "It's just a football game," she said.

A guy standing nearby heard her and turned around to face her. He was tall, had dark, curly hair and was in his early thirties or so. While he looked at her with amused shock, he said " _Just_ a football game? Hey, did everybody hear this lady? _Just_ a football game!" He motioned to the crowds of people standing on the station platform and everybody repeated her phrase mockingly and started to laugh.

Linda pulled her husband aside, by his shirt front and hissed "What's so funny?

Why is everybody making fun of me?"

"Because you said it's _just_ a football game." He laughed, also.

"Yeah, so?"

A sleek, white train with high glass windows approached. "This is the first football game in Los Angeles in over twenty years. Clearly to them it's not _just_ a football game."

"Whatever," Linda muttered, as they boarded the train. To her it wasn't _just_ a football game, either. It was her son Matthew's first game as a Cleveland Brown, and there was a good chance he might actually get to play. All through his college career at Ohio State (which he'd attended on a full scholarship, majoring in Physical Education and Nutrition), she and Stephen had gone to as many of the games as they could, taking the hundred mile drive up the interstate to watch Matthew hunker down and pile drive defensive players on the other side, protecting his quarter back and running backs.

In his last year, he won an Outland trophy and played in a special game in Hawaii. A couple of months later, after a whirlwind of phone calls, television crews knocking at their door, Matthew signed his first pro contract. Everyone was thrilled that he would be playing close to home, but for his first game as a professional, she and Stephen would have traveled to Timbuktu if they'd had to.

The people on board the train started to buzz with expectant anticipation as the train traveled around a large hill where swarms of crowds had started to gather. When the train passed the hill, she saw a huge stadium with brilliant megawatt colors all over that had been built into the side of the hill. One of the new, sleek blimps darted to and fro overhead and dozens of trucks and vans carrying television station logos clogged the roads feeding into the stadium.

Stephen poked her, saying "What did I tell you?"

"Oh my god," Linda remarked, as they disembarked from the train and joined the throngs of people walking down a wide concrete concourse toward a gleaming set of stairs descending into the stadium seats. Young men on stilts, wearing replicas of the red, white, and blue Los Angeles Freedom football outfits towered above them, singing a song proclaiming their new football team. It reminded her more of a Mardi Gras celebration than a football game.

To get to their seats for the game, they had to travel down moving walkways and escalators that brought them downward to an opening at the field level. They sat among a few of the other parents of the Brown's players who'd made the trip. Stephen recognized one of them and laughed, saying "Hey Fred, where's your orange and brown?"

Fred, a guy a few years older than them, with a paunch and a hat covering his bald pate said "Are you kidding? If I wore them here, they'd probably kill me!"

While they waited for the game to begin, marching bands played peppy tunes on the field and cannons boomed by the huge scoreboard perched above the end zone. Beer priced at twenty dollars flowed freely and through the pre-game ceremonies, Stephen managed to chug down three of them with the other fathers. The Cleveland Browns spilled onto the field from one of the tunnels beneath the stadium, through a double line of their cheerleaders who shook pom-poms in the air above them as they ran past. A public address announcer read the names of the starting players as they ran to mid field.

Stephen pointed toward the field, slurring his words as he said "Look for number 73! Look for number 73!"

Linda recoiled from his beer-breath. "Jeez, hon, I know my own son's goddammed uniform number!"

A different man spoke, and the volume of his voice had been turned up as he said "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've been waiting for since 1995! Here are your Los Angeles Freedom!" The crowd cheered with such a deafening roar that Linda had to cover her ears.

After the kickoff and a couple of quarters of action, Linda knew enough about football to realize that the Browns were holding up quite well against the Freedom in their inaugural game. By halftime the score was tied seventeen all. "They might put Matt in during the second half, to help a drive for a go ahead score," Stephen said, still goofy and giddy from his constant procession of beers.

When the second half started, and the Freedom kicked the ball off to the Browns, their coach soon proved him right. Linda looked to the sideline and saw Matthew's gleaming, still close-cropped, penny hair but only for an instant as he put his orange helmet on. "Stephen, he's going in!"

They both stood and put their arms around each other proudly as their big son in his number 73 ran out onto the field to join his teammates. He bent over in the huddle with them and then sauntered with them to the line and crouched down into his stance as a left tackle. When the center hiked the ball, the quarterback ran into the backfield while Matthew drove hard against the red, white and blue Freedom player across from him. The quarterback heaved a long, arcing pass down the field, which a receiver caught near the sideline marker.

Stephen broke apart from Linda and began jumping up and down wildly. "That's my boy!" he chanted, "That's my boy!" He continued to jump and then suddenly lost his footing, stumbling down toward the people sitting in the row beneath him. It took Linda and two of the men to grab Stephen's arms and catch him before he fell atop some hapless spectators.

"I can't take him anywhere!" Linda said, forcing a smile.

Linda was glad to have seen the game, which the Browns lost in the last seconds, causing the big, bowl-shaped stadium to erupt into a fit of bedlam. She was also glad to return home from the frenetic weekend and get back to the life she knew best: nursing and dancing. Many of her co-workers and even a few doctors congratulated her, saying that they'd seen Matthew play on television.

She attended the dance party that next Friday night. Roger's Shall We Dance studio had re-invigorated the entire building. Other tenants moved in, encouraged by the inexpensive rent, and the building management had repaired glass and archways along with power-washing and sand blasting the brick facades. New students flocked to the studio in the elegant retro building, and Linda felt deliriously happy for Roger.

His Grand Benefactor program had been a huge success in getting the studio off on the right foot. Roger made improvements to the studio, such as a brand new front desk with a granite countertop, and he ripped out the walls, replacing them with glass, so that all the managers and teachers on breaks could see the lessons and parties out on the dance floor. He'd also re-shellacked the decades-old hardwood floor and put in new, warm LCD fixtures overhead.

The staff working for him warmly greeted her as she stepped off the elevator and into the classically-appointed, soothing lobby. Roger had hired a bunch of bright, pretty women and men in their twenties to teach the lessons and work the parties. He also emceed the parties, entertaining the crowd like a Vegas performer: "I want to thank everyone for coming. Jeez, can you believe it's gonna be the year 2017 soon? Yeah, me neither. I saw this movie on the pod the other day _Back to the Future Part 2._ Anybody else see that? It was made in 1989, way before my time (he rolled his eyes for effect). But did they mess up or what? They had flying cars!

Kids on skateboards that hovered! Look outside these windows, folks. DO YOU SEE ANY FREAKING FLYING CARS?"

Roger always saved at least one dance for Linda. He would walk over to the special table reserved for her and all of the other grand benefactors. Usually he chose a waltz for them, but sometimes he surprised her with a tango or a West Coast Swing. As the party ended, he sought her out and then took her aside. "Hey, before you take off, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure." As the crowd thinned out she walked with him into his office, at the center of the glass wall. He sat down with her in the chairs placed in front of his desk. Before their seats got warm beneath them, a fresh-faced young guy with ash blond hair appeared at the doorway, smiling down at them.

Roger said "Linda, have you met Tristan before? One of my brightest young male instructors?"

He reached down to shake Linda's hand. "Yes, we've met," she said. "Thank you so much for the dance."

"You're quite welcome," he told her.

"Anyway, we're sending Tris to the Nationals," Roger went on.

Linda turned, looked up at the boy and said "Congratulations!" Dancers who did well in the Nationals went places.

Both men gazed at Linda expectantly. "What?" she asked, sensing they were up to something.

Roger smirked conspiratorially and said "I want you to be his partner."

She couldn't believe what she heard and was unable to speak for a few moments.

When she caught her breath she said "Rog! I'm old enough to be his mother!"

He seemed to have rehearsed his responses. "You're one of the best dancers here."

She looked back and forth between them. "I think you're both crazy. Wouldn't you be better off pairing up with one of those gorgeous lady instructors?"

"The Nationals discourages instructor/instructor pairs. You know that."

"And besides, I think you're gorgeous, too."

Linda felt like tipping a cigar, Groucho Marx style and saying something like _And I think you're nearsighted._ Instead, she announced "Next month, I'm going to be _fifty-eight_ years old!"

Roger and Tris looked at each other. "Cassandra Peterson was doing Elvira, Mistress of the Dark well into her sixties, and wasn't Cher sixty-five when she played Catwoman?"

"Good examples," Linda said, laughing. "A Halloween Scream queen and a Hollywood ho. Besides, Roger, I couldn't afford all those lessons it would take!"

He raised a hand, as if to quell her fears. "We've got that covered. I'd make you a staff member. It wouldn't cost you a red cent."

Both men smiled at her. Linda shook her head. "I still think you're both crazy."

Roger murmured "You can do this."

Linda looked up at Tristan, realizing at that moment that he looked like the mysterious gentleman in the marble hall, if a bit younger. "Okay," she said "I hope you know what you're getting yourselves in for."

The two men high-fived each other and then hugged her.

Linda waited until Sunday to break the news to Stephen. He snickered and said "Is it a geriatric dance contest or what?" When Linda loudly protested, he claimed he was kidding and tell her to go for it, to knock herself out, because none of it would cost him a dime.

She knew that for the nationals, she would have to wear a skimpy, revealing costume.

All the women wore clinging spandex and high leg slits. She would, too, and she wanted to look good. Using her decades of health knowledge, she put herself on a one-thousand calorie diet and otherwise lived off of icewater. Along with working the same nursing shifts she always did, and logging hours on the health lines the same way she had for more than a decade, she drove to the studio three times a week for grueling choreography and conditioning workouts.

She and Tristan would do a quickstep together, with rise and falls that traveled the length of the dance floor, along with lots of fast footwork. One night, when they rounded a corner together and started into the fast, rhythmic leg kicks, it got to be too much for her. She quickly grew lightheaded, then nauseous, as huge dark spots blotted out her vision. Instantly, she wilted, like a daisy in a sauna bath.

The next thing she knew, she woke up on an ambulance stretcher, with an oxygen mask on her face and Roger hovering above her beside an emergency technician, his smooth features contorted in panic. "Everything's going to be okay!" he barked. "Everything's going to be okay."

Bethesda, the same hospital where she'd given birth to Hayley and Matthew, wanted to keep her overnight for observation, rehydrating her, restoring her iron count and electrolytes. "You were lucky," one of the nurses told her. "The gentleman you were with broke your fall."

Stephen rushed to the hospital and stayed by her side, holding her hand. Matthew called her hospital room from Nashville, where he was working out with the Browns for a late season game against the Titans. He was glad she was okay.

Hayley was a different matter. She called from her Chicago condo and had still been at work when she received the news. Her voice took on a faintly scolding tone when she spoke to her mother. "Listen mom," she said. "You know how much I love you. It's hard for me to say this, but enough is enough. You're going to kill yourself with this 'Cinderella at the ball' act!"

When Roger and Tristan later showed up, each of them carrying a bouquet of flowers, Linda tearfully told them "I think Tris should find a new dance partner."
CHAPTER NINETEEN

March, 2038

Oxford, Ohio

Linda liked the way the house was coming along. She'd written some of the plans from memory, but was astonished when she trained the satellite linkup on her desk server to the old Glienke homestead near Alexandria. It was still there! Not only that, but it also appeared that someone had meticulously kept up the garden and the delightful little cottage house where she'd spent half of her college career. For her golden years, she wanted a house just like it.

The house was being built in the back yard of Matthew's property. He and his wife Patty were doing well since Matthew had invested his NFL money wisely and earned a good income as a football coach at the nearby university. Patty appeared at the patio out back every so often, with cups of hot chocolate or sandwiches. Winter was still hanging on, but Linda enjoyed the invigorating chill on her old bones.

Matthew came home every afternoon at four-thirty. He wore a letter jacket from the university, and he still had most of his penny colored hair, though the color had faded. And he kept himself in fantastic shape. If Linda squinted, her son still looked like the strapping young man who'd won trophies and scholarships in college, even though he was forty-four. When he appeared out on the patio, he sneered disapproval at the miniature house rising and crossed the lawn to the other patio chair Linda had placed there, near the building site.

He lowered himself into the chair, beside her. "So how's the playhouse coming along?"

"Fine," his mother replied. "And please don't refer to it that way."

Matthew snorted. "Sorry." He looked at the frame. "I just don't understand why you're going to all this trouble. We've got two perfectly good rooms inside the house."

"That's for you and Patty," Linda said. "I don't want to be in your way."

Matthew and Patty lived in a huge, six bedroom house, three of which had been converted into studies for Matthew's computer consoles, with the other two serving as a mini-museum for Patty's doll collection and a craft room for her myriad projects. For some reason, the two of them never wanted to have any children. Thankfully Hayley had already made her a grandmother three times over.

Knowing his mother would not relent, Matthew silently picked up his large body from the metal chair and lumbered back into the house.

After only three weeks, the crew of three carpenters had finished the delightful cottage chateau and Linda, who'd gotten rid of practically all the heavy furniture and knickknacks from the old house after Stephen died, moved in two days later. She furnished the little house with a French Provincial four poster twin bed, a white, roll-top desk and a simple chest and recliner to go along with the small stovetop and sink. Unlike her home at the Glienke's however, she did outfit this one with a full bath. In her one concession to advancing age and frailty, she added rails to the bath and a swinging-door design for it. Matthew and Patty also insisted on an alarm system—not because they were worried about a break-in—but because they wanted a way for mother to alert them if she was in trouble.

One Friday night, against the advice of Matthew, she hired a limousine to take her fifty miles to the Shall We Dance studio that Roger _still_ owned and managed. Over the years two of its employees had placed high at the Nationals competitions, and one young woman had gone on to become Leonardo DeCaprio's partner in Dancing with the Stars.

Linda arrived unannounced, and the kind driver gingerly helped her out of the back seat. She hoped to slip into the building unnoticed, without fanfare, but a crowd of people had seen the limo from the third floor windows. They all crowded around the elevator, to greet her. Roger, who was silver-haired now but still elegant, cried when he saw her. They danced an elegant waltz by themselves during a special, impromptu celebration at the party.

Practically the whole studio saw her off as she left the party early, not used to this excitement and returned to the limo for the ride home. She smiled the entire way. At home, she changed into her nightgown, took off what little makeup she'd worn on her wrinkled, but still glowing skin, and crawled into bed.

As she fell asleep, it occurred to her that it had been decades since she'd been lucid and had spoken with Lauren. Oh well, she said to herself, shrugging. I'll get to see her soon enough.

Later that night, as she slept, she floated away from the house and ascended into a long, bright tunnel. She felt like Alice in Alice in Wonderland headed to a sanctuary of pure love rather than a disconcerting, dark hole. The light at the end of the tunnel glowed even more brightly as she ascended toward it, feeling showers of warmth and happiness from all the energy that surrounded her.

Eventually she became one with the light at the end and descended, easing down, down, down the light diminishing around her as she felt as if she'd been lowered by a gentle, golden parachute toward a shimmering marble floor in an ornate palace. When she looked down at her legs and feet as she landed, she saw them slender and smooth, free from the spider veins and ravages. As the details of the pillars and the archways revealed themselves to her, she could see them with astonishing clarity. She wore glamorous silver, sparkling dance sandals on her feet.

Layers of diaphanous chiffon gracefully billowed away from her arms and chest.

"Welcome back love," a man said. He had a warm, baritone voice said. When she turned, she saw his bright smile and smooth skin as his glowing, loving energy radiated toward her. Holding her, indicating the floor, he said "Shall we?"

Thank you for reading my ebook. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

With thanks, Lacey Ann Carrigan, April 2014

