 
The Silverlake Angel

By Shirley Poston

" _I'm no angel, come and let me show_

you my tattoo." - Gregg Allman

This book is dedicated to Alan, Cesca,

and Doctor Kiddo, for helping it happen.

Formatting and other electronic wizardry by Katherine Pudwill

Cover Design by OOMPA

Published by MysticHA at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Shirley Poston

XOXO

The author would also like to thank some of those who played major roles in her life and/or the creation of projects past, present and future. Much love and gratitude to Francesca Scalpi, Jeani Volker, Vera Anderson & Paul Duran, Ben Fong Torres, Peggy & Rosemary Keller, Helen Walchuck, MM Family, Dr. John Wightman, RBGC, Dr. Jeff Luther, Abby Gramlick Mueller, Dayne & Kay Smith, George McIntosh, Gabriel Diaz, Johnny Davis, Dean Ng, John Clawson, Jack Mathis, Jim Ryan Family, Lotus Fong, Carol Gwenn, Barb & Lee Wolf, Katie & Jo Arons, Wayne & Kristina Carpenter, Pam Smith, John Whitehead Family, and many more. Additional thanks to Alan Vandenburg and the gang at SBVI. Also RCB, especially Joseph, Ione, and JoMarie Laughlin, Computer Goddess. And let us not forget Mulder, Scully and the MysticHA.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Veteran but still hip (she hopes) rock writer/critic Shirley Poston lives and loves in Silverlake (actually two words but one to her because she also considers it a state of mind), the best part of her home town (one word except in her case) (don't ask) of Los Angeles, California.

Watch for the anthology of Shirley's rock and roll ravings, including her concert review that, unbeknownst to her for years, became the liner notes and title of the Dylan bootleg album/CD, _We Had Known A Lion._ Entitled _BLITHER_ , the book will be available online in late 2014.

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PREFACE

Two chapters of this book take place in the famous Dresden restaurant in East Hollywood/Silverlake. Painful changes have occurred since the writing of these chapters: Owner Carl Ferraro, hostess Joanie Cahill and waiter extraordinaire, Louie-Louie, have flown away to join the Angel. I decided not to update the material and leave it as-is in their memory along with my thanks for many years of great times. Those include the heyday of the Dresden's Zircons In The Rough (also coming in 2014), or as they liked to brag after hoisting a few too many, Algonquin West. The Dresden is still happening, now in the capable hands of scion Jimmy Ferraro. Long may it run. -SP

CHAPTER ONE

My name is Abra. My parents' idea, not mine. It morphed it into Abby, which is better but still kind of girly if you ask me. Which no one bothered to.

I don't live anywhere fancy like Beverly Hills 90210. I live in Silverlake 90026, a hilly, green section of Los Angeles planted between the East end of Hollywood and Echo Park, on the way to downtown. It's a special place filled with different kinds of people. It's the kind of place where almost anything can happen, and did.

I'm about the last person you'd expect to come face to face with an angel. I never thought about these ethereal beings one way or another. And when I did encounter one, I definitely didn't expect him to be a skinny Latino teenager, standing in my living room sporting nothing but jockey shorts and an impressive set of wings.

But I'm already getting ahead of my story.

Strange things started happening to me about a month ago. Well, actually, they started happening the day I was born. But about four weeks ago, they started hitting the high water mark.

For one, life seemed to get easier. Little things changed, like my car stopped coughing consumptively and began purring like the old days before it'd spent nearly a decade breathing the L.A. smog (not to mention contributing to it).

Then my uniforms started taking on a whiter shade of pale although I hadn't switched laundry detergents. I literally gleamed my way through the corridors of the hospital where I've spent the last five years as a nurse in the children's ward.

I love my job. I hate seeing the little ones sick, but I really dig helping to make them better. In a way, it's like having my own family. I'd hoped to do that too and maybe I still will. But you never know. I'm not quite thirty, but like the old song goes, the days grow short as we reach September, or something depressing like that.

I haven't done much lately about trying to alter (or altar) my single status. With my hours, that isn't easy. I live on a double 3-ll shift, working from 3-11 p.m. then sleeping from 3-11 a.m. It's cool because it allows me to have some day and some night to myself and it keeps me from having to get up early in the morning. (When I have to do that, I can't function as a nurse. I need one.)

The schedule fits perfectly with my goofy bio-rhythms. I love snuggling into bed and sleeping through the sunrise. I like waking up with Al—he's my cat--in midmorning and having a four whole hours before I have to get up and do it again.

Al must have been born a night person, too. (He is a person, as any pet lover will attest.) He is totally in with my weird hours. Or maybe he's just well trained. I discovered that if you feed your pet just before you hit the pillow, it won't be in your face at 6 a.m. wanting to eat or frisk or pee. It'll be out cold, just like you, and you won't have to throw it against the wall or anything violent. (Joking, joking.)

Unfortunately, my schedule isn't really that great for anything else. I do hang with friends sometimes after work. The Hollywood clubs are just starting to pop at that hour. And I occasionally have a date, most of which leave me wanting to enter a convent. I did try answering a couple of personal ads from other late-shift types, and if they weren't a pair to draw to! They didn't just need to be spanked and put to bed. They wanted to be.

There are lots of things you can't do when you work strange hours. For instance, I have no idea what's on television (which is probably in my favor). I don't know or care who won on American Idol or what star is dancing on his or his partner's toes. I do try to catch the early a.m. re-re-re-runs of the old X Files series on cable when I can (more about that in a minute). But my friends go to concerts and plays and party on the weekend, not on Wednesdays and Thursdays, a.k.a. my days off, so I'm not seeing a lot of action.

Speaking of the X Files, I kind of have to credit that show for the fact that I actually lived through the drama I'm about to share with you. I used to be such a complete wimp before I got with this program. I was seriously creeped out by devils and vampires and all, but after watching every episode of that show more than once, I'd seen so much gore and so much woo-woo, I stopped being freaked out by anything supernatural and paranormal. That was a very good thing considering what was about the happen to me.

So, back to the weirdness that has invaded my life. Pretty soon bigger strange things started up, things I really couldn't explain. One night when I left the hospital, feeling like I was coming down something yucky, it was pouring rain. The guard who walked me out to the parking garage was dripping, but there I was, dry as a bone. I jumped in my ride quick before he noticed.

That was weird enough, thanks, but by the time I got home, I was feeling great and what's more my apartment was different than I'd left it. It was clean. And I mean clean. I'm not a pig or anything but I'm probably not the neatest person in the world either. Now everything was perfect and put away and kind of shiny. Even scarier, Al was vibrating happy circles around his dish which was heaped with one of his favorite stinky meals.

Since no one had keys to my apartment, I probably would have figured I'd caved in and done the spic and span before I left for work and then forgotten the unpleasant experience. But AL? We've already discussed when he dines and why, but there he was, chowing away.

So what was up? I didn't know. I only knew that something was.

Something in addition to my regular weekly visitor, that is, who arrived at that very moment, causing me to forget all about odd happenings and all about most everything else, for a while anyway.

That's because Kevin is someone I am about half in love with if I'd admit it to myself. He's a local musician, and a recording engineer - very talented, and of course terminally hip and cool. A fashion shape-shifter, he was currently doing the short-haired, goateed hipster thing. Me, I preferred a shaggier, more lived in type, but Kevin is smart and attractive and funny and successful. And I'd been surprised and secretly (I hope) flattered when he showed up at my door one night after work, a nice bottle of wine in hand.

I knew him from around my Silverlake neighborhood where I'd grown up and still lived. I'd seen him perform in a couple of local clubs and we'd exchanged heys a few times. To cut to the chase, it took him a few visits, but we ended up in bed.

But bed partners is all we've ever been and this has been going on for over a year. And I think I know why. In the first place, I'd already found out that when a guy shows up at your door at midnight, and you let him in, he's probably not going to invite you out to dinner. He's somehow managed to circumvent that step and cut right to his own chase.

Also, Kevin was in the entertainment industry, and those guys exist in a permanent Babe Contest. Meaning a femme who is totally fatale - gorgeous and, of course, skinny as a rake. I'm no slouch in the looks department, but I'm also a realist. I don't qualify as an Arm Ornament and also, I dare to have some meat clinging to my bones. Clinging in just the right places, I've been told, but that still doesn't make it okay with the Beautiful People who demand at least visible perfection.

As a result of these restrictions, in the arts, so to speak, there are more terrific women without men than in any other profession on the planet. Also while a guy can go the bimbo route if she's hot enough, a woman with power and status can't nibble her way down the food chain and date her cute mechanic. That is not cool. To retain cool, you stick to presentable friends or you appear on the arm of a peer.

I'm glad I don't work in that industry, but those of us who live surrounded by its denizens do feel the effect. No matter how great we get along, in and out of the sack, I ended up having an enjoyable but limited relationship with Kevin. The few times I did suggest doing something (else) together, he was always politely unavailable. So I got a clue and went with the flow. Or, I should say, I went without it.

It didn't bother me while I was with him, but it did sometimes after he left and if I thought about it the rest of the week, which I tried not to.

I always made Kevin go home before I had to get some sleep. Being sent home never failed to annoy him. "Why won't you let me spend the night?" he would grouse, cuddled comfortably in my bed and wanting to stay there, albeit temporarily. And he did it again that night.

Ordinarily, I would tell him I couldn't rest with someone else in the bed or some other lie, but tonight my answer was quite different. Looking him square in the eye, I said exactly what I'd been thinking for a year: "Because I don't want you to have me for breakfast and then do lunch with someone cooler."

His eyes popped open. "Did you want to have lunch with me?"

Either he wasn't getting it (even smart men can be totally obtuse) or he wasn't having any, so I just laughed and pushed him out of bed.

Getting dressed, he moaned and groaned as usual. But before he left, he kissed me goodbye and actually asked if he could come over next week. Usually, he just showed up.

Would you believe I said, "We'll see" instead of "sure." After he left I smiled nastily to myself, reliving my surprising bravery. I enjoyed gloating a little until the other unusual events of the evening began to sift back into my brain.

By the way, sorry I got off on the Babe rant, but you need to know about Kevin. He's a key player in the trauma I'm about to inherit. And once Kevin was gone, I started getting nutty and nervous all over again.

I had no idea what to think or what to do. Not wet from the rain... apartment all clean and shiny. Cat fed and happy. I could practically hear the Twilight Zone theme playing in my head.

Maybe I was just in low blood sugar or something. I hadn't eaten much of anything since before I went to work and I wasn't hungry in my present state of mind (loony), but I wandered into the spotless (??) kitchen anyway and opened the fridge.

That did it. There's a salad I like to make after work. It has tuna, olives, greenery, hard-boiled egg, etc. and it's my special fave. Well, there it sat, resting in my Westinghouse, beautifully arranged on my best plate.

Slamming the fridge closed, I fled into the bedroom. I looked in the bed, under it, in the closets, then behind the shower curtain. With Al hot on my heels, thinking it was playtime, I checked the entire apartment, including behind the drapes. I found nada, but by then I knew someone--something?--was there. By now I could actually feel a presence and it was scaring the pants off me, or would have if I'd been wearing any.

It was time, as Bowie once sang, to turn and face the strange.

"Okay," I tried to bellow forcefully but mostly just squeaked. "Who are you and where are you and I'm calling the police!"

"Don't do that," said a voice, a boy's voice. "They'll think you're loco." (This was true. If I called the authorities to report an invisible intruder in my apartment, I could be in even bigger trouble--unless I happened to reach Agent Mulder, ho ho.)

"Then who are you?" I demanded, grabbing the pepper spray out of my purse.

"I'm Angel," said the voice.

"You're an angel?" I re-squeaked..

"Well, um, yeah. That's my name too."

"You're an angel named Angel?" That wasn't a bit confusing.

But he, she or it never had a chance to reply because just then there was a knock at the door. Kevin again. He'd forgotten his dayrunner, which I hadn't even noticed in my panic. Finding it for him fast, I was shooing him back out the door when I suddenly stopped. "You didn't make me a salad while I was taking a shower, did you?"

"No," he said, his eyes re-popping. "Did you want me to?"

"No," I said, re-shooing.

"Are you all right, Abby?"

"No," I said, and almost closed the door on his goatee.

Then I turned to the empty room, which it still was. It was just me and Al, who was sitting on the couch, looking accusingly at me. After all, we'd run merrily--he thought--through the house but there had been no toy mousies or balls of paper on a string on any of the usual fun stuff that accompanied such antics. His eyes said, thanks for nothing.

Picking him up, I looked deeply into those eyes. "It's not you, is it?" I quavered. "Are you talking to me?" (If I hadn't been so wigged out I'd have laughed at myself for sounding like Travis Bickel.)

Al just looked at me in disgust, as if to say, "Whoa lady, I'm the cat. I don't talk. I poop in a box."

I was about to give him a big apologetic hug when I heard a noise behind me. Turning around, I dropped Al. Then my jaw.

CHAPTER TWO

Abby lurched backwards onto the couch as Al dived under it. Standing directly in front of her was a skinny dark-haired kid. Probably not a day over 16, he was wearing nothing but a pair of jockey shorts.

"Help!" Abby cried, picking up a paperweight and brandishing it.

"Cool it, lady," the intruder hissed. "It's me."

"Me who?" Abby quivered. Or was it me what?

"The one you were talking to before," he said impatiently. "I took my clothes off so I can prove I'm an angel."

"I don't want you to prove anything that involves removing your pants," Abby snapped. "Put them back on immediately."

"I can't get them unfolded if I do," the boy complained, sounding quite earnest. Abby wanted to ask what he couldn't get unfolded with his pants on, but she was afraid of the possible answer.

"What are you raving about?" she demanded.

"These," the boy said and from behind him, a pair of wings began to emerge until they nearly filled the room with their shimmer.

"Oh, my, God," Abby said, not inappropriately, about to fall on her knees and genuflect or something.

"Cosmic, huh?" the boy grinned proudly, his angelic smile almost as astonishing as the rest of him.

At this point, Al peered out from under the couch, uttered an indescribable cry and re-dived. Abby could hear him trying to claw his way into the springs.

She was braver. Stepping forward, she extended a trembling hand. "Can I touch them?"

The angel or whatever he was shrugged. "I guess."

Gingerly, Abby approached the breath-taking wingspan. It felt like silk and flexed slightly under her fingers. She drew them back quickly.

"They're not made of feathers!" she marveled, feeling a few feathers short of a duster.

The boy blurted out a giggle. "Course not. What you think I am, some pinchy bird?"

"Well, pardon me," Abby said sharply. "In that old movie

Michael, John Travolta's wings had –"

"That movie was a total load," the angel interrupted.

That did it. This was not happening. She couldn't possibly be in her apartment at 4 a.m. discussing the cinema with a naked angel. Rushing into the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle of Gentleman Jack off the counter where Kevin kept it. He liked for them to have a drink together out of the two expensive glasses he'd bought her, He seemed to enjoy the sippin' whiskey, as he called it. Abby though it tasted like furniture polish. However, she pouring herself two fingers and sat down with a thunk. She'd obviously been working way too hard or someone had baked something extreme into the brownie she'd snacked on earlier.

When there was no sound from the living room, she gulped the Jack and tried to calm down. There was no one there. She was just seeing things after putting in way too many extra hours at the hospital. She was long overdue for her vacation, but there was no way she was leaving with poor little David still in a coma. (More about that later, too. Much more.)

Then, suddenly, the sounds of a struggle reached her ears. "Who's there?" she quaked.

A voice cursed in Spanish. Then, in English, he called out, "I'm still trying to re-fold these things."

Abby sighed, giving up. She had obviously lost it, wigged completely. Rising, she fished a Coke out of the fridge, and poured herself two hands of Jack as opposed to fingers. Sitting back down at the table, she waited for the apparition to join her. When it did, it was wearing the regulation teenage regalia - jeans, tee, Nikes and a backwards ball cap. Sitting down, it began sipping the soda. Then it spoke. "Can I have some Cheese Diddles?"

Abby pointed wearily to the cupboard over the sink. She'd had no idea why she'd even bought them since they looked and tasted like orange ghost poo (those foam pellets they put in packages). "Okay," she said as he helped himself. "Let's hear it. What are you doing here and what do you want?"

The boy crunched a Diddle. "I, um, needed a place to stay close to, um, in this area."

Abby stared at him. "And why is that?"

"What am I supposed to do," the boy near-whined, "hang in the park? It's winter!"

"I know what time of year it is," she said sternly. "I mean why this part of town?"

"Because I can't go on the other side of Silverlake Boulevard." the boy explained, politely offering her a Diddle. "They think I'll just get into more trouble if I go back to my hood."

Abby waved the bag away. "And how did I get elected?"

The boy shrugged. "You live in the right place, and you're a nurse. You're nice. You're nice looking too. I don't dig skinny mamas."

Abby stiffened. "Don't get any ideas, sonny."

"No problema," the boy muttered sourly. "I don't get to have any more ideas, which is all I ever got to have anyway. Besides, you already have a boyfriend, even if he is a cabron."

Abby understood enough Spanish to know that was no compliment. "Never mind your analysis of my personal life. Just tell me what you want."

The boy sighed, then crunched and sipped. "I thought you were into angels."

Abby did have a small collection of miniature antique angels, but she had them because they'd belonged to her mother. Mom...she thought before she spoke again. "That doesn't mean you can stay here no matter who or what you are!"

"Why not? I been helping out."

"I noticed, and thanks a bunch. Why didn't you show yourself sooner, and I don't mean without your pants."

The boy giggled. "Are you kiddin'? You¹d have lost it if you came home and found some Mexican in your apartment."

"That's very racist," Abby admonished.

"Not when I say it, it isn't."

"Oh, is that how it works?"

"Yeah, and I laid low until you started freaking. I didn't wanna scare you. I could've just left, but I like it here. Besides, I owe you money."

Abby's eyes narrowed. "What money?"

"The bucks I borrowed to get a bus pass."

So that's what had happened to the cash she thought she'd either lost or blown. "If you're an angel, why don't you just fly?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "I can't fly yet is why. Not 'til I finish earning my wings. And I wouldn't be flyin' around no Hollywood even if I could!"

Just then, Al entered the room. Easing over to Abby's visitor, he began winding himself around the boy's ankles, purring loudly.

"He didn't recognize me with my clothes off," Angel explained, rubbing the cat's ears.

There was a line in there somewhere, but fortunately the phone rang at just that moment. It was Helen, ICU charge nurse at the hospital, graveyard shift.

When Abby hung up the phone after a conversation of only a few words, her heart was in her throat. "I have to go back to work."

"How come?"

Abby smiled. "My favorite patient may be regaining consciousness."

But she was talking to herself. By the time those words were out of her mouth, her companion had disappeared into thin air, Cheese Diddles and all.

Abby looked at Al. Al looked at Abby, then dived under the sink. Feeling like joining him, she grabbed her coat instead.

CHAPTER THREE

Hallucinations or no hallucinations, she had to get to David. And she thought of nothing and no one but that sweet little boy while she drove the short distance to the hospital and parked in the emergency lot. When she hurried off the elevator, the hall was darkened and quiet, and Helen wasn't smiling.

"I'm sorry, Abby," she whispered as they stared through the glass at the motionless child. "I could have sworn I saw him open his eyes. I guess I was just over-hoping."

Abby swallowed hard. As long as she was there, she could at least sit with David for a while. She did that every chance she got anyway, talking softly to him or communing with the Heavens on his behalf. Tiptoeing into the room, she pulled a chair up to his bed.

He was such a beautiful little boy, his hair dark and curly, his eyelashes long against his pale cheeks. Only eight years old, he had been this way ever since the accident that had claimed the lives of both his parents nearly two months ago. Abby loved all the children she took care of, but David had a special part of her heart. Life didn't have a habit of being very fair, but what was happening to this little guy was the worst. First his family gone, now maybe him too.

Abby's visits with David often ended in soundless, hopeless tears, but this time there was a different feeling in the room. Maybe she was over-hoping herself, but what if Helen actually had seen him open his eyes? Maybe it wasn't a false alarm but a good sign instead, one that meant he was going to wake up and get well. Maybe even the fact that Abby was crazy enough to start seeing angels was a good sign. Whatever, for some unknown reason, she felt more peaceful than she ever had before in this sad room. Anyway, she did until she heard the voice.

If a voice could sound like a dead fish, it would be this one as it intoned, "What are you doing here, Nurse Ellison?"

Perfect. It was the almighty Dr. A.H. Philips, and you can guess what those initials stood as far as Abby was concerned. In addition to acting like the Emperor of the hospital if not the entire world, he'd done his residency at a stomach-stapling mill. He'd been glaring at Abby's curvy frame ever since he arrived, like she was next.

"Just sitting with David," she answered, far more nicely than she felt. (If a nurse wanted to survive at this hospital, she didn't offend the Ruling Class, especially this turd.)

Dr. Philips snapped on the light. In his late thirties, he was kind of cute or would be if he weren't such a slime. Abby had never seen him so much as smile in the six months he'd been at the hospital. Tonight was not going to be an exception.

"The personnel on duty are perfectly capable of providing care for their patient," he sniffed officiously.

You wouldn't know care if it bit you on your pompous ass, she thought. But all she said was, "A little extra attention can't hurt."

"The doctors on staff will be the judge of this patient's course of treatment," he continued coldly from the doorway, turning the light back off and motioning her out of the room. "And until you become one of those doctors, you are to be on the floor during working hours only, and in uniform!"

With this he hurried importantly down the hall as if every patient were clamoring for his expertise instead of trying to sleep through it. Abby stared after him, her eyes turning to slits. One of these days this putz was going to get what was coming to him. She hoped.

She couldn't have hoped it at a more appropriate moment. What was coming to him at that very instant was an orderly carrying a bedpan. It was hard to say who didn't see whom, but there was a scuffle and suddenly Dr. Philips slid about six feet on God only knew what, and landed splat on his arrogant backside.

Rushing into an empty room, Abby howled into a pillow while the on-duty staff rushed to the enraged doctor's rescue (or else). The more he railed at them, the harder Abby laughed.

When the coast was clear, she took one more look at David and blew him a kiss. She walked the five flights down instead of taking the chance of running into the His Honor on the elevator.

On her way to the parking lot, Abby was so hopeful about David and so busy reliving the glorious moment of the good (not) doctor's come-uppance (go-downance was more like it), she didn't even notice when she stepped on a Cheese Diddle.

CHAPTER FOUR

The haunting scent of Black Narcissis incense drifted through Abby's apartment. It smelled so exotic, she'd stopped feeling guilty about paying so much for it at the Bodhi Tree.

Abby was quite fragrant herself after her relaxing bath, and in the candlelight, her silky blue caftan was a perfect match for her eyes.

Even Al the cat was posed picturesquely. Curled up on his favorite cushion, he snored softly to the rhythm of yet another bit of atmosphere: Shawna, Abby's favorite DJ, was spinning the Moody Blues on Abby's favorite classic rock station.

Everything was ready for Kevin's visit, much readier than usual. Abby had gone to all this trouble because she was trying to get into the mood she had created around her. And because she'd been kind of crappy to him on his last visit.

She definitely looked in the mood. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind her shelf of angels, Abby gave herself a grin. The silky caftan really did set off her light blue eyes and made her blond hair glow.

"Not bad for a girl with such a pretty face," she mused to herself. She'd been hearing that left-handed compliment (read: insult) most of her life. No matter how fine she looked or felt, sooner or later the Weight Police showed up to remind her that she was a bit larger than the average bear (as in Yogi, get it?). It didn't matter that she was nearly 5'10" or that her pounds were well-distributed on that frame. It still happened. She always wanted to say, "Since you're critiquing the rest of me, I wonder if you've looked in the mirror lately?"

Sometimes it even happened at the hospital. And not just from Dr. Philips who continued to stare staples at her. Abby worked with nurses of all sizes and most of them seemed fine with themselves and everyone else. But the staff also had its share of diet addicts. Hardbodies with heads and hearts to match who spent their evenings on a treadmill and loved to talk about it, especially if there was a normal-size human within earshot. Who lunched on a butterfly's eyebrow and then made a gigantic deal about how "stuffed" they were.

Abby knew just where she'd love to stuff them.

As for the women who were built more along Abby's lines, they were suspected of scarfing pizzas like stacks of hotcakes, munching their way through crates of Oreos and lolling about in bath tubs filled with whipped cream. Abby grinned. That last one didn't sound all bad, providing you weren't alone at the time.

But her merriment faded fast. Despite how spiffy everything looked, herself included, for the first time she just didn't feel up to Kevin's weekly visitation. The rest of her was interested, but her brain was elsewhere it. Something was off center, out of kilter.

This time the anticipation of his eminent arrival (he'd actually called to make sure she was available!) was missing. So was something else. If it hadn't been, Kevin wouldn't be making his regular personal appearance in her four-poster. Abby would have never felt free to engage in mattress dancing if her other visitor were still in residence.

But, no problema there. Her angel had apparently flown, if he'd ever really been there in the first place. Abby hadn't seen or heard from him since the moment he'd disappeared. A week had passed since the night they'd thought (and prayed) that David was stirring from his coma. A week without any evidence that Angel had been hanging around while she was at work. No Cheese Diddles missing from the mass quantities she'd stocked for him. No little unexplained miracles in her life. No dinners waiting for her in the fridge when she got off work. No strange but oddly comfortable sensation that she and Al were not alone.

They were alone all right, and it didn't feel good. She didn't feel good either. She'd only seen the angel that one time, and the way it had happened would have scared any sensible person out of their wits. Evidently, Abby didn't qualify. After the first terrifying sight of her winged intruder in jockey shorts, she'd felt as if she'd known him all her life. And it was a nice feeling, one she'd been experiencing ever since the evidence of his presence had begun. She'd been nervous but still she'd felt better and stronger and happier and also somehow okay with someone else being around, even if it was a phantom.

Maybe she was tired of living alone. It had been several years since she'd had a roommate, and two since her only long-term relationship had hit the rocks. She'd been spending so much time at work, she hadn't felt lonely, but was she?

Just then the doorbell rang. As Al looked up in annoyance at this interruption, Abby made herself cross the room to open the door for Kevin.

When she did open that door, the man on the threshold was not Kevin. In fact, he was about as far removed from Kevin as anyone could get. Instead of her music man's tall, lean, Gold's Gym body and edgy hipster look, there stood a fellow about her own height. His curly hair was shaggy, his sports coat a bit rumpled and his tie a disaster. But he was very attractive in the lived-in sort way Abby had always found rather sexy. And his smile! He was trying so hard to look stern, she almost didn't get a sample, but as his eyes traveled the full length of the blue caftan, he caved.

"It's my guess you weren't expecting me," he said.

"And who may I ask is me?" Abby had the presence of mind to inquire. (She was so flattered, she really wanted to smile back and invite him in, but she wasn't quite that crazy.)

"Detective Minella, Hollywood station," the man replied, forcing the foolish grin off his face. "Have you seen this individual around your building?"

Abby stared at the photo the detective extended in his strong paw. It was Angel! The shot was fuzzy; maybe angels didn't photograph that well. But there he was, wearing his Dodgers cap and fiddling with the light sconce outside the entryway, the one that hadn't worked in years. She'd wondered who'd finally fixed it.

"Where did this picture come from?" she asked suspiciously.

"One of your neighbors took it with her cell phone," the detective told her. "Several of them have seen this kid hanging around. He doesn't live here so they got jumpy. Have you seen him?"

Abby swallowed hard. She was trying to figure out what to say when she heard a slight noise to her left. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the angel materialize. He was shaking his head furiously, his fingers clasped together in silent pleading.

"Well, not exactly," Abby said, not wanting to lie.

Out of the detective's view, Angel fell to his knees. Pullease, his eyes begged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the detective asked, trying to sound official and almost succeeding.

"I mean I think I've seen him somewhere," Abby said quickly, failing to add that it had been in this very apartment. In his underpants. "Or someone who looks like him. I think."

"Have you seen him around the neighborhood?"

"No," Abby said honestly. "It must have been somewhere else." (And was. Like behind the door right now for instance.)

That seemed to satisfy her inquisitor. Putting the photo back into his pocket, the detective pulled out a card. "Call me if you see him again," he said, handing it to her. And Abby could almost swear his eyes added and call me if you don't.

But all he actually added was, "and don't just open your door until you know who or what's on the other side of it."

Then it was Abby's turn to smile and when she did, the detective gave her another long look and hurried off down the hall.

Still smiling, Abby closed the door. Now there was a huggable man if one ever existed. Then the smile froze. Turning her gaze to the angel, her eyes sparked. As glad as she was to see him, just exactly what was going on here?

"Just exactly what's going on here?" she asked angrily if not very originally.

Angel shrugged. "Nothing. What are you so pissed about?"

"That was a policeman," Abby glared. Finding the cops on her doorstep was not her idea of something to do, not even if it was a yummy one. "I've managed to stay out of trouble for almost thirty years and I'd like to keep it that way."

"I can't stay out of trouble for thirty minutes," Angel muttered as the doorbell rang again.

"Nuts," Abby said. "Now what am I going to do?"

"Get rid of that cabron," Angel hissed. "We need to talk."

Abby didn't have to look that one up in her Spanish Pronto handbook. Opening the door a crack, she peered into Kevin's face.

"Sorry I'm late," he said into the inch of space. "I was recording and..."

"Kevin," Abby interrupted. "You can't come in."

"But I told you, I was recording and..."

"I'm sorry. Something's come up."

"But..."

"I'll call you, Kevin."

"But..."

"Goodnight," she said. With that, she closed the crack in his amazed face. And if she hadn't been so ticked at her other visitor, she might have gloated a little again. Instead of departing pleased and satisfied, for a change Kevin was leaving with a case of tired but.

However, she was ticked. "So what in hell are you up to?" she demanded as Angel made himself comfortable on the couch, Al purring on his lap.

"You mean in Heaven," he corrected crabbily. "And you're not 'sposed to talk that way to an angel."

"Well, you're certainly not acting like one, getting me in trouble."

"You think you're in trouble," Angel said sadly. "I lost my wings."

"Lost them how? You mean you left them somewhere?"

Angel gave her his pitiful look. "I had to see my mama. I miss her. Besides she was making tamales. Then when I got there, I didn't dare let her see me and my pinchy cousins had scarfed everything up."

"So what does this have to do with your wings?"

"My mama lives on the other side of Silverlake Boulevard."

"You didn't! You said you're not allowed to go there!"

Angel nodded. "That's why they called me into the Front Office and took my wings away."

Abby stared at him. "But they let you come back here anyway?"

"I have business," he said solemnly. "Then I can get my wings again. But first I have to borrow your car."

Abby stared at him in horror. "Oh, no you don't. Use your bus pass. The one you stole money from me to buy."

"Borrowed," Angel re-corrected. "And it's all used up. I only need your car for one day."

"No way, Jose," Abby said.

"Okay, Abra," her angel shot back.

"How do you know that name?" Abby gasped.

"I know a lot," he said smugly.

That certainly put him one up on Abby's mother. Mom had never been the same after seeing "East Of Eden" as a teenager. But shouldn't she have known that if she named her poor daughter Abra (after James Dean's sweetheart, played by the unforgettable Julie Harris), cadabra or cadaver were sure to follow? Like for the rest of that daughter's life until she had the good sense to modify the damn appellation?

"Pullease," Angel pleaded again, only this time with his eyes and his voice. "I have to do something very important, to me and to a lot of people. I been trying to do it by myself and I can't. I need help, I need your ride, just for a couple of hours."

"Why can't you just disappear from here and then reappear wherever you want to go?" Abby asked. "I've seen you do it, and I assume you... rematerialized somewhere else,:

"Like beam me up, Scotty?" he said grumpily.

"Sort of, so why don't you?"

"I can't just pop around when I feel like it. That's what they call it, popping," he stopped to explain. "It makes people freak out and we're really not supposed to do it when we're in mufti. That means out of uniform," he added, sounding professorial.

"I know what mufti means," Abby snarled, but he looked so earnest and maybe it really was a matter of life and death and the whole damn thing. She tried to give him a hard glance and tell him there was no chance in any location that he was driving her Mustang. But watching him sitting there, her heart went out to him. There was no way she could stop it. He tried to be so big and tough and wise but he was really just a kid, small and frail and vulnerable. And her heart didn't really go out to him. He already had it. He'd had it ever since he'd clumsily but proudly unfolded those satiny wings.

Now he didn't even have those.

So, after she grudgingly said yes, despite the fact that she knew it was a totally insane thing to do, she plied her angel with sodas and Cheese Diddles until he fell asleep on the couch, Al in his arms. He was still there when she woke up the next day.

CHAPTER FIVE

"Hey," she said, shaking him. "I thought you had life and death business."

"I'm going, I'm going," he yawned. "It's just so peaceful here."

That it was. The beautiful old two-story four-plex had been built in the 30s and had real walls. Her apartment looked out into blue sky and leafy trees, and was the perfect place for a day sleeper.

Angel turned down her offer of breakfast and she did likewise to his suggestion that he drop her at work on the way to his mission.

"Never mind, I like to walk," Abby told him. "But my car had better be in that parking garage when I get off work. In perfect condition and without you in it."

"It will be," he said solemnly. "I promise."

"And no tamales," she warned. "If you're so hungry for them, they make great ones at the Yucca Hut over on Hillhurst."

"Not like my mama's," Angel scoffed. "She's from Honduras. They're the best in the world." And with that he was out the door.

Abby walked to work at least twice a week, an enjoyable half hour's journey. That meant she had to grab a cab home at ll:00 or catch a ride with one of her co-workers, but the inconvenience was worth it. She dug the walk and it was also part of her health regimen. That and her stationary bike and good nutrition most of the time. Everybody needed an occasional break from sensible living. (As Oscar Wilde put it, moderation in all things, including moderation.)

Several years ago, after being on about 600 diets, trying get skinny, Abby had realized that the most important thing was to take good care of herself and enjoy life. When she'd been starved physically and emotionally from yet another fast, it seemed like the moment she began eating regular food, the numbers on the scale would start to climb again causing her self-image to plummet.

When she stopped playing yo-yo with her body and stuck to a permanent healthier approach, she'd actually lost weight and had stayed this size for several years. Now that she was taking care, she carried herself with pride and she worked at keeping it that way. If someone didn't approve, tough.

Abby also wanted to walk because it was a beautiful day in her hood, a place she dearly loved. One of the oldest parts of the city, downtown L.A, was only seven minutes away via winding Sunset Blvd. So was Olvera Street, where La Pueblo de la Reina de Los Angeles had been born.

Silverlake was famous at the moment for being hip and cool, but it wasn't all tattoo parlors and guitar gods and indie filmmakers. There were plenty of families, too, of all colors and persuasions. Silverlake (which is an area, a street and a beautiful reservoir nestled in green hills) was multinational and cooperatively cultured and always had been. It was one of the reasons Abby loved living here. (When she was in grade school, devouring the "Little House On The Prairie" books for the first time, she was thrilled to find that one of them was titled "On The Shores Of Silver Lake." Until her mother talked some gentle sense into her, Abby was positive that Laura Ingalls lived just down the street.)

There were a lot of other reasons for the pleasure this trek always provided. Mainly, it was home; she'd grown up a block from nearby Marshall High School. Silverlake was also one of the city's most verdant areas, the greenery punctuated by jacarandas bursting with purple blossoms in spring, poinsettias proclaiming the holidays, and night-blooming jasmine perfuming the winter air. There were so many trees, you could actually see the stars at night, the real ones in the firmament, not just those on Hollywood's Walk Of Fame. Silverlake also had some of the most spectacular views in the city. From her living room window, Abby saw the Hollywood Sign and the Planetarium across the basin. Her upstairs neighbor could see the ocean some twenty miles to the west.

As the delicious scents emanating from the Delta Taco stand wafted out at her, Abby suddenly remembered the tamales her friend Maria brought the nursing staff on holidays. Plump bundles of savory white masa, they were filled with chicken and potatoes and green olives and steamed in banana leaves. Maria was from the same part of the planet as Angel's mama, and he was right, they were the best tamales in the world. No wonder he was hungry for them. So was she and she made a mental note to find out today if Maria had any on hand in her freezer.

Silverlake had always been cool. Now that it had also become hip as well, shops and restaurants were cropping up like mushrooms after a spring rain. As she walked along Sunset, Abby passed eclectic storefront businesses with names like The Sniveling Sibling, Pull My Daisy, a record shop called Destroy All Music. Across the street from each other were the flame broilers of an El Pollo Loco and the elegant cuisine of the small but mighty Cafe Stella.

Stopping at the hot Intersection café for a coffee to keep her going, Abby had a sudden flood of concern about her car and its driver (not to mention her sanity in general). She continued to have those anxious moments for the remainder of the day but her shift went well enough. All of her little patients seemed to be on the mend, and to make things even better, Maria promised to bring some of her wonderful tamales very soon.

Abby's charges were improving except for one, not that David was really her patient. He was actually under the care of the ICU staff. But that didn't mean she hadn't been in to see him a number of times during the day, after checking to make sure Dr. Pill wasn't looking, of course.

Just before her shift ended, Abby went back for one last visit. David was the same, still and silent. Her heart aching, she was leaning over to kiss the little boy on the cheek when she sensed someone behind her. Turning, she saw Dr. Philips. He too was motionless, staring, the oddest expression on his face. It was almost pleasant!

Abby jumped. "You scared me."

Dr. Philips quickly regained his composure, not to mention his usual sour look. "What are you doing here?" he barked.

"I might ask the same of you, sneaking up behind me," she snapped, but he didn't have time for a pissy reply. Detective Minella had suddenly loomed in the doorway.

Abby smiled at him in disbelief. She was so surprised to see her rumpled detective (and so happy), her knees almost began knocking holes in her white tights. But Minella wasn't smiling back.

"Miss Ellison?" the detective said uneasily, extending his badge. "I'm sorry, but you need to come with me."

Abby's eyes flew wide open and so did Dr. Philips'. In the confusion that followed, no one even noticed that, just for a flash, David's struggled to join them.

CHAPTER SIX

Abby slammed the door of the unmarked patrol vehicle and sat like a stone. (Unmarked, hah. All it lacked was a sign that said "I am not a police car, honest!). When the detective got in far more calmly and sat behind the wheel, she glared at him.

Her captor tried look reassuring. "At least I didn't handcuff you," he tried to say lightly.

"Thanks ever so," Abby said angrily. "But you had to arrest me at my work."

"You're not under arrest but I had to pick you up for questioning," Minella said wearily, shaking his un-policeman-like mop of curly hair as he fired up the motor. "We have a problem and you have a history of not exactly cooperating."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Abby asked, knowing exactly what it meant and hoping he didn't.

The detective peered at her through those dark eyes of his. "Miss Ellison, it means that two years ago, you interfered with an officer of the law while he was acting in the line of duty."

Abby snorted out loud. "He was acting like a jerk, trying to question a child who had been badly injured. The man was endangering my patient and I asked him to stop."

The detective pursed his lips. "And when he didn't stop, you hit him over the head with a tray."

Abby shrugged. "He was lucky I wasn't carrying a bed pan."

The detective bit his lip. "He was still an officer of the law."

Abby snorted even louder. "Sometimes, the law, and its officers, is an ass," she said, paraphrasing, nay, murdering Dickens. The detective turned away quickly, so she wouldn't see his grin, but he wasn't fast enough. Abby saw it anyway. Well, she thought, the man is actually literate, or at least literary. Sneaking a peek at the officer, Abby had to admit that even under the present circumstances, she still found him quite arresting, so to speak.

When they got to the station, Abby was ushered into a room furnished only with a table and chairs. "Is this where you're going to interrogate and if necessary, beat the information out of me, whatever that may happen to be?"

But the detective's light mood had vanished. "This isn't some sappy TV show, Miss Ellison," he scowled. "It's real life. Your car was used in a robbery in Glendale and then abandoned."

"No," Abby paled. "Is it okay? What about the driver?"

"That's what I'd like to know," the detective said, tossing a mug shot on the table in front of her. "What about him?" Abby silently dropped into a chair. It was a photo of Angel, of course, glowering manfully (he hoped) into the camera. "Maybe you could tell me why it is that you said you didn't know him," the detective went on. "And more importantly, maybe you could also tell me how you do happen to know him when he's been dead for two months!"

Abby breathed in a lungful of air and let it out with a whoosh. Picking up the computer printout that accompanied the mug shot, she saw that the angel's name was actually Gabriel. No doubt this was the genesis of the nickname, Gabriel being the Angel of the Annunciation. The picture had been taken a year ago when he was booked on suspicion of Grand Theft Auto.

Abby wasn't surprised by that. In one of their talks, Angel had admitted that sometimes, he and his homies "borrowed" cars, but they always took them back. Wouldn't that make the charge more like Petite Theft Auto?)

But the rest of the information on his sheet turned her white as one.

Angel had shuffled off this mortal coil as the result of an automobile accident at the corner of Fountain and Virgil, very near the hospital. Also killed in the accident was the driver of the car, along with Julio Suertes and his wife Rosa, passengers in one of the cars struck by the runaway vehicle.

"Suertes?" she said in disbelief. "That's David's last name, the little boy I was visiting when you came to take me away. He's been in a coma ever since."

"Since the accident that killed the boy who was driving your car today," the detective reminded her.

"How do you know it was him...he?"

"Because the officers saw him. They saw him trying to start your car in front of a pawn shop where the burglar alarm was ringing off the wall."

"My Mustang is tricky to start," Abby offered helplessly. "It's a classic, you know."

"Miss Ellison," the detective said, sounding like he'd love to raise his voice but refraining. "This is not about your vehicle, which is perfectly safe. This is about how a deceased individual was able to borrow your car in the first place, borrow anyone's car! And then, when he can't get it started, disappear. Not around the corner. Into the ether. As in poof. Can you explain that to me just for starters?"

Abby swallowed hard. Yes she could, but she knew she hadn't better. Not in a place where they just might have a rubber room handy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Two hours later, Abby wheeled into her garage in her '67 aqua fastback. It was in fine shape, which was more than she could say for herself. She had hemmed at the detective, then hawed. But all she'd been able to come up with was a weak explanation: This kid, this Gabriel person, had been hanging around the neighborhood. She hadn't said so when first asked because she hadn't wanted to get involved. She'd let him borrow her car because he seemed like a nice kid and he said he had a very important errand. A matter of life and death.

That got a sour look from the detective, but out of the goodness of his heart or whatever it was that gave him a weird little tingle every time he looked at Abby, he'd set her free. At least until tomorrow, until she could get herself straightened out (make that get her story straight).

There had been more to that story. Before letting her go, Minella had explained that a very valuable item had been taken from the shop, one that had been pawned on the day of the accident. Abby had not been apprised of what the item was, but was not that surprised to hear that the price of the pawn ticket had been left on the counter.

The first thing she was going to do was look in her underwear drawer to see if that little sneak had been "borrowing" from her again. But that wasn't going to happen until after she'd killed him (again). Providing he was there when she opened the door to her apartment, which she somehow knew he was going to be.

She was only right. When she entered her living room, there he was, sprawled on the couch, sound asleep. Two empty soda cans lay on the floor beside him plus an empty Cheese Diddle bag. The cat was curled blissfully on the angel's somewhat scrawny midsection.

"Get up from there, you dipshit!" Abby said. Actually, she screeched it so loud, Al shot into the air and did an impressive disappearing act of his own.

"Que onda?" Angel murmured, opening his eyes blearily. (After all, it was past three a.m. by then.)

"I'll give you a Kay Honda, whoever she is," Abby further screeched. "I just got out of jail!"

The angel hung his head. "I know. I'm sorry."

"And you're the one who's responsible for that sweet little boy lying over there in that hospital in a body cast and a coma!"

"I am not," Angel said defensively, sitting up. "I'm the one who saved him, and I'm here to finish the job." Looking around quickly, Angel trembled a little. "I'm not supposed to tell you that."

Abby sat down and glared at him sternly. "I think you'd better tell me a lot of things, mister. And you'd better hurry."

Angel sighed and began: "Okay, the day of the accident my crew came by to pick me up in this mother of a car. It was so cool, but my best friend Chuey's brother is driving it. I don't dig that vato and I almost didn't go with them. But I got talked into it and since macho man is throwing money around, we go over to Tommy's on Rampart and load up on burgers. Don't you totally dig their chili?"

"Yes," Abby frowned. "Stay on the subject."

"Okay, okay, while we're at Tommy's, I hear about how something hot got ripped off and pawned. That's how come all the ready cash. So we decide to buy some beer and some other stuff and head into Hollywood. That's when it started getting bad. Chuey's brother Miguel is driving crazy now and he won't give anyone else a turn. A couple of the guys got out and I did too. But I got back in the car 'cause my buddy's in there and I have to take care of him. It was kind of fun, too. We're like digging being off our turf, drinking beer and cruising up Virgil. Well, Chuey wasn't. Chuey doesn't drink, he eats.

"Anyway, everything was okay until we hit the esses, you know, those curves. Then Miguel loses control of the car and we're heading sideways right into the intersection. I grab the wheel and we glance off a Hyundai and miss all the other cars, but that puts us in a spin and we shoot right across the intersection and broadside a car parked at a cross street, waiting to get onto Virgil."

"What happened then?" Abby whispered.

Angel shook his head. "The next thing I know, I wake up in a white room and I find out real fast that it ain't no hospital."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Al was in bed with her when Abby woke up about one p.m. and when she tottered into the living room, the angel was gone. Off to finish saving David's life, she hoped. Hoped to God, which seemed fitting.

Since Angel had the car again (more hopes to God), Abby called a cab. There wasn't time to walk. She was anxious to look in on David before her shift began. But, when she reached his room, someone was in the visitor's chair. That someone was sitting beside the quiet little boy, holding his hand. And believe it or not, the someone was Doctor A.H. (cough) Philips.

Ordinarily, Abby would have ducked back out the door before he saw her, but today she entered the room fearlessly. She was already in so much hot water, what did another dip in the drowning pool matter?

Dr. Philips looked up as she moved toward him. Probably at the end of double shift, he looked worn and bedraggled. Not as bad as the time he'd used the bedpan for first base, but not good.

At least he didn't have that imperious smirk on his face. Without it, he was not an unattractive man unless his big mouth happened to be open. Which it was most of the time. But today it was closed, in a long thin line.

"Are you all right, Doctor?" Abby asked.

Philips dropped the boy's hand like it was on fire. As it fell limply onto the coverlet, the doctor challenged Abby with tired eyes. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "I was just checking his pulse."

Liar, liar, Abby wanted to say but didn't. "How's he doing?" she asked.

"The same," Philips said, rising. "No signs of life."

Wait until tomorrow, maybe even today. Abby wanted to say that, too. She wanted to shout it from the rooftop. But Dr. Philips was the last person on earth who would understand just how far these matters were out of mortal hands. Or understand much of anything.

He proved it with his next statement. "Regarding last night, this hospital does not approve of bringing criminal investigators onto the premises." He was his nasty self again.

"It was a mistake, Abby said coldly.

"It certainly was and see that that you don't make it again."

With this the man stalked out. But even he couldn't ruin Abby's mood. She just flashed the digital spasm at his back (causing the staff watching David's monitors to crack up) and leaned down to kiss the little boy. While she was there she whispered this in his ear: "See you soon, baby. Just as soon as your Guardian Angel gets it together."

Abby looked in on David time and time again as her hours passed, half expecting to find him sitting up in bed eating ice cream. But David remained silent, unchanged. He remained that way when eleven o'clock rolled around.

As elated as she was, she had also worried all day about the angel and what it was he had to do, and whether he would be able to do it. She hoped he would also do it without sending her back to the slammer. Occasionally she still worried a little about herself. What if she was imagining all this? Losing her grip? Going a bubble out of plumb? She wished she could call one of her friends for comfort, but there was no one she would dare tell this to. Well, there was her BFF, Jean Louise, but JL was a little busy right now between grad school and a toddler. All she'd need to hear was that her lifelong friend had flipped out. But Abby didn't really flip out until she unlocked the door of her apartment. There sat Detective Minella, on her couch, holding a large golden cross.

"What are you doing here," she asked in amazement. "Expecting a vampire?"

"Funny," he said, not laughing. "And you can probably have me arrested. I didn't get a search warrant. I did a B&E. I didn't want to involve you if I didn't have to. But I had a feeling it was here."

"A feeling what was here?"

"This," he said, holding up the cross. About a foot tall, it sparkled at her from across the room. "It was in the freezer. It's the first place we look."

Abby sagged into a chair across from him. It was all starting to make sense. Well, sense is probably the wrong word. But it was beginning to fall into place. This must be the item that had been stolen and pawned, the key to all of this. But what mystery did that key unlock?

While she was pondering that, the detective was looking at her, pondering something altogether different. "I don't know what to do next," he said at last, breaking into her thoughts.

She'd almost forgotten he was there. "Do? Return it, of course."

"It's not that simple," Minella answered. "I can't just pretend this didn't happen. This is worth a lot of money and it's stolen. I could say that you turned it over to me. Maybe that would make it easier on you."

"On me? You mean you think I stole it?"

"No, but I don't know what to think. It's all too nuts. I said I didn't want to involve you in this mess. But how can I not?"

"I get it," Abby said flatly. "Your career and all. You have to do the right thing and I have to go to jail for real this time."

Minella made an impatient sound. "Screw my career. I have to do the right because it's the right. Somehow I thought you were one person who'd understand that."

"I do understand it."

"Then tell me what's going on here. Please. There's no way you're going to tell me anything I haven't heard before, trust me."

These were about to go down in the detective's lexicon as his most famous last words to date. Because this was Abby's next sentence:

"Well, this is hard to say and it's going to be even harder to believe, but the kid, Gabriel, is an angel."

Minella almost dropped the cross.

"I know because I've seen his wings," Abby went on. "He lived in my apartment for weeks before he even revealed himself to me. He's here because he has to make something right. It has everything to do with David. The little boy who's still in a coma from the accident that killed the angel."

Minella stared at her. "If he's an angel, why did he have to borrow your car? Why doesn't he just fly?"

"I asked him the same thing. He's having some transportation problems. He disobeyed orders and lost his wings."

The detective cleared his throat. "Miss Ellison, please don't hit me over the head with anything, but I'm going to have to ask you to take a drug test."

Any other time, that would have cracked her up, but Abby flew to her feet. "In the first place, stop calling me Miss Ellison. Stop making me feel like I'm your fourth grade teacher, Call me anything else. Call me Ishmael for all I give a crap."

Minella struggled not to laugh at the famous first line (for a change) of Moby Dick. But it was always good to meet another reader.

"And I knew you wouldn't believe me," Abby sighed, her fit of temper winding down. "I can't even believe it myself, but it's all true."

Before Minella could reply, the phone jangled noisily.

"I have to answer this," she said, picking up the receiver. 'It might be about David." But it was about Kevin.

"Hey, Ab," he said cheerfully in his smoothest tones. "You busy?"

"I can't talk to you right now," she said shortly.

"Why not, what's the problem?"

"Something I have to deal with."

"I'm just down the street at the Akbar. I'll come over. Maybe I can help."

"Please don't come over, Kevin."

"Abby, what's going on? I thought we had such a nice arrangement."

Abby took a deep breath. She longed to tell Kevin that she didn't feel like having any more "arrangements," with anybody, but this was hardly the time. While the detective was trying hard to pretend he wasn't listening, his ears were all but poking through his curls.

"I'll call you when things calm down, Kevin," she said. "I promise," she added, and gently replace the receiver.

This time she sat down on the couch by Minella. Tears were pressing behind her eyes. This horrible mess and now that ghastly conversation with Kevin. He had been very nice to her in his own way (mostly) and probably deserved better (maybe). But she was tired of being his Midnight Special or whatever in hell she was. She had a lot more to give than weekly samples.

Minella's voice brought her back to the problem at hand. "Abby, maybe it would help me understand all this if you would tell me the whole story."

"I just did."

"No, I mean the details. All of it."

So, Al sitting protectively by her side, she told all. Starting with the mystery chores getting done and the mystery meal in the fridge and the night of the underpants. She told him about the sodas and Cheese Diddles and her talks with the angel. She told him about Angel's purpose and problems, what she knew of them, and ended with a reprise of the tragedy that had claimed the lives of David's parents and the angel himself. They had died on a corner both she and Minella probably passed every day.

When she was finished, she was in tears and the detective actually looked sort of bleary-eyed himself. "And it's true," she sobbed. "It's all true, so help me God. Please help me, God." And help your angel so that little boy doesn't die too, she added mentally.

Suddenly the detective's arms were around her and she was leaking against his tweedy shoulder. "Abby, Abby," he said, patting her. "Don't cry, Abby. I believe you. Anyway, I believe you believe it."

Abby leaned back and looked into his face. "But that doesn't change things, does it? You still have to do the right."

"Yes, I do," he said, so he did it. He kissed her surprised lips. It wasn't your tongue-wrestle, tonsil hockey kind of kiss. It was slower and deeper, more thorough than that. It was Rhett kissing Scarlett, it was Lancaster and Kerr on the sand in From Here To Eternity, it was Mulder finally kissing Scully. And it was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to Abby.

Or it was until the room was suddenly filled with wings.

CHAPTER NINE

Abby and the detective both jumped a foot at the sight of six angels in white robes.

"Get your gringo hands off her," a familiar voice thundered (or tried its best to).Six pairs of wings flapped menacingly as Al the cat fled to the broom closet. His eyes goggling, Minella leapt to his feet. The seasoned L.A. detective thought he'd seen it all, but this was the fuse-blower. After another astonished look at the visitors, he slumped to the floor. Abby was the next one to leap. Falling to her knees beside Minella, she cradled his curly head in her lap.

"I want his hands on me, dammit!" she cried angrily.

"Language," Angel growled (he hoped). "It's okay," he added, turning to his companions. "I can handle it." And it was a good thing Minella had already passed out because what happened next would have really finished him off. At Angel's words, the winged throng disappeared in the blink of an eye. (Pop goes the angel?)Angel disappeared with them, but Abby knew he wasn't gone. She could hear him in the next room, struggling with his wings.

"Don't you dare come in here until you're fully dressed," she warned, ministering tenderly to the still prostrate Minella. But her warning went unheeded. Moments later, Angel was back, jockey shorts and all.

Abby looked daggers at him. "Couldn't you at least leave your robe on?"

"We were at choir practice and I had to give them my robe. We have to turn those in right afterwards or we get in deep caca. Besides, this guy is never going to believe me unless he sees them for himself. So wake the dude up." But the dude was already awake. Or at least coming around.

"What happened?" Minella moaned.

"That happened," Abby said, pointing to Angel.

Minella stared at the boy, standing there in his Fruit of the Looms, backed by a quivering wingspan. "Holy suffering Moses," he breathed.

"Close," Abby agreed.

"What happened to the rest of them?" the dazed detective asked. "There were others, weren't there?" (Right then he wasn't sure of much.)

"Just some amigos I hang with," Angel hedged. "They had to get back to...um...they had to go. So can I put my clothes on now?"

"Turn around first," Minella said. .

Angel gave him an attitude stare. "So you can snap the cuffs on me?"

"I said turn around," Minella ordered, getting his groove back. "Nice and slow."

Attitude melting into acquiescence, Angel did as he was told and Minella stared some more. It was obvious that the wings weren't manmade. They were part and parcel of the boy's body.

"Okay," the detective said resignedly. "Get dressed and let's figure this nightmare out. Anyway, let's try."

As Angel repaired to the kitchen, Minella looked helplessly at Abby and patted his empty jacket pocket. "I picked a fine time to give up smoking," he said wryly.

Abby laughed for the first time in too long.

"What's so funny?" Angel called accusingly from the next room.

"Just a joke," Abby called back to him. "You wouldn't get it. You're too young to have seen Airplane."

"I did so," Angel said defensively, rejoining them, this time fully dressed. "I dig the part where the balloon guy puts his gloms on the stewardess chick's--"

"Never you mind," Abby interrupted. "This is Detective Minella. Shake his hand like a gentleman."

Muttering something about cabron cops under his breath, Angel grudgingly extended his paw. Minella grasped it firmly, making sure it was real.

"Now I want you to tell him exactly what happened," Abby continued.

Angel pulled a pouty face. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone, especially not a cop."

"Well, you're going to tell this one," Abby said. "And tell all of it."

Sighing a sigh that was really more of an air-whine, Angel began his confession. Midway through it, Abby brought him a soda along with stiff tots of Gentleman Jack for the wide-eyed detective and herself. Watching Minella struggle to absorb the tall tale of a lifetime, she flashed on what had been happening before they were interrupted. That thought made her inner elevator drop several floors.

At the conclusion of his story, Angel reached for the cross on the coffee table. It seemed to jump into his hand. "This has to go back to the church where it belongs. It needs to go back right now."

"No way," Minella answered grimly. "It can't go back, it's evidence."

"Way," the angel insisted. "And I can't take it myself. It's on the other side of Silverlake Blvd." Minella looked question marks at Abby.

"It's a long story," she answered. "Can't you return it for him?"

Minella's eyes re-goggled. "Me? I can't return stolen goods. I'm an officer of the law."

Abby shot him a look to remind him of what she occasionally thought of the law and its officers.

"Por favor? Pullease?" Angel pleaded, sounding like the kid he was. "When it gets back, the little guy's gonna wake up!"

Abby gasped aloud. "Say that again!"

"You heard me," Angel said smugly.

Abby jumped to her feet. "You mean David's coma will just go away when the cross is returned?"

"You got it," Angel nodded. "So help me God and everybody else up there!"

Abby extended her hand. "Then give it here. I'll take it back myself!"

The angel looked at her, then at Minella who sat silently for a moment, then stood. "No," he said firmly. "You've already done enough to help." Then he turned to the angel. "Okay, pal, whoever and whatever you are, let's roll. You can tell me what to do and wait where it's safe. And if you got any more miracles, you'd better use 'em. I get caught and my ass is grassland."

"Thank you," Abby breathed, and got one of the detective's rare but incredible smiles as a you're-welcome. It was dazzling even if he did still look a tad goofy.

As Angel slouched toward the door, Minella turned back to Abby. The smile was gone but his eyes were deep water.

"Did you mean that thing you said earlier?" he asked quietly.

"Which thing?" she asked, knowing full well which thing.

"You know which thing."

Remembering her arms going around the detective's tweedy jacket, and her surprised lips warming under his, Abby dropped her eyes. But she couldn't hide the flush that crept over her cheeks. Then the embarrassment of blushing like an absolute ninny made her turn even redder.

"Good," Minella said, following Angel out the door. "Hold that thought." Then he poked his head back in. "That Kevin guy? If he comes over here, tell him he's under arrest."

One hour and forty-three minutes later, the bells at the church of Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrows pealed joyfully. On the other side of Silverlake, a little boy named David opened his eyes.

CHAPTER TEN

Minella was a bit taken aback when they arrived at the restaurant. He'd suggested the venerable retro-for-real Dresden when he called Abby at the hospital and invited her to a late dinner after her shift. But he probably hadn't been expecting his date to be welcomed with arms quite so open.

First Abby got a hug from Joanie, the flame-haired hostess, then one from another Gabriel, the handsome head bartender she'd had a crush on years ago when she was a schoolgirl and he was a busboy.

Abby had been going to the Dresden in Hollywood ever since she could remember. She'd gone there with her parents for Sunday night dinners. She'd gone there before her first prom at Marshall High (with a boy named Ray something). She'd even had her first drink there, a summery Tom Collins in the dead of winter because it was the only drink she could think of. And tonight she was having the only first-date in centuries that didn't make her want to flush herself down the nearest commode.

Minella was so easy to be with, even after this day of all days. Seated in a big white leathery high-backed booth, they were comfortable even when they weren't talking. But they were most of the time. There was a lot to talk about.

The detective had decided against trying to sneak into the church and do the deed unnoticed. Instead, he'd gone to the priest and made him an offer he couldn't very well refuse: the shimmering golden cross in return for the priest's silence. Minella had been prepared to do bad cop and look threatening (or maybe do good cop and beg) but neither had been necessary. Our Lady was not a well-to-do parish and they were overjoyed to have their most valuable and meaningful artifact returned. No questions were asked. No explanations necessary. The return of the cross was simply a miracle. (Amen to that.) And before he left, Minella even got himself blessed.

What had become of the angel, Minella didn't know. He'd left him at the Sun Lake drugstore on his way to the church. Neighborhood-friendly pharmacist Dean Ng had allowed the local graffiti artists to decorate the exterior of his building, and Angel was last seen digging the murals. He knew better than to go any further. Just up the street, busy Silverlake Blvd. streamed through the underpass below Sunset and Angel didn't dare put even a toe in that water.

He hadn't come to the hospital either, to witness the miracle of David's awakening. Abby was there, of course. The moment Minella and Angel had departed on their mission, she'd rushed to David's side. Since his nurse was a friend of hers, Abby revealed that she had a strong feeling something was going to happen and to be ready. She half expected Angel to show up for the big moment, but it didn't happen.

When David suddenly awakened, her nurse friend wondered aloud whether Abby had magic powers. But wonders had yet to cease. When Dr. Philips had come rushing in, he had been uncharacteristically kind. He even failed to eye Abby's curves the way he usually did (like he was considering her for a "Before" picture). Now, many hours later, Abby and Minella were finally relaxing in the calm elegance of the old-fashioned dining room. From the adjoining bar, they could hear Marty and Elayne warbling the world's most famous lounge act for their packed audience of martini-pounding hipsters.

Finished with their meal, they had just eschewed dessert and decided on coffee instead when they saw the angel ambling toward them. He was wearing his usual costume of jeans, jacket and baseball cap.

In the old days, Carl Ferraro, the owner forever, would have sent Angel home to don proper attire, but these were far more casual times. Some of the long-time regulars groused that the current crop of customers looked like the people Carl used to throw out. But many of those newcomers were successful young writers, directors, actors, artists. There were plenty of wannabes too, but it was impossible to tell the winners from the contenders, so just about anything went. Luis, the number one waiter, even let them call him dude. (He'd been letting Abby call him Louie-Louie for years.)

Angel didn't wait to be invited before sliding into the booth, but neither Abby nor Minella minded the interruption. They were that happy to see him. They stayed happy until the angel tried to order a beer. Then Abby stopped smiling and changed his request to a Coke. "Remember what happened to you the last time you were drinking."

"Yeah, yeah," the angel said sadly. "Like I could forget. But it's okay, I can't stay anyway."

"Why not?" Abby asked.

"Cause they ain't got no Cheese Diddles in this fancy joint," the angel teased. But then he grew serious. He really did have to go, he told them, and he probably wouldn't be back. His job was over. He had other tasks waiting now that he'd finally re-earned his wings.

Abby's first thought was for David. "What about David?" she asked. "What's going to happen to him now?"

"That isn't up to me anymore," Angel replied, noisily slurping the rest of his drink from the bottom of the glass. "That's up to you."

"Me?" Abby said in amazement.

"Yeah, you," Angel nodded, crunching the last of his ice. Standing up, he grinned at her. "You'll take good care of him, just like you do Al." Then he turned to Minella. "And you'll take good care of her, or else."

With that he gave them a little salute and started toward the exit. (At least he didn't disappear into the ether in public.)

"Please don't go, Gaby," Abby called after him. It was the first time she had ever used his real name and it stopped him for a moment. But only long enough to turn around and give her the sweetest, most angelic smile imaginable.

"I gotta," he said, "but thanks for everything." Then he was gone.

"Thank you," she called after him, about to start blubbering. It wasn't just that David needed Angel. She needed him too. She was used to him hanging around, even if he did drive her insane. And he needed her too. He was only a boy, not even 17 years old.

"It'll be all right," Minella comforted.

"I hope so," she said glumly. And at least he was probably halfway right. Even though she would miss him terribly, Gabriel would be fine. He might be just a kid, but he was now a full-fledged angel. But David! That was another story. Moments after he'd awakened, he'd been whisked off for tests. The next time Abby had seen him, he was back in his room asleep. But as she stood beside his bed, he'd opened his eyes.

"Mama?" he'd asked.

For an instant, Abby had felt her heart fill with warmth, but in the next breath, she realized he wasn't calling her mama. He was calling for his mama. And how would he deal with the pain when he found out he would never see her again? And where would he go when it was time for him to leave the safety of the hospital?

Abby would help him through it. She would have to do it. She wanted to do it. But it was a scary thought. David was so young, so helpless. He would need so much care and attention and she was only one person.

Just then Minella took her hand and Abby felt another kind of warmth. But this was another unknown quotient. This was a very special man. But did he just want to have a few laughs, or was there a chance, some teensy little chance, that she wouldn't be only one person anymore?

She might have been about to discover the answer to that question. Minella was just raising her hand to his lips when a voice suddenly shattered the moment.

"Abby???"

When they looked up, there, beside their table, clutching a bilious-looking green apple martini, stood Kevin.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Abby's eyes opened wide. Then they narrowed. For someone so hip, you'd think Kevin would know better than to intrude when two people were probably out on a date (sort of). Or maybe Kevin didn't think it very probable for her to be on a date. Maybe she didn't either.

"I think the question is what are you doing here?" she said, and she said it coolly as opposed to cool.

Giving Abby's very male dinner companion a sidelong glance, Kevin shrugged. "Oh, just hanging. Where've you been, anyway?"

"Busy," she said, moving toward cold.

Minella cleared his throat, causing Kevin to re-eye him and Abby to remember her manners. (Someone around there might as well have some.)

"Kevin Sharp, this is" she paused before providing TMI. "This is Mr. Minella."

"Tony," the detective amended, extending his hand across the table.

Kevin shook it extra-manfully. "Nice to meet you, bro. How do you know Abby?"

God, what a nosy question. Abby wished Minella would give a curt but revealing reply such as, "In the Biblical sense, bro, and what's it to ya?"

But he dropped that ball and Abby picked it up instead. "We're just on our way out, Kevin," she said. "I'll call you."

Her ex-whatever gave her a pointed stare that broadcast how many times he'd heard that one that lately. Abby felt her face start to redden. Then Kevin came up with a closer that finished the job: "Okay, then, see you Wednesday."

Abby clenched her teeth. How dare he assume that the status was still quo, and then say so right in front of Minella! "I said I'd call you," she said, her voice sounding as tense as she felt. But before she lost it entirely, Kevin was mercifully swept away by a crowd of young people flooding into the dining room, looking for somewhere to perch until they could wedge themselves into the standing-room-only crowd in the bar.

It might have been fun to join that merry throng. Marty and Elayne still played her favorite Beatle song (In My Life) every time they saw her. That would be neat except it would probably further convince Minella that she spent all her spare time doing the club scene. Besides, at midnight on a Saturday in the Dresden, inserting themselves into that bar would have required a shoehorn.

As they waited for Ramon, the parking lot attendant to bring Minella's car, Abby writhed (wrothe?) in discomfort. What an embarrassing thing to have happen in front of Minella. Tony, she thought. She needed to get used to thinking of him as Tony, and start calling him that if he ever came around again after Kevin's performance.

Well, at least Kevin was presentable. The goatee was gone and his current bow to the fashion Nazis was the latest bedhead coiffure. His hair was still short, but now it stuck up in eighteen different directions.

She didn't have long to wonder what Minella thought.

"That your boyfriend?"

"He was," she said quietly. "In a way."

"Is he giving you a hard time?"

"Not really," she said, just as quietly. Quiet, in fact, was the word for the short trip home. It was a soft, fragrant California night, the streets almost empty, finally getting a breather from heavy traffic. To look at the peaceful scene now, it was hard to believe that a few hours later, it would jammed with SUV's trying to run (and run over) the world.

And speaking of now, now what? What should she do when they got to her apartment? If she invited him in, what would he think? After that incredible, unexpected kiss and the way she had returned it, what else could he think? She'd certainly thought about it herself, a lot, even with everything else that had been going on.

But if she did invite him in, too much might happen. Not that she didn't want it to, but it was too soon. She wouldn't want him to think she was easy. (She wasn't, was she?) Still, if she didn't invite him in, would he think it was because of her "boyfriend" and never come back?

Abby was so deep in thought, she didn't realize that Minella had already stopped the car. Looking up at the light she always left burning, she could see Al sitting in the window. He was waiting for her like he used to before the angel became his new best friend.

However, she needn't have worried about what might happen next. The subject of coming in for a nightcap or whatever didn't come up, among other things. The detective did walk her to the door, but he only kissed her hand. (He'd been starting to do that when that damn Kevin had arrived!)

"Now that I can get to them, I have some things I have to attend to," he said. Then he kissed her hand again, this time on the palm, sending shivers through her timbers. "I'll call you," he added, and then he was gone.

"Nuts," Abby said to herself as she unlocked the door. I'll call you; that had a familiar ring to it, she thought, not even getting her own pun. She was too busy thinking about Minella, Tony, whatever his damn name was. He could have at least kissed her elsewhere. Or, if he'd played his cards right, everywhere. (Maybe.)

As the door opened, Al leaped down from his perch and eyed her expectantly. Picking him up, Abby buried her face in his fur. The apartment seemed so empty without the angel, without the feeling he left behind him even when he was out and about. It must feel the same way to the poor cat.

Would they ever see the angel again? She could only hope so. What would she do about David without him to guide her? What would she do without him, period? She hoped he was all right, but then, all things considered, how could he not be?

Carrying Al into the kitchen, she opened a container of his very favorite kitty treats, the evil-smelling liverish nodules he was unusually fond of. But Al just continued looking at her expectantly.

When she dropped onto the bed, Abby was so exhausted, she fell asleep before she even had a chance to undress. But not before she noticed that the cat was back in the window.

Al hadn't been waiting for her after all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Abby stood motionless at David's bedside, her breath caught somewhere in her midsection. A river of emotion coursed through her; she wanted to laugh, cry, jump for joy, scoop the child up in her arms. That and run for her life. After speaking his first word since the accident, David had fallen right back to sleep. The medication that alleviated his suffering while he healed inside his body cast made him groggy, but his was a healthier. easier kidsleep now. Before she left, she checked all of David's monitors. Everything was perfect. Then, brushing a kiss onto his forehead, she quietly shut the door behind her. Abby wondered how Dr. Philips felt about David's awakening. Probably very happy, if he was capable of the feeling. Anyway, he'd seemed happy. But then he hadn't been quite his usual stick-up–the-butt self lately. In fact, he'd been so near-human, one of the nursing students had admitted to having a crush on him. Go figure. Actually, Philips had been rather tender to David, for him, and for that reason, Abby was anxious to share the moment of his first word. Walking into Philips' office, Abby happily announced, "David spoke to me."

Philips looked up from his desk. "That's good news. What did he say?"

Abby swallowed hard. "He looked up at me and said Mama," she replied, and it was written all over her that David's choice of words had gone directly to her chewy chocolate center.

But Abby's joy wilted and dropped right off the vine when the doctor glared at her. "Don't romanticize this situation, nurse. No doubt he was only asking for his own mother."

Abby wanted to kick him. She knew that. But it had felt so right, especially since David would soon learn the hard, cold facts. Face never seeing his parents again.

"I'm sure that's true," she said, far calmer than she felt. Then she couldn't stop herself from asking the question she'd been avoiding. "What's going to happen to David when he's well enough to leave the hospital?"

The doctor's stern expression didn't change. "That doesn't concern you."

It concerns me very much, you bastard, Abby thought, but the doctor hadn't finished.

"Your only concern is to help him get well," he said dismissively, returning to his charts.

Abby walked away, too tangled in her thoughts to even consider what else she'd like to do to Dr. Philips (for sure it would have involved some variation on her foot and his behind). David had no relatives in the United States. His father's family could not be located, and David's mother had been an only child and a late one. This left David with a few very elderly aunts and uncles, all deep in rural Mexico. Under these circumstances, David could easily become a ward of the state. California had no orphanages, so he might bounce from foster care to foster care, and some of those homes were anything but homey. Also, the insurance policy his parents carried had already run out, and the expenses continued to mount. David would be in his cast at least another month or two, maybe longer. Thank God the hospital had a special private fund to care for children like David until they recovered.

But then what? Someone else had to care for, and about, him, permanently. Am I the one, Abby wondered? Am I ready for motherhood? It was a question she hadn't really asked herself before David came into her life. She had never felt pressured to join in the baby dance, or worried about the ticking of her biological clock. (Wasn't that an illogical clock? Didn't it often happen that by the time you were mature enough to settle down and raise a family, you had already growing "too old" to do so?)

Abby loved her work, she had a life. Was she ready to share it? That was a question she couldn't answer, and when she tried, all she could see was the angel's sweet smile as he said his work was done and David's fate was now up to her.

Yikes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Wednesday was slow in arriving and by the time it got there, Abby was full of woe. Nothing was going right. She still hadn't made a decision about David, Minella still hadn't called, Al didn't want to eat, not even his smelly liver lumps, Minella still hadn't called, etc. What's more, it was that day. She hadn't contacted Kevin like she'd promised (sort of), but it would be just like him to show up anyway.

He did, and when he did, Abby was the most unready she'd ever been for one of his visits. In the old days, she would have been perfumed and shiny. She would have put her blonde hair up in preparation for letting it down.

Tonight her hair was down all right, hanging in wet strings against her sweats. And perfumed wasn't the word for her after an hour on her stationary wheels. Abby preferred riding her mountain bike out in the fresh air, and she often did, but this was the big city and not really conducive to midnight biking. So she rode in place instead and watched re-runs or whatever she'd ordered from Netflix.

When she opened the door, Kevin stared at her in shock, the ubiquitous wine bottle almost slipping from his grasp. "Wow," he said. "You look hot."

"I am hot," she agreed crossly, walking ahead of him into the living room.

"How's about I give you a nice bath," he said, closing in from behind.

Abby whirled around. Kevin had that mean-business look on his face and she knew exactly what sort of business he meant: Monkey.

"Cool it and sit," she said. "We need to talk." Lighting on a chair, she directed him to the couch across the room.

Kevin sagged onto it, far away from Al who sat alert at the other end. The cat glared at him, slits for eyes and his ears laid so far back it looked like he'd combed them with Pam.

"Okay, Abby," Kevin crabbed. "What the hell is the matter with you? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything, Kevin," Abby said. "Maybe that's the problem."

It wasn't really, she thought as he stared at her in confusion.

The thought of having to deal with Kevin on a full-time basis had never thrilled her, not with his "industry pressures" and constant running conversation about the music business and what was out with the in crowd this week. Yet, in times past, it had pissed her off that he had no interest in her besides these midnight trysts. Now she was fuming that he had dared to show up as if nothing had happened.

Kevin ignored the barb. "But we've been seeing each other for over a year."

"That is correct," Abby snapped, "and very well put. You come over, we take off our clothes and we see each other."

"That's bullshit," Kevin replied, and not pleasantly. "I really dig you, Abby. I never promised anything more."

That ticked her off even further. Like, who asked him? But there was no point in being a total bitch. "I dig you too, Kevin (and in many ways, she still did). But I never promised I wouldn't get tired of being your booty call."

Kevin recoiled. "I never expected a classy chick like you to use an expression like that."

Classy chick? Nice, but the compliment didn't take the twist out of her knickers. "I hear that's what it's called by your pals, the too hip to breathe crowd."

Kevin groaned.

"I'm not a member, of course," Abby went on (and on). "But I do hear things. I am hip to what's happening, you know."

"Yeah, well, you used to cool, too, before you started hanging around with To-ny." Kevin almost spat Minella's name instead of speaking it.

"I suppose you don't see anyone but me," she said coldly.

"I didn't say that, but nobody regular. Nobody like you."

Abby couldn't help herself. She moved in for the kill. "Isn't the reason why we never went anywhere together because I'm fat?"

"For f---'s sake," Kevin exploded. "You are not fat. You're a big healthy girl. A big stacked one."

"I'm not a girl. I'm a woman," Abby said defensively,

Kevin looked her up and down. "Yes, you certainly are, even in that charming costume."

Abby snorted. "Isn't that bony model with no boobs, that Stell person, supposed to be today's ideal woman?"

"Oh, Stell's ass, if she even has one," Kevin growled. "You are the one woman I know that I'd consider taking to the Grammys."

Abby gave him a look. "You mean now or when you win one?"

Kevin volleyed the look back. "I'll take you now. When I win, I'll take Stell."

Abby laughed in spite of herself. It was a typical Kevin zinger and it was nice to know he could still crack her up, even now.

Kevin took advantage of the lightened mood. "Look, Ab, I just don't have time for a girlfriend. I'm starting to get somewhere and I don't have anything left over to give to a relationship. I thought you understood that. You know all about what it's like to be too involved in your work."

She certainly did, but she didn't like him going around thinking she was pining away to be his girlfriend when she didn't even want to be. She felt like saying so even if it wasn't very kind now that they'd made up (sort of).

"I don't want to be your girlfriend, Kevin," she said. (Well, so much for kindness.)

"Oh," he said in surprise. "What do you want?"

Abby shook her head. "I don't know. I didn't know that I didn't know, but now I do. Know that I don't know, I mean."

Kevin's eyes nearly spun, but he rallied. "Does that mass confusion have anything to do with To-ny, whoever he is?"

"He's a cop and I don't know that either."

"A cop?"

"Don't ask and I won't tell."

This time Kevin shook his head. "Umm, maybe I'd better go."

Abby nodded. "I think that would be a really good idea."

Kevin got to his feet, then he stopped. "Abby, are you okay?" When she answered him with another look, he added, "Right. You don't know."

Abby nodded again.

Opening the door, Kevin tried to pull off a nonchalant grin, but he only managed a grimace. "Well, take care of yourself."

As the door closed behind him, the cat gave a "good riddance" shake, but Abby jumped out of her chair.

"Kevin," she opened the door and called after him. "None of this is personal. I'm just crazed right now. I'm trying to make some momentous decisions. For one thing, I'm adopting an eight-year-old child."

"Holy shit," he said, stopping to look back at her in shock.

"I'll say," Abby agreed. "I'll call you."

Kevin stared, one eye saying do that, the other begging please don't. Then he hot-footed it down the sidewalk.

Abby was shaking as she closed the door. She had been hoping hopes and dreaming dreams, and suddenly, bam, she'd come to a decision. Then she'd blurted it out like a ditz.

It was then that she noticed Al; the cat was staring at her in absolute horror. He couldn't possibly know. Or could he? Hadn't she learned that just about anything was possible? After all that hanging around with the angel, maybe Al had special powers. Then she laughed out loud at herself. Of course he didn't. She was just being batty, right?

"Don't worry, Al," she said softly. "You'll always be my number one guy." Since the cat couldn't say tell me another one, he just curled his lip and stalked from the room.

Later, when Al crept hesitantly into her bed, Abby stroked and stroked him to calm his fears. To calm her own, too. She still had them, but she suddenly knew she was doing the right. She was finished with all the agonizing and weighing pros and cons and driving herself ape. This was what the angel wanted and it was what she wanted. David needed her and she needed him. She would put the process in motion tomorrow.

This thought made her feel so relieved and optimistic, Abby fell asleep in a haze of warmfuzzy. Her bubble didn't burst until the next day when she made inquiries about how to proceed with David's adoption. That's when she learned that someone had already beaten her to it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After receiving the terrible news that she would have to get in line to adopt David, Abby was all over the emotional map: lost at sea, adrift in the doldrums, down in the pits and up that scatological creek without so much as a popsicle stick for a paddle. She left no turn unstoned in her attempt to discover who had beaten her to the punch and messed everything up. But the answer was always the same: "Sorry, but that information is confidential."

As the dilemma continued, Abby kept trying to dig up the facts. She also tried to change the direction things were taking. After lots of prayers for Angel to show and rescue her (and David) did no good, she ventured across his Silverlake Blvd, and paid a visit to Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrows. There, surrounded by incense and icons and a calming sense of connection, she flat out begged her angel's Boss to let him come back just one more time.

While she was hoping and still praying that would happen, she stayed on the move, trying to keep a grip or at least get one. She worked her shift even on her nights off, taking care of David and her other little ones. She had to keep busy so she reorganized her closet, finally cleaned out her refrigerator, and gave Al a flea bath. She went out for Band-Aids immediately thereafter. She also went out after work more than usual. She even let herself get talked into sushi and karaoke at a hot new spot in her hood. The sushi part was a snap (yum), but getting up in front of people and singing? Yuck, not to mention never happen. Still, a sake or three later, there she was, belting out the venerable Bob Seger's "Rock 'n Roll Never Forgets." How the angel would have giggled himself silly at that sight! (Him and the rest of the world.)

Throughout all this, she strove to remain calm on the outside. Inside, she was a candidate for her own special on Animal Planet. The possibility of losing David wasn't depressing enough. To make life even more pleasant, she still hadn't heard from you-know-who. (You would think that when two people saw Heavenly Hosts together and when one of those people kissed the other in an extreme manner, that person might hear from the other damn person again, and in this geological era.)

Kevin hadn't called either, not even to whine. No doubt she'd scared him good with the news of her impending parenthood. But, if Abby thought she'd hit the top rung on the nut ladder, worrying about who was adopting her David, she hadn't seen nuthin' yet. Not if she could have for-seen the deranged look on her face when she found out who that someone was.

"Dr. Philips?" she screeched into the night. As the sound echoed through the previously peaceful hospital corridor, Jody, the student nurse, turned the entire spectrum of the rainbow.

"Shut up, I mean shhhh, Miss Ellison," the girl hissed at her supervisor. "I'm not supposed to know, and I'm sure not supposed to tell anyone!"

When she could breathe (and just barely) Abby started to ask how Jody had managed to uncork that information. But there wasn't much point in asking. Jody knew everything there was to know about Dr. Philips, or hoped she did. (Everything, apparently, except the fact that he was a walking anus.) Her schoolgirl crush on the doctor had deepened to near stalkerdom, a mystery in itself.

At first Abby figured the poor thing had been at the drug cabinet. For cripe's sakes, the girl was twenty years old and should have a clue!But as she worked more nights with the student, Abby realized that while Jody was very pretty with her red hair and her dimples, she was also pretty silly. Doctor Wonderful would probably dig her though. She was skinny. Okay, slender. No point in being mean about it. The kid was really very nice, worked hard and deserved better than old A.H.

"Why would he do such a thing?" Abby demanded. (This was half question and half quest, the first rhetorical and the second of the fishing expedition variety.

Jody smiled sweetly. "I don't know, but isn't it just like him?"

Abby rolled her eyes inwardly. Kicking kittens would be more just like him, but they do say love is blind. In this case, they'd forgotten to add deaf to the facts and dumb, period.

"He doesn't have to go to all that trouble," Jody almost whispered, lowering her voice and her long lashes (not to mention her standards). "I'd be happy to make babies with him any old time." The leer in her tone was a virtual nudge-nudge.

"I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear that," Abby said, somehow managing not to throw up.

The student paled, her auburn curls flying. "Oh, don't ever tell him I said such a thing."

"It's a deal," Abby replied, recovering enough to carpe' the moment. "I won't tell him if you won't tell him what you told me."

"Huh?" the girl said. Then something went whir-click inside her alleged brain and she nodded. "Oh, I get it. Mum's the word."

Abby had never heard that expression this side of the late show, but it covered the ground. And the following day, still nuts (and still uncalled), when she went to see her own supervisor, the mum factor was still in force.

Mrs. Casey, as Irish as her name, was someone Abby trusted and always had. There was just something about the woman, something in addition to the fact that she had been a gifted and dedicated nurse before becoming a gifted and dedicated administrator. Abby knew she could safely admit that she'd "accidentally uncovered" the oh so confidential facts of the matter. She hoped that Mrs. Casey, sort of an angel herself, would help her do something about the situation. Moments into the conversation, Abby knew otherwise. Slumped dejectedly in her chair, she listened to Mrs. Casey's concerned but firm voice.

"Abby, you've already done so much for David. Your diligence and your constant care---even during your time off-- may have been what turned the tide. You may have saved his life!"

Abby made a face inside her head. Yeah, maybe she'd had somewhat of a hand in it, but her nursing skills hadn't been much of a factor. What had saved David's life was a miracle. A miracle courtesy of things that went bump in the night (trying to get their wings folded).

When Abby didn't answer, Mrs. Casey peered at her thoughtfully, as if she were making a decision. Then she spoke again. "Since you're aware of his adoption plans, I'm going to tell you something else you can't repeat. Dr. Philips knows all about being a father. He had a little boy of his own, about David's age."

Abby sat up straight. "What do you mean had? What happened?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Casey said honestly, "and I'm not in a position to ask. I'm only telling you this so you won't worry about his ability to make a home for David."

But other thoughts were already coursing through Abby's head. What had happened to Dr. Philips' son? Had he lost him through a custody battle in a messy divorce, or by way of some dreadful scandal or tragedy? What, what, what? All these questions needed answers. But how, how, how to find them?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Abby's new quest was to dig out the details of what had happened to Philips' son. Whatever it was, it was possible, just possible, that if they were embarrassing enough (and since he was him, they just might be), they could make a difference to the adoption board.

Wondering where to begin looking, Abby peered at her watch. It was seven p.n., time for her lunch break (dinner to those with more rational schedules). She'd brought nothing with her; she'd been way too goofy to fix anything or stop on the way for provisions. That meant she was left with the "food" in the staff caff (one of their kinder terms for the employee dining room). As she went through the line, Abby hurried by the soup of the day (salt broth with death-dodger dumplings) and the bubbling caldron of macaroni and "cheese." But the word cheese on the hand lettered sign stopped her for a moment, making her think of the angel and his Cheese Diddles. If only he were here, he'd know what to do. He'd come up with something teenagey and ridiculous, but somehow he would make it work.

Abby was still in line, her nose wrinkling at the unctuous odors around her, when she saw him. There he was, Dr. Pill, alone at the farthest table in the farthest corner. Quickly deciding on her usual - coffee, toast, and salad - she picked up her tray. Then, squaring her shoulders, she marched in his direction. There was no time like the present for them to start getting better acquainted, whether he liked it or not.

Apparently he didn't. When Abby appeared at his side and offered a "do you mind if I sit here?" Philips looked up from his sandwich and his book with displeasure.

Abby sat down anyway. "You're reading Mary Kerr," she said, trying not to sound surprised.

"I don't much like her," he said.

That figures, Abby didn't say. Intelligent human beings liked Kerr's books and poems. As he went back to reading, Abby concentrated on her tray. First she added a few scrapes of I Certainly Can Believe It's Not Butter to her single slice of sourdough (now there's a tasty tongue twister). Then she squeezed lemon and a splash of oil on her salad and peppered its fan of anemic sliced tomatoes almost beyond recognition. As she pulled her coffee cup nearer, Philips stopped pretending to read and edged the cream and sugar toward her. Abby waved them away.

"Dieting?" he asked in a condescending tone.

Abby looked up at him. "This is what I always order here. I can't handle the Le Page's Glue sauce they put on everything else."

Philips managed a one-quarter snarky smile. "You mean that's all you're going to eat?"

Abby caught the inference and tossed it back. "Why, were you expecting me to have a loaf of toast instead of a piece?"

Philips half-smiled in spite of himself, then he grew serious. "Abby, have you considered weight reduction surgery?"

Abby's eyes googled. "Are you crazy?" she asked before she could stop herself. Then she remembered this twit (spelled otherwise) was sort of her boss. "I mean, why would I do that?"

Phillips shrugged. "You're overweight."

"Over whose weight?" Abby started to huff, but he was still talking.

"I must say you do wear it well with your height," he said, and he said it appraisingly. "But you have such a--''If he'd blundered onward, if he'd come out with that "such a pretty face" crap, Abby might have lost it and kicked him right in the kishkas. Next she'd have lost her nursing credential, but it might have been worth it. However, the doctor's critique of her physiognomy was interrupted by a voice from the overhead speaker, summoning him to Emergency, stat. Actually looking relieved, Philips crammed the rest of his sandwich into his face, grabbed his book and fled.

Abby shook her head. That had gone well. She didn't know any more about him than she had when she sat down. Morosely, she sipped her coffee. It was awful, but it was strong and hot and somehow comforting. Abby loved good coffee and ordered her beans all the way from the famous Arbuckles in Texas. (Their beans and ground coffees came with a peppermint stick stuck into the middle of the package, an old cowboy tradition.) But she was neither a coffee snob nor a Starbuck's junkie. The former was laughable, and the latter way too trendy (and overpriced) for her tastes. But at least she knew who Starbuck was. (For those amongst us who may have forgotten, Starbuck was Captain Ahab's coffee-drinking first-mate on the Pequod.)

There was no way this was going to work. She would never be able to get to know Philips well enough to ask him anything more personal than the time. There had to be another way; she'd just have to think of one. When she couldn't, she finally did something she'd sworn she'd never do. She called her very own missing person. Holding her breath, Abby phoned the Hollywood police station and asked for him. When he picked up on the first ring and said "Minella" in that voice, that voice, Abby almost couldn't get her breath back.

"Hello?" he asked questioningly.

"Hello," Abby croaked.

"Abby, is that you?"

"Yes," she said, regaining some of her cool and vowing to keep it.

"It's good to hear from you. I was planning to call you."

"Really," she said, remaining aloof. "Whatever. I'm sorry to have to

ask, but I need your help. Again."

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.

Abby told all, as briefly and rationally as she could, finishing with, "I have to know and I don't know how to find out."

"Neither do I," Minella answered.

"I don't believe that," Abby said firmly. "You people can find out anything."

"Abby," he said, his voice apologetic. "I'm just a cop, and not a very important one."

"You are to me," she said earnestly. (Well, there went aloof, right into the toilet.)

Minella was waiting for her in the parking garage when she got off work at eleven. Abby slid into the front seat of his car. One look at his curly head and crooked smile and she wanted to throw herself at him and commence sobbing into his hideous necktie. .

Five minutes later, this was practically what she was doing. She'd been hoping for the worst, in the messy divorce category, but she hadn't anticipated anything like the heartbreaking story Minella told her. Five years earlier, Dr. Philips' wife and 10-year-old son had been killed in an accident much like the one David had survived. Minella held Abby and once again let her cry on his jacket. It was a new one, but it was already a bit rumpled. The important thing was that he was in it. Feeling so sorry for Philips, so sorry that it was a personal tragedy that had made him so angry and unfeeling, Abby moved closer to Minella. His arms tightened around her, just as they had that other time. Leaning her head back, Abby looked at him through her tears. She didn't know what would happen, but she certainly wasn't expecting what did.

"I have to go," he said.

"Right now?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah," he said, his arms loosening, then dropping away from her. "I'm very sorry."

Abby eyed him icily. "You certainly are," she said. With that, she slammed out of his car and into her own. When she got home, she slammed into her apartment, kicked the cat (not really) and called Kevin.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

At least one thing was going right. David was getting better. He was very loving to Abby, and she was the only person he would really communicate with. They actually did communicate, thanks to Rosa, a nurse from Costa Rica who served as translator when necessary. But the better he got, the more David demanded to see his Mama and Popi.

He hadn't been told as yet thanks to a decision from the top. At this point, the official answer to his pleas was that he was still too sick to have visitors. But as time went by and his begging got him nowhere, he became frightened. He worried that something had happened to his parents, or that they were being prevented from seeing him, or that they didn't love him any more. All of these concerns were making him sad and afraid. Finally, when no believable answer was forthcoming, David refused to eat and his physical condition began to deteriorate.

Abby felt so sorry for him it was hard to think about anything else. Finally she went to Mrs. Casey. It was time, Abby said flatly. Any more avoidance and it could possibly do permanent damage to the boy, physically and psychologically. "I know I'm just a nurse," Abby said, hoping to temper her boldness with a little humility. "But I know David. Bad things are happening inside him."

Shortly after this meeting, it was decided that David would be told the truth. Abby did and didn't want to be with him when this happened, but that decision was made for her. She was not to be included in the group that would pass along the awful news. There would be a contingent comprised of a Spanish-speaking doctor, psychologist and grief counselor. Abby's absence would prevent her from becoming one of the bad guys and allow her to comfort David after the fact.

He required a great deal of that comfort, more than she and Rosa could supply. They worked with him, they consoled him, they tried to play with him, but he was devastated. Occasionally he would panic and try to escape the confines of the body cast that protected his broken back. In the end, he had to be sedated and fed intravenously. For several days, David was kept immobilized. No one knew what else to do, including Abby. Other than pleading with the Heavens to send them the angel.

Then things got worse. Mrs. Casey called Abby into her office and imparted the terrible news that the funding for David was running out due to more budget cuts. Abby felt as if she were going to faint as she learned that a date had been for David to be transferred to County Hospital. Then she burst into tears.

"They do provide good care," Mrs. Casey told her gently. "We may be able to make other arrangements through Social Services, but that takes time. We didn't know this financial crunch was going to happen."

Abby snorted, hoping to pass off the derisive sound as part of her crying jag. Mrs. Casey should have said the latest financial crunch. Pretty soon the staff would be buying their own bandages, the way some teachers had to buy school supplies for their students. She could bet the "crunch" hadn't caused any cuts in the inflated salaries of the hospital bigwigs.

When she could speak, she pleaded with her supervisor. "David needs us. He needs me. He needs me now more than ever." And he needs his angel, she added inwardly. "Can't Dr. Philips do something about this? He's going to be David's father!"

"He's just one person, Abby. David may need years of physical therapy, perhaps more surgeries. He'll have to learn to walk all over again. No one can afford these costs personally unless they're extremely wealthy and Dr. P. does not qualify."

He barely qualifies as human, Abby wanted to say. Instead, she said, "Why can't David be put on his insurance if he's going to adopt him?"

"It's unlikely an insurance company would accept David in his condition. But even if they would, Philips hasn't signed the papers. It's not official yet and we've run out of time. He's as upset about all this as you are."

"Why hasn't he signed?" Abby asked, suddenly hopeful that Philips had changed his mind.

"It's a long process. It isn't at the signing stage yet. But he has made the application and jumped through most of the hoops."

"Shit," Abby almost said.

Abby left Mrs. Casey's feeling like there was nothing she could do about this latest nightmare, not all by herself. But that didn't stop her from coming up with up with various desperate schemes. Unfortunately, none of them made much sense. Thusly, everyone was depressed. The staff was depressed, Abby was depressed, even Al was depressed and David was unconscious while the damn angel was up there somewhere, lounging on clouds, Cheese Diddling around.

And of course that effing Minella hadn't called. Abby still felt kind of guilty about the night she contacted Kevin and he'd come over and she'd come across (as the charming saying goes). But the hell with it! She had a right. She was otherwise uninvolved, damn it. So she refused to think about that, mostly. Kevin had called her a few times since that night, but so far she hadn't called him back.

Time passed swiftly as time does when doom is impending. One night in the midst of it all, Abby felt as though she couldn't stand it any longer. Throughout her shift, several of her little patients cried, she went in to sit with David and could have sworn she saw tears on his sleeping face, so she went out to her car and cried too. It was Tuesday and the next day was her day off. She knew she had to do something to break the tension. To get away from it all for just a little while. Before she went to bed that night, she decided it was time for an afternoon at the Dresden. She had no way of knowing it was an afternoon that would change her life forever.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

There are times in this world when a person needs to go out and get hammered enough to make everything else go away for just a little while. This was one of them. Actually, it was either that or jump off a cliff and the closest one was probably way out in Malibu. The Dresden was so much closer. And it was time to calm down for a few hours, stop worrying and panicking about David and money and the absent angel. Also time to stop twitching about Kevin's last visit when obviously no one else was interested. For all she knew, Minella might never call. Was she supposed to moon around and join a convent or something?

This is why a daytime visit to the Dresden seemed to be just the ticket. But, when Abby walked into her favorite hangout, she knew hammered wasn't going to happen. Oh, the setting was perfect, just the right spot for one or too-many late afternoon cocktails. But behind the bar was the rest of the story. The Dresden was known for its handsome, dark-haired bartenders, and there stood two of the same. They also stood between Abby and the good (yes) clean (well...) fun she had in mind.

That's because she'd known both John and Steve forever, from various local spots and now the Dres. And she also knew that these guardians of her sobriety and if necessary, her virtue (what was left of it), weren't about to let her have too much of that fun. Making her laugh in spite of her mood, Steve whipped up the first martini, the real kind: Gin and a whisper of vermouth, stirred with ice, served in a freezing stem glass and garnished with a lemon twist and an olive. (Once she'd ordered it with an onion too, and Steve had yelped, "Whaddaya think this is, a salad bar?")

Abby sipped its chilly elegance. The martini was so delicious it was soon gone and she was ordering another. John made that one, and presented it to her with a kiss on her hand and an against-my-better-judgment grin. Re-sipping, Abby looked around her. It was hours before lounge gods Marty and Elayne would strike up the band, and too early for the hip young crowd to come flocking in for an after-work bump.

The huge bar was nearly deserted and Abby found the cozy darkness comforting. Even the two TV screens were on mute with some ballgame somewhere being played out in silent desperation. Abby welcomed the silence. She hated TVs in bars anyway; they'd pretty much finished off the already-ailing art of conversation. Abby was glad not to have to engage in any chitchat at the moment. She was content to watch her protectors behind the bar, busy preparing for another big night, Dresden style, opening bottles of wine and icing down tubs of longnecks.

She was once again refusing to let herself freak out about her damn problems when she felt the presence of someone close behind her—a little too close. In fact, hovering would be more accurate. But not to worry about that, either. Confident that the hoverer must be another Dresden buddy, Abby turned and stared directly into a vomitatious necktie. It looked very familiar, as did the curly head and sexy grin above it.

"Minella," she breathed, not meaning to, her stomach sinking fast on the Love Elevator. Then, also not meaning to, she added, "You weasel," and buried her face in the tie.(This item will be known henceforth as the tie that binds.) (Not to mention the tie that blinds.)

Minella laughed. "I was going to ask what a girl like you was doing in a nice place like this. Now I'm sorry I didn't." But his hand came up and caressed the back of her neck. Then he sat down on the stool next to her.

Abby looked at him, wanting to kiss him, wanting to kill him. "Had you asked, I would have said I'm having a peaceful drink, or I was before I was interrupted," she said loftily. "The real question is, what are you doing here?"

Minella sent the look back. "Do you want the truth?"

"No," Abby blurted. "Please lie to me some more, like when you keep saying you're going to call me and you never do." Oops. Bombay Gin was doing the talking for her and it was being totally uncool and far too revealing.

Minella laughed again, his dark eyes crinkling, "You're gassed," he said, but he said it fondly.

"I am not," Abby countered. "Not yet, anyway. But I'm gonna have another one of these mothers and get that way." That line was from another of her ancient late-night movie faves, the name of which escaped her at the moment. (She later remembered that Jack Lemmon said it in The Apartment.) But all that got her was a like-hell-you-will look from the dynamic duo now pretending not to be watching the action from behind the bar.

Ambling over to them, Steve loomed. "Is this guy bothering you?" he asked, half in jest and half not.

"I certainly hope so," Abby said lightly, getting her groove back (she hoped). She introduced them, leaving the Detective off Minella's name and then made one more stab at ordering a third martini. She got a club soda. Minella had one with her, plus a basket of the Dresden's famous steak fries, and they sat for a while, munching wordlessly.

Abby was wondering if he was ever going to answer her question when Minella turned to her. "Okay, I'm here because I was thinking about you, as usual, and I saw your car and I came in against my better judgment."

"What does that mean?"

"I've been trying to stay away from you."

"I noticed. And you've been doing a helluva job."

Minella sat silent for a moment, finishing off the fries. Then he stood. "Kiddo, I have something to tell you that pretty much sucks. Let's go somewhere we can talk." When they got to the parking lot, Abby was surprised that he wasn't driving his usual unmarked (yeah, right) police issue. Instead, Ramon pulled up in a classic MG, Hunter Green in color and in mint condition.

"Great car," the attendant said as Minella searched for a tip.

"I'll say," Abby agreed, folding herself into the low-slung chassis. "I love these old beauties. How long have you had it?"

"I inherited it some years ago," Minella said, firing up the mighty motor under the hood. "This is the first time I've had a chance to drive it to Los Angeles."

They went only a short distance before Minella turned into the big Citibank parking lot on Hillhurst where there was also a neighborhood police satellite. Moving all the way to the back, he stopped in a leafy corner. Abby wasn't talking and for a moment, Minella continued saying nothing in return. Then he broke the uneasy silence.

"I've been away," he said. "I had to go to New York."

"Business?" Abby asked. It was the only thing she could think of to say.

"No, I'm from there. Lower Manhattan, near Little Italy."

"You went to see your family?"

He nodded. "I saw them, but I actually went to see a doctor."

Abby's ears pricked up and so did the goose bumps on her arms. "Why? What's wrong?"

Minella sighed. "I don't even want to tell you this but I have to. I have to explain why I've been acting like a louse and not calling and staying away from you."

"That would be nice," she said, none too warmly.

"There's this thing in our family," Minella began. "This gene or something. You may know more about it than I do. It's very rare and it's ugly. It starts with dementia and then gets bad. Then it kills you."

Suddenly, Abby was having trouble breathing, much less speaking. "Do you have it?" she managed to croak out.

"I've been waiting for the test results so I could find that out. I heard the news today."

"Oh, boy," Abby murmured, flashing on the Beatles' Day In The Life.

Minella got it and it broke part of the tension. "It wasn't bad news. I don't have it. Yet."

"Why did you think you did? Are you sick?"

"No, but something hinky showed up in my blood work when I took my police physical this year. I needed to see about it so I went home to our family doctor. He understands this thing, which most doctors don't. He'd treated my grandfather."

Abby swallowed hard. "It's hereditary. Did your father contract it?"

"He never had the chance to find out. He went down in the line five years ago. This car was his pride and joy. He rebuilt it himself."

"In the line?" Abby echoed, confused at first. Then she understood. The line of duty. He'd been a policeman too. She touched Minella's arm. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks. I'm afraid it goes with the territory."

That was not comforting, and Abby had to ask the next questions. "Are you likely to get this...thing? Was there something relative to it in your tests?"

"All I know is that I'm a candidate. Not from the test, though. That was just some anomaly – it had disappeared by the time I was retested."

Abby felt like she was attending a seminar except her heart was racing. "What's it called?"

"It's very rare," Minella repeated, uttering a medical term so long it was more of a phrase. It was Latin, but it was Greek to Abby. And it made her remember one of her favorite doctors, Boyd Cooper, an Ob/Gyn who had been devastated when his first wife had suddenly been consumed by a disease so rare he'd never even heard of it.

But her questions kept coming. "What are the chances that you will get it?"

Minella shrugged. "I read a bunch of stuff about it online. I'd guess maybe 70/30, in my favor."

Abby breathed a little easier. "Not the worst odds," she said.

Minella wasn't having as much luck in the breathing department. "Maybe not," he said hoarsely. "But not good enough to get involved with someone I care about. There's other reasons besides not wanting to lay my health problems on you."

Abby was still back at someone I care about, but she had the presence of mind to ask, "Like what?"

"Like having a family is not recommended. You can see why." He looked at her for a long moment. "A woman like you probably wants to have kids besides a career, have as full a life as possible."

Abby was suddenly tired of pussy-footing around with this man, trying to act cool and not let him know how she felt about him. When she opened her mouth, the truth saw its chance and escaped. "I don't think I can have a full life without you in it."

Minella stared at her. "Really?" he asked, obviously pleased.

"Really," she replied. "I know it's very early in this...relationship and I know it's uncool to blab out the facts but I started feeling this way the first time you came to my door, looking for the angel."

"Me, too," he grinned. "Every time I think of you in that blue dress, I get the wing-wangs – the good kind. It was the same exact color as your eyes."

They stared at each other, then before he lost it and leaped on her, Minella made a try at some presence of mind of his own. "Certainly not to change the subject, but has the angel kid or whatever he is been around while I was gone?"

Praying he wouldn't add and how about Kevin, Abby told him how the angel had disappeared. She finished up with her foiled attempt to adopt David and her commitment to changing that situation. "Does that scare you?" she asked.

Minella smiled that smile. "No, well, maybe a little. But not being able to give you kids scared me more."

Abby came down with a massive case of the wing-wangs herself – the extra good kind. (She had thought the expression was wim-wams but she liked his version better.) "You want to give me kids?" she asked, her eyes growing wet and shiny.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, taking her hand. "And I'd like to start right now."

Abby looked at him. She didn't suppose his family ailment was contagious, but if it was, she hoped he gave it to her right then, right there, and finished off any possibility of having to live without him. She moved toward him and the kiss was like the first one, only deeper, longer. And the start of many.

Fortunately, the top was up on the MG but about the time the windows were fogging over, Minella wheezed, " I don't think we should be doing this in the parking lot of a cop shop, even if it is closed for the day."

Abby wheezed in agreement and Minella started the MG. "Will your car be okay at the restaurant?" Abby nodded and he headed in the direction of her apartment.

When they pulled into the small parking area behind her building, Minella was so shaky he had trouble locking the MG. Not in much better shape, Abby went around the car but instead of trying to help, she put her arms around him from the back.

"This is the first time I've ever hugged you standing up," she said.

"A statement that could easily be misinterpreted," he said, turning to press her against him.

"Oof," Abby said suddenly. "Is that your gun or are you glad to see me?" It was a very old line, the kind you wait a lifetime to get to utter, and Minella loved it.

"Both," he laughed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The next morning, Abby awakened alone in bed, but she was surrounded by the scents of shampoo and soap and the slight fog of a recent shower. She peeked out from under her lashes. Minella's gun still lay on the night table (eek) and he was humming to himself as he got dressed. She watched him as sneakily as possible. When he picked up his jacket from where he'd tossed it on a chair, she smiled inwardly. So that's why he usually looked kind of rumpled. She wouldn't nag him to hang up his clothes or start hanging them up for him. She'd buy a valet stand and let him get the clue in time. After all, he was a detective.

Realizing she was so blissed out she was thinking rash thoughts like permanent, she made herself stop. Talk about putting the cart ahead of the equine. She had no idea what the future held. All of the care about you stuff could have been a ruse to get her horizontal. Or he could have been carried away by a romantic moment, or disoriented with relief from finding out he was still among the healthy. Until she knew the facts of that matter, she didn't really know what to think, or even how to act. She had shared very few mornings-after with men she didn't know well (more like none). What should she do, or say, she wondered as she watched him buttoning, buttoning, buttoning his shirt. Then he reached for that gawd-awful tie. It was, of all things, purple with yellow flowers.(Double-eek.) She didn't want him to leave, so she decided to pretend she was just waking up and say something totally noncommittal. (How about I worship and adore your very sexy buns?)

Opening her eyes, she smiled sweetly at him and asked, "What would you like for breakfast?"

Minella looked at her for another of his long moments. "You," he said, and began unbuttoning, unbuttoning, unbuttoning. Al, whose patience had been sorely tried by the nonsense that had gone on thus far, left the bedroom in disgust.

After enjoying the first breakfast course, Minella went into the kitchen and started preparing the second. He put bread into the oven, right on the racks, and started cracking eggs. Seated at the table, sipping the strong coffee he'd brewed. Abby quivered in delight. This incredible man had rocked her all night long and he could cook, too!

After sifting a drift of baking powder (?) into the beaten eggs, he scrambled them expertly and added a shake of Parmesan. Next, he tossed the green canister into the garbage can. "I'll bring you some decent cheese," he promised, serving up perfect clouds of eggs and hot buttered oven toast.

Al watched all this action very carefully, interested but too proud to beg from a stranger. But when he received his own little bowl of eggs, he took one sniff and pounced on them. Abby collected the dishes while Minella got ready to leave. As he put on his, shiver, neckwear, she suddenly could not resist. "Why do you wear the ugliest ties on this earth?"

Minella looked horrified. "I'm insulted. My Aunt Bertha picks out all my ties."

Abby stared at the tie again. "Your aunt needs glasses."

Minella laughed. "Truth is, the Mucks make the detectives wear ties now. I follow orders but I try to make them as sorry about this stupid decision as I possibly can."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Abby's Dresden visit on that incredible day off changed a great many things, her life for instance, but it hadn't made a whit of difference in what was happening at the hospital. David was still sedated because he had to be. Every time the medication wore off, he went ballistic. He was a spunky little guy who wasn't going to take the situation lying down, so he kept trying to get up. That was even more dangerous than his fear and anger. Those would heal in time, but if he re-injured himself now, he could be crippled permanently.

As time passed. about all Abby could do was see to his medical needs, read and talk to him while he was under sedation and pray for the angel to get off his cloud and get with it. Then, one Saturday night, when Abby came home after her shift, lost in a funk, she found her prayer had been answered, sort of. The angel was sitting in her living room with another kid, a chubby Mexican boy who gave her a shy angelic smile. Abby was torn between kicking the angel's skinny butt for leaving her alone with all of David's hysteria and wanting to kiss the other end. The latter urge won and she scooped him up and hugged him. As he hugged her in return, she realized there were tears in his eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The angel sniffled sadly. "This is Chuey," he said, pointing to the other boy. "He didn't make it." Abby stared at both of them, not understanding.

"He's been over in County ever since the accident. But he didn't make it," Angel repeated, a tear escaping.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You already had enough to worry about."

"Could you even go see him?" she asked gently.

The angel shook his head. "Not without getting another Boulevard Violation." Then he paused. "Are there any Cheese Diddles left?"

"Of course. I've been waiting for you'd come back."

"Get him some, will ya? And a soda pop. At least he can eat again."

Chuey smiled broadly.

"You want some?" Abby asked.

"Nah. Give him my package too."

Chuey nodded with enthusiasm.

After bringing the boy his treats, Abby began recounting the story of David's terrible reaction to the news of his parents' death. "They did it the best way they could. They sent a doctor and a psychologist and a grief counselor who all spoke Spanish, but he went out sideways and started raging. They tried to tell him he would be going to live with someone from the hospital and everything would be all right. But when he said "Abba?" (his name for her) and they said no, but a very nice doctor, he screamed the house down. I'm so glad he loves me but it's making it harder on him, not easier. They had to give him a sedative, that's a—"

"I know," the angel interrupted. "They've got him juiced up to keep him quiet. We need to get over there, now."

"Now?" Abby echoed.

"Sure, it's the best time. You can sneak me in without having to answer a bunch of questions."

"I think we should wait until tomorrow. They had to give him some pretty strong meds. He won't be awake."

The angel stood. "I can wake him up and I can make him better. I have a message for him from his family."

Abby stood with him. "Then let's go."

The first person they ran into was Helen – so much for sneaking. Abby crossed her fingers and said, "This is a special friend of David's family. I think he may be able to help." The angel rattled off something incomprehensible in Spanish and smiled a ten-thousand-watter at the night nurse.

"David is nearly due to wake up and he'll need another shot," Helen cautioned.

"Can we hold off until, um, Gabriel has a chance to talk to him?" There was a plea in Abby's voice.

Helen nodded. "Okay, but call me immediately if David starts to panic."

When they were in David's silent room, the angel turned to Abby. "You need to guard the door. You know what I'm going to have to do to get him to believe I'm an angel."

Abby frowned. "You mean to tell me you still have the wing-wang problem?" She knew he'd like that one.

He did, giggling. "I'm working on it. They like go inside you. I think I got problems 'cause I'm kind of short or something."

"I'll get the door," Abby said. "We don't want someone coming in here and finding you in your drawers."

Abby placed a chair in front of the door and sat in it as Gabriel went to David's bedside and began to speak to the boy in Spanish. David opened his eyes, startled at first, but the angel kept talking softly, his hand smoothing the boy's hair. But David wasn't having any and responded in angry Spanish. Still the angel kept talking and soon the boy began to listen. Then suddenly David laughed. Probably because the angel was in the process of peeling off his jeans. The boy kept laughing until the satiny wings exploded into sight. Then he gaped in silent wonder.

Just then Abby heard a noise outside the door and stepped out into the hall to reassure Helen that all was well. "David's actually talking instead of screaming. I don't know what they're saying but the tone is pretty positive." Helen marveled at this announcement but took up residence at the door in case the situation went sour. Abby stayed with her, and moments later, the angel walked out, fully clad. The room behind him was silent.

"He fell asleep," the angel explained.

"Sleep?" Helen asked. " Doesn't he need his shot?"

Angel shook his head. "I guess not. I knew his folks. It made him feel better. I told him I'd come back and see him sometimes."

"That's very kind of you," Helen said, then she dashed off to answer a call from one of her other patients.

"What happened?" Abby asked as they headed for the exit.

"First I did the wing-wang thing, then I told him I had messages from his folks."

"Did he believe you?"

"Sure, it's the truth. I gave him some private message I didn't understand, then I told him they love him and they'll be waiting for him someday. Then I promised him that you would take care of him until then."

"Me??" Abby asked incredulously. "How can I?"

"You gotta," the angel said. "You're the only other person on this planet he loves. And who loves him."

"But I told you about the doctor," Abby said. "Or did I have a chance to?"

"I know about it and that problem could go away. I been working on it."

"And the financial thing? Do you know about that too?"

"I been working on that too and I got it all figured out. The MysticHA is going to save the day."

"The Mystic who?"

"MysticHA," the angel said impatiently. "It's a band. Let's go home and I'll show you something you're not going to believe."

Well, now, wasn't that something new to look forward to.

CHAPTER TWENTY

When Abby and the angel arrived at her apartment, they found Chuey snoozing happily, surrounded by two empty Cheese Diddle packs and a couple of empty soda cans. Al was sleeping on the arm of the couch next to him.

"Wake up!" Angel said briskly, shaking Chuey and scaring the cat into a scowling exit. "You need to sing for Abby. Do what the band taught you, that medley thing. Go for it!"

Seemingly without a second thought, the youngster stopped being shy and began to sing. Abby listened for a moment, her jaw at half mast, then she dropped into a chair. The kid's voice was unbelievable! He had it all: the quality, the timing, the perfect pitch, the range, the phrasing, all of the above as he ran through a sampling of rock, jazz, hip hop, rap, even a ballad and more. When he was finished, Abby stared at him, then at the angel.

"That's the most fantastic voice I've ever heard. That anybody ever heard. Why isn't he famous?"

Angel laughed scornfully. "A homie don't just walk out of the barrio and turn into a star. Besides, he didn't sound this good until now. He always had a cough; that's what got him, some new kind of pneumonia thing after the accident. But he's a star now," the angel added proudly. "Chuey's one of the lead singers in the MysticHA! They snapped him up about five minutes after he hit the gates!"

Chuey smiled, shy again. "That was wonderful," Abby told him gently. "You're very talented. Would you like something else to eat?" Chuey raised his eyebrows in interest and Abby went to the phone and called the all-night pizza delivery place that serviced the hospital staff.

Then she addressed the angel. "Okay, let's hear it. What is this MysticHA and what does it have to do with David?"

The angel launched into an explanation that made Abby's eyes all but spin. The MysticHA, which stood for Here After, was a group of musicians who were spending eternity doing what they'd been doing on earth: Writing music, playing music, doing concert tours (in various Heavenly locations now). "And when they're not doing music, they sit around and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee and talk about music and all the bands they were in. You should hear some of their stories!"

"Cigarettes and coffee?" Abby repeated doubtfully.

"They gotta have something, and it doesn't hurt them up there, anyway. But that's all they get. Maybe a little wine on a real special occasion, but none of the stuff they do a lot of rememberin' about."

He went on to explain that the band was mostly comprised of famous rockers, the core band anyway, but a lot of other musicians jammed with them all the time. "People right out of history books," the angel said excitedly. "Like that Beethoven guy, the one who wears weird clothes– he cracks up over that Roll Over, Beethoven song. And there's a bunch of cool black dudes who started the blues and soul and all. Some lady named Billie comes by and sings with the band sometimes and they all about pee themselves."

Abby was happy to see him so enthralled, so energetic, but she had to bring him down to earth (so to speak) and find the connection to David, if any. So she prodded.

The angel responded, "When they heard about David, they got together and made a CD. All you have to do is sell it so the money can go to take care of David."

"Me?" Abby shrilled. "How can I possibly do that?"

The angel smiled patiently. "First you gotta listen to it. I know it'll give you some great ideas." Taking a disc out of his back pocket, he held it on the palm of his hand and music filled the room. Abby stood transfixed. The CD was a mind-blower, as incredible as Chuey's performance and like nothing she had ever heard. Some of the songs were unfamiliar, others were renditions of music she had heard forever. The final song was achingly beautiful.

"Gaby!" she cried as the angel closed his hand over the disc and the music stopped. "That is fantastic! But there's a big problem. I know nada about the music business. You need someone with experience and contacts!"

"And where we gonna get that?" the angel snorted. "We can't slide into some record company guy's office and say 'Yo, dude, here's a great disc by a bunch of dead guys!' And we can't just put it on iTunes with a gazillion other songs and we can't like do a Web site or anything. You have to help us. You're all we got. Sort of like David."

Abby put her head into her hands. But he wasn't quite finished.

"When you get the disc thing going, you need to find a place for the band to do a PA. That's short for personal appearance," he added knowingly. "Like maybe a spot at a rock concert. They promised to come down and do a few numbers so people will wanna buy the CD. They can get a special permit from the Front Office since it's for such a good cause. Ain't that awesome?"

"It's fabulous," Abby said grimly. "In the true sense of the word. It's a fable. I can't do it. And even if I could, wouldn't they be recognized?"

"They'll take care of that. Course, it won't stop some Hendrix fan from thinking, man, that guitar sure sounds a lot like Jimi."

"Jimi Hendrix is in the band?" Abby asked, her eyes popping.

"So's Lennon and Harrison and everybody!"

"And they're up for this, you should pardon the expression?"

"Yeah, they're crazy about Chuey so they like me too since I'm his best friend. I talked them into this," he added proudly.

Suddenly the angel looked at his wrist, although he did not happen to be wearing a watch, and said it was time to go. "But we'll see you at the concert or wherever," he promised. "I'm kinda with the band. They let me play the drums once in a while when Keith Moon or Levon Helm or whoever isn't around or that Krupa guy wants to take five."

"Gene Krupa?" Abby asked in disbelief.

"I guess."

"He was my Dad's idol," she said, remembering. "He loved the old forties music. He had all of Krupa's records. Is he an angel too?"

Gabriel sniffed. "Course not. There's only one other angel in the band, tho I'm not totally in it. Being an angel is a job. You gotta apply and pass tests and study and stuff."

"You did all that?" Abby asked, confused.

"I passed the tests. Well, I finally passed them. But I didn't have to apply. I got recruited," he grinned. "So I'd be able to help David and Chuey here."

The boys were at the door then but the angel turned and came back to Abby's chair. "You can do this," he said into her woeful face. Then he patted the top of her head encouragingly. Then he bent down and kissed it. Abby didn't know how to keep them from leaving so she watched them go, but before the door closed behind them, the angel stuck his head back into the room. "Try Kevin," he said. "He could help you." Then he stuck it back in again. "He won't get it."

"Kevin?" she asked dumbly.

"Nah, your cop. He won't get the thing." When his attempt to repeat the name of the disease was completely mangled, they all had to laugh.

"That's easy for you to say," Abby old-joked, but her grateful heart was singing. Grinning, the angel snagged the two pizzas out of the hands of the surprised delivery guy on the doorstep and fled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The damn phone woke Abby at the crack of eight a.m.

"What?" she gurgled into it.

"It's me, " the angel said.

"Oh. Hello," she mumbled, then her brain awakened. "Why are you calling me on the phone?"

"I'm not, exactly. Listen, David's telling Rosa that you brought an anhel – that's how you say it in Spanish - to see him and she's telling everyone else. He's crying and calling for you. He's sleeping now but you need to get over there before he wakes up and straighten him out."

"Are you calling from the hospital?"

"No, I'm in your living room. I, um, didn't want to disturb you."

"How can you call me from the...oh never mind." Then she blanched, "Did you come in here?"

"No way, Jose. I'm too young."

"I'll kick your ass if you did."

"Language, lady. Anyway, can you get in touch with your cop?"

"Well, I guess I could find him."

"Try looking under the covers," the angel giggled.

"Abby sat up in horror. "You did come in here," she sputtered.

"I did not! I'm an angel. I can see everything."

"Perfect," Abby groaned in defeat.

"It's okay. I know when not to look."

"Let's get back to David. I'll go over there right now."

"Don't go yet, let him sleep. When you do go, take him with you," Angel said so firmly it was almost an order.

"Him who?" Abby asked, confused.

"Your cop. And tell him to take his gun."

Abby jumped out of bed. "Why? Is David in danger?"

She could almost hear the angel's eye-roll. "No, David will think it's cool to meet a Hollywood detective and see an actual gun. He's a little kid! They love that shit."

"Language, yourself, buddy."

Ignoring her, Angel continued. "Besides, he speaks Spanish."

"Minella is Italian."

"If he's LA heat, trust me, he speaks Spanish. And wait a couple of hours. I have to do something."

"Are you going to meet me there?"

"You mean us."

"Yes, yes, us. Are you?"

"Only if you can't calm him down and shut him up. I don't want him to think I can show up every time he throws a fit. I want him to depend on you, not me."

"Thanks," Abby said sourly. "And just how am I going to pull that one off?"

"Did you call Kevin about the CD?"

"Not yet."

"Well do it. It could change everything and I do mean everything."

"Everything?"

"Every thing," the angel enunciated.

"You mean there's a chance I can adopt David after all?"

But the line was dead. Throwing off the covers, she raced into the living room. He wasn't there, but Al was happily rattling liver lumps in his dish. Abby raced back into the bedroom and yanked off the covers, which were now pulled over Minella's head.

"Se Habla Espanol?" Abby bellowed. Her syntax was off but it got the point across.

Minella stared at her blearily. "Que onda?"

There was that Kay Honda person again, whoever she was. Minella picked up on Abby's confusion. "It means what's happening?"

"Oh. Gabriel called. David's raving about anhels and asking for me. He won't eat again and he won't shut up. He's finally asleep but I need to get over there in a couple of hours. The angel said to take you with me."

Minella nodded. "The kid will probably dig meeting a Hollywood cop."

She looked at him, muttering something about men being from Mars. "I'm going to grab a shower."

"Let me go first, and then I'll make us some breakfast. I seem to have worked up quite an appetite, " he added, giving her the look.

"Don't start."

"Are you sure you don't mean don't stop?" he grinned.

She grinned back. "Okay, start later. Then don't stop."

Half an hour later when Abby returned to the bedroom freshly showered, the lovely scent of coffee and food wafted in from the kitchen. She peeked around the door. Minella was at the stove, doing his yummy egg thing again. Only this time it was something different, He'd folded vegetables into the egg mixture and the whole thing was cooking and puffing up nicely.

"Frittata?" she asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Sort of," he replied, moving a small package from the counter to the table. "Ma called it Dog's Breakfast," he laughed, adding the phrase in Italian.

"Cats too, apparently," Abby said, as Al took a sudden interest in the package and was up on his hind legs, sniffing it. "What is this?" she asked, picking it up. Then she quickly put it back down. "It stinks!"

"It's supposed to stink," Minella said, "It's real cheese, the best: Parmegiano Reggiano."

Bringing the skillet to the table, Minella opened the package, took a knife and began slicing nearly transparent slivers of the cheese onto the frittata or whatever it was. Whatever it was looked outrageously good, and was. After he cut it into wedges, they happily devoured it with hunks of a fresh baguette. Al fell upon his little wedge, and then meowed piteously,

"What's the matter with him?" Abby wondered aloud. "He's got liver lumps over there in his bowl."

It's the Parmegiano," Minella said. "He's obviously Italian." Reopening the package, he cut off another small piece and tossed it to the cat. Al savored it slowly, emanating loud purrs. It was a nice little family moment. The calm before the next storm would manage to find them and rain on their parade.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

In the lexicon of clichés, this one must be on the very first page: The more things change, the more they stay the same. This was exactly what was happening in Abby's world. Yes, she and Minella (she had given up trying to call him Tony) were madly in love and lust and it was a powerful combination. But, other than that, no matter what solutions the angel had half-promised, none of the other problems were anywhere near being solved.

She had brought Minella to visit David the day of the phone call from the living room (?) and it had helped a little. Sure enough, the boy had been fascinated by Minella and loved seeing the gun (??). And she'd been able to convince him to put a sock in it regarding the anhel because it was their secret. That had worked so far, but actually, David was only a little better. He'd stopped shrieking, but he spent too many of his days in a silent blue funk and had to be medicated so he could sleep at night. He often had to be hand-fed as well, and it was an ordeal to get him to eat, even when his Abba did the honors. Minella came to see the boy whenever he could but he was usually busy chasing bad guys. So David existed. Some life for an eight-year-old kid who would ordinarily be out roller blading or something equally dangerous.

As far as she knew, Dr. Philips was continuing his quest to adopt David. At the end of this month, David would be transferred to USC Medical Center. That's what it was called now, but it was still County Hospital by any other name. As for the CD business, Abby had researched the music scene on the internet until her eyes nearly fell out. It was a zoo. She'd even had sort of an appointment with a glorified gofer at Random Records where one of the nurses knew a friend of a friend. It went nowhere, except the guy did ask if she could score him any good drugs. She wondered how Kevin could stand it.

Kevin... She was still afraid to call him. There was no way she could explain the disc and the MysticHA and Chuey to a rational person like Kevin. If only she'd called him back when he first started leaving messages. Now so much time had passed, the calls were no longer coming. He must be thoroughly pissed off. Perfect timing for her to come asking for help with something she couldn't even explain.

And so it was on the night she was working with Jody, the student nurse with a taste for the good (ick) doctor. Or, more likely, no taste at all. Abby was deep in thought as the hospital around them quieted for the night. It was about half an hour before the change of shift and she was tired. But not too tired for her mind not to be racing. She had come to the conclusion that she absolutely had to call Kevin. She couldn't let the angel and Chuey and their Mystic whatever down, or miss the chance that it could somehow help David. But when she tried to count the number of Kevin's unanswered calls and got as far as eight, she stopped in embarrassment. No doubt he would be thrilled to hear from her at this point. He'd probably hang up in her ear. Not that she'd blame him.

Glancing over at Jody who was chasing paperwork at the desk, Abby had to shake her head in wonder. The student nurse was smiling silently to herself, happy as a clam (exactly what that meant, Abby had never been able to ascertain). When the girl looked up, her smile faded. In its place, a look of concern filled her eyes and spread across her young, fresh face.

"Miss Ellison, you look so tired," she said with genuine empathy.

"Abby, please," her supervisor said, falling into a chair. "And I am. I didn't take a break or lunch today."

"You spent them with David."

"I just don't know how I'm going to..."

Abby broke off and Jody finished the sentence for her. "How you're going to stand it when they transfer him."

Abby nodded. "I can still go visit him," she murmured.

"And how you're going to stand it when someone else adopts him," Jody continued.

Startled, Abby looked up. "How do you know about that?"

"I hear things," the girl said noncommittally.

"Yeah, I suppose it's all over the hospital that His Majesty won again."

"You don't much like him, do you?" the girl asked.

"He hasn't exactly been likable."

"He's getting better," Jody said.

"He is," Abby had to admit. The doctor's reptile brain was at least showing some sign of mammalian influence of late. Abby sat silently until the girl spoke again. "He's leaving, you know, going up north."

Abby sat bolt upright. "North where? Canada? Alaska?"

Jody laughed. "No, Northern California. A little town called Eureka, actually."

Abby sagged back down in her chair. "Well, wherever he goes he'll be taking David with him as soon as he's out of his cast."

Jody put the chart aside, laid her pen down and turned her full attention toward Abby. "Do you remember when I told you some stuff and we did the mum's the word thing?"

"Sure."

"Well, I really appreciate that you kept your promise."

"I try to do that. It's called decent human behavior."

"Do you think you could do it again?" the girl asked cautiously.

"Okay," Abby said, wondering what girlish drivel she was going to have to listen to now. But she sat back and tried to look interested. "What's up?"

"I'd be in deep doo-doo if he knew I blabbed. He doesn't even want people to know we've been dating – says it doesn't look professional. But you have a right to know that Arthur will probably not be adopting David after all."

"Arthur?" Abby echoed. Oh yeah, right, A.H. Phillips. And here she'd always thought it stood for Ass Hole. Then what the student had just said hit her between those tired eyes. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me, and it's really true."

Abby leaped to her tired feet. "Why, what's happened? What changed his mind? Doesn't he want David anymore?"

The girl smiled enigmatically. "I don't think he's going to be able to handle another kid when he hears my news."

Abby's mouth was hanging open, most unattractively no doubt, but she got it to work long enough to croak out, "What news?"

"We're preggers," Jody said, grinning from dimple to dimple.

"We?"

"Arthur and me," Jody went on. "And for God's sake don't tell. I haven't even told him yet. He's going to flip out when he hears – he loves kids – 'specially when I tell him it's twins?"

"Twins??" Abby re-croaked.

"Yeah, I'm a twin. My sister thinks she's an actress. That's why I'm here, so we can share a place and maybe I can keep her from boinking every producer in Hollyweed. She's going to have a field day when I leave."

"You're leaving too?"

"Sure, with Arthur. We're going up to my hometown where Dad's a GP. He's getting on in years and he needs to take someone into his practice. Arthur turned out to be the perfect someone – Dad's crazy about him." If she'd left the words 'about him' out of that remark it might make a lot more sense to Abby. What was Philips going to do in Eureka, set up a lap band concession at a lumber camp?

When Abby asked if the pregnancy was an accident, Jody wiggled her eyebrows. "I kept having this feeling. I couldn't stop thinking about it. It seemed like something was actually telling me to flush my BC down the john and let nature take its course. So I finally did and good things are happening!"

They certainly were and Abby didn't even have to wonder who'd had a hand in it, bless him. Unfortunately there was going to be another Philips on the planet – two of them! – but this was wonderful for the man inside the jerk who grieved for his lost family. And, hallelujah, it also bumped Abby into first place in the adoption line.

It was a while before Abby saw Dr. Philips again - he was working in Emergency full time now. By then she had started adoption proceedings of her own and that fact was helping David normalize. When she did see him, in the staff caff, he was in the same corner, but this time Jody was with him. When he looked up and saw Abby, he gave her the strangest smile - it was embarrassed, self-conscious, apologetic and happy all at once. For the first time in her life, Abby finally knew what a shit-eatin' grin looked like.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The cat prowled the perimeter of the refrigerator, praying for more Parmigiano (Minella had brought over a larger and stinkier but tasty wedge).Abby walked into the kitchen, feeling bewitched in a good way but highly bothered and bewildered in the other. Pouring herself a cup of the ink-black coffee Minella had brewed before leaving for work, she sat glumly at the table.

Now that the Minella situation seemed to be taking care of itself (she shivered at the thought of how well it was getting taken care of) why couldn't she just be in love and enjoy it without all the other traumas?

At least David was better, healing physically and emotionally now that Abby's adoption proceedings were underway. Minella had grown very fond of David and stopped at the hospital almost every day to see him. David, of course, bragged to anyone who would listen about his friend, the famous Hollywood detective. (To David, anyone associated with Hollywood was famous.)(Too many people who aren't eight years old feel the same way.) But how to handle the MysticHA dilemma still had her mystified.

Every other hour she decided to take the angel's advice and call Kevin. Then began the mental list of why she couldn't and shouldn't. And now time was running out. The date when David would have to leave the hospital was looming and he badly needed what the angel had referred to as tall paper. (Abby assumed he meant big money, and had picked up the expression from some of his new rockstar buddies.)

So far today she hadn't started the will/won't vacillating about Kevin but she could feel it coming on. To ward them off, she picked up the new issue of the L.A. Weekly. She wished they still carried Jonathan Gold's food reviews but he had moved on to the Times.(His writing was so delicious it was almost good enough to eat,) As she paged through the paper, it fell open to a full-page ad announcing a benefit at the Hollywood Bowl the following Sunday evening. Proceeds were going to a well-loved charity and the lineup of stars was highly impressive–Neil Young and Bono and Jay-Z and Sheryl Crow for starters. There would also be a special appearance by Kevin Sharp who would perform his current number one hit, Spondulix.

Wow, Abby thought, closing the Weekly. If only the angel and his band could get on that show. Bono was such a concerned guy, maybe she could convince him to listen to the Mystic's CD, but by the time she got through to him, David would be in college. Then, with a sudden intake of breath, Abby rammed the Weekly back open. Kevin Sharp? That couldn't be her Kevin (former), could it? But it had to be. That was not only his name. Spondulix was a term he sometimes used when he was talking about money!

Even she had heard his hit, which was not easy since she almost always listened to classic rock or NPR. It was a cool song, very rock and roll but the lyrics were the protest song reincarnated - a major slam at the Haves. But who knew it was her (former) Kevin of all people? He was a recording engineer in addition to performing and had his own company, but a number one hit? Why hadn't he said something? Or maybe he had. Maybe one of those unanswered calls had been about his sudden good fortune.

Well, so much for indecision. If this wasn't a sign, what was it? It was time to stop waffling around and get off her behind. Marching resolutely to the phone, she punched in Kevin's familiar number. She intended to leave him a message and pray he would get back to her, but surprise, surprise. When Kevin's number connected, Abby didn't get the usual electronic reply. This time she got that bane of the entertainment industry, the Kamikaze assistant.

In reply to a snotty "Who's calling?" Abby responded with her name only to hear, "And who is that?"

"Me," Abby said nastily.

The assistant ahem-ed threateningly. " I mean what company do you represent?"

"Bad," Abby said, then quickly reconsidered. The chances of this person having a sense of humor were nil. "I'm a personal friend."

The voice on the other end gave a snort and Abby could almost hear the woman's lip curl. "Do you have any idea how many often I hear that line these days."

"Well, it's true this time. Tell him it's Nursie," Abby added, leaving off the other half of that highly personal sobriquet (never you mind).

"Hold on," the woman barked, and the next voice Abby heard was Kevin's.

They talked for a moment as Abby offered congratulations. Then she asked when all of this had happened.

"You'd know if you'd answered my calls," Kevin said, half cranky-like. "I've never been able to reach you since that last night."

"I'm so sorry, Kevin. I've been completely nuts. I've been trying to adopt David, the little boy whose parents were killed. I told you about it."

"Right. How's that going?"

"Terrible, until just lately. There were a lot of complications...Kevin, I have a huge favor to ask."

"Name it, babe."

"I want you to listen to a great band."

Kevin groaned aloud. "Oh, sweetie, L.A. is full of great bands."

"Not like this one," Abby said. "And it's hard to explain but there's a connection to David."

"Huh?"

"Just listen to their CD, Kevin, please. I literally beg of you."

There was silence at first. Then Kevin offered to come over and they could talk about it. And the way he said it, Abby knew talking wasn't the only activity on his agenda. It was an offer she didn't dare refuse. But it required a change of venue.

"I'll have to come to your place," Abby said, gritting her teeth mentally. "I, err, have a roommate."

"Oh?" Kevin said carefully. "Is it To-ny?"

"No," she said truthfully, hoping Kevin would drop it.

He didn't. "Male or female?"

"Somewhere in the middle," Abby answered. (That was the truth too. Much to his displeasure, Al the cat had been neutered.)

"Okay," Kevin said again, sounding relieved. "So how about tonight?"

"Can't, I have to work late tonight."(She was meeting Minella for dinner after her shift. Since she didn't like lying, she would have to put in some extra time before she left.)

"Okay, how about after the weekend?"

Abby paled. The concert was this weekend. "Can't we do it sooner?"

"We can do it any time you want," he said, his voice dropping the octave that used to almost pop the elastic on Abby's underpants.

After they'd decided on Tuesday night, right after work, Abby hung up the phone in a panic. A new problem had just been added to her list: How was she going to get what she wanted from Kevin without giving him what he wanted?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Tuesday arrived and felt like a lead balloon when it got there. Naturally, there had not been so much as a peep from the angel, who should be helping her through this mess. Abby had alternated between praying and shaking her fist at the Heavens, but nada. Now the evening was passing too quickly and when she got off at eleven p.m. guess who else expected to get off. And what chance did she have of diverting his attentions? Would he even listen to the CD? If he did, would he insist on listening afterwards?

If the angel and Chuey were here they could go to Kevin's with her, not only for protection, but then he wouldn't have much choice about listening to the CD. Not with the 15-year-old lead singer standing there with his heart in his eyes. But again, nada.

Abby knew she was in big trouble before she had even knocked on the door of Kevin's West Hollywood condo. She could smell the incense, and when he opened the door, she was met by flickering candlelight. It was exactly the way she used to greet him. (Except, thankfully, he wasn't wearing a blue dress.)

"I figured it was my turn to set the stage," he grinned and kissed her soundly. He also kissed her lips, ha, even though she kept them sort of clamped together.

"It looks great, Kevin," she said. "And it's very good to see you." That was true because even though the sexy factor had taken a dive, he was still such a cool guy and really very sweet. Cute too, cuter actually, now that that his hair was longer and not sticking up like a cactus.

"I got dinner, too," he said, ushering her to a soft leather sofa and sitting down beside her.

"You cooked?" Abby asked in amazement.

"Right, and then I had Greenblatt's deliver it," he laughed and kissed her again. "I've missed you a lot, Abby. I don't know any other women like you."

"Me?" Abby asked, still in amazement mode.

"Sure you. You're a real person. These chicks who dig me now because I have a hit. God, what a bunch. They weigh about nine pounds, hang out at the spa and all they talk about is clothes, clubs and each other. I want you back, Abby."

Abby moved away from his oncoming embrace. "We were never really together except in the bedroom."

"It won't be that way now,' he said firmly. "I didn't know jack shit in those days. I've learned a lot about what's important." He re-reached for her.

Abby turned pale inside and probably outside. She didn't want to hurt Kevin and she needed a favor and being hard to get wasn't going to cut it. But even if she could put him off and string him along until after the concert and then run like hell, it wouldn't be the right. Abby took one of her deep breaths. "Kevin, you were the best thing in my life for a long time. You turned my lights on. I felt more confident, even beautiful, because you wanted me."

"You are beautiful," he said quietly, sensing what was coming.

"Well, I doubt that, but feeling like it was almost as good. But Kevin, at a time when I need your help so desperately, I still have to be honest. I've fallen in love with somebody, someone who loves me back and I've got to walk the line. I just have to."

"Typical," he said, but he said it almost kindly. "That is so typical of you - unwilling to compromise yourself even when you're about to beg. No wonder I love you."

Abby grinned at him. "You don't love me, Kevin, but I love the fact that you think you do. And now about that begging."

"Go ahead, whine," he laughed.

Abby quickly told him a highly edited version of David's financial plight and the great band that had offered to help. If they could appear on the benefit, maybe David could have some of the proceeds.

"That can't happen," Kevin said, without even thinking it over. Abby's face fell a mile, but he continued. "Maybe you could petition the charity for help but all the money gets turned over to them. It's handled by pro bono CPA's and lawyers, all very legal like. It has to be that way because we want the proceeds to go for aid and not get caught up in administration."

"Then it wouldn't do them any good to be on the show," Abby said sadly.

"Well, it would get them seen and heard. That sure can't hurt. And if they have a CD, they could sell it after the concert."

Wordlessly, crossing her mental fingers, Abby fished the mysterious MysticHA disc out of her purse and extended it to Kevin. He took it from her trembling hand.

"Let's hear this fabulous bunch," he said, sliding the disc into the high tech machinery that filled one entire wall of his living room. That was the last thing he said for quite some time. It's difficult to speak when one's mouth is hanging open.

Again, the music was miraculous (in more than one way). Kevin had never heard anything like it, nor had anyone else unless they'd happened to be present when a group of the world's most famous musicians got together and were fronted by one of the most gifted vocalist on (and off) the planet.

"My God, that was ineffingcredible. That guitar player is as good as Stevie Ray ever was!" Kevin finally breathed. "And that lead singer! Who are those guys?"

"I know almost nothing about them and that's the way they want it," Abby said truthfully. (Other than the fact that they're all deceased, she didn't say.) But she tried to give him an answer that at least made a little sense. "It's a bunch of pros who play together for fun but don't want their names involved. I heard about them at the hospital. One of them had a friend who got killed in the accident that took David's parents."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kevin said. "But they're insanely good. Maybe we could put them on last when everybody's starting to leave. These guys'll stop them in their tracks, and believe me, they will sell some serious CD. The whole disc is fantastic and that one song, Band Of Angels, is a classic. One of the most beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard!"

"Oh, Kevin," Abby gushed, digging for a tissue because she was about to start leaking. "This is so wonderful. Are you sure the other stars won't mind?"

Kevin shrugged. "There are some biggies on the program but the concert was my idea and I did most of the work to put it together. Besides, they're all good people and as long as we put this band on as a P.S. why would they object? They wouldn't anyway. We're there to make money for something important and that's what matters. These guys will have to cough up a percentage to the charity from the CD sales," he warned.

"I'm sure they'll be happy to, " Abby agreed.

Kevin looked at her and smiled rather tenderly. "I wish this evening was going to have a different ending, but let's do the next best thing. Let's pig out and listen to this sucker again."

Abby whooshed a sigh of relief. He liked it, he really liked it, and that was a miracle on top of a lot of others. As the sounds of the MysticHA surrounded them, Kevin brought in towering deli sandwiches and a host of sides. "By the way," he said, passing her the new pickles. "What do these guys call themselves?"

Abby didn't want to give anything away but she had to say something. "They call themselves the MysticHA. I don't know where they got that one. Maybe from that Tom Robbins book where someone climbs a mountain to find a mystic who knows the secret of life. It turns out to be something like HaHa HoHo HeeHee."

"Could be," Kevin laughed, opening two Amstels. "But whatever the name, they're in the game, bigtime. Now all we need is a contract!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"Contract?" Abby had gulped, trying to keep her eyes from popping out of her head on stalks.

"No big thing," Kevin had told her. "They're pros, they'll know what to do. And if they need copies of the CD to sell at the concert, we can make them here but we'd have to get cracking. And we'd have to use generic cases for now." Then he handed her a printed sheet. "Here, give them this price list. My costs are lower than a lot of companies."

Abby looked at it, her eyes trying to do their stalk trick again. Cripes, CD's were not cheap to produce, and how were any of them going to come up with money at this point? .

Abby drove home in a spin. Contracts? Price lists? Serious cash? They certainly had better get cracking. Cracking heads together for getting her into this mess in the first place.

When she got home, she quickly fed Al before she went blooey and forgot. After all their work and effort, everything seemed to be sliding down the tube, she thought, shuddering. How were the angel and his buddies going to pull all of this off in just a few days – if she could even find a way to let them know what was happening. Maybe they would understand what Kevin required, but even they would need an expert, wouldn't they? "Are there any lawyers in Heaven?" she wondered aloud.

Well, there was one thing she knew for sure. She was not giving up. She couldn't magically produce a contract. She had saved almost two thousand dollars but that was a drop in the bucket, the one with a hole in it. But she was NOT giving up. She was going to see this insanity through, by God (not to mention with) if it killed her. If it did, at least she could hang out with the angel again. And wait until Minella showed up.

Hurrying past that unsettling concept, she wondered just how she was going to go about not giving up while she caved in to the cat's frantic meowing and opened the fridge. She was cutting a small slice of the smelly but lovely cheese for Al when she heard the ping of her email. When she sat down at her computer, there was a message from, are you ready, mysticha@earthlink.net. Trembling, she opened the file. It read:

My Dear Ms. Ellison: Yes, I'm afraid we do have lawyers on the premises although they live a few levels below the musicians' quarters. However, I think we'd do better with an earthly representative. Please be at the offices of Frank Solomon at Wilshire and Doheny at ll:30 tomorrow morning. A package will arrive shortly at your apartment. Please take it with you when you see Mr. Solomon, and feel free to be open with him. He had a visitation during his daughter's illness so he is, shall we say, hip, albeit cranky.

Thank you for all you have done and are still doing to help David. Your unselfish acts have not gone unnoticed by us or by the Front Office.

Derek Taylor, Manager

MysticHA Band

P.S. Gabriel sends courage, hugs too.

Derek Taylor, she knew that name. Then she remembered: the Beatles, of course. He had been with the Beatles, their press representative. He had also been a writer, a good one, she recalled, having read some of his articles in the old Beatle lore she loved perusing. Abby had always wished she could have experienced Beatlemania first hand, but she hadn't even been born when it all happened. Like so many fans, she'd had to make do with their timeless music. Would John and George actually appear with the MysticHA at the Bowl? The thought gave her the major wing-wangs all over, the really good ones.

Abby was sitting on the couch, petting Al and trying to get a grip when her doorbell rang. She started, having forgotten she was expecting some sort of package. "Who is it?" she asked, half expecting to hear "Candygram" in response and opening the door to a shark. (Too many nights alone watching old SNL re-runs.)

"Special delivery," came the reply. When she unlocked the door, there stood a handsome older gentleman in a white uniform that seemed to glow in the darkness. "Abby?" he asked in a pleasant and melodious voice.

"Yes?" she blurted, the word sounding more like a question than an answer. The man just smiled, handed her a package and walked back into the night. Abby stared at the mysterious arrival. It was about the size of a shoebox and wrapped in plain brown paper. It was addressed to her, but there was no return address and no postage. Written across the package was the understatement of the century: It read, simply, Air Mail.

Sitting down, Abby shook her head, fully expecting it to rattle. Then she opened the package and it did rattle- her head and the box. It was crammed with money. Abby sifted through the piles of bills in amazement. There were hundreds of hundreds, scads of twenties and tens and fives and even a number of ones. There were also thirteen pennies.

The box contained this note. "This is for Kevin and the CD expenses. Also he needs to hire a pitbull PR rep for a month or so to spin the MysticHA appearance and CD until something else comes along and people lose interest. Then they'll remember us, if at all, as just another Traveling Willburys. If there's anything left over, buy something for David and for yourself and for your cop – like a tranquilizer. (Just joking.)" The note finished up with: "We all dug around in our rooms and gathered what cash we could find. We only use it when we play poker, and since we can't spend it here, we may as well use chips. Or perhaps Cheese Diddles, ha. Thanks again for seeing this through. Gaby says you and Al should go to bed now and get some sleep. Hugs from him and me too, Derek"

It was a good thing Minella was working graveyard at the moment. He'd weathered the improbabilities and impossibilities pretty well thus far, but this could weird him out all over again. It was doing a fine job of unnerving Abby. But when he called her about half an hour later she blabbed out every last detail, including the air mail (I'll say) delivery. Minella didn't say much, although he did cough several times. (Actually, it sounded more like he was strangling.) But when she got around to her visit to the attorney on the morrow, he spoke right up.

"I'll go with you," he said.

"You don't need to do that, " Abby protested. "You'll need to sleep."

"I'm going," he said firmly. "I'll drive. I'll pick you up at 10:45."

"Yes, master," she wanted to say. "Yes, dear," she did say.

"We'll go to Kate's afterwards," he added, then she heard the shriek of a siren and he had to hang up. She didn't get the chance to ask just who this Kate person was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The law offices of Frank Solomon were professional but nothing fancy. There was a reception area in the outer office, but it was uninhabited when Abby and Minella arrived the next morning. No one said sit down and wait, but they did anyway. Soon a rather broad, red-haired, mid-aged man opened the inner door and stared at them both.

Then he stared at Minella. "Anthony," he said coolly with a nod.

"Frank," Minella replied in a similar tone, nodding back.

Abby looked from one to the other in surprise but before she could express the feeling, the man said, "Come in, Abra, I don't have all day."

"I don't either," Abby said, rising. "And the name is Abby."

Frank Solomon sat down behind his desk and extended his hand for the box Abby was carrying. Waving her to the chair across from him, he opened the parcel and quickly counted the money. He put a fan of bills into a manila envelope and put the rest of the money back into the box, the thirteen pennies rattling in the bottom.

"Okay," he said, placing a pile of important looking papers in front of him. "I'm signing this as the representative of...of those guys. You need to sign that you have received and approve this contract. "He extended it, along with a pen.

Abby didn't move. "What does it say?"

Solomon sighed impatiently. "It says that you agree to manage any monies from the sale of the CD in question. You will become executor of a trust fund for David Suertes and the remainder of the money will go into an account for you to use as you see fit, for his and/or your needs and wants. This has been set up on a non-profit basis so there are no taxes involved until you invest some of the money. You may need to do this in future and I will set you up with a reliable broker and accountant. That's it. Understand?"

At Abby's sharp but wordless intake of breath, he looked up at her. "It's so simple, any dingbat would be able to handle it."

When she said nothing, Solomon continued. "This additional contract establishes Kevin Sharp as the link between yourself, as representative of...those guys, and himself. It makes him responsible for the production and sale of said CD and for seeing to their other wishes including the temporary public relations animal – and aren't they all. A percentage of sales will go to the sponsoring charity and to Kevin Sharp for his efforts. Got it?"

He extended the papers and pen again. This time she took them and also took a quick peek at their contents. It looked like a lot of whereas and wherefore to her, but they'd said she could trust this man so she signed her aggravating real name and passed the papers back. Solomon made another quick trip through the papers, probably to make sure she'd signed in the right places, or spelled her name right. "Those guys must have something big planned – sounds like they expect to make a whole lot of spondulix."

Abby's ears perked. "You know Kevin's song?"

"Me? I prefer opera. But I know the drill," he said, impatient again, obviously wanting her to leave. He handed her the contracts and the manila envelope. "This is for Sharp – there isn't much time and cash is quicker." Then he handed the box back to her. "For immediate expenses. For instance, the kid wants a laptop and an iPod – get them."

"He never mentioned anything to me," Abby said.

"He didn't want to ask you so he's been praying for them instead," Solomon said grumpily. "Now I need to get back to work and earn a living. Those guys are going to Pro Bono me to death."

No, just 'til death, she thought. Then they'll find somebody else. What had they done to obligate this butthead anyway? She had to know, so she asked.

Solomon's look softened. "Truthfully, they paid for my services well in advance. I can't tell many people this story, or any people except someone else it's happening to. When my daughter Rachel was wasting away, all she wanted was to see a group called Led Zeppelin in person before she died. They'd been her heroes all through school – taste does not run in our family. So the group showed up in her hospital room in the middle of the night, despite the fact that the drummer has been dead as a doornail for years. They performed an entire concert just for her and no one could hear a note of the music outside of her room."

"Did she survive?" Abby asked, almost reverently.

"Yes. She still thinks it was a dream, probably. But she'd given up and that night turned her around. I now have two annoying grandchildren as proof." But Solomon was smiling.

Abby stood. "Well, fortunately, they're at it again. I hope you'll come to the concert."

Solomon stood. "You couldn't pay me." But as they walked to the door, he stopped. "You involved with that wop cop out there or did you bring him along for protection?'

Abby gave him a look. "Quite involved, thank you. And I'm surprised to hear such a racial slur from a man whose ancestry is written all over his nose."

Solomon stared at her in shock. Then, giving his impressive beak a tweak, he roared with laughter.

Minella was on his feet when they entered the reception area, Abby clutching an armload of paperwork and cash. Solomon was still laughing, but he managed to say, "You need to keep this one, Anthony. I like her."

"Me too," Minella grinned.

Abby's eyes narrowed for an instant. Keep this one? How many other dames had Minella showed up with before her? Then her eyes resumed their former shape. That was about as much of her business as her relationship (former) with Kevin was of Minella's.

Kate turned out to be Kate Mantilini, a restaurant down the street from Solomon's office. It was named for the grandmother of one of the owners, a couple that also headed the Hamburger Hamlet chain. Kate had been a fight promoter, maybe the first female ever, and the slick industrial interior of the restaurant was subtly decorated with prizefight murals. It was a great favorite of Minella's, and Solomon too, so he came along for lunch.

"What's good?" Abby asked, perusing the hip menu.

"The bread," Minella and Solomon said, almost together, pouncing on same. "And everything else," Minella added.

They were right about the bread, delicious and soft surrounded by a crackling crust. Solomon had a half roast chicken with garlic spinach, Abby ordered a salad and Minella got a salad plus a large order of mashed potatoes and gravy. Plus onion rings that came lightly battered, crispy, and scattered with deep-fried sage leaves. And more bread, of course. When the food arrived, Abby sneaked looks at Minella and the strange combination before him. He ate the two items in rotation, salad, then a bite of mashed potatoes, which were served in a bowl topped with savory gravy. Once in a while he would sigh happily.

When he saw Abby watching him he offered her a forkful of potatoes. "Try them, you'll understand." She did and did she ever. They were state of the art: hot, buttery, creamy. Calling the waiter over, she ordered the smaller portion. When it arrived, she began her own rotation process with stops for bites of the incredible bread. Minella watched her fondly. He decided not to tell her, at this point, that his real favorite was to order a bowl of their pea soup alongside the potatoes and then dip forkfuls of mash into the soup. Perhaps he should save that particular breech of etiquette for when he stopped here late at night with his cop buddies.

Instead he and Solomon talked about the court cases where they had made their acquaintance. As Abby had already figured, Minella had served as a trial witness many times, occasionally for Solomon's clients but most often against. And they all talked about David. No one mentioned Those Guys, but the MysticHA might as well have been at the table with them.

They might as well have gone to Kevin's with her as well. Truth be told, they probably did. Kevin was totally wowed. He found the contract in perfect order, and was thrilled by their generosity re his efforts, especially the cash advance. When he came to the directive about hiring a temporary PR person to boost sales and protect the identity of the anonymous musicians, he was really impressed. They sure knew what they were doing so they must be pros. And he knew just the pitbull.

Before she arrived at Kevin's office, Abby removed the 13 cents from the shoebox. She could feel the coins in the pocket of her jacket all the way home; they felt almost alive. Upon arrival, she put them in a safe place (not her underwear drawer) so they wouldn't get mixed up with other small change. After all of this craziness was over, she was going to use them to make a little collage and then frame it. She would title her creation Pennies From Heaven.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Abby loved Hollywood Bowl. She'd been going there almost ever since she could remember. Her maiden voyage had been to a Sound Of Music sing-along at about age six. Still she'd managed to belt out most of the lyrics, slightly off key but with great gusto. Tonight Kevin had offered them their choice of seating arrangements, including the front of the stage where the pool used to be and where the big donors now enjoyed their catered dinners and up close/personal view of the action.

Abby had opted for her favorite area of the Bowl, a box toward the front on the right side, next to the big hedges where tiny unseen insects sang merrily with the music. It was perfect for viewing the stage and also imparted an outdoorsy feel. Shamefully, Minella had never been to the Bowl. Not for a performance, anyway. He remembered aloud that he'd been up there to make a few arrests and once to help dig a dead vic out of the underbrush. Abby had stopped him there, threatening to start telling diaper stories from the hospital if he didn't cease. So far, this threat had always been effective and it had worked again.

As the representatives of a portion of the charity's funds-to-come that night and friends of one of the stars, they were offered the same catered dinner as the chosen few before the stage. But they had opted for their own picnic. They'd decided on finger foods. Minella volunteered to bring chicken from Al Wazir, a middle-Eastern Hollywood joint known at the station as Al Wazoo, but noted for wonderful roast chicken, rotisserie style. He also offered to provide the rest of the meal, but Abby had balked. She could cook too (sort of), and she was set on proving it.

"Make a bunch," Minella suggested. "You never know who'll end up sitting with us. Or what," he added, almost inaudibly, but she heard him.

Abby spent hours making a gourmet spin on potato salad – tiny boiled potatoes stuffed with a mixture of mayo and a mince of onion, celery, hard-cooked egg, cucumber and spices. Then she marinated a near vat of raw vegetables - cauliflower, carrot slices, rings of red onion, tomatoes, zucchini and roasted red pepper with a few jalapenos thrown in. A favorite bakery yielded a big round loaf of buttery spinach-parmesan bread, fashioned like Monkey Bread and tearable into tasty tufts. (Another tongue twister, and pleaser.) For dessert, if they were still conscious, she bought teacakes, the airy, lightly frosted square cupcakes she had never seen anywhere but in Los Angeles. Unable to resist, she ate one on the way home.

When Minella arrived, chicken-filled Hotter in hand (his term for the opposite of Cooler), he was Bowl-ready. Abby sized him up, realizing she had never really seen him in- what had the angel called it? – in mufti. He had always been in his cop clothes: slacks or chinos, dress shirt, disgusting tie, jacket or blazer – or out of them entirely. Today he was wearing jeans topped with a Hawaiian shirt that was actually not an eyesore. It was worn loose over the slight bump on his right hip (he was required to carry the damn thing). His arms were strong and brown and sexy and so were his feet, clad in leather sandals. Abby marveled at them, having seen so many Hobbit-like hairy extremities in her line of work. But Minella's were smooth with even toes and nice toenails and...

"Ma'am," he said, interrupting her assessment. "If you don't stop ogling me, in about two minutes I'm going to jump you."

Abby felt like saying why wait 'til then? But then they'd be late so she put her libido on the back of the stove where it would stay warm. They got to the Bowl early, as planned, so they could watch the daylight fade and the lights come up and the endless seats begin to fill – another of Abby's favorite things. There was an undercurrent of excitement but it could have been just them. No one else in the accumulating audience really knew something exciting was going to happen. They probably hoped it would, but who knew. Only the friends of the MysticHA.

But what would transpire? How would they handle it? How could their famous faces and talents not be recognized? As Minella and Abby came through the tree-lined entrance, they saw the vendors already in place, ready with stacks of CDs. The disc was titled The MysticHA Band, with a banner that read Featuring Band Of Angels, the stand-out song Kevin predicted would become a standard. They probably wouldn't sell one copy to the crowd on the way in. Customers on the way out could be a very different story. Or so Abby hoped and prayed.

Once they were ensconced in their four-seat box and Minella had opened one of the two bottles of wine he'd picked up on the way, he turned to Abby with a serious face. "Baby, we need to talk. Something weird is going to happen in a few minutes."

"Like what," she asked, taking a sip of her Pinot Grigio.

Minella cleared his throat. "Your angel is going to show up with David."

Abby stared at him. "David? How is that possible? He's still in his cast!"

Minella re-cleared. "It's not really him," he said haltingly. "It's the David he can be in a year or so. They want us to see what can happen with the right care, a peek at the future so to speak. That's their story, anyway."

Abby took a large gulp of her Pinot Grigio. "How come you know this and I don't?"

"They were afraid I wouldn't be able to handle the shock and pass out or something – again. I guess I'm never gonna live that down."

"And also because our dear angel is a big lipflapper?"

"There is that," Minella agreed. "Anyway, they figured you would be able to go with the flow and I hope they're right because here they come."

Abby looked up and saw Gabriel approaching, holding the hand of a dark-haired little boy in a red hoodie with "Hollywood Bowl" printed on the front. The boy was grinning up at his anhel, and dancing with excitement as if he'd never spent an injured day in his life.

When they reached Abby's box, David jumped into her arms. "Hi, Mom," he called out, hugging her. "We match!" She was wearing a red hoodie just like his; it got cold at the Bowl at night. (We forget sometimes with our imported palm trees and transplanted bouganvilla that Southern California is a desert.) Even Minella had brought a windbreaker.

Abby was returning David's hug in a daze when he yelped, "Dad!" and jumped on Minella's lap. Patting the bulge on Minella's hip, the boy gave him a thumbs-up. Abby rolled her eyes.

"Take this grasshopper to the banyo, will ya?" The angel said to Minella.

"I gotta pee bigtime," the boy announced to the amusement of everyone around them.

Abby watched them walk up the aisle, finishing off her wine.

"What's going on, Gaby," she said, her voice unsteady.

"There's a lotta miles between the real David and this one. They wanted you to see what can happen so you won't give up when the going gets tough. Can I have some of that wine?"

"Of course not," she said, re-pouring. "And just who are they?"

"The Front Office," he said sotto voce with a quick glance upward. "And why can't I have some? We get a little wine sometimes on a big occasion. If this ain't one I don't know what is. Pullease?" he added in his familiar teenage whine.

Trying not to smile, Abby grudgingly poured him half a glass of the chilly white and watched him savor it. Her head was spinning but it wasn't from the grape. It wouldn't much matter if it had been. They'd parked at the Hollywood Highland Mall down on the boulevard and taken a cab up to the Bowl to avoid the parking nightmare. They planned to walk back down after the show. It was a ways, but it was all downhill. (May the evening not fall into the same category, she thought.)

"Are they here yet?" she whispered.

"Nah," the angel whispered back. "They won't show 'til the last minute. They know too many of these people – the alive ones."

"How can they possibly not be recognized when they do get here?"

"They won't tell me how, but they've got it covered," the angel said, sipping and smacking his lips.

"Because they're afraid you might blab," she finished.

The angel shrugged. "I could slip," he admitted. Then suddenly he chugged the rest of his wine and handed her the glass. "Here comes the heat. I am under-age, you know."

"And he's sure to arrest you," Abby teased, but she hid the glass as Minella and David climbed back into their seats. "I'm hungry," David called out, eyeing the picnic paraphernalia. So was everyone else so they pulled out the table that was concealed in the wall of the box and set out the goodies. When David saw the big batch of chicken, he yelped with pleasure.

Minella handed him a leg. "Here, get started." Grabbing it, the boy began gnawing happily.

Abby felt her eyes sting. A chicken leg was the first thing David had asked for at the hospital when he could finally eat regular food. And he had only been able to nibble at it. A far cry from the whole, healthy boy currently devouring a favorite treat.

The angel was watching her. "He won't remember this," he said quietly. "But you'll never forget it."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Looking at David, Abby nodded, her throat aching. "Let's eat before I start blubbering," she said and began passing out plates. They were paper, but they were pretty, blue with white roses printed on them. Everyone loved her individual "potato salads" and veggies which the boy was eating like popcorn. (Hint to parents: get your kids to dig vegetables the easy way. Marinate them raw with tasty spices and make them a little bit hot. Just enough to make them seem dangerous. Then warn the kids not to eat too many,)

Minella had been right about making lots because they'd finished off most of the groceries before the angel announced that he needed to get backstage. "Are you in the show?" David asked excitedly through a teacake.

"Not really," Gabriel said, "only right at the end, but I have some jobs to do." So after hugging everyone but Minella, shaking his hand instead, the angel told them to enjoy and headed down the aisle toward the stage.

Enjoy wasn't the word for the way the show affected them and the rest of the audience. Delight was more like it. It seemed like everybody was there, instrument or mike in hand, or both: Neil Young, Bono, Jay-Z and Beyoncé, Green Day, Mariah Carey, Cheryl Crow, the cuties from Death Cab For Cutie and more. For the younger set, several of the kids from Glee dropped by. And of course, there was the main attraction, Abby's (former) Kevin.

David seemed to know all of the songs and spent most of his time standing up bouncing to the music. Abby watched him tenderly, wondering how long it would be before he would really be this well, this whole, but knowing he could be, would be. She didn't realize that Minella was watching her but when she did notice, there was a loving look in his eyes, on his face. She'd been worried that the Dad reference might have been a bit much for him, maybe a little scary, maybe a lot. She intended to talk to him about it later. But when he'd reached behind the bouncing David to kiss her, the worry lessened. She settled back for the finale, or what the audience presumed was going to be the finale.

Kevin came on stage to loud applause. After all, he was the only star in attendance with a number one hit! He performed his Spondulix perfectly, looking hip and hot. Abby could feel Minella watching her again and without taking her eyes off Kevin, she reached over and took Minella's hand and kissed the palm. (She'd learned that one from him.) She felt him relax. The show was in its final stages of an encore or two and of course the audience didn't want to let it go at that. In the old days, concert-goers held up lit matches until the place shone with a zillion points of light. Now that there weren't as many reasons to carry matches, the hopeful had turned to waving their cellphones.

When the lights came up, the audience began to give up and started gathering their belongings. When the lights suddenly went down again, a cheer rose. Then Chuey stepped into a single spotlight. Without accompaniment, the chubby Hispanic kid in jeans and a MysticHA tee shirt began to sing the medley that had nearly blown Abby right out of her fourplex. Once again, it worked the same magic. The audience all but gave a collective gasp as the boy's incredible voice rose over the Bowl, seeming to reverberate all the way to the stars above them. (This number was on the CD, of course.)

As Chuey reached the end of his solo, the stage lights came up and ten members of the MysticHA Band crashed into their rendition of a Little Richard hit. Chuey sang lead on that too, in an entirely different, Paul McCartney-esque style and the audience went bonkers. They couldn't stop cheering and they couldn't stop digging the band members' disguises.

Abby had combed her brain for possibilities. What would they wear? Monk's robes? Halloween masks? Groucho glasses and fake noses? But she had never thought of zombies!

Wearing fright wigs and yucked-up faces, the band went on to do a Beatle song, a Stones song, a call and response guitar battle that had to be Harrison, Hendrix, and Stevie Ray, but hopefully came off as an homage. No one would ever know they were hearing the real thing or there would be a major riot.

The Mystic wound up the set with Roll Over Beethoven starring the real Chuck Berry, well-zombied, and the real Beethoven, in his 18th century garb and hairdo, rolling delightedly across the stage, chased by Chuck's long leg as he did his famous guitar crouch. The audience was so worked up by then, they needed a break and they got it with Band of Angels. The group had written this song together over a period of time and it had one of the most beautiful melodies ever constructed. The words weren't far behind. They celebrated the better angels within us all, spoke of how we needed to band together to make a better world, and how we needed to each find our own special angel to make a better life. A hush fell over the Bowl as Chuey sang this beautiful song with the other band members harmonizing in the background. Several of the musicians from the show and from the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra joined them on stage, adding a welcome symphonic touch.

When the song was over, the group joined hands and bowed from the waist, acknowledging the noisy standing ovation. Then if you were listening closely you might have heard a sproing, as eleven pairs of wings, no, twelve, suddenly filled the stage and the MysticHA rose into the night sky, soared toward the moon and poofed. A roar rose from the crowd. Hopefully, most of them were marveling about this mega-trick of the century, the coolest ever, and wondering how the band pulled it off! Members of the electronic media went racing for their vans and staff writers for their computers. Others were still gaping unbelieving at the empty heavens. It was a madhouse in which one of the few pools of silence was shared by Abby, Minella and David. They were looking at each other, their faces alive with goofy grins. They had just witnessed a miracle (yet another miracle) and they were the only ones among all these thousands who knew the real story. David didn't really understand what had happened but he knew it was all part of the secret.

"I saw my anhel!" he crowed excitedly. They both gave him doubtful looks but he went on. "I did! He was on the end, way over there. When they went up in the air, I saw his jeans hanging off his foot!" David began laughing and Abby and Minella joined him. They laughed until they could barely stand up. There was no point in that anyway. Foot traffic out of the Bowl was at a crawl.

When they finally did get out into the courtyard, the lines at the MysticHA CD vendors (who were also selling tee shirts) were endless. As they walked down the hill, one minute David was between them, holding both their hands, swinging his feet off the ground and yelling "I'm flying too!" The next minute, Abby was holding Minella's hand and David was gone.

"Crap," Minella said, yanking his hand away. Abby's hand went shakily to her throat. "That was not an expletive," he said. "That's what almost happens to me every time they pull something like that."

Abby gulped and nodded. "Me, too. Crap. Holy crap."

She and Minella both tittered uneasily at her unintended pun but they stopped suddenly when a familiar voice giggled, "Language, you two." Looking up they saw the angel walking backwards in front of them in the long line of moving humanity heading down Highland Avenue. They quickly eased out of the stream of people, hearing bits of conversations as it passed. All of them were about the unbelievable event that had just transpired.

"It's a big success," the angel said happily. "Nobody wanted to leave but we had to. Some exit, huh?"

"Incredible!" Minella said. "How did they do that, anyway? Are they all angels?"

"Nah, just a couple of us. We did the heavy lifting and the other guys were just wing-wanging it." Minella laughed and the angel preened a moment. "We used some special stage wings they let us borrow from the Actors Level. That was easy. Getting the tee shirts printed was a lot tougher. The Front Office had never heard of that one. But man, they are selling!" (The shirts were black with white lettering on the front that read MysticHA Zombie Band at Hollywood Bowl, and on the back, I was there!)

They shared a few more moments with Gabriel before he had to leave. The band was throwing an after-show party and he didn't want to miss it. Maybe there was going to be wine and she started to tease him about it but Minella was saying how much it had meant to Abby and to him to see David as a healthy, happy boy. "Me too," Gabriel said. "Thanks to you." Then the angel stepped back into the flow of people and was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Minella and Abby walked through the fragrant night toward Hollywood Boulevard where they'd parked. Abby was still dazed by seeing the David of the future. She felt down about giving him, back, even for a minute much less a possible year. She felt up at having seen what could be, and would be, no matter what she had to do. She couldn't help but wonder if Minella felt the same. When they reached the parking structure, Minella hugged Abby to him and held her there for a long moment. "It'll all work out," he said into her hair. "You did good."

She nodded, trying to smile and snorfle all at once. "Everyone did good. But I hope it didn't bother you, the Dad thing. They assumed a lot."

Minella let go of her and stepped back. "Was it an incorrect assumption that I'll be around to hold up my end of the log?"

"I didn't say that," Abby said quietly. "I don't get to say that. You do."

"Well, consider it said." Then he took her hand again. "Baby, we need to relax before we go totally bat shit. We can't do any more right now. The wine just made me more nervous and it's long gone. Let's go somewhere and loosen up a little."

It sounded like a wonderful idea. "Dresden?" Abby wondered aloud.

He shook his head. "How about my turf this time. And get ready for ratty."

The cop bar wasn't really ratty, though like much of that area of L.A. it had seen better days. All that did was add to its mystique, which was considerable. It was said to be the bar that ex-cop author Joe Wambaugh wrote about in his novel, Delta Star – a special favorite of Abby's. It was even more legendary. Years ago, an unsuspecting criminal mind had toughed in and tried to rob the place. When he'd threatened the bartender with a gun, the room was suddenly alive with weaponry as every customer in the place took aim. Whatever, it was cozy and friendly and jammed with off-duty types. Minella, who apparently hadn't been around much lately, was welcomed noisily, not unlike Norm in Cheers. They made a place at the bar for him and the mysterious blonde who had been severely damaging his attendance record at the watering hole. Abby was viewed with suspicion at first, but they began to like her when she ordered a Jack on the rocks instead of the ubiquitous white wine, or even worse, a Pink Lady or some other girly concoction. When she laughed at their jokes, she was in.

There was a smattering of commentary about what had transpired at the Bowl that night (Abby and Minella didn't mention that they'd been present, not wanting to open that can). One grizzled sergeant was sure the entire audience had been on drugs and imagined the whole thing. Mostly, too many people bought them too many drinks and while Abby did a lot of sipping and ice-cube crunching, Minella got pretty loosened. His pals waited until then to demand that he play at least one game of pool since he'd missed several rounds of some never-ending tournament they had going.

"I'm not leaving my woman alone with you animals," he said, his arm circling Abby protectively.

My woman, Abby thought, flattered that he said it here on his stomping grounds.

"I'll watch over her," a young female said, appearing beside Minella's stool.

"Go," Abby encouraged him. His condition could do with a little exercise, and the pool tables were right there in the next room.

He went, looking back apologetically, but she shooed him onward. "He's kind of crocked," she said to her new companion. "Everybody bought us drinks."

"Tony hasn't been around lately, and that's unusual," the young woman said rather wistfully, tossing her dark hair away from her attractive face. "He's a very popular guy."

Great, Abby thought. This was one of those he hadn't kept. Should she respond like a jealous bitch or a decent human being? She settled on the latter. "He's pretty popular with me too," she said with a friendly smile. Hoping to get her companion's mind off Minella, she added, "Are you a detective too?"

"Not yet," her seat-mate said, "but I'm studying for the exam. Right now I'm over at Rampart, patrol. By the way, I'm Dee."

Abby introduced herself, adding, "I'm a nurse. I mostly take care of kids."

Returning to her preferred subject, Dee asked, "How'd you meet Tony?"

"He was working a case that involved one of my patients," Abby explained, thinking fast.

Dee offered Abby another drink, which was wisely declined and got one for herself. "Tony's a good cop," she mused, slurring just a tad. "Third generation, you know. The Mucks want him to do the Lieutenant thing but he likes to be in the field. Likes to work without a partner. A definite loner." With that she gave Abby a penetrating stare. It all but shouted its underlying message in capital letters: "DON'T MAKE ANY LONG RANGE PLANS, MISSY".

Desperately needing the change the subject, Abby said, "Do you suppose those are the same pool tables the police dog slept on, among other things, in Delta Star?"

"Huh?" Dee asked. The question didn't register with her, but the sergeant who suspected the whole Bowl had been toasted, looked up.

"Far as I know," he said. "I read all those books."

"Me too," Abby said. "I loved them. I wish he was still writing them. I'm not crazy about his latest Hollywood stories."

"Too cute," the sergeant agreed. "They're about tweakers. The early books were about us."

Abby dug talking about books and she was also determined to keep this conversation going. "Do you read Patterson?"

The Sarge thought a moment. "The Alex Cross books are okay but the guy can write some real crap too. That book Private, the one with all the cites in the title like Los Angeles, San Diego, yada yada? He really messed up on that one. Part of it took place in Silverlake but he had us located in East LA! Marshall High was in "a bad neighborhood" and he said the little reservoir on St. George was so desolate no one even noticed a murder was in progress. Hell, it's surrounded on three sides by yuppies and speeder's heaven on the other. What a mope."

Abby frowned. "That's really the height of cheap, using locations you haven't researched or know something about, especially when you have the money to do the right. And how dare he lie about my Marshall High!"

"Mine too," the sarge said, "only a few hundred years earlier. He's also been writing some girly junk mysteries, trying to cash in on the split-lit craze." The sarge stopped cold. "I sincerely beg your pardon, ma'am. I shouldn't have said that."

But Abby couldn't help but laugh at the very nasty un-PC term. After all, it was said within the context of a literary conversation. "Minella and I are both reading Harry Bosch now. He's great and the writer has L.A. down perfect." The sarge nodded and started to comment, but at that moment, a shout went up from the poolroom and Minella reappeared beside Abby. "Did you win?" she asked.

He shrugged, but Dee said, almost under her breath, "Sure he won. He always wins." Then she slid off the bar stool so Minella could have his seat back and disappeared into the next room.

Abby raised her eyebrows. Minella just shook his head and then put it on her shoulder. "Let's go out to the car and neck," he said into hers.

"I don't think we should go anywhere near that car in our condition," she said warily.

Minella pondered that, then nodded. "Let's walk home. It isn't that far and we could use the air."

That seemed like a good idea, but as they prepared to leave, the other patrons had other ideas. "You can't leave until he sings!" one of them called out and the rest noisily concurred.

Minella turned red, or was it blue. "Come on, guys. We gotta get going."

But Abby wasn't going anywhere. "You sing?" she asked, incredulous.

Minella shrugged. "No big, but they rag me all the time because I dig opera, like a typical Dago. But if I don't sing, then they give me even more crap. I think they secretly like it themselves."

"Then do it," Abby said encouragingly. "This I've got to hear!"

Without waiting for a yes from Minella, the young guy who seemed to be in charge of the impressive sound system stilled the heavy metal classic that was playing. The room quieted as the first orchestral notes wafted through it. And suddenly Minella was singing.

Abby's eyes popped. Not only did Minella have a beautiful voice, he was actually singing something she almost knew. It was from La Boheme, the only opera she'd ever been to. At first Minella seemed somewhat self-conscious, but when he switched from Italian to English and began singing to Abby, the hesitation was gone. He was The Man: Hers. The song was Don't You Know, a modern love song written to the Boheme melody. And when Minella brought it to a finish, Abby realized he wasn't finished at all. His eyes still on fire, he dropped to one knee.

The room froze. "Holy jumping shit," someone said. "He's gonna frickin' propose!" Complete silence ruled, no one wanting to miss a syllable.

Looking into Abby's eyes with that fiery gaze, Minella spoke. "Miss Ellison, would you consider putting up with my bullshit for the rest of our lives?"

It took an astonished Abby all of five seconds to think it over. She smiled at him from her toes on up. "Detective," she said, "bring it on."

The bar began to erupt, but Minella still wasn't quite through. Rising, a little unsteady, he moved possessively between Abby's knees and devoured her mouth. Then the place totally blew.

After too many cocktails had morphed into too much champagne and congratulating, it was nearly closing time when Abby and Minella poured themselves into a cab. Privacy at last brought on more laughing and crying, punctuated by soulful kisses. They couldn't wait to get home and get each other into bed. But when they did, they were both out cold from the moment they hit the mattress.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Abby came to for the first time at nine a.m. She was still wearing most of her outfit from last night and her head felt like it was going to implode. She noticed immediately that she was alone, and at first she was glad of it. She didn't want Minella to see her the way she must look – like a major bag of it. Staggering to the bathroom, she soon lurched back, dropping clothes all over the floor in her wake. Some angel or another had left aspirin and water on her bedside table. Downing three of the little lifesavers, she climbed back into bed, under the covers this time, and went back to sleep. Anyway, she intended to but her brain had suddenly awakened.

Where was Minella anyway? They had both taken the day off so they could deal with any concert aftershocks and spend time with David. Minella must feel as horrible as she did, probably worse, but he was gone. She knew he wasn't in the apartment because the cat was snoozing peacefully on Minella's pillow. Had the man been in residence, Al would have been doing kitchen duty (begging for more stinky cheese).

The question wasn't just where Minella was, but why? Had he sobered up and changed his mind about anything or maybe everything? Had the Dad thing gotten to him after all? Had he come to his senses after his wonderfully goofy proposal? Did he even remember it? Was he trying to forget it? After all, he was a "definite loner." He had a job he liked so much he was resistant to move up; he'd probably had a million girlfriends and could have a million more. He was good looking and funny and talented (a gourmet cook plus that voice!!) and he was hell in bed (okay, okay, Angel, heck). Why would he want to be tied down to her? To anyone? And how could she do without him? How could she and David do without him?

David. She flashed back on the sturdy, healthy version of the little boy, his happy face, and knew they were nothing but a mirage. There was so much left for him to go through, work through. On that positive note, Abby shut off her brain, turned on her side and began to sob. Anyway, she intended to, but she fell asleep instead.

When she woke again two hours later, she was greeted by the pleasant fog of a recent shower and a most unusual sight. Minella was sitting on the other side of the bed with his back to her, naked as the day he was born. His head was down, his shoulders slumped. Every inch of his body language broadcast dejection.

Not knowing what else to do, she swallowed hard and leapt in. "Good morning?" she said, and it was a question.

"Not very," he answered, not moving. "How about you?"

"I'm a mess," she said honestly, not adding in more ways than one.

"Me too," he said, "I owe you an apology, Abby. I made a real horse's ass of myself last night."

Abby was going to quip no more than usual but decided she didn't feel very amusing. "How so?" she asked, waiting for the axe.

"Oh, let me count the ways. I drank too much which I hardly ever do any more, then I start singing like an effing fool. Then I do the bended knee thing right in front of a roomful of cynical cops."

They hadn't seemed very cynical to her. In fact a few of them had almost cried. (Okay, so they were the ones who were over-loosened-up themselves, but so what?)"I think they enjoyed it," she said quietly. I know I did, she didn't say.

"I bet they really enjoyed it when I macho-manned right up in your crotch and tried to eat your face."

"I know I did," she did say but she muttered it.

He either didn't hear her or didn't comment. Instead, he said, "I'm so sorry, Abby."

Sorry about which, her grey matter shrieked. Sorry you asked? Sorry I accepted? Sorry you were a horse's ass, which you really weren't?

Then came a clue as he went on (and on). "I disrespected a classy lady, the woman I love," he said miserably. There was a beat during which Abby changed her plans about jumping minus the bungee cord. Then he added, "Do you hate my guts?"

Snaking her hand across the bed, Abby said, "I happen to be very fond of your guts and the package they come in." As she spoke, she gave him a good hard pinch on the bare butt.

Minella leapt into the air. Rushing around to her side of the bed, he made an even more interesting picture. Speaking of crotches, he was holding a handful of flowers in front of his. And staring at her in disbelief. "You're really not pissed at me?"

She held the covers open. "I will be if you don't shut up and get your sexy ass in here." With a whoop, Minella threw the flowers on the bed, then himself.

Later, much later actually, Abby asked where he'd gone off to. Nothing had gone wrong about last night, had it? Minella told her he'd gone to get his car, then to his place for a few minutes and that the concert news was all good. The story and the video of the incredible trompe l'oeil (French for "fool the eye" and pronounced tromp loy in case anyone gives a truffle) that had been pulled off at a Bowl fundraiser last evening by a great group of anonymous musicians was the hot story of the day, (The Mystic had been right; the Pitbull had all the plates in full spin.) And there were about ten messages from Kevin on her answering machine.

"And you thought to brought me flowers," she murmured.

"After I picked up the thing I went home to get – I'll show you that later - I swiped a peace offering from my neighbor's garden. I was going to drive the sharp ends through my heart if you hated me."

She took up one of the flattened posies. "You mean like this?" she asked, giving him a good poke with the stalk. A wrestling match ensued and it got even later.

While Minella was in the shower, again, Abby listened to Kevin's messages. It was all good. The CD had sold out at the Bowl and they were already manufacturing more copies. His Pitbull of choice was doing a great job building the MysticHA mystique and sales potential without granting any requests for interviews or stills or more info about the group. Most people seemed to think that it had been a fabulous trick, but of course, a few nuts were sure it had been for real and were talking end of the world. One bunch was actually starting a new church based on the experience. Whatever these reactions, they were moving more CDs – which were a bargain even without the now-famous finale. Kevin had set up retail outlets for the disc and it was already available online on his Web site and others. And it was selling like the proverbial hot cakes. (Another of those sayings that are best not examined too closely.) So were the tee shirts. Those sold at the Bowl last night had already become a major collector's item.

The only message that worried her just a little was Kevin's personal plea for more information. Not for public consumption, he promised, but his music-minded, naturally curious self hoped for an answer to that ever - popular question: Who are those guys?

Abby would have to reassure him that she didn't know either and that their anonymity had been part of the deal, all true (mostly). Kevin was going to have to wait a lifetime to uncover the facts, but then, surprise, surprise! With his talents, he was sure to find himself a member of the MysticHA! When she called him to say a few million thank-yous, she got the assistant again. She was much nicer to Abby this time and promised that Kevin would call her back when he could. Between the massive interest in the Mystic CD and his own hit record, Kevin was on the moon.

When it was nearly time to go see David, who would soon be waking from his after-lunch nap, they knew they had to eat something or faint. Minella wasn't in cooking mode so he started calling out possible breakfast destinations. Abby was so hungry, when he asked if she'd like to go to Langer's deli down in the pudding on Alvarado, or to Tommy's for hangover-healing burgers, Abby said "Both."

They decided on Langer's where they had chicken liver omelettes plus one of the deli's famous pastrami sandwiches (praised even by the mighty New Yorker magazine!) on the side to split if they still had room. (They managed to.) When they left for the hospital, Minella put the top down and fired up the MG. Music filled the car and the sunny California air around them. It was operatic and beautiful. "I'll turn it off," he said quickly.

"Don't," Abby said and listened to the soaring voices. She wondered where it was coming from since the radio wasn't on and classic cars had preceded tapes and discs. Then she asked what opera this music was from.

"It's Turandot. I wired a CD player under the seat," he explained, reaching to turn the music down.

Abby thought of last night and his astonishing vocalizing. "You have such a great voice," she said. "And I sort of knew that aria. I got to see La Boheme at the Music Center, the Baz Luhrmann production. It was the only opera I've ever been to. It was incredible."

"That aria's really written for a soprano," Minella said. "Fortunately the guys at the bar don't know that. And that was a fabulous production. First time I'd ever seen an audience applaud the sets!"

"Why aren't you singing professionally?" Abby asked.

Minella gave her a look. "Because I'd likely spend my life as a supernumerary at the Met."

"That sounds pretty good to me."

Minnelli laughed this time. "That's a fancy name for the guys who carry spears in the background chorus. There's a shitload of great voices in opera and mine wasn't one of them. Good but not good enough. So, of my three possible career choices–spear carrier, mob guy or the family business - I chose the least dangerous one."

"Least dangerous?" she echoed.

"Sure. If I'd mobbed up like some of my friends, I'd probably be as dead as they are, or out in Attica. Getting close to the big time and not getting to really sing would have wrecked me. So I chose running through the streets chasing crooks. Far safer, believe me."

While they waited for a red light, he passed her a lace handkerchief with something tied in the corner. She untied it to find a beautiful antique ring. She looked at Minella.

"My Grandmother's," he said, "My mother gave it to me when I graduated from high school. My friends all got socks and underwear. But Ma had been trying to get me married since I was nine." He paused. "You like?"

"I love," she replied.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was Abby's day for strange sights. She had almost dreaded seeing David in his bed after watching him cavort the night before. But when they arrived at the boy's room, the view was far from depressing. It was more like walking into an electronics store. David was sitting up in bed, or as close to it as he could manage with the cast still reaching to his ribs. But his upper body was free now, clad in his frog pajama top (he liked frogs). His hands were busy on the keyboard of the laptop open on the tray table in front of him. And iPod buds were stuffed into his ears. The little multi-tasker was also watching the huge new Plasma television screen across the room.

Abby stared. She'd bought most of this equipment yesterday, intending to bring it to him when she came back to work and could help him get things up and running (or try to and then beg someone for help). But the Plasma hadn't been among her purchases and how had any of these things gotten here anyway?

When David saw them he yelped with pleasure. "Abba!" he called out happily. "Antonio! Mira, mira!!" He gestured to all the equipment, his smile so wide it threatened to crack his sweet little face.

Abby knew that meant Look! and she certainly was. Gaping might have been a better description. But she rushed to kiss him. "How did all this get here?" she asked, but David just looked back at her, uncomprehending. Minella, who was at the other side of the bed, spoke to him in Spanish.

The first words out of David's mouth were, "Mi anhel." Then he clapped his hand over that mouth, giggling. Minella spoke to him again and the boy began to rattle a stream of Spanish at his famous detective. When he finally slowed down, Minella translated for Abby. "He saw the Bowl finale on the late news last night and recognized his angel from the pants thing. He was about to blow a gasket wanting to tell someone so Gabriel picked up the goodies at your place and hurried them over here. I guess he stopped and picked up the Plasma on the way. Or, for all I know, he pulled it out of his coulo."

David dissolved in laughter. Coulo was Spanish for one's behind.

"What was he doing up watching the late news?" Abby asked sternly.

Minella rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Mommy, and I'm not going to ruin this moment and bust him for it."

David had the floor again and was spouting information, some of which Abby understood. He was not allowed to talk about his anhel, or where the presents came from, to anyone except the two of them. If he did, his anhel would get in trouble and never be able to come back to see him. And, while his anhel was here, he'd told David a wonderful secret: Abba and Antonio were going to get married! That had him giggling again.

Abby sat down before she fell down. Just how did Senor Anhel happen to know that unless he really could see everything (yikes).

"That angel of yours is a bigger blabbermouth than you are," she said. David seemed to understand enough of that comment to break into more giggles.

Suddenly David spoke to her in English, his version anyway. "Will Antonio live with me and you?" Abby nodded, lightening way up at the thought.

"Will the gun live there too?" the boy asked hopefully, shooting a hole in Abby's mental hot air balloon. Abby sent Minella a look that said we are going to have to do something about this. But she just smiled at David and shrugged noncommittally.

That probably didn't satisfy the boy's dreams of residing in an arsenal, but he had other things on his mind. Back to Spanish, David spoke a mile a minute as he scrolled to a video on YouTube. The Mystic's flight was right up front with the featured offerings and they watched as David uploaded, or downloaded or whatever the hell he did to get his own copy of the video. He stopped the action with the group caught on the wing (wang), rising out of the Bowl. Then the boy clicked a few keys and a box appeared around the far end of the group. More clicking and it enlarged until one could clearly see something hanging off one leg of the littlest angel.

Pointing to the picture on his screen, David re-dissolved in laughter. "Mi anhel," he cried nosily. Then, re-clamping his hand over his mouth, he added, "Shhhhh."

Abby and Minella watched in amazement at the boy's dexterity. "Where did you learn to do all that?" Abby asked him and Minella translated.

"At school," David answered in Spanglish. "And mi anhel brought Photoshop."

Another extraction from his coulo, no doubt, Abby thought, but she had to smile. Then she smiled a lot more. David's next flood of conversation involved the date of their wedding and whether he would get to be there.

Via Minella's translations, it was promised that they would wait until he could attend. After all, this was all his fault. That made him giggle again, but the best was yet to come. David then informed them that he had found the perfect song for their wedding. There was more clicking and pointing and suddenly his laptop began singing an appropriate yet incredibly inappropriate ditty titled Abba Dabba Honeymoon. It was the huge hit song from the year 1950 and the movie Two Weeks With Love. It was also Debbie Reynolds' (then a teenager) first hit record. A duet, it was shared by Carlton Carpenter, a young staple of that decade's famed musicals.

Whey they left the hospital, Minella was still grinning.

"I assume that since you're Abba, I must be Dabba."

"No doubt, but which is the Chimpy and which is the Monk?" Abby laughed. "Whatever, it's got to be our song."

"Absolutely," Minella agreed. "I don't care if he came up with Gimme An F by Country Joe and the Fish. It's the kid's call. And he's some kid. Who knew that quiet sleeping little boy was going to be such a character."

Abby laughed some more, then stopped short. "And what are we going to do about that character's gun lust?" she mommied.

Minella didn't look worried. "He'll get over it. He lives around a cop very long and he'll know it's not glamorous. I was the same way, totally in love with Dad and Granddad's jobs and weapons of mass destruction. Then they took me to the target range when I was about ten and let me shoot a gun. It was heavy and hard to handle and I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. And I hated the smell of gunpowder. So I got over it. I use a gun in my work if I absolutely have to, but that's it."

"Did you ever shoot anyone?" she asked, not certain she wanted to know.

"Yeah, but I haven't hit anyone yet," he joked, very certain he didn't want her to know.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The cast was off at last, thus the die was cast. It was time for Abby and Minella to stop diddling (as in Cheese) around about their wedding plans and make some decisions. David would only have a week or so before the surgery that might allow him to walk, or might be the first of several. But his dreams of running, jumping and skateboarding (the orthodontist's best friend) were going to come true later if not sooner. For the time being, he was crazyhappy to be free of the cast that had held him together for months, and busy with his electronic wizardry. And with pestering Abby about the wedding, of course. Where, how soon, etc.

She also pestered herself about it, and her intended, who pestered back. They'd already solved the Big Wedding dilemma. All of Abby's friends wanted this to happen, and Minella was prepared to suffer in silence through all the hoo-ha if that was what Abby wanted.

It wasn't. To her, big weddings were all starting to look alike: Bride in a strapless gown, groom in his tux, too many attendants, big over-decorated reception afterwards with too much food and too-loud music courtesy of a DJ who also emceed embarrassing party rituals (now just the bride and groom do the Hokey Pokey). That and overly-romantic wedding photos that too often made the participants look slightly demented.

"Argh," she said after they'd re-hashed the possibility one last time.

"Argh," Minella agreed with an inner wing-wang of relief. "We could just slide down to the court house and then have a big party, the fun kind."

"Can't do that to David," she said. "He's expecting a wedding."

Then Abby had a thought. David's concept of a wedding might not be the one they had just arghed about. It was unlikely that he would be disappointed if the big day didn't include all of current trappings. They probably weren't even familiar to an eight year old. He might never have been to a wedding; maybe he was envisioning more of a fiesta. After all, he was from rural Mexico and had only been in the States for a year before the accident.

"Fiesta." Abby yelped so loud, Al the cat leaped off Minella who was lying on the couch, half watching a Dodger game. Minella almost leapt with him.

"Fiesta?" he repeated warily.

"Fiesta!" she re-yelped. "We'll have a wedding fiesta! It'll be easy and fun and David will flip. Gabriel too."

Minella sat up. "Hey, that's good. There's this big old Mexican restaurant that does receptions and stuff. It's a cool place and the food is good too. And," he said, pausing for effect. "It's on the correct side of Silverlake Boulevard!"

Abby danced in place. They had already cussed and discussed the possibilities of a reception at one of their hangouts, but Minella's no-frills cop bar might turn some guests off and the semi-swank Dresden might intimidate others. But everyone loved Mexican restaurants, everyone in L.A. anyway.

"Only two more problems," Abby said after she'd located the cat and put him on her lap to soothe. "Where can we do the deed that would have some kind of meaning, and do we have to do it in front of the entire world??" She halted. "I mean, would you like to get married in front of all our family and friends?" (Although it would be more a family of friends, with their parents gone now and Minella absolutely refusing to contact his four sisters. He was the youngest and his older sibs did not get along. Rather than endure what could easily turn into an episode of the Jerry Springer Show, he promised they would go visit the sisters soon. Separately.) Minella sat up. He gazed at her lovingly.

"What?" she asked.

"You really are my soul mate," he said as she smiled and wondered what she'd done to deserve this outburst of emotion. And how she could do it again. "You really don't want to do the deed in front of a crowd."

"I really don't," she agreed. "It very personal." She thought a moment. "Since we had such a public proposal, we have the right to a private wedding."

If Minella could blush, he would have. He was still hearing about that night, but at least the answer had been yes! He settled for grinning at Abby like the fool in love he felt like. And so it was that a plan began to emerge. They would have the wedding somewhere special, with only David and his anhel in attendance. Then they would celebrate with a real blowout, fiesta style. They were getting somewhere at last. They had the who, the when and the why. All they needed was the where.

Suggestions abounded, some ridiculous, some sublime: The beach at sunset or maybe sunrise; the famous fountain at Los Feliz and Riverside, home of a million wedding photos; under one of the beautiful trees in Griffith Park; at the Hollywood sign; the Planetarium; at the Hollywood Bowl on a no-show day; first base at Dodger Stadium on a no-game day. That last one tickled them both until the realization struck: Way on the wrong side of a certain boulevard. And they needed to remember they would be dealing with a little boy in a delicate condition, and a wheelchair, so it wouldn't be smart to be chasing all over the city.

Finally, Abby remembered the chapel at the hospital. It was small, private and had the serene cachet one finds in some places of worship. She had gone there so many times this past year to pray for David. It was the perfect place to marry the man who was going to be his father. Minella agreed wholeheartedly and even knew a minister friend from a barrio church who could administer the vows. When they told David, he was happy with the location and even happier about the fiesta and the chance to be out of the hospital even for a few hours. No lightning bolts or crabby emails were issued from on high so his beloved anhel must approve as well.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

When the big day arrived, Abby was sitting at her dressing table trying to navigate a new mascara wand when Minella strolled in. He looked like a million dineros in sharp slacks, polished shoes and an authentic Mexican wedding shirt. It was an overshirt, a bit on the lacy side, but the stark white against his olive skin made him even more handsome. Abby thought he looked more like a sexy gypsy then a Hollywood detective. Even his curls were tamed but they were trying valiantly to escape.

"Hey, get out of here," Abby cried. "You're not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony!"

Minella shrugged. ."I think you're not supposed to see her in her wedding dress. The rules say nothing about her birthday suit."

Abby looked down at herself and modestly reached for her robe.

"Don't ruin a perfect view." Minella said. He looked at his watch. "We have time for some happy birthday suit if you're interested."

"Get serious," she laughed. "And get out of here. You look quite gorgeous by the way."

Minella checked himself out in the mirror and cringed. "I look like a putz. I'm gonna hear about this shirt, but you say it's part of the theme. I just need to find the right tie to go with it."

"You wouldn't!" she screeched, but it was mostly for effect since the wedding shirt was worn tieless. But she was serious when she added, "Why don't you stop wearing those monstrosities now? Surely you've made your point."

"No way," Minella replied. "The Mucks must continue to be punished for their stupid rules. I never forget or forgive."

"Now you tell me," she said, waving him out the door.

Abby was to meet David and Gabriel at the hospital room and had been informed (or warned) that they were going to "dress up." They had nothing on Abby, who arrived early, resplendent in her "find." Long on miracles of late, she had scored another and found a blue dress with an off-the-shoulder ruffled neckline – very fiesta friendly – at the hospital thrift shop. It had evidently never been worn since the price tag was still dangling from it. Floor length, it had long sleeves with ruffles at the wrists, a full skirt, and a sash at the waist (hers was rather small, one of the few things she had been able to stand about her curvy body before she started liking all of it).

And as much as she hated shopping, she had slogged through the Mall until she found a lacy blue scarf in the same shade that would serve as sort of a veil/mantilla. While she was there she bought Minella's ring, the kind he'd asked for: a plain gold band. She had opted for the beautiful antique ring that had belonged to his grandmother, and she picked that up at the same jewelry store. They'd needed to have it sized since Madame Minella had been a force to reckon with, but also five feet tall. .

Skulking down the hospital corridor, hoping to avoid Minella and everyone else, Abby entered David's room. It was all she could do not to hoot with laughter when she saw the pair awaiting her. David looked adorable in his little suit, white shirt and a nice tie that she hoped would set a good example for other family members.

But the angel! Gabriel's hair was carefully slicked back. He was decked out in a black silk shirt with the collar open, first three buttons undone, and a gold chain at his neck. His suit was black with a white pinstripe. His shoes had stacked soles and there was a sizeable sparkler in one ear lobe. All he needed was a pair of RayBans and he would have looked like a successful young pimp!

At least if anyone from the precinct remembered Gabriel from the Gold Cross episode, now far under the rug, they would never recognize him in this get-up. If any of the wedding partygoers asked, and they would, they would, the official line was that he was a friend of David's late family and like a big brother to the boy. Sitting in a wheelchair, the angel was holding David on his lap ("It's the only way I can keep him still!") and the boy was clutching his laptop.

"Abba!" David cried happily. "Muy beautiful."

"Awesome," Gabriel agreed with a wide grin as she bent to kiss them both. "How do I look?"

Fortunately for them all, words failed her. Abby just echoed his compliment: "Awesome!"

Gabriel nodded, still grinning. "I borrowed the whole outfit from one of the Mystics," he said proudly.

"Muy caliente," David said, looking back adoringly at his anhel.

"Sizzling, mijo, sizzling." The angel said, patting the top of David's head.

Abby's friends at the hospital had insisted on taking care of the flowers and decorating the chapel, promising not to go nuts.

She'd remembered the pretty paper plates from the Bowl and gone with white roses. They had done a lovely job with her bouquet. It was small and lacy, just what she'd wanted, and there was a white rosebud for each of her men. The twosome was wearing theirs and David advised her that Antonio already had his too. "I pin," he Spanglished."I only stick once."

Gabriel held up three fingers and they all laughed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The chapel was not far away and there was a mid-afternoon lull in the air with patients napping and staff wishing they could join them. Abby hoped they could make it to the church without running into any well-wishers. She was nervous enough and there would be plenty of time for revelry later. The trio managed to make the trip unnoticed – or so they thought. Actually, hospital personnel were sneaking peeks from behind every door all the way down the hall.

As they approached the chapel, they saw Minella waiting by the door, watching them intently. It was like seeing Abby come down the aisle toward him as she neared. She was walking beside David's wheelchair, which seemed to be propelling itself. It wasn't motorized and no one was pushing it, but it moved smoothly, keeping pace with Abby,

In her blue dress, set off by her mother's simple pearl necklace and earrings and the scarf draped over her waving blonde hair, Abby was the most beautiful sight Minella had ever witnessed. She held her bouquet in one hand and David's hand in the other. Surprising but pleasing him, tears suddenly stung at the back of Minella's eyes.

When they reached him, Minella caressed Abby's face. "Wing-wang alert," he whispered in her ear. She knew what he meant. The dress was the same color as her eyes, just like the night they'd met. Smiling, she took his hand and they moved together into the chapel, followed by the wheelchair.

Her friends had done another lovely job with the chapel. There was a garland of white roses and blue ribbons at the altar and a few mini-bouquets scattered about. That was it – no distracting overkill, just simple, elegant, and fragrant too. These were real roses, wafting their perfume, not the hot-house scentless variety. The minister was waiting for them, somberly dressed in a dark suit and white collar, but looking more like a boxer than a preacher. She liked him immediately,

They went to stand at the small altar, the wheelchair in the middle, with Abby and Minella each holding one of David's hands. The angel had risen, depositing the boy carefully, to stand beside Minella as best man. Mrs., Casey appeared from nowhere, attractive even in her white uniform (she was on duty), and took her place beside Abby. Realizing that a considerable though silent throng had gathered outside the chapel door, the minister moved to close it but Abby shook her head.

The wedding ceremony was brief, following tradition lines rather than the current trend toward endless personal vows. They knew they loved each other. They knew this was the real deal with a lifetime guarantee. And they would share the double-barreled yins and yangs of being newlyweds and new parents. If they'd tried to put this into words, Abby was afraid she'd start blithering and Minella was sure he would have. (Just another little something to never hear the end of at work.)

After they were pronounced man and wife, first in English, then in Spanish, and dissolved together into a kiss, there was a burst of applause from outside the door. A moment later, the strains (aptly put) of Abba Dabba Honeymoon filled the room. David glowed as the song brought waves of laughter.

"Let's party!" the little boy called out over the music and a cheer rose above the gaiety.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

And party they did, heartily. They may not have married in front of the entire world, but the restaurant looked like they had invited the planet's population to the reception. They pretty much had. There were Abby's friends from the hospital, from high school and college, from her hood, from the Dresden. And Jean-Louise, her BFF still in shock at the sudden changes in her friend's life.

Minella'spals showed up in droves, many of them from his job and others from his life. Cops and robbers, he said to Abby. Some had brought wives and/or girlfriends, but many came stag, possibly hoping the wedding syndrome would work in their favor. (Wedding receptions are a notorious hot spot for scoring some action, with everyone already in a romantic mood.)

Abby had issued a blanket invite to her floor at the hospital, but she was still surprised to see Philips and Jody (who was beginning to show a bump and was wearing a diamond that could easily be seen with a magnifying glass). Seemingly a changed man, Dr. Pill congratulated Abby, shook Minella's hand and actually kissed David. Then he treated Abby to an encore of his S.E. grin. She truly did hope he would be happy with a new family on the way and a gorgeous young nitwit to adore him.

Another surprise: Kevin! Abby had invited him, of course, but never expected him to show up, But there he was, looking hip and cool but being warm and friendly. He reported that the CD was still selling like crazy and as its rep he was deluged by offers from music moguls waving contracts, hoping to sign the group. The Pitbull was handling all that without breaking a sweat. She had accompanied Kevin to the party and was actually quite normal looking –short, a little chunky, blond and in her fifties. But she had a do not screw with me air and her non-existent smile probably hid sharp little teeth. Abby was immediately terrified of her.

Another surprise: Frank Solomon. Abby and Minella hadn't done the boring reception line thing, but instead sat in one place for a good while so people could drop by. When Solomon ambled up, he looked at Abby, then Minella. "I see you wisely took my advice and kept this one. After that debacle at the Bowl she can afford to keep you."

Minella grinned. "Good, she may have to."

Solomon almost grinned back. "We have more business. Those guys again."

"We do?" Abby asked. But she said it to the air as Solomon had moved on. In his wake, a man in a white uniform stepped up to the couple. He looked oddly familiar as he extended an envelope.

Abby reached out and took it gingerly. Minella looked in his pockets for a tip, but the man just shook his head politely and wafted away.

"Who the hell was that?" Minella wondered aloud.

"I think you have the wrong location," Abby gulped. "That was the guy who delivered the...er...Air Mail package."

"Oh, man," Minella said. "Better open it before it goes up in smoke. Or goes off."

The envelope was the shape and color of any Western Union telegram, but on the blank front was printed, in another burst of understatement, AirGram. It was addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Anthony Minella.

Abby opened it with shaky fingers. It read:

Congrats to the bride and groom! Long may you run! The Mystic had such a cool time at the Bowl. (We used to call it the Hollywood Bowel, ha.)Now they're furious with me because I nixed their idea of coming down to play at your reception. They'd be too hard to disguise at a party and there's way too much interest in who they are after the stunt they pulled. They're still raving about that night and how it felt to get back on terra firma again.

Whatever, I understand you have been looking for a house or a larger apartment for when David comes home. That will be sooner than expected, so we have decided to interfere. We suggest you buy the four-plex where Abby lives and make one large flat out of the ground floor. It's perfect for David. There is plenty of money available for a down payment – you are Bucks Up! Plus you can continue to rent the upper flats to help with the mortgage. There are also plenty of funds for hiring help to care for David while you work and to home-school him until he is able to go back to Ivanhoe. Gabriel will share some thoughts on that subject. Please don't let false pride or anything else prevent you from using part of the money to make a home for David. That's what the money is for. A home is one of his major needs, and you two are the other. He has suffered a terrible loss and a painful recovery. You have seen who and what he can be with your love and care. I know you will let nothing stand in the way of providing it. He deserves the best, and so do you. Please think of David first and call Frank Solomon for more details.

Again, congratulations from all of us zombies.

Love from above,

Derek & The Deadbeats (get it?).

PS When you get the remodel up and running, which needs to be soon, we'll send down some bored construction workers and carpenters to help speed things along. Karen says she wants to come too (one last ha).

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Minella, who had been reading over Abby's shoulder, stared at her. She stared back. "Well," she said, "should we get all pissy and say we can do it on our own, or think of David?"

"Hard question to answer," Minella said finally after a long silence. "We can do it on our own, but it'll take way longer."

Looking across the room, she saw Frank Solomon working on a loaded plate from the buffet. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Taking Minella's hand, Abby rose. "Come with me."–

Wondering if anyone was noticing their departure from the festivities, but not much caring, Abby led Minella into the nearest restroom and locked the door. "They'll think we came in here to tear off a piece," Minella warned.

"Let them. I can't hear myself think out there and we both need to. Have a seat."

And so, in neighboring stalls, they worked it out. It was soon decided that they would accept the down-payment but return it to David's fund at a later date. Minella would camp at Abby's but keep his own place until they could move into the larger quarters. They could both stay at Minella's if things got too impossible during renovation. They'd inform Solomon that they would be in his office in three days time. Until they were going to the beach like they'd planned and tear off lots of pieces.

After all these decisions had been made, they needed to get back before even more guests thought the worst. Then this from Minella's stall: "Stop by my office on your way out."

Abby peered in. He was still sitting there. "What?"

"Come right in," he said, and rolling her eyes, she did.

He reached for her and ran his hands up her legs. "Please tell me you're not wearing pantyhose," he breathed. Then he gasped when his hands hit the tops of her lacy thigh-highs. He pulled her to him.

"We can't," she gasped back.

"Sure we can," he urged. "Pretend we're in the Mile High Club. Just sit on my lap facing me."

The Bathroom Bangers Club was more like it, and how come he knew so much about it? But Minella had that look on his face. The one she had titled his Italian Mount Etna Pre-Eruption Smolder. There was no point in arguing which she didn't feel like doing anyway. So, hoisting her long skirt and petticoat, she climbed on board. This event proved to be quite athletic but extremely enjoyable. (It's easier on a plane where you have someplace to put your knees, and never mind how a person came by that information.)

They were eyed suspiciously when they returned, refreshed and glowing, but the fiesta was in full swing without them. The Tex-Mex buffet was under siege and it was massive. It included everything: posole and albondigas soups (pork and hominy in the first, meatballs and vegs in the second); enchiladas, chiles relleno, tamales, plus build-your-own taco, burrito and nacho bars and a table of salsas, guacamole, pickled vegetables and other fixin's.

For whistle-wetting there were Mexican jugos (wonderful fruit juices), Horchata (a rice drink) and vats of coffee. More attention was being paid to the open bar where rivers of champagne, beer and drinks of choice were flowing as the Mariachi rhythms provided the score. Abby had insisted that the buffet also include the delicious Honduran version of the tamale and Gabriel was hunched over a plate of same.

David was in his wheelchair, and his glory, totally surrounded by bilingual LA cops. He had begged to meet more famous Hollywood detectives so Minella had called over a couple of close friends. That number seemed to have multiplied into a crowd to which David was talking animatedly, his eyes shining.

"What do you suppose he's on about?" Minella asked Abby as they poured more champagne.

"Guns," Abby said in her most disapproving mommy tone. "Go over there and cool him off."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

As Minella headed for the collection of cops gathered around David, Gabriel wandered over with another loaded plate. "These are almost as good as my mama's," he announced, his mouth full. "I can have some of hers pretty soon."

Abby frowned. "Why? Is she, um, joining you?"

"No, thanks God, but I got a promotion! Now I can go on the other side of Silverlake. I gotta make her stop grieving so hard for me. I'll let her think she's dreaming. If she really saw me she'd have six heart attacks."

Abby looked at him tenderly. She had never asked him this question but she wanted to know. "Do you grieve for you? For the life you had?"

Gabriel set the rest of his food aside. "Not no more. I still miss my mama and my family, but I have a better life now. I have a good job. I can help people. My best friend is with me – Chuey's applying for Angel School! If I didn't get dead, I'd probably be just another vato."

Abby resisted the urge to cry. "That's comforting to hear, Gaby. So tell me about the promotion."

The angel shrugged. "I guess they like what I did here, except for the pants thing, They said I gotta learn to do that properly, or else."

"We all like what you did here. We're very thankful, and very proud of you. We love you, my darling boy." Abby said all of that aloud except the last six words. She didn't want to embarrass him – after all, he was a teenager - so she said those words in her heart.

The angel started stuffing himself again and then paused. "This MysticHA thing is a BFD. You're gonna have a whole lot of money."

"It's David's money."

"It's not just for David," the angel said firmly. "Your life can't all be about David or you'll be hurting all three of you. You guys need to take time for each other and your jobs- they're important to you and to other people. If you aren't happy and living a good life, then David won't be happy either You'll need to get help to do all this, someone to be with David and help him. I got this cousin, Consuela – Connie ¬–she's nothin' like the rest of us homies. She wants to go to medical school and she's started over at City College, close to your place. But she has to work. She's so smart she'll get scholarships, but she needs a job too. You would do my family a big favor, and a big honor if you'd give her a chance to be a helper for David. She's a sweet, smart kid. I know you'll like her and learn to depend on her so you and your cop can have some life of your own besides David. Everyone's future in this deal is being built on that foundation of you and Antonio."

Abby looked at him in wonder. When, in the past few months, had he gone from being a wise-ass to just the first half of that term?

"I hear you Gaby and I agree. Ask Connie to call me next week and we'll start working something out right away."

"Okay, now can I have some champagne?"

Caving, Abby went to the buffet and snagged an orange juice. She filled a champagne flute half full, added the bubbly and handed it to the angel.

He sniffed. "What's with the OJ?"

"It's a drink called a Mimosa. Try it."

He did and grinned.

Watching him as he went back to devouring tamales, Abby flashed on a fragment of conversation she'd heard when they first arrived. One of Minella's pals had quipped, "That your pimp?"

"Nope," Minella had replied, "My dealer." They'd all laughed, but it was true. Gabriel had put this whole deal together from the jump, moving in with her, waiting until he thought she wouldn't freak, making sure Minella caught the case when the police got involved. He somehow knew that when Minella came to question Abby, both of them would begin to realize they'd been waiting for each other all their lives.

And what the angel had done for David! There were really no words to explain the depth of his involvement in their lives. All she could think of was a paraphrase of an old rock song title. Her version was God Bless The Dealer.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

When Minella reappeared at the table, his eyes snapping. "Those SOBs have been telling David what a great singer I am and how I'm going to sing a song just for him. I will be kicking some cop ass when we get back."

"If you have any strength left," Abby said demurely. (Fake demurely.) "How come they do this stuff to you all the time anyway?"

"Because I do it to them too," he laughed. "We all mess with each other. It's how we stay moderately sane. And I'm ready for them this time."

The Mariachis had just wound down after another rousing number and Minella walked over and spoke to the leader. Putting their instruments aside, they filed happily off the small stage, headed for the bar and the buffet, in that order. Hopping onto the stage, Minella went to the piano, sat down and turned on the mike.

As the crowd moved around him, David at the forefront, propelled by his anhel, Minella proceeded to play and sing the beautiful song that was already the first hit single off the Mystic CD, Band of Angels. Abby made her way to the stage as if she were in a dream. Minella's glorious (in her opinion, anyway) voice was perfect for the melody and the lyrics. This became even more so when he reached the last verse of the song.

The words were now in Spanish, so Abby didn't know what he was saying but she could tell from the look on David's face that it was awesome. Then Minella sang them in English. The new lyrics told of three special angels – the angel he had just married, the angel who brought them together and the little angel who would soon be able to walk again.

The entire room burst into applause when the song was over, but Minella didn't seem to notice. He jumped down off the stage and took Abby into his arms, burying his face in her hair. Then still holding her, he stooped to gently enfold an entranced David. Standing, he eyed Gabriel, who eyed him back, but just when it looked like they were going to shake hands, Minella enveloped the boy in what became a group hug.

But it wasn't the corny kind. In fact it was so heartfelt, every sound faded from the room except for a few sniffles and some nose blowing. The next thing they heard was the voice of Kevin Sharp, warbling the opening notes of his hit song, Spondulix.

In retrospect, there were probably some guests who knew the backstory and would figure that Kevin just didn't want to be outdone. That it was a rooster move. But those who mattered knew better. Kevin had grabbed a guitar and hit the mike just in time to keep the fiesta from turning into a fiasco. His catchy rocking hit changed the group mood from moved to let's get moving! Especially when the news flashed around the room that he was the one who'd recorded the song. That this was the real guy, actually him, right here, in the flesh! The celebrity-sighting wing-wangs reverberated through the party and no one was more thrilled than David, who now knew a famous Hollywood recording star!

As grateful as she was for the upswing in the mood, Abby was still back at Minella's incredible performance. "I didn't know you could play the piano," she said excitedly. "And you wrote new words for that beautiful song!"

Minella patted her. "I can barely play the piano and I hope the Mystics won't mind my changing some of the lyrics."

"Well, you certainly impressed everybody."

"I think I depressed the crap out of them."

"Weddings are supposed to be sentimental and emotional," Abby told him. "People are supposed to cry. And Kevin broke in at just the right moment to keep things from getting maudlin."

Minella nodded. "I may have misjudged old Kev. That was a generous thing for him to do. He's some kind of rockstar, isn't he?"

"Yes, and he's right here, in the flesh, gasp, blither!" Abby laughed.

"Yeah, I caught the buzz. An actual celebrity performing at this ordinary little wedding! Wowsers! And look at the bunch around him. I hope they aren't asking for his autograph."

Suspecting that Kevin hoped they were asking, Abby smiled to herself. If the crowd only knew how ordinary-NOT! this wedding was, they'd all wet themselves.

By then, the cop rock contingent had taken over the stage. Six of Minella's pals from the precinct had formed a group called The Watch Band (get it?). They played covers of anything and everything and did it very well at the bar when they were in the mood and at select private gathering. Right now they had launched into a less frenetic version of Abba Dabba Honeymoon.

As Minella swung Abby onto the dance floor, she thought, geez, this man can dance too? And with everybody watching! But they were alone only until they gestured for everyone to join them. David looked proudly on and told everyone without earshot that he'd picked out this song for Abba and Antonio.

Abby watched as various couples (and singles) danced around them, glad to see the crowd on its feet. But when the minister with the boxer's build (and nose) moved past, Abby goggled. He was dancing with the Pitbull! The frightening expression on her face was possibly her version of a smile.

As they danced past, the minister called, "Interesting song, but I'm not too happy about being the big baboon who married them." They all laughed, including the Pitbull, hers sounding like something out of an apparition on the Files. Oh well, that was one preacher who could take care of himself.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

When the family finally had a chance to sit down together and actually eat something, they scooped up the last of the Honduran tamales the angel had been gorging himself on. He was now having a last one for dessert.

"You're gonna blow up, like that Monty Python guy," Minella warned, followed by a sudden burst of laughter between David and his anhel.

Abby put down her fork and eyed the twosome suspiciously. "Did you show him that movie?"

Gabriel tried to look innocent. "Just a little of the video. You know, the explosion." More laughter ensued.

Abby was about to enter outraged mommy mode and hoping to circumvent it, Minella said, "Here, sweetie, try the enchiladas, the sauce is incredible."

He put one on her plate. "Thank you," she said icily.

"Di nalga," he answered, and the table erupted again. This time Abby gave up and joined them. You're welcome in Spanish was di nada not nalga. Nalga was the Spanish word for cheek, the kind you sit on.

Despite all the merriment, David was starting to flag. "We need to get you into bed pretty soon," Abby said, concerned. "You've had a muy big day."

But tired as he was beginning to look. David took a stubborn stand. "Cake!" he insisted, pointing at the large be-ribboned wonder still untouched on its table of honor

Wheeled over to where it stood, David looked excitedly at the creation, then looked closer. "Not cake!"

"Hang on," Minella said, perusing the strange object that looked more like a beautiful package than it did baked goods.

Reaching over, Abby untied the blue ribbon that seemed to hold the "cake" together. Then she took one end of the ribbon, Minella the other, and they pulled. The two sides swung open to reveal tier after tier after tier of wedding cupcakes. Two kinds: chocolate with caramel frosting for Minella and Red Velvets with cream cheese topping (a Silverlake invention) for Abby.

Wide awake again, a giggling David wanted both kinds. Abby complied but put one into the cache of food they were taking back to the hospital staffers who were missing the party. Then she grabbed three more for the rest of them before they were swallowed up by the guests, literally.

"I'll call Benny," Minella said through a mouthful of chocolate, digging for his cell phone. They'd arrived in style in his friend's long white limo and were only to call when they were ready for a return trip. The limo was another glorious moment for David, but he was about to experience an even more memorable one.

"It's okay," Gabriel said. "I'll get him back." At this point, the angel was sitting in the wheelchair again, the boy carefully on his lap with the bag of goodies hanging from one of the arm rests.

Minella started to protest, but Abby took his hand. "Let's find a private spot to say goodbye," she said, leading him down a hallway. The wheelchair followed. Fortunately, everyone was too busy scarfing up cupcakes to notice that no one was pushing it. When they reached a darkened area that led to storage rooms, Abby stopped.

"How--" Minella started to say, but Abby squeezed his hand. David's head had fallen against Gabriel's shoulder, and it was just as well. "Is it going to be okay with the apartment deal, like the guys want?"

Abby nodded. "We're going to work it out."

"Well, get with it," the angel said. "David will be able to come home pretty soon."

"Yes, thank God," Abby said. "And you." But she couldn't say the rest so Minella said it for her.

"You're not deserting us, are you?"

Gabriel grinned. "I'll be back when I can sneak away, or if you need me."

Abby was trying not to cry. "We'll always need you. Just don't forget us."

"Never happen," the angel said. "And Antonio, you can count on joining the MysticHA when you croak!"

"Now there's something to look forward to," Minella coughed.

"Well, it's a long way off and it won't be from that thing I can't say. Like I told you, it's gone, so feel free to have ten more kids. Which shouldn't be difficult for you two."

Everyone turned a little red but they all laughed and it woke David from his naplett.

"We go?" the boy asked, his eyes shining.

"Yeah," the angel said. "Give Al a Cheese Diddle from me once in awhile," he said to Abby. Then to David, "Hang on tight."

"Goodbye, Gaby, but just for now," Abby said, kissing them both, her eyes brimming.

Mystified, Minella bumped fists with the angel and was about to embrace David when the boy extended his little fist for a bump instead,

"But how...?" Minella started to ask.

"It's a special occasion so I promised him we could," the angel explained." If he doesn't tell anyone about it or about any other anhel stuff. Promise?"

"Promise," the boy said solemnly. Then in a low dramatic voice that seemed to be imparting the secrets of the ages (and may have been) the excited little boy whispered, "Uno, dos, tres, Pop!"

As the wheelchair and its occupants completely disappeared, Minella spoke in a strangled voice: "Pop?"

Abby patted him. "It's what the young breed of angels call it when they vanish and reappear somewhere else."

Minella cleared his throat. "You know, sometimes I wonder if any of this is really happening, if it's really for real." Then he put his arms tight around Abby, gripping her like she might disappear too. She leaned against him for a moment. It was a comfort just to touch him.

"Me too," she said, "but I know one thing for sure. This is really for real." She kissed him, hard and tender at the same time. "I love you," she said.

"I love you back," he said, then he grinned. "And I love you front." As they both eased up and laughed, Minella said, "You okay to go back in there?"

"Yes. Just one more thing before we do."

"Anything, baby," Minella said into her hair.

Abby smiled. "Better take your hand off my butt."

Laughing some more, they walked into the end of their fiesta and the start of their lives together.

THE END OF THE BEGINNING

AFTERWORD:

Check out the MysticHA's blog, coming soon to www.mystic-ha.com for the band's adventures in the hereafter. And who knows, the angel might come up with the latest about Abby and company.
