 
Sweet Hurricane

Kay Brown

Copyright © Kay Brown, 2013

Smashwords Edition
"Just a few clothes, mostly beachwear, some board games, scarves, swimsuits, a few toys, your guitar! The house is fully equipped. You don't need a thing," Conchita promised. They had asked her what to take along. "There's plenty to do all day long, but you might prefer to stay home and enjoy just doing nothing, so take whatever you like! The sand gets _everywhere_ , so plan on doing laundry every single day!"

[Helen had finished teaching a Summer Session course at Westfield College. Her long-time friend Amy, a wonderful surgeon, had proposed to her a few weeks earlier, but was unexpectedly diagnosed with breast cancer. They were determined to have a holiday at the beach, before they settled in as a family. Gena, 16, and her sister Alison, 4, had been adopted by Helen some three years before. Erin, 11, had joined them the previous summer, right after James had been born. Conchita, the agent who had just signed on with Helen (who was a concert violinist, and a minor actress in a TV series), had found an ideal place in which they could vacation incognito. Gena, the eldest, had just finished high school, and was ready for College.]

Listening to Conchita, they had gradually gotten such a rosy picture of this dream destination that it was hard to believe. Helen was secretly certain that it was going to cost several hundred dollars a day, but Conchita had assured her that prices were reasonable. It was a secret vacation spot.

"Then why are we being let into the secret?"

"You were checked out by the committee and approved." Conchita winked, and the kids laughed. Aunty Conchita was becoming a favorite of the older girls, and Helen saw a dangerous power-block in the making.

"Frankly," said Conchita, "it's a tad slow for me. I'm going to rent a little shack up the coast a few miles. I'll be within reach, if you need to be rescued," she advised.

"You're coming too?" Helen asked, not quite able to keep the alarm out of her voice.

"Heavens, don't panic, Helen; I won't be near enough to bother you, you know."

By late afternoon the following day they were there. Jim, Helen's travel manager, brought them and their bags to the little cottage, and returned home.

"Oh Mom, it's _adorable!_ " breathed Gena.

It was a little house, across the street from the lazily rolling blue ocean. The smell of the sea was just wonderful, and sea birds cried overhead. There were fences around all the houses along the road, and water-wings and beach balls indicated that there were children around, and that they spent a lot of time in the water. There was maybe a hundred yards of beach, and then it was into the water. The road was quiet, and up to the left was the little town, about a mile away, and off to the right was a little intersection, with a street heading inland that led to a highway, which led to civilization, and Conchita.

They moved into the house, watched by a trio of kids, two boys and a girl. They were about 9, 11 and 13, Helen guessed. The rooms were apportioned out, with one room for the older kids, one for the little ones, and one for Helen and Amy. There were a washer and dryer, a tiny, functional kitchen, all the plates and cups and silverware they could use, an ancient telephone, an ancient TV that got a couple of stations off the air, a clock radio, a bunch of old bicycles and a couple of tricycles, and a beach ball.

Amy loved it.

Soon after they were settled, the older girls wanted to go exploring, and Helen took a deep breath and said, okay. It was time to relax, and trust in god, or fate, or whatever was in charge of these places. The girls were out, checking out the bicycles in less than a second.

The back of the house was one huge sandbox. Someone had filled it with sea sand, except for a little box of perennials, and a hedge of roses. Helen, once she had put away their few things, took the little ones out to the back, and they were soon joined by their little neighbors, Rusty, Sue, and Chuck.

Soon the five kids were playing merrily together, and Helen and Amy looked at each other. Free babysitting! It was beautiful.

Amy had insisted that they stay in the closet out here. "It's their town, we're outsiders. _I_ think it's rude to barge in here with—what they would consider—our crude city ways, and rub it in their faces."

Helen had nodded.

Now as she reached to hold Amy's hand, Amy slapped her away. "Not out here," she said gently.

"Shall we go inside?"

Amy had given her a pleading look. "It's the first hour of the first day here; let's see how things work out first."

It was true; it might be considered crass if they left their kids to R, S & C on their very first day in the town. But it became clear that the three youngsters were very responsible indeed. They declared with a grin that they always played with the kids in the cottage.

An hour later, Gena and Erin came back with some new friends, two more boys, and another girl, all around sixteen. Jason was the oldest, the girl was Sherry, a little younger, and the youngest was Bruce. Bruce was an interesting character, just about five feet and a couple of inches tall, but he had the personality of a kid twice his size. While Jason was clearly fascinated by Gena, and Sherry by Jason, Bruce, who seemed to be the center of little Erin's attention, was focused on Helen herself. He never took his eyes off her for a moment, much to Amy's amusement. Rusty, too, Helen noticed, had set his sights on Erin.

"Are the six of you the only kids in town?" Helen asked them, collectively, thinking that they had the whole town congregated in the cottage.

"Oh, no, Ma'am," said Bruce, laughing. "There's a whole bunch of the kids out in boats. They're big on that here; look, out that way, there's a lot of 'em!" Far, far away on the water, Helen could see a few colorful dots.

Bruce wanted to know whether Helen was married, and what Amy's status was. Amy glibly improvised. Helen did not have a husband, and Amy was just a friend. The way she said it the children could support it, and the way Allie nodded, Bruce had no option but to believe it.

"Are you gonna work in town?" asked Bruce casually. Helen blinked, but managed to control herself. She asked if there were jobs available. "Oh sure," said Bruce.

"Hmm," said Helen, "I should go take a look-see. Amy, here, is a nurse!"

Gena gasped, and then nodded quickly. "A real good one," she said solemnly. Erin added that she was a _very_ good one, in a dry tone that made Helen want to crack up. It was the first sarcastic word she had ever said. Bruce said there was a first-aid station on the beach, and a sort of clinic downtown. The doctors were always looking for summer help, so they could spend more time out in their boats. He was able to get the idea across that the town was boat-crazy.

"Hmm," said Amy, "that could be fun."

"C'mon!" said Gena, "Let's go to the beach!"

They were on a bay. Far away, they could see the other side of it, and all the little communities between. The water was light green for a little distance from the beach, and a lot darker about a quarter-mile in. There were a number of boats on the water, but the beach was relatively empty, which was the miracle. It was a perfect beach, with nobody on it. Helen sighed. They had given up one thing: on a more popular beach, there would be the interaction with vacationers from all over the region; here they seemed to be practically the _only_ vacationers. Gena was going to be bored out of her mind. They had come from a little town of maybe a few hundred people, Westfield, to a little town half its size.

The children had their bathing suits on, and for once, Helen had her whole family playing near the water. Strict instructions were given; Gena was responsible for Allie, and Erin was responsible for James. There was no lifeguard on duty. For about half an hour, Helen was on pins, wondering whether anything could go wrong.

"Don't worry," Amy had said, "I'll keep an eye on them. Go on, swim, if you like."

Helen had worn a dark blue one-piece. With her narrow hips she knew she looked striking. Wearing a swimsuit always made her feel aroused. Amy was watching her, and she could see the hunger in her eyes. This forced decorum in public was driving Helen insane.

They were not a very demonstrative pair—at least Helen hadn't thought so. But now she realized how much they touched, all the time, usually. Be it shopping at the grocery, cooking, playing with the kids, they were always touching. More than with Lorna, or Lalitha, or anyone. It was Amy; that's the way she was. And now Helen missed it.

She waded out into the water, followed by Gena and Erin, shouting their heads off. They had just been paddling at the water line until then. Now they splashed up a storm, and Allie and James cried to come in with them.

Helen had gone out a little too far to hear what Amy said to them. Helen turned, and saw Erin floundering close to the beach. Gena was swimming around like a fish. Helen tried to recall whether and when she had taught the girls their water skills. After a very brief game of tag with Gena, Helen swam back to shore, and found Amy wading into the water.

Amy looked very cuddly. She, too, was dressed in a quite sexy dark red one-piece. Her skin, which had sagged a little right after the operation, had filled out. One breast looked a little smaller, if you really looked, but she looked very youthful, and about as sleek as always. There were a few grey hairs at the temples, otherwise she looked delicious. She picked up James and sat him on her shoulders. They looked a nice pair, both of them cuddly and smiling. Allie waded out until she was almost out of her depth, and threw herself at Helen. Helen remembered how she had put her in the water while she was yet a baby. The kid was totally unafraid.

She picked her up, and it was a struggle. Allie wanted to climb up on Helen, but she also wanted to feel herself in the water. She was wiry and wriggled, and Helen could only hold her around her stomach while she thrashed about gleefully.

"Why didn't you take them swimming?" Amy reproached gently. Helen shrugged. It seemed she had missed lots of opportunities.

It was the most wonderful afternoon Helen could remember. Instead of being this abstract thing that warmed her when she stopped to think about it, her love of the children became a real, immediate thing. The feel of Allie's little legs around her stomach, the look in Erin's eyes as she taught her to swim, the sound of James gurgling with pleasure as he splashed around, and Allie's squeals of excitement when Gena splashed her, these things were almost too sweet to bear.

"Look, Mama!" said Erin, gasping, as she swam up and down from the beach. She was the slowest learner of them all, but she could do a reasonable crawl. Even Allie was a natural. She had picked it up by watching Erin and Gena. James was still watching; it was too hard for him to pick it up from his low vantage point. Amy had him wading with his arms, like a tadpole, but the occasional wave toppled him over, and he grumbled to himself and scolded the waves, but was gurgling happily in a second. "You're a happy little grouch, aren't you?" Amy asked him, laughing, and he said yes.

Later they were all fooling around in water shallow enough for James to manage on his own, and Helen could feel her skin getting warm. She tanned slowly, but then held her tan. She felt an arm round her waist, and said, "I thought we had a no-PDA policy?"

Amy took her arm off at once and moved away, pretending to scowl. Helen laughed.

Just about then, a troop of kids rode up on bicycles. There were about ten of them, all around Gena's age. Unlike Bruce and company, these were more middle-class, better-dressed, better-fed. They rode past, threw their bicycles on the sand, and ran screaming into the water a few yards away. Gena's eyes were riveted on them for a while, and then she turned back to Helen and rolled her eyes and gave them a secret smile. She knew very well that Helen could see through her, but it was the kids she was careful about impressing with her cool attitude.

"Go over and say hi," urged Amy, quietly, appearing to look elsewhere. "There are some cute ones," she said, comically not moving her lips.

"I know!" said Gena, glaring at her. "Later!"

"Why later? No time like the present!" Amy said, a tad too loud, and got a painful splash in her face for her pains. Of course Amy had to splash back, and it degenerated into a brief brawl.

"OK, here I go," said Gena, and swam coolly over. Instantly she was surrounded by a dozen bobbing heads, and soon they couldn't tell which of them she was.

They eased into life at the little seaside village effortlessly. Amy used her own name, but Helen decided to call herself Elaine Gibson. The girls had suggested it, and they all said they would call themselves Gibson, even little Allie, and James's last name was Gibson anyway. (James's father, Geoffrey Gibson was a young music student who had spent a weekend with Helen, and James had been conceived then, in a moment of carelessness.)

Right away, Helen decided to take a job at the little general store. It was set up with a small café on the side, and when the regular waitress wasn't there—which was all the time except late afternoon and evening—Helen was the waitress. The place sold everything: hardware to videos, and everything in-between.

Helen learned the ropes from the young fellow who was at the cash-register when she applied. The owner, a little old gentleman who mostly sat in the back and read the newspaper all day, accepted Helen's application at once, and explained that Jackie, the waitress, wanted a little time off for the summer. All year long, he said, Jackie saved up, so that she could spend more time with her kids in the summer.

It wasn't difficult. The cash-register was an old, non-computerized one. _Everything_ was old, except the merchandise, which was an interesting mixture of old and new. There were things on sale—at the original prices—that simply could not be found anywhere in the country, as Mr. Palmer, the owner, proudly pointed out. There were a few touristy things, but by and large, it was a regular general store.

Helen had decided to herself that she would not mess with the place in any way. She was _not_ going to put up a new library, do anything ostentatious like that. The temptation to send out for a new cash-register was agonizing, but she resisted it. Jackie showed her how to make the malts, and the specialties of the store, and then left Helen to her own devices.

There was a steady trickle of customers. Townsfolk came in for their coffee, (there was another coffee shop down the way, but this one was smoke-free) or tea or whatever, visitors dropped by to buy a souvenir T shirt that read: "I went to Nowhere this summer!" _Nowhere_ was the town's fond name for itself.

Kids dropped by for their drinks. There were all sorts of favorites; the store sold more exotic kinds of beverages than Helen had ever seen. The kids each liked something different, and they were absolutely loyal to their drink, whatever it was. They smiled happily and nodded if Helen happened to remember their drink.

Roughly behind the general store was the fashionable public beach. Here folks from the surrounding area brought their picnics and lay out in the sun, a spectacle made for the amusement of the locals. Now and then a sunbather would run in, barefoot, for more sun screen, or a Band-Aid, or some analgesic, or a drink or a snack. Some of the women were so provocatively dressed, it was all Helen could do to keep her eyes where they should be.

Gena's gang often came out to the beach to check out the talent, and when they did, they always stopped by at the store to say hi, or get drinks. Helen was allowed to give $40 of discretionary discounts per day, out of which she had to pay a portion herself. She tried to be creative about the arrangement, and played havoc with old Mr. Palmer's head when she closed out. From that point on, she kept scrupulous account of what she was doing.

The music selection was so putrid, she was sorely tempted to intervene. "Don't do it," warned Amy. "You start fooling with one little thing, and pretty soon you've blown your cover, everybody knows who you are, where you are, and the whole setup is screwed." So Helen resisted the temptation.

The stock market plummeted yet again. Mr. Palmer was laughing in the back, and it turned out that Wall Street had had such a bad day that they had to shut down the computers. "That's funny," he laughed, "I thought those things were such a nuisance! But I guess they saved the stock market!"

That afternoon when Helen got home, at the usual time, about four, Amy said that Becky had called, and would call back. (Becky, or Rebecca Singer, managed Helen's enormous corporation, whereas Conchita was Helen's agent personal agent, and booked her engagements.)

"We've taken a hit," she said. "I'm going into the contingency funds to pay the staff. Conchita's on the computer, I don't know what all she's doing."

"Goodness. My boss was telling me about the crash earlier today . . ."

"You found work? What're you doing?" Becky seemed amused.

"Oh . . . just working as a clerk in a store. It's just for fun!"

"Does it pay good?"

"Oh, I get about $10 an hour, and some tips . . . I guess it's okay."

"Hey, eighty buck a day, tax free; I don't know. Sounds good, in this economy." Helen made vague sounds of agreement. "I don't know, Helen, this vacation is costing you too much."

"Oh, I don't care. I'm having a good time, really!"

"What's up?" asked Amy.

"Oh . . ." Helen wondered how to tell Amy. "There's been a bad day on Wall Street . . ."

"Oh no. How bad?"

Helen shrugged. "Apparently Becky is going into the contingency funds to pay the monthly bills."

Amy's face showed concern. In an operation the size of Helen's, with their enormous non-profit sector which funded all sorts of charities like children's hospitals and music education, when their stocks took a hit, they suffered greatly. Luckily, Helen's recurring role on the TV series brought in steady income.

In the late afternoon, they always went out to the beach. While Helen and Amy played with the little ones, Erin played nearby with Rusty, Sue and Chuck, and Gena divided her time equally between Bruce and gang, and her other friends.

Helen had met the latter crowd, who seemed nice in a distant sort of way. They were very friendly with Gena, but a little reserved with Helen. (That reserve was evident in the whole town. No matter how much they liked you, there was a cautious respect in the way they interacted with you.)

Bruce didn't care for them. When they had pedaled away, he, Sherry and Jason, sometimes augmented with a couple of other kids, swooped down out of nowhere and took Gena away for a while.

"What does she do all day?"

"I don't know," said Amy. "She was asking if she could buy a tennis racket. I guess they must play tennis, or something. She swims a lot, and she's gotten a tan."

"She goes out on boats," Erin said.

"What?"

Erin ducked her head and covered her mouth. "She told me not to tell!"

Helen looked at Amy, and Amy looked very angry.

"Where is she?" asked Amy, her voice awful. "I'm going to talk to her!"

"Oh Amy; let me talk . . ."

"No. You're going to be too easy on her. She's never going to forget this."

Amy was actually quite gentle. When Gena stopped by a little later, Amy said quietly, "Erin let drop that you were going out on boats."

Gena looked at Erin as if she were a worm. Erin cowered, feeling miserable.

"It was just a couple of times," she said, defensively. "Now you're going to stop me. _Ohh!_ " Again she glared at Erin.

"May I ask you a few questions, Gena?" Amy demanded. Gena nodded. "Are they handled by licensed operators?" Gena nodded vigorously. "Are there life belts on board?" Again she nodded. "Do they make you wear one?"

Gena flushed. "Aunt Amy, it's really safe! These are big boats, and they don't go fast, and it was only . . ."

Amy looked like a storm. She was so upset that she became silent. She looked at Helen, and Helen's face showed anger and a little something else Gena couldn't place.

"Would you let Erin go in one of those boats without a life jacket?"

Amy's question caught Gena off guard. She hung her head. "Okay, okay," she mumbled. "But I can swim a lot better."

"Would you let your mother?" Gena's eyes filled with tears, and in a moment, so did Helen's, and then all of their eyes. "Don't you think your mother cares about you?"

"Okay, Aunt Amy, you win!" Gena began to bawl. "It's the only fun thing to do out here, and now you don't want me to do it!"

Amy looked at Helen and shrugged. "You call it," she said. "I wouldn't let her on one of those things ever again."

"Gena, come with me," Helen said, getting out of the water. Gena went with her, a little way off, watched from a distance by Bruce and the others. She put her arm round Gena, and instantly Gena put her arms round Helen's neck and hugged her and said she was sorry.

"I want you to live life to the _fullest!_ " Helen said, her voice throbbing with sincerity. "Do anything you want, but be safe, darling! I don't care if you're the _only_ one wearing a life jacket. You're the _most_ important one in that boat, as far as I'm concerned, and you'll damn well wear a life jacket. Do you understand why?"

"Yes Mom."

"If something happens to you, you know it's not you who gets hurt most. I know I'm selfish, but I've always been so, and I'm not going to stop now!"

Gena gave her a watery smile, and promised.

"Condoms, crash helmets . . ."

Gena froze.

"I can't believe you said that," she said, in a tone of voice she had never used on Helen before.

Helen looked her in the eye. "Perhaps I should have waited until afterwards."

"Are you encouraging me to sleep around?"

"No darling. I trust you to know when you're ready."

Gena looked so upset Helen had to stay calm with an effort. Somehow they had been catapulted into this discussion which they had both been dreading. She took a deep breath and declared, "I don't like the way you're handling this, Mom."

Helen turned and began to walk. Gena followed. A glance behind them confirmed that all was well with the rest of the crowd. Bruce and company had begun to join the rest, and were up to their waists in the water.

Helen turned to Gena and smiled tentatively. Gena made an effort to return it, which didn't quite work.

"When sex runs into you, darling, it throws you for a loop. That first time: there's no time to think. You want to grab the moment. You feel that if you say no, it'll never come again! (Of course it will, but you can't believe it will!) That's why I'm bringing it up now. Get ready. Maybe you won't want to sleep with someone for twenty years. Maybe it'll be next year."

"Or tonight."

"Oh god, darling, you're scaring me!"

"I'm so glad. Imagine how _I_ felt just now."

Helen held her peace. It wasn't necessary to win the argument; she only had to make sure Gena got the message.

"Whatever you say. You want to have your thoughts ready, _and your equipment._ "

"Shit! I _hate_ this. You have no idea how much I hate this!"

Helen turned to her. "Do this for me. Imagine some sweet boy . . . I don't care who it is. Imagine the whole thing: the sex, with or without protection. Go through it all, and look at the outcome. Think of all the things that could happen. Okay, he hates to wear a condom. Think of what could happen. Pregnancy. Abortion. Or adoption. Or dropping out of college. You know I'll back you up whatever you decide, but ask yourself whether it was the right choice."

Gena looked at Helen levelly. "You want _me_ to wear protection!"

"I didn't say that."

Gena was very angry indeed. This approach did not sit well with her. Through gritted teeth she asked, enunciating each word slowly and carefully, "Tell me what you want me to do."

It was a rather miserable mother and daughter that joined the others a long time later. Gena immediately went off with Bruce and co, and the others headed home. She arrived home very late and went to bed without supper. Later Helen had found that the kids had wormed out of her what the talk had been all about, and after a general argument, they had all decided that protected sex was the only way to go, with only Gena arguing against it.

Amy had asked what had transpired, and Helen had told her they had had The Talk.

"Sex is beautiful?"

"Well—she knows that. It was more like, condoms are beautiful."

"Oh, Helen!"

Helen shook her head grimly. "She'll eventually do the right thing, but she's so damn clever . . ."

"She argued!"

Helen nodded. "She always argues, and she always wins!"

Amy chuckled, and Helen glared at her.

"I'll talk to her," she promised. "I think I have an angle."

Making love with Amy was a fascinating experience. Back when they had been young, it had been randy, goofy, athletic fun. But now it was different.

They had become accustomed to having sex in the dark. Amy may have started it, being conscious of her ample figure, or Helen may have done it out of consideration of it. But in the dark, touch, taste and sound became the stimulants for their mutual arousal. Unlike before, Amy was slow to passion. They kissed tenderly, caressing each other, Helen kneading Amy's arms and back and legs. Amy felt wonderful; the layer of fat on her was very sensuous. Amy's feelings were conveyed in her breath. Where Helen had gotten into the habit of being almost silent while she made love, Amy let herself go, sighing, gasping, breathing hard, and these sounds drove Helen crazy with desire.

Once Amy had gotten aroused, there was no turning back. It was like an avalanche. They got so bad, it was their habit to sleep on the floor. The bed creaked up something mean, and on that very first night they had started sleeping in sleeping-bags. Then they lay gasping, trying to catch their breaths, until Amy's breathing quietened down. Sometimes they started right up again.

They had learned to stuff the cracks under the door. It was a small house, and Gena had warned them that they were getting "just a little too audible, if you know what I mean."

The very next day, after the stock market hit a record low, Gena applied for a vacancy at the other café, and was hired on the spot, for roughly the same hours as Helen. "I want to contribute," she said, in spite of Helen's assurances that she need not. The following day, Amy too decided to check out the clinic.

It was a walk-in clinic, run by a couple of young doctors fresh out of medical school. The one who was on duty—it was a 24-hour operation, with just a paramedic on duty at night—was Michael Brown, a rather laid-back fellow with a boyish smile and light brown hair. Amy implied that she was a nurse-practitioner, and asked if they could use help.

"Help! Oh, yes! Oh yes indeed! Can you?"

They had the same problem: wanting to take time off. They didn't mind being on call, but they longed to spend more time out on the beach, or on the water. Neither of them were attached—very much, anyway—and were anxious to taste the joys of the local female population. Amy offered to work the mid-day shift. She said she hadn't brought documentation with her, but she'd get it for them.

Without turning a hair, Amy sent out for materials, and forged her credentials. Amy Salvatori was a licensed nurse practitioner with the help of Helen's computer in practically no time.

Babysitters were found, and the three women proceeded to throw themselves into their summer occupations with a will.

Gena had never worked before. She had helped out in the school administrative office on occasion, babysat a few times, and shelved at the Ferguson grocery store at the suggestion of the proprietor, who had taken a strong liking to the sweet young girl.

Gena's first day of work at the café was an experience. Her co-workers were neither hostile nor friendly. They were all young people, like herself; in their teens, perhaps twenty at the most.

"Have you never waitressed at all, then?"

Gena shook her head.

"Just remember, stay on your side of the door, that's all. In on the right, out on the right."

"Got it."

"Then . . . you, like, take their orders, clip them on right there, and Steve, or Greg, . . . or sometimes Nance, they cook up the order, and you serve it. It's easy. You'll find out. It's obvious." The girl had taken off her apron and handed it to Gena.

"Wait, are you going?"

She had simply shrugged. What could Gena possibly want?

"Just watch me do it one time!"

The girl had dropped down into a chair near the kitchen and nodded, staring at Gena up and down as if she was daft. The girl had waitressed at various places since she was twelve, and couldn't remember ever not knowing what to do.

They stared at each other, Gena trying to smile, but not getting anything back in return, until a couple showed up.

Gena panicked. "What do I do now?"

"Put the apron on!" the girl hissed, frowning. In spite of her indifference, she was alarmed at the loss of professionality signaled by Gena. The whole place, in her opinion, was going to hell. "Take out a menew to them, and just make nice!"

Gena mouthed the phrase 'make nice' to herself, frowning at her, picked up the menu, and approached the couple.

"Hello! Where would you like to sit?" she asked, smiling a little fearfully, standing some distance away.

"Oh, anywhere!" said the gentleman, smiling, and the lady said she'd like to sit outside, and Gena led the way out, and somehow got them seated. Her natural hospitability came to the rescue, and she gave them the menus as she made them feel comfortable. But feeling uncomfortable herself, it was somehow not the same as welcoming guests to her home. She made her escape, promising to be back soon. She hurried into the girl, who was watching from the window.

With an impatient twist of her mouth, she began to fumble at Gena's hair. "It's supposed to be put up," she grumbled. Gena looked at her with indignation, and brushing aside her hands, put up her own hair in a little knot. The girl glared at her, tugging here, adjusting Gena's skirt there. She warned Gena that she had to wear skirts. No pants allowed.

"Now what?"

"Go ask them what they want to drink!"

Gena flounced out, but the girl called her back with a hissed " _Hey!_ " By now it was clear that it had been a bad idea to hire Gena, but a good idea to wait to see what she did. The girl had begun to think it was her own idea.

" _What?_ " The girl handed her the pad and pencil. Gena's face softened, and for the first time they grinned at each other.

There were several other things that had to be adjusted, but it was essentially plain sailing after that. Gena had made errors in precisely the places that were mysteries to anyone who had never waited tables, but luckily the girl had helped her out, and the rest was simple. Gena had eaten out enough times to have a general idea of what to do. There were just three parties at first, and she invented a system of rotation that kept them all happy.

That first day she had to concentrate on every little thing. Every moment there was something to do, or something to wait for. She got an excellent idea why it was called _waiting_. The cook was amused to look up and simply see her standing there, patiently waiting for something.

"Hey," he said, not unkindly, "say something, don't just stand there."

"Oh, okay," said Gena, understanding. But not knowing what to say, the next time she merely cleared her throat, which he didn't like. Finally she got to saying _hello_ in a friendly voice, and he finally grinned and nodded as he passed out the order.

Circumstances were kind to her. The traffic increased ever so gently, until there were a dozen parties having lunch. It went flawlessly. Later when she described it to her friends (who kindly stayed away that first day) she could hardly believe that it had gone so well.

She had made out like a bandit with the tips, almost a hundred dollars in tips alone! She had told the cook that she had "a whole lot of money from tips," and he had winked and said, "Keep it. You can buy me something with it later, honey," he had added. She had not liked the sound of that, but taken his advice about keeping the money.

The proprietor of this establishment, too, sat in a little office behind the cash register, and watched TV, only coming outside to take the checks. Gena's relief arrived at four, a little late—as usual, she found out—and Gena was paid at once, fifty dollars for six hours and a bit.

"Did you get lunch?"

"No, I was working!"

"Of course, but did you get a snack?"

"No!"

The woman pursed her lips. "You get a plate around eleven, just before the rush, kid. Eat between waiting. Here's a couple of bucks to make up for today. See you tomorrow. Good work."

That was it. But the ninety-odd dollars of tips told her she was _good!_ At least, the customers liked her, and that was good enough!

Amy turned up to work the day after she had first gone in, handed in her fake credentials, which were thrown onto a messy pile of paperwork, and put on right away. There was a waiting room with about six seats, a receiving desk and a clerk, Julie, who logged in the patients, with a minimal write-up of condition upon arrival, name, phone number, address, etc, and funneled them into the back, a little surgery. "Do what you can. If it's too much, call me."

"When do I get to go home?"

"What time is it now?"

"I don't know, nine, ten, I don't know." She looked around for a clock. She had left her own $200 watch at home, thinking it might be just a little ostentatious. She made a mental note to pick up an inexpensive watch later.

"Nowhere time is . . . 9:43. You're off at 13:43 hours, or when Phil gets here, whichever is later! Heh heh!"

"Oh, come on! I can't work like this!"

"Oh, he'll be here, all right. He wanted to meet you!"

"Is he cute?"

"No. I can hardly stand him."

Amy looked at him in alarm, and he winked and disappeared.

At first there was hardly any custom. Amy had dressed in loose white slacks and a white camp shirt with the word 'Amy' on it. Finally a senior citizen turned up with hurting joints, and then suddenly there was a line.

Amy was amazed at the sheer mental effort to remember some of the things she needed. The easier cases were _very_ easy, but the tougher cases were frustrating. There was one case of chronic indigestion that completely stumped her.

She called up the doctor, and after arguing back and forth, they agreed on a line of treatment that seemed the most reasonable.

"Hey, I like this. Mike Brown, medical consultant. Listen Amy, how's things going?"

"Pretty good."

"Yeah? Hey, how much experience have you had at this kind of thing?"

"A lot, kid. A lot. Trust me."

"Listen, Nurse Amy, no damn R.N. ever called me 'kid,' and I'll appreciate it if you don't do it again."

"I'm sorry, doctor. It was a reference to the fact that I'm nearly fifty." She was just forty six, but the doctor's ego was at stake.

"Well, don't do it. It's a . . . a cultural thing. Please desist."

"I will, sir."

"Doctor. I will, _doctor_."

"Oh dear."

"Hang in there!"

That had been the only time she had to consult with him. She wrote several dozen prescriptions on his prescription pad, and signed _A. Salvatori_ as always.

It was quite a difference, to meet a steady stream of ordinary people with problems that weren't life-threatening. Forgetting where she was, she found herself telling them to do something or other, and return the following day, just so she could check on them.

"You're almost like a doctor, yourself!" said one woman.

"And why not?" asked Amy, drawing herself up with great dignity in her chair, "Just because I'm a woman?"

"Oh, no!" laughed the patient, "you're dressed all in white, and look like a nurse!"

"I _am_ a nurse!" said Amy after a while, remembering. She made a funny face, and sent her out with a cheerful slap on the back.

The infamous Dr. Phil came to lean in the doorway and watch her as she treated her last patient, which had actually been the only emergency case, a young fellow who had hurt his hand on some broken glass. Amy had simply cleaned it out, sutured it shut with ease, and dressed it.

"You should have called someone, nurse. That wasn't a routine procedure."

"It certainly was, where I come from," Amy said, imperturbably.

"You should have called," he insisted. He was a mean-looking guy, very tall and thin, impeccably dressed, with thick, sensuous almost feminine lips. Amy disliked him instantly.

"Okay," said Amy, as soon as the kid had been given an antibiotic and a return appointment and his mother had been charged $40. "Black mark for me. Satisfied?"

Phil shook his finger in her face. "You're a nurse. You only practice under supervision, and perform routine procedures. You don't make judgment calls. Stay with me. It's great that you work for us, but our reputation is important to us. There's to be no practicing beyond the scope of your license. It's not a joke," he added, as Amy grinned.

"I'll remember," she said, contritely. Phil smiled a horrible smile of satisfaction.

She signed out, and headed in to the general store, and bought herself a $25 watch.

They gradually began to discover the rest of the town. The intersection closer to them had a number of small shops that were fascinating: books, clothes, curios, even furniture. Helen was enticed aboard the boat on which Gena had gone, and was taken for a little jaunt in the bay.

"See, Mom? It's perfectly safe!" But Helen wore her life jacket. Gena had insisted that she wear something decorous, and Helen had worn a knee-length dress. But the stiff breeze whipped her dress up revealing her thighs, and as always, Gena's boy friends began to ogle her mother.

"Your mom is a babe," said Kristen, one of her friends, with a giggle. Gena punched her on the arm, and Kristen let out a startled "Oof!" and giggled again. Still, they were a nice bunch of kids, and Gena liked them very much.

They had visited the cottage a couple of times. Kristen and Isaac, two of the kids of the boating group, were very fond of Gena, and were principally responsible for getting her into their society, though all of them were good friends now. Gena was one of the youngest, with Kristen, but she was a general favorite because she had the most interesting ideas for fun things to do.

Gena's decision to waitress at the sidewalk café had surprised them.

"Why? I know you don't need the money," Isaac had said.

"Well, I do. Didn't you hear about the stock market?"

"Oh. What about it?"

"Well . . . Mom lost a lot of money."

"Is she, like, a big-time investor?" asked Isaac with new respect.

"Er . . . no, there's a trust fund, you see? And this trust fund, well, . . ."

"Oh, yes, got it," said Isaac, and he and Kristen nodded vigorously. They knew all about trust funds. "But it's such a boring idea!"

This had been before she had actually started. Gena smiled brightly and told them that she expected it to be pretty exciting, actually.

Bruce and company had approved of the idea at once. Bruce often worked at a garage as an assistant, fetching stuff for the guys who worked there, and the other kids all had regular odd jobs. Sherry was almost a professional babysitter, as well as working for a flower shop.

Helen left the kids in the care of a teenager called Lily in the porch of Mr. Palmer's house, which was right next to the store. It was a big open porch, and Lilly sat there with the kids, and watched them patiently. From time to time Helen looked out and checked on them, and occasionally Lily came in to get a drink, or to tell Helen that James looked a little odd. Most of the time it was a false alarm, but Helen always treated these good-faith crises as if they were important. She thought that if she disregarded Lily, she might not come in even if James was _really_ sick.

Erin was usually with them, though sometimes Rusty's gang came looking for her, and Helen allowed her to go with them. They usually went to watch the beach entertainment, a miscellaneous children's show that was continuous on the little boardwalk on the other side of town, from around ten until about six each day except Sunday.

Selling fabric was hard for Helen. It was frustrating not to interfere with the choices of the women, but she managed it somehow. It was a day or two before she had mastered the art of cutting the fabric. There was not much of a selection, and not a lot of space to lay it out. So when someone wanted something, Helen had to get on a ladder and sort of guess what they needed.

Helen had turned a corner in her life. Somehow, she was beginning to look at men, these days. She was able to look into their eyes as she had never been able to do before, except for very special exceptions. An equal number of men and women came to the store, but the men usually went to Bob, and the women came to Helen. The younger ones, of course, interested her. She couldn't help it; she had to look, at their breasts, their eyes, their legs, their posteriors, as they walked away, or bent to look in the cases. But she seldom got caught, and if she did, managed to cover up with a sincere look of innocent admiration.

One day, a pretty blonde came in the store, one who had been in a couple of times earlier. She was simply cute as a button, with neatly tied hair, enormous cornflower-blue eyes, a nice full bust, not too heavy, a narrow waist, and tiny feet. She was a cliché, but she was perfect. She was neatly dressed, with a grey skirt just covering her knees, with a neatly ironed waistband, a striped blouse with a little lace collar, buttoned to the throat, and the cutest voice. Best of all was her buttocks, and when she bent over, the lacy edges of her demure panties were _just barely_ visible though the fabric of her skirt. Helen looked intently, and a little too long. She straightened up, and saw Helen looking, and colored, her eyes troubled. She looked around some more, and brought her selection to Helen, her eyes full of embarrassed uncertainty.

Helen blushed prettily and told her that she was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. The result was startling.

"Really?" she said, smiling. "Nobody has ever said that to me before," she said, blushing happily. " _I_ thought I was rather ordinary-looking!"

Helen was thoroughly disconcerted. She stared at her, open-mouthed, and they laughed together, embarrassed. Now that the ice was broken, Helen, distracted with ringing her up and packing her purchase, was able to assure her that she could tell anyone that Elaine told her she was beautiful. "Are you married?"

"No," she said, "still waiting!"

"Aren't there any live men around here?"

She laughed. "I don't know; we keep to ourselves, mostly. I didn't go to college, I don't work, I mostly look after my parents, and my brother's children."

"Well, your sister-in-law should set you up with a nice fellow," Helen said, not believing she was laying this nonsense on this girl.

The girl's smile faded, and she shook her head slowly, and gave Helen a sour look. It was comical. Helen waited for her to say something, but she only shook her head, and then laughed. "You really made my day!" she said. "What was your name again?"

"Elaine!"

"Elaine!" she said slowly, savoring the word. "I'm Hattie, short for Harriet, you know."

"Of course!" said Helen nodding, as if half her friends were Hatties.

"I'll see you later!" she said, and walked gracefully out, her dress gently swaying with her demure gait. She turned round at the door, probably to check whether Helen was staring at her rear, which she had been, but had looked up just in time.

One day she got to sell hardware. Bob was out sick, and Helen was on her own. All the guys were around her, and once they learned her name, it was Elaine, Elaine all the time. They were delighted that she knew all about hardware, about making keys, finding the right ammunition for their guns, and so on.

Some regulars began coming in just to flirt with her.

"So," they said, "is there a Mr. Elaine, or whatever? What's your last name, anyways?"

"It's Gibson, Elaine Gibson. Why do you want to know?"

"So is there a Mr. Gibson?"

"Y-yes," said Helen, cautiously.

"Oh, what a disappointment!" said the fellow, a married man of about forty-five. Helen scolded him, saying he ought to be ashamed of himself, and what would Mrs. Dean think. He said that Mrs. Dean didn't do a whole lot of thinking, that was her trouble.

He wasn't a bad sort, but Helen wasn't exactly interested in him.

Gena had her own share of adventures, and her own admirers. There were lots of customers who stopped by just to get cheered by the bright-eyed little blonde with her hair in the perky little knot, and the outgoing but aristocratic manners. She didn't give herself airs, and she wasn't aloof, but there was a certain something in her bearing that spoke of family pride.

Gena never allowed herself to be glum, or harsh with the customers. She rarely had a bad day, or even a bad hour, and in any case, she never blamed the occasional mishap on the customers. She was a logical girl, and she had been taught to assign blame fairly, if it had to be done at all.

"Good morning!" she would say, "What would you like to drink?"

"Why don't you say: 'What would you like to drink _today?_ ' That's what every other waitress says!"

Gena laughed her unaffected little laugh, and admitted that they did seem to say that. "It's like, are you back _already?_ "

"Exactly! Like the nurses say, 'How are we feeling today?'"

Gena grinned and nodded. They told her she was the best waitress ever, and she said it was because she laughed at their jokes. "No, you're the only one who _gets_ the jokes!"

But the real reason they liked her was because she was pretty. She was pretty, and not snotty, a compelling combination.

However, Gena, like many girls, also had an eye for women. There were several regulars whom she had a crush on, mostly women in their middle twenties. In particular there was a handsome woman who often came by to have a cup of coffee and a smoke around eleven each day. Her hair was always done in a neat French braid, and she always wore a light suit, impeccably pressed, and neat little pumps, and silk hose. In the warmest weather, she hung her jacket on the back of her chair, and Gena could appreciate her breasts in her demi-bra. It was the most expensive kind of demi-bra, Gena knew, because women's lingerie was a secret passion of hers. She knew exactly which scallop those nipples snuggled behind.

Today the woman seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

"I think I'll have something to eat today," she smiled. "Maybe a couple of hamburgers and some fries!"

"Sure; two hamburgers and fries? And the coffee?"

"No, just soda today," she smiled again. "A large cola, maybe!"

"What would you like on the hamburgers: pickles, tomato, lettuce, mayo, mustard, relish, ketchup, hot pepper sauce, salt?"

The woman laughed outright. "Hmm! I'd say . . . tomato, a touch of mayonnaise, and I'd like a bottle of steak sauce. Oh, here's one; this will do!"

Gena was thrilled. Ordinarily the woman wasn't around for very long. Gena excitedly decided that when the woman roes to leave, she would help her with her jacket. It was a little risky, but it would be so incredibly, incredibly exciting!

She handed in the order, and told Nance to make it a good one. "It's a special friend!" she said, and Nance stared at her. Gena winked and went off to take the soda out to her friend. Then she flirted absent-mindedly with her regulars, until it was time to check on her friend again.

"How was the soda?"

"Perfect," she said, and smiled. "You here for the summer?"

"Uh huh!"

"Where are you from?"

"Oh, . . . Minnesota!"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really? Which part of Minnesota? I've lived there a while."

"A little town called Ferguson. Have you heard of it?"

"Of course! I went to school there! Is that where you go, too?"

"Uh huh!" said Gena, perspiring. The last thing she wanted was to be traced there. "What a coincidence!"

The woman was definitely interested now. It was such a puzzle; should Gena capitalize on the connection, or steer the conversation away? Gena absently noticed the tobacco stains on her teeth. She still looked gorgeous, like a cross between Aunt Jan, and Conchita. She was slimmer than either, though.

"I'm about to go to College, though," Gena said. "I graduated high school this spring."

"William and Mary. That's the place to go," said she, her finger raised in a lecturing manner. Then she smiled. "If you can get in, of course!"

"My best friend is going there," said Gena, a little glum. Often schools preferred not to admit too many freshmen from the same high school.

"Listen," said the woman, "I'll give you a recommendation. Here's my card. If you decide, look me up."

Gena thanked her and put away the card.

Throughout the next hour or so, every time Gena went out to check on her, they talked a little. Gena had learned that her name was Mallory Pearson, that she was a lawyer, and DA for the county. Gena told her that they lived in the cottage, and Mallory nodded, looking at her thoughtfully. She said she knew the place. When she got her hamburger, she asked what Gena's parents did, and Gena answered said her mother taught, and her father was dead. Mallory looked at her, and there was a softening of her eyes that sent a thrill down Gena's spine.

When Mallory Pearson finished, Gena was watching from across the room, her hands all washed and clean. She had just finished her own cheese steak sandwich, and had made sure everyone was taken care of, so that the little event would not be interfered with.

As Mallory rose, Gena was right there, saying "Please, let me help you with your jacket!" Mallory let her, and turned to her with surprise. She put her arm round Gena's shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. "That was very sweet of you," she said. "You take good care of me, Gena. Can you handle a $5 dollar tip?"

"I'd say $3 is plenty," said Gena, more calmly than she felt. "Actually, I'd be happy with two!"

She laughed, and gave Gena $3, and a gentle touch on the shoulder.

"Hi, Gena!" said a familiar voice behind her, and Gena swung round in surprise. Out of nowhere, Kristen appeared, and to Gena's amazement, leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Then Sandy appeared, one of Kristen's buddies, and they sat at a table nearby.

"Your friends?" asked Mallory, smiling.

"Yeah, we're her buddies," said Kristen, brightly, grinning at Mallory. And Gena noticed a little extra something in her grin, almost a warning.

After Mallory had waved at her and left, Gena turned to look at Kristen.

"Two ginger floats and two small fries," said Kristen, quickly, her face flushed.

Gena went to work, her head in a spin. _Kristen?_ Sweet, ladylike _Kristen?_ She was _warning Mallory off!_ What in heaven's name was going on?

It was almost three before the girls went off. They often stopped by, and Gena had them trained so that they didn't expect her to be talking with them all the time. Today, she had come by their table to try and figure things out. Kristen had behaved as though nothing unusual had happened, except that she felt hotter than usual. She was flushed the whole time, tugging at her blouse and cooling herself by blowing at it. Sandy looked thoughtfully at Gena, but didn't manage to communicate anything except a general amusement.

When Gena was done, she stashed her tips—almost a hundred and fifty—in her little purse, and headed out to say hi to Amy at the clinic. Mom would be done already, and back at the house. She often saw Helen walk home with the kids, and Helen would wave if she saw Gena. But today, with all the confusion, Helen had gone without her noticing.

Again, out of nowhere, Kristen and Sandy turned up, and escorted her across the street.

"So what are you guys up to?"

"Just waiting for you!" said Kristen, at the same time as Sandy said, "Following you around!" Kristen rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, Aunt Amy's working in the clinic. I'm going to say Hi."

"Oh. She's cute," said Kristen.

"She's totally adorable," agreed Sandy, evidently also a connoisseur of fine female flesh.

Amy was pleased to see them, and asked Julie to let them in. "So are we going to be candy stripers today?" she asked, pleasantly, as she bandaged a sprained ankle for a young lady. They didn't know the reference, and Amy had to explain that there used to be young girls who helped out in hospitals as assistants, and wore a characteristic candy-striped uniform.

"There still are some, I believe," said the patient, smiling.

"This is my niece," said Amy, unblushing, and two of her apprentices."

"They're escorting me home," said Gena, grinning.

"Yeah, 'cos it's dangerous out there," added Sandy, who was a bit of a wag.

Back at the cottage, Helen got them all something to drink, and Gena handed Helen the money she had made, as she always did. Helen smiled and gave her back some of it, as always, and this time, Gena took some.

"Come on," she said, getting up, "I'll treat you guys!"

Sandy got up and said she had to go. She waved at them and left. Kristen looked at Gena and at Helen in turn, clearly uncomfortable.

Usually, at this time, Gena flopped on her bed and went straight to sleep. If Kristen turned up, Helen sent her away, or took her out to the back and chatted to her. The kid was a lot of fun, and they usually enjoyed these chats, but Helen knew that Gena was the reason she came by. Now Kristen was wondering whether she should let Gena sleep, and push off.

"Would you like to stay and talk a little?" asked Gena, surprising her.

In actual fact, Kristen wasn't really looking forward to talking. She had an inkling that Gena would ask embarrassing questions to which she didn't know the answers. It had all been done on impulse, and Kristen had buried the whole incident in the back of her mind.

"You must be tired," Kristen said, solicitously. She was a slim, soft-spoken girl, and now she sounded barely audible. She was dressed in a skirt and camp shirt, instead of her usual shorts and T shirt.

"Well," said Gena, as Helen went away, leaving her to manage the problem, "I'm gonna lie down for a bit, but you could come and read, or something." Kristen nodded wordlessly.

Gena washed her face in the bathroom, while Kristen watched, and led the way to the room she shared with Erin. Erin was fast asleep on the floor.

"Why does she sleep on the floor?"

"She likes it better than the bed," Gena shrugged. She pulled out a deck-chair, and offered it to Kristen. Kristen looked at the pile of books and magazines in Gena's corner, and picked out a girl's magazine. Gena was slightly alarmed, because it was a lesbian magazine for teens. There was no explicit mention of that on the cover, but everyone knew what it was. Things were getting very complicated indeed.

"Why did you kiss me, suddenly, at the café?"

Kristen looked thunderstruck. She hadn't expected such a direct question.

She shrugged, flushing bright red. "I . . . just felt like it. It was just a little peck on the cheek! What's the big deal? First Sandy, and now you! I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, no . . . it's all right; I was really touched, that's all, Kristen."

Kristen settle back, still flushing, and tried to read.

"I didn't like that woman," she said, finally. "She looked mean."

"Oh, no she isn't, not at all. She's a friend of mine. She used to go to my high school, in Minnesota! Isn't that an amazing coincidence?"

Kristen nodded, the magazine temporarily forgotten.

"I thought she was trying to get you to do something," said she, vaguely, her eyes narrowed in the closest thing to a scowl Gena had ever seen on Kristen's perennially cheerful face. No negative expression ever marred that countenance.

Gena shook her head. She changed the topic, as she lay down, but soon she was asleep, leaving Kristen to divide her attention between the magazine and her sleeping friend.

When Gena awoke, a little more than an hour later, she saw Kristen totally absorbed in the magazine, and smiled to herself. She closed her eyes and yawned, to alert Kristen to the fact that she was awake.

"This is an excellent magazine," pronounced Kristin, solemnly. "Could I take it home to read?"

"Sure," Gena said. "Don't let it get into the wrong hands," Gena added, and Kristen promised that she certainly wouldn't. "And don't believe everything that's there," she warned, "they get carried away sometimes. I'm getting real cautious about what I believe in these magazines."

"But sometimes they're right on the money," Kristen said.

Suddenly, Conchita called to say that one of the assignments she had been angling for had materialized. It was, unfortunately, another photographic project. "You know Diane Elman?"

"Oh, yes, what about her?" Diane Elman was a famous portrait photographer of the nineties.

"Well, she's agreed to do a series on you."

"I thought she was dead!"

"Dead? Of course not. She's just, what, about seventy. Still walks a few miles a day, presses 300 pounds, that sort of thing."

"Come on, Conchita, she's a little old lady."

"Yes, but she's a _vigorous_ little old lady! This is all respectable; it's coffee-table stuff. We publish it, and sell it through BNB. I can't get into it now, but there's lots of other benefits."

"Ah."

"Trust me."

BNB was a reference to an enormous chain of book and music stores in which Helen's corporation had acquired majority shares a couple of years earlier. BNB sold everything from books and magazines to music: CDs, DVDs, and had come to be known for its wonderful selection of classical music throughout the world. Another company in which Helen was a partner, namely LMN Associates, was a classical music recording company, which specialized in recording musical events on location, especially folk music and period instrument performances at festivals. The name BNB crops up later in the story once again.

The next thing was something Helen had asked for, a summer concert in Philadelphia with her friend Isolde Wells. Isolde was a young all-round musician, especially a violinist from the UK, who had made her debut in performing the classical violin concerto repertoire with Helen's Impromptu Orchestra in Philadelphia. Helen had seen Isolde in a dream, and suddenly realized that she'd rather do a concert with Isolde again than almost anything else related to music.

So Helen took leave, made sure that Amy could manage the kids, and painfully traveled out to the nearest airport, and made her way to Philadelphia. Her precious violins were waiting in the in the humble little house Helen maintained in Philadelphia, which was rented out to her friends Lalitha, Trish, and Lalitha's sister, Sita.

Later that same evening, they picked up Isolde Wells at the airport, and Helen welcomed her with a great hug.

Isolde was an unusual girl. Helen had forgotten what she was like, until she saw her again, and heard that distinctive voice. It was obvious to all of them that Isolde was simply delighted to see Helen.

In the car, Isolde told them all that she had thought of Helen several times. Helen tried not to blush, as Isolde continued that the only reason she hadn't written was that she really had no news, and so she had waited.

"But now, I have news!" she exclaimed, and Sita tittered softly, and got a dig in the ribs for her pains. After looking at Sita in confusion, Isolde revealed that she had learned some more violin concertos, and she was ready to play them.

The five women were a fascinating mixture. Isolde was delighted to get to know the Indian women, as well as Suresh and Trish. She was simply a rather sheltered young woman, who had very liberal instincts, and took pleasure in learning about all the things she was being kept away from.

She naturally gravitated to Sita, mostly because the latter's speech made her a familiar element in a sometimes confusing environment. Sita had lived for many years in England, and her accent was most definitely British. Sita, too, like to talk to Isolde for somewhat similar reasons, as well as because of the fact that Isolde Wells was a well-known celebrity in England, as well as being a thoroughly unspoiled and fascinating young woman.

That evening, Helen suddenly realized that she had a commitment. She was in Philly, and she hadn't called Matt Brooks. (Matt Brooks was a beautiful man Helen had happened to meet on board a plane flying back from one of her monthly tapings for the TV series. He had looked over her shoulder at a magazine she had been reading, and exclaimed appreciation for the photos of the beautiful women in it. Helen had offered him the magazine, and suddenly recognized him: she had crashed into him while on an early morning run in Philadelphia. They had gotten to talking, and he had said she must call him up if she was ever in Philadelphia. And here she was!) She went out into the yard, and pulling out her phone, called the number he had given her.

"Hello?" it was a young female voice. Helen frowned.

"I'm looking for Matt Brooks, please."

"Matt? Who shall I say is calling, please?"

"Oh, tell him it's Helen from the plane."

"Helen from the plane. Right."

After a long silence, Helen heard another phone being lifted, and a click as the first was disconnected. "Hello, Matt here. Is this Helen?"

"Yes! How did you guess?" Helen laughed, as the others watched with interest. Helen waved them away, and Isolde smiled and gestured them out to the living room.

"Heh heh," chuckled Matt. "Where are you? Are you in Philly?" he asked.

Helen said she was, and told him the address. He recognized it as being close to where she had rammed him in the stomach.

Before she knew it, Helen had been invited out to dinner with Matt, and drinks afterwards with his mother.

His mother? Helen wondered. She must be going mad, she thought.

Matt rolled up in a beautiful Mercedes. (It seemed everyone in the city had one.) He helped her in, as her friends watched from the windows, and they drove off. He was the perfect gentleman, he was attentive, interested, charming, and stunning in appearance. Of course, he wore his suit like only a model could. It was only the thought that he was a model that made it hard to accept.

On top of everything, Helen had to admit that in spite of a certain simplicity, he was intelligent. He was like a brilliant teenager, sharp as a tack, but pure as the driven snow.

The food was excellent. It was an incredibly classy place that Helen had never heard of. They had the most amazing wines, and he knew exactly what to do. Helen knew that the wine was good, though she had never had such a wine before.

And then they went dancing. He towered above her, and she was grateful she had dressed carefully. Her gown moved well on the floor, and the two of them were the cynosure of all eyes.

"You're a wonderful dancer!" he exclaimed, in genuine surprise.

"Why, so are you!" she said, equally impressed. "You really can dance!"

"I told you, my sister's a dancer. We've won competitions, and stuff."

Helen danced, abandoning herself to the rhythm.

"And you know what? You're a better dancer than her! Don't tell her, though."

He was light on his feet, and his hands held her lightly, but firmly. It was a dream.

There were several slow dances, alternating with the other ones, and she expected him to take the initiative—to make his move, as the saying went. But he simply danced them as dances. Then it was into a faster dance, until a slow one came along, and Helen thought to herself: _this will be the one._ But it wasn't. She felt a little down. _If it was me_ , she had thought, _with a girl, I wouldn't let the moment pass_.

Then she looked up, and saw his face. It was strained, worried.

"I could dance with you forever," he said, simply. She looked back at him, dumb. At that moment, a desire arose in her heart, a shameless, unworthy desire. She realized that he would be hurt when it was all over, but she would face that when she came to it. Or she wouldn't. She just wanted him. Or she wanted him to want her. And she would let him have her. For a while.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked anxiously.

"A wonderful time," she admitted.

"Good!" he said, pleased.

"I wish I didn't have to meet your folks," she confessed.

"Aww," he said, "it's just my mother and my sister! That's all!"

The car threaded its way through intricately winding streets, exclusive neighborhoods, tree-lined drives, until they arrived at a row of large, impressive, ancient houses, and stopped in front of one of them. He came round, and helped her out, and gave her his arm. She felt like royalty.

The two women had heard them, and were watching, smiling from the front doors.

The younger one was tall and elegant, with a mischievous smile, and Helen knew the exact moment when she recognized her. She controlled her face well, but Helen knew the game was up. The older woman was just a little bent, but otherwise quite vigorous and alert, but Helen knew she had not been recognized by older lady.

"Helen, I'd like you to meet my mother, Diane Brooks, and my sister, Marissa. Mother, Marissa, this is Helen Nordstrom!"

"Hello, pleased to meet you!" murmured Helen, politely and softly.

"Charmed, my dear!" said the old lady, and Marissa shook her hand and said "Likewise! Please come in!"

Seconds later, Marissa drew her aside and asked, "Are you . . . ?"

Before she could finish, Helen said, "No! Please!"

Marissa shook her head, smiling, and said, "I won't tell. Does Matt know?"

"I don't think so," said Helen.

It was love at first sight all round. The old lady was clearly under the misconception that Matt had made a conquest, and they were at the serious stage, and Helen felt paralyzed. Not knowing how she felt, in that genteel environment, she didn't know how to disabuse them, either. Marissa, too, clearly believed that she was about to get a fabulous sister-in-law.

"Oh," said Matt, "We went dancing, and guess what! Helen's the most amazing dancer ever!"

"Really?" asked Marissa, "You dance?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

"I mean, ballroom?"

"Oh!" said Matt, "Everything from A to Z!"

To Helen's utter confusion, as soon as they had finished the sherry, she was whisked off to their own private ballroom, with chandeliers and everything, and made to demonstrate.

Having learned from the best, Helen could not do anything but dance as well as she knew how. She simply knew that it was the best she had danced with any man. They danced a set of seven different dances, and at the end, both Marissa and Diane applauded, crying "Bravo! Brava!" over and over.

It was a long night. The Brooks wanted Helen to stay and socialize, and Helen wanted to oblige them, simply because they were such simply, beautiful, innocent people. Marissa was probably the most down-to-earth of the three, and Helen found her the hardest to resist.

Marissa cornered Helen while leading the way to the bathroom.

"I can hardly believe Matt's . . . I don't know what to say!" she said, as Helen went in, and she waited outside, talking through the closed door. Her manner was a mixture of embarrassed confusion and determination. The others were far away, and they had privacy in the enormous house. "He's a very lucky man." There was a silence. "At least . . . I _hope_ he's a very lucky man!"

Helen, inside, desperately searched her mind for a reasonable response, but none came. In her own innocent way, Marissa had arrived at the thought that Helen might be a little too good to be true.

"What do you mean?"

"Well . . . lots of women have been attracted to Matt, but . . . they don't stick around very long."

Helen came out and leaned on the bathroom doorway, feeling her strength ebb away. She couldn't stand to look at Marissa's pretty brown eyes. She looked up at the chandelier. They were everywhere in the awesome house.

"I don't know," she breathed. "There are problems and problems," she said. "I don't trust myself, either." She bit her lip and looked at Marissa. "I don't want to hurt him," she said, impressing her with her sincerity. "We just met on the plane, and he asked me out. I didn't know it would become such a . . . reason to celebrate! I didn't know I was to meet the family, and have it look like . . ."

"Oh dear!" said Marissa. "Mother found out, and she sort of got excited!"

Helen looked at her feet. "I can't help it if _she_ misunderstands," Helen said. "It's _him_ I'm worried about. I feel so guilty about how I feel about . . . Oh! I'm so confused!"

Marissa looked about, and suddenly whispered, "Come into my room!"

Marissa sent a message to her mother and brother that Helen was in her room, and they should go ahead with dessert. "They won't, I know," Marissa said, smiling awkwardly, "but it'll buy us some time."

Marissa's room was practically a palace, with tall ceilings, a nice king sized bed, and a desk, and a sitting area. She seated Helen, and sat down herself.

"How do you feel about Matt, exactly?" she asked, softly.

This was the question Helen had been dreading. Looking at Marissa's worried but smiling face, she decided to make a clean breast of it.

"Sometimes . . . speaking woman to woman, . . ." she began, and Marissa blushed and nodded. Helen felt a strange sense that she could trust this girl. She felt she could trust the whole family. There was an innocence about them that was palpable. ". . . sometimes I'm attracted to men," Helen confessed, in a voice as if she expected to be slapped. "You must understand!"

Marissa did. She clapped her hands to her cheeks.

"And?"

Helen looked at her puzzled.

"And . . . what?"

"Okay, you're attracted to him. What do you want of him, Helen? Tell me honestly, I can take it."

"So far," Helen said, "it's just . . . physical. He's the sweetest man in the world, but—I have to be honest. It's very physical."

Marissa looked at Helen intently, and then bent her head in resignation.

"Well," she said, heaving one of the saddest sighs Helen had heard, a sigh that was full of abandoned expectation, "that's the story of his life. The story of our lives." She looked at Helen, and Helen saw sorrow in her eyes, sorrow that had no place in the eyes of a woman of no more than twenty eight or twenty nine years. It was an odd feeling to be physically attracted to the brother, and emotionally attracted to the sister. She really was a type to which Helen was particularly attracted: vivacious, articulate, passionate, beautiful, with eyes that could speak without words, curly black hair; perfection. She was the opposite of young Hattie; slim where Hattie was voluptuous, tall, where Hattie was short, . . . yet both women drew her like magnets. But Helen was getting to know Marissa at a deeper emotional level, and Helen was letting her barriers down.

Marissa continued:

"Every time he brought a girl home that he liked, it was some nice girl who had pity on him, but in the end, nothing would come out of it. One particular girl looked very promising. They went out camping—she was the outdoor type—and . . . we thought, well, if she cared enough to spend so much time with him, it could go somewhere. She even got pregnant, but she had an abortion." To Helen's surprise, Marissa began to dab at her eyes at that thought. She cried silently, the tears not entering her voice. "That broke mother's heart. I mean, we're pro-life, but that's not the point." She looked at Helen. "I'm sterile, you see. But it proved that Matt was fertile. He _could_ have children! Looking at Matt and me, you should be able to guess our problem!"

Helen shook her head, puzzled. The two of them were very much alike, but there was definitely no obvious problem she could see. Helen looked at Marissa, at a loss.

"My parents are cousins, you see. Children of two sisters. Their fathers were related, too. We were bred for beauty and talent. Hence the dancing, the obvious good looks, and in my case, sterility, and in his case . . ."

"Is something wrong with him?"

"Wrong?" Marissa looked stricken. "I should have been more tactful," she said, dropping her eyes. "No, there's really nothing wrong with him. He talks slowly, but he's all there. _I_ think he is. As you say, . . . he's the sweetest man alive." She looked up at Helen. "I really like you a lot!" she said, finally breaking down. Helen knelt near her, and put her arms round her. It was not just a simple reaction to a sorrowing girl—though of course Helen could never resist the impulse to comfort someone who was sorrowing—but also that Marissa had moved Helen very deeply. The simplicity of her ways, the directness of her expression touched Helen.

"Don't cry," murmured Helen, as Marissa flung her arms round Helen's neck and clung to her. For a while Marissa sobbed, her body shaking in Helen's arms, then she quietened down, and drew away, blotting her eyes carefully.

"We're not very rich, and we don't have many friends," Marissa said. "We're a sort of weird family, and people find it hard to relate, you know?" Helen nodded. "The worst you could say is that we're eccentric." She sniffed, and dabbed at her nose. "Do you know, you're the only social visitor we've had since Christmas?" Helen nodded, not knowing how to react.

They sat in silence, and finally Marissa smiled shyly at Helen, and then laughed, making Helen laugh. "I've made you all upset," she said, rebuking herself. "You haven't said anything, but just sat and comforted me!" She dropped her eyes, and then raised them again to smile at Helen. "You're the best, Helen," she said quietly. "You deserve all the fame and the praise you get. You're just the nicest, most decent person."

That made Helen feel worse than anything.

"What shall I do?" she asked seriously. "I should walk out, and tell Matt that it was just supposed to be good clean fun. I wasn't trying to . . . become Mrs. Matt."

Marissa shook her head. "That would be cruel. I think you should tell them who you are, and how busy you are, and that you've got children, and you had a good time, and you'll look him up sometime, but frankly you're too busy."

"You think that'll work?"

"It's the kindest thing. He's got to be nuts if he thinks he can land Helen Nordstrom. _The_ Helen Nordstrom!"

Helen's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Hell, he can have his way with me any time!"

Marissa grinned, but then she grew serious. "Don't," she said. "Not unless you want to keep the baby. It's too cruel."

Helen blinked. "Is that the problem? You want the baby? You don't care about me?"

Marissa went pale. "Not care about you? How could you _think_ that, after what I said?"

"No, no, I meant . . . I thought you would naturally want everything neat and tidy, the church wedding, the roses, the honeymoon, everything. I thought if I just got pregnant and then went away, that would be worse than saying goodbye now. But you said, as long as I had the baby, you wouldn't care." Helen had a wild hope, but she could hardly believe that she had understood it right. Nor could she believe that she had admitted simply wanting to sleep with Matt, and never to see him again. It was all happening too fast.

Marissa spoke very carefully. "What I want—and Mother, and Matt— most of all, is to see you and Matt married and happy together, with lots of children. But, failing that, I'd settle for a baby. A healthy baby of either sex. So would Mother. I don't know about Matt." She looked into Helen's eyes.

Helen stood. It was getting late. Marissa stood with her. Helen couldn't bear to think that Marissa thought of the family as being messed-up. She was one of the nicest people she had met, and so was Matt. It was like a dream and a nightmare combined.

" _I_ think you're a wonderful family," Helen said, staunchly. "But I am what I am, and I can't pretend to be what a good wife is made of." She took a step or two, but it was hard. There were so many things she felt, but couldn't put into words. "Matt is so sweet, though, that I was tempted to try!"

Marissa took her arm, and Helen felt her press it to her breast. These Brookses were taking her apart and making oatmeal out of her. She wondered whether Marissa had any idea what it felt like to have a beautiful woman like her press herself against her arm.

"Let's do what I suggested," she said. "Let's tell them who you are, and suggest, strongly, that you're only interested in a brief friendship, or an informal one. I think that sums it up."

"Yes," agreed Helen.

They went into the dining room arm in arm.

"Mother, Matt, do you realize who this is?"

"Who? Helen?" asked they both.

"This is _the_ Doctor Helen Nordstrom, _you_ know, the soprano, the conductor, Christmas special, violinist, professor! Remember Matt, the Christmas special that you bought? _Helen?_ "

Matt's face reflected complete shock, and dawning recognition. "No way! Are you _that Helen?"_

Helen smiled and nodded. Marissa showed her to a seat facing the others, and Helen felt her hands tenderly hold her arms before they dropped away.

"I didn't want to tell you, because I like to travel without too much fuss. Anyway, . . . I thought, before . . . things went any further, that you all should realize that I . . . I'm not exactly what you thought I was."

"Oh, my word," said the old lady, "now I remember! I'm to do a series with you next week!"

"Series?"

"Yes, child, a set of portraits!"

"You're Diane Elman!"

"Of course! Matthew, didn't you tell the girl?"

"Oh!" Matt dimpled at Helen, quite recovered, "I forgot to mention, Mother is a photographer. Or a photographeress, if you prefer!"

The dessert was brought out: _Crème Brûlée_ , one of Helen's favorites.

"And you can dance, too!" Matt said, admiration all over his smiling face. The three women shook their heads, laughing.

At the door, as Helen took her leave, after she had spoken to Diane, Helen was left holding Marissa's hand.

"Will we see you again?" she asked. Diane and Matt watched, and Helen wondered whether they could see what was going on before their eyes.

"Perhaps," said Helen, "but probably not! I'm here for a series of concerts, and we'll be rehearsing all day, and performing at night!"

"Oh yes, with Isolde Wells!"

"You knew about that?"

"Oh, we've been to your concerts. Matt just didn't make the connection!" The soft hand kneaded Helen's. It spoke to her. "Well, call! I'm the one who usually answers. Matt's too lazy, and Mother's too busy!"

"Maybe I will," said Helen, pressing Marissa's hand one last time, and moving away.

"Look," said Matt as they got into the car, "I know it looked as though this visit was some big deal, but really, it wasn't supposed to be the big showdown! Mother just wanted to see you, and I said okay without thinking."

"I don't care about that, Matt. I like you, but it stops there."

"Oh, sure," Matt said quickly, "that's exactly how I feel."

They drove in silence, threading their way back through the long sequence of private drives. When they got close to Helen's humble abode, Matt sighed. "You know what, though," he said, earnestly, "I love to dance with you! It's like . . . I'm finally alive!" He stopped the beautiful car, and turned off the quietly purring engine. "I just love talking with you, and dancing with you," he said. He twisted about in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "I know Sis has taken a liking to you . . . we'd love to see you again," he said.

"She's a wonderful girl," Helen said.

"It's all such a mess," he said, sounding depressed. "I wish you weren't such a busy person!"

"You probably think it would have been better if you never met me!"

"It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"You looked over my shoulder, and said: Whoa mama!"

He laughed. "Whoa, mama! That's exactly right!"

"Do you like girls, Matt?"

"Of course! Why?"

This was no time to fool around.

Helen shrugged. It was like walking on eggshells. "I thought, well, you're a model, and male models are often, you know, they prefer boys to girls."

She could just feel him blush furiously in the dark.

"Well, I have to be honest," he said, "I like looking at pictures of guys, too."

"It's no shame," said Helen, stoutly. "You probably know that I prefer girls."

"Really? Then how come you have kids? Didn't you say you were married once?"

"No . . . I had a baby with a friend of mine. We never married. He married another friend of mine. They let me keep the baby."

There was a long silence, but it was not a hostile one. Somehow Helen knew that no silence could really be awkward with Matt.

He reached out and found her hand and held it, uncannily like his sister had, earlier.

"I wish I had met you first," he said, his voice a little rough. He kneaded her hand, and Marissa's face filled Helen's mind. She didn't know what was happening to her. Well, Matt was making love to her in his own way, that was for sure.

"Matt," Helen said, at last, giving up the battle with her conscience, "if you asked me to sleep with you, I would. But I can't marry you, I can't love you like a wife. I can't be Mrs. Brooks. I'm living a lot of lies, but that one would be too preposterous."

Matt was silent. He sighed several times.

"I don't know," he said, and the sorrow in his voice smote her. "There's a lot of gene damage in my family." He shook his head. "It wouldn't be fair to you."

Helen knew that he was thinking, while she was just feeling. It made her humble. She leaned over and kissed him. And the way he responded, she knew he was a perfectly normal guy, as far as preference was concerned.

The morning's rehearsal went beautifully, after the customary period of greetings and catching up. Helen felt a deep gratitude for the love and the patience of her orchestra. They forgave her the long absences and the neglect with the fortitude of saints. As always, Isolde was brilliant and professional. All she needed was a little encouragement and guidance, and Helen could only admire the genius packed into that little body.

In the afternoon, Sita, Helen and Isolde went shopping. Isolde was hooked on the clothes Helen found for her. Helen felt awful to confess that she had had a reversal of fortunes, and could only afford a small fraction of what she usually spent.

"You don't need to spend a cent!" said Sita. "I have pots of money."

"You do? How did you manage that?" asked Isolde, curious.

"Oh. I . . . I was in this movie," she said, "and it made a lot of money, that's all."

Helen let Sita spend a little money on her, thinking that she would repay her somehow.

Later that afternoon, after Helen had touched base with the folks at the beach, and the others were either napping, or occupied with other things, Helen went out into the park nearby, sat under a tree, and called the Brookses. It was like a compulsion. She had to call, and hear that voice again.

"Hello?"

"Marissa?"

"Helen! Oh lord . . . I never thought to hear from you again! How wonderful!"

"Don't be silly; I have an appointment with your mother!"

"I thought you would cancel."

Helen was shocked.

"Why?"

"Because . . . you can hire any photographer you want, and . . ."

There was some shouting, and Helen heard Marissa shout back that it was for her, the phone call, presumably.

". . . What was I saying?"

"I could hire any photographer I want?" Helen prompted.

"Oh yes . . . and I was so ashamed of myself, touching you like that . . . forgive me, Helen. I hardly go anywhere, you know. This is my world. I go to ballets, to see the women, or to concerts, so that my soul can find something to sustain it. . .. Are you there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here," said Helen. She swallowed hard. "I can't stop thinking about you," she said, her voice sounding unnatural to her own ears.

There was a suddenly let out breath, a cross between a gasp and a sigh. Then Marissa said, with a cry in her voice, "I can't believe what I'm hearing!"

"Well, I just said it. . . . It doesn't mean much."

"It means _everything!_ "

"No . . . from me, it's less than worthless. Every day it's a new woman. I'm pathetic. I'm constantly in love, my heart is perpetually broken. Even I don't take myself seriously. I'm a joke. I wish I could give you more hope!"

"Do you have a . . . significant other now?"

Helen told her everything. About Lorna, about Amy, about Hattie, Conchita, . . . without mentioning names, she described the various actors in her love life, and how she floundered among them.

Gently asking questions, Marissa drew out other things, Helen's hopes and aspirations, her problems with money, the dogs, the Vet, her guilt about various women, her craving for sex with a man.

Patiently Marissa listened, and as Helen kept insisting, she submitted her opinions, about what she thought was wrong, what she thought was less wrong, and why certain things were worse than others.

It was easy to talk to her. There was great innocence, but also much wisdom, but most of all, clear thinking. Like Gena, she loved to reason, she loved consistence, but she had sympathy and understanding. Helen's stories were like TV to her, she loved the passion, all the emotions Helen conjured for her, the way Helen's actions made her able to understand Helen.

Twice they were interrupted by others wanting to use the phone, and finally they hung up for a while, their conversation still unfinished. Then Marissa called Helen.

"You know I'm falling in love with you."

"Yes. So am I. But I warned you."

"Have you ever thought about what life is?"

"Not with much success."

"When you're unmarried and infertile, you have a unique perspective, you know. The things that matter stand out very well."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you have children. And because they'll live on after you die, there's a feeling, I imagine, that they're the product of your life. They're what you've given to the universe."

Helen was silent. That was what she had believed up until then. All she was, all she had been, was encapsulated in those four beings, who so perfectly represented all that was good and decent and lovable in her. When she died, the miserable, dross parts of her would perish, and the children would live, and be her mark on the universe.

She choked. "Yes," she said, deeply moved, "I believe that. For me, it's true. If you met them, Marissa, you would say, yeah, this is Helen, all right. You know? That's how I feel, yes."

"I would love to meet them!" said Marissa, her voice gentle. "But if _I_ believed that, I would just lie down and kill myself. Because I cannot have children, I as much as don't exist now."

Helen was shocked. Of course, it was the logical extension of the same principle, taken to absurd limits.

"That's crazy!" Helen cast about for a means of refuting the argument. "I didn't claim that children were the _only_ thing that represented your existence! I only said . . . that I considered . . ."

"You want to know what I think?"

"Okay," said Helen, feeling lost. This discussion was making it clearer than ever that her feelings for Marissa were too intense to simply experience and then set aside.

"It's not the children themselves that are important. It's _the fact that you loved them_ that is important. Because they come from your matter. If you're a materialist, then it's the product of your matter that means anything. If you're an idealist, it is your ideas that validate your existence. If they survive you, you're alive, otherwise, you may as well not have lived. But I believe in love. The things that loved you, and the things you loved. That's what you are. At last there's something you can care about! If you never loved your children, what good is it that you leave them? They only remind the world of your indifference. And if I love someone, then I exist. You have made me exist."

It left Helen stunned. She was certain it wasn't original thinking, but she knew Marissa hadn't a college education. She had simply invented this concept, or read it somewhere.

"I've embarrassed you," Marissa said, her voice remorseful. "I shouldn't be telling you all this stuff, . . . but I guess I just _had_ to. Helen?"

"Yes, I'm here," she said. "You make me feel humble!"

"You're a very modest person," Marissa said, suddenly. "I can find no arrogance."

"Well, that's how love is. You seem perfect to me, too! And beautiful, and humble, and intelligent, and caring . . ."

"Do you really love me?" she asked, in a soft, sweet voice.

"Yes. I don't have a right to, but . . . sometime last night, you talked your way right into my heart."

"That's not very flattering."

"How can it be helped? How can I know you? I can watch you for years, or listen to you for a few minutes. You're so full of love, how can one help loving you? You have no idea how wonderful you are!"

"I know I'm attractive."

"Why don't you get out and meet people? One has only to meet you, and one would fall in love with you!"

There was a brief silence, while she thought.

"I don't know; cowardice, I suppose. I was taught at home, you know. I never went to school. I'm afraid of people. I took ballet lessons in a class in the city, and then I came straight home. Then there was ballroom dancing, I don't know why we did that. I guess father wanted us to learn, because he and his sisters were champions. And Matt and I won one championship. He was just fantastic. I was pretty good, but not as good as you. I had meant to ask: how did you get so good?"

Helen explained briefly. After that, Marissa had other thoughts that she wanted to share, which broke Helen's heart still more.

"I must see you again soon!" Helen said. "I want to kiss you. I want to do the things that seal how I feel. I don't think you understand. For me love isn't a very abstract thing. It's a dirty, painful, physical thing!"

Marissa laughed. "You want to do stuff to me!"

"Well, yes!"

She was silent again while she considered that.

"I don't think Mother would appreciate that!"

"Hang mother! _I_ would appreciate it!"

"Oo!" she laughed again. She could make Helen furious so easily! She was all woman, even having grown up in isolation.

"Marissa, is there some way I can . . . meet you tonight?"

"What do you mean?"

Helen tore her hair. How could she make her understand?

"I want to see you, to kiss you, to hold your hand!"

"Perhaps you could come here . . ."

"I don't know the way!"

"But you were here yesterday!"

In the end, Helen rented a car, and tried to find the way back to the Brooks house. It was almost six when she found the way. It all looked very different in the daytime, but she found it. Then she had to rush back for the concert. Helen said she would try and make it back to the house around eleven. "Call me at eleven!" Helen told her. Marissa was excited now. She agreed.

Helen had thought the excitement would distract her, but it didn't. The sheer excitement and the joy of her new love made the performance incandescent. For whatever reason, Isolde turned in a brilliant performance, and they received a standing ovation, a truly deserved one.

Helen shook hands with everyone, and then turned to Isolde, Lalitha and company.

"Look," she said, "I'm going out to meet someone, and then I might not come back tonight. I'll be at rehearsal tomorrow!"

"All night?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'll have to report this to Amy," said Lalitha severely.

Helen looked at her with hangdog eyes until she laughed.

Seconds later she was in the car, changing into her sweats. She carefully found her way back to the Brooks house, and parked as far away as she dared. It was ten-thirty. She quickly walked to the house, and hid in the shadows outside the gate. There was no dog, no barbed-wire, and Helen found a gap in the hedge through which she managed to wriggle though.

Sharp at eleven, Marissa called.

"Hello?"

"Hi! It's me!"

"Where are you?"

"Just inside the gate!" Helen whispered.

"Now what do we do?"

"It's your house; _you_ think of something!"

Marissa remembered that there was a summerhouse at the back that was never used. She could slip out with a broom and a blanket, and they could sit there and talk. Helen asked her to make sure she could get in again.

Helen went round to the back, and saw the little summerhouse. It was a cute little one, like the one in _The Sound of Music_ , and she began to clear it out of the debris that had accumulated. Then she waited. A figure in white appeared at the French windows of the studio, and Helen could see her waiting until her eyes adjusted. She must had felt her way through the house. Helen went up, suddenly feeling afraid. It was a foolhardy idea. She didn't want Marissa to get into trouble with her mother. But she was a grown woman, after all.

"Oh! You frightened me!" she cried, seeing Helen, and then Helen went up to her, and took the broom and blanket out of her hands and drew her in and kissed her.

The kiss made her tremble. Helen held her close as they walked to the summerhouse, and carefully swept it out, and put the blanket down.

They sat on the floor, and talked for a while. Marissa was a never-ending source of ideas and images. Once she was over her fright at being out in the dark, without the knowledge of her mother, she talked. Helen set her on her lap, their legs luxuriously in full contact, and listened to her. She wore a thick flannel nightgown and robe, which was as well, because the night was cool.

Then Helen got out from under her, and took off her clothes and stood naked.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to be naked."

"Oh god." Helen could see her face now, even in the dark. She was beautiful, even just that tiny bit of her. "We're only two women, Helen; what good is it?"

"You mean . . . you've never had a lover?"

"Of course not; I thought I said so!" Helen simply stood. She wanted Marissa to invite her to sit down with her on the blanket.

"Come, s-sit down," she said at last. Helen sat cross-legged in front of her. "You're beautiful," she said. "At least, _I_ think you are. Mother will be pleased."

"Why Mother? I want _you_ to be pleased!"

She shrugged. She reclined gracefully, her feet tucked under her, watching Helen, studying the lines of her body in the dim moonlight. The city lights made the sky glow, adding a reddish cast to her skin.

"Will you kiss me?" Helen whispered.

She leaned forward and kissed Helen on the lips, and Helen captured her hands. Slowly, inexorably, the seduction proceeded. Half of Helen was relentless: having set her mind on possessing Marissa's soul, she pushed, inch by inch, to enmesh her in Helen's beauty. The other half watched her, her innocence, her beauty, and felt guilt, but it seemed powerless to stop what was happening.

Helen drew her forward, until she was seated close, so close to Helen, facing her, the way she had positioned so many women before this one, her own naked body within easy reach of the other, so that the other woman had her vision filled with Helen, their lungs filled with Helen's scent. She didn't resist, but let herself be moved. Her eyes were wide open, watching Helen fascinated.

She raised her hand, and touched Helen's chest. "So warm!" she murmured, and Helen closed her eyes in ecstasy. "Why are you doing this? This is so disturbing . . . you know you're . . . upsetting me."

"I'm offering myself to you," Helen said, in a whisper. "To be naked . . . is a special kind of offering. I want to give myself to you. Here I am!"

Once again she raised her hand to touch Helen's skin, on her chest, between her breasts. Helen put her arms round the woman, catching her hand between them. She had no option but to caress Helen's skin.

"Helen . . . I couldn't possibly desire you more, if that's what you want!"

"Oh Marissa! Desire is just the beginning!"

She had never had sex of any kind. Apart from dancing with her brother, and her ballet classes in her youth, she had had no physical contact with anyone, male or female. Helen was drowning her in feelings she had only imagined for a decade. She was being made to do things that teenagers discover for themselves easily, without a thought. She was like an ignorant Victorian bride thrown suddenly into a honeymoon, being made to transform her emotional bond with her lover into a physical one.

"Tell me what to do," she said finally. "Teach me!"

Helen had seated her now on Helen's own crossed legs, their bodies touching, so that Marissa's face was a few inches higher than her own. Helen's arms were around her, like a cage, and she had begun to steady herself with one hand against Helen's body, and the other around her neck.

They began to kiss, and Helen positioned Marissa's hand against Helen's chest, and the dam broke. The touch of Helen's nipple against her palm did the trick. She began to caress Helen, her hands bolder every second, as they kissed, still tenderly, just lips against lips. Helen kept up the emotional onslaught by repeating the words "I love you!" over and over, wearing down her resistance, as those gentle hands felt all her chest and her shoulders and her back, and her face.

Then Helen waited, patiently. Perhaps it was the part of her that was touched by her beauty, or perhaps it was just being tired, or perhaps she wanted to feel that Marissa was a participant in this, not just a victim. She leaned back, resting on her outstretched arms, thinking of what she could say to ease the emotional turmoil Marissa must be feeling.

Without warning, Marissa bent to place her mouth on Helen's breast, and sucked. Helen held her breath and closed her eyes, and a long sigh escaped her lips. As Marissa felt the power she controlled, yet another barrier came down.

"Do you want me to touch you . . . _everywhere?_ "

"Oh god, yes! _Especially_ everywhere!"

She climbed off Helen, and knelt to look close, in the dark. Helen leaned back, her legs still spread, showing herself.

"It's smooth . . . like a child!"

"I just—did that. I thought the hair got in the way, I suppose."

"Of what?"

"Touching," Helen breathed, taught as a bow.

Marissa gasped. She put out her hand to touch it on the outside, just a curious probe, but Helen, so charged with desire, reacted with an immediate orgasm. She watched fascinated as Helen let herself feel the pleasure.

"Don't be alarmed . . ." Helen said, softly ". . . this is the pleasure one woman gives to another . . . a part of what I live for . . . I'm addicted to it, Marissa . . .I must have it every night, several times a night. Sometimes, it's all that makes life livable!"

"Would you like some more?" she asked, uncertainly. "It seemed easy—just a touch . . ."

Helen laughed softly. "It was all the other things we did, to lead up to it!"

After a while, she asked Helen: "Do you want to see me naked as well?"

"Yes," said Helen, simply.

She carefully undressed, leaving her clothes on the bench. With her short curly black hair she looked vaguely boyish. Her breasts were shapely, on the small side, and she was very pale, as was to be expected.

"There!" she said, presenting herself. A certain point had been passed, and she had let Helen decide what was right and wrong about nudity, touch, intimacy. The moon was up now, and Marissa walked out into the moonlight on tiptoe. She did a pirouette, looking at the moon, and called to Helen to come out.

"You can be seen from every house!" Helen hissed. "You might wake the dogs!"

"There are no dogs," she whispered. "Everybody's asleep!"

"Somebody might drive by!"

"No! Nobody will! Come dance!"

She was the third dancer that Helen had loved. As with all of them, their passion was to move, and that's how they made love. It was incredibly erotic, to silently dance in each other's arms, breasts touching ever so sensuously, looking into each other's eyes, instinctively feeling the rhythms the other wanted to follow.

They stopped to kiss, and Helen showed her new ways of kissing, and began to make love to her.

"Come up to my bed," she asked, finally. "I want you near me tonight!"

"I have a rehearsal in the morning! And how will I get out again?"

"Early morning, before the servants come!"

"You mean, they don't live in?"

"Oh, no!"

"What about my car? It might be found, and . . ."

"This is all private property. People will think it's someone else's guest. Come on!"

A little later, Helen was creeping through the house behind Marissa. She had insisted that they go naked, daring fate, carrying their clothes with them. The stairs creaked, and Marissa giggled silently. Eventually, they were cuddling in her enormous bed. Helen then showed her some new ways of doing it, and she was an eager learner. They never got a second's sleep.

Five hours later, Marissa lay perspiring on Helen. Her eyes and her skin reached out, rediscovering the body of her new fascination, her love and her lover. Her arms big, much bigger than Marissa's. The thin, elastic skin covered hard flesh beneath. It was the hardness of hard rubber, pleasant to touch, to hold, to be held by. The teeth were perfect, the eyes in turn amused, sad, tender, or above all, passionate. They were yellow, now, in the light of early morning, or rather, a sort of greeny-gold.

Finally she had touched a woman. She had drawn it out as long as she could. Helen was a genius, she had learned, at the psychological game of sexual arousal. But she had figured it out, and become a participant in that game.

It had gone on for hours; three hours in the garden, almost three hours in her bedroom. She felt the energy coming back. She felt the energy seeping into Helen, too. What a woman! Marissa remembered having seen her at the opera, once, and briefly lusting after her. But she had been so out of reach. Who could have imagined that one day they would lie in Marissa's bed, skin against skin, as lovers?

She scooted up, eye to eye with Helen, who smiled at her.

"You have to go!"

"Yes."

"Do you really have to? Can't someone else do the rehearsal for you? It's just a rehearsal, after all! Phone in sick; tell them you'll make it to the concert!" Her voice gained in urgency and excitement as she went on with the idea.

Helen grinned. "I can't stay here, can I? I'd be discovered!"

"You can hide here! I'll tell them to leave the room alone!" She played with Helen's eyes and mouth, as if she were some huge doll. "What are you thinking?"

"That you're beautiful, and I like you lying on my stomach!"

"I'm your blanket!"

"Uh huh!"

She studied Helen's face a long time. For a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, there was incredible variation in color. Her eyes were beautiful, and the expression in them was like a kaleidoscope. Last night she had been elegant, gracious and vivacious, but still, essentially a kind of formulaic person. Helen had been able to delve under the exterior and found a thinking, analyzing, creative woman, an original. But this was someone totally different. She scintillated, she shone, she was totally alive.

She sprang from the bed, and did a little dance, as Helen watched. She giggled. "I haven't done that in ten years!" she said, forgetting to whisper.

A loud call came from somewhere in the distance; Marissa's mother.

"Marissa, stop pounding the floor. It's too early."

She froze in a crouch. _Pounding?_ she mouthed. She crawled back into bed and put her arm around Helen. Her eyes were thoughtful as they wandered around the room and finally settled on Helen. It was Helen's turn to wonder what she was thinking.

"You have to go," she said. "I'm going to walk you to the car!"

"If you like!"

They dressed, and slipped out of the house easily, and through the hedge with a little more effort. Marissa wore a calf-length skirt and a sleeveless sweater, and Helen had to work hard to keep the sweater from getting ripped. As Helen had suspected, once they reached the car, she asked to come along.

Helen unlocked the car, and they sat inside.

"Drive! Drive!" she said, gesturing at Helen.

"What's the hurry?"

"I'm excited! This is an adventure!"

"How old are you, Marissa?"

"Thirty two! Why?"

"And Matt?"

"A year younger. _Go on!_ "

Helen sighed. There couldn't be any harm in it, but it seemed silly.

"Call your mother, tell her I came out to pick you up. It's silly to just disappear."

"Well, all right. Stop at a phone."

"There's a phone, right there," Helen said, pointing to the car phone.

"Oh." She quickly figured how to use it, and dialed home. "Mother? . . . Marissa. . . . I'm with Helen. I got her to pick me up. . . . A few minutes ago. . . . Doing? Picking me up, obviously! . . . Did I wake her up? . . ."

Marissa looked at Helen, her eyes wide. "She wants to know whether I woke you up!" There was a tinge of amusement in her voice which made Helen smile.

"Tell her I was already up, doing my exercises."

"Mother? She was already up, doing her exercises. . . . Oh, er . . . After lunch, perhaps? . . . all right . . . Uh-huh . . . bye."

She turned off the phone and said, "We can go now."

"What did she say?"

"Let's just say she isn't happy."

Helen started the car, and they moved off.

Helen simply introduced her as Marissa. She was obviously delighted to meet everyone, particularly Isolde Wells. But she was perfectly composed, in spite of Sita's sly needling. Helen could park her almost anywhere, and she simply sat and watched, her hands folded in her lap.

She ate breakfast with them, speaking carefully, only answering direct questions, but managing to appear as if she was joining in the conversation.

"Who _is_ she?" each of them took Helen aside and asked her, and to each she said: _a girl I met yesterday_.

At the rehearsal, she sat at the back and watched, fascinated. Often Helen turned to check on her, and always she was watching. When Helen looked at her, she smiled. She gave no reason for them to suspect there was anything between Helen and her; she may have been a visitor from out of town whom Helen was babysitting.

Helen bought her lunch, and a little purse she could carry. "I have a purse, several, in fact," Marissa said. "But you need one today," Helen insisted. "You look silly without one."

It was time for Marissa to return home.

"I don't have to be back at one, on the dot," she said.

"What do you suggest?"

"We could go back to the house with your friends, and . . . do some more!"

"They'll know what we're doing."

Her face fell.

"Shall we try to sneak into my house?"

"In broad daylight?"

She shrugged, looking thoughtful. She frowned. "Why not just walk in the front door?"

That's what they did. The maid let them in, and Marissa asked her to give Helen a drink, and take her up to Marissa's room. "I'm going to tell mother I'm here."

"Very good, miss. What would you like to drink, Ma'am?"

It was too easy. The pretty little maid gave her the unsweetened lemonade she had asked for, and led her up to the room, now nicely tidied, the bed all made up. Marissa floated in a few seconds later, and they locked the door, and it was on again. They undressed to the skin, and made love all afternoon, put on music and danced, and then made love again.

Though Helen was more in tune with Marissa than with many other women she had known, she was not able to fully understand the intensity of Marissa's sensitivity. What Helen had done to her was like rubbing pure cayenne pepper into her tongue. Not only does cayenne burn the inside of the mouth, it leaves it hypersensitive to other tastes for a long time. And so Marissa, all her nerve-endings raw after that incredible night of passion, was so attuned to Helen, so delicately calibrated, that in spite of the white heat of the afternoon's passion Marissa knew that Helen's interest was flagging.

Marissa had made an enormous impression on Helen. She had made Helen forget Amy, Sita, and even Isolde Wells, for whom Helen had an unconfessed desire. Still, Marissa was one of many for Helen, while for her, Helen was the only light in her dark sky, and Helen's slightest thought or action would always be a giant gesture, as long as Helen and she continued to be this way: Helen the sole owner of the keys to Marissa's heart.

Perhaps some of the drivel she had so impetuously thrown out was not entirely worthless. She had vaguely noted _tricks for keeping your lover_ , and _how to tell when he or she is losing interest_ , and even _how to revive a flagging affair,_ before she had thrown them into the fireplace at Thanksgiving, when no one was around. Every Thanksgiving was the time she got rid of paper. There was always a big fire, and she took charge of it in the late afternoon.

"I love the way you kiss," she said, looking into Helen's eyes. Helen looked at her for a while, and grinned. Her smile ebbed away. She wished Helen would say something tender. Where was the tenderness?

Ah. Helen had gotten serious, dreamy, almost, and run her hand through Marissa's curly hair. Marissa loved when she did that. It was so confusing! Sometimes Helen seemed to worship her, at other times, it was as if her thoughts were far away, as if she took Marissa for granted.

"You have to go," she said, as was her custom, when Helen began to get impatient. "I'll get dinner sent up. Or some snacks!"

Helen relaxed, like a lioness, stretched out. She was exactly a lioness, Marissa thought, in all her ways: fearless, noble, serious, motherly in a leonine kind of way, patient, cat-like, alert. Those eyes, they were _so_ cat-like; not in a house-cat kind of complacent way, but like the lioness, watching over her domain, seeing and noting everything. What was she, Marissa? She felt like a deer, brought down by the lioness, and then coupled with. It was a strange thought. Was she a mere plaything?

"I love you, too!" Helen smiled, her eyes glowing softly. Marissa melted. All the fanciful thoughts evaporated before the one big problem. Helen was leaving soon, and she couldn't go with her this time.

Helen found herself back at the cottage by late Sunday night. She and Becky had refused to compromise. She had taken a jet, then a commuter plane, then a bus, and by the time she got back to the cottage, Helen's trail was beautifully lost. She had worn a Helen wig as she boarded the plane, and a scarf as she left it, and done certain other things, anticipating having to return on Wednesday.

They were glad to see her, every single one of them, from James, to Gena, to Amy. Helen could see the teary smile on Amy's face, and saw how the last several weeks had made Helen an important part of Amy's life. It was similar to the way alcohol got incorporated into the metabolism of an alcoholic, or any drug became a part of the chemistry of an addict. It had been three days, and Amy had missed her.

A surprise was Kristen. She shyly came forward to hug Helen, and Helen looked at the girl, bemused, and then at Gena. Gena blushed and said that Kristen practically lived there, now.

"I told her she could," said Amy, taking the blame, "as long as her parents called over and talked to me."

"You've moved in?" Helen asked her, smiling.

"Oh, no!" she said, blushing furiously, "I just stayed last night!"

Helen looked at the time. It was twelve thirty. They had stayed up for her, and Kristen had stayed up with them. "It's late; perhaps you should stay tonight, too," Helen said, doubtfully.

"I'll call and ask," Kristen said, outwardly calm, but all of them knew she wanted to stay. Helen looked at Gena while Kristen called home, and got no clear signal. Helen knew Gena was fond of the girl, but not _that_ fond.

Kristen talked quietly into the phone for a while, and then handed the phone to Helen. She had pretty grey eyes, and when Helen smiled encouragingly at her, she smiled back, and Helen knew this was a beauty in the making. She was going to be a heartbreaker in just a few months. Her legs, her skin . . . it was a sexy little car-bomb that was ready to explode, and it had slid into the parking-spot next to Gena.

"Hello, this is Elaine Gibson!"

"Hi, I'm Krissy's father! She insisted on waiting for you over there! I understand you had to go out to Philadelphia on some business."

"Yes! You seem to know everything!"

He laughed. "Listen, I could come pick her up, if she's in the way. There can't be that much space in your place; I know it's small. Tell me frankly, if she's going to be in the way. We don't live too far out at all. I could come get her in a few minutes."

"Oh no, no problem!"

"She seems to have found a good friend in your daughter, Gena," he continued. "We've met her, and I think she's a good influence on her."

"That's very kind of you," Helen said, smiling at Gena, who blushed. "We like her, too!"

After a few more words they hung up.

They had a few snacks, a glass of milk all round, and the kids got ready to sleep.

Gena washed up, and got into her briefs. It was too hot to wear anything else. The three girls would share the room; Erin had slept with Aunty Amy last night, but now that Mom was back, Erin had to sleep with them.

The previous night had been great. They had sat up talking for a long time, about boys in general, and Isaac and Bruce and Jason. Then talk had shifted round to the topic of girls, and that had been even more interesting. They had analyzed all their friends, including Sandy and Sherry and some of the others. Kristen had a pretty way of choosing her words, and using simple words to express difficult and complex ideas.

For example Kristen had confided that she felt comfortable with Mom, Miss Elaine, as she called her. She talked about liking her, the way she looked, the way she dressed, and so on, and it was all code for: I have a crush on your mother.

Then they had turned out the lights, and talked in whispers, about popular TV idols, and Gena had been amused at Kristen's tastes and her reasons for them. But in general, Kristen liked strong, controlled, kind people, like Helen. And Gena was beginning to realize that she liked people like Kristin, too. Kristin was a lot like Erin, a no-nonsense, helpful, dependable, loyal girl, not too stuck on her looks, easy to get along with, articulate in her own way, and full of good sense if you listened to her, and fun to be with.

But tonight, they were stuck with Erin.

"Erin," said Gena, "you could sleep with me, and Kris could sleep in yours. How's that?"

"Okay, Sis," said Erin, equably. She had lately decided she liked the sound of the word Sis, and was using it as the opportunity arose.

Kristen came close to Gena and said, "Why don't I share your bed? That way we can talk, and not disturb your sister."

The three of them looked at each other. It seemed a reasonable idea; at least, there was no argument Gena could put forward against it.

"Why don't we put the beds together, and just share?" asked Erin. They tried that, and found that they could sleep crosswise. Gena got the middle.

After the lights were out, they talked in low voices.

"I wish your mother was my mother, too!" said Kristen.

"That's awful! You have a _fantastic_ mom!"

Kristen was embarrassed. "I meant . . . my Mom is super, but she's so . . . _housewifey!_ Your mom looks like she could keep order at a school board meeting!"

"Oh yes. She has a lot of leadership potential."

"Potential! I bet she could run for mayor and win!"

Gena laughed. "Oh Krissy, you _know_ you have a crush on my Mom!"

The moment she said it, she realized that perhaps it was a cruel thing to say.

Kristen punched her gently.

"You shouldn't have said that," she declared, softly. "I think that word means something I don't feel. I simply admire your mom."

"I'm sorry," Gena said, backing off, "I was out of line."

There was a brief silence, and Kristen said, "You know who else I admire?"

"Who?"

"You. You're always willing to apologize. I think that says that you're thoughtful and mature."

Gena blushed.

"Let's change the subject," she smiled in the dark, and Kristen said fine. They went on to other topics, and then fell asleep.

During the night Gena woke, to find Kristen's arm around her waist, and her body pressed snug against Gena's. Torn between disentangling herself and simply lying there, enjoying the feel of Kristen's body against hers, she opted for the latter.

She fell asleep again, and when she woke, she realized she had rolled over, and they were now clutched in each other's arms. It took longer to fall asleep this time, but she did. It felt warm and sticky, but Kristen's breath was sweet, and she realized how wonderful it was to sleep with someone, someone you liked, like she liked Kristen, and who in turn liked you. In particular, Kristen's leg was between Gena's knees, and she liked the snugness of their bodies. It was almost like having sex.

When she finally awoke, it was morning. Mom would have gone out to the beach to run, it was just light.

They were exactly the way they were, arms about each other, legs entwined together. Then Kristin opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Gena's eyes.

Kristen had smuggled Gena's magazine into her room at home a couple of weeks ago, and read it from cover to cover. She had read every single page, and with great wisdom, mulled over every word, kept the ideas that made sense to her, and discarded the rest. This was an instance of what Gena loved about her new friend, her steady good sense .

Kristen moistened her dry lips.

"Gena, I want to bring up something . . . something you might not want to hear."

"Uh huh."

"Is this a good time? It doesn't have to be now."

Gena grinned. "This is the best time! I can't move, you've got me trapped!"

"Be serious. It means a lot to me."

"Go on, Krissy. I'm sorry."

The girl took a deep breath, and let it out. "I love you," she whispered.

Time stood still. Gena's heart filled with such pleasure that it felt that it would burst. It didn't matter that Gena had a dozen boys and girls whom she would have preferred to be holding just then, it was still perfect, still beautiful.

Kristen smiled, a soft, calm, relieved smile.

"You're not upset!"

"Nah . . . but Kris . . . we won't be together too long!" She squeezed Kris's freckled arm affectionately. "It's going to be hard when we have to say goodbye."

Kristen's response was to draw Gena close, and softly kiss her on the lips.

There was a radiance about Kristen that morning that reminded Helen of Marissa. She simply glowed, she sparkled, there was a confidence in her movements, a deeper three-dimensional quality to her, as if she had been just a hologram until that day. And the way Gena watched her in amazement made Helen smile.

"Sure," Helen had said, when Gena brought up the topic of William & Mary. "Go ahead. Either William _or_ Mary is fine with me!"

"Come on, Mom, be serious."

Helen was slightly annoyed. Gena had told her about the DA, and how she turned out to have attended Ferguson School. Who was this woman anyway? It was hard to accept the fact that she, Helen, was far more recognizable than this unknown lawyer, but a letter from the lawyer would very likely carry more weight than Helen's own letter, because she was the parent.

"You're going to have to tell her your real name, you know."

Fortunately, Krissy had taken one of their bikes and pushed off to check-in at headquarters. She would have gone ballistic if she had listened to the discussion.

"Yikes."

Gena was due at the café at ten. She rode like the wind, and was waiting for Mallory Pearson when she arrived. Gena noted with approval that the woman walked to work. She had white sneakers on, and sunglasses and a little hat to keep out the dust and the glare.

"Gena! You're going for William & Mary!"

She took out her shades, put her briefcase down, and gave Gena an unexpected hug. Her body felt tight and good. She smiled at Gena, picked up her briefcase and called her into her personal office, inside the courthouse building. It was a little office, neat and organized, and there was a clerk seated outside, a sort of an assistant, who nodded to Gena cheerfully. Somehow Gena was impressed.

"Guess what: I'm going to do your letter first. No cases today; this is the perfect day for it. Sit down, and tell me a little about yourself. First of all, what's your full name?"

"Gena Nordstrom."

The woman wrote it down carefully. Then she stopped and looked at Gena quizzically. "Wait: not Gibson?"

Gena took a deep breath. "My Mom is here sort of incognito, so we're all Gibson while we're here. But unless the letter says Nordstrom, it won't do me any good. Mom said you'd probably understand. She's Elaine, who works at Palmer's, across the street."

"She's not running from the law, or anything, is she?" Mallory twinkled. Gena shook her head and smiled.

"Okay. I know you're a brilliant waitress. What did you do at school?"

"College-bound. I took most everything; calculus, French, German, orchestra, physics, chemistry, English 3, social studies, . . . everything."

She raised her eyebrows and nodded. "I did the same! Any prizes?"

"Service prize, choir prize, math prize, the Gladiator Prize, and the Luther Prize."

At the mention of the last two, Mallory sat up straight and stared at her.

"Did you, really?" she asked in a hushed voice, and Gena knew that she had indeed attended Ferguson. The Luther Prize was given to the student voted the best example to the younger grades, and the Gladiator prizes were for the best boy and girl all-round athletes. "You must be really something," she said. "I won the Gladiator my year! Put it there!" she said, holding out her hand, and Gena grinned and shook it.

"So tell me about your extra-curricular interests!"

Gena told her as much as she could think of. Her experience wasn't of the conventional sort. But being orphaned at thirteen, being adopted by a brilliant violinist, being on the run for a year, and attending an unusual boarding school, and singing in a semi-professional ensemble had given her unique experiences that few girls could match.

"I sing pretty well," she said, hesitantly. "I sang in this choir once, and we made a record, and it's still selling well," she added.

"Really? Which choir?"

"It's the Bach Mass in B minor, with the Impromptu Choir," Gena said, her heart in her mouth. One more question, and their cover was blown.

Mallory decided to write the letter right away. Humming and hawing, she pecked out a sizable letter, and showed it to Gena. It was a lovely letter. Gena smiled and nodded. She said she hadn't expected to approve it.

"I know," she said. "But when I write a nice letter like that, why shouldn't you have the pleasure of reading it? I'll send a copy out to Ferguson, and they can send prints of it with all your applications. You should apply to other places, too."

"I plan to."

"It's getting late, kid. You should have started in January. But you know what? Schools will take you right until the last minute. Don't give up, but don't wait another single day!"

Gena got up to go. She thanked Mallory, and said she hoped to see her at lunch.

"How's your friend?" asked she.

Gena grinned. "Kristen? Oh, she's fine. She spent the weekend with us, 'cos Mom was gone to Philly. I'm sorry she was being silly, Miss Mallory!"

Mallory only smiled. "She likes you. You know? She thinks big mean Mallory is going to steal her friend!" Mallory's laugh was hearty, and ended in a little cough. "Whoa," she said, "Too much smoking!"

Gena's smile turned awkward. She had begun to like this woman, and suddenly her habit seemed like a dark cloud. It was none of her business, but she wished there was some way to express her sorrow about the matter.

"What's the matter, hon?" asked the DA, narrowing her eyes.

Gena smiled as convincingly as she could, which was not very.

"I wish I could make you stop," she said. She flushed. "That was rude of me," she ended, lamely. Before she could think clearly, she said that her friend who was going to William and Mary in the Fall had begun smoking at twelve, and they had made her stop, she and her cousins.

"I started at eighteen," confided Mallory. "I wish I had had a friend like you then," she said. "I might be clean today."

"Well, I'm here now," said Gena, and gasped at her temerity.

She had to hurry to the café. Luckily things had worked out okay. There had been an awful pause, and then Mallory had patted her on the back and said she was a brave, big-hearted girl. Gena put up her hair, tied on her apron, and got to work.

Helen had been working for a while, when her friend Hattie turned up. She paused at the door, smiled at Helen, and slowly walked over. How graceful she was, how cute!

There was just a touch of makeup on her face, a little blush on her cheeks, and a little lip-gloss. Helen thought the blush was a little heavy-handed, but the lip-gloss was just right. She had even done something to her hair, and it shone with just a little deeper light.

"I just thought I'd come and say hi!"

Helen blushed a little, and Hattie's eyes took it in with obvious satisfaction.

"Come on," Helen said, "I'll buy you a drink and a snack, on me! What would you like?"

"Oh no, I couldn't!"

"Oh," said Helen with a careless gesture, "I have certain privileges! What would you like? The raspberry lemonade is very popular with the kids!"

"Okay, maybe a glass of that!"

"And a croissant?"

"Okay!"

Helen got her the snack and the drink, and she sat and ate fastidiously, and sipped at her lemonade. Helen took a position where she could see her sideways. The soft curve of her buttock and her leg was Helen's favorite view of her. Today she wore a soft green skirt and a peach and white blouse with tiny print flowers. It had a simple u-neck, and showed just a little of her breast. She also wore a scarf round her neck, and looked a whole different person. After she was done, she came over to where Helen pretended to do something with the greeting cards.

"Thanks, so much!" she said.

"Oh, you're welcome," Helen said. "You should stop by our house sometime and visit with me and the kids. We live in the cottage, up by the beach, you know?"

Her look changed. Helen saw that in the world of the village, people who stayed in the cottage never looked for work.

Helen shrugged and smiled. "I told Mr. Palmer that if anyone else asks for the job, I'll resign."

Loyalty to Helen warred with Hattie's sense of what was appropriate for people to do. Helen watched her mouth, which seemed to express her conflicting emotions so well, and always remained beautiful. Helen wondered whether she herself looked so pretty all the time. She suspected she didn't. She had the dubious talent of being self-conscious, while worrying about something entirely different at the same time. Hattie was talking.

"I guess you have a right to find a little work same as anybody else," she said quietly, almost as if she was speaking heresy.

"Hey," said Helen, suddenly, "do you mind?" and, picking up a tissue, she carefully moderated the amount of blush Hattie had put on. Hattie held her face steady by reflex, as she must have done in her youth for her mother. She blushed furiously right afterwards. "It had smeared a bit," Helen lied. "Oh, girl, you don't need that stuff! You have such a pretty color!" She couldn't keep her pleasure out of her voice.

Hattie looked at her a little strangely and smiled. Helen felt flustered. She looked about, and saw the children through the window, playing with Lily.

"Oh," she said, "my youngest are right out there, with young Lily, see?"

"How darling!" gushed Hattie, going to the window. "How old are they? The little boy is just the image of you!"

"He's three, and Alison is five, just ready for Kindergarden." Helen pronounced it like they did in Westfield, without thinking.

"And the little blonde?"

"That's my second, she's eleven. The oldest is waitressing in the Café over there; there she is, that's her!"

"Oh lord, she's a beauty!"

"You can tell from here?"

"Oh yes. I can spot a pretty woman from quite a distance!" she said, and then was suddenly quiet.

Helen heard the remark, but pretended not to have. She rattled on about Gena and how wonderful she was. While she talked, Hattie nodded away, until she had control of her blush.

The door opened, and in walked a handsome young woman of about thirty. She was dark and beautiful, and carried herself like an athlete, or a soldier. Both Helen and Hattie stared, fascinated.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Hattie said, and slipped away.

"Are you Elaine Gibson?" asked the newcomer. She had a low but clear voice, one that Helen suspected could be made audible over considerable confusion.

Helen wiped her hands on her apron and said she was, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. The dark grey eyes studied her with benevolent interest, it seemed.

Smiling, the woman said, "Ms. Gibson, I must tell you, you have the most wonderful girl! I'm Mallory Pearson, the District Attorney, and I just wrote a letter of recommendation for your daughter Gena! She must have told you that someone offered to do that a couple of days ago!"

"Oh! Yes she did," said Helen, relaxing. "Thank you very much! You're very generous to have offered."

They shook hands, and Mallory looked about, humming to herself, obviously deep in thought.

"Listen," she said softly, leaning forward, "I know you're not a simple sales clerk . . ."

Suddenly her expression changed, and Helen remembered the moment Marissa had recognized her.

"Oh my word . . . I am so dense . . . I know who you are! Good grief!" she said, her face filling with obvious pleasure.

"You do?" Helen said, at a loss. She wanted to put a stop to this as soon as she could, but this was the DA! She felt out of her depth. Trust Gena to get herself entangled with the law.

Mallory came just a little bit closer. So far she had stood almost a yard from Helen, across the counter. She rested her hands on it and said how Gena had mentioned having sung in the B minor mass. "It just now came together! I should have known!"

Helen grinned.

"I've done nicely so far as Elaine Gibson," she said. "I don't think there's any harm in continuing, Miss, er, . . ."

"Pearson. Mallory. No, not at all. I'm not after you for that. But listen; it's the middle of June, and Gena hasn't applied to any schools. Why am I alarmed more than you are?"

Helen blushed. Mallory's tone was no-nonsense, and was severely critical in spite of its pleasantness. Helen hadn't realized how late in the year it had gotten to be.

"I have a girl who works for me," said Helen, clearing her throat, "over in the City; I guess I ought to . . ."

"Well, that's a start," said Mallory, nodding. "Listen, Gena may not have mentioned, I went to Ferguson." Helen smiled and nodded. "Did Gena tell you that they have a little office there that helps kids with a search for a college?" Helen said that she hadn't, no. "Well, you basically get all your information in—they have most of it—and they give you a packet you can send to any college. You just fill in the actual form. The packet has all the rest: an essay, letters of recommendation, photographs, transcripts, awards, the works."

"I'll get started right away."

"Don't make her go where you teach!"

"No?"

"I know, it's a temptation. My father is Pearson, you know James Pearson? He was a prominent historian at one time. He taught at William & Mary, so I went there. I loved it. But there were problems."

Helen nodded.

Mallory was forceful, articulate, and in the end, brief. She had a lot to say, but she said it fast.

Then she sort of fizzled out, and stood there, looking at Helen.

"That recording is one of my favorites," she said, smiling. It was a different smile, a more personal one.

"Oh, the B minor mass?"

"Yes. I have to go see if her name is listed!"

Helen assured her that it was. "Those were wonderful days," she said, smiling sadly. It seemed crazy to make such a statement to a relative stranger, but there, it was done. Let her make of it what she would.

"Yes," said Mallory gently, "the old days are always better." She coughed suddenly, and Helen saw a glint in her eye. "People come, people go!" She smiled, and Helen realized that the woman knew _exactly_ what Helen had meant. "Gena is a wonderful girl. I'm really rooting for her. I'm going over now to lunch. It won't be the same without her!"

"You're very kind!" Helen said. Anyone who liked Gena couldn't be all bad, she felt.

"Also try Princeton, Swarthmore, . . ." and she mentioned Helen's alma mater in Ohio. Helen smiled and nodded. Mallory Pearson had a very high opinion of Gena indeed. She had mentioned the top ten colleges in the country.

Gena was deeply moved when the DA asked for a table in the non-smoking area. The other customers had gotten accustomed to Gena fussing over the DA, and when she did it today, they smiled and ignored it. Nance had found out who the special Friend was, and dished up an extra-nice hamburger. Both Gena and the DA were off-balance that day, a little awkward. People thought it was one thing, when it was actually something a little different.

Only the pharmacist at the local drugstore knew that the DA had come in right after lunch and left with a set of nicotine patches.

Meanwhile, Kristen was in and out all day long. No sooner was the DA gone, she came in; by herself, this time.

While the DA was having lunch, Kristen had been over at Palmer's, drinking ginger floats at a furious rate. Helen had a light day, and had decided to visit with the agitated girl.

"That woman is up to no good," Kristen said to Helen in her quiet way. "Sometimes these older women, they get hold of you and . . . you know, they're older, so what can you do? Pretty soon, you're in their control!"

"Which woman?"

"See? She's got this grey suit on, and she's drinking a soda. She usually sits on the other side and _smokes_."

"Oh, that's the DA," Helen said airily, as if it was common knowledge. "Looks like she's having her a lunch, Krissy."

Krissy looked at Helen almost impatiently. "She's got her hooks into Gena, Ms. Gibson. You better watch carefully."

Helen smiled at her reassuringly. "Well, it's just that she wants Gena to go to her college, William & Mary!"

"Why would she want that?" asked Kristen innocently.

Helen shrugged and grinned. "People are like that! Like, I encourage people to go to my college, in Ohio!"

"You've been to College?"

The conversation got seriously sidetracked, but Helen didn't mind. Krissy was just too cute for words. She was a perfectly well-balanced girl, except for the one topic of her daughter Gena. As far as Gena was concerned, anyone who came too close was suspicious! Helen sincerely hoped Krissy would get over this jealous phase quickly, so they could relax and enjoy the summer. She found out that Krissy was about to go to college, too. She shook her head. She hoped the girl could survive the experience.

Amy was having a wonderful time.

For the third day in a row, she was calling in every little thing to Dr. Phil. To her amusement as well as discomfiture, Phil very often suggested the wrong diagnosis or the wrong treatment. There was a perfectly good on-line Physician's Desk Reference (PDR), and Amy always looked there first. But sometimes Phil offered off-the-wall suggestions, and Amy had to abandon them in favor of the obvious one. Occasionally, she wrote in her notes that she had taken the liberty of using the conventional treatment in contradiction to Dr. Phil's recommendation.

Phil was not smart enough to realize that this constant consulting was a deliberate ploy to annoy him. He saw it as having won her over, but that the strategy had its down side. The patients were getting better treatment, and the world was a better place because Nurse Salvatori was consulting him consistently. But it was summer, and there was a point of diminishing returns. When Phil couldn't get a moment's rest, the time had come for the world to look after itself, and damn the consequences. Around 2, he called to tell Nurse Salvatori that until 4:30 she was on her own; he was going to take a nap. Julie, who was in on the game, laughed herself silly. Amy merely grinned. Now to get Phil to take longer naps . . .

"What do you want to do?" asked Gena, gently. Kristen had walked her home again, and it was time to nap. Mom was asleep, the little ones were asleep with Erin. Aunt Amy would be by in an hour or so.

"You sleep," Kristen said in her soft voice.

"How about you?"

"I'll watch you," she said. It was the first really intimate thing she had said after the words, I love you. Her gentle assault was working. Gena felt a great tenderness for the girl. She wasn't as bright as Gena admired in a girl, or as popular, or as vivacious, or as pretty, or as talented. Gena despised the girls who took up with 'yes men' type slaves, while they flirted with others. It looked like the same thing was happening here. Kristen was kind of a yes-man. But Gena was actually falling for her.

They sat on the bed, looking at each other, hands touching. There was something about eyes that was like looking into the brain of someone. You could see their soul, almost. You could almost see their hearts beat in their eyes. Kristen's eyes were large and full of love.

"You have pretty eyes," Gena said, lamely.

Krissy took a deep breath.

"I know a place we can go," she whispered.

It was an old abandoned trailer, and Krissy had cleaned it up, and it was cozy inside.

It was infinitely tender. Krissy let Gena do anything she wanted. She was like an instrument in Gena's hands, and Gena made her feel things she had never believed were possible. In a very short space of time, Krissy had learned what many girls learn over several years.

"I shouldn't have," Gena said afterwards. She really cared for Krissy, and she was afraid how Krissy would react to all this carnal knowledge. "Don't ever change!" Gena told her, fiercely. "I love you the way you are!"

Krissy just twisted from side to side, still dazed. "I can't think very well," she said softly.

"Well," said Gena gently, "that's how it is. Just lie still, and let the blood go to your brain."

"Where's my blood now?" asked Krissy after a while, not quite aware of asking it.

"Where does it feel like it is?"

"Oh. In my tits . . . my legs . . ."

"Right."

"Hold me, Gena!"

Gena held and gently rocked her until she was calm. In some ways, Krissy would be hers forever. Somehow they both knew that. When Krissy someday thought about the sheer wonder of first love, it would be Gena's face, and Gena's hands that she recalled.

"Was it good?" Gena asked softly.

"Yeah," whispered Krissy, "perfect!"

Helen had been concerned that Marissa would call her at some inconvenient time, so she had kept her phone switched off. Sure enough, on Tuesday night, there was a message for her.

"Helen, it's Marissa. Please call me."

"Hi!"

"Helen!"

"How're you keeping, cutie-pie?"

"Are you coming?"

"I'm packing! Just took a second off to call."

"Will you stay with us the whole time? Mother asked me to ask you!"

"It's just one day, Marissa!"

"Two!"

"I can't do it. I have commitments."

"Bring me with you!"

Helen looked around. She was just outside, and Amy was in the kitchen. She walked away into the dark.

"I can't. . . I'm with . . ."

"Oh. Amy."

"Uh huh."

It was almost like a clandestine assignment. Helen traveled all night, and was picked up at the Philadelphia airport by Matt around four in the morning.

"How are you doing?" he asked, as always, his eyes bright, as though Helen was some incredible gift from the gods.

"Tired! You?"

"Oh, I'm fine!" he laughed. "Ready?"

Of course Marissa was up, and gave Helen the biggest hug and kiss ever.

"Come on!" she said, "I talked Mother into letting you share my room! We moved a bed in there!"

They walked upstairs to Maryssa's room, with Matt effortlessly hefting all Helen's baggage. She could carry it easily, but he seemed as if he couldn't even feel it. He grinned at her cheerfully the whole time.

He put the bags down, and he and Marissa began to open them up and put things away in a whole closet that had been emptied for Helen.

The brother and sister sat on either side of Helen, and began to ask her about the trip, where she had traveled from, what did she like to do the following day, and so on.

"I'd like to sleep until about seven in the evening, and then take a nap," Helen said earnestly.

"Sleep until seven! Ha ha!" said Matt. Helen couldn't keep a straight face. Matt had a droll way of saying things that cracked her up.

"All right, Matt, that's your cue. Off you go."

"You want her all to yourself," he said, making a joke of sulking.

Marissa pushed him out the door, but Helen could see the deep affection between them. They made almost a perfect couple, with the same eyes, similar skin, the same grace.

Marissa locked and bolted the door, and tugged Helen to her bed. She undressed Helen in seconds, undressed herself, and was snuggled in with Helen in a trice.

"Sleep," she commanded, pretending to hypnotize Helen.

To her consternation, Helen fell asleep at once.

For two days, Marissa had awaited Helen's return with the anticipation of a child awaiting the return of her only friend. She had been alone in her room all the time, except for the occasional company of the maid, who brought her meals. The maid had reported that she was fine, but Matt had worried, and so had Diane. But it wasn't their habit to snoop on each other, and so Marissa had been allowed to be in her room, reading her books, or whatever it was that she did.

What she was doing was thinking. She was fantasizing being with Helen again, and, of course, making love. But also, Marissa fantasized doing other things—watching her dress, watching her take a shower, watching her do her exercises. Would she sing for them? Play the piano? Dance! She would dance, of course. They could go for walks, maybe even go out to the stores again.

Marissa's vague interest in the world outside had always been moderated by suspicion, even disdain. Hers was a world of ideals and perfection, and they were only to be had in the concert-halls and the ballet theater, and in books. The house was full of perfect images of men and women, from the professional art books her mother brought, to old collections of prints, their little museum of statuary, containing miniature copies of classic sculptures.

Occasionally, Mother took her with her to the bookstore, at eight, before the crowds got there. That was when she bought her magazines, always paying cash. Usually they were done by ten. The bookstore staff were some of the few people—outside the domestic help—Marissa saw regularly. Except, of course, for the hairdresser.

Matt and she never went anywhere, except to the ballet. He liked the perfect bodies, she suspected. He was out of the house a lot more, doing god knew what. Of course he modeled, and went to baseball games. He had books, so Marissa surmised he must go to the bookstore too. It had just now struck her that she could go with him, instead of Mother.

In the last two days, she had thought about asking Helen to take her out. Of course there would be no time this visit; but later, there would be other visits! She wondered what to do about Helen's friends, living, as she had learned, in Helen's house. She wanted to keep Helen here, with her, at Primrose, but she longed to visit Isolde, and look at those lovely Indian women. If Helen went there, she might not come back, she worried.

She gently arranged Helen's hair, pulling it away to reveal her long, lovely neck, dusted with the dust of her journey. There was sand in her hair, and the bed linen would have to be changed after she had finished her sleep. She ran her hand over the broad shoulders, the strong, supple back, the arms . . . it was so— _odd_ —to have a living body, a real person next to her, in her bed! She could do anything she wanted with her, she knew. There was a sense of power, as well as a sense of humility. She couldn't get enough of it. She wanted Helen awake, to interact with her. But Helen asleep was another miracle, a new, wonderful one. The strength of her, even sleeping! The lioness was fast asleep, watched over by her defenseless doe.

Helen awoke, to find herself entangled in Marissa's limbs in the most peculiar way.

Helen slowly tickled her awake, and squirmed off the bed as soon as she could, laughing.

"I'm sorry! Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah! I feel ready for anything!" Helen stretched, blushing as she felt Marissa's eyes on her. It all felt a little strange. She couldn't even remember too clearly arriving at the airport and being brought here. "I should have showered," she said, feeling the grit around her neck, and nervously eyeing the bed.

"Oh, we'll just get new linen," Marissa said, easily. She rolled out of bed and pulled on a diaphanous robe, and putting her arm round Helen's waist, guided her to the bathroom. It was a beautiful bath, an old Victorian era bath tastefully modernized in the eighties, she suspected, with the modern fiberglass additions blending seamlessly with the original luxurious appointments.

Marissa was intensely curious about every aspect of Helen's personality and body. She wasn't obnoxious—on the contrary, she was very considerate—but she was curious, and not reticent. They made love in the shower, only stopping to soap each other.

She was slight and lissome, a body made for dancing. Her eyes were almond-shaped, an exotic echo of Matt's beautiful eyes, her lips were full, her mouth wide and expressive, playful and serious in turn. Her nose was long and narrow, but not too long; her ears were pretty, half-covered by her layered hair. Her hair was the one thing that wasn't in keeping with her rich-girl appearance, and Helen suspected it was a recent innovation.

Helen let herself float in the sweet interplay between them. She was aware of how Marissa was learning to accommodate a companion in her normally solitary world. It was a joy, not a burden, but she was a naturally friendly girl who simply hadn't ever had a friend. Even dressing, with Helen in the room, was new and exciting, and something to be savored.

She watched Helen out of the corner of her eye as she adjusted her hair, and gave it up with a blush.

"You go ahead," she invited, with a gracious gesture. "I take too long!"

Helen simply laughed, braiding her hair and quickly tying it off. "I don't do much of that at all, go ahead!"

"But you look so neatly turned out!"

"Well, for a concert, yes; I get a little help," she confessed. "For school, I just go in like this!"

"You're perfect!" Marissa said smiling. A little endearing shyness had crept into her manner. "I'll go see if breakfast is ready, or brunch, at least!"

"Why don't we go down together?"

"If you like, of course! We'll surprise them; they're expecting you to sleep late!" It was only a little past ten.

Helen had chosen a simple sleeveless dress with a belt, and Marissa wore a little white blouse and a print calf-length skirt, as she had the other day. Marissa held out her arm for her, and Helen took it, smiling.

Diane met them on the stairs.

"Oh good, you're up, both of you! Let's see what Bridget can get ready." She looked Helen up and down and smiled. "I imagine you could use a nice big breakfast!"

"How could you tell?" laughed Helen.

"Oh, from your build. We Brooks women tend to be thin, and we starve ourselves, don't we Marissa?"

"Oh Mother," Marissa said, throwing an embarrassed glance at Helen, "I _don't_ starve myself."

"I gather you're not a big breakfast eater?" asked Helen, careful not to imply any criticism.

"Well, no, not always," said Marissa, vaguely. "But when I'm not dancing, I don't use up too many calories." Helen thought, with amusement, that Marissa would probably eat more than they expected. On Friday she had packed it away at breakfast, after their all-night bout of sex.

A little grill had been set up on the side of the dining room, and Bridget, who seemed an experienced cook, kept them supplied with pancakes, eggs, and anything Helen wanted. Diane encouraged them both, pleased at how well Marissa ate. "I've eaten already," said the photographer, watching them. Helen knew she was studying her, though Diane was careful not to make her embarrassed. Matt made an appearance during the meal, chatted for a while and left, saying he'd be back.

"Mother, may I watch?" asked Marissa, as if she expected to be denied.

Diane looked at Helen, and after a while, shrugged. "If Helen doesn't mind, and you don't get in the way, . . ."

"Oh! Helen, would you mind? You'll hardly know I'm there!"

"Not at all," Helen murmured, "that would be fine."

"You could help, actually, Marissa. Susan might be a little late."

Conchita had arranged for a large portion of Helen's formal wardrobe to be brought down, and it had been already carefully hung up and steamed. Right after breakfast, Helen was conducted to the wing of the house where most of the photography took place, and they went through the clothes.

Mother and daughter had already seen each piece, and they made complimentary remarks on them, one by one, and Helen quickly learned which ones they didn't care for, and which ones they liked. They did not like blue, she found out, especially the middle blues, like cobalt blue. Helen had just one suit in that color, one she didn't care for, either. Marissa didn't quite mind the mixed blues, especially towards the green side, though Diane condemned even those with faint praise. Navy, however, was all right. Reds, greens and oranges were fine, as well as beiges and browns. With yellows, they reserved judgment, saying they would have to see her in them. It was comic, how seriously they took it all.

Even Helen's underwear had been sent over, at Diane's request, Helen learned later. On the whole, the verdict was that Helen had excellent taste, but there was a serious shortage of pieces she could wear for dancing. "But then, you probably don't dance as much as you should," they said, and Helen couldn't help laughing. They were offended, because it was intended absolutely seriously.

"I hardly go dancing once a year!" Helen exclaimed.

"Not even at home?" asked Marissa.

"With whom would I dance, Marissa?" Helen laughed.

"That's so sad," Marissa said. "We're going to dance, whatever else we do!"

Diane watched and listened, smiling sympathetically with Helen, but definitely agreeing with her daughter's sentiments, Helen could tell. Her profession might be photography, but her guilty passion was dancing. How did they dance? Helen wondered. They never seemed to go out at all.

The business for the day began.

Diane and Marissa helped to wash and condition Helen's hair. (Apparently Susan helped with all that, but she was not going to be in until after lunch.) Helen had cautiously mentioned that she had a wig with her, but Diane wouldn't hear of it, and Helen quickly gave up. Her usually tightly curving hair which she wore in a thick braid that fell to her waist, was now straight, and just a little longer than shoulder length.

After it was rinsed and left to dry naturally, "the _only_ way!" she was talking to the other two, all seated elegantly in the beautiful antique chairs in the dressing room.

"You should _never_ have cut it," Diane said, gravely reproachful, and Marissa nodded. "It was lovely, and very distinctive! A little too long, yes, but you could have cut it up a little shorter, maybe up to the small of your back!"

Helen smiled. She didn't often feel the need to explain her actions, but Diane made her feel that she should.

"I . . . I had no alternative," she said, blushing. "I couldn't go anywhere without being spotted! So I cut it short, and had it straightened."

"I understand," said Diane, impatiently, "but here's what I would have done. I'd have braided it and coiled it up, and worn a scarf and a pair of sunglasses. Done! I did that all the time when I was younger, before the kids came along!"

Marissa rolled her eyes comically, but unseen by her mother.

"Still," she said softly, "it's really quite pretty now. It suits you, just as well as curly hair!"

"It does," agreed Diane, consolingly. "Still, it was so distinctive. I just couldn't recognize you! And now," she said mournfully, "we'll have portraits that no one will recognize!"

"I saved the hair," Helen said, hopefully, "and had it made into a wig!"

Marissa's eyebrows shot up, but Diane dismissed it with a wave of her hand and a shake of her head and a frown. "Wig making is a lost art," she declared. "The wigs you buy today are awful things. There are just a couple of old wig-makers who're any good."

"Why don't we take a look, Mother? She's brought it with her!"

Diane shook her head. Helen was almost certain she was wearing a wig herself. "They look _awful_ in a portrait," she said to Helen. "I gave up using them a decade ago. Horrible."

But Marissa persuaded her mother to take a look at the wig. She hurried out to the room, not trusting Peggy the maid with the errand. Helen tried to convince Diane that the wig was good, and Diane simply nodded, skeptically.

"It's beautiful, Mother," Marissa said, hurrying in noiselessly in her soft shoes. Diane took it carefully and studied it.

"Now this," she said, "this is a good one. I haven't seen one this good in a while."

After her hair was dry, they put it on, and the effect was startling. It was as if Helen had transformed into a different person before their eyes.

The shooting process was relaxed and slow, and complex. Diane wasn't anxious to shoot a lot of pictures. She didn't talk a lot about it, but a great deal of thought went into it. It was more like painting than photography. She was intent on capturing the essence of Helen, the icon, the personality. The beauty was secondary. She was acutely conscious of the beauty that was there, but Helen knew that she had shot just as many plain women as beautiful ones.

Susan was the hair expert, so they would wait for her for the formal portraits. She stood Helen here and there, seated her here and there, taking shots with a little camera on a light tripod. After an hour of that she straightened up and smiled, and Helen could imagine how beautiful she must have been in her youth. She was some forty years older than Marissa, and Helen wondered what the story was.

"This is impossible!" she smiled. Marissa came forward from where she had been standing, out of the way. "You move so beautifully!" Marissa nodded and Helen blushed.

They dressed Helen in full-skirted dresses, and bringing out a larger camera, Diane began to take pictures of Helen moving, deliberately trying to capture her motion, statically, suggesting movement with Helen's musculature and her balance, as well as with the clever use of motion blur.

"I've never, _ever_ done anything like this," Diane smiled. "I've always gone for a kind of stillness, repose. Tension, yes, dynamism, even power. But all at rest, or all in abeyance, you know? Waiting. Still. But you're a dancer! It's there in your face, even, in your eyes, in your hands! In your legs!"

"She's beautiful!" said Marissa, smiling softly, her eyes bright, as if to say, almost inaudibly, _she's mine!_

"Of course she is! But it goes beyond static beauty; I can't explain it."

Helen smiled. It was a pleasure to be photographed in this gracious, relaxed, gentle atmosphere of respect and old-world courtesy and charm. She realized that she was looking forward to this set of pictures far more than any others she had posed for.

"I've studied ballet," she said, "I could dance for you!"

"Of course you have!" said Diane, delighted, "what a good idea! Let's get you into a leotard and tights, and ballet slippers, let's see, size eight, I would say. I don't know, ballet sizes are all different, aren't they!"

They had to send out for a pair of slippers, which arrived shortly after Susan turned up.

Helen wore a pale grey-green leotard and a sheer dark ballet skirt, and danced to the strains of Delibes and Chopin, as Diane shot roll after roll of film, delighting not only in the beauty of Helen's dancing, but in her pleasure in it. She was flushed and happy, and her eyes were bright, and it was clear to anyone that Helen was born to dance.

All that morning, the two girls had conducted themselves with the greatest decorum. Marissa helped to dress Helen, tidy her hair, and occasionally touch up her face with a little powder. Except for the occasional tender touch of the hand or the arm, they were careful. There was no reason for it, except that Marissa was a respectful girl, and it simply wasn't proper to distract her mother with what was essentially something personal that was developing between her and Helen.

The photo session was revealing to her yet another side of Helen's personality. She knew the graceful, elegant Helen from the other night, when she had come in with Matt. She knew the forceful, romantic, passionate side of her from that amazing night. She knew the professional, charismatic aspect of her from watching the rehearsal. But watching Helen interact with her mother was just a very different thing. She had never met a woman who so naturally blended into their company. Matt's girlfriends usually tended not to socialize with them. The exceptions either were intimidated by Diane, or felt the need to assert themselves. Helen simply went with the flow, neither aggressive nor submissive, but interested, cooperative, the perfect guest.

Desire is caused by many different things. In Marissa, it was her feeling of connection, the very _sisterliness_ of Helen that fed her desire. But when she danced, Marissa's love for Helen simply blossomed into something that pushed everything else into the background.

After Helen had finished, and they had applauded enthusiastically, Marissa had tugged Helen into a corner of the studio, and pulled her head down into a kiss. Just then Diane happened to look up from her camera. She watched, unnoticed, shocked.

"What was that all about?" Helen asked Marissa softly, smiling.

"Do you love me?" Marissa whispered.

"Of course I do, I told you!"

"It was as though you were dancing for me!"

"Well, I was, I guess, sort of!"

Diane had felt something in her throat, and couldn't help clearing it. Marissa looked in that direction, and knew that she had been seen kissing Helen. Diane didn't look annoyed; she had a strange, embarrassed smile on her face. She bent to look at her camera, and then turned to her little kit of equipment, aimlessly poking at it. Helen followed Marissa's gaze, and blushed. Susan was looking carefully away, and Marissa knew she had seen, too. It had been a stupid thing to do.

"Marissa!"

"Yes, Mother." She looked at Helen, her eyes showing her determination. She squeezed Helen's arm, and walked to her mother.

"Dear," her mother said gently, in a very low voice, her eyes shining, "is there something you haven't told me?"

Marissa looked for criticism, but found only love.

"Maybe later, Mother," she blushed.

"When did this happen?"

"Last week!" she whispered, blushing furiously. "Now, don't go making a fuss, Mother. It might not go anywhere!"

"Marissa, you shouldn't have kissed her in front of everybody," said Diane, still speaking so low only the two of them could hear. Marissa could see that her mother was trembling. "I think I need a break," she said, a little louder. "Let's pause for a snack!"

Susan insisted that she had eaten, and Helen said she wasn't quite hungry yet, but they all marched down to a little tea room, where a variety of snacks had been laid out. Helen wondered if she had precipitated a crisis. Marissa walked by herself, her head hanging, refusing to look at Helen. Diane held Helen's arm, smiled awkwardly at her, and seated her next to herself, and asked Marissa to sit next to her. Susan was formally introduced, and the talk turned to Helen's hair.

"Can you tell this is a wig!" Diane asked Susan.

"Really! No, I couldn't," she admitted, looking at it professionally. "Will she be wearing that the whole time?"

Helen nibbled at the food, until Marissa picked up a sandwich and put it in her plate. "Eat!" she said softly, blushing. "It's all right!"

Diane finished what she was saying, and turned to them.

"You two seem to get along very well!" she said, smiling. Helen looked at Marissa, and they laughed. "I remember that Marissa spent Friday morning with you, now that I think of it. So what did you do?"

"Mother, I told you all about it! I watched a rehearsal!"

"And was it interesting?"

"It was wonderful! And Isolde Wells was there! And I had breakfast with her, and these two beautiful Indian ladies!"

Diane watched the two of them, smiling, and Marissa realized that she was actually pleased.

"I would very much like to take a portrait of you both together," said Diane, smiling. "You present an interesting contrast in types!"

Marissa couldn't believe it. She blushed furiously. She glanced at Susan, who was also smiling and nodding.

"Oh _Mother_ , don't waste her time!"

"I'd really like that," said Helen, surprised at herself.

Susan was a wizard with hair, even compared with all the geniuses that had worked on Helen's hair from time to time. She could really convince Helen's unruly hair to lie down and behave itself, using nothing but a brush and comb. Marissa, bolder now, watched, seated on the dressing table. Her more-or-less restrained feelings for Helen seemed to color everything, from the way Diane spoke to them, to the way Helen looked. Diane shot Helen in one of her grandest gowns in a dozen photos, seated at a piano, standing next to a pillar, in a classic pose, seated in a chair, looking wistfully out of a window, and so on and so forth.

"You know," said Diane, "this is all fine and good, but you know what I would really like?"

"What's that?"

"I want to try something new. I would like to . . . you're not going to like this!"

"I don't mind trying anything, honestly!"

Diane blushed. "Well, I'd like to take some pictures of you in your own home, with your children, surrounded by your things!"

Marissa looked at her mother in surprise. "You _never_ do that! You hardly leave Philadelphia!"

"But Marissa, this is different! Look at her! How much of what's there am I capturing? We think we know her, but so much is left to discover!"

"Mother, you've taken some _beautiful_ shots!"

Diane stood there, looking at Helen, bemused. "Helen," she said gently, would you take off your shoes and your hose, dear?"

"Sure," said Helen, with a puzzled smile. Marissa quickly took off her shoes, in spite of her protests that she could do it herself, and then Susan helped her off with the hose. She was wearing a graceful concert gown with a full skirt.

They moved to a room with a plain light beige rug, and Diane asked if Helen minded reclining on the floor. Marissa stifled a gasp. It was a perfect pose. It brought out all Helen's femininity, her grace. Helen's head was tilted down, so that there was something submissive about her that was not evident in any other photo, because Helen tended to hold her head high, and look straight at the camera.

It was only after Susan had left that Diane posed them together. There was one with them standing side by side, smiling, holding hands, and one where they were embracing, looking sideways at the camera. "These are just for my private collection," Diane assured her, smiling. "Just one more."

She asked Marissa to stand in front of Helen. "Now Helen, put your arms round Marissa. No, lower . . . just around her hips, . . . good. Marissa, tilt your head back . . . exactly! Relax, smile if you like, . . ."

They had their cheeks touching, with Helen's head tilted just forward to touch Marissa's cheek.

After that one troublesome kiss, Marissa had not tried to kiss Helen again. Even that kiss had been a mere peck—a _very fierce_ peck, but still only a close-mouthed kiss—and Helen realized that this was not a very demonstrative family. There was love and affection aplenty, but no kissing in the hallway.

It was now a little past six, and Diane determined that it was time Helen called her children. Helen was a little startled, but though Diane smiled, there was no denying that she felt strongly about it.

"I always called Marissa at six when I was away, and I think it's a good habit."

Marissa nodded solemnly. "You should call," she murmured.

"Well I was going to, around eight," Helen said, slightly put out. "I guess my family runs a little late!"

Diane smiled.

Helen pulled out her phone and dialed the number of the cottage.

"Hullo," said a familiar voice.

"Allie, it's Mama!"

"Mama! It's Mama calling!" announced the little receptionist. One would have thought Helen had been gone for weeks. Marissa leaned closer, saying she wanted to hear, an indescribable expression on her face. Diane made annoyed sounds at her, which were contradicted by the grin on her face. "How are you, Mama?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart!" laughed Helen. "How are you? Who else is there?"

"I'm fine! There's—er, Gena, and Krissy, and Erin, and Aunty Amy, and Harriet! Just about everybody! And Bruce is round the back doing something with Sherry."

Helen frowned, wondering what was going on. Harriet! What a mess!

"Let me talk to Aunty Amy," she asked.

It turned out Bruce and Sherry had promised to get the charcoal grill cleaned up. Harriet had stopped by, to surprise Helen, and met Amy, and stayed to chat. Kristen took the phone and said a shy word or two to Helen, and then Helen spent the rest of the time talking to Gena. James was fine, and was seated in Hattie's lap.

"Oh, they're such adorable kids, I can tell from their voices!" said Marissa, smiling. "So there's Allie, Erin, Krissy, Gena and James?"

"No, Krissy is just a regular visitor," Helen corrected. "She's a cutie; I wish she were mine!"

Diane's eyes were shining with a light that Helen understood. They longed for children with an ache that was becoming clearer as time went on.

What was _wrong_ with them? Helen wondered. Why didn't they get out, go to church, get involved in the community, Sunday-school, whatever? Why not go to a playground and watch the children there?

Helen told the story of how she had met a little girl, Ruth, who had happened to be the child of the local veterinary surgeon. It didn't make as much sense as it would have if they had known the background, but the idea was to get them thinking about the world outside, the _real_ world, not the world of coffee-table books, and beautiful men and women.

"You should marry him, and take care of them both," Marissa said, starry-eyed. Helen glanced at the old lady, who nodded. How naïve they were!

"Oh, Marissa," she exclaimed impatiently, "that was not the point! The point is, if you just walk round to the local playground, there's bound to be lots of kids you could watch and enjoy!"

"I don't know," said Diane, wearily, "not in this town. People are suspicious of strangers, and I don't blame them. It's a frightening world. Inside this neighborhood, it's safe; everyone knows everyone else. But outside . . ." she shook her head.

"It isn't that bad, Mother," said Marissa quietly. "It might be nice to take a walk sometime."

"Well, why don't you take Helen and go on a little walk then? It'll do you good, after being cooped up in the house all the time. You should learn how to get about outside, Marissa. When I'm gone, who's going to take you shopping to the bookstore?"

"Come on!" said Marissa, rising to her feet. She urged Helen with a hand on her arm. "I'll get an umbrella and my purse!"

As it turned out, there was a playground in the very enclave they lived in, called Primrose Gardens. They walked quickly past the big houses, through a gate that led to a square of smaller homes, and there in a little green in the middle was a playground, with about a dozen children playing, with a number of adults looking on, and talking. Helen could see that the adults were very wealthy folk. Their speech was affected, and their clothes were expensive.

Helen and Marissa sat and watched, and presently a little girl came over and said Hi.

"Hi right back atcha!" said Helen, smiling. What's your name?"

"Chrissy!" said she. "What's _your_ name?"

"Helen," said she, truthfully. "Which is your Mom?"

"She's over there, talking to Kathy," said little Chrissy.

Suddenly noticing her child talking to a stranger, the woman hurried over, looking a little fierce.

"Hello," she said, "what seems to be the matter? Chrissy, run along and play, sweetheart."

"Come and play with us!" said Chrissy to Helen, taking her by the hand, much to Helen's surprise.

"I'll be along!" said Helen to the child, and stood to talk to the mother, who was about to say something stern to her daughter.

"I hope you don't mind!" said Helen, offering her hand. "She's such a friendly little girl! By the way, I'm Helen, and I'm visiting Marissa, who lives over there," Helen pointed.

Marissa took a quick breath and introduced herself.

"I'm Marissa Brooks! You might know my mother, Diane Elman?"

"Oh, yes of course! Not personally, but I know the house!" She looked relieved. She introduced Kathy, and began to chat with Helen and Marissa.

Eventually the talk turned to how familiar Helen looked. Helen was still wearing the waist-long blonde wig. She said that she visited Marissa often, and they had probably seen her. That seemed to satisfy the woman.

"I'm going to play with your daughter!" announced Helen, and leaving behind a smiling mother, she went out to push the little girl on the swing, and soon Marissa was doing the same for another little fellow.

Marissa was a natural. She had restraint, but she drew the kids like a magnet. She was introduced to all the parents, and had invitations to several homes by the time the sun went down.

Just as they were about to scatter to their homes, Chrissy's mother gasped.

"I know who you are!" she exclaimed. "I _knew_ if I thought long enough, I'd place you!"

"Who is it, Jane?"

"She's . . . she's the musician! Helen . . . Helen . . ."

"Nordstrom," Helen said, smiling.

"That's it! Oh boy, took me long enough!" She laughed heartily. "So, what're you doing in these parts? I thought you taught college somewhere near Erie!"

"Well, we're out for the summer; I'm just enjoying my freedom!"

"And you know the Brookses?"

"I, er, . . ."

"She was sitting for Mother," Marissa said, proudly. "I think she's beautiful, don't you?"

"Oh lord, with that hair! I want to tell you, my husband is absolutely bonkers about you!"

Kathy nodded, as if only her loyalty to her man kept her from adding to Helen's fan list. "Is there going to be a book? I think I'd better reserve a copy!"

Helen laughed, blushing. "I couldn't believe anyone would care!" she said. "When my agent suggested it I laughed at her, but she said it would be good for business, and a gal's gotta pay her bills!"

"If I were you," said one of the others, "I'd give up teaching, and go into modeling. _That's_ where the money is!"

"Will you be here long? We'd love you to visit!" said Jane, and Chrissy seconded the suggestion eagerly.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," said Helen regretfully. "Thank you anyway! That was very kind of you! Good night, all! Nighty-night, children!"

"You're amazing, you know that? I thought for certain we were in trouble when that lady began to come over! I was ready to run!"

"Man," said Helen, "you'd think I was going to harm the little girl."

"How could they think a lovely woman like you could be a kidnapper?"

Helen shrugged. After all, what does a kidnapper look like?

"Let's go dancing!" said Marissa, excitedly.

"With whom?" Helen asked, cautiously. It was a whole different kettle of fish, here. She knew Marissa wasn't ready for the sometimes frightening, occasionally cruel world of lesbians, gays and bisexuals. The severe conservatism of the family could not survive such an exposure. Diane was touched by the fact that Marissa had found someone to love, but that didn't mean she would endorse all that went with that.

"With Matt, of course!"

"Do you often go dancing, you two?"

"Oh no. Hardly ever. But Mother will say yes, I'm sure!"

Matt had been home for more than an hour, and was impatient to see Helen. The reunion was a warm one. Diane left the young people alone, and soon the talk turned to dancing. Matt was all for it, and soon they finished a light supper, dressed up, and got into the car, all three of them squeezed in front. Helen, feeling Marissa crushed against her, and her perfume in her lungs, hated that Marissa would probably not dance with her in public. She had worn a lovely black dress in layers of some tissue-like fabric, and looked good enough to eat. Helen had worn an orange cocktail dress she had brought along just in case they went dancing. Matt was dressed impeccably, as always.

Brother and sister argued about where to go, and they ended up at a very fashionable nightclub. "The music here is awesome,' Matt confided. The valet took the keys to the Mercedes, and they went in.

They danced and danced. Helen danced with Matt, and then watched him dance with Marissa. Marissa was no slouch; she danced like a dream.

It was strictly ballroom dancing, and the two girls shared Matt as best as they could. Helen often got asked to dance while she waited, and she usually went. And she saw how Matt's eyes followed her round the room, and Marissa's eyes, too. It was the strangest feeling. She couldn't remember a single one of her other partners afterwards. She was so focused on the brother and the sister.

"Who's the lucky guy?" she was asked.

"Who?"

"The fellow who came in with you and the brunette!"

"Oh, that's Matt," she said.

One of the guys suggested that they cut in. Helen begged him not to, but they did, and Marissa ended up dancing with him for a little while.

It became a slow dance, and Marissa sat it out, watching them.

"I hate slow dances," Matt said, glumly.

"Why?"

"Well . . . it's hard on me, you know?"

"It is?"

"Yeah. I like a nice fast one. What can you do with a slow dance?"

"You can cuddle your girl, and talk!"

His eyes were like stars. "That's what's hard!" he said, forcing a laugh. "Mother says you and Mariss are getting along real well."

Helen thought about that a while. It was hard to know what he thought about that. Helen kept quiet, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder.

"I'm happy for her," said Matt.

"I'm just happy you asked me out," Helen said. "I was the lucky one!"

Marissa asked to go out to the car when they went out to her.

"Why?"

"I have an idea!"

She wanted Helen to rent a tuxedo. "I know you can! Then I can dance with you!"

"But I can't!" complained Matt.

"Oh, come on, Matt, you've danced with her all night!"

"All night? It's just been a little more than an hour!"

"Please, Matt? It would be so much fun for me!"

Matt said all right. "But Helen probably hates to do it," he said.

"If you don't mind, I don't mind," said Helen, looking at him. He grinned and said it was fine by him.

Being Matt, he only knew one tux rental place, and it was an incredibly expensive place. It was a men's clothing store, and their tuxedo's were just perfect. Helen realized that it would cost hardly more to simply buy a suit off the rack.
"It's for me," she said, smiling at the saleswoman. "Actually, all I need is a nice suit to go dancing in."

The girl grinned. "I know just the thing!" she said, and showed Helen a handsome pair of silk slacks, a nice linen-blend shirt, and a snazzy jacket. "On sale at $300!" she said.

"How about a tie?"

"Pick one!"

Helen picked a nice green tie.

Two men and a delighted woman emerged from the men's store, with a dress on a hanger. Matt had got into the spirit of the thing, and was intent on getting Helen a nice pair of shoes. His favorite shoe store was open, and Helen came out with a dashing pair of pumps, and her sexy sandals in a bag.

"You wear a jacket so well!" exclaimed Marissa. Helen smiled.

They were soon back at the dancing. Helen had wiped off her lipstick, tied her hair more like a man would, lower on her neck, and as Matt nursed his drink, she whirled about the floor with Marissa.

It was only when Helen needed to go to the restroom that they left.

Helen ran up the stairs, two at a time, into Marissa's room, and into her bathroom as Marissa followed her, helpless with laughter. Helen came out, and scowled at her.

"Move aside!" said Marissa, "I've gotta go, too!" She slipped past Helen, still giggling.

Helen threw her jacket on the bed, and proceeded to undress. She was just folding the slacks carefully, when she heard Matt's voice near the door, and realized that Marissa had left the door wide open.

She and Matt stared at each other, as if frozen. Matt's eyes devoured her body, while Helen stared into Matt's eyes. Neither of them heard Marissa come out again.

"Matt! What are you _doing?_ Go out, and shut the door! Go! _Go!_ " She rushed to the door and pushed him out, scolding him. "I'm so sorry!" she said, "I'll see that it never happens again!"

Helen's mind was turning over furiously. She absolutely _had_ to have him. She wasn't reasoning, she was just thinking with her sexual apparatus. Marissa and Matt had become irretrievably tangled in her mind, and she simply wanted to couple with _them_. A hundred times she had imagined his penis inside her, and she wanted to experience the reality. She wanted to devour her with her cunt. _Him!_ Her. Him. Oh god, it was too hard.

Helen took one step towards Marissa, and taking her in her arms, kissed her hard, crushing the slim body against her own, expressing the desperate hunger she felt. She fell back on the bed, pulling Marissa on top of her, wrapping her legs about the poor girl, groaning in frustration.

Marissa returned the kisses with equal passion, and then began to stroke Helen, murmuring softly to her, calming her down. Then she said, "I know he wants you too, dear one!"

Helen was still, staring at her. The thoughts were still not clear in her own mind. She was only vaguely aware herself that she had acted out her desire for the girl's brother, but Marissa had put it together. It was her first term of endearment for Helen, and it was about Matt.

All the way home, Helen thought about Matt and Marissa, and Diane. Their personalities were absolutely etched on her mind. In spite of their superficial similarities, Matt and Marissa were utterly different. Their eyes were the same, their mouths, their eyebrows, their smiles. Their innocence. But Marissa was more normal in some ways, more ready for the real world, more at ease with people, more able to handle the intense passion she felt for Helen.

Matt, on the other hand, was an innocent through and through. He moved about freely outside their home, but it was as though none of it touched him. Helen had watched him order drinks, talk to sales clerks, dancing with girls. But he was always the same, smiling, being charming, considerate, but superficial. He must have started out to be that way with her on the plane, but he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and fallen in love with her instead. After he had seen her half naked, he had been a wreck, but that was another story.

Helen's parting from the Brooks family had been an agony. Diane had hugged her and kissed her, and with a long lingering smile, finally torn herself away, leaving Helen to her children. She loved her children very much, and she loved Helen and admired her, and only her faith in Helen enabled her to think of the emotional confusion of the young people without suffering a heart attack.

Matt had hugged her gently, then stood away from Helen, and tears had come from his eyes, making a strange scene on his manly face. In Marissa's eyes there were no tears yet, but they wouldn't be long. And suddenly, Marissa was in Helen's arms, crying "Don't go! Do you _have_ to go?"

It had all been about the actual parting, not about what they were feeling, or love, or such things. It was about wanting to be together, and having to go away. Through his tears Matt had smiled, and murmured that there would be other times, trying to comfort his sister. But Marissa had been inconsolable.

The trip back out to the shore was exhausting. She had sent her expensive clothing back to Westfield, including the orange dress; now she had only simple clothes. If she was asked out by anyone, she would have to buy a dress.

Somehow she had missed the last bus out, and had talked to a friendly-looking truck driver who said he would take her out to Nowhere. It was a lot faster than the bus, that was sure. The sun was just rising, and she would have been out to jog.

"Going to be a nice day!" he said. He was a nice guy, and she smiled, yes.

"You folks must be missing you," he said.

She sighed. "Yeah; haven't seen my kids in three days!"

"Where've you been, anyways? It's an awful long distance to go for three days!"

"Philly."

"Philly!" He was shocked. "Jeeze, if I went to Philly, I'd stay a week! And I'd go to New York instead!" They laughed.

He dropped her off right in front of the house.

"Listen," he said, "would it be okay if I just parked the truck here until eight?"

"Not with the engine running?"

He grimaced. "I guess that won't do, huh?"

She looked at him, pleadingly. He winked at her and shut the engine off. She blew him a kiss, and went inside.

The house was dark, and peeking into the room she shared with Amy, she found her side of the bed empty. As soundlessly as she could, she undressed, showered, and slipped under the sheets. The air conditioning was off, and Amy was naked under the sheets except for her panties. Helen snuggled up to her, and with a sigh, Amy relaxed into Helen's arms. She was home.

It took Amy a while to be surprised to see her. "What're you doing here?"

"I hitched a ride on a truck right after I called you!"

"Oh, I missed you!" They had to make love, just to establish that Helen was really back. By now they had a routine of sex that was easy and uncomplicated. When either of them was particularly in need of something extra, they could always step it up, but now just being in bed together was apparently all they needed.

"You know about Krissy."

"Well, they seem to have something going!"

"It's serious."

"What?"

"They want to go to college together."

"Gena and Krissy?"

'Come on, don't be like that. Don't forget what love used to be like, hon."

"But . . . Krissy hasn't a hope at the schools Gena is trying!"

Amy stroked Helen's face and neck gently. "All right," she sighed, "let's sit them down later and explain it to them."

"Do her parents know?"

"Only that they're very close."

Helen worried for half an hour straight, while Amy tenderly stroked her. Finally Helen hugged her friend.

"I love you so much," she said, "you're such a rock, darling."

"Have you seen how Krissy looks at you?"

Helen sighed. "Yes."

"Be kind, sweetheart. I really love that kid."

Along with the other children, Krissy, too, came for a hug. The pretty grey eyes looked at Helen adoringly, and she felt herself weakening.

"You're back!" Helen said to her cheerily.

"Yes," she said shyly, "I shared with Gena!" Gena watched the two of them, smiling, certain that Mom would be nice to Krissy. Mom would never be mean to Krissy if she knew everything.

"Mom, can I talk to you?"

"Yes, love. After breakfast?"

"Okay."

"Take a look outside, see if there's a truck parked out there. Tap on the door and ask him in to breakfast!"

Gena and Krissy hurried out, and ran back in saying the man was asleep on the front lawn. Helen walked out, and sure enough, her friend had laid his bedroll on the lawn and was fast asleep.

She crouched next to him, and gently woke him up.

"Come in, take a shower, and have some breakfast!"

He had the nicest smile. What a wonderful place, Helen thought, even the truck drivers were so good looking!

"I'll be right in," he said, struggling to his feet and rolling up his bedding.

Breakfast was a jolly meal with Ken, the driver, putting away eggs and bacon and pancakes like ten men, and keeping them rolling in laughter while he did it. He thought Gena and Krissy were beauties, just like their mother, and declared that Allie took after her Aunt, that was Amy. "Oh, get on with you," Amy said, hitting him with a spoon, "trying to flatter me!"

"Now this little lady," he said, looking at Erin, "who does she look like?"

"Like my mom!" she said at once, smiling.

After breakfast, Ken thanked the women, and got his truck started, and left.

"Mom . . . something has happened. I didn't _want_ this to happen, but . . . Krissy and me—I think we're . . ." She looked at Helen's face, and saw deep sorrow. ". . . I think we're in love."

Helen was much more troubled than she had expected. Gena had come to her with her little matters of the heart since she had been thirteen, and Helen had expected that she would have been seasoned enough that she would take it in stride. But her heart broke. Gena occupied a very special place in her heart, and she wondered whether it was fair by Gena that it was so. It made everything so much harder.

Shit, why did she have to cry for everything? Where was the tough Helen who could fight her way out of any situation? Was it the diabetes that made her such a pile of mush?

Gena was crying. "Don't be like this, Mom, I want you to be happy for me!"

This, thought Helen, is the pain Diane must feel. I want Gena to have children so much. Why am I so selfish?

"I hope it works out, darling. You know how I love Krissy!"

"She loves you too, Mom!" Gena glowed. She came close, and they hugged. They were in Helen's room. Amy had graciously gone out to sit in the back yard. "Mom, I'd . . . we'd like to go to college together. Find a place where we both can go."

"Can you find a place like that in two months?"

"She's got accepted at Princeton, at Bryn Mawr, at Smith, and Alfred!"

Helen blinked. Krissy was a bigger power-house than even Gena.

"Goodness," Helen said, "I'm impressed! What do you want to do? I've let it slide, and you haven't applied anywhere! I guess we're in trouble."

They talked a little, and made plans. Helen had been more upset that Gena would have to compromise and apply to schools she might not have been interested in, than that the girls thought they were in love.

Helen got ready for work, and headed out, lost in thought.

Helen had thought that, after the excitement of Philadelphia, Palmer's would be dull. But it wasn't. There were things to do, things to arrange the way she liked them, things to move back to where she wanted them, glass counter-tops to get really clean, a load of dishes to wash up, coffee to put on.

"Elaine, I missed you!" It was one of her buddies who always stopped by to get coffee. The exclamation rang true, and Helen smiled and poured out a nice cup for her.

"Well, I'm back!"

"Mm, good coffee! You never have any of it!"

"I never touch the stuff. I prefer tea."

Ginny made a face. "Well, lah de da!"

Helen laughed.

It was mindless work, except for the constant thinking about what needed to be done, which was automatic, now.

Right at ten, Hattie came in.

"I came to see you, and where were you?" she said, not actually cross, but not pleased.

"I'm sorry!" Helen said, "I should have told you I was off on a little job!"

"A little job! _I_ heard you were in Philadelphia!"

"That's what it was: a little job in Philly!"

She smiled. Helen offered her the drink and snack again, and she refused. "I'll get some of my shopping done, and come back," she said. "Then I'll really buy something to eat."

She did, and they talked for a little while. Just before she left, she pressed Helen's hand on the table and smiled into her eyes. Then she was gone.

That afternoon, after Gena and Krissy had their nap, they all sat, and decided where Gena should apply. They narrowed it down to three schools, and threw in Westfield for good measure.

"Where's Westfield?" asked Krissy.

"You haven't heard of _Westfield?_ " Gena asked, tongue in cheek.

"Uh uh!"

Helen joined in the little joke, and told her she absolutely had to apply there. "It's only $25, and I'll give you that. I'll get you forms from the web, just a second."

Krissy was impressed with Helen's computer, but Helen gave her no chance to look at it too carefully. She watched as Krissy carefully filled out the form. The girls filled out all four sets, and by dinner time, the forms were finally ready.

They had dinner, and headed out to visit Krissy's family, the Robinsons.

Krissy was understandably on pins. Her dad met them at the door and invited them in. They were all introduced, and Gena and Krissy told Krissy's parents that they wanted to apply to the same schools. They had chosen not to tell Krissy's parents any more details than just that.

Helen studied the two parents, and Krissy's older brother, Eddie, and found that Krissy got her coloring from her mother, a rather plain woman with pretty blue eyes and freckles, but a sweet smile. She was quiet, but Helen decided by the end of the visit that of the two older Robinsons she was the brighter one. She was not well employed, according to Krissy, but Helen could tell it was not for want of intelligence.

Eddie, like his father, was a charming boy, charismatic and confident. He talked patronizingly to Gena, and said she should apply to Notre Dame; he'd been there for two years on a football scholarship. Gena said diplomatically that she'd think about it. Krissy's mother, whose name was April, chatted to Allie and James, and afterward told Helen that she had sweet children.

"I love your Krissy very much!" Helen said, sincerely.

"Well," said April, drawing her aside, "It's Gena we talk about all the time. We went out to the Café the other day, just to give her a hard time, you know!" Helen laughed. "But she was _such_ a lady! You have done just a wonderful job with her!"

"Oh, I could say the same about Krissy."

April sighed. "I wish she followed Gena's example. It's not the money, it's the experience."

"Listen, I could use some help at Palmer's. I'll get Gena to work on her."

"I'll be grateful forever!" She smiled, and bent down to interview James one last time.

The following day, Kristen applied to Mr. Palmer for a job, and was hired as a waitress and cook for the little restaurant.

"Isn't this great? I get to show you how to make the sandwiches and everything!"

Krissy blushed happily.

Helen learned how clever the girl was. She got everything right the first time, and never forgot. She was the kind of girl you wanted to have in your store. Her social skills were fine, she just tended to be a little wispy in her manner, but it was a quiet place, and she managed.

"Did you see my new assistant?" she asked Hattie, when she came in.

"Why, it's Krissy!"

"You met her at the house!"

"Uh huh! Hi, Krissy!"

"Hi, Hattie!" said Krissy. She had a rather husky mezzo that was very soothing to the ear.

Hattie turned to Helen. She looked just a bit agitated. "I brought you something," said Hattie in a low voice, coloring a bit. She pulled out a little package from inside her spacious shopping bag.

Helen looked uncertainly from her to the package, the remains of a foolish smile struggling to survive on her face, abandoned by its owner.

"Why, what's this for?" Helen asked.

Hattie seemed to lose her nerve. Her face went white, she dropped her eyes and murmured that Helen should look at it later. "It's just nothing, just for fun," she said, and walked slowly to the door.

"Will you come by tomorrow?" Helen asked.

"I don't know," she said, not turning round. "Must see."

"What was all that about?" asked Krissy, quietly slipping over. Helen had already secreted the package in her pocket.

"I don't know," said Helen, trying to look puzzled.

"She looked awful upset as she left," said the young woman. "I think she admires you, Miss Elaine!"

"Why this 'Miss Elaine, Krissy?' Why not just _Elaine?_ "

Krissy looked taken aback. "Because . . . like, you're Gena's Mom."

The two women looked at each other, uncertain whether to pursue the issue. Their feelings were racing along too rapidly for comfort.

"Elaine is fine," said Helen, gently.

"Oh, I couldn't," said Krissy, shaking her head and blushing. It was a few minutes before she met Helen's eyes.

"We'll think of something!" said Helen smiling, giving her a friendly pat.

Gena had a busy day, and it was almost quitting time before she realized that Krissy hadn't come by. Then she saw a slim figure crossing the street. She could now spot that figure anywhere, and it made her heart fill with a certain characteristic sweetness. Allie, Mom, Erin, Evie, Elly, baby James, all had their own flavor—everybody in her large family did. But Krissy had her own, special flavor—sea breeze, and lemon, and that wonderful girl smell that made her feel that certain secret excitement.

They had four nights and three afternoons together— _totally_ together, by themselves—and Kristin had begged to slow down. On the second day, after Gena had shown her everything in the little trailer, and there were no secrets left—as far as Gena knew—they had gone back there, and Krissy had said she didn't want to take her clothes off. "I'm not ready for that," she had said.

"But we've already _been_ together! We've done everything!"

Krissy had shaken her head, slumped, her head hanging, the picture of humble determination, her knees locked together, her face red.

"Whatever you want, then, Krissy; you know I like you," Gena had said.

They had held hands, silently exchanging a lot of meaning that way, as young people can do. Each of them imagined that if they felt any stronger about the other they would surely have a heart attack.

Then, in a moment that would be engraved in Gena's memory forever, Krissy had taken Gena's hand and placed it under her shirt, against her breast, under her bra. Avoiding Gena's eyes, she fumbled with the bra closure, her face red as a beet, her eyes focused far away. Gena watched her, and felt her hand burning against Krissy's breast, and saw Krissy cover her face with her other hand.

The bra came loose, and Krissy moved Gena's hand slowly around, caressing her own breast with it.

That was all she wanted. After a while she seemed to choke, or sob, and doubled over, panting. She calmed herself in a minute or so. Then she took out Gena's hand and kissed it, right on the palm, several times. It was the most erotic thing, and Gena felt her body go into overdrive as she felt Krissy's lips on her palm.

She fastened her bra by herself, with some awkwardness. Gena tried to help, but she brushed her hand away firmly. Then she stood and said, "I'll walk you to your house."

On the way, Krissy looked sideways at Gena and smiled shyly. Gena laughed and said, "You're funny!" Krissy's face became expressionless, and she slowed to a stop. They were on the beach road, now, and they saw a couple of the boys riding towards them. As they passed, they yelled something out to the girls, and Gena just smiled and waved.

"Aren't you coming?" Krissy shrugged. Gena realized that Krissy had indeed been offended. She wasn't going to talk. That was her way. "I'm sorry I said that. I don't think you're funny. I guess I was just feeling strange."

Krissy looked upset and helpless, her crushed shorts wrinkled up, showing a lot of her thighs, her rumpled shirt showing a little stomach. Gena sighed. Half of her wanted to say, oh, don't be such a baby! The other half wondered that she could understand what the girl was feeling.

Gena went back to her and gently straightened out her shirt, tugged down the hem of her shorts, and slowly Krissy became aware of her surroundings, and seemed to relax. Gena put her arm round her shoulders, and urged her home to the cottage, and she came.

That was all they ever did. Krissy let Gena caress her breasts, and then kissed Gena's hand. Sometimes they kissed, stopping when it got too intense. When Krissy spent the night, they slept snuggled together, but Krissy never again allowed Gena into her body. Gena gradually realized that That Afternoon had absolutely blown Krissy's mind.

Now Krissy was coming across the street, and she smiled at Gena shyly and said Hi.

"Hey!" said Gena, happily. "Ginger float?"

"Thanks, but I'm stuffed!" she said. "I had three already!"

"Really. My mom's been spoiling you."

"Oh no, she showed me how to make 'em!"

Amy had an interesting afternoon. A woman had come in, brought by her fifteen year old son, in the advanced stages of labor.

"Ma'am, we're not equipped to handle deliveries," said Julie, alarmed. "You'll have to go to the hospital! I'll call an ambulance."

There were six patients waiting, and one in the surgery with Amy. She was just on the phone with Phil, asking what to do about a particular patient with a high temperature. For once Phil came through, and Amy smugly accepted his recommendation, and was about to hang up. Hearing the commotion, she asked Phil to hold.

"Whoa," she said, looking at the woman. "How far apart?"

"Like, maybe a minute," said the young man, looking desperate.

"Amy, there's no way." Julie glared at the woman and her son. "Why did you wait so long? You could have been there by now, it's only a half hour drive!"

Amy nodded. The woman looked quite affluent. "If we help you, madam, six patients have to wait, and you make a mess of the entire clinic. This isn't TV, you know. We're not all sitting around waiting for the blessed opportunity to deliver a baby."

The woman groaned. "It's another one!"

The patients waiting murmured among themselves, nodding. Far away they could hear the ambulance headed their way. It was still miles away.

The phone rang.

"It's Dr. Phil, for you!" said Julie.

"Yes, Dr. Phil. Sorry to put you on hold, doctor. Woman in labor, ambulance on the way. Nothing to worry about."

"I heard you, nurse. I couldn't have told her better myself! Remind me to buy you a drink!"

Amy turned, to get a little more privacy.

"Contractions are just seconds apart, doctor. Shall we let them deliver right here in the surgery? I can deal with the patients in the waiting-room."

Phil was silent.

"I'm on my way." He made an impatient sound. "Your call. Some of the paramedics we have around here, Salvatori . . . I don't know. You look like you've done a delivery or two. You decide."

"I really haven't, Doc."

"Christ! Okay, I'm coming."

Amy grinned at the mother, and got a smile. "They'll be here soon," she said. The siren had gone silent, which meant they were on the open stretch beyond the town. It would be about five minutes before they arrived.

Obstetrics was one area where a nurse practitioner _would_ have had more experience. Amy had assisted with abdominal surgery, but it was a specialized area, and the place wasn't equipped for major surgery. They might have to administer a drug to arrest the labor, and rush the woman out to the hospital after all.

Amy's heart stopped. She could feel a strangulation. The umbilical cord was stretched tight, and the infant's heartbeat was too slow. The kid, of course, wasn't breathing, so it wasn't a matter of air. It was a matter of the blood supply itself. The cord was the baby's lifeline, and the knot in the cord and the constriction of the baby's throat was a complicated problem.

If the baby came right out, there was no problem. Otherwise, the baby could die on the way to hospital.

It was a quandary. Trying to keep her face calm and her voice steady, Amy tried to map out where everything was. The baby was head down, everything was fine, except for the big knot. Oh god, Amy cursed silently, why did I never do any deliveries?

Leaving the woman in Julie's care, Amy went into the little library, and found an obstetric reference. Incredibly well-written, in twenty pages, it reviewed everything Amy needed to know. Amy recognized instantly the particular group of configurations that she was dealing with.

The ambulance arrived. Julie was telling the woman that Amy was a genius. Julie was a genius herself at never losing her cool, and Amy thanked god.

Amy took the paramedics aside and asked whether they knew how to deal with an umbilical strangulation.

"Oh shit," they said, and shook their heads. "We have an oxygen tent, though."

Amy ran to the ambulance, and saw that there was a lot more equipment than they had in the little clinic. They could try and move it into the clinic, or try and move the woman into the ambulance.

"Here's what we do," Amy said.

Forcing herself to ignore the paramedics, Amy treated the three cases that seemed in the worst shape. She had never written prescriptions so fast. The patients promised to fill their prescriptions and come back to do the paper work.

"You're exactly right," the paramedic leader said. "I can see the kid, and the cord. It looks bad."

Her water had broken. The oxygen tent was ready. The mother was on oxygen already. There was one last chance: Amy could try to manually untangle the cord. There was a tiny chance that once that was done, there would be time for a lengthy delivery, if needed.

Amy looked at what she could see through the dilated cervix.

"Sweetheart," she said kindly, a lot more kindly than she felt.

The woman nodded.

"He's got his cord twisted round his head." She avoided the word 'neck,' which might have scared the mother silly. Her eyes widened, but she nodded. "I'm going to twist him round, so it's loose, okay? It feels awful, but it'll buy him some time." The woman nodded.

Amy put on fresh gloves, and taking a deep breath, worked her hands inside the woman's cervix, into her uterus, pushing the baby back into the womb. Immediately she felt the cord slacken. Amy closed her eyes and concentrated. The woman began to moan, and Amy cursed. This is where the experts knew what to do. They could take gambles with sedatives and aneasthetics. The moan became a whimper.

Infinitely carefully, verifying the positions of the cord, the placenta and the baby, Amy twisted the weakly struggling infant one complete rotation.

"My god, Salvatori, what are you doing? Stand aside!"

Wasn't that just like him, Amy thought, amused. Now, if the umbilical cord resumed its function, she would be a hero, or maybe a minor villain. If it was too late, she would be probably blamed for the whole thing. She was a rich woman, and could probably afford a good lawyer. _Thank you god,_ Amy prayed, _for making me so fucking dumb that I walk into these things with my eyes wide open. Thanks a lot._

The paramedics turned to Dr. Phil and said that there seemed to be a strangulation. He stepped forward and elbowed Amy out of the way. Amy stumbled out of the ambulance, her face grim.

"There's no strangulation! What are you fellows doing? Either get the delivery going, or get a move on!"

There was a confused murmur, with Phil blustering over it all. Suddenly there was a weak cry of a baby, and one of the paramedics came out, grinning, and gave Amy a thumbs-up. Amy went back in the little surgery, and called for the next patient.

"What happened?" asked the woman, who said she had crushed her finger in her car door. Amy shook her head, and examined the finger.

"Excuse me, miss. Salvatori, tell me what happened."

Amy summarized the events. Phil looked at her with eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you didn't imagine the whole thing?"

"Ask the guys. They confirmed it."

Phil looked away finally. "If you really did do it, you saved the kid. I think you just imagined it!"

"Hey," said Amy, looking him fearlessly in the eye. "No charge."

"Like hell," said Phil. "It's fifty dollars, same as usual, in addition to the ambulance fee, which is $300."

"Now that you're here, why don't you take over? She's got a crushed finger!"

"Oh, come on, Salvatori, I have another half hour." He paced up and down. "We need more oxygen equipment around here," he decided, finally, and left.

After she had dealt with the remaining patients, Amy noticed the ambulance was still outside. She had noticed their speaker-phone working steadily, but not realized that the mother and baby were still around.

"They want you in the ambulance," Julie said.

"Oh Jesus," said Amy, "what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing—she's conscious, and she just wants to see you!"

Amy couldn't help smiling as she went up into the ambulance. The woman was all smiles, and she was nursing her baby, who was turning a nice pink.

"Tell me what happened!" she demanded, her eyes eager.

Amy sat heavily on the side. "This is what I _think_ happened," she said.

"Oh, I know you're right, and he was wrong," the woman said. Her son was nearby, nodding. She seemed confident, but how could she if she hadn't known what was wrong?

Amy described the details. "The placenta is sort of attached to the side, so once you twist him the right way round, the cord comes loose, you see."

"Her; it's a girl!"

"Right! She's pretty!"

The woman nodded. "You explain it very well. I could feel something pulling against me, and I thought she had grabbed something in her hand!"

"No, that was the cord. You usually can't feel it much at all, but if it was really stretched tight, you probably could."

"You saved my life," she said gravely.

"Perhaps the baby's life," Amy said, smiling. "Birth is a risky business. There's a 100% chance of dying."

Her eyes opened wide. "That high?" she asked. Amy laughed, and got up to leave. The lady's son got the joke, with a flash of braces.

"You get it? A hundred percent, mom! Everybody dies sooner or later!"

"Good luck!" Amy called from the door.

"What's your name?"

"Amy!"

"That's what I'll call her!"

"Good! I like my name—it means 'friend!'"

The days went by, and it was July. It was open land, and it was daylight seemingly forever. It got dark around ten, usually, so the evenings were incredibly long.

Helen's peculiar little affair with Hattie continued, and blossomed into a tender love of a few words each day, the occasional present, the occasional touch of a hand, and the language of the eyes. Helen pretended that it was a platonic affair, because that would be how Hattie saw it. Amy knew about it, and, Helen thought, didn't really disapprove.

Amy was always going on about Helen learning to make non-sexual relationships.

"Of course I do. Look at Betsy. Look at . . ."

"Yes?"

"Look at Rita, at Nicole, at Mary Ann!"

Amy had only smiled, but Helen had been annoyed.

But Hattie was the high point of her morning, and Krissy knew it. For Helen's sake, Krissy treated Hattie like a princess. Mr. Palmer had a huge soft spot for both employees, especially Krissy, and had told the young woman that she could treat her friends up to $20, just like Elaine, out of which she had to pay half. "No free stuff, mind you. They've got to pay at least half!"

"Okay, Mr. Palmer."

She was true to her word, and soon her little group of friends were regulars at the grocery store. They often urged her to leave early and come away with them, especially the boys, who had a soft spot for her. Everybody did!

"No," she would say with a smile, "it's fun here!"

Helen often saw her talking to the customers. She would serve them and retreat behind her coffee-machine, but the out-of-towners were quite aggressive, and often called her out to talk.

"So what's there to do in the evenings, er . . ." She poked her head out and pointed at her name plate: KRISSY ". . . er, Krissy?"

"Well, there's music on the green, starting at around eight, if you like music, or, for the children, . . ."

"Music? What music?"

"It's a band."

"A rock band?"

Helen had pricked up her ears some time ago. This was the first she had heard of a green, to say nothing of music on the green.

"Oh no, like a wind ensemble."

Once they had gone, Helen had asked for more details. There was always music at the house, but it was Gena's music: folk and pop and weird world music. Helen hadn't brought any music with her, and she was regretting it. Krissy seemed favorably impressed by the concerts on the green, and Helen asked why she never went.

"Well, I didn't think Gena would be interested," she said.

"Gena? She loves music! Anyway, _I_ love music!"

"Oh, you should go, definitely! It really is nice."

"Would you go with me? It would be a lovely date!"

Krissy giggled. Helen had never heard a prettier sound. "You know who might like to take you?"

"Oh, Amy?"

"I was thinking, Hattie Mailer—Miss Hattie!"

The next day it had rained, starting early morning. Helen had waited a few minutes, and then decided to run anyway. There was a crazy joy in running along the waterline in a rainstorm, the rain pouring off her skin and running down her body in rivulets, the waves and the sand seeming to grin back at her. To Helen, rain was not angry nature, it was nature being generous. Of course, there were excesses, and that was different. But this was a dry summer, and the rain was welcome. She cut across to the road, and ran back that way. She had cut down to just three miles out and three miles back, circumnavigating the marina on one side and the river on the other. There were only a few runners who ran at that ungodly hour of the morning, and they merely waved at the beautiful woman, few of them connecting her with Elaine at Palmer's.

When Helen went to work, with the kids all dressed in their rain gear, Lily wasn't yet out. Amy had called in sick, with a shortness of breath that hit her occasionally. She had volunteered to keep the kids, but Helen said that she liked to see them out there, and Lily would miss them. Erin would come along in her own good time—she had her own mysterious routine that was better left un-interfered-with.

The kids settled down to play in a corner of the store after checking the place out a bit. Eventually James would begin prowling, and then Helen would have to think of something. At the moment he was engrossed in one of his toys.

Krissy came in soon after, and greeted the kids with obvious pleasure. She promised to help keep an eye on them. Palmer was not yet in.

Mercifully, Lily turned up not too late, and things were back to normal, except for the steady rain. Helen wondered whether Hattie would turn up. At the usual time, though, she saw the familiar figure walking past the shop window, carrying a colorful umbrella. She stood at the door, carefully folding the umbrella, smiling at Helen. Krissy's face had a smile from ear to ear—she thought Helen and Hattie were just so cute.

"I thought you wouldn't be by, for sure," Helen said, feeling on top of the world, as Hattie walked up to the counter, skirts swinging in that graceful way that Helen wished she could do as well. "You look like a million dollars, Hattie! What's up?"

"Nothing! I just stopped by, just to say Hi, and take a peep at your kids!"

Krissy was smiling, watching them intently, and Helen remembered.

"Do you know about this music-on-the-green thing?"

"Sure! What about it? Would you like to go?"

"Yes! Would you take me?"

"What's there to take? You just show up! It's all free, Elaine, it's just for fun. It's paid for with taxes!"

"All right, then, I'm asking you out to the music! How about tonight?"

"I'd love to!" said Hattie, after a slight pause.

They had met at the store at a quarter of eight, and walked to the green, which was just a large square across from the beach on the other side of the center of town. The rain had stopped at noon, and it had turned a little cooler, becoming a lovely afternoon. They had sat close together on the folding chairs that the town provided, and listened to old favorites from Broadway and ages gone by. "Isn't it lovely?" Hattie had asked, and Helen had nodded vigorously. Helen had been bored to death with it, but was determined to enjoy it. Towards the end, they had played pieces that Helen liked a lot better, still light classics, but more tolerable. It was lovely to watch Hattie's head nod in time to the beat, and her toe swing around, sort of conducting. Helen thought she had pretty feet, with fat little toes, perfectly formed, and she wore open-toed sandals, and looked just perfect, with her long ankle-length tiered skirt.

It was over, and dark, and Helen said she'd walk Hattie home. Hattie said fine, and they walked. There was just a tiny spatter of rain, and Hattie opened out her umbrella, and they shared it. Along the beach road, then inland, twisting in and out of streets, they walked, until they came to a little house all lit up inside, and Helen could see a little old gentleman and a couple, having dinner.

"Gosh," said Hattie, "I didn't know we could be seen so well. Anyway, this is it, and that's my Dad, the older guy. That's my brother, Robert, and that's _her!_ "

"Okay, then!"

"Want to come in?"

"No, they're eating."

"Another time!"

"Yeah!" Helen drew her into the shadows, and hugged her nice and long. She wasn't going to kiss her, because that would lead to all sorts of messes. She was soft and cuddly.

The pulled apart reluctantly. She didn't seem anxious to go in.

"Let's walk around the block," she said, taking Helen by the hand. "Come on!" They walked. _I could fall for her so easily,_ Helen thought. _It's so unfair_.

"You're so early," Hattie said. "People usually come out to the sea around this time!"

"Oh. Really?"

"Uh huh. Two weeks, and they're gone. You've been here three already."

"Wow. It seems longer, like I've been here forever."

"Yes, it does." She had let go of Helen's hand, but now she reached out to squeeze her arm. "Do you like it out here?"

"Very much," Helen said. It was true; there was absolutely no music, but she loved it. She couldn't ever remember enjoying a summer this much. The long afternoons with Allie and James, the chats with Erin, talking to and interacting with Gena and Krissy, the sweet, slow nights with Amy, and the few minutes each day with Hattie, all made it just perfect. Hattie was like the whipped cream on a wonderful sundae.

"You could stay longer then. Do you have to get back to work, back home? Everybody seems to get just two weeks off, and I didn't know whether that was just a general _rule_."

"Well, you see, I, um, work at a school, you see. So I get most of the summer off."

"Oh. You're so lucky!"

"Well, yeah. I have to get back in time to get the place ready for the kids, and stuff," Helen improvised.

"I see, yeah."

"I don't know . . . I'd like to stay longer, but I have other stuff I have to do. There's a dog, and she needs to be looked after."

"Oh dear!" They had come to an intersection that was irregular, and Hattie seemed anxious to talk some more. There were very dull street lights, and hardly any traffic, and Helen was getting ideas. "Let's wait here for just a bit," said Hattie.

"I don't know, it's getting late," Helen said, feeling guilty.

"Oh. Okay." She began to walk again.

"There's a house for sale here," Hattie said. "You could buy it, maybe, and move out here! That would be so great!"

"I don't know," Helen, said, feeling terrible, "Gena is going to college, Allie's starting school in the Fall, I have a good job . . ."

Hattie sighed. It was a long, heavy sigh. "I'm going to miss you, Elaine."

"I'll miss you too, Hattie. I never knew how it would become, between us." She saw the brightly lit house up ahead. "Is that the house?"

"Uh huh. Well, I better let you go!"

She swept Helen into another fierce hug, this one was hers from beginning to end. And she kissed Helen on the cheek, and Helen did the same.

"Good night!" she called softly, and hurried in towards the house. Helen saw the people inside look out curiously, and decided to fade away as quickly as she could.

From that day, they went to the music every evening. Helen simply had to go, in spite of the dull fare. Sometimes it was just the two of them, sometimes Krissy joined them, sometimes both she and Gena, and for July fourth, they all went together. Listening to the familiar music without playing in the orchestra was sheer agony, but it was something.

One day, when Helen and Hattie were at the music alone, they heard a hearty voice hailing them, and turned to see the D.A.

"I should have known you'd be here!" she said to Helen. Turning to Hattie, she introduced herself as Mallory Pearson, and Hattie smiled and said she knew her by sight. Mallory asked if she could join them, and decided to sit next to Hattie.

"Elaine," she said, leaning round Hattie, and interrupted herself to tell Hattie that Elaine was knowledgeable about music. Elaine looked embarrassed, but Mallory winked reassuringly. "Listen," she continued, "isn't there something you can do about the records you can buy in this town?"

"Records?"

"Elaine, here's something you should do. Just go round all the stores in town, and see what's available. That's all I ask! There just isn't _anything!_ Is there, Hattie?"

"There's not a whole lot of variety, Miss Pearson. I don't imagine they sell too well!"

"Variety, my foot. There's nothing. Nothing for the kids, nothing for the adults. Nothing."

"I don't know what I could possibly do, Mallory!"

Mallory and Helen looked at each other across Hattie, who looked from one to the other, puzzled.

"There has to be _something_ ," Mallory said, in a low voice, and there was a little pleading in it, as well as impatience and frustration. But Helen shrugged.

Mallory insisted on walking along with them to drop Hattie off, and talked the whole time. When they got to her home, Hattie squeezed Helen's arm, said good night, and fled.

"She seems a real steady gal," Mallory said. Helen murmured that she was. "Okay. How does one go about getting BNB to open a store here?"

Helen shrugged. "I don't know; I could put you in touch with them, Mallory. We try not to compete with small privately-owned bookstores."

"What about simply a music store?"

Helen walked in silence for a while. It was tempting. "Like a franchise?"

"Sure. This is an ideal community. For eight weeks in the summer, there's a lot of people in and out, relaxing, looking for entertainment. Then life goes back to normal, and there's eight hundred people, half of them kids, looking to buy music. I put up the building, find the help. You folks do the supply, help run it. We split the profits."

"Yes, I think they do some of that. Mallory, you have to keep me out of it. I dread the idea of being recognized. Hattie, Krissy, all my friends . . . it would destroy _everything_. And Amy . . . she's having such a good time . . ."

"Who's Amy?"

"Amy . . . can you keep a secret?"

"Depends."

Helen took a deep breath. "Amy . . . is my friend. You understand?"

"I guess so. Go on."

"She and I . . . we've know each other a long time."

"Uh huh."

"We've . . . only recently—found each other, you know?"

"Hmm."

"Anyway, she's giving up her job, and moving to Pennsylvania, to be with me, and she's just had cancer surgery. She wanted a few weeks off before she took up her new job, to spend with the kids, sort of get to know them."

"Where is she?"

"Oh, she's at home, with the kids, and she works at the Clinic, as a nurse practitioner. She comes out to the music once in a while. She's not too well these days."

"What's up with you and Hattie, then?"

"Just friends," Helen said.

"You're lying," Mallory said quietly.

"There's nothing more than friendship, Mallory. It's going to be hard, but it happens, I guess. A summer friendship. She used to come by just to say Hi every day, and we decided to come to these concerts."

They walked silently for a while. The streets were deserted, except for the occasional bicycle. It was magical, eerily beautiful, with the sound of the waves wafting from across the beach.

"Helen . . . I guess it's all right to say that . . . you know, you're not who you are by accident. No matter where you were born, no matter what you did, you know you would have become the center of attention. You're like a shining star among a bunch of asteroids. A big fat ruby sitting among a pile of pebbles. A swan among ducks."

"Mallory, please . . ."

"You can't expect to waltz into a little backwater like this town and hope to avoid notice, can you? The moment you landed in that cottage of yours, Hattie's goose was cooked!"

Helen just walked along silently. They were just yards from the house. Mallory took Helen by the arm, and steered her across the road, in spite of Helen's protests. "I'm not quite done pestering you," she said, a smile in her voice. Helen let herself be led to the water's edge. She had an inkling of what would happen, and was resigned to it.

"Well, suppose I manage to keep you out of it."

Helen was relieved. "I'd say you have a nice plan!" Helen's heart was beating fast. "We're just beginning to work out management standards, so you might have to agree to employ more women, senior citizens, minorities, handicapped folks, and so on."

"Nothing would please me more. I don't plan to own it outright. But go on!"

"There's not a lot more to tell; we have a sophisticated inventory system, so that we can keep track of your inventory, and suggest orders. It's very flexible. It allows each store, I believe, to decide its own style. Some places would like to have everything in stock, others feel more comfortable saying, well, we'll get it for you. That sort of thing."

Mallory sighed. "Your daughter Gena is a wonderful girl. So is her friend, young Krissy. I suppose you know all about that, by now."

"Oh, yes. I didn't realize it was common knowledge!"

"Well. Krissy didn't have a chance."

Helen's frustration simply burst out. "I wish you wouldn't _say_ those things! We're just ordinary people! _Ordinary people_ , you understand? What gives you the right to blackmail me into having to stand here and listen to your twisted remarks?" Helen was so angry she couldn't help the tears in her eyes. She was not about to cry; she was just furious.

"Calm down," Mallory said in a low voice. "I'm sorry." Helen took a deep breath and let it out. Helen nodded.

"May I hold you? Please?"

Helen was shocked. She had expected something like this, but the idea had seemed preposterous.

"Mallory! I . . ."

"Let me— _Please_ let me speak. I ask you not as the District Attorney. I'm a woman, just like you—well, an ordinary woman—and you'll probably be gone in a few days. If I could just . . . just . . . I just want to capture a small fragment of your magic, Helen! That's where all this bitterness came from! I know it wasn't intentional, but . . . my goose is cooked, too!"

"Mallory, you're a beautiful woman. You could easily find someone! Why me?"

"I have someone. I love her very much."

"Who? You mean me?"

"No," she laughed, releasing some of her obvious tension. "There is someone. I just want to . . . get something from you, to take home with me."

It was all very awkward. Helen wondered why she couldn't feel anything for this extraordinary woman who had inspired such admiration in Gena.

"I _have_ to ask. I'm the D.A. I can't just grab you . . . you know?"

"Gena loves you."

"That's a different kind of love. That's a love a childless woman feels."

"All right."

It really wasn't bad at all. Mallory held her awkwardly, then Helen put her arms round her, and gave her a warm hug, and kissed her cheek, the way she had kissed Hattie the past several days.

Mallory slowly stepped back, and stood awkwardly at the edge of the dry sand. "Thank you," she said, with quiet dignity.

"Did it help?" asked Helen, skeptically. The handsome woman had impressed Helen a little, but not so much that she really cared. She felt taken advantage of.

"A little," said Mallory.

"Well," said Helen, "that's all I can . . ."

"Please!" interrupted Mallory. "Leave it. I thank you."

As if to convince herself, Helen repeated that they were just ordinary people, with no magical powers. She muttered that they had no magical powers. It was all in the mind, blown out of proportion. Finally Mallory covered her ears.

"What is it, now?" Helen asked. She knew she was acting like a foolish woman, precisely the kind of rural wife that she despised. Perhaps, she thought, she was precisely that kind of pathetic creature, who had managed to suppress the symptoms of it for longer than other women. All the fussing, the stupidity, the irrational behavior would soon follow, and soon she would be no better than Rita, her crazy secretary at school. "Don't cover your ears! You make me feel like an idiot!"

Mallory Pearson looked at Helen confused, the distress in her mind clearly mirrored in her face. It was humiliating for a woman who not only commanded respect, just as Helen did, but whose livelihood depended on that respect more acutely than did Helen's. It seemed that Helen was incapable of appreciating her hope, her position. What did she want of Helen, anyway? Did she expect the woman's sympathy, or her pity, or love? Instead of watching her from afar, she should have gone in and befriended her. Helen had no inkling of what had been seething in Mallory's head for several days.

"It's getting late," she said, "I should be going. You've been patient. Very patient. I wish I could do something in return, but I rub you the wrong way." She was now muttering much as Helen had muttered earlier. "I'm just rattling on, here; I guess I'll stop by tomorrow and apologize more fully. Or maybe not; as you like . . ."

"You don't understand," Helen said quietly. "It's important to me that we're ordinary people. Very important." Helen was beginning to realize that fact. Mallory had brought it home to her. "Your letter for Gena is the only letter she has, you know."

Mallory looked at her and gave her a twisted smile. "She'll have no trouble once they know who she is."

"They won't."

Mallory snorted. "Surely you're going to tell them."

"Would you, if you were me?"

"In a heartbeat!"

"Gena wouldn't let you."

"I really have to go," said Mallory, "Thanks for everything! I'll see you tomorrow, er, Elaine."

"Wait! Why? What did I say? Please, I'm sorry!"

But Mallory had hurried away.

How hypersensitive these people were! Helen thought. Jeeze, you'd expect a big-time lawyer to be thicker-skinned than that. Helen ran through what she had said, but couldn't think what had made Mallory cut and run like a bat out of hell.

But Mallory was waylaid by Gena, who had heard voices and come out to look. Helen saw her being taken into the cottage. By the time she got there, she was being introduced to the little ones and Amy.

To avoid looking at Helen, Mallory was bent low, talking to James and Allie.

"You're up late, aren't you, mister?"

"Yes," said James. "Are you coming to sleep here?" Helen felt acute embarrassment.

"No, I just stopped by to meet you!"

"Oh. But I'm sort of ready for bed."

Allie interrupted. "He sleeps early, usually, but while we're out here he waits up for Mama! He doesn't look too sleepy, at all!"

"No, he looks full of pep!"

"Pep?" asked James.

"No more pep, mister. Show Aunty Mallory where you sleep. Show her how nicely you can go to bed!"

"Come on, over here," said James, leading Mallory to his little cot. "I get in this way . . . there! See?"

"Very clever!"

"It's easy! Nighty night!"

"Nighty night, sir!" Mallory turned to smile at Allie, and then at Helen. A tacit truce was called. She held out a hand to Amy, who shook it, smiling, then turned to nod to Helen, and calling a farewell to Gena and Erin, headed out into the darkness, leaving Helen to feel like a jerk.

"Aww, I didn't know she was so sweet!" said Amy, as she came to join Helen at the door, watching the DA hurry away. "Did she turn up at the concert?"

"What's so sweet about her?"

Amy looked at Helen puzzled. "She's _very_ sweet! Why don't you like her?"

Erin, particularly, seemed to think that the DA was a god. Gena's eyes were all dreamy. Thinking discretion the better part of valor, Helen only told Amy vaguely that Mallory was pestering Helen about opening up a BNB in town.

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," said Amy, in bed that night.

"I agree, as long as she leaves me out of it."

Helen recalled her hour with Matt Brooks. It had twisted her inside out at the time, and left her so beat up that she had ached all night.

Marissa and Helen had gotten ready for bed. It had been fresh linen, and after they had recovered from the shock of Matt barging in, they had been very much in the mood for love. They had begun to kiss and caress, when Marissa had frozen.

"There!" she had said, listening, wide-eyed. It was a quiet tap on the door.

"Yes, who is it?" Marissa had called out, and the tap had been only repeated, barely audible.

"It's Matt," Marissa had whispered. She had scrambled out of bed, red-faced, and urged Helen to get into the other bed with signs. She had found her robe and put it on, waving her hands furiously at Helen to put on a nightie and get under the sheets. Then she ran to the door in her bare feet and cracked it open.

They were huge doors, inches thick, and even cracked open, Helen could not see through it from where she lay, but from Marissa's furious face she could tell it was Matt. She saw Marissa impatiently motion him inside, and shut the door. Matt stood at the door, red-faced, eyes cast down, while Marissa ran on tiptoe over to Helen, who was watching with interest and excitement. She knelt by Helen, clearly upset.

"Helen? You know what we had talked about?"

"About . . . what?"

Marissa went red as a beet. She took Helen's hand in both her own, and began to perspire. She raised her beautiful eyes to Helen, and spoke in a whisper. "About—a baby!" Helen nodded, her pulse racing in anticipation. She glanced at Matt, standing at the door in his robe. She could see his body outlined by the fabric, and felt what any girl would have felt. It was only that she was no ordinary girl.

"Well, he's . . . he says he wants to talk to you!"

Helen leaned down to kiss Marissa. She had already decided. She was going to do it! She'd do it, and deal with the consequences later. She swung her long legs down to the floor.

"Wait!" Marissa hissed, eyes burning.

"What?"

"I want to watch!"

Helen had stared at her, amazed. She had shrugged. "That's very unusual, Marissa," she had whispered back, "let's go ask him. I don't care!"

" _You_ ask him. Just bring him over, and get to it. I'll pretend to sleep."

"You are so weird!"

There had been a long pause. "Do you hate weird people? It's just . . . I can't explain! Maybe I _am_ a monster." The eyes pleaded for Helen's understanding.

"Marissa, you mustn't ever get pregnant with him. It could break your heart, it could break his . . . I don't have too many hang-ups, but that one . . . it scares me," she said, pulling Marissa up to sit on the bed. She felt so light, barely a hundred pounds. She knew that the curiosity that throbbed in her eyes was a precursor to trouble. "I wouldn't go there. Don't trust any tests that declared you sterile."

"No," she said, finally, dropping her eyes, "you're right . . . I have to control myself." She was visibly excited. "It's as if . . . my sexuality is exploding. I want to feel everything!"

"We'll try to find someone for you to experiment with!"

Marissa turned to look into Helen's eyes, and nodded slowly.

"Does he know about—us?" Helen asked.

Marissa's eyes slid to her brother waiting patiently some thirty feet away. They returned to Helen's face. "I don't think so—I don't know. It doesn't matter; we always support each other," she said, shrugging.

Helen gave Marissa one last squeeze, and went to Matt. He had brightened and colored at her approach. He towered over her in her bare feet, and she took his hands.

"I told you I would!"

He bent to kiss her, holding her carefully away from him. His lips felt hot on hers. "We have to be very quiet," he said almost in a whisper. He was so huge, she could almost feel the heat of his body through the fabric. He looked much bigger than in his clothes; the cut of his jacket had minimized his bulk.

Helen moved closer, crowding him against the wall, until she could feel his heavy phallus against her belly. She could feel herself react in the usual way. If the fabric brushed against her, there would be a large stain.

"Matt?"

"Yes?" he said in a strangled whisper.

"I want to do it here! Marissa promised not to look."

"Oh man!" he said, and looked over at his sister. "That could be weird."

Helen was getting past the talking stage. The lights were all out but the light near the door. Marissa was already in bed, turned away. Helen turned out the remaining light, and in the darkness, guided him to her bed, removed her nightie, and hung it over the headboard, out of the way. Then she turned to him, and carefully undressed him, while he fumbled with his ties to help her. Finally he stood naked, and she put her arms round him, and they finally felt their bodies touch fully, and the dance was on. His penis hung heavy and hot, and she stood astride it, and holding him tight, began to kiss him, open-mouthed. His penis was enormous, and she could feel it slick up against her crotch, hot, wet with her own juices, very thick indeed, and she wondered whether it was going to hurt. She didn't care.

The kiss did not go well. His mouth was too big for her to enjoy. She quickly turned to kiss his eyes, his neck, while they stroked each other's bodies. His hands felt good on her body, as he cupped her breasts, her buttocks.

"I want to look at you!" he said, in a low trembling voice, and held her away from him, peering at her in the dim light through the window. He knelt, and kissed her belly, and rubbed his face in it. She ran her hands through his hair, tangling her fingers in his curls, and spread her legs, inviting him inside her, wanting to feel his tongue inside her. Obediently he licked her, and she tilted her head back and gasped with pleasure, pushing herself against his tongue, her breasts tingling with sheer ecstasy. She was coming already; she felt her first climax burn though her.

She bent to raise him up, as if he were a girl, holding him under his arms. She sat on the bed, and slid herself up onto it, and tugged him onto her. He loomed over her, a huge mass of pale skin, his tan invisible in the moonlight. She spread her legs, and grasped his swollen penis. It was, if possible, even thicker than it had been, hard, ready, and beginning to ooze. She caressed it with both hands, closing her eyes, wishing it was her own, wishing she could feel the sensations he must be feeling, wishing that with inserting it into herself, she could also own the pleasure he would feel.

His breath was coming in short gasps now; he wanted in. As she guided the tip of it inside, he gasped in shock and pleasure, and she did, too.

"Don't be in too much of a hurry," she gasped out, "It's been a while!"

"Oh god," he said, "I don't want to hurt you!"

She had smiled, moving her body, as if to perform fellatio with her vagina, moistening the opening that needed no moistening now. She stretched to fit it, and she clasped his buttocks, inserting him the rest of the way, until she felt his body, heavy on her own.

"Let's rest for a bit," she said, holding his head, to look at his eyes. "It feels good, just like this!"

"You're incredible!" he said, with feeling. He was beautiful, especially his eyes. He bent his head to kiss her on the lips, and she closed her eyes and let him. With everything she was feeling, his kisses didn't seem so bad. She wondered whether she was making him feel loved, wanted, the way a man _should_ feel at this time. She couldn't help being what she was, but this was the greatest pleasure she had gotten from a man ever. She was stretched very wide, but she had delivered a child, and she knew how wide she could get.

With surprise, she had felt warm skin along her side. Marissa had slipped in, and was snuggled up against her.

"Sis! _Go away! Go to sleep!_ " he said, forgetting to whisper. Luckily he had kept his voice low.

"Shh!" she shushed him. "Don't you worry about me!" Helen turned her head to look at her. Miraculously, even with the onslaught of feelings she was experiencing, with Matt's warm body so tightly enmeshed with her own that they seemed one body, not two, Marissa's face, looming closer, and the scent of her, drove Helen wild.

"Kiss me!" she begged, reaching out one hand to her, while the other held Matt close, squeezing his enormous shoulder. Instantly, Marissa's mouth was on hers, and Matt became silent, absorbing what he was seeing. Absently Helen ran her fingers through his hair as she returned Marissa's kiss with equal passion.

That initiated the dance. It began with Helen thrusting gently up into Matt, while Marissa straddled Helen's leg, and slipped a hand between her brother and Helen to grasp her breast. Awkwardly the three of them began to move.

With an effort Helen kept it slow, overwhelming Matt's undisciplined vigor with her own determination and considerable strength. The veins on her neck were standing out with the effort, and her crotch was sore, but the deep thrusting was just pure pleasure.

Marissa was climaxing against her leg. She was a wash of sweetness against one side of Helen's body. Helen's heart was swelling with love for the woman. They hadn't stopped kissing since they had started.

With a supreme effort, Helen sped up, and things began to happen. Matt's pounding got harder. Helen gave up, anxious that they would make too much noise. Marissa pounded on his arm, crying he'd wake everybody up. He only grunted, his mouth searching for Helen's lips. Stretching, Helen moved his mouth down to her breast. Her face was a mask of concentration.

Matt began to make less noise. He was going faster, but not so deep, and the bed was quieter. Helen began to gasp. Marissa mouthed: _I love you!_ And suddenly they were kissing again, and they exploded in almost concurrent climaxes. Helen had begun just a second earlier, and had set him off. He moaned, his cries muffled against her breast, as he sucked her breast, not aware of what he was doing. Even as he gushed into her, he had kept moving, unable to stop. Helen and Marissa were glued tight together, barely able to breathe, their hearts thudding as if they would explode.

Helen went limp, like a rag. There was hardly room inside her for both Matt's penis and his semen; she could feel some of it oozing out. He was exhausted too, she could feel him lie heavily on her. With her remaining strength, Helen caressed the other two, concerned and caring about Matt, feeling her love for Marissa as an ache inside her. She closed her eyes as Marissa kissed her tenderly.

After a while, Matt rolled his head to watch the women kiss. Marissa put her arm round Helen's neck, and closed her eyes to catch her breath. She opened her eyes and saw Matt watching her.

"What?" she asked, and Helen could see her coloring in the dark.

"What are you doing?" he asked, fascinated, still a little out of breath.

"What does it look like? We're kissing!"

"I didn't know you were into that sort of stuff!"

Marissa kissed Helen deliberately and turned to her brother and grinned. Helen couldn't help grinning herself. Matt rose on his elbow to look at the girls. Marissa put her arms round Helen, and Helen circled Marissa's waist. Her leg was still tight around Matt. It was a strange, sweet feeling to be imprisoned by the siblings, and to have them captured by her possessive limbs. It was a wonderful moment, with his penis flaccid inside her, one of his hands sneaking up to play with her breast, and with Marissa's arm round Helen's neck, taking possession of Helen's other breast. She had often fantasized about this very possibility, and here it was.

"She belongs to _me_ ," Marissa said, "I just lent her to you!"

Matt's face grew serious. He struggled to rise off Helen, and she forced him down, pulled down her nightie, and held it against his penis as he withdrew it. He looked horrified at the mess, but she murmured that it was all right.

"Are you upset?" he asked his sister, reaching out a brotherly hand to touch her arm. "I was so . . . I wasn't thinking!"

"Of course not, Matt . . . I love you! I want you to be happy. I was just kidding!"

They were quiet a while, until Matt finally put into words what they were all feeling. "I can't believe what just happened here," he said, softly. "I can't ever forget it, either!"

"Do you want to sleep right there?" asked Marissa softly. Helen thought that there was indeed a lot of love between the siblings.

"I don't know . . . . Do you guys . . . ?"

"All night!" said Marissa, excitedly.

"Jeeze!"

"Wanna watch?" she had asked, grinning.

He had protested, saying that was disgusting, but they knew he had watched. In the morning he was fast asleep next to Helen, his penis buried in Helen's soggy nightie. They had studied him silently, each thinking her own thoughts.

Every night, now, Helen dreamed of sex with Marissa and Matt, and woke up thoroughly wet. Sex with Amy was still good, and they slept cuddled together. But the dreams were so vivid, Helen sometimes woke up in the middle of them, and too aroused to sleep, woke Amy up and made passionate love to her. Amy just bloomed under Helen's touch, and Helen didn't feel as guilty as she thought she should.

Krissy knew Helen liked her, and poked fun at Helen once or twice. That was the one thing about having Krissy around: she noticed everything. But she was nice. If she thought Helen was uncomfortable about her gentle humor, she desisted at once.

The day after Mallory had visited the cottage, she had turned up at the store. She had put her hair up, probably for a trial that afternoon. "Hello Elaine!" she had said pleasantly, and looked at Helen for just a second, before turning towards the cafeteria, and sitting down. She smiled at Krissy, who came over to take her order, blushing slightly. Helen watched them talk in low tones. Krissy made up her order, and served it. They continued to talk while the DA ate, and Helen watched until she was taken away by other customers. She heard Mr. Palmer come out to talk to the DA, and some other customers greet her, too.

Krissy and Mallory began to have an interesting conversation.

"Isn't it funny how much Gena is like her?"

"I _know!_ They really are!"

"Both so impatient . . ."

" _Impatient?_ They're so _patient!_ They never get mad, they smile and smile. . . both of them! I mess up so much, but Miss Elaine, she just smiles and shrugs!"

"That's because she likes you. She isn't that way with everybody!"

"Uh oh!"

Mallory laughed. "Anyway, I've been on the wagon for, let's see, two weeks, now. That's good, isn't it?"

"That's excellent, Miss Pearson! You should switch to tea. I read that coffee makes you want to smoke more."

"Is that so?"

They talked some more, and the DA ate lunch there. Before she left, she said hello to Helen once again. Helen had been watching her off and on, trying not to be too obvious. When Mallory came over to talk, somehow she found herself smiling and saying "Gena is going to miss you!" She knew how much Gena looked forward to Mallory's lunch hour.

A little strain showed through the DA's suave manner. "Well," she said, "a little change in routine is good for everyone!"

Helen smiled and nodded agreeably. She had thought about Mallory for a while the previous night, confused over her own antipathy to her in contrast to the admiration of the rest of the family. She knew that her own feelings about her were subjective, complicated by many issues that were completely out of the DA's control. Mallory could not help that Gena admired her any more than Helen could help that Mallory found Helen disturbingly attractive. Even now, Helen's natural radar told her that the DA was eager to get away from her.

"She'll probably be relieved that at least Krissy kept an eye on you over lunch!" Helen couldn't believe she actually said that!

The DA smiled, and Helen let out a breath of relief. "Your concern does you credit," said the DA. Helen looked at her thoughtfully as the DA took her leave.

Helen pretended to be absorbed in what she was doing, when she really wanted to ask Krissy what she had learned. She heard Krissy greet new customers, and helped a teenager find hypo-allergenic face soap. She got two more customers soon after, and then heard Krissy walk up.

"Are you okay?" asked Krissy.

"Of course! Why?"

"You look upset," said Krissy, looking concerned. "What did you tell Miss Pearson?"

"I said Gena would miss her."

"Well, she went over and said Hi, I was watching," reassured Krissy.

"She did?" Krissy said uh-huh, and Helen thought that it was generous of her, and said so. Krissy agreed.

"She's quit smoking. She says that's why she decided to come here for lunch, instead of going across the street." Krissy was no fool; she knew _that_ wasn't the whole story. However relieved she was that the DA was staying away from Krissy's girl, a part of her was hurt that the lady in question seemed to be more interested in the mother than the daughter. It was still so confusing that it was Gena and her mother who had brought Krissy to the attention of the powerful lawyer. For years they had only nodded pleasantly at each other, and Krissy had wondered whether the DA actually saw her. Suddenly it was Krissy this, and Krissy that. "She said she'd write me a letter for William & Mary, too."

"Oh, that would help you so much, Krissy! But your SATs are so good, anyway."

"I'm surprised that Gena never took 'em," she said, looking puzzled as she always did when this topic came up. The SAT was very high up on Krissy's list of Things That Had To Be Done.

Krissy had excellent SAT scores, in the high 1300s. She was certain Gena would score high, if she only took them. Helen hadn't pushed when Gena had missed the test by being sick on the day it was scheduled at Ferguson. Was it nerves? Helen had assumed so, and thought that pressure would only aggravate the problem. Helen herself had scored well in her youth. It had been close to a perfect score, but she had not revealed it to the kids. Gena, of course, assumed that it _was_ a perfect score.

Kim, Natalie and Ashley had waited for a whole year to get their favorite freezes at Palmer's. Ashley had put up with the expressionless woman who usually manned the café only because she seemed intelligent. Last summer it had seemed as if they were on the verge of a breakthrough, and the woman would almost smile, but it hadn't happened. Kim said she had gone in on one rainy day, and actually got a smile from her.

This year they were a little early, but already there were several changes. There were a lot more visitors this year, but most interestingly, many of their favorite spots had been renovated. Palmer's had a brand-new front, with all the other businesses on Main Street either following suit, or at least cleaning up.

They had been pleasantly surprised by the new faces. They knew Krissy from last year, but she had been busy, and they had been waited on by an unfamiliar woman.

Kim had joked with her, and she had laughed. Her eyes had a certain brightness, with a sort of awareness, as if she was tuned in to all that was exciting and fun, as if she could see right into you and feel the joy in you.

Still, they had resented the change in personnel. It was different, and they had to re-familiarize themselves with the town. Having a different woman in the store sort of spoiled things, and they blamed the woman. They weren't vicious girls, really; but they were typical of that kind of regular annual visitor.

The first thing they had down was to ask for their favorite drinks. She had started to make them with a relaxed smile.

"I started making these with a little less sugar . . . some like it, some don't; anyway, try this and tell me!" She handed one little glass to them, inviting one of them to try it. "If you don't like it, I'll make it the old way," she promised. There was an honesty in her manner, and they felt that perhaps she knew what she was talking about.

Natalie tried it, and her eyes narrowed as she smacked her lips thoughtfully.

"You know," she said, "I sort of like it better this way!"

"Let me try," said Kim, and decided she liked it the old way, and so did Ashley.

It was a brief step from getting their sodas the way they liked them, to liking the new woman, whose name-tag read _Elaine_. She was reserved but not unfriendly, and she smiled easily when they did or said something funny. Before they knew it, they were telling her all sorts of things about what had happened the previous summer.

Gena's 'gang' underwent some changes. Apparently it was really a rather amorphous group consisting of a combination of local kids and visitors. A little after July fourth, a number of new kids arrived at the beach, and the group split into a number of different groups, with some kids belonging to several of the groups. Gena was introduced around, and found herself in several of the groups, one of which consisted of mostly boys, and another of mostly girls, and a mixed group.

There was also a young Swede, Marcus, who didn't really belong to any of the groups, but who somehow managed to hang out with all of them, like Gena. Marcus was an enormous young fellow. He was about seventeen, but he was easily 250 pounds, with arms like hams, and a big friendly grin.

When he came home with Gena one evening—barely fitting through the doorway—Helen wondered how Krissy would take it. It was amusing to see Gena order the young giant about. He would fetch her snacks, move furniture for her, without complaint.

"Hey, Marcus," she would say, "I think there's lemonade in the fridge."

"Uh-huh," Marcus, who was sitting at her feet would reply, and would get himself to his feet, and patiently wait until Helen made enough room for him in the kitchen so that he could go in, and get Gena her lemonade. He would smile his wonderful dimpled smile at Helen, exuding health and vitality and good humor and enormous quantities of perspiration, and apologies for the inconvenience.

"She can get her own lemonade, Marcus, you know!" Helen would say kindly.

"Oh, it's all right," he would grin, "it's no trouble for me. I'm sorry it is too crowded for you!"

Helen happened to know that Krissy had met Marcus already; the boy mountain had apparently hung out with them for some time. But Krissy was away the night that Gena actually brought Marcus home. The following day, Gena Krissy and Marcus all came home together, and it was interesting to watch them without being too obvious.

Krissy was clearly not happy, but she put a good face on it. She was almost as cheerful and as pleasant as usual; only a slight flush, and the occasional look of anger when she thought no one was looking gave her away. She and Marcus competed to bring Gena her lemonade, and Helen was moved to remonstrate with Gena.

"You're the host, Gena. I would like you to get the drinks for your friends."

"Oh _Mom!_ They're family now; what's the big deal?"

Helen was tactfully silent. It was a matter she had to deal with privately.

"Miss Elaine, I don't mind doing it, really," said Krissy, pushing Marcus back down on the rug. Helen reached out to her to give her an affectionate hug as she slipped into the kitchen on her errand.

"I don't like the idea of people ordering others around, Krissy, that's all."

She said it very quietly, and not in a particularly critical tone, but Gena got up from her seat and marched into the kitchen indignantly. She went up to the refrigerator looking annoyed, and pulled out the lemonade, glaring at Helen. Marcus loomed in the hallway looking genial but anxious.

"It's not just for _me_ , Mom, it's for Marcus!" She looked at Krissy wide-eyed, seeking support. "Look how he loses water all the time! He _needs_ to be drinking water!" Krissy nodded in agreement.

"Well, I only said that _you_ should get it, sweetheart."

Gena had stormed off, picking up two glasses on the way, handing one to Marcus and pouring him some lemonade before she sat down. Krissy looked up at Helen, her forehead furrowed in anxiousness.

"Just ignore it, Miss Elaine," she said in an undertone, making Helen smile.

Marcus was only one of the boys who began to hang around the house whenever Gena was around. Krissy gradually began to become comfortable around them, and Helen could only guess at the dynamics of whatever was going on.

At night she and Amy often wondered whether they should ask Gena the big question: was she having sex? After about a week, they convinced themselves that there might be some innocent sex games they played —petting and so forth— but nothing more. Marcus was just too sweet and innocent a boy to be involved in anything more, and Helen thought that he would just not allow Gena to engage in more with anyone else. It was safety in numbers. If Gena began seeing just one boy, it was time to panic.

Helen occasionally went to the beach to talk to Marissa on the phone. It was always difficult; Marissa was clearly a girl whose sexuality was awakened with a vengeance, and her desire for Helen was intense. And she was imaginative and articulate and persistent. She would relate her dreams and fantasies to Helen, and without ever actually begging her to come to Philadelphia, she made it clear that she burned for Helen's touch.

Other trips called Helen away. There were concerts in Chicago, Baltimore, and Toronto, the last two televised. In each case Helen slipped away, performed, and returned without her absence being connected with the performances. She went back to Seattle for a weekend of filming.

[The science fiction series, named _The Galactic Voyager_ starred Helen as a character called Cecilia, who had been a famous musician of the future, who had volunteered to be put aboard the spaceship in hibernation. But far out of the Solar System, Cecilia had been revived, to help deal with a social crisis, where young people who had been born on board the spacecraft had rebelled against ship's authority.]

The cameras seemed to be on her constantly; the amount of careful planning to work around Helen's schedule was amazing. She was assured that she was central to the story and the entire series. The male leads had some minor celebrity status, now, as had the other major female actresses, but Helen was still the huge star of the show. She had given up reading her fan mail now for months, since Christmas. Now it was collecting in Philly, and the studio was pestering Helen about it.

But Helen's only thought was to get back to the shore. It was funny, but she imagined that everything she wanted was there, including Hattie and Marissa.

"Mom!" said Gena, as soon as Helen had got back and welcomed into the bosom of her family, substantially augmented by Marcus, and of course, Krissy. "Guess what?"

Helen had her one arm about her eldest child, and James was in the other, and Allie and Erin were clinging to her neck. Helen smiled at Gena and raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

"Marcy has a violin!"

Erin's eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. "You never told me!" she exclaimed in indignation.

"I only found out today, Erin, I didn't have a chance to tell ya. _Anyway,_ Mom, . . . isn't that great?"

Helen looked at Marcus and Krissy in alarm. They looked back blankly. So far neither of them had more than a vague idea that Gena and Erin were musicians. Gena followed Helen's eyes, and saw Helen shrug and grin at Krissy, and took her mother's cue and subsided.

"I just thought it would be neat to . . . maybe ask her to bring her violin over, and . . ." She didn't finish her sentence. It sounded silly already. Gena groaned silently; could nobody understand her desperate desire to get her hands on a violin, and show her gang how well she could play?

"You should have brought your recorder, sweetheart," Helen said, conversationally.

Gena fumed. " _Should, should,_ grrr!" she growled. "How was I to know?"

"Know what?"

Gena stormed out to her room. It had the effect of starting Helen thinking about how much the children were giving up for this freedom at the beach.

A few days later, Gena actually did manage to get her hands on Marcy's violin, and absolutely stunned not only Marcy but all her friends with how well she played. Handing the instrument back with trembling hands she mumbled that she had played the violin at school. Then Erin had stunned everybody, and Gena had been temporarily forgotten.

Marcy was a sweet girl with a passion for music, and she had put on a little concert for the kids and their parents, which Helen, Amy, Hattie, and Krissy's parents had attended. Somehow nobody seemed to think it was out of the ordinary that Gena and Erin could play the violin so well.

"I enjoyed the kids' music so much!" said Hattie the following day, when she came in to talk to Helen, as she did almost every day. Suddenly they noticed a figure who had been unnoticed in the background: the DA.

"Music? Did I hear the word music?"

Hattie blushed and stood aside, smiling and making room for the lawyer.

"It was just the kids," Hattie said. "They put up a little show on the Bow Street steps," she explained. "It was so amazing!"

The DA wasn't satisfied until she had heard the entire story from the two women. Hattie told it, shyly as always, but with great enthusiasm, while Helen simply stood by, wearing an embarrassed smile. Mallory mostly looked at Hattie, but the occasional smile she threw at Helen gave her the opportunity to glimpse the emotions flit across Helen's face—embarrassment, confusion, perhaps a little fear. The village now knew that the children were accomplished musicians. Would this be the beginning of her cover being blown? It was difficult for Mallory to appreciate just why Helen clung so desperately to her anonymity, but it was clear that she did.

It was amusing that Palmer's had always stocked _Galaxy_ -related merchandise, which Helen calmly sold to villagers and tourists alike. Recently, however, they had received a small consignment of Cecilia dolls and a _Galaxy_ book with Cecilia on the cover. Mallory would have dearly loved to have seen Helen's face when it arrived, or at least when she had first seen them!

Mallory expressed her interest in the music and deplored the fact that she had missed the little concert. "I wish someone had told me!" she said plaintively. "I must register a complaint with my private information source!"

Helen laughed. "You mean Krissy! It was planned at the last minute, I believe," she said to Mallory, who was marching over to the restaurant section, as if to accost Krissy.

"I guess she likes music real well," mused Hattie, looking after her. Helen nodded, studying the graceful line of Hattie's hair as it flowed past her pretty pink ears. She was a creature of such softness, one just wanted to touch her. Once again Helen wondered whether the men of the village were blind! What was the secret? Was there something terrible about Hattie that Helen did not know?

Hattie smiled her farewell and headed back outside on whatever mysterious errand she came to town on. Helen suspected that she herself was the only thing that brought her out, but that was one thing she did not want to know. She watched the motion of Hattie's posterior as she walked away, and turned back to her chore with a sigh.

Things were very much more busy than they had been a week before. Tourists were in all through the day; not too many to be a nuisance, but enough to keep Helen on the go all the time. Helen had a wonderful time watching the young children, and occasionally buying them little things out of her own pocket. She bought a young lady of twelve a kit that taught juggling, and a young lad of about the same age a puzzle toy that he was eyeing. They didn't cost much, and it made her feel good. They were beautiful, as most children are, and she considered it her offering at her altar to beauty.

"Oh, Mom, look! A _Galaxy_ book!"

"Where?"

Helen's heart stopped when the teenager pointed. They had just walked into the store, a couple and their teen daughter, a curvaceous young thing of about fifteen dressed in the fashionable belly-revealing shorts and tank-top that all the city kids were wearing. Helen had followed her pointing finger and just seen the book on the rack. How could she have missed it? Someone else had shelved it, obviously.

"How much is it, hon?"

Helen found herself mechanically responding to their request to see the book, and after they had left, she gave herself the luxury of studying the book cover carefully. It was a photograph from a few weeks ago, posterized, cleaned up and rendered by an artist. He or she had captured Cecilia's glorious hair carefully, and made Helen's face look more oval than it really was. Though she knew she looked different, there was still a nagging fear that she was too recognizable.

"Let me see that," Helen heard Mallory's voice at her shoulder. Helen handed the book to her with almost nerveless fingers. She took it with some amusement, studied the cover and handed it back with a straight face. Her eyes twinkled, and Helen wondered what she would say next.

"I have a nice piano," she said in a soft voice. "I would be honored if you would like to come by some evening, and play it. Please say that you will."

"I'm not a pianist at all," Helen said quickly, but quietly.

Mallory looked at her intently. "Surely, you must miss having _something_ to play?"

"Well," said Helen, "actually, no!"

They looked at each other for a long second or two, and Mallory said quietly that the offered stood open. Helen had only to tell her. Helen vowed that it would not happen.

That afternoon, when Dr. Phil came in, he was just in time to see Amy at her desk, holding her chest, perspiring profusely.

"What's the matter?" he cried.

"Nothing," said Amy, "I'm just winded, that's all."

The pain was hardly bearable, he could tell, and he insisted on examining her, and medication was administered immediately.

Amy glared at him.

"Are you _crazy?_ " she asked. Phil out-stared her. "It was just . . . nothing!"

"That's what they always think," Phil said. "I want to do an EKG."

Amy cursed and swore, but he insisted.

The following day Amy stayed home, depressed all day. The night had been awful, but she had been determined not to let Helen see anything in her behavior that would frighten her. She had made love to Helen with a new desperation that had driven Helen wild, rolling on the floor in the urgency of their lovemaking. Helen had accepted her claim of being a little under the weather at face value. She was just beginning to become alarmed that she had missed her period for a month. She had looked at Amy with embarrassment when they were discussing it, but Amy had only smiled. Helen was incorrigible; there seemed to be no limit to the power of her libido. So she had slept with a man, and Amy knew that all she had to do was wait; the story would come out.

A few days later, Amy quit her job at the clinic.

"It's too draining, it's unpleasant, and I want to spend more time with the kids," she said. "I could cut down our expenses by looking after the kids myself."

"Amy, it can't be that bad," Helen had said, "you were getting to like it, I know!"

Amy had shaken her head, but the fact was that she had gotten to like the crazy doctors. Once they had resigned themselves to the fact that Amy was brilliant at what she did, things had begun to improve very rapidly. The difficulty was that Amy couldn't stand the fussing over her 'episode.' It had definitely been a heart attack, and they had insisted that she take cholesterol medication, blood pressure medication, and monitor her condition more carefully. Amy hated all of it. She was taking the pills in secret, now, but she was not going to monitor her blood pressure daily. She was going to stay home.

The children liked her being at home. Aunty Amy was a great favorite with all four of them, especially James, quite a departure for him, since he usually liked the more spectacular beauties among Helen's friends.

Erin had started teaching Allie to read! It was crazy. Allie was reading now, and Erin frequently brought back books from the store for Allie to read, and the store had a wonderful stock of books for pre-schooners. Amy guessed that by the end of the summer, Allie would be reading at higher than first grade level.

The music on the green was over for the season, but there were more concerts by the kids. The kids had guitars, and of course the violins, and keyboards, and they put together a wonderful blend of what could only be called _fusion_ music, and Gena was revealed to be a wonderful improviser. Helen watched from the street, forced to be a spectator while the children performed, and it became harder every day. Gena organized a trip by boat to a nearby town where a big city orchestra was performing, and they all went. It was wonderful. No matter how incredible Helen's concerts with various orchestras had been, sitting in the audience with her children and Krissy and Amy and Marcus and Hattie, it was heaven. A few years ago, Helen thought, she couldn't have borne the idea of simply listening to a live performance. She would have wanted to be up there, playing. But something in her circumstances made a difference.

The moment the concert was over, though, the fierce desire came over her, to get her hands on a violin and play. It was as though someone was making love to her, but not allowing her to climax.

The next day, right after Hattie had visited the store and driven Helen wild with her flirtatious smile and her walk and her gentle words of affection, Mallory came into the store and drifted up to Helen, looking over the merchandise. She never bought anything, hardly, and Helen waited patiently.

"I was playing a little Beethoven last night," she said, "I just don't have the time to keep it up anymore. I used to be pretty good!"

"Beethoven! What do you play?" asked Helen.

"Oh . . . a sonata or two, always the same ones!"

"I'm impressed!" She thought the DA almost blushed. Her grey eyes came to rest on Helen's face. "I know they're not easy," Helen said, since they were alone on that side of the store, and Krissy respected the DA's need to talk to Helen occasionally.

"I wish you would play it sometime," said Mallory. "It's a Steinway. I saved up for years for it! It deserves to be played by someone better than me. Please, . . . Elaine . . . it would mean so much to me!"

Suddenly something snapped inside Helen, and she found herself saying, "Okay, why not! When would you like me to come?"

That night Helen went home with Mallory. Mallory talked the whole time, nervously, as if Helen would disappear if she stopped for a moment. Helen simply made listening noises, wondering if it had been a mistake to do this in the first place.

It was a small house in a middle-class neighborhood. They entered into a hallway, and in a large room on the right stood a lovely medium-sized grand piano. Nearby was a small shelf with a variety of music—Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Schumann, Haydn, and a few collections.

"Over here is my CD collection," Mallory said, and Helen walked over. There were about a hundred CDs, including five CDs by Helen: Bach, Handel, early music, the concertos, etc.

Helen looked through it all, getting increasingly more nervous and embarrassed. She felt trapped. It was silly; she could get out of that house and home in no time at all; it was at most a couple of miles. But it was as though her knowledge of Mallory's attraction for her was a net that she was getting entangled in.

"Please don't feel uncomfortable, Helen. Shall I leave you alone with the piano? I could go upstairs and take a shower, or something. I can tell you're tense, and I sort of know why. It's my fault. Why don't we do that?"

"Oh, I don't care!" Helen lied. "Stay, please!" She laid her stuff on the little table that stood nearby, and got comfortable—as comfortable as she could—on the piano stool. She opened the piano, and played a scale. It was beautifully in tune.

Closing her eyes, Helen began to play. Piece after piece she played, and the piano made it easy for her. It had rather a muffled, dull tone, but playing it was effortless. It was not that the keys were easy to press; it was more that the effort required was just what her fingers needed to keep her hands perfectly relaxed.

Helen was almost afraid to stop. After playing three complete works and a couple of miniatures, she stopped and slowly looked about.

Mallory was leaning against the door behind Helen, her eyes wide and shining, in a state of near-shock. She only slowly shook her head in amazement.

"That's amazing!" she whispered.

Helen felt too weak to move at all. She only stared at Mallory. What would happen would happen. She had to trust Mallory. The woman had so much power over Helen—at least in terms of her ability to remain incognito—that if she wanted to hurt Helen, she could have done so long ago. Helen had kissed her when she had asked, what _more_ could happen?

Nothing happened. Mallory walked Helen home, and was invited to supper. The walk was mostly quiet, except that Mallory said in an awed voice that it had been one thing to know that Helen was one of the great musicians of the world, but another thing entirely to have her play her piano in her house.

"I have to take time to understand what just happened," she said, shaking her head. "What I asked you to do was preposterous. It was impertinent. It . . . I . . . I assumed you would be an _ordinary_ pianist! What was I thinking? I thought I was doing you a favor!"

"What are _you_ talking about?" Helen had exclaimed impatiently. "It was very kind of you! I can't begin to tell you how desperate I was, to play your piano— _any_ piano! Once I _started_ . . ."

"No!" interrupted Mallory. "It was an imposition."

"Well," said Helen, "I appreciate your letting me be anonymous in your town. I'm well aware of the fact that I don't have a _right_ to be anonymous. You've been very considerate, Mallory . . ."

"I was just being—friendly."

"And I'm grateful!"

After supper, Helen, Krissy and Gena walked Mallory out. Then Krissy said good night, and dragged Gena away, leaving Helen and Mallory together.

"He's enormous, isn't he?" laughed Mallory, and Helen laughed with her. Helen said that Marcus was a sweet fellow, and Mallory nodded. It was almost as if Helen needed Mallory to approve of her parenting! It was very difficult to ignore Mallory's aura of authority. If Mallory were to visit Westfield, Helen thought, she —Helen— would have had the home field advantage, the moral upper hand. Mallory would have felt a nobody, and Helen would have laughed at the thought of seeking her approval for decisions she made as Gena's mother. But at the shore, living incognito in this tiny village, it was almost as if Helen had taken on the humbleness of the woman she was impersonating.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," began Mallory, cautiously, "Do you have plans for the day?"

"I have off," Helen said, automatically, "Why?"

"Early morning," she said awkwardly, "I was thinking of taking the boat out for a sail. I could always use some help!"

Helen turned to her curiously. She was being invited to sail with Mallory! How long would it take? What would happen on the boat?

"I don't know much about boats," Helen said, lamely.

Mallory didn't reply immediately. It was dark, now, and as they waited another bunch of Gena's friends arrived on bicycles, and greeting Helen —"Hi, Elaine!" — headed into the house. It was soon becoming the place where most of the kids gathered in the evening, to plan where they would go. They didn't quite recognize the DA —or perhaps they didn't have cause to know who she was; many of these were vacationers— and had gone inside with only a brief nod to the indistinct figure in the shadows, talking to Miss Elaine.

"You're popular, aren't you!"

Helen grinned awkwardly. Somehow every remark from Mallory seemed like an accusation. She knew Mallory wasn't competing with her; it was more Mallory's frustration about Helen's inaccessibility. Helen was aware of Mallory's feelings even if she was uncertain of their cause. It had been a long day, and she wasn't at her sharpest.

"It's Gena," she said.

"Possibly!" said Mallory.

The silence stretched out.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry; I wasn't paying attention—what did you ask?"

"Will you come for a sail early tomorrow morning? I'll have you back by, say, ten." Helen could hear the anger and worry thinly disguised in the tone of her voice.

"Oh. I thought I had said yes!"

Mallory's confusion was very evident. But she brightened up immediately. She promised to be waiting for Helen around six. Not many people knew she had a boat, because she always sailed very early.

What to bring? How to dress? Helen began to realize how much was involved. As she began to look alarmed, Mallory quickly told her she needn't bring anything except herself, and perhaps a change, in case she got drenched. "It's just for fun," she said, excitedly, and Helen guessed that she was even more excited than she was letting on.

But somehow Mallory was managing to make her feel comfortable about their strange friendship. She was not as forceful, not as charismatic as before, not the fearful District Attorney, upholder of the law, representative of justice in the little seaside county. She was more the young woman, dynamic and vital, one who could have been a success in any town in the country, but was mysteriously stranded in this little backwater. There were certainly other interesting people in the region, but for some reason she seemed to have chosen Helen to shower with all her attention.

"Why don't you find yourself a nice . . . _person?_ Mallory, there _has_ to be someone you could be friends with!" said Helen, finally thawing her cool manner towards her. "What will you do when I go away at the end of the summer?"

"That's entirely _my_ problem, . . . _Elaine_ ," she answered, her slight smile giving Helen no clue about how she really felt. She has to have been hurt by that, Helen told herself, reproachfully. It was a self-serving statement; she was easing her own conscience about their eventual parting. "I'll see you at . . ."

"I could be ready by five," Helen offered. The quicker it was over and done with, the less explaining she would have to do. "Even four."

"Are you sure?" Helen nodded. "All right, four then!"

Helen and Amy went to bed around midnight; the kids returned late from their little outing, whatever it had been, and Krissy had called home and got permission to stay the night. A few minutes earlier, Marcus had swung off without a backward glance, every footstep making the ground shake, his head lowered in his characteristic meditative style. He lived a mile and a half away, and while the other kids rode off on their bikes and in Jason's little jalopy, Marcus walked. Often, Krissy was the last one in to bed; she tended to fuss around the house, putting things away with Helen, and sometimes they shared a quick goodnight hug before they turned in.

"So, what do you think of Marcus?" Helen asked, careless about the consequences.

"He's nice," said Krissy at once. "I like him."

Helen smiled and shook her head. "You kids really make me wonder sometimes," she said, "I can never guess what's going through your heads!"

Krissy looked right into Helen's eyes, and Helen stared back, surprised.

"Gena is a wonderful girl, Miss Elaine. You've done a good job. . . . I hope it's not out of line for me to say that."

Helen shook her head slowly. "No," she said, "I guess not!"

Helen undressed quietly. Amy was already in bed, taking her night-time medication. Helen wondered why she was so secretive about it, but she was; there was no point being inquisitive. Helen, too, had to take several pills at dinner time, and she had been embarrassed at first, but now she just swallowed them without any fuss, and nobody seemed to notice.

Amy smiled at her as she came to bed. They had gotten into the practice of wearing shortie nighties to bed; they seemed to Helen to be the most stimulating. Helen had offered to give up sex, because Amy seemed to tire so easily these days. Perhaps the medication took its toll on Amy's energy. How did cancer medication work? It was a mystery to Helen. But Amy insisted that Helen need not give up anything. If you want sex, she said, we should have sex. If you'd rather not have sex, we don't have to.

But what about you, Helen had asked, angrily. And Amy had said at once that she would prefer to have sex.

Sex with Amy was not a chore. The love between them was old and strong, often buried, but not so deep that it couldn't be uncovered with a kiss or a touch. Making love to Amy was like nothing else in the world. It was strange to be sort of in love with someone who was more intelligent than you, but who loved you so much. Left to herself, Helen found herself drawn to women who were generally her inferiors intellectually, but strong in other ways—in sheer talent, or character, or beauty, or wisdom. With Amy, it was the opposite. It was Amy who had chosen her, after decades of patient waiting.

They knew each other well, but they also knew that there was much they could —and did— hide from each other. So making love together always had a certain edge to it.

Tonight Amy's skin seemed more sexy and sleek than usual. The thought of what could transpire the following morning hung over their lovemaking like a mysterious, teasing threat. Helen was reminded that women were often suspicious when their husbands suddenly became wonderful lovers after having been indifferent for years. Tonight she made Amy tense with desire. Her breath was labored, and Helen toyed with her mercilessly before she gave her the release she was gasping for. She did this twice, getting a perverse thrill out of doing it, and got ready to do it again.

"Okay . . . that's enough, sweetheart," Amy gasped. "That'll do me for . . . a while!"

Helen caressed her breasts and kissed her fondly.

"What's the matter? Aren't you enough woman for me, huh?"

Amy put a fat little arm round Helen's neck. "I guess not!" she said, smiling.

Helen fitted her body snugly against Amy, feeling as much of Amy's sleek skin against herself as possible. Nobody could cuddle better than Amy! Within seconds, she was fast asleep in Helen's arms. But sleep refused to come to Helen. She wondered what was going on in Gena's room, what Harriet looked like when she was asleep, whether Matt ever masturbated when he was alone, . . . what she should tell Amy about Marissa. And of course, she thought about Mallory.

She must have drifted off shortly before four, but she was woken by faint noises outside the house. Helen gently disengaged from Amy, stuffing a pillow in her place. It was still pitch dark. Entirely by feel, Helen found a swimsuit and a pair of shorts, a few other clothes to wear on the way back, rubber-soled shoes and sneakers, and slipped outside. She changed, and put her nightie in the washer, put her change of clothing in a grocery bag, and headed out.

There was a shadowy figure barely visible against the dark grey of the beach. Helen felt both excited and weary as she headed towards the road. Suddenly Mallory's face appeared close.

"I thought you might change your mind!" said Mallory.

Helen shrugged and raised her bag of clothes. "I'm all ready," she said, ignoring the remark. "So where's this boat of yours?"

They were now at the gate. Mallory turned in the direction away from the town, towards the little intersection on the other side, and Helen followed, matching strides with her. Mallory gestured vaguely towards the pier at which were moored the craft that Gena's friends usually used.

Mallory was a little smaller than Conchita, but still nicely proportioned. In the dark, Helen couldn't see her very well, but she seemed to be dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and walked briskly. After they were out of earshot of the little cluster of houses, Mallory said that it was a lovely time to do it, to be out on the water when the sun came up.

The boat was a modest size. Helen expressed her admiration for it —it was a little lighter now, and she could see the boat's beautiful lines clearly— as they climbed on board, and after Helen's gear had been 'stowed,' Helen began to help Mallory get the boat ready to sail.

Mallory was wearing very brief shorts indeed, and Helen realized that she had gorgeous legs. They were nicely tanned, a tad heavy around the thighs, but with trim knees and calves.

She instructed Helen with patience and in easy-to-understand steps. They cast off, raised sail, and headed out slowly, tacking into the wind. There was a lot to learn, but it didn't seem like a lesson. The initial tension, almost tangibly thick when they started out, began to lessen considerably as Helen managed to focus on the immediate tasks. Mallory —Mal, as she asked Helen to call her— praised Helen for her ability to keep her footing on the rolling boat.

Accustomed to sailing with no help at all, she was running rings around Helen at first, giving her the least possible responsibility. Gradually Helen was able to help more, but she was embarrassed at not being able to come even close to the efficiency of Mal.

It was strenuous work, and they were soon down to their swimsuits and shorts, in spite of the breeze. The sky grew rapidly grey as they made their way down the shore, seeing places Helen had not been to, in the dim light of early dawn, and then tacked about to head in the opposite direction, all the while heading out to sea.

"I wish you could simply turn on the engine and just—zoom out! This is so difficult!"

"We could, you know. That wouldn't be sailing, though!"

"You can?"

"Sure!"

Helen studied her companion. She was seated on the bench across from Helen, her life jacket securely in place, hair carefully braided out of the way. Why could she never appreciate a beautiful woman without thinking of her as a potential sex-partner? She had felt clumsy all morning, simply because every job she had to do needed to compete with her fantasies about Mal, and her fantasies about Mal's fantasies. Would Mal try to touch her? Was Mal imagining touching her, but holding back?

How could they bring their feelings out in the open, get to the touching right away, without all this dancing around it?

"I wanted to get out of sight of land, and show you the sunrise!"

"Let's get the engine started, then!" Helen said, eagerly.

Mal laughed. She seemed girlishly happy as she got up. Wanting Mal was becoming almost painful. The more she had to wait, the more intense it would be for Helen. She simply wanted to have quick sex right now, not a long passionate affair.

"We must take the sails down first," Mal said, and Helen jumped to help. Soon they were speeding directly away from the shore. "This is why I do this," she said, as they made their way out of the large bay, and the land dwindled to a low line of grey behind them.

Helen became afraid. The swell of the water was quite different now, slower, smoother, and it was clear that they were all alone. Helen rose to her full height, trying to see land, and she could still see it when the boat rose on a high wave. Most of the time, they were out of sight of land. No surf at all, just the glassy sea.

"Here it comes, look, look! _Did you see it?_ "

Helen tried to relax and look at the horizon. The sun seemed to leap into the sky, and suddenly the world was aglow with its light, the sea, the boat, everything. Helen looked around at it all, and at Mal's face, itself aglow with the pleasure of having shown Helen something she treasured.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes, it certainly is!" said Helen, smiling and nodding.

Mal studied her face carefully. "Helen, are you feeling okay?"

"Me? I'm fine—just a little . . ."

"I have some nausea medicine, . . . I was so sure you'd be okay!" She got up to find her medicine chest. "You give the impression of being—indestructible!"

"I'm not feeling ill, I'm just . . . a bit scared, that's all."

" _Scared?_ " Mal asked, surprised. "Why?"

"I guess I've never been out of sight of land before!"

Mal's face quickly became concerned. "We could turn back," she said. "I wanted this to be a pleasant experience, Helen . . . it's perfectly fine to sail along the shore, really."

As the sun rose a little higher, and Helen became more comfortable with the motion of the little vessel, some of her worry disappeared. She told Mallory that she felt fine, and managed to convince her.

He looked at the water, so cool and clear and inviting, and felt an impulse to go in. She wondered whether it was as frightening to be in the water as on the boat.

"What happens if I take a dip?" she asked, suddenly.

"Sure, go ahead," invited Mallory, killing the engine, and cautioning her about the dangers of the water.

Helen slipped into the water without a splash, and came to the surface all smiles.

"It's warm!" Mal laughed at her. "Well, not steaming warm, but . . . it feels comfortable! Come on in!"

"I can't, Helen; it isn't safe! At least, I haven't done it before."

"I'm a certified lifeguard," Helen assured her. "I can get you to shore if anything happens, trust me!"

But Mal refused. Helen felt let down. More than ever, she wanted to touch Mal, to swim in the water with her, to feel her body against her own. She wanted to feel her tongue on Mal's skin, to feel her nipples come alive under Helen's touch.

Helen dived under the surface, and stroked some distance away to vent her frustration. Impulsively, she stripped under the water, and swam back to hand Mal her swimsuit.

Mal laughed and took the handful of fabric. Helen had worn a sexy, sheer swimsuit that wasn't very substantial. Their hands brushed, and Helen felt a thrill of excitement. She swam away rapidly, her body ready to explode with excitement and frustration. The minute she was sure Mal could not see her, she began to touch herself, and to get herself off while doing a languid one-armed backstroke.

She could just barely see the mast of the boat! She waited only to catch her breath, and swam hard back to the boat. Then she swam round and round the boat, just to show off to Mal, face up, face down, and finally scrambled back on board with Mal's help.

Mal grinned at her as she dripped water on the bench, her legs carelessly spread, her arms thrown back, showing off her body shamelessly to Mal. The urgency was gone, now; only the desire to tease her, to make her hot, only that remained.

Mal's smile became a tad rueful as she studied Helen. It was impossible to look away.

"I'll look after the boat," Helen offered, "you take a swim!"

Mal smiled and shook her head. "I . . . I'm not as good as you are," she said.

"Oh, just take a dip! I just want to see you in the water!"

Mal smiled broadly, her eyes crinkling. The district attorney was gone, and this was a schoolgirl, being challenged by a buddy. Helen realized that Mal had been a rather quiet young woman, who had blossomed in college.

"You want me to take my clothes off, that's what _you_ want!"

It was. But suddenly Helen knew that what she wanted was really for Mallory to enjoy the moment. So what if she'd rather swim in her bikini?

"It doesn't matter," Helen said, "just take a dip!"

Mallory carefully told Helen what needed to be done if things got messy. She wasn't going very far, so hopefully nothing would happen. Then she slipped overboard as quietly as Helen had. She wore a modest two-piece that nicely showed-off her flat stomach, and of course her strong arms and legs, and swam slowly around the boat, as Helen watched her. She called out to Helen, asking whether she passed muster, and Helen said she was doing fine. She was in the water only a few minutes before she came back aboard.

The two women grinned at each other, and suddenly Mal decided to take off her wet swimsuit and lie on the deck, to get a little sun.

"You have such a lovely all-over tan; how do you do it?" she asked Helen.

"It's —I have these tan-through clothes," Helen said, "in fact the suit I was wearing is that way."

She studied Mal, creeping up to sit close to her. Mal had her eyes closed under her sunglasses, and Helen was losing the last scraps of inhibition she had about staring at Mal's body.

It was a perfectly ordinary body, strong, healthy, well-muscled, well-proportioned, with a light tan on her arms and legs, and hardly any tan at all on her bikini areas and breasts. Her slightly heavy thighs were quite cute, and didn't detract from her overall attractiveness. Finally Helen looked at her pubic area, with a close-trimmed triangle of hair adorning it, and a little bit of the soft skin of her sex barely visible between modestly closed legs.

"Hey, stop staring," she said to Helen.

"Why?"

Mallory blushed.

"Because!"

"You can do better than that, Ms. District Attorney! Come on, now!"

Mallory sighed and reached for the sun-tan lotion, but Helen grabbed it first, reaching across her body. Mallory opened her eyes and looked into Helen's face. She took off her glasses and squinted at Helen, who moved across to let Mallory get the sun.

"Let me," Helen said softly.

"Please don't," Mal said, her voice thick, stretching out her hand for the little plastic bottle.

Helen felt the frustration rise up inside her.

"Why did you bring me out here, then? You know how I am! I'm not going to do anything . . . funny, you know. _Please!_ " Helen was confused. How could she explain that she had already conceded a great deal by deciding not to actually make a move on Mallory? A few minutes ago she had been ready to force Mallory down and take her. She knew Mallory would have been unable to do anything but let her have her way; she had instigated the whole thing.

Mal was breathing with difficulty. "I . . . I just wanted to spend a little time with you, that's all," she said, clearly upset. "I had given up sex, Helen. I don't think I can handle it."

Helen poured some of the oil on her hand, and kneeling by Mal, began to gently stroke it on her breasts. Mal gasped at her touch, and then sighed and closed her eyes. Helen knew she simply couldn't ask her to stop now.

She finished the breasts, and moved down to her belly. After the first rush of intense excitement, after she felt the moisture trickle down inside her to hang in large drops on her skin, waiting drip on the deck, Helen managed to calm herself down. She would _not_ push her fingers into the crack between Mal's legs; she would only brush the lotion on whatever skin she could see.

"Are you always so . . . _forward?_ "

"No . . . not always," Helen said, after some thought. "Not anymore!"

"Not any more," Mal echoed, thoughtfully. She was calmer, now; by some miracle, it seemed as if things would stop right here, with Helen simply smoothing on suntan lotion on her nude body. "So . . . in your younger days . . ."

"Yes," interrupted Helen. "Exactly."

She was finished. It had taken far too little time. Helen's hand came reluctantly away from Mal's skin.

Helen wanted to hurry back to shore. She wanted to get into bed with Amy and make love to her. It wasn't the sex, anymore, it was the desperate feeling of wanting to . . . hold this woman, to kiss her, to fulfill her dreams. How could she stand to live all alone? Didn't she ache to touch someone as Helen did so often?

Helen laid down on the deck next to Mal, and Mal moved over to give her room. It was a modest-sized boat, and there wasn't much room at all.

"Is there no one in your life, Mal?" Helen asked softly. "You're so beautiful, I can't imagine why you couldn't find someone to—share your life, your love!"

Mal sighed, but was silent. Helen kept quiet. Of course there had to be someone; but there must be painful events associated with him or her. They just lay in the morning sun, bodies touching, and at least on Helen's part, the desire to be more intimate with her companion almost a painful ache in her entire body.

"You shouldn't really be lying in the sun without some sun screen," Mallory said, after a while. Helen wondered what was going through her mind.

"Why don't you return the favor?"

"All right," Mallory said, and Helen could feel her losing some internal battle. Helen could already feel her body singing with joy. Mal rose up and reclined by Helen's side, filling her hand with oil from the bottle. Helen closed her eyes and waited.

It was neither more nor less than she had hoped for. Helen hand shamelessly opened her legs, but Mal had refrained from taking up the offer. But her touch on Helen's breasts was exquisitely pleasurable. They applied lotion on their backs, too, having spread a towel to lie on.

"What time is it?" Helen asked, after a while. She was feeling almost delirious with emotion and sensation overload.

"Around nine . . . nine-fifteen," Mal said, looking at her watch.

They turned to each other, and suddenly they were in each other's arms, their legs entwined, and they were kissing passionately.

Helen tentatively explored Mal's sex with her fingers, and immediately she cried out, "No! No, please, Helen, stop."

Helen sagged. It was too hard.

"Then help me out," she begged, "I don't have your self-control!"

Mal had been panting, and calmed herself. At close quarters her eyes were beautiful, dilated with the lust they were both feeling, and also, Helen thought, a little fear.

"You . . . why don't you do yourself, . . . I'll just lie here, I won't look!" she offered in a whisper. "Go on!"

"I _want_ you to watch!"

"No!"

"Jeeze, you're such a prude!"

Mal gasped at the insult. She punched Helen on the arm angrily. "I'm not rejecting you, Helen, you know? I'm just being —well, I like to go slow, that's all!"

"We're women, Mal; we're not going to have to deal with pregnancy or a family! You take what you get, when you can get it."

"What about Amy?"

"I'll tell her. She can take it."

"What about me, then?"

Helen rolled Mal under her, and kissed her fiercely. Throwing her whole weight on the brunette, she unleashed her lust by simply pressing her to the deck, making her moan with need. Soon Mal was begging her to let her touch herself.

That was the only way they were going to make an end to it. They lay side by side, getting themselves off, and finally were still, Mal embarrassed by the shared intimacy, Helen wanting more.

Helen got up first and dressed. She wiped off as much of the oil as she could, and put on shorts and a shirt. Mal followed soon after and got herself together, avoiding Helen's eyes. It was broad daylight, an odd time for such an intense emotional encounter.

"Well!" said Mal with a forced laugh, "that was certainly educational!" She sounded more like the lawyer now. She began to raise the sail, and Helen helped her, and she thanked Helen.

Helen was flushing all over her body. It was all wrong. It should never have come to this. She could never again be just friends with Mallory Pearson. She wondered if she would ever ask Helen to play her beautiful piano again, and if she did, whether Helen would have the courage to accept the invitation.

"I'm sorry," Helen said in a low voice. "I don't go nuts like that all the time."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mal said, laughing. "I guess it's an honor to — be one of the _few_ who drive you crazy, huh?"

"Yeah . . . something like that," Helen said. She could tell that Mal was still upset. It was important to remember that being sexually assaulted by Helen Nordstrom wasn't something every woman welcomed. She should be grateful that Mal wasn't actually hostile. She was a lawyer, after all.

They had the sails up and adjusted in no time. They were a good team, and Helen could see that Mal was enjoying the actual sailing. It was exhilarating to feel the boat race before the stiff breeze, cutting through the water like a razor.

Thinking back over all that had happened, Helen realized that there had been absolutely no sexual invitation from Mal. She had merely wanted to share with Helen the glory of one of her favorite things: seeing the sunrise from her sailboat. That was all. The woman was deeply fond of Helen, a confessed admirer, possibly infatuated with her—or with Gena—at one time, but not expecting more than friendship. Helen could still feel her body, trembling, trapped under her own, her mouth surrendering to Helen's demanding tongue, a kind of friendly rape.

Once the sails were in place, and they were seated, Helen had no way to disguise her embarrassment and distress. She faced forward, her face wooden. She wished she had worn a bra under her shirt. She wanted to disappear.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I'm really sorry!" Mal was silent, a little of her cool mask giving way to uncertainty. "I took advantage of your friendship; I'm really ashamed of myself."

"It wasn't just you," Mal said, her voice rough with embarrassment equaling that of Helen.

"Well . . . it was sexual assault. How dumb could I be, to do it to a lawyer?"

Mal looked straight ahead. "Is that what bothers you? That I'm a lawyer?"

"No," Helen admitted. "It's that I'm such a jerk, that's all."

Mal sighed.

"What do you want me to do, Helen? Like you said, we're women, . . . the issues are different. I can tell you, I wasn't going to fight you, for fear of capsizing the boat."

Helen couldn't have felt worse. The boat had begun to rock with their violent movements, but Helen had paid no heed, once she was in the throes of her lust.

"Just get me home," Helen asked, her voice barely audible. "I'll never bother you again!"

Mal sighed.

"Is that the price I pay?" Her voice was soft and gentle. "That I admired you so much, and . . . and wanted you so much, and now . . . after we've kissed, and . . . I don't know _what_ we did, there . . . you want me to leave you alone?" Helen wanted to cry. It was so sad. "Is there no middle ground for us? Can't I be Helen Nordstrom's friend?"

"Of course you can! I _like_ you, Mal! Did you think I just wanted to . . . _fuck_ you? Did you think that was _all_ I wanted?"

Land was now in sight, and they were approaching it at a good clip. Helen piped down so Mallory could maneuver the boat to the dock. She tried very hard to do as perfect a job as she could, stumbling over herself to obey orders. She desperately wanted to redeem herself in Mallory's eyes, if not as the goddess-like celebrity she had once worshiped, at least as her buddy Elaine, reliable and friendly, and ready to please.

The boat was moored and closed down, and they headed off, threading their way past the few young fellows who were up early, admiring them both openly, not sure exactly who they were, behind the sunglasses.

Mallory led the way slowly along the road, away from the little commercial area near the dock to the lonely stretch of road past sleepy houses, to the cottage.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Helen said, softly, "and feeling. I want to know."

"Feeling?" They had matched strides, and were walking along slowly, and somehow the feeling of trust between them was returning. "I feel . . . sad, that you might not have enjoyed the sail, . . . sad that I couldn't give you what you wanted, . . . upset that you were driven to do what you did." Helen could hardly believe her ears. "Upset that I made you feel guilty about the whole thing." Mallory was walking so close, Helen could feel the warmth of her arm. "Tell me what _you're_ feeling, now!"

"I feel," began Helen, hardly able to talk, "grateful, that you're so generous and forgiving, . . . guilty at having put you through it, . . . Mal . . . I enjoyed the sail. It was incredible—beautiful, exciting, . . . surprising! I learned so much!"

"I'm very glad, Helen! You've never sailed before, obviously!"

"Never!"

"Well, we must do it again, sometime!"

Helen's excited smile vanished. She shook her head, and stopped walking, and Mal stopped a second later. Helen stared at the ground. "I want to, but . . . I can't trust myself."

Mal laughed, embarrassed. "You're crazy! _I'm_ the one who doesn't get any sex!"

Helen shrugged. She was red again. "It must be the water, . . . the motion of the boat . . ." she shook her head again. "I don't know. Perhaps I'm not entirely normal. There." She looked up defiantly. "I'm an artist, Mal. Artists aren't normal people. It's a poor excuse, I know. But it's all I can offer."

They began to walk again, each lost in her own thoughts. In the end, just before Helen went into the house, they agreed to continue as usual, trying to forget that anything had happened. Mal said she couldn't stand the thought of never talking to her again, and Helen said she felt the same. They gave each other a parting smile, and Helen disappeared into the house.

Helen was grateful to find everyone was asleep. Noiselessly she moved about, unable to calm herself down. As encounters went, this had been a rather tame one in some ways, but it had left Helen's nerves jangling, her stomach churning. Mallory Pearson was supposed to have been a woman of the world, unfazed at being approached sexually. Instead she had been _very_ upset, at several levels. Helen had felt that some of her reactions had been childish and naïve, but perhaps their standards were different. After all, this _was_ rather a quiet backwater, in many ways. Perhaps the worst kind of crime Mal had to deal with was disorderly conduct.

Krissy appeared in her nightie, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Oh, it's you, Miss Elaine," she said in her barely audible voice. She walked over slowly, stopped a little way from Helen and studied her carefully. "You smell of suntan oil," she said, sniffing delicately.

"Yes," said Helen, having given her a quick smile and turned back to the refrigerator, "I went sailing with Mallory Pearson."

"Was it fun?"

"Oh yes, very much so."

Helen waited. Krissy had become a kind of anchor for her; if she wasn't upset, things were not so bad. It took a lot to upset Krissy really seriously.

"I like Miss Mallory," she said, taking a seat on a stool. "She's nice."

"Yes, she certainly is," said Helen, trying not to sniff. Her nose was beginning to prickle, and in the end she had to use a tissue to blow her nose. "It must be the sea air," she said, lamely.

"I'll wash my hands and be right back!" said Krissy, smiling her special smile. She adored Helen, and Helen felt she didn't deserve it. Krissy returned with clean hands, and they fixed breakfast together. Before long, there was a face at the window: Marcus was here. Krissy let him in with a delighted cry, and the level of help in the kitchen threatened to be overwhelming.

"Marcus," Helen asked after a while, after he had finished slicing the bread and seated himself to watch the women, "how come you're up so early?"

"Oh, I forgot!" he blushed, and pulled out a sorry looking packet of pop-tarts from his enormous pocket. "I brought some stuff to share!" He began hauling more of it from other pockets. Krissy began to giggle.

"I guess you don't like French toast, then!" remarked Helen, smiling.

"Oh, I love French toast, Miss Elaine!" he smiled, dimpling wildly. "I didn't want to eat all your breakfast!"

Krissy and Helen exchanged a look of alarm. "I'll get more bread," said Krissy, quickly, hurrying to the closet.

The family gradually woke up, and Helen found herself surrounded by their warmth and love, more than she had ever noticed on a Saturday morning. Allie was very affectionate, as was Gena, and James was his usual merry self. Erin was absorbed in something or other, but took time to greet Helen fondly and say a few words before hurrying off to her project.

Amy came out last of all. When she did, Helen grabbed her and gave her a big hug. Marcus smiled at them, and Helen asked him, "Isn't she the cutest thing?"

"I don't know," he grinned, "let me try!"

"Oh no," said Amy, pretending alarm, "I don't think I'm feeling well enough!"

The kids dragged Helen out to the beach, and then out to the town, forcing her to join them in their play. They had lunch in Gena's café, where another girl was working. They shopped at Palmer's, where Jackie was in charge. Jackie managed a smile for them, and made them their favorite drinks, while Gena and Marcus and Krissy discovered the new _Galaxy_ stuff, and insisted on buying it. Gena was brilliant at not letting on her own personal connection to the show.

They took some lunch back home to Amy, who ate it with relish. The three little ones and she had gone out to the beach, played a while, and returned home. After lunch, when the older kids went out again, Helen remained behind.

Helen turned to Amy when they were in bed for a nap.

"I have an awful confession to make."

Amy looked at her with troubled eyes.

"Okay?"

Helen took a deep breath and launched into it.

"I'm having an affair—with Diane Elman's daughter. And her son."

Amy's face registered shock.

"At the same time?"

"Yes," whispered Helen.

Amy's eyes were so pretty, even when she was upset. Helen just gazed into them, shutting away the seriousness of what she had just confessed. Amy let go of Helen's arm and turned to face her more squarely. She looked sad.

"What can I say?"

Helen's ears burned. It was not a good day at all.

"Say you hate me," she replied.

"I don't hate you."

"Say . . . tell me you never want me to talk to her again!"

"Talk to _her_. It's the sister you're really interested in."

"Yes!"

Amy studied her, apparently dispassionately.

"Do you love her?"

"Amy, not as much as I love you, darling . . . it's . . ."

"Do you love her, Helen? I just want to know."

"Yes, Amy!" She couldn't stop the tears from coming. It was so dumb, to confess that she'd fooled around with another woman, and then start to cry. When guys did that, everyone felt it was so fake. And here, Helen was doing it.

Amy slowly turned away. Helen bent over her to see if she was crying. She wasn't. She was just staring at the wall. Amy gently pushed Helen away.

"I just want to think, darling," she said softly. "Leave me alone for a little while."

"I don't want you to think! Just . . . just . . . just . . ."

Helen covered her face in her hands, but the tears leaked out. It was pathetic. _She_ had been in the wrong, but it was she who was crying.

"Oh, stop crying, Helen," Amy said, a little impatiently. Helen immediately quieted down, embarrassed. "I wish you hadn't told me," she said, more quietly. "You're just dumping your guilt on me."

That hurt. Helen wondered whether perhaps she should have kept quiet about it. When one cheated, was it kinder to keep quiet about it?

"Does she call you?" Amy wanted to know.

"Yes, . . . in the evenings, sometimes."

"So she's in love with you."

"I guess so. Yes, I know she is."

"And the boy?"

"Oh . . . I don't care about him."

"You're pregnant, and you don't care . . . jeeze, Helen. You've better clear up the mess in your head."

Helen gasped. The fact that she was pregnant hadn't registered. But they had all had their periods, except Helen. She hadn't had a period in a long time. Whose kid was it? Paul Lambert's or Matt Brooks's?

Helen told her that she had slept with two men. Amy was disgusted. They argued for a long while, and finally Amy asked her to leave. She wanted to think quietly by herself.

Helen left the house angry and frustrated. She decided she would go find Harriet. Twenty minutes later, she was on the sidewalk outside Harriet's home.

Somehow, Helen didn't have the courage to knock on her door. She looked through the window, and she could see Harriet occasionally, but there was just no way to call her out.

Helen was feeling conspicuous. She began to walk away, and half an hour later, found herself outside Mallory's house. She rang the bell.

She heard noises inside; someone was coming slowly down the stairs. Helen panicked, and turned to get away, too late.

"Hi!"

"Hi!" replied Helen, feeling foolish. "I just thought I'd . . . ring your doorbell."

Mallory laughed. "Come in! I was just lying around, doing nothing, actually!"

Helen blushed. She was dressed in a denim jumper dress, over a tube-top, and flip-flops, as they called them in Westfield. Mallory wore shorts and a T shirt.

Once inside, they looked at each other.

"What's the matter, Helen?" asked Mallory, kindly. "You've been crying!"

"How can you tell?"

"You're eyes are red, for one thing. Very red."

How upset she looked! Helen marveled that this woman who hardly knew her was upset on her behalf. Especially after Helen had treated her in such a churlish manner that morning.

"I . . . Amy and I had . . . an argument."

"Oh god, not about me, I hope!"

"No . . . about someone else."

"Who?"

Helen took a deep breath, studying Mallory's face while she thought fast. She shook her head. "I'm not . . . quite ready to tell you. I don't know how much of it I should tell . . ."

Mallory took Helen's hand and led her to the sofa, and sat down on the floor near her.

"Oh, Helen," she said, "you're such a mess!"

Helen dabbed at her eyes. She wanted to cry, but not in front of Mallory. Somehow Mallory made her want to be more grown-up.

"I just wanted to talk to someone," she said, and gave a synopsis of how it had gone with Amy.

"Okay. Tell me as much as you can stand," Mallory urged.

"Come sit by me, then," Helen insisted.

Keeping names out of it, Helen told Mallory the story. She told her about Lorna, and Anne, and David and Ruth.

"I'm a slut, Mal . . . I can't stand myself."

"No, you're _not_ ," Mal insisted quietly. "People must make exceptions for artists like you," she added. "I'm on your side, so long as you don't really force yourself on people."

"Well . . . this morning . . ."

"Let's forget about this morning."

"How can I?"

They were looking at each other.

"Would you sleep with me?" Mallory asked, in a small voice.

They went upstairs, and undressed each other, and made love. It was sweet and gentle, all kissing and caressing. Helen could never have believed that Mallory was such a gentle lover. It was as though all the passion in her had been purged away, and as though she was making love to a young girl, afraid to hurt her in any way. Helen, too, found herself responding in kind. Their climaxes were a long time in coming, because of it, but in the end they made it. Softly sighing, they lay together, not entirely sated, but their hearts were at rest.

For a long time they talked about love, about women they had loved, and men, and what they liked about each other, and whether they could find the courage to do this again.

"I'm such a coward," Mallory said, "in some ways, anyway. It'll be a long while before I can get myself up to . . . ask you over."

Helen caressed her tenderly. "You're very sweet," she said, awkwardly. "I wouldn't have guessed you were such a gentle person!"

"I like soft things," Mallory said, "and that's how I feel you really are. The wild woman who attacked me this morning . . . that isn't you."

"Oh yes, it is," said Helen. "That's the real me!"

When Helen got home, Amy took her aside and told her that she had forgiven Helen all. All of it.

"Why?"

"Because . . . I love you."

"Amy . . . what if I want to see her again?"

"Of course you must, Helen. But you must tell me. It wouldn't hurt much if I knew what was going on."

That evening, Conchita called, and asked Helen to meet her. "There's a little business to deal with," she said.

It turned out that Diane had sent a set of prints out to Conchita. They sat in Conchita's hotel room, and went through the exquisite photos. Helen caught her breath several times at particularly stunning ones. Not one of them was unusable, but there were about thirty incredibly good ones, and Helen selected them, and Conchita carefully put them away.

"Oh Conchita," Helen said despairingly, when they were done, "I'm going crazy!"

"Why? What kind of crazy?"

"Sex-crazy," Helen admitted. "I'm having crazy fantasies, and I'm becoming a nuisance to the people around me."

Conchita was scornful at first. But Helen told her about the incident with the DA. Conchita was very alarmed.

"Don't mess with the law, Helen. That's not very clever."

"I wasn't trying to be clever!" she exclaimed. "She was . . . pretty, she was available . . . what would _you_ do if the DA was hot for you?"

"I'd leave her alone, Helen. If she turns against you, you have a very credible enemy. If it ever came to your word against hers, . . ."

Conchita was very concerned. She insisted that she was going to find a way to get Helen some 'exercise' without her having to turn to the village-folk for it. "Hands off the townies," were her parting words.

True to her word, Conchita did her work, and Helen got a call one evening.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this . . . Elaine?"

"Er . . . who's calling, please?"

"Conchita asked me to call. My name is . . . just call me Honey, ma'am."

"Honey?"

"Right."

"Okay."

"Are you alone? Can you talk?"

Helen went outside. The family was accustomed to Helen walking outside to talk on the phone.

"Okay, I'm outside," she said.

"Listen. I've got a date for you. Can you get away Monday night?"

Helen could barely control herself all of Sunday and Monday. Amy and she had made up somehow on Saturday night. On Sunday night Helen told her that she had arranged for a date the following evening.

"What do you mean, _date?"_

"You know . . . sailor, do you want a date?"

"With a _hooker?_ " Helen nodded. "My god, are you _mad?_ "

Helen looked into Amy's eyes, begging for understanding. "I know it's wrong, Amy, but . . . it's just one night; I'll never see the girl again!"

"How often is this going to happen?"

"Once a month . . . I don't know."

"What about the . . . Elman girl?"

"What about her?"

"Will you be visiting her?" Amy's tone had an edge to it, now. Helen's desire to keep Amy happy at all costs warred with her need to be honest. There was just so much of running around behind Amy's back that she could do before it poisoned their relationship.

It was an admission of failure. Helen had decided to give it all up for Amy. But in the end she had got herself involved with several new lovers.

"No!"

Amy made it abundantly clear what she meant. If Helen went out on the date, she would leave Helen. She insisted that Helen call that very minute and cancel the whole thing. Helen did. The woman—Honey—seemed amused.

Helen tried to make love to Amy, but she was too upset. They simply lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. Helen's stomach churned for several hours, and she had an attack of diarrhea at 2:00 in the morning. As soon as she crawled out of the bathroom, Amy went in.

Should she tell Amy about having sex with Mallory? It was becoming abundantly clear that Helen could not be honest with Amy about her sexual adventures. She was going to have to lie.

She could hear the noises of Amy losing her dinner in the toilet. Helen went out and softly called, "Are you all right in there, Amy?"

"Yeah," came the soft reply. There was silence. Helen guessed it was all over; Amy, too had purged the contents of her stomach. "Go to bed, Helen." There was no real anger, only impatience. "Drink a glass of water and go to bed."

Helen waited for Amy to come out. When she did, she was very unsteady, and fell into Helen's arms. Helen helped her out to the kitchen and got her a glass of water. Amy sipped it, seated on a stool, half leaning against Helen. She asked Helen to get her one of her pills, and Helen did so, absently wondering why. It was probably a sleeping pill, Helen decided.

Amy was quiet and relaxed now, not tense and angry as she had been. She let Helen help her to bed and when Helen cuddled her, she let her do it. It was as if she had forgotten about what Helen had told her completely.

In the morning, Amy told Helen she could do what she wanted.

"Why?" asked Helen. "What made you change your mind?"

But Amy would not say. She simply insisted that Helen should do what she wanted. She need not even tell Amy. But Helen got the distinct impression that Amy would like to know.

One afternoon, when Helen came home from Palmer's, Amy had a message for her.

"Well, they want you for more photos," Amy said. "There was a call from Conchita."

"What for?"

"A magazine cover. And an article."

It was late, and they were already in bed. Amy turned away and said she was too sleepy to "do anything." Helen, of course, was not in a mood for anything anyway. They lay quietly for a while, and fell asleep.

The next day, Harriet came in, as always. She was dressed in an above-the-knee-length blue dress instead of her usual calf-length skirt, and looked absolutely smashing.

"You look good enough to eat, this morning!" Helen exclaimed, not hiding her pleasure at seeing her friend. "My goodness! Why do you hide yourself so, instead of showing yourself off?"

Harriet was plainly flustered. She looked about and said, softly, "Be careful, Elaine, somebody might hear! Not everybody understands, you know."

"What's there to understand? Anyone can see you look lovely!"

Hattie blushed. She looked down and muttered something about her fat legs. They were in fact quite cute legs, with dimpled knees.

"Would you come with me to the photographers, and get a picture taken of the two of us?"

"Oh, sure, I'd like that," she said, seeming a little excited.

Krissy called to Hattie to come over. She was busy with a family who had just come in for a snack. When Hattie stopped by Krissy's station on her way out, Helen heard Krissy echo Helen's own praise, telling Hattie she looked really cute. The blue dress matched Hattie's eyes, and Hattie looked simply smashing in it.

Helen took a break for lunch, and went out with Hattie to the little studio. For $25 they had several pictures taken, and a few minutes later were given the prints, as well as the negatives.

"Oo, these did come out well," Hattie admitted, looking at them. "Something to remember you by!"

It was a reminder that it was time to think of parting. They were in the middle of town, on the sidewalk, and Helen was feeling too sad to move.

"It's going to be hard to go away," Helen said sorrowfully.

"Don't say anything now," Hattie said quickly. "When the time comes, we'll have a proper farewell."

"How?"

"Well . . . Dad and my brother and his wife are off to Las Vegas for a week! Can you believe it?"

"Wow."

"And I said I wanted to stay behind!"

"I bet they loved that."

Hattie shrugged. "They save on the air fare, but now they don't have a babysitter!" Helen grinned and nodded. "So I have a plan!"

Helen felt a tightening of her stomach. She had wanted this friendship to be an innocent one. But if Hattie's plan was anything like what she imagined, that hope was dashed. All she could do was to gently head it off when it was revealed.

"Sounds exciting!" she said.

Gena was on night duty, now. Just as she was heading out to the Café, Helen took a taxi out to the big town, and was on her way out to New York for a photo session.

This session was completely different from the other three. A couple of months earlier, Conchita had taken Helen out, in disguise again, to have a photo spread taken by a fellow called Zak. (Their finances had started declining in strength early in the spring, when Conchita had been hired, and unscrupulous Conchita had thought they could make a lot of quick money by selling Helen's photos.) Zak had been completely concerned with Helen's beauty. The photos had been put up on the Internet, as a hot new model called Violet, and a famous photographer, Molly Dobbs had seen them, and asked to shoot Violet. Molly had been concerned with Violet's eroticism. Diane Elman had been concerned also with Helen's beauty, but from another angle: she was concerned with Helen as Woman, how Helen embodied the attributes and infinite variety of womankind. These most recent magazine photographers —it was a team of three of them, two men and a woman— were mostly interested in finding what was unique about Helen. Their ultimate goal was, of course, to sell their magazine.

After much argument, Helen was able to talk them out of having her hold a violin. They put her in a sexy, deep red dress, and sat her on a high stool, holding a conductor's baton. In the background they showed her conducting the Philadelphia opera company in _Meistersinger_ , a dramatic close-up of her taken from below. It was a photo Helen had never seen, and it quickly became one of her favorites. It was in black and white, while the main magazine photo was of course in vibrant color.

She traveled all night to get back, and on the way she talked to Marissa on the phone. She could tell that Marissa missed her just as much as she missed Marissa.

"I just can't seem to get motivated to _do_ anything," Marissa complained. "I spend all my time dreaming!"

"What did you _usually_ do?"

"Oh . . . I read a lot, I guess, helped with the housework, . . . did my exercises, that sort of thing."

"Well, I'd keep up with the exercises, if I were you!"

"I just can't. I can't eat anymore, and . . . I just don't have the energy."

Helen sighed. She knew exactly what was going on, but was at a loss as to what to tell Marissa. She remonstrated with Marissa, and finally convinced her to step up her eating and her exercises. She promised to come see her at some unspecified time in the near future, which got her all excited. It was clear that this would be the pattern for the future; long periods of separation, and brief hours together. Helen knew that Marissa would draw her back, no matter how long their separation lasted. There was something about her that spoke to Helen's heart. She longed to be able to take her out of that peculiar environment, to make her into the vital, useful person she could so easily be.

Amy was surprised and pleased to have Helen back so soon. Helen showered and came to bed, and after much coaxing, Amy let her make love to her. It was so wonderful to be in Amy's arms that Helen felt her eyes fill up, but there were no tears that night. However, around two in the morning, Amy woke and quickly took a pill.

"What's happening?" asked Helen.

Amy simply sat up in bed, looking terrified. Helen held her hand, and Amy clutched it gratefully. It was frightening to have no one to call— the one person Helen would have called in a medical emergency was the patient. Almost an hour after it began, Amy sighed and seemed to collapse.

Helen calmed her down by stroking her back, and got her to say what it was all about. It was a heart attack.

"Oh my god, Amy! What . . ."

"Shh! Jesus, Helen, keep your voice down!" hissed Amy, as loudly as she could manage. "The whole house is asleep!"

"But . . ."

"What can you do? The pill is all that works! I'm taking all the medication . . . I can take." She was out of breath, and sounded feeble.

"This is why you quit your job!"

"Yes."

Helen took Amy in her arms slowly. She refused to cry. It was so easy to cry when she felt helpless. Amy was limp in her arms, and Helen began to understand how Amy longed to be protected and comforted by Helen.

"I have been so . . . _cruel_ to you!" said Helen, feeling incredibly guilty. "It never feels like something awful, but . . . I know you hurt when I do —you know—some of these . . . things . . ." Helen flushed, unable to explain what she meant without embarrassing herself. "I don't know why I do them, Amy, sweetheart . . ."

"Oh, I don't care," said Amy quietly. "I really don't." Helen kissed her tenderly. "I'm not going to die, you know."

"But I could tell it was painful, Amy."

Amy nodded. "Yes," she sighed, "It hurts like crazy. . . I need to rest, sweetheart." Helen nodded.

She was covered with perspiration, and Helen made her as comfortable as she could. The next thing Helen had to do as soon as Amy could talk without exhausting herself, was for Helen to learn how to handle any further attacks that may take place. Amy had to be taken to a hospital in the morning, and thoroughly checked up. It was the end of the vacation by the sea.

Conchita had said she was working on getting them all back, and Amy had assured her that it was not imperative that she was seen right away. Nevertheless, Helen had to really work at looking normal when Hattie turned up at the store the next day.

"Well, they're gone!" she said, delighted. "They just left a few minutes ago!"

Helen smiled. "Great! What happens now?"

"Well, I'm going to make dinner for you!"

"For me!"

"Uh huh, just for you!"

It was a game they played, this kind of silly double-talk. So that was it; she was going to cook a meal for Helen, and then they could say their farewells. It was perfect timing, because they would be gone within the week.

But more was waiting in the wings.

Krissy cornered Helen a little after Hattie had left, and said that her mother wondered if Miss Elaine and Gena would like to join her and Krissy in a visit to Clarke University. It was a university that both girls had applied to, and miraculously, had been invited for interviews. Helen said she probably would, but needed to confer with the family whether there was a particularly good time to schedule the trip. The fact was that once they left the shore, it would be very awkward indeed to get together with Krissy.

Mallory had found out that the little 'Gibson' family was about to leave.

"I'd like to give you a . . . proper farewell," she said to Helen, when she came in for lunch.

"Mallory . . . you know this isn't goodbye!"

But Mallory dropped her eyes. It was miserable, the way everyone seemed to be taking it so hard. Gena's friends were in mourning. Marcus had been silent all the previous evening, moodily staring out into space. Only Krissy had been relatively cheerful, anticipating that she would be with Gena in College.

After work, Helen headed home to change. Amy was puttering around, looking relatively normal. She asked a few pointed questions about Hattie, but Helen shrugged them off. There was nothing to be suspicious of—yet. She was just very fond of the woman, but what could she do?

Helen dressed nicely in a skirt and blouse, and headed out to Hattie's side of town. Twenty minutes later, she knocked on Hattie's door. Inside she could see Hattie laying the table, looking up at her knock, and hurrying to open the door. She looked at Helen and smiled and said "Hi!"

"Hello, Hattie! Am I too early?"

"No, just in time!"

"May I come in?" Helen teased.

"Yes, come in, silly! Looks like rain, huh?"

"That's what they say. Something about a hurricane. I've never really gotten upset about a hurricane," Helen said, laughing.

"Did they really say a hurricane?" Hattie looked concerned. "I'll put on the TV and the radio. They'll say something."

Hattie had fixed a simple meal. Once they had started eating, she revealed that this was, in fact, the second meal she had prepared. The first one had been completely destroyed by what she called her carelessness.

"Oh, don't give it a second thought," Helen said cheerfully. "I'll help you clean up afterwards!"

"It's bad luck," Hattie said, her eyes wide. "Burning food is bad luck. The worst kind!"

Helen dismissed it with a wave of the hand. She said she didn't believe in that kind of rubbish.

The food was delicious; it was a sort of roast and vegetables, all made very well, so as not to obscure the natural flavor of the meat and the vegetables. Helen ate heartily, complimenting the food and the cook to the skies, and Hattie blushed with pride.

Halfway through she began to sniff. By the time Helen was getting just about full, Hattie stopped eating altogether, and began to dab her eyes. Helen simply cleared her throat and waited. It was Hattie's privilege to say what was on her mind, and she deserved to do it without Helen's interference.

"It's so unfair," she began. "So unfair! Why do you have to go? Why do I have to stay? What's going to happen to us?" She began to bawl, and Helen felt her own eyes fill with tears of sympathy.

"Happen? I'll come back and see you, Hattie, I'm not going to forget you, you know! Nothing's going to happen. Nothing bad, anyway!"

"But I burnt the food!" Hattie was really very much afraid about that fact.

"You were nervous, that's all!"

It was impossible to see Hattie in tears and not respond. Helen drew up her chair close to her, and gave her tissues to dry her eyes. She could easily see herself getting very attached to the gentle woman. She was really beautiful, but her life was shallow, and her face portrayed only the limited range of emotions she was accustomed to feeling, not passion, not despair, not ecstasy. She was a china doll with a soft heart, all blue eyes, soft heart, neat clothes, and very little on her mind. Still, Helen cared for her a lot.

Somehow, she had got it into her head that something bad would happen to Helen, and that was the most extreme fear that she had experienced. Helen saw how that pleasant face could be beautiful.

"Finish your supper," Helen said, but she only shook her head. "Just what's on your plate, Hattie!"

She reluctantly picked up the fork, and watching Helen's eyes, ate several mouthfuls. It was as if she couldn't get enough of Helen, now that she was about to leave.

The wind outside picked up, and Hattie sprang to her feet, dropping her napkin. "I forgot about the weather!" she gasped. They hurried to the TV and began to watch. There was a special item on the weather, and indeed it was a hurricane, perched off shore, and heading closer to land.

Soon it was raining fiercely, and Helen decided to call home. She found that Gena was home, to her surprise. The Café was closed because of the hurricane warning, everyone was battening down. Amy grumbled that they had been the last to hear about it. Marcus was outside, she said, making sure the sheds were shut down carefully, and the bikes were chained to the fence. "Just stay indoors," Amy said, "Hattie probably won't let you out of the house in this weather, anyway!"

Helen grinned and hung up, and Hattie wanted to know what Amy had said. When Helen told her, she nodded quickly. "You know about hurricanes, don't you?"

"Know about them? Well, they're just real windy rainstorms, right?"

"Well, yes, but see, the wind blows off bits of roof and anything loose, and you're liable to get your head sliced off by a piece of flying fencing, or something such as that." She flapped her hands in agitation, and it was both graceful and comic at the same time.

Soon it was a full-blown hurricane, with fierce rain. They sat at the window and watched, fascinated. Indeed, just as Hattie had described, they saw loose fencing and roofing flying about, knocking into houses, bouncing off the power-lines, making the lights flicker.

"What's for dessert?" Helen asked, feeling wicked.

Hattie's pretty blue eyes looked sad. "Well, that got burned, too," she said.

Just then, the lights went out.

"Great," said Hattie, in the dark, "that's all we needed."

"You've got candles?"

"Well, lamps, anyway. Look out!" Helen had just knocked down a side table.

Hattie seemed to be able to see in the dark; she knew her way about that well. She set the table back up, and took Helen's hand. Together they lit the lamps, set them out where they would light as much as possible, and headed upstairs with one of the lamps. Talking all the time, Hattie got linen out of the linen closet, and they went out to the guest room to get it ready for Helen. Helen tried to call home again, and was unable to get through, a sign that a power line somewhere locally was down, or perhaps the load on the system was too heavy.

"At least, it isn't thundering," Helen said lightly, putting the phone away in her pocket. As if to disabuse her right away, there was an enormous thunderclap and Hattie flew into Helen's arms.

"Oh goodness," she gasped, "I'm so glad you're here!"

"Are you afraid of a bit of thunder?" Helen said, making light of it. But again, as if to prove her wrong, there was peal after peal of thunder, and lighting so blinding it seemed as if it was striking the very house.

Hattie held Helen tight, and they stood hugging each other, cheek to cheek, for a long time. "I'm real bad in electrical storms," Hattie confessed. She wasn't crying, now; it was sadness that made her cry, not fear. Fear seemed merely to paralyze her.

"Sit right there," Helen told her, "I'll make the bed."

"Oh no, you shouldn't!"

"Well, here, let's make it together!"

The thunder soon stopped, but the rain only increased, and the wind held steady. Hattie asked Helen hesitantly whether it would be all right if she slept in Helen's room. There was an armchair there, and she said she'd be comfortable sleeping in it.

"You could share my bed, Hattie," Helen said, wondering if her motives were truly pure. Did Hattie know the issues? Did she realize what kind of person Helen really was?

"Are you sure? It's not a very big bed, Elaine," she said, sounding doubtful, but Helen seemed to detect a hopeful tone in her voice.

"I'm sure! Go get changed; I'll just undress right here."

"Come with me! Please?"

Helen laughed, and went with Hattie, who had a firm grip on Helen's arm. She generously gave Helen her best nightie, a lovely traditional cotton nightie with a shirred neck, and picked up her own simple cotton nightie. It had a warm fragrance that somehow put Helen in mind of comfort and repose, the fragrance and the feel of Hattie herself.

"Don't look, now," Hattie warned, and stripped to her skin, laying her clothes on a chair, and put on her nightie. Helen watched closely; she could never resist the challenge not to look. "Come on," Hattie said, and they headed back to the guest room, where Hattie watched while Helen stripped and changed. Hattie asked which side Helen preferred, and she asked for the outside, in case she had to use the bathroom.

"We should go now," Hattie said, picking up the lamp, and they paid a visit to the little bath at that end of the house. There were apparently two baths on the second floor.

A few minutes later, they were in bed.

They were lying side by side, listening to the rain beat on the windows. Hattie was quiet, lost in thought.

"I'm so glad I met you, Hattie," Helen said. "You're a really super girl."

"You know, Elaine, I don't think I'll ever love anyone like I love you," Hattie said, simply. "When you go, I guess I'll just lay down and hold my breath until I die."

Helen was shocked by the suddenness of it. She had considered opening up to Hattie "Oh, Hattie!" Helen said, shocked.

"Don't you Oh Hattie me!" She was crying, and Helen could just barely see the tears glistening on her cheek in the near-total darkness. She turned to Helen, and without really trying, Helen found herself snuggled against the sweet woman, feeling all her softness against her body. The feel of her, the smell of her, it was almost overwhelming, but because Helen loved her so much she controlled herself and merely kissed her cheek.

"I feel . . . as if you were my sister, Elaine, a true sister, . . . one I love more than . . . more than life! How did this happen?"

"Because I love you too, sweet heart . . . there was something about you that called to me! You know I love you!"

"Yeah, you liked my butt, I remember!"

Helen gasped. "Such language!"

"Well, what're you gonna call it? You looked at it and said how cute I was!"

"Okay, maybe I noticed the butt, but it was the gentle heart that made me love you!"

"Gentle heart?" Helen confirmed it quietly. Hattie mused on that, but apparently decided not to poke fun at the sentiment. They lay silently together, savoring their feelings for each other. The little sighs that came from Hattie told Helen that she was thinking the same bitter-sweet thoughts that she was.

"Is it really true," Hattie asked, "that some girls . . ." Helen could feel her skin heat up all over her body, ". . . you know . . . they lie in bed, you know, n-naked, . . . and do things . . ."

"Everybody does that, hon, it's called sex, and there's nothing peculiar about it. It's just a part of life!"

"No, _listen!_ This is _girls!_ Some girls _like —other girls_ , instead of boys!"

"Oh, . . . yes, they do, uh huh." Helen's heart was thudding so loud she was sure Hattie could hear it. Part of her wanted the conversation to go somewhere else, or stay at the strictly informational level. But part of her wanted Hattie desperately, to make love to her, and make her Helen's love slave. At that moment no one seemed as important as Hattie; all others were forgotten.

"Do they really . . . sleep together naked? I mean . . . they can't really _do_ anything, can they?"

"Uh huh, they do, hon. No, they can't make children, but . . . if two women love each other . . . perhaps it is a comfort, to hold each other, and try to please each other, like a man would normally do. There are ways they discover, after trying and trying."

"At least, they can kiss."

"Sure." It was becoming very hard for Helen. She was beginning to rub her eyes, and she was hurting them. She stopped when she noticed herself, and left her eyes burning. "They probably kiss like crazy!"

"We kissed, Elaine. Are we . . . going that way?" She laid her hand on Helen's cheek, and Helen's heart stopped.

"We just kissed on the cheek!" she gasped, and lay face down, wanting to be back in her own bed, far away from Hattie. It was the silliest idea, to think they could sleep innocently together during a raging hurricane. She could feel Hattie's lips warm against her ear, and the roar of the wind and the rain outside, and decided to make a clear breast of it.

"Hattie . . . I like women. I'm the kind of woman you were talking about! I should have told you long ago, so that . . . you would have known to be careful!" She felt Hattie almost gasp. She hurried on. "I have a girl . . . but sometimes I dream of you . . . and we're naked in my dream, and we do things . . . that you might find disgusting."

"Oh Elaine!" She sighed, and tenderly combed her fingers through Helen's hair. "I have dreams, too!"

"You do?"

"Uh huh!" Her eyes were bright. Miraculously, Helen could make them out clearly. "We kiss . . . on the mouth, like a man and a woman . . . and I touch you . . . all over. Is that disgusting?"

"N-no, not for me."

"You know what _coming_ is? It's like . . . when I was a kid, me and my friends . . . we used to play with our bodies—it's part of growing up, I guess—and we could make ourselves _come_ , it's a lovely feeling! You know what I'm talking about?" Helen assured her that she did. "Well . . . I made _you_ come." Helen had turned her face to Hattie, and she was playing with the tendrils of hair near Helen's face. "Maybe that's something we could do . . . to remember each other!"

Helen caught her hand and held it. "I don't think I could ever forget you, darling girl!" she said, almost choking. She held Hattie's hand to her cheek, on the brink of losing control. "When I have those feelings, I can turn to Amy!" Hattie gasped. "Yes! Amy and I . . . we're a couple."

Hattie drew back a little. Her traditional values demanded that she should not interfere in Helen's domestic affairs, or weaken their home.

"I'm sorry, I should have known. I should have guessed! I'm so dumb, sometimes."

Helen sighed. "It's not perfect. I have lots of affairs, and . . . Amy suffers through it all. I'm afraid your friend Elaine should be called Sue —Runaround Sue!" Helen laughed bitterly.

"So you and Amy—you have these lovely kids, and you're a sort of family!"

"Uh huh."

"And they're wonderful kids, in spite of not having a Dad!"

"Well, . . . so far. They're used to Amy and me being their —mothers, I guess. They call her Aunty Amy. They have lots of aunties . . . I've had many partners, through the years."

Hattie drew a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh. It expressed all the hopelessness she felt. That was not a lifestyle that one could adopt in her little town.

The rain beat on the window pane. The window was at their feet, and at about the same time, both of them thought they would like to sleep the other way round, so they could see outside. Helen asked Hattie tentatively, expecting that it would conflict with her sense of what was appropriate, but Hattie agreed at once. They put their pillows at the foot of the bead, and lay down, looking out.

It was lighter now, somehow. They were looking out through the branches of a gnarled old tree that ruled the back yard. Helen's heart ached in sympathy for the young woman who lay beside her, staring out at the storm, and she wondered whether the storm comforted her, or added to her agitation. A branch of the tree seemed to have broken, and swung now, looking pathetic, about to be torn away, but not quite yet.

Hattie turned to Helen, her eyes bright with tears.

"Will you be very hurt if we . . . you know . . . ?" she sort of petered out in confusion, and then tried again. "I know it's wrong, Elaine, . . . it's like . . ." she swallowed nervously, ". . . having an affair with a married . . . man, or woman, I guess . . . it's so confusing!"

"Will I be hurt?"

"Well, you know . . . I don't want to be a home-breaker!"

Helen could hardly believe her ears.

"What do you want to do, Hattie? You could never hurt me!"

Hattie reached out a hand to caress Helen's face, and in her touch was all the love that if she was another woman would have been expressed in other ways. But for Helen it seemed enough. But it wasn't all that Helen was destined to receive from her that night. Having battled with her conscience more fiercely than any other woman who had fallen in love with her, Hattie drew close to Helen, and kissed her on the lips, several times. They were defiant kisses. They said that she, Hattie, mattered, that she had claimed some happiness for herself, and was prepared to assume the burden of guilt for having kissed her love. There was a recklessness there that Helen admired. She had incited her friend to do something utterly against her personal codes of behavior.

"There's no excuse," she whispered, "except, I love you. I love you, Elaine Gibson! You, and no one else!"

She turned away from Helen and laid her head against her pillow.

"Oh, Hattie!"

"Please don't cry, Elaine . . . you didn't come all this way to get your heart broken." They were bitter words, but they weren't aimed at her, Helen knew, because soon afterwards, Hattie asked Helen to hold her. Helen found herself covering Hattie with her body, nuzzling her neck, and losing control, generally. Hattie trembled under her, while Helen pressed her body against her. A wave of passion engulfed Helen, and for a few brief minutes she feared that she would rub herself against Hattie shamefully, bringing herself to climax against Hattie's back and posterior. It would have been easy, and Helen felt the swell of Hattie's buttocks crushed against her. She had had sex many times with women that way.

But Helen became still, allowing her passion to leach out slowly. She told Hattie she loved her, many times. They wept together, and fell asleep like that, Helen spooned against Hattie's luscious, soft body.

Helen was unable to sleep very soundly. The storm kept waking her up, and it woke Hattie up, which in turn disturbed Helen. But each waking was a pleasure. Hattie's body was soothing, the sound of her breathing, the feel of her, the smell of her; there was primeval femininity in her that called to Helen powerfully. They had little in common, but in the last several weeks Helen was discovering that it was often women with little or nothing in common with her who attracted her most powerfully. Hattie had succeeded in driving all other women from Helen's mind. She dreamed that night of no one but sweet, gentle Hattie. She wondered how Hattie would survive, how she would be happy, how Helen could help her. For that night, Helen wanted nothing more than to send in her resignation, and live at the shore forever, with Hattie and the children.

Why not? Gena was off to college. She had enough savings to live simply for a long time. She could always work at Palmer's. She only needed to find a place to stay, if the cottage had to be given back. She and the four kids only needed a small place, after all, perhaps just an apartment. There was the beach, for them to play in, and all they needed was a place to sleep. If Hattie would move in with her— Oh god! What more did she need? She could be happy forever! In time, Hattie would become comfortable with the thought of sleeping with Helen, making love . . . happiness seemed to be not just a possibility, but almost inevitable!

They woke very early in the morning to a still world. It was as if the storm had tired the world out, and there was not even the usual cries of the sea birds. Feeling a surge of desire and tenderness, Helen began to kiss Hattie and nibble at her ear.

"Please don't, Elaine," she begged. "Please!"

"Why?"

"It makes me feel — funny."

"But that's the way I _want_ you to feel!"

"Please, no. I _know_ you're a kind woman. You don't have any meanness in you at all. You're my friend, my _best_ friend, and I love you."

"But I _do_ want you to feel funny," Helen insisted, and sucked delicately on her earlobe. She had thought that would drive Hattie crazy, and she had been right.

But Hattie was becoming very distressed indeed, and something made Helen give it up. Something inside her made her want to cling to Hattie desperately, to never hurt her, to never provoke a sad word from her. It struck Helen that she was now an orphan, with no father, no mother to cling to. And it seemed to her that Hattie might be the one she would have liked to be that anchor in her life.

Then, for the first time since she had left home the previous night, she thought of Amy. Amy had stopped being the anchor in her life. Amy was sick, and Helen was the anchor. Amy had seemed only mildly reluctant to let Helen go out to dinner with Hattie, but she realized now that Amy hated to let Helen leave the house. This was a new, fearful, clinging Amy hidden inside the shell of the old, self-reliant Amy.

Hattie was watching her. Not fearfully, but sadly. She looked utterly beautiful in the pale light of dawn, and it was infinitely hard for Helen to climb out of bed. How do people have these encounters, and then walk away? These had been ten of the most beautiful weeks of her life, but this parting was so hard. The sadness of the parting almost made the little vacation into a tragedy. Helen almost said: I wish to god I had never met you, Hattie. But she knew that would help neither of them.

She rolled out of the bed after Helen and slipped away past her. Out in the hallway there was a large window from which she looked out on the street.

"Oh my goodness," she exclaimed, "it's a total shambles out there!"

Helen came to join her, and had to agree. The garden shed was destroyed, the power lines were down in a couple of places, and the phone lines seemed to be down, too. Shrubs had been torn up, and tree limbs were everywhere. Soon people would be out cleaning up, Helen thought, and there would be one hell of a racket, with chain saws and who knew what.

Breakfast was a sober meal of cold cereal. They were no longer looking at each other—the fact that this was the end of their friendship was finally coming home to Helen.

"I'm sorry I can't fix you some tea, or something," Hattie said. "I had told myself, _I'm going to fix her tea_ , but," she shrugged, "the stove-top ain't gonna work until the power comes back on!" She sniffed.

Helen had been quiet and solemn all morning, after the earlobe-kissing incident, and Hattie had been clearly miserable, and Helen had perversely taken pleasure in her misery.

"When are you leaving?"

Helen shrugged. "The others are heading out this morning. I leave a little later with Krissy's mom, and Krissy and Gena. We're going to look at a college."

Hattie looked as though she could cry, but wasn't going to.

"I wish I could come by, but . . . I guess the first thing is to try and clean up the yard a bit!"

Helen gestured to indicate her frustration. "I want to help you clean up, but . . . I don't know; maybe Krissy's mom will decide to postpone the trip."

"Oh no, she won't. I know her, and she won't. Krissy's school comes first!" She managed a smile. As cute as Hattie was in the regular clothes she wore when she visited Palmer's every day (presumably trips to the town when she bought her groceries), looking disheveled, in her crushed nightie and thin robe, she looked perfect to Helen. Her fine blonde hair was pulled back in a quick knot, her full breasts swelled from beneath her modestly crossed arms. Without makeup her eyes looked older, but also childlike, her lips sensuous. They looked at each other until it seemed as if something desperate might happen. Nothing could be done. They had opened up their hearts to each other, and nothing had come of it but pain for both.

Mumbling something about getting dressed, Helen headed for the bathroom. She spent a long time in there, trying to make sure that when she came out she would not hurt Hattie more by trying at the last minute to touch her intimately, or hurt her in some new way. God knew that Helen's hands ached to feel those breasts, to slip in between those plump thighs, and her mouth hungered for those soft, inviting lips. She simply wanted to devour her.

Needless to say that in spite of the sound of the shower, Helen's labored breathing must have been audible outside the room.

"Are you all right in there, Elaine?"

"I'm fine! I'll be right out," Helen gasped. She heard footsteps walk slowly away. She wondered what it would be like to have Hattie puttering about in Helen's house in Westfield, to hear the kids running around Hattie, calling her Auntie Hattie, rolling around with her on the sofa! She _needed_ Hattie. She _wanted_ Hattie. But she could never, never have Hattie. And for once in her life, she hadn't made love with a woman she wanted, and left her.

But she had slept with her, and that seemed to have been enough. Hattie was bewildered by her feelings, and Helen cursed herself for having allowed herself to forget how innocent she was.

Helen dressed and got ready like an automaton. Her mind went in circles, assessing the same old wild schemes to try to ensnare Hattie in her life, to steal her away from her father and brother, to manage Hattie and Amy together, somehow, . . . or maybe apart. Even a secret apartment out somewhere in a neighboring town. Or hiring her as a governess for the kids. Or a weekend hideaway at the shore. But each new ugly, self-serving plan made her more sick than the previous one.

There was tea, made on a spirit stove.

"Oh. I forgot." Hattie looked impatient with herself. She bustled over to the pantry.

"Forgot what?"

"You can't have sugar." She brought out some tea, and some ancient packets of artificial sweetener. She had been avoiding Helen's eyes, but now she looked up and smiled cautiously. It was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

"What am I gonna do with ya?" she asked smiling, her voice soft and gently reproachful, smiling. "I can't stay angry with you!"

Up to this point, Helen had wanted to cry and yell, and carry on. Her feelings for Hattie, always warm and tender, had escalated unbelievably during the night. Now, Helen was feeling an overwhelming sense of remorse. Without meaning to, she had upset Hattie's simple world, and she desperately wanted Hattie to remember her with love and affection, untainted with bitterness. That seemed so impossible! But here she was, smiling.

Helen was struck dumb. Hattie's sweetness seemed to spring from some never-ending source. What was it?

Helen realized how little she knew about the woman. She had asked very little about her, knew nothing about her family, except that she disliked her sister-in-law. Beyond that Helen had not inquired.

"I'm so glad," Helen said, and something in her voice must have startled Hattie, because she looked at Helen strangely. Helen realized that she had stopped being Elaine for just an instant, and something of her ordinary voice had escaped in that sentence—not enough to give her away, but enough to confuse Hattie.

The kettle boiled, and the moment passed. Helen was torn between wanting to escape, and wanting to stay. She drank her tea in silence, and eventually Hattie sat down to her cereal.

It was soon over, and Hattie led the way to the front door, and suddenly turned her back on it and closed her eyes. From the living room windows the damage outside was more frightening. Helen watched Hattie while she took a deep breath and turned and opened the door. "Oh, sweet Jesus," she said quietly.

Helen pushed past her and was shocked. The house had taken only minor damage, but the yard was a mess. She glanced back at Hattie and saw the dismay on her face, and it cut into her heart. But there was absolutely no time to stay and help; Jim's travel arrangements were too complex to fool with.

On the other hand, Helen wondered what damage the Cottage had taken. She had initially assumed that this far from the eye of a hurricane the damage caused to property would be nothing or minimal at worst. But seeing what destruction the garden of Hattie's home had suffered, it seemed likely that the cottage had fared not much better, being closer to the shore. She had verified that the children were safe very early, but if the hurricane had made a mess of the cottage, wouldn't they have to stay and help straighten it out? What would become of their plans now?

Helen put an arm round Hattie as she slowly descended the steps and tried to take it all in. The initial look of shock had given way to dismay, and as they walked all the way round the house, to disgust. She had kept muttering to herself about what had to be done until they were at the back, and seen the devastation of the neighbors. Then Hattie had become silent.

Helen began to pick up debris, and pile it up at the back. She got a tiny corner of the yard clean, and Hattie joined in. But Hattie got impatient. It wasn't clear what the trigger was, but she told Helen to leave it alone.

"I'll get it," she said, quietly. "You've got to get going. And you'll mess up your clothes, Elaine."

Helen burst out, angrily, "Do you think I care about the clothes? Why won't you let me help you with this mess? You _have_ to do something about it, Hattie, so if you tell me where you want the stuff piled up, I'll just get on with it! I'll stay out of your way, if I'm bothering you!"

Hattie looked at Helen wild-eyed, and ran sobbing into the house, her face twisted in some extreme emotion. Now in a black mood, biting her tongue, Helen followed her inside. Perhaps she should stay silent. Every word she had said for almost twelve hours had put her in deeper and deeper trouble. She paused at the door, and dragged her feet, composing herself for a torrent of bitter words.

Hattie was seated in the big arm chair, and was smiling. Her face was wet with tears, but she motioned to Helen to sit near her.

"You've been wonderful, Elaine, but you should go now!" Helen looked at her, puzzled. "Go check on the cottage, and call Krissy's folks! What will people say if you hang around here . . . if they're waiting for you over there?"

"Are you embarrassed to have me around? That I might be seen here?"

Hattie blushed. "Not embarrassed, Elaine . . . well . . . not in the way you think, anyway!" Helen waited. Hattie dropped her eyes and made gesture of hopelessness. "What can you do? I might as well wait until the town gets organized for a cleanup."

"But . . . how could you leave it like this?"

"Leave it?" Hattie looked at Helen uncomprehending. It was as though they were on different planes altogether, speaking different languages. "It's only fallen twigs and leaves, Elaine!" There were tears in her voice that cut Helen to the quick. "Compared to the mess inside—in my heart, . . . it's nothing, Elaine, nothing!" Her look accused Helen of not understanding the wreckage that Hurricane Elaine had caused in Hattie's tender breast. Helen wanted to scream out loud that yes, she was aware of that wreckage, too, but how could she? Hattie sobbed on, "What's a few twigs, Elaine? If you have to go, you have to go!"

Helen picked up her things, and turned at the door to smile farewell. Hattie managed a smile for her. Not trusting herself to say a single word, Helen walked away, and headed home.

At first, Helen's heart felt like lead. But gradually, she found that she was more concerned about Hattie than really upset about parting from her. She had expected that she would feel a pull, a desire to go back to her, to make amends, to make Hattie completely hers. But she only felt sorry for her, for hurting her.

She was almost home, trying to make out how much the cottage had been hurt, when the street lights came on. To Helen's amazement, the cottage had been untouched.

"Are you all right, Elaine?" cried Marcus, appearing out of nowhere to put a huge ham-like arm on Helen's shoulder. "I thought you might have been caught outside!"

"I'm fine, Marcus!" Helen said gently, rather touched by the boy's solicitude.

"All the sand had been piled up against the back wall, but everything else is fine!" exclaimed Gena. Krissy reported that their house had been spared except for fallen leaves and twigs, like Hattie's house. Clearly that wasn't considered any damage at all. Everyone wanted to hug and kiss Helen, as if she had been in some life-threatening situation, rather than simply spending the night cuddling with a lovely blonde.

Only Amy seemed a little short with her. Helen remembered with a shock that Amy had suffered a heart attack—even if not a massive one, still the harbinger of many changes for her—just the night before. In her excitement Helen had put it completely out of her mind. She was getting accustomed to thinking of Amy as an invalid. Amy looked very different now. Her eyes seemed a little too large for her face, and she moved about a little more deliberately. She talked even more than before, but more to herself than to anyone in particular. She was fussing now about getting the packing done.

The hurricane had really not been much of a threat. It had gone off to sea again, and seemed to be parked off the coast a hundred miles or so, gradually losing strength. Out here it seemed as though the whole thing was a good joke. The inland homes had fared a little worse simply because the cottage had hardly any trees near it. Trees had certainly taken a beating, and the beautifully wooded parts of town had looked a mess as Helen had picked her way through the debris on her way home.

Helen looked about to help with the packing, but the kids and Amy had it in hand. Even her own things, including some very personal belongings, were all in bags. Before she knew it, Jim was there in a large rented van, and Gena's friends were staring at him, not knowing quite what to make of the old fellow, who looked nothing like the rest of the family, but who was greeted like an uncle by the younger Gibsons.

Before she knew it, Amy and the younger children were gone, and Helen was in Krissy Robinson's home, having her baggage stowed in the Robinson's spacious minivan.

"Well! Get going then, ladies!" Mr. Robinson and Ed seemed eager to send them off. They were all standing round the minivan, except Krissy who was inside, stowing away some mysterious things in various nooks and crannies of the van, for their amusement on the road. It would be a long drive, nearly a whole day, and Helen could sense that it had been a long time since April Robinson had taken such a long road trip without her husband. Once the fact that they were going on a road trip had penetrated into Helen's distracted mind, she had realized just how much she yearned to get out on the highway, notwithstanding her decades-long dislike of environmentally harmful private travel. She was getting more accustomed these days to compromising her philosophical beliefs. Anyway, she was ready to set out, and in fact she longed to do the driving. But April Robinson deserved to call the shots. Eddie held the door open with a smile, and Helen climbed in. The girls got in the back, Mr. Robinson kissed his wife and helped her into the driving seat, and they were smoothly off. There were piles of debris on either side of the drive, but the Robinsons took it all in stride.

Meanwhile, a different drama was being played out on the beach. Mallory Pearson was holding a sobbing woman. They were both drenched, and surrounded by a half-dozen spectators whom the DA was trying to disperse. "Let me go!" the woman begged, too emotionally spent, apparently, to struggle. Again she begged, "Let me go! Please let me go!" It was Hattie Mailer. Mallory had seen her wading out to sea fully dressed, and had known at once what was going on.

"Curse the woman!" she had said, under her breath. "She's nothing but trouble!"

Hattie's sobbing stopped at once. She pulled away, and Mallory found herself beginning to let go. She looked about, and saw her jacket lying in the sand where she had flung it about fifty yards away. Yet she hesitated to release Hattie's plump wrist, which was all she held.

"I'm okay now," said Hattie quietly.

"Please disperse!" Mallory asked the bystanders. "You're embarrassing both of us, people. The show is over, okay?" They retreated to a respectful distance, and watched the DA and Hattie walk along the beach to where the jacket lay in the wet sand.
