Starfire

Starfire by Anne Carter

Echelon Press www.Echelonpress.com

Copyright ©2003 by Echelon Press Publishing First published in 2003, 2003 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Starfire by Anne Carter

Starfire By Anne Carter Echelon Press Publishing Mainstream Fiction

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Starfire by Anne Carter

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. — Copyright © 2003 by Pamela Ripling— All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information, please address Echelon Press Publishing, 9735 Country Meadows Lane 1-D, Laurel, MD 20723. — Published by arrangement with the author. — ISBN 1-59080-330-2 — Cover Image Copyright © 2003 Pamela Ripling— Printed and bound in the United States of America.

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**** He is a star. I can't tell you his name, that would be like betrayal. He's done the small screen, the big screen, daytime, and prime time. He's an actor, director, and a producer. You'd know his face if you saw him. Since I can't tell you his name, and I have to call him something (it could be Thomas, Robert, Richard, or Michael) I'll pick Jimmy, because the first boy I truly loved, back in fourth grade, was Jimmy. Jimmy suits him well enough, although make no mistake, it is not his real name. And my name shall be Annie. My boss, who also wishes to remain anonymous, wants to be George, for he is in the telling of this story also. It is either for George Clooney, or George Harrison. It is most certainly not for George Michael, and he worried over this. I told him he was George, and that was that. George is the senior partner in our accounting firm. I am a junior. He's kind-hearted, generous man, somewhat quiet and always professional. He rarely takes on new accounts anymore, passing the best ones on to me. He flatters me. I am, mind you, always up to my eyeballs in work. I've been known to put my phone on "DND," but people still find ways to disturb me anyway. The day this tale began was a Thursday, I remember, because it was a day I was trying to leave early as my son Tim had a soccer game in the evening. My disabled phone lay under a stack of ledgers. My face wore its "bother me and be 5

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killed" mask, and there were two half-empty cups of icy coffee on my desk. Disgusted, I picked them up and headed for the lunchroom. At the sink, I halfheartedly wiped the coffee ring out of one cup with a wet paper towel then poured myself a fresh brew. I was leaning tiredly against the counter, dreading even the walk back to my desk, when the shrill call of a cellular phone startled me. My cell phone, hanging from my wrist on a strap. (Neurotic mother that I am, I always carry it around when my office phone is shut off.) Coffee splashing, I fumbled to right the phone and find the green key while trying to read the caller's I.D. Didn't make sense; it was the office phone number. George. "Are you here?" he wanted to know. I sighed. No, I'm at the beach. "Lunchroom," I said. "Could you come to the main conference room? I have a client I'd like you to meet." My eyes squeezed themselves shut, the flesh on my forehead mashing together in what was probably the beginning of today's headache. A client. George and I were going to have to have a little talk. Soon. "Be right there..." I grimaced at the sound of my own singsongy voice. It would probably still be sing-songy as they carried me away from this place on a stretcher. Down the hall, I saw the conference room door was closed. I made a polite knock before entering. I couldn't have been less prepared to meet the new client. 6

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"Annie, this is Jim. Jim, this is the girl I told you about. She's the best." Could my face hold all the blood pumping into it? Surely, I must look like a cartoon thermometer. I extended my hand as the client stood and reached for it. George was retreating through the door with apologies and something about a phone call he had to make. Had I been coherent, I would have sent him a death threat with my eyes, but my gaze remained fixed on the handsome stranger who was no stranger to me. As I said, he was a star. And not just any star, he was the one who made my pulse race, who turned a smile to my drooling mouth, who was the subject of nearly every birthday candle blown out wish for the past twenty years. In short, I was a fan. He was my mother's Cary Grant, my sister's Robert Redford, my daughter's Leo DiCaprio. I wasn't breathing, and so naturally became dizzy and weak. Some alarm must have gone off though, because I tore my gaze away from his eyes long enough to notice that I was still holding his hand, still standing, and he was smiling at me. Subtly I cleared my throat. "Please, sit down," I managed, falling awkwardly into George's still warm chair. "What, uh, can I do for you, Mr. Dutton?" (Dutton, Jones, Smith, well, you know.) "Jim, please. I understand you're the person to talk to about uncovering ... a discrepancy." I made a slight nod. It was true; my reputation had preceded me. It's well known in the office that I specialize in digging out nasty little-or big-accounting bugs. 7

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"What are we talking about? A tax problem? A leak in your checking account?" Jimmy shook his head. "More like a gaping wound. I'll get to the point. I think my controller has his hand in my till." He glanced nervously around the empty conference room, as if the scoundrel may actually be sitting in one of the twelve other chairs. "I need help finding out if it's true, and how, and how much." "That's a pretty serious charge. Do you think you have proof? I mean, what tipped you off?" "I'm no accountant. I can't even balance my own damned checkbook. But it looks to me like there's about two hundred grand missing. We have a computer in the office that we keep the corporate operating account on. My wife takes a look at it every now and then. I don't even know how to get into the program. She's the one who said it looks fishy." Wife. Did he really say that? Oh, of course he was married. I knew that. But did he have to say that to my face? And what did he say about his wife? "I see. A computer." "Do you think you could maybe come down and take a quick look? George says that you—" "Don't listen to George." I smiled, trying to appear calm. "Where is your office?" "Wilshire. Hey, if you look and don't want to do the job, that's okay. I just have to do something, you know? Money is no object." Well it is to me, I started to say, but closed my mouth. For him, I'd do it for free. Anything. "When would you like me to come?" 8

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"You name it. Here's my card." He began fishing through his wallet. I glimpsed baby pictures and couldn't help myself. "May I see?" He grinned that irresistible grin again, revealing dimples he had no business having and probably hated, and I reached for the wallet. "He's adorable. What's his name?" "J.T." I thought Jimmy's face would crack under the width of his smile. I handed back the wallet. I didn't want to accidentally spy a photo of the Mrs. "How about Monday morning?" "Perfect. I'm in on Mondays, usually. Show this to the guard, he'll tell you where to find me." I told my kids, of course. My teenage daughter was mildly impressed, despite my likening the new client to her precious Leo. My son shrugged and asked what was for dinner. I was, meanwhile, already wondering how I would find the time to get a new dress before Monday.

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**** I was pretty sick of one-way signs by my third pass of the fifteen story building on Wilshire Blvd. Not to be fooled again, I made a hasty right turn into the underground parking garage and slipped my Celica neatly into the space nearest the elevator. My new gray tweed suit was smart, my red crepe blouse a perfect compliment. Briefcase in hand, I pressed the button labeled "PH" and squinted at my dim reflection for fourteen floors. Fourteen floors is long enough, mind you, to count at least as many flaws in your appearance, and the doors always open just when you're checking your teeth for lipstick. Lipstick? When was the last time I bothered? The guard looked up; he was about seventy years old, and he cleanly whipped Jimmy's card from my almost steady fingers. His weren't, as he shakily pointed down a long corridor at a pair of double oak doors bearing the name of Jimmy's film corporation in thin, brushed steel, raised letters. Snatching the card back, I thanked him and marched bravely toward the doors, holding the card importantly inside the pocket of my jacket. There was still another obstacle, a secretarial-cum-militia type just inside the door, sweet on the surface, but skeptical. I knew she had brass knuckles in her hidden right hand as she peered closely at Jimmy's card. Pretty good copy, isn't it? I spent all night with my scanner making it. 10

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"You can go on in." I passed! Another pair of double doors, and I was in. Jimmy sat behind an enormous desk in a humongous room with views from two walls. The proverbial corner office. "Good morning," I said brightly, with a confidence I did not feel. "Hey, good morning!" He stood and again shook my hand, leaning across the monster desk. He must have had one of those gag buzzers in his hand, for a shock went through me that should have caused my hair to stand on end. Luckily, it didn't. "Before we start, would you like some coffee?" "I'd love some." About a gallon would do. I followed him through still another hall, this from a door out the back of his office, and into a small kitchenette. He did the honors, carefully leaving room for the milk I would need in mine. How did he know? "Sugar?" he asked. I shook my head. "Didn't think so," he murmured, splashing milk into his also and handing me my cup. "Any trouble getting here?" "A breeze." At 6'2", Jimmy is nearly a foot higher in altitude than me. (Okay, so now you know you can rule out half a dozen gorgeous, vertically challenged male celebrities.) His hair, sometimes surfer-streaked blonde, sometimes brown, is today naturally touched with just a hint of gray. It's been both shorter and much longer than it is now. His eyes? Green. Or brown. Your choice. But I will say that he is built. Like a 11

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man who's been running, skiing, pedaling, and hiking all his life. I think he plays tennis, too. A worktable had been set up against the wall opposite his desk, the surface of which was not unlike my own desk at work. Files, statements, ledgers, disks. The computer was on and already logged into the accounting program, a consumer level bookkeeping program with which I was familiar. This, at least, was a relief. "I'll, uh, just let you at it. Don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions." "Fine." Just one: Can't we do something more fun? This is where it gets pretty boring. It took me twenty minutes to figure out that, indeed, the bookkeeping practices were wide open to the possibility of deceit. Unidentified adjustments were rampant; a cursory glance at one bank statement revealed unreconciled deposits. That is, deposits that never hit the bank. Despite the fact that I love finding dirt, I hated to tell him. I waited. I ran numbers on the calculator, hoping he was listening to just how professional I was. I made notes in my steno book. (Okay, so I was just trying out different ways of writing his name.) I peered out the window, trying to make out Griffith Observatory through the smog. I couldn't see past 3rd Street. Meanwhile, Jimmy took calls. He talked about film schedules, about scripts, about special effects. He talked about getting his clutch adjusted, about his season seats at Dodger Stadium. He told someone named Roger that a girl was here updating their software. It took me a long time to 12

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process that one. It was the word "girl" that tripped me up, the same word George had used. When he hung up, I stood. "Any luck?" His face looked anxious. I sat on one of the cushy client chairs in front of his desk. I slouched with false comfort, his November statement in my lap. I cleared my throat before meeting his eyes, because I already knew it would be hard enough to speak. "Sorry," was all I could manage at first. "Sorry, you can't find it, or sorry, you did?" "Sorry, your suspicions are correct." At this news Jimmy sank back also, unconsciously running his fingers across his chin. I think he whispered something, some monosyllabic curse that my cherubic ears failed to recognize. "How much?" "Don't know. Yet." "How long will it take you to get a total?" I leaned forward now, in an effort to control the vibration in my stomach; adrenaline was pouring into my bloodstream at an alarming rate. "Well ... it looks like it may go back ... a year or more. It might take me a few days." Jimmy nodded thoughtfully. "Then you'll do it?" "Sure." I crossed my arms over my stomach and leaned on them. "I can stay a few hours today, if that's all right, and I can come back a couple of times. If you want." "That would be wonderful." Jimmy stood up and turned his back to look south. L.A.'s downtown skyline was a messy 13

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blur. It was quiet then, except for the distant, muted sounds of phones ringing and computers humming. "You want to get lunch?" he asked suddenly, turning back and hastily stacking the assorted papers on his desk. Get lunch? I can't even stand up without falling. How was I going to maneuver this? "Are you sure? You seem so busy," I said, tentatively uncrossing my arms and attempting to hoist myself out of the chair. "Busy? Naw. I just made all those calls to impress you." He winked then, grabbing his cellular phone from the desk and lifting a leather jacket from the back of his chair. "Come on. I'm starved."

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**** There was a Chinese restaurant a block away, so we walked through the muddy air and sat in the back. It wasn't fancy or popular, but the smells were rich and the waiters authentic. Jimmy took his sunglasses off and ordered iced tea. I followed suit. "I'm really bummed about what you found, but at least I'm not crazy. I just can't believe it." He shook his head. "I'm sorry too. I was hoping you were. Crazy, that is." He smiled then, nodding. "Don't be too disappointed. I really am crazy." "Well, good." He asked about my family, my husband, where I lived. I sketched him a pretty picture of my life in suburbia; an angst driven 17-year-old daughter and a prepubescent son. Strangely, I got the feeling that he was really listening to me. "You've really been married eighteen years? Wow. I didn't know people still did that sort of thing." They don't. At least not in my house. He didn't need to know it had been eight months since I'd watched Bill's taillights disappear into the cosmos. Chuckling, he toyed with his own wedding ring. "I'm working on getting to two." I nodded. I had already speculated about how difficult it must be to get married for the first time after forty; especially when your wife is only twenty-eight and already pregnant. 15

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"So you grew up here," he said, finishing the tea and signaling for more. "I'm from the Midwest." I had to be careful not to point out that I probably knew more about him than his own wife did. I did have questions, but none I was bold enough to ask. So I was content to watch his eyes as he chatted, describing to me the series he was on and the grueling schedule he was forced to endure. He was tired of doing TV, he admitted, but the show was just doing too well to quit. After a time, he grew quiet again, so I took the opportunity to chow down on my cashew chicken and steamed rice. I had about five times as much food on my plate as would fit in the walnut sized space that was left of my contracted stomach, but I made a gallant effort. "I don't know what I'm going to do about Roger. I've known the guy for years. He's married, got a little girl ... Why did he do it? I can't figure. I can't believe he needed the money." Talking more to himself than to me, Jimmy aired his dismay. It made me sad to think of someone, anyone, taking advantage of him; I imagined him to be such a generous person. "Your son play baseball?" he asked finally, returning to the present and me. "He's been in little league for years, yeah. Why?" "Just wondered. All kids should play baseball." "I agree," I said, trying to imagine Jimmy coaching his small son when the time came. As if he could read my thoughts, he smiled. 16

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"We have one of those yellow plastic bats at home, and a little T-ball stand. He's so little, but he grabs that thing and whacks at the ball. His mom gets panicked every time we set it up." The smiled faded; Jimmy pushed the hot Kung Pao peppers away from his chicken. "That's a shame," I murmured. Couldn't help myself. What a mean mom. "She has all this ... breakable shit all over the place. She's a little high-strung." I nodded. High strung. Good. "She's probably a good mother, though," I said, choking on my own words. "And she's young, and beautiful, and so thin." It was several moments before I realized how far my foot was down my throat. So that's why I was choking! He stared at me, a delightfully bemused expression tugging at his cheeks. He propped his elbow on the table between us and leaned against his fist. Of course, my complexion betrayed me, which only added to Jimmy's fascination. "So you've met Elizabeth," he said, his eyes fixed on mine. My running-off-at-the-mouth spell was not over. "Elizabeth? Isn't her name Catherine?" "Oh, right. Catherine. Elizabeth is the housekeeper." I'd been caught. I put down my fork, pushed my plate to the table's edge, and licked my lips. At the cash register, two Chinese men were arguing. Still Jimmy watched me. Unable to resist, I looked back into his eyes and we both began to laugh. I had no humorous comeback, no excuse for 17

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my wealth of personal knowledge. It seemed best to just shut up. He pushed his plate away also and flipped a credit card onto the waiter's tray with the check. "How was your lunch?" he asked me, a grin still lingering on his lips. "The food was great. The conversation was—" I bit my lip to keep from giggling again, "interesting." I leaned forward just a little to watch him sign the credit slip. Carefully, he pulled his copy off, folded, and slipped it into his breast pocket. "Well I found it delightful," he said, standing and reaching for my hand. Cognizant this time, I grasped his hand firmly as I stood. And despite the current that ran through my arm, my chest, and into my heart, I decided there really was no windup buzzer in his palm.

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**** Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck for days. There was no living with me at work, or at home. I couldn't wait to go back, even though Jimmy would be out of town when I returned to his office on Thursday. He'd given me a key to his office, telling me to lock myself in while there. I was shocked at his trust, but reminded myself that this was the same man who'd just lost $200K by trusting someone he knew. I probably seemed a safe risk. I worked swiftly and efficiently, compiling mountains of evidence in the form of reports and printouts. I was nearly finished when I realized what I was doing. If I finished, there would be no reason to come back. I stopped. I wandered around the office, looking at the things that belonged to Jimmy: photos, awards, plaques. A model of an Acura NSX. A signed Dodgers pennant. More photos. I sighed over the ones of J.T., grimaced at the ones of her. She was beautiful, and young, and yes, thin. I went back to my table and began stapling reports. I nearly leapt from my skin when the door opened and in walked Mrs. Thin Dutton. She was as startled as I. "I'm sorry, have we met?" she asked, her tone not particularly warm. "Annie Lewis. I'm ... working on the books." I didn't know how much she knew, how much Jimmy had told her or wanted her to know. Catherine's face relaxed. 19

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"Oh yes. I forgot. I'm Catherine, Jim's wife." She walked matter-of-factly to the desk and began pawing through a small stack of envelopes, picking out a few and stuffing them into her purse. I watched her from the corner of my eye. Her tailored suit was definitely Rodeo Drive. She had the kind of luxuriant, highlighted hair you can stick a clamp onto while blindfolded and it would look designer. And tall? Even without the heels, I would have guessed she was nearly as tall as Jimmy. Then she was walking out the door. "Sorry to have interrupted you." She was gone. And not a moment too soon. I felt violated. I packed my briefcase and quickly left the office. All the way home I fought the visions in my head; the visions of Jimmy making love to Ms. Cool, Calm, and Collected. Did he lay on top, pinning his wife's wrists to the pillow, groaning with passion as she tossed her blonde tresses from side to side, whispers growing to shouts, demanding more ... demanding all. Cars were honking. I blinked several times and hit the throttle. My Dockers were on fire.

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**** All of my pencils were sharpened down to nubs. Curling adding machine tape clouded around my desk like giant New Year's streamers, swishing every time I moved my feet or got up to go anywhere. Chancellor Corporation, my biggest client, was under audit and I had a deadline to meet. George appeared in my peripheral vision, and I shooed him away with my left hand while taking a gulp of lukewarm coffee with my right. Still, he approached. My fingers flew on the calculator, pounding in numbers at light speed. "Annie," he said, struggling to tiptoe through my white paper maze, "Jim called." My fingertips froze in mid air, poised above the keys like still life. I turned toward George and blinked. He seemed out of focus. "Jim Dutton called. Wants you to call him back right away." "He did? Why didn't—" I glanced at my phone, the one with the "Do Not Disturb" light winking at me in derision. "Okay. Thanks, George." Absently, I grabbed a new pencil from my open drawer and stuck it into my mouth sideways; George retreated with a shake of his head. Right away. Call him back. It had been eleven days since our lunch together. Eleven days since I'd revealed my teenybopper mentality to this actually very normal, average man who had trusted me to be a very normal, average woman not obsessed with his 21

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stardom, his love life, or his dimples. I picked up the phone, squinting at the now worn looking business card stapled to the corkboard at eye level. "It's Annie. You called?" "That, I did. When are you coming back?" "When do you want me? Back, I mean?" The pencil went back into my teeth. "Whenever you can make it." He must have missed my latest faux pas, or was courteous enough to ignore it. "I can come—" Now! "Tomorrow." "Tomorrow is casual day around here, so please don't dress up." Oh man, now I have to buy a new pair of jeans.

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**** I was hyperventilating in the elevator. At least the guard waved me on this time, and Jimmy's administrative bodyguard must have been down the hall. I breezed into his office as coolly as I could, only to be met with an empty room. But the back door stood open, so I tossed my bag onto a chair and proceeded to the coffee room. Jimmy was sitting at the small table, the newspaper spread out before him. He apparently had not heard me approach. Was he perusing the entertainment page? No. It was the Sports section, I saw over his shoulder. I paused before disturbing him, watching him there, just a man wearing jeans and a white T-shirt reading the paper. What was it, exactly, that I found so appealing? So attractive? Was it really Jimmy or was it James T. Dutton, the actor? I desperately hoped I could tell the difference. "Well, I see coffee's on," I said, walking into the room. Jimmy turned to greet me. "Fresh, just for you." "Gee, I'm impressed." I grabbed a cup off the counter and poured, helping myself to some cold milk from the refrigerator. "Ready to go to work?" he asked, folding up the paper. "Never. Besides, I'm already finished." "Really?" "Really. I just need to go over it with you, and copy and collate." 23

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"Now I'm impressed." We spent the next forty-five minutes discussing the loss and reviewing the reports. I agreed to sign an affidavit if necessary. Jimmy seemed to be dealing with the situation better now, and was forming a plan about how to approach the errant controller. "It will be his choice. He can pay it back, with interest, or go to jail. But I want Lucy sitting in on the meeting." "Lucy?" "His wife." I nodded, thinking Jimmy was being more than fair. We cleaned up the debris and carefully stored the bookkeeping records in a file cabinet. "Well, that took all of an hour," Jimmy said, then walked to his desk to answer his ringing phone. I walked to the window and again tried to locate my observatory. The air was clear and clean today, windy, of course, and I could just barely make out the triple domes far to the east in the Santa Monica Mountains. Behind me, Jimmy lowered his voice and turned his back. Nonetheless, I could hear the ire in his tone quite clearly. "What do you mean, you have to go? You don't have to go. That's your choice. No, forget it. I'll take him tomorrow. I don't want to leave him with that woman again." He paused and looked my way. I motioned that I would leave the room and he shook his head. "Fine. Of course I will. Your confidence in me is overwhelming." He hung up the phone, then picked up and swallowed the rest of his coffee. He forced his hands into his 24

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pockets, his Levi's being just a tad too tight for there to be anything in those pockets, then starting feeling around the piles of papers on his desk. I approached him then, my curiosity once again getting the better of me. "Everything okay?" "Help me find my keys." It was a directive, so I hastily began looking around the room. Now he was dumping the contents of his jacket. A tape measure, a pacifier, a parking lot voucher. Toothpicks, gum wrappers, and a double-A battery. "Got any frogs? A slingshot, maybe?" I asked, prompting a brief smile. A thought occurred to me and I trotted back to the coffee room. Of course, the keys lay under the newspaper. I brought them out swinging on my little finger. "Okay. You can drive," he said. Grasping me by the shoulders from behind, Jimmy edged me out the door and locked the office behind him. I barely had time to grab my purse. "Where are we going?" "For a ride." I'd never driven a real sports car before, at least not an $85,000.00 one. Like the model in his office, Jimmy's full sized toy was a shining, ebony Acura NSX. The gearshift was short and very tight. I had to move the seat forward about a yard just to reach the gas pedal. Shaking at first, I eased out the clutch (or at least I thought I was easing it) and the squeal of the tires was deafening in the closed garage. 25

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"It's okay, you're doing fine," Jimmy consoled, squeezing my shoulder. "It's a short clutch. And it's brand new." Wilshire Boulevard is not the best place to test drive a car that can cruise at 180 mph with barely a quiver. Finally, finding my way to Sunset, we tooled along at a 50 mph crawl until we got to Vermont and I turned left, up the hill and past the Greek Theatre. Here, I pulled over at the park. I was still trembling. "Wow," was all I could say, and Jimmy laughed out loud, walking around the car to help me out. I got back in on the passenger side, and Jimmy tore on up the hill, our destination being Griffith Observatory. "This was my favorite place to come when I first came to California. I haven't been here in years. It still looks the same," he said. "It's one of my favorite places, too." We toured the building companionably, playing with the exhibits, marveling over the models and displays depicting the planets and the stars. We peeked into the telescope, weighed ourselves on the moon, and perused the gift counter. We ended up on the roof. "Do you know just how many movies have been filmed up here?" he asked, jumping up to stand on a concrete bench for a better view. I shook my head, but he wasn't looking at me. "You can see the ocean, if you look hard enough." He hopped down, then took my hand and pulled me toward the staircase to the next level. Maybe it was because his hand felt so familiar that I did not question his action. 26

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We hurried up the stairs, and then stopped at the top. I leaned against the short concrete wall, my face toward the west. And then Jimmy was behind me, his voice coming close to my ear so that I could hear him against the wind. "Do you see it?" See what? The ocean! I saw it. I nodded. "If you look carefully, way off there to the right, you can see my building." Now his cheek was beside mine, his right arm extended so that I might look down it and identify the place on Wilshire Boulevard where my car was parked all alone. But my eyes were now closed. The faint scent of Obsession crept into my nose, and I could not help but think, how apropos. Do you remember, that first time your lover spoke into your ear, his warm breath rapturous, scintillating, tantalizing your senses until you thought that only screaming out loud would dissipate the tension? True, Jimmy was not my lover, not in a physical sense, not in the here-and-now, but he had belonged to me forever. The line between fantasy and reality began to blur. Jimmy raised back up to his full height, standing close behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his chest against my shoulder blades. Absently, he ran his hands up and down my upper arms, and the visions that had plagued me before returned. Only this time, the woman tossing on the pillow beneath him was me. I began to quiver. "Are you cold, Annie?" 27

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Annie. He'd said my name. It was the first time, I thought, and I hung onto his question a little longer. "No. I'm fine. The wind is great." But when Jimmy walked away, I was, indeed, cold. He sat on another nearby bench, his thoughts somewhere else. I left him to those thoughts and walked along the perimeter of the roof, absorbing the sunshine and the moment and the small bit of Jimmy's aura I had stolen. He may have been watching me, but his eyes were hidden behind his dark glasses. Whatever his thoughts were, they remained his alone. Eventually, I had circled the entire roof and I sat down beside him. He was leaning forward, his hands clasped together, his arms resting on his knees. Without thinking, I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and squeezed. Jimmy was clearly troubled; it felt like the right thing to do. He turned his face toward me. The angle of the sun cut us from the side, lighting his eyes behind the glasses, and I saw for the first time a discontentment, an uncertainty so foreign to Jimmy's usual demeanor. "Jimmy. What's wrong?" He smiled at me, a thin disguise meant to hide his melancholy mood. "You don't want to know. Trust me." "Is there anything I can do?" He continued that sad smile, shaking his head at some private joke. On its own, my hand took possession of his. "I'm a good listener..." 28

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"I'm sure you are." "Try me." "I'd like to." He stared directly into my eyes, making certain I understood his double entendre. My grip loosened. Jimmy broke his gaze away, looking down at the concrete beneath our feet. "Told you you didn't want to know." "I'm not sure I understand," I murmured, my words almost carried away on the breeze. But he heard me. He sighed then, wrapping his arm around me and once again leaning his mouth close to my ear. Did he have any idea of the effect he had on me? Was he just a naturally affectionate person, the kind of person who goes around touching other people? "You realize, now, I have to tell you everything." The intimacy of his tone scared me. Suddenly, I was a player in an unknown game, a fantasy turning too real, too fast. And yet, I was drawn to the mystery in Jimmy's voice. "I have a new problem. Maybe it's not so new, hell, I don't know ... but before we talk about it I need to know something." He paused, squeezing me even closer, his lips nearly touching my ear, sending shivers throughout my whole being. I might have panicked if not for an underlying feeling, an intrinsic truth felt in my heart of hearts, that I knew Jimmy; I trusted Jimmy. It was a truth with no basis, no reason, no history. But I believed it anyway. "I need your promise that you'll be truthful with me. That you can be honest with me. Do you think you can do that?" 29

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His words, soft and gently urging, both touched and surprised me. I pulled away from him, reaching up in slow motion to remove his glasses. "In return for your promise of the same," I whispered in a voice not my own, upon which Jimmy took his arm back, swinging his leg over to straddle the bench to face me. I did the same. We were on even ground. "Then we have a deal," he said. He wasn't in a hurry to discuss the problem. He looked around, squinting in the sunshine, breathing deeply of the unusually clean air. "Don't you just love it here?" he asked, looking skyward. "The truth?" I had to risk a joke, had to see Jimmy smile. He rewarded me, grabbing my shoulders and pretending to shake some seriousness into me. I laughed. "Stop it! I'm trying to relate here," he scolded, but he laughed with me. "This is serious business. Now behave." I stifled my laughter, waiting for the anxiety to return. It didn't. For now. "Tell me ... about what it's like when you go home." His question was direct and again, surprising. Was it a trick question? Could something as innocuous as my home life pose a threat? "Well, first, I collapse. I sometimes make dinner, and if I'm lucky, one or more of my kids drop by the kitchen with a request or a complaint. I work. I go to bed. Maybe I watch a little TV." Jimmy nodded. "So your husband doesn't live with you." 30

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I laughed again, only this time my laughter was canned and mirthless. "Of course he does. You know he does." My lie sounded wooden to me, and Jimmy scowled. "Do I? I seem to recall you said you were married. That's about the extent you've mentioned him." "Okay. What do you want to know about him?" I was getting nervous, trying to appear aloof. "His name is Bill, he's—" "I don't want to know anything about him. I want to know about you." "Like what?" "Like why you've been staying around in this marriage so long, why you are walking around being lonely when you don't have to be." "Lonely!" I challenged. "What makes you think I'm lonely?" Jimmy grabbed both of my hands in his and leaned forward, his eyes locked onto mine. "I can see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice. It's in the way you walk. And I know. I know because it's the way I walk too." I was speechless. His words bounced around my confused mind, echoed in my ears. "How could you possibly be lonely?" I asked. "We were talking about you." "Why? What does my supposed loneliness have to do with you? You said you have a problem—" "I do. It's about you-your getting into your car, driving home, getting a nod from the others in your cave, then going to work tomorrow and knocking yourself out-for what?" "I'm not your problem. My life is not your problem." 31

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"And I get into my car, drive home, play with my son for twenty minutes until he is whisked away, I have some wine, read tomorrow's script. I work out then I lay down beside a woman I swear I don't recognize-and for what? For fifteen minutes of uncommitted sexual gratification?" I didn't know what to say. His outburst, his reference to sex with Catherine had thrown water onto whatever fire had been building within me and I shuddered. Jimmy was still grasping my hands tightly, and, having unloaded his fury, he released me. "I'm sorry," he murmured, momentarily unable to meet my probably horrified gaze. I placed my hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look back into my eyes. "I do love my husband," I said softly. I lied softly. "I don't doubt that. You would have to." "Do you love Catherine?" "I don't even know." "When you think about the future, when you see yourself growing old and sitting in your front porch rocker, do you look over and see her sitting beside you? How about when something really good happens to you, do you rush to tell her about it first?" Jimmy's eyes looked steadily into mine. Mimicking my actions, he cupped my face in his hands. "I didn't exactly rush home to tell her about you." I stared at him for a very long time. It was such a simple declaration, it didn't have to mean a lot, but it did. To me. Finally, I found my voice. "What are you going to do?" 32

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"I wish I knew." "What do you want to do?" "I can tell you what I don't want to do. I don't want to be the one to disrupt your life." He paused, apparently grasping thoughts as they drifted around his head, canned, routine thoughts he probably didn't really believe. "Regardless of my opinions, my feelings for you and about you, your decisions are entirely your own and have to stay that way. I care about you and wouldn't want to unfairly influence you." I wanted to believe him. I did believe him, but even as his spoke, he was drawing my hand to his lips and kissing my palm with great ceremony. The effect was intoxicating. Guiltily, wantonly, my secret self begged for more; how could I get my lips into this equation? I pressed them tightly together. "I know," he began, now stroking the hair away from my face with much tenderness, "that I have decisions to make myself." "You need to start talking ... to your wife," I stammered. Jimmy nodded, dropping his hands and again lowering his eyes. "I would if I thought she would entertain some truth." "I can't believe that. Don't you talk? Share secrets? You said you ... make love." "I said we have sex. When we talk, it's anything but intimate. And secrets? She doesn't want to hear them." "If you love her, you can try to change those things." "And if I don't love her? "Then you should leave her." Just talk to Bill. Who didn't love his wife anymore. 33

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Jimmy was quiet for a moment. He seemed reluctant to speak his mind, but relented. "And what about you? Are you really content to just keep on with that big hole in your life?" "I have a wonderful life." "You're willing to do without, forget what it's like to feel ... alive and excited?" "I do feel alive, and you don't need to feel excitement all the time, Jimmy." "You can't tell me you don't want to feel it, and you can't tell me you didn't feel it, because-because if I'm wrong about that too, then my whole life is wrong and I don't think I can deal with that." "Feel what?" I said quietly, hating myself for asking. "I thought we weren't going to lie to each other." He stood from the bench and went back to the wall, leaning over the edge and peering out into the human ocean of Los Angeles. I picked up his sunglasses and joined him, carefully slipping the glasses into his pocket. Once again, he sought some answer in my face, in my eyes, before rushing me with an almost desperate embrace. "Feel this," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. If I had felt a shock before by holding his hand, I was now fully electrified. It wasn't just the ion particles crashing around us in the wind. Jimmy and I made our own current as we held each other tightly that morning on the roof. The passion in him was carefully contained. But I had seen his fire, the kind of white, sparkling fire that trails from a shooting star. Starfire. 34

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**** Not much more was said that day, as the passenger seat on the Acura faded into the driver's seat on the Celica and I found myself driving home through a fog unseen by other drivers. I was calmer than you might imagine for a woman who'd just spent the afternoon being unraveled by the man of her dreams. At home, I viewed my life cautiously, afraid I might start seeing it as Jimmy had described. He was wrong. He had to be. My children and my lifestyle were precious to me. Sure, my husband of eighteen years was gone; the skyrockets had long since spent their heavenly blaze, and Bill and I had settled into mundane coexistence that eventually dissolved into a nothingness I had ignored until the day he'd disappeared. I was in denial and I knew it. My mind replayed again how Jimmy said he would call me as he closed my car door, his eyes still reflecting pain and confusion. I knew he wouldn't. But you know what? He did. Every Friday morning for three weeks. We chatted comfortably. He recounted J.T.'s latest milestone. I related my daughter Shannon's first broken heart. He told me about this week's episode. I shared my disgust over the President's latest affair. He danced very carefully around his relationship with Catherine, but I always ended up nailing him with a question or two. In return he made subtle suggestions about how I might spice up my life. Nothing had really changed for either of us. But I looked 35

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forward to his calls from the moment we hung up until he called again. And on the fourth Friday, I was not in the office to receive his call. It was the annual number cruncher's convention, held in Palm Springs this year, and I had to be there. After all, I'd gone every year for the past ten. It was my yearly opportunity to get away alone, commiserate with my peers and just plain relax. I left Thursday night, kissing my kids and dog good-bye. But driving across the desert, I felt guilty. Guilty because I hadn't told Jimmy I was going. Friday morning's seminar couldn't end soon enough for me. Swiftly I dashed between the plodding conference attendees, all talking at once about the latest tax law or what they were serving at the luncheon ahead. I smiled fleetingly at acquaintances, trying to appear hurried rather than just rude. Finally, I located a quiet corner and quickly dialed Jimmy's number on my cell. Mrs. Peel informed me that Jimmy had just left the building. In a hurry, she added, and without disclosing his destination. He'd just spoken to his wife; she wanted to make that clear. I casually told her that my message could wait, it was not important, and I hung up the receiver in dismay. I hoped Catherine was not pulling his strings again. I hoped J.T. was okay. I hoped Jimmy wasn't mad at me. The afternoon rocketed along; the speaker might as well have been describing quantum physics for all I knew or cared. I found myself marveling at the nodding heads around me; had I once found tax shelters, IRA's, and Keogh's so 36

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intriguing? Thirty minutes before the seminar was due to end, I quietly crept from the classroom. On the main floor of the hotel, I wandered through the gift shop, picking up a People and a pack of gum. In the lobby I browsed the colorful brochures describing the local attractions, from hot air balloons to the Palm Spring Aerial Tramway. Through elegant glass doors I spied the pool and its lush surroundings, and I considered taking my magazine outside for some air. I checked my watch. It was nearly five, and I was meeting some girlfriends for dinner at 6:30. I decided I'd better go upstairs. My room was not large, but was nicely appointed and had a balcony with a small table and chairs that viewed the pool. I kicked off my shoes and fell onto the bed. Oh, the luxury! No kids, no slobbering dog, no adding machines hacking up the silence. No deadlines, no overtime, no dishes in the sink. No phones, no— Didn't I say no phones? I crawled across the bed and reached for the interruption. Brenda was calling to confirm our dinner in the hotel restaurant. "Don't know why I'd have dinner with the competition," she teased. "Because I taught you everything you know," I said with a laugh. "Can't wait to see you. Is Nan here yet?" "She should be checking in about now. She'll call one of us, I'm sure. See you at 6:30." I sighed and looked at the ceiling. It would be good to see the girls again. It had been ... since last year's conference. I 37

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reached for my 'zine, and before I could relocate the page with Tom Cruise's sexy, smiling face, the phone rang again. It would be Nancy. "Adams and Stern, this is Annie," I answered with a grin, hoping to catch my old friend off guard. But I didn't. "Do you never stop working?" Jimmy asked, his voice as smooth and sweet as melting chocolate in the Palm Springs sun. It was I who was caught off guard. "Jimmy?" I said, feeling my heartbeat pick up speed. I made no attempt to hide my joy. "Why didn't you tell me?" was his next question, the question I had been dreading since I left L.A. "Didn't I?" It was a lame, blatant mistruth, and we both knew it. He wouldn't let it pass. "Cut the crap, Annie." "Are you mad?" "Actually, I'm not." "Are you still at work?" "Nope." I looked at the clock. He must be at home. He'd never called me from there, maybe it meant something-? "Is everything okay?" I ventured, hoping he'd reveal some new turn of events. "Sure. But I'm gonna have to get back to you. What's your room number so I can dial direct?" "232." "Are you alone?" "Yes." I waited, expectant. Maybe she was coming in the door. 38

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"Okay. I'll talk to you in a bit." I recradled the phone. While I was happy to hear Jimmy's voice, there was something disconcerting about his call. When he called back, I'd make him tell me what was going on. There was a small refrigerator in my room, chock full of overpriced drinks and goodies. I unlocked it and took stock of the variety of liquor and salty snacks tightly arranged inside. I spotted a short bottle of Chardonnay and chilled wine glasses in the door. I needed to take the edge off. Hearing Jimmy on the phone unsettled me, and I was reluctant to admit how much I missed him. I found myself impatiently waiting for him to call again. I turned on the television, only to turn it back off immediately and instead opt for the radio. Something soothing was in order, perhaps some light jazz. The air outside was still warm. The balcony was the best place to enjoy my wine. I watched people splashing in the pool, sitting around the Jacuzzi, lying on chaises trying to grab the sun's last rays of the day. Mothers rushed cranky, sunburned children along the paths while fathers slept off their Silver Bullet headaches. I sipped my Chardonnay aristocratically, loving the feel of the warm breeze, absorbing the beauty of the lush landscape around me. I could sit here for hours, I thought, recharging my taxed psyche. A rapping sound coming from the room interrupted my daydream. Unbelievably, someone had the nerve to knock on my door, dragging me back from my reverie. I hoped it 39

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wasn't Brenda or Nancy. I wasn't ready to be just Annie the Accountant quite yet. Living dangerously, I pulled open the heavy door without checking the peephole. And once again, I had been fooled. He leaned casually against the door frame; fully aware of the effect his sudden appearance would have on me. Truly, I was momentarily taken aback, but recovered quickly and pulled him inside like the wanton woman I was rapidly becoming. As soon as the door was closed behind him, I leapt into Jimmy's arms, kissing his cheek and hugging him with all my might. Chuckling, he lifted me off my feet and we held each other like it had been five years instead of only five weeks. And despite the fact that those five weeks had brought us to a comfortable, easy friendship, all that changed when the hotel room door clicked shut. Slowly, Jimmy lowered me, but my feet still could not feel the floor beneath them. I backed away from him, unable to stop smiling as I again took in his appearance. He definitely avoided his barber these days and I loved the way his hair fell rakishly over his forehead. His khaki drawstring pants looked both casual and very sexy to me; a simple black polo shirt left his arms and muscles exposed to my reluctantly adoring eyes. Did I say reluctantly? No. I wasn't reluctant to fall in love with Jimmy; it was too late for that. And how could he possibly look so good? "Would you like a drink?" I offered, awkwardly stepping around the coffee table and reaching for my tiny refrigerator. "Thought you'd never ask. Ah, the proverbial 'honor bar'." 40

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"Nothing but the best." I located the second wine glass and hastily poured out the rest of the Chardonnay. Retrieving my own glass from the balcony, I held up my glass in a mock salute. Jimmy tapped his against it. "The future, whatever that may be," he said with a smile that both charmed and beguiled me. I nodded and drank down the rest of my wine. We were alone. We were vulnerable. We were in trouble.

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**** I hadn't noticed at first that he carried no bag. Maybe he wasn't planning to stay. Before I could stress further about this fact, the phone rang again. Nancy had arrived. After a brief chat during which I promised to see her in around thirty minutes, I hung up. "You have plans," Jimmy said. "Yes. For dinner. Would you like to join us?" "Ooh ... I'm not sure I'm quite up to speed on ten-key technique or Schedule C sidebars." "Jimmy, if I'd known you were coming—" "If you'd known you would have locked your door," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "Perhaps you thought you were safe by not telling me at all. Foolish girl." Was Jimmy's expression as dangerous as it looked? Remembering my vow of honesty, I prepared to deliver some. "Jimmy, I didn't tell you because ... because I knew it would put pressure on both of us." "You really don't have to explain, Annie dear. I know exactly why you failed to tell me that you would be alone tonight in a room ninety miles away from your responsible and committed life." He sat down on the couch. I glanced nervously at the clock, and Jimmy followed my gaze. "I'm sorry. You need to get ready." "No, it's just that we need to talk about things and-I hate to leave you." That much was surely true. 42

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"It's okay. I'm not going anywhere." I must have looked alarmed, for Jimmy stood and kissed my forehead before walking to the door on the wall opposite the bed. It was the door connecting to the next room and he opened it, revealing that the matching door in that next room was already open. His room. I watched in awe as he put his wine glass down on his night stand and stretched out on the bed. He reached for the remote. "You go get ready," he directed, waving me away. "Well, uh, I guess I will get changed," I murmured. In my bathroom I nervously stepped into a short and simple black dress. I brushed out my hair and reapplied my make up, all the while wondering about Jimmy's intentions, his expectations. I stumbled out of the bathroom at 6:32. Jimmy was off the bed the moment I entered his room, taking my hand and twirling me around with great flourish. "Ravishing, my dear. Wasted on your giggling girlfriends. They are girlfriends, right?" "I'll never tell." "Wait a minute." He turned me around again, sweeping my hair aside in the back to expose my not quite closed zipper. In my haste I had jammed it near the top without noticing, and Jimmy worked to free it. His breathing on my neck nearly sent me into a full swoon. Do women still swoon, I wondered, trying not to flinch as his fingers brushed the bare flesh of my back? "Do me a favor before you go," he said softly, turning me to face him. "Do that little thing you did when I first got here." 43

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"You mean this?" I stood on tiptoe and embraced him, kissing his cheek affectionately. I thought it odd just how naturally my arms seemed to slip around his neck, like I'd been doing it for years. This time, I noticed, no, was overwhelmed by the deliciously male scent of his hair, his after-shave, the wine he'd been sipping. And before I knew what was happening, I was tasting that Chardonnay on his lips. From my chest to my thighs I was glued against him, and after one fleeting, insignificant flash that I might not be doing the right thing, I surrendered to his mouth and let him take all that he wanted. I took also. I was later to remember what Jimmy said and also what he meant about feeling alive as every fiber of my being reacted to his kiss. Breathless and flushed, I ran my palms down his shirt to dry them. "Why-why did you do that?" "Because you needed it. I needed it. And I wanted to give you something to think about." "During dinner?" "Yeah." "How cruel," I whispered, touching my lips lightly. They were still tingling. "Well, I can be a pretty mean guy." He was stroking my arms and I was quaking. "I had no idea." Bravely, I pulled away and walked back into my own room, struggling to appear calm as I picked up my purse and my key. 44

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"No idea about what?" Jimmy asked from the connecting door. "That I might have feelings for you? That I might kiss you and that you just might like it?" Like it? Jimmy had reduced me to a mindless amoeba with that one kiss. I walked to the door and spoke over my shoulder. "I had no idea you could be such a mean guy." I could hear him chuckling as I closed the door behind me.

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**** Brenda was perfectly effervescent. I couldn't remember ever seeing her so perky, so glowing, in all the years we'd worked together and apart in the same industry. But throughout the dinner, Nancy was quiet and subdued in comparison. And what, I wondered, did they see in me? "He's so incredible. He works for Microsoft, but I swear he's not a nerd. He drives a Ferrari, he has a place at the beach, well, it's Venice, but still..." Brenda was in love, and she wasted no time in sharing the gory details. Gory, at least, to Nan, who had just discovered Tony was having an affair. I wanted to comfort Nan but was compelled to keep my distance. Suddenly, with my lips still holding a bit of Jimmy's passion, I was in danger of identifying with the "other woman." "Oh, Nan. Why haven't you booted his ass out?" Brenda wanted to know. "We're still talking. It's complicated." "What's to talk about? If he's screwing someone else—" "Brenda!" I could not hold my tongue. "I'm sure Nan knows what she's doing," I said softly. "Thanks, Annie. It's okay, Bren. It's just that I can't help thinking I'm at least half responsible for this mess. He was always complaining that we never talk. That I never talk. I just never realized how he felt."

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Her words stung me. Bill hadn't even bothered to complain. He'd just left. And what of Jimmy's wife? Would those be Catherine's words someday? "What about you, Annie? How's Bill?" "Bill?" I was still watching Catherine as she strode smartly out of Jimmy's office that day. "Your husband? Your fairy tale, true blue, lifetime knight?" "Oh, Bill's fine." My face grew hot as I thought about Bill, how many miles away, sharing lattes with the New Age bookstore clerk that had left town the same day. Meanwhile, I had a man in my room. The man who held all the missing pieces to my puzzle. "He's fine, the kids are fine, George is fine. Nothing exciting to report on my end." Except my boyfriend drives a faster car than yours, Bren. My what? I cleared my throat and willed the blandest expression I could muster. "Well thank God. We have enough to talk about all night, already," Brenda said, laughing. "What do you say we hit Rosie's?" "Is that the bar across the way?" Nan asked, checking her wallet for availability of cash. "Yeah. We went there two years ago. Remember that CPA from San Diego?" Brenda had an incredible memory for men she'd met in bars. "I'll have to bail on that, guys. I've-I've gotta get to bed." Ooh, bad choice of words. "Are you okay, Ann? You seem flushed." "I'm just beat. George is a slave driver! You guys know that." 47

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"Is he still turning everyone over to you? You'll be a senior partner before you know it." "I don't want to be a senior. And frankly, I'm getting tired of all the new clients all the time." Except one, I thought ruefully. I forced a yawn. "You go ahead. Tomorrow night I'll be ready to party." After chastising me soundly, Brenda and Nan left me at the elevator. Despite the wonderful dinner, I had eaten very little and my stomach was tied in knots. But before riding the lift to the second floor, I stopped outside the ladies' room in the lobby and dialed home. I made it short and sweet, blaming exhaustion and an early day tomorrow for my briefness. My sister yawned; Tim was playing video games, and Shannon was on a date. Of course. I promised to call in the morning, feeling major relief when I at last hung up the phone. My room was dark except for a small wall sconce lit near the bed. Jimmy's room was also dark and I breathed a sigh of relief. Temporary, I was sure, but at least I could gather my thoughts. I grabbed a cold Sprite from the bar and took off my shoes and stockings. On the balcony, I once again looked down upon the pool. It was only 9:15, and people strolled through the gardens on their way in or out for the evening. I needed to decide what I was going to do when Jimmy returned. I had to face the fact that he was, most likely, hoping to get lucky. With me. I giggled softly at my own choice of words. There would be nothing lucky about having an affair, for either of us. And I 48

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knew that as well as I knew that making love with Jimmy would be, could be the ultimate event of my adult life. How did I feel about him? I can't tell you how I felt, for I didn't even know myself, then. Confused, yes. Lustful, definitely. Scared, to death. I slouched in my chair, propping my feet onto the balcony railing. I closed my eyes, reliving the incredible kiss, savoring the memory of Jimmy's lips pressed against mine. Yes, I allowed myself this without guilt. I stopped before my imagination could once again run amuck. Although I heard nothing, I knew when he'd returned. He touched me lightly on the shoulders, but I didn't open my eyes. He massaged my shoulders in silence. In response, I began to melt. "Where did you go?" I asked. "For a walk. How was dinner?" "Enlightening." "How so?" "It doesn't matter." He stopped rubbing my neck and I moaned. "You're really tense, you know." "Can't imagine why," I murmured. "I'll go if you want." I turned to look at him, to gauge his sincerity, but the darkness hid his eyes from me. I had to fly with instruments. My own instincts. "That depends," I said, standing to face him. "On why you would be staying if you don't go."

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He came around the chair and close to me, leaning down to look into my face. And when he spoke, his voice reflected an honesty I was coming to understand and expect from him. "Annie, I don't know what I expected by coming here. Honest. You think I'm here to seduce you and screw up your almost perfect life. But you're wrong. Well, sort of..." he added, and in the dim light afforded by the pool lagoon, I could see his face color as he smiled. His expression was that of a 17-year-old boy who's just confessed to hormonal craziness. Next one who speaks loses, I thought to myself, wishing I had somewhere to put my hands before they snaked their way around his neck again. When I didn't bail him out, he continued. "I-I have to be fair. You're not misreading all of this. I'd be lying if I said I didn't ... want ... you. God! Of course I do." I cleared my throat. I was going to need something stronger than Sprite to get me through this. "Look, Jimmy, can we go inside?" He followed me in and I once again raided the little bar, opting for two glasses of Merlot. I sat on the couch and after taking a big gulp of wine, I motioned for him to sit beside me. He sat, and we sat, and we drank. "Forgive me my ... bad manners. I'm going through something I've never had to go through before," he said. "Have you called her?" "Yeah." He looked away. He didn't want to discuss that call. But I was on to something. 50

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"Have you ever ... been unfaithful before?" I asked. It was an innocent question, I believed, and I needed to know the answer. Jimmy looked at me sharply. "To Cathy? No." "To anyone." He took a deep breath, obvious in his guilt. He wet his lips. "Cathy is the first woman I've ever really committed to." "And you've been together two years." Jimmy nodded, busying himself with another sip of wine. "And before that, you were celibate." I laughed at my own joke. Jimmy had been romantically linked with one starlet after another over the years. Until his much-publicized union with Catherine, he had been a People regular. He pretended to cuff me on the chin. "Okay, yes. I've done things I'm not proud of. I've probably started a relationship with someone without finishing another. But I've been done to, also. It goes with the business." "I see." "Does it matter to you, Annie? Am I felon for exposing my feelings? I won't lie to you. Cathy and I-we're missing the mark." Did it matter to me? When he said he had checked in at home, I had to imagine his conversation with Catherine. What did he tell her? Did he lie? I guess it did matter, a little. He put his glass down and then took mine from me, setting them both on the coffee table. He brushed his lips against mine, testing the water, waiting to see if I succumbed or tossed him (as if I could) to the floor. 51

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And when I could stand it no longer, when the wine had stewed my poor head just to the point where I was no longer a slave to my overactive conscience, I climbed onto his lap and put my arms around his neck. The black dress slipped up my thighs but I didn't care. The blood in my veins became molten. Jimmy's kiss consumed me, a back draft of passion hitting me, zapping me. I pressed my forehead against his. "We can't do this," I whispered. "Annie, baby, are you drunk?" "No. Just a little high." I climbed off of him and went to the bed where I lay down on my stomach. "On what?" he asked, momentarily concerned. I giggled. "On you." I watched as he made his way to me, sitting down beside me and again rubbing my back. "Are you drunk, Jimmy?" "Nope. Haven't been for ... at least ten years." His hands were educated. He pulled the black zipper down just a little, exposing my back, and put his fingers to work at seducing my muscles. "I was kinda mad at you for kissing me before." "I know." Jimmy ran his finger lightly down my spine, sending new sensations throughout me. "Can you forgive me?" "There's nothing to forgive." He stopped, expectant, so I turned around. It was too easy, his mouth too accessible. The sensual demons were again working their magic. Jimmy's starfire had lit the fuse. 52

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We kissed for what seemed like an eternity. And while his arousal was evident, Jimmy was careful and respectful when touching me. I could not get enough of him, his mouth, his tongue, his eyes looking so deeply into mine. Even his sighs excited me, his pain pushed me, his fear empowered me. His eyes were moist and dark with passion. "I have to hear you say it. Do you want this? Because soon we will be past that point where we can change our minds." I closed my eyes, and Catherine came back into view. My lips moved, driven by some unseen exorcist, my earlier concerns surfacing from the depths of my conscience. Poison seeped onto my lips. "Does this mean you've decided it's okay to cheat on your wife?" Like self-righteous soldiers, the words escaped my mouth to ambush my beloved Jimmy. The effect could not have been more chilling had I thrown ice water into his lap. He fell away from me, onto his back, raking his hand across his closed eyes. I was instantly fraught with remorse, my own body aching with desire for his. Indeed, we had been nearly to that place where all else is abandoned. My accusation had been unfair and maybe cruel. He deserved better. "Jimmy, Jimmy, I do want it. With every part of me. But I'm scared. I know that this enormous pleasure comes with a price. Enormous guilt. And blame. And regret. And I'm afraid of losing what we are to each other." "Wait, I'm confused. Are you saying your reluctance is because of us, not because of Bill? Or are you saying it's okay for you to cheat, as you put it, but not okay for me?" His eyes still covered, Jimmy spoke with great effort through the pain. 53

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Tears began stinging my eyes as I pulled myself onto him. Regret washed over me, regret that I never told him I'd been abandoned. Gently, I took his hand from his face and stroked his cheek tenderly. "I love you, Jimmy, so much that it hurts me, terrifies me. You must know that." "So, at what point does this love become adultery? I want to know. This hotel room, these buttons and zippers, and sheets, these kisses, this madness, you sucking on my mouth-none of this constitutes love making, not until we rip off our pants?" "No-I didn't mean..." "Are we speaking Clintonese here, Annie? Because in my book this affair began a long time ago." Oh, how I wanted to backpedal, to rewind just a few frames. I was dizzy, sick with remorse. "How would you feel, how would you feel if you discovered Catherine in bed with another man?" I asked him, trying in vain to justify my fears. "Think about it. You would be incensed. You would feel murderous! Wouldn't you?" Jimmy glared at me. "It's true, and you know it. Because men are territorial. If another man treads there, wham! It's over. But it's a double standard, isn't it?" Jimmy sat up, his face angry, accusing. "And you're different? Okay, so you come home and find Bill banging some little broad, and you'd say, gee, okay, it's just your hormones, honey, you're forgiven. Is that it? Jesus, I hate this gender crap." 54

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"You're missing the point. I would hate it, hate it if Bill had an affair. If he said he loved someone else, I would be destroyed. But truthfully, it wouldn't matter as much if it was just sex." "And you think I wouldn't be destroyed if my wife fell in love with someone else?" I was out of words, unable to respond. I couldn't even remember my own point. Slowly, Jimmy disentangled himself and got out of my bed. "Don't try to classify me, Ann. Don't push me into a neat little box with all the other men you've known or read about. Maybe I can't play by the rules you do. If you think this is all about sex then maybe you're not who I thought you were." He raked his fingers roughly through his hair. "I'm taking a shower and going to bed. I have a tough road ahead of me." I willed myself not to follow him. A sob caught in my throat and I waited, barely breathing, until I heard his shower start; he'd left the door between us open. Had he left other doors open, as well? I dragged myself from the bed and went into my bathroom, also starting the shower. I hung up my dress and stared at my image in the mirror until the fog clouded my view. The water was really too hot. I hoped it would burn away my despair, smoke out those demons, and boil away my insatiable and irrational obsession with Jimmy. I cried hard in that shower. Cried for myself, cried for Jimmy, cried for Nan. I even cried for Catherine, for her inability to find the immeasurable joy Jimmy had to offer her. 55

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And I cried for Bill, because if he'd felt as lost in our marriage as Jimmy felt in his, I'd been more blind than I thought. When I could cry no more, I shut off the water. I pulled on a clean, oversized T-shirt and panties, then went to the balcony. I couldn't bear to lay down on the bed still so laden with Jimmy's aura. I don't know how long I sat there. I watched the moon rise over the San Jacinto Mountains, felt the temperature drop only a couple of degrees as the wind blew across the still hot desert sands. Words echoed in my head. Jimmy's words, something about our affair beginning-when? Was it in the Chinese Restaurant, when our hands touched across the table? At the observatory, when I had unwittingly invited him to "try me?" It made sense now. Jimmy had known before I that we were joining souls. Had I unknowingly contributed to his disconnection with Catherine? A new sadness came over me. I was no different than the bookstore clerk. So what, I wondered ruefully, did my little self-righteous spectacle get me? Lonely, filled with regrets, devastated by the knowledge that I'd hurt Jimmy. I would most likely never see him again. If he's smart, I added with disdain. And if that was to be the case... I got up and crept quietly into his room. The drapes were open and moonlight painted the room and Jimmy's sleeping form in a gray, ethereal glow. I stood just to watch him for a time. Shirtless, the single sheet just barely covering his hips, Jimmy's back was to me, his hair still wet upon the pillow.

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Holding my breath, I lifted the sheet just enough to slip under it, taking great pains to make myself feather light. I did not want to wake him. I stared at his back, wishing I could see his face. Here was a man I professed to love, and yet until an hour or so ago I had never seen him angry. I also had never shared a birthday with him, picked out a Christmas tree with him, danced with him. I had never met his mother or held his hand in a movie theatre. And I had never had intercourse with him either. None of this changed the way I felt. I had thought there was not a single tear left in me, but the stinging began again. I turned away, my back to his, and gazed at the blurry moon, silently swallowing my sobs. Eventually, these too died away. Sleep evaded me. I can sleep tomorrow night, I decided. After I tie on a good one with the girls. I had to admit, I had gotten myself into this-this-I refused to call it a nightmare, for prior to this evening, all of my time spent with Jimmy had been a fantasy. But that's how affairs go, I reminded myself. The best, and the worst. Or so I'd heard. Jimmy turned over, and I once again stopped breathing. And even though I could not see him, his presence warmed me. This was enough. To be near him, to lie beside him as he slept, his most vulnerable self. And then his arms slipped over and beneath my waist, pulling me across the bed, my back tightly against his chest; his bent knees fitting perfectly behind mine. He kissed my shoulder through the thin T-shirt material. 57

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We slept then, slept together and uncommitted. I dreamed of Jimmy's kisses and Jimmy's bare legs wrapped deliciously around mine. When I awoke to the sounds of children splashing in the noonday sun, Jimmy was gone. **** End of story? Could have been. Probably should have been. But if you've read this far my friend, and you must be my friend for having suffered thus, you might as well continue through to the end.

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**** Four more weeks. My calendar betrayed me. It was a gradual thing, this coming down from a high, an excitement, a traumatic disappointment. It began with my illadvised night on the town with Brenda and Nancy, when I drank myself into a nauseous oblivion and ended up sleeping on the couch. They thought I was losing my stress. How could they know I was losing my heart? The drive across the desert was a nightmare, my head pounding, my heart barely beating. Twice I was too sick to drive and had to stop. And once home, I moved into autopilot and stayed there. Oh, I grieved. I mourned my loss, berated myself for my sins and all the sins of womankind. That first Friday, when Jimmy's call didn't come, I went to the rest room on the third floor and wept. No one knew me on the third floor. At home, the shower became my only solace. On the outside, I was Mom, replacing screws in Tim's bicycle helmet, helping to pick a dress for Shannon's fall formal. I went out of my way to prepare their favorite dinners. I pushed my sister to go the movies, out to dinner, to a concert. Another week. And as Friday came and went, I knew I had to forget about Jimmy. I unpinned his card from the bulletin board and tucked it into my drawer; but my "DND" remained off. Even George seemed different. The steady referrals slacked off. Maybe he had gotten the message. But 59

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Chancellor Corporation was pleased with their audit, and their CFO had invited George and I to dinner in two weeks. "Do you mind?" I asked my sis, almost hoping she'd say yes, she couldn't sit with my kids and I could bail out. But she shook her head cheerfully. "I think it's nice when a client asks you out. Doesn't it make you feel good to know you have satisfied customers?" she asked. "I guess. It's liable to be boring, though..." Satisfied customers. All except one. By the third week I was exhausted. My depression zapped what energy I did have. At work, I had gone from grouchy and tense to sullen and uncommunicative. I must have had "permanent PMS" tattooed on my forehead, for people avoided encounters with me. Sitting in the lunchroom, I reviewed again my list of questions. I questioned everything about myself. What would be different had I acted on my desires? Could I have survived my lapse in morality? I sure wasn't surviving well having upheld it. Did Jimmy respect me more or less for my virtuous honorability? I remembered his last words to me. Maybe I wasn't the person he thought I was. Then who was I?

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**** Four weeks. Seemed like more. Another Friday had come, another Friday would go. It was around eleven a.m., and I considered going to lunch early so that I wouldn't be there when Jimmy's call didn't come. I took a few minutes to clean up my desk, something I always wanted to do but never made time for. I actually wiped up coffee stains and straightened up the pencils, cleaning the dust and fingerprints off my calculator and my phone. And it rang. The phone. Now, it's not like my phone never rings. It rings constantly. But the fact that it was ringing on a late Friday morning unnerved me. I stood frozen, staring at it, my soiled wet-wipe poised in mid air over the receiver. A passing coworker looked at me in surprise, as if to say, "Aren't you going to answer that thing?" For a brief second, I didn't know whether to beg God for it to be Jimmy or beg Him for it not to be. "Hello, Annie." He sounded far away. I had to sit down. "Hi, Jimmy," I said softly, afraid to believe it was really him. "I, uh, thought maybe we could talk." "Sure, what's going on?" Could I possibly sound casual in the face of my insanity? "Umm ... you won' believe what's happening. In fact, you jus' might get a little tickle over this." Something wasn't right. His words sounded slow, almost slurred. "Jimmy, are you okay? Where are you?" 61

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"I'm at home. On the couch. Where are you?" He was drunk. "Are you alone?" "Oh, I'm alone all right. She's gone." "Catherine's gone? Where did she go?" "To hell, I hope." It took me fifteen minutes to get his address and I was on my way. I pushed the speed limit, breezing through Laurel Canyon, south through the mountains, making a right turn on Lookout Mountain Road. He lived near the top. The NSX was parked in the driveway, slightly askew. One of the garage doors was open and I pulled the Celica inside; I had to hope Jimmy was right when he said he was alone. It wasn't hard to find him, stretched out on the couch in the massive living room, a near empty bottle of Cutty Sark cradled in his arms. Oh, he looked bad! Unshaven, uncombed, a wrinkled mess. "My God," I whispered. I dropped my keys and my purse into a chair and knelt beside him. "What the hell happened? Looks like you got put away wet." Jimmy squinted up at me. "Annie? Where'd you come from?" "From work. How much have you had?" I could see another empty on the floor. "You didn't take anything, did you?" "Take what?" Jimmy struggled to sit up and I took the bottle from his hands. I sat down beside him and he immediately fell back, his head in my lap. His expression was pained. "Annie. When did you get here?" 62

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"Tell me what happened," I demanded, brushing the hair from his eyes. "You won't like it." "Too bad. Tell me." "It's pretty funny, actually. Cathy got herself a boy-toy." He reached for the bottle but I held it away. "I don't understand." "Dave. And Cathy. Seems they been hittin' the sheets pretty regular lately." "Dave? The kid from the series?" "One an' the same. Use' to be in the show. Baby could you hand me that bottle, please?" "No!" I snapped, my anger at Catherine misdirected at Jimmy's already bruised ego. "No," I repeated, softly this time. "You've had enough. Maybe you'd better just ... just sleep it off." Jimmy sighed and reached up to touch my cheek. "Stay. Please, stay." I kissed his fingers and he closed his eyes. I sat and worried. If I didn't go back, I had to at least call, but I had time. A little. The TV remote was barely within reach. Game shows and soaps polluted the airwaves until I came upon a classic film. I watched. I waited. I turned it off. So. Catherine had done it, had cheated on Jimmy. My nasty words all came back to me, those words that were now hateful to me. I'd shamed Jimmy into ignoring his instincts. Shamed him into staying faithful to his unfaithful, lying, cheating wife. 63

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But who was I to fault her? Had I not very nearly succumbed to my own passions, my needs, my haunting desire for Jimmy? How did I know she didn't feel the same about ... Dave? How could she? I looked down at my would-be lover's face. Oh, how he must have felt to hear it! With my hurtful words still fresh, my accusations, my disgusting theories about men's sexual politics. Lovingly, I traced the shape of his lips, his jaw, his brow. He was broken. But right now, he was mine. I dozed. I awoke. The angle of the sun alarmed me. Carefully, I slipped out from under Jimmy's comatose head and replaced my lap with a pillow. I wandered around the sweeping, ranch style house in search of a phone, stumbling over squeaky Pooh toys and colored wooden blocks. I called George. He seemed mildly alarmed as I explained that a close friend was in trouble and needed my help. In fact, he said he'd been trying to reach me; Chancellor had been forced to postpone our dinner tonight. Tonight! I had all but forgotten. As graciously as I could, I asked George to lock up my files for the weekend. Next, I phoned home. Shannon informed me that my sister had called, she couldn't make it, and Tim was sick. "Sick? Throwing-up-sick?" "No. He's just laying around looking green." That was not unusual for Timmy. "Look, Shan. I need you to stay home tonight and look after Timmy." 64

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"Mom!" "Shannon. It's important." It was Mom's final word, and Shannon was quiet; I tacked on a vague bribe. "I'll make it up to you." "Can Robbie come over then?"

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**** Finding palatable food in Jimmy's kitchen was a task. I finally threw some frozen chicken breasts into the microwave to thaw, and scrounged up two marginal potatoes and a bag of frozen peas. There was fresh lettuce, though, so I tore up a salad and stuck it into the fridge. Jimmy was beginning to moan. Again I explored the estate, deciding the master bathroom was probably the place to find drugs. I dumped out three extra strength Tylenol tablets and filled a glass with cold water. And again I knelt before the couch. "Here. Sit up and take these." Jimmy only groaned and tossed on the couch. "Come on. Get up. The sooner you do this, the better." I badgered and tugged on him until he sat up, his head in his hands. "Come on, darling, you can do this." He swallowed the pills, and then leaned back against the couch with his eyes closed. From his mouth streamed a river of obscenities. James Thomas Dutton, brought to you today by the letter "F." "Now we have to get you into the shower." "No." He told me what I could do with the shower. "It's for your own good." I stood up and pretended I had the strength to pull him up as well. Finally, he relented and I led him back to the master bedroom. I started a hot shower, then returned to Jimmy before he could flatten himself out on 66

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the bed. I unbuttoned his shirt while he squinted at me through red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. "Annie. Do you have any idea just how bad I feel?" "No." I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and unzipped them, trying to keep my thoughts on the matter at hand. "Annie," he said again while grasping my wrists. "I can do this." I touched his cheek and then retreated to the kitchen. Even from there, I could hear him cursing in the shower. And despite his pain, I had to smile. I put the chicken and the potatoes in the oven to finish cooking. Through the kitchen window, I watched as clouds moved across the mountain top. Dark, charcoal clouds, pregnant with a new storm. Spying Jimmy's keys on the kitchen table, I grabbed them and hurried outside. Nervously I slipped behind the wheel, glancing skyward through the open top at the clouds. It took me a moment to find the garage door opener tucked inside the console behind the shift. I opened doors until I found an empty bay and then started the engine. More carefully than the last time, I eased the car forward and into the garage. It was quiet in the bedroom when I came back inside. Jimmy was leaning close to the mirror, shaving off I don't know how many days of beard. His clean Levi's were baggy and hung low on his hips. I clearly ogled him, noticing how the hair on his chest narrowed into a neat brown column down his abdomen, disappearing into those jeans. He caught 67

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my reflection in the mirror and we stared at each other for several moments before he resumed shaving. "Where did you go?" he asked. "Nowhere." I tossed the keys onto the dresser. Just then, a loud crash sounded above us as thunder bowled across the sky. Immediately after, the sound of rain. Heavy rain. I went to the living room and stared outside at the darkening skies, the armies of raindrops falling into the jungle of Jimmy's property. It was soothing to me, this rain that we needed so badly. It was a cleansing. We ate dinner in the kitchen. "I don't remember the last time I ate," Jimmy commented, cleaning his plate. "This was great. Thank you." "Well, you were starting to look gaunt," I teased, taking my plate to the sink. I started to rinse it, and Jimmy called out to me. "Be careful with that faucet, it sometimes flips off—" But before I could heed his warning, the spigot head flew into the sink and water sprayed all over my shirt, my jacket and my pants, soaking me to the skin. Jimmy couldn't help but laugh at my shocked face. "I'm sorry," he said, rushing to grab a towel from the counter and gingerly dabbing at my dripping shirt. "I've been meaning to get that damned thing fixed. You'll have to change." I followed him back to the bedroom and he threw open the left side of the wall-to-wall closet. "For some reason she didn't take everything. I'm sure you can find something to wear while we dry your clothes. This 68

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stuff will be too big, but ... it'll fit better than my clothes." He smiled and pushed at some of the hangers. "Good luck." Too big? Was he kidding? He left me alone and I stripped off everything except my panties. Even my bra was dripping wet. Of course, Catherine had left no underwear. Incredibly, the jeans on the hanger were a size bigger than I wore. I checked a couple more, opting for the smallest pair I could find, rolling them up at the cuffs. I grabbed a short pink sweater with a wide neck from the shelf. From Jimmy's dresser I stole a pair of clean white socks. The mirror told me I was ready to join the circus. Jimmy showed me to the laundry room and I threw my clothes into the dryer, not caring if the heat messed up my dry-clean only suit. Then I slipped out to the garage to get my spare tennis shoes from the trunk of my car. Back inside, I found Jimmy loading the dishwasher. He perused my new clothing, and nodded. "You'll pass. Want to go for a walk?" "In the rain? And get wet again?" "Of course." The rain had diminished to a light sprinkle, and Jimmy took me on a tour of the property. It was a couple of acres, forested and natural except for the rock-lined lagoon pool built into the hillside. There were paths and benches, tiny footlights, birdhouses and magnificent flowers everywhere. "You and Catherine did all this?" "No. I had all this before I met her." 69

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Good. That made me happy. "Can she get her hands on it?" "I don't think so. Anyway, she won't." Bitterness seeped into his speech and he shook his head. "You were right about one thing, Ann. I did feel murderous." I didn't want to talk about our ill-fated night in the desert. Not yet. Under the patio roof, we sat down on a bench and watched quietly as the leaves released their collected raindrops, the unstable air rustling the treetops above us. The warmth of Jimmy's shoulder against mine created an unreasonable excitement inside me. My reaction to his touch still amazed me. He was good at reading my thoughts. Slowly, he drew his arm around me, caressing my opposite shoulder absently with his fingers. Well, it seemed absent as his eyes were glazed and fixed on some unseen sight in the forest of his backyard. I didn't move a muscle, relishing that gentle tough, wondering if I could sit there much longer without pasting myself against him. I wanted to turn his face toward me, wanted to see the light and the heat in his eyes once more. It began to rain again, so we retreated to the house. Jimmy immediately began making a fire in the fireplace while I stood by, absently wringing my hands. It was almost dark now; 7 p.m. The fire took hold and Jimmy opened a cabinet adjacent to the fireplace. Peeking around him, I saw an elaborate stereo system with millions of knobs and tiny lights. He punched some buttons and music surrounded us. Soft music. The music of romance. 70

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"Do you mind?" he asked, striking another match now to light the candles that were gathered in groups on the mantle and end tables. "Not at all." I sat on the couch and took off my shoes. "How's your head?" "Better, thanks. I guess I really sucked up a lot of scotch. Man! That stuff's poison." "And you, not drunk for ten years. For shame." I had to tease him. "I guess I didn't tell you. I kinda broke that record about ... four weeks ago." Four weeks. Sounded rather familiar. The fire felt wonderful, and soon Jimmy sat down at the opposite end of the couch. "Well. What should we talk about?" he asked. "Anything at all." "I have an idea, but I'm not sure you want to talk about it." "You want to talk about Palm Springs." I lowered my eyes. "Jimmy, I've had a lot of time to think about it. I'm so sorry about all that—" "Sorry? I don't want your apology. Just your forgiveness." "Forgive you? Forgive you? Not on your life," I answered, laughing nervously. "I don't know how you can sit there, looking like you do, feeling like you do, and even conceive of the notion that it was your fault." Jimmy shrugged. "It was. I took advantage. Would have, taken advantage. I needed that slap in the face ... although now I wonder at the value of my abstinence." He shook his head. "My nobility. Ha! I kept my pants on, but she didn't." 71

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The pain was still fresh in his eyes. "I guess one good thing came out of it. You got to go home with your conscience intact." I cleared my throat. "As I was saying, I had a lot of time to think about it. About what I would do differently if I had it to do again. If I had another chance..." Jimmy leaned forward as if he didn't want to miss a word. When he spoke, his voice was tender but firm. "You didn't have much choice. You made the suggestion that we might be doing the wrong thing, but I made the decision." He was right, of course. He could have had me. "And what would you do differently, Annie?" "I would trade that conscience." "For-?" "For you." My admission caught him off guard. After a moment, he reached across the couch for my hand. Oh! Just the feel of his fingers grasping mine made my chest tighten. "Let me understand this. You'd risk, what was it now? Enormous guilt, blame, regrets ... all for a few minutes of bliss?" "Well, it damned well better be more than a few minutes," I murmured. The flames in the fireplace teased me. Indeed, I was certain that if Jimmy came any closer to me, my panties would spontaneously ignite. He peered at me, his chest rising more rapidly now as he squeezed my hand. I've heard the expression that a man could strip you with his eyes, but I won't use that here. It wasn't x-ray vision, either, for Jimmy 72

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was after more than just a view of my bones. No, his eyes had a special talent, the ability to define his love in new, unspoken terms. Somehow, he was caressing my soul. "I think you'd better come over here," he said, pulling me toward him. "Now, tell me what this means." His arms absorbed me into the warmth of his body. "I want no misconceptions. Are we talking about testosterone, obsession, infatuation ... or just you and me, sharing something real and wonderful?" His voice was low and caressing. I couldn't speak. I could only smile and wallow in the thick sweetness of the moment. And I wanted him to kiss me, a hundred times, a thousand times. I wanted his tongue in my mouth, his teeth on my ear. I wanted to feel his nude body melded into mine. I wanted to feel him touch me in the places reserved for lovers only. But tell him this? I couldn't, and I didn't have to. "Things have changed," he murmured, easing himself and me so that we were now lying together on the couch. I could hear and feel his heart beating, a strong rapid beat, keeping time with mine. "When you came to my bed that night, I wasn't asleep," he confessed. "I was angry. I thought maybe you had changed your mind. I wasn't going to give you the satisfaction." He pressed his lips to my neck and sighed, practically sending me into convulsions. "When you didn't touch me, I was confused. It took me a few block-headed minutes to realize why you were there." Obviously, Jimmy needed to share his memory. He dragged his lips along my cheek and back to my ear. "I was so frustrated when I got 73

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home I drank a liter of wine all by myself. Maybe it was two liters. Then I went to bed with Catherine." "Was it good?" I had to ask, breathless, that molten feeling again coursing throughout my veins. I pressed myself against him, craving that part of him that would make us one. And right now, my agenda included only one act: to be one with Jimmy Dutton. "Good? I was too drunk for it to be good. Not drunk enough to make myself believe it was you." I pulled myself away from his words, his lips, his seduction. I had to see his eyes, his sincerity. Did he really want me as much as I wanted him? "Annie, I don't know what's going to happen from here. I know you're worried about us losing something here, our friendship, or whatever it is that we have, hell; I don't know what to call it. But please believe me, my feelings for you go way beyond this." He paused, waiting for me to catch up. I struggled to capture every word and make it real. "I won't ask for anything you don't want to give and I won't come between you and your family. I promise to be here for you when I can." He looked away, momentary regret creasing his forehead. "You know that I will find someone to love-I'm not a man who can be alone for long-but I want us to stay ... how do I say this without sounding trite?" "I understand." "You don't still think this is just about sex—" "No." I pressed my fingers to his lips, stopping his words. "It isn't." Slowly, I began to once again unbutton Jimmy's 74

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shirt, this time with a different purpose in mind. His hands were already exploring my back beneath Catherine's pink sweater. Then he stopped and stood. Deftly, cleanly, he lifted me off the sofa and stood me before him. His eyes never left mine as he let first his shirt, then his pants drop to the floor. The fact that he wasn't wearing any briefs stunned me, stopped my very breathing, but he was unconcerned with my coping abilities. A small smile played on his lips, those sensitive, erotic, adventuresome lips, while he slowly lifted the sweater over my head and tossed it aside. Weakly, I slumped against him, my breasts cooler than the heat of his chest while he slid his fingers across the small of my back. I could see the tremor of his pulse at his throat, feel the clamoring of his heart against my chin as I peered up at him. Jimmy's eyes were bright with passion. Without hesitation, he pushed both hands down, down into the back of those tooloose jeans belonging to one forgotten adulteress, now clothing another. While his mouth worked against mine, his hands traveled, one eventually sliding around to the front and dipping slowly into my panties. I pulled my lips free. "Don't ... unless you want to send me off solo," I panted, and Jimmy chuckled under his breath. He threw a couple of pillows onto the rug before the fireplace, and then we were on that rug, and making love. Really making love this time, both completely sober and giving everything we had to one another. And it was exactly as I had expected, exactly as I had known it would be. 75

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Sensual, exhilarating, fulfilling. My fantasy was coming true, the scene that had played again and again in my head was now my reality as Jimmy pinned me beneath him, teasing me to the point of hysteria. He held nothing back, connecting the dots, my dots, and when he drew that line from six back to one, I lit up like a pinball table in full tilt. Was it his starfire that made it all so intense, so full, so pleasurable? The fact that he had been the object of my fantasies for so long could have made a difference, I'll never know. No, I won't tell you that the seas parted or the heavens opened. There was nothing earth shattering or extraordinary about it. No bodice ripping, no back gouging, no crying out like in those supermarket clinch novels. But truly, neither of us had felt so loved in a very long time. And as the storm raged on outside, so did we before the fire on that rainy September night. Later, much later, we lay curled into each other; the fire, and the two of us having settled into a warm burn, our bodies slick with the spoils of our pleasure. "I dreamed," I said toward the flames, "of this that night we slept. And I've dreamed of it since." "Dreams can come true," he whispered. "If you want them badly enough." I wanted to stay there forever, naked to my very soul, protected and warmed by Jimmy's love. It was not to be, of course, for I'd taken my share, taken this gift and spent it. He drove me home in my car. We waited a block away for the cab to pick him up. 76

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In the darkness, the rain had turned to a misty fog. Four weeks. The moon was full again, struggling to push aside the clouds. We kissed some more in my car. "You rescued me today," he whispered, watching droplets of water slide down the windshield. "You rescued me tonight." "And your trade off, was it worth it?" I nodded slowly. He buried his lips beneath my hair, kissing my neck once again. Inside my jacket, his hand cupped my breast. Embers began to flare. "Jimmy, darling, don't-don't start something we can't finish." "We'll never be finished," he said, and I looked for his amused and sweet smile, only to be met with serious calm. "Don't ever be afraid to call me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to hear from you. Good times, bad times. Understand?" "Sure." My own throat closed over a sob. Headlights illuminated the back of my car as the taxi came to a stop. "Remember I love you." "I know. I love you too."

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**** End of story? Almost. You might be surprised now to learn, it's been five years since that night when Jimmy and I finally consummated our "affair." Six weeks to the day later, Jimmy met and fell hard for Michelle. Met her at the day care center while he was picking up J.T.; she was picking up her daughter. She didn't recognize him, had never seen his movies or his Emmy winning series on Friday nights. She was quiet, morally sound and had never been married. With little Katie being exactly J.T. 's age, they make a picture perfect family. Michelle is good for Jimmy, good to him and his faith in marriage is mostly restored. Catherine has long since faded into the shadows, only appearing to pick up J.T. for her bi-monthly weekend. And Jimmy and me? We meet for lunch, on the last Friday of every month. Without fail. Except for the time Michelle was in labor; except for the day before Shannon got married. At lunch, we chat about everything and anything, arguing politics and movie reviews and child rearing techniques. Sometimes we meet at the now-closed observatory and Jimmy holds me tightly against the wind. We always kiss good-bye like the lovers we still are, inside. Jimmy came to Shannon's wedding, melting into the back of the church, sitting on the bride's side. Still devilishly handsome, still exuding a sexuality I could never ignore. He gave Shannon and Robbie a thousand dollars. Bill sat down 78

Starfire by Anne Carter

beside me after giving his daughter away, and I felt a tinge of something akin to forgiveness when he squeezed my hand. The New Age chick had long since taken her incense and hookah on the road. Bill moved into Shannon's old bedroom the following week. Last Spring, Jimmy and Michelle invited Bill and I to a Dodger game. Did my face burn when Jimmy shook Bill's hand? Did I pale at the sight of Michelle kissing Jimmy during the seventh inning stretch? No. Once a year, I attend the number cruncher's pow-wow, each year in a different city. And every year, Jimmy shows up on Friday night with a bottle of Chardonnay. We laugh a lot, take walks, and eat fine food. We sometimes go to a movie, and we hold hands. We go dancing. And we go to bed. Jimmy holds me close, my back against his chest, and we whisper and sleep. Sometimes we have sex, sometimes we do not. We didn't last year. Shannon had just lost her baby, and we grieved together. Next month, when I travel to San Francisco, I will have dinner with Nancy and Brenda. As always, they will hold their tongues when they see me getting into the car with the familiarly handsome guy in the dark glasses. I will ask Jimmy about Michelle's latest pregnancy and he will inquire about Bill's heart problems. His show has been canceled, so I expect he will be a little down. We may not have sex, maybe never again. But Jimmy and I know we'll never stop making love. ****

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Starfire by Anne Carter

And the moral to this already too-long story? I've come to understand that there is no clear path around that which we call fate; that time and space create a crossroads we cannot avoid, despite our preconceived notions of what is right and wrong. There was a reason why Jimmy came into my office that day, a reason why Bill walked away. While striving for all that is good and right, it is clear that we can only attain the perfect imperfection of being human. I, for one, have stopped asking why. Meet the Author: Everyone needs a little romance in their lives," Anne Carter will assure you. "Some need more than others." She should know. A storyteller since 7th grade, Anne and her younger sister would dream up a new chapter to a romantic saga each night before going to bed. Soon, writing became an obsession. Raised in Southern California where she, her husband, and three children make their home, Anne interrupts her passion occasionally to run her bookkeeping business and possibly put dinner on the table. Visit www.beaconstreetbooks.com/

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