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"Wow, this is almost like a monastic cell, only bigger," she said as she walked in. "Not what I expected." There was a small library off the main room, four walls lined floor to ceiling with books, and with a single overstuffed chair on the slate floor -- flanked by a reading table and two lamps. "You like to read, I take it?"

"I do, but it's a risk nowadays."

"A risk?"

"Yes. I find, when I'm writing, anyway, that quite often I imitate styles of the author I happen to be reading at the time. Sometimes I think it's an unconscious process, other times I'm not so sure."

"Who's your favorite author?"

"The one I happen to be reading at the moment."

She laughed at that. "If you had to pick one book in here as your favorite, which would it be?"

He walked over to a shelf, more like a case, really, and this case had a locked glass door protecting the books inside; he entered a code, opening the case, and he pulled out a book and handed it to her.

"Meditations? Marcus Aurelius? I remember the name."

"Just another old, dead white guy."

"Patronizing, aren't we?"

"Sorry. Succeeded Hadrian in Rome, colloquially known as 'the Philosopher King.' Richard Harris played him in Gladiator."

"Ah. Killed by his son?"

"Possibly, but I'd almost say that version is conjecture. Anyway, the empire hit the skids after his death, dissolved into decadence and corruption."

"Kind of like America, huh?"

"There are parallels, but more differences than similarities. Personally, I'd say we have a way to go to equal the Romans, at least as far as out-and-out debauchery is concerned."

"Not if you listen to my Dad. The second coming is at hand, at least in his worldview, it is."

"Lot of people feel that way. Did he go to college?"

"Yup. Dartmouth."

"So, he's not stupid. Why do you think he feels that way?"

"You'll have to ask him. Do you? Feel that way, I mean?"

"Nope; simplistic answers to complex problems lead to dead ends. Anyway, you can get out to the deck from here, and there's a soaking pool..."

"What's that room over there?" she asked, pointing to a door off the bedroom.

"My special room," he said, grinning.

"Special? How so," she said as she walked over to the door. She tried the knob, found it locked. "Don't tell me...it's your dungeon...like in that Fifty Shades movie..."

He chuckled at that. "Kind of, but not quite," he said as he came over. "You want to see? I mean, really, really want to see what's in there?"

"Sure," she said, her voice sounding anything but.

He entered a code and the door clicked; he pushed it open and walked inside, and lights came on automatically as he entered the room.

There were shelves everywhere, several rows of shelves along two sides of the room and more freestanding in the middle of the room, and she walked over, looked at the contents arrayed neatly on them. "Models?"

"Yup. Airplanes, but mainly trains, for the most part, and buildings too."

"Buildings?"

"Yup. I make stuff over here, on this desk," he said as he led her to the back of the room. There was a twenty story building under "construction" on a worktable that stretched along two sides of the room, and a couple of railway passenger cars scattered in pieces along another portion of the tabletop.

"You build model trains?"

"You want to see?"

"Yes," she said, now very curious indeed, and he led her over to a small door set between two shelves; it was unlocked and he turned on more lights, led her down a small stairway. He turned on more lights and he heard her gasp... "Good grief!? Is that New York City?"

"Yup. Circa 1940."

She looked over a model of the city, guessing there must have been at least a hundred skyscrapers in view, and literally hundreds of smaller buildings everywhere she looked. There were elevated railways between tenement buildings, long passenger trains pulling out of tunnels, heading for bridges or other tunnels that led out of the city, and she looked at a street scene -- an open air market of some sort, detailed right down to horse-drawn vegetable carts and sides of beef being carried into ice-houses.

"Bob...this is incredible. How long have you been working on this?"

"Hard to say. Some of the buildings I started on when I was in grade school, some of the trains, too, but I just kept collecting as I went along, waiting until I had a place where I could build all these things, and then put it all together."

She kept walking around, looking at little nooks and crannies...

"Some of these scenes are really quite funny. Almost comical."

"Meant to be. Some are scenes out of my childhood, others are more like wishful thinking. A child's wishful dreaming. Everything you see is a memory."

"So...this is like revisiting your childhood?"

"No, not 'like', not at all. It IS my childhood. I come down here to turn off the real world, to get away from all the noise. I bask in memory's glow, lose myself for hours on end -- in what was."

"And what should be?"

"Nope. Not that kind of escape. I'm not rebelling against all the changes that have taken place during my life. Hell, I'm really pretty happy with most of what's happened, but...what's that old saying? Don't sweat the things you can't change?"

"It's taken me a long time to get there, Robert."

"What? Accepting change?"

"Yeah. In a way."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Is there someplace we could sit for a minute?"

"Sure," he said as he led her around a corner to a small sitting area -- that overlooked Central Park.

"This really is incredible. You've got to bring Dad down here...he'll flip out."

"I will."

"So. Let me see if I have enough courage to talk about this stuff."

"Tracy? If you don't feel comfortable talking to me, I'd rather you didn't."

"What?"

"Just that, Tracy. If you don't feel you can trust me, don't. Another old saying: when you feel doubt, there is no doubt."

She nodded her head again. "Can I, well, can I trust you, Robert?"

"With your life, Tracy."

She nodded her head. "I thought you might say that."

"Oh?"

"After the other night. You talk like someone obsessed, or in love."

"Pretty much the same thing, don't you think?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Have you ever been in love, Tracy?"

"Once."

"And? Was it an obsession?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so -- at least I didn't then."

"And now?"

"Sometimes I think it became something like that, for a while, anyway."

"What changed?"

"He was a pilot, for the airline. But he was in the reserves, was called up for Desert Storm." He saw her lips quivering, an eyelid tremling, and he knew she was close to the edge.

"He was killed?"

She nodded her head -- just a little -- then looked away. "It was stupid. He was in Frankfurt, and his jet lost power on take off. Crashed a few miles from the airport, ejected, broke his neck. Died a few days later."

"And what are you not telling me?"

"We were engaged. I was pregnant."

"Uh-huh. And?"

"I tried to kill myself."

He just looked at her, willing her to go on, to let it all out, but she was looking at the floor now, trembling like a leaf.

And he went to her, pulled her up into his arms and held her, held her as the wave broke. He cupped her head, stroked her hair, whispered in her ear.

She nodded, tried to pull herself together.

"The baby?" he asked.

"She passed. I miscarried, and she just left. Things fell apart."

"You continued to work?"

"For the most part. I went back to school, thought about getting my degree. I stayed in Boston, 'til Mom got sick."

"Mind of I ask you a question?"

She looked up at him, her eyes a reddened estuary of tears, and he took a handkerchief out and dabbed her eyes and cheeks -- then, without thinking, he kissed her once, gently, on the forehead.

She looked at him still, her eyes almost at peace now. "Why do you think you love me, Robert? You don't even know me?"

"It's the way I feel when I look in your eyes," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I don't need to know you, Tracy. What I need most is, well, that I want to get to know you. I want to spend the rest of life getting to know you. Does that make sense?"

"Not really. What if you don't like what you find?"

"That's the gamble, isn't it?"

"You were married once, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Did you feel the same way about her?"

He shook his head. "I've never felt the way I do when I'm around you."

"You think...do you think you really love me?"

"If love is wanting to be with you, to take care of you, to let you take care of me, to spend every waking moment of every day with you by my side, and for the rest of my life, then yes, Tracy, I'm in love with you."

"Did you say you wanted to get married?"

"I did."

"Would you mind asking my dad tonight?"

"Ask him what?"

"Ask for my hand, things like that."

"Did I miss something?"

"Yup. I think I just said yes, somewhere in there, anyway."

He laughed. "Tracy?"

"Yes."

"When you're sure, let me know."

"I'm sure, Robert."

"Wait'll you spend a day with me in the kitchen before you say that." His phone chirped and he dug it out of his pocket, saw Bert on the line and hit the button. "Bert?"

"Yessir. Did you say they're coming into Friedman?"

"Yup. Got a text a few minutes ago; they're east of Mountain Home, in their descent, so running about fifteen minutes late."

"Okay. I'm here now; should I just run 'em out to the house?"

"Unless they want to grab a few runs."

"You have everything you need for tonight?"

"Yup. Tracy and I ran by the store this morning."

"Oh? How'd that go?"

"Fine. Let me know when they're down, what they want to do."

"Yessir."

"Later."

"Is Bert picking up someone?"

"A couple of friends coming to dinner."

"Hollywood friends?"

"Yup."

"Oh, God."

"Yup."

"Do you like stirring the pot, or are you just sadistic?"

"I'll let you know." He stood and helped her up, but he held her by both hands and looked into her eyes again. "You think, maybe in time, you could love me?"

"I'll let you know."

"Guess I deserved that one."

"Yup, you do."

"Mind if I tell you that I love you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh?"

"You have to kiss me first, and not one of those brotherly kisses on the forehead. I mean..."

He was on her in an instant, and when she came up for air a few minutes later she looked at his lips for the longest time, then into his eyes: "If you tell me you love me right now, you better goddamn well mean it..."

He leaned in, bit her ear gently before he whispered -- and a moment later she had him down and pinned to the floor. She was staring into his eyes just then, then she took off first her sweater, then her blouse, before she started doing things -- weird and wonderful things -- with her mouth and hands.

He was laying still a few minutes later, looking at her drifting by his side, and he could just see the part of Brooklyn he'd recreated on the layout just above her head, the little street where he grew up, where once upon a time he'd dreamed a dream that had felt a little like this moment, and he was pretty sure just then that dreams could come true, with hard work, and a little luck, anyway.

"Don't ever leave me, Tracy," he said softly, and while he didn't want to sound like he was pleading, he knew that's exactly what he was doing.

Because sooner or later, that's what every woman he'd ever known ended up doing, and he knew he wouldn't survive if it happened again.

+++++

Everyone was in the living room -- except Matt and Ben, and Eunice Gibson. They were en route from Sun Valley, with Bert and Maria driving them after a quick stop to pick up Eunice on the way.

Deke and Tom Stoddard were over by the window, looking out over the valley to the Tomberlin ranch across the way, while Tom's twin daughters were behind the piano, playing a hunt 'n peck rendition of Chopsticks. Donny and his wife, as well as all the diner's waitresses, were gathered in a corner, looking around the living room in wide-eyed wonder, while Bill Higgins, the carpenter who'd fixed Gibson's door, was with his wife in Rankin's study, with notepad and tape measure, taking measurements for new bookcases. They returned to the living room a few minutes before seven, just as Bert's Suburban hove into view, charging up the drive ahead of a cloud of swirling snow.

Rankin and Tracy were in the kitchen, getting ready to set out huge bowls of iced shrimp and cocktail sauce, as well as sautéed crab canapés on sourdough toast, so, when Bert and his girlfriend Maria came in they started setting stuff out on the bar that separated the kitchen spaces from the living room. Matt and Ben followed a moment later, still dressed in their ski clothes, and a sudden hush fell over Donny's waitresses and Stoddard's girls. Hushed whispers and nervous giggles ensued, words like The Martian and Batman drifted across the room while they walked over to Rankin and gave him a hug.

"Ah, my favorite yankees," Rankin said --

"Ah, our favorite cowboy," they said.

"Need to shower?"

"Nah," Matt said. "I enjoy smelling like a goat." Ben, however, was already headed for the shower. He, of course, liked to brag about showering three times a day, so Robert wasn't too surprised.

Then Eunice Gibson walked in, and he was surprised.

She was wearing an outrageously sexy LBD, complete with black stockings and sky high heeled pumps. He looked admiringly at her legs -- while she looked past him at Tracy Tomberlin -- and the look she saw in her eyes was like watching liquid ice coalesce to form rigid daggers of hate.

Tracy, on the other hand, had just laid out a platter of canapés and was turning to look for Bert and Maria -- when she saw Gibson. Her face turned red, her lip started quivering -- again -- then she turned and looked at Rankin, molten fury beginning to boil to the surface.

Rankin looked at the platters on the bar and decided to lay out more shrimp, then went over to Gibson. "Eunice? Let me take your coat," he said as he leaned over and kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear: "You look absolutely divine! I could eat you up right here!"

She absolutely glowed when he took her coat, and as she walked over to Tracy she seemed to float in the afterglow of a personal victory.

"Good evening, Tracy," Gibson smiled.

"Eunice! You're looking, well, much better than I expected. How's your arm?"

"Ah, the joys of oxycontin. I can't remember anything ever hurting as bad as this."

"Did they have to put a plate in?"

"Yes," she said, holding up the black fiberglass cast. "Six weeks in this moronic thing...at least..."

"My, how fashionable. I've never seen a black cast before."

"It is, isn't it? I think so too."

"Eunice?" Rankin said as he got back to the kitchen. "What can I fix you -- that goes well with morphine, anyway?"

"How about a scotch and soda, minus the scotch?"

"Comin' right up." He went and poured her a Perrier, garnished it with lime and took it to her. "Do you know Tom Stoddard?" he asked.

"You know, we've never met," she said, and he took her by the good arm and led across the room, to Stoddard -- and Deke Tomberlin. Deke turned and looked at Gibson -- and his face turned to pure admiration.

"Deke, Tom? May I acquaint you with Eunice Gibson? And if she doesn't have the best goddamn legs in the valley, y'all need to go get your eyes checked."

He turned and left the three of them in open-mouthed speechlessness, smiled and winked when he saw Tracy staring at him.

"I see you're not going to be content to just stir the pot tonight," she whispered when he got back to the kitchen. "You're gonna toss in a few sticks of dynamite too, aren't you?"

"Why, Tracy? What makes you say such a thing? Oh well, time for me to tickle the ivories," he said as he walked over to the Steinway.

"You play?" she asked as he came up to the twins -- who were staring up at him now in wonder.

"Were you that actor," June Stoddard asked as he asked to take the seat.

"I was, yes," he said, "but that was a long time ago. Are you taking piano lessons?"

"Yes," they said in unison. "Do you play?"

"A little. Do you know Cole Porter?"

"Does he teach piano?"

"You know, I think he did. How about the Moody Blues?"

They both shook their heads and he started a soft rendering of Are You Sitting Comfortably, singing in a remarkably clear tenor. By the time he let Merlin cast his spell they were hooked, and Donny's waitresses and wife came over and stood around the piano, mesmerized by the song -- and his voice. Tracy watched as Eunice turned and looked at Robert, and she too walked over, with Deke and Stoddard following her like Pointers on the scent.

'He's playing at Merlin tonight,' Tracy thought, 'and he's playing with fire, too.'

He finished Comfortably, then launched into Cole Porter's I Get a Kick out of You, doing his best to sing Porter's lyrics -- and not Mel Brooks' somewhat less appropriate version -- which happened to be his favorite, then Ben came in and watched him before sitting by his side.

"Can you take it from here, Ben?" -- and he saw that all the women were almost drooling now --

"You feeling like this is a Cole Porter kind of night, Bob?"

"You know it, Ben."

Who of course started in on My Heart Belongs to Daddy -- while he looked at the twins.

"Let's go check on those tenderloins," Rankin said to Tracy as they made for the kitchen, then, after he grabbed some tongs, on out to the deck. He lifted the lid on the smoker, checked the meat with a thermometer. "Another ten minutes at this temp," he said, then he checked the foil packets full of roasting vegetables. "About ready for the finishing touch," he sighed as he poured a mixture of melted butter, soy, lemon and grated ginger into the steaming bags.

He shut the lid and turned to her. "Do you know, you have the most incredible eyes in the universe?"

"Do I?"

He leaned forward and ran his tongue along her eyelashes -- and the shiver that ran down her spine nearly caused her knees to buckle -- then he kissed her -- once, and deeply -- on the lips.

"You do that again," she purred, "and I'm going to have to clean your clock again."

"Promises, promises," he sighed -- before he kissed her again.

"You're playing with fire tonight, Robert."

"I'm running low on matches; think you could..."

"Light your fire?" she smiled. "Count on it, bucko."

"I am. Say, did you know that oxycontin releases inhibitions?"

"Robert? No. Whatever is it you're...NO? Listen, I don't like her, but..."

"My guess is her husband, the congressman, tried to put some moves on you back in high school. And she's been trying to put you in your place ever since."

Tracy looked at him, her eyes full of questions. "Who told you?"

"No one. I was visiting her the other day, and among other things she called you a slut."

"She -- WHAT?"

"So, who do you think's hornier? Your father, or Tom Stoddard?"

"Robert? What are you going to do?"

He leaned over and whispered in her ear again, and she turned bright red, then burst out laughing.

+++++

Ben was in the middle of Anything Goes when Matt came in, and when one of the waitresses sidled up next to him, Ben drifted into Let's Fall in Love. She was kind of cute, Robert saw, and he observed Matt had noticed, too. He caught Eunice's eye and motioned her to come to the kitchen.

"You're looking pale, Eunice. How's the medicine holding up?"

"It hurts, Bob. What should I do?"

"Has it been four hours yet?"

She looked at the clock on the refrigerator door. "Is that time correct?"

"Yup."

"Four hours in about twenty minutes. Should I wait?"

"Hell yes, but we'll be sitting down for dinner then, and taking that stuff with food ought to help prevent stomach upset."