Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG

Summary: It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...or is it?

Spoilers: Don't have any here.

Disclaimer: 1013 Productions and Fox Television just won't give it up, so for now, I'll give in, but if they think I'll do this forever...
 

"A river, a mountain to be crossed
The sunshine in mountains sometimes lost
Around the south side so cold that we cried
We were ever colder on that day a million miles away
It seemed from all of eternity..."

"South Side of the Sky" by Jon Anderson & Chris Squire. Copyright 1972 by Cotillion Music. Used without permission.
 

Pagideuo
 

December 19, 1999

I began to feel less sleepy in the subsequent days. I still didn't have the usual verve, but at least I didn't feel the need to slip into a coma after a bit of mild exertion.

Langly, Byers and Michael had been extremely busy the last few days, but it went beyond the Christmas issue; there were rumors of the president resigning in the wake of a number of sex scandals, and they were keeping their fingers on every possible pulse. Even Frohike still watched CNN rabidly, at least as long as he could stay awake. My personal take on the situation was that while I hardly will condone adultery, it seemed that the president had paid a sufficient price for his transgressions. When the Monica Lewinsky affair (no pun intended) had surfaced a year ago, many felt that he should have resigned then. Clinton held fast, and I figured people would breathe a sigh of relief and get about their lives.

The public, according to the opinion polls, had in large measure felt that way. But somebody had made it personal. Even after Kenneth Starr was fired, the scandals continued to mount. Someone wanted blood, and they weren't going to settle for less.

I had complained about this to Langly very vocally one night. Not being able to go about many of my tasks, I had watched a lot more CNN than usual, and it wasn't good for my mental health.

"I don't get it," I protested. "He's got less than a year to go in his term. Let him finish out, and then if we didn't like what he did, we, the voters, can decide what we want the next time."

That got Langly to laugh long and hard. I had no idea that I was being humorous, but apparently this was one of my better jokes.

"I'm not sure what you think is so funny," I snapped.

"Well, it's not really amusing."

"Then why were you laughing?"

"Because, Ally...I wish it were the way you said. But I don't think that's the way it's gonna go down."

"How do you think it's going to go down?"

He shook his ponytailed head. "Not quite sure. But the religious right has been having way too much fun with this, and it's making me real nervous."

"We know that. How many people do you think really take them seriously, anyway?"

He had turned serious. We were in work mode here. He'd come home from the Pent and raced out to the offices, where he, Byers and Michael were monitoring nearly every source they could get their equipment on.

"More than you'd like," he said softly. "More than I'd like, to be sure."

"Well, I know you're trying to save the world, but Miranda and Shelby have a concert in half an hour, and we need to get our asses in gear."

"Oh, yeah, right," he muttered absently. "Forgot." He suddenly snapped to. "Fuck, I'm starving. What're we doing about dinner?"

"I thought maybe we could take the girls for Italian at Bustamante's afterwards. It's only a 90-minute concert. You won't die."

He contemplated this. I knew he didn't want to get away from all this, but he had promised Miranda he'd come, and I expected him to keep his word to her. And I also knew that Bustamante's made eggplant parmigiana that he would come close to killing for.

"Okay, I'm outta here. But we can't stay out late."

"Like I'm really going to last very long, babe."

"I don't know. You did a nice rebound the other night," he winked at me.

"Don't you ever think about anything else?" I chided him.

"Well, sure. Just nothing as much fun." He was grinning positively lasciviously now. Maybe I could get him away for an interlude later...
 

The girls performed very nicely with their respective choir groups and small ensembles. The concert was a painless experience, which, if you're a parent attending a school function, is the best you can hope for.

The temperature continued to nose-dive; it had slipped below zero the two previous nights with a promise for more of the same tonight. The nylon on our parkas crackled in the cold as we walked out to the Neon.

"Are you ever going to let me drive my own car?" I asked Langly as he slid into the driver's side.

"Maybe," he teased.

"I don't care who's driving. I'm starved," Miranda announced.

"Did somebody say Bustamante's?" Shelby licked her lips. "Yesss!"

The Neon balked a bit at the cold, but kicked over on the second try. We sped off to Bustamante's, which was doing a surprisingly brisk business for a Thursday night. Then again, it was close to Christmas, and shopping facilities were nearby. We passed by a lot of people who looked like their heads and feet were aching as we were seated.

"Don't we get our own table?" Miranda whined. When we took the girls out, they frequently got their own table.

"It's crowded, and it's late, and I don't want to wait," I announced. "So sit down and figure out what you want." Not that we needed menus; we always ordered the same: Eggplant parmigiana for Langly, cheese ravioli with marinara for me, Chicken Marsala for Miranda, and baked mostaccioli with sausages for Shelby, four salads with vinegarette, garlic bread and keep it
coming, beer for the big kids, club soda for the smaller ones. Bustamante's didn't have a license for hard liquor, and the beer was either Bud or Miller, but at least they had MGD. It was my only complaint about the place.

It's located in the oldest, seediest part of Alexandria, and it doesn't look like much from the street. But come inside, and it's warm, dark, and has incredibly private tables. And the food. To die for.

"So Mom? When do we get tree decorations?" Miranda inquired as salads were placed in front of us.

"If certain people would ever let me drive my own car-" I glared at Langly-"I might be able to get to Target."

"What about tomorrow? We only have a minimum day," Shelby suggested.

"Sorry. Byers is leaving tomorrow. Have to take him to the airport," Langly announced as he drank up his MGD.

"So take his car," I suggested.

"I did that once this week. No, thank you," he answered back.

"What time?"

"5:30."

"So I could do it during the day."

"Some of us do have to go to work tomorrow," Langly pointed out.

"So take the Metro."

"I'll never get back in time to take Byers."

"Langly, I'm beginning to think you're afraid to let me go out driving." I was kidding.

He set down his beer for a moment, and he didn't smile. Uh-oh. Think you hit a nerve, Allison.

"Later," he said softly.

Food was served, and as always, it was a delicious antidote to a very cold night, and a worthy celebration for the girls, who had performed well. We didn't linger like we usually did, and when dessert was finished, we threw some bills on the table and left.
 

The girls were wired; we left them to do the post-mortem on the performance and I slipped out to the offices with Langly. Byers was still there, chugging away; Michael was not.

"Where'd he go?" Langly asked.

"I left him with Frohike," Byers explained.

"Is he coming back tonight?" I inquired. Lately, Michael had been sleeping over at the hospital. In spite of his complaints that his father snored, he had not been deterred.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Byers's tone was a bit sharp.

"Is he getting on your nerves?" I asked him.

Byers looked up. "You could say that."

"Why? What's he been up to?"

Byers colored the shade of a ruby. "Welll..."

"Don't tell me," Langly held up one hand. "He spied on your love letters to Juliet."

This really made Byers color up. "He broke into my files and did just that."

"Little shit," I muttered.

Langly had a slightly different POV on the whole thing. "Byers, why didn't you encrypt 'em?"

"I did, but it wasn't a very complicated algorithm, and he cracked it."

"Well, also, you made it a bit obvious by naming the directory 'Romeo,'" Langly pointed out.

"How did you know that?" Now Byers looked incensed. It was the most pissed off I'd ever seen him look at Langly.

"Ally told me," he said simply. Great. Shift it to me.

"I don't recall giving you that information." I cringed a bit. He sounded pretty cold.

"You didn't. It was a guess," I said lamely.

"I hope you didn't share this with Michael." The tone stayed cold.

"Look, I never discuss anything like this with Michael. Most of the time, his conversation with me consists of can he borrow my car and what kind of beer do we have. I think Langly and I were...speculating on your private life. Couples do that. We can't help it." I felt myself coloring up big time.

He chewed on that for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I'm feeling...a bit stressed right now." John Byers, stressed? The fucking world was coming to an end, I thought.

He continued, "Please accept my apologies...I'm afraid it's been a very long week-"

"Forget it," Langly waved him off. "No harm, no foul."

"Don't worry about it, John," I said softly. "How long are you at Kat's for?"

"Until the 26th. Then I'll fly back here and I'll meet up with Juliet on the 27th." He pinked up only slightly this time, and he smiled.

"I'm sorry you don't get to take the vacation you two had planned," I said.

He smiled. "Maybe it's better...if we see each other while real life is happening." He looked down for a moment, then give us the barest hint of a smile. "It seems to work for you two."

"Actually, it's the sex that keeps us together," Langly stated absently, and I mock-punched him. "That, and her cooking." He was asking for it.

Byers got up and snapped off his workstation. "I know it's early, but-"

"John," I laughed. "When was the last time you slept?"

He contemplated that for a moment. "I honestly don't remember."

Langly continued to type as he spoke. "Then get the fuck outta here and get some sleep already, okay?"

"G'night," he said quietly, letting the door lock behind him. I rehooked the deadbolts.

"You know things are tough when John looks as though he's had it," I commented.

"Yeah," Langly said. "Hold on, I wanna read this." He'd been checking his various and sundry e-mail accounts; the document he'd arrived at was one that had piqued his interest. It looked as though it were written in dingbats; I couldn't make sense of it, but within five minutes, he'd decoded the entire message into readable text.

"This looks nasty," he commented.

"What is it?"

"Someone is saying something about a rape charge against the President."

"What the-"

"I'm betting it's bogus. No police documentation. But my bud here says that be ready for the shakeup tomorrow."

"What shakeup?"

"Looks like the Big Guy's gonna step down."

"No way. He's been saying all along that he's going to finish his term.

"I don't think he's gonna have a choice, if this is correct. And the source is pretty bona fide."

"He hasn't stepped down in light of the accusations that all these people who were close to him died while he was in office."

"That's because he had nothing to do with those deaths. Okay, I won't say nothing. But there're people out taking care of business, so to speak."

"This rape charge-what's the deal?"

"Page claims he forced himself on her sexually. God, if he was doing it the way some pundits claim, he's gotta be getting it at least three times a day."

"Don't get jealous now," I warned. "Seriously, how much of this is all true?"

"Some of it. That's the hard part." He got up. "I gotta call Frohike."

"Langly, it's after 10. He's probably asleep."

"So? He'll wanna hear about this." He went for the phone, the one that had been secured from tapping. What technology was involved was not something I understood, and I was probably better off not knowing.

He did wake Frohike up, but apparently he got him engaged with his latest theory, and they ended up conversing for a time. When it looked as if Langly was ready to hang up, I motioned to him to hand me the phone.

"Frohike, I miss you," I said, and I meant it.

"How are you, my dear?" He sounded tired still, but not as bone-shatteringly weary as he had earlier in the week.

"I'm okay. Miranda and Shelby performed tonight. They did well."

"Tell them I'm sorry I missed them. I most certainly would have preferred to see their concert as opposed to being here."

"I'm sure," I giggled. "You feeling all right?"

"Better," he said. "With any luck, I'll be home for Christmas."

"You don't celebrate Christmas."

"I don't. But I'd like to be home, and the sooner, the better."

"How's Michael behaving?"

"Michael, how are you behaving? Allison wants to know."

"Hey, I'm behaving!" I could hear a distant protest from across the room.

"Michael," Frohike was still addressing his son, "I hate ER. Turn it back to 48 Hours."

"The new doc is hot!" I heard him complain.

"Change the channel, or go out and sleep in the lounge," Frohike ordered him. He turned his attention back to me. "He's all right. I'm glad he's been busy, though. I don't think what remnants I retain of my sanity would remain if he were around all the time." He said it loudly enough that I was certain Michael had heard it.

"Ditto!" I heard shouted.

"Michael, keep it down, some people sleep on this floor," Frohike admonished him. "I really should go, my dear. I hope you're feeling better."

"I am. I'm not as tired."

"How about your arm?"

"Still hurts, but it's not as bad. I mostly miss being able to do anything."

"There'll be time enough to do that, my dear. Now rest up and I hope to see you soon."

"I'll try to get there tomorrow. Provided, of course, I can use my new car!" I addressed Langly pointedly. He ignored me.

"And take good care of the Blonde Boy, will you? I know you're a bit laid up, but you'll still give him what he needs."

"I'm not even going to go there," I giggled. "G'night, Frohike. I love you."

"You, too, my dear." He cut off the connection, and I set the phone back in its cradle.

I hugged myself against the cold. The thermostat in the room read 59 degrees-not a temperature designed for a west coast girl like me. No wonder I was shivering.

"You can't be cold! You don't even have your jacket off!" Langly had still not looked up from the computer.

"And it's not coming off," I informed him.

"Too bad. I'm enjoying the braless thing," he commented, continuing to type.

"You're getting as bad as Frohike."

"Only with you." I shook my head. This guy, regardless of how awkward he could be, had a way.

"And you've been a bad boy in a few other ways, too, dude. One of which could get us in a bunch of trouble." My tone had sharpened.

He stopped typing. "What're you talking about?"

"Shelby. I got a notice from school the other day, when Joanna was here. She's failing algebra."

"So? She should've said something. I'd have helped her."

"You're not listening, are you?"

"Yes, I am." He'd resumed typing.

"No, you're not, because you'd have heard that I got a notice about Shelby."

"You might as well. You're more like her mom than her mom."

I stepped over to him and spun his ergonomic chair around, forcing him to look at me.

"And you did that with one hand. Wow."

"This isn't funny, Langly," I said harshly. "You hacked into the school's database and changed her address, didn't you?"

"So? She asked me to."

"Langly! You can't do that!"

"I did. It was easy."

"You are so dense!" I screamed.

"Ally, don't screech. You don't have the right voice for it."

"Langly, what kind of trouble are you trying to get us in?"

"She said since she almost lives here, she might as well get her stuff here."

I shook my head in amazement. "You bought that from her? You, Ringo Patrick Langly, paranoid extraordinaire? I don't believe this!" I was screeching now.

"Kid's having problems. She likes it here."

"You don't get it, do you? You've made it look like we have legal responsibility for her. And that's gonna cause us a world of pain!"

He looked at me, utterly baffled. "She's not being held here against her will. She can come and go as she pleases. We don't stop her."

"She's a minor, Langly. You do realize that, don't you?"

"Meaning she hasn't got the right to decide where she's going to live?"

"Legally, no, she doesn't."

"Maybe not. But it sounds like from what the kiddies told me, things are getting pretty hot and heavy at her house."

"I understand. And intend to keep our home open to her at any time. But I worry about this sort of stuff, babe. What happens if her parents raise a fuss about it? We are going to be fucked royal."

He gave me a hard stare. "Okay, Ally, now it's my turn. I was walking in the door few weeks back, I had to use the facilities, and it's easier to use the ones downstairs-"

"So long as you don't mind the possibility of becoming a quadriplegic."

"Yeah, well, they sorta cleared a path. Anyway, I forgot to knock, and the girls started screeching when I walked in, 'cause Shelby was sorta indecent."

"Define, 'sort of indecent.'"

"Well, she had her shirt off."

"Okay."

"You wouldn't believe what her back looked like, Ally. It was nasty. I'm surprised the kid's spine didn't split in two."

I soaked that up for a few moments. "I've seen her at the pool, Langly. She was okay then, just the usual bruises and scrapes that kids have."

"Well, she wasn't then. And I didn't say anything about it at the time. But later on I wormed it out of 'Randa that she'd gotten her ass kicked by her old man for bombing out in her history class. Apparently she was missing some homeworks, teacher leaves a message at home, the dad goes ballistic. Kid gets the crap beat out of her. They don't do it all that much, Miranda says, but they're always putting her down, making her feel like shit. 'Randa didn't want to tell me, by the way. Shelby made her promise, and now 'Randa's sweating because she told."

"How the hell did you get Miranda to say something?"

"I told her...some stuff about me. Just to illustrate the point, of course."

"I see."

"So Shelby tells Miranda, I gotta not let my parents see my stuff, they'll kill me. 'Randa says she should come talk to me. So I changed it for her."

I felt pretty cold. Miranda was apparently more aware of the nature of their work than I had suspected. She and I never talked about the potential illegalities of some of the things they engaged in. Maybe we should. And maybe I should inform her that confidence can sometimes be deadly.

"So what do we do? Do we call Child & Family Services?"

"Like you'd ever get any help there."

"I think we'd be on firmer ground if we did, at least legally."

"I think we'd have a fucking wolf by the ear."

"I don't know what to do. I think we should at least inform the school."

"You could. Put it on them. They have an obligation, don't they?"

"They do, at least I know they do in California. I don't know how Virginia state law reads."

"I can download the text for you. Have fun reading it."

"I probably should. But then, I might not interpret it correctly. I'm not a lawyer."

"Thank God."

"This is a real can of worms, babe. I'm scared."

He softened a bit. "Hey, do the right thing and don't sweat it."

"I wouldn't sweat it if I knew what the right thing was."

"That's the trick, isn't it?"
 

December 20, 1999

I wasn't supposed to remove my sling until I'd been back to see the orthopedic surgeon who'd set my arm, but I'd had it with the damn thing. I decided it was coming off.

"You'll be sorry," Langly caroled at me.

"I'm sorry now," I snapped. It was 6:30, I hadn't slept well, and I was having a difficult time getting the girls up and running. "At least I can take the stitches out today."

"You're gonna do it yourself?"

"Always have."

"Want me to do it?"

"If this is your idea of an erotic experience, be my guest."

"Want me to do it now?"

"Please. They itch."

He went to retrieve the manicure scissors - we're both unrepentant nail-biters, so why we have a pair, I'll never know - and cleaned them off with some rubbing alcohol. He began to snip away at the threads in my head.

"Oops!" he said loudly.

I nearly jumped up and slugged him. He began to laugh.

"Gotcha."

"Langly, do that again and your manhood will be but a pleasant memory."

"Ah, you'd be lonely without it."

"Not half as lonely as you would."

"Maybe, maybe not. There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I don't know. I had an anarchist with a warped sense of humor doing it for me. It was unique." I ran my right hand through my hair. "God, now at least I can have my hair washed. Can you do it?"

"Don't have time. I have to leave early today because I gotta get Byers to National."

"Langly, I haven't washed my hair in five days! My scalp is crawling!" I was really irritated.

"Look, I really gotta go, okay? I'll do it when I get back tonight, I promise. Just put a scarf over it or something, okay?"

"You are not helpful," I said acidly.

"Yeah, but you love me anyway," he winked as he grabbed a commuter mug and kissed me goodbye.
 

The girls had stayed up very late, and they were disagreeable and out of sorts, and barely made the school bus. I was relieved when they finally got out the door. I hoped they would be in a better frame of mind by the time they got back.

I suddenly realized that for the first time in months, there was absolutely no one in the house or out in the offices. It was weird. I started giggling and ran through the house, screaming with delight. I hadn't realized how privacy-starved I'd been, and the concept that there was no one around was odd, but not unwelcome. Maybe this is what Joanna means by I don't know when I've had enough, I thought.

Time to experiment. There was no way I was going to be able to stand not doing things for the next month or so. I can do the princess thing as well as the next woman, but I can only deal with feeling worthless for so long. I'd passed that point already.

I'd been able to get dressed with the exception of hooking my bra. A request to Langly to perform said task resulted in him laughing at me and refusing. He was enjoying this far too much. I couldn't lace my Doc Martens, but with some effort I could buckle my Mary Janes. And I wasn't freezing anymore, because Langly had unearthed an old UVA sweatshirt of his, and it snapped up the front, meaning I didn't need him to zip it up. It was faded but incredibly soft and comfy, and it had his smell on it, even after all these years. He didn't know it, but I was not about to give it up, even after the cast came off.

Tasks involving water were out, but I could put the dishes away, dust, vacuum, and straighten up the bathroom. I could even make the bed-badly, but still better than Langly could do it (assuming he remembered, and he generally didn't). I could pick up the vast collection of glasses that accumulated all over the house, straighten up the video tapes and the CD's, stack up the newspapers. Everything took longer, but it was doable. The control freak in me was somewhat satisfied.

The one thing that wasn't doable was washing my hair. Even without the sling, I had limited movement in the arm, and I couldn't get the cast wet. My scalp felt disgusting, and I didn't want to wait until Langly got back from depositing Byers at the airport. And the way things were working up in the world, he'd probably race out to the offices as soon as he got back,
anyway.

There's a Supercuts in our neighborhood, about five blocks from the house. It was freezing cold outside-12 degrees according to the thermometer in the backyard-but it was clear and sunny. I could deal with being out of the house. And while I'd never let Supercuts take a scissors to my hair, I figured that the amount of damage they could inflict with shampoo and water was limited.

Not to mention that clean hair just might improve my overall outlook on things.
 

Our neighborhood is one of the older ones in Alexandria, and it's near the edge of town, so it's fairly wooded. One side of the street is uninhabited. Our house is right past a bend in the road, and you walk downhill to approach it. You don't see much until you're smack in front of the house.

I reached into the mailbox to see if anything had been delivered. Just the usual junk mail and a bill from Bell Atlantic.

"Young lady." I felt my nervous system gear up as though a thousand tiny needles had been suddenly jammed into it. That voice. That soft, lyrical, creepy voice...

"Why do you bother me?" I heard my voice shaking. "Please, get out of here." I fumbled for my keys; of course, when I desperately need to find them, my purse requires a major excavation.

"Why are you so frightened of me?"

"Just because you sneak up on me in places where you shouldn't be? Now please, get off my property, or I'm calling 911." And I wasn't kidding.

"You don't have any reason to fear me," he said softly, lighting a fresh cigarette of the God-awful brand he smoked. For some reason, I thought of one of my college friends, who smoked Tareytons. He said he smoked them because nobody ever bummed a Tareyton. This guy probably didn't exactly have people lining up to bum from him, either. "And I'm not standing on
your property; I'm on the street, which I believe is public property and which I am entitled to use."

"Why shouldn't I be afraid of you?" I spat at him.

"Now, why would I want to bring harm to the beloved only daughter of a dear friend?" He was smoking lazily, as though he had all the time in the world. "Daddy's little princess...he worshipped you."

"Then obviously you didn't know my dad at all, because nothing I ever did came up to standard with him," I told him bitterly.

"I more suspect it's you who didn't know your father," he drolled on. "You'd realize how very much he cared for you."

"I know he cared for me. He did everything in the world for me. I just kept disappointing him."

"Not true. He was always pleased at the way you turned out. Much more so than that first brother of yours, who grew into perhaps the most pretentious, unfeeling human ever born." As if this nicotine-shrouded bastard had room to talk. Hearing him talk of my family members was unnerving me. "I'm not certain he even merits the distinction of human, come to think of it."

"If you know so much about my family, tell me my brothers' names," I challenged.

"My, I figured you'd go for something difficult. At least one in the $500 category." So the bastard watched Jeopardy. I hoped it was the only thing we had in common. "Your brothers are Daniel Leonard, born February 27, 1957; Robert Nathan, born October 13, 1961, and Jason Richard, born July 29, 1972." Dead on. I cringed.

"Okay, when were my parents born?"

"Morris was born in Salzburg, Austria on June 13, 1930, and your mother, Eleanor Rabinowitz, was born on June 15, 1931, in San Leandro, California. They always celebrated together. An amusing couple, if a bit exhausting at times." A fair enough, if extremely general, description. "Would you like me to go into your grandparents' history as well? We do go way back, you
know."

"Thank you, I'll pass for now," I said shortly. "I want to know what you're doing here, and why you won't leave me the fuck alone!" I nearly shouted the last words.

"Your young man is right. You shouldn't shout. It really doesn't become you." I paled.

"You'd better leave him out of it, if you know what's good for you." The smoking bastard chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "Little Allison. So sweet. So gentle. But a lioness underneath, always protecting the cubs. You've certainly had a lifetime of practice, haven't you?"

"Fuck off. I'm going inside." I'd had enough of this conversation.

"You really should watch your language. It doesn't become a woman of your...standing." He let his eyes sweep over the property. "I wonder what Morris thinks of your slumming these days."

"He didn't like it the first time around, so I suspect wherever he is, he's not much happier." I had gotten my keys out and opened the gate. To my surprise, the man made no move to come inside, which I was certain he would attempt to do.

"You know, I came to bring you a Christmas present."

"I don't celebrate Christmas."

"Of course you don't. But perhaps you should expect a present, nonetheless." And he was gone; the only thing remaining was the stench from his cigarettes.
 

I couldn't stop shaking. I made myself a cup of the chamomile tea that Byers kept around, hoping it would calm my nerves, and awkwardly lit a cigarette. I was smoking less, but only because lighting up took a coordination I didn't yet have with the cast. When the phone rang, I was almost ready to join Frohike.

I tried to keep my voice level. "H'lo?"

"Allison, it's your mother."

"Hello, how are you?"

"Fine. I was away during Hanukkah, so I thought I'd call and wish you a happy belated one."

"Thank you. And thank you for...helping us with our wedding."

"Well, I'm not one to miss a good party, am I? Particularly when I'm throwing it." I rankled a bit, but held back on my mouth. This was not the time to antagonize her, not when she was in the mood to write large checks. Actually, even when she wasn't in the mood to write large checks, it wasn't wise to antagonize my mother.

"Did you get my package?" I asked her.

"Yes, and it was lovely."

"I'm glad you liked it. Miranda helped me choose."

"She has such good taste. I don't know where she got it from. Maybe her grandmother." My mother chuckled at her own comment. Actually, my mother, unlike many nouveau riche, did manage to develop taste. She still has no class, but taste, she's got. I can't fault her visual sensibilities, even if after you pump a few drinks in her, she still sounds like a working-class kid from the wrong side of the Bay, which, by the way, she is, when all is said and done.

"Since I was so busy, I didn't get a chance to shop. You wouldn't be upset if I sent you a check for Hanukkah now, would you?"

"Mother, you don't have to...the way Miranda has this mapped out, this wedding is going to cost a fortune."

"Allison. You forget. I have a fortune." Not compared to some of the other mavens from Silicon Valley, she doesn't, but for a girl who comes from her neighborhood, it is a fucking fortune. Come to think of it, it looked like one to me, too.

She continued, "And I'm not giving another dime to those brothers of yours."

"Did you say brothers plural?"

"Dan and Rob, they both think that they get in a little trouble, old Mom'll bail them out."

"Rob doesn't do it that much."

"More than he should. And him an accountant!"

"Maybe he and Laurie overshot their mark on the house."

"I told them not to buy it, but do they listen to me? I'm only an experienced real estate broker, what should I know from?"

"Tell them if they can't afford it, maybe they should sell it."

"Market's dead right now. People are getting laid off right and left in the Valley. Otherwise, I'd tell them to get their asses out and live within their means. But he's nothing compared to Dan and Cheryl. I'm ready to kill those two."

"This is not new, Mother. You've been ready to kill them for years."

"And they're getting worse. Can you believe, Cheryl is all upset because Dan told her she couldn't trade up her car this year?" I could. I've spoken to Cheryl when I couldn't get out of it.

"What the hell can she trade up to? She's already got a Mercedes SUV, which, by the way, I consider to be a contradiction in terms." That made my mother laugh. It's always good to make my mother laugh. Maybe that's why she puts up with Langly, who has no problem ripping her a new asshole when she's in a bad mood, but when she's agreeable, he always gets her going on the phone.

"Allison, they trade up every year! Don't you know how important it is for a doctor's wife to have the right status symbols?" She was dripping sarcasm now. I laughed.

"You still driving your Lexus?"

"It's a great car. I'm not going to give it up until I'm good and ready." She'd had it for five years; my mother's extravagance does not extend to transport modes. "And you still have your Sentra?"

"Actually...it got totalled a few days ago."

"Was Miranda in the car?"

"Thank God, no. About the only thing that happened was that I broke my arm."

"How're you going to do your work?"

"I'll be a few weeks late getting back."

"I guess you're going to need that check."

"We'll be fine, Mother, really."

"Did you replace your car?"

"Yup. A '98 Plymouth Neon. Black. It's cute. Of course, I haven't driven it yet, so I couldn't tell you much about it."

"Did you finance it or pay cash?"

"Paid cash."

"Good. These days the payments outlast the car. I'll send you some money, Allison. I know you'll at least be grateful."

"I always am. Langly, too."

"He's a sassy one, isn't he?"

I laughed. "He's a brat sometimes."

"At least he has a sense of humor, even if he's not the most respectful." This was as close to a compliment as he was ever going to get from her. I'd have to tell him. "I mean, I'd prefer that he was Jewish, but at your age, you can't be too picky."

"MOTHER!" She didn't know he was eight years younger, either.

"Allison. You're not young. Count yourself lucky."

"I do. Tell me, Mother, if the opportunity had arisen, would you have...married again?"

She paused. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm used to not answering to anyone these days, but lonely, it gets." She sighed. "After Morris...I don't know. He was...unique." We both laughed; it was the least you could say about my father.

"Mother, there is something you could do for me."

"What's that? Short-term loan?"

"No, nothing like that." I had to phrase this in a way that wouldn't make her suspicious. "I was wondering...I don't have a lot of family pictures. Would you be willing to share some with me? I'd give them back, of course. You know, pictures from Daddy's company and parties with friends, stuff like that."

"I can send them to you. And keep them. It's not like I'm going to live forever, you know. Much as I'd like to. No, Miranda should see."

Maybe she shouldn't, I thought, but didn't say it. "I'd really appreciate it. I'll pay postage if you need me to."

"Allison, you're so ridiculous sometimes. And find something to do while your arm is still in the cast. You'll get crazy if you don't." Her way of telling me she hoped I'd feel better. I think.

Mother, I thought, you don't know the half of it.
 

END OF PART 43