"So I went down to the sea bench and the ship,
where I found all my other men on board,
weeping, in despair along the benches."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 10, Lines 453-455. Used without permission.
 

FROHIKE:

This is not a place I have ever brought anyone to. My son has joined me-once. Jo has occasionally accompanied me, but not once have I ever invited a soul to go with me.

Yet with her, I'm perfectly comfortable in doing so. As to why, I'm not certain. Perhaps it's her military upbringing-she must know some of the names that take their uneasy rest on this slab. Or the fact that she seems to value silence, and know its place. She makes no inquiries while we are here. No comments. Our display of affection is limited to tender hand-holding, and to me, this act speaks volumes as we sit on the Mall on this wonderful fall day.

It's a weekday, so the visitors are limited, and it's late enough that nearly all of the schoolchildren have left. There have been some flowers left behind, as there always is. They will probably die in the cold tonight, but right now, in the late afternoon sun, they are alive and blazing.

We don't speak for a very long time after we depart as well. I place my arm over her back, and she drapes hers about my waist, and we stop for a long, sweet kiss.

It may be her birthday, but I've not enjoyed a day so much in ages.
 

I've told her that tonight is a dress up night. She looks slightly confused when I first reveal this to her-being a nurse and living in scrubs, clothes are not much of a priority with her. I'm not sure if she previously owned this outfit or had to go and purchase it, but she looks positively lovely in black silk pants, a black silk camisole, and a long, sheer black shirt with burnt velvet for the design. She does not wear much jewelry-a simple gold chain, gold hoop earrings, and while working, her nurses' watch, which she has removed for this evening. She's curled her hair somewhat, and put on cosmetics. She doesn't need them, and they're not practical in her work, but she did somewhat enhance her already lovely appearance with a touch of
lipstick and eye shadow. She looks taller-I soon find out that this is because she has put on a pair of black high heels. I've only seen her in low shoes.

She takes my breath away.

"Well? Is it all right?" She asks, a bit hesitantly.

All right? Who is she kidding?

She looks devastatingly beautiful.

I've got to get her to dress up more often.

And in fact, I'll get my chance this weekend-rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, and the wedding on Saturday.

So who's getting the presents here?
 

French food is an indulgence for me, in every way. Fat, calories and price.

And she is worth it all. Just to watch how she looks over candlelight, how she attacks a raw oyster, sipping wine that is a beautiful deep red in the firelight to match her lips...

How have I lived so long without this?

"You know that oysters are aphrodisiacs," she says, smiling.

And spears her fifth one.

The little minx.
 

I skip dessert-I'm positively full, and anything for dessert here will no doubt speed me on to mortality much faster than what I've already consumed will. But Martha orders a chocolate raspberry truffle cake, and just the smell knocks me out. Byers would kill for this.

She lifts up a forkful of cake, but instead of swallowing it, she feeds it to me.

So good.

She takes her time eating the cake-she would have to, in view of the size of the dinner we have had.

"I don't know how you do it," I marvel at her.

"Mel, there's always room for dessert."

Yes, I imagine there is.
 

Twice in one day is a lot at my age...it's wonderfully reassuring to know that it's still in the realm of the possible.

Bloated from dinner, mildly drunk on wine, and bathed in relaxation and happiness, we take a very, very long time.

And that's just on the sofa.

There are a lot of things you can do when the children are not home.
 

ALLY:

Michael and I are here in this smoky bar where my brother's band is performing. It's a huge place-they've built a good following, and it's crowded as hell. We've said that at any time one of us has to stay at one of the few tables available so that it does not get stolen. I'm way older than most of the crowd here-as in, I could easily be their mother-and I'm too old to stand up all night. Langly wanted to go. He expressed this as he was coughing his lungs out. As if.

He doesn't know why I really came. I don't come out to every one of my brother's gigs when he's in the area; I know their basic repertoire, and I prefer to see him offstage. But this is the only night the band is playing in this area; tomorrow morning they're off to Atlanta.

They're not scheduled to even start playing until 10. I can feel my eyelids drooping, and Michael, although 21 years my junior, is not doing a hell of a lot better.

"What time do you have class?" I shout to him over the sound system.

"Eight." He grimaces. "Christ, I'm beat."

It's about 9:30, and I would really like to get this over with. I try to head backstage, and I'm stopped by the bouncer.

"My brother is the guitar player," I try to explain.

"Sure he is. And my mother is Gunga Din."

I could believe that.

"Go ask him," I say to him. "I need to speak to Jason Rausch. Now."

"Lady, what're you doing here, robbing the cradle? Your husband know what you're doing?"

"Listen, I just want to talk to my brother, get him now, please."

"What's your name?"

"Allison Rausch Langly."

"How convenient."

"He's expecting me."

"Sure he is."

Fuck this bastard. I storm past him, and he's like, wait a minute, you can't go there-

Fuck him.

I knock on the door, ask if Jason's around. Elisio, the bass player, recognizes me, just as the bouncer is about to grab me by the collar and toss me out.

"Hey, she's cool, it's all right," he says to the bouncer, who looks unhappy that he didn't get to toss someone out on their ass.

Jason's there. "Hey, little big sister, how's it going?"

"Okay."

This whole thing is making me nervous.

Jason hands me a gift bag, bright blue on the outside, filled with gold foil on the inside. This is buried treasure.

"Ally, I gotta tell ya, this is really not cool," he whispers to me. "We've been trying to be real careful about this. Not doing so much of it anymore. It's getting hard to get, ya know."

"I appreciate it."

"If this wasn't for your friend, and your friend wasn't sick, believe me, I wouldn't have done it. It's getting way too risky."

"Well, hopefully, this will be enough to see her through chemo."

"It's gonna have to be. You got to not ask me to do this again, little big sister."

"Understood."

I slip him 10-100 dollar bills to cover the transaction. 4 ounces, $960. I'm sure as hell not going to ask him for change. He says he'll give it to me. I said forget it.

He then leans over and whispers to me again, "But I saved a little something extra for you, already prepared. Check it when you get home."

Not a chance. Michael is going to take this, and I'm going to pretend I had nothing to do with it.

But maybe Michael would share...
 

"C'mon, we're outta here," I tell Michael.

"Thought we were gonna watch your brother play."

"I already saw him play. I feel conspicuous. Let's go."

We step out of the noise and smoke and dimness into the frigid night air. October should not be this cold-and in Los Angeles, it's not.

Sometimes I still miss LA. I think this is one of those times.

We came separately. Michael is going to make the delivery to Jo.

"Happy Birthday. See you tomorrow." I hand him the bag.

"No you won't."

"When do we get to see you?"

"Tonight. Staying with Kelly."

"Does Papa know about this?" I really don't care to get in the middle of Frohike and his son. It's not pretty.

"Are you kidding? He kicked me out for the night. It's Martha's birthday."

Well, well, well.

Somebody might be growing up after all.

The question is, who?
 

MICHAEL:

Lucky for me, the beast starts up-hey, it's a Ford and it's getting cold out here. At least it's not wet. Throw in a little water, and it's the death knell for the little 'Stang.

I got to get a better car.

It's easy. All you need is cash.

Which I don't have. Anything beyond getting by is getting put towards something special for Kelly.

Yep, it's a ring.

Found one. It's perfect. Langly told me where the jewelry shop was where he got his and Ally's rings. I think he found the place by accident; it was buried away in one of those little places in DC, real old neighborhood, and you really have to look. I must've walked the block about 15 times before I found it.

Worth the trouble, though. Dude is this real old Jewish guy, he's like ancient, probably remembers Moses Langly says. I tell him who sent me, and this guy, he might be totally old, but he remembers everybody. He remembers Langly, and the rings he bought, and a couple other pieces of jewelry he got for Ally. Christ, he even remembers their sizes. And he didn't cheat. He
didn't look in anything, and he hasn't got a computer in sight, which is really bizarre in this day and age. Just for fun, I ask him what Ally's birthday is, and damned if the guy didn't know it.

I really hadn't planned to get into it with this guy, but he's like so fascinating, he's from Russia, he lost most of his people in the Holocaust, and he like has opinions on everything, but man, to listen to him, he could convince you of anything. He doesn't just remember people's jewelry preferences. He can tell you about the faces of the soldiers, in horrifying detail, that took his family away when he was not a lot older than me. And he's just so cool. Stuff I hear from him, I would be so pissed off the rest of my life, I'm not even sure I could go on.

He shrugs when I say that. "Ach, while you breathe, you hope."

He came to the US and got married again, had a daughter, and said life got better.

So he asks me all about what I need to buy, and I tell him about Kelly, and he's like, he wants to know everything. He listens to me rattle on about both of us for about half an hour, and then, after I tell him as much as there is to tell, he goes into a case and he pulls out this perfect little ring. It's the only one he showed me, and it was amazing-it was like I knew it was the right one.

It's not real big. It's gold, the band is plain, but it's got a small, pretty diamond in it, and on each side of the diamond, a garnet.

"You said the young lady was in January. This is the stone for January."

And he's cool. He gives credit. It's a hundred bucks a month till it's paid off, which I have to do by Christmas. This ring is way prettier and costs about half as much as the ones in the mall.

Total damage to my checking account: $495, plus tax.

He may only need a hundred a month, but I got to get this paid for before Christmas so I can give it to her.

Except I think it's gonna have to be more like a Christmas-birthday-Valentine's Day gift. Rich is not my middle name.

So I'm really gonna have to be careful the next couple months. I have a hard time just keeping my car alive on what I make, this is gonna be a challenge. Maybe I can do some extra contributions at TMB...

Yeah, right. In my massive free time.

It's gonna be worth it to see the look on Kelly's face when I give it to her. I can't wait.

Heading out on the highway towards Fairfax, I find myself getting sort of paranoid. I only had one beer, so I shouldn't be driving too whacked, but it's the little gift in the birthday bag on the passenger seat that makes me a bit uneasy.

I'll feel better once I drop it off. Especially if Jo is feeling like sharing.

Jo's condo's hard to find in the daytime. Try it at night. She likes it out here. She's got deer and muskrat and squirrels (rats with executive hair, if you ask me) and all kinds of birds nearby, and I got to admit, that's cool. But she's also got no streetlights. And it's fucking dark up here.

I keep thinking, don't die on me now, little Stang. It's not like I have a cell phone, either. I'm on the economy plan; that is, your car breaks down, you walk.

I've done it enough times I don't get lost.

I'm so paranoid I keep seeing if somebody is following me, which is really dopey-I mean, Ally did a little dope deal with her brother, and I'm getting paranoid?

Christ.

Then again, there is the little matter of I have two busts to my name. And third one, they put you away forever. Actually, I think you don't even have to have three these days for them to nail your ass to the wall.

And I keep having this horrible thought, what if that creepy guy with the nasty cigarettes found me here...

Oh, get real, Frohike. He wouldn't come out here. Too hard to find, too much trouble, especially for a dweeb like you.

Except he's got a history of turning up in weird places...

Frohike, get over it already.
 

Jo's not asleep. Well, she says she wasn't. She tells me I didn't have to come out tonight.

Oh yes I did.

For one thing, Ally didn't want that much dope lying around the house. Never mind that Langly's a freak about checking for surveillance stuff; she still sweats it. She says she wouldn't worry about a couple joints, but four ounces...that's major felony shit, and we both know it.

I didn't want it in our house, either; my dad doesn't know I'm doing this, and he might think it's cool I wanted to help Jo, but he might not like the way I did it, and he might get mad at her too. Which would be very uncool. I don't really think he'd get mad at her, but he might think she put me up to it, which she didn't, and Dad can be real stubborn. He makes up his mind, don't confuse him with the facts.

I hand her the bag when we get inside and she locks the door. "For you."

"Michael, you didn't have to come out at this hour to give me a present."

"Open it up."

She looks real tired. Wednesday is chemo day, and that's the worst, so today she might not have barfed as much, but she seems real worn out.

She gives me a weird look. "Michael, is this what I think this is?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well...I don't know what to say...does your father know about this?"

"No. Please don't say anything to him." More than the law, I fear the wrath of Dad.

She shakes her head real slow. "Michael, you shouldn't have done this, you know. You weren't followed, were you?"

"No. Ally did a lot of it. She's got...sources."

Jo holds up her hand. "Michael, I don't want to know where you got this, or from whom, or how you did it. I'm happier not knowing. But I will say that I deeply appreciate this..."

"Hey, it's cool. You said you felt better at Mulder's, so we figured we'd try and help you out."

She gives me a sad smile. "So far, it's the only thing that is helping." She looks at me. "Would you join me?"

Oh shit. No rolling papers. There are problems that come with not doing this much anymore.

"Um...you're gonna have to get something to roll it up in."

"Actually, someone was nice enough to leave us five rolled bombers in the bottom of the bag."

I knew Jason was a righteous dude.

Jo and me, we don't smoke, so next thing is like, find matches. Finally we locate this Scripto torch she uses to light the fire place with-it's about the only thing she's got besides the gas stove that gives a flame around here (and we were ready to try it). I do the honors, take a long hit, pass it to her.

She looks at me like we're in this conspiracy together. "Please don't tell your father about this."

We both laugh like a couple bad kids ditching school. Only thing is, I bet she was never a bad kid and ditched school. I made a lifestyle out of it.

You know, smoking with Jo, it's fun, but I kind of wish we weren't doing it for this. I mean I think it'd be cool to do it if it was just for fun, but then I probably couldn't get her to do it...all things equal, I think I'd rather not be getting high with Jo. Just because of what it means.

Every time I see her she's got less hair. Wonder if she's gonna get a wig like Joan did. I wonder if she's still got Joan's wig. Doubt it. I can't remember if they buried Joan in hers or not. We didn't get close enough. We got shoved back in the cheap seats.

God, why the fuck am I thinking about somebody's funeral right now? Jo's gonna get better. She has to.

I haven't asked her how she's doing. I think she'd tell me the truth. Problem is, I don't wanna know it. I wanna think she's gonna get all better, and then I wouldn't worry so much.

We talk about Kelly, and I tell her about the ring I found. She says it sounds really pretty and I have to show it to her when I get it.

"You're going to wait till you graduate, aren't you?" she asks me.

"Yeah, we are."

She gives me this look. She looks so sad.

"I'd really like to be there, Michael."

"Well, you gotta be."

"I hope so."

"No, you will be."

She doesn't say anything. But she looks sort of sad.

Maybe she should tell me...

No. Let me hope. Even if it's a lie, let me hope.
 

ALLY:

I'm expecting the house to be quiet when I get home. It's late, and even Langly has decided that if he doesn't sleep, he won't get better. Either that or he just gets too damn tired to keep going. Even the Energizer Bunny needs recharging once in a while.

I'm a bit surprised to see a somewhat unfamiliar car parked on the street in front of our house. Usually guests park in the driveway.

It's not one of the NSA goons. This isn't a standard issue dark Taurus. It's a Toyota Paseo, about six or seven years old, something I'd drive. Whose car is this, anyway?

What is my problem? Why have I become so damn suspicious lately? Once upon a time, I was a relaxed, easygoing person. I just went with the flow, and really didn't waste energy kicking back at the tide. Now I'm nervous all the time, scared of all but my circle of intimates. Every action feels like a conflict, and I'm the most conflict-averse person on the planet.

Might help if I knew what I was afraid of.

I let myself in the security gates, which automatically reset the code when it clicks shut. At first, the gates were an intrusion. I then became accustomed to them. Later on, they were a reassurance.

Now I'm insecure again, but only because they don't seem to keep the world out as much as I would like.

I wonder what piece of the world managed to worm its way past my husband.

I shouldn't be worried. Langly is at least as suspicious as I am. I think.

But maybe not as much as he should be when, after a moment of disorientation, I discover who our visitor is.

It's Langly's niece, Julie.

I'm sorry, I know she's family, but I've seen her family, and I'm impressed, but not the way I should be.

They're seated at the kitchen table, and I'm afraid I was insufficient at disguising my dismay over her appearance.

"Hey, try hello or something," Langly seems annoyed that I'm not particularly welcoming of his niece.

I have my reasons.

"Hello. What brings you here?"

Langly shoots me a 'play nice' look, but I want some answers. This girl is in my kitchen, and I don't want her here without a good explanation.

Julie sits there, looking completely different from the young woman I met when she first came out from the Northwest. Her hair has been cut in a pageboy, and her clothes-well, they can only be described as the sort of things you see church people on TV wear.

Julie looks down when I address her.

Good. I like being in charge. Sometimes. This is one of those times.

"Julie's been missing her dude," Langly explains.

"I see." I'm not convinced.

"I mean, he's missing, as in missing."

I look at him suspiciously and at her even more so. When did I stop being a nice lady?

"You remember Bryce, don't you?"

Now I remember...Bryce, as in Bryce Boyd. And he and Julie were...seeing each other...

I figured on her just using him to get at us.

Hell, maybe she still is.

Yes, she looks genuinely upset...but I still won't bend on her.

And I need a drink. I only had one at the bar. It wasn't enough, not for this kind of shit.

I pour myself a margarita on the rocks-not too strong, just powerful enough to get me through without telling this girl to get her ass out of my kitchen and out of our lives. Her family does enough damage.

I don't trust her.

I just hope Langly doesn't, either.

END OF PART 84