"She was already loosened like long hair,
poured out like fallen rain,
shared like a limitless supply."

~~Rainier Maria Rilke -- New Poems: Orpheus. Eurydice.  Hermes~~
______

THURSDAY, MAY 17, 2000
DENNY'S, HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
LATE EVENING

FROHIKE:

"I don't know about you, but I think I'm coffee'd out," Mel announces to me as she drains her cup.

"Amen to that." I won't sleep for days at this rate. On the other hand, there are things to do at night other than sleep; perhaps we'll get to some of those. I'd certainly enjoy it. Aside from the fact that I haven't been laid in ages, I'm also comfortable and at ease with Mel. She's one of the calmest people I've ever met. You don't meet many calm individuals in our line of work, or even sane ones, and if nothing else, she is the epitome of sanity -- an island of calm in my sea of madness.

We step to the register to pay the check. "Let me," she says, reaching for her wallet.

"Not a chance. Do you know how long it's been since I had the pleasure of a lady's company?" Or, at least, a lady who actually wanted to be in my presence. "Allow me a little old-fashioned courtesy."

"Why, thank you." She's gracious about it, unlike most women in Washington, who would willingly wrestle you to the ground to pay the check. It has nothing to do with hospitality and everything to do with having the upper hand. I think Mel is far more secure than that. As we depart, she loops her arm through mine. It feels delightful.

"Mel, there's a river -- well, actually, it's a creek -- that runs not too far from my house. It's very peaceful there. Do you feel like walking?"

That sounds... wonderful. "I'd love to. Lead on, MacDuff."

We drive a short distance past her house, warm lights emanating from the windows. "Well, I guess at least one of the kids is home," she chuckles as we drive past. "Turn here." She directs me down a small road -- and I do mean small, the Chrysler can barely fit -- and has me stop in a tiny clearing.

As I step from the car and around to let her out (I'm sorry, women may be liberated, but gentlemanly responsibility is not dead, and real women are not afraid to admit it), the fragrance of spring flowers and rich pine tease my nose. I can hear the running water behind me in the slightly chill night air. There aren't many trees, just enough to ensure some privacy and peace.

"It's very pretty back here," I tell her.

"I come here when I need a break," she winks at me. "At least when the weather's warm."

It's pleasant tonight. There's a delicate breeze that accentuates the scents around us. "What do you do in winter?" I ask her, half joking, mostly not.

"Suffer." She grins wickedly. Maybe it's the moonlight, but the years seem to fall from her face when she smiles. Something about that smile makes me shed some of my years, too. "My rock's over here. Have a seat."

We perch on a large, flat boulder, the only one in the area. She looks up at me, still smiling. The moon is rising; it's full and beautiful tonight.

"You are a romantic, aren't you?" I say gently, rubbing her shoulders. She reaches up with a hand and clasps mine, indicating no need to release.

"Guilty as charged," she says dreamily, dipping her toes into the water. She's kicked off the sandals she's been wearing on her feet. "At least in my dreams."

"Doesn't sound like you've had much romance in your life."

That brings out her warm laughter. "No kidding. But a girl can dream, can't she?"

"Sometimes more than dream." I take her face in my hands, very gently, studying the planes of her face, her shining eyes, the long braid draping down her back." I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Um... what do you look like with your hair down? You don't have to, of course..."

She smiles, releases herself from my grasp momentarily, and unwinds the elastic from the bottom of her braid. I watch as the triple weave of hair unwinds into one wavy, sweeping fall. Hello, pretty lady: it's having an... interesting effect on me.

"Beautiful." I mean it, too.

She laughs. "I'm 52 years old. I think beautiful is stretching it."

"No." I gently draw her up against me. She sits in front of me, her back pressed to my chest, and leans her head into my shoulder. I arrange my leather jacket so that it shelters both of us. "No lie."

Please, we deal in enough lies. Just for once, I'd like part of my life not to be riddled with them. We keep silent, listening to the stream roll by, watching the white moon rise high in the sky, occasionally swatting an early season mosquito. I lean over and kiss her, very softly, on top of her head. She murmurs in appreciation.

"This is heaven," I whisper to her.

"That it is. I'd stay here forever... except there's no indoor plumbing," she laughs.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Almost." She turns and faces me. She takes my chin in her hand, and moves slowly toward me. I close my eyes, almost not daring to believe that what's about to happen really is, but it's no dream this time. The kiss is soft and tender and warm, like the woman I've been cradling in my arms for what must have been hours. Reality never felt so good.

After a while, we head back to her house. I'm introduced to her son Mark, who is a nice looking but rather surly young man. He barely acknowledges me, heading off to the living room to watch something godawful on TV. I can hear the canned laugh track behind us as we sit in the kitchen. Mel is trying to straighten up the mess. While she does that, I ask her if she'd mind terribly if I did some work on her phone.

"It works fine. What did you have in mind?"

I think the moment of truth has arrived. "Well, you know what kind of life I lead. And by drawing you into it, I know that you'll need more security. I need to be sure you're as safe as possible."

She scoffs. "I've never felt as safe with anyone as I have with you, Mel."

Ironic. And dangerous. "It's not safe. I've tried to tell you that. I've told you about what's been happening to us, even just this year. You shouldn't take any chances with your safety."

"Listen, I've seen a lot in my time, and I know that. I'm not talking about a place in the world, Mel, I'm talking about a place in the heart." She eyes me dead on, dark eyes steady behind the wire-framed glasses. She says it in a very matter-of-fact way, as if it belongs in her world. As if the dangers that lurk in mine were, while not unacknowledged, taken as a fact to be dealt with, not a situation to be avoided. I almost weep when she says it.

She puts away dishes and wipes the counters as she talks. "I haven't been looking for anyone. I gave up on the idea of being involved with anyone a long time ago. I tried a few times, but between my work and my kids and all the other shit in my life... but you just seem to accept that I'm not perfect and my life's not, either. I think it's the least I could do for you."

I don't know what to say, but even if I did, I'd have been interrupted. A young woman who somewhat resembles Mel appears with a young man in tow, and there's nothing silent or subtle about their entrance.

"Mom, we gotta talk about the wedding..." the young lady half-shouts as she charges in. And a good evening to you, too.

"No, we do not. I have company." Her mother emphasizes the point by sitting back down at the table with me. "Mel, my daughter Lisa and her fiancé. This is Mel."

"But mom, it's only five weeks away!" And I thought Langly was self-centered. He's got nothing on this girl. "C'mon, we gotta get invitations..."

"Pick something you like within the budget I gave you and get them printed up," Mel's voice stays steady.

"But that's just it, you only gave us enough for the cheapo-cheapo invites! I mean, really, mom!"

"Then send email," her mother says, not rising to the bait. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a guest." Lisa may be dense in some ways, but she understands that she's been summarily dismissed, and hauls her fiancé, who has not spoken a single word, behind her. My sympathy goes out to the young man. Lisa's snarling and using words to refer to her mother that would have had mine washing out my mouth and swatting me on the behind, and age would not have been an issue.

She looks up at me. "You're staying at the Sleepytime, right?"

I nod. "I am."

She looks at me eagerly, gently. "Would you mind having some overnight company?" I was hoping she'd say that. Oh yeah.

The Sleepytime is hardly elegantly appointed, but it is clean. No HBO, but we can get American Movie Classics. We stop at the quickie mart nearby and grab some popcorn, which we pop in the store's microwave, and a six-pack of microbrew. I don't think Mel is much of a drinker from what she's indicated, but she thought a beer sounded good for our night's activities. To me, a beer almost always sounds good. Once in the room, we plant ourselves on the bed like a couple of kids at a slumber party and check out what's on. Tonight's flick is one I definitely enjoy, 'Some Like It Hot.'

"This is a classic," I tell her enthusiastically.

"I love this movie!" Mel is delighted it's on. " I'll confess that when Bill first bailed out, though, I couldn't watch it for a few years. You know, the gender bending thing and all."

"We don't have to," I assure her.

"No. It's a great film, and truly hilarious. And even I can see some humor in my own situation." She really is a unique woman if she has that sort of perspective. "I met Bill -- I know he calls himself or herself or whatever, Willow, but to me, he'll always be Bill -- after he got out of 'Nam. He was pretty messed up, and we used to spend hours watching these old movies."

"Your ex was in Vietnam?" My attention is temporarily diverted from the antics of Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis.

"He was. Came home in bad shape. Well, physically he was okay, but emotionally, he was a disaster. I keep wondering how much of his desire to change sex was connected to the experiences he had there."

"I suspect he knew long before then that he had some... gender-identity issues." The research on the subject generally supports that point of view. "Most people only do it because they can't find any other solution. I'm told it's not an easy decision."

"Do you think so?" She looks up at me, hopefully. "I don't know... for years, I blamed myself for not being a good enough wife, not being pretty enough, or caring enough..."

"Believe me, it didn't have anything to do with you. You're a tremendously caring woman." She truly is. But I wonder if I should reveal that I was in Vietnam; I'm not sure how she'd take it. No fudging, Frohike; you said you were going to be honest with the woman, so be honest.

"I try to be," she says gently, taking another fistful of popcorn.

"Not to give you a bad rerun or anything, but I served in 'Nam as well."

"Did you? My family's military." I knew that. I did check her out. I know her father retired as a colonel. She leans back on the bed and looks me over. "You're in a hell of a lot better shape than Bill ever was, that's for sure."

"Don't be so certain about that."

"You've done something with your life, Mel, done important things. All Bill ever wanted to do was wear dresses."

He could have done it without hurting his family the way he did, but I refuse to say that. "I don't know. What we do, sometimes I feel like Sisyphus. We push the boulder all the way to the top of the hill, only to have it come rolling back down on us."

"Boy, don't I know that feeling. Story of my life." She shakes her head, but then looks up and smiles at me. "I don't want to talk about Bill anymore."

"What would you like to do?" I ask, caressing her back. She says nothing -- she doesn't need to. Her kiss says it all.

LONE GUNMEN HQ

LANGLY:

Man, Byers talks a lot about finding the truth, but give him some, and he can be such a wuss. I mean, I know the thing with Susanne was, like, brutal. Hell, it was brutal enough for me and Fro, and she wasn't even our chickadee, for Christ's sake. I think he's finally starting to see the truth about Susanne. Now, if we could just get him to see the truth about him and Sari. It's like so obvious they're totally gone for each other. It's just that they're both so dense, I'm worried they're never gonna get it, and that would really suck. I mean it. They're really good together.

Speaking of good together, how much you wanna bet that while I'm lying here in our new house, without my girl and no fucking air conditioning and watching some lame jackass on Conan, that Fro's there with his lady, getting it on? He's probably got AC, too. I don't know which makes me more annoyed. All's I do know is I'm wishing Deb was here... I close my eyes and think about her.

Where the hell are Fro's issues of Celebrity Skin, anyway?

FRIDAY, MAY 18, 2000
SLEEPYTIME MOTOR INN
HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
EARLY AFTERNOON

FROHIKE:

I haven't slept that well in years, I swear. I don't know the time when I wake up, all I know is that the room is cool and dark, and the woman next to me is warm and light. Bliss.

"Good morning," a groggy voice whispers into my neck.

"Ah, you're awake. Sleep well?" I lean over to kiss her.

"Wonderfully." She settles into the crook of my arm. We lie in silence, enjoying the peace around us. The only sound is the wall AC unit. I think she's dozing off again, but she comes around a few minutes later.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, I can't see the clock from here." It's on the nightstand, but without my glasses, I'm utterly blind.

"Me, neither." She giggles a little, slides over me to grope for her glasses, and squints at the clock. Oh yeah, that feels good, especially if she'd wiggle close a little lower. I could stand a repeat of last night's delights. "Oh dear. We'd best be getting ready, Mel."

I reach for my own glasses. The clock reads 12:30, and I'm assuming that's PM, not AM. Ah, well, guess there's not really time right now to do anything properly. The Pirates-Orioles game is at six. We'll need at least two hours to drive to Pittsburgh, not to mention time to take showers and eat lunch.

"We could save some time by sharing the shower," I say to her mischievously.

"And conserve water in the process," she smiles at me. Hmmm... maybe we'll have enough time to do something properly after all... We make for the bathroom.

"Who'd ever think eco-consciousness could be so much fun?" I whisper into her hair as the hot water runs over us.

We stop at her house to get some things to take to the game and have some lunch. Her daughter is there. Mel says her son probably is, too, but it's rather early for him to be up and around -- at 2 p.m.

"Where were you?" Lisa demands of her mother.

Mel simply smiles benignly. "Where do you think I was?"

Lisa rolls her eyes. "I don't believe it, you slept with him. That's so... so... that's so gross!"

Mel should smack that child upside the head, but instead, we both burst out laughing. Lisa looks annoyed, but more than that, she's confused. We're enjoying it for all it's worth.

"Like ewwww, you guys are old!"

"And this would be a problem because?" Mel asks her between laughs.

"It's just... mom, that's just disgusting! My mother sleeping with someone! Ugh! Old people shouldn't have sex, it's just... wrong!"

Mel smiles at her again. "That's your opinion, dear, but at least I can't get pregnant." Touche, woman, you go. Especially since she's left Lisa speechless. I get the impression it may be a first.

After Lisa's left the room, Mel pours us each some iced tea. "I don't think that was quite a fair shot about the pregnancy thing," I say, but I'm smiling, rather archly.

"Well, true; since I no longer have the equipment, I guess that would make it a moot point," Mel agrees. She sighs. "Kids. They think love is only for the young and the beautiful."

"Well, maybe not for the young. But you're definitely beautiful."

She gazes at me lovingly. "You know something, Mel? You make me feel that way."

"Well, you are."

"Well," she says, grabbing a baseball cap from the hooks on the wall, "how do I look in this?" She's sporting her Pittsburgh Pirates cap.

"Hmm, it'd look better with an Orioles logo on it." Mine's in the car. "I could get you one."

"Mel, there are many things I'd love to share with you, but the Pirates are my team. Asking me to wear an Orioles cap -- that'd be sacrilege."

Well, we'll never compromise on baseball, that's for sure. But it might be a hell of a lot of fun to argue about it for a long time to come.

LONE GUNMEN HQ
AFTERNOON

BYERS:

I'm not talking to him, I swear, I'm not. I don't care how nice he thinks he's trying to be, I refuse to speak to him until he apologizes for what he said about Sari and me. He thinks he's going to laugh his ass off over us? I sincerely doubt it. What time is it, anyway?

Only 28 hours until she gets home.

End part 04