I was lost in a troubled sleep when Freddie came back, so I wasn't awake to see what kind of state he was in, or even to find out where he had gone in the first place.  Not that he would tell me. 

That night I was thrust back into the same recurring dream, but this version drastically differed from its predecessors.  The first half, I knew to expect, with Freddie leading me, then pulling me down, putting his hands all over my naked body, earthquake, et cetera, et cetera.  As before, Freddie hung suspended in mid-air, hanging over the rift, hand still extended to me, still smiling, still inviting me to fall with him.  And the Relic, too, awaited my choice- but now it was well within reach.  All I had to do was raise my hand up and grab it.  Had this been the dream a week ago, the choice would have been made in a split second.  But even now, I couldn't make up my mind.

Then I heard a "Psst!"

I turned toward the source of the sound.  Freddie was looking straight at me, the fingers of his outstretched hand twitching with impatience. 

"Are you going to choose or what?" he hissed playfully.  "I can't just hang around all day, you know, I have a fall to take."

I blinked.  "So you're talking to me now?"

He shrugged.  "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you're mad at me."

Freddie cocked his head.  "Why would I be mad?"

"Because I wasn't very nice to you."

Freddie shook his head.  "I don't think that's it."

"How do you know?  You're not real, you're a dream."

"I'm a figment of your subconscious," Freddie said mysteriously.  "I know much more than you realize."

"But the real Freddie is mad at me."

Freddie shook his head again, this time with a roll of his eyes.  "Oh, you pretty little idiot.  He's not angry, he's hurt."

"Okay, I stand corrected.  I'm sorry I told him the truth, and I already apologized to him, but he won't acc-"

"That's not why he's hurt," Freddie whispered.  "That's not the whole reason, anyway."

"What are you saying?"

"Darling, you're so clever most of the time, why do you have to keep being so stupid about this?"

"I don't like your tone."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing!"

"If that's true, you should already have made your choice by now."

Before I could respond, someone pressed "Play" on the dream remote control, and Freddie and the Relic both plunged into the gaping canyon.  Screaming "No!" I ran to the edge to watch them fall-

But then my Android's alarm went off at eight a.m., and my eyes opened to reality.  Memories of this dream faded faster than those of the previous- but maybe that was because of the music I had set as my alarm.  The "Seinfeld Theme" is indeed one very distracting little song. 

(And selecting this tune happened to be perhaps the biggest mistake I could have made.  While it's a very bouncy, unconcerned little tune, it also seems to be associated with extreme bad luck, I've noticed.  This is not to say that what happened this eleventh day is a direct result of a peppy bass synth track- but today would soon become the worst twenty-four hours of my life, and I had never awakened to the Seinfeld Theme before.  Let's just say it kind of set the tone.  So, Jerry Seinfeld, what happened to me that day is partially your fault- not that there's anything wrong with that...)

Trying not to read too much into the latest installment, I rose from bed and drew my robe around me.  Freddie's bedroom door was closed, so he hadn't spent the night anywhere.  I just couldn't understand why he kept going to bed alone.  I hoped it wasn't because of me. 

I almost knocked on his door to apologize again, but I thought better of it.  Something told me I was in for the silent treatment, which was much worse than a spontaneous fit of fury.  So I left him alone, let him do what he was doing.  I popped my contacts in and rushed downstairs to start some tea and breakfast.

It was about half an hour later that a clean-shaven Freddie descended, dressed in a yellow and white polo shirt and jeans, and entered the kitchen.  He had shed every last vestige of my traveling friend, and he was once again one hundred percent Freddie Mercury.  Thank God, the tea was ready by then.

"Good morning," I ventured.

I received no response whatsoever, not even a passing glance.  He just walked in and poured himself a cup of tea.  The energy which naturally emanated from him was frightfully cold and remote.  I felt little thorns pricking my heart.  Freddie, I am so sorry...

But I forced myself to shrug and fixed myself a cup as well.  I said one last thing, "Would you like some breakfast?"

Freddie was halfway through draining his very hot cup of tea when I asked this.  Rudy was already there at the door; I heard him knock.  Freddie finished his tea quickly, perhaps burning his tongue in the process (NFO: High tolerance for pain), placed the fine china into the sink, and walked out the front door.

Without one word.

All of a sudden, I was angry.  How could I possibly explain myself and beg his forgiveness if he didn't have at least the decency to hear me out?  I forgave him so much, and so quickly, compared to this.  But he couldn't do me the same courtesy?

I slammed the egg spatula against the counter and shouted, "Well, f--- you, then!"

It was a little disturbing, how free I was becoming with a word I once considered the ultimate taboo.  But I was feeling it then, and it was somehow therapeutic to say, so I said it again, just as loudly.  "F--- YOU, FREDDIE!"

Suddenly I heard the front door close again, and I heard footsteps.  Coming back toward the kitchen.  And the cats didn't wear shoes that thumped against carpeting.  My stomach writhed.  Freddie walked back into view.  I swallowed.

Crap.

As if nothing had happened, he marched to the counter, and grabbed the star-shaped glasses that lay waiting there.  He fitted them over his eyes, then looked right at me.  I lifted my chin defiantly and folded my arms.  I could swear I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

In a soft, chilly voice, he replied, "No, no, Eve.  F--- you."

Then for the second time Freddie glided out, the door shutting much harder this time around.  Even when he was angry, perhaps even still hurt, he couldn't bear to let me have the last word.  Good grief. 

Having cussed my way out of rage,  I remembered the reason he was acting this way.  I had looked at it in the bathroom as I put my contacts in this morning.  It was a triune creature, a being with three names which I knew by heart: Me, Myself, and I.  Not to mention that I had, in effect, said "F--- you" to his face only hours after telling him what I had been thinking all along. The hole in which I was standing only seemed to deepen.  At least it had sort of killed the silent treatment.

Pangs of guilt hit me as I thought on last night.  I never intended to hurt Freddie.  It hadn't been a nice thing to say, under any circumstances.  But my delivery could not have been more clinical.  I hadn't raised my voice, I hadn't been overtly snippy in tone.  I had merely stated it, as though I was reading off the latest weather report.  But it had affected Freddie so deeply.  Why?  He knew it was true.  As recently as two days ago I had called him a sex fiend, no less.  And he laughed!  What was the issue now?

Oscar sidled up to me and mewed, slinking in between my legs.  I smiled sadly and picked him up, ruffling his bright fur.  "Oh, who knows," I said aloud, and punctuated this with a sneeze.

The kitties were hungry for breakfast; Tom and Tiff padded into the kitchen and looked up expectantly at me.

"Your daddy's crazy, did you know that?" I told them.

Oscar's eyes closed, and he purred happily as I scratched behind his ears.  Yes, he knew that, but he still loved him, like the others did.  Why wouldn't they?  Freddie was a kindred spirit, more feline than human in many ways.  But when he was human... when he was vulnerable... there was no one more beautiful than he.

As much as I tried to stop thinking about last night, I couldn't.  I could not disregard that raw emotion in his eyes.  No boy, no man, had ever looked at me that way before.  There was more going on here than I was willing to concede.  I knew how I felt, but I could not accept the idea that Freddie might have those same feelings for me- and more.  To do that would invite far too much trouble.  And I'd caused enough trouble in one man's life without even going out of my way to bring it about.

Besides, I said to myself, I'm not his type.  I'm far too provincial. And I'm a girl.  And I'm not Mary.  Three big points against me.  There's no way.

The red light on my chest gave me hope.  And any hope at all, I greatly appreciated.  God willing, Freddie wouldn't have to deal with me for much longer- and I wouldn't have to overstay my welcome. 

After eating breakfast, then giving the cats theirs, I hustled upstairs to dress.  The dinner party was tomorrow, and so far, I was cooking.  Unless of course, Freddie changed his mind and enlisted Joe's help instead, as Joe was indeed an accomplished chef.  In the meantime, I was still on K.P. and buying the supplies was my responsibility.  The list of food and whatnot was scrawled in my journal; I pulled it out.

I opened the journal too quickly, and the two loose pages inside fluttered to the floor: the new lyrics for "My Melancholy Blues," and our marr- I beg your pardon.  My marriage license to a fictitious person named Mark Zuckerberg.  Freddie left so fast he had forgotten to bring the license with him.  For a moment I toyed with the idea of bringing the license to Wessex, and save him a trip later.  I would have liked to see Deacy as well, he was so nice to me.  But in the end I chose not to.  I'd let Freddie fix his bet with Roger in his own way, on his own time.  And he didn't need me screwing up his morning further by making an appearance.

A bit absently, I folded them in half around each other, and tucked them both back between the pages, then ripped out the list.  It was a short list, thankfully.  Most everything we already had here.  The shorter the trip, the better.

**********************************************************************************

Cradling a bulging paper sack in each arm, I tumbled out of the taxi, mumbling the words to "Shattered" under my breath.  Well, almost.  The only words I knew were "Shadoobie, shat-tered."  But that was enough to get stuck in the head.

"Madam," the cabbie called after me.  I turned.  "Your change?"

"Just keep it," I called back to the rhythm of the song.  "Shat-tered.  Now, good day.  Shat-tered, shat-tered."

"Good day!" he said back with a little laugh, then drove off.  I walked down the sidewalk a little before I reached Freddie's door, still singing.

"Can I help you with that?" a woman said close behind me.

I shook my head.  "I'm okay, shat-tered.  But thank you, shat-tered sha- OOF!"

I didn't see the crack in the pavement, and the block jutting up from the ground just enough for my foot to catch on it.  I tripped and fell, dropping the groceries.

"Rats!" I muttered.  "That was the wrong song to sing."  Hoping nothing was indeed shattered, I immediately started putting groceries back in the bags.

Two other hands began assisting me.  I didn't look up right away to see who belonged to them, I was just grateful for the help.  Fortunately, the only casualties were a couple of bruised apples and one cracked egg.  Once everything was collected, I rose to my feet.

I began, "Thanks so m- AAAH!"

Oh, great.  This just keeps getting better.

Mary dusted off her hands and looked at me, unfazed by my scream of surprise.  "Hello, Eve."

"Hi," I said, trying to recover.  "Thanks for helping me, I'll just, um-"

"Oh, please, allow me," she offered.  Before I could speak, Mary bent over and took one of the bags in her arms.  I shrugged, knowing I couldn't tell her to put it down.  I haven't really said much about how she looked.  She was about my size, in terms of height and weight, with pretty, wide-set eyes and long blonde hair that curled at the ends.  A lovely woman, to be sure. 

Very awkwardly then, I picked up the other bag, and we marched to the front door.  I reached into my pocket for the keys, but Mary was ahead of me.  Key in hand, she poked it into the lock and opened the door. 

"After you," she said in her cool, mild voice. 

"Again, thank you," I managed.  She followed me into Freddie's flat, shutting the door behind us.  Not only did she help me unpack the groceries, but she knew where everything belonged, and was familiar with every little nook and cranny in the flat.  And the longer she helped me, the more obvious it became that she wanted me to realize this.

I started to put something away, I don't know what, maybe it was a box of candlesticks or wafer crackers, I can't really remember- and Mary shook her head. 

"No, dear, that's wrong, I know where it goes," she said- and to my oversensitive ears, it sounded like she placed just a little too much emphasis on "I"- and took the box from me, placing it in a cupboard directly across the room, under the counter.

I do not like having things taken out of my hands.  Even when Freddie did it, it did not make me happy.  I bit my tongue hard, while in my head, the thoughts smoldered: Look, I get it, he was yours first- and he still is.  Okay? I am not a threat to you.  I do not want to be a threat.  I'm Team Mary- always have been!  Don't you understand? 

Once all the groceries were put away, I said again, "Thank you so much, Mary, that was a big help."

She nodded.  "Of course, dear.  It was my pleasure." 

Her gray-green eyes said otherwise, however.

"What brings you here today, anyway?" I asked.

"Oh, Freddie asked me to come by," she explained.  "Apparently he left something here, some kind of document-"

"Oh, yes, the license!" I exclaimed, then when Mary's brows knit in confusion, I immediately downshifted into damage control mode.  "Uh, my license to- work here.  In Britain."

She blinked, her face unreadable.  "Your visa?"

"Y-Yes, my visa," I stuttered, fumbling for anything and everything. "He and Roger- they've been so, er, so nice, they're trying to hook me up with a job- with the unions.  The teachers' union, I think.  Because once I have a job, I can support myself and I won't have to impose on poor Freddie any longer.  I fully intend to leave soon."  For her sake, I repeated, "Very soon."

"And they need your visa?"

"Yes, you see, Roger's got connections, he knows this one guy who knows someone who works in the teachers' union, and apparently there's an opening, but they want to make sure I'm legal, so to speak."  I took a deep breath.  Hey, not bad for three seconds.

She nodded, apparently swallowing it.  "So where is it?"

"It's in that book there," I said casually, pointing at the dark green journal on the table.  "You know, I could take it to him right now if he nee-"

"Oh, no, I'll do it, I'd love to," Mary said.  "Freddie called me, after all, so I really should go ahead and-"

"Of course, of course," I nodded.  That's right, darling.  He called YOU.  I KNOW!!!  "Just give me a chance to put it in an envelope or something, please?"

"Certainly," she said. 

For no other reason except to be polite, I asked her, "And, uh, would you like some tea before you go?  It's just about that time."

As soon as the words left my lips, I prayed she would turn me down.  I was almost positive she would.  Alas: "You know, that would be lovely.  Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," I said quietly.  Dammit!

I busted out the teapot again, feeling Mary's gaze follow me about the kitchen.  Placing the full teapot on the stove, I turned on the fire under it, and hoped God would make the heat come extra quick- and the water, extra willing to take it in.  As Mary watched me, her lips stayed rather pursed.  The feeling is mutual, love, I thought to myself dryly.

"There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about anyway," she said after a moment. 

I felt my shoulders hunch up a little, and I turned to face her.  "Oh, yes?" 

Mary nodded, and waved her hand for me to follow her into the parlor.  "In here, please."

Her eyes, I thought to myself.  They don't change.  Her face muscles move, but her expression, the look in her eyes, is constant.  It's- flat.  Even yesterday, I could tell she was in pain, but it was basically the same look.  She has flat eyes.  Pretty, but flat. 

She sat down and patted the cushion at her side, forcing a smile.  I did as she asked, drawing my lips back in a grin that did not reflect my feelings.  Tiffany hopped up onto the sofa with us, nestling herself comfortably in Mary's lap.  Oscar padded over too, but instead of getting up into my face like usual, he stayed on the floor and lay down right on my feet.  Tom didn't move from his spot in the comfy chair.  Lazy thing.

Who says animals aren't political, I said to myself glibly.  Look at this.  Even they take sides.

"I was just curious," she began, stroking Tiffany's fur.  "How did you two- run into each other?"

"By accident," I replied.  "He didn't seek me out, if that's what you mean."

She nodded.  "By accident."

"It's a long story, Freddie would probably be better at telling you."

"He did tell me," Mary said.  "It simply doesn't make any sense."

I shrugged.  "No, it really doesn't.  But it happened."

"And how long have you been- living here?"

"About eleven days now."  I stared off into space a moment.  "He's very generous."

"Yes," she murmured.  "Very.  Sometimes to a fault."

I glanced at Mary, wondering what she meant by that exactly.  But again, her face was a blank slate.  Not even a mask, like Freddie's dark, fiery eyes required.  Just a perfect vacuum, from which there was nothing to be gleaned.

"Maybe so," I agreed.  "I wouldn't know, I don't know him like you do."

She shrugged modestly.  "It's nice that he tells me things.  I'm glad he trusts me.  I don't know why he does- and sometimes I wish he wouldn't.  It can be so hard on occasion."

"I'm sure," I nodded. 

"He feels safe with me, I suppose," she mused.  "It's a blessing and a curse, you know.  And in this case," she added, "it's a curse."

"Why would it be a curse?"

"Because he told me he's in love."

"He is?" I gasped, and clapped my hands together with sloppily overdone joy- while my stomach did a somersault inside me.  Don't assume.  Don't  you dare assume.  "Oh, how nice!  It's so marvelous to be in love."

"It can be," Mary nodded.  "It can also be hell."

"That's fantastic!  Anyone I know?"

"Oh, yes, you know them well."

"Oh, perfect!  Do they know how he feels?"

"Evidently not."

"Oh, then can I tell them?  Or is it a secret?"

"It's no secret now."

"Yay!  Maybe I can relay the message, see how they rea-"

"You don't need to."

I frowned.  "Why not?"

"Because it's you."

"What's me?"

"Freddie's in love with you."

I burst into hysterical, yet totally mirthless, laughter, knowing that she had to be kidding.  Mary didn't seem like the kind to tell jokes, or even really laugh at them, but she had to be making an exception here.  Had to!  I laughed so hard my ribs ached, and my eyes watered.  Oh, this lady was a riot!  Freddie in love!  With ME!

At last I pulled myself back together, dabbing at the corners of my eyes, and looked at Mary.  Her face was like stone, hands folded in her lap.  The words "humor" and "joke" could be found nowhere in this picture. 

"I'm not sure you realize this," Mary said tightly, "but I wasn't kidding."

I blinked, taking a deep breath.  "How can you be so sure that-"

"Because he told me so himself," she cut me off.  Her patience with me had waned quite a bit.

The bottom seemed to fall out of the world.  "When?"

"Yesterday," she replied.  "Yesterday afternoon.  He was terribly upset that you ran off like that.  And while we were having tea, he just point blank informed me that he- well, that he was in love."

I stared at Mary, all of my senses feeling as though they had spontaneously shut down.  Stiffly I rose from the sofa as I realized the high-pitched scream I was hearing was not coming from inside me, but from the kitchen.

"I'd better go make the tea," I mumbled, and all but sprinted into the kitchen where the teapot was wailing for attention with Oscar tagging along at my heels.

I didn't believe it.  I would not believe it.  It simply was not true.  And besides, what business was it of Mary's to come telling me how Freddie felt?  If he felt like that, why wasn't he the one to tell me?  There.  Just went to show how untrue her words were. Such a terrible trick she was pulling on me, telling me such a dreadful lie!

Mary tiptoed into the kitchen.  "Eve?"

"What are you doing?" I exploded, whirling on her.  "Do you think I want him to- feel that way?  Do you think I want that?"

"My dear, please calm down-"

"Then stop this!  He does not love me!  He loves-"

Mary put her hand on my arm to steady me.  "I didn't say he loved you."

I opened my mouth, then closed it.  I stood there, confused, before finally I found the words, "But- but you just said-"

"I said he was in love.  There's a difference."

"Yeah?" I whispered, leaning wearily against the counter.

She only nodded.

I slid the teapot off the hot eye, and rubbed my face.  "Okay.  You speak Freddie, so enlighten me.  What did he mean?"

"Freddie," she said with a sigh, "is a very emotional man.  Passions run so high in him, it's really quite astounding.  He falls in love faster than anyone I've ever seen- and falls out of love just as quickly.  Do you understand?  I mean, you must have seen it.  Ten or so days-"

"I know what you mean," I whispered.  "Go on."

"You're an American.  When you think of love, you think, domestic things.  You think, marriage, devotion, commitment."

"Don't the English value those things, too?"

"Of course we do," Mary said, this time with a twinge of sadness in her voice, but her eyes, again, didn't change.  "But that's not the sort of thing that Freddie... um..."

I nodded, my throat beginning to feel tight.  I turned toward the cups of hot water, and placed a tea bag in each to steep a minute.  "Freddie shuns the domestic."

"Exactly," she said.  "And what's more... well, perhaps you already know this, but-"

"But what?" I asked, handing her the tea.

She gazed into her cup as the tea leaves colored the water.  "Did you know that Freddie is gay?"

Ooo, big surprise there, I thought to myself sarcastically.  "He's not gay," I muttered.  "He's bi."

"Trust me," she said gravely.  "He's much more gay than he may have wanted to admit to you quite yet."

"So he's gay, but he's in love with me.  Dear, I wish you'd make up your mind."

"I'm getting there," she said irritably.  "I know who he is inside, I know where his heart lies.  That's who he is, and if it makes him happy, that's all I can ask for.  It's just..."

"What?"

"You're confusing him, I think.  He's confused again.  He doesn't know what he wants.  He wants to live as he's been living, but he also wants you."

I rubbed my eyes.  "Did he tell you it was okay to tell me about his sexuality, Mary, or is this you just grabbing the reins and going for it?"

"I want to make it as clear as I can, you became so incensed earlier," she explained.  "See, to be honest, I don't think he's even in love with you as a person, exactly."

I had never imagined Mary being this way, speaking as callously as she was now.  I thought she was kind, I thought she was gentle.  And perhaps with other people, Freddie included, she was, but not with me.  I was a threat, and now, things were getting personal.  And that last one hurt. 

Still, I forced a quip, "Oh, no?  Then what's he in love with me as, then?  A kangaroo?"

"That's not what I mean.  Freddie's infatuated with your mystery, I think, as much as anything else.   He adores newness.  There's nothing he enjoys more than opening up a wrapped gift to see what's inside.  He's in love with what he doesn't know- and the fact that you won't let him know."

"That's rather childish, isn't it?" I said aloud.

"But that's what I'm saying.  He does have a childlike way about him.  He loves a challenge, it's true.  And you, clearly, are a worthy challenge for him to keep on trying for you this way." She looked me up and down.  "I don't blame him, honestly.  You're a lovely girl."

"That's great, but I can't let this go on.  This is bad."

Mary nodded.  "Right."

I brought my tea to my lips, forgetting the sugar and cream.  "So how do I get him to fall out of love, then?"

"Simple.  Sleep with him."

I stopped mid-swallow, but I didn't choke this time. My eyes bugged.   "What did you say?"

"He wants to do away with your mystery, so let him.  Sleep with him."

Mary said this so offhandedly, I wanted to cry.  I walked away from her a little, whispering, "I don't believe this."

"You do realize that's why he's kept you near for as long as he has?"

"What?"

"Think about it."

But I had already thought about it; Mary was only confirming my fears.  Was that why he'd become so upset?  Because he realized I was on to him?  Or was he simply angry that, for the umpteenth time, a potentially passionate moment had been disrupted, and I was to blame?  It wasn't my fault he had been doing without sex the past week and a half- assuming that was even true.  Again, the question had to be asked, why did this matter so much? 

And why- why- was this conversation hurting me so badly?

My face contorted in such a way that advertised a soon appearance of tears.  Mary walked up behind me and put her arm around my shoulders.

"Eve," she whispered.  "You- you're not in love with him yourself, are-"

"No," I said quickly.  "Not at all.  He's my friend."  At least, I thought he was. 

Mary blinked.  "That's it?"

"That's it," I said through gritted teeth.  I looked back up at her.  "But- you say sleeping with him will- fix things?"

"I think it will," she told me.  "Dear, I'm not trying to be cruel, this is simply how he works.  Freddie's a wonderful man, and he gives so much of himself.  But in order to -um, I suppose, connect, and help him, even as a friend, you have to give at least a little of yourself, too."

To truly understand a hippo, one must be a hippo, I thought to myself bitterly.  This is a little different from what university taught me.  Freddie-Logic trumps all here in Freddie Land.

Mary took one final sip of her tea, and said, "Anyway, I just wanted you to know."

"Thank you," I whispered automatically.

"I really ought to be going, Freddie's waiting on me. I just need the license, and I'll be off."

"Yes, yes, take it.  Go right ahead," I bobbed my head up and down.  My composure was wearing so thin now.

"But weren't you going to-"

"It's over there, please, just take it," I said, by now just wanting her to leave.  I didn't care anymore. 

"Oh, all right.  Thank you."  Mary walked over and rustled about behind me.  "I hope I didn't upset you."

"Oh, no, not at all," I managed.  "You're - you're just trying to help, I know."

"That's all I want," she replied.  From behind she put her hand on my elbow and squeezed.  "Goodbye, Eve- and good luck."

I turned, somehow pulling my face into a dry, steady smile.  "Same to you, Mary."

She smiled back- Mary was indeed so pretty, and she would stay pretty even as she got older- then walked out of the kitchen and into the living room.  Within a few seconds, I heard the front door open and shut.  And two tears, one from each eye, trickled down my cheeks.  Those were all the tears I would allow myself right now.

To this day, I don't claim to know Mary's true motivation in coming and telling me all this.  I don't believe it was malicious, perhaps she really was trying to help me.  It's altogether possible she was trying to remove me from the picture faster, I don't deny that.  And really, I don't blame her.  Mary loved Freddie.  And I believe that she still does, even now.  I wasn't present during the time they spent as lovers, and what few moments I witnessed between them as good friends are hardly enough to draw any conclusions.  I only know what I saw and what I heard.

But right that moment, I felt like I had been stuck and roasted on a spit, unable to cry out and release my feelings thanks to the apple shoved down my throat.  And I was honestly considering her words.

Sleep with him, I said to myself numbly.  This is just like Yoko telling May Pang to be John's mistress.  Good God.  Oh, Good God!  What have I gotten myself into?

But she had a point.  I was a wrapped gift box, with a tag that said "Do Not Open Until Married."  And there I was, just sitting there, and Freddie, with that lingering residue of immaturity, couldn't bear the suspense. 

But wouldn't that cancel whatever was letting me stay here while I got my life together?  If I took away that allure, that mystery, Freddie would no longer wonder, would no longer desire.  Appetite appeased, he'd let go, drop me like a good habit. 

I shook my head.  No, it worked both ways.  He might get tired of waiting, impatient man that he was.  He was already becoming so testy with me.  It was a race now, between his impatience and my surrender.  And, to quote a song I've learned to love, "Every way I go, I'm bound to lose."

My tight throat constricted further.  Already I knew what I was about to do.  I'd been so strong this whole time- and God had been so wonderful to save me on so many occasions.  But Mary, I realized, was right.  I would have to give a little.  I would have to give myself.  This was not the way I wanted to make love for the first time, but in this world, in this place, with that man, I didn't see any other option.

"Oh, God, help me," I croaked, "Get me out of here fast!"

I put my face in my hands and ran up the stairs.  I had to pull myself together before Freddie came back.  And then there was the whole matter of preparing myself for tonight.  That sheer, dark green nightgown certainly had made an impression a little while ago.  And should I wear lots of makeup, or none?  And what kind of perfume would set him off the best?  So many questions, so many, many important matters to settle.

In my daze, I failed to notice that the journal no longer sat on the table.