Susan hooked the receiver under her chin and adjusted the pillow behind her back. Her notepad slid off her lap and onto the floor, and she let out an uncharacteristic yelp of profanity. Nigel snapped the phone away from his ear, and then returned it cautiously.

"Susan?"

"Ohh, blast... sorry Nigel. I'm trying to get comfortable on this bed and nothing is doing as it's supposed to." Another pause. "There. That's better. Now, where was- oh yes. Two of the children from the school had to withdraw; they're going away with their parents, so we have to fill those spots and I wondered if you had any ideas."

Nigel thought for a moment and asked her to read the list again. "What about Ivan Bader? I know he's retired, but he was the head of the utilities, or something, wasn't he?"

"What a good idea!" Nigel boggled slightly, noticing the missing, eeeeew, that usually preceded her pleasure. "Ivan's a great choice."

"What about his wife?"

"Mmmmnh, I don't think Gertrude would... well, maybe I could ask her. But then we'd have to switch some people around. We don't want couples in the same carriages."

"How about Donald Gregg, or Cal Amarca? They're both prominent businessmen in Ashton."

Susan remained silent, ticking down her list to see how many men and women were involved. "We already have three more men than women, counting Ivan, we should look for another woman... for balance."

"The only others I can think of are on committees, so they're out. Can't help you there Susan." She breathed a sigh into the phone and made some notes.

They discussed several more details about the ceremony, gradually coming around to their dinner together, and fumbling past the feelings that lingered within the both of them. Finally, Susan cut it off, sensing her emotions inflicting themselves on the conversation.

"I think I'll give some of the girls a call and see what they think, so..."

"Yeah, okay. I'll talk to you later then. If I think of anyone I'll give you a ring." The innocent phrase made him stutter, leaving it to Susan to say goodbye, and hang up.

*****

"Does it really matter?" Denise leaned down and dabbed the last bit of polish on her toenail, finding Susan's politically correct agenda rather trivial.

"Well we don't want the celebration to look like men are the only recognizable members of our town, do we? I mean, I think someone in your position would be happy to beat the drum for women's rights."

Denise sat up slowly, replacing the brush in the bottle and twisting the cap tight. "My position?"

"You know what I mean, Denise. What with you and Ellen... and all."

A weary shake of the head, and a twinge of resentment, brought Denise around to a sitting position, phone clamped in one hand, the other thumping the table with controlled emphasis. "You know, Susan," she began an angry rebuttal, then a sudden thought occurred to her; if Susan wanted another woman in the parade, she had just the one. "I see your point," she said mildly. "Actually, I do have a thought you might consider."

"It has to be someone with some stature in the community, Denise, preferably connected to entertainment."

"Oh this person is all of that," she stifled a laugh, "her name is Galleria Preston, she's a well respected artist's model. Does a lot of work with Felicity Proctor."

"I don't think I've ever heard of her—this model, I mean."

"Have you seen any of Felicity's work?"

"No. No I haven't, but I understand she has an upcoming show at the gallery in town. Is she any good?"

"Felicity? Oh, I hear she's marvellous, you should give her a call and get Miss Preston's number." Ellen wandered into the kitchen, her expression changing from surprise, to, understanding, to flat out annoyance. Denise waved at her to be quiet, and finished her conversation, hanging up and breaking into a fit of laughter.

"I don't think I like the sound of that," Ellen frowned.

"Chill out, El, I'm just adding a little spice to our Jubilee." She left the table and went to the fridge for a drink. "Want anything?"

"Yes. I want you to tell me what that was all about." So Denise did.

*****

The question forced Felicity to sit with a thump on the edge of the phone stand. After a brief introduction, followed by a quick résumé of the parade agenda, Susan had broached the subject of Galleria Preston, and Felicity felt a giddiness that caused her knees to buckle. Images of Gavin, waving to crowds from a flower festooned throne with flashbulbs popping, while she and Peter watched from the comfort of a huge, heart-shaped bead, lept to mind.

"It's for a great cause, Mrs. Proctor."

"Miss Ho—"

"Susan, please."

"Miss Susan, I- I don't think Ga- Galleria would be interest—"

"Oh she'd probably love the attention and publicity. It's going to be a red carp—"

"I'm not sure that sort of thing is up her alley, but thanks for ask—" Felicity felt some of her nerve slipping away.

"Listen, why don't you give me her number and I'll do the coaxing." Susan waited, listening to Felicity's laboured breathing. "Mrs. Proctor?"

Felicity covered the mouthpiece. Several scenarios played out in shorthand as her eyes raked the room for a solution. "I can't seem to—"

"I can drive over and pick it up." Susan bored relentlessly.

"No! I mean, no. I think I- it's here... somewhere." She thought she was going to faint. Her vision blurred, jarring with her caller's repeated query. Finally, desperately, she blurted out a number and hung up the phone on Susan's string of gratitude.

*****

"YOU WHAT?"

"I couldn't help it, hon," a tad tritely, "she just kept on about her damned parade and how wonderful it would be to—"

"YOU GAVE HER MY CELL NUMBER?"

"Gavin, I couldn't think. She took me by surprise and- and even threatened to come over when I said I couldn't find it. I had to do something."

"YOU GAVE HER MY CELL NUMBER?" The briefcase hit the wall with a crash, bursting open and showering the hall with papers and his phone.

"Gavin, please... I know it was a mistake, but... you could turn your phone off." She suggested timidly.

"Turn it OFF! I do my business on that bloody phone. Jesus Christ!" He stormed down the hall to the living room.

"Then- then if she calls, you could pretend she's- she's out of town!" Felicity followed him, anticipating his protests and planning her responses. She elected a meek, remorseful posture on the sofa while he built an enormous drink at the bar.

Gavin turned to face her, his features strained to bursting, and swallowed the entire drink. "Filly. Baby. Honeybun... Do you not remember telling your lunch friends that Galleria was going to be very busy—in TOWN?" She sank back and began to cry. Gavin refilled his glass, draining half of it, and sat beside her on the couch.

"Maybe she won't call," he said, calming down, and feeling bad about yelling at her. In the hall, the soft burring of his cell phone reached their ears with a terrifying insistence.