Tiffany pushed Allen's hand away, leaving him pouting on his end of the sofa. With Jean working late at the theatre, he had mentally rubbed his hands together in anticipation of this evening. Now, here he was, lights dimmed, soft music playing, a chilled bottle of champagne, un-poured, and sweating in its nest of ice, listening to the object of his licentious intentions bemoaning the temerity of her husband.

"That little rat! He wants freedom does he, well I'll give him freedom. I'll free his dirty little mind from his shoulders, that's what I'll do!"

"Couldn't we discuss this another time? Have some champagne—"

"Oh for Christ's sake, Allen, pour your precious champagne and stop whining." Tiffany sat up and held out her hand for a glass.

"I'm not whining," he said, hurrying to do her bidding, "it's just that we have this night together and it seems a terrible waste not to take advantage—"

"And that's exactly what you men like to do, isn't it? Take advantage. You're as bad as Daryl."

"Hey, that's not fair, Ti," he slid closer, holding his glass up for a clink, "you know how I feel about you." It came out like a whine.

She gave him a slow, sideways glance, and placed a hand on his neck. "Okay Allen, then feel about these." She yanked him face-first into her bosom, knocking his glass from his hand and spilling the contents on her lap. "Happy now?" Tiffany arched her back and drained her own drink, dropping the glass and holding him in place with both hands.

******

Gavin wouldn't get out of bed, and Felicity thought she might have to actually call a doctor. Ever since Susan's call on the cell phone, he had retreated into a kind of terrified coma. She opened the blinds and then the window, letting in a warm breeze, hoping the fresh air would make him feel better. He lay under the covers, tucked tight beneath his chin, and stared blankly at the ceiling fixture, totally unaware of his wife's presence.

"Gav? Honey? It's nearly noon, you've been in bed since yesterday, don't you think you should get up and have something to eat?" She sat on the bed beside him, balancing real concern against her covetous ambition.

"I don't think I'll ever eat again." Flat tones from a flat face.

"There, c'mon now, things will work out."

He swung his eyes toward her, looking at her as thought she was an idiot. "Work out? Work out how? Changing myself into this- this Galleria, is that your idea of how things are supposed to work out?"

"Baby, you should have just said—"

His head snapped up off the pillow. "I DID SAY! And what good did it do me? That bitch just kept coming like some- some- giant landslide!" Felicity frowned her confusion. "She just wouldn't take no- she wanted an address, a number where she could reach, Galleria, said she speak to her personally. Christ, I couldn't keep up with her."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm doing it. I'm never leaving this bed."

"But what if she doesn't give up?" Felicity placed her hand on his, sympathetically.

Gavin rolled his tear-coated eyes to the ceiling, "She won't, will she. Fil, how am I going to get out of this mess?"

Felicity refilled his cup and moved the tray of dirty dishes over to the dresser. His colour had marginally returned, with the bowl of chicken soup, and she gently urged him to eat the toasted bagel, feeding it into his slack mouth a bite at a time. Pleased that he was showing a little more animation after the first cup of coffee, she carefully suggested her opinion of what would be the best plan.

"It worked before, hon, there's no reason it can't work again. It's only for the one night, and you'll just be one person in a big crowd."

"I'll be in a parade, for cryin' out loud!"

"Yes," she calmed him with a gesture, "but along with forty others, and horses and crowds. And even in the theatre, you'll be in the dark. You can do this Gavin."

"Bloody easy for you to say."

She could tell his resistance was waning. "Look at the positive aspects," she ticked off her fingers. "It's a dress up costume affair, so we can use that to our advantage. It doesn't start until nearly dark, and nobody's expecting you to do anything... just sit in the carriage and wave."

Gavin looked at her for a long time before speaking. "You're going to have to make this your very best piece of art—ever. And as soon as it's over, Galleria leaves town and gets hit by a train."

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "It's a promise, Gavin... for both."

*****

The tour boat chugged laboriously around the far end of the pond, Captain Rajflsak's unintelligible voice booming across the water as it identified the various sights to the boatload of unresponsive tourists. From the pavilion on the far side of the pond, a trio from the high school played selections from some obscure composer; a cheerless air that dampened the otherwise gay atmosphere.

Nigel lay on the grassy slope of the hill below Paisley Mansion, watching the antics of the birds and squirrels in the branches high above. Susan was meeting him for lunch with more material on the Jubilee parade, material that would require additional writing on his part, and he wanted to flush his mind of useless minutia and order his thoughts clearly and precisely.

He checked his watch and found he would just have time to walk back over to Hardware Heaven, where Susan was picking him up.