Jean finished her sandwich and wiped her mouth carefully, avoiding smearing her lipstick. Ross sucked the last of a milkshake up with a gurgling rattle, finishing with a great sigh.

"Didn't you go back?"

"I couldn't," Jean smirked, "Susan was so sincere about this Galleria. I thought I was going to pee right in the conference room."

"And she- he's riding in the same wagon as Allen?"

"Yes-s-s!" Jean started a choking laugh.

"Aw man, I wish I could be outside to see that." He shoved his plate away and dug in his pocket for some money. "How many people know, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Jean hiccuped. "Let's see, there's Tiffany, Ellen and Denise, Patty," she bent her fingers back, "you and me, that's six. I don't know of anyone else, but that doesn't mean word didn't get around."

"You know, I really don't think it has. The others on the council didn't seem to know, you said, and I haven't heard anything from any of the guys. Six could be it. I wonder what Tiffany thinks."

"She probably thinks it's a hoot, maybe even a turn on."

"I've gotta hand it to him, he's got more guts than me."

Jean laced her fingers under her chin and batted her eyes. "Wouldn't you dress up for me, if I asked?"

"Hahaaa, let's just say, I would like to get into your clothes." Ross leered back.

*****

Melaine carried the plates to the table; she was serving Milo's favourite, English sausage, baby beets, and whipped potatoes. His temper tantrum began as soon as he entered the door, and she decided immediately, this was not going to be a night rife with argument. Before taking her own chair, she poured each of them a glass of white wine, leaving the bottle on the table.

"Cheers," she said, raising her glass.

"Hmmmph, yes." He followed suit. "I can't imagine what possessed you to put me in a coach with that Polansky." Setting down her glass, she picked up her fork and began eating. "Melaine?"

"This is your favourite meal, dear." Ignoring the question.

"I asked you—"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Milo, drop it! You're the only one who ever finds fault no matter what anyone does."

"Well," he huffed, "this is certainly a case where fault is to be found." He cut a piece of sausage and held it up for examination.

"Do you think we could just enjoy the meal without hearing your endless stream of petty complaints?" She jabbed at a beet and sent it skittering onto the cloth. "Damn!"

"That will leave a stain if you don't get it right away." His tone, condescending. Melaine placed her fork on her plate with exaggerated care, pushed back her chair and went to the laundry room. Clenching her teeth and fists, she leaned on the dryer and counted to ten, then returned to the table with a cloth and some spot remover.

Milo watched with interest, stuffing a large dollop of potato into his mouth, as she finished cleaning and returned to her seat.

"It really should be washed now, before that cleaner damages the material."

She stared malevolently across the table, a dull, pounding ache building behind her eyes. "Milo," she said, in a whisper of forced calm, "please eat your dinner, and don't worry about the cloth, or I will take this knife, and JAM IT UP YOUR POMPOUS ASS!" The meal continued to its conclusion, in stony silence.

******

"I just called to see if you wanted to play some tennis tonight." Amanda fiddled with the phone cord, watching the television weatherman indicate the path of a new high-pressure system, with dramatic flamboyance.

"Ramon not available?"

"This is his night for the gym. He works out with a bunch of young studs from the high school." The jet stream was dipping down into the mid-western states, sucking warm air from the gulf, which meant warmer temperatures and higher humidity around the southern Great Lakes.

Grace checked her watch, deciding on how she felt. "What time were you thinking?"

"I can book it for eight until ten... or less, depending."

"Let's say nine-thirty, I have to pick up something in town at ten." She traced a nail along the surface of the tabletop, steering it to the open book she'd been reading.

"Great. Meet you there at eight?"

"Deal." She hung up and picked up the book, turning to the page with the marker. The colour plate showed a mounted, Peacock Butterfly; the upper surfaces of its wings were chocolate brown, with prominent purple eye spots on the hindwings. Upside down, the pattern bore a remarkable resemblance to an owl's face. She tapped the image with her finger, smiling. The one talent her wandering father had bequeathed her was the art of tattooing, and she had proved a worthy student when applying her own.

She giggled, thinking of exactly where she would place this one on Jeffery; a little sedative in his drink, along the lines of the story she'd told him about the intern party, and he would be none the wiser... until he awoke. Ah Jeff, she thought, changing into her tennis whites, you will be identified for life, as one of mine.

******

The warm, gulf air pushed the high-pressure system off to the east, bringing humidity and the threat of showers. A grey sky dotted with a mottling of lower, darker clouds, hovered over Ashton Hills. Susan fretted over whether to hold her logistics assembly at the theatre, or in the funeral parlour parking lot, as planned. She decided to leave things as they were and keep her fingers crossed.

After arriving at their accommodations in the Paisley Arms, most of the guests were enjoying their complimentary cocktails and renewing old acquaintances. Howard Cornwall and Virginia Adair, the Toronto theatre critics, were holding court in the preferred corner booth of the hotel bar, dispensing vinegar laced reviews of the city's current crop of plays.

Harold Muncie dolefully pondered the woman sitting across from him, perplexed as to why he had actively pursued her years before. Geena Sparks, the woman in question, gave him a theatrical smile as she sipped her drink, thanking her lucky stars he had failed in his quest.

The morning passed uncontested; only a couple of small anomalies appeared, in the otherwise routine unfolding of the day. One of the department store employees had to phone Tiffany and get her to come down and unlock the store because he couldn't wake Daryl, who was now living in his office.

Jeffery, who awakened in Grace's bed, cotton-headed and hung over, passed his trip to the office scratching at a troubling, pervasive itch in his nether region, and upon arrival at work, blew past the jaundiced eye of Jesse and locked himself in his office for a hurried, self-examination.