*****145:

Archer could hear Danny making little car engine noises, and talking occasionally. He said names, as if he were talking to other kids. Maybe he had friends at pre-school...

His finger had disturbed her, a light sleeper then. He felt a trifle guilty as she turned to look at him, and he read the startlement in her eyes that he was so close. Her eyes were star-flecked, bluer than the ocean which wasn't blue anyway, but gray, and bluer than the sky, which was white and yet, all the colors were reflected in them right then. She smiled.

"What are you looking at?" she asked softly, and her voice was that of a sleepy little girl.

Danny perked up. "Mommy, can Kelly and Steve and Chris come to play today?" she took her eyes off Archer for a moment to focus lazily on her son. "Nope, they're in LA with their dad. We're going up to Park City Friday to ski with them. Can you handle that? How many days till Friday?"

While Danny figured that one out, Tracy's eyes drifted back to the man who lay next to her, obviously studying her, and she obviously felt his scrutiny. Uncomfortable, she dared not show it. She forced herself to remain laying there, her head resting on her arms, which were warm and kissed by the sun, and feeling the glare. She'd forgotten her sunscreen.

She snorted. "I always remember to lather up the kids, but I tend to forget me. Would you mind getting the lotion on the top of the diaper bag right next to you?" she started to sit up, but Archer slung his blonde hair out of his eyes, and had grabbed the bottle before she could even manage the turn. He opened it and squirted it onto his hands and rubbed them together. "Where do you want it?" he asked, mischievously.

Her eyes narrowed. She had not meant for him to put it on her. "Go ahead and use it." She answered and reached for the bottle. Archer moved it out of her reach, leaving her stretching far across his towel now. Their eyes were inches apart. Tracy closed hers and took a deep breath. "May I please have the sunscreen?" she whispered, feeling the annoyance, not with him, for acting like a guy, but with herself, for once again forgetting not to lead him on.

She felt his hands on her shoulders first, forcing her back to the sand, and rubbing carefully across the exposed skin. A mental darn it, escaped her muttered breath, once again she'd managed to give the wrong impression by her simple invitation.

She lay there now, allowing the ministration, as long as it stayed at this level, she was okay. She told herself that over and over, until her breathing returned: to her immense pleasure and relief, to a normal pace. No threatening waves of current betrayed her, and she knew it had to do with the amount of grounding she was accomplishing. That queer sense of pleasure at her own ability to relax and not build, made her nod in satisfaction.

"Where did you get this suit?"

"Do you like it?" she felt a laugh under the surface of her answer.

"Not especially. It's archaic."

"Not completely archaic." She smiled as he ran fluidy fingers over her arm, and then down her leg, not a French cut or a slice of cheek to meet the eye. "I got it from the gym at Huntington Beach High. I stole it." She said naughtily.

"Seriously?" He chuckled at her obvious sense of accomplishment.

"Yes, I did. It's my one claim to criminality."

"A felony to be sure."

"Oh, I went back and paid for it." She laughed outright, disturbing the twins, who were due to wake up anyway. "But originally I'd had it for years. Can you believe it? It's my favorite bathing suit."

"Do you have a more modern one? How about a bikini? Bet you'd look okay in a bikini. Or did motherhood make you self-conscious?" He was done, his hands didn't linger, and for that she was grateful.

"No, to all. This is my bathing suit, take it or leave it."

He laughed. "Well, it's a dog." He said in response. "Downright ugly."

Now she really laughed. "Thanks for the complement." There was a sincere tone to her melodic laughter. "I take that as a complement."

His finished laugh turned into a hoot of charismatic intrigue. "Tell me something." He said expectantly, thinking it was time to ask those questions that he'd been wondering while she slept. Why not? He had nothing to lose. It wasn't likely he'd ever get to hang out on the beach again, and babysit Tracy McCaffrey and her children.

"Hm?" she had laid her head back down on the towel facing away from him.

"Have your kids ever been taken away from you?"

Tracy felt her entire body shiver in response to his query. Her heart rate accelerated, her breathing stopped, and her eyes flew open, but she didn't move. Tingles raced around inside her in sudden awareness and hostility.

"No." She said evenly, trying not to let her voice shake.

"Have you been picked up for DUI?"

"No." Now that was a different type of question, it wasn't about the kids, or her ability to cope... it was going in a different direction.

"Have you ever been in drug rehab?"

"No."

"Have you ever had a nervous breakdown?"

Finally, she turned to look at him, leaning up on an elbow. "No." She raised an eyebrow in concern. He caught the nuance.

So he looked out to sea and chuckled a little. "The press make you seem a little different than you do right now. I was wondering if there were two of you."

Tracy rolled languidly to her knees hugging them to her chest. Looking out to sea was the most calming thing she could do. All of her memories centered around the freedom of the ocean, the immensity of it. "Do the press represent you accurately?"

"I'm not in the news every day."

"But when you are, do they quote your words correctly, do they put the right spin on them? Do they add an extra fifty pounds or make your eyes look baggy and sleep deprived?"

He realized he'd seen all those things about her, but he could see for himself, that she was very lean, the black bathing suit managed to cover up and put a rather modest light on her curves, but she was very well put together. And her face was exquisite. Her features weren't drug influenced, a healthy glow emanated from her.

"Do you party?" he added.

"I've been to clubs, if that's what you're asking. I've been in the limelight since I was twelve. There were wild times, with the band, and wild times that were fake and put on because that's the image Casey wanted to create. But I never drank, or took drugs, Archer, it's hard to believe, isn't it? They show me coming out of the Ivy at two a.m. either in custody, or makeup smeared down my face, crying in the arms of somebody I barely know. I used to look at that stuff. It used to bother me. I won't say I'm completely used to it, but I am fairly sure that tomorrow's Enquirer will have you and me making out on the cover, and I guarantee they won't show me in this bathing suit. They hate this bathing suit!" she laughed. "Never once have I been on the cover of anything wearing this bathing suit."

"'Cause it's old and ugly?" He suggested, giving it another disapproving appraisal.

She was grinning now. "Maybe, they'd rather just see me in a bikini.... Like you would."

He shrugged. "Can't help it, I'm a guy."

"Fine." She said gently. "And I don't ever wear bikini's. So if you ever see me on the cover of any magazine wearing a bikini, you'll know it's not me."

He nodded in understanding. "You really have reasons to hate the press."

Tracy considered. "I don't hate the press." She said softly, still staring out to sea, with her chin resting on her arms, the sound of seagulls mixing with waves and Danny's quiet engine noises.

"They really screwed you over with the Pepper's thing." He admitted. "They've been much nicer to me, but I'm just getting started. And I'm a product of the media anyway."

She stared at him curiously. "In what way?"

"Well, you know.... Like the Monkee's.... a made up band to capitalize on the Beatles' instant fame, if the public likes one, they'll like more. I won a contest, I won another contest, I got a rep and an agent and started singing my heart out.... For other people.... Voice over's and...."

"Oh, I see. Well, you've put in your time, so what? Lots of people have to put in their time before they get a spot of their own." She shrugged. "It doesn't mean the press made you, you still made yourself."

"I don't feel like it. I don't always get to be who I thought I was. I have to be what they expect."

She nodded in bright understanding. "Totally accurate, that." She said in a fake accent. "Let's talk about the Disney. It ought to be fun, huh?" And the subject was neatly changed, and swirled around them companionably, a neat little diversion from the memories. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she saw Casey running away from cameras, Jules and Bridget in a hospital in Brazil, both fairly trampled, and on so many drugs to keep them wired. She saw herself, and tears came, not because of the life itself, but because of the loss....the loss of childhood, of innocence....

The media did that. It made you be who you didn't think you were.

****