"John, you idiot!" Vera stopped just short of a scream."

James was also furious. "You have to be an ass, don't you?"

"Why would you do that?" Philroy asked pitifully from the blackness.

"Could someone pass the peas?" This was Thomas.

Elsa snorted, "You're joking, right?"

Paul called out, "Marco!"

John, Elizabeth and Violet answered, "Polo!"

Edie moaned, "I can't see anything. How will I get up to my room?'

"We could all tie our napkins together and make a chain," John said.

"Or we could just light the candles again," James growled.

"Who's got matches?" Joan asked.

"We've got some in our room," Marcia slipped.

"Why do you have matches in your room, Marcia? You'd better not be smoking."

"Better not," Thomas said.

"Your father and I would be seriously disappointed if you were. I think I'd just about lose my mind. If you've been pressured into it you know you can talk to us about anything. When we get home there'll be no more computer time in your room."

One could almost hear the eyes rolling in the dark.

"They're not matches," John whispered to Violet. "They're bamboo shoots for her fingernails."

"What's this 'computer' contraption you mention?" Paul asked. It could not be proven who spit the olive pit in Paul's direction, but most odds were on Philroy.

"I've got a light everybody. Hang on," Rosie said. A few false clicks of the lighter finally produced a flame. She lit one candle and used it to light the others. "There are some lanterns in the utility closet. I'll get them so we can all move around."

With one candle less on their end, the Greers all but disappeared again.

Joan used her napkin to get Violet's attention and gave the signal that she and Thomas were about to stage their fight. Violet winked back. "Thomas and Joan, I feel this argument of yours should be a private conversation. You're making me very uncomfortable."

"What's going on?" Edie asked.

"His work is tearing us apart!" Joan wailed, a little over the top.

Thomas put down his peas. "What does my work at the studio have to do with any of it?"

"Only everything! I've always come second to those suits. You care more about fiddling with their numbers..."

"Than fiddling with yours?" John guessed.

"Because you force me!" Thomas was all excitement now. It was ever so authentic to pretend to lace into Joan with the chunk of steak in his mouth. "You're more ambitious than I am, Madam Macbeth, except when it comes to the bedroom depart -"

"NOT another word, Thomas!"

Power was suddenly restored to a refrain of welcoming "ahhs". The break in the darkness exposed the fact that Vera, Elsa, and James were much closer to the room's exit than the seats where each had been.

"It still counts," Joan said to Philroy. He assured her it did.

Dessert was abandoned early. Vera returned to the dining room to say goodnight. "I've had enough, Philroy. It's been a long day and I'm tired. I realize it's up to you what we do next, but please be decent."

"But we have power again. I was going to surprise everyone with a screening on a sixteen millimetre projector. I have After the Thin Man all set up in the family room."

"I have no idea what any of that means," said Marcia.

"Who's in it?" asked Elizabeth.

"William Powell and Myrna Loy."

"What does that mean?" Marcia looked pained.

"Don't forget, Jimmy Stewart's in that one," Edie said, before some idea caused her to grow a little sullen and disengage.

"Question?" asked Paul. "Do we have a choice?"

Rolph tried to round up some enthusiasm. "Why not, guys? It'll be just like the movie theatre. Plus we've got a really cool storm outside."

"Goodnight, dear," Vera said, kissing her husband's cheek.

"You're taking his philandering very well," said John.

Vera ignored him. "Elsa?"

"I think I'll turn in," John said.

"Goodnight all," Elsa said, retreating.

"But on second thought," John said, "I haven't watched a sixteen millimetre in forever."

"Who cares?" Vera said to him. Elsa, apparently. She looked very frustrated following her mother upstairs.

Edie reacted to another bolt of lightning and decided she too would turn in. She mumbled goodnight under the thunder and began the tedious climb to her room. John was the first to make his way to the family room and when he passed Edie, looking down at him over the banister, Violet heard the old woman say sadly, "I hate that you look nothing like him, you know."

John responded quietly. "I know," and continued on his way

The remainder of the group filed into the screening room and spread out. Violet saw there was an empty spot next to John on the large sofa, but she opted to sit cross-legged on the floor instead. She wanted a little breathing space in the midst of distracted company. Anyone who wanted to sit next to her now would really have to want to.

The lights went out on purpose this time and the whirring film projector spun its reels with a hypnotic clickety-click. The leader crackled, the countdown skipped the number six, and suddenly they were all staring up at the huge opening frames of the title sequence.

"Focus!" people yelled. Philroy jumped to the task. Violet was enthralled. By and by, James lowered himself to the floor and made his way over to her.

"Violet, say yes," he whispered.

"Boy, do you have the wrong impression of me," she said.

"Say you'll go out with me after this weekend."

"It's rude to talk during the movie," she teased him.

"I hate this movie already."

"If you yawn and put your arm around me I'm going to call an usher."

"I'll save that for later," he said, and made a space between them.

About fifteen minutes in, as the leading lady was speaking to a hysterical co-star over the phone, the power went out again. The projector fizzled and the audience booed. Violet reached out in the dark for James' arm, but he wasn't there, gone up to bed, she assumed. Rosie and Fiona rushed in with lit lanterns from the kitchen. "Nobody lose it," Fiona said.

"Sorry, everybody," sighed Philroy. "I guess that's it for entertainment."

"I'm tired anyway," said Joan. "Thomas?"

"Yes, let's turn in early. Kids, if you're going to stay up, don't break anything."

"I'm going back to the guest house," Paul said. "John, you coming?"

"No!" He slapped the arm of his chair in adamant protest. "We're in the country. We have scotch. It's ten o'clock! Let's go out and look at the sky!"

"It's raining, loser," Elizabeth said. She gave a two-fingered smoking signal to Marcia. "Let's go."

The girls scampered upstairs and Paul escaped quickly. Philroy officially adjourned the evening and said goodnight to John and Violet.

"Violet," John said. "Let's have a dance out back."

"No, I don't think so."

"Come on. I've got stars on the brain and no way to reach them."

"How about we shoot you out of a cannon? Marcia has matches in her room."

"Let's dance! On the deck! In the dark! In Dullsville!" Violet laughed. "You want me to ask Paul?"

"Paul's gone."

"Look, I know you're in a hurry to get up to your room and not let Paul see anything, but you won't regret it."

"I'm too tired to hold out. One twirl and a dip and that's it."

John forgot about the deck and spun her around the room, managing to avoid sharp corners in the dark. He wasn't totally drunk, but a little wobbly. The dip was a clumsy success which made her laugh as he raised her gently. Violet could barely make out his pale face but she knew he was smiling.

"Goodnight, John."

"Nighty-night," he said.

He picked up his drink to take back to the guest house with him, whistling all the way, 'What can you do with a drunken sailor early in the morning?'

Enough moonlight pooled into Violet's room to lead the way to safe tooth brushing. She slipped into her nightclothes and afterwards peeked outside the window for signs of someone peeking into hers. The moon was swollen, glowing through a milky haze. She wondered if John was still dancing under it somewhere. She regretted not being out there with him having fun instead of going to bed at an infant's hour, but she knew why she wasn't. It was loyalty to Leo. She blew out her candle lantern and crept into bed. Was it even eleven yet? She couldn't tell. She could not see the clock unless she crawled to the foot of the bed and aimed its face in the stream of powder pale light. Just eleven o'clock. She would never make it to two-thirty without a little sleep despite her earlier nap. Even though George had done most of the work, her body was still tired from the ride. Sunbathing always made her feel detoxified and useless.

Violet couldn't figure out the clock's alarm and realized strangely that, apart from not wanting James to think it was petty retribution or some kind of game, she didn't care about missing their meeting. The hallway was jet black and the rendezvous point would be infinitely blacker. Would they even find each other if they tried? Why didn't she care just a little bit more?

"So tired," she whined a little. Say yes, Violet. I've got stars on the brain and no way to reach them. Something was mixed up. The lightning was so loud, but no, that was thunder. Soon Violet's hand went limp and the clock rested on the bed and she fell asleep with her feet on her pillows.

She heard a knock for sure this time. It had first incorporated itself into a dream about nailing a door shut, or had the dream lead in that direction to make sense of the outside noise? Violet now heard the soft ticks of the clock beside her. She held it up and read that it was two in the morning. James had come to get her. Hopefully with a lantern

She snuck to the door, eased it open, astonished at its creakiness. She could see nothing in front of her no matter how she strained her eyes. Violet nearly whispered James' name but stopped herself in case it was Philroy making some investigation or Elizabeth needing a nicotine fix.

"Who is it?" she asked hoarsely.

She felt the presence of someone in front of her changing the atmosphere. She was positive it was James because of the taunting silence. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

In response, her hand was reached for and held. "Don't you have a light on you?" she asked uncertainly. She felt hands on her forehead feeling their way to cupping her face. She giggled nervously. "Is somebody there?"

Her stomach tensed a little as she reached out towards the source of warm breath and skin. Carefully, sweetly, her lips were brushed by a soft new mouth, and a gentle kiss with complete permission became a passionate one. But a fervent kiss that must go no further can only be ended abruptly, and Violet did so, wanting both to own and be controlled by it and deciding on neither. For where would the justice in the world be if she allowed herself to give in fully to the familiar face and the familiar taste of scotch on the unfamiliar lips of John Finch?

She pulled away, confused, said no more, and shut the door quietly. She returned to bed where she lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, at something she knew was there but couldn't see.