Storiesonline.net
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                                Soulmates
                             by Will Bailey

Copyright© 2006 by Will Bailey


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Description: Love can appear in unlikely places and guises. It can range from a mild flirtation to an overwhelming passion. The rarest form of love is one that cannot be denied. It sweeps you away and carries you to a place you never knew existed. This is the story of two people who discover not only are they meant to be together, they were created for each other. They're soulmates. As is usually the case with my stories, this one is a romance, not a stroke story.

Codes: MF rom cons het oral
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Chapter 1


Greg woke up slowly and reluctantly. He'd returned from a ten-day business trip the night before, and he was bushed. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. At least he was home for a while and in his own bed. Hotels were all well and good, but there was truly no place like home. He stood and made his way to the john. When he finished his business, he walked toward his closet. He'd almost reached it when he yelled out and held his right foot. "Christ," he yelled, 'what the fuck is that?" He'd stepped on something sharp. The culprit sparkled in the sunlight. It was a blue thing that looked like something women put in their hair. Probably Amy's, Greg thought, although blue didn't seem to be one of her colours. In fact, he couldn't recall if he'd ever seen her wear anything blue. Maybe it belonged to one of her friends. As usual, his niece Amy had been house sitting for him while he was out of town. She often invited friends in. He knew because she always asked him ahead of time. And he always said yes.

He was also annoyed to recall that it was Sunday and therefore the day of Amy's birthday party. Since she was a little girl, she'd always been his favourite among his nieces and nephews. He certainly didn't want to disappoint her. And he wanted to see her reaction to the gift he'd bought for her. He'd simply have to steel himself and go to the party.

Greg knew that he spoiled Amy rotten, but he couldn't help himself. Perhaps if he and Lynn had children it would be different. God knew that they'd tried. Consulted more than one fertility expert. All the doctors had been in agreement. There seemed to be no physical reason that Greg and Lynn couldn't conceive. But no matter what strategy they tried, nothing happened.

Then, suddenly, there was no more Lynn, and Amy was all he had. That stupid, senseless accident. He'd never forget the image of Lynn lying in the snow. Massive head trauma, the doctors said. She survived in a coma for over two weeks. From the beginning, the doctors advised turning off the life support. Finally Greg had agreed. After almost five years, he still wasn't sure he'd made the right decision.

Greg had breakfast, finished unpacking his suitcases, and chose the clothes to wear to Amy's party. He bathed, shaved and dressed. Finally, he was ready to go. He looked at himself in the mirror, forcing a smile. "Show time," he said.

It was a typical gray February in Toronto. The only good thing was the relatively light Sunday traffic. Greg found a parking place with little difficulty and rang the bell. He was greeted warmly by his brother-in-law, Amy's dad, and shown into the living room. As he'd expected, it was filled with kids. There were a few sullen-looking boys with piercings and tattoos. But most of the guests were girls. He corrected himself. They were young women, not girls. Amy was twenty-two today, and he assumed that her friends were of a similar age.

Amy immediately spotted him. He found himself enveloped in one of her bear-hugs. "Uncle Greg," she screamed in his ear, "come and meet my friends." She dragged him into the fray. She introduced him to everyone in the room. Greg knew that he'd never remember any of their names. He felt quite helpless.

Then he spotted a new arrival. She certainly stood out from the crowd. She was petite with curly coal-black hair, blue almond-shaped eyes and incredibly white skin. Greg thought she looked like an ivory doll. But what really set her apart from the others was the way she was dressed. She was wearing a beaded white top and a shiny black skirt with some sort of bright silver appliqué in the shape of a bird. The other girls were in jeans, usually far too tight, and crop tops. They were showing lots of belly and butt in the area between the end of their shirts and the beginning of their jeans. This new arrival seemed oddly overdressed for the occasion. Her costume might have been more appropriate at a cocktail party or a theatre opening. Greg was intrigued.

Megan stopped in her tracks. There he was, standing near a bunch of what she thought of as "the air heads." "God, it's him," she said to herself. "Well, here goes nothing." She smoothed her skirt and walked over to Greg. She smiled and held out her hand, which he took. "Hello," she said, "You're Amy's Uncle Greg," she said. "I recognize you from your pictures. I'm Megan O'Hara. We've never met, although I've slept in your bed."

Greg was a bit nonplused. Then he slowly grinned. Of course, he'd heard about Amy's friend Megan. Not long after Amy began house-sitting for him she'd asked if Megan could stay with her. Greg had given his permission and then laughingly said that he had only three rules for house-sitting: don't burn down the house, don't wreck the car, and don't get pregnant. Yes, he'd heard of Megan. Amy had mentioned her many times. He recalled that Amy had even mentioned that Megan was half Japanese. That would account for the shape of her eyes.

"Well," he said, "the next time you're there I'll try not to miss it."

Megan blushed. She laughed and said, "Touché. Amy's probably told you that I'm a bit of a tease. It looks as though I've met my match."

Greg looked perplexed. He said, "Why would you think I was teasing you?" Megan blushed again. She was confused. Was this guy really hitting on her? Or was he teasing?.

The situation changed with Amy's arrival. "Oh great," she said, "you two have met. Megan is one of my closest and dearest friends. Both of you come with me. The bar is in the kitchen." When she was small, Greg's pet name for his niece was "Hurricane Amy." Now he and Megan followed in the wake of the hurricane.

Greg and Megan poured themselves glasses of wine. A covey of air heads descended on the bar. Megan said, "Greg, if you don't mind I'll just stand back there by the pantry. It's getting a bit crowded here."

Greg smiled at her. He said, "May I join you?"

She smiled back at him. "Of course," she said, "please do."

The two stood in the pantry doorway. "So you're him," Megan said, "the famous Greg Young."

Greg laughed. "Hardly famous," he said.

"You seem famous to me. I've heard so much about you from Amy. If you've done half the things she's told me about, you're either famous or deserve to be."

Now it was Greg's turn to blush. "Well," he said, "flattery will get you anywhere with me."

Megan grinned. "And I," she said, "am a master of feminine wiles. Flatter, promise everything, deliver almost nothing."

Greg said, "There's an aria from Mozart's Così fan tutte that sums that up."

Megan laughed. To Greg, her laughter sounded like bells. She said, "Do you mean Una donna a quindic'anni?" She sang a bit. Then she quoted. "'A girl of fifteen ought to know the world, '" she said, "and it goes on to say, 'she ought to know little tricks that charm lovers... She must pay attention to a hundred men and talk to a thousand with her eyes, give hope to all, handsome or ugly.' Is that the one?"

"That's it," Greg said. "I'm impressed that you know it. And you have a lovely voice."

"Thank you sir," Megan said, giving a little curtsy. "My dad was a great opera fan. He was determined that I was going to be a singer. So I took lessons for years. It became apparent that my voice was more the shower variety than operatic. So I still sing, but just for pleasure."

Greg said, "Your voice sounds considerably better than the 'shower variety' to me. I'd love to hear you really sing something. But does that song describe you? Are you like Mozart's Despina?"

Megan pursed her lips. "Every woman is, to some degree," she said. "But being a woman is also a tricky business. Even now, a woman has to know her place. She can't be too forward or she's 'pushy.' If she's shy, she's 'stand offish' or 'stuck up.' A woman walks a thin line. Emily Dickinson put it perfectly when she wrote, 'Why do they shut me out of heaven? Did I sing too loud?' A man can 'sing' as loudly as he wants to. He can thunder, like Gerard Manley Hopkins. But a woman can't."

Greg laughed. He said, "Yes, Hopkins certainly was Manley, and not in name only. He thundered in poems like God's Grandeur: 'The world is charged with the grandeur of God, It will flame out, like shining from shook foil, '" he quoted in a pompous voice. Megan laughed her bell-like laugh. "But poetry isn't the best example to prove your point. Art is one of the few areas in which a man can show sensitivity and vulnerability. In their personal lives, straight men aren't supposed to show weakness and must never, ever cry. Artists can find an outlet for emotion. But the rest of us keep our emotions bottled up inside until we're a mess of complexes."

The two of them continued to chat. By the time the party was ending, Greg realized that he'd spent most of the afternoon talking to Megan. He found her a fascinating and intelligent young woman, not to mention attractive.

For her part, Megan was intrigued by Greg. He was a lot older than she was. Maybe even near the age her dad would be if he were alive, but he didn't seem old or stuffy. He had an incredibly wide range of interests. She reflected that she'd like to get to know him better. He might even be as terrific as Amy thought he was.

As the party was breaking up, Greg said, "Where are you going, Megan? I'd be happy to offer you a lift."

Megan smiled. "No, I can't ask you to do that. I'll take the subway."

"But it's quite a walk to the station from here. And it's cold as hell outside."

"OK. Thanks. I'm just going to visit a friend at Pape and the Danforth."

"That's right on my way home."

Megan looked into his eyes and grinned. "I know," she said.

As they left, Amy kissed them both and gave Greg one of her patented bear hugs. "Thank you so much for my present, Uncle Greg. How did you know exactly what I wanted? It's even the right colour."

Greg had given her a video iPod. A black one. "I read minds," he said.

Greg opened his car door and held it for Megan. "Thanks," she said. "You're a gentleman. I can't remember the last time I met a real gentleman."

Greg laughed. "We're out of style," he said. Greg went around to the driver's side and got in. "The seat belt buckle is a little tricky," he said.

"I know. I've ridden in this car many times."

Again, Greg realized she was simply telling the truth. When Amy was house-sitting, she had access to his car. As well, he reflected, as to his wine cellar and liquor cabinet. Though to give her credit she always asked permission before treating her friends. Unfortunately, he always granted it.

As Greg pulled out into traffic, Megan leaned back in the seat. Her skirt rose several inches above her knees. She noticed that Greg glanced at her legs several times. She thought, "I think he likes what he sees. Let's show him a little bit more." She shifted slightly so that her skirt would rise higher. Her legs were now revealed up to mid-thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Greg was glancing her way more frequently. She let her skirt rise just a little more.

"I can't believe," he said, "that you're running around barelegged in the middle of winter. You should be wearing tights or something."

Megan laughed. "I never do," she said. "This is me. Winter or summer. Skirts without stockings. I hardly ever wear pants. I'm a girlie girl. The only compromise I make in the winter is to wear boots. But they're still high heels. And not only do I hate stockings. I also can't stand underwear."

Greg was really taken aback at this revelation. He sputtered, "You mean..."

"Yup," she said. "I'm strictly commando. Shall I prove it?"

"Some other time, perhaps."

Megan laughed. She said, "Well, here we are. You can let me out anywhere."

Greg pulled to the curb, and Megan hopped out. She rapidly disappeared into the busy stream of pedestrian traffic. As Greg drove home, he thought to himself, "What an odd young woman. Odd but interesting. And beautiful. I was tempted to invite her out for a drink. But she was meeting someone." He drove on, still thinking about Megan. "She seems tough on the outside. It's probably an act. I'll bet she's been hurt. Badly. And she doesn't want to be hurt again. I think I could pierce that façade. I'd like to see her again. But hell, she's so much younger. She'd probably laugh at an old fart like me. Still..."

Megan pulled her coat tightly around her as she hustled toward her apartment. She thought, "He's handsome. And bright, too. But he's Amy's uncle, for Christ's sake." She shook her head. "I don't believe I was flirting with him. And he flirted back. Why did I tell him that I was meeting a friend? Why didn't I tell him the truth: that I was going home? Was I afraid that he might ask me out? Or maybe to come to his place? I'd have gone with him. What was I afraid of, that he'd rape me for Chist's sake? So why did I try to keep him from asking me? I'm so fucking stupid. Maybe I should call him. Oh hell no. It doesn't make any sense. He's not interested in me. No chance that he might be, is there? I just don't know."



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Chapter 2

The next morning, Greg was at work as usual on a Monday. His phone rang. He picked it up. His assistant said, "Your niece is calling. Can you take the call."

"Sure," Greg said.

When Amy was put through, she immediately gushed about her present and thanked him effusively. Then she giggled. She said, "How did you like the Ice Princess?"

Greg had no idea what she was talking about. All he could say was, "What?"

"Megan. The Ice Princess. That's what everybody calls her. She frosts the balls off any guy who comes near her. What do you think?"

Greg shrugged, a gesture lost on his audience. He said, "I don't know. I didn't find her cold. She's interesting and intelligent. Why?"

"Oh," Amy said. "Well, I guess maybe you warmed her a bit. You guys sure talked a lot. Anyway, thanks so much for the wonderful iPod. I'm going to download tons of videos."

Greg groaned. He knew who'd be charged for all those downloads.

After Amy's call, the week progressed fairly normally for Greg. It was the usual run of meetings interlaced with screening sessions. The pilot season was rapidly approaching -- the time of year when the networks screened pilots of series. Greg always regarded it as a lottery. He'd been fairly lucky in that lottery in the past few seasons. This year, he had two pilots already in production and had a stack of scripts on his desk for prospective shows. Getting through them would be more work than he wanted to think about.

When he wasn't working, Megan crept into his thoughts. He thought about her far too often for his liking. He found himself chuckling again at her jokes and remembering little things like the way she'd cocked her head when she grinned. He wondered several times whether he should call her. After all, what could she do, laugh at him? No, he thought, she'd probably just politely decline his invitation. But the thing that kept him from calling her was the thought of what she'd say to her friends, especially Amy. He could imaging Megan telling Amy, "I don't know why Greg is coming on to me. It's gross. I mean, he's your uncle,  for chrissake."

His American Express bill arrived in Thursday's mail. He amost choked on his morning coffee when he looked at the total. He had no idea he'd spent that much on his trips. As he went through the detailed listing of charges, he noted that a lot of them weren't his at all. They were Amy's. He'd given her a card on his Amex platinum account. There was no credit limit on the account, but the deal was supposed to be that she used the card just for emergencies. Or at least after checking with him first. So far this month, she'd had a lot of emergencies. Nearly two-thousand dollars worth. He noted that some of the emergencies had been at La Vie en Rose, Canada's answer to Victoria's Secret, and at Benihana, the posh Japanese restaurant. Much as he hated to, he'd have to have a word with the kid. He dialed her cell.

"Oh gosh, Uncle Greg," Amy said when he confronted her with the charges, "I'm sorry. I had no idea that I'd spent so much. I'll be careful. I promise. I won't spend any more this month. But could I do just one thing? Please?"

Greg pursed his lips and shook his head. "OK, Princess. What is it?"

"I really absolutely have to get my hair done. I look like a bag lady."

Greg laughed. "I can't remember," he said, "the last time I saw a bag lady wearing Armani jeans and carrying a Gucci purse."

"Don't laugh, Uncle Greg. I really do need a hair cut. And highlights."

"All right," Greg said, "I know I'll regret it."

"Oh thank you so much," she said. "I hate to ask, but could you give me a lift?"

"Jesus," Greg thought, "What's next? Lunch at Tasting Rooms? Or isn't that expensive enough?" Aloud, he said, "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. My hair appointment is at two o'clock," she said. "Is that all right?"

Greg sighed. "Yeah," he said, "I'll get out of my afternoon meetings. How about lunch before your appointment?"

"Great," she said. "Where?"

"How about McDonald's?"

"Oh Uncle Greg," she said, "don't be silly. I can't take Megan to McDonald's"

Megan? She'd be there? Greg heard himself saying, "How about Tasting Rooms?"

"That'll be fantastic," Amy said, "I'm sure Megan's never been there. How about noon? That should give us plenty of time."

"OK. Where do you go for your hair appointment?"

"Holt Renfrew," she said. Greg groaned. Only the most expensive place in town. No wonder he called her "Princess."

After he hung up the phone, Greg shook his head, laughing at himself. He said, "Well, I sure gave her a talking-to, didn't I?" Then his mood sobered. Megan would be there. He'd see her again. For lunch, no less.

When Amy told Megan about their lunch appointment, Megan felt really conflicted. On the one hand, she really wanted to see Greg. On the other hand, maybe he didn't want to see her. She said, "When you told him I was coming, what did he say?"

"I don't remember. Maybe he didn't say anything. But actually I think he said, 'that'll be OK, ' or 'that'll be great, ' or something like that. What's the difference, Megs? He knows we go just about everyplace together."

Megan shook her head. She said, "What's the difference? There's a helluva lotta difference between 'OK' and 'great.' Are you sure it's all right?"

"Oh hell yes," Amy said. "Come on. I'm sure Greg likes you. He hung out with you through my whole party."

On Friday, Greg took extra care shaving and combing his hair. He looked through his closet, settling at length on a blue blazer, gray slacks and a pink shirt. No tie, of course. He didn't want to look like a stuffy old fart.

Megan went through her entire wardrobe twice before settling on a blue suit and a white crocheted top. "Nice but not fancy," she thought. "More businesslike." She dressed and headed for Amy's house.

Greg was nervous as hell when he pulled up in front of Amy's place. "Come on," he said to himself. "Don't be an ass. You're taking your niece and her friend to lunch. That's all. You're not a teenager on his first date, for Christ's sake."

Greg went up the steps and prepared to ring the bell. He was almost bowled over by Amy. She threw open the door with a cry of "Uncle Greg!" Amy hugged him and then ran down the steps with Megan trailing in her wake. Greg brought up the rear. He couldn't help thinking what an unlikely pair the two young women seemed to be. Amy was tall with a voluptuous figure, while Megan was petite with small breasts and gently flaring hips. Even in her high heels, she barely came to Amy's shoulder. Amy was wearing designer jeans, a crop-top and a leather jacket. Megan was dressed in a business suit. Amy rushed to the car and planted herself in the front passenger seat. Greg helped Megan into the back seat.

Greg started the car and backed out of the driveway. He said, "That was quite a welcome."

Amy giggled. "I'm hungry," she said. She turned around and said to Megan, "Are you hungry, Megs?"

"Starved," Megan said. "I could eat a horse."

"Actually," Greg said, "the restaurant we're going to used to have horse on the menu. I'm sure they could still find some for you, if you'd like."

Megan said, "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. It's a French delicacy, you know. Good, too."

"I think I just lost my appetite," Megan said.

Amy grinned. "Thank God I'm a vegetarian," she said.

Greg laughed. "Like hell you are," he said. "You're a chocotarian. I swear you must live on chocolate. Megan, are you a chocotarian?"

"Nope. I'm not that much into sweets. Cheeses are my weakness, Especially good soft-ripened French cheeses."

"Mine, too," Greg said. "I don't even keep them in the house. If I did, I'd weigh a ton. I could eat a whole wheel of Brie at one sitting. Especially the real French stuff with a slightly brown surface. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it."

Greg parked the car in the Exchange Tower garage, and they took the elevator up to Tasting Rooms. The maitre d' showed them to their table. Greg ordered a martini for himself and something called a martini, but actually a disgusting fruity concoction, for Amy. Megan opted for Perrier. As they waited for their drinks, they studied the menu.

Megan said, "Just as I thought. You were pulling my leg. There's no horse."

Greg motioned to a waiter. He said to him, "Servez-vous du cheval? Je n'en vois pas sur le menu."

The waiter nodded his head. "Oui monsieur. En voulez-vous?"

Greg looked at Megan and raised an eyebrow. She shook her head vigorously.

Greg smiled and said to the waiter, "Non, merci. La mademoiselle a changé d'avis."

As the waiter walked away, Amy said, "That was mean."

Megan hid her face in her menu. Greg said, "Megan, I'm sorry. I had no right to do that to you."

Megan laughed. She put her menu on the table and laughed until tears ran down her face. "And what would you have done," she said, "if I'd ordered a hunk of dobbin?"

Greg laughed. "I'd have had some along with you. Just to ruin Amy's lunch."

Amy said, "You two! The pair of you are nothing but teases."

Greg said, "The pair of us?" Megan blushed. She was saved from further embarrassment by the waiter arriving with the drinks. Greg placed his order for a rare filet mignon. Amy was true-to-form. She ordered the vegetarian stir-fry, followed by chocolate mousse. Megan surprised him by ordering the venison pie.

Greg couldn't help teasing Megan. "So," he said, "you won't eat dobbin, but you'll eat Bambi. Right?" Megan simply blushed. Partly to cover her embarrassment, Greg said, "By the way, Megan, you have a lovely wardrobe."

She smiled and said, "Thank you, sir. It's the result of many hours spent shopping some of Toronto's finer secondhand establishments."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Well, the outfits I've seen certainly don't look secondhand."

Megan laughed. "Thanks again. But I suspect that many of them were only worn once or twice by the original owners. For a certain segment of society, that's the life-span of a designer outfit. Wearing it once is fine. After the second time, simply everybody has seen it." Greg and Amy laughed loudly at Megan's tone of voice and the gesture that accompanied it.

The food soon arrived. Through lunch, Amy chattered away, monopolizing the conversation. Greg grunted when necessary. Megan simply smiled and ate her lunch. There was a reason, Greg reflected, why Amy's high school friends had called her "drama queen." Now, of course, there was even more reason. Amy was in her third year of drama studies at York University.

As Amy chattered on, Greg found himself looking at Megan. When their eyes met, he felt a little tingle down his spine. It was pleasurable and unnerving at the same time. He thought he must have been imagining the sensation. But when their eyes met again, there it was -- the same tingle. But stronger this time.

He wondered if Megan could be feeling the same thing. The next time they made eye contact, he decided to hold the gaze as long as he could. Yes, there was the tingle. And the longer he looked into Megan's eyes, the more intense it became. He saw her eyes widen. Yes, she must be feeling something similar. Was this what people meant by "chemistry?"

When the meal was finished, Greg ordered cappuccinos for everyone. As he passed the sugar, his hand brushed Megan's. He felt a shock. It was almost as though he'd touched a live wire. Megan's intake of breath made him sure that she'd felt it, too. If not the same shock, she'd surely felt something.

After lunch, Greg drove Amy and Megan to Holt Renfrew. He said, "Do either or both of you need a ride home?"

"Nope," Amy answered. "Mum is picking us up."

"And I'll just shop while Amy's in the chair," Megan said. "Well I'll look. I doubt that I'll buy anything at Holt's prices."

Amy leaned over the console, hugged Greg and jumped out of the car. Greg turned to offer Megan his hand. Instead, she surprised the hell out of him by leaning over the seat and kissing his lips gently. The shock this time was quite intense. "I really enjoyed lunch," she said, her voice shaking just a bit. "Thank you so much."

Greg felt buzzed out of his mind. He mumbled, "Any time."

Megan got out of the car and joined Amy on the sidewalk. Amy walked toward the doors of Holt Renfrew. She looked over her shoulder. Megan was standing on the sidewalk, seemingly staring into space. "Come on, Megs," Amy said impatiently. "I'm due in the salon right now." Megan turned and followed Amy into the store. "Ah," Amy said, inhaling deeply, "I love this place. It even smells expensive. Whoever said that money can't buy happiness just didn't know where to shop."



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Chapter 3


The next morning, Greg had to leave on yet another business trip. He groaned as he once again packed. Traveling was getting to be a real pain in the ass. He wished there were another way to do business. Teleconferencing was all right for some things. But others demanded the old-fashioned hands-on approach. He'd be gone for a week this time. As usual, Amy would house-sit. He made sure that he'd left her some spending money and the customary box of Godiva chocolates. The airport limo arrived just as he closed his suitcases, and he was off.

As had become her habit, Amy had invited Megan to stay with her in Greg's house. Megan really liked the place. It was much grander than her mother's house and far nicer than Amy's parents' home. But it still felt lived in. Greg had definitely left his spoor everywhere. Now that she'd met him, she could see him in all sorts of things. Things like the art, the choice of decor or the style of furniture, for instance. Nothing was too fancy, but everything was first class. Substance rather than flash. Yes, that was Greg. And after that experience in the restaurant, she thought that she could actually feel his presence.

She thought back over the lunch on Friday. Had Greg felt what she did? Yes, she was sure that he had. He'd gasped when their hands touched. So had she. At exactly the same moment. When she'd looked into his eyes, she'd almost felt that she was falling into gray-green whirlpools. And it was almost as though he could see inside her. She shivered remembering the chills she'd had down her spine. And when she'd kissed him, she'd thought she might collapse on the spot.

She hadn't made it up. It was real. Wasn't it?

Tuesday evening the two girls ordered pizza and opened a bottle of Greg's Chianti. They finished the pizza and were putting the dishes in the dishwasher when the phone rang. Amy said, "Megs, can you get that? My hands are all wet."

"Sure," Megan said. She picked up the phone and said, "Young residence."

There was a slight hesitation. Then a man's voice said, "Megan?"

Megan said, "Yes, it is." Oh God, it was him. The chills were back, even more intense. "Is this Greg?"

There was silence for a few moments. Then Greg said, "Yes, it is. Megan, it's so nice to hear your voice." The tingling was there again. How could just hearing her voice produce this effect?

Megan blushed and shivered. She was glad that Greg couldn't see her. "Thanks," she said, "it's nice to hear yours as well. I hope you don't mind my being here."

"Not at all. What's happening?"

"Nothing much," she said. "Just spending my days chained to a desk. How about you?"

"Bored out of my mind," Greg said. "Nothing but boring meetings during the day and a hotel room at night."

Megan said, "You don't like hotels?"

"No," he said. "I don't."

She said, "I haven't stayed in a hotel too many times. When I did, I thought it was kind of a treat."

Greg laughed. "Maybe it would be," he said, "if you were on holiday. On business trips, the hotel is sort of a combination office for the busy and warehouse for the weary."

Megan laughed in return. She said, "I hope you don't mind, but Amy and I had a bottle of your wine with supper."

Greg laughed. "I trust," he said, "that it wasn't the 1995 Château Margaux."

Megan giggled. "Oh hell no," she said, "it was a bottle of Chianti."

"That's OK. Go ahead and have another bottle, if you want."

"We just might. Do you want to speak to Amy?"

"I guess I'd better."

Megan handed the phone to Amy. Amy chattered away for a while. Megan didn't even try to follow the conversation. She was thinking about Greg. And she was still tingling. "Damn," she thought, "I've got to cut this out. I could be setting myself up for a big fall."

Amy hung up the phone. The two girls opened another bottle of wine and prepared to drink it in the living room in front of the fireplace. Amy sat on the chesterfield to work on her homework. She had to read a play and be prepared to discuss it in her drama history class. Megan sat on the floor in front of her. Megan liked sitting with her legs extended toward the fire. She loved feeling the warmth.

Amy groaned as she opened her textbook. "God, I hate Molière," she said. "He's supposed to be so goddam funny. But I just think he's dull. He works too hard at comedy. It's too fucking contrived."

Megan sipped her wine and made a noncommittal sound. She poured a bit more from the new bottle for Amy and herself. Then she said. "Does Greg date?"

Amy looked up. She said, "What?"

Megan said, "Does Greg date? Does he go out with women?"

"I guess so. Once in a while, maybe."

The two were quiet for a few more minutes. Then Megan said, "Do you think Greg likes me."

"Yeah," Amy said distractedly, "I guess so."

"No, I mean really likes me."

She had Amy's attention now. Amy said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean the way that men like women. Do you think he's attracted to me?"

Amy said, "You're not making any sense. Sure he likes you. But that's all."

Megan smiled. She drank her wine in silence for a few minutes while Amy read her play. She swirled the wine in her glass. The firelight shone through the red liquid, creating little sparkling lights. She said, "Do you think I'd make a good aunt?"

Amy stared at her. Her eyes narrowed as she said, "Are you drunk?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it. Tonight, I'm gonna get fire-engine red. But tell me. Don't you think 'Auntie Megan' has a nice ring to it?"

Amy said, "That's not funny."

Megan laughed. "Who says I'm trying to be funny?"

Amy glared at Megan. "I goddam well hope you're trying to be funny. Because if I thought you were serious, I'd kick your slutty ass. And you know I can do it, too. I had six years of karate training, and I still work out. I could kick your ass so hard your eyes would be brown and your cunt would be on your chin."

"Calm down, Amykins. I'm not about to rape your dear uncle. Anyway, what do you care? You're his niece, not his goddam girlfriend."

"Just leave him alone. If I catch you fucking around with Greg, you'll wish you'd never been born. And don't call me 'Amykins.'"

"OK. OK. Sorry. Forget it."

Silence descended on the room. For about twenty minutes, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the turning of pages in Amy's textbook. Megan couldn't help thinking about Greg. She broke the silence. "How much do you think Greg makes?"

Amy looked up from her book. She said, "I'm not sure. All I know is that Dad says Greg makes three or four times as much as he does. Maybe more."

"And your dad's a professor."

"Yeah. So's your mum. So you know about how much he makes. I mean, your mum is at York and Dad's at U of T. But the pay is about the same. Dad makes pretty good money. But Mum hasn't worked since I was born. So we've had to live on what Dad makes. That's why we have such a shitty place instead of something like this." Amy frowned and said, "But why do you care how much Greg makes? Are you turning into a goddam gold digger or something?"

Megan smiled. "Hell no. I'm just interested."

"Well, forget it. I meant what I said. You fuck around with Greg, and I'll fuck you up real bad."

"Jesus. Chill out, will ya? Finish your play. I want to see that new DVD I rented."

Once again, peace descended on the house. But Megan continued to think about Greg. She knew that if she was ever going to sleep again -- ever going to have any peace in her mind -- she had to know what was happening with Greg.



-------

Chapter 4

Saturday afternoon, Greg arrived home. He changed out of his suit and unpacked his suitcases. While he was unpacking, he shook his head. It was really stupid, the way that Megan had haunted his thoughts since the party. Even more since he took Amy and Megan to lunch. And then talking to her the other night had made it even worse. Every night that week as he lay in bed in his hotel room, he'd found himself wondering what she was doing. What she was wearing. If she was thinking of him. He said, "God, I'd like to see her again." He sighed. "You stupid, sad old bastard," he said to himself, "obsessing on a young girl. You should be locked up. And if that's not bad enough, now you're talking to yourself." He finished unpacking and put the suitcases away in his walk-in closet.

Greg went downstairs, looking forward to making himself a martini and having a quiet, restful evening at home. Just as he got a good rhythm going with the cocktail shaker, the doorbell rang. "Fuck," he said vehemently. The doorbell at this time on a Saturday was hardly ever a good omen. Often it meant that some solicitor or religious fanatic was on the other side of the door. Of course, it might be Amy. Perhaps she'd forgotten something when she'd packed her stuff.

Reluctantly, Greg went to the front door. He opened the door. It wasn't a solicitor. Nor was it Amy. It was Megan. He looked into her eyes and felt the same shock as before. More. He felt that he should look away but couldn't.

"Oh shit," she said, "I'm sorry, Greg. I got the day wrong. I thought that Amy was still here and that you'd be home tomorrow. I'm such an idiot. Crap. I even brought a bottle of wine to share with her." She held up the bag in her hand, feeling like a fool. Were her legs shaking? Maybe she should just make a break for it and run.

Greg stood there for a moment looking at her. He gathered his wits. He took a deep breath. He smiled. "Well, we can't let a good bottle of wine go to waste, can we? Come in out of the cold." Megan smiled timidly and came in, handing Greg the wine. Greg pulled the bottle from its bag and grunted his approval of a respectable Chardonnay. "This will be great later," he said, "right now, I have a shaker full of martinis in the study. How about it?"

Megan ruefully shook her head. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline the martini," she said, "I have the Japanese curse." She took off her coat and handed it to Greg. She was dressed much as she had been at Amy's party, in a very nice skirt and sweater

As Greg hung up her coat, he raised his eyebrows quizzically. He said, "What's the 'Japanese curse?'"

Megan laughed. She said, "I turn bright red when I drink. Especially when I drink something strong like a martini."

"Is it an allergy or what?"

"I don't know. It's just something that happens to a lot of Japanese people. I'm only half Japanese. But the curse was included in my half."

"What if I don't mind drinking with a red woman?"

Megan laughed. "OK. Just no staring or laughter. Please."

"Don't worry. If I'm caught staring it won't be because you're red."

At that, Megan did turn red. As she followed Greg to the study, she thought to herself, "What are you doing, girl? Well, in for a penny, as they say. I guess I'll just hold my breath and see what happens."

Greg said, "Olives, onions or a twist?"

"Twist, please."

"Rocks or straight up?"

"Just a couple of rocks."

Greg gave the tumbler a last shake, poured the drinks, garnished them and handed one to Megan. He said, "Here you are. Sit down and make yourself comfortable." Megan sat on the chesterfield, tucking one leg beneath her. Greg sat beside her. "Cheers," he said. Megan clinked glasses with Greg. They both sipped their drinks. And again, there was that indefinable tingle between them.

Greg thought about it. Here she was, this girl who'd haunted his dreams for weeks, live, in the flesh and sitting beside him. She'd said that she came by accident. He hoped that wasn't true. He knew it wasn't true. What the hell. Let's go for it. Double or nothing. He took another sip and said, "Tell me what circumstance brings you to my door."

Megan blushed. She said, "I told you," she said, "I expected to find Amy here."

Greg smiled. When Megan blushed, it was very apparent because of her light complexion. Greg couldn't help thinking how cute it made her look. And her blush gave her away. He said, "Bullshit. You're not the sort of ditzy dame who forgets what day it is. Far from it. It didn't take me long when we first met to realize that you were very bright and quick on your feet. You gave me back everything I threw at you. And more. Let's start with this premise: you're not stupid, and neither am I. You knew I'd be here and hoped, or perhaps expected, to be invited in. OK?"

Megan blushed again, taking a drink to cover her confusion. She took a deep breath and looked Greg full in the face. "You caught me," she said. "I wanted to see you again. Is that so awful?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Not awful at all. And I'll admit that I wanted to see you. In fact, I've thought of little else but you since Amy's party. You're my niece's best friend. But the feelings I'm getting for you are hardly avuncular. And certainly not fatherly. It's all very confusing."

Megan gulped her drink. She didn't care if she turned beet-red. She needed the fortification. "Confusing is a good word," she said. "I'm at least confused. More like terrified."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," Greg said. "If you're getting the same vibe I am, it's scary." Greg sighed and sipped his martini. He looked into Megan's blue eyes. Again, he felt himself falling into them. Should he ask her to stay? Well, it was now or never. He said, "Would you like to stay for supper?"

Megan smiled. Greg thought her smile was beautiful. Radiant was the word.

Megan said, "Thanks. I would, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all, " Greg said. "I'll appreciate the company of a lovely lady. And especially the company of this beautiful lady." He felt silly as soon as he'd said it.

Megan's blush deepened. Her cheeks burned with the combination of booze and embarrassment. She was tempted to ask for a mirror. Or perhaps not. Did she really want to see how terrible she looked? Instead, she simply said, "Can I help?"

"You bet. I think I'll grill some salmon. I've got some great filets in the freezer. Caught 'em myself last summer. But you can certainly lend a hand with the other stuff."

"What's the 'other stuff?'"

"Whatever we can find in the fridge. I literally just arrived home. As you know, I've been away for a week and haven't had a chance to scout things out."

Megan said, "There are some nice veggies in the pantry. At least there were the other day." Greg looked at her with a grin. She felt her blush deepen. God! What did she look like now? A clown? She continued quickly, "And there's rice in the cupboard. I can make a terrific veggie stir-fry with rice. My mum's recipe. It'll go great with salmon."

"Sounds great. If you need help finding anything, just call out." Greg took the wine bucket from the shelf, filled it with ice and carefully put in Megan's Chardonnay. Then he opened the patio door and went out to light the inbuilt gas grill.

When he returned Megan was busily chopping vegetables. She grinned at him and said, "Amy told me that you barbecue all year long, even in the dead of winter. I think that's..."

"Eccentric?"

"No. Unusual, perhaps. But charming."

"In other words, you like eccentricity."

"Who am I to call anyone eccentric? Remember, I'm the girl who dresses like this all the time." She swept her hand to indicate her clothes.

Greg couldn't help teasing her. "And as I recall, there's another possible eccentricity about your mode of dress. One that's not perhaps so obvious to the naked eye."

Once again, Megan's cheeks burned. She turned her attention to her vegetables. Greg went into the dining room to set the table.

Amazingly, everything came together at the same time. They took the food into the dining room. As Greg held Megan's chair for her, she felt herself blushing again. "Goddam it," she thought, "what is there about this guy? He makes me feel embarrassed and special all at the same time."

Greg opened the wine and poured a trickle into her glass. He said, "Would you care to do the honours, my lady?"

Another blush. Megan raised her glass and sipped. "I'm no expert," she said, "but I'd say that's wine. White wine, to be specific."

Greg laughed as he filled their glasses. "And I'd say that you're right on," he said. "Bon appetit, fair lady."

The two ate in silence for a moment. Then Greg said, "The stir-fry is excellent. My compliments to the chef."

"Make that the sous-chef," Megan said. "The chef made the real pièce de résistance: the salmon."

"To the chefs," Greg said, raising his glass. The two clinked glasses and drank. "So tell me how you met Amy."

"Well, it's a fairly short story. I was her supervisor at the pool where she used to lifeguard and teach swimming. One day, she came storming into my office all in a lather about the coordinator of the swimming instruction programme. I agreed that he was an idiot, but, short of his being convicted of a crime, there was no way that I could fire him. Union protection. I said that I'd help her as much as I could, and I invited her to lunch. That was about three years ago. We've been buddies ever since."

Greg pursed his lips. "Let's see," he said. "Three years ago, Amy was 19. And you were already a supervisor for the Toronto department of recreation. You must have been quite a prodigy."

Megan blushed yet again. "I'm a bit older than Amy," she said. "How old do you think I am?"

Greg furrowed his brow. "I guess I assumed that you and Amy were about the same age," he said. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-seven," she said. "I'll be twenty-eight in July."

"I see," he said teasingly, "to quote James Joyce, 'mutton dressed as lamb.' An old broad, in other words."

"Don't be a pig," she said. "How old are you? I told you mine. Now you tell me yours."

"Must I?"

"It's only fair."

He sighed. "OK. I hate to be reminded of it. I'm forty-five. Nearly twice your age."

Megan pursed her lips and pretended to write in the air with her forefinger. "By my figuring," she said, "that's almost 10 years short of twice my age. I hope that your job doesn't require math skills."

Greg laughed. "Only to add up time and money," he said. "I'm in broadcasting."

Megan smiled as she sipped her wine. "I know," she said. "You were a producer for CBC TV. Now you have your own production company. In the past three years, you've sold two TV series to CBC and one to the Global network. And a couple of specials to CTV."

"Goddam it, woman, do you and Amy ever talk about anything but me? Is there anything about me that you don't know?"

"Oh, a few things. But I hope to learn more."

Greg grinned. "Perhaps you will, little lady. But one thing's for sure: I'll get to the bottom of you yet." Megan blushed again at the obvious double entendre. Greg's next remark made her blush even more. "Now what about this aversion to underwear?"

The two continued to chat and fence verbally throughout supper. Time passed quickly. Greg was amazed to discover that his plate was empty. He said as much to Megan, who replied, "Well I'll be damned, so's mine. Do you suppose someone sneaked in here and stole the food right under our noses?"

"Must have. Best check and see if they remembered to lock the door after themselves. Now, let's clear this mess and throw everything in the dishwasher. Then I'll tutor you in the finer points of single-malt Scotch whisky."

"OK," Megan said, "but if you think I'm red now, just wait."

"Do you mean it gets better?"

"Redder, anyway."

Megan and Greg went into the study. Greg unveiled his cabinet of single malts. "Jesus," Megan said, "I had no idea there were that many single malts."

Greg laughed. "There are a lot more than this. I was once," he said, "told by the head brewer of Laphroaig, the great Scotch of Islay... Oh, I guess I should explain what a brewer is. Malt whisky is made by distilling what's called the 'beer, ' and the guy in charge of making the beer is naturally called the 'brewer.' Every distillery manager will tell you that the one secret he will never share is the recipe for his beer." Goddam it! He was lecturing. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He laughed to cover his discomfort and said, "Sorry for that little side-trip. But to get back to the point, this guy, a highly-respected whisky man told me that of nearly two hundred single malts produced in Scotland he himself had tasted nearly one hundred. And, he said, he was still looking for a bad one."

Megan laughed. "That's a cute story," she said, "but how many do you have right here?"

"Well," Greg said, "at the moment there are twenty-seven. There would be twenty-eight, but the Ardbeg fifteen-year-old is difficult to come by."

"Greg," Megan said, "if we get through twenty-seven single malts, I'll not only be red. I'll be dead."

Greg laughed. "Point taken," he said. "We'll just hit a few of the high spots."

After a few tastings, the two of them sat toasting in front of the fire, savouring their Caol Ila 15-year-old. "This is beautiful," Megan said. "It has peat, sweetness and just the right amount of alcohol in the flavour."

Greg grinned. "You, my lovely," he said, "are either a very fast learner or a great Scotch connoisseur who's been hiding that fact from me."

"Maybe I just learn fast," Megan said. Silently, she thought, "But not fast enough. I'm still reeling from the feelings I get from you." Aloud, she said, "Let's slow down on the booze and just talk a while. OK?"

"OK," Greg said. "You know a lot about me. But I know practically nothing about you. Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I'm not sure how much of me is interesting. As I told you, I work for Toronto Parks and Recreation. I'm now a functionary in City Hall. I fly a desk and try to put out administrative fires."

Greg said, "That's now. Start at the beginning."

Megan laughed. "OK," she said. "My dad was born in Ireland and raised here in Toronto. My mum is Japanese. They met in Japan. Dad was a pharmacist. He went to Japan for some sort of convention or tour or something sponsored by drug companies. There was a young woman assigned as the translator for his group. To make a long story short, they hit it off, and she came to Toronto with him. And, of course, she became Haha, my mother. And here I am."

Greg said, "You called her 'Haha.' Is that her name?"

"No. It means -- well it's really hard to translate, and my Japanese is terrible. Even worse than my English." She grinned disarmingly. "It's sort of what you call your own mother. Somebody else's mother would be 'okaasan.' Your own father would be 'chichi.' But your friend's father would be 'otousan.'"

"It sounds complicated."

Megan said, "It is. But let me go on with the story of my life. My dad, Michael O'Hara, was this wonderful big mick. He was about your size, six three or four. My mum is about five feet in her stocking feet. Maybe five three with heels. Guess who I take after." Greg laughed appreciatively. Megan sipped her Scotch and continued.

"When I was a little girl, Dad seemed like a giant -- the most powerful and protective man in the world. When I was little, he would bounce me on his knee. I would ride the horsey, and he would pretend to try to throw me off. But when I was about to fall, he always caught me. And he used to carry me up high above his head. I was an airplane. And again I knew I'd never fall. I was always safe when I was with Dad. But then," Megan's eyes filled with tears, "he got sick. Cancer."

Greg said, "Oh Megan, I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," she said, "you're sweet. Anyway, there was nothing anyone could do. By the time they found it, the disease had spread too far. They couldn't even say for sure where it started. Big Mike was suddenly brought down. I'll never forget how small and shrunken my dad looked just before he died. Not only couldn't he protect me any more, I had to protect him. He died four years ago this May."

"God, Megan. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Greg. Not anybody's fault, really."

"No. But I'm sorry, anyway. What about your mother?"

Megan smiled. "My mum is the wisest woman in the world. I don't recall her ever raising her voice to me. Even when I knew I was being a brat. Which was often." Megan laughed and took a sip of Scotch. Greg smiled and gestured encouragingly. Megan continued, "Mum doesn't say a lot, but when she does, people listen. I still ask her advice. I always will."

Greg said, "I think you told me once that she's a teacher."

"Yes. She's a professor at York University. Linguistics and Japanese language. She's highly respected, and her courses are always full." Megan looked into Greg's eyes. "Tell me about your life," she said.

Greg laughed. "A lot of it you obviously know," he said. "I was born the third child of four to Ambrose and Eloise Young. Amy's mum, Doris, is the oldest of us. Next is Theresa in Calgary. She's a surgeon. And my younger brother John lives in San Francisco. He's in property management."

Megan said, "What did your parents do?"

Greg said, "My dad was a businessman. He owned a furniture and appliance chain based in Peterborough, Ontario. He started with a little storefront operation. By the time he died, he had stores all over Ontario, from Cornwall, near the Quebec border, to Windsor, on the US border. He was a good man, but he spent a lot more time in his office than he did with the family. We were raised by our mother, who was a stay-at-home mum."

Greg paused. He looked at the ceiling and then continued. "When I was a kid, I was really involved in music. But when I went to university, I wound up majoring in English. Silly, really, as I discovered. Teaching is just about the only way to make a living with a degree in English. Then I lucked into a gig at the CBC, and the rest you know."

Megan said, "How did you meet Lynn?"

Greg smiled. "After I'd been working at CBC for about three years, I was assigned a new production assistant. She was a beautiful young blonde just out of university. When I first met her, I was speechless. Literally unable to say a word. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Until I met you, that is." Megan blushed again. "Well," Greg said, "to make a long story short, I kept bugging her until she went out with me. Then I pestered her until she married me. We were happy until the day she died."

Megan said softly, "How did she die?"

He sighed, took a drink and looked into the fire. "It was about five years ago. We were on a skiing holiday in the Rockies. We were staying at the Chateau Lake Louise and taking day trips to great ski runs. That last day, I was following Lynn down the hill." Greg sipped his Scotch and went on. "I always followed Lynn. She was a much better athlete than I was. Anyway, I came around this bend in the trail, and there she was. She was lying on the snow. Not moving And she never moved again. Somehow, she'd hit a tree. Head on. Lynn never, ever had a stupid accident like that. Just that once. And that was enough."

"Did she die right away?"

"No. Not quite. The doctors kept telling me that she was brain dead. What the hell does that mean? I could see my beautiful wife lying there. She was alive, goddam it!" He took a drink and poured himself another glass. "Finally, I had to accept that she'd never recover." He paused. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have the person you love most in the world taken from you by a stupid goddam tree in the wrong place?"

Megan moved closer and patted his hand. "No, Greg," she said. "Of course, I don't. I can't begin to imagine what it was like for you. But we've both lost people we loved. At least we have that in common."

Greg looked at her appraisingly. "Yes," he said, "we have. And there's something else that we need to talk about, young Ms. O'Hara."

"And what is that, old Mr. Young?"

"Touché," he said. "But to return to the point, this has been a perfectly wonderful night. I'm now totally pissed. At least three, maybe four sheets in the wind. Are you the same?"

"At least. I must be fire-engine red by now."

"I hadn't noticed. At any rate, I do hope that you hadn't been counting on my driving you home."

"No. In fact, I hoped that I could presume on your hospitality. I do know my way around."

"Have you nightwear and toiletries?"

"I must confess that I do not."

"I can perhaps provide a garment which, in view of your diminutive size, will provide suitably modest garb."

"Which would be gratefully accepted."

"And toothbrush, soap, towels and other amenities."

"Also more than gratefully accepted."

"There is a nice little bedroom on the third floor, just down the hall from mine. There's a washroom next to it."

"I know it well."

"I fear that you do. In any case, it's yours."

"Thank you, Mr. Young. You're very gallant."

Greg went upstairs with Megan. He provided her with an over-sized T-shirt and the aforementioned toiletries. He said, "Goodnight, Ms. O'Hara."

Megan laughed and said, "Goodnight, Mr. Young." She held out her hand. Greg took it and shook hands formally. Suddenly, Megan put her arms around him. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips. Gently at first, then more demandingly. Greg took her in his arms. Their tongues met and intertwined. The intensity of the kiss was overwhelming. Both Greg and Megan felt their knees buckle. They wanted nothing more than to continue the kiss all night. But Greg broke the kiss. Not because he wanted to. Far from it. He had to stop or cross a line. And he knew that once he crossed that line, there was no return.

"Goodnight, Greg," Megan said. She gave him another peck on the lips, entered the bedroom and closed the door. She said to herself, "Oh my God, he can kiss. That was intense. I'm dizzy. And not just because of the booze. But I wouldn't have had have the courage to do that without it. 'Dutch courage, ' Dad used to call it. God bless the Dutch."

Greg went down the hall to his room. He was in a daze. He stumbled into his washroom, brushed his teeth, splashed a bit of water on his face and then fell into bed. He was soon in dreamland.

Something poked him in the ribs. He was instantly awake. He'd lived alone for a long time. Any departure from the norm sounded his alarm bells. And this was a big departure. He said loudly, "What the hell!"

Megan said, "I'm sorry. I hope you don't mind. I'm not used to sleeping in that room. Amy usually sleepsh there when I'm here." She was slurring her words. Not a lot. Just enough for Greg to notice. He smiled. She said, "I didn't mean to poke you. Please let me shtay. I'll be good. I promish."

Greg recalled her opening line when they met. She'd said although they'd never met, she'd slept in his bed. Apparently it was true. He looked at the pretty little face on the pillow. Her coal-black hair was fanned out around her face. "Like a halo," he thought, "or a frame. A frame around a perfect cameo of a goddess." Aloud, he said, "You'll be good? What a pity. Sleep well." Megan giggled. Greg kissed her forehead and lay down. He had trouble falling asleep. He couldn't help thinking of the lovely girl lying next to him. She'd obviously had too much to drink. Another guy might take advantage of the situation. But he wasn't that sort, he told himself. Even though he was sorely tempted. Eventually, he slept.



-------

Chapter 5


Greg awoke somewhat disoriented. There was a head on his shoulder. He remembered. It was Megan. He yawned and put his arm around her. When he touched her, he became wide awake. He felt only soft, warm skin. The shirt he'd given her was nowhere in evidence. Not that the feeling of her body wasn't pleasant. Quite the contrary. He felt his erection growing. It escaped through the fly of his boxers and tented the bedclothes. He gently stroked Megan's back, feeling nothing but skin. Here he was with this little person, literally the girl of his dreams, naked in his arms. And his dick was trying to poke a hole through the covers. What to do?

Megan yawned and snuggled more tightly against him. "Good morning," she said. "What time is it?" She pulled his arm more tightly around her. Megan started, almost jumping. She quickly raised the covers and looked down at herself. "Omigod," she said, "I must have been a lot drunker than I thought. I'm so sorry. I usually sleep in the altogether, so I must not have put on your shirt. I kind of remember getting up and getting into bed with you. I forgot to put the goddam thing on. Please don't think I'm a slut. I'm really not. Oh Christ, I'm so embarrassed." Once again, she blushed bright red. She was close to tears.

Greg was tempted to raise the covers and find out if she had an all-over blush. Instead, he stroked her cheek and said, "Please don't worry. What's done can't be undone. I promise that I won't look if you want to get up and put something on. Well, at least I won't look too much."

Megan managed a grin. She poked him gently in the ribs. "Pig," she said. "Oh well, like you said, what's done can't be undone. What time is it?"

Greg glanced at the bedside clock. "10:30," he said. "Do you have to be anywhere?"

"Yes," she said. "Right here." She snuggled into his shoulder and put her hand on his bare chest. The two of them, both Greg and Megan, were experiencing something far beyond the tingling or shocks they'd felt before. To Megan, it felt more like a long descent into a whirlpool. She closed her eyes and stroked his skin. "God," she thought, "I love the feeling of his skin. And he's so muscular. This is incredible. I don't care where it takes me. I have to go there." When she opened her eyes, right in front of her was the tent of his erection. Her eyes opened wider. Her hand moved over his chest, downward toward his groin. She had no power to stop it. Not that she wanted to.

Greg felt her hand moving downward. "Megan," he said hoarsely, "things could get out of hand here."

Megan giggled. She felt quite giddy. She raised her head and kissed him. "Or into hand," she said. She kissed him again with more passion. She touched his penis and wrapped her little fingers around it. "Oh God," she said, moaning deeply in her throat. She felt the contours of his cock, stroking it gently. She continue to kiss him. She was totally lost now. Everything but Greg was forgotten.

Greg groaned into her mouth. He reached between her thighs and felt wetness. Megan was breathing raggedly through her nose. Her last coherent thought was, "This was meant to be. It had to happen." She felt herself kicking off the bedclothes. She found herself straddling Greg and directing his erection to her centre. As she settled down on him, she made a little growling sound in her throat. Greg felt her snug wetness surrounding him. He looked into her eyes. Lovely blue, almond-shaped eyes. Limitless pools. She lay down on his chest. They kissed. Their kiss continued while they moved gently against each other. They were both in heaven. This was the climax of their lives. Nothing existed for either of them, perhaps never had existed, but for this room, this bed and this moment.

Megan's movements became more insistent. She and Greg were in perfect synchronism. They stared into each other's eyes, feeling a depth of communication neither had ever experienced. They were both rising now, rising together. They felt as though they were spinning upward, caught in a vortex of love. Higher and higher they spun. Suddenly, they reached the top. Megan arched her back and pointed her face heavenward. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she gave a strangled scream. Greg felt as though his very being were flowing into her. And hers into him.

Megan collapsed on Greg's chest. As he caught his breath, he stroked her tender little body. "I love you," he said. He felt her shoulders shaking and her tears warm on his skin. "Don't cry, baby girl," he said, "please don't cry."

"I can't help it," Megan sobbed, "I'm so goddamed happy. I've never felt like this. Never imagined feeling like this. My God, how I love you. I've been falling in love with you for a long time. Do you really love me?"

"Really and truly," Greg said. "And I've been falling in love with you since I first saw you." He lifted her head and kissed away her tears. A tear rolled down his cheek. His or hers? He couldn't tell. "Oh my beautiful baby girl. My own little girl. There's no going back now, is there?"

"No," she sobbed, "but there's no place to go back to, is there? Not for me. I had nothing before. Now I have you. Nothing exists but this. This is my life. I'll never want to be anywhere but in your arms."

Greg reached out and grabbed the box of tissues on the nightstand. "Here, precious," he said, "dry those tears from your pretty eyes."

Megan rolled over and sat up. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. She stroked Greg's cheek. "Oh boy, do you need a shave," she said. Greg smiled at her. Megan said, "Why did you call me 'baby girl?'"

Greg smiled again. "I don't know," he said, "it just seems right somehow."

"It's what my dad called me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up sad memories."

"No, no, it's all right. I like you to call me that. It makes me feel loved and protected."

Greg grinned at her and stroked her little breast. "Just as long as you don't call me 'daddy.'"

"Don't worry. I know that you're not my father. You're my lover. That's entirely different. But just as dear."

"Maybe we should have a shower. And, as you said, I need a shave."

Megan grinned impishly. She said, "Can we shower together?"

"Baby girl, if we shower together, chances are very good that we'll never get out until we turn into prunes."

Megan said, "I'll be good. Cross my heart." She made the gesture of a cross over her left breast.

Greg grinned. "That's what you said last night."

She laughed. "And I was good last night. Today, though, I was even better."

Greg playfully patted her bum. "Yes you were 'better, ' you little minx. Damned near perfect in my estimation. But let me take a closer look." He sat up and pulled her toward him, taking her left nipple in his mouth. "Hmm," he said, "and you taste even better than you look."

Megan sighed. "If you keep that up," she said, "we may never make it to the shower."

Greg said, "Just a slight delay while I survey my lovely lady." He returned his attention to her breast. His hands wandered over her body, pausing to explore sites of interest. He gently laid her down and kissed her lips. Very gradually, he kissed his way down her neck and chest. He paused to give each little breast its due attention. Megan's breathing became ragged as Greg continued to kiss his way down her body. When he reached her navel, she moaned and put her hands on his head. He gently tongued her navel and then continued to kiss his way down her tummy.

Megan held his head more firmly. "No," she said, "please wait until I have a shower. I'm all nasty down there."

Greg nuzzled her just at the beginning of her pubic hair. He said, "My perfect lady could never be 'all nasty.' Anywhere on her person." He continued downward. When he reached her vulva, he drew back for a moment to gaze at her pink lips nestled in black curls. "Oh what a lovely, lovely sight," he said. He lowered his mouth and traced her slit with his tongue, starting at the bottom and continuing to the little bump at the top. Megan gasped and arched her back as the tip of Greg's tongue gently touched her clitoris. But he wasn't going to stay there. Not yet. He retraced the length of her womanhood, this time from top to bottom. Then he proceeded to investigate every crevice and fold with his tongue. He gently nibbled her inner lips and sucked

them into his mouth. Megan was tossing her head back and forth and making sounds like a newborn kitten.

Suddenly, Greg plunged his tongue into her vagina as far as he could. Megan gave a hoarse little shriek. Then he sucked her clitoris into his mouth and tweaked it with his tongue. Megan was beyond thought, beyond speech, beyond reason. She was aware of nothing but his lips and tongue. She felt her excitement building higher and higher. Much higher than she'd even been. She crossed the point of no return. She heard a scream. She felt the scream. It was from her own throat.

The next thing she was aware of was something pressing on her forehead. Something wet. Someone was kissing her. She opened her eyes. Greg was cradling her head on his lap and smiling down at her. He said, "How are you, my precious?"

Megan looked up at him with wide eyes. She said, "What happened?"

"You went to sleep for a little while."

She laughed. "I guess you could say I came and went," she said. "What did you do to me?"

Greg bent down and kissed her forehead again. "I made love to you," he said. "Did you like it?"

"Jesus. I never experienced anything remotely like that. Did I like it? That doesn't begin to describe my feelings. I never knew it could be like that."

Greg said, "I love you -- every part of you. And I plan to spend my life paying homage to your lovely little person. l love you more every moment. Just now when you were sleeping, I almost cried. You looked so beautiful and innocent. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you, if you'll let me."

Megan looked at him in wonder. She said, "Are you sure you're real? I can't believe you are. There aren't any guys like you."

Greg kissed her again. He said, "I could say the same thing of you. You're too perfect and too beautiful to be real. I couldn't have imagined a better woman."

Megan laughed. "Then you don't have a very good imagination," she said. "Just wait till you find out what a bitch I can be. Let's take that shower now before I start something I shouldn't." She raised her head from Greg's lap and turned to get out of bed. Greg swatted her bum. "Ow," she said, "what was that for?"

He chuckled. "That was for intimating that anything that would keep you in this bed might be wrong. And just because you have such a nice soft, springy bottom. I just love patting it."

"That was more than a pat. I'm branded with your fingerprints. Just wait till I get you alone, old man."

Greg made a show of looking around the room. He bent over and looked under the bed. Then he grinned at her and said, "Don't see anybody else here. Do you?"

Megan growled and grabbed him in a bear hug. "Grr," she said, "you're in trouble now."

Greg laughed. He picked her up and raised her head to his. He kissed her passionately. He said, "Later, my darling. After the lovin' you already gave me, I'll be lucky if I can walk to the john."

They managed to shower together without untoward incident, although they did spend considerable time soaping and drying each other. Greg finished drying Megan and gave her a little peck on the nose. She growled and pulled him into a clench. His eyes grew wide as she apparently tried to find his tonsils with her tongue. When she finally let him go, he caught his breath. Megan grinned and swatted his naked butt. Greg said, "Ouch. Baby girl, what was that for?"

"Just getting my own back," she said. "Pun intended."

Megan watched as Greg shaved. He grinned at her. He said, "What's so fascinating?"

"It's amazing how you guys do that without cutting off your noses or ears or something. I mean, shaving your pits and legs is bad enough. But sharp stuff on your face is kinda gross."

He laughed. "I'd feel the same way about shaving my underarms. It's scary. Did you ever shave your pubes?"

"Yeah. A couple of times. I had a boyfriend who thought he wanted my pussy shaved. In the end, he wasn't worth it. Besides, it looks weird without hair. Like an oyster or something. I trim it, but that's just for comfort."

"I shaved mine once. But not for any sexual reason. I had a hernia operation. See the scar?" Megan nodded. "The cheap bastards at hospitals don't even shave you any more. They just give you instructions on how to do it yourself."

"Did you like it?"

Greg grinned at her. "The operation or the shave?"

"The shave, silly."

"Hell no," he said. "While it was growing out, it itched like a bastard. I went nuts trying to keep from scratching my jock in business meetings." Megan laughed. Greg thought that her laughter sounded like music. The most beautiful music he'd ever heard.

Megan continued to watch him as he finished shaving. He rinsed his face and patted it with after shave. "All done," he said. "Show's over."

"Sorry," she said, "I just like watching you. I want to learn everything about you. Everything."

Greg leaned down and picked her up. He held her in his arms and kissed her. Her feet were more than a foot above the floor. He said, "You want to know even more than Amy knows about me?" Megan nodded her head. Greg smiled broadly. "You already do, baby girl," he said, "you already do." She buried her head in his shoulder as he continued to hold her. "Now," he said, "let's get dressed. I want to take my best girl out for Sunday brunch." He put her down.

"Oh goody," she said. "Where?"

"Your call, baby girl. Your call."

"Wow," she said. "Really?" Greg nodded. "I hear the Royal York has a really nice brunch. Can we go there?"

"I'll see." He picked up the phone and hit the speed-dial for the Royal York Hotel. Soon, he was talking to the maitre d' at Epic restaurant. He made a reservation and wrote down the code number to give the valet parking people. The restaurant offered free valet parking. "OK, baby girl. We're on our way to the Royal York."

Megan skipped down the hall and reclaimed the sweater and skirt she'd worn the night before. She was happy that she'd remembered to put her makeup kit in her purse the day before. She took extra care trying to get everything just right. "I certainly don't want him to be ashamed of me," she thought. Finally, she approved of what she saw in the mirror. She went back down the hall to Greg's bedroom. He wasn't there. She went downstairs. He was in the kitchen waiting for her with a cup of coffee.

He said, "How do you take it?"

"Both, I'm afraid. Sugar and cream. But you take yours black."

Greg handed her the coffee, cream and sugar. He sipped his cup and looked at her pensively. "I assume that's another fact that you got from Amy," he said. Megan blushed as she nodded. "Did you memorize everything she ever said about me?"

"Not quite. But a lot."

"Why?"

"Because you seemed like this fascinating figure. The way Amy described you was like some character out of a novel."

Greg laughed. "I guess that's OK, as long as the novel isn't In Cold Blood," he said.

Megan smiled into her coffee cup. She said, "The killers or the victims?"

"Neither, thank you very much."

"How about something by Sir Walter Scott?"

"Now you're talking. A swashbuckler. But I'm afraid that I'm not anything like that. Just an average boring guy. Except that I suddenly have this wonderful, gorgeous girlfriend with a killer body and an amazing appetite for love."

Megan blushed again. God, this guy had a real talent for embarrassing her. But making her feel good at the same time. She sipped her coffee. She said, "Do you realize that this is our first date?"

Greg laughed. "Well," he said, "I guess a lot of couples' first date is for lunch." He looked at his watch.

Megan said, "Is it time to go?"

Greg looked at his watch. "Sure," he said. "Who cares if we're a few minutes early?" I'm sure they'll take care of us."

Greg put the coffee cups in the dishwasher. He helped Megan put her coat on. Then he looked at her and reached into a drawer in the hall table. "Please," he said, "I know that you choose to face the world with minimal protection. But it's cold outside. Make just a little compromise for me. Please wear this scarf."

Megan took the scarf and looked at it. "Wow," she said, "Dolce & Gabanna. It's beautiful. Thank you." She wrapped it around her neck and looked in the mirror. Suddenly she turned and looked at Greg. Megan looked stricken. "Was it Lynn's?"

Greg said, "In a manner of speaking. I'd bought it as a present for her birthday. The one she didn't live to celebrate. She never saw it. Anyway, don't worry about it. I was Lynn's, too. But I'm yours now."

Megan felt tears welling in her eyes. She said, "Are you? Are you really?"

Greg took her in his arms. He held her and rocked her gently. "Yes," he said, "yes I am, baby girl. Just as long as you want me." He held her at arms' length, grinned, pulled her to him and kissed her gently. "Now, my little love, it's time to saddle up Old Paint. We'll soon be in danger of being fashionably late rather than unfashionably early."

Greg put on his coat, turned on the alarm and shepherded Megan into the garage. As he had at Amy's party, he held the car door for her and helped her into her seat. "I could get used to this," Megan thought.

"OK, baby girl," Greg said, "belt up, and we're away."

As he drove, Megan looked around the car's interior. She'd seen it many times. But now there was a difference. She was seeing it with new eyes. Just as she'd seen Greg this morning. Just as she'd seen the house. Just as she'd seen herself in the mirror. Everything she saw seemed fresh and new. As though she'd never seen it before. "This is such a beautiful car," she said. "I know it's a Mercedes. But it doesn't look like a Mercedes."

"What do you mean?"

Megan laughed. She said, "I guess I think of Mercedes-Benzes as really nice but kind of stodgy. This one sure isn't stodgy. It's the most beautiful car I've ever seen. Even prettier than a Jaguar."

Greg laughed. "Why thank you, I think," he said.

"Amy told me which model it is. But I forgot."

Greg laughed again. "Do you mean that you actually forgot something about me?" Megan nodded, blushing. "It's a CLS 500. And don't worry about remembering that. But I'm glad you like it. I'm in love with it."

Megan looked mischievous. "Should I be jealous?"

"Of a car? Don't be silly. Anyway, you'll never have any reason to be jealous of any thing or anybody. Good. We're almost there." He pulled into the driveway of the Royal York. He stopped at the valet parking desk. He got out of the car and held Megan's door for her. Greg gave the Epic parking code to the guy at the desk, and he and Megan entered the grand old hotel.

They walked down the huge concourse. Megan stared around, her eyes wide. "Would you believe," she said, "that I've never been here before?"

Greg put his arm around her. "Then," he said, "allow me to introduce you to the Royal York, also known as the Grand Old Lady of Front Street. But it certainly won't be the last time you'll be here. Maybe we should get a suite sometime. Just for a weekend get away. Amy can look after the house."

Megan didn't reply. She walked quietly by his side as they entered the restaurant. She thought, "Oh my God! Amy. How can I break this to her without having her break my arm? Well, fuck it. I'm just going to concentrate on having a good time." She forced herself to smile and squeezed Greg's arm tightly.

The maitre d' showed them to a very nice table near the fountain. Megan saw that there was another fountain nearby, one cascading chocolate rather than water. "Well," she thought, "I don't usually do sweets, but I have to try that thing. There goes my figure, such as it is." Aloud, she said, "Oh Greg, this is beautiful. It's just perfect. I feel so pampered."

He patted her hand and said, "And that's just how I want you to feel: pampered."

A waiter came to the table with a tray of champagne flutes. He explained that champagne with orange juice was part of the Sunday brunch buffet. Greg and Megan accepted the drinks, clinked their glasses and sipped. As they smiled at each other, a loud voice interrupted their moment.

"Well I'll be goddamed," it said, "if it isn't Greg Young. Haven't seen you in donkey's years. How's it goin'?"

Greg looked up at the speaker. He was a tall, balding man. He looked as though he'd once been athletic but had now gone to flab. Greg forced a smile and said, "Hello, Nate. Fancy meeting you here. Allow me to introduce you. Megan, this pirate is Nate Potter, one of my chief competitors. Don't believe anything he tells you, especially about me. Nate, this is Megan, my partner."

The word "partner" caught Megan in mid-sip. She choked and sputtered. Greg was instantly by her side, patting her back and holding a serviette to her mouth. He said, "Are you all right, darling?" Megan nodded weakly and coughed a bit more.

Nate said, "Well I won't keep you. Nice to meet you, Megan. My condolences on being associated with this scoundrel. And please, next time remember which pipe the liquid goes down." He chuckled as he made his way toward the buffet.

Megan cleared her throat and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Please don't pull that on me again. What do you mean by 'partner?'"

"Just that. Someone I want to share my life with. What else would I mean?"

Megan said, "Don't you think you should have asked me first?"

Greg held her hand. "Please forgive me, baby girl. I know it was a nasty stunt. I'm sorry that you choked." He grinned. "But you should have seen your face." He kissed her hand. "So, now I'm asking you formally. How about shacking up with me?"

Megan laughed. "I don't think I've ever had a more romantic invitation. 'Shacking up' indeed." Suddenly, her expression became serious and her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. Does that mean you want me to live with you? Really?"

"Really," he said. "What do you say?"

Megan took a sip of water. "God, you move fast," she said. "Live with you? Of course I really want to, but I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"That when you really get to know me you won't like me."

Greg smiled and kissed her hand. "That, my little love, is bullshit. I've already been inside your soul. And you've been in mine. Isn't that so?"

Megan felt tears coming on. "I won't," she thought, "I will not cry in this restaurant."

Greg kissed her hand again. He said, "At least I thought it was true."

The dam burst. Megan sobbed into her serviette. 'Yes, it's true," she said. "You know damned well it is. And you're the only person who's ever been to that place inside me."

Greg smiled. "And you're the only person who's been to that place in me. So will you come to live with me?"

Megan dried her eyes and looked into his face. "Yes, of course I will. I'll move in today if you want. Just as soon as we leave here. Or if you want to skip lunch, I'll do it right now."

Greg took both of her hands in his. He said, "Thank you so much, baby girl. You've made me so happy."

Megan said, "God, I must look a mess. I'll have to go to the washroom and repair the damage." She sipped at her champagne and orange.

Greg said, "You look beautiful as always. But by all means powder your nose if it'll make you feel better. And if you'll forgive me for the nasty trick I pulled on you, I promise that I won't propose the same way."

Once again, Megan choked. She got up and made her way to the ladies' room, coughing and sputtering the whole way.



-------

Chapter 6

In the main, brunch proceeded without further incident. Several more of Greg's friends and acquaintances came by to say hello. Greg introduced them to Megan, but she knew that she'd never remember their names. The men all professed to be envious of Greg. One woman, a plump blonde with red cheeks, rhapsodized over Megan's complexion and figure. "Honey," she said, "I wouldn't just kill to look like you. I'd even consider becoming a mass murderer."

After the spate of visitors, Greg smiled at Megan. He said, "Now I remember why I don't come here very often. On Sundays, it's become a social club for assholes."

Megan laughed and squeezed his hand. "I don't mind," she said. "I don't mind at all. As long as I'm with you."

Somehow, in spite of all the interruptions, Megan managed to make a pig of herself on the crab claws. She finished with an equally piggy trip to the chocolate fountain. She returned with a plate full of chocolate-dipped strawberries and pineapple chunks. Brunch ended with cappuccino.

Greg sipped his coffee and said, "Now, it's about this moving. What does it entail? Should I rent a truck?"

Megan laughed. "You're going to be amazed at how few possessions I have," she said. "Oh there's stuff at Mum's place. But at the dump I'm renting now, I just have a few clothes, shoes and stuff like that."

"What about furniture?"

"None. I rented the place furnished. You see, I'd been living with Mum. But her place is way the hell out in the burbs. I needed something downtown. Closer to work. I lucked into this little apartment on the Danforth. Actually, it's a sublet from someone who's out of town for a couple of months. I figured I'd look around in the meantime and see what I could find."

Greg grinned. He said, "Well, I guess you've found something else."

Megan expression was very serious. "Greg," she said, "about this new arrangement of ours. Let's set some rules. I want to put my fair share into our budget. We need to work that out. I don't want to be a freeloader."

"Baby girl, you're not a freeloader. You're my dearest, most wonderful lover. We're partners. And this is going to be a real partnership. Whatever we have will be shared."

"That's not fair. You have so much more than I do."

"I don't know about that. But I do know that I have much, much more than I had yesterday. I have a life now. I didn't before. You're my life."

Megan gave him a little half smile. She said, "You're trying to make me cry again, aren't you?"

Greg cocked his head. "No," he said, "why would I want to do that?"

Megan said, "I don't know. But you sure are good at it. My God you can push my buttons. I've worked so hard to keep people from getting to me. Amy told me that I'm known as the Ice Princess. But you just went past all my defences without even trying."

Greg put his head under her chin and lifted her face to look into his. He said, "Who says I didn't try? But who are you to talk? You got through my defenses pretty easily. But you know why we got so close so quickly, don't you?"

Megan said, "Yes, I do. And now you're really going to make me cry, aren't you?"

"I hope not," Greg said.

"OK," Megan said. She took a deep breath and continued. "The reason is because we're meant to be together. We both knew that instinctively. We had no choice. We were born to be soulmates. It's as though we're two parts of the same person. I never knew that such a thing was possible."

Greg kissed her hand. "Nor did I," he said.

Megan smiled. She said, "We both came with a lot of baggage, each of us in a little shell. But suddenly, that was all put aside. I think that's what terrified me. When you looked into my eyes, it was as though I was naked. And not just physically."

Greg held her hand. "I think I loved you right away. Maybe even at first sight. But it took me a little while to admit it to myself. When did you know that we were in love?"

Megan's eyes misted. She just knew that she was going to cry again, goddam it. She said, "I think I knew it for sure when you told me that you knew why I came to your house yesterday. And you didn't mind. You said that you wanted to see me again, too. Before that, I knew that I loved you. And I knew that there was a chance that you loved me, too. But at that moment, I knew it could really happen. That we could be together. Tell me, if I hadn't come to see you, would you have called me?"

"Yes. You see, I knew that I loved you. But it would have taken a while for me to get enough courage."

Megan looked down, a little half-smile playing on her lips. A tear ran down her cheek. Greg wiped it off with his finger. She said, "I almost chickened out just before I rang your bell."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"So am I," she said, "but it was a near thing. I was scared to death."

Greg grinned at her. "So was I when I saw you standing there," he said.

"You sure didn't seem like it."

"I'm older than you. I've had more experience in hiding my feelings." He leaned across the table and kissed her gently. "But now I know that I'll never be able to hide them from you. And I don't even want to try." Greg sipped his coffee and patted her hand. "Don't worry, my love. Don't worry about anything. We'll work things out. We have to. It's our fate. Our destiny."

Megan sat for a moment looking into her coffee cup. She raised her gaze, looked in his eyes and said, "Greg, I have to tell you something important. About Amy and me. You may feel differently about me after you hear this."

Greg smiled at her. "What could be so terrible?"

Megan looked down at her hands. "Do you remember that time you called when you were out of town last week?"

"Yes. Of course. You answered the phone. I was so happy to hear you."

Megan said, "And I really enjoyed talking to you. More than I can say. But after we hung up, Amy and I went into the living room. She was doing her homework, and we were both drinking your wine."

Greg arched an eyebrow. He said, "So what?"

"Well," Megan said, "I'd had a couple too many glasses of wine. And I'd just talked to you. I was already in love with you. I know that now. Anyway, I said to Amy that I thought maybe you were attracted to me, too. Or I hoped you were."

Greg said, "Go on."

"Well, Amy thought I was nuts, and she told me so. But then I sort of joked about becoming her aunt." Megan sighed. "Amy freaked. She told me that if I 'fucked around with you, ' as she put it, she'd kick my ass. She actually threatened me. Physically. The way she did it scared the hell out of me. I'm afraid of what will happen if she finds out about us."

Greg sighed. "It's not a matter of 'if, '" he said, "it's when. I plan to be with you a long time. Like forever. Amy will just have to come to terms with that. Case closed."

Megan said, "I don't think it's going to be quite that easy."

Greg said, "Easy or hard, she's going to have to accept our relationship. I'm certainly not going to let her change it."

Megan sighed again. She said, "Well, let's go do what we gotta do."

"Yup," Greg said, "let's pay the bill and get you moved in."

As Greg helped Megan with her coat, he thought that he was the luckiest man in the world. The woman he'd thought so far out of reach just yesterday was his today. He vowed never to make her unhappy.

Megan took his arm as they walked back through the hotel concourse. "God," she thought, "he's the handsomest man in the world. I just know every other woman in this place envies me. But you can't have him. He's mine, and I intend to keep him." She held his arm more tightly and smiled up at him.

The parking valet brought their car. Greg tipped him well, and tucked Megan into the passenger seat. He settled behind the wheel and said, "Where to?"

On Megan's directions, Greg parked in front of a funeral home just east of the intersection of Pape Avenue and Danforth Avenue, known as "the Danforth" to Torontonians. Megan led him to a door between the funeral home and the business next door, a real estate brokerage. She opened it with her key. The door led to a stairway. They ascended to the second floor. Megan opened the first door in the hallway and led the way into the apartment. "It's kind of small and musty, but it's home. Or at least it was until today," she said.

Greg said, "Does the location bother you?"

Megan looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"That it's next to a funeral home."

Megan laughed. "No," she said, "not at all. In fact, I found it kind of amusing. You see, when I was in high school I was a real goth. I guess you could say that with my colouring I was a natural. Didn't even have to die my hair or wear white makeup. They used to call me 'the queen of darkness.'" She laughed again. "So ten years ago this place would have been ideal for me."

Greg followed her into the bedroom. It was neat, although plain. She opened the closet. "I'll start getting things together," she said. "When I'm ready for some help I've give you a call. In the meantime, just relax.

Greg went back into the living room. There was an old Heintzman upright piano in the corner. The keyboard was open, and there was music on the music stand. He picked it up. It was a book of arias for soprano voice. Inside the front corner, it was inscribed "Megan Mariko O'Hara."

Greg went back to the bedroom door. "I didn't know that was your middle name," he said, "Mariko. It's beautiful."

Megan looked up from her packing and saw him holding the music. "Thanks," she said, "it's my mother's name. And it's an old family name. In fact, it was my great-grandmother's name. And Megan was my dad's mother's name. So I'm named for both sides of the family. What's your middle name?"

Greg laughed. "Ahah," he said. "One piece of information you didn't get from Amy. Maybe because I told her I'd break her arm if she ever told anyone."

Megan said, "It can't be that bad. What is it?"

Greg said, "It's my dad's name."

"You mean..."

"Yup. Ambrose."

Megan smiled. "I think it's kind of cute. Maybe I'll use it as a pet name."

Greg said, "Not unless you want a spanking."

"Brute," Megan said. "Now get out of my hair so I can organize all this stuff."

Greg went back to the piano. He thumbed through the book of arias. He found one of his favourites and sat down on the bench. He began to play the famous aria from Puccini's Gianni Schicchi. From the other room, he could hear Megan humming along. Then she burst into full voice. "O mio babbino caro," she sang, "mi piace è bello, bello; vo'andare in Porta Rossa a comperar l'anello!" As she sang, he could hear her coming closer. Soon she was standing next to him. "Mi struggo e mi tormento! O Dio, vorrei morir! Babbo, pietà, pietà! Babbo, pietà, pietà!"

Greg felt the familiar tears in his eyes. "Damn," he said, reaching for a tissue, "it always does that to me. Especially when it's so well sung."

Megan laughed. "As you told me," she said, "flattery will get you anywhere with me."

"I don't know what it is about that damned song," Greg said. "When you translate the words into English, they're sort of silly."

Megan kissed him. "Yeah, they are," she said. "She tells her daddy how handsome her boyfriend is. And she's going to throw herself off the bridge if daddy doesn't fix it so that she can marry him. She's a real air head."

"Not an air head," Greg said. "Lauretta is young and innocent. And I just realized that's why it gets to me. Puccini captured the feeling perfectly. When you're very young, you feel things so much more deeply. You don't have emotional calluses built up yet. And your endocrine system is in high gear, which amplifies everything. In that one little song, Puccini captured the angst of young love. What people heartlessly call 'puppy love.' You can never be hurt as badly as you can be by your first love."

Megan moved close to the bench. She put her arm around his shoulders. "I know," she said. "I've been there. I still remember how badly it hurt. I was fourteen and madly in love with a guy. I hounded my parents until they agreed to send me to the summer camp he was going to. I guess I had a vision of spending a romantic summer with him."

"What happened?"

"He dumped me. For a girl from Montreal. Instead of a romantic summer, I had the summer from hell. Every day, I saw my ex drooling all over this French piece. Oh, it hurt. I tried to convince my folks to come and get me. They wouldn't. Maybe they would have if I'd been able to tell them what was wrong. Of course, you can't tell your folks stuff like that. Not when you're fourteen. I'd pestered them to send me there. The camp was really expensive. They'd already paid for the whole summer, and there wouldn't be any refund if I left. So somehow I stuck it out."

Greg held her and stroked her. "I guess most of us have been through something similar. That first time hurts so much."

Megan put her hands on his shoulders and looked in his eyes. She said, "Would you think I was terrible if I asked you to make love to me here in this apartment? Now? Just once?"

Greg stood and cuddled Megan tightly against him. He reached behind her, unbuttoned her skirt and lowered the zipper. It fell around her ankles, and she stepped out of it. Greg put his hands on either side of her waist and pulled her sweater upward. Megan raised her arms so he could remove it. He took a moment to glory in the splendour of her nudity. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and moved a pile of clothes. He quickly added his own clothing to the pile. He lay down beside Megan and took her in his arms, savouring the contact of her skin against his. They kissed. Greg rolled over. He positioned himself between her legs and entered her. Slowly. He was unwilling to rush the experience. Finally, he was entirely within her. Megan felt Greg's manhood reaching the innermost depths of her femininity. Tears of happiness welled in her eyes. "Oh my love," she said, "you have no idea how many nights I've gone to sleep in this bed wanting you here with me. Just like this."

Greg slowly withdrew and just as slowly advanced. He kept this very slow rhythm, kissing Megan continuously. Her hunger rose. Her movements against him became more insistent. But Greg refused to increase his tempo. He kept the same slow pace. Megan thought, "Oh my God, he's killing me. I'm going to lose my mind. Please, God, let me come!" And then, just when she thought she couldn't stand it any more, Greg began to thrust more rapidly. As he increased his tempo, Megan panted and moaned in rhythm with his thrusts. Faster and faster he went, stabbing into her with almost brutal speed and strength. Suddenly, without warning, her climax overtook her. She cried out, holding Greg to her with every ounce of her strength. She felt him coming inside her, the warmth of his seed permeating her. Validating her own release.

The two lovers held each other tightly, lost in the moment. At last, their embrace relaxed and they kissed gently.

"There are no words," Megan thought.

Greg said, "There aren't any words to describe what we feel. What we mean to each other."

Megan stared at him. "I was just thinking that," she said.

Greg smiled. He said, "Any lingering doubts about this relationship?"

Megan shook her head. "Not now, for sure. At the risk of repeating myself, my God, do you ever know how to push my buttons. And just which order to push them in."

Greg laughed. He said, "Thank you, ma'am. But I'd prefer to think of it as making love rather than 'pushing buttons.' That sounds much too mechanical. And you, lady, are no machine. You're a flesh and blood, beautiful, wonderful, sexy woman. And I'm determined to make you mine and to keep you. Forever." He hugged her close to him. He held her head in his hands as he kissed her. Then he said, "I hate to change the subject, but we have to complete the packing and stuff. I'd like the next installment of this to be in our home in our bed."

"Our home," Megan said, savouring the words.

"Yes," Greg said, "our home. There is no more yours and mine. Just ours."

Megan laughed loudly. She said, "Then, sir, put on our pants and help me fold our skirts."

With two people folding, the clothes were soon ready for packing. Megan was glad that she'd kept the boxes she'd used when she'd moved into the apartment. She'd stored them in the unused smaller bedroom. Since they'd already served for moving the same goods, packing them was no problem. As she packed her sheet music, she said, "I'm definitely not going to miss that cranky old upright piano. Your Yamaha grand is heavenly in comparison. I've played it lots of times when I stayed with Amy. I hope you don't mind if I play and sing once in a while."

Greg arched an eyebrow at her. He said, "Why should I mind if you play our piano? And I love hearing you sing."

Megan laughed. "Well, I can guarantee that you definitely won't love hearing me warming up. There's nothing entertaining about vocal exercises."

In two more hours, the move was complete. Megan's clothes and shoes fit neatly in the walk-in closet. Her sweaters were installed in a dresser drawer. Greg smiled as he thought that it was as though she'd always been there.

Megan closed the sweater drawer and stood. She looked at the top of the dresser. She reached down and picked up something. "Here's my hair clip," she said. "I've been looking for it. I must have left it here."

Greg came up behind her and put his arms around her. "Yes," he said, "I found it a couple of weeks ago. It was sticking out of my foot at the time."

Megan said, "Darling, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to booby trap the place."

Greg laughed. He said, "Baby girl, it was something of an omen, although I didn't know that at the time. It meant that I was going to be stuck on you. And I am. How about dinner at the club?"

"What club?"

"The Faculty Club at the University of Toronto. I'm a member."

Megan turned around in his arms and snuggled against him. She said, "I'd love to go some other time. Tonight, can we just stay home? I just want to be alone with you. Can we send out for a pizza or something? Right now, I need another shower. Want to join me?"

The two lovers showered, washing each other and delighting in their closeness. They were still discovering and reveling in each other's bodies. They dried each other. Then Greg carried Megan to the bed. He kissed his way down her body to her lovely womanhood. As he caressed her with his mouth, Megan turned about. She arranged herself so that she could return the favour. As she took him in her mouth, Greg groaned into her pussy. He knew that he'd not last long, so he redoubled his efforts on her sweet little clitoris. Megan began whimpering and bucking harder against his face. Her tongue was doing wonderful and strange things to his cock. "Oh God," he thought, "if I can only hold on just a little while longer."

Megan moaned. The vibrations of her moan were carried from the head of Greg's penis throughout his nervous system. He moaned in return, his moan focussed on her superlatively sensitive clitoris. Both lovers shared a single thought -- not so much a thought as an emotion. A response that drove them to the brink and beyond. At the same instant as Megan gripped his head between her muscular thighs, Greg felt his ejaculation begin. It seemed to start in his chest and carry with it his entire being. Both lovers' consciousness was completely involved in the moment of climax. Though they were overwhelmed, each strove to give the other the maximum pleasure. Their climax came in waves. One after another. Finally, they subsided.

Megan lay limply on Greg. He stirred himself, picked her up, and reversed her attitude so that her head was on her chest, just where he liked it. She purred and snuggled against him. He lifted her head and kissed her gently. "I love you, baby girl," he said.

Megan returned his kiss and once more snuggled against his chest. He heard a muffled, "love you." Her breathing slowed. She was asleep.

Greg let Megan sleep. It had been a big day for this little girl. For him, too. He'd forever remember this day as the one that had changed their lives. He felt her trust and love as a palpable thing. This little one who'd been so guarded had given herself completely to him. He resolved to be worthy of her trust. He whispered, "I'll never hurt you, baby girl. And God help anyone who does."



-------

Chapter 7


Megan and Greg quickly settled into a routine. They'd waken, make love, shower, and have breakfast. Greg drove Megan to work. After work, he picked her up and brought her home. Some evenings, they dined out. Greg liked the Faculty Club at the University of Toronto. It was nice but not too pretentious. It had the advantages of being a private club without the need of pretensions, nothing like the Granite Club, that refuge of the nouveau riche. Greg liked the feeling of camaraderie without the pressures of business. Most of the members were professors at the University or, like Greg, alumni who were active on the University's behalf. Greg introduced Megan to his circle of friends. She was immediately accepted and became something of a star, especially among the men.

Most evenings they didn't feel like going out. Greg loved to grill, and Megan proved to be no slouch in the kitchen. On evenings when they didn't feel like cooking or going out, they'd order food for delivery. There were quite a few good choices: Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Vietnamese, Greek and Italian, to name but a few.

After dinner, Greg sometimes went up to his office to work. Megan played the piano and sang. Greg loved hearing her lovely voice, although her singing was sometimes punctuated by profanity if something wasn't exactly as she wanted.

Other times, they'd just sit in the study, cuddling in front of the fire. They'd talk about their day, relax and just enjoy each other's company. Often Greg had scripts to read. Megan would sit reading a book or quietly playing the piano. One evening, Greg was evaluating scripts from the top of the pile, the "possible" category. Megan sat in the corner of the chesterfield, her feet drawn under her. She was wearing, as she often did, one of Greg's T-shirts. Exclusively. She shifted a bit, and Greg glanced at her. There, only a few feet from him, was her lovely femininity. Her movement had caused the pink lips to separate. The inner moisture glinted in the firelight. Greg chuckled. "Put that away," he said.

Megan said, "Put what away?" She sounded innocent. Just a touch too innocent, Greg thought.

He reached over and gently stroked her puss. "This," he said. "How do you expect me to get any work done when the object of my affection is putting on a show?"

Megan laughed. She leaned forward and kissed him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just wanted to see how long it would be before you noticed."

"Just out of curiosity, how long was it?

Megan looked at her watch. "One minute thirty-five seconds," she said. "The old record was one minute fifty seconds. You're getting better."

"Little minx," Greg said, "I'm afraid you're becoming a cock-tease."

Megan laughed and shook her head. "Not true," she said, "I always deliver what's on display. I never tease."

Greg said, "I have a suggestion. Instead of distracting me from my work, why don't you help me finish it? Then we can go upstairs and play."

"OK," Megan said, "what can I do?"

"I have three scripts here that I've winnowed from a pile of over twenty. Comedies. They're all good. But I can only afford to produce one of them as a pilot. Needless to say, I also can't afford to be wrong. I'll have input from my staff tomorrow. But I'd very much like your opinion. Would you mind looking them over?"

Megan said, "Not at all. It's about time that I made myself useful around here."

Greg said, "It's not that you're not useful. I can name many uses for you. It's just that none of them involve productive work." Greg handed her the scripts and went to the bar. He said, "Martini or Scotch?"

"Neither," Megan said, already reading the first script. "I'm drinking too much hard liquor. I'd like a gin and tonic. Not too much gin."

Greg poured a Laphroaig for himself and made her gin and tonic. He handed Megan her drink and sat watching her read. She sipped, wrinkled her brow, read back over a few pages and put down the first script. As she read the second, she chuckled. Once in a while, she laughed. She read a few pages over again. Then she put it down and picked up the third and last script.

From the beginning of this one, she laughed. She continued laughing as she read. Several times she had to put down the script and catch her breath. When she finished it, she continued chortling. She sipped her drink and said, "My God, I couldn't help seeing in my mind that scene where they find the two guys in bed together. Christ, that's hilarious."

"So I guess you'd vote for that one," Greg said.

"Let's put it this way," she said, "if it's produced as a series and lives up to that first episode, I think you'll have a huge hit on your hands. It's kind of like Trailer Park Boys or Corner Gas, but much, much more intelligent. It's blue collar comedy for intellectuals."

"I agree. But is it too intellectual? Can the vast unwashed get anything out of it?"

Megan frowned. "You could have asked the same thing about Seinfeld or any number of hit shows. To me, it just seems to work. It has everything."

Greg smiled. "I agree. To me, it seems head and shoulders above anything I've read for years." He put his arms around her and kissed her. "How would you like to go to work for me?"

"No way. I like the arrangement we have. If you want my opinion about something, I'll give it. But my answer won't put my livelihood or, more important, my relationship at stake. I'll just go on being a little piece with a big mouth. Now, I believe someone said something about play? I believe the location was to be upstairs somewhere?"

Greg followed Megan up the stairs to their bedroom. As they entered the room, Megan immediately began to undress him. "My goodness," Greg said, "someone is in a hurry."

"Quiet," Megan said. "Just relax and enjoy. This is my night to make love to you." She finished removing his clothing. She led him to the bed and motioned for him to lie down. She removed her only article of clothing, Greg's T-shirt. She joined him on the bed, cuddling against him.

Megan snuggled against Greg for a few minutes, relishing the feeling of his skin against hers. She raised herself over him, smiled and kissed his lips. She kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his ears. She trailed kisses down his neck. She took his nipples in her mouth, first one, then the other, gently nipping, licking and sucking on them. Greg's breathing was growing deep and ragged.

Megan continued to kiss her way down his body. She held his erect penis in her hand, savouring its texture. "Hard and soft at the same time," she thought. She gently trailed kisses from the bottom of his shaft to the tip. She swirled her tongue around the head. As she took him in her mouth, she opened her eyes and looked into Greg's face. His eyes were also open and staring into hers. Both lovers felt the familiar feeling of falling into each other -- in some indefinable way each becoming part of the other, their souls joining.

Greg reached down to hold Megan just below her arms, his thumbs resting against the underside of her lovely little breasts. He lifted her gently, pulling her upward until he felt his penis touch the wetness of her femininity. Megan reached down and guided him into her. Greg put his arms around her and pulled her gently against him. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her, gently at first. As the lovers' needs increased, their kisses and movements became more desperate. Their passion grew and grew. They were soon at the pinnacle, the point of no return. Their release came suddenly. They cried out in unison, wordlessly at first and then repeating over and over, "I love you," until they could no longer speak or move.

Greg gathered enough strength to pull the bedclothes around them. He held Megan, stroking the soft skin of her wonderful little body. "My own," he said, "my true love. My soulmate."

Megan raised her head. She looked into his eyes, tears forming in her beautiful blue, almond-shaped eyes. "My only love," she said. "My soulmate. Now and forever." She kissed him and once again laid her head on his chest. Greg felt her tears against his skin. He continued to stroke her as they fell asleep.



-------

Chapter 8

The next day, Thursday, dawned bright and sunny. It was a perfect early spring day in Toronto. As had become their habit, Megan and Greg made gentle love upon awakening. They showered together. As usual, Megan divided her time between applying her makeup and watching Greg shave. He smiled at her, bent over and kissed her nose. He said, "Why do you still find my shaving so fascinating?"

Megan laughed. She said, "I find everything you do fascinating. You're my avocation. I'm going to get a Ph. D. In 'Greg' and then go for postdoctoral study. I intend to become the number-one expert in Gregory Ambrose Young."

Greg laughed. He picked her up and kissed her. "You're already the 'number-one expert, '" he said. He kissed her again.

"Thank you, sir," Megan said. "Now if you'll stop messing up my lipstick, we may have time for breakfast before we have to go to work."

Greg drove Megan to City Hall and then went to his own office in the new Film House building. He felt happier than he ever remembered being. Not only did he have the world's best woman, he was secure in his decision to put the new comedy pilot into production. The world was wonderful. His day went well and quickly. He whistled as he left work. He drove to City Hall. Megan skipped across the sidewalk, jumped into the car, and kissed him passionately. A car horn blared behind them. Greg turned around, expecting to see an enraged driver. Instead, he saw a monster SUV with Nate Potter's grinning face looking over the wheel. Greg and Megan laughed as they drove home.

After they changed, Megan placed an order for delivery from her favourite Chinese restaurant. As always, they promised the food within forty-five minutes. After less than thirty minutes, the doorbell rang. Megan took her purse and went to answer the door. She opened the door to find the usual delivery man from the Fireplace Sechuan Restaurant. And as usual, he stared at her tits while she fumbled in her purse for the money. She was wearing one of Greg's old Banff Television Festival T-shirts. It covered her completely, reaching to mid-thigh. But it was obvious as she moved that her breasts were unfettered. Her nipples were outlined by the thin cotton. "You stupid bastard," she thought, "I hope it's worth it to you. You keep ogling yourself out of a nice tip." She paid him, throwing in a small tip, closed the door and took the food into the kitchen. She and Greg busied themselves setting the table and opening the containers. The doorbell rang again. Megan said, "What now? I hope the prick doesn't want more money. He probably just wants another look at my tits." She padded to the door in bare feet. She opened it. Amy glared at her.

"Hello," Amy said. "I'm looking for a filthy, skanky, low-down cunt. And I'm obviously in the right place."

Megan said, "Please, Amy. Don't."

Amy yelled, "You're a no-good piece of shit. And a goddam coward to boot. You didn't even tell me you were living here. I had to find out about it from that cocksucker Johnny at the pool. He gloated like a sonuvabitch when he told me. You whoring, gold-digging cunt. I should fix you so you that you can't do it any more. I should sew up your filthy cunt and your lying mouth and then beat the shit out of you. Or even better, just put you in a bag and throw you into the lake with all the other shit."

Greg came running into the hall. "Amy," he said, "I'll have to ask you to speak civilly or leave our house."

"Our house," Amy yelled. "Our fucking house! Since when does this skanky cunt have ownership of my uncle's house? Never, that's when." She turned to Megan. "I'll wait while you get some of your shit together. Then I'm taking you out of here. For good."

Greg took Megan in his arms. He held her against him while she sobbed. "Amy," he said, "calm down. You're not taking anyone anywhere. Megan and I decide who stays here and who goes. No one else. Right now, I'd say that you're the only candidate for departure."

Amy stared at him. She said, "Uncle Greg, can't you see through this act of hers? She as much as told me for Christ's sake. She said that she was going to come on to you and that she'd be my aunt."

Greg cuddled and stroked the sobbing Megan. "I know all about that," he said. "She told me about that evening. And she told me how you reacted. That's why she's been afraid to talk to you. With good reason, as it turns out."

Amy had tears in her eyes. "Jesus, Uncle Greg," she said. "She's really got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?"

"No one is wrapped around anyone's finger," Greg said. "I love Megan, and she loves me. That's all that anyone needs to know. That's the basis of our relationship. Complete and abiding love and trust. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Come back when you're ready to have a civilized and rational conversation."

Amy stared incredulously. "Let me get this straight," she said, "you're throwing me out of your house. Me! Instead of this cunt!"

Greg said, "OK. That's it. My patience is exhausted." He took Amy by the shoulders and turned her toward the door.

Megan was no longer crying. She said quietly, "Just a minute, Greg. I have a few words to say." She turned to Amy. "Amy, I know that I'm at fault for not telling you about our relationship, Greg's and mine. But as Greg said, I was afraid. Afraid of losing my relationship with you. That evening when you blew your top, you as much as threatened me with physical violence. I told you that you were acting more like Greg's girlfriend than his niece. Well, you're acting even more like that right now. You're acting exactly like a jealous woman. Because that's what you are."

Amy looked at Megan. She said, "What the hell are you talking about? You're full of shit."

"No, I'm not. As long as I've known you, you've flirted with Greg. Before I met him, I heard you flirting over the phone. When I saw the two of you together, it was even more blatant. You flirt constantly in order to get your way. You flirt with everyone. You've even sort of flirted with me. Not sexually, but flirting nonetheless. With Greg it's different. And it's flagrant. Anybody can see it. Anybody but you and maybe Greg." Now Greg was staring at Megan. He opened his mouth to speak. "No, darling," Megan said, "let me finish. I finally got the courage to say this, and I don't want to waste it." She turned to Amy once more. "I'm sure you're not aware of the way you flirt with Greg. You've probably done it all your life. Because it's always worked. And since Lynn died, you've been just about the only person in Greg's world. Up until now, that is. Now there's somebody else for Greg. Somebody who's even closer to him. And you can't stand that. You'll do anything to protect what you see as your turf."

Amy shook her head. "No way," she said, "you're so full of shit. I'm just trying to protect my uncle from a dirty little slut."

"Listen to yourself," Megan said. "We've been best friends for over three years. Now, all of a sudden, because I'm in love with your uncle, I'm a dirty little slut. In what way am I a slut? I'm in a monogamous relationship with a man I love and who loves me. If that's being a slut, I don't know the meaning of the word."

Amy said acidly, "'Love, ' my ass."

"Yes, love," Megan said. "You refuse to admit that we're in love. That we even could be in love. In your mind, the only way Greg could be involved with me or with anyone but you is if he were tricked. Whatever you think of me, do you think so little of Greg? Do you think he could be fooled that easily? Christ, girl, Greg and I have been living together for weeks. We spend most of our waking hours and all of our sleeping hours together. Do you think I could fool him all that time? He'd see through me in a minute. You're the actress, not me. You've studied acting for years. And you're good at it. Damned good. You've been in professional stage productions and films. You're good at becoming other people. But could you hide your true feelings every hour of every day? I don't think so. And I certainly can't. Hell, I've never been able to hide anything from Greg. From the first moment we met, he could see right through me. He tells me things about myself that I don't know. He's the only person I've ever known who can do that. Including my parents. I can't hide a goddam thing from him, and I love him for that. He knows everything about me, the bad as well as the good, and he still loves me."

Amy stood quietly, looking down at the floor. Megan came closer to her. She lifted Amy's chin until she was looking in her eyes. She said, "I don't want to lose your friendship. And I don't want to come between you and Greg. There's no reason for either of those things to happen. But you're going to have to admit your real feelings for Greg. You don't want to be his niece. You want to be his girlfriend."

Amy recoiled. She shook her head. "No," she said, "I'm not a goddam pervert. No way I want to fuck my uncle. Or my father. Or anybody else in my family."

"Maybe not consciously," Megan said. "But you're sure as hell acting like it."

Amy said, "I don't have to take this shit. I'm getting out of here." She turned and opened the door.

Greg said, "I think that's a good idea. When you're ready to talk in a reasonable, adult manner, you can call us. The first thing you need to do is apologize to Megan. Until you're ready to do so, please leave us alone." He closed the door. He turned to Megan. She was shaking. He took her in his arms.

"Oh God, yes. Hold me," Megan said. "Hold me close."

"Always," Greg said.

Megan looked up at him. He could see that she was close to tears. She said, "You're not mad at me?"

"No, baby girl. "I'm not mad at you. Everything you said was true. Amy is a spoiled brat, and I'm as responsible as anyone for making her that way. I have a lot to answer for. I spoiled her. And so did her parents. Do you know about Christopher?" Megan shook her head. "Well, Christopher would have been Amy's older brother. He was born with a deadly gene that doomed him. He lived six months, a record for babies with his genome. Doris gave him twenty-four hour care. When he died, I held her hand. I carried his coffin at his funeral. It took a lot of courage for Doris and Liam to try to have another baby. When Amy turned out to be a healthy child, Doris devoted her life to her. And, in a way, so did I. Now she's spoiled. And in no small way it's my fault. I just hope it's not too late for her to change. The Amy I saw tonight isn't the niece I love. There's a lot of good in that girl." He kissed Megan's sweet little nose.

Megan said, "What are we going to do?"

Greg sighed. "If you mean what do we do about Amy, I admit that I haven't a clue. My first impulse is to do nothing until she comes crawling to you with the most abject apology imaginable. No one, no one, has the right to call the woman I love such vile names. The fact that it was done by Amy makes it that much worse, as far as I'm concerned. I've loved that girl since before she was. I changed her when she was a baby. I baby-sat her for years. Well, Lynn and I did. But I looked after her on my own often enough. She and I have always had a special relationship. Maybe it wasn't healthy to let her depend on me so much. When Amy and her friends got busted because of some prank they pulled after the prom, who did she call to bail her out? Me. Not her parents. And who kept them from finding out that their darling child had spent several hours in confinement as the guest of Her Majesty the Queen? Me. Yes, she's been almost like my daughter. But she has to learn that an attack on you is an attack on me. No one, not even Amy, can get away with a tenth of what she just did." He sighed again. "Yeah, I have no idea what to do. Let's go into the study and have a drink. We need to cocoon for a while. Just you and me against the world, to quote a really bad old song. And I, for one, could certainly use a drink."

Megan gave a little half-smile. "You and me against the world," she sang. "Helen Reddy, right?"

Greg stared at her. "Baby girl, you continue to astound me. I'm prepared to accept your knowledge of opera. But 1970s pop tunes are another matter."

Megan said, "Oh good There are still a few things about me that you still don't know. I told you that my dad was a great opera fan. My mother's tastes ran more toward Helen Reddy and ABBA." She kissed him gently. "I kind of like the idea of you and me against the world. As long as I have you, I don't need anyone else. But I have to admit that Amy hating me hurts like hell. And you can't lose her. She's your little girl. Let's go have that drink now."

Megan and Greg went into the study. Megan perched on the chesterfield while Greg went to the bar. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Martini?"

"Yup," she said. "A goddam big, strong one. No ice and no olives."

"Straight gin, in other words."

"Pretty much."

"Aren't you worried about turning red?"

"Hell no. I don't care if I turn fuchsia. Or green. Or whatever. I just want to get shit-faced."

Greg handed the drink to her. "Such language," he said, "from such a pretty little girl."

"I don't feel pretty. I feel shitty." Megan gulped her martini. She giggled and began to sing, "I feel shitty, oh so shitty." She drained her glass and handed it to Greg for a refill.

Greg refilled her glass. He handed it to her and said, "You better go easy on the firewater, baby girl. It can be dangerous on an empty tummy. Besides, I don't think Leonard Bernstein would approve that version of his hit song."

Megan said, "Fuck him. I feel lower than a snake's gonads." Once again she drained her glass and held it out for more.

Greg said, "Again, such language. From such a pretty little miss. One whom, I must say, I want nothing more than to change into a 'missus.'"

Megan said, "Stop! Greg, are you about to ask me to marry you? Because if you are, this just may be the worst time possible."

Greg mumbled, "I'm sorry." He stood up and made himself another martini.

Megan said, "Can you get one for me, too? I plan to get supremely shit-faced tonight. While you're at it, get me a Scotch as a chaser. Neat, please."

Greg said, "Baby girl, don't do this to yourself. You should eat something."

Megan said, "Fuck that. No lectures, please. Just give me the booze."

"What kind of Scotch would you like?"

"It doesn't make any difference. The way I'm drinking it, I won't even taste it. No sense wasting your precious single malts on me. Not tonight."

Greg brought Megan her drinks. He sat and looked at her quietly as she drank. She looked at him while she sipped the drinks alternately. "Greg," she said, "am I a good fuck?"

Greg sighed. "I wouldn't put it that way," he said. "You're a wonderful lover."

Megan finished her martini. She sat the glass down and took a swig of her Scotch. "I didn't ask that," she said. "I asked if I was a good fuck. Am I a good piece of ass?"

"You're great," Greg said. "The best."

"Am I good enough to lead you around by the nose the way Amy says I do?"

"That's bullshit. You've never even tried. It's not in your nature."

Megan said, "But I'm a good fuck, right?" Greg nodded. Megan stood, somewhat unsteadily. She pulled the T-shirt over her head, stumbling as she did so. She pulled it off, leaving herself naked. She laid down on the floor. "Then fuck me," she said. "Fuck me right here on the floor, like the skanky slut that I am."

Greg said, "Please don't talk like that, baby girl."

Megan said, "I want you to fuck me. Put your cock in my filthy cunt and fuck me like a whore."

Greg knelt down and took her in his arms. "Come, baby girl," he said. "Let's go to bed. You've had a very rough time, and you've had far too much to drink. Especially on an empty stomach." Megan began to cry. "Please come with me to bed," he said. "Things will look better tomorrow. I promise."

Megan had stopped crying. Instead, she was making little snoring noises. "Well," Greg said, mainly to himself, "I don't want to wake you. But I can't leave you here on the floor. Time to see if all those workouts have done any good." He picked her up in a fireman's lift. "Let's see if I can carry my baby up to bed." He had his doubts. None of the exercises at the gym involved carrying a hundred pounds of unconscious female up two flights of stairs. But he had no choice.

Greg had to rest a couple of times as he neared the third floor. But he made it. He tucked Megan into bed, splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth and joined her under the covers. The only sound was Megan's breathing and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. Greg dozed off.

He was wakened by Megan stirring. She was obviously trying to get out of bed. He got up and helped her to her feet. He half-carried her to the washroom. By the time they got there, she was gagging. Greg helped her kneel in front of the commode. He held her hair out of her face as she vomited. "There, there, baby girl," he said, "it'll be better when all the bad stuff is out." Her retching gradually ceased. Greg helped her to her feet. He held her while she washed her mouth out under the faucet. He poured mouthwash into a glass and helped her rinse her mouth with it. Then he gently washed her face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm such a pain in the ass. Why do you put up with me?"

"I love you," he said. "And you're not a pain in the ass. You're a dear little girl who's been hurt badly by someone you care about."

She cried against his shoulder. "Come to bed, precious," he said. "Things will look better tomorrow." He helped her into bed and covered her. He kissed her gently. "Go to sleep now," he said.



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Chapter 9

The next morning, Greg woke up at about seven o'clock. Megan was still sleeping, curled in a ball, so he got up quietly. To avoid disturbing her, he took his shower in the washroom down the hall rather than the en suite in the bedroom. He cleared away the uneaten supper from the night before and rustled up a breakfast of sorts. He took his breakfast to his office on the second floor. He reasoned that he'd be able to hear movement in the bedroom directly overhead and maybe even get some work done. After choking down eggs and toast, he poured himself another cup of coffee and called his office. His assistant answered on the second ring. "Northern Lights Productions," she said.

Greg smiled. He should have known she'd be the first one in the office. "Good morning, Sally," he said. "I won't be in this morning. Maybe not at all today. Megan is ill."

"Oh, poor Megan," Sally said. "Nothing serious, I hope."

"No, I'm sure she'll be better tomorrow. In case anyone needs me, they can call my cell or send me an email." After the usual pleasantries, Greg hung up and dialed Megan's office. He left a message on the voice mail, identifying himself and saying that Megan wouldn't be at work today. Then he turned his attention to the pile of scripts in front of him.

Greg got through five scripts and two pots of coffee. He stood up, stretched and yawned. The clock read 10:30. He thought that he'd like more coffee, but he'd already had more than his quota for the day. He picked up the coffee carafe and his cup and turned to take them downstairs to the kitchen. Just then, he heard movement from above. He put down his burden and rushed upstairs. When he got to the bedroom, he heard water running in the washroom. The door opened and Megan came in. She padded over to Greg and hugged him tightly. "I'm so sorry about last night," she said. "From what I remember, I made a real ass of myself."

Greg held her. He smiled down at his love. "The only ass that I see in this room," he said, "is a thing of rare beauty." He stroked her cute little bum. Her nudity and the feeling of her in his arms was having its usual effect. He could feel his cock beginning to stir. "Down, Roscoe," he thought, "this isn't the right time for fun and games."

"You're the best man in the world," Megan said. "I don't deserve you. No woman does. And I seem to remember your asking me to marry you last night. Did you?"

"No," he said, "I didn't. I might have, but you told me not to. I try to do what my lady tells me."

Megan said, her voice muffled against his shirt, "Yeah. Last night wasn't the right time. Maybe today isn't, either." She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "Don't get me wrong. I really want to marry you. I love you and want to spend my life with you. But I can't marry you under these circumstances. I just can't."

"I understand," Greg said, "and I'll respect your wishes. So what are you going to do?""I'm going to finish waking up. I'll shower and try to eat something. Then I'll do what any girl in my position would do."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to go and see my mother. If anyone will know what I should do, it's her."

Greg smiled and hugged her. He said, "Can I fix you something?"

"Coffee, for sure," she said. "Then I'll probably just have some cereal. I can't face a greasy breakfast."

Greg laughed. "Many people say that grease is the only real hangover cure. Ham and eggs. The greasier the better."

"Then they've never had one like this." She looked up at him again. "I seem to remember puking. Did I barf last night?"

"You did. Be glad. I think you got at least some of the booze out of you before it could do its worst."

"You mean it's possible to feel worse than this?" He nodded. "I have trouble believing that. But I'm in no hurry to try to prove or disprove it. OK, I'll have a shower and get dressed. Make me some coffee, please."

Greg picked her up and kissed her. Hard. When he broke the kiss and put her down, she said, "Wow. I felt that. Maybe I'm not in as bad shape as I thought. Of course, the only way I wouldn't respond to you is if I were dead. Now I'd better get into the shower. Part of me is already wet." She walked to the washroom, swaying her butt provocatively.

Megan was quick to complete her toilette. She came into the kitchen just as the coffee was ready. After two cups of coffee and a bowl of some kind of cereal, the sort of thing Greg called "sawdust," she picked up the phone. She talked to her mother for a few minutes, said something to her in Japanese, and hung up. "Well, that's that," she said. "I'm going to go and see Mum. I'll just brush my teeth and head out."

Greg took her in his arms and kissed her. He said, "Can I drive you?"

Megan shook her head. "No," she said. "Please let me go by myself. I'll just take the subway. I need the time to think. It would be too easy to stay here with you and try to forget my problems. But I'm just barely keeping it together right now. I have to go. I'll call you when I'm ready to come home."

After Megan left, Greg puttered around his office a bit more. He was nervous and jumpy. "Why," he thought, "When everything was going so perfectly for us, why did this have to happen?" His phone rang. He picked it up.



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Chapter 10


Megan opened the door to her mother's house with her key. Buster the dog heard her come in and came running. She heard her mother's voice, coming from the study. "Meggie, is that you?"

"Yes, Mama," she said. She hung up her coat, took off her shoes and walked down the hall to the study. Her mother was sitting in front of the computer. Megan stood beside her and put her hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mama, can we talk?"

Her mother smiled up at her. "Of course we can, baby. I'm just entering marks for my third-year Japanese class. Busy work" She rose and led Megan to the chesterfield. "You haven't called me 'mama' for years. What's wrong?"

Megan began to cry. "Oh Mama," she sobbed, "I'm in such trouble. I'm so miserable." She held her head in her hands and cried uncontrollably.

Her mother handed her a tissue. "Here," she said, "dry your eyes and blow your nose. Then tell me what it's all about. Does it have anything to do with that boyfriend of yours?"

Megan honked into the tissue. "Yes," she said softly.

"Are you two fighting?"

"No. Nothing like that."

Her mother put her arms around Megan. "Tell me what's the matter. That's what mothers are for. To take away the hurt and fear."

"Oh, Mama," Megan sobbed, "it's all wrong. I can't do anything right. I didn't mean to fall in love. I really didn't."

"None of us ever do. I certainly didn't plan to fall in love with a gaijin. But that big handsome Irish bugger swept me off my feet. And we had a wonderful life together. Tell me, does your man love you?"

"Yes, Mama. I'm sure he does. We're so much in love. We just feel like two parts of one person. And he as much as asked me to marry him."

"Then why the tears? That sounds like a reason to be happy."

Megan sobbed again. "I love him. Oh how I love him. But I told him 'no.' Actually, it was more like 'maybe.' There are too many problems."

Her mother sighed and put her arm around Megan. "All right," she said. "I have plenty of time. Tell me all about it."

Megan said, "It's so complicated. You know that he's older than I am. And he's rich. Or he seems rich to me."

Her mother laughed. "Those sound like excellent reasons to marry him."

"Mama, please be serious."

"I am being serious, sweetheart. You haven't given me any reason that you couldn't be happy with him. You said that you never meant to fall in love. What happened?"

Megan sobbed again. "From the first time I met him, I couldn't think of anyone or anything else. It was driving me crazy. Finally, I went to see him. I just went and knocked on his door. I used the excuse that I thought Amy was house sitting that day. I said that I just got the date wrong. Greg knew better than to believe me. He's always been able to see through me. But he wanted to see me, too. He invited me in. And from then on, things happened so fast and so intensely. The next day he asked me to stay with him. I've been with him ever since. Now, I can't even remember what life was like without him."

"Then why not marry him?"

"I don't know. Or I do know. God, I'm so confused. You see, Amy is one of the most important things in Greg's life. And she hates me."

"I can't believe that. Greg is her uncle. I'm sure she loves him. And you're her best friend. Why wouldn't she be happy to have her best friend marry her uncle?"

"It's all my fault. I screwed everything up. I was joking around once and made some stupid remark like asking how she'd like me to be her aunt. Now she's convinced that I'm a gold-digger just after Greg for his money."

"Are you?"

"Am I a gold-digger? Oh, Mama, you know me better than that."

"If he were poor, would you still love him?"

"Yes. My God, I'd love him no matter what."

"Why don't you explain that to Amy?"

"She won't listen to me. Besides, she doesn't think any woman is good enough for Greg. She worshipped her Aunt Lynn. After Lynn died, she latched on to Greg. Greg says that her love for him is almost frightening some times."

"Does she see you as a rival?"

"Maybe. She's been acting like it. I don't want to come between Amy and Greg. I'm so confused, Mama. And I'm so miserable. I love Greg so much. And I love Amy, too. What can I do?" Once again, Megan broke down in tears.

Megan's mother raised her voice. "Amy, did you hear all of that?"

The door of the powder room opened, and Amy came into the study. She was crying. "Yes, Mrs. O'Hara. I heard." She came to the chesterfield and knelt. That brought her head down to the same level as Megan's. She held Megan's head in her hands. Amy brought her face close to Megan's face and gently kissed her cheek. "Oh, Megan, I'm so sorry. I really screwed up this time. Please forgive me." The two young women embraced. "When I got home last night, I thought for a long time. Then I talked to my mum. After all, she's known Greg his whole life. She's his older sister, for God's sake. She straightened me out on a lotta stuff. She told me how I got almost everything wrong. She's nothing but happy about you and Greg. She said when she saw you together at my birthday party, she thought the two of you were 'cute.'" Megan laughed through her tears. Amy continued, "I almost died when I thought I'd lost both of you. I need you as my friend. And Greg has been -- well, he's just Greg. So this morning, I called your mum. I knew if anybody could help to patch things up, she'd be the one. She's so wise. I'm incredibly sorry for all the nasty stuff I said about you. I love you and need you as my friend. And if you can be my aunt, too, so much the better." The two girls embraced. They laughed and cried at the same time. Just then, the doorbell rang.

Mrs. O'Hara said, "I'll get it." She left the room and returned in a moment with Greg.

Amy and Megan stared at him. Megan said, "How? What?"

Greg walked over to the girls. He took Megan under his right arm and Amy under his left. He kissed Megan's forehead. He smiled at her and said, "Your mum called me right after you left. She gave me a ballpark time to be here. And here I am. Now, I have to ask you to excuse Mrs. O'Hara and me. We have to talk serious business." The two girls stared at each other wonderingly as Greg and Mrs. O'Hara made their way to the living room.

Mrs. O'Hara motioned Greg to a chair. "Now," she said, "what do we have to discuss that's so important, Mr. Young."

"Please call me Greg."

"Greg, then. And I'm Mariko. What's so important?"

"Mrs. O'Hara..."

"Mariko."

Greg said, "I'll be most happy to address you by your given name in the future. At this moment, I feel the need for a bit more formality." Mariko nodded. "Mrs. O'Hara, I was raised by my parents to observe a certain code. This conversation is part of that code." He took a deep breath. "Mrs. O'Hara, I wish to be so bold as to ask for the hand of your daughter."

Mariko smiled. She said, "You're asking me if you can marry Megan. Right?"

"Yes ma'am."

Mariko took his hand. "Nothing would make me happier," she said. "You're a fine man. My daughter loves you very much, and obviously you love her in return. My only regret is that her father didn't live to see Meggie married. It would have meant so much to him." Greg patted her hand. "You remind me of Mike in many ways," Mariko said. "You seem to have the same kind of quiet strength. You even have a grin similar to his. Welcome to the family."

Greg smiled, "Aren't you forgetting something? I still have to ask Megan."

Mariko laughed. "Unless I suddenly don't know my daughter," she said, "the likelihood of her refusing you is, as they say, 'slim to none.' I'd vote for none."

Mariko and Greg stood and made their way into the study. Megan and Amy were sitting quietly on the chesterfield, watching them enter the room. "Megan," Greg said, "your mother has given me permission to speak to you about something very important." She nodded, her eyes tearing up again. Greg knelt in front of her. He took the small velvet box out of his pocket. He held Megan's hand in his. "Ms. O'Hara," he said, "would you do me the great honour of giving me your hand in marriage?" He opened the box. Megan stared at the ring, unable to speak. "Baby girl," Greg said, "will you marry me?"

Megan burst into tears. "Oh yes," she said, "yes, yes, yes, yes! A million times yes." Greg took the ring and put it on her finger. Megan held it up to catch the light. She looked at it in wonder.

Amy said, "Oh, let me see it." She took Megan's hand and stared at her ring. "Omigod. It's so beautiful."

Greg sighed deeply. He stood and put his arm around Megan. He grinned at Mariko. He said, "I think we've all had a pretty good emotional workout the last couple of days. How about a little relaxation? I'd like to propose a little celebration. An impromptu engagement party. Either at our house or an appropriate restaurant. Just the family. Even better, let's start at the restaurant and adjourn to our house after. Amy, are your parents busy this evening?"

Amy shook her head. "I don't think so," she said.

Greg said, "Give them a call." Amy took out her cell phone. He turned to Megan's mother. "Mariko, have you any plans for the evening?"

Mariko smiled. "No, Greg," she said, "I don't."

"Excellent," Greg said. He turned to Megan. "What do you think, darling," he said, "is Tasting Rooms all right?" Megan smiled and kissed his cheek. Greg said, "I'll take that as a yes." He called the restaurant. "Hello, Gaspard," he said, "it's Greg Young. I'd like to make a reservation for this evening. Seven o'clock. Six people. A private room would be best. You can? That's terrific. Yes, that's right. And we'll be wanting several bottles of champagne. See you then." He returned his phone to his pocket.

Amy handed Greg her cell. "Mum wants to talk to you," she said.

Greg took the phone. "Hi, Dodo," he said.

Doris said, "How are you doing, Bubbie?" Greg could hear the smile in her voice.

Greg grinned. "I'm better than ever, Dodo. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that I'm the happiest guy in the world."

Doris said, "Tell Megan that she'd better take care of my baby brother, or she'll have me to deal with. Now put that daughter of mine back on."

Greg returned Amy's phone to her and picked up his own. Greg turned to Mariko. "Now, mother-in-law to be, if you don't mind I'm going to take my lovely fiancée home where she can attempt the impossible -- making herself even more beautiful."

As Greg drove home, Megan held his hand tightly. "Darling," he said, "please give me back my hand. We're going on the expressway now, and I need both hands on the wheel." Megan kissed his hand and released it.

Megan looked out the window at the passing scenery. She said, "When should we do it?"

"Well," Greg said, "I was thinking we'd do it as soon as we get home."

Megan gave him a mock punch on the shoulder. "Not that," she said. "Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant when should we get married."

"Baby girl, I'll marry you any time any where. Tomorrow at City Hall, if you'd like. But that would be unfair to your mother and to my family as well. Believe me, I know from experience that marriages aren't for the bride and groom. They're for their families and friends. I'd suggest that you, your mother and Amy sit down and make a list of all the people to invite. Then call a professional wedding planner."

Megan said, "I hadn't thought of that. But you're right. It's going to be complicated. Especially if my family from Ireland and Japan want to come. And I'm sure that at least some of them will." She looked out the window again and said something under her breath.

Greg said, "What's that? I couldn't hear you."

Megan smiled at him. "I was just thinking," she said, "I'm going to be Megan Mariko O'Hara Young. That's quite a handle."

Greg laughed. "The name is bigger than you are," he said.

Once again, Megan looked out the window and was quiet for a moment. Then she laughed. "I just decided," she said, "that tonight I'm going to do it."

Greg said, "Do what?"

"I'm going to order the horse."


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The End
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Posted:  2006-04-26
Last Modified: 2006-06-04 / 04:02:16 pm
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