Storiesonline.net
-------

                                 Stacie
                             by Will Bailey

Copyright© 2005 by Will Bailey


-------
Description: Jack Charles was a successful lawyer. His professional life was great. His personal life was a mess. He finally threw out his bitch girlfriend. Then, Stacie happened.As are most of my writings, this is a romance with sexual content, not a stroke story. Enjoy.

Codes: MF FF ff Ff true slow rom teen cons les het oral mastrb
-------



-------

Chapter 1


I woke up pissed off. The clock by the bed was making its usual racket. It was reading "8:00" on the big display. Under that, it said "June 7". All of this was information in which I had no interest whatsoever. I restrained myself from throwing the goddam thing through the window. Instead, I hit the button to make it shut up. I was still smarting from the final fight with Paddi-Ann, but there was no reason to take it out on the clock. She'd finally pushed the envelope too far. After she'd stormed out with all her shit, I'd had a few drinks too many. My head was a little fuzzy. Well, more than a little. I considered trying to go back to sleep. I abandoned that idea. There was one thing I wanted to do right away. I wanted to make sure that she'd really left -- that I hadn't dreamed the whole thing. I got up and opened the walk-in closet. It was empty. She was gone, along with her clothes and interminable numbers of shoes. Thank God.

I put on my robe and went downstairs. I made some strong coffee and drank three cups one after the other. After the third cup, I was finally awake. I thought about the break up. Was it a good thing? Yes. Definitely. It was overdue. If Paddi-Ann hadn't been such a great fuck, I'd never have put up with so much crap from her. In the end, about all we had in common was good sex. I'd found it hard to believe that we shared a profession. How in hell, I wondered, could Paddi-Ann ever represent a client competently? In any case, that chapter of my life was over.

I looked forward to a quiet Sunday -- the first one in a long time without the idiotic interruptions of Paddi-Ann. I planned to get a little work done in the morning and watch some baseball in the afternoon. But when I opened my briefcase, I found that I'd forgotten some files that I needed. I could either forget about work or go downtown and get the files. I decided on the latter course. I saddled up the Benz and drove to the office cursing under my breath.

When I got there, the place was deserted except for Gus the security guard. He and I exchanged a few pleasantries, sports bullshit and such, while he unlocked the elevator. I went up to the office and quickly got the shit I needed. I said good-bye to Gus and headed home.

I figured that I might as well stop at the little neighborhood store called the Friendly Corner on my way back. I'd pick up my weekend papers, the Times and the Guardian, as well as something for breakfast. I parked on the street and went into the store. When I came out, a group of teenage girls were standing next to my car. The old church across the street had been turned into a Kiwanis Boys and Girls Club. I figured that these kids were either coming from or going to some event there. I put my bags in the trunk.

"Nice car."

I looked up. It was one of the kids. She was short, probably 5' 2" or less. At first glance, I thought that she was a little on the chubby side. But then I realized that impression was probably caused by the fact that her breasts were large for her height. She had blonde hair, cut short, and she had a big smile on her face.

"Thanks," I said, as I closed the trunk.

"It's a Mercedes E500 4Matic, right?"

I smiled back at her. "Yes it is. You know your cars," I said.

"This is a really special car," she said. "It has a big V-8 and all-wheel drive. It's beautiful. And I've seen it before. In fact, I see it all the time. You must live around here."

"Yes," I agreed, "just a couple of blocks away. Over that way." I pointed northwest. How about you?"

"Yeah," she said, "I live a just a few blocks from here. That way" She pointed south.

"Oh," I said. The Friendly Corner was just above Gerrard Street. If she lived a few blocks south, that meant she lived in Regent Park, the subsidized housing development. Most of the people who lived there were either welfare recipients or what's euphemistically termed the "working poor." This part of central Toronto, known as "Cabbagetown," was what they called a "mixed" neighborhood. Gerrard Street was the dividing line. North of Gerrard there were lovely old Victorian and Edwardian homes housing the well-to-do. The poor lived south of Gerrard. It was a strange juxtaposition.

The girl's face clouded over. "Yeah, I'm 'one of those, '" she said, "I'm sorry to have taken your valuable time." She turned to leave.

"Look, I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean it like that. Not at all." I held out my hand. "I'm John Charles."

The girl gravely shook my hand. "I'm Stacie. Stacie MacPherson."

"I'm glad to meet you, Stacie," I said, "and I'll bet that you really do know a lot about cars."

She blushed. "Not all that much," she said, "and I can't imagine what it would be like to even ride in a car like this, let alone to own one."

I smiled at her. "How would you like me to drive you home?"

"Really? Would you really do that? I'd really like a ride in your car, but I don't know if I should..."

I said, "Don't worry. I'm not a pervert or a weirdo. I'm a lawyer. Well, maybe some people would figure that just being a lawyer makes me somewhat suspect, but some of us are actually regular guys. What do you say?"

"Sure," she said. She was smiling again.

"OK, hop in. You can put your knapsack in the back seat."

We got into the Benz. I put my hand on the gear lever, clicked it into "drive" and began to pull away.

"Wow," Stacie said, "was the car already running? I didn't even hear it."

"No," I said, "it has the thing that Mercedes calls its 'keyless go' feature. As long as I have this fob," I took it out of my pocket, "all I have to do is to touch the button on the gear selector, and the engine starts. I'm not too sure that I like this feature, but I'm getting used to it." I looked at the dash display. "By the way, it's already after eleven o'clock. I didn't do breakfast. How would you like to go to the Pear Tree for brunch? It should be open by now."

"Gosh, I don't know. That's a pretty expensive restaurant."

"My treat," I said. "How about it?"

"OK." Stacie beamed at me.

I was lucky. There was a parking space right in front of the Pear Tree. I opened the door to the restaurant and held it while Stacie went in. Omar, the owner, was at the reservation desk. "Ah, Mr. Charles," he said, looking at his book, "I don't see a reservation for you. Did you call?"

"No Omar, I didn't. But please, could you find us a nice table for two? In the solarium, if possible."

Omar showed us to a very nice table. We were by the window looking out on the patio. We'd have the advantages of the early summer sun without being bothered by the bugs and the smokers outside.

We sat down, I opened my menu absentmindedly. I pretty well had the thing memorized. While pretending to read it, I watched Stacie. She read the menu with wide eyes and then looked around, equally wide-eyed. She was a pretty girl. Simply so. She was most unlike the other Regent Park girls I'd seen. She was neither unkempt nor overdone, the two extremes common in the Park. She had the well-scrubbed "girl next door" sort of prettiness. No wonder I'd been so surprised when she told me where she lived.

Actually, Stacie reminded me of someone. The more I looked at her the more I notice the resemblance to... whom? Then the penny dropped. Stacie looked a hell of a lot like Doris Bowman. At least she looked like the Doris of twenty years ago.

Doris got my cherry. Actually, we had a mutual loss of virginity. She was a preacher's daughter. Her dad was the minister of the United Church of which my parents were members. Doris and I started hanging out together when she was fourteen and I was fifteen. For the next two years, we got together as often as we could. Her parents were quite strict, especially her mother. There was a hard and fast rule: no dating until Doris was sixteen. So we had to get together during the daytime. On Saturdays, I would meet her at the movie theatre. We'd always go to the least popular film. We'd sit in the back row of the balcony and make out in the nearly-empty theatre.

We started out by holding hands. We soon progressed to kissing and some minor petting. I remember the day that I took the bold move of placing her hand on my cock. She immediately got the idea and started squeezing it and feeling its contours. Outside my pants, of course. She reciprocated by placing my hand under her skirt. I quickly put my hand on her pussy. The crotch of her panties was wet, which surprised me. I thought perhaps she'd peed herself. As a result of Doris' playing with my cock through the entire movie, I went home that afternoon with a nearly terminal case of the blue balls. I called my friend Arnie, my advisor on all things sexual. Arnie advised me to jerk off immediately. "It's the only cure," he said. It seemed to work.

The day of Doris' sixteenth birthday finally arrived. The next evening was our first real date. I picked her up in my dad's Oldsmobile. I was seventeen and had been driving for a year. Her dad laid down the rules: no drive-in movies (they still existed then) and she had to be home by eleven. As I pulled out of her driveway, I asked Doris what movie she wanted to see. She said, "Why don't we just find someplace quiet instead?"

I knew just the place. It was a parking lot down by Lake Ontario that was notorious as a teenage passion pit. I found an isolated spot. As we kissed, Doris immediately reach for my dick. I asked her, "Why don't you take it out?" She didn't need to be asked twice. Soon she had my pants down. I, in turn, suggested that she remove her panties. She quickly took them off and put them in her purse.

We played with each other for a while, then I thought it was time to put Arnie's advice to the test. He'd told me, "Forget doing it on the back seat. The best way to fuck in a car is with the broad on your lap. Get her to straddle you." I suggested to Doris that I move to the centre of the front seat and that she sit facing me with one leg on either side. She didn't immediately understand the implications of the position. But when she understood, she moved with alacrity and directed my willy to the appropriate orifice. The deed was done.

That first night, we fucked like rabbits. In subsequent afternoons and evenings, the pattern continued. In addition to my dad's car, we had other hideouts. A favourite was a little-used stairway in our high school. In fact, we screwed nearly every day that year. But all good things must come to an end. The next year, I went away to university. I'd been accepted at McGill in Montreal. By the time I came home for a holiday, the Bowmans had moved to the States. Reverend Bowman had been offered a much better position as the pastor of a Lutheran church in Boston. I never saw Doris again.

Stacie spoke, jarring me out of my reverie. "Gosh," she said, "Mr. Charles, I've never been to a place this grand. I just don't know what to chose. What would you suggest?"

I smiled at her. "First of all," I said, "my friends call me Jack. Second, this is an average restaurant, not at all 'grand, ' whatever you think of the decor. Personally, I think it's a bit overdone. Third, what you chose depends entirely on what sort of thing you'd like to eat and how hungry you are. As you can see, there are all kinds of dishes. If you feel like breakfast, you can have an omelette or some other egg dish. You can have pasta. You can have fish, chicken or veal. Or you can go the heavy route with a steak. It's up to you."

"I've never heard of steak and eggs together. Is it good?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?"

She beamed. "Could I?"

"You certainly may." The waiter came to our table and stood expectantly. I said, "The lady will have steak and eggs." I turned to Stacie, "How would you like them done? The steak and the eggs, that is."

"I'd like the eggs over easy, and the steak without too much blood," she said, wrinkling her nose, presumably at the thought of blood.

"OK," I said, "she'd like over-easy eggs and a medium rare steak. I'll have the same, except with soft poached eggs and a blue steak. And what would you like to drink?"

"Could I have orange juice?"

"A large juice for the lady and a pint of Rickard's Red for me."

The waiter left. Stacie looked at me seriously. She asked, "Do you usually have beer for breakfast?"

"Not always," I said, "only on special occasions."

Stacie laughed. Her laughter sounded like tinkling bells. Then she said, "Mr. Charles..."

I interrupted, "Jack."

"Jack," she said, smiling once more, "you said that you're a lawyer. What kind of law do you practice?"

I was intrigued. Most teenagers probably had no idea that there were different specialties in law. "I specialize in intellectual property," I said.

Our drinks came. I lifted my beer and clinked glasses with Stacie. She took a sip of her juice. "Gee, that's really good. I'll bet that it's fresh-squeezed. I never had that in a restaurant before." She took another sip and then said, "Intellectual property. That's like software and stuff, isn't it? And music?"

My respect for this kid was growing. "Yes, it is. But it's a lot more than that. Anything that people create or invent is, or should be, their property. If you paint a picture, write a novel, compose a symphony or make a better mousetrap, you should own your creation. But, just as there are people who'll try to steal your wallet or your car, there are lots of people who try to take away your creations. That's where I come in. I try to keep them from doing it."

"That sounds really interesting," she said. "It sounds like something I'd like to do." She took another sip of her juice and continured. "But you know, some things about the law are weird. For instance, in Canada lawyers are called 'barristers and solicitors.' In the U. K., they're either barristers or solicitors. They either practice law outside the courts or argue in front of the court. In this country, they can do both. And all the provinces except for Quebec have systems based on British Common Law. Quebec bases its system on the Napoleonic Code. Well, sort of. Anyway." She grinned at me. "Isn't that weird?"

I was speechless. Then she looked at me with an expression that was fearful and defiant at the same time. "I'm going to be a lawyer," she said.

I noticed that she didn't say that she wanted to be a lawyer. She said that she was going to be one, as though it were an obvious fact. From what she'd just told me, I wouldn't dispute her.

"That's great," I said, "the law can be a very rewarding profession. And I don't mean just monetarily. You can get great moral and intellectual satisfaction from it. But it isn't easy. And it doesn't get any easier."

Stacie said, "I know it isn't easy." She paused and looked at me with that defiant look again. "I've had nearly perfect marks all the way through junior high and high school. That wasn't easy, either. Believe me."

I took a swig of beer. "Stacie," I said, "I'm sure that wasn't easy. I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't do it. Let's start over again. You're an interesting person, and I really like you. I'd like to get to know you better. Let's be friends. OK?" I held out my hand.

She shook my hand solemnly. "Friends," she said.

Over brunch, I got to know more about Stacie. She was an only child. She'd been born in Scarborough, a suburb of Toronto. Her father had a fairly prosperous insurance brokerage. She'd been raised in nice middle-class surroundings until she was ten years old. Then, seemingly without warning, her dad had committed suicide. That part of her life was obviously difficult for her to talk about, but she went on.

Her father had sold insurance, so he had a great life insurance policy. But Stacie and her mother didn't get a penny from it. I understood the reason why without her telling me. It was a standard clause in life insurance policies. Because her dad had taken his own life, the policy paid nothing. Stacie's mum was suddenly penniless. She had to sell their home and look for work. Unfortunately, she'd been a housewife since Stacie was born. She had no marketable job skills. Stacie and her mother wound up on welfare and eventually in Regent Park.

Here the story went from bad to worse. In Regent Park, Stacie's mother fell in with a bad crowd. She began drinking far too much and taking illegal drugs. She had a series of lowlife boyfriends. She eventually married one of them, who, according to Stacie, was the worst of the lot.

By the end of this recitation, we'd finished our meal. Stacie looked at me apologetically. "Jack, I'm sorry for unloading on you this way. You've been so nice and all."

I patted her hand. "Stacie, don't worry about it for a minute." I looked at my Rolex. "In fact," I said, "since it's the afternoon of a glorious day, how would you like to accompany me on a drive along the lake?"

"Oh wow," she said, "I'd love that. If it's not too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," I said, "I can certainly use the company. You see, I broke up with my girlfriend last night. I was going to do some work today, but instead I think that I need a stroll by the lake in congenial company."

Stacie became very quiet. I paid the bill and led her to the Benz. As we drove away, she said, "Jack, I'm sorry about your personal problems. I don't mean to intrude."

"Stacie," I said, "you're not intruding. In a big way, you're helping. A lot. You see, I'm older than you. But I'm sure that we're alike in many ways. When I hurt, I hurt. When I need help. I need help. You told me about your problems. I'll tell you about mine. You're giving me help just by being with me. If I can help you at the same time, that's even better."

I parked the car in the Beach near the boardwalk. Stacie and I walked along and talked. I told her about my problems, and she told me a bit more about her life. She was eighteen. She'd be nineteen in a few weeks. She'd just finished high school. She'd applied to five universities, but she really had her heart set on the University of Toronto or McGill University. She told me that the university application fees had been expensive, but that she'd worked part-time jobs until she had enough money to pay them. She was waiting for the replies to come in. She hoped to have them soon. Until she had her acceptance in hand, she couldn't apply for financial aid for tuition. The sooner she was able to apply, the more chance there was of getting the aid.

I, in turn, told her much more than I intended about my personal problems. I'd had a series of what one might call "inappropriate" girlfriends. My professional life was terrific. My personal life was a mess. I wondered why the hell I was telling this child all this stuff. Perhaps because I needed to talk about it, and she was a good listener.

At the end of my recitation, Stacie looked at me with concern. "Jack," she said, "you've let yourself have a lot of problems that you shouldn't have. You're a good man. You should give yourself a break."

As we walked along the boardwalk, I took her hand. "Stacie," I said, "you're a very good person. And I have no doubt that you're going to be a lawyer -- an excellent lawyer. It's going to be a lot of work. But you'll do it. By the way, you talked about money for school. Do you have a summer job?"

"No," she said, "and I'm starting to get worried. Last year, I had a job as a lifeguard at the Flemington Park pool. But this year, the Toronto Park Service doesn't have any openings. I've looked a lot of other places, too. But there's nothing out there."

I smiled at her. "How would you like to work for McHenry and Charles?"

Stacie looked at me with wide eyes. "Are you joking? Me? Work in a law firm? What would I do?"

I said, "There's a lot you can do. And it'll give you a chance to see how things really are in law offices. Are you interested?"

She looked at me solemnly. "I won't take charity," she said.

"It's not charity. You'll be doing us a favour. One of our clerks is on maternity leave, and we haven't found anybody suitable to replace her. I repeat, are you interested?"

"Of course I am."

"When can you start? How about tomorrow?"

"I'd really, really love to, but I can't. I don't even have the right clothes to wear. Or the shoes. Or anything."

I smiled. "We're a little more relaxed at Mack and Jack. That's what we call ourselves when there aren't any clients around."

"But I'd still need suits or at least decent skirts and blouses. All I have are school clothes and casual clothes. You know, uniforms and jeans and stuff. Nothing that's right for an office."

"Tell you what. The stores downtown are still open for a couple of hours. Let's go shopping."

"But I don't have any money. If I had money, I wouldn't need the job."

"I'll front the money. Call it an advance. You can pay me back out of your salary. What do you say?"

"Jack, I don't know what to say. You've already been more than kind to me."

"Say 'yes.'"

Stacie gave me a little grin. "Yes," she said.

"OK, let's go."

We got into the Benz, and I headed for the Eaton Centre. On the drive there I said, "By the way, we haven't talked about money. You've already accepted a job, and you don't know how much you're getting paid. How do you know you won't get ripped off?"

She said quietly, "Because I know that you wouldn't do that."

"How's three-fifty a week? That's to start. After you've done some training, maybe we can increase it."

"Three hundred and fifty dollars?"

"OK. You're a really hard bargainor. Let's say four hundred even. To start."

"Four hundred?"

"Jeez, you do drive a hard bargain. All right. Four-fifty, but that's it."

"Four hundred and fifty? I can't believe it!"

"You're robbing me. OK. Five hundred. But that's definitely my final offer. Take it or leave it."

"My God! I've never seen that much money all at once."

"Does that mean yes?"

"Yes. That definitely means yes. Yes, yes, yes."

I parked in the Eaton Centre garage, and we went on our expedition.

Stacie proved to be a very prudent shopper. She chose moderately conservative but stylish clothes and shoes. We bought her two business suits, several very nice skirts, a bunch of blouses, a blazer, a jacket, two pairs of shoes and miscellaneous items such as panty hose and underwear. Stacie was very embarrassed when she shyly raised the subject of underwear. "I just don't have anything that's right," she said.

I was mildly amused. I found her shyness very sweet. It was so refreshing to be shopping with a woman who wasn't giving the salesclerks hell, constantly asking me if something made her look fat, or bitching about how the quality of the stuff in the store had gone to rat shit. Yes, Stacie was a breath of fresh air.

As I drove her home with her purchases, Stacie said, "I don't know how I'm going to explain all this stuff. To my folks, I mean."

"Why not just tell the truth? What's the big deal?"

"You don't know my mum. Or my step dad. They're bound to ask me a billion zillion questions and not accept any of my answers. And as soon as they find out I've got a job, they'll probably charge me rent. That's what they did last time."

"Then don't tell them how much you're making."

Stacie looked near tears. "Ted, my step dad, might even steal from me. I know he's done it before. I just haven't caught him at it."

"I'll tell you what. Tomorrow, we'll open a bank account for you. We can arrange to pay your salary directly into the account. That way, you can take out only as much as you need."

We arrived in the Cabbagetown area. Stacie directed me to her family's apartment. Her home was one of the ground-level apartments along River Street, a busy street that ran past Regent Park. I parked by the curb. Stacie looked at me for a minute. She stroked my face and kissed me gently on the cheek. She had tears in her eyes. "Jack," she said, "this has been the best day of my life."

"Sweetie, you're still young. There will be lots better days. Believe me."

Stacie threw her arms around me. She kissed me on the cheek again and hugged me fiercely. "Jack Charles, you're a wonderful man," she said.

I helped her carry her bags and boxes. Her family's apartment was rather down at the heels. There were holes in the upholstery of the living room furniture, and there were beer cans, dirty dishes, newspapers and magazines all over the place. Stacie's room, on the other hand, was clean and neat. My niece Heather was the only other teenage girl whose room I'd ever seen. Her room was messiness personified. Heather thought that wherever her clothing landed was its natural resting place. This was a welcome contrast to that chaos. We put the new clothes and shoes on her bed, and Stacie accompanied me to the front door.

I got a card from my wallet and handed it to her. "Here's the address of the office. Can you find it?"

"Sure I can. But wow, the Toronto Dominion Centre! That's really swank! I can't believe I'll be working there. What time should I be at work?"

"The staff usually gets to the office about nine o'clock. The partners sometimes arrive a little later, maybe nine-thirty or ten. Tell you what, since this is your first day, I'll drive you to the office. I'll pick you up. Or better yet, meet me at my place for breakfast." I handed her another card. "Here's my home address. I'll see you about eight. OK?"

Stacie took the card. Then she gave me another bear hug. She stood in the front doorway and waved as I drove away.

The next morning, the doorbell rang promptly at eight o'clock. I opened the door, and there was Stacie. But it was a different Stacie. She was wearing her new blue suit with a white blouse and black heels. She had just the right amount of makeup. She looked terrific.

I said, "OK, who are you, and what have you done with Stacie?"

She smiled. "Do I look all right?"

"Nope. You don't look 'all right.' You look terrific. Come in."

Stacie followed me to the kitchen. "Wow," she said, "this place is so grand. You live here all by yourself?"

"Yes. As of last Saturday night, I have the place all to myself."

"Your living room is bigger than my folks' entire apartment."

"Maybe. I've lived here a long time. I hardly notice the place any more."

I'd already set the table. I got juice and coffee. We sipped our coffee while I cooked ham and eggs and Stacie looked after the toast.

While we were eating breakfast, I said to Stacie, "I'll introduce you around the office this morning. I don't think that it'll take you very long to catch on to things. You should get up to speed shortly. But if you have any problems, come and see me. OK?"

"OK," she said, "but I don't want to be singled out as 'teacher's pet' or anything like that."

"No fear," I said, "I'm no teacher, and you're no pet. Let's throw stuff in the dishwasher and head out."

At the office, everything went well. I introduced Stacie to the crew, to my partner George McHenry and to the other three lawyers in the office, Bill, Chuck and Charlene. I put her in the capable hands of Larissa Timchuk, our head clerk. As I had suspected, Stacie fit in quickly. She was bright, quick, willing and able. At the end of the day, I drove her home.

She was quiet most of the way. When we arrived at her apartment, she said, "Gosh, Jack, it's been incredible. I don't know what to say. I had a great time today. Everybody's terrific. Larissa is especially great. She's so nice and patient and explains things so well. I'm really looking forward to working there."

I patted her cheek. Then I kissed that cheek. I said, "Breakfast tomorrow?"

Stacie smiled. "OK," she said, "but let me bring donuts or something. After all, I'm gainfully employed."

I agreed, dropped her off and drove home.

Over the next week, Stacie and I developed a routine. We'd get together for breakfast, either at my place or at the Mövenpick in BCE Place, which was near the office. We'd drive home together. Twice, we had lunch together. Nothing special. I had sandwiches brought into my office. I enjoyed Stacie's company, and she seemed to enjoy mine.

On Thursday, Larissa Timchuk came into my office. She asked, "Got time for a coffee?"

"Sure, Larissa."

"OK. Let's go down to the donut shop. I need a cigarette."

Larissa's smoking was a standing joke in the office. Surely she must hold some sort of record for the number of times that she'd quit. At that point, she was in one of those "in between" states. She "only" had a certain number of cigarettes each day.

We settled into a booth with our coffee. Larissa sighed and lit up. "I swear to God, someday I'll kick it," she said, "but it isn't easy to quit when you're working at Mack and Jack. Too much pressure."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said, "we've all heard this song before. Everybody knows the lyrics by heart. So what's the real reason for this coffee klatch?"

Larissa took a long drag off her cigarette. "Jack, where the fuck did you get that kid? Stacie, I mean."

I said noncommittally, "She's a kid from my neighborhood. She needed a job, and we needed someone to replace Susan."

"Yeah," Larissa said, taking another drag, "but this girl is special. I'd take her over Susan any day. She's an amazing kid. How old is she, early twenties?"

"Eighteen. Almost nineteen."

"No shit. Well, she seems older. She's bright as a new penny. I haven't had to explain anything to her twice. And if she doesn't know something, she always asks. Did you know that she wants to be a lawyer?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Well fuck. I think she just may do it." Larissa took a hit of coffee and another puff of nicotine. "Did you know," she said, looking at me levelly, "that she has a crush on you?"

"Bullshit."

"Don't say bullshit to an old bullshitter like me. I know bullshit when I hear it, and that's the biggest bullshit I've heard all day. Shit, all week. The kid worships you."

"Pardon me for repeating myself, but once again I say bullshit. She's a good kid. I gave her a break. Naturally, she's grateful."

"Grateful my sainted ass." Another puff. "And Stacie let it slip today that you and Paddi-Ann broke up. Is that true?"

"Yeah."

"How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad."

"Any chance you'll get back together?"

"None."

"Good," she said vehemently, "then I can breathe easier." Larissa smoked for a minute. She butted out her cigarette. "Jack, can I speak frankly?"

"You know that you can."

"I may be a tough old broad. I've been told many times that I have a filthy mouth, but there's one word I never use. The 'C' word. I should say that I've never used it until now. I guess I never met a woman who merited it. Until Paddi-Ann. Pardon my French, but how did you ever get involved with that cunt?"

I took a deep breath and stared in to my cup. "Larissa, I don't know. Well, I guess I do, but that's a long story. Maybe for another time. when I've had something a lot stronger than this coffee."

We went upstairs. Larissa turned to go to her office. Then she turned back to me. "Jack," she said, "we've known each other a long time. You're good people. And Stacie's a great kid. But mark my words: watch your step."



-------

Chapter 2


I went to my office and sat down in front of the computer. I'd been working on a major case. I was representing a diverse group composed of major retailers of CDs and other media, performing artists, songwriters and composers. At first, they might seem strange bedfellows. But in this case, they had a common interest. We were filing an application with the Copyright Board of Canada. We were trying to get the Board to roll back the surcharge they'd imposed on blank CDs and cassettes. The money collected by the surcharge was to be shared by songwriters and composers. It was supposed to be in compensation for possible piracy -- downloaded sound files and bootlegged CDs. That was the idea. In practice, all the money was being gobbled up by the big publishers and record companies. Nothing was going to the people who'd actually created and marketed the music. The retailers were getting screwed because people were buying fewer blank CDs and tapes, and the creators were getting screwed because they had to pay more for blank media and got nothing back from the surcharge. I was all fired up on this case, and I'd been going great guns on the brief before Larissa came in. But at that moment, I couldn't get my head around it. I kept thinking about Larissa's question. How and why had I become involved with Paddi-Ann?

Patricia Ann Monohan was a junior associate in Freedman, Burns and Stein, another law firm in the same office building. Her specialty was commercial real estate. We met at Joe Stein's Christmas party. Joe was Jewish, but he threw the best Christmas bash in our tower. Paddi-Ann and I started talking. She was certainly attractive and seemed friendly enough. To make a long story short, I asked her out to supper that Friday. She accepted.

I took Paddi-Ann to one of my favourite restaurants, Tasting Rooms. We had a great meal, more than a few drinks, and, hard as I now found it to believe, some good conversation. When I look back on it, I realize that I did most of the talking. Paddi-Ann asked me questions about intellectual property. I responded. In effect, she pushed my buttons.

After I drove her home, she pushed even more buttons. She invited me into her apartment. I parked in her building's visitor's parking, and we took the elevator upstairs. In the elevator, Paddi-Ann surprised me by putting her arms around my neck and kissing me. Our tongues dueled until the elevator door opened at her floor. Paddi-Ann's roommate was out of town for the weekend, so we had complete privacy. We soon wound up in her bed.

I'd thought that Paddi-Ann was nicely built, but I soon found out that her business suits concealed some astounding real estate. The girl had an amazing bod on her: big tits with rose-coloured nipples, a flat tummy, a small waist and widely flaring hips. Her twat was hairless. I assumed that it was shaved. I found out later that she'd had it lasered. Her pussy was permanently hairless.

And it was very tasty. I ate her for quite a while. She went from one orgasm to another. Finally, she screamed and pulled my head into her crotch. She ground her puss against my face. I thought I'd suffocate, but just as I was about to push her away, she released me.

I raised myself up and grabbed some tissues to wipe the pussy juice off my face. Paddi-Ann lay there panting. She was covered with a sheen of sweat. She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Jesus," she said, "where did you learn that?"

"Just natural talent, ma'am," I said, "just natural talent."

Then it was her turn. She proceeded to give me one of the best blow jobs of my life. She found nerve endings on my cock that I never knew existed. When I blew my load, I must have yelled. I'm not sure, but I must have. And that was just the beginning. I was to discover that Paddi-Ann knew more about dicks than I'd learned in nearly forty years of owning one. I used to say that she could write the owner's manual for the penis. And she genuinely loved to suck cock. I came to call her a "cockaholic." She hated the term, but it described her to a "T."

We spent that whole weekend fucking and sucking. First at her place, then at mine. A week later, Paddi-Ann moved in with me. That's when things began to change.

Oh, the sex was always good. But when we weren't fucking, she became harder and harder to live with. Nothing was ever good enough for her. No matter how much I did for her or how much I gave her, it wasn't enough. She could always think of something I could have done. And she constantly bitched about her job. That pissed me off as much as anything she did. Joe Stein and I had been friends for years. He'd been my classmate in law school. I knew that Joe was good people -- salt of the earth. But Paddi-Ann constantly badmouthed him. According to her, he was taking advantage of her, working her much too hard and giving her no credit.

I put up with her shit for almost a year and a half. On that fateful Saturday, I finally blew my fuse. I have the Charles family temper. I tend to fume for a long time and then explode. This time, I'd really blown my cork.

I wish that I'd recorded my tirade. As I recall, it was a masterpiece. I gave Paddi-Ann a detailed list of her shortcomings. She, in turn, turned on the waterworks and said that I was a heartless brute. I was nothing but a pig. My entire body wasn't worth her little finger. And I was a pencil-dick who'd never satisfied her.

This was patently untrue. I'm certainly no John Holmes, but I've never had any other woman complain about my equipment. Quite the reverse. I've actually had compliments.

The upshot was that Paddi-Ann said she'd move out, and I called her bluff. I even offered to help her. She called her old roommate and asked if she could move back in. I took five carloads of her shit to the apartment, and that was that.

Fuck it. Paddi-Ann was history. Larissa had called her a cunt. As a matter of fact, so had I on the preceding Saturday. More than once, as I recalled. I put the cunt out of my mind and went back to work.

That afternoon, things went well, I thought. I read over the brief the next day and had Larissa proof it. We emailed it to the clients. It was Friday. The work week was over. I made sure that five hundred bucks had been deposited in Stacie's account. On the drive home, Stacie insisted that I take a hundred dollars from her. She called it the first installment on her debt to me for the wardrobe. She gave me what had become her customary peck on the cheek as I dropped her off.

I puttered around the house for a while that evening. I made myself a martini, and I was just about to crank up the barbecue to burn my steak when the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number on the call display, but it read "MACPHERS ELIZ." I answered.

"Hello," I said, lacking any more inventive line.

"Jack," came the answer, "it's Stacie. I was wondering if I could come over and talk to you."

"Sure, Stacie. In fact, I'm just about to cook a steak, and I think that I just happen to have another. I'd welcome your company for supper. What do you say?"

There was a brief pause. Then she said, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. When can you be here?"

Another pause. Then, "When would you like me to come?"

"Any time. The sooner the better."

"What can I bring?"

"An appetite. I'll see you in a few minutes, OK?"

I checked the fridge. Yes, thank God, I had another steak. I also had another potato and the other appropriate stuff. Good.

I was washing potatoes when the doorbell sounded. I hit the button for the intercom and said, "Hello."

"It's Stacie," came the reply.

"Come in," I said, while hitting the button that unlocked the door.

I heard the door open. I wiped off my hands and walked through the dining room into the hall. There was Stacie.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," she said.

"No problem," I said. "Come into the kitchen. I'm just getting things ready."

She followed me into the kitchen. I turned to greet her and froze. There was more light in the kitchen, and I got my first good look at her. The left side of her face was bright red and swollen. She'd obviously been slapped. Hard. She was looking down at the floor. I lifted her face until she was looking at me.

"Sweetheart," I said, gently stroking her cheek, "who did that to you?"

"No matter," she said, "no matter."

She collapsed against me. I held her while she sobbed. The more she cried, the more I wanted to kill the pig who'd hurt her. Just as suddenly as she'd begun, she stopped and pulled away from me.

"What's for supper," she said, snuffling.

It was obvious that she didn't want to talk about what had happened to her, so I didn't push it. Stacie helped me with the preparations for supper. While we were cooking, she chattered away about her first week at work. I told her about my conversation with Larissa. Not the Paddi-Ann part, just the part about how happy Larissa was with Stacie's work.

"Gosh," Stacie said, "that's great to hear. I really like her. She's a terrific boss. She doesn't mind it when I ask questions, even though I feel like an idiot sometimes."

"Hell, don't worry about that. Larissa told me that she likes it when people ask about stuff they don't know. You called her a 'terrific boss.' I don't doubt that, but Larissa can be a bit too bossy at times. Don't be afraid to assert yourself."

Stacie looked at me with a very serious expression. "I know what you mean," she said, "I've never been good at asserting myself. I know it's something I have to work on."

It was a lovely evening. I decided that we'd eat on the deck. Stacie set the table while I got the steaks on. Before long, we were eating. I'd opened a bottle of red wine, a nice Australian merlot. I offered some to Stacie, and she accepted a small glass.

After we'd enjoyed our meal and cleared up, Stacie said, "You know, I've only seen the first floor of your house. You said to assert myself. Well I am. How about a tour?"

I smiled at her idea of "asserting" herself. In fact, I enjoyed showing off my place, especially my art collection. Carolyn Lomax, the girlfriend preceding Paddi-Ann, had given me only one lasting legacy: a developed taste for contemporary art. I thought about Carolyn as I led the way upstairs. Stacie followed me closely.

Carolyn, or "Carrie," as she preferred to be known, was even better looking than Paddi-Ann. In fact, she was a knockout. She'd been a runner-up in the Miss Canada competition. And she fucked like a bunny rabbit. But in one way she was even a bigger cunt than Paddi-Ann. Carrie was a sicko.

I first met her as a client. She'd come to me with an intellectual property case. Carrie was an aspiring artist. In fact, she was a pretty good painter. There was a successful Canadian artist who was notorious for ripping off lesser-known painters' work and passing it off as his own. I'd heard about this guy and had wondered when somebody would nail his ass to the wall. It turned out that I was to be that somebody.

Carrie had gone to one of the pig's shows. She was surprised and shocked to see an almost exact copy of one of her recent canvases hanging there, attributed to said pig. She asked her artist friends what she could do about it. Someone gave her my name.

I don't date clients. In Carrie's case, it took a bit of will power to adhere to that policy. She was amazing looking. She was fairly tall, about 5' 8," with shoulder-length coal black hair, the biggest brown eyes I'd ever seen and a figure out of Playboy magazine. She seemed friendly and sweet, and I must admit that she quickly became a masturbatory fantasy of mine.

Fortunately, or at least it seemed so at the time, Carrie's case was settled quickly. On the advice of his own lawyer, the art thief settled out of court. It wasn't a huge settlement, but the point was made. The boy's reputation was irretrievably damaged. The price of his work went in the toilet, and it was doubtful that he'd ever get a major show again. I asked Carrie out to celebrate.

Unlike Paddi-Ann, Carrie was a bit coy for the first couple of dates. But when she finally invited me into her apartment, we soon wound up in a clinch. That rapidly escalated until we were fucking on the floor of her living room. That was on a Saturday. I left Carrie's apartment on Sunday afternoon. I had a silly-assed smile on my face, a chafed dick and a new girlfriend.

Carrie moved in with me at the end of the next week. She was an incredible fuck. She had one of the tightest pussies I'd ever experienced. And she could use it like a milking machine. She was also so goddam beautiful that I hardly ever closed my eyes during sex.

Carrie enjoyed vaginal sex in just about every conceivable position, but she wasn't too keen on oral. Oh she enjoyed receiving it well enough, but she'd rarely be on the giving end. When she did blow me, it wasn't all that great. So I didn't push the issue.

Carolyn enjoyed taking in art shows on the weekends. We became regular fixtures at the galleries. She tutored me on the fine points of contemporary painting, and my collecting career was born.

Our personal life seemed to go smoothly enough. Carrie liked nice things, and I enjoyed buying them for her. For her birthday, I bought her a red Mazda Miata convertible. Needless to say, she showed her gratitude in bed. She screwed my brains out, blew me and even swallowed -- the first and, as it turned out, only time.

One Friday, I'd had to appear in court. The case ended early, at about two thirty. Rather than going back to the office, I called Larissa and told her that I was going home. I'd won a sizable settlement for my client, and therefore an excellent fee for myself. I intended to take Carrie out for a celebration. When I got home, there was a surprise waiting for me.

I parked my car, at that time a BMW 540i, in the garage. Carrie's Miata was there as well. That probably meant that she was home. I entered the house through the kitchen. I saw that the door to the basement was open. Carrie's studio was down there. I thought she was probably painting. I loosened my tie and was about to go upstairs to change out of my suit. Then I heard an unusual sound, sort of halfway between a cry and a moan, coming from the basement. I went downstairs. I reached the door of Carrie's studio and looked inside. I didn't understand at first exactly what I was looking at.

There was a woman slouched on the chesterfield. Her jeans and panties were around her ankles. Carolyn was kneeling between the woman's legs. There was a buzzing sound. I soon saw that it was coming from a vibrating dildo. Carrie was using it on the other woman's pussy. Then she put down the dildo and buried her face in the woman's crotch. The frequency and intensity of the moans increased. Carrie might not have been much of a cocksucker, but she was obviously a champion pussy eater.

I was riveted to the spot. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I'd never suspected that Carrie was at all interested in other women. The woman grabbed Carrie's head and pulled her face into her pussy. She leaned forward, and for the first time I saw her face. I felt as though I'd been punched in the gut. It was my neighbor's fifteen-year-old daughter. I yelled. I don't know exactly what I said. Some sort of expletive, no doubt. "Shit" or "fuck" or something similar. Whatever it was, it brought the action in front of me to a stop.

Carolyn jumped up and turned around. Her face was glistening with the girl's juices. The girl, whose name I recalled was Destiny, put her hands in front of her pussy and started to cry. I spun around and ran upstairs. When I reached the third floor, I pulled Carrie's suitcases out of the closet and started throwing her clothes in them. Carrie came into the bedroom.

"Jack," she said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't expect you home so early."

"Obviously not," I said, continuing to pack her suitcases.

Carrie came over and put her hand on my arm. "I know what it looks like," she said, "but it isn't like that at all."

I removed her hand from my arm. "Oh," I said, "then what is it like?"

"I just... Well, I do like girls. But it's just for fun. It's not like I ever felt romantic about a girl. In the beauty pageants, all of us girls would be put in hotels. I couldn't talk to anybody except the other girls. I got to be friends with some of them. Sometimes we'd kind of mess around, and it was fun. I mean I like boys, too. And you and me, that's entirely different. That's serious. With girls it's just fun."

"Carrie," I said, "I don't care how much pussy you eat. If you'd been honest with me about being bisexual, I might have come to terms with it. But you're not going to have sex with teenage girls in my house."

"But the age of consent is fourteen. And Dessie is fifteen. There won't be any trouble. And after all, we were just having fun. It's nothing serious."

I stared at her. "Nothing serious? You are one sick puppy. 'Age of consent' my ass. If you don't think that this could land your ass in jail or on the wrong end of a civil suit, you're so full of shit that it's no wonder you have brown eyes. I'm not a criminal lawyer, but I know that you could get in big trouble over this. Let me give you a little scenario. Let's say that Tim and June Copps find out that you've been doing the dirty with their darling daughter. They spring it on the kid, and she suddenly recalls that she didn't really consent. In fact, she was coerced into dropping her pants for you. You pressured her into putting out. Hell, I could be in trouble as well. I'd have to prove that I didn't know this shit was going on in my house. By the way, how long has it been going on?"

Carrie looked at the floor. "Not very long," she said.

"Christ! You are a sicko. 'Not very long.' That means that it's been going on for a while. You've been having an affair with a teenage girl not just under my roof but under my fucking nose! Jesus! Well, you're getting the fuck out of here. Today. Right fucking now."

Carrie looked scared. She said, "Where will I go?"

"I do not give a flying fuck. You're not spending another night in this house. Come here and help me pack your stuff."

We packed in silence. Then Carolyn spoke. "Can I keep the Miata?"

I looked at her in astonishment. Any doubts I might have had about throwing her out vanished. "Keep the fucker," I said. "It's in your name. I don't want to see it again. Or you either, for that matter."

Carrie was quiet for a few minutes. Then she said, "What are you going to tell June and Tim? About why I'm leaving, I mean."

"I'm not going to tell them a fucking thing. And I'm certainly not going to tell them that you've been eating their daughter, if that's what you're worried about."

"You make it sound so crass," Carrie said, "it's not like that at all. Destiny is really sweet. She always makes sure that I have a good time, too."

"I don't want to hear about it," I said, "I don't care if you've both been munching muff till the cows come home. The less I know about it, the better I like it."

I did see Carolyn again, but only across a room at a few art shows. We never spoke. And I never said anything about the affair to Tim and June. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Every time I ran into Destiny in the neighbourhood, she'd blush and look the other way. She left for university last fall. I have no idea whether or not she turned out to be a gash gobbler, and I don't care.

As Stacie and I went upstairs, I reflected again that the only lasting influence of Carolyn on my life was my art collection, which I was about to show to Stacie.

When we arrived at the second floor, Stacie immediately began to "ooh" and "ah." I had a few very nice pieces on the first floor, but the lion's share of my collection was on the second. Stacie stood in front of each painting for several minutes before moving to the next. It was as though she were visiting a museum. I found it very charming.

"My gosh," she said at last, "I can't imagine what it's like to own even one of these wonderful paintings, and you have so many of them."

"There are more in the library, the office and the bedrooms," I said, "but the biggest canvases are here in the hallway. Now, madame, the tour continues. Follow me."

I led Stacie to my office. She was, she said, amazed. "It's even bigger and nicer than your office at work," she said. "Do you do a lot of work here?"

"As much as I can. Madame will please follow me to the library."

I'd made two medium-sized bedrooms into one fairly large room. It had floor to ceiling inbuilt bookcases surrounding an open space containing one large table and several smaller ones, all oak. Stacie was drawn to my law collection. "It's amazing," she said, "it's like a law library. What I wouldn't give just to be able to use something like this."

"Actually," I said, "you don't have to give anything. Feel free to use this library as much as you'd like. However, if you really want to understand law, I think that you should start over here. These are the textbooks, references and surveys of various areas of the law. The rest are actual lawbooks: statutes and compendia of important cases and precedents. They're more for research than for reading. Now, the tour continues."

I showed Stacie the bedroom with ensuite bath. I turned to go downstairs, but Stacie looked up the stairs. She said, "Isn't there another floor?"

"Yes, there is," I said, "but it's not very interesting."

"Can I see it? Please?"

"OK. Follow me."

The third floor contained only two bedrooms. In the front of the house there was the large master bedroom with walk-in closets and bath suite. In the back was a smaller bedroom. The two bedrooms were separated by a large washroom which opened both on the hall and the back bedroom, making it, in effect, an ensuite.

Stacie looked around. She turned to me and said solemnly and quietly, "Jack, this is a mansion. I swear your washroom is a lot bigger than my parents' bedroom. Heck, your bed is almost as big as my whole bedroom. You have all this for just one person."

"I know, Sweetie," I said, "it doesn't seem fair, does it."

"It's not that," she said, "If I had a house like this and I worked hard to get it, I'd think it was very fair." She looked at me and said very seriously, "Someday, I'll have a house like this."

It was getting a bit late, so we went downstairs. Stacie asked if she could use the phone. I couldn't help thinking that she was the only teenager I'd ever met who didn't have a cell phone. I handed her a cordless phone and went into the study to make myself another drink.

In a few minutes, Stacie came in. She looked as if she'd been crying. I asked, "What's wrong, Sweetie?"

"Oh," she said, "there's trouble at home. Maybe it's better if I don't go back there just yet."

"Would you like to stay here tonight?" I regretted the words even as I spoke them.

She looked at me with a hopeful expression. "Could I? I won't be any trouble," she said.

"Sure," I said, "you can have the back bedroom on the third floor. It's all made up with fresh linen, and there are towels, toiletries and even a brand new toothbrush in the washroom."

Stacie came over to me. She hugged me. "Jack, you're wonderful," she said. "Saving me is becoming a habit with you. How can I thank you?"

"Well, Sweetie, one thing you might do is to join me in a drink. I need one, and I have just enough WASP morality to feel a wee tad guilty when I'm drinking alone. Of course, I am an officer of the court, and I could not knowingly serve intoxicating beverages to someone who is not of legal drinking age. Madame, are you of legal drinking age in this house?"

"In this house," she said, "I am definitely of legal drinking age."

"You obviously have an excellent legal mind. So what's your pleasure?"

"Could I have a rye and ginger?"

Jesus. I was surprised. That was a real hoser drink. "Hoser" is the Canadian equivalent of "good ol' boy" in the States. And rye and ginger is the Canadian equivalent of bourbon and coke. Where the hell did she come up with that?

"It was my dad's -- my real dad's -- favourite drink," she said, "I always wondered what it was like."

I didn't even know if there was any rye in my bar. There was. Someone had probably given it to me. I sure as hell hadn't bought it. I opened it and poured a couple of fingers into a highball glass, added ice and topped it up with ginger ale. I handed it to Stacie, poured myself a Lagavulin and clinked glasses with her. We both drank.

Stacie coughed and sputtered. She looked at me, grinning. "I guess I can't drink it that fast," she said.

"No ma'am. There's booze in that there drink."

We finished our drinks and headed for bed. I showed Stacie where everything was. Since she had nothing to sleep in, I got her one of my oversized T-shirts. I'm afraid that it was one of those blue ones with the Canadian Bar Association logo, the scales of justice, across the front. Stacie giggled as she took it. "I'm going to sleep swathed in the arms of the law," she said. I wished her good night, and we both headed for bed.

In the middle of the night, I got up to take a leak. Too many martinis, too much wine and too large a prostate. I thought that I heard something. I threw a robe over my boxers and walked down the hall. I stopped outside Stacie's room. Yes, I had heard something. She was sobbing.

I felt badly, but I didn't think that I should be comforting a teenage girl who was alone with me in my house and wearing only a T-shirt. This would send the wrong message. I went back to my room and opened the cabinet with the emergency rations. I poured myself a nice shot of Lagavulin single malt whisky. I downed it and hit the sack again.

The next morning I awoke to a very nice smell. Something was cooking. I took a leak, threw on a robe and headed downstairs. Stacie was in the kitchen. Somewhere, she'd found a robe. It was much too large, which made her look even more adorable. She was at the gas cooktop. She was expertly flipping pancakes in a cast iron frying pan. The oven light betrayed the fact that there was already a stack of them warming in the convection oven. The kitchen table was set with butter and maple syrup. There were ham and sausages in another frying pan, and the coffee maker was giving off the wonderful odour of fresh continental coffee. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, "I must be dreaming. This is the most wonderful repast. And you are the most gorgeous sight to greet these old eyes in many a day."

"Don't talk nonsense," Stacie said, blushing, "pull up a chair and dig in."

As we ate, I asked her, "Where the hell did you find the fixings for this? I didn't know that there was any of this stuff here."

"Well," she said, between bites, "it was. I just had to look for it. Some things, like buttermilk for the pancakes, I had to do without." She wrinkled her nose. "I think they're OK, though."

I nodded enthusiastically. I said, "We could have gone to the Palm Court for brunch and not have had anything this good."

Stacie looked at me with an impish smile. "Bullshit," she said.

"Missy, go wash out your mouth. You've been spending too much time with Larissa."

"One can never," Stacie said, between chews, "spend too much time with Larissa. As you know."

"And how, pray tell, would I know that?"

"Because she really runs Mack and Jack. Doesn't she?"

I sighed. "You've been there a week, and you've already got the place figured out," I said. "When George McHenry and I started the firm, Larissa was the first person we hired. It didn't take us long to figure out that we couldn't live without her. How did you scope it out so soon?"

Stacie grinned into her juice glass. "Larissa told me."

We finished breakfast. Stacie called home to make sure everything was OK and then left. I sat around for a while and then watched some college baseball on the satellite dish. George McHenry, my partner, was a graduate of the University of Miami. He'd pointed out to me a number of times that their team was rated number one in the polls of U. S. college baseball. I didn't personally give a shit. Like a lot of Canadians, I follow a bit of major league ball, but the U. S. college game is off my radar. Hell, it's hardly ever on TV, even on the specialty sports channels. I thought that I'd watch out of loyalty. It also might give me a chance to get my head together. Strange things were happening in there, most of them involving Stacie MacPherson.

The U of M Hurricanes won the game against the gawd knows what bums. I really didn't care, but I'd remember to congratulate Mack. I decided to work on my current brief. I did that for a while. Then I gave up and called a couple of friends. I invited them over to watch a ball game. The Yanks and Chicago were on, but I didn't really care what teams we watched. I just wanted to get pissed, and being drunk is more fun in company.

On Sunday morning, I woke up about ten thirty. I was pretty bleary after the night before. I thought that a shower might clear my head. I had a long hot shower and was getting dressed when the phone rang. The call display showed Stacie's home phone number. I answered it and said, "What's up, kid?"

Stacie was crying. She sobbed into the phone, "Jack, can you come and pick me up? I'm at home."

"Sure, sweetie. What's happening?"

Over the phone, I could hear shouting. There were two voices, a woman and a man. I couldn't tell what the man was saying, but the woman was yelling, "You little cunt! We're not gonna put up with your shit any more! You're getting your ass out of here! Today!"

I was suddenly wide awake. "Stacie, should I call the police?"

"No," she said, "just come. Quickly. You know how to find the place. The address is..."

The woman's voice broke in. She was much closer to the phone than before, and she sounded drunk. "You filthy little whore," she shouted, "who the fuck are you talking to? Is it that fancy-assed boyfriend of yours? How much is he paying you to put out? Give me that fucking phone."

The line went dead.



-------

Chapter 3

I rushed downstairs and into the garage. For the first time, I was grateful for the "keyless go" feature on the Benz. Rather than wasting time fumbling for my car keys, I was able to back the car out of the garage immediately. I headed down Sackville Street. At Gerrard Street, I impatiently waited for the light to change. At last it did, and I turned left. Thank God the light at River Street was green. I turned right. I hoped that I could find Stacie's apartment. I knew that it was on River south of Dundas. I'd taken her home many times, but I didn't remember the exact address. Maybe I'd have to ask someone.

It turned out that I had no reason to worry about finding the place. Stacie was standing near the curb. Behind her, a man and a woman were literally throwing clothing onto the sidewalk. Some of it landed in the street. As I stopped the car and got out, I heard the woman yelling. "Your pimp is here, you whore. Good. Get in his pimp car and get the fuck out of here. I never want to see your ass again, you whoring cunt!" She went into the apartment and slammed the door.

Stacie saw me. She ran to me. I hugged her. Then I lifted her face to mine. I said, "Sweetheart, let's put your stuff in the car and go home."

She said, "Home?"

"Yes, dear," I said, "if these people won't provide you with a home, I will." Then I noticed her face. The entire left side and part of the right were red and swollen, as though she'd been beaten. "What the hell happened to you?"

Stacie said quietly, "It doesn't matter. Let's just get out of here."

I keyed the trunk release, and we began piling her belongings into the car. Everything was strewn around helter-skelter: pants, shirts, dresses, underwear, socks -- everything. The clothing was all mixed up, and much of it had been thrown into the mud or worse. As we continued to load the car, several people came over to help us. One in particular, a tall, heavyset black woman, was most helpful. She was the only one who was trying to preserve some sort of order, separating garments of one type from another and attempting to match socks. I put my hand on her shoulder. "Thank you so much," I said.

She looked directly into my eyes. "Please," she said, "just take care of little Stacie. She's had a hell of a time."

Stacie came over and hugged her. "Thanks, Aunt Charlotte," she said, "you're looking after me like always."

I held out my hand. "I'm John Charles," I said.

The woman took my hand and shook it. "I'm Charlotte Jefferson," she said, "I'm not really Stacie's aunt, but I've always felt like I was. You just take care of her, now."

I said, "I will, Ms. Jefferson. Here's my card. Call me anytime."

As we loaded the last bits into the trunk, I noticed that Stacie was favouring her right arm. After I helped her into the car, she sat cradling the arm and moaning softly. That was quite enough. I had to do something. I keyed the phone on the console. "Jerry Greenstein," I told the phone. Jerry and I had met as undergrads at university. He went into medicine, and I went into law. We'd remained friends, and he'd been my family doctor ever since he began his practice. Now he had his own clinic. There were eight doctors on staff, and the clinic had its own labs and technicians. It was open seven days a week from eight in the morning until eight at night. It was, I thought, obviously the best place to take Stacie.

Shortly, a woman's voice came over the speaker. "Doctor's office," she said, "Sunday is a walk-in clinic day. No appointments are necessary. Simply come to our office at..."

"Shirley," I said, "it's John Charles."

She replied, "Oh hello, Mr. Charles."

Good luck so far. Shirley was on duty. Often, that meant that Jerry was there as well. Shirley was his right hand. I suspected that she was more than that, but it was none of my business. I asked, "Is Dr. Greenstein in the office?"

She replied hesitantly, "He's here, but he's just doing some paper work. He's not seeing any patients."

I said, "Let me talk to him. Please."

Shortly, Jerry's voice came over the phone. "Jack, this had better be important," he said, "this is the only place that I can get some peace and quiet so that I can watch the Blue Jays' game."

I said, "Jerry, with all due respect, this is more important than a goddam ball game. A friend of mine has been assaulted. I'm bringing her to your office. I'm on my way now."

"Jack, you should really take her to a hospital emergency room."

"And wait God knows how long for some wet-behind-the-ears intern who hasn't slept in forty-eight hours? No thanks. Will you see her?"

Jerry sighed. "OK," he said, "but you'll owe me a beer."

"And you can collect any time. We'll see you in about fifteen minutes."

We arrived in front of Jerry's clinic. I stopped the car in front and helped Stacie inside. Shirley, the receptionist, came around her desk to help us, "Dr. Greenstein will see the young lady immediately," she said. "Mr. Charles, he'd like you to wait in his office."

I parked the car and returned. I waited in Jerry's office. In about twenty-five minutes, he came in. He looked very angry. He sat behind his desk and punched his phone. "Shirley," he said, "call the police. Tell them to send an officer here immediately. I want to report a suspected assault." Jerry turned to me. "Now," he said, "supposing you tell me just what the hell is going on here. That kid in there has obviously been beaten. She has bruises over most of her body. I suspect that she's been punched and kicked, as well as struck with a variety of objects. Her right shoulder is sprained. There's no doubt that she's been physically assaulted, but I doubt very much that she's been sexually assaulted. I've taken vaginal swabs just to make sure. Maybe you can start by telling me who did this to her."

"I believe she was beaten by her mother and step father," I said.

"Christ! How are you involved?"

"I befriended this kid. She's working as a receptionist and clerk at my office. She's very bright and highly motivated. She wants to be a lawyer, and I think she'll probably make it, in spite of her background. She lives in Regent Park. I believe that her parents have severe substance abuse problems. To my certain knowledge, this isn't the first time they've been violent, although it's probably the worst so far. They threw her out of their apartment. I picked her up, and here we are. That's the short version."

Jerry looked at me with tears in his eyes. The tough old bastard was crying. "What kind of a fucking world do we live in? You need a licence to drive a goddamed car. But any asshole with functioning genitals can have a child. Stacie is in the X-ray lab. I'll bet that when I see the films there will be evidence of prior abuse -- possibly scarring where she's suffered broken bones in the past. When the cops get here, I want you to give them the name and address of the cocksuckers who did this."

Stacie came in. Her right arm was in a sling, and she was holding an ice bag against her face. She sat beside me, and I put my arm around her. "Darling," I said, "Dr. Greenstein has called the police." She looked up at me with alarm. "You must cooperate with them. This is now a criminal matter, and it's Dr. Greenstein's legal duty to report it. I think that you should also give them Ms. Jefferson's address and phone number."

Stacie snuggled against me. "I don't want to get Mum in trouble," she said, her voice muffled against my shirt.

Jerry said, "Stacie, you're not going to get your mum into trouble. She's already done that all by herself. Just tell the officers what they need to know to do their job." He turned to me, "Jack, thanks for bringing Stacie to me. You did the right thing."

There was a knock at the door. Jerry said, "Come in." Shirley opened the door and showed in two cops, one male, one female. The woman spoke.

"I'm Sergeant Watkins, and this is Constable Sonji. We're here in response to your report of a suspected assault." She turned to Jerry. "Are you Dr. Greenstein?"

"I am," he said, "This is Ms. MacPherson, the young lady who has been assaulted. I'm Ms. Macpherson's physician, and this is Mr. Charles, her lawyer." So I was suddenly Stacie's lawyer. Well, so be it. It was as good a description as any. And it would probably avoid long, unnecessary explanations.

After the introductions and obligatory handshakes, Jerry suggested that we go to the meeting room down the hall. We did, and were soon seated around the table. Stacie sat between Jerry and me. The cops were across the table. Shirley, ever her efficient self, showed up with a tray containing a large thermos pot of coffee, sugar, cream and cups. She poured us coffee while the police began their interrogation.

Basically, they wanted to know the five "W" words: who, what, where, when and why. Stacie answered levelly. When she came to the point of identifying her parents as her assailants, she looked at me. I said, "Yes, Ms. MacPherson, even though you don't want to implicate your parents, I advise you that you must answer the officers' questions truthfully and completely."

The cops thanked me, obviously grateful that I wasn't there to cause trouble. The police all too often think that a lawyer's job is to keep the cops from doing their job.

Stacie answered all the questions. They asked how she got to Dr. Greenstein's office. I told them that I'd driven her. I described the scene when I'd arrived chez MacPherson. Sergeant Watkins looked at me with one eyebrow raised. She said, "And why did Ms. MacPherson call you?"

Stacie answered. "Because Mr. Charles isn't just my lawyer, he's my employer and my friend. I hope to be a lawyer, and he's helping me achieve that goal. I had no one else to turn to."

Watkins wrote in her notebook. Then, she looked directly at Stacie. "Ms. MacPherson," she said, "I'm afraid that I need to take a look at your injuries. Would you mind if I take some photographs? These are for evidence, and they could be important. Dr. Greenstein will accompany us, of course."

Stacie looked panicky. "Can Mr. Charles come, too?"

Sergeant Watkins looked at me. She said, "Mr. Charles, do you doubt my ability to collect the appropriate evidence?"

"No, certainly not," I said, "but if my client wishes me to be present at her examination, I must abide by her wishes." I turned to Stacie. "Is it your wish that I be present for this examination?"

Stacie looked at me. "Yes," she said, "I want you to be there."

Stacie, Jerry, Watkins and I crossed the hall to an examination room. It was a bit crowded with four people in there, so I tried to make myself small against the door. Jerry asked Stacie to go behind the curtain, disrobe and put on a gown. She did as he asked.

Stacie announced that she was ready. Jerry pulled back the curtain and helped Stacie onto the examination table. He turned to Sergeant Watkins. "I'll only show you the most obvious wounds and bruises, if you don't mind," he said.

Watkins smiled. She said, "Doctor, I'm not just a cop. I'm a registered nurse with paramedic training. I'm on the sexual assault team."

Jerry said, "As far as I can ascertain, this is not a case of sexual assault. Ms. MacPherson has made no such claim, and my prior examination has shown nothing of the sort. In fact, Ms. MacPherson is virgo intacta. In any case, I took vaginal swabs. The results will be forwarded to your office."

"Thanks, Doctor," she said, "I didn't mean to imply that this was a case of sexual assault. I simply meant to allay your fears that you'd have to simplify things too much."

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me," I said, "my client has been through a very stressful time. I'm sure that she'd appreciate it if you could proceed as quickly as possible. I'm concerned about her welfare. I'm anxious to take her somewhere where she can rest and begin to recuperate."

They got on with it. As they examined Stacie, there were murmured exclamations of "God" and "Christ" from Sergeant Watkins. She took numerous pictures. At last, it was over.

Watkins saif softly to Stacie, "Thank you so much. You're a brave girl. We'll make sure this doesn't happen to you again."

Jerry said, "OK, let's go back to the meeting room and let Ms. MacPherson get dressed."

Stacie looked up at me in panic. "Jack," she said, "don't leave me alone!"

"Dear heart," I said, "I won't leave you. I'll pull the screen, and you get dressed. When you're ready, let me know."

Jerry and Watkins left. I pulled the screen. In a few moments, Stacie said, "Jack, can you come here and help me?"

I went to her. "What can I do?"

She pulled the curtain aside. she stood there in her jeans. On top, she had her bra in place over her breasts, but it flopped loosely. "My right arm really hurts," she said, "can you please do up my bra and help me on with my T-shirt?"

I couldn't help but notice the bruises covering most of her upper body. As I dressed her, I felt like crying. When, she was dressed, we joined the others in the meeting room.

Stacie and I sat down. I poured fresh cups of coffee for us. Sergeant Watkins leaned over and patted Stacie's hand. "It's over now, dear," she said.

Stacie looked straight into Watkins face. "No it isn't," she said, "it won't ever be over."

Watkins looked down at the table. "You're right," she said, "it never is over, is it?" She turned to me. "This is a special lady. Take care of her."

"I will," I said.

Watkins and Sonji passed out their cards to all of us. I gave them my card.

Sonji asked Stacie, "And where can we reach you, Ms. MacPherson?"

Stacie looked at me. I nodded. She gave them my address and phone number. Watkins and Sonji thanked us and left. I helped Stacie to the waiting room. Shirley was there. I asked her to stay with Stacie while I went to get the car.

Shirley and I assisted Stacie into the Benz, and I began the drive home. Stacie began to sob. Soon, she was crying her heart out. "Darling girl," I said, "we'll be home soon. Please hold on just a little while."

I drove down the Bayview Extension freeway and exited onto River Street. After that, there were only three turns, right, left and again right, to my house. I pulled into the garage and went around to the passenger's side to help Stacie out. She was asleep. Or unconscious. I was suddenly panicked.

I touched her cheek. "Sweetie," I said, "are you all right?"

She roused and smiled at me. "Yeah," she said, "it's just that I didn't sleep last night. I was too scared. I'm OK. I relaxed, and I guess that I went right out."

I helped her out of the car as gently as I could. I helped her into the house and up the stairs. I sat her on the bed she'd slept in on Friday night. I turned to leave. Stacie held my arm. "Please, Jack," she said, "can you help me get undressed?"

I got another of my Canadian Bar Association shirts, and I helped her as gently as I could. As I undressed her, I cried. The poor little thing had been beaten everywhere that I could see. No one, much less a child, should ever be treated like that.

At last, she was ready to lie down.

I gave her two of the painkiller tablets that Jerry had prescribed. She swallowed them. I asked, "Can I get you anything?"

Stacie smiled tiredly. "Would it be asking too much," she said, "to get me some soup? Just some kind of broth. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday, but I don't want too much. Just a little broth."

I went to the kitchen and made her some chicken bouillon. I took it to her and helped her drink it. "Sweetie," I said, "if you thought something like this might happen, you could have stayed here. Why did you go home?"

Stacie smiled wanly, "I thought that's where I belonged," she said. "I guess I was wrong."

"Maybe you were," I said. "I heard what you told the cops. But tell me exactly what happened."

Stacie grinned. "I asserted myself," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she said, "just as I thought, On Friday, my folks demanded money from me. I refused. They weren't too pleased. My mum slapped me and told me to get out. That's when I called you. Friday night when I called, it was still bad. Mum yelled at me and cursed. Yesterday morning, I called home. Mum was away, visiting one of her chums. My step dad told me that everything was OK and that I should come home. I did. That was a mistake. A big mistake. When I got there, he was already drunk. He tried to kiss me. He told me that since I was a big girl now we should get to know each other better. Last night, I slept with a chair wedged against my door. He tried the door a few times and called out to me. I pretended to be asleep. Then this morning, everything went nuts."

She sighed and handed me her soup bowl. "When I came out of my room, there he was. He told me that he had a little present for me. He pulled out his penis. I kicked him." She smiled crookedly. The left side of her face was quite swollen. "Well, all those years of soccer practice paid off. I damned near neutered him with that kick. Then, Mum came home."

Stacie gave a little laugh. "There was Ted with his wiener sticking out, bent over puking and yelling. He told Mum that I'd tried to get him into bed with me. He said that when he wouldn't go along with it that I'd kicked him. She believed him. They took turns hitting me. I got away long enough to call you. End of story."

I took her soup bowl away and tucked her in. I stroked her cheek gently. "You poor little thing. Just rest," I said. "Do you see that button here on the wall?" She nodded. "That's the intercom. Push it and call me if you need anything. Now just try to rest."

I went into the office, which was directly below Stacie's bedroom. I messed about with a few things, mainly listening for any stirring above. I heard none.

By five o'clock, I'd heard nothing from Stacie. I thought I'd look in on her. I went up the stairs and quietly opened her door. She was sleeping peacefully. Thank God.

I made myself a sandwich for supper. I had a few drinks. I called the office and left a message for Larissa. I explained that Stacie had been hurt and that neither she nor I would be in the next day. I also asked Larissa to investigate home care nursing. I suspected that Stacie would need care for a few days at least. I had a few more drinks and stumbled off to bed.

It was only nine o'clock, but I fell asleep quickly. I woke about eleven. I went into my john to relieve myself. On my way back to bed, I thought I heard something. I went down the hall and listened. I could hear Stacie crying. I opened her door. She was sobbing her heart out.

"Sweetie," I said, "please don't cry."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I can't help it. I don't mean to be a bother. You've been so good to me."

I sat on the bed next to her and gently put my arm around her. I asked, "What can I do?"

"I hate to ask," she said, "you've been so wonderful. But could I please sleep with you? Just maybe for tonight. I feel so alone and scared."

I sighed. "OK," I said. "Do you need me to help you up?"

Stacie looked up at me. She looked very young and vulnerable. "Maybe," she said. "I just don't seem to be able to do anything tonight."

I helped her to her feet and down the hall. I tucked her into the bed. I went around to my side and got in. Just as I was getting comfortable, I felt a little hand on my shoulder. I turned. There she was.

"Jack, thank you for saving me," she said, "I love you."

I looked at her, suddenly very much awake. But I soon realized that she was asleep. I got up and poured myself a drink. A big, stiff Scotch. I drank it while looking at Stacie sleeping peacefully in my bed. I thought about what Larissa had said. She'd said, "Did you know that she has a crush on you?"

As I looked at the sleeping girl, I thought to myself, "Is that such a bad thing?"

I got into the bed.



-------

Chapter 4

I awoke the next morning with a little arm across my chest and someone breathing in my ear. I disentangled myself and got up. Stacie had kicked off the bed clothes, and her T-shirt was twisted up just under her breasts. The little patch of blonde hair between her legs was clearly visible. So were her bruises. It looked as though someone had hit or kicked her directly on her pudendum. As I covered her, I felt that sense of helpless rage again. Someone was going to pay for treating my girl this way.

I turned on the intercom so that I could monitor what was happening with Stacie and headed for the kitchen. I was making coffee when I realized that I'd though of Stacie as "my" girl. Well, who had a better right? I'd given her care and refuge, which is a lot more than those assholes who called themselves "parents" had done.

While the coffee was brewing, the phone rang. The call display showed my office number. I answered the call. It was Larissa. She told me that she'd made the arrangements for a home care nurse. Then, of course, she wanted to know what had happened. I swore her to secrecy before telling her. I knew that this episode wasn't the sort of thing that Stacie would want as office gossip. Larissa was, of course, horrified by the tale. She was crying as I hung up.

I heard Stacie's voice on the intercom. I silently cursed myself for not turning off the ringer on the phone in the bedroom. The goddam phone had obviously woken her. "Jack," she said, "where are you?"

I hit the talk button on the kitchen intercom. "I'll be right there, sweetheart," I said. I went up the two flights of stairs in record time. At least it was a record for a middle-aged guy in lousy shape.

When I got to the bedroom, Stacie was nowhere to be seen. Then I heard the toilet flush. She was in the washroom. I was able to breath again.

Stacie emerged. She was wearing the robe she'd worn on Saturday morning. When she saw me, she beamed. She came over and hugged me. "Thanks again," she said, "for taking such good care of me."

"Be careful of your shoulder, sweetheart. How do you feel?"

"Not too bad. Oh, I ache in lots of places. And my shoulder is still really stiff and sore. Dr. Greenstein warned me not to use my right arm too much for a while. But I don't feel too bad. Do you know what my main problem is?"

"No."

"I'm starving. I could eat a horse!"

"Would you settle for ham and eggs?"

"Could you also make some home fries?"

"Oui, madame. Is there anything else that madame desires?"

"Let's see. Orange juice, coffee, eggs, ham, potatoes. That about covers it. Oh yes, I'd like some toast. Whole wheat, if you have it. And some marmalade. Or honey maybe. And peanut butter."

I laughed and hugged her. "I'd better get out of here before you think of anything else. Sit down over here," I said, leading her to the armchair by the window. "Here's the remote control for the TV and the stereo. I'll be back with breakfast as soon as I can."

I whipped up the monster breakfast she'd requested. When it was done, I brought up two television trays on my first trip and the food on the second trip.

"You don't have to wait on me," Stacie protested.

"Yes," I said, "I do." I bent over and kissed her on the forehead.

The home-care nurse arrived about noon, followed closely by Charlotte Jefferson. The three of us went upstairs to see Stacie. Charlotte immediately hugged Stacie and kissed her cheek. "Jack, I hope you don't mind," Stacie said, "I called Aunt Charlotte. I knew that she'd be worried about me."

While the nurse was upstairs examining Stacie, I invited Ms. Jefferson to join me in a cup of coffee. We sat at the kitchen table, sipping our coffee. "Mr. Charles," she began.

"Jack," I interrupted, "please call me Jack."

She smiled, showing some gold caps on her teeth. "And I'm Charlotte. Jack, I just want to thank you for taking such good care of little Stacie. You're good people. Most rich folks wouldn't have anything to do with a kid from the Park."

"Charlotte, as you know, Stacie isn't just any kid. She's special."

"Yes," she said, "she is. She's very special."

I asked Charlotte a few questions about herself. Gradually, the picture of her life emerged. Her husband had deserted her years ago, leaving her with three young children. She'd raised them while working as a cleaner in the Royal York Hotel. Her children were grown, and she was on her own.

"So I guess you have today off, then," I said.

Charlotte looked into her coffee cup. "I have every day off," she said. "I got laid off last week. Not enough people staying at the hotel this summer, they said."

I looked up at the ceiling and then at Charlotte. I said, "I just had a thought. I've lost my housekeeper. She retired and went to live with her daughter. This place is too big to keep up without help -- especially now that Stacie is living here. Would you consider taking care of us?"

She looked straight into my eyes. "This isn't charity, is it?"

"No way. I really need someone badly. Not that either Stacie or I are particularly messy people. But still..."

"I'm a really good cook, too," she said.

"Gosh, that sounds even better. Especially since I'm not sure how long Stacie will be off work, and she'll need some care. I'm staying home today, but I'll have to go back tomorrow. When can you start?"

Charlotte smiled. "Right now," she said.

"We haven't talked about money."

"Hell, I'd take care of Stacie for free. She's like my own child."

"But I'm not. What would you say to five hundred a week?"

"I'd say that's a hell of a lot more than I have now."

"Also, you might want to consider living here. There's what amounts to an apartment in the basement. It doesn't have a separate entrance, but you could live there rent free."

"This is too much to take in all at once."

"Let's go downstairs and take a look at the apartment. OK?"

Charlotte nodded. I led the way into the basement. I showed her the door leading to the apartment. There was a key hanging on a hook beside the door. I opened the door and turned on the light. "It may be a little musty," I said. "Since Almarinda left, there hasn't been anyone in here. But I think it's clean."

Charlotte looked through the apartment. It was pretty basic but decent. There was a sitting room, a small dining room, a bedroom, a nice washroom and even a small kitchen. At last, Charlotte turned to me. "Jack," she said, this is really nice. It's better than what I have now."

"Well," I said, "if you want it, it's yours. You don't have to make up your mind about everything right away. Talk to Stacie about it. But if you're willing to give it a try, let's shake on it."

We shook hands, and I was sure that I had myself a new housekeeper.

By the end of the day, Charlotte had decided to take me up on the offer to move in. She'd move at the beginning of the month. In the meantime, she was "camping out," as she put it, in the basement. She wanted to be readily available in case Stacie needed her. The result was that every morning when I came downstairs, there was a wonderful breakfast waiting. Every evening when I arrived home, supper was either ready or nearly so. And Charlotte hadn't been kidding. She was a wonderful cook.

Over the week, Stacie made great strides toward recovery. When I came home on Wednesday evening, I found Stacie fully dressed and sitting in the kitchen while Charlotte prepared supper. I was amazed.

"Stacie," I said, "what's this all about?"

Stacie grinned. "Aunt Charlotte came upstairs after you'd gone to work. She stood me up and said, 'Girl, you're lazy.' So here I am!"

The three of us had a wonderful supper. I insisted that Charlotte set it in the dining room to celebrate Stacie's return to the every day life of our house.

Jerry Greenstein came to the house on Thursday morning. He arrived shortly before nine o'clock. I was surprised to see him, especially that early in the morning. He explained that he wanted to see Stacie before his first appointment at the clinic. I called Larissa and told her to delay my first meeting. I wanted to see what Jerry had to say. When he came out of the bedroom, he was smiling. He said, "I'm so pleased. That girl is making great strides. The young have much greater recuperative powers than us old farts."

When I came home that evening, Stacie met me at the door with a hug and a kiss. "Come see," she said, "you're not going to believe this."

On the dining room table, there was a huge flower arrangement. Beside them was a card that said, "Come back to us soon. Your friends at McHenry and Charles." The card was signed by everyone in the office. Except me, of course. I was surprised and touched.

Stacie said, "Aren't they wonderful? Larissa brought them. She came by early this afternoon. Aunt Charlotte made us lunch, and we had a really nice visit."

As I said, Stacie seemed to be healing rapidly, in both body and spirit. The first few nights she'd slept with me, I woke up to the sound of Stacie crying softly. I'd take her in my arms. Usually, she fell asleep right away. By Thursday, she'd stopped crying every night, although she still wanted to be held until she fell asleep. By the weekend, she was getting around almost normally. Her shoulder still bothered her, but everything else seemed to be working well.

One part of my anatomy was working far too well. Every morning, I awoke with Stacie spooned against my back, her warm little body pressed against me and her arm over me. That and the fact that I was aware that she didn't wear panties to bed contributed to my waking with a raging hard on. If I didn't have an erection when I woke up, the closeness of Stacie soon brought one on. I soon developed a routine: get out of bed trying not to wake Stacie, take a dump, get into the shower, jerk off, shave and go down stairs for breakfast. If I missed my morning jerk, my willy was painfully awake for the rest of the day. It was becoming apparent to me that our sleeping arrangements had to change. I couldn't have chronic blue balls for the rest of my life.

Something else had to change as well: my drinking habits. I was hitting the bottle much too hard. I was using booze to get to sleep. Some times I'd wake up in the middle of the night, jerk off and have a few drinks in order to get back to sleep. I was getting tired of going to work with a hangover every day. I made up my mind to lay off the drinking right away. I'd talk to Stacie about her moving back down the hall just as soon as she was better.

On Friday morning, I was in the kitchen having my morning coffee and reading the newspapers. Charlotte was preparing Stacie's breakfast. Stacie was still having breakfast upstairs, although she insisted on coming downstairs for the rest of the day. As I leafed through the Toronto Star, I came upon the horoscope section. Something twigged in the back of my mind, maybe brought on by that big bunch of flowers from the crew at Mack and Jack. It might be an "uh oh" situation, I feared.

"Charlotte," I said, "when is Stacie's birthday?"

"Funny that you'd ask about that Jack. It's on June 27th. That's next Friday. I was just thinking that I should make a real nice cake."

"Charlotte, we should do a hell of a lot more than that. Maybe we could have a party. Are there any friends of Stacie's that we should invite?"

Charlotte frowned. "Not too many. Maybe half a dozen. She's not real popular in the Park. Lots of people think she's stuck up. She's not, but that's what they think. I guess it's because she always speaks proper English and reads all the time. Now that you mention it, there are a couple of teachers who've really helped her. And her high school principal. I know that she'd like to see them. And her friends, of course."

Charlotte gave me the names and phone numbers of Stacie's friends and teachers. The woman was a mine of information. If the circumstances of her life had been different, a mind as well-organized as hers would have taken her a long way in life.

In addition to Stacie's friends and former teachers, I decided to invite the office staff at Mack and Jack. I especially hoped that Larissa and Mack would be able to come. We'd make it a surprise party the next Friday evening. At work that day, I extended the invitation to everyone. To my delight, most people accepted. It looked as though we'd have a good crowd.

That very evening, I decided to put my new regime into practice. I'd have a glass of wine with supper, and then lay off the booze for the rest of the evening. Charlotte had made us a superlative supper, as usual. Of course, she dined with us. I'd made it clear to her that she was family, not a servant.

After supper, we watched a DVD of Robert Altman's Gosford Park. Neither Stacie nor Charlotte had seen it, and I welcomed the chance to see it again. Then, we said our good nights and went to bed.

I got to sleep soon, but, about midnight, I found myself wide awake. I said to myself, "I will not drink. I'll count sheep or jerk off, but I will not drink." As I lay there, I noticed a movement and a sigh from the other side of the bed. I looked over.

There was just enough light in the room that I could dimly see Stacie. She was lying on her back. As I watched, I thought that I saw the covers move. Yes, there was definitely a slight movement over her crotch. And her breathing seemed to change tempo every once in a while.

Was it possible? Was the girl masturbating? Could she be as bothered by this sleeping arrangement as I was?

While I watched quietly, Stacie inhaled deeply. The motion of her hand ceased. I assumed that she'd had her climax. She turned on her left side, facing the door, and was soon asleep. I got up and went to the washroom. What I did in there I'll leave to your imagination. And my fantasy while I was spanking the monkey was, you guessed it, Stacie. She was doing exactly what I'd just seen her do. Except that she was naked. And smiling at me. I had to wank the willy twice before I could sleep.

That weekend, Charlotte and I made plans for Stacie's birthday. Naturally, Charlotte wanted to prepare all the food herself, but I convinced her that would destroy the element of surprise. I figured that we should plan for a crowd of thirty or so, allowing for spouses. Stacie was home all the time, and there'd be no way that she could miss the preparations for a party of that size. Charlotte and I compromised. She'd bake the cake, but we'd use caterers for the party. Charlotte called Daniel et Daniel caterers. She went into their shop and spoke to a consultant. She approved the menu, and she also arranged for them to supply waiters, a bartender and all dishes, flatware and glassware. They'd arrive about an hour before the party to set things up. It would be my job to keep Stacie occupied while the setup took place.

There was, of course, the matter of suitable birthday presents for Stacie. Nineteen is a big number in Ontario. At eighteen, you have all the privileges and responsibilities of adulthood save one. You can vote, but you can't drink. At the age of nineteen, that last barrier is removed. You have the right to buy and consume alcohol. Not that I considered giving Stacie alcoholic beverages. But I thought that some grownup presents would be suitable. I asked Charlotte to accompany me on a shopping expedition on Monday. The nurse would be available if Stacie needed help, which was seeming less likely with every passing day.

Our expedition began at Holt Renfrew. I thought that I knew what I was looking for, but I needed Charlotte's eye to make sure. I wanted to get a gown that would be suitable for the party on Friday night. I thought that some shade of blue would be appropriate. Perhaps a shade matching Stacie's eyes. Charlotte thought otherwise. "Stacie looks washed out in blue," she said. "She'd look better in something elegant, maybe black, or something bright, like red. She'd never buy a red dress for herself, but I'll bet she'll wear it if you buy it."

We chose a simple but elegant red sheath dress. "Young folks can wear stuff like this," Charlotte said. A pair of red high-heeled pumps completed the outfit.

The next stop was Tiffany and Company. I'd looked it up and found that pearl was the birthstone for June. Hokey as that seemed, it would have some sort of meaning. I found just the earrings I wanted -- pearls and diamonds set in twenty-four carat gold. Then, I chose a nice strand of pearls. I'd never realized how much real pearls cost. The jewelry was very expensive, but I didn't care. What the hell, the kid deserved one big day in her life.

Over the course of the next week, Stacie continued to improve. Her bruises were fading. I thought that she'd look completely normal by Friday. Well, it might take a judicious application of makeup.

I continued to have problems sleeping. Several more times, I woke up in the middle of the night. Each time, I observed Stacie masturbating and wound up blowing a huge load myself. Stacie was always the centrepiece of my fantasies. She still wasn't wearing pants to bed, and it certainly didn't help when I saw the occasional flash of bum or bush. I was more convinced than ever that something had to give. We'd get through this party, and then the sleeping arrangements would have to change.

Wednesday morning, Stacie was still sleeping when I got up. I had my morning shit, shower, wank and shave. As I was dressing, I looked at the little figure sleeping in my bed. She was curled up on her right side. Her left hand was just below her chin. She looked child-like and absolutely adorable.

I went to the kitchen, said good morning to Charlotte and settled into my coffee and newspapers. Except that I didn't read the papers. Instead, I kept thinking about Stacie. Of course, thoughts about Stacie weren't unusual. Not at all. Actually, that's what concerned me. Stacie dominated my thoughts and had done so since that Sunday when I brought her home. Was I in love with this girl? Of course, I loved her in a protective way, as a parent loves a child. But did I love her as a man loves a woman? If so, was that a healthy situation? In conventional societal terms, I was too old for her. And, although she told me every night that she loved me, how did she mean it? When I phoned my niece Heather, she ended every call with "I love you." Certainly Heather had no romantic interest in me, nor I in her. But my feelings for Stacie were entirely different. There was no doubt in my mind that I was falling in love with this girl.

My usual pattern had been fuck first, talk later. Sex had been the basis of every relationship I'd ever had. Every time I'd begun with sex and then developed some sort of emotional attachment. Even with Doris, my first, the promise of sex was implicit long before it became reality. This was different. I'd fallen for this little person without ever laying a hand on her. Seeing her smile gave me as much satisfaction as any sex act I'd ever experienced with Paddi-Ann. If her smile had that effect on me, what would sex with Stacie be like? I felt my shaft beginning to swell. Best not go there.

Stacie bounced into the kitchen. She gave me a hug and a kiss and said, "What's for breakfast, Aunt Charlotte?"

Charlotte grinned. "Child, what kind of greeting is that? Not, 'Good morning, Aunt Charlotte. You look very nice today.' Just, 'What's for breakfast?' I guess I know where I stand."

Stacie apologized profusely, amid laughter from Charlotte and me. Then she dug into her waffles. Her main conversation over the breakfast table was about how terrible her hair looked. It didn't look bad to me, but I wanted Stacie to feel that she looked her best at her party on Friday. Particularly since the party was to be a surprise.

After breakfast, I looked around my office until I found the name and phone number of Paddi-Ann's favourite hair dresser. It turned out that he was at the salon in Holt Renfrew, the upscale department store where I'd bought Stacie's dress. I called and was able to make an appointment for two o'clock Friday afternoon. Stacie was overjoyed when I told her what I'd done.

When I got to work that day, the first person I saw was Larissa. "Jack, you look fucked over," she said, "let's go get some coffee and talk."

I could always count on Larissa. She was my security blanket. She'd tell me what was what. She and I went to the coffee shop and sat down in a quiet corner. I hesitantly told her what was bothering me. In short, I tried to explain my confusion over my relationship or lack of same with Stacie. Larissa listened, making only an occasional comment. When I ran out of steam, she reached over and patted my hand.

"Jack, do you remember Charles Symonds?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"He came to us with a story about how his song had been ripped off by a big-time rock artist. Mack was hot to take his case."

"Yeah. I remember. Then you did a background check, and we found out that he'd tried almost the same scam before. Larissa, you'd better not be trying to tell me what I think you are."

"You have to admit that Stacie seems too good to be true. In lots of ways. Oh, I like the kid. She's incredibly likable. She's bright, sweet and pretty. But think about this objectively for a minute. Let's look at the story so far. Girl from the wrong side of the tracks just happens to run into prosperous Bay Street lawyer, who, in turn, just happens to be in a vulnerable state of mind. Lawyer offers kid a job. They become friends. Girl gets in trouble at home. Lawyer takes girl in. Shortly, said girl is followed by older confederate, who also moves into lawyer's house."

I was getting angry. "Larissa, did you run a background check on Stacie? Tell me you didn't."

"Chill, Jack. Let me read you this." She took a piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it. She put on her glasses and began to read. "Stacie Lynn MacPherson, born Toronto, Ontario, 27 June 1984. Only child of John Dexter MacPherson and Elizabeth Watson MacPherson. Father died 13 August 1994 in suspicious circumstances."

"I knew all that," I said.

"There's more. Let me continue." She cleared her throat and went on. "Graduated St. Joseph College, 2003. 93% average. Class valedictorian." Larissa peered at me over her glasses. I was impressed. St. Joseph was one of the best Catholic girls' secondary schools in Toronto. Larissa continued. "Now listen to this. Charlotte Loretta Quincy. Born 10 February 1948 in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Married Charles Jefferson 1972. Divorced 1983. Three children..." Larissa looked up again. "I could go on. The long and the short of it is that Stacie and Charlotte are exactly what they seem. They check out to the last detail. And I, for one, couldn't be happier about that."

"I never doubted either of them."

"But here's the most important thing, at least to me. Thanks to this," she threw the paper on the table, "any doubts that might come into your mind are put to rest before they arise. This girl has not lied to you in the past. Who is she? She's exactly who she says she is. So I'd bet dollars to donuts that you can take what she says to the bank. If she tells you that she loves you, she means it. She means it in the way that only the very young can mean it. Very intensely." Larissa toyed with her coffee for a moment. Then she said, "I had a long visit with Stacie last week."

"Yeah, she told me."

"Did she tell you what we talked about?"

"No, and I didn't ask."

"Three guesses, and the first two don't count. We talked about you, that's what. Actually, she talked, and I listened. She told me everything that you'd done and said, all the little things that she'd noticed about you -- on and on. The kid is head over heels in love with you." Larissa paused again and then said, "I told you before to watch your step. I'm telling you once again. Watch your step. Don't say anything to Stacie that you don't mean. Don't let your mouth write any cheques that your ass can't cash. And don't let this one get away. She's a keeper." Larissa looked up at me. The self-styled "tough old broad" had tears in her eyes.

By Thursday evening, I was very nervous. I wanted everything to go exactly right the next day. I thought over all the arrangements. I couldn't think of anything that hadn't been taken care of. I made sure that I had Stacie's birthday presents secreted about the room. The dress and shoes were wrapped in boxes tucked under the bed. The earrings and necklace were in the drawer of my bedside table, along with a carefully chosen card. That night, I had almost as much trouble getting to sleep as a kid at Christmas.

Friday morning, I awoke with Stacie spooned against me as usual. Her arm was over me with her hand lying against my chest. I had my usual morning hard on. However, this morning Mr. Willy had seen fit to seek some fresh air. He was poking out through the fly of my pyjamas. If I tried to tuck him back in, I knew that the movement would wake Stacie. I thought that I'd try to disentangle myself as gently as possible to avoid waking her. Then, her hand began to move.



-------

Chapter 5

Her little hand moved down my chest. It found its way between the buttons of my pyjama top. Then, it began to stroke my chest. After a moment, the hand was withdrawn and began to loosen the buttons of my shirt. It was obvious that Stacie was awake. I turned my head and found her staring at me.

"Stacie," I said, "what are you doing?"

"I," she replied, "am asserting myself."

"Sweetheart, what do you mean?"

She said, "Do you know what today is? It's my birthday. My nineteenth birthday. According to the law, as of today I'm as much an adult as you are. You told me to assert myself. As I said, I am. I'm staking my claim here and now. You are my man."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

Stacie raised her head and smiled at me. "Just what I said."

I looked into her eyes. "I still don't understand," I said.

"Don't be so dense," she said, "I've told you before that I loved you. That seems pretty simple to me. Didn't you understand?"

"I'm not sure."

"Jack, most of the time, you're a very intelligent, very perceptive person. But now, you're being a bit of a prat. I love you. Even a lawyer should be able to understand those three simple words."

I was silent for a bit. Stacie continued to stroke my chest. "We've been sleeping together for two weeks. We both know this has caused a lot of tension. If we weren't attracted to each other, there wouldn't be nearly as much of a problem. But there is a problem. You've seen the effect on me with your own eyes. You've been watching me masturbate every night." I looked at her with my mouth wide open. "Yes," she said, "I saw you the first time you watched me. Every time since then, I've made sure that you were watching. It's been exciting. But it's been frustrating at the same time. And the sounds I hear coming from the washroom tell me that you've been doing the same thing yourself. This is a silly state of affairs that can't continue."

I sat up. I said, "But Stacie..."

"'But Stacie' indeed," she said. Then she kissed me. Really kissed me. Her tongue found its way between my lips. She held the kiss a long time. Finally, she lifted her head and looked into my eyes. She said, "You're going to be my first, and, if I have anything to say about it, my only lover. What do you think of that?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know what to say."

"You silly man," she said, "I've told you that I loved you, and I know that you love me, too. Can you deny that? Can you deny that you love me?"

"No," I said slowly, "I can't. I've tried to, but I can't. I love you. I love you very much. But it's wrong. Very wrong."

"Why is it wrong?

"Well," I said, "for starters, I'm twice your age."

Stacie smiled. "And tomorrow," she said, "you'll be a little bit less than twice my age. And each day the age difference will matter less. Jack, it's all downhill from here. Or uphill. Depending on how you see it."

Her hand continued its interrupted journey down my body. I was once again painfully aware that my male member was proudly jutting out of the fly of my pyjama trousers. The hand slid beneath the covers and down my abdomen. In alarm, I turned to her.

"Stacie," I said. Too late. The little hand had arrived at its destination and was now curling about my penis. I croaked, "What are you doing?"

"That's a silly question," she said, stroking my member gently. "Kiss me."

I did. I kissed her. I held her. Then, I said, "There's just one problem. I've had an erection for a long time now. It's starting to get painful."

Stacie looked at me with concern. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to torture you. Here, let me help."

She released my penis and sat up. With one of those motions that only women have mastered, she removed her nightie. She was naked. She was incredibly beautiful in the way that only a girl becoming a woman can be. She pulled down the covers and bent over my abdomen. Once again, she held my dick in her little hand. She looked up at me and said, "You'll have to be patient. I've never done this before, and I may not do it very well." Then she bent over and took me in her mouth.

It took all my willpower to keep from coming immediately. "Sweetie," I said, panting, "please. I'm about to..."

Stacie raised her head for a moment and said, "I know. That's the idea." She bent to her task again, taking me in her mouth and bobbing her sweet little face up and down.

That was it. I came. It was the most intense orgasm of my life. It was so intensely pleasurable that it was almost painful. When I was able to open my eyes and look at Stacie, her eyes were open in an expression of wonder. She was swallowing vigorously. I could feel her tongue sweeping across my glans. At last, there was no more semen. Indeed, I felt as though I had no more in my body. Stacie continued to lick and suck my penis gently. When she at last lifted her head, my dick was clean. It glistened only with her saliva.

Stacie sat up and took a drink from her glass of water on the nightstand. She cuddled against me and kissed me on the cheek. She asked, "Is there always that much?"

"No. The amount depends on a lot of things. Mainly on you."

"It tastes different than I imagined," she said, "not bad. Just different."

I kissed her. My tongue slid between her lips and engaged hers. When I came up for air, I said, "Yeah, you taste differently than you did a few minutes ago. At least I think so. Let me check again just to make sure." I kissed her again, for a longer time. While we kissed, my hands wandered over her soft little body. At last I could explore this little person who'd been the subject of my fantasies. I found that the reality was much better than I could have imagined.

I moved her on to her back. I kissed my way down her throat to her breasts. In spite of the fact that they were quite large, especially for her small body, they stood proudly from her chest. As I caressed and gently sucked them, I thought to myself that one of these days her breasts would start to sag a bit. I wanted to be around to witness that. I wanted to see her in every season of life. I kissed my way down her tummy to her mons. I gently spread her legs apart and kissed my way up the inside of her thighs.

Stacie said, "No, Jack! You don't have to do that."

"Yes," I said, "I do."

I gazed on her sweet pink slit, gleaming from its little blonde nest. I kissed it. She inhaled sharply. I kissed her sex again and began to run my tongue around her crevices. Her breathing became deep and ragged. I gently nibbled her inner lips. She began to moan. It was obvious that her climax was imminent. I took her clitoris in my mouth and gently sucked and licked it. Stacie reached down and held my head with both hands. Her grip became stronger. She began to make whimpering noises. They became more like soft screams. Then her entire body tensed. She grabbed my head and pulled me against her. She was making a keening moan. At last, she became completely limp.

I shucked off my pyjamas and wiped her juices from my face. I lay down and took her in my arms. She looked at me sleepily and said, "What did you do to me?"

"I made love to you," I said. "Would you like me to do it again?"

"Oh yes. Please. But not just yet. Maybe in a little while. By the way, how did I taste? Like you expected?"

"Better," I said, "much better."

"Let's see," she said. She kissed me, an open-mouth kiss with lots of tongue. Then she sighed and said, "You know, I don't taste as yucky as I thought I would."

"Not 'yucky' at all. There is no part of the woman I love that could be described as 'yucky.'"

Stacie looked at me. I saw tears in her eyes. "Did you just call me 'the woman I love?'"

"Of course," I said, "how else would I describe you?"

She hugged me and buried her head on my shoulder. "And I love you," she said, "Oh God, how I love you."

"Sweetheart, I have a question. There's been one thing that puzzled me ever since you've been here."

"What's that?"

"Why don't you wear panties to bed?"

She looked at me in amazement. Then, she started to giggle. That developed into full-fledged laughter. At last, she caught her breath. "I can't believe it! Your important question isn't, 'when did you fall in love with me, ' or 'how much do you love me, ' it's 'why don't you wear pants to bed?'" She laughed again for a while. She caught her breath again. "Well, for starters, it wasn't because I was trying to seduce you. Not at first, anyway. You see, I've slept without panties since I was a little girl. After my dad died, we were very poor. I only had a couple of pairs of panties without holes in them. Mum made me rinse them every night so that they'd be clean for school. I got used to sleeping without panties. Now I'm not comfortable wearing them to bed."

I kissed her. I said, "I'm glad. I like you much better without pants. Or anything else."

We continued to kiss. I felt her hand working its way down my body. By the time she reached her goal, I was hard as steel. "Oh my," she said, "I see that our friend is ready to play again. What shall we do? I know! I have just the place for him." She took my hand and placed it on her pussy. "Right here. That's where he belongs. In here."

"OK, baby. Just let me get something," I said.

"No need. Absolutely no need."

I was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

She opened the drawer on her nightstand and took something out. "I've been taking these for a while now." In her hand was a container of birth control pills.

"You little devil. How long have you been planning this?"

Stacie grinned. "Let's see," she said, "how long have I known you?" She looked at me more seriously. "Come here. I've waited long enough."

"This might hurt a bit, darling."

"I don't care," she said, "do it. Now."

I put myself between her legs. She guided me into her warm wetness. As gently as I could, I pushed forward until I felt the obstruction of her hymen. I pushed again gently. Suddenly, Stacie grabbed my butt and pulled me forward with all her strength. I felt her hymen tear. I was in her completely.

I asked, "Are you OK, my love?"

"Yes. Oh yes. It hardly hurt at all. Go on, please. Please."

A lovely girl was begging me to make love to her. As a gentleman, how could I refuse?

I made love to her slowly at first. Gradually, Stacie's movements against me became faster. I let her set the tempo. While we made love, I gazed at her lovely face. She opened her eyes and looked at me. We kissed. I held the kiss as long as I could. Stacie moaned into my mouth. The sphincter of her vagina began squeezing me with an irregular rhythm. I knew that she was about to come, and I wasn't far from it myself. Stacie pulled me into her. She moved against me almost violently a few times. She was coming. I let myself go and spurted into her.

Stacie's body relaxed. I raised my head and kissed her gently. "Wow," she said, "is it always like that?"

"I don't know. I've never made love to you before. Maybe it will get even better."

She smiled, "Do you think so?"

Charlotte's voice came over the intercom. "Rise and shine, you two sleepyheads. Breakfast is in half an hour."

Stacie looked startled. "Do you think Aunt Charlotte heard us?"

"Not unless she was eavesdropping outside the room. You have to push both the 'talk' and 'lock' buttons on the panel. That's how I kept track of you last week."

"Oh. I guess we should get up and get ready for breakfast. Last one in the shower is a rotten egg."

Since I was on top, I had an unfair advantage. I deliberately held back until I heard Stacie turn on the shower. On my way to the washroom, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. There was a red light shining on the intercom panel. The damned thing was on. How long had it been that way? Days, maybe. Charlotte had no doubt heard everything. I pushed the "lock" button, and the light went out. I joined Stacie in the shower.

While Stacie was toweling her hair, I took her presents and her card out of the drawer. When she came out of the washroom, the two little boxes and the card were on the table by the window. She looked at them and then at me. She said, "What's this? Jack, what have you done?"

"Open them and find out."

Stacie opened the card first. She read the message and kissed me. Then, she opened the smaller of the two boxes. Inside was the Tiffany blue velvet bag. "Oh my God," she said, "I've never even seen anything from Tiffany's before." She took out the earrings. "Oh gosh," she said. She immediately went to the mirror and put them on. She stood for a moment admiring her reflection.

"There's another box here," I said.

Stacie hurried back to the table. She opened the second box and took out the pearls. "Oh it's too much. It's just too much." She began to cry.

"Don't cry, sweetheart. Here, let me help you put them on." She raised her head while I fastened the pearls around her neck. She went back to the mirror.

"Oh my gosh, they look so elegant. I'm going to wear them all day," she said.

"And you look lovely in them. But perhaps you should add something to your outfit?"

"Like what?"

"Like clothes. While you look wonderful wearing just your jewelry, it might be a good idea to put something on before we go downstairs."

"You're gonna pay for that," she cried as she rushed at me. I was taken totally by surprise. I was standing at the foot of the bed, and I suddenly found myself lying flat on my back with a squealing female on top of me. "Do you give up?"

"I do. Yes. I give up. Uncle. Auntie, even. Let me up, you brute. I need my breakfast. If I'm going to keep up with you, I'll definitely need my strength."

She kissed me and let me get up. I put my arms around her. "It looks as though you're all better," I said.

"Yeah. Love is better than Lourdes for healing the body and the spirit."

"Did you just make that up?"

"Yeah. I think so. I don't remember reading it anywhere. What, do you think that you have a dumb blonde for a girlfriend?"

"No. You're definitely not stupid. Although," I tickled her pussy, "you are, it turns out, a natural blonde."

Stacie gave me a mock punch, followed by a kiss. She turned and headed for her closet.

I got dressed quickly. Stacie was still looking in her closet. She wanted to pick out something that complimented her new jewelry. I badly needed coffee, so I told her I'd see her downstairs.

As I entered the kitchen, Charlotte was just setting the table. I went to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup. I said, "How much did you hear of what was going on upstairs this morning."

"Enough," she said. She turned to me. "And it's about damned time. Do you have any idea what kind of hell that little girl's life has been? She's been treated like an outcast by her own mother. And that so-called step father -- why last year he even stole the money that Stacie had saved for her high school uniforms. She worked nights for that money. She's the finest child I've ever known. She has more good in her than you can imagine. She has so much love to give. I know that she was recuperating, but you could have shown her more love. That little girl loves you. She loves you so much."

"How long have you known?"

"That she was in love with you? Since she met you. God, man, it isn't rocket science. I think everybody has known for a long time. Except you, maybe. But I was probably the first. She used to come over to my place all the time. There haven't been too many people Stacie could talk to." She walked over and put her arm on my shoulder. "Jack, I know you're a good man. And I know that you love little Stacie. Make her happy. She deserves to be happy."

I heard Stacie coming downstairs. I turned to the doorway. She came in. She was wearing a black skirt, a pink blouse and black heels. She looked absolutely gorgeous. My girl was transformed into an elegant woman. I took her in my arms and kissed her. "Do you always wear high heels to breakfast?"

She laughed. "Only on special occasions," she said.

Stacie sat with me at the table while Charlotte put the finishing touches on breakfast. Of course, Stacie offered to help, but Charlotte shooed her away. I said, "May I ask what we're having?"

Charlotte looked at me over her shoulder. "Eggs Benedict. Does that meet with your approval, my lord and lady?"

Charlotte served breakfast. The three of us ate with gusto. Every once in a while, Stacie would look at me and giggle. I thought that, since she was laughing, I should give her something to laugh about. I reached under the table and tickled her knees.

She jumped up and squeaked, "Stop that!"

Charlotte sighed. "If you two lovebirds are going to keep that up, I'll take my breakfast onto the patio."

"No, Aunt Charlotte. We'll be good. Won't we, my pet?" She tweaked my nose.

"You'd better be good, little one. Or I just might not take you to your hair dressing appointment. And I just might not take you to Tasting Rooms for lunch."

"Tasting Rooms!"

"Yes, I called Henry yesterday to make a reservation for noon. Your hair dressing appointment is at two o'clock, so that should work out just fine. If you behave, that is."

"I'll be good. I promise."

For the rest of the morning, I puttered around in my office answering email and making phone calls. About eleven thirty, Stacie bounced into the office. "It's time," she said, "let's go."

I parked in my reserved spot in the parking garage under our building. Stacie and I took the elevator up to the court level, walked through the doors to First Canadian Place, and took the escalator up to Tasting Rooms.

This restaurant has had a lot of press. It's been called the place in which major business and political deals are done and undone. Some of those stories are probably true, but I know it as a friendly place with wonderful food. It's run by Henry and his partner Bruce. They keep a great table, an even better cellar, and treat their regulars like family.

As we went in, Stacie was all eyes, looking around the place. Henry met us at the door. I introduced them. I introduced Henry as the owner, which he was, and Stacie as my partner, which she was. Henry took her hand gallantly. "Stacie, I'm so pleased to meet you. You're a very pretty and elegant lady. But I must also offer you my sympathy. You're Jack's partner. Well, we all have our cross to bear."

Henry showed us to our table. Stacie was still looking around. Maria, the waitress, came over to our table. "Jack," she said, "you've been a stranger lately. What can I do for you?"

I introduced Stacie and Maria. We ordered drinks. Stacie ordered a rye and ginger. Since this was her birthday and the first day that she could legally order any alcohol, I withheld comment and ordered my customary gin martini.

We had a terrific lunch, as is always the case at Henry's establishment. Before taking Stacie to her hair appointment, I excused myself and went to the gents'. As I returned, Maria was standing at our table deep in conversation with Stacie. I overheard Maria say, "I never liked her. All she did was complain and make Jack's life miserable. I'm so glad that he has you now. He's an OK guy, you know, for a lawyer." She laughed and walked away.

I paid the bill and escorted Stacie back to the car. We drove across town and I dropped her at the hair dressing salon. I had two hours to accomplish my mission. I checked my pocket for the item I'd purloined from Stacie's bedside table. I felt badly about taking it, but I had to make sure of the size.

Everything went according to plan, and I entered the hair salon at the appointed time. Stacie was already in the waiting area. I was speechless. The transformation was astounding. She was always a pretty girl, but now she was so beautiful. Glamorous, in fact. Her blonde hair gleamed with subtle highlights. It framed her little heart-shaped face perfectly. She smiled shyly and said, "What do you think?"

"My God, you're beautiful. I'm the luckiest man in the world." I took her in my arms and kissed her gently.

We arrived home at about five o'clock. The caterers were due at six, and the guests were to arrive at six thirty. My job was to keep Stacie busy until everything was ready downstairs. After Stacie had shown off her new hairstyle to Charlotte, we went upstairs.

"Let's see," I said, "supper will be around seven. We have a little less than two hours. What shall we do?"

Those were the last words I was able to speak for quite a while. I was attacked by a little blonde whirlwind. Soon, there were clothes all over the room. I was forcibly taken to the bed, laid on my back and straddled. To be honest, I didn't resist very much. Once in the saddle, Stacie rode me like a rodeo champ. Without the element of surprise, I would probably have come quickly. As it was, I was able to last through three of Stacie's orgasms before having my own. When I did come, almost synchronously with her fourth climax, I knew that I was through for a while. Mr. Johnson demanded a break.

We lay together cuddling. I smiled at her. "I guess you're all better, eh?"

Stacie said, "Well, I may pay for it tomorrow. But it's been worth it."

I kissed her and stroked her. My hand found its way to her pretty little pussy. Stacie looked at me ruefully. "God, I must be a gooey mess down there. I'm going to need a shower."

"There's no rush, baby. We still have plenty of time. Why don't you have a nice soak in the Jacuzzi?"

"I will if you'll join me."

As we got up to go to the washroom, Stacie looked at her nightstand. "There it is," she said, "I'll bet it was there all the time."

"What?"

"My little ring. I couldn't find it this morning. Oh well, it's there now."

We cuddled together in the Jacuzzi. Cuddling led to a more passionate embrace. At my suggestion, Stacie sat on the side of the tub. I ate her to several more climaxes. As we cuddled afterward, I said, "Ms. MacPherson, are you a sex maniac?"

She grinned wickedly. "I never thought so, but I may be. Aren't you glad?"

"Ask me again in a few years. If I survive that long."

When we came out of the bath, it was time to give Stacie her other presents. She looked at the boxes in wonder. "What are these? I've already had my birthday presents." She opened the larger box and held up the dress in awe. "I've never had anything like this. I've never even seen such a beautiful dress." She opened the smaller box. "And shoes to match. I have to try these on right away."

"In fact," I said, "I think you should wear them for supper tonight. It's not every day that my baby turns nineteen. We'll have an elegant meal in the dining room." Stacie kissed me and then busied herself with dressing.

By the time she was dressed and working on her makeup, I was dressed in a black suit, white shirt and red tie. My tie was a very close match to Stacie's dress. I looked at my Rolex. It was six forty-five. Right on time. After assuring Stacie that she looked absolutely perfect (which she did), I escorted my love downstairs.

We went into the dining room. "My gosh," Stacie said, "the lights are out. I wonder where Aunt Charlotte is." She switched on the chandelier.

There was a shout of "Surprise!" Charlotte had done her work well. The table was set for the buffet, and there was a crowd of people standing around it.

Stacie stood there openmouthed. She turned to me and said, "You sneaky bastard."

"Guilty."

She kissed me and went to greet her guests.

Over the course of the evening, I was introduced to Stacie's young friends, three black girls, two Arabic girls, an Asian girl and a nerdy-looking white boy with acne. I hoped that in time I'd keep their names straight. The tall, overdone and very pretty black girl was Latoya. One of the Arabic girls was named Ayesha. The boy was named Mike. Those I could remember without any trouble. The others I'd have to work on. I also met her high school principal and teachers. I soon learned that, although Stacie may not have had a wide circle of friends, all these people cared about her.

We had supper, and then Charlotte brought in the cake. It was a masterpiece in chocolate. And it flamed with exactly nineteen candles. Stacie blew them all out.

After the cake, we moved to the living room. It was time for the presents. Although many were humorous, others showed genuine thought and affection. Stacie was most touched by the gift from Ayesha. She was a tall, pretty girl wearing a head scarf. She shyly gave Stacie a card and a small box. The card read "Best friends forever." In the box was a simple silver friendship ring. Stacie cried as she put the ring on her right hand. She and Ayesha embraced.

I was more nervous than I'd ever been in court, but it was time. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, there's one more thing for Stacie to open." Everyone turned their attention back to Stacie. I handed her a small box.

"Jack, what's this? Not another present. I've already had far too much." She opened the box. She stared into it. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. "Oh my God. I have to sit down." She sat in one of the overstuffed chairs by the window.

I came over to her. I knelt and took the box from her. I removed the contents and held her left hand. I said, "Ms. MacPherson, will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?" I kissed her hand. "Stacie, I love you more than I can ever say. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?"

The room was silent. Stacie stared at the ring in my hand. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her carefully applied makeup was a mess. I waited for what seemed forever, although it was probably less than a minute. Why had I put myself in this position? What if she turned me down? For that matter, why had I put poor Stacie in this position? She must feel embarrassed in front of her friends and coworkers. At last, she looked into my eyes. "Jack, when I was a little girl growing up in Regent Park, I used to dream that I was Cinderella. I'd dream that a handsome prince would come and whisk me away. Well, this is the moment I've dreamed of since I was that little girl. You're my very own Prince Charming. And you're the most wonderful man in the world. Of course I'll marry you."

I could breathe again. I put the ring on her finger. The room exploded with applause and cheers.



-------

Chapter 6

While the waiters circulated with the champagne, people gathered around us to offer their congratulations. The first were Stacie's school friends. The tall black girl, Latoya, was the first. She was, as my granny would say, "a piece of work." Her hair was in small tight braids. She was dressed in a very tight yellow crop-top and a matching miniskirt, which reached just below her crotch. And she was wearing lots of what the kids called "bling" -- flashy jewelry. She swept over to Stacie and lifted her hand. Latoya took a very close look at Stacie's ring. "Girlfriend," she said, "that is one serious rock. It's almost as good as you deserve." She turned to me, "Jack, you better take damned good care of Stacie. We know where you live, homey." She looked at me and winked.

Stacie said, "Toy, please. Jack isn't used to your sense of humour. Jack, Toy is one of my dearest and sweetest friends."

It took a few minutes, but we finally got some breathing room. Stacie sighed. "Now maybe I can take a few minutes to repair my face. That was quite a trick you pulled on me, Mr. Charles."

"It's too late to back out now, my love. I'm a lawyer, you know. I could sue for breach of promise."

"Bullshit. As though you'll ever get the chance." She took Ayesha's arm. "Sheesh, will you come with me? I need to repair the damage done by this brute." Stacie kissed me and went upstairs, followed by Ayesha.

I found myself button-holed by Stacie's high school principal, Mr. Nickerson. "I've always worried about Stacie," he said, "she has such high career aspirations. Now that she's engaged to you I can see," he gestured about the room, "that she won't want for anything. But I'd hate to see her waste that fine mind."

"Mr. Nickerson, please be assured that I plan to make every effort to see that Stacie is called to the bar. I see no reason why our firm couldn't become McHenry, Charles and Charles."

He smiled at that and drank to our happiness.

Finally, the crowd began to thin out. Among the last to go were Mack, Larissa and four of Stacie's friends Ayesha, Latoya, Sydney, a short heavyset black girl, and Mike, the complexion-challenged boy. Sydney hugged Stacie and cried. "I'm so happy for you," she said, "so happy." She turned to me. "And you treat her right, you hear? You got the best girl in the world here."

Latoya, on the other hand, surprised me. She'd been the most boisterous of the group all evening. Now, all she could do was to hug Stacie and cry wordlessly. Finally, she released Stacie. "Toy, I found my man," Stacie said, "you'll get yours, too. I promise. There's a wonderful guy out there just waiting for a wonderful girl like you."

Larissa said her tearful farewell, hugging Stacie for a long time, while Mack shook my hand and then hugged me. "You surprised the hell out of me this evening," he said, "but I think that you surprised Stacie even more. Congratulations and best of luck. And I'm sure that I'll see both of you at work on Monday morning."

The last guests had left. Charlotte was in the kitchen supervising the cleanup by the caterers. Stacie and I were alone at last. I put my arm around her and led her into the study. I closed the door, took her in my arms and kissed her gently. "Stacie, I love you so very much. Tonight, you've made me the happiest man in the world." I led her to the bar. "Let's have a drink to celebrate. What would you like?"

"Well, I guess if I'm going to be a lawyer's wife, I have to learn to drink like one. What would you suggest?"

I made her a gin gimlet and poured a Scotch for myself. I turned the lights down. We sat on the chesterfield in front of the fireplace. "I took a big chance tonight," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"You could have said 'no' and made me look like a jerk in front of all those people."

"Not bloody likely. But when I opened that box, I almost fainted." She held her hand up, admiring the ring. "This is the most beautiful ring I ever saw. How did you manage to get one that fits so well?" She frowned at me. "Did you steal my little agate ring?"

"Guilty," I said.

"I thought so. Well, you're forgiven. Just don't make a habit of it."

We cuddled quietly for a long time. "I wish it was winter," Stacie said.

"Why?"

"So we could have a fire. And maybe we'd be married by then, too."

"This is Canada. Winter will come. As for marriage, I'm ready when you are."

"I've been thinking about that. I'm sure I'll get accepted by the University of Toronto. I'd like to start there in the fall. And when I register, I'd like my last name to be Charles."

I kissed her. "Yes ma'am. I'm sure that we can make both of those things happen."

There was a knock at the door. Charlotte came in. She said, "Are you two lovebirds decent?"

"Aunt Charlotte, how did you know we were in here?"

"I didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes. The door was closed, that's how. I just wanted to tell you that everything is cleaned up. The caterers have left, and this old lady is going to bed."

"Aunt Charlotte, we were just talking about getting married soon. I have something very important to ask you."

"What is it, child?"

"Would you give me away? At the wedding, I mean."

It was the first time I saw Charlotte cry. "Oh child..." She was at a loss for words. Stacie went to her and hugged her. They did look like an adult and a child. Even though she was wearing heels, Stacie's head didn't quite reach Charlotte's shoulder. "Nothing would make me happier. You're safe now. But then, you'll really be safe. At last."

I went over and hugged them both. "Now," I said, "we should all go to bed. This one," I kissed Stacie's cheek, "has had a very big day. And this one," I kissed Charlotte's cheek, "has made it all happen."

Stacie and I went upstairs. As we undressed, Stacie said, "Would you mind if I continue not to wear panties to bed?"

"Of course not, silly. In fact, I insist on it."

"And I think that I won't wear nighties, either. At least for the rest of the summer."

"Are you saying that we should sleep naked?"

She grinned. "In fact, I insist on it."

We cuddled and kissed under the covers. The romantic mood was broken by my need to answer the call of nature. When I returned from the washroom, Stacie was sound asleep. I cuddled her against me and soon joined her in sleep.

It was the best night's sleep that I'd had in a very long time. I awoke the next morning in a state of bliss. I was experiencing the most wonderful feelings. I looked down. I saw a head of tousled blonde hair. Stacie looked up at me. She had my penis in her mouth.

"Oh baby," I said, "Oh God! I'm going to come."

She lifted her head for a moment, smiled and said, "Good." She returned to her task.

I came. Very hard. I collapsed, incapable of movement. Stacie gave Mr. Willy a good-bye kiss and scooted up. She put her arms around me and kissed me. "Rest for a little while," she said, "I've had my breakfast. Now I'm going to go and fix yours." She got up. In a minute, I heard the shower running. I went back to sleep.

Something brushed my face. I opened my eyes. In front of me was a pink tummy. Beyond it, I saw a beautiful pair of breasts. Beyond them, was a pretty face smiling at me. "Wake up, sleepyhead. I brought you breakfast in bed." She tickled my nose with her pubic hair.

I put my hands on her hips and pulled her sweet pussy down to my mouth. I gently explored her with my tongue and lips. Gradually her excitement built to a fever pitch. She bucked against me and finally tensed. I reached up to hold her under her arms as she went limp. I lifted her and laid her against my chest. She snuggled against me, making a little nest for herself in my arms.

"Darling, is this what I have to look forward to every morning?"

She said in a muffled voice, "Would you mind?"

"Of course not." We snuggled for a while. Then I just had to ask about something that had been puzzling me. "Darling, how come you know so much about sex? Especially the oral part."

"Do I really seem to? Am I doing things right?"

"More than right. How did you learn all that stuff?"

"I asked a friend. Someone who knows a lot more about it."

"Was it Charlotte?"

"No, silly! I could never talk to her about stuff like that. I'd be too embarrassed."

The penny dropped. "It was Latoya, wasn't it?"

"I can't say. I promised."

"I have a lot to thank her for. If you can find some way to thank her for me, please do. But how did you go about asking?"

"Well, a couple of weeks ago, we were talking, and I said that I'd found a wonderful guy. I said that I didn't know if he'd ever be interested in me, but, if he ever was, I wanted to know what to do. She told me."

"In detail, obviously."

"Well, I asked a lot of questions."

I hugged her. "Are you feeling sore today? Down there, I mean."

She wrinkled her nose. "Yeah. A little bit. Would you mind if we just do the sort of stuff we did this morning? At least for today."

"Now, you're being silly. You're not required to have sex with me every day."

"I sort of thought that it was part of my wifely duties."

"When we're married, it will be. Then, you'll have to put out any time and any place that I desire."

Stacie looked at me in shock. Then she saw that I was barely stifling my laughter. She swatted me, a little harder than playfully. "Pig," she said, "Last one in the shower is a rotten egg!"

As usual, Charlotte had prepared an incredible breakfast. There were blueberry and raspberry pancakes with appropriate syrups and condiments. There were lovely sausages and pea meal bacon. All complimented with a bountiful fruit platter.

After breakfast, Stacie asked, "Would you mind if I invited a few friends over for supper tomorrow?"

"Of course, not, sweetheart. Who?"

"Toy and Sheesh. And Mike, of course."

"Why of course?"

"Cuz Sheesh doesn't go anywhere without him. And vice versa."

"Oh. I think I understand. Sure. What would you like to do?"

"I thought that we could have a barbecue. We could eat on the deck and just have a relaxed time."

"Sounds great to me."

Stacie hugged me. "Oh Jack, it's so wonderful to have someplace that I can invite my friends. They've had me over to their places so many times. But my folks wouldn't let me invite them. I'd hate to tell you what they called Toy and Sheesh."

"I think I can guess." I wondered how bigots could survive in modern Toronto, the most multicultural city in North America. Perhaps I was simply naïve.

We agreed to spend a quiet day. I worked in my office. Stacie came in and sat in the corner, reading a law book. She'd made her way through several of the legal survey books during the past weeks. In the beginning, she'd be full of questions when I came home in the evening. Now, the questions were infrequent. I began to pity her professors in university.

After I'd worked for a while, I took a break. I looked at my sweet girl who was reading studiously. She looked up and saw me staring at her. "And what, pray sir, are you looking at with that silly grin on your face?"

"I, madame, am looking at my beautiful fiancée. And I'm reflecting on my wonderful good fortune. Three weeks ago, I was living with a bitch who made my life miserable. Now, I'm engaged to the prettiest, sweetest and smartest little girl in the world."

"Flattery will get you anywhere with me."

"I'll bear that in mind. However, in this case it's not flattery. Just fact."

The next evening came. Ayesha, Latoya and Mike arrived right on time. Thanks to Charlotte, everything was ready for their arrival. I helped Latoya and Mike to drinks. Stacie got Ayesha a fruit concoction of her choice. In spite of her choice of boyfriend, she was an observant Muslim and, as such, eschewed alcoholic beverages.

We moved to the deck and munched on the assembled appetizers. Charlotte buzzed about while we talked. I was talking to Latoya. I forget what we were talking about. Stacie came up to me. She held my arm and smiled at me. She said, "You know, Toy has a bachelor's degree in paralegal studies."

"No," said, honestly taken aback, "I didn't know. Latoya, tell me about that."

Latoya blushed. Yes, racists. Black people do blush. Her cheeks turned bright red. She looked down for a moment or two. Then she said, "Yeah, I just graduated from Humber College."

I said, "Well, that's really interesting. I don't know too much about their programme, but I hear great things about it. Do you have a job?"

"Well, sort of," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I've been hired by the traffic court to prosecute people with tickets. That sort of thing. It pays money, but it's not really what I want."

"What do you want?"

"I want to go to law school." Latoya looked at me defiantly. I recognized that look. I'd first seen it in the eyes of my dear Stacie.

"Latoya, that's great. And I see no reason why you shouldn't. After all, you have a bachelor's degree from a major school. How were your marks?"

"Top of the class," she said, looking at me for a reaction.

"Tell you what," I said, "I want you to write down all the specifics. I'll certainly give you a recommendation to the University of Toronto Law School. I think that you should be a lawyer. The profession will benefit from your joining us."

Stacie whispered in my ear, "What about Toy taking my job when I go to school?"

I looked at her and sighed. I gave her dear little butt a small swat.

"Latoya," I said, "I know that intellectual property is probably not your chosen field, but would you consider working at McHenry and Charles as a clerk? It may not pay as much as your court job, but it will give you some legal experience that may be valuable. And you might even be able to continue working part-time with us when you're in law school."

"Provided that I can get into law school," she said.

"Yes," I said, "given that. Although I doubt that there will be a problem."

Later in the evening, I got together with Mike. Actually, looking back on it, Stacie put me together with Mike. Somehow, the topic of single malt Scotch whisky came up. I started tutoring Mike on the finer points. In a short time, we became a bit more relaxed. After a few drinks, Mike brought up the topic of Ayesha. "Her parents," he said, "would rather see her dead than married to me. No, I know that's a strange thing to say, but it's true. They have this thing about non-Muslim white guys. And me in particular."

"My friend," I said, "aside from the familial strife, the important legal question is Ayesha's age. If she's over nineteen, she's an adult. How old is she?"

Mike looked into his glass. "She'll be twenty next month," he said.

"Then she can legally enter into any contractual obligation, including marriage. Her parents may disown her, but they cannot legally prevent a marriage."

"I know," he said, "but it doesn't make things easy. Sheesh loves her parents. And she loves me."

I sighed, "Mike, I'm probably the last guy to give advice on matters of the heart. I've always made a mess of my own personal life. Until Stacie, that is. And that was pure luck. In other words, my life is in terrific shape, but I had nothing to do with it. If I were you, I might easily chose the wrong course. Just answer one question for me: how much do you love Ayesha?"

"I love her completely. I'd do anything for her."

"Would you become a Muslim?"

"She and I have talked about that. Yes, of course I would. I don't have any particular religion to turn away from. But I don't think that would solve the problem. I could become a Muslim, but there's no way that I could become Pakistani."

"So you think that it's a racial and ethnic thing then?"

"I'm afraid so. Sheesh wants to get married in the hope that her folks will come around in time. But I'm not sure that they'll ever accept me."

"Mike, I know that you and Ayesha are two of Stacie's best friends. You've stuck with her through some pretty rough times. If there's anything that Stacie and I can do for you, we will. Let's shake on it, OK?"

Mike and I shook hands and had another drink.

After her friends went home, Stacie and I had our quiet time upstairs. We cuddled together in bed. She looked at me and said, "Thanks so much for being so nice to my friends."

"You're welcome. But I really wasn't going out of my way for them. And let's get one thing straight, your friends are my friends and vice versa. These are fine people. I simply listened and tried to suggest whatever could be of help."

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, and I'm going to spend my life with you. Now let's go to bed."

On Monday, Stacie returned to work. Larissa later told me how she'd handled her return. she said that she was most impressed at the way Stacie had carried herself. She'd told everyone at the weekly staff meeting that she was still the same rookie that she'd been before. She was now engaged to me. That was a personal thing, not professional. She didn't want anybody to cut her any more slack because of that. I was reassured that I had, at last, found the best little person in the world for my mate.

My life seemed as though it were exactly as it should be. My feet hardly touched the ground. The next Wednesday, I was brought back to earth by several things. First, I ran into Paddi-Ann in the elevator.

The first few floors, there were other people sharing the elevator. They disembarked, leaving Paddi-Ann and me alone. She looked at me and said, "Well, I guess you didn't waste any time, eh?"

"What do you mean?"

"I hear that you're getting married."

"Well," I said, "I'm engaged. Very happily so."

"To a child, I hear," she said. "That doesn't seem like you. But maybe I never knew you."

"She's not a child. She's young, yes. But she often seems more mature than I do. But that's aside from the issue. I've met someone with whom I have fallen in love. And she loves me. We're engaged to be married. End of story."

"And why," she said, "just why, I wonder, couldn't that have been me? We spent over a year living together. I thought that we had a great relationship. Right up until the end. Why did you suddenly meet someone else and get engaged? Can you tell me that?"

"No," I said, "I can't. Some things are meant to be. Others aren't. That doesn't seem fair, but it's life."

We came to Paddi-Ann's floor. As she left the elevator, she said, "Jack, you're not as big a prick as I'd like you to be. I can't help wishing that you were more of a son of a bitch. It would make it a lot easier to hate you."

She walked out of the elevator and kept going. She didn't look back.

The elevator reached my floor. I entered the office, passed through the reception area and headed down the hall to my office. As I passed the coffee room, I heard a snippet of conversation. A male voice said, "Yeah, let's face it. Paddi-Ann has been around the block a few times. I hear that she fucks like a bunny rabbit. But she's probably getting pretty loose from all that wear and tear. No wonder he wanted himself a little tighty. Can't blame him for that. But you have to wonder why he needs to marry her."

Another male voice replied. "Why, because she's so young?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Hell, I don't blame him. Sooner or later I guess all of us will probably want to try to turn back the clock. But what the hell can they possibly have in common? What can they talk about? Oh well, like I said, who can blame him? If I had myself a cute little armful like that, the last thing I'd want to do is waste time talking. Have you seen the fun-bags on that girl? Has she got a pair or what?"

I stuck my head in the door. The conversation came to a halt. Three of the articling students were standing next to the coffee machine. One of them, Frank Morley, was now wearing a bright red face. I smiled at them. "Good morning, gentlemen," I said.



-------

Chapter 7

I'd started the day with in a very happy mood -- self satisfied, even. That was gone. The combination of meeting Paddi-Ann and hearing Morley's comments had brought me back to earth rapidly. So there it was: the age thing. And there was also classism in Morley's comments. Stacie wasn't of "our" class.

I thought that I was too young to be a silly old fool. I shouldn't be going through change-of-life already. Was I wrong? Could this thing work? I'd thought that both Stacie and I went into our relationship with our eyes open. Perhaps not. But in my heart I knew that no matter what happened I couldn't and wouldn't give her up. I'd never experienced the kind of wholehearted, selfless love that was natural to Stacie. Whatever happened, I thought that we could stick it out. Someday, we'd be sitting by the fire surrounded by our grandchildren, and we'd laugh about the people who thought that our relationship couldn't last.

As for Frank Morley, I resolved to ignore his remarks. In the Canadian system, law students have to "article" to complete their training. Articling students, like interns in medicine, have completed their academic training. Articling gives them training in the real world. In some firms, they may provide cheap labour. Lawyers sometimes compare them to medical interns in teaching hospitals. Mack and I had resolved to make the experience in our firm as rewarding as possible to the students. However, their future could be in our hands. A negative report from a senior partner in the firm could hurt their chances, for a couple of years at least. Morley was already embarrassed enough. Oh I'd take an extra look at his work just to make sure. But I wasn't about to let a silly comment jeopardize his future.

I laughed to myself as I thought about how the coffee room story would be embellished as it made its way around the office. In due time, I was sure that Larissa would give me the version she heard. She'd probably be the last to hear, since everyone knew that she and I were close friends.

Latoya called me that same afternoon. "Jack," she said, "were you serious about my coming to work for you?"

"Yes, of course. I'm not in the habit of saying such things frivolously. When can you start?"

"That's just it," she said, "I can start any time. I spoke to my supervisor. She says that, since it's the slow season in traffic court, she thinks that they'd waive the usual notice clause. She's a really nice person, and she seemed genuinely excited for me. She said that working at a real, honest-to-God top law firm would be great in my resumé no matter what."

"Great. When would you like to start?"

She said quietly, "Would next week be too soon?"

I laughed. "Not at all," I said, "that will give Stacie a chance to show you around personally."

That evening, I recounted my conversation with Latoya to Stacie. "That's just like Toy," she said, "She's a real go-getter. I love that girl."

"Tell me more about her."

"Well, when my mum and I went to live in the Park, Toy was one of the first people I met. She was three years older than I was. She was already in junior high, and I was a snotty-nosed brat. But she took me under her wing. I've been there ever since."

"OK. Tell me more."

"Toy wasn't much liked by a lot of people. You see, she was known as a 'brain' in school. She got great marks always. She worked very hard to get them, just like I have, but other people didn't see that. They just thought that she was the teacher's pet. I think that made her try harder to fit in. She was always pretty, but she soon found ways, sometimes the wrong ways, I think, to emphasize her best points. I could understand why she did it, but I didn't worry as much about how I looked. And I didn't want to. That's one of the main reasons that I went to St. Joseph College. There weren't any boys there, and all the girls all wore the same uniform. But Toy was in the public system. I think that she had the peer pressure thing a lot harder than I did. Then there was Ben."

"Who was Ben?"

"Ben was this kid that she met when she was in grade twelve. He was a white kid, really handsome and from a well-off family. He dated Toy for a while, and she was in love with him. Since we were best friends, she shared all of this with me. I remember how torn Toy was about whether she should have sex with Ben. In the end, she gave in. She was totally devoted to him. She'd do anything for him that she could, and I don't mean just the physical thing. But some of the physical stuff was very hard for her. I remember how she cried when she told me about how much it hurt when he put it in her bum. But she let him do it. She loved him, and she thought he loved her, too. Right up until..."

"Until what?"

"Ben went out with a bunch of his guy friends from school. They were kidding him about his black girlfriend from 'the projects.' Ben made some remark about 'once black, never go back.' And then he said that they hadn't lived until they'd had some black sex. Only he didn't say 'black.' He used the 'N' word. And he didn't say 'sex.' He used the 'C' word. It wasn't long before the story was all over her school Toy was crushed. I don't think she's dated since then."

I couldn't think of anything to say for a moment. How would a sensitive teenage girl react to hearing that her beloved boyfriend had called her a "nigger cunt?" At last, I said lamely, "God, what a terrible thing for her. The poor kid."

"Yeah. She was a mess for a while. In some emotional ways, she still is."

"That explains how she reacted on Friday night."

"Yeah. Of course, Toy was really happy for me. But I know that she was thinking how much she'd wanted to be in my place. A few years ago, she thought she'd be the first of us to have a ring on her finger. I really want things to go well for her. I owe her so much. When I met her, I was a frightened, confused eleven-year-old girl. She gave me confidence in myself. She's even given me a place to stay sometimes when things got too bad at home. Even my interest in law comes from Toy. She's always wanted to be a lawyer. Now, thanks to you, maybe she will be."

Stacie and I continued to be marvelously compatible. Our home life was serene, helped no end by the always efficient and charming Charlotte. Our lovemaking became even better, hard as that was to be believed. Stacie was a generous and passionate lover. She was the aggressor as often as I was. It was not unusual for me to park the car in the garage, say hello to Charlotte, and then be led upstairs by the hand. Once in our room, I could look forward to marvelous sex. It functioned as a great appetizer.

Not that one needed to work up an appetite for Charlotte's cooking. Years ago, someone had given me a subscription to Gourmet magazine. Then, I got a free trial subscription to Food and Wine. For some reason, I'd maintained both subscriptions. I had bound volumes of both magazines in a bookshelf in my kitchen. I hardly ever opened them, except to look for barbecue recipes. Charlotte, however, was mining the collection to good effect. Our table was the equal of any restaurant in town. I had serious worries about my waistline.

One evening, after Charlotte had surprised us with a particularly wonderful meal of venison, the three of us were enjoying coffee and brandy in the study when Stacie introduced a new topic into the conversation. "Jack, if we're going to be married before school is in session, we really have to start planning the wedding," she said.

I groaned. I think that all men instinctively dislike weddings. I certainly wasn't averse to being married to Stacie. If someone could just have waved a magic wand to make it happen, I'd have been more than happy. No, it was what one had to go through to achieve the married state.

Charlotte stood up. "I guess I should leave you two alone to make your plans," she said.

Stacie looked distressed. "No, Aunt Charlotte. You're an important part of this wedding. You promised to give me away, remember? Besides, I need your advice. It's obvious that this one," she punched my arm, "is not going to be much help."

I smiled at her. "I'm afraid you're right, sweet cakes. I'd be most grateful if you and Charlotte and Latoya and whoever else plan the whole goddam thing. I'll do whatever is required. I'll wear the monkey suit and dance to any tune you play."

Over the next few days, there was a flurry of activity from Stacie and Charlotte. They'd extracted from me all the names and addresses of my family members and close friends. They'd started a spreadsheet on the computer. They had family members and friends from both sides. They were working on a seating chart for the church and the reception. Charlotte had checked out the prices and facilities of the various banquet halls. Stacie was in sole charge of the arrangements for the wedding service. That's where the problem arose.

I came home from a round of golf one Friday afternoon to find Stacie in tears. I took her in my arms and asked, "What's wrong, baby girl?"

"Oh Jack, ever since I can remember I always wanted to be married in the Catholic Church. But we can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because the Cardinal has a ruling that no one in the Archdiocese of Toronto can be married in a church unless they've been a member of that parish for a year. I've never really joined a parish. I've gone to church a lot, but not always to the same one. So we can't be married in the church. This is just terrible."

I held my sobbing girl in my arms, trying to comfort her. In the back of my mind, an idea was forming. Suddenly, I had it.

"Darling, I believe that I know a priest who will marry us."

Stacie stopped sobbing and looked up at me, daring to hope. "Who?"

"He's a friend of a friend. He's a Jesuit -- a brilliant guy. In fact, he's a former college president. His name is Father Jack Costello. Jack and I have had dinner and drinks together several times. I think that he finds me good company, partly because I'm not Catholic. Anyway, here's the point. Jack is associated with Our Lady of Lourdes, the Jesuit church on Sherbourne Street. As he once explained to me, the Jesuits are in the archdiocese, but they're not of the archdiocese. They have their own boss, who's called a 'Provincial.' As long as they don't make too big a thing of it, they don't necessarily have to abide by all the rules the Cardinal lays down. I'd be willing to bet that Jack will marry us at Lourdes."

"Oh my gosh. Can you call him? Can we talk to him?"

I called Jack Costello. He was noncommittal, but he didn't say no. He would interview us the next day, Sunday, in the afternoon. He'd come to our house.

Over the next week, we continued to talk to Father Costello. Stacie's mood vacillated between exhilaration and despair. One evening when we were on the way home after one our counseling sessions, she collapsed in tears. She sobbed, "Oh Jack, Fr. Costello will never marry us. He keeps finding so many reasons why he shouldn't."

I patted her hand. "Precious, please don't worry. Jack just has to do his priest thing. He's making sure that we're serious. That's all. Believe me."

It turned out that I was right. Finally, Jack agreed to officiate. We set a date, August 17th, and saw Jack Costello regularly for marriage instruction.

Shortly after we began our marriage classes, I got a call from my niece Heather in Calgary. She wanted to come to Toronto for a visit. Naturally, she wanted to stay with me. I told her that couldn't foresee any problems and that I'd call her to confirm. Of course, I wanted Stacie to agree to the visit.

At first, Stacie was leery. The idea frightened her, she said. I tried to tell her that Heather was just a fairly typical teenager. She was fifteen, four years younger than Stacie, and not a terrifying person in any way. Besides, I reasoned, if Stacie was to be part of the family it was about time that she met at least one of them. In the end, she agreed. I phoned Heather, and the visit was arranged.

Heather was the only daughter of my sister Sally and her husband Jean-Pierre Lemire. Sally was a thoracic surgeon, and Jean-Pierre was in real estate. Between them, they probably made significantly more money than I did. Heather wanted for nothing. She was spoiled, but I wouldn't call her a brat. She was a sweet kid, and, even though we were separated by most of a continent, I'd always felt close to her. I was looking forward to her visit. Stacie, on the other hand, was not.

Heather arrived that Friday. Stacie reluctantly accompanied me to the airport to meet her. We waited at the appropriate gate. Stacie was doing her best to impress her fingerprints into the flesh of my left hand. There was a steady stream of passengers coming out of the gate. Then, there was Heather.

Actually, I heard her before I saw her. "Uncle Jack," she squealed and launched herself in my direction. I was caught between the two girls. Heather was doing her best to squeeze me to death, and Stacie was unwilling to release my hand. In retrospect, I realize that the scene must have appeared quite comical.

At last Heather released me and turned to Stacie. "And you must be Stacie," she said. "Gosh, you're beautiful! What are you doing with this silly old fart?" She poked me in the ribs. "I'm sure we're going to be great friends. It will be great having somebody besides this stuffy old relic to talk to."

"He's not stuffy at all," Stacie began. Then she realized that Heather was joking. She laughed along with Heather. The two girls embraced. It looked as though they already on their way to being friends.

I led the way to the car. Heather and Stacie followed chattering away. I couldn't help but be amused by the physical difference in the two. Both girls were beautiful but in very different ways. Stacie was petite and curvy, while Heather was tall and slim. Stacie was a golden blonde, and Heather was a brunette. Heather had an almost olive complexion while Stacie was fair. In an odd way, their differences seemed to compliment each other.

At the end of the procession was a Skycap, wheeling a cart filled with Heather's luggage. I was glad that the Mercedes had a large trunk.

The two girls chatted nonstop all the way home. At last we arrived. Heather was to stay in the en suite room on the second floor. We took turns hauling her bags upstairs For the first time, I wished that my house had an elevator. At last the bags were all deposited in Heather's room. Heather commandeered Stacie, and I went downstairs. I was badly in need of a drink.

I took my drink up to my office. I thought that I'd take the time to read up on a couple of cases before supper. I was making pretty good progress when Charlotte's voice came over the intercom. "Jack, supper's nearly ready. Will you please collect the girls and bring them down?"

"Sure thing," I said. I headed down the hall. As I neared Heather's room, I could hear the girls chattering away.

"You know, Stacie," Heather's voice said, "you're so fucking beautiful. It's just not fair. I'd kill to have tits like yours. I mean, I'm not flat chested, but I'm barely a B cup. You've gotta be at least a D, right?"

"Yes, about that," Stacie replied. "But I don't see how you can envy me. First of all, these," she was obviously indicating her breasts, "make it hard to get clothes that fit. They're way too big for the rest of me. But the worst thing is the way that some guys stare at them. I'm tired of having people talk to my chest. I feel like saying, 'Hey, I'm up here. My boobs can't talk.'"

"You say that it's hard to get clothes? That settles it. You and I are going shopping tomorrow. Believe me, we'll have a ball."

"Well..."

"Come on. It'll be lots of fun. By the way, does Jack talk to your tits?"

"Sometimes. But he's allowed. They belong to him, just like the rest of me."

"That's a sweet thing to say. Tell me, was he your first?"

"Heather! That's really private. Jack and I don't talk to anyone about our sex life."

"Oh come on. I'm not asking how you do it or how often. I just want to know if he was you first."

"Well yes. He was."

"Was he worth waiting for?"

"Oh God, if you only knew. I don't have any words to describe it. We're so much in love. Jack is the most wonderful man in the world. Yes, he was worth waiting for."

"God, I do envy you. I have to confess that I've always had kind of a thing for Jack -- ever since I was a little girl. That may sound kinky, but it isn't, really. I mean I don't jerk off moaning 'Uncle Jack' or anything like that."

My ears were burning by this time. I figured it was time to stop eavesdropping. I stepped forward and knocked on the open door. "Supper time, girls. Charlotte sent me to get you."

They came into the hall. Stacie said, "My gosh, where has the time gone?"

I grinned at her. "I guess that means you've been having a good time."

"Oh yeah," Heather said, "Stacie's going to be such a cool aunt. I just love her already. She's already my favourite aunt, and she isn't even really one yet."

The next day, Heather insisted on taking Stacie shopping. Stacie demurred, but I urged her to go. "Besides," I said, "it'll give you a chance to try out those new credit cards."

"Would you believe," Stacie said, "that I've never used a credit card?"

Heather laughed. "Then it's about time," she said. "What's a girl without a credit card? We're born to shop."

The girls left after breakfast. I resolved to get some work done while the house was quiet. I spent a very productive morning and afternoon. About four o'clock, I started to get a bit concerned. I rang Stacie's cell phone. She answered on the second ring.

"Jack, I'm sorry. We should have called. We're on our way home now. It took a little time to get a cab. A couple of drivers didn't want to pick us up."

"Why not?"

Stacie giggled. "You'll see."

I did indeed. The girls entered the house leading a poor man who was loaded down with packages. And that was just the first load. There were two more. I paid the driver and gave him a handsome tip.

The living room was a mess. Bags and packages were everywhere. The girls divided them into two piles and began taking them upstairs. I was amused to see that Stacie's pile was larger. But only slightly larger. Heather would no doubt need at least one more suitcase to take all her purchases home.

Stacie had invited Latoya to supper. We had quite a gathering at the table. The three girls chattered away happily. The main topic was clothing, but they also discussed shoes and makeup. I paid as little attention as possible, joining in only when my opinion was solicited.

After supper, Charlotte, Latoya and I were given a fashion show. Heather insisted that we see every outfit of Stacie's. I had to admit that she did look fantastic in the new clothes. Several of them were quite formfitting. I was a bit surprised. The only thing I'd ever seen Stacie wear that showed off her figure was the dress she wore to her birthday party, and Charlotte and I bought that. One outfit consisted of a tightly fitting black velvet top. On the bottom, she wore a black leather miniskirt. The skirt began a couple of inches below her navel and ended several inches above her knees. On her feet she wore very shiny black high-heeled boots that reached mid-calf. Charlotte and I must both have been staring. Stacie blushed as she stood in front of us. "I'm really not sure about this one," she said, "maybe I should take it back."

Heather opened her mouth to protest, but Charlotte spoke first. "No, child," she said, "for too long you've been hiding your light under a bushel. You and Latoya are both guilty of that. You know I'm right, Latoya. For years, you've lived on your looks and been afraid to show people that your brain was even better than your face. But you, Stacie, you've never been afraid to show people how smart you were, but you've always tried to hide just how pretty you are. It's time to show off."

There was silence for a moment after Charlotte spoke. Then Stacie said, "But don't you think it makes me look kind of cheap?"

"Not to me," Charlotte said. "But it sure lets people know that you're a woman."

Stacie came over to me and took my hand. "What do you think, Jack?"

"I agree with Charlotte. There's just one thing."

"What's that?"

"I wouldn't advise your wearing it at home -- at least not while I'm here."

"Why not?"

"It could put you in severe danger of attack."

Stacie gave me a mock slap. "You pig," she said. Then she kissed me and headed back upstairs to change.

As we were getting ready for bed that night, I was amused to note that Stacie's walk-in closet was beginning to fill up a bit. I kidded her about it. She was clearly embarrassed. "Yeah," she said, "I've never had so many clothes. Heather kidded me about being reluctant to buy stuff. She said that it was time that I started spending your money. Not a whole lot, she said, just enough to let you know I'm here."

I moved behind her. I put my arms around her and cupped her lovely breasts. "Darling, there's one thing for sure. I'll never forget that you're here." Stacie turned around, and we kissed for a while.

At last, Stacie broke the kiss. "It's really fun having Heather here," she said, "there's just one thing that bothers me."

"What's that?"

"When we were trying on clothes, she was always helping me get dressed and undressed. And she made a point of touching me, especially my breasts. And that's not all. She kept making remarks about my butt. She even remarked about my -- you know."

"Your pussy?"

Stacie blushed. "Yeah. She said that it looked really cute."

"Well I must say that I agree with her. It is cute. Are you saying that Heather is coming on to you?"

"I don't know. I'm a little too sensitive about stuff like that, I guess. Girls don't talk about their body parts that way. At least my friends don't. But there was this one girl in high school. She used to hang around me all the time. Her name was Flora."

"I think you told me about her once."

"Maybe," she said. I felt Stacie shaking in my arms. "Anyway, she'd always be around. And she used to touch me and make suggestive remarks. I tried to laugh it off, but I got a weird feeling about her. Then one day I was in the shower after P. E. class. I was the last one in because I was doing some extra exercises. Then Flora came into the shower. She was naked.

"I thought that was weird because I was sure she'd been coming out of the shower when I came into the locker room. She came right over to me and stood under the same shower. Nobody else was around, and the locker room was quiet. I started to get really uneasy. Then I was scared.

"Flora took her soap and started washing me. She spent extra time washing my breasts. She reached for my crotch, and I headed for the door. Flora cut me off. I was really scared now. She was a lot bigger than I was, and I knew she was really strong. She was on the swim team, and she had those big swimmer's shoulders. She put her arms around me and started trying to kiss me. Just then, I heard a door slam in the locker room. Flora let me go, and I ran out of the shower.

"One of the girls had left something in her locker, and she'd had to come back for it. I got dressed as fast as I could and left with her. From then on, I made sure that I was never alone with Flora. Later I heard stories about how she'd picked on a couple of the girls and made them do stuff. Even some of the things that you and I do."

"I doubt that Heather is anything like your dyke friend."

"I don't like that word. My friend Sydney is gay, and I'd be upset to hear anyone call her a 'dyke.'"

"You're right. I shouldn't have used that word."

"Jack, I didn't mean that you're not sensitive. I know that you didn't mean it that way. But seriously, that incident with Flora left me with... I don't know. Fear, maybe. I'm not disgusted with the idea of Lesbianism. I mean, I've tasted myself, at least on your lips, and if other women taste like me, it's certainly not disgusting. I know that it's not rational, but I just got really nervous when Heather was touching me."

"Precious, I'm as sure as I can be that Heather isn't gay. She's a spoiled brat for sure. And I've heard that bisexuality is all the rage with the smart high school set, especially the girls. It's possible that Heather is experimenting a little bit. It's probably nothing to worry about."

"The thing is that I'm getting along so well with her. I don't want to mess things up by overreacting, but I'd like her to know that I'm not into girls."

"Then tell her. Tell her the whole story about Flora. In so many words. That's the best way. It will avoid a lot of problems later. OK?"

"OK. I will. But right now I have another problem."

"What's that?"

"I'm getting really turned on. You, sir, are about to get your brains screwed out."

"Oh my. You're really scaring me," I said. And those were the last words either of us said for quite a while.

The next day, the girls went shopping again. The aim that day was to buy a wedding dress for Stacie. They also were planning to look for outfits for the maids of honour: Latoya, Ayesha, Sydney and, of course, Heather. Charlotte was to be matron of honour, and they tried unsuccessfully to get her to come with them. I, of course, was banned from the expedition. I would not be allowed to see the wedding dress until the ceremony. Bad luck, you know. The girls returned from their expedition with big smiles on their faces. I refrained from asking why.

Over the next week, Stacie and Heather spent as much time together as possible. Stacie was still working at Mack and Jack. Latoya had also joined us and had immediately fit in. Several times during the week, Heather, Stacie and Latoya got together for lunch. Heather was to leave the following Saturday. I suggested that Stacie take Heather, Latoya and Larissa to lunch at Tasting Rooms on Friday. Lunch must have been a success, since we got no work out of our three people for the rest of the day.

On Saturday morning, we drove Heather and her entourage of suitcases to the airport. Heather and Stacie bid each other a tearful farewell. "Now remember," she said, "you and your parents will stay at our place. We'll be going on our honeymoon, so you'll have the place to yourselves. And I have no idea where we'll be. Jack is keeping it a secret."

Our marriage training sessions were going well. There was only one humorous episode. At least I thought it was humorous. Father Costello asked Stacie, "What do you think God's plan is for Jack?"

Stacie at first looked nonplused. Then she looked up at him and smiled. "God's plan for Jack is the same as his plan for me. We're going to spend our lives together. We'll have children. And our children will have children. And you'll always be welcome at our table."

Jack Costello looked down at his hands. I could see tears in his eyes. My girl had answered the hardest question he had for her, and she'd answered it in such a way as bring this grizzled priest who thought he'd seen it all to the brink of tears. He looked into her face. "Stacie," he said, "you're ready to be married. I'll be proud to officiate."

As the wedding grew closer, I became more and more nervous. I knew that Stacie and Charlotte had everything planned to the last detail, but I was still nervous. I felt like a man going in front of a firing squad. I was just as nervous as I'd been the night I proposed to Stacie. Except this time, I had more time to become really frightened. I told Jack Costello how I felt. He grinned at me and said, "Relax, Jack. In all my years in the priesthood I've never lost a groom. Millions, no make that billions, of men have gone through this before. And very few of them have perished in the process."

The day arrived. I'd bought a new tuxedo for the occasion. It wouldn't do for me to wear my old one on this day. My partner George "Mack" McHenry was to be my best man. He had the ring on his little finger. Mack was with me as I got dressed. I was so nervous that he had to help me with my shirt studs and cufflinks. "Relax, Jack," he said, "I know how you feel, but I got through it and so will you. When it was over, Jane and I were married. Tomorrow, Stacie will be Mrs. Charles. And you'll be an insanely happy man. Trust me, everything will be just fine."

I knew that all my friends were right. I knewthat everything would be just fine. But knowing it didn't help. I was scared shitless. I just knew that I'd get to the point in the ceremony at which I was to pledge my love and forget my own name. "I, uh, uh, don't tell me. I had it a minute ago. Oh well, I, who the hell ever I am, take you, Stacie Lynn..."

Mack drove me to the church. Good thing. I wouldn't have trusted myself to drive. There was a limo hired to take the wedding party to the reception. So we'd have transportation from the church. If I lived that long. That was by no means sure.

The moment came. The organ was playing. Something by Bach, I think. Father Costello, Mack and I walked down the aisle to the altar. We genuflected and stood looking down the aisle. The organist began the Wedding March from Wagner's Lohengrin, the song that most people know as Here Comes the Bride. Stacie wanted a traditional wedding, and she'd gotten it. This music had accompanied brides down the aisle for a hundred and fifty years.

The bridal procession entered the church. Heather led the procession, followed by the other bridesmaids: Latoya, Ayesha and Sydney. Following them were Stacie and Charlotte. The bridesmaids wore light blue gowns. Charlotte's was a darker blue. All carried bouquets. Of course, Stacie's was the grandest. Stacie was a vision in white. Her dress was white satin with a tightly fitted lace bodice. The skirt was full and had a train. I could just see her white silk shoes as she walked toward me. Her golden hair was topped with a gold tiara. Her beautiful face was partly obscured by a veil. God, she was lovely. Stacie walked slowly up the aisle, accompanied by Charlotte. She arrived beside me. She looked up at me and grinned shyly. Her lips moved. She said silently, "I love you." All of a sudden, everything was all right.



-------

Chapter 8

The ceremony went without a hitch, as everyone but me had known that it would. It went by very quickly. I even remembered my name when it was called for: "I, John Edward, take you, Stacie Lynn, to be my wife..." Suddenly, we were signing the registry and posing for many pictures. It was done. Stacie was mine. As we recessed down the aisle to Mendelssohn's Wedding March from A Midsummer Night's Dream, I turned to the lovely little person on my arm. "I love you, Mrs. Charles," I said.

"And I love you," Stacie replied, "you wonderful, silly husband of mine."

The reception was at the Four Seasons Hotel. It was the usual chaos that I guess such affairs always are. Except this time I was at the heart of the storm. There were toasts from the best man and the matron of honour, as well as from God knows how many others. People kept rapping their knives on their wine glasses. Stacie and I were supposed to respond with a kiss. That was certainly not an onerous task. But at a certain point. Mack McHenry stood up and said, "That's about enough. Let these two get a bite. They're going to need their strength."

Heather came over and knelt beside Stacie. "Now you can tell me," she said, "where are you going on your honeymoon?"

Stacie looked puzzled. "I honestly don't know."

I whispered in her ear, "Look under your plate."

Stacie lifted her plate. She removed the envelope that was under it. She opened it and read. "Oh my God! There are two first-class tickets to Paris! And a reservation at the Ritz! I think I'm going to faint."

"You can faint later, wife," I said. "For now, just keep those tickets safe. We're going to need them tomorrow."

Stacie looked panicked. "But what will I bring? What will I wear?"

Heather laughed and hugged her. "Stacie, if I were you I'd bring just the clothes on my back. Not your wedding dress. I mean whatever you're wearing tomorrow. Paris is the greatest place in the world to shop for clothes." I groaned. What had I gotten myself into?

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. I should have known Stacie better than that. Oh she bought some clothes, all right. But she stayed away from the exclusive designer houses. I was glad of that. After all, we were spending enough money on the hotel. Our suite was about nine hundred Euros per day, not including taxes. But I only planned to get married once. And I wanted Stacie to have great memories for the rest of our long life together. One of those memories was made the first night we arrived. The maid came to turn down our bed and tidy the suite before we went to bed. After she left, Stacie opened the drapes. She turned to me and smiled. "I'm going to live every little girl's dream," she said, "I'm going to make love to my husband by moonlight in Paris."

Our loving that night was something very special. We were both very tired after the wedding and the long flight. But we seemed revitalized by the Parisian atmosphere. After a wonderful session of oral love, Stacie said, "Now I know why they call it 'Frenching.' It's special here."

"No, my darling wife. You're special. And you're special anywhere." We fell asleep with Stacie cuddled on my chest, my penis inside her.

This was Stacie's first trip to Paris. Actually, it was her first trip outside of Toronto. So I delighted in showing her around. I took her to some of my favourite restaurants, but most of the time we did touristy things. We took a boat tour of the Seine, went up the Eiffel Tower and strolled hand-in-hand by the river in the twilight. I'd brought my digital single lens reflex and plenty of compact flash cards. I'd considered bringing my laptop, but I'd thought better of it. I just didn't need it. I didn't want to be bothered with e-mail, and I didn't want to take the time away from our honeymoon to process my pictures. There would be plenty of time for that later. I just checked the LCD screen to make sure that each shot was what I thought it was. Of course, there were plenty of pictures taken by waiters in hotels, tour guides and the like. The Canon EOS 1Ds is a dauntingly complicated camera to the uninitiated, but I simply switched it to automatic exposure and showed them where the shutter button was. Of course I took most of the pictures, and most of them featured Stacie in picturesque Parisian settings. My favourite shot was one that I almost felt guilty about. It was a picture of Stacie praying at the altar in Notre Dame Cathedral. I felt as though I were intruding on a private moment, but that picture showed one of the many aspects that made up the complex creature that was Stacie: her simplicity and sincerity.

We continued to have an idyllic time. Nearly every day was perfect. There were a couple of days that we couldn't take advantage of the sidewalk cafés or the terrace at the Ritz. But what's Paris without a little rain? Then, just a couple of days before we were to head for Toronto, the phone rang one evening about bedtime. Stacie answered.

"Yes, this is Mrs. Charles." She paused and then said, "Yes, please put it through." She turned to me with a serious expression. "There's a call from Aunt Charlotte." She turned her attention to the phone. "Yes, Aunt Charlotte. What's up?" Stacie listened for a moment. "You'd better open it," she said. Once again she listened. Then she said, "Hold on, I'll get Jack." She held her hand over the receiver and said to me, "Darling, you'd better take this. I think it's serious."

I went into the sitting room and picked up the phone. "What's happening, Charlotte?"

"Jack," she said, "this envelope came today from the Supreme Court of Ontario. It's addressed to Stacie. I just opened it. There's a legal thing inside. Shall I read it to you?"

"Yes of course." I listened while she read the document. The trial of Stacie's mother and stepfather was to begin in two weeks. Stacie was, of course, required to testify. I was very surprised. There had been a big backlog of criminal cases in Ontario. It was unheard-of that a case would come to trial so soon. But it seemed that was exactly what had happened. "Not to worry, Charlotte. It's Stacie's folks' trial. We knew this was going to happen, just not so soon. We'll be back in plenty of time. As I say, there's no reason to worry, but thanks so much for calling. We'll see you in a couple of days. 'Bye."

Stacie said her good-byes to Charlotte and hung up as well. She turned to me as I came into the bedroom. "Oh Jack, I dread this whole thing."

"Not to worry, my love. All you need to do is tell the court exactly what happened. But I'll ask my pal Jeff Richards to act for you. He's a real criminal law genius. Jeff will explain things to you, and he'll be beside you all the way."

"Oh Jack, what would I do without you?"

"Well, for one thing, without me, you'd still be single and enjoying your youth."

"Without you, I'd be nothing. And I certainly wouldn't be enjoying my honeymoon in Paris with my beloved husband. Let's go to bed, darling."

That night, I tried to make her fears go away. I held my little wife and made love to her gently.

Time passed quickly. All too soon, we were on the plane back to Toronto. I slept most of the flight home. I always try to sleep as much as possible on transatlantic flights. It helps to minimize jet lag. Stacie watched the movie for a while and then snuggled up and joined me in sleep.

We arrived home. Heather's parents, Sally and Jean-Pierre, had gone back to Calgary shortly after we left, but Heather was still with us. She proceeded to pump Stacie for every ounce of information about our honeymoon. While we unpacked, the two girls kept up a nonstop conversation. They went to Heather's room to continue their talk while I went to my office. I transferred the pictures into my desktop computer. I put together a slide show of our honeymoon and burned it on a CD. I'd show it to everyone after supper.

At supper, I had a mild surprise. Sydney, Stacie's friend whom I had met at the birthday/engagement party, was a guest. Not that I minded. I'd only met Sydney once and then briefly. She proved a witty and personable guest. And it was obvious that Heather and Sydney had gotten to know each other during the time that Stacie and I had been on our honeymoon.

I'm afraid that all of us had a bit too much to eat and far too much to drink, but we had a wonderful evening nonetheless. The slide show of the honeymoon was well-received, although with some hoots and well-meaning jabs. I'd included a picture of Stacie posing in her honeymoon negligée, a translucent red wisp. But I'd omitted the picture of Stacie praying in Notre Dame. She and I would share that later.

After the slide show ended, we had a final nightcap and coffee. Stacie was yawning, and I was feeling just as tired. Since it was quite late, Charlotte suggested that Sydney stay with us for the night. Heather immediately seized on that idea. "Oh yes," she said, "please do, Sydney. You can stay with me in my room. It'll be such fun. Just like a pyjama party."

Sydney looked doubtful. "But I don't have pyjamas or anything else with me."

Heather laughed. "Oh, don't worry," she said, "I'm sure we can find something for you to wear. And we've got plenty of fresh toothbrushes and all sorts of stuff. Please say yes."

Sydney reluctantly agreed, and the two girls left to get ready for bed. Stacie and I followed them up the stairs after our goodnight kisses with Charlotte.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, Stacie was asleep. I was sure that I'd join her, but I found myself wide awake. I decided against chemical help, either pills or booze. I settled on a glass of warm milk. It's always seemed to help me sleep. My doctor friend Jerry once explained that there's a chemical reason for that, but I forgot exactly what he said. It was enough for me that it worked. I put on my robe and headed for the kitchen.

The house was quiet, but as I passed Heather's room, I heard a sound. Several sounds, actually. There was a rustling, a sigh and then a whispered, "Oh, that's so nice. It feels so good. Oh yeah." Then there were more rustlings and some wet sounds.

I stood there for a moment wondering what to do. I felt guilty eavesdropping, but my old middle-class morality was rearing its ugly head. I decided that the best thing to do was simply to complete my mission to the kitchen.

When I arrived in the kitchen, the light was on. Charlotte was seated at the table with a cup of something hot. I assumed it was one of the herbal teas that she favoured. She grinned at me. "I couldn't sleep either," she said. "Too much excitement, I guess."

"Yeah," I agreed. I took a mug from the cupboard, filled it with milk and put it in the microwave. While it was warming, I turned to Charlotte. I asked, "Do you know what's going on upstairs? With Heather and Sydney, I mean." The microwave beeped. I took out my milk and joined Charlotte at the table.

"Yes," she said, "or at least I have a pretty good idea. Heather seemed a little too anxious for Sydney to stay. And Sydney protested just a little too much." She took a sip of her tea while I sipped my milk.

I put down my mug. "Has this happened before?"

Charlotte sighed. "I'm not a voyeur," she said, "but I suspect that it has. Several times."

I stared into my mug of milk. "How do you feel about it?"

"Well, I have mixed feelings. Probably you do, too, or you wouldn't be asking. But remember I worked for years in a big hotel. There's not a lot I haven't seen. Does Lesbianism bother me? Yes, I admit that it does. I was raised in a very traditional Christian family. Anything like that was strictly sinful. But I like those girls a lot. And I figure if they just want to play, why should I care?"

I took a swig of milk and then said, "What if it's more than just playing?"

Charlotte smiled. "Jack, I don't figure there's a whole lot of likelihood that those girls are planning to get married, if that's what you mean. You and I had best leave them alone and let them work it out for themselves." She grinned her widest grin, showing off her gold teeth. "Of course, if Heather's folks found out about it, there'd be hell to play."

We put our cups in the dishwasher. Just as we reached the door, I touched Charlotte's shoulder. "Charlotte, you're so wise, and you take such good care of us." I hugged her.

Charlotte hugged me in return and patted my back. "Yeah," she said, "but just when I get used to you and Stacie, it seems like I have two more to mother. I've got my limits, you know." We grinned at each other and headed for bed.

The day of the trial was fast approaching. Just as I'd predicted, Jeff Richards agreed to represent Stacie at her parents' trial. Jeff was one of Canada's premiere criminal lawyers and also an old friend. He immediately met with the Crown attorney who was prosecuting the case. Then he met with Stacie several times. He told her about the evidence the Crown would present and what would be expected of her testimony. Stacie was reassured but still a bit nervous.

The day of the trial came at last. Stacie, Jeff and I met at the court. The bailiff showed us to the first row. We were seated behind the Crown table. Stacie's parents, Ted and Liz, were at the defendants' table.

The Crown attorney was Joe Moncrief. I'd not met him, but I knew him by reputation. He was known as a hard worker and a guy who prepared his cases meticulously. I suspected that this one would be over quite soon.

The judge was Julia Renshaw. Her I knew. She was a classmate of mine at U of T Law. She was also a member of several clubs to which I belonged. I knew that Julia would do the right thing.

The court rose. Judge Renshaw entered and sat. We took our seats. Julia looked into the courtroom. She looked surprised when she saw me. "Mr. Charles," she said, "criminal law is not your chosen field of endeavour. How are you involved in this case?"

I rose and bowed. "Your Honour, I am not here professionally. I am here as the husband of the victim in this case. I may also be called as a witness, if necessary."

"I see," she said, turning away from me. "Are the accused represented by council?"

"Yes, Your Honour," a young guy spoke up from the defendants' table. If he'd not been wearing a robe, I'd have thought he was some kid. "I represent them."

Julia said, "And you are..."

"Apologies, Your Honour. I am Stephen Smith."

"Mr. Smith, am I to understand that you have been retained by the defendants?"

"Your Honour, I'm serving as a legal aid counsel."

"I'm sure that you'll represent them ably, Mr. Smith. Mr. Moncrief, is the Crown ready to proceed?"

"We are, Your Honour."

"Very well. State your case."

Joe gave a brief and cogent introduction to his case. The Crown would prove that the defendants attacked Stacie brutally and without provocation.

The kid lawyer did the only thing that he could. He countered that Mr. and Mrs. Daley, the defendants, had been defending themselves. At this, there was stifled laughter from the back rows, provoking a caution from the judge.

Joe called his first witness. It was Stacie. I patted her hand as she stood. She took the oath and sat in the witness box. Joe began.

"Mrs. Charles, at the time of the alleged attack, how old were you?"

Joe continued through his examination. He took her through the events of the weekend in question. Stacie answered every question clearly. After all, she knew as much law as many lawyers. Joe finished his examination. Smith rose to begin his cross examination. This was what Stacie had been dreading. I caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile.

"Mrs. Charles, at the time of these events, what was your status?"

Stupid question. Stacie immediately countered, asking for a clarification. The kid lawyer was a bit flustered.

"Were you living with your parents or were you living with Mr. Charles?"

The kid hadn't prepared adequately. He'd taken the garbled accounts of his two clients at face value. Stacie nailed him again. Joe Moncrief turned to me and grinned.

After a few more stupid questions, Stacie was off the hook. Smith, on the other hand, was very much on the hook. I suspected that the judge would have his ass on a pole before the trial was over.

Joe called Charlotte Jefferson and several other neighbors who had witnessed the events of June eighth. All of them corroborated Stacie's version. All agreed that this was simply the latest in a long series of attacks upon Stacie by the pair. On his cross-examination, Smith asked only a few desultory questions. It seemed as though he'd given up. Joe called Jerry Greenstein.

"Dr. Greenstein, on the day in question were you the attending physician for Mrs. Charles?"

"I was."

"Will you please describe her injuries to the court?"

Jerry gave his testimony, referring to his files. Then Joe called Sergeant Watkins of the Toronto Police. Her testimony proved even more damning, including as it did many photographs of Stacie's injuries.

The Crown rested its case.

Smith began the case for the defense by calling Stacie's stepfather, Edward Daley. According to Daley, he and his wife had taken wonderful care of Stacie. She, on the other hand, had been an ungrateful child and totally unmanageable. She had loose morals, had been seeing an older man (me, I supposed) and was hardly ever home. On the day in question, she'd attacked her mother without provocation. Ted had simply tried to protect his wife.

Smith sat down, and Joe began his cross examination. "Mr. Daley," he said, "you mentioned your wife. Where is she?"

Daley looked puzzled. "She's sitting over there at that table," he said.

"No, Mr. Daley. I asked where your wife is. Do you know?"

Daley looked down at his hands. "No," he said, "I don't."

There was silence in the court. Joe let it hang for a moment. Then he asked softly, "To whom are you legally married?" Ted's answer was unintelligible. The judge instructed him to repeat his answer loudly and plainly.

"Donna Sipes," Ted said.

"Have you ever obtained a divorce from Ms. Sipes?"

"No," Ted said. He was staring at his hands again, unable to meet Joe's eyes.

Suddenly, Liz MacPherson stood and yelled, "You son of a bitch!"

The judge's gavel rang out. "Mr. Smith," she said, "you will control your client, or I'll have her removed from this court. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honour." Smith pushed Liz back into her chair.

Joe continued. "So, Mr. Daley, is it not true that you are in a bigamous relationship with Ms. MacPherson?"

"Yes," Ted answered softly, still looking down.

"Now that we've clarified that matter, I'd like to move on to another part of your testimony. You categorized Mrs. Charles as a woman of loose morals. Is it your contention that she was promiscuous while living with you and Ms. MacPherson."

"Yeah," Ted said, sounding more assured, "I'm sure she was screwin' around."

"Mr. Daley, are you familiar with the term 'virgo intacta?'"

"No sir."

"It means a virgin whose hymen is intact. Do you know what that means?"

"I guess it means she ain't had sex."

"Indeed. If you'd like, I can recall Dr. Greenstein to the stand. He will testify that when he examined Mrs. Charles on the day of the attack, she was, in fact, virgo intacta. Would you like to reconsider your statement concerning Mrs. Charles' morals?"

"No," Ted said firmly, "just cuz she ain't had a pecker in her don't mean she ain't done other stuff."

The judge cautioned Ted to watch his language. Joe continued.

"Is it not true that on the day of the attack you tried to force Mrs. Charles to have sex with you?"

"No, I didn't. If she says that, it's cuz she's a lyin' little slut! She tried to get me to have sex with her. When I wouldn't, she kicked me in the balls!"

The judge once again cautioned Ted about his language. This time, she threatened him with a contempt citation. Joe continued his cross-examination.

"Mr. Daley, are you telling this court that Mrs. Charles, at the time an eighteen-year-old virgin, attempted to force you to have sex with her? Forgive me if I find this a most unlikely scenario."

Joe let Ted step down. Smith called Stacie's mother to the stand.

Smith asked, "Mrs. MacPherson, on the morning in question, did you strike Mrs. Charles?"

"Yes, I did," she said, "because she'd hurt Ted. He was in really bad pain."

"At that time, did you believe that your daughter had attempted to initiate sex with the man you believed to be your husband?"

"I did. But now I doubt that's what actually happened. If he lied to me about his marriage, God knows what else he's lied about."

Joe declined to cross examine Liz. Smith rested the defense. Both the crown and the defense gave their summations. Joe's was clear, to the point, and concise. Smith's was a bit of a mess. When he sat down, we waited breathlessly for the judge's decision.

She sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Then she began.

"Let's consider the charges before this court. First of all, assault. What is assault? According to the Criminal Code," she said, "and I quote, 'a person commits an assault when without the consent of another person, he applies force intentionally to that other person, directly or indirectly.' Going further than that, we get to the realm of aggravated assault. Section 268 of the Criminal Code says, 'Every one commits an aggravated assault who wounds, maims, disfigures or endangers the life of the complainant.'" She paused a moment and took a sip of water. She continued. "I have no doubt that is exactly what happened in this case, and I find the defendants guilty as charged." She paused again. The two defendants were looking down at the table. "The maximum sentence for this charge is fourteen years imprisonment. I am tempted, very tempted, to impose that maximum. Credible witnesses have testified before this court that there was a pattern of this behaviour -- that you were repeatedly abusing a minor in your care. However, you are charged with this one crime, and I will sentence you accordingly. Edward Daley, I sentence you to a term of seven years imprisonment. Elizabeth MacPherson, I sentence you to a term of seven years imprisonment. Court is adjourned."

Stacie collapsed against me. "I didn't want Mum to go to jail," she sobbed.

"I know you didn't, precious," I said, "but she brought it on herself. The judge had no choice."

After a few moments, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was one of the uniformed officers in the court. "Excuse me sir," he said, "Judge Renshaw would like to see you and Mrs. Charles in her chambers."

Stacie and I followed the officer through the hall to the chambers. He knocked discretely on the door. "Come," said a woman's voice. We entered the judge's chambers. Julia had taken off her robe. She was wearing a conservative blue business suit with a white blouse. "Jack," she said, "come in. Come in, Stacie." She took Stacie's hand. "Sit down, please. I don't know about you, but I could sure as hell use a drink."

"Well, Your Honour," I began.

"Jack, we're not in court now. When we were in school together -- when we articled together -- I was Julia and you were Jack. When we're having a drink at the club, you're Jack, and I'm Julia. When we're in court, you address me with respect. It's respect for the court, not for my person. And I know that my person makes a hell of a lot less money than your person. It's ironic that the judge who decides the fate of your clients often is paid less than either of the lawyers in the case. We both know that the bench is not a great road to riches. But right now, my person is inviting your person to have a drink. What'll it be? Scotch?"

"Yes, Julia," I said with a smile. I turned to Stacie. "How about you, sweetheart?"

Stacie sighed deeply. "I don't usually drink the stuff, but after today, I need a big Scotch."

Julia's aide poured drinks for us. He served us and left chambers. Julia raised her glass. "To your health," she said, "especially yours, Stacie. God knows you've been through enough."

"Thank you, Your Honour," Stacie said.

"Goddam it," Julia said with a smile, "I just told Jack not to call me that. Now I have to tell you. You're the wife of one of my oldest friends. If I can call you 'Stacie, ' you can call me 'Julia.' OK?"

Stacie grinned. "OK," she said. "Thanks, Julia."

We drank in silence for a moment. Then Julia looked at me and said, "You know, Jack, there are days that I'm glad that I'm on the bench. There are other days I'd rather be anyplace else. This day has been somewhere in between."

I asked, "Why?"

"Well," she said, "I always hate hearing the sort of things I heard today. Oh, I'm no innocent, God knows. In this job, I've heard many things that I'd love to forget. But these people got away with all that crap for years. No one reported them. No one arrested them. How many more like them are there out there?"

Julia looked at Stacie. She saw the tears in her eyes. "Stacie," she said, "I understand the grief you're feeling for your mother. Believe me, I do. You love this woman much more than she deserves. You're a good person. And you have a good man here. Look to your own life. If there's anything that you can do for your mother in the future, that's another matter. For now, you have your whole life in front of you."

"Julia," I asked, "when did you find out about Stacie and me?"

"About a month ago," she said with a smile, pouring herself another Scotch, "when I was first given the case."

"Jesus," I said, "you're a hell of an actress. In court today, you seemed genuinely surprised to see me."

"Jack," Julia grinned at me, "you guys who practice law in an office don't understand what it's like in the trenches. Of course I'm a good actress. Hell, I'm a great actress. It's my job. And as for Joe, didn't you see the job that he did out there today? He'd already posted all the information that he had on Daley. If Smith had done his job, his client would have been prepared. As soon as he began his cross, it was obvious to Joe that Daley hadn't been briefed. Not that it would have made a hell of a lot of difference to me. But it would have made for less drama and taken away one of Joe's finer moments."

Stacie's sobbing overwhelmed any conversation. She was crying her heart out. "It's not a game," she sobbed, "I've always wanted to be a lawyer, but it's not a game! You're not supposed to play with people's lives. That's not what it's about."

Julia walked over to her. "Stacie," she said, stroking her hair, "you're right. It's not a game. I'm sorry if you think that we're making light of it. Our profession is like any other. We can appreciate the good work, like what Joe did today, and we can eschew the shoddy work, such as what's-his-name Smith's. Believe me, when I sentence someone to prison, I know it's not a game. That sentence takes away their freedom, their livelihood and possibly their future. I weigh every factor very carefully. I do my job. I don't play with people's lives. But I don't allow them to play with anyone else's life, either. That's why I'm here. I'm on the bench to protect the innocent. And I never forget it. I know that you'll never forget it, either. You say that you want to be a lawyer. I'm sure that you're going to be a very good one. And who knows? Maybe someday you'll join me on the bench."

"Julia, I don't think I'd want that responsibility."

"That could make you a very good judge." Julia took a drink of Scotch and looked Stacie in the eye. "I didn't want it, either. People who want to be in charge of other people's lives should never be on the bench. It's a great responsibility. Not only do you have to know the law, you have to be absolutely evenhanded. And more than just knowing and applying the law, I'd say that, in a criminal case, you have to try to put yourself in the shoes of both the victim and the defendant. But I couldn't do that today. Perhaps it's a failing on my part, but I couldn't summon any empathy for those two. I thank God when I see what a fine young woman you've turned out to be. But it's no thanks to the two I just sentenced."

After a bit more small talk, Stacie and I took our leave and went home. When we came in the door, we could smell a delicious supper. Charlotte was taking care of us, as usual.

That night, Stacie huddled next to me under the covers. I could feel her tears on my shoulder. "Darling," I said, "please don't cry. Try to get some sleep.

Stacie and I took the next week off work. Things gradually returned to normal. Stacie busied herself around the house, helping Charlotte with meals and housework. "Playing house," she called it. I reminded her that, since she was indeed the lady of the house and now owned half of it, what she was doing was hardly play.

"Oh my God," she said, "I didn't realize that until just now. I mean, I guess that I knew it if I'd taken the time to think about it." She looked at me with a very serious expression. "Does that mean that I'm rich now?"

I smiled at her. "Not rich, little love. But we're comfortable. Maybe we should sit down and talk about finances some time soon. You need to know what's going on in case anything ever happens to me."

"I don't want to even think about that. But you're right. We should talk about it. Could we do it now, before I chicken out?"

"Sure. Let's go to the library. I'll get the files from my office, and we can go over them together."

Over the next hour, we went through my finances -- our finances. I called up my broker's website on the computer and showed her the portfolio. I called Ian, my financial advisor, and made an appointment for the next week. He could tell her more about the state of our affairs than I could.

Stacie was very quiet during this session. She asked a few questions, but other than that she simply listened wide-eyed. After I'd gone over the stocks and securities, she said, "Jack, I've never thought about it until just now. You have so much money. And other things as well. How much is the house worth?"

"As far as I'm concerned, it's worth nothing until you put it on the market. But I'd guess it would sell for about a million and a half."

"Dollars?"

"No. Donuts."

"Don't make fun of me, Jack."

I kissed her. "I'm not making fun of you, precious. Just trying to make a silly joke."

Stacie was quiet again for a while. Then she asked, "I hope you don't mind my asking, but how much money do you make?" She looked at very seriously. "I'm not a gold digger, you know. I just think I should know this stuff."

I kissed her forehead. "Yeah. A gold digger would have asked all this before the wedding. Most years, I make somewhere in the neighbourhood of 500K in fees. My share of the partnership adds a couple hundred more. So on average, I guess that I gross somewhere between seven and eight hundred. Of course, a lot goes to taxes, but not nearly as much as I'd pay if I weren't self-employed."

Her eyes grew very wide. "Thousand? Eight hundred thousand dollars? I've never dreamed of that much money. It doesn't seem real." She took my hand and looked down at the table. "You say that you're not rich. Well everything I've seen this afternoon sure makes you look rich to me." Her voice became very quiet. "You must think that I'm awful. I brought nothing into this relationship. Nothing but a few cheap clothes. What did you ever see in me?"

I turned her face toward mine and looked into her eyes. "You brought me more than I can ever repay. You brought me the sunshine. Laughter. Happiness. Everything I've wanted and needed all my life. You're the only woman I'll ever love. If I can provide you with a safe haven and a refuge from the bad things in the world, it's the least I can do to repay you for all you've given me and continue to give me every day."

Stacie's beautiful eyes filled with tears. I kissed her gently. Then I smiled and said, "And you're also the best piece of ass I've ever had."

"You pig!" She punched me in the shoulder -- a bit harder than playfully. "Just a typical man. All you think about is sex."

"Damned right. So how about we go upstairs and get into the Jacuzzi?"



-------

Chapter 9

The next week two things happened on the same day. Stacie made a new friend, and we had an unexpected visit. First, the friend.

Stacie returned from a shopping expedition. I was working upstairs in the office as was often the case when Stacie was out. I heard her cheerful voice on the intercom. "Darling, come down here, please. There's someone I want you to meet. Actually two someones."

I came down the stairs. There was a baby stroller in the entry hall. Stacie called me from the living room. When I entered the room, Stacie came up to me and gave me her customary kiss. "Darling, I'd like you to meet my new friends Rachel and Esther." Seated on a chesterfield were a small woman and a toddler. The woman was dressed in a tee-shirt and jeans. Her little girl wore a crisp yellow dress. The woman rose and came to shake my hand. Stacie carried out the introductions. "Jack, this is Rachel Stewart. Rachel, this is my husband Jack." I shook Rachel's hand. She was about the same height as Stacie but a completely different build -- slighter with smallish breasts. She was very pretty, and her most striking feature was a penetrating pair of amber eyes. At a motion from Rachel, the little girl rose and offered me her hand as well. Stacie continued. "Jack, this is Esther Stewart. Esther, say hello to Jack." The child spoke so softly that I could barely hear. Presumably, she said "hello."

Stacie said, "Rachel lives just a couple of blocks away."

Rachel smiled at me. "I think you know my husband," she said.

"Perhaps I do. I know many people in the neighbourhood. What's his name?"

"Morry. Morry Stewart."

"Of course I do! I represented Morry in a case. It must have been six or seven years ago. Someone was trying to rip off one of his pieces for a TV commercial. I haven't seen him in a long time. I didn't even know that he was married, much less that he had a daughter. My gosh. Please say hello for me." I turned to Stacie. "Morry Stewart is a composer and pianist. Classical music. He's very good and, I believe, very famous."

Stacie grinned. "Rachel's a composer, too," she said. She was telling me all about her second symphony and how it's going to be premiered by the New York Philharmonic in a few weeks."

I looked at our diminutive visitor with newfound respect. "I'm sorry," I said, "I had no idea."

Rachel gave a musical laugh. "Why would you? I know that my music doesn't make headlines like the rock stars. But it's a living."

Stacie came over and took my arm. "Can we have Morry and Rachel over for supper sometime soon?"

I patted her hand. "Of course we can, darling. You and Rachel set up the date and then clear it with Charlotte."

We had a lovely visit. Rachel was charming, intelligent and witty. Esther was a perfectly behaved little girl. Almost too perfect. And she looked so much like a miniature version of her mother that it was spooky. She didn't look at all like Morry Stewart, thank God. The last time I saw Morry his red hair was thinning, and he was getting a bit jowly.

After Rachel and Esther left, Stacie went into the kitchen to help Charlotte with supper, and I went back to my office to work on my current case. But in about half an hour, the intercom buzzed. Stacie's voice said, "Jack, can you come down please? There are some detectives here."

The detectives were in the living room with Stacie and Charlotte. They introduced themselves as Sergeant Lake and Constable Squires. We all sat down. Lake said, "Mr. Charles, I wanted to wait until you were present before asking my questions." He turned to Stacie. "Mrs. Charles, what year did you and your mother come to Regent Park?"

Stacie looked at him quizzically. "I believe that it was 1994," she said.

Lake continued, "To your knowledge, did your mother know Ted Daley before you moved to Regent Park?"

Again Stacie looked puzzled. "Not as far as I know. Of course I was ten or eleven years old at the time. And my father had just died. I wasn't aware of too much other than that fact, as I recall."

"Fair enough," Lake said. He wrote in his notebook. He turned to Charlotte. And you, Mrs. Jefferson. Do you have any idea when Edward Daley and Elizabeth MacPherson first met?"

Charlotte furrowed her brow. "No," she said. "Of course I didn't meet either of them until they came to the Park. As I recall, Daley had been living there for some time before the MacPhersons came. All I can remember is that they seemed to get together fairly soon after Liz and Stacie moved in. But it was always a strange relationship. Ted would move out, and Liz would take up with somebody else for a while. But he always came back. Just like a bad penny."

I spoke up. "Detective, what's all this about?"

"Mr. Charles, we have reason to believe that John MacPherson's death was not a suicide. And we have evidence implicating Ted Daley. We're trying to ascertain whether or not it was a conspiracy between Elizabeth MacPherson and Daley or whether he acted alone."

Stacie looked as though she were about to faint. "Oh God no! Mum wouldn't have done anything like that. She loved Daddy. I know she did."

Lake paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "But we have evidence indicating that your mother and Ted Daley were romantically involved before your father's death."

I said, "Are you trying to say that Ted Daley and Liz MacPherson killed her husband? What on earth for?"

"Half a million dollars in insurance money is a pretty good motive."

I was puzzled. "But why would they make his death look like a suicide? They must have known that the insurance wouldn't pay if he took his own life. Certainly not on such a new policy. I understand he'd taken it out only a few months before his death."

Lake gave a solemn little grin. "I think that you may be giving them too much credit, Mr. Charles. Especially Daley. He's a slimy piece of work but not the sharpest pencil in the box." He turned back to Stacie. "So, Mrs. Charles, am I to understand that you have no memory of seeing Mr. Daley before you moved to Regent Park?"

Stacie shook her head. "No," she said, "I don't recall seeing him before that. But as I said, my memory of those days is not all that clear. Except for my father's death. And his funeral." Suddenly, she looked astonished. "Yes," she said, "at my dad's funeral. There was this guy who was talking to Mum. I remember him because he patted me on the head, and I didn't like it. He had big bushy sideburns then. But it could have been Ted Daley."

Sergeant Lake put a picture on the coffee table. It appeared to be an old mug shot. "Is this what he looked like?"

Stacie picked it up and looked at it carefully. "Yes," she said hesitantly. "I think so." She closed her eyes and then looked at the picture again. "Yes. That was him."

Lake and Squires rose from their chairs. "Mr. and Mrs. Charles, Mrs. Jefferson, thank you so much for your time. It's much appreciated. I'm sure that it's not necessary, but I have to ask you not to discuss this visit with anyone."

I showed the detectives out. When I returned to the living room, Stacie wasn't there. I went into the kitchen and asked Charlotte where Stacie was. "She's gone upstairs, poor lamb," she said.

I went upstairs. There was Stacie in the library. She was checking her calendar. I said, "Darling, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find a good date to have the Stewarts to dinner," she said.

I went to her side. I put my arm around her and held her to me. She looked up at me with a defiant look and tears in her eyes. "I will not, I will not, let this thing rule my life. My life is going to be my own. I'll make it be what I want it to be. Ted and Mum can rot in hell for whatever they've done. I refuse to worry, and I refuse to be involved."

Stacie collapsed against me in tears. I held her tightly. "I know, my love. My dear little girl. This is your home. You're here and you're with people who love you. I love you more than life. Charlotte loves you as though you were her own daughter. You're right. This thing shouldn't run your life. You have a wonderful life to live. Go ahead and make the arrangements for your dinner party. Maybe we can make a real party of it. Let's invite Mack and Jane McHenry. And maybe Mike and Ayesha. And whoever else you'd like. Let's have a great time and try to forget all this stuff. After all, maybe it will come to nothing."

Over the next week, Stacie and Charlotte made the arrangements for the dinner party. In Charlotte's typical fashion, the menu was quite elaborate. Since Ayesha was coming, pork was definitely off that menu. Though she was not entirely halal, she was an observant Muslim, so of course pork and alcohol were right out. Unfortunately, that meant that Charlotte couldn't make her favourite cardinal sauce as a topping for her magnificent chocolate cake. It contained Grand Marnier, and Charlotte was unwilling to compromise in that matter.

During that week. Stacie never spoke of her mother or her mother's boyfriend. Not once. She seemed to take refuge. She took refuge in the preparations for the party, in her preparations for her entrance to university and in me. If anything, she was even more loving to me than ever, if that were possible. We made love repeatedly at every opportunity. I enjoyed our time together, but I knew that our love making was a refuge for Stacie.

The evening came. Stacie looked radiant, even queenly in her beautiful new silk dress and her diamond and pearl earrings and necklace. She welcomed our guests as they arrived and showed them into the study, where I was waiting with drinks at the ready.

First to arrive were Morry and Rachel Stewart. Rachel and Stacie hugged and began chattering away. Rachel chose to stay with Stacie at the door, while Morry accompanied me to the study. He said, "I say, Jack, that wife of yours is an exceptional girl. She's lovely and very gracious, and I've never seen Rachel take to someone so immediately. You're a lucky old fart, you know."

I handed Morry his tipple, a large Laphroaig single malt and smiled at him. "We're both lucky old farts, don't you think?"

Morry smiled. "I'll drink to that."

"You'll drink to almost anything, if my memory serves."

"Ah, Jack. I've turned over a new leaf. Married now, you know. Daughter and all. I'm a responsible individual for the first time in my life."

I couldn't help but smile. The trace of an English accent in Morry's speech had seemed an affectation when I first met him. Later, I'd discovered that he'd been born in England and raised by English parents in London, Ontario, a bastion of pseudo-English culture. We sat in front of the fireplace and sipped our drinks. "Morry, some day you have to explain to me what it's like to be an artist. I love music, theatre, painting -- all the high arts. I've represented you guys and fought for you, but I don't think I've ever understood you."

"Jack," Morry twinkled, "that makes two of us."

I heard more guests arriving. I excused myself and went to greet them. Mack and Jane had arrived, followed immediately by Mike and Ayesha. The two couples knew each other, having met several times, most recently at our wedding. So introductions were unnecessary. Stacie introduced them to Rachel, and I showed the new arrivals into the study. I introduced them to Morry. He was being his usual charming self, especially to the ladies. I smiled, reflecting on the fact that Morry had, in his time, been a legendary cuntsman. I'd heard it said that he could charm the pants off a nun. He might be settled down, but old habits die hard.

Larissa arrived. I rather assumed that completed the guest list. But I'd not been part of the planning for this party. So I was a bit surprised to see Latoya arriving. I was even more surprised by her companion: Frank Morely. Frank was the articling student whose disparaging remarks about Stacie I'd overheard earlier in the summer. I would not have invited him myself. In fact, I would rather not have him in my house. But it wasn't my house any more. It was our house. Stacie had invited Latoya, and Frank was obviously her date. So I welcomed him and invited the pair to join us in the study.

Charlotte had hired a pair of servers for the party. They brought in trays of hors d'oeuvres and circulated them about the room. All told, we'd be twelve at table. That was a larger group than I'd expected. However, I could see the advantages. It would be easier to keep conversation going with this many people. And the room was buzzing. The guests seemed to have divided themselves into groups, largely according to age, I noted. Finally I was able to have a word alone with Stacie.

"Darling, what gives with Latoya and that snake Morely?"

"Oh dear. Is he a snake? I hope not. Toy has had her fill of reptiles. All I know is that they've been dating almost from the time that she began working at Mack and Jack. They seem to get along very well, don't you think?"

I nearly told Stacie about Frank calling her my "little tighty" and lusting after her "fun bags," but I bit my tongue. Instead I said, "I have a bad feeling about the guy. I don't trust him. Let's just say that I don't think it would be past him to curry favour by dating one of the boss's wife's best friends."

At that point, Charlotte called us to supper. She'd put place cards on the table. I noticed that the seating arrangement mixed couples quite nicely. The two single women, Charlotte and Larissa, were seated together. They chatted almost nonstop. I was glad to see them getting on so well. I was also fascinated by the dynamic between Rachel Stewart and Latoya. They were an interesting pair. Rachel was petite -- tiny, almost -- while Latoya was tall and buxom.

Supper progressed to its inevitable end. We finished our deserts and adjourned to the study for coffee, brandy and liqueurs. Morry, as I'd hoped he would, gravitated to the piano. It was a seven-foot Steinway grand. It wasn't new by any means. It had been my piano when I was a kid. In those days, I was semiserious about piano lessons, and my parents wanted me to have a decent piano to play. Although I rarely played any more, I was careful to keep the Steinway in good nick. It was tuned and adjusted periodically. Morry lifted the keyboard cover and softly ran a scale the length of the keyboard. "Nice piano, this," he said.

"Morry," I said, "I hate to impose, but it would be a shame to have one of the finest pianists in the world here and not hear him play."

"Oh yes," Mack said, "it would be a great treat."

Rachel stood on tiptoe to kiss Morry, who, even though bent over the keyboard, still towered over her. She said, "Would you mind, darling?"

"Well," Morry said, "since Mrs. Jefferson prepared us such a wonderful repast, I shouldn't object to singing for my supper, so to speak. That is if no one has any objection."

It was obvious that no one did. Morry sat at the keyboard, adjusted the chair and ran a few more scales to get the feeling of the instrument. Then he began to play.

He started with a piece that I knew. It was one of Rachmaninoff's Etudes Tableaux. I'd played it as a student. More accurately, I'd played at it. Morry's rendition was spellbinding. I couldn't believe the sublety and wonderful tone colours.

After that, he played a piece of Debussy and then a piece that I didn't know. To my ear it was quite modern but not objectionable. When he finished it, I asked "Morry, what was that you just played?"

He smiled. "It was a little piece by my dear friend Jimmy Jimson. He wrote it for me years ago, and I play it frequently."

Mack asked, "Could you play something of your own?"

Morry said, "I'll do better than that. This is by someone who now shares my surname but who is a much better composer than I am. This is the second movement of her First Piano Sonata."

It began quietly. So quietly that people leaned forward to hear it. Then it built in volume and complexity. Somewhere along the way, a gorgeous melody began to appear. It soared until it seemed no longer earthbound. Just as it became nearly overwhelming, it suddenly stopped. The quiet beginning returned. Gradually, the piece ended in inaudibility. When Morry stopped playing, the room was absolutely silent for at least a minute. Then people began to applaud. Wildly.

Morry stood and walked over to Rachel. He took her hand and lifted her to her feet. "This is the person you should applaud," he said, "for it's her music you've just heard. It's a finer thing than I have ever written. When she wrote that, Rachel was fifteen years old. I'm honoured to say that it's dedicated to me."

Once again there was stunned silence. Then again wild applause burst forth. Although I knew that only ten people were applauding, it sounded like a large crowd.



-------

Chapter 10

The friendship between Stacie and Rachel continued to develop. Over the next few weeks, they seemed inseparable. It wasn't unusual for me to come home and find Rachel and Stacie having tea on the deck while Esther played in the garden. I was happy that Stacie had someone who could take her mind off the her mother and the slimy Ted.

One evening after supper, Stacie said, "Jack, I want you to know that I've shared a lot of things with Rachel. She knows about Ted and my mum. And about the investigation."

"I'm sure that you can trust her discretion," I replied.

"Yes, " she said, "we've become great friends, Rachel and I." She paused for a moment. "In fact, they've invited us to supper next Wednesday."

I asked, "Wednesday?"

Rachel sighed. She said, "Yes. Rachel said that Wednesday was the best day for them. But they're willing to wait a few weeks."

I was amused. I asked, "Why Wednesday?"

Stacie laughed. "Yeah," she said, "I asked her about that. She said that 'hump day' is the high end of the hump for working slaves and the low end for freelancers."

"Explain, please," I said.

Stacie grinned at me. "Just think of an average office," she said. "Most problems come up during the work week. They have to be dealt with right now." She smirked at me. "They build right up to Friday, when you finally collapse."

I could understand that. "I'm following you so far."

"Whereas," Stacie continued, "freelancers have an entirely different rhythm to their lives. Think about it. You get people calling you for gigs first thing Monday morning. People who're worried about the projects they've given you call on Friday. Wednesday is a down day." She smiled up at me. "Did you know that?"

"No," I said, "and I should have. I represent a lot of artists, most of whom are freelancers. I wish someone had told me this a long time ago. Think about it. If you knew your client's working rhythm, you'd schedule meetings and hearings for her or his convenience. It would make a big difference in the way you represented them."

Stacie laughed her musical laugh. "Well, that's a topic for discussion. Right now, I need a decision. Supper. Next Wednesday. The Stewarts'."

I thought about my calendar. I couldn't recall anything in the evening next week. "I can do it," I said.

Stacie laughed. "I sense your enthusiasm."

I smiled. "Sorry. I'll try to stay with the programme. I know that Rachel is very sweet and that Morry is charming, but..."

"But they're just not your sort of people."

I thought for a minute. I looked into Stacie's eyes, and I said, "That's true. I'm not at all like them. I told Morry the other night that I didn't understand artists. Maybe he thought I was joking. I wasn't. And these are people I represent. You figured them out right away. I've been working with artists for years and didn't have a clue."

Stacie laughed. She took me in her arms, cuddled me and said, "Jack, you're being silly. Remember, I grew up in Regent Park. A lot of people there don't have a regular job. They work when they can, like freelance artists. It's a similarity between artists and the poor: there are few fixed routines."

I laughed in turn. "Yeah, but most of the people I represent are making six figures or more. They're hardly poor or homeless."

She laughed. "Yeah, but they're cut from the same cloth."

I smiled at my darling and laughed. "Are you saying that my clients are high-class bums? I mean bums that can pay my fees. With the rates that I charge, they'd have to be very high-class bums."

Stacie wasn't laughing any more. She looked downcast. "If you thought people from Regent Park were 'bums, ' why did you marry me?"

I had no answer for a few minutes. Then I took her head in my hands and raised it until her lovely face was looking into mine. "I married you because I love you. And because you were stupid enough to say, 'yes.' You, my beautiful wife, are a genius." Stacie looked incredulous. "Really, darling mine. I've wondered about the 'artistic mind.' I even have some research up there," I pointed to my office, "that says exactly what you've just said. Artists are unpredictable and predictable at the same time. But we're all cut from the same cloth. We all want to make everything come together. It all depends on schedules. Some artists, like Morry and Rachel, can more or less predict their schedules. Others cannot. We just have to use different criteria."

"Yes. But understanding that doesn't make me a genius. I just have a different background than you do." She brightened. "So we're on for Wednesday, then?"

"Yes, love. We are."

The days flew by. Suddenly it was Tuesday. Stacie called Rachel to ask what we should bring. She was told that an appetite and a thirst were there only necessities. But upon being pressed, Rachel agreed that a nice wine wouldn't be out of place. Morry was barbecuing, and red was the appropriate colour. I suggested that we should choose a couple of appropriate bottles from my cellar, but Stacie insisted that we make a special trip to the Vintages wine store. She insisted that she wouldn't feel right unless she'd made a special effort. I gave in, and we went to the store. The supper invitation had included Charlotte as well, so Stacie insisted that she join us on our shopping expedition. Stacie got the attention of a wine consultant. An hour later, we left the store with the chosen bottles. Three of them. On average, twenty minutes per bottle. I'd bought cases in less time.

On Wednesday, Stacie went through a stack of clothes. She tried them on and asked my opinion. I always said that she looked terrific, which she did. It continued for what seemed an interminable time. I thought surely she'd gone through everything in her wardrobe. Not so. The experience continued. She wanted to look casual, but, as she said, "not too casual." Time after time, she asked my opinion. Finally, she said in exasperation, "Jack, I'm your wife. I want you to be proud of me."

"Sweetheart, I am proud of you. No matter what you wear. All those clothes look terrific. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have some work to do."

As I made my escape to my office, Charlotte whispered, "Coward." She was now Stacie's target, poor thing.

The Stewarts' house was only a couple of blocks from ours. We were to arrive at 6:00. I planned to change just before leaving. But at 5:00, Stacie burst into my office. "Come on, Jack," she said, we can't be late."

I laughed. "Baby girl, it will take us at most five minutes to walk to the Stewarts. It will take me about another five minutes to change. I doubt that we're in any danger of being late. Come here and let me look at you."

And look I did. Stare, rather. Stacie looked incredible. She was wearing a pair of jeans that left her gender in no doubt, a brightly-patterned silk blouse, and a red scarf with shoes to match. The overall effect was, as she'd intended, casual elegance. I pulled her to me and kissed her.

"Be careful," she said, "you'll smear my makeup."

I kissed her once again. "I reserve the right, madame, to smear that makeup later. In fact, I may lick it off."

Stacie gave me a mock punch. "Pig," she said, "you men are only interested in one thing."

"Actually, I can think of several things of interest," I said, "and, if memory serves, you have them all."

"Seriously, Jack, please get ready."

"Stacie, don't be so nervous. These are our friends. Even if we were a few minutes late, I'm sure they'd forgive us." But I meekly followed her to the bedroom. Once there, I put on a pair of slacks, a casual shirt and a pair of loafers. I was ready. According to my watch, it had taken less than five minutes. Guys are like that.

We headed downstairs. Charlotte met us in the living room. She was wearing a very nice summer frock. I noted that she wasn't one of those heavy women who try unsuccessfully to conceal the shape of their bodies. She looked good, and I told her so.

Stacie zipped in from the kitchen. She was carrying a bag and a large bouquet of flowers. She handed the flowers to Charlotte and the bag of wine to me. She looked around one last time and pronounced us ready to go. Charlotte and I waited dutifully on the porch while Stacie set the alarm and locked the door.

As predicted, it took us only a couple of minutes to walk to the Stewarts' house. We were a few minutes early, so Stacie insisted that we walk to the park and back. It wouldn't do to arrive early.

At last, I rang the bell. The door opened to reveal a tiny Filipino woman and an even tinier girl. Esther shrieked, "Mummy, Mummy! Auntie Stacie's here!" She launched herself into Stacie's arms. Stacie kissed her and handed her to the little woman.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "she's been excited all day waiting for you to come."

I raised my eyebrows at Stacie. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "this is Magda. Magda, Jack and Charlotte."

Now that the introductions were made, we followed Esther into the house. Rachel met us in the living room. She was wiping her hands. She'd obviously been cooking. "Hi, folks," she said, "Morry's on the deck. Oh, here he comes."

Morry came in, somewhat flushed and smelling of smoke. "Jack, old boy." He shook my hand vigorously. "Stacie, you look lovely as ever." He kissed her cheek. "Mrs. Jefferson, welcome to our humble abode."

Esther broke into our circle. "Mummy, Daddy. You promised I could play."

Morry went down on one knee and bent over, more or less to Esther's eye level. "But darling," he said, "our guests have just arrived. We don't want to be impolite, do we?"

"No, Daddy," she replied seriously.

"I'll get them a drink, and then you can play. OK?"

Morry was as good as his word, and we three soon had drinks in our hands. We accompanied Rachel and Morry into the kitchen. Rachel made appropriate sounds about the flowers, while Morry was quite appreciative of the wine. I explained that Stacie had chosen it. She proceeded to tell him about the features of each bottle while Morry looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. "I had no idea," he said, "that you were such a wine connoisseur. Perhaps after supper I can show you my cellar." Morry looked down. Esther was tugging at his trouser leg.

"Daddy, everybody's drinking," she said, "can I play now?"

Morry sighed. "Yes, my love." He turned to us. "I'm afraid there's no escape," he said, "she's determined to play the piano for you. We'd best come along, or they'll be no peace."

We followed the little girl down the stairs into the basement and to what was obviously Morry's studio. It was a gorgeous room with comfortable leather furniture and a large computer facility with a very impressive looking audio system. But the centrepiece was an enormous piano. It was not only large, it looked larger because of its glossy black finish. On the side, it said "Bösendorfer" in large golden gothic letters. I stared at Morry. "I don't think I've ever seen one of these in the flesh," I said.

"Well," he said, "it's a recent acquisition. And it's a big monster, all right. It has nine more notes in the bass than any other piano. Ninety-seven notes on the keyboard. Cost a fortune, of course. I'd not have been so profligate, but Rachel insisted."

Stacie looked at me questioningly. I was about to reply, but Esther was clambering onto the piano bench, and Morry was raising it to its highest level so that she could reach the keyboard. Esther reached the summit of the chair and turned to us. "This is my latest piece," she said, "it's called 'Edward and Cooper.'"

"They're her bears," Rachel explained.

Esther turned to the keyboard. She put her hands on the keys. She frowned for a moment. I almost laughed. It was the exact expression that Morry wore before beginning to play. Then Esther started to play.

I don't know what I expected. Perhaps the usual incoherent banging on the keys that most children produce when they "play" the piano. That was not what we heard. Instead, we heard what sounded to me like a finished piece of music. And very well-played. It began with a galumphing sort of theme. That was followed by a gentle tune. At the end, the two combined together.

As she finished, we were quiet for a moment. Then of course, we applauded as she clambered down from the bench and gravely bowed. After her bow, Esther climbed into Stacie's lap. She asked, "Did you like it, Auntie Stacie?"

"Yes, sweetheart. It was beautiful," Stacie said, as she kissed Esther's forehead.

Magda picked Esther from Stacie's lap. "All right, Esther. You've had your concert. It's time for bed. Say good night to everyone."

"Yes, Mummy Magda. Goodnight, everyone."

As Magda carried the tired but triumphant Esther upstairs, I turned to Morry. "Jesus," was all I could say.

Morry took a swig of his Scotch. "Yes," he said, "it's quite frightening. She's never had a formal lesson of any sort. She learned to read by looking at the books as they were read to her. And she learned to read music by looking over our shoulders, Rachel's and mine, while we composed. I remember the day that she went to the piano and played the notes I'd just written. I asked her how she did that. Her answer was, 'Oh Daddy, don't be silly. You know how.'"

"Christ. She's a genius."

"I fear you may be right. Of course, her mother is a genius. I guess that her genes are strong enough to overcome mine."

"Bullshit," Rachel said. "That kid shows signs of becoming ten times the pianist I could ever be. That comes from her dad." She gestured toward the door. "But you came for a meal, not a preschool concert. Now let's go upstairs and eat."

And eat we did. Drink as well. Morry certainly didn't stint on either edibles or potables. The steaks were done to perfection, as were the side dishes. Morry was properly appreciative of Stacie's wines, praising their attributes astutely. I was at once amused and a little miffed to see my wife eating out of his hand, so to speak. As I may have said before, I could appreciate the technique of the consummate cuntsman, just as long as he didn't take it too far.

After Stacie's wines were consumed, several more bottles were opened. Charlotte and Magda kept up their end on the wine front. They were soon engaged in a long conversation about the finer points of cuisine. The main topic seemed to be the differences between Filipino and Maritime Canadian treatments of seafood.

I accompanied Morry out to the deck. While he cleaned his barbecue, I enjoyed the beautiful view of the garden. It looked like a miniature Versailles, with the reflecting pools and fountains. "It's gorgeous," I said.

Morry grinned. "Can't take any credit, old chap," he said, "Bought it more or less just like this. Garden design isn't my forte."

I took a drink, still looking into the pools and fountains. "Speaking of forte," I said, "what about Esther? It must be a huge responsibility having a child like that."

Morry clapped me on the back. "Old boy," he said, "I'm used to it. Don't forget that I have a wife who's twice as talented as I am and much less than half my age. So I have one more female genius in the household. At least I have experience in raising them." He looked at my glass. "Now, old chap, your glass is empty. Since you're not driving, I assume that I can twist your rubber arm to take another bit of single malt."

After an evening of astonishment and wonderful hospitality, Stacie, Charlotte and I wandered home. Charlotte hiccoughed a bit as she bid us good night and headed down to her bed. Stacie and I went up to ours.

When we arrived in our bedroom, I made good on my earlier threat. I not only licked off Stacie's makeup, I treated every part of her the same way. After she'd had several astonishing orgasms, I finally relented and let her relax while I got myself a little nightcap of single malt.

"Christ," she said, "what brought that on?"

I sat on the bed and took her on my lap. "Little minx," I said, you've been teasing me all day. I watched you getting dressed and undressed. Then, I was told, 'look but don't touch." This is my time to both look and touch. You, my darling wife, are about to be royally fucked."

The next morning, I was grateful that I hadn't scheduled any meetings at the office. The combination of food, beverage and amazing sex mitigated against my coherency. About 10:00, Stacie and I awoke to the tantalizing smell of one of Charlotte's gourmet breakfasts. We put on our robes and wandered downstairs, moaning and yawning.

After we'd eaten our fill and were relaxing over coffee, Stacie said, "Jack, I have something really important to talk about."

"Talk away."

"I've been thinking a lot about my dad's death. Especially after the police were here."

I put my arms around her. "I'm sure that you have, little love. How could you not think about it?"

"You're right. But the important thing is that I've realized that there's something very odd. The other day I realized that I can't remember the day my dad died. I can remember things that happened before and afterward, but not that day. Why do you think that is?"

"Darling, I'm a lawyer, not a shrink. I really don't know. Perhaps we should talk to an expert. I know an excellent clinical psychologist. I represented her in a plagiarism case. Someone had copied parts of one of her books and passed it off as his own work. If you'd like, I can certainly call her and ask what she'd suggest."

The next day, I called the psychologist, Dr. Styles. She asked to talk to Stacie, so I put her on the phone. The two of them talked for some time. In a while, Stacie came into the office. She sat down and looked at me with a very serious expression. She said, "Dr. Styles wants to see me next week."

"Good. Does she think she can help you?"

"She says that it might take a long time. She said that we might even try hypnotism. She asked me to think about it and to talk it over with you. She has a colleague who's an expert." Stacie looked down at her hands. "I'm scared."

"What are you afraid of? It sounds like a good idea to me."

"But what if I remember something really horrible? Dr. Styles said that she suspects the reason I can't remember is because I've suppressed the memory. If it's that bad, I'm not sure that I want to know."

I took her hand, pulled her to me and lifted her onto my lap. "Little love," I said, "I think it's important that we get to the bottom of this. Make an appointment with Dr. Styles. If she recommends hypnotism, let's consider it. But whatever she recommends, it's important to end this uncertainty."

"I know you're right, Jack. But I'm scared. I've never been so scared."

"Don't be afraid, little love. I'll be with you. Call Dr. Styles and make that appointment."

Stacie burrowed into my shoulder. "OK, Jack," she said in a small, muffled voice, "if you think we should. But you have to be there. Please."

"I'll be there, and if Dr. Styles recommends hypnotism, I'll be at those sessions as well. I'll be there the whole time."

At the appointed hour, Stacie and I were at Dr. Styles' office. The receptionist called the doctor. Dr. Styles came out and personally welcomed us in to her office. There followed an intensive, but not intrusive, interview. I admired Dr. Styles' ability to extract information without being oppressive. She'd have made a great trial lawyer. At the end of the session, Dr. Styles called for coffee. She showed us into a less formal room down the hall. We sat in easy chairs and drank our coffee. Dr. Styles took Stacie's hand.

"Stacie," she said, "I mentioned hypnotism when you first called me. I'm sure now that my instincts were correct. I can probably help you through more conventional methods, but it may take a long time. A very long time. I'd like you to see a friend of mine who is an expert in hypnotherapy. I'm almost certain that he can help you. Will you consider it?"

That evening, Stacie, Charlotte and I discussed the hypnotism option. Charlotte held Stacie's hand and said, "Child, I know you're frightened of this, but it's not as frightening as not doing it. As never knowing what happened that day. That's my advice, and I'm sure Jack feels the same." I nodded. "We'll support you, but it's your decision."

In the end, Stacie decided to see the hypnotherapist. She was still afraid. "Jack," she said, "you'll be with me, won't you?"

"Of course I will, baby girl. I'll be there. And I hesitate to mention this, but I think that we should also have the police present. You may recall things that they need to know."

"But I thought that all this was confidential. I mean, it's like a medical record, isn't it?"

"That's a common misconception. It comes from Canadians watching too many American crime shows on TV." I smiled at her and hugged her. "If you're going to be a lawyer, you'll have to ignore those things. In Canada, the courts can subpoena medical records. In this case, we know the police are already investigating. As an officer of the court, it would be most irresponsible for me not to let them know what's happening. But since I'm your husband, I shouldn't represent you. I'd suggest that we call Jeff Richards. You're already his client, and I'm sure he'd be happy to act for us. In fact, it would be best if he were at the session."

Stacie looked distressed. "I don't know, Jack. Having Jeff and the police there. That's a lot of people. I don't know what's going to happen, and they'll hear everything."

"Believe me, it's for the best. And you can trust Jeff to look after our interests. Think of him as a security blanket."

Stacie finally smiled. "OK, but Jeff is bald. He'd make a really silly looking blanket."

That night, after Stacie was asleep, I went down to the kitchen. I felt the need of a hot milk. I wasn't too surprised to find Charlotte there having a cup of her herbal tea.

I sat down and looked at her. "Charlotte," I said, "sometimes I feel as though you and I are Stacie's parents."

Charlotte's generous laugh echoed through the kitchen. "Jack, there's some truth there. But there's a lot more. I've looked after this girl for ten years now. But now she's your responsibility. I'll help. Lord knows I'll help all I can. But she belongs to you. And I'm gonna talk to you now, not as employee and employer. Not even as friends. I want to warn you. If you don't take care of that little girl..."

I took her hand. "Charlotte, you didn't have to say that."

"I kind of knew. But I just had to say it anyway. Be good to that little girl. Do you hear me?"

The next afternoon, I called Jeff Richards. I told him what was likely to happen. Jeff agreed to act for us, as I knew he would. He agreed that we should involve the police. They'd be involved sooner or later anyway. He asked that the shrink give him a call as soon as the session was booked.

Jeff, in turn, called Sergeant Lake, the detective who'd come to our house. Then he called me back with the news that Lake wanted to bring a recorder and a stenographer. I was beginning to bridle a bit. The size of the audience for this session seemed to be getting out of hand. Stacie was, after all, already dreading it. With all these people, it might seem to her like a public execution. Jeff understood my objection, but he made the point that, given the seriousness of the case, utmost care should be taken that any evidence given would be admissible in court. I had to agree.

Dr. Styles put us in touch with Dr. Woodrow, the hypnotism expert. The big day arrived all too soon. Dr. Woodrow's office was in Richmond Hill, a suburb of Toronto. The drive took nearly forty minutes. Stacie was quiet the entire time. She stared out the window and squeezed my hand. We arrived at the medical building and took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. Jeff Richards and the police were there ahead of us. Sergeant Lake was accompanied by two colleagues. The receptionist announced to Dr. Woodrow that we we'd arrived. He came into the waiting room. He was a large, heavyset man with a cherubic face. I couldn't help thinking what a great Santa he'd make. His manner was informal and friendly. I reflected that putting people at their ease was a definite asset in his line of work.

Dr. Woodrow insisted that only Stacie and I be in his office until she was, as he put it, "ready to begin the questions." He also made sure that we knew to keep silent. Only the doctor would be allowed to speak to Stacie. He would accept written questions from her lawyer or the police, but he would ask them himself.

Stacie and I followed Woodrow into his inner sanctum. It wasn't at all like the stereotypical shrink's office: a dark chamber with an ominous leather couch. It was a brightly-decorated room furnished with comfortable chairs as well as several tables. Woodrow sat us side by side in comfy reclining chairs and busied himself with making tea. He gave us each a cup. "Mrs. Charles," he said, "may I call you Stacie?"

She smiled. "Please do," she said, "I'm still getting used to being called Mrs. Charles."

Woodrow smiled at her and pressed her hand. "I understand that you're nervous, Stacie. But everything will go well. I promise. I haven't lost a client all day." She grinned at that, and he went on. "I can offer you a mild sedative. Nothing that will knock you out. Just a little pill that will help you to relax."

I was perplexed by this. "Dr. Woodrow," I said, "I understood that you were a psychologist. I thought that only medical doctors could prescribe drugs."

"Mr. Charles, I thought you knew. I am a medical doctor. I'm a psychiatrist, and I also have a Ph. D. in psychology. Believe me, everything that happens in this office is perfectly legal."

"Please, doctor," Stacie said, "I'd appreciate a sedative, if you don't mind."

Woodrow gave her a very small pill and a glass of water. Stacie swallowed the pill. She asked, "How long before it takes effect?"

Woodrow smiled. "It will take effect gradually. It's nothing drastic. It's more of a gentle nudge than a push. As I said, it will just relax you a bit, not knock you out. We need you to be conscious, after all."

He continued chatting with us, making small talk. He was an expert at putting people at ease. I thought that he could have been a very successful salesman.

As Woodrow talked, he gradually spent more time with Stacie than with me. He spoke gently and slowly to her. There was none of the stage-show histrionics of the hypnotist, but I could see Stacie relaxing more and more. Finally, he asked her, "Stacie, are you asleep?"

"Yes," she said.

"But you can still hear me and can talk to me, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Just rest for a few minutes." Woodrow pushed a button on his desk. In a minute, the office door opened. Jeff and the police came in. Woodrow signaled for silence and gestured them toward chairs on the opposite side of the room from Stacie.

When everyone was situated, he began his questioning.

"Stacie, can you hear me?"

"Yes," she answered.

"You're completely relaxed. Let's go on a little journey. You're on your honeymoon now. Where are you?"

"We're in Paris at the Ritz hotel. Everything is so grand it takes my breath away. And all the people call me 'Madame Charles.' I guess that's me now, but it will take a long time to get used to it."

"Let's go back a few days. It's the morning of your wedding day. What's happening?"

Stacie beamed. "I'm so happy! I've never been so happy. Everything is going to be perfect. I just know it. Aunt Charlotte is helping me get dressed. I have the most beautiful dress in the world. Even a tiara and a veil. But there's one thing I'm worried about."

"What's that?"

"Jack is really nervous. He told me that he's scared he'll do something silly in front of all those people." I found myself blushing. This was getting a little too personal. Stacie smiled. "But I know he'll be OK. Father Costello won't let anything happen to him."

Woodrow grinned at my discomfort. He continued. He gradually took Stacie back in time. Then, he said, "Let's go back further. It's the morning of the day you met Jack. What's happening?"

Stacie became very serious. "Ted and Mum are fighting, and they're both yelling at me. I need to get out of the house. There's a meeting of my soccer club at the Boys' and Girls' Club. I'm going to it. Maybe by the time I get back, things will be better."

"It's after the meeting now."

"Yeah. I'm outside the club talking to some of my soccer pals. A big black Mercedes pulls up in front of the corner store. We go over to take a look at it. It's really beautiful."

"Who's driving it?"

"It's a man. A tall, handsome man." I had the grace to blush as Stacie continued. "He's gone into the store. While we're looking at the car, he comes out and puts some packages in the trunk. I tell him that he has a really nice car. We start talking."

"Describe this man."

Stacie beamed. "He's so handsome. And he's so nice. He has such lovely manners. His name is Jack, and he's a lawyer."

"What do you talk about?"

"He takes me to lunch. And we talk about all sorts of things. I tell him that I want to be a lawyer. He doesn't laugh at me. He takes me seriously. Then we go for a drive and walk along the beach. Out of the blue he offers me a job. It's like a sign from God. I've been wondering how I'd get enough money to go to university. And here's this wonderful man making it possible." She paused for a moment. She continued very quietly. "That night, I have trouble sleeping. I can't stop thinking about Jack. I think I'm in love with him."

Woodrow gently continued to take Stacie back in time. At last, he said, "Let's go back to 1994. It's June. The middle of June. How do you feel?"

Stacie smiled. "I'm so excited," she said, "My birthday is coming soon. And Daddy has promised me a new bike. A red one. With ten speeds."

Woodrow continued. "Now it's the 27th of June."

Stacie said in wonder, "Oh it's beautiful. Daddy got me the one with the sparkly paint. It's exactly the bike I wanted. He's the best daddy in the world. And I'm going to have a party with all my friends. We're going to Bluffer's Park!"

Woodrow gradually took Stacie through the party. Then he said, "Now it's August. It's the second week of August. What's happening now?"

Stacie's face clouded over. "Mummy and Daddy have been fighting. I don't know why, but they're both all upset. I heard them yelling at each other last night after I went to bed. I wish they'd be nice to each other again. But today Daddy said that he wants us to have one more picnic before school starts. So we're going to Bluffer's Park next week."

"You seem to go there a lot. Do you like Bluffers' Park?"

"Oh yeah! It's great! I love the lookouts. You're right up on top of the Scarborough Bluffs, and you can see all over Lake Ontario. It's beautiful. But it's scary, too. Because it's so far down. I'm not allowed very close to the edge of the cliff."

"Now it's the day of the picnic. You're in Bluffer's Park. What's happening?"

"Daddy brought along his little hibachi grill. He's cooking hot-dogs and hamburgers. They smell really good. And I'm hungry." She paused, becoming more serious. "But Mummy and Daddy are still fighting. I want them to quit fighting. I don't want to hear them fighting. So while Daddy's cooking, I take a walk." She paused and then continued. "There's this man in the parking lot. He's looking at our car. He's a really strange man with lots of hair. He looks kind of scary."

Stacie paused and then went on, speaking rapidly. "Daddy's calling me, so I go back up the hill. Mummy's not there. Daddy wants me to go to the car and get his special sauce out of the trunk. He gives me the keys. I go to the parking lot and get the sauce. On the way back, I hear something weird. It's coming from behind some trees. I go around the trees and look. It's Mummy. She's bent over a picnic table. Her jeans are pulled down. And the scary man is pushing against her. Mummy is making really funny noises. I'm scared. I run back up and get Daddy. Oh no, this is terrible!"

Dr. Woodrow stroked her hand gently. "Relax, Stacie. Nothing can hurt you. Just tell us what you see."

Stacie sobbed. "Daddy and the scary man are pushing each other. Mummy is screaming. Daddy grabs the man and pushes him away from Mummy. They're yelling at each other. Mummy is following them. She's crying and screaming. It's terrible. I follow them. They get to the top of the hill. Daddy and the man are still fighting. The man starts pulling Daddy. They're getting really close to the edge of the cliff. I'm really scared. All of a sudden I can't see Daddy any more. Where's Daddy?"

Dr. Woodrow spoke calmly to Stacie. "Remember, nothing can hurt you. You're safe. What happens next?"

Stacie said, "The other man comes back to Mummy. They talk really fast for a while. I go to the edge. Daddy isn't there. I don't know where he is. Mummy comes to me and tells me that Daddy fell and that she has to call the police." Stacie stopped and breathed heavily for a moment. She screamed, "Daddy! Daddy! What happened to Daddy!"



-------

Chapter 11

Several months later, we were entertaining Jeff and Shari Richards. As usual, Charlotte had prepared a sumptuous feast. As we sat down to table, Jeff said, "This household is becoming famous. It's well known that Mrs. Jefferson runs the best kitchen in town, bar none. I dare say that there are few restaurants in this city that can approach her cuisine."

Charlotte blushed and stammered, "You're too kind, Mr. Richards."

"Jeff, please."

"And I'm Charlotte."

We fell to with a will. After consuming the feast in question, we adjourned to the study for drinks, coffee and, perhaps, desert.

Jeff and Shari accepted cognacs with thanks. Jeff smiled and patted his stomach ruefully. "I have," he said, "dined not wisely but far too well."

Stacie spoke up. "If you don't mind," she said, "I'd like to change the subject. Jeff, I want to thank you for everything you've done for us. In particular, thanks for what you've done for me. You've been an absolute brick, putting my mind at rest at every turn. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"Nonsense," Jeff said. "After all, I had little enough to do. It's not as though there were great legal questions at issue."

Stacie smiled at him. "It's more your being there when I needed you. But please don't belittle what you've done."

Before Jeff could protest again, I interrupted. "There are a few things that bother me about this case," I said. "For starters, Liz's original story at the time of her husband's death was that she'd told him she was leaving him. He became distraught and wound up leaping from the cliff."

"That's right," Jeff said.

"And after the coroner's court ruled death by suicide, the insurance company refused to pay the policy."

"Yes."

"But why," I asked, "didn't Liz pursue the matter? Even though the policy had only been in force for a few months, there might have been a chance that she'd have received at least a partial payment."

Jeff grinned. "Think about it for a moment. Liz and Ted knew that they were guilty as sin. What's more, her daughter witnessed the whole thing. Fortunately for them, Stacie couldn't recall the events of that afternoon. The last thing that Liz and Ted needed was to have Stacie regain her memory. They also didn't want to have an insurance investigator poking around. Insurance companies are in business to make money. They'd much rather keep it than give it away. But with all the legal questions that can arise, they'd want everything to be open and aboveboard. In a questionable case like this one with a lot of money at stake, the company would assign a topnotch investigator. And he'd make Liz and Ted his business until he was sure he'd sorted things out."

"But wouldn't the mere fact that Liz hadn't at least tried to get legal representation have raised alarm bells for the police investigating the case?"

Jeff sighed and sipped his brandy. "I hate to cast aspersions on hardworking police officers, but I've reviewed the original files on this case. I'd have to call the investigation cursory, even slipshod."

I said, "So Liz and Ted figured they'd literally gotten away with murder. But they didn't dare go after the prize they'd killed for. Too many risks involved. So let's jump ahead. They've gotten away with it for years. But when the cops presented them with the transcript of Stacie's hypnosis session, they folded up like a ten-dollar suitcase -- first Liz, then Ted. Why didn't they play dumb and try to stick it out?"

"Fear." Jeff sipped his cognac. "Simple fear. Think about it. Stacie, the girl they've terrorized for years, is now married to a successful and influential lawyer. It's almost Dickensian. They've now been imprisoned for what they've done to her. Although we know that Stacie had almost no part in that -- indeed, she'd rather they'd been set free -- Liz and Ted don't know that. As far as they know, she's now in the driver's seat. And I'd imagine that they exaggerate the amount of power that you and Stacie have. They see this big house, the office on Bay Street and all the trappings of wealth and power. They're scared shitless of both of you. Now they're presented with evidence that Stacie has regained her memory -- at least under hypnosis. They believe that Stacie and her husband now have the evidence and the means to bring them to justice. It's quite possible that they'll spend the rest of their lives in jail. When they were offered a plea bargain for manslaughter, they both jumped at it." He took another sip of brandy. "And I, for one, am damned glad they did. If I'd been prosecuting the case, I'd not have wanted to go to trial armed with a statement obtained under hypnosis and a ten-year-old file containing cursory evidence at best."

Stacie interrupted. "But Jeff, I have my memory back now, thanks to Dr. Woodrow. I could testify as an eyewitness."

Jeff said, "Yes, Stacie. But you'd be describing what you saw as a ten-year-old child. And the memories you have are thanks to hypnotherapy."

"Not entirely. The hypnotherapy was just the beginning. Dr. Woodrow helped me to get over my fear of remembering. Once I'd overcome that fear, the memories became clear."

Jeff sighed. "I realize that. But let's think about the defence that a capable lawyer could present. Correct me if I'm wrong, but at best your testimony puts Ted at the site of your father's death and establishes that they fought. You didn't actually see Ted push or throw your father from the cliff top."

"No, I didn't. But I'm sure he did."

"And so am I. Personally, I have no doubt that Ted went to the park that day with the intent of killing your dad. And Liz was fully aware of that. In fact, I think they were both turned on by what they were about to do. For some people, murder is an aphrodisiac." Jeff turned to Charlotte and me. "As you recall, Stacie interrupted them in flagrante delicto."

He paused and sipped his cognac before continuing. "But if I were prosecuting, what I think only establishes my theory of the case. As I said, the defence's first job would be to establish that you didn't actually see Ted kill your dad. Then, he'd call expert witnesses to cast doubts on your conveniently recovered memory." He paused again and took another sip. "I firmly believe that the best you could hope for is a manslaughter conviction. Realistically, they might both get away with pleading to a lesser charge. Hell, Liz might get off scot-free. The judge might well believe that the worst thing she was guilty of was infidelity."

Stacie was clearly distressed. She said, "Can we talk about something else?"

I patted her hand. "Yes, my darling. Of course."

Stacie smiled at me. "Let's talk about happier things. Now I even have my insurance money," she said, "and by the way, thanks so much, Jeff. I can't believe that you even got them to pay me ten years of interest on it." Jeff made a disparaging motion with his hands. Stacie continued. "It's hard for me to believe that I'm rich, or at least what I think of as rich."

I grinned and hugged her. "I seem to remember your saying once that you brought nothing to this marriage. That was never so, but it's even less so now. People will be saying that I married you for your money."

Stacie kissed me on the cheek. Then she turned to Jeff's wife. "Shari, I've heard that you're very active in quite a few charitable organizations. Now that I have some money, I'd like to do some good with it. I'd love it if you could help me. Maybe we could have lunch some time."

Shari smiled at Stacie. "You know," she said, "I had trouble believing Jeff when he told me what a great person you were. I thought the old fart wanted to get into your pants." Jeff blushed beet red. Shari laughed. "Well, he might have. And I wouldn't blame him. But you're a special lady, Stacie. Most people in your position would be spending money on cars, jewelry, clothes and all the other consumer goods we're taught to want. But you want to help people."

Stacie looked confused. "But I don't need money," she said. "Jack and I already have more than we could possibly need. I do need to do something constructive. I'm in school studying to be a lawyer. And I'll be able to use that skill to help people. But there's something I can do now. So I should do it. Shouldn't I?"

Shari stood and took Stacie's hand. "You and I should talk a bit," she said. "Let's leave these two to get drunk and decide how to take over the world."

The two women left the study. I heard them going upstairs. I assumed that they were going to the library.

"OK, Jeff," I said, "Shari's your wife. What do you make of that?"

He grinned back at me. "And Stacie's your wife. What do you think?"

"I don't have a fucking clue. Let's have another drink. Same again?"

"I think I'll switch to that poison you're drinking."

I poured us both a Laphroaig single malt. I handed Jeff his glass and sat down with mine. "But really," I said, "I don't care what Stacie does with her money. Just as long as it makes her happy."

"You know," Jeff said, "you remind me of a line from the Leo di Caprio movie The Aviator. Di Caprio's character, Howard Hughes, is having supper with Kathryn Hepburn's family. I think it's her mother who says, 'we don't care about money here.' And Hughes says, 'That's because you've always had it.' I think perhaps your reaction might be based on the same principle."

"Come on, Jeff. I'm not a goddam snob. Yes, my family was able to give me the good things in life and pay for an excellent education. I fail to see why I should spend the rest of my life atoning for my childhood."

"Jack, that's not what I'm saying. I'm simply saying that, to you, it's immaterial what Stacie does with her money. To her, it's very, very important. This is a legacy from her dad. She can't simply piss this money away or invest it in blue-chip stocks. She needs to do something important with it. I never told you how Shari got involved in charity work, did I?"

"No, you didn't."

"Her route was different, but no less important to her. You see, Shari's dad was one of the first brokers in Canada convicted of inside trading. Of course, he received a relative slap on the wrist, a brief stay in one of those minimum security places that convicts call 'summer camp.' It's only recently that white-collar crime has been severely punished. But Shari's dad died of a heart attack shortly after his conviction. He left Shari a whack of money and a load of guilt. She could too easily put herself in the place of the people who were ripped off by her dad and his pals. I think that she's spent her life atoning for the sins of her father."

"Jesus, Jeff. I had no idea."

"No reason you should have. Anyway, that old bastard had plenty to answer for. Too bad for him that he wasn't Catholic instead of Jewish. Shari's good works might have gotten the sonuvabitch out of purgatory. Us Jews don't have anything like that. If you're an asshole, you're an asshole. You pay your own way. Period."

"Well, Stacie is a Catholic. But, as far as I know, her dad wasn't an asshole. Maybe he was too trusting. Too naïve. But a good guy. I'd like to have known him."

"But," said Jeff, "that's not really my point. My point is that for both Shari and Stacie the money isn't important. It's just the means to make a statement. To make a difference, if possible."

"I can understand that."

Stacie and Shari entered the room. Stacie poured drinks. The two women sat down beside us. Stacie looked at me and then at Jeff. She now had our complete attention. She said, "I know that I've been very lucky. Not every girl who grows up in Regent Park meets her Prince Charming. Most of them have a hell of a time just getting through high school without getting pregnant. And they don't find themselves suddenly rich. Jeff, just how much money do I have?"

Jeff said softly, "It's about one million two-hundred-fifty thousand. In round figures."

"I like to endow a scholarship fund for girls. My idea is that each year a girl would be chosen to receive a four-year university scholarship. How do I go about setting up an endowment?"

"That's not difficult. Would you like to set up a foundation or endow an existing foundation?"

"Do I have to decide that right now?"

"No, of course not. But you should think about it seriously."

"I'm thinking about the Kiwanis Boys' and Girls' Club. It was my refuge for years. They do good work, and I'm sure that Kiwanis has experience in administering such things."

I held her hand. "But," I said, "it's my understanding that the Kiwanis people work primarily with children under eighteen. And the city is in the middle of a project to tear down Regent Park. Within a couple of years, it won't exist."

Stacie squeezed my hand. "Well, if the Kiwanis doesn't want to administer the scholarship, we'll simply find some other organization. As for Regent Park, I never intended to limit the scholarship to girls from the Park. I'd rather that my scholarship be for the entire city. I just want to do something to provide for a university education for a deserving young woman. I want an endowment set up to provide the yearly interest as an outright grant for the education of the winning recipient."

"What's the accountability to be?" Jack asked.

"None," Stacie said. "If the winners are the people I think they'll be, they'll use the money as it should be used. If they're not responsible, they'll pay the consequences, not me. I'll have given them the means to an education. It's up to them to make something of it."

Jack said quietly, "The yearly interest on that amount of money should handsomely provide for an undergraduate education in any Canadian university. Shouldn't it be administered more carefully?"

"No," Stacie said. "I want them to be responsible for themselves."

"With all respect," Jeff said, "you're talking about giving young women, who've never had any money, a large grant in cash. And then asking them to use it prudently. Don't you think that's unfair?" He paused for a moment. "Your first impetus was to provide a scholarship for deserving students. I think that's wise. Let's think about putting the money in the hands of an administrator who can approve expenditures according to set guidelines. It's only fair."

Stacie frowned. "But that means someone would be given that responsibility. And you couldn't ask that person to do it pro bono. That's another layer of financial outlay."

I hugged her. "Sweetheart, I think that we can take care of that."

"Given all that, I guess I'll have to name an administrator." Stacie paused for a few moments. "Actually, it's not a problem. I have the perfect candidate. I've known this person for more than half my life. She's the best person for this sort of thing that I could ever imagine." Stacie turned to Jeff. "Could you please draw up a contract for Charlotte Jefferson as administrator of the John MacPherson Memorial Scholarship Fund?"



-------

Chapter 12

The following Friday, we once again had guests for supper, Larissa, Latoya and Frank Morely. I was gradually getting used to the idea of Morely dating Latoya. They seemed to be an item. I still didn't trust the son of a bitch. I hoped that he wasn't another like her high-school sweetheart. Once again, Latoya might be too trusting. In any case, Morely's articling would soon be over. I promised myself not to let the incident in the coffee room influence my evaluation of him. But his description of Stacie as a "cute little armful" with big "fun-bags" was disturbingly like Latoya's former beau describing her as his "nigger cunt from the projects." I put all that out of my mind as best I could. The point of the evening was to have fun.

Much of the conversation around the table had been office gossip about happenings at Mack and Jack. Larissa put a stop to that. "I get enough of this horseshit at work," she said, "and I'm sure that it's not very interesting to Charlotte. If we're eating her food, we can at least have the courtesy to include her in the conversation."

There was silence for a moment and then noises of assent. Latoya was the first to introduce a new topic. She directed a question at Stacie and Charlotte, "Have either of you heard from Sydney lately?"

The two looked at each other. "I invited her tonight," Stacie said, "but she told me she couldn't come. She's very busy with something."

"Yeah, I know. I ran into her the other day when I was visiting my parents. She tells me that she's frantically planning for a trip. She's going to Calgary. Sounds like she's considering moving out there. Alberta is booming, and Syd says she's going to check out the job market."

Stacie said, "I don't understand. The last I knew Sydney had a pretty good job here. How's she just going to pull up stakes and take off for Calgary?"

Latoya shrugged. "I asked her the same thing," she said. "Syd says her job here is a dead end, She thinks she can do better out there. And she's got a place to stay until she gets on her feet."

I said, "Now wait a minute. As far as I know, the only person Sydney knows in Calgary is Heather. Her folks have a big place, but, unless they've changed radically, they're not in the habit of putting people up for extended periods." Then the penny dropped. I remembered hearing the sounds of sex coming from Heather's room when she last stayed with us. "My God," I said. "Of course. Heather must be the reason she's going to Calgary."

Stacie said, "I don't understand. Of course Heather and Sydney are friends. They seemed to get along really well from the start. But that doesn't really explain why Heather and her folks would offer to let her stay with them. Or why Sydney would suddenly decide to go clear across the country."

Charlotte patted Stacie's hand. "Child," she said, "I think what Jack means is that Heather and Sydney are more than friends."

Stacie furrowed her brow. "More than friends," she said. Then she looked at Charlotte in astonishment. "Do you mean..."

"Yes, child. I do mean that. They're lovers."

"But Heather's just a kid!"

"She's not too young to fall in love. How old were you when you fell in love with Jack?"

"But that's different."

Charlotte said, "Why? Because they're both girls? Do you mean that gay people can't fall in love just like anyone else?"

"No," Stacie said, "I've known for a long time that Sydney was gay. And that's never affected our friendship. But Heather... I just don't get it."

"Darling," I said, "do you remember telling me that Heather sometimes made you uncomfortable? You said that she had a way of looking at you and touching you that you didn't like."

"Yes, but you said it was probably just a phase she was going through."

"I've been wrong before," I said.

Latoya said quietly, "How do you feel about this, Jack? If it's more serious than we thought between them, I mean."

"How do I feel about Heather?" Latoya nodded. "She's my niece, and I love her. I'd hope that I'd feel the same whatever her sexual orientation might be."

Charlotte said, "I'm sure that Sydney and Heather will let us know if there's anything serious going on. So let's talk about something else. Larissa, I mentioned to you on the phone the other day that Stacie has asked me to head up this scholarship fund she's starting. And it scares me to death. I have to tell you that if anybody but Stacie asked me to do something like this, I'd refuse."

Latoya asked, "What's this all about?"

Stacie said, "It's the money from my dad's insurance. I want to establish a scholarship for girls."

Charlotte said, "It's an awful lot of money. Just the interest every year will be a lot. And Stacie wants the interest to go to a girl who deserves it. A girl who couldn't pay for university on her own. It's a great idea, but I just don't think I'm the right person to look after this. I've never done anything like this. Never wanted to, either."

Larissa patted Charlotte's hand affectionately. "Don't worry, honey," she said, "you'll do a great job. And this old broad will be happy to help you. Any way I can."

"I'll help, too," Frank said, "and I hope I can speak for Toy as well." Latoya nodded. "It would be good experience for both of us to help with some of the legal stuff."

Charlotte smiled. "That makes me feel a world of better," she said. "But I still don't know if I'm up to it."

Frank said, "Don't worry. The three of us, Larissa, Latoya and I, will look after the legal stuff. Of course you'll also need an expert investment advisor if you're going to make that interest every year."

Stacie said, "We're already looking into that. Do you remember Jeff Richards, the guy who represented me at my parents' trial?" Frank nodded. "Well, his wife, Shari, has a similar sort of charity, and she's offered to have her people work on my fund. At least until we can get someone permanent to look after it."

"The money stuff and the legal stuff may be in good shape," Charlotte said, "but there's still the matter of getting the scholarship to the right person. I don't have any idea how to go about that."

Frank smiled. He said, "That might be the least of your worries. The way these things are usually run is to put together an impartial panel of experts. You know, educators and such. You let them look at the applications and make a decision. That way you won't have charges of favouritism or bias. It's all in picking the right people for the job."

Charlotte sighed. "You people are great. I already feel better. Maybe we can put this thing together yet." She smiled at Larissa. "And you've always been there for me ever since I met you."

Larissa blushed and looked into her wine glass. I had to grin. I'd never seen this self-styled "tough old broad" at such a loss for words.

The scholarship fund started shaping up right away. Between them, Larissa, Frank and Latoya drew up the basic documents. I took a cursory look at them and was impressed. They seemed to have done their homework.

On the weekends, Larissa became a fixture around the house. She and Charlotte had been fast friends from their first meeting. Now they seemed almost inseparable. They usually worked in Charlotte's apartment. I'd often hear peals of laughter coming from the basement.

I came home from a late meeting one evening to find a full-fledged council of war going on in my kitchen. Stacie, Charlotte, Latoya and Frank were seated around the table, which was covered with papers. Rather than disturb what appeared to be a productive meeting, I offered to make myself a sandwich and take it upstairs. As I got the fixings together, Charlotte said, "Let's make a deal. I'll make your sandwich, and you give me some advice. Latoya came up with this crazy idea that I should go on TV to promote the fund. Have you ever seen a less telegenic person than me?"

I grinned and put my arm around her. "Charlotte, don't sell yourself short. You cut quite a figure when you want to. I can easily understand Latoya's point. If you're going to get the best applications for the fund, people have to know about it. There should be a spokesperson. Someone people can relate to. And why shouldn't it be you? After all, you're in charge."

Charlotte shook her head. "Sometimes it surely doesn't seem like I'm in charge. If I was really the boss, there's no way I'd ever be on TV or radio. Or talking on stage or any of that stuff. Instead of being the boss, it seems like I've got a whole bunch of bosses."

I gave her a squeeze. "I know just what you mean," I said. "I feel the same way at Mack and Jack. Sometimes the senior partners seem to be working for everyone else instead of the other way around." I took my completed sandwich from Charlotte, kissed her cheek and turned to head upstairs to my office.

Larissa came over and put her arm around Charlotte. "Don't worry, Charlie you'll do just fine," she said. I was taken aback. I'd never heard Charlotte addressed as "Charlie." And yet she seemed OK with it. She was leaning into Larissa and patting the hand draped across her shoulder.

"Thanks, L-word," she said.

What was with all these pet names? Of course, they'd been spending a lot of time together working on some pretty tough and boring things. If silly names made them happy, so much the better.

I left the kitchen. I ate in the office at my computer. After checking my email, I launched into preparing a new brief. But before very long my eyelids were drooping. It had been a very long day. I thought perhaps I could benefit from a power nap. So I went into the bedroom and lay down fully dressed.

The next thing I was aware of was someone shaking me gently. "It's time for bed, sleepy head," Stacie said, "get up and get yourself ready."

I moaned. "Slave driver," I said, "isn't it a little silly to wake me up in order to put me back to sleep?"

"Maybe," Stacie said, "but I'm horny. And there's no way you can fulfill your husbandly duties when you're asleep."

I said, "OK. I'll go to the office and put my stuff away." As I collected my papers, I noticed that there was a file missing. I recalled looking through my briefcase before leaving the house to go to my meeting. Could I have taken the file out of the case and not replaced it? Or perhaps I'd left it at work. In any case, I'd need it in the morning. I told Stacie that I was going to look for something downstairs and headed on my quest.

As luck would have it, I found the file quickly. It was on the hall table just where I'd probably left it. Just as I turned to go back upstairs, I heard a noise. It seemed to come from the kitchen. I entered the dining room and looked in the direction of the kitchen. The kitchen lights were off. But as I entered the room, I could see light coming from the basement stairs. Then I heard the noise again. It was faint this time. It sounded like moaning. And there were two voices. I headed down the stairs.

The door to Charlotte's apartment was ajar. That's where the light was coming from. I didn't want to intrude on her privacy, but I did need to make sure everything was all right. So I went to the door. It was open about a foot. I could easily see into Charlotte's living room. Larissa was with her. The two women were standing just a few feet from the door. They were locked in an embrace. They were both topless and kissing passionately. In a daze, I turned and made my way upstairs. I heard Charlotte's door click shut.

I stood in the darkened kitchen for several minutes. I heard footsteps. Stacie came into the room. She turned on the light. "Jack, what are you doing standing here with the lights out? I put on my sexiest nightie and wait in bed for my husband, and where is he? Standing in the kitchen in the dark. Let's go to bed."

I said, "OK. I'll just get my file and come with you."

"It's in your hand. What's the matter with you?

"I'll tell you upstairs." I followed her up the two flights to our bedroom. Normally the sight of her beautiful little butt covered only by a translucent red nightie would have had me panting. But on that occasion, I looked at Stacie without really seeing her. And I followed her into the bedroom in silence. I undressed and got into bed.

Stacie snuggled against me and hugged me. She said, "OK, Jack, what's up? Don't I turn you on any more?"

"Of course you do. It's just that I saw something downstairs. Charlotte and Larissa were hugging and kissing like lovers. And they were topless."

"Do they have nice boobs?"

"Stacie, it isn't funny. What do you know about this?"

"Quite a bit, actually. Yes, Aunt Charlotte and Larissa are, as you said about Heather and Sydney, 'more than friends.'"

I stared at the ceiling in silence for a few moments. I said, "How long has this been going on? Am I the last to know?"

"It's been going on for a few weeks now. And I doubt that you're the last to know. Toy knows, of course. She's almost as close to Aunt Charlotte as I am. Frank may know. I'm not sure."

I shook my head. I said, "When and how did you find out?"

"Aunt Charlotte and Larissa told me."

"When?"

"Well," she said, "Thursday before last I came home early from school. Aunt Charlotte didn't seem to be home. But just as I was pouring myself a glass of milk, they came upstairs from the basement. Aunt Charlotte and Larissa. They looked messy. You know, mussed hair and clothes. And they were flushed. Aunt Charlotte asked me to sit down with them. And that's when they told me, sitting around the kitchen table."

"What did they say?"

"That they'd never intended for anything to happen. It just did."

"How does Charlotte feel? With her evangelical Christian background, she's always been uncomfortable with the idea of homosexuality."

Stacie hugged me tighter. "Yeah. We've talked about that. She struggled with it. And Larissa has been very supportive. Early on she told Aunt Charlotte that she was attracted to her, but that she'd understand if Aunt Charlotte didn't feel the same way. Well, she did. But I don't think that Aunt Charlotte really considers herself to be a lesbian. She's in love with a woman, but in her eyes that doesn't make her a lesbian. Maybe she just doesn't like the terminology."

"But she was calling Larissa 'l-word.' Like the TV show about lesbians."

"Yeah. I guess that's their little joke."

I kissed Stacie and stroked her cheek. "How long has their relationship been physical?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure. I think it got that way soon after they agreed that the attraction was mutual."

I looked straight into her beautiful blue eyes. "And how do you feel about it?"

"It's funny," she said, "I didn't know what to think at first. Now, I'm really happy for them. Everyone else seemed to have someone. Except for Aunt Charlotte and Larissa. Now they have each other. They're two of my very favourite people. If they're happy, then I'm happy about it. How do you feel?"

"Give me a little while to get used to it. After all, I just found out. Call me stupid if you will, but I had no idea. When I saw the two of them in a clinch, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I'm sure that when I digest everything I'll feel the same way that you do. Larissa's been my friend for years. And Charlotte is a real gem. They both have integrity in spades. And both of them are a lot more intelligent than they like to let on."

"Yeah. They're not stupid. Aunt Charlotte has told me that they've talked about all the problems they could face. But they're in love. Big time. And they want to live together. How would you feel if Larissa moved in?"

I laughed. "Hell, she practically lives here anyway. Are they going to get married?"

"They might. What would you think of that?"

"Like I said before, I just found out that they were lovers. Let me get used to that, and I'll be all in favour of a wedding. Hell, I'll even give Charlotte away if she wants. Or Larissa. Or both of them."

"Jack, you're the best. But now," Stacie said mischievously, "we have unfinished business. Fuck me."

"Such language! Go wash your mouth out with soap."

"Oh, I'll wash it out all right," Stacie said, kissing her way down my chest, "but not with soap." She took me in her mouth. Her talented tongue soon had me in heaven.



-------

Chapter 13

The next morning there were four of us at breakfast. Stacie and I sat across from Charlotte and Larissa. There was the usual small talk about the lovely weather, the news of the day, etc., followed by some uncomfortable silences. Finally, Larissa sighed and said, "So now you know."

I looked into my coffee cup and said, "Yes. Now I know."

After another pause, Larissa said, "And how are you with it?"

I looked first at Larissa, then at Charlotte and back to Larissa, my eyes locked on hers. "I'm OK with it," I said, "but it would have been nice to find out another way."

Larissa and Charlotte looked at each other. Charlotte blushed a bit. Larissa grinned. Charlotte smiled back and patted her hand. They both giggled. Soon the giggles became full-fledged laughter. Stacie and I joined in. I had no idea what we were laughing at, but the laughter seemed infectious. Larissa said breathlessly, "Oh fuck! You should have seen your face. I'm sorry, but you looked so..." She searched for a word.

I said, "Shocked?"

"Not exactly. You had what my dad used to call 'the fish look.' Wide-eyed and openmouthed." Larissa and Charlotte embraced and laughed even harder.

"Well put yourself in my place," I said. "Charlotte, when you first came to stay here, how would you have felt if you'd walked in on Stacie and me in a similar situation?"

Charlotte stopped laughing and smiled at me. "Jack," she said, "I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised. I knew you loved Stacie before you did. Even before I met you she'd already told me that she was in love with you. As soon as I saw the two of you together I knew you felt the same way about her. Yes, Larissa and I are in love. I love her more than I ever loved my husband." Now it was Larissa's turn to blush. "And she's more worthy of my love than he was. He turned out to be a lying skunk. Larissa is kind, decent and honourable. She's one of the finest people I've ever known. I consider myself very lucky to have her love. And if she'll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life with her." Charlotte and Larissa embraced again. They held each other and cried. Stacie was also in tears, and I wasn't far from it.

I rose, walked to the counter and picked up a box of tissues. I put them on the table. The three women gratefully used them to mop their faces and blow their noses. Larissa smiled as she wiped her eyes. "Stacie, you and Jack are my witnesses. Unless I'm hearing things, I just received something very close to a proposal. This wonderful creature said she wants to spend her life with me. And I'm goddam sure gonna hold her to it."

Charlotte smiled through her tears. "And that, my love," she said, "brings me to your only flaw. Is there any way I can get you to clean up your language?" Larissa kissed her and laughed. Soon everyone joined in the laughter.

As the merriment subsided, Charlotte said, "Now everyone eat your breakfasts before they get cold." The old Charlotte had reappeared. Taking care of everyone as she always did.

We ate. The atmosphere around the table was completely cleared. We felt at home and comfortable. I reflected that there was no one whom I would welcome into my family more than Larissa. She was a dear friend, all the dearer for her relationship with Charlotte. And it was Larissa who turned the conversation to things more serious.

"It's about this scholarship fund," she said. "Charlie has been resisting going on TV, but I can't think of a better way to promote it. And she's the ideal spokesperson. She knows the problems of young disadvantaged women. She knows them well. Goddam well." Charlotte looked as though she was about to interrupt. Larissa kissed her right index finger and then touched it to Charlotte's lips. "No, darling," she said, "let me make my case. If you appear on TV as the spokesperson for this fund, you can friggin' well sell it. I know you can. And I'll help you. I know a few professional media consultants that I can blackmail into giving you free lessons. You can do it. You will do it."

Charlotte sighed. "OK," she said, "I know when I'm licked. I'll do it. But if I faint or wet myself on camera, it's all your fault. Now what's on the agenda for today?"

Larissa took her Palm Pilot out of her purse. "Today," she said, "we begin our outreach. You're scheduled to speak at the Flemingdon Park Recreation Centre. 'Flemo, ' as it's known by the people who live there, is a low-income area. Most of the people who live there are immigrants. Many of them are from Africa. The girls there really need to know about this scholarship."

Charlotte shook her head. "I hate standing up in front of people and speaking," she said. "I don't know how I can go on doing this."

Larissa kissed her cheek. "Don't worry, Charlie," she said, "I'll be right there with you. Everything will be fine."

Charlotte sighed again. She said, "Why do we have to do this on a Saturday?"

"Because," Larissa said, "that's when the kids are most likely to be in the recreation centre. Why give a presentation if you don't have an audience?"

Charlotte and Larissa went downstairs to ready themselves for Flemingdon Park. Stacie and I went upstairs to ready ourselves for the day. Stacie was determined to take me shopping. She'd made up her mind that I needed a new blue suit. So, she'd made an appointment with my tailor, Fernando Rego. I wasn't looking forward to the trip. Fernando was a nice guy. But I knew that he'd put me through the drill of choosing fabrics, design -- even buttons, for God's sake. To me, buttons are buttons. The silver lining in the cloud would be spending the day with my lovely wife. And I'd made a lunch reservation at Tasting Rooms, Stacie's favourite since our first official date as a couple.

As it turned out, the trip to the tailor was painless. Fernando had all my measurements on file, so he just had to make a couple of quick checks with his measuring tape. Stacie helped to pick the material and so forth. We were out of there in record time.

At Tasting Rooms, things continued to go well. Coming in the door right behind us were Greg Young and his wife Megan. Since it was obvious that we were all there for lunch, we agreed to make a foursome. Greg was an interesting fellow. He ran a company called Northern Lights Productions. They produced television programmes and short films. His was one of the success stories of Canadian show business. He and his company had long been clients of Mack and Jack. Although strictly speaking they were Mack's clients not mine, I'd helped out on a couple of actions. People who produce series television really have to cover their asses, especially when said series are hits. And Greg's company had produced a number of hit series. I couldn't remember the cases in detail, but I knew that people had come out of the woodwork claiming to own the concepts for at least two of them. One of the claims had been laughed out of court. The other one had been a bit more of a challenge. I'd been sure that the plaintiff's case had no merit, but it was very cleverly presented. The guy's lawyer had obviously examined several successful cases and patterned his suit after theirs. Greg thought that he should settle out of court, but Mack and I convinced him that would only hang out a sign that he was an easy target. We won the case. And Greg had been with us ever since.

Back to the lunch in question. I suggested that we take a table in the lounge rather than in the white-tablecloth rooms. It would be much cozier and more conducive to friendly conversation. As we made our way to the table, the ladies went ahead of us, following the maitre d'. I smiled as I saw them together. Greg's wife Megan was one of the few women who seemed tiny next to Stacie. It wasn't that she was so much shorter. In fact, I doubted if she were even an inch shorter. Megan just seemed small in every dimension. Where Stacie was voluptuous, "delicate" was perhaps the best way to describe Megan. Both women were beautiful but in different ways. Stacie was blonde. Megan had black hair. Stacie had lots of curves. Megan was definitely feminine, but everything was on a smaller scale. They were both fair-skinned. And both had sky-blue eyes. Megan's were almond shaped, hinting at some Asian ancestry.

We sat down and perused the menu. Greg asked if we'd like wine. Stacie and I agreed. We settled on white, and Greg asked for the wine list. He chose a nice Australian Chardonnay. When the waiter poured it, Megan put her hand over her glass. "I'd love to have some," she said, "but I won't be having any alcohol in the near future."

I said, "Why not?"

Greg was blushing and grinning. "Because," Megan said, "there are soon going to be three people living in our house."

Stacie looked at her with a wide-eyed smile. She said, "Do you mean..."

"Yup," Megan said, "I'm preggers. Knocked up by this brute." She patted Greg affectionately.

I smiled and raised my glass. "Congratulations," I said. "Here's to the growing Young family."

Greg had a sip from his glass, even though he was being toasted rather than toasting. "It was actually quite amazing. How it happened, I mean," he said. "You know, I was married before. My first wife died in a skiing accident. She and I had tried for a couple of years to conceive. Tried everything. No luck. But the very first month that Megan and I gave it a shot -- bingo! How's that for luck?"

"I'd say that's wonderful luck," I said. "Congratulations again."

Megan said, "Thanks. We're incredibly lucky. All the tests show that the baby is healthy. And I plan to be a stay-at-home mum for the first year. Luckily, my job allows up to a year of maternity leave, although I'll only get paid for the first six months."

"Hell," Greg said, "we don't need the money. Sometimes I wish that Megan would stay home permanently."

Megan smiled at him. She said, "And do what? Become one of those bitches in the Junior League? No thanks. I need my job to keep my sanity."

Stacie said, "What do you do?"

"I'm the assistant general manager of the Parks, Forestry and Recreation Division of the City of Toronto," Megan said.

Stacie said, "Wow. That's impressive."

Megan laughed. "Not really," she said. "It's a grand title that translates roughly as 'fart catcher.' I try to make sure that the other managers don't screw up too much. And I help my boss run interference with City Council. We try to keep the councilors off the backs of the management and staff. That's almost a full-time job in itself. It can be a pain in the butt, but it has good benefits, thank God."

Stacie and Megan chatted a while about baby things. I wondered if Stacie were getting any ideas. She'd said many times how much she envied Rachel Stewart because of her daughter Esther. Oh well, I'd cross that bridge when I got to it. Then the conversation changed to weddings and honeymoons. "We spent our honeymoon in Paris," Stacie said. "Jack was very sneaky. I didn't find out where we were going until the wedding reception."

Megan said, "Gosh that sounds really romantic."

"It was," Stacie said, "we had a wonderful time. I'll never forget it. Where did you go?"

"Well," Megan said, "it may sound odd, but we went to Japan."

Stacie exclaimed, "How exotic!"

"Yeah, it was great," Megan said. "You see, my mum is Japanese. She has a pretty big family in Japan, and many of them couldn't come here for our wedding. So we decided to kill two birds, as it were. We combined family visits with sight-seeing and just general honeymoon type stuff."

Stacie said, "Do you speak Japanese?"

Megan said, "Well, I can get by, but I'm not fluent by any means. And I've been told that I speak like a child. Fortunately, my uncle in Kyoto is an English professor at the university. He acted as our guide and translator. Without him, we'd have had a lot more trouble."

Lunch was very pleasant. Greg and Megan turned out to be fascinating luncheon companions. They were both very intelligent, well-read and witty. Megan's wit was quite wicked, especially when she skewered Toronto's elected politicians. She called the mayor "an idiot -- a well-intentioned idiot, but an idiot nonetheless." I'd hate to be the subject of her jibes. Greg was far more laid back. I enjoyed his anecdotes about the television business. And I countered with a few lawyer jokes. Stacie told the Youngs about the latest developments in her scholarship foundation. Needless to say, they were quite impressed. Greg immediately volunteered to help in any way he could. And Megan offered her help in getting the message out to kids in the poorer parts of town. As we said good by to Greg and Megan, the four of us agreed to get together soon for supper. I suggested that we entertain them, and they agreed readily, saying only that they insisted on returning the favour.

When we arrived home, Charlotte and Larissa were no where to be seen. Stacie and I went upstairs to change. Of course, as soon as we started to undress, our thoughts turned in a different direction. I helped Stacie remove her last two garments, and she in turn took care of my boxers. As usual, I found myself staring at my lovely wife, taking in every detail of her precious body. "Jack," she said, "you're looking at me as though you'd never seen me before. You've seen me naked hundreds, maybe thousands, of times."

"Perhaps so," I said, "but there's still so much beauty to discover. For instance, I just noticed this," I put my hand on her stomach, "how beautifully it curves into this," I touched her pussy, eliciting a gasp from her. "And this lovely little thing is perfectly framed by these gorgeous thighs. I have to kiss it." I laid her on the bed and suited my actions to my words. I traced every line and crevice with my tongue, bringing Stacie to three orgasms before letting her rest.

But that rest was short-lived. We had a lovely relaxed session of loving. We began in the missionary position, but Stacie was soon on top. I delighted in watching her as we made love. As she became more excited, her facial expressions soon helped to bring about my own climax. It was intense, and hers seemed no less so. We lay in bed for a while, cuddling and relaxing in the afterglow. We finally roused ourselves and took a mutual shower. As I washed Stacie's sweet little body, I couldn't help but think that I was the luckiest bastard in the world. Hell, probably Greg Young felt the same way, especially with the baby on the way, but I could speak only for myself. I wouldn't change places with anyone on earth.

Finally, we were changed into our casual clothes. Just as we came downstairs, the front door opened. Charlotte and Larissa had arrived. Stacie kissed them both and said, "What happened? You have to tell us all about it."

"Give me a minute, child," Charlotte said, "first I need a cup of tea." We followed Charlotte and Larissa into the kitchen. Charlotte immediately put the kettle on to boil. "Sometimes," she said, "I think no one in Toronto knows how to make a decent cup of tea."

"That's not true," Larissa said, "the King Edward Hotel is famous for its high tea. Besides, what the hell did you expect from a goddam recreation centre for kids?"

"Just a drinkable cup of tea, that's all," Charlotte said. "And, my darling, we have to expand your vocabulary. There are adjectives that aren't profane, you know."

Larissa smiled and kissed her cheek. "There isn't a friggin' thing wrong with my vocabulary," she said. "It's just the way I use it that you object to."

Charlotte smiled back at her. "Dear, I don't object to the occasional use of profanity. I really don't. But must you take the Lord's name in vain so often? I'm very grateful to my God. Every time I think about the people in this room, I thank Him. And I pray for your safety every night. I love you, and I'm grateful for your love. I'm really happy that you finally quit smoking. Now if we can just clean up your speech."

I stared at Larissa. I said, "You actually quit smoking? When?"

Larissa grinned. "I quit the minute that Charlie asked me to. You should have seen her. She had tears in her eyes. She was so concerned about me. How could anyone help but love her? But," she said, "cussing is not endangering my health."

"Don't be too sure," Charlotte said.

Everyone laughed, and we sat down to a cup of Charlotte's famous tea. "Now," Stacie said, "tell us all about your presentation. How did it go?"

"I thought it went rather well," Charlotte said.

Larissa said, "It was friggin' fantastic! Charlie looks absolutely great on stage. And she's a born communicator. She had those kids eating out of her hand. And afterwards we sat down with the staff. That's when Charlie had the godawful tea she was complaining about. Anyway, they were all asking how they can help to get the word out."

"They were very nice, ' Charlotte said. "It wasn't Christian of me to complain about their tea. They did their best, I'm sure. It was a really nice experience. And there was one young woman -- just a minute. I wrote down her name." She took a card out of her purse. "It's on the back of this card. Her name is Amy Kaiser. She teaches swimming and martial arts at the centre. Anyway, she said that her uncle is a television producer and she was sure he'd help us put together our TV spots. This is his card." She handed the card to Stacie. Stacie stared at the card. She passed it to me. I burst out laughing.

"What the hell," Larissa said, "is so goddam funny?"

Stacie chuckled. She said, "Jack and I just had lunch with this guy and his wife. He's already volunteered to help us. And so has his wife, Megan. She can be a big help. She's the second in command of all the parks and recreation centres in Toronto. I was going to tell you later."

Charlotte and Larissa stared at us dumfounded. After a few moments of silence, Larissa said, "Son of a bitch. It looks like this goddam thing is gonna take off."

Charlotte shook her head. She said to Larissa, "You're incorrigible. What am I going to do with you?"

Larissa grinned. "I have a few ideas," she said.

Charlotte blushed. She said, "I'll ignore that remark. For now. But yes, it does look like it's going to work. The scholarship fund will soon be known all over the city. I can't believe it. Talk about luck."

That evening we had little celebration. I fired up the barbecue and cooked up some surf and turf. Filet mignon and giant shrimp. There's a butcher in the neighbourhood who not only has some of the finest meat I've ever eaten but also excellent seafood. He sells huge shrimp as big as lobster tails. They barbecue beautifully. We ate on the patio by the fountain and toasted the future of the John McPherson Memorial Scholarship Fund.

At last everyone went to bed. Stacie was quickly out like a light. I dozed a bit. But then I was wide awake. Did you ever try to force yourself to sleep? It doesn't work. I decided to have a nightcap, thinking that might bring on a snooze. I went downstairs to the study. I was surprised to find the light on. Larissa was sitting on the chesterfield looking out the window. She had a drink in her hand. Scotch, by the look of it.

She looked over at me and grinned. She said, "Obviously you can't sleep either."

I sighed. "No," I said. "I guess the events of the last two days have wound me up a bit." I went to the bar and poured myself a Laphroaig.

"Me too," she said. "My life will always be different now. Not that I regret it. Far from it. I'm much richer than ever before. Charlie's love is better than any amount of money. She's so goddam wonderful. But you know that."

"I certainly do," I said. "Without Charlotte, it's quite possible that Stacie would be dead. She protected that little girl most of her life. I'm eternally grateful to her. She can have anything she wants from me. And from Stacie, of course. She knows that, too. That's why she never asks for anything."

"She didn't ask if I could stay?"

"She didn't have to. You were already family." I swirled my Scotch and took a sip. I said, "I hope you won't be offended if I ask you something."

Larissa said, "No fucking way. We know each other too well for that."

"Well," I said, "that's just the point. Maybe we don't know each other as well as I thought. I had to no idea that you were..."

"Queer? Come on, you must have suspected."

I sat beside her and took another sip. I said, "No, honestly I never thought of it. You were just Larissa, my unique, acerbic, profane, loveable friend. Always there when I needed you." I looked her in the eyes. "How long have you known?"

Larissa sighed. She sipped her drink looking out the window. "Forever," she said. "As long as I can remember. Growing up, I always knew I was different than the other girls." She paused, looking into her glass. "It was so fucking tough. I was raised Ukrainian Catholic. Except for a brief mention as a mortal sin, homosexuality was never even discussed. So I didn't even admit my feelings to myself. I knew that I was attracted to girls, but I figured that maybe if I didn't do anything about it I wouldn't go to hell." She laughed. "Yeah, hell. That's a pretty good description for where you are when you can't admit who and what you are. It was hell. I didn't have sex until I was in university. I was seduced by one of my professors. She was a big old dyke. A real fucking bitch." She sighed again. "She knew I was innocent as hell. She gave me just enough pleasure to get what she wanted out of me. She was a real cunt, in more ways than one. I don't often use that word, but in this case it's the only approprate description. The only good thing about the cunt was that she taught me a helluva lot about the female anatomy and what to do with it. But she made me feel dirty. Like a fucking piece of shit. After that, I went back into the closet. All the way in. I've only had a few experiences between then and now. Not really affairs. Just fucking." She took another drink. "I've learned that I hate fucking. I love making love. I love being in love. I need to be in love."

I said, "I know what you mean. I've had enough relationships based on sex. They're just not worth the time. Hell, you know my history better than anyone. You've seen me through all those bad times."

"Yeah." She sighed again. "But it looks like we've both come safely into port. Thank God."

We sat drinking and looking through the window at the fountain. It looked quite magical in the moonlight. "Tell me," I said, "how did your relationship with Charlotte, well develop, for lack of a better word."

Larissa smiled at me. "I don't fucking know," she said. "And I'll bet my last dime that Charlie doesn't either. We were just drawn together from the beginning. As soon as we met, there was something special." She stared into her glass. "It was probably a shit load harder for her than for me. I doubt that she ever thought of being with another woman. Much less being in love with one."

"But," I said, "Charlotte has so much love in her. And she's the most tolerant person I know. When I found out that my niece was having an affair with another girl, I learned that Charlotte already knew. And she was OK with it. She even had sympathy for Stacie's mother and her asshole boyfriend. Hell, she could have sympathy for the devil." I got up and poured myself another drink.

Larissa laughed. "Yeah," she said, "you're right. The poor bastard got kicked out of heaven. That's gotta be a bitch. Well, I'm in heaven now. And I'm gonna do everything I can not to get kicked out." She stood up and held out her glass for a refill. She sipped the new drink and shook her head. "God, that woman can love," she said. "I've never even imagined such openness. Such a complete giving of yourself. Both emotionally and physically. The first time we were together, I learned what making love really was. It was so right between us from the beginning. When we make love it feels as though we're completing each other. I don't know if you understand what I mean."

I smiled. "Oh but I do," I said. "It's the same with Stacie and me. Completion. That's a good way to describe it."

Larissa said, "Charlie's husband must have been a real idiot. As well as an asshole, of course. I hope the fucker has come to a bad end."

"Well," I said, "as Charlotte always says, everything happens for a purpose. We've all been through lots of crap. All of us in our little family. Some more than others. Charlotte was shat on by a faithless man and worked her ass off to support her kids. Stacie was brutalized and robbed of her father. And you and I have had our share of trouble as well. One thing is for sure, I never knew what it was to be in love until I met Stacie." I clinked her glass with mine. "To love," I said. "It's the only thing in the world that's worth a damn."

"Fuckin' right," Larissa said. She took a swig. She swirled her glass and emptied it. "Well, I'd better hit the sack. Charlie's probably wondering where I am."

"Yeah," I said. "Me too. I don't like Stacie waking up and not finding me there." I put my glass on the bar beside Larissa's. I turned to her. "You know that I love you," I said.

Tears welled in her eyes. She sobbed. She said, "I love you, too, you silly bastard."

We embraced. Larissa sobbed against my shoulder for a moment. Then she kissed my cheek. I looked up at the ceiling. Then a motion caught my eye. I looked toward the doorway. There were Charlotte and Stacie. Once again they looked like a woman and a little girl. They came toward us. Stacie took my arm. Charlotte put her arm around Larissa and kissed her. She turned to Stacie. "Child," she said, "let's put these two to bed."


-------
The End
-------
Posted:  2005-02-27
Last Modified: 2006-07-01 / 12:28:27 pm
-------
http://storiesonline.net/
-------