Anyway, the day started out the same as any other tailgate. Luke and Olie unloaded the trucks while Janey, Beth and I got the tables and chairs set-up. By 10 am we were all settled in with our first beers, enjoying our handiwork as the American and Dale Jr. flags wafted overhead. Olie is the only person I know with a full-size portable flag pole.

Several of Olie and Luke's high school buddies showed up not long after and they all wandered off to toss the football around before the lot filled up. Beth, Janey and I sat around trading recipes and laughing at the guys as they tried to relive past gridiron glories in the middle of a sun baked grass lot.

A little while later, Red arrived with 5 shirtless friends, all sporting farmer's tans, loaded in the bed of his Tacoma. We could hear them hootin' and hollerin' from a quarter mile off. These guys are always entertaining. They are the type that always hold the door open for you, but talk about your ass as you go by; in an appreciative way.

They all piled out of the truck, cranked up some Johnny Cash and set about assembling the smoker for the "drunken" chickens. This is Red's contribution at every tailgate; chickens and the washer boards. As soon as the chickens were safely closed in the smoker the boys started playing washers, accepting challenges from all comers. There was a father and son, a couple of middle-aged good ole' boys drunker than a go-or-go-homer the morning after failing to qualify, a couple of waffle-bellies (girls who think they can find their future husband by pressing themselves against the track fence and yelling at drivers), and a chain smoking granny with her oxygen tank in tow who handed the guys a serious beating.

Somewhere around noon, a gaggle of silly little girls appeared. I say "silly" because some were wearing mini-skirts, others heels, to stand in a field drinking or sit in camp chairs showing their business. SLUTS. But they are everywhere else in the world, so why not at a race.

These girls, let's call them Slut 1, Slut 2, Slut 3, Slut 4 and Lolita, were extra special though. Sluts 1-4 bounced around annoyingly generally getting in the way and constantly whining about something or other to Red and his friends. Lolita, on the other hand, was on a mission to stir things up, and so she did.

Lolita started off as the most sensibly dressed of the group, but she soon fixed that. Her shorts were, well short, but covered everything. That is until she bent over to pick something up, and she seemed to constantly be dropping things. Soon after her butt cheeks started making their appearances, Lolita was compelled to ditch her long sleeve t-shirt. While standing inches from Olie and Red, who were taking a rare chair break, Lolita arched her barely legal back and pulled off her shirt revealing a 3 sizes too small tank top that read "SLUT" in big red letters. Lolita had been blessed/cursed by the mammary gods and was erupting from her top. Her solution was to lean down in Red and Olie's faces and shake the "girls" back into her bra.

Beth was not pleased.

It was about time to fire up the grill, but Olie was getting drunk pretty fast, so I ended up manning the grill for the endless rounds of burgers and brats. Everyone piled plates high with their meat of preference, salads, beans, chips. We had a little of everything on the table. Personally I had 2 pork sandwiches and a brat. I didn't actually get to finish any of them though. Red stole each one from my plate after I had taken a few bites.

"Seriously!! Make your own!" I boomed.

"But you already made this one just right," Red shot back.

I fussed at him each time, but there's not much you can do once Red decides to start in on you accept wait him out.

Sluts 1-4 and Lolita toned it down a bit at that point, but we soon learned that Lolita had further plans. Somewhere in the midst of all of us eating, Lolita decided to plant herself on Olie's lap. Olie who was so sauced he had given himself a timeout from the keg.

Beth was not pleased.

Then Lolita thought it would be a good idea to whisper in Olie's ear and lick the side of his face as he sat there like a deer in headlights. Specifically, his wife's.

Beth was pissed.

"Slut!" she screamed.

"Who? Me?" Lolita asked with false innocence.

"Bitch! What the hell do you think you are doing?" Beth fired back. "Who invited this whore!?"

Still on Olie's lap, and not knowing when to keep her trap shut, Lolita replied, "I'm with Red."

"Not no more," Red said as he pulled her up. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You need to take ya'self on outta here."

Beth took a walk to cool down while Red supervised Lolita gathering her things. Sluts 1-4 had already found a more receptive audience in a group of frat boys nearby.

"But I didn't mean to upset her. I just get really friendly when I'm drunk," Lolita pleaded.

Lying little…I hadn't seen her touch a drop since she got there.

"Just let me talk to her. I'm really not THAT girl," her protest continued.

"Any girl who says 'I'm not THAT girl' IS that girl," Red interjected. "Get on up outta here!"

Beth wandered back around this point and Lolita made a bee-line for her.

"Bess! Bess! I'm so sorry," Lolita gushed. "I didn't mean to start anything. Honest I didn't!" Eyes batting the whole time.

As she reached for Beth's hand, Beth jumped back, looked her up and down exclaiming "My name is Beth, B-E-T-H, you little idiot! Don't you dare get in my face with your lies, you skank!" You could see Beth's dander rise, "I thought she was told to leave!?"

Red grabbed Lolita by the arm and drug her over to her friends and left her there, not uttering a word the whole time.

Red might be a redneck, hence the nickname, but he is also one of the most loyal people I have ever met. Red will push your buttons, six ways from Sunday, but if any one messes with one of "his people", he is the first to come to their defense. It is startling how fast he can go from country bumpkin and southern gent.

Things calmed down after that, thankfully.  

First was Seb - Seb was one of Ben's friends from college. Another legacy name: Edward Sebastian Musgrave VII, of the Charles City County Musgraves. Unlike Ben he has followed his namesakes into the family law practice, nee political training camp. Just like Ben, he had freely chosen the path in life he wanted; it was mere coincidence that it was what his family expected.

Seb's Wife - Sadie had been one of Ben's college girlfriends, who found herself more enamoured of his best friend than of Ben himself. Everyone seems happy with how it all worked out though. Sadie appears perfectly suited to be a politicians wife in her kick-pleated, pressed khaki skirt, lilac cashmere twin set, crocodile pumps and pearls, and even though this was far from standard Irish pub attire, Sadie came across perfectly comfortable and at ease in the environment.

The Twins - Elijah and Joel Wolff were also UVA buddies of Ben's and currently run the Benjamin Holitz IV empire, among other ventures. Eli handles all legal matters while Joel tweaks the numbers. Both of them seem to be constantly cooking up new schemes. Apparently in college they convinced Ben and Seb that starting their own fraternity was better than kow-towing to someone else's rules. Seems the plan has paid dividends, literally. The frat, Eta Mu Omega (HMW for short never EMO), still exists but was structured so that each chapter, currently there 33, must pay charter and member dues to the national organization, which has four members. Each chapter has to be rechartered every year at a rate of $10,000. The reason given being that constant re-evaluation of chapters and membership insures that no chapter can ever "go rogue" and disparage the memory of the founders. In addition, members must pay $300 per semester in dues.

So what does all that money get them? "An African-American, two Jews and a WASP to hang on the wall, stationary, a box of t-shirts bearing the crest, and invitations for members and their friends to "special discount vacations" (booked through Janus Tours, which is wholly owned by the twins), and discounted website hosting and maintenance through Bad Wolff Marketing (also wholly owned by the twins)" Joel explained.

What is most remarkable about the whole operation is that they formulated the entire thing aged 18 and it has remained successful for 12 years enduring collegiate inquests and IRS scrutiny. They may be the smartest guys I have ever met.

"It is a good thing you two were split in utero. All that brain power in one person would unmake the world. Gates and Murdock would be your pool boys," Olie said.

"Actually," Eli replied "we probably would have landed in an asylum from too many ideas bouncing around in the mind and no way of deciding which one to pursue first due to their equal brilliance and the fact that we would have no one to talk to, our brain being so vastly superior of that of a mere homosapien." Eli excused himself while we all continued to laugh and wandered over to the bar to 'check this evening's menu' or pick up chicks as I came to understand.

"As it is," Joel continued, "it is very hard for us to relate to you people at half strength. We are very lucky to have each other for support."

In the midst of all of this, the waitress brought over a tray of Red-Headed Hookers, the house brew, and Lemon Drops. Olie, Seb and the Twins proceeded to trade stories about Ben from prep school and college; Ben and Luke were debating engine configurations, I think, it was very technical and way over my head; which left us girls to chat about the last episode of 'Grey's Anatomy', Celebdaq and trade recipes.

We went on to argue about the points structure for the Chase, the best section to sit in that the speedway, crew chief superiority, Tony Stewart's attitude - conceited prick or victim of regional prejudice. In the midst of what was becoming a very heated discussion regarding the state of the lack of southern appreciation for the Great Lakes and Mid-West working class, particularly their straight-forwardness and dry sense of humour, Eli returned from chatting up a couple of girls at the bar. Suddenly, Joel broke conversation and grabbed Ben’s arm, looking around suspiciously.

“Eli's coming”, Joel said.

“Eli?” Ben asked. “From the Three Dog Night song?”

“Yes,” Joel replied.

“Guys! Must you always do this bit?” Seb asked.

“YES!” came back in stereo.

“Eli's something bad. A darkness,” Joel continued.

"’Eli's coming, hide your heart girl?’” Ben paused. “Eli's an inveterate womanizer. I think you're getting the song wrong.”

“I know I'm getting the song wrong, but when I first heard it, that's what I always thought it meant, and things stick with you that way.”

“Seriously! Must you run through that every time we get together?” Seb demanded.

“Of course,” replied Joel. “One, it perfectly sums up Eli - bad twin and unscrupulous playboy. Two, who doesn’t have a soft spot in their heart for the underappreciated brilliance of Sports Night?”

“Unscrupulous!?” Eli feigned offense.

It seems Joel is mildly obsessed with Aaron Sorkin. He went on to discuss similarities between Sports Night and The West Wing. Eventually, he was talking to himself, although before I wandered to other conversations it was made very clear to me that Sorkin is lucky one can’t be prosecuted for self plagiarism.

The rest of the night was spent laughing at Eli and Joel as they told the most ridiculous stories, which Ben, Seb and Sadie kept insisting were true. Like when their friendly campus pot dealer, Paco, hired Joel to do some "consulting" for him. Seems Paco thought that some of his crew were cheating him so he had Joel go undercover as "Joe-L from Little Havana" and infiltrate the crew from the bottom up, assessing the accounting controls and risk at each level. Through further consult with Eli, Paco was convinced to open a homeopathic remedy store and make his entire crew employees. Most of the guys who were skimming weren't legal, so they were eliminated and of the rest some had no interest in "going straight". Those who hired on were rewarded with the option to pick up the other guys territory or take a legitimate job with full benefits. Most chose the latter, cause as we all know, no one works for the money. We work for the employment trinity - medical, dental, vision.

After several rounds of Hookers and plenty of opportunities to laugh at the guys adolescent faux pas, except for Luke whom no one seemed to have any dirt on, we said our goodbyes. Ben and friends promised to tailgate with us for awhile before the race, but were vehemently against meeting us anytime before 1pm. This of course caused the insults to fly; crazy, fair-weather fan, fanatic, narcoleptic, insomniac, pretty-boy, redneck. We got back a little before midnight; just in time for me to finish off the.  

The interior of Mimi's is my second favorite thing about the place, behind the food. Tristan hired a local artist to paint a mural across the façade over the counter and most of the rest of the walls are dark blue. The exception being the wall behind the counter which is bright orange, which I spent an entire weekend helping Tristan and his Weimaraner paint.

"Hey Loser! Didn't we get rid of you!?" greeted me from behind the counter.

"You wish dumb ass!" I bellowed back. Loser and dumb ass have been our pet names for each other since we met. No real reason behind it; it is just fun to be able to call someone names with no repercussions.

By the time I had reached the counter, Tristan had walked around and immediately pulled me into a giant hug.

"You look great,” he said low in my ear. "You need to eat," he added loud enough for everyone to hear.

I grabbed a tray, ordered a plate of chicken and dumplings, green beans, peach cobbler and sweet tea. Since it was only 11:15, there was no shortage of tables and I chose one by the windows so I could entertain myself with the passers-by. Just as I shoveled the first fork full into my mouth, Tristan sat down across from me.

"Did I catch you at a bad moment?" he asked through a sly grin.

"Damn you Cadwaladr!" I replied as soon as I was able to swallow. "I really do hate you!"

"No you don't. You only hate that you can't have me."

Tristan sat with me trading quips, making me alternately scowl and roll with laughter, as usual. Apparently, there is some face I make when I am pissed/offended that he finds infinitely amusing and takes great pleasure in eliciting from me. Once he went back in the kitchen, I finished my lunch, making sure to savor every bite of cobbler. Mmm peaches! I sat there awhile enjoying the warm October breeze before getting up to leave just as the lunch crowd started streaming in. 

Janey had taken a half day, so I wandered back to meet her at the office and head for the house to start the pork "booty" (as all of my friends have come to refer to it). Really it is just a Boston Butt that I slow roast, but one drunken tailgate, after learning what cut of meat he was eating, Olie started singing "Show me the booty, give me the booty, I want the booty…" needless to say it has become a bit of a tradition now.

I took me about an hour to get the meat cleaned, seasoned and in the oven, where it would stay for the next seven hours. Janey and I decided to walk down to Beth's for some girl chat before Olie and Janey's fiance Luke got off work.

When the guys showed up, we all loaded into Olie's Tahoe and headed over to Red Rocks for dinner. Red Rocks is my favorite restaurant in town, after Mimi's of course, and in the middle of Birkdale Village, an open-air shopping district. It was still 76˚, so we got a table out on the patio where we could properly enjoy Indian Summer. While walking through the bar to our table, "Oh my God!" boomed from behind the bar.

It was Beverly, my Monday night pal/bartender. Nearly every Monday night I would sit at the bar, order a rare burger and a few pints of Guinness and chat with random patrons while watching whatever was on ESPN that night.

"Hey Bev," I said leaning across the bar to give her a hug. "How have you been?"

"Mondays' just aren't the same. Back for the race?"

"You know it!"

"Well enjoy your dinner. Stop back by on your way out if you can."

Our table was in the perfect spot. Close enough to the sidewalk to see and hear all the teenagers, families and couple wandering by. As we were finishing our calamari steaks a light rain started, but under the patio canopy we were able to enjoy the rainy sunset, perfectly dry. We all relaxed and decompressed from the week, granted Beth and I had less to decompress from, but we needed it too. Olie and Luke started debating driver virtues; Dale, Jr. vs. Jimmie Johnson. Eventually, after Janey had to break it up, conversation shifted to the race plans.

"So, is your booty going to be ready for me tomorrow?" Olie asked. We all fell apart laughing as the older couple next to us turned crimson as they scowled and shook their heads.

"My booty will be ready for you when it is good and ready," I croaked in between laughs. "Seriously though," I continued once I had regained some of my composure, "it should be ready in plenty of time to head over to the track."

"We are leaving at 9am."

"Olie! This isn't the first time I have tailgated with you. I know how it works."

Charlotte races are always night races. Regardless, Olie always headed for the track by 9am to set-up the tailgate. A couple of easy-up tents, gas grill, smoker, folding table, coolers, kegs, the works. Even though we all know the routine inside out, Olie insisted on going over the plan while we ate dinner.

While Olie continued to instruct us all on our jobs for the morning, a familiar shadow loomed over me. Just as it’s owners’ hand reach my shoulder, Olie suddenly jumped up.

“Benji!”

“Olie!”

“What are you doing here? Down for the race?”

“You know I never miss it,” Ben replied. “How did you get suckered in by this crew? I thought you had class?” He asked me, obviously trying to incite Olie.

"These are the friends I told you about on the plane." I replied.

Janey jumped in at this point, "What!? Are you two dating?"

"No," I retorted, "I have class."

"That hurts! And after I let you sit in first class with me. Ingrate!"

Completely ignoring him, I continued, "Actually, Ben is my new stalker."

Olie asked, "Do you know what happened to her last stalker?"

"No. What? Did you run him off?"

"No."

"Beat him up?"

"No, worse."

"Kill him?"

"Do I look stupid? I couldn't survive in jail! Not with this sweetness here," Olie replied smacking his rear. "I duct taped the creep naked to a flag pole!"

The entire table erupted at this. When we all finally caught our breath, Janey said, "Don't you normally have a posse or something following you around Ben?"

"Yeah man, where's your entourage?" Luke asked.

"They're in the "VIP" room, of course. You know we can't hang with the common people. We would be mobbed, " Ben teased.

"Then what are you doing out here by yourself? Aren't you afraid for your safety?" Luke replied.

"I just wanted to make sure Thisby here wasn't being abused by you ruffians."

"I thought you were past the cheesy come-ons?" I glared

"Sorry, sorry, mia culpa, mia culpa. My real reason for coming over was to see if you guys wanted to meet us over at the hooker. I'm getting ready to head over there with Seb and Sadie and the twins," said Ben.

We all looked at Olie, eagerly awaiting "father's" approval. He seemed to seriously consider the impact this would have on the tailgating program before saying, "We can go for a little while, but just so we are clear…we are still leaving for the track at 9am. No excuses."   

Janey didn’t have any real dirt, at least nothing that Emma hadn’t already revealed. There were a few anecdotes about Ben holding her under in the pool when they were kids, Ben and Olie getting busted drag racing down John Conner Rd., that sort of thing. She hadn’t seen him in years, so I shared all I had learned in Brighton.

“So, he found a way to stay in racing. His parents were sure they had won when he dislocated his shoulder playing rugby in college. I suppose driving isn’t the only way.”

I turned in early to make sure I didn't have to rush in the morning. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, my phone rang.

“Where are you?” Zara demanded.

“Charlotte. Why? What’s going on?”

“We all agreed to meet up at Killeshandra tonight, remember? Obviously not!”

She then proceeded to pass the phone around to everyone so they could all join in my beratement. My offenses ranged from being inconsiderate to a workaholic to (and to them this was worst of all) Southern. I begged forgiveness and promised to make it up to them all next weekend and rung off.

This morning was possibly the most fun I have ever had/will ever have at the deal table. I was there early since I rode in with Janey and was settled in the conference room long before anyone else arrived. Though it wasn’t planned, I knew this would completely unnerve Al and therefore her whole team. She hates not being in control of a room; assigning the seats, controlling the conversation from the moment people arrive.

Since I am all too familiar with the room, I decided to have a little fun. I moved all of the comfortable chairs to one side of the table, the side that faces a bank of windows overlooking the trolley line and with possibly the best view in town of the Bank of America Stadium. Simply because I figured, if I was going to be trapped in that room all morning I should at least have some entertainment. I moved the worst chair in the room to the head of the table were I knew Al would make sure she sat.

The investor team arrived next and we did some catching up while waiting on the others. Jeff was late, as always, and arrived talking on his cell phone and typing on his Blackberry at the same time. Al was twenty minutes late, though I am sure she will charge everyone for her time from the scheduled start of the meeting.

She came in chirping ‘Hello’ to everyone making absolutely zero eye contact, sat in her chair, ‘phoout”, leaned back, saw me and just as she started to open her mouth, the seat back gave way and she nearly flipped end-on-end out of the chair. I had to bite my tongue and pinch myself at the same time to halt my laughter. I know, I’m going to hell.

The meeting went well, much shorter than Al’s norm. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that her chair said ‘phoout’ every time she shifted her weight, all 93 pounds. Maybe it was the sound of nails on a chalkboard that came from the wheels of the chair every time she pushed back to use the whiteboard. It also could have been that there was finally someone on the other side of the table who knew all of her tricks and beat her to them.

Today started early, with Gus and Bobby returning to finish the powder room downstairs while I cleaned up the mess I had accumulated over the last week and a half. The brothers finished up around 2:30pm, just as I was rechecking my packing to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything: suit for the meeting, check; #20 cap, check; swimsuit, check; toothbrush, toiletries, check; pjs, check. iPod, check; camera, check; toothbrush (I always seem to forget it), check.

I was pondering if I had enough time to grab food before heading to the airport, while taking out the trash, when my thoughts were interrupted by Logan's voice through the gate.

"You aren't cheating on my shower are you? 'Tubby' has a fragile ego, I'm not sure he could handle you seeing another shower."

"Actually," I replied "'Tubby' and I broke up Tuesday night."

"He hadn't told me, but I knew something was up. He has been dripping the last couple days."

We both got a good laugh out of the exchange, which was followed by a very awkward pause.

Logan broke first, "What are you up to the rest of the week?"

"I'm flying to Charlotte in a couple of hours. Got a meeting first thing down there."

"I thought you quit."

"So did I, but apparently submitting one's resignation and moving over 700 miles away doesn't mean you are out of the game."

"Sounds kind of fishy to me. Should I be calling you 'Dona Thisby'? When are you back?"

"Not until Monday morning."

"That must be some meeting."

"The meeting will only be a few hours tomorrow, the rest of the weekend I will at the track and hanging out with friends on the lake."

"I still can't figure out the appeal of racing. It's just a bunch of cars going in circles. Well, I should let you go...have a safe trip."

"Will do."

I went back in the house, made a quick sandwich, checked my bag again for my toothbrush, check, and headed out for the airport.

I got through security and checked in at the gate in no time flat; settled into a seat facing the windows, propped my feet on the baseboard vent, started my iPod up and shut my eyes. I am a total music junky. I have playlists going back to puberty. Shortly after I got my first iPod, I am on my third, I recreated all of my old mix tapes as digital playlists, making my iPod a pocket time machine.

Today I decided to revisit sophomore year in college, specifically my 1996/7 frat mix and chick mix. I know it sounds like a weird combination now, but at the time you know you were listening to feminist rock by day and cheesy techno/pop at night. Try to deny it, but I know you have an Indigo Girls album and one of those NOW cds sandwiched between The Fugees and Chemical Brothers.

I'm not sure how long I had the world blocked out for, but when I opened my eyes to check the time, Ben was sitting next to me.

"Hi there. I was wondering when you would return to the mortal plain," he beamed at me.

"Did I look like I was dead or something?"

"No, just like you had returned to Mount Olympus for awhile."

"That is the worst line I have heard in years! I might have to pretend not to know you."

"Then I guess I will have to tell them to un-upgrade you to first-class," Ben grinned nodding to the gate counter.

I recovered quickly, "I suppose I can overlook your tackiness this once...just don't let it happen again. Why the upgrade?"

"I figured there was no sense in us both traveling alone when we could travel alone, together," he smirked.

"Again with the cheesy! I might have to un-upgrade myself."

"Okay, no more clowning around. I promise. So...how you doin'?" he asked sliding his arm around me. After receiving a playful shove he continued. "So what are you heading back to Charlotte for so soon after moving? You haven't given up on us already, have you?"

"No, I have a business meeting tomorrow morning and then I am spending the rest of the weekend with friends and going to the race."

"Me too, except for the business part. I try to avoid suit-and-tie work as much as possible."

We spent the next couple of hours talking about this and that, but mostly argued the merits of Tony Stewart and Jimmie Johnson while enjoying the first class cookies. When we got off the plane, there was a town car and driver waiting for Ben and a Honda and Janey waiting for me.

"Can I give you a ride somewhere?" Ben offered.

"No thanks. Janey is waiting for me right over there. I thought you were just down here to go to the races and hang with friends, what's with the car and drive?"

"The family has a car service," he said meekly. "Well you and your friends are welcome to come up to the lake this weekend. The family has a house no one ever uses and a couple of boats up there."

"I will keep that in mind."

When I reached Janey's car she asked how I knew Ben. I explained the connection and countered with the same question. Turns out her family's lake house is three doors down from the Holitz's. 

 After much cursing and beating of the walls, Bobby came down once to make sure I wasn’t having a “see-sure”, I broke for lunch. Once I was refueled, it only took another hour and a half to have the walls completely stripped. Thank God that is over! I promptly decided that sanding and repapering would have to wait at least a week. 

As I was putting everything up, the phone rang, my investor/partner/former client Jeff. He was calling for what I am sure will be the first of many updates on the rehab. I regaled him with a list of all that had been accomplished to date, the great bargain/resource that is Mercurio Bros. and a reconciliation of expenses to the projected monthly draw. He was elated at how far ahead and under budget we are, even though I kept reminding him that we were only half way through the month and only at the beginning of the rehab. 

Just when I thought I had past the test without any crazy request or demands: 

“Do you remember the Mosaic deal? Well we are finally going to the table on that on Friday morning. I need you in my corner.” 

“This Friday?” I asked. 

“8am at RG Consulting’s offices. If I remember, your rate is $175 per hour. Figure out your flight arrangements and call them into my assistant and she will book it all. I’ve got a conference call I need to be on *Click*.” 

Well, I guess I didn’t completely abandon my old life after all. At least he is going to pay my old rate, which for once will go entirely into my own pocket. My old boss J. Alice Ross, Al in the industry, is going to shit a brick when she sees me across the table. That will be priceless!  

I spent the next hour weighing flight options and relaying my choice to Jeff’s dopey secretary Mae. She has to be the dullest woman ever to hold a full time job! As soon as she was able to repeat back to me exactly what I requested, it took 9 trys, I called Janey to make sure she was okay with me showing up a day early. As I suspected, it was no trouble. Now that only left making sure Gus and Bobby could be finished with both bathrooms before tomorrow night. They assured me they would be or they would knock $300 off the bill. Knowing how much they liked a profit, I figured that was a better guarantee than them swearing on their mother’s grave, saint’s preserve her.  

“I mean it is really flattering and would mean an astounding sales increase for all of my books, but I have to agree to appear on her show and talk about the book with her and her audience. I really don’t want to have to explain my narrative or characters to anyone. The whole point of my style is that the places and people are described just enough to hinge everything together yet vague enough that the reader can easily translate them to their own experiences. Discussing them publicly would ruin that. And do I really want people reading it who are just following the leader? Do I want it to become a cliché? Not to mention the fact that I am not sure I could sit next to that women long enough to tape a show without wanting to cut off my ears or out her tongue! She is just so full of herself and her own opinions.”

“Calm down Em! You don’t have to do it…”

“Are you kidding!!? Of course I do! As much as I hate it, it will do wonders for book sales, and that helps me, my publisher, and my assistant who is in desperate need of a raise. I can’t turn it down.”

“You have an assistant!? Are you kidding me?”

“I figured you knew. Maeve has been my personal assistant for almost a year now, but there isn’t much money in it.”

“My cousin Maeve? She never said a word that little stinker!”

We proceeded to invent potential Emma vs. Susan scenarios ranging from peaceful encounters Amy Vanderbilt would approve of to potential slasher film scripts.

“You have an admirer,” Emma suddenly interjected as I was detailing the spontaneous combustion of Susan Jeffries when Emma walked on her stage in a polyester Hawaiian print shirt and cut-off jeans.

“Huh?”

“Over on the porch at the boat house. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you for at least 20 minutes. So what is going on there?”

“Nothing really. We’re neighbors; he lets me use his shower; sometimes we have dinner together; nothing special.”

“That sounds a lot like dating This.”

“No. Really it is strictly platonic. I’ve tried inviting him out with us a few times, but he always turns it down. And honestly, if he were interested something would have happened by now, as many times as we have sat up until all hours on his porch. And anyway, I’m not so sure he is even looking at me. He seems to be looking behind us.”

Emma turned around slowly, and then nearly gave herself whiplash spinning back around. “You are right. He is staring behind us. At his ex.”

“Do tell.”

“Well…Logan dated this girl in college, Noela Tanith. Her last name means serpent lady, but that will become evident. Anyway, he planned to be an architect and by all accounts was very talented. Won a couple of awards and was spending the summer after graduation at home while deciding which job offer to take; super prestigious New York firm, equally prestigious Chicago firm, avant garde LA firm or progressive Seattle firm. The girlfriend came home with him for the summer to meet the whole family and see where he grew up. Well after being here about two weeks she was ready to return to “civilization”. Seems she was more interested in Logan’s future than his past. Logan proposed to her anyway. Love isn’t just blind; it is also deaf and dumb! She accepted and went off for a few weeks with friends. While she was gone, Logan’s father had a massive coronary and was soon pushing up daisies.”

“Why are you talking like Edward G. Robinson?”

“Am I? I’m working on a short story set during prohibition. Lake runners, hooch hawkers, painted ladies. You know I get absorbed by my characters sometimes. Back to Logan though. So his dad is gone, his fiancée is too 'busy' to return for the funeral so he goes through it all alone. A week later she finally comes back and he tells her that he is going to defer the offers until January so he came help his mom adjust and to decide what to do with his inheritance. See his father left him the boathouse, but on condition that he must live there and operate the business himself. Should he choose not to, the whole thing goes to the historic commission and he is left with nothing.”

“But the business has been in there family forever.”

“And Daddy dearest wanted to keep it that way. He knew Logan wouldn’t be able to walk away from it. Noela was though. She broke off the engagement and went back to New York a day later. Logan was devastated. Six weeks later the society page was running a new engagement notice: Noela Maria Tanith to wed James Thomas Cromwell.”

“Mary Elizabeth’s brother?”

“You got it! Dragon lady found her new prey quick. She and JT dated all of five seconds before tying the knot. JT was a hot shot young stock broker in New York at the time and the little snake coiled herself right around his wallet. Jokes on her though...nine months after they were married, he quit his job and they moved back here. He joined his father's advisory firm and bought the house right next door to dear old mom and dad."

"That is terrible!! What a selfish little twit. No amount of money or status could possible make JT any less of a schmuck!"

"She got her's though. She may have the money and prestigious in-laws, but JT is not the spend-thrift she had hoped. That boy keeps an iron grip on his cash. Even put her lazy ass on an allowance. A couple months back, she was in the designer section over at Forman’s buying $100 t-shirts and her card was declined. Seems JT thought she was spending too much so he cancelled the card.”

We then proceeded to analyze Noela ala Susan Jeffries pal Dr. Dave, who is quite possibly the most annoying man on television. It was so engrossing that we didn’t notice Sean, Aleksi and Zara until they were standing over us.

“You two are absolutely evil,” Zara interjected. “That poor girl has had to watch all of her scheming and manipulations go up in flames.”

“It is all her own fault!” Sean added. “You can’t do what she did to Logan and expect you are going to have a good life. Signing that pre-nup was by far her dumbest move though.”

“Oo do tell!” I said, a bit too eagerly. This was rapidly turning into an episode of Melrose Place.

“Well she gets nothing unless they have kids.”

“So she pops one out and then leaves him, she wouldn’t be the first gold-digger to pull that stunt,” Emma said.

Aleksi jumped in, “But remember the soccer match junior year against Lourdes Prep? The one where Logan and JT got into that huge fight?” I nodded slowly as I trolled my memory for the event. “Well, it seems Logan did some permanent damage to the Cromwell family jewels!”

Trying not to burst out laughing Emma asked, “So the little princess landed herself a eunuch that she can’t afford to leave. This just keeps getting better!”

Sean, who I quickly learned now goes by Dec, short for his middle name Declan, is one of my Irish cousins. My father’s two sisters married Irish immigrant brothers, the Bradaighs who live here and the Bradys who live in County Cavan. His younger brother got involved with their sister, begetting Sean just before he was killed in a car accident, so Sean has only ever known his stepdad Steve Reilly. Anyway, the Bradys in Ireland are completely normal, the Bradaighs here are…well let’s just say that they overdue it on the heritage.

Aleksi and Zara Petrovic are my oldest friends. Our parents all met in the 70s while attending the same church and became fast friends. The Petrovics are practically my second parents. Our families have spent every Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Easter together for as long as I can remember. Even after my parents moved to Virginia, the Petrovics just kept showing up at my mother’s dinning room table. Aleksi, who has been one credit short of a mechanical engineering degree for nearly ten years, is the women’s soccer coach at the University of Brighton. Zara, who is working on her second masters, teaches English at one of the high schools and judging from the sari she was wearing is probably a Hindu this month.

We spent the evening catching up with eachother. Zara is in fact a practicing Hindu this month. It seems last month she was Russian Orthodox, and the month before that atheist. Sean, I mean Dec, just passed his detectives exam, something his stepfather was never able to achieve. Aleksi is dating one of his star players from last year, who thankfully has graduated.

“One girl? I seem to remember you having a policy about that…a minimum of 3 ladies at a time, innocent girl, experimental girl and worldly girl” Dec said.

“You have a policy!? Which one was I?” I grinned. Back in high school Aleksi and I had “dated” briefly. Not because we were actually interested in eachother, but because everyone around us, especially our mothers, thought it the right and natural thing to happen.

“Yes, I HAD a policy. I am trying something different for awhile,” Aleksi replied. “You were the innocent.” With that he very quickly excused himself.

“This, seriously, the boy is definitely watching you,” Emma interjected.

“Who? Who’s watching her?” Zara babbled. “Do you have a boyfriend already? Who is it? You have to tell everything!”

“There is no boyfriend, and no one watching me! Emma is just trying to make something of nothing.”

Dec, who I thought had averted his eyes from the table to avoid getting sucked into the girly abyss, said, “Logan is definitely watching you This. His gaze wanders over to Noela every so often, but it is pretty much fixed on you. It isn’t that surprising. I’d be staring too if you weren’t my cousin.”

“Creepy Dec! Super creepy!” I retorted

“Seriously, cuz, you are a good looking girl, a guy would have to be blind not to notice that. And with you going in and out of his house using the shower everyday the guy would have to be dead not to have a thing for you.”

“How do you know about me using his shower?” I demanded.

“It’s my job to know everything that happens in this town,” he winked.

“Come off it Dec!” Emma said. “You know because Logan probably said something to you at poker last night.”

Aleksi reappeared as I was explaining things to Zara. “Not quite the innocent anymore, are you?” With that he pulled out his little black book, which is actually two Moleskin notebooks rubber banded together and made a notation after my name.

“Make sure to add that you blew your chance when you were 16, much to your eternal shame” I joked.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. We all went home around 11pm promising to meet up at Killeshandra Thursday night.  

Hands covered in blisters, I decided to pack it up early. Mostly because I was ready to tear down the walls, paper and all, but partly so I had an excuse to shower over at Logan’s one more time. As I was about to open the kitchen door, Emma called to see if I was up for dinner and drinks. We agreed on 5 o’clock at the Lock 33 Tavern so we could grab the early bird special.

Logan was still out on the water, so I decided on a good long shower. Fully aware of the fact that though my next bath would be in a new (to me) fully operational tub, it would be in a neglected old bathroom with peeling plaster and broken tiles; I proceeded to savor every moment in the bright clean bathroom. Emerging after a solid 45 minutes, I found Logan unloading the last of his passengers for the day.

“You are early today.”

“Am I?” I replied as coyly as I am capable, which isn’t very.

“You normally show up closer to dinner time,” he said with his Cheshire grin.

“Are you implying that I am a shower & meal mooch?” I feigned offense.

“I’m not implying”, he shot back with a wink.

“I’m meeting Emma across at the tavern at 5, so I had to change things up today.”

“Girls’ night?”

“S’pose so.”

“Enjoy. I’ll see you at ‘shower-time’ tomorrow”, he said as he went in to hoist the boats for the night. I started to tell him about my new bath, but decided to wait just in case Gus and Bobby needed more time.

“I will keep that in mind. I have to find an old fashioned tub and fixtures first though.”

Bobby made a rare interjection, “Antang you need toots…weh kon tdo.” And with that he changed the sign again to one that read Mercurio & Sons Reclamation & Restoration.

“Stop by the shop this afternoon and see if you can find what you want” Gus added.

“I’ll do that.”

I spent the next few hours working on the base boards in the front hall. Some I was able to pound back into place, but most were so neglected and abused that they had to be pulled down. Another thing to add too my Chase-Pitkin list.

After lunch, I headed over to Gus and Bobby’s shop, which was really just an old barn under the railroad trestle over the canal. The place was packed to the gills with hand burned wooden signs hanging from the rafters announcing the wares; tubs, sinks, basins, faucets, commodes, doors, cabinets, handles, pulls, knobs, windows, stained glass, beams, lintels, hinges. They had everything and enough of it all to refit the whole town.

Gus showed me around the barn before going back through giving his personal recommendations based on the age and style of the house. By the time we were done digging through and discussing the mountains of bathroom fixtures, I had enough for the powder room and the main bath on the second floor; all for the exact amount they had reduced the bill for the roof. I still have to pay for the installation, but I am going to come in way under budget on the bathrooms at this rate.

While Gus and I had been agonizing over the most appropriate fixtures for an early 20th century home Gus had asked how I had been surviving without a working bath, “Don’t get me wrong Miss, it’s just that I know you don’t have a bath but you don’t smell like you’ve gone a week without a wash. That leaves using the canal or well I can’t come up with anything else.”

I filled Gus in on the arrangement with Logan, at which point Bobby, who had been trailing us closely the whole time, insisted that it wasn’t right for me to be indebted to any man and they would be over first thing to start to work on the bathrooms.