"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

Chapter 17 - "Misquoted"

     After we broke up, the idea of a little exercise *did* sound good, 
and there wasn't really any better place to get it than jogging by the 
ducks at Lakeview park.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  I wasn't 
really expecting to see anyone there.  And I was only wearing a jogbra and 
shorts because, well, because it was hot. 

     I didn't see Sean anyway.  So there.  I pushed it pretty hard for a 
couple of miles and was having a private argument with myself on whether I 
should stop to feed the ducks when I heard the sound of heavier footsteps 
echoing mine.  

     It was Kit Carson, though, not his cousin.  "Hey, Jaymi," he said 
quietly as he caught up.  

     "Kit," I said, trying not to gasp too obviously.  

     "I hear you're coming to the party," he said.  I just nodded.  Then 
he said, "Would you mind if Natalie and I joined you and Sean for dinner 
beforehand?"  

     By this time I had caught my breath a little.  "Not at all.  I 
suppose you should ask Sean, though.  I don't even know where we're 
going."  

     "Oh, I can figure that out," he said, grinning.  "I want to surprise 
Sean.  It'll pay him back for . . . well, for things when we were growing 
up."

     "Have you two always lived in this area?"

     "Nah.  I moved here at the start of my freshman year.  Sean was 
already a junior by then."  

     The path lifted onto an inclined section and neither of us spoke for 
a couple of minutes.  I noticed Kit was frowning, but I put it down to 
coping with the hill.  His frown didn't go away when the path leveled out, 
though.  

     "Jaymi?" he said tentatively.

     "Yes?"

     "Um, look, Sean is my cousin and all, but . . . um, don't be 
intimidated by him."

     "Intimidated?"

     "Yeah.  I mean, he's a big football hero, and he's always had girls 
hanging around.  Sometimes he . . . assumes things that you might not 
intend."  

     "What are you trying to say, Kit?"

     "Nothing.  Not really.  Just . . . don't be afraid of him.  He's 
really a nice guy, just . . . confident."  

     Like that helped.  I tried to think of some way to get Kit to be a 
bit clearer, but nothing came to me.  All that was clear was that he 
didn't want to say anything more anyway.  We ran along in silence for a 
few more minutes, but it was time for me to slow down and Kit still wanted 
to run, so we waved and I watched him as he lengthened a lead on me. 

     "I wonder what that was all about?" I asked myself.   Myself didn't 
have any good answers.  Neither did the ducks, for all that they were 
happy to offer opinions on any number of subjects.  

     The next day was the last of the school year, only a half day in 
fact.  Finals were over, but our presence was still required for a big 
assembly where the principal made a speech and various awards were handed 
out.  None of that had any real relevance to me, but I joined with the 
other girls in applauding the jocks and laughing at the geeks.  Unfair, of 
course, since once upon a time I was definitely in the geek category, but 
that's the way it is.  One thing about that interminable assembly was that 
it guaranteed that *none* of the students wanted to hang around campus 
after we were finally released.  The thunderclap of air rushing to fill 
the resulting vacuum rattled the windows.  Or maybe that was just the 
sound of all the cars racing each other to get away, away, anywhere but 
there.  

     It turned out to be a very good thing that I had let myself be talked 
into going to a salon that afternoon.   I had learned several good looks 
for the evening, but none of them would have been as perfectly high school 
as the one I ended up with, complete with a huge mass of sausage curls 
that danced with bouncing energy while still making my neck look long and 
slender.  My makeup was a bit more . . . flamboyant than I would have 
selected, too.  I had never worn silver eyeshadow before, nor quite so 
much eyeliner.  But that was what the other girls were getting so I went 
along.  It had the effect of making me look very teen angel, and I had to 
admit I liked it.  It was also a good thing we had all afternoon off, 
because by the time we had hair, face, nails and legs done, I was feeling 
the rush of time in a big way.

      Time became even more of an issue when I finally got back to my 
room.  I seriously considered changing my choice of dress for the evening 
after I saw the total package.  I was definitely not as innocent looking 
as the glitzy teen angel makeup implied.  Actually, it was and it wasn't.  
When I stood still, it almost looked okay, not too short, not too low in 
the neckline.  

      But it was tight enough that breathing was going to be a spectator 
sport, not the least of which was because I was wearing my most . . . 
effective corset.  It was smallest in the waist - after all, I had started 
the corset fad in our group and I wasn't going to be outdone by anyone 
else - but what really made it 'work' was the half-cups in the bra.  That, 
and the fact the lace of the dress was backed up by sheer silk that 
allowed my nipples to show if you looked really carefully.  I had a 
feeling that people *were* going to look that closely, too.  

     The skirt wasn't really any better.  At first, it didn't appear too 
revealing; only a couple of inches above my knee which was quite long by 
Gaggle standards.  However, there was this interesting little overlap slit 
that didn't show much when I wasn't moving, but went up and up and . . . 
up with every step.  That dress was WAY too sophisticated for a high 
school party, but . . .  Well, hell, the truth is I looked hot enough to 
melt titanium, and this was The Party, the one I couldn't have bought my 
way into before.   

     An inch-wide band of matching lace to accent my throat, chandelier 
earrings to call attention to all that neck, rings to show off my 
glittering nails, spike heels that would have made Carol wince, and I was 
ready.  Yeah, right.  Any girl that says she was *ready* when her first 
ever real date showed up is a liar.  I was so sure that I had forgotten 
something that I almost didn't answer the door when I heard the knock.  
Grand entrance cliche be damned, I needed a mother to stall while I 
checked myself out again to decide what was wrong.  And got my way too 
obvious breathing back under control, and . . 

     But I didn't have a mother any more, so I made myself go to the door 
and open it.  I guess nothing was really wrong.  At least Sean didn't 
think so.  

     "Wow!" he whispered.  

     "Thank you," I said, not quite stifling a giggle that demanded 
release.  

     After several heartbeats (mine was thudding loudly enough that I 
could certainly count every one), I realized he was even more flustered 
than I was.  It was funny, and I had to tweak him a bit.  "Blink, Sean, 
before your eyes dry out."

     "Whu . . oh, sorry," he said, flushing around his dark beard.

     "I'm not," I said airily.  "A girl *does* like to be appreciated."

     That helped him to recover a bit more, and he gallantly replied, 
"Well, I certainly do appreciate you."  

     "Thank you, kind sir," I said, dipping into a pretend curtsy that 
just happened to show a lot of leg through that devious little slit.  I 
didn't hold the pose for long, though.  As a result, he didn't need to be 
reminded to blink again, nor to breathe.  

     "Um, these are for you" he gulped, then handed me some flowers, red 
and white roses in a twirly little wrist corsage that was really quite 
sweet.

     "Why, thank you, Sean.  How sweet."  So sue me.  I never said I was 
subtle, especially not in that dress.  He was a college boy.  It wasn't 
quite like shooting fish in a barrel.  

     I wrapped the flowers around my wrist and gathered up my purse.  Sean 
was . . . watching the whole time, but he managed to stabilize his 
breathing in time to ask politely, "Ready to go?"

     "I was born ready," I said, laughing lightly.  We will politely 
ignore my panic of just a few minutes before.

     Actually, that panic was really gone.  Sean's obvious appreciation of 
my appearance had helped, of course, but it was more than that.  For all 
his roguishly good looks, he was . . . like a child.  Innocent in just how 
nasty the world could be.  I had been forged in a fire that he had never 
even imagined, and thank God most people never would.  

     It seems silly to talk about a guy who was only a couple of years 
younger than me - who looked several years older - as being childlike, but 
it's true.  And with that realization, my . . . odyssey into the world of 
'insider' high school girls was complete.  Ironically, now that I knew I 
*could* be that type of girl, I didn't *need* to be that type of girl 
anymore.  I didn't have anything left to prove, not to myself anyway.  At 
least, at that very moment I didn't think I had anything left to prove.

     Which didn't mean I didn't have fun.  Sean was a perfect gentleman, 
opening doors for me, guiding me with a politely placed hand, snarling 
silently at the restaurant valet who looked a little too closely at my . . 
. dress.  

     "Ah, Mr. Adams," the hostess said as we approached.  "Your party is 
waiting for you."

     Sean had visibly swelled with pride at being recognized.  Then his 
breath whuffed out in a burst when the girl said someone else was already 
there.  He looked at me sharply for a second, but I had managed to put a 
blandly innocent look on my face just in time.  I considered asking a 
teasing, 'who else did you invite?' but I just knew if I tried I'd 
dissolve into giggles.  

     It was Kit and Natalie, of course.  I never did learn how they found 
out where we were going, though the presence of several other couples I 
knew from school indicated this was a pretty popular place for Party 
dates.  

    "Yo, Cuz," Kit said broadly as we walked up.  "Glad you could join 
us."

    I'll give Sean credit for a quick recovery.  He smiled ruefully and 
accepted the inevitable, pulling out my chair for me and sitting without 
comment.  

     Natalie didn't make any comment either, at least, not with words.  
Her eyes were as wide as Sean's had been, though, when she realized how 
revealing my dress was . . . almost was . . . might be.  

     I almost lost it in a private giggleburst again when her first word 
echoed what Sean had said, complete with the breathy whisper.  "Wow!"

     "Wow yourself," I countered.  She had poured herself into a stretchy 
red-sequined mini that was so perfectly 'party dress' that it should have 
illustrated a dictionary.  With her wearing it.  She looked terrific, but 
it was so high school, and I knew I was at least a couple of notches more 
sophisticated.  Meow, meow.

     It's a good thing that this was really my last day in town, because I 
was *so* bad.  Poor Natalie didn't really have a chance.  She did 
everything right, but I did everything better.  

     "What would you like?" Kit asked her.  

     "I think, I'd like the chicken marsala," she answered softly.  

     "What would *you* like?" Sean asked me.

     "Oh, Sean, whatever you think is best," I simpered demurely.

     That bought me a smile of pride from Sean and a much sharper look 
from Natalie.  I smiled at her, a challenge in my eyes that was 
unapologetic.  She rose to the occasion in a way that earned even more of 
my respect.  I'd underestimated her from the very first day, and she 
accepted my challenge with humor and skill.  It wasn't enough, but she 
hadn't had the experiences that it took to put that extra depth into my 
eyes.  God forbid she ever would.  

     After that, we were locked in a friendly battle to convince our dates 
they were the most wonderful men ever to breathe.  They bought it of 
course, never realizing they were just filling in a blank spot in the 
game.  

     "Um, darling," Natalie said softly to Kit at one break in the 
conversation - the boys were talking about football and we were 
fascinated, of course, "would you mind if I, um, went to powder my nose?"

     "Huh?  Oh, sure, go ahead."

     Sean had my chair moving so quickly I almost didn't make it back up 
on my heels, but I smiled gratefully just the same.  No one asked if I 
felt the need as well, not even me.  

     As soon as we were out of whispered earshot, Natalie said, "Ohmigod, 
Jaymi, that dress is sooo wicked.  I could *never* wear something that . . 
bad."  

     "This?" I said dismissively.  "Why, this is just something I found in 
the back of my closet."  Then I broke the haughty tone by giggling.

     Natalie snickered, too.  "If I had a dress like that, I'd have to 
hide it deep in my closet or I'd be grounded until I was thirty!" 

     "Yeah, right.  Kit can see your heartbeat through that rubber band 
you're wearing.  I know, because his own pulse is keeping time with every 
quiver - and his eyes haven't been anywhere else all evening."

     "Quiver is good," she laughed.  "But he's been looking at you WAY too 
much."

     "Yeah, right," I repeated.  "Let's go back and ask him what color 
dress I'm wearing.  Wanna bet he doesn't know?"

     "Hell, girl, it's not your *dress* he's been staring out, and I'll 
bet he can tell you all about the color of what's been winking through it 
all night."

     "Ya think?" I asked, taking as deep a breath as my corset allowed.  

     "Show off," she sniffed.  But I noticed when she came out of the 
stall that she had done something to the cups of her own body shaper.  You 
couldn't tell the color on her . . . assets, but you could definitely tell 
their shape.  

     "Well, so much for anyone looking at *me* tonight," I observed.  

     "Just fighting fire with fire," she claimed.

     "Gonna start a pretty good blaze with *that* look," I predicted.

     "Welcome to Party night," she said unrepentantly.  

     While we were standing at the mirror, Natalie's voice took on a more 
serious tone.  "Jaymi?"

     "Yes?"

     "Do you think Sean knows about what . . . happened to you?"

     "I don't know."

     "Well, he may.  I mean, I haven't told him of course, but, well, 
word gets around, you know?"

     I sighed.  "I'm not surprised."

     "What if, I mean, what if he . . . wants something?"

     "Not gonna happen," I said flatly.  

     Natalie's eyes showed sympathy, and concern of another sort.  "He 
might, um, be disappointed."

     "Yeah, well, life's a bitch and then you die."  

     "That's cold."

     "Frigid, in fact," I said, shrugging.  

     "Oh, Jaymi, I, oh, I'm so sorry."

     Damn.  I didn't want the whole evening to revolve around what had 
happened to me before.  Trying to change the subject, or at least the 
tone, I deliberately misinterpreted her remark.  

     "Why?  Have you already *had* ol' tall, dark, and studly and don't 
want it to go to waste?  Wanna trade for the evening?"  

     "What? No!" she gasped, then laughed.  "Okay, you got me on that 
one."

     "I'll take care of myself," I promised her.  "Let's just have a good 
time tonight."  

     "Deal," she said.  

     We made our way back to our table to find our dates waiting with 
building impatience.  

     "We didn't figure you girls wanted dessert," Sean explained.  "None 
of you ever do, and with your figures, well, I'm not going to try and talk 
you into changing."

     "Nice of you to notice, Sean," I purred while winking at Natalie.  

     She slid her arm around Kit and cooed, "I'm willing to go if you are, 
Kit."  

     God, we were bad.  It didn't get any better after we got to The 
Party.  In the face of all those cruising carnivores, our dates got hugely 
protective.  That's what it was, of course, just being protective.  That's 
why Sean's hands never left my arm, or my waist, or my hip, or . . . 

     "Watch it, Sean," I warned, pinching the web of his thumb in my 
nails.  I was trying to decide if that was working.  I didn't think any 
hand I'd warned like that had roamed again.  Of course, since he clearly 
had at least 27 hands, I might have lost track of which ones I'd pinched.

     "Jaymi!" I heard a high-pitched call.

     Turning, I saw an angelic Ashley breaking trail toward me, a grinning 
blond hottie in tow.  

     "Jaymi, this is Bobby Watson," she shouted.

     "Pleased to meet you," I yelled back.  

     He nodded, still grinning.  

     Leaning close to Ashley's ear, I spoke in a more normal tone of 
voice, which qualified as a whisper in there, "You're late."  

     "We had . . . something to do first," she said.  

     I looked into her face for something a little more specific, but 
couldn't find a clear answer to my question.

     "Are you happy?" I asked, finally.

     "Yes," she said simply, but she grabbed her guy's hand and pulled it 
around her own waist.  

     "Good for you," I said, smiling.   

     That wasn't enough, though.  I mean, in some ways it was, but . . . I 
wanted details.  

     I grabbed her with one hand and yelled at Sean, "Powder break!"  

     He nodded, letting go of my hand and I towed Ashley to our table so I 
could get my purse.  When we reached the relative quiet of the powder room 
I turned to her.  

     Before I could get my question out, she said, "No.  We talked about 
it, but we're going to wait.  Bobby is satisfied with that.  Well, and 
with . . . something else."

     "Sounds like you two were made for each other," I said, smiling a 
benediction that I had no right to bestow.

     "Oh, Jaymi, I hope so," she gushed.  Then she laughed and said, 
"Though if I hadn't already made . . . an arrangement with him, I'd worry 
about you and that dress.  It is soo bad!"  

     "Ha!" I countered.  "Listen, my angelic one, he is the first guy here 
tonight who hasn't even looked at me.  I'm hurt!"

     She giggled and said, "I noticed."  

     "Braggart!  And you said *I* was bad!"

     She ducked her head and blushed, but that look of quiet pride was 
stronger than ever.  Good for her.  

     Sean had hit the punch bowl when we returned.  More than once, 
apparently.  But he was a big boy and it didn't impede his energy - nor 
his hands - at all.  It was flattering, but after a while it got sort of 
tiresome, too.  The same problem as before resurrected itself.  The whole 
'outlaw' Party thing was so . . . high school.  What had been forbidden 
before was now so . . . available - at least in my real life - that it 
didn't mean anything.   

     At a break in the music, Sean asked, "Would you like some air?"  

     I nodded, grabbing my purse again out of reflex more than a clear 
sense of need.  We walked out through the grounds of the hotel complex, 
enjoying the quiet, holding hands.  

     "You're very pretty tonight, Jaymi."  

     "Thank you, Sean." 

     We passed under a little trellised archway woven with climbing roses, 
and Sean stopped.  He pulled me into his arms, not at all roughly, but 
with a casual strength that made any resistance irrelevant.  Not that I 
particularly remember resisting.  

     It was the first time that I ever kissed anyone with a mustache.  
Strange sensation.  Distracting.  That was it.  That's why I didn't resist 
when he did it again.  

     He bent me over a bit, molding our bodies together so my smaller arc 
nested inside his greater one.  That's why I ran out of breath.  My corset 
was too tight.  After a while, anyway.  

     I might have been past high school in a lot of ways, but I had never 
felt so . . . deliciously helpless, so weak and protected all at the same 
time.  Part of that was Sean.  He was a . . . masterful kisser, strong 
without being abusive, confident while paying attention to my own needs.  

     Speaking of needs.  Sean whispered into my ear, "I have a room."

     Uh, oh.  "I don't think that would be a good idea, Sean."

     "I could convince you otherwise," he promised.

     "I don't think so," I repeated.

     "Look, Jaymi, no one who looks as hot as you, who kisses as 
passionately as you can really be afraid of sex."  

     "So I'm asking for it, is that it?" I said, stepping back.

     "That's not what I said," Sean replied, his arms tightening with 
gentle force, slow but inexorable.  

     His lips found mine before I had a chance to say anything else, and 
the feeling of helplessness returned - part of which was my own desire for 
the protection that came with it.  I didn't want him to stop kissing me, 
but I wouldn't let it, *couldn't* let it go any further.

     "Jaymi," he whispered in my ear.  "I know what happened to you, but 
you don't need to worry.  I'll be gentle."  

     "I'm not worried," I replied, struggling a little to push back where 
I could breathe, where I could think.  "I just don't . . . want to."  

     "Why not?" Sean asked.  "I'm told I'm pretty good in bed, and you are 
so sensuous it makes my blood burn.  And it's not like you have to protect 
your virtue or anything."  

     *That* was not a good line to take with me.  I may have been raped, 
but that hadn't really touched my soul.  I wouldn't let it touch my soul.  
Not at the time, not in any time to come.  My body might have been 
violated, but by God my soul had some virtue left.  

     And then it hit me, with an impact that was all the worse because I 
never should have forgotten, not even for an instant.  I was not really a 
high school girl.  I was a con artist.  Lying about everything.  What sort 
of virtue was there in that?  Sean was a lot closer to right in his 
assumption than I had been in my automatic denial.  

     Which didn't help at all.  I squirmed to be let free, demanding it 
this time.  "Sean, please take me home."  

     "Oh, no, Jaymi, don't be that way.  Look, let's just go back into the 
party.  When you calm down, we'll . . . talk again."  

     "Sean, please take me home.  Now."  

     He reached out to put his arm around me again, sliding it over the 
taut globes of my fanny on its way to my waist.  

     I over-reacted, more from shame than because of anything he had 
really done.  He truly had been a gentleman all evening, really.  Close 
enough, anyway, for a scene with the reputation of The Party.  It was me 
that was wrong to take so much offense.  I knew that even as I reached for 
his hand with something that El Supremo never taught me.  In a lot less 
time than it takes to tell it, it was over.

     Sean looked up at me from where he lay on the path, trying not to add 
any pressure to the strain in his shoulder.

     "Good night, Sean," I said flatly, then let him go.  I turned back up 
the path to the front of the hotel.  

     "Jaymi, wait!  I'm sorry."  

     Not as sorry as I was, but things had gone too far to turn back now.  

     To his credit, he hadn't tried to follow me.  He had stood up, but he 
waited where we had been standing under that little arbor.  It wasn't fear 
that held him, not some worry that I would do something to him again.  I 
knew that, somehow.  It was honest respect for my feelings.  

     That hurt even worse, because I had been the one who had been 
treating everyone else without respect, with my lie, with my fraud.  I 
owed him at least something.  

     "I'm sorry, Sean," I said, turning back to look at him.  "This was a 
mistake - my mistake - not your fault."  

     "Please, Jaymi, come back inside," he said.  

     "I can't," said softly.  

     "Then wait here," he suggested.  "I'll go get Natalie, or Ashley.  
Talk with them.  Just don't go away like this."  

     I owed them at least as much, had taken advantage of their friendship 
at least as terribly as I had taken advantage of Sean's interest.  Running 
away like a coward wasn't right; I needed to face the music.  So I 
nodded, not meeting Sean's eyes.  

     I heard him move away and turned to look up at the moon shining 
through the branches of the little garden spot.  Everything was as perfect 
as things could be.  The weather was warm, the sky was clear, the people I 
had met had been open and accepting.  God had I screwed up!  

     "Jaymi?" Natalie's voice reached out tentatively.  

     "Hi, Natalie," I replied softly.  

     "What's wrong?"  

     "Nothing.  Everything.  Me."  

     By this time she had reached me and wrapped her arms around me.  Like 
that helped.  It did, of course, but what it also did was break my last 
strands of self-control and I was instantly sobbing helplessly.   I felt 
more than saw Ashley join us, and someone's gentle pressure led us to a 
seat under a gazebo.  

     "Tell us what happened," whispered Natalie.  "Tell us what Sean did."  

     "Nothing.  He didn't do anything, except . . . be nice.  It wasn't 
him."  

     They sat in silence for a long moment.  Later, I would remember the 
next thing that Natalie did and give her even higher marks for brains and 
sensitivity than she had earned before.  At the time, I was shocked.

     What she did was make a joke.  "Gee, if we go inside and tell 
everyone that you were upset because Sean was too nice, they're not going 
to believe it."  

     Ashley gasped, worried that I would find Natalie's remark cruel and 
taunting.  Maybe I should have, if I were still playing that game.  But I 
was the wrongdoer here, and the idea of Sean being embarrassed for merely  
kissing a pretty girl - after all one might imagine he had done with other 
girls - was too silly for words.  

     It stopped me in my tracks, or in my tears.  I wasn't quite to the 
point where I could laugh, but somehow I wasn't crying anymore, either.  
And I found myself defending him.  Or my claim that he was nice, or 
something.  
   
     "All he did was kiss me," I said.

     "Good kisser?" asked Natalie with deceptive casualness.

     I didn't answer, at least not with words, but I felt my face soften 
with the memory.  

     "I think we can take that as a yes," Natalie judiciously informed 
Ashley.  

     "Definitely," Ashley replied, beginning to get into the swing of 
things.  

     "So, your problem is that all he did was kiss you.  Is that what 
you're saying?" Natalie continued.  

     "I can see why that would be disappointing," Ashley said before I 
could respond.  "But there's other boys out there.  Surely *someone* will 
find you attractive enough to . . . do more than kiss you."  

     "Oh, you," I said, finally smiling. 

     "So, what really happened?" asked Natalie, picking up on my changed 
mood.  

     "Well," I sighed, "all he really did was kiss me.  But he, um, 
offered to do more, and when I said no, he . . . oh, God, he was probably 
trying to be 'understanding' by saying it doesn't matter what . . . 
happened to me before.  Like bringing that up helped anything."

     "Men," the other two sniffed in such perfect unison it had to be 
rehearsed.  

     At that I did laugh, at least a little, but it also brought my mind 
back to the real issue.  I sighed again, but straightened.  

     "Look, guys, I haven't been honest with you," I began, searching for 
a lie that was as close to the truth as I could get.  "This was all a sort 
of . . test for me, to see if I'm, um, ready to, um, fit in, as a normal 
girl.  I think the answer is no.  I have to deal with that, with what 
happened to me, with boys and what that means, with a lot of things.  I 
thought I was ready, but . . . I'm obviously not."

     "It's not Sean's fault, not at all," I said forcefully.  "It's me, 
but . . . I think I need to . . . go away again.  I mean, go back to 
Montana and some, um, friends I have there."   

     "Oh, no, Jaymi, don't say that!" Ashley cried.

     "It's for the best," I said calmly.  I really was calm about it.  I 
mean, there was always going to come a time when I had to leave.  In fact, 
the next day.  I never expected to get so emotionally involved - no lie 
there - but I knew I was going to have to go.  This was as good an excuse 
as any, and better than just disappearing.  That whole line of reasoning 
was finally sinking into my thick head.  This was an opportunity, not a 
problem.  At least for me.  

     I stood up.  "Look, I really do have to go.  I have some friends I 
can, um, talk with about this.  They've helped me before.  It's for the 
best."  

     They had stood up with me.  I wrapped my arms around Ashley, 
resolute, but quiet.  She was crying now, but she saw my determination.  I 
hugged Natalie next.  She wasn't crying.  She had the wisdom, and the 
respect for me, that she accepted my decision.  

     "When will you leave?" she asked quietly.  

     "As soon as possible.  Maybe tonight.  If not, then early in the 
morning."

     She looked at me, directly and intensely, then looked away.  
Unfortunately for her, if she wanted to hide her eyes she looked in the 
wrong direction and I saw a definite shine that she was trying to control. 

     "Tell Sean that . . . I'm sorry," I said quietly.  Natalie nodded.  

     "Natalie . . . " I paused, trying to find the words.  "And you, too, 
Ashley.  I promise you that I'll be okay.  And . . . I swear to you that I 
have NEVER had such special girlfriends, such wonderful friends in my 
life.  I'll never ever forget you."  

****************

     Sandy jerked, suddenly recovering from the world of her memories to 
look around the dark parking garage.  A guilty look came into her eyes as 
she looked at her team-mates.  She shrugged sheepishly, then said, "At the 
time, I thought I was telling the truth.  But really, you guys are my best 
friends ever - the whole team.  And I wouldn't have it any other way."  

     There was an awkward moment, as they tried to deal with the intensity 
of the emotions that had been pouring out of Sandy.  Surprisingly, it was 
Vanna who found a way to relieve the moment.  

     "So, Sandy, just what IS it like to kiss a guy with a mustache?"