When I was a kid my mother did the odd stint of daycare to get some extra cash. I remember one of the kids. His name was Ronnie and he was a pain in the butt. His mother was a nurse who worked the afternoon shift. He lied like a rug. He cheated at Monopoly, too. I think having Ronnie around was when I first realised how gullible I am.

Maybe I don't want to call it gullible. Maybe I want to think of it as something else. Trust, maybe. I tend to put my trust in others too much. I don't go around sucking other people in and then laughing up my sleeve at them, so I really don't expect them to do it to me. I guess I should clue in. I should expect to be lied to on a regular basis. I shouldn't trust anyone.

And I don't want to be distrustful, basically. So people just tell me lies and I believe. I just believe and I learn my lesson and kick myself later. Is there any wonder I'm suspicious? I tell you, it's a vicious circle.

Maybe I was a liar in a former life and in this life I'm being punished by getting sucked in all the time. Just like I figure I was a real skanky man in another life, maybe a pimp or something. I used women and now the tables are turned back on me and that's why I don't have any steady, solid man in this life.

Karma sucks.

It all goes back to Ronnie. My mom used to give us a treat occasionally, a chocolate bar or a bag of chips. Somehow she always left it to Ronnie to dole out the treats. " Here," Ronnie would say, " Your mom said that we could share this chocolate bar." I just figured, that was Ma, too cheap to buy us one each. So I'd happily share the bar with Ronnie. And then later I discovered, after about six times that Ronnie had stuffed the other bar into his greedy little gullet behind my back and then ate half of mine.

I whined to Bobbie. She said I deserved it. You've always been easy to fool, Nik. And then she shook her head and laughed. Like I was the creep, not Ronnie. Yea, like that believing in the intrinsic goodness of others was a sin or something. Like that made me stupid.

I guess maybe I am.

Why do I think the stuff I do? I scare myself sometimes. Let me tell you. It's hard being me and doing what I do. Think about it. I want to believe. I want to trust. But I have been conditioned to think that I should not trust anyone. Not even the ones that I love, because I know that they can easily lie to me and turn on me. I try not to lie and yet I have been conditioned to believe that lying can sometimes save my ass or the ass of someone I love, so I do it when my back is against the wall. And I hate myself after and make all these wild justifications for what I have done so I go to sleep at night. Just so I can sleep peacefully.

And I have this monster imagination. I have the world's deranged imagination. I mean, look at my dreams, the wild one I had about Michael when I was in the coma. The shrinks have since informed me that it was indeed a dream, that it didn't encompass the span of the three and a half days, that I was asleep. I asked them why it felt so real. They said I wanted it to be real. Like these dreams people have about being abducted by UFO's or going up to the Pearly Gates.

Okay, so why am I ranting now? I have had the worst time of late. I have insulted my dear Walter, accused him of giving that poor girl Sarah cancer in order to get her, an innocent, to do the job. I believed a lie of Madeline's and then got Sarah's hopes up. I said the most weenie-ish thing ever to Michael: Like Gee Michael, why are you sticking your neck out and checking into Sarah for me? I gave him one of those looks. One of those: " I know you probably have ulterior motives. I don't know if I should trust you." looks. Like helping me and asking nothing in return was something he's never done before, when he has constantly helped me and gotten me through things. I mean look what he did for Bobbie.

I don't just look the gift-horse in the mouth. I kick him in the teeth.

God, I hate that about myself.

I have yet to stopping kicking myself about it one of these days, but this isn't the day. I think my psychological equivalent of a butt is covered in bruises. I guess I was just pissed and worried for Sarah and taking it out on him. I can't for the life of me tell you why I do that. I think, deep down, I was jealous of Sarah. I wanted some attention from him. I want Madeline to ask him to help me get used to men.

Yea, okay, that's sick. I know that. But Sarah was so sweet and delicate and vulnerable and he took her right under his wing. Opened up. Smiled at her. I could see his body language. He started out in Cold Mikey mode and then he softened. And he relaxed and he smiled. His eyes twinkled and that little grin played at the corners of his mouth and he leaned toward her, interested. And he never does that for me unless he's playing a horny hubby at Section's request. Sorry for that word, but that's what I think when I'm really down.

I think: How could that amazing, perfectly delectable hunk actually want a scuz like me?

He was so honest and kind to Sarah. And that rattled me. I hate anyone else having that from him. It stabs me to the bone. He really is intrinsically a good, kind man. A fine man. I just wish this place hadn't made him so cold. So manipulative. Such a good liar. I wish

Shit. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. I should be saddling up Northern Dancer about now.

One thing I wish, though. I wish stinky Madeline hadn't turned off the monitor. I wanted to hear about this love of his. I wanted to know what he thinks of her. I wanted to know if it was me.

Okay, I have my doubts. It could be someone else. I mean I trust him, sort of, but

Oh, there I go again. He has never actually called me his love. I have imagined that he has. He has play-acted the words. But he has never really said it.

Sarah died last week. She held on way longer than anyone would have thought. She died with all the dignity she could muster, but in the end it was bad. She couldn't draw a deep breath, she'd pass out with her eyes open and I'd think she was dead. And then I'd get close and she would stir and murmur something.

I told her that I had something good to tell her while she was still lucid, before Madeline told me she had lied to me about Sarah's cancer being induced. I had to go back and face her, just so happy that I hadn't blown it and told her there was hope. Had I been in her position I'd have hung on to any hope. I wouldn't have wanted to die that way.

And she was brave. She really was one of the bravest people I ever met. I was shocked that she'd gone to bed with Marco but she'd told me she thought he was handsome and sexy and that she was going to know what all the Cosmo magazines and the romance novels talked about before she died. She was not going to her death a pathetic virgin. She thanked Section for giving her that, if you can believe it. I bit my tongue against telling her she could have called an escort service for a stud. She told me she wasn't disappointed and that she was thinking about Marco all the time as she lay there dying. What else was there to think about? I said nothing to her about the guy, really. Nothing about how many people he'd killed. After all I have blood on my hands and so has Michael and if Sarah wanted to think she loved some terrorist she'd slept with once, who was I to question it.

Maybe Sarah and Marco were on some weird cosmic plane, too and were fated to be together life after life. Maybe this just wasn't one of the good lives. I imagine them being born again somewhere and being marvellously happy.

And Marco is nice. And he does the dishes and takes the baby for walks in the stroller.

It was so cruel. So terrible to watch her waste away before my eyes. A process of several weeks. I kept saying to myself, why don't they just kill her? They cancel people all the time and yet they let her lay there and suffer. I still don't understand it. I don't think Michael did either. I didn't know at the time that he was suffering through another crisis of his own. Doing double duty, so to speak.

I am scared of that kind of death. I hope that never happens to me. I want to go fast and if I'm lucky I will. The only trouble is that I don't want to go young. I want to have a life.

If it does happen slowly, I hope I have someone who loves me there. Someone to hold my hand even though I won't know they are there.

Michael was with her when she went. I had gone home thinking that there was still time but he called me back and though I hurried I wasn't there to say good-bye. I remember he was standing in the hall, looking more rumpled than I've ever seen him at Section, his head pressed back against the wall, where he was leaning. He shook his head as I hurried in.

" She died a few minutes ago," he said.

Even though I knew it was coming I just burst into tears. He pulled me into his arms and held me tight, just pressing his hard jaw against my ear, letting me cry. I don't think he cried, himself. Michael is ever the man of steel.

When I pulled away from him, I was embarrassed. There was a big wet spot on his shoulder. He looked at it and shrugged and then handed me a handkerchief. He tipped up my chin with his thumb.

" She said to tell you that you were a good friend, Nikita. She wants you to go to her place and get something to remember her by. A bird cage, or something. She said she talked about it to you."

I nodded. Maybe I can keep love birds like Bobbie. I doubt Section would approve.

" Do you want to get some coffee, Michael? "

He looked at me, a bit surprised, I think. " I'd like to, Kita, but I have something important to do. Perhaps another time?"

" Oh, yea, sure. " I just said some lame goodbye and walked away. Awkward as hell. It's not like I haven't turned him down a million times. I sort of had this feeling he was keeping something from me.

There I go with that trust thing again. Like I really think that he could lie and tell me he was busy, when he was actually going on a hot date with some chick. Like he'd do that after spending hours sitting with a dying person. I told you that I was deranged. But that stuff went through my head. I won't lie and tell you it didn't.

I didn't tell him then how much I admired his kindness to her. I wish I had. I should have.

I watched Michael during Sarah's funeral. I should call it burial. It was actually just a planting. There was no eulogy, no religious ceremony, really. She requested that she be buried near her parents and Section did not deny her. A rabbi read the words over her body. I hadn't known that she was Jewish. Michael, Birkoff, Madeline and I stood there as they lowered her coffin into the ground. We each took a turn putting a handful of earth on the casket. Michael, crossed himself and said a private prayer. When it was over we went back to our respective lives. I did notice that Michael was taking it harder than I'd thought he would, something about the drooping set of his shoulders. He'd liked Sarah. I know he had respected her.

He was given a week of downtime. That surprised me. I don't know if he'd requested it or not. I wanted to call him and make sure that everything was okay but I didn't have the nerve. He didn't call me. I didn't really expect him to do that anyway.

I missed him that week. I hate Section, but when he isn't there it's doubly worse. I keep looking up expecting to see him there coming down the corridor. Whenever I see him my heart pounds double time. I have to hide my smile in my shoulder, hide the slight tremble of my hands.

I kept walking by his empty office. The blinds were open and he wasn't sitting there. I shuddered imagining that this is how empty my life would be if he were to die. I hate thinking about that but I can't help it. I know we cannot have each other, that we are not and may not ever be together, but at least I have something of him.

Sometimes I think that just knowing that he is walking around breathing is enough for me.

I was sitting at home alone Thursday night, sketching, listening to some CDs. I picked up the phone and called his place on a whim, just thinking that I could talk to him, that I'd casually ask how he was doing. Maybe ask if he wanted to come over and order a pizza. I'd even skip the green pepper in deference to the fact that he hates it.

The phone rang four times and his voice mail came on. My heart started pounding just at the recorded sound of his voice. Isn't that ridiculous? I thought about leaving a message and then I just hung up with a sigh.

I decided I'd go for a walk in the rain.

I don't know how I ended up by his loft. Okay, I do know. I always end up there. I go and I stare at his windows and wish that I could just go up there and knock on his door. It was raining and I was standing there in my mac with my umbrella when a black Mazda pulled up. The door opened and Michael got out, leaning back in to say something to the driver. I couldn't really see the driver because it was dark.

I don't think he saw me. He wouldn't have recognised me as it was, bundled up like that and with an umbrella.

I was thinking about calling him when the driver opened the door and came rushing out of the car. " Michael?" she called. " You forgot your umbrella."

" I always do that. I think I ought to buy stock in Totes," he laughed, going back.

She gave him the umbrella and then went into his arms for a long hug. She was small and dark. She barely reached his shoulder. The said a few words to each other, then kissed. " I'll see you tomorrow. I hope it's sunny."

" I do, too, Rebecca. " Then he turned and went into the building.

I just stood there for a long time, too stunned to move.

And then I went to the store on my way home and bought the biggest chocolate bar I could find and ate it all on the walk home in the rain. And when I got home I consumed half a quart of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream. I didn't even put it in a dish. Who am I staying thin for?

I didn't sleep much that night. I kept wondering who this Rebecca was. She had a nice voice, sort of motherly. Almost eerily familiar. It reminded me of a teacher I'd had once when I was a kid. I wondered if she was older than him. Maybe five or ten years. There are some very attractive older women out there. They have great jobs and they work out so their bodies are very alluring. And Michael is old for his age and intelligent in that shy, modest way. He can talk about anything to anyone. Maybe that's what he's looking for. The older woman who will satisfy his needs and not ask him for any commitments. I'll bet someone young like me is too much trouble.

Sheesh. Why do I automatically jump to conclusions. And had found someone outside of Section and was having a discrete affair, why was it my business ? I mean, I should be at a point in my life where I say to myself: The man needs to get his rocks off. So what if it's not with you.

Oh, yea. As if I'd ever reach the point where I could just smile and think that it was okay for him to have those lips and those hands and those eyes anywhere near another woman. I have come to mildly accept missions. Valentine missions, to be specific, as something he has no control over. But school teacher types driving Mazdas. I don't think I am there yet.

Instead of sleeping I plugged George of the Jungle into the VCR for the hundredth time, " George, you darling hunk of male, you would never break my heart, would you," I said to the screen, admiring his tan and his long, long legs and the breech clout. But even Brendan Fraser dancing around the fire half naked couldn't make me happy. I sighed and went to bed to toss and turn.

I was yawning when I met Walter at his desk. " Hi, Sugar."

" Hi, Walter," I replied.

" Anything new?' he asked. He was dressed all in black leather that morning, a scarf in jungle colours replacing his regular bandana. I figured maybe Walter was wearing the plumage to attract some fine looking female.

" Nothing, really." I hesitated for once at pouring out my heart.

" Hear about Robin Hood?"

" What about Robin Hood?" I asked stealing a bite of his donut.

" He was gay. Read about it in the paper this morning. Said he liked the Merrie Men better than Maid Marion. Don't that beat all? "

Oh, thanks, Walter. So kill all my fantasies. I really liked the Michael as Robin Hood fantasy. He sort of takes the place of Kevin Costner and I watch him swim naked. I liked that a lot.

" This so-called scholar said the ballads contain a lot of homo-erotic imagery. You know. Swords and arrows and daggers. And little John, well, he wasn't so little "

" That's sick."

" Well, that's why they added Maid Marion in the sixteenth century."

" Any other romantic illusions you want to explode for me, Walter?" I ate the rest of his donut and licked the sugar off my fingers. " Actually, can you tell me something?"

" I'll try."

" Know what happened to that tape they made of Michael and Sarah? You know that session they had together where Michael tried to get her to relax around strange men? "

" I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

" Yes, you do. He told her some things I wanted to hear again."

" Really. Like what things? "

" Like something he told her, " I gritted. He was deliberately being obtuse.

" I think Michael has that tape. He requested it from Madeline. " Walter just grinned. " Didn't Michael say he didn't have a girl friend, but that he did love someone. Is that what you want to hear? "

Why did Michael keep that tape? So I couldn't see it? I'm sure whatever he said to her was either a lie or only a form of the truth. He knew Madeline was listening. " No. I wanted to see, Sarah." I looked at the wall so I wouldn't have to meet his probing eyes. I am not a good liar.

" Liar, liar, pants on fire."

" I hate you, Walter."

He laughed.

" Did you make up that stuff about Robin Hood being gay?"

" Nope. I think Mel Brooks might have been right. I'll have to rent Men in Tights again. I'll bring it over and you can make me dinner. Maybe you'd like that movie better than the ' Michael confesses his love for whoever' movie."

I just turned on my heel.

" Sugar. You only have to look at him and you'd know "

I didn't listen.

I went to bed early because I was exhausted . I'd been involved in a small mishap at a chemical weapons factory and had inhaled some noxious substance that made my eyes sore and gave me a terrible headache, but it was no worse than the time I'd turned on my oven when it was full of Styrofoam Chinese and Italian food containers. I practically asphyxiated myself. I have since learned how to keep house. The doctors at Section assured me I'd live but my eyes looked like two pea-holes in the snow.

Or is that pee-holes. It was one of Bobbie's sayings. Let's say I looked kind of squinty.

Anyway I was dead asleep and dreaming about Michael when the cell phone rang.

" Hey," he said, " Jos-e-pheeene. Did I wake you up? "

There was noise in the background. I could hardly hear him. It sounded like singing. It sounded like a bar or something. I know the sound of a bar. I have been well acquainted with bar sounds since my childhood, the jukebox, the tinkle of draft beer glasses and bottles, the odd boor shouting about the game. Bobbie was always calling me drunk from somewhere. Or some flame was calling from a bar looking for her.

" Hello. Is this Michael? " I sat up in bed, frowning pushing my hair out of my face. What the hell was this?

" Yep. Who else did you think it would be? Maybe Mel Gibson?"

" I would never be so lucky. More like Mel Torme. Or Mel Brooks," I said. Someone short. He could rest his bald head on my belly button while we danced. Say sweet nothings into my navel.

" Are you alone? I sure as hell hope you are cause I'm imagining you in bed right now and you're alone. "

" Is this regarding work? " I asked tartly. How dare he imagine me in bed? Well, okay, I was flattered, but not if he was imagining that Rebecca chick in bed , too. Yea, right. Me, Michael and a forty year old kindergarten teacher and Mel Torme. Kinky. I repeated the question. He seemed to have drifted off.

" Work? No, I'm not at work. I'm with my friends. I'm celebrating life. What time is it, Kita?"

" It's one-thirty." Friends? Michael has friends. Chalk another one up on his side.

" That's why it's last rounds. This one's on me. Actually I think the last four have been on me, but, hell, who's counting? Right? "

" Michael. You've got me a little confused here. Where are you, exactly? "

" Mulcahey's? Mulvaney's. Mul-something-or-other-a-hey's."

" You've been drinking? "

"Oui. Un peau," he muttered.

" A little?"

" Yea. I keep thinking in French. I do that when I'm drunk."

" Okay," I said. " So why are you calling me?"

" Cause I can't get up the nerve when I'm sober? "

I almost cracked up over that. As if Michael couldn't get up the nerve to call me. And what the heck was he doing anyway? If Ops found out he was at a bar swackered there would be hell to pay.

" I was just telling Rebecca all about you, but she had to leave. She has to get her boys to hockey practise tomorrow. I'm glad she was here though. You'd like her, Kita. She's really funny. She's nice."

" So I noticed, " I said dryly. What the hell was the man trying to do to me? " Listen, Michael. I had a bad day today and I'm not feeling all that great. I need to sleep "

" What happened?"

" I found out that Robin Hood is gay. My first fantasy was based on a lie. Michael, I "

" Kita. Can you come to McCarthy's and get me? I really need to see you. I don't think I can remember where my car is. Actually if I had my car, I don't think I'd know where my house is."

" Michael. Do not even attempt to drive." How could this Rebecca woman with the kids have just left him there? In that condition. " I guess I can come. Can you wait there until I can dress? "

" Don't get dressed on account of me. Come as you are. I'm sure you look very attractive. I'm wearing jeans. Jeans with beer on them." He laughed.

" Michael, I don't usually drive in my pyjamas. Can you please put the waitress on to give me directions?"

" Sure. That's Hazel. She thinks I have a cute butt. Do you think I have a cute butt? "

I rolled my eyes. Oh, God. I owed him one for Greece, I supposed. " Michael, you have a very adequate tush. Please. Just put her on."

Hazel seemed pleasant enough. I have spoken to barmaids many a time looking for Bobbie when I was a kid. You will never know what it is to be twelve years old and all alone and have to call about a dozen seedy bars to try to find your mother. Some barmaids were bitches and some were the salt of the earth, like any profession. Hazel told me that in her professional opinion the poor dear was three sheets to the wind. Okay, I thought. That bad. And the fact that she called him the poor dear probably meant that she was the salt of the earth type.

Or, then again, maybe she was one of those bitches who called everyone dear to their face and asshole behind their back.

Muldoon's bar and grill was way over on the other side of town near the docks. I was shaking my head as I looked for Water Street. I'd been in the area before as there was a funky shopping district not far away. I used to go there when I was dressing in my seventies mode. There's this hat store that's wild, though I wonder sometimes if some of those hats I wore made me look weird. Like one of Charlie Manson's girls. I used to like the way Ops would freak when I came in wearing a new outfit. He almost sent me home over the Sonny Bono vest. Okay, so I admit I was a fashion disaster. Sometimes I look at myself and just know I'll see my picture one day in the Enquirer. Would you be caught dead? All that aside, I really should return some day. I miss funky.

Did I get my fashion genes from Bobbie? Jeez.

I parked the car near Michael's. At least he hadn't tried to drive home plastered. Muldoon's was not one of those trendy places that yuppies flock to after work. It had formica counters and a lot of wood and pictures of Irish soccer players on the walls along with other junk. From what I could see there were about eight ancient old men, some wearing what appeared to be army uniforms, one dressed like a priest, and Michael over at a large table in the corner.

Michael was laughing. Roaring with laughter. I don't think I've ever heard that before. I just stood there on the dirty red carpet at the entrance and stared.

A small woman with iron gray hair and a wide mouth approached me. " I'm Hazel Muldoon. You must be Kita. Come to get your man before he completely slides under the table."

I didn't correct her notion about his being my man. I just followed.

Michael stood up immediately. He leaned in and gave me a beery kiss. It was not unpleasant, just a shock. He had this goofy, proud grin on his face, like he'd just been rescued by the paper bag princess. I must say that my heart did its usual little flip-flop. He looked drunk and disorderly. His shirt tails were untucked, his collar up on one side.

I like him mussed. He was wearing jeans and a chambray shirt that had seen better days. He looked quite desirable to me with his lopsided grin and his messy hair. A woman could take advantage of this, I thought, if she had a mind to.

The old men followed. I swear I heard the creek and groan of old bones. I squinted at them. Their collective ages were probably around two thousand.

One of the men, a very small spry man with what I assumed to be a bad toupee reached for my hand. " The girl from the park! Ah, Misha! The healthy, young blonde. You went after her, I see."

" Yea, Max. I did. Though she resisted." he grinned sheepishly. " She's still resisting."

" Ah, but she's here."

" Yea, here she is." He almost pulled me into his lap. As it was, he almost put his hand on my butt. I had to sidestep him. I gave him a warning look. I think with my sore eyes I might have looked to be in tears because he pulled his hands back and seemed to want to burst into tears himself. I think he had reached phase two of drunken behavior. Past cute and sassy and on to maudlin and weepy.

" I have very good taste," Mr. Goldman was saying. " My first wife, bless her soul, was a blonde. Tall, too."

I looked at him. He was the chess playing Jewish man who was pushing wedding rings at Michael all the time. " I had no idea that you conducted chess games in bars, Michael."

" We don't," said the man with the clerical collar. " This is a wake. For Father Ambrose. He died Wednesday after a very brave battle with cancer. I am Father Santini. " He reached for my hand. He appeared slightly less gooned than the others. He introduced everyone at the table. I wondered when the people from the old folks home would show up to put them all in the van.

" I'm sorry about Father Ambrose." I looked at Michael. He was looking down at his beer glass. He hadn't told me. I knew he was close to the priest. I wished he had said something. " He gave a very nice sermon. At-uh- Easter." It was all I could think of to say.

I was sad. I know that Michael had found a friend in him. A mentor. It had to have been agony to lose him. And all this with Sarah dying at the same time. Two good people to mourn. One new friend and one old one. I found myself swallowing at the lump in my throat. Why couldn't the shits of this world get cancer? Why the good people?

" So this is a wake, " I said softly, sitting in the chair beside Michael. I looked down as he put his hand on my knee. Oh, goodness, I thought. That feels awfully good. Even if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. I figured he needed the comfort. It is highly unlike Michael to touch. He is not a tactile person unless you count

Oh, I don't want to think about that.

" Aye. Father Ambrose was Irish. He requested a nice send off." said one of the other men. He was wearing a uniform. " I met the father in the second World War. He was the padre for my regiment. A better man you'd never meet. My name is Gerry Staunton." He leaned in to shake my hand. " You and Michael here make a very fine couple. He's told us all about you. Painter are you? He's says you're very talented. "

He did? I felt my heart turn over again. " I do paint. A little."

Father Santini leaned in. " Too bad Rebecca had to leave. She dabbles in art."

Really, I thought. Just so long as she doesn't dabble with Michael.

I looked over at him. He showed no interest in leaving. He was still nursing his beer. How unlike him to let his guard down like this. To get mind numbingly drunk. I think he needed it, this escape. I couldn't help but wish he'd done it some way else. Like rented a movie. Or gone shopping. Or stuffed his face with chocolate. Maybe even whacked a squash ball around.

" Were you about ready to pack it in, Michael? It's past two. Hazel must be about ready to close."

" I can't leave until I see the fellows off safely. I'm sorry to make you wait."

" It's not a bother. Do they have rides?' I asked.

" My daughter is coming with the van," informed Mr. Goldman.

" Hazel has offered a ride to everyone else. So you'll have young Michael all to yourself," said another elderly man on my left called Mr. Gilbert. He had wispy white hair and round glasses like Santa. I think he said he was from Belgium. He'd been in the war, too, with the resistance movement. He gave me a shy smile. " Everyone must tell you that you're very beautiful." he said. " Like an angel, you are. I've seen you in the park, too. I play chess with Michael. He's most patient and kind to us old folks. Not like most young men. He lets me win, too, though I don't tell him I know he's doing it."

" Thank you for the compliment." I gave him a warm smile. I was beginning to see why Michael loved these old souls. Just being with them made me feel peaceful. " And yes," and here my throat thickened up again. " he's very kind. Not at all like most young men."

" He sat with Father Ambrose whenever he could. The father was ill for a long time. It was in his liver. A terrible thing. He never told us until he was too sick to come to the benches in the park to play chess. Michael brought him for one last time in the wheelchair. He was weak, but happy. I cried. We all cried. Michael had four crying old men to look after." He swiped a tear from a blue eye. " Michael travels a lot for his job, yet he still he made a point to try to be there, but then you would know that seeing that you are such good friends. And he gave me a ride to the hospital a few times. I don't drive any more. Peter Ambrose was a fine man. There was no one finer. I think this has taken Michael hard. I think he drank too much tonight because he's so very sad."

I looked at Michael and bit my lip. His hand was still on my thigh. His fingers had tightened a little, but I don't think he could hear what Mr. Gilbert was saying in his soft voice.

Suddenly he lurched out of his chair and pointed at the little man with the white, fluffy hair. He looked as ominous as he does when he's pointing a Glock at someone.

" Mr. Gilbert, are you trying to monopolise my lady? We all know what a sex-machine you are. " He gave another lopsided grin. " If you turn on the charm, I'll never win her heart."

I rolled my eyes. Everyone laughed. Even Mr. Gilbert. Sheesh. " Michael, maybe we should go "

" Not quite ready. Does it seem quiet in here? It seems too quiet in here."

He asked me for a few quarters for the jukebox.

" I'll come with you." I doubted he could get the money into the slots.

I smiled when I saw the songs. None of them had been changes since the eighties. I didn't even recognise half the titles. " Are you sure you can chose something. Look, I said, Bruce Springsteen. Foghat. Cheap Trick. What song is that over there? B. 43 ." I was still having trouble seeing.

He leaned very close to the jukebox. " Forefinger." He grinned at me.

" Forefinger? Maybe Badfinger? " I leaned closer. He started sniffing my hair, telling me I smelled good. I felt his hand inching up my back.

" Foreigner. Waiting For a Girl Like You," I read. Uh. Oh. Not that song.

" I remember that one. That one makes me think of you, Kita, " he said softly. His eyes were on my mouth. " I have been waiting for you, Kita. For a long, hard time."

I swallowed. " Maybe not that one. That's a silly, old song. It's too sappy. " It was a romantic song. Too romantic. One of those songs you pretend not to love, but can't help loving.

" Yes. That one." He plugged in the quarter and pressed B 43. " Dance with me? "

The man wants to dance at the strangest times. Oh, well, I thought, the song was pretty short. " If you promise not to step on my toes."

" I won't do that. I am a perfect gennelman. "

" That's usually the problem."

The familiar strains of the song started. I remember it was always the last song at school sock hops. I was so tall and gangly I never got asked to dance the last song because it was always a waltz. I always wanted to waltz like kids do. With my arms around the boy's neck and his around my waist. Like you were hugging. Swaying from foot to foot. That's how I was dancing with Michael. Because he needed me to hold him up, I think.

" When did we dance last?"

" I think it was our bogus wedding."

" Right. That was it." Our eyes were on a level.

" That was nice."

" Yes."

" This is nice, Kita, " He pulled me close. He appeared absolutely sober. And then he did something I would never have expected. He sang softly in my ear. He had a surprisingly good singing voice. Melodic and husky. I can't carry a tune in a bag. His singing sent shivers down my spine " I 've been waiting for you. Won't you come into my life? "

I pulled back from him a little, tried to put some space between us. He stared deep into my eyes and I was thinking, oh lord, I'll bet I look awful. Just then my eyes watered up and a couple of tears slid out. I didn't know if I was losing it from being held by him, from staring into that wonderful face, or if I was just plain exhausted. I told myself that I wasn't crying over a stupid old song being sung to me by a man who was too drunk to know what he was doing. I just needed to use the eye-wash the doctor had given to me.

" Thank you for coming," he said softly. He swallowed hard and his jaw tightened. " I think about this a lot. You an' me. Just dancing. I don't like dancing with anyone but you, Kita. You are my perfect dancing partner. You fit right against my body. I feel every inch of you against every inch of me. I think you like dancing with me, too. "

This discussion of every inch of him was starting to worry me. " Why is that? Cause you let me lead?"

" You can lead me around whenever you like. You cannot lead me on, though."

"I'll go and buy a leash tomorrow."

" What was I saying before you so rudely interrupted me? You know I'm very shy. It's hard for me to say romantic stuff. I don't do romantic well. Have you ever noticed that? "

" I have on occasion. I think you are full of it, though." Ask Lisa. Ask Andrea. Terry. Elena. " I am not full of it. Some men do romantic well. They know how to turn it on. Now Bad Michael knows how to turn it on."

" Bad Michael? Is that your alter ego? "

" Yea. That's him. He knows exactly what to do and what to say. He listens to Harry Konnick, Jr. I hate Harry Konnick Jr. He buys roses and champagne and tells women all the good stuff. He dresses well. I dress like this. But he isn't real. He is what they have made him. He is a manufactured male bimbo. I hate his damned guts. I hate him because he's a liar. And when I'm with you and I try to do any of those things it just seems bogus. Is that the word? Fake. It's all fake and I can't be that way with you, Kita. Not now." He said it fiercely, his eyes boring into mine. He tugged me a little harder against him. " I can't lie to you anymore, Kita."

" Good." It was all I could say.

" When I'm with you I can't manage that romantic crap. I can't impress you because you know me too well. You know me inside. You know my heart. I know you expect honesty. I have to learn how to be with you. How to be. I don't know how to be any more."

" I think we both have to learn some stuff."

" You have to give me a chance. It takes me a long time to get up the nerve to ask you if you want to have coffee with me and then you shoot me down. Like when you just look at me with those blue eyes and say: I have other plans and I think: Sheesh. Did I forget to brush my teeth today? Am I a worm? "

" I don't think that's true. I have never thought of you as a worm. As a matter of fact it takes me a long time to get the nerve to ask you to go for coffee and you shot me down a few days ago."

" I did, didn't I? Well... I was busy. I was with ... Who was I with? Rebecca! Yea, I was with Rebecca and the boys. You'd like her, Kita."

Not Rebecca again. " Oh, I'm sure I would just love Rebecca. I think it's about time that I took you home and put you to bed, Michael."

" I like the sound of that. You can take me home and take me to bed any old time, Kita."

" I said 'put you to bed', Michael. I don't take advantage of men in your condition."

" In what condition?" He pulled back from me and looked down at himself. " I am in excellent condition. For a man of my age. I am like fine cheese. I am very, very good. Am I too old for you?"

Fine cheese? " No, you are not too old for me. Mr. Gilbert is too old for me."

" No, you'd be great with Mr. Gilbert. That s--- Jurgen was too old for you. What did you see in him? "

" Michael, please. I could ask you a few things about your love life, but I won't."

" Do you know that I have not been really drunk since I was fifteen? I got totally wasted and fell into a fountain. I think I was drinking something called Lemon Gin. Panty remover. It gave a faster high than wine according to Rene. I started diving down on the bottom looking for money and the cops took me away. I cut the top of my head when I dove and got sixteen stiches. They shaved this part of my head and the girls called me baldy for weeks." He rubbed the top of his head, remembering. " I have never had luck with girls."

" I find that hard to believe."

" I told you I was shy. Very shy. Do you believe that?"

" Yes, I do. You are a real shrinking violet. I'm sorry that you were teased. I would never have called you baldy. Please Michael, let me get you to bed.""

" I never had a beautiful girl come and get me so she could take me to bed." He turned his head and started nibbling on my ear lobe. I hate to say it, but I really thought about taking advantage of him. I would have if he didn't smell like a brewery. I caught a glimpse of the others from the corner of my eye. They were watching with smiles on their faces like they'd wandered into a sappy movie. Even Hazel was standing there, her work stopped, grinning, holding a tray to her chest.

" Tomorrow you're going to forget everything you've said to me tonight." I wondered if he'd been saying the same things to Rebecca.

" No. I'll never forget this."

" Song is over, Michael. Now. Let's go home."

I have never been one for hugging people hello and goodbye. I guess that starts in families who are close and who love each other. I didn't come from that touchy feely kind of a family. I keep my distance when I can and when someone does make the overture to hug or to air-kiss, I kind of find myself going stiff and hesitant. I am like a big, gawky turtle tucking back into its shell.

I have built a very thick shell in which to hide myself. It started way back when I was a kid and got worse while I was on the streets. I very quietly shove the world back, and yet, deep inside, I crave that warmth, that sweetness of a human touch. I just don't know how to return it in kind. I'm afraid that I will reveal too much of myself, come to need it too much and have it taken away.

Maybe Section sucks the O-feel-ya thing out of us. But drunk, Michael was hugging everyone good-bye. It made me feel good to see how much he is loved by these people and how much he loves them. I just hope he didn't reveal anything of himself that night while he was out of control. I would not have wanted to see him or any one of them compromised.

I was jealous, too. Jealous of the warmth they gave to him and that which he returned. Sometimes I want his heart to be mine and only mine. Shameful, I suppose, but true. And so I stood near the door after shaking their hands and politely nodding at the words.

Come back. Don't be a stranger.

I will.

Nice meeting you.

We are glad Michael has you to care for him.

I do.

I always will.

No lie there.

I think of Carla and Gray and I shudder. I would not allow myself to become close to anyone on the outside, not after what has happened to me. I try to mind my own business and take what I can in friendship from Section.

He said something to me in the car. Something that twisted my heart into knots.

" Do you think they'd despise me if they knew what I really am? "

The words made me sick. Made me want to throw up my heart. As if he thinks of himself as a thing. Some blight on the earth. When he is so beautiful that merely looking at him turns me inside out. Doesn't he know?

" What is it that you think you are? " I asked quietly.

" I am a killer. And a whore. I'm a liar, too. " He spoke the words quietly and without tone.

" Then so am I. Do you think that I am those things? "

" Not you, Kita."

" No. I am not. And in my eyes and your heart you are none of those things, Michael. I think they can see who you really are. A very kind and good and decent man. Just as I can. And I think, if they knew who you are and what you do, that they could only admire you more, admire the fact that you are still capable of being human. Just as Father Ambrose did."

He just stared straight ahead. " Thank you, Kita."

" Did he know? Did you confess to him? "

" No. I held back. I had to. I didn't want him in any danger. I can never be quite truthful with anyone on the outside."

On the inside either it seems. " I'm glad of that." I sighed.

" I loved him. He made me feel like a human again. Like you did. The minute I saw you, I knew you made me feel that way. Like a human instead of a machine." He laughed. " I think I'm getting maudlin. I hate maudlin drunks," he mumbled.

" I used to hate drunk men, period. I've known one hell of a lot of them. I'll tell you something, for a drunk man, you're almost cuter than you are sober. But don't make a habit of this. Okay?"

" Cute. Hmmm. I like that." He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Tried to leer, I think.

" I said cute, not irresistible."

He was searching the pockets of his suede jacket. " I think I may have lost my keys."

We got to his loft at four. The sun would be coming up soon. I parked on the street. He was still unsteady as we climbed the stairs, but more low-key. Thoughtful.

" Can you come in with me? I need coffee and I don't think I can get the filter in the leetle basket. "

" If we can find your keys. "

" That's not really a problem for you, is it? I can break into your place in one second." He leaned really close to me and said in a conspiratorial whisper. " I mean, I am a spy. I can break in anywhere I want."

" I have never quite understood why you do that when there's a buzzer."

" One day I figure I'll getcha coming out of the shower."

" You have. Twice. What if I was with another man? " He was looking for his keys, patting his chest, searching his coat.

" Please, Kita. Don't rain on my paradise. I was just picturing you naked coming out of the shower."

" Parade," I corrected, gulping. " Oh, God, why are you making this so hard? " I muttered.

" Thinking about you naked is making me hard. I want--" He lunged at me and put his hands on my butt.

" Don't say it. No accosting the good Samaritan. Okay? Keep your distance. "

" Anything you say. I'm putty in your hands. I will behave myself."

" Good."

He put his hands akimbo. Surrender, I guess. Then he dropped then and patted his hips. " Nope. No keys. My fingers don't work so good."

" Your jeans are so tight I can see the outline of them in your left back pocket." I reached my fingers into the tight space and pulled them out. I have to say that reaching into Michael's back pocket is something every woman should have the chance to do.

" Oh, I liked that. I wish it had been my front pocket."

" You're disgusting. In a cute way."

He just grinned, bleary eyed, at me. I figured watching him pat himself down in that futile search for his keys took a full ten minutes.

Now, recalling it, I sort of wish that I'd done the patting down.

I had just helped him flop onto the sofa when my cell-phone rang.

I took a deep breath. Do I answer this ? I asked myself. I had been given two days medical leave to heal my eyes. Maybe it was a wrong number.

I snapped the phone open. " Hello."

" Nikita. It's Madeline."

I rolled my sore eyes and looked down at Michael. He was flopped across the leather couch with his hand over his face.

" Madeline, it's four-thirty."

" You weren't sleeping though. You aren't at your residence."

" Maybe I'm doing something else."

" I called to see how your eyes are feeling."

" They're sore. I have to put in the eye-drops. Don't tell me. You were calling to remind me to put them in. How motherly of you."

She gave a small chuckle. " You're with him, aren't you? "

" May I consult my lawyer before answering that?"

" Your answer won't be leaving this room, Nikita. Is he alright? " She sounded concerned, almost protective.

" He's fine. Drunk, but fine. And he hasn't done anything wrong. He just cut loose. I would say that Michael is entitled once in a while."

" I would say once."

" Yea, well. " I sighed. " I'm sure glad you don't have any teenaged kids, Madeline. Sometimes people have to screw up more than once. You really won't tell Ops? "

" I only pass on what I believe to be important. Some things are better swept under the carpet. It saves him from becoming agitated. "

What was it about four in the morning. More people die at four a.m than at any other time. It's a standard time for insomniacs to either wake up or drop asleep. And some people start unburdening their darkest secrets. " We wouldn't want to upset the big head. Sometimes you're a regular Alice Kramden,, Madeline."

" I get the reference, Nikita. I'm surprised that you do."

" When I was a kid I watched it with my mother. I learned how to lie from Alice. I learned that it's best to keep things from the jerks of this world sometimes."

I don't think I'd have said that if I wasn't so punchy. I was hoping Ops wasn't beside her in bed, listening.

" Take care of him, Nikita. I've heard you should give the aspirins now. "

" I'll try that."

" And no caffeine. It narrows the blood vessels."

" You sound as if you've had some experience."

" As I said, some things are better left unsaid."

" I get you, Madeline." I answered, smiling. The women surprises the hell out of me. " And thanks."

" Take care of yourself too, Nikita."

I flipped shut the phone and looked down at Michael. I had to get him upstairs and out of those smoky, beer stained jeans. " Michael? " I brushed the curls out of his eyes. " Time to get you to bed. "

It took me twenty minutes to get him stripped down to his Calvins and into his comfortable bed with the blue sheets. Only today the sheets were brown. He looks really good in brown. One of the few. He had started worrying me while he was in the bathroom. I figured he's fallen asleep brushing his teeth. He came out rubbing his eyes. He swallowed the aspirins, grimaced and flopped back on the bed.

" Thanks, Kita. I owe you one."

" Nope, you don't." I pulled the covers up to his chest, my knuckles brushing smooth, hot male skin.

" Will you stay here? "

I swallowed hard trying not to look at his chest, the way his auburn curls looked against the brown pillow case. His jade green eyes half closed, the lashes dark feathers. There is no lovelier man to be found anywhere.

" I'll be downstairs. I'll just wash your clothes and make myself a cup of tea. Okay? You call me if you feel sick. Is the bed spinning?"

" Not at the moment."

" Great. That's wonderful. Sleep then."

" Kita, I love you."

I smiled and bit my lip. " I know, Michael. I love you, too."

I was still grinning when I was in the laundry starting the wash. I turned out the front pocket of his jeans. There was a paper with a phone number on it. It said. " Don't forget, Saturday. The boys want to see you. Love: Rebecca.

I fell asleep at the kitchen island with my face pressed against a Time magazine. I think some goofball pop singer was now tattooed forever on my forehead which would have been okay if I could stomach the guy. I think I was having some surreal dream when I felt his hand on the top of my head. I bolted awake, almost knocking my tea cup on the floor.

" Hi. You could have slept on the couch."

Michael was standing there wearing tearaways and nothing else, his feet bare, his chest gleaming, his hair scruffy. He looked quite delicious. If not a little hung over. Trust Michael to look good after a bender.

" What time is it? "

" Almost noon. I think I'll have some orange juice," he said. " How about you? "

" Do you mind if I make some coffee? " I eased a terrible kink out of my lower back.

" Go ahead. Are you okay? Your eyes look bad. Have you been crying? "

" Yes. Over this dude. What the hell is so great about him? " I held up the magazine. I told him about the chemical plant incident.

" I'm sorry. You should have told me."

" I did. You were quite insistent that I drag my butt out of bed and come over. It was lucky I did because I caught you in the middle of a wild interpretive dance to some AC-DC song. Complete with air guitar. I sort of reigned you in. "

" You're lying. I remember exactly what I did."

" Oh, all right. I didn't want to tell you. It was the Big Shoe dance to Tequila."

He frowned and rubbed his head. " I don't think I know what you're talking about. I only wear size eleven."

" I guess you're not a Pee Wee Herman fan. Do you remember what happened? "

" Some. I wasn't that drunk. Actually I was. I might still be. I did dance with you. I liked that, by the way."

I stared at him across the island and my eyes started to get watery again. He is so beautiful he makes me want to cry. No dammit. I was not going to cry. I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands. " I have the drops in my purse. I'll put them in a minute."

" Was I a complete ass last night? "

I shook my head. " You were rather charming." I thought about asking if he remembered saying that he loved me before falling asleep. Had he meant that or was it the alcohol?

" So I don't have to call and beg anyone's forgiveness ? "

He went to the cupboard and removed a bottle of aspirin. He threw three into his mouth, tossed back his head and drank most of the orange juice. I was thinking he might burn a hole in his gullet but I said nothing.

" No. I don't think you have to apologise to anyone. No me anyway."

" I think I recall most of it. I don't know. I haven't done this since I was "

" Fifteen," I said. " You jumped in the fountain after drinking a 26 of panty remover."

" Wonderful. If you ever mention that to Birkoff or Walter, you are toast, lady."

I smiled at him. " Why would I? Madeline called last night. " I told him the gist of the conversation.

" Perfect."

" She was nice. I don't know what that means, but she was. Why didn't you tell me about Father Ambrose before? We could have talked. "

He shook his head and leaned back against the counter. I could see the muscles of his arms bunching. " You have enough to worry about. I guess I should have. I could have used a shoulder sometimes, but I had Rebecca to talk to. We kind of comforted each other. Was she still there last night when you came ? "

" No." At the mention of her name I stiffened.

" You didn't meet her? "

" She went home to her sons. Hockey practice," I said stiffly. " Is there a husband in the picture?"

He grinned. " Yea. Sort of. She's married."

" Oh."

" To God. She's a nun, Kita. "

He looked very smug. I started to blush. " She works at St. Anthony's Children's home. The boys are the hockey team. She coaches it since Pete got sick. They were his pride and joy."

A nun.

I had figured he was sleeping with a nun.

Why didn't I just start banging my head on the counter top now. I deserved the pain.

" You figured I was sleeping with her."

" I thought maybe she was part of a mission. There's always something like that going on." I told him about going for a walk and just happening to see them drive by. Oh, the lies come so smoothly now. " I really don't think we need to discuss my natural inclination to jump to conclusions where you're concerned. Are you well enough to drive? "

" I think so."

" We should go get the car before it gets towed for parts. I mean while I'm here, we might as well. Right? "

I had to get out of his place. Not because I was embarrassed, but because he had his hand on his flat stomach right where his belly button is and was rubbing it in this slow, lazy way that had me hypnotised. He does these unconsciously sexy things. Maybe it wasn't unconscious. I don't know. Maybe he does it to make me wilt. Made me want to slide off the bar stool in a heap of quivering female flesh. All I knew was that he made me breathless and achy. Made my mouth grow dry.

I looked at his face. He was staring off into space like he does sometimes, making me wonder what he thinks about. I wanted to go to him, wrap my arms around his lean waist, press my face into the warm crook of his neck. Kiss his stubbly throat and jaw.

Ask him to take me upstairs to that big bed of his.

Had he ever made love to anyone in that big bed, on those smooth brown sheets?

I wanted to ask if he meant what he said last night. Ask if it meant more than an " I love you" between good friends.

I felt like saying; Ah, does Mikey have a sore belly? Let Nikita do that for you. Let Nikita press her lips right--

I jumped when he spoke again.

" Hazel will watch out for the car. By the way, I am sleeping with her, too. And then there's Margaret. But she's Thursdays."

Margaret is the cafeteria lady at Section One. Walter said she was a serial killer. I always look at the meatballs somewhat suspiciously.

" The Margarets of this world need love, too. Glad to see you're spreading the joy."

" I lied. She turned me down flat. Actually I haven't spread any of my joy in a long time "

Do not talk about spreading anything, Michael, I thought. "I'm sorry. Tough luck about Margaret."

" I guess I'm not her type. Maybe if I had a tattoo. I think I should get a dagger. Pointing upwards. Right here. Like Walter has." He was pointing to his stomach.

I would not think about that. " You are sort of funny today. I think you're still drunk."

" I wish I was. I hate thinking clearly. Especially when you're here. And we're alone."

Okay. I was thinking this had gone far enough. " I really ought to go now that you're better."

" I was thinking maybe you'd like to come with me and see some of the kids at Saint Anthony's. They're nice kids. A lot of them are orphans from the war. Some are from the Soviet Union and Romania. There's this little guy named Zoltan. He's around five. He makes me think of my son."

" That's why you go there? "

" Partly. It fills a void. I need to go there. I can only see pain and death so much, Kita. After a while you have to find the good in the world again or you'll go crazy. Those kids need someone. And it's good when people need you."

I need you, Michael.

I nodded. " That's very admirable."

" As much as I want your admiration, that's not why I do it. Part of it is selfish. It helps me take my mind off-- "

" I know why you do it. I really do have to go. Don't forget to put your jeans in the dyer. And the coat needs to go to the cleaners. It smells. "

He smiled. " Use the eye drops, Kita. "

" Right." Aren't we domestic, I thought. I grabbed my coat and bag and went to the door. I stopped there with my hand on the knob.

" Michael? I know Thursdays are taken. How about Wednesdays? "

I hadn't turned but I knew he was looking me over with one of those intense expressions.

" Any day is good."

" Okay." My skin was tingling. I think my knees were trembling as I went into the hall. I shut the door softly behind me and smiled.

We went back that evening to get the car. It was there, quite safe. Michael opened the passenger door and looked back at me. He'd been quiet on the way, lost in thought.

" Can I buy you a coffee?" He grinned at me.

I looked at him. Was it my turn to be the shooter and his to be the duck? I had things to do. I'd planned after dropping him off, to get some milk and eggs. I'd thought about deep conditioning my hair with this new gunk I'd heard about.

A typical evening. Tomorrow it was back to the grind.

" I wanted to thank Albert and Hazel. I need the moral support."

I smiled. I doubted that. " Okay. I hope they have decaf cause we have to wake up early."

The bar was full of regular patrons. Smoke hung in clouds along the rafters. Most of the patrons were talking, drinking, shooting pool. But every female head snapped to attention and looked at Michael when we walked in.

I'm used to it. The drool. Even when he's wearing khakis and a sweater he is perfection.

We had our coffee. Michael left a generous tip for Hazel.

We were leaving when Michael looked over at the juke box.

" Got a quarter? " he asked. His eyes were dark, his voice husky.

I reached into my pocket and handed him one. I stood there and swallowed hard. I was looking at his body, the way he walks, moves as he walked to the jukebox.

Song B 43.

" Want to dance? I think they're playing our song."

I nodded. We walked to the floor. Some of the partons were smiling. A few others got up to dance.

I stepped into his open arms. It is where I know I belong. His jaw grazed my hair. His hand was hard and warm against the small of my back.

So long, I've been looking too hard,
I've been waiting too long,
Sometimes I don't know what I'll find,
I only know it's a matter of time,
When you love someone,
When you love someone,
It feels so right, So warm and true,
I need to know, if you feel it, too,
Maybe I'm wrong,
Won't you tell me if I'm coming on too strong?
This heart of mine has been hurt before,
This time I want to be sure,
I've been waiting for a girl like you
To come into my life...

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