Disclaimer: “Beauty and the Beast” and the characters Joe Maxwell, Catherine Chandler, Vincent, Mouse, Mary, Father, Pascal and et.al belong to Republic Pictures. Lennie Briscoe, Jack McCoy, John Munch, and Arthur Branch belong to Dick Wolf’s “Law & Order” universe and Universal Pictures. The concept of The Traveller belongs to “Star Trek: TNG” and Paramount. All music belongs to the copyright owners. Lacey Corelli, Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant, Max the Chihuahua, Mrs Maxwell, Maxine Louise Pascal, Abbie the Furry Potato, Traveller Phil, Mrs. Evans, and Jay Jarmel Palmer belong to me.

Notes: Marble Phrogg and Phil Norvell are real parts of Tulsa history. Phil was my friend, who blessed me with Music even as his own world fell down. I miss him.

The case Joe tries was real. All names except The Graveyard and The Death – which are used with the permission of their owner - have been changed to protect the so-called “innocent.” That and all the rest of the legal stuff. No infringement of any kind is intended. 'Nuff said.

Classification: Adult for Nookie. BATB Alternate Season 2 and beyond. (No Diana) Law & Order/ST:TNG/Marble Phrogg Crossover.

Come Dancing or The Things We Do For Love, As The World Falls Down

©2003-2017 by Kayla Rigney

For Ron, The Death

Chapter 1 - Rich Girl

What’s wrong with me? Joe Maxwell asked himself. Why do I always fall for unavailable Rich Girls? As he watched Catherine Chandler’s back walking away from his desk, her words still smarted a little.

“Workplace romance is never a good idea,” she replied firmly-but-gently. (Chandler always let him down gently.) “We work together. And I’m still in a committed relationship with my son’s father. So the answer is no.”

Joe Maxwell grinned good-naturedly. He’d come to accept Cathy’s rebuffs as a no-harm-no-foul flirtation between colleagues. Well, he thought, you can’t blame a guy for trying. Or for not trying at all…

Joe’s personal mail was delivered to a mail drop within easy walking distance from the office. (Catherine convinced him it was safer that way. She was always right about these things.) On nice days, he’d buy a hotdog and walk over during his lunch break. That afternoon, there was a letter in with the bills. The return address read Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant. Sister Mary-Jessie was Joe’s favorite teacher in high school; and they remained friends ever since. She wrote once a month without fail – goofy, delightful letters about Life. She was currently making a cross-country road trip in an ancient red Mazda.

Her latest missive was written on hotel stationery that said “Howdy! From the Historical Round Up Inn, Gallop, New Mexico” inside a golden lasso. Or was it a lariat? The word “Historical” had been crossed out with a Sharpie and replaced with HYSTERICAL in big, bold letters.

“Howdy! From the Historical HYSTERICAL Round Up Inn

Gallop, New Mexico”

“Dear Joe Maxwell,

The road to Arizona is fraught with peril. First, the A/C in my car went out somewhere around Fuck-a-homa Shitty (Don’t Ask) and the clutch went out on a barren stretch of I-40 where the only people to talk to were cows. A nice truck driver called a tow for me. I told the tow truck driver to take me and the Mazda as far west as humanly possible. He said, Lady, That Would Be Gallop. I said, Man, That Would Be Great. Have you ever been to Gallop? It’s a city very much outside of time on the one hand and inside Super Wal-Mart on the other. I’m en route to a gig teaching Chem I and II at Our Lady of Guadalupe School for Girls in Doney Park. I’m posted there until the end of next school year at least. I’ll be on a Mountain – and you know how much I love me a Mountain! The Mechanic, who also happens to be the Tow Truck Driver, just assured me parts are readily available and I should be back on the road tomorrow.

How are you doing? Better, I hope? The last time we spoke, you told me you’re feeling isolated. And your job is horribly stressful at best – and crushing at worst. You need to find a nice girl, settle down, Get a Life.”

“Well, duh,” Joe said, aloud.

“Speaking of Nice Girls, Lacey Corelli is back in New York. I got a letter from her the day before I left. It was obviously written by a sighted person who can’t spell. Or spells in Esperanto. Lacey says she’s gone Underground and is going out of her mind with ‘mad monkey BOREDOM.’ I think she’s profoundly lonely. You and Lacey were such good friends back in the day. You should look her up.

Well, the tow truck is here to take me to the hostel. It’s a little frightening. The truck is pink and has an actual toe on it.

God Bless & Love,

Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant.”

Sister Mary-Jessie included a prayer card of St. Rita – Patron Saint of Lost Causes - with Lacey’s address scribbled on the back. Just what I need in my life, thought Joe. Yet another Unavailable Rich Girl. But as he walked back to his office, he was whistling.

It was late when Joe got home from work. He sat down at the kitchen table with his briefcase and his take-out from The Middle Path. He was distracted and unable to focus on either work or dinner; so he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and let his mind wander. His mind skipped back and back until it settled on afternoons spent eating and working at another dining table.

He was sixteen years old, and he was sitting across from Lacey, his best friend in the world. They were working chemistry problems at the Corelli’s dining table with the lacquered goatskin top. (Joe hated that table. It smelled like death.) Lacey Corelli was the girl every guy in school wanted and every girl wanted to be. Lacey was rich; she was beautiful, and she was wicked smart. Mostly, she was kind. Although she had many male friends and acquaintances, she never dated. Joe never made a pass at Lacey in all the years he knew her - although, the thought crossed his mind. A lot. Daily. Instead, he dated a faceless string of cheerleaders and sorority girls whose names he couldn’t seem to remember.

Truth be told, Joe had been more than a little intimidated by the way the Corellis lived. Joe was a Scholarship Kid. (Besides the vile goat-skinned dining room table, the Corelli’s spotless house had a Wine Cellar you entered through a secret panel, and bathrooms with the first bidets he’d ever seen.) When Lacey turned 16, her father gave her a red vintage MG, diamond earrings and a zircon pendant that sparkled like root beer in the sun. When Joe turned 16, he was already working two jobs to help pay for his college education.

The minute Lacey came home from school, she turned on the stereo – usually something rare and wonderful that Joe had never heard before and instantly liked. Everything from Big Band to Buddy Holly; Van Morrison to Lou Reed; and Desmond Dekker to Winston Groovy; and Meat Loaf to “the Charming Chatter of Clyde McPhatter.” (Joe could almost hear the music, now, sitting alone in his kitchen.) Lacey also taught him a code they used when they didn’t want anybody else to understand. They spoke in song titles, versions and alternate versions, and ever-elusive slow burns. (Slow burns were special and used only to express unfulfilled longings - or deep sadness.) Sometimes, they talked like that for hours; mostly, they studied together. But -

One memory cut Joe to the bone: Mrs. Corelli treated him with open disdain, because of his working-class background and lack of Money. Lacey stood up for Joe every time, but it didn’t mitigate his silent hurt.

Mrs. C would make some catty remark, and Lacey would smile at him with her sea blue eyes.

“Just ignore her,” Lacey would say loudly, so her mother would hear. “You know Mom’s a snot nagle.”

Joe wanted to ask what a “nagle” was, but knowing Lacey, it was probably obscene.

Mrs. Corelli wasn’t finished with him yet. “Lacey Corelli, that boy is going to be a night school lawyer,” she called from the kitchen. “He’s not like you!”

“And what, exactly, is wrong with that?”

“You’re attending Harvard.”

“I don’t think so,” Lacey replied, a little too nicely. She wrapped a strand of her platinum blonde hair around her pencil and pretended to be absorbed in the Periodic Table.

That Boy kept his eyes on his own chemistry textbook and pretended he hadn’t heard.

Mrs. Corelli continued to pick at Lacey, who pointedly ignored her – until she went after Joe again.

Then, Lacey languidly kicked him under the table until he looked up and met her eyes, which were sparkling water-on-fire. “Hey, Mom, about college,” she said, sweetly. “I’ve come to a decision: I’m not going to Harvard. I’ll be attending Brandeis to study FDR’s effect upon the current state of Disability Rights in America. I’ll organize protests all over the country. And Joe will be my attorney. He’ll bail me out, every time I get arrested.” Lacey smiled at him over the rims her tortoiseshell glasses – the ones that made her sea blue eyes even more intense. “Which will happen with great regularity.”

A very loud crash came from the kitchen followed by a very pointed silence.

Marble Phrogg’s rare cover version of I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better was on spinning the turntable. Lacey reached over and turned up the stereo good and loud. Her smile was absolutely priceless.

Joe’s tiny apartment felt too quiet and very empty, especially on nights like this. He turned on the radio for background noise. He kept it tuned to a 50,000 Kw AM station out of Chandler, Oklahoma mostly because it wasn’t in New York. Then, he took a yellow legal pad out of his briefcase and began to write:

“Dear Lacey. Hi, it’s me, Joe Maxwell. Sister Mary-Jessie is stuck in Gallop and writes that you are ‘mad monkey BORED.’ How can I help?”

On the radio, Bonnie Tyler’s mournful voice sang Total Eclipse of the Heart.

“You got that right,” said Joe Maxwell to nobody at all.

Chapter 2 – Brand New Key

A small package arrived at Joe’s mail drop a few days later. The address on the front was written in what appeared to be red crayon. Inside was a filthy-looking cassette tape folded in an index card that simply said: PLAY ME. Also written in red crayon. A piece of grimy tape covered the write-only tab.

Joe put the tape in his Walkman, plugged in his earphones, and pressed PLAY.

“Hello, Joe,” said the long-ago voice. “ You sound good. Are you happy? I hope you’re happy. I want you to be happy. Long time no see. Or talk. Excuse me a minute, my reader wants to tell me something.” After garbled exchange, she went on: “Correction: my letter reader respectfully asks that when you write me again, please use Palmer Cursive. She’s learning it in school. And my delivery person says please thank the lady with the confetti glasses for the apple and Snickerdoodle. They were Okay Good.” There was another round of whispering – a male voice this time. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell him right now. Please tell the lady the cookies were more than good – they were Okay Fine.”

Joe smiled at the obvious mention of Mrs. Evans, who thought food was the cure-all for every thing from allergies to zeitgeist. He also made a mental note about the cursive. Apparently, it took a village for Lacey to write and deliver a letter.

The tape made a loud snapping noise from being turned on and off. “I’m back,” Lacey said. “Now, where was I?” She sounded like she was talking from the bottom of an empty swimming pool. The tape cracked and popped like Marble Phrogg on vinyl. “So you’re an assistant DA. Good for you! You’re on the fast track, I’m sure. I’m sorry for… Not keeping in touch. Sorry for… Everything. Do you ever see folks from the old neighborhood? And… How’s your Ma? She was always so kind to me. Do you have a dog? God, I miss dogs…”

In the background was a faint clanging noise – and ABBA of all things. Was that Rock Me?

“Joe, the last ten years have been hard.” Lacey’s voice was dead serious. “ You wouldn’t know me, if you ran into me in the street. A lot’s happened. Things I’d rather discuss in person or not at all.” There was another loud snap on the tape. Her voice changed back to a conversational tone. “I - I know you work with Catherine Chandler. Bet she broke your heart, that one…” Then, she paused and laughed softly. “Just like the song, right, Joe? Hall and Oates, remember?”

He chuckled under his breath. Lacey always teased him about his Type, never seeming to realize that she fell into that category, too.

“I couldn’t resist. I’ve known Catherine for quite a long time. She’s part of the society in which I live. It’s… a … secret world. I live in a place you cannot begin to imagine. I’d love to hear more from you - but on tape, please. Someone else has to read letters aloud to me; and I always feel, well, awkward, when I have to dictate replies. Letters are personal. You understand. Why don’t you just tape over this and give it back to Cathy. She’ll get it to me faster than the Post Office will. Please talk soon? Ever your girl, Lacey.”

The tape ended there. Joe didn’t want to record over it. He wanted to listen to it again later, when he was alone at home. He rummaged through his desk and found one of the fresh blank cassettes he kept on hand for depositions.

“Hi, Lacey,” Joe said. “ It’s so good to hear your voice again. I want you to know you can tell me anything – on tape or otherwise. What do you mean, you live in a ‘secret world?’”

Joe paused the tape. He wondered if he should tell her just how much he knew about her parents’ embezzlement charges – and, in fact, had to recuse himself from the case. He decided against it and continued: “I don’t have a dog. But you’ll be happy to know Ma has a black and tan rescue Chihuahua named Max, who hates me with a passion. I’m still the same handsome guy. You should see me now – I wear three-piece suits! I’m not as gorgeous as you are, but I’m passably handsome. I probably look like the night school lawyer your mother always warned you about. Say, Lacey, would you like to meet for dinner sometime? I cook a mean veggie lasagna. Or you could call me…. Here are my home and office numbers…”

He spoke slowly into the recorder, carefully Getting It Right. “Well, I have a deposition at ten in the A.M., so I’ll stop here and catch Catherine before she goes home. We’ll talk soon. I promise –“

How should I end this? He wondered. Joe? Love? What? “ Joe.”

He sealed the envelope, grabbed his jacket and rushed out to catch Catherine at the elevator.

The next afternoon, Joe motioned Catherine to come into his office. “Pull up a chair, Chandler,” he said.

“What is it, Joe?” Catherine asked, impatiently. “I need to pick-up Jake’s birthday cake.”

“We have a mutual friend,” Joe replied. “Lacey Corelli.”

“Yes,” Catherine said, with the strangest smile on her face. “I met her, when I was helping friends organize a food bank.” The almost-imperceptible eyebrow twitch told Joe that was a deception.

“I went to High School with her. St. Pius.”

“And?”

“Lacey told me that if I wanted to see her, I should talk to you,” Joe said, evenly. “She said she lives in a ‘secret’ place. Frankly, Cathy, I need to understand this need for secrecy. Is she being targeted by her father’s business associates?” Lacey had been the one innocent party in the whole Corelli case, but she paid the heaviest price.

Catherine got up and closed the door. “Joe, what I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. Ever.”

“Okay,” he replied.

She reached over, flipped on his portable radio and tuned it to loud static. And then the woman he didn’t really know at all took a deep breath and began: “There’s a place far below the city…”

Twenty minutes later, Joe was still sitting stunned at his desk. Catherine got up, left, came back, left, and then came back with a cup of vicious second-floor coffee.

“Joe,” she said. “ Everything I told you is true.”

He stared at her as though he’d never seen her before. “I believe you.”

Catherine perched on the corner of his desk and quietly asked: “Have you asked her yet, Maxwell?”

“Yes. I asked her to my place for dinner Friday night,” he replied, finding his voice. He didn’t want to jinx anything telling her Lacey hadn’t answered yet.

“Look, Joe, I really wish I could stay and talk,” she said, the impatience gone from her voice. “But I really do have be at Ann’s Bakery fifteen minutes ago.”

“Okay, Chandler. See you tomorrow.”

Catherine left him sitting at his desk, staring dumbly at nothing at all.

The reply came the next day. Again, it came recorded on a cassette – Joe recognized it as the same one he’d sent Lacey Corelli.

“Meet? Hmmm. Dinner? Hmmm. Is this a date? Or is it one of those I Wanna Bag The Blind Girl Things? Um…No… I know it’s not. Lasagna’s fine. You’re cooking?!” She laughed. She still had a wonderful laugh. Like water bubbling up in a brook. “I bet you cook a mean sauce. Your mother always did. I loved meals at your house. No wine. And no whining. Sure. I’d love to have dinner with you. Just let Catherine know when and what time… Your place? Certainly not mine. See you soon. Oh, and please talk back. I love hearing your voice. It’s like old times at home.”

Again, there was that clanging in the background – and a Beach Boys song. Heroes and Villains. Did it mean something? Was she thumbing her nose at a long-ago hurt? Joe didn’t know. Lacey used music the way other people used weapons of mass destruction. It always sounded so innocent, but ABBA was one of her weapons of choice.

He spoke even more carefully this time.

“Lace, my place is fine. I’ll cook. Have Chandler – I mean Catherine – bring you to my apartment at seven o’clock Friday night. We’ll reminisce. It’ll be fun.”

“Lacey will be at your door Friday at seven o’clock sharp,” Catherine said, as she walked past Joe’s Office.

Joe was on the phone, so he just waved his thanks.

Later that afternoon, another cassette arrived. It appeared on Joe’s desk, when he was out of the office. Catherine didn't deliver it. One of the new secretaries insisted “an autistic street person” had delivered it, but Mrs. Evans shut her down with a withering look.

“Maybe he’s homeless, Candace,” she said. “Anyway, he was clean and very polite.”

"Okay," said Joe. “Fine.”

He’d forgotten his Walkman at home, so he slipped the cassette into his coat pocket and walked back to the pile of cases on his desk.

"Hey, Joe,” Lacey’s soft voice said. "I just wanted to say you can back out, if you want. I've changed a lot, and, quite frankly, I wouldn't want to have dinner with me. In fact, I'm not quite sure why they allow me to live here - except that maybe they don’t want to unleash me upon unsuspecting Society." She must have been walking around while she was taping, because there was a loud BANG! "Oh, shit! I mean, shoot! Well, there's a Hail Mary. DAMN! Who left that frigging pile of boxes in the hallway, where I can’t see them!" Pound, pound, pound. Clank, clank, CLANK! "Oh, where was I… "

Fragments of a long-forgotten song seeped in from somewhere in the background:

“Guess I've been working a little too hard

Need a vacation, I'll send you a card

‘From Honolulu, a Greeting from Happy Hawaii…[1] ’”

The music sent Joe’s memory shooting backward…

"It’s finally here! Out of the way, Maxwell!" Lacey pushed by Joe on her way to the stereo. She spun around and made the ABBA picture cover dance in front of his face. “All the way from Starship Records and Tapes! It even smells like Tulsa!”

Joe thought it smelled like pot but didn’t say so. He’d learned better than to ask why she got her special orders from Tulsa, Oklahoma, when she could’ve walked down to the record store on the corner and purchased them there.

It was the summer before junior year; and it was the summer Joe started working a third job to save for college. Lacey spent every daylight hour in summer school classes, so she could graduate early and “get the hell out of Dodge.” Meeting for lunch at the Corelli’s was a rare treat for both of them.

“I've got a feeling the dream will come true

Someone is waiting and I'll forget you

Hey, Honolulu, I'm going to Happy Hawaii. [2] ”

“Corelli, you have No Taste.” Joe teased Lacey mercilessly about her bizarre-strange obsession with ABBA and told her she had No Taste on a regular basis.

"I do, too, have Taste!” Lacey snapped, as Happy Hawaii blasted out of the ginormous Cerwin-Vega speakers. “Just because it isn't yours doesn't make it bad. I happen to like ABBA." She lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially. "Besides, my mother thinks ABBA's the spawn of Satan. How cool is that?"

That afternoon, he and Lacey pushed the vile goat-skinned dining room table against the wall and rolled up the Persian carpet, exposing the shining wood floor. She kicked off her Birkenstocks and, barefoot, taught him how to swing dance to the Rockabilly twang of The Stray Cats and Buddy Holly’s Ollie Vee, to stroll to Mel Carter, and then to slow dance to the Nazareth version of Love Hurts until he was really good at it.

“Now, you’ll do any girl fine on the dance floor,” she said, approvingly. “Girls love a guy who can dance.”

He would always remember Lacey as she was that day: flushed, mussed and happy, because she finally got him to dance with her. She spun en pointe barefoot to Andrea and Hot Mink

Lacey’s feet were the only imperfect part of her shining person. Her feet were malformed, battered, and made ugly by years of ballet.

Don’t look, Joe told himself. But that one afternoon, he did.

The smile on her face and even in her eyes was warm and very real - even when she caught him staring.

Some growing-up voice in his head insisted that feet that looked that bad had to hurt.

“Momma said, ‘Chuck Berry-O

He ain’t your Daddy-O

It was sung long ago

A long, long time ago…’

Don’t go out on a Friday Night!

Save it all up for the weekend![3] ”

Joe was so busy listening to the music in his memory, he almost forgot about the tape at hand.

"Well… All right,” Lacey said. “If I don’t hear otherwise, I’ll see you Friday night at seven."

Joe found that wanted to see Lacey. He wanted to see her very much indeed.

At 6:55 p.m. Friday, Joe looked around and realized that his apartment was anything but blind-friendly. The too-big used furniture was crammed into the too-small space at odd angles. At exactly 7:00 p.m., the doorbell rang. It was Catherine and Lacey Corelli.

“Here she is, Joe,” Catherine said. “She turns into a pumpkin at eleven.” And she was gone.

Lacey stood there like a statue, both hands curled around the top of her red-and-white cane. The first thing he noticed was that her hair had darkened from platinum blonde to a rich chestnut brown. She wore it pulled back from her face in a long, loose braid. She was nearly as tall as Joe and very willowy - almost too slim. He wanted her to remove the Ray Ban sunglasses, so he could see her sea blue eyes. (She didn’t. Or wouldn’t.)

Finally, Lacey asked, “Joe?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, good. For a moment there, I thought Catherine left me at the wrong apartment. You know - sighted people humor.” She laughed nervously and held out her right hand.

Joe finally understood that she meant for him to take it and lead her inside.

“You haven’t changed,” he said, taking her hand.

“You have,” Lacey replied. “And it’s easier for me, if you guide me by the elbow.”

He just missed ‘guiding’ her smack into the coffee table.

“How so?” Joe found it was easier to maneuver her by the elbow.

“You’re… grown up,” she said, thoughtfully. Then, she seemed to catch herself. “I mean, your voice is deeper and you’re -”

“Different?” Joe asked.

“Yes,” Lacey replied. “And so am I.”

“Why don’t we sit and talk? Dinner won’t be ready for another thirty minutes or so,” he said. “I got held up at work.”

Lacey smiled and moved next to him as though she owned the place. Her cane seemed to be a magical appliance that bounced off of clutter, furniture, and walls with the precession of sonar.

“The couch is directly in front you on your right, Lacey,” Joe said.

She found it and sat with a practiced grace. “Please don’t hover,” she said, patting the empty cushion beside her. “Come tell me all about everything.”

“Give me a minute,” he told her. “Would you like a beer?”

‘Sure,” said Lacey. “That sounds good.”

Joe took his time getting two bottles of Grolsch. He also took another good, long look at Lacey. Her skin was so pale, she bordered on luminous. She had the same open smile; but her body language said Don’t Touch. He didn’t.

He sat down next to her and asked: “What do you want to know?

“Why did you write me?” she asked, deliberately, as though she was really asking much, much more.

“Well, because I remembered you,” Joe replied, choosing his words too carefully. “I remembered the good times we had. I missed my friend. I missed you.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much,” Joe said. “I’m a pretty straight-forward guy.”

“You always were,” Lacey said, smiling. She leaned back, took a sip of beer, and seemed to relax a little. “What’re you wearing, Joe? I hear you’re handsome and successful.”

“A rag wool sweater and blue jeans.”

“That’s good, because I don’t think my clothes are up to three-piece-suit dining.”

Joe laughed and said: “I think you’d look nice anywhere.” His voice came out much lower and softer than he’d meant it to – and it surprised him.

The day’s last sunlight cast a beam across Lacey’s face. She looked like a creature from a quieter planet - or another space in time After years of memories of Lacey in her St. Pius red plaid and gray uniform, Joe found it rather disconcerting to see his childhood friend dressed in a plain white button-down shirtwaist tucked into a long, soft blue calico skirt. The blouse had tiny cornflowers embroidered around the collar and cuffs in thread exactly the color of Lacey’s sea blue eyes. Someone – probably Cathy - had taken great care choosing her outfit. He wondered if Lacey knew about the cornflowers. He didn’t want to put his foot in it and ask. Instead, Joe said: “ So, tell me about this dogless world of yours.” Maybe?

“It’s complicated,” Lacey replied, too quickly. Her face was all angles and her skin luminesced in the sun. “Let me think about it. Can we eat dinner first, maybe?”

Maybe not. “Sure. Okay.” Foot in it Maxwell.

Lacey shifted her cane from her left hand to her right and back again. That little gesture said volumes. No. It's not okay. Give it time. “I’m a little nervous,” Lacey said. “Isn’t that strange?”

Joe reached over and stilled her hands. They were ice cold. “It’s all right,” he told her. “You don’t have be nervous with me. We’re old friends here, remember? We’re old friends having dinner.”

“But Joe, I was such an awful bitch. I didn’t even tell you good-bye.”

He hadn’t seen that coming. He gave her hands a gentle shake. “I didn’t tell you goodbye, either,” he reminded her. “It’s in the past, Lacey.”

“You’re sure…” she said, sounding anything but sure.

“It’s in the past,” he said again, mostly because he needed to hear it.

Then, the most unexpected thing happened: Lacey asked to “see” his face. Joe guided her hand to his cheek and leaned in to her touch. She took a long time framing his face and running her slender fingers over his cheekbones back to his ears and around his hairline. From the way she mapped it with her evenly spread fingertips, Joe sensed she was committing his face to memory. If her touch hadn’t been so deliberate, it would have been erotic. He knew she visually remembered him young, not as a grown man with what Ma called Laugh Lines and what Joe called wrinkles. Finally, apparently satisfied with what her fingers “saw,” Lacey dropped her hands into her lap.

“Same ole Joe,” she said, softly, almost as if to herself

“Same ole, same ole,” Joe said.

“ Looking backward, I understand why Momma was terrified of you,” she replied.

“Me? Why?”

“Because even at 15, you had all the ambition I lacked." The memory must have been quite satisfying, because she grinned. "She was terrified that if you'd decided to, you’d have whisked me away from All That. A lot of good All That did me – or my parents, for that matter. Enough money was never enough, as far as they were concerned.”

“I tried to find you after the trial. After everything,” Joe said. “But you disappeared. I assumed you went into Witness Protection.” Joe couldn’t keep his eyes off of Lacey’s face. In the lamplight, he could just make out the faint network of delicate, faded scars that snaked behind her dark glasses like so many spider webs. The last time he’d seen them, they were new, jagged and angry red. Joe looked at his watch again. Ten minutes and they could eat. “Who says I didn’t want to whisk you away?” he joked.

“Then, why didn’t you?” she asked, her voice suddenly harsh. “You knew what kind of life I lived. You left me to go through the trial – everything – alone.”

Stunned, Joe felt as if he’d been hit. Hard. “I’m sorry, Lacey. I didn’t know how bad it was,” he said, simply. “And you didn’t ask me. You just so seemed so capable of taking care of yourself – and everybody else, for that matter.”

Lacey's expression was cold. It was set. "Oh, yes," she said, bitterly. "I could always do that."

That's right, Maxwell. Put your foot in it again. She put her entire head through it… The wall and the windshield and the little MG with its brake lines cut and Lacey left shattered for some stranger to find in the night.

“I had to recuse myself from the case,” he told her. “And I stupidly ended up recusing myself from your life, too. That’s all on me.”

“I didn’t know,” she replied. Her anger passed as quickly as it appeared. "My parents never forgave me for testifying against them. I lost everything, when the guilty verdict came down."

Joe had seen excerpts of a frightened Lacey’s testimony on the eleven o’clock news. The ugly memory forced its way to the surface. He pushed it back down.

The two sat in silence until Lacey finally asked, “How’s your Ma?”

“She’s as feisty as ever,” Joe replied. “She still lives in the same apartment. I go home for dinner with her every other Sunday. Maybe you could come along sometime?" he asked.

"I’d like that.” She smoothed her already smooth skirt with her left hand.

Joe looked at his watch. Five more minutes. "So, how did you come to live Below?"

"Long story," Lacey replied. “ I had sort of an in. My parents were first-generation Helpers. Did Catherine tell you about Helpers?"

Joe was flabbergasted. ”Your parents from hell were Helpers? I find that hard to believe.”

"Weird but true. I sort of lucked out," she went on. "I was this close to pawning my pendant and turning to a life of crime." Lacey’s hand unconsciously went to her neck, where the strange zircon shone.

"I don’t believe it."

She smiled wickedly and tucked her feet beneath her, sending her cane clattering to the floor.

He picked it up and returned it to her.

"Dr. Wells says I ought as well have a sign around my neck that says ‘Will Go To The Dark Side for Food.’"

For an instant, Joe was back in the Corelli's dining room, fifteen and tongue-tied.

"I'm joking, Joe," she said, laughing. "See? I can still read you after all these years!"

And it was finally time to eat.

Joe led Lacey into his small kitchen and helped her find her place at the table. “Just tell me where you put my beer and how you set my place,” Lacey said, as he carefully served her lasagna and garlic bread.

“Your lasagna is at four o’clock, and your bread is at nine. The beer is one-ish,” he told her. “Oh! And your silverware is wrapped in your napkin on the left of your plate.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Joe watched Lacey’s ease of function. It was as though she ‘d always been blind. Her left pinkie slid along the cloth napkin and back to her place setting...

Joe got through dinner. Barely. There was something about talking to a woman - any woman - and eating at the same time that made him feel clumsy and prickly. He managed to drop orange food down the front of his sweater. Of course, Lacey couldn't see this, but Joe could; and it made him feel annoyingly shy. He kept reminding himself that Lacey was his old friend - and that she didn't care about things like Orange Food. And she never had.

He had to remind his mouth to talk.

He had to remind his teeth to chew.

He had to remind his throat to swallow.

Before that evening, Joe hadn’t realized how often he used eye contact to flirt. (Joe was a shameless flirt.) Getting to know Lacey as a blind adult woman was so different. He found himself reaching across the table and touching her as they talked.

"I’m one of a very select group who is speaking the absolute truth, when I tell you I withdrew from Society to live under a rock with my Music…" Lacey was saying just then. "Literally. And that's about it. My life in a nutshell."

"Mmmm hmmm," said Joe, stroking back of Lacey’s hand very lightly with the back of his own.

Lacey laughed and moved her hand away to take a careful sip of beer. "Joe," she said. "I thought you'd be married and have a dozen kids and be living in Brooklyn by now. What happened?"

"Nothing worked out," he replied, shrugging. “What about you?”

"Nothing worked out,” Lacey said. She took a measured bite of pasta. "Are you happy, Joe?"

"Yeah, I guess,” he lied. “Are you?"

"Yeah," she replied, shrugging. "I guess."

Joe nervously fiddled with the volume knob on the purple Emerson clock radio sitting on the windowsill. Suddenly, Raspuntina’s quirky rendition of the double-entendre packed Brand New Key came pouring out. His face felt hot.

Suddenly, Lacey’s musical laugh filled the kitchen. “The nuns hated this song,” she said. “And having been raised by wolves in a bubble, it took me a while to figure out why.” Swaying in her chair, she sang along with the chorus:

“Well, I got a brand new pair of roller skates;

You’ve got a brand new key.

I think that we should get together and try them on to see.

I’ve been looking around awhile, you got something for me

Oh, I got a brand new pair of roller skates

You’ve got a brand new key.[4] ”

She smiled the way he remembered.

He grinned and wished she could see him.

Joe cleared their dinner plates and replaced them with a shot of espresso. Lacey, her left hand loosely curled around her glass, looked for all the world as if she belonged there. "Lacey, would you mind if I cut to the chase?” he said. “I’d like to see you again.”

"I’d like to see you, too," she replied, softly. She folded her hands on the table in front of her. The sad smile that followed melted his heart. “As friends.”

"How about tomorrow afternoon?" Joe asked, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “Whatever you’d like to do - as friends. And dinner and ice cream at Kaiser’s on me.”

“I’d like to go for a walk in Central Park,” she replied, almost shyly – catching Joe completely off-guard. “And-” Lacey seemed to be looking right at him from behind her Ray Bans. “Joe, life is not a Jim Steinman song.”

“I’ll see your Jim Steinman and raise you one Ian Hunter,” Joe replied, thinking All of the Good Ones Are Taken.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Steinman had his piddies all over that pie, too.”

“Damn! I forgot.”

This time when Lacey smiled, Joe knew that things were good between them. They’d talk about the bad times, or they wouldn’t; she’d open up about her life Below – or she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter to Joe at the moment. If he wanted Lacey Corelli in his life, certain conditions had to be honored.

After dinner, Joe and Lacey walked back to Catherine’s apartment - slowly. They didn’t need to be at Catherine’s place until eleven. It was a lovely spring night - and walking gave Joe the excuse to lead her by the elbow. Their conversation flowed easily in time to the rhythm of Lacey’s strange blind-person gait…

Catherine was waiting for them in the lobby of her building, tapping a flashlight against her leg.

“Right on time,” Cathy said. “So?”

“We’re getting together tomorrow afternoon,” Lacey answered, before Joe could say anything. “If you have the time to bring me.”

Catherine grinned wryly and rolled her eyes. “What else would I to do on a Saturday? Don’t answer that, Corelli! Say Good Night, Lacey.”

“Good Night, Lacey,” said Lacey.

Joe said his goodbyes and left. Where the women were going with their heads together in rapt conversation, he couldn’t follow.

Chapter 3 - Dreaming. Hoping, Waiting

“From: Joseph Maxwell, New York, New York

To: Sister Mary- Jessie Marchant c/o General Delivery, Flagstaff, AZ

Sunday Morning

Dear Sister Mary-Jessie,

I hope you made it to the wilds of Flagstaff in one piece. I suspect you did, as I haven’t seen any stories about Gun-Toting-Nuns Vs. Mountain Lions in the Daily Sun.

I had dinner with Lacey Corelli last night. We had a nice time and made plans to see each other again. What can I say? I didn’t realize how much I missed her until she was sitting across from me at the kitchen table. I’m comfortable just being with her. I don’t have to explain where I come from. Or justify it. I feel like a heel the way I treated her at the end – when the Corellis combusted. I saw her the one time in the hospital. I was afraid of her disability and my own inabilities. I know you said it’s not about me, that if I’d been there, she would’ve taken me down like Icarus; but I wish I hadn’t been young and stupid, either, Sister.

I think Lacey had a good time. I know I did, in spite of me regularly inserting my foot in my mouth all night long. The evening ended so good with us just talking.

Lacey Corelli told me: ‘Life Is Not A Jim Steinman Song.’

I beg to differ.

It’s really late. I’ll write more soon. Thank you again, Sister, for reconnecting me with Lace.

Love & God Bless,

Joe Maxwell

P.S. We’re going to see Da Bums play an exhibition game next week. Go Dodgers!”

Their friendship began its mending just like that. Friday nights were sacrosanct. Joe would meet Lacey in lobby of Catherine’s building, and the two of them would spend the evening together. Coffee. Concerts. Dinner. Movies. Walks around the City. Weekend days were reserved for ball games and walks in Central Park and ice cream at Kaiser’s. Joe always had her back at Cathy’s at eleven on the dot. On stormy days, though, Lacey got unusually quiet; and she would only say: “I’m a little tired, Joe. Let’s stay in tonight.” They spent those evenings sitting in his kitchen eating healthy take-out from the Middle Path and listening to what Lacey dubbed The Radio of Sex and Death. (“It knows things,” Lacey said darkly, when it randomly played Suzy Quatro’s Rock Hard followed by Eiffel Tower by Malcolm McLaren and the McLarenettes.) Their relationship became a sweet habit – consciously nurtured and protected, especially by Joe. They spoke a shared, almost familial language. It felt right somehow.

Joe broached the subject just once, lightly, over coffee at one of those places in the Village.

“Don’t be an idiot, Joe Maxwell,” Lacey told him, laughing. “You don’t want to date me.”

“Why not? You’re from the old neighborhood; we know the same music; and you like The Middle Path and baseball. More importantly, we like each other.”

She slowly rolled her steaming mug of Star of Persia tea between her palms. “Because dating me is a lot like drinking a latté made with soymilk. Sure, it looks the same - but when you take a sip, it’s never what you expected.”

“Go Bums,” Joe replied.

Lacey shook her head, smiling. “Yay Mariners.”

The new vintage-looking Wurlitzer jukebox droned:

“Little things remind me of you:

Cheap cologne and that damn song too!

Don't put another dime in the jukebox

I don't wanna hear that song no more…[5] ”

Sometimes, children – and even adult men and women – approached them and asked Lacey about her disability. This really bothered Joe, who found their attention invasive and inappropriate; but she usually didn’t mind. Joe did. He’d sit fuming, while she was kind to people who didn’t deserve it.

One Saturday after a dinner of wonderful eggplant Parmesan at Mama Lu’s, they stopped to share a homemade coconut chocolate mint chip milk shake at Kaiser’s. As always, they sat in their favorite booth – the round one in the back corner. Joe ordered, while Lacey happily fed the Rock-ola quarters. (Her photographic memory made short work of the little juke’s menu.) They were laughing about how back in the day, some Rock-olas were wired via phone line to a central office that controlled the Music, when Lacey’s cane went clattering to the floor.

“I’ll get it, “ Joe said. As he reached down to get the cane, he became acutely aware he was being watched.

It was little Travis Taylor from number 3-F. Travis was three years old with white blond hair and green eyes. He was a hellion, who pushed all the elevator buttons and ran screaming buck naked down the hall at five in the morning – every morning. Tonight, he was sitting with his Auntie, who was Hushing him at regular intervals.

“It’s not polite to stare,” she hissed. “Eat your ice cream!”

“I don’t want to eat my ice cream!” screamed Travis Taylor.

Joe retrieved the cane and handed it to Lacey.

“He’s just curious,” she said, softly. “It’s really all right.” She introduced herself to the Auntie and then to Travis. She slid out of the booth and over to their table. “My name is Miss Corelli. Would you like to see my cane?”

“He’s going to follow you around like a puppy now,” said Auntie, whose name was April.

Ignoring her, Lacey told him: “I use this cane, because I’m blind.” She snapped it closed and flipped it open again. “Blind means I can’t see.”

“Why?” asked Travis, completely fascinated. “Why can’t you see?”

“I was in an accident when I was a girl, and my eyes were badly hurt,” she went on. “The last thing I remember seeing was my freckles in the rearview mirror. Do I still have freckles?”

Travis said No and asked if her eyes were scary-looking.

Lacey lifted her Ray Bans, so the child could look. “See? Not scary at all.” She allowed Travis to look for the length of the chorus of Blame It On The Bossa Nova. Then, she let her Ray Bans fall back into place on the bridge of her nose.

“Tell Mr. Maxwell and Miss Corelli good-bye,” Auntie April said, gathering her things. Her pocket book was already looped in the crook of her elbow.

“Bye, Pretty Blind Lady!” called Travis, as the woman dragged him out the door. “Bye Joe!”

“Bye, Cute Sighted Kid!” replied Lacey, smiling.

Everybody in Kaiser’s was staring.

She slid back into their booth and took a long drink of their ‘shake.

Joe seethed silently, because Lacey’s blindness wasn’t their business – but mostly, because she’d never removed her Ray Bans in his presence. He knew she knew. I’m being a jerk, he thought.

The slow burn of Ian Hunter’s All of the Good Ones Are Taken came on the jukebox.

“Dance with me, Joe?” she asked. She was extending an olive branch. “Please?”

Joe took her hand and accepted the olive branch. “Was that really the last thing you saw?” he asked, as they danced to the plaintive song.

“Yes,” she replied. “My freckles came closer and closer until they were the whole entire world.“ She threw her head back and rocked them to the Music.

“You’re pretty amazing, Pretty Blind Lady,” he said.

“Am I forgiven, then?” She laughed and flashed her frank, warm smile. “So you’ve gotten over your bad self?”

“I’m a shit sometimes, Lace,” Joe replied. “It’s part of my charm.”

“You know, you’re an excellent dancer when you’re all riled,” Lacey said, laughing; her face flushed a faint copper-rose. She danced as though they were the only people in the world.

Joe closed his eyes and let her warmth cascade over him as casually as if it was his second-nature.

When they finally returned to their booth, the milkshake was a soggy coconut mint chocolate mess; but they drank it, anyway.

“How’s it going with Lacey?” Catherine Chandler asked, one Spring Monday over lunch on the green space behind the pretzel vendor’s cart. “You seem happier since you’ve been dating.”

“We’re not dating,” Joe said.

“What do you call it, then?” she asked, smirking. “’Hanging out?’”

“I don’t know,” he replied, peckishly. “But Lacey and I aren’t dating dating,”

“Keep on telling yourself that, Maxwell,” Cathy said, around a bit of soft pretzel. “It won’t make it any more true; but keep on telling yourself that, anyway.”

“Ouch,” he joked, wincing. “The next thing you’re going to do is tell me to get a life.”

She swallowed a bit of pretzel, took long sip of Diet Coke, smiled and said: “Get A Life.”

The pretzel vendor’s boom box played the 12-inch version Come On, Eileen by Dexy’s Midnight Runners.

Joe smiled but not because of what Chandler said. He smiled, because the first time she heard it, Lacey dubbed Come On, Eileen the Orgasm Song.

Catherine stood up and tossed her trash. “Look, Joe,” she said, her lovely face dead serious. “Don’t take too long. I did that once - and it got really bad before it got better. I almost lost everything.”

“I won’t,” he replied. He started ask her what got bad and how she almost lost everything, but Catherine was already long gone.

Her back disappeared into the crowd of New Yorkers heading back to the office after lunch,

Joe went with his instincts. He sensed that with this grown-up Lacey, closeness came with time – maybe a lot of time. And with trust. He could tell that when they were out in the world, she didn’t trust anybody. Joe knew and understood that feeling; it didn’t concern him. (Don’t let them see you weak, he often told himself.) He quickly learned tender things about Lacey, too, like: she stubbornly refused to show vulnerability in public. Early on, he took her to dinner at a restaurant with an unfamiliar menu. There was only a small crack in her composure, when she lightly said, “Oh, Joe, you know what I like. Just remember no shellfish or red meat.” (He ordered a salad with a small piece of fresh-caught salmon on the side and made a mental note to ‘work the problem.’) After that, Joe had menus faxed to the office; and he read them aloud to her before they went out. Lacey eased into their meals then - and they settled into comfortable conversations about everything and nothing. They had a tacit agreement never to discuss her blindness and/or the “accident” – and especially not her life Below. But Lacey’s deeper truths had a way of expressing themselves abruptly and unexpectedly.

They both loved old movies and usually went to the moderne Delman Theater around the corner from Joe’s apartment. They watched it all from the weird to the wonderful and everything in between – screwball comedies, classics, film noir. They sat in the soundproof crying booth, sharing a small buttered popcorn and a Coke with two straws. After the lights went out and the trailers played, Lacey would lean in and listen in rapt attention as Joe described the action on the screen. He loved how her face shone during Bringing Up Baby and Stage Door and Dr. Zhivago. (“Joe, it’s all about The Desk.”) Gentle dates for the girl from underground, he thought more than once. They just weren’t dating.

One summer evening, they were waiting for the neon-bathed Delman’s ticket booth to open. Even though they stood in the shade of the marquee, it was vicious hot – the sort of hot that made Joe feel dull and stupid. Lacey wore her hair pinned up beneath an old-fashioned wide-brimmed sun hat. Little beads of sweat glistened on her upper lip; and she was flushed crimson. She was looking forward to hearing the so-called “Lewton Bus” in Cat People and talked about it in every tape they shared that week. It didn’t quite register to Joe, when the head usher came and switched out all the one-sheet posters for Cat People.

“What’s going on?” Lacey asked, when she heard the heavy poster display case behind them swing shut.

“I think they’re changing the program,” Joe replied. When he asked the usher, he was informed the print of Cat People hadn’t arrived. “Well, what’s on tonight instead?”

“Oh, it’s a great film!” the usher piped. “It’s a gorgeous 35 MM print of On the Waterfront.”

Somebody in line gave a single half-hearted clap.

“Trust me,” said the usher. “It’ll be awesome.” He sauntered away with the rolled up posters for Cat People under his arm.

“I can’t,” Lacey hissed, digging her fingernails into Joe’s bare forearm and drawing blood. Her face was all angles and very red. “I just can’t. That One Line is my whole life. I can’t hear it up there bare-assed-naked spewing out of Marlon Brando’s mouth.”

His stomach fell with a sickening thud. Joe looked at her and thought: You are somebody. You’re not a bum. But at this juncture, he knew better than to say it out loud in front of God And Everybody. “We won’t see it, then, ” he told her. He gently pried her fingers open and eased them off of the angry cuts stinging on his skin.

They went across the street to Critic’s Choice Videos. Because Cat People was already rented, they got Lacey’s very favorite film, Children of Paradise, instead. On the walk back to his apartment, Lacey told him a little of the story of the film: how members of the French underground were hidden among the extras, even though at least one of the cast was a Nazi informer; how it was originally shown in two parts to foil the Nazis; how the “paradise” is the cheap seats in the balcony; how Arletty’s reputation was forever tarnished by her affair with a Nazi officer; and how “Les enfants du paradis is the best film ever made, including Citizen Kane and Lawrence of Arabia.”

“It’ll be nice watching at home for a change,” Joe said, looking down at the video box trying to suss exactly what made this movie Best. “No angry lady-with-a-baby glaring daggers at me for describing the movie for you.”

“I didn’t know about that,” Lacey said, softly. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Now.

Joe popped hot air popcorn and drizzled it with butter. He served it in his grandmother’s stoneware mixing bowl, which was quite heavy. He handed the bowl to Lacey, along with a bottle of Weber’s Root Beer and two paper straws.

When she was sitting on the couch, relaxed, the bowl of popcorn in her lap and her legs stretched out across his, Joe took a sip of their root beer and said, evenly: “You are somebody.”

Lacey flinched as though she’d been hit. ‘Please don’t – “

“You are not, nor have you ever been, a bum,” he told her. He eased his arm around her shoulders and drew her into his arms.

She buried her face against his white cotton shirt and silently cried herself out. She was still hiccupping, when she reached up and felt his face, gauged his expression. She took a long, shuddering breath, and said, “Let’s watch the movie now, okay?”

“Okay.” He picked up the VCR remote and pressed PLAY. He knew not to ask why. He described the epic story unfolding in scratchy, subtitled black and white.

That night, Lacey didn’t pull away. The demons that set her off far out-weighed her Friends Rule. She languidly reached up and touched Joe’s face several times during the film.

And each time, he just smiled.

After the movie, Joe pointed out not only was Children of Paradise 190 minutes long and in French, but also not one single person ended up with his or her soulmate in the end. Lacey, a beatific expression on her face, just sighed and smiled her Oh, You Simple Man smile she’d been giving him since he was a teenager.

“It’s about the greater love,” she said, exasperated. “Look, you’re beaten up by life – and maybe even purposely injured by those who are supposed to care about you; so you retreat into the safety of dreams until you’re knocked awake – awakened - by love. And by God, you’d better be ready for it.”

“Then what?” Joe asked, grinning.

“You’re such a man, Joe Maxwell!” Lacey replied. She reached over and felt his expression – and burst out laughing. “You liked it!” she said. “Admit it!”

“Nope. I won’t. It was awful. And my ass is asleep.”

Lacey’s laugh pealed off the walls as she poked him in the stomach, demanding: “Admit it: Tu rêves, tu espères, tu attends! You know you do! Admit it, Maxwell! Tu rêves, tu espères, tu attends!”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Joe teased, sliding from the couch and pulling Lacey with him onto the floor. “I admit to nothing.” Don’t blow this, Maxwell, he warned himself. You dream; you hope; you wait. Present tense.

She was laughing so hard, her words came out in funny little gasps. Finally, she stopped giggling and caught her breath. “You don’t have to admit to it, if you don’t want to,” she said, softly touching his lips. “I can read you like a book, Joe Maxwell.”

That did it. For some weird reason, Joe suddenly felt exposed. “I liked the movie,” he told her, quietly. “A lot. I think we all dream and hope and wait for a lot of things...” For love, he thought. “Everybody does.” Her fingertips hadn’t moved even a centimeter, so he took her hand and helped her back up onto the sofa.

Lacey scooted close next to him and again jumbled her legs across his. “Just play the scene with Garance and Baptiste again one more time, okay?”

“Sure.”

Joe didn’t need to ask which scene. He rewound the tape; and they watched from the safety of their private paradise as Baptiste tells Garance, who is the epitome of Paris and of love, about his loveless existence.

And one more time turned into another and another and another. From the line noise, Joe could tell they weren’t the only ones to press Rewind and Play, Rewind and Play, Rewind and Play…

“Better now?” he asked, clicking the tape back into its case.

“Yes,” she replied, stretching languidly. “More than better now, actually.”

“Good.”

“Joe Maxwell, he of few words,” Lacey muttered under her breath, her expression immutable.

“I can hear you, Lace.”

She smiled the way she had the afternoon she’d taught him how to dance.

It was time to for Lacey to leave far too soon. Joe discovered that time went quickly, when he was enjoying himself. The trouble was that he wasn’t sure where they were headed – or if they were headed anywhere at all.

Joe was certain about one thing, though: he wanted Lacey Corelli to be part of his life. If that meant playing by her rules, so be it. Spending time with her made him feel alive. As the months slipped by, he became keenly aware of the certain way Lacey smiled when they were alone together. Joe lived for that smile. More and more, Lacey “looked” at his face with her hands, letting her fingertips linger on his smile. He found himself smiling more often than not when they were together. And he found himself wondering what would happen, if he took the risk and kissed her fingertips.

But he didn’t.

It’s good this way, Joe lied to himself, one evening as he was looking at Lacey sitting across the kitchen table and wondering exactly what it would be like to seduce her. He told himself, I’ll go slow. I’ll really take the time to get to know you, Lacey Corelli.

But his body didn’t feel that way. His body wanted to knock over the table and grab her and make her want him. It was the eternal battle. Joe Maxwell really was a nice guy – but he was also a very lonely man. He’d isolated himself for so long, he hadn’t touched or been touched like that in longer than he cared to admit. He daydreamed about seducing Lacey slowly – starting with removing those damned dark glasses she wore 24/7. He wanted to look into her dead sea blue eyes before he kissed her. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to feel her skin against his own. And more than anything, he wanted to hear her say, Make love to me, Joe.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Lacey asked.

For an instant, he wondered if she really could read his mind. “Why?”

“You sighed.”

“I did?”

“Yes,” she replied. “And it was a really big one.” She smiled; and her caramel eyebrows shot up above the rims of those ever-present Ray Bans.

Joe almost told her; but instead, he lied. “I was just thinking it’s getting late, and I should get you back to Catherine’s place. That’s all.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Liar,” she spat. She reached down and picked up her cane and looked resigned to being kicked out. Worse, she looked sad.

He reached across the Great Divide of the table and took her hand. “Okay, I admit it. I lied,” he said. “I was thinking about you and me. About ‘us.’ Which is not okay with you. That’s what I was thinking.” Her sad expression didn’t change – not even to chide him. Not even to say We’re Friends. “What’s wrong, Lace?”

“It’s just… Well… I don’t want to go back yet,” she burst out, taking away her hand. She flipped open her cane. “I’ve been stuck down there for a very long time. It’s not safe for me to wander Above alone. You don’t understand what it’s like down there in the dark.” She stiffened and said: “Oh, God, I didn’t mean to say that. Just forget it. Let’s go.”

“You could always show me,” Joe told her, gently. He was very curious about the place Catherine called The Tunnels and Lacey called nothing at all.

“And you could always think less of me than you do now.”

He was completely baffled. “I don’t understand. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

Lacey shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “That’s not what I meant,” she replied, deliberately. “I meant… I mean, I’d just rather not have you…us… down there in the dogless dark. Not yet. All right?”

“All right,” Joe said, softly.

The Radio of Sex and Death sang:

“Our love is alive, and so we begin

Foolishly laying our hearts on the table,

Stumblin’ In.

Our love is a flame burning within

Now and then firelight will catch us

Stumblin' In…”[6]

“How does it do that?” Lacey asked, shaking her head.

“It just does,” replied Joe, laughing in spite of himself. “But with me, it’s usually Steinman. Or Manhattan by Andrea and Hot Mink.”

“And these are the choices?”

“Apparently.”

Lacey groaned and laid her head in her arms. Then, she slowly, deliberately slid her hand across the table towards Joe. She continued to slide it until she was half-lying across the table with her palm open and hand out-stretched. She didn’t lift her face, so he couldn’t see her expression. Joe took her proffered hand on faith. He was surprised when she gripped it hard as though she were a drowning person.

“You’re such a nice guy, Joe Maxwell,” she whispered. “Too good for the likes of a Corelli.”

Eventually, Lacey’s grip loosened and she softly threaded her fingers through his. She rested her head upon her outstretched arm, her luminous face revealing nothing. Joe laid his head on his arm, mirroring her.

They sat together like that for a long, long time, while the radio played songs from their shared past – Rolling Stones and Meat Loaf, Nilsson and Bonnie Tyler, They Might Be Giants and Siouxsie & The Banshees, Jimmy Cliff and Bob Marley. The set incongruously ended with Dan Fogelberg’s Run for the Roses.

“Story of my life, “ Lacey sighed, and, sliding away from him, sat up. “And it’s not that I don’t want to take you there,” she said. “It’s that it’s… It’s not allowed - at least, not without a lot of explaining and negotiating. You’re not even supposed to know. Catherine went out on a limb she really shouldn’t have.” She withdrew behind what Joe privately called The Corelli Wall of Quiet. “For now, is it all right? Are we all right?”

“It is, and we are,” he replied. He meant every word, too. For now, he thought. For now.

That night, Lacey hugged him for the first time. Ever. One moment, she was standing next to Joe, her right arm linked in his left, and, then, her hands were sliding up his arm up to his shoulder. When Lacey wrapped her willowy arms around his neck, Joe turned and swept her into his embrace. They clung to each other for a long time - until they realized Cathy was standing in the doorway, alternately clearing her throat and muttering: “Do I need to get you two a room?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Joe,” Lacey said, as she took Cathy’s arm and prepared to leave.

“It’s a date,” Joe said, holding Lacey’s other hand until it slid out of his grasp.

He didn’t kiss her.

I should have.

Chapter 4 - I Can Hear Music

“Dear Mr. District Attorney,” the crumpled, coffee-stained letter read, “I made it to Flagstaff using the one-hundred mile plan. (Don’t tell the Auto Club, which only covers 100 miles worth of towing in a 24-hour period.) By looking helpless and explaining that I’m a Nun who’s taken a Vow of Poverty, and It’s A Mazda, I was towed 100 miles every twenty-four hours. (I’m sure I’ll do hard time in Purgatory for that one.) I suppose the habit helped, but being stuck in the middle of the high desert wearing it was totally unpleasant and made me long for my childhood, when all I wanted to be was a majorette.

Good on you for mending your relationship with Lacey! Her last letter said she’s getting out more – and that she’s ‘Jackie Wilson Said (I’m In Heaven When You Smile)/Thinking of You/Hickory Wind happy.’ She writes you’ve grown into a sweet man. Coming from Lacey Corelli, that’s about the highest compliment you’re going to get.

Well, I have places to go and freshman girl children to annoy with Big Bad Chemistry. Be a good boy and go to Confession. Go Bums!

Love,

Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant.”

Joe called Catherine into his office one afternoon. “Shut the door, and sit down,” he said quietly.

Catherine did.

“How well do you know Lacey?” he asked.

“Well enough,” she replied.

“How long has she lived Below?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Cathy said. “Years. A very long time, anyway.”

“She never talks about it,” Joe said, sadly.

“I’m their last line of defense, and I’ve earned the right to talk,” she told him. “And I’ve also learned that if I can trust anyone, it’s you, Joe.” Catherine stood up and straightened her jacket in a very Captain Picard manner. “She doesn’t know that. Our Lacey Corelli lives in fear of Doing The Wrong Thing, taking the wrong step. And… You really need to discuss this with her,” she said. The way she said it made it Crystal Clear that the subject was Closed.

“That’s all right,” Joe replied. He looked at the caseload on his desk. “I gotta get back to work, anyway.”

Catherine moved to open the door and then stopped. She didn’t turn around when she said: “Lacey needs you; but I think you need her more.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you just do; and we all need someone to travel through time with,” she replied, cryptically. She left his office in cloud of Anne Klein II.

Joe knew the woman was right.

Joe left the apartment door slightly ajar for Lacey that Sunday evening, so it swung open when she knocked.

“You can’t leave your front door unlocked and open in New York!” Lacey called, closing the door and locking it pointedly behind her. “Somebody could waltz in and steal your Radio of Sex and Death - and then where would we be? We’d have to talk for our own selves. It would be bad.” She no longer needed her cane to navigate the apartment; so she left it folded in her coat pocket. She hung her threadbare coat and scarf on the hook Joe cleared for her, but she still insisted upon wearing her Ray Bans inside.

“Something smells good!”

“I’m by the stove,” Joe said. He was fairly bursting with Secrets and had to fight to sound Normal. “Come taste the sauce.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Lacey said. “I’m starved!” She was wearing a long-sleeved, slim-fitting faded denim dress that emphasized her extreme thinness – a side effect of the Tunnel Diet, Catherine told him privately.

I’ll soon take care of that, thought Joe. He knew a lot about food and nutrition and diet. When Lacey came to dinner, he always made enough for generous helpings and seconds. She always happily accepted seconds and even thirds - and devoured them all with relish.

The Radio of Sex and Death played the Pointer Sisters’ version of Fire.

Lacey, doing her smooth dirty bop, brushed past the table, nearly jostling the Surprise, and over to him as though she could see. She raised her hand, and he guided the spoon into her grasp. She skimmed some sauce up in the spoon and blew on it.

“Mmmmm,” she murmured, after tasting the six-hour sauce. “It’s wonderful. Tastes like home. Well, your home, anyway.” Lacey’s body gave a little jerk as she turned towards the table. She’d slipped on something. She reached over and got a clean dishtowel off the ‘fridge handle, and wiped the floor. “Be careful, Joe. I don’t want you slipping on pasta spillage,” she said, holding out the towel. “I’ll trade you for a clean one.”

He took the dirty towel and tossed it into the empty dish rack. At this point, Joe couldn’t keep the Secret inside any longer. “There’s someone here to see you, Lacey. She’s brought a Special Guest.”

“Is it your mom?” she asked, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Is that you, Mrs. Maxwell?" She extended her open hand to the middle of the room.

Joe’s mother was squeezed into the corner furthest from the stove. “I can’t reach you, Lacey. I’m in the chair by the sink.”

“I’ll come to you, then.” As she crossed behind Joe, Lacey slipped on another wet spot and nearly knocked him into the pan of sauce. She steadied herself with one arm on the back of the chair and her other arm around his waist, her hand slipping under his sweater. “Oh, shit!” she said. “The universe is conspiring against me!”

“Are you implying that it’s finally conspiring for me?” he asked, impishly. He held his breath just to feel the warmth of her hand against his stomach. For that split second, he stepped back from the sounds and smells of the kitchen and allowed himself to focus solely on her touch. He’d almost convinced himself he’d fantasized the whole thing, when Lacey leaned into his back, propped her chin on his shoulder and said: “Thanks for catching me, Joe.”

“Any time,” he replied. He kept on stirring the sauce.

She slowly slid her hand away.

“Lacey Corelli, get your skinny, little tush-butt over here and give me a hug!” Ma said, forcefully.

Lacey carefully eased around Joe and over to his mother’s waiting arms. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, rocking side to side in time to Never Been To Spain. “Oh, Mrs. M! Mrs. M, so much water’s gone under the bridge. It wasn’t good –“

“It’s good now, ” Ma said, decidedly. “Call me Elenore, Lacey.”

“’Elenore, Gee, I Think You’re Swell,[7] ’” Lacey talk-sang, softly.

“Just Elenore is fine, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Mrs. M.”

Ma sat down in the chair, while Lacey perched on the counter and “looked” at her face with trilling fingertips. Then, the two played a one-sided game of Catch Up, where his mother did all the talking. Finally, Ma reached down and lifted the little carrier out from its hiding place beneath the table - and took out her black and tan Chihuahua, Max.

“Joe tells me you’re not allowed to have dogs where you’re living, so I brought mine along.”

Lacey’s rapt face could’ve lit the entire city, the entire state. “I love dogs,” she replied, beaming. She held her hands open and up as if to receive the animal. “Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to have one. My parents didn’t like any messes.”

Joe understood that by messes, Lacey meant herself.

Ma took Lacey’s right hand and held it for Max to sniff. “He doesn’t like my son at all,” she said. “Seems to like you, though.”

“That’s because he’s a silly boy dog,” Lacey replied, tickling the wee dog’s chin.

Max wiggled himself into a frenzy licking her palm; and Lacey threw her head back laughing with sheer joy. The dog squeaked and snorted with delight as Lacey stroked the Sweet Spot behind his ears, while Ma held him firmly on the table. Suddenly, the Chihuahua launched himself out of Ma’s grasp leaping for Lacey, who couldn’t see to catch him. But she did catch him.

“What a beauty dog,” Lacey cooed, kissing the top of his apple-shaped head. “Bei Mir Bist du Shoen. Oh, my love! Je t’aime, my wee love dog. “ She cradled Max under her chin. “ Oh, how sweet! He has a wee spiked collar! May I hold him awhile, Elenore?”

“Of course,” Ma replied. “I brought him for you.”

Lucky dog, thought Joe, jealously. Since when is a spiked collar sweet? Max didn’t like him and never had. The feeling was mutual. Ma said it was because they were both alpha males and shameless flirts, and, therefore, Competition.

Lacey found her place at the table and sat down with Max in her lap, petting the little monster. When Joe served the pasta, Max growled and snapped at him. “Oh, stop that!” Lacey said, in a voice that really meant I’m Delighted That You’re So Adorably Vicious.

Joe sat down in the place nearest the stove, which was also nearest to Lacey. Max, thankfully, was otherwise occupied stealing food off Lacey’s plate.

After the bread was passed and broken, Lacey reached towards Joe. “Please take my hand, Joe,” she said. She reached across the table towards Ma, nearly knocking over the bottle of wine. “You, too, Mrs. M - Elenore.”

They each held one of Lacey’s hands, while Max howled balefully. Then, Lacey simply said: “Thank you both.”

For Joe, who was dealing with an ugly computer stalking case, the dinner did more than fill his stomach – it fed his soul. He sat in the chair at the head of the tiny table and basked in the simple warmth of family. Even Max seemed to be in a good mood.

“So Lacey, how do you keep yourself occupied?” Ma asked. “When you’re not with the Deputy District Attorney here.” She jabbed her fork in Joe’s direction, as though her intention was to poke him and see if he was Done.

After a long pause, Lacey replied: “I teach, Mrs. M., students of all ages.” She pulled a piece of pasta out of her mouth, slowly sucked the sauce off of it, and gave it to Max. “I’m good with the broken ones,” she said, quietly, deliberately. “Especially the broken ones.”

Joe was stunned – not by her revelation but by the fact she said anything at all. When Lacey extracted his promise not to ask about her life Below, he stopped asking. They talked about the world Above; they talked about Music, movies, and shared memories; and they talked about the rigors of his job. Whatever Lacey did during the week belonged to the world Below; and, therefore, for Joe it did not exist.

“That’s wonderful,” Ma told her. “Congratulations for earning your degree.”

Lacey carefully tore a tiny piece out the soft center of her French bread and fed it to Max. “I don’t have one,” she replied, a soft blush rising on her pale neck. “I washed out of the Bachelor’s program, because I can’t learn Braille. I tried, Elenore. I really did. Over and over and over again.” Lacey pushed her Ray Bans up her nose, smoothed a stray hair back into her braid and went on: “Dr. Wells says it’s got to do with the contra-coup smack I took to my head, when I went through the windshield. But I don’t need a Cert to be helpful. I teach in a place… A safe place...” A thin line of sweat broke out on her upper lip, even though she looked cold. She slid her hand along the edge of the table towards Joe. “...For those who need it.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” said Ma, approvingly.

Joe blanketed her fingers with his. Her hand was indeed ice cold; all the warmth had been sucked out of it. Did she think a degree mattered – or worse, that it mattered to him? A degree mattered about as much as Orange Food on a rag wool sweater. Less.

“One of the children wants to adopt me,” Lacey was saying. “Can you imagine? I told him, No. I come with too much luggage and no vision.” She laughed, nervously. “He just wants what we all want: he wants to belong. If he’d only look around, he’d see he belongs to family enough for several lifetimes. It’s my job to show my charges that they’re safe and they’re loved – and, in time, they’ll grow into the person that they’re meant to be.” Lacey slipped her hand out from under Joe’s. In one fluid motion, she made her hand look like a flower growing and blooming in front of them. “And if one’s heart is broken wide open - or even if one’s very self is broken - Love Abides. Love is. Even the littlest ones can grasp that.” She withdrew her hand gracefully and again hooked her fingers over the edge of the table. “Anyway. That’s what I do,” she finished, exhaling softly with her lips pursed in a small ‘o.’

Without thinking, Joe reached for Lacey’s hand again.

At this point, Max figured out he was sharing his Prize. The dog actually screamed and latched on to Joe’s thumb.

“Get the Tasmanian Devil off of me!” Joe roared. Afraid of injuring the little beast, he stayed perfectly still while Max growled and attempted to de-flesh his thumb. She’s mine, buddy, he thought, glaring at the dog.

“What’s wrong?” Lacey asked.

“Joe was teasing Max, and Max bit him,” Ma replied, calmly.

“I wasn’t teasing Max,” Joe grumbled, as the Chihuahua-slash-Pitbull continued chomping away. “And your dog had better have had his shots.”

“Of course, he has,” Ma said, sweetly. “Now, Max, you leave it.” She meant it.

Max immediately left it - and jumped off Lacey’s lap and very wisely retreated into the safety of his carrier. “Is he all right?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine once he settles down.”

“What? Who will?” Lacey looked very confused. She didn’t like being confused, and it showed. Her hands were flexed and tense and frozen.

“Max, of course!” Ma replied. “Joe, on the other hand, is as cranky as hell.”

“I’m not cranky,” he snapped. “I’m in pain. My thumb looks like raw hamburger, and she’s acting like it’s Cute.” Don’t be an ass, he told himself; but he couldn’t help it. Experience had taught him that Lacey would take his side every time.

And, of course, she did. Once she caught on, Lacey wryly told Ma: “Elenore, don’t be mean. Stop teasing the man.” She made her way over to the sink and stood quietly beside Joe, while he washed and dried his injured thumb. She had the First Aid Kit he kept in the knife drawer at the ready. And, smiling his smile, she gently asked: “Do you think the bite should be checked by a physician?”

Joe had something really choice and nasty to say about Max, but the sound of Lacey’s voice and the nearness of her person defused and soothed him. He patched himself up the best he could one-handed and said: “I probably should have it checked. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Then, it’s settled,” Lacey said, her fingertips resting softly on his shoulder. “Joe, you go to the minor emergency clinic, while Elenore and I stay here and clean up the gore.”

He looked down and saw a trail of blood leading from his place at the table to the sink.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Ma said, mopping up blood with alacrity.

“I’ll be here,” Lacey said.

When Joe walked out the door, Max was sitting locked in his carrier on the drain board, while Ma cleaned the floor with strong white vinegar. Lacey was at the sink washing dishes and singing along to Roy Orbison’s You Got It - to the dog.

Of course, Joe thought. And even though his thumb was throbbing and bleeding through the bandages, he smiled to the very core of his being.

It was after ten-thirty, when Joe finally got home from the minor emergency clinic. From the kitchen, The Radio of Sex and Death softly played Clap for the Wolfman. Lacey was asleep curled up on the couch, her head propped on a throw pillow and her feet tucked up under her skirt. Her braid hung off the couch like Rapunzel’s. She startled awake, when he shut the door.

“Joe?” she asked, groggily, without sitting up. “How’d it go?”

“I got seven stiches and a tetanus shot,” he replied. He flexed his good hand. His shoulder hurt from the injection. “The doc said I’m lucky I don’t have any broken bones. They sent me home with a prescription of Tylenol 3. I took a dose, while I was at the pharmacy.”

“I expected as much. It smelled painful.”

“You smelled the bite?”

“I smelled blood,” she told him. He noted she was still wearing her Ray Bans. “Blood smells and tastes like copper.”

“When did my mother leave?” Joe asked, although he was still angry and didn’t really care. He sat down beside Lacey and reveled in the fact that - just this once - he didn’t come home to an empty apartment.

“You just missed her,” Lacey replied. She sat up and reached over to gently touch Joe’s face. “Her ride showed up, so she had to go. Your mom was very upset about Max biting you.” Her fingers stilled on his mouth, which was set in a hard, straight line. “Please don’t be angry with her. It was my fault.” She withdrew her hand too quickly.

“How on earth was it your fault?” he asked, unable to contain his exasperation.

“I should have insisted Max be kenneled while we were eating,” she replied, obviously very upset. “I was selfish, Joe. I’m really very sorry.”

“Lacey, you’re about the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” Joe told her, softly. He hoped his smile showed in his voice. “Let’s just forget it, okay?” His mind flashed to something he would never forget: Lacey’s arm around his waist with her hand against his stomach. That quick touch would feed his fantasy life for weeks. Oh, yeah. “It’s time for me to walk you back to Cathy’s.”

As she stretched, her spine let out a series of painful-sounding cracks. “I’ll get my things,” she said, already walking to the door.

Please don’t do that, he thought, helplessly. Stay with me. I’m broken, too.

But it was just the codeine talking.

Even though Lacey had her cane folded and at the ready in her pocket, she kept her arm linked in Joe’s. They hadn’t made it two steps beyond the front door. They stood together on the stoop enjoying the crisp fall air.

“I had the best time,” Lacey told him, softly bumping her shoulder against his. “Possibly ever.”

“I’m glad,” Joe said, his injured thumb throbbing from the cold.

“I Can Hear Music,” she said, rocking into his shoulder again. “The real version by the Ronettes. Bootleg. On Vinyl.” She planted her feet firmly on the stairs and rocked side to side to the music in her head. “Traveler said my copy came from Leon Russell’s personal collection. Remember? It’s how I feel about Music. And how it’s how I feel about this. Right Now. Everything. It’s my prayer of joy.” Lacey raised her right hand towards Heaven, and rocking, softly sang:

“… I can hear music. I can hear music

The sound of the city, baby, just disappears.

And I can hear music - sweet, sweet music

Whenever you touch me baby,

Whenever you're near…[8] ”

Her voice was sweetly reverent. Her voice was so tender, so heartfelt; it could only be a prayer. Or a caress. As Lacey sang and swayed with her Music, Joe felt its palatable embrace in Lacey’s cathedral of sound.

“I hear the music, hold me tight!

I hear the music, hold me tight now, baby!

I hear the music, hold me tight!

I can hear the music! I hear the music! I hear the music…[9]

“It’s been too many years since I’ve sung that – or even wanted to,” She told him afterwards. “Thank you, Joe.”

“You’re welcome, Lace,” he replied, softly. His shoulder continued to softly sway into hers. “And… I’m sorry for not asking what you do, when we’re not together.”

“Stop punishing yourself for doing what I asked of you,” she said. “Telling you indirectly kept you from asking questions. And you always ask questions. Questions I can’t answer. So … What’s your song, Joe Maxwell?”

Joe had an entire library of songs on his mind at that moment – all of them along the lines of Leon Redbone’s Seduced. But he’d been almost unbearably deeply touched by Lacey’s song of thanks. How do I follow that? He wondered. I’m just a guy. If she could see me, I’d say everything with one look. We wouldn’t be standing on my stoop in the cold and snow - that’s for sure!

He gently brushed her shoulder with his own. “Alice Cooper’s Lace and Whiskey,” he replied, naming the album but meaning its lead single. Slow burns, alternate versions, lead singles… You and Me, he thought. But being a coward, he said nothing.

Lacey let out a jagged, little breath that froze in the air in front of her.

Then, Joe knew - he absolutely knew… Say it, he thought. Say You and Me.

“You and Me … We’d better get me back to Cathy’s before the snow starts falling in earnest,” she told him. And that was all she said.

Reluctantly, Joe left the stoop to begin their walk over to Cathy’s building. Neither of them spoke until they arrived at the lobby door. When he reached to open it, Lacey stopped him with a gentle tug on his coat sleeve.

“Wait.”

“Yes, Lace?”

In that moment, Lacey was so composed, so contained, she seemed to have stepped outside of time as Joe understood it. Only the snow melting on her caramel hair seemed real. She slowly tilted her head back and caught a snowflake on her tongue. Then, she softly smiled. “You mean it, don’t you,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “You and Me –“

Before he could respond, a scraggly-looking teenager shoved the lobby door open, knocking Joe back against the railing and throwing Lacey into a potted evergreen. Hard. The kid was obviously a street person and Not Normal. Something about him triggered Joe’s Blue Sense. In that moment, Joe was grateful he carried a .22 in his ankle holster.

The boy reached for Lacey as if to help her, but Joe quietly blocked him with his body. “Please watch what you’re doing,” Without taking his eyes off the boy, he helped Lacey to her feet, brushed her off, and made sure she hadn’t been injured.

“I’m all right, Joe,” Lacey said. She was breathless and her voice was shaky. For the second time that evening, she eased behind him and pressed herself against his back - only this time, she made herself small, and her shallow, uneven breathing told him she was afraid. He felt her trembling. “Are we being mugged?” she whispered. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” Joe hissed through clenched teeth. He shielded Lacey from the strange boy with his entire person. He thought: This kid has got to be mentally ill. “You need to leave,” he told the boy. “Now.”

The boy stubbornly shook his head, No. He seemed to be wearing every piece of clothing he owned – and was carrying a battered leather satchel with what looked like telephone wires trailing out of it.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Joe told him, calmly. “But you knocked my lady off her feet. You could’ve hurt her.”

Lacey’s hand was flat against Joe’s left hip with her thumb hooked through the belt loop of his jeans. He reached down and covered her hand with his. This time, it was Joe who threaded his fingers through hers.

The boy just wouldn’t move. “Mouse is sorry,” he said, with an inappropriate cheerfulness. He was still trying get around Joe, who was having none of it. The boy put his hands on his hips and said firmly: “Mouse said sorry!”

“Joe,“ Lacey said. “It’s all right. I know - ”

“Apology accepted,” Joe said, gently but firmly. “Now, please go on about your business. ”

The over-sized urchin kept reaching for Lacey, and Joe kept quietly blocking him.

“Mouse said sorry!” The boy was now wailing. “MOUSE IS SORRY! Lacey Corelli, you tell him Mouse is sorry!” If he kept it up, he’d wake the entire neighborhood. “Sissy, you tell him right now!”

“It’s all right, Joe,” Lacey said again, the breath from her words caressing his right ear. “I know him. He won’t hurt us. Or me.” She slipped her left hand away and inched out from behind Joe. “It’s all right, Mouseleh,” she said. “Please take my hand.” Lacey stretched her hand out in front of her, her palm upward and her fingers stretched wide. She rocked her open hand back and forth in the air.

The boy stopped his wailing and took her hand, while keeping as far away from Joe as he possibly could. “Okay good?” he asked, sniffing. “Okay fine?”

“Okay good and okay fine,” Lacey replied. She took the boy’s hand in both of hers. “Mouse, don’t be afraid. This is Joe Maxwell, the man I’ve told you about.”

“Mouse knows,” Mouse said. He looked shyly at Joe from under shaggy blond bangs. “Mouse takes packages to Joe Maxwell’s office. The lady with confetti glasses is nice. Always has fruit and Snickerdoodles.“

Lacey nudged the urchin’s hand towards Joe. “Shake hands with Joe, so I know you’re friends. Please.”

As Mouse warily shook his hand, Joe realized that he wasn’t a teenager after all but a young man with a disability – and was very probably exactly as his secretary described. “Nice meeting you, Mouse,” Joe said.

“Nice meeting you,” Mouse replied, quickly ending the handshake.

“Mouse, why are you here?” Lacey asked.

“Mouse is here to take Lacey Corelli home,” said Mouse.

“What about Catherine?” Joe asked, pointedly.

“She said –“ Mouse closed his eyes and, in a near-perfect imitation of Cathy’s vocal patterns, said: “’Tell Lacey Corelli and Joe Maxwell everything’s fine. Something came up. We’ll talk tomorrow, if not sooner. Go home with Mouse.’ That’s all. ”

“Thank you, Mouse,” Lacey said, suppressing a laugh. She flipped open her cane. “That means you’re my escort home tonight.”

Mouse grinned and seemed to grow three inches taller.

“Lacey, are you sure about this?” Joe asked, taking her hand and loosely threading his fingers through hers. Touching her felt good – almost too good. He spoke without thinking: “Maybe you should stay at my place tonight?” Stupid slip of the tongue, Maxwell, he thought. He was shivering – and it wasn’t because he was cold. He wanted her. “Until Cathy can pick you up. Lace, you know what I mean – “

Lacey shook her head No. “It’s late; and you work early in the morning,” she replied. “The Graveyard allocution.” She reached up with her other hand, found his face, and traced his expression with her fingertips. If she read it correctly, he didn’t know. Her own expression gave away nothing. “I’ll be fine, Joe,” she assured him. “Mouse knows the tunnels better than almost everybody else – even Catherine Chandler. I’ll see you Friday at seven. And I’ll hear you sooner, yes?”

“Yes,” Joe told her, evenly. “Of course.”

“Mouse will bring your packages!” Mouse said, tapping his chest proudly.

Joe knew when he was overruled. He gave Lacey’s hand a final, gentle squeeze and let go. “To answer your question,” he said. “I mean it.”

“I know you do,” she said, smiling softly. Her voice sounded like Music. She slid into his arms and gave him an easy hug good-bye. “Good night, Joe.”

“Good night, Lace.”

The distinctive opening of the Harry James Orchestra version of The Very Thought of You bled through into the night street. From somewhere. And nowhere. The Radio of Sex and Death has a friend, Joe thought, petulantly. That’s great. Just great.

“Lacey Corelli, let’s go!” Mouse said, tapping his foot impatiently. He yanked her out of Joe’s arms. “Mouse has places to be and things to do!”

As Mouse dragged Lacey into the lobby, she stopped and turned her head just enough; and she smiled.

Then, Mouse gave Lacey an exasperated tug, and she was gone.

And from out of nowhere Doris Day sang:

“The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you…

… It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love.[10] ”

In the nightmare, Joe was running down a dark passage trying desperately to find the right door. There were so many doors! It was impossible to know which one to choose. He could hear Lacey’s voice calling out to him: “Joe, please help me. It’s dogless dark and I’m alone. I can’t find the light. Please, Joe.”

But he was eighteen again; and he didn’t know what to do. So he did nothing. The hallway melted into a pool of blood. He was back in high school, wrestling a much-larger opponent. Then, he was with Lacey in a hospital room. Her face exposed. Her eyes were dead, and so was she.

Joe woke up in a cold sweat. He couldn’t move. Fear and Memory pinned him to the mattress. He knew the only thing that could free him was a Latté made with soymilk…

After what seemed like hours, the nightmare let him go. He got out of bed, put on his thick terrycloth robe and wandered into the cold night kitchen. He made a peanut butter sandwich, sat down in the dark, and watched the first snow fall on the fire escape in earnest. Almost without thinking, he flipped on the little purple Emerson Radio of Sex and Death.

“This is Jay Jarmel Palmer,” The DJ said, in his liquid southern voice. “This old Okie from T-Town’s got the Witching Hour Blues. As my Cajun grand mère would say: ‘les souris jouent ce soir.’ I just got a request for Alice Cooper from out of nowhere. Phone phuh-reaky, man. Took me a while to find it, too. Here’s You and Me. From the girl who got away to the guy who caught her -”

“…You and Me ain't no movie stars.

What we are is what we are.

We share a bed, some lovin’, and TV.

And that's enough for a workin' man.

What I am is what I am.

And I tell you, babe,

You're just enough for me.[11] ”

“Get a grip, Maxell,” Joe told himself. Lacey’s not the girl, and it’s some other lucky guy.

He finished his sandwich and began to write:

“To: Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant

C/o Our Lady of Guadalupe Boarding School, Doney Park, AZ

From: Joe M, NY NYNY NM M&Ms

Sunday PM-Monday AM

Dear Sister Mary-Jessie,

Okay, so how do I write this? I’m slightly buzzed from lack of sleep, and I have all these questions to ask; and you’re the only one I know to ask. I’ve been told to Go To Confession. So I’ll just write this letter and start on the Hail Marys now.

How do you know when a relationship is real? What does it mean when she won’t take you to see her home? Is she ashamed of you? Even though you worked very hard and wear three-piece suits? Is there still something wrong with me? I lost the accent. I left the neighborhood. She sang her I Can Hear Music prayer to me. She smiles when she talks to me, “looks” at my face, and she hugs me Good Night, but she just wants to be friends.

She only comes to my place. It’s not that great and the toilet leaks no matter how many times you replace the flapper thing.

What does this mean? Why am I asking you? You’re a nun.

JM”

Chapter 5 - Burning Times

A padded envelope was waiting on Joe’s desk, when he arrived in his office at 6:45 that morning. By now, he recognized the red crayon. Without removing his overcoat or putting down his vending machine coffee, Joe managed to rip open the envelope and shove the cassette in his Walkman.

“Happy Monday, Joe Maxwell. I wanted you to have a piece of me to carry you through the week.” Lacey’s voice was low and very soft - and there was no banging or clanking in the background.

It must’ve been very late – or very early – when you recorded this, Joe thought.

“Thank you again for the lovely time with my Special Guest. Even though you got bitten, and I ended up potted in a plant, it was perfection.” Lacey sighed. And he swore he heard her smile. “It was as perfect as Buddy Holly’s undubbed version of Love Is Strange. There’s so much I want to say,” she went on. “But I want to get this to you before you go to court. I know you have that soul-killing case first thing. Track 7 carried me through hell and over high water - and lay me gently down to rest on this shore. I hope it nourishes your soul until I knock on your door Friday at seven. Tu me manques. Ever your girl, Me.”

Joe carefully shook a CD out of the envelope. It was a battered-looking soundtrack of Labyrinth. Track 7 was the 4:15 album version of David Bowie’s As the World Falls Down.

“You’re gonna want to play that, kid.”

Joe jumped and spilled his coffee across the top of his desk.

Detective Brisco was sitting half-hidden in the chair in the back corner eating a donut. “Your secretary – the one with the funky glasses - has a portable CD player in her desk,” he said. “Sorry about your coffee.”

“Thanks, Lennie,” Joe replied, making the mental note. “May I help you with something?”

“I was summoned to McCoy’s office to be ripped a new one,” he replied, amicably. “I wanted to eat breakfast first.”

“It’s better to be ripped a new one on a full stomach,” Joe agreed, sopping up the coffee with napkins left over from Edie’s baby shower three years ago.

“I hear good things about you,” Lennie Brisco said, around his mouth full of donut. He took another donut out of a paper bag. “You want one? They’re still warm. I get ‘em fresh from Odie's place around the corner.”

“Why not?” Joe replied, taking a plain cake donut. He took a bite and discovered not only was it warm, it was also delicious. He sat down and propped his feet on his desk, forcing himself to eat slowly and savor his bounty. “You hear good things about me from Jack McCoy?” he asked.

“Oh, hell, no,” Briscoe replied, arching his left eyebrow. “McCoy hates you. From that Mouse kid – the one that delivered your package. He says you’re good people.”

“You know Mouse?” Joe was beginning to feel that he was the only person in his entire world who didn’t know everything there was to know about Below.

“I’m a Helper,” the detective told him, dunking his donut into a Styrofoam cup of steaming hot coffee. “I’m the one who gets Mouse out of all the trouble he gets into. How about you?”

Joe smiled. “I’ve known Lacey Corelli since we were fourteen-year-old kids together at St. Pius High School.”

“I know St. Pius,” Lennie said. “Before I converted for Gwen, I grew up Catholic.”

“Gwen’s the gonzo one who was with Detective Munch before you, right?”

“Yeah, that one. John and I, we kind of share exes. He’s a Helper, too.” Lennie held up the paper bag and gave it a shake. “You want another one?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Joe replied. “I’ve got ‘The Graveyard’ case on the docket at 8:30.”

“Mike and I caught that one. Computer stalking is the crime wave of the future. That’s why I like pencils,” Lennie Briscoe said, wryly. “So the hump’s pleading out?”

Joe nodded. “The hump is mentally ill. Skoda, the victims, and Branch all agree it’s the right decision.”

“You’re not so sure?”

“No, I’m sure,” Joe said. “The law isn’t keeping up with technology; that’s all.”

“Pencils, kid,” Lennie replied, a la Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate.

Joe knew this plea deal was the right decision. The “hump” was psychotic – and a Confidential Informant had provided “chat” transcripts that proved the man was manipulated into committing his malicious acts by what could only a group of Soulless Voids. The Voids were system operators – “sysops”- of a cutting edge computer bulletin board or “BBS” called Bill of Rights (“BOR”) with several chat lines, which they claimed existed for personal expression and protecting The Bill of Rights. For a nominal monthly fee, its mostly subscribers could “chat” with each other live online and read news groups called “Echoes.” “BOR” was actually a front for parties where teenage girls were given alcohol and drugs and raped by the Soulless Voids.

The BBS world was a closed and mostly male community. However, there were rare lights within its ranks. “The Graveyard” was a small, independent BBS owned and operated by a bear of a young man called The Death and his girlfriend Athena Finney, an independent female “sysop.” The Death and Athena accidentally found out what was going on with the BOR group, when they were invited to attend a BOR party. Athena saw a gentle 14-year-old named Angel Bea, who was so intoxicated she couldn’t stand, being dragged into a bedroom by one of the founding BOR sysops, Dick. The Death, who was 6’5” and known to scare brick shit-houses, Intervened. (Because, he later said, “It was the Right Thing.”) The Graveyard sysops got the sex parties shut down and provided a safe platform for its teenage patrons. Above all, within the insular BBS world, it was known Angel Bea was under the personal protection of The Death and Athena Finney – and the BOR sysops were enraged. At Athena.

As active local sysops, The Death and Athena Finney socialized with other BBS owner/operators in what they called Real Life. Athena was the only female sysop in the group who wasn’t “just” a wife or significant other of a male sysop. She was a feisty young woman, who like The Death, knew what was Right. She quickly saw the Voids for what they were – and said No to the most sexually charged Void, the aptly named Dick. (Tired of Dick trying to put his hand up her skirt whenever The Death was distracted talking BBS tech with one of the BOR Bills, Athena calmly poured a pitcher of ice water in his lap and announced: “I think it’s obvious I’d really rather be with The Death… dick.”) Strangely, none of the other wives or girlfriends in the group had ever said No to “BOR” before; and Athena’s actions had consequences no one could have anticipated. Many female users left BOR and joined The Graveyard, The Death, Athena and Angel Bea. They, too, refused to have sexual relations with the Voids. And that’s when Dick decided it would be amusing to teach them a lesson by unleashing an unstable stalker/rapist on then - and whether they were raped or murdered in the end was irrelevant to him. The endgame was Pain for any woman who disobeyed his wishes. Dick focused on Athena, Angel Bea, and a forty-year-old housewife. Whenever Joe reviewed the details of the case and the vileness of the threats made against three innocent women, he was grateful that Lacey lived under her “rock.” He was equally grateful that she wanted to nourish his soul. He slipped the CD into his briefcase.

“Listen, Lennie,” Joe said. “I’ve gotta go. Feel free to hide out in here as long as you want.” Joe hung up his overcoat, carefully checked his suit jacket for lint and powdered sugar, and loaded his files into his battered briefcase. Just knowing Lacey’s CD was with him gave him peace.

“Thanks, kid,” replied Detective Briscoe. “Break a leg.”

Joe saluted him with the other half of his donut.

When he walked up to his secretary’s desk, Mrs. Evans had her CD player ready and waiting in his IN Box. He also noticed an apple core in the trashcan. He didn’t bother asking how she knew he’d need a CD player.

“I’ll take good care of it,” Joe assured her.

She looked up over her strange confetti-colored glasses. “You’d better,” she said, darkly. “And what happened to you hand? Boxing again?”

“My mother’s Chihuahua.” Joe took a quick look around. Seeing nobody else in the general vicinity, he whispered, “Are you a Helper, too, Betsy?”

“Aren’t we all?” she replied, smiling mysteriously. She handed Joe two pink message slips from Cathy and a fresh cup of coffee. “Athena called. She said to tell you, ‘The sentence has been agreed.’”

Joe nodded. He understood. The three stand together. What had Athena said? Maiden, Wise Woman & Crone.

“It’s late. You better skedaddle. You don’t want to be held in contempt in Judge Hoover’s courtroom.”

“The Graveyard” plea was entered, all three victims silently faced their stalker in open court, and all three were still alive at the end of the day. (The stalker checked into Bellevue under legal supervision.) Joe Maxwell couldn’t have asked for more. However, as he was standing on the courthouse steps talking with Detective Briscoe, The Death, Athena Finney and Angel Bea, he caught the faces of the three BOR sysops in the crowd across the street. They waited until they were sure they’d been seen, and Dick, smiling, made the sign of a gun cocking at Athena’s head and again at Angel Bea’s. All three Voids turned as one and walked away.

“I’m on it,” said Lennie Briscoe. He disappeared into the crowd behind them.

“This isn’t going to be over until I’m dead,” said Athena Finney, who was holding Angel Bea’s hand.

“don’t say that, athena,” said Angel Bea, who always spoke in lowercase.

“Honey, it’s all right,” replied Athena, still staring at the place where the Voids had been. “Remember: only writing it makes it real.”

One week later, Athena’s parents published Athena’s obituary in the Tattler. At the memorial service, Mr. and Mrs. Finney, The Death, Angel Bea, Joe Maxwell, and Lennie Briscoe all sat together in the same pew. Detective Munch and Lennie’s partner made sure that the Voids were otherwise engaged until Athena was disappeared and Angel Bea was safely on her way to Doney Park and Sister Mary-Jessie.

The devil is in the details, Joe thought, shuddering from the cold rising in his soul.

Plagued by insomnia after the conclusion of The Graveyard case, he played Lacey’s CD until the taut muscles in his shoulders finally let go of “the details.” If Joe slept at all, it was to the sound of David Bowie’s haunted voice singing As The World Falls Down. Mostly, he stared at the cracks in his bedroom ceiling and ached for the ease of connection and the succor of sex – in that order.

Chapter 6 – Beast of Burden

“Dear Joe,

You’re obviously buying the wrong flapper. I had the same problem back in Brooklyn. It can be fixed. You just have to futz with it until it decides to either come clean or spontaneously combust. Either way, you get what you want, if not what you need.

If you’re really asking about Lacey (which I assume you are), here’s what I know: Things got ugly during the trial. Her vile idiot evil nasty parents left her flat when she turned State’s evidence. She almost died that night in the MG – a crime for which no one was punished, even though it’s a point of fact the brake lines were cut. (Money buys justice, apparently.) I know you saw her in hospital at the beginning. Lacey wasn’t herself for a long time afterwards. Her body couldn’t heal. Her mind almost didn’t.

Yet, I watched her grow into that amazing, loving soul of hers. I know with absolute certainty that once Lacey Corelli loves you, you stay loved in the truest, purest sense of the word. After everything she’s been through, that’s rare.

It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with her. Lacey’s afraid she’s not good enough – and that any perceived connection to her could harm your career and hurt you. She said, I’m Blind But I’m Not Stupid. And I wrote back: “Neither is he.”

One more thing, Joe: you make her happy. If she makes you happy, what does a leaky flapper have to do with anything?

I heard from an old student of mine. She saw an airplane land on the highway near 15th Street and Peace of Mind Bookstore in Tulsa early Sunday morning. They were filming a scene for a movie called Fandango. I hear it’s pretty awful.

Did you sleep through second year French? “Tu me manques” is French for I Miss You – or more literally ‘You’re missing from me.’ If an English-speaker uses it, it’s the equivalent of a sweet slow burn. (Didn’t think I knew about that, did ya? Ha!)

Blessings!

Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant.

P.S. Lacey takes something called Neurontin. Hope this helps.“

Joe circled the word ‘Neurontin” in red Sharpie and tucked the letter into his briefcase. He called his pharmacist and told him he needed information about the drug for case research.

“It’s an anti-seizure medication that’s being used off-label for pain control, among other things,” Pharmacist Bob said. “I hear it’s working miracles with the brain injured. My cousin is in a program for young aphasics. Says she dreams now.”

Joe baked a piece of salmon and read the thick printout for dessert. It was difficult reading; and it raised more questions than answers.

Chapter 7 - Please Don’t Say No, Say Maybe

“Joe, it’s Friday night. You work hard for a living. It’s a moral imperative that we do something,” Lacey said. She was sitting on the floor, leaning back against his ancient sofa with a plate of half-eaten pizza balanced on her knees. The pizza box was propped open by her half-finished beer. Lacey Corelli did things in parts.

“A moral imperative?” Joe asked. He was stretched out on the couch above her, his hand dangerously close to her caramel hair. He felt the effects of the beer much more than he should. It was difficult to move – and even more difficult not to.

“Oh, come on. It’s early. We could go and shoot some pool or something.” It amazed Joe that Lacey could play pool at all. She seemed to use some weird sixth sense to do it. And she beat him regularly. “Or we could go dancing – “

“Not in the mood,” Joe replied, shrugging.

“Then, what are you in the mood for?”

“Don’t ask questions, when you don’t want answers,” Joe told her, grinning.

“Don’t be a shit, Joe Maxwell.” Lacey turned so she was more or less facing him. “Just tell me if I’m talking to your feet,” she said, taking a bite of cheese pizza. “As that would be rather embarrassing on my part.”

“You’re not talking to my feet.” Joe was amused. He wished that she could see that he was flirting with her – and how much he was enjoying it. After all, he could see the soft flush that spread across her face and neck. (Lacey wasn’t much of a drinker.) He watched with fascination the absolute control with which she moved and spoke. “All right,” he said. “If you ask me again, I’ll answer. I swear.”

Lacey opened her mouth as if to speak. She took a breath and stopped before any sound escaped.

She doesn’t like it, when she’s not in control. “You can’t, can you?” Joe said, waiting expectantly for the action that always followed the Can’t Word.

A stray section of hair slipped out of her braid and brushed across her face. She smoothed the hair back into her braid. She opened and closed her mouth wordlessly a few more times. She pushed her Ray Bans further up the bridge of her nose. She took another swig of beer, and then another, and another. He knew her well enough to tell she was in the process of making a Decision. Finally, Lacey said, a little too playfully: “Okay, Joe. What are you in the mood for?”

“This,” he whispered.

Joe slid down on to the floor beside her. He took her beer and put it safely out of reach. And for the first time, he touched her face. Lacey’s skin was smooth and very warm. More wisps of hair fell lose from her braid and brushed against the back of his hand, sending electric chills up his arm and down his spine.

“Take off the shades,” he said, softly.

Lacey shook her head very slightly.

“Lacey, I already know what you look like,” he said, gently. “And I adore you.” He traced the curve of her cheek until it disappeared and became the curve of her neck.

When she didn’t respond, he removed her glasses and put them, folded, on the lamp table.

Joe ran his fingers over the sea of scars surrounding Lacey’s faded half-closed milk-blue eyes. On a conscious level, he realized that her optic nerves were atrophied and that the formerly sea-blue irises were damaged beyond repair. But on a deeper level, he saw only the beauty that was Lacey Corelli; he saw her strength and her impossible stubbornness. He saw the girl he’d known so long ago just beneath the skin of the woman she’d grown to be. Joe was amazed by all he saw in the light of her half-closed eyes.

“I used to be something,” said Lacey Corelli, sliding her knees down. “Didn’t I, Joe?”

“You still are,” he replied. Something…

Joe leaned in and touched his forehead to hers. He felt her breath jagged and warm against his face. He moved so that his body pinned Lacey against the couch. The feel of her like this was exactly what he’d wanted. For years. He was only vaguely aware of the heels of her hands softly pressing against his shoulders.

“Please,” Lacey whispered. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”

“Do you trust me?” Joe asked.

“Implicitly.” She nodded, her fingertips now lightly touching his face. “But I don’t want to lose… your friendship… again…”

“You won’t – “ And he leaned in and kissed her. Hard.

Joe was surprised at how willingly Lacey’s mouth gave way to his. He tasted her deeply, thrusting and encircling and exploring as though he’d never kissed anyone before. He was thrilled by the slow, sweet movements of her tongue against his. He was burned by the visions of her fingertips. He pulled her closer and closer until, suddenly, they were flat on the floor and he was on top of her.

He was on top of her; and Lacey was slowly snaking her sinewy legs along his and her arms were slithering up beneath his ancient Dodgers sweatshirt. Her touches so deliberately matched the building rhythm of their kiss. He lost himself in the feel of her wise hands. It was as though she was carrying both of them on that touch… And then, without warning, she raked her fingernails across the sensitive skin of his upper back.

Joe’s body thrust hard against hers. He slammed her as though he was already inside her. Desperation filled him. He had to have her. Now. He held her down and delighted in it.

Lacey struggled beneath him. She twisted away and broke their kiss. “No! Wait!” she said, breathlessly. “Not on the floor. Not like this. Not with you.”

Joe forced himself back into reality. He opened his eyes and came to the horrible realization that Lacey was half-lying on the greasy pizza box. Her braid cascaded jaggedly over a pile of discarded newspapers. And the bottle of beer had spilled and seeped stickily beneath her. Oh, God, he thought, miserably. I’m taking you in a pile of trash. And her words “Not with you” replayed themselves over and over in his mind.

“I’m so sorry, Lacey,” Joe whispered. He rolled off to one side. He resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be spending the night alone yet again.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. She didn’t move away. Instead, she reached up and found his cheek. A shadow of a frown played across her brow. “It’s been a long time for me.”

“Yeah? For me, too,” Joe wasn’t quick enough. She’d heard his disappointment. Damn, he thought.

“Oh, Joe.” Lacey moved closer to him. Her thumb idly brushed across the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want our first time to be on the floor.”

“I don’t care where it is just as long as it is,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“You’re too special for that.”

Something deep inside of Joe Maxwell broke open. “You think I’m special?” he asked, softly.

“Oh, yeah.”

The Radio of Sex and Death played Raul Malo’s haunting live version of Sway:

“…Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Even my hands will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway I go weak…[12] ”

Somehow, he managed to lead her into his small bedroom. Joe was an all-or-nothing guy. He needed to stop every few steps and roll Lacey into his arms, roll her against the wall, kiss her; cup her breasts in his hands, wrap himself around her; slide down her embrace and taste her. Lacey’s clothes trailed down the hall behind them like so many faded breadcrumbs. Her braid came undone, and her hair flowed over his arms like soft, liquid caramel. By the time they stood at the foot of his bed, she was completely naked. Her strange, luminous skin flushed rose with arousal.

Joe deliberately lowered Lacey onto his bed. Are you really mine for the taking? he wondered, allowing himself the pleasure of drinking her in. He pulled off his clothing so violently, the button from his jeans’ waistband hit the wall across the room. (Hell, he barely remembered the condom.) And finally he lowered himself fully into her embrace.

“Not much for foreplay, are you?” Lacey murmured, smiling.

Joe didn’t reply. Instead, he laughed with pure delight and pinned her beneath him. He owned her mouth just that much more with every kiss. Lacey’s body was so soft and so giving; but her bold hands were everywhere urging him on. The only thing he knew was the sweet, electric awareness that he was inside her – and that his body was in overdrive.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, the woman surrounding him was calling his name because she knew him.

“Joe,” Lacey moaned. “Take me, Joe…”

“Mmmmm,” he said, trailing kisses across the curve of her neck. He was losing control; and far too soon everything would become a fast, hard blur.

Lacey’s hands framed his face. She guided his open mouth to hers. Her tongue thrust desperately against his. “Finish what you started, Joe,” she begged, her voice rough and low.

Joe moaned and thrust into her with all he was. He thrust into her so hard that her body bucked convulsively against his. Again and again he nailed Lacey hard against his second-hand mattress. Their entwined bodies became slick with sweat and heat and moved like some pounding, drilling machine.

“Is this what you wanted, Lace?” Joe growled, unable to stop the driving rhythm that locked his body to hers. “Is it?”

“Yes.” Lacey moved deliberately beneath him. Every movement fed Joe’s frenzy. Every touch fed his desire. Her fingernails trailed across his skin. Her teeth slid across his shoulder. She claimed him in ways he’d only dreamed of.

She said, Yes. She said,’ Finish what you started, Joe.’ Could you love me? Joe wondered. I’ve always wanted you -

No longer capable thought of any kind, Joe pinned Lacey beneath him and slammed his body into hers until there was nothing left – nothing left of him or of her. No lines dividing. Only satiation and the sweet sounds of Lacey as she moved with and not against him...

Joe Maxwell’s world exploded into shower of light and feeling and the achingly beautiful awareness that he was no longer alone.

From its windowsill in the cold kitchen, Joe’s Radio of Sex and Death did its slipstream thing:

“Hello, my fellow time-travelers,” said the familiar smooth Southern voice. “This is Jay Jarmel Palmer transporting you to the Cain’s Ballroom in T-Town and the dulcet tones of The Traveling Man and his Orchestra. It’s 1945! Grab your partner and join me on the spring-loaded dance floor. Take it away, Phil-“ And the orchestra played:

“Please don’t say ‘No!’, say ‘Maybe!’

Or say ‘Come back in the Spring,’

Say any old thing, but don’t say ‘No!”

Please don’t say ‘No,” ‘cause, baby,

I’ve so much love to impart,

It’s making my heart overflow.

Be sweet and kind.

And keep this thought in mind while you think it over:

‘Great loves from little friendships grow!’ So;

Please don't say ‘No!’, say ‘Maybe!’

And though I wish you'd confess,

Right now I'd settle for less,

Because this time, baby, You'll wind up saying ‘Yes!’[13] ”

“That was Please Don’t Say No, Say Maybe,” Jay Jarmel Palmer said. “Let me hear you give ‘em some love.”

A different Southern voice rose above the applause and said: “Jay Jarmel, I owe of gratitude tonight from my Travels.”

“And what’s that, Traveler?”

“I’d like to thank my friend Joe in New York, I got his message –“

The Radio was on a timer; and it switched OFF.

Far away in New York, Joe and Lacey were beyond hearing. They were floating in a world of their own creation.

Chapter 8 - Gentle My Heart

In the still dark of night, Joe awoke to the feel of Lacey wrapping herself around him. He welcomed her touch and returned it freely.

“Hello, Joe,” Lacey whispered, soft and low, her fingertips caressing his lips.

“Hello, Lacey,” he replied in kind. He closed his eyes and almost imperceptibly touched her soft fingertips with the tip of his tongue.

“Would you mind if I spent the night?”

“I’d be hurt if you didn’t,” Joe told her. He kissed the top of her head.

“Then, I’d better stay.” Lacey kissed him softly on the mouth; and then, she snaked her leg around his thigh and settled into the crook of his arm. It felt comfortable – it felt as if she’d always been there. It felt better than he’d ever imagined. Her hand came to rest over his heart. Suddenly, she gave a little start.

“Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’’ Lacey exclaimed. “I’ve got to call Catherine! And tell her… Well… Something - “

“She called a couple of hours ago,” Joe told her. “You were in the bathroom running our shower.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her we were busy making Sweet Wild Love,” he replied, grinning.

“You didn’t,” Lacey said, sounding and looking a lot like she hoped he did.

“All I said was you’d be staying here tonight,” he replied. “She said if you need her, call her in the morning. Late in the morning. And I said I’d let you know.” Joe ran his fingers over Lacey’s thick braid, smoothed it to the side, and softly kissed the nape of her neck. He delighted in the small trail of goose flesh that met his lips. “And I let you know. And –“ He reached for the words to assure her of his intentions. “I want you to know –“

“What?” Her entire body tensed.

“I never wanted to play Bag the Blind Girl with you.”

She exhaled. Lacey’s relief was a palatable, physical thing, and it flooded over him. Her body once again became fluid in his arms. “I never should’ve have said that,” she said, quietly. “Not to you, Joe Maxwell. Never to you.” Her fingers trilled over his most sensitive places.

“Sex with you is amazing,” he added, smiling.

“Sweet Wild Love.” Lacey traced his mouth very softly as she stretched against him. “That shower was glorious, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was, “ Joe whispered, consciously making each word a kiss against her fingertips. “Glorious…”

Before that shower, their lovemaking had been hard and frenzied and rough – so rough that it left deep, angry scratches across Joe’s back and ugly bruises on Lacey’s luminous skin. It was in that harshly lit shower that Joe knelt before Lacey and kissed the love hurts he’d made. When Lacey did the same for him, he cried like a child – because he had to tell her, to show her where his hurts were. They ended up sitting wrapped around each other, face to face in the bottom of the ancient claw-footed tub, hot water running over their love-worn bodies. They talked about their hard places, too, beneath that wall of hot and healing water.

“I haven’t been very successful in the relationship department,” Joe confessed, forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose, lip-to-lip with Lacey, who held his face cradled in her hands, her arms resting on his bent knees. “The lonelier I feel, the more hours I work. And I’m not exactly built for casual sex. If this is a one-time thing, please do me a favor and tell me now.”

“I haven’t been successful in the relationship department, either,” she replied. The water ran over her eyelashes like rain. “My brains and my blindness keep getting in the way.” Even with her hair plastered against her head, her face was exquisite. She took a slow, steadying breath, and, giving him gentle shakes for emphasis, said: “This is not a one time thing. You are not a one-time thing. And… I didn’t tell you about… My life Below, because... I was afraid. I’m always afraid - and ashamed,” she went on, softly. “Neither my brain nor my body work the way they’re supposed to. Everything comes so easily to you, Joe. You walk with such confidence. What will people think, when they see you with me?”

“They’ll think I’m a very lucky man. People will think you’re sweet and compassionate and funny and smart in all the ways that count.” It was his turn to take a steadying breath, when he told her: “I get up every morning, and I go to a job I hate.” He kissed her for courage. Joe closed his eyes; and he made his deepest self naked in front of her, laid himself bare. “On Monday, I won The Graveyard Case, but Athena Finney lost her life. She’s still alive, but she’ll never be who she’s meant to be; Angel Bea is lost, and the Voids won. My fast-track career is killing my soul.” He fought the urge to retch.

Push it down, he told himself. (The one lover to whom he’d expressed this before turned out to be soulless herself - and Joe disconnected and pushed his true nature yet further away.)

Lacey kissed him very softly, as though she thought he might break. “Why did you become an attorney, if you hate it so much?” she asked, with equal tenderness.

“I became an attorney to help people,” he replied, honestly. “Then, there was the element of getting Dad’s killers. Plus, I enjoyed the work. Besides spelunking, The Law is the one thing I’m good at.”

“That’s not true.” Worry played along the planes of her face.

“It kinda is, Lace,” he said, nodding. He traced her frown and gently used his thumbs to smooth the worry lines out of her brow. “Lately – and for a long time - it’s been grinding me down. A man needs a nest egg; but I make just enough to support myself. And I increasingly find the world in which I live isn’t fit for – “ Joe stopped just short of telling her what he desperately wanted her to know.

“Fit for what, darling?” she asked. The ease with which she called him darling was intensely sweet and powerfully erotic.

“Not for what,” Joe said, quietly. “For you.” Endearments had never come easily for him. I can’t take being rejected again, he thought. For being soft. “Lacey, can it really be that simple? What you teach the little children? Love is?” He felt deep confusion about his feelings about his life – and about what he was so easily preparing to leave behind.

Lacey’s body seemed to become electric and fluid all at once. Her hands, stilled, framed his face with immense tenderness. “Yes, it’s that simple,” she said, a lovely half-smile on her face. “ Love is. And I think – I know - it’s time to show you the one place where it’s true.”

Joe made himself small in the whole of her embrace, where he felt safe and absolutely accepted for himself. He ran his fingers through the thick hair that fell in front of her face and over his own body. Darling, he thought. Sweetheart, Beloved. “I’m so glad you’re in my life.”

“Me, too, you,” Lacey replied. “Me, too, you.” And suddenly she straddled him with tender openness.

He was instantly hard and instantly ready for her.

“I’m going to make love to you now, sweet Joe,” she told him. And she guided him deep inside her even as the water flowed over them. She arched backwards, allowing her body to welcome him even deeper still. She slowly, rhythmically pleasured him with hidden muscles deep within and with her entire being without. Lacey’s face luminesced with ecstasy and something more.

“God, Lace, you’re worth the wait,” he moaned. His entire body was on fire with want and hunger and need.

“So are you.” The water shone against her sleek, willowy body as she found their mutual rhythm, her body bucking with him. She arched down, kissed him, whispered, “Do you want me to take you like this?”

“Yes,” he whispered, roughly. “Please –“

Lacey’s voice was raw and just as rough as his, when she said: “You…are… good…at… loving… me.”

Joe held on to the sides of the tub, threw his head back, closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride every bit as much as she did.

When they got out of the shower and had spent entirely too much time laughing and toweling each other, Joe gave Lacey the top to his softest pair of flannel pajamas; she was swallowed in Black-watch plaid but said she was warm. (He wore the matching bottoms.) It had turned much colder outside and the bedroom was drafty; so they retreated back into the steamy bathroom to blow dry Lacey’s hair.

“It’s a job,” she said. “Why don’t you go warm up the bed, while I fix it? Just hand me the blow dryer…”

Joe reached for his comb and brush. “I’ll do it,” he said. “You forget I have sisters who forced me to comb out their hair as punishment for transgressions – real and imagined.”

Lacey looked dubious, but she handed Joe the blow dryer. She sat on the blue fuzzy toilet seat cover that had been someone’s idea of a Housewarming Present, while Joe gently detangled and dried her long, thick hair. As it dried it, it fell in loose tendrils around his hand. Rivers and streams of caramel, he thought, remembering how good it felt being tangled in it, wrapped in it, blanketed by it…

“This is a gift,” Lacey purred. ”I haven’t been pampered in forever. Thank you.”

“Any time,” Joe replied, handing her a brush and a rubber band from the rubber band ball his nephew inexplicably left in the medicine chest.

Lacey deftly braided her hair into a single plait that hung down her back in tight, straight caramel line.

“Sweet Wild Love,” Lacey murmured, laughing under her breath.

“You’re just jealous I came up with it,” Joe said, softly caressing the small of her back.

“Damn straight…” Her voice trailed off. She was fighting sleep and not doing a very good job of it. Her hand came to rest over his heart, her fingers tangled in the hair on his chest.

Joe continued to run his fingers lightly over her back; and, finally, her breathing became even and slow. “Sleep, my love,” he whispered. “Just sleep.” I’m here. He felt the weight of her braid trailing across his arm.

In the dark, Joe couldn’t see her scars. He could only feel what his body wanted and needed simply because she was there. With him. By choice. He lay awake in a state of semi-arousal for a long time. It was wonderful. He softly traced the veins on the back her hand.

Joe was exhausted and sated from making love more times in one night than he could count. In his own comfortable dark, he prayed to the Blessed Virgin that Lacey felt as good with him as he did with her.

In high school, Lacey Corelli was known to do just about anything on a dare. He watched her at fifteen crawl across a wooden ladder the chemistry club balanced between the gym and rectory buildings to prove that people really did escape across a ladder during the Triangle Factory Fire. Even after much daring and goading and calling of names, nobody else in the group gathered at the window would dream of crossing it – except Lacey.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Lacey hissed, over her shoulder. “What a bunch of wimps! No wonder you’re all virgins. Only the good die young!”

Joe secretly knew that she was a virgin, too, and prayed that she wouldn’t end up dying one on the asphalt basket ball court two stories below. The ladder went crashing to the ground and broke in several pieces just as she stepped on to the rectory roof. Lacey was furious, because she got stranded there and had to be rescued by the nuns. Sister Mary-Jessie called her parents, who sent Lacey to a very expensive shrink and grounded her for two months - and wouldn’t even allow Joe to come over to study. It never occurred to Lacey that she could have been injured or worse. She just did it. No big deal. It was a lifelong weakness of hers and also a very dangerous strength.

Joe wondered if Lacey would’ve gone to bed with him back then, if he’d dared her. Then, he felt goofily guilty. He knew Lacey would get a kick out of that thought. Implicitly.

Everything’s all right, now, he thought. Neither of us has anything left to prove. “We’re home,” he whispered.

Lacey shivered and snuggled even closer to him in her sleep. He pulled the worn blankets up and tucked them around her thin shoulders.

Joe’s mind went wandering many times that night, but it always came back and wrapped itself around the woman sleeping in his arms. Without intending to or wanting to, he’d fallen in love with her. He’d loved her for years and lifetimes, maybe.

Set as his workday alarm, The Radio of Sex and Death, in its infinite wisdom, clicked on playing Erasure’s symphonic – and vastly superior - version of ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me.

“…I've had a few little love affairs

They didn't last very long, and they've been pretty scarce

I used to think I was sensible

It makes the truth even more incomprehensible… [14] ”

“What time is it, Joe?” Lacey asked, her body stretched long against his. “Late? It feels late...”

“It’s early,” He said, stroking her hair. “Four in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

Lacey rolled over and propped herself on her elbows and sighed. “Once I’m awake in the morning, I’m awake. Dr. Wells says it has something to do my circadian rhythms being a bit Off.” She eased herself up and rested her cheek against his shoulder, while she lightly traced his face with her right hand. “ Joe, let’s stay here like this all day… And… “ The song finally registered in Lacey’s ABBA-addled brain. “ What are we listening to anyway?”

“It’s a 50,000 watt AM station out of a little town called, Chandler, Oklahoma,” Joe told her. “I started listening to it, because the Weekend DJ knew the guy named Phil who played in Marble Phrogg.”

“You’re kidding,” Lacey said, utterly enchanted. “You found Traveler Phil?”

“I was interviewed live on air once,” he went on. “Seems Phil and I were both looking for this blind chick named Lacey Corelli. We connected. He said if I ever found you again to call him; and he’d call me, if he found you first.”

“Well? Did you? Call him?”

“I tried,” Joe replied. “But he left the Record Store; and, evidently, ex-wife numero duo really hates you.”

Lacey laughed until tears rolled down her face. “That woman’s hate for me borders on orgasmic,” she said, her entire being shaking with laughter. “She hates me for the wrong reason, Joe. She hates for my body, when if she’d had a lick of sense in that big fat head of hers, she’d hate me for my Music.” Lacey leaned up; and by some trick of light, seemed to look directly in Joe’s eyes. “All the Music I own in this world I owe to that kind old Traveler,” she said, tenderly, as if to a child. “He bought my record collection at the creditors’ auction and mailed it to me care of Sister Mary-Jessie – the vinyl, the CDs, my 45 r.p.m.s, sheet music, all of it. The Cover of the first pressing Marble Phrogg album alone was worth a thousand dollars. He could have sold it to help defray the expense. Yet, he asked for nothing in return.” She wasn’t laughing any more. “God alone knows what it cost him – or how she extracted her pound of flesh.”

“He thought it was worth it,” Joe said, knowingly. He framed Lacey’s face with his hands and pulled her into a deep kiss. “Love is the only currency that matters to me,” he told her, losing himself in her touch.

Lacey traced his mouth with her fingers and let her thumb wander to the cleft of his chin, as she kissed him back. Her breath was already jagged. “Love is the only currency that matters,” she said, her voice very low and sweet. “Love me.”

Joe Maxwell didn’t need to be asked twice. He rolled Lacey into his arms and on top of him, and as he did, he whispered: “Please gentle my heart, Lace.”

“Always,” Lacey told him, falling into his kiss.

Love me,” Joe whispered. With quiet those words, he lay open his heart and soul to her – and he’d never felt so naked in his life.

“All ways,” she whispered, as she drew him in, surrounded him, pleasured him with her very soul.

Joe gave back to her in kind. He closed his eyes and welcomed the waves of want and need and joy and love and sex flowing over him and through him.

From its perch on the kitchen windowsill, the Radio if Sex and Death announced: “The next song is rare and wonderful – a forgotten gem from Buddy Holly…”

You gotta gentle my heart,

‘Cause it’s gentleness I need.

I don’t want a broken heart,

So it’s got to be agreed

That you’re gonna be my very, very own.

(Whoa) You gotta baby my heart…

…Take it easy and slow

If my teardrops ever start

You gotta let me know

That you just want little me the most

Whoa, You gotta baby my heart.

Baby, baby, baby my heart. Baby ,baby, baby my heart…[15] ”

Chapter 9 - Shoop, Shoop Song

They stayed in bed until nine; and, after a quick hot bath together, Joe shaved and got dressed first, retrieved Lacey’s clothing from the hallway, picked up the trail of condom wrappers, and turned the heat up to Tolerable. While she got dressed and fixed her hair, Joe went through his closet and found a thick blue wool sweater that had always been small on him. It looked lovely on Lacey, and he told her so.

“Thank you, Joe,” she said, flushed from the warm bathroom. “Give me my glasses, and I’ll be ready to face the day.” She stood with her hand out-stretched, waiting for him to give them to her. When he didn’t do this immediately, she reached towards him again with her palm opened flat.

Joe took her hand and pulled her to him. “You don’t need the shades with me,” he told her, rocking her gently. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t wear them at all.”

She blushed that strange color rose. “But why?” she sputtered. “People tell me my eyes are wonky –“

“Your eyes are beautiful.” He touched his forehead to hers.

Still flustered and blushing, Lacey asked, “Is it really that important to you?”

His hands came to rest on her hips; he held her lightly. “Yes,” he replied. “It is.”

Lacey wrapped her arms around his neck. “Then, I won’t wear them … in the apartment,” she said, haltingly. “When we’re alone. I’m … not used to… being without my specs… in the harsh light of day. It’s so much easier being naked in the dark.” They were standing toe-to-toe; and she tilted her face just enough. “We’re not going too fast,” she whispered, her lips brushing his. “Are we, Joe?”

“No,” he murmured, smiling. “It’s been almost twenty years, Lace.”

“It’s been so long?” she asked, dreamily.

“Yeah.” He nodded, just to feel his cheek brush against hers.

“I’ve also been told I no grasp of time,” Lacey said.

They stood wrapped together in the doorway to the kitchen, while Joe kissed her lips, which were trembling, and her scars with equal tenderness. He broke away reluctantly. “Have a seat at the table,” he said. “I’ll make us some breakfast. Coffee or cocoa?”

“Cocoa sounds good,” Lacey replied. “It’s so cold! What does it look like outside?”

“Snow,” Joe replied, smiling. “It’s falling in great big flakes.”

“And it’s not even Halloween yet.”

Lacey scooted into the place that had become Hers. It had also become Lacey’s routine to set the table, but the dishes were still there from the night before when they ate pizza from a box. Joe poured milk into a pan and got the rest of the ingredients out of the cupboard. His actions felt so right, so natural. He really didn’t mean to speak aloud, when he said, simply: “I’m happy.”

And Lacey smiled and replied: “So am I.”

Joe made vanilla-almond pancakes from scratch, served with hot maple syrup from Canada and real butter. In the center of the stack of pancakes, he placed a single whole strawberry sliced in a fan. At first, he assumed Lacey ate slowly because of her blindness, but as he watched more closely, it became obvious she savored every bite.

“I can’t think of a time when I’ve had better breakfast,” she told him, carefully eating the last slice of strawberry. “It’s like my birthday and Winterfest, New Year’s and Summerfest all wrapped up in a bow.” Lacey took a sip from her mug of steaming hot cocoa and sighed: “Heavenly.”

Without her Ray Bans, her faded blue eyes sometimes took on a half-lidded almost kittenish look; but it was Lacey’s smile that drew him in and warmed him. They sat knee-to-knee next to each other at the kitchen table.

“What are Winterfest and Summerfest?” asked Joe.

“Winterfest is sort of like our Christmas,” she told him. “It’s the special day we thank our Helpers for what give to our Community all year ‘round. Each person gets the opportunity to bring his or her own special Helper to the celebration. For instance, Vincent brought Catherine, and Mouse brought me. It’s a really big deal; and not everybody brings a somebody.” A shadow crossed Lacey’s face, when she said, “I never have.” Before Joe could ask her Why Not, she quickly went on: “On May 1st, we celebrate Summerfest and welcome new members to the Tunnels.” Lacey took another bite of pancake, licked a bit of syrup out of the corner of her mouth, and smirked gleefully: “Or as my friend Maxine Louise Pascal says: ‘It’s Beltane without The Great Rite and/or Sex.’ We put up a May Pole and everything. Summerfest a time for dancing, Joe. And you know me and dancing.”

Joe laughed and took both of her hands in his. “We’ll show them what dancing really is,” he told her. “I have mad dance skills thanks to you. But what good is dancing without Sweet Wild Love?”

“Oh, stop with your bad self, Joe Maxwell!’ Lacey said, grinning. “If we didn’t have some place to be, I’d show you Sweet Wild Love!”

Looking out the window and seeing at least a foot of snow on the fire escape and no sign of it stopping, Joe asked, “Where on earth do we have to be?”

“Below,” Lacey replied. “That is if you want to go.”

“Of course, I do!” He said. “But how? There’s a blizzard out there - ” He knew they’d have to take a cab to Catherine’s – a cab they’d never catch in this weather. “Walking is out of the question, Lacey.”

“Joe, Mouse showed me a way here that’s warm and relatively safe,” she said, smiling mysteriously.

“Where?”

Lacey pointed to the floor. “Down,” she replied. “I’ve been learning to navigate with a little help from a friend.” She walked over to her coat pocket and pulled out what looked like an extra battery pack rubber-banded to it. “Mouse rigged this little thing to give off a constant vibration as long as the light hits a hard surface. But when there’s a break or negative space, the vibration stops. That’s how I know when to turn left or right. Give me your hand, and I’ll show you how it works.”

She put the strange device in Joe’s hand and turned it On. When he aimed it at the tabletop, it gave off gentle physical hum. When he aimed it at open space, it fell still. “It’s absolutely brilliant,” Joe said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t come up with something like this.” He turned off the lamp and gave it back to Lacey, who carefully stowed it in her pocket. “Lace, is Mouse autistic? Is that why he’s so… Unusual?”

“Dr. Wells thinks so, yes,” she replied. “But - ”

“But you don’t.”

“No,” Lacey said. “I don’t. Mouse was severely neglected as a child and viciously abused at some point. When he came to the Tunnel Community, he was almost feral.” She rubbed her eyes and quietly continued the story: “He’s called Mouse, because he didn’t make a sound for the first year– not one single sound. He doesn’t know his own birth name. Vincent taught him to speak and how to form connections. Mouse likes to be hugged and petted like a child, especially by the elders; so, I don’t think he’s on the autism scale,” she said, again. “I think some evil, soulless fucks almost him starved to emotional death. If Mouse heard me say that, he’d say ‘Shame on you, Lacey Corelli!’ And he’d mean it, too!”

“Oh, God. I owe him an apology.”

“Why? Whatever for?”

“I thought he was trying to harm you that night at Catherine’s place,” he replied. “I judged him by his appearance. He kept reaching for you, and I kept blocking him.” Joe felt the familiar cold rise from deep inside, so he pushed it down.

“Mouse didn’t say anything about it to me, ” Lacey said. She took a sip of cocoa, put down the mug, and pushed it away. “He’s forgiving, Joe. He kind of has to be.” Then, she asked, “May I tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Joe replied. “You may tell me anything.”

Lacey made herself as still as she was that night in on the stoop. “Mouse really did find me sitting by myself on a bench in Central Park,” she said. “And he brought me home Below. When the Council – with one abstention - voted against allowing me to stay, Mouse stood up for me. He was very brave. He reminded them that the Community adopted him when he couldn’t talk; and they only shunned him, when he stole. Mouse said I was blameless, and I was also helpless. He didn’t say I was ashamed, but it was a given.”

She propped her elbows on the table, folded her hands together almost as if in prayer, and rested her chin on her folded hands. “Dr. Wells argued that they didn’t have the physical resources to care for a person with my disabilities; and Mouse argued that Narcissa was blind, and therefore, they didn’t have the spiritual resources not to.”

Lacey’s milky eyes fluttered closed. Tears sparkled along her eyelashes like so many trapped diamonds. “I was so scared during the Council’s second vote!” she said, quietly, leaning closer to Joe. “But Mouse told me, ‘Don’t Worry, Lacey Corelli will always have a home with Mouse.’ He sat me down in a chair outside the Great Hall, where I heard every word said for me and mostly against me; and I waited for what felt like an eternity while they argued. And then it was all over.” She opened her eyes and the tears fell freely, but her voice didn’t change. “He led me into the Great Hall; and Dr. Wells welcomed me to the Community and told me I could stay as long as I wanted or needed. Mouse saved my life,” Lacey told him.

“Even so, I had to stay in the infirmary for the first two years I lived there, because the wounds on my forehead kept getting infected. That’s how I found out I’m allergic to almost every antibiotic known to woman. Finally, Mary just started slathering organic honey on my face. And it worked - until the next infection came along. She kept me healed long enough for the next surgery or procedure. Every day he was allowed, Mouse visited me - and he brought along children for me to tell Stories,” she went on. “Whenever they could, the Tunnel kids sneaked in to listen. That’s how I began teaching and learning. Then, my immune system got stronger, and my body healed. I stopped focusing on me, and life got better.”

“Why does Mouse call you Sissy?” Joe asked, thinking the obvious.

“Because when I came into his life, he couldn’t say Lacey,” she replied. “When I was really little, he called me ‘Lissy.’ And over time, ‘Lissy’ morphed into Sissy.”

Joe got up from the table and knelt beside her chair. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, softly stroking her hair.

“And there’s one more thing – “ Lacey turned to him; and she found his face and framed it with her gentle fingertips.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning in so his forehead softly pressed against hers.

“Not that,” Lacey replied, her voice like Music. “You.”

When she kissed him, the way she felt, the way she tasted, the way she gave, literally knocked Joe off balance and he fell backwards onto the floor. “You’re something else, Lacey Corelli, ” he told her, laughing.

Lacey took a shuddering breath and smiled directly at him and said: “Well, are you ready to go?”

“Go now?” Joe asked.

“Yes, now,” she replied, smiling, her eyes now sparkling in the light. Lacey stood up and offered him her hand, and Joe took it. She pulled him to his feet and into her embrace. She snaked her arms up inside his shirtsleeves and kissed him playfully.

“’Shoop, Shoop,’” he said, closing his eyes and losing himself in the act kissing her back.

Lacey broke their kiss with a sweet, soft sigh. “Pack a duffle,” she told him, kissing the tip of his nose. “Think of it as going camping in a rather deep, dank, cold man-made cave.”

Joe was in a daze as he threw together his sweats, slipper sox with leather soles, and a change of clothing into his battered blue daypack. I can’t remember the Ten Essentials, he thought inanely. He settled for his compass, Swiss Army knife, portable water purifier, flashlight, matches, condoms, and toilet paper. He also packed extra clothing, which seemed prudent in his frame of mind; and, finally, he added a large Ziploc bag of assorted tea bags, hot chocolate, and candies he’d purchased for the office. He actually had to think as he loaded the small leather toiletries bag he’d inherited from his father.

He leaned against the bathroom sink and thought: Am I ready for this? Is she? Are they? Every nerve in his body was awake – and not in a good way.

Lacey’s cane tap-tap-tapped and came to a stop next to him. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go,” she said, quietly. “If another time would be better, I’ll understand. It’s a lot to take in.”

“That’s not it,” he replied, still leaning on the sink. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

She slid behind him and loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. His body immediately relaxed into her touch, sweetly easing his frayed nerves in the process. Her breath brushed the nape of his neck and sent those delicious chills down his spine.

Joe looked up at himself in the dank mirror. He saw a man who’d been fighting the Good Fight most of his adult life – and succeeded only in wearing his isolation like armor and being battered by a world he understood far too well. The song Blue Money popped into his head. Joe watched himself snap shut the little bag and slide it into the daypack.

“I’m ready when you are, ” he said.

Lacey’s sweet laugh washed over him as she turned and led him out of the bathroom door singing:

“Come day, go day.

Wish in my heart it was Sunday.

Drinkin’ buttermilk through the week

Whiskey on a Sunday.[16] ”

“I’ve known that song all my life,” she said, softly smiling. “It’s about a busker named Seth Davy who performed around Liverpool at the Turn of the Century. “’Come day, go day’ references a minstrel song Seth Davey performed. But from the time I was three years old, I thought the words were ‘gone day, gold day.’ I was an adult, when I saw the actual lyric sheet for the first and only time.”

“I like yours better,” Joe told her.

“Come to think of it, I like my lyrics better, too,” Lacey replied, her voice as warm and rich as honey.

He allowed her to lead him through the living room, with a short trip to the lamp table - where he picked up the Ray Bans and gave them to her. She put them on before slipping into her coat and decidedly before opening the door; and that small action made his heart fall. “I see music in your eyes,” Joe said, quietly, as he put on his leather jacket and scarf. “And they aren’t ‘wonky.’ Who the hell told you that, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lacey reached over, found and lightly touched his face with her free hand. “Oh, sweet, kind Joe,” she replied, sighing. “Most people need me to wear dark glasses just to look at me; but you look at my eyes and see me.”

He caught her hand, slid it down his freshly-shaven cheek, and pressed her fingers against the pulse in his neck. “You make me feel alive,” he told her. “I want to know everything about you - and your world. Feel how fast my heart is pounding?”

She leaned in and kissed him very tenderly. “You realize that very little in my world is actually mine.”

“I’m yours,” Joe said. Everything I have in this life is yours, he barely prevented himself from saying.

“That’s a very lot,” Lacey replied, smiling. “And speaking of worlds…”

She had the headlamp device at the ready and before he knew it, she was leading him down the maintenance stairs that nobody ever used…

Chapter 10 - No Matter What

“From: Joe Maxwell

To: Angel Bea c/o Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant

Sacred Heart Boarding School

Building 107 Rm. 21

Doney Park, AZ

Dear Angel Bea,

How are you? Sister tells me you skipped a grade and excel in the more explosive parts of chemistry. I enjoyed hearing about your camping trip. I’m sorry that Mother Superior wouldn’t allow you bring the sweet tarantula back to school with you. Maybe you should consider taming a gecko and then work your way up to ‘soft fuzzy spiders?’

I went to the Public Library and found a book with pictures of the lava caves you visited. I’d like to see them one day. I’ve always loved caves. When I was a little guy only six years old, my mother took my sisters and me to Kentucky to see Mammoth Cave. After that, I was hooked! I had a major imagination when I was a kid. I spent hours in tents made out of Ma’s extra sheets pretending I lived in a cave deep underground, where it was cool and dark and safe. In fact, when I was an undergrad, I went spelunking on weekends. But once I began law school in earnest, I put away my gear and hit the books.

I’ve never been to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, so I’m in no position to agree or disagree with your theory that it’s just another theme park – the theme being that it’s a Big Hole. Lacey Corelli, however, says you may be on to something.

I told Sister Mary-Jessie that you may call me any time within reason. If I’m in court, ask for my secretary Mrs. Evans. She’ll be able to answer your questions.

Be safe!

Your Friend,

Joe Maxwell

P.S. I sent Sister Mary-Jessie a Walkman and fresh tapes, so you can write Lacey directly. Sister has the address.”

Joe folded the letter into neat thirds and slid it into his inner jacket pocket. Another one was waiting to be finished on the little yellow pad he always carried with him. He’d learned to write quickly in stolen moments and downtime at work.

“Dear Sister Mary-Jessie,

How are you? How is Angel Bea adjusting to life in Arid Zona and boarding school? Has she been able to talk to her friend yet? Please keep me in the loop. I’ve told Angel she can call me any time within reason – the operative word here being reason. Also, Lacey said she’ll be happy to write Angel Bea. Please let me know if/when you need fresh tapes.

You’ll never guess where I’m sitting writing this! (Well, you probably can but humor me.) I’m sitting at the little table in Lacey’s ‘chamber!’ Getting here is like navigating somebody else’s dream – or nightmare. At first, it’s very dark and dirty and strange and scary – forgotten passageways carved out of stone with homeless faces darting in and out of shadows. The sounds of subway trains bearing down from above you. I watched Lacey move with more and more confidence the further we descended. Strange cut-offs and seemingly unused gates that keep “outsiders” at bay. (Yet, I am an outsider, aren’t I?) Clanging. It’s like Heroes and Villains is playing in the air all the time. It’s electric. Then, suddenly, soft lantern light flickering on the walls far ahead…

There are no doors, but Lacey insists no one enters another’s private Chamber uninvited. Before we entered her ‘Chamber,’ Lacey lit a lantern for me. She said, This is my Home Sweet Home, Joe. Do you like it? (Do I like it? She asks.) It’s cool and dark and safe; and it’s filled floor to ceiling with her Music – records, CDs, all of it, including a jury-rigged stereo. There are a bed, a table and a small oak bench, a kitchen chair, a battered little dresser that doubles as a bench, and a few pillows scattered on a thick throw rug. An endless stream of her students stops at the door, asks permission to enter, sizes me up, leaves. Did I pass muster? I don’t know. I’ll meet most of the adults at dinner. Lacey wants me to spend the afternoon with her friend Vincent, who remains incommunicado –“

Joe stopped writing and twisted closed his worn gold Cross pen, a gift from his sisters when he passed the Bar. He put the pen into the inner pocket with Angel Bea’s finished letter; and he slipped the little pad into his side pocket. He jammed his hands into his armpits to warm them and made a mental note to order some convertible wool mitts from REI. The tunnels didn’t feel so bad at first, but cumulative hours of cool, damp air quickly became Cold. He sat hunched over on the little bench wearing his leather jacket and scarf, and a knit shawl Lacey draped around his shoulders with the air of Men Are Wimps.

“I’m sure you look adorable,” she said in precisely the same tone she’d used when Max misbehaved.

Oh, great, Joe thought, crankily. Not only am I a wimp, I’m an adorable wimp. An adorable wimp in a Man Shawl. I might just start biting people’s thumbs. He smiled in spite of himself.

Lacey topped off their mugs of Earl Grey and placed the little blue teapot back on its trivet. She turned on a CD with its volume very low. “Drink some hot tea. Get up. Move around. You’ll feel better.” She massaged her left hand and winced. “It is a little chillier than usual today.”

Joe recognized Sam Cooke’s dulcet voice and You Send Me. He took off the Man Shawl and folded it over the back of the wooden chair next to him.

“Like my round mix tape?” she asked. And she opened her arms to the world, threw her head back and spun ‘round so skirt hugged her legs and then fanned back out again. In this secret place, Lacey danced with pure, uninhibited joy. “Dance with me, Joe,” she said.

“I ought as well,” Joe replied. “It’s kind of difficult to write without writing anything.” He sat up and caught Lacey around the waist as she twirled by. “How much does Sister Mary-Jessie know, anyway?”

“She knows me.” A deep voice resonated from the shadows.

Lacey stopped Twisting the Night Away dead in her tracks and ran over to the doorway. “Vincent!” she cried, throwing her arms around a massive cloaked figure Joe couldn’t quite see. “Please come in and join us for a cup of tea.” She took his hand and danced him across the room to the little table. “Vincent, this is Joe Maxwell,” Lacey said. She was absolutely beaming. “Joe, this is my friend Vincent Wells.”

Joe’s eyes weren’t used to the low light; his eyes were playing tricks on him. They had to be. They weren’t. Nothing Cathy or Lacey had told him prepared Joe for Vincent Wells. The man-beast standing in front of him was some kind of real. Vincent was dangerous-edgy; and his body exuded a distinctly masculine warning scent of sweat and musk and pheromones. I’m afraid, Joe thought. And he knows it. But he decided that since Lacey so obviously adored this person, then he’d extend his hand in friendship, too.

Joe swallowed his fear, stood up and shook Vincent’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

Vincent’s huge, hair-covered hand completely engulfed Joe’s, but the hair was silky and the handshake was warm. “You as well,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about you from Lacey – and from my wife Catherine Chandler.” He folded himself onto the small, wooden chair and accepted a mug of tea from Lacey.

“Wife? When did this happen?” Joe asked inanely, as he sat back down on the bench. He vaguely remembered the first time Cathy told him she was in a committed relationship with her son’s father. It was the day she brought baby Jacob into the office to meet everybody. There had been Cake.

Vincent laughed. “We had our Handfasting after Jacob was born,” he replied. “Catherine keeps her surname for Jacob’s safety as well as my own.” He blew on his tea before taking a sip. “Of course, her apartment is for appearances; we live as a family here Below.”

“I understand,” Joe replied. In spite of Vincent’s lion-like appearance, Joe Maxwell was instantly at ease with the man. Lacey had spoken with fierce anger, when she’d told him how Dr. Wells often used his son as an Enforcer. I wouldn’t want to face him in a dark alley, Joe thought. But I sure want him on my side in the Good Fight. Joe also found it too easy to imagine why there were those who’d wish to harm him or his innocent child. The Voids, he thought, shuddering; then, A person very much like Vincent must’ve inspired the story la belle et le bête. “I’m glad Lacey lives here,” he said, without really thinking.

“Lacey’s safer Below than she would be alone Above,” Vincent said. “Surely.”

“Boys, I’m right here!” When Lacey got good and ticked, a soft blush spread across her nose – and it was blooming there now.

Joe adored that little blush of Lacey’s inner fire. Had Vincent not been sitting at the table, he would’ve nipped her nose. Instead, he said: “I treasure you. And I want to keep my treasures safe.”

“What he said,” Vincent added. By way of distraction, he went on: “We almost met once before, Joe. “

“Really? When was that?”

“Catherine was ill with influenza, and you stopped by her apartment with a copy of Buckaroo Banzai and the most amazing chicken soup I’ve ever tasted.”

The round mix tape moved on from Sam Cooke to a Derrick Harriott’s version of Some Guys Have All The Luck.

Lacey slid in beside Joe on the little bench. She took a sip of tea and carefully set down the mug in front of her. Apropos of nothing, she announced: “My friend Nan was a witch, fluent in ASL and was a legal minister. She drove all the way from Modesto, California, to officiate their ceremony.” Lacey went on: “I’ll never forget calling the Quarter of the East for Catherine and Vincent: ‘Blessed be this union with the gifts of Communication of the East and of the Air. Blessed be this union with Equal and Free Exchange of Ideas. Blessed be this union with love expressed in Soul and Heart and Body and Mind. And may you embrace new beginnings born of the rising of the Sun and the endings that lie dormant and waiting within the silences of the Moon.’” She recited the words with reverence; but there was sadness, too. She sounded like she was very far away. “Father called South; Pascal called West; and Mary called North.”

“Ours was a lovely wedding,” Vincent agreed. “The sweetest moment was when Catherine and I stood with our hands fasted together holding Jacob while sharing our bond with everybody. Sister Mary-Jessie was right there front and center,” he went on, eyes twinkling. “She’d read up on Wiccan Ceremonies and was extremely disappointed that we weren’t Sky Clad.” Vincent shared a naughty grin with Joe. “I told her, ’Sister, it’s too blasted cold down here for the entire community to hang out in their birthday suits!’ She just laughed and laughed.”

Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant certainly got around – and kept a secret. She was also the rare nun who was curious about others’ beliefs and, for the most part, was tolerant. (On the other hand, what Joe knew about Paganism was limited to a song called Burning Times that Athena Finney insisted upon playing ‘to raise power’ that day before court. The lyrics disturbed him.) Ma had raised Joe to be tolerant of others’ beliefs; but she also insisted Joe and his sisters be Confirmed and attend parochial schools. After that, they were free to do as they pleased. Not once in that Catholic education did anyone teach him about the Burning Times, Calling Corners or naked, Sky Clad weddings.

“How do you know Sister Mary-Jessie?” Joe asked. “Lace and I were her students at St. Pius.”

“She worked at the hospital where I was abandoned as an infant,” Vincent replied. “Jessie Marchant was a novice back then. She and the other nuns at St. Vincent’s took me in and ultimately found me a home with Father.”

Time passed differently in the tunnels. It passed more slowly. Joe found he was having a difficult time taking it all in. They sat talking with Vincent until it was mealtime.

“You must join us for dinner,” Vincent told them. “The children are making Christmas Tree Pizzas to celebrate the first snow.”

“It’ll be gloriously messy,” Lacey said, smiling. “First, they shape the dough into the outline of a pine tree; then, they put on sauce; and then there’s spinach for the evergreen boughs; red and green peppers for bulbs; and jicama strips with black olives and mushrooms for trim. All the children participate. You can tell who had the most fun by the huge number of orange stains on his or her clothing.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Joe replied.

Vincent unfolded himself from the little table, stood up and stretched. “I’ll save you places at our table,” he said. “I promised to accompany Catherine and Jacob to the Great Hall. We’ll see you there.” And he was gone.

“Well, what do you think?” Lacey asked.

“I like him,” Joe replied. (And he did.)“I get the strangest feeling we’re already friends.”

“It’s that way with Vincent,” she said. Her smile washed over him like sunlight. “I just didn’t have the words to describe the whole of him to you. I’d hoped Catherine said something, but obviously she didn’t.” She stood, gathered the empty mugs and teapot and then stowed them in a plastic tub that was stashed near the doorway. “Catherine never does.”

The round mix tape queued up something Joe had never heard before - a song called No Matter What. “From Whistle Down the Wind by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Jim Steinman,” Lacey said, automatically. “Boyzone, ‘cause I don’t have Meat Loaf’s definitive version. God, Meat bathes you clean with song.”

Joe got up and met Lacey in the middle of the room. “Dance with me?” he asked, softly.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “In spite of the treacle, the music and lyrics are amazing…” As they swayed to the music, Lacey became liquid in his arms.

The way the shadows played off the syrupy song made Joe feel slightly sick. “Lace, why were you sad when you recited Vincent and Catherine’s vows?” he asked. He gently rocked her with his arms loosely encircling her waist. She seemed to be weightless; she was almost floating to the music. My touch is only thing holding you here, Joe thought.

“Nan died from an aneurysm on a bright Spring day,” Lacey replied, her voice so soft that Joe had to strain to hear. “It was the week before you came back into my life, actually.” Her luminous stillness slowed Time to a stop. “I called the East at Nan’s wedding; and I called the Angel of the East at her memorial. She was my friend, and I miss her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Joe said. He pressed his forehead to hers and softly caressed the small of her back.

“Thank you,” she replied, very quietly. She arched back against him and rolled her head back as the Music washed over her. “They tell me Nan’s in Summerland, but I don’t understand things like that. Do you?”

“Lace, I don’t.”

And they danced.

“…If only tears were laughter,

If only night was day,

If only prayers were answered,

Then we would hear God say:

‘No matter what they tell you,

No matter what they do,

No matter what they teach you,

What you believe is true.

And I will keep you safe and strong

And sheltered from the storm.

No matter where it's barren,

A dream is being born…[17] ”

Joe slid his hand up her back and then her neck until he gently cupped the back of her head and slowly guided her into a deep, tender kiss. “I love you, Lacey,” he said, his lips softly moving against hers.

“And I love you,” she whispered. She slid her hands up and tangled his hair through her fingers, caressing, pulling, toying…

Electric shudders ran down Joe’s spine “Dinner,” he managed to whisper.

“Mmmm,” Lacey replied, her open smile a kiss. But she slid her fingertips back down, so her arms were wrapped around his neck again.

Joe spoke with his lips brushing hers: “Vincent is saving our places.”

Lacey, still swaying with the song, said: “Boyzone’s No Matter What lasts only four minutes thirty-seven seconds. Meat’s version is eight minutes twenty-six seconds. One can dance a lot more in eight minutes twenty-six seconds.” Her laugh lilted and echoed off the stone walls. She kissed him as the song faded away; she kissed him until he was breathless. Then, she put away the round mix tape and shut off the jury-rigged stereo.

Joe longed for Meat Loaf and his eight minutes and twenty-six seconds.

She took the lantern off the table and extended her hand to him. “Ready?” she asked.

“Ready.” Joe took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

Lacey led him out the door, where they joined the steady stream of people heading down and down to the Great Hall. As it grew lighter, they extinguished their lanterns. Finally, they entered the Great Hall. It took Joe’s eyes a moment to readjust to the near-normal light level in the large room. It was filled with long tables and benches, which were packed with people of all ages. True to his word, Vincent saved space at his table and he waved them over; and Joe and Lacey sat and were served individual pizzas shaped like Christmas Trees and cups of hot tea.

A boy with over-large glasses brought them plastic cups of water. “Miss Lacey, do you like the pizza?” he asked, shyly.

“Yes, Eric,” Lacey replied, smiling. “It’s delicious.” She leaned into Joe’s shoulder and softly touched his arm. “Joe, this is Eric. He’s one of my best students.” (She said that about all of her students, except for Erin Wayman, who was the very best.)

Joe carefully leaned back, reached behind Lacey, and shook Eric’s hand. “Nice meeting you, Eric.” He didn’t recognize him as one of the children who’d stopped by the chamber.

The boy turned bright red and nodded. “Nice meeting you,” he said, very softly. There was something in Eric’s demeanor that told Joe he was the boy who wanted to “adopt” Lacey.

“What’s your favorite subject, Eric?” Joe asked, quietly to be heard under the din.

“Twentieth Century Disability History!” Eric replied, smiling – and seemingly forgetting his shyness. “Miss Lacey says I should concentrate on science and math, but I don’t like them as much.”

“I like music,” Joe told him. “I like the slow burn of All of the Good Ones Are Taken by Ian Hunter. What song do you like, Vincent?”

“Mmmmm.” Vincent’s voice growled softly, as he thought. “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I won’t Do That.)”

“Speaking of Mr. Loaf, I’d Lie For You – And That’s The Truth,” said Catherine, her eyebrow cocked. “And I have - over and over again.”

Lacey laughed. “I love the Charming Chatter of Clyde McPhatter,” she said. “And Israelites and David Bowie’s As the World Falls Down and Buddy Holly’s Wishing.”

Joe could see Eric withdrawing into himself, so he asked: “Eric, what song do you like?”

“Love Hurts,” Eric replied, his chin pulled down against his chest. “The one that goes ‘Love hurts, Love scars, Love wounds and mars…’ The one by Nazareth. Do you know it?”

“Yes,” Joe said, replied, wondering if Eric was already at the Age of Angst. How old was I when hit it? Thirteen? Fourteen? he wondered. “I know it very well. I like Gram Parsons’ version.”

“Really?” Eric actually met Joe’s eyes, when he said: “That’s my favorite. I say Nazareth, because ‘most everybody knows that one – except for Vincent. He’s Everly Brothers. My sister used to sing Love Hurts to me, when I was little and couldn’t sleep.”

“I have three sisters. Alex is the one who sang to me.” Joe suddenly realized everybody on his end of the table had gone quiet. “Except with her, it was A Little Bit of Soap by the Jarmels.”

“My sister Ellie got sick, and she died.” Eric said; and he didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry.” Joe said. “My Dad was…” He caught himself. “He died. And music helps me deal.” He felt Lacey’s fingertips so tender on the back of his hand that said Keep doing what you’re doing. “I think about my dad every day.”

“Yeah,” Eric agreed, solemnly. “I think about Ellie every day, too.” His lower lip was trembling, but he held Joe’s gaze. “The ancient Egyptians believed that to remember someone – even for a second – makes them alive again.”

“I believe that, too,” Joe said. “I believe that love endures. It even transcends death. Every year, I light a light at the Hospice Tree Forest for my father to honor his memory. Maybe you could do something like that for Ellie? Miss Lacey and I could take you.”

Eric’s eyes grew very wide. “What’s the Hospice Tree Forest?”

“It’s a bunch of fake Christmas trees in the lobby at my bank,” Joe explained. “Lighting the lights raises money that goes towards taking care of people who are terminally ill, folks who have cancer or AIDS.” The minute he mentioned money, he knew he’d made a mistake.

The boy deflated. “I haven’t got any money.”

“There are other ways to pay. You could run errands for the volunteers, or sweep around the trees in the morning. Something like that.” Joe made a mental note to pay for Ellie’s light at the charity’s office at lunch Monday. He’d make a bargain with the head volunteer, a purple-haired woman whose name was Grace Herald, of all things.

“Can you put more than one name on the light?” Eric asked. “I’d like to honor our parents, too.”

“Sure. The Forest goes up the day after Thanksgiving,” Joe told him. He lowered his voice so only Eric and Lacey could hear. “I cry when I light his light. I’m warning you right now. I’ll cry.”

Eric’s silence said it all.

“Eric, do you need to hear your song?” Lacey asked, softly.

“Yes, please,” the boy replied. He couldn’t hold back the sniffle any longer; and it gave way to tears.

“You come by my chamber after dinner, and we’ll play it as many times as you want and in as many versions as you want.” Lacey gave the boy her paper napkin. He carefully wiped his tears and handed it back to her. “Joe will be there, too. He’s a great listener and a very good friend.”

Eric nodded and said he’d be there. He left to go sit at the children’s table to eat his own dinner. He ate with his head down. Mouse was happily seated at the head of the children’s table helping feed the little ones. He waved at Joe, who waved back.

The other adults at Vincent’s table slowly began talking again.

“I’m sorry,” Joe said, once the boy was out of earshot. “I didn’t mean to upset him.” Truth be told, he didn’t want to think about how it would feel to lose any one of his sisters. It was hard enough carrying the hurt of losing his father. “You’ve got to admit Parsons’ Love Hurts is a rough cut for a kid.”

Lacey’s fingers found his face and lightly trilled over his frown. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s good for him to talk about it. Ellie was a few years older than Eric. She took care of him and fought for him until… She passed away. That’s how I chose Athena’s new name – Elle for Ellie and Kolchak for Kolchak the Nightstalker.” Her fingers briefly played over his lips. “You’re right. It is a rough cut, Joe.”

“I’ll do whatever I can for Eric,” he replied. He let himself kiss her fingertips, even though they were in public.

“I know you will.” She smiled the way she did when they were alone.

Joe turned back to this plate and ate the rest of his Christmas Tree pizza, which was quite good. Lacey leaned into his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his; so everything truly was all right again by the time Father and Mary and Pascal and the other Council Members began to stream up to the table to meet him. Joe was understandably slow on the Tunnel Uptake. They treated him as though he already belonged.

All I did was talk to the kid, Joe thought. It was only later that he understood he was accepted not only for Lacey’s sake but also because of his willingness to help.

Joe reread his letter to Sister Mary-Jessie by soft lantern light. Satisfied, he twisted open the Cross pen and finished: “I met Vincent. I like him. I like his sense of humor. He told me a funny story about you at his wedding. You troublemaker, you! And when I met the Council members, each one asked after you. Father worries that you’re so far away.

Mary was exceptionally kind to me & very welcoming. She talked to me, while we washed pots and pans to the sound of Late In The Evening. (The kids cooked dinner, the grown-ups cleaned up after. Lacey and Mouse kept the youngest of the lot occupied.) Mary told me not to be afraid of what I’ve gotten myself into. (Note: she didn’t say getting.) She says that I’ve won over the one person whose opinion matters most: Mouse. I don’t know what I’ve said or done to earn the honor – except be the goofball I am. Having a secretary with an endless supply of apples and Snickerdoodles doesn’t hurt. Lacey calls him Mouseleh, he calls her and Sissy. (Which, of course, you know.) After dinner, Mouse took me – alone - to visit the grave of his pet raccoon Arthur, which is covered shiny objects, bottle caps, pieces of foil, and looks like it’s been there for years. He solemnly told me that the place is “not for girls” but I’m allowed because I’m a Guy. Oh, and Max the Chihuahua has a place next to Arthur, if he needs one. I was very touched by that, actually.

Her other friend – The Traveler – I’d really love to meet, but Lace tells me he’s rarely in New York these days. I’ve heard about him since I was 14 years old. And I talked on the phone to him once last year. Maybe a road trip is in order? I’ve never wanted to go to Tulsa. But, I keep my driver’s license current. Did I just write that? Please don’t tell Lacey. Smile.

Sister, Lace struggles physically. She hides it well, but I see it. I see the pain running through her just under her skin. (We both know what happened in the MG was anything but accidental.) All she ever says is “I’m a little tired, Joe. Is it all right if we stay in or call it an early day?” Of course, I say Yes. Her face gets so pale and drawn; yet, she tells me nothing. I want to understand. Without being taken down like Icarus. I’m constantly doing the wrong thing, putting my foot in my mouth, accidently taking her to see On The Waterfront – and she says she loves me, anyway.

In your last letter, you asked me if Lacey makes me happy. The answer is Yes. And more than that, she makes me whole.

Be well and be happy.

Joe.”

He put away his pen and folded the little letter and slipped it into the pocket with Angel Bea’s until he could cadge envelopes from the office. It was very late. Lacey fell into bed soon after Eric left, apologizing that she didn’t do so well on a lot of Sweet Wild Love and a little sleep. She looked impossibly lovable curled up on the bed with her feet tucked up under her nightgown and flannel robe. Joe sat down next to her and softly kissed her forehead. He was grateful that the Ray Bans were on the table. In the flickering lantern light, Lacey’s scars looked like spun gold on her skin.

“I can find the bathing rooms by myself, I think,” he told her, smoothing stray hair away from her face.

“There are different – um - protocols after eleven,” Lacey said.

“Oh. Are we talking the Tunnel equivalent of putting a tie on the doorknob the way we did in college?”

“Something like that,” she replied, smiling impishly. “After ten, the pools and showers are reserved for adults on a first serve first come basis.”

She insisted upon accompanying Joe to the bathing rooms near the childrens’ dormitory.

A group of Council members passed them in the hallway. Mary nodded at Joe, who nodded back. For the first time, he became truly aware of the conservative clothing worn by both men and women.

Once they were out of earshot, he asked: “Won’t they mind?”

“Mind what?”

He leaned in close and whispered: “An unmarried couple sleeping together.” Joe didn’t want anybody to think less of Lacey for being with him.

“No,” she replied, yawning. “It’s not like that here.” She pointed to the long bench that ran the length of the wall outside the facilities. “I’ll meet you there,” she said, as she disappeared into women’s room.

And that’s exactly where Joe found Lacey, when he was finished. She was stretched out asleep, her arm hanging off the bench in front of her. He woke her by stroking her open palm.

“Hello, Joe,” she said, without opening her eyes. “Ready?”

“Ready, love,” he answered.

Even in the dim lantern light, Joe saw the pain running just beneath Lacey’s pale skin. When she clumsily reached for him, he caught her elbow and eased her to her feet. He steadied her, gentled his arm around her waist, and walk-carried her back to her chamber. He settled her in the bed and dug his sweats out of his daypack. Joe watched but said nothing as Lacey swallowed a caplet with cold tea.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

The shadows from the lantern light played off the walls and the medication bottle on the shelf above her bed; and it played tricks on Joe’s eyes. Lacey was smiling in her dreams. Are you being washed clean by Meat Loaf’s voice? Joe wondered, smiling back. He sat down on the bed and slipped off everything except his socks and pulled on his sweats. Then, he turned off the lantern, and wrapped himself around Lacey, who wrapped herself around him in turn.

“Love you,” he whispered, tucking the faded quilt snuggly around them. He reached over and turned off the lantern, plunging them into them into total darkness.

“I’m counting on it,“ Lacey murmured. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and was again out like a light.

I’m counting on it, too, thought Joe, who’d learned the hard way never to count on anyone or anything. He kissed her very tenderly, and then, he, too, slid into a strange, warm, dreamless sleep.

Two figures stood talking in the shadows of the night-dark sentry point around the corner from Lacey’s chamber. Vincent still had fresh snowflakes on his hair and smelled of out-of-doors. “I love the snow!” he said, grinning, shaking snow out of his amazing mane. Then, his face grew serious. “They’re asleep. I checked.”

“I take it you met him,” said the tall, stooped one. It was plain that he was leaning heavily against the stone wall. He took out a joint and lit it without asking permission. After a couple of tokes, he stood a little straighter.

“Yes,” replied Vincent in a voice soft as breath. “Joe’s a mensch. Catherine says he fights for Good, even when he knows he’ll lose. I don’t understand why you’re hesitant to meet him. I know Lacey would be over the moon to see you.”

“That’s why.”

“I’ve known the man for all of one day,” Vincent said. “And I can assure you he’s not that way. Please reconsider.”

“No.” The Traveler seemed to be looking at something very far away – or very long ago. “I wish I could correct the massive wrong that was done to Lacey.” He took another long toke and said in his smooth Southern voice, “But I can’t. I screwed the pooch, Vincent. I should never have left her with the mother. My first ex-wife never let me forget it.”

“Traveler, have you ever heard the expression ‘love is blind?’” Vincent asked. “You give her what you can.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It is for Lacey. The Music has kept her alive all these years. I know.”

The Traveler looked down at his roach and sighed. “It’s almost gone,” he said, sadly. Then, focusing on a point far ahead in the distance, a soft smile crossed his face and he said. “Joe loves her.” It wasn’t a question.

Vincent nodded. “It’s so obvious, one can feel them radiate across the Great Hall.” He raised one eyebrow and smiled. “They can’t stop touching one another.”

As the roach sputtered out, Traveler said, “It was good seeing you again, old friend. I’ll stay longer next time.” He sighed and slipped three CDs inside Vincent’s vest pocket. Every step, every breath took effort he could ill afford to expend. “Gone day, gold day,” he said, his voice already far away and as soft as breath.

The lights flickered; and Vincent blinked, trying to hold his focus on the shimmer that signaled the Traveler’s leave-taking. All that remained was the strange olfactory combination of pot smoke and electricity in the air, and the four CDs with Lacey’s name on them - Switched on Bach 2000, The Japanese Import of The Very Best of Meat Loaf, The Original Cast recording of Whistle Down the Wind, and a worn DJ tester of Raul Malo’s Lucky One. Vincent soundlessly slipped into Lacey’s chamber and left the Music propped up against the little blue teapot on Lacey’s table.

Joe awoke to Lacey’s cool hands framing his face. He was deliciously happy and deliciously warm. “That feels wonderful,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she replied, softly. “I was watching you sleep.” Her fingertips danced across his eyebrows and his eyelids and eyelashes, and on down his nose to his lips. “I can’t quite believe you’re here with me.”

As he spoke, his words brushed her fingertips. “What’s so difficult to believe? That I’m here, or that I’m with you?”

“A little of both.” She tapped his lower lip with her index finger twice; and she shivered.

He slipped his arms around her and effortlessly tucked her into his embrace. “I’m not going anywhere,” he told her. “Are you?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m not.” Lacey sighed deeply and wrapped herself around him. Her skin was warm and fluid under her thin flannel nightgown. “Mmmm,” she murmured, kissing him. “Nice. So very nice…”

He reveled in the sweet feel of her body against his as she eased back to sleep in his arms.

Somewhere down the line, the pipes clanged: “All Is Well.”

Joe understood the feel of the sound if not the code.

After that first visit Below, he hiked down Friday after work and retreated into the strange, mostly gentle world. Joe didn’t want to just Show Up and throw off William’s Meal Count; so he ate a rushed dinner at home. He brought a case of fresh fruit and veggies by way of payment for his the rest of his weekend meals. As much of their food came from dumpsters, the bounty was always graciously received.

Joe usually found Lacey in her Chamber sitting at the little table drinking a cup of hot tea. He’d light the lantern she left hanging by the door.

“Is that you, Joe Maxwell?” she’d ask, smiling at the sound. “Darling, how was your week?” She’d stand up and open her embrace to him.

“Better now, Lacey Corelli,” he’d say, wrapping himself around her. “So much better now, my love.”

She’d turn on a round mix tape and lead him over to the bed; and then everything in Joe’s world would go from black and white into color again. The world Above, where he had to fight violence, hate, and loneliness, ceased to exist. He soon moved to the strange rhythm of Tunnel life, where things happened as they could and not when it was convenient. Below ran on a sacred power, older than time itself and primal. It was within Lacey’s world of darkness that Joe Maxwell found his peace.

Finally.

Chapter 11 – Ask

“Dear Sister Mary-Jessie,

How’s Angel Bea? She hasn’t answered my last letter, and I’m concerned about her.

I’m sorry I haven’t written more. I’m swamped at work, and I’ve been spending all of my (non-existent) spare time in “the dogless dark” with Lacey. I like it there. I fit.

And… I have a ring, Sister. I haven’t asked her yet, but I will. Soon.

Joe.

P.S. To paraphrase the old song: it’s just the thought of her...”

“Dear Joe,

Angel Bea is adjusting about as well as can be expected. She still wakes up in the middle of the night asking to call Athena Finney. I let her call – but I have to remind her that Athena’s name is no longer Athena and We Have to Be Careful. When the phone number changes, Angel panics until the letter arrives with the new one. I wish all this cloak and dagger stuff wasn’t necessary. A child should be able to be a child. Of course, you weren’t allowed to be a child, either, and you turned out all right.

I’m glad that you’ve seen Lacey’s home. You now understand why she was so secretive. Her life there hasn’t always been a happy life. The last time I saw her in person, she was doing well. Dr. Wells warned us she’ll always have pain from the reconstructive surgeries. And she’s had a lot of them. (I lost track around number six.) Good luck getting her to tell you about them. (Vincent might, if Lacey’s not around. Mouse can’t,) When Lacey says she’s ‘tired,’ she hurts. Be gentle…

Lacey’s letters are full of light. I know that’s because of you.

Ask the girl, Joe. What are you waiting for?

Blessings & Joy,

Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant”

Chapter 12 – Storms Never Last

Joe called in almost every favor owed him to get Thanksgiving weekend off. He even left work early Wednesday and took a cab home. He wanted to beat the winter storm that was forecast to hit around rush hour. The food he’d ordered for Thanksgiving Dinner had been delivered the day before and was in the ‘fridge ready to go. Before this, Joe had never cooked a Thanksgiving meal or spent the day at home with all its inherent warmth and simple pleasures. Ma spent Thanksgivings in Austin with his sister Alex and her partner’s family, so Joe usually got stuck eating leftover-turkey sandwiches and congealed cranberry sauce from the Deli down the street. But not this year. This year, Joe had someone to spend the holiday with, and it meant the world to him.

When he opened the front door, Dr. Hook’s version of Storms Never Last wafted faintly out into the hall; so he knew Lacey was already there. Joe hung up his smart cashmere overcoat next to her threadbare grey one. There was something about that coat that touched him deeply. He folded his scarf and placed it next to her red one and her Ray Bans on the little side table. He pulled off his snow boots and lined them up beneath his overcoat and set his briefcase in its place by the umbrella stand. He did these things in order out of habit – but also because it helped him literally shed the remnants of the day’s ugliness.

Lacey was curled up on the sofa with her head pitched back and the purple afghan tucked around her legs. He thought she was asleep until she stretched out and lifted the afghan to welcome him. She was wearing the blue sweater he’d given her with a pair of faded jeans. “Hello, Joe Maxwell,” she said, her smile deepening into an invitation.

“Hello, Lace,” Joe said, falling onto his old sofa and wrapping himself around her. He buried his face in her hair. Lacey smelled of the tunnels and orange verbena and something indefinable.

As if she read his mind, Lacey said: “You smell so good, Joe.”

“I do?” he asked, inhaling as much of her as he could.

“You smell like out of doors and snow,” Lacey replied. “And work. Your suit coat smells like those little powdered donuts, laser printers and stale coffee. Damn, I love the smell of laser printers.” She grinned, but it seemed a little uneven.

“Give me a minute and I’ll change into something less stale and work-like,” Joe told her. But he couldn’t bring himself to break their embrace. Not yet, he thought or said or thought. It’s been a hard week.

The Radio of Sex and Death was very static-y, but Jay Jarmel Palmer said: “And now for my Thanksgiving Eve Day gift to y’all who have the T-Town Blues: it’s the velvet voice of Mel Carter!

“Hold me, hold me

Never let me go until you've told me, told me

What I want to know and then just hold me, hold me

Make me tell you I'm in love with you…[18] ”

“I love this song,” Lacey sighed, and she began to sway side-to-side with its rhythm.

“You taught me the Stroll to this song,” said Joe, fondly remembering that long-ago afternoon. “A dance I’ve never done since, by the way.”

“They told me be sensible with your new love

Don't be fooled, thinking this is the last you'll find

But they never stood in the dark with you, love

When you take me in your arms

And drive me slowly out of my mind… [19] ”

“But you did it so well. And you’ve got to admit this is one of the top 5 make-out songs of all time,” Lacey said, her dead eyes somehow sparkling. “It totally flew over your head back then, didn’t it?” she teased. “I’d never kissed a boy - and how I wanted my first to be with you. I asked you to kiss me, kiss me so many times!“

The memory of that dance washed over Joe like some erotic drug. He rocked her in his arms as he kissed her, kissed her.

“Kiss me (kiss me), kiss me (kiss me)

When you do, I'll know that you will

Miss me (miss me), miss me (miss me)…”

If we ever say, adieu

So kiss me, kiss me

Make me tell you I'm in love with you

(Hold me, thrill me)

Never, never, never let me go...[20] ”

Lacey continued to sway as she loosened his tie, eased his suit jacket off, carefully folding it over the back of the sofa. “Hold me, Thrill me. Never, never, never let me go,”” she sang along as the song, and then the radio faded out, leaving only her voice as gentle as her touch.

Joe pulled Lacey closer and closer until all tension fell away. He found himself holding his breath when Lacey unbuttoned and untucked his shirt and ran her fingertips along the tender skin of his back just the way he liked. Her sweater fell away, and he reveled in the electric feel of skin on skin. He fell into her open inviting smile, kissing her deeply, hungrily again and again and over and over.

Lacey’s tongue caressed and sparred and danced with his. “Four and one half days,” she said, still kissing him. “We have four and one half whole days together, Joe.”

“I know,” he replied, returning her smile. Joe kissed her forehead, kissed the tip of her nose, kissed her lips, kissed the curve of her neck…

Suddenly, the storm hit in full force. At almost the same time the wind shook the building, Joe watched a shadow pass over Lacey’s face – a shadow that didn’t leave. In fact, she froze. Her breathing became extremely shallow, her left eyelid drooped closed, and all color drained from her face. She raised her hand to her forehead as if to shade her blind eyes. “Oh, God, no,” she said, through clenched teeth. “I think I’m going to be sick -“

Lacey pushed him away, got up, and ran to the bathroom with her hand clamped over her mouth. Joe found her doubled over the toilet vomiting violently. She looked awful.

Joe knelt beside her. “What can I do?” he asked, softly.

Lacey threw up several times, less and less each time until she was just retching. Finally, she croaked, “Blue case in coat pocket.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He easily found the little blue case and popped it open. Inside were three little packets that said Maxalt 5 mg ODT for migraine. He brought all of it to Lacey along with a glass of water. By this time, she was lying on the bathroom floor in the fetal position. Seeing she was in no condition to do anything, Joe ripped open one of the packets with his teeth, found a pill encased in yet another package, opened that and handed the pill to her. She popped it in her mouth. When he tried to hand her the water, she muttered that she didn’t need it. He snapped shut the little blue box and put it in her hand. Joe didn’t want to leave her lying on the floor alone, so he sat down beside her on the cold tile. He didn’t touch her, but he told her he was there.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lacey said, “Since that night, I get migraines. And this one’s a Duesenberg.” She reached behind her, holding her hand out for Joe.

He took her hand and, without thinking, he lay down behind her, spooning her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her voice sounded thick and far away.

“No need to be,” Joe replied.

Once Lacey’s breathing was again slow and regular, Joe got up and slipped away to change clothes. He went to the living room and retrieved his suit coat and carefully- quietly – hung it up with his trousers. Outside, the storm roared; and the view from the windows was White. He heard the toilet flush. Now wearing sweats and a thick fisherman’s knit sweater, Joe padded in stocking feet into the bathroom and found Lacey at the sink brushing her teeth. Even in the half-light of the bathroom, he could see she was extremely pale. The sweater, still unbuttoned, exposed a stark white stripe.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a Mac truck,” Lacey replied. She swished water and spat it out. And she put her toothbrush in the glass on the side of the sink and put the little blue box in the medicine cabinet. “I should’ve said something about the headaches, but I haven’t had one this bad in a long time. Years, actually. The barometric pressure must be different Below.” She turned from the sink and her knees buckled. “Joe?” she said, mildly.

Joe caught her and steadied her before she could collapse. “Walk or ride?” he asked her, as though she was a child.

“Ride,” she replied.

“Bed or couch?” he asked.

“Bed.”

Joe slid her arms around his neck; he effortlessly lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bedroom and put her to bed, gently spreading covers over her. Then, he got another glass of water and put it on the bedside table.

“Would you like to rest alone for a while?” he asked.

“Definitely, not,” Lacey replied, sounding much more like herself but still looking a lot like a zombie.

Joe laughed; and he stretched out on his side next to her and gently wrapped himself around her.

“Please don’t touch my head.”

“I won’t,” he replied, smiling.

“Or my face.”

“I won’t.”

“Joe?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Lacey said. “It was really nice what you did. You don’t have to stay with me.”

“Yeah,” Joe replied. “I kinda do.”

“There’s a reason I love you,” she said, softly.

“Mmm hmm,” said Joe.

Lacey’s fingertips found his face, traced his laugh lines, and settled on his lips, stayed there. He softly kissed her fingertips.

The storm kept on roaring, but they were warm enough. The Radio of Sex and Death was sadly down for the count.

Joe and Lacey lay jumbled together until the phone’s incessant ringing broke the spell. Ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-eight rings.

“Oh, God, Joe, make it stop,” Lacey moaned, folding the pillow up around her ears.

Joe reached over his head, grabbed the phone and answered, “What!?”

“Happy Thanksgiving early!” came booming out of the receiver.

The look on Lacey’s face was beyond priceless.

Joe held the phone between them. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sister,” he said, pointedly. “Lacey’s right here. When you talk, she’ll hear you.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Sister Mary-Jessie,” Lacey said. Her voice sounded rather strange.

“It’s good to hear your voice live!” Sister Mary-Jessie was one of those people who still yelled on long distance calls.

“Thank you. Yours, too.”

Lacey pulled her sweater closed and buttoned it straight up to her neck, which made Joe laugh.

“So what’s it like in Arizona?” Joe asked. “Is it hot?”

“Didn’t they teach you geography in that fancy college? I live on a mountain,” Sister Mary-Jessie yelled. “It’s snowing. I think we have two and one half feet so far.”

“We’re having a blizzard,” Joe told her.

“How cozy!”

“Quite,” said Lacey.

“Any other news I should know about?” Sister Mary-Jessie yelled. She sounded quite hopeful.

“I have a migraine,” said Lacey, mildly. Joe could see she was fading fast.

Amazingly, the nun took it down a notch. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she said, almost normally.

“I’m going to say good-bye now, Sister. Happy Thanksgiving, and I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

Lacey turned her face away.

“Nothing new here, Sister,” Joe said, putting the receiver to his ear and sitting up. “Please tell me more about the school and the mountain.” He took the phone and walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

He wanted to be with Lacey, but he also didn’t want to be rude to the nun that was responsible for Lacey being there in the first place. So he mostly listened to Sister Mary-Jessie shout about the ungrateful girl children in her charge.

“Would you like to talk to Angel Bea?” Sister yelled.

“Of course, Sister,” Joe said, thinking that speaking to a girl who whispered would be a pleasant change of pace.

“uh, joe?” whispered Angel Bea.

“Hello, Angel, how are you?”

“i’m good. and i talked to - you know - elle today. she said to tell you hi.”

“How’s she doing?”

“she’s alive.”

“I’m glad she’s alive,” Joe said, sincerely.

“yeah, me, too.”

“The next time you speak to Elle, tell her I said Hi, too.”

“i will,” said Angel Bea. “uh, joe?”

“Yeah?”

“be safe.”

“I will,” Joe said. “And Angel?”

“yeah, joe?”

“You be safe, too.”

“i’ll try.”

Sister Mary-Jessie came back on the line and yelled at him to have a very Happy Thanksgiving, and he told her to have a very happy one, too; and they rung off.

Joe unplugged the phone and left it on the kitchen table. He wrapped its twenty-foot cord around his arm as he walked down the hall, and placed it behind the bedside table. He’d learned the hard way about obstacles and his blind lover. When they were first seeing each other, he left the broom propped next to the kitchen sink. Lacey ran smack into it and would’ve broken her nose on the rebound, if not for some fast footwork on Joe’s part. Now, keeping walkways clear was second nature to him.

Lacey hadn’t moved an inch since he left her. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked like blanched bone. Her fingers were resting inside her open watch face. Joe carefully got back in bed beside her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, keeping his voice very soft. He slid his arm wound her waist.

“Thirty more minutes,” Lacey replied, softly.

“Thirty more minutes and what?”

“I can take another Maxalt.”

This can’t be good, Joe thought. “Can I help?”

“Rub my back,” she replied. “I’ll take my endorphins any way I can get them.”

Joe slipped his other arm behind her and rolled her against him. He caressed the small of her back in gentle circles, until he finally felt her relax into his embrace.

“God, that feels good,” Lacey murmured.

“Lace, is there anything else I need to know about you?” he asked.

“I was conceived in the backseat of a ’57 Chevy at the Admiral Twin Drive-In in Tulsa, Oklahoma,” Lacey replied, thickly. She stretched out against him, her body now seemingly liquid again.

“That’s not what I meant, but okay - ”

She ran her hand down his arm and threaded her fingers through his. “The Music went away,” she said, softly. “Do you have any Bach?”

“Yes,” Joe said. “I have a copy of Switched On Bach II some chick named Lacey gave me when I was a sophomore in high school. But didn’t mean anything,” he teased. “We were just friends.”

She laughed softly. “That chick Lacey should’ve ordered you a set Brandenburgs from The Gramophone in T-Town, when she had money.”

“What is it with you and record stores in Tulsa?”

“I told you - I was conceived in the backseat of a Chevy at the Admiral Twin.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Hmm-mmm.” Lacey shook her head No, but she was smiling. “Do you still have that copy of Time and Again I gave you?” she asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t tell her that he kept it on the headboard, next to the CDs of Switched on Bach II and Nilsson Schmilsson, and all the rest of the gifts she’d given him over the years.

“Would you read it to me?” Lacey asked, her voice soft and thick. The drugs were finally doing their work.

“Of course, love.” Joe He switched on the little reading lamp that was clamped to the headboard. The, he propped up his pillows, got the book, and gently lifted Lacey so her head was resting on his chest. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Mmm hmmm,” she murmured. “I can hear your heart.”

Joe took that as a Yes and opened the book. On the flyleaf, Lacey’s simple handwriting: “Merry Christmas to my bestest friend Joe! This is a First Edition of my very favorite ‘novel.’ But it’s not really a novel. I have it on excellent authority that it’s All True. Enjoy! Ever your girl, Lacey.”

He turned to the first page and began to read. As he read, the pain in Lacey’s face seemed to dissipate word by word. After about thirty pages he looked down and saw her face was streaked with tears. She hadn’t made a sound. Joe closed the book, set it back on the headboard, and very gently tilted her chin up so he could see her face. The color was back. “Lace, why are you crying?” he asked.

“I miss reading,” she replied, quietly. “Time and Again is on talking book; and people Below read to me, when they have time. But it’s different, when someone you love reads to you live. It’s almost as sweet as reading it myself.”

Joe knew she’d always been a voracious reader; but he hadn’t allowed himself to think about what that loss meant to her – especially, the loss of her favorite book compounded with her inability to learn Braille. It hurt his heart knowing that now.

“I’ll always read to you,” he told her. His voice came out very low and very soft. “All you have to do is ask.” His hand was still cupping her chin. You’re so beautiful, Joe thought. I’m getting turned on just looking at you. “I need to kiss you, Lace,” he heard himself saying. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Lacey whispered. Her milk-blue eyes seemed to be shining. And her lips were parted very slightly. He could see the tip of her tongue waiting there expectantly. “Please…”

Joe leaned in and kissed her softly - at first. He let Lacey take the lead. Her tongue very lightly traced his lips, and then she deepened the kiss with a hunger that startled him. Her fingertips were maddeningly soft running along the back of his neck, while the way she was caressing his tongue with hers bordered on wanton. Suddenly, Joe felt the shock of her cool hand on his bare stomach; and he held his breath. Please down, he thought; but she let her fingers trail upward into the soft hair on his chest. When she softly traced his nipple, Joe shivered and heard himself moan. He felt her smile.

There’s a dance to this, he thought. I’ll dance with you.

Joe forced himself to concentrate on unbuttoning each button on Lacey’s sweater one-handed. He let his fingers brush against her breasts but only just, which made her inhale sharply. He kept his other hand on the small of her back, holding her against him, forcing her to arch into him with her leg across his thighs. And still he kissed her, feeling their rhythm mirror their other, more desperate one. He was acutely aware when her hand turned downward and slowly slid back over his stomach and then, toyed with the waistband of his sweats – and maddeningly stopped there. Finally, Joe grabbed her hand and slid it inside his sweats and pressed it hungrily against his erection. Her fingers encircled him, teased him, pleasured him. Until Joe couldn’t take much more.

He broke their kiss and whispered, “Not that way, my love.”

“How then?” Lacey asked. And she wasn’t teasing him. She actually wanted to know.

Joe told her and he trusted her response. “Is that okay?”

She nodded.

He watched her undress with a growing hunger. She pulled off his sweater and sweats. He was so aroused; he knew he wouldn’t last long once he was inside her. Joe rolled on his back, and Lacey straddled him with a ferocity that always stunned him. She lowered herself onto his shaft with hunger that equaled and even rivaled his own. They took each other. Hard. Harder. Lacey arched backward until the end of her braid brushed against his legs, and tender mewls escaped her as she rode him. He was riding the waves of her velvet warmth, fighting back the physical need to thrust, to own, to nail. Finally, unable to take the pleasure one second longer, Joe put his hands on her hips and ferociously held her down against him until she bucked them both into orgasm. He loved watching Lacey take him, loved the sheen of sweat that broke on her skin as she came, loved the physical knowing that she wanted him as uncontrollably as he wanted her.

Lacey rolled off him, flushed and, he could tell, sated. “I have no words,” she said, her voice husky and low. Her hand found his face, felt his expression; she smiled.

Joe kissed her palm. “How’s the headache?” he asked.

Lacey rolled back on top of him, kissed him leisurely and replied, “Still hurts, but, darling, I no longer care.” Her fingertips traced his face so very softly. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” He wrapped his arms around her and softly caressed her until her breathing became slow and even, and she fell asleep.

Their joinings were never just sex; they were so much more than that. It was in the afterglow of lovemaking that they discussed real things, important things. It was always Joe who brought up tender subjects, because he had the words to do so. Lacey still froze, afraid she would jinx the relationship. Joe had intended to ask her then, but healing sleep was much more important. He gently rolled her off to his side; and because she was so light, it was too easy. He smoothed her hair back from her face, softly kissed her. Her caramel braid trailed behind her across the sheets. Joe propped himself up on one elbow and watched her sleep.

It was dark. The only light came from the reading lamp. As Joe reached for the covers, he saw the angry bruise forming high on her hip. In the form of his hand. Lacey told him more than once that she loved the feel of him still on her, that when she moved it reminded her that what they had was real. To Joe, however, leaving rough marks on her was akin to branding her – a thought that both horrified and aroused him. He quickly pulled the covers up over her, shut off the little light, and settled in beside the love of his life.

I’ll ask you in the light, Joe thought or said.

He lay awake dreaming for a long time. He dreamt their entire lives together, before he fell asleep beside her.

In the living room, a small streak of light opened in the corner by the bookshelf and widened until it filled the room. A tall, blond, balding man quickly stepped out of it. He left a CD boxed set of the Brandenburg Concerti on the coffee table along with a wrapped gift box and a note written on yellow legal paper which read: “Dearest Lacey, You forgot this 18 years ago at the Gramophone, which went the way of the dodo last Saturday. I believe it’s meant for Joe. The little box is yours. Consider it an early wedding present. And the she-devil still hates you. A lot. More than ever. Love, Traveler Phil.” In the kitchen, the Radio of Sex and Death came back on briefly. Jay Jarmel Palmer said: “The Traveler sends his regrets that he cannot spend Thanksgiving Eve with you. But he had someplace to be…” When the band of light closed, the radio went back to static.

Chapter 13 – Tulsa Time

Joe woke up early Thanksgiving morning. He rolled over and looked out the bedroom window at the snow-capped, sleeping city below. The hour before sunrise was his favorite time of day, if he stopped to think about it. Joe heard music in the clanging of the trash trucks and street vendors’ deliveries. There was a rhythm to it, but most mornings he was in too much of a hurry to listen. Truth be told, Joe had a lot on his mind – to be exact, the blue zircon and diamond ring sitting on the bedside table on top of the Japanese Import version of The Very Best of Meat Loaf. The zircon sparkled like trapped sea water; it shone like Lacey’s sea-blue eyes. After giving the matter much consideration, Joe decided that he’d propose in the kitchen with the Radio of Sex and Death playing. He had it all planned out in eighty-six different ways. (He liked to have options.) But one thing led to another and Joe ended up naked and asleep next to Lacey without proposing. And now, the sounds of the morning were playing out in the city below them.

When Mark Ledford, a.k.a. Fish Face, owner of The Middle Path, stuck his head out of the delivery entrance and yelled at Jon-Jon Ho at ReadAllAboutIt demanding his Tulsa World, Jon-Jon Ho shot back “What the ‘F’ for?!”

Mark Ledford didn’t miss a beat. “For the ads, you sybaritic idiot!”

Lacey let out a musical laugh. And she wrote GOOD MORNING on Joe’s back with her finger.

Joe rolled over on his back and opened his embrace to her. “You’re feeling better,” he said, smiling.

“Isn’t it wonderful to wake up to ‘sybaritic idiot?’” she purred, rolling into his arms.

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” he replied. “But it’s wonderful waking up to you.” And he held her. He just held her while Lacey traced his smile with her fingertips light as air.

“I’ve always loved your smile, Joe,” she said. “Did you know that?” Lacey’s voice was low and soft. She was half lying on top of him and half curled up on the bed beside him. Her luminous skin was burnished with the soft rose tint that became apparent only when Joe saw her skin next to his own.

“I’ve suspected it for a while now,” Joe said, his voice as low and as soft as hers. He reached over and took the ring off the bedside table. He caught her left hand and slipped the ring on her ring finger.

Lacey felt the ring with her thumb, spun it on around her finger. “Does this mean what I think it means?” she asked, her quiet face revealing nothing.

“If you think it means I want to marry you, then, yes, that’s what it means,” Joe replied. “Will you marry me?”

Lacey’s fingertips grew still on his lips; and she smiled. “Yes, Joe Maxwell, I’ll marry you.” she said, decidedly. “If I can have a dog.”

“You can have a dog,” Joe replied, his voice low and sweet.

Lacey, frowning slightly kept running her thumb over the ring. “What does it look like, Joe?” she finally asked. “I can’t tell what it looks like.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice. “Please describe it for me.”

Joe took her left hand in his. Then, he took her right hand and guided her index finger over the ring. “The large stone in the middle is a blue zircon, exactly the color of your eyes,” he told her. He traced the round stone with her finger. “And the small stones surrounding it are diamonds. The bezel and band are rose gold. I had it remade from my grandmother’s engagement ring. I know that’s old fashioned. If you don’t like it, you can choose something else.”

“The sentiment is beautiful,” Lacey replied. “And my ring is beautiful. It’s just… For the first time in a long time… Oh, hell, I just wish I could see it. And…”

“And?”

“You.” Lacey whispered. “I’d give anything to see you.” She pressed her forehead to his. Her fingertips lightly came to rest on his lips and then flitted to the nape of his neck. She very slowly and very deliberately tangled her fingers through his hair – the way she had when they were dancing to No Matter What. Then, wordlessly, tenderly, erotically, she ran her fingertips over Joe’s entire body.

At times, her touch was so light, Joe had to hold his breath in order to feel it – his face, his chest, his back, his legs, his inner thighs... As her fingertips softly and artfully explored his growing erection, he no longer cared about the mechanics or method of sight. “Oh, Lace,” he moaned. “You have vision in your hands.”

Lacey lay her body down just as tenderly, just as wordlessly, just as erotically only inches from his. He could feel her energy crackling between them. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, tenderly. “You’re wonderful to touch. But I can’t see you.”

. “You do see me,” Joe told her. He softly kissed the tip of her nose. He reveled in the feel of her jagged breath soft against his mouth. “You’ve always seen me. You saw me inside the boy I used to be; and you see me inside this man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Joe said, laughing softly. For an instant, he swore he saw her sea-blue eyes sparkling, flirting, smiling back at him in the snow-light; but it was only the ring shining in the morning sun. “Do you want to know what Sister Mary-Jessie told me about you?”

“I’m sure she’s said a lot of things about me over the years,” Lacey replied, darkly.

“She says that once you love someone, they stay loved in the truest, purest sense.” Joe guided her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “And it’s rare, Lacey. Do you know how rare you are?”

“No,” she said, quietly. “I’m really not.”

“Then, I’ll carry that knowledge for you,” Joe told her. “Until you’re ready to accept it.” He watched Lacey become still – so incredibly still, she pulled him with her into that stillness. “Oh, Lace,” he whispered. As they kissed, Joe lifted her and gently rolled her beneath him in one smooth motion - tenderly blanketing her with all of his body. “You make me happy.”

“Make love to me, Joe.” Lacey said, her voice as soft and as sweet as their shared stillness.

Joe found her hands and threaded his fingers through hers. And using their clasped hands as leverage, he pulled himself deep, deeper, deeper inside until Lacey bucked with him, her legs wrapped around him. Even as his rhythm built, he reveled in the beautiful sounds she made as she, too, lost control. Lacey gave herself to him with every essence of her being.

Joe thrust harder and harder – acutely aware that Lacey was exploding around him over and over. How do you do that? he said or thought. And then he, too, peaked, crying out the only word left in his world that had any meaning,

“Love.”

They lay together, slick and spent and tender until a strong, sickly-sweet odor invaded the room; and then, there was the acrid smell like burning wire. The Radio of Sex and Death went from static to On: “…The Traveler will be back by turkey time to soothe you with his sweet sounds. He says he’s off in the hinterlands imparting Thanksgiving gifts upon a particularly deserving girl and boy...” The scent went away and so did the radio.

“Joe, he’s been here,” Lacey said, frantically feeling for her clothes. “Hurry!”

Joe threw on his sweats and handed her his robe; and he ran to the living room with Lacey in tow. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he said.

“What is it?”

“It’s the Brandenburg Concerti,” Joe replied, completely baffled. He looked around in utter disbelief. The front door was dead-bolted; and the windows were alarmed. “There’s more.” He managed to read the note aloud; and he placed the little box in her hands.

Lacey’s deft fingers made light work of opening it. Inside was a small crystal on a thin, gold chain. It looked very, very old. Lacey held it to her nose and inhaled deeply before she slipped it over her head. “It smells like Leadville,” she said. “It smells like the Tabor Opera House.”

A small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Joe picked it up.

“It’s another note,” Joe said. “And this one’s for you.”

“Read it,” Lacey begged. “Please.”

“It says ‘Tulsa loves you. And so do I. Congrats, Lacey! Maxwell sounds good on you.’”

“Oh, Traveler,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around Joe’s waist. “Thank you so much.”

“How did he -?” What? Break in and gift?

“Moving through time to him is like walking down a hallway to another room is to you,” Lacey replied. “He’s not from here. Or even from now. He told me once he came to study and to learn about relationship. He was my father’s physics professor.” She took a jagged breath, and whispered. “I was just another mistake to my parents -”

“They’re idiots,” Joe said. He held her close, but he didn’t realize she was crying until he felt her tears against his skin.

Lacey always cried as though she didn’t want anybody else to hear. (She didn’t.) “I really was conceived in the backseat of a Chevy at the Admiral Twin,” she told him. “And the court always awarded babies to the mother back in the day. You know that, Joe.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tenderly. He wondered if the Traveler was her father. Condoms break all the time. “Your mother is an evil piece of work.”

“Yes, she is.” Lacey’s fingertips found his lips. And they rested there, warm and sweet. “I’m not his child, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said, yet again reading his thoughts. “My birth father was a physicist who went for a walk in the Olympic National Forest one summer day and vanished. My mother married Corelli, when I was seven. I don’t know how or why Traveler left teaching. I was ten, when I walked in the Record Store. Phil saw my pain and soothed it with our shared language of Music.”

“Lace, are you like… The Traveler?” Joe ran his fingers through the soft fringe of hair on her forehead.

“No, I’m not,” Lacey replied. “Sometimes, I think I step outside of time – when I become still, as you call it; but I can’t journey through it as he does.”

“That’s a relief,” he said. “I don’t want to have to tether our children to the walls to keep them here.”

“You want children with me?” she asked, incredulously. “I’m blind, and I can’t read. Just so we’re clear.”

“Lace, I’ve always wanted a family – especially with you.” I should’ve worked up to that, Joe thought. Take it slow, Maxwell. Don’t be an idiot.

Lacey brought her hands up to his face and cradled it with immense tenderness. She took a deep breath and said, nodding her head decisively: “If I can have a dog.”

Joe laughed with utter joy and buried his face in her caramel hair. He rocked her gently in his arms until her tears were dry and the little crystal was noticeably warm against his bare chest.

Joe didn’t know how long he’d rocked Lacey in his arms. It felt like no time at all, but the clock on the wall said 8.30. It had been over two hours. The storm had passed, and only light snow fell on the fire escape.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, nuzzling her cheek. “I’m hungry.”

Lacey nodded into the crook of his neck. Her breath sent chills down his spine.

“Do you have any sandwich food?” she asked, very gently stroking his hair.

“Sure. What kind of sandwich food would you like?”

“Grilled cheese with just cheese.”

“No mayo, no mustard, no tomato?” Joe asked. “Just naked grilled cheese?”

“Naked,” Lacey replied, smiling.

Joe took her hand, led her to the kitchen, and kissed her while he got the bread, butter, and cheeses from the fridge. Lacey stood behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist while he pan fried her sandwich, still rocking side to side. “Would you please sit down?” he asked, laughing, when the sandwich was ready. But he kissed her again, anyway.

Lacey sat down, and Joe slid the naked grilled cheese onto her plate. She ate it with gusto. But she was too quiet.

“What are you thinking, Lace?” he asked.

“I was thinking about you, actually,” she replied, softly. “And about how tender you are.”

Joe had been called a lot of things in his life, but tender wasn’t one of them. He felt a blush bloom over his face – a blush she could not and would not see. He knelt beside her chair, snaked his arms around her waist. “You’re making me blush,” he told her.

Lacey laughed, warm, sweet and low. “Silly man,” she said. “I’ve always seen you that way.”

Joe kissed her with all he was and reluctantly got up to make his own breakfast. He hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and he was shaky. He fixed himself a grilled cheese “dressed” with mayonnaise and a tomato, cut up an apple to share, and sat down next to Lacey, pressing his knees to hers.

“I can really have a dog?” Lacey asked. She was fingering her ring, memorizing it.

“You can have any kind of dog you want,” Joe said, smiling. “As long as I can have you.”

“You do have me – heart, body and soul.” Her smile was deep and warm and achingly sweet. “But, Joe, we won’t be able to live Below with my dog.”

He reached over and softly stroked her cheek. “I’ve been pondering that, Lace. And I think I found a work-around.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s a relatively new Civil Rights law in effect called the Americans With Disabilities Act; and the ADA makes it illegal to exclude Service Dogs from housing,” Joe told her. “And different or not, the tunnels are ‘housing.’ Now, I’m not a Civil Rights attorney, but I could explain the lay of the land to Father.”

Lacey’s face lit up like the sun.

“I’ve done some research,” he went on. “And it’ll be a lot of work. We’ll have to train your dog with specific behaviors to help you function. Plus, a small dog can be litter trained. Or we can get you a Guide Dog for the Blind.”

She shook her head. “No, Joe. Guide Dogs really are too large for life Below - it wouldn’t be fair. But a small dog –” Lacey reached over and stroked his cheek; her soft fingertips caught on his stubble. And her ring sparkled like her sea-blue eyes. “You’re all that and a bag of chips, Joe Maxwell,” she whispered.

I could get used to this, Joe thought.

“I don’t want a fuss, Joe,” Lacey was saying very quietly. “I’d prefer something simple and quiet. A civil ceremony is fine. I won’t have the Corelli name causing you trouble.”

“It won’t,” he assured her. “We can be married in front of a judge.”

She nodded. “That’s perfect for Above. But…” Her voice trailed off.

“But what, my love?” He ran his fingertips through the soft caramel waves that had come loose in the night.

“I’d… I’d like a Handfasting Below.” Her fingertips lightly trilled over his lips. She smiled. “Is that all right?”

Memories of weddings past flew through Joe’s mind. He imagined Lacey in a white satin wedding dress and lace veil; he imagined dancing with her in that white dress. And then, his mind jumped to Lacey standing beside him repeating the simple civil vows… You want me, he thought. I’m so blessed.

“I’ll do anything you ask, Lace,” he said. Anything. Everything. he thought. You’re my heart.

“Then, that’s what I’d like,” she said. “If I can have –“

Joe laughed. “I know, I know. If you can have a dog!”

Lacey ran her fingers through his hair, which was a wiry mess. “I was going to say ‘if I can have your name.’” Her voice was very low and very sweet.

“It’s yours,” he whispered, deeply touched. “You’ll have to explain the service to me. I’m not entirely sure what a Handfasting is.”

“The ceremony is beautiful, really,” she told him, her face beaming with happiness. “It speaks of the binding together our hearts, our bodies, our souls – and your right hand and my left will be tied together with a white velvet cord as a symbol our union. And we'll be bound together until we consummate our vows in the Bridal Chamber. Most couples go directly to the Bridal Chamber and come back for Cake.” Her laugh filled the kitchen and warmed his soul.

Joe found the thought of being bound to Lacey with a velvet cord delightful.

“If my friend Nan were alive, she’d officiate,” she went on. “In lieu of that, we’ll write our vows together with help of her grimoire.[21] That’s good, yes?” She nodded. And her fingers came to rest upon his accepting smile; soft fingertips danced into his delicate kisses. “I’ll ask Mary to officiate, if that’s all right.”

“I’d like that very much,” he replied, softly. He silently thanked Mary for every act of kindness and every gentle lesson she’d given him designed to make the Tunnels home.

“Joe?” she asked.

“Yes, Lacey?”

Lacey slipped out of her chair and knelt on the floor beside him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in the crook of his neck, her fingers lightly tangling themselves in the hair on his chest. “You really are all that and a bag of chips.”

Joe couldn’t stop thinking about Lacey in a wedding dress, her hand bound to his with a velvet cord -

The Radio of Sex and Death suddenly came back on: “… hope you’re having a Happy Thanksgiving with your loved ones,” said Jay Jarmel Palmer. “But if you’re not able to be with your beloveds because of the ice storms, I’ll be here with Music y’all love all weekend long! No stupid Turkey Day songs or Top 40 foolishness- just a whole lot of T-Town Tunes. Speaking of which, remember the time that DJ went bat crap crazy over taped content and locked himself in here at the studio and played this song for three days straight? Well, he’s the only reason I’m live on air with you today. Here’s Slowhand’s version of Tulsa Time from Backless!”

Lacey’s laugh filled the apartment and bathed Joe in its warmth. “A ring, a dog, a family, and a sybaritic idiot all on Tulsa Time,” she said. “Isn’t life sweet?”

“Yeah,” Joe replied, smiling. “It really is.” Sweet.

“Gonna set my watch back to it

Cause you know me, I've been through it

Living on Tulsa time… [22] ”

The Radio of Sex and Death and Jay Jarmel Palmer defied both recorded content and the ice storm raging in the skies above “Fuck-a-homa Shitty.”

“Dance with me,” Lacey said, her voice warm and impossibly kind.

Yes, Joe answered with his entire being. He slowly stood and gently helped her to her feet. “Wait right here,” he said. “Don’t move, Lace.” He pushed the kitchen table and chairs flush against the wall to make a dance floor. When he took her in his arms, she was smiling his smile and singing along with the Radio of Sex and Death:

“All in love is fair, the same way everywhere.

It simply has no rules.

I never took the time or paid it any mind,

It didn’t matter win or lose… [23] ”

Lacey twirled en pointe on her battle-scarred bare toes. “Thank you, Jay Jarmel Palmer - whenever you are!” she called out. She threw her head back and her laughter washed over their dancing bodies. She spun first into Joe’s arms and then back out again.

“How do you do that?” he asked, enchanted. “Doesn’t it hurt like hell.”

She smiled and shrugged and slid her arms around his neck. And she softly touched her forehead to his and said, her voice as soft as breath, “Pain, my love, is relative.”

“The world’s a better place, one look at you is all it takes

And I surrender willingly.

And now I’m the Lucky One; I’ll always be the Lucky One

Since I have you close to me…[24]

This is really happening, Joe thought, as he dipped Lacey almost to the floor and was rewarded with a deep, sweet kiss.

“We’re the Lucky Ones,” Lacey said, tenderly, as the song faded into an annoying commercial for Bradley Chevrolet[25] . “Aren’t we, Joe?”

“We really are…” Lucky. Blessed. Grateful. Happy. He realized he was shaking. He took a slow, deep breath; it didn’t help. So, he said: “Lace, you really said, Yes, didn’t you?”

Her face grew serious and still and lovely all at once. “Yes,” she whispered. ”I did. Trust me, my love.”

Overcome with emotions he couldn’t even begin to name, Joe clung to her, wordlessly trembling. Lacey finally led him into the bedroom and seduced him gently and thoroughly. Only then, was he able to tell her.

“I want to make a life with you,” Joe said, framing her face with his fingertips. No longer overwhelmed, his body and his nerves hummed with the afterglow of their sensual fire. And the words slid out unbidden: “I want to make a life with you - darling… sweetheart... beloved… Lace.”

“That’s all I want,” she told him, gently. Her voice was low and as sweet as honey. “A life with you. I don’t care where. And -”

Joe laughed, rolled her on top of him, and wrapped her in his embrace. “I know - a life, my name, and a dog!” He kissed the tip of her nose and said: “And I need to start our dinner –“

“Please, not just yet. Dinner can wait.”

“Of course, it can,” he said, softy. Dinner can wait, he thought. Heaven can wait. He was glad that this first Thanksgiving was theirs alone, that they hadn’t invited anyone to join them. He found himself in the tender succor of skin on skin and let his fingertips stray between her legs.

Her blind eyes widened, when he pleasured her like that.

“I’m very aroused by foreplay,” Joe whispered, roughly, as he watched her eyes widen again and then slowly close. “There’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

“Anything,” she said, her voice ragged.

“That night, when you fell and your hand slipped under my sweater…” He let his fingers glide inside her electric wetness and watched again as her eyes widened and closed.

“Y-yes?”

“I’d like it very much, if you’d come up behind me and pleasure me, Lace.” His entire body was on fire now. He fought it, because he loved watching her come over and over…

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice a low, sultry growl. Her eyes widened again; and she arched against him. Then, her fingertips were looking everywhere at once.

And he watched her eyes widen again as he slid inside her and slowly thrust upwards… “I love you as I’ve never loved,” he said.

Her response was warm and sweet and profoundly physical.

For him, there was no stopping and no going back. And there never would be.

It was already afternoon, when Lacey wrapped herself around Joe and gentled the knots out of his tangled hair with her right hand; and the fingertips of her left hand came to rest on his smiling lips. Their bodies were slick and honed and just as tangled together.

The Radio of Sex and Death softly played :

“…It happens all the time-

This crazy love of mine.

Wraps around my heart

Refusin’ to unwind.

Ooh-ooh, crazy love…[26] ”

“Talk about ‘crazy love,’” she said, smiling softly and still flushed rose. She rolled onto one of the numerous wet spots – and let out a little squeal. “These sheets have got to be washed - and soon! I’ve got to be washed and soon.”

Joe’s entire body ached from sex and love and happiness. A laugh rumbled up from deep within his belly. And he asked: “Now may I start dinner?”

“Only if I can strip the bed and run a us bath,” Lacey replied. “I’ll even change the sheets, if you tell me where you keep the linens.” None of his previous lovers had ever offered to do that. (But then, none of them had spent two nights in a row, either.) She grabbed the robe from where she’d hung it on the headboard.

“I’ll go one step further and show you where I keep the sheets in the closet,” he replied, slipping on his sweats.

Swallowed by his old robe, Lacey walked around the bed and met him, smiling. “Happy Thanksgiving, Joe.”

And the Radio of Sex and death played Belinda Carlisle’s Here Comes My Baby.

Chapter 14 A Poodle of the “Bleu Variety”

“From Joe Maxwell & Lacey Corelli

December 5th

Dear Sister,

ME: I asked the girl.

LACEY: And the girl said, Yes. The ring is beautiful. It’s a round blue zircon exactly the color of my eyes circled with tiny diamonds. And Joe’s getting me a dog!!! I’m getting a little boy Toy Poodle Puppy from Ash’s Mystical Poodles in Las Vegas. You should’ve heard Joe arguing with Dr. Wells! My favorite line was: “You’ve tormented this woman for a decade. ‘A Guide Dog will eat too much and SHIT too much?’ Really? There’s a LAW now, sir – and you’re going to abide by it.’

ME: Father caved. He knew he was wrong. Besides, my abilities have become essential to the community – my network is wide and I’m a damn fine “caver.” Now that I’ll be practicing privately, I can pick and choose my cases and operate under the radar. I’m not high enough on the food chain to generate big press, but I’ll be careful. I can just see the headlines: “Ex-DA to marry Embezzlers’ Daughter, News at 11.”

LACEY: Below is home. Love & Little Dog Kisses.

Joe: Below is home now; but I’m keeping the apartment.

Love & Thanks,

Joe & Lacey.”

“Dear Joe and Lacey.

Congratulations! I’m so happy for you – and for the impending dog. I always knew you’d end up together. It’s the Scottish in me.

I’m flying Angel Bea home for Christmas, so I’ll see you then. (I know you Tunnel people celebrate Winterfest. Cope.)

It’s still snowing.

Blessings,

Sister Mary Jessie-Marchant”

Chapter 15 Abby’s Gift

“I won’t miss this place,” Joe told Catherine Chandler, who was sitting on the edge of his desk. Once he made the decision, things happened quickly. Even now, it didn’t seem quite real.

“I never thought you’d be the one to leave,” she said. “Isn’t that strange? I have every reason to turn in my notice, but I can’t. I have to keep them – and now you – safe.”

He gave Cathy’s shoulder a quick squeeze, picked up the box filled with the remnants of his DA life and walked out the door. Lacey was waiting at Mrs. Evans’ desk with Mouse, who was eating an apple with one hand and a Snickerdoodle with the other. Of course, thought Joe.

“You take good care of him,” Mrs. Evans was saying, very pointedly. “Joe Maxwell is a nice guy.”

“I know,” Lacey replied. “And I do.” She was perched on a stool behind the secretary’s desk, her caramel hair lit from behind like a halo in the late afternoon sun. Joe caught his breath, because she was so lovely, so luminous, sitting there; and she married him an hour ago in front of Judge Hoover with Mouse and Cathy as witnesses. And now Lacey was perched there glowing, because she was holding his wedding present in her hands.

“For the love of Pete, Lacey, what’s that thing you’ve got?” Mrs. Evans suddenly blurted. “It looks like a furry potato.”

“It’s not a potato,” said Mouse, rocking from one foot to another. “Looks like one. Isn’t one.”

“He’s a Bleu Toy Poodle,” Lacey said, pointedly. “He’s my wedding present.” She scratched the wee puppy on the head, and he stretched his tiny paws out in front of him and licked her chin. His toenails were painted bright blue. “His name is Abbie.”

“As in Hoffman?” Mrs. Evans asked, incredulously, her eyebrows arched over her confetti glasses. She handed Mouse another ginormous Snickerdoodle.

“No, as in Abby, the first being who ever loved me,” Lacey replied, nuzzling and kissing the puppy. “She was the Scottie Dog who lived at Crazy Horse Campground in Buena Vista, Colorado. Over the course of four summers, Abby-dog met me at the camp office on May 30th and spent two months showing me ghost railroads and showering me with love. Then one winter, she disappeared. They found her when they drained the pool. Abby dog drowned. I was just 12 years old… ” She buried her nose in Abbie’s topknot and took a deep breath. “The night I was blinded, I died. And I know dogs go to heaven, because there was Abby waiting to take me home…” Her voice trailed off.

“But Lacey Cor – Maxwell came back, because it wasn’t her time,” said Mouse, obviously upset. “Okay, right?”

“Okay, fine, Mouse,” Lacey assured him. “I came back – and I’m not going anywhere for a good long time.”

“Well, Abbie looks like a furry potato,” Mrs. Evans replied, sounding like she wasn’t quite sure Lacey should be allowed to have such a thing.

Joe hung back a little just to listen to the Music in Lacey’s voice.

“So are you two going to live in Joe’s apartment?” Mrs. Evans asked. “He made a big deal out of inviting us all over and burning his mortgage papers.”

“Hmm,” said Lacey. She was smiling the way she did when she was very pleased with the world. “I do love a claw foot tub…”

Chapter 16 Everywhere I Go

Thanks to Lennie Briscoe, a Helper’s cab was waiting to take them back to Joe’s apartment to change and return Below. The cab driver turned out to be a jovial man named Karim Idris, who refused any manner of payment. “My name means ‘generous good man,’” he told them, as he handed Joe Abbie’s blue carrier to stow in his lap. “I must live up to it somehow. Congratulations on your marriage! Weddings are auspicious occasions indeed.”

Joe thanked him, but Mouse was very upset and didn’t want to get in the cab.

Once they’d managed to get him settled between them in the backseat, Lacey reassured Mouse. “Our family just increased by one,” she said. “That’s a good thing.”

“Mouse isn’t sure,” Mouse said, rocking back and forth. “Mouse isn’t sure.”

“Would I marry a man who wouldn’t accept you as a brother?” Lacey asked. “You’re my Mouseleh. Nothing can change that.”

“Lacey Corelli wouldn’t,” he said. “But you’re Lacey Maxwell now.” He was working himself into a Good Upset.

“Mouse, it’s only a name,” she told him. “I’m still the same person. Besides, would you want to be stuck with the name Corelli for the rest of your life?” Before he could answer, Lacey went on: “No. You would not. Maxwell is a much nicer name, don’t you think?”

“I think so,” said Joe, grinning.

“If Maxwell is better, why can’t Mouse have it, too?” Mouse asked, suddenly enchanted with the new idea. He stopped rocking. He looked out of place inside his new tweed jacket, denim shirt and brown corduroy pants. (His Tunnel clothing was in a shopping bag back at Joe’s apartment, where they’d all changed before the ceremony.)

“We’ve been over this,” Lacey was saying, patiently. “Joe and I are married now. He gave me his name. It was his gift to me. Besides, your last name is Wells - the way you signed the paper this afternoon. Father adopted you. You might not remember. You were very small.”

“Mouse remembers.” He crossed his arms and arranged his face into a pout, but his eyes were twinkling. “But you’re not married yet!”

“That’s odd,” Joe said. “I have a license in my pocket and a puppy in a carrier that say otherwise.”

“Not married at home,” Mouse replied, grinning ear-to-ear.

“He’s got us there,” Lacey said. She was adept at playing Mouse Games. Nothing fazed her.

“I suppose he does.” Joe sighed. And I thought getting Mouse into street clothes was difficult, he thought. I’ve got supper, wedding night jokes, and a Handfasting to get through.

Lacey opened Abbie’s crate and carefully disengaged the sleeping puppy from the shredded paper and gentled him into her lap. She reached up and removed the hairpins from her braid. It fell over her shoulder with a soft whooshing sound. Without the pins to hold it back, soft caramel tendrils fell around her face. “Oh, that’s better!” she said. She put the hairpins in Joe’s jacket pocket. “Do I look all right?” she asked. “There’ll be guests. I want to look nice –“

“You look more than nice, Lace,” he assured her. “You look lovely.”

Joe closed his eyes and listened to Mouse wonder if and how Abbie the puppy could take part in the ceremony…

Being Handfasted in the Great Hall was important to Lacey; and because it was important to her, it became important to Joe. He chose to spend his first night as a legally married man in the world Below – instead of someplace warm and vacation-y. He quickly found out that not only did the community plan a Handfasting ceremony, they’d also set aside a special chamber for the Bride and Groom. Tunnel weddings were an excuse for a party and a feast in a place where life was physically austere.

Mouse dragged Joe into Vincent’s chamber. “Bad luck if you see Lacey Maxwell before the ceremony!” he said.

“But we’re already married!” he protested. “You were there, remember?”

“Not here,” Mouse replied. He began tugging at Joe’s clothing. “All wrong. All wrong.” He was presently trying to take off Joe’s sweater over his head while his arms were still in it.

“I can do that myself, thank you!”

Vincent smiled. “He’s right, you know,” he said. “Your clothing is wholly inappropriate for your Handfasting.” He handed Joe a package wrapped in brown butcher paper. “For you. Our wedding present.”

Joe slipped his now misshapen sweater over his head and stuffed it into the rucksack that doubled for his suitcase. He took the package and carefully untied the string. (He knew the wrappings would be reused.) Inside were an ecru silk shirt that tied at the neck, a pair of incredibly soft black wool trousers, and a deep maroon vest with sage vines on it – a vestige of some fertility rite of the past, Joe guessed. “Thank you, Vincent,” he said. Then, he looked down at his leather boots. “I think I’m wearing the wrong shoes.”

“No shoes,” Mouse said, amicably. “Barefoot.”

“Oh,” said Joe. “Geeze.”

“Mary made your wedding suit,” Vincent said. “And it’ll fit perfectly, too. You’ll see.”

“Where do I change?”

“Here,” Mouse replied. He pushed Joe behind a beautiful, old oriental screen, wedding suit, rucksack and all.

Joe was pleased to see the screen divided Vincent’s chamber into a comfortable changing room. In the corner was an old-fashioned washstand holding a ceramic bowl and a pitcher full of water. There were also a shaving mirror and towels, a short stool, and, even better, a cup of steaming hot tea. A card addressed to him in red crayon was propped against the shaving gel. Joe opened the card first. “DEAR JOE MAXWELL, YOU TAKE CARE OF LACEY CORELLI. LOVE MOUSE.” Inside the envelope was a carefully framed photograph of a wild-eyed little boy holding a laughing toddler with oceans of wavy white hair and sea-blue eyes and starfish hands reaching for the camera. He recognized Father’s study. He sat down on the stool and stared. He found that suspecting didn’t feel the same as knowing. He propped it up against the screen, so that the wild-eyed boy watched over him as he dressed.

“Thank you for my present, Mouse,” Joe said, softly.

“He’s not here,” Vincent replied, quietly. “I think he went to ferret out the band.”

Joe smoothed hands over his hair and asked: “What Band?”

“You’ll never guess.”

“I’m nervous enough as it is. Just tell me, Vincent.” Knowing the reach of the Tunnels, it could be anybody.

When his friend didn’t respond, Joe said, “Fine. Are they on a Cherry Street label?”

“Nope,” Vincent replied, thoughtfully. “Right part of the country, though.”

“Did they perform a non-Byrds’ version of Love You Again?”

Vincent’s deep laugh resonated off the stone walls.

Joe very nearly dropped the cup of tea all over his wedding suit pants.

“If I were in your place, I’d be a good man and sit there quietly reviewing my vows,” Vincent told him. “Handfastings are the women’s domain. Right down to the band. And not even Lacey knows about the band.”

Joe took his advice. He sat with his feet inside his unlaced hiking boots, drank hot tea and reviewed the vows he knew he’d never remember saying. But he found them calming and beautiful – and he loved that there was nothing about either party having to submit or obey.

Because I was alone, I came to you – one in body, one in mind. One soul traveling this life alone.

I found you – also one in body, one in mind. One soul also traveling this life alone.

I come to you, because you were missing in me – and I was missing in you.

We come together, because we choose to be one in body, one in mind. Two souls traveling as one through this life.

As the elements come together to be willingly ruled by the Spirit, we come together.

The problem with reading his vows was the quiet gave him time to really feel the butterflies rampaging in his gut. He was really nervous – shaking, cold nervous.

Don’t throw up, he told himself.

Music began softly bleeding through from somewhere – something familiar and vaguely classical. Then, Joe recognized it: William Bolcom’s Graceful Ghost. His sister Alex played ragtime piano. In fact, she was nationally recognized for it. He remembered the day she came out. She sat down at their little Taber upright and played Solace so the European-voiced piano sobbed. Then, she stood up and announced: “I hate academia. I’m done with New York. I’m moving to Austin to be with Jenn. Joey, I left my new address and phone number in your left hiking boot.” She slowly closed the keyboard cover, kissed the top of the piano and left. Two days later, the piano movers came and took the Columbia Exposition Taber to it’s new home in Texas.

“Who’s playing, Vincent?” he asked, blowing on his hands to warm them.

“That’s Pascal. Our pipemaster is partial to sad rags – especially, when he’s happy. And I almost forgot! My wedding present for you. ” His friend reached under his pillow and took out a small package wrapped in green foil paper. “They’ll help with the tunnel cold, anyway.”

Joe unwrapped the gift to find a pair of deep russet leather mitts. They were lined with what appeared to be cashmere. He slipped one on. It fit his hand perfectly. “Thank you, Vincent. They’re beautiful,” he said, truly in awe that he would be given something so perfect. “Did you make these?” Not only were the mitts supple, they were also comfortable and warm.

“Yes, I did,” Vincent replied, grinning. “Narcissa taught me to sew, when I was a very small boy. She used to say: ‘Men shouldn’t be helpless fools forever looking for a woman to sew on their buttons.’ I didn’t understand the allusion until I was about twenty.”

Pascal moved on to Solace.

At this point, Vincent picked up a long stick and whacked the pipe running above their heads. “Enough of that!” he said. “This is a celebration!”

There was a long pause followed by the rare and wonderful Mama Cass Elliot version of Oh, Babe, What Would You Say?

Joe’s ears perked up; and the butterflies in his gut flew away. That’s Lacey’s, he thought, smiling.

He remembered the afternoon the record arrived in the mail. (The Road Is No Place For A Lady on the RCA label. Mint Condition. It came with a hand-written note that read “Back it up, Baby!” in black magic marker) He’d dislocated his shoulder at baseball practice the day before and was in a Pissy Mood. He was sitting more or less propped up at the Corelli’s hideous dead-goat table pretending to do Trig homework. “Baby” being Lacey, she put the record on the turntable and played it without backing it up on cassette. She turned it up so flooded the room. How she knew the nuances of Cass Elliot’s version of the song, he didn’t know; but she did. She always did.

“Have I a hope or half a chance

To even ask if I could dance with you? Yoo Hoo.

Would there suddenly be sunshine on a cold and rainy day?

Oh, babe, what you say?[27] ”

A little blonde girl he recognized as Erin Wayman ran giggling towards the Great Hall, trailing a battered pair of pointe shoes behind her.

Joe heard Belinda Carlisle’s A Prayer for Everyone, followed by Bob Seger’s version of C’est La Vie, and Gilbert O’Sullivan’s Out of the Question.

“They’re testing the sound system,” Vincent said. “That means it’s almost time. I suggest you use the facilities.”

Joe took his advice.

He ran into Pascal on the way back to Vincent’s chamber and thanked him for playing Graceful Ghost. “I grew up in a house of rags,” he said.

“That wasn’t me,” the pipemaster replied, shrugging. “My hands are too small for Bolcom.” He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. His little daughter, Hannah, who was toddling along behind him, giggled. “I can barely span an octave. Besides, that was the upright in the Great Hall. I’ve been teaching in the Pipechamber all day.”

Music poured out of the Great Hall. ABBA and Clyde McPhatter and Buddy Holly and the Ronettes and the Mighty Melodians and Meat Loaf and Belinda Carlisle. People greeted Joe as they passed him on their way to the ceremony. He noticed none of the Tunnel dwellers wished him luck - they offered their blessings. Cullen slapped him on the back; and Devin shook his hand. The Helpers were there, too. Lennie Briscoe nodded at him and smiled. Mrs. Evans agreed to babysit The Puppy. She had Abbie’s little blue kennel in one hand and an enormous cup of Late-For-The-Train Coffee in the other. She was arguing with Detective Munch about the true purpose of Black Helicopters. (Mrs. Evans fell on the side of covert germ warfare experiments. Munch looked smitten.) There were so many unfamiliar faces that it reminded Joe of his first day at the DA’s office.

His butterflies returned with a vengeance. Joe covered his mouth and took a deep breath.

Mouse came tearing down tunnel. “Joe Maxwell! Vincent says you’re to get back to his chamber right now!” He grabbed Joe by the elbow – as if he were Lacey – and dragged him to Vincent’s Chamber, causing people to scatter willy-nilly out of their way.

“Mouse, who are all these people?”

“Helpers, mostly,” Mouse said, amicably plowing through the crowd waiting to get to the Great Hall. “Family.”

Joe tried to shout out apologies, but nobody seemed to care; so he stopped. When they were back inside Vincent’s Chamber, he asked, “Did my mother arrive?”

Mouse ignored him. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking Joe up and down.

Vincent gentled Mouse off to the side and handed Joe a teacup. “Drink this,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

Joe took a sip of what he thought was Star of Persia tea – and got a strong shot of whiskey. He took another large gulp and started to feel more relaxed and less sick to his stomach. However, it did nothing for his raw nerves.

“Eric escorted your mother and sisters from the train station,” Vincent was saying. “They’ll be in the front row next with Sister Mary Jessie.” He nodded at Mouse.

Mouse roughly removed Joe’s boots and tossed them behind the screen.

“I’m nervous,” Joe managed to croak. “Vincent, were you nervous?”

“I was so nervous, I was ill in Father’s spittoon.” He handed Joe an Altoid.

“Father has a spittoon?”

“Oh, yes!” piped Mouse, cheerfully. “Everybody knows Father hides his spirits in it! But Mouse cleaned the upchuck out – and Father never knew Vincent was sick on his rum. Nobody else would drink it - ”

“Mouse,” Vincent interrupted, sharply. “You go tell Mary it’s time.” As soon as Mouse was out of earshot, he said: “You’re already looking a bit green.”

“Thanks.” Joe took the last swig of whiskey and carefully replaced the cup on its saucer on Vincent’s bedside table. “I feel better, though.”

He closed his eyes and sincerely hoped he’d remember everything he’d practiced at the rehearsal. He ran through the ceremony in his head. The Processional would be easy – he’d be part of the wedding party. The ritual wasn’t so very different; and Mary would be doing most of the talking. Calling of the Quarters, Evocation of the God and Goddess, Blessing of the Rings, Joe counted off. Things got a bit fuzzy in his mind at this point; he didn’t realize he was speaking aloud: “Vows and rings. Handfasting. Blessing. Cakes and wine. Uncasting the circle. Broom Jumping. Consummation. Cut the Cake. Dancing…”

“That sounds right,” Vincent said.

Mouse giggled – knowingly, Joe thought.

Before they announced their engagement, Lacey insisted that Joe talk to him “Man to Mouse” about relationships and sexuality and what Being in Love and Getting Married means. They were both surprised to hear that Mary already had.

“Don’t worry, Sissy,” Mouse told Lacey over dinner at the apartment that night. “Mouse already knows what people do, when they love each other. You don’t have to be married to have sex. You just have to be smart about it. Didn’t Mary talk to you about Safe Sex and condoms?”

Lacey nearly dropped the teapot. Joe kicked her under the table; and she answered, calmly: “Yes, of course.”

The music stopped abruptly.

“That, my friend, is our cue.”

Vincent carefully lit the little fairy light candles the wedding party made out of baby food jars and decorated at the Rehearsal Dinner. He gave one to Mouse and one to Joe; and he took the last one for his own. And they finally left to join the Processional.

Chapter 17 – Please Don’t Make Me Cry

In the Tunnel twilight, Joe saw Lacey again for the first time. She stood with her back to him, her long chestnut hair flowing loose over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a wreath of dried flowers and a deep emerald gown that laced up the back and complimented his own suit. Without thinking, he eased his way up next to her and took her elbow. “You look exquisite, Lace,” he said. His voice was low and deep and soft and just for her.

She leaned into his touch and turned her face towards his voice, smiling warmly. She wasn’t wearing the Ray Bans! Joe understood that was her gift to him – and perhaps the last step in accepting herself as she was. The low light made her scars look like strands of molten gold running across her fair skin and into the soft waves framing her face. Lacey quickly linked her arm through his, as Mary began to lead the procession into the Great Hall.

Someone – not Pascal, who was sitting next to his wife and small daughter – was playing Scott Joplin’s Bethena on the upright as they proceeded around the Great Hall. Joe didn’t need to see to know. (Joplin’s Bethena was his favorite rag.) He grabbed Lacey out of the Procession, carefully set their fairy lights off to the side, and waltzed her around the room.

Lacey threw back her head, laughing; and they danced as one with the sweet, sad rag. The other members of the wedding party had no choice but to join in the ragtime waltz. When the song ended, Alex’s warm, familiar voice boomed: “For you, Joey!”

“Well, that was unexpected… Joey, ” Mary said, glaring over her half-glasses. And she quickly brought the room back to order. She took her ancient, silver athame from its place on the altar and cast the Circle.

And so it began…

Together, Joe and Lacey stood in front of the altar, while Mary called the Quarters and asked for their blessings: North for Earth – happy home and good health; East for Air- communication and wisdom; South for Fire- harmony and sensuality; and West for Water – understanding and intuition. Finally, she called the Blessing of Spirit Over All. (For balance and integrity, Joe reminded himself.)

Now standing in front of the altar and the couple, Mary spoke of the Spiritual and Sacred Union of the Female and the Male aspects of the Divine. And that’s when the combination of the whiskey and the incense really hit Joe. Growing more nauseated by the minute, he watched helplessly as Mary blessed the simple gold wedding bands, each with the hidden engraving Forever ∞ Love.

The vows come next, he thought. Pull it together, Maxwell. He was dizzy; and Lacey looked so perfectly composed. And so beautiful – like a bohemian princess. He briefly closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning. It didn’t help.

Mary’s voice was calm, cool, and measured, when she said: “And now the Bride and

Groom shall proclaim their vows. Joe and Lacey, please face each other and hold hands.”

Somehow, Joe managed to recite his vows to Lacey without fainting or throwing up.

(It helped that he was touching her. It did wonders.) He didn’t make a single mistake.

And she was so ethereally beautiful.

Lacey’s voice was sweet and true as she said: “Because I was alone, I came to you – one in body, one in mind. One soul traveling this life alone…”

He managed to join her in repeating: “We come together, because we choose to be one in body, one in mind. Two souls traveling as one through this life. As the elements come together to be willingly ruled by Spirit, we come together.”

They exchanged their simple gold bands. Joe was surprised how still his hand was as he placed Lacey’s wedding band on her ring finger – and how her hand shook as she put on his.

Mary directed them to offer their commitments to each other – something neither of them had revealed or rehearsed.

“Joe,” Lacey said, her voice soft and low. “I am, quite simply, yours.”

“And, Lacey, I am yours,” Joe said. “For always. In all ways.”

No other words were necessary; and it showed. Lacey’s hand found his face and felt his joy. Her right hand stayed trilling over his face, even as Mary took her left for the ceremonial binding. Lacey beamed.

They stood together as Mary bound their hands with white velvet cord – Joe’s right hand to Lacey’s left.

Then, they fed each other the ceremonial Cakes and Ale. (Thankfully, the Ale was Ale in name only and was actually apple juice. The cakes were spiced.)

“By the power vested in me by the Goddess and by the Laws of the Tunnels, I pronounce you husband and wife!” Mary said, raising her hands in the air. “May you be together forever and a day!”

And it was time to Kiss.

It was Lacey who did the kissing. Using the fingers of her free hand, she guided Joe’s face to hers. It was a deep, sweet, tender kiss. She kissed him as though they were alone. And Joe found himself the most aroused he’d ever been in public as an adult. He was sincerely grateful for the loose fit of his black wedding trousers.

Signing the Tunnel Marriage License was a blur – as was Mary’s thanks to the Guardians of the Quarters.

“Please join me in celebrating this Mystical Union! Welcome to the Tunnels this married couple!” Mary announced, grinning. “The Maxwells!”

Lacey and Joe lifted their hands bound for all to see.

A cheer rose from the room. Almost at the same time, Mary lifted the Circle.

The broom was “jumped,” with Joe carefully guiding Lacey. She’d tripped twice during the rehearsal – and then, they were just jumping over a broomstick. Even though she’d laughed, Joe knew she was deeply embarrassed - and she was afraid she’d end up pulling them both over. Now, he lined up their toes with the overly-decorated broom and whispered Jump; and they jumped together.

Lacey turned to him and threw her free arm around him his neck. “I love you forever and a day,” she said.

“I love you always,” he replied, pressing his body tightly to hers. “Forever and a day.”

Lacey smiled and gave him a leisurely kiss.

They broke the kiss; and stood facing their guests.

Everybody applauded – even Father, who still harbored resentment over what he called Doggie Gate. Vincent unabashedly wiped away tears. Mouse, still standing with the rest of the wedding party, applauded. Maxine Louise clapped, while Pascal tossed Hannah in the air. Elenore Maxwell seemed to be crying and laughing at the same time. (Joe was the Baby and much beloved.) Joe’s sisters Alex, Bernadette and Helen, were happily crying together in a clump. Sister Mary-Jessie alternated waving and clapping enthusiastically, while Angel Bea and a hideously blonde “Elle Kolchak” stood next to her looking generally overwhelmed but happy to be alive.

Erin Wayman ran up to Lacey, knelt at her feet, wrapped her toes in lambs’ wool and very adeptly slipped on the ratty-looking pointe shoes. She laced them, because Lacey couldn’t lace them herself.

“Are they tied tightly enough, Teacher?” she asked, still kneeling on the floor. Her pretty party dress fanned out in a circle around her. She spoke carefully and didn’t lisp once.

“Yes, Erin,” Lacey replied, pointing one foot and then the other. “I’m sure so. Thank you.”

“I’m not allowed to wear shoes,” Joe teased. “What’s this all about?”

“You’ll see!” Erin giggled, running back to Jamie, who hugged her.

Then, the Music began to play.

Lacey threw her free arm around his neck and pulled him into her arms. “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.” She was crying.

And so was he.

She slid her arm down his and spun out and back to the Music. On her toes. Of course.

Joe watched his wife, enchanted.

And Ronnie Spector sang:

“…Loving you keeps me satisfied.

I can't explain (oh no)

The way I'm feeling inside.

You look at me, we kiss and then -

I close my eyes and here it comes again –[28] “

Bound together, they danced with tender ease to I Can Hear Music. Lacey spun in and out of his arms, as though her ancient pointe shoes were imbued with magic. (For all Joe knew, maybe they were.) She danced with her eyes closed; a soft rose flush spread across her nose and painted her cheeks; and her caramel hair cascaded down her shoulders and over his arms. Joe was drunk with love and the scent of her hair and the feel of her hand bound to his. Together, they whirled around the floor…

“…I hear the Music, hold me tight!

I hear the Music, hold me tight, now, baby!

I hear the Music! I hear the Music! I hear the Music![29] ”

Joe felt what he could only explain as the Blessing of the Music. The entire room seemed to feel it, too; everybody danced and sang along. Hands shot up camp-meeting style during the final chorus. It was spiritual.

A man Joe didn’t recognize set up to DJ in the back of the Hall, where Mary, Rebecca and the other women were preparing for dinner. The room was very noisy, and he could barely hear ABBA’s When I Kissed The Teacher.

Joe danced Lacey over to speak with his family and Sister Mary-Jessie. (“Elle” and Angel Bea were off in a huddle with Lennie Briscoe.) The couple stood with their bound hands at their sides. Lacey’s thumb flicked softly back and forth; she leaned against Joe and stroked his leg through the soft wool. For the first time in his life, he understood exactly what people meant, when they said they were so happy they could cry.

“I’m thrilled for you, Joe,” Ma said, stroking his face. “And for Lacey, too.”

“You look so good,” Alex said. “And so good together.” Lacey reached out to find Alex, who took her hand and pulled her into a bear hug. “’Gooble-Gobble, Gooble-Gobble! One of us! One of us.[30] ’ Lacey Lee Maxwell, you’re finally one of us!” She reached out and drew in Joe, too, and held on tightly.

“Stop hogging The Couple, Alex!” boomed Sister Mary-Jessie. “I’m responsible for getting them together, you know!”

“Yes, you are!” Joe called. “And The Couple is forever in your debt.”

There was suddenly a crash of guests surrounding them congratulating and complimenting. Lacey rolled into Joe, her hand flat against his chest; and he brought her into a rocking hug. He looked at her immutable face – and he knew. Why didn’t I think of that! He silently kicked himself. Lacey was naked. She wasn’t wearing her Ray Bans. Her gift to him was laid bare for all to see. The group of Tunnel dwellers and Helpers, while not huge, filled the Great Hall to capacity.

Joe turned and very softly told her his truth: “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

He was rewarded with a soft blush and an incredibly erotic brush of her hip.

He could’ve sworn he heard Jay Jarmel Palmer’s voice announce: “And here’s a little something for the for the groom: Grand Funk Railroad’s Some Kind Of Wonderful.”

Of course, it wasn’t Jay Jarmel Palmer – it couldn’t be. Joe was just drunk on whiskey and happiness and Lacey.

Apparently, the song was a signal, because Mouse began chanting: “It’s time! It’s time! It’s time to go to the Bridal Chamber!” He hopped side to side. “It’s time for dinner!” Then, he scampered away and whispered something to Jamie. They both snickered.

Mary was laughing and motioning for Joe and Lacey to head through doorway, which was decorated with fragrant boughs of evergreen. (As Lacey quietly pointed out, they were probably “borrowed.”)

Vincent and Catherine, along with several other married couples, began steering Joe and Lacey toward the hallway. It was time for dinner. Like most Tunnel couples, Joe and Lacey chose to schedule their Handfasting at 5:45 PM with dinner served at the normal time from 7 until 8:15 PM; and reception following dinner and clean-up at 9 PM. The Community and invited guests had a sit-down super, while the couple retired to their special Bridal Chamber for The Consummation in long-standing Pagan tradition.

There were two kinds of weddings in the Tunnels: Civil and Pagan. Civil ceremonies usually happened privately with Father officiating. Handfastings were always performed by Mary in front of the Community and followed a strict set of protocols – up to and including celebrating The Consummation. (While proof wasn’t required of Consummation, it was a whole lot of fun.) One had no choice. One had to comply. Joe danced Lacey out the door and into the passageway.

“We’ll be back!” Lacey called, laughing.

“No you won’t!” came the reply.

“For the reception,” Joe yelled.

As they left, Jay Jarmel Palmer said: “And here’s the first request for the evening. From the phone phreaker himself. What do you want to hear, little grey Mouse?

Joe led Lacey down the rarely-used passage to the Bridal Chamber. He loved this part – the sweetly physical anticipation of making love. Had he been more familiar with the tunnel systems, he would’ve taken Lacey and slipped into one of the side Chambers. But he dared not risk it. Once they were inside the Bridal Chamber, they fell into the feather bed fully clothed – laughing and gently rolling in each other’s embrace. Finally, their natural rhythm brought them to a stop, with Lacey sprawled on top of Joe.

He set aside her floral wreath and smoothed her caramel hair away from her face. Then, he ran his index finger down her nose, before he leaned up and kissed her fully on the mouth. Lacey was very quiet. She traced his lips with her fingertips.

“What does this chamber look like?” she finally asked, as though she should know and didn’t.

“It’s a very beautiful chamber – a room that belongs in a museum,” he began. He saw that his rucksack and boots were on the floor beside on the dresser, along with Lacey’s boots and tote sack. Her Ray Bans were on the dresser next to her brush and comb. “It’s fit for a king and queen. The bed is a deep walnut four-poster with pineapple finials. And there are beautiful lamps with little crystals hanging from them. The quilt is made in lush greens and jewel tones. A loveseat that’s upholstered in turquoise with roses sits at the foot of the bed. And there’s a pot-bellied stove made of cast iron with emerald green enamel in the far corner. A little table with a basket of food and a pile of gifts is in the nook across from the bed next to the stove …” He forced himself to slow down and take in the details. “Mary’s touch is evident – there’s a ginormous bowl of condoms on the bedside table. And… I see a passage leading into what looks like a private bathing room!” Until that moment, Joe was unaware of any private bathing facilities anywhere in the Tunnels.

Lacey ever so gently rolled in his arms, so that they didn’t get too tangled in her hair. “It is a private bath chamber,” she replied. Her fingertips fluttered through his hair. “I’ve always heard about this place,” she went on, softly. “But I never saw it. The hot spring is legendary.”

“Legendary?” he asked. In a world where rumors ran rife, legendary had to be pretty good.

“It’s a full immersion pool with a bench built in- and it has an actual curtain surrounding it.” She smiled ever so wickedly. Suddenly, she blushed full on. “I’ve heard a rumor about this room.”

“What kind of rumor?” He stoked a strand of her hair until it curled around his hand.

“Well, I heard a couple – I could never find out who - sneaked in here and somehow locked both of themselves stark naked to the bed with furry pink handcuffs – and Pascal was forced to send for Vincent to free them.”

Joe instantly knew Mouse was one of the Handcuffed but didn’t say a word. Instead, he asked: “Why Pascal? And why Vincent?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, her eyebrows arched. “You’ll have to ask them.” She was stretched out against him, their tied hands off to the side. “Speaking of being tied up…”

Joe’s hand wandered down her graceful spine to the curve of her ass. He said, “It isn’t so bad.”

Lacey’s slim body molded itself into his. She caressed his lips with her index finger, while tracing the cleft of his chin with her thumb. She brought their bound hands to her lips and kissed his fingertips. “Erin told me what you’re wearing and how you look,” she said, almost whispering. “Had I seen you with my own hands before the vows, I don’t think I would’ve been able to speak. You’re… so… handsome. I’m almost afraid… to really look… at you…“ Her breath was ragged and the flush had turned into her full-on coppery blush. “I’ve felt this way… all day long. For… Forever, really.”

Joe was touched. The woman saying those words to him was achingly beautiful. “Oh, my love –“ He framed her face with his free hand. His voice, too, was ragged and low. “You look like Bethena played by Perlman and Previn sounds - heartbreakingly, hauntingly beautiful.”

She sighed and laid her head on the pillow next to him. “You know the … ugly… story of... this,” she said, motioning to her face with her free hand. “My eyes,” she whispered. “I’ve never told anyone how they ended… Or how I began…” Her voice trailed off; and her hand slid down and curled into a fist under her chin.

Music bled through from the Great Hall. It sounded like Making Love Out Of Nothing At All.

“Steinman,” she murmured, as if she wanted to distract him from what she’d just said.

“Please tell me, Lace.” Every nerve in his body was running hot. He slid his hand away from her slender waist and began to untie the laces that ran down the back of her gown. He was trembling.

“By the time Mouse brought me here, my life had been reduced to a cacophony of noisy shadows,” she began, haltingly. She arched up and against him and put her hand lightly over his face.

“Mary taught me how to care for myself,” she said. “Bathing, dressing, eating- the day-to-day things were fairly easy for me to relearn as an adult. But in the dark, I was a helpless child.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, before she continued. “And adapting to the dark – that was hell. I broke my nose twice learning how to navigate with the cane. I ran into things a lot. My ability to use my hands to ‘see’ didn’t come for a long, long time – and it almost didn’t develop at all. Father and Vincent worked with me every day; but it was Mary who spent blood, sweat, and tears teaching me to visualize this world.” Her fingertips moved ever so slightly, gauging - always gauging - his expression.

“When it came to learning how to see faces, for years and years I failed as miserably as I did at Braille,” she said, her fingertips softly stoking his eyelashes. “Father prescribed the Neurontin, hoping it would help with any lingering brain injury. It did – but not in that way. Finally, out of exasperation, Mary asked who I could picture - if I could picture anybody or anything at all. And it was you, Joe. It was always only you. And Mary said she could work with that. I learned the planes of your face in my mind. I imagined you with my fingers. After that, I forced myself to visualize other faces, other people. But… You were the one I wanted to see – to touch. That first time I… saw… you, I was so afraid.” Her fingertips gave an involuntary spasm. “Terrified, in fact.”

“Why?” Joe asked, his hand again framing her face. He lightly ran his fingers over the network of golden scars that seemed to flow from her eye. So lovely, he thought.

“Because, I thought you could never...”

“Never?”

“… Want me,” she finished very quickly, her voice no more than a breath against his ear.

He smiled softly into her delicate touch. “I think it’s fair to say you were never in danger of not being wanted.” He closed his eyes, raised his chin, and kissed her open palm as it floated above his face. When he found the words, he told her: “Your scars look like spun gold – fine strands of molten spun gold softly flowing across your face.”

Lacey sighed with happiness; and her whole body arched into his. Joe could see and feel the outline of every inch it straining against the velvet gown.

“If you do that again, I won’t make it out of my clothes,” Joe told her, groaning into her neck.

“Joe, would you do something for me?” she asked, tentatively.

“What would you like?”

“My scars… They’re… They’re very… sensitive,” she said, her voice softer than a whisper. “And… I’d like it if you’d caress them sometime. Just sometime. Or not –“ Had she been a sighted woman, she would’ve looked away. “It’s all right if you don’t…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, tenderly stroking the long of her back. “I want to pleasure you. I enjoy it.” He pulled the laces loose, so he could touch her skin. “I hunger for it.”

He thought: Only a monster would shame you into concealing who you are.

Still holding her, Joe brought their bound hands to her face and very softly followed one golden strand with the very tip of his fingernail. Her hand, of course, followed his. He didn’t need to ask her if she liked his touch – her breath was soft and ragged against his hand. He traced another web of gold, holding his breath to better follow her pleasure as it paralleled his caress. His fingernail caught on an exceptionally sensitive place; and she gasped.

“Again, please?”

He did as she asked. And he found that her bound hand following his across her frayed places turned him on in ways he never imagined. Judging from the look on her face, it was doing the same for her. Her entire body trembled against his.

“I love you as you are,” Joe said, his voice rough and low with want. “I desire you as you are.”

Lacey’s free hand found his face and her fingers flew – looking, ‘seeing,’ giving, finding. “As I am,” she repeated, each word becoming stronger and more assured. “As I am…”

“I want you.” He slid his hand inside her dress and was rewarded with the delicious feel of warm skin beneath delicate silk. His body was truly raging with desire; he was so hard, he was shaking with it. “I know you feel how much I want you,” he said, thrusting upwards against her and pulling her hard against him.

Lacey laughed, softly. “With you, my entire body is an erogenous zone,” she said, her voice low and as sweet as honey. “Would you please get me out of this dress?”

“If we work together, we can stay bound,” he told her, his voice little more than a growl. “Would you like that, Lace?”

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, God. Yes.” And she kissed him with excruciating tenderness.

As they wordlessly undressed one another, the velvet cord somehow came untied. Her beautiful wedding dress and his beautiful wedding suit fell to the floor like the wrappings they were designed to be. It didn’t matter. They were truly and wholly One.

And that mattered very much.

The hot water felt wonderful on Joe’s love-racked skin. As he carefully guided Lacey into the spring, he asked. “Are you as tired as I am?” He sat down on the smooth built-in bench. “I’m worn out.”

Lacey eased into his arms, her braid floating behind her. She slid her arm around his shoulders and curled up in his lap. “But it’s a well-earned tired,” she replied, tenderly. “And this feels so nice.”

“I think you’re nice.” He draped his arms around her waist, leaned in, and kissed her.

She softly kissed him back, while she trilled her fingertips over his face. She was purring deep in her throat.

“You delight me,” he said, every word a dance.

“I’m so glad.” She smiled and sighed; and her fingers fell still on his lower lip. “I try so hard to be … To be agreeable,” she said.

“Agreeable?” he asked, truly baffled. “Lace, what are you talking about?”

“I-I try to fit in,” she replied. “I don't want my disability to draw attention or cause others discomfort.”

Frustration boiled to the surface. “What about your needs? What about your discomfort?”

“Father reminds me that my blindness is a burden,” she said, evenly. “He says it makes me unattractive. So I-I…try so hard to …contribute.”

As Lacey had never been willing to discuss her ‘disability’ before, Joe held his anger in check. “Shame on him,” he said, shaking his head. “Shame on him for demanding you make yourself small.” He turned her to face him and guided her legs around his waist. “I love your humanity and your broken places and your impossible, stubborn strength.” There, he’d said it aloud.

She touched his face as though she was truly seeing him for the first time. (Maybe she was.)

He saw her expression and knew what she was asking herself, because he, too, had asked it of himself: ‘Why on earth is she with me?’ “I’m with you, because you fill my world with love. You have this amazing capacity for love in all its forms.” He framed her face with his hands. He ached for the right words; but all that surfaced were three small ones: “I need you.” His voice was raw and jagged.

Lacey pressed her forehead to his and nodded. She tightened her legs around him, her vulnerable center exposed. She was beyond words. Her hands were everywhere at once – searching, reaching, loving.

Little fairy light candles burned in a semi-circle around the spring, casting soft shadows on their bodies. Joe loved the intimacy of being in the water with Lacey. It was intensely erotic and intensely sweet at the same time. Even the flickering candlelight on her flushed skin fed his arousal almost to the point of no return.

Her fingers explored his body with blatant sensuality. Her eyelashes fluttered languidly, as her eyelids floated half-closed – her eyes widened only in response to his touch.

Joe leaned his head back against the cool stone rim of the pool, closed his eyes, and let the water and Lacey’s touch flow over him. He shuddered into the current of the water following her fingers up and down his shaft.

Nice, he thought or said.

“Make love to me, Joe,” Lacey whispered. “Please.”

In the water, turning her to face him was an effortless an act – like dancing. He slid his hands around her legs and spun her so that she was the one perched on the little bench.

“I’ve never done this in a hot spring,” Joe said, his voice so low it almost hurt to speak.

“Neither have I,” she replied. Her eyes were closed; and she was smiling.

Her entire being shook as he entered her, and Joe’s body responded in kind. He fought the urge to slam into her. Lacey held him clenched to her and in her. It felt amazing. And then his knees buckled.

“I’m… going…to…fall,” he managed to stammer.

“So fall,” she murmured.

Joe fell into her as his world exploded fast and soft; and as she came, she caught him. Lacey landed on the little bench with her legs still wrapped around him, softly cupping his ass with her hands.

“Again.” she murmured.

“Again?”

Lacey’s sweet laugh echoed off the walls and bathed him in warmth.

Again, thought Joe. Still hard, he didn’t hold anything back.

Nor did she.

The alarm on Joe’s watch went off at 8:30. He silenced it quickly. He and Lacey were covered in huge Turkish towels and wrapped around each other on the little loveseat, where they’d landed after their delicious round of lovemaking in the hot spring. He hated to wake her. He could see twin blue currents of pain and exhaustion running beneath her skin. But it couldn’t be helped. He gently eased her out of his arms and went over to the dresser to get her Neurontin and a bottle of water. She didn’t wake up; and she didn’t move.

“Open your eyes, my love,” he said, lifting up the towels and gently easing back in beside her. “We have a reception to attend.”

Lacey stretched, letting the Turkish towels fall from of her shoulders. Her skin was still flushed copper-rose. He placed a caplet in one hand and the bottle of water in the other. She took the pill, drank almost half of the water and handed the bottle back to Joe.

“Do we have to go?” she asked, pouting fetchingly. “I’d rather be here naked with you.”

Joe laughed and took her in his arms. “I’d rather you be here naked with me, too. But -”

“We must be adults and get dressed and go cut Cake.”

“Something like that,” he said. “And it’s going to take me at least a half an hour to lace you back into that gown or yours.”

“Like you mind,” she replied, grinning.

Joe rolled into her and kissed her. “Yeah…You’re right. It’ll give me another opportunity to fondle you.” He gently ran his hands down her shoulders and cupped her breasts. He tenderly ran his thumbs across her nipples just to watch her eyes widen.

Lacey grew very still. “I’m in love with you,” she told him, very softly. “I’m talking head-over-heels in love, Joe.”

He wrapped himself around her, getting as close as he possibly could without being inside her. “I’m in love with you, Lace,” he replied, just as softly. “Head-over-heels in love. What are we going to do about this?” I love you. I want to have a family with you. I want to live every day of my life with you. I want to grow old with you, he thought, desperately. He wanted to tell her, but the words stuck in his throat.

She framed his face with her hands and ‘looked’ at every inch of it. She did this for what seemed like an eternity. “We go where love leads us,” she said, tenderly. “And…Let’s make … a family - if that’s all right.”

Joe’s heart broke open just a little wider. “It’s more than all right,” he said. “I’ve told you that.”

“I know,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck. “I just like hearing it.”

“I want to make a family with you, Lace.” Soft tendrils of conviction floated above his gentle words. I’ll say it until you believe it, he thought. I’ll make you believe it.

“Mmmmm.”

His watch alarm went off again. It was already 8:50.

He reluctantly left the warmth of the loveseat and retrieved their clothing and underclothing from the floor, where they’d thrown it. He dressed first; then, he laced his wife into her gown – taking every opportunity to caress her. Several times, she reached around and caught his hand.

“Slowly,” she said. “There’s no rush.”

Joe wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against him. “Is that better?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, softly. “So much better…”

Somehow, they both ended up dressed and shod. As they started for the Great Hall, Lacey’s exhaustion became more palpable with every step. She tripped on the hem of her long gown and nearly fell into headlong the wall, taking Joe with her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking and sounding near tears. “I didn’t sleep last night. I had a nasty case of nerves. I couldn’t keep anything down. I’m shaky. And I misplaced my frigging cane.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Joe, I’m so sorry!” Lacey rarely said ‘f’ing’ let along ‘frigging’ and the full-blown F-bomb only once.

“I’ve got you.” Joe gently took her elbow and led her into an alcove, where he wrapped his arms around her, steadying her. She really was shaking. “I’ve got you,” he said, again. “We’ll stay at the reception just long enough to cut the cake, all right?”

Her fingers came to light on his lips. “Thank you,” she said, kissing the tip of his nose so very tenderly. Then: “Please don’t let me fall.”

“I won’t,” he promised, kissing her fingertips. “And if you trip, I’ll catch you. I’ll always catch you.”

Chapter 18 - Love You Again

At exactly 9:24, they were dancing at their reception. Lacey’s beautiful emerald gown was re-laced without so much as a wrinkle; and if anyone cared to look, the velvet cord was woven into her braid. When they entered the Great Hall, the first thing Joe noticed was the strong scent of pot and electricity hanging in the air. The group playing on the small stage was a reggae band called The Honky Dreads, who, when Joe squinted only a tiny bit, looked suspiciously like an older, less hairy version of the fuzzy-looking band on the cover of a certain Byrds cover band from Tulsa, Oklahoma. The man playing lead guitar was tall, thin and blond.

“Traveler Phil’s here,” Joe said, happily, his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin on her shoulder. “Let’s go say hello to the band.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. She looked absolutely radiant. She tripped again.

He caught her again. And he took her by the elbow and led her to the stage. Dancers moved out of their way – most of them gave Joe shit-eating grins. (He couldn’t help returning each and every one of them.) When Traveler saw Lacey, the band began playing a joyous rendition of I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better á la Marble Phrogg.

“Dance with me, husband!” she said, absolutely, beaming.

“Of course, I will, wife!”

Joe took her in his arms and danced her around the room until the song ended.

“I don’t know about you,” Traveler said, grinning at the audience. “But I’ll feel a whole lot better after I have a toke – I mean, have a smoke.”

The audience snickered.

Father started to get a Good Mad on, but at that exact moment, Vincent distracted him with hot mead; so he didn’t.

The other band members made for the keg next to the refreshment table at the other end of the room. They stood huddled around it in their tie-dyed Grateful Dead tee shirts, drinking beer and looking like what they really wanted was A Smoke. Apparently, Traveler Phil was the only one allowed to break that Tunnel taboo.

The DJ played the super-rare slow burn single version of I Won’t Say (I’m In Love) by Belinda Carlisle[31] .

Joe helped Lacey up the stairs and onto the stage. For the first time, he came face to face with Traveler Phil, who looked old and rather sad. “Mind if I -?” he said, motioning with his roach.

“No, of course not,” Joe replied, shaking his head.

Lacey held out her hand to Phil and softly said: “Traveler, this is my Joe – my husband Joe.”

“It’s good to meet you in person,” he said, shaking Joe’s hand. “Finally.”

“And it’s good to meet you in person,” Joe said. “Finally.”

“This is the man who gave me all the Music in my world and in ours,” Lacey said, her fingers happily trailing over Phil’s face. When she saw lines of hurt on it, she frowned slightly but didn’t pull her hands away. “Music from our old friends in the T-Town blues scene...”

“Not all the Music, surely,” Joe teased. “Stuff and Nonsense.”

“Yes,” Lacey replied. “All of it. Even the slow burn of All of the Good Ones Are Taken from Strings Attached.”

“Lies,” said Phil, taking a long toke.

“Lucky One,” Lacey replied.

“O, What A Thrill,” Joe said.

They laughed as old friends do, when they speak the same language.

Lacey smiled warmly and said: “Love Is Strange - Buddy Holly’s undubbed version.”

“Recorded in the kitchen of Holly’s apartment right here in New York,” added Phil, as though he’d been there. He had a warm laugh; but his eyes showed a sort of passive sadness around the edges.

Joe knew that the so-called Kitchen Tapes didn’t officially exist and were played with great reverence. Lacey, of course, had the best quality bootlegs. He also knew Lacey considered it the single most beautiful version of the song; it was the most haunting. An uncomfortable feeling of disquiet began to creep in around his edges.

As Lacey thanked the Traveler for myriad of wedding gifts – their CDs, the crystal, and a lovely, small Polaroid of Little Wing Productions’ Larry Shaeffer in front the Cain’s Ballroom - Joe stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“You look happy, Lacey Lee,” the Traveler said, softly. “Are you happy?”

“I am happy,” she replied, leaning back against Joe. “So very happy.”

Traveler looked through and far beyond Joe with almost colorless, piercing green eyes. He took a very long drag off the roach. “You love her,” he said, nodding, finally. It wasn’t a question.

Lacey’s smile deepened into a luscious sigh.

“Yes, I love her, Phil. I love her very, very much.”

There was a little flash of light every time Traveler Phil inhaled. Joe never felt quite well around pot, and this pot was strong – stronger than any he’d ever smelled. The scene in the room seemed to waver and morph in the strange blue smoke. Wasn’t keg supposed to be on the other end of the table? Joe’s memory flashed and ebbed. It took great effort to hold on to it.

Traveler pinched-out the roach and asked Lacey what song she’d like to hear.

Without hesitation, she replied: “You’re a reggae band, now, right? Then, I’d like to hear Winston Groovy’s Please Don’t Make Me Cry – the original version.”

Phil reached over and took her hand and held it, as one would cleave to a beloved little child. “That I can do, Lacey,” he said, very gently. “That I will do.” He took out what looked like a cigarette but smelled like burning wire.

“Thank you,” Lacey said, softly rocking in Joe’s arms. “Very much.”

Without knowing how he knew, Joe thought, They’re saying good-bye.

The band came together again and played Please Don’t Make Me Cry.

“Say you wanna leave me,

But I'm begging you to stay.

But baby, I can't get through any way, (no I can't.)

And when I wake up in the morning, if you are gone,

Little pretty thing, you know, I'll be all alone.

Please don't make me cry,

'Cause I don't wanna die.

Oh please don't make me cry,

Because I know, there will be nothing left for me.[32] ”

As they danced to the rock-steady beat, Lacey told him: “It’s okay. I know it’s for one night only and never again.” She gave a little shudder and went on: “One day soon, she’ll extract one pound of flesh too many; and there won’t be any left for me – or anybody else. And it’s okay, because you and I have each other.” She slid her arms around his neck and whispered: “What did I ever do to be so blessed?”

Joe touched his forehead to hers and lost himself in her sweet rhythms. The Music sounded far away. And they danced.

“Phil’s a sweet man,” Lacey was saying, softly stroking Joe’s neck. “He’s too kind for this world. And at the end of the day, he’ll always go back to the Familiar - ”

“The she-devil?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I pity him,” she replied, sadly. “Sometimes, karma is not only a bitch, she’s a real person.”

“Where do you fit into all this?”

“I’m just Lacey,” she said, as though this explained everything. She shrugged. “I’m the one who never demanded love; so, conversely, I got it freely. It’s simple, really.”

“You’re very wise,” Joe said. He held her close and silently comforted her to the dying strains of Please Don’t Make Me Cry.

“All this pain, I cannot stand it, no,

You're gonna leave, you're gonna leave this poor man on his own.

Oh yes you are.

Please don't make me cry,

Pretty baby, I'm pleading.

'Cause I don't wanna be all alone…[33] ”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and fought the tears that would surely come.

In the Tunnels, Please Don’t Make Me Cry was not a song to be played lightly. One night, after a round of drinking home-brew with Vincent and William, Pascal told Joe the story in hushed tones.

“Do you remember that night the F5 tornado took out Moore, Oklahoma, for the second time?” Pascal asked.

“Yes, I do,” Joe replied. Like millions of other people around the world, he’d watched CNN as the hook on Doppler radar traveled inexorably down the Turner Turnpike towards Tulsa.

“Well, the warning sirens raged all over Tulsa County,” Pascal went on. “And tens of thousands of prayers were said. When suddenly that tornado vanished. Poof! It was just gone. The meteorologist on KOTV Channel 6 couldn’t explain it. Nobody could.”

“Let me guess,” Joe said. “You can.”

The little pipemaster nodded. “I can and I will,” he replied, nodding. “You see, one woman, armed only with love and words and her treasured Trojan pressing of Please Don’t Make Me Cry stood raging against that storm. She planted herself at the city limits sign; and she called upon every God and Goddess and ancestor she knew, screaming NOT TONIGHT with every fiber of her being; and she made it stop. When it was over, she collapsed, exhausted and soaked to the bone, in the middle of her living room 962 miles from Tulsa. She’d never even left her house.”

“She still cries, when she talks about it,” Vincent said.

“That story is a steaming pile of shit,” William mumbled.

“Like hell it is!” roared Pascal.

Joe remembered that night. He’d seen how baffled everybody had been, when the hook disappeared. It didn’t dissipate – it disappeared.

“That song has power,” the pipemaster said, reverently. “Don’t play it unless you really mean what you want it to say.”

Two tears streaked down Lacey’s cheeks. She really meant it.

Having given up all pretense of being The Honkey Dreads, Marble Phrogg played Hickory Wind[34] .

Lacey kicked off her shoes, and, barefoot, went up en pointe; and Joe gently spun her around with his hands coming to light on her hips.

“I started out younger at most everything.

All the riches and pleasures, what else could life bring?

But it makes me feel better each time it begins…

Callin' me home, hickory wind.[35] ”

“A toast to Joe and Lacey!” Elenore Maxwell cried. “Wish them a lifetime together full of love and happiness!”

“May you have a Happy Life!” Vincent cheered.

“And a ton of children!” added Sister Mary-Jessie.

“A ton?” hissed Joe, through clenched teeth.

Traveler stood stoic and alone.

Lacey smiled.

“Cut the cake!” Mouse cried, happily. He was rocking side to side with his arm around Jamie’s shoulders. “Just cut the cake, Sissy!”

“All right, all right!” Lacey said, laughing. “Help me, please, Joe?” Her hand was shaking.

Joe stilled her hand in both of his and guided the knife through the layered wedding cake. He cut one generous piece to share with Lacey; then, he cut two small pieces out of that. They fed each other bites of cake and shared careful sips of ginger ale in plastic champagne glasses. Joe put a dollop of frosting on the tip of Lacey’s nose and kissed it clean, while she protested and kissed him back. Then, Mary and William carried the remainder of cake into the kitchen to be cut for the Community.

“Don’t worry,” Mary assured Mouse. “There’s plenty for everybody.”

Joe took their piece of cake and guided Lacey to the Head Table to sit with his family and Sister Mary-Jessie.

“This is the way to throw a wedding!” Ma was telling Eric, who was serving punch. “Dinner and refreshments – what a way to keep your guests happy!”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, nodding.

“Eric is one of my best students, Elenore,” Lacey told her, beaming. She reached for Eric, who took her hand and squeezed it. “He has the biggest heart of all.”

“Congratulations, Miss Lacey and Mr. Joe,” he managed to say, quite clearly.

“Just for today, we’re Joe and Lacey,” Joe said. “Okay?”

Eric blushed and grinned. “Okay… Joe.”

Lacey leaned into Joe, her fingers softly caressing the palm of his hand. He was sitting with his left arm around her shoulders and his right arm folded in front of him on the table. “We stay for cake,” he told her very quietly, so she could hear him beneath all the noise. “That’s all. I promise.”

“Good,” Lacey said, yawning. She kissed his cheek, lay her head on his shoulder and cut a piece of cake with their fork. She pushed her thick braid back and it fell over Joe’s arm.

He reveled in the physical weight of it – and in the knowing that he would unbraid again it soon enough.

They took turns feeding each other the rich almond cake with thick buttercream frosting; and they drank ginger ale from plastic champagne glasses, while Paul Simon sang Late In The Evening.

Joe cradled Lacey’s face in his hand, so happy.

Getting ready to take leave of the reception, Joe was walking their dirty plate and fork back to the kitchen, when the Traveler pulled him aside and spoke with him privately. It was short; and it was pointed.

“You must take Lacey and leave this place,” he said, inhaling deeply of ganja and God-knows-what. “I see things; and I know things. And now, I give you the opportunity to make your own decision.” He held the end of the roach directly under Joe’s nose forcing him to inhale.

The light morphed and wavered and the room dissolved into dust and blood and screams and hell raining down from Above. He looked up and saw a smoke-filled sky full of paper and people and smoke.

And then, the Tunnels were the Tunnels again.

“Now you see what I see; and, you know what I know.” Traveler caught the plate as Joe dropped it and put it into the plastic tub with the other dirty dishes without missing a beat.

“Do they know?” Joe sputtered.

“Of course, they know. The Community will act, when the time is right,” the Traveler replied, nodding. He seemed so benign. “Take your wife to Sister Mary-Jessie Marchant’s Mountain in the spring. You’re a man of your word. Give me your word.”

Joe felt sick.

“Give it to me!” he hissed, no longer harmless, passive or benign. He transformed into a frightening reptilian thing, when he was angry.

“I promise,” Joe managed to choke, holding up his hand. “I give you my word.”

The easy, sad smile returned to Traveler Phil’s face. He again held the roach under Joe’s nose.

The room receded and swirled down to a focal point; and, then, the focal point swirled open again like the aperture of a camera. Joe was no longer in the Tunnels. He was standing outside in the hot, dry Mountain air. He could feel a soft breeze brushing though his hair. Lacey was laughing in the middle of a muddle of children and adults standing together in the center of an empty dirt road – the Mountains in the background were green and devoid of snow. “Take the picture, Dad! We’re hungry!” yelled a tall, skinny teenager, who resembled neither of them but looked a lot like Eric. A baby was holding on to the neck of a huge Guide Poodle. Then, the baby was upside down looking at him through her chubby pony legs. Everybody else smiled and said: “Lucky Ladybug!” He looked into the aperture and snapped the picture…

“Come back to earth, Joe!” Traveler said, hitting him hard on the back. He took a long, deep toke and blew the smoke towards the crowd. “You and Lacey will have a happy life. It won’t always be easy, but it will be happy.” He took out a small bag and rolling papers. As he rolled his next joint, he went on: “I couldn’t stop what happened that night in the MG. I miscalculated. I arrived seconds too late. I found her all broken in that goddam car. I couldn’t fix any of it. But time has a way of finally righting things, doesn’t it, Maxwell?” And then he wandered off, stopping to hug Lacey and shake hands with Vincent.

And Patsy Cline and the Journaires sang Back In Baby’s Arms.

Joe stood by the tub of dirty dishes trying to hold on to the memory of all he’d seen. It ebbed, but it didn’t fade. He refused to allow it to slip away. The horror of it was all too real.

His sister Alex plunked her dirty plate and fork in the tub and stood next to him. “Lacey wants to know what you and Traveler Phil were talking about,” she said. “Or shouldn’t I have said anything to her? Was it private?”

“No, it’s not, really,” Joe replied. He still felt shaky. “He says I need to take Lacey away from this place.”

“I totally agree – especially, since you two are planning to have children.”

“Why?”

“The air down here is crap, for one,” she replied. Alex was a Nurse Practitioner at home in Austin, Texas. “Haven’t you noticed how many people in the Tunnels have asthma – especially the kids? Geeze, Joe! They puff on inhalers the way other people pop Altoids.”

“Traveler asked me to take Lacey to live near Sister Mary-J,” he told her. “Please don’t say anything – not even to Jenn.”

Alex made the sign of the zipper across her mouth and threw away the invisible key. She slipped her arm around his neck and gave him a half hug. “Congrats, baby bro. I wish I could get married.”

“Someday you’ll be able to marry Jenn. I feel it in my bones.” It was strange how easily he pictured Alex and Jenn standing in front of a Justice of the Peace…

When Joe slipped back onto the bench beside Lacey, she asked: “What did Traveler want?”

“To say Good-bye, mostly,” he replied, nuzzling her neck. She smelled of sulfur from the hot spring and orange verbena. He instantly felt less insane. “And the rest I’ll tell you, when we’re alone.”

Lacey’s gentle fingertips found his face and turned it to hers; and she kissed him.

Everybody sitting around them laughed and applauded.

The DJ held took out another 45 r.p.m. with a Mercury label and played 10cc’s The Things We Do For Love.

Joe kissed Lacey back, reveling in the sweet love-hunger flowing between them. He was already making plans. I’ll have to take the Bar again, he thought. Arid Zona doesn’t offer reciprocity.

After congratulations had been given and Good Nights and Good-Byes said, Joe gentled Lacey back to the Bridal Chamber. This time, he carried her over the threshold and tenderly lowered her into the bed. She fell back on the thick pillows, one hand across her stomach and the other above her head. Her braid fell over her shoulder. She looked adorable and sexy – and a million other delicious things.

“This is the best day of my life,” she purred. “It really is. And…”

Joe lay down beside her, let his finger slide down the curve of her nose to her lips. “There’s more?” he asked, laughing. He rolled her into his arms.

Her fingertips fluttered over his face, so lightly he could barely feel them. “There’s always more,” she replied, smiling warmly. “Like: what did you and Traveler Phil talk about?”

Joe kissed her softly; and as he spoke, his lips brushed against hers. “He told me to take you away from the Tunnels and move you to Sister Mary-Jessie’s Mountain. Please don’t ask me to tell you why.”

Lacey lightly kissed his fingertips. “And this something we must do?” she asked, evenly.

He saw what he’d seen and knew what he knew, and without a second’s hesitation: “Yes, my beloved, it is.”

Lacey’s eyelids slowly inched closed. She said, her voice soft and low: “Where love leads, I will follow. All my paths lead home to you.”

Joe felt need and love and incredible desire that burned through him from the inside out. He kissed her, tearing at his clothing in desperation.

But Lacey gentled and guided his hands, until his shirt was open and his waistband fell away.

The last of the party’s Music bled through. Leon Russell sang Cajun Love Song.

“ Whoa, mama catch a little fishy, papa catch two

Well, back in the bayou it's-a fishin' time

Workin' together on a bottle of wine

We'll go down to Thibodeaux tonight

Go roun', go roun', lil' Alice blue gown

We'll soon be together on the bayou sundown

We'll jaw jambalaya, and sing all night long

Me and my baby and a Cajun love song.[36] ”

Rocking to the rhythm of the song, Joe unlaced Lacey’s wedding gown without breaking their kiss – without even opening his eyes. And so begins our Happy Life, he thought. And if it isn’t easy? So what! Nothing worthwhile ever is...

He moaned, helpless, when Lacey skinned his trousers down his hips.

The DJ, who definitely was Jay Jarmel Palmer, said: “That was Leon Russell, the old Master of Space and Time himself. And now, my fellow travelers of the Mother Road, it’s time for me to sign off and fly back home to the Blue Laws of Green Country. But any time you need me, I’ll be in touch via the waves of air for as long as they allow – and forever and always in the language of the Blues. Good night, good lovin’, and good dreamin.”

Lacey lay half on top of Joe and half curled up next to him. He was amazed by how fiercely she took him. Even in sleep, her body was still trembling from it. The images – the pleasant ones Traveler showed him - kept popping into his mind. He ran his fingers down the long of her back and pulled the comforter up around them.

Any excuse to touch you, he thought, smiling. He lay awake planning their lives together, until she woke herself stretching in her sleep.

“Again,” she murmured, her electric skin singing against the whole of him.

Always.

Chapter 19 Maybe, Baby?

The thank you note arrived five days after Joe and Lacey drove a tearful Mouse into town and deposited him on the Greyhound bus. Both the address and the note were written in red sharpie:

“DEAR LACEY AND JOE MAXWELL,

MARY SAYS GROWNUPS SEND THANK YOU NOTES ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY GET LONELY HOMESICK AND LEAVE EARLY. THANK YOU. OKAY? GOOD. I DIDN’T LIKE THE BUS. THE BATHROOM SMELLED REALLY BAD. THE BUS DRIVER WAS NICE. LENNIE BRISCOE TOOK ME HOME. BYE, MOUSE. PS: LOVE.”

Joe read it aloud to Lacey, along with the small sea of expectant faces belonging to children Father and Peter sent For The Good Of Their Health. They were all gathered around the campfire telling ghost stories and making S’mores, except for Eric. Like Lacey, he preferred to char marshmallows until the insides caramelized. He alternated burning one marshmallow for Lacey and one for him. Joe helped the younger ones, who squealed each time they saw a shooting star streak across the sky. It was still so new to them.

“These are the last S’mores of the evening,” he told the little group. “The sun rises awfully early.”

“Ah, Joe,” they groused. “Ah, come on and tell us one more story, at least!”

He stood firm. “Nope,” he said, almost sternly. “Bedtime.”

Eric gathered up the marshmallow roasting sticks, while Joe poured another bucket of water on the embers.

Even Abbie the Poodle knew Joe was the biggest softy of them all.

“Joe & Lacey Maxwell, 2 Nan’s Ranch Way, Doney Park, AZ

April 22nd

Dear Mouseleh,

Last night, the sky was alive with ten billion stars - and we watched them fall all around us! We never thought we’d be sleeping under the stars, living out of tents, and enjoying every minute of it. Nights are still cold here, but we have loads of camping gear to keep us warm. Plus the fact, most of the gang is under the delusion that camping is fun. (Our bad.) So far, we’ve built an open-air kitchen, a composting toilet, and a shower. (We’ve got city utilities on our property! Yay!) We’re going to assemble what is called a “tiny house.” (See included plans. Feedback welcome.) The walled-in sleeping loft is for the two of us, of course. The second loft plus the convertible table and couches downstairs will sleep at least four people – and possibly seven or eight, if they’re friendly. Grin. The house will have a full kitchen, a second shower and composting toidy, seating and a table. The open-air kitchen will become a work shop/garage/guest bedroom. Next spring, we plant a dry garden!

Lacey and I are trying very hard to have some children, so you can be a “real uncle.” The doctors tell us nothing is wrong and to Relax. In the mean time, it seems like another Tunnel child arrives every week like clockwork.

Mouse, next time, we’ll send for both you and Jamie to come visit.

We miss everybody, too. Give them all…

Lots of Loads Of Love,

Lacey, Joe, & Co.

PS: Abbie is doing well. He’s so learning fast! Lacey works with him every day. He already refuses to allow her to step off any of the paths we built! He must be leashed and by our sides at all times. There are eagles and hawks, but we keep him safe.”

“DEAR SISSY,

I WASN’T CAREFUL. WE HID EVERYTHING FROM MARY UNTIL WE DIDN’T. WHEN I TOLD JOE MAXWELL ON THE PHONE, HE TOLD ME ‘THE MORE THE MERRIER’ WITH A SMILE IN HIS VOICE. DOES THIS MEAN HE WANTS IT THE BABY? WHAT IF IT THE BABY IS LIKE ME AND NOT LIKE YOU OR JAMIE? WILL EVERYBODY TRY TO MAKE IT HER THE BABY GO AWAY? MOUSE.”

Joe and Lacey climbed up the rugged path to the Overlook, where they could be alone and talk uninterrupted away from the “gang.” It was slow going, because their Toy Poodle, Abbie, insisted upon nipping at Lacey’s heels, whenever she got too close to the edge. Secretly, Joe loved the little guy for it, because it meant he wasn’t the only person responsible for Lacey’s well-being. One Saturday, he and Eric hauled discarded boulders from the driveway up the hill and built a little stone bench overlooking the Peaks. The bench certainly came in handy as the Overlook was the not only the highest point on the property, it was also the only place one got a decent cell signal. Huddled around the bulky bag phone, they waited for someone to answer the phone at Catherine’s place…

“This is Mouse,” answered Mouse.

“This is Joe and Lacey,” said Joe.

Lacey’s fingertips fluttered against Joe’s lower lip. “Mouseleh, it’s me.”

“Sissy?” He sounded unsure and even a little afraid.

“Yes, it’s Sissy,” she replied, gently. “It’s Joe and me. It’s just us.”

“Okay… Fine…”

The other end of the line went silent for so long that on any other call, Joe would’ve assumed they’d been disconnected. However, he’d learned that Mouse’s silences were very much like Lacey’s – they were often made of twin cores of love and fear. Mary had written Joe and Lacey privately and told them raw details of the break-up that everybody but Mouse had seen coming. Jamie’s unplanned pregnancy forced the issue out into the open.

Finally, Mouse said: “Jamie… left.”

“I’m really sorry, bro.”

“You were together a long time,” Lacey said, softly.

“Jamie says giving up the baby is best,” Mouse replied. The rest of his words came out rushed but clearly understandable: “Sissy… Jamie went to Chicago…to live with… to be with… Rita.” He understood the situation clearly. He was just as sexually self-aware as most other twenty-somethings. Emotionally aware, however, he was not.

Joe covered the receiver with his hand and whispered, “He’s got to be sure, Lace.”

Lacey nodded. She kissed him softly and said: “Mouse, we received your letter. And there are three things we want you to know.”

“Three things,” he repeated. “Okay. Good.”

“Number Three: nobody will ever make your baby go away,” Lacey began, her fingertips tapping almost imperceptibly against Joe’s lip. “She will be safe here with us. Number Two: The baby will be herself; and –“

“Number One: Lacey and I want the baby very much,” said Joe, unable to contain himself.

“Joe and Lacey Maxwell want the baby, even if she is like Mou… Me?” Mouse asked, tentatively.

“Yes,” Lacey replied. Tears sparkled in her eyelashes. “Of course, yes. But only if you and Jamie both want us to have her.”

There was the sound of muffled crying on the other end. “The baby must never know Mouse is her father,” Mouse said. “Maybe when she is grown up, she can know Jamie is her mother. When she is eighteen. Maybe.”

“Baby,” answered Lacey, nervously. She closed her eyes and mouthed I Can’t Believe I Said That!

“Tell Catherine I sent the legal papers by courier,” Joe said. “They’ll arrive the day after tomorrow in both New York and Chicago.” His fingers soothed the frown out of Lacey’s brow. “It’s okay, my love,” he whispered, softly, against her fingertips.

She rocked in his arms.

“Okay. Good,” Mouse replied. This time, when the line went silent, he’d hung up.

“Oh, Lace! What are we getting ourselves into?”

“Life,” she replied, smiling knowingly.

Lacey wanted a family of her own so badly, Joe could taste it when he kissed her. Her skin hummed with it. And late at night, when she was certain they were the only ones awake, she cried over it.

The doctors didn’t mean to be cruel, when they said there was nothing wrong with either of them and to just stop stressing. That’s when Father began sending children who needed to Heal and to be watched over while the Council relocated Community to Chicago and Toronto and Seattle. At last, the Big Move was finished. But Lacey was so good with kids, only a handful left. Thankfully, Helpers sent money for food and clothing and other supplies. The weather was still very hot and almost everybody slept under the open sky with only a sleeping bag. (Joe and Lacey slept in their tent with wee Abbie dog in his crate.) When cold weather came, the large workshop would serve as living quarters. Two small rooms of bunks were already built and waiting, empty.

Joe looked out over the high desert landscape and imagined telling the baby all about the Sacred Peaks and the Kachinas who live there. He would take her to the little Wayside Chapel on Highway 180 and to Walnut Canyon and Sunset Crater and the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. He’d tell her about the Ice Palace in Leadville. And when Lacey wasn’t listening, he’d quietly tell her true ghost stories about the Tunnels - including a certain one about Winston Groovy… Oh, yeah!

Lacey sat down next to him, taking care to caress his inner thigh as she did so. She reached down and scooped up Abbie and settled him safely between them on the bench.

“Oh, my beloved Joe,” she said, her voice sounding as warm as Buddy Holly’s undubbed Love is Strange. “It only gets happier from here.”

“All ways.”

Joe wrapped his arm around her waist and watched the warm September sun sink in the western sky. He painted the sunset in word pictures for his smiling wife, whose fingertips fluttered softly against his lower lip.

Jay Jarmel Palmer and the 50,000 Watt station in Chandler, Oklahoma, signed off for the last time at 2:00 A.M. to Love of the Common People - a song he’d played for three days straight. His car had been packed longer than that. He headed East on Highway 66 – East and North and home to the safety of Leadville, Colorado.

“All gone,” said the Traveler, smiling, his voice echoing off the empty Tunnel walls.

And in Brooklyn, a little search and rescue terrier named Fala lay waiting by Devin Wells’ feet.

Notes

[←1 ]

Happy Hawaii (Ulvaeus, Bjoern K /Andersson, Benny /Anderson, Stig), Released 1977 on 45rpm by Polar Music, Intl. (Early version of Why Did It Have To Be Me. Knowing Me, Knowing You B-Side.)

[←2 ]

Ibid.

[←3 ]

Manhattan (Peter De Wijn) by Andrea and Hot Mink. ©1984 Rock'n'Roll / Bellaphon (Germany) / 12014012 First Pressing.

[←4 ]

Brand New Key, @1971 Music and Lyrics by Melanie Safka. Rasputina’s version is from the 1996 album Thanks For The Ether.

[←5 ]

Jukebox (Don’t Put Another Dime), music and lyrics by Bobby Orlando. Released 1983 By The Flirts.

[←6 ]

Stumblin’ In (Mike Chapman/ Nicky Chinn) By Suzi Quatro & Jim Norman, RSO 7” Picture Cover, 3:56 45rpm, Released January 1979.

[←7 ]

Elenore words and Music by Howard Kaylan, Al Nichol, Jim Pons, John Barta. ©1968.

[←8 ]

I Can Hear Music (Jeff Barry/ Ellie Greenwich/Phil Spector) Released in 1965 by The Ronettes. Often considered the “lost” version of this song. It is, however, the definitive cut.

[←9 ]

Ibid.

[←10 ]

The Very Thought of You ©1934 Music & Lyrics Ray Noble.

[←11 ]

You and Me, (Alice Cooper, Dick Wagner) , Released April 1977 by Alice Cooper on Album Lace & Whiskey, Warner Bros. Records.

[←12 ]

Sway, music by Luis Demetrio and Pablo Beltran Ruiz; English lyrics by Norman Gimbel ©1954. Original Spanish language version "¿Quién será?" by Demetrio & Ruiz ©1953.

[←13 ]

Please Don’t Say No, Say Maybe (Sammy Fain/ Arthur Freed) ©1940.. Recorded by Paul Fenhoulet & The Skyrockets in 1945. Appeared in the Movie Thrill of a Romance, performed by Jerry Scott & The Tommy Dorsey Band.

[←14 ]

Lay Your Love On Me, ©1981 Benny Andersson and Bjorn Ulvoeus, Erasaure “Abba-esque”

[←15 ]

Baby My Heart words and music by Sonny Curtis, from the album In Style With The Crickets

[←16 ]

Whiskey on a Sunday by Guy Hughes. From the Irish Rovers 1968 album All Hung Up. On vinyl. “Come Day, Go Day” references the song Massa Is A Stingy Man.

[←17 ]

11 No Matter What ©1996 From the play “Whistle Down the Wind.” Music Andrew Lloyd Webber/Lyrics Jim Steinman. Lyrics above are Boyzone’s album version. Lacey prefers Meat’s haunting version. She just doesn’t own it. Yet.

[←18 ]

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me”, Harry Noble. Quintessential version Performed by Mel Carter, Imperial Records 1965.

[←19 ]

Ibid.

[←20 ]

Ibid.

[←21 ]

A grimoire is a Book of Shadows or a journal of spells and ceremonies Pagans keep over the course of their lives. The real Nan Rankin’s grimoire is lost. It’s black with a hand-painted flower on the front, if you should happen across it...

[←22 ]

Tulsa Time, Music and Lyrics by Danny Flowers ©Universal Publishing Group Definitive version from Eric Clapton’s 1978 album Backless. And it really was played on the radio for three days straight. In Tulsa.

[←23 ]

Lucky One words and music by Raúl Francisco Martínez-Malo Jr AKA Raul Malo. from the album Lucky One by Raul Malo released in 2009. Joe and Lacey are dancing to the version on Around the World (Live) released in 2012.

[←24 ]

Ibid.

[←25 ]

“Bradley Chevrolet, Broken Arrow. 161st Street Exit, Broken Arrow.” Repeat endlessly. Everybody sing!

[←26 ]

Crazy Love words & music by Rusty Young. ©1979. Performed by Poco.

[←27 ]

Oh, Babe, What Would You Say Words & Music by Eileen Sylvia Smith. ©1972 by Warner/Chappel Music

[←28 ]

I Can Hear Music (Jeff Barry/ Ellie Greenwich/Phil Spector) Released in 1965 by The Ronettes. Often considered the “lost” version of this song. It is, however, the definitive cut.

[←29 ]

Ibid.

[←30 ]

Famous chant from Todd Browning’s haunting film Freaks. The full chant is: “We accept her! We accept her! Gooble-gobble, gooble-gobble! One of us! One of us!”

[←31 ]

Belinda Carlisle’s CD single of I Won’t Say (I’m In Love) contains both the radio edit and the slow burn, along with the official version by Susan Egan from Disney’s Hercules soundtrack. The CD single was released in France and possibly Germany. The slow burn has never been released in the US, although the radio edit is available on Edsel’s rerelease of Carlisle’s A Woman & A Man.

[←32 ]

Please Don’t Make Me Cry, words and music by Winston Groovy Tucker. ©1974. Copyright belongs to the rightful owners.

[←33 ]

Ibid.

[←34 ]

Hickory Wind’s authorship is disputed. Sylvia Samms claims she wrote it. Gram Parsons claimed he did. There’s harder evidence that Samms wrote it.

[←35 ]

Hickory Wind by Gram Parsons, Bob Buchanan and Sylvia Samms. Copyright © Reservoir One Music, Reservoir Media Management Inc., BMG Rights Management US, LLC

[←36 ]

Cajun Love Song by Leon Russell. From the 1972 Album Carny. Copyright © 1995 The Right Stuff.