Thirteen Days
An Equalizer Fanfic
by Linda O.

Disclaimer: Same as always. All Equalizer characters belong to Universal, no matter how much we fear they'll abuse them in the upcoming movie. I'm borrowing them for entertainment purposes; no infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Rated: PG-13; some strong language

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Kate for French translation and to Sue for beading expertise, to Sherry for her advice and background on Kay and Scott, to Anna for catching numerous typos, and as always to Paige, for excellence in beta-reading and for endless input and patience.

Summary: When Scott McCall decides to get married, it is of course no ordinary event. It will take all of Robert's skills, resources, and friends to make it happen in just thirteen days.

Author's note: This story stands alone, but is a continuation of my EQ-verse stories. In the timeline, it follows "It's All Fun & Games."

***

Day Thirteen (Monday)

***
Scott McCall had lived in the shadow of his father’s career his whole life.

The van hadn't been behind him for two blocks before he noticed it. He did not turn around. Instead, he paused as if something in the shop window had caught his eye and studied the reflection. Newer, black, full-sized, cargo-type, no windows behind the cab. Moving too slowly. He knew instinctively it was coming for him. He turned away from the window and kept walking. Hot afternoon, high summer, and the sidewalk was almost empty. Ten paces to the alley, or maybe the store was better, it had to have a back door, no, the restaurant, crowded, better still …

The van slid to the curb and stopped. The driver blew the horn, and against his will, Scott looked back. One sense told him to run, but another said that if the driver was actually stalking him, he wouldn’t be blowing the horn. Nor, as Scott waited, rolling down the passenger side window. He was still a safe ten paces from the van; he could make the restaurant even if they came out the side door.

Unless they shot him from the driver's seat, of course …

"Hey, Scott," Mickey Kostmayer called cheerfully, "how do you get to Carnegie Hall?"

Scott shook his head, releasing the breath he'd held too long, and moved to the side of the van. "Practice, practice, practice."

"Uh-huh. And how do you get to be in the orchestra of the major European road company?"

Scott snorted. "I wish I knew. When you find out, be sure to tell me."

"Okay. You get in the van and go audition in Jersey in …" he glanced at his watch "… ninety minutes."

"We’ll never make that." Scott opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. "Are you serious?"

"I’m serious. Buckle up." The van was moving before he finished speaking.

Scott buckled swiftly. He'd been in vehicles driven by Kostmayer before. "We’ll never make it."

"We’ll make it."

"I don’t have my violin with me …"

"Lily's getting it."

"Lily's … what?"

Mickey gestured to the phone in the console between them. "Call your dad and tell him I found you. He’s in the Jag."

"He's looking for me, too?"

"We've all been looking for you. Call him."

Scott picked up the phone. It took him three tries to dial the number, with the van swerving erratically through traffic. "Sorry," Mickey said, in a tone that said he was nothing of the sort.

"You like an excuse to drive fast, don't you?"

"Well … yeah."

"Robert McCall," his father barked.

"It’s Scott. I’m with Mickey."

"He found you. Good. We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

"I stopped off for some lunch …" Scott began.

"Yes, well, you haven’t got much time now. Do the best you can, Scott, and we’ll talk about it tonight, shall we?"

"Uh … okay."

"Good luck, Scott. Or break a leg, or whatever it is I should be saying."

Scott grinned. "Thanks, Dad."

He put the phone down and glanced out the window. At least the van was cool inside. Mickey seemed casual behind the wheel, but the van was flying through the city at an insane speed. They really could get to Jersey in ninety minutes.

"What am I auditioning for?" he asked.

Kostmayer shook his head. "I got no idea. I'm just following orders."

"Orders from my dad?"

"Nope. From your fairy godmother."

"I didn't know I had one."

Mickey grinned. "You may wish you didn't, before this is over."

Scott dropped his hand to his leg, and groaned when he felt bare skin. He was wearing cut-off jeans, his most comfortable, worn white in the back. His shirt was sweaty, faded, the collar torn off. "I can’t audition like this."

"Scott," Mickey sighed, "don't worry. I told you, it's all taken care of."

"But …"

"You'll see."

"But Mickey …"

"Scott. Trust us."

"Us," Scott repeated uneasily.

"Uh-huh."

Four blocks later, Kostmayer slung the van through a much-too-narrow alley and parked at the back door of a small shop. "C'mon," he said. Scott followed him to the door. It was locked, but when Mickey knocked lightly, it opened immediately. Scott felt the older man's hand on his back, pushing him in first, and then he found himself wrapped in the embrace of the most flamboyant man he had ever met.

"There you are, darlings," the man gushed. He was, Scott noted, wearing rather more make-up than all the Radio City Rockettes put together. "This way, this way, everything’s ready." He scooted Scott into the front of the store. The young man glanced back, assuring himself that Mickey was still with them. He’d met gay men before – perhaps half his musician friends were gay, and about that percentage of Becky’s culinary friends as well – but this man was way more than just homosexual. He was visibly flaming.

"Here, here," he flounced at Scott, leading him onto a small dais. "Stand right there and let me have a look at you." He dropped back to stand beside Kostmayer. "Good Lord, he's perfect. I wouldn’t change a single thing."

Kostmayer folded his hands carefully in front of him. He looked a little wary of the man, to Scott's eye. Not shocked, just watchful. It wasn't particularly reassuring. "Job interview, Heath," Mickey explained. "Lily says something conservative. Black."

"Black." Heath pondered a moment, as Scott grew more and more uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "He could carry pastels, you know. Powder blue, maybe mint. Something summery …"

"Lily said black," Mickey repeated firmly.

"Ah, Lily. Lily has no soul."

The front door of the shop slammed open. "Lily has several souls," Romanov announced briskly. "I keep them in jars on my desk. And if you don't want to be added to my collection, put him in black. Now. We’re in a hurry."

"Black. Huh." The man flounced off in a huff.

"Thank God you're here," Mickey breathed. Scott could see his friend relax.

Uneasy, Scott stepped off the dais. "Hi, Lily."

"Hey, Scott. Glad we caught you." She squeezed his hand, kissed him on the cheek. "You get the sit rep?"

"Just the outline," Mickey answered. "You can fill him in on the next leg."

Lily nodded. "Thanks, Mickey. I knew you could track him down for me."

He shrugged. "No big. Needed the practice."

"As if."

"I'm getting black," Heath announced loudly from the back. "But can't we at least try pastels?"

"No!" the trio shouted in unison.

Scott unconsciously moved closer to Lily. "Who is that guy?" he asked.

"That’s Heath," she answered. "And what he doesn’t know about men’s fashion isn’t worth knowing."

"Please don't leave me alone."

Lily laughed. "I'm here, sweetie. Don't worry."

"Your fairy godmother," Mickey supplied. "I told you." He looked at Lily. "You need me, or can I go?"

"You're outta here. Thank you very much."

"Yeah, thanks, Mickey," Scott added.

"Good luck." Kostmayer shoved his hands in his back jeans pockets and made his way out.

Heath stomped back in thirty seconds with pants and a polo shirt, in black. "Here," he said morosely, handing the clothes to Scott. "Go there, try these on. They’ll fit wonderfully, of course. But you must promise to come back and try the pastels sometime, without the ice queen."

Scott nodded uncertainly. "Okay." He took the clothes and hurried into the spacious changing booth.

Clothes off the rack never fit him, not since he’d hit that growth spurt at Julliard, but the pants fit perfectly, the hem barely folding at the arch of his foot. Either Lily had made a damned detailed phone call before they arrived – and it was a little unnerving to think that she’d paid that much attention to his inseam – or Heath really was as good as she said. He shucked out of his t-shirt and reached for the shirt. The label said it was pure silk. It felt almost weightless.

There were no price tags on the clothes.

In the main boutique, he could hear Heath and Lily talking. It reassured him to know by their voices where the man was.

"I have more ties for the man," Heath said, to Lily. "You are still the errand girl, aren’t you?"

"Bite me," she answered.

"Here. This one he ordered, and this one. But this one …"

"He won’t wear that," Lily said. "It’s pink."

"It’s salmon. And these dots here, these blue-almost-gray, they’re just exactly the color of his eyes. He would look simply ravishing in this."

"He won’t wear it."

The shirt fit perfectly, too. Scott tucked it in, put on the belt that he’d found on the pants hanger. He rolled his old clothes tightly, then glanced in dismay at his old sneakers.

"Come on, come on, let’s have it," Heath insisted, tugging the door open. "Out in the light with you, let’s have a look."

Rolling his eyes, Scott stepped out onto the dais again. He was certain Heath was going to come tug and adjust him, but the man simply dropped back and stared. "Holy Mother of God."

"Told you so," Lily said smugly.

"He’s … he’s …"

"Straight," she supplied. "Find him some shoes. Leather."

"I bow to your superior judgment." Heath disappeared again.

Lily tipped a small box towards him, revealing a pink tie with blue dots. "Can you see Control wearing this?"

"Uh … no," Scott answered honestly. "I can’t even see Heath wearing that. And besides, Control wears bow ties."

She shook her head. "He gave ‘em up."

"Why?"

"Long story."

Heath returned with shoes, black and leather as ordered, and socks. He gestured Scott to a small stool behind the counter. "Thirteen wide, right? Such lovely big … feet."

Scott licked his lips. "Uh, Lily?"

Lily leaned one elbow on the counter. "Heath, knock it off. You're making him nervous."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, I'm just kidding."

"No," Scott protested, "it's not that, it's … it's …" He had one new shoe on, the other frozen in his hand. "I … could you excuse us for a second?"

"Who, me?" Heath asked. "Darling, whatever you have to say to her, I've heard it before."

"No, really, please," Scott said.

Heath rolled his eyes extravagantly and moved to the front of the shop.

"What, babe?" Lily asked.

"These shoes," Scott answered in an urgent whisper. He gestured with the loose one. "The price on these …"

Lily shrugged. "They'll last forever, Scott."

"But I can't afford these. I never even saw shoes this expensive before …"

"Don't worry about it."

"Lily, I can't …" Suddenly the missing price tags on the clothes seemed ominous as well. He needed the clothes; he could feel his precious ninety minutes slipping away and there was no time to go anywhere else. But he could not, could not, let this woman he barely knew spend this much money on him, even if it cost him the audition. "How much did the rest of this cost?"

"Don't worry about it," Lily repeated firmly.

"But I can't …"

"Can't what?" Heath demanded, flirting back to them. He took Scott's roll of clothes and scooted them delicately into a shopping bag, then wiped his fingers on his shirt. "Afford all of this? Of course you can't, darling. Neither can she."

"But … but …"

"We'll put it on his account," Heath said calmly. "He'll never even notice."

Scott licked his lips. "My dad?" he asked Lily hopefully.

"Control."

He considered for an instant, then nodded. "I'll pay him back."

"No, you won't. I already cleared it with him. It's a gift. Happy bar mitzvah."

Scott laughed out loud. "I'm not Jewish."

She shrugged. "Things change."

"Lily …"

"Put your shoe on. We gotta fly."

"Always in such a rush," Heath sighed. "It's no wonder you're still single."

"Yep," Lily agreed. "Haven't found a man who can keep up with me."

"Maybe it's not a man you should be looking for."

"Maybe you're right. Bill me."

Heath slapped a form on the counter. Lily signed it quickly, flipped it over and slid it back. Scott noticed that she gave him no opportunity to glimpse the final total.

"Take the ties," Heath reminded her.

She snatched up the three boxes and dumped them in the bag with Scott's clothes. "The pink one's coming back. You know it as well as I do."

"We'll see," he answered. "The man's tastes are infinitely more refined than yours."

Lily shook her head. "Thanks, Heath. Scott, let's hit it."

Scott grabbed his shoes and followed her closely out. "Interesting place," he said, when the door was safely shut behind him.

"Yeah," Lily answered. "He's one of your dad's old clients."

"Really? What'd Dad do for him?"

"I have no idea." Lily opened the trunk of a sleek little Mercedes, black with blacked-out windows, chrome everywhere. She gestured and Scott dropped his sneakers in. "Right violin?" she asked.

Scott took the case out and held it against his chest. "Yeah, thanks. How'd you get into the apartment? Becky's supposed to be at school …" From her look, any question about how Lily Romanov had gotten into his apartment was purely rhetorical. "Oh."

Lily slammed the trunk. "Let's go."

"Are you okay to drive? I mean, if you need to, um, rest up or whatever, all this running around …"

She flashed him a knowing smile. "I love you, Scott, but you're not driving my Benz."

Scott shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for asking."

"I never do."

He slid into the passenger seat. Lily flipped some button, and his seat slid back, giving him a comfortable amount of leg room. "Thanks. Nice car. Very nice."

"Yeah. My boyfriend bought it for me." She started the car, then handed him a manila folder off the dash. "I got them to fax me the piece they want you to play. Just sight-reading, plus whatever you have prepared."

Scott nodded. That was pretty standard. He opened the folder. "I'm auditioning for West Side Story?" he asked incredulously.

"Evidently."

"Are you kidding?"

She glanced at him, then spun the wheel one-handed and inserted the Mercedes into a gap in traffic that was much too small. "You don't want to?"

"Of course I want to, everybody wants to, the music is killer … how did you do this?"

"Well," Lily began, crowding over two lanes, "I was trying to get tickets to A Chorus Line for Munchie and his wife. It's their anniversary, he was supposed to get them two weeks ago and he forgot and … never mind. Anyhow, I was talking to a producer, and he was telling me that his brother's doing the road company for the West Side revival and their first violin got in some beef with his wife, something about the wife, the nanny, and a meat hammer, or maybe a tack hammer, and his left hand is going to be in rehab for the next several months."

"Ouch."

"Personally I would have let him keep the income and got it in the divorce, but that's me. So all their violins are moving up a chair, but they're short and the company leaves two weeks from yesterday, and did I know anybody? So I called his brother and played him your tape. And he asked if I could get you out there to audition for him and the conductor."

"Wait – my what? What tape?"

Lily reached and pushed a hand-labeled cassette into her tape player. Symphonic music filled the car; the Mercedes, Scott noted, had a better sound system than his apartment. But the tape sounded like crap. Then with a start he recognized the music. "That's me."

"Yes, I know."

"That's Salzburg. Where did you get that?"

"Your dad copied it for me."

"I … but … where did he get it?"

"I don't know. He played it in the Jag, and I made him copy it for me."

"Why?"

"Because I like it." Lily frowned in concentration, sliding the car onto the freeway. "I take it with me everywhere I go. Usually in my Walkman, but man, it sounds sweet in here, doesn't it?"

"It's all stretched out, it sounds like crap. You take my tape with you? Like … when you work?"

"Uh-huh. It's an anchor."

"A what?"

"When things get really dark, it reminds me that there's still light out here on the other side."

"My music? Or just any music?"

"Well, any music helps, but yours is the best. Because I know you. Because I know the heart the music came from. It makes it personal."

Scott stared at her. As complimentary as it was, this clearly wasn't flattery. He felt like his heart was going to burst. "I don't know what to say."

Lily glanced at him. "Don't ever think that what you do isn't important, Scott. Like Tolkien said, in the darkest corners, sometimes it's the only light." Then she looked away, popped the tape back out. "Look at the sheet music. I'll get you there on time."

Scott rubbed his eyes impatiently, took a deep breath, and opened the folder again.

***

Becky Baker paused in the middle of writing an answer on her exam. Her pencil hovered over the paper; her vision blurred and the question and answer swam away. She felt ever so slightly dizzy.

It could have been the heat, but it wasn't. Been here before, she told herself. There was no fighting it. Visions came when they came, not when they were convenient. It had been months since she'd had a clear, strong one. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The world shifted. Everyone she knew, everyone she cared about, was suddenly crowded into her mind. Everyone was moving, and everything was gray.

The gray separated, into light and dark, and still everyone was moving. Scott and his father and his mother, Mickey and his lady, Control, Mira, Lily. People she barely knew came, and people she did not know at all, and they were all moving, shuffling like those toy football players on an electric vibrating field, into light, into dark. All jumbled, all moving. Where am I? Becky wondered. Am I moving, too?

The dark grew darker, and people began to vanish into it.

They would not come back.

Becky searched their faces, trying desperately to remember who went into the dark, trying to keep track, but there were too many, moving too fast. A dark-haired man, a young woman. She could not keep track of the ones she knew any more. Everything was moving into chaos. Everyone was moving away …

Then it snapped.

She sat straight up in her chair. She was back in real time, back in her classroom. It was hot, and the box fan in the window just blew the hot air around. Her pencil was in her hand, the answer to the accounting problem still half-written. Beside her, a classmate gave her a worried look and returned to his own exam.

Becky shook her head hard, trying to clear it. She didn't know whether to be afraid or overjoyed. There had been so much darkness in her vision, but the light had been so bright, too. She wished she understood. Everyone moving, that was nothing new. Everyone was always moving. But into darkness, into light …

She took another deep breath and let it go. The answers would grow clearer over time. They always did. Sometimes she even understood in time to help.

With a final shake, she went back to her exam.

***

Scott McCall stepped onto the conductor's podium. Sacred space, forbidden space, but it was where they'd told him to stand. The room was bathed with harsh white florescent light, and he reached to tilt the music stand so he could see the notes. He glanced up. Past the rows of empty folding chairs and metal stands, back where the percussion section should be, the conductor and the producer and the newly-promoted concert master stood, talking quietly, waiting.

Scott was dressed better than any of them. He could have come to the audition in his cut-offs.

But the clothes gave him confidence. He looked good – damn good – and he knew it. The shoes hugged his feet. He felt taller, yet less awkward. He felt great.

He wondered if the woman who had appointed herself his fairy godmother knew all that. She was behind him, somewhere, in the hallway. Waiting. The beautiful young woman who had been his father's lover …

Scott shook his head. None of it mattered now. None of it could matter. Not the woman or the clothes, not the men who waited patiently to hear his music. Only the music itself. He closed his eyes, tucked the violin under his chin, flexed his fingers one last time. His little routine, making the transition from Man to Musician.

He played.

They had not said whether they wanted the show music or his audition piece first. He played the Mozart, with his eyes closed. The music flowed from him, from the violin, the bow, like cascading light, like sweet water. Every note, true and clear. Every attack definitive, every pause sharp. Every phrase full, complete.

He had never played better in his life.

He reached the end of the section and stopped, opened his eyes and lowered the violin. Sheet music next. He reached to adjust the stand again.

"Never mind," the conductor said. His name was Hricko, Scott reminded himself. Herman Hricko and he had an accent that said he was from somewhere in central Europe.

Scott dropped the violin all the way to his side and waited, confused. He had played brilliantly. Hadn't he? Or maybe the best that Scott McCall had ever played wasn't really all that good …

"You’re in," Hricko said.

"Oh. Thank you."

The producer said, "Leave your information with Rachel. We'll get a contract to you in the morning."

"Okay."

The two men walked out, talking probably about some new matter. The concert master, a man of about forty whose name Scott could not remember if he'd even heard it, came around the orchestra chairs to meet Scott at the side of the platform. "I'll get your music," he said. "And a schedule. Please tell me you're a fast learner."

Scott shrugged. "My girlfriend says I am."

The man raised one eyebrow. "That one?" he asked, gesturing towards the hallway. "That's a hell of a compliment."

"No," Scott answered. "That's my future step-mother."

"Lucky dog. Just stay away from meat hammers, okay?"

"Okay."

"We're gonna have to work in extra rehearsals somewhere," the man sighed. "We leave two weeks from yesterday. You have a passport?"

"Yes."

"Good. Be here in the morning, eight. I'll introduce you around."

"I'll be here."

"What's your name again?"

"McCall. Scott McCall."

The man nodded. "Joe Bradley. Good to meet you."

***

They headed back for the city. The whole audition had taken less than half an hour. Scott squirmed and bounced in the passenger seat, reading the itinerary over. "I can't believe this. England, France, Germany, Italy … this is great. I can't believe I got this." He considered. "I can't believe you got me this."

"I got you the audition," Lily corrected gently. "You got the rest yourself. You were really good, you know."

Scott grinned. "I think it's the clothes."

"I think you'd play that well stark naked." The woman grinned slyly. "And I might pay quite a lot to see that."

He blushed furiously. "Uh … no."

"Just kidding. Well, mostly."

Scott gazed out the window while his cheeks cooled. They were flying through traffic again, even though there was no need to hurry. He thought about saying something, then decided against it. His comments always made his father cranky, and Kostmayer just drove faster. He wasn't sure about Lily, but he wasn't taking any chances.

He couldn’t believe she'd gotten him this gig. It would solve so many of his money problems, give him steady income and low expenses for the next six months. Plus it would get his music career back on track. Give him a big fat reference on his resume. Let him meet the people in the industry who could give him his next gig, and the one after that. This was a huge break. He intended to make the most of it.

Not bad, coming from his dad's ex.

And she was, he was quite certain, the ex. Robert and Lily had had a fight, and a big one, judging by the force of the back blast Scott caught from it. A few months ago, in the middle of an entirely different argument, his father had suddenly begun to rant at him about how Lily Romanov was entirely a Company drone and how Scott was never, ever to trust her. The rant had lasted until Scott had pointed out, unwisely, that he hadn't even mentioned Lily. Which had set father off on an entirely different rant.

But then somewhere, too, they'd made up – his father and Lily. Robert hadn't objected in the least to Scott and Becky helping with the Fall of the Wall party she'd organized. Not a single negative word about her. Scott had thought they might even be back together. But then Robert had begun dating Scott's neighbor, Mira.

Scott shook his head. It was all too complicated, trying to keep track of his father's love life. And he didn't really want to. It was enough that Lily and his father were still friendly, and that Lily had gotten him this gig.

He was going to Europe. He was going to get paid to play music, every day, and he was going to Europe, for six months, hotel rooms and catered food and a different city every week, trains and planes and music. Europe.

Then he sat up straight. "I can’t go."

Romanov glanced at him. "Hmmm?"

"I can't … I can't take this gig."

"Okay," she answered calmly.

"I'm sorry," Scott said earnestly. "I know you went to a lot of trouble, you and Mickey and … but I can't. I can't leave Becky." His heart broke. He wanted this trip so badly, but Becky had been left too many times in her life. This would kill her. He could hear his mother's logic, and his father's, the arguments, it's only six months, you can call every day, you're supposed to be adults, for heaven's sake, she must realize what an opportunity this is for you …

Lily said, simply, "Take her with you."

Scott stared across the car at her. "What?"

"Take her with you," the agent repeated.

"I … I … she has school."

"Summer semester's almost over, isn't it?."

"We can't afford it."

"I have a billion frequent flyer miles. She can stay in your room. Now you're down to food. And that's assuming we can't get her a job with the road company. She does have skills, you know."

"She doesn't have a passport."

Lily smiled wryly. "I have dozens. I'll loan her one."

"But … but …" Scott looked out the window again. Take Becky to Europe? Show her all the places he'd been, share all the new places with her? The cities, the train rides, the crappy hotels, the shows … she would love it. She would love all of it, and he would love sharing it with her.

As if getting this amazing gig hadn't been enough, now he could share it with the woman he loved. It was too good.

It seemed impossible.

"Look, I'm not telling you what to do," Lily said. "If you don't want to go, it's no skin off my ass. I had nothing better to do today anyhow. But if you want to go and you want to take Becky with you, it can be arranged. Believe me, it would be no sweat."

He took a deep breath. The possibilities spun through his mind, tumbling over each other. Becky with him in Europe. The trip of a lifetime. "Really?"

"Really. Whatever you need, just tell me. It can be arranged."

"My fairy godmother."

Lily chuckled. "Remind me to run Kostmayer over when I see him."

***

Becky let herself into the apartment, put her book bag down. There were lights on; she could hear movement in the kitchen. "Scott?"

"Be right out," he called. "How'd the test go?"

"Good, I think." She kicked her shoes off and hung up her jacket. "If I get through the final next week, then I'm done until September."

"Yeah," Scott called. "About that." He appeared in the doorway with a stem glass in each hand. He was trying not to grin. "How would you feel about taking some time off?"

Becky blinked at him. She felt the vision return; everyone moving. It passed. "Why?"

"So we can go to Europe for six months." He quit trying to fight the grin and went with it.

She smiled uncertainly. "What?"

He kissed her and handed her a glass of champagne. "Europe. Six months. Road show. I got a gig. You're coming with me. We leave in two weeks."

"What?"

Scott laughed. "Europe. I know you'd have to take a semester off school. But you could eat in every great restaurant in Europe. It's not a bad trade-off."

Becky stared at him.

"But," Scott faltered, "if you don't want to, then we don't have to go. I know how important school is to you, and you've only got one more year. I just thought … but if you don't want to …"

"You could go without me," she said quietly.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Scott answered firmly. "Not ever again. If you don't want to go, I'm staying here."

"But …" She paused. Everybody moving. "I want to."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

He grinned, and kissed her, and they both spilled champagne. Becky laughed. "I think we need to drink or neck, but not both."

Scott nodded, stepping away. "Drink first." He held his glass out. "To Europe."

"To Europe," she toasted, and they drank.

Then he took her glass away and gathered her in his arms. "Now neck."

They kissed long and slow. Then Becky made a vague gesture towards the couch. They'd been together long enough that Scott understood: He was so much taller than her that she was getting a kink in her neck. They sat, snuggled close, and kissed some more.

"Would you really have not gone without me?" Becky asked.

"Absolutely."

"But this is such a great chance for you."

Scott shrugged. "But you're chance of a lifetime. Besides, if I went without you, I'd spend the whole time being miserable and missing you. Now I can go and really enjoy it."

Some time later, when they had to break for air, she said, "You didn't even tell me you had an audition."

"I didn't," he laughed. "I think I got swept up in a Company operation."

"What?"

He explained, swiftly, about being accosted by Kostmayer and then by Heath, and taken over state lines by Romanov. "It was wild. They just sorta passed me around like cargo." Scott shook his head. "Mickey says she's my fairy godmother."

Becky hesitated, listening for intuition. There was nothing. There never was, where Lily was concerned. "Did you tell your dad you got the job?"

His face fell. "I forgot."

"You should call him."

"In a minute." They kissed again. "We're going to Europe," he said in disbelief. "We're getting paid to go to Europe."

"Your mother is going to hit the roof," Becky said dourly.

Scott closed his eyes. "I think I'll call my dad first."

He did. Robert was predictably pleased. He was also surprisingly supportive of the idea of Becky going along. "I can arrange a passport for her," he offered, "but Lily's probably got closer connections. Let her handle it."

"I'll call her," Scott promised.

"And Scott – don't worry about money. If you need any help with it …"

Scott flushed. He was getting too damn old to be in his father's pocket. "It's okay, Dad. We'll figure it out."

"I'm sure you will, but … unexpected things happen. It's only money."

Which meant, in Robert-speak, I love you. "Thanks, Dad. I'll let you know."

"Whatever I can help you with, Scott. I'll drop by in the morning, shall I, and we'll see what needs to be done."

"Sure. You, uh, wouldn't be willing to tell Mom for us, would you?"

There was a distinct pause. "Let me know if you need any money, Scott." The phone went dead.

Scott turned to Becky. "Let's have dinner."

***

Control shook his head, pausing between bites of pasta. "Your good deed for the day, was it?"

"It was fun," Lily said. "And he was so good at the audition."

"I'm sure he was. He's very talented. He always has been."

"Oh, Heath sent you ties. One's pink." He cocked one eyebrow at her. "I told him you wouldn't wear it, but you know how he is."

"I'll look at it." Lily popped to her feet. "Not right now …" he began. There was no point. She'd already trotted into the living room and returned with the ties. He considered the pink one. "It's not pink. It's more salmon."

"I told him. He insisted."

"I'll wear it," Control replied serenely. Then he grinned. "Mostly to keep you from thinking you know everything about me." He put the ties aside and continued his attack on the pasta before him. Flat fettuccini noodles, broccoli, mushrooms, creamy garlic sauce. "Becky's?" he asked, gesturing with his fork, his mouth full.

"Becky's recipe. I made it."

"It's good."

"Thanks."

They ate in silence. Or, rather, Control ate; Lily, he finally noted, toyed with her food and watched him. "What?"

"Nothing."

He arched one eyebrow. "If there's arsenic in here, the garlic is covering it nicely."

She smiled brightly. "Oh, good. I was worried."

Control went on eating, a bit more slowly. "I can't say as I'd blame you."

"I would never poison you, love. Tear your throat out with my bare hands, maybe, but never poison you."

He finished the pasta. She bounced to her feet again and refilled his plate. "You don’t have to wait on me, you know." Then he shook his head. "Except you do, and that's pretty much all you do, isn’t it?"

She'd been home from Europe for four days. This was the first time they'd been alone together – and he couldn't stay.

"I don't mind," Lily answered. "I find my own amusements."

Control considered her. Lily Romanov was a beautiful, resourceful woman, and she was fully capable of amusing herself. He didn't want to consider what amusements such a woman could find on the streets of New York City. How many men – no, he emphatically did not want to think about it. But while he was stuck in the office twenty or more hours a day, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding wound that was central Europe, he could hardly ask that she sit quietly at home and wait for him to show up for dinner.

The quiet fear lurked in him, always, that he would lose her to someone more amusing – or at least more attentive. He couldn't even blame her. The fault would be entirely his.

Yet here she was, cooking dinner for him, attending his every need.

And if he'd said, I've got twenty minutes, leave the dishes, let's go screw – even if he put it just that baldly – she'd not only be agreeable, she'd be enthusiastic. My drive-by sex life, Control thought grimly. She'd called it that once, apologized later, but it was absolutely true.

He wanted more. Sometimes they had more. Much more. He wanted more now.

Except that he had to get back to the office.

Lily was still watching him. "What?" he snapped.

"When was the last time you ate?" Lily asked quietly.

Control bristled. "Breakfast."

"Today?"

"Maybe yesterday," he conceded. "I've been busy."

She shook her head. "I bet you've lost ten pounds since I saw you last. Doesn't anybody take care of you while I'm gone?"

"No."

Lily sat back. She had gone silent. Not quiet, as she'd been before. Silent. There was a difference; Control could feel it in the air between them. He'd snapped his reply once too often. She wouldn't argue with him about it. She understood all the 'whys' of his temper. But she wasn’t going to step into the line of fire again, either. She would stay silent, or nearly so, until he left.

And next time he showed up, it would be as if nothing had happened.

It was how their relationship had always worked.

In a city full of men more amusing, more attentive.

"I don't know why you stay with me," Control said quietly.

"Yes, you do," she answered.

He nodded. He did. Though he very much doubted that his answer and hers were the same. He put his fork down. "It's going to be bad, Lily. Worse than you've ever seen."

"I know."

You don't, Control thought. You have seen some damned awful things in your time, but you have seen nothing like the Balkans are about to become. His mind flashed in gory detail to a sunny morning, pleasant and cool, walking across a new-plowed field, the rough ground at his feet, the sod turned, and as he walked he kicked a clump of grass aside and there was a face staring up at him, a young woman, dead and rotting, covered with grass and dirt in a field that had perhaps been her family's farm. He remembered the horror as he looked around and saw the whole field had been turned, and his eyes met Robert's and they knew, they both knew, that the field had been planted with the bodies of the innocent, as far as they could run in any direction.

They had sworn to themselves and to each other that it would never happen again.

It had happened dozen times since, and it was going to happen again.

"I don't want you to go," he said.

His beloved nodded solemnly. "All right."

"Just like that."

"We've been through this before, kedves. Say the word, tell me where you want me, I'm there."

Control closed his eyes. Just like that. Keep her close, keep her safe. Keep her from seeing the horrors he had seen. Keep her alive. Keep her for himself.

Keep her waiting at home, or finding her own amusements on the streets of New York?

That wasn't fair. She had never for an instant given him reason to doubt her faithfulness. But then, he had never disrespected her abilities and her independence enough to ask her to quit the Company for his comfort.

Loving Lily Romanov, and letting her remain who she was, was the hardest thing he had ever done.

"There may come a day," he said, "when I won't be able to let you go again."

"Tell me when," she promised. In her eyes, though, he saw relief. She was glad he hadn't reined her in just yet.

It was still an adventure to her.

Control shook his head sadly. "My Lily, my Lily."

And she was in his arms.

***

The sheer quantity of the details began to weigh on Scott and Becky while she cooked dinner. "What about the apartment? Are we going to sub-let it?"

Scott nodded, then shook his head. "Two weeks isn't much time to find somebody we trust not to trash the place."

"Maybe your dad knows somebody. Or Lily does."

Scott nodded thoughtfully. The idea of a spook bunking in his apartment was mildly comforting. He knew how little time they actually spent at home. "We'll need to put all our personal stuff in storage."

"We have the storage bin in the basement," Becky reminded him.

"But it's half-full already. Maybe we could use somebody else's, too. Like Mira's. Does she have any room, you think?"

Becky laughed out loud. "Mira's locker is so full it's busting at the seams. Just like her apartment."

"Oh."

"I don't know what to pack," Becky mused, flipping the steak burgers over. "I mean, do I just wear jeans all over Europe?"

"Yes. I did last time."

"We need at least some good clothes. For shows and restaurants and whatever."

"Maybe a couple outfits. Damn, I need to see if I can get my tux fixed." At his last formal concert – more than a year ago – he'd caught the cuff of his sleeve and torn it, badly.

"You need a new tux," Becky said. "You've had that one forever. It's shiny."

Scott scowled. "Like we can afford that."

She shrugged. "You need it. We'll find a way."

"Hmm." Scott had not told her his father had offered money for this excursion. He hadn't expected to find a need for it so quickly. Still … well, hell, he'd let Control buy his audition clothes. What was the difference?

"Dinner."

They ate, and they discussed. They looked at Scott's rehearsal schedule, with extras hand-written all over it. It didn't leave much time for anything else. "You're going to get stuck with this all," Scott said apologetically.

"I'll manage," Becky assured him. "Let me get through my final next week and then I've got nothing else to do." She paused. "Well, except work, and tell them I'm leaving in two weeks." She frowned. "They are not going to be happy."

They ate for a moment in silence. "Look," Scott finally said, "Maybe this is a bad idea. If you want to just call it off …"

"No," Becky said emphatically. "It'll be tough, but we can do this. I just have to get my brain around it, you know? Start thinking of the planning as … part of the adventure."

"An adventure," Scott said skeptically. "That's one way to look at it."

"It's the only way to look at it." She leaned and kissed steak sauce off the corner of his mouth. "We're going to have a blast."

***

"An adventure," Scott reminded himself, staring at the phone in his hand. "It's going to be a great adventure."

He glanced towards the bathroom door, waited until he heard the shower start, then dialed the phone. Maybe she wouldn't be home. Maybe he'd get the answering machine, or …

"Hello?"

"Hi." Scott cleared his throat. "Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Scott, what's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?"

"You only call when something's wrong, Scott."

"That's not true," Scott protested. "I called you when … ah … I called for your birthday, didn't I?"

"Ah, yes," Kay answered. "Because you'd forgotten to send a card."

"Mom."

"I'm sorry, Scott. You just called to chat, then?"

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, a bit too eagerly.

"No, no. My show's on tonight, but it doesn't start for another half hour. How's, uh … Becky?"

Scott winced at the pause. Kay still couldn't quite remember his girlfriend's name. That, or she just hated to say it. "She's fine. She's great. Listen, um, I have some great news. I got a gig."

"A what?"

"A gig. A job. Playing music."

"With your band?" Kay asked uncertainly.

"No, violin. A real job." Scott winced again. Any job where he played music, he'd insisted to his mother, counted as a real job. He'd fallen into her way of talking already. "A steady job, in an orchestra."

"Oh, Scott, that's wonderful! I'm so glad you won't be wasting your time with that band any more. That was just going nowhere for you."

"Mom!" He caught himself. The band had dissolved a year ago, and she knew it. But it wouldn't do any good to argue with her. "Anyhow. It's with a road company. European tour, six months. We leave two weeks from yesterday."

"Six months? Oh, Scott, that's wonderful. Such a great opportunity for you."

"Yeah, I know. I can't believe Lily even got me the audition."

"Lily?" The temperature in her voice dropped thirty degrees in that one word.

Scott paused. He thought about telling her that he was certain Lily and Robert weren't a couple any more. But it really wasn't any of her business. None of his, either, for that matter. He went on as if he hadn't noticed the change. "Yeah. She knows the producer, or his brother, or something. She knows everybody. So they lost a violinist, and she got me an audition, and just like that I got the gig."

"Well." Kay's voice remained chilly. "I'm very happy for you, Scott. However this came about."

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, we're really psyched. Lily's going to help Becky get a passport in time, she says it's no problem at all."

"Pardon me?"

"What? Getting the passport?" Scott knew perfectly well that wasn't what she was talking about. "She says she'll get an official one, walk it through channels for us."

"Becky's planning to go with you?"

Scott forced a smile into his voice. "Well, sure, Mom. What did you think, I'd just leave her for six months?"

"Oh, Scott …"

"This is a great opportunity for her, too. She can see all the world capitals, try out all the different cuisine, it'll be great."

"Scott, really, now … you should be concentrating on your career, not on this… "

"Mom. I love her. I'm not going without her."

"Oh, Scott. This just isn't a good idea. What will the conductor think?"

Scott rolled his eyes. The conductor would think, thank God I don't have to watch out for that one and hookers. Or, oh, what a shame he's not gay. If he thought anything at all. "Mom …"

"And you really can't afford this, can you?"

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. "Dad said he'd help us with the money if we needed him to."

"Oh." If Lily's name had been cold, that 'oh' came out frozen. "I see. You father knows all about this, does he?"

"Well … I called him first, yeah. But just because he already knew about the audition. Lily called him to try and find me."

"Called him or just rolled over and nudged him awake?"

Scott flushed. "Mom!"

"Scott, this is ridiculous. You cannot take that woman with you to Europe like some … some … baggage. You just can't. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Mom …"

"I mean, I suppose it would be different if you were married, but honestly, Scott …"

Scott blinked. He missed whatever she finished her sentence with. "I'll call you right back," he said over her voice, and hung up over her spluttered reply.

He walked to the bathroom door and knocked loudly. "What?" Becky called over the shower.

"I called my mom," Scott said.

"What?"

"Kay. I called Kay."

"I've still got conditioner in. Come in here and talk to me."

Scott stepped into the steamy bathroom. "I called my mother," he said again.

"Oh," Becky groaned. "What'd she say?"

"She said we should get married."

There was a distinct pause. "What?"

Scott grinned. "She said we should get married."

"Your mother said that?"

"Yes."

"Oh." There was a longer pause, and then the water stopped. "What'd you tell her?"

"I told her I'd call her right back."

Becky slid the shower door back and peered at him. "Why?"

"Because I had to come in here and ask you to marry me."

She stared at him. "What?"

The setting was wrong, Scott realized, too late as always. The steamy bathroom, her soaking wet and naked, him back in his cut-offs. There should have been roses and champagne and such. But it was too late to back down now. "Will you marry me?"

Becky just stared.

"Becky?"

"A-a-are you s-serious?"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her stutter when it was just him. "I am."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I didn't stutter that time."

"Yes?" He stepped to the side of the tub and wrapped his arms around her. It didn't matter that she was wet, or that he was, now. "Yes?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Becky laughed. "Oh, yes."

They kissed deeply. "I gotta call my mom back," Scott said.

"Call her later," Becky protested.

She was already naked. He didn't bother with even token protest.

***

"Next summer?" Becky whispered later, in the satisfied sleepy dark of their bed.

"Before we go," Scott murmured back.

"Before we … in two weeks?"

"Yes. Mom says." He stirred toward wakefulness. "Is that okay?"

"It's okay with me."

"It'll have to be awful simple," Scott continued. "If you've got your heart set on something bigger, it could wait until we get back."

Becky chuckled in the dark. "Oh, yeah. I had my heart set on trying to stand up and talk in front of a thousand of your mother's closest friends."

"Mmmm. I bet she did."

"She's going to have a fit."

Scott sighed. "We could not tell her. Run off to Vegas, tell her afterwards."

"We could," Becky agreed warmly. Then she sighed. "It would break her heart. She'd never speak to you again."

"I'm not sure that would be a bad thing."

"Scott."

"I'm serious, Becky. If she's going to be this much of a pain in the ass every time we try to do something with our lives …"

"She's your mother."

"She's a pain in the ass."

"But she's still your mother. And you can't …" She sat up in the darkness. "You can't throw your mother away just because she's annoying."

Scott sat up with her, wrapped his arms around her. Becky had left everything, home and family, mother and father, to escape the abuse of her childhood. She was right. Of course she was right. "We'll deal with her as best we can," he allowed.

"Thank you," Becky whispered.

They settled back under the covers. "I don't even know about licenses and stuff like that," Scott admitted. "I suppose I'd better find out tomorrow."

"I'll find out tomorrow," she corrected. "You have rehearsal at eight."

"Oh, damn. My dad's coming over."

"I could tell him."

"No, I … maybe we could call him in the morning, before I go. I'd like to tell him in person, but I just don't see us having the time."

"And your mother."

"And my mother." He shook his head. "We've got to keep this simple, Becky. We don't have time for anything fancy."

"Nice and simple," Becky agreed.

They believed it, both of them, with all their hearts. 

***

Day Twelve (Tuesday)

***

Just after midnight the phone rang. "'lo?" Scott asked sleepily.

"You said you were going to call me right back," Kay said coldly. "I've been waiting here for hours.

Scott winced. "I'm sorry, Mom. I meant to call you, I really did … I got kinda distracted." Beside him, Becky rolled closer and half-distracted him all over again.

"I can imagine," Kay said disdainfully.

He wanted to argue, but she wasn't wrong. "Sorry, Mom."

"I hope you've thought about what I said," Kay continued. "I know you're very attached to this young woman, but an opportunity like this …"

"We're getting married," Scott announced.

There was a long, long pause. Becky shifted closer, and Scott held her very tightly. Finally, Kay said, quietly, "I don't suppose there's any talking you out of this."

"No," Scott answered, just as quietly.

"I think it's a mistake, Scott."

"I know you do. But you're wrong."

"I see." There was another lengthy silence. Then, "I'll come into the city for dinner tomorrow and we'll start making the arrangements."

"Uh … okay. There's not much to arrange, though. It's going to have to be pretty simple. To get it done in two weeks.""

"Oh. Oh, Scott."

"Mom," Scott protested, hearing the tears in her voice. "Don't do that. It's not fair."

She sniffed audibly. "I'm just a little … overcome, that's all. You caught me be surprise. I'll be all right."

"I love you, Mom."

"You have your father's way of showing it."

She hung up on him.

"Scott?" Becky said quietly.

He kissed her forehead. "It'll be okay," he promised. And then, to reassure himself, he said it again. "It'll be okay."

***

"Oh, yes," Robert McCall said, with a great deal more certainty, as the sun came up. "It will be just fine." He found it disconcerting that both his son and his future daughter-in-law were visibly relieved by his pronouncement. "If all you want is a civil ceremony, it's rather simple. Get the license, find someone to officiate, have a bit of tea after, perhaps." He glanced at Scott. "Wear a decent suit."

"Yes, Dad." The boy added, "Uh … I need a new tux. For the tour."

Robert closed his eyes briefly. "I suppose you're done growing now. I'll take you to Madam Olga."

"Oh, good. I was afraid you'd send me back to Heath."

"Madam Olga is Heath's mother," Robert pronounced with some relish. "And men with arms and training are known to be terrified of her. Myself included. But she will make you a tuxedo that fits, I can promise you that. We should go right away, though. When do you get back from rehearsal?"

"We're supposed to be done at three. So, four-ish."

"Kay's coming for dinner at six," Becky said quietly.

McCall scowled. "Is she. Well, I suppose that can't be helped. I'll call Madam Olga and see if she can see you then." He paused, reflecting. "She's always quite busy, but she does owe me a favor. Or two."

"What about a passport?" Scott asked. "For Becky?"

"Call Romanov. Let her take care of that."

"I'll call her," Becky said. She stood and poured Robert another cup of coffee. It was strong and hot, the way he liked it. The way this ungodly hour of the morning demanded. "Maybe I can get her to go shopping with me."

"I'm sure she'd be delighted," Robert said.

"She did say she'd help with anything we needed," Scott said carefully. "She acted like she's got nothing to do."

"Does she, now?" Robert mused. "I would have thought … well, no matter. Absolutely, ask her to shop with you. And anything else you need. She has impeccable taste and extensive contacts. If she's volunteered to help, let her."

"I thought you and she weren't …" Scott caught himself. "I thought you were fighting."

McCall considered, sipping his blissfully hot coffee. "We've patched up our differences."

"Good."

"But, Scott." He chose his next words with great care. "To obtain a passport, to socialize with her, that's all well and good. If your life is ever on the line – if you're ever in danger – " He stopped again. "You can trust Lily, to some degree. But never forget that she is ultimately a creature of the Company. Her first loyalty will always lie with Control. Always."

"With Control or with the Company?" Becky asked quietly.

Robert studied her. She was quiet, and it was easy to think she wasn't bright. But Becky Baker was a keen observer of the people around her – and psychic as well. It was really quite astounding that she hadn't gleaned the Great Secret yet. "Control first," he answered honestly. "Company second."

Scott shifted uneasily. "Well, I don't really think anybody's going to die over this simple little wedding."

"From your lips, son," McCall said earnestly. "All right. You need to be on your way. I'll call Madam Olga. Becky can call Lily. I suppose the next thing is to decide on a date. But it's best if we let your mother have some input on that, I suppose."

"Please come to dinner," Becky said.

"Ahh …" Robert answered. He looked into her big brown slightly frightened eyes and folded. "Six. I'll be here. But we should go out somewhere to dinner."

"I thought I'd cook."

McCall shook his head. "You want to have the option to leave."

"You think she'll be that bad?" Scott asked.

"I don't know. I just believe in leaving options open."

Scott nodded. "We will. But this will be okay. It'll be okay."

***

"Scott says you can get me a passport in two weeks."

Lily nodded, her mouth full of cinnamon roll. "You need it?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Becky smiled nervously. "I also need a marriage license."

"Hmm." If the older woman was surprised, she didn't show it. "Also in two weeks?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Lily wiped her mouth. "What kind of wedding do you have in mind?"

"Small," Becky said firmly. "Simple. Just a civil ceremony, maybe a little … I don't know, Robert says like a tea?"

Lily nodded again. "I'll handle the paperwork. Let me know what else I can do."

"Okay."

"Seriously. I have the time off and absolutely nothing to do."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You want to go shopping?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

Lily nodded. "Can I take cinnamon rolls along?"

"Help yourself."

***

The music was tough, and Scott felt achingly out of practice. He was seated last chair, which he'd expected. With the first chair gone, everyone else – all three of them – had moved up one. There was a time when he would have resented being last. But after the second hour, when he could barely keep his violin under his chin, he was glad for the lowered expectations.

He was glad to be busy, too. In those few slack moments, he remembered that they were all having dinner with his mother. And that his mother was not at all happy about his impending wedding.

Although – she had seemed to accept it, hadn't she? She'd sounded resigned on the phone. Maybe dinner wouldn't be that bad.

He sighed. He was kidding himself. It was going to be awful.

He focused on the music again.

***

It was a funny little resale shop, narrow and deep, with barred windows over faded 'Sale' signs. Becky had walked by it a hundred times, but she had never thought to stop in on her own. Lily, however, seemed to feel right at home there. "They have great stuff," she said confidently.

There was a vast, unshaven man in a dirty white t-shirt behind the register, reading a tabloid. He glanced up at them, grunted once, and ignored them.

"I only shop here for an ambience," Lily said.

There were hanging racks full of jeans on the wall, three high, over fifteen feet, and bent metal poles to reach the higher ones down with. On the floor, wobbly round racks were crammed with dresses and skirts and clothes of all varieties. Becky picked at a dark blue dress nervously. To her surprise, it was lovely. "This is brand new," she said in surprise.

Lily nodded. "Everything in here is brand new. And it's always cheap. If I were the suspicious sort, I'd wonder why."

"Oh."

The dress was her size and cost five dollars. "That's one."

They found one more dress and three skirts, four tops and two pairs of jeans. They found dress shoes. They found jeans for Scott, and remarkably, shirts that would fit him. Lily acquired a pile of her own selections. They spent, between them, less than an hour and under a hundred dollars. Cash only, of course.

The man at the register spoke no English, and didn't seem to know any words longer than one syllable.

"That was easy," Becky said, rather breathlessly, when they were on the sidewalk again.

Lily nodded. "Hope all the rest of your planning goes as well. Let's go get some pictures taken."

"Pictures?"

"For your passport."

"Oh. Okay."

Lily knew, of course, exactly where to go.

***

At the back door of Heath's shop, Scott climbed out of the Jaguar and swayed lightly. He wondered if his father and Mickey had contests to see who could be the more nerve-wracking driver.

"Do we have to go here?" he asked quietly.

Robert looked over the car at him. "I'm afraid we do," he said uncertainly. He tugged at his cuffs, straightened his tie. "Yes. We do."

It did not reassure Scott that his father was visibly anxious.

Heath let them in. "Ah, you're back!" he said warmly. "You got the job, of course."

"Yes," Scott answered. "Thank you."

"I knew you would. Dressed like that, how could you not. You've ditched the bitch, I see. Let's try those pastels now."

"No pastels," Robert said sternly. "We're here to see Madam Olga."

Heath paused. "Oh. Formal wear. I see." His manner was suddenly solemn. He dropped back, gestured to a small door. "You know the way."

"Thank you." Robert opened the door and gestured for Scott to go first up the narrow stairs beyond.

He went, hesitantly, until he was sure his father was behind him. At the top was another door. Scott hesitated. "Should I knock?"

"No," Robert said cautiously. "She's knows we're coming."

They looked at each other, crowded in the dark stairway. Scott had no idea why his father was so stressed about meeting with a seamstress, but he suddenly wished he had a gun. And he was glad that Robert did. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door.

The room was the same size as the shop below, but mostly empty and dim. Against the walls, dark racks of coats and pants. In the center, a square platform. Beyond, backlit by the windows, in a large armchair, was the outline of a small woman.

"Madam Olga?" Robert called quietly.

The woman was motionless. "So you've returned at last," she said, her voice low and cracking with age.

"I've brought my son," Robert answered solemnly. "He needs a tuxedo."

"He's done growing? I won't waste my time with growing boys. Outgrow their clothes before they're even stitched."

"Yes, Madam Olga."

The woman rose slowly, leaning heavily on a stick. Standing, she was not five foot tall. She creaked towards them.

When she reached the center of the room, she suddenly rapped her stick sharply on the floor three times. The room flared instantly with glaring light, making Scott flinch and cover his eyes. When he could see again, the little woman was swarming around him, her stick no longer crutch but pointer.

"Put your hands down," she ordered sharply. "Stand up straight."

He could not help but obey.

"You," she barked at Robert, "get back, get back. Out of my light."

Scott almost grinned when he noted that his father was as obedient as he had been. But the grin died when the old woman's attention turned back to him. "Straight, I said," she snapped. She cracked his heel with her stick and he found another level of posture. She circled him quickly, left to right. Then she turned and walked back the other way, slowly. "Dresses left, does he? Gets that from his mother's side."

Scott forcefully resisted the urge to cover his privates with his hands. If he moved, he was certain she'd crack him again.

"Well," Madam Olga finally pronounced, "he's built well enough. I can dress him. Strip."

Scott blinked at her. "Huh?"

This time the stick caught the back of his knee. "Are you deaf, child? Strip. Out of those clothes. I can't very well measure through them, now can I? Off, off. Strip!"

Scott looked panic-stricken at his father.

"Do it," Robert advised grimly.

In cold fear, with one eye on the stick, Scott began to peel off his clothes.

***

In his clothes again and in the car, Scott wrapped his arms protectively over his chest.

"Are you all right?" Robert asked.

"Yes."

"Glove compartment."

"Hmm?"

"Open the glove compartment."

Scott did. There was, among other things, a slender silver flask. He brought it out, glanced at his father. "This?"

"Yes."

He unscrewed the cap and held it out to his father.

Robert glanced at him. "It's for you, son."

"Oh." Scott took a deep breath, and then a deep drink. It burned all the way down. And then it turned warm within him. "Oh."

"Have another. Then put it away. The box is for you, too."

"Okay." Scott drank again. Then he put the flask away and found the small jewelry box. He looked at the ring inside, the ring that had been his mother's and his grandmother's. "Oh." He put it in his pocket, then sat back and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Dad."

"Feel better?"

"Yes."

"Good." Robert sighed. "Let's go see your mother."

***

"Well," Kay said, when drinks and appetizers had been ordered, "I don't suppose there's really much point to this dinner. I'm sure you've made up your mind about everything."

"N-No," Becky answered. "Scott's been at rehearsal all day and we haven't had time. A-and we wanted to hear your ideas before we set anything."

She shot a nervous glance at Robert. He barely nodded, his eyes reassuring. They had had, he and his daughter-to-be, a small coaching session that afternoon.

"Oh." Kay's manner thawed, just a notch. "Well. I suppose we'd better start with a date then."

"It almost has to be a week from Saturday," Scott said. "Or sooner."

"Maybe the Friday," Becky offered.

"Oh, Friday weddings always seem so rushed," Kay countered. "People coming in after work, or having to take the day off. It's just rude."

The young man nodded. "Saturday, then."

The drinks came, and Kay produced a small notebook from her purse. She fumbled for a moment, and her husband, Walter, produced a pen without a word.

Robert sighed quietly. This was going to be a bloodbath.

"What?" Kay demanded.

"Nothing," he said innocently.

"You sighed."

"Oh. Just, uh, the Scotch. It's very good."

Kay eyed him suspiciously, then turned to Becky. "I don't know what kind of a hall we'll be able to get on this much notice."

"W-we weren't really thinking we'd g-get a h-hall," she stammered. "Just a little, uh, a little reception, m-maybe here?"

Kay looked around Pete O'Phelan's Place with undisguised dismay. "Here?"

"Why not?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Robert rumbled mildly, "why not, Kay?"

"Well, but it's just so … I mean, really, a reception in a bar? It's so common."

Becky actually flinched. "J-just tea and coffee," she said. "Maybe a little cake."

Kay sighed. "And a church? You'll never get a church this soon, they'll be booked a year ahead. Not that Scott's been to church since he left home, but honestly … you don't have a church either, do you?"

"I do," Becky said. "But they already have a wedding scheduled."

Kay sighed. "I really think we should just postpone this whole affair. It's not as if there really needs to be this great hurry – does there?"

Becky looked at her blankly.

"No," Scott said quickly.

"Well, then. We need to just put this wedding off and take some time to plan it, and then when Scott gets back from his tour …"

"No," Scott said firmly.

Robert nodded to himself. He had hoped the boy would stand up to her. Now, hopefully, he would stick to his guns.

"Now, Scott …" Kay began.

"I'm not going on tour without Becky. And you were the one who said we should get married first."

"Well." Kay sat back and sipped her drink. "Well."

"We just want a small civil ceremony," Becky said. "And then just a coffee."

"Yes," Kay answered coldly. "You said that."

An uneasy silence settled over the table. The waiter brought several plates of appetizers, opened his mouth to banter a bit, then thought better of it and went away.

"Well," Kay finally said. "If that the case, I just don't see how I can invite much family. Your aunt and uncle, Scott, I can't see them coming all the way into the city for a piece of cake."

"I don't expect them to," Scott answered.

"And of course there's Dorothy and Dave, they’ll just be heartbroken not to be invited, but honestly, I can't expect …"

Here is comes, Robert thought, and on cue his ex-wife began to cry.

"Mom …" Scott said.

Kay grabbed her napkin and dabbed her eyes. "No, don't," she answered. "Don't worry about it. I understand you're a grown man, you have to make your own decisions. It's just that I had some hopes, you know, to see my son married in a church, with flowers and candles and all our friends around … but I suppose the world just doesn't work that way any more."

McCall felt his back stiffen with anger. He barely, barely bit back an argument. This was Scott's fight; it had to be. But he could see his son folding.

Scott and Becky shared a long look. "I-I could ask," Becky finally said, "about the church. I don't know if t-they could have a second wedding, l-late in the day, m-maybe."

"Flowers," Scott conceded glumly. "Candles."

Robert sighed. "I know some people who would be willing to help."

"Lily," Becky said quickly. "She said she had free time. She'll help us."

Kay sat up very straight. "Oh, yes," she said with a perceptible chill. "Scott said she was a friend of yours." She very deliberately did not look at her ex-husband.

"She's very good at arranging things," Robert offered sweetly. "I'm sure she'd be a great … asset."

Kay did glare at him then. Then she snapped her attention back to Becky. "If you're having a late wedding, we'll have to have something more substantial than tea. There will need to be a dinner."

"W-we can't afford that," Becky blurted.

"And there isn't time, anyhow," Scott added quickly.

"Well, then." Kay sighed heavily. "I suppose you might as well just elope, as have some sort of half-baked event. I just think this whole thing could wait."

Robert growled softly but did not speak. Come on, Scott, he urged silently. Put a stop to this right now.

The boy said, "What if we had a small wedding now and a big reception when we get back?"

"Oh, Lord, no," Kay answered. "That would just be blatantly fishing for presents. No, no, no." She sighed again. "Can't your family help with any of this?" she demanded of Becky.

"I-I-I don't have any family."

"None at all?"

"None at all," Robert barked. "But if you are determined to have your way with this wedding … I suppose I could cover the expense. Within reason."

"Y-you don't have to …"

"Dad, you can't …"

"Of course he can," Kay said. "He has investments, didn't he tell you?"

An ugly silence settled over the table.

"I don't mind, really," Robert said, to his son and his fiancée. "So long as you have the kind of wedding you want, it will be my pleasure." And then, because he couldn't resist, he added, "I'm sure Lily can locate some wonderful bargains, anyhow."

"Bargains," Kay stuttered. "This is your only child's wedding, Robert. Do we really have to look for bargains?"

"Yes," Becky said quietly.

Robert met Scott's eyes. The boy understood. They did need Lily for her organizational abilities. But far more, they needed her as cover for Becky. Scott barely nodded.

"All right," Kay said. "But I won't have this looking cheap. This has to be a nice wedding."

McCall squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. The coup was thus complete.

Kay turned back to her notebook. "The first thing we'll need," she said, "is to set the date. So we need to start with the church."

"I can go talk to Rev. Tom tomorrow," Becky said.

"In the morning? Good. Then we'll need to find a hall, too, before we can have the invitations printed."

"Printed invitations?" Robert asked delicately. "Is there time for that?"

Kay shot him an annoyed glance. "They'll have to be hand-delivered, of course," she said. "And there will have to be telephone calls, but we can follow up with a mailed invitation."

"Ahh." Robert gazed off into the distance, hearing his bank account whine.

"And then food," Kay continued, scribbling, "and a wedding dress and …"

"I-I was just going to get a nice suit," Becky said.

Kay stared at her. "Oh. Oh, I see. Well, we can talk about that. But Scott already has a tux, or will have – it would be a shame not to wear it. And of course if he's in a tux, it would just look silly if you didn't have a wedding gown."

Becky sighed.

"And then you'll need attendants, and flowers, and something for the dinner and a cake …" She looked up from her notebook. "I need a bigger notebook. And I think I'd better plan on coming and staying here in the city. We'll never get this done otherwise."

Scott groaned softly. Robert almost smiled. It was exactly as he'd expected. He'd tried to tell them.

An adventure, Scott had said. An adventure he would have.



 ***

Day Eleven (Wednesday)

***

"This is ridiculous," Scott said in the car. "I can't believe I just let her walk all over me like that. I should have known. The minute she started to cry, I should have known …"

"It's okay, Scott."

"It's not." He swerved the VW around one taxi, cut off another, and barely glanced back before cutting in again. "I knew she would do this and I walked right into it, like I always do. We've got all these other things to worry about and now she wants the Great White Wedding … you know what? We should just turn around and go back and tell her no."

"She already left for Connecticut," Becky said.

"Then we'll follow her there and just tell her …"

"No."

"Becky, seriously. It's bad enough I jump through all her hoops. I'm not going to make you do it, too."

"I-I want this," she said, very quietly.

"What?"

"This wedding." Her voice was still soft, almost lost beneath the traffic noise. "I know it's a big hassle. I wouldn't have asked, for myself, I would have ... I mean, it doesn't really matter, if I get to be married to you, that's what I want most, but …"

Scott glanced over at her. "You want the Great White Wedding."

Becky blushed and looked away. "I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid. If it's what you want."

"Just … when I was little I had this doll, this bride doll, you know, and I … you know what? This is dumb. I just … when she started talking about flowers and churches and … it's dumb, though. We don't have time."

Scott sighed. "We could wait. Until after the tour. We'd have time to plan this right."

"I don't want to wait. I'd rather go with Plan A." Becky shook her head. "It's really not that important, Scott. I shouldn't have said anything. You're right, let's go find your mom and tell her…"

"No."

"Scott, really …"

"No," he repeated firmly. A horn blew behind them. "Damn it, wait a minute." He scooted the Beetle around a corner and into an illegal parking spot, threw it into park and turned to her. "Becky, look. In the whole time I've known you, in the whole time we're been together, I can count on one hand the number of things you've asked for. You have worked around my crazy schedules, you've put up with my crazy friends – you let Gordy sleep on our couch for three weeks and never complained about it – you fed my dad when he was sick. Becky, you have been so wonderful to me, and you've hardly asked for anything. If this is what you want, if this is really what you want, then absolutely let's do it."

"But …"

"Uh-uh. White dress, candles, flowers, sit-down dinner. All of it. If you want it, and if we can do it, it's yours."

"I can't ask you to do all this for me."

"Becky, I would do anything for you. Don't you know that?"

She began to cry, very softly.

"Oh, don't cry yet," Scott chuckled. "I have something better."

"You what?"

He brought out the small box. "This still isn't right," he said, looking around the cramped little car, illegally parked on a noisy street corner. "But at least we're both dressed." He opened the box. Inside was an old platinum band, set with a larger square-cut diamond, with a smaller diamond on each side of it. "This was my mother's, and my grandmother's. And now it's yours."

"I … but …"

"Will you marry me, Becky?"

"I … Scott, I …"

He took the ring out of the box. "We'll probably have to have it resized. Or we can get the stones reset, whatever you want." He slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

"No," she said.

"No?"

"No, I don't want it reset. But yes, I'll marry you. Again." And then she cried in earnest.

***

Robert glared at the blinking light on his answering machine. He didn't have time, honestly, to be helping anyone right now. He should probably pull the newspaper ad for a few weeks. Kay's wedding was going to cost more time and money than he was willing to contemplate.

Still, if someone needed him … he pushed the button.

"Robert, it's me," Mira Kalinich said pleasantly. "You're late."

McCall swore under his breath. He'd completely forgotten about their date.

"Since you're never late for anything," the message continued, "I'm going to assume you're with one of your people. So I'm going on to the show, and if you can join me, do, and if you can't, call me when you're free. Night, love."

Thoughtfully, Robert erased the message. The same message from Kay would have been laden with scorn and guilt. From Mira, there was none. She was simply going without him.

He was, he mused, very likely falling in love with Mira Kalinich.

***

"Good Lord," Lily said, letting them into her apartment – which had once been Scott's apartment – well after midnight, "what happened to you two?"

"We have a ring," Becky said. She was still sniffling.

Lily snagged her hand. "Nice."

"Heirloom," Scott said. "My mother's and my grandmother's."

"Very nice."

"I told her she could have it reset …"

"I told him no."

Lily nodded thoughtfully. "And what else?"

The lightness faded. "My mother," Scott said succinctly.

Lily pointed towards the couch. "Sit." She went to the kitchen, returned with tall glasses of ice and lemonade – liberally laced with vodka.

They drank. Lily sat in the armchair and waited. "Your mother?" she prompted quietly when they were calmer.

"Our little wedding," Scott explained, "did not suit her."

"No surprise there."

"She wants a real wedding," Becky added.

"Uh-huh."

"And … so do I," Becky confessed.

Scott said, "We need help."

"I am at your disposal. Tell me what you need."

"There's a list."

"There would have to be."

The room was silent except for the clicking of ice on glass. "Your passport is in the works," Lily said. "And I checked yours, Scott. It's good for two more years."

"Oh. Thanks. I think."

"The license is a snap. I just need both of you, with birth certificates and driver's licenses, and forty bucks or so. Twenty-four hours in advance."

"I …" Becky began. "I don't have those."

"Those what?"

"Those papers."

"You don't have a driver's license?"

"I don't drive."

Lily frowned at her. "On purpose?"

"I never … had a chance to learn. Or any need to, living here."

"Mmm."

"I don't have a birth certificate, either."

"Yes, you do." Lily reached behind her to a table, handed Becky a tattered envelope. Inside was an apparently aged certificate, with all the information she'd adopted when she'd come to the city.

Looking over her shoulder at the document, Scott asked, "How'd you do this?"

"I didn't. Control had it made a couple years ago. I just had to stop by the office and ask."

Becky stared at her.

"He likes you, you know."

"Oh."

Scott put his glass down. "What about the license?"

"I can get one," Lily answered. "Or any picture ID will do."

"I have a school one, and a work one," Becky answered.

"Then we're good." She looked to Scott. "When aren't you rehearsing?"

"Um … never."

"Not helpful."

"Friday afternoon they have cast photos. I could get home then."

"Good. I'll tell you where to go."

"I bet you will," he answered wryly.

Lily chuckled. "Those are the critical issues, legally speaking. As for the rest – does Kay have any sense of prioritizing?"

"Well, we have to see if we can get the church first," Becky said. "That will decide the date. And then we go from there – hall and food and dress and flowers and music and … and …"

"Breathe," Lily said. "This can be done. Trust me."

Scott sighed. "There's just so much, all the sudden. On top of everything there was before. The apartment, and my car, and rehearsals and packing and Becky's exam and …"

"This can be done," Lily repeated calmly. "I'll meet with Kay tomorrow and we'll set up a list, prioritize, divide things up. Don't worry. This can be done."

"Don't you have to go to work?" Becky asked.

Lily hesitated. "I'm on vacation."

"And you're going to spend your whole vacation planning our wedding?" Scott said. "We can't ask you to do that."

"Scott, it's one in the morning and I'm here alone. Believe me, I have nothing better to do."

"Still …"

"When's Kay coming back?" Lily asked.

"Tomorrow evening," Becky answered

"You're going to the church in the morning?"

"Yes. I don't think it will do much good, though. I know they're booked."

"I'll go with you, if you want. I can be very persuasive."

"Can you persuade my mother to let us have a small wedding?" Scott pleaded hopelessly.

"I'm sure I could," Lily answered serenely. "But I doubt you'd like my methods."

***

"You look like hell," Joe Bradley said in the morning.

Scott took out his violin and tucked the case under his chair. "Long night."

"Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"Fiancée. And mother."

"Ahh. Set a date yet?"

"Probably a week from Saturday."

Joe whistled. "Damn."

Scott shook his head. "It's going to be an adventure," he said gloomily.

***

"Mira?"

"Robert. Are you safe?"

"I am safe," Robert assured her. "I am so very sorry about last night."

"And well you should be," Mira returned. "The show was positively wonderful."

McCall smiled fondly, though she couldn't see him over the phone. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, anyhow."

"I'd go again, if you'd like to see it."

"I would like that very much," Robert answered. "If it's still there in two weeks."

"Mmm. Bad case?"

"The worst. Scott's getting married."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mira said. "They're such a lovely couple, Robert. Always so considerate of each other. Have they decided when?"

"A week from Saturday."

There was a pause. "Oh."

"And Sunday night they're leaving on a six-month tour of Europe."

"Oh, but that is wonderful. I'm so happy for them."

Robert sighed. "I am, too. But it's going to be a hellish couple of weeks. Kay's taken full charge of the arrangements."

"Oh, my poor Robert. I'm so sorry. How can I help?"

"You can forgive me for last night. This came up so suddenly, I completely forgot."

Mira laughed. "I forgive you. You can make it up to me after the wedding."

"Thank you. You will go with me, won't you?"

"To the wedding?"

"Well, yes."

"Me?"

McCall laughed. "Mira, my dear, you are my lady. I would like very much to have you with me at my son's wedding."

"I'd love to be there with you."

"Thank you."

"I don’t know what to wear."

"You're on your own on that one," Robert sighed. "I hardly know what I'm going to wear."

***

"I wish I could help," Rev. Tom said sincerely. "I really do. Becky, you've been such a huge help to the church for so many things. But this other wedding has been scheduled for over a year. I don't see how I can ask them to change it"

"We don't want you to," Becky said quickly.

"No," Lily continued. "We don't want to do anything that would interfere with the other wedding. This is very last-minute, and anything at all that you can do is greatly appreciated."

The pastor eyed her thoughtfully. "You're a professional wedding planner? I've heard about such things, but I've never met one."

Lily shook her head, smiling. "I'm an event planner. This is my first wedding." She eyed him back. He was maybe forty, blond and blue-eyed and easy to look at. And despite the gold ring on his left hand, he didn't mind being looked at. "So what do you need to make this happen?"

"I … ah, it's not really a matter of money." Rev. Tom tried not to seem offended at the notion.

"No, no," Lily answered quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that it was. Occupational hazard. I mean, what do we need in terms of timing, logistics, that sort of thing? There are really two separate issues here – you, and the church."

He shifted. "They kinda go together."

Lily smiled warmly. "The church building and you. Let's start with you, because you're more important than the building. Becky would really like you to perform the ceremony. Is it anywhere in the possible realm that you could do two weddings in one day?"

He considered. "Yes. I could. If the timing was right. The first wedding is at eleven, with a luncheon. I could be free by – three-thirty? Four?"

"Five would be better?"

"Five would be great."

Lily looked to Becky. "Five?"

"Yes."

"Good." Lily made a note, though she didn't need to. "It still sounds like a long day for you. What can I do to make it easier?"

"I … huh?"

"What would you usually be doing on a Saturday evening after a wedding?"

"Oh. Well, usually I go home and stay with the kids, finish up my sermon and let my wife get a few hours on her own. She just, you know, shops or reads a book with a cup of tea, something like that … I know that sounds silly, but I'm so busy during the week, and then Sundays …"

He twisted his ring like it cut off circulation.

Lily smiled warmly. "I think it sounds wonderful."

He blushed, as she'd expected. "Oh."

"Is there a baby sitter that you trust?"

Tom shrugged. "The girl up the street, but on such short notice …"

"See if she's available. Offer double her usual rate, one time only. We'll cover it."

"You don't have to …"

"Tom. And what if we got a cleaning lady in for you one day during the week? Would your wife think that was a treat or an insult?"

"Treat," he answered instantly. "But really, you don't …"

"What about a guest speaker for Sunday?"

The reverend blinked. "A guest speaker? On this kind of notice? I don't think I could …"

"I'll see what I can do on that," Lily answered. "No promises yet, but I have an idea."

"That would be great. We don't have much of a budget for that …"

"Tom. This can be done. Let me work on it."

The pastor considered. "You know, usually I insist that couples come in for a counseling session or two. To make sure they really know what they're committing to."

"They've lived together for more than a year," Lily pointed out, "and they still want to get married. To each other."

He smiled wryly. "You do have a point there." Then, "What about the rehearsal? I really don't see how I could do two of those in one evening."

Lily frowned gently. "Well, I suppose we could move it up to Thursday."

"There's Men's Group Thursday," Becky countered.

"Hmmm." Lily stood and paced one lap of the tiny office. "It's a small party, just Becky and Scott and two attendants. What if I could get someone else to rehearse them? Maybe you could meet with him, go over any variations, details. But he's already a priest; you wouldn't have to start from scratch."

"That would work. It might not be perfect, but it would work."

Lily nodded. "I'll talk to Nick." She sat and made another unnecessary note. "Now, about the church itself. What's involved in turning around after a wedding?"

The pastor considered. "Usually the cleaning ladies come in, sweep the floor, straighten up, check the restrooms, things like that. The flowers are generally left until after the service on Sunday – usually the families donate the church flowers. We'd need a new carpet runner, new candles – maybe if they got a couple extra ladies in, it could be done. I'll ask them."

"So we can do this," Lily said.

"I … yes. I guess we can."

"Good. Thank you." She stood again, shook his hand. "You have no idea how much we appreciate this."

"I'm just glad we could work it out."

Lily produced a business card from the back of her notebook. "This is Mr. McCall's number – Robert, the father. And my numbers are written on the back. We'll be in touch, but if you think of anything else you need – or anything else you want, anything at all, just let us know."

"I will."

She eyed him one more time, just to make sure he stuck with the program. Then she took her notes and the bride-to-be and trotted off to their next assignment.

***

"That's what you do?" Becky asked in the car.

"Hmmm?" Lily cranked the air conditioner onto 'high'.

"At … for the Company. That's what you do? Talk people into doing things?"

Lily shrugged. "On a good day, that's what I do."

***

"Kay's not here yet," Robert said as he let Becky into the apartment. "Have some coffee. You look as if you could use it."

She nodded gratefully. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you alone, a-anyhow."

McCall studied her with concern. Becky rarely stuttered around him any more. The strain of the previous night's dinner with Kay was visible on her wan little face as well. Or perhaps there was another stress already; perhaps they'd decided to postpone the wedding, or cancel it all together. But if that were the case, surely Scott would be here. Robert put on his most reassuring manner. "Come, sit with me, love. Tell me what's bothering you."

Becky smiled nervously. "I-it's not bad, I p-promise."

"All right."

"I-I-I …" She paused, staring at the black liquid in her mug for strength. "I … you know about my … family."

"I do." He touched her shoulder firmly. "And I'm sure all of this wedding business is bringing up a great many unpleasant feelings for you."

"S-some," she admitted. "But also a lot of …" Her eyes filled with tears and she stopped, embarrassed, and took a deep breath. "I've been very lucky. I know I have."

Robert frowned, puzzled. "Have you?"

"I have. After what happened … I d-didn't expect anything. And I found Scott, and we … and I found you, too."

"Oh," Robert answered unsteadily. A tear trickled down Becky's face. He took her mug and put it on the table, then gathered her close against him. "Oh, my dear girl."

"I wasn't going to cry about this," Becky sniffed in his arms.

"Yes, well. Sometimes a good cry is just the thing." His own eyes weren't entirely dry, either.

She chuckled, then sat up, wiping her eyes impatiently. "Kay would say we don't have time for all this weeping."

Robert snorted. "Fortunately, she's not here just now." He reached for a tissue for her. "But yes, yes, we must be on with things now."

"Yes." She paused again to wipe her nose. "Two things. The first one is – I know Kay can be – difficult, and I know Scott's worried about her and me, and I know you are. So I told Scott and I'm telling you, it's not … just her. I know it's silly, but I … I would really like to have a real wedding. A small one, not a big … but a real wedding, like Kay wants. I mean, I don't really know anything about planning something like this, I know it's going to be a big hassle for everybody, but …"

"Shhh," Robert soothed. "If it is what you want, my dear, then you shall have it. Everything within my ability – our ability – you shall have."

Becky blushed. "I never … I never even thought I'd get married, and this, coming up so fast, I didn't … I mean, a tiny wedding would be fine, but if Kay wants this anyhow …"

"Yes. But I'm glad you told me. I am willing to do all of this, so long as it's what you want. What's the second thing?"

She hesitated, and there were tears again. "This one's weird. And i-i-if you think it's too weird, we can, I m-mean …"

"Becky."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Will you walk me down the aisle?" she blurted.

Robert sucked in a sharp breath, and with it the surprised "Me?" that had almost come out. Instead, he swallowed hard and said simply, "Yes."

Becky's eyes opened. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You d-don't think it's …"

"It's unconventional," Robert allowed, and did not add that Kay would certainly not like it. "But I don't care. I would be very honored. And pleased beyond words."

"Oh." She exhaled as if she'd been holding her breath all morning. "Thank you."

McCall grinned, and gathered her in his arms again.

***

Kay brought a huge box with her, and an enormous bag as well. "I stopped at the bookstore and bought some magazines to look at," she announced. "I don't think we've forgotten anything on the list, but we might as well double-check. And there are pictures of gowns, of course. I didn't know if you have any idea what kind of gown you wanted."

"I … don't," Becky admitted. "I didn't really think I'd have one …"

"Oh, of course you'll have one."

"But they're so expensive. To wear for one day …"

Kay nodded curtly. "Yes, yes. That's something a man would say. They don't understand the importance of these things."

Robert sighed. "I'll start dinner, shall I?"

"Anyhow," Kay continued, "I thought you might need some convincing. So I brought my dress along."

Becky frowned at her, puzzled.

"Oh, I don't expect you to wear it," Kay said quickly. "It's very dated and probably not your style at all. But we're about the same size – well, I was about your size when I was married. So go put it on and see how it makes you feel. I think you'll see, then, why you should have a proper wedding gown."

"Oh," Becky said faintly.

Kay untied the old strings that held the box shut. "And we can get an idea if the cut is at all right for you. It may steer us one way or the other."

"Okay." Very quietly.

Kay lifted the lid off the box, turned back the tissue paper. "I don't think I've even opened this in, oh, it's been years. I looked at it when I brought Kathy home from the hospital, I always thought …" She stopped and swallowed hard. "Well. Let's see how much damage the attic has done."

She picked up the dress by the shoulders. There was a soft rattling sound. Half of the tiny fabric-covered buttons from the back fell into the box. "Oh," Kay said, flushing lightly. "The thread must have gone bad in the attic." She held the dress in front of her. "I can see it wouldn't fit me any more," she joked grimly.

"It's beautiful," Becky said. She stepped closer and let her fingers touch the smooth satin of the skirt. "Oh, you must have been so beautiful."

"She was," Robert said from the kitchen doorway. "She was a very beautiful bride."

Kay blushed even deeper. "That was a long time ago, Robert," she said gently.

"Yes," he agreed. "And I remember every moment of it." He reached down and picked up one of the loose buttons. "Silly thing, all those buttons." He dropped it back into the box.

Becky looked between them, puzzled.

"Go, go try it on," Kay urged, embarrassed.

"I … I couldn't."

"Oh, go on," Kay insisted. "At least we'll have a starting place then."

With another nervous glance between the two, Becky took the gown and fled.

"You were very beautiful," Robert insisted.

"And you were very impatient," Kay retorted, looking ruefully at the buttons. "She seems better today."

"Yes."

"How did you do at the church?" Kay called loudly.

"We got it," Becky called back through the closed door of the guest room. "Five o'clock, a week from Saturday."

"Good." Kay lowered her volume, turned to Robert again. "Now about a reception. I was thinking, maybe one of the hotels …"

"No," Robert said firmly. "I have been to one wedding reception at a hotel. We all nearly died. That was enough."

Kay sighed. "Well it's not like it's likely to happen again, is it?"

"Why risk it?"

"Oh, Robert, don't be silly. Of course, they're probably all booked. But we can call around."

"By we, I assume you mean me."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Robert rolled his eyes. "I'll see what I can do."

Becky said, softly, "I … I …"

They turned.

The girl who'd left in jeans stood in the doorway transformed. The gown fit perfectly, the beaded bodice barely tight, the scooped neck accenting her normally modest figure. The long smooth skirt skimmed her bare toes. Her tanned arms glowed warmly under the short cap sleeves. Her face was transformed most of all by the gown. She was suddenly, and very definitely, a woman.

"You look wonderful," Kay said warmly.

"Beautiful," Robert seconded.

Becky nodded, swallowed. "Could I … could I wear this gown? Please?"

Kay blinked back tears, hard and not entirely successfully. "Well," she said, her voice strangled, "I suppose it would save us some money."

***

"Well, that's two down," Becky said when Scott picked her up.

"Two what?"

"Items off the list. The church and my dress. Do you think she's really okay with that? I mean, it's sort of unconventional …"

"Are you kidding?" Scott snapped his head to each side to crack it. His left side hurt from his fingertips to his waist with the forgotten agony of day-long rehearsals. "She's thrilled out of her mind."

"She doesn't act like it."

"That's Mom. Trust me, she couldn't be happier."

They got into the car. "We could do this tomorrow," Becky said. "You look tired."

"I am dead tired," Scott admitted. "But tomorrow's not going to be any better, and I may get back late. Let's go do this and get a couple more things off the list."

"One."

"One?"

"It only counts as one item on the list."

Scott made a face. "That doesn't seem very fair."

"Sorry. I didn't make the list."

He gunned the little Beetle into a three-foot gap in oncoming traffic. Becky squealed softly.

"Sorry," he grunted.

"I'm not letting you ride with your father any more."

***

The young couple stood and stared at the photo. It was of a boy, just a boy, unimpressed with having a camera aimed at him. His eyes were dark and old and sad.

Kostmayer waited. Everybody stared at the picture, the first time they came into this apartment.

"I-i-is he dead?" Becky finally asked.

"Yes," Annie Keller told her. She didn't elaborate, and Becky didn't ask.

Scott turned, took a deep breath. "We need to ask a favor. Two favors."

"The first one," Anne said warningly, "had better be about taking pictures of this wedding."

Scott nodded. "I know it's really short notice. If you have other plans, we'd totally …"

"Shut up."

Becky ventured, "Whatever your usual rate is …"

Anne shrugged. "I never did a wedding before. I have no idea. But it doesn't matter. You're not paying me."

"My dad …" Scott began.

"Your dad saved my life, and brought me this guy," Anne said firmly. "So we are not discussing money. At all. Ever."

Scott and Becky shared a look. "Thank you," Becky said.

Anne shrugged. "You can thank me if the pictures don't suck. What's the second favor?"

They turned as one to where Kostmayer sat sprawled on the couch. He raised one eyebrow crookedly. "If this involves restraining your mother, I'm your man."

Scott shook his head. "I … uh … we'd like you to be our best man."

Mickey's second eyebrow joined his first. "Me?"

"Yes."

Kostmayer sat upright. "You're kidding."

"No."

"Uh … why?"

Becky sat down next to him. "Because you're our friend."

"Yeah, but …"

"And because if it wasn't for you, Scott might not be here, and Robert certainly wouldn't be."

"Yeah, but …"

"He's trying to say," Anne finally supplied, "that he'd be honored."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are."

"I guess I am," Mickey said uncertainly. "I'm just a little … do I have to wear a tux?"

"We voted no," Becky said, "but Kay says yes."

"She would."

"Madam Olga …"

Mickey shuddered visibly. "I've got one, thanks. But I'm not wearing a tie."

Becky hugged him. "Thank you."

He shrugged, embarrassed. "It gives me the best sight lines, anyhow."

"Sight lines?" Scott asked.

"For your mother. I'm thinking blow darts. Quiet, effective, knock her out until after the reception."

"Perfect," Becky pronounced.

***

"We'd like you to be our Maid of Honor," Becky said.

Lily didn't hesitate for an instant. "Oh hell no."

"I … no?"

"No," Romanov repeated firmly.

"Oh."

"First," Lily said patiently, "I'm pretty much disqualified on both halves of that title."

"It's more traditional than actual," Scott argued softly.

"Second, if I get that close to an altar, I'm likely to burst into flames."

"You are not," Becky protested.

"And third, and most important … do you know why the Secret Service doesn't carry groceries for the First Lady?"

Becky shook her head.

"They need their hands free," Scott guessed.

"Exactly. If something goes wrong, if something unexpected happens, I want to be where I can move quietly." Lily paused, then grinned. "Besides, I want to sit in the back of the church dressed entirely in black and weep mysteriously."

Scott laughed. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"

"It will do your rep a world of good."

"We can't talk you into this?" Becky asked.

"No. Thank you, I'm very honored that you asked, but no."

The three of them sat silent for a moment. "You've got to have other friends," Lily finally said.

Becky shook her head. "I don't … you know." Then, "What about the girl with the tattoos?"

"Shelby?" Scott shuddered. "Yeah, that'll work. Mom will love it." He thought for another minute. "You're sure you don't want to get all dressed up and relive your day as prom queen?"

Lily laughed. "I was never prom queen. I never went to a prom."

"Never?"

"Nope. It would have been so awkward."

"Why?" Becky asked.

"Because I was dating my chemistry teacher my junior year, and my geometry teacher my senior year."

They both laughed. "That's funny," Scott said. "Good line."

Lily nodded. "It'd be funnier if it wasn't true." She shrugged. "I needed the grades to graduate. And boys my own age have always bored the hell out of me."

"Oh."

"Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course."

After a moment, Becky said, "What about Yvette?"

"Yvette?" Scott repeated.

"Who's Yvette?" Lily asked.

"My sister," Scott said. "I was going to invite her anyhow … I was thinking on the way home today I should run it by Dad …"

"I thought your sister was dead," Lily said.

Scott glanced at her, startled. "Yes, no, wrong sister. Yvette's older. My half-sister."

"Sorry, I missed that update."

"I thought my dad might have told you about her." He shrugged, suddenly in uncomfortable territory. "She lives in Montreal."

Lily nodded. "Let me know if I need to make travel arrangements for her."

***

In the sleepy dark, much later, Lily murmured, "Hey. Did you know Robert has a daughter?"

"Mmm?"

"McCall. Has a daughter. Scott's older sister. Half-sister."

Control shifted. "I knew Robert McCall had a daughter more than two decades before Robert McCall knew he had a daughter."

"And you didn't tell me about it?" Lily squealed in protest.

"It wasn't my secret to tell, darling."

"Humph."

"How'd you find out?"

"Scott told me. They're going to ask her to be their maid of honor."

"Yvette?"

"Yes."

Control chuckled. "Well, that should be interesting."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think the ex-Mrs. McCall knows about the daughter yet."

"Oh." Lily rolled in his arms. "Was this daughter conceived during their marriage?"

"No. Before. But not long before. Not long at all."

"Did you know her mother?"

"Yes. Yvette is my goddaughter."

Lily waited. "You're being elusive," she finally accused.

Control took a deep breath. "Yvette's mother was Manon Brevard." They had not spoken of Yvette, but they had spoken at length about Manon. Lily knew exactly what his feelings had been for the woman, all those years ago. And what Robert's had been, as well.

Slowly, Lily said, "Are you telling me the ex-Mrs. McCall was a rebound?"

"I wouldn't put it quite that baldly."

"No, you wouldn't. But was she?"

"That's always been my assessment of the situation, yes."

"Well, damn. That puts a whole new kink in the story, doesn't it?"

He stroked her hair. She smelled like lily-of-the-valley. "I wonder."

"Hmm?"

"I wonder if Scott knows that his mother doesn't."

Lily sighed. "I suppose I'd better call him."

"In the morning."

"In the morning, yes."


 ***

Day Ten (Thursday)

***

Robert was still in his pajamas when his son called the next morning. "Did I wake you?" Scott apologized.

"No," McCall grumbled. "The sun's nearly up, isn't it?"

Scott chuckled uncertainly. "The girls will be there in an hour."

"The girls?"

"Becky and Lily." Scott paused. "I kinda thought Lily had better be there. With Mom. You know."

"I know," Robert agreed. He turned it over in his head. Kay did not care for Miss Romanov, at all. She was no doubt still under the illusion that Robert was having an affair with her. He really ought to settle that matter. But a bit of antagonism would keep Kay distracted from completely taking over – and perhaps off Becky's back as well. Lily, he was certain, could take whatever unpleasantness his ex-wife decided to dish out.

Lily, truth to tell, would probably relish it.

"All right," he said. "I knew that. Why are you calling?"

"I'm on my way to rehearsal. But, uh, I need to ask you something."

"Yes?" Robert leaned and examined his coffee maker. It was still dripping.

"We asked Mickey to be our best man, and he said yes, but we asked Lily and she said no."

"Hmm."

"And so we were thinking … uh … we might ask Yvette."

Robert blinked. "Your sister Yvette?"

"Uh-huh," Scott answered carefully. "And then I thought, Lily thought, maybe before I did that …"

"Yes."

" … I'd better see if Mom knew about her. Or … what."

Robert rubbed his eyes. "I haven't had my coffee yet, Scott."

"She doesn't know."

"No."

"If you don't want to tell her, we could ask somebody else. But I'd really like it if Yvette could come to the wedding." The boy took a breath. "Mom wouldn't have to know who she was."

"No, Scott. I am not going to deny my daughter for the sake of your mother's … comfort. I will tell her."

"She's gonna go crazy, Dad."

"Perhaps." Robert rested his head against the cool hard cabinet. Perhaps, nothing. Scott was right; Kay would be livid. "I'll handle it. But ask Becky not to say anything until I have. Perhaps this evening. All right?"

"You got it. Thanks, Dad."

"Uh-huh."

McCall put down the phone softly. Then, not gently, he banged his head against the cupboard. At least if he was going to have a headache he wanted a good excuse for it.

***

Kay planted herself on the couch and began sewing tiny buttons back on the dress. "Is there any more coffee?"

"I'll get it," Robert offered. He took her cup and refilled it.

"Over there," she warned. "Away from the dress. You don't have cream?"

McCall sighed very softly and took the coffee back. "No sugar?"

"No."

"Mmm."

"She's late."

"She'll be here." He returned the properly prepared coffee, and put it on the side table, safely away from the wedding dress.

"Do you think I pressured her into this?" Kay asked.

"What?" The whole damn wedding? Robert wondered. Yes. Yes, you did.

"Wearing my dress. I didn't mean to, honestly."

You brought it down from your attic and hauled it all the way here, Robert mused. Again, he bit it back. "I think she looks lovely in it."

"She does, doesn't she?"

"Yes."

"It will have to go to the cleaner's."

"Of course."

"A good one."

"Of course."

"Robert, are you mocking me?"

"No." McCall returned to his kitchen. "Of course not."

"You're going to see about a hotel for the reception?"

"Yes."

"Today?"

"Yes!"

"There's no need to snarl, Robert. But we can't get the invitations ordered until we know where the reception will be. And we need to get that done right away."

"Yes, dear."

"Robert, if you're going to have an attitude about all of this …"

There was a confident knock on the door.

"Thank God," Robert breathed. Never mind keeping his ex off Becky's back, Lily could damn well keep her off his.

His best friend's lover wore jeans a size too tight, a shirt unbuttoned one button too far, and her customary breezy confidence. She had never looked better to Robert. "I brought a board," she announced.

He looked at her quizzically. She had a large, flat package under her arm. "A board?"

"A white board."

"Oh." He still had no idea what she was talking about. "Good. Come in, come in."

Kay took one look at her and said, "Oh."

"Good morning," Lily said with abrasive cheerfulness.

"Hello."

Becky trailed her in. "Mrs. Wesley, this is our friend, Lily Romanov …"

"We've met," Kay said coolly.

"Nice to see you again," Lily said brightly. "I brought a white board. Dry-erase, you know? It helps me to visualize, to see everything written out."

"I see … what?"

If Becky noticed the tension between the two women, she ignored it beautifully. "Lily's going to help us with the wedding."

"Ohhhh."

"Do you want this in the study?" Lily asked Robert, hefting the board again. "Otherwise we'll be taking up your whole living room."

"Uh, yes. Study. Yes. I'll take it."

He carried the surprisingly heavy board to his study and slid it out of the box. It had its own built-in stand, and he snapped it together and propped it on the desk.

The women had followed him. Lily produced a pack of markers, assorted colors, and arranged them in front of the board. "We can color-code things. That will help. Either by assignment or by category." She looked to Robert. "Is there coffee?"

"I'll get you some."

"I can get it."

"No, you go ahead." He was glad for the excuse to escape. "Black, right?"

"Yes, please. I drink my coffee like a grown-up."

Kay nearly hissed. "I don't know that we really need all this. It seems to me that we'll spend more time organizing than getting things done."

"I'll organize," Lily said sensibly, "you get things done."

Kay looked to Robert for help. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Instead, he took Lily by the arm. "Can I speak to you for a moment, please?"

"Sure." She let him lead her back to the living room.

They stood very close together, speaking softly, and Robert could feel Kay's eyes burning into his back. "You're sure you have time for all this?" he asked Lily.

"I'm sure." He looked at her skeptically. "I'm on vacation and my boyfriend's stuck in the office. I've got nothing better to do. And this is what I'm good at."

"I know it is. It surprises me that you could get vacation at a time like this."

She looked away. "Yes, well."

That was, Robert realized, all the answer he was going to get. He wondered if his friend had somehow connived to pull his lover out of the field for the coming conflict. Control had discussed his desire to do just that on a number of occasions. But if he had, McCall couldn't learn about it from the woman. "All right. But if this gets to be too much …"

"I'll let you know."

"I do appreciate your efforts. I want you to know that."

"Thank you."

"Your being involved in this process may make a world of difference to someone that I've very fond of."

"Your ex?" Lily asked cheekily.

"No. Not my ex." He shook his head. "Very well. If you're determined be involved in this debacle, I'd like you to have these."

Robert moved even closer, so that their bodies masked his actions from Kay's sight. He brought from his pocket a thin leather wallet and opened it. Inside were two credit cards and half a dozen blank checks, bearing his signature.

"Oooh, for me?" Lily purred.

"For you. I don't mind spending money on this wedding, where necessary," Robert said. "I want it to be nice. But Kay will go completely amok."

She half-turned and slipped the wallet into her back pocket. "You know, it's fairly sad that you trust me with your money more than you do your ex-wife."

"Talk to Jimmy. Like him, I trust almost everyone with my money more than I trust my ex-wife."

Lily laughed out loud. Then she kissed him tenderly, and rather lingeringly, on the cheek, and returned to the study.

She picked up a marker and drew grids on the board. "Shall we break it down by day?"

"I think we'd do better with the grids going the other way," Kay protested. "That would give us slender boxes to make lists up and down."

"We could make lists with two columns this way," Lily argued.

"But up and down would be more attractive and easier to read."

"I'm going out," Robert announced to no one in particular. No one paid the slightest attention. Gratefully, he slipped out into the relative calm of the city.

***

"Jimmy!" Robert said heartily. "I didn't think you'd be in town."

"Yeah. On vacation. Glad you called, McCall. I was getting a little cabin-kooky."

McCall raised one eyebrow. Another one, on vacation. And from what Scott had said, Kostmayer was hanging around also. "Well, good. I've got a bit of a quest for you, if you're up for it."

"About the wedding?"

"You know about the wedding?"

Jimmy frowned at him. "'Course I know about the wedding. Everybody knows about the wedding. I'm invited, aren't I?"

"I, uh, of course." Robert winced inwardly. Everybody knew about it? The guest list had just increased exponentially. Then he shrugged. Well, why not? Kay's friends would all be there, why shouldn't his? It was his tab, after all. "As soon as we get the invitations back from the printers, I'll bring you one personally."
"Appreciate it. So what do you need?"

"A site for the reception."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "A week from Saturday."

"Yes."

"Why not use Pete's place?"

"Why, indeed?" Robert mused aloud. "The ex," he explained.

"Oh. Yeah." Jimmy nodded. He understood completely. "My first wife …"

"Jimmy."

"Yeah, yeah, McCall. Okay. How many people?"

"I … have no idea. A hundred, perhaps."

"Uh-huh. Dinner?"

"Yes."

"Somewhere swanky."

"Yes."

"Ain't gonna be easy, McCall."

"I know. I do know. Do what you can, give me a call by the end of the day."

"No promises."

"I understand."

As he watched his friend move away, all lanky knees and elbows, Robert shook his head. A hundred people? That was optimistic, and he knew it. If Kay had her way …

…and sometime today he had to tell her about Yvette.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, felt the bright sun on his face. There was no way around it. She had to be told. Should have been told when he first found out. Yes. She had to be told.

But the sun was bright and the breeze was cool, and at this instant he was out in his city. Telling her would wait.

***

"You must have some family, somewhere," Kay repeated accusingly.

"I don't," Becky protested weakly. "I have friends I'd like to invite, but no family."

"Even if they won't come, if they're across the country, the polite thing is to invite them."

"I don't have any family," Becky insisted.

Kay threw her hands up. "This is just ridiculous. Are you an orphan?"

The girl hesitated. "Y-yes."

"So am I," Lily contributed brightly.

Kay glared at her, then turned back to the bride-to-be. "No cousins, no aunts or uncles, no brothers or sisters? Nothing at all?"

"No," Becky answered, and this time there were tears in her voice.

"Kay," Lily said quietly, firmly, "she doesn't have any family to invite. Let's continue."

"I just find it very unusual."

"I-I'm sorry."

Kay rubbed her eyes. "Well, all right. But I still find it very strange." She straightened. "You're sure this is all of the friends, then? No other musical types are going to show up uninvited?"

"They probably will," Becky said mournfully.

"Yes, they probably will," Kay agreed. "Perhaps we should have security at the door, invitation only, that sort of thing." She looked pointedly at Lily. "You could arrange that, I'm sure."

"Of course," Lily answered. "If Scott and Becky want to make sure none of their friends can just casually stop in at their wedding reception."

Kay sighed loudly. "This is just impossible. Just impossible."

Romanov caught the younger woman's eye and winked. Against her will, Becky almost smiled.

***

"Hey, McCall," Sterno said around the last of a chili dog, "where you been?"

"Running errands," Robert said ruefully.

"The ex is running your legs off, isn't she?"

"My legs and my checkbook, Sterno. Let me guess. You're on vacation."

"Something like that."

"I have an assignment for you, if you have the time."

"I'm all ears, McCall."

Robert smiled. "I need you to find the best wedding cake in the city. I'll cover your expenses for the search."

Sterno looked at him, licked the last of the chili from his upper lip. "You serious?"

"I'm serious. I need it to feed a hundred, maybe more, and I need it a week from this Saturday. Can you find it?"

"Are you kidding? I'll search every bakery in this city until I do."

"I knew I could count on you, Sterno."

"I'm your man, McCall."

***

The little man behind the counter looked at the three women impatiently. "You leave the dress or not?" he demanded, his voice thick with an oriental accent.

"You understand," Kay said clearly, "we absolutely must have it back by this time next week."

"One week, I understand. You leave deposit."

"A deposit?" she protested. "I'm leaving my wedding dress. What more deposit do you need?"

"Fifty dollar. Deposit. How I know you come back for dress otherwise?"

"This is absurd …"

Lily Romanov slapped a credit card down on the counter. The counter man snapped it up.

"I'm leaving the dress," Kay protested. "I shouldn't have to leave a deposit, too."

"Next Thursday," Lily said firmly.

"One week. I got it."

"In the morning," Lily continued.

He squinted at her, then at the card. "You don't look like no Robert McCall."

"No. And you're not Chinese."

He stared at her, then grinned. When he spoke, his accent was suddenly more Brooklyn than Beijing. "Thursday morning. You got it."

Kay said, "You have Robert's credit cards."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He thought we might need to put deposits down. I have checks, too, if we need them."

"I'd better keep those," Kay said. "We don't want them being misplaced."

"I'll keep them," Lily answered firmly.

"But …"

The small man swept the dress over the counter to his side. "Be careful with that," Kay insisted.

"We'll be careful with it."

"On a hanger."

"On a hanger."

"A padded hanger. Not a wire one."

The man looked at her. Then he looked at Lily. "She your mother?"

"Hell no."

"Happy you." He slid the card back to her. "Thursday morning."

"Thank you."

"It can't be replaced, you know …" Kay began, but her companions had already left her.
***

Control kept lists, many lists of many things, but he kept them in his head.

He did not use a white board, except on those occasions when he needed to share his list with minds less agile than his own. But the lists existed. Some were temporary – things to do in a certain region or mission that, once accomplished, were checked off and the whole list went away. There were others, usually in the background, that continued. One thing accomplished, another added. Or a dozen added.

He kept many lists.

The current lists at the foreground of his thoughts contained the countries that had until very recently made up the Communist Bloc.

The collapse of the Soviet Union had caused upheaval in every one of its member countries. But in some – those where there was already an alternative system of government forming – the upheaval had been brief and relatively bloodless. Poland was a prime example. Walesa was on his own feet, perhaps a bit unsteady but well-supported, by Solidarity and by the Catholic Church, both considerable forces. There were a dozen factions trying to bring him down, but there were twice as many propping him up. Below the relatively tranquil surface, their battles played out in classic spy-vs.-spy fashion. Control was fairly certain he had the upper hand, and that the teams he had in place would maintain it for him. It bore watching, of course, but for the moment it had been relegated to the B-list.

East Germany had been home to massive street riots the year before. But when the police refused to fire on the crowds, the government was forced to accede. The same had happened in Czechoslovakia. Vaclav Havel had been in jail in January; by December he was president. And not, in Control's opinion, a bad writer, either. Hungary had changed swiftly but fairly bloodlessly.

B-listed, all of them. Watch and help.

The A-list was longer, and much more complex. Bulgaria had been thrashing softly for most of the 80's, and Zhivkov's resignation in November of '89 was still yielding mixed results. It looked very much like the Communists, under a new name, would be returned to power. Yet they seemed largely ready to embrace reform and capitalism; for the moment quiet, but well-watched by Control's people.

Romania was in greater turmoil. Ceausescu's attempts to stomp out opposition were meeting with growing resistance, organization and violence. He had been booed roundly at a public rally in Bucharest at the end of the year. Yet no single leader or party had yet stepped forward to fill the void the violence sought to create. Control had been searching extensively for a likely candidate to put forward and prop up – invisibly, of course. His alternative was to prop up the dictator; the alternative to that was utter chaos.

But Yugoslavia was by far the worst of them. Yugoslavia jumped off the A-list and onto a list of its own. No unifying leader had emerged, and none could be found. Instead, the country was grinding into nationalism, mainly Serbs and Croats, both sides encouraged to hate each other by Communists desperate to retain power. Add to the mix the Slovenes, the Albanians, the Magyars … it was a toxic stew, and its poison was ready to boil over the landscape in waves of blood.

And it was to there, to the beautiful mountains and breeze-stroked villages, that Control was sending his best people. And it was there that he expected many of them to die.

***

"Clarence?"

"McCall! How are you?"

"I'm well. And you?"

"I'm fine, just fine."

"Business is going well?"

"Going great. See for yourself. I got three cars now. All the business I can handle."

Robert nodded. "Good, good." Then, "I need a favor, Clarence."

"For you, McCall, anything. You know that."

"I need a car for a wedding."

"Hey! You getting married? The Stephanie broad hooked you, huh?"

"Not me, no. Heaven forbid. My son, Scott."

"Oh. Sweet. Well, hey, you tell me when you need it, you got it."

"A week from Saturday."

"Nope. No can do."

"Clarence …"

"I'm booked up, McCall. Paying customers. You give me some notice, a couple months, I'll be happy to help, but like this? Can't be done."

Robert nodded thoughtfully. "All right then. Thank you anyhow."

He started away.

"Hey, McCall, you're not just gonna leave like that, are you?"

McCall turned back. "I can't ask you to abandon paying customers, Clarence. It wouldn't be right. I'll just find another way, that's all. Another limo company."

"Aw, now, don't be like that. You know I'd help you out if I could."

"I know, Clarence. I know." He started off again.

"McCall."

Robert hid his grin before he turned. "Yes?"

Clarence threw his hands up. "I'll find a way. Somehow. Get another driver in here, something. I'll figure it out. I'll be there."

"I don't want to put you to any trouble, Clarence."

"Man, you been nothing but trouble since the first time I saw you."

McCall did grin then. "Thank you, Clarence."

The driver just shook his head.

***

His apartment reeked of marker. Kay was in a lather of writing; Becky was ominously quiet; Lily was gone.

"She went to the airport," Becky said, when Robert asked.

"The airport?" he asked with concern. For a wild moment he feared that she'd return with his daughter before he'd talked to Kay about her.

"Uh-huh. Some friend of yours called. Stock?"

Robert frowned at her. "Jacob Stock?

"That's it."

Kay said "Do you have Denny Ford's new address?"

"What's Stock doing here?"

"Crashing the wedding, I suppose," Kay snapped. "Denny Ford?"

Robert shook his head. "We can't invite Denny."

"Why not?"

"Because he died last year."

"Oh." She shrugged philosophically and crossed a name off her list. "Well, then we have room for this Stock person."

***

"Nice wheels," Stock said, throwing his bag in the trunk. "Can I drive it?"

"Hell no."

"You seem tense. What's wrong, Control riding your ass?"

Lily raised one eyebrow at him. "Not currently. I'm on leave. Same as you."

"Yeah. Well, you wanna catch a ball game or something?"

Lily shook her head. "You know Scott McCall?"

"I know him, yeah. Nice kid."

"He's getting married. A week from Saturday."

"Oh, man. The girl knocked up?"

"No. I got him a gig in a road show that leaves the day after. He wants to take the girl. His mother wants a Great White Wedding."

Stock sank into the passenger seat slowly. "I've met Mrs. McCall. I, uh, I have friends in London I could go visit."

Lily grinned evilly. "Too late now, buddy. You're in, and you're staying."

The doors locked with an ominous click.

***

Jimmy called shortly after Robert got home. "I got one possible site, McCall, but it ain't gonna be cheap."

Robert sighed. "Tell me." He was absolutely certain that Jimmy was about to tell him it was the same hotel where he and an entire wedding party had once been held hostage. There was no doubt in his mind.

"The Roosevelt."

"What?"

"The Roosevelt. Madison at 45th."

"Yes, I know where it is," Robert said. He frowned, thinking. He knew the place. It was magnificent. And expensive. Kay would be delighted.

"They got one room left, the Terrace something. Had a cancellation. If you want it, you better get over there tomorrow to book it."

"I will. Thank you."

"Don't forget my invitation."

"I won't, Jimmy."

"I like weddings. I been to enough of them …"

"Good night, Jimmy. Thank you." He put down the phone very quietly.

***

Kay leaned over the coffee table, compulsively revising her list yet again. Robert set a glass of Scotch down next to her hand. She barely glanced at it. "No, too early for me," she said with mild irritation. "You know that."

McCall sat down heavily. "Kay, we need to talk."

"Go ahead." She continued to scribble.

"Kay."

The phone rang. Robert ignored it. Before the machine picked up, it stopped.

Kay glanced at him. "You're not going to get that?"

"No."

"What if it's one of your … people?"

He shook his head. "They'll have to seek help elsewhere, I'm afraid, for the next few weeks. If it's truly important, they will call back and leave a message."

She nodded grimly and continued her writing.

"Kay," he said again.

She tossed the pen down and sat up. "Robert, if you're going to tell me that I'm taking charge of this whole wedding, you're wasting your breath. I already know that. But what choice do I have? It's not as if they could manage this on their own. For heaven's sake, it's all I can do to get them to make the simplest choices …"

"Kay. Just listen to me for a moment. Please."

"I'm listening, Robert. But I am not in the mood for one of your lectures. I don't see you stepping up to take over any of this planning."

He sighed and took a long sip of his drink. So many things there that he could argue with her about – starting with the fact that his bank account had most certainly been instrumental in the planning of this wedding. He let it go. "Kay, there is … there is something that you need to know. And perhaps – probably – I should have told you about it some time ago, but it never seemed like quite the right moment …"

Kay smirked. "If it's about young Miss Romanov, I've known about it for some time."

McCall shifted, drank again. "It is none of your business, but I am not sleeping with Lily Romanov."

"Not currently, you mean."

He considered. "Not currently. And she is not the young lady we need to talk about. But there is a young lady involved."

"What, another one?" she laughed archly. "What's next, Robert? High school girls?"

"Kay, you …" He stopped, bit back his anger. Then he brought out his wallet and produced a picture. "This young lady," he said pointedly. "Her name is Yvette Marcel."

Kay glanced at the photo, then looked away. "I am really not interested in …"

"She's my daughter."

"What?"

McCall drank again. "I knew her mother years ago, Kay, before we ever met. We had a … I didn't know about the child until she was grown."

His ex-wife glared daggers at him. "You have a daughter."

"Yes."

"You have a daughter," Kay repeated icily.

"Yes. She was raised in Canada, her step-father was killed some time back and she …"

Kay stood up. "Why are you telling me this, Robert? Why are you telling me now? Do you just save these things to hurt me at the worst possible times?"

"I am not telling you this to hurt you," Robert protested.

"Then why?"

He reached for his glass and drained the last of the Scotch. "Because Scott asked me to."

"Scott?" Kay wavered, and then her fury crested. "Scott knows about her?"

"Scott's met her," McCall pronounced. "He would like her to be a member of his wedding."

"You son of a bitch!" She scooped her glass off the coffee table and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered. "You miserable bastard, you … you …" Tears caught up with her anger and she gasped back a sob. "You had a bastard child, you told your son about her and you never ... you never … how could you do this to me?"

Robert rolled to his feet. "Kay, I'm sorry, I truly am. I did not mean for this to hurt you. And I know the timing is truly awful …"

"Truly awful," she sneered. "Exactly what would be a good time to drop this kind of news, Robert? You unbelievable bastard. I can't believe you did this to me."

"Kay, I've done nothing to you. I was with Manon long before I met you …"

It was, he knew instantly, the wrong thing to say. Kay dissolved into tears. "Manon?" she wept. "Manon that you used to call to in your sleep?"

"I never …"

"You did. You did for years. It was always her, wasn't it?"

"Kay, I …"

Out of words, McCall reached for her. Kay moved away sharply. "Don't."

He dropped his hands to his side. "I'm sorry, Kay. I am so sorry."

She put her hand over her face for a moment. Then she wiped her tears awkwardly, scooped up her notes and stuffed them in her purse. "I'm going out," she announced.

"Kay, please …"

Kay left, slamming the door behind her.

Robert rubbed his own eyes. He considered the Scotch on his wall, the broken glass on the floor. Need to clean that up. Soon.

But first he poured himself another drink.

***

The smartest thing Scott had done all day, he thought blearily, was to stop and buy a five-pound bag of ice.

He sprawled face-down on his living room floor in front of the fan with his arms outstretched. Becky had put zipper bags of ice on both his shoulders, on the back of his neck, on his left elbow and wrist and hand. The aspirin was kicking in, and he was almost comfortable.

In the kitchen, Becky was fussing over dinner. "Something simple," she'd said, but that was half an hour ago. His mom was stressing her out, and she was cooking to relieve her own tension.

There were, Scott thought, worse habits. His stomach rumbled softly.

The phone rang. Scott groaned. It was sure to be Kay with another demand. No, suggestion, rather. Very firm suggestion. He listened, tensing, as Becky spoke. He had just gotten comfortable, and now he was going to have to get up.

Sure enough, Becky came to the doorway. "Scott?"

He groaned aloud, then rolled away from his comfortable ice. "Mom?" he asked glumly.

"No." Becky seemed both amused and confused. "It's Yvette."

"It's who?" He rolled to his feet.

"Did you call her already?"

Scott shook his head. "I was waiting for Dad. Maybe he called her." He took the phone. "Yvette?"

"Hi, Scott," she said. The miles and borders between them couldn't cover the excitement in her voice. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No. Just icing down. Did Dad call you?"

"No," she said, surprised. "I tried to call him, but he didn't answer. Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," Scott answered.

"Good. Because I have great news."

"You do?"

"My company won the bid to redo all of Bancworld's offices. You know, the financial company? And I get to work on the Manhattan headquarters."

Scott grinned, bemused. "You do?"

Yvette's voice continued bright with excitement. "I get to come live in New York for six whole months!"


***

Day Nine (Friday)

***

Friday morning, warily, Robert asked, "Do we have any idea how many guests there will be?"

Kay scowled at him. "Well if I could get anybody to finalize their lists, I might have a better idea." She thrust a stack of papers at him. "This many."

Robert sat down quietly and began counting. He much preferred Kay's rage to the silent fuming this morning had brought. But he couldn't really blame her.

He had not shared Scott's news that the daughter who had caused her so much anguish was going to be living in Scott's apartment for the next six months.

He had counted eighty-nine guests when Kay said, "You're sure that's everyone you want to invite?"

Robert jotted the number on the corner of the paper. "I'm sure."

"And you can't think of any of our friends I've missed … well, of course not, it's not as if we had that many mutual friends to begin with."

"No," Robert answered quietly.

"That just leaves Scott's list, then. I don't imagine that will ever be completely final. They're so casual about everything. At his graduation party – but you weren't there, were you?" She went on without waiting for his injured reply. "Where is Becky, anyhow?"

"She's working this morning, I believe."

Kay snorted. "All this planning to do and she's still going to that job? She should have just quit outright and been done with it."

"She's too responsible to do a thing like that."

"Responsible to strangers and leaving me with all this work."

"This is work you've brought on yourself, Kay. They were perfectly happy to have a very small wedding."

Kay glared at him. "Yes, well. Perhaps under the circumstances I should have let them have it."

Robert slapped his pen down. "Kay, I have apologized for not telling you about Yvette earlier. I freely admit that I should have told you as soon as Control told me …"

"Control? Control knew about this? Well, of course he did. Control's always in the middle of all your secrets, isn't he? Why wouldn't he know? And he probably told you not to tell me. Oh, I can hear him now! No need to upset Kay with this, old son."

"Kay!" There was a wound there, wide and deep. Though he understood why his old friend had chosen to keep Manon's confidence, he could not forget that Control's silence had cost Robert his daughter's childhood. And the life that he might have had with Manon, if he'd known – it didn't bear thinking about. But that was his wound, and not Kay's to touch. "I did not tell you when I should have. I have apologized for that. But I will not apologize for things that happened before you and I even met. I will not!"

Kay and Robert looked at each other for a long moment. Kay would push, Kay would always push, but she knew when she'd crossed the line. And sometimes, sometimes, in the face of his anger – and his pain – she would back down.

Resigned, she finally said, "How many do you have?"

Robert shook his head tersely and continued to count.

***

"Hey, Scott – where'd you get these?"

Scott turned. The conductor, Hricko, was waving a half-eaten cinnamon roll. Becky had made dozens the night before, burning off nervous energy, and he'd put a box of them next to the coffee pot. "Becky made them. My fiancée."

"They're good."

"Thanks. Everything she makes is good."

"She ought to go pro."

"She's trying."

Hricko nodded and took another bite. "I'm gonna take some upstairs," he said, his mouth full.

"Go ahead. She'll make more."

Scott shook his head. The way things were going with his mother, there would be no shortage of food until after the wedding. He was going to be lucky if his new tuxedo buttoned at all.

And oh, he shuddered, Madam Olga would be so cross if it didn't.

***

"This is nice," Mickey said, looking at the front of the hotel.

Robert smiled wryly. "Yes. I wonder if they have any vacancies."

"She'd track you down."

"I know."

They went inside and waited at the front desk while the sales manager was paged. "I'm a bit surprised," Robert said, "to find you in the city just now. I was sure Control would have you jumping all over the continent."

Mickey shrugged. "He will, soon enough. Right now I'm on vacation."

"On vacation."

"We do get them, once in a while."

"Yes, and you usually spend yours being chased through the jungle by heavily armed men, if I recall. And yet now you're on vacation, and Lily, Jimmy, Sterno, Stock. Who else?"

Mickey shrugged again. "Well, summer. Vacation season."

"Mmm."

A small, anxious man with unnaturally dark hair approached. "Mr. McCall?"

"Yes. Robert McCall."

They shook hands and studied each other. "I'm, uh, George. George Barlow."

"Yes, I know." Robert remembered him. "We've met."

"We have," the man said uncertainly. "I'm sorry, I don't quite …"

"Your last job. There was a wedding party taken hostage."

The man paled. "Oh. Oh, yes. That. Of course. You're … uh … if you're filing a lawsuit, it will need to be against the hotel …"

"No, no," Robert soothed, in the manner that sounded calming while seeming dangerous. "Nothing like that, George. In fact, quite the opposite. My son is getting married, and we need a room for the reception."

The man didn't know whether to be relieved or more alarmed. "Your son."

"Yes. And I understand that the Terrace Ballroom is available."

"Oh. Oh, I see. Well, let's go to my office, we can check my calendar. When is the happy event?"

"A week from tomorrow."

"A week from …oh, no. Oh, I'm sorry, but there's simply no chance, on this notice …"

"You had a cancellation," Robert said evenly.

"A cancellation? For the Terrace … next Saturday … oh, yes, yes, the Todarello wedding, so unfortunate, but then … but still, to do the catering, set the room on such short notice …"

Robert sighed. "I understand there can be no possibility of a discount."

"A discount?" The man nearly laughed, caught himself. "No. I'm afraid we can't arrange a discount, Mr. McCall."

"Can we see the room?" Mickey asked. He didn't move, but he seemed somehow menacing.

"The room. The Terrace Ballroom. Of course, of course. It's, uh, it's being set for tomorrow's event, but you're certainly welcome to see it. How many guests did you say?"

McCall sighed. "About a hundred and fifty hundred."

"Oh, a small wedding. Well, that does make it easier."

A small wedding? Robert mused. What constituted a large wedding? He didn't ask, because he was quite sure he didn't want to know.

The room was magnificent.

"Will there be a sit-down dinner or buffet?" George asked.

"Buffet, I imagine," Robert answered, knowing that Kay would object. "There is not much time to be making lists of chicken or beef."

"Good, good. I'll set up an appointment with the catering manager, you can sample the dishes, decide what you'd like."

"I'll send my wife for that," Robert said.

"Your ex," Mickey muttered.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. My ex-wife."

George eyed him curiously, and then Kostmayer. Then he shrugged. "As you wish. Would tomorrow be convenient? Most of the dishes will be prepared for tomorrow's reception, it would be very convenient."

"I'm sure tomorrow would be fine."

"Well, good. Good." George glanced around the bustling room again. "Let's go see about a contract, shall we?" As he led them towards his office, he said, "Have you thought about music at all? The Todarello's had a wonderful band arranged, simply wonderful …"

McCall manfully ignored the burning feeling that radiated from his wallet.

***

"Hey," Lily said, "what's up? You look like you lost your best friend."

Becky shrugged miserably. "I gave my notice at work."

"I'm sure they weren't happy to lose you."

"They said I should just go home."

"Oh. Bastards."

Becky nodded. "I guess people give their notice and then steal everything they can cart off."

"They're still bastards. Come on, we'll go out and have a three-drink lunch."

"I wish I could." Becky leaned wearily against the door. "But I have to go find Kay and see what we're planning today."

Lily nodded. "Let me get my shoes."

"You don't have to come along," Becky protested.

"Uh-huh. And yet you stopped here on your way there."

"I did." The bride-to-be frowned. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's just, I know Robert told her about Yvette. And I'm not sure how she's going to take it."

Lily raised one eyebrow. "Yes, you are. That's why you're taking me along."

"It's got to be hard for her."

"And so she'll take it out on you."

"Well … yes."

Romanov grabbed her purse. "Okay. Here's the plan. We'll go, but if she turns evil, we're out. I'll think up an excuse, you just play along. Okay?"

For the first time, Becky brightened. "Okay."

***

"I have," Robert announced grandly, "secured a hall for the reception." He tossed a handful of flyers onto the desk. "The Terrace Ballroom at the Roosevelt Hotel."

Becky studied one of the flyers. "It's beautiful!" she said in delight.

Kay was less impressed. "It will do. Will they cater?"

"They will cater. You, all, will go there tomorrow at noon and meet the catering manager to sample and select dishes for the buffet."

"The buffet?" Kay protested.

"The buffet," Robert repeated firmly.

She hesitated, then folded. "Well, I suppose there's really no choice."

"None at all."

"You did good, sweetie," Lily said. She stood and kissed him on the cheek on her way to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please."

Kay sighed in audible exasperation. "You don't have to keep kissing him. I know you're not having an affair."

Lily returned with her coffee and Robert's. "Not yet, anyhow."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Kay turned away with a swish. "All right, then. We've got to get an invitation picked out right now. The printer said they'd work all weekend, but we've got to decide and get them over there."

Becky looked up from behind enough invitation catalogs to fortify a city. "I like this one."

"Oh, but that's so plain. Common-looking."

"Simple and elegant," Lily countered.

"No, no. Find something else. And what colors are we going to have? We're going to have to choose a color, for the table decorations and the flowers and your bridesmaid's dress."

"Green," Becky said promptly.

"Green? No one has a green wedding."

"But I like green. And I've seen pictures of her; Yvette would look good in green."

Kay flinched at the name. "Green. I never heard of such a thing. There's no such thing as green flowers."

"The flowers are already ordered, at least for the church," Lily said. "They're mixed, with pinks and reds and pink ribbons."

"You ordered flowers without me?" Kay demanded.

"They come with the church," Becky answered. "From the first wedding."

"Oh, no," Kay snapped. "Oh, no, no, no. We are not using second-hand flowers for this wedding. We simply are not."

"But they'll already be set …"

"Robert, please, speak to them. Second-hand flowers. I never heard such a tacky idea in my life. Honestly, if you people didn't have me here to help you, this wedding would end up in someone's garage somewhere."

"You people?" Lily repeated, very softly.

Robert recognized the tone in her voice. He moved casually between them. "We can get new flowers," he said heartily. "If that's what you want, Kay, I do know a florist who might owe me a favor or two. I will get new flowers. With green ribbons, if you like, Becky."

"Yes, please."

"Green," Kay snorted. "Used flowers."

Lily leaned over the invitation book. "This one has nice greens on it," she said, pointing.

"I like this," Becky agreed.

"Green!"

"Look at it," Lily said soothingly. "It's very elegant, with just this little vine around it."

Grudgingly, Kay looked. Even more grudgingly, she nodded. "It would do, I suppose."

"Good," Becky said. "That's settled."

"Except that now," Kay pointed out, "we have to decide what it says."

Lily marked the page, flipped the book to the verses in the back. Both of the older women waited while Becky read them over. "They all seem almost alike," she said, confused.

"They are," Lily confirmed. "Except these new-agey ones at the end."

"Those are weird."

"Oh, thanks Heavens," Kay breathed. "Those are awful."

"This one?" Becky said uneasily.

The women considered. "It would do," Kay said slowly. "Of course, if you really have no family, we'll just have to put my name and Robert's at the top … are you sure there's no one at all?"

Becky's voice trembled. "I'm s-s-sure."

Lily slapped the table suddenly. "Damn it! The passport!"

"What?" Kay demanded. "I thought you had that taken care of."

"I do, but she has to go sign the documents." Lily looked pointedly at her watch. "Maybe we can still catch him before he goes to lunch … we've got to go now, though."

"But … but the invitations!"

"That one," Lily said, pointing to the one they'd already picked. "Your name and Robert's, Walt's if you want, I'm sure Robert won't care. Two hundred. Get the envelopes now, we can address them over the weekend and stuff them as soon as we get the invites. You have all the times and addresses."

"But … but …wait a minute. Is it Becky or Rebecca?"

Becky hesitated. "It's Becky."

"That's so informal."

"It's what's on the legal docs," Lily pointed out. "We gotta fly. Be back later."

"I … I … oh, honestly, I have to do everything!"

***

The lunch rush was in full swing at Pete O'Phelan's place. "Wait," Lily said. Two minutes later, three businessmen left their seats at the bar. The women quickly snagged two of them.

"What are we doing here?" Becky asked.

Pete came over. "Ladies."

"Beer!" Lily pleaded desperately.

"I guess I won't ask how the wedding plans are going." Pete went away and came back with the life-saving liquid.

"But don't we have to go get my passport?" Becky wondered.

"No."

"No."

"No." Lily chugged a third of her beer. "We're going to sit here and drink beer, and eat something large and carb-heavy, and it's going to take about three hours to get that passport. By which time, God willing, Robert will have either settled Kay down or disposed of the body." She brought a brand-new passport out of her jacket and handed it to Becky.

"Oh." Becky glanced at the passport, put it in her purse, and drank deeply. "Okay."

"Sensible girl."

The next time Pete came around, she had a huge tray of appetizers. "There's beef cooking," she advised them. "These should hold you."

"I love you," Lily said sincerely.

"You love me because I know what you like."

"Yes."

Mickey Kostmayer came in and claimed the third empty stool. "I love you, too," he said, snagging a deep-fried popper.

"I bet you'd love a beer," Pete guessed.

"And that's why I love you. 'Cause you're such a good guesser."

While he waited, he asked, "Kinda early for you to be drinking, isn't it?"

Lily said, "Kay."

"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully while he chewed a stuffed mushroom. "I took my tux to the cleaner's. Helped Robert book the reception hall. And, uh, made arrangements to have a look at the hotel's blueprints. Just in case. What else am I supposed to be doing?"

"Helping Robert hide the body," Becky answered cheerfully.

"I can do that."

Pete brought the third beer. "Should I even ask what she's up to now?"

"Invitations," Lily said.

"Printed invitations? I thought they were just going to call everybody."

"They are. But there must also be printed invitations mailed out. Otherwise it's just too common."

"Oh," Pete said. "Well. Of course."

"Did she actually say 'common'?" Mickey asked.

"She did," Becky confirmed. "Also tacky. About the flowers."

"What about the flowers?"

"There's a wedding at the church before ours," Becky explained. "And they're going to leave the flowers, on the altar and on the railings, you know? So we thought we'd just leave them."

"Big mistake," Lily said. "I thought her head was going to pop."

"Your mistake," Pete said, "was telling her."

"Well, yeah."

The owner shook her head. "Forget about replacing the flowers. What color is this wedding?"

"G-green." Becky shrugged. "She hates that, too."

"I don't know. I like green. Anyhow, here's what we do. After the first wedding, I'll go to the church and replace all the ribbons on the flowers with green ones. Kay will never know the difference, and it'll save Robert a bucket of money."

"I love you," Lily repeated.

Mickey nodded. "What she doesn't know, she can't bitch about."

"What's really got her going is the whole Yvette thing," Lily said.

"Robert said he told her," Mickey guessed. "Interesting timing."

"She's going to be our maid of honor," Becky told him. "Although if I'd known it was going to be this hard for her …" She shrugged. "He would have had to tell her anyhow, I guess. She's going to be here all winter."

"Wait, what?"

"She called Scott last night. Her design firm got this big contract for Bancworld and she's re-doing their Manhattan branch. She's going to be here for six months. She's going to stay in our apartment."

"Damn," Mickey said. "Nice timing."

"Yeah. It means we don't have to pack everything and store the car and all."

"You'll still have to pack some stuff," Lily mused. "You need storage space? I've got a locker in my basement."

"You have room in it?"

"Lots. I only have Christmas decorations down there. I'm not big on keeping stuff."

"That would be great if we could use it."

"You're welcome to it." Lily smiled. "And Mickey has a van, and big strong arms, just tell him what you need moved."

"Oh, thanks," Kostmayer smirked.

"You said you wanted to help."

"I said I'd help hide the bodies."
***

Robert invented an errand to escape Kay's silent wrath. He intended just to drive around, maybe go for a walk in the park, or perhaps to drop by Pete's, where he was sure he'd find Lily and the bride. Lily had not forgotten about any passport documents, he was quite certain; Lily Romanov, like her lover, never forgot anything. But he had to admire the alacrity with which she had extricated Becky from Kay's spiraling temper.

A cassette lay on the passenger seat of the Jaguar. He'd forgotten about it. George Barlow had given it to him; it was a recording made by the band that had been scheduled to play the Todarello wedding. Given the enthusiasm which George had presented it with, Robert was sure he was getting a kick-back for every gig he helped the band arrange.

He picked up the case thoughtfully. The cover was professionally printed. The Marty Usher Band consisted of eight men, all older than Robert, all dressed in pale blue sport coats and dark pants. The playlist included songs that had been played at Robert's wedding.

Somewhat encouraged, he opened the case and popped it into the tape deck.

He sat thoughtfully for some minutes, listening to the sax and the trumpets, the soft drums and the deep trombones. The piano. The singer who understood Sinatra, but didn't imitate him.

Then Robert began to smile. He picked up the case again and studied the inside liner. Then he picked up the phone.

***

Churches always pinged Becky's intuition. It wasn't usually a specific memory or premonition; it was just a sense of time and emotion. The grief of funerals and the joy of baptisms, the nervousness of weddings and confirmations, and the fuller softer memories, of sitting in quiet peace at last after a hectic morning of getting dressed up, of fondly watching a child color quietly during a sermon, of singing old hymns together, even the worst voices welcome and hidden in the sea of other voices and organ pipes.

St. Christina's was no different. Oh, it was much bigger, much grander than her own church, the services were different and maybe the hymns, too, but the feelings were exactly the same. Becky stood very still and let the emotions of time wash over her. For the first time in days, she felt at peace.

Beside her, Lily Romanov was quiet and patient as well. This is not her place, Becky thought, but she feels the peace here anyhow.

Lily had said if she got to close to the altar she was likely to burst into flames. Becky wondered again why she thought that. What had happened to Lily Romanov that made her so hidden, and in her way so hardened? But I don't want to know, Becky thought. I want to know her as I know her, as my sometimes mysterious friend. I don't need to know what she chooses to hide.

There was peace in that, too.

"Hello, Nick," Lily said warmly.

Becky turned. If she hadn't been told, she still would have known that the young priest was Mickey Kostmayer's brother. It was the eyes.

"Hello, Lily," he said.

When they had shaken hands, in the odd squeezing not-quite-handshake that sometimes went between men and women, Lily turned him to Becky. "Becky Baker, Father Nick."

He took her hand in turn. He had a nice smile, and a pleasantly frank gaze. "It's nice to meet you."

She nodded, only a little nervous. "You, too."

"I hear you've conned my brother into wearing his tuxedo again."

"Yes," Becky answered. "But no tie."

"No. He hasn't worn a tie since his court martial."

Becky blinked. "What?"

"Never mind. Lily said you needed a favor. Anything I can do to help."

The women glanced at each other. "It's kinda hard to explain …" Becky began.

"We need you to run a wedding rehearsal," Lily said.

"A …what? Just the rehearsal?"

"Yes." Swiftly, Lily explained the situation. "We know you can't do the wedding, neither of them is remotely Catholic, but we'd like you to cover the rehearsal."

Father Nick considered. It was an unconventional request, but he couldn't see any reason to object. Nor any reason the Church would forbid it. "I have a wedding of my own that Saturday. Well, not of my own, to officiate … but my associate could cover the rehearsal for me. It's all pretty routine, really." He nodded decisively. "It'd be different. Kinda fun. An adventure."

Becky groaned aloud.

"Wrong word?" Nick guessed.

"Oh, it's all been an adventure," Lily assured him.

***

Late in the afternoon, Scott and Becky stood together in the line, holding hands self-consciously. The building was cool but musty; it smelled like paper and ink and warm bodies. There was another couple in front of them, twice their age and clearly having a silent argument, a third at the counter, arguing about the price of the license.

"How was rehearsal?" Becky asked quietly.

"It was good," Scott answered. He didn't know why they were speaking so softly, but he instinctively followed along. "I'm finally starting to get back into form. My hand has quit spasming so much."

"Good."

They waited.

"We could still go to Vegas, you know," Becky said.

"We could," Scott agreed. "It would be faster than this line."

The man in front of them turned. "You think this is bad? Last time I got married the line went all the way down that hall there."

"Uh … oh." Scott and Becky exchanged uneasy glanced. "I guess we're lucky, then."

"Maybe. But if you had more time to wait in line, you might get real lucky and come to your senses."

The man's finance elbowed him hard. "Pig."

"Ah, settle down. I'm here, aren't I?"

"You wouldn't be if you hadn't knocked me up."

"You still sayin' it's me, huh?"

"Pig." She turned her back to him.

The man shrugged. "Women." He faced the other direction.

Scott and Becky shared another uneasy look. Their hands gripped tighter.

The couple at the counter finally came up with the money for their license. The bickering couple moved up and continued to bicker.

"Scott?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think it's okay? The, uh, papers?"

"Your birth certificate? I'm sure it's fine."

She sighed. "I know it is. I'm just …"

"Are you nervous?"

"Aren't you?"

"No."

Becky looked at him. "Not even a little?"

"About the paperwork? No. About everything else? Yes."

"Yeah."

After a moment, Scott, added, "Not about marrying you. I'm sure about that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Now letting my mother plan this wedding, that I'm nervous about. But marrying you, no."

"You're so sweet." Becky stood on her toes to kiss him.

"I am, aren't I?"

They were still kissing when the bickering couple stormed out, without their license, and the clerk said, in a stone-bored voice, "Next." When nothing happened, she looked up. "Hey, get your license and then get a room, okay?"

Blushing and breathless, they stepped to the counter.

***

On the front steps, a vagrant in an incongruous black suit coat approached them. "Hey. Hey."

Scott reached for his wallet.

"You got a license?" the man said. "You come back this time tomorrow, I'll marry you for thirty bucks. Right here. I'm ordained. Bring a couple friends. Thirty bucks."

Scott shook his head. "No, thanks. We've got a wedding planned. A real wedding."

"Twenty bucks. Lowest I can go. I got expenses, you know."

"I'm sure you do. But thank you, no."

"You change your mind, I'm here five to nine every day. Any time after that license is twenty-four hours old, I can marry you. No questions, no wait, no fuss, no muss. Every day. Five to nine."

"We'll keep it in mind," Becky said sincerely.

Scott slid a five from his wallet. "Here. Keep this as a down payment, just in case we come back."

The man studied him, then Becky. "I'll remember you. You come back, it's fifteen more. Right?"

"Right."

They started down the steps. "No fuss, no muss," he called after them.

"You know …" Scott began under his voice.

"I know," Becky answered. "We'll keep it in mind."

***

They sat at the desk with stacks of envelopes and phone books between them, each with a list, silently addressing envelopes.

Kay finished a page and paused to stretch. "Coffee?" she offered, standing.

Lily shook her head. "I've had so much coffee today I can't taste it any more."

"I don't care if I can taste it, as long as it has caffeine." Kay went and warmed up one last cup. She brought back a plate of cookies as well. "I suppose I should think about dinner of some kind."

Lily shrugged and ate a cookie.

"I … wanted to apologize," Kay said, settling back into her chair. "For this morning. I was rather rude."

The younger woman considered her, then shrugged. "You're under a lot of stress here."

"Yes. I am. But as Robert points out, it's stress of my own creation."

Lily shrugged again.

"And in any case, you've been a huge help and I have no call to be snapping at you just because I'm … well, I'm sorry."

"No problem," Lily answered.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the soft scratch of Lily's pen. Kay sipped her coffee, not ready quite yet to tackle the next page.

"Kay," Lily said, quietly. "About Becky and her family. You need to let that go."

"I just don't understand how she can claim to have no family at all. Everyone has someone …"

"Kay," Lily repeated softly. "Leave it alone." Then, even more softly, she added, "Please."

"You know something about it, don't you?"

"Yes."

There was a silence. "You're not going to tell me?"

"No."

Kay put her cup down swiftly, sloshing coffee onto the desk and perilously close to the precious envelopes. "All you people with all your secrets. You tell me what to do and what not to do, and you won't tell me why."

"'You people'," Lily repeated softly. "It's not mine to tell, Kay. But believe me, it hurts her every time you mention it."

"But you won't tell me why."

Lily shook her head. "I can't."

"You can, but you won't. You're just like Control. You dispense truth in tiny little pieces like it was my allowance. You decide how much I get and when. This is the woman who's marrying my son and you don't think I'm entitled to know the truth about her. I won't stand for it. I will not."

Lily put her pen down very softly and simply stared at her.

"I demand that you tell me, right now!"

Romanov did not move. He face went blank, expressionless.

Kay was angry and hurt all over again, but there was something new now. She'd lived with Robert McCall long enough to know that look. Robert and Control and a dozen others. Very suddenly, this pretty little flirt of a girl was dangerous. And suddenly, Kay was afraid of her.

The young woman did not move. Her hands stayed visible, empty on the desk. She did not raise her voice. She was like a cat, relaxed outside a mouse hole, her tail waving languidly, unconcerned and deadly.

Then she moved, slowly. She slid the envelopes she'd finished into a precise pile, the blank ones into another. She put her list beside them, her pen on top, and she stood. "I'll finish these in the morning," she announced softly.

She's leaving, Kay thought with great relief. She's just leaving. She tried to stay silent until the girl – and the danger – were gone. But there had been too many years with Robert, too much fighting against the intimidation she felt in his presence. "You don’t understand what it's like to be me," she said.

Lily's voice got no louder. "No. I don't." She picked up her purse slowly, with no threatening moves.

"I lost a daughter, you know." Kay hated the shrill defensiveness in her own voice. She didn't owe this woman an explanation. She didn't owe her anything. But she couldn't stop.

"I know," Lily answered.

"Of course you do. You people know everything about everyone. I suppose you knew all about Robert's bastard child, too."

"I learned about Yvette a few hours before you did."

"You don't know what it's like," Kay repeated. "To watch your own child die, and then to find out that the man you loved, the man you thought loved you, had a, a spare just stashed away somewhere. It's horrible. It's horrible. It's no wonder he never cared about Kathy …"

"Stop it."

The unexpected snap in her words brought Kay up short. "You're right. You're right. None of this concerns you. I'm just … I'm more upset than I thought, I suppose. I just … it's so horrible. All these secrets, and now there are more about Becky and I just … I can't. I can't take any more."

Lily picked up her purse and went to the door. Then she came back. "She'd be Becky's age, wouldn't she?"

Kay looked at her blankly.

"Cathy. She was a couple years younger than Scott. She'd be Becky's age now. "

"I … yes. I hadn't thought of that, but yes."

"You lost your daughter," Lily said. "Becky lost her mother. Maybe if you stopped pushing her away, you could be some comfort to each other."

Kay stared at her. "It's not that easy, to just replace a child with another one. You'd understand that, if you'd ever lost a child."

The eyes went dangerous again. "I have lost a child, Kay."

"I … I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You don't know anything about me, except that I'm one of those people. And you don't know anything about Becky. You don't know that if it wasn't for her, we wouldn't be doing any of this. Not me, not Robert, not Scott. We all would have told you to get stuffed days ago, except that Becky said she wanted the wedding you wanted. Becky, who would rather be skinned alive and dipped in vinegar than speak in front of people, said she wanted a great white wedding. Because she knew it was what you wanted, and she wanted you to have it, and she knew that was the only way we'd go along with it. So why don't you stop for one damned minute feeling sorry for yourself, and think about what a gift you're getting in this wedding. Because she is a gift, Kay. And you sure as hell don't deserve her."

Kay stammered, "I … I …"

Lily Romanov smiled, her brightest, warmest, perkiest smile. For the first time, Kay realized that it was fake. "See you in the morning," the girl said. Then she bounced out of Robert's apartment.

Stunned and speechless, and suddenly aware that her life had probably been in danger, Kay began to cry.

***

Day Eight (Saturday)

***

Scott was already running late, and striding towards the door, when the phone rang.

He stopped and glared at it. It was an obscene hour of the morning, which meant that it was probably his mother. And he was already running late, even with lighter weekend traffic. But Becky was in the shower.

Two more steps and he'd have been gone. Let the machine get it.

Instead, he answered it. "Scott McCall."

"Hey, Scott, glad I caught you."

Scott frowned. "Sir?" he said.

"Call me Herman," the conductor said. "Say, listen, those rolls you brought in yesterday. Can you bring some more?"

"I've got them right here," Scott laughed.

"Good. This girl of yours. You said she's a professional chef."

"Working on it."

"She got a resume handy?"

Scott looked around the apartment. "I think so, somewhere. I could find one."

"She's traveling with us?"

"Yes."

"She want a job with the company?"

"Yes!"

"Bring her resume. Get it to Rachel. And bring some more of those rolls."

"I will." Scott hesitated. "I might be a little late, by the time I find it."

"No problem. It's just strings today. Get here when you can."

Grinning, Scott hung up.

The phone rang in his hand.

Assuming it was the conductor again, he snagged it up. "Herman?"

"Uh … no. Anne Keller."

Scott frowned, confused. "Oh. Annie. Hi. Sorry, I was just talking to my conductor … what's up?"

"I know it's really early," the photographer apologized.

"I was awake."

"Obviously. Look, I don't know when the timing's good, but I'd really like to get a look at the church and the reception hall before the wedding. Scope it out some."

"Sorry, I'm, uh, really not in on the planning much. But can I have Becky call you right back? I think they're going to the hotel today anyhow to try the food."

"Free food, even better."

"I'll have her call you."

"Okay."

He put down the phone and waited for it to ring. When it didn't he shook his head in relief. The shower stopped. "Becky! Becky?"

"Now what?" she called back.

"I need your resume. And you need to call Anne Keller back about going to the hotel with you."

There was a brief silence. Then Becky said, firmly, "There had better be some coffee left."

***

"Wow," Becky said softly.

"Seriously," Lily agreed.

The Terrace Ballroom was nearly set for the afternoon wedding reception. The tables were laid with white linen, crystal, silver. Fresh flowers and candles topped every table. The tables ranged spaciously around three sides of a polished dance floor; at the far side, the head table was even more magnificent.

"I'm going to feel like an idiot here," Becky said softly.

"No," Kay countered. "You're going to feel like a queen. As you should on your wedding day."

"I'm going to go shoot things," Anne announced. She took her small camera out, left the rest of her gear with Lily, and moved to the far side of the room.

"Of course," Barlow, the events manager said, "for your event we'll have the buffet tables on each side. We usually set up four identical. Less waiting in line that way."

Kay nodded. "Good. And desserts?"

Barlow pointed. To the left of the head table was an empty table ready to receive pastries. To the right, three people were assembling a lavish wedding cake. "Restrooms are through there," he said, pointing, "and your bar will be here in the back. You are having a bar, aren't you?"

"I suppose we have to," Kay muttered.

"And not," he pursued delicately, "a cash bar?"

"Oh, that would be tacky," Lily said quickly.

Anne returned. "Your lighting is amazing," she said.

"Well, yes." Barlow puffed up a bit. "We do seek to fill all of our guests' needs, however trivial they may seem. We can provide your centerpieces, if you like, choose your wines, commission an ice sculpture, whatever you need."

Kay nodded thoughtfully. "This is how a wedding should be done," she said approvingly.

A young woman in a sharply-tailored suit approached. "I'm Trisha," she said in a warmly salesman-like way. "I'm the catering manager. I understand you ladies are going to try our dishes this afternoon. If you'll walk this way, please?"

She strode away on her three-inch heels with a distinct swish to her hips.

"If I could walk that way," Anne said under her breath, "I could quit my day job."

Kay frowned disapprovingly at her. Becky and Lily giggled, which earned them their own disapproving looks.

***

The phone ended Robert's peaceful morning. He had been enjoying the absence of the ladies. "Robert McCall," he said briskly.

"Mr. McCall? This is Beverly. Beverly Heat. I don't know if you remember me …"

Robert smiled fondly. "Of course I remember you. How are you?"

"I'm doing great. Really great. Got a concert tour coming up, got a new album out I'm really excited about."

"I'm pleased for you. I truly am."

"Well, the thing is," she went on breathlessly, "I'm staying at the Roosevelt with my mom. And she saw this thing on the board downstairs about a wedding reception next weekend. And we knew it wasn't you, unless your first name isn't really Robert, you know, like F. Scott Fitzgerald, maybe you use your middle name …"

"My son is getting married next weekend," Robert interrupted.

"Wow. That's so cool."

"Cool. Yes."

"Can I sing?"

"Can you sing where, dear?"

"At the reception. Or the wedding. Whatever. I'd really like to."

"You don't need to …"

"Mr. McCall, if it wasn't for you I wouldn't be here right now. Not with a new album and a tour, probably not even alive. I really want to sing at this wedding."

Robert closed his eyes. What had Scott called this young singer? A pop tart? Scott was not going to like this. Still, she was so very earnest. He didn't have the heart to tell her no. "Of course you can, dear. Let me take down your number and I'll have the official planning team get in touch with you."

***

They chose the menu with remarkably little argument. For all the elegance of the restaurant, there were really only a few choices for catering a gathering of this size. Chicken, beef, pork, pasta. Potatoes, rice, vegetables. Hors d'ourves. All would be beautifully prepared, some with interesting seasonings. None would be strikingly original.

The meal settled, the ladies turned to desserts. Trisha brought an assortment on a tray. Kay tried a bite of creampuff and made a face at the soggy crust. Becky found the nut roll dry. Lily said the cookies tasted like paste, and Anne's chocolate-dipped strawberry was mushy and melting.

"These are for today's wedding reception?" Becky asked.

"We have a new pastry chef," Trisha explained. "Aren't the trays lovely?"

"The presentation is fine," Becky answered. "But the desserts are … um …"

"Terrible," Kay provided. "We'll have our own desserts brought in."

"Oh." Trisha glanced at Barlow. "Oh, I don't know if we can allow that."

"We're paying an arm and a leg for this event and that's before the open bar," Kay snapped. "Your desserts are terrible. We're bringing our own."

"But it's highly unusual …"

Lily said, "Is this an egg shell?"

"All right, then. Your own desserts. That would be fine."

On the way to the car, Kay said, "Where are we going to get that many desserts?"

"I could bake," Becky offered.

"You don't have time."

"We could have everybody bring their own," Lily suggested lightly.

Kay glared at her. "Pot luck desserts. Oh, yes. That would be elegant."

She grinned. "Don't worry. I know a place."

"What kind of place?"

Lily unlocked her car and let them in. "A place where they know how to make desserts."

***

"I found it," Sterno announced.

Robert nodded, unimpressed. "You have samples?"

"Right here." He hoisted a grocery bag with carry-out containers. "I gotta tell you, McCall, it wasn't easy, but this was the sweetest assignment you ever sent me on." He chuckled. "Sweetest. Get it?"

"I get it, Sterno. I get it." He took the bag carefully. "Where is this place?"

"Yonkers."

"Yonkers?"

"There's a flyer in the bag. Little hole in the wall, looks like nothing. Donut shop, you know? I drew a map on the back. It's not easy to find. But everywhere I asked, they said it was the place. And wait'll you taste it."

"I'm looking forward to it. Thank you."

"So, uh," Sterno said gently, "am I, uh …?"

"Getting an invitation?" Robert asked. "Of course you are. They're at the printers now, we should have them on Monday. I'll try to look you up. But in case I miss you, it's next Saturday." He shuddered, suddenly chilled. One week left. "The reception's at the Roosevelt, probably at seven."

Sterno grinned. "Good. Good. I'll be there."

"And Sterno?"

"Yeah, McCall?"

"Come hungry, will you?"

"You got it."

***

At St. Christina's, the Saturday wedding was already in progress. The streets around the church were crammed with cars, and the spaces nearest the door were taken by two brightly-decorated stretch limousines.

"Nick?" Becky asked.

Lily nodded. She threaded the Mercedes gently between double-parked cars and around to the back of the church. "Well, sorta. Nick's busy, but we can still get this done." On the next block she found a mostly-legal parking spot behind a black van.

As they got out of the car, Mickey Kostmayer stepped out of the shadow of a doorway. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah," Lily grumbled.

"Hey, gorgeous," he added, kissing Annie on the lips. "Having fun?"

"I was until we got to the desserts."

"You, uh, you know each other?" Kay asked curiously.

"Biblically," Lily said brightly. "Shall we?"

"This isn't going to be easy, you know," Mickey said as they walked back towards the church. "These ladies, you know how they get if they think you're rushing them."

"That's why we brought you," Lily answered. "To be insouciant and charming."

He cocked one eyebrow. "Insouciant?"

"Just look hungry," Becky advised. "They won't be able to resist."

The back door of the social hall was open, and the kitchen was stiflingly hot. A dozen small old women worked in black dresses with long sleeves and spotless white aprons over the church stoves and ovens, preparing the reception feast for the wedding that could be heard muffled overhead. They shot annoyed glances at the visitors, but no one tried to stop them as they made their way to the far side of the kitchen. There, fussing over a vast tray of pastries was the oldest woman of all.

"Marga!" Mickey called warmly. "I knew I'd find you here."

She grinned at him. She had only four teeth. "Ah, Mikhail, just like you, come first to the sweets."

"And you're the sweetest of them all, Marga." He kissed her cheek lightly.

She blushed like a schoolgirl. "Ach, stop that now, my husband will not like it. Oh, and you've brought your beautiful girl, have you? Come, love, give us a kiss."

Anne dutifully kissed the woman's other cheek. "Hello, Marga."

"So, you come to see the wedding, do you? Maybe get him inspired to get off his dupa and have one of his own, yes?"

The photographer shook her head. "He doesn't want the wedding, just the reception. And the szarlotka.

Without glancing back, Marga swooped her hand behind her and slapped Mickey's arm just as he was reaching for a pinch of pastry. "The reception and the honeymoon, if I know him."

"We'll get around to it," Mickey promised.

"Soon," Marga insisted. "I am an old woman, you know."

"You're not all that old, Marga." He leaned closer. "You look a lot younger than most of these old birds."

"Oh, you." She took up her spatula and cut him a piece of makowiec – poppy seed roll – as big as his hand. "There, there, you sweet-talker. That's what you're after, isn't it."

"Well," Mickey said, around a mouthful of pastry, "for starters."

"Too dry?" Marga worried.

"No, it's perfect. It's always perfect, when you make it."

The old woman flushed again. Then she noticed the other women for what seemed like the first time. "Oh, you've brought guests."

"I have," Mickey said. "I told them you make the best sweets in the whole city, but they didn't believe me, so I had to bring them to try for themselves."

"Oh, you are so full of baloney, you are!" she answered. But she took a plate from the big waiting stack and served them each a tiny piece of the pastry. "It should be good, I've been practicing for nearly a century."

"And the practice has paid off," Mickey said, licking his fingers. "It's perfect." The pastry gone, he turned more attentively to the business at hand. "This young lady is Becky Baker. She's getting married next Saturday."

"Oh, but she's just a child!" Marga exclaimed. She took Becky's face in both soft hands and kissed her forehead. "Oh, blessings on you, child."

"Th-thank you."

"And this is Kay Wesley, the groom's mother, and this is Lily Romanov. They just came from the Roosevelt Hotel, where the reception will be."

"Why? You have the reception here, our food is twice as good as that snobby place!"

"We'd love to," Lily said smoothly, "but the social hall was already booked."

"Ah."

"The food is okay there," Lily continued, "but their desserts are awful."

"I am not surprised," Marga said primly. "They know nothing about quality, about tradition. With them it is all about fast and cheap."

"Exactly," Mickey said. "Which is why I brought them here."

"We'd like to know," Kay said, "if you – your ladies – could make desserts for the reception. We're expecting about two hundred people."

Marga considered her for a moment. "It would be difficult. We have a wedding here to cater, as you say."

"We understand. But your pastry is so superior to theirs …"

The old woman nodded thoughtfully. "There is a charge, you know. For catering."

"Of course."

"I will talk to my sisters. We will see."

Kay said, "We really need an answer today …"

"I call you on Monday. Tomorrow I rest, as our Lord commands. Monday I will talk to my sisters."

"But …" Kay began in exasperation.

"Monday would be fine," Mickey said quickly. "You can call McCall's apartment. Let me write down the number …"

He waved vaguely, and Lily put a business card in his hand. "Monday would be fine," he repeated. "Can I have another piece?"

Marga sighed. "Don't you ever feed this man?" she demanded of Anne. "Every time I see him, he acts like he's starving."

"She feeds me," Mickey confided. "But she's nowhere near as good a cook as you."

Marga gave him another huge slab of pastry and they made their way out.

"Well," Kay said, "that wasn't very helpful. We really need an answer right away. Either she can or she can't."

"She can," Mickey promised, "and she will."

"How can you be sure?"

He shrugged. "I know Marga. She doesn't like to be pushed around. But she loves the idea of having her food up in that fancy hotel. Trust me. She's in."

"She'd better be."

Mickey glanced at Lily, who shrugged. "Okay," he said. "I'm gonna go."

"Thanks for your help," Lily said.

"Yes," Becky added, "thank you."

"No problem." He looked to Anne. "You want to ride back with me?"

"No," she said slowly. "I think I'm going to stay a while more. If that's okay?" She glanced to Lily first and then to Kay. "I'm getting some great ideas for pictures. Like in the kitchen there."

"Okay," he said. "See ya."

"Now what?" Becky asked, a bit wearily.

"Back to Robert's, I suppose," Kay said. "We'd better check our list and see what else we're missing."

"There had better be coffee," Lily said.

***

"Try this," Robert said to the ladies around his desk.

They tried it, each of them, a tiny bite of one piece of cake.

A moment of silence passed. They each reached for their own little carry-out container.

"Oh, my God," Kay said warmly.

Lily took a second bite and savored it. "I think I need a cigarette."

"How did you find this?" Becky asked. "I've never had anything like it. It's like … like angel food, only with body to it …"

"That is too good to be real," Anne pronounced.

"I know people," Robert said lightly. He was very, very pleased. ""I think this will do. This will do very nicely."

"We need this cake," Becky said.

"We need to order it today," Kay agreed. "Where is it?"

Robert grimaced. "Yonkers."

Lily glanced at her watch and stood up – gathering the rest of her cake to take with her. "We need to go right now, then."

"Me, too?" Anne asked.

"Of course," Becky said quickly. "There might be more cake."

"Oh, we definitely need another sample," Kay said.

"Where, Yonkers?" Lily asked.

McCall handed her the map on the back of the flyer.

She took a look and shook her head. "Sterno. Lovely man, miserable directions. Got a street map?"

He did. They consulted it together. Kay stuck her head over the map, but stayed uncharacteristically silent. Robert glanced between her and Lily. There was something, definitely. Some tension that they were both too polite, or too angry, to acknowledge. But it didn't seem to be interfering with the wedding plans. If anything, Kay had been more cooperative than ever.

"We're off," Lily announced confidently, and they were.

Robert paced his suddenly-quiet apartment contentedly. He stuffed the ladies' abandoned coffee cups in the dishwasher and started it. He tidied a bit. Then he went and looked at the white board that had taken over his study.

Flowers, he mused. Lily had taken Pete's suggestion about the church flowers, but there would need to be bouquets and buttoniers and such. And flowers for the receptions. And probably a hundred other kinds of flowers he'd forgotten he was expected to pay for.

Pete O'Phelan had been working in a flower shop when he'd found out that the restaurant was closed. But she was years from that now. He wondered if Barry Konig was still in business. If he was, Robert did not feel the least bit bad about asking him to rush this job through for him. He had saved the man's life. He would, however, have to pay full price.

Robert nodded thoughtfully and went out.

***

It was called The Bavarian Pastry Shop, and it looked, as Sterno had said, like a hole in the wall. But the inside smelled like heaven. Hot, humid, sugary heaven.

There was a woman in her twenties at the counter, with a baby on her hip. She listened to their questions, frowning. "Next Saturday?" she asked, incredulous. "A week from today? For how many people?"

"Two hundred, maybe two fifty," Kay repeated.

The woman shook her head. "I don't know. I'll have to ask Mama." She turned her head away from the baby and shouted, "Mama!"

The woman's mother was somewhere between fifty and a hundred, and she was not pleased at being disturbed. The two women spoke quickly, loudly, in German.

Kay said, very softly, "I took German in high school, but I'm not getting any of this."

"I am," Lily answered.

"They think we're crazy," Anne said.

"You speak German, too?" Becky asked.

"I don't have to. Look at their hands."

The conversation went on for several minutes. Then the older woman turned to them. "Pay in advance. Full. I make your cake."

"Okay," Lily said, producing Robert's credit card.

The woman smiled broadly. "Come back, come back. We pick a cake."

***

"I forgot," Becky said, simmering in traffic on the way back, "I need some kind of veil or something. There wasn't one with the dress."

"I didn't have one," Kay said. "I just had a wreath of fresh flowers." She shrugged. "It was the sixties, you know. What kind of veil do you think you'd like?"

"I don't know, really. Not one of those crown things. I'd feel ridiculous."

"Mmm. Well, as warm as it's likely to be, I don't think you want anything heavy."

"No."

"I really think you should just …" Then Kay stopped.

"What?" Becky urged.

"Oh." Kay waved her hand vaguely. "It's really up to you, sweetheart. We could stop and look on the way back. There's a bridal place up this way, isn't there?"

"About three miles, on the left," Lily answered.

"Do you mind stopping?"

Lily raised one eyebrow. "Not at all."

"What were you going to say?" Becky asked again.

"Oh, well, it's really up to you. But you have such pretty shoulders in the dress, you know, it seems like a shame to break up that line. You'd be lovely with your hair up and some white flowers in it. But that's just my opinion. It's really up to you."

"I'd like that," Becky said. "I don't think it would seem so silly to me."

There was a moment of silence in the car. "No stop?" Lily asked softly.

"Well, we could stop anyhow," Kay said. "She might change her mind. Oh, and I need to buy her a garter. And what about shoes – do you have white shoes? A little heel would be good. Not a lot, we don't want you falling down, but enough to make Scott look less like a giant."

They stopped at the bridal shop and got out of the car.

Trailing behind, alone with Lily, Anne said, "I don't know what Mickey's problem is. Kay seems perfectly reasonable to me."

***

"We need to do something about the flowers," Kay said, back at the apartment. "I completely forgot about them."

"It's taken care of," Robert said serenely.

"What?"

"It's all been taken care of. There will be flowers at the hotel, and everything we need for the wedding. Mixed flowers, some roses, green ribbon. You'll need to stop by and tell him exactly what shade of green, but other than that it's all arranged."

"You picked flowers without me?" Kay demanded.

"And without Becky, either," Robert observed.

The bride said simply, "Thank you. I don't think I could decide one more thing today."

Kay sighed loudly. "Well. I guess that's that, then."

"What else do we have to get done today?" Lily asked wearily.

They went to the board. "What's this, test?" Kay asked, pointing.

"I have my final on Monday," Becky said. "I haven't studied at all."

"Tomorrow you study," Lily decreed. "Tonight you rest. Monday you test."

"We need to start inviting people," Kay said. "I don't know if we'll be able to get everyone on the phone or not, at this late date. We really should consider postponing this whole thing."

There was a brief silence.

Kay shrugged. "We'll split the lists," she said. "I'll call the people I'm inviting, Becky – or Scott – can call your friends, Robert can call his. It's the only way to get it done."

"And we'll get the hard copy back from the printers on Monday and get them mailed," Lily added.

"And hope that Marga calls."

"This can be done."

They studied the board in silence.

"Good," Lily said. "I'm going home. Becky, want me to drop you?"

"Yes, please. Unless," she looked to Kay, "you need me for anything else?"

"No. You're exhausted, dear. Lily's right. Go home and rest. Study tomorrow, and we'll start again after your test on Monday. I'm going home."

Robert frowned. "To Connecticut?"

"Yes. I can call people as well from there as here. Better, because I won't – you won't – have to pay for every call. And Walt misses me."

"Oh."

"I'll be back Monday morning," she promised. "I just need a bit of time to rest myself."

Robert studied her. There was more to this than she was saying. It wasn't just that she was tired, though they all were. There was something sad or hurt about her now.

He glanced at Lily. There had been tension between them when they arrived in the morning. No, not between them. Only from Kay. Lily ignored it, as Lily often ignored unpleasantness. What had happened between them?

He shook his head. Lily would never tell him. Kay would have come crying to him for protection, but not if she thought she was wrong.

Kay had been a good deal more civil to her future daughter-in-law all day.

He wondered.

But the women left his apartment without satisfying his curiosity.

***

"Oh," Scott said vaguely, "you got the job."

"What?"

They were sprawled on the couch in a heap in front of the fan, too tired to move. "You're going to cook for the road company."

"Oh. Well. That makes things better."

"Yeah. It was the cinnamon rolls."

"Good."

They were quiet for a moment. "I'm exhausted," Scott said. "So are you."

"Do you think that guy's still there?"

"At the courthouse?"

"Yes."

"I have fifteen bucks. We could go now."

They were quiet again. "It's too much effort to get up," Becky finally said.

"This time next week we'll be married," Scott reminded her.

"Yes, if we're not all dead first."

"Mmm." He half-turned and kissed the top of her head. "Well, it's definitely an adventure."

***

Day Seven (Sunday)

***

Scott slept, blissfully without an alarm clock set. When he woke it was nearly noon and he was alone.

He staggered to the bathroom, and then to the living room. Becky was sitting cross-legged on the couch, still in her night shirt, with her accounting book in her lap. "Hey, sleepy head."

"You should've woke me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. This is my one day off from rehearsal between now and the wedding. Don't we have a million things to do?"

"A few," she admitted. "We have to think about what we're packing up and what we're taking with us. And review everything, in case you have comments."

"I have no comments," Scott said firmly. "Whatever you want to do is fine. Tell me where to be and when."

Becky smiled. "Chicken."

"Absolutely."

"And we have to get rings."

"Coffee first." Scott went and filled a mug, came back and sat beside her. "How's the studying coming?"

"It's okay. Except I keep thinking of things I should do for the wedding. Things I'm afraid I'll forget." She shook her head. "I called Lily three times already. She told me to make a list and we'd talk about it all tomorrow."

"Smart."

"Uh-huh. I think she told your mother off."

"What?"

"I'm not sure. Neither of them said a word about it. But Kay was pretty much on her best behavior yesterday."

"Huh." Scott ran his hand through his sleep-disheveled hair. "I'd love to have heard that one."

"Me, too."

"I'll go shower."

Becky nodded. "I'll make you some breakfast."

"No, you study, I'll have cereal."

"Okay."

As soon as the shower started, she put down her book and went to make him eggs and sausage.

***

Mira Kalinich's phone rang ten times. Robert hung on the line patiently. She might not be home, but it was more likely that she was searching for, and cursing at, her phone.

After the twelfth ring, she picked up. "Kalinich," she barked.

"McCall."

"No, you're McCall. I'm Kalinich."

"I knew that," he chuckled.

"Ah, that's only because you can actually find your coffee cup, smarty pants."

If you actually put things away, Robert mused, you might be able to find them again. But he did not say that. Mira was Mira, and chaos came with the package. "I have neglected you this week, my dear, and I'd like to make it up to you. Are you free this afternoon?"

"I could be. What did you have in mind?"

"A surprise. Dress casual. Sensible shoes."

"I only own sensible shoes," Mira pointed out.

"I know," Robert answered. "And that is one of many reasons I adore you. I'll pick you up at one. We'll have lunch."

"All right. But Robert, I don't feel neglected. I understand about the wedding."

"And that," he said warmly, "is another reason I adore you. See you at one."
***

The door was closed, but Jason Masur entered without knocking. Control looked up with no expression on his face. "What?"

"We need to chat, Control."

"I'm busy."

Masur deposited himself in one of the casual chairs across from Control's desk. "There are operatives in the city, Control."

Control concentrated on the papers before him. "I know," he answered without looking up.

"A lot of operatives. Hell, half the operatives on your payroll are in the city. You having some kind of convention or something I don't know about?"

Control still refused to make eye contact. "It's summer. They're using up vacation time."

"Control." Masur rose, planted his left hip on the edge of the desk. "You may not have noticed, but the Balkans are turning into a giant shitpool."

The spymaster glanced up briefly, then back down. "Don't sit on my desk."

"Your operatives aren't doing me any good in New York, Control."

"I am aware of the situation," Control answered tightly.

With a regretful sigh, Jason rose and rounded the desk to stand directly over him. "I want your people in Europe. Now."

Control looked up at him. Then he pushed back from his desk and rose slowly to his feet. "My people, Jason. They are my people." He was much taller than Masur, and the man had been so close that he now loomed over him. "They will be in Europe when I need them there. But for now, they're right where I want them to be."

"In Europe. Now." Masur met his eyes, challenging him, for a moment. Then he looked away, trying to make it seem casual. "Unless you're just keeping all of them here for the wedding."

"I'll send them when I need to send them." Control didn't move his feet, but he leaned slightly towards the shorter man, the loom becoming intentionally menacing.

"I'm not the only one who's noticed, Control. The Directors are – anxious."

Control did take a step closer then. "The Directors can talk to me directly about their anxieties, Jason. You are not their messenger."

The man blinked, and Control knew he was right. Masur was here on his own initiative. Running his own game. "What is it you really want?"

For a moment, he could see Jason considering a denial. Then he said, "I need to move a – package – out of Sarajevo."

"A package."

"A young man. Serbian."

There was something half a note off, to Control's practiced ear. "Why is he important?"

Masur flared. "Because I say he is. You don't get to demand explanations, Control. You just do what you're told. Get him out."

Control considered him for a long moment. The reddening cheeks, the flared nostrils. The pupils just a hint too open. The breathing just a bit too fast.

Masur must have been completely desperate to come to him. Or else the fool thought Control was the least dangerous of his options.

He shrugged uncaringly. "Leave me the information. I'll see what I can do."

"You'll get him out, Control. And you'll do it soon."

"I'll do what I can," the spymaster repeated calmly. He sat down and resumed his paperwork, ignoring the fact that Jason was now practically leaning on his shoulder. Then he said, bored, "Was there something else?"

"Keep me informed."

Control grunted. After a minute, Jason stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Control glanced up to be sure he was alone. Then he sat back, his fingers laced behind his head. Information had always fascinated him. Information that Jason Masur didn't want him to have was especially attractive. It would requite subtlety, of course. No point in tipping his hand. A delicate touch, obtaining and keeping this information. But Control knew just the person.

He was in no hurry, though. He's send her when the situation genuinely called for it.

***

"Those?" Becky asked.

Scott peered down through the glass counter. "I like them." The bands were simple, platinum, with three horizontal lines etched around them.

The jeweler came over. "Can I help you?"

"We'd like those wedding bands," Scott said, pointing.

"These?" The man unlocked the case and drew out the entire tray. "We have a number of lovely sets …"

"Those," Scott repeated, touching them. "And we need them sized by next Saturday."

"Friday," Becky corrected.

"By next Friday."

The man raised one eyebrow. "In a hurry, are we?"

"We're leaving the country."

"Oh." The clerk took the model number down and got the sizing rings. "They are rather expensive."

"Doesn't matter," Scott said. Then he grinned. "You'll take a check, right?"

"Uh … with proper ID."

Becky giggled. "Do you think it will clear the bank before Friday?"

"Uh … I'm sure it will."

"Oh." They shared a long look. Scott said. "Well, that'll probably be okay."

The clerk eyed them darkly. But he filled out the order form and took their check without comment.

When they were gone, he wrote across the bottom of the order, 'Confirm funds before releasing'.

***

"I know it's terribly short notice," Kay said, for perhaps the fiftieth time. "But Scott's getting married next Saturday."

Walt brought a glass of ice water and set it by her elbow. He glanced casually at her list. She was apparently more than half done. He listened again as she went through the litany of times and places, and as she launched into the mandatory explanation of her son's European tour. She was getting better at it. The speech was becoming more streamlined, more concise.

Her voice was getting hoarse.

The dryer buzzed, and Walt went and swapped the laundry around. Kay had said she was coming home to look after him, but so far he'd done all the household chores while she hung on the phone with her friends and relatives.

Still, he didn't mind. From what he'd heard of the planning process, he'd gotten off light. If all he had to do was fold his own towels, while Robert McCall was shelling out major bucks for this extravaganza, he was more than happy to fold.

He returned from his laundry trip just as Kay hung up the phone. "I'm exhausted," she announced.

"I bet you are," Walt said. "Take a break. Let's go for a walk."

She shook her head. "Too hot."

"No, it's much cooler today. Nice breeze. Half an hour, Kay. You'll feel better."

She sighed heavily. "I should finish this list."

"Kay." He held his hand out to her. "You can finish when we get back. We'll walk down to the corner and get an iced coffee."

"Tempting."

"It's Sunday. They'll have fresh pastry."

"Walt." Kay shook her head. "You know all my weaknesses."

"I do," he agreed. "Get your shoes."

They went out. Kay walked swiftly at first, as if she were on mission rather than a stroll. But after an achingly fresh cream cheese Danish and a huge iced coffee, she slowed down and held his hand while they strolled under the shade trees.

"You're right," Kay admitted. "This was just what I needed."

"I know."

"I still have so much to do. I have to finish these calls, and then tomorrow we need to pick up the invitations and get them stuffed and mailed – the envelopes are pretty much addressed, except those few we need to look up, but I have to remember to stop for stamps, and then there's …"

"Kay."

She stopped. Then she laughed. "You're right, of course. I need to take a break."

They walked. "How's Robert been?" Walt asked.

"He's been remarkably good," Kay admitted. "A bit – absent – but that's Robert. At least he hasn't squawked about paying for anything. Well, he insisted on a buffet dinner, but I suppose that's for the best anyhow. Imagine me calling all these people and asking, 'Can you come to the wedding, and would you prefer chicken or beef?'" She sighed. "And as much as I hate to admit it, Lily has been a great help."

Walt frowned. "His girlfriend?"

"He says not. I don't know. She's very young for him, but – well, that's Robert, too. She is very beautiful. If you like skinny women."

Walt shook his head. "I can't imagine what he sees in her. A woman that much younger."

"She's one of them," Kay answered at once. "You know. Company. He doesn't have to keep secrets from her. I'm sure that makes her very attractive."

"But you don't think there's a relationship there?"

Kay shook her head. "I don't know why he'd bother to lie about it. He's never been very big on protecting my feelings before."

They walked a bit more. Carefully, Walt said, "How are you feeling about the girl?"

"Becky? It doesn't much matter how I feel about her, does it?"

"Robert's girl. Yvette."

"Oh." Kay was silent for a long moment. "I don't know. Angry, hurt, betrayed. And curious. Robert says he never knew about her until a few years ago – and again, why would he bother to lie? And if Scott had known any longer than that, he would have let it slip before now. So I guess I have no grounds to be hurt."

"But you are, anyhow," Walt said gently.

"I am. And especially in light of losing Cathy …" She sighed. "Lily said something that I can't let go of. I mean, I want to just dismiss it, but it won't go away."

"What did she say?"

"That Becky and Cathy would be the same age. And that Becky wants her mother back as badly as I still want my daughter back. That maybe if I wasn't so damn stubborn, maybe we could be some comfort to each other."

"Is she right?" Walt asked quietly.

"I don't know." They walked a bit more. "It hurts to think so. I mean, it feels like I'd be betraying my real daughter, if I let myself … if I …" Kay stopped and blotted her eyes with her fingertips.

"She's not a substitute," Walt said. "She's not a replacement for Cathy. But think about it this way. If your daughter had lived, and Scott was getting married, would you have a hard time accepting his bride as your new daughter?"

Kay said, "Oh." And then, a bit later, "Oh. You're right, of course. She's not a substitution. She's an addition."

"Yes."

She tucked her arm closer through her husband's. "And if Cathy were still here …"

"She'd be celebrating having a new sister."

"I hadn't thought about it that way." Kay shook her head. "Of course, if I'd had a chance to get to know this girl a little better …" And then," But Scott tried, didn't he, and I didn't want anything to do with her. I just wanted to ignore her until she went away. Only she's not going to o away, is she?"

Walt shrugged. "She seemed like a perfectly nice young lady to me."

"How did you get so wise?" Kay laughed.

"Oh, no, I'm not wise. I only did one wise thing in my life, and that was marrying you."

***

"We should get gifts, while we're out," Becky said.

"Gifts?"

"For Mickey and Yvette. And Lily, and Annie. And your mother and father. Thank you gifts."

"Okay," Scott said agreeably. "Do you have any idea what to buy any of those people?"

"I was hoping you did." Becky grinned. "I don't suppose we can actually buy Mickey a blow dart."

"We can, but then he'll want to use it on Mom."

"Mmmm."

"It might be a good idea," he admitted. "This, uh, might be a really good time for your psychic thing to kick in."

Becky screwed her mouth up into a grimace. "Yes, but of course it never works when I want it to. The only clear vision I've had lately was …" She stopped, shuddered.

"Bad?" Scott moved closer, put his arm around her.

"Confusing. People were all going away."

"Well, we're going away," he pointed out.

"That wasn't it. And we're coming back. They weren't."

Scott frowned. "People we know?"

"I don't know." Becky shook her head. "There were so many of them, and they were moving so fast …ugh." She shook her head again, hard. "I don't want to think about it. Let's just walk and see what looks good."

"Okay." He shifted his arm to her waist, still close, still protective. "Okay."

***

Mira stopped on the stoop and stared. "You have got to be kidding."

McCall stepped grandly down from the carriage. "I do not kid, Madam, when I am devoting a romantic afternoon to a lovely lady. If you will?"

"Oh, my." He took her hand. Mira hesitated. "I'm … a little afraid of horses."

"Are you?" Robert paused. "Well, then, you should come and meet Vivian. She is the sweetest horse in the city, or so our driver tells me." He led her casually to the horse's head, reached out to pat the gray's soft nose. The mare curled her lip and brushed it across his fingertips. "There, you see?"

Mira regarded the horse skeptically. "She's trying to eat you."

"No, if she meant to bite me I'd be bleeding. She's seeing if I've brought her a treat."

The horse shuddered a fly away and Mira stepped back. "She's big."

"Well, yes."

She stepped forward again, reached out very slowly and touched the horse's neck. "She's warm."

"Yes."

Vivian tossed her head impatiently, and Mira stepped back again. Robert smiled gently, leaned towards the horse. She lipped at his ear. "She says," he announced, "that's she'd like to take us to the park."

"Oh, she would, would she?"

"She would. She promises to be on her best behavior and not do anything to startle you."

"She promises?"

He leaned forward and let the horse nuzzle his head again. "She promises."

Mira touched the mare's neck again, then stroked it very softly. "She's pretty."

"Yes, she is."

"All right, then. To the park."

Robert grinned. He patted the horse one last time, then led Mira back to the carriage and helped her in. When they were settled, he leaned forward and said, "All right, Roger, we're ready to go. Nice and smooth, all right?"

"You got it, Mr. McCall. Come on, Viv, let's go to the park."

The mare tossed her head again and started off at a sedate walk.

"All right?" Robert asked, settling back with his arm around his lady.

"You really are a hopeless romantic, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, no. I am a romantic, yes, but I have great hopes."

***

They stopped by the music store so Scott could buy spare strings for his violin. "We should be able to get them anywhere," he explained, "but it makes me feel better to have them with me."

Becky said, "We need cello strings."

"Huh?"

"Cello strings."

"I don't play the cello."

"Lily needs them."

Scott blinked. "I don't think Lily plays the cello, either."

"She needs them. It's … it's … it can be her gift."

"Ah." He did not argue with her intuition, though it made no sense to him. He bought both sets of strings.

***

The sun grew hot, but the breeze was cool. Robert found a grassy spot under a shady tree and spread the heavy red plaid blanket. Mira sat where he indicated and watched in amazement as he unpacked the picnic basket. First there was champagne, in fluted crystal glasses. "To you, my dearest Mira," Robert toasted, and they sipped. Then he brought out china plates and real silverware.

"I thought," Mira ventured, "that picnics involved paper plates."

"Those are American picnics," Robert said. "This, on the other hand, is a proper British picnic. No paper plates. No plastic forks. And absolutely no over-cooked or undercooked food products on sticks over open flames." He opened a golden-wrapped serving dish. "Roast duck." The next was herbed wild rice. There was green salad with sugared walnuts and mandarin oranges. A bowl of huge, perfect strawberries. One package he put back, unopened. "Dessert," he explained. "It's a surprise."

"Good heavens," Mira said. "If I didn't know better, Robert, I'd think you were trying to seduce me."

"Oh, no, no. Not at a proper British picnic. At least, not in the middle of the afternoon." He smiled. "We’ll get to that closer to sundown."

"Oh."

"But I have neglected you, rather shamefully, and I do apologize. And you have been marvelously gracious about it, and I thought I would like to do something appropriately gracious for you in return."

Mira studied him frankly. "This is a side of you I don't think I've seen before, Robert."

He busied himself filling their plates. "Well, perhaps it's a side of me that I should let out more often."

"Just once in a while. Otherwise I'll feel terribly inadequate."

"I meant the appreciation for your patience, not the proper British picnic."

"This is delicious." Mira tried everything on her plate, slowly. She was comfortable in silence with Robert, which he treasured about her best of all. "So how goes the wedding planning?"

"It goes," he said. "Kay seems to have everything well in hand."

"Kay? Not Becky?"

"Becky is merely a willing victim, I fear."

"Ahh. And how are you and Kay getting on?"

Robert sighed. "We're managing to be civil, mostly. For the sake of the children." He drained his champagne glass and refilled it. "She did not take the news about Yvette particularly well."

"I imagine not. When will she be here?"

"Yvette? Tomorrow."

"I look forward to meeting her."

"Oh, you shall," Robert promised. "She's going to live in Scott's apartment while he's abroad."

"Really?" Mira smiled. "That's convenient for everybody."

"Yes. I'm pleased about the whole arrangement. I don't really know Yvette very well. I look forward to spending time with her. But this week won't be easy, with her and Kay together."

"Well," Mira said philosophically, "perhaps now that Kay's had time to adjust to the idea, it will go better than you expect."

"From your mouth to God's ear."

"Is there anything I can do to help? With the wedding?"

Robert shook his head. "Not so far, thank you. Between Kay and Lily, they seem to have things under control."

"Ah, you've gotten the mysterious Lily involved."

"Scott recruited her, actually. She's being Switzerland."

"Between Kay and Becky?"

"Yes."

"More like Poland, if you ask me. Trampled by opposing armies."

"No, no. No one tramples Lily Romanov. Certainly not Kay."

"Interesting. And do I get to meet her, too?"

McCall hesitated. "She's Company."

"And you've taken great pains to keep me away from your Company friends, I've noticed."

"I have," he admitted.

"Afraid they'll tell me about your wicked past?" she teased.

Robert shook his head gravely. "No. Afraid you'll piece it together from things they say in passing. One of the hazards of keeping company with a historian, I'm afraid, is that you're far too good at putting things in historical context."

"Were you really that bad?" Mira asked.

"I was," Robert said firmly. "I always told myself it was for a greater good, served a higher purpose – but I was among the worst of them."

"And now you've changed."

"I tell myself I've changed."

"I've seen how you've changed. I've seen the people you've helped."

McCall shrugged. "It would be better, Mira …"

"Oh, stop it. I'm not a child. You don't need to protect me from who you used to be."

"I know." He took her hand and kissed it. "And for that I am profoundly grateful. But there are things … things that would frighten you, and things that I am deeply ashamed of. And I would rather you never met any of my former associates."

Mira pursed her lips, but she nodded her agreement. "As you wish."

"But," Robert continued, "as much as I might wish that, a great many of them will be at the wedding, and they are all dying to meet you."

"Oh." Mira brightened considerably. "Well. I look forward to it, then."

"At least one of us does."

***

"If we empty one closet and one dresser …" Scott began.

"Yes," Becky agreed. "She can't bring all that much on the plane with her, can she?"

"Unless she ships it ahead."

Becky groaned. "Well, let's make a pile in the living room of all the stuff that's going with us. And then we'll see what's left in here. Maybe we can consolidate."

"That's a plan."

"The kitchen's okay as it is – we don't even have to empty the refrigerator. And the bathroom's fine. It's really just in here. We can box it up and have Mickey take it to Lily's place."

Scott nodded. "Or we can just haul the boxes up and put them in Mira's apartment. She'd never notice a few more."

His bride smacked his arm. "Stop it. You were a pack-rat too when we met."

"I was not."

"You had fifty-seven plastic cups from Taco Bell."

"Well, yeah, but I used them all."

"Because you never washed dishes."

"That's beside the point. I used them." He frowned. "Speaking of pack-rats, I have to call Rory."

"I thought he wasn't speaking to you." Rory had been the keyboard played in the band Scott was in; he'd taken it very personally when the other band members announced that they needed to leave the band and make a living.

"He isn't, but if I get him to play the wedding, I'm sure he'll get over it."

"Just Rory?" Becky asked.

"He has a new band. Same music, new players."

"Oh. Okay." Becky shook her head. "I have got to get a couple more hours of studying in."

"All right. You pull out the stuff you're taking and then study. I'll grab my stuff, box up the rest, and make dinner." She looked at him again. "Okay, I'll order dinner. And go pick it up. Deal?"

"Deal."

***

"You promised me dessert," Mira said, much later, as they settled back in the carriage.

"I did," Robert answered. He opened the basket again and found a Thermos bottle of steaming coffee and two small china cups. Mira held while he poured, and while he found the last full serving dish. "For such an elegant meal, there is only one dessert that will possibly do."

"I can't even begin to guess."

"Of course you can. It's your favorite."

"My favorite?"

"Yes. Your favorite sweet."

"That would be you, Robert."

He grinned. "Your second-favorite sweet, then."

"That would be …" her eyes lit as he removed the last cover, "Twinkies!"

"Twinkies. Are you surprised?"

"I'm delighted. But these hardly seem to fit with the proper British picnic."

Robert shrugged. "Well, we must make certain concessions to being in the colonies, you know."

Mira threw her head back and laughed out loud.

***

"Mickey?"

"Out here."

Anne walked to her door and peered out. Mickey was sitting on the steps, rather hunched over. "You okay?"

"Fine." He sat up and half-turned, a dress shoe over one hand and a buffing cloth in the other.

"Oh." She went out and sat beside him. She had a stack of proof sheets in her hand. "I don't think I've ever seen you polish shoes before."

"Usually I just throw them out." He continued to work on the shoe until it reflected the setting sunlight. "Special occasion. How's the proofs?"

Anne sighed. "The church is good. The hotel's going to be tricky. All those big windows. Easy to catch glare."

"You'll handle it."

"I just don't want to screw this up. They should have hired a professional."

"Annie, babe, you are a professional. You have three books and a whole shelf full of awards to prove it."

"Yeah, but those weren't weddings."

Mickey sighed. "The pictures will be great."

"I don't know."

"You've spent too much time with Kay."

"What?"

Satisfied with the first shoe, Mickey put it down and started on the second. "Kay McCall has impossibly high expectations of everything and everyone. She drives Robert bonkers because he can't live up to them. And now she's getting to you."

"I don't know. She was really pretty reasonable when I was with them."

"Trust me. The pictures will be fine."

"I hope so." Anne glared at the proofs some more, then looked away. Her neighborhood was settling down, the children starting to trickle in for baths and bedtime stories. The older teens were coming out, quietly. Not attracting their parents' attention. "I kinda like this."

"What?"

"Shooting the wedding. It's different from – well, being in a war zone."

Mickey raised an eyebrow. "Not that much different."

Anne elbowed him. "It's a slower pace. I can take my time, think about the shots. About what I want. And everybody's happy."

"And nobody's getting blown to pieces," Kostmayer offered. "You could do this, you know. Set up a little shop here, do weddings and bar mitzvahs and proms. You might like it."

"And miss everything in Europe?"

"I wish to hell you would."

They were silent for a moment. "Mickey …"

"I know. I'm just saying, if you like this, there's nothing that says you can't sit out a war or two. God knows there'll always be another one."

Anne hesitated. "It's going to be bad, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. It's gonna be bad."

"But you're still going."

Mickey looked at her. "I'm still going."

"Well," she said slowly, "maybe if I'm there we could meet up somewhere. You know."

"Meet up or hook up?"

"Yeah."

Kostmayer grinned slowly. "You used to be such a respectable girl."

"Right up until I met you."

He shook his head. "I'll see what I can arrange."

"Oh, good."

***

After sundown, Becky put her book away. "That's it. If I don't know it by now, I never will. My brain won't soak up any more."

"Good," Scott said. "Come see."

She followed him into the bedroom. He proudly displayed his entirely empty dresser and two empty drawers in hers, plus an empty closet. There were five cardboard boxes in the hall, ready to move. "Perfect," she pronounced. "Thank you."

They trailed back to the living room and gazed at the massive pile of things they'd decided to take. "That's pretty much ridiculous," Becky said.

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "We may need to cut that down some."

"I don't think I even own a suitcase any more."

"Maybe we can borrow some from Dad."

"True."

"Tomorrow," Scott said. "We'll deal with that tomorrow. Rory's in, by the way." He flopped onto the couch. "C'mere."

Becky sat down and leaned against him. "Sunday night."

"Young Ones," he agreed at once.

He turned on the TV and they watched back-to-back episodes of raunchy, silly British sit-coms. "Now I feel better," Becky announced.

"Good." Scott clambered to his feet. "We should go to bed."

Becky took his hand and let him pull her to his feet. "I'm not all that tired for a change."

"Even better."

***

At ten, Robert's telephone rang. He growled at it.

"If you don't answer," Mira said sleepily, "it'll be Kay announcing that she's come back tonight."

"I don't care," he answered.

"You took away her key?"

"She never had one."

"Clever man."

Five minutes later it rang again. Grumbling, but more awake, Robert threw on his robe and stomped to the kitchen. "Robert McCall."

Mira stayed in bed, listening drowsily. From her lover's voice, there was no major emergency. He seemed to be talking to a friend, about the wedding. In a few minutes he returned and slid under the sheets next to her. "Problem?"

"No, no. Old friend. Richard. He's … also Company. Was. He's retired. Heard about the wedding somehow."

"Will he be there?"

"Richard? No. No, no. But he is sending a gift, of sorts."

"That's nice of him."

"Yes."

They were silent for a time. "You're worried, aren't you? About the wedding?"

"No, no. Well, yes, but no. Not really. Whatever happens, it will be fine."

Mira nodded. "About your friends, then."

Robert shifted. "You know the history of the Balkans as well as I do."

"Old history. Not so much currently."

"Old history, new history. It's all the same, there. Wars last a thousand years, old rivalries, old grudges … what's coming is just the latest battle. And my friends will be there. And some of them may not return."

"You can't help that, Robert."

"Well, that's just it, you see. Perhaps if I was there with them, I could help them. Some of them. Perhaps if I went, a few more of them would come home."

Mira was silent, but her arms shifted to comfort him.

"But then, too, I know that if I went there, if I let myself be drawn back into that … world, I would destroy myself. I know how much I can endure before I break, and I have already done so. One more lie, one more betrayal …"

Then he stopped. He had been around this circle a hundred times, a thousand. His friends might die if he were not there. His friends might die if he were.

But of one outcome Robert McCall was certain: If he went back to the Company, his soul would surely perish.

He turned in the dark and drew his lover close.

***

Control entered the apartment through the little door in the kitchen, as he always did. It was far safer, more concealed. Secretive. Everything about the whole damn relationship was secretive.

He locked the door behind him and waited while his eyes adjusted to the dark. The apartment was silent. He knew Lily would not be sleeping. She would have been awake from the first turn of his key in the lock.

He ran his hand through his hair, then across his face. His five o'clock shadow was a day old. He'd needed a hair cut a week ago, and a shower at least two days ago.

He shouldn't have come here. He should have gone to his own apartment and cleaned up, gotten some sleep – Lord, but he was bone-weary. But there were some rests better than others, and none in this world for him better than in his woman's arms.

She wouldn't care what he looked like.

He paused at the kitchen. He was hungry again. But he was more tired. He walked into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and locked it. If someone came after them here, that lock would give then five extra seconds, tops. But five extra seconds, when you were Control, could be the difference between being the killer and the killed.

"Hey," Lily said quietly in the dark.

"Hey," he said back. He shed his clothes into a heap at the foot of the bed. They'd been rumpled when he'd left the office; no one would expect them to be less rumpled when he got back.

He heard, as much as saw, her arms stretch out to him in the darkness. "Come."

"I should shower."

"Later."

Grateful, exhausted, he slid under the covers next to her. Lily rolled towards him, put her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her leg over his. He could feel his tension draining away, and almost immediately he began to drift towards sleep. She was fresh, clean, and he wasn't. "I should …" he began.

Her lips covered his. "You should sleep," she murmured.

"Mmmm." Four hours, he decided as he slid from consciousness. It was the most continuous sleep he'd had in weeks. Four hours. Four …

Part Two