This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you are below the age of 18, or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right now. If your government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading now and delete this. If you choose to continue, that is your decision — and your responsibility — not mine. This is intended solely for adults, and any other rebroadcast, retransmission, and account of this game is strictly prohibited by the National Hockey League. Wait — The NHL doesn't care — I care.

Any unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright. I authorize the reader to make one copy for reading purposes only. I expressly prohibit posting of this work on anyone's website, including but not limited to pay-sites, sites with advertising, and any type of site where a fee is charged. Any distribution without the author’s permission is strictly prohibited.

originally posted 9/18/00 to 10/17/00

DO NOT REPOST

"Fonda and Cat" Copyright © 2000
by John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue).
All rights reserved.

 
I

"Men suck," Margie remarked, draining a second glass of wine. Lunch sat cold and uneaten in front of her, as her best friend, Trina, stared longingly at the wasted food on the plate. For the past three-and-a-half months a salad and water were her usual lunch whenever she ate at the trendy, yet homey Greek restaurant and Fish Market that Catrina and Margie frequented. Located on the east side of midtown Manhattan at the same spot that it had occupied for the past 45 years, the restaurant was a longstanding hallmark of good food and comfortable atmosphere. It was a place people went to languish over a long lunch, absorbing the old-world style ambiance and always impeccable menu. Trina was one of those people who had to go where she could be seen; it was part of her life, part of her career choice.

Even the coagulating garlic-butter sauce looked appetizing, Trina thought. She stared despairingly at the small salad in front of her. Reluctantly she stabbed at the lettuce, tossed lightly with low-fat dressing and a hint of feta cheese, and began to nibble at her lunch.

Getting used to the plain salad was good for her. It built self-discipline; at least that's what she told herself. In addition to being low on calories, a salad and water were also relatively cheap by New York's prices. If it managed to snag a table for a good part of the day at a restaurant that was haunted by Broadway producers, she was willing to make her sacrifices. To find work as a dancer she had to keep her body lean and in tune — but she also had to be "seen."

"Eight months I put into that friggin' relationship. Eight months! And what do I get out of it?" Margie continued, exaggerating the "I", and interrupting her friend's self-pity. "Nothing but a pain in the ass and a ton of gray hair. Just look at it, Trina," The twenty-six-year-old leaned forward, melodramatically separating her sleek black hair at the crown, prodding at invisible gray hairs.

"Oh Margie, get real. You're imagining things. Like, your hair is totally gorgeous as always," Trina told her best friend. It was true. Margie never had a bad hair day in her life. Or a bad face day. Or a bad body day. Just bad men days. Margie just couldn't manage to maintain a semi-normal relationship with any man. Trina smoothed back her own blue-black bob, tucking one side of her hair, the side that faced the crowd, behind her ear.

"Do you know he just wanted me to give in to him all the time? He, like, thought I was just some dumb bimbo. Like, I have brains, you know. What an asshole. Do you know that he actually wanted me to give up my weekend in the Hamptons with Clarice and Joe just so I could be available to him for some lame party he had planned for his stockbroker buddies?" Margie quoted the word 'available' with her fingers, rolling her eyes. "Like, ‘hello?’, I said. Anybody home? I've only been doing this annual trip with my high school buddies for, like, the last five years. Duh."

"Wow. He wanted you to be, like, the hired help and all?" Trina asked, an eyebrow arched up in astonishment. She chewed her salad slowly. Trina wanted to drag out lunch, just so she could have a reason to occupy the far corner table by the front window. She really had no place else to go until late tonight and would just as soon sit in the restaurant and maybe be seen by a producer or two.

"Uh, yeah! He was all, 'you're selfish' and I was like, 'no way, you are'. It was totally ridiculous. I mean, if I wanted to play Betty Crocker I'd buy an apron and go to cooking school or something, you know?" Margie reached for the empty bottle of burgundy. "Order another bottle of wine, would you Trina? I'm in desperate need of a buzz," Margie guzzled the wine, dribbling a little on the crisp white tablecloth. "Selfish, my ass . . . " She continued to mumble while Trina looked around the restaurant for their waiter.

Catrina caught the eye of the dark waiter. "Yo, sweetie," she called, not really meaning anything by it. His dark brown eyes smiled back at her as he approached their table. Hmmm, she thought, nice eyes and a cute smile, if you like that tall, dark type. She knew better than to date waiters. They were all aspiring actors. Egotistical nuts. She was a dancer — an artist. Her tastes in men went to the eccentric, anyway. Trina spent way too much time around the hip crowd, the heroin-chic: long-haired and rangy men, sexy in their stringy, bad-boy way. She hadn't been interested in 'normal' looking guys since she moved to Manhattan six years ago. She had dated a few male models, but they didn't suit her for long. Besides, she didn't like competing with a man over bathroom counter space. Chase, the man she was currently seeing, although somewhat sporadically, was a sound guy for a recording studio. He showed her off to a few of his friends, some not so famous, a few who could be famous one day. Name-dropping and networking was just a way of life in her business.

Trina looked up at the waiter and smiled distractedly. "My friend would like to order another bottle of that burgundy. I need another glass of water, this time with a twist of lemon," Trina dismissed the waiter with a curt smile, turning back to Margie and her mood swings. She loved Margie like a sister, but sometimes her whining about men was enough to make her scream. The girl had a face and body that would get any man she wanted, and all she could do was bitch.

"How do you do it, Trina? How do you stay so cool and detached when it comes to men? You aren't, like, a total lesbian, are you?" Margie leaned across the table to get a closer look at Trina, as if she could possibly read the answer in her sky blue eyes.

Trina shrugged, bemused by her friend. "Why? Are you asking me out?" she teased as her friend turned crimson. " No , I'm not a lesbian. I'm a sexual free-spirit, I guess."

Trina swirled the remains of the ice and water in her glass. "I just don't think it's such a big deal. Sex, I mean. Don't get me wrong. I'm all for getting off on a regular basis, even better if it's with some stud that's easy on the eyes. I just have other goals in mind," she shrugged again.

"I don't know how you do it. I think I've got that thing Oprah talks about all the time. You know, I'm co-dependant or something like that. Maybe I should see a shrink."

"Maybe you need to get out and party with the girls more often, and stop falling for every guy you see," Trina lifted her glass. She tilted the remains of the water into her mouth. Ice slid down the glass and between her vixen-tinged lips. The dark color of the lipstick and silky black hair, a genetic throw-down from her Asian mother, contrasted beautifully with her alabaster skin. The rest of her physical attributes: fair complexion, light dusting of freckles and pale blue eyes was a gift from her Irish father. Trina fixed her gaze on Margie, waiting for the ax to fall.

"Oh? And what about you?" Margie shot back.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I have to remind you about Corey? Remember coke-head Corey?" Margie prodded, smirking, and Trina turned her head downward.

"Corey was a sweet guy," Trina defended him weakly.

"Corey was a fucking loser. He always was and always will be. And you'd be in the shitter with him, looking for your next fix, if I didn't save your sorry ass from him," Margie spat superiorly.

Trina looked around nervously. She acknowledged to herself that she hadn't always made the best choices when it came to men, but it still hurt when Margie would bring the subject of Corey up to her.

"Forget about Corey, ok. He's like, yesterday's news anyway. And just forget about Mark, too," Trina changed the subject. "Me and you, we'll go out tomorrow night and party our asses off. Zoe said something about getting us into that new club on 57th. I'll let you borrow my latex dress. It looks much better on you anyway," Trina smiled at her friend.

"Yeah, that sounds like fun. Mark and I were supposed to celebrate our eight-month anniversary of our first date.... Asshole." Margie sniffled, dabbing at her nose with her napkin, then continued, justifying to herself her insults. "Besides, he has a small dick."

"So?" Trina looked sideways at her best friend. "I mean, it, like, works doesn't it?

"Yeah," Margie said sheepishly.

"You've got to be a little less picky about everything."

"I know. I'm just mad at him, is all," she relented slightly.

"C'mon then. We'll help you forget the prick. Who needs him anyway, huh?" Trina reached across the table, handing Margie her own napkin. "You sure you want another bottle of wine? I can cancel the order and we can leave? I'll take you home and fix you a nice pot of herbal tea. Doesn't that sound good?" Trina took her friend's hand. "It's a new brand, something from Lin Chu's Apothecary. Good for your karma or your dogma or whatever."

"Hon, I’d rather have a buzz than good karma."

On cue, the waiter delivered the bottle of wine to the two women, making a show of uncorking the fragrant burgundy and pouring a dash into a fresh glass.

"Are you sure you won't be having any?" he asked in his slightly Greek accent, his dark eyes fastened on Trina.

She shook her head, barely acknowledging the waiter's presence, and looked back at Margie. The bottom of Margie's glass stared back at Trina. "Just water."

The waiter placed Trina's second glass of water in front of her with a plate of sliced lemons. Trina looked up at him and smiled distractedly. "Could we please have our check now?"

"Of course," he smiled broadly as he headed toward the kitchen.

Fonda walked through the door to the kitchen after bringing the bottle of wine to the two young women. The 29-year-old Greek turned sharply to look through the door's porthole window at the table with the two long-legged raven-haired women draped around it.

"Stavros, come here," Fonda grabbed his younger brother's arm, almost causing him to drop a stack of plates.

"Fonda, be careful," he gave an angry look at his brother. "What do you need?"

"She's here again. Look out there," the older brother indicated the table where Trina was sitting.

"Who?"

"You know, the girl. The airhead."

Stavros looked through the circular window. "Oh yes. I've seen her. Beautiful, and a great body, but she drinks like a fish."

"What? No, not that one. The other one. The tall one eating the salad. Look at her."

"The one over there?"

"Yes, look at her. She's gorgeous. A little dingy, but gorgeous."

"Yes, she's pretty too. She has great legs but she's a little thin, don't you think?"

"You're crazy. She's beautiful. There's something about her that is so exotic looking," Fonda again looked out the small window.

"Why don't you ask her out?"

"She doesn't even know I exist," Fonda huffed, shaking his head.

"Fonda, you need to have more fun. All you do is work. You need to get out a little," Stavros shook his head. "You stare at her every time she comes in here. What do you have to lose, a night in front of the TV?"

Fonda sighed and went to the register to prepare the check.
 
 

"Men just suck, suck, suck. . . they do," Margie repeated, downing another glass from the new bottle of wine. She fished her cell phone from her backpack and began punching at the keypad, avoiding contact between the buttons and her long red fingernails.

"Who are you calling?" Trina asked.

"Mark. I'm going to tell him how much he sucks."

"Tell him I said hello. Oh, and that I think he bites for making you upset. Wait!" Trina nearly shrieked as she grabbed her friend's hand. "Tell him we have plans tonight. Don't tell him where, let him wonder," Trina smiled, anticipating Mark's reaction. She loved stirring up a little trouble with the jerk.

"Mark? You suck. Like, I really hate you. No, I love you but you still suck. What? Fuck you. Yeah, that's right. Fuck you and you suck," Margie stabbed at the phone, disconnecting the call.

"I gotta go. I just can't stay here anymore," she stumbled from her chair, gathering up her
backpack and phone. "I'll see you later."

And then she was gone.
 
 

II

Trina's mouth dropped open. A half-uttered word hung in the air as Margie ran down the sidewalk, a flash of staggering black and red rushing past their window seat.

"Dammit," Trina breathed audibly, reaching for the notebook with the bill tucked inside. Her stomach dropped when she saw the amount. She hadn’t been paid for her last gig yet, Friday they promised. Her credit card was maxed-out and she only had six dollars and thirty-two cents and three subway tokens in her wallet, enough to pay for her small salad and leave a little tip for the waiter and then get home.

She placed her credit card within the leather case and held her breath as the waiter took it with a smile. Please, she thought, just let it go through without a problem. I promise, I'll pay a lot of it off when I get paid. Somehow I'll pay my bills, even if it means crawling to that sleaze, Justin, for a part in one of his skin flicks.

Fonda returned to the table a couple of minutes later wearing a frown. Trina could feel the pit in her stomach enlarge with each step he took toward her table.

"I'm sorry miss, but your credit card has been declined. Do you have another?"

"Are you sure? I just made a huge payment on it, like, two weeks ago," Trina lied nervously. "Maybe you can run it through again?"

"I ran it through the machine twice, and then called the credit card company to check on it. They
said you are over your limit."

Trina squirmed in her seat, staring down at the table trying to think of something. She rummaged through her wallet, searching for something she knew was not there, anything to delay having to deal with the waiter. Finally, as she could feel his eyes bearing down on her and she could take it no longer, Trina took a deep breath and looked up at the large man hovering over her.

"Listen, whatever your name is, it's um . . . like this," Trina said defensively in her slightly nasal Long Island accent. "I get paid for my last gig on Friday. Ya ever heard of a band called 'Mondo Monkey Ride'? Like, the rage with the street kids. Well, those are my legs in the music video. That's right. My legs, my belly, my arms and even a flash of my ass. The going rate on fly girls is boss. I can pay you on Friday, capisce?" She tried to show a tough front, but in reality she was trembling with fear.

"Did you eat your meal on Friday, or today?" Fonda asked flatly with a slightly Aegean accent.

"What? Is this, like, a trick question? What do you think ?" Trina snapped back.

"Well, since you ate today, I expect you to pay today," Fonda countered, a little frustrated with her obstinance, but at the same time a little turned on by the way she was squirming in her seat. His eyes briefly fell to the light sprinkling of freckles on her chest. He noticed a slight rise in the soft skin above the opening of her top. He wondered how much of her creamy skin was freckled. "Do you have any experience gutting fish?"

"What? Like, you don't really expect me to touch fish?"

"No. I expected you to pay your bill. You ate today, you pay today. Otherwise, the fish are waiting"

Trina started playing with the silver bangle bracelets on her wrist. The thought of cleaning fish was nothing compared to the embarrassment that she felt at not being able to pay her bill. She was going to get Margie for this. Trina just hoped that something would come to mind soon to get her out of the mess.

"Hey, Fonda. What's the problem?" Stavros had noticed the somewhat strained conversation between his brother and the woman he recently fawned over in the kitchen.

"This woman says she cannot pay her check. I suggested to her the fish need gutting," Fonda told his younger brother.

"I'm not touching any fish. I could break a nail. I want to talk with the manager." Ha, she thought, I'll go over this flunky's head.

"You are speaking with him. I own this restaurant," Fonda said in a matter-of-fact tone meant to impress Trina a little. Her hopes sank.

"Well, there's always an alternative," suggested Stavros with a bit of a smirk.

"What do you mean, alternative ?" Fonda asked curiously.

"Yeah, what do you mean, alternative?" Trina was suspicious.

Fonda wondered what his brother was up to now. Stavros was never shy around the ladies. He dated many women, and Fonda envied him his outgoing nature. Although he had gone out with several women, Fonda's relationships always seemed to develop slowly over time and he was always ill at ease engaging in small talk with women, especially women — like Trina — whom he was attracted to.

"I was thinking that we could set up an alternative arrangement, instead of paying the check." Smiling a little too slyly, Stavros looked from Fonda to Trina. "Fonda needs a little help with something this afternoon. It is an odd request, but maybe if you could help him we could forget this little incident with the expensive wine and bad credit card."

Trina gasped. "You perv! Exactly what are you trying to get me to do? I don't go for weird shit. Besides, I don't even know – shit! Why am I even talking about this?" Trina sputtered in anger.

"Please miss, my brother, he suffers with dementia when he spends too much time in the meat cooler," Fonda glared at his brother, laying a cool hand on Trina's shoulder to calm her.

Trina glared up at Fonda and removed his hand from her shoulder. "The name’s Trina — not miss," Trina added, cool blue eyes narrow and flashing a warning at the men. Fonda smiled an apology before turning back to his brother.

Stavros laughed. "No, no, you misunderstand what I am suggesting. Let me finish. Please?"

"You agree the bill is quite high and cannot be written off just like that?" Stavros snapped his fingers. "I happen to know that my brother here, Fonda, must perform a task for our mother this afternoon, a task he dreads, because — "

Fonda interrupted, sputtering in embarrassment, "Oh, Stavros! Please! The lady has no interest in . . ."

"All right, like, what could it be?" Trina asked with just a little curiosity.

"You also do not wish to clean those icky fish in the back, do you Miss Trina?" Stavros directed this question to Trina with a little pout to his lips. He smiled.

Trina shrugged and absentmindedly looked down at her hands. "No, I can't do that. What's my other choice?"

Trina looked at Fonda, noticing with glee a tinge of a blush darkening his bronze skin. She was curious. What could make a man blush like that? "Tell me, Fonda. What do you have to do?"

Stavros stepped back, but not before nudging his brother forward. "I, uh, I must bring Coco to the groomer," Fonda mumbled, looking down at the tiled floor.

"What?"

"He must bring our mother's Shih tsu to the groomer for a hair cut or whatever it is the mutt has done at the doggie salon," Stavros didn't even try to suppress the laugh that spilled out loudly.

Fonda glared at his brother. Trina looked at them both as if they were crazy.

"Wait. Let me get this straight. If I help you bring your mother's dog to the groomer, you'll forget this nearly three-figure bill? Right. What's the catch?" Trina guffawed. A few of the diners turned to look at the young woman with bangled arms clasped over her belly as she continued to laugh loudly. She bent over, still laughing. Fonda noticed the freckles on her chest disappear deeper under her shirt. At that point he lost interest in the freckles when the outline of her naked breasts became visible as she continued to lean over. Her breasts, obviously not constrained within a bra, jiggled with each laugh. Fonda blushed deeper, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

"You do not know Coco Puff," Fonda muttered.

"Coco Puff? His name is really Coco Puff, like the cereal? No, no, please. This is, like, way too funny," Trina threw her head back, laughing hysterically. Fonda couldn't take his eyes off the long white arch of her neck, swanlike and graceful. Delicate, tender, the neck of . . .

"Truly, Miss Trina, Coco Puff is the devil reincarnate. And he doesn't like Fonda very much,"

Stavros joined in the laughter.

Fonda shifted his weight, picking up the credit card again from the table.

Fonda blushed slightly. "Please forget what just happened, and you can follow me. I'll show you where the fish are cleaned."

"What?!?" Trina had been so stunned by Stavros's proposal she had forgotten about the more immediate need to pay her check.

She took a closer look at Fonda; he was clean and kind of cute — tall, with broad shoulders and dark, Mediterranean features. She thought that a lot of women would find him very attractive. Yes he was a waiter, but he also owned the restaurant, which was a step up — a large step up. Maybe one date wouldn't be such a bad idea — it certainly had to be a better alternative to touching a fish. What the hell, it's only one date, she figured, a free meal is a free meal. If he was really lame, she could always fake being sick and ditch him early.

"You know, I was, like, thinking," Trina intoned in her distinctive Nassau county accent.

Trina looked up at Fonda. He was embarrassed. Something inside of her felt a little sympathy for the poor guy. His brother made him look like a fool. "Yes, I'll protect you from the little hairy monster. When?"

Was he hearing correctly? She would help him out of this embarrassing situation? What was he thinking? She was the one in the embarrassing situation. He wasn't going to let her get the best of him. "Miss ah...Murphy," Fonda glanced at the card for her last name, "I will keep your card until five o'clock this evening. At that time I will either expect to see you with the right amount of cash, ready to clean fish, or prepared to spend a few hours in my company. And Coco's. If these alternatives do not meet with your approval and you choose not to show up, I will simply provide my attorney with your credit card and unpaid bill," Fonda turned and walked away, leaving Trina to stare after him.

"Well, Miss Trina, I have never seen Fonda this way before. I suggest you do not make him follow through on his threat. The last customer who couldn't pay their bill was slapped with a fine and community service."

Stavros turned to follow Fonda back into the kitchen, leaving Trina to make a decision. She nudged her backpack over one shoulder and pushed her way out of the door, stopping briefly to look back at the kitchen through the leaded glass of the front door. "Shit. I'm going to kill Margie." Trina took off down the street, taking the steps to the subway.

Fonda and Stavros watched Trina leave. They saw her stop and look back, deep in thought. She then turned and walked away, her knee high lace up boots splashing in the recent rain.

"Yes!" They both hooted, giving each other a high five.
 
 

III

Trina stepped from the subway and walked the three blocks to her Greenwich Village apartment on West 10th Street. She sighed audibly as she hiked up the four floors to her walk-up apartment in which she shared with Margie. Unlocking the door, she entered and saw her best friend sprawled out on the couch, obviously sleeping away the bottle and a half of red wine she had instead of lunch.

"Hey Trina," Margie stirred, squinting and stretching her arms over her head. "What time is it?"

"A little after three. Did you come straight home after lunch?"

"I did a little shopping first, I couldn't go back to work. My boss was out today anyway," she stifled a yawn.

"Oh, by the way Margie, thanks for stiffing me with the bill," Trina looked down at her friend, a hint of anger in her eyes. "Which wouldn't have been bad because I know you're good for it — and I know where you live," Trina snickered but then continued with a pained expression, "but, all I had was a little over six bucks and my credit card was maxed-out."

"Oh shit, Trina. I'm really sorry. I feel awful," Margie looked at her best friend apologetically. "So what did you do?"

"Oh, you'll never believe what I got myself into."

Trina proceeded to tell her friend about the suggestion to gut fish and the interesting solution that Stavros had come up with for Trina to get out of paying the bill.

"Oh wow, Trina. What are you going to do?" Margie sat up and looked intently at her roommate.

"I don't know. What can I do? I don't want to go, but I don't want to get fined or do community service. I'm not going to shovel shit off the street, or whatever they make you do for community service. Remember Frankie, the guy I met last year on the Rage video? When they got him on doping with some street hack he had to do community service and they had him digging up flower beds in Battery Park," Trina sighed. "You don't really think they'd do that for not paying a restaurant bill, would they?"

"No, they were just blowing smoke up your ass to scare you . . . Probably," Margie stated less than confidently. "Unless there was something wrong with your credit card. Have you been writing hot checks to pay your credit card bill? I mean, I think that’s a felony or something," Margie added.

Trina bit her lip and stared at Margie. "Shit. A felony? Really?"

Margie nodded, "I’m not really sure but maybe you should just do what these guys want."

"This just sucks. This guy is like, so not my type."

"Which guy is it?"

"The waiter, you know, the waiter we had today . . . the real square," Trina plopped down on the couch next to her friend, resting her head on Margie's shoulder.

"The big hunky guy?" Margie asked, stroking her fingers along Trina's thigh. "He's cute — really cute. But why do you have to go out with the waiter?"

"'Cause he also owns the place. So it's either that, or the fish," Trina shuddered as she tried not to envision her delicate hands touching the business end of a fish.

Margie placed her hand inside the slit in Trina's skirt, caressing the inside of her thigh and lightly brushing her fingertips against her best friend's panty clad pussy.

"Mmmm," Trina moaned, closing her eyes. "I don't know what to do about this."

"Go, Trina. What have you got to lose? He's a lot cuter than that Chase guy you've been going out with."

"Stop it Margie, that tickles." Trina removed Margie's hand from under her skirt. "I'm not in the mood, anyway. I'm pissed about this. God, it's like you're a perpetual horny machine."

"What?" Margie asked innocently. "I thought it might take your mind off of things."

Trina tucked her legs underneath her and spun on the couch to face her roommate. "Chase is cute. The waiter guy, Fonda's his name. Anyway this Fonda isn't my type. He's just too straight. Plus there was something a little too pathetic about the whole setup. If I don't go, what's the worse thing that can happen? I'm going to get paid on Friday for my gig, so I'll pay them then."

"If they pay you on time this time," Trina's friend reminded her.

"Yeah," she sighed and brought her hands up to her face in resignation. "Anyway, if they — hey! You could go down there and pay now. Most of the bill was yours anyway," Trina felt relieved that the solution presented itself to her so neatly.

"Uh . . . Trina, honey. Don't be pissed, but remember when I told you that I, like, did a little shopping before coming home?" Margie said hesitatingly.

"Yeah," she said warily. Trina didn't like where this was going.

"Well, here's the thing. I finally bought that pair of Ferragamo shoes that I've been looking at for weeks. I thought buying them would cheer me up and help me get over Mark. I also got a dress to go with them."

"Shit, Margie. What am I going to do now?"

"Go out with him, have a good time. He seems like a nice guy — normal anyway."

Trina didn't answer, she just huffed as she headed off to her bedroom to sulk about her fate until it was time to meet Fonda.

Trina didn't even bother changing clothes. She wasn't interested in impressing this Fonda guy. All she wanted was to ‘Pay her bill’ as it were and meet Tracey at the pier for the nighttime shoot. The antique clock above the bar said a few minutes before five-o’clock. Trina shook out her sleek black hair and stood at the bar, one booted-foot propped on the brass rail, elbows resting on the mahogany surface. She hooked her thumbs through the straps of her black backpack, examining herself in the mirror behind the bar. Deciding to touch up her dark lipstick, she plopped the backpack on the bar and rummaged around until she found the near-empty tube of "Vixen." Her hip cocked to one side and a gleam of a white thigh peeked from beneath the hip length slit of her tight black skirt. All this she ignored, or staged, as she leaned forward to apply the dark gloss to her pursed lips. Black lace-up boots began to tap to a silent beat in her head — the same choreographed dance moves from the evening’s video shoot constantly played over and over in her mind. The thin strap of her deep purple top slipped from one shoulder as she returned the tube of gloss to her backpack. She looked up as a glass of wine was placed in front of her by the bartender. "Wait. I didn't order . . . oh, it's you," Trina remarked. Fonda smiled stiffly back at Trina.

"This one is on the house," Fonda said, placing the glass on a cocktail napkin.

"Thanks but no thanks. I've got a gig tonight. Alcohol makes me retain water. And with the skimpy outfit I have to wear, I better just stick to water."

"Gig? Dancing with monkeys again?" Fonda asked, taking a sip from the rejected wine.

Trina gave him a sarcastic glare. "No. We're doing a video shoot down at the wharf for some Latin band. It's a bitchin' little salsa number, sorta."

Fonda nodded, eyebrows raised as if he understood. "Bitching? Is this good or bad?"

Trina rolled her eyes. "Uh, like, are you always such a dweeb?"

Fonda looked at her smiling his amusement. "Dweeb? I don't think so. Unless that's a good thing to be, then maybe I am," Trina was so different, so radical, there was something about her abrasiveness and temper that turned him on.

"Yeah, and a half . . . . Let's bail. I don't have all that much time," Trina told him.

"You want me to show you how to gut a fish?"

"Hello? Let's get your mom's mongrel. I'll protect you from the savage little beast," Trina tittered as she turned from the bar. Fonda hurried around the bar and followed her, easing in front of her to hold the door open. "After you, Trina." Fonda smiled down at her, standing almost a foot taller than her.

Trina looked up at him and smiled slightly. She didn't know what to think about this guy. Sure, he had manners. He had charm. He wasn't a Baldwin but he was still attractive in a tall, dark and handsome way. In fact, she liked the attention he was showing her, even if he was a dweeb.

"Thank you, Fonda."

Trina actually warmed and flushed when his hand briefly strayed to the small of her back. He applied gentle pressure, guiding her to a silver BMW Z3 that was parked in front of the restaurant. She tried to hide her surprise when he unlocked the passenger side door, holding the door open in a very gentlemanly way. "Whoa. Fish pays good, huh?" Trina couldn't help but ask. She slid down into the soft leather seat

Fonda smiled, closed the door and leaned over the convertible toward her, handing her the seat belt. "Depends. We're always busy and I have invested my money wisely."

Trina watched him walk around the front of the car and get in. The engine purred to life. Trina tossed her backpack on top of her feet, looking at this guy in a slightly new way. Despite all her shallowness, she firmly believed toys didn’t make the man. But this man was beginning to have an effect on her. Oh, no you don't, she chastised herself. Just because he has a good job and a nice car and he's all right to look at doesn't make him a good guy. He could be a serial killer during a full moon for all she knew. In fact, she didn't really know him at all and here she was riding to God knows where with him.

"Uh, just so you know, Margie, my friend, knows where I am. I told her we were going to take care of something for your mother. So, you know — " Trina's words trailed off when she met Fonda's amused expression.

"You are afraid? Of me?" he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Hell no. I'm just letting you know, that's all. I mean, I don't, like, get in cars with strange men, you know. It's not like I don't know there are lots of weirdos out there," Trina huffed. "Besides, my agent will be expecting me on Pier 35 at 9:00 p.m. sharp."

"Such an odd place to dance. A pier. So dirty and all . . . a woman shouldn't have to go down there alone," Fonda shook his head.

"Oh please. Don't get all Cary Grant on me, okay? You're not one of those old-fashioned types, are you?" Trina looked over at Fonda with a teasing grin.

"Perhaps a little old-fashioned is not a bad thing. Is your seat belt fastened properly?" Fonda tugged at her waist strap, checking for himself.

"Stop it! That's so funny!" Trina was laughing loudly now, slapping playfully at his thigh.

"What is wrong with being concerned over a woman's safety?"

"Nothing, I guess. Just don't lose any sleep over it, though. I mean, like, I carry Mace and all," Trina responded.

"Mace. Ha!" Fonda scoffed at Trina's revelation that she carried the blinding spray.

"And maybe something else," Trina shrugged.

"You carry a concealed weapon in that backpack? I believe that is against the law, Ms. Trina," Fonda looked shocked. "Besides, you could hurt yourself."

Trina rolled her eyes. "Just don't get any ideas, okay fish-boy?"

Fonda was silent. He turned his attention back to the road. Trina peeked at him from time to time. He seemed to be tensing his jaw, working a little muscle in his cheek. He shifted gears a little harder this time. "Never call me that again."

Trina was silent. She was brusque on a good day and today wasn't a good day. Maybe she had been a little too rude to this man. He was being very nice to her, after all. She swallowed her large pride and touched his leg. "I'm really sorry, Fonda. Really. I'm kinda a bitch sometimes, especially before a gig. That’s no excuse." Trina removed her hand and stared straight ahead. "I guess I'm not used to real gentlemen."

That seemed to soften him a little. Fonda glanced over at Trina and smiled. "Let me at least drive you to your appointment at the pier. Seeing that I am a gentleman with a car."

Trina smiled wanly. "I guess that would be all right."

"Except..." Fonda began and shook his head.

"What?"

"Well, I was going to remind you that you have not met Coco Puff yet," Fonda chuckled, turning once more to smile at Trina.

Trina relaxed and smiled. "I can't wait," she said flatly.
 
 

IV

Fonda and Trina drove south toward lower Manhattan as Trina fiddled with the radio. She changed stations every seven seconds, it seemed, much to Fonda's consternation.

"Can't you find a station that you like and keep it there?" Fonda asked in his slightly Greek accent.

"Noooo," Trina rolled her eyes. "There might be something better on another station."

Fonda smiled as he reflected on the differences between the two of them. Trina was always looking for something new and different, where as he was perfectly content with finding something he liked and sticking with it. He watched her brush the hair from in front of her face and knew what he wanted.

Three years ago when his parents gave him and his brother controlling interest in the restaurant, Fonda wanted to put it on the map, make it one of the spots. Through tireless work — and yes, even giving free meals to a few well-placed theater executives. He knew that, above all, theater folk loved freebies and if producers ate there, the actors and directors would follow. That opened the floodgates and the family restaurant became a fashionable spot to be seen. Fonda felt as if he had a license to print money. He was nothing if not driven, and now as he watched Trina move and sing quietly to some energetic song that he had never heard before, Fonda knew that what it was that he wanted was Trina, and he wouldn't stop until she was his.

"Hey, why are you getting in the tunnel?" Trina stopped singing and turned sharply toward Fonda as the BMW left West St. and headed into the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel toward the borough of Brooklyn. "I thought your folks lived in Manhattan? I didn't realize they lived in Brooklyn. I hope I get to my shoot in time."

"You'll be there in plenty of time, Trina. I don't believe I indicated where they live," Fonda reassured her with a smirk that went unnoticed.

"So, how does someone so young get to own, like, one of the hottest restaurants in midtown?" Trina took a break from channel surfing to turn and ask Fonda the question. As she did, she pulled her legs underneath her, exposing part of her thigh. Fonda noticed, looking for a bit too long, and had to swerve to avoid colliding with a car in another lane. Trina took note and giggled softly.

"Well," Fonda tried to glance at her without staring at her bare thigh. He was only partially successful. "My parents owned it for about 40 years; they opened it up when they first came to America just after they were married. I've been running it for a few years now. They retired for good three years ago. They left the restaurant to me and Stavros, but he really wants nothing to do with the running of it, so it's essentially my restaurant."

"Cool. The place is always totally busy. That's probably why you can afford a car like this."

"Well, I work very hard and a lot of hours," said the young Greek. "I don't reward myself often. But I walk by a showroom every day, and I couldn't help but notice this car. Eventually I said, 'What the fu . . .' I mean, 'to hell with it, I'm buying the car,'" Fonda blushed slightly at his choice of words.

"So do you, like, do anything for fun other than buying expensive German sportscars?"

"One or two things," he grinned slightly, but Trina took note, and began to think there was more to fish-boy here than met the eye.

"So, what about you? How long have you been a — what was it you said? A 'fly girl.'?" Fonda's look of confusion caused Trina to chuckle.

"Well," her smile broadened as she turned almost fully in her seat to face him. The scenery — the Gowanus expressway, the Brooklyn city scape — passed forgotten as Trina started talking about the love of her life: dancing. "I'm a dancer is what that means. Like tonight, I'm going to be in a video shoot for a Latin band."

"So what kind of dancing do you do?"

"Any kind really. Tonight it's salsa but I'm classically trained — I really like traditional dance, you know, ballet."

Fonda eyed her last statement with a hint of suspicion and chuckled to himself as he thought that 'classically trained' to Trina probably meant that she was once a member of the 'Solid Gold Dancers'. Trina, with all her black vinyl, excessive dangling jewelry and attitude, didn’t seem like the ballerina type. "So why do you dance in these videos?"

"Because, Zorba," she said with more than a little impertinence, "they pay the bills. It's a bitch getting on Broadway."

"Well, Broadway is tough. They only take the best."

"Yeah, well I went to Juliard and then I danced with the Jean le Bon Dance Company for a couple of years." Trina swelled with pride at her most notable achievements and Fonda was, for the first time, impressed with Trina more than for how she looked.

"That's impressive. Why don't you still dance with them?"

"Well . . . it's a long story. You miss a couple of rehearsals and they get all torqued off. It's all bullshit . . . And I danced in the Jubilee show at the Sands in Atlantic City for nine months last year, so I think . . . Hey! Why are we going over the bridge? I thought you said your folks lived in Brooklyn. This is going to Staten Island!"

"No, you assumed my parents lived in Brooklyn. I never actually said where they live," Fonda snickered slightly. "They live in Staten Island."

She began to wonder if she needed to remind him she needed to be somewhere. Trina studied Fonda's profile for a moment before speaking. "You know I have to be somewhere, don't you? I mean, I just can't be late for this gig," she fumbled in her backpack for some gum. If she showed up for the gig late Zeek would never hire her again. She really needed this job. Trina unwrapped a stick of gum, offering Fonda half. "I'll split it with ya'. It's my last piece."

He turned and flashed a smile at her. "No, no, please. You take the whole piece," he smiled, nearly laughing, as she shoved the cinnamon flavored gum in her mouth. "Don't worry, I'll get you to the pier on time."

"Okay, like, I don't know why, but I trust you. And if you make me late for this VERY IMPORTANT gig I'll just . . . just . . . well, I'll do something. Don't know what . . . but . . . " Trina let the idle threat fade away as they continued their drive in near silence.

"You know, I've lived in New York my whole life and I don't think I've ever been to Staten Island," Trina said.

"Oh it's very pretty. You'll like it. It's so different from the rest of the city. In fact, did you know that the Verazano Narrows bridge was designed by Othmar Ammann, who used to sit in his apartment on the 26th floor of the Hotel Carlyle and, with his telescope, would look out at the nine New York bridges that he designed?"

Trina looked at him sideways, "Wow. The flamenco guitarist, ya know, New Age or jazz, dependin' what record store you visit? I didn't know he was from New York."

"Plus," Fonda ignored her tangent, chuckling. "Staten Island, whose official name is Richmond, is also home to one of the world's largest landfills."

"What do you do, like, work for the visitor's bureau?" Trina raised one eyebrow.

"What can I say? I love New York," he paused and laughed. "Yes, I know that's a slogan."

Trina chuckled. "So, you still live at home? Like, with your Mom and Dad?" Trina crinkled up her nose in distaste, imagining what it would be like for her if she still lived at home. "I mean, like, you're old." Trina watched the side of his face and noticed his lips turn up in a smile.

"I do my own laundry if that's what concerns you," he turned and winked. "I even make my own breakfast . . . And I'm not that old."

Trina smiled a little, not sure if Fonda was trying to tease her or not. "That's cool," she played around with the radio for a while, looking for another distraction.

Trina barely noticed the scenery passing them by. Every time she was scheduled for a shoot she became jittery and nervous. She began counting the steps in her head, moving slightly back and forth to whatever song came on the radio. Homes and green grass passed her by unnoticed. Other cars didn't matter, Fonda didn't even matter at the moment. She was already at the gig in her head, performing to the very best of her ability. All eyes were on her as she took the attention away from the star. She was the star now.

"Here we are," Fonda interrupted her fantasy.

"Whoa. This is where you live?" Trina stared at the beautiful home in awe. Trees and colorful flowers dotted the large lawn. A working fountain, marble and graceful, gurgled happily at the center of the circular drive. Trina hadn't seen anything like that around New York that wasn't covered in pigeon shit. "Gorgeous."

Fonda pulled his car around the drive, stopping at a porte cochere on the side of the house. Before she had a chance to move he had hopped around the car and stood holding the door open for her. "Now, please, when we enter the side door, stand behind me. I do not want Coco Puff to snap at you. The mutt has been known to lock its tiny jaws and not let go for an hour or more."

"You must be joking. I'm so sure. A little puppy-dog," Trina was already cooing, crouching to her knees as the handsome elderly woman opened the door, allowing the dog to escape the house.

"Fonda! I didn't know you brought company! Shame on you, you could have let me known. I could have cooked."

The woman approached Trina with her hand extended. Fonda had the same eyes, big almond- shaped brown eyes. Trina couldn't help but smile as her hand was engulfed by the older woman's firm grasp. "Nice to meet you, young lady. My name is Alcina."

Fonda was speechless as Trina and his mother introduced themselves to each other. One of Trina's hands was in his mothers while the other was absentmindedly stroking the mutt from hell, and the mutt from hell was loving every minute of it.

Coco Puff licked Trina's hand. Trina began to wonder if Fonda was the over-reactionary type. This dog couldn't possibly be as mean as he made it out to be. "I thought you said Coco Puff was vicious?" Trina glanced suspiciously at Fonda.

Fonda's mother chuckled. "No, Coco Puff despises my Fonda. I continually wonder if Fonda has done something to make my little Coco so angry."

"I would never hurt an animal, mother. Tell me, did I even react harshly to the mutt when he did this?" Fonda pointed to a small scar on his forearm. "He is a vicious beast."

Fonda's mother tutted and shook her head, scooping up Coco Puff from the ground. "You scared him, that's all."

The dog licked Alcina's hand lovingly before he turned toward Fonda and bared his teeth, growling.

Fonda and Trina followed Alcina Daskalakis into the huge Victorian house. Trina looked around, impressed with the elegant ambiance of their home.

"Come here you two. Let me get you something to eat," offered Fonda's mother.

"No, thank you mother," said Fonda. "I had something to eat before I left the restaurant."

"Surely you want something to eat," she smiled warmly at Trina. "You're so thin. You need to get some meat on those bones."

"No thanks, nothing for me either, Mrs. D. I have a gig tonight," Trina explained.

"A gig. What's a gig?" the small woman asked suspiciously in a heavy Greek accent.

"Trina's a dancer. She has a performance this evening."

"Oh, a dancer. How lovely," Fonda's mother smiled and then turned not too subtly toward Fonda. "Not one of those on 42nd street with all the nakedness?"

Trina laughed. "No. I studied at Juliard. I'd like to get on Broadway, but right now I do a lot of work for music videos."

"Oh, yes," she crinkled her nose. "I've seen one of those. If I want to look at a woman's belly button, I'll lift my blouse."

"That's a pleasant image," Fonda and Trina thought almost simultaneously as they turned to each other and smiled, trying to suppress laughter.

At that point, the back door opened and a short, stocky man of about sixty or seventy years burst through carrying a bag of golf clubs. He had the hands of a lifetime of work and the face of a lifetime of smiles.

Just as Fonda was about to introduce Trina to his father, the old Greek started to speak in a thick accent. "Those goddamn dagos at the club, do you know what they did now, Alcina?"

"Please Anthony, we have company," Fonda's mother was clearly unnerved at her husband's racial epithet. Anthony Daskalakis was just about the most ethnically tolerant man that anyone knew and it bothered his wife of 43 years that he insisted on identifying people by the slur that was associated with their nationality.

"They let that Turk bastard in," he said, ignoring his wife. "The club's going to go to hell in a handbasket now." His ethnic tolerance was almost universal, except when it came to the Turks — historical enemies of the Greeks — whom he considered the reason for all the world's ills. "I can't take much more of this, Alcina, we might have to move to Miami Beach. No Turks down there; just Jews and Cubans and they don't bother me."

"Oh, we have company? Who is this beautiful girl?" Anthony smiled and took Trina's hand in his own and kissed the back of it. Trina giggled.

Fonda introduced Trina to his father, and the four spent the next ten minutes talking about the restaurant and Trina's dancing and the weather and whatever else they could fill with until Fonda announced that they needed to be leaving.

"Let me get the dog carrier for the mutt," Fonda said reluctantly.

"Oh, don't be silly," admonished Trina. "I'll just hold him." Trina picked up Coco, who proceeded to lavish licks all over her face when he wasn't growling at Fonda. Fonda was amazed at how well the dog took to her.

They drove the ten minutes to the groomer, Trina playing with the happy dog as if they'd known each other for years. Fonda parked in front of the groomers and got around to open Trina's door. As she stepped out of the car, the dog snarled and snapped at Fonda. Trina chuckled. "What did you ever do to this little dog to make him hate you so much?"

"Nothing. He's just always hated me. But that's fine, because I've never liked him much, either."

They brought Coco into the groomer, leaving the feisty animal with the clerk. "His usual, Doris. Whatever the usual is for the dog from hell." Doris scooped up the little package, smiling at Fonda.

"We're a little backed up today. Can Coco stay the night and someone come for her tomorrow?" she asked Fonda.

Fonda nodded. "Actually, I like that idea better. Tomorrow it is, then. Have a good evening, Doris."

Fonda and Trina left the small shop and returned to the car. "Now I think all your worries should be over. I will be able to bring you to your shoot even earlier than expected. How does that make you feel Ms. Trina? A little better?" Trina smiled nervously.
 
 

V

Trina's nerves had peaked. Pre-performance jitters had always struck Trina as ridiculous, anyway, but today, for some reason, was different. She was a good dancer and a trained professional. She lost a few jobs in the past for being late or missing rehearsals but that was a long time ago and she wasn’t going to let those circumstances rule the way she handled herself professionally now. This shoot was one she wasn't going to screw up — she couldn't. She had plans for her future and didn't want to spend the next ten years or so wasting her talent jiggling for music videos. Rumor had it that Madame Renault's nephew was making his debut in this video at the ripe old age of thirteen. Madame Renault also happened to be the new director of the NYC Ballet Company and Trina desperately wanted an audition.

Fonda glanced over at Trina many times during the ride back to the city. She seemed pale and nervous and he wanted to smooth his hand over her sleek hair and comfort her. Despite their obvious differences, so far their afternoon had been pleasant. Her actions and mannerisms made him even more acutely aware of the differences between them, but her differences were one of the things he found so attractive about her. He knew he wanted to see more of her but wasn't sure how to approach Trina on the matter.

Talking with women was never one of Fonda's strengths. He had spent many awkward years working in the background of his parents' restaurant instead of dating in high school. Although he was good looking, he had been far too shy to ask anyone out, and didn't go out on his first date until he was a sophomore at NYU. He instead passed his time working and concentrating on his schoolwork, avoiding any social interaction, whereas his brother had been the outgoing, popular one with the girls. The women Fonda had dated were always the same, too: fairly proper and conservative; very much like Fonda. Still, he always felt a secret attraction to girls like Trina. There was something about 'bad girls' that flamed his passions. He couldn't identify it; the best guess he had was that it was how they contrasted his straight-laced persona.

"That's the place, right over there." Trina pointed in the direction of several trailers, cables, equipment, lighting and an eighteen wheeler unloading props. "You can just drop me off here, I can walk," Trina smiled quickly at Fonda as she gathered her backpack.

The BMW purred to a halt in a parking space near the activity. Trina was faster than Fonda this time and hopped out of the car before he had the chance to open the door. She stopped and turned around to look at Fonda. "You know, I had a good time with you Fonda. Strange but good. Maybe I'll see you around," she pecked him on the cheek and jogged towards one of the trailers, following another young girl through the door.

Fonda sighed. He felt let down. It was nearing dusk and he had the evening off. Nothing seemed interesting to him except for maybe watching Trina dance. He had never really watched one of these video shoots before.

Fonda slid back down in his seat, lowered the convertible top, and decided to take in the video shoot.

He had watched the excited activity of the shoot; all of it looking to him much like a Chinese fire drill. People ran back and forth with all sorts of equipment whose functions he could only guess at. A few more women entered the same trailer Trina had entered but so far none of the women had made it out.

Several women at once scrambled from the trailer, all dressed in similar styles. It took Fonda a moment to recognize Trina. The sight of this new look took his breath away. She wore a dark wig, her hair now long and wavy, swinging back and forth over naked skin between her shoulder blades; a short silvery dress clung to her gentle curves. Her legs couldn't possibly be that long, he thought in awe. Could she even dance in shoes like those? These thoughts played back and forth in Fonda's mind as he watched her stretching her long limbs, rolling her head back and forth. Minutes later, his worry over her breaking a leg with those spike-heeled sandals had receded as he watched her perform the most impossible steps and kicks he had ever seen. He was definitely impressed.

At various times the sound system was tested and retested. At impromptu moments the Latin band would break into a chorus, a snappy rhythm Fonda found himself enjoying. The dancers worked in small groups rehearsing steps, Trina staying by herself for the most part going over steps and movements alone.

Fonda continued to watch over the next few hours the exhaustive process of the shoot. So many times they sang, danced and played. Stopped and started again, started and stopped. Frustrations seemed to run high after nearly three hours of work. At one point Fonda noticed a quirky little man talking to Trina. She would nod and listen intently to what he was saying, following him as he pointed to various areas of the stage. Fonda had noticed the same man watching Trina several times earlier.

The director called for a break. Dancers scattered, musicians and other extras lounged around the set. Trina wandered over to speak to a young boy who was receiving last minute instructions on a set of congas. He nodded a few times as they spoke, pointing in the direction of a proud-looking woman in her late 50's standing outside the shoot. Trina turned and smiled in her direction, turning back to the boy. She patted his back and walked away. Fonda chuckled as the boy’s eager gaze followed Trina all the way back to her trailer.

Once again the shoot started. Music throbbed and moved Fonda to tap his feet. The mood was being set and the dancers and musicians had taken on a new level of professionalism. Trina took her directions and stood at a spot center stage. An assistant approached her with a spray bottle of oil and sprayed every inch of exposed skin followed by a few spritzes of water on her chest and neck.

Fonda was enthralled. Trina stepped up to her mark and began a seduction of the group. The music seemed to transform her. Her hips and shoulders moved to the Latin beat. Long legs, more muscular than he first thought, teased every man and woman within viewing distance. She whisked her hair around, smiling seductively at the singer as he reached for her. Coquettishly, she would slip from his grasp only to be whip-lashed back into his arms. They seemed to cuddle as he sang, his hand on her back creeping lower, fingers splayed. Trina's legs straddled one of his thighs as she pressed closer, accentuating her hip movement and long graceful arms.

As the two worked magic together Fonda reacted in pure lust as the man's fingers inched her already short skirt higher to reveal the rest of her curvy rear and hips, barely covered in red satin panties, to sway, jiggle, and pump for the camera. All at once she stepped away from him in mock-horror. He pulled her back to him and dipped her slowly, singing close to her ear, their bodies pressed tightly together, her weight pressed into his hip. Slowly he slid his hand down her moist thigh, past her knee, lifting her left leg off the ground and wrapping it around his waist. Fonda would have given his car to change places with that man.

After the shoot, obviously successful after only the fifth take, the troupe celebrated with dancing and singing. Trina took turns dancing with each and every person on location, including the young man she spoke with earlier. Fonda could tell by the look in his eyes that he lusted after Trina, too. She spoke for nearly twenty minutes with the older woman, the same woman who had accompanied the young conga player. Trina performed a few dance steps for the woman, something not latin-y, more classical and restrained. He admired her form as she performed a quick routine for the woman, pretty and slow, every muscle and eyelash in tune with the beauty of this dance. Fonda wondered if she was auditioning for another video.

Fonda stood by and watched, enjoying the show. Small groups of dancers and technicians filtered out of the area in various directions. He watched Trina walk with a couple of the other women, still in the same body-revealing dresses they wore for the shoot.

"Trina," Fonda called out. She turned and looked at him. A smile spread across her face. She turned to the other women, waving them off before trotting over to Fonda.

"What's up? You haven't been waiting on me, have you?" Trina asked. "You're parked in the same spot."

Fonda smiled, maybe blushing a little in embarrassment. "To tell you the truth, I stayed the whole time and watched. You are a very talented young woman, Trina. You looked beautiful."

It was Trina's turn to blush. "Thanks, Fonda. I kinda forget everything when I start dancing. One day, you know, I'll be on that stage and . . ." She turned back to him and smiled. "Nevermind about that. It's so late. Don't you have to fly somewhere, like the restaurant or something?"

Fonda turned up the stereo. A flood of saxophone, piano, and steamy jazz filled the night air. "I'll thank my mother later for forcing me to take ballroom dance lessons when I was a young boy," Fonda extended his arm, reaching for Trina's hand. "May I have this dance, Cat?"

Trina bit her lip. A pretty blush crept up her chest and colored her cheeks. She reached for Fonda's hand. "Cat? I really like that." Trina stepped into Fonda's arms, placing her other hand on his thick shoulder.

Fonda and Cat danced, tentatively at first, growing closer and more curious as the music continued. Their bodies closed in on each other, breathing together. Fonda's arm pulled Trina closer, his hand stroking from her shoulder blades down to the curve of her bottom. Trina brushed her cheek against Fonda's, adoring the moment. Never had she been treated like this.

"Fonda?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Say it again. You know, what you called me — it's just the way you say it."

"Cat?"

"Yeah, Cat. I really like that," Trina moved against him, hoping he felt as aroused as she did.

Fonda turned and whispered huskily into her ear, "You're a beautiful woman, Cat. I would love nothing more..."

Trina turned towards his mouth and cut off the rest of his statement, covering his lips with her own.

They lost themselves in the kiss. Minutes became hours and days became years. They gave up their pretense of dancing and succumbed to the emotions they were feeling. As their tongues dueled a hidden battle, their hands began exploring each other's body under the wash of the pale moon.

Trina lost her balance on her high heels and stumbled backward. Fonda caught her easily, but their momentum carried them backward toward his car. When they steadied themselves, Trina got a mischievous look in her eye and sat back on the hood of the BMW. Still wearing the short silvery dress from the shoot, Trina's milky thighs shone in the moonlight. She opened her legs, inviting Fonda closer.

Fonda closed the distance and they resumed their kiss. Trina wrapped her muscular legs around Fonda's waist and pulled his hips closer. Fonda may have been a gentleman in all senses of the word, but he wanted Trina — Cat; he didn't even know why he had called her that, it just seemed to fit — more than he had ever wanted anyone in his entire life.

When Trina reached down between them and clutched his erect — painfully erect, he thought — penis, Fonda needed no more encouragement than that. He slid the spaghetti strap of Trina's dress off her shoulder and lowered his mouth to her right breast, sucking the small rounded flesh into his mouth, running his tongue roughly over the taut nipple. Trina gasped in pleasure and started clumsily working on the zipper to Fonda's pants, finally sliding it down and setting his turgid cock bobbing free.

Fonda started as he felt the cool night air on his exposed flesh, but quickly resumed sucking Trina's breasts. He now had both straps off her arms as the dress bunched sexily around her trim waist.

The bottom of Trina's dress slid higher, exposing her red panties. She scooted her ass to the edge of the car, sliding her panties aside. Trina ran Fonda's stiff penis along her dripping pussy, soaking the head in her juices and exciting her clit with the rough contact.

Fonda looked up at Trina's face, sweaty with her hair mussed, and he thought that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He grabbed her by the ass and lifted her slightly to improve the angle. She giggled at being lifted so easily, surprised that his manhandling made her even more aroused. Trina had never been attracted to the strong, silent type and she was amazed that she was so turned on by Fonda.

As he lifted her, he leaned forward while she placed the head of his cock at her entrance. With just a slight shift of weight he was inside, luxuriating within Trina's warm sex. She wrapped her arms around his neck and they resumed their deep kissing while she rocked back and forth on Fonda's prick.

They stayed like that for twenty minutes, kissing tenderly and slowly having sex — making love — as the pale moonlight reflected off of the East River.

Fonda felt the stirrings begin, and placed Trina back on the hood of his car. She lay back and ran her hands roughly over her breasts as he sped his pace and pounded into her pussy. She moaned and writhed in pleasure as her own release was approaching. She lowered her right hand to her clit and began furiously frigging herself as Fonda pistoned in and out of her.

Trina felt the tensing of her toes and knew her orgasm was imminent. Fonda, despite thinking that he couldn't possibly be more turned on than he was, actually got more aroused when Trina started playing with herself. It took only three more deep thrusts before he erupted into her pussy.

After they recovered their breath a few minutes later, Trina sat up and wrapped her arms around Fonda, his penis slipping out of her sex. She smiled broadly, contentedly, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Meow," she purred softly into his ear.
 
 

VI

They kissed a little longer before Fonda stepped back and zipped his pants. Trina pouted playfully yet slid the crotch of her panties back into place. She hopped off the car and Fonda held the door open for her, languidly running a hand down her back as she settled into the passenger seat.

Trina gave whispered directions in Fonda’s ear to her apartment between teasing versions of what she wanted to do to him or what she wanted him to do to her. She lowered her hand between his legs and massaged his growing erection, smiling in anticipation. She enjoyed sex, but this sex with Fonda was more than she expected.

The apartment was dark. "Margie must be out," she said, flipping the switch on the wall, illuminating the small living room. She kicked off her shoes near a chair and her height was reduced by four inches.

"Is Margie your friend you eat with at the restaurant?" Fonda asked, sitting on the sofa. The room was small, yet cozy, and Fonda was surprised at the frilly way it was decorated. It seemed very much in contrast to Trina's personality.

"Yeah. We've been roommates for, like, three years now. She's great.... Wine, Fonda?"

"Yes, please. Can I help you with anything?

"Not now, but in a few minutes you can," Trina said seductively.

Trina opened the door to an antique armoire and turned on some music. A few more steps took her to the tiny cluttered-yet-clean kitchen. Trina stood on her tiptoes and pulled a bottle of Cabernet from the wine rack and poured two glasses. She returned to the living room, handing Fonda a glass, but remained standing, swaying lightly from side to side, still high from the adrenaline of the night. She watched him and smiled, sipping slowly from her glass.

"Take off your shirt," Trina ordered in a husky whisper.

As Fonda unbuttoned his shirt, she slipped one of the straps from her shoulder. She slipped the other strap from her shoulder, teasingly hugging the top to her with her arms. Fonda tossed his shirt to the floor while Trina dipped her index finger into the glass, sucking long and hard on her wine-soaked finger.

"Your pants. Take them off," Trina demanded, moving her fingers up and down between her breasts, and he complied eagerly. She grinned lasciviously as Fonda's erection bulged beneath his boxers.

Trina released her dress, letting the slinky fabric slither down her body. She stood before him wearing nothing but red panties and cradling a glass of wine. She began to dance for him — not the kind of dance he had witnessed earlier, but a different gyration, slow and easy, her hips dipping and rolling to the music. She edged closer to him with each movement.

Fonda groaned and breathed, wanting to touch her, wanting to touch himself. He would wait, never had he been seduced in this way. Trina inched ever closer, her long silky legs straddling his hips. She looked down at him, her hips swaying back and forth, around and around over him, her panty-clad pussy just inches from his face. She was so near, he could smell her arousal; it was overpowering. She dipped a finger in the wine and circled one of her nipples. It stood erect, begging for attention. She pinched it, breathing heavily.

Fonda reached for her.

"No. Not yet," Trina said. Her tone stopped him and inflamed his arousal even further.

She lowered herself to his lap, facing him, her legs open across him. She lifted up enough to rub her satin-covered slit lightly up and down his long, hard erection. The firm feel and weight of his cock against her open sex almost caused her to come already. She wanted this one to last even though she felt she could fuck all night. Fonda grabbed her ass firmly as she continued to rub the hard tips of her breasts against his shoulder, chest and finally, his cheek. She reached for his right hand, dipping it into her glass. Placing his index finger in her mouth, Trina sucked it clean, never removing her eyes from his.

Fonda moved underneath her, freeing himself from his boxers. She felt the hard weight of his penis bob between her open legs. She removed his finger from her mouth, dipped it into the wine and this time rubbed it over one of her stiff nipples. She pushed her breast to his mouth, throwing her head back in pleasure when his mouth closed in on the alcohol-soaked nipple.

Fonda moved this time, pulling her panties aside and plunging his angry cock deep inside of her in one smooth thrust. Trina cried out, splashing wine across both of their chests. Fonda licked hungrily at the spilt wine, tossing the glass to the side. Trina tangled her fingers in his thick, dark hair and began to ride him hard and fast. Her small wet breasts bounced wildly as they fucked. The muscles in Fonda's arms and legs flexed as Trina continued to bounce up and down on his dick, crying out with each stroke.

"...such a good fuck, Cat," Fonda breathed between strokes.

Trina growled, banging onto him harder. "Say it again," she demanded.

"Cat . . . " Fonda moaned, lightly pulling her hair.

Trina felt the pleasure building deep in her body, her cunt, her clit. Only a few more strokes.

"Oh fuck!" she cried out, shivering and shuddering with her orgasm. Fonda clenched his teeth, seconds later spurting his semen deep inside her tight walls.

They held each other afterwards, as Fonda's prick softened and withdrew from Trina's pussy, drifting in and out of sleep until a noise startled them. Margie stood at the door of her bedroom, a silly smile on her face. "Wow. That was so incredible."

Fonda blushed and tried to cover up. Trina rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. Sorry for waking you. How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to feel lonely and horny, and I can't find my damn vibrator anywhere," Margie giggled, inviting herself into the room. She was wearing a short black teddy that rose above the level of her crotch with each step. It was obvious by the flash of dark pubic hair that she wasn't wearing any panties. She plopped down on the couch next to them.

Trina shifted position, sitting across Fonda's soft penis. He was clearly uncomfortable. Trina was used to this from Margie.

Margie handed Fonda the wine bottle. "Here, you look like you could use a drink. Am I embarrassing you or something?" She giggled. Fonda attempted to smile, and decided to gulp down a little of the wine instead. Trina shook her head as she reached for the glass on the end table.

"I'm not embarrassed. What would make you think that?" Fonda squirmed, smiling wanly.

Trina rubbed her cheek against his and smiled at Margie. Margie leaned forward and stroked Trina's other cheek. "See, I told you it was a good idea for you to go out with him. You haven't looked this content in a long time," Trina smiled back, nuzzling into Margie's hand.

Fonda felt for a moment that he was intruding on something between the two women. The sight of these two women touching each other made him hard again, amazing him that he was able to achieve a third erection in such a short period of time. He shifted his weight under Trina, freeing his bobbing penis.

Trina leaned back against the arm of the couch. She gazed up into Fonda's eyes and smiled. "Oooh, Fonda. . ." She wriggled her backside into his erection. His lips looked soft and inviting. Trina reached up to touch them, giggling as Fonda licked at her finger. Trina turned to Margie and held out her hand, turning back to look up at Fonda questioningly.
 
 

VII

Fonda understood right away what Trina wanted. He wanted it too but was confused by the whole scenario. He had never been with two women before, and though it had been a fantasy of his for years, now that he was presented with the opportunity, he wasn't fully sure of what to do. It seemed that Trina and Margie had been together before — perhaps with other men as well — and he was worried that he might be getting into something over his head. What was he supposed to do? Did they expect him to coordinate things? How far should he go with Margie, a woman he barely knew? He convinced himself to stop thinking for once and just allow things to happen.

He guided Margie closer to the two of them until the two women were facing each other across his lap. Trina knelt on one side of him, Margie on the other. He caressed both of their backs, running his hands lower, smoothing his palms over their curves. Trina and Margie leaned into each other and giggled softly, maybe with a little nervous tension, before beginning to kiss. Fonda grew even harder as he watched the two girls' tongues encircle each other.

"Looks like someone's getting excited," Margie said coyly between kisses.

"Mm-hmmm," Trina eyed Fonda's cock while she played with her roommate's swollen nipples.

He watched as Trina's tongue disappeared into her friend's mouth, one hand slipping the straps of her teddy from her shoulders, exposing Margie's large breasts. Margie cupped one of Trina's small breasts in her right hand, her thumb teasing the nipple to a ready point. Fonda continued to rub their backs, digging his hands into each woman's mane of dark hair.

Where Trina was slender and petite, with crisp, shiny hair, Margie was shorter and more rounded with heavier breasts and a crowning mane of thick dark hair. He marveled at their contrasts, reveling in the attention he was receiving from the two beauties. Both women leaned into each other over Fonda, and added his tongue to theirs in a three way kiss that left the young Greek on the verge of exploding.

Margie pulled from the kiss first. She watched Trina's eyes as her hand stroked Fonda's penis. Fonda arched his back slightly in response to her manipulations, thrusting his hips up slightly. Margie paused, gauging Trina's reaction. She was still unsure where all of this was going. Although she was very attracted to Fonda, Margie wasn't sure if Trina was comfortable sharing him fully with her. They'd been together with other men before, but they'd always been men whom Margie was dating or men they'd picked up for the night.

Trina smiled at Margie and responded by leaning over and taking Fonda into her mouth. Margie smiled at Trina's reaction, pleased that she didn't mind her playing with Fonda. She took the encouragement to continue to pump him up and down getting more aroused by watching Trina's delicate mouth tease him.

Fonda, by this point, was beyond the ability for rational thought. His mind was awash with a million thoughts, all connected to the feelings he was getting from the two women. He reached out with his hands and cupped each of their pussies, feeling the warm wetness on each hand's fingers. He teased their clits with his thumbs before plunging into their inviting cunts. The girls gasped and paused as they wiggled on his fingers, grinning at each other as they resumed their work on Fonda's cock.

Trina bobbed on Fonda's erect penis, flicking her little pink tongue up and down the shaft, slowing down to lick around the head. She ran her tongue over the opening in his glans, lapping up any pre-come that pooled at the head. Margie shivered when Trina's tongue came in contact with her fingers, and stroked Fonda's cock more insistently. She wanted Fonda but she also wanted Trina.

Trina leaned back and joined Margie's in pumping Fonda, intertwining their fingers. As Trina removed her mouth, Margie used the opportunity to go down on Fonda. She moaned loudly when her mouth came in contact with his slick head and clamped her lips tightly around the flared purple ring. She wriggled and moaned, lifting her ass and opening her legs slightly as her head bobbed on the Greek's large cock. Trina was busy nibbling Fonda's nipple, meeting his lips in a languid kiss every few moments. Fonda shifted his position, his dick popping from Margie's mouth.

Trina broke the kiss briefly, her mouth open and panting lightly against his cheek. Open lips dragged against his cheek and jaw, whispering in his ear, "Do you like this, Fonda? If you want us to stop, we will. I have to warn you, though, we might have to hold you down and have our way with you." Trina took Fonda’s groan and the simultaneous arch of his back as a sign that he wanted more. More is definitely what Margie and Trina had in mind.

Margie felt disappointed, but only briefly, as Fonda shifted his position, his dick popping from her mouth. He wasn't pulling away, he was merely changing positions. He kissed Trina and lifted her to the arm of the sofa. Her legs were draped on either side of Margie. Fonda caressed the inside of her thigh, pulling her lips apart and feeling her wetness. His fingers left a wet trail down Trina's thigh and then on Margie's face. Margie understood. Fonda moved away from the two women. He lifted Margie's chin and kissed her, squeezing her large breasts as he did so. Margie moaned as his tongue played with hers. His fingers tightened around her fully erect nipple, pulling and twisting, matching each thrust of his tongue. She whimpered in ecstasy, wanting so desperately to be fucked.

"Margie, get on your knees," Fonda guided, feeling more comfortable in the unfamiliar scenario. He ran his hand over Margie's dripping pussy and she pushed back into it, groaning at the contact. He slipped a finger inside her.

Fonda moved behind Margie, guiding her closer to Trina. She was watching Margie's face as she leaned in toward her thighs. Fonda raised up on his knees and slid his dick into Margie's pussy from behind in one smooth thrust.

"Oh Fuck," Margie cried out. "God, Trina. Don't give this one up. He's got a great cock."

Trina spread her slender legs wider, lifting one leg to drape over the back of the couch, the other leg settled on the floor. Her pink pussy, wet and bare, was open as her roommate lowered her mouth to it, running her tongue around the labia, just teasing Trina's clit. Fonda was enthralled by her beauty, her lust-filled expression and the animalistic way her hips gyrated as Margie went down on her.

As he thrust himself into Margie, he reached out to caress Trina's small breasts. She took one of her hands off of Margie's head and grabbed Fonda's hand, guiding his index finger into her mouth and moaning her pleasure into his finger.

Fonda pushed into Margie's cunt with force. He buried himself deeply, moving slightly at first. His concentration was on Trina, the way her nipples hardened and pointed to the ceiling even as they bounced and jiggled with each movement she made. He leaned over and captured one of Margie's large breasts in his hand, kneading and squeezing as he continued his rhythmic fuck. After having two orgasms tonight already, Fonda knew that he was going to be able to last for quite some time and he wanted to watch Margie bring Trina off; to watch her squirm and shake with her own orgasm.

Margie had smelled Trina's arousal before her tongue even closed in on the other woman's wet pussy. She delicately stroked the opened folds of her vagina with her tongue, moving up and down lightly at first. Gradually she increased her pressure on Trina's pussy, dipping her tongue deep into her vagina. She moved her tongue inside Trina, moaning and humming as she stroked in the way that she knew Trina loved. Margie pulled back long enough to inhale her musky scent and feel her clit with one hand. God, she had missed being with her roommate. She couldn't even remember when the last time was that the two of them had gotten together.

She pulled back at the V on top of her pussy, watching her clit surge forward. It was engorged and stiffening. She leaned forward again and gave her clit a flick of her tongue, getting more turned on with each thrust of Trina's hips. She felt Fonda behind her ram himself into her and was overwhelmed with the sensations she was receiving at both ends. She arched her back and met him thrust for thrust. Each stroke pushed her nose and mouth deeper into Trina's pussy. Her mouth closed in on her roommate, sucking and licking her soaking vulva, smearing her face with Trina's juices. She caught her clit between her lips and began sucking frantically, burying two fingers deep into Trina's tight pussy. She plunged in and out of Trina with her fingers, her mouth suckling on her erect clit as Fonda fucked her from behind. She always fucked loudly, and this time was no exception. She groaned and moaned loudly with each slap and grind, drowning out Trina's sighs and soft moans.

Trina whimpered as her back arched involuntarily, pushing her hips forward and throwing her head back. Margie felt the pulsing begin in Trina, the throbbing of her sex shooting more wetness from her vagina to drip down her hand and arm. Trina trembled and whimpered, hips thrust up and stiff as the orgasm tore through her. Margie released Trina's clit, softly licking around her tender pussy as another orgasm gripped her.

Fonda increased his force while Trina climaxed, squealing loudly, as he fucked Margie harder. One of her hands had found Margie's clit and was furiously rubbing away. Fonda rubbed his hand over Margie's pussy, gathering as much lubrication as he could with his fingers. He placed one finger at the entrance to Margie's puckered rosebud, inserting it slowly, gauging her reaction. Margie roughly pushed back against him, taking him in as deep as possible and answering his unspoken question. She grunted and moaned, twisting her nipples viciously as he continued to pump his cock into her pussy and now two fingers into her ass. Fonda slid into her thick wetness and pulled nearly completely out. She could feel the ridge of his penis tickling the entrance to her pussy right before he slammed himself deep into her. A few more times and she wouldn't be able to hold back. The man had a thick cock and he knew how to use it, its circumference alone was rubbing every nerve up and down her vagina into a frenzy. His cock head slammed against her cervix, increasing her excitement. Her finger pushed down on her clit and rubbed harder as he finger fucked her ass furiously. She felt the pressure building and cried out with the orgasm, collapsing against Trina's thighs, startling her roommate from her own post-orgasmic stupor.

Fonda was not finished, however, and gathered more lubrication from Margie's sloppy cunt and laved her ass with her juices. With one slow but steady stroke, he entered Margie's tight ass, causing the raven-haired beauty to grunt in pleasure.

"Fuck me with that big fucking cock of yours. Fuck my ass."

"You like me fucking your tight ass don't you?" Fonda grunted incoherently.

"Yes. Fuck my ass."

Trina got off the edge of the sofa and sidled up to Fonda. She thrust her tongue into his mouth while she reached under her friend and fingered her pussy roughly. Margie bucked at the added sensation and felt the stirrings of another orgasm. Fonda thrust wildly into her tight ass as his own climax was nearing. Margie grabbed Trina's hand and rubbed it violently over her clit as she screamed out her orgasm. All this was too much for Fonda, as the contractions of Margie's anus sent him over the edge, causing him to shoot his load deep within Margie's bowel.

After the pulses slowed and the hard breathing eased, they moved into Margie's bed. They were spent, tired out from the exertion of the last hour. Arms, legs and hands intertwined within the sheets. Fonda was the first to drift to sleep, soon followed by Trina and then finally by Margie, who wasn't nearly as worn out as the other two.
 
 
 
 

VIII

Fonda awoke with a start. He knew where he was but he still wasn't prepared to deal with last night's activities just yet. Physically his night was fantastic, but he couldn't sort out emotionally what the three of them had done last night. He was tremendously attracted to Trina, but had enjoyed his time with Margie too. He wondered what Trina might think of him now that the heat of the moment had passed. Fonda knew, or rather he was afraid, that the women would have second thoughts about what they had done, and wondered how this would affect any possible relationship with Trina.

Slowly he turned his head to one side, feeling in the early morning light for a body next to his. The sheets were rumpled around his feet, leaving him bare and chilled, with nobody on either side to keep him warm. He heard the shower running and deduced that one — or maybe both — of the women were in there. He felt awkward, alone in the big bed and unsure what he should do next.

Before he had a chance to do anything, though, the shower cut off and he heard the curtain being moved aside. Turning toward the bathroom door, Fonda waited to see who would emerge. He was disappointed to see Margie and not Cat stepping from the steam filled room. There was so much that he still wanted to say to Trina. He frowned and hoped that Margie didn't notice. She leaned against the doorjamb, beads of water sliding down her gorgeous body, striking a pose for Fonda's benefit. She rubbed at her dark hair with a pink towel, eyeing Fonda salaciously. That the woman was acutely aware that she was gorgeous was a fact not lost on Fonda.

"She had an early call down at her agent's office. Something about a possible audition," Margie said as she approached the bed, trying to remember Trina's message from an hour earlier.

Fonda felt compelled to cover himself. "I need to get going too."

"What's the big hurry? Surely we have a little time to spend together alone," Margie said, kneeling at the foot of the bed. Her breasts were large and milky-white; the faint, blue veins visible beneath the surface. Her nipples were brown and flat. Fonda forced his eyes from her chest. Of course, there weren't many places on Margie's naked body that he could look without getting aroused.

"I need to be at the restaurant," his flaccid penis began to stir against his better judgment. Margie lifted to her knees and moved closer to him, crawling closer and causing him to squirm. "Early deliveries, fish and all that . . . " His words drifted away as Margie bent over and took his half-erect penis in her mouth. Strands of her still wet hair stuck to his belly and thighs as she worked him to an uncomfortable hardness.

Margie let him fall from her mouth. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, sucking his lower lip between both of hers as she straddled his hips. "C'mon Fonda. Just one more time and I'll leave you alone."

"No, we shouldn't. What about Trina . . . ." His protest was interrupted by a kiss. He wanted to resist, but he couldn't help himself and kissed back, hard. He broke the kiss and leaned into her chest, capturing one of her brown nipples in his mouth, sucking furiously. Almost instantly the nipple sprang to life, lengthening to a hard point. Fonda played with her breasts as Margie impaled herself on his waiting erection. She rode him up and down roughly as his mouth continued to slap at her tits, catching a nipple between his teeth on every other gallop. She leaned into him, rubbing her breasts against his unshaven cheek, lifting them with her hands for him to suck. Her moaning got louder as her motions increased. Soon she was rocking back and forth on his hard dick, rubbing her clit against his pubic bone, alternating that with up-and-down slams against his pelvis.

"Fuck, Fonda, I'm going to come!" Margie cried out as she continued to bounce and rub on him.

Fonda stiffened, feeling his own orgasm nearing as well. Margie lifted from his dick, pulling him out of her just as his come began shooting. She continued to rub herself to orgasm on his hard thigh, pushing his throbbing penis between her breasts. His load shot in spurts against her breasts, neck, and hair, with some of it even spurting against her cheek. Fonda watched in dazed amazement as Margie rubbed the semen with her fingers, stopping to lick her fingers clean between strokes.

"Oh fuck, Fonda. Fuck, fuck, fuck . . . " Margie groaned as she continued to buck against his leg. "You're such a fuckin' stud . . . I could eat you all day."

Fonda suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Although he enjoyed his experience with the two women the night before, that didn't mean all three of them had a relationship. He wanted to get to know Trina better and any budding relationship with her wasn't going to go very far if he continued to screw Margie. He released a breath as he gently nudged Margie off of his lap.

"I'm sorry, but I have to leave." Fonda grabbed his clothes and entered the bathroom, leaving Margie to stare after him in surprise.

"Okay. Whatever," Margie said loudly so that he could hear her through the door. "Just remember, I'm here if you need someone to fuck . . . you know, if things don't work out between you and Trina. Even if they do, you know, I can keep a secret."

Margie stretched out on the bed and opened her legs. She touched herself, her fingers still slick with Fonda's semen. "Ooh, yeah." She continued to masturbate, Fonda's silky effluence mingling with her own juices. Her fingers disappeared only to reappear slicker and wetter. Her hips bounced up and down on the mattress. She tensed and cried out with her next orgasm, blissfully unaware of Fonda's presence.

Fonda hurried and left the apartment, leaving Margie alone and strangely content in her bed. His mind created all kinds of dangerous scenarios involving Margie and Trina. He felt uneasy and guilty as hell as he left the building and started his car, trying to sort through everything he had gone through in the last twelve hours or so as he drove to work.
 
 
 
 

IX

Fonda grinned at his brother. Stavros chuckled, shaking his head. "So, you two had a good time last night, eh?"

"It was amazing, Stavros. I'm actually sore this morning."

"Really? She wore you out?"

Fonda lowered his voice as one of the line cooks walked by him carrying a bucket of vegetables. "Not just her, but her roommate too."

"Bullshit," Stavros responded loudly, causing some of the kitchen help to look in their direction. Then he lowered his voice and clutched his brother by the arm. "You're fucking with me, aren't you? You had the gorgeous one with the big tits, too?"

Fonda smiled broadly. "I can't believe it. I felt like a porn star. I really had no idea what to do. It was incredible."

"Well, I'm jealous, you lucky bastard. You can thank me later. For now, we have a little problem with the calamari delivery."

Fonda tied a crisp, white apron around his waist and walked over to one of the huge stoves. The aroma of sauteed onions and garlic greeted him. His stomach growled in return. He was so involved in last night's activities that he never ate dinner. He gathered the ingredients to make an omelet, taking some of the freshly chopped scallions and peppers from a cutting board.

"Fonda!" Stavros interrupted.

"We have no shortage of onions, Stavros . . . "

"I don't care about that. We have to do something about the calamari, though. But you just eat and don't worry about what's going wrong with your restaurant. Fine." He threw his hands up in frustration. "Take ten minutes to eat breakfast, Mr. Hefner," Stavros grinned. "But I have something else to discuss with you."

Fonda poured the egg mixture into a skillet and turned his attention back to his brother. "Go on."

"We've hired a lot of new people lately, especially at the market, and I think we might want to sweep through with another round of tests."

"More drug tests, Stavros?" Fonda sighed.

"I know, I know. I really don't like the idea any more than you do, but we need to cover our asses. If someone gets sick because of something some druggie gutting fish does, we're screwed and can kiss this restaurant goodbye."

"I know, you're right. It just seems distasteful to me, making someone piss in a cup. Ok, call the guy — the clinic — that does it. Set it up for as soon as possible and get it out of the way."

"Fine. Now, make the call to the calamari shysters so we can get that out of the way," Stavros said.

"Give me the phone," Fonda sighed, shaking his head while he called his squid supplier.

While Fonda and Stavros were discussing business details, Trina settled herself into her regular seat at Fonda's restaurant, pretending to be interested in the menu. She glanced over the top of the laminated page, scanning the dining room and bar for any signs of Fonda. After last night she couldn't stop thinking about him. She asked Margie to give him a message for her but she knew how forgetful her friend could be. Missing the appointment with her agent this morning was not an option. And it was definitely worth it after her agent called and told her that she was granted an audition with Madame Renault and the NYC Ballet Company. She couldn't wait to share the news with Fonda.

Trina blushed when Fonda stepped through the double doors from the kitchen. He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday with a clean white apron thrown over them. His hair was slicked back and he needed a shave. He looked gorgeous. Trina felt nervous. She was unsure of what he'd think of her after the threesome with her best friend last night and was kind of fearful of his initial reaction to her.

Over the next several minutes, she fought the urge to jump up and run as far away as she could possibly go. This scared her more than anything. Normally with men she dated, she was straightforward and disinterested, smug in the way she would make them uncomfortable. But with Fonda, she felt an uneasiness that she couldn't define. She was nervous about seeing him and she was actually concerned — worried — over what he felt about her.

She heard the bell on the door and watched as Fonda looked up to greet the next customer. His expression changed slightly. Instead of smiling and cordially greeting the next customer as was his usual demeanor, he fidgeted and smiled nervously. Trina leaned over slightly in her chair to see past the booth in front of her to get a good look at who just entered.

"Hey Fonda. Long time, no see. Thought I'd stop in for lunch and see if I could ring up another big bill," Margie laughed, placing her hand familiarly on Fonda's sleeve. "You look a little tired, love. Didn't you get any sleep last night?" Margie teased.

Tina's eyes narrowed as she watched the exchange. Margie was dangerously close to crossing a line with her. Despite their unusual evening, Trina felt territorial toward Fonda. That bothered her almost as much as Margie's reaction to him. A day ago, Fonda was nothing more to her than a minor annoyance, an errand that had to be dispatched as expeditiously as possibly. But now he was someone she felt was hers and she actually felt that she and Fonda were a couple, something that she rarely — if ever — felt with any man. She was jealous. Catty even, she thought, smiling slightly.

"I'll just find my usual table. I'll just bet Trina shows up," Margie kissed Fonda on the cheek and gave him a surreptitious pat on his ass, causing him to jump, before she walked down the aisle to their corner table by the window. She looked at Trina in surprise, smiling broadly. "Well, speak of the devil. Fonda, did you know Trina was already here waiting to see you?" Margie grinneded mischievously.

Trina was annoyed. Margie was acting a little too loud and obnoxious — even more than usual. Fonda approached their table and pulled up a chair. He sat and gazed into Tina's eyes. "I didn't see you sitting there, Cat," Fonda smiled dreamily.

"Cat?" Margie giggled. "Still with the 'cat' nickname? Do I get a nickname too?"

Trina threw a glare at Margie, but ignored her comment. "I just walked in. I'm a little early. I had a great meeting with my agent . . . I'm so excited."

"Yeah, I bet," Margie laughed.

It was Fonda's turn to glare at Margie. He wanted nothing more than to spend some time alone with Trina. Margie's presence was just making everything uncomfortable for everyone.

Trina smoothed back her hair and turned more in Fonda's direction. His deep brown eyes were melting her, making her feel nervous. How much did he think of last night? Did it totally take over his thoughts like it had hers or was he simply overwhelmed by the threesome? What did he really think of her? At first she didn't think Fonda was her type at all, but now all she could think about was being alone with him. She couldn't fully gauge his reaction now, though. He seemed nervous and uncomfortable. Was he bothered by Margie's obnoxious little comments or did the threesome with Margie cross some sort of line they couldn't recover from? Was their relationship over before it had even really begun? She was just so caught up in the moment that she didn't think of the long term consequences of involving Margie last night. Still, she was excited about her audition and washed away all of her fears to tell Fonda about it.

"Anyway, remember how I was talking to the older woman at the shoot? She was the director of the NYC ballet." Trina squirmed in her seat, leaning in closer to Fonda. "I have an audition scheduled at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon!" Trina beamed, squeezing Fonda's hand.

"That's wonderful, Trina. If your ballet dancing is as good as the dancing I saw last night — at the video shoot . . . " Fonda quickly added, darting a look at Margie, "you'll knock their socks off."

"Yeah, I'll just bet." Margie laughed again, banging her hand down on the table.

"Shut up, Margie," Trina barked, glaring at her friend.

Margie snapped her mouth shut and looked back at them in wide-eyed surprise.

"So. . . how are you doing today?" Trina asked a little shyly.

Fonda smiled. He took his hand in hers and kissed her fingertips. "Very well. I'm tired."

Trina blushed. "So, like, that bill from yesterday is thrown away and forgotten about?"

Fonda laughed. "Unless you would like a lesson in fish-gutting."

Fonda and Trina laughed together. Margie picked up her menu as Fonda excused himself to make a phone call and wait on a couple of tables.

"I'll be back for your orders, ladies," he smiled and let his gaze rest on Trina as he walked away.

"Hey Fonda, I just got off the phone with the lab," Stavros walked from the office as Fonda hung up his cell phone after speaking with his squid supplier. "The guy will be here for pee-pee time tomorrow morning at 8:00."

"Let's just get it over with. It ruins morale whenever we have to do that."

"What did they say?" Stavros motioned toward the phone.

"They'll get back to me in a couple of minutes. This is the second time in the last month the calamari has been shit. If they don't give me an answer I like, we'll go with someone else. I'm getting pissed with them."

"Oh another thing, I wanted to tell you that Will has some suspicions about a couple of people in the market."

"Like who?" Fonda asked.

"There's that delivery guy, Jackson. Will says he's always late and has to be told what to do constantly. He used to be a very good worker, and always on time, but now . . . Will doesn't know if he's become lazy or something else, but he's keeping his eyes on him."

Fonda sighed. Problems with employees were easily the most draining aspect of running a restaurant. "Who else?"

"There's the one you hired a little over two weeks ago. That . . . that North fellow. Corey or Corky is his name."

Fonda nodded. "I remember. A little strange and resisted the hair net at first. Why a man keeps such long hair, I'll never understand. And all those earrings . . . " Fonda shook his head. "Still, it was him or nobody. It's getting so difficult to get anyone to hire these days."

"Will doesn't think he'll work out. He's still on one month probation, so we can get rid of him for any reason. He can't put his finger on it just yet but that Corky fellow seems suspicious to him. He's watching him closely. Some of the older guys have also expressed a desire to see him leave." Stavros tilted his head toward the fish market and continued.. "He seems shady to me."

Fonda shook his head. "I'll have a look later. What time is his shift over?"

"He works 6:00 to 3:00. Another thing, Will says he seems to get a lot of visitors," Stavros shrugged. "I don't know why so many people would want to socialize in a fish market. Something else to think about."

Fonda nodded. "I'll watch him and talk to Will today . . . Corey, not Corky," he corrected.

"Whatever," Stavros said as he walked into the main dining room leaving Fonda to discuss something with one of the line cooks.
 
 

Trina had waited until Fonda was out of sight before leaning toward Margie. "Okay, like, what the fuck is your deal?"

"What do you mean?" Margie asked, feigning surprise.

"Look, if last night messed with your head so much that you have to babble on and on and act like a total bitch, I'll just take my things and move out," Trina fumed.

"No. I don't want you to do that," Margie's eyes softened. "You're my best friend. I'm sorry. Okay, last night was a little different but I'm okay with it. Really. I guess I'm a little nervous. I'm sorry, Trina. It's just that, I don't know. I'm happy that you found a nice guy and maybe even a little jealous too."

"You? Jealous of me ?" Trina asked incredulously.

"Yeah. What the hell kind of a statement is that? I mean, you like, didn't even want to go out with this guy and the next thing I know, you two are doing the nasty on the couch, screaming loud enough to wake up everyone in The Village. I mean, God, Trina," Margie leaned closed and lowered her voice. "That was one hot scene last night. I mean, not only is he nice and normal — a first for you, you know — he's hot, too. Yeah , I was jealous."

Trina smiled inwardly. That she could make Margie, the most beautiful woman she knew, jealous, gave her a satisfying feeling. "Yeah, we were kinda into it, huh?"

"No shit, huh? I was watching for like twenty minutes and neither one of you knew I was there. You two were fucking like animals," Margie smirked and then continued. "And is he a great fuck or what? I mean, I thought he was cute because I really get into the strong, silent type, but that cock of his is huge. I'm having a tough time sitting down today. He's hung like a fucking horse," Margie added in her usual tasteful and classy manner.

Trina snorted then quickly tried to stop as she saw Fonda heading for their table.

"Here comes Trigger," Margie said, making a neighing sound.

Trina laughed again, covering her reddening face with her hands and recovering just as Fonda got to the table.

"So, what will it be for the two of you today? We have a broiled snapper that is just delicious," he suggested.

"Just a salad for me, thanks," Trina smiled. "With a fat-free vinaigrette."

"Me too . . . only I'll have the one with the grilled chicken breast, with blue cheese dressing," Margie ordered, never one to need to worry about calories.

Trina was thinking about how her friend could eat whatever she wanted and never seem to gain a pound when her thoughts were interrupted by the ring of a cell phone. She looked at Margie expecting it to be hers. Fonda removed the phone from the clip at his belt. "Fonda Daskalakas."

"Yes. This afternoon at three? No, the calamari must be replaced before then . . . I have a crowd who expects fresh calamari at lunch." Fonda leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in agitation. His voice rose slightly. "If you cannot deliver, we will use a different supplier. I cannot run my business based on what you delivered this morning. Yes. Fine. 11:30, I expect to see the delivery then, not one second later."

Fonda ended the call and placed the cell phone on the table. "Ladies, excuse me for that," he smiled sheepishly. "I'll be back with the salads in a few minutes. How about a nice bowl of Tomato Florentine soup to go with it? On the house."

Trina smiled up at him. "Just a small cup for me, Fonda. Thanks."

"Oh, she might actually eat something today," Fonda teased as he walked away.

Trina shrugged and giggled, feeling a little shy in front of Fonda. She looked down and reached for his cell phone in distraction, hoping her curtain of black hair hid her deep blush from Margie. Trina glanced up at Margie and shrugged again. "What's the harm in eating a little more today, right? I mean, like, that big shoot is over with and I can reward myself, can't I?"

"Seems like you got the best reward last night," Margie smirked.

Trina smiled, playing with Fonda's cell phone. "There," she said, putting the phone back on the table. "I changed his ring from the boring one to "Ode to Joy" — much more lively."

Margie nodded, "Ode to Joy wouldn't happen to reflect a little on how you feel with him," Margie needled, hoping to get Trina to open up.

Their eyes met. "I'm sure, Margie. One night, a few hours, I don't really know the guy, do I?" Trina breathed deeply, trying to convince herself of just that.
 
 

X

Over the next week or so Fonda had wanted to spend some time with Trina, but their conflicting schedules had made that a difficult proposition, at best. The drug tests had been concluded, with a little grumbling from the staff, and the results weren't due for another couple of weeks. Fortunately, activity at the restaurant had calmed down a bit.

Fonda and Trina did manage to squeeze in a few short dates, though. A day at the Guggenheim — his idea; a night dancing at a club on 44th street — her idea; a night at the movies — agreed to by both, but regretted soon after since they both agreed that the film was horrible. Fonda felt they were becoming more attracted to the other, talking to each other on the phone daily and looking forward to their next date with the anticipation of teenagers. Trina, too, began more and more to think of them as a couple.

"Hey," Fonda stopped his brother in the kitchen. "I found out what's going on with Jerome Jackson."

"What?"

"I talked to him the other day. Apparently he's going through a divorce and there's a nasty custody battle for their kids."

"Oh, that's too bad," Stavros sympathized.

"Yeah. He apologized and said he'll try to get in sooner. I gave him a couple of weeks off, with pay, to try to get things all straightened out."

"You're so thoughtful," Stavros teased. "Say, have you seen any more of that Trina?"

"Not much. We went out a couple of times last week and then Sunday night. We had a great time, but that's about it. We've talked on the phone just about every night this week, though. She had an audition for the NYC ballet and was accepted, so her days have been full and with me working here so much, it's been difficult trying to fit in time together. She's going to come in after rehearsal tonight and I'm going to take some time out to join her for dinner."

"So, do you think things are getting serious?"

"I'm not sure," Fonda shrugged and scratched his head. "I'd like to make things more serious, but Trina's tough to read. She's an enigma. She rarely lets anything out; she's so guarded. But we have a great time together, and I think she's starting to think of us as a 'couple' now."

"What about the other one . . . the roommate?" Stavros grinned lasciviously.

"Oh, she's a sex fiend."

"What do you mean?"

"Any time I see her, she's always grabbing my ass or rubbing her hand on my crotch — in public. It's disconcerting."

His younger brother laughed. "You have to lighten up. I wish I had someone who looked like that grabbing me all the time."

"But it's not her I want. And I don't want to take any chances of ruining what I could have with Trina."

"But she's gorgeous. You should be grateful for the attention."

Fonda shook his head. "Do you know what she did Tuesday night? She showed up just as I was closing the restaurant and asked if I could give her a ride home. Of course I said yes, and the next thing I knew she unzipped me in the car and gave me a blow job while I drove down 6th avenue."

"You're a lucky bastard," Stavros smiled.

"I could have gotten into an accident, or arrested, or something like that," Fonda said excitedly. "I almost hit a taxi."

"So where did you come?"

"Don't be vulgar. . . . Twenty-third street," Fonda snickered. "But I don't know what to do about her."

"I'd like to have your problems," Stavros said, heading into the meat locker, leaving Fonda to finish making out his food order in the office.

A few days later, Trina and Margie came into the restaurant at lunch time. Fonda greeted them at the door and gave Trina a light kiss on the lips. Margie walked by and brushed her fingertips against his penis at the same time Trina had turned to throw her back pack under a table. Fonda glared at Margie. Trina turned just in time to catch the two locking eyes, Margie with a smug look while Fonda seemed to seethe in anger. He recovered quickly, turning his attention to Trina and placing a soft kiss on her cheek while squeezing her hand.

"Welcome ladies. No rehearsal this afternoon, Trina?" Fonda asked.

"No. A couple of dancers have come down with some pulled muscles so Madame Renault wanted to give everybody a couple of days to rest. It's only three weeks until we open on Broadway, and she wants everyone to be healthy for then, so we're getting a break."

"So, do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

Trina smiled and Margie rolled her eyes.

"No, what do you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking we could go out on my boat. Do you enjoy sailing?"

"You have a boat? Why didn't you ever mention it?" Trina squealed girlishly. "I love the water."

"I don't really think about it much. It's really my parents' boat. I've only taken it out once this year. Stavros and my father use it mostly. It's not very large . . . it's a thirty-foot C+C. Built in 1981. We like it though. We're closed on Sunday so if you wanted I'll leave early Saturday and we could plan to leave Saturday afternoon and get back sometime Sunday night or even Monday morning."

"Where will we sleep?"

"Oh, the boat has a master bedroom down below. It's very comfortable."

Trina couldn't stifle a smile. Margie seethed and made no attempt to hide it, but no one noticed.

"It sounds great. Where are we going?"

"Well, we don't have a lot of time. We could head out toward Long Island or down the Jersey shore."

"I can't wait," she gushed.

"Oh! I just remembered!" Margie interrupted. "Guess who I saw working at Fonda's market back behind the restaurant? Trina, you'll love this. Corey! Remember Corey!" Margie squealed.

Trina glanced at Margie sideways.

"You know Corey?" Fonda turned to Margie. Trina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "The man with all the hair and earrings?"

"Yeah, that's him. He's actually back there cleaning fish and wrapping them up. Can you believe it?" Margie laughed overtly. "He and Trina go way back. They're really close friends. Used to be a lot closer, if you know what I mean. I convinced her to get away from him, all the drug shit, you know."

"Drug shit?" Fonda asked.

"Oh, hell yeah. He's into it deep. He got her stoned a few times. I didn't like what it did to her so convinced her to dump him. You guys still talk, though, don't you Trina?" Margie was enjoying making things uncomfortable.

Trina glared at Margie. "We're just friends, Margie. And yes, I talk to him occasionally. In case you were wondering, Corey just checked out of rehab. I'm glad he's got a job doing something legit." Trina turned to Fonda, wanting to offer an excuse for her past. Stubbornly, she closed her mouth and looked away.

Margie huffed, shrugging her shoulders. "Yeah, whatever. If you ask me, I wouldn't trust him at all."

Fonda sat back deep in thought and stared at Margie. "Why do you say that?"

"He's been into drugs way too long. He also hasn't stopped hanging around with the same old friends that he used to shoot up with." Margie offered.

"You know this for a fact?" Fonda asked.

"Oh yeah, Fonda. No doubt," Margie nodded as she slipped her shoe off and began rubbing her foot along Fonda's calf.

Fonda looked around nervously while Trina cleared her throat. "Yeah, well, I'd like to give the guy the benefit of a doubt. He hasn't exactly had the greatest life, you know."

Fonda turned back to Trina. "I hope you are right. I wonder if Corey studied his job application thoroughly. If he did, he would have noticed the clause about random drug testing. We have to do that now. Liability is too high in this industry and we can't have people working for us who can't focus completely."

Margie laughed. "Ssshyeah, right. Especially with all the sharp knives and shit."

Trina rolled her eyes and stared at Margie. "Don't you have a job to go to today?"

"Not until this afternoon. Working half-days the rest of the week. Fuck the boss."

"Oh, is that how you're getting all this time off?" Trina asked snippily.

She laughed. "No, but I might if you think it'd get me a raise."

Trina turned back to Fonda. He seemed withdrawn. Maybe Margie had upset him by mentioning the relationship she had with Corey. It occurred to her that maybe Fonda was worried about her past sexual relations with other men. She always insisted on condoms and had never had a reason to see the doctor about anything suspicious. She liked to think she kept herself exceptionally healthy, especially in her line of work. But Fonda wouldn't know that unless she told him so.

Things had been going so well with him today until Margie had to bring up Corey. Trina knew that Margie was attracted to Fonda and would like a repeat of the first night's activities, but there was no way that she was going to allow that to happen. She was, for probably the first time in her life, settling into an adult relationship and the last thing she wanted was to screw things up with Fonda. Well, she smiled to herself, we'll have all weekend together at sea, with no Margie, no Corey, no restaurant, and no dance troupe for miles around.

"If you'll excuse me, ladies, it's starting to get busy in here. I have to get to other customers," Fonda stood and left, but not before leaning over and kissing Trina on the cheek.

"He's just like, so head over heels for you," Margie said, now choosing Trina's leg to play footsie with.

"You think so?" Trina smiled broadly.

"Absolutely. The way the two of you look at each other. You're just so cute." Margie sighed as a wave of jealousy washed over her.

"You know," Trina said, taking a bite of her salad. "I've never really felt this way about someone before. I'm kind of scared, you kn . . . hey, what are you doing?" Trina re-crossed her legs.

"I don't know. You just look so cute there. It's a shame I have to go to work, today."

"Well, you wouldn't have gotten anywhere. I'm pissed at you for bringing up all that shit about Corey. And what the hell was the fucking deal with playing footsie with Fonda under the table? I couldn't help but notice his reaction to you. I don't think he liked it," Trina gloated.

"I'm sorry," she removed her foot from Trina's leg. "I guess I'm a little jealous of the two of you. And I still have the hots for him. I guess I should warn you . . . " Margie began, unsure of where she was going.

"Warn me about what?" Trina asked in alarm.

Margie paused and bit down on her lip. She leaned across the table closer to Trina and spoke in a low voice, "Fonda has made some moves on me, Trina. I didn't want to tell you but I think there are a few things you should know about him. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he was fucking five more women behind our backs." Margie leaned back in her chair, shaking her head in disgust.

"What the fuck do you mean 'fucking other women behind our backs?' And what kind of moves, Margie? Is he just being nice to you or has he actually felt you up?" Trina strained to keep her voice down. Jealously welled-up from deep inside her. She threw her fork down with a clatter.

Margie sighed overtly before leaning forward again, "I'm sorry, Trina. You're my best friend. I love you, you know that. That's why I feel the need to protect you from a man like him . . . "

"Since when? I can fuckin' take care of myself, Margie."

"Just listen to me. Since that night, you know, that night, Fonda has come onto me several times. We fucked three more times and, well, we've done a few other things. He likes to have his dick sucked while tooling around town in that little sports car. I'm sorry, Trina."

Trina felt the icy grip of hysteria sweep through her. The color drained from her face and all of her muscles tightened as she stared at Margie, imagining her friend's head buried in Fonda's lap, her hair pooled across his thighs, Fonda pounding her mouth with his orgasm. Margie managed to have sex with Fonda more times than Trina had. In fact, because of her practice schedule, Margie had found a lot of time to spend with Fonda. The bitch.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Trina asked angrily.

"You need to know, sweetie."

"Bullshit. Five minutes ago you were like, 'He's head over heels for you,' and, 'you're so cute together.' Now you're trying to protect me from that 'kind' of man. You just said you still have the hots for him."

"I...I just don't want to see you get hurt," Margie stammered.

"And you," Trina continued angrily, her eyes wide and boring straight into her friend. "Can't you for once keep your fucking legs closed and not fuck every man you meet? I mean, one of these days you're going to have to grow up and stop being a whore."

Trina stared at Margie, pushing her chair back quickly. The chair crashed to the floor, drawing attention from a few of the other patrons. Stavros looked up from his station near the bar. Trina reached for her backpack and turned toward the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, hon. I just thought you should know, " Margie tried to hide a smirk as she called after her.

Trina raised her hand in a gesture meant to dismiss Margie. She fought through a veil of tears to find Fonda.

XI

"I thought you were different, but you're just like any other guy. You'll fuck anyone who spreads her legs. I expect this out of Margie because she's a slut, but you were supposed to be different," Trina accused loudly, her voice cracking. She had found Fonda in his office off the massive kitchen and stared down at him, trembling in anger and despair.

"Cat . . . " Fonda began, rising from his chair. "What are you..."

"Don't ever call me that again!"

"Trina, please listen to me. I was confused. After that night with the two of you I felt like I was in over my head. I'd never done anything like that. Then Margie came on to me and . . . "

Trina glared as her booted foot beat a rapid tattoo on the tile floor.

"And on to you and on to you. How many times? Or was it you coming on to Margie? Don't play the innocent with me, Fonda. Be a man and just admit you were going to take what you could get no matter who got hurt in the process. Bastard . . . " Trina took one step back from him, clenching her fists in rage.

"It was only the one time. I didn . . . "

"Fuck you. You've been screwing her for the last two weeks."

"Honestly, I haven't. It was just a mistake. I should have never done it. I felt terrible about it afterward," Fonda apologized.

Trina fumed. "Damn right you should have never done it. I thought what we had was special. I should have known better. I mean, here I am feeling good about being with you, finally thinking I found someone that I want to get to know better and Margie starts feeding me all this shit about you. It's over, Fonda. It wasn't all that great anyway," she cried, trying to spare her own feelings.

"Trina, you are special to me."

"Bullshit. You can take your restaurant and your boat and your waltzes and your fucking BMW and shove them all up your ass. I never want to see you again." Trina turned and stormed out of the office door, pushing past Stavros and several kitchen staff. She ignored Fonda's last effort to call her back and only glared at Margie as she left the restaurant.

Trina left the restaurant hurriedly, wiping a tear from under her eye. Instead of heading up the street toward the entrance to the subway she turned back toward the fish market. She needed a friend and she knew just where to find one. Corey should be working today. Besides, Corey always managed to cheer her up. If he was high or coming down off of something she would be able to tell. If he was, she told herself that she'd never speak to him again. Fucking men, she thought.

"What did you tell her?" Fonda sat down at the table and asked Margie angrily.

"What do you mean?" Margie avoided his eyes and spoke softly.

"Don't give me your shit. Trina was just talking to me about how we've been sleeping together several times. What's your game?"

"I don't know what y..."

He cut her off and slapped his hand down on the table, eliciting some stares from nearby diners. "I'm tired of your lies. I don't want to know what you did, or why you did it. All I know is that you've managed to ruin two people's lives. Are you happy with yourself?"

Margie started to say something, but Fonda wouldn't let her get the words out. "Just get out of here. Get out of my restaurant and get out of my life."

Trina shifted her backpack to the other shoulder and scanned the group of workers in the fish market. It didn't take long to pick out Corey among the staid looking men. She had to laugh at the way his long hair was tied back and stuffed under a hair net.

"Corey!" Trina called out as she trotted over to greet him. He looked up, immediately recognizing her.

"Hey Trina!" Corey smiled. "What's up, babe?"

"Margie told me you were working here. How's it going?" Trina asked, closing the distance between them only slightly; she didn't want to get too close. The sight of blood and other unidentifiable smears on his apron made her stomach lurch.

"Not too bad. It stinks, but at least it pays," Corey laughed at his own joke. "You lookin' a little pale, babe. What's wrong?"

Trina shrugged. "It'll pass. I just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't talked in a couple of months." They chatted a few more minutes, catching up with each other.

"It's been good seeing you again, Corey," Trina meant it. She was convinced he was clean and it lifted her mood slightly. "I've got to head over to my agent's office and check if I've been paid yet."

"Money tight?"

"No more than usual. I hope it picks up soon. I'm waiting to get paid for that video I shot a couple of weeks ago. I won't start getting paid by the ballet company until a week after opening night. We start on Broadway in three weeks."

"Broadway? No shit, babe? Fuckin' A. great."

Trina beamed. "Yeah, I killed at an audition."

"Cool. Hey, you still doing some stuff for Ray?" Ray was a small-time choreographer Trina had worked with a few times. He was on the sleazy side, but always seemed to find her some kind of work, big or small, in some number he was producing.

"Yeah, a little here and there. I haven't talked to him in about four months, though," Trina considered for a moment. "But, y'know, maybe I should stop by and see him, I think he still owes me some money."

"So you think you'll be in his neighborhood today?" Corey asked.

"Yeah, I guess," she shrugged indifferently. "I gotta stop by my agent's office and Ray's place isn't too far from there."

"Could you drop something off to him for me?"

Trina shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Like what?"

Corey smirked. "He's on some kind of high protein diet kick. He keeps asking for salmon and shit. I keep having to run down there and bring him all his orders. It's a little out of my way. I mean, he pays me for the delivery and all that but I'm really beat today. If you could pass by his place first and drop off his order I'll pay you the twenty bucks he gives me. Plus, I'd really appreciate it."

Trina shrugged and thought for a minute. "I could do that. Only, could you, like, wrap the fish up extra special so I don't smell like fish after that? I mean, that is, like, so gross, you know. . . um, no offense," she smiled up at Corey.

"Cool. Let me get his order ready and pack it up for you. Give me a few minutes," Corey gave her a wink and turned away, disappearing among the crates and ice.

Corey looked over his shoulder at Trina. The old guys were busy unloading a truck. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. He licked his finger and touched the powder. Good shit. He licked his finger again, closing his eyes to the quickening of his pulse. He opened his eyes and darted a look here and there. As far as he could tell none of the old geezers had seen him take this little break. To them, he just looked to be getting together a special order. He slapped the fish down on the cutting board and dug out the slimy guts with his gloved hand. He put the bag of heroin in another plastic bag and wrapped it in tape. He stuffed the package into the belly of the fish, wrapping the fish with several layers of newspaper and stuffed it into a plastic bag. Minutes later he was back in front of Trina, handing her the bag.

Trina picked up the bag delicately with two fingers. "Yuck. But, okay, it's twenty bucks. Enough to pay my half of the phone bill," Trina quickly pocketed the twenty dollar bill and turned to leave, waving over her shoulder.

Corey watched Trina exit the restaurant and head up the street toward the subway entrance. She would deliver it to Ray, none the wiser for making the drug run. He turned back to walk into the open air market, smiling to himself.

Stavros stepped out the back door of the restaurant just as Trina walked by with a bag from the fish market. He frowned. He watched Trina's retreating back and decided to call after her. "Trina! Wait!"

Trina paused in her tracks and looked over her shoulder at Stavros jogging after her. "What do you want?"

Stavros put his hand on her arm, "Fonda is really messed-up about all of this. He really likes you, Trina. I don't know when I've seen him this happy."

Trina shrugged his hand off of her arm, "Yeah, well, he's got a weird way of showing it by fucking my best friend."

"She means nothing to him. She's just a bimbo. You're different."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? Listen, I thought your brother was different, you know. I thought he showed more respect and kindness than other men I've met. I was falling for him, you know. I thought we had something real together. I was wrong. You don't know how bad that hurts, Stavros." Trina turned her head and fought back more tears. "I just thought he was different and now I know he's worse than the others."

"Worse than that Corky fellow you were talking to? What is that about? You decide not to work things out with Fonda and run to a scumbag like that?"

"It's Corey and he's not a scumbag. At least he's honest about where things stand," Trina said and turned to leave.

"Wait," Stavros pleaded again.

"No, Stavros. I've got places to go, an agent to see and a fish to deliver." Trina raised the plastic bag before walking away from him.
 
 
 

XII

Fonda paced the floor as Stavros filled him in on the details of the latest employee drug test. His brother decided to delay telling him about his encounter with Trina until later. Fonda was furious enough. Will entered the office waving another envelope, smirking menacingly. "Here's the one we been waiting for. Corey's busy with a new order. I don't think he suspects nothing," he said in his usual gruff manner.

"Did he see you?" Stavros asked.

"Naw. He never noticed."

"Something is bothering me," Stavros said. "Trina, your girlfriend. I saw her leaving here after talking to Corky with a bag from the market. What could that mean?" Stavros paced along with Fonda.

"Corey. Not Corky. For Christsakes, for the last fucking time his name is Corey ," Fonda snapped and both his brother and Will, the manager of the fish market, looked at each other in surprise. It was rare for Fonda to display that much emotion. "She knows the prick. I don't know why she would buy a fish, though."

"Maybe I know," Will offered. Fonda and Stavros looked up at him. "For the past few weeks or so Corey's been having a fish delivered to a friend of his, some dance guy he says. I noticed it because I see a ticket on it every other night or so. It's just one o'those things that catches my eye, ya know? It's like a standing order and he pays by the week."

"Can you find the invoice?" Fonda asked.

"Sure, got it right here on my desk," Will answered, shuffling through some stained and rumpled paperwork. "Here it is. Ray . . . can't make out the last name on this one. Should be able to read it on last week's invoice though, but I'm gonna have to look through the books."

Fonda took the receipt from Will's hand, reading over the information and the address. "This man, if it is only him, could never possibly eat that much fish. Eight, nine pounds of salmon every day? Something is not right about this." Fonda looked at Stavros. "Could Trina have been delivering a small order somewhere else?"

Stavros shook his head. "No, the bag was quite large, not the size of bag for a small order. There was definitely a big fish in there." Stavros stopped and looked at Will.

Will shook his head. "I'll go keep my eye on things."

"Stavros, how long ago did Trina leave here?"

"I don't know. Twenty, twenty-five minutes maybe. Why?"

"I don't know. I just have a bad feeling."

"What if she wasn't heading home?" Stavros asked.

"Who buys a fish and then doesn't go home?"

"I spoke to Trina briefly outside the market. For you . . . "

"Not a good idea, Stavros . . . "

"She said she had places to go, an agent to see and a fish to deliver."

"I want to speak to Corey now," Fonda said as he headed through a back door in the kitchen which connected to the back room of the market.

---

"Corey, I need a word with you," Fonda said, striding quickly into the cleaning room of the fish market.

Corey looked around nervously, wondering if his boss knew what he was up to. "Yeah," he stammered. "What's up man?"

"A while ago, you sold a fish to Catrina Murphy. Do you know if she was taking it home or where she was going with it?"

"I don't remember, man," he lied badly, darting his eyes around nervously.

"What do you mean, 'I don't remember'? You know Trina. You sold her a fish. This isn't complicated," he raised his voice. "I want you to tell me if she said she was going anywhere?"

"I don't know what you're talking about man," Corey began to sweat and looked down at the floor, unable to think of a convincing lie to tell his boss.

"Listen to me you fucking little weasel," Fonda picked the smaller man up by his shirt and thrust him into the wall, garnering stares — and even a few grins and smirks — from the other workers. "Trina came in here and bought a fish. You wrapped it up for her. Now tell me if she said where she was going."

"Hey, lighten up," Corey said fearfully, his legs still dangling. "She was bringing it to Ray. Ray Cippolini, a choreographer. He's on some sort of fucking protein diet. He pays me to deliver him a fish every other day. I was beat today, so I asked Trina if she could bring it by. He's on Grand St., near Allen on the lower east side."

Fonda released the human pincushion who slumped to the floor. As he fell, a few small packets fell out of his pocket. He shot his hand out for them, but Fonda got there first.

"What is this? Cocaine? Heroin?" Fonda asked, looking at the bag. "What did you put in the bag with the fish?"

"Fuck you," Corey shot back, slumped on the floor.

"You're fired," he said flatly. "Will, call the police and make sure he doesn't steal anything."

"Sure thing Mr. D. He ain't taking nothing."

"Tell Stavros I'm going to go looking for Trina. I'll be back in a while."

As Fonda headed out of the fish market, Will called the police. Two other men put Corey in the office to wait until the police arrived. Corey had ideas about trying to make a run for it, but many of the workers, most of whom didn't like him to begin with, were between him and the exit. He thought it much safer just to wait.

Corey looked at the phone and had an idea. The men guarding him stepped outside the only door to the office to resume work and wait for the police. Corey quickly picked up the phone and made a call, turning his back to the door in case one of the men should glance back at him. He sat back in the chair and snickered as he hung up the receiver.

---

Trina sneezed as she entered her agent's office, the dust as thick as ever. She stopped just inside the doorway, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkened rooms — the only light filtering into the room coming through the slats of almost fully closed Venetian blinds — feeling somewhat uncomfortable toting around a large fish in a plastic bag. Ira was sitting behind his desk, an old mahogany monstrosity covered almost totally with stacks of files, leafing through a sheaf of papers while chomping on a cigar that looked as if it were first lit during the Kennedy administration.

"Trina, I didn't even see you come in. Sit down my dear," Ira Katz, Trina's long time agent, said.

"That's ok," she looked at the only other chair in the room, noting that what parts of it that weren't covered in file folders were thick with dust. "I can't stay too long. I have to go bring a fish to a friend."

Ira's bushy brows shot up in question and he switched the cigar to the other side of his mouth, "You makin' fish deliveries, girl?"

Trina smiled at the elderly man. "A girl's got to make a few bucks somehow, eh Ira? Unless you got a paycheck for me or somethin'?" Trina smiled sweetly at her agent, using her charm to melt the tough man's defenses.

Ira chuckled and leaned back in his creaky leather chair. He opened his top desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. "For you, my dear Trina. Glowing reviews on that last video. I have a feeling your rate might have to increase a little. I sense a demand for you, at least that's what I hear through the grapevine. Of course, with the ballet starting in a few weeks, I don't think you'll have much opportunity for videos now." Ira placed the check in Trina's outstretched hand, noting the pretty blush creeping up her neck to stain her fair cheeks. "Oy, my girl, if I were only thirty years younger . . . " Ira clucked, placing the cigar back in his mouth.

Trina smiled back at him, breathing deeply. The smoke and dust irritated her already burning eyes.

"Is that a tear, Trina?" Ira asked, concerned.

"No," Trina tried to shrug it off. "Just my allergies, is all."

"Something Ira should know about?" he asked kindly.

"No, Ira. I'm fine. You should stop smoking those awful things, though. It tends to keep the ladies at a distance, you know." Trina shook her head, scolding the man for his long-time habit. She couldn't — and wouldn't — tell him how depressed she was at the moment at not being able to share this bit of good news with Fonda. Fonda, she thought angrily to herself. Bastard.

"Trina, darling, I wouldn't know what to do with a lady at this point in my life anyway," Ira wheezed and then grinned playfully. "Heart condition."

Trina leaned over the cluttered desk, braving the rancid smoke and towering piles of paper, and gave the old man a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Ira. For the check. You don't know how much I need this."

Ira waved her away, coughing loudly into his hand. "You earned it, my dear. You earned it. Now, go on and deliver that fish before it stinks up my office."

"Yeah, it might improve the smell," she teased.

Trina shook her head feeling a bit better than when she entered and smiled, glancing back once as she left his office.
 
 
 
 

XIII

Fonda drove at a snail's pace, battling downtown traffic and scanning crowds of pedestrians on either side of the street for a glimpse of Trina. He reeled his car into a coveted parking place on Broome St., just a block from his destination, slamming a few coins into the parking meter before continuing on foot. "If anything happens to her . . . " he muttered, ignoring strange glances from the few people hurrying past on the sidewalk. He sped his pace and jogged to the address written on the invoice from the fish market.

This was a dangerous part of the neighborhood Trina was visiting to make the delivery. She had no idea of what the merchandise she carried on her was — she was so innocent, despite the tough and brash front she projected. Fonda clenched his fists in anger thinking of the way she was being used. Corey had no care as to the safety of this woman that had become so special to him. His step quickened.

Fonda paid no attention to the skinny man that stepped from an alcove fifty feet in front of him, walking in his direction. He barely acknowledged the sneer on the man's face — this was New York after all. If there's one thing you learn growing up in the city is that you ignore the various looks that people give.

He spotted the building where the studio was and he quickened his pace. In one moment he was intent on finding Trina and in the next he realized he might be too late. As he passed an alley, the thin man in front of him turned and flashed brass knuckles just as a board or pipe sliced across the back of his head. The pain burned on his neck as he lashed out blindly at his assailant. Fonda had no time to respond or protect himself as the blows kept coming one after another. He lunged at the man facing him, managing to land a meaty blow to his pockmarked face but he never was able to see the one attacking from behind. A few minutes of scuffling and wild flailing of his arms and Fonda was slipping into the deep recesses of unconsciousness. His last thoughts were of Trina.

The two men looked around quickly and dragged Fonda into the alley, where they threw him onto a pile of trash.

"Think we should finish him off?" the smaller of the two asked.

"Fuck that shit," the tall, thin man with the pockmarked face replied. "He ain't going nowhere for a long time. Besides, I don't kill nobody for no one. Least of all fucking Corey."

"Yeah. That mother fucker better get us that shit now," the small one said, giving Fonda a final kick in his mid section for good measure before leaving the alleyway with his companion.

Trina looked up at Ray's building, it was much more run down than she last remembered. The whole neighborhood was going downhill, she thought. A few homeless men or women huddled within the doorways of these once grand buildings, some staring pitifully up at her. She wished she could help but instead increased her pace and kept her eyes forward. Litter lay in piles in the gutters and some trash was still being blown around in the wind only to come to rest against the scarred and graffiti-ed brick buildings. The sooner she got this delivery over with the better. She didn't need the money that bad and wondered how she had ever been desperate enough to do any work for Ray.

She hurried past an alley, casting a quick glance as she skittered by. The homeless were everywhere in this part of town, another one lay in the middle of a pile of garbage either drunk or dead. Trina swallowed down the revulsion she felt just imagining the depths of despair that must be reached to end up like that. She heard a faint noise emanating from the alley, a noise that seemed out of place for the setting, but she ignored it and quickly walked past to finish her task.
 
 

"Fonda, where are you?" Stavros said into the phone as he tried to reach his brother for the third time. He ended the call and tried again, this time slowly punching in the phone number to Fonda's cell phone. He was sure he had the number right.

"He's not answering?" Will asked.

"No. That's not like Fonda. He lives by that phone. Something is not adding up." Stavros turned and looked through the office window back at Corey. The long-haired man seemed a little nervous but something else, too. If he had to guess, Stavros would say that he looked smug. But Stavros was too concerned about his brother to give it much more thought and turned away and dialed Fonda's number again.

Trina stopped and listened again. There it was — a distinct musical tone being played over and over again. It was almost like the ringing of a cell phone or pager. She looked at the rumpled heap on the pile of wet cardboard and broken crates. She looked up the street and chewed her lip as she decided what to do. Homeless men do not carry cell phones. But in all her years of living in New York she knew it was best not to get involved. It could be dangerous. She took another step, hesitated, and continued on her way, deciding to call the police when she got to Ray's apartment. For all she knew the man had been robbed and the perpetrators were still hanging around. But, if the man had been robbed, wouldn't they have taken the cell phone?

Trina kept walking as she tried to come up with a rational answer. Her eyes scanned from left to right, waiting for anyone to come forward and jump her, mug her or drag her off into the alley like the man had been dragged off. It was then she spotted the little car — the cute BMW that looked so out of place in this neighborhood.

"No!" Trina moaned out loud as she turned around and ran back to the alley. The car! The phone she now realized was playing "Ode to Joy," the same song she programmed into Fonda's phone — it must be him. She scurried back to the alley and dropped to her knees beside the man. He was sprawled across broken wood and cardboard on his stomach. Trina cried out as she saw the gash in the back of his head, the blood that had stained the back of his shirt and soaked into the cardboard beneath him.

"Oh, Fonda . . . hang on, Fonda . . . " Trina cried, touching him tenderly here and there, his shoulder, his arm, his neck. She felt for a pulse and her panic dissipated only slightly when she detected a beat in his neck. "Phone. . . your phone. Where is it, baby?" Trina patted Fonda down, looking for the cell phone. Blessedly, it rang again. Trina found it in the pocket of his rain coat and fumbled with the keys before calming herself enough to answer it.

"Hello!" Trina cried out. "Who is this?"

"Trina, is that you?" Stavros asked.

"There's been an accident. Oh, Stavros, please help me . . . help us. Fonda's been hurt, mugged or something . . . " Trina gasped, trying to stifle her sobs.

"An accident? Trina, calm down," Stavros continued, "tell me what happened?"

"I need an ambulance. He's been hurt. We're at . . . " Trina looked around wildly before focusing on an address across the street . . . "the address is . . . " Trina gave Stavros the address, trying vainly to hold her panic in check. Fonda needed her to remain calm.

"I know where Fonda was going, I have the address right here. Sounds like the same neighborhood. I am on my way. I will call the police. In the meantime, call an ambulance right away and don't hang up. Do you understand?" Stavros tried to say as calmly as possible. "Don't break the line, just in case. . . "

"In case?" Trina asked, gingerly smoothing back the dark, glossy hair from Fonda's temple, "just hurry, Stavros. Please hurry."

Trina ended the call and dialed 911. She explained the situation to the operator and their whereabouts and, just as Stavros asked, she kept the line open. She told the dispatcher that she thought they were still in danger and felt safer if she were able to speak to the woman on the other end of the line in case anyone showed up to finish the job. The woman kindly and calmly spoke to Trina while she waited for the ambulance, a time frame of no more than six minutes but, to Trina, it seemed more like sixty minutes.

XIV

Trina paced the hospital waiting room, eager for any word on Fonda's condition. Stavros was still speaking with the police. The bag of "evidence," or the fish Trina was asked to deliver, was in one detective's possession. The police assured her she wouldn't be charged with delivery of a controlled substance or any other crime if she would cooperate. Trina promised the detectives that she would tell them anything they wanted to know. In reality, all that she knew was that Corey had asked her to deliver the fish to Ray. The stories coming from the other workers in the fish market substantiated her claim. She would worry about that later. The only thing she cared about at that moment was Fonda.

She paced the hall, biting her already short nails to the fingertips. He would be all right, she tried to convince herself. He had to be. Doctors can do so much these days. Besides, she found him early on, if the time frame Stavros mentioned was right. The blood around him wasn't dry which led her to believe that she got there just in time. Doctors can do so much . . .

Why did I ever have that fight with him, she chastised herself. I wouldn't have stormed off to see Corey and none of this would have happened. Oh, God what I fool I was. Fonda was the sweetest guy I've ever known and I let my crazy jealousy cause all of this. Fucking Margie. This was her fault, too. That three-way was the biggest mistake I could have made. It had to confuse someone as straight-laced as Fonda. Oh God, he's so innocent. He was just so far in over his head. And Margie is absolutely gorgeous. Men just don't turn down women who look like that. Oh Fonda, I'm so sorry about everything. If you ever get out of this, I'll make it all up to you. I can't lose you now, she sighed as she buried her head in her hands.

"Trina?" Stavros interrupted her self recrimination.

"Yes," Trina jumped as she turned to face Stavros. "Any news?"

"You can go in and see him for a few minutes. He is out of surgery but he is still unconscious. We really won't know anything for a while," Stavros solemnly told her.

Trina nodded, and let him guide her to Fonda's room. She looked up tearfully at Fonda's parents as they clung to each other outside his room. She touched Mrs. Daskalakis on the shoulder as she passed.
 
 

Trina swallowed hard as she stared at the battered man lying in the hospital bed. What wasn't covered in bandages or tubes appeared mottled and bruised. Cautiously she approached his bed, pulling a chair close to his bedside, not sure if her wobbling legs would support her for much longer. Fonda looked half-dead.

"Oh, Fonda," Trina shakily exhaled. "What happened to you?" Trina reached out and touched his cheek, one of the only spots on his body that was not bruised.

"Those bastards tried to beat him to death, that's what happened," Stavros spoke from the doorway. Trina turned to look at him. "Detective Petrofsky just told Mama that they have a lead on the perpetrators. A couple of junkies who were associated with Corky. They're looking into his part in the attack too. They should all fry . . . "

Stavros approached the bed, pulling up another chair to sit by Trina and his brother. "The doctor said he's in a coma. They're not sure how long he will remain like this. Two ribs are broken, his right wrist is shattered. He has contusions all over his body. It appears one of the men used a pipe by the shape and length of the many bruises he has over his back and legs. The worst part is the head wound, apparently made by the pipe . . . " his voice trailed off and he covered his eyes with a hand. "It doesn't look good."

Trina sat stunned, looking from Stavros to Fonda. "What do you mean, Stavros? Don't you dare tell me he's going to die. That's, like, impossible, you know? I mean, they — the doctors — can do things to help him. It's not like he's that bad off. Right?" Trina looked hopefully at Stavros. "Right?" She grabbed Stavros' arm and squeezed hard looking for some sign of hope in his eyes.

Stavros looked up at her and frowned. "I don't know."

"I don't believe it. Fonda is strong. He'll make it, I know he will. I mean, a man like that just doesn't up and die like that. He can't give up . . . he can't," Trina babbled, realizing she wasn't making any sense but couldn't seem to stop. "You know, I tried to tell him that he shouldn't get mixed up with me. Shit. I'm just one royal fuck-up. I guess sometimes, no matter how good my intentions are, if I can't stay away from the bad element, the bad element will bite me in the ass. This time my bad element bit Fonda." Trina looked at Stavros. "I'm sorry, Stavros. This is all my fault. I hope you and your family will find it in your hearts to forgive me for dragging Fonda into this mess."

Stavros put his arm around Trina, giving her a squeeze before rubbing circles over her back. "Nonsense, Trina. Fonda makes his own decisions. You aren't to blame for what those thugs did to him. You had no idea what the both of you were walking into."

Trina leaned into Stavros. "He's got me so confused right now, you know? I've never met anyone like him. I don't know . . . " Trina shook her head, "What I do know is that I want him well so that I can tell him never to come running after me again. No, I guess that's not what I really want."

Stavros nodded. "You want Fonda and what you don't realize is that you have him. You had him a long time ago, if I know my brother." Stavros patted her back once more before getting up. "I will leave you two alone for a moment. I want to see if the doctor told my parents anything new."

Trina nodded and pulled her chair closer to Fonda's bedside. "I'll stay with him."

Stavros stood at the door and watched this woman hovering over his brother. His concern for his brother lessened slightly when he watched Trina. She loved him, he could tell — even if she wasn't able to admit that to herself — and would help Fonda through this. Fonda will get through this, Stavros affirmed to himself, he had to.

Two hours passed and there was no change in Fonda's condition. Nurses were in and out of the room, checking IV lines and monitors, throwing sympathetic glances Trina's way. Trina couldn't bring herself to ask about Fonda's prognosis, not wishing to hear any bad news if there was any. She stubbornly knew that he was going to come out of this soon and he would be fine.

The sound of Trina's beeper interrupted her quiet prayers for Fonda. Only a few people had her beeper number who might be calling her now: her agent, Margie, her parents, and the director of the ballet company. Trina retrieved her backpack from under her chair and tiptoed to the hallway. Fonda lay still and silent in the cold room. Trina's eyes met Mrs. Daskalakis'. "Mrs. Daskalakis, can I get you anything? Coffee or tea maybe?"

"No, Catrina dear. I was just going to sit with my Fonda for a while. The doctor said we should talk to him. I think I will see if he responds to the news we just received about Coco Puff," a mischievous smile cracked the older woman's features. "This should really bring him around."

"News about the dog?" Trina asked.

"Coco will be having puppies," Mrs. Daskalakis grinned. "It seems that Pedro, a Chihuahua owned by the groomer, got a little familiar with our Coco Puff the night she spent at the groomer. I'm sure Fonda will be thrilled to hear the news."

Trina managed a smile. "I'm sure he will be, too." Trina pulled her pager from the outside pocket of her backpack and looked at the number. It was from the director of the troupe. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes, Mrs. D. I need to make a quick phone call. If anything changes in the meantime, could someone come and get me? I'll be down the hall at the pay phone."

"Of course, my dear."

Trina hurried anxiously to the pay phone to check in with the director. "This is Trina Murphy. Did you page me?"

"Yes, Ms. Murphy, I did. This is Connie Albright, Madame Renault's secretary. We've just been informed that the troupe has been picked up to perform a four-city tour beginning in three days. We will return in time to open on Broadway in three weeks. Mme. Renault feels this is an extraordinary opportunity to perform before large audiences before the big night, especially beneficial for those of you who have not performed on, or off, Broadway before. This will give us all a chance to get the kinks out. We need your confirmation that you will be available and we also need you to come by and fill out some necessary paperwork before rehearsal tonight."

"Rehearsal tonight?" Trina asked.

"Yes, that's another reason I called. While we are aware that rehearsals were canceled for the week, given this new opportunity, we obviously had to suspend the cancellation. Rehearsals will begin this evening at 7:00 p.m. You will be able to attend, won't you? I don't have to tell you what will happen if you do not show up," Mrs. Albright cautioned severely.

"I'll be there, Mrs. Albright." Trina checked the time. She frowned when she calculated she only had another three hours to spend with Fonda before she had to leave. Then there was the four city tour. How could she leave him for that long?

"Very good then. We'll see you this evening. Good day, Catrina."

"Good day." Trina frowned as she hung up the receiver. "Good day? Yeah, right."
 
 

XV

Trina returned to Fonda's bedside, her heart a little heavier. She leaned over and delicately placed a kiss on his lips. "Oh, Fonda, what am I going to do? I can't leave you right now. I just can't. I know, you're probably thinking that you don't need me, and I would understand that, but I think I need you. I need you," Trina repeated. "I'm, like, such an idiot sometimes. I mean, there you are just the greatest man that ever came along and I act all cold and distant, like I don't give a damn or something like that. It's not that I want to. It's just something I do, you know, for protection and everything."

Trina sat in the chair next to Fonda's bed once again. She pulled herself close to his ear and continued her confession. "Once I used to be a different woman. I trusted people and gave of myself. I even did stupid things like call just to see how they were doing or to offer to do things for them. I would spend my money, and I never had a lot, just buying little gifts. I used to buy a lot of sappy cards, too. Little things that said 'just thinking of you.' Stupid, huh? I know, you don't care to hear about all this. I really hate talking about it, too. It kinda brings up a lot of old shit I would rather leave alone. It's just that, all that trust and shit — the old Trina — couldn't see the forest for the trees, or something like that.

"It was like, I would do all this stuff to make this person like me while I was neglecting what I needed most of all: self-respect. At least that's what my therapist said at the time. Anyway, I changed the day I realized I was being used by someone I thought I was in love with. Four months I poured my heart and soul into that relationship, neglecting my career and throwing away auditions, just because I needed to be at his beck and call. He didn't need me, at least not like that. He was already married. I didn't know that at the time — well, right away anyway. He only needed me to be around when his ego needed stroking — and other things. Then one day he just ended it, like it was nothing. You know what he told me? He was like, 'Trina, you didn't seriously think I'd leave my wife for you,' Asshole. It was like he was just throwing me out with the trash," she choked up and paused for a moment. "I just couldn't go soft anymore after all that. It hurt bad to hit bottom and realize what a fool I was. 'Never again,' I told myself." Trina paused, stroking the spot on Fonda's cheek that seemed free of injury. "Until now. And then all of those feelings of mistrust just jumped up with what Margie said. I don't know what to think anymore."

She took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes and brushing the hair out of her face. The room was eerily silent, the hum of the electronic IV machines the only noise breaking the stillness. Even the sounds from the hospital seemed distant and muted to Trina, as if they were part of another time, another place. "I only thought I knew what love was, or at least how it felt to be in love. Now I know that I was so wrong," Trina took a deep breath. "I believe, really and truly believe, that I finally know what love is supposed to feel like. I think I'm falling in love with you, Fonda." Trina leaned back in the chair and watched for any reaction from the comatose Fonda. She felt the knot of panic unwind in her belly just a little as she realized how she felt and she chuckled to herself. "Yeah. I'm falling in love with you."

Trina leaned forward again, her voice growing a little louder, "Your mom said it was a good idea to talk to you, so I am. So help me, Fonda, if you tell anyone what I just told you I'll . . . well, I'll . . . I'll do something . . . eventually. It wouldn't be right at the moment to threaten a man in a hospital bed," she smiled. "Your mom also told me how your favorite little mongrel from hell will be bringing more little vicious puppies into the world. With a Chihuahua, no less. Now, those are gonna be some butt ugly puppies . . . " She sighed and tried to force a smile. "I thought you might like to know that, anyway. In fact, if I ask her, I'll bet she'll reserve the best puppy for you." Trina watched his closed eyelids for any sign of reaction. Fonda remained lifeless.

Trina tentatively placed her hand on his chest, feeling the strong thump of his heart beneath her palm. "You're going to be all right, Fonda. I'm going to be here to take care of you. You'll probably just have to beg and beg to get rid of me but I still won't go. How's that for being a nuisance?" Trina fought back tears as she thought about rehearsal and the tour. "Other opportunities will come up. Ira told me this afternoon that word was good about me and my talent. I'll be able to pick the jobs I want sooner or later. I just can't leave you right now. I don't know how I could possibly concentrate on the tour with you like this. I just don't know . . . "

Trina started when she heard the distinct crackle of Mr. Daskalakis' throat clearing behind her. She turned and met the old man's gaze. "Hi Mr. Daskalakis. Why don't you have a seat and I'll leave you two alone."

"Catrina, we need to talk."

Trina stood nervously and pulled her backpack to her chest. "Yes sir?"

"Why don't you step outside in the hallway with me?" Mr. Daskalakis extended his arm and guided her out the door. Trina tried to read the expression on the man's face but it was useless. He was grieving and he looked tired. When they got into the hall she swallowed more dread, she knew he wasn't the kind of man who would mince words.

"Have a seat, dear."

Trina sat and waited for him to take the seat opposite her. "What is it? Is it Fonda's condition?"

"Yes and no," Mr. Daskalakis began. "We have no idea how long Fonda will be in a coma. However, given what the doctors have said, we also have no reason to think the outcome of Fonda's attack will be fatal. We will have to be patient." He leaned back and sighed deeply as he clasped his hands in front of him before continuing. "What I have to say next will not be easy for you."

Trina gulped down a breath, "Go ahead, Mr. D. I want you to just tell me what you think. You blame me for this don't you?"

"No, no, Catrina. That is certainly not what I'm thinking," he smiled warmly at the young woman, shaking his head vigorously and taking one of her hands in his, trying to ease her fears. "Fonda is a grown man capable of making his own decisions. As I understand it, he went looking for you out of concern and care. Our son has always been like that and I wouldn't have expected anything different. You could have been in quite a precarious situation and Fonda would not have stood back and let it happen. You had no control over the mugging. No, Catrina, I don't blame you for this."

Trina sighed in relief. "If I would have suspected anything . . . "

"I know. I know, Catrina. But that would have been impossible in this situation. No, what I have to say next will be difficult but for another reason. I couldn't help but overhear your apparent decision to cancel your recent . . . ah, 'gig' as it were," he pronounced it 'jig' and she smiled slightly. "Forgive me if that isn't the right term. I've lived in New York most of my life and I still have a tough time figuring out what some people are saying; like those Jews with their damn Yiddish. They kept using the word Geshmak. It took me years to figure out they were telling me my food was tasty. I thought they were asking for a type of fish. Sorry. . . . Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the dancing. Fonda mentioned to me and his mother the very good news of your recent acceptance in that ballet company. He was extremely proud of you. His mother and I feel the same way. However, I thought I heard you mention in there the decision to cancel your upcoming performance in order to stay by his bedside. Am I right?"

Trina looked down at her hands gripping her backpack. "Yeah. I can't imagine leaving Fonda right now. It'd, like, tear me apart not being with him."

Anthony Daskalakis leaned forward, taking Trina's cold hands between his work-weary and calloused ones. "Fonda would not want you to give up this opportunity. Not at all. His mother and I, we worked and worked to build our dream. We made sacrifices and some of them were very, very hard. Fonda is the same kind of man. He admires and appreciates hard work. I am not an expert on dance but from what I gather from Fonda, you have worked equally hard all your life to accomplish this goal. To give it up now would be disappointing to us all. We want you to succeed, young lady. Besides, what can you really do for Fonda sitting by his head, whispering in his ear all day, eh?" Mr. Daskalakis squeezed her hand before chuckling lightly.

Trina smiled wanly and shrugged, unsure about what to do.

"Oh, I know you whisper little lovey things to him if I'm not mistaken. I still do that to the wife. I tell you what," he leaned forward and whispered to Trina, "you call on the telephone and I'll hold the phone up to Fonda's ear and you can still whisper little lovey things into his ear."

Mr. Daskalakis smiled, pulling Trina into a hug. "Go and dance and call every day. We'll take care of our boy while you're gone and he'll be ready to dance with you when you return."

Trina returned the embrace and wiped a tear from her eye.

XVI
 
 

On the subway uptown, heading for the studio, Trina reflected on Mr. Daskalakis’ remarks. She couldn't promise him anything more than to think about it. He made good points, and his support of her was more than she expected and made her feel like part of the family, but she still wondered if she could perform to her best ability while worrying about Fonda. Trina still felt responsible for his condition and despite what his family had said to her, it didn't ease her guilt over the whole situation.

Trina arrived at Mme. Renault's studio on E. 55th street with about a half-hour to spare. She greeted a few of the other dancers dourly and stepped off to the side of the room to do her stretching and warm-up exercises alone.

"Hey. Trina, right?" A tall, thin blonde walked over, smiling. Trina nodded meekly and smiled wanly at the pretty dancer. "I remember you from the audition when she had you show a step to everyone. I knew you were in, then. You're so good."

Trina nodded, but didn't say anything. She reached into her bag and pulled well-worn knitted leggings on, ignoring the other girl.

"Um, my name's Mindy. This is . . . hey have you been crying?" She noticed that Trina's eyes were red and bloodshot.

"Yeah, it's no big deal," Trina said, turning to stretch her legs, trying to stop the conversation before it began.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Obviously, Mindy wasn't one to take a hint.

"It's a long story. My boyfriend was mugged. He's in a coma." Trina said brusquely, looking weak and sighing heavily.

"Oh, man, that's awful. I'm so sorry," Mindy sympathized and reached out to stroke Trina's arm, smiling warmly. "I won't bother you then. I'm sorry." She started walking away.

"No . . . no," Trina called to her new friend. "I'm sorry. I'm just really bummed about the whole thing. I didn't mean to snap at you." She forced a smile and Mindy came back.

The two women stretched in silence for the next few minutes. Trina couldn't help but notice Mindy's eyes darting about the room, staring at the other dancers.

"First time?" Trina asked.

Mindy chuckled and blushed slightly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not really, but you're spending as much time looking around as you are warming up."

"I'm so nervous. I got the call this morning. I auditioned, but didn't make it. Then they called this morning. I guess one of the others tore a hamstring, so she won't be able to dance for like, three months, so I'm in. It's an awful way to make it, but I'm not complaining."

"Hey, whatever it takes for your break. You've got to make the best of it."

Madame Renault stepped out of her office with a couple of her assistants and put the dancers through their paces. After a while the assistants broke the troupe into smaller groups to work on specifics.

Trina shined, pushing herself through the rehearsal with as much fervor as she ever had. In fact there were a couple of times she was asked to demonstrate a step or two to some of the others. It was much easier for her to concentrate fully on her dancing than to dwell on Fonda and his condition. Mr. D was right, she thought, the best thing for me is to be out here dancing. There's nothing that I can really do for him anyway.

"Tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen," Mme. Renault said in her shrill voice at the end of the rehearsal. "Two rehearsals. Noon and seven in the evening. Be prepared to work hard. I was not pleased with much of what I saw tonight. There were a couple of encouraging performances, but by and large it was quite disappointing. Especially from those who have danced with me before. We're opening in four nights at the Wang Theater in Boston and I've seen better dancing at high school recitals. I expect these steps to be polished. Is that clear?"

The dancers murmured their acknowledgments as they broke apart to gather their belongings. Trina threw her stuff in her bag and looked at the clock. "Damn," she whispered under her breath.

"What's wrong?" Mindy came over smiling and sweating, wearing a towel around her neck.

"Hi," Trina perked up a little. "It's already nine-thirty. Visiting hours at the hospital are until nine."

"That sucks. Well, good luck, I hope your boyfriend gets better. See ya tomorrow," she said cheerfully before heading out with a small pack of dancers.

Trina smiled and nodded while walking over to a phone on a wall in the corner of the studio and pushed a series of buttons.

"Hello."

"Hey, Stavros. Trina. How's he doing?"

"Pretty much the same. At one point, mother thought she noticed him flutter his eyelids, but I don't think it actually happened. Wishful thinking, most likely. How was your rehearsal?"

"Actually, it was pretty good. I think your dad is right about dancing. At least when I was dancing I was able to keep my mind off of Fonda."

They spoke about Fonda for the next couple of minutes before Trina noted that the studio lights were being switched off. She said her goodbyes and ended the call, promising to be in to see Fonda early the next morning.

She took the subway downtown and wandered around The Village, instead of heading straight home. She walked the still busy streets among the couples holding hands, lost in their own world. She really didn't want to go home and see Margie, and wanted some time alone to think about the tremendous changes in her life in the last twenty-four hours.

Trina stopped into a bar just down the street from her apartment; it was really just a dive that she and Margie would hang out at occasionally. She took a table in the corner of the dark, smoky room, sipping from the water she ordered and barely hearing the acoustic guitar playing in the background.

She buried her head in her hands as she thought about the tremendous upheaval in her life in just the last day. She had gone from being blissfully happy preparing for their sailing trip, to the despair and hurt of breaking up with Fonda over Margie's accusations. She was still dazed by the shock and horror of finding him battered and broken in the alleyway on the lower east side, to realizing that she loved him. And now, she was being torn apart after she was told that she needed to leave town in a few days.

Everything was moving way too fast for her to comprehend matters. She was accustomed to living life at a fast and frenetic pace, but this was even too much for her. Margie, whom she usually turned to when things got too stressful, was part of the problem now. She was still mad as hell at her roommate and blamed her, to a degree, for much of what happened today and now didn't know whom to turn to for counsel.

She sighed, and noticed that it was already eleven o'clock and knew that if she wanted to visit Fonda at the hospital before her first rehearsal of the day, she was going to need to get to sleep early. As she walked toward her building, Trina could feel the thumping in her chest tap to a nervous beat, unsure of what she was going to say if Margie was already home.

"Hey, where have you been all day?" Margie asked, sitting in shorts and a tank top and watching TV in their living room.

Trina ignored her, throwing her bag on the couch, and headed to the bathroom without saying a word. When she emerged, Margie was waiting for her, looking apologetic.

"Look Trina, about what I said today. I . . ."

Trina interrupted her. "He's in a coma. He's in a fucking coma, Margie."

"Who's in a coma?"

"Fonda," she cried.

"Holy shit. No way! How is he in a coma?"

"After our fight, I went to see Corey. Well dickhead Corey asked me to deliver a fish to Ray — remember Ray, the choreographer?" Margie's mouth was wide open as she nodded her head, but said nothing. "Anyway, the fish I was delivering wasn't just a fish but it had a couple of ounces of heroin in it."

"Shit. I told you that Corey was —"

"Just be quiet," Trina snapped at her roommate and held her hands up. "Well, Fonda found out about the heroin and came after me. Then a couple of guys jumped him and beat the shit out of him. Now he's at St. Vincent's in a fucking coma."

"I'm so sorry, Trina. Honey, I didn't . . . I mean, I didn't think . . . " Margie hung her head and broke into tears. "What I said . . . earlier . . . "

"What?" Trina asked sharply.

"About me and Fonda. It kinda was an exaggeration," Margie said sheepishly.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Trina cried.

"When I said about . . . you know . . . about me and Fonda getting it on all those times . . . it was only one time. The morning after the night we had the threesome with him. He was asleep and I just kinda threw myself at him. I'm sorry. He was just such a great fuck—"

"You mean you made that up?" Trina fumed. She glared at Margie, her fists clenched and her neck muscles straining.

Margie nodded meekly. "Yeah. And about the blow jobs in the car. It was one time, and I kind of set him up. He tried to stop me," Margie related the truth about the blow job she gave Fonda in his car.

"So why all the bullshit this afternoon? You're supposed to be my best friend. How could you have done all that?" Trina scowled at her friend, plopping herself disgustedly into an easy chair.

"I'm sorry . . . really I am. I was jealous and, like, so turned on by him. I mean, he's like the best fuck I've had in years. You know how I like big cocks, I didn't think —"

"That's your problem," Trina interrupted again, angrily. "You don't think. All because of you he's in the hospital. God knows whether he'll die or not. I knew you were selfish, but this is even too much for you. And now the first guy I've ever really loved is fighting for his life."

"You love him?" Margie asked softly, a wide-eyed, open-jawed expression plastered to her face.

Trina nodded, slowly at first then gaining speed as her conviction grew within her. "I really do."

"Oh wow. That's like, so amazing. I mean, you've never loved anyone. I wondered sometimes if you ever really liked guys, or if you just went out with them so you could make career contacts."

"Well, thanks for thinking that I'm incredibly shallow," Trina said shortly.

"That's not what I mean," Margie protested. "I mean, you're always dating, like, dancers and musicians, guys that you say introduce you to people or can get you auditions and shit like that."

"Yeah . . . well, I guess I never felt as serious about any guy before. I mean, I really didn't even realize it until I saw him in the hospital. But now I just can't imagine being without him," Trina sighed and brought her knees up to her chin.

Margie walked over and began stroking Trina's hair motherly. "I'm so sorry, honey. I don't know what else to say. Can you ever forgive me?"

Trina said nothing, but reached out for Margie's hand, squeezing it slightly. She stood and hugged her roommate warmly before giving her a slight kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to go to bed. I've got to get up early so I can go visit Fonda before rehearsal."

"I thought you didn't have rehearsals for a few days."

Trina told Margie about the four city tour that she'd be starting within a couple of days. They discussed Fonda's condition a bit more in depth before Trina said good night, dragging herself into her bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind her. She peeled off her sweaty clothes and crawled between the covers naked, hopefully finding sleep quickly.
 
 

XVII

Trina held her breath as she stood outside Fonda's hospital room, waiting for the doctor to come out. If only she could see a little light in Fonda's recovery, it would make what she had to do next a little easier. As it stood now, she couldn't get him off her mind for longer than a few minutes at a stretch. She still felt responsible for this man. She loved him.

Stavros solemnly closed the door to Fonda's room, spotting Trina fidgeting nervously in the hall. "Trina," he greeted her with a curt nod. "Good morning, such as it is."

"That sounds bad, Stavros. What did the doctor say?" Trina asked, pushing her hair from her face.

Stavros shook his head, stretching his arms over his head. It was obvious that the strain of all this was placing on Fonda's brother. Between spending time at the restaurant and hospital, Stavros was running himself ragged. "Not much change. Mother did mention seeing Fonda move his hand last night." Stavros paused, taking a deep breath, and nodding his head in the direction of a doctor reading a chart at the nurse's station, "That doctor he said that could have been nothing more than a reflex of some kind. I don't know . . ." Stavros shook his head.

"Nonsense, that's what I say," Mrs. Daskalakis boomed from behind Trina, "I know my son and he will be fine. He was trying to tell me something, this I know for a fact. That doctor cannot possibly know everything about my son."

Trina wanted to believe Mrs. Daskalakis more than the doctor and she smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. D."

"Trina, my dear," Mrs. Daskalakis planted a kiss on Trina's cheek, squeezing her arms as she pulled away. "Now, don't you worry. You see, he will be fine. Are you ready for your trip?'

Trina nodded, looking away quickly before Fonda's mother could see the emotional reaction she caused. "I was going to tell Fonda goodbye for now. I wanted to give him my schedule, just so he knows where I am so he won't worry and all," Trina shrugged self-consciously.

"That is a good idea, Trina. Oh, before I forget, Mr. Daskalakis wanted you to have this." Alcina rummaged through the enormous tote bag she seemed to always have with her, pulling needlework, notepads and various paperback novels from within before she found what she was looking for. "Here, take this and call as often as you like." She handed Fonda's cell phone to Trina and smiled, though her eyes looked tired and sad.

"Thanks, Mrs. D. And thank Mr. D for me if I don't see him before I leave."

"I will my dear. We're just pleased that we can help. He'll be by when he leaves the restaurant at three. Being back at work after three years of playing golf and pestering me around the house has been tiring for him."

Trina rubbed the older woman's arm affectionately as she glanced at the clock in the hall. "Speaking of leaving, I need to be at the rehearsal hall in about an hour to catch the bus to the airport. Can I go in and see Fonda now?"

"Of course, dear. We'll be right out here." Mrs. Daskalakis and Stavros left Trina alone, walking to the by now familiar surroundings of the waiting area near Fonda's room.

Trina gathered her strength once more, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open into Fonda's room. She stopped and caught her breath, just watching the big man in the bed. He appeared to be peacefully sleeping. Faded bruises, a cast on his right wrist, some stitches on his neck, and one large bandage across his temple were the only evidence that he had faced death and nearly lost.

Trina approached his bed slowly, all but expecting him to open his big brown eyes and flash his wonderfully generous smile at her. Disappointment irrationally struck her when she realized he couldn't — wouldn't — do that right now.

"Hey big guy, I hear you've been giving your Mom some signals." Trina leaned forward and kissed his cheek, lingering longer than usual just to feel the warmth of his skin and the texture of his unshaven face over her lips. "You can give me a signal at any time, you know. But if you're tired, I understand." She smiled sadly, leaning on the side of his bed with her elbows resting on the bed rail. Lightly, she fingered a few buttons nervously before continuing with her goodbye. "You've got a great family, Fonda. I mean, they are really good people. It's easy to see why you turned out as good as you did, not all screwed up and impulsive like a few people I know," Trina smiled bitterly. "Anyway, your Dad, he helped me out with a major decision. He said you would approve and since you're taking this extended vacation, I decided to take your Dad's advice."

Trina caressed his face. "I don't mind telling you that this is really tough on me, leaving you like this, but I'll be back, don't you worry. You haven't gotten rid of me that easily, I mean, if you want me around after . . . " The rhythmic pulsing of machinery in the room almost stifled Trina's quiet sob.

Trina smiled, and forced herself to change the subject. "Hey, I see you've lost a couple of those goddawful machines. I guess that's good news. . . . Oh, before I forget, I brought something for you." Trina pulled a program from her backpack. "It's a copy of the program that will be passed out at the shows I'll be performing in. See?" She held the program in front of Fonda's closed eyes. "There's my name right there. Kinda hard to believe, huh? I mean, me, the fly girl from Hell, actually starring in a real live ballet. I wrote down on the back the cities we'll be performing in, just in case you get the urge to jump up out of this bed and come see for yourself. We'll be in Boston at the Wang theater, Baltimore, Washington DC at the Kennedy Center — can you believe that — then Philadelphia before we come back here for opening night." Trina placed the program on the crowded night stand, propping it between a hospital-issue pink cup and a box of tissues.

"And, just so you know, I'll be calling you on a regular basis, thanks to your Dad. He loaned me your cell phone for the trip." Again Trina glanced at the clock, frowning at the quick passage of time. "Okay, like, I need to fly so I don't miss the bus." She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "I love you, Fonda."

Trina stood, wiping a tear from her eye, amazed at herself for finally admitting her feelings to him. If only he could hear her. She pressed her tear-dampened fingers to her lips before touching Fonda's lips.

Trina turned and quickly left the room, not stopping to look back for fear she would lose all control and run sobbing down the hall. She bid a hasty goodbye to Stavros and Mrs. Daskalakis. It took every bit of effort not to break down as she stood waiting for the elevator. Leaving was tearing her apart but she had to do this, it was for her future, for their future.

When she had left the room she didn't see Fonda's reaction, the lift of his fingers as they splayed in the air as if to acknowledge her presence and her confession.

XVIII

"Yes, the news is good, Trina." Trina hopped on both feet, chewing her fingernails at Stavros' news coming from the cell phone. She had a difficult time hearing over the din of excitement bustling outside the dressing room and pressed the phone tightly to her ear.

"He's awake?" she shrieked and a couple of the dancers nearby cast sideways glances at her. Trina instinctively dropped her head and lowered her shoulders, as if that could somehow take back the sound of her squeal. She couldn't even begin to restrain her excitement, not that she wanted to. After five days with no change in Fonda's condition, any new news was welcome, and this news was the best of all possible worlds.

"Yes, he is out of the coma and beginning to speak to us," Stavros replied in a stilted tone.

Trina jumped at the knock on the door. She glanced in the mirror and touched the tip of her little finger to the fake eyelash — part of her stage makeup — before excitedly continuing. "Okay, that is so great! I need to get going in five minutes for curtain call, Stav. Can I talk to him real quick?"

"Uh . . . I'm sorry, Trina. Maybe another time. He . . . uh . . . he looks to be asleep again."

"Oh," Trina said dejectedly, "I'll just call back after the show. Maybe he'll be awake again then."

"That sounds good, Trina. Dad says to break an arm . . . I think he means leg. Good luck."

Trina disconnected the call, tucking the phone into her backpack. She wasn't going to be disappointed. How could she? Fonda was out of the coma. Besides, she wouldn't have had enough time to talk to him anyway. She hurried out the dressing room door, bursting with joy, to take her place with the other dancers. Only sixteen more days and she'd be back home.

Stavros hung up the phone and turned to his brother. "She is eager to speak with you. How long are you going to put her off?"

Fonda peered up at his younger brother, only shaking his head.

"She'll understand," Stavros continued. "Trina is a bright and sweet woman."

"No," Fonda uttered hoarsely — it was obvious to everyone that even that small utterance was painful for him. He fumbled with his speech, trying to say more but gave up, punching the mattress in frustration.

Stavros calmed his brother with a hand to his arm. "It's all right. I'll help you. We will wait and see. Maybe by next week things will have changed. I'll make excuses until then."

Fonda nodded and smiled weakly, squeezing the hand Stavros had on his elbow.
 

---

 
 
 

The curtain had been raised and lowered three times after the ballet performance. The assemblage seemed especially pleased with the presentation of Bizet's Symphony No. 1 in C major. The dancers milled around backstage, awash in the afterglow of their skillful execution, sharing in the camaraderie of their success.

"Trina, darling, wonderful performance tonight. You shined like the star you are destined to become, my dear." Trina glowed under Madame Renault's compliment, words she rarely gave out to anyone.

"Thank you, Madame," Trina gushed before hurrying off to the dressing room, still reeling from the glare of the footlights and the applause of the audience. Trina smiled at herself in the mirror, mentally pinching herself to see if this was something she was simply imagining. Her thumb dialed the number to Fonda's room into the cell phone, the other hand peeling off the heavy eyelashes.

"Hello? Stavros?"

"Yes?" Stavros sleepily asked. "Ah Trina. I'm sorry I must have dozed off. What time is it?"

"It's about eleven or so, is Fonda awake?"

Stavros yawned. "It's late, Trina. Fonda's exhausted and has been sleeping soundly."

"You're sure he didn't go back into the coma?" Trina asked quietly.

Stavros laughed. "No, Trina. He'll be fine. He's just sleeping right now. He said to tell you that he wishes you well on stage and can't wait to see you."

"Thanks. So when will I get to talk to him?"

"As I understand it, he will be needing a lot of extra rest as his body continues to heal. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh. Okay," Trina sighed and her shoulders drooped. "Well, if he wakes up, he can call me any time, if he wants to."

"I'll be sure to tell him. Goodnight, Trina."

"Goodnight."

Trina looked up as Mindy came in to their shared dressing room, peeling her costume from her athletic body. Dancers weren't modest and they rarely had the chance to hide their bodies when it came to performances. Many times Trina had to change costumes backstage, sometimes among the lighting engineers and other employees of the theater. Seeing Mindy walk into the room half naked didn't affect her much — other than to notice her blonde bush covering her pussy. Mindy smiled and Trina caught herself staring and turned her head away.

"Hey! Great show tonight, huh?" Mindy said, rubbing a towel over her damp chest and neck.

"Yeah, it felt good tonight. Heather even managed to meet her mark on time tonight." Both women giggled. Trina stripped her pale leotard off, followed by matching tights. Neither woman wore underwear under their costumes, it was not allowed during performances. They continued to make small talk as Trina waited for the shower to warm.

"So? Did you hear anything on your boyfriend?" Mindy asked, falling back into a chair. Trina peeked but quickly looked away from Mindy and her open legs.

"Um, yeah. Good news," Trina replied loudly as she stepped under the steaming shower. "He's out of the coma and starts physical therapy tomorrow. I'm so excited." Trina squeezed her eyes closed, rubbing soap into her skin. Stage makeup was difficult to remove, she rationalized, and she didn't want to turn around and see Mindy watching her with that look in her eyes.

"That is so great. I'm happy for you."

Trina started, rinsing the soap from her eyes. Mindy's voice came from behind her instead of a distance.

"I hope you don't mind. I'm so sweaty and this shower looked too good to wait," Mindy said, smiling broadly, her straight, white teeth sparkling. She took the soap from Trina's hand. "Here, let me help you," Mindy laughed, "You still have gobs of mascara under your eyes."

Trina stood still and looked up as Mindy carefully dabbed at the makeup under her eyes. Mindy stepped a little closer, looming only slightly taller than Trina. Their breasts, wet and soapy, touched. Trina jumped at the contact, looking down at Mindy's chest. Mindy's nipples had contracted to erect points, either from the water or the contact with Trina, she wasn't sure. Mindy continued to soap her skin, watching Trina, an uncertain smile barely gracing her lips. She reached out, rubbing lather into Trina's neck, down her chest, until her hands skimmed beneath Trina's breasts, pushing them together slightly.

Mindy held her breath as she looked into Trina's eyes for some signal — anything that would give her the green light to proceed. She was incredibly attracted to Trina, but nervous at what she was starting. Their friendship was budding on the tour and she would have hated to jeopardize that, but she was just so drawn to Trina that she couldn't help herself. She looked intently into Trina's eyes, not moving her hands from where they were on Trina's breasts.

A small sigh escaped Trina's lips. Mindy decided to take a chance.

"You have beautiful tits," Mindy murmured, rubbing her thumb over one hard nipple.

The reaction was instantaneous. Trina closed her eyes and moaned at Mindy's touch. Mindy lowered her head to Trina's breast, sucking in a nipple while pinching her other one. Trina leaned back against the shower wall.

Margie had been the only woman Trina had ever been with up to this point and Trina marveled at the differences in their body types. Where Margie was smaller and curvier, Mindy's body type was much like her own, tall and lean with small, perky breasts.

Mindy glanced up at Trina to gauge her reaction. All she saw was the half-lidded look of lust in her eyes, and traced her tongue up Trina's chest, licking her neck.

"Mmmm" Trina moaned through her nose as she ran her hands over Mindy's wet and soapy back. Trina lowered her head and looked Mindy in the eye, she could feel herself getting wet. They giggled slightly, as if they were sneaking into somewhere they shouldn't dare, before joining their lips in a tender kiss.

Mindy was the first to venture her tongue into the breech, hesitatingly moving forward, seeking out Trina's own tongue. Trina embraced the tongue, tentatively at first, then with more aggression, wrapping her own around the pink muscle. The two thrashed under the cover of lips, increasing their arousal with each flick.

Their hands aggressively explored each other's body. Trina cupped Mindy's small breasts while Mindy inserted a finger into Trina's moist vagina. Trina groaned her pleasure into Mindy's mouth as she tried to buck against her friend's hand.

Mindy removed the finger from Trina's pussy and brought it up to their lips. The two women licked eagerly at it, dancing their tongues over it and intertwining them around the slick digit.

Mindy broke the kiss and continued her oral ministrations lower, nibbling on Trina's nipples before trailing her tongue lower, circling Trina's navel and lowering it to Trina's moist entrance until she reached Trina's shaven mound. She pushed Trina's leg up over her shoulder and looked up at her friend.

Mindy swiped once at Trina's clit, sending electric jolts through her body. Trina was confused. She desperately wanted to make love with Mindy, but her feelings about Fonda were rapping a constant and ever increasing tattoo on her conscience door.

"Wait," Trina said, smiling apologetically down at Mindy, lifting her leg from the girl's shoulder. "I just can't do this right now."

Mindy sat back on her heels and looked down. "I'm sorry . . . I mean, I thought that . . . "

"No. It's not you. It's . . . me."

Mindy stood and smiled at Trina, exiting the shower and grabbing a towel. "I guess I thought we might have felt the same way, nothing serious, just a little fun."

"I'm sorry. I know what you mean, Mindy. And maybe so under different circumstances. It's just . . . well . . . I've never been in love before and I think I just figured it out. Believe me, I desperately want you now . . . but I can't. I wouldn't feel right about it. Does that make any sense?"

Trina turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around her. "I don't want to hurt you or anything Mindy. I want to be your friend. I really like you and you're, like, gorgeous. I mean, I was totally turned on but I just can't betray Fonda for anybody right now. I hope you understand."

Mindy took the towel Trina held out for her. "I got it. You love the guy and want to be faithful to him. That's cool. That's really cool." Mindy leaned forward and gave Trina a quick hug. "He must be some guy."

"And a half." Trina smiled broadly.

"I'm happy for you. Really. . . . I'm just a little worked up now, thanks to you," she stuck her tongue out playfully at Trina.

"I was definitely tempted, that's for sure."

"Hey," Mindy changed the subject. "How about a light late night dinner at that deli down on Park Street? I'm starving."

Trina smiled. "Yeah, that sounds good. Just as long as those dorky guys who were trying to flirt with us yesterday aren't there. I could go for something other than a salad."
 
 

XIX

Did Fonda dream about Trina or was it an injury-induced hallucination? Stavros and his parents had told Fonda of her concern, but he wondered if they were simply trying to ease him through his recovery.

Still, Fonda thought, her confession seemed so real. He even thought he felt her warm breath near his ear when she spoke — revealed — how she loved him. He reached up with his good hand and touched his face, feeling of the remaining stiff stitches. Maybe she just felt sorry for him, or maybe it was merely his imagination working overtime.

"Here you go, Mr. Daskalakis, safe and sound in your room," Fonda's thoughts were interrupted by the harsh and husky voice of Gertrude MacIver, a nurse he had become all too familiar with during his stay. Or, rather, a nurse that had tried to become familiar with him. He shuddered at the thought.

"And look here, Dr. Kaplan is waiting to see you." Nurse MacIver cooed, her lumbering, hulking form helping Fonda into bed none too gently. "Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Daskalakis?"

Fonda shook his head, uttering a quiet no.

"What's that?" MacIver cackled. "Now, you know you need to speak up more; it's good for your speech therapy regimen."

Fonda took a deep breath, clenching his good hand, "No, Nurse MacIver. I don't need anything now," Fonda said slowly, forcing a smile through clenched teeth. His parents entered the room just as she gifted Fonda with a nicotine-stained grin.

"That's much better, Mr. Daskalakis. Much better."

"That will be all, nurse," Dr. Kaplan said, ignoring Nurse MacIver's retreating backside as best he could — the woman should have been outfitted with back-up lights and a loud beep like a four ton truck — before turning his attention to Fonda. "How would you like to be released, Mr. Daskalakis? You're making great progress in your recovery and I see no reason we need to keep you here. Of course, you'll still need physical and speech therapy for a while but we can arrange for a home health agency to assign a physical therapist to do that in your own home. Reports are encouraging enough from the physical therapy department for me to feel comfortable releasing you." Dr. Kaplan paused and looked back at Fonda, removing his glasses.

"Home would be good," Fonda said, smiling broadly.

"I do need to see you in a week in my office for a follow-up."

Fonda nodded and smiled slightly. He felt like a caged animal in the hospital and was only too eager to leave, secure in the knowledge that — even though he might not heal any faster at home — he would no longer have to deal with the likes of Nurse MacIver.

---

"I'll get it," Mrs. Daskalakis said as she bustled to the front door of their home. "It should be the physical therapist lady."

Fonda glanced up as his mother opened the door, more than a little apprehensive; the physical therapist he had at the hospital was a sadistic little man named Bray — what kind of name is Bray, anyway? — who seemed to take delight in Fonda's agony. His fears vanished as soon as his mother guided the bouncy young girl into the living room.

"Fonda," Alcina said in her thick Greek accent. "This is your physical therapist. Kimberly . . . I'm sorry, my dear. I'm terrible with last names."

Kimberly smiled at Fonda's mother before turning toward him and extending her hand. "Hi. I'm Kimberly VanHousen. Nice to meet you Fonda. I'm going to be your physical therapist for the next month, at least. . . . Duh. Like you didn't know I was your therapist," she rolled her eyes comically, smiling down at Fonda.

Fonda gripped Kimberly's hand in a firm handshake and tried to stand, but the pain was too great for him and he collapsed back into the chair and grimaced. "Nice to meet you Ms. VanHousen."

"No, just Kimberly, please," she said, smiling warmly, understanding his pain. "We'll have you jumping out of that chair in no time.

Fonda nodded, relieved that Kimberly was pleasant, and her eyes sparkled at his smile.

"Well, I see that you two need to get busy here. I have some errands to run. But I'll be back with lunch in about an hour. Will you be staying for lunch, Kimberly?" Mrs. Daskalakis asked, casting a quick glare in Fonda's direction.

"No ma'am, I can't today. Maybe some other time, though. Thank you."

"Mother, you don't need to bother yourself with all this cooking . . ."

"Nonsense. You need to regain your strength. Trina gets back soon and, well, you do remember what we talked about, don't you? I haven't seen the ballet in years."

"Yes, I remember. I already have the tickets."

Mrs. Daskalakis beamed. "Good. Kimberly, very nice to meet you. Take care of my boy, eh?"

Mrs. Daskalakis turned and strode from the room, casting Fonda a cautious glance behind Kimberly's back.

"Yes ma'am, Mrs. Daskalakis," Kimberly replied, turning back to Fonda.

"So, Fonda, first things first. We need to get you up out of that chair and walking around a little bit," Kimberly began, looking him over. Brown curls spilled over her shoulder as she tilted her head, examining Fonda's large frame. "I reviewed your file last night. Don't think for a minute that your size intimidates me in the least. I might be small but I've got a hell of a kick." Kimberly giggled at Fonda's shocked expression. "Oh, not like that! I mean, lean on me all you want. I can handle men twice your size." Kimberly smirked as she approached Fonda and then her face turned a deep crimson as she realized the double meaning of her words.

Fonda took a deep breath. This girl was going to be fun, he thought; at least a lot more entertaining than Bray, who obviously had received his medical training from Dr. Mengele. "Yes, ma'am. I wouldn't want to get on your bad side. I think you'd take pleasure in hurting me," Fonda grinned.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Kimberly smiled coyly as she approached, biting down on her plump lower lip.

Fonda groaned inwardly. He felt a stirring in his groin and knew without a doubt that Kimberly was beginning to have an effect on him. He cursed himself and his body for betraying his feelings for Trina. How could he possibly get excited with another woman? Why was he even flirting with her? Sure, she was pretty and was flirting with him, but that was no excuse; he was in love with Trina. Surely he could wait another couple of weeks to see her. It had been so long, though, since he was last with Trina, that his hormones were more like those of an out of control teenager's than a grown man's, he tried to rationalize. That had to be it — at least, he hoped that was it. And because of his broken wrist, he hadn't been able to seek his own pleasure since the accident and his sexual frustration level was at an all time high.

Kimberly giggled, shaking Fonda from his thoughts. "That's right, mister. You better do as I say or I'll really put you through the paces."

Fonda gazed up at the tiny woman, pixie-ish and cheerful, and couldn't help but grin up into her blue eyes. "Do you remember how to do this?" she asked.

Fonda arched a dark brow and grinned. "I would hope so."

Kimberly giggled again, batting the air near Fonda. "You flirt. You know what I'm talking about. I'm going to bend over, you're going to put your hands on my shoulders and we'll lift together to get you out of that chair. Just be careful of your wrist."

Fonda nodded as Kimberly leaned over. Her loose scrub shirt fell away from her chest as she bent towards him. Fonda couldn't help but stare. Gazing at women's cleavages is very much like looking at an eclipse — you know you shouldn't do it, but you just can't help yourself.

Kimberly was wearing a sheer, white push up bra — simple, but elegant. Her breasts, fairly large for a woman her size, strained out of the confines of the tight bra and Fonda clearly saw enough to see to two tiny erect nipples, straining to break through the thin fabric. He quickly looked away.

"That's right, just like that, Fonda," Kimberly breathed in a slightly husky tone near his ear. "Put your hand right there and grab on. Don't worry about hurting me."

Fonda nodded, laying his injured hand across her shoulder. He felt her hands grip him under his arms. She maneuvered closer to him, bent legs straddling his knees. His cock jerked in his loose-fitting sweatpants, now noticeably tenting the fabric. He tried to shift in the seat to make it less obvious but wasn't nearly as successful as he hoped. His face was rapidly turning red and he hoped that she didn't notice the reason for his embarrassment.

"One . . . two . . . three . . . " Kimberly lifted at the same time Fonda pushed off from the chair. He winced in pain as he struggled to his feet, amazed at her strength as she easily accepted his weight against her. One of his thighs made contact with her crotch, but Kimberly didn't flinch, professionally ignoring it as a byproduct of the task she was performing. "Good. Now, hold steady and I'm going to step back slightly."

Fonda glanced down in embarrassment, hoping Kimberly didn't notice his arousal. Her brow was furrowed slightly and her muscles strained as she was concentrating on the task at hand, ignoring the source of Fonda's shame. All the better, he thought. If she had noticed it, the poor girl would probably have run screaming from his home, never again risking entry to take a good paying job in the privacy of a man's home.

Hands that were once gripping under his arms now smoothed down the side of his torso and held firm. Fonda felt her hard nipples digging into his chest, their contact not helping reduce his arousal at all. She didn't pull back right away, and he wasn't sure if supporting him was the only reason. Instead, she pressed her chest into him a little harder before breaking contact and sliding. Kimberly stepped back, looking up at him. Her hands slid lower to his waist and continued to hold firm. "How does that feel?"

Fonda cleared his throat before responding. "Good." He broke Kimberly's ice blue gaze and focused on a light across the room. He began to recite the Gettysburg Address in his mind, concentrating on anything he could in hopes of deflating his quickly growing cock. He cursed himself for his arousal, still not knowing what he would say if she noticed it.

It was no use. In his mind's eye he saw the petite therapist standing before him, heavy-lidded, lips parted, as she stripped off her uniform. Underneath the baggy scrubs was a magnificent body: tight, tiny, with generous curves and overflowing breasts. She reached behind her to unclasp her bra, letting the undergarment fall from her breasts. Her breasts were large and round and tipped with tiny brown nipples, and he pictured his mouth covering them, nibbling on their tips with his teeth.

She bent over, her eyes never leaving his, and slipped from her sheer white panties. She was trimmed, the way he liked a woman's bush, but not bare, very much in the Brazilian style. The tiny woman quickly stripped the sweatpants from Fonda's body, taking his briefs down with them, before gently pushing him back to the sofa. In a second she had him straddled, guiding his huge cock into her wet hole, groaning as she enveloped the veiny shaft. She threw her head back and cried out as his penis delved deeper within her tight, wet walls. She rode him fiercely, grinding into him with a passion, and thrust her breasts into his face. Fonda pictured Kimberly's lithe frame riding his cock up and down, up and down, her breasts heaving and bouncing with each stroke as he tried to corral them in his mouth. "Yes . . . yes . . . oh, Fonda . . . fuck. . . fuck . . . me! Oh Fonda . . . oh Fonda . . . Fonda . . ." Kimberly cried out loudly as she continued to pump all that she could out of him. He grabbed her jiggling breasts as she began to shudder, sucking one of the tiny buds deep into his mouth. She was warm and hot and . . .

"Fonda . . . Fonda?" Kimberly asked, "Are you okay? You seem miles away."

Fonda started and looked back at Kimberly. He couldn't respond right away and instead turned around and hobbled in the opposite direction slowly, surreptitiously trying to adjust his, now raging, erection. "I'm . . . fine," he said over his shoulder, "just eager to get to work."

If Kimberly had noticed his erection, she politely ignored it. Then again, he thought, how could she not notice it, unrestrained, such as it was, beneath the slack cloth of his sweatpants. Fonda steadied himself against the back of an arm chair and took a few deep breaths, hoping the growth in his crotch wasn't as noticeable when he turned around.

"I take it from what your mother said that you have a goal in mind? A girlfriend or something?" Kimberly asked, taking Fonda's mind off his discomfort briefly.

"Yes, I do. Trina. She's a dancer," Fonda smiled, turning to face Kimberly again. "She debuts on Broadway in a few weeks. I would like to surprise her. The last time she saw me I was still in a coma."

Kimberly frowned, "How sad for the both of you. I bet she's just as eager to get back home to see you, especially now that you're recovering so nicely. I like to encourage goals in my patients. It does seem to make the therapy go by a little quicker, if not a little easier. As you know, recovering from your kind of injuries can be frustrating as well as painful."

Fonda chuckled painfully, unsure if she was alluding to his current frustration. "To be honest with you, Kimberly, I haven't even talked to her on the phone. I'm afraid that she will have a hard time understanding the difficulty I am having with my speech."

Kimberly touched Fonda's elbow, guiding him away from the chair. "Your speech has improved dramatically since the accident. I don't think you have anything to worry about on that account. And, I have to say that I just love your little accent," Kimberly gushed.

Fonda smiled. "Thank you. I grew up here, in America, but my parents always spoke Greek with us and we grew up in a Greek neighborhood in Astoria; I never quite shook the accent. . . . Besides, a little accent is great for business." Fonda grinned as he paced himself, walking carefully next to Kimberly. "My brother Stavros, on the other hand, has lost his, for the most part."

"Well, don't you lose it. It's adorable. You shouldn't have much longer before your speech patterns are completely back to normal — give it a week or so."

"How do you know? I mean, we've only just met."

"I told you that I have your file. The reports from the speech therapist have indicated a quick response and recovery, given your type of head injury. The jumps in progress each day are remarkable. In fact, right now, I can barely detect any hesitation," Kimberly replied in a now professional tone. "And, since you've worked by yourself on some of the exercises the hospital PT prescribed, you've become much more ambulatory than I would have expected at this point. Two weeks and you'll be able to get up with hardly a twinge of pain," she smiled, then involuntarily looked down at Fonda's crotch before forcing her head away from his as she burned in embarrassment.

She coughed, then continued with her assessment. "That's my prediction. You might need a little assistance, maybe with a cane, but I see this wheelchair going in about a week."

"Really? That's encouraging. And, a cane isn't all that bad. I'm just so embarrassed to be so helpless."

"Nonsense," Kimberly disagreed. "What happened to you was terrible. And you're making great progress. You should be pleased with yourself, not embarrassed."

Certainly not embarrassed by that cock of yours, she thought as she pictured his large penis, unencumbered by his pants, bobbing free in the room just awaiting her lips to encircle it. As they walked across the room, her mind wandered to images of Fonda's large muscular frame, lifting her easily and bending her over the chair, thrusting his huge erection into her with frenzied abandon. She could picture him grabbing a handful of her hair, yanking her head back and kissing her neck, as he pumped himself into her forcefully.

"I could even wear my tuxedo on opening night," Fonda said, interrupting his physical therapist's fantasy.

Kimberly laughed nervously, relieved that he didn't notice her daydreaming. "That's the spirit. Won't she be surprised? Does she know you will be there?"

"No, we haven't told her yet. I want to surprise her."

"I think she'll be very happy to see you, Fonda. Now, let's get to work."

XX
 
 

"One and two and tour jete . . . hold and plie," Trina counted out as she practiced backstage. The smell of rosin permeated the air and Trina breathed deeply, the familiar aroma reminding her of the days she spent as a child in ballet class - knobby kneed, wearing a tulle tu-tu and pink leather ballet shoes, the satin ribbons laced up her bony ankles. She fell in love with ballet back then and that love never went away. She smiled fondly at the memory. Those same feelings, only stronger, came to her when she thought about Fonda.

"Is there a Trina Murphy back here?"

Trina turned to the voice, frowning slightly. One of the other dancers pointed the delivery man in her direction. "There she is, the one in purple." The delivery man nodded and stepped past a few of the other dancers stretched out on the floor, making his way to Trina as she gaped in the corner. "For you, miss." With a flourish the elderly man presented her with a bouquet of pink sweetheart roses and white orchids. Trina accepted the bouquet, stunned. "There is a card, miss." He continued to stand before her until Trina realized she should tip him.

"Um . . . hang on . . . " Trina skimmed her hands down her body-hugging leotard as if to accentuate the fact that she had no pockets and kept no cash on her at the moment. The delivery man cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah . . . just a sec."

"Here." Mindy handed a wadded up dollar bill to Trina over her shoulder. "It's all I got right now."

Trina smiled back to Mindy. "Thanks. I'll pay you back," Trina said, dismissing the delivery man with his tip.

"Hey, don't bother. Just tell me what the card says so I can daydream about a romantic lover," Mindy giggled. "Since I'm not getting any, I may as well live vicariously through you."

Trina smiled up at Mindy as she opened the card. "Oh, Mindy. It's from Fonda," Trina breathed as she read over the note. "Trina, only seven more days and you'll be back. I can't wait to see you again. I've missed you so much. Love, Fonda." Trina folded the note and put it back in the envelope. She tipped her head down to smell the roses, closing her eyes against the sudden misting of tears in her eyes. "I miss him so much. I never thought I would ever feel this way — about anybody. I almost feel . . . homesick." Trina shrugged, unable to find the words she was looking for.

"Wow, you've fallen hard, haven't ya?" Mindy asked, putting her arm around Trina's shoulders. "Seven more days, like he said. It'll go by fast. Wait and see."

Trina looked over at Mindy. She plucked one of the small pink roses from the bouquet and tucked it into Mindy's hair. "There. Thanks for being my friend, for making this time a little easier." The two women embraced warmly before Trina ran to put the roses with her things and they both resumed the rehearsal.

Forty five minutes later, the rehearsal finally finished much to Trina's relief. Mme. Renault had gathered several dancers together, forcing them to go through the same steps again and again, but fortunately for Trina, she wasn't one of them.

She grabbed a bottle of orange juice from a refrigerator backstage before rushing off to her dressing room to fish out Fonda's cell phone. Her fingers punched automatically at the numbers, the physical memory of the act already ingrained within her digits.

"Hello," a masculine voice answered.

"Oh, I love them Fonda. They're so pretty. Thank you," Trina gushed, looking at the roses in the pitcher she was using as a makeshift vase.

"I'm glad you got them," Fonda said, smiling. "I wasn't sure if they'd be able to deliver them to the rehearsal hall. The last time we talked I wasn't certain if I'd gotten the address correct. How are things going?"

"Great. Mme. Renault has been using me to demonstrate steps at times. God, I can't believe how much of a career break this has been," she gushed then diverted the attention away from herself. "Enough about me, how are you feeling? How's the PT going?"

"I'm doing much better every day. Like I told you, the wheelchair is gone and I'm able to get around with a cane. And hopefully that will be gone in a month or so."

"That's great. How's your little physical therapist? Kayla or Karen whatever."

"You mean, Kimberly," he corrected.

"Yeah, her," Trina said with a hint of jealousy in her voice.

"Kimberly is wonderful," he said innocently, not picking up the envy in Trina's voice. "We've been making good progress. Next week, when we see each other, I'll be almost as good as new."

Trina smiled. "You better be. I have plans for you when I get back." Trina's heart thumped in her chest, nervousness creeping up from her toes. Tell him you love him, she pleaded with herself. Tell him.

Her fears and insecurities took control of her, however, and she couldn't bring herself to utter the words she wanted to. What if he didn't love her? Trina was confused and scared and frightened all rolled up into one.

"Speaking of when you get back, did I tell you that mother, dad, and Stavros will be joining me there opening night? And then, we'll all go out to celebrate your debut on Broadway."

"Really?" Trina squealed, washing aside her doubts for the moment. "That's so awesome. I'm so excited that you're going to be there. I just hope we don't suck."

He chuckled. "You'll be magnificent. I can't wait to see you," Fonda said and Trina smiled until she heard a voice on Fonda's end of the phone connection. A distinctly female voice. Trina's fears and doubts came crashing back on her. It certainly wasn't the voice of Mrs. D; her voice was deeper — older sounding — than the voice on the other end of the line. Trina worked up paranoid scenario after paranoid scenario in her mind, barely hearing Fonda's words.

"Trina, are you still there?" he asked.

"Oh Fonda, sorry. There's . . . there's a lot of . . . stage hands moving around here. I couldn't hear what you were saying," she lied, sitting in the empty dressing room that she shared with Mindy.

"Well, you must be busy. Everything we have to say to each other we can say after the show next Friday. I can't wait to see you." Fonda paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I’m looking forward to being with you again, Cat, I really miss you."

"Oh, I gotta go, Fonda. Soon, okay?" Trina disconnected the call, unsure of how to interpret his last words. Could he possibly love her or is he only interested in the sex? He could have been just being nice — polite. But he wanted to be there for opening night, to see her . And who was the little bitch in the background? Maybe it was Kimberly , taking care of his business , she thought acidicly.

Trina lay her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes trying to sift through all of the thoughts colliding in her mind. She loved Fonda, only of that was she certain. He might love her, his actions sometimes spoke of deeper feelings, but she’d heard those words before and had always been disappointed. Why would he be any different? But why the flowers . . . and opening night, too? Surely he wouldn't string her along like that, would he? Maybe he was still upset for what she said to him. Maybe he blamed her for the accident and this was his measure of revenge. If only she could be with him, she'd know for sure. She could tell his true feelings if she was there with him, instead of the little nurse bitch. He had seemed so sweet, but Trina always expected the worst from people, always expected her feelings to be trampled over; it was why she built such a tough outer shell. A shell, she thought ruefully, that she allowed Fonda to enter only now to realize that it may have been the wrong decision.

She threw on her clothes over her leotard, ignoring the shower until she returned to the sanctity of her hotel room, opting instead for a walk in a nearby park, hoping to make sense of all of her thoughts.

The next seven days passed uneventfully. Trina's — and, indeed, the whole ballet company's — performances had been flawless and were rewarded with standing ovations and curtain calls each night. Trina relaxed a bit, but her paranoia refused to allow her to call Fonda for the entire week and she made a point of keeping the cell phone turned off, unless she had to make a call.

---

Fonda stepped back from the floor length mirror. He checked his reflection carefully, smoothing back his jet black hair. When he had tried his tuxedo on a few days ago, he was thoroughly displeased with the way it hung loosely on his frame, since losing about fifteen pounds after the accident. Stavros had driven Fonda into Manhattan and brought him to Barney's, where he purchased a black Armani suit to wear at Trina's Broadway debut and was now looking at that tuxedo in the mirror.

"Woo hoo, not bad at all," Kimberly whistled from the doorway. Fonda asked that she stay after his therapy session, so she could give him her opinion on the new suit.

Fonda looked back at her reflection in the mirror. "You think so? Not too much?"

"No way," she shook her head, a brow arched flirtatiously. "In fact, if she doesn't flip out, give me a call and I will."

A little embarrassed, Fonda chuckled before turning to face her. "Kimberly . . . "

"No, don't say it. I'm a shameless flirt. I know," Kimberly stepped forward, adjusting the black bow tie on Fonda's new suit, "you're just very irresistible, Mr. Daskalakis."

"Thank you," Fonda blushed.

"I'll say it again. That Trina is a lucky girl. I'll have to meet her sometime."

Fonda gave her a chaste hug, smelling the slight fragrance in her hair, before pulling away. His thoughts briefly returned to the threesome with Trina and Margie, but now in his mind's eye, Margie was replaced by Kimberly. He ushered those thoughts out of his mind as quickly as they entered; the fiasco with Margie had almost ended his relationship with Trina and he couldn't risk doing anything like that again.

"Trina is very special, very different. You would like her. But this," Fonda reached into one of the shopping bags at his feet, "I want to give you. For all the work and time you have spent here, even if you were a little mean at times."

Kimberly frowned, taking the box from Fonda. "You really shouldn't have but I'll take it anyway," she grinned, carefully opening the box. "Oh, Fonda . . . " Kimberly exclaimed, lifting the delicate Lladro figurine from the box, "it's beautiful. Thank you."

"I thought you might like it," Fonda said.

More bags littered the floor around his bed. Kimberly looked at the bags in amusement. "We really spent some money, didn't we? You never told me what was in 'that' bag," Kimberly said, pointing to a small blue bag from Tiffany's.

"No, I didn't. It's a surprise. I don't want anyone to know about it yet."

Kimberly nodded, wondering what Fonda was hiding. "I understand. Hey, what time did you say your brother was going to be here to pick you up?"

Fonda glanced at his wristwatch. "Any minute now, my parents went into the city early to have dinner and we're going to meet them at the theater. . . . but knowing Stavros' sense of punctuality, I could be waiting until tomorrow." He caught a look in Kimberly's blue eyes, one of interest and maybe a little excitement. He smiled. "Let's get you out of my bedroom, Stavros would tease you unmercifully."

"You think? I mean, is he seeing anyone?" She nervously bit her lip.

"You're interested in Stavros?"

"He's very nice and . . . yeah, maybe I am." Kimberly smiled widely.

Fonda chuckled, "He will be very happy to hear it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that Stavros has also expressed the same interest in you, but don't tell him I told you so. He's actually quit shy."

"I don't believe that for a moment," Kimberly laughed, blushing slightly.

They both turned as Stavros stormed up the stairs toward Fonda's room. "You two can laugh at a time like this? Looks like rain and the traffic will be hellish if we don't leave twenty minutes ago . . . . What?"

"Where are your manners, Stav?"

Stavros frowned. He rubbed at his furrowed brow, running a hand through his sleek hair. "Of course, Fonda, you're right. Kimberly, how are you doing this evening?" Stavros approached the woman, towering over her tiny frame and reached for her hand. He smiled salaciously, a half-smile curving his lips as he brought the back of her hand to his mouth. He kissed it softly.

Kimberly blushed again. "F . . . fine, Stavros," she stammered nervously, looking up into his dark eyes. "You look almost as handsome as Fonda this evening," Kimberly added, grinning up at the handsome Greek.

Stavros feigned a look of pain, slapping his free hand over his heart, "Oh, Kimberly, surely you only say that because you have a soft spot for my brother and he just happens to be leering at you behind your back." Stavros grinned wickedly at Fonda before looking back at Kimberly. "But I'll forgive you if you will only agree to have dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Well . . . "

"You hesitate? I'm doubly hurt," Stavros said as the three of them began walking downstairs. Fonda laughed to himself as he saw how smooth and casual his younger brother could talk to any woman. Still, he thought, it didn't matter. Fonda had the woman of his dreams, and that's all that he concerned himself with.

"Pick me up at 8:00 p.m. and I'll try and make it up to you then," Kimberly smiled coyly at Stavros. "You guys have a great evening." Kimberly turned her attention to Stavros's brother, "And Fonda, thanks again and I really hope you have a wonderful evening with Trina." Kimberly kissed Fonda on the cheek before turning back to Stavros and grazing his forearm with her fingertips. "Can't wait until tomorrow, Stav."

Kimberly grabbed her bag and beamed at the two brothers before picking up her keys off of a table and bustling from the house, leaving the two men to gawk after her.

Fonda was the first to clear his throat. He approached his brother and raised his good hand in the air. "Yes!" The brothers high-fived.

---

"Oh my God, I don't even believe this is happening," Trina squealed nervously. She paced the highway shoulder with the other dancers, clutching her backpack. "We can't miss the show, we just can't." She was near hysterics, as were most of them, especially the two stars, who were already apoplectic that they had to travel from Philadelphia to New York in a bus and not in a plane, or at the very least, a separately chauffeured limousine.

The bus from Philadelphia, crippled and steaming, spat and wheezed on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike, broken down in the middle of the meadowlands, a mere ten minutes from exit 16E that would lead to the Holland Tunnel and into midtown Manhattan. The hired driver had started pulling their luggage from the bus twenty minutes earlier, laying the hodge-podge of suitcases and trunks neatly next to each other in the grass on the highway's shoulder.

"Ohhhh," Trina gnawed on a fingernail, looking up and down at the whizzing of cars and truck passing them. "How much longer to curtain?"

"Two hours, fifteen minutes," one of the male dancers replied.

"Oh, shit. We'll never make it in time. Oh my God . . . "

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mme. Renault spoke up above the highway din. "Please gather your things from the bus. I have arranged for another bus to pick us up and take us into the city. The service has promised me that he will arrive in no more than thirty minutes. When the bus arrives, please thank the driver profusely and then proceed to applying your stage makeup during the ride into town." Mme. Renault paused before adding, "And it wouldn't be a bad idea to say a prayer or two that the traffic in the tunnel doesn't hold us up."

The dancers reboarded the bus to gather the remainder of their belongings, all grumbling, their emotions vacillating between anger and helplessness. Trina felt like crying but knew if Mme. Renault saw that she would scold her further. She knew that she couldn't take the pressure or the embarrassment right now. This just seemed like everything else in her life: when things start looking bright, the big black cloud dumps a storm on her head. Mere hours from her Broadway debut and it looked as if yet another dream was going to be dashed, at least temporarily, she thought, wallowing in self-pity. She handed Mindy her makeup case from the seat next to hers and gathered her own. "It'll be okay, Trina. Don't worry. We'll get there. Besides, what bus driver would want to piss off Mme. Renault?" The two women shared a laugh as they disembarked from the bus.
 
 

XXI

"Shit. It's already 6:30," one of the male dancers spat, looking at his watch, as the new bus entered the traffic on the turnpike. "We'll never get there for the eight o'clock curtain."

"Dammit," Trina looked over at Mindy. "I need to call Margie. I'll bet she forgot the dress."

"What dress?"

"The other day, I asked her to get my little black silk party dress and leave it at the theater. But she's such an airhead, I know she's going to forget it."

Trina called their apartment, letting the phone ring until the answering machine began spewing its recording. Tapping her feet nervously, Trina exhaled as she waited for the beep.

"Hey Margie, Trina. I'm really hoping that you remembered the dress for tonight...and the shoes and my . . . um . . . the black garter belt and stockings. Just bring them to the stage entrance in the back. Come on, Margie. You can't let me down, ok." Trina disconnected the call and sighed.

"You weren't able to talk to her?" Mindy asked, trying to apply some stage makeup as the bus bounced through traffic on the approach to the Lincoln Tunnel.

"No. Probably better, anyway," Trina frowned.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Trina shrugged, a look of dejection plastered across her face. "For one thing, we'll never get through traffic at this hour to get on stage in time. And anyway, I mean . . . I've fallen for this guy and I wonder how he really feels."

"What do you mean. I thought the two of you were, like, in love."

"Well, I am."

"You don't think he is?"

"I don't know what to think. He's never told me. What if he's just, you know, using me? It's happened before." Trina stared out the window, trying not to worry.

"I think you're crazy, Trina," Mindy countered. "From everything you told me, this guy is totally head over heels for you. You can't blame every guy in the world for the mistakes of some. I think you just need some good drugs," she teased, laughing.

Trina smiled wanly. "That's what caused all this mess in the first place." She proceeded to relate a brief account of the events surrounding Corey and Fonda's mugging as Mindy watched on raptly.

"So you think that Fonda blames you for all that?" Mindy asked incredulously.

" Yeah , wouldn't you?"

" Noooo ," Mindy shot back. "I mean, he seems like a great guy. Why the flowers? Why the celebration after tonight's show? No offense honey, but you're imagination is on overload. If this guy didn't want anything to do with you, he wouldn't have called you on the road. He wouldn't be there tonight. He loves you."

"Yeah, then why hasn't he said it?"

"Some guys take time to say it. You know, there are guys out there who actually say what they mean. They're not always looking to give a girl a line for a quick fuck. You know what I mean?"

"I guess so," Trina said sheepishly.

"This guy, this Fonda of yours sounds like a keeper. I don't know what you've gone through in the past, but you can't blame him for everything that every guy you've ever known has done to you. If you do, then you'll never get anywhere in this relationship . . . or any other relationship, either."

Trina looked at her friend, conflicted in her thoughts. She loved Fonda and was so afraid of the pain that she was setting herself up for that she was unable to see exactly how he felt for her — whether he used the specific words or not.

Mindy continued as they approached the entrance to the tunnel. "Let me ask you this. Does he seem like the type of guy who would tell you he loves you, or say nice things to you, just to get laid?"

"No . . .no, he really isn't. I mean, he's the sweetest guy I've ever known. I guess I'm always expecting life to shit on me so I have a tough time believing that anyone as special as Fonda would want anything to do with someone as fucked up as me. You know what I mean?"

"You're going to have to realize that he is . . . and he does care abut you a lot."

"But I'm afraid, I guess," Trina confessed.

"I know. Who isn't afraid? Love isn't supposed to be easy. If it were easy, then nobody would have any insecurities about things. It takes work, and you lay yourself on the line whenever you love someone. And that's all part of it. You've got to let yourself go so he'll catch you . . . and prove to you how much he cares about you."

"But . . . "

Mindy cut her off. "No buts. You have about three hours to decide what's going to happen with this relationship. You can trust in him and your own feelings of love or you can stay bitter and afraid and never find someone and be miserable for the rest of your life. It's your choice and the clock is ticking."

Trina took Mindy's hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. She smiled at her friend as she took a deep breath. "I suppose it's time to grow up and enter the adult world of relationships, isn't it?"

---

The theater could have crumbled around him and he wouldn't have flinched. She was so beautiful; a woman lost in her art, passionately seducing her audience with each step and caress of air. Fonda was lost.

Trina was a talented dancer, of that he had no doubt. He was convinced the first night he saw her dance at the video shoot, but this was different. This Trina was beautiful, poised and gifted with an ability to mesmerize the audience with her grace and strength. She was exquisite.

"It's almost over," Stavros whispered, elbowing Fonda in the ribs.

"What? The ballet or your nap?" Fonda teased his brother, who had just spent the previous two hours snoring quietly.

"I don't care how much I care for you, Fonda. I'm never sitting through one of these again," he chuckled, casually trying to stretch his legs without anyone else noticing. "If I want to sleep, I'll sleep at home and save the $64."

Fonda laughed. "You go on the restaurant with mother and dad and I'll meet you there later. Trina and I will grab a cab."

"Right." It was Stavros' turn to nod. "Good luck."

Fonda slipped from his aisle seat, a single pink rose in one hand, his cane in the other, and made his way out of the theater. Once in the lobby, he entered a side hallway and found one of the doors which would lead him to the backstage area. His heart raced in anticipation.
 
 

Trina and the others took their final bow. The bright footlights had prevented her from distinguishing any of the faces in the audience although it was apparent they had indeed performed to a full house. She wondered if Fonda had been in tonight's audience. If only she could have arrived earlier she could have looked for him. As it was, the troupe was lucky to arrive in time for curtain, some still pulling on their costumes in the wings.

No sooner had the final curtain closed on the dancers did Trina run backstage. To shorten the time it took to change out of her costume, she began to pull her arms from the sleeves as soon as she ran off stage. If she was fast enough, she could search the lobby from the balcony walkway, calling his name loudly over the din of after-performance conversations. She would do it now if she felt comfortable running out in her scant costume, but knew that she'd be stopped, though, by eager or appreciative audience members. At any other time she might have considered it, wanting to bask in the glow of the show's success, but not now. Now, Fonda came first.

The headpiece disengaged easily from her pulled-back hair. She jogged past a few of the stage hands, a hand clasping the front of her costume over her breasts. She wasn't even sure how decent she was at this point, but apparently not very, as evidenced by the look on one young man's face that was staring at her chest. She looked down briefly as she ran and nearly stumbled, noticing that her pale bouncing breast had burst free from cover of white cotton spandex and sequins. She didn't bother to cover herself as she was now busy hopping-jogging to her dressing room, pulling on her ballet slippers.

If she missed Fonda, if he had even come, she could always call the restaurant and speak with his brother. Stavros would know — he could tell her where to find Fonda. And hopefully Fonda still wanted to see her. She couldn't wait until she was able to see him again, but she was terrified of it at the same time. It didn't make sense, she chastised herself. What if he had lost interest in her after all this time? He was handsome, sweet, and virile; he had women throwing themselves at him, she was convinced. And then there was Margie. Would Margie have taken advantage of Trina's absence and made a move on Fonda when he was vulnerable? That bitch, Trina thought. If she even tried she would — no, that's not right, Trina thought more rationally. A change had come over Margie after their showdown. She called several times while Trina was on the road, filling her in on all the goings-on at their apartment, her love life, and Corey's arraignment. And Margie did remember to bring her dress to the theater — getting it there even before the troupe arrived. Sure, she was the same shallow woman Trina had known for years, but she was truly trying to make amends for what she had put her through. No, Trina was convinced, Margie would leave Fonda alone now.

Trina turned the corner, not seeing the dark-suited man standing in the shadows. She crashed into him, embarrassed and uttering her apologies at the same time she looked up into the eyes of the man she was deeply in love with. Fonda.

He didn't know what to say. He stared down at her, into the light eyes and alabaster skin of this woman he now saw as delicate but strong, her appearance fragile and vulnerable. He couldn't tear his gaze from her startled blue eyes, even when the rest of the costume fell from her hands exposing the rest of her creamy breasts.

"Fonda," Trina exhaled as she stared up at him. A broad smile cracked his masculine visage. Trina launched herself at him, wanting to feel his body against hers. At first she kissed him gently, unsure if she was doing the right thing, unsure if she was going to hurt him. Fonda responded with his hands massaging and caressing her naked back, his head bent into her. She felt his tongue and the way his lips devoured her mouth. She answered back with her own mouth, gripping tightly to the lapels of his suit.

Their mouths continued to explore each other before Fonda pulled back. "Cat," he whispered hoarsely, staring into her eyes. "I've missed you so much." He brought the rose up to her face, dragging the silky pink petals across her swollen lips.

Trina knew what she wanted and by the hardness she felt when she pressed her body against Fonda's, she felt sure he wanted the same. "Come with me," she said, taking him by the hand.

Fonda hesitated, reaching for the wall. Trina stopped and turned back to see Fonda leaning on a cane. She stepped back to his side and walked with him. "I'm sorry, Fonda. Are you ok . . .?" she let her words fade, unable to utter the rest of the question: to have sex.

He smiled. "I'm fine. I still have a little limp and my wrist needs to heal, but other than that, I feel fine . . . and I want nothing more than to be with you now."

Trina grinned lasciviously. "Come on this way. . . . I like the cane. It's a nice touch, Fonda. It goes with the suit. Make a right at the fire extinguisher. There's a costume room to the left. We can be alone, if you want."

His right hand, still in a soft cast, reached down and squeezed her ass gently.

The costume room was barely illuminated by a stark lightbulb, hanging from the ceiling, and swaying when they opened the door. Shimmering fabrics, sequins of all colors and cotton-candy puffs of every pigment decorated every nook and cranny of the tiny room. Trina quickly stripped the rest of the costume from her lean body and set to work undressing Fonda. He watched her in delight and arousal as she hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. She gently pulled his jacket from his arms, careful of the cast and pushed back his shirt over his broad shoulders. Fonda breathed deeply, more excited by her presence than he would have imagined. Trina's mouth was on his chest, kissing and licking his skin even as she sank to her knees. She dipped her tongue into his navel as she unbuckled his belt. She worked his pants loose and let them drop to the floor along with his boxers. "Black silk boxers?" Trina questioned with a sly grin, looking up into his soft brown eyes before sucking the head of his cock into her mouth. Fonda groaned, digging one hand into her hair, intertwining his fingers through her thick black tresses. She moaned, playing with his balls with one hand and taking as much of him into her mouth as she could, looking up into his smiling face.

"Wait," Fonda grunted as he eased himself painfully to the floor. Trina looked on in sympathy and concern, but she was unsure of what she could do to help. He lay on his back, relief spreading across his face, and pulled Trina on top of him. She leaned over, kissing his lips, her breasts brushing against his naked chest. She rose up on her knees and leaned back, wrapping her hand around his swollen penis. She spread her legs, guiding Fonda to her sex. He watched as she slowly ground down on his penis, enveloping it completely, taking all of him deep into her. She threw her head back and gasped, arching back as he plunged deeper. She rose up higher on her knees, nearly letting him fall from her, before sliding back down hard his wet shaft. "Oh, fuck," Trina whispered, riding him slowly, "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, babe," Fonda said as he tried to steady Trina's hips while she rode him. He attempted to thrust up into her, but the movement put too much pressure on his lower back so he contented himself to let Trina control the action fully. She leaned over, presenting her small breasts to his mouth and teased his lips with her taut nipples as she rocked slowly on his cock.

Trina groaned as he locked his mouth over the right breast and her movements sped up. He grabbed her hips and guided them back and forth on his prick, looking for his release. She felt him tense as he started spurting his fluids powerfully into Trina's pussy. She was so close too, just a few more seconds and she would have been there too.

She lowered a hand to her clit, frigging herself rapidly, and bucked on Fonda's semi-erection until she felt the familiar tingling deep within her. Trina's toes crinkled as she collapsed on him in a heap, squirming in orgasm.

After a couple of minutes, Trina opened her eyes only to see Fonda staring intently at her face; his look, one of the most amazing things she'd ever witnessed.

He raised his head and kissed her on the tip of the nose. "I love you, Cat."

She beamed, a feeling of complete and thorough warmth spreading throughout her body. She had never been this happy in her entire life. In an epiphany Trina realized, perhaps for the first time in her life, just exactly what the nature of love was. "Meow," she giggled, before taking on a more serious countenance. "I love you too, Fonda."
 
 

XXII

After making love in the costume room, Trina led Fonda through the back corridors and service walkways to her dressing room, unable to keep her hands off of him on the entire way there. She rushed into the room ahead of him and quickly shed the rest of her clothes, tossing them into a heap in the corner of the small room.

"Care to join me?" she winked overtly, as she slid into the shower.

Fonda laughed. "I'd like nothing better, but I still can't get my cast wet."

She feigned a pout and then took on a concerned look when she remembered his injuries. Other than the cast and cane there was no real evidence of his brutal beating and when they had been making love in the costume room, she lost herself in him and forgot all about his wounds. "We . . . I mean, I didn't, you know, hurt you back there, did I?"

"Not at all. If anything it was therapeutic." Fonda smiled broadly, warming Trina and allaying her fears. He pulled a tall high-backed chair out from under the dressing table and sat down, taking the pressure off of his leg and waiting for Trina to get out of the shower.

She dried herself quickly before beginning to don the clothes that Margie had brought over for her to wear this evening. Frequently she had to stop and take his hands in hers, kissing his fingers, kissing his lips; she couldn't get enough. She actually trembled as his hands helped slide the stockings up her legs, securing the wispy nylons to her black lace garter. His fingers casually brushed her panties and Trina moaned involuntarily. His eyes promised there would be more to come for them. Those eyes. She could get lost in their soft brown depths.

Fonda slipped the black dress over Trina's head. She turned to the mirror and watched his reflection as he devoured every inch of her. The black silk dress slinked its way down her curves, clinging to her hips and small breasts, their nipples stiffening against the feel of the dress's material. Fonda met her eyes in the mirror and reached around to cup her breasts and Trina leaned back against him as his hands aroused her once again.

"We'll be late," he mumbled huskily in her ear, biting and tugging at her lobe.

"I don't care," Trina moaned, rubbing her backside into his erection.

Their eyes locked in the mirror and Fonda quickly ignored the time and unzipped his pants. Trina lifted one knee to the dressing table, spreading her legs wide. She arched her back, feeling her pussy moisten, breathing heavily as she anticipated his entry. Fonda pushed the thin black bikini panties to the side and buried himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Trina grunted her pleasure as Fonda closed his eyes at the sensation of his girlfriend's tight cunt. Her wet folds enclosed his thick cock completely as he fucked rapidly into her.

"Oh God, I missed you." Trina's mouth opened with a gasp as he continued his quick thrusts.

He rocked into her, his uninjured hand diving between her legs, roughly fingering her pussy. Trina's hips bucked against him and when he made contact with her engorged clit she felt the tremors start deep within her body. "Oh, oh, oh . . ." she cried, ignoring toppling jars of cosmetics and the fluttering of cards from well-wishers that their movements sent falling to the floor. She watched his face in the mirror as he climaxed, breathing heavily with him. He was so wonderful.

"Are you okay?" Trina asked, trying to catch her breath. Fonda's flaccid penis slipped out of her as he pulled back. She grabbed her towel and wiped their cojoined fluids from her pussy before straightening her panties and lowering her leg, facing Fonda as he tucked himself back together.

"More than okay," he replied, catching her lips with his. "Do you know how much I love you?" He asked, looking down into her eyes.

"I think I do — at least I hope I do." Trina bit her lip nervously, exerting more pressure until she threatened to break the skin and bleed all over his shirt.

"Never doubt my feelings, Cat. Never." He reached behind her and zipped up her dress, his wrapped hand holding the fabric taught at her lower back. His hands skimmed lower, cupping her ass, pulling her close. She answered him with a deep kiss.

Trina pulled back and smiled, picking something off of her dressing table. "Babe," she said, handing Fonda a heavy piece of jewelry. "Do you think you can help me with this?"

Fonda admired the piece in his hands, feeling its substantial weight as he turned it over carefully. "Which admirer gave you this?" he teased, lifting the platinum choker over her head. He loved the way the piece held close to her, accentuating her graceful neck adding to the already subtle charms of her decolletage.

Trina smiled. "Margie sent it over. It's hers. It's a piece from her grandmother. It's just so beautiful. I always admired it; always asked to borrow it and she'd never let me. They were very close — Margie and her grandmother — and she was like, no way, about letting anybody even touch it. I'm totally blown away that she sent this piece of jewelry with my dress. It means a lot to me that she did." Trina daintily touched the glittering choker. Tiny diamonds were embedded in the intricate platinum design, making for a truly unique piece of jewelry.

Trina looked up at Fonda and smiled. "Things are much better between Margie and me. We talked a few things out and came to an agreement. She told me what happened; how she lied about what went on between the two of you. I'm sorry I ever doubted you. Do you forgive me?"

"I love you. There's no need for forgiveness."

Trina beamed. "We're never going to share you again. I hope you're not too disappointed," Trina grinned.

"To tell you the truth, I find that to be a relief. You're all I want."

Trina could barely contain her excitement when the taxi stopped at the entrance to Fonda's restaurant. "I can't wait to see everybody. I've missed all of you so much," Trina gushed.

Trina waited as Fonda paid the cab driver, all but hopping in delight. They entered the restaurant, Trina searching the room for Fonda's family. "Oh, there they are," she pointed out, waving as they approached the table.

On the way to the large corner table near the picture window, Trina stopped at a couple of tables to talk to a couple of the members of the ballet troupe and one of the assistant directors who were together after the show. The restaurant was always popular with the post-theater crowd; not just the theater goers, but also with the performers and backstage people. In fact, if Fonda hadn't owned the restaurant, they would have had a difficult time getting a table at this hour without a reservation.

"Trina, my darling, such a beautiful performance," Mrs. Daskalakis said, hugging her close. "I'm looking forward to many more ballets starring our Trina, isn't that right dear?" Mrs. Daskalakis turned to her husband, guiding him closer and Trina beamed.

"Whatever you say dear," Anthony said, grasping Trina's hand and kissing her warmly on the cheek. "We are very proud of you, my dear. Very proud. I didn't even fall asleep once."

"Oh . . . " Alcina groaned, playfully slapping her husband on the arm. "He was too enthralled with all the long legs to fall asleep!" They laughed together. Trina felt close to these people, despite the fact that she hadn't known them for very long and the time they were together had been spent dealing with a traumatic situation. Perhaps it was true that crises bridged more gulfs between people in a shorter time than anything else. Shared experiences and trauma had united Trina with this family and her bond with them was almost as strong as her bond with Fonda. She hugged Mrs. Daskalakis one more time before moving over to Stavros.

"Stavros, it's so good to see you again," Trina said seriously. "I can't thank you enough for keeping me informed about Fonda's condition."

Stavros pulled her into a warm embrace before stepping back to look at her, "You mean a lot to Fonda, to all of us. And, I must add my congratulations to the rest of this group. You were stunning."

Fonda chuckled and Stavros blushed slightly.

"What?" Trina asked, knotting her brow in confusion.

Stavros smiled as he shook his head looking at his brother.

"Stavros slept through almost the entire ballet. I'm afraid classical dance doesn't hold his attention like watching football does."

Trina laughed and blushed, turning to look at Fonda's parents. "Thank you all. But really, I couldn't wait to get off that stage and see all of you again." Trina reached back and found Fonda's hand, entwining her fingers with his.

Stavros clapped once, arching a brow in Trina's direction. "And now, Ms. Murphy, we have planned a wonderful celebration in your honor and in honor of my brother who is well on his way to a complete recovery." Stavros pulled out a chair and eyed Trina. "Please have a seat and we'll begin with the first course. And, no, not a plain salad for you tonight. Tonight you will eat." Trina laughed, sliding gracefully into the offered chair. Stavros stepped to the chair next to Trina's and pulled it out with a flourish, signaling his brother to have a seat. Laughs were shared all around while the waiter brought Greek salads to everyone at the table.

Fonda gave his brother a sloppy kiss on the cheek before lowering himself to the offered seat. Stavros frowned as he looked down at his brother. "What is it?" Mrs. Daskalakis asked.

Stavros leaned closer to Fonda's head and frowned. Squinting, he brought his fingers to Fonda's thick black hair and plucked a bright blue sequin, lifting it in the air for all to see. "I don't know what it is mother, but there are many more of them stuck to the back of Fonda's head. And his jacket . . . " Stavros plucked a few more brightly colored sequins from Fonda's hair, brushing at his jacket. Mr. Daskalakis looked from Fonda to Trina and smiled. Trina blushed a deep crimson and looked over at Fonda. Fonda grinned.

"Those taxicabs are so filthy," Fonda's mother interrupted, obliviously. "It's amazing that anyone in this city can keep anything clean and looking decent. They're always filled with garbage. I wonder of they ever clean them at all. You know you'll need to get that suit into the dry cleaners tomorrow. . . . And send the bill to the cab company, too. They shouldn't get away with that."

The others at the table snickered and smiled at Mrs. Daskalakis. Anthony spoke up, trying his best to contain a fit of laughter. "You're right my dear . . . those cabs are terrible."

Stavros leaned in between Fonda and Trina, whispering teasingly, "I bet we'd find a few more of these on my brother's bare ass." Trina covered her mouth and giggled. Fonda slapped his brother away.

Dinner continued with more laughter and jokes. Trina looked over at Fonda frequently, always catching him watching her. Her hand slid up and down his thigh many times and Fonda reciprocated with a touch to her lower back, her hips and thighs. Every little touch, coupled with his smoldering gaze, excited her to the point of combustion. She loved this time with his family but she wanted to be alone with Fonda again.

"So, Stavros, where are you taking Kimberly tomorrow night?" Fonda asked.

"Oh? You are taking Kimberly somewhere?" Mrs. Daskalakis asked.

Stavros smiled. "I'm taking her to my apartment. I'm going to cook for her there." Stavros' smile broadened. "Women love that, I hear."

"Oh . . . Kimberly, your physical therapist?" Trina asked Fonda.

"Yes. Very nice young woman. She's done wonders for my Fonda," Mrs. Daskalakis nodded.

Trina felt something let go inside of her. The twinge of jealousy — well, one of the twinges of jealousy, she was the type of person who was never going to be completely secure about anything — that had been bothering her for some time began to unravel. Kimberly and Stavros, she thought happily. Not Kimberly and Fonda. She smiled.

"Perhaps you can meet her soon. I'd like that," Fonda said.

"She made my Fonda work very hard, she did," Mrs. Daskalakis commented. "Even when he was hurting, she wouldn't take no for an answer."

Fonda nodded. "There were times I was ready to give up . . . to quit. But she wouldn't let me. I owe her a lot."

"You haven't seen her bill yet, have you?" Stavros quipped, laughing.

Trina sighed. She shouldn't have judged Kimberly so harshly. Maybe it would be nice to meet this woman.

"Well, I think Trina needs her rest. If you don't mind, I'll see to it that Trina makes it home. Goodnight mother, dad, Stavros. Tomorrow I'll be back to work. It'll feel good."

"Not too much, son," Anthony said, concerned. "I've enjoyed working these past couple of weeks, so don't worry about me. And you need to work yourself back gradually. You can't do too much too quickly. You still don't have use of your right hand, you know."

He smiled and gave his father a hug saying his goodnights, as did Trina, and they left the restaurant together.

Trina stood next to Fonda as they waited for a taxi. "I hope we don't get one of those filthy cabs now." They both laughed loudly.

As they entered the taxi — no sequins anywhere in sight, they smirked at each other — Fonda pulled Trina into his lap, kissing her deeply. "Will you come home with me?" Fonda asked, brushing his fingertips through her dark hair.

"What will your parents say?"

"I live with my parents, but I lead my own life and I come and go as I will."

Trina snuggled into his chest, nibbling his chin and neck. "Yes," she breathed, between bites.
 
 
 
 
 
 

XXIII
 
 

"Shhh . . . Fonda! Your parents might hear us," Trina admonished Fonda with a giggle. Fonda had discovered that behind her knee was a tickle spot and he had crawled beneath the covers of his bed to further explore more tickle spots. Trina squirmed, squealing as his fingers explored the damp warmth between her legs.

"It's impossible for them to hear us. We're on opposite ends of the house," came Fonda's muffled reply. "Besides, they've always respected my privacy." Trina looked down at the lump that was Fonda's head under the sheets, giggling as it closed in on her open legs.

Trina could only respond with a throaty moan as Fonda once more buried his tongue deep inside the velvety folds of her pussy, licking and sucking her to another throbbing orgasm. She clutched the blankets with balled fists as she tried to muffle her screams. As the pulsing between her legs quieted, Trina arched back against a pillow, spent and sweaty with the tell-tale gleam of satisfaction emanating from her face. "Oh, Fonda . . . "

---

"You need to learn. Don't be afraid, I can teach you," Fonda convinced Trina it was time she learned to drive his car.

"This is Staten Island. I'll never drive this thing in Manhattan," Trina said nervously.

"You're just starting . . . don't worry," Fonda soothed. "Pretty soon, we'll even get you out of the driveway," he teased.

"You sure I won't break it?" Trina asked tentatively.

"Break it?" Fonda chuckled. "If you do, we'll fix it."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, you know. What if I really mess up?"

"Well, I'm insured and the car is still under warranty . . . why else do you think I'm letting you drive it?" Fonda grinned slyly and Trina chuckled.

"It's easy. You have the coordination. Hop in." Fonda held the driver's side door open and watched as Trina cautiously slipped in behind the wheel. "Seat belt."

"I know, I know," Trina playfully rolled her eyes, fastening her seat belt with a click. "Now what?"

Fonda lowered himself into the passenger's seat, leaning over to put the keys in the ignition. He explained to her about the clutch, giving the car a little gas as she shifted gears, easing off of the clutch while pressing down gently on the gas pedal. The little car jerked and lurched more often than either one could count. After about twenty minutes, during which Trina was able to drive up Fonda's street a grand total of once, she threw her hands up in frustration.

"This is, like, so pointless." Trina shook her head, disheartened.

"You're doing fine . . . this was your first day. We'll try again in a few days," Fonda said encouragingly.

---

Four days later, after Fonda picked Trina up from the theater, he listened as she spoke on and on about the evening's performance; apparently one of the dancers missed his mark and Mme. Renault blasted him after the show, in front of the whole troupe of dancers.

"It was totally awkward for the rest of us. I mean, I'm glad that wasn't me. I would have totally lost it."

"You'd best make all of your marks. She sounds like a tough taskmaster," Fonda sympathized.

"And a half. But I don't have to worry about that," she said cheekily, grinning widely. "I'm too cute to make a mistake."

Fonda laughed and then winced as he shifted from third to fourth gear and hoped Trina didn't notice it.

"Is your wrist still bothering you, babe?"

He nodded as he turned down W. 10th street, heading toward Trina's building. "Shifting from second to third or fourth to fifth bothers me the most. Cutting bothers me a lot too. . . . Not good for a restaurant owner not being able to cut things."

Trina smiled sympathetically, brushing her hand down Fonda's arm, as he found a parking space a half block from Trina's apartment. The pain in his wrist was more acute than he indicated to Trina. Whenever he had to do anything strenuous with it, the burning sensation shot from his fingertips up to his elbow. It had been getting progressively better, but the pain still plagued him more than doctors and Kimberly estimated that it would by this point.

"Umm, babe," Trina said as they walked down the street. In the chill of the early autumn air, Trina's breath steamed in front of her face. "The lights are on. Margie's home. I thought she'd be at her boss's place tonight"

"That's ok . . . I'm going to have to deal with her eventually. Nothing ever gets accomplished if you're not willing to confront matters. This thing with her boss has gone on much longer than I expected. Doesn't Margie usually blow through men faster than this?"

Trina chuckled. "Usually. Margie's whole problem is that she can't keep her legs shut for long enough to get to know a guy. I think the only thing holding her back now is that she's afraid what will happen at work. She's gotten a big raise and has been getting paid for working half-days or not even at all, and I don't think she wants to risk giving that up."

Fonda shook his head as they approached the door on the fourth floor. "One of these day's she's going to have to grow up."

Trina playfully placed her hand over Fonda's mouth as she unlocked the door. The last thing that she wanted was to deal with a confrontation between Fonda and Margie and his making comments that were possibly within earshot of her roommate wasn't going to help matters.

The sounds of the television filtered through the door as Trina opened it. Margie was sitting in an easy chair, dressed casually in a sweat shirt and spandex shorts. When they walked in, Margie smiled sheepishly, and quickly removed her hand from underneath her shorts. The television was tuned to a cable channel airing some late-night soft-core film. Margie blushed slightly as she scrambled to find the remote control and change the channel.

She looked nervously at Fonda as he entered the apartment, smiling wanly at him before glancing Trina’s way.

"Hello Margie," Fonda took a deep breath. The look of contrition on Margie's face was genuine, and Fonda could tell that she was sorry about what had happened.

"Hey Margie," Trina said with a smirk. "You keep that up and your fingers will start looking like prunes."

Margie stuck out her tongue playfully at her best friend and blushed deeply. "Hi guys."

Trina went into the kitchen to get a bottle of juice as Fonda sat on the couch. The atmosphere in the room was tense, neither one of them really sure of what to say to each other.

"Uh, Fonda . . . I, uh . . . I just want to say how sorry I am abou — "

He cut her off with a generous smile. "I know, Margie. What's happened has happened. It's over. And everything has worked out fine."

"Yeah, but you were mugged and in a coma. I feel like total shit for that."

"Circumstances," he shrugged off understandingly. "Who's to say things would have been any different?"

Margie smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, the weight of the confrontation with Fonda now eased greatly. "So we're all cool?"

"Yes. As far as I'm concerned we are." Fonda nodded, before getting up to follow Trina into her bedroom.

"'Night guys," Margie called out. "Don't do anything that I wouldn't do."

Trina turned and smiled. "Is there anything that you wouldn't do?"

When Fonda closed the door behind him, Trina immediately stripped her clothes and flopped playfully on her bed, a wide grin gracing her face as she stared into Fonda's dark eyes.

Fonda undressed slowly, carefully hanging his clothes on the back of a chair before sliding next to the woman he loved. He kissed Trina passionately, his hand tracing circles on her breasts and stomach. She moaned into his mouth and could feel herself getting wet already. She closed her eyes and reveled in the pleasures he could bring her. Never had any man had such an effect on Trina and she was overwhelmed at how easily she got aroused by the slightest of contact with him.

Sex for Trina had never fully been the 'special' event most of her friends had made it out to be. Sure, she enjoyed it if her partner was any good, but too often for her it had been a diversion, something to do at the end of a date instead of an event all of itself. More often than not, Trina had gone through the motions, playing her role as her partners played theirs, locked into the miasma of meaninglessness.

With Fonda it was different. Where once her orgasms had been weak or non-existent, now they were powerful and bursting with life. She got aroused by simply holding his hand, walking with him in the park, or down the block on a Sunday morning to the little Jewish bakery where they'd get their bagels with cream cheese and lox. Their mere togetherness was more special to her than any countless number of relationships that she'd had in the past and it at once both enthralled and terrified her. She had fallen hard for him, of that she was certain. She was also without doubt as to his feelings for her. But love was all such uncharted territory for Trina, a beachhead calm and tranquil on the surface, yet beneath, fraught with dangers and pitfalls both subtle and gross. The enormity of the emotions she felt was almost too much to bear.

She looked down at him, her shining light, her hero, eagerly sloshing his tongue over her impassioned and swollen sex. She ran her hands through his thick black hair and allowed herself a smile as she thought that she — and only she — was at the center of this man's universe. Her smile grew even broader as she realized that it was only Fonda who was at the center of hers, too.

---

Trina looked over and smiled at Fonda in satisfaction. She had just driven from the marina where Fonda's boat was moored after spending a couple of days sailing around New York Harbor. Fonda wasn't comfortable going too far from land with his wrist still in pain, but it didn't matter to Trina. She knew that she would go with this man wherever he took her.

"See? I knew you could do it, Cat. Now, why don't you drive us to the restaurant?"

"Really? You trust me to do that?" Trina asked, looking at Fonda as if he was crazy.

"Yes, I trust you completely. . . . Plus, my car has a passenger side air bag."

She chuckled. "No way. Not into the city. I mean, I've gotten so I can tool around Staten Island ok, but I am so not ready for the city."

"Why not? It's Saturday and traffic's not bad."

"Really? You think?" she asked again. She was nervous and excited at the same time. She was beginning to like driving and she knew there wasn't a challenge for a driver as tough as Manhattan this side of Indy.

Fonda nodded and Trina smiled, easing the car into first gear.

They arrived at the restaurant a little before the lunch crowd. Trina sat at her favorite table by the window while Fonda disappeared into the kitchen to help with preparations. She watched the crowds on the street outside her window, wondering if those people were as content as she was at this very moment. She smiled, sipping at her water, not noticing Stavros when he sat in the chair opposite.

"Good morning, Trina. How did you enjoy the boat?"

"Oh, Stav, it was so cool. I loved being out on the water," she gushed, then leaned forward and began to talk softly. "Don't tell Fonda this, but I was so nervous going out there. We started talking about it a couple of weeks ago and I was, like, irrationally afraid."

"Why?"

Trina shrugged self-consciously. "I guess because we were going to go on the boat and then we had the big fight and then he was attacked. . . . I don't know."

Stavros smiled reassuringly. "That's over. You two are together and happy. Corky and the two attackers are in jail and everything is back to normal."

She smiled.

"I hear from Fonda that you had a busy morning," he said

"I actually drove into the city, myself. Can you believe it?" Trina gushed. "I mean, I was so afraid, you know? But he's so patient and everything. I'm, like, just so lucky." Trina blushed at Stavros, bringing the water glass to her lips.

"It's a good thing you learned to drive. Fonda has still been having some problems with that one hand. He needs to give it a rest and this might be a big help to him."

"I know. I think it's worse than he admits."

"I see how he holds it sometimes. Kimberly has been seeing him frequently . . . hell, he sees her more than I do," Stavros laughed. "She says it's getting better, but not as quickly as it should be."

"Anything I can do, just let me know."

Stavros nodded, turning to look at the door as a crowd of people milled through the door. "Another busy day. Gregory didn't show up today. We're going to be short-handed," Stavros said, turning back to Trina, "I better check on things in the kitchen. You'll be okay?" Stavros asked, a hand on Trina's shoulder.

"Oh yeah, I'll be fine. Hey, if you need any help maybe I can do something," Trina offered with a shrug, "I could, like, seat people or take orders. I think I can do that."

"I'll keep that in mind." Stavros hurried back to the kitchen, nodding a greeting to one of the customers.

Trina turned back to her people-watching and day dreaming. A noisy lunch time crowd was beginning to gather and more people queued out front, waiting to be seated in the popular restaurant. Fonda, Stavros and few of the other wait staff ran back and forth between tables, taking orders and filling requests. Trina watched and worried about Fonda, noticing how he held his injured hand close to his chest at times. Fonda disappeared once again into the kitchen and Stavros followed.

Minutes later Stavros burst through the door of the kitchen, waving Trina over. She hurriedly walked over to him. "What is it?"

"Fonda needs some help in the kitchen. It's his hand."

Trina pushed past Stavros and entered the busy kitchen. Fonda stood at a cutting board, clutching his hand to the front of his white apron. "I'm sorry, Cat. I need to ask a favor," Fonda began apologetically.

"Ask me anything," Trina said, looking askance at the dead fish on the cutting board.

Fonda sighed. "That big crowd that just came in — the ones dressed all in black and with the earrings all over the place — they've requested a special order. I considered telling them I didn't have this fish today but since Marcus Venicia is in the group—"

"Marcus Venicia? The one that just directed the film that won at Cannes?" Trina gawked, peering out the kitchen door's porthole window. "That's so cool."

Fonda harrumphed. "Yes, I think that's the one — what a pain in the ass they are. Anyway, he wants a special fish prepared a special way and I'm having some problems with my hand. Stavros is running his ass off trying to keep these people happy and Gregory decided that he just wasn't going to show up today so we're short-handed," Fonda paused, grimacing as he gripped his wrist, "I hate to ask this, knowing how you feel about fish . . . "

Trina swallowed. "No, Fonda, that's okay. I want to help out. Really. Do you need me to take it back to one of the guys in the market or something?"

Fonda shook his head, "No, Cat. I need you to help me prepare it."

"Oh, like, help you get the ingredients and all? I can do that," Trina said with a hopeful nod, once more casting a glance at the large fish positioned on the cutting board. She held back the urge to grimace and shudder.

Fonda sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh. Wait. You need to prepare the fish? Like, clean it?" Trina asked, biting her lip. She breathed deeply. Finally, she had a chance to show Fonda how much she could help him by taking some of the work load from him so that he could recover from his injuries. She still felt somewhat responsible for his pain and wanted to do anything possible to help him — even if it meant gutting a slimy fish.

"Okay. I can get over the icky fish thing if it means I'm helping out. Just tell me what I need to do." Trina groaned inwardly as she stared down at the huge fish, its one bulgy eye staring back at her. "I mean, it . . . uh, can't be all that hard, right? Can it?" She scrunched her brows and looked distastefully at the fish.

Fonda smiled apologetically. "I know how you feel about fish. But really, this will be a big help."

"That table is very demanding, Fonda. Very demanding. Fresh salt shakers now," Stavros appeared behind Fonda and sighed in exasperation, waving a handful of crystal salt shakers in front of him. "What will it be next?"

"Oh, I can do that, just show me where the salt is kept," Trina replied eagerly, trying to distance herself from the fish.

"I've already sent Valerie over with fresh salt, of all things. And the centerpieces today. The one with pink hair says the mixing of stargazers and daisies is aesthetically dull. You know what I say? 'The mixing of pink hair and black eyebrows is aesthetically nauseating,’" he joked and Trina giggled.

"She has actually removed all the daisies," Stavros continued, shaking his head. "And now she complains about pollen from the stargazers. And get this: I have to bring fresh linens since now she feels the others are contaminated." Stavros emerged from around the corner, a pile of crisp white linens in his arms. "Let's hope they tip well."

"Add an extra twenty percent for a pain-in-the-ass fee." Fonda looked back at Trina, the exasperation showing plainly on his face. "You see? It's a madhouse today." Fonda shook his head, massaging his wrist.

"Ok, what do I do?" She steeled herself. There was nothing in the world that Trina could think of that disgusted her more than touching the fish that lay in front of her on the cutting block, staring up at her with it's one lifeless eye.

"Reach inside the stomach cavity of the fish, where the cut has been made, and jerk out the insides."

"Ewww. Aren't there places that people get their fish cleaned and stuff? You should use one of those."

"You mean, like a fish market?" he raised an eyebrow and grinned.

Trina blushed, scrunching her face in a slightly embarrassed snicker. "Okay. Ha ha."

"All you have to do," Fonda instructed, "is to reach into the stomach cavity, grab on tightly, and tug."

"You mean, like, with my hands?"

"Would it be easier with your feet?" he teased, then held up a pair of blood-spattered gray gloves.. "I have some gloves."

"Uh, no. That's okay. I can do this . . . really." Trina washed her hands at the sink before flexing her fingers and hovered over the fish, taking a deep breath. "Just, like, shove my hand in there and pull out what I can grab?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay." Trina steeled herself, flexing her fingers again. "Okay, here goes. Man, you're lucky I love you," she said, smiling.

Trina eased her hand into the gut of the fish, grimacing in disgust as her hand felt around. "Oh . . . oh yuck. This is so freakin' gross, babe. . . . Okay, I got the squishy parts — wait . . . am I supposed to feel something like, really hard?"

"Hard?"

"Yeah, like, this fish must have . . . oh, gross . . . swallowed something." She yanked her hand from the fish and took two fearful steps back, afraid of what she might find inside the fish.

"Swallowed something? That’s possible. We keep an old coffee can under the sink full of all the little treasures we come across while cleaning the fish. Once Stavros pulled out a subway token, and a partially digested—"

"Whoa! Okay. That’s more than enough information," Trina winced. "I’ll just yank it out and you take it. I don’t even have to look at it, do I?"

"I suppose not. But aren’t you just a little bit curious as to what a fish that large can swallow? It’s amazing sometimes. We added a glass eyeball to our collecti—"

"No. Nuh uh. Just . . . shhhh," Trina interjected before Fonda could finish. Her stomach was lurching enough as it was. The last thing Trina needed was for Fonda to be giving her color commentary.

Fonda smiled. "Sorry. The fish is dead, babe. You shouldn’t feel anything move," Fonda reassured her with a playful smile.

"Oh, great. I hadn’t thought of moving parts."

"Just pull it out and let's see," he said, looking over her shoulder.

"This is just too disgusting." Trina forced her hand back into the fish, inching it toward the hard obstruction. Grabbing ahold of it and yanking, she pulled it out from the insides of the large fish. She swallowed again, not wanting to look down at her hand.

"Ooooh . . . oooh. Gross, Fonda . . . What is it?" Trina squeaked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Fonda guided her to the sink, running her hand under the water. Trina chanced a look down at her hand and gasped. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" She squealed repeatedly, looking down at her hand, then at Fonda, then back down at her hand.

Fonda smiled. Stavros appeared from around the corner, a big grin on his face.

"What . . . what's this?" Trina stammered in disbelief, holding a large diamond solitaire in front of her face.

Fonda slowly bent down on one knee and Trina's lower lip started quivering . "From the first day I saw you, Cat, I knew I had to get to know you. At first I was attracted to your beauty, but my attraction to you grew as time went on. I fell in love with the inner Trina — the Trina who could make the dog from Hell warm up; the Trina who blushes when I open a door for her. I fell in love with the Trina who tries to wear such a hard-bitten facade, yet can't help but show her soft side at the most touching moments.

"I've never forced anyone to clean fish for an unpaid bill but I couldn't think of any other way to convince you that you should be in my debt — the fish-cleaning was Stavros' idea, anyway. Now, I'm the one who is indebted to you, forever. I love you, Cat. Will you marry me?" Fonda's face grew serious as he studied Trina's shocked expression.

Trina stared down at Fonda, her mouth agape, and thrust herself into his arms. "You . . . and . . . oh, Fonda, I love you so much. Yes, I'll marry you!"

---

EPILOGUE

"Five, six, seven, eight —" Trina counted, demonstrating the steps once more. "There ya go, very good. That's it." She watched as the little girl, a tiny mirror image of her father, danced around the studio.

Fonda slapped a hand over his face. "Cat, the child should be dancing in pink tu-tus and making like a butterfly. This, this . . . " Fonda sighed, giving up with a smile as his daughter launched herself into his arms.

"Daddeeeee . . . tu-tus are like for babies." Fonda chuckled as he hugged their daughter close.

"Right. For babies. How silly of me." Fonda smiled at his wife over the top of their five-year-old's head, squeezing once more before she wriggled from his lap.

Fonda looked into his wife's eyes as she watched the young dancers go through their movements, supervising the various groups..

"Do you miss it Cat?"

"Miss what? The dancing?"

He nodded as their daughter ran off with her group.

"A little. I had a nice run. I danced with the ballet for 6 years and got to leave on my own terms. I mean, the last two years I was the lead dancer — a prima ballerina. How many people get to live out their life's dream? And by opening this school, I can share my dancing with kids and do some

choreography, myself. I don't have to give it up. I'm having fun with this. Teaching these kids to dance has been more fun then I ever thought it would be."

"You never cease to amaze me," Fonda wrapped his arm around Trina's shoulder and kissed the top of her head "But, for now, I have to get back to work. With Stavros on vacation, things are very hectic. I parked the Volvo on 68th street, near 7th avenue, so you'll only have to walk a few blocks when you leave. I'm going to grab a cab downtown."

Trina leaned up and kissed her husband of ten years and then called out to her daughter. "Isabella, come give daddy kisses goodbye, he has to go to work."

Isabella ran and jumped up into her father's strong arms, and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. "Bye, daddy. I love you."

"Bye, princess. I love you too. You listen to your mother and have a nice class. I'll see you at home later." He placed the child back on the floor and watched his daughter prance away to the group she was in. As Trina watched a group of older dancers, Fonda grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back against his chest.

"Oh, what’s this?" she asked, snuggling into her husband’s broad chest.

"A hint of what’s to come later tonight," Fonda replied, breathing near his wife’s ear. He playfully nipped her earlobe. Trina turned her head and met his open mouth with hers.

"Mmmm, I can’t wait." Trina kissed Fonda one last time before pulling away with a sigh.

As he exited the dance studio, he looked back at his wife and smiled. All through his life he had worked hard, always succeeding at what he did but wondering if he'd ever find the woman of his dreams to share it with — until Cat walked into his restaurant and his life. He thought about the last ten years and realized that with her, his dreams had come true.
 

END

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"Fonda and Cat" Copyright © 2000
by John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue)
All rights reserved.
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