JC: Harry and Amy
Chapter 3
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2005

She almost didn't recognize the man who stepped through the door 
of her office. It wasn't that he had physically changed, but he was a 
changed man. Gone was the arrogance and contempt with which 
he had normally addressed people. Amy wondered what Richard's 
month with Harry had been like to change him so. Concerned, she 
said, "Hello, Mr. Montclair."

"Hello, Amy. Call me Richard from now on," he replied. He 
paused and looked around the room. The picture that Harry had 
drawn was still hanging on the wall. Next to it was a framed 
picture of Amy and Harry running in the three-legged race. The 
expression on her face in that picture was one of pure joy. Nodding 
in the direction of the picture, he said, "That's a good picture of 
you. You really look happy in it."

Amy looked over at the picture for a moment with a large smile as 
she remembered the moment it captured. She said, "I didn't even 
know it had been taken until the picture, complete with frame, 
showed up on my desk."

"The plants look good. They give the office a softer feel to it," 
commented Richard as he took a seat across from her. That he had 
taken a seat signaled another change in the man. In the past, he 
stood forcing the seated person to either stand or look up at him. 
Everyone knew that it was an intentional power play, but that 
knowledge didn't help the poor victim of his games.

Surprised by the direction of the conversation, Amy said, "The 
secretary said we could rent the plants from a service and that they 
would take care of them. All I had to do was ask to be put on the 
route."

"I should have told you about that before. I guess I just didn't 
bother to think about it. Rather inconsiderate of me," admitted 
Richard. He wondered how many other little things he hadn't 
bothered to think about. 

After a minute of silence, Richard said, "Mike was waiting for me 
outside the building when Harry dropped me off last night. After 
talking with Harry for a little bit, he talked with me. I've been 
promoted to Vice-President of Business Development."

Amy leaned forward with a smile and said, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," replied Richard. The promotion had come out of the 
blue. He had been fighting for it, but after the last month it seemed 
that his priorities had changed. He had learned so much that 
month. He'd met a man who had a position identical to his about 
five years earlier. The man had lost it after his wife died of cancer 
and he'd gone on a drinking binge that hadn't ended yet. A half-day 
conversation with the man had made him wonder what he had been 
working for in his life.

"When are they going to announce it?" asked Amy. She hadn't seen 
anything about him getting promoted in her e-mail. 

"After I inform my successor that she has my position," answered 
Richard watching Amy for her reaction. A small smile curled up as 
he wondered how long it would take her to figure out the identity 
of his successor.

She wanted to ask who her future boss would be, but she knew he 
wouldn't tell her until he told that person first. One of the major 
requirements in this business was being able to keep one's mouth 
shut. She said, "Whoever she is, she's in for a lot of work. I wish 
her a lot of luck. When are you going to inform her?"

"I'm working on it right now," answered Richard with a smile.

A puzzled expression crossed her face as she considered the 
implications of his answer. Could it be that he meant her? 
Cautious, she asked, "Do you mean me?"

"Yes, I do," answered Richard. A month ago he had been willing 
to get her thrown out of the company after Mike had turned him 
over to the Druid. After that month, he respected her more than 
himself. 

"No?" she asked incredulously. 

"Yes."

The desire to jump up and down, hug someone, and generally 
express her joy with physical activity remained. Her ruined knees 
didn't diminish her desire, but they did slow down her ability to 
pursue it. Amy grabbed her arm crutches and stood up. She didn’t 
have to walk to him. He met her before she had taken a single step 
and embraced her with a good solid hug. Stepping back, he said, 
"Congratulations, Amy. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Richard," answered Amy. Unbidden, tears started to 
well up in her eyes. 

"Normally, if I promote a married person I send them home early 
so they can tell their spouse and celebrate. In your case, I'm going 
to send you to the Homeless Hotel so you can share the news with 
Harry before he leaves town."

Amy was excited and didn't know what to do next. She said, 
"Thank you."

"You'll need to get someone to help you negotiate your contract. 
We'll take care of that over the next week or so," commented 
Richard. He was going to be doing the same thing as a result of his 
promotion. 

"Thanks," gushed Amy. She'd never thought of what was involved 
in getting promoted into the executive ranks of a company. 

Richard walked over to the door and paused. Turning to look back 
at Amy, he said, "I discovered something about the invisible ones 
that Harry talks about. They are people, too."

"Yeah. They get to you, right here," she replied pointing to her 
heart.

Feeling as if he had been made privy to a great secret, Richard 
said, "I'll put out the announcement now. By the time you get 
packed up to leave, the rumor mill will know about our 
promotions."

Amy smiled as the door closed behind Richard. She decided that 
she was going to enjoy working for him from now on. He hadn't 
been a bad boss, but she suspected he would now become a great 
boss. Upon returning to her chair, she shutdown the computer and 
packed her stuff to leave. It took her less than ten minutes. 
Stepping out of her office, the secretary said, "Congratulations, 
Amy. We're all so happy for you."

"Thank you, Karen. It was totally unexpected," she replied.  

The Saturday following her promotion had been a rather surreal 
experience. An executive consultant had arrived on her doorstep at 
ten in the morning. She had been expecting the executive 
consultant, but not what happened after she had arrived. The 
woman had gone through her closet separating her clothes into two 
piles, one containing clothes she could keep and one containing 
clothes that she was to get throw away. After a vigorous argument, 
the second pile had been separated into clothes to wear only to the 
Homeless Hotel and clothes to throw away. After that, they had 
gone shopping for the next six hours. After spending nearly forty 
thousand dollars, they returned to the house where she was 
lectured on how to dress for success. 

Alone for the first time since ten that morning, Amy settled into 
her comfort chair with a cup of hot tea. She was wearing her fuzzy 
pink bathrobe, one of the few items the executive consultant had 
not commented upon other than to say it looked comfortable. She 
sighed and said, "What a strange day." 

While she was sipping the last of her tea, there was a loud knock 
on her door. Wondering whom it might be, she set the teacup down 
on the table and struggled out of her chair. Using the arm crutches, 
she made her way to the door grumbling as she moved. It was after 
eleven at night, much too late for visitors. 

Looking through the peephole, she saw that it was Harry. 
Concerned, she opened the door and said, "Hi Harry. What's up?"

A figure in an expensive looking suit was on the ground at Harry's 
feet. He knelt down and picked the man up. He grunted from the 
effort and said, "Let me in."

Amy backed away from the door and watched as Harry carried the 
man into her house. With the same demonstration of strength that 
he had shown when he had picked her up, Harry set the man down 
on the couch. She didn't recognize the man. Curious, she asked, 
"Who's he?"

"I'm not sure. He's a good man, but I don't know much more about 
him than that," answered Harry with a crooked grin. He looked 
down at the man for a moment and then said, "It seems that he was 
rolled. Some horrible person took his wallet."

Frowning, Amy looked at the man with the kind of eye that came 
from dealing with the homeless. His clothes were definitely 
expensive. He was still wearing his watch and it was a designer 
watch that spoke of money. She asked, "Did you call the police?"

Uncharacteristically, Harry fidgeted for a second and wouldn't look 
at her. Finally, he answered, "I'm sure the person who took his 
wallet got away. Calling the police wouldn't do any good. It would 
be a waste of everyone's time." 

"If you say so," she replied, not quite believing his story. She 
looked down at the man as she pulled her robe tighter. She had 
more questions than answers. She turned to look at Harry and was 
surprised to see him standing by the door. 

With an apologetic shrug and then a wave, he said, "Well, take 
care of him. I'll see you around."

"What!" She was too late to catch him. He had already slipped out 
the door and closed it behind him. She screamed, "Harry! Get back 
here!"

The man on the couch groaned, but didn't wake up. It was clear to 
her that he was down for the night. Looking down at him, she tried 
to figure out what to do. There was no way she could move him 
from the couch. He'd have to sleep there for the night. 

She used her crutch to pull her footstool over to the side of the 
sofa. She sat down and examined the man smelling the alcohol on 
his breath. It wouldn't do for him to sleep wearing his tie. All she 
needed was for him to strangle himself on it in his sleep. 
Nervously, she reached out and touched his tie. The smooth silk 
felt cool to her fingers. Her fingers trembled as she worked it off 
his neck. She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. 

His suit coat was tangled beneath him. She decided that had to be 
removed as well. Shaking her head, she struggled to get the coat 
off him. She flinched when his head bounced off her brace. With a 
grimace on her face, she said, "That's going to hurt in the 
morning."

She removed his shoes so they wouldn't get the couch dirty. Then 
came the socks although they were a little more difficult to justify. 
She wondered about his belt and if it would rip the fabric of her 
couch. By the time she was done, his pants and shirt had joined the 
rest of his clothes on the coffee table. She found herself staring at 
his boxers, tempted for a minute, but only a minute, to remove 
them as well. 

Levering herself up from the footstool, she went into her linen 
closet and grabbed a sheet with which to cover him. She stopped 
by her bed and picked up a pillow. It was hard to carry all of those 
items, but she managed. She always managed. It wasn't as if she 
had any choice in the matter.

After placing the pillow under his head and covering him with the 
sheet, she stood next to the couch and said, "Harry, I'm going to 
kill you."

Looking down at him, her curiosity got the better of her. She 
leaned down and ran her hand over the sheet as if straightening it. 
Knowing that it was wrong, she couldn't help herself. She told 
herself that it wasn't her fault that her hand happened to cross his 
crotch. She paused with her hand directly over his cock trying to 
guess its size. When it stirred, she snatched her hand back. 

Flustered, she moved away from the couch. After drinking her tea, 
she headed off to the bedroom. Locking the door, she sat down on 
the bed and removed her braces. It felt good to have them off. She 
ran her hands over her legs, rubbing the soreness out of them. 
When she realized that her hands had moved a little too far north, 
she stopped. She looked in the mirror on the dresser and said, "Get 
a grip. It's just a man."

The words echoed in her mind. It's just a man. The only men who 
had touched her over the past ten years were her doctors. Not a 
single man had been interested in her since her accident. Her body 
was ready for it, though. Just the idea that a nearly naked man was 
just on the other side of the door was enough for her to get wet 
between the legs. Once again, she said, "I'm going to kill you, 
Harry."

Morning came and Amy found that she had gotten very little sleep 
through the night. Groggy and still tired, she forced herself to put 
on the braces so that she could go into the bathroom. Even as she 
put them on, she thought that they were the last things she touched 
before going to bed and the first things she touched when she 
woke. 

After performing her morning business in the bathroom, Amy 
made her way into the kitchen. It wasn't long before her coffee was 
brewing. Looking around for her pushcart, she remembered that 
she had left it in the living room. The cart was necessary since she 
couldn't carry a cup and move at the same time. Disgusted at 
herself for having left it there, she headed to the living room. 

She stared at the pile of clothes on the coffee table for a minute 
trying to remember how they got there. A male head slowly rose 
up from the couch surprising her. She screamed. He moaned as his 
hands flew to his head and he dropped to a fetal position on the 
couch.  It was only then when she remembered the events of the 
previous evening. It took her another second to realize that she 
should probably stop screaming.

Clutching her robe tightly to her chest, Amy waited to see what he 
would do. After a minute, the man's head slowly rose up from the 
couch. He paused in fear of evoking another scream and looked 
around. Even moving hurt his head. Confused, he wondered where 
he was and how he had gotten there. He turned his head by turning 
most of his body until he saw her standing at the entrance of the 
living room. He started to speak, but the first noise that came from 
his throat was more of a croak than a word. It was loud enough to 
drive nails into his head. 

"Good morning," she said. He winced and she dropped the volume 
of her voice. 

"Morning," replied the man although it hurt to say it. He looked 
down at his body and realized that he was undressed. In a move 
that was too fast for his comfort, he looked back at her wondering 
if he had taken advantage of her the previous evening. She didn't 
look familiar to him. 

The pair stared at each other for a full minute. Neither one knew 
what to say to the other. Finally, the man grunted, "Bathroom."

Pointing down the hall, Amy said, "That way. There are fresh 
towels if you need to shower."

He stood up to head to the bathroom. She stared at his boxers. He 
looked down at his boxers and turned red. She stared at his boxers 
some more. He looked up at her. His erection slipped the confines 
of his boxers. She stared at his erection with wide eyes and open 
mouth. He looked down at his erection. A second later he was 
scrambling for the sheet to cover his body once his barely 
functioning brain processed what had happened. Flustered, she fled 
to the kitchen while he ran off towards the bathroom.

She laughed once she reached the kitchen as the humor of the 
situation finally came to her. As she poured a cup of coffee, she 
said, "I imagine there have been worse first encounters, but I've 
never heard of one."

Deciding that he would be busy in the bathroom for a while, she 
returned to the living room and fetched the cart. Pushing it back to 
the kitchen, she wondered what she should do now that he was 
awake. It had been years since she had a hangover, but she 
remembered that some coffee and a couple of aspirin would help. 

She waited in her comfort chair for the stranger to exit the 
bathroom. The sound of the shower running gave her minimal 
clues as to what her guest was doing. He was taking a long time. 
She wondered if there was going to be any hot water left by the 
time he was done. His coffee was getting cold.

The water turned off suggesting that his shower was over. The 
noises of a person moving around in the bathroom made her 
wonder what he was doing. It was ten minutes before he entered 
the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist. Not able to 
look her in the eye, he said, "Sorry. I hope that I didn't do anything 
unpleasant last night."

"What happened?" asked Amy curious how he had become so 
inebriated the previous evening.

"I don't know. I was at a fund raiser drinking orange juice and the 
world got dizzy on me," answered the man. It was a rare occasion 
when he drank and then never in public. His condition was 
puzzling, since he had ordered orange juice rather than club soda. 
He avoided club soda because the bubbles bothered him.  

"Screwdrivers," commented Amy with a knowing nod. 

"What?"

"Vodka and orange juice."

"That explains it," commented the man. He looked around the 
living room trying to find something that would give him a clue 
about the identity of his hostess. This was the first time he had 
woken in a strange woman's house with no memory of meeting her 
and he didn't know how to act.

"It does. How?"

"I can't taste Vodka," he answered. It was true. Vodka tasted just 
like water to him and if the drink had contained vodka he would 
never had known it. 

"Really?" she asked unable to believe it. She'd never heard of such 
a thing, but there were a lot of things that she didn't know. That a 
fruit drink could cause such devastation she knew full well. There 
had been one episode in her past where a rum concoction had left 
her totally wasted. 

"Yeah, I hope I didn't drive here," said the man hoping she would 
answer with something that would let him piece together the events 
of the previous night. 

An uneasy silence settled over the room. He didn't know how to go 
about asking her name. Glancing over at her, he took in her 
appearance. Seated in the chair wearing a pink bathrobe, she 
looked very much like the girl next door. Soft brown hair that 
came down to her shoulders framed an attractive face. Despite the 
fact that she wasn't wearing makeup, he liked her face. He didn't 
mind the braces, but the plain solid looking shoes contrasted 
sharply with the rest of her outfit. The contrast was jarring to his 
hung over brain.

Gesturing to the cart, Amy said, "There's some coffee and aspirin 
for you. I'm afraid the coffee has gotten cold."

He picked up the aspirin and swallowed them using the cold coffee 
to chase them down. The cold coffee brought a grimace to his face 
and a tinkle of laughter from Amy. After a shiver went through his 
body, he said, "Thanks."

"If you would like to warm up your coffee, the pot is in the 
kitchen," she said as she pointed in the direction of the kitchen. It 
was too much of a hassle for her to push the cart back to the 
kitchen, fix another cup of coffee, and then push the cart back. 

Rising from his seat, he said, "Thanks. Could I refill yours while 
I'm up?"

Smiling, she handed him her cup. He took it and wandered off in 
the direction she had pointed. He was gone a lot longer than it 
should have taken for him to refill the cups. He returned and 
handed her a cup of hot coffee. Sitting down, he took a sip of his 
coffee and sighed in pleasure. When he set the cup down, she 
noticed that he had added milk to it. Mentally, she chastised herself 
for not thinking to offer him cream or sugar. She said, "Sorry, I 
didn't think to ask you if you needed cream or sugar."

"No problem," he replied. He took another sip of the coffee trying 
to figure out what to say. His trip to the kitchen had not yielded 
any clues as to her identity. He felt like a cad by not knowing her 
name. Had he slept with her last night? Why couldn't he remember 
anything about her? The last thing he remembered was talking to 
the Druid. 

Looking around the room, he could tell she made good money. The 
furniture was expensive, the artwork on the wall was original, and 
the room itself was large. Taking a deep breath, he took the plunge. 
"I really hate to sound like a cad, but I don't remember your name."

Amy laughed as she realized what had been going through his 
mind. With a grin, she said, "I suppose I should be hurt by that."

"Please don't be hurt. I'm really truly sorry, but I just don't 
remember anything about last night." The anguish in his voice 
suggested that he really did feel horrible.

Unable to continue teasing him, she said, "Harry brought you here 
last night and you were already unconscious. The reason you can't 
remember my name is that you never knew it."

"Harry? The funny little Druid?" asked the man. The events of the 
previous evening were starting to come back to him. Dimly, he 
remembered telling the Druid about not feeling well last night. The 
Druid had promised to take care of him.

"Yes, Happy Harry brought you here," answered Amy. She was 
busy putting the pieces about the previous night together as well. 
With a suddenness that startled her guest, she grabbed her crutches 
and launched herself out of her chair. She went over to the front 
door and opened it. On the doorknob was a small bag. She swore, 
"Harry, I'm going to kill you!"

Grabbing the bag, she closed the door and returned to her chair. 
Sitting down, she opened the bag, peeked inside, and then tossed it 
to her guest. With a scowl, she said, "Harry said that some little 
creep had rolled you and that you had no id on you. He said he 
brought you here because he didn't know where you really lived."

Puzzled, the man opened his wallet and examined the contents. He 
said, "Everything is here."

Shaking her head, she said, "Harry is playing a little game with 
us."

"Oh. Why would he do that?"

Amy glanced down at her braces believing she knew the answer. 
She sighed and then answered, "He has an odd sense of humor. By 
the way, my name is Amy."

"I'm Bill," replied the man relieved to have a name for his hostess. 
He looked down at himself and realized he was still wearing 
nothing more than a towel. He'd have to get dressed. The last thing 
that he wanted was for little Bill to rear his ugly head. Reaching 
over for his clothes, he said, "I better get dressed. I feel a little 
uncomfortable sitting here dressed like this. I feel a little naked 
wearing nothing more than a towel."

Amy was about to say that she was enjoying the view or that she 
was wearing nothing more than a robe but realized it wouldn't be 
exactly appropriate. She levered herself out of the chair and said, 
"Stay here. I'll go in my room and dress as well. We can go out to 
breakfast after we're dressed."

Amy slowly made her way to her bedroom. Almost upon reaching 
it, she realized he was going to have to wear his suit. That was a 
little fancy for a simple breakfast at the local diner. She turned to 
ask him if she should get dressed up. She had just about entered the 
living room when she saw him. He had just dropped his towel and 
was reaching for his boxers. His back was to her, but what she 
could see looked very nice indeed. Not wanting to get caught, she 
backed up and then moved to her bedroom as fast as she could. 

Inside her room, she took a minute to get her emotions under 
control. She slipped a hand between her legs amazed at the wetness 
she found. She snatched back her hand as though it had 
encountered acid rather than her natural secretions. Shaking her 
head, she said, "Amy, you've got to get control."

At the closet, she picked out one of the new outfits she had 
purchased the day before. The consultant had suggested she start 
wearing longer skirts. They would hide her braces and give her a 
greater sense of presence. The outfit she selected to wear for 
breakfast had cost more than the combined cost of the clothes they 
had thrown away the previous day. 

Nervous at the reaction she would get, she stepped into the living 
room. Bill turned and looked at her. His expression of pained 
hangover turned to one of pleasant surprise. He whistled and said, 
"Wow. You dress up nice."

She smiled and said, "I'm glad you like it. I figured with you 
wearing a suit that we should probably go to a nice place to eat. I 
have a place I would like to try. I hope you don't mind."

Bill was about to suggest a place, but decided to let her choose. 
She had been kind enough to take him in and he didn't want to 
impose. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, "Lead the way."

She led him to the garage and got into the car. He entered the 
passenger side, uncomfortable at not being in the driver's seat. 
Amy turned to him and said, "Sorry, but I have to drive. It took me 
forever to learn how to operate this car and I'm sure the controls 
are pretty unfamiliar to you."

Looking at the controls of the car, he realized he didn't know how 
to operate it. The brake and accelerator pedals were missing. A 
hand control was mounted next to her chair. She was right, he'd 
never figure out how to use the car in time to drive her to the 
restaurant.

For him, it was a strange sensation not to be in charge and he 
found that he was trying to decide if he liked the feeling. She 
pulled out of the garage and headed towards the place she had in 
mind. When she pulled onto the highway, he stared at the sign in 
confusion. He asked, "Where are we?"

"I'm heading towards Lakeshore Drive," answered Amy as she 
changed lanes. 

"Uh, what city?"

"Chicago, of course," answered Amy taking her eyes off the road 
long enough to see his reaction.

"We're not in Milwaukee?" asked Bill, shocked to learn that he was 
in Chicago. Last night, he had been at a fundraiser in a suburb of 
Milwaukee. It had been some sort of effort to help the homeless. It 
had been an unusual event for him since he usually supported 
medical charities.

Amy burst out laughing at the news. She couldn't believe that 
Harry had driven him all the way from Milwaukee just to deposit 
him in her lap. It made her wonder on whom Harry had pulled the 
joke, her or Bill. She said, "I guess I'm not going to get a chance to 
kill Harry after all."

"Why?"

"I think you are going to beat me to it," she said with a laugh. 

Bill chuckled as he realized the humor of the situation. He was 
curious why Harry had taken him so far from home, but there was 
no telling. He didn't know the Druid that well, but Amy seemed to 
know him quite well. He replied, "You may be right."

"I don't know why Harry kidnapped you like that, but I'm sure he 
had a reason," said Amy echoing his thoughts. 

"Where are we going?"

Amy smiled and said, "We're going to the North Pond."

The North Pond lived up to its reputation. After they had been led 
to a table next to a window, Amy gazed out upon the skyline of 
Chicago. Bill examined the view and said, "This is nice."

"Yes it is," replied Amy as she turned to look at her dining 
companion. She smiled to herself at the idea she was having 
breakfast with a man who had spent the night with her. She hadn't 
ever done that before. She didn't particularly care that they hadn't 
done anything. It was just the idea of it that struck her as amusing.

"What are you thinking?"

Amy blushed at the thoughts she was having. Rather than answer, 
she said, "I was wondering why you haven't commented on my 
braces yet."

"They aren't a big deal," replied Bill with a shrug.

"They aren't?"

"No. My dad had polio when he was a kid. I never knew him 
without braces," he replied. Talking about his dad reminded him 
how much he missed him.

"Wow. Your mother must have been a saint to marry a cripple," 
commented Amy.

Far angrier than was reasonable, Bill leaned forward and, shaking a 
finger at her, said, "Don't call my father a cripple. He was a great 
guy who lived life to its fullest. He was a great guy."

Surprised by the vehemence in his voice, Amy apologized, "I'm 
sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Embarrassed by his outburst, Bill leaned back in his seat. Years of 
getting teased about his father's condition had made him overly 
sensitive to comments. He would have expected such a comment 
from someone else, but not her. Wanting to make a point, he asked, 
"Do you think of yourself as a cripple?"

Amy sat back in her chair and looked out over the skyline of 
Chicago. His question struck a nerve deep within her. Did she 
think of herself as a cripple? Most of the time, she did. That one 
day at the picnic she had forgotten about her knees, but that had 
been an exception. Harry was there and anything went when Harry 
was around. When it came to dealing with men, she didn't feel like 
a complete person. She was a cripple and she knew it from the 
looks they gave her when they looked at her. She didn't like the 
answer, but it was the truth. In a very soft voice, she answered, 
"Yes."

For a moment, Bill thought that he hadn't heard her correctly. She 
had answered yes? What kind of person answers yes to a question 
like that in this day and age? Incredulous, he asked, "Are you 
serious?"

As tears welled up in her eyes, she turned to look at him. Lips 
trembling, she nodded her head. She couldn't trust her voice to 
convey her answer without cracking. She saw a look on his face 
that defied description. The only phrase that came to mind was that 
he looked like his favorite dog had just died. 

"That's so sad," he commented in a soft voice. He looked her in the 
eye wondering what could have left her feeling that way. It wasn’t 
right for a woman, particularly one who was her age and so 
mobile, to feel that way about her condition. Sighing, he said, 
"You aren't a cripple."

Amy was on the verge of crying. She felt as if she had been lying 
to herself in getting so worked up over the few glances she had of 
his body. Bill would have laughed at her if he had known the kinds 
of thoughts she had about him. Feeling defeated, she looked up at 
him and said, "Tell that to the men who only see braces when they 
look at me."

Bill leaned forward and took her hand within his. He asked, "How 
can you say that to a man who sees nothing except the woman?"

