Disclaimers and Thanks: See Part 1.

Magic of the Heart

Chapter 6

The radio alarm going off ends a deep, trouble-free sleep, the first in almost a week. Thanksgiving dinner is on the agenda for the day, but for a few minutes more, I want to enjoy the peace. Whenever Maggie is around, however, I find my emotions, and my behavior, slipping more and more out of control. Whether alone or in crowds, I am thinking of her, of what she is doing, to whom she is speaking. She is becoming a compulsion in my life and I don't like the intrusion. Jumping out of bed, I head for a quick shower, trying to focus on Thanksgiving dinner. Memories of the past week keep interrupting.

Sunday we spend touring Kennedy Space Center. The kids are in constant motion, running from one exhibit to the next. Tall rockets tower over the landscape, leaving us all feeling insignificant. One of the shuttles is on the launch pad and Beth asks one question after another. Later, at the Visitor's Center, the kids giggle and make faces as they eat space ice cream, complaining about the tickling in their mouths. Maggie decides to try some. The look on her face is wonderful.

"This feels like it is exploding in my mouth," she screams. "This is ice cream?"

"They can’t pack ice cream cartons in the shuttle. Isn’t it fun?"

Dinner that evening is at a rather rustic looking place with a great reputation for seafood followed by dessert at a "50's" diner. A young woman, chewing gum and wearing a poodle skirt, takes our orders and chats incessantly. Getting into the spirit, Maggie picks up one of the hoola hoops stacked nearby and proceeds to demonstrate her exceptional talent with the round plastic. Beth grabs another hoop and tries to imitate her mother. Soon other diners are joining the twosome or applauding their efforts. Maggie's playfulness is disarming.

Returning to work Monday brings little sanity into my life. Ed, my boss, is in town and on one of his crusades to locate some rock singer hiding out in the Orlando area.

"Susan, this could be big. They are really hot."

"Who? Ed, my knowledge of the top 40 did not get me this job. Nor is it a prerequisite for this job. Why are you asking me?"

"Because I always ask you," Ed replies. "M.J. Carson and Reckless. Rumor has it she's trying to save her marriage and is here to dry out. She has quite a reputation. All I need is a list of people or places. How about it?" I only half listen. He tries to involve me in his crazy schemes to track entertainers and pursue contracts. With his persistence, and contacts, he is usually successful. The entertainment industry in Florida is growing and Ed Howard is in the middle of it.

"Look Ed, if I get you the list of rehab places, will you leave me alone?" He nods, smiles and leaves the office. This is not the end of this hunt. While these schemes usually drive me crazy, this seems routine compared to the personal chaos in my life. For once the rest of the staff is more irritated.

Thanksgiving Day offers a chance to escape the office madness. By 6:45 a.m. Mom already has the coffee on and is removing the turkey from the refrigerator. Lately, she has been walking around grinning and humming. Good grief!

By 8 o'clock, the turkey is stuffed, put in the oven and we have begun breakfast. By the time breakfast is ready, Beth joins the two younger children at the table and the three eat silently. We stare astounded waiting for the quiet to end. The threesome have been operating at hyper-speed with the sound set at one volume-painful.

The quiet ends around 11 a.m. Well, to be precise, Betsy, Dale and their three children arrive at 11:01 a.m. Quick introductions are followed by brief awkwardness, then five of the six children run screaming to Cady's room. Only six minutes have elapsed. The holiday has begun. Kyle, my twelve-year-old nephew, remains behind. With the look of disgust reserved only for the oldest child looking down on activities of the younger ones, he follows their exit. "Children," he quietly mutters and walks towards the family room.

Betsy ruffles his hair as he walks by and reminds him, "My dear oldest child, you may soon be a teen, but you are still my child."

"Mom," the embarrassed adolescent defends, "I’m not a baby, like them." His nod in the direction of the five youngsters doesn’t earn any points with his mother. "I’ll go watch TV."

Betsy grins as Kyle leaves the kitchen. "My consolation is that one day, I hope, he and his brother and sister will be good friends. After all, we finally did."

Since college Betsy and I have developed a special closeness. Five years older, Betsy was in the second year of medical school when I was a freshman at Florida State University. No matter how busy she was, she often drove from Gainesville to Tallahassee to spend the weekend with me or even to have dinner with me. During those next three years, we became more than sisters. She is my best friend.

"So, when do I get to meet this woman who has charmed her way into your house? Mom says she is quite persuasive, at least with you," Betsy teases. Blushing, I lead Betsy and Dale into the kitchen. There we are greeted by the sight of Mom attempting to teach Maggie to make biscuits. Flour covers Maggie's hands and arms. A white smear decorates her left cheek. Her dark hair, pulled back into a French braid, is streaked with a fine white dust. She is dressed informally, loose khaki shorts and a pale green pullover Polo shirt. A white cloud hangs over her, a delicate flour cloud, covering hair, shirt, and shorts.

"Maggie, I want you to meet my sister and her husband," I hesitate, trying to suppress a giggle. "I'm sorry. You look so funny with flour all over you."

Not letting the moment pass unrevenged, Maggie grabs flour with one hand and me with her other, smearing flour over my face. My attempts to escape only heighten her determination. Three adults watch the struggle and laugh. It is only when we stop wrestling that they realize the error of their ways. Soon Maggie and I are dousing Betsy and Dale with flour while Mom screams with glee.

A flour fight would have ensued except for the sound of a young male voice interrupting. "Mom! Dad! How gross!" Kyle stands with his hands on his hips trying to look disapproving. I can imagine what he will be like as a teenager. Probably like me.

"Kyle," his father begins, "you can return to watching television. I assure you I do not need your opinion."

Refusing to be chastised, Kyle returns to the TV concerned about the sanity and safety of being an adult. He is glad he will never be one.

Introductions over, Betsy liked Maggie and was even more impressed that she was able to get away with such outrageous behavior with her reserved sister. This woman definitely had a strong influence in Susan's life and she was determined to learn as much as possible about Maggie, and her intentions. Like her mother, she was very direct.

"Come on, Maggie, you have flour all over you. Let's get you cleaned up. Susan is so compulsive, she can care for herself." And with that, Betsy took Maggie off.

Her sister's reply ignored, Betsy focused on the task at hand. And it didn't take long for Betsy to get what she needed. Maggie had met her husband 18 years ago while they were in college and, in their senior year, they had gotten married. "Derek plays professional football. This time of year he is often gone. So I decided to take our two kids and come to Florida. Susan rescued us when my wallet was misplaced on the plane. She’s been a life saver." Maggie tried to add humor to the conversation, "We would probably still be washing dishes and sleeping at the airport."

Betsy suspected Maggie's interest in Susan was more than friendship. Yes, her sister was an adult. But as much as she wanted to like this woman, she heard warning bells. Like her mother, Betsy wanted her sister to find the right somebody, not a married somebody. Cleaned off, the two sparring partners returned to the kitchen.

Maggie had been quite aware of the grilling and the purpose of the questioning. It was not the first time she had been the subject of such an inquisition, but fame had its way of reducing such questioning. When necessary, she had been able to use humor and charm to quickly put someone at ease. Today, she was the one who felt uncomfortable. She liked Susan and her family and the continued verbal dancing was getting tiring.

On Monday, she had taken Maureen with her when she had checked into the hotel and made business calls. Susan's mother had been in awe when she saw the suite, the attention, the hotel staff rushing to meet her every need. Maggie had promised to explain everything, in time.

Maureen paused before speaking, "Maggie, I like you. There are things about you I don't understand. When we went to Sea World, at Church Street Station...people recognized you. We live in a sheltered world, I guess. All this...," Maureen looked around at the obvious wealth and glamour. "I love my daughter and I will not allow you to hurt her. She may be old fashioned and very traditional, but she is also strong. And something is not quite right."

Maggie remained silent, amazed at Maureen's wisdom and courage. Finally, she spoke, "Maureen, I really care about your daughter and you. Derek and the kids are my only family. My mom died when I was eleven and my dad, an alcoholic, is probably dead by now. My older sister got married at 17 and moved away. My older brother joined the Army when I was 16. I haven't seen either of them since. You and your daughter have shown me more family than I have ever known. I won't hurt any of you." Maureen hugged Maggie and promised to wait for Maggie to talk with Susan.

"Whatever is going on, you need to talk with my daughter. Please do it soon. I know she cares about you. Promise me."
"I will. And soon," Maggie promised. This promise now haunted her.

Quietly Maggie followed Betsy back to the kitchen, trying to regain the earlier playful mood. She was not comfortable with these feelings or the emotions Susan was stirring. Or the half-truths she was telling. Life was getting complicated!

Dale remained in the kitchen until Kyle reminded him the Dallas Cowboys' game was beginning. Excitedly, Maggie also joined the two in front of the TV, explaining that her husband would be doing some commentary during the game. Curious, Dale asked for his name. Immediately he recognized Derek Baxter. "He played for UCLA, right? Drafted in the second round?"

Maggie nodded, panic beginning to creep in. "Second round but he is from Southern Cal. That's a no-no." She tried to smile.

"He's been picked to the Pro-Bowl three of the last five years. Rumor is this is his last year. Is that true? God, he's a great defensive back."

Maggie sat quietly wondering how much this man knew. "He's been playing professional football for fourteen years. He would like to try some other things, but he will make that decision at the end of the season." Stick to the official media line, she decided.

"I can't believe this. I’m having dinner with Derek Baxter's wife. No one will believe me. Can you get an autographed picture for me?"

"No problem. Maybe we can get a picture of the two of you."

"Me, too?" Kyle interjected.

"You, too," Maggie agreed. No questions about her had yet arisen. She was beginning to feel safer. "In fact, I could ask him to bring some team photos, if you would like."

All further conversation was stopped by introduction of the commentary staff.

"Betsy, Susan, Mom, come in here. Maggie's husband is going to be on TV." The three women quietly joined the group around the tube, each with her own thoughts. For Susan, seeing the attractive male talking into the camera, reality was uncomfortable.

So, this is the mysterious husband. Not only is he attractive but he can string multi-syllabic words together into intelligent sentences. And cocky. Look at him. Susan, I can't believe you. You are acting like a jealous woman. Yeah, but look at everyone oohing and ahhing over him. I can't believe it. Even my mom. She has no more interest in football than I do. I'll leave this group to their ogling.

Damn, I can't believe I’m this upset over some stupid jock. That is Maggie's husband! Just get control, Susan. Do something useful, like clean the kitchen. It's easier to not think if you have to concentrate on a sponge.

It's interesting. I've never noticed before how often I operate on auto-pilot, doing all sorts of things. How long have I been doing this? Suddenly, I feel someone near. I can't breathe. Maggie is touching my hand.

"Susan, please stop." The whispered voice bores deep inside searing with such heat. "Please look at me." Maggie's hand remains firmly on mine. She moves closer and leans against me, so close I could turn and this woman would be in my arms. Maggie continues, her voice soft, only I can hear, "Come on, I want to talk to you." She takes my hand and leads me. No one seems to notice. Soon we are in my bedroom, the only area of the house where quiet is still the order of the day.

Closing the door, she asks, "Susan, what's the matter? Please look at me."

I can't answer and I can't stay here with her. I try to leave but Maggie's hand blocks my exit. I pull away, but Maggie moves closer and holds me against the door. Those penetrating eyes, they hold me a willing captive. I try to speak but fear my own emotions will betray me. All sense of control is slipping away. In its place is this hunger to touch, to taste, to feel.

Maggie leaned against Susan, shuddering. Hesitatingly, she stroked Susan's hair and gently touched her face. Her fingertips moved slowly across each brow, carefully studying their shape and texture. Slowly she removed a tear that had formed in one eye and tenderly kissed each eyelid. Her hand caressed Susan's cheek and traced along the jaw until her fingers stopped at the lips Maggie had desired.

Susan's breathing had changed. Looking into her eyes, Maggie was aware she had gone beyond logical explanations and quick humor. And beyond the boundaries she had promised Derek. All she could think about was Susan. All she wanted was Susan. Susan's warm breath, Susan's tongue meeting hers in urgent desire.

Suddenly, Susan tried to move away. "I can't. Please let go." Her voice was filled with pain. Their bodies seemed to fit so well together. Susan’s body was soft! Maggie had trouble pulling away.

Maggie could not get enough. She could not remember such intense desire. She knew she had gone too far, but she could not stop herself.

"Susan, oh God, I want you." Maggie began to kiss her neck.

"Please!" Maggie felt Susan pushing away. "I can't. I can't. You're married, damn it!"

"Susan, listen, please! We need to talk. There are a lot of things you don't know, that I need to explain. Please!" Fearful her pleas would be ignored, she continued, more intent, "Susan, things aren't the way they seem. I've wanted to tell you, but.."

"Don't, Maggie. You’re married. That's all that matters. Please let go." Firmness now filled Susan's voice.

Maggie knew she had to say something, but what? Years of lies and never having to justify herself had not prepared her for this moment. If she didn't resolve this now, she felt the chance, and Susan, would be lost. Tears, unfamiliar tears, slid from her eyes. "Please, Susan, give me a chance." The tears grew and threatened to keep her from talking. "Please! I know you don't know much about me. Just don't push me away. Not yet. Let me explain. I promise to behave, but please let's talk. I..." Maggie struggled with her own emotions, "It has been so long since I have felt this way. Give me a chance. Please!"

Susan hesitated. This intensity of emotion had frightened her. What could Maggie say that could change her availability? Slowly, she nodded, agreeing they would talk later, but silently putting up the familiar barriers to her emotions. She had allowed herself to get out of control and her worse fears had been realized. She wouldn't allow that to happen again, she silently promised.

Maggie smiled and wiped the tears from her own eyes while Susan sniffed and laughed. "We must be a mess. I am sure someone in my family will notice."

"I don't know," Maggie returned the smile. "No one has knocked at the door, no phones or door bells have rung, and your friend Barbara hasn't arrived."

An unpleasant memory surfaces in the whirl of confusion. "Oh, no. I forgot. She said she might come by today. I've refused to see her all week and she hasn't been too happy. Maybe I should give up on women." I hear the groan escape before I can stop it.

Maggie laughs and remains close, but she does not touch me. "I hope not," she whispers. "Can we talk later, after the kids are in bed?"

I nod but know I will do whatever I need to avoid being alone with her. Without waiting for a response I turn and head for the kitchen. Betsy and Maureen are in the kitchen finishing dinner. They look up but no questions are asked. For once, thank heavens!

Dinner feels strained. Mom places Maggie between the two of us and across from Betsy. I try to move but she is insistent. Betsy, having inherited all of mom's curiosity plus cultivating some of her own, keeps watching us and asking Maggie a variety of questions. When Dale begins to talk about her husband, Maggie seems flustered, especially when he tries to recall some article he has read about Maggie and her husband. It is amazing how quickly, and successfully, she changes the subject. Maybe I will talk to her tonight and find out more.

Dinner finally over, I join Kyle, Maggie, and the others in the family room to watch the rest of the Cowboys' game while the kids, refueled, use the rest of the house as their playroom. Cady enjoys having her cousins over, and the addition of two more playmates raises the level of chaos. I nearly miss the phone ringing, a male voice asking for Maggie. I suggest she use the phone in my room. Her return to the family room is closely followed by all four pairs of eyes. I am not the only one closely watching Maggie. Her face does little to alleviate the curiosity. What she shares only heightens it.

"That was Paul, my husband's...our attorney. He's in Orlando and wants to know if he can drop by for awhile. I wasn't sure how to give him directions." Maggie hesitates, looks at Mom and then at me. "Is it okay if he comes over and can someone tell him how to get here?"

Dale takes the phone and gives directions and turns to us and says, "He should be here in less than 30 minutes. He's at the rental car pick-up at the airport." I am beginning to wonder if order will ever return. I look at the clock. It is only 2:30 in the afternoon. Already this has been a long day emotionally. What else could happen?

Twenty minutes later Cady informs me someone is at the door. As I get up, Maggie offers to get the door herself, muttering something about Paul. Briefly, I hesitate, giving Maggie a head start. The door is already open and by the look on her face, it isn't Paul.

"Well, Ms. Three-names, are you opening doors now?" Barbara! My life has definitely come unglued.

For once, even Maggie is speechless, but not for long. "My favorite Florida travel agent. What enchanting places are you off to now?" She reaches out the door and pulls Barb in. Barbara tries to hug Maggie, but Maggie is faster-sidestepping and turning Barb in my direction. That is one favor I would like to have avoided. As soon as she sees me, Barb stops smiling, looks at me, and then back at Maggie. Her anger is rising.

She moves back towards Maggie, hands clenched tight. "So, are you the reason my girlfriend doesn't want to see me? Do you go around the country breaking people up? Everything was fine until you showed up."

My answer is halted by Cady coming up next to me. "Mommy, I'm scared." She grabs my leg and tries to hide from Barb. She hears the yelling and comes to see what's happened. I bend over and try to reassure her. She has never heard adults raise their voices in anger.

"Sweetie, it's okay." I am not likely to forget, or forgive, Barb for this. "Go play in your room. Barb is just talking a little loud. I love you, now go play." Cady hugs me and then runs to join the noise in another part of the house. When I stand up, both Maggie and Barb are watching me. I much prefer the expression on Maggie's face. Barb glares as I interrupt her important tirade. I am beginning to dislike this woman. I hear stress brings out the worst in people. Barb has certainly reached her low point. "Barbara Stuart, I want you out of my house. But, before you go, I want you to know I'm not now, nor have I ever been your girlfriend. I have tried to be your friend, but you don't know what that is. I am..."

"Wait a minute! I love you. I've..."

Maggie tries to step around Barb and get away. Her movement only draws Barb's attention and her fury. "Where are you going?"

Any reply is stopped by the doorbell ringing. Maggie moves to the door. When she opens it, she smiles. Guess who else has come to dinner!

"Paul, come in. Let me introduce you to my hostess." A tall, attractive man comes in and hugs Maggie. It is a very friendly hug-and kiss. He ignores us and talks only to Maggie. It is obvious they are close and the affection is comfortable. Maggie again tries to introduce her audience. This time Paul becomes business-like and looks first at Barb and then at me. Maggie leads him over to where I am standing. "Paul, this is my hostess, and my new friend. Susan Hettinger, this is Paul Williams, my good friend, my attorney, and my one-time savior. Paul, this is Susan. You already know much about her. Now you have met her."

"Susan, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Maggie sings your praises." I blush as Paul shakes my hand. I wonder what Maggie has told him. "She failed to mention how attractive you are, though." He turns toward Maggie with an accusatory stare.

"Behind you is Barbara Stuart, an acquaintance of Susan's who just stopped by to say hi." Maggie's introduction does little to put out Barb's fiery anger. The greetings are cold, but polite.

It is time to move this bizarre play to another room for the next act. I wait for Barbara to leave and then escort Paul and Maggie back to the family room with a larger audience. Perhaps there would be a little more sanity added to the scene. I briefly wonder where the magic has gone. Only briefly. The remainder of the time I try desperately to find automatic pilot. I look at the clock-it is only 3:20. I will not make it to six.

Mom recovers her Southern charm and makes everyone welcome. Conversation becomes animated, especially when Paul announces Derek is flying in this evening. My brother-in-law is ecstatic, Maggie is silent, and my mother is carefully planning where everybody would sleep. Paul tries to protest and assure Mom arrangements have been made. Foolish man, he may be a great California attorney, but he is no match for my Winter Park mom who is determined to keep this cast of characters under one roof.

Dale won't leave before Maggie's husband arrives, sometime around 9 p.m. That means Betsy and the kids would be staying. Mom announces that she will put Maggie in my room with me and then have Paul and Derek sleep in Maggie's room. When I try to protest and remind my mother that Maggie and Derek should have a room, Mom's logic reminds me that the remaining sleeping places for Paul are my bed and the family room. And, since there are so many kids in the house, there is no need to keep Paul awake. Betsy and Dale would have the spare bedroom, since it would be too late for them to drive home. She smiles, pleased.

I want to die. Even Maggie is looking pale. Betsy pulls off her shoes and stretches her feet out, the way I have seen her sit many times when she is engrossed in some novel she is reading. Interactive video has taken a leap forward in my house.

Chapter 7

Maggie was hungry. In spite of only four hours sleep, she was happy, relieved, and hungry. Her thoughts jumped around, sampling the events of the last twelve hours, tasting, then grabbing another bite. Derek, arriving at Susan's shortly after 9 p.m., attempted to get Maggie, the kids, and Paul headed back to the hotel. He, however, was out maneuvered. Maureen, determined to keep the odd ensemble together, had reset the table. After introductions, she herded the adults back into the dining room, while the younger children were put to bed. Great tactical maneuver. Can't leave without the kids, Maggie reminded herself.

Dale, Kyle, and Derek talked football, incessantly and planned a fishing trip the next summer.

Betsy, sounding more like a lawyer than a physician, lost no time in asking questions, some subtle, some not. Maggie's memories at this point became uncomfortable, recalling the directness. It was obvious Betsy would get information one way or another.

Susan sat numb.

And Maureen carefully watched and listened.

Two hours later, Derek made a second, and more successful, effort to leave. The sleeping children were carefully belted into Maggie's rental car, with Paul and Derek following in their cars. It was midnight and the late hour helped them to get to their suite with little fanfare. Paul excused himself and left the two to talk.

"I've got to admit," Derek stretched out on one of the chairs in the living area, "that this is certainly one of the strangest situations you have ever gotten yourself into." He paused to look at Maggie, sitting silently across from him. "What's going on?"

Maggie hesitated. She wanted to say 'nothing' but knew she wouldn't be believed, especially after this evening. "I made a promise," she began, "I wouldn't do or say anything until we talked and you had met her." She hesitated, then laughed, "God, I've never had to really behave before." Maggie got up and sat next to her best friend. She paused and then continued, "I really like her, Derek. I think her mother is a trip."

Derek asked, "What do you want from Susan?"

Maggie couldn't answer. In the past sex was closely associated with drugs and drinking and didn't mean anything. Instant gratification, she used to call it. Things had changed. She had gotten some help.

What could she give to someone like Susan? A long-term relationship? A commitment? Wasn't that what women like Susan wanted? Maggie remembered the jokes she used to make. Monogamy-isn't that some type of hard wood?

"Mags, I like Susan and her family. I'll have to admit she is the nicest person you've been involved with since Paula. I’m not trying to sound mean, but are you ready to make that type of commitment? She seems like a very, well, I guess, traditional person."

Maggie hated hearing her own thoughts put into words. Tears formed, unwanted and uncontrolled. She also felt Derek slowly moving away from her. "I don't know. A couple of days ago I was remembering Paula. You know, I thought we would be together forever. Derek, what happened? What went wrong?" She stopped, no longer able to hold back the tears.

"If you remember, you were more interested in your career. The travel, the music, and the groupies." He leaned over and put his arms around her and let her cry. Quietly, he continued, "She was staying home studying, being faithful. You were out doing...well, I think your comment was 'too many women and too little time.' You know, Maggie, she didn't like waiting up wondering if you were coming home. I love you, Mags. There have been times I haven't approved of what, or who, you did. But, I wouldn't have met Paul except for your rather unconventional behavior." Maggie groaned and tried to refrain from smiling. "If you want to explore a relationship with Susan, go ahead. But, and this is a big one, she is not like the other women in your life. Try to be honest with her. And with yourself. And respect her. You may learn something. I think she cares about you. Be careful, though, I noticed the way you flirted with her."

Stunned, Maggie sat back and stared. Was Derek accurate in his perceptions? Maggie wondered. Did Susan really care? "I do care about her," Maggie admitted.

"I know you do, Mags. I don’t want you to get hurt. Talk to her. See what she’s feeling." She promised. After saying good night, she paced her room for an hour before falling into a dream-filled sleep.

Maggie's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of breakfast, followed quickly by Sandy, her assistant, the children's nanny, and finally Paul. After her staff was gone, Paul provided detailed information about Susan, her family, and her employer. As usual, he had been thorough in his investigation. Susan sounded like a Girl Scout. Her boss, however, sounded interesting. A plan began to emerge.

"Susan, please help me with this. She's been seen around. My sources aren't sure where she is staying, but they think she is in some detox program. Can't you call a few friends and at least get a list, please!" I am caught between a rock singer and a heart place. Very clever, Susan, you are losing it.

"Ed, I always regret getting involved in these things. What is so important about, what's her name again? I got you a list of rehab places. You know they won’t give out information about any of their clients."

"I know. You must know someone who could help. M.J. Carson is the lead singer in the band Reckless. Susan, have you noticed that you’ve been extremely distracted lately. We discussed her last Monday. She's looking for backing for an independent production company. Come on, just a little help."

An answer is temporarily rendered unnecessary when a chauffeur in a crisp dark uniform enters the office. It is an appropriate distraction. Ed has to investigate, leaving all previous discussion unfinished. Typical. And women are accused of being nosy. I watch him leave my office, go to the reception area, and talk with both the receptionist and the chauffeur. I rejoice and return to work. The excitement is short lived. As I look up, he is walking back into my office with a strange look on his face. This does not look good. Do they now send limousines to tell you someone has died? A strong foreboding takes control.

"It's for you. There's a gentleman and a lady waiting in the limo to take you to lunch. I mean us. Who the hell is it, Susan?"

To lunch? Do they feed you and then tell you the bad news?

I don't remember getting up, but suddenly I am walking towards the door. The chauffeur is holding it open. At my father's funeral, there was always someone opening and closing doors. I try to remember. Mom looked well this morning. They wouldn't send a car from Jacksonville if something happened to Dale or Betsy. I pause and look back and find Ed, the receptionist, and most of the staff following. Make way for curious ducklings.

The long-stretch limo is carefully parked at the curb. The dark windows certainly do not provide any clues as to the identity of the people inside. Maybe someone from Disney-MGM and or Universal Studios. I’m not sure I want to know.

The door opens from inside and out steps Paul. I cannot see the face of the other person, but I recognize the legs. My sanctuary has joined the world of chaos. This must be my funeral.

Maggie leans forward and I can see that incredible smile. She looks wonderful. As she steps out, I hear my boss introducing himself.

"Hi, I'm Ed.... Ms. Carson? M.J. Carson?"

I turn to see the astonished look on Ed's face quickly change to delight. M.J. Carson? Maggie Carson-Baxter. Is Maggie the person Ed has been looking for?

"Yes. And you must be Ed Howard. I have heard quite a bit about you. Susan sings your praises." Maggie has put her sunglasses on, but she can't hide that charming smirk. Suddenly everyone is looking at me. I want to wiggle my nose and disappear. "This is my attorney, Paul Williams. I was hoping the four of us could have lunch and maybe talk some business."

Ed is now leading us back into the building and towards his office, but not before introducing Maggie to the staff. Several ask for autographs. There is just enough diversion for Ed to pull me aside and demand to know why I haven't told him I knew M.J. Carson. I plead ignorance. Strangely, Ed believes me. The other members of the staff are staring. I wonder if the zipper on my pants is broken or my hair has changed color. I willingly allow Ed to lead the procession to his large corner office while the receptionist makes reservations at Richard's for lunch. I feel drawn into a vortex.

The trip to the restaurant, the lunch are all a blur. Paul and Ed discuss business with frequent commentary by Maggie. She is both knowledgeable and detailed in her business ventures. I am amazed. I can't decide whether to be angry or thankful. Any other time, I might be happy to be in a small alcove overlooking Lake Eola, sitting next to an attractive woman and discussing business. We are seated at a window where we can easily see the Orlando skyline and the fountain in the center of the lake. Ordinarily, I enjoy this view. Right now, I am confused.

After lunch, the conversation becomes more personal. "Ed, I am impressed with what you have done and what you may be able to do for us. I want to make sure, however, you thoroughly understand what I plan, how I operate, what I want to do. I would like Susan to work closely, at least for the next month with me, or my assistant, and learn my operation."

Ed hesitates. I protest, "We have other staff we generally assign to handle this sort of detail. I don’t handle production detail."

Maggie is insistent, "But you have such a keen mind and would be able to provide guidance in our planning." Paul just sits quietly, smiling. "I want this to be successful and you are the one that can do it." In the end, the customer is always right. Ed and Paul excuse themselves to return to Ed's office to draw up contracts, promising to send the limo back for us.

Maggie orders another drink. I fume. Finally, she speaks, "Susan, I'm excited. And I have a lot to tell you."

Oh, really! And I have some swamp land in Colorado I want to sell. "Look, Maggie, I don't know what is going on. If you feel you owe me something, you don't. I would like to go back to work as soon as the limo gets back."

"Susan, wait. Just wait."

For what, I wonder. So you can have a few more laughs at my expense. We keep the conversation impersonal until we are in the car. Maggie rolls up the window behind the driver, takes my hand, and asks me to trust her for a little longer. We stop long enough to pick up Paul and head back to Maggie's hotel. Still she holds onto my hand. Paul doesn't seem to mind, or maybe he doesn't notice. I do and pull my hand away.

We drive to the entrance of the hotel. As soon as Maggie gets out of the vehicle, she is surrounded by people anticipating her every need. An escort leads us to a special elevator and to a suite high above Disney. The uniformed guard opens the door. Inside is a cacophony of children, phones, and voices raised in discussion. Included in this entourage are Derek, Maggie's kids and at least six other people. Is this Thanksgiving dinner, Part Two?

Derek notices us and herds everyone else out of the room, sending the children off with a middle-aged woman. Paul, Maggie, and I are left standing near the door. Does he know what happened? Is he going to be the aggrieved husband? Is he threatening a divorce? Since meeting Maggie, life has been like riding Space Mountain; I never know where the next hill will end or begin.

Maggie props herself next to me on the couch. Paul sits on the arm of Derek's chair. At least the condemned has eaten a hearty meal. Maybe I can just throw up and we will change the topic.

Maggie speaks first, "As you know, Paul is my attorney. And a really close friend. He is also Derek's lover."

"I know he's your..." I turn quickly and look across at the two men. Paul's arm is casually draped across Derek's shoulder. They are both smiling. Turning back to Maggie, I ask, "He's what? Is this some kind of California thing?"

"No, it's an NFL thing," Derek answers, laughing. "I met Maggie in a gay bar near campus when we were both sophomores. We became friends and hung out together. Maggie knew she was gay, but didn't have a family. As a football player, I was afraid to be gay, especially when I realized I had a good shot at the NFL. My parents hated gay people and I guess I internalized enough of their fears. Maggie helped me deal with my sexuality, but also gave me a cover. We became very close. So, during my senior year, when I knew I was going to be drafted, we decided to get married. I helped her with her music and she kept me from answering questions I wasn't ready to answer." Genuine caring was evident as he smiled at Maggie. "Then four years ago, I met Paul and life became a little more complicated. Paul knew up front we were both gay. I apologize if you feel deceived, but I made Maggie promise not to say or do anything until we had a chance to meet you. You see, there are some people who’ve tried to take advantage of Maggie's celebrity status or her generosity." Silence follows. I try to absorb all I hear.

The full import of this message begins to float in the cobwebs of my mind. Holding her hand, kissing her--all this time feeling guilty. Suddenly our conversations have new meaning, a different interpretation. I can feel my face turn red and a new, more angry, feeling surfaces. Betrayal! I remain silent for what seems an eternity. The quiet is broken by Derek, excusing himself, saying he is sure we have much to talk about. He and Paul leave.

Maggie reaches for my hand. I stand up and move away. "Please say something," Maggie's voice is uncertain. I want to be angry. The feeling of betrayal is strong. I recall Ed's comments: rumors of divorce, M.J.’s playing around, drugs. I wonder if I’m an experiment-yes, certainly a cooperative one. "Susan, what are you thinking? Please talk to me." Her voice is more insistent. How can I answer? Have I been a fool? Well, I won't be anymore.

I turn and look directly at Maggie. Who is this woman? What does she really want? I find myself falling into a huge pit. How does she have the ability to affect me this way? I carefully frame an answer, "Maggie, could you please have someone drive me back to my office? I have a lot of work to finish this afternoon." I need to get away-fast.

Maggie was stunned. Of all the possible reactions, this was one she had not anticipated. Had she mistaken Susan's interest? No, she was sure Susan was attracted to her. Even Derek had noticed. What the hell was going on then? She asked, "Susan, do you understand? There's no reason we can't spend time with each other."

"Yes, there is. Now, I need to go back to work. If you can't arrange transportation, I will." Susan walked to the phone.

No one had ever said "no" to Maggie. She grabbed the phone, pulled it from Susan's hand, and shouted, "I will get you back to the damn office. Just sit." She paced back and forth, trying to regain control of her anger. Calmly she spoke, "I must remind you that you are assigned to work with me for the next month. Now, if you can sit down, I will have my assistant come in and we will make some plans," she said, turning to the phone.

Fearing her own emotions, Susan was silent. She spoke only when informed that she would be accompanying Maggie to Atlanta for a concert tomorrow. They would be leaving at six that evening so Maggie could rehearse with her band. "Maggie, I am sure you have a lot to do. So do I. I can’t just abandon my family on short notice. If you want me to review financial records I will be glad to do that. I can do that from here."

Maggie refused to give in easily. Susan’s protests were quickly put to rest with a series of calls to Maureen, Ed, and the airport. The anger, however, was not resolved. An hour later the assistant left to finish travel arrangements. Susan couldn’t remember when she had been this angry. She was accustomed to controlling her actions, and emotions. Now she just wanted to run out of this damn room. She, however, wanted it to be a graceful run and she wasn't sure she was capable of that much coordination. Somehow she reached deep inside to the last of her reserve and focused on work.

"If we are finished, I need to go home and pack and spend some time with my family." Maggie arranged for a limo to take Susan home to pack while she spent time with her own two children. She knew she couldn’t push Susan.

Despite Susan arriving late at the airport, Maggie never doubted she would be there. The private jet was loaded and waiting when they boarded. Maggie introduced Susan. "This is Karl. He’s been my manager for four years. Outlasted all the previous ones. Guess I pay him well." Karl rolled his eyes while shaking the blonde woman’s hand.

"This is Jeremy. He and I formed Reckless eight years ago. He’s the drummer, and a good friend."

"And I put up with all her bad jokes. Glad to meet you."

"This is Bobbi. She does back up vocals and has been with the band two years. She also plays keyboard when needed." The petite redhead nodded, glared and walked away. "She doesn’t socialize much with strangers," Maggie whispered. The remainder of the crew were introduced. Susan remembered meeting Sandy, Maggie's assistant, and quickly said hello as well as introducing herself to the others. She knew she wouldn’t remember most of their names. The flight was short.

In Atlanta, the entire top floor of the Peachtree World Resort had been reserved for Maggie's entourage. There Susan met the remainder of the band, their spouses, lovers, and friends, and all possible combinations, as well as traveling members of the stage crew, publicity, and others whose title, and relationships, she couldn't remember. In spite of Susan's protests, Maggie insisted they share a large corner two-bedroom suite.

"I’m sure you want to meet with your own staff later and I will want to sleep. I’ll arrange for my own room," Susan started to walk up to the desk.

"Susan, the suite has two bedrooms, is large and you will have your privacy. I need you nearby… to consult. I don’t want to be looking for you. Surely, you can handle a couple of nights."

The golden haired woman resented having to cater to Maggie’s needs. Even more she felt challenged by Maggie’s last comment. She could either avoid Maggie or resist her obvious baiting. She chose to ignore, for at least 48 hours. Sandy handled the rest of the room assignments with ease, not asking any questions when her boss insisted Susan stay in her suite.

The evening is hectic. Maggie becomes more animated as the evening goes on. Where does the energy comes from? Briefly I wonder if she is manic. She oozes raw sensuality. It grows most during the three-hour rehearsal at a wonderful, old, renovated building in the theater district in downtown Atlanta.

Even more people are already there rehearsing, setting lighting, moving equipment. We arrive at 9 p.m. and everyone is acting like it is 9 a.m. Maybe I am the only one on a different timetable. Most of these people are probably still on California time.

I’m introduced as a financial consultant. Most of the people just give me a blank smile and say, "How nice." Like "The archipelago represents interesting bio-diversity." How nice. I feel more like one of Maggie's possessions. Actually the word "groupie" seems more relevant. I now know what that word means. How nice. I am beginning to sound like my mom.

A tall, thin man named Dan comes up and introduces himself, welcoming us to Atlanta. The next words are so unexpected. "Ms. Carson, thank you for sponsoring this fund-raiser. I can’t tell you how much AIDS Atlanta appreciates you stepping in and pulling this together. When Elton John had to cancel, we didn’t know what we would do. Then Karl called and said you would do the show and sponsor the entire thing." Sponsoring? An AIDS fund-raiser? I stare at Maggie and realize she is actually blushing. More confusion. "Let me have you meet the rest of our board." There is so much about the woman I don't know. That I don’t understand.

Dan introduces the board of AIDS Atlanta Cares for Everyone. Maggie greets each person, quietly walking around shaking hands, not hesitating in hugging or touching. She spends time actually talking and listening to each person, not just the political "hello." I don't understand this woman. Sandy and Karl continue the conversation with Dan. It is only when he comes up to me and invites me to the dance at our hotel after the concert that I notice the dark lesion on the side of Dan's neck. This attractive young man has AIDS. He fails to notice my surprise and just talks glowingly of Maggie and her frequent support for their fund-raisers.

"And, most of the time, she does it quietly. There are probably only two or three people who know she is footing the entire bill. It’s become fashionable in some large cities to sponsor AIDS fundraisers. Maggie does more. She really cares."

Any further reflections are halted by Karl urging Maggie and the band to get on stage to rehearse. Many of the other performers and visitors settle into seats and remain for the entire rehearsal. "Will you sit on the stage and wait for me?" I nod. "Thanks. I’d like that." Maggie joins her band on stage.

Throughout the evening she walks over, occasionally actually walking off stage to smile or wink. My heart and head are at war. After two hours I can no longer handle the feelings or confusion and slip into the audience. When Maggie next walks to the left side of the stage, she looks around and stumbles over her music, restarts the band, then goes on. Every few minutes she looks for me, but she doesn't stop the rehearsal. I hear people around me whispering, wondering what, or who, she is looking for. Finally, at eleven, they call it quits, with huge applause and shouting from the gallery.

I want to be alone and sift through this confusing panoply of emotions. Instead, we descend upon a local deli. I’m not hungry. I want to be an unobtrusive observer. Conversation is animated. This is Maggie's show. She glows in the attention and admiration. Two young men and one woman are trying to dominate the conversation. Maggie surprises me. She is considerate, even gentle with them, obviously enjoying their adulation.

"I am so glad you could join us this evening. What do you folks do in Atlanta?" Maggie asks. She sits and listens to them describe their jobs, tilting her head to one side as she listens. "So, the three of you met while working for Cocoa-Cola. It must be great to have a support system at work."

"We would be glad to show you around corporate headquarters if you want to come by," the young woman offers. "We have an interesting collection of Coke souvenirs." The offer included more than just a tour of the building.

"I’d love to, but we are leaving not long after the concert. Thanks anyway. Again, thanks for coming." She stands up and walks to the next table. I see the look of surprise and excitement of each person.

The next group is a local all-women rock band. Maggie sits and makes herself comfortable before she speaks, "I want you to know how much I enjoy your music. I didn’t recognize it. Are you performing your own stuff?"

The woman with spiked red hair answers, "I write most of it, but some of it we write as a group. Thanks, it means a lot to hear that from you." She certainly has the ability to make someone feel important, as if he or she is the only person in the whole world. I know how that feels. "We’d be glad to give you some of our music if you wanted to record it."

"I appreciate your offer, but I would rather hear you guys singing it. Hold on. Sandy!" She calls her assistant over and introduces her to the group. "Sandy, will you give them one of your cards and be sure to get their names and phone numbers." She turns back to the amazed group, "We are going into the production business and we would like for you to consider recording on our label."

Ooohs and aaahs circle the table along with high fives and backslapping. Maggie has spread her magic. While I admire her for being such a charming hostess, I am feeling overwhelmed. I no longer know what to believe about this woman. My well of reserve is being drained quickly.

As if reading my mind, Maggie slides into the booth next to me and whispers, "I'm ready to leave. How about you?" Her breath is warm against my ear. I can't answer, nodding my head instead. I’ve become a non-verbal idiot around this woman. I not only excelled in the Spelling Bee; I actually knew what the words meant. Around Maggie, I have difficulty spelling my own name. She hesitantly takes my hand and pulls me out of the booth, much to the dismay of her trio of ardent admirers. She motions to Sandy and Karl, says good night to the many followers, offering to see them at the concert. In thirty minutes we are alone in the room.

My escape to my bedroom is short-circuited by a quicker Maggie as she steps in front of the door. I recognize the seductive smile. I step back. Maggie moves closer. We attempt this two-step until I back into a wall. Clever, Susan. She leans one arm against the wall and leans into me. Her eyes never falter, holding me captive.

"When you disappeared off the stage, I had a moment of panic. At first, I kept expecting you back. Then I realized you weren't coming back. I missed you. Tomorrow will you promise to stay backstage?" I nod. She is so close, I would have promised anything. Why is it that every time this woman comes near me, all my bodily systems go into overdrive and my brain goes on vacation? Maggie now wears a huge grin that fades only as she leans even closer. I know what will happen next and do nothing to stop her. The touch of her lips against mine is soft and gentle. Several times she again brushes my lips. She pulls away, but only inches. I open my eyes. A searching expression greets me. I do not turn away or flinch. Some answer must have been found for the next kiss was not nearly as gentle. It is urgent, demanding. I feel myself responding to the probing of her tongue against my lips. A low moan escapes as I open and welcome her in. An incredible hunger begins in my center and spreads until I am not sure I can remain standing. I pull her closer and feel the soft swell of her breasts against me. I want to touch and taste her. I want to fill myself and drown in her.

Maggie’s hand caresses the back of my neck. She kisses my chin. I feel her tongue trailing along my neck and moving back up to my mouth. I gasp in anticipation. Again, I drink in such tenderness. Never have I wanted anyone as much as I want Maggie. As I reach up to unbutton her shirt, she pulls back.

"Not tonight. I don’t want you to have any regrets. Not just because you may be tired. Not in one moment of passion." She caresses my cheek and continues, "Good night. I'll see you in a few hours." She gently kisses me, turns, and walks into the other bedroom, closing the door behind her. I stand stunned. It seems I only know women with great exit lines.

Getting to sleep isn't easy. I don't know what to think, or feel, about Maggie. She seems to be so many contradictions. She scares me.

Maggie closed the door behind her and leaned against it, afraid to turn around, wanting to run into Susan's arms, yet afraid of her own emotions. She couldn't believe she had walked away from this beautiful and willing woman. What was happening? Suddenly, Maggie was frightened. She wasn't sure she would know how to handle involvement without her old crutches. What would she do if Susan still said yes tomorrow? Sleep eluded her. Too many questions swirled in her dreams. For the first time in a long time, Maggie was confused and afraid. She wanted a drink.

part 4

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