Refusing to look at Maggie, Susan answered calmly, "There is no need to use that kind of language. And, hello, to you, too." She slowly sorted through objects in the bags she carried.

"Jesus H. Christ," Maggie walked up and grabbed Susan, forcing her to turn and face her.

Susan stood silent, stunned, waiting for the tirade to end.

"Damn it, Susan. I have a concert tonight. I don't need this." Maggie sighed, her anger spent. Somewhere underneath the rage, Maggie recognized fear of losing Susan, but was unable, or unwilling, to acknowledge those feelings.

"First," Susan began in a controlled voice, "I left a note telling you when I would be back and I believe I'm early. Second, I didn't ask to come to Atlanta. I was ordered. I am an adult capable of caring for myself. If you must know, I visited a friend from college and invited her to the concert and the dance, unless you have a problem with that." Seeing no reaction, she continued, "Finally, I am not responsible for your anger. Excuse me now, I need to shower and change. So, please let go of me." Susan was shaken by the firestorm. Her professional career did not involve significant conflict. Numbers generated no emotion. Her personal life had been carefully shaped into a calm, vanilla package. She allowed the lawyers to battle it out once she made decisions. Only her mother had ever challenged the thin veneer.

Maggie tried to apologize, "Look, I'm sorry. You're right. You don't owe me any explanations." The blonde turned and walked away. "Please, wait." Susan halted. "I said I'm sorry."

The younger woman nodded and said, "Apologies accepted," and then walked into her room.

Be calm. You will not let this upset you. What an ego. 'I don't need this.' Well, neither do I. I don't care how important this person may be to Ed, I am not going anywhere else with this egomaniac.

The shower is rejuvenating. Control has returned, even if it is fragile. I wonder if this emotional roller coaster is what menopause is like. Of course, I never noticed a difference in Mom. Maybe she is in prolonged menopause.

As I slide on my silver silk blouse, I hum to myself, a habit that helps relax me. By the time I finish putting on my black linen pantsuit, I am calm.

When I walk into the sitting room at 7:00, Maggie is dressed in form-fitting, black leather pants, shiny, black knee-high boots, and a black leather vest that provides lots of opportunity for exposure. I can't breathe. I stare at the soft swell of her breasts. The vest ends two inches above her hip-hugging pants. The skin is smooth. I want to touch it. Instead I force myself to look away. It is then I notice the flowers filling the room.

"It took a little work. I didn't know what kind or color you liked, so I tried to get a dozen of everything." Maggie was now inches away. She takes my hand, lifts it, and kisses it. "Susan, I know this is no excuse. I was frightened. I screwed up. Give me another chance. Please."

Maggie's eyes fill with tears but she never looks away. She sounds so vulnerable I want to promise her I will fix the world. The roller coaster is headed up again and I have no control. "Maggie, these flowers are nice, but…" I struggle for the right words. She's prepared for me to say ‘no.' I can see it in the haunted look. I nod yes and am quickly swallowed in an embrace.

Within thirty minutes, we are back at the theater and the level of excitement escalates. Dan and several men in tuxedos meet us at the door and escort us to Maggie's dressing room. Sandy and two other staff members carry clothes, instruments, and other paraphernalia. Our entourage is joined by the threesome from last night whose ardor has not diminished in the hours since leaving the deli. Everywhere people are being introduced to M.J. Carson. Maggie shakes hands, laughs, introduces me, and keeps walking. Soon the two of us are alone, much to the disappointment of at least three people.

As soon as the door closes behind us, Maggie turns and leans into me. "This really means a lot to me." Her voice is soft, sensual, sincere. "If I get a chair for you, will you sit near the stage where I can see you?'

"Yes," I can barely speak. Her kiss has an urgency. She pulls me close and leans into me. Her hands caress the sides of my face. She smiles and kisses my chin. I am being pulled into an emotional storm and do not resist. A sound escapes before I realize I am the source. Maggie pulls back, a familiar grin adorning her face. I reach up and touch her face.

"Thank you for being here tonight. I'm so sorry."

"Maggie, I...," Her hand covers my lips, preventing any words.

"Don't say anything. Not yet." Maggie's words are barely whispers. I stare into warm brown eyes, feeling my heart begin to open. Her head tilts to the right as if studying my face. It is an expression I've become familiar with.

A knock at the door breaks the spell. The stylist enters, chattering about various Atlanta nightspots. He spends the next fifteen minutes arranging her hair and her make-up. Finally a headset with a microphone attached is carefully added. I cannot imagine this Maggie in a business conference room. She is now M.J. Carson. On the overhead speaker, we listen to the announcers and the opening acts. At 8:15 p.m. a knock at the door signals it is time. The atmosphere is charged.

Five minutes before their set, Maggie has someone bring me to the back stage area where a stool has been left for me. I can see the band, but not the audience. The music is loud. Arms encircle me from behind. I recognize Maggie's scent. "Again, thank you," she whispers into my ear. I shudder. She kisses my neck and I feel myself falling. Before I have a chance to reply, she lets go and is bouncing out on the stage, reaching for her guitar as the crowd screams her name repeatedly. A loud chord crashes into the night and chaos is released. The show has started. The air is electric and I am a lightening rod.

During the next forty minutes, the pace never slows. Maggie is boundless energy, constantly moving, dancing. I am overwhelmed by the sheer sexuality of the performance. She comes to the side of the stage, a few feet away, and sings. Her voice is sultry and husky. She closes her eyes and leans her head back. Her guitar put aside, she calls at me with her hands. Her voice is a low growl of words and music, enticing and promising, yet always slightly distant. She draws you in and makes you want her then she pulls away and you follow. She is making love to the audience with her music and they respond. Male and female, it makes no difference. They want her. And she continues the dance. I blush at the rawness, yet I feel my body respond. Her voice is loud, her movements leave little room for speculation. Then, she drops to a throaty whisper and she is pulling you back into her web. I begin to understand the feeling linking the audience to this woman. She is electric and we are all her receptors, building us to higher and higher levels of excitement. The fire I suspected inside Maggie has become a consuming inferno, with no escape for those of us in her path. She returns to center stage and dances around the bass guitarist, seducing with her words. The audience is in a frenzy. The temperature in the room is at the combustible level. The songs go on and on, interspersed with her talking intimately, as if there are only the two of us.

Near the end of their set, Maggie comes off and drags me to her dressing room. She's covered with sweat. The door closes behind us and she is pulling off clothes. The band finishes and intermission starts. "Help me," she commands. Unquestionably, I obey. Her clothes off, she quickly showers and is back out, dressing. She stops, listens to the band, smiles. "Five minutes," she says as she moves toward me. Her kiss is very possessive. I am shaken by the power of that one kiss. Throwing me a towel, she turns and waits for me to dry her back. My hand responds while the rest of me watches. She is aware of what she is doing. I hear a low moan and Maggie moves back against me, grabbing my arms and putting them around her. My body feels singed every place she touches. I even smell the smoke. Maybe it is my brain. She turns, her breasts brushing my arms. Her lips are heat, searing my neck as she slowly travels lower until clothes bar any further movement. "I want you," she says. I fear the smoke detectors will soon go off.

She grins at me, moves away, and quickly puts on a blue satin outfit that is even sexier than the first one. The pants are form fitting and show off her muscular legs. The sleeveless top emphasizes her slender frame. She grabs her headset and we rush back to the stage. If anything, she is even more excited.

The second set starts with a slow, sensuous blues number. When the song finishes, Maggie talks to the crowd. "The band just finished recording a new CD. When I was growing up, I loved to listen to love songs. I always wanted to sing them. To a special someone." She paused and let the audience shout its approval. "Our new CD, ‘For the special someone,' will be out next February. We're going to do a couple of songs from that CD."

The drummer's slow pulsing beat echoed through the auditorium, an amplified heart beat. The keyboard's melody began softly at first, followed by the lead guitar. The back-up vocalists humming blended with the instruments. M.J. lifted the microphone up to her lips and began to sing. The song was filled with wanting. It touched my soul.

The next song was an upbeat love song. She and the lead guitarist sing words of hope and promise. I can see a couple dancing in the aisles. I wonder what it would be like to dance with Maggie.

At the end of their second set, they are called back and play for another fifteen minutes. The lights on, I am again being led back to Maggie's occupied dressing room. People come and go, grabbing M.J., congratulating each other on the success of the concert. I sit in a corner numb and watch. M.J. is everywhere, talking, laughing, her hands constantly in motion, but this time I wonder how they will feel on my body. I can't believe I am having this conversation with myself.

After 20 minutes of this chaos and by some unspoken signal, Karl and Sandy begin herding people out the door. The last to leave is the woman who had been flirting with Maggie the previous night. By her glare, it is obvious she is not happy that I remain. I am becoming a groupie. And to think I went to college for this.

Maggie slips out of her concert clothes and wanders around gathering clean ones. I turn away embarrassed. Not as much by Maggie's nudity, but by my desire to touch. Once showered, it does not take long for Maggie to be again dressed. In a green silk jumpsuit, she is somewhere between M. J. and Maggie and still stunning. The zippered front stops above her waist, a very provocative, and intentional, effect, I am sure. I have never been accused of being oversexed. In fact, I have had a distinct lack of interest in that area of my life. Maggie has let me know I am not dead. She comes up, takes my hand, and says, "Let's dance."

I thought I was.

The ballroom at the hotel is packed. Over 400 tickets have been sold and it, too, is a sell-out. Maggie's entrance does not go unnoticed. Dan rescues us and drags us to a reserved table, but Maggie grabs hands and talks. She would probably make a great politician. For the next hour, Maggie dances with Dan, with Karl, with Sandy, with a variety of other people. My friend Nancy doesn't arrive until nearly midnight and then has to wade across the floor to our table. We dance and try to talk.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it has been to get tickets? This has been sold out for over a month. When you showed up today and offered a pass, I thought you were kidding. How did you get to be part of this group?" Nancy was one of the few lesbians I knew in college and we have maintained a close friendship as I tried to decide if I was or wasn't. And she has been one of the most supportive of friends.

"My company is representing Ms. Carson."

"Are the rumors true?" Nancy dragged me out to the floor where we began to dance. "Is she?" She nods her head expectantly. "You know. What is she like?"

I laughed at my curious friend. "She is talented and intelligent." Nancy stares at me and waits for more. "It's strictly professional." Nancy nods but is doubtful. We continue to dance and talk. After our fourth dance, Maggie comes up and introduces herself. Nancy, our senior class president, our leader and organizer, is speechless. I'm astonished. Maggie excuses us and leads me out to the floor, wasting no time in asking questions. I am flattered. Is M.J. Carson jealous? Twice someone tries to interrupt. She is courteous but undeterred.

"Who is that? You seem to know each other," Maggie asks. I smile pleasantly and dance. "She's attractive."

"She's the good friend of mine from college. Remember I mentioned I visited her today. We roomed together for two years and have been friends since. Why?"

Maggie hesitates then asks, "Were you more than roommates?"

I am astounded. Could jealousy be tickling M. J. Carson? "Yes."

Astonishment is too mild a word for the expression on Maggie's face. She turns and looks closely at Nancy while we dance. "Is there something still going on between you two now?"

"Yes," I hesitate, enjoying watching the panoply of emotions on her face, "we're friends. Just friends." Maggie stops dancing and clinches her fists. "Nothing sexual, nothing romantic. Just friends." A smile breaks across Maggie's face and she again resumes dancing.

"I'm glad you're friends. Just friends, I mean." Maggie whispers into my ear, very aware of the effect on me. Finally we sit down.

The female admirer is asking Maggie to dance. She agrees, much to the woman's obvious delight. Nancy and I find a quiet corner and resume dancing and talking. She, too, quizzes me.

"Don't hand me that client routine, Susan. What's going on between you two?"

"Funny, Maggie was asking me the same question about you." I laugh at the look of surprise on the face of my usually unflappable friend. "Maybe you two should talk to each other. I'll tell you the same thing I told her. We're just friends."

"Hot friend. You've surprised me, Susan. I never pictured you as a media groupie."

"I am not a groupie," I protest. "Damn it, Nancy, we are just friends. She's a client." A part of me realizes that is not completely true. Too many questions and not enough answers. Intermittently, Maggie asks me to dance. Each time, I feel her sensuality surround us. There is nothing suggestive about her dancing. She is beyond that. She whispers in my ear, but I don't know how to answer. I try to see if she dances so provocatively with others, or just me. When I am finally able to see her, I am not sure I like the answer.

Around 2:30 a.m., the lights dim and slower music is played. Maggie finds me and leads me to the dance floor. She pulls me close and I can feel the heat from her body. Placing her hands on my hips, she pulls me tight against her, her hips swaying against me. Every inch of my body responds. I tell myself this doesn't mean anything, but certain parts of me aren't cooperating. Even when I remind myself that Maggie dances this way with other women, my body says, "I don't care." She puts her knee between my legs and slides up and down my leg, her eyes never wavering, always holding me. This is a new dance to me, but I know where it leads. For the next two songs, everyone else fades. There is only Maggie, only this closeness, only this fire growing within me, only this consuming need. There is no way to convince Nancy Maggie is just a client.

Stopping and holding onto my hand, she leads me up to the front where the band plays. A few minutes later the song finished. Maggie steps to the microphone. The crowd is quiet, expectant. "I want to thank you for making this an exciting and profitable evening for AIDS Atlanta. I understand we set a new record tonight, for attendance and money raised." Applause and shouts fill the hall. Maggie waits, begins again, her voice softer and more serious, "We must never forget why we are here. A lot of people, straight, gay, young, old, black, white, Hispanic, parents, children, loved ones, and friends have this terrible disease. Until it no longer exists we must continue to fight it and conquer it." Applause interrupts. Again she waits for the quiet. "The band and I just finished a new CD which will be out in February. We recorded a special love song. So hold on to someone special, tell them you love them, and let them know that the love deep inside will never go away, no matter what diseases, no matter what fears, no matter what others say." The lights dim and a soft, wailing sound begins in the band. Maggie is still, looking within herself. Finally she begins. The song, Deep Inside Me, is incredibly passionate.

My life was shadows

Afraid to feel the flame

Coldness numbed my heart

And no one was the blame.

I hid from love

Unsure of what to do

With all the pain inside

Until there was you.

Her voice becomes warmer, more alive. Like a caterpillar coming out of her cocoon, Maggie is transforming. She looks only at me. Others turn and stare. Questions are being asked, but I don't care.

You whispered my name

And chased the away the dark

I felt my life begin

As you captured my heart.

You reached deep inside me

And set me on fire

My soul set free

Lay down beside me

Stay deep inside me

Her voice is husky and breathy, almost a whisper. Running a hand slowly down one thigh, she leans her head to one side and a long, low groan comes from those wonderful lips. She is lost within herself. She is the music. She is magic. She is M.J.

I built fences to keep

Anyone from getting near

I've been trapped

Inside my own chains of fear

This is the road more traveled

With no one to guide me

There is pain and want in her singing. Tears roll down my cheeks as I feel the depth of those emotions. Nothing can stop the journey we've begun.

I am no longer alone

With you deep inside me.

Lay beside me,

Teach me how to live.

Let me dwell in the warmth of your love

I have so much to give.

With you deep inside me

My spirit can fly

There is nothing you ask

My heart won't try

With you beside me;

So deep inside me.

The last line is breathy, softer, seductive, like the first calm breath after an organism. There is a moment of quiet while the audience absorbs the final pulsing chords. The reaction is deafening. Maggie's eyes are burning through me. Hesitatingly she looks away, acknowledging the applause. I'm not sure how, but we are headed out of the ballroom. I've forgotten to say good-bye to Nancy. I forgotten my resolve to survive the weekend. I've forgotten everything but Maggie.

Karl and Dan lead the charge, but some determined fans closely follow. At the elevator, Karl and Dan redirect the admirers while Sandy, Maggie and I head upstairs. The woman who has been following M. J. for 24 hours makes a desperate dive for the elevator but is deterred by alert bodyguards. As we get off the elevator, Sandy reminds us our flight is scheduled for three that afternoon. Her raised eyebrow is the only indication anything out of the ordinary is happening.

We are alone. Maggie closes the door and I hear the lock click. There will be no phone calls, no door bells, no Barb, no interruptions. I am decidedly nervous. I wonder if Maggie notices.

Susan walked over to the bar and asked for something to drink. As Maggie handed her a glass of wine, their fingers touched and a current passed between them. She walked around the bar and stood behind Susan, leaning forward, putting her head against Susan's. She whispered, "I can't tell you how many times I wanted to touch you or hold you. You have touched my life and changed it. As I sang tonight, I realized how much the new song is about you." She turned Susan around and looked into the golden eyes she wanted to dive into. "I want to make love with you. I think I have since the first night at your house." Her hands were caressing Susan's back, pulling her closer. "Are you aware of how beautiful you are? Or how desirable?" Susan shook her head ‘no.' "No matter what I want, Susan, I'm not going to push.... I don't want to do, or say, anything that may cause..." Maggie faltered. "I don't want to lose you." Laughing at herself, she continued, "I can't believe I'm saying this. I would rather have you as my friend, and in my life, than to spend one night making love and lose you forever." She had never asked before, much less told someone to say no. But Susan was different. She wanted Susan to want her. Want Maggie, not M.J.

Susan reached up and grabbed a handful of hair and twirled it. Breathing was not possible. Thinking required effort. Only feeling flowed. Finally she looked into Maggie's face. The mouth seemed warm and moist. She had to taste it. This time it was Maggie who was groaning.

Taking the younger woman's hand, Maggie led her into the bedroom. The singer couldn't remember the last time she had been this nervous. The feelings were too intense.

Susan reached over and began to pull down the zipper. All night she had wanted to open the jumpsuit and reach in and touch the soft flesh within. Her own daring amazed her.

Maggie stood still and allowed the shorter woman to undress her. The golden eyes haunted her dreams and her every waking moment. She held her breath as the soft hands touched her body.

Susan's eyes feasted, following the trail of her hands as they touched and caressed the arms, the hips and then the erect nipples. Maggie's knees began to shake. She wanted to see and feel Susan's body, but she knew she would not be able to stand much longer. Sensing the urgency, Susan helped with the buttons and zippers on her own clothes. Maggie pushed Susan onto the bed and placed her body on top. This was heaven, she thought, feeling the softness of Susan beneath her. This first time she wanted to savor, to share with Susan. Her own needs, however, were so urgent, she wasn't sure if she could be patient.

First she kissed Susan. Her eyes, her neck, her nose, always returning to the lips that were like warm honey. She nibbled down her neck and found the one place where Susan would gasp and emit a series of sharp moans. She focused on this area and could feel Susan move beneath her. Moving on to the soft, rounded breasts she had dreamed about, Maggie first covered one with her mouth while a hand caressed the other. Soon she was sucking on the nipple and feeling it become erect inside her mouth. She stopped and looked down into those magnificent eyes. She could read the desire and passion as clearly as she could feel it. Maggie felt herself becoming wet from just looking at Susan. Returning to the swollen breasts she again tasted one, then moved on to the other, listening to the changes in Susan's breathing. Susan's hands were pulling her up to drown her in kisses. She felt Susan's hands stroke her back and flow down to her buttocks, caressing the soft flesh then running fingernails across the back. She found herself mounting Susan's leg. Her own throbbing had become painful. She needed release. Slowly at first, she moved back and forth, her own wetness coating Susan's thigh. Hands encircling her breasts and squeezing the nipples brought her closer to climax. She realized she was coming too quickly, but she was beyond control. Susan pulled her down and took a breast in her mouth and began to stroke the nipple with her tongue. Maggie's movements became more frantic. She craved release from this need. Her whole body began to shake and convulsions swept deep inside her. She was stunned by the intensity. Somehow, Susan managed to change positions with Maggie. She reached down between Maggie's legs and softly touched her swollen flesh, continually caressing until Maggie was again close to orgasm. Slowly she slid her fingers into the warm wetness. Maggie gasped and began to move with the new rhythm Susan had set. Again and again, the hand moved against her, sliding in and out until Maggie cried out and grasped Susan tightly. After the last wave passed, she could again breathe.

"My God," Maggie gasped, "what happened?" She smiled and looked into Susan's eyes and noticed the tears. Sitting up, she asked, "What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

Susan tried to smile but was so overwhelmed by her own emotions. "Nothing's wrong. You are incredibly beautiful and passionate. It's just so intense."

"I like intense." Maggie leaned over and began to again kiss Susan. "Intense is good." This time she knew she would be able to take the time. "Intense is very good," she whispered as she leaned over the woman who was quickly filling her heart. Susan became a musical instrument Maggie played with such passion and precision. She quickly learned the important chords and replayed them, embellishing and rearranging. Susan's body was a fine instrument and an erotic song began to fill the night air. With a gentle hunger, she played different melodies, her own body providing counterpoints. Susan's body began a crescendo of indeterminable length and intensity, led by Maggie as she touched and savored. Those wonderful hands that conducted a conversation were an even more impressive maestro as they orchestrated the passion growing within Susan. Soon the two were unison. Breathing as one. Feeling as one. Maggie covered Susan with kisses, moving down to her hips where a most intimate melody was about to achieve completion. Maggie's tongue tasted the wetness. Her hand became a bow and Susan was her violin. She played with a fever and intensity that surprised even her. At last, waves of different color and timbre covered Susan. She let out a cry, like the cymbal crashing, exclaiming the overture's final movement.

Maggie moved up Susan, kissing along the body now glistening with excitement. She reached the warm, tender lips and again drowned in a kiss. Susan was smiling. She pushed Maggie just far enough away to see into the dark eyes.

"You are incredible," Susan began, then hesitated, looking for the right words. Finally, she continued, "I know this probably sounds trite, but I didn't know it could be like this."

Maggie smiled. No words could express the power of her feelings or the depth. To put voice to those emotions was terrifying. It was easier to live in the moment, to stay with the song she was playing. She began to recall some of the phrases she had recently played. She couldn't get enough. She would play this symphony again and create new variations upon the theme. Susan was easily aroused, this time knowing where the music was leading. They played and replayed their favorite melodies, over and over, reclaiming passion as their muse.

Light filled the room before the lovers were aware of anything but emotions and touching. Susan sat up and looked at the clock. Exhaustion was finally consuming any reserves. "Maggie, it is nearly seven. We need to get some sleep." Maggie's protests were quick, but so was sleep in capturing the exhausted pair.

It is many moments before I recognize the distant beating as my own heart. I would have sworn there had been a drum and bugle corps rehearsing in the room. I stare at the dark lashes fluttering against the tanned face. I cannot believe this sleeping, peaceful woman is capable of arousing such passion in me. Her breasts gently rise and fall as she falls into a deep, trouble-free sleep. Innocence and vulnerability displace the cocky, self-assured singer. She is once again the woman I met on the plane.

I fly between fear and love. Fear because I am so out-of-control. And fear because I am falling in love with her. All day I have thought of nothing but Maggie. Whom am I kidding? Maggie has occupied my thoughts and dreams since we've met. Here I am in bed with someone I have only known three weeks. I've had two women lovers, Nancy and Leslie. And then my husband. Never even considering sex until we had known each other for months. Yet here I am with you. Where are we going? Oh, god, your face is soft, like you. Her hand caresses her lover as the fear surfaces, "Am I just a temporary diversion, Maggie? Will you wake up and pretend this was just a meaningless affair? I couldn't stand that."

Chapter 9

The flight to Orlando is quieter. Maggie is attentive and affectionate at the hotel, but once aboard the plane she quickly falls asleep. Sandy tries to start a conversation, but I'm not very good company. Finally, I interrupt her, "Sandy, you don't need to entertain me. Are you usually left in charge of the strays?"

Sandy laughs, apparently enjoying this response. "No. I do a lot of things for M.J., but that is not one of them. Actually, I just wanted to talk to you. I'm not sure what you're doing in this zoo." Silence. I don't know how to respond. Sandy senses my discomfort and continues, "Anyway, it looks like you and I are the only people still awake." She has a disarming gaze. "Look, if there is anything I can do for you, just let me know. Okay?"

I nod and hastily thank her. She looks away and I wonder if I've done something wrong. I don't understand these people.

Maggie awakens, stretches, and smiles. I am lost in warm, brown eyes. "Sorry. Guess the concert wore me out." One side of her wonderful mouth lifts into a most intimate smile. No matter how hard I try I feel the heat crawl up my neck. "You're so cute when you blush." She gently brushes my cheek.

"Looks like most everyone else is sleeping. Guess it was the concert." I hope she won't notice my awkwardness. Quickly changing the subject I ask, "How long has your band been together?"

"Jeremy and I were playing together in another band and we decided to form our own group. It took awhile before we found all the right people. We've gone through several musicians but the majority of the band has been together five years." Maggie pauses, "I've probably played in a dozen bands since high school. I always had the dream of having my own band. Lotsa hard work." She grins and her face lights up, "I guess we did it."

"I looked up some of the band's financial records. You've made quite a tidy sum in the last…"

Maggie touches my arm, "Honey, please, no work." In spite of the gentle tone, my feelings are hurt. I nod and become quiet. She pulls me closer and leans her head against mine. Soon she's again asleep.

The arrival in Orlando is organized chaos. Limos parked near the hangar swiftly move out to the plane after the pilot shuts off the engines. Suitcases of various shapes and sizes line the tarmac and are haphazardly thrown into the waiting vehicles. I grab my one hand-carried piece of luggage and move out of the way. After a quick hug, Maggie jumps into a waiting limo and heads for the hotel with a promise to call later. The driver of the remaining vehicle grabs my bag and shortly I am sitting alone in a limousine trying to make sense of the last 24 hours.

I've been caught up in a tornado and unexpectedly dumped in some cornfield in Kansas, and no Toto. My emotions are raw. I am exhausted, confused and want to sleep. Instead I'll probably be facing the modern version of the Spanish Inquisition. I am not sure how much more emotion I can handle today.

Mom surprises me and asks few questions. She is concerned and caring and sends me off to bed. Cady comes in and snuggles next to me. For the first time in a long time, I feel grounded, safe. Cady and I chat for few minutes and I watch her golden lashes flutter on her cheeks as she drifts off to sleep. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the quiet and security of being home. Sleep comes quickly.

I came into work in a bad mood and it has been downhill since. I've barked at the staff. I've written the same paragraph twice. Coffee now stains my new wool suit. I need to focus, but I'm not sure how. I again pick up the Nashville project and begin reading. The phone disturbs any concentration.

"Susan Hettinger."

"Susan, Jared Howell. How are you?"

Howell is a senior attorney in the firm that represents us. "What is it? I hope you are calling with good news."

"Whoa, Susan. Get up on the wrong side this morning?" When I don't respond, he continues, "I just wanted you to know that I got a deposition from one of the other kids on the shoot. They all warned the kid who climbed the tree to not do it. And the head of the department has a release the kid signed six months ago. It appears he has done this kind of careless thing before and there are witnesses."

"Do you have statements from the other witnesses?"

"Geez, Susan, we just found this out over the weekend. I thought you'd be excited."

"Jared, call me when you have the signed statements. Just make sure you have them quickly, before someone else offers them money to change their statements."

"Don't you think this is worth dinner? How about tomorrow night?" Jared insists on trying to mix business and personal lives. I hate it.

"Jared, this is your job. Our company is more than adequately compensating you and your firm. If you don't stop this, I will ask to have you taken off our account. Understood?"

"Christ, Susan, it's just a little joke," anger flowed from the lawyer's voice.

"Yes, you are," I replied then hung up.

Ed chooses this time to come into my office discussing financial plans for Maggie's production company. He has been busy over the weekend finding backers and, apparently, has been quite successful. I don't want to hear Maggie's name.

"I've gotten some preliminary interest from folks who have winter homes in Florida. I was at a party up in Heathrow and there was money. Here's some of the names. What do you think? Think Ms. Carson will be interested?"

"Ed, why are you asking me these questions? This is your area. If you're asking me to run financial profiles on them, I'll be glad to. Just don't ask me to do a thumbs up or thumbs down." Focusing on something else, I busy myself with other contracts.

"Look, Susan, can you run these by Ms. Carson's folks and see what their interest is?"

"No, Ed. Do you want the financials on these people or not? If not, let me finish reviewing these contracts. I have to overnight these to California and they will be picked up at three."

Ed perches on the edge of my desk and smiles. "You are the damnedest person I work with. You're hard-nosed and focused. You've kept me, and the company, from losing big bucks. I love to see you do that with our clients. And," his voice became serious, "I hate it when you do it to me."

Not wanting my boss to see my smile, I continue reading the paperwork in front of me as I answer, "Thanks, Ed. I'm going to take that as a compliment."

His laughter fills my office and his voice bellows with humor as he speaks, "I made a good decision persuading you to come to work for me. I get the hint. I'm going." He continues laughing as he exits. I'm glad he's finally leaving me to finish my work.

At 2:30 p.m., I ask my assistant to call FedX and remind them we have a pick-up. I look down at the list of names Ed left on my desk. Signing on to my computer, I access the web and begin my research. If people knew how much information was accessible, I think they would think twice about some of their spending and credit decisions. Because we frequently do financial profiles and credit checks, we have access to an interesting array of databases.

My inquiries are successful. I'm not sure where Ed was to meet these people, but he has hit some big names. One is the daughter of the owner of a major food chain. The family has a home in Sanford. Another is a former Republican governor's chief of staff. A third is a member of the Versace family from Miami. A surprising name on the list is the former head of the Sun Banks in Florida, now SunTrust. A well-known retired NBA basketball player, whom even I recognize, is also on the list. These people are definitely solvent, but not the traditional investors in high-risk entertainment ventures.

As I finish my last query at four, I realize I have worked through lunch. I guess I'm finally able to concentrate. My office assistant rings in to inform me that M. J. Carson is on the phone. My safe world is in trouble.

Maggie yawned and stretched, waiting for Susan to answer the phone. Her head pounded and her eyes ached. Moving felt unnatural and she certainly didn't want to tackle any heavy conversation. She had gotten little sleep during the weekend. Sunday she spent working with her staff on her upcoming tour. Work was easier than thinking about the ever-present feelings for Susan. Later, pleased with the plans, she celebrated with her staff and the band members still in town, finally falling asleep around 4 a.m. When she awoke at two in the afternoon, she realized she hadn't called Susan. She had gotten through nearly 24 hours without thinking about the attractive honey blonde.

"Susan Hettinger." Susan sounded distant.

Maggie panicked. The ground under her shifted, resurrecting old pains. "Hi, beautiful. I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday. I just got busy."

"That's fine. Is there something you need?" Susan was not getting any friendlier.

Need? Maggie thought, I don't need anything or anyone. She stopped. That was no longer true she realized. When had that changed? "Look, Susan, I apologize. I called because I just wanted to hear your voice. I've missed you." Maggie needed to be her most persuasive self. "How about if the kids and I come pick up you, Cady and your mom and we go someplace to eat?"

"Thanks, but..."

"And maybe afterward we can rent a video and watch some movies. I really miss you."

"I think my Mom has already made plans and..."

"I'll call her and work something out. I'll call you right back." Maggie hung up and dialed Maureen. Whenever her emotions threatened to get out of control, she switched on autopilot. Do, don't think. She didn't want to give Susan a chance to say no. Five minutes later she was again on the phone to Susan. "Maureen invited us for dinner. Want me to pick you up at work? We can ride to your house together."

Frustrated and angry, Susan paused. "Thanks, but I don't...Maggie, we need to talk...."

Maggie interrupted and promised to meet Susan at her office. At 5:30 p.m., Maggie and her two children arrived, driven by Sandy in one of the rental cars. Susan was grateful that at least no more limos were pulling up to her house. Maggie had just said hello when she was pulled into Ed's office. The children ran into Susan's office, hugging and shouting.

"Miss Susan," Beth began, "is Cady at your house?"

Surprised at the question, Susan replied, "Yes, she lives there with me and her grandmother. Why?"

"I wanted to play with her but I thought she might be with her father."

Susan stared at the seven-year-old and tried to imagine where the questioning had come from. Lifting the child on her lap, she said, "Cady doesn't have a daddy. She lives with me. And you can play with her anytime."

"Me, too?" three year old D. J. added.

"Yeah, you too. Come on. Let's get your mom. I'm hungry."

Interrupting Ed, Susan claimed Maggie and told Ed to make an appointment to talk with the singer during working hours. "I need to get these hungry kids fed and me too." She pulled Maggie out of her chair. "Don't think about it," Susan warned as he started to speak.

"Okay," he smiled, "Ms. Carson, can we get you in tomorrow to talk about some tentative plans? We just need a little more information so that we can put together a presentation and Susan can run the numbers." Pleased, she called Paul in Tampa and set up a meeting for 9 a.m. the next morning in Ed's office.

As they left, Maggie spoke, "Thanks. I tend to get excited about my work. I'm sorry." Maggie ran her hand through her lover's hair as they drove away.

"Mmmm. That feels good." Susan leaned into the caress.

Maureen met the weary group at the door with hugs and ordered the kids off to wash hands. "Dinner is ready. Susan, take Maggie into your room and wash up. Hurry. I don't want dinner getting cold." Susan led Maggie to the other side of the house. Alone, Maggie put her arms around Susan.

There is something about this woman, about her presence, that is overwhelming. She comes into the room and my world crumbles. Her arms slide around me spreading warmth. Arriving home, I remember that I hadn't heard from Maggie in more than 24 hours and here she is acting as if nothing has happened. I want to stay angry yet I'm having difficulty resisting.

"Susan, what's the matter?" Without waiting for an answer, she leans forward and nibbles at my neck, moving from one side to the other. My knees shake. I want to pull her closer. Her skin is cool to the touch but there is a fire that lies within this woman. I pull her face up and touch her lips with mine. Her kiss becomes demanding and I try to remember what we're talking about. Why does my body betray me like this?

Mom's calling. Maggie pulls away. "Have I told you how much I've missed you?" I shake my head, but no vocalization is emitted. "Let's finish later, okay?" I nod. In high school I won an award for extemporaneous speaking. These are obviously not lifetime skills.

After dinner, Mom, Maggie and I play with the kids. There is something child-like and innocent about Maggie. She is silly, outrageous and uninhibited, rolling on the floor with the kids, laughing and giggling. All three take turns rolling on top of her. More giggles and tickling. Beth, D.J., and Maggie have their own language. Cady tries to figure out the code and becomes frustrated. She pulls away and pouts. Maggie notices, and, before I can reach my daughter, she grabs her. Lifting her above her head, she says, "My little fuzzlee flies bifferly." Cady laughs and repeats the strange phrase. A huge grin covers her face. I am enchanted watching them play. There is magic in their play. Soon all three children are bathed and put to bed, mom kisses me good night, hugs Maggie saying she is glad things worked out, and then goes to bed. I stare at the two of them.

Maggie moves closer and whispers, "Why don't we take a shower and then go to bed? I've been dreaming all day about you being naked next to me. And...," she pauses, lowering her voice, "...what I wanted to do." Why can't I be just a little harder to get. She takes my hand and soon clothes are flying off as we climb into the tub.

I lean against the side while Maggie runs her hands slowly down my body. When she reaches my feet, she lifts them and holds them against her breasts. I am floating. Tenderly she massages the bottoms of my feet, then my ankles, then my calves. An-ti-ci-pation. The old song runs through my head, but every other part of me is captive to her hands. When she reaches my thighs, I am struggling to breathe. I reach to pull her closer and kiss her. She gently pushes me back and whispers, "Be patient. Enjoy." Her hand drifts slowly to the inside of my thighs and briefly touches me. I want her to move higher. Instead she wanders up to my hips and begins to rub my stomach, in slow wide circles. I do not know how much longer I can handle this wonderful teasing. Her hands continue to rub my lower back and hips. The motion has stopped. I open my eyes. Maggie is moving down between my legs. I can see the desire in her eyes. It excites me. A wildfire spreads throughout me. I'm floating, awkward and out of control. Even over the water jets near my ears, I hear the excitement in Maggie's voice. I reach for her but she's insistent. Every inch of my body is alive. Maggie's hand slides between my thighs. Her mouth is consuming me and I am responding. Her fingers are searching. My body pulls her in. I whisper her name. I want this woman. She fills me and I feel myself coming.

"I love you," I whisper as Maggie lies next to me on the bed. She grins and kisses me. I turn and lean over her. Her beautiful warm eyes greet me and that wonderful, magic smile pulls me in. My hand slides down her body, reaching down to feel her wetness. She catches her breath. I want to show Maggie how much I love her. I want her to love me. She must love me.

The rest of the week is a mixture of chaos and lovemaking. And little sleep. Now I know why my friends do not socialize much at the beginning of a new relationship. They are either working, sleeping, or having sex. Maggie is an incredibly responsive lover. And tireless. We make love until 2 or 3 in the morning, get up at 6:30, and run the rest of the day. She is sensitive to my moods, stopping frequently to ask me how I am, offering to get food or drink, or just smiling at me. For the first time in my life I feel cherished.

On Wednesday, we fly to California. We leave at 6 a.m.Eastern Time, after only three hours of sleep. Maggie has chartered a plane so that we have the plane available for the day. In Los Angeles, I end up arguing with Maggie's manager.

"Karl, you can't just book these engagements. Look! If you book these cities closer together," I point to three performance dates in the northeast, "you can get a crew to go with you. You save thousands of dollars. Who taught you to schedule?"

"Maggie, what the shit is your girlfriend doing planning our schedule? I've been working on this for months."

"I'm staying out of this," Maggie smiles and walks out of the room.

"What the fuck do you know about tours?" Karl's voice is raised even higher than his blood pressure.

"Nothing. When was the last time you reviewed the profit and loss sheets at the end of a concert, much less a tour. You get your cut off the top. And Maggie is left responsible for all the expenses. Sure, the total is large, but so are the costs."

"I'm still her manager," he challenges.

"And I'm not her girlfriend. I'm a financial manager. I can make you both a lot richer." I move close enough to be in his face. I could see the dollar signs clicking.

Maggie was surprised at the aggressiveness in Susan's tone. She knew her attractive lover was bright and knowledgeable, but this was a new side she hadn't seen before. Another thing to admire, she thought. Karl was out of his league, she decided, if he thought he could browbeat Susan. Maggie desperately wanted to watch. Picking up her cell phone instead she called Sandy.

"Where are you?" Sandy asked.

"We're in Los Angeles. How are you? Did you get my messages?"

"I got your messages. I've called Disney and they have a script they want to send over. They are going to send someone over to have breakfast and discuss it with you. Just give me the date. I've got a studio in Orlando set up for you to redo your track." Sandy searched for her notes and read the date off. "Karl is anxious to book more dates. Have you talked to him."

A grin spread across her face as she answered, "Yes, we're at his office now. No more dates, dammit. Not until I see how the first month goes. I've told you. I've told Karl. I'll talk to him." She was frustrated at having this same conversation. "What else?" she barked.

"One of the Orlando TV stations called and they want an exclusive interview. I explained you don't give many interviews, and certainly not exclusive…."

"Exclusive! Who the hell do they think they are?"

"Look, M. J., I'm the messenger. I talked with Karl and he thought it was a great idea since you were in Orlando anyway."

"Okay, okay. Just set it up. And make sure they understand it isn't exclusive and get a list of the questions before hand." Public relations had never been her strong suit and she still resented the intrusiveness. Too many misquotes made her mistrust the media. "And limit the interview to one hour, okay? No matter what Karl says."

"Gotcha," Sandy shook her head, dreading the conflict with Karl. "Anything else?" Sandy admired her boss but she also knew M.J. Carson wasn't the easiest person to deal with. Her boss was generous with bonuses and time off and Sandy respected Maggie. Margaret Carson-Baxter had hired her, a relative unknown, seven years ago based on Maggie's belief that Sandy could do all the things she said she could. In seven years, Sandy had developed a reputation and a healthy bank account. And M.J. Carson was responsible for both. She had learned a lot from her tough, determined boss. "I'll talk to Karl about the tour," Sandy offered.

"I'll talk to Karl. Take care of the other stuff. Stay in touch." Maggie hung up. The door opening to Karl's office reminded her to check on Susan. "How's it going?"

"She's tough, but smart. Definitely a keeper." Karl winked and ushered M.J. back into the office.

"Karl, I just got off the phone with Sandy. No more dates on the tour until we've been out on tour for at least a month. And the interview in Orlando-one hour fixed format with questions submitted before hand or no interview."

"Christ, M. J., the station needs lots of tape to edit. They're not going to like it."

"I don't care. One hour. I want the questions at least three days before." Karl's mood became less compliant as he felt pushed again by his top earning client.

"Done." He paused, then continued, "You know you were less demanding ten years ago."

"Ten years ago I was lucky if I got an interview once a year even when I sat in the newspaper's office." In the last ten years she had lost her privacy and resented it.

"I'm impressed," Maggie mutters as we head back to the airport. "I've never seen Karl back down to anyone."

"He's driven by money," I answer, still feeling the adrenaline flowing. "He's so condescending."

"Susan, he's also very loyal. Yeah, he's got his prickly side, but he's never, and I repeat, never, betrayed me. He's worth the money."

"Well, I just made sure he makes you more money," I add.

Once on the plane, Maggie holds my hand and then promptly falls asleep, leaving me to regret interfering in her business. After all, I am just a bean counter.

We arrive back in Orlando around midnight. Maggie still wants to play. I'm tired and still angry. Only the reminder that we have a meeting at 8 a.m. forces her to consider sleep.

On the second trip to California, Maggie spends the day with her staff while I visit with an investor in the morning. The afternoon we spend with her business manager going over the books. That evening Maggie takes me to a woman's bar and we dance until two. Several women greet Maggie as we come in. They are friendly and include me in conversation. "Are you a regular in this place?" I ask.

The lopsided grin again spreads across her face. "I've been here a few times, but two of the women we just talked to have worked on some of my west coast concerts. You're not jealous, are you?" She slides one arm around my neck and pulls me closer.

My feelings are a jumble. "Should I be?"

"Not on my account." Something inside her lights up and she glows. "Do you want to be jealous? Should I do something to make you jealous?"

I stiffen. "I don't do jealous. I was simply asking a question."

My dark-haired lover stops dancing and leads me to our table. "I was just teasing. I didn't mean anything. Relax, you have nothing to worry about. I'm yours." She rubs the palm of my hand with her thumb and waits for me to answer. I don't know what to say. "Come on, it's late. I'll call the pilot and tell him to have the plane ready."

We leave from there and fly to New York, catching a few minutes sleep on the plane. In New York, we visit three recording studios and spend time with more investors. At one of the studios, the production manager indicates he may be interested in expanding. I leave him my card and make a note to have Ed call him.

We leave for Florida by 7 p.m. I think this is called life in the fast lane. Or insanity. Once again my life is spinning. I'm caught in a whirlwind and Maggie is the center around which everything else swirls. Time is no longer a marker between days.

The next week we spend hours discussing details of the proposed production company and amortizing costs. She amazes me with her ability to recall details and to analyze situations quickly. Her business acumen leaves me in awe.

"So, you're telling me that because this is considered a high risk venture, the backers get a higher rate of interest on the money they loan?" she asks.

"They also realize there is no guarantee on their investment."

"I'm no fucking fly by night sensation. Every thing I have recorded in the last eight years has been solid. This is usury."

"That's why we're trying to set up your own production company," I reminded her. "But we have to get backers for the initial start up."

"Why can't Derek and I put up the money?"

"You can, but you're talking about tying up a significant part of your assets for an indeterminate period of time. If you commit too much of your assets, you could lose everything. Observing your life style, including these planes we've been chartering, you've got high fixed expenses and you spend freely."

Maggie glares. We are both tired. "Are you criticizing my life?"

"I am merely stating the obvious."

"What about you? You were traveling first class when we met. There are cheaper ways to travel."

I fight the urge to raise my voice. I carefully avoid arguments. "My house was paid for years ago. My car and furniture are paid for. We have a 401K at work and Ed gives me substantial bonuses, most of which I invest. The first class tickets are charged to whatever project we are working on. Anymore questions?"

Maggie walks away, but later she comes back with more questions. This time the questions are detailed.

We spend the next two days in a recording studio in Orlando while she finishes up a track on her new CD. I sit in the control room while she and the band record.

"Ms. Hettinger, are you related to the former mayor?" one of the recording crew asks.

Surprised, I answer ‘no.' He offers me a cold drink and smiles. "Thanks." Curious, I ask, "Are you from around here?"

"I graduated from Colonial High. My family has lived here all their lives. What about you?" His questions are friendly.

"Winter Park graduate. Both my parents grew up in Jacksonville but moved here right after they were married." We chat awhile and he shows me how he records different tracks and later mixes them. I listen and watch him operate his console, moving switches and pressing buttons to some formula he hears through his headphones and from notes on his cue sheet. I am beginning to understand what he is saying!

We fly to Nashville, then back to New York, then California again, still looking at recording studios and asking questions. Ed is spending most of his time on M. J. Carson's project while I'm traveling. Two more clients have contacted the firm for assistance. There are endless hours of meetings and negotiations.

I'm tired of being gone so much. I have seen my mother and daughter only 2 or 3 hours during the last four days. I wonder when my life will return to normal. And I used to complain my life was boring, ordinary.

On Sunday, I sleep late - 8 a. m. Maggie is still asleep. How peaceful, beautiful and innocent she looks. It is hard to leave her lying here. Yet, I want to spend some time with Cady and Mom, read the newspaper, have a nice quiet Sunday morning. As I approach the kitchen I give up on quiet. Cady, Beth, and D.J. are sitting at the table in the midst of a rather loud song. And Mom is the teacher. I listen carefully to the words. Some of the songs Mom knows are definitely R-rated.

"Mommy!" Cady squirms out of her seat and is quickly in my arms.

"Hey, beautiful. I love you." I swing her around then hold her close. She smells like sunshine.

"I love you. Mommy, will you play with us today? I miss you."

I am stunned at how much I have missed her and my life. Christmas is near and I haven't finished my shopping.

"Good morning. Want some coffee?" Mom comes over and gives me a hug and puts a cup on the table. "Breakfast is almost ready. What time did you get in last night?"

"Around 11. Our plane was delayed out of L. A. Seems to be the norm and Californians expect it."

A quiet has settled around the table. It is short lived. Mom begins. I think I would have preferred one of her bawdy songs. "We were talking about going to the mall and doing some Christmas shopping. Would you like to come along?"

"That sounds like a great idea." Once in awhile we used to go to the Mall and just window shop. As we finish breakfast, we make plans for the day.

Maggie is curled around her pillow when I return to the bedroom. I vacillate between waking her and jumping into a cold shower. The decision is made when she opens her eyes and smiles.

"Hey, sleepy."

"Mmmm. What time is it? How long have you been up?"

"Since eight. Mom, the kids, and I had breakfast and we chatted and then I read the paper. Guess what, you were in the entertainment section."

part 5