Hayden raised his hand. "I never get the girl. What do I have to lose?"

She made a soothing momma sound. "You will, honey, you will." She eyed the others. "Boy scout fingers from the two of you."

They complied.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. You can help me carry the lamb carcasses to the frat house kitchen. The Greek house is goin' Greek." She smelled her freshly shampooed hair. Why had she bothered to get the cardamom out?

"That's the last of it." Gwen handed a box over to Jason. "I'll meet you at the house." She slipped the check under Deb's door. Deb, who had been beyond overjoyed, whatever joy occurred after too much joy, offered to name the coffee pot after her. It may not be a degree, but she'd been awarded something from the university.

Bryan handed her a plastic bag and all three of them waited for her to look inside.

She saw a fold of white fabric that looked like..."A sheet?"

"It's your costume."

"A sheet is not my costume."

"It's not a sheet. It's a, you know..." Bryan made a flowing motion like a skirt.

Gwen mimicked him. "No."

"Venus, no one gets in without a costume. They won't let you in. And then you can't cook." Bryan's voice rose, and she was afraid he'd lose his status as the cool one. "And then no one will let us in, and we'll never get to be Chi Omikrons!"

Hayden seemed to catch the panic and gripped her arm. "I will die a virgin!"

Bryan and Jason froze, and Gwen successfully eliminated all expression from her face, poor boy.

Hayden let go and cleared his throat. "Figuratively speaking. You know, after a couple of months it resets itself."

Bryan made a whistling sound. "Uh, no it doesn't."

"Yeah it does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

Gwen held up the costume between them and herded them all down the hall. "Thanks, I'd love to wear a sheet."

Hayden, trying to recover, pointed to it. "Technically she's naked."

Gwen did not want to be part of a conversation about what did and didn't constitute virginity, but... "Who's naked?"

"Venus!" Bryan pointed at Hayden. "Even I know that one. It's where she's standing in that giant clam."

Jason's eyes lit up. "With all the nymphos around her?"

Gwen watched Hayden recover as he got back on familiar footing, the guy who knows stuff, the one you call when you're on a game show and the categories are history, art, science, math, and things Oprah says.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, it's Botticelli's The Birth of Venus, and I think you mean nymphs."

The boys were really expanding their horizons... clamshells, nymphos, Botticelli. "Well, never say a liberal education isn't worth the money."

"She's naked." Jason shrugged. "It's not like a guy forgets that kind of thing."

Bryan lifted a hand to Jason. "Burned into our retinas."

Jason high-fived him. "In a good way."

She smiled at the whole dopey lot of them. "I'd hate to think there were things burned badly into your retinas. Come on, I'll follow you to the frat house, and we'll get you in." If she'd had sons she'd want three just as wonderful and ridiculous as the boys.

The kitchen was surprisingly well-equipped. It shouldn't have surprised her since it supported a nearly hundred member house. She'd been kabobing, stuffing grape leaves, crumbling feta, and smelling the now overly familiar aroma of lamb for what felt like hours. It was all made oddly perfect in a Greek house with her flowing white robe, belted with a gold girdle and matching a gold laurel leaf crown in her hair. If Venus cooked, and God knew women who were born with those kind of breasts on the half shell, did not cook... but if Venus did cook, they might have been friends.

Just beyond the kitchen's swinging doors, she could hear the sounds from the main room. There'd been kegs rolled in the back door and through the kitchen for a good half-an-hour. And at some point in the late afternoon, a pledge shared part of a counter top with her as he sliced a mountain of fruit. It went into a new, she was told, plastic garbage can. She did not want to know what that was about. They were mostly underage she was sure, and the house was dry by every college standard, so she was going to distance herself from all things stirred in a garbage can. She couldn't be liable based on providing lamb. She just hoped no one got hurt.

She looked up from her kabob skewers to see her mother swing through the door. "Gwennie, they said I'd find you here."

"Who said you'd find me here?"

"The boys. They are dears. Can I help?"

"Is it another parent's weekend?"

"Unofficially. I came to check on my girls."

"You saw Missy?"

"Had lunch with her."

Gwen felt a squeeze of pain. She'd been left out again, out of her own daughter's life. Well, she was done worrying about it. Okay, soon she'd be done worrying about it. Dammit, she was never, ever going to stop worrying about it.

Ellen must have seen the sulk on her face and countered with her own sulk, delivered with far more skill. "She'll be fine. You'll be fine. Who the hell cares about me?"

Gwen walked around the island and hugged her. "Hi, Mom."

Ellen sniffed. "Lord, you smell like Mr. Telekronos. Now, what can I do?"

"I'm good right now, but in about an hour everything will be up, and I'll need to plate and stock the buffet table. I'll need every free hand then."

"Good, because Bryan's taking me to get a costume. He said I could come as a grandmother, but I said I'm not that kind of girl."

"Good for you. Get something sexy, Mom, like Lady Godiva or Britney Spears." Gwen could see her childhood pass before her eyes, the too blonde hair, the tricked-out cleavage. Her mother might not have changed, but thank god she'd had to slow down a little during the senior years.

"Lady who?"

Of course her mother would know who Britney Spears was. "Find an appropriate costume and come back in an hour. How's that?"

"Yeah, Mom, I was actually kidding about the Britney Spears costume."

"You were actually sarcastic, and I'm not Britney Spears. I'm Hannah Montana, although I don't have panties on, and that's something Britney did, wasn't it? In that cab that I saw on the internet. What's with all the shaving? In my day--"

"Mom!"

"What?"

"No underwear?"

"The lines showed too much, Gwennie. It ruined the whole look. I wish I'd thought ahead and brought my tummy controller, but if wishes were horses we'd all ride."

Gwen stood in the kitchen, the smell of lamb and brimstone around her and studied her mother's long flowing blonde wig and sparkly outfit, a black applique guitar on the overly tight T-shirt. "Is that a child's costume?"

"Yes. The women's outfits were all so suggestive."

"Oh, sure, because that one's not."

"And I couldn't wear a bra with any of the other costumes. They were like yours."

Her mom pointed to the top of her Venus robe, where the only thing between her and the gods was a sheet. It wasn't like she had a choice. The boys had given it to her, and she didn't want to hurt their feelings or their chances of getting into the fraternity, plus who owned a strapless bra beyond the prom years? "The straps showed."

"I know, dear. That's why I didn't get one myself. Or the girl devil costume. Even the angel one had feathery strings holding the top up. At my age you need a bra or you're tucking them in your waistband."

Gwen grimaced. "Really?"

"No, honey, momma made a joke. You come from sturdy stock. My grandmother kept her breasts well above her navel until she was ninety-five. And look at yours. Middle-aged and they are just served up on a plate." She put her palms beneath her own breasts to demonstrate.

Her mom's breasts were pretty good in her little t-shirt. Gwen shifted the laurel leaf around her middle and glanced down at her own. Not bad. "It's the belt. I can't lower it or it cuts into my hip bone."

She heard Max's voice behind her, "On you, it works."

She closed her eyes and didn't turn to face him. "Quit doing that. Why do you always do that?"

"I don't do anything but exactly what I'm told to do. Don't I, Mrs. Ciarrochi?"

"Yes, you do. You're a good boy, Max."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ciarrochi."

Of course she'd been worried that Bryan would find Missy. The one who'd found her at eighteen was the prototype for all the Bryans of the world, all the charming and nice-enough boys, who would still leave you in a heartbeat.

Ellen motioned to the platters that were already filled and garnished. "Can we start taking these out?"

It brought Gwen's attention back to the job at hand. "Yeah, that would be great." She watched her mother leave and turned to Max, who was dressed in his own flowing robe and laurel leaf crown. "You let the boys pick out your costume, didn't you?"

"I actually had this little number in my closet and thought it would be perfect for the evening. It's like the tuxedo you never get to wear."

"Julius Caesar was murdered, you know."

"I am Mark Antony, who, I believe had way more sex with Cleopatra."

"I'm not Cleopatra."

"I know." He gazed longingly toward the door and sighed. "But she's out there somewhere."

"Find her with a tray in your hand." She motioned to an ornate silver platter stacked with skewers of golden lamb studded with cherry tomatoes and green zucchini. "Just follow Mrs. Montana. You know the yes, Mrs. Montana, whatever you say, Mrs. Montana. I'm just the nicest boy that ever walked the planet, Mrs. Montana."

Max closed the distance between them in a blink, and she backed into the stove, considered for a second what burners had been on. She hoped the front ones had cooled because if she didn't lean back she'd be toga to toga with the man.

He bent his knees just enough to lower his face eye level with her throat, and she felt his deep breath in. "The cardamom is making me crazy."

She drew her eyebrows together and looked at the top of his head. "You know cardamom?"

"It's one of the major spices in Greek cooking."

"Yeah, but--"

"We're in a Greek house and... Oh, my god. You're not wearing a bra are you?" He slipped his finger under the lone shoulder strap.

"I beg your--"

"If you beg then we are definitely not going to be serving any food this evening." He tipped his head to the right. "Pantry, now."

"Ha." She hoped he didn't hear the little wobble in her voice. Ha was a pretty good bluff, and she didn't really have a choice. She'd stick a skewer in her eye before she let him know how much he affected her.

He played with the tie at the top of her shoulder. "What is it with you and these little bows?"

"That's a knot, not a bow."

"You're changing the subject."

"I am not. I'm cooking, and you are..."

"Making you hot?"

"Distracting me."

"I'll take that." He stood to his full height, looked down, and her body leaned an inch closer to him in anticipation of the kiss.

She realized what she'd done and wanted to back up, but he'd spot a retreat. What he honed in on, unfortunately, were her breasts touching his chest, the sheet between them only a kind of invitation.

"Damn, your mom was right. They are right up there. Like they were being served up on a golden platter."

She realized he wasn't going to kiss her at all. He'd been bluffing just to get a rise out of her. Well, she wouldn't be a kabob led to slaughter twice. She punched his arm and felt great satisfaction when he jumped back and rubbed the spot.

"What did I do?"

"I have work to do."

"Oh, you thought I was going to kiss you, and now you're mad?"