"Hey, Carl. Sorry, man." I held up both hands, palms outward. I knew that was weak by the fear in his eyes, and the way yon guard had pulled out his nightstick and was chattering into the walkie-talkie.

"Sarah!" Jennifer screamed, running through the door. She stopped, assayed the scene, and grabbed Carl by the arms. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

"I'm fine," he said, the fear leaving his eyes. "Sarah has lost her mind, but no one has been hurt."

"Local police are en route," Guard Boy said.

I slumped down to the ground, sitting flat on my backside. "You banned me?"

Jennifer looked from Carl to me, then came over and squatted down beside me. "We're really sorry," she said. I could tell she was sincere.

"Sawyer hired an outfit to come in and evaluate our setup, see about upgrading our gear." Carl looked at me, his chin out, but doubt in his eyes. "Seemed like a good idea."

"And banning me?" I asked. "That a good idea, too?"

No one said anything.

Jennifer patted me on the shoulder and stood. She held a hand out to me, waiting. "I'm sorry," she said.

I took her hand and stood.

Carl picked up the sword case and handed it to me. "Me too," he said. "But you have been a bit out of control lately."

He and Jennifer exchanged a look. Her eyes softened and she shrugged.

Carl smiled a bit and turned. "Why don't we call it a vacation," he said. "Take a couple weeks, get some rest."

"Yeah," Jennifer said, stepping up to Carl and placing her hand on his arm.

Things were moving fast. I smiled at her and she only blinked.

"I can't afford a vacation," I said. "You already took the supplies out of my last check."

"Yeah, we'll fix that," Jennifer said. "Right, Carl?"

"Sure, sure," Carl said, nodding. "We'll send over a check."

I hugged the sword case to my chest, trying to breathe. I needed that money to cover my rent. Things were tight enough as it is.

"This is about Sawyer, isn't it?"

No one spoke.

"You know he tried to buy the sword?" I asked. "Offered me his stake in Flight Test plus a bonus?"

Carl looked at Jennifer, questioningly. "Really?"

"News to me," she said, looking my way. "For the sword?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to sell?" Jennifer asked.

"No. Not a chance."

Carl's jaw dropped. "Why not? Hell, I'd much rather deal with your mood swings than . . ." He turned away from the guard and lowered his voice. "Sawyer creeps me out."

"He's an odd man, that's for sure," Jennifer added.

"And he loves JJ," Carl added. "He's been pumping him up all weekend, telling him he can do better, telling him he should go off to Hollywood."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," I said. "JJ's a prima donna who needs an ass kicking as much as anything."

Jennifer laughed a bit at that. I liked her laugh.

By the way Carl looked at her, he liked her laugh, too. Nice to see them maybe getting together. They made a good couple. Hell, the way they ran the movie set they were just like everyone's parents.

"Two weeks?" I asked, battling back tears. "You sure, Carl?"

He hung his head then. "I'm sorry."

"I'll talk to Sawyer," Jennifer said. "But you'd better go before the police arrive. Wouldn't want this getting totally out of hand."

"And if I leave, you all save face, right?" I asked. This was pissing me off again. "I thought we were friends."

A police cruiser pulled into the lot, parked by the walkway up to the entrance, and a young officer stepped out. She was cute, and totally hot in her uniform, but I think bored best described her. Something about the way she looked snagged in my mind, something about passion and control.

I shook my head and glanced away. What the hell was wrong with me? It was like I was losing control of my emotions.

Jennifer walked out to talk to her, hurrying to get ahead of the security guard.

"Hey, Sarah," Carl asked, stepping to my side. "You seen Rolph?"

My alarms began to vibrate. "No, why?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing big. He's not here yet, and he's always early," he said, rather lamely. "And we tried to find him this weekend to no avail."

How far had Carl slid here? I gotta tell you I was beginning to have my doubts. Money can be a great enticer, and blind even the most honorable man to acts of desperation and deception.

"Sorry, Carl. Haven't seen him."

"Okay, just asking." He stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced over at the police officer. She was listening to Jennifer and the security guard tell their tales and her boredom was not getting any better.

"About the sword," Carl said so nonchalantly as to be painful. "Any chance we can borrow it for the rest of the shoot?"

I laughed then, out loud, more bark than mirth. "You fire me, give me over for a handful of shekels, and then you ask to use my sword?"

"Just for this flick," he said, "if we have to reshoot any scenes." He shrugged. "You know the drill."

I took a step away from him, assessing the way he stood, and the look on his face. "Sawyer tell you to ask?" I didn't wait for an answer, just turned and began walking to my car.

"Beauhall, wait," he called to my retreating back. "We could rent it. I know you need the money."

That was the last blow. I showed Carl the better half of a peace sign and climbed into my car.

As I backed out, I saw Homeless Joe over by the Dumpster holding a catering tray with lunch meat and cheese. He watched me, training his one good eye on my progress, munching something as I passed. He mouthed a word, crushed cheese falling from his lips.

The word was "dragon."

Thirty-five.

I THINK I WAS NUMB. WHEN I SAW THE SIGNS FOR THIS COWboy bar where Julie went dancing, I pulled in and parked. The sound of the engine cooling, the pinging of metal, sang a song to me-a song of sadness.

It was early, about seven forty-five, so the lot was half full. When I bellied up to the bar and began a tab of tequila shooters, the bartender didn't ask, just dropped a bowl of limes and a shaker of salt beside me. The first three went down rough, like swallowing fire. After that, things began to blur a little.

The fifth shot finally broke through the barrier. I got up from the bar and moved to the dance floor. No one was dancing, but I needed to move. There was something inside me, something that needed to spin and twirl, thrust and jab. I needed a battle, something to vent my anger, some outlet for my rage.

Only there were no battles, so I danced, let the redneck, boot-stomping twang roll over me, ride along my nerves and direct my body into a frenzy of motion. I wanted to be out of control.

I never liked how I danced, but at that moment I was grooving. Then, when the sweat ran down my back, and the fire ran through my belly, I blinked and shifted. It may have been the alcohol, but one minute I was gyrating on the dance floor to the wolf whistles of a couple of cowboys, and the next I was sitting at the bar, one hand on the bottle, the other on my calf. Only I was still on the dance floor. If not for the stereo vision, I'd have chalked it up to being so drunk, but I was as lucid as I'd ever been. Something was happening here that I didn't understand. I didn't have long to think about it, though. Events got out of control too quickly.

One of the cowboys got up to dance with me and I swung into it with abandon. Soon a second was on the floor, and things got crazy. If I could've figured how I was sitting at the bar, watching myself being pawed by those two cowboys, I would've stopped it.

As it was, I recognized them. They were the hands from the Circle Q. The dancing got dirtier, and their hands were touching me in ways that both excited and mortified me. Apparently I was enjoying myself with them enough that when the bartender came out and asked us to leave, I went with them willingly.

This out-of-body experience was a bit too trippy for me, and since I was leaving with the guys, I thought I'd better try and follow.

When you don't have a body, or are no longer connected with it, you forget how important gravity, and physics in general, are in helping with movement. I sort of hovered there a bit, in a way that made me think of astronauts, and I panicked. Luckily, when I lost sight of myself, it triggered a survival instinct that propelled me out of the bar, through the wall, and across the parking lot.

What I saw there was worse than on the dance floor.

If I could have died of shame at that moment, I would have. I think my spirit form, or astral projection, or whatever the hell I was at this moment, was significantly more sober than my physical self. As I watched, horrified, I shimmied out of my jeans, wadded them up, and tossed them into the back of the pickup truck we all stood behind. Then I was back at it, making out with first one guy, then the next. Dancing in my Skivvies and my T-shirt.

"She's a real firecracker," Steve Wilding said.

Jack Marlowe didn't say anything, just pulled my shirt over my head, undid my bra, and whooped like he was at a rodeo.

Why I didn't stop them, I just can't figure. I was mad at Katie, and Carl, and damn near the whole world. I was also very, very drunk.

But I didn't want to have sex with these men. It had nothing to do with sex, or love. It was about power, and powerlessness.

So, I let them feel me up. Felt their hands and mouths on my body in ways that hadn't happened with anyone but Katie. I watched, horrified at the expression on my face, and if I could have cried, I would have.

"We gonna take her back to our place to party for real," Steve said, raising his head from my left breast.

Marlowe laughed from the foot of the truck. "You know who this is, don'tcha, Wilding?"

Steve looked closer, but didn't recognize me in my mostly naked and drunken state.

"It's that dyke that works for Julie."

Steve shook his head.

"The blacksmith," Jack said, standing beside Steve and trailing his hand where Steve's mouth had just been. "We could take her back and do her a few times, see if we can break her from munching carpet."

Stop it! I screamed in my head. Don't do this, make this end.

"She's pretty drunk," Steve said. He leaned me against the truck and looked into my face.

"Her eyes don't look so good, Jack. Maybe we should . . ."

He didn't finish that statement because two things happened. I snapped back into my body, felt the world crash into pain and humiliation.

And I hit him.

He was off balance and not expecting it, but when my fist connected to the side of his head, I stepped into him, punching him over and over, face, chest, arms, anything I could reach. The final cross took his feet out from under him and he landed with a thud.

Jack hollered something I didn't make out and lunged at me. I felt the bile rise in my throat as I realized everything that had occurred had been condoned by me on some cellular level, and I lost it. Felt the anger and the hatred swell up in me, burning the alcohol, filling me with a rage I'd been nursing and walling off for days now.

I stepped forward, blocking Jack's first feeble punch. Those years of martial arts I'd studied as a kid came to me and I followed his awkward stutter step and hit him with a haymaker that rattled my teeth. He got one arm up and absorbed part of the blow, but I dazed him.

I caught him in the breadbasket with my left, and he went down to his knees.

My roundhouse kick caught him in the chest and all the air rushed out of his lungs.

He flopped back, gasping for air. I was just about to stomp my heel into his throat when Steve tackled me from behind.

We both went down on the gravel, but I was on the bottom. Rocks, beer caps, and assorted broken bottles broke my fall. He rolled off me, climbed to his feet, and staggered over to help Jack up.

I rolled over, ready to defend myself, but the cowards ran.

They climbed into Jack's pickup and tore out of the parking lot, showering me with gravel. The fire that burned inside drove me to try and stand, but the flame guttered and thankfully I blacked out.

Thirty-six.

THE NEXT VOICES I HEARD WERE DEEP, VERY DEEP, AND sounded like rocks grinding against one another. I cracked open one eye, and saw a huge man with hands like catcher mitts, leaning over me. I moved my arm to cover my breasts, but found that he'd already covered me with a jacket.