A girl should always look her best when going out, so I tried to be neat while I slurped the liquid from the Styrofoam trays and sucked the raw meat until it was gray and dry. Energy flowed through me like a current. I would see a doctor tomorrow. I'd find out what was causing this abnormal craving.

I threw the remnants of my meal into a trash can by the metro stop and descended the broken escalator steps to the trains. As my train racketed its way downtown, I remembered what Sebastian had been like at F.U. Everything about him had been golden-his hair, his reputation, his family-and when he introduced himself to me at a visiting professor's talk, I had been dazzled. His grandfather was Frederick Beckett-Witherspoon, a magnate who had guided more than one president in international affairs, but Sebastian wasn't interested in economics or politics. He liked the arts, lectures, dining out, and books.

He was invited to faculty parties, not because of his family's donations but because he was pretty, charming, and bright.

Women flocked around him, yet he wanted to spend time with me.

Was it possible to revive that friendship? I certainly wouldn't have thought so by my last encounter with Sebastian, and yet I felt a small flutter of hope somewhere deep inside.

After scrounging through my purse, I found an old, hard piece of gum. By the time I rode the escalator out of the metro, my mouth felt fresh and minty. The crowd of people milling around outside My Dive cheered me. Lenny was at the door. He smirked lasciviously when he recognized me, but his smile fell away as I approached. "Hell, babe, what happened to you?"

This is not the sort of thing a girl on the town wants to hear. "What do you mean?"

"You're a little, uh, you eating okay? You're not smoking your meals or nothing?"

"No, Lenny, I had the flu. I'm better."

Lenny didn't look convinced. "You make sure you start eating right. Only a dog wants a bone."

"But every guy wants a boner, right?"

Lenny guffawed and slid his arm around my waist. It didn't feel like the usual friendly cheap grab; it felt like a medical exam as he searched around my rib cage.

I twisted away from his inquisitive fingers. "I'm going to find Mercedes. Later, gator."

The club was packed and music was blasting from a quintet onstage. What the hell were they playing? It sounded like a mix of Willie Nelson with garage metal and soca thrown in, but the whole was much more rocking than the sum of its parts. Instead of looking for Mercedes, I pressed toward the stage. You know how you listen to a song and you think, this is the best damn song I've ever heard? That's how I always felt at Mercedes's shows. Some loser had the nerve to grab my diminished ass and yank me to him, as if he had a chance. I had to kick him and leave the dance floor, which was fine, since the first set was over.

Mercedes was upstairs talking to the sound guy. She wasn't as subtle as Lenny. "You look like hell. I thought you said you were okay."

"Whatever happened to 'You can't be too thin or too rich'?"

She dragged me to a stairwell where the light was so painfully bright I could see her dark freckles on her caramel skin. "You look bad. I would have taken you to the doctor."

I smiled and shrugged. "I had the flu. I'm better now."

"You sure?" She kept her hand on my arm.

I felt a wild desire to confess that I was drinking hamburger blood, I had killed rats that were scrabbling in coded messages, and that I dreamed about the kisses of the man who might have infected me. I wanted to rest against her sturdy frame, feel her comforting arms in a big abrazo around me, and have her tell me that everything would be all right.

Instead I said, "Actually, I'm broke. I wasn't able to do any consulting or garden work this week." I guessed that I'd been sick for about that long. "And I don't have money for food."

"Tonta. All you had to do was ask."

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

"You better," warned Mercedes. She thought I didn't have a strong work ethic. She was the child of immigrants and she had an unwavering belief in hard work. My own family's drive had taken a detour in their second generation here, when both my father and my mother Regina had directed their energies toward worshiping her existence.

I watched the rest of the set from upstairs. Mercedes brought me a Virgin Mary with an extra celery stick and a bowl of Goldfish crackers. "Just as good as tomato soup." After years of working in clubs, Mercedes knew how to make a meal from typical bar supplies.

The drink and the crackers tasted wonderful. I got seconds and I felt like a regular person for almost forty-five minutes straight.

Mercedes offered to give me a ride home if I waited until they closed, but I'd asked for enough favors already.

She counted out several twenty-dollar bills into my hand.

It seemed like a fortune, except that my rent was due tomorrow. I still didn't have enough to pay my landlord and I hoped he would understand if I needed a few extra days to get the money.

"It's too bad we can't do something to make you normal enough for a regular job," Mercedes mused as I pocketed the money.

"You're like a Monk tune-not everyone appreciates those discordant notes even though that's Monk's genius."

"I could always marry rich," I said, and we both laughed so hard we were gasping for breath.

Chapter Five

an old flame burns down the house

Previous Even though it was late, I decided to take public transportation instead of paying for a cab. The underground metro stations were closed, so I walked down the empty street to a well-lighted bus stop. Under the odors of exhaust, coffee beans roasting, and sewage, I could smell the first trace of spring. The fragrance came from the blossoms of the street trees, Victorian box. The sturdy, dull-leafed trees had blossoms with the most amazing fragrance: it smelled like falling in love.

The heady scent made me think of Oswaldo. I had never felt so out of control with a man before. I wanted my feelings to be real, not merely a prelude to my flu delirium.

I was contemplating my solitude when a big, dark Bentley stopped at the curb. I shook my head, one of those city motions for "Get lost, creep," when the back door opened. Sebastian Beckett-Witherspoon leaned out with a picture-perfect smile. "What a surprise to see you!" he said.

What surprised me was his friendly expression. "You would be more convincing if I didn't know you've been stalking me." I stepped back, wary of him.

He ran his hand through his shining blond hair, a gesture so deeply familiar to me that I felt an ache inside. "I was looking for you, Mil. I just wanted to... just wanted..."

He got out of the car. My emotions hopped around like a frog in a blender, which is not as pleasant as it sounds. Being with Sebastian had defined me by what I was and, just as important, what I wasn't. I wasn't a man. I wasn't a WASP. I wasn't old money. I wasn't conventional. I wasn't connected. I wasn't anything that mattered to Sebastian. And yet he had thought I was marvelous. At least that's what he'd said.

He stood in front of me and I saw his expression alter as he got close. "You look..."

"I think I look wonderful. I've been on a purifying water and yoga regimen."

"I'm sorry, Milagro," he said softly. "I was so shocked to see you again. I behaved like an ass at Kathleen's and... before. Is it possible for us to move on, to salvage what we once had?"

Of course I had fantasized about this moment. My fantasies had included tears and a devastating dress, but reality outdid my fantasy, since I hadn't imagined a dark Bentley or that Sebastian would be an acclaimed writer or that he would ask for forgiveness just when I was so artistically fragile and destitute.

"I don't think I can trust you again." Even as I said this, a part of my soul hoped he would revert to the Sebastian I had first known. Another, more selfish part of me hoped he would help me find a publisher for my novel.

"Mil, you're one of the few people who truly knows me." He looked deep into my eyes. "I apologize for the other night. I was just so shaken. I know I didn't handle things well then... and before." He swallowed. "I was jealous, Mil. You're the better writer and I was immature and jealous and threatened."

Was he telling the truth or feeding my ego? "What's the big rush at reconciliation now, Sebastian?"

He smiled sadly. "I've missed you."

"What were you doing at Hotel Croft that night? Why did you come to the room?"

He reached out and touched me tentatively on the arm. "You were so upset when you left that I followed you. I was worried about you."

"I can take care of myself," I said as I was running my hand up my throat to feel for telltale swelling. "But I have been a little under the weather lately.""I thought you looked unwell." He gestured toward the car. "Let's go to my place and talk." He told me he was staying in a town nearby. "It's a beautiful house in an apple orchard. There's a guest room."

What city girl hasn't dreamed of staying in a house surrounded by apple trees? Well, I hadn't until he mentioned it, but then it became unspeakably romantic, in a Laura Ingalls Wilder sort of way. You know, Little House in the Orchard, only with indoor plumbing and sophisticated repartee. Did Sebastian want a friend for the night or something more?

I was suddenly nervous, not knowing what I really wanted from him either. "I have things to do tomorrow," I said, thinking about going to see a doctor and trying to get a few hours at the nursery so I could earn some money.

"I'll bring you back whenever you want. I promise."

Would it be more personally rewarding to tell Sebastian to go to hell and take the bus to my depressing flat or accompany him to some groovy house, laugh over old times, have him introduce me to his literary crowd, and swear eternal allegiance to our whatever-it-was? "I'll give you another chance."

He hugged me and I was overwhelmed. Even his clean, citrusy cologne was the same. It felt like coming home-that is, coming to a normal welcoming home, not an antiseptic display house inhabited by my mother Regina.

Sebastian held open the car door and I slid into the seat behind the driver, who was not visible through a dark glass partition.

Sebastian got in and closed the car door. He pressed an intercom button and said, "Let's go."

I noticed that he didn't say please.

The windows were so dark that I could barely make out the glow of the streetlights. Sebastian held my hand and smiled at me.

My fingers slid between his just like they used to.

"You look tired," he told me. "Why don't you rest?"

I felt invigorated, but closed my eyes so I could savor the moment and remember the past. I had been thrilled the first time he took me along to a room filled with acclaimed academics. And the most exciting thing was that they seemed to enjoy talking to me, Milagro De Los Santos from the provinces.

With Sebastian by my side, I'd felt clever and beautiful and talented. Although he was only twenty then, he'd carried himself with charm and grace. He'd tried to polish me and succeeded to some degree. We'd talk late into the night about plays we'd seen or essays we'd read. He'd gently correct my pronunciation of words I'd learned from books and encourage me to study more diligently.

I had known something was wrong even at the best of times. At elegant functions, my inner idiot had compelled me to make inappropriate wisecracks. Sebastian had discouraged my affection for rock-chick clothes and criticized my appreciation of women writers as "naively sentimental."

If his girlfriend, Tessie Kensington, had found his interest in me odd, she'd never said. Sebastian had joked that she was relieved not to endure events she found tedious. We had been able to go on this way until I started dating an oblivious pot-head engineering major named Bernie. "Dating" is perhaps inaccurate because Bernie, highly unreliable at the best of times, had conducted our association like an extended series of one-night stands. At least it kept the relationship fresh.

Sebastian and I had fought about Bernie, absurd but fierce battles, since we'd both known that Bernie wasn't worth the trouble.

Now I let the minutes pass, conscious of Sebastian's cool hand in mine. When I opened my eyes, I said, "Do you remember Bernie, my dope-fiend beau? I gave him up just to please you." Bernie had bravely covered up his anguish by shrugging and mumbling, "Wherever the tide takes you, dude.""Did he even notice?" Sebastian asked.

"He was completely torn apart, utterly devastated. I only hope that he recovered. Did you ever give up anything for me, Sebastian?"

"Only my self-respect," he said as he released my hand.

His sharp tone set me on guard. "What do you mean by that?"

He turned away. I suspected that we were traveling in the wrong direction and not just emotionally. I couldn't see well through the car's tinted window, so I pushed the button to lower it. It didn't work. "Please ask the driver to lower this window," I said, but Sebastian ignored me.

I pressed my face against the glass and saw grassy hills, not our destinations dense woodland. "Where are we?"

"We'll be there in a little while."

"There where?" I suddenly sensed something very disturbing about Sebastian.

"Tell me about your rendezvous at the hotel," he demanded.

"That's none of your business. I thought we were going to be friends again."

"What did he say to you? What did he do to you? What is his name? I need to know."

I couldn't believe that Sebastian was kidnapping me because he was interested in Oswaldo. I said so loudly as I pounded on the glass partition.

The window behind the driver slid open. "Sir?"

"It's all right, Peters," Sebastian snapped. He turned to me angrily. "I am not kidnapping you, you melodramatic slut. I am taking you into custody for questioning."

Calling me a slut was one thing, but calling me melodramatic was going too far. "I hate you, you pompous jerk! Let me out of this car right now." I kicked the back of the driver's seat. "If you don't let me out right now, I'm pressing charges!"

"Cease that commotion right now," Sebastian said, "because you're not getting out, especially since you're quite probably infected." When I stopped kicking the seat, he said, "Oh, so I finally have your limited attention? Did you think that I wouldn't recognize the signs of your contamination? How have you been living lately, Milagro? What have you been eating? And, more significantly, what have you been drinking?"

His words chilled me. How did he know about my illness? What was my illness? "This is why you were looking for me?"

"There is no other reason I'd ever want to see you again. I thought I made that abundantly clear in the halcyon days of my youth."

The bastard. "You can deceive yourself, but you're not fooling me, Sebastian. I know how you felt about me once." I saw something behind his eyes, a flicker of hurt.

"Perhaps I did succumb momentarily to your cheap allure," he said. "I didn't realize then that I was nothing to you but a way to grasp at everything I was, everything I had. You used me, Milagro."

His accusation stunned me. "That's not true, Sebastian. What I felt for you was real. You know how I felt."I saw the confusion on his face before he turned away. "I don't believe your lies anymore. Every day, I give thanks that my family and friends helped me escape from your avaricious ploys and, unpleasant as it is to deal with you again, perhaps you can be useful to my organization."

"Organization?"

"Don't be any stupider than absolutely necessary," he said, regaining his composure. "I'm a member of Corporate Americans for the Conservation of America. We want to rid the country of a vile infestation."

"CACA?" I pronounced it caca. "CACA is a vile infestation and you aren't even in a corporation. You're running around pretending to be a writer."

"Still a practitioner of the childish rejoinder, I see. We say the initials, C-A-C-A, not the acronym, and I am on the board of two major corporations."

"Still the arrogant bastard, I see. Let me out of the damn car now."

"Or what?" He pushed me and I fell back against the door. "You're weak. You always thought you were the strong, independent one. Look at you now-you're pathetic."

Unfortunately, he was right. I wasn't strong enough to go mano a mano in the back of a speeding Bentley or even a really slow Hyundai. "What do I have to do with anything?"