Heels approached, and they turned as a young woman ambled across the room. Her blonde curls bounced around her shoulders, and her short silver dress sparkled under the light. "Howdy, Bea. You called for me?"

"I did." Beatrice pulled the girl over. "Felece, this is Emily, our newest addition. I'd like you to introduce her to a few people."

"Certainly. I'd be happy to." She turned to Emily. "Nice dress. Wow!" she said, rolling a thumb across the heirloom necklace. "Where'd you guys pick this up?"

Beatrice smiled. "Well, I bought her seva" She stopped suddenly and took a closer look.

"It's mine," Emily said, stroking it. "It was one of my great grandmother's from way back."

Beatrice gave her an odd look, but didn't say any more. Emily got pleasure out of that, after the way the woman had made her feel like she'd just crawled out of the gutter.

A waitress in a short black dress and white apron stopped by with fresh drinks and, when the exchange was made, Felece took Emily's hand. "Well, let's go meet some people," she said, then marched her across the room.

"Hey, guys," she said as they approached a couple. "Meredith, James. I have a surprise for you. Her name's Emily."

Meredith was older than most of the other women, probably in her mid-thirties. She was thin, tanned, and pretty in a tomboy sort of way, with dark brown hair turned under at the shoulders. James looked to be in his late fifties. His hair was dark except for graying around his temples. His beard and mustache were almost black, except for the speckles of white that popped up like springs from a worn-out pickup seat.

"Mmm... a delicious surprise, indeed." He removed the cigar from his mouth, and in a suave fashion took Emily's hand and planted a kiss.

She flinched when the bristly hair around his mouth pricked her skin.

"Take is easy, old boy," Felece said. "She's new, remember?"

James released her hand and bowed with a delightful grin. "I apologize, young lady. I hope I didn't scare you off."

"Not yet," Emily said. She laughed with the others, thankful for the champagne that bubbled in her veins like a cushion to soften her uneasiness.

"He's harmless," Felece joked, giving James' beard a playful tug. She tucked an arm around one of Emily's and they crossed the room, stopping to visit with a number of other people.

They ended up just beyond the pond.

"Marshall and Pollyanna, I brought a new gal over. Her name's Emily."

The couple had been sitting on a couch and now they stood to greet Emily. Pollyanna was elegant in every sense of the word. She was tall with dark close-cropped hair, delicate features, and a beautiful sincere smile. Her strapless floor-length dress was pink crepe, simple, yet as elegant as she was. Marshall was the man who had been playing the piano. He was shorter than Emily by several inches, handsome, with light brown hair shaved neatly around his ears, and immaculately dressed in a black tailored suit, silk tie, and black leather shoes.

"I love your music," Emily said.

"I appreciate that. Thank you."

"You know, Emily," Felece said, "tonight is Pollyanna's debut. She's going to sing in front of a group for the first time."

Pollyanna leaned against the piano as Marshall took a seat. "Well, officially anyway."

"Oh, Felece, my girl," a young man said as he approached the small group. He draped an arm around her and snuggled up to her ear. "The game starts in five," he said. He gave her a peck on the cheek and sailed off into the crowd.

"Oh, that's right. I'm playing cards tonight. Hope you don't mind if I take off, Emily. I'll be in the back room around the corner just past the restaurant, if you need me."

"That's okay. I see Desirae waving me over anyway."

Emily said goodbye to everyone, and then walked over to where Desirae sat at the bar talking to a man. He was dressed in a white shirt, dark tie, and dress pants. His long tied-back hair seemed almost a contradiction to his apparel. It reminded her of pictures she had seen in encyclopedias of Indians, or men from the 16or 17centuries. There was something appealing about him, although when she thought Desirae might have plans to bring them together, she found herself comparing him to Michael; those few hours with him had been one of the best times of her life. Now, just thinking of him again made her feel like someone had tied her heart into a knot and given a fierce yank.

"Oh, there you are," Desirae said when she walked up. "Peter, this is Emily."

The man swiveled in his seat, nodding. "It's a pleasure."

Desirae stood and put an arm around Emily's shoulder. "I told 'em you'd join him for a drink. Hope you don't mind."

"I don't."

"Good. Then I'll leave you two be." She picked up her drink, and then strolled across the room singing Love Letters In The Sand along with the piano.

Peter motioned Emily to sit. "Abe," he said to the bartender, "bring this young lady a fresh drink will you?"

Emily sat and he took her glass, setting it aside. "So, I couldn't help but notice when you first walked in. I haven't seen starry eyes like that in a long time."

"It was that obvious?"

He raised his brows and smiled. "Well, weren't you?"

"Oh, maybe a little. But to be honest, I was more... stunned." She gazed out across the room again. "It's like... well, a fairytale in here."

"This place has a unique ambiance, all right." He followed her gaze to a couple dancing beneath lights that changed with the mood of each song. "Beatrice has good taste, or maybe just a fabulous decorator. It's too bad more people can't enjoy it." Emily thought there was a hint of mockery in his tone, and almost asked him why. He seemed to sense her curiosity. "This isn't exactly the kind of place you bring your family."

She wondered if he had a wife or girlfriend, and if he did, why he was here.

The drinks came one after the other. She looked forward to each one. There was something fiercely stimulating about the champagne fizzing in her mouth, rolling down her throat and into her veins. In the midst of this pleasant but uncharted territory, a dull pain slowly built at her temple and worked its way around to the side of her head. The first thing that came to mind was that it was the champagne, although it tasted too good for that to be true. She took a couple more sips.

Pollyanna began to sing, and she turned her attention to the beautiful young woman with a voice so sweet, it brought tears to her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked when the song ended.

Emily finished her drink and pushed the glass aside. "I'm fine. Just had a little too much of this, I think."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Champagne does that. Although you'd never know you had too much by just looking at you." He folded his arms, leaned back, and studied her carefully. "So, Emily, do you mind telling me how you ended up at the Palace?"

"Auh, well, it's a long story involving more than you'd probably care to hear. Probably more than I should say." She giggled, not sure why, except for maybe the drink. "I mean, I don't even know you. But...I don't know, I...well, I don't know how long I'll be staying." She wished she hadn't said that. "You're not going over to tell Beatrice now, are you?" She cringed at the thought.

He looked at her curiously. "I have no intention of doing anything of the kind."

She was still deciding if she should believe him or not when Beatrice and Donald Schillings strolled over.

Peter sighed as they approached. "Oh, boy," he said under his breath.

"Hello, you two," Beatrice said.

Donald blatantly ignored Peter and gave Emily a look that sent chills up her spine.

"Emily," Beatrice said, "Mr. Schillings has offered to take you out to a late dinner."

Donald motioned for another round of drinks, but Peter gestured to the bartender. "None for us," he said, and then turned to Donald. "You're a little late because Emily has just accepted an invitation from me. In fact, we were just leaving." He took Emily by the elbow and helped her to her feet.

"I'll be in touch with you," Donald said to her.

She sensed the cold in his voice and was surprised he allowed them to pass.

"Okay," she replied, not knowing what more to say. She noticed the silent, but odious exchange between Donald and Peter and wondered what kind of a battle they were having.

"Thanks, Peter," she said when they stepped out into the hallway. She realized she was leaning on him more than she intended and quickly pulled back. As grateful as she was to him for taking her away from Donald Schillings, she didn't see how she could go through with this either.

"You're shaking," he said as they headed up the stairs.

She nodded, but didn't look up.

When they reached her room, she closed her eyes and turned the doorknob.

He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her around. "I'm not going in with you, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh." she said, so relieved she nearly hugged him. "Is it okay, though? I mean..."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of everything." He dropped his arms, standing back for a long look into her eyes. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

"Oh, yes, I'll be fine."

"Here." He handed her a card. "My name and number. I'm leaving on a business trip, but as soon as I get back, I'll stop by."

"Thanks, Peter."

She stepped into her room, closed and latched the door, and then took her jewelry off, and placed it along with the card inside the top dresser drawer.

Her head throbbed as she took off her dress, hung it in the closet, and then struggled out of her uncomfortable undergarments. She went in and pulled out one of the silky nightgowns Beatrice bought her, tossed it over a chair, and crawled into bed.

When she woke at six the next morning, she felt as if she hadn't slept at all. The headache was no longer a stabbing pain, but more of a nuisance that kept her from going back to sleep. She sat up and poured herself a glass of water, although that seemed to wind her up. She finally dressed in a pair of plaid peddle-pushers, a yellow top, tan slip-ons, and then went down to the kitchen.

Toni was alone with her baking gloves on.

"Hi, Toni."

"You're up early. How was your first night?"

"Oh, okay. I met a nice man."

"Can't ask for more than that." Toni pulled a pan out of the oven. "I've got piping hot muffins here, and some rolls I'm about ready to ice. If you want eggs, it'll just take a few minutes."

Emily put a fork into a muffin and lifted it onto a plate. "No, thanks." She picked up a cup of coffee Toni had poured for her and headed toward the door.

"That's all you're having?"

Emily looked over the spread on the counter, not wanting to hurt Toni's feelings. "It all looks good, but...lunchtime I'll have something more, I promise."

Up in her room, she sat at the table, looking out into the back yard as she ate her muffin and mulled over the fact that her first job would always be that she had worked in a whorehouse. It was disheartening too that the next trip to the lounge she wouldn't have Peter to rely on, maybe not for a while, and possibly never.

Just the thought of going down, not knowing what to expect, was so depressing she kicked off her shoes and crawled back into bed. When all she could do was toss and turn, she got up and looked out the door, listening for any signs of life. For all the people supposedly in the house, it seemed awfully quite. She looked up the stairs leading to the third floor. She was curious, but not enough to go up.

That evening, after a shower and a touch of makeup, she fixed her hair into soft curls that framed her face and flowed around her shoulders and down her back. She tucked a red flower above her left ear, put on a gold necklace and a matching bracelet, and then went to the closet and picked out a white dress that Desirae insisted was made for her.

"You look far too stunning in that to worry about the inch or two above the knees," was Desirae's argument.

When Beatrice was just as adamant, Emily finally gave in, and now as she was about to put it on, she had a feeling that it would be the best part of the evening. She pulled on silk nylons and fastened them to her corset. Then she slipped on the white bubble dress, zipped it up the back, and then stepped into a pair of red heels. When she looked in the mirror for a few moments, she imagined herself as pure and elegant as a water lily on her way to meet Michael.

She entered the lounge to the sound of music, although instead of a pianist, a Jukebox played in the far left corner beyond the dance floor. She scanned the room and settled on the bar where she met Peter the previous night. It was darker than the rest of the lounge, but it was in the corner where she could keep an eye on everyone. It made her feel more in control that way. A waiter came with a glass of champagne, although it wasn't what she wanted since she learned they gave her headaches. She had already decided to limit herself to a glass and a half.

She passed Meredith and Ginger who were sitting with a couple of men. There was an invitation, an exchanged of hellos and introductions, and then a low whistle from one of the men as she walked away.

When she approached the bar, she noticed a thin, pasty looking man down at the end. He had been watching her, yet when she caught his eye, he turned away. She thought he seemed as out of place as she felt.

"What else do you have, besides champagne?" she asked the bartender as she slid up onto one of the high-backed stools. She took a sip of her champagne then set it aside. "This is so good, but too much gives me a headache."

"Well, there's whiskey, rum, brandy, vodka?"

"Brandy...mm. Yeah, I'll have that."

"What would you like with it?"

"Something with it? Well, whatever you've got."

She watched him make her drink, garnish it with a slice of orange, and then bring it over. "Here you go. I put in some sweet and sour mix. But if you don't like it, I'll be glad to make you something else."

She took a sip, and then another until a delightful warmth spread from her head down to her toes. It was as if a ray of sunshine had draped a blanket of joy around her. The wine and champagne had relaxed her, but this was something far beyond that. This had fire to it, like a flame simmering, ready to make something wonderful happen.

A new tune played on the Jukebox as the thin man walked over and stood beside her. He didn't say anything, just put his drink down and stood looking straight ahead. She caught his eye in the mirror for a moment and couldn't help but think how much he reminded her of a bird; timid maybe, with a broken wing the way his shoulders drooped.

She watched his reflection as he turned to her.

"I'm Erich," he said in a small distant voice.

She sat back and looked at him directly, but he had already turned away for a drink. His long fingers trembled as he wrapped them carefully around his glass as if it held something very important he didn't want to slip away. His short sandy hair peaked out in front, and his sideburns darkened as they swooped down and then up like a sliver moon.

"Hello," she said in the happiest voice she could assemble, hoping to make him feel comfortable. She wondered what he would think if he knew she had compared him to a bird. But it was true, he did remind her of a bird. The thought had just dropped into her head before she could stop it. Besides, she loved birds, all kinds of birds.

He placed his drink on the counter with the same care he picked it up. Then he slipped onto the seat next to her, motioning to the bartender.

"You're new here," he said, peeping at her in the mirror. His shoulders went back which made him look taller and less broken all of a sudden. He seemed less nervous.

"Yep, my second day. Well, actually my bird... m-my third."

He turned and met her eyes straight on.

She smiled blissfully, and why not, with all the drink pulsating through her veins and someone as interesting and un-threatening as this little man sitting beside her. She figured she could pin him down with one hand if she had to. She laughed to herself at all the thoughts buzzing around in her head. So silly, and yet it was downright exhilarating the way the alcohol took over and freed her to think and say exactly what came to mind.