I gave it another shot. "A hypnotized Komodo Dragon."

She opened her eyes long enough to look at her mother.

"No, honey, you aren't that, either."

"I give up."

"A possum!"

Diane smiled as I thumped my forehead. "Silly me. What was I thinking? Of course, a possum. You do very good animals, Spring."

"Thank you." She fell back into her pillow.

It was getting late for a little girl and I felt it best to save my impression of a herd of cows for another night.

Another night? How have I gotten so comfortable with this so quickly? This was Spring and Diane's third night in my apartment, and somehow I had completely fallen under their influence. What had seemed like an innocent little girl on Friday night had somehow managed to make me go way out of my comfort zone. Singing? Doing funny voices? Impersonating a Manhattan apartment lee-zard? Maybe it was the head injury in the bathroom.

I imagined Hank putting this performance on You-Tube or Billie, or Laurel. Had she really danced with me in the living room only a couple of nights ago?

"You go to sleep, now," Diane said, kissing Spring on the cheek. "We have a lot to do tomorrow. Good night. I love you."

"Night. Love you."

"Good night, Spring," I said, as I turned toward the door.

"Wait!"

"What'd I do?"

Spring pointed to her cheek.

"She wants you to give her a kiss good night."

"I can't do that."

"Why?" Diane said.

I didn't know why. It felt weird. It was too personal. It made me uncomfortable.

Spring continued to direct me to her cheek.

It was like a dare or one of those things your girlfriend makes you do that you later regret.

Looking at Diane, then the pointing girl, I realized that I couldn't stand there all night. What's the big deal? I leaned over and kissed her. Her face seemed so small and her skin almost supernaturally soft.

"Night," she said.

"Good night," I whispered.

Chapter 4.

Some Weird Consistency That Monday, I arrived at the office earlier than every other day of every job I've ever had. It wasn't on purpose, I was just up, ate breakfast, saw Diane and Spring getting ready to start their search, and decided to head off to work.

I hadn't slept well the night before. It had nothing to do with noise or indigestion from squirt cheese. It was the kiss. After Diane had gone to bed, I was still thinking about kissing Spring's cheek. I had never kissed a child and had never thought about kissing a child. In my mind, kissing children was a parental task. The odd thing was that I had always associated feelings of tenderness with weakness. But after kissing Spring on the cheek, I didn't feel weak at all. It made me feel strong, as though I was helping her feel safe. With thoughts about this running through my head, I stared at the ceiling unable to sleep. It was as though I had just had the first sip of hot chocolate on a winter morning.

In the park, we'd run into one of those guys who would take a Polaroid for five bucks. I thought it might be nice for Diane to have a picture of the two of them, but Spring insisted that Mr. Jimmy, her new friend who sold hot dogs, join them. And then they decided that the picture was for me. The photo sat on my desk, as I sipped the day's first cup of office coffee.

After visiting the ducks, we needed to dry off and walked down to the zoo where Spring took a liking to the penguins. When we got home, I showed her how to watch the same penguins using the Internet. She loved zooming the camera in and out. As I watched her delight in this new toy, I got a glimpse at what parents must feel on a regular basis by showing the world to their kids.

"Dylan? What are you doing here so early?" Mr. Mason said, stepping into my office with a file. "You're hours ahead of the rest of the rats."

"Morning, Mr. Mason. I just wanted to get an early start today. I have a lot going on."

"Yes, you do, don't you. He sat. "After what you did to Waverly last week? I bet his boxers are still in a wad after you stole Crystal Creek piss water. Waverly is a good man... a little pretentious at times, but a good man. And I love kicking his ass. It'll be good to have Crystal Creek on board. That's some serious billing. Anyway, I was just going to leave this file on your assistant's desk. It's a new account I want you to take a look at. See what you can come up with." He looked at me and started. "What the hell?"

"What?"

"What happened to your face?"

"Oh. I uh, had a little accident with a cabinet door."

"You can come up with a better story than that. Keep practicing."

"Thanks. And I didn't steal the account. We just have to focus on the market. If Waverly continues to deliver the same product he's always delivered, his clients will continue to receive the same old crap they're used to. They need to look at the expanding demographics of twelve to seventeen year-old males. If we can train them early, there's a whole market there that we can invigorate."

"We made the sale already, Dylan." He leaned forward in the chair and pointed to my coffee cup. "Might want to think about switching to decaf." He looked down and saw the picture on my desk.

"Who's this?"

"Oh, they're some friends of mine. This is Diane and the one with the silly grin is her daughter."

He took the picture from my hands. "Diane is quite attractive and her daughter looks just like her." He pointed to Mr. Jimmy. "Is this man her... husband?"

"He's the hot dog vendor. It's complicated."

Mr. Mason put the photograph down and looked around my desk, no doubt noticing that there were no other pictures on it unless you counted the Crystal Creek ad or the headshot of the spokesmodel for the gym account I'd just taken on.

"Before my wife died, I loved to take pictures," Mason said. "I don't take so many any more just some of the grandkids. Wherever we'd go, I'd have my camera and Tiki her name was Patrice, I always called her Tiki would make fun of me. That was fine. I just wanted more pictures. Heaven only knows why. I have more goddamn pictures, most of them in a box under the steps." He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through some of the old pictures covered in a bent piece of plastic. "I can't even remove the cover without damaging this old thing. Look here. This is Tiki and, of course that's a young me, and that's our boy, Denny, not long after he was born."

He held an old black-and-white picture that had to have been taken 40 years ago. In the photo, both he and his wife seemed to say, "Look everybody! It's a boy!" A young Mason and Tiki held the baby with an uneasy grip, but you could tell that the kid wasn't going to fall... ever.

"Dylan, these are the things I hope to never forget. No matter what happens, I want to remember Tiki this way." He held the picture in both hands. "Of course, after she got sick, she wouldn't let me take any more pictures. And these were all I had. After years of taking pictures, it turned out that I didn't have nearly enough."

He put his wallet away. "Dylan, I have some memories that are more important to me than anything I could ever hope to do now. That's what I'm scared of as I grow older... losing my memory. Inside..." He touched his chest by his heart. "I'll never lose my Tiki. I hope someday, you can feel the same."

He paused and shook his head, as though he was uncertain of what had caused his little bit of rhapsodizing. Then, he stood to leave, tapping on the file with a finger. "Dylan, you know that you are appreciated here at Mason Brand, don't you?"

I started to think that he somehow knew about my dinner on Saturday. This was such an incestuous business. "Yes, sir. Of course I do."

"And you know that your aggressiveness and ambition are things that I prize, don't you?"

"You've made that very clear, Mr. Mason."

"Good. I just like to check in every now and then." He gestured with the file. "See what you can do for this account."

I couldn't recall Mason ever "checking in" before. I was sure it had something to do with Saturday. Had he somehow seen me with the Waverlys in the restaurant, or talking on the street afterward? I prized my discretion, but I was obviously going to have to be more careful. Regardless of the fact that Mason knew I was ultimately going to leave, it wouldn't do to have him find out before I was ready.

I looked inside the file. The new account was The Magenta Martini, of all places.

"Hey."

I looked up to find Laurel standing in my doorway. She was wearing a rose-colored skirt and, if I used my imagination, I could almost see through her shirt. Had Mason ever issued an office dress code, this would have been on the "unapproved" side. I liked it. "Hey."

"Sorry I disappeared on you the other night. I needed to go because that's what mysterious women do. Besides, you were kinda unconscious."

"Sorry. It had been an intense week. Come on in. You wore me out and it took me an hour to clean up. I kept pulling underwear out of surprising places."

Laurel glanced back to the cracked door and then moved closer, standing only inches away from my crotch. I set Mason's file over the Polaroid.

"Does it upset you that I left my bra and panties at your place?"

Panties? Where are they?"Not at all. You smell wonderful, by the way." I closed my eyes and my head tipped back. Panties?

"Thanks. Maybe we can do it again?"

"I loved that trick you did against the wall with your leg over your head..."

"I'd love to show it to you again sometime..." Laurel leaned forward, letting her blonde hair fall in my face. It was just my imagination, but I could have sworn that she still smelled like sex; the same smell from Friday night.

"I have to get back to work because," she whispered, "that's what mysterious women do at work. I had a grrrrrreat time."

My breathing had accelerated to teenage proportion. I was still getting my heart rate down when Billie stuck her head in.

"Hey."

"Hey, what happened to you the other night?"

"Me? Where did you..."

Laurel leaned against the door frame. "Let me know... oh, hi, Billie. Okay?"

"Sure."

With Laurel safely out of range, I mouthed to Billie to close the door.

"What was that all about?"

"Do I have some shit for you. That's what happened to me on Friday."

"Laurel?"

"She dropped by for a few hours Friday, we listened to a little Usher, drank a little wine, a little you know, and then she disappeared."

"Where'd she go?"

"She was being mysterious. But after she left, I get a knock on the door and I think she's coming back to search for her apartment keys or underwear. It's 2:00 in the morning. I open the door and standing there is a woman and her three-year-old daughter."

"You were naked, weren't you?"

"No. I had a robe on, but I probably still gave the kid a complex." I motioned for her to come closer and slid the picture across the desk. "Here they are."

"Cute. Who's the guy?"

"That's Mr. Jimmy and his hot dog cart."

"Mr. Jimmy is Asian?"

"Leave Mr. Jimmy out of this."

Billie rolled her eyes. "So, what the hell happened? A little more you know?"

"Nah, nothing like that. Get this... she sold everything, moved to Manhattan from Chicago, and she's starting over. I'm the only one she knows here."

"Get the hell out."

"True."

"Hey, weren't you in Chicago a few years ago?"

"That's when I met Diane. And the math on the kid is close, but not that close. The dad is some asshole-insensitivo who split before Diane knew she was pregnant."

"Now it's just the Dylan Hunter family?"

"Just for a few days. If I can keep Laurel occupied during this time...."

"You'd better be careful. I think she's in heat. I saw three golden retrievers getting all slobbery in the elevator."

"The funny thing is I had an okay time this weekend."

"With a pre-fab?" Pre-fab was our term for any unmarried person who had a kid. Jim was our token pre-fab.

"Si."