Shania
written by:
Alden Bradley

Shania Taylor was too damned young to be a widow. But, that's what she was. Her husband had been killed in one of those idiot drunk driving accidents. Unfortunately, he'd been the one drunk. Fortunately, he'd lost control and slammed his truck into a tree. The impact broke his neck, and left his 27-year-old wife a widow.

She looked stunning in black. Her blonde hair and pale skin contrasted with the dark fabric. As much as I pitied her situation, the vision of her in the short black ensemble stirred my ancient libido. I shook my head at the paradox of the situation. Shania Taylor was too damned young to be a widow and too damned hot to stay one for long.

My own life had eased into a relatively serene routine that I accepted with an ease atypical of my natural tendency to seek out some adventure or another. I'd never married, preferring the tranquility of occasional flings to the predictable drama I'd witnessed so frequently among my associates. At the age of forty-four I had been able to settle into a pattern of eat, sleep and work that satisfied my need for regimentation, yet still finding an occasional outlet for the intermittent craving for adventure.

Shania Taylor was younger than my infrequent female companions. Most of them were married women, seeking an off-and-on bedding situation as their husbands traveled or strayed. I never brought them home, preferring the anonymity of hotel and motel rooms and the separation of my personal life from recreation. Shania and I had crossed paths occasionally. I was in 2B. She and her husband lived in 3C. They had to pass my door on the way to the parking lot.

It had been a warm July, with temperatures generally in the upper 90s. This particular day, the humidity hung heavy, although the thermometer registered a temperate 86. I literally backed into Shania as she hustled past me while I bent to lock my door. I looked up into her cool, green eyes and gave her a half smile of recognition.

"The fucking elevator is broken," she said. "Had to use the stairs."

I nodded. Usually comfortable in my own skin, I was really outside my comfort zone here. I didn't like dealing with death. So I sort of mumbled to her, "Look, I'm really sorry..."

She cut me off. "Shut up, just shut up."

"Okay," I said slowly.

"He was a prick and a drunk," she snapped. "I didn't want him dead, but I did want him out of my life."

"Really," I said, taken aback at her forward nature. I hadn't expected her to be so open with me.

She stared at me. Finally her shoulders slumped. "Oh, shit," she slammed out. "I said too much, didn't I?"

"It's okay. Just between you and me. A little venting is good for the soul."

She leaned back against the wall across from my door, hiked a high-heel foot up so her knee cocked toward me. She scanned my face.

"Come to the funeral for me. Two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. I'd like to have you there."

"I don't know," I mumbled, shaking my head. "I don't do too well with that kind of stuff."

She scoffed. "Yeah, well I'm having a blast," she sneered sarcastically. Then she softened. "It's not for him, Eric. Be there for me. I'm doing all this shit myself. He's got no family close, so it's all on me. Besides, I may need to vent some more."

"Shania," I said. Then I stopped. "Oh, what the hell. Yeah, sure. I'll be there for you."

"They're sending the car for me at twelve-thirty. I'll bang on your door."

"I thought you said two?"

"That's the service. Viewing is at one. I've got to be there for all that. I'd like you to be there with me. Ride with me."

I knew I'd be trapped. Having no vehicle, I'd have no escape route. It would be hell. But, maybe I could count it as my good deed of the week.

"All right. I'm all yours from noon tomorrow until you turn me loose."

"You're a good friend, Eric. I'll see you tomorrow."

I wasn't though. Shania and her husband weren't really my friends. We were acquainted. But, the term "friend" was really stretching the concept. As I drove toward my office I thought about the commitment I'd made. Why had I done it? A healthy dose of pity certainly had a lot to do with it. I didn't consider myself particularly philanthropic. Still, once in a while I got the urge to do something outside my own skin, something that benefited another human. I guess it helped keep me feeling a part of the species. Shania was hurting, in spite of her protestations. She was too beautiful and young to suffer like that. Maybe I could help.

A soft tap on my door brought me out of the reverie in my easy chair. I was dressed, except for my dark jacket. I grabbed it off the back of the sofa as I headed toward the door. When I opened it, Shania strode confidently past me into the apartment. She looked stunning in black. She scanned the apartment as she spoke.

"You're my Uncle Eric," she said, "in case anybody asks."

"Okay," I agreed.

"You got anything to drink here?"

"I do," I admitted. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I've been sober all day," she said, twisting on an incredibly high heel to look at me. "Just give me one. I need a bracer."

I took the bottle of good bourbon from the cabinet that served as by bar stock, pulled an old fashion glass from the next shelf over, and poured a healthy two fingers in it.

"Water?" I called. "Ice?"

"Neat," she called back.

I shrugged, pulled down another glass and poured one for myself. No point in making her drink alone. Besides, I could use the bracing, too. I walked into the sitting room to find her strikingly gorgeous, standing by the window, looking out the large window with at the promise of a sweltering day.

"Gonna be hot," I remarked as I handed her the glass.

She looked closely at me as she took the amber liquid. She half-raised it to her lips. Then she pushed it toward me to clink the edges. "To future prospects," she said softly.

I gave her a sad half-grin, nodded, and we both sipped at the bourbon.

"Nice," she commented, holding her glass up and inspecting the liquid.

"So, do you have any?"

"Any what?" she asked.

"Future prospects."

She gave me a long look. She took an equally long pull at the bourbon and looked back out the window. "Have you ever been in love?"

"Yeah, sure," I told her with a soft chuckle. "A couple of times."

She fixed me with a look from her stunningly green eyes that said she didn't believe me, and made a little scoffing sound in the back of her throat. "I fell fast and hard for him. What I realize now is that it was the image of possibilities I fell for. I envisioned the two of us together, life partners, sharing everything. We'd laugh together, love one another, and be totally absorbed in our relationship." She took another shot from her glass. "Didn't turn out that way."

"Life," I observed, "has a way of getting between us and our aspirations."

"Helps if both of you are committed to the same vision."

What fool wouldn't want to share the vision of this stunning, and apparently intelligent woman.

"He didn't have it?" I asked. "The vision?"

"His vision was bikes, beer, and his buddies. I was an accessory."

I shook my head and emptied my glass, feeling the liquid burn a warm path to my belly. "That's pretty harsh. I can't imagine he didn't love you."

"Oh, he loved me," she said, a definitive sneer in her voice. "He loved the hair, the tits, the ass, the screwing, and the dinners made on time. That was pretty much the extent of it."

She set her empty glass on the window sill. "Shit! Speaking ill of the dead."

"Shania," I spoke softly, my eyes focused on those incredibly pointed toes of her black shoes, "you're just telling the truth, in confidence, to a friend."

There was a long silence. Her voice was just a whisper. "Tomorrow," she said. She paused. "Will you still be my friend tomorrow, when all this is over?"

"Yeah, I will. No matter what happens today, I'll be here for you tomorrow."

"Will you take me into your bed tonight?"

My breath caught in my throat. I shook my head slowly. "I would absolutely love to. But I won't do it, Shania," I said as gently as I could. "You're too open, too vulnerable. It really is not a good idea."

"The car's here," she announced, looking down into the street. She turned and moved purposefully toward the door. "Come with me," she commanded.

I set my glass down next to hers and grabbed my jacket. I locked the door and we stepped down the two short flights to the ground level. The chauffer held the door open for her. I walked around the car and slid into the seat beside her, leaving the door for the chauffer to close.

Throughout the tortuous afternoon I managed to play the Uncle Eric part with proficiency and composure. The dead husband's biker buddies paraded through in various states of dishevelment. The funeral home had provided a stool for Shania. As the former friends of her mate passed, some murmured words of condolence, while a few others said things like, "You were too good for him," or other inappropriate comments. One boorish thug had the impudence to suggest he'd replace the deceased in a heartbeat if she wanted. I signaled to the staff who graciously escorted the moron to the door.

Occasionally I would catch Shania's eye. I tried to convey an attitude of confidence and comfort for her. To her credit, Shania managed to maintain her composure. Not a single tear rolled down her cheek.

When the viewing had been completed and the doors closed, she looked at me wearily.

"You're doing great, babe," I told her. "Your Uncle Eric is proud of how well you're bearing up."

"Can it," she ordered curtly.

As the staff rolled the casket out of the room, Shania grabbed my arm. "This ought to be entertaining," she said. "A funeral service for a guy who never once expressed a thought beyond his own limited existence."

"Shhh," I hushed her quietly. "You've shown real dignity and class. Just hang on to me and we'll get through this."

"Chapel's this way," she said, entwining her arm with mine. "Come with me."

We sat in the first row.

Some guy with a mournful look stood at a podium and mouthed platitudes about death being a passage and that the dead guy, he looked at the program to find his name, would be waiting on the other side. Shania leaned into me and clutched my arm.

After about fifteen minutes of chatter and some sad music, everybody was invited to trek to the graveside for the burial. Most of the guests, about fifteen of them, had to walk. The funeral guy led Shania and me to a limousine. We followed the black station wagon with the casket through the narrow roads until we arrived at the tented gravesite. The pile of fresh earth was covered with a black tarpaulin. Six of the biker guys pulled the casket out and rolled it on an expandable cart toward the open hole that awaited it. Shania and I were ushered to a row of chairs right next to the railing that surrounded the hole.

"Ten more minutes," I whispered into her delicate ear. She nodded slightly, gripped my hand with her own, and didn't let go.

The sad-faced guy mouthed some more words about resurrection and commending the body to the ground. A couple of the dead guy's buddies passed by and put cloth patches of various biker clubs on the box. One guy set a can of Colt 45 on it. The last guy actually had a half-helmet that he laid on the casket. The funeral guy looked at Shania, who nodded, and the casket descended slowly into the hole. Shania stood up, took a handful of dirt and tossed it on the box. She turned quickly, grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the grave-site and back to the limo.

The driver had to scurry to catch up. He closed the doors, slid behind the wheel and looked into the mirror. "Back to the funeral home?" he asked.

"No," Shania said firmly. "Take us home."

"Yes, ma'am," the chauffer replied and motored smoothly out of the cemetery and onto the city streets.

"You can breathe now," I whispered to Shania. She looked at me, and, for the first time that day I saw tears well up in her eyes. I pulled her close to me and put her head on my shoulder. "It's okay, baby," I whispered. "You're allowed to cry."

Apparently not one to wallow in her own sorrows, Shania collected herself within about three minutes. She sat upright in the seat, pulled a compact out of her clutch, dabbed under her eyes for a few seconds, snapped the compact closed and replaced it in the tiny black purse. She stared straight ahead for the remainder of the ride to our apartment complex. When the driver opened her door, she swung her legs out and was gone. I grabbed my own door latch and launched myself out of the limo. I slipped the driver a twenty and chased Shania up the stairs to the landing.

"Shania," I called. She swiveled on a heel and looked at me. "Shania," I repeated, not exactly sure what I was going to say next.

"I would like to go to our apartment, please, and finish that bottle of fine bourbon you have."

"We can do that," I replied. I pulled open the door and held it for her. She stepped through the door and I watched entranced as her shapely calves flexed while she climbed the stairs.

I unlocked the door for her and pushed it open. Shania strode in as if she owned the place. She walked straight to the window, placed her clutch on the sill next to the two glasses left from earlier in the day.

Without a word, I grabbed the glasses and carried them to the kitchen. I rinsed them under cold running water, swiped them out with paper towels and grabbed the bottle. I returned to the living room to find Shania standing as I had left her, looking out the window into the street. I uncorked the bottle and poured two fingers into a glass for her and held it out. Her delicate fingers wrapped around it. She held it, waiting for me to pour my own portion. When I completed that task, I set the bottle on the low coffee table.

"To new beginnings," she said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

I held up my glass. "To new beginnings," I repeated.

Shania seemed to magically shrink three inches right in front of my eyes. Then I realized she had stepped out of her heels and stood flat-footed on my floor. She actually smiled at me, a half-sad, half-brave smile, then tilted her glass and drank half the contents in one gulp. She looked at the amber liquid remaining and said, "I hope you've got another bottle of this."

"Actually, I don't. If you want more than what remains in this bottle we'll have to go out to get some."

"Let's finish this one," she suggested, "and see if we need another."

"You were marvelous today," I said, taking a seat on the sofa behind the coffee table. "I couldn't have been prouder of you than if I were your Uncle Eric."

"I don't have an Uncle Eric, you know."

"Well, then," I smiled gently, "I'd be pleased to fill the bill."

Shania stepped back to the sofa and sat next to me. "I neither need nor want an Uncle Eric from this point forward. You're just Eric." She took another sip from her drink.

"So tell me," she said, leaning back against the sofa, "what did you think of Jerry's pals?"

I waved my glass noncommittally. "An eclectic bunch. Some better than others."

"How about the one who wanted me to be his bitch?"

I chuckled. "Him I wanted to clock," I admitted.

"Were you jealous?"

My guts twisted. Presented that way, I realized that jealousy had been among the various emotions I was experiencing. "Pissed off," I nodded. "Offended, mostly for you."

"And jealous," she said, emptying her glass and holding it out for a refill.

"Maybe some," I admitted, pouring a generous helping from the bottle.

"You want me to be your bitch?" she asked, in more of a statement than a question.

I shook my head. "No, sweetheart. I don't think you need to be anybody's bitch."

Shania took a long pull at her refreshed drink.

"You're right, Eric. I'm never going to be anybody's bitch."

She held up her glass and examined the liquid remaining.

"I like this. I don't usually drink, but this I like."

"You better go slow," I warned her. "You're going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow, or maybe even tonight."

She stuck her nose in the glass and inhaled deeply. She tilted it up and took a taste.

"Won't be tonight," she said assuredly. "I don't intend to stop tonight."

I looked at the blond beauty on my sofa, her legs encased in the black stockings tucked neatly under her. The desire of my heart was to gather her in my arms and simply hold her until all the hurt had gone away. I wanted to let it all flow into me and out of her so that the pure beauty of her would simply explode, engulfing and surrounding us both. Yet, as I studied her, I recognize that the aching was mine. It wasn't apparent in her appearance. Surely, it was there, I reasoned. My own pain for her, my empathetic reaction to her nearness testified to its presence. Yet, perhaps my agony came from a different source. Surely not, old man, I argued internally.

"What do you intend to do?" I asked, half afraid of the answer she would give.

She picked up the bottle from the table. "I intend," she said, with just the tiniest bit of a slur beginning to affect her speech, "to finish off this bottle of your very fine whiskey. Then I shall either accompany you to the nearest package store to replenish our supply, or root around in your cabinets for another source of numbness."

I chuckled, not at her desire for numbness, but at the image of her rooting around in my cabinets.

"There's a bit of gin," I said.

"Uck," she replied quickly.

"Some rum, a little vodka, and an untouched bottle of tequila," I completed the inventory.

"Tequila, huh?" she said, smiling slyly over the top of her glass. "I've done some pretty bizarre things under the influence of tequila."

"Shania, while you have every right, I'm quite sure bizarre behavior would lead to regrets tomorrow."

Her eyes grew wide and she looked square at me. "Say my name again," she commanded.

"I'm sorry? What?"

"Say my name, Eric. Say it."

"Okay, okay," I said, looking at the table where the now-empty bottle of bourbon sat. "Shania."

"No, dammit," she said vehemently. "Look me in the eyes and say my name," she demanded.

I looked at her. "Shania," I nearly pleaded.

She stared at me. "Holy shit!" she said, finally. "No." She took a sip from her glass. "That's not...that can't..." She stopped.

"What is it? "What can't?"

"I have to go," she said suddenly. She unloosed her legs and planted her feet on the floor. "I've imposed on you all day. I can't continue..." She cast around for her shoes, akimbo on the floor next to the window.

"Stop," I said as firmly as I could without sounding mean, standing up next to her. "My time is my own. I set this day aside for you. You may have as much or as little of it as you want. Sit down. I want you here. You need the presence of another human right now, especially another human who will make no demands of you."

The raw bourbon was starting to affect her reasoning abilities, I could tell. She stood there between the sofa and coffee table in her stocking feet, looking up at me. The processing of thoughts was inhibited by the effects of alcohol. Finally, she sat back down. I sat back down on the sofa next to her.

"You're not my Uncle Eric, are you?"

"I'm not," I admitted.

"You're just Eric. You're the guy who lives in 2B, the quiet one; the nice one."

"I'd like to think so."

"I buried my husband today and you were there to help me get through it."

"Yes."

"If I hadn't buried him I would have divorced him."

"You told me that," I admitted.

"He was a selfish, hateful son-of-a-bitch."

I sat silent, realizing that confirming her statement would be callous, especially in view of his youthful and tragic passing.

"So, I was going to leave him and be all alone. Except he left me first."

"I know," I said, trying to be calm as her intensity seemed to be climbing. "And, even so, it hurts."

"I was thinking I was going to be all alone."

"Not for very long, I'm sure."

"No, I'm not, am I? I'm not going to be alone at all. I can always call on the nice, quiet guy in 2B, just like I did when Jerry got killed."

"Easy, baby," I said, trying to calm her. "I'll be here. You can come to me anytime you need to."

"No, I can't," she said with a shake of her blonde curls. "And you know why I can't? Because the nice, quiet guy in 2B is a hypocrite!" She nearly screamed the last word.

I was astonished. "What? What in the...How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Say my name again!" She slammed the directive at me.

"Fine," I said, my own voice rising in dispute. "Shania!"

"I asked you to sleep with me tonight and you told me you wouldn't!" she shouted in triumph.

"Okay," I chuckled. "Maybe you'd better back off the booze. You're not making any sense."

"Oh, no, Mister nice guy in 2B," she said with a sneer. "I heard you. You said my name like it was some sort of jewel. You said it, and I heard you, you hypocrite. You really want to be with me. But you won't comfort me when I need you. What kind of love is that?" She sat back triumphantly and crossed her long, lovely legs on the coffee table.

"Hold on there, little lady." My belly was tumbling with what was essentially embarrassment at the discovery. "That's quite a leap, there. I'm just a neighbor helping out another neighbor. Nobody said anything about the ‘L' word."

"Bullshit!" she spat.

"Sure, I think you're gorgeous, but you're also about half my age."

"That doesn't matter, and besides, it's not half. Maybe fifteen years."

"Maybe a little more," I chuckled. "And, truth be known, I do care. But that's more about hating to see you in such pain."

"I heard you. And, I was wrong. You say my name like it was velvet."

"Shania," I protested gently.

"See?" she said. "Velvet."

I shook my head.

"No, I think you want to love me. But, why won't you let me stay with you, sleep with you?"

"I told you earlier," I said, trying desperately to remain calm. "You're very, very vulnerable right now. You hurt a lot. I'm in a position to take advantage of that, and I'm not going to do it."

"But I need you," she whined, "and I want to stay with you."

"You can stay for as long as you like, but you are not in the best condition to make any decision about sleeping with somebody."

"You love me," she accused. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"I care about you," I countered, "and that's why I won't sleep with you."

"When?"

"Tonight," I said. "I already told you I won't sleep with you tonight."

"When will you?"

I laughed, in spite of the incongruousness of the situation. "I don't know. I don't know if ever. In a couple of months you'll probably find somebody closer to your own age and fall madly in love. You'll move on without a second thought about me."

She sat back hard against the sofa. It looked a lot like a pout. "Fuck," she said.

"Shania," I reproved her with my tone. "Honey, you just buried your husband today."

"Yeah," she said, her forefinger tapping her lips, "but the marriage has been dead for more than a year."

"That may be," I said, somewhat amazed at my own clarity, "but you've been emotionally ripped wide open and are a mass of raw nerves."

She sat silently. Finally she said to herself, "Eric, the nice guy in 2B loves me." She nodded. "That could be the best new I've had in years."

"Stop it. Stop saying that."

She picked up her glass from the table, drained it, and held it up to me. "It's empty."

"I think we've both had enough."

"You want me to switch to tequila?" she challenged. "I do fucked up things on tequila."

I shook my head.

"Then let's get some more of the warm, brown stuff, Eric," she suggested.

"Please, baby," I said in almost a whisper.

"I don't hurt right now, Eric, and I like that. I don't want to get drunker. I just want to stay where I am. But I can't if I don't have more."

I sighed. "All right."

"You need money? I've got a shitload of money coming from Jerry's insurance. About ninety grand after the funeral expenses."

"I don't need money. But I don't think you should come with me. What with your condition and those heels, you'll be staggering around the street."

"Fine." She reached for her clutch and took out a business card. I recognized the logo of the funeral home. She flipped it over, dug a pen out and scribbled down a number. "While you're gone, I'll go to my apartment and change out of this dress. Call me when you get back."

"You want me to walk you back to your apartment?" I asked, standing up and retrieving her shoes and handing them to her.

"That would be very gentlemanly of you. Thank you."

"Might also keep you from slamming into a couple of walls."

"I'm not that drunk," she protested, snapping her clutch shut and taking the shoes from my hand.

"Nobody's ever that drunk," I chuckled. I led her to the door, through it, and locked it behind me.

"You're going to have to give me one of those," she said.

"One of those what?"

"Keys to your apartment."

"Uh-huh," I said. "We'll talk about that later."

I helped Shania up the two flights to her floor. She stood in front of her door and fished for her own keys. She found the right one and twisted it in the lock. She turned to face me.

"I want you to know that I'm really grateful for what you did today."

"Anything to help out," I began. Shania put a finger to my lips.

"I know. You love me."

"Shania," I began to protest again. She replaced the finger on my lips with her own lips. They felt like they were the temperature of molten steel, yet made of the softest satin. She tasted like bourbon, lavender, and violets. Her arms, hands holding the clutch in one and the shoes in the other, wrapped around my neck. My own hands rested lightly on her waist. She pulled away slowly, her tongue flicked across my lips.

"Hurry home, darling," she whispered. She spun around, pushed the door open and disappeared.

I stood on the landing, looking at the "C" in brass on the door for a few moments. I hadn't had anywhere near as much bourbon as Shania had, but felt my head swimming. This was not a good situation, I thought. Still, maybe she'd go inside, fall into bed and go to sleep. That way I'd be spared any further emotional havoc this particular day. As I moved away from her door I shook my head to clear it. This had all been a bit much.

As I reached the landing to my own place I decided I might as well go get the replacement bottle. I had no intention of calling Shania once I returned to the apartment. Everything that had happened that day had been visceral and put my life into turmoil. I needed some time to sort things out. I was hoping she would simply sleep off her considerable buzz and allow me to re-evaluate the situation.

I was not, I told myself as I walked toward the package store, in love with her. Concerned? Certainly. Attracted? Without a doubt. Yet I was, at heart, a realist. I also had to recognize that in her current state of emotional turmoil, Shania was likely to grasp at various straws in an attempt to keep herself afloat in the maelstrom that had assaulted her personal life. The fact that she had misinterpreted my concern for her as a romantic attraction was evidence enough of that.

Tucking the brown bag under my arm, I noted I had not changed out of my suit and tie. That would be among my highest priorities upon returning to my apartment. My normal attire of slacks and Polo shirts would be much more comfortable as I attempted to ruminate through the morass my own personal life had become.

That kiss, though, I thought. It had nearly taken the top of my head off. It wasn't that it was violent or forceful. It certainly was intense, though. And, I thought, running finger lightly across my lips, damned nice. I could get used to that. But, no, I said, smiling and shaking my head. Down that path was desolation. I was sure of it. Considering the age difference and the likelihood that her assets would attract the attention of many a suitor much more physically robust than myself, I shook my head one more time to clear out the thoughts of what discomfort lay at the end of that road as she left me for one with more appeal.

That was quick, I thought, realizing I had arrived at my door. I unlocked it and went straight to the cabinet, replacing the bourbon amongst the several bottle of other hootch I kept for emergencies. I strode into bedroom to change.

"Hey!" I heard the call from the living room. Damned if she hadn't barged in.

"How did you get in?" I called out to her.

"You left the door unlocked. What are you doing?"

"Changing."

"Please don't," she said. Her voice sounded normal as she stood in the bedroom door. I was glad I'd merely removed my jacket, tie and shirt. I still had the modesty of my trousers.

"Suits aren't me," I said.

"Please don't change, though," she said, grinning. "I like you as you are."

"Can I put on a Polo and some slacks?" I asked.

"Silly," she said. "I meant I don't want you to change from being who you are."

"Oh," I replied. "Sorry. Dense."

She looked radiant, in a yellow sundress with a yellow and white headband in her hair and white sandals on her feet.

"You didn't call," she accused.

"I literally just got back. I was just going to change into something more comfortable."

"Oh, and then you were going to call?"

I stopped and looked at her. "No. I won't lie to you. I thought you would go sleep off your buzz."

"Don't you want to be around me anymore?"

"That's not it, Shania." I was uneasy about saying her name now. "Just let me change my trousers. I'll be right out."

"No," she said stubbornly.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm staying right here. You've got underwear on, don't you? Just change your pants. I need to be near you."

"You're pushing the limits, my dear."

"Please," she said softly. "Let me stay."

I waved my hand and dropped my trousers to the floor. I kicked off one leg at a time. I grabbed the khakis from the doorknob of the closet and stepped into them. I retrieved the dress pants from the floor shook them out and hung them on a suit hanger, placing the jacket over the top.

"You're neat," Shania said.

"Keeps me from having to do massive clean-ups." I hung the suit over the bar in the closet, crumpled the dress shirt and tossed it into the basket that served as a hamper. I turned and headed toward the door.

Shania looked up into my eyes. "I like your bed."

I shook my head. "Not going there."

"One day," she said, "and then you'll be mine forever."

I chuckled. "You need to stop talking nonsense. The idea of us becoming a couple is beyond absurd."

"You can tell me that you don't want me, but everything you've done tells another story."

"What have I done, Shania?" I said, somewhat more gruffly than I intended. "I helped you out when you were in trouble. I stood beside you when you were in need. I fed you more booze than I should have. Everything could fall under the category of a concerned friend."

"You kissed me," she said softly.

"No, darlin'," I replied easily. "You kissed me."

"You kissed me back," she said defiantly.

"Dear God, Shania," I sighed. "You're really being very difficult."

"And you're being very obtuse, Eric."

"Just realistic, dear," I responded. I turned toward the kitchen. "I suppose you want some more of that bourbon?"

"Just ginger ale. I took a couple of Tylenol so I wouldn't have a headache."

"I have ginger ale," I acknowledged. I moved into the kitchen, found a water glass, plopped a couple of ice cubes in it, took the ginger ale from the refrigerator and poured half a glass. I waited for the bubbles to recede, and then filled the glass. I carried it to her in the living room and handed it to her. Her eyes captured mine.

"What?" I asked.

She smiled. "You can busy yourself with all the mundane tasks you like. But, when you're all finished, I'm still going to be here."

"That's fine," I said, my exhaustion coming through. "I invited you. I welcome you. You don't need a reason, and your presence doesn't make me uncomfortable.

"I like being with you. I want to be with you. And I know you want me to be here."

"Are you sober enough to talk about this?"

"I think I am. I wasn't really drunk before, you know. I just had a really good buzz going."

"You said some things while you were buzzing that you're going to regret tomorrow."

"No I didn't," she said flatly.

"Shania," I began.

"Velvet," she interjected.

"For the love of God, Shania, would you stop?"

Very slowly, her eyes never leaving mine, she shook her head. "You know what I hear every time you say my name?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"I hear, ‘I love you.' That's what I hear."

"That just what you want to hear," I protested.

She held her glass in front of her, with only her eyes peeking above as she sipped, and shook her head very slowly again.

"Okay, look," I said, taking a deep breath. "You're stunning, gorgeous, young, and attractive. I'm drawn to you. Few men wouldn't be. But, I can't love you, Shania."

"But you do," she said, her voice just above a whisper.

"It would make no sense," I said in my most reasonable, rational, mature, adult voice. "In a few weeks, months, or years, some virile young man is going to come along and sweep you off your feet and carry you away to his mansion on the hill. Then where will I be?"

She continued to shake her head back and forth. "Don't be a damned fool, Eric," she said gently.

"That's what I'm trying to prevent, Shania."

"See? There it is again. ‘I love you.'"

"What?" I went into a panic.

"Just say it. Just say it instead of my name."

My heart slowed down. Okay, I thought. She really didn't just say that. She was just saying she heard it when I said her name.

"I'm trying to prevent being a damned old fool, my dear," I said, feeling proud of myself for avoiding her name. "When I fall in love, it will be with somebody I can count on being next to me forever. I'm not sure that's the case with us. In fact, I'm pretty damned sure that's not going to happen."

"Why?"

"Because," I said, trying not to sound angry, "you are young and beautiful. Young and beautiful women have young and attractive men chasing them relentlessly. I do not want to be left behind, broken-hearted and bereft because the woman I love has left me for vitality and virility."

"Want to know what I've learned?" she asked, placing the glass carefully on the coffee table.

"Sure," I said, trying to sound more casual than I felt. "Tell me what you've learned."

"I've learned the young and virile are also young and stupid."

"Not all of them."

"Shut up, Eric. I'm not finished.

"These young and virile guys make really bad decisions. They just don't know any better. And they think women like me are decorations. None of them ever gave a horse's ass what I thought about anything. Real men, men like you, Eric, don't see us as bangles to be paraded around for the benefit of their egos. Real men like you have an appreciation for who we are, what we think, and how we feel."

"Are you finished now?"

"Until you make some other stupid point I have to refute."

I had never been in an argument I wanted to lose more than this one. If I packed away all reason and just let my heart rule, I knew I wanted to love this angel, and I wanted her to love me. I wanted her to be with me, for us to be partners. But the sheer improbability kept my intellect battling with my emotions.

"I don't love you, Shania," I began.

"Yes, you do," she interrupted.

"God damn it!" I nearly shouted. "Stop it!"

"Deny it, Eric," she snapped out at me. "Deny it all you want. But, I can see it. I can feel it. I felt it when you kissed me. I felt it when you took my arm. You want to protect me, to take care of me. God damn it, yourself, Eric. Just fucking admit it, will you?"

I shook my head in deep sorrow. "I can't, Shania."

"Why the fuck not?" She was obviously still angry.

"Because," I said sadly, "if I love you, I will lose you."

"Oh, you really are a fucking moron, aren't you?" she slammed at me. "I'm, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. You're not a moron. You're just...what? Are you afraid? Is that it? You're afraid?"

"Christ, Shania," I begged. "You're an angel. You're too beautiful for words. And you've got all that spirit and spunk. You're bright, and beautiful, and smart, and purposeful. I love all of that about you. That's why I can't. You're just so great. You'd be perfect for me if you weren't so damned young."

"Well, it's too late, buster. The only thing that is going to keep you from loving me is if I disappear, and that ain't happening. I'm here. And I'm here for as long as we can stand each other. But, listen to me." Her words came in separate, staccato bursts, accented by her punching the air with a finger. "I ain't leaving ‘til you kick my ass out."

"Why are you fighting so hard for this?" I asked. "You don't love me. Hell, you hardly know me."

"How can any man be so incredibly wrong in one sentence?" she asked, looking up to the ceiling. Facing me she took a huge breath. "Okay, look. Maybe I don't have all the ‘I's dotted and the ‘t's crossed like you do. But, there's something, okay? When I broke down in the limo, you remember?"

"Yes," I replied.

"And you held me. You wrapped me up in your arms and I could feel it then. That's when I started thinking, what the fuck was I crying for? I was weeping for the loss of a complete jerk who never really appreciated me. You held me and I felt protected. So, what was wrong with that? I realized then that if I just would let go and allow myself to surrender to the care and concern of the one person who was there for me...and then, when I heard you speak to me, say my name, well, I just knew. So, maybe I'm not IN love with you just yet, but I love you as the true friend you've turned out to be. I've been so wrapped up in worrying about what lay in the future for me that I've been blind. But, all the time, you were right here. And you are special, Eric. So let's give this a chance, okay?"

"So you think this is all about fate or something?"

"I think I'd be crazy not to." She stepped over to me and pressed a knee between mine, putting her hands on my shoulders. She knelt down until we were virtually at eye level.

"You remember that kiss upstairs?" she asked softly.

"Hard to forget," I chuckled.

"Let's do it again," she suggested, "and see if we still have sparks." She leaned forward and captured my lips with hers. I heard a little moan from her as her lips pressed between mine and I tasted them gently. Their softness was incredible and the pressure exquisite. Shania pulled back quickly.

"Oh, shit, Eric," she whispered. "That is just too wonderful. Can you feel it?"

"Yeah, that's really something," I confessed.

"I want more," she said, and locked herself onto me. I could feel her tongue pressing and opened for her. This time, it was a groan. She held my cheeks in her hands and pulled me to her, then slid her hands over my shoulders and around my neck.

The release was slower, more lingering this time.

"Do you always kiss like that?" she asked, sounding breathless.

"I guess."

"Well, you kiss me like that all the time and I'm in love with you by next Tuesday."

I leaned in to kiss her again. This time our tongues tangled and battle against each other. I couldn't get enough of her. At the same time I could feel my own arousal beginning. This has to stop, I thought, or I'm going to break my promise not to bed her tonight.

"Where are we going to get dinner?" I asked her.

"You're thinking about food?" She sounded incredulous.

"I have to baby," I whispered, "or I won't be able to control myself."

Shania came back for more. "I don't want you to control yourself," she whispered back. "I want you to let it all go and love me."

"Shania, this is all spiraling out of control" I admitted. "You're everything I've ever dreamed of, everything I've ever wanted."

She held my face in her hands and looked into my eyes. "Say it for me, Eric. Say aloud what the name Shania has been saying for you in secret. Tell me."

"I'm sorry, baby. I've seen you, watched you, ached for your pain and loneliness, and loved you forever. I know this is a bad time for you, and I'm selfish because I want you to know. But, I do love you, Shania. I hope you won't hate me for it."

This kiss was little more than a peck. "It's not selfish, Eric. Who would have thought I could feel such joy on this day of all days. I'm so glad you love me. I have a life in front of me. We can have a life together."

She stood in front of me, all blonde, tall, in the colors of bright sunshine and promise. "So, what should we do about dinner?"

We decided on a little bistro close to our apartment building. It was kind of dark, cool, and intriguing. The food was excellent. I didn't eat much, though, as I spent most of the meal just looking at the angel across from me.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Not a thing. I just can't get enough of looking at you. You make this dark room bright."

"Thank you, I think," she beamed at me.

"You're so bright and sparkling. You just look pretty."

"That is so nice. I'm so pleased you think I'm pretty. I didn't get to be pretty when Jerry was alive. He and his crew liked me to look hot, you know like Sandy at the end of Grease?"

"Hot is great," I grinned at her, "but you're just made for pretty."

"I can be glam, too, you know." Her voice and look were tantalizing.

"I'll bet you can," I smiled.

"Can you imagine me as sultry and smooth?" she laughed.

"It's a hard image, considering how bright and sparkling you look right now," I confessed. "But, I saw that over the past couple of days. I never want you to be sad again, Shania, but the truth is, you look terrific in black. Very glamorous."

"The biker boys liked black, too," she said, looking over my shoulder into space. "But they liked tube tops, leather shorts, high-heeled boots and stuff."

"Piercings and tattoos?" I asked.

"Just my earlobes and a tiny tattoo on my hip."

"You have a tattoo on your hip?" I asked, amazed.

She nodded and grinned. "A little, tiny tiger. I let you see it later when we get naked."

I stopped in mid-stroke, my fork hanging in mid-air. "We're not doing that, Shania. I already told you."

"That was before you admitted you love me."

I nodded, putting down my fork. "All the more reason not to."

"Eric," she said, softly but very firmly, "I want you to love me, and I want you to make love to me. You've admitted you love me. Tell me why you refuse to make love to me."

"Because, Shania," I explained, "there is a chance you won't love me. If that happens, I don't want you to feel you've been used, tricked, or have made a commitment beyond what you can deal with. I don't want you ever to regret that we made love."

She leaned forward so she was nearly in my face. Her voice was low and dangerous. "I will have you, Eric. You will be mine. I will hold you inside me and draw your love into me. I want that, and I want it tonight."

"It is because I love you that it won't happen tonight, Shania, not on the night after you buried your husband."

She continued in the low, forceful and demanding voice. "I don't give a fuck about that, Eric. That is the past. It is ancient history. He used me for his own gratification. What I want now is to share myself with you and for you to share yourself with me. I want us to be partners Eric. You can't deny me that if you truly love me."

"You can't blackmail me like that, Shania. I won't let you use what I feel for you as leverage so you can manipulate me. We will make love when you can convince me that you are in love with me, not before."

"I don't have to manipulate you, Eric. You already love me. You want to protect me, don't you?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"And, if I need anything, you'll make sure I get it?"

"I will provide for you, if that's what you mean."

"Yes, that's what I mean. And you won't push me away from you, will you?"

"No, I won't do that," I admitted.

"Will you let me come live with you in your apartment?"

"If that's what you want."

"And you'll do damned near anything I ask of you, won't you?"

"Within reason," I chuckled.

"Eric, my husband is dead. I'm released. I'm free and alive. I want to celebrate that freedom and being alive."

"You don't need me to do that," I said softly.

"But, I choose you," she matched my tone.

"I'm conveniently located," I joked with her. It pissed her off.

"You think it means that little to me?" her eyes flared and flashed. "If it was just a matter of fucking somebody, I could hook up with Stan."

"The jerk from this afternoon?"

"Yeah. Honestly, Eric. I can't figure out what you're trying to do with this? Don't you want to make love with me?"

I leaned back in my chair and looked at her. "You have no idea how much. But, what I really want, Shania, is to hold you close to me. I want to feel you breathe, touch your skin, caress you and enfold you. What I want is to wake up next to you. I want to know you are close to me, that I can reach out and touch you. I want your kisses and your touch. I want to know who you are, what your next thought will be, the desires of your heart and be the love of your life. That's what I want. And, even more important, I want you to know that you can trust me to think of you first and always. I want you never to doubt that you are more important to me than life itself. Making love, sex? I want for you to be thrilled, exhilarated, energized, and delighted. I want you to be overwhelmed with pleasure. What I want is for you to feel the synergy of the two of us being existentially more than just you and I joined. I want my life to be about you, Shania. And if that doesn't scare the crap out of you, and I imagine it will, I want for you to commit to sharing that vision of unity and togetherness for the rest of our lives. I want to celebrate being alive and being together, mystically joined into a single entity from this day forward. I want our lives to intertwine, to interweave and become one life that matters more to us than either of our lives individually. That's what I want."

Shania sat absolutely still. She appeared stunned. She raised the linen napkin to her lips and dabbed gently.

"Take me home, Eric," she said. Her voice was barely audible.

I nodded and signaled the waiter for the check.

As we stepped out into the night air, I felt distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Shania," I began. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you with all that."

"Shut up, Eric," she said, not unkindly. "I just want to go home."

"I'll walk you back to your apartment," I offered.

"To our apartment, Eric," she whispered. "Where you live is where I live."

"Oh," I said. "I thought you wanted to go back to your place."

"Your place is my place, if you will have me." She put her hand on my arm at the crook of my elbow to stop me. "What you just said." She looked into my eyes. "That's the vision."

"Well," I responded uneasily, "it is my vision."

She shook her head. "It's our vision, Eric. Now I know why Jerry never understood. You've been the keeper of our vision. Jerry and I were never meant to have it. It belongs to us; to you and me."

"Okay." I was at a loss for words.

Shania slid her hand down my arm until she grasped my hand. We started walking toward our complex.

"I don't know if you believe in fate or whatever," she said, "but this is it. We're fated to be together. When I heard you lay it all out like that, I was astonished. I don't know why, really. I've known we belong together for a few days. Tonight it just became absolutely crystal clear."

"Well, you already know how I feel about you, my love. All that remains is for you to decide."

"If I love our vision, can loving you be far behind?" she asked lightly.

"I hope you will," I chuckled. "Unrequited love is a bitch."

"I'm nobody's bitch, Eric. I already told you. But I'm going to love being your partner."

I pulled her hand up to my chest and pressed it to me. "I'm going to love having you be my partner."

"And," she said confidently, "as far as tonight is concerned, I going to sleep with you in your bed, in our bed. I am going to be naked and you are, too."

"Shania," I started with a cautionary tone.

"Hush!" she ordered. "I will hold you and you will hold me. If we make love, it will be. If we don't, then we will be together. Frankly, at this point, I don't really care. All I want is to be with you. If you love me then I will love you in return. If you enter me, then I will welcome you. If I need you, then I will take you and you will give yourself to me. It doesn't matter, Eric. All that matters is that we begin, right now, this night, to live into our shared vision, together."

"So you are coming into my bed in spite of everything?" I laughed.

"Our bed, Eric. From now on, there is no yours or mine. Everything is ours. Our apartment, our bed, our relationship, our love, our life. It was meant to be and I can prove it."

"You can, huh?"

Shania sounded dead serious. "You are in 2B and I am in 3C. Do you know what you get when you multiply them?"

"Uh," I stammered, "Algebra? Not one of best subjects. I don't know. Is it like 6BC?"

"Exactly," she said. "The beginning of time."

"Honey," I said, as gently as I could, "I don't even know if the calculation is right. But I do know that 6BC was not the beginning of time."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see her grinning wickedly. "Well, crap!" she said. "You seem to need empirical evidence that we should be together. I'm grasping at straws over here. You want to go with it for me?"

I laughed aloud. "You are incredible! Bright, beautiful and a really quirky sense of humor, too. How could I not love you?"

Shania directed me into the shower first. She collected our glasses, wiped down the table, and washed the glasses out, leaving them in the strainer while I showered and shaved. I came out from the shower wrapped in a towel around my waist. She gave me the once-over.

"Not bad for an old man," she remarked.

"Just got to keep driving the knife in, don't you?" I asked, only half-kidding.

She stepped up to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. She planted a blistering kiss on my lips. When she pulled back, her eyes searched mine.

"I don't care how old you are, darling," she whispered. "You're mine. I own you, and you own me. It was just a joke."

"I'm sensitive about that topic. It's the weak link."

"I will love you for who you are, my darling. All this other junk is just crap. It doesn't matter."

"You kiss me like you love me," I observed.

"You could feel that, huh?" she asked.

"Do me a favor," I asked her. "Don't decide tonight. Wait until tomorrow, at least."

"Or next Tuesday?" she teased.

"That would be fine."

"I like feeling your warmth. Do you know that your love for me just flows out of you?"

I shook my head. "Maybe it's just the desire."

"Oh, God," she said breathily, "I hope so!"

"So you do want me to love you, then?" I kidded.

"Go get in the bed. I'll shower and join you shortly. Oh, and lose the towel," she ordered.

"This is not a good idea, Shania," I repeated.

She put a finger up to my lips. "Shoosh," she whispered. "When you feel me take you inside me, you'll know it's right."

She twisted out of my grasp and stepped into the bathroom. I turned toward the bedroom, turned on the bedside lamp, pulled the towel off and scrubbed my hair one last time before sliding between the sheets. I felt the cool comfort of the bedding against my skin and the easy support of the bed smoothing the tension of the day from my muscles. I turned on my side and looked at the street lights beaming their glow into the night.

I must have dozed off, because my next conscious thought was the realization that a warm body was pressed against mine. My arm was wrapped around her waist and my hand was full of her breast. The aroma of fresh flowers gently reached into my nostrils and I could feel one of her hands smoothing the skin along my thigh. I released my handhold on Shania and turned onto my back.

"You were sleeping when I came to bed," she whispered in the night. She twisted around so she was facing me. Her hand rested easily on my chest.

"I guess so," I answered softly. "A lot happened today."

"Yesterday," Shania corrected me.

I looked at the projected numbers on the ceiling. It was 1:12 in the morning. "Huh," I observed. "It's tomorrow already."

"That's right," she said, nuzzling her lips against my shoulder. "And I don't regret anything I said yesterday."

I chuckled.

"You still want me to love you, then?" I asked.

"I do," she said. "So, if you don't mind..." she said, sliding her hand down my body to capture my manhood in her little hand.

"Not much going on down there," I laughed.

"Don't be so impatient," she whispered. She raised herself up on an elbow, leaned in to kiss my lips. It was tender, gently sucking, with tiny licks of her tongue at my lips. "You kept your promise, though."

"What was that?" I asked.

"You didn't make love to me last night."

"But you did come into my bed," I reminded her.

"Our bed, my darling, remember?"

"Hmmm," I hummed, feeling her fingers beginning to trigger my arousal.

"Oh, that's starting to feel better," she said. She changed the motion from pattering her fingers on my manhood to stroking it.

"You're just intent on doing this, aren't you?" I whispered hoarsely.

"I am," Shania said. "I want to feel your love inside me." She leaned in to kiss me with increasing passion.

"What about you?" I asked her. "Are you going to ready?"

She hummed an affirmative. "A couple more of your delicious kisses, darling," she whispered. "I've been ready for you."

"You haven't slept?"

"A little. I curled up and let you spoon me. Do you know what you did in your sleep?"

"Tell me."

"You actually said the words. It was clear and exiting. You said, ‘Oh God, Shania, I love you so very much."

"The truth is out," I chuckled.

Her hand continued to stroke me, in spite of my full arousal. "I wondered how many times you'd said those same words in the privacy of this room over the past weeks and months."

"Constantly," I chuckled. "I told you I'd loved your forever."

Shania launched herself astride me. I felt her hair swish across my face. She leaned down and kissed me, this time tugging at my lips with her teeth.

"I want to feel you inside me," she whispered.

"You're in control."

Her lips went to my ear. "That's right," she whispered into my ear. "Tell me what I want to hear."

"That I want you?"

"Uh-uh," she said, sliding her body down until my rod contacted her flesh. "Not that."

"That I need you?" I teased.

She raised her hips until the tip of my manhood was just lodged at her entrance. "I can tease, too, you know."

"Oh," I said as if in revelation, "I think I know, then."

"Say it," she ordered.

"Shania," I whispered. She pushed until a tiny bit of my shaft penetrated her.

"Almost!" she encouraged. "What does Shania mean when you say it?"

"I love you, Shania."

Her warmth enveloped me completely as she sank her hips down on me. "That's it," she hummed as she enveloped me. "And I can feel your hardness and your love filling me up."

It was paradise. Shania held me inside her, tiny pulses moving through her and transferred into me. She hummed and moaned, "Oh God! That feels so good, so right."

"I'm not hurting you?" I worried.

"Oh, fuck no! It's perfect!" she purred. "I knew it would be. Oh, God, Eric. Love me!" She leaned down and planted her lips on mine. I felt her sucking my lips with hers and plunged my tongue into her mouth. She sucked on it as her hips wiggled on my shaft. She released my lips and raised her head. "Oh, baby," she moaned. "Tell me," she pleaded.

"I do, Shania," I groaned. "I do love you."

"Oh, my love," she whispered, "this is perfection. We're going to do this a lot, baby," she moaned.

I chuckled.

"You're laughing at me," she accused.

"No, no," I replied quickly. "It just feels so good, like you said."

"You do love me, don't you?" she asked, working herself into a rhythm of hitches and thrusts on my rod."

"You've known it all along," I answered.

"I did," she said, with a small gasp. "I knew you loved me."

"And now you're loving me," I whispered.

"Yes, I am. I want you to fill me with your love seed."

"Are you sure?" I asked, concerned for her gratification.

"Please, baby," she groaned. "I came when you entered me. I've come again since then. I want to feel your come inside me. Flood me with your love," she pleaded.

"Soon, baby," I moaned. "God! You feel like fire and velvet."

"Yes, velvet," she hummed, "like when you say my name."

"Shania, my love," I said, feeling the beginning of my own release approaching.

"Hold me, darling," she demanded. "Hold me close and fill me with your love."

"Yes, baby," I groaned, clasping my arms around her and feeling the unmistakable burn that started above my knees. "Now, baby. Now."

"Yes, my love," she whimpered. "Me, too. Oh, God! I love you!"

Her lips sought out mine as our bodies heaved and we groaned together into each other's mouths. Our tongues tangled and roamed against each other. We held each other and shuddered together. Shania pulled her head up and away and took a huge gasp of air.

"Good?" I asked, barely able to breathe myself.

She laid her head on my shoulder. "We are incredible together," she said softly.

"Yeah," I agreed, "and I didn't even have a chance to make love to you."

"I can't imagine," she said, still panting.

"Isn't it great we still have that to look forward to?"

"Hmmm," she hummed, snuggling against me.

"Shania," I whispered. "You said it."

"I know," she said gently. "I do because I want to."

"I'm okay with writing it off to the passion of the moment."

"I don't think so, my darling."

"I'm an old man, Shania," I said quietly.

I could feel her chuckle. "You held up pretty well."

"No joking, my dearest. We really need to address this."

"You're still inside me, Eric. I'm holding your love inside me. I don't ever want to let it go. As of now, you are my love and my life. Nothing else matters but the two of us being together. Put it behind us, my love. I am yours and you are mine."

"There will be comments, innuendo, and nasty insinuations."

"I don't care, Eric. We have our vision. We have our love. I'll be your trophy wife. I don't care. Love me and let me love you. That's all we need."

Epilogue

A year after I helped Shania bury her husband (we always referred to him as the ex), Shania and I were married, in a church, no less. Shania's vision had a spiritual aspect that I hadn't anticipated. While I had some trepidation about this facet and the effect it would have on our relationship, my wife, my brilliant, intelligent, and incredibly beautiful wife proceeded to educated me.

"What we have," she explained, "transcends this plane of existence."

"Of course it does," I replied, smiling. "We live on in the DNA of our children, and their children, and our great-grandchildren." It was scientific and made sense.

She gave me the slow shake of her head. "We don't have any children," she reminded me.

"Well, not yet," I agreed. "But, we will, won't we?"

"Yes, I hope so. But suppose we didn't. Even so, what we have and who we are doesn't simply end."

"So, you believe in an afterlife?"

"In some form, yes," she replied.

"But, at the funeral, you said the ex hadn't thought beyond his own existence."

"That was him," she said. "Not me."

"See, the problem is there are all those rules and rituals. I'm not sure what effect that will have on us."

She took my face in her soft hands and looked into my eyes. "Does it seem like I get wrapped up and rules and rituals?"

"Not so far," I acknowledged.

"You and I extend into eternity," she said. "Our love and our vision, that is eternal."

"What if it isn't?" I challenged.

"It is, my love."

I sighed. "You are my love and my life," I told her. "I will do whatever you want me to do."

She shook her head slowly again. "It won't work like that, Eric. We have to do this together, just like we decided to be together, to make a life, to become the unified entity that we have created."

"Shania," I began.

"I know," she grinned. "I love you, too."

"You're still doing that," I whined.

"So are you," she grinned brightly. "Every time you say my name I hear you say ‘I love you.' I like it."

"You know, you can be indescribably frustrating."

"Only when I'm right, and you know it, but you don't want to do it."

"By now, I would have thought you'd have learned I'm a pretty down-to-earth sort of guy," I said, making the last-gasp effort to change her mind.

"I know you are. Maybe that's why I came into your life; to show you there is more than just the here and now, and that our love goes on and on forever."

Shania began to develop a glow about six months later. I warily approached the issue.

"Is that some sort of spiritual thing going on?" I asked her.

"You might call it an in-dwelling," she said.

"Okay," I replied slowly. "That mean things are going to change?"

"Most definitely," she said, beaming. "I'm pregnant."

"Holy crap!" I said. I realized that I was nearing 50 and was about to be a father.

Shania's joy was infectious. Throughout the pregnancy, the hormonal changes, even the bouts with morning sickness, Shania simply radiated an aspect of pure delight. I learned to be a coach. When Erica Shania entered the world I was humbled, overwhelmed, and amazed to behold my stunning wife holding the product of our love for one another.

"She's as beautiful as her mother," I whispered to my wife.

Nine months later, the glow returned to Shania.

"Again?" I asked her.

She nodded, her eyes gleaming. "A boy, this time," she said with certainty, "for you."

Shane Eric came out kicking and fighting.

"Where is the contentment?" I laughed as Shania nursed the fussing baby boy.

"Erica has your contentment," she informed me. "This little fellow has all of my contrary nature wrapped up in the male form."

We hired a nanny to help Shania with the two children. Nanny Matilda was close to sixty and doted on the babies. Our focus shifted to concerns for the well-being of our offspring. We found a larger home close to excellent schools. We moved in and set up housekeeping, bringing Nanny Matilda with us.

We'd been settled for about three months. The children and Nanny Matilda had retired for the night. Shania was reading in an easy chair as I scanned the channels for something to pique my interest.

"Do you remember the brown liquid?" Shania asked me.

I clicked off the remote. "The bourbon?" I replied. "Yeah, I remember."

"Should I tell you what I was really thinking that day?"

"You can tell me anything, my love. It won't make a whit of difference in how I love you."

"Well," she said, "that day when the elevator was broken, I saw you at your door. I thought, ‘There's that nice guy. Wonder if he'd do me.'"

"You really thought that?"

"I did. I was a slut."

I laughed aloud. "You were never a slut."

"You just didn't know. Anyway, you gave me the bourbon the day of the funeral."

"Before and after, if I recall."

"After. And, I thought, ‘Maybe he's trying to get me drunk so I'll fuck him.' But, you weren't. And then, when you said my name, it really became obvious you loved me."

"I don't see how you could have determined that," I argued. "I didn't even know you."

"Complete bullshit, Eric," she said, laughing. "You loved me the first time you saw me."

"Excuse me," I protested. "You were a married lady the first time I saw you."

"That's why you said unrequited love is a bitch. I was the bitch you were in unrequited love with," she said. "Except that you didn't know that I was checking you out."

"It became pretty obvious when you demanded I take you to bed," I laughed.

"I told you. I was a slut back then."

"You were never a slut, Shania."

"Honey, I was. I was your slut. I was absolutely determined that you were going to fuck me that first night."

"So all that vision stuff was just a ploy to get me into the sack?"

"No, of course not. We're living it, darling. No, but that playing with the clock thing. You remember? ‘It's not Saturday, it's Sunday morning.' It was still the first night and we did it."

"You tricked me," I said, trying to sound defeated.

"I knew once you fucked me that you'd be mine forever."

"Darling," I said softly, "I was yours when you kissed me in front of 3C."

She grinned at me. "And the yellow sundress?"

"I remember."

"But you didn't know I hadn't worn a bra or panties, did you?"

"Are you serious?"

"I told you, darling, I was a slut."

"And I loved you in spite of it."

"You didn't have a clue."

"You're right," I admitted. "I was so concerned that I shouldn't take advantage of you."

"And all the time, I was trying to manipulate you into screwing me."

"You devious wench," I chuckled.

There was a long silence. "Will you take me into your bed?" Shania asked.

"I would, darling. But I don't have a bed. We have a bed."

"Take me to bed, Eric," she said.

"You have to kiss me first," I answered. "I don't sleep with just any slut. Only those sluts who are truly in love with me."

Shania walked over to me and pressed her knee between my legs. She knelt on the chair, wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned forward. The kiss she gave me was reminiscent of the one on the landing in front of her old apartment.

"I have loved you forever," she whispered when she pulled back from the kiss, "and now I want to feel your love inside me."

"All that I am, all that I have is yours, my darling Shania," I replied.

"Like velvet," she said, "and I love you, too."