"Hello. You have called the Hot Young Women chatline. If you will please give me your name and credit card number, we will connect you to one of our gorgeous girls, waiting to talk to you!"

Daria got the all clear from the terminal, and connected the call to Rosie Kurtz, a seventy-year-old woman who did this to supplement her Social Security checks.

Damn that Jane! Daria thought sourly, Just a little bit of online gambling, who would it hurt?

Me, that's who! I was the one the ATF busted! Expelled from college, folks aren't talking to me, and Quinn married to Tom Sloan! If I didn't know the only painting Jane was doing anymore was detailing cars, I'd go nuts. What else could screw up my life?

"Hello. You have called the Hot Young Women chatline. If you will please give me your name and credit card number, we will connect you to one of our gorgeous girls, waiting to talk to you!" The all clear shone on the terminal, but the other lines showed busy.

Damn! I hate to do this myself!

Daria cleared her throat, hit the connect button, and whispered throatily into the mike.

"Hi, I'm Quinn, and I'll be your mistress of the night. What's your name?"

Daria's small feeling of revenge vanished as she heard a familiar voice.

"Wow, Quinn! My name's Jake! I've got a daughter with your name, isn't that something?"

(WacoKid)

"Daddy?" Daria said into the headset, her voice made small and childlike by shock.

"Oh, yeah," Jake moaned back, "You know just the fantasy I want. Tell Daddy what a bad girl you've been so he can give you a spanking!"

(Brother Grimace)

"Yes, honey - tell Daddy exactly what you've done," Helen's voice cooed, and a cold shudder went up Daria's spine. "I warned you, honey - just wait until your father comes home . . . "

(Sleepless)

Daria's mind reeled in shock. This couldn't be happening to her! Her last encounter with her mother loomed large in her mind, the bitterness, the angry words, that forced their way from her tight throat. And now to hear her like this! A word Daria hadn't said in years painfully forced its way out of her.

"Mommy?"

A long silence followed. Then the tight, suspicious voice Daria remembered so well snapped out of the phone.

"Daria? Daria! You little sneak! How did you get on this line!"

"I work here, Mother!"

"I'll bet you do! You probably tapped our phone lines after you walked out the door!"

"Like I'd have the money to do anything like that! Don't you want to finish your business, Mom! Don't you and Dad want to punish your "bad girl!" Do you drag Quinn into your sick little fantasies?"

"Our fantasies have nothing to do with you or your sister! If Jake and I want to play a little game every once in a while, that's our business. The only "fantasy" I ever had about you was wanting to you to graduate college, and be a success, not the crime of the week!"

Daria's fingers fumbled blindly for the terminal, but a soft, gentle hand held hers, and overrode the extension.

"I'm very sorry you didn't find our service satisfactory, sir or ma'am. Please call back at a future time, and have a nice day."

Rosie cut off the connection, and handed Daria a handful of facial tissue. Daria wiped her face off, still feeling the hot tears leaking from her eyes. The other operators looked at Daria with concern and surprise.

"Daria, go into the restroom and wash your face, okay? It's a busy night, and I have to get back there. You know Mr. Mendoza is going to want to know about what happened, too."

Sal Mendoza, the owner, and Daria's boss, had made her the manager of the operation. She dreaded having to tell the man about what had happened, but he would have the phone logs, and know something was up.

Thank, you, mom and dad! What a way to connect back with them! Damn it! I've worked here long enough to know that most of what goes on are harmless fantasies! I'd trust my parents with my life, just not my mental health. What little I have left, that is!

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"Daria, that's really tough! Your own folks, too. Well, you've done good work for me here. I'll let this slide, okay? But be careful from now on. I can't afford any trouble, and I really don't want a lawyer after me."

"Especially this one," Daria said dryly.

"Ahh! There's my freeze-dried office manager! Personal business always screws people up! Now, you go home and get some sleep, okay?"

Mendoza could be hard to deal with, but he was basically a fair man, Daria thought as she caught the bus that morning to go home. This early, the bus was still half empty, and she was able to find a seat by herself, fairly clean. It still smelled bad, however. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window, soothing her raging headache.

So the folks are still as active as ever. They always were "feisty," as Ruttheiner used to say back at Lawndale High. Great, another thought I didn't want to dredge up! Still after everything else I've been through lately, remembering Upchuck's favorite phrase is the least of my troubles.

Daria got off the bus at her stop and trudged wearily to her apartment. She used her door key to let herself into the building, and checked her mail automatically. There were the usual bills, as well as a notice from her parole officer, that their next meeting was going to be next week.

I suppose with such a high profile case, and only a very new public defender, I was really lucky I didn't go to prison. Mom was so furious when Raft expelled me! She was torn between that and Quinn's wedding to Tom, and naturally the press went after them, too. When the paparazzi couldn't get any revealing shots of me, they went after Quinn and Tom during their honeymoon. The folks were mortified when that topless picture of Quinn sunbathing went public. Tom's parents tried to sue, but the picture was already out, and on the Internet. Everybody blamed the whole mess on me, again. Dad had a nervous breakdown from the whole thing, Mom got so stressed out by everything that she . . .

Totally disowned me.

The thought still hurt, even a year later.

Daria let herself into the tiny apartment that was all she could afford on her current salary. True, the bed was older than she was, but the second hand mattress wasn't too bad. The pipes rattled, the air conditioning seldom worked, and hot water was hard to come by in the tiny shower, but at least it didn't have any mice. She was still waging a battle against the cockroaches, however.

A small radio was all she could afford, that and the cranky electric typewriter she used to write with.That was something else she missedbut being forbidden to use computers had been part of her paroleShe also had no personal phone, though that was a matter of the ancient apartment building, rather than anything legally.

It's not like I have anybody to call. Sal, Rosie, and the rest of the staff at the chatline are okay, but we don't really have anything in common, other than Rosie trying to set me up all the time, bless her heart. At least Sal doesn't expect me to "put out" for the honor of working there, like the last boss I had at that truck stop. Still makes me feel dirty just to think about it.

Jane turning states evidence to clear herself hurt the most, though. My one true friend, my "amiga", and she does that! It didn't help her, though. She got expelled, just like I did. Her career did a nose dive, when people expected her to do radical art, in connection with her bad girl image, and she couldn't do anything at all. Was it guilt? I've never been able to talk to her face to face, so I don't really know what the DA might have used against her. I'd really like to think she was forced to testify against me.

Daria carefully checked her small bathroomfloor, but other than the ratty rug, and long cracked linoleum, there wasn't anything there. Still, she carefully shook out her slippers, bath towel, and nightgown before sheundressedShe carefully laid her glasseson the shelf beneath the cracked bathroom mirror, before she gingerly stepped into the tiny shower.

As usual, the water was almost freezing, but still a bit warmer than normal. She jammed her feet into the slippers, drying as fast as she could, before slipping into her nightshirt. It clung to her slender frame, and after she put her glasses back on, she surveyed herself critically.

Nope, Quinn still has it over me. At least mine isn't all over the world though, and likely the screen saver of choice for every guy she ever dated in Lawndale. I wonder how she and Tom are doing, anyway. I saw in one of those celebrity gossip rags a story that she had to get therapy for a nervous shock. I really think she got married too soon, but nobody was listening to me at all at the time.

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Jane Lane looked at her latest artistic creation with a critical eyecomparing it to the picture she had used as a reference, then sighed. The happy couple stood on the side on the van frowning at what they had just paid for. The young woman was still pouting.

"I don't like it!" Maria had snapped for the tenth time.

"Why? I painted it exactly the way you said too, Miss." Jane said, adding under her breath, lousy, spoiled brat.

"It makes me look fat!"

True, the young woman was a bit, well, hefty, but Jane had painted her looking like Jennifer Lopez, as requested by the nervous husband, who was visibly sweating. He gave Jane an imploring look out of the corner of his eyes, safely behind his wife's back.

"No, young lady, it makes you look, voluptuous!" Jane was relieved she had managed to retrieve the V-word from her subconscious.

"It makes you look alive, facing the world, a proud woman, you are sensual, with your dark eyes, and pouting lips, a mystery to all, but known only to yourself, brave and bold!"

Maria's eyes had lit up, and she impulsively grabbed Jane, giving her a heart felt hug. Jane gasped in pain.

'You do understand me, my inner torment! You, and you alone, have painted my soul! Gracias, gracias, Miss Jane!"

Behind her, the husband sighed discreetly, in unseen relief.

Cash tucked firmly into her pants pocket, Jane waved goodbye as the shiny black van pulled out of the garage. In the next stall of the old garage, another artist was working on a Harley, covering the wheel covers and gas tank with graphic images of demons writhing in flames. It was exquisite work, and Jane had to admit, creepy as it was, she honestly admired it

Not quite the kind of art I had planned, but at least it's art, and puts food on the table. I have a bit more sympathy to that Allison that tried to pick me up in art camp, now. You do have to lie through your teeth sometimes to make a sale, and if you can have a little fun on the side, go for it. Things look a bit different now, when every car, van or bike I can paint keeps me going.

She waited until the other artist had stopped, and was looking over his own work.

"Nice job, Angel!"

"Thanks, Jane, do you think the perspective on this leg is okay?"

"Well, considering that it's covered with scales, and hooked around the gas line, I'd say it's perfectI don't know how you do it so well."

Angels teethflashed inhis dark face. He was an intense young man, who thrust himself into his work. He supported a very pregnant wife, and was very nervous about their first child, due any day now. Jane smiled at him, then began to pull at the chains on the pulleys of the old garage doors, bringing hers down with a loud thump, then crossed over, and did the one to Angel's stall, too.

The two then walked down the street to the old apartment building she lived in. The streets were starting to get dark early, and the day-glo paint the local kids had used to paint graffiti on the mostly decaying building around her cheered Jane up. There were some really good artists doing it, and Jane could remember her own early experimentation, back in Lawndale

"Jane, would you like to come to dinner, tonight? You know Helen would love to have you

there, "

Well, that makes one Helen that would be glad to see me!

Jane smiled, but shook her head.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Angel, I love Helen's cooking, but isn't your mother-in-law having dinner with you, tonight?"

"That's why I wanted you there!"

"Some friend! Using me to distract her?"

"You have figured my plan!"

Laughing, they entered the old building, Jane using her passkey to get past the security door. Jane continued up the stairs, to her apartment on the top, third floor. The old door scraped across the bare wood floor of the almost empty living room. The light of the setting sun highlighted the old buildings in the once proud neighborhoodlending them an almost mystical glow.The streetlight and building signs were just starting to turn on, and Jane gingerly sat down on the one chair in her apartment, hearing it creak under her slim frame, but still holding together.

Well, another day in paradise. I shouldn't complain, really. I have a job, Angel is a great guy to work with, and I'm painting, and getting paid for it. Still, I'd have really liked to have gotten my degree at BFAC, and Daria ...

Daria no doubt still thinks I'm the dirtiest, backstabbing rat that ever lived. I trashed both our lives, and then I had to publically blame her for the whole thing. They wouldn't even let me explain anything to her. Damn it, it was only supposed to be a little bit of online gambling!

Jane's mind flashed back to the fiasco's beginning. She had been doing a little drinking in a quiet little pub near the campus. Daria, as usual, had studying to do, and Jane just wanted to kick back and relax a bit. The quiet place was an artists hangout, and Jane saw several of her fellow students in there as well. Several were huddled together, talking quietly, and Jane felt a flash of loneliness.

One young man in particular caught her wandering eye. He was tall, blonde, with flashing blue eyes. He glanced over at Jane, and they both blushed when they caught each others eye at the same time. They both looked away for a moment, and then his eyes widened when he saw her pick up her sketchbook, and walk over to his table. She laid her open sketchbook in front of him, and he glanced down at it, and then looked again.

Jane had sketched him, sitting at the table, his arm resting on the tabletop, looking over at something while he sketched on his own pad. Looking down at his work, she saw he had sketched her sketching him. He had deeply shadowed the whole scene, but Jane still liked what she saw, and not just the picture.

"Hi, my name is Jane."

He smiled at her, and took her hand, kissing it. Jane looked at him in some surprise.

"My name is Dimitri." He replied with just a trace of an accent. Jane felt an electric pulse shoot through her whole body.

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Quinn huddled alone in the center of the big bed, shivering uncontrollably. The silken sheets on the gigantic mahogany bed, once the height of fashion to her, now were so flimsy, so fragile. She longed for plain cotton, but was afraid to ask Tomto change them. He would, but she had disappointed him so much already. The cold rain beat sporadically at the windowsof the big Sloanehome at the Cove.

I love Tom, I really do! He's so witty, so charming! He loves me, her really does love me! I liked him when he was seeing Daria. Our dating was so magical. I felt so alive when we talked. We went to ballet, we saw opera's, we went ice skating, and yachting. My friends at college was so jealous! Stacy was so excited every time we talked, even Sandi hung on my every word, damn her!

As usual, the sheer thought of her sister and her former friend plunged Quinn into a whirlpool of shame and guiltconfusion and despair. She sat up, her hand automatically reaching for the glass of water waiting there, and the small bottle of pills. Her small hand trembled, her soft fingers just touching her antidepressants, before she grabbed her robe with a curse, sliding her feet into the waiting slippers.

As usual, her feet slid slightly on the polished wooden floor. The first time it had happened, on their honeymoon, she had slid right into Tom's waiting arms. He had scooped her up, wearing his own brown silk pajamas, carried her to the big waiting bed, and then ...

Even a year later, Quinn blushed at how that night had turned out. Tom had been so understanding. But it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't even Daria's or that bitch Sandi's fault! They had both been so stressed. Quinn still had nightmares from the media circus that had greeted them when she had left the chapel doors, now that she was Mr's Tom Sloane! She was still feeling the rosy glow from saying, "I do", everybody was smiling at each other. Daria hadn't attended, Mom had said that Daria was having some legal problems, but it wasn't anything serious. Honestly, Quinn had been always worried about Daria's reaction to her marriage to tom, but the few times she had seen her, Daria always smiled and said everything was okay.

"Mr. Sloane! How do you feel about the federal indictments this morning charging Grace, Sloane and Page with laundrying money for the Russian Mafia?"

"What!" Angier Sloane looked totally off guard for the only time Quinn had ever seen him.

Another reporter broke out of the shouting mass of cameras."Mr. Morgendorffer! Do you think this indictment will affect your daughters marriage into the Sloane family?"

Jake had frozen, while Helen snapped fiercely, "No comment!"

"Tom Sloane! What do you think about the fact that the two federal witness's are former girlfriends of yours, your wife's sister, Daria, and a Jane Lane?"

"No, that's a lie, my sister wouldn't do anything like that! Not today! Not on this of all days!"

Quinn's statement had been screamed out at the top of her lungs, each word louder the one before. Everybody stared at her, all quiet, cameras clicking and whirring. Quinn was gasping, choking, and Tom's hold on her arm tightened.

"Give her some room! Let her breathe, for heavens sake!"

And then the last straw had broken the camels back. A middle aged blonde woman, with a tight, superior smile shouted out of the withdrawing mob of reporters.

"Mr. Sloane! What do you think of the charges in Sandi Griffin's new book that your new wife hasn't been a virgin since age fourteen?"

With a roar of fury Jake had thrown off Helens hand and lunged for her. The woman's smirk had vanished in a instant. Angier Sloane tackled his son's new father in law, and the two men feel to the ground in a heap. Jake writhed in a cold fury, and Helen waded into the pileup grabbing her husband. Katherine Sloane started snapping orders, clearing the crowd away, and helping the bridesmaids carry Quinn back inside the chapel. Stacy Rowe had been in a state of shock, but followed orders. Tiffany hadn't been able to come, and everybody there now knew why Sandi had begged off.

That was the first day of my new married life. Thank you, Sandi, thank you, Daria, and thank you, Jane.

Quinn made her way to the liquor cabinet, staring at the fine selection behind the smoked glass. The bottles glistened back at her, promising if not forgetfulness, then at least a temporary amnesia. Unseen in the dark room, Tom stared sadly at Quinn's back, not making a sound.