Vince sat hunched over his sewing machine, turning last years fashions into a new catsuit. Howard admires the quick and nimble movements of Vince's slender fingers as the man creates what must be the ugliest outfit Howard has ever seen.

He'd been grilling Howard with questions about his 'sister' for hours. What did she look like? What was she wearing? Was she better looking than Vince? More stylish? Was her hair bigger and shinier?

"She looks like a girl version of you, Vince," was Howard's reply, "Which is to say, she looked exactly like you."

As Howard got ready for dinner with 'Helena', Vince hovered over him, making sartorial suggestions. Suggestions like, "Please burn those trousers" and "It isn't too late to buy a new outfit" and "Let me cut your hair. It's hard to get it just right when you're sleeping."

At 7:45, Howard announced he was heading to Helena's hotel. Vince barely looked up from his sewing.

Howard casually put on his hat and jacket and walked out the door. As soon as he hit the street, he broke into a full out run. There was no way Vince was getting to that hotel before him.

xxx

The hotel is only a few blocks from the shop but it is quite posh. Howard felt very out of place jogging through the elegant lobby. He was out of breath and the mirrors in the lift revealed him to be red-faced and disheveled. He tried to pull himself together, not wanting Vince to see how much effort he had put into catching him out.

He knocked on the door, not expecting an answer.

"Howard? Is that you?"

Damn!

"Yes, Helena. Am I early?"

"Just give me one minute!"

Helena answered the door in a bathrobe. Half her hair was a lovely cascade of silken curls. The other half was pulled up in little clips. Her make-up was dramatic and sultry. Her perfume was nauseatingly strong.

She gave him a cheeky, Vince-like smile and said, "All right, Howard?"

xxx

Howard sat on the bed while Helena finished curling her hair. She lectured him on destroying the illusion by seeing her only half ready.

"Vince told me you didn't know a thing about women but really..."

"I beg your pardon, s- m'am. Howard Moon is a man of the world. He is also a man of good manners and punctuality."

Her laugh was sweet and distinctly un-Vince-like. Sitting in a hotel room with 'Helena' (still only wearing a robe) was enough to bring a flush to Howard's cheeks. A mantra of "Howard Moon is a man of the world" echoed through his brain but it couldn't quite squash his feelings of being a adolescent boy. 'Helena' was a striking woman.

Howard asked Helena about her life. Unsurprisingly, she was a fashion designer in France and modeled on the side. What else would the sister of Vince Noir do for a living? She is fabulously wealthy and owns a summer house on the Riviera.

"You and Vince should come for a holiday!"

"Why have you never invited Vince, before?"

Helena's face fell, "That's... that's a complicated question. Let's just talk about simple things tonight. I don't feel like being complicated."

Howard's instinct to grill her faded when she turned a dazzling smile on him. He didn't ask any more questions, he just listened to her chatter away until she announced, "It's time to be a gentleman."

Howard was startled by the implication. He'd been careful not to stare or even glance at Helena's bare legs. Admittedly, he was curious the see if Helena had breasts but he hadn't ogled...

Helena was standing up and holding the tie of her robe, "Gentleman, Howard!"

Howard squeezed his eyes tightly shut until Helena announced she was decent.

She stood before him, pigeon-toed in stilleto heels, looking up at Howard through her fringe. Howard thought her dress looked like a high fashion potato sack. It was shiny, black, shapeless and ridiculously short.

"You look... nice?"

Helena tossed her head back and laughed. As soon as she moved, the dress looked less like a sack and more like a second skin, clinging to her every curve. She slipped her arm through Howard's and gripped him when he instinctively pulled away.

"Let's have dinner, Mr. Moon."

xxx

Helena picked at a salad and drank red wine. Howard wondered if she had sweets hidden in her purse. She insisted on hearing story after story about the adventures of Howard and Vince but resisted discussing herself.

"I'm just boring. I want to know about you, Howard."

The evening took a surprising turn when Helena asked about Howard's musical tastes.

"I'm a jazz man. None of this plastic pop for me, no s- m'am."

"What kind of jazz? I'm partial to the old stuff. I love Louis, Ella... How amazing is Cab Calloway?"

Howard's jaw fell as far open as possible whilst still being attached to his face.

Helena frowned, "No? You like the modern stuff? Jazz fusion, maybe? I'll bet you're into the Weather Report, aren't you? Birdland? Yeah, you like Birdland! I can see it in your tiny little eyes."

"But you hate jazz."

"Vince hates jazz, not me. Vince has never had the blues," Helena explained, her expression suddenly thoughtful, "You can't understand jazz when you're made of sunshine."

xxx

Not even for the sake of proving Vince is creating an elaborate ruse will Howard step into Jacques Le Cube's nightclub but he agrees to walk 'Helena' accross town. The combination of the barely there dress and stiletto heels could be dangerous late at night.

Sure enough, they'd been walking for less than ten minutes when someone yelled, "Oi, darlin'. Watcha doin' walking with your dad at this hour?"

They walked faster but there were footsteps plodding along behind them and soon there was a pair of huge, poorly evolved skinheads on either side of them. One skinhead threw an arm around Howard while the other pulled Helena to his chest, his hand moving under her micro-dress.

Normally in times of great stress and terror, Howard's instinct was to run or beg for mercy. Watching Helena being manhandled filled him with a cold dread. This could go very badly.

Very, very badly.

Howard needed to be a man of action, a man of daring and bravery. He had a plan.

Howard nuzzled his head into his skinhead's shoulder and whispered, "Oh, yeah. This feels right."

When the skinhead backed away in a homophobic panic, Howard punched him in the crotch and ran towards Helena who was desperately trying to control her skinhead's wandering hands.

"Give us a kiss, love. How old is your boyfriend? 60? 65?"

Howard growled, "Not a day over 57," as he grabbed the man's left wrist with both hands and succeeded in just barely moving it from Helena's rear end. It gave Helena enough room to pull some Root Booster out of her purse. She sprayed her assailant dead in the eyes and ran.

Ran might not be the most accurate term. She stumbled awkwardly in her heels as Howard pulled her along until they found an all night chemist and called Naboo.

xxx

Naboo and Bollo arrived on their flying carpet. Judging by their red eyes, the carpet was hardly the only thing keeping them ten feet off the ground. Helena looked mildy surprised as she climbed on board.

"I thought Vince was making this part up."

Howard tried and failed not to look at her long legs and she struggled to find a position that was both comfortable and kept her reasonably covered up. Naboo and Bollo seemed to have no trouble believing Helena was Vince's surprise twin sister. Howard wondered if they had been in on it from the beginning.

"Tony Harrison's wife is out of town this weekend," mentioned Naboo, "Me and Bollo are going for a visit. Maybe Helena can help around the shop while we're gone."

Howard had always imagined the mystical shaman parties would involve strange magic and inter-dimensional travel. The more he heard about them,though, the more they sounded like teenage house parties; Lots of cheap beer and cheap feels and weak, overpriced drugs bought from the children's park.

When they arrived at the club, Howard instinctively played the gentleman and helped Helena down from the carpet.

"Howard, I don't know what to say. You really saved me back there."

Howard was torn between embarrassment and his desire to brag.

"Don't be daft, Helena. You're a cockney bitch. You could have handled them."

Then Helena planted a warm and slow kiss on Howard's cheek.

Vince had accused Howard of falling in love with everyone who showed him the slightest bit of affection. There may have been some truth to his words.

Howard wanted to marry Vince's imaginary sister. He imagined their children, Howard and Helena Jr. If they had a third, they would name the child Vince after the man who brought them together.

At home. Howard tried to clear the insanity from his mind with jazz fusion but it didn't work. He decided to choose another album at random.

He stared at the album he had blindly chosen.

Cab Calloway.