Sorry it took so long for the update! I've been very busy with college and an internship, but I hate to leave a piece of fiction unfinished. So here is the next installment. Again, so sorry for the wait--I'll try to write more soon.

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Brian hummed random show-tunes to himself as he shaved in the bathroom. His clothes were neatly pressed and laid out on the bed, and at present he was attired in a green terrycloth bathrobe.

"Got a date tonight?" Joe asked casually. Shaving and humming were almost a nightly routine for Brian.

"Yeah, I picked up a cute little red number in the terminal today. I'm taking her out to dinner." As Brian splashed water on his face, Joe was opening drawers and looking around, scratching his head in thought.

"Hey Brian?"

"Yeah."

"Have you seen my new crouton pinchers?"

Brian burst out laughing. "Crouton pinchers!? What the hell is that?" Then his expression changed a little as he thought of something. "They wouldn't happen to be green with little white-tipped ends, would they?"

Joe's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he answered slowly. "Why? What did you do with them?"

"Nothing." Joe moved in and continued to stare, and Brian finally caved in. "Well, how was I supposed to know they weren't real tweezers!? My nostrils were stretched so far that I was able to yawn through my nose. Pretty fascinating, now that I think about it. I could have listened to you all day without looking bored out of my skull."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Dammit, Brian! Where are they now?"

"They're in my shirt pocket," said Brian, motioning to the shirt he had laid out for his date later. Joe looked at him. "So I was thinking about using them tonight! You never know what kind of a conversationalist she might be."

Turning back to his primping activities, Brian heard his brother calling his name again in the same tone. With a frustrated sigh, Brian turned around. "What! What, for God's sake, what!?"

"What the hell is this? Sandpiper Airlines, owner Brian Hackett." Joe was reading a fake business card that Brian had put in his shirt pocket. Brian cursed under his breath and rubbed his eyes, tiring of the constant bickering. "Brian, I thought I told you not to make any more of these. You're not the owner of Sandpiper--I am."

"No kidding. You don't think I know that? Come on, Joe, I just told it to a girl so she'd go out with me. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is every time you do this I have to play along with your little game and start telling lies myself when you show up with a girlfriend who wants to hear all about how you started up your own airline. Well, I'm sick of it! No more cards. No more lies." Joe tore the business card into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet. Then he stormed out of the room.

Brian huffed. It was getting late and he had to hurry to finish getting ready. He still resented being bossed around by Joe all the time, even though they weren't kids anymore, but he wasn't going to let it bother him. After all, he still had a whole case full of business cards in his sock drawer.

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Helen had been practicing all evening. She sat on a wooden chair in her living near the phone, plugging away at a difficult piece by Handel.

Ever since she was a little girl, it had been Helen's dream to play in a professional orchestra. Sometimes it seemed such an impossible dream, and then other times opportunity was so close she could almost feel it breathing down her neck. But she was always disappointed in the end. Her life remained a constant, steady stream of waking up, practicing, going to work at the airport, and coming home to look forward to an evening of more practicing.

Now and then she would break the never-ending practice cycle by either quitting temporarily out of frustration or by auditioning to further her career. Neither break had yet brought her happiness, and it seemed she was forever doomed to a life of musical purgatory, neither able to quit nor succeed.

"Briinnnnggggggg!"

Helen practically flung her bow across the room as she lunged for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Helen?" said a voice on the other end. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, yes!" She tried to keep her voice calm. "Is this Rowdy?"

"The one and only."

"Oh Rowdy, it's so good to hear from you. It's uh...It's been a long time." Helen had already decided that she didn't want to mention the possibility of an audition with Rowdy. She didn't want to seem too eager, and she thought that he probably wasn't calling her to audition her. He had always been obsessed with Helen, and if she could still play on that she might be able to lure him in and snag a position in one of the most prestigious orchestras in the country.

"Too long," said Rowdy. "So, how was your vacation?"

"What?"

"Mr. Fentbend, I think it was, behind the lunch counter. He said you were on vacation when I went in earlier. Did you decide to come back early?"

"Oh, yes--Actually, something really important came up here at home, so I decided to stay. So Rowdy, what brings you back to Nantucket?"

"Well, I'm visiting my parents."

"Oh." There was a moment of awkward silence on the phone, and Helen could hear Rowdy's breathing.

"But, Helen," he said reluctantly. "To be honest with you I, well...I wanted to see you. You know, I-I thought maybe we could get together and, well, catch up. Since we're old friends..."

As Rowdy talked, he suddenly began to sound more and more like his old self--shy, self-conscious, and stammering. Helen could hear the confidence and assurance in his voice fading, and she experienced a very eerie feeling of slipping away through time, back to a time in her life when she was overweight and only boys like Rowdy would call her (and bug her) on the weekends. It was such a discomforting feeling that she came extremely close to telling him to leave her alone and slamming the phone receiver down. But she caught a glimpse of her cello, her dream flashed before her eyes, and she forced herself to be nothing but pleasant to him. Even by this time, Rowdy was still struggling to get his words out.

"...so, um, unless you're busy, of course, maybe..."

"Rowdy Symcox, are you asking me out on a date?" asked Helen. Rowdy seemed taken aback.

"Well, I-I, uh..."

"Where would you like to go?" asked Helen in the sweetest voice she could conjur up. Rowdy didn't speak for a moment, and when he did he was clearly delighted.

"Great. Great! That's fabulous. So you can make it. Uh...how about the Club Car? It's a nice, casual atmosphere. How about I pick you up at your place?"

"Perfect," said Helen, silently congratulating herself on her devious yet surreptitious methods for advancing her career.

Now, what would she wear? Perhaps the little green blouse, with the low neckline...