On the way to Boston I had hours alone with my thoughts—not always a good thing. I envy people who don't know themselves, who can't see the hypocrisy and darkness in their souls as it's best to remain ignorant of one's own motivations. I knew that no matter how many times I told myself that I was just wanting to help an old friend, Zane, I also knew that I wanted to see if she still loved me and if I still loved her. I don't know why that was important at this point in my life, but I had to know. Were my memories of our youthful affair exaggerated in my mind? Had I made her some fantastical creature, a chimera—a mixture of all the best aspects of womanhood in one person? When I saw Zane, would she look like any other 36 year old woman?

Mary Edith had never been beautiful so when her face became lined and heavier around the jowl, when she began to have her dresses taken out, it wasn't tragic. But I wondered how Zane looked. Would she also be thick about the middle? Would her bosom sag and her hips be occasionally fraught with the misery of arthritis as Mary Edith's were making it difficult to climb the stairs? Was Zane no longer desirable? I prepared myself for seeing her, hoping that if she was dramatically different from my memories that my face wouldn't reveal my disappointment. Actually, I almost hoped that would be the case, that at last I could put Zane out of my mind, that she would lose the status of goddess and just be a normal woman who shat and burped.

But then I wasn't the same either—disappointment works both ways. I knew that only my physical labor kept my belly from hanging over my trouser waist but creases had begun to form across my forehead and my hairline had receded while the hair about my temples had turned gray. Perhaps Zane would be disenchanted in me. That would be just what I deserved.

You may think that I was a bit over the top about Zane, not quite healthy but love does that to a person. It's a bit like being drunk—that feeling of euphoria. I figure if a person knows that grand state once, well, that it's a close as one can get to paradise. Heaven, if there is one, can only be a disappointment after knowing such rapture as that.

I had met Zane at a dinner for charity, raising funds for a hospital that served the poor. I had been invited by a friend from college, Avery Norcross, who had graduated at the top of my class—I was second but not by much. Avery's family was one of the old families of Boston and I liked his father, having met him on two earlier occasions. He was a quiet, urbane, well-spoken man who put on no affectations. He, along with the other founding families of Boston, felt they didn't have to. After all, their forefathers had come over on the Mayflower or the Arbella and they believed it was their destiny to lead and improve society. Although a few of the families had lost most of their wealth, it didn't matter. 'Who' always mattered more than 'how much'.

'"I don't know," I told Avery when he proffered the invitation. He was in New York on business for his father's law firm. "If it's for charity, then a donation will be required, correct? I can barely make it through the month as it is."

"Don't worry," Avery assured me. "All the money is given in confidentiality—no one knows how much anyone else has given. I just think you should make connections and trust me, Misters Townes and Sullivan will be impressed to know that you're rubbing elbows with the people who matter."

I still wasn't sure. It would be nice to have connections as I planned to stay on with the architectural firm; they had offered me a position and it looked as if I would finally be making some real money and wouldn't have to depend on my father's support. Although I know that my father never resented sending me a bank draft every month, I wanted to support myself. I felt that was the only way that my family would finally see me as a separate individual. Now though, in hindsight, I realize that it was just my pride. There is some truth in the Bible verse, 'Pride goeth before a fall.' Vanity and pride destroys everyone in the end—I had just hoped that it hadn't destroyed Zane.

So I mailed a small draft to the charitable organization and took the train into Boston for the dinner. It's hardly necessary to state that I attended and the first person I saw once Avery started introducing me at the gathering was Zane. She smiled at me from across the room and I smiled back.

"Oh, no," Avery said as he tried to pull me aside but I wouldn't take my eyes off Zane—couldn't. While the other women, both young and old, were dressed in a modest subdued manner befitting their place in society, Zane stood out like a blossoming rose among daises. She was rouged and her deep-blue dress revealed a great deal of cleavage; I imagined how it would feel when I buried my face between her rounded breasts. Her black hair was a mass of curls piled on her head in an artless manner and a string of pearls was wound through the tresses. She was the loveliest, most desirable woman I had ever seen, and desire her, I did.

"Introduce me to her," I said as Zane began to move across the room towards us. Damn, she made me want her just by the way she moved. A man could imagine holding onto her hips and pounding himself into her knowing she would enjoy it as much as he did.

"She's trouble—I'm telling you, Adam. She's soon to be engaged to Morty Otis—everyone knows it except, it seems, Zane from the way she behaves. Stay…" But Avery said no more as Zane was standing in front of me.

Keeping her clear hazel eyes on me, she said, "Who is your friend, Avery, my dear? Another 'Shylock' in your daddy's firm?"

I couldn't help but laugh—she amused me.

"No. This is Mr. Adam Cartwright, an old school friend. Adam, this is Miss Zane Vandeweghe."

"A pleasure," I said and she put out a hand covered with a pristine satin glove up over her elbows. About her wrist was a sapphire and diamond bracelet. I took her hand and she looked at me in a mischievous manner. "And may I say—and I hope I'm not being too forward- you are the most beautiful woman in the room by far."

Zane laughed with delight and those around us looked on with disapproval. Avery was obviously uncomfortable. "In this company, I don't have to try very hard, Mr. Cartwright," she said leaning in conspiratorially. Oh, Zane, we were partners in crime; you and I had so much in common.

A few minutes later, we were called in to dinner and once I found my place, indicated by an elegantly engraved place card in a silver holder, I found to my delight that Zane was seated across from me. No floral arrangement or candelabra prevented me from gazing at her. Looking at me with a sly expression, she adjusted the bodice of her dress, pulling the shoulders down a bit more. Zane knew what effect she was having, not just on me but on every man who was near her. I don't know how I would react if it happened today, if a lush 18 year old woman so blatantly expressed her interest in me but back then, I was flattered-and hard. Now that I consider, even today I would react the same way. The only difference is that I wouldn't follow-up the way I did that night.

I played out my role of the single man, politely conversing with the two women on either side of me. On my right was a stuffy matron with glittering diamonds hanging on her as if she was a Christmas tree and they, the decorations. Her large shelf of a bosom threatened to drop into her soup bowl. But she was influential and spoke of her daughter, Miriam, who sat a few chairs down from Zane. Miriam was a lovely blonde who, I learned, was having her coming-out in a few months. Avery was invited. Perhaps I too would like to attend even though, she noted, she wasn't aware of any Cartwrights in Boston. Was my family from New York, perhaps?

I explained to her that my father was a rancher in Nevada and that I was apprenticing with the architectural firm of Townes & Sullivan. "Oh…you work at designing…buildings? Homes?" Mrs. Gaines, as that was her name, asked.

"Edifices," I responded. "I create blueprints for those who want higher buildings—ones that illustrate the concept of the 'axis mundi' and other plans for those who desire palatial homes—opulent homes that bespeak a person's status in the world."

She looked confused which was my intent. "And there's money in that?" she asked.

"Quite a bit actually." I smiled broadly and then I added that my family also provided lumber for the railways and there was quite a bit of money in that as well. That she understood. Mrs. Gaines nodded and smiled broadly, informing me that she would have her personal secretary send me an invitation to her daughter's debutante ball and that I must meet Miriam before the evening was over. Then she went