Of Blueberry Muffins, Responsibility And Chlorine

His left hand rested on her back, in his right one rested hers. It felt incredible. Although Richard always had liked to dance with a beautiful woman, dancing with Emily was different. Being the only close physical contact she allowed him in public, dancing with her had something of an intimate act. It was like kissing her without using his mouth. It was a foreplay, his mind providing him with pictures of all sorts and living a pornographic life of its own. Sometimes Richard wondered how much power the physical aspects of their relationship had over him, how much power the need for more than they had had over him. He wondered how the woman in his arms could have so much power over him. It was like a fever and if he wouldn't get his pills soon, it would dismember him.

"Emily", he bowed down a little and pressed his cheek against hers as he whispered into her ear and drew a small circle on the thin material on her back. He loved the black dress she wore, it was the one she'd been wearing on their third date, the night she'd thrown her purse after him and so many things into his face. Richard could feel the warmth of her body through the thin, black veil which covered her skin, a surpressed shiver that made him smile privately.

"Yes?", she asked, although she knew what he was up to. At least she hoped he was up to it.

"How big are the chances, we'll get the chance to spend some minutes alone today?"

Emily broke the contact of their cheeks and looked up. He was up for the same thing. "I don't know", she stated thoughtfully and weighed out the options they had. "But it's rather stuffy in here, don't you think?", she added after a small pause. "I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air."

"Then let's go", he stopped dancing and offered her his hand, but she did not take it.

"Let's meet outside", she said low.

"There's no more need to –"

She interrupted him, her lips smiling while her tone of voice spoke another language. "People are watching", she told him. "My mother is."

For a second Richard was tempted to tell her his piece of mind. They were both adult. They were a couple. If they decided to get some fresh air and have a walk it was nobody's business but theirs. He swallowed. If he'd point it out, she'd definitely jump on him in a way he most definitely didn't want her to be over him. "Alright", he forced himself to stay calm. He got what he wanted, Richard told himself, it didn't matter how he did. "I'll meet you outside."

"Good", she nodded with a soft voice and a smile played around the corner of her mouth. If he wouldn't have known her better, he would've been misled to call it inviting. "There's a small pavillion in the park. I'll see you there in five minutes."

An icy wind hit Emily when she stepped outside. Mechanically she made a step back and wrapped her arms around her body. She inhaled deeply, her breath building small clouds in the air while she tried to ignore the coldness. She counted to three and forced herself to take the steps and cross the patio in a fast pace, heading into the park that was covered by the old and the fresh falling snow. The snowflakes got astrayed in her hair and face and her heels crunched on the white blanket, every now and then sinking in one of the snowbanks the wind had accrued. When she eventually arrived at the small pavillion, the snow had gushed into her shoes, been absorbed by her nylons and coated her feet in a cold and wet mass. "Now wonderful", she grimaced and bowed down. Balancing on one leg, she tossed the snow out of her right pump first, then repeated the procedure to get rid of the snow in her other shoe too. Her feet were still icy, actually her toes got colder from second to second and she already regretted her decision to meet Richard outside.

As if the thought had summoned him, she heard his voice.

"We passed the freezing point and a small snowstorm rages and you're running around in a whiff of nothing", he called out as he entered the pavillion. No matter how much he liked the dress and how marvelous she looked in it, it most definitely wasn't weatherproof. "Where's your coat?"

"Hopefully still on the hanger the cloakroom attendant hung it onto after I handed it to her", she replied. "By the way she looked at it, she and my mink might be miles away as well."

"If you would've picked up your mink before you came outside, you would know for sure", Richard got out of his own coat as he spoke and hang it around her shoulders.

"I'm not stupid, Richard", she disagreed, pulling the material closer around her body. "I wanted to. But Mizzy Hamilton and Rose O'Connol were standing next to the checkroom. If I would've picked up my coat, they would've demanded to know where I'm going to, insisted on accompanying me and the trip into this disgustful winter wonderland and the pneumonia I'll probably catch would've been in vain."

"You wouldn't be in the danger of catching pneumonia, if you would've worn a coat."

"I'm wearing one now", she got onto the icy tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "And I think I deserve an award for this selfless sacrifice."

"Very selfess to demand an award of the very high-minded and horribly freezing donator of the warm and cozy coat you're wearing", he remarked grinning despite he'd given a fortune to have a coat.

" I'll make it up to you", she put her lips on his, did it with a smile. "Now?", she raised a brow after a long kiss that managed it to shut the coldness outside.

"A rather good start", he agreed and the clouds of their breath mingled. "But you have to take it up a notch to make up for it completely."

"What about this?", she leaned over for another kiss, one of her hands painting circles on his neck, the other one making its way down his chest and stomach and up again.

"I'm not sure", he stated. "But a repeat might help me to form a view on this issue."

"You're glad I'm selfless enough to make this sacrifice as well."

"Saint Emily."

"If not a Saint, then who else, Martin of Tours?"

Richard laughed. "I'd take you even if you were the grandmother of the devil."

"That borders on blasphemy", she called out with played shock.

"I'm only a man and it's a well-known fact that men are weak. Even Adam tried to get into Eve's fig leaf."

"Before or after she bit into the apple?"

"If she looked like you, definitely before", he pulled her closer and put a kiss onto her forehead.

"And there you redefine the original sin."

"I'm not redefining sin", his lips crushed hers. "I want to repeat it."

"Kissing me is sin?"

"Depends on the definition."

"The definition of kissing or the definition of sin?"

"If kissing is sin, kissing is the definition of sin."

"My head is spinning", she left her tip-toe position. "And my toes will be frostbitten any second."

"I guess that means no more sinning."

"I'm sorry", she stated with an apologetic shrug. "But I'm only a woman and women are known to be weak as well. Even the ladies in the Stone Age wore furs."

"So my coat isn't good enough for you?"

"I didn't say that", Emily grinned. "All I'm saying is that I'm freezing terribly."

"You should sue Mizzy and Rose."

"If I'm going to sue anyone it is you. After all you lured me out here", she took his hands and squeezed them. They felt like ice. "Cold", she pointed out. "We really should be going back inside."

"Alright", Richard agreed and Emily made attempts to get out of his coat. "Oh no", he stopped her. "You'll leave that coat on until you're inside again."

"And how am I going to explain I found a man's coat in the facilities?"

"The facilities?"

"Well, yes", she answered. "After I stumbled into Mizzy and Rose, I hardly could've walked out the door. So I walked into the directions of the restrooms, took a curve and the rear exit."

"How wily. Just to see me", Richard stated with a smile.

"Just to see you", she aknowledged. "You're having a bad influence on me, Mr. Gilmore."

"And as I don't want to be the reason for an influenza as well, you'll leave the coat on", he turned her around and, his hands resting on her shoulders, pushed her over the pavillion. "I'll escort you to the rear exit", he told her. "You can give it back to me as soon as you're inside and nobody will notice."

"You're my hero", she sighed, hardly trying to ingnore the new snow that gushed into her pumps as soon as they hit the park path again. She really wore the wrong shoes for nightly trips into a snowed in park. And no matter how much she had enjoyed the kisses in the pavillion, the uncomfortable feeling around her feet and the coldness that even seemed to be in her bones by now, made her doubt they had been worth this trip.

Ranging between anger and motherly worry Lillian Johnson scrutinzed her eldest daughter and Richard Gilmore. They had left the room separately and came back separately. Yet their reddened faces and some single snowflakes in both hair were proof enough they'd been at the same place. The same place outside. Outside while it snowed like there was no tomorrow. It was this unknown thougthlessness of her daughter that angered and worried her. Sure, they hadn't been gone long enough to go through with anything unacceptable and the weather clearly spoke against it as well. Yet she needed to get back control. She needed to get it back before it was too late.

Hence she decided to take the opportunity when Lionel Ponders asked Emily to dance and Richard remained alone. "Mr. Gilmore", Lillian strolled over to her daughter's worshiper. "I hope you are enjoying yourself."

"I am", he nodded. "Although a dance with you would be the high point of the day, Mrs. Johnson."

Lillian couldn't help to smile. "There's no need to charm me, Mr. Gilmore."

"Far be it from to charm you, Mrs. Johnson", Richard denied. "I'm just a passionate dancer, who hopes you'll concede him the favor of your first dance."

"I'm sorry to put you down, however I'm no dancer. All this swinging and twirling was always beyond me."

"That can't be", he gestured towards Henriette and Emily who were both enjoying themselves on the dancefloor. "I mean, your daughters –"

"They got that from the Johnson line. Even my husband is a rather good dancer", Lillian interupted him impatiently. All the talking about dancing was wasted time. "Not that he has put a step onto a dancefloor since our marriage, but he is."

Richard was surprised upon this trace of humor and familiarity and couldn't help to wonder where it came from or what Lillian Johnson was up to. He had no idea what he was supposed to reply either and therefore just smiled, hoping his interlocutor would continue.

Lillian Johnson indeed did. "It is getting late and the streets probably will be impassable, if we stay here much longer. Actually it is irresponsible enough already to drive."

"I'm sure the streets are getting cleared."

"Maybe they are", she looked at him. "Still, I don't think it'll be clever of you to drive back all the way to Edmeston in the snow and darkness. May I suggest you spend the night in one of our guestrooms."

"That's a very generous offer, Mrs. Johnson."

"I'm not being generous at all."

Surprised he wrinkled his forehead. "I beg your pardon?"

"I think it's time to go whole hog."

"I'm afraid I still can't follow you."

"It's been a while since my husband suggested a union of you and my daughter", she put her cards on the table. "You had enough time for consideration. Therefore, I think you should give him a binding covenant. Or rejection. Whatever you decided to, Mr. Gilmore, as long as you make a decision."

"Mrs. Johnson, I never – I always thought my intentions were obvious."

Lillian surpressed a sigh. If it weren't for good manners she would've told him her piece of mind and how well aware she was of the little farce they were playing. "It is indeed obvious that you and my daughter", Lillian paused to think about her next words. Probably it was what people called 'in love'. Probably it was. Maybe Emily saw through his flattery if it concerened others, but it was clear he'd turned her head. And she'd be restless until her daughter was on the safe side. "Care about each other", she decided to phrase it. "However that is not what we are talking about Mr. Gilmore. All my husband and I want to know is if you'll marry her or not."

While Richard listened to Lillian he searched for Emily on the dancefloor. Her head cocked, she smiled about something Lionel Ponders said. Beautiful, he thought. Just like it did matter. Again he remembered the purse and Emily's words on the night of their third date. It mattered. It was all that mattered. Richard broke away from Emily and looked at her mother. "You're right", he stated as reasoned as possible. "The roads out there are much too dangerous."

Baldwin Johnson was still in the clouds. Meanwhile he'd even made some progress in his efforts to project the cloud like cream on his Irish coffee onto the canvas. Some only, as he still wasn't satisfied with the results. Therefore he just treated a thick coat with a knife when Richard Gilmore entered his studio.

"Mr. Johnson?", the visitor cleared his throat.

"Yes?", he asked without stopping to scratch on the still liquid paint.

"It's me", Richard entered the room. "Richard."

"Richard", he turned around. "What a pleasure to see you!"

"It's my pleasure."

Baldwin put the knife away. "I hope you rethought your last comments on Alberto Giacometti", he reached for a tatter and wiped off the paint on his fingers.

"I did indeed and I came to the conclusion that he never was devoted to a specific movement per se, but only creates effigies of the reality he sees."

"Your sudden judiciousness surprises me."

"You have your daughter to thank for that."

"My daugher? What would she have to say about Giacometti?"

"As a student of arts she has more notion than I", Richard argued. "Actually it was she who introduced me to Giacometti and his works."

"Did she introduce you to his father as well?"

"He was a proponent of impressionism, wasn't he?"

"Tending to symbolism. As some say."

Richard knew if he'd cater to Baldwin's comment, they'd end up in a heated discussion. He knew too less about Giovanno Giacometti and had almost lost his face in the one about his son, therefore he decided to put the brakes on. "Well", he walked towards the canvas in front of Baldwin and observed it. "Some say Picasso invented cubism", he tried to make a humorous remark and change of subjects to those he wanted to talk about. If he'd listened better to Emily, he would've known better. The Giacometti's were history as the keyword Picasso made Baldwin Johnson gather momentum. When the men finally left the studio and headed for bed it was far after midnight and Richard far from having told Baldwin about the actual reason for his visit.

"Mr. Johnson", he hence said as they walked up the stairs. "There's something else, I'd like to discuss with you."

"Anything as long as you don't get me started on Braque's reputedly influence on cubism."

"No, no", he shook his head. "I just wanted to let you know that I did not only think about Giacometti since our last talk, but about your suggestion to marry Emily as well. And no matter from which angle I looked at this issue, I found absolutely noting that would speak against a connection of our families. If I still have your blessing, I'd like to start to line up our agreement into official lanes."

Baldwin grinned. "Good", he gave Richard a pat on the back that made him gasp for breath and wonder where the small man took the strength from. "That's very good. I knew you're the man right away. And if you refresh your knowledge on contemporary art, this most definitely will be a very seminal relationship."

Richard needed some seconds to orientate himself after he woke up. Staring at one of the cream colored ornaments on the pale-brown wall opposite his bed, the memory came back slowly. The Johnson residence. He smiled self-contented and crossed his arms behind his head, causing the material of the borrowed and much too small pajamas to groan dangerously at his armpits. Richard ignored it. In not even twelve hours he'd managed it to win Lillian Johnson's favour. A real stroll in the park of what he'd originally thought would be the crest of the Mount Everest. With the official convenant he'd given Emily's father, everything was settled when it came to the Johnson's. He didn't worry much about his own family either. His father would love Emily, that was for sure. Every man had to love her after all. And his mother. Well. Maybe she still moped because of the break-up with Pennilyn, however she already had started to play matchmaker weeks ago and introduced him to some unmarried woman who 'accidentally' happened to be the only guests for the dinners he attended at his parent's house. "A man of your age and status needs a wife", she used to say. "You need somebody who covers and supports you. Somebody who takes care of the daily things as you should invest all of your thoughts, time and energy in your career and not the purchase list for dinner", she carried it out, most of the time adding a remark like "Has your laundry special prices for the skillful wrinkles they ironed into your shirt?" or "If you intend to wear your shoes longer than a season at least have them resoled" to underline her opinion. Therefore he was sure Lorelai would be more than thrilled he finally had made a choice and would marry. Yes, maybe the tempo would surprise her. But under the smoke screen of an arranged marriage precipitance was nothing unusual. And the faster he married, the faster he'd have someone to take care of creases and worn-out soles. Not to talk of other things, Richard thought as he stood up and the quarrel between his matutinal status and the tight pajama trouser turned into an open war. After winning back his comfortableness during a long shower, he got dressed and sat down at the edge of the bed. A look at the golden alarm clock told him it was half past five. Usually he already had his coffee, toast and newspaper at this time of the day and his body demanded for its morning routine. Therefore he decided to sneak down and have a peek into the kitchen. If he was lucky, he'd be able to talk the cook into a cup of coffee and a small morsel before the actual breakfast in one and a half hours.

The cook was a corpulent woman with protruding breasts and the laugh of an approaching freight train. She was somewhere in her fifties and her dark hair and complexion alongside the few Spanish words she interspersed in her otherwise accentless English ("¡Madre mía! You scared me to death, Señor!") and name (Mercedes) gave away she had southern origins. After Richard had apologized for scaring her to death, he coaxed a cup of coffee and one of the still warm blueberry muffins that were cooling on the windowsill, silently enjoying the meal as he watched her plying with the eggs, milk and flour for pancakes.

Curiously he raised a brow when he saw her adding some sparkling water to the dough.

"My little trick", she explained and started to stir the dough with the eggbeater. "The carbon makes them fluffy like clouds."

"I'll have to memorize that."

"You cook?"

"No", he denied. "But the next time somebody serves me adamant pancakes, I can tell him how to get them fluffy like clouds."

Mercedes laughed. "If a cook doesn't know that already, he's a more than hopeless case. Even the Señoritas Johnson do and heaven knows they've no talent for cooking."

"But they cook?", Richard asked curiously.

"They tried to", Mercedes put the finished dough away and started to shell some apples. "When they were younger Doña Johnson used to send them into the kitchen twice a week, so they'd learn how to prepare a square meal."

"And?", he wanted to know. The picture of Emily with apron and wooden spoon made him grin. "Did they learn how to prepare a square meal?"

"Ah, well", she tergiversated.

"Ah, well?"

Mercedes sighed. "You know, it is just like -", she started just to stop. For a few seconds the sound of a knife on an apple and the bubbling of simmering water were the only sounds in the kitchen. "Let me tell you a little story", she continued then. "When my son Damian was seven years old, he visited his grandparents in California. His grandfather Jose took him to the coast one evening. They sat there on a stone and ate their emparedados when Damian suddenly saw some glittering things flying over the water. He thought it were magical creatures, some sort of fairies of the sea, you know? His grandfather told him they were flying fish, but he didn't believe him. He wasn't zonzo after all: he knew fish had no wings and feathers. It couldn't be fish then. Birds fly, fish swim and the glittering things had to be fairies."

Waiting for her continue, Richard sipped at his coffee. "Did your son find out they were only fish in the end?", he eventually asked as the cook made no attempts to continue and he hadn't the slightest idea what she was trying to tell him.

"He turned thirty-four years old last month and has two children of his own. I hope he knows they were fish", Mercedes smiled. "But the actual question is: Can fish really fly?"

"Well", Richard murmured pensively. "Some of them. Kind of."

"Exactly", she nodded while she cut one of the apples into small cubes. "They kind of can fly, but none of them will ever spread its wings and sail higher and higher through the air and clouds. Just like the Señoritas Johnson will be able to tell you the exact ingredients with indications of weights and cooking time of every dish ever cooked by me. But", the apple cubes wandered into a bowl and Mercedes splattered some lemon juice over them. "If you'd leave them alone with their knowledge, a plucked and gutted duck and a cooker you most definitely won't get canard à l'orange but canard coal."

Richard laughed. "It can't be that bad."

"Well", she sighed and reached for a rock melon, starting to treat it into cubes too. "La Señorita Henriette is rather skilled when it comes to desserts. No wonder, she always has been a sweet tooth. If you have good teeth, her chocolate cookies are actually rather good."

"What about Emily?", he leaned forward.

"Señorita Johnson has a very fine degustation. She is able to tell you there's too much nutmeg in the kohlrabi just by smelling them. However she has no idea how to fix such an overdose. She simply can't link practice and theory", she shrug her shoulders with another sigh. "At least they eat everything. Their padre however. Such a picky man. Before his marriage, I had to cook potatoes, steak and beans every day. Can you imagine that? 7 days a week, 52 weeks a month just steak, potatoes and beans."

"You've been working for the Johnson's that long?"

"The old Doña Johnson hired me when I was fourteen", Mercedes confirmed, putting the melon cubes to the apples. "Actually I've been helping out in the kitchen every now and then long before that. My grandmother already cooked for them, you know. I took over from her."

"So you practically know the Johnson's since your birth?"

She looked at Richard. "Yes", she wiped off her hands with a towel. "Actually my family has worked for them since my grandmother came over to America with Rose Johnson."

"Rose Johnson?"

"The great-grandmother of the Señoritas Johnson", Mercedes explained. "Baldwin III met her when he was on Gomera because of a deal with a vintner. Actually Rose's family was British, but they used to spend their winters on the island. My family worked for them and when Rose got married, she took my grandmother with her. Originally she was just supposed to stay until the wedding was over, but then the Johnson's needed someone in the kitchen and she stayed a little longer. And well, after my father was born, she never went back home. Thought he had better chances here, you know", she reached for some berries and washed them. "But what am I babbling, when I'm supposed to get the breakfast ready."

Richard leaned back and watched how Mercedes finished making the fruit salad. "So, your son", he decided to dug deeper as he got intriguied. "Damian was his name, right? What does he do?"

"He works for the Johnson's, too", Mercedes explained and pride flashed in her face. "Carl Johnson often sends him over to Europe or Latin America. Actually Damian makes all the deals for the company in these countries. He met his wife in Puerto Rico, just like my father did", she laughed. "Others bring along bibelots and figurines as souvenirs from their trips, they got themselves esposas."

"Seems to be a family tradition", it slipped Richard out and Mercedes eyes darkened.

"Without wanting to be impolite", she stated cooly and dusted off her hands at the dishtowl hanging over her right shoulder. "But I still have a lot of work to do, if I want to have breakfeast ready on time."

Richard stood up before she had the chance to continue and throw him out. "Of course", he said. "How thoughtless of me to distract you from your work. Thank you a lot for the coffee and your pleasant company, Mercedes."

"You're welcome, Señor."

Already half through the door, Richard stopped. "Mercedes", he turned around. "Do you know, if Emily. If Miss Johnson", he corrected himself. "Do you know… when she usually gets up?"

Mercedes got her smile back, a broad one it was. "Due to her usual routines, she already should be awake since a while."

"Oh", he nodded and laid a finger on his nose. "Any chance you know as well", a cantilevered gesture. "Where I might find her?"

"El sótano", her grin grew even bigger.

Richard startled. "In the basement?", he asked for a confirmation of his rather slim school Spanish.

"Si", she reached for his dirty dish and carried it to the sink as she spoke. "The basement. She's usually doing her morning routine at this time."

"In the basement?", he repeated confused.

"Unless the pool down there vanished over night she is in the basement, yes."

After Richard had stumbled over a cellar with a more than impressing collection of old wines, the laundry and a small room that contained what probably was Mercedes stock of preserved vegetables and fruits and dozens of glasses of jam, he eventually found the poolroom. Unlike the rest of the house it was quiet simple. The tiling was white and all it contained were three chairs of the same colour, over the right one hung a towel and bathrobe, a pair of bathing sandals stood in front of it. The owner of these itmes swam almost soundless in the pool. She wore a black swimsuit and her hair was stowed under a matching bathing cap. Typical Emily, Richard thought with a small grin, even in a private pool in the basement and before sunrise she was perfectly styled and elegant. He watched her for some laps, enjoying the sight of her barely covered body. Actually he absorbed and memorized every detail of her spotless back, the shoulder blades and vertebras, the perfect bow of her buttocks and her tense muscles as they moved continuously, before he advised her of his presence. He did it with a harrumph and a "Good morning, little mermaid", stepped at the pool edge and kneeled down.

"I always hated that story", Emily didn't stop swimming, though she slowed down. "Every time my nanny read it to me, I hoped the mermaid wouldn't die in the end, but the prince would bump the other girl and marry her", she told Richard and did a flip turn, her slender body vanished under the surface for some seconds. "Of course he never did and I was crushed", she continued seamlessly. "If you ask me, it's not the sea witch who's the villain in the story, but that stupid prince."

"If you ask me, you never should trust men in pantyhose anyway. Something has to be wrong with a guy who likes to squeeze his legs into a woollen pair of tights", Richard remarked dryly and she laughed.

"That's a moral I never drew of fairy tales before."

"I'm glad to contribute to your ken." Emily snorted and he hurried to add a "Not that you need it."

"Too late to butter me up", she remarked laconically. "But why don't you use your brilliancy to enlighten my rudimentary store of knowledge a little more and explain me how a wolf would be able to scarf down two people. I mean -", once more she submerged. "Even given the fact it was a big specimen, he couldn't have been bigger than maybe 3'11. Maybe Red Riding Hood was smaller, but the grandmother must've been taller. There's no way they fit into his stomach. They even wouldn't have passed his gullet without asphyxia of the wolf. At least not in one piece and the same goes for his buddy and the six little goats he had for dinner."

"If you're laying in on the plausibility of fairy tales, wouldn't it be easier to start with the fact the wolves could speak?"

"Animals always speak in fairy tales."

"And wolves never chew their food in fairy tales - no matter how big the dish is."

"That's a lame explanation, Richard."

"It's no explanation, but the law of fairy tales", he made a small pause as Emily vanished under water. "Nobody can explain laws", he continued when he was sure she would hear him. "They're just there and have to be respected like the fact donkeys aren't allowed to sleep in bathtubs in Brooklyn."

"You're making that up."

"I'm not", he disagreed.

"Even speaking donkeys?"

"No matter what talent a donkey happens to have, he's not allowed into a bathtub in Brooklyn. Part 7, Article 83, Ordinances of Brooklyn", he looked at his watch. "Speaking of donkeys and bathtubs - how long do you intend to stay in the water?"

"Speaking of donkeys - why thank you", she sulked playfully, his last comment distracting her from the initial question why on earth Richard was able to quote strange laws.

"I was just trying to make an elegant transition."

"And failed", she sighed, pushing of the edge and disappearing under the water. "A real shame as I don't like surrounding myself with losers. Goodbye honey, don't call but it was nice to have met you."

"You better bite your tongue, darling", Richard told her, the last word oozed with jeer, although he enjoyed this moment, her playfulness and ready wit.

Emily grinned and gave him a short glance before she concentrated on the lane again. "Or what? Will you come in and drown me?"

"That's what you want me to do, isn't it? Jump into the water and ruin my best suit", he shook his head. "But you can forget that. Eventually you'll have to come out and I'll have my revenge."

"Uhhh", she laughed. "Now I'm really scared, Mr. Hydrophobic."

"Who laughs last, laughs the best."

"I'll remember you fondly, while I'll laugh tears", Emily did another flip turn and sped up, her head vanishing under the water with every stroke as she swam her last five laps.

For some seconds Richard looked admiringly at her while she started to climb the pool ladder, then he got onto his feet and gave Emily a helping hand.

"I'm soaking wet", she protested, water drops running down her legs and pooling around her feet as he put his hands on her hips and bowed down to kiss her.

"I don't care", he silenced every other possible and very likely protest with a long and gentle kiss. He really didn't care, even if she had swam in sullage he wouldn't have been able to resist her right now. The banter had turned him on, so did the bathing suit, the things it didn't cover.

"I like this kind of revenge", with a smirk she looked up and raised a brow before she strolled over to her towel.

"So, what would you like to do today?", he asked. "Except being in for the warrantable retribution for your behaviour?"

Wiping off her arms she laughed. "We haven't been to the theatre for years", she suggested.

"I've seen enough bad movies for a lifetime."

"Not all of them were bad", Emily protested.

"Maybe they weren't", he shrugged and - distracted from the sight of her well-positioned right leg on the chair and the way she ran the towel over it - lost the thread.

"But…", she looked up and gestured him to continue.

"But", he cleared his throat, forcing himself to look into her face. "Our conversations were because of all the annoyed members of the audience shushing and throwing popcorn at us."

Emily giggled. "Nobody threw popcorn at us", she denied. "They only threw it after you when you gave away the plot of Goldfinger in low volume."

"I only wanted to soothe you."

"I wasn't scared."

"Your grab was that powerful, I couldn't hold a pencil for three days."

"Maybe I was a little anxious every now and then", she had to confess. "But only a little."

"I never said I minded."

"Mind making a plan for today?", unerringly she changed the topic away from her temporary frailty weeks ago. "We could plan to eventually make plans for Spring Break for example."

Richard held his breath. He'd feared she'd raise the issue again. "Or we just could go to the theatre and watch Goldfinger", he joked, although he knew it wouldn't work. Of course it didn't. He gave her the runaround for too long now.

"You promised."

"I tried to, Emily, I really did. But yesterday I had to do so many things in the office and I had to do them fast if I wanted to leave on time to meet you. There simply wasn't time."

"Now great", she huffed and continued to dry herself with sulking concentration.

"I'm sorry", he tried to soothe her.

Her dissapointment overweighted her anger by far and Emily bit her lip. It wasn't worth a fight. She wasn't in the mood to fight."It's alright", she murmured therefore and slipped into her bathrobe. "But let's make plans for today at least."

"That would be fine with me", he gladly accepted her offer, although the disappointment in her face almost made him deverge from the original plan. But then he'd fill her in soon enough and giving in to her impatience would ruin everything. "What about real theatre for a change?", he suggested knowing Emily had a thing for it.

She smiled low. "You think our conversations will be better there?"

"The program will be. Just yesterday I saw some bills of The Cherry Orchard staged in the Capital Theatre."

"If you really think we'll have the slightest chance to get tickets for the only professional theatre in Albany on a Saturday night - dream on."

"What about New York then? We could visit a matinee, a ramble over the 5th Avenue and dinner afterwards", he suggested.

"That sounds lovely", Emily beamed. "I haven't been in New York for ages."

"So New York it is."

"Looks like we have a plan", she nodded satisfied.

"Looks like we do", he walked towards her. "You love plans, don't you?"

"I can't deny I'm having a thing for them, no."

"A thing only?", Richard rolled his eyes. "Please, Emily. Anything but the expression love would be an understatement", he removed her bathing cap which caused her long hair to fall over her shoulders in soft curls. He ran a strand of it through his fingers and bowed down to kiss the fine line between her forehead and hair line. It tasted like chlorine and her. Probably, he realized, the small scent of chlorine always was there, here at the hair line where small drops of the water found their way through the cap and weren't washed away during the shower after the swim. "Just like I love your hair", he ran his hand over the nape of her neck and sailed in her dark hair.

It was now, she felt. Just now. Emily buried her head on his chest and inhaled deeply to get rid of the nervosity that crawled into her bones. His smell and warmth calmed her a bit. Just now.

And I love you, she thought, hardly trying to bring her tongue and mouth to form the words. Just now.

"It's getting time for breakfast", Richard murmured and another moment had passed, another 'just now' had.

"It is", she agreed and broke the embrace, did it with a crooked smile. "I will see you then", she put a small kiss onto his lips before she walked away.

He loved the way she walked, Richard adored the view on her backside. The swing of her hips wasn't pronounced enough to appear provoking, but provoked by the easiness in it. "Emily", he cleared his throat.

"Is there something else?", she stopped surprised and turned around to face him.

"Well", he walked to her. "There is. Kind of", he bowed down and started to kiss her, pushing her body against the doorframe while she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Lillian Johnson headed him off after the breakfast and guided Richard into her drawing room.

"My husband told me about your talk last night and I suppose my daughter told you how important a marriage of hers is for our family", she started right away.

"She did", he agreed and followed her gesture to sit down on the sofa.

"Good", Lillian sat down too. "But just as I can't deny I'm glad she finally found someone, I can't deny as well how worried I am. Just as much as I dislike dancing, I abominate disingenuousness. You may have shown a lot of engagment in your attempts to appear like the perfect son-in-law and it's far from me to allege you purpose, however you're having a bad influence on my daughter."

"I –", Richard tried to say something, but she didn't allow him to.

"Emily always knew what was proper and right, she always has been a decent young lady. Unfortunately the emphasis lays on has been, Mr. Gilmore, because that changed since she is with you and I will not condone that. If you want to be with her that's fine with me. As I already said – I'm glad that Emily eventually has a partner. Not only for the sake of the family, but for her sake as well. A girl of her age needs a husband. However", there was a small pause she used to lean forward and smooth out the mat on the coffee table between them. "If you want to be with her, you don't have to play after the rules of my family only, but after mine as well. As long as you aren't married, I don't ever want to see or even hear of such an inappropriate behaviour like stealing yourselves away from a party. Even after the exchange of wedding vows, it still would be more than undue."

"We did no-", once more Richard tried to object, but Lillian Johnson interrupted him sharply.

"I'm not finished yet", she said. "And you should be very glad I'm not getting started on your insufferable behaviour at the pool this morning and throw you out."

Richard eyes widened. "I was surprised as well, Mr. Gilmore", she adressed his reaction. "And your shock surprises me even more. This is my house after all. How could you possibly think this behaviour would be unoticed by me? And even more important: How could you dare to act like this under my roof? I told Emily already and I'm telling you now: I don't want my daughter to behave in a way which is far out of question. As she apparently decided to ignore my wish, it is your responsibility to look after it. Do I make myself clear, Mr.Gilmore?", she gave him a piercing look with her cat green eyes and he managed it to create a nod. "That girl lives in an ivory-tower", Lillian continued a bit softer. "She always did, just like I did everything I could to protect her. It was my job to do so. But now it is you who has to take care of that. It is you who assumes resonsibility for my daughter."

Suddenly his tongue felt dry. Richard swallowed. "I will, Mrs. Johnson", he managed to utter. Responsibility. He hadn't thougth about that yet. At least not explicitly. So many things he'd thought about. About marriage and vacations, sex and love. He'd spent hours searching the one ring for his proposal, days to find the right words to present her the diamond ring with. Everything was organized, every detail he'd paid attention to. Except responsibility. How could he forget about that. Just like her parents did now, he'd have to take care of her in the future. Substantial things wouldn't be a problem. This wasn't what Lillian Johnson had refered to. It was the responsibility next to provide her a house and food and diamond rings.

To be continued


ATN: I'm very sorry for the long pause since the last chapter. I just moved and due to my job I currently spend three weeks a month in hotels and unfortunately hardly had the time to write. Anyhow, I'm on vacation now and hopefully will be able to finish this story within the next three weeks.

Thanks a lot for all the kind reviews on "Secret-In-Law" everybody, keep them comin' or – in some cases – start writing them ;) :P

I'd like to thank Elizabeth for her legal advice and research upon the donkey law in Brooklyn. It doesn't exist anymore, therefore I made the part and article up, heaven knows what kind of law it really is.

And, last but not least, many thanks to Mel. You're a great editor and helped me a lot when I didn't know where to go with this chapter. Thanks as well for borrowing me your line for the first Richard and Lillian talk, it was the perfect ending.