Emily went back home and she gave no explanation to anyone. George never asked her again about what she was up to; time to let her grow up and time for him to stop twisting the knife every time she was walking into a mistake. Cal went back to Pittsburgh, and wrote Emily from his office as "E. Dawson" sans title and Emily wrote him to his business address as "E.S. Plunkett, MD."

He returned on the first day of August "on business" to see Emily again. The three days later when he was New York he took Emily out on the town to the best places and bought her the best clothes. He took her back to his rooms each night and made love to her until they both slumped down, with no fire left inside them and their bodies throbbing in pain.

His friends were proud of him for his young girl's beauty and pleased for him that he had found a regular mistress that truly cheered his heart. Cal found it so strange and so alien that he did not care for their happy remarks; he was almost offended. But for what? Of course, he was terribly found of Emily for her wonderful friendship, her explosive and startling love-making, and her giddy sense of humor. His good friend, his delectable young lover, and, surprisingly, his intellectual equal. But in all logic, he didn't love her. He told himself that every night.

On the third day Cal swung by Joe's for a quick afternoon visit before their rendezvous that night, but only to find Sonny and Milton. "With Calvert" was the only explanation he received for Emily's absence. He left feeling nervous. Everyone there knew about him and Emily, even the two teenagers who always took a seat in the back. What were their names, Becky Something and Susan Something-or-other? He was shocked at himself for remembering even half of their names. Perhaps it was because they always giggled at him on their way out. They knew.

But "With Calvert." Why the surge of jealously? Calvert was important to her but there was never the slightest indication she wanted him. Maybe, thought he, it was simply that there was a man Emily might trust more than him. He knew Calvert was her only family and that Calvert hated him. It so to know Emily would always love George Calvert and may never love him. But as he reminded himself, he was not in love with Emily.

Every step to the 18th Precinct pulled him down like concrete blocks—and it got worse once he was inside the building until he reached a door that read "Lt. G. Calvert" on the frosted glass window.

"Kissing someone in public? You're getting wild now, Calvert! You really kissed her good—in public! You mean on the mouth, in the mouth!" Cal heard his lovely little rascal giggle and scold.

"Listen. It just happened and you're lucky I'm telling you this at all. Not a word when she gets home," said Holden's not-so-lovely, not-so-little friend.

"What? You keeping the honeymoon a secret, little Callie?"

"I'm not you're damn boyfriend, don't call me 'Callie.' And sometimes life is a little too complicated to marry every broad you lay a hand on."

"I could use that name for him too…" Emily mused. Cal could hear an audible groan from her friend Calvert. "And come on. She's not some broad, in fact, she'd be mad at you if she heard that. You've probably thought about her since you plucked her off the street a long time ago."

"Em," George sighed, "you know…"

"I know you. I think she knows you like her now. I think she likes you back. And I think you need to give her the other half of that story."

"Don't give a life lecture."

"Don't be so damn ornery."

Cal knocked now. The last thing he wanted to hear was details of George Calvert's love life and whatever dolt woman had captured his fancy.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting anything…" Cal muttered.

"No. Nothing important," said Calvert shortly. There was a long moment of itchy, awkward silence and as always Calvert broke it the worst way possible. Coarse fool.

"Em, get out for a minute," he said.

"Aw Jesus, George!" Emily folded her arms and stood her ground.

"Do it as a favor. I want to have a chat with your friend, Dawson! See," he walked over to Cal, who wanted very much to run away, "Brother of my best friend. I won't do him any harm. Seriously, I promise, Hockley, not a hair out of place." He wave his hand at Cal.

"He just wants to talk, Emily," Cal tried to reassure her—though he didn't trust Calvert himself. He knew about his wife.

"I'm not just any woman! You can't treat me like a child! Nobody can!" Em protested. "Not you," she pointed her finger at George menacingly, "and not you either!" Cal pulled back. He had never seen her order him like that. Emily walked out with her head high and proud, giving George a look that reminded him that he was not her father.

"Listen, Hockley," George breathed after Emily's footsteps died out down the hall.

"The two of you are better than this I think," Cal started.

"Better than what? The fighting?"

"All this," Cal thought, "she's got too much potential. A high graduate and a college graduate. People like you don't stick around these places, let alone move there."

"Yeah, and married men shouldn't fool around with young girls."

"That's…that's…" Cal shook his head, "just out of line!"

"You are out of line. If she's gonna find a man, she needs one that'll marry her. That girl won't be stuck in this place running around married men that'll go back to their wives."

"Well, don't get jealous, Calvert." He wanted to make peace with this man but he wasn't about to let one of Holden's ridiculous friends accuse lecture him like some moron.

"You tell her about your wife and you end this. You too have your fun now give her a chance to start her own life—before she gets attached. Don't do that to her."

Cal leaned across the desk and stared fixedly at George.

"If I could switch her with my wife I would…" He backed off, unsure then, of where exactly he was going. "I didn't pick her for a good time. I don't want my children to wind up like Holden and me. I think you know about that."

"You say that after a month of knowing her?"

"It's better than waiting years and never lifting a single finger. I'd rather choose the wrong woman first than let a good woman get older alone because I bury myself in the past—"

Cal didn't finish his last attack because George had him pinned to the wall—with one hand.

"Don't fuck with me, Hockley," George said quietly. Cal tried to speak but couldn't. "Don't fuck me, Hockley," George repeated, "no…no, we wouldn't want to do that."

"You're crazy!" Cal gasped as George released him.

"No, Caledon, crazy is when I cut off your pride and hang in the town square as an example. Got that? I don't want to see a hair out of place on Dawson's head."

Emily burst in at that moment and took Cal by the arm about to pull him out the door until she noticed the maniacal smile on George's face.

"This is stopping right now! Calvert, I can't believe you!"

"He's married!" George pointed vehemently.

"Don't you think I know that?" Em shot bluntly.

"You what?!" Cal and George were both in accord for once.

"The ring was in your coat pocket," Emily looked around. "Yes, I look through these things. Better a wedding ring than a knife. There's a difference between a marriage contract and a true marriage."

"Oh, so then it's not cheating," George grumbled and folded his arms.

"Let's go, Cal," Emily jerked her head toward the door. "My life is my life, George." She nodded to Cal again and Cal stepped out the door.

"Wow, Dawson, you've got him trained."

"Stop trying to run my life or you'll find yourself out of it soon enough," Emily glared icily.

"You think he'll leave his wife for you?"

"It's not a real marriage! It's a dead half-love!"

"The reason," George took a breath, "why Cal and Holden hate each other…is because Holden's mother was the new, young wife."

She didn't look at George; she walked out of George's office and grabbed Cal's arm.

"Just come with me back to my place. I need to get someplace that's a home. No hotels." Sonny walked past them, but she was for once blind to his presence. "Home, Cal. You should see my home finally. Where I live."

As Cal and Emily made their down the hall Sonny walked into George's office.

"What happened with Caledon Fancypants?"

"That's it. She's marrying a nice Jewish boy. I'm seeing to it." George flung himself in his chair and slammed his feet on his desk, ripping papers and sending files soaring off the side, falling to the floor.

"But George…Em's a Presbyterian."

"She's a heretic is what she is!" George stared at a his morning coffee, now long cold.

"I thought you were an atheist anyway now…"

"Agnostic. The word is agnostic. She thinks she's going to be his wife. If she's going to be queen of anything, she'll have to do it herself and not by marrying some pompous ass with a big wallet."

"As someone who tried to marry Em once," Sonny winced just a bit, "I think she loves him."

"That's what I'm afraid of. You know old King Henry loved many mistresses. Married a couple of them…do you know how many lives he destroyed by doing that? Stupid Cossack. I'd rip the king from his mountain if I could."

"You do that and won't be no one left."

"No," George shook his head, "I'll be here. I'll be the last man standing. Like Horatio."

"Actually, George, youse more like Shylock."

George looked at Sonny in partial disbelief, scratching his disheveled hair. Sonny shrunk back, assuming he'd offended him with the Shylock crack.

"You…know Shakespeare—since when do you read, Sonny?"

"Watch it now. Rose read a couple with me. I asked her about one once and she said she'd help me read a few if I wanted and I said I did." Sonny waited for George to be impressed. "You gonna say something or not? I can read Shakespeare just like you!"

"I know, Son. I'm sorry. You're not dumb—you never were." George sighed uneasily and squirmed as if his skin was uncomfortably loose.

Somewhere in his secret thoughts George was holding a young girl in his arms. The girl would wake up and told him the only truth she might ever tell him. Her name.

One day she would matter to him. One day he would trust her. And from then on just…secrets. Secrets…and some lies.

"She couldn't even tell me she had a reading buddy."

"This is it," Emily's arms flopped to her side; perhaps lacking in words, perhaps in defeat as her home leaved much to be desired. She stood awkwardly for a moment and placed her purse on the ratty armchair. She let down her black locks, squeezing the cold hair in her fist as they fell about her back and chest.

"It's rather nice," Cal nodded.

"It's neater when my roommate, Rose is here. She sleeps in there when she's not nursing her failing movie career. But this is my bedroom…" She pulled him by the shirt collar and removed the much-live fedora, giggling for the first time in a day as they entered the open door to Emily's room and fumbling backwards on the way. The smell of the room was playful and clashing, like cheap, flowered perfume, but the fresh air still seeped in from the wide-open window. She swayed and smiled as she fell back to the bed, tugging at his clothes. Cal did not budge.

It took Emily longer than usual to realize Cal was not playing hard to get and she continued to unbutton and laugh and squeeze his legs in hers.

"What's wrong?" She looked up him. She looked so young.

"You know I'm married." He stood motionless. It was warm in the room, the sun was full and bright through the window with the broken shade; he could feel the warmth on his back, but if he turned around he would be blinded.

"Oh," Emily laughed, "forget about Calvert. He's just cranky. I want you now," she poked and prodded.

"Emily, I love you."

She stopped. It had never been said. It was the unwritten rule. Cal wondered painfully, why did her face have to go so pale?

"I…" Emily felt nearly sick. She had wanted this since she first touched him, but she could swear the ache was worth her lifetime. "He was right, Cal." Her voice was high and weak. "I—I should have seen it coming before…the game's over now. You've got a real home. Go back to your kids, Cal."

"I want to leave my wife." He stood erect, refusing to move.

"What about your little girls?" she shook her head. "I know about them. There's three little girls. George wrote a letter to Holden a few days ago and I read it when he wasn't around. …He mentioned them."

"Better one unhappy parent than two…I barely get to see them. With you around as their new mother…I would stay and they could have a father. A real father! You'll be saving a whole family, saving yourself…saving me too."

"Maybe I'd be destroying it." Emily was still quiet and soft, looking down at her own lap. "You and your wife are still alive. That's not an option I have. Far be it for me to deny anyone else. We should have talked about our families a while ago, huh?" Emily laughed. She unfastened her skirt and unbuttoned her blouse, not to make love but to crawl into bed. Cal looked at her as if for the first time. She looked so thin under all that vitality and color in life.

"Please…" He still had not moved a hair's breadth as Emily pulled to covers over her little body. "Please return what I have extended to you…"

"That being…" Emily rolled over to look him in the eyes. Cal nodded slowly. You know, you know. "Yes," Emily nodded back, "I love you."

She did not ask him to come to her after that; it was not implied. Cal sat beside her on his own accord. He did not embrace her but calmly stroked her hair.

"When you wake, tell me about your family."

Emily just nodded.

Cal eventually curled up beside her, no longer touching her, but he lay close enough to feel warmness of her body. He faced away from her and she from him, but soon they were breathing in time.

Cal closed his eyes only to awake a few minutes later. He remained still to let his eyes as he felt the nearness of his lover's sleeping body. His eyes stopped on the photograph beside the bed on the nightstand. How unusual for people to be smiling in such a portrait, but they were. The little girl he knew was once Emily smiled a toothy smile with her mysterious family. This must be a family gathering he thought for there were four adults and not two. He guessed the dark-haired parents on the left as Emily for their looks and the devilish, delighted glare in the mother's eyes, but the there was a resemblance to the folks on the right. And the boy…Emily's brother? Did she have one? Another relation? He had no devil in his gaze, but it was not the look in the eyes, it was the eyes. The eyes, the eyes, even through the gray and faded reproduction he could see the watery blue orbs that he wanted to be Emily's. He had met those eyes before in dark and in coldness. He saw the eyes when the world ended.

And that face!