"Happy Birthday, Budd," said Bella, toasting him. The three of them were in a private room at an upscale nightclub in New York

"Twenty-three doesn't feel any different from twenty-two, does it?" asked Bill, swirling his glass of red wine. Budd had his Icelandic Schnapps while Bella was drinking a Mudslide.

"But, unfortunately, forty-four feels a lot different than twenty-three. I'll leave the rest of the night to the young," said Bill, getting up.

"My beautiful Bella," said Bill and he kissed her forehead.

"I hope your birthday was everything you wanted it to be, Budd. I'll see you both in the morning," said Bill and then he left.

"I'm still up for some partying," said Bella.

"I definitely agree with you there."

"Come on, I have a plan," said Bella, taking Budd's hand and half-dragging him after her.

"Gianni!" screamed Bella on a sidewalk in Times Square and ran to a man with spiky blue hair. She jumped and he caught her around his waist. She grabbed his head and kissed him.

"Budd," Gianni acknowledged and slid Bella off him.

"Gianni," said Budd with the same reserve he always showed his sister's boyfriends.

Bella pulled on Gianni's black jacket, giggling. He leaned down and she whispered in his ear. He looked toward Budd and nodded.

"My dealer got in some premium stuff. It's supposed to be the best."

Budd shrugged.

"That sounds good to me."

Gianni smiled.

"He's at this party, but I'm sure we can crash," said Gianni and Bella set about getting them a cab.

Truthfully, the party seemed half-dead to Budd. Several of the partiers already looked deep in sleep on the couch.

"Gianni!" cried a man in a cheap leisure suit. He sniffled and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I heard that you got a really good tiger"

He looked puzzled for a moment, but soon figured it out.

"Oh, oh, but that tiger'll cost you."

"What's the piss?"

"$800"

"$800?"

"Take it or leave it."

Gianni fingered a spike and looked at Bella before nodding.

"It better be good."

"Of course, of course, why would I lie?"

Gianni followed the dealer to another room.

"I can't see what you see in the guy," said Budd.

"You don't understand because you only have a steady stream of women to screw around with," said Bella.

Budd didn't have a comeback because it was true.

"Vaunald says that there's a bedroom upstairs that we can use," said Gianni with a paper bag. Budd and Bella followed. They found several locked doors before one swung free. Gianni locked it behind them and began taking out the contents.

"I don't know how this could be the best. I had some pretty good stuff a few years back in San Fran," said Budd.

"Relax," said Bella and she added in a much lower voice, "try to get along…for me."

Budd started to object, but finally nodded.

"Good," said Bella, happily.

Gianni had gotten the first of the heroin prepared and was loading it into a needle.

"Birthday boy goes first," said Bella.

"Well, technically…"

Bella cut Budd off.

"We'll pretend that it's still your birthday."

Gianni took a bandanna and tied it tight around Budd's arm, finding a vein. He found one fairly quickly and injected it. Then Gianni started setting it up for Bella.

"Does it feel any different?"

"Not yet," said Budd as Gianni tapped one of Bella's veins.

"Vaunald said that it was a special recipe," said Gianni, injecting Bella.

"I think I might be getting it," said Budd, his left hand shaking. Gianni still had to wait to have his, but it was definitely kicking in for Budd. Actually, a little too well thought Budd a little while later when Bella helped Gianni inject himself. Then he threw up and fell to the floor.

"Budd?" asked Bella, rushing to his side, but then she looked unwell as well. His vision blurred and he could only hear her voice, "Budd! Something's wrong."

He tried to hang on, but he had no control over his body anymore. He sank into a deep, dark hell.

"There's more bodies over here."

Budd heard footsteps and felt his eyes flutter.

"We got another live one."

Budd felt himself being put on a stretcher and carried down the stairs. He opened his eyes wide enough to see Bella and Gianni looking so very still. One of the paramedics took a small flashlight and flashed in Budd's face while forcing his eyelids open.

"Can you tell us your name, sir?"

"Bu…Bernard…Nick," said Budd with barely the presence of mind to give an alias.

"Okay, Nick," said the paramedic with a wink to his partner, "We're taking you to the hospital."

"You know, I hate when we have to clean up after a drug party," said his partner, "Such a waste, twenty involved and at least sixteen dead."

Budd blanked out again and didn't really wake up until the early afternoon. He opened his eyes and took in the strange room, not remembering where he was.

"Where am I?" he asked out loud.

"The hospital," said a voice and Budd turned to see Bill sitting in a chair. Bill's appearance shocked Budd. He looked terrible. His face was tear stained and full of worry.

"The doctors were worried for an hour or so that you wouldn't wake up."

Budd didn't know what to say. There was a moment of silence between the two.

"Where's Bella? Is she here?"

"She's here, but she's not a patient."

"Is she in the hall? I wanna see her."

A tear rolled down Bill's cheek.

"She didn't make it."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Heroin was spiked and it was too much for her. She was dead when the paramedics found her."

"But, no…"

Budd looked at his brother, wanting him to say that he was just fucking with him…but he didn't.

She was gone, dead.

Budd began to cry.

Budd laid a dozen roses each on the grave of his mother and sister. He was lost. He had no desire to do anything except drugs to make the pain go away, but he knew that it was wrong. He had barely spoken to his brother since he had left the hospital. He didn't know what to do so there was only one thing he could do.

Budd let himself in through the kitchen, but was stopped by the fortyish housekeeper, Josephina.

"Donde es Bill?"

"Senor, es su hermano," said Josephina as Budd followed. Bill was looking at the surf coming in on the moonlit beach. He glanced briefly at Budd and looked back at the Gulf.

"Gracias, Josephina."

"De nada," she said and left.

"What do you want?" asked Bill, still not looking at him.

"I need help."

His brother still didn't say anything.

"I don't want to do that stuff anymore. I want to quit."

"Really?"

"I don't want to die like…"

Budd couldn't finish, but his brother turned around. Bill clasped Budd's shoulders.

"I don't want to lose you."

"Please help me," said Budd and Bill nodded. Then they hugged.

Bill helped Budd check himself into rehab under the alias of Ronald Leery. Serenity Isles was located in the middle of nowhere, not too far from Los Angeles.

"Good luck," said Bill and he left Budd with one suitcase in the lobby. Budd was shown to what looked like a really bare bones hotel room and given a schedule.

"Open-Mic night once a week, I need a drink."

Budd rubbed a hand over his head, surprised to notice that his short hair was growing out. Tomorrow, he had an appointment with Dr. Batay, one of the center's shrinks.

Budd picked at the eggs and bacon that he was supposed to eat. Each person had a specific meal plan so they wouldn't substitute drugs for food.

"Hi, I'm Nurse Jessicka. I'll be taking you to your appointment with Dr. Batay."

She was way too perky for so early in the morning. Budd nodded and followed her to another building and a waiting room. He waited a bit, perusing old magazines, but they were all about Charles and Di. Then the door opened and a bearded red-haired man came out. He couldn't have been more than thirty-five.

"Come on in, Mr. Leery."

Budd looked suspiciously and entered the office. It was clinical and professional and put Budd ill at ease.

"Have a seat."

Budd looked around and settled for the black, leather couch although it squeaked loudly.

"Tell me a little about yourself. What's your career?"

Budd thought for a minute, but there was that confidentiality clause.

"I'm a professional assassin."

Batay rearranged his position in the high backed chair.

"Tell me about your parents then."

"Well, I don't know much; mostly what Bill and Bella have told me."

"And they're?"

"My brother and sister."

"Just tell me your earliest memory and go forward."

Budd had to think hard.

"Bill was away at the time so it was just me and my mom and Bella and I was barely three and we saw Johnny Cash in concert."

The doctor wrote this down.

"But the only song I can remember is 'Don't Take Your Guns to Town.'"

"Go on," prodded the doctor and Budd did so that the session ended up being Budd describing his life, "My mom would sing Spanish lullabies to help me sleep, I still remember that…that was my first con job ever…she was…she was the first dead body that I seen…he was the first person that I killed."

The doctor interrupted.

"And how old were you then?"

Budd thought for a moment and answered, "Seven."

The doctor made a little incredulous noise and continued writing.

"Go on."

"…and then my brother gave me my very own gun for my ninth birthday…I was eleven when Bill started paying me to do jobs…when I was fourteen Bella and I went to Washington and went on a White House tour. We snuck off, took some wrong turns and ended up meeting the president which was Nixon…so I decided to confront him about sleeping with my mom…and she had this friend so sometimes there were three of us and sometimes I just watched…almost got bit by a rattler a few months after that."

A sharp alarm went off and Batay looked at his watch.

"Time's up. I'll see you tomorrow," said the doctor and Budd was sent back to the main building. He really didn't like the doctor. He was left alone to his own devices until lunch except he was encouraged to participate in a group activity, like television watching. Budd wrote in the provided journal instead. At noon, there was another carefully selected meal and a group therapy session, full of whiny spoiled brats that Budd felt no sympathy for. Dinner was served at 4:30 and was followed by an arts and crafts session where they made potholders. Budd threw the orange potholder on the small chest of drawers and sat down on the bed. He took his shoes and socks off and sighed. He'd still kill for something. Maybe this wasn't going to work. He took a shower and returned just in time to answer the door. It was Jessicka with a couple of pills and a glass of water.

"Don't get excited. It's to help you sleep. Lights out is by ten."

She made sure Budd swallowed it.

"Good night. Sweet dreams."

She left; Budd turned the light off and fell on the bed. He hoped the pills would kick in quick.

Budd woke up, put the pillow over his face and groaned, time for breakfast again. This time Jessicka didn't arrive to take him to the shrink so he had to go by himself. Budd waited and waited before one of the administrative people came to him.

"Mr. Leery, come with me a moment."

Budd waited for something else, but the official wasn't giving any. He shrugged and followed.

"Actually, I got this thing right now with the shrink."

The man opened his office door for Budd to enter and said, "This is about that. Please sit."

Budd sat down and read the name plate: Lance Hill.

"We have reassigned you doctors."

"Why?"

"Dr. Batay asked for you to be reassigned."

"Why?"

"We and he felt he was unequipped for your case."

"What? Am I too messed up for him, or something?"

"That's not what I'm saying. Dr. Batay wrote that either you were a pathological liar or you had quote, 'Extremely messed up childhood and adolescence' so we reassigned you to Dr. Hooper."

"Who's actually competent?"

Lance took a breath to regroup and said, "Dr. Hooper is an excellent doctor and should have no problem with your case. It's scheduled for tomorrow at one. A nurse will come by after lunch. You may go now."

Gee, thanks, thought Budd, because this was such an honor. He left and went exploring. There were numerous community rooms with people that Budd didn't care for, a music room, dining room and a library.

How desperate this is, thought Budd as he found himself entering the library. It wasn't that he hated reading or books. Bella and Bill had always been on him to read. He just preferred other things to books, like television or listening to a record. This place didn't have much variety though. He scanned the spines, looking for something interesting. Then he noticed a small paperback where the spine was almost not there. Budd couldn't even read the title so he pulled the well-worn book from the shelf. The cover had been torn off, but it still had a title page.

On the Road by Jack Kerouac

The pages were loose and threatened to fall out, but Budd took it to an easy chair by the window and began.

"Lunchtime, Mr. Leery," cried a male orderly, cheerfully. Budd cringed. He was only the beginning of page 136. He stuffed the book into his back pocket and dutifully followed. After lunch, he saw others from his group get up to go to the room. Budd would rather get shot in the kneecaps than go there again.

"Oww," said Budd, clutching his stomach. No one had noticed.

"Oww," he said, louder. Finally, the young nurse Jessicka saw him.

"Mr. Leery, what's the matter?"

"I think it's indigestion from this mornin', I don't feel so good."

"What would you like me to do?"

"I'll be okay, but perhaps I can lie down in my room."

"Sure, of course, I'll go with you."

Budd was annoyed, but supposed it was her job to make sure that he was accounted for. As soon as she left, Budd went back to reading and when he had gotten to the middle of page 381 when 4:30 came, he took it to dinner. Budd ate peas and carrots and closed the book. He was finished.

He couldn't believe that rehab would have this book. It seemed to Budd that they had the perfect life. They did drugs whenever they pleased and did whatever they wanted, traveling across America. Budd decided that was what he wanted to do. He would sneak out tonight after the sleeping pills. After dinner, an old Spencer Tracey film was shown although Budd preferred his films with Katherine Hepburn. He watched until those two special words appeared and then he took off like a shot for his room. He hurriedly took a shower and got his things together. He hid the full suitcase under the bed and waited. A clean outfit lay hung up in the bathroom.

9:30

9:31

9:32

Where was she?

9:33

Finally, he heard her heavy nurse shoes outside his door, followed by knocking.

"Mr. Leery, time for your pills."

Budd sat in a bathrobe in the lone chair as Jessicka entered with her tray. Budd swallowed the water and kept the pills up.

"Good night," she said and closed the door. Budd ripped off the bathrobe and dragged out the suitcase. He opened the bathroom door as he heard the hallway door open.

"Oh, Mr. Leery, how's your…Mr. Leery!"

Budd had been caught with his pants down literally as he was only wearing boxers and a wife beater. She had only to see the suitcase on the floor and the outfit hanging up to figure out what was going on.

"Mr. Leery."

"I have to go."

"Why?" she asked with her hands on her hips.

"I don't belong here. I need to get out, travel maybe."

"Where you'll have easy access to continue your addictions?"

"I can't even smoke in here."

"Everything we do is for your own good."

"And I can't stand any other person here."

"With the exception of me?" she asked, trying to make him laugh.

"Yep," said Budd and he couldn't help a small smile.

"You've seen one of our Psychiatrists, haven't you?"

"Yeah, a crackpot named Batay who thought I was a pathological liar so now I have Dr. Hooper."

"Have you talked to Dr. Hooper?"

"No, that's tomorrow."

"Promise me that you'll see Dr. Hooper. After that, you can leave and I'll understand, but see this doctor."

"What difference would that make?"

Nurse Jessicka glanced toward the door and seemed to be listening.

"Because I share your opinion of Batay."

"So Dr. Hooper is good?"

"Very good especially with your variety," she said, edging toward the door.

"And what variety would that be?"

"Stubborn," she said and disappeared into the hallway. Budd would stay…for now.

Budd woke up the next day and stretched, but he had no desire to leave his bed. All Jessicka's pep talk from the night before had transfigured into fears. What if the shrink was another student of Freud? An old man with glasses asking him about his sex life and whether he ever had a desire to kill his…no, can't think that. I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to Bella…Bella. For a moment, Budd had forgotten, but it was back again. Bella was dead. Bella was dead and there was nothing to do about it. He had even wanted to kill Vaunald, but Bill got to him first.

"Morning time!" said a male with a mop. Budd grunted, closed his eyes and turned over on the bed.

"You have to eat breakfast. I have to clean your room. It's really not that hard."

"No."

"Get your bony ass out of that bed right now before I tip it."

Budd opened one eye to look. He seemed to mean business and had gripped the bed to reinforce the idea.

"Fine, I'm up."

He began to get dressed and the man smiled, "I knew you would make the right choice."

For the third day in a row, Budd picked at his breakfast, but now he had group session afterward instead of the afternoon. He wondered what touchy-feely crap they would be doing today.

One in the afternoon found Budd sitting in a waiting room, imagining what Dr. Hooper would look like. He had come up with a grey haired man, with a freakish red beard like Batay and a horrible scar down one cheek. Actually, the more he thought, the more Dr. Hooper looked like a Bond villain.

"Come on in," said a voice suddenly and the office door opened. Budd entered to find what resembled a living room with a desk. A woman was tidying up dolls and pillows scattered about the room. She pursed her lips and scanned the room.

"That's better."

"So, the doctor's coming soon?"

She looked at him strangely.

"We haven't been introduced, I'm Dr. Marilyn Hooper."

Budd didn't try to mask his surprise. She couldn't have been more than thirty and she was too pretty to be a shrink. Her curly red hair seemed to float on her shoulders and her green eyes reminded him of grass after a rainstorm. He couldn't tell anything else because she wore long sleeves with pants. She couldn't be a shrink and now he had taken too long without saying something.

"I'm just surprised. I was expecting an ugly old geezer."

"I'm glad you're surprised then. Take a seat."

Budd looked at the seating choices and picked a spring green upholstered couch. She smiled and warned, "Don't fall asleep, some do."

Budd could see why, the cushions seemed to envelope him. Then he heard an annoying yapping sound.

"That's Mac Deuxina."

"Mac Whattie?"

She whistled and a white puffball ran to her.

"That's my baby," she said, scratching the small dog, "He's a Brichon Frisse."

She snapped her fingers and Mac retreated under Budd's couch.

"Some patients find animals therapeutic."

Budd couldn't see how the weird white thing could be helpful.

"I know that Batay took notes, but I have a certain incredulity towards Batay since he held such towards you. Start at the beginning, tell me everything. Don't feel you have to spare me or leave anything out."

She pressed RECORD on a tape player and settled herself sideways on a love seat with a notebook and pen.

"Well, I was, uh, born on September 25, 1958."

He looked toward her and she nodded to go on so he did until he told the whole bloody affair. Then he looked up again. She looked at her watch and made a face.

"We don't have much time left in this session so I just have one question for you, what's your real name?"

"What?"

"I believe you which leads me to assume that Ronald Leery is an alias."

Budd hesitated. He hadn't even told the asshole doc.

"I can't help you if you're not honest with me."

"Methuselah Albacea."

He was glad that she didn't make a wisecrack like most people.

"But everybody calls me Budd."

"Then I will, too."

She shuffled her papers into a neat pile and stapled it with a bright red stapler, but Budd wasn't done.

"So I can be helped?"

"I think so, but you do have addiction, abandonment and father issues. We'll work on it."

Budd felt better and he left. Jessicka came by, carrying files.

"Are you going to stay?"

"Yeah."

"Good," she said and hurried off. Budd continued to hate everything that required contact with other people, but he looked forward to his shrink sessions which surprised him when he realized that fact. She was pretty cool though and wasn't fazed by anything he said. Even the sunshine coming through her office curtains seemed brighter.

"Do you enjoy your job?" she asked one day.

"What?"

"Do you enjoy killing people? What made you choose this career?"

Budd shrugged.

"I've never particularly enjoyed it; I'm just good at it."

"Have you ever tried anything else?"

"No, I've been killing since I was seven."

Mac jumped on the couch with Budd.

"I don't really know anything else. I like when I'm killing a shithead. Then I can kid myself that I'm doing something…something almost noble."

"But the guilt comes…"

"It always comes…at night in the dark, but I deserve it."

Budd petted Mac softly, not wanting to look at the doctor.

Another day, Budd entered to find Dr. Hooper singing, "When I'm 64," to a Beatles record. Budd smiled, lost in a memory, but then he realized the memory could never happen again and tears came to his eyes.

"What is it?"

"That was Bella's favorite song."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said and rushed to turn the player off.

"Is there anything else painful in conjunction with her death?"

Budd said the first thing that came to mind.

"My guitar."

"Elaborate."

"I haven't played guitar since she died. The three of us used to play together. I would play guitar, Bill would play a wind instrument and Bella would sing."

"Any good?"

"She thought so," said Budd, trying not to choke up. Hooper took his hand and squeezed.

"We'll talk about something else now."

Three weeks passed and it was the morning of December 8th, Bill's 45th birthday. With a month under his belt, Budd was allowed some leeway and able to skip one group session a week. He would have been only going to Hooper's three times a week, but they had decided that he had a special case so he still went five times. Budd went to the lobby and used the payphone to call Bill. He gambled that Bill was at his place in California. It rang three times before Josephina answered.

"Hola."

"Bill."

"No es aqui. Bill y Elle estan en vacciones."

"Elle? Quien es Elle?"

"Es su novia."

"Novia?"

"Si."

"Gracias, adios."

"Adios."

Budd hung up the phone and leaned against the wall, disappointed. The disappointment was still evident at 1:00.

"What's the matter?" asked Dr. Hooper.

"I called my brother for his birthday and he wasn't there. He was with some woman named Elle."

"Did you think that he should still be mourning over your sister?"

"Well, no, but I think…that we need to stick together."

"But he's done this before, hasn't he? He left most of the parenting to Bella."

"Yeah."

"He has an irresponsible streak that you just have to recognize and not take personally."

"It's hard though."

"I didn't say it wouldn't be."

Budd grabbed at the roots of his bangs, grabbed and combed his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"I take it that you're staying for Christmas."

"Yep."

"Well, they make a mean turkey, it's all pretty good."

It took a moment before Budd processed it.

"You don't spend Christmas…here?"

Hooper looked a little frazzled for once.

"I, uh…my parents died a few years ago, car accident so I don't really have anyone."

"No boyfriend?"

"I think that extends beyond the doctor-patient relationship."

"Oh."

"Now, back to your abandonment issues…," said Hooper and it was all business again after that. A couple of weeks passed and Budd had less than a week to go. He still craved heroin or maybe a little crack, but it was a lot less often.

"I have one more thing that I want you to do before you leave this facility," said Dr. Hooper to Budd who lay on the couch with Mac sleeping by his boots.

"What is it? Anything?"

"Tonight is Open Mic Night. There's a guitar for residents to use. I want you to play a song on it, in front of everyone."

Budd made a face.

"Anything but that."

"No, you're going to play the guitar for everyone, including me."

"Which song?"

"Anything you want."

Budd was still not happy.

"It's time to move on with your life and it's time to overcome being annoyed by over half the population of Earth."

"I'll try," said Budd and she grudgingly accepted that.

Budd held the guitar on the stool later that night and nervously repositioned it twice.

"Come on, Budd. I love when you play the guitar."

Budd could hear Bella's voice in his head from a few years ago. It gave him strength, but he wouldn't sing her song.

Instead, he strummed and started to sing, "Some people call me the space cowboy, yeah. Some people call me the gangster of love." He faltered slightly again, but saw Dr. Hooper. She gave him the thumbs up and he continued. He thought maybe she stick around and say something afterwards, but she didn't.

The next day Hooper suddenly sat upright and signed a paper on her lap.

"Congratulations."

"What?"

"I just signed that you're fit for discharge."

"But I still have issues."

"But you know how to cope with them."

Budd sat upright; he didn't want the sessions to end.

"Can't I at least get a hug?"

"Sure," she said, surprised, getting up. Budd came toward her and inadvertently kicked Mac's ball. He came barreling from beneath the couch and bashed into Hooper. Hooper was caught off guard and fell back. Budd grabbed for her, but his reflexes had gone unpracticed all that time. She fell on her back.

"Are you alright?" asked Budd, offering a hand. Then he noticed how her ankle length skirt had come up to her knees, ex posing the tattoo on her ankle, "What's that?"

"It's an Ouroboros," she explained and let him get a closer look. It was a black snake encircling her ankle fully and eating its own tail.

"You don't have any?"

"No."

She shrugged.

"You seem like the type."

Then she hugged him.

"What was that for?"

"Graduation."

"Oh, yeah, but you're coming for Christmas?"

"Of course, and when you leave."

Budd nodded and there was uncomfortable silence before Budd nodded again. He left and she shut the door behind him.

Budd spent the next couple of days…bored out of his skull. He also couldn't get Dr. Hooper out of his mind. He…missed her.

Then it was Christmas and Budd put on his best outfit. He also went incredibly early to dinner, hoping that she would be early, too. His wish came true. She had dressed up, too. The dress was nice and revealing. Her hair was up which also called attention to a tattoo he couldn't see very well on her shoulder and she wore a cross which cast a dark shadow on her neck.

"Budd," she said, smiling. He returned it and said, "Dr. Hooper."

"Marilyn, call me Marilyn now."

"Marilyn. Where's Mac?"

"He can spend a few hours by himself. Let's sit down."

Budd held the chair out for her and she sat down.

"What did you get for Christmas?" she asked, fooling around with her necklace.

"A postcard with an overseas postmark."

"Sorry, I got cards and socks from my weird cousin."

She continued to fidget with her necklace and Budd continued to stare. The shadow didn't seem to match.

"The necklace looks like it's rubbed off on you."

"What? Oh."

She started to laugh which annoyed Budd. He hated not knowing something. She held up the necklace so he could see that she had the necklace tattooed on her skin. He laughed at his ignorance and asked, "Why?"

"In case I was captured in Vietnam and they took the cross from me, I had it tattooed. Then I would have it forever."

"You were in Vietnam?"

"I enlisted the day after graduation and they shipped me off. I spent two years and figured out that I wanted to be a psychiatrist."

"Why the Army?"

"I didn't know what to do, but I wanted to do something. You never thought about the Army?"

"No."

Food was served and discussion was broken up after that. Too soon it all ended and Budd found himself watching her prepare to leave. Then he got an idea.

"Mistletoe."

"What?"

He looked up and made sure that they had some.

"I'm standing underneath the mistletoe."

"I'm not."

"Then I'll wait for Lucy the Lunch Lady."

She cringed. Lucy weighed three hundred pounds and had a great big hairy mole on her left cheek. His plan worked because she came back. She kissed him lightly on the lips, checked for supervisors and then kissed him lightly again. She got some of her lipstick on him so she wiped that off with her fingers. She smiled and started to leave.

"See you tomorrow, Budd."

"Marilyn," said Budd, smiling and remembering the all too brief kiss.

Budd shook hands the next day with the official people and Marilyn who didn't even give him a smile. Budd couldn't understand it. He packed his things and sadly headed for the door. He was waiting for the cab, enjoying his first cigarette in over six weeks, when she appeared.

"I wasn't about to let you leave without a goodbye, but I couldn't do that in front of my bosses."

She kissed him on the lips slightly longer than yesterday and handed him a note. He started to unfold it, but she stopped him.

"Don't open it here. Just read it before you get on the plane."

"Okay."

She smiled and went back inside. The cab arrived fifteen minutes later and Budd directed him to the airport. He was in the cab when he read the note. It just said: Call me tonight, but it had her number so he did something impulsive. He cashed in his ticket and used it to get a motel room to stay. Then he waited until 6:30 to call.

"I thought you weren't going to call," she answered.

"I thought you knew me better than that."

"Come to my apartment and I'll cook you dinner," she said and gave him the address. Budd couldn't believe his luck. She had invited him to her place on the first date.

He bought a can of hairspray to make his hair go back, but wished he could get it cut. Not enough time, he thought, but just enough time to steal some flowers growing along the motel building.

Budd had never had a better night, he thought later as they sat on the couch watching a rerun. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and then as she settled back, put his arm around her. She grew closer. They stayed that way until the end of the show when she kissed him and announced, "This was great. We should do it again soon, good night."

Budd couldn't disguise his look which she seemed to find hilarious.

"Oh, you thought (laughter) you thought (laughter), but I'm not having sex until my wedding night."

"What?"

"I just think you should wait until you find someone you love, not someone that you're just infatuated with."

She looked at him and frowned.

"This doesn't make you reconsider things, does it?"

"No," said Budd, honestly. He hadn't had sex for over eight weeks, a little longer wouldn't kill him.

"Good," she said and kissed him with tongue. It felt so good, but was over too quickly. They said their goodbyes and Budd left to enter the dark night.

This went on for a week before Marilyn told him that she was going to tell her bosses.

"What should they care?"

"They might."

"Why?"

"I don't know," whined Marilyn, softly, "but they might."

Budd wore a worried expression and she caught it. He was falling for her, falling fast without a parachute or any emergency landing plans.

"It'll be okay," she promised, kissing while playing with his hair, "If you want, you can stay on the couch tonight."

Budd stayed at her place the next day, anxiously waiting for her return. She came home early at 12:25 P.M., Mac leading the way. Budd opened the door and immediately asked, "What happened?"

"I told them that I was seeing you."

She slumped into an easy chair.

"They said that it wasn't ethical. It wouldn't look right for the facility since you were a former patient."

She grabbed his hand.

"They ordered me to stop seeing you and if they found out that I had disobeyed that order, I would be let go."

"What happened?"

She smiled a slightly maniacal smile.

"I quit. I quit. I quit," she said and started laughing. Budd wasn't sure what to do. Then she started crying. Budd hugged her and she grabbed onto him for dear life. He led her over to the couch and sat them down. He rubbed her back and that calmed her out of it. She stopped and sniffled, then nodded.

"I am a Psychiatrist. I can go wherever I want. I don't need them…but I still have student loans!"

She was on the verge of crying again.

"But weren't you in the army?"

"They paid some, but it wasn't a full ride."

"Don't worry. We'll manage somehow."

She smiled at the use of "We" and Mac jumped on the couch with them.

"I really liked my job. It wasn't all spoiled adults beyond repair, sometimes I could actually help."

Budd kissed her cheek and rubbed her shoulders. Mac licked her hands.

"Time to start looking for a new place," said Marilyn, resigned.

Budd smoked a cigarette at the table as Marilyn came back from the ladies room. She gave him a look.

"Why are you smoking? You only smoke when you're nervous or horny"

"Nervous," clarified Budd.

"About what?"

"A question that I have to ask."

"What's the question?"

'It's not time yet."

Budd saw with a smirk that she realized that she would have to drop that topic and choose another. He finished up the cigarette and put the rest of it out of its misery into the ashtray.

"Why aren't you looking?" complained Marilyn toward Budd. It had taken a month, but she had gotten a new position at a retirement home in Austin, Texas. Unfortunately, that meant that Budd should have his own place in Austin as well. Budd disagreed.

"I've looked."

"And?"

"There ain't any place better than that apartment that you got."

Marilyn looked away.

"Your bed's plenty big enough for two people."

"What are you suggesting? Marriage?" she asked, sarcastically, facing him again. They had only known each other three months.

"Well, yeah," he said and held out his left hand. It contained a ring.

"Where did you get it?"

"From the nickel machine outside McCrorys when you weren't looking," said Budd, flashing his smile that few women could resist. Marilyn couldn't help but smile too. She looked him over, shrugged and said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"You didn't ask a proper question, I don't have to give a proper answer."

She stuck out her left hand, but Budd had to fiddle with the metal bands to make it fit Marilyn's adult size finger.

"I'll get you a better one, I promise."

"I know," she said, playing with it and trying to make it sink in. Then it did.

"We're getting married!" she said, abnormally loud. Other patrons stared, but Budd just laughed.

"You know if we drive out of our way, we could reach Vegas."

"No, we're not. I want a church wedding even if it's just us, a witness and a preacher."

"Madame, Monsieur, congratulations. The man over there paid for this," said the waiter with a bottle of Champagne. She looked at Budd with a question. Marilyn didn't need to voice it for Budd to know what it was.

"I'll have one glass, you can drink the rest and I'll drive us home."

"Groovy," she said in agreement. They drank from intertwined glasses and then she drank some more.

Budd studied the naked body of his fiancée later that night. She had four tattoos in all. The Ouroboros thing on her ankle, the cross on her chest, an army tattoo on her shoulder and a violet dragon on her right buttock. He began kissing the necklace tattoo, following it down her cleavage. His lips caught the edges of her breasts. She murmured in her sleep and he kissed her lips. They reflexively kissed back and she slowly came awake.

"You slipped up," Budd commented.

"Just a little," she said, the Champagne still partially talking.

"Tell me about your tattoos."

"Which one?"

"The Ouroboros."

"The snake is my Chinese zodiac animal, but it's also a reminder not to do something that ends up biting me in the ass."

She laughed and Budd joined her.

"I want a tattoo," said Budd.

"You got me the ring so I'll pay for the tattoo, but I get to pick."

"Okay," said Budd and he kissed her again.

"I don't wanna talk anymore," she said and let her fingers do the talking by stroking his penis. Budd was perfectly happy to oblige despite Mac yapping to protect his mistress.

Bill had his shirt off and was working on his pants. Elle, on the other hand, was already naked. Then the door bell rang.

"It's two o'clock in the morning!" complained Elle, who was in no mood to put her clothes back on. Bill zipped up, but didn't bother with the button on his jeans. Then he heard the lock being turned. Apparently, the doorbell was merely a warning. Bill thought fast. He hadn't given the key to that many people. The door opened to reveal Budd and a woman several years older than him with curly red hair.

"Budd."

"Bill."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm not allowed to see my brother who I haven't seen for over three months?"

"Well, no, but perhaps at a more decent hour when I'm not busy."

Budd briefly glanced at Elle who was clutching an oversized pillow.

"I'm also here for some of my things. I'm moving out."

"What?"

"We got a place in Austin. Marilyn, Bill. Bill, Marilyn," said Budd and he left for one of the back rooms. He started dumping items in a bag as soon as he got there.

"Everything else in New York?"

"Yeah."

"I tried calling, but you weren't here."

"I get the feeling that you're annoyed with me."

Budd zipped the bag shut. He would pick up the New York items later…but not soon.

"No, why would I be annoyed with you? Because you're always with Elle?"

"I've made Elle a Viper; California Mountain Snake."

"That's good," said Budd, carrying the bag back to the front room, "because you don't have a Sidewinder."

Budd smiled at Marilyn.

"I quit."

The two brothers looked at each other while the women shared uncomfortable looks.

"You're only using Elle to avoid thinking of Bella."

"Aren't you guilty of the same thing?"

"Marilyn's different," he said squeezing her hand, "She's my wife."

Bill was flabbergasted, but he saw that his brother had a gold band on his hand.

"When did this happen?"

"A few days ago, I tried to call."

"But you're wrong, I do…love Elle."

Budd shook his head.

"If you really loved her, then there would be no hesitation."

Budd headed with Marilyn for the door. Bill let him open the door before speaking.

"Congratulations."

Budd shut the door, but Marilyn said loudly so it could be heard through the door, "It was nice meeting you."

Four years passed, Marilyn concentrated on a job while Budd concentrated on his lack of one.

Budd was fixing breakfast while she got ready for work. The radio was full blast and Budd couldn't help himself when the song came.

"Well, I don't know why I came here tonight. I got the feeling that something ain't right. I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair and I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs," sang Budd as wiggled his hips. Then Marilyn arrived with a smile and her power suit. He immediately grabbed her and swung her to the right.

"Clowns to the left of me."

Then he swung her left.

"Jokers to the right."

Then he spun her in to him and did a nice close Meringue.

"Here I am Stuck in the middle with you."

They danced the entire song. Marilyn had once asked Budd how he learned to dance and he told her that it was a combination of the swing moves that Bella had learned from their mother and the Latin dances that Esteban had taught him.

"Here I am Stuck in the middle with you," sang Budd and dipped Marilyn as the last of the song played. The monotone DJ came on and they kissed. Budd brought Marilyn back up and she laid her head on his chest.

"Let's have a baby."

Budd shook his head.

"No, we should wait. Save a little more. Pay off your student loans."

Marilyn sighed.

"I want everything to be perfect."

Marilyn looked up into his eyes.

"It's never going to be perfect unless we see it that way. I see it that way now."

She laid her hands on his arms and caressed them.

"I'm scared, too."

"I love you," said Budd and she smiled. She knew him so completely.