To Black Knight 03, Miranda will come into this a little bit in a few chapters, but I doubt I can naturally fit in a reference to my OC Nicole, tho we may see her or at least hear of her in "Parker's Revenge," which I will write someday, but not right away.

Because I have ANOTHER story on the back burner that is starting to consume me! "And now for something completely different..." because this one is going to be Total Tudge-Fluff! I'm so excited! Can't wait to start it, but I won't start anything new until I finish this one up.

And I will finish this one up! It's extensively noted, all it needs now is a few more good sessions of "Put Your Ass in a Chair and Keep It There for a Long, Long Time." (the secret for being prolific, which I heard a long time ago and have never been able to forget.)

To green aura: I love your lengthy heartfelt reviews. You keep writing reviews like that and I'll keep writing stories for you to read!

And now on with the show...

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I looked at the boy sitting in my overstuffed chair. Once again he was a boy, for the first time in two years, a small uncertain little boy being swallowed up by the chair and by his own overwhelming sense of guilt and shame. Clearly he thought he was a horrible person. I looked at him and sighed .

"Oh, Gordo…"

"So now you know," he said. "That's why Lizzie can't even stand the sight of me anymore. And can you blame her?"

"You were right, Gordo, what you said before."

"What did I say before? I've said so many things now, I don't know which one you're talking about."

"When you said Lizzie should have been more forgiving, more understanding."

His eyes popped. "Are you serious?"

"Of course!" I said. "But let's back up just a minute. You were also right when you said you were not completely blameless. But what you did, letting that Parker McKenzie get the best of you, take advantage of you, that was nowhere near as bad as what she did to you and Lizzie. She knew Lizzie would see that. That's what it was about, wasn't it? A show, a plot, a plan for breaking you two up. And it worked.

"And I'm disappointed in Lizzie for letting Parker win that one. She should have fought for her man, instead of giving in so easily to her own hurt emotions. She should have realized what Parker was up to, how she manipulated you and the entire situation, and took advantage of you…of your…well, your maleness…"

"What the heck does that mean?" David asked in bewilderment.

"Gordo! Come on! She stripped you and grabbed you and practically raped you. What other choice did you have?"

"I could have chosen not to kiss her back. I definitely should have chosen not to touch her. I could have resisted her a little more than I did. I mean, crap! I don't even like the girl. Why did I do all that stuff if I don't even like her?"

"Gordo! Who do you think you are?" I demanded. "Superman? If a girl grabs your cock and starts 'pumping it' as you said, she might as well have dunked you in a vat of Kryptonite. That was so unfair."

Suddenly he had his hands over his face, but I could tell that underneath he was beet red.

"I'm sorry," I said gently. "It must be kind of difficult for you to hear me talking this way. But we're both adults now, and I'm just trying to tell you how I see it."

"I appreciate that you're trying to make me feel better about this," David said from underneath his hands.

"Is it working?" I asked.

"Not sure," he said after a moment, his faced still covered. "I'm still trying to get over the shock of hearing you say 'cock.'"

I laughed a little. "I think we've turned a corner, wouldn't you say?"

"Is this one of those rites of passage they're always talking about?" he wondered. "The day your ex-girlfriend's mother starts talking dirty to you?"

"Hey, I didn't start it," I reminded. "You told the story."

"You asked me to tell it."

"You didn't have to tell it so well."

"I scored high on the verbal section of the SAT. I'm a natural born storyteller. It's a blessing. And a curse."

"Okay, look," I said. "We can continue going back and forth like this all day. Or we can get past it."

"I choose 'Get Past It.'" David said, finally uncovering his face. Now he was a man again.

I smiled at him. "You're incredible, Gordo. Do you know that?"

I wasn't sure exactly what I meant by that, but I felt it had to be said. He was incredible. Lizzie was a fool to have let Parker win that one.

"Mrs. McGuire," he said. "I think it's time---"

"I think it's time for you to stop calling me Mrs. McGuire," I said.

He laughed a little. "That's funny. Because I was just going to say I think it's time you stop calling me 'Gordo.' My name is David."

"And my name is Jo," I said, leaning in to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you, David."

He smiled softly. "Nice to meet you, Jo."

-

That was a turning point indeed.

I don't remember exactly what happened after that, but somehow he was running home to change his clothes and pick up a DVD for us to watch, and I was ordering a pizza. He told me that most of his closest friends had already gone on to their colleges, and those that remained would be out on dates on a Friday night. He had been planning to catch up on some laundry and e-mail this evening, but when he heard that I had never seen Moulin Rouge (which we had noticed being advertised on the TV Channel scroll which Lizzie had left on), David suggested he run home to get it and we could watch it together. I think he was a little lonely, and I know I definitely was more than a little lonely. So we decided to be lonely together.

David thought it was funny that I remembered that he liked olives and green peppers on his pizza more than anything else. "And I thought I was a plethora of useless information!" he joked. The truth was I also liked olives and green peppers on pizza more than anything else, that was why I had so easily remembered his preferences.

And so one large olive and green pepper pizza was on its way to my house when David came back through the front door, dressed in his palest, softest blue jeans and a plain gray tee shirt, his curls still moist from the quick shower he had taken at home.

David seemed a little embarrassed that he had Moulin Rouge in his collection, describing it as a "chick flick" for most people, but a "guilty pleasure" for him. As we waited for the pizza, he reviewed the film for me, from an aspiring filmmaker's point of view, talking about its unique vision, bold musical choices and stylized settings. He also added with a sheepish grin that he was a pretty serious Nicole Kidman fan.

The pizza arrived and we settled back on the couch with food and drink for the stomach, and a feast for the eyes and ears in this unusual but highly entertaining movie. David was so glad I liked it. He said most people either adored it or despised it. I was delighted to find myself on the "Adore it!" list.

After the movie, stuffed with pizza and feeling fine, we sat back and talked some more about all kinds of things. It was getting close to eleven o'clock now, and I knew that meant Sam would be checking in momentarily.

The phone rang. "Oh! There he is!"

I picked up the phone and had a quick conversation with my husband. Yes, the kids were fine, they were both sleeping out tonight. I was watching a movie. I glanced at the TV, which was playing softly in the background. "Yes, it's Groundhog Day. Oh, honey, you know I love Bill Murray! Almost as much as you."

I noticed that David was leaning back on the couch, his arms stretched lazily over the top of his head, watching me.

"Yes, the house is locked up tight," I said to Sam over the phone. "Everything is fine. You'll be in Monday? Oh, not till Tuesday? Sam!"

By the time I got off the phone, what had started as a nice-enough conversation had turned into another ache of disappointment and resentment. I looked at David looking at me and I knew he could tell that something was wrong. He didn't ask. I guess he could tell by this time that I was not going to be shy about speaking my mind.

I sat back, sighing, and he sat forward a little, waiting.

"Damn!" I hissed. "Damn it, Sam!"

Still David said nothing. This was what I had been hoping for, the chance to unload my troubles on this sensitive, trustworthy soul, and though I really wasn't shy, I just didn't know how to begin. If I started at the beginning, we would be here all night. I opted for the direct approach.

I looked at David and said, "I guess you can tell something is wrong."

"I picked up on it," he said quietly, turning towards me a little.

"Well, it's like this," I said, letting out a deep breath. "My marriage is in trouble. Deep trouble. 'May not survive' kind of trouble. Nothing is like it used to be. I still love Sam…so much…and I always will, but I'm not so sure anymore that he really…still…"

I pressed my fists into the sides of my face. I had expected I would cry if I ever started talking about this, but I hadn't realized it would be so quickly. I could barely spit out three complete sentences, and already the tears were threatening.

"Is it the job?" David asked gently, trying to give my thoughts some direction. "Is it because he's away from home so much?"

"Oh, that's a good excuse, isn't it?" I said bitterly. "He's emotionally absent because he's physically absent? Or is it the other way around? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? He likes his job too much, I think. He's looking at for the big bucks, once he gets his territory established. And he's looking for the opportunity to excel as Top Salesman of the Year! If you only knew all the motivational crap they fill their heads with at that company! Nothing is more important than success! Oh, yeah? Well , Mr. Top Salesman, what about your family? What about your home? What about your freakin' wife?"

I could feel the anger welling up inside me, and I knew David could sense it too, because he said, "Jo…" using my name for the first time, which sounded really strange, by the way. And then he repeated it. "Jo…I think you really need to talk to someone about this."

"I am!" I exclaimed. "I'm talking to you!"

"No, I mean somebody who can really help you. Like…like maybe…"

"Like one of your parents? You mean a psychiatrist?"

"I mean someone who is…more mature, and has more knowledge about stuff like this. And can offer you worthwhile advice."

"I don't need advice, David." I said his name, and that also felt a little strange, but I went on. "I just need to vent. Didn't you ever just need to vent?"

"Well, sure. But you have so many friends. I mean, even my mom, you and her used to be pretty close, years ago. You could vent to her, and she could help you out…as a friend, or as a psychiatrist, if that's what you needed. But as a friend, mostly."

"I don't have any friends," I said miserably. "Well, I mean, yes, I have lots of friends, lots of girlfriends that I can have lunch with and go shopping with and talk on the phone with about which laundry detergent works better than another, and how are the kids doing in school. But I don't have anybody I can talk to about this. Because this is just too damn embarrassing."

"Jo! It's not embarrassing. Lots of people go through it. My parents went through it a few years back. It's very common. Your friends should understand, they should be willing to help."

"I know they would be," I said. "They're not the problem. It's me. I don't want anybody to know. The McGuires have always put on such a happy face to the world. We're the perfect family, aren't we? Nice house, two beautiful children, everything perfect…

"And on top of all that, look at me! I've dolled myself up, new boobs and all, and still I can't hold on to my husband! And the worst part of all is that I'm not even losing him to another woman. I'm losing him to a freakin' job! He would rather spend time at his job than with me! It's so humiliating! I can't talk to anybody about this, David. Don't you see that? Don't you understand?"

It was amazing that I hadn't started crying yet. I could feel the tears just below the surface of my face. They were on the way, but there was one more thing I had to say before they got there, and I managed to stay one step ahead of the tears with a miserable exclamation of "And now to make matters even worse, the one person I thought maybe I could talk to about all this, the one person who would listen and not judge me and not run off and tell everybody else what a loser I am---that one person says I should really talk to somebody else!"

Now I was crying. Now I was bawling. I didn't care anymore. I was way past the point of worrying about being humiliated. This was just about the most humiliating thing that could happen. And yet it felt so good to finally be able to say even as much as I had said, and to let the tears out after holding them in for so long.

And it felt even better still when, after I'd been openly weeping for a few moments, my hands clenched over my eyes, I felt David's arms go around me, comforting me, his face pressed against my back.

He squeezed me and said, "Jo…Jo…I'm sorry….I didn't mean I didn't want to help you. It's just that I….I don't know if I'm the right person. I don't know what I can do…"

"You can listen," I said between sobs. "I just need someone to listen."

I felt him nodding against my back. "I can do that," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand before. But I can do that. I would be happy to do that."

Now that I'd heard at least that much, slowly my tears began to subside. He kept holding me, and it was very comforting. We sat like that for quite a while, until finally I felt a lot more under control. I took my hands away from my eyes and squeezed his arm in front of me to let him know it was okay to let me go now. He sat back, his arm over the back of the couch, and looked at me, smiling sadly.

"I must look a fright…" I said, wiping my eyes.

"No," David said quietly. "You're a very beautiful lady, Jo. And a wonderful person. And Sam's an idiot to want to spend more time selling plastic do-hingys rather than hanging out here with you."

I managed a small smile. "And why is it, David, that you thought you wouldn't know the right things to say?"

He was so smart. He was so mature, and so incredible. And such a good listener. That night he listened intently as I went on and on about everything that was troubling me. He didn't say much, but he kept looking at me, and nodding, and smiling now and then to encourage me to continue.

I hadn't realized until I started talking to him how much I had to say, how much was really bothering me. But I felt so comfortable talking to my new friend. So quickly I had gone from thinking of him as Lizzie's friend, Lizzie's ex-boyfriend, to thinking of him as my very own friend, my confidant, the one person in the world I could trust with all my deepest secrets.

I checked with him at one point and said, "Now you're not going to tell any of this to anyone, are you?"

"Jo, who am I going to tell?"

"You wouldn't talk to Lizzie?"

"As you've seen, Lizzie and I don't really talk anymore."

"You wouldn't say anything to Sam?"

"No, but I think you need to say something to Sam. In fact, you need to say all of this to Sam. He needs to know how you feel."

I frowned, throwing myself back on the couch. "I don't think Sam really cares so much anymore how I feel."

"I'm sure you're wrong," David said. "I'm sure he cares very much."

"You haven't seen him lately, David. All he cares about now is money and success. He's obsessed. He has only the slightest interest in his kids, and even less interest in me. And no interest whatsoever in sex."

What was I saying? Was I going to talk to him about sex? What was I thinking? Where was I going with this?

I thought for sure I would have embarrassed him with this kind of talk, but he very maturely asked, "Are you sure that's not a physical problem? I mean, has he seen a doctor for it?"

"You mean is he impotent? No, he's not impotent. He can still do it. He just doesn't want to. How do you know so much about this kind of stuff, anyway?"

"Are you forgetting that my parents are psychiatrists?"

I laughed lightly. "What do you do? Read their case files?"

"Sometimes. Some of them are pretty fascinating, actually. It makes you feel better about yourself when you realize how really messed up some other people are. It makes you think, 'Hey, I'm not doing so bad after all.' "

"So where would you put me on the list?" I asked. "I mean, how messed up am I really?"

"Jo, you're not messed up at all," he said. "You're just sorting through some pretty normal issues, but your biggest problem is that you're not making your needs known, at least not to anyone that can do anything to help you get what will be best for you. You're playing the martyr, suffering in silence. A lot of women do that, you know. You need to assert yourself. You need to let your husband know what you need, that you need him, not his money and not his success."

"David," I marveled. "Have you ever considered following in your parents' footsteps? You would make a wonderful psychiatrist, I think."

He shook his head. "Not for me."

"But you're so insightful!"

"Not really," he insisted. "Any of your girlfriends could have told you the same thing, if only you would have felt comfortable enough to open up to them. It seems to me that Sam's concerned about his image, his professional image, but you're concerned about your personal image. What you said before about the McGuires being the perfect family…it's okay to admit that you have problems, that you're not perfect."

I smiled playfully, saying, "And this coming from the boy who re-did his second grade Thanksgiving turkey hand puppet four times because he accidentally colored outside the lines?"

"I've grown up a lot since then."

"I can see you have," I smiled. "And it suits you well, David. It really does."

It was closer to two o'clock than one o'clock when the phone unexpectedly rang. I jumped, instinctively exclaiming, "The kids!" But when I answered, I heard the familiar voice and replied, "Hi, Roberta! Yes, he's still here." I put my hand immediately over the receiver and whispered, "It's your mom. She's looking for you."

"I left a note that I was going over Lizzie's to watch movies," David said, taking the phone, then, "Yeah, Mom.. Hi, Mom. Sure, I know… I'm on my way home, don't worry. .. Yeah, everyone is fine here…Yeah, she is…Yeah, I will…Okay. See you soon."

David handed me the phone and I hung it up. "She sends her greetings to everyone," he said. "She asked about you."

"And you told her I was fine. You told her everyone was fine."

"I told you. I'm not going to go blabbing your personal problems to anyone. Especially not to my mom, the psychiatrist."

I smiled gratefully, knowing I could trust him, yet also noting that his description of "going over Lizzie's to watch movies" though accurate in one sense, was not entirely truthful. But I knew it was best that way, as did he.

A few moments later I was walking him to the door, saying, "Thank you so much, David. For everything. You are such a wonderful young man."

"Thank you," he said. "For the ice cream. And the pizza."

"No, thank you," I said. "For the listening ear. I really needed that."

"Anytime," he smiled.

I couldn't let him go without giving him a hug. I wrapped my arms around him, my chin just below his shoulder. He was so much taller now! I reached up, thinking I could plant a motherly kiss on his forehead, as I used to when he would play in the yard with Lizzie and scrape his knee or his elbow. Then I would have to put Neosporin on his boo-boo, kiss his forehead and tell him everything was going to be alright. But I couldn't reach his forehead anymore, and my kiss landed instead on his left cheek.

But that was okay, I guess.

And this time, he was the one who said to me, "Don't worry, Jo. Everything is going to be alright."

-

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AN: Next Chapter from Lizzie's POV!