-1Sarah spent the rest of the week in a state of fluctuating anxiety. The only time when she forgot about Jareth completely was while she was at work. He just didn't fit in with the real world.

But every evening when she got home, she would inevitably grow anxious and jittery. The slightest sound could make her jump; headlights catching the drapes made her blood run cold. Though why, exactly she was so scared, she wasn't sure. Of course, he scared her. There was no doubt about that. And, why shouldn't he? But he seemed to be innocent enough, albeit conceited and quite inexcusably bold.

Friday came around much more quickly than anticipated. Before she could so much as unwind from work, she was hit with a pang of nerves so fierce that she was forced to lie down.

There was no way out of it. He'd made sure of that. He was coming here to pick her up at eight.

He was coming here.

All at once she had a brilliant idea. She just wouldn't be here. She switched into a comfortable red cotton dress with black leggings and a black wrap shirt. She pulled on her crochet beanie and boots and was out the door as fast as she could.

By eight that evening, Sarah was comfortably camouflaged amidst a crowd of artists in downtown Sacramento. Her friends were engrossed in a discussion of "approach", stabbing the air with their cigarettes to accent their points.

"But carrying so much equipment isn't practical. Sure, I could have a tripod strapped to my back, and lenses, and God-knows-what with me to be stolen, but why do I need it when a Polaroid captures the moment instantly? Shows you your prints, and comes out with a vintage charm!"

"But, you can't use Polaroid for everything. Sometimes you need something crystal clear. Sometimes you want the tripod. All I'm saying is you can't just rely on a Polaroid."

Sarah leaned back into her chair and sipped her wine. There was something so welcoming about this little grotto full of neo-Bohemians.

She looked out over the café. There were dozens of other artists, many of them smoking sweet smelling cigarettes, and chattering about anything and everything. Eight o'clock. She'd beaten him again. Their waiter was picking his way through the crowd, head down to watch out for backpacks, easels, purses, tripods, and everything else an artist has been known to carry.

He came straight up to Sarah and lifted his head.

"Holy shit!" She screamed, nearly falling out of her chair. Her friends whipped around. Jareth cocked an eyebrow at her and set down her friend's drinks. She cleared her throat. "Sorry, I, erm, burned myself."

She stabbed out her barely touched cigarette in the ashtray and glared at him. "Excuse me for a moment," she said to her friends, but she dropped some money on the table and carried her purse as she followed Jareth around behind the café.

"Clever. So we begin the chase," he said slowly as he turned to face her in the damp alley.

"Funny. Tell me: Why do you persist on chasing?"

He lifted a finger to stop her forthcoming rant. He didn't seem terribly bothered by her escape attempt. "Here's a question for you: Why not give me a chance?"

She wanted to glare at him, but he had a fair point. Why not? Good girls always like a bad boy now and then anyway. "Fine. You win," she conceded. He smirked triumphantly. "This time, anyway."

"Good. Shall we?"

"Shall we what?"

"Do things my way."

"What?" he was already grabbing her by the wrist, gently, and using the other hand to conjure a crystal. "Wait, what are we-" she was cut off by a sudden whirl of wind and the next thing she knew they were standing atop a very tall skyscraper in a city that definitely wasn't Sacramento. Icy wind whipped at her hair. She shivered slightly, but he slipped a long, warm coat over her shoulders and began to lead her to the stairwell. "What the-"

"New York, New York. And, what a fabulous hell it is."

"How- why-?" she stuttered.

"Magic, naturally. How did you expect me to stay on tour? Come along." He led her all the way down to the street.

"Where are we going?"

"We're just doing things my way. "

"What is your way? Are you going to tell me?"

"Why did you decide to become a teacher?"

Sarah was taken aback. "I suppose I wanted to make a difference. Teaching was what I liked most." She remained silent, waiting for his comeback.

"How long have you been teaching?"

"This is my sixth year."

"What did you do before you started teaching?"

"I went to school. I held small jobs. Why are you interrogating me?" Sarah demanded irritably.

"Because I want to get to know you, so stop being so defensive. I wouldn't spend all this effort just to interview you." Sarah fell silent.

"What did you study?"

They passed over an hour this way. He would ask her questions and she would respond. Even though it was past midnight in New York, the streets were still busy with nightclubs and bars and evening entertainment.

"But why not do something that will get noticed? I, for example, decided to become a rock star. Why didn't you become an actress? Once upon a time you would have given almost anything to follow that dream."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "As if it's that simple. You can't just decide to be an actress or a rock star and just do it. It takes the connections, the talent, the looks."

"I did it."

"Well, you've got all that." She blushed. She'd walked right into that one. But, well, he was quite handsome. That didn't mean anything.

"Oh really?" he smirked.

"But you have magic too," she continued hastily. "You don't have a budget or bills to pay. It doesn't matter if you fail." He was silent as he took in this point.

"What is it you humans always say? You're always talking about following your dreams and hard work pays, and things like this."

Sarah walked on, eyes clouded with the past. "It doesn't. Even when you give it your all, anything can step in and ruin it." Jareth respectfully waited for her to continue. "My mom, for example. She worked so hard to follow her acting career. And, then she had me, and her brother died, and then she started drinking. Then there was the divorce, which led to more drinking, and then she was checked into the hospital with a bottle of aspirin in her stomach." The hollow, numb feeling that was so familiar crept into her limbs. "So even though she worked so hard and fought so long, everything else brought her down too far for her to surface again."

"We do not have so much of this in the Underground. But it can be fixed. Everything balances out in the end."

"Life goes on," she said bitterly.

She was growing quite tired and cold. Surprisingly though, Jareth was lagging even more. He seemed very tired, his eyelids sagging a little.

Jareth checked his watch. "I think it's time to go."

"Sorry. I got carried away."

"Not at all." He held out his hand. She took it without looking at him. The next thing Sarah knew, they were in her entryway. He released her hand slowly and stepped back. Sarah watched him as he studied the floor for a moment, and before she realized it she was smiling.

He gave a small cough. "I do hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I did." He nodded and conjured a crystal. "But, Jareth," he looked up. "Next time, you have to tell me about yourself." He grinned, and with a shimmering cloud, he was gone.

Sarah sank down into her sofa and curled up, wishing she had some cocoa. She looked back to where he'd been standing, as though it would help her think. She noticed steam rising from the table next to her. A mug of hot cocoa sat on a coaster.

…..oOo…..

The following week at eight, Sarah was waiting. In her lap was yesterday's newspaper. Emblazoned all over the entertainment section were pictures of Jareth and a listing of his tour. Every few minutes she would glance up at the clock then back to the paper.

November

Friday 14th 7:30pm New Orleans, Louisiana

Would he be able to take her out this Friday? She didn't really care, but she was all dressed up with no other plans. She looked back over her shoulder at the answering machine to check for the fourth time if he had called. No. She smoothed her shirt methodically and laced her fingers in her lap.

8:07. "I need to just get up and do something else. Either he's late or he's not coming. That's it, I'm getting up. I'm going to grade papers while I wait," but she found she couldn't bring herself away from her post by the door. 8:09.

All at once there was a thin shattering noise, like Christmas ornaments breaking, and he was there in the doorway.

"I apologize for the tardiness, but I had to take care of something."

"That's alright." Something tight in her chest unwound. "What were you doing?"

"Working," he waved his hand dismissively.

"Did you come here straight from the concert?"

"Shall we go?"

"No, this time you answer my questions. Did you come directly from a show?"

"I did."

Sarah jumped up, inspiration striking. "Sit down," she darted back into the kitchen. "We're staying in tonight. Just sit, make yourself comfortable." Having him there and clearly very exhausted awakened some maternal instinct to take care of him. He needed rest. She came back in the room a moment later with a bottle of red wine.

"It's nothing special, but I think the situation calls for it." She poured him a glass and passed it to him. She settled with her own and stared into her fireplace. As though he had heard her, flames sprang up around the logs instantly.

They sat still for a time, watching the flames illuminate the ruby jewel of their wine.

"Long day?" Jareth said.

"Long week. You?"

"Deliriously so."

Sarah took another moment to clear her mind of all the stress from the layoffs and test scores, then settled in to question him.

"Why a rock star, anyway?"

He rubbed his temple and swirled his wine slowly. "A rock star is powerful. Well known. Admired. What's not to like?"

"Do the paparazzi bother you? I wouldn't want to deal with all of that."

"No. I'm quite fond of them, actually. They're amusing." Sarah laughed. "What I do is sing. I don't ask to be famous or have my picture taken. Yet thousands upon thousands will pay for my album or to see my name in print over a big color photograph. Droves of humans come to see me perform. All I do is sing, and they love it."

Sarah settled into the chair and pondered that. He sipped from his glass. "I love to be loved. They will do anything for me. Grown men will scramble to please me, like dogs; women throw me their undergarments. They all want to please me. I could have any one of them."

Sarah furrowed her brow and felt that old feeling creeping back up. "Any one. And, not one pleases me." He reminisced with a smirk on his face.

Sarah took a fortifying swig of her wine and set it aside. "Is that what you like about being a rock star then? Subservience? Adoration? Women?" Irritation was laced within her voice.

"Oh, and the men. Don't forget them."

"So you don't deny it?"

"No. That is part of being a rock star and I do enjoy being a rock star."

Sarah snorted and turned to the fire.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"No. Stop flattering yourself," she replied tersely.

"Oh indeed." He watched her over the rim of his glass. "Do go on then."

"Why do you have to be so unnerving?"

"I enjoy it. Ask me another," he sank back into the sofa in carefree spirits.

Sarah glared at him. "I won't."

"All right, I'll just talk then," he cleared his throat. "It all started in my childhood. I was raised a prince, you see. Naturally, I enjoyed attention and became accustomed to lavish tendencies and eccentric behavior. I grew up, became King, and none of that changed." He paused. Something dark flicked through his eyes for a moment, then it was gone. "Now I am older, wiser, and much more humbled thanks to present company, and so I come before you with far less extravagance than I am accustomed to, and I find that I enjoy it for it's plainness." He raised the glass to his lips. "And that is my story," the words caught in the cup.

"What! Tell me about your childhood. Tell me about the Underground."

"Ah, no. I'm afraid I don't take orders. You'll have to ask."

Sarah fumed, but curiosity won. "Will you tell me about the Underground, O Spoiled One?"

"Most certainly. What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Where is it? What is magic? How does it work?"

"I'm afraid I have no answers to that. It is neither here nor there. I'm not even sure when it is. As for magic, the best likening is to The Force."

"The Force?"

"Yes. One can be strong with magic just as one is strong with The Force."

"You mean The Force in Star Wars?"

"Of course."

"It's not real."

"Oh, it isn't?" he mocked.

"You have to be joking," Jareth reached for the bottle and poured another glass. "You mean that's all real? There's a Luke and Leia and Vader, and all that?"

"Was. That was a long time ago, though, and of course, the stories have been twisted a bit over all that time."

"Jesus," she breathed.

"I don't really know about him, but he does seem to be quite the celebrity up here."

She laughed softly.

"How do you get there though, if you don't know where it is? To the Underground, I mean."

"It's a matter of magic and knowledge. I may not understand its location, but I know it's there."

"Wait, I have to catch up," she finished her glass and poured a larger one. "I'm not ready for that sort of talk. What about the rest of the Underground? What kingdoms are there? Tell me about it."

Jareth described the Underground in great detail to Sarah, inserting anecdotes along the way much to Sarah's delight and annoyance. He rocked perpetually from exasperating to charming until, at two in the morning, he excused himself and left Sarah alone with an empty wine bottle and a promise to meet the following week.