The three days later Emily was still in a volatile mood. She spoke little and gave even less explanation as to why she had not come back the on the night of the Fourth.

"About the other night...sorry," she muttered to Sonny and Milton, "I'll make it up to you." She walked past them into the kitchen, looking only at her feet.

Sonny was about to protest but Milton put his hand on his arm.

"She apologized for something...don't ruin the moment..." Milton smiled wryly and hopped over the bar, whistling as he pushed open the kitchen doors. "Time for my mid-morning piss as it were." Sonny sighed and went back to work setting up tables. He was beginning to consider working for his father again, at the grocery store. At least Milton had some talent fall back–at least he did what he loved come nightfall. There was not much for Sonny. If Emily's moods were going to get worse and if she wasn't a little more careful with the Irish mob she was going to wind up in more trouble than Sonny cared to think about. He didn't want to wind up dead like his brother, Carmine.

She never left or took a break for lunch and Milton and Sonny went out to eat someplace, most likely sick of the same food at Joe's day after day. Emily empathized but chose to mind to place by herself as she had wanted to be alone lately. She had not seen George since that night and cared not to think about it. Lucky for her it was a slow afternoon. By one the only table was filled by a two neighborhood teenagers and regular patrons, Susan Welsh and Becky Trevors.

Then her luck changed. Whether for better or for worse even Em didn't know. Her stomach lurched, she didn't need this now.

"Hello, Miss Emily," he said as he smoothly tipped his fedora as he approached the bar.

"Hello, er, Mr. Cal..." she said awkwardly, trying to copying him but upon hearing the phrase "er, Mr. Cal," she felt painfully stupid. "Uh...what are doing back here again?" she said with a hint of accusation. Emily had inherited the philosophy of "a good offense is the best defense" from her mother.

"Well, I'm much like the tide, you see. I go away and come back again."

"Well, so does tuberculosis, Cal, but don't take it personally," said Emily casually.

Cal was not sure whether to be insulted or laugh. After all, it was quite clever. He also had to remember, there was no allegiance this girl owed to him. She could say whatever she liked to him without any consequence, it was a hard lesson he'd learned years ago.

"Pulmonary or extra-pulmonary?" There, I can be clever too, thought Cal.

"I could ask your opinion on where you'd rather infect but I don't want to be gruesome in front of the other patrons."

"Well, I'm not necessarily a patron...I wanted to know for sure if I was forgiven..." he glanced down for a moment, fiddling with his hat in his hands.

"Possibly. But I think we just agreed upon your frightening similarities to TB."

"Would dinner change your mind?" He shoved his left hand into his pocket.

"Depends. You gonna infect me?"

"On my honor." Hockley held up his hand, shaking his head.

Emily just made a date. With an older man. With a rich man. With a handsome man. That possessed social graces. New and exciting things were most definitely happening in the small world of Emily S. Dawson.

Then she thought about George. She felt a little guilty, but put it out of her head. If nothing came of dinner, George never need know. If something did, well, Em was going to prove him wrong.

"All my 'nice' clothes are...whore clothes..." Emily threw aside her sparkling red dress on to the floor. Then she sprinted to my bedroom, scavenging my closet and armoire for anything I left behind. She pulled out a black evening and examined it critically. Then she pulled out an old taffeta one, navy blue with thin gauzy sleeves. It's too tight now but I don't have the heart to throw it out, I once told her. I was almost as thin as Em after the war, but by then I was back to my full weight.

Emily tried on the dress, it was a little roomy in the bust and she knew she would trip over the hem if she walked. Emily nodded quickly and remedied the situation. Within in five minutes she was wearing her boots (which gave her more height than her heels, no one would notice) and her bust was stuffed. It was the first time she stuffed herself since the eighth grade. But now it looked perfect, no sign of a rumple anywhere. She stuffed her hair up under a sleek black cap.

As she headed for the door she nearly grabbed her old tan trench coat but opted for my clothes instead and pulled out from my armoire a luxurious-looking black fur coat. She did not know that at the time I bought it I could not afford real fur. She could not tell the difference either.

Skipping downstairs she was already feeling hot in the summer heat combined with the faux fur, not as warm as real fur but still deadly in July. But it was the first time since her father was alive that she had ever gone to any place fancy and she wanted to impress her date–who she knew was so incomprehensibly out her league it...it made her realize her place in life. Cal Hockleys didn't consort with Emily Dawsons...no matter how big they talked. She was a nobody and she knew it.

"You look lovely," said Cal without a moment's hesitation. She wondered if he meant or if he was putting on airs. They were in front of Joe's, she did not want Cal to see where she lived.

"Er, thanks..." Emily muttered nervously. She moved to the side as mother with a fussing toddler passed.

"Aren't you hot?" he said with without the slightest hint of pretension, but then again, it was rather silly for Em to be wearing such a coat in July.

"Yeah...but it goes with the hat."

Cal chuckled.

"You needn't get so overdressed," he chuckled again.

Emily felt as if someone just dropped lead in her stomach. They never said where they were going...he was just wearing a regular suit. Nothing fancy.

"Sorry," Emily sighed, "damn it..."

Cal felt a sudden surge of guilt. The poor girl thought she was being taken for a nice night on the town. She had worn a coat that was too warm and obviously fake fur. After he relieved her of it, he noticed her breasts were noticeably bigger. Either she was not as self-assured as she put-on or she was wearing a borrowed dress.

All of his old college buddies had a mistress or a girlfriend on the side for at least a time. Cal had wandered into friendly company every once and a while but never formed any long term extra attachment other than his wife, Mariah. He never cared enough about anyone. Though he loved his wife he was never really in love with her and she often bored him. But then again so did the few women whose company he'd taken.

Emily Dawson excited him. He didn't care if she was a nobody. He had not been excited by a women in eight years and he wanted to know this woman. He wasn't sure what he was thinking, what would ever come of this, perhaps he wasn't thinking. He wasn't thinking when he slipped his ring into his left pocket that afternoon. She was practically a street kid, what made him think she would care if he was married?

To make up for her embarrassment he took her to a small French restaurant, The Red Mill, where no one he knew would frequent but no one she knew would be likely to waltz in either. Calvert, being a friend of his brother, Holden, would never warm up to him unless something drastic happened. He knew Holden's old sergeant was not one to be toyed with either, best to avoid the bugger all together.

"You're the most underdressed person here," Emily smiled from across the table.

"So I've noticed," Cal looked around, and inwardly laughed. For the first time he was the one who lacked class. The girl across from his however looked stunning, he'd never met one quite like her. She was up to standard, the great Cal Hockley looked almost like your average man, if it were not for the way he carried himself. But it felt strangely freeing. It was like being among his best friends at Harvard, he could just be a normal person.

They talked for hours as they walked up and down some of the safer and more pleasing areas of Manhattan. They talked for hours about anything they were willing to mention. Emily started philosophical small talk to avoid her dead family and her friends who were not fans of Cal, she thought it best not mention either me either, I, like George would probably not like him. Apt, wasn't she? Though she did mention her roommate was in actress and in California for the summer, letting him know no one would bother them at her place...though she did not like the idea of taking him back there.

Cal never mentioned his wife or his children. Or Titanic. He still could not comprehend what happened that night, he stopped allowing himself to think about it. Too much guilt and pain.

He talked about Hockley Steel but left out the part about the cheap steel they sold during the War to save money and manufacture faster as the demand drastically increased. It wasn't his idea but he did go along with it after a little persuasion. That was guilty and painful too, his brother had been out there while he was making bad steel for the military. It was hard now for him to do anything he was proud of.

Then a another strange twinge of pain crossed Cal's heart like cold steel. He didn't know why but at some point on the street, Emily had looked him directly in the eyes, perhaps lobbying for a kiss. Her eyes...they bothered him. They frightened him.

There was nothing wrong with them or even particularly beautiful about them. They were a watery blue and complimented the rest of her face well, but...it was the stare. They were probing and invasive and familiar as if they stared him down before.

"What?" she said, obviously perplexed, but still looking him straight in the face.

"N-nothing, nothing." Stupid of him to be afraid of a couple eyes. She was just a girl, not some sort of strange omen. "Listen, I haven't been entirely forthcoming..."

"About what?" she said with a edge of panic and curiosity.

"I never said where I lived....I'm live in Pittsburgh. I'm...I've only got another week here. I was here on business and then to get some time to myself here to take in New York...I'm just here temporarily. I like you, Emily..." I like you? Am I a little boy? "I know it's only been a few days, a night really but I want to...stick around...? I mean, get to know you–and not in a way in which I'd be expecting anything but...I've never had a friend like you."

"You mean poor?"

"Like that! You're not afraid to say anything! Not of who you are or what I am."

"I'm afraid of things...like all the things I never told you tonight..."

"Then get to know me," he grabbed her shoulders excitedly, and she was not startled like most women he had known, "why shouldn't we be friends? I haven't had friends since school that were...not trying to be something to impress me because of my family...or try to knock me down for the same reasons..." he thought of someone for moment. "Emily–"

"You think this outfit wasn't trying to impress you because I knew you were too good for me!" she said incredulously. "This whole night, what do you think it's been about?!"

"See you just said it. You just admitted the truth. I don't know truthful people, I'm certainly not one of them..." Cal said nothing after that, and kept repeating his last words in his head. He'd never admitted that to himself before.

"Well, when you come back to New York," said Em, she realized this was a fool's errand to begin with, "you know where to find me. We'll get lunch....I like you too. But people like us, well, don't...aren't friends..."

"Well, damn the rules. Do you like me or not?:

"Well, considering I just stated that I did..." Em squinted, she might be starting a fight now.

"Look me up when you come back. I've done this before, only difference is this is not your world. Mine's a dangerous one, Hockley. Believe me."

Cal was feeling reckless. He had seen the rules broken once at his own expense, why couldn't he break rules? Why couldn't he be exciting? Why couldn't he walk away from this girl without some sort of promise? He was desperate for this bond and he didn't know why.

"I don't know why I want this but I do."

"Then you can have it," she paused, "when you come back to New York. You don't live here."

She turned and walked away, feeling more like lead with every step. Before her knees buckled from under her, she turned around again ran back.

"Listen," she said and Cal waited for her to speak. But she didn't know what she going to say. "...shit." She looked at the ground awkwardly, turned away to leave and turned back again a second later.

She kissed him.

He kissed her back gingerly and slowly with gaining force but still bowing to Emily aggressive mouth. He hugged her tightly after it was over as she rested her head on his shoulder. She didn't want to be a slut and submit but she needed him now.

"I'm staying not far f-from here," he said, embarrassed. "But if you want I'll wait. Or not at all. I won't ask a thing of you."

"Do I look so innocent?" Emily said quietly, looking at him now.

"Sometimes," Cal smiled weakly.

She blinked slowly, he watched every feature on her face. She was almost magical.

She took his hand and told him that she was not–and that she was neither proud nor ashamed of it. "I'm a big girl and I've known and seen a lot," she told him. He accepted that.

They walked together toward Cal's room, hand in hand like young sweethearts. It was 1 in the morning by the time they reached it.

Upstairs, they made love, it was not carefree nor calm, it was not violent nor tender. But it was something powerful and tangible and comforting. Every desire or tiny hope they had been longing for–or ignoring, had been given to them. Cal wanted to feel something and he felt everything for this strange new woman. Emily had let someone into her thoughts, but most importantly, her fears...without the paternal judgement George had so often placed on her.

They were free of all that at least for the night. And for the morning they drifted in and out of sleep, lying peacefully in the others' arms.

After a quiet breakfast, the reality of daylight had settled in on them. They could have passion but there could be no love. Love was impossible, they had silently agreed. An affair, a romance...those were in their grasp. But each denied themselves what they truly wanted...they wanted to fall in love and have somebody to love.

Pretty girl
Don't you waste a word
For I can't love you
Not ever...

It was dawn. Emily sat on the arm chair and stared out of the window, wearing on of Cal's shirts. He watched her watching nothing, staring at nothing but the stillness outside. For once the City seemed quiet and for once so did Emily. She sighed wonderfully and his heart nearly leapt out his throat.

Take this afternoon
Recall our sexual mood
But I'm not lovin' you
Not ever...

Cal knew right well that he was married and Emily had a feeling he might be. She had chosen not to think about that until this morning. She was also thinking of George and her little apartment in Hell's Kitchen. She wondered what Cal's house looked like. She turned around to look at him.

See that southern sky
Driftin' past the lies
It won't judge you or I
Not ever...

It was only a matter of time before they were torn apart and they knew it. Cal said nothing, he knew this was the time not to say anything. He approached her as her lovely face looked into his. He did not bend down for another kiss but simply put his hand on her shoulder. She put hand over his and he moved closer, letting her back rest against his warm chest. She closed her eyes so she could no longer see anything.

"Not Ever" by The Proclaimers