"Well, here we are again." It's not the most brilliant thing I could say, but the thing is, there was a time last winter when I thought I'd never get another summer night, or summer day, with Ingrid.

When we drove away from this cabin almost a year ago, she said, "That was nice."

"Yeah, it was. Nice cabin. Very nice cabin."

"Yes. Maybe, maybe we should go back some time."

"Well, yeah, maybe for another anniversary."
"I'd like that."

"Well, there's one every year. So, uh, if you—sorry, if Ingrid is free, maybe she can meet up with Anthony again."

"I think she'll be free. She usually doesn't teach summer classes."

"Good. Anthony can probably get time off from the restaurant."

We snuck looks at each other and grinned. But, honestly? That's the last time we talked about it for a long while. And in between, a lot of things, happened, one of them starting with a G.

Don't get me wrong, me losing Angela her job at Wallace and McQuade didn't exactly help us find our way back to the cabin either. But I did my best to comfort her and build up her confidence again, and look at her now, with her own agency and she doesn't have to deal with jerks like Jim Peterson anymore.

We were getting closer, and not just because of Anthony & Ingrid. Me and Angela were close, like family. And then, well, I guess it got a little too close for comfort. We stood up for her friends the doctors at their wedding, best man and matron of honor. And I, Jesus, I never would've expected this a couple years earlier, but I imagined marrying Angela!

I mean, why not? I imagined marrying Gina for about a day, before I realized that I couldn't talk with her, have fun with her. And sometimes I feel like I am married to Angela, except for the part that we only have as Anthony & Ingrid. We do talk together, have fun together, but there are the serious parts, too. And the domestic parts, not just because I'm her "domestic."

I got scared. And my pride was hurt. The wedding was great in some ways, but it also made me see how people see us. Women don't marry their servants, especially not successful, educated career women like Angela.

So I practically threw her at Geoffrey with a G. And I kicked myself later, because I could've had her back before they even went on their first date. We were sitting on the couch the evening after the wedding. Sam was at a slumber party, sort of a daughter-of-the-groom thing that Julia was throwing Marci. Jonathan was out like a light up in his room. Well, weddings can take it out of you, although at least this time he didn't throw up on the bride's shoes.

Angela had danced too much, with Geoffrey. She was rubbing one of her aching feet and then I took over. I'd never massaged her before. I mean, yeah, I'd touched her as Ingrid, but that was foreplay. This was us, two close friends who'd had a close call.

And I tried to return to that good, safe platonic friendship I'd almost slipped away from that day. I encouraged her to see Geoffrey, to date other people. I wasn't expecting it to lead where it led!

And as for the foot massage, I had her leg across my legs and I was rubbing her foot with both hands. Then she sighed and said, "Oh, Tony, you're so good!" And I stopped dead cold. That was Ingrid! In our living room! We looked at each other and I returned Ingrid's leg to Angela. We smiled sheepishly at each other and I silently promised myself I could not let that woman invade our home again.

The best way to keep her out was to not be Anthony, not even for a second. Well, easier said than done. Oh, yeah, I told myself I just wanted to get Angela a special Christmas gift because she was such a good friend. I mean, she had a boyfriend! And this was not one of the guys she saw for a few days or a few weeks and then he disappeared out of our lives. Geoffrey stuck around, and around, and around.

This was worse than having Ingrid around. I mean, Ingrid's trouble, but it's fun trouble. She's great in the right time and place. There was never a right time and place for Geoffrey.

And, OK, yeah, I'll admit it, I was jealous. But let me say this. Angela's happiness means a lot to me. If I really, genuinely, truly thought Geoff was right for her, then I would've let go. And it would've been completely letting go, because even though Geoff liked me a lot more than Michael did, he wouldn't have wanted me staying on as housekeeper.

Or I don't know. Maybe he would've. Maybe he was so dense that he wouldn't have seen me as a rival, as Michael did right off the bat, back when Angela and I were just friends, and not all that close yet. Michael saw things that didn't exist yet. He saw the potential. Geoffrey couldn't even see what was right in front of him.

And like a sap, I got him back together with Angela when they had a fight. I mean, I supported her getting back with Michael, too. I'm not the kind of guy who schemes to break up Angela's relationships. It's not like no one else can have her, just because I mostly can't.

And then Geoff proposed to her. And she was as un-Ingrid about it as you can imagine, with her little list of pros and cons. I know, and you don't want to know how I know—OK, it involves a glass to a wall—that she did it with Geoff, but the little I heard, Ingrid was not in the room. I bet Geoffrey never met Ingrid and would never have met her, even if he was married to Angela for fifty years.

But me and Ing, we go way back. And I realized, with some nudging from Mona, that I had to stop this. Geoffrey would take away Angela. Because let's face it, I may still have been able to make her favorite chocolate cakes and martinis, but there would no more old movies on the tube together, and no more being a dad to Jonathan, or not in the same way, or getting through Sam's puberty with Angela's help, or any of that. No more talking and laughing like we had, because she'd be talking and laughing with Geoffrey.

And, yeah, he'd take away Ingrid, too. Or send her into permanent hibernation. Not only wouldn't I see glimpses of her in the house, but I'd never again get to celebrate that anniversary. And I thought that the two women, Angela and Ingrid, were worth fighting for.

I didn't date much during the Geoffrey era. (Tanya doesn't count. She was just for sex.) I guess I was holding my breath. After it was over, I went out with a much younger woman. (Well, twelve years younger.) It was fun, but during that time, I saw sort of a Bizarro version of Ingrid come out in Angela. She was trying to act half her age, and I wanted to remind her that I know her age. I know that little two-year gap. So I asked her how old she was, to make her say it out loud, in our living room, "You should know, Anthony." And she wouldn't.

Still, one good thing came out of that. Well, two. One was she showed off her legs. Unfortunately, it wasn't just to me, but I did have to admit out loud how great they are. Maybe if I complimented them more, she'd show them more, if not to that extent. The other good thing was we went dancing. And, oh, we looked good together on the dance floor! I know because I got a glimpse of our reflection in the window, and because I could see the smiles on the people watching us. We owned that dance floor!

A lot of guys don't like dancing. They think it's girly or they think they're no good at it. Well, I don't worry about seeming girly. I mean, you can't get more secure in your manhood than I am. And, not to brag, but I'm a good dancer.

And Angela, wow! We'd danced together before, but we were kind of shy and awkward those times. I don't know if it's that we'd, you know, Ingrided, but we just moved like we were one body. But at the same time, there were little surprises, like If I spin her like this, where will she land? If I beckon to her, will she come back to me? Oh yeah, she will, like she knows this is where she needs to be, back into my arms.

It wasn't a Betty dance, but it was very sexy. Classy-sexy, Angela-sexy. The line between Angela and Ingrid blurred for me again, but I loved it.

And then when she decided to get kind of Ingridy and live out unexplored adolescent fantasies, well, part of me was rooting her on, and part of me was scared for her, because she was still Angela, innocent Angela, and she got in a little over her head.

She didn't need some sleazy guy named The Snake, whose "Inspiration Point" was a beat-up sofa. So I took her to my Inspiration Point, with a beautiful hill-top view. And when she wanted to make out at the Point, cross that off her list (her and her lists!), well, I gave her a sweet, slow, but deep kiss. Yeah, I wanted to suggest we hop in the back of my van and get a little more Ingridy. But I knew that that should wait for the summer, if we didn't have any more derailments in the meantime.

It was getting harder and harder to keep Anthony & Ingrid where they belonged. Hell, I even moved out of the house to keep Anthony away from her! OK, it was just across the driveway, to Mona's apartment, but I felt like I'd lost my home. I needed to be there with her, sleep under the same roof, even if it drives me crazy sometimes. And she missed me. She didn't say so in so many words, but I could tell. And then things didn't work out for Mona at her brother's hotel, so oh darn. I was "stuck" in that house.

The funny thing was, I'd tried to be a swinging bachelor and I ended up watching Little House on the Prairie, by myself. It was like I took the Anthony out of myself. Better to risk running into Anthony & Ingrid around the house than not see them at all. That's what I learned this past year.

And we could've gone somewhere else, maybe celebrate our anniversary in a different location every year, for however long this goes on. But I needed to be in the same cabin with her, try to recapture what we had last summer. Well, maybe with some improvements.

"Uh, Tony, I'll be out of town for that Lincoln account again, weekend after next," she said one evening a couple weeks ago.

"Oh, yeah. The Lincoln account."

"Do they make logs?" Jonathan asked. The boy is eleven now but let's put it this way, much more of a little kid than I was at his age. (Angela would have a fit if some thirteen-year-old gave Jonathan his first kiss.)

"Uh, no, Sweetheart. It's a construction company."

"Oh." He immediately lost interest.

"Dad, that reminds me. That's the weekend of Bonnie's slumber party. Can I go?"

"Of course, Sweetheart." That would make getting away much easier for me.

"Angela, didn't the Lincoln account belong to Wallace and McQuade?"

"Why, yes, yes, it did, Mother, but I wooed them away."

"You are a pretty good little wooer," I said and then almost bit my tongue.

"Why, thank you, Tony."
"Gee, it's funny, I'm your secretary, Dear, and I don't seem to remember us having the Lincoln account."
"Well, no, you wouldn't, Mother, because I haven't completely won them back. That's what this business trip is about. To finalize the deal."

"Well, I'm sure it'll work out, Dear. Once you set your mind on something, you generally get it."

"Thank you, Mother."

So, yeah, not as smooth as last year, but obviously we made our escape. Jonathan's in California again, Sam's at Bonnie's, and Mona, when I ran off to "Brooklyn" again, said she was happy to house-sit for a couple days, as long as she could have her boyfriend over. I didn't know what Angela would say to that, but I gave Mona my blessing.

And here we are again. I'm pulling the van into the parking lot and Angela, soon to be re-Ingrided, is sitting beside me.

"I'm glad both Anthony and Ingrid were able to get away this weekend."

"What, you kiddin' me? Anthony wouldn't miss one of their anniversaries!"

"Ingrid was worried she wouldn't make it. She had, uh, other commitments. But they fell through."

"Anthony will be very happy to hear that," I say as I park the van.
We look at each other and smile. I hesitate and then give her a kiss like I did after rescuing her from Jake the Snake.

When it ends, she says, "Hm, I wonder if there's an Inspiration Point around here."

"We can go looking for one tomorrow." I have other plans for her tonight. I mean besides what you're thinkin'!

I grab the bags. We sign in. We head towards the cabin. She unlocks the door. It's like last year. Except that last year there wasn't a last year like we have now, if that makes sense. I mean, it's like we've got a tradition now. I don't know about her, but I'm already wondering about next year, and this anniversary has barely started. I mean, not that we'll be doing this indefinitely, till we're old and gray. At some point, Jonathan will be all grown up and maybe Angela won't need a housekeeper anymore, or she will but it'll be different without the kids around. But that's a long way off, too hazy a future to think about. And we might get bored with this, with each other, although I hope not any time soon.

"Do you want the bathroom first?" she asks.

"Yeah, if you don't."
"Go ahead."

At what point does de ja vu stop being eerie or comforting and start being stale? Well, we're not at that point yet.

For one thing, I don't just pee and shave. I change into a tux, the same tux I wore when I "took her legs out" one night.

Her eyes pop open when I return. "Tony! I mean Anthony. You look wonderful!"

"Thank you, Ingrid."

"But we're too far from anywhere to dine or dance. Well, unless you want to try the Chez When Cocktail Lounge a few miles back."

"I don't think we'll have to go that far. You go change and I'll escort you to a very nice establishment close by."

"Ton—Anthony, I didn't pack anything appropriate."

"Whatever you wear will be appropriate."

"Well, all right." She grabs her bag and goes into the bathroom.

While she's gone, I take things out of Tupperware and reheat them on the wood stove. I get everything set up, including the tape player. When the bathroom door opens, Sinatra starts serenading her with "The Way You Look Tonight."

But the way she looks tonight! Her hair is upswept and normally I'd be ogling her neck, but, Jesus! She's wearing a blue negligee, one of those rich, I guess sapphire blues that look so good on her. But the negligee could be plaid for all I care right now.

"Um, it's the only thing I packed that has a skirt."

"OK." My voice gets a little shaky. Talk about "feelin' a glow," Frankie! I want to forget about dancing and dining, but I did promise. No, it can't ever get stale, if she keeps surprising me like this.

"Can I take your legs out now?" God, they look good, and they seem to go on forever, the negligee is so short. "You can come, too."

"Dancing before dining?"

"Yeah, we'll work up an appetite." I make the beckoning gesture and she strides towards me and into my arms.

I hold her close. I don't care that she can probably feel how hard she's made me. Well, I want her to know, but it'll keep. We sway together, except when I spin her and dip her. The negligee reveals even more of her skin and I swear I'm going to go crazy any minute.

"I wonder if our table's ready."

"Uh, yeah, there's the maître d' signaling to us." We pretend to push our way off the crowded dance floor.

"I remember this place before it was so popular."

"Yeah, it's not so exclusive anymore," I say, helping her onto the couch as if I'm holding out her chair. "Oh, thank you, Henri, that would be perfect. Yes, Madame, does look lovely tonight. With her smile so warm. And her cheeks so soft."

Angela looks down and smiles. "Should we order?"

"I hope you don't mind, I already took the liberty of ordering before you got here."

"I'm sure I'll like whatever you chose. You know what I like as well as I do."

"Better. Why, yes, Henri, that sounds like an excellent choice." I pull the cooler out from under the sofa bed and take out a couple bottles of Bud Light. "It's the house wine."

"Yummy. But I think I'll just have water."

"Yeah, me, too. I'm driving tonight."

"Yes, you need a clear head."
If there's one thing my head isn't right now, it's clear, but I toss the bottles back in the cooler and go get us some water. The food is done so I put it on paper plates and try to bring everything over at once.
"Do you need some help?"

"No, that's OK."

"Ingrid never drops plates."

"Oh, all right."

She comes over and saves me a trip back and forth. We settle on the couch again, and start eating macaroni. OK, so it's not a super fancy meal either, but it's the kind of thing that travels and reheats well.

"Very nice," she says.

"Yeah, it's the house specialty."

"I can see why this place is so popular."

"Yeah, but I was hoping for a little more privacy."

"We'll have that later."

"I hope so. Happy Anniversary, Ingrid."

"Happy Anniversary, Anthony." We clink our plastic cups. "Oh, I just realized, it's our twenty-fourth!"

"Yeah? We'll have to do something special for the twenty-fifth. I mean extra special."

"This is very special tonight. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I just figured last year was better than the year before, and I wanted to see if we could top it."

"I think we can."

"So do I." Our eyes meet and then we kiss. Nothing too intense. After all, we are in a restaurant.

After dinner, I escort her off the couch and around the cabin and back to the couch. Now it's a car, a nice car. I know because she says, "Nice car, Anthony."

"Thank you. I think the French do some things particularly well. Cars, wine, cheese—"

"Kissing," she says mischievously.

"Yeah, French kisses are good." Well, you can guess what happens next, pretty much what happened in my van at Inspiration Point. But you probably can't guess what happens after that.

After we stop, she says, "Of course, I think Italians are particularly good at French kissing."

"All those Italians you've kissed."

"Yes. I guess that would be an Italian kiss though, wouldn't it?"

I stare at her. I know she didn't mean it like that, not innocent Angela and not even naughty Ingrid. But Jesus!

"What?"

"Ang—Ingrid, there's a certain meaning that 'Italian kiss' can have."

"Oh, like when you kiss someone on both cheeks?"

"No, I mean the street meaning."
"There's a street meaning?"

"Never mind." I start the "car."

"Anthony, tell me."

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do."

We could argue "all the way home," but instead I "pull the car to the side of the road." "Do you want me to show you?"

She looks a little nervous. "Well, is it something I'd like?"

"I already know you like it."

"Well, then, what's the big deal, Anthony?"

"The big deal is it's French plus." I kiss her sweet lips and she opens them to receive my tongue.

After we kiss about a minute, she stops and says, "Plus what?"

"Plus this." And I move one hand under her negligee and into her panties (pale blue again). And I finger her while I French-kiss her.

And she loves it! She comes right away and then she still wants more. And it really does feel like we're parking and doing third base, even though we're in the safety of our cabin. When I try to take her panties off, she whispers, "No, do it just like that! Like we're getting away with something!"

The funny thing is, we are! I'm fingering my boss and soon she's going to have sex with her housekeeper, just like last year. And no one knows!