Tim sat at the open window of his office building in New York. His office—a miniscule office the size of a college dorm room—was located on the 22nd floor of the building. He sat with his chin resting atop his folded arms, looking down at the throngs of people bustling about. Didn't they know he was about to fall into bankruptcy? How could they be so concerned with their own lives when his was falling about all around him?

"Tough break, Timothy."

Ducky, his ever trustful bookkeeper, was seated behind him, going over his finances. It was a superfluous effort; Tim could probably guess what his monetary state was at the moment.

"Of all the rock and roll singers Uncle Sam could draft," Tim muttered, "they had to go and draft Tony." Tim had been working with the teen heartthrob for the past couple of years as both an agent and a songwriter, trying in vain to write Tony a hit song. So far, though, his songs had been flops. All of Tony's best songs had been written by other songwriters, leaving Tim to take a backseat. He had an inkling that the only reason Tony even stayed with him was that Tim had gotten him his big break two and a half years prior. "And I was just about to have him record the best song I've ever written," he added, picking up the sheet music for a song unfortunately entitled "The Dearest Dear that I Hold Dear." It may have been Tim's best song but, when you looked at his entire repertoire, that wasn't saying much.

"Look on the bright side, Timothy."

"What's the bright side, Ducky?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea, but I'm sure there is one."

Tim returned to his seat, looking out at the oblivious crowds. "Well, at least I've still got Ziva…speaking of which, where is she?" he asked, looking around the office for his secretary/girlfriend of six years. She was his most dependable employee along with Ducky, not to mention she was quite a looker, an attribute Tim's mind and heart simply couldn't apply to Ducky no matter how much he liked the man. She had never been late before without calling. Still, in Tim's dour mood, he was ready to unload his anger on anyone, including Ziva. "Isn't that just like her? I'm in a rut, and she's probably off getting her hair done."

From behind him, Ducky cleared his throat. It wasn't a throat clearing that signified that the older man had something in his throat; it was the kind of throat clearing that signified that he had some unpleasant news. "Actually, Timothy, I understand Ziva had a business meeting to attend."

He turned around. Business meeting? What on earth could his secretary be doing at a business meeting. More importantly, why wasn't he there too? "What kind of business meeting."

"Perhaps you should discuss it with her."

"Ducky," Tim repeated, "what kind of business meeting."

The older man looked markedly uncomfortable at the situation in which he'd been put. "She had a meeting with Ed Sullivan."

"Ed Sullivan!" Tim cried incredulously. Why on earth would Ziva be meeting with a TV sensation like Ed Sullivan, unless…unless…oh no! "How do you like that! Here I am, practically drowning in debt while she's off getting a better job. And she didn't even offer to get one for me!" He glumly returned to where he had been, sulking head laying atop folded arms. "I guess she's leaving me…for good, this time!"

Actually, Ziva was not leaving him, nor was she sniffing out another job. The beautiful Israeli woman had, in fact, come up with a scathingly brilliant idea of how to save her boyfriend from failure. Everyone was looking at Tony DiNozzo's drafting as a catastrophe; Ziva, though, saw it as an opportunity.

What if, she proposed to Mr. Sullivan himself, you were to have Tony on your show, his final appearance before he went off to defend his country? Certainly the entire female population of America would tune in to watch their idol swivel his hips, yes? And what if, she had added, you allowed one lucky girl the chance to appear on stage to see him off? Tony would sing a new song entitled "One More Kiss"—sure to be a smash hit—and would then bestow upon his lucky fan a final kiss. It was sweet, it was simple, it was passionate and poetic.

In short, it was perfect. Ed had agreed.

When, he had asked, could I hear this new song?

Why, as soon as Timothy writes it, of course!

So it was with great confidence and purpose that Ziva strolled into the Tony Dinozzo Fan Club headquarters. She greeted the workers who were busy sorting through fan mail and sending off autographed posters. Working for Tony's fan club was not an easy job. More and more mail came ever day, asking for everything from autographed merchandise to a lock of the singers hair. They'd had to hire double the amount of people that most fan clubs had due to the exhaustive nature of the work.

"You would think that with his getting drafted and all, the job would have gotten easier," one woman grumbled.

"All of the girls want their letters to get to him before he's gone for good," Ziva told her, giving the woman a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Where are the fan club members' information cards?"

The woman nodded towards the opposite wall. There stood five large files, each with multiple drawers holding the information of every girl (and a couple boys) who had joined Tony's fan club. The cards were the size of index cards and had the fan's name, address, telephone number, and birthday printed on it. No one had ever tried to count how many cards filled the drawers. One worker had ventured to guess that there was as many names on those files as there were stars in the sky.

"I am about to make one young girl very happy," Ziva announced to no one in particular. She closed her eyes and pulled open one of the drawers. Then, with her eyes still closed, she walked her fingers over the row of cards until she found one that was almost begging to be pulled. She yanked it out and opened her eyes.

Abigail Gibbs

Sweet Apple, Ohio

841-555-2003

03/27

"Abigail," she repeated. "From Sweet Apple, Ohio." Ziva was giddy with joy. She could not have picked a better place. It was wholesome and all-American; why just the name alone reeked of apple pie and Independence Day fireworks. It was just the kind of place the average people of the country wanted to see, especially if Tony DiNozzo was there.

Ziva picked up the phone, card in hand, and punched in the number. She waited, only to be told the line was busy. With a slight frown, she hung up the phone and tucked Abigail's card into her purse, making a mental note to call again later. She wasn't sure what Miss Gibbs was talking about at the moment, but she was sure it couldn't be nearly as important as what Ziva wanted to tell her.