Chapter One

"It can't be that simple!"

"I'm telling you, Patster, it works every time." Tony's first frat party had gotten off to a slow start, but he had been won over quickly. The smell of pepperoni hanging heavy in the air, good music blaring on every speaker in the building, and the chance to shoot pool against some of the youngest, drunkest, most unskilled players on the Eastern Seaboard. He sunk yet another ball into a side pocket, hooting victoriously as it sank home.

Best of all was the company. These frat boys idolized him, and were hanging on his every word. He hadn't enjoyed such a vast army of ready-made friends since his teammates with the Tides, and later the Cards. His current career necessitated spending much of his time exchanging trade secrets (and admittedly, more than a little bit of gossip) with fellow maids. His volunteer work as president of the Parents' Association necessitated spending even more of it among housewives and schoolteachers. His best friend was a woman, and his second-best friend was her mother. While he wouldn't have traded any of them for the world, he hadn't realized how much he missed spending time with other guys. If he didn't make it into Gamma House, he would have to make a point of getting together with his buddies from the old neighborhood more often. He'd been busy since he'd started school, and had been neglecting his social life more than was probably healthy.

Apart from one outlier who had tried to fix him up with her mom, the girls at the party had been every bit as agreeable as the guys, many of them eyeballing him with open interest. He wondered if they had guessed how much older he was than them, or if they cared. Or, hey, maybe they were into that sort of thing, he realized with dawning glee. Like that scrawny little Casanova wannabe who had been tailing Angela all night. While he had no intention of letting anything actually happen between himself and any of these teenagers—he had a daughter not much younger than they were, and knew full well many of these girls had to have loving parents who owned guns-it was always nice for a broken-down old has-been to find out he was still attractive to the ladies.

He wanted to smack himself with the pool cue for having put off college for so many years. If he'd only known this was what higher education would be like, he would have swiped himself a tweed jacket and stowed away on the bus to Brooklyn College years ago. Those geeks at the bus stop outside the Rossinis' fish market should have been ashamed, keeping good times like this a secret from the hard-working, unlettered masses.

"Do it again, Tonester!" Tony's new friend Pat wheedled.

"Naw, it ain't fair to the rest of you, me hogging all the babes like this," Tony graciously demurred.

"Aw, come on!" Pat gestured to their opponents across the table. "For the Rickster and the Joester. They didn't get to see your little magic trick the first time."

Tony grinned, and gave his cue a swish, as if it were a magic wand. "Abracadabra."

A pair of cute brunettes with matching rosebud mouths popped in not two seconds later. Sisters, by the look of them, and dressed far too scantily for such a chilly autumn night. Tony chastised himself for noticing that. Stop thinking like a suburban father and start thinking like a frat boy, he told himself for the umpteenth time.

"Hey, everybody, sorry to horn in on your party," the older of the two sisters apologized.

"We were on our way to yoga class, down at the Y," the younger explained, "and our car suddenly broke down, right across the street. Do you guys happen to have a phone we could use?"

Pat pointed dumbly at the rotary phone hung up on a nearby wall. Rick stared at Tony in awe, while Joe's eyes were fixed squarely on the older of the two sisters. "I don't want to sound judgmental, Joester, but you're drooling a little." He handed the kid a tissue from Angela's neon-pink purse, still slung over his shoulder. Man, he really needed to find a safe place to unload that thing.

Joe tore his eyes off the brunette and wiped his mouth self-consciously, while Rick and Pat shared a good laugh at his expense. "Aw, that could've been a coincidence," Joe scoffed, trying to shift their focus away from him and back to Tony.

"Looks like we've got a doubting Thomas here," Tony taunted, giving him a friendly jab with the blunt end of the pool cue. "All right, just so you don't doubt my phenomenal cosmic powers, I'll give you one more demonstration." Rick and Pat cheered in approval, while Joe rolled his eyes. Said eyes landed back on the brunette at the end of the roll. Tony took Joe by the chin and steered his gaze away from her. "C'mon, Joester, pay attention. You might learn something." Tony raised his hands and wiggled his fingers theatrically. "Abracadabra!"

This time, it was Rick's girlfriend Pam who instantly appeared from downstairs, with her friend Linda in tow. "There you are! We've been looking all over for you."

This time, even Joe could not deny the magic in the air. The three younger men looked up at Tony with something akin to worship in their eyes. He favored them with a showman's bow. "You're welcome."

"What's up, Pam?" said Rick, happily taking the frosty tall boy she offered.

"The beer chugalug is about to kick off—I knew you wouldn't want to miss it. Especially now that you're finally legal," she teased.

Linda held out another of the oversized brewskies for Tony, which he politely declined. "No thanks, I'd better not have any more. I've already had three beers and I've got an early class tomorrow morning. Don't wanna show up with a hangover, you know?"

"Good man," said Pat. "Gotta keep that GPA up above 2.5. Don't want the dean to come down on us again."

Tony's first reaction was to be completely appalled. A C average? Was that the kind of low bar these guys were setting for themselves? Then again, who was he to judge? He'd been gutting fish at their age. They'd get their priorities straightened out, soon enough. "Exactly," said Tony. "But let me come cheer you on, anyway. I'm CPR certified, you might need me," he added, not entirely in jest.

"See?" Pat boasted, giving Tony a brotherly slap on the back. "I told you he'd come in handy."

Angela Bower had both gained and lost respect for her mother over the course of her evening at Gamma House. On the one hand, she was developing a better understanding of her mother's constant involvement with younger men. She didn't necessarily share her mother's tastes (although technically, the man she was really interested in was two years her junior). But she was starting to see the appeal in such a relationship. These guys had no baggage, no expectations. They were simply looking for a good time with no strings attached, and unlike most men her own age, they had the decency to be upfront about that. In a way, it was incredibly refreshing.

On the other hand, getting the Gamma guys' attention had required surprisingly little in the way of skill or charm. Literally all she had done was stand around looking pretty, and they had come to her. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. That Mike character who had been following her around all evening, she was seriously afraid she might have to eventually beat off with a stick. And all this time, Mother had made herself out to be some sort of legendary temptress. It was disappointing, really. Like finding out Santa Claus wasn't real, or that David Copperfield hadn't actually made the Statue of Liberty disappear.

At present, her four latest admirers were passing out beers, still frosty from the cooler. A swarthy, curly-headed guy who had introduced himself as Shawn, offered her a can of something labeled "Moosehead." She couldn't hold back a silly laugh, wondering whether that was a derogatory nickname for their customers, or for themselves. Her professional senses, which had been shelved for most of the evening, approved of the brand name. It was definitely an attention-getter. "No thank you, Shawn. As you can see, I'm enough of a giggly mess without adding booze into the mix."

"Aw, come on, Angela!" he coaxed. In that moment, Shawn's pleading, boyish face reminded her absurdly of her son's, brutally demolishing any remote chance he might ever have had of scoring with her.

"Yeah, it won't be any fun without you," Mike nudged her gently, his eyes fixed squarely on her cleavage. They had been there most of the night, now that she thought about it.

"Oh, I wish I could." It wasn't just a platitude, she honestly did. She was enjoying their company far more than she had expected. She hadn't had a chance to unwind so completely since her ill-fated trip to Mexico two years ago. "But I'm driving."

The Gamma Guys still wouldn't let her off the hook. The mother in her wanted to give them a lecture about the dangers of drunk driving. However, the way most of them had been drinking, she doubted any of them would remember it by morning. "I'll tell you what," she offered as a compromise. "Just to show I'm not a party pooper, I'll join you, but I'll have punch instead of beer." Several of the boys clapped, while others whistled, and others gave her friendly pats on the back. That up-and-coming makeout artist Mike pinched her covertly on the backside. She couldn't find it in herself to be all that annoyed. She'd been encouraging him pretty enthusiastically. But as flattering as his interest was, he needed to find a woman more his own speed. I'm not going to be able to keep up with a guy like that for long, no matter how much I drink, she admitted to herself. I should introduce him to Mother.

Tony came down the stairs as she dipped her stein in the punch bowl, surrounded by his own throng of admirers. "Take it easy, Ange," he warned her. There was a sudden rush of color in his cheeks, and she knew he was remembering what had happened between them the last time she had gone on a bender, back on her thirty-nth birthday.

"Yes, Daddy," she said sarcastically. Then she joined him in blushing when she realized how kinky that had sounded.

"Looks like you've got some competition, Mike," she heard Shawn whisper somewhere behind her.

"Cram it, Shawn!"

Hoping it might help her shake the most persistent member of her fan-club, she beckoned Tony over to the table. "Come on, it's time for the chugalug! You'll join us, won't you, Tony?" She tried not to openly plead, but widened her eyes in a silent cue she knew he would understand.

"Tony can't, he's got an early class tomorrow," Pat informed her loudly, coming to his buddy Mike's rescue. He placed a scrawny arm over Tony's broad, powerful chest, as if to hold him back. The sight was laughable.

"That's okay. You can have punch instead of beer, like I'm doing." Please, Tony? Angela tried to convey to him psychically. "Unless you're afraid you can't hack it."

That did the trick, as she had known it would. With Tony, his competitive spirit would win out over peer pressure every time. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he knew full well what she was pulling but still couldn't resist a challenge, he stepped up to take the mug she was offering. "Saluti, boss!"

Half an hour later, Angela was dancing on a table, peeling off the outer layers of her clothing to the beat of a blaring stereo. Most of Gamma House was boogeying along with her; except of course for Mike, who was raking his eyes over her limber body as if to burn the image into his memory for eternity. She blew him a kiss, which he pocketed gratefully. When Tony had shown up again, he'd thought his chances were shot.

As she was getting ready to kick off her stilettos and hand them to Mike as a souvenir—it wasn't out of any actual attachment to him, or even a general sense of graciousness, they were just really uncomfortable to dance in—Shawn belted out "Dean Brown!"

Was that a new musical group she hadn't heard of? She turned to ask Tony, as he was usually more or less up-to-date on the popular music scene, but he had momentarily disappeared. Oh well, she was probably right, and she would get along without his input. "Dean Brown! Dean Brown!" she hollered jubilantly, eager to hear the next track.

Then someone suddenly killed the music. As she cast about for someone to blame, a target conveniently barged in. It was a ruddy-cheeked, bald-headed man in the most hideous suit and bowtie she'd ever seen. And given some of the geeks she'd dated over the years, that was really saying something. He huffed and puffed like he wanted to blow Gamma House down. The house was spinning a little bit, but seemed to be holding its ground overall. "What is the meaning of this?!" he blustered indignantly. "Get that stripper off the table at once!"

"Ay-oh!" a muffled voice objected. Tony's head popped up from between the couch cushions someone-probably Mike—had stuffed him into. It took Angela a minute to recognize him, as someone—again, probably Mike—had put the punchbowl upside down over his head. He pulled it off in a daze. "Is there a hat rack in here?"

"No, but you could give it to Cuddles, here," Angela suggested brightly. "He's not wearing a hat, and he's probably self-conscious about that ugly bald spot," she added in a loud whisper, rubbing the old man's hairless pate with her palm.

"Ain't she thoughtful?" said Tony proudly, emerging from the depths of the couch and placing the bowl on the interloper's head. "Here you go, pal. Looks better on you anyway."

Tony was shirtless, and every female in the room was gaping shamelessly at his strong arms and beautifully-sculpted torso. Angela snapped her fingers impatiently, trying to draw their attention away from him. "Hey girls, no looking! He's mine!"

Tony giggled like the schoolboy he technically was. "Oh, if only that were true, baby."

"Good Lord!" the dean blustered. "You hired a male stripper, too?"

"Ay-oh, you couldn't afford me, buddy!" Tony sniggered. "And you sure as hell couldn't afford her!" He gestured wildly in Angela's general direction. "There ain't enough money in the world!"

"Tony, you're so sweet," she sighed dreamily, nuzzling his bare shoulder. "And your hot bod's as firm as a marble statue. Have you been pumping your deltoids again?"

"Yeah! I was hoping you'd notice." He flashed a goofy smile, and her heart melted. Or maybe that was punch she'd spilled down the front of her blouse. She glanced down to check. Nope, it was definitely her heart.

"Put your shirt on this instant, young man!" the dean commanded.

"But I'm hot!" Tony whined.

"Damn right you are, gorgeous," Angela concurred. "That's why you've gotta do what Cuddles here says. All these women are looking at you like a pork chop or something. And you're not a pork chop. You're better than a pork chop. You're a hunk of grade-A filet mignon."

"And you're my little…" Tony blinked awkwardly. "What goes with filet mignon?"

"Baked potatoes?" a bemused Shawn suggested.

"Yeah, that's it," Tony agreed readily. "My little baked potato, with extra butter." Mike impatiently shoved Tony's shirt at him. Tony reluctantly put it back on, as Angela and the dean had asked.

Angela turned back to the dean. "There, are you happy, Cuddles?" Then she began to scratch uncomfortably around the stiff collar of her blouse. "Actually, I just noticed Tony's right. It is pretty hot in here. Can I take mine off, if I promise to leave my bra on?"

"You two are an absolute disgrace!" the dean thundered. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm calling security!"

"Ay-oh, nobody talks to my best girl that way!" Tony shouted, every bit as indignantly. "Come on, Ange. Let's blow this pop stand and have some real fun."

"Mm, what a great idea. Have I ever told you I love you for your mind, Tony?"

"Aw, shucks! Right back at ya, babe." He yanked her purse out of the couch, where it had gotten entangled during his earlier confinement, and offered her his arm. It was no steadier than her own, but it was a sweet gesture nonetheless.

She took it without hesitation, stopping to pat Mike clumsily on the cheek on their way out. "Sorry it didn't work out, honey-pie. You're cute, but you're no Tony. Call me tomorrow, though. I have a friend you're gonna love."

"Is it Mona?" Tony asked.

"Who else?" With that loose end wrapped up, she followed him into the night, forgetting everything else in the world.

Tony was awakened by the unique sensation of a tornado forming directly on top of his skull. Or…no, that was just a phone ringing. The lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and he couldn't see where the phone was. He could feel a bed under him, but his room didn't have a phone in it. Then again, this didn't feel like his bed. The sheets were stiff, as if they'd been dried on a line instead of a dryer, and they smelled like some kind of girly floral soap he wouldn't have been caught dead using. "Dear God, please, either make it stop or strike me dead and get it over with," he prayed, groping around the darkness in the general direction of the racket.

His fingers eventually made contact with a bedside table, and then a telltale spiral-shaped cord, which he was able to follow to the loudmouthed phone's receiver. "Hello?" he greeted none-too-politely.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Micelli," an elderly female voice replied calmly. "You marked on your registration card that you wanted a noon wake-up call." The woman refrained from adding, so don't snap at me, but the message was clear all the same.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much for remembering." At least one of us did.

"You're most welcome. Room service will be up with brunch for you in one hour, as requested."

At the thought of food, his stomach heaved, and thin, hot saliva pooled in his mouth. "Thanks, lady, thanks a lot!" he managed to choke out before slamming the receiver down and lunging for the wastebasket he'd glimpsed under the bedside table. He retched his guts out for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally snapped out of it, tears were pouring from his eyes, something he couldn't identify and didn't particularly want to was streaming from his nose, and the acrid stench of bile, pepperoni, and Hawaiian punch hung heavy in the air. And…nope, not done yet! He doubled over for one last heave, and hopped up to look for a bathroom. Marone a mi, please let there be mouthwash around here somewhere.

He found the bathroom, and it was fully stocked, reaffirming Tony's faith in God. He ripped a plastic travel toothbrush from its wrapper, scrubbed his teeth clean three times in a row, and then finished it off with a swig from a miniature bottle of Scope, before returning to the foul-smelling bedroom. Ugh, I've got to open a window, before I puke my guts out again. As far as places to wake up in a drunken stupor went, this was actually one of the nicest he'd ever ended up at. The drapes, bedding, carpeting and furniture were all the same perfectly-matched shade of powder blue, and lace runners that looked to be handcrafted covered the bedside tables and the little dining table tucked beside the window. Several ornately framed paintings hung on the wall. He took a moment to be relieved he'd found the wastebasket before he'd spilled his guts. Damages to nice furniture like this would have been pricey.

He pulled open the curtains, slid the frosted windowpane under them aside, and both regretted and delighted in the decision. The daylight wasn't doing his raging headache any favors, but the view was worth the trouble. He'd never seen anything like it. A cloudless blue sky that seemed to go on forever. Craggy cliffs adorned with thick blankets of greenery, surrounding three massive waterfalls converging into a raging blue river below. The scenery would have been majestic to anyone's eyes. But to a city boy like him, so unaccustomed to nature that he often marveled at the sight of the front lawn as he mowed it, the sight was nothing short of miraculous.

Between the vomiting, the raging headache, and the natural wonder before him, his knees went weak, and he collapsed on the edge of the bed. "Ow!" a familiar voice howled from somewhere under the covers.

It couldn't be… "Angela?" he said softly, half-hoping she wouldn't hear him and they could delay the uncomfortable confrontation to come.

"Tony?" She emerged from her cocoon of blankets, eyes squeezed shut and her face pale as a sheet. She looked like a very hung-over butterfly breaking out of a chrysalis.

They stared at each other for what could have been seconds or hours. Her mouth hanging slack, his working silently as they tried to think of something suitable to say. All either of them could come up with was a unanimous, "Uh-oh."

To be continued...