A/N: Sometimes under stress, a person's brain can conjure up all kind of scenarios that bear only the most tenuous connection to reality. Case in point: Roxy's musings near the end of this chapter. Also, please note that in the UK, the term 'pudding' is often used to refer to desserts in general.

Chapter 32

Minx started. For a moment, her gaze travelled over Roxy from top to toe. Roxy felt her confidence wilt as she realized how she must appear to the other woman: lousy haircut, patchy color job, neutral cosmetics… Her clothes were designer, but they'd been stuffed in a suitcase when she'd left Vegas and she hadn't bothered to send them out for ironing, so they looked grungy and not fashionably grungy either. Time seemed to freeze as Minx smiled coldly, her nose tilting upwards. "This is not the right time or the right place to ask for an autograph, meine leibe. You'll have to send a self-addressed envelope to my fan club office, like everyone else."

"Huh?" Roxy was too taken aback to feel anger, at least not right away. "Minx, it's Roxy! Don't you know me?"

Minx's eyes widened slightly. Then, her nose rose higher. "I can't say the name rings a bell," she murmured, already turning away.

Roxy took a step forward. "Now, hang on—"

And then another voice spoke and, while it didn't shout, it seemed to resonate and carry around the room. "If everyone could please take your seats," Michelle said, "I'll call this meeting to order."

Roxy shot a baleful look at Minx's retreating back, but she found a seat at one end of the half-circle of chairs and slid into it. If this turned out to be the mistake it was looking like, she'd be able to get out of here without tripping over anybody else's feet!

"So," Rory ventured, "did I pass?"

Phyllis tilted the receiver away from her lips to sigh. "If you're asking whether she talked about you when we got home, the answer's no. Give her time. Let her get to know you."

"I know, I know," Rory said. "I guess I was hoping we'd see each other and there'd be this instant connection, like…"

"Love at first sight, parent-child style?" Phyllis asked dryly. "Welcome to the real world."

"She's a sweet girl," Rory said. "I want to see her again soon. If she wants to see me, I mean."

Phyllis considered. "I'll sound her out on the idea," she said slowly. "If she's okay with it, we can set up another meeting."

Rory hesitated. "I'd like to see you again, too," he said quietly.

She hadn't expected that. "To talk about Hana May?" she asked.

"And other things," Rory replied. A decade ago, he would have been flirting, but this evening, he sounded serious. A decade ago, she would have thrown herself at him, but how much of that would have been about wanting him for himself, and how much would have been about wanting him because he'd wanted Jem? "I enjoyed our time together today, too, Phyllis," Rory continued. "If there's already someone in your life, then we can pretend I never said what I just said, but if there isn't… would you be open to doing something together, just the two of us?"

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. "You're asking me on a date," she translated.

"Yes."

A decade ago, she would have been over the moon. Now, though, "I'll have to check my schedule. And just so you know, I'm not exactly a wild party girl these days."

"I'm not looking for a wild party girl."

"And I'm not a goody-goody like Jem, either."

"My only interest in Jem these days is professional."

"Had a fight?"

"We would have had to have been together for that," Rory sighed. "There was attraction, but at the end of the day, I think she and I are better as friends than lovers."

Phyllis laughed suddenly. "Would you listen to us? When did we all get so mature?"

"Responsibilities have a way of doing that. So, was that a yes?"

"It was a maybe."

"Still better than a no," Rory said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll be in touch."

As they ended the call, it occurred to Phyllis that mature people could still flirt after all.

Roxy wasn't sure what she'd been expecting from the meeting. From what other people had told her, it had sounded like it would be a whole bunch of people crying about how their lives had been in the toilet because of the awful, awful booze, but now everything was sunshine and rainbows and a Jem hit since they'd sobered up!

The reality hadn't been nearly that awful. Sure, there had been a few speakers who had made her roll her eyes and she'd had to bite her tongue not to mutter something snarky under her breath about bringing veggies and dip to the pity party potluck. There had also been speakers who had caught her attention by admitting that their lives were still pretty messed up, and that they were still working on 'rebuilding a bunch of bridges they'd burned', but that coming to these meetings helped them see that they weren't alone. (Maybe she'd still rolled her eyes at them, but not nearly as much.)

She hadn't spoken. Neither had Minx. After the meeting, when everyone had gone back to the refreshments tables, she'd slipped away, mumbling something about finding the ladies' room in case anyone was about to waylay her and ask her what she'd thought or whether she'd be back.

Back in the elevator, she pushed the button for her floor. Maybe this was a first step: she wasn't rushing out to a bar for a drink after the meeting. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she didn't need any more bad publicity, if she drank more than she planned and did something that would work against her when her court date came up again. "One day at a time," she muttered, repeating a catch-phrase that she'd heard enough tonight to have stuck in her head. "Or one night, anyway. I can get through tonight without a drink."

What was Minx's problem anyway? The blonde had always been stuck-up and spoiled, kinda like Pizzazz used to be, minus the loyalty and the sense of humor. And yet, here she was in an AA meeting. No need for her to go sticking her nose in the air like she was so much better than everyone else. "When was her last hit single?" Roxy muttered derisively. Damn, she could use a dr— She choked off the thought before she could finish it. She absolutely was not going to get hammered tonight. And if she was, it wouldn't be because Ingrid "Minx" Kruger wouldn't give her the time of day!

No, she was going to… to… Just what the hell did she do these days when she didn't have a gig and she wasn't out partying? "Damn, I'm pathetic," she muttered as the elevator doors opened. Her shoulders slumped a bit lower as she made her way back to her room.

"There's something missing," Emma sighed. "It just sounds… babyish."

Wendy clucked sympathetically. "However do you mean? I thought it sounded wonderful!"

"That's just…" Emma felt her face grow hot. "I was going to say it was just because I was the only singing it, but I don't mean it like that! It's… I don't know how to write music. When I sing it alone, it sounds fine, but when we all sing it together, we're all singing the same thing and…" Her eyes widened slightly. "Harmony. That's it. We shouldn't all be singing exactly the same notes, but I don't know how to write other notes. I didn't even write these; Kimber did."

Wendy frowned, considering. "Well," she said slowly, "I suppose that there are two ways to go about it. We can… find a piano and see if we can learn what notes sound best played together through trying different combinations, or we can go to the library. I'm sure that there must be some book that lays it all out."

"I don't need somebody shushing me every time I want to say something," Emma groaned. "And I'm no good at looking stuff up." She winced. "But even if we found a piano, it's not like I can read music."

"No," Wendy said, smiling just a bit, "but I can."

Emma started to smile back. "There are a couple of pianos at Starlight House," she remembered. "I don't know if I can reserve one or if we'll have to hope that one of them is free when you come over, but I can find out."

"Yes," Wendy enthused. "And I'll ask my brother if he knows of any others, in case the ones you know of aren't available." Impulsively, she squeezed Emma's arm. "It'll be grand!"

Emma's eyes widened at the contact, but after a moment, she clasped her friend's shoulder warmly. "Yeah," she repeated. "Grand."

Pan heard the Shadow's report with a frown. "She's still happy," he repeated. "Still feeling… loved?"

"It would seem so," the Shadow replied dryly. "And much as it pains me to report, I don't believe our agent is shirking her mission. Hope is a powerful thing and where it flickers, with the right fuel, it will flame."

"Ah but some flames rise up for but an instant and then burn out," Pan replied. "Visit Wendy in another night or two. Impress on her the importance that she keeps playing the game. Show her what illusions you like to make your point, you know well enough the sort that will spur her forward. And then sit back and wait."

The Shadow shook its head. "You're that sure she can accomplish her task," it marveled. "Despite all setbacks."

Pan smirked. "Have you ever known me to fail, Shadow?"

"Never," the Shadow admitted grudgingly, and Pan laughed.

"I've no intention of starting now. Be off, then. Report back to me when you've done."

Despite his contemptuous tone, he gave his oldest companion on the island the courtesy of watching as took once more to the skies, only returning to camp when its inky blackness had become indistinguishable from the gathering storm clouds overhead.

"Emma?" Emma looked up to see Casey standing before her. "Want to go downstairs and play table tennis?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm no good at that."

"Neither am I," Casey informed her. "But we can still have fun playing."

Emma bent over her notebook again. "No thanks."

Casey sighed dramatically. "You never want to do anything with me or Stephanie anymore," she protested. "If you're not with Wendy, you're doing stuff for the band! Aren't we still friends?"

Emma let the notebook fall to her lap. "Casey! Of course we are! You and Stephanie are the first friends I made here! It's just that the song I wrote… it needs another verse, and I can't make the words come!"

"Maybe you're trying too hard," Casey suggested. At Emma's questioning look, the other girl continued, "Sometimes, when I'm trying to write a composition and I can't find the right words, I go do something else for an hour or so. Sometimes I go for a walk and think about it, but a lot of times, I watch TV or I put on cassette, or I play a game. And then when I go back to the composition, somehow, the words are there."

"But," Emma blinked, "don't you run out of time? I mean, if you're doing other stuff, what happens if you're having so much fun, you don't go back to the composition?"

Casey shrugged. "I tell myself how much time away I'm going to take and I try to stick to it."

"And that works?" Emma had a hard enough time staying focused on schoolwork when she liked the subject.

"Well," Casey said, shrugging again, "I guess, maybe, I try to start my compositions earlier than the night before they're due, so I have time to take those breaks."

Emma groaned. "I knew there was a catch."

"Give it a try," Casey said, almost pleading. "Stephanie's so much better than me that it's no fun playing table tennis with her. And if you want," she suggested, "I can listen to your lyrics afterwards."

Emma was relieved that Casey hadn't offered to help her write them. Maybe they weren't coming as easily as she might have liked, but they were all hers. She sighed. "Okay," she said, getting up with a smile. "I'll give it a shot. Let me put this back in my room and we'll go down there together."

Casey smiled back.

"And then he asked me out," Phyllis finished.

Jerrica was silent for a moment. Then, she asked carefully, "So…?"

"I don't know," Phyllis admitted, lifting her coffee mug and taking a sip. "Time was when I thought he and me could have something. Of course, the fact that he was putting the moves on Jem at the time might've had something to do with it."

Jerrica smiled. "You did have that rivalry going on back then."

"Yeah." She winced. "Part of me wonders if he's only interested in me now because Jem turned him down."

Jerrica shook her head. "As far as I know, they haven't spoken in years. I think Jem's pretty much moved on."

"With Rio?" Phyllis asked in a tone that might almost have been sympathetic.

Jerrica shook her head. "No, she's currently unattached," she replied.

Phyllis snorted. "Well, good. I mean, the guy was playing both of you, right? At the time, I was furious I couldn't get him away from Jem, but if he was fooling around with the two of you behind each other's backs, he'd have cheated on me in the end, too."

"I…" Jerrica swallowed. "It wasn't like that."

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. "You mean, you weren't exclusive?"

Jerrica said nothing, but a flush spread over her cheeks. Phyllis laughed. "Next you'll be telling me it was a threesome!"

Jerrica shook her head. "It wasn't," she mumbled. "I just… thought we had… more than we did. So, it was fine with me if he spent time with Jem. It wasn't behind my back. I knew all about it, but I thought it was okay. I thought we were okay. And then I found out we… weren't."

"So, he dumped you for Jem and then he dumped her? Or she dumped him?"

"She liked him," Jerrica said softly. "As a friend. When she saw things were going further, she came to me. We talked about it. Then Rio and I talked about it. Things were said. By all of us," she clarified. "Some of them… hurt. And in the end, we all went our separate ways."

Phyllis shook her head. "And now you and Jem are working together," she said. "You gonna be okay with that?"

Jerrica nodded. "She's a professional. So am I. We're managing."

"Yeah." Phyllis took another swig of now-lukewarm coffee. "Well, if you ever decide that being a professional sucks, give me a call. I still have a few dirty tricks up my sleeve and I can't think of a nicer person to use them on, if you want me to."

Jerrica shook her head, but a small chuckle escaped her and Phyllis smirked.

"No, don't," Jerrica said. "Seriously." She hesitated. "But thanks, anyway."

"Hey," Phyllis answered, "what are friends for?"

Marisol was giving Hana May her dinner when Phyllis walked in. "That looks good," she said, eyeing the macaroni and cheese casserole. "There any left over?"

"Marisol made a whole pan!" Hana May proclaimed. "She said you'd be hungry when you came home!"

Phyllis smiled at her nanny. "You were right," she admitted. "Thanks." She meant it, too. She'd only hired the woman to look after Hana May, but Marisol seemed to be unable to cook a single serving of any meal. She glanced at the pan. There were easily three or four servings left. "Uh, does this freeze?" she asked. She never could remember the rules, especially when it came to pasta.

"Oh, yes," Marisol assured her. "Just let it thaw in the fridge before you reheat."

"Thanks." She bent down to look at Hana May. "Hey, kid," she said. "What did you think of Mr. Llewellyn yesterday?"

Hana May shrugged. "He was nice."

"Would you like to see him again?"

"Sure."

"Okay," Phyllis said.

"Phyllis?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is Mister Loo-lin your boyfriend?"

Phyllis blinked. "Why? Do you think I need a boyfriend?"

Hana May shrugged. "He was nice," she repeated.

"Well," Phyllis said slowly, "right now, he's just my friend."

"So, if he's your friend, and he's a boy," Hana May said with a giggle, "then he's your boyfriend!"

Phyllis searched for the words to explain the difference between a 'friend who was a boy' and a 'boyfriend' in terms a four-year-old could grasp, but Rory's earlier phone call was also weighing on her. If he was interested in exploring a relationship with her, then Hana May's assessment, while not quite on the mark today, might become accurate down the road. If that happened, would Hana May remember this conversation later and think that Phyllis had lied to her? Or would she be confused? Phyllis closed her eyes briefly. It had been a long day and she was tired. "Whatever, kid," she said cheerfully. "Whatever."

Roxy pawed frantically through her suitcase. She knew she had a mini of scotch in there somewhere, or was it rum? It didn't matter. She needed it. Her life was in the toilet and the enormity of what the future might hold was weighing on her tonight and she couldn't face it alone. She'd made it almost a full twenty-four hours without a drink, but enough was enough; she needed a nip of something and she barely cared what!

She could go to a bar, but with her luck, someone from that meeting she'd been to would see her going in or coming out. Probably Minx. And the next time Roxy went back, the blonde would be smirking at her. She'd probably tell everyone at the meeting. She could hear it now.

…And while I've been strong enough to stay clear of strong drink, I saw Roxy go into a bar barely a day after coming to last week's session!

She'd never live it down. She could picture the looks of pity, of disgust. They'd probably kick her out. Maybe they'd even blacklist her so she couldn't go to any other meetings. She couldn't deal with that. She absolutely had to find that bottle!

She yanked out clothes and flung them willy-nilly about the room. Toiletries and cosmetics followed. Her guitar picks. And then, her hand closed on something smooth, hard, and flat. What the hell…? She looked at the book and her gaze softened. My First Reader. She remembered Ba Nee giving it to her when she'd been at a different low point in her life. At the time, she hadn't believed that her life could be any better than the pile of crap it had felt like then. But things had gotten better. No. She'd made them better. She'd read every word of that book, not caring that everyone else she knew could already do so easily. Well, maybe she'd cared a little bit. At least, she'd cared enough not let anyone catch her stumbling over the words as she fought her way through the slim volume. And no, finishing the reader hadn't made much difference to her finances or her career… but it had made a difference for her.

Roxy sank onto the bed. And then, not really paying attention to what she was doing, she opened the reader to the first page. "I see the boy," she read aloud softly.

She'd learned how to read at twenty. It had been hard, but she'd managed. If she'd been able to do that, then she could learn how to stop drinking at twenty-seven. "I see the boy," she whispered. "See him run…"

Wendy pushed open the door of the flat and sighed. It was so strange and so unfair! Today, she'd gone searching for some of her favorite puddings. Nothing so elaborate as spice marble cake or the vanilla blancmange that Liza had poured into a mold to set—so that it came out looking rather like a crown with rounded 'fingers' instead of pointy bits at the top—and then garnished with pansies. No, she'd gone looking for a shop that sold syllabub or treacle tart or even bread-and-butter pudding. She'd visited the food courts of no fewer than four shopping malls and not a vendor had known what she was on about. Fancy never having heard of syllabub!

Dejected, she'd finally purchased an order of popcorn shrimp and a cinnamon apple pie. The shrimp had tasted far better that evening when Emma had introduced her to it, and the pie had been a fried rectangle of filled dough, not a proper wedge slice, nor a half-moon or triangular hand-pie. Fancy fried rectangular pies!

"Nothing fancy about this lot," she muttered to herself. "It's simply peculiar, that's what!"

As she shut the door behind her, she realized that she was alone in the flat. Right. John had mentioned that he'd be a bit late getting back as he had to… to… Well, truth be told, she didn't recall what her brother had said he'd needed to do. Doubtless something quite important that she couldn't make head nor tail of, and that he couldn't properly explain. Really, this was all getting rather tiresome. In fact, sometimes she thought that John had grown rather tiresome, but then she quickly reminded herself of the days and weeks when she'd yearned to see him again, if only for a moment and she was ashamed.

"Oh, John," she whispered. "I was always the eldest. How could you grow up before me and leave me so far behind?"

Her eyes burned and she swiped angrily at her tears. No point being a bigger baby than she already felt! She blinked. When had the sky grown so dark? Surely the sun hadn't already set in the few minutes since she'd stepped inside.

The darkness surged inside the room engulfing her with a soft, sinister, and all-too-familiar chortle and Wendy screamed.