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Dorothy nearly winced as Ben introduced her as 'Helen.' Somehow it didn't fit for him to call her by that name, nor did she take well to the fact that she'd entangled him in a situation where he had to lie for her. She smiled politely, however, and followed the cheerful woman to a room at the back of the house.

Even if Ben hadn't been there -which Dorothy was more strongly grateful for by the moment, despite initial fears- she knew that Francis would have been right in leading her here to stay. The room was charming in a naturally comfortable way that spoke of the south. She was about to comment on this to Mrs Winston, but the pleasant woman left the room with a click of the closing door.

For an awkward moment Dorothy watched Ben stare after Mrs Winston, and then as he met her uncertain gaze. With a shake of her head she busied herself getting settled in. She removed the purse from her shoulder and set it, with her suitcase, near the bed.

As she began unpacking her things, she racked her brain for something appropriate to say. What topic could possibly fit this moment? She and Ben hadn't seen one another for what felt like both months and minutes concurrently, and had said goodbye as though they wouldn't be seeing one another for much longer, unless by happenstance. They had just reunited with a decently successful first conversation, had held hands even...what was she to make of that? What had their transactions spelt about their current relationship? She wouldn't have been found lacing her fingers with Charlie's if he'd shown up, and yet there was nothing definitive between herself and Ben. What was this?

Unsettling feelings, a cocktail of comfort and unease at his presence, set Dorothy off balance. Maybe she could just ask if he minded excusing her for the evening. After all, she had come for some rest and quiet. Or maybe she could just close the distance between them and let her lips remember his; forget about the needed conversations for a few unburdened moments or more.

"I'll go with you." Dorothy offered. She tested the bed with her hands before sitting on its edge. Another silence spanned between them across the room, though their eyes never parted. Finally she scooted over marginally, and patted the quilted space beside her. If he was going to help her, she felt that she owen him any answers or explainations that he needed,"What can I tell you, Ben?"

Ben felt his heart lift a little (OK, who was he kidding, a lot) when she offered to go with him to wherever his next night's sleep would be in New Orleans. Of course, he knew that it was just in New Orleans that she offered to follow him but he could not help but see this offer translated in the heavy silence into one that would result in her coming back to New York with him.

He walked across the floorboards, which creaked slightly underfoot, and sat down next to her on the brightly-patterned quilt. He ran the pad of his thumb over the worn fabric for a moment before speaking.

"What can you tell me...?" he repeated, with a half smile, still looking down at the quilt. He felt nervous. "What happened? With Wallenstein, I mean. Why aren't you back in the city with him?" he asked cautiously, lifting his pale eyes back to hers again.

Ben was a journalist. He was used to asking the sort of questions that needed to be asked but this felt intrusive and he was uncomfortable with probing a wound that might still be sore. Still, he needed to know; he needed to know if her breaking it off with Wallenstein was anything to do with him. If it was then maybe whatever it was that existed between them (for Ben could feel that there was something) could be salvaged even if the reason she'd run away to New Orleans without first coming to see him was still not clear. If not... Then, once he'd made sure that Dorothy was safe, the train station beckoned.

Leaving New York was a still fresh wound, and Ben's question stabbed nearly at the center of it. Dorothy could have, should have, expected an inquiry along those lines. It was Charlie whom Dorothy had told Ben she was leaving him for. Well, perhaps 'leaving' wasn't the correct term, as they hadn't ever established anything enough to be together. Giving up was more apropos.

"You still can't call him Charlie, then, hm?" Dorothy's attempt at teasing fell flat, and she turned her eyes away to concentrate on some knot in the wooden floor.

What she was about to tell Ben would put her in a very vulnerable position; one that she wasn't sure she could trust him with. Despite the aching ways that she longed for the very man that was inches away, Dorothy also felt herself expecting sarcasm, or careless and hurtful arguments to erupt between them.

But she did care about him, just as she knew she always would. Their strange, seemingly unravelable albeit thin strand of a connection pushed her forward.

"I left your apartment and headed straight for Charlie that day. Charlie, who I was convinced was everything that I wanted. And he was...was, as in many years ago." Dorothy sighed heavily as she remembered the way Charlie watched her come to the painful realization that he wasn't everything she was looking for. He wasn't enough.

Dorothy smiled wistfully and somehow managed to look at Ben again, "He wanted to marry me someday, ya know? White picket fence, meals on the table at five, toddling babies running everywhere." She let out a half hearted chuckle and looked away again. "Don't get me wrong, I love children and hope to spend my days getting old with someone. But...well, I realized that I'd been pursuing something in Charlie that I couldn't seem to find in you. He was there for me at all the times that I needed someone most; with my brother, in the alley, at the stand when those goons came around. And he cared about me in a way that would make any girl tremble with jealousy. I guess I was trying to convince myself that it was-"

What had she been trying to make Charlie out to be? All of his commitment and effort, and everything else Ben.

"I really cared about him, Ben. It hurt my heart to tell him goodbye, but not in the same way that it broke my heart with you." At this admonition Dorothy's cheeks reddened, but she continued,"Anyway, who knows? Maybe I didn't give you enough time. But I'd already made my choice. So instead of running the risk of crashing into him or you or any number of memories, I left."

Did any of that make sense to him? Regardless, Dorothy found her heart in the same painful spot it had been that day she'd told them both goodbye. She tried to stifle the storm of tears that sought to run down her cheeks, and sitting so near Ben wasn't helping her any. So she stood from the bed, cleared her throat, and moved to stand near the window. She tried to speak (unsuccessfully) with an unwavering voice, "What else do you want to know?"

Ben listened as she spoke almost as if she were speaking to herself and watched her as she fixed her gaze onto a point on the floor. As she recounted how she had gone back to Wallenstein right after she'd left his apartment, he tried to banish the exquisite jealousy that bubbled within him by examining her delicate features and wondering how the hell he'd ever thought he was good enough to translate them into words in such a way that did them justice. Though he knew how the story would end, that knowledge did not prevent the pinch of hurt that came when she recounted how she'd been certain that Wallenstein had been everything she'd been looking for.

Then she looked back at him and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty. Wallenstein had been there. Sure, Ben had been there for her sometimes but that had only been because they'd chanced across each other in the tangle of New York City. Even then, he'd only succeeded in goading her bimbo of a brother into hitting him, offering haphazard advice or escapist kisses or, as was the case in the second time they'd met in the alley behind the Gin Blossom, arriving moments too late to be of much use.

As he was reliving those particular failings of his, she uttered something that left him surprised and a little dizzy. He stared at her back as she shakily got up and went over to the window.

He stood up, drawn to her as if physically connected, and hesitated for only a instant before he encircled her waist with his arms and bowed his head to the crook of her neck. She was cool in the humid air of dusk and her skin smooth where he pressed his lips to it at her shoulder. It felt good to feel her against him again and, though he had no idea how she'd react to such contact, he didn't know how else to express himself. Give him a pen and paper and he could write pages but to speak out loud...

"Come back to New York," he said, barely above a whisper, in to her ear. "Come back to the city with me."

While Dorothy wasn't quite sure what direction of questioning she expected from Ben after her explanation, she certainly hadn't been prepared for him to approach her and feel of his arms around her. Nor was she readied for the shiver down her back that followed the electrically charged kiss that he placed on her shoulder.

At the sensation of his lips she pressed her eyes closed, as though resisting the way it affected her. She turned fractionally, instinctively, in his embrace and her hands found either side of his face. Her thumbs tenderly stroked his cheeks and it was almost painful how wonderful it felt as her body pressed against his.

"Oh, Ben." Her voice was low, ragged, and almost desperate in its need for everything that he seemed to be offering in his whispers. Her graceful fingers slid further back through his hair, tugging him closer to her. Her eyes, now open, tore over his features and lingered hungrily on his lips as she pressed her forehead against his. "Ben..."

Go back to New York? With him? Dorothy didn't know how to respond as she stood there, and didn't honestly want to think of any other response than finally feeling his kiss again. But there was something holding her back; something that caused her to hesitate. While every muscle in her body screamed in anger against her, she pulled her eyes away from his and withdrew herself hastily from his arms. She sucked in a trembling breath and distanced herself, because if she were near him or looked at him she would agree to anything he asked.

"I'm sorry, it's just-" Dorothy drew a frustrated hand through her cropped hair and let it rest at the nape of her neck, "I can't just leave with you, Ben. I left, remember? I left you. Hurt you. I told you I wouldn't come back once I'd gone. It's too selfish of me to so easily be swept off my feet. You were wronged, Ben, and you haven't even so much as asked for an apology! In fact, now you're here getting waist deep in my problems. Why...I don't understand why you're trying and fighting, when all I've done is hurt you. You're better than that, Ben, and I told you so. You're not cheap, remember?"



Cora hesitated before raising her hand to knock gently on Michael's door. Anthony was nowhere to be seen, and so she assumed that he was in the office with his brother. Without waiting for a welcoming response, she prematurely reached for the door handle and timidly poked her head in.

"Michael?" She asked, and took a quick, sweeping glance of the room. It didn't appear that Anthony was here either. She brushed it aside and let herself fully into the elegant office, leaning against the door to close it behind her. "I hope I'm not bothering you. I know I should have waited but, I- well, here."

Cora felt emboldened by the note that she held in her hand, having read it herself. In the time that she'd spent in Dorothy's dressing room, Cora had cured herself of trembles and unease at what had happened. She had been asked to help, and she did just as she was told. She held on to a flicker of hope that Michael would be proud of her (if Anthony had told him what had happened), and felt more confident now that she knew Dorothy wouldn't be there. Surely it would be frowned upon for the lead singer to excuse herself from only her second night on the job, especially without permission. Cora didn't care what the personal matter was that Dorothy needed to attend to but instead thought it said something about the state of Dorothy and Michael's relationship if she couldn't speak to him in person.

"Helen left this in her dressing room, and I found it as Anthony told me to get ready there. I'm not sure if she expected you to find it there..." Cora set it down in front of the man behind the desk, and stood there expectantly.

To his great relief, delight and an ache of longing, Dorothy turned instinctively in his arms. Her hands found the sides of his face and he smiled, just a little, a dimple forming in his left cheek. As she pulled him closer, opening her eyes, those eyes that were greener than anything he'd seen before, he could feel her breathe his name against his lips and thought he might go crazy, he wouldn't be able to sleep, or eat, or write, if he didn't kiss her.

But before he could satisfy this need (and he knew it was a need, nothing as trivial as a want), she pulled away, leaving him feeling painfully empty, and stepped back from him. He looked down at her with an expression first of passion thwarted by confusion that slowly changed, the dimple near his mouth gone.

"But-" He looked off to one side in frustration then back at her, his blue eyes close to something like anger. "Sheba, I don't care. Apologise, if it'll make you feel better but I don't care anymore." He took her hand in both of his and pressed it to his mouth in a kiss. "Be selfish, consider me cheap, just come back with me. You can't stay here forever."

How could he tell her that she had done so much more than hurt him? In the few weeks that he'd known her, she'd invaded his thoughts more than any other woman he'd ever met. She'd brought sunlight into a haphazard life otherwise characterised by chasing endless scoops through the grubby underbelly of New York in order to barely scrape his rent money together, flavoured only by the odd casual relationship that rarely made much of an impact on his self-reliant existence. He'd never known what he was missing until she'd left his apartment that grey day in October.

---

Michael looked up from his desk as Cora entered. He had almost completely forgotten about her since the events of last night and this morning, instead focusing his thoughts entirely on her friend. But it was obvious that she had something for him; she had that irritatingly expectant look on her face, like a puppy vying for its owner's attention; he could not imagine such a look on Helen's delicate features.

"Really?" he said, impassively, taking the note and opening it. Even before he read it, he had a suspicion about its contents. After this morning, Helen would try and regain a little of the upper hand that Michael had so deftly taken from her when he relieved her of 'B''s precious letter. His dark eyes scanned the brief lines quickly and, when he had finished, he folded it up and put it inside his jacket pocket, not a hint of the anger that bubbled inside his head obvious on his features.

The arrogance of such an action. The insolence of it. Michael barely let himself dwell on it, for fear that he would reveal his white-hot rage to Cora. He was more determined than ever to break her. And he was inching closer to it; she had chosen to defy him by merely taking the night off, after all. She could have quit, but she hadn't.

"Thank you, Cora. I am glad I can rely on you, even if I cannot on others," he said, standing up and taking her hand to raise calculatingly to his lips. "Come, I suppose I must now make preparations and find another singer at such a late notice." He put her hand on his arm and led the way out of his office and into the sparsely-populated club. It would be two or three hours before it was full. Michael had this much time to find another, more willing canary.

"Tell me, do you know of anyone? Can you sing yourself? You most certainly have the looks to be on a stage," he said, disguising his rather crudely-constructed compliment with a cool tone. He was not thinking with his usual clarity. Of course, Cora would not be able to sing, else she would not be languishing as a cigarette-seller in her native New York, but it would flatter her to ask.

A similar fire took to Dorothy's tone, and she jerked her hand out of his as though his had been a scorching flame, "Don't be a fool, Ben! I don't do cheap, and yes, I am sorry for how I hurt you. If you don't care about yourself, then...well, things like this just don't work that way."

Things like this. Dorothy realized, with a frustrated 'hmpf' and throwing of hands in the air, that she still had no idea what they were even getting at. What this was. Her irritation worked as a catalyst for mental capacity (in comparison to dreamy amorous emotions), and she found it greatly ludicrous what he was asking her to do.

With hands on her hips, she continued in a fast paced fervor, "And just what, exactly, does 'come back to New York with me' mean? What does that look like to you, Ben? Because if I'm going to give up this new life that I've tried to establish, I'd really like to know. What is it you want from me exactly? Will we see one another on a regular basis? Or are you just going to drop me back off on my brother's door step and stop by when you aren't dancing with other women in speakeasies?"

Dorothy waved a hand before her face as though to sweep away those thoughts and the jealousy they aroused. Despite that she'd been told that Josephine Levard was only a coworker, Dorothy had her doubts. In any case, whether he was good with words aloud or not, Dorothy expected Ben to give her more than before. Else they'd be exactly where they were when she left; frustrated, heart sore, and tired. She felt weary simply imagining it.

"Believe it or not, Ben," She continued in a more level tone, willing the anger out of her voice, "I can see myself falling for you further than I already have, and if I'm going to get involved with you, then I need to know what to expect. I need you to care."

She didn't 'do' cheap? So she didn't 'do' him? Ben scowled in a way that didn't suit him and squared up to her.

"Dancing with- Oh, come on," he said, frustratedly, pacing over the wall then turning back around to face her. Somewhere, beneath it all was the vague wonder at how they'd managed to change so rapidly from passion of one sort to passion of another, more negative kind. He remembered when it had all been flirtatious quips and softly joking banter. But that had been the problem, he supposed.

"I could say the same for you with Wallenstein. But that doesn't matter. What does matter, sheba, is that I'm here now, right? I-" Her comment about falling for him further wrong-footed him and he hesitated, his train of thought snagging on her words.

"I-" He crossed his arms over his chest to fight the temptation to take her in his arms again and tried to match the levelness that now permeated her tone. He almost succeeded. "I care," he said, holding her gaze and willing some measure of his sincerity to be manifest in his expression or in his voice. "Dorothy, I want to see you." He shook his head and laughed incredulously at his strength of feeling. "I want to see you all the time! What can I-"

And then a sudden flash of inspiration came to him.

"I'll stay here with you then," he said, with firm determination though his heart was beating out a drumroll in his chest. "For the next few weeks; I'll prove it to you. And then, you can decide if you want to come back to New York with me. If- If you don't, then I'll leave you here in New Orleans." That particular possibility didn't bare thinking about so he focused his mind on its alternative.

Cora was inwardly twisting with delight, pinching herself to keep a ridiculous grin from sprouting upon her face with every new phrase that parted Michael's lips. He seemed full of compliments, and while she had momentarily been concerned that he would be coarse with her, she was now absolute that she'd made the right decision in approaching him with the note.

Thank you, Cora. I am glad I can rely on you, even if I cannot on others. This particular phrase trained its way around her bubbly mind over and over. The 'others' that he couldn't rely on, she interpreted to be Dorothy. Which meant that she, for once, was better than Dorothy and in the eyes of someone she wanted so desperately to impress.

"Oh, Michael, you flatter me!" Giggled Cora, clutching his arm proudly despite the lack of people to witness such a privileged position. She shook her head, "I'm afraid that other than Dorothy, I'm not familiar with any singers. This area is still new, and no, I'm afraid I'm not much of a singer. Dancing is something else all together. Surely you must have someone that could fill in for her?"

In her absent minded, flattery induced stupor she had misplaced the name 'Dorothy' for the name 'Helen.' Perhaps subconsciously she had every intention of making the mistake.



Had this been a different time and a different place, hearing Ben say that he wanted to see her all the time would have elicited a girlish shriek, and he would have found her arms wrapped tightly around his neck with a flurry of kisses upon his face before he could blink. But Dorothy was no longer that girl, and in fact was very much a woman. And this moment held a seriousness that would have made such an ecstatic reaction unbecoming.

With her anger completely defeated, Dorothy nodded solemnly with only a touch of a smile on her lips. His idea, a mission to prove to her all that it was he couldn't quite put into words, was far more of a commitment than anything she'd expected from Ben. And it had the added benefit of allowing her, if she so chose, to have someone by her side as she closed any loose ends before returning to New York.

Her small smile tipped the corner of her lips slightly higher, and a slightly playful glint took to her eyes, "Maybe in that time we can make it a day without arguing, hm?"

Gone was the moment when she wanted to express her desire in a passionate kiss, but there still lingered the longing to be held. His earlier embrace only stoked that flame, and she now she stepped forward, gently wrapped her arms around his middle, placed a thankful kiss on his cheek, and buried her head comfortably into the crook of his neck.

"Thank you, Ben." She said softly, closing her eyes and breathing in the smell of him. Maybe they could make this work.

"No problem, sheba," said Ben, folding his arms around her, thankful for her reaction. He kissed her temple and ran the tips of his fingers through her dark crop of hair. Things were suddenly looking brighter. OK, so they wouldn't be on the sleeper train back to Grand Central tomorrow but... soon. A few weeks. Ben could wait.

"And we did alright with that in the beginning," he said, with a grin into her hair. "I'm sure we can manage."

Outside, the sky was darkening and the last tendrils of the sunset sinking below the skyline were losing themselves in the branches of the willow beyond the window. After a few moments of just allowing himself to enjoy the feel of her slight frame against his, Ben made himself take a step back and, pausing only to push a lock of dark hair away from her face, he turned on the lamp on the table beside the bed. The room was suddenly bathed in a soft light that shone through the embroidered peach fabric of the lampshade, like a glow seen through cupped hands.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?" he said, amazed that he was able to say something like that and for it to be true. With tomorrow would come the bother of finding a new place to stay that he could afford with the pitiful amount of money he'd brought with him and making sure that this Rivarde didn't find out where they were going but, somehow, as long as Dorothy would be there, it would be fine.

---

Michael's mind closed over Cora's use of 'Dorothy' like a vice. That was what the man backstage had called her...

"What did you call-"

They were interrupted by the appearance of Francis; the saxophonist for the house band. In tow was a girl barely in her twenties, blonde and fresh-faced, looking distinctly nervous.

"Mr Rivarde! Mr Rivarde," said Francis, hurrying her over and pushing her forward. "This is Maggie. I heard about Helen not bein' able to make it tonight and thought we could use another canary. Maggie can sing like anything," he said enthusiastically. Michael pretended to look interested, all the time whilst gripping Cora's arm with near-painful tightness.

"I thought she could fill in for tonight. I'll work something out with the rest of the band about the setlist and-"

"That's fine. Manifique, Mr Austin. Take her to the dressing room and show her the stage costumes," said Michael, dismissively. Usually, he would have insisted on hearing her sing but right now, his thoughts were dominated by what Cora had just said and he was willing to let Francis, a musician, judge Maggie's talent.

"Copacetic!" said Francis, shooting him a broad grin and ushering a bewildered Maggie towards the door that led backstage. As soon as they were out of hearing, Michael turned on Cora.

"Why did you call Helen, Cora?" he said, tone like the edge of a knife, eyes dark.

Dorothy warmly received the kiss that Ben planted on her brow, and wished to linger in the easy way that their forms fit together. She found it hard to believe that they'd come to a place which allowed for such tender contact. It felt familiar, like something old that she'd experienced before, and also new. Like visiting someplace she'd been before, and yet was also experiencing for the first time.

A small piece of Dorothy wished to ask Ben to stay, so that they could wake up to tomorrow together. The thought would have been stronger if she'd given it room to grow, but she knew that it was better to say goodbye now and see him after a full night's rest. The following day would bring a whole new burden of things to accomplish, all before she headed off to a night at the Lagniappe; something she was looking less and less forward to. But Ben would be there when the night had finished. Reluctantly she removed her head from his shoulder, and body from his embrace, and moved to open the door.

"Tomorrow." She agreed. Dorothy held the door wide for him to pass by to his own room. "Tomorrow. Together." The sound of the word brought a new, soft smile to her face. "Goodnight, Ben."



Cora's eyes, never as clever or keen at concealing emotions as Dorothy's were, flashed with pain as Michael nearly dragged her along behind him, and then with frightened surprise at his question. As she tried to by time, wetting her lips and willing a look of confusion to take her features, Cora mentally poured over the words she'd used. Had she said something insulting about 'Helen', causing Michael to obtain the fury in his dark eyes? Or was it something else...

Alarm registered like a clanging bell in her brain, as she realized what word she had slipped. A name to be more precise.

"Dorothy..." Cora murmured absently, the name sounding like an apology, and then snapped to attention.

Reading Michael's face did nothing to help her predict his future response, or how she should explain what she'd just let slip. Cora had unintentionally let slip her friend's real name. Nothing to be hidden, as Dorothy had chosen 'Helen' only to forget about the past. But in such a context, it meant that she had lied to Michael. And by the sharpness in the features surrounding his blazing eyes, Cora understood that this was not a wise thing to do. But perhaps she could still save herself.

Cora continued, "I called her Dorothy. It's her real name. I had no idea you didn't know! I swear I'd have told you, if I did. Helen is her middle name, see? She's been using it ever since coming here. Apparently running away from someone she doesn't want to be anymore. Or someone she doesn't want to remember." Ben, Charlie, Birdie...there were plenty of persons Dorothy was running away from.

"'Night, sheba," said Ben with a grin that showed the dimple in his cheek. With a last backwards glance at her, he left the soft glow of Dorothy's room and stepped out into the dim corridor. From the other end, the door of the room next to Ben's opened and a man, non-descript and wearing a shirt and braces (perhaps he was some kind of businessman) and carrying a towel emerged.

Ben, still almost giddy from the events of that evening, nodded to him as he shut the door behind him, giving the man a glimpse of Dorothy.

"I believe I'm your next door neighbour," said the man, pausing to hold out an unusually delicate hand. "My name is Edward Solomon."

"Ben Goldberg," said Ben, without thinking. If he'd been more alert he would have hesitated to give out his name after what Dorothy had told him that evening, but now he could barely think about anything else apart from her and the prospect of her being his.

The man nodded and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Mr Goldberg," he said. "Excuse me..." The man disappeared into the communal bathroom at the end of the corridor and Ben thought no more about it. He padded back and pushed open the door to his room. Haphazardly stripping off his shirt and trousers, he lay back on top of the thin quilt and watched the faint night breeze blow back the curtains, wishing two walls and a room did not separate him from Dorothy.

---

"I see."

Michael watched Cora very closely, looking to see if she was telling some falsehood or twisting around some explanation to cover for Helen (or Dorothy, as Michael would now think of her). As far as he could tell, there was no such intentional deception; something she was with-holding, yes, but it would not be for long. She had dangled Dorothy's past in front of him, meaning for him to take hold of it and draw it from her. She did not intend to put up a fight.

So much for loyalty, he thought, though he was glad for her weakness. But had he really expected any more from her?

"And who is this someone, Cora?" he said in a low voice, some of the sharpness from his tone dissipating. He drew her to one side and, still holding her tightly, sat down on one of the plush chaise longues, giving her no chance to escape. "I do hope you can help me. It would not do to let Helen's personal issues affect her work here at the Lagniappe," he added, pointedly, in a clear reference to her absence.

Under such lavish attention, and from a man whom she wanted to be interested in her, how could Cora not blossom with all sorts of information about a friend whom she so despised at the moment? Were she more thoughtful, she may have withheld bits and pieces until she was given something in return; a promised date, a kiss, anything really. But instead, Cora gushed on and on, answering any questions that Michael Rivarde felt he needed answered.

And so the complete history of Dorothy -all that Cora knew, anyhow- was revealed to him. The story of Ben, Charlie, her wayward brother George, and family matters. After all that she'd offered to please him, Cora found herself feeling slighted when she wasn't invited home with Michael for the evening. In due time he'd reward her, she told herself.




Sun spilled through a lacy curtained window, much like it had each morning in the room she occupied at Otto's house. As her eyes fluttered open, however, there failed to be the sinking heart feeling that each new day had previously held. She was so accustomed to being hit with the remembrance that she was away from home, away from those that she loved, and freshly heartbroken that she didn't know how to respond to waking up light hearted and hopeful.

As it turned out, this new optimism provoked her to greet the day with a smile and hurry to ready for the day. She showered and dressed, styled her hair, modestly applied make up, and was ready to begin the search for a new abode all before the other guests had even risen. Only the sounds of the morning larks and those preparing breakfast accompanied her.

The evening before, as Ben left her room, she'd watched him until he was inside his own dwelling quarters. And now, she approached the door which was his, and rapped her knuckles upon it. She didn't bother to consider if he might be sleeping in, or if he were a late riser. Too preoccupied with the happy thought of seeing him again, she was, and so she eagerly awaited seeing his face as he opened the door to her.

Ben appeared at the door half-dressed, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. A light sleeper (but one who invariably kept freelancer's hours and slept in late), he'd woken up only when he'd heard the knock on his door. Hastily pulling on his trousers and shrugging on a shirt over his bare chest, he tugged the door open expecting to see Mrs Winston with a duster wanting to clean his room. Instead, he saw Dorothy.

For an instant, his stomach swooped in joyous bewilderment. Then the events of the previous evening came back to him in a flash and he smiled.

"Hold on, sheba," he said, leaving the door open and going back into his room to do up his shirt and put on his shoes. "I'm not used to getting up this early..."

A few moments later, fully-dressed if more than a little dishevelled, he stood up and let her lead the way downstairs to where the smell of Mrs W's now-famous fritters would be drifting out of the kitchen.

"Sleep well?" he said, brightly. Ben did not normally function well in the morning. But today, seeing Dorothy was better than any strong cup of coffee or hastily-smoked cigarette for clearing the mugginess of sleep from his head. Everything was lighter, brighter. Hell, he might even attempt breakfast.

"I'll ask Mrs W if she knows of anywhere else we can stay," he said, relishing the ability to say 'we' rather than 'I'. It had been 'I' for a long time but somehow the transition didn't seem to bother him at the moment. "There must be dozens of guesthouses like this in New Orleans. Even if the coffee isn't as good..." he added, as they reached the ground floor and the delicious bitter smell of grounds greeted them.

Dorothy considered her peaceful night, and smiled. She'd slept well. More than well, in fact. Every night since she'd left his apartment felt just as lonely as when her husband had first left for the war. Empty, quiet, and swarming with painful thoughts that she didn't have any success in smothering. But last night had been pleasantly dream filled, and deeply refreshing.

And now, with the sharp accents of quality coffee beans being ground filling the air, Dorothy felt as though she'd awaken to a whole new day in a different world. A world with Ben by her side, eyes smiling and not glistening with tears, talks of their future (even if it was only the immediate future), rather than an end to anything they might have had.

At Ben's not so subtle mention of coffee, Dorothy smirked and nodded in the direction of a small table for them to share. She went about securing them both a fresh and piping mug of java, and returned to where Ben was sitting. Dorothy set one mug in front of him and was very tempted to plant a kiss on his brow before taking her own seat, cradling her own mug between her hands.

"Do you think...maybe we shouldn't ask for help. I mean, what if someone asks about me, or you, or us?" Despite the serious nature of her question, Dorothy couldn't keep a smile from blossoming at her use of the word 'us.' She took a sip of coffee and continued, "It would seem funny to ask Mrs. Winston not to mention anything, you know? I'm not even sure that Michael would go so far as to ask after us, but what if he did? I suppose he doesn't know that I am here. It's probably nothing to sweat, yeah?"

Despite her attempt to reassure them, Dorothy found herself truly considering the answer to her 'what if' question. Assuming that Michael would be so persistent as to try and find Ben, what would he do if he did? Threaten him to stay away? Ask how he knew her? She'd seen a glimpse of what lie beneath his cool facade, but Dorothy had a feeling that she knew little of what Michael Rivarde was truly capable of.

Ben took the cup of java gratefully and inhaled the caffeinated steam with visible enjoyment.

"I dunno, but if you think that's best, sheba, then that's what we'll do," he said, casting his gaze over to where Mrs Winston was pouring freshly-squeezed orange juice into glasses. He wasn't sure what he could say to Mrs W to explain that he and Dorothy would have to leave the guesthouse, but not New Orleans itself but he was sure that the good-natured woman would accept it without many questions.

"Give me a moment..." he took a brief sip of the strong, fragrant coffee and stood up, crossing the breakfast room.

Mrs Winston turned around when she saw him approach. "And how're you doin', darlin'?" she said, with a pointed smile over to the table where Dorothy sat. "And how's that bright young thing of yours...?"

"We're copacetic, Mrs W," Ben said with a grin. "But I'm afraid we're gonna have to move out today."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, gently. "So the two of you are heading back to the Big Apple, huh?"

Ben shifted his feet. "Well... No, at least, not yet," he added, with a glance back to Dorothy. "I- I'm sorry, Mrs W, I can't tell you. There might be some trouble and I don't wanna get you caught up in it," he said apologetically.

Mrs Winston looked at him thoughtfully, her arms crossed over her ample bosom, looking as if she were fully able to take on whatever 'trouble' came her way. "Hmm. Alright, sugar, but you be careful, ya hear me? The both of ya."

Ben nodded, and took his wallet from his back pocket to settle the (rather, paltry, at least compared to New York prices) cost of his and Dorothy's rooms. He still had sixty dollars left to his name.

Going back over to the table, he sat back down opposite Dorothy.

"All sorted, sheba. We just need to get our things and get out of here," he said. Behind him, Mr Shaw entered the breakfast room, dressed as smartly as ever, and sat down at a small table in the corner.

Dorothy smiled kindly at the new face that entered the dining area, and then went back to watching Ben closely. She was shaking her head at him as he returned to their table.

"Right, grab our things and look for a new place to stay. So, since you've taken to being my sugar daddy and all," Dorothy gestured mildly towards Mrs Winston and the payment he'd just made on Dorothy's behalf, "I think it would be best if we shared a room from now on. I mean, only to save you some clams of course."

Her features were placid, but if Ben looked close enough he'd notice a small wrinkle at the corner of her lips which indicated a hidden smirk. There was also the playful glint in her shining green eyes.

"Or you could let me pay my own way." It felt comfortably familiar to reinstate their playful jabs at one another. She could hardly wait for what he would volley back in her direction. "Your choice, sheik."

"I think that's a copacetic idea, sheba," said Ben, deadpanning. He drained the dregs of his coffee and set the empty mug down in front of him. "I don't want you paying but I don't get a lot of jack for freelancing, you know..."

"In fact, I'm not sure I can afford a twin room. It might have to be a double, I'm afraid," he added, a glint in his own pale blue eyes that mirrored the one in hers.

It was easy to slip back into the old flirtatiousness and Ben felt more at ease treading on this ground, even if, he supposed, it would ultimately be hollow unless there was some foundation to it. But they were working on that, right? Last night had laid the first brick and Ben was getting used to the idea of something more solid beneath their feet.

"But that's no use unless we find somewhere to stay. I was thinking... We could head down to the Picayune offices; that's the paper I've been doing some freelance work for whilst I'm down here, and ask around, see if they know of anywhere," he said, thinking of Evie. She'd been unexpectedly helpful in providing contacts so far; maybe the grudge that he assumed she'd hold had been more imagined than anything. Perhaps she could help him again.

---

Michael listened carefully to every detail of what Cora told him, cutting through the jealousy and the possessiveness that surged within him with razor-sharp attention. He stored it away in the darkest recesses of his mind, ready to be drawn on or used to his advantage later. So 'B' was Benjamin Goldberg, a Jewish freelance journalist from Helen AKA Dorothy's native New York who had, it seemed, followed her on her emotional flight to the South. How touching. But how very isolated a position he had stupidly put himself in. He would be simple to deal with.

But now was not the time to plan, not when Cora needed attending to and rewarding for her loyalty which, although verging on pathetic, had been extremely useful.

"Thank you, Cora," he said, smoothly, waving to an attending waiter to bring them both drinks. "I only wish that Helen had been more honest with me, and that she was... a little more reliable." He cast his gaze towards the stage where the band, minus their saxophonist, had begun to play a few warm-up numbers. "But let this unpleasantness not spoil our night."

The waiter reappeared and Michael handed Cora an exquisitely-garnished martini. "I think you should take the night off, Cora," he said, leaning back luxuriously on the chaise longe. "Paid of course. You can enjoy yourself."


Backstage, Maggie had squeezed herself into one of the dresses she'd found in the dressing room; a baby-blue drop-waisted silk dress embroidered with cream geometric detail and silvery beads, and was pacing the boards backstage whilst Francis, once he'd recovered from the shock of exactly how different the sweet little Maggie from Mrs W's guest-house looked in a full-on vampy flapper dress, tried to calm her.

"Chick, ya'll be fine. You know the set-list; they're all standards, Mags, I've heard ya sing them! We've got the lyrics hidden behind the double-bass if you need them," he said, taking her hands to stop her from wringing them.

"Why the hell did I let ya talk me into this Francis Austin?" she said, tears gathering in eyes she's hastily underlined with heavy kohl in the mirror back in the dressing room. "Why the hell-"

"Shhh, you'll burn it out there, baby," said Francis, edging her towards the curtain as the song outside drew to a close. He took the white silk flower he'd lifted from one of the vases on the tables out in the club and secured it in the finger curls by her ear. She looked up at him in surprise. "Ready? Good." With that, he pulled her out onto the stage to the sound of a chorus of cheers.

Dorothy had grown up with several slow moving siblings and friends, which wasn't to say that they literally took a lumbering pace whist walking. Slow moving in life, they were, always hesitant to make decisions that would bring about any change. But Dorothy had always thrived on change, and it hadn't been difficult for her to uproot herself from the farm and move to the city. And aside from the heartaches, heading southward had been an easy transition as well. A new job and way of life always seemed to meet her.

Finally, it seemed, she'd met her match with Ben. Perhaps the truest smile of the day brightened her face, and she shook her head at the thought that he not only had pursued her, but he'd found a wonderful place to stay (which made her even more sorry to leave), and even had some semblance of a job to keep the clams coming in. She briefly wondered what else there was to Ben that she hadn't yet caught onto.

"That sounds just jake. Let's ankle, then."



Cora found Michael's response both confusing and alluring. She'd never ben much of one to pick up on the subtle nuances of the deeper feelings flickering beneath his (or anyones) composure, but even Cora couldn't help but trace something unusual in his features.

But just as soon as she had wondered about it, Michael's words swept her curiosity away to a new delight. He'd given Cora the night off, but had also called her a drink. And he had referred to the evening as 'our evening': a term that deemed the night exclusively theirs to indulge in. Suddenly any believable images she'd created of Dorothy accompanying Michael home, earnings his kisses, or even possibly sharing his bed vanished. They couldn't possibly by true. A man such as Michael, who had himself called Dorothy unreliable, wouldn't waste his time.

Cora remained where she sat, but leaned towards Michael in a way that flattered the lines of her curvy figure with the ambient lighting, "A night off it is, then. But I cannot imagine any more enjoyable way to spend such time...than with you."

The walk down to the offices of The Picayune was a pleasant one; the humid heat of the day had not yet settled low into the streets and the morning air was still fresh. Leaving Dorothy in the lobby downstairs, Ben ventured into the newsroom alone, thinking it best to approach Evie alone. As it had turned out, the female reporter was in what Ben cautiously judged to be a good mood and as soon as she saw him, she told him that the contact she'd arranged for him to meet about Rivarde would be able to see him today in a little coffee shop down by the river bank. (This was something he'd decided not to tell Dorothy.) When he asked about a place to stay, a harder expression passed over Evelyn's features.

"Just you?" she said, raising one arched eyebrow.

"No, two of us," said Ben firmly, not wanting Evelyn to dig any deeper on the subject of Dorothy. To his great surprise, she only made a passing comment.

"So you found your girl Friday, then?" she said, sardonically. "Wait here, I might know of somewhere you could stay for a few weeks at least." With that, she'd disappeared back into one of the private offices at the back of the newsroom, apparently to use the phone. This made Ben immediately suspicious; why could she not use the phone at her desk? But then, he could think of no real reason why she'd want to conceal the conversation she was having with his future landlord anyway. Perhaps she was telling him that Ben had a track record of missing rent payments. More likely, she was on the phone to a contact she did not wish to share with the entire newsroom. News hawks were often jealously private about their important contacts, especially when they were not the most savoury people.

And so, Ben had been given an address, this time across town on a street called Dauphine Avenue. It had been a good twenty minutes walk to get there but when they arrived, Ben found himself in an unexpectedly affluent part of town. The address had led them to a modern block of apartments in a quiet neighbourhood. Making their way inside, they took the stairs to the second floor where, as Evie had said there would be, a key had been left under the mat of No. 8. Inside, they were greeted with a small but fashionable apartment that had, by the layer of dust that caked the surfaces of the Art Deco surfaces, been vacant for at least six months. A kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom all led off the main living area.

Ben dropped his suitcase on the floor gratefully and went over to the large windows at the far side of the place. They overlooked a small, sun-bleached park situated just across the road from the river.

"Almost as good as Mrs W's place," he said, with mild incredulity, scarcely able to believe his luck. Of course, the rent Evie had told him he'd have to pay was a good deal more than what he'd been paying at the guesthouse. But with a little help from Dorothy's job as a singer, the two of them should manage. It was certainly far less that what this place was worth, however...