cher62: Truth Before Dawn (TBD) Summary


Clint Buchanan currently is the man who seems to hold Dorian's interest; but not too long ago, Dorian was married to a Pulitzer prize winning journalist name Mel Hayes, who worked at The Banner with Clint.

Dorian was devastated when Mel died in a plane crash (Hey, no body was ever found soap fans!). Prior to Mel's "death," I collaborated with a writer on this work that involves many of the denizens in Llanview and hopefully, incorporates good storytelling that will be interesting to read. It all takes place in the late 90s.
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Truth Before Dawn

By cher62

The Prelude
* * * * *
Dorian Lord Hayes, a wealthy, petite, stylish, auburn-haired beauty in her early 50s enters Club Indigo along with her blond, drop-dead gorgeous nieces, Blair and Kelly Cramer. Rain and rumbles of thunder can occasionally be heard over the din of music and conversation. RJ Gannon, the Black proprietor of this jazz establishment, is canvassing the room from behind the bar with frayed brow and folded arms. The debonair RJ has thin hair-locks that resemble braids, cascading down his back and he is dressed in a lavender silk shirt and smoke-colored slacks with matching tailored blazer; his beard and mustache are impeccably groomed along his strong, chiseled features. He notices the women and approaches with a grin.

"Good evening, ladies. Blair. Kelly(in a more affectionate, almost reverential but slightly teasing tone) Mrs. Lord Hayes."

Dorian, dressed in a blue silk dress that is her husband’s favorite, whacks him on the arm, and laughs. "Oh, cut it out, RJ! Is Mel here yet?" Her eyes search the room for her beloved husband.

"No, but he just called and said he'd be here in about a half hour, that I should offer you his deepest apologies and escort you and your nieces to the best table in the house. This way ladies. May I?" He offers his arm to Dorian, who shakes her head in amusement but accepts. Following the distinguished pair are: Kelly, a Grace Kelly dead ringer and Blair, a model-thin beauty with compassionate blue eyes that defy a mischievous smile, fierce tongue, wicked wit and hearty laugh. Kelly, who is in her early 20s, is wearing a green dress while her cousin, who is in her mid 30s, is suited in brown leather jacket and slacks. Heads turn as the stunning group glide toward a table in the center of the room.

It is around 9:30. Three weeks before Christmas and despite ominous warnings of a heavy downpour, business is better tonight than it has been since RJ dropped the live musical entertainment. John Coltrane is heard playing on CD in the background of the lively club with customers mostly at their tables with drink and in conversation. A few are at the bar, ordering concoctions from a transvestite bartender named Wendi. Dorian tilts her head toward RJ and asks, "How are (she gestures broadly) things?"

"Iffy. Here we are, Cramer women minus one. How is Cassie, by the way?" he asks with genuine concern as he pulls a chair out for Dorian.

Her smile fades. "It’s still early in her care. Her progress is slower than we’d hoped. (Then she smiles that indefatigable smile.) But, she's a fighter and she'll be fine."

"With her genetic heritage and you cracking whip over her doctors and therapists day and night, I'm sure she will be."

Blair and Kelly agree, but Dorian asks, "Are you teasing me?"

"On the contrary, it’s a compliment. I have far too much admiration and respect for you to tease you about anything as fearsome as your tenacity and strength.” She smiles as he looks bemused yet sincere. “Dorian, may I bring you a bottle of our finest champagne to celebrate your safe and I trust permanent return to Llanview?"

"Oh RJ, and your safe and I trust permanent return as well."

Blair and Kelly eagerly agree while Dorian glances at her watch. "Sure, I have time for a glass before Mel arrives."

RJ leaves.

Blair asks, "What does Mel's arrival have to do with your having a glass of champagne?"

"Oh, nothing really."

"Dorian, you wouldn't let either of us get away with a vague answer like that. Has he started drinking again?"

Kelly scolds, "BLAIR!! Mel hasn't touched a drop since he and Dorian were married in May. I think it's so romantic that he quit because he loves you so much, Aunt Dorian."

Blair rolls her eyes; Dorian fidgets and then adds, "I just don't want to, well, put temptation in his way."

Kelly asks, "Why would he start drinking again? He's still Public Hero Number One for proving you and RJ were innocent and that Barbara Graham killed (she takes a deep breath) Drew and that Detective Sykes and Congressman Graham were in collision."

Dorian corrects her. "Collusion, dear, collusion."

"Whatever."

Blair adds, "And best of all, Dorian, you're back, safe and sound and free of all charges. I've never seen anyone as on top of the world at your return as Mel, except for you the day you married him. As far as I could tell, he never even thought about booze while you were in hiding."

"He was involved, busy; he was a man on a mission, ' to save' me . . . again."

Kelly remarks, "Involved? You should have seen him, Aunt Dorian. The man was possessed!"

"That's exactly my point. He's been on overdrive, and he could crash--hard. Now that he's insisting on taking a leave of absence from The Banner to focus on 'us' since we never really had that ‘courtship, engagement, and honeymoon stage' and to be 'by my side' during all the trials . . . well, I'm just concerned that he'll replace writing by either suffocating me with his attentions or drinking. Or both."

Kelly sighs, "You would find fault with Prince Charming."

Dorian starts to protest, realizes it's useless, let's it go for the jillionth time.

Kelly babbles on. "I wish someone wanted to suffocate me with his attentions, but I guess everyone in Llanview has heard I'm the kiss of death."

Blair blurts, "Kelly, would you just get over yourself? You're not that powerful, nobody is."

Dorian ruminates, "Power isn't all it's cracked up to be. AH! Our champagne. Mmmm, excellent choice. Thank RJ for me would you, Wendi? How wonderful to see you again. I'm so pleased you were able to return to help RJ put Club Indigo back on the map. Your presence makes an already cutting edge nightclub even more so."

Wendi, pouring the champagne, says, "Thank you, Mrs. Lord Hayes."

"Please, call me Dorian."

"Dorian. It's nice to see you again, too; I trust we'll be seeing you and all of your family in here frequently." Wendi finishes pouring the champagne, turns to leave.

Dorian exclaims, "Wait! I want to propose a toast; I know you can't join us for champagne since you’re working, but let's make this an exception--you are very much a part of what I want to toast! Oh, RJ, dear (she touches his arm as he walks by), you, too. Raise your glasses, girls--A toast, with the soon-to-be New Year: To everything and everyone from our past that's worthy of being part of our future."

The Cramers and company clink glasses and everyone says, "Here, here."

RJ bends over and whispers in Dorian's ear, "And a pox on everything and everyone that isn't, right, Dorian?"

An ear-splitting clap of thunder reverberates through the club; lights flicker. Gasps and shrieks add to the confusion. The lights come back on.

RJ asks, "Is everyone all right? Dorian?"

She's pale, trembling, and unaware that she's spilled her champagne. RJ touches her shoulder. "Dorian?" She jerks back to awareness, offers a nervous giggle. "Oh! My, that was, well, a jolt, wasn't it? Oh, dear, I've spilled my champagne. (She dabs at her dress with a napkin.) Excuse me, I'm going to try to salvage this dress." Wendi goes behind the bar.

In unison, Kelly and Blair offer to help her. "No, no, I'm fine, just a little damp. No use crying over spilt champagne . . . my dress, though . . . that's another matter. You two stay here and give those two young men over there a chance to feast their eyes on you without your aunt's fiercely protective presence." RJ holds her chair for her as she stands up.

Blair corrects, "Our beloved aunt . . ."

Kelly finishes, “ and her loving presence."

Dorian looks at RJ and says, "I should go on the lam more often." Dorian retreats. Wendi offers her a real towel as she passes the bar while RJ checks on his other customers.

Kelly asks, "What did Dorian mean when she said power wasn't all it's cracked up to be?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm more concerned about why she freaked when the lights went out."

"She didn't freak, Blair. You're being overly dramatic."

"Kelly, you were so busy making sure your hair-do was still in place that you didn't notice she turned pale as a ghost."
* * * * *
Mel, middle-aged, ruggedly handsome with a beard, mustache and thinning, salt and pepper hair, is searching for his cell phone while at his desk at The Banner. He is also talking on the phone to RJ. He finds the cell phone, clips it to his waistband and then hurriedly stacks up notes, closes folders, shuts down his computer. He pauses and again searches for his keys. Mel, who is of medium build, is wearing his beige tweed jacket, not having changed into the more formal blue one he intends to wear to the club. "The lights went out? She OK? She is? As soon as you see her, tell her I'm out the door in two minutes and she’d better be ready to cut a humongous rug as soon as I get there. Thanks, buddy." When he hangs up, he spots his keys in an obvious place on the desk. He grabs them.

The Banner publisher enters with a smug expression and announces, "Mel, I am glad you are still here. I would like to speak to you."

"No time now, Viki. Dorian's waiting at Club Indigo." Catching a glimpse of her, he chuckles to himself and then he mutters, “I’ll be damned if she’s not the spitting image of Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest."

“What was that?”

“Louise Ratched, um no, I mean Fletcher, damn good actress, don’t you think? Dorian and I caught her in a movie the other night: ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’— I bet you’d find it amusing.” He grins.

Viki’s eyes stretch in bewilderment. “What? This will only take a few minutes, Mel."

"I've already kept Dorian cooling her designer heels in a roomful of leering men for (he looks at his watch)—damn—almost a half hour."

"I doubt they're leering at her."

"Trust me – men look at Dorian differently than you."

Viki puffs up with indignation.

"Oh . . . that's not what I meant (under his breath) but if the muck luck fits . . . I meant that men see Dorian differently than you see her. So, if this doesn't involve deep background from an indisputable source about the Second Coming, I'm outta here!"

"Well of course it does not, but--"

Mel shouts, "Tomorrow!" as he heads for the door.

Viki huffs, "Well, I never.”

Mel, rushing down the hall, snorts to himself, "And that's just one of your problems."
* * * * *
Dorian returns from the ladies room, only to notice that her table is empty. She spies Blair and Kelly on the dance floor with the two young men. "I can't leave those two alone for a minute."

RJ comes up behind her. "You all right?"

"Yes, of course, thank you. And--TA DA--so's my dress. RJ, who are those young men with my nieces?"

RJ looks on the dance floor at the handsome men. The one, who is dancing with Kelly, is blond, clean-shaven and has a preppy look. The other man with Blair has dark features, a mustache, and an emerging beard. He is dressed in a gray turtleneck sweater and slacks. "Never seen them before. Why? The hair on the back of your neck standing up?"

She gives him a look. "No, not yet anyway. They look familiar . . . Oh, well, I'll find out soon enough. Has my darling husband arrived?"

"No. He called again and said he was within two minutes of leaving The Banner. Join me at the bar? The drink’s on the house."

"Thank you, I would love to, but put the drink on our tab. I insist. You said (she gestures again) things were 'iffy'? Just a club soda with lime, please."

"Yeah, well, with Max gone for good--not that he was worth much anyway--and with Drew’s shooting on the docks and all, it's taken longer to get Club Indigo up and running and transformed into the cash cow I desperately need it to be."

"RJ, I'm so sorry."

He holds up his hand. "Stop. We've been through this a dozen times. It would have given me great pleasure to wring your pretty little neck when you didn't immediately come clean about hiring me to tail that jerk Kevin Buchanan on the docks that night Drew was killed (Dorian suppresses a grin), but then you did.”

He continues, “ As angry as I was with you, I understand your desperation, having myself been on the receiving end of suspicion and rejection from so-called 'loved ones' and the entire LPD and most of the town." He sits her drink down in front of her.

"I'm very sorry."

"I told you, it's over. Apology accepted."

"I meant I'm sorry that you know how that feels, too."

"I know how it felt for me; I can only imagine how it felt for you. You've been on death row for a crime you didn't commit and (He gestures toward the dance floor while he picks up her left hand and looks at her wedding band) you had far too much to lose. BUT a warning, don't let it happen again."

Dorian takes that deep breath to keep her from crying. "Do you ever hear from Jacara?"

"Not ever. Not even once. (He takes a sip of his drink.) Oh, well, you know what they say --what doesn't kill you makes you strong."

"Or a damn good actor." She lifts her glass to him.

RJ chuckles and nods agreement. "You are a caution dear lady."

"A CAUTION? I've been called lots of things in my lifetime, RJ, but that's a first for that one. I don't think anyone’s called me ‘dear lady’, either, come to think of it.”

"Maybe the people you've associated with just aren't as . . . insightful as I am."

"RJ, what is going on with you? Do you want something? You've been so attentive and complimentary, I'm getting embarrassed."

"How sad that you're so unused to respectful attention and compliments that they embarrass you or make you suspicious, Dorian."

"I have . . . ah, used that technique on various--many--occasions as a means to an end."

"I was just trying to tell you, Dorian Lord Hayes, that I probably understand you better than anyone else in Llanview. I know who you are, I like you, I respect you. Now that the slate is clean between us, I was hoping we could continue what is starting to look like a beautiful friendship. I don't know about you, but I need all the friends I can get."

Dorian looks flattered, a little sad. "I'll drink to that." They clink glasses.
* * * * *
"So, how do you propose to resurrect Club Indigo?"

"Slowly."

"Takes too long."

"You're telling me. But in this case, I have to make money before I can spend it."

"If you had the cash you needed, what would you do?"

"Hire one of these groups for a gig." RJ shoves a stack of CDs toward Dorian.

"Why would that be your first move? Why not just a big advertising campaign?"

"I need something to advertise."

"CLUB INDIGO IS BACK, that's your product, that's what you advertise--the facility, the atmosphere, the location, the menu, its big city uniqueness in this small town suburb, the rakishly intriguing and eminently capable RJ Gannon as host and owner. We're back in time to ring in the New Year and we're going to be better than ever!"

"Are you talking about Club Indigo or me or yourself?"

Dorian pauses, smiles. "All of the above!"
* * * * *
Dorian shoves one of the CDs toward RJ. "I'd hire this group if I were you."

"If I were you, I could afford to hire this group. Why them?"

"They look very NOW, very eclectic, but not weird or scary; young and fresh but not so young and fresh that they're, mmm, vacuous. The titles of the songs sound as if the lyrics could actually be understood without being offensive. I've heard a few cuts here and from Kelly's copy, and they seem to have a range of rhythm and sounds but their style could still be categorized as jazz-rock. I don't know about you, but I don't like hearing 12 different sets of lyrics to basically the same song, but I also don't like hearing several different styles. If I'm in the mood for jazz, I want jazz, not Top 40 or big band or country. Make any sense?"

"I hear every word, lady."

(She looks closer at the cover.) "And I think this one would be very cute with Kelly. They're the least well known, so they would probably come cheaper. If they make it big, you and Club Indigo will be in on the ground floor of their rise to the top; if they don't, all you're out is their fee, which would probably be offset by the cover charge and increase in business during their 'gig' and in return customers and word of mouth. " She hands him the CD and says, "Play number 8, OK? It's my favorite. What are you staring at?"

"You."

"Why? Do I have spinach in my teeth?"

"No, but you sure have a head on your shoulders."

"Separated by that ‘pretty little neck' I'm lucky you didn't wring. "

"One of my smarter moves. I'm going to make another one right now: Would you like to buy out Max Holden's share of Club Indigo? I can't afford to buy him out, and I could use a partner who has some business sense and is musically savvy and actually lives in Llanview. Plus you’re easier to get along with and considerably more attractive."

"There you go again, you flatterer."

"I'm serious, Dorian. (He leans closer.) We understand each other. We could be the best partnership since . . .Sears and Roebuck."

"I don't know . . . my hands are going to be fuller than I want them to be with the art gallery since all the Rappaports have turned tail and returned to Chicago, plus Mel will be starting his leave of absence from The Banner soon so we can spend more time together."

"You running the gallery by yourself?"

"The business end; I've hired Joe to handle the art part."

"Joe? Weren't you and he . . . What does Mel . . .?"

"Yes, we were but that candle burned out long ago. I don't know what happened to him while he was in Europe but he just isn't the same young man he used to be. And Mel is too arrogant to be jealous of anyone, darn it . . .. OH! OH!! I'm getting a brilliant idea."

"I'm not going to help you make Mel jealous, although it would certainly be fun to try."

(She gives the handsome RJ, who’s in his mid 30s, a smile and a look that says, "Yes it would but we're not even going to think about that, you sly rascal you.")
* * * * *

"You help me out at the gallery and I'll help you out at the club. I'll buy out Max's share, and in exchange for paying for the what's their names to appear, you can lend your expertise to the gallery for me two or three days a week, on occasion, for a few months."

“How do you know I know anything about art?”

“There’s a lot I know about you, RJ.”

RJ extends his hand for a shake. "Deal."

"Deal. Shall I call my lawyers in the morning or do you want to call yours? How would you prefer to handle this?"

"I don't have 'lawyers', Dorian. I have associates who take the law into their hands."

"Fine, I'll call mine. By the way, there is this one other thing."

"This is where I should have hit the pause button the last time--but curiosity makes me push forward: What?"

"I insist that you make Club Indigo wheelchair accessible."

"David Renaldi?"

"Mostly but it's something the club should be anyway. I'll pay, you arrange for it. Deal?"

"Deal."

"As soon as possible?"

"Tomorrow."

They lift their glasses and simultaneously say, "Here's lookin' at you, kid!" and are laughing when Mel enters, sneaks up behind Dorian, and kisses her on the neck.

"Whoever you are, you better either hurry up or stop because I'm expecting my husband any minute."

In a French accent, Mel says, "And ze husband, he is ze jealous type?"

"Oui, tres jealous. He hardly lets me out of his sight."

"Madame is so lovely, I can see why. But you are alone now, oui?"

"Not really. Monsieur Gannon here is my protector and friend and business partner, plus (she gestures toward Blair and Kelly, who are approaching with the two strangers.) my lovely niece."

"FRANK AND ROGER?!?"

Both young men say, "Hi, Dad!!"

Hand shakes, slaps on the back, hugs, jumbled exclamations and questions from everyone. Mel's sons explain they hadn't been able to reach anyone that night on their impromptu visit to surprise him for his birthday.

"But that's not for another week."

"SURPRISE!!"

Dorian tugs at Mel's blue jacket. "Mel, I've never met your boys. "

"You haven't? (To the boys) You didn't introduce yourselves?"
Mel puts his arm around Dorian's shoulders. "Honey, these are my sons, Frank and Roger. Boys, this is Dorian." (How do you do, glad to meet you, I've looked forward to this for such a long time, etc. etc.)

Roger remarks, "Neither your picture nor Dad's effusive superlatives do you justice. Mmm, what shall we call you?" Frank rolls his eyes and discreetly mutters, “Don’t you think you’re laying it on a bit thick, Rog?”

Dorian politely responses, "Dorian, please." RJ interjects, "So Dorian you didn't know your stepsons were coming to town?" As RJ questions, Frank and Roger exchange surreptitious glances. Dorian answers, "Well--no." Dorian pulls RJ's arm and introduces him: "Frank and Roger Hayes, meet the irrepressible RJ Gannon, proprietor of this soon-to-be-famous establishment."

“RJ Gannon?” Roger shakes RJ’s hand. "Yes," RJ replies with a questioning look. Roger clears his throat and then comments, “Nice club.” Frank stares at RJ with his handshake. RJ interrupts the awkward moment and suggests, "Would you all like a larger table?" A cacophony from the young adults reveal they want to go to Rodi's for burgers and fries. Would Dorian and Mel like to join them?

Mel: But I just got here . . .

Dorian: It's pouring outside . . .

Mel: How long will you be here?

Dorian: You'll stay with us, of course.

Frank announces, "We're at The Palace. Call us in the morning. We'll meet for breakfast!" as the foursome sweeps out, ignoring Dorian and Mel's pleas that they stay and warnings about the increasingly loud thunder storm.
* * * * *
Cozily ensconced in a booth at the back of the club, Dorian and Mel are oblivious of their surroundings as they hold hands and talk to each other about their day. Dorian asks, “Don’t you think that was a little strange?”

“What my French accent?”

“Oh Mel, no!” She swats him on the shoulder. “No, I mean the looks between your sons and RJ? It was a bit tense, don’t you think? There’s just something—I don’t know? Something. And why didn’t your boys tell me they’d be in town?”

“Good question.” He seductively grins. “Mrs. Hayes is there anyone else in the room besides the two of us?” Dorian coos and lovingly caresses Mel’s cheek. He kisses her palm and then reluctantly asks, "So, you and RJ are back in business?"

"Yes, but exclusively above the table this time."

"Good. (He scoots even closer.) The only one with whom I want you doing any business under the table is me."

Dorian touches his face and reminisces, "Under the table, on the table. I remember it well."

"Which time?"

"Every time. Let's go home, Mel." A crack of thunder propels her into his embrace. "Please, Mel, I want to get out of here!"

Mel, noticing the rush for the exit, suggests that they wait for the crowd to thin out. "Let's dance."

"Dance? Now?"

"Yeah, come on, honey," he says as he stands and extends his hand, "think of it as foreplay."

"MEL!"

"I know. I'm incorrigible. And you love me for it."

Dorian sighs, "Yes, you are (she stands and moves into his open arms) and yes, I do."
____________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1
DAY 1:
At Club Indigo, late night

Amid forbidding and Cimmerian skies the tumultuous storm has decimated the crowd of patrons in the jazz club. RJ, from behind the bar, closes out his register and notices the still enraptured Mel and Dorian in each others arms on the dance floor; they seem oblivious to the overshadowing perils. Smiling and shaking his head, the cunning former loan shark contemplates the events leading to his eccentric and fiercely loyal friendship with Dorian, whom he considers a fellow outsider though she consorts with Llanview's powerful and elite.

As RJ thinks back, he recalls that their bold alliance began when Dorian hired RJ to spy on her daughter Cassie Carpenter’s then-fiancé, Kevin Buchanan. Dorian suspected Kevin of having an affair with Congressman Richard Graham's daughter, Barbara. RJ was tailing Kevin on the Waterfront docks the night shots rang: Kelly's boyfriend Drew Buchanan was killed and Cassie was crippled. Later, the police arrested the gun-totting, ex-con RJ as a suspect in the murder of Drew. With extreme reluctance, Dorian came clean about hiring RJ to follow Kevin. He eventually was released; but the crooked Congressman Graham and the equally flagitious and newly instated Police Commissioner John Sykes, conspired to pin Drew's murder on RJ and Dorian even though neither had a motive for the shooting.

As the innocent twosome felt the police net tightened around their necks, RJ and Dorian skipped town. Dangers on-the-run caused tempers to flare and each to display their common traits of perseverance and loyalty. Dorian ranted she’d been driven to this brink of hysteria by the persistent threat of being incarcerated again for another murder she did not commit and a disgust at hearing Kelly’s unfeeling, dimwitted accusations against her for Drew’s murder. RJ blamed Dorian for the debacle and raged there was no way he was headed to Statesville after having served 10 years at Joliet. Still, fate forged an allegiance. Dorian was a fighter and RJ eventually developed a begrudging, then affectionate respect for his diminutive cohort. She, in turn, admired RJ's grit and agility, especially in a fix.

RJ also became friends with Mel, whom he considered a man of forthrightness and integrity and a man deeply in love with Dorian. Determined to clear and protect his bride, Mel had assisted her "disappearance" then proceeded to beat every bush and turn every stone within a 50-mile radius in search of the killer. Despite being energized by his mission and believing to the depths of his soul that he and Dorian would be reunited sooner rather than later, Mel had confided in RJ that he desperately missed her. Mel had admitted that, more than once, when fear and loneliness enfolded him and sleep eluded him, he’d considered gin as a means to endure. That, too, scared him. Invariably, Mel's gut-busting determination, RJ's connections, and the help of others with a vested interest in justice and in the innocent pair's well-being, revealed not only corruption in the LPD but the identity of Drew's true murderer—Barbara Graham.

Recalling the dramatic, heartfelt reunion between Mel and Dorian, RJ decides his new friends deserve time alone so he heads into his office in the back of the club.
* * * * *
Mel stares into Dorian's eyes and gently pulls her closer as the song "At Last" plays in the background. A look, a touch, speak volumes. Dorian whispers into her husband's ear: "We're the only ones left. We should leave so that RJ can close up."

"Let's finish this dance," Mel replies, as he lifts her arm. "Besides, the storm is still raging." After he says that, a thunderous boom resounds and is followed by crackling as lightening zaps power lines and darts in the dark. At the same time, Mel twirls Dorian out with such ardor their hands break free. Dorian slips to the floor. "I'm RIGHT here," Mel's assures with a voice that crosses the jet black darkness as his fingers touch hers. Dorian leaps into her lover's embrace and tightly wraps her arms around his neck. "It's all right, baby," he instantly comforts. "I'm here; I'll ALWAYS be here. You don't have to be afraid of the dark any more, remember?" Dorian rests her head against Mel's shoulder and sighs in relief: "I do now. Of course, I feel silly."

RJ enters the room, shining a flashlight. "I heard you two sizzled. Are you responsible for this?" Dorian laughs before she glimpses a flash of a reticence on RJ's face. Still on the dance floor with Mel, she questions, “RJ?” RJ dismisses, “Relax. You just laugh like her. Even while singing the blues, she would—” Mel asks, “You’re speaking of Jacara?” He responds, “Old news. Look, I've got some candles behind the bar." He pulls out several candles and a battery-operated radio. "How about you two light these candles while I try to get a report on the weather?"

The panoramic view from the club window indicates the lightening has darkened all of Llanview. While Dorian and Mel light candles, a soft glow gently illuminates the room. As Dorian lights one last candle, Mel encircles her waist from behind and whispers into her ear: "I find it rather, mmm, exciting to be stuck in a nightclub on a dark and stormy night with the woman I love." He sighs heavily. "I will forever be indebted to RJ, but frankly the presence of your rakishly intriguing business partner is cramping my style."

"Meeel," Dorian coos, giving him a gentle elbow in the ribs.
* * * * *
In the background, a man dressed in a hat and trench coat quietly enters the room. "Is this a safe harbor from the storm?" he asks with a distinctly British accent.

Carrying his flashlight, RJ walks toward the vicinity of the voice. He guides the flashlight toward the man's face but keeps his distance. "I locked the door."

The man takes off his hat and coat and then shrugs. "Guess not. The winds have picked up. Apparently, the door was ajar." The mysterious Englishman, looks to be in his mid-50s. He is clean-shaven with blondish gray hair and a buzz –cut that is bald at the top of his head. He has narrow blue eyes, and a pointy beak-like nose— sharp features that combine to form an austere appearance.

A suspicious RJ invites the man to have a seat at the bar. As he does so, the stranger places his hat and coat on the counter. RJ inquires, "How'd you manage to stay so dry?"

"May I have a drink?" the man asks with a sigh, disregarding RJ’s question. "Scotch rocks. It has been a long day."

Hand in hand, Dorian and Mel approach the bar. Extending his hand, the reporter greets the stranger. "I'm Mel Hayes and this is my wife, Dorian. And you are?"

The man stares at Mel a moment but doesn't shake his hand. He responds with a hint of disdain: "Mel Hayes, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist." RJ hands a glass to the man, who gulps down his drink.

Insulted by what she takes as rudeness, Dorian proudly interjects, "That's right! Mel Hayes, the world renown, three-time Pulitzer Prize winning journalist!" Mel smiles with a wink at Dorian then addresses the man: "I detect an accent. Brit? Do I know you? There's something familiar—"

"No!" the man asserts. He empties his glass, and then looks squarely at Mel. "I just know who you are."

With that, the lights come on. Rejoicing, a thrilled Dorian wraps her arms around Mel's neck. "Let's get out of here, sweetheart," she whispers into husband's ear. "I can think of a better way to finish our evening."

The man stands abruptly and flings money on the counter. Again, he stares at Mel. “Nice to have met you both. You are a LUCKY man, Mr. Hayes." He takes Dorian's hand and kissed it softly. "And you are an exceedingly beautiful woman, Mrs. Hayes."

Dorian pulls her hand from the man's lingering touch. Guiding Dorian away from this presumptuous stranger, Mel demands, "Just who the hell are you?"

"See you around," the man says as he grabs his hat and coat. It almost sounds like a threat. He exits as enigmatically as he had entered.
* * * * *
Nearly thirty minutes later, Dorian's head lay on Mel's shoulder as he drives slowly in the blinding rain. Mel glances at his wife. She is his reason for living, his reason for giving up drinking. "Scotch rocks," Mel mutters. His thoughts drift to the stranger. “Maybe he is an old drinking buddy,” he guesses. Mel can’t shake the feeling that the two have already met. "If he were a drinking buddy," Mel surmises, "that would explain why I can't remember his name."

Dorian nuzzles closer to Mel. "Aren't we home yet?"

"Dormir mon chéri," Mel directs as his hand brushes Dorian's hair. "I'll let you know when we arrive." His mind stays on the stranger, trying to place the voice, the look, the walk. Mel has been on press junkets all over the world, covering political campaigns, insurrections, and war. You don't win Pulitzers without making friends and earning enemies. “Was this man an acquaintance, a friend, or a foe?” Mel continues deep in thought.

"Let it go, Mel," Dorian softly urges.

"What?" Mel asks.

Dorian sits up and gives her husband a peck on the cheek. "You're letting that brief encounter with a total stranger bother you, don't even try to deny it."

"You're scary."

"I'm also right." She traces the outline of his ear and jaw with her finger. "Am I going to have to use extraordinary measures to distract you?"

Mel groans. "Lady, you are extraordinarily distracting without doing a thing."

She places her hand on his chest. "Oh, good one. Apparently consternation over the mysterious stranger has already started to recede."

"What stranger?" Mel jokes. "Tonight, my darling, there was only the two of us, dancing closely in the music-filled, candle-lit room, and when we get home . . ."

"I can't wait." Dorian swoons. She again rests her head against her husband's shoulder. She adores Mel's passion and gift for words; with that comes fear and hate. At his best, Mel uses words to profess his love, as he did earlier in the evening when he reminded her she need not be afraid of the dark. At his most viscious, Mel’s words can puncture egos, lacerate souls, break hearts, and destroy lives. Dorian has witnessed first hand the power of the press; not only are words mightier than weapons, they frequently wield more permanent damage.

Mel demonstrates his love for her in many ways, more recently with his relentless pursuit of Drew's killer to clear her and RJ’s names. In the process, Mel exposed a crooked congressman and a corrupt police commissioner, neither of whom were permanently behind bars and both of whom were bound to have nefarious connections. Her husband's investigative and reportorial skills fill her with pride and fear. She shivers.

"Cold?" Mel's query interrupts her thoughts.

She archs an eyebrow coquettishly. "No. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Mel, usually so articulate, utters that multipurpose groan of his and accelerates somewhat. Dorian savors the sight of his handsome profile as she ponders, “He seems to think there is something familiar about the stranger. Has Mel written something somewhere, sometime, to make the man at the club reluctant to reveal his identity?” Overwhelmed with the desire to stop time and spend eternity safe, warm, and alone with this man, Dorian wishes, not for the first time, that her husband would turn in his press pass and just write that damn novel he is always talking about doing ‘someday.’
* * * * *
When they return home, the lovers finish their dance behind closed doors in the dark. A trickle of fear intermingles with their flood of desire; they hunger for each other, body and soul. At last, her dark demons temporarily at bay, Dorian sleeps peacefully in her husband's arms. However, the clack of a gavel, a woman's shriek, a cry of "No!" and the chilling image of angry tear-filled blue eyes, startle Mel from his fitful slumber. It has been years—decades—since he’s had that dream, the exact sounds and images in the same order. Back then, he'd reach for gin. Discarding that option now, he reaches for Dorian.

Chapter 2
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DAY 2:
At The Banner, late morning

As Mel enters, the Banner City Room is abuzz with ringing telephones, clacking computers, and chattering employees. The electrical outage last night has caused havoc along the Waterfront and the downtown district of Llanview. Harried reporters are still rushing to cover the aftermath. In addition, the heavy rain and a cold front contribute to harsh and freezing weather conditions.

Mel arrives late morning, having had breakfast as promised at The Palace with Dorian, Frank, Roger, Blair and Kelly. Aside from rescheduling his morning for the breakfast, Mel’s backed his appointments to spend time on the Waterfront interviewing shop owners and police for a column on the vandalism and robberies during the blackout. He let stand his appointment with Bo Buchanan, who agreed to an exclusive interview for Mel’s profile on him. This piece on Bo's controversial reinstatement as police commissioner—after the arrest of former commissioner Sykes, is the last in Mel's hard-hitting series on the LPD reorganization in the wake of Mel’s expose on mob corruption on the police force.

Walking to his desk, Mel fumbles in his pocket for cigarettes and pulls out mistletoe, which causes him to smile. He settles into his chair, searches through drawers, and then leafs through paper piles. His hands rest on the framed family photographs atop his desk. First, he glimpses his daughter Dorothy in high school cap and gown surrounded by him, his mother Mary, and his recently deceased wife Muriel. In another photo, Neil Hayes, his now-deceased father, is arms-across shoulders with Frank and Roger at a New York Mets baseball game. Lastly, Mel glances at a picture of him and Dorian descending stairs on their wedding day. Mel decides not to smoke. Instead, he gathers his notes to prepare for his interview with Bo. Soon, he realizes his New York Mets mug is empty so he leaves his desk in search of fresh coffee. When he sees Viki head his way, he turns in the opposite direction.

Viki's pace quickens. "Don't avoid me Mel. You and I both know we need to finish our conversation from last night."

"Not liking our conversation is not the same thing as not finishing it." Mel leaves for the Banner cafeteria.
* * * * *
Viki soon follows him into the cafeteria, pauses and then approaches him at the coffee counter. She emits an elongated sigh before she contends, "Things ended abruptly because of your engagement at Club Indigo but we need to settle this now."

Mel glances around the near-empty cafeteria, secures his cup; then responds with noticeable restraint, marked with intensity: "Viki, what do you want me to say? I haven't changed my mind." He chuckles with a look of incredulity at Viki's persistence. "If anything last night with the blackout at Club Indigo made me realize all over again how much I love my wife. I need to be with her, not here, not at this point in our lives. I've tried to maintain my professional composure but you're starting to tick me off with your insolent harangue!” Mel fills his cup with coffee, takes a sip. "Listen Viki, I'm sorry about the timing, however my decision is final! I will not, under any circumstances, postpone my three-month leave of absence from The Banner! If you'd rather I quit—"

"Quit?" Viki steps closer, looks around her, and lowers her voice. "No one is asking you to leave a’ tall. Come on Mel, you know the position I am in. Clint has left for England and Kevin has assumed additional editorial duties. I need an experienced reporter of your caliber on the floor until common sense prevails and Clint returns and God-willing, Cassie recovers and returns from that god-awful treatment center in Austria."

“Switzerland,” Mel corrects before he chuckles in disgust. "Viki, this is Mel you're talking to. You can afford to HIRE someone. And really, what makes you think 'common sense' will prevail and Clint will return? Oh, never mind.” Mel's smile recedes. "C'mon Viki, this isn't about my journalistic abilities or your journalistic needs!" Exasperated, he heads toward the door, then he decides not to leave and turns back. "Look, The Banner practically ran itself when you, Clint, Cassie, Kevin, and I were all in Canton. Face it, this is about Dorian, plain and simple, who—by the way—was NOT responsible for your presumptuous son's burns when he was trapped in that fire in Dorian’s childhood home in Canton!"

Mel glances around the now empty cafeteria and then slowly walks toward her. He stops, leans forward and snarls, no-holds barred: "I don't think I ever told you I heard you ream Dorian out at the top of your lungs outside of Kevin’s hospital room while we were all there in Canton! I wanted to choke you with my bare hands, but since Dorian was able to outclass your audacious breech of breeding, I decided I could do the same! You probably never apologized to Dorian for that insensitive, banshee-like outburst, have you?"

“Mel, I did not know. I did not know Dorian had lost her mother and childhood nanny in that fire.” A flushed Viki extends her arm. "Maybe we should finish this in my office?"

"No, maybe we shouldn't, especially if this has anything to do with my wife!" Witnessing Mel's tirade, two fellow journalists turn at the door rather than enter the cafeteria.

As Viki lowers her arm, she rolls her eyes. "Yes, this is about Dorian!” She sighs and then adds, “And, it is about you and me." She moves closer to Mel. Mel pushes a hand in front, spilling his coffee as he steps back.

Viki responds, "I am sorry. Do you need a napkin?" Mel grabs a napkin, doesn’t answer while she continues: "I care about you, Mel. You do not think clearly when it comes to Dorian. I mean, are you really sure Dorian even wants you to take this leave of absence from The Banner? Or maybe it was her idea to get you out of what she would consider my clutches?"

"Enough dammit! You just don't seem to be able to wrap your brain around the fact that your name rarely, if ever, comes up in our private conversations! Where Dorian's mind cares to venture is no concern of yours!" He sits his cup on the counter and refills it with coffee.

Viki follows his movement in close proximity. "Mel I've known her for 25 years and—”

"That's it!" Mel's face is red, forehead vessels pulsate. "Dorian is off limits!" Mel takes his New York Mets coffee mug, leaves the cafeteria and then heads toward the City Room while Viki stands frozen, visibly shaken, speechless. Now, again, it is clear to Viki that her friendship with Mel is irreparably severed by his recent discovery of Dorian's torture five years earlier in a secret room at Llanfair, Viki’s mansion. Though Mel is sympathetic after hearing the details of Viki's battle with mental illness, he agonizes the horrors inflicted by Viki—through her altered personalities—upon his wife.
* * * * *
A few days earlier at The Banner, Mel approached Viki about his leave he planned to take within the month. After learning from her youngest son Joe that Mel had heard details of what her altered personalities had done to Dorian, Viki thought herself prepared for Mel's reaction to the news. Yet, she did not expect such resounding contempt. No--Mel's anger stunned Victoria Lord Riley Burke Riley Buchanan Buchanan Carpenter, who was not used to rejection—especially not in favor of DORIAN, who once was her stepmother.

Twenty-five years ago, Viki’s father, Victor Lord, died under circumstances that cast lingering aspersions against his bride and cemented a long-lasting feud between Viki and Dorian. As blood matriarch of the Lord dynasty and governess to her father’s publishing empire, Llanview society favored Viki with forgiveness and understanding of her actions—even when it came to her later admissions of crimes and a medically diagnosed psychosis.

Armed with what he believed to be the truth about Dorian's captivity at Viki's hands during Viki's most recent lapse into a dissociative state, Mel confronted Viki in her office about what she had done to Dorian without apology. He lashed out in anger as he recounted twenty years of malicious town whispers and finger pointing toward Dorian because of Viki’s heinous accusation that Dorian had killed Victor. Viki's retort: "Dorian married my father for money. My suspicions were not without reason."

"I see now that you've fueled this vendetta as much, as much as Dorian!" Mel countered. He lambasted Viki for using political clout to reopen the investigation into Victor’s death—twenty years after the fact— which later led to the prosecution and conviction of Dorian for a crime she evidently did not commit. He reasoned, not only was this a vindictive act, but Viki never apologized once the truth came to light that she had killed her father--not Dorian."

Viki proclaimed, "Mel you knew about the crime, the crime committed by my alter...That my father was killed!"

Mel responded, "Yes I knew about that, but not about you holding Dorian captive and torturing her. I never thought I'd say this," Mel fumed. "But thank Heaven's for David Vickers, who produced that letter from Victor's lover Irene Manning, to exonerate Dorian!"

"A forged letter. Mel, what is it that you want from me? I cannot change what happened five years ago!"

"You mean when you Viki clobbered Dorian and threw her into a trunk, drove her to the Lord mountain cabin where you shackled her to a basement wall like a wild animal?"

"I am ashamed!"

"I don't know what I want, I..."

"I am ashamed! Is that what you want to hear?"

"Dorian is claustrophobic. Did you know that?"

"You are not going to move past this are you?"

"You held Dorian captive in a Plexiglas prison that you installed in a secret room at Llanfair!"

"Mel you are journalist and you are aware that I was in a disassociative state when all of that happened!"

"I understand that! I understand that! Just as you were the night one of your personalities, Tori, suffocated Victor with a pillow as he lie weakened in bed from a heart attack!"

"I killed my father! I KILLED him because he raped me!"

"You must think that I am insensitive to you pain?"

"Mel. I received court-ordered therapy. I live in fear, fear that I suffer lapses in memory and that..."

"Aside from you killing your father, details of Victor’s death evaded newsprint but would make for fascinating copy. Part of the court records are sealed. You never publicly apologized to Dorian for the crusade that led to Dorian’s death-row sentence and for Dorian’s subsequent kidnapping and torture."

"Would it surprise you to know... I attempted to apologize to Dorian? She rejected it."

"She rejected it. And so that's the end of it? It was by accident that I learned the details of what happened between you and Dorian. If we are to work together then--"

"IF? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you are to stay the hell outta my personal life!"
* * * * *
In the cafeteria, Viki swallows hard and regains her composure. After a brief moment, the publisher decides to join her veteran reporter in the newsroom. Sensing Viki hasten behind him in the corridor, Mel stops and turns toward her. "As far as I am concerned, we're finished Viki!" Viki asks Mel, point blank: "Are you leaving me, dear friend, or The Banner?"

"I'm not your dear or your friend, but I'm not leaving you or The Banner, either. You can't seem to grasp this isn't about you or your inherited newspaper; it's about Dorian and me, about our marriage! I'm not going away from anything; I'm going toward something—a leisurely respite from the daily grind with my gorgeous, sexy wife.” Mel lowers his voice to a bitter whisper. "And please do me the favor of not getting that snooty, lemon-sucking expression on your face that appears whenever anyone says something positive about Dorian or mentions sex!" Viki turns beet red and gasps at the remark.
* * * * *
Across the City Room, Bo enters and searches for Mel. Mel waves for him. "Excuse me, I have an interview," Mel remarks to Viki.

Before Mel can leave, Bo advances toward them. He kisses his former sister-in-law's cheek. "Everything okay?" Bo glances at Viki and then Mel. "Or, did I interrupt something?"

Mel answers, "No, I've said all I need to say on the subject. How about we get started on that interview?"

Viki insists, "This is not over Mel." Noticing that Mel is ignoring her, Viki addresses Bo: "Please give my best to Nora."

"Will do, Vik." As Viki walks away, Bo gives Mel a curious look. "You want to tell me what that was really about?"

Mel smiles broadly: "For love of Dorian." Mel stops at his desk to collect his notes, laptop and tape recorder. As he and Bo head to Clint's old office for the interview, Mel explains about his planned leave of absence.

"Oh, that explains why Viki's knickers were in a twist," Bo responds. Mel grins. Bo asks, "What's so funny?" Mel chortles, "Oh, I don't know—somehow the image of Viki in twisted knickers just seems so . . . appropriate." They laugh before Bo’s guilt at making fun of Viki causes him to remark, “I take that back!” Mel retorts, “Can’t— too late! The image is burned into my psyche. I’m going to be chuckling about it for days!”
* * * * *
Mel's interview with Bo lasts for hours. Mel’s sure he can be objective even though Bo’s his friend. Mel covers Bo's childhood in Texas, his relationship with his older brother, Clint and with their father, Asa. He asks Bo about the obvious conflict of interest of being married to a defense attorney, about the bogus murder confession to protect his son, Drew, that had led to Bo's dismissal, and about why he wants to be reinstated to a position where he has been largely “unsuccessful.”

Bo is in his mid 40s. He has brown hair and brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. His dimples, sense of humor and notable integrity, comprise a winning Southern charm. Contrary to his outward laid-back personality is inner toughness wrought by successive disappointments. He asks Mel: "What do you mean, unsuccessful?"

Mel pulls out several newspaper clippings. "It appears that as far as arresting the wrong person, you pretty much batted a thousand." Bo mutters. Mel continues, "You were never a policeman to begin with, so what qualified you for this job? Not being qualified to begin with, coupled with a dismal success rate, I think makes it dubious whether this is the right career choice for you or, more importantly, the citizens of Llanview, especially the innocent ones."

Mel loves this part of being a reporter; it is as if his evil twin takes over and he doesn't care whose life or feelings he hurts. Journalism isn't about feelings, it is about truth. Adrenaline kicks in and he is on automatic pilot. He feels alive, invigorated. Powerful. Turned on. It can’t happen often enough when he'd skewer a public figure on principle; it had became tedious in Washington, where it was a daily occurrence, but now he is reminded that bringing down the supposed good guys is a lot more fun than ratting out the bad guys.

What intrigues Mel the most, however, is Bo's stint as a Green Beret during the Vietnam War. "You must have witnessed some horrors. Are you ever haunted by what you saw?"

"I've compartmentalized it," Bo answers. "I don't look back. A lot of lives were lost. I was proud to serve my country, but the purpose was overshadowed by the politics. Don't put that in your piece," Bo urges. "Bad times, Mel. Let's talk about my plans for LPD."

Intrigued, Mel continues. He notes a pattern. "So you've struggled with hypocrisy all your life, trying to do the right thing, when you've been pressured to go in the opposite direction: first Asa; then the government; then the battle within yourself after Drew died." Mentioning Drew's death, Mel realizes he’s put Bo's feelings on a jagged edge.

Mel can be a SOB when it comes to nailing an interview. There is a fine line between filleting the public official and crucifying the man—friend or foe. Yet he feels the question is fair. "Care to address that?"

“You know Mel, Drew was accused of murdering Georgie Phillips awhile back. He was innocent. I wasn’t there for him when he was growing up, so I took the blame for the murder.” Bo stops suddenly. “Turn that damn tape recorder off!” Mel hesitates and then presses the stop button. Bo comments. “I respect you as a journalist and I know tough questioning is to be expected. It’s the holidays. I miss my son. He's dead Mel.” Mel attempts to interject and Bo stops him. “Your question is invasive!” Bo pauses. "My internal conflicts are not a matter for public record."

Mel sighs, responds, “I respect that. You OK?”

“Why don't you ask me that after I read your story? I haven’t been grilled like that since my jungle exercises when I was a Beret. Let's just say, I’m glad the interview’s over."

Mel remarks, "Mel the journalist can be a son of a bitch! I've had to live with his constant probing of my thoughts, whims and desire all my life! The guy never lets up! Call it my Catholic upbringing." They both laugh and it eases the tension. "Seriously Bo, and this is strictly off the record, any regrets about 'Nam? I mean, innocent women and children lost their lives while we were there. It's unconscionable. You were heavily involved in covert missions on the ground."

"I was a kid doing what I had to do, Mel, however misguided. David Renaldi and I have talked about it. His secret life as a spy led to the death of many innocent people. Leaving those horrors behind and moving on to a normal life continues to be difficult. I have a conscience. I also have a lingering fear sometimes that my past will cause present danger. How ‘bout we turn the table here? Why so many questions about 'Nam, Mel? Something happen to you over there?"

Mel pauses to reflect. "No, no, nothing that my years of booze will let me remember."
* * * * *
The interview over and Bo gone, Mel settles back at his desk. He and Bo have a lot in common: love of baseball; wives they adore; and fathers who left an indelible imprint on their lives. Mel reaches for the photo of his father on his desk. Mel feels he's disappointed Neil Hayes twice in his life: once when his play failed to impress major league baseball scouts; and secondly with Pulitzer prize winning war coverage that his father called blasphemous. Young soldiers, women and children lost their lives in the onslaught; for a while, Mel lost his father through estrangement. The elder Hayes won a Purple Heart during World War 2. The patriotic soldier had difficulty with his son's decidedly liberal, confrontational war coverage with Mel’s wire stories that were often a direct contradiction to Pentagon releases. Father and son fought bitterly before ceasing to speak at all.

Later, it was at a Mets game that the two finally made their peace. Muriel and Mary had purchased tickets to a spring game. Mel showed up with Frank and Roger. He recalls the look of ill ease on his father's face as he and his sons made their way to the vacant adjoining seats. Hearing the excited cheers of his grandsons and recalling the camaraderie between father and son, it was Neil who broke the silence.

Mel remembers the senior Hayes looked stoically on to the diamond: "You know that Mel Ott was a pretty good outfielder. I named you after him. Never told you this enough, but you're a damn good journalist and a helluva son."

Mel fondly recalls that Neil Hayes was the best journalist he had ever known; his father's love and approval meant more to him than a shelf full of treasured Pulitzers.
Chapter 3
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Day 2: At the Rectory, late morning

Dorian greets the reverend at the rectory: "Andrew." From the doorway, she smells fresh pine and glimpses gold-potted red poinsettias at the entrance and sparkling green garland that spirals along the staircase. "Nice. I can tell that you've had a woman's touch." Dorian raises a brow and glances at her former son-in-law before he ushers her from the bitter cold and closes the door. Once inside she adds, “The Christmas décor is rather, um, homey. Speaking of homey, where’s Hannah?”

"Brrr," Andrew groans as he rubs his hands together. "Good morning, Dorian."

"So, Hannah helped with the decorations, I assume?" she asks as she takes off her gloves and scarf and hands them to Andrew. Before taking off her coat, she pauses as she witnesses mistletoe above the entrance to the sitting room and then subtlety accuses, “David’s nurse has found time to help herself to more than just David?"

Andrew Carpenter, a handsome man in his mid-30s with dark curly hair and gentle features, heaves a heavy sigh while taking her coat. "Dorian why do you do this? Yes Hannah helped decorate, so did River, so did David! Let's get on with this, shall we? To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"Did I touch a nerve, Andrew? You needn't snap at me! I'm here to see David. Where is he?" An impatient and curious Dorian glances the hallway and then surveys the sitting room where she pauses to admire the sprawling, colorfully decorated Douglas Fir with an angel gracing it's apex. "Cassie," Dorian whispers as she studies the top ornament before returning to the foyer. She then turns and addresses Andrew: "I was worried about David because of the city blackout last night.” She stops at hearing her name and looks upstairs at the caller. “Herb?” Wide-eyed, she gasps. “Herb!”

"My God! Gorgeous!" Herb Callison descends the stairs into Dorian's welcoming, outstretched arms. While the ex-spouses, who obviously adore each other, enthusiastically become reacquainted in the foyer, Andrew hangs Dorian's coat in the closet and then excuses himself to the sitting room to pour coffee for his guests.

To Dorian’s eyes, Herb hasn’t changed much. He still has a small athletic build, (he once played football at Penn State) blonde hair with a hint of gray; soulful brown eyes and a prominent smile that reveals a slight overbite. The friends and ex-lovers savor an embrace that stuns both for a moment because it oddly stirs familiar and comfortable feelings. The two stare before they exchange a peck on the cheek and a heartfelt whisper into each other's ear. "I've missed you." Herb pauses, gazes at Dorian while he holds her at the waist like a treasured possession. "It’s been a long time,” he finally says.

Dorian shifts away from him but then Herb takes and caresses her wrist. The endearment causes her to emit a sigh. Herb slowly releases her wrist to formally extend his elbow. Dorian hesitates before enfolding him. After she does so, she instinctively pats his hand, which causes an unexpected sensation to climb her fingertips and her to tremble with nervousness at her strong, visceral reaction to him. Herb glances at her reddened cheeks. Watching her briefly, he senses that she too, has experienced the feeling of their natural chemistry unfettered by time and distance. If their connection did not signal a lingering spark of romance, then for both of them, it certainly resurrected an impenetrable bond. Arm and arm they enter the living room and reside on separate, facing sofas. Despite thwarted glances, dismissing the vibes between them only mounted their enticement. Dorian thanks Andrew for her coffee and then breaks an awkward momentary silence with Herb.

Dorian asks, "So, you saw Cassie in Switzerland? Any change?" Herb stares at Dorian without reply, which causes her to cut her eyes toward the Christmas tree.

Offering him coffee, Andrew calls, "Herb?" Herb gasps. "Yes, um! Was there a question?” Andrew tentatively answers, “Yes, there was,” while he briefly studies Dorian’s uncharacteristically nervous reaction to her ex-husband. “Dorian asked about Cassie.”

“Oh yes, well, about Cassie,” a jittery Herb begins. “Not much has changed since your conversation with Dr. Strauss, dear. You already know (Herb paused to take his coffee and to thank the host) Cassie is experiencing longer periods of lucidity that will allow the therapist to explore the current traumatic events and past childhood experiences which may have contributed to her breakdown. Our daughter is at the beginning stages of this endeavor but at least she's able to begin examining her pain without regressing into a child-like stupor. Needless to say, this treatment center is a good one with renown specialists."

"Of course it is, Herb; I chose it. This is all encouraging news; but you seem to have some apprehension—no?"

Andrew joins them; he sits in an adjacent wing chair near the fireplace to the right of the room. Dorian sits on the sofa to his right; Herb on the one to Andrew’s left, closest to the front door entrance.

Herb replies to Dorian: "Dr. Strauss tells me you want to bring Cassie back to the States.”

"You are well-informed." Dorian looks pained before she matter-of-factly adds, "In a few weeks it will be Christmas, Herb. Cassie needs her family. She only has been gone a short while but I miss her terribly."

Dorian sits her coffee cup and saucer on the center table. "Everyday I've questioned my decision to have our daughter in Switzerland. Was I acting on impulse, out of anger, out of desperation to get her away from that demon seed Kevin Buchanan?” She glances to her left at Andrew. “I mean Andrew, being a reverend, is a saint compared to Kevin.” Andrew and Herb exchange glib looks as Andrew quips, “Please disregard my presence in the room, Dorian.” Dorian dismisses his comment and continues. “Am I at fault for abandoning her or cursing her with the Cramer gene toward a predisposition for mental illness? I just don't know. Perhaps the doctors are right that she should remain in Europe."

Before Herb can respond about his adopted daughter, Andrew replies, "As difficult as it is for me to admit it—and I'm still not 100 percent sure— I'm beginning to feel that you were right to have Cassie go to Switzerland." Dorian sustains a look of shock that causes Andrew to smile sheepishly. "Don't look so surprised, Dorian. I can admit when I'm wrong. I agree with her doctors— at least for now. Of course, that may all change while I watch the expression on River’s face when he misses his mother so close to Christmas. Still, speaking to her doctors, I was reminded that Cassie needs to be away from stressful situations. She's making some progress in her therapy. Now would not be a good time to change all of that for her."

Herb adds, "And unfortunately, Cass seems to feel she is being punished for having an affair with Kevin while she was married—to you, of course, Andrew." Andrew shrugs without comment at Herb’s remark while Dorian registers her opinion: "That's ridiculous! If Kevin had kept his pants zipped while in that wine cellar with Nursie Barbara, my dear daughter would be here as we speak! Better yet, she never should have gotten involved with Viki's loathsome Lothario son!" Dorian pauses. Herb smiles. Andrew sighs. Dorian can’t restraint her thoughts. "No, no, it's not Cassie's fault she was ensnared by that morally bankrupt alley cat laying in wait of his prey!"

Herb laughs.

"Don't laugh at me! I'm quite serious!"

"I know,” Herb replies. "I was reminded of just how passionately angry you can get."

"Blaming Kevin isn't the answer," Andrew calmly notes.

Dorian scowls. “Oh, and you have the answer Andrew?"

"No Dorian, but I have daily conversations with someone upstairs who does, Our Heavenly Father. River and I would like nothing better than to have Cassie closer, especially this time of year, but it's not the most judicious move for your daughter."

David Renaldi enters the living room in his wheelchair and speaks with his computer-generated voice. "Dorian." Seeing David fills Dorian with a feeling of warmth and relief. She walks to him and greets him with an endearing kiss on the cheek. David has wavy, thick, salted and peppered hair. He has a bushy brow; large and expressive jet-black eyes, and handsome features, though his face is contorted and now thin and pale because of illness. He and Dorian are Cassie’s biological parents. David comments, "Herb told . . .you . . . about . . .Cassie."

Dorian rests her hand on David's shoulder. She stands to his left, looks at him as he speaks with a computerized voice machine. Dorian kneels beside him and replies: "Yes he did. But I came here to see you because of the power outage last night— I mean in that brief amount of time, there were accidents and robberies throughout Llanview!"

Herb thinks of Dorian's claustrophobia and a fear of the dark that she’s had since a nightmarish childhood. Dorian and David are slightly in back of the sofa to the right of where Herb sits so he turns to glimpse over his shoulder and asks, "Were you alone, Dorian?"

"No!" Dorian nervously blurts as she stands and remains next to David. She impulsively squeezes David’s shoulder. David frowns at her seeming agitation and the suddenness of her response while Herb asks, "I wonder if there were any poor fools trapped in elevators?" Dorian smiles, thinking of her candlelight waltz at Club Indigo with Mel and then answers, "If they were lucky, they were fools in love."

Herb slightly winces at the reply. "Then, you were safe with your husband, I take it?"

"Yes.” Noticing Herb’s reaction, it occurs to her that Herb is likely thinking of their rendezvous in a stalled elevator during a power outage, following their divorce. It makes her feel awkward. “Mel and I were at Club Indigo."

David, who is happy that Dorian finally has found her soul mate in Mel, takes Dorian’s hand as he glances at Herb with a look of concern at the unspoken communication between the ex-spouses. David remarks, "Mel is . . . a good . . . man."

"Married to a good woman," Herb adds before he glances at his watch. He stands. "Um, I'm sorry I have to leave. I've got a meeting at The Banner."

"With Viki?" Dorian objects with a look of disdain.

Herb glimpses her again to his right. "Dorian, we'll talk more about Cassie. Promise. And David, a game of chess next time?" Herb addresses Andrew who is in front of him. "Now, tell that grandson of mine that I'll be back later for a longer visit.”

"Viki!" Dorian scowls. Herb is still standing beside the sofa preparing to leave. He appears flustered at Dorian’s reaction as she continues. "You didn't let me know you were here and you've already spoken with her?"

"You sound jealous," Andrew remarks with a smirk as he glimpses to his left at her.

"Of Viki?" Dorian whimsically dismisses. “Why should I be?” She rubs David’s shoulder with one hand; he caresses her.

Herb attempts to explain: "C’mon dear, I tried.” Dorian cuts him off: "But then, of course we are talking about Queen Victoria!" Dorian feigns exaltation as she curtsies at David's side before she prances between Herb and Andrew—who sits in a wing chair in front of a flabbergasted Herb. Herb sinks his hands into his pockets as his eyes follow Dorian’s movement to the sofa that is adjacent to where he stands. She plops down with a look of annoyance and then folds her arms and warns, "I'd be careful if I were you, Herb."

David, who remains close to the room entrance, pensively watches the exchange. Herb sighs, turns slightly to his left to face her. “I’m to be careful of what, Dorian?”

"Well!" She pauses and leans forward to explain. "Viki is now a desperate divorcee widow, clinging to the delusion that her servant Clint will return to Queen Victoria's dungeon of boredom. But that will never happen and she'll have to find another serf for her kingdom of doom." Having made her point, she relaxes against the sofa back.

Standing across from her and with an ahha expression, Herb mildly accuses, “How could I forget? Predictably, you're overreacting when it comes to Viki."

Dorian purses her lips in agitation. "And predictably, like everyone else in this town, you’re taking her side against me!"

"C’mon dear, stop the jealous paranoia!”

“Jealousy? Stop being condescending!”

“Maybe when you’re finished acting like a two year old having a tantrum!”

"And now the insults! Finished – with Viki? As long as there is a breath to take, it’s never going to be over, Herb!"

“I realize that.” Herb pauses with a gasp. “This is silly.” Andrew and David exchange a glance that conveys amazement at the heightened display between the former husband and wife.

“Oh and now I’m being ridiculed as silly?” Dorian replies.

“No. I’m silly. We’re both silly. This whole situation is silly. This isn’t about Viki.”

“What else could there be?” Dorian asks with a stare.

He stares back with a long pause. “You’ll find a message on your answering machine. You were the first person I called when I arrived in Llanview." Herb walks toward Dorian, leans to kiss her cheek, as he caresses her shoulders. “That’s it for now.” Herb’s remark prompts a curious look from Dorian. He comments, "I promise. We'll speak more.” He clarifies, “about Cassie, but later."

Andrew stands with a heavy sigh. "Let me walk you to the door, my friend." Herb says good-bye to David again and then collects his coat from the hall closet while Dorian stands and watches him from the sitting room. Out of the corner of her eye to her left, she sees that David is staring at her from his wheelchair. "What?" she exclaims before sitting.

David remarks, "You . . . tell . . .me."
* * * * *
When Andrew returns to the living room, the phone rings. He looks cautiously at David. Dorian prods, "For Heaven's sake someone answer the phone!"

SILENCE— follows another ring. Andrew finally answers. He listens and then hangs up before remark. "He's on his way." While he watches David, the reverend tilts his head in Dorian's direction.

It catches Dorian's attention. "Am I to take that to mean I've overstayed my welcome Andrew?"

"Dorian, you know that you are always welcome here. Your zingers add excitement to any occasion. But, now simply is not a good time. You came here to see David and as you've discovered, he's fine." Without verbal reply, Dorian gives Andrew a determined look before she walks toward the serving cart to refill her coffee cup. Next, she returns to firmly ensconce herself on the sofa.
* * * * *
Across the street on the block of the rectory, Herb waits in a tan, non-circumspect surveillance van. An electrifying surge of adrenaline races through his veins. Just moments earlier, he was headed toward The Banner when he got a call on his car phone that there had been movement by the suspect whose name is Wolfgang Alexander, aka, Trevor Collins. So, Herb immediately returned to the church. Presently, he keenly surveys the entrance like a marksman zeroing in on his target. Still for the moment, he is distracted by thoughts of Dorian. He shouts to CIA chief investigator Carl Parks: "Why the hell is she still in there? Somebody call inside! Get her the hell out, NOW!"

Since leaving Llanview and moving to Chicago, Herb maintained his ties to covert government operatives he'd met years earlier while investigating David's spy activities and assisting David and his wife, Jenny, with their escape to Europe. Herb's intrigue and involvement with espionage investigation eventually led him into an intermittent international pursuit of criminals involved in war crimes and to Mr. Alexander in particular. Mr. Alexander is suspected of trading secrets to Vietcong during the Vietnam War while he was there as a reporter.

More recently, Mr. Alexander was linked to the avalanche in Switzerland that injured David and cost him his beloved Jenny. Alerted to Mr. Alexander’s movement to Llanview, Herb informed David. David, in turn, confided in Andrew, with whom he lives. Federal agents and select local law enforcement extend an intelligence operation from Europe to Llanview. And right now there is a minor glitch in plans—Dorian.
* * * * *
Inside the rectory, David glances at Dorian and speculates, "You . . . worried."

"About what?"

"That Herb . . . might. . . see Mel."

"While at The Banner, you mean?"

David let out a guffaw. "Perhaps . . . you should . . . rush over,"

"Why, should I rush anywhere when,"

David interrupts by raising his index finger: " to avert . . . any comparing . . . of notes—or . . . if I . . .read . . .Herb . . . correctly . . . a jealous . . . confrontation."

"David!" Dorian exclaims. Andrew helps his friend: "That's right Dorian. Mel and Herb and Viki will all be talking about you at The Banner."

"Go ahead. Tease me," Dorian says, with a wave of dismissal. "Mel changed his schedule. He said he would be spending most of the late morning and early afternoon on the Waterfront because of the robberies and vandalism last night. He probably won't even be at The Banner despite Viki's obvious attempt to orchestrate a meeting between my beloved husband and my ex-husband. I mean, she jumped at the opportunity to invite Herb to The Banner of all places. The woman amazes me. Interfering in my life is far more interesting than living her own. At least Mel has figured her out."

Andrew impulsively responds, "What is that supposed to mean?" He looks at his watch. "Jeez, never mind."

Dorian replies, "Mel now knows that Viki is a hypocritical, vindictive, pontificating and vicious liar." David smirks on the verge of a chuckle at what he perceives as Dorian’s cattiness while she continues with her tirade. "Mel told me he was tired of her personal attacks against me. He said the two of them agreed, at his insistence, to a strictly professional relationship. He's finally gotten his priorities straight if you ask me."

The phone rings. Andrew answers.

Herb exclaims, "Get her outta there!"

"Trying, trying."

As Andrew hangs up, David remarks, "Dorian, I would . . . like to visit . . . with my friend . . . alone."

"David, are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Yes."

She feigns surprise. "David! Is there something going on? Is this about River, Cassie? Who's this friend?"

"Enough questions, Dorian," Andrew insists. "Please, it's better if you leave!"

David echoes, "Please, Dorian."

"David, you're scaring me a bit with your urgent insistence that I not meet this whomever it is. Is this person a friend?"

Andrew yells, "For once in your life will you quit meddling?"

Dorian glares at him. She looks at David. "I'm doing this for you David." She turns to Andrew. "And for once in your life will you stop being rude! You are a minister, you know." She hugs David, gathers her things. As she proceeds to leave, Andrew follows Dorian toward the door. "I know my way out Andrew."
* * * * *
She opens the door. The morning sun radiates with brilliance as Dorian pauses, gasps at the reveal.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hayes. We meet again." Bold, the gentleman who stands before her takes a long admiring look.

"Ah, ah," David utters. He remains near the sitting room entrance, directly across from the front door, and he signals impatiently for his supposed friend to enter. Andrew, who stands behind Dorian at the door, urges, "You were leaving, Dorian."

"How rude of me," Dorian emphatically enunciates to the visitor. She steps back to widen the door, barely missing Andrew's foot with her designer spike. Dorian announces, "David clearly wants to see you. Come in."

The man chuckles as he passes. The truth behind her carefully selected words is not lost. David is pleased to see him, but not Mrs. Hayes, who moments earlier appeared to be on her way out the door. Seeing David conjures a look of shock from the man, then a quick recovery. "Good to see you, old chap. Aside from the physical injuries sustained from the accident, are you in good stead?" The English gentleman takes David's hand. "So sorry about Jenny."

"David," Dorian calls as she joins them in the living room. Following her as she returns, an exasperated Andrew shakes his head and raises his hands to the Heavens. Dorian continues, "Mel and I met your debonair friend last night at Club Indigo. He mysteriously failed to mention his name. Coffee?"

Waving a hand, he answers, "No, thank you, gracious lady. I can end the mystery now. Ah, may I call you Dorian?"

With disregard for the obsequious compliment and question, Dorian skips a beat, then gestures with her hand, "This is the Rev. Andrew Carpenter."

Andrew shakes hands with the stranger. "Thank you Dorian, I can introduce myself. Just call me Andrew."

"Right, and I am Wolfgang Alexander or Wolfe.”

Dorian queries, “Wolfgang?”

“My father is from Germany and my mother is from Austria. Both were great lovers of Amadeus. I grew up mainly in England but have traveled the world. As for David, we have known each other for more than twenty years. We met when I was a reporter overseas where I spent most of those years as a journalist for The London Times." Wolfe makes a gentlemanly gesture for Dorian to be seated ahead of him.

She ignores him, in much the same way he disregarded Mel's offering to shake his hand the previous night at Club Indigo. Mr. Alexander takes the hint, drops his hand.

Arched brow, Dorian replies to his statement: "The London Times, is that how you know my husband? Or, do you know him mostly by reputation?"

Noting the interaction, Andrew interrupts, "My former mother-in-law was just leaving."

Dorian sits, which prompts Mr. Alexander to smirk as he sits across from her. Andrew resides into an adjacent wing chair. David moves his wheelchair closer to Dorian.

Mr. Alexander answers Dorian's question. "Mel Hayes is a celebrated journalist, well-known for a few of his globetrotting escapades. Let us just say my recognition factor is less memorable."

"As a reporter for The Times, Mel would have known your byline, had you bothered to mention your name."

"Dorian." David interrupts with an irritated look.

"It is all right David, Mrs. Hayes is quite right. I was abrupt at Club Indigo, I am afraid, my apologies."

"You're a friend of David's so I will accept your apology. But, you were rude to my husband and I will expect you to apologize to him, also."

"Enough Dorian!" Andrew exclaims.

Mr. Alexander responds, "Hmm. Sometimes apologies just are not good enough, are they Mrs. Hayes? You are offended by my behavior toward your husband. Rest assured, I have every intention of clearing the air between Mel and myself. I mean, it is not everyday a fellow journalist meets up with a three-time Pulitzer prizewinner in a nightclub. Let us just attribute my erratic behavior to an extreme case of exhaustion and jet lag. Last night was peculiar. I had just arrived in Llanview, and settled into the Palace Hotel, exhausted but unable to sleep; so I decided to take in some of Llanview's nightlife."

"You're in a new town and you go out in the dark into a raging storm?" Dorian questions. "Yes, I would call that peculiar, especially since there's a bar at The Palace. Or, were you looking for something or someone else?"

Andrew shakes his head, exasperated by Dorian's persistent questions and refusal to leave while Mr. Alexander replies, "Well, I certainly was not the only one out in inclement weather. But then again, as David will tell you, I enjoy living a life on the edge and exploring mysteries."

Dorian inquires, "So, is this just a trip to see David or do you have other business in Llanview?"

David interrupts, "Enough." Clearly agitated, he waves his frail hand. Andrew interjects. "Enough questions is right, David! Dorian's already created an entire relationship with your friend here and you haven't even said 'Hello' to him!"

Dorian frowns at Andrew, then looks warmly at David before reluctantly responding. "I'm sorry if I have in anyway upset you, David." She gives the journalist a suspicious look. "Should you be in town for awhile I will surely get to know you better, Mr. Alexander, since I frequently spend time with David."

"Please call me by nickname, Wolfe."

"In sheep's clothing?" Dorian asks as she stares him dead in the eyes. Before he can reply, she turns to Andrew, stands and then says, "You'll be pleased to know that I'm leaving."

Andrew and Wolfe stand while Wolfe pretentiously offers, "I hope I did not offend you, dear lady."

"No— I have an appointment with a friend, RJ Gannon. And I'm clearly not wanted here."

Over mild protests from David and Wolfe, a relieved Andrew gathers Dorian's things. Retrieving Dorian’s coat from the closet by the front door, Andrew helps her into it and asks, "So you're friends with RJ, now?"

She smiles. "Don't worry Andrew, RJ and I aren't plotting to murder anyone this time."

Wolfe's dubious expression at overhearing the remark is unnoticed. Dorian says her good-byes and then leaves.
* * * * *
Outside, a relieved Herb views Dorian's car pull from the driveway as he, Agent Parks and others on the intelligence team listen to the conversation inside the rectory which is transmitted through a hidden mike. David and Andrew share more about David's health and his diagnosis of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), commonly called Lou Gehrig's disease. Muscle wasting, weakness, fasciculation and increased reflexes characterize the progressive neuromuscular condition. Tragically, death usually occurs within five years of diagnosis and is attributed to respiratory failure. David has chosen not to discuss details with Wolfe by telephone or in letter. Wolfe's verbal reaction indicates he is stunned, inspired and perplexed. Inside the rectory as David and Andrew speak, a saddened Wolfe looks into the expressive eyes of this intelligent, gifted pianist and former spy. Wolfe reasons to himself: "It is only a matter of time before David's debilitating disease renders him unable to move, let alone speak." He wonders, "How could he possibly be a threat?"

Wolfe has not forgotten that in earlier years, he and David shared an abiding friendship before Wolfe's growing self-hatred caused him to alienate himself from others as he viewed everyone with mild contempt. Even now, a cautious Wolfe does not retreat his guard; he gives cryptic replies, revealing little in conversation.

Wolfe reminds himself that his conscience is his enemy and his hatred has proven to be a faithful ally in his survival. Specifically, the covert operative is in Llanview to complete an assignment he started earlier in Switzerland with the intended victim being maestro Renaldi. His other involvement in Llanview is personal in its nature and Wolfe expects to derive great pleasure at its end.
* * * * *
Shortly after Wolfe leaves the rectory, Herb enters with law enforcement. Agent Parks, whom Herb calls by his first name, Carl, looks to be in his mid-50s. His hair is so gray that it is nearly white and people often tell him he looks like Phil Donahue. He wears spectacles and is of medium height and build. Carl carefully removes the recording device surreptitiously planted under a desktop by Andrew.

"I'm glad this worked, Carl," a nervous Andrew remarks, referring to his installing the hidden mike. "I pretty much did what you said, but I'm just not comfortable with this sort of thing. I mean I wasn't expecting to be the one to have to do this. Gotta love Dorian being here in the middle of things."

"Damn that woman!" an exasperated Herb exclaims, more worried than upset.

Andrew adds, "Yeah, I wanted to carry her out on my shoulder with her kicking and screaming!"

Herb chuckles in agreement. "She's as feisty as a wildcat and as stubborn as a mule."

David types, and then voices, "That is . . . Dorian."

Herb refers to Wolfe: "Clever bastard. I never should have left with Dorian here."

"Herb, we've gone over this," Carl counters. "Your involvement needs to be at a distance. You've got personal ties here and it's not in anyone's best interest for you to let your feelings for D. . . for anyone . . . get in the way."

"Yeah, yeah, easier said than done," Herb replies. "Years, I've been after this man— years." (To Andrew and David) "You both are to be commended for staying calm under hairy circumstances. And you especially Andrew for your involvement in planting the bug and letting us temporarily take over the rectory as communications central."

"I tell ya, I feel protected in my Father's House, Herb, but I don't think Our Lord minded my asking for back up," Andrew jokes, referring to agents who remained close by. "Having Dorian here didn't help. That woman has a will of iron and a backbone of steel."

The men listen to the tape. Mostly, Herb and Carl are interested in determining if David picked up on anything new. Wolfe's words: "So sorry about Jenny," echo in David's ears. David's eyes water and his hands form into a fist. Andrew covers David's hands with his own. "Jenny's in God's hands now, David." Herb warns, "Wolfe will pay for what he's done. He will pay dearly."

Chapter 4
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Day 2: At the Buchanan-Lord Art Gallery, midday

"Yes, we got them in today," Joe answers Dorian, who is calling from her car phone. "I've already hung them up, but we can change it when you get here. I think the location makes the best use of the light. Yup, they are black and white . . . . RJ's not here yet. Okay . . . I know . . . . We can talk about that more when you get here." Ending his conversation with Dorian, Joe's eyes circle the open and light-filled gallery. The works on exhibit are modern, colorful, experimental pieces from unknown artists, except for the new work that just arrived.

Joseph Buchanan, who has brown hair and eyes, slight build and a boyish look, leaves his desk and gravitates toward the collection from the newest contributor, an African American female with a stellar reputation in photography. She is a cross between Gordon Parks and Annie Leibovitz. Joe adjusts the tilted frame of one of her pictures. Afterward, he stands back to admire it.

"Looks about right to me, Joseph," Mel greets, with his deep voice, as he enters the room. Mel takes a closer look. "In fact the entire exhibit looks like a refreshing change of pace for Llanview. Dorian's influence, no doubt."

Joe, who is 24, laughs. "I'm not sure Llanview is ready for this yet, either. But you know Dorian, always ready to take the world by storm. She's going to lead us into the millennium whether we are ready for it or not. This particular artist has had several photo spreads in reputable publications but this is the first formal exhibit of her composite works in an art gallery. You might know her— Prentiss Little?"

Mel roars. "Know her? I not only know her, she's indirectly responsible for my meeting Dorian!" He smiles. "We last saw each other here in Llanview, right before Dorian and I engaged in one of our infamous, huh, disagreements."

"Well yeah, Dorian said she owed it to Prentiss to exhibit her work, something about an aborted ad campaign with Melador. She said that she was honored that Prentiss selected our gallery for the showing." The phone rings. Joe walks back to the desk to answer it.

"She's good," Mel says as he moves closer to examine one of the photographs. The photo is mostly black and white of African American parishioners entering a church, with the jarring color-exposed image of a blond, blue-eyed little girl waiting in line. Mel hears Joe hang up the phone. "Interesting stuff. Speaking of interesting," Mel says as his eyes scan the gallery. "Where's that gorgeous wife of mine?"

"Dorian just called. Just a second.” Joe grabs a note pad and jots down notes from the call that just ended. “Another sell of Prentiss’ work— sight unseen. Sure does pay to have a celebrated reputation in this business. Of course, you know about being famous.”

“Er, right Joe.” Mel glances the room. “When’s Dorian suppose to get here?”

“Dorian’s on her way here now to meet with RJ. She mentioned he's going to be working here a couple of days a week. What do you think about that?"

Mel shrugs his shoulders. "Not a problem.” Mel wanders around the room and studies Prentiss' photo art as he replies to Joe, who remains at his desk and more to the back of Mel. “It's Dorian's business. I owe a lot to RJ. Sounds like you have some misgivings, though." Joe resumes jotting something down on his notepad. As he finishes writing, Joe remarkes to Mel: "I just think RJ has a criminal past, you know, dealings with the mob and having him here may not be good for business."

Mel turns to address him. "Listen Joe, I trusted RJ with Dorian's life. He's a partner in a business establishment and might I remind you, Dorian was convicted of murdering your grandfather before being exonerated. A conviction doesn't definitively address the issue of character, especially when the person is unjustly accused. Happens everyday in this country."

"Yeah, I know all that. Dorian’s case was different. RJ’s a convicted felon who associates with the wrong kind of people. That won’t garner the gallery any clients.”

“You mean the difference being that Dorian’s hobnobs with Llanview socialites?”

Joe sighs. “I can see that we’re not going to agree on this. How are things going with you and my mom at The Banner?"

Mel frowns and walks away from the picture and toward Joe. "Well, if you are asking if your mother and I have patched up our differences since you told me about past events at the mountain cabin and Llanfair's secret room, the answer is most definitely no."

"Mel, look, I'm sorry. Had I known," Joe begins. Mel interrupts, "No need to apologize, Joseph. You were just curious why your brother would agree to hiding RJ and Dorian—while they were on the run—at a location that bore such horrific memories for Dorian. Your mother shoved my wife into a car trunk, drove her to the mountain cabin and then proceeded to chain her to a cellar wall like some kind of animal!" Mel pauses with a pained expression.” Joe remarks, “Still gets to you, doesn’t it?” Mel takes a deep breath and comments, "You had no way to know Dorian had never disclosed her torturous experience at the hands of your mother to me."

"My mother's alters did those terrible things Mel, not my mother."

"Yeah well, whatever. Dorian should be arriving at any moment and I don’t want her to hear any of this." He stares seriously at Joe. "This is the last I intend to speak with you on the matter but know this— your mother can take full responsibility for never apologizing to my wife! Look, you're going to defend your mother. I'm going to protect my wife. Let's just leave it at that!"

"Okay, if that's the way you want it," Joe says as he gathers papers from his desk.

"No, that's the way it is!" Mel glances at his watch. "Not sure how long I can wait. I was just on the Waterfront to cover a story and wanted to see my beautiful wife. Tell her I stopped by, but that's all! Don't mention our conversation."

"Fine," Joe agrees. "But shouldn't you be honest with Dorian? After all it's the secrets that have destroyed relationships and haunted the lives of both her and my mother."

"Dorian and I will talk about this when I think we're ready and I would appreciate it if you would respect my wishes and keep out of it. Later Joseph."

Leaving, Mel greets and passes RJ at the elevator.
* * * * *
RJ hesitates before he enters the gallery. He asks himself, "RJ Gannon, my man, is this really what you want?" Entering, RJ sees Joe, who is still at his desk. "Joe."

"RJ," Joe greets. RJ looks around the room and then asks, "Dorian here?"

"No—not yet—soon."

"Fine— I'll wait." RJ feels Joe's eyes on his back as he makes his way around the room, observing the artwork on display. He stops to admire the picture of the little White girl waiting in line to enter the church with a Black congregation. “I know what it's like on the outside looking in, hoping and dreaming."

Joe cracks, "Not quite the same as staring into freedom behind the bars of a state penitentiary, wishing away time."

RJ glares. "And how would you know what that's like? When exactly is Dorian arriving, little man?"

"Obviously, not soon enough."

"Look, you got a problem with me 'cause of the color of my skin or is your issue the fact that I've served time? Either way, my business is with Dorian!"

"Did you check out the name of this place? It's the Buchanan Lord Art Gallery. Buchanan money went into paying for this establishment. This is about business and your being here is my business!"

"Tell Dorian our deal's off if I have to put up with a bigoted runt! Excuse me little man. I'm outta here!"

Dorian enters as RJ is about to leave. "RJ, why are you leaving? Is there a problem?"

RJ turns to look back at Joe. He responds with a nod in Joe’s direction. "Ask the little general over there with the big chip on his shoulder.”

"Joe?"

Joe folds his arms and cuts his eyes at RJ before responding to Dorian. "I wanted to talk to you when you got here, privately."

"I'm here now," Dorian says as RJ helps her out of her coat. She takes it from his arm and hangs it in a closet before she walks toward Joe at the gallery desk. RJ remains standing close to the elevator as Dorian asks Joe for an explanation. "What is it you need to say to me, Joe?" she questions directly in front of him.

Joe glances at RJ. "All right, if you insist that we discuss it here."

Dorian glimpses back at RJ and then replies. "I insist."

"Lindsay's ownership of the gallery was rescinded in the divorce settlement with my dad."

"What? But, Lindsay assured me! I let this slip by me." While Dorian speaks an anxious Joe clears his throat, squares his shoulders. When she is done, he adds, "Dad offered me his share in the gallery. I accepted it. The contract is being revised as we speak. All business decisions," Joe pauses to look at RJ, "and that includes hiring of employees, will need to be discussed with me."

A peeved Dorian leaves Joe without comment. She walks to RJ to speak with him. RJ glares over Dorian’s shoulder at Joe while Dorian whispers, "I'm sorry, RJ.”

“Hey look. NO. You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

“But we had a deal RJ that I made in good faith at the time.”

“I already know that, Dorian.” RJ catches a view of Joe, who watches them with a smug expression.

“I remain firm on the deal in regard to the club,” Dorian promises. “We'll work out the rest of it, later." She turns to Joe and then looks again at RJ as she finishs, "after I've had a chance to talk to my junior partner over there."

"We'll talk," RJ says to Dorian, as he continues watching Joe. "Be cool." He kisses Dorian's cheek then turns to press the elevator button.
* * * * *
After RJ leaves, Dorian abruptly turns to Joe. "I don't like your disrespecting my friends!"

"So, RJ is a friend now? I suppose this happened while the two of you were on the lam?”

"None of your business!” Dorian approaches him at the desk. “Let’s talk about this so-called partnership! I would expect such underhandedness of your cousin Drew, God rest his soul, but never you Joe!"

"Underhandedness? Ownership in the gallery is a business opportunity! For God’s sake Dorian, I’m already working here!” Joe sighs. Looking at her, he can see his words are deadened by her anger. Still he calmly explains, “After what happened with Barbara . . .her arrest for Drew’s murder . . . well, I felt like an idiot. I decided it was time to reassess my life, set some goals and establish priorities. I was the last to suspect that she, um, I made a mistake getting involved with her after her affair with Kev.”

Dorian folds her arms. “You’re Asa grandson, Joey. Why take the high moral ground when the low road will do? Isn’t that the Buchanan way?”

"Who are you to question my family’s morals, Dorian? And for your information, Grandpa Asa doesn't approve of my interest in the Arts. Fact is, I'm starting to realize that as long as I work at The Banner, I'm living in the shadow of the Lord publishing legacy. No matter what my family thinks, art is my niche. HERE(Joe’s eyes circled the room) I feel like I’m in my world—my own man— when I’m immersed in my photography, paintings, sculptures. I know this stuff, Dorian! C’mon, I'm good at it! I'm gonna be good for you— good for business!”

"This is not good, Joe! You see, I don't trust you anymore! Yours and your brother’s floozy murdered Drew in cold blood, crippled Cassie and along the way that witch robbed you of your warm sensitive spirit! I will be meeting with my lawyers to go over my original agreement with Lindsay; things between us, have changed!"

“Fine.” Joe sighs in frustration. "This isn't personal, Dorian. It's business."

"Any affront against me is personal! With Lindsay gone, I magnanimously agreed to let you work here as a consultant! I don't want a full-time partnership with Viki's son, Asa's grandson and the former lover of the woman who crippled my daughter!"

"You left out that I was your former lover, Dorian."

Caught off-guard, Dorian is speechless for a moment before she softly utters, "That, that happened a long time ago, Joe.”

“Not so long ago that one forgets.”

“You broke Kelly’s heart.”

“You broke my heart.”

“We hurt each other.” The two exchange long glances. Dorian continues. “Besides, the Joe I fell in love with was a sensitive, gentle – lover, a genuine spirit.” She swallows hard and regains her sense of anger. “When you returned from Europe you'd somehow shrunken in my estimation. Maybe, maybe it was because I'd met Mel, a real man by contrast, who doesn't have to prove his extraordinary and evident masculinity. You're a Boy Scout, Joey, trying to earn your badge to be a man and your stripe to be a Buchanan!"

"Wow! Still angry? This really about us, Dorian—because I got involved with Kelly and fell in love with her when I thought you and I were over?”

“Like you said, this is business. And just a reminder, your mother forced me to break up with you as a condition of release while she held me captive at Llanfair.”

“Yeah well, she was mentally ill at the time.”

“Mental illness, ha! Isn’t that always Viki’s excuse for her crimes?”

“And what was your excuse for deciding to stick it to my mother by conning her virgin son into falling in love and sleeping with you after you were released from prison?”

“As I recall, you willingly crawled into my bed and loved every minute of it! Do you know what it felt like to face death and have NO ONE believe in your innocence, Joe? Your mother had convinced Cassie that I murdered your grandfather!”

“So, that’s your excuse, Dorian? You were hurt so it’s OK to hurt others?”

“It’s simple. Should I or my family get hurt, I strike back—HARDER!”

“So, that’s why you later schemed to ruin my relationship with Kelly by forcing her to choose between her family and me when I wanted her to join me in Italy?”

“Kelly is a CRAMER! Her family will always come first!”

“Even if choosing her family means losing out on love? Kelly was supposed to join me in Europe. You saw to it that she remained in Llanview, which ended our relationship.”

“Correction! You broke up with my niece by mailing her a tactless Dear Jacques letter from Rome! She was devastated that night when she got behind the wheel of a car, crying in a blinding rain! It resulted in her having a car accident that killed her cousin’s unborn child!”

“I’m sorry for that. What happened with Blair and Kelly was. . . an accident.”

“An accident, Joe! You’re just as dismissive of the pain you inflict on others as you dear mother! My nephew Brendan died! Blair and Kelly never will be the same!”

“Forget it! We’ve been over this a zillion times! Look Dorian, I don't have to prove anything to you— to myself, maybe— but never to you!"

"I see. This time around you feel the need to measure up by belittling RJ?"

"I can't reason with you when you're like this!"

"Oh, and how am I being, Jo—ey?"

He bristles at her calling him ‘Joey.’ “Let’s change the subject. You interested in seeing the photo exhibit of Prentiss Little?"

Quickly switching gears, Dorian jumps and claps. "Oh!" She rushes to the photo display. "These are simply marvelous! Did you call Prentiss to let her know everything arrived safely?"

"Of course."

"Oh, I'm thrilled!" She looks at Joe and coolly remarks, "Just what Llanview needs, a little open-mindedness and cultural diversity."

"Funny, Mel said something similar."

"My handsome husband was here and you didn't tell me as soon as I walked through the door?"

"Our conversation immediately went south. Mel said he was on the Waterfront to cover a story." While Joe answers, Dorian immediatley thinks of Herb's visit to The Banner and then asks, "Did Mel say he was returning to The Banner?" She dials The Banner number. He isn't there. She dials Mel's cell phone number. She ends up leaving a message. Dorian sighs, then returns to admire Prentiss' work. "This, this is important. You know what I mean, Joe? Something to occupy the mind and expand the soul!"

Joe marvels Dorian's energy, enthusiasm, and intelligence. He'd hoped she would agree to the partnership but knew it would be complicated, given their history. Joe muses, Dorian is unpredictable; a partnership with her would be anything but boring.
Chapter 5
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Day 2: At The Banner, late afternoon

The Banner elevator doors open. The man who exits was once a Pennsylvania governor, a Llanview DA and a mayoral candidate against Viki, his longtime friend. Herb glances around the newsroom, uncertain if he is on the correct floor. He walks a few steps before a framed photograph atop a cluttered desk catches his attention. He stops to take a closer view of it when he hears a familiar voice.

"They got married right here in the news room," Viki announces as she approaches with open arms. "Hello, good fellow. You have been dearly missed."

"Likewise," Herb responds, returning her embrace. Then he steps back to look at the photo again: Bride and groom descend stairs. Dorian leans into Mel, who grins and wears a tux and full-length tie. Dorian is clothed in a figure flattering, sparkling white tea-length dress with a flowing silk, chiffon scarf draped at her neck. "She's beautiful."

"It is her wedding day," Viki emphasizes with a smug expression as she leans toward him to speak in his ear. "We should whisper. Mel might be listening around the corner."

Herb frowns. "What?" Viki embraces him at the elbow and remarks, "Ostensibly, the subject of Dorian has been declared (she indicated quotes with her fingers) 'off-limits' to me by Mel, who also has decided to take a rather unexpected three-month leave of absence from The Banner."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. Let us go into my office. It really is good to see you, Herb."
* * * * *
On their way to Viki's office, Viki asks Herb about business jaunts abroad which cause him to limit his visits to Llanview. She also asks him about his recent trip to see Cassie. "You know Cassie is a sweet girl," Viki comments as she sits at her desk. Herb sits across from her. "I know she is your adopted daughter Herb, but she has struggled with her sanity since the death of William. I think being abandoned by Dorian when she was just a baby is at the root of her emotional instability. The impetuous marriage to Kevin was a mistake for a number of reasons."

"I don’t have a PhD but I know what happened to Cassie is a lot more complicated than Dorian leaving her with David when Cassie was a baby. Dorian wanted to protect her and Dorian also was dealing with a host of irrational fears that were caused by her childhood in Canton with a— we now know— musically gifted yet deranged mother."

"Yes, that is exactly what I am referring to— that maternal bond. I am just saying that a child needs her mother, no matter how fragile or strained the relationship."

"I know exactly what you're saying, Viki, and I don't choose to get into it with you about Dorian.” Herb looks annoyed. “You know your philandering son rushed into this marriage with my daughter! Cassie has every right to be upset with him about what he’s done to her!"

"Upset? We are talking about a serious mental illness, Herb, dating back to Dorian’s mother and who knows how many more generations before that!"

Herb bristles in his seat then blurts, "And you are an authority on the difference between emotional upset and certifiable lunacy!"

Viki gasps. "Herb!"

"I know I shouldn’t have said that. You’re right; you’re right. I’m sorry." Herb pauses. "I’m just under a lot of stress. Cassie’s going through a helluva crisis right now. As her father, I need to know how a man who took the vow, 'till death do us part,' could hurt her this way."

"Apology accepted. I cannot answer for Kevin. I do not believe he has the answer.”

Herb stands in frustration and walks to the side of the room, near the windows. "I just want this nightmare to end,” he says as he watches the skyscrapers. “First, Barbara Graham cripples Cassie. Then when she finally learns to walk again, Cassie’s anger and confusion about Kevin’s affair, triggers something inside her that makes her try to kill Barbara. The kicker—this is all before anyone else knows Barbara is the one who killed Drew!” Herb looks at Viki with a pained expression. “Cass and I were always close, Viki. I somehow feel that if I were here, things would have turned out differently.”

Viki replies with empathy. “I know how Cassie feels – to have your life unravel while you plunge into the depths of insanity to escape the pain. It’s a lonely existence. Finally, when you are lost, your greatest fear is not finding the means to live in reality again. The fact is Herb, none of us realized what was happening to Cassie until it was too late. There’s nothing you could have done, even if you were here.”

“Maybe. I just feel like I would have seen the warning signs. I felt so helpless seeing Cass in that damned place in Switzerland! I wanted to fix everything for her until the realization hit me that there are just some hurts a father can't heal for his little princess when she grows up and falls in love with a man she believes to be her prince."

Momentatily, Viki envisions a fleeting figurative image of her alter "Princess" cowering in a corner in fear of her father. "Give it time, Herb. Cassie has to resolve this on her own."

"I don't have that kind of patience!” Herb fumes, while he remains at the window.

"At the time that I was dealing with the re-emergence of my alters, I caused those whom loved me enormous pain,” Viki points out. “It was something I had to settle within me on my own. They had no choice but to love me, to offer support and to wait. It is the same for Cassie." Herb stares with consternation at her before returning to his seat across from her. Viki asks, "So, how long are you going to bestow Llanview with your distinguished presence?"

"Distinguished, huh? That title is reserved for dignitaries." He chuckles.

"You're a former governor, an ex-district attorney for Llantano County and a cherished family friend. Llanview has not been the same without you."

"You're embarrassing me, Viki. I hadn't planned on staying in Llanview for very long; but with that kind of welcome, a tired old warrior like myself might be tempted to a prolonged stay."

Viki smiles. "You are at The Palace. Right?"

"The Waterside Inn."

"A cozy, quaint, out-of-the-way place but it is not the same as being in a home, especially during the holidays. You shall have to join us at Llanfair for dinner." The intercom buzzed: "Mrs. Carpenter?"

"Excuse me a moment, Herb." Viki picks up her phone. "Yes. No . . . . Well, is not there anyone else who can cover that? OK, good – if he is available. I want Mr. Hayes' story on Bo Buchanan to be the lead. Right. Thanks. Get back to me on that."

"So tell me about this Mel Hayes, Viki."

She smirks. "What is it you want to know?"

Herb looks serious. "For starters, he seems rather impetuous. I mean, marrying Dorian in The Banner City Room doesn't exactly sound like a planned event. Nor does an abrupt leave of absence without much notice. What are you going to do?"

"I do not know Herb. Honestly, this whole fiasco has caught me completely by surprise." Viki walks to sit in a Tudor-style chair, near the side window where Herb was standing minutes ago. She gestures with her hand for Herb to take the accompanying chair to her left and closest to the door. He does so. "Oh excuse me," Viki says. "I have forgotten my manners. Coffee?" Herb declines and then Viki resumes their prior topic of conversation. "Mel is nothing if not passionate about everything and Dorian seems to take his passions to heights beyond reason." Herb knowingly nods as Viki continues. "It is just that Mel has overreacted to some recent news about my past with Dorian and I feel this leave from The Banner is Mel's way of running from me and the situation."

"So, I've gathered— that Mel has maladaptive ways of coping. He's an alcoholic, right?"

"Yes, oddly enough—like yourself—he is a recovering alcoholic. The fact is, the timing of Mel's leave could not have been worse. Clint is in England and you are already aware of the situation with Kevin and Cassie. We are shorthanded."

"I take it you've shared these concerns with your self-absorbed star reporter?"

"Naturally. Unfortunately, the man exasperates me beyond belief."

"But not entirely. You still want him around."

"Lately he has barely been able to tolerate my presence. He will not even listen to me, Herb. Just this morning we had a major blow up in the cafeteria with him screaming at the top of his lungs!"

“Well, Dorian is volatile by nature. She needs a man who is steady, a man who can provide her with a sense of love and security, not a man who is cocksure of himself and ready to fly off at the handle. Does that happen often?"

"No, you mean Mel's outburst? No, this is not like Mel a'tall. To make a long story short, Joey inadvertently told Mel about Dorian's victimization by Jean Randolph and my other alters at the family mountain cabin and Llanfair's secret room. Dorian had apparently concealed the crimes of my alters from her husband. As you know, much of what happened surrounding my father's murder was limited in the media with the major headline being that a wealthy, renown publisher suffered from sexual molestation that triggered a personality disorder. The public understood that I was the victim. However, Mel was somehow devastated when Joey informed him of the exact details of Dorian’s captivity.”

“You can't fault a man for loving Dorian. But, obviously you were mentally deranged at the time of your father’s murder and then years later when you kidnapped Dorian. From a legal standpoint, it’s defensible but perhaps morally it’s—”

Before Herb can finish, an eager Viki interjects, "Exactly my point, Herb! Dorian was somehow made out to be a martyr in Mel’s eyes and I was labeled a town hypocrite for never making a suitable public apology for Dorian's years of incrimination and ultimately her prosecution, conviction and death row sentence as father's murderer."

Herb jokes, "That's quite a rap sheet. Didn’t you also burn down Llanfair?”

"You know, I tried to apologize to Dorian when it all came to light about what my alter Tori had done but she would not hear of it. I keep hoping that once the shock of all this wears off, Mel will come to his senses. But, it is highly unlikely since it involves Dorian."

"Fact is, your apology should have been public Viki," Herb observes.

"What?"

"You should have gone public with exactly what happened between you and Dorian."

"It is all so humiliating. Even now I . . . I relive it – the nausea at the remembrance of when my father’s hands climbed my legs while I lie in the darkened solitude of my bed; the vociferous anger and then relief when I placed the pillow over his nostrils while he lay gasping wide-eyed before a final breath.”

“I’m surprised you remember it in detail.”

“Yes, of course— Tori smothered him with a pillow— I later recalled it in therapy. Is not living with the memory of all that punishment enough?" As Viki's eyes begin to water, Herb offers his handkerchief. "Thank you," she says with a sniffle. She returns to her desk while Herb's eyes follow her as he listens. "My real fear is this leave of absence will become permanent. I will lose an outstanding reporter but more than that, I will lose a dear, dear friend. If I could just make Mel understand!" Viki pauses to blow her nose.

"Mel seems rather important to you. Why’s that?"

"Oh I don’t know. It has been that way since nearly the beginning. You know something, Herb?"

"What's that?"

She gulps. "Mel's mother is a psychoanalyst who specializes in sex therapy. One would think Mel would understand sexual abuse and its lasting impact on its victims, you know?"

"The sins of the parent should not be visited by the child," Herb emphatically responds. "You and Dorian have experienced a tragic childhood at the hands of a demented parent. After what happened in Canton, Mel is feeling especially protective of Dorian. He is her husband."

Viki sighs. "Of which he keeps reminding me."

"You should respect that and give him time and space. My advice: temperance, same as what you suggested I have with Cassie. You have your own life to live, Viki. Mel appears to be his own man. You cannot force him to see things your way. Leave it alone."

"I am alone, Herb. I am desperately alone!" There is a knock at the door and a quick open. Viki hurriedly regains her composure.

"Viki, you're needed." A flabbergasted Mel stops when he spots Viki's visitor. "Herb? Herb Callison?"

Herb smiles broadly. "You must be the celebrated journalist, Dorian's husband, Mel Hayes? It's a pleasure to meet you. Finally." As Herb stands, the two shake hands. They have spoken by phone but never met face to face. Mel recognizes Herb from family photos and press coverage of Herb's resignation as governor. After their brief exchange, Herb sits to the side of the room so Mel and Viki can conduct business. Herb is just in back of and to the left of Mel, who stands across from Viki's desk.

Mel remarks, "I was about to say that Josh wanted me to tell you that you're needed in the copy room. He stopped me when he saw that I was headed into your office." Mel briefly glances at Herb. "He thought you were in an important meeting so he didn't want to disturb you."

"Well that did not stop you from barging into my office," Viki gripes.

Mel ignores her comment. "Also, Kevin has forwarded my story on Bo. The article's bound to stir some furor amongst the Buchanans, especially a cantankerous Asa.” Herb chuckles: “Some things never change.” Mel glances at him and coolly remarks, “I guess not.” Then, Mel finishes commenting to Viki. “ I wanted to see if my publisher was standing behind my story."

Viki's jaw locks into place. Reddened cheeks, piercing eyes, she glares at Mel and then proclaims: "You c