Back To U

chapter Sixteen

Watermelons can be carved but only for limited decorative purposes.





She couldn't very well get dressed in the bathroom when her underwear was in her bag in the living room. Gripping the towel higher on her chest, she eyed herself in the steamy mirror. All the important body parts were covered, and no one else was awake. She just needed to pop out for a minute, snag her bag, and she'd be safe again. Besides, she was in no real danger. She was the kind of woman who wore underwear and held towels to her chest, and it was only the panty wearing, breast exposing girls who were pursued. Women like Nicola.

Women like Nicola probably lost their virginity at fifteen to an oil magnate and never looked back. They only moved on, like to heads of state, no pun intended, or a male model who was worthy because he was only modeling to put himself through medical school.

Nicola would have a notch on her bed post from a professional rock climber too until she managed to intrigue a handsome, charming photographer, the kind who left girls like Gwen behind in college. Women like Nicola could snag the kind of man who mowed through dozens of mortal women with his green eyes, sly and sexy, that were never without trouble in them. Nicola was exactly the kind of woman who would live in Paris with a man who always kept a woman on her toes in all the right ways, the bitch.

Gwen opened the door and peeked around the living room, the early morning sun not even touching the windows yet, the door to Max's room open a crack but completely silent and still.

She stepped closer to the couch, her bag a reach away, and felt something hold her back. She tried to take another step and knew her towel wasn’t going with her. She straightened, backed up half a step, and felt Max's heat against her bare shoulders. She sucked in a breath, let it out. "Let go."

"I don't think this towel received any fabric softener. It feels a little rough for all that smooth skin of yours."

She felt his breath on the nape of her neck.

"An oversight, I assure you. Just let me have the towel, and I'll get you another one." He tightened his grip. "This needs to be rectified."

He tugged once, his hand fisted at the bottom hem, and she felt his knuckles graze the back of her thigh. "You rectify anything, and I will scream for my mother."

"I'm just being a good host."

"You're being a perv."

"Thank you."

"Wasn't a compliment. Let go."

"Was and Ellen's on my side."

"I noticed. Let go or I'll elbow you in whatever I can hit with my elbow." She waited, but he seemed equally able to wait, plus he had his clothes on. "I will take you down."

"You'll go down with me." He started to lift the bottom of the towel. "I need to wipe my brow. That last image got me."

With her free hand she swatted behind her. "Get it out of your head, get everything out of your head, and let me get my underwear."

"You don't need your panties."

"Underwear."

"You, my dear, have panties. I've seen them, the little peachy ones that you wore under the nighty with the bows."

"You must be confusing me with your French amour."

"No, Nicola wasn’t all over me at the Curtis."

"I was not all over you at the Curtis!" She felt him push her from behind, his chest against her back. She scooted forward carefully, a difficult balance, avoiding too much contact with his body and too much distance that might yank her un-softened towel off. It was unnerving, especially since she could tell there wasn’t anything soft on Max.

He stopped when she hit the back of the couch, bent her over, and reached into her bag with his free hand.

She took in a sharp breath, and managed to whisper, "What are you doing?"

"Do you want me to talk to you while I do it? I like that about you. You're willing to experiment."

"I want to know what to tell the police officer when he takes my statement."

"Ah-ha!" Max lifted up a pair of peach panties on his index finger.

Damn. They were panties. Not so small that they would be middle-aged-trying-too-hard panties, but not middle-aged-control-top underpants either. She grabbed them. "Thank you. I was looking for these, and now I'm going to go get dressed."

"I’ll help."

She spun around, too close she realized, as her breasts bumped his chest and stayed there. She felt his hand at the side of her thigh, still with the towel. The man was harder to shake than a really attractive pit-bull. She whispered with what she hoped was menace. "Let go now."

"Gwennie? Are you up?" Ellen's voice came down the hallway.

"Yes, mother." She looked into Max's eyes, bumped her hips forward once and smiled. "So's Max."

He mouthed the word mean.

"You deserve it."

"Honey? Did you say something?"

"No, Mom. I was just getting dressed."

"With Max?"

"No, of course not. Max just came into the living room over a fabric softener issue which he will resolve alone. I was going into the privacy of the bathroom." She looked at him. "Where there's a lock."

He smiled down at her. God she was a handful. "It'll be gone tonight."

"Max?" Ellen hollered.

"Yes, Mrs. Ciarrochi."

"I don't know what you're up to..."

Max looked down the length of their bodies, raised an eyebrow at Gwen, and whispered. "Anything you want, sweet pea."

"But you need to let Gwen go."

Max's eyes widened, and he shot a glance down the empty hallway. "How does she do that?"

Ellen's voice sounded like she was struggling not to laugh. "Mothers know everything."





Gwen's Journal - November 26th, 1989 Thanksgiving



I used to wish for things on Thanksgiving. I’d save the wishbone, always. I’d let it dry on my dresser sometimes for weeks, like I was afraid I’d get the short end, and it was better to not know. I’d wish Mom had more time for me and wouldn’t have to work so much. I’d wish my dad hadn’t died before I remembered him, before we’d stopped needing him. I’d wish Mom would get rid of some boyfriend or not freak me out with another engagement even though she hardly ever did it. I don’t know who she’s kidding with the step-dad scares. It’s always just her and me.

And sometimes I wished it was not just her and me. Sometimes I wished we had a house, a real one, and, god, I’m so stupid. I sound like that stupid Christmas movie, the one we watch at Thanksgiving. That’s why I’m thinking about it. The girl wishes for a dad and a house from a catalog and Santa brings it. I didn’t want that so much as the house Barbie has. That Barbie dream house is excellent.

But this year, I’m not a kid. I’m not wishing for lame things anymore. I’m on my own, just visiting Ellen for Thanksgiving. It will mean a lot to her since I’m away at college and all. And this year for the first time, maybe ever, I’m just happy. I’m just thankful because I met Max.





Gwen's Life - the day before…



"So..." Max kissed her under the chin, and she let him back her into the closet. He just loved to back her into things, like he was hunting her down, like she was a gazelle or something.

She laughed, but still managed to get them out of the closet. She tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t go, and she didn’t try very hard. She did need to get him out of her room before Ellen came to pick her up. "I’ll see you Monday."

He kissed her again. "Too long."

"It’s just a four day weekend. Gotta go home for Thanksgiving."

"Come to my house." He seemed to rethink it, shook his head. "Let me come with you."

Like that would happen. As it was, she had to get him out before her house came to him. "James Dean would never approve, and your mother’s feelings would be hurt."

"It would take her the whole weekend to remember she had feelings. By then I’d be back."

"Mean and not true." Gwen looked at her watch.

Max raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. Part-way true. Still mean. You have to go." She jumped at the knock. Damn.

Pulling herself away from Max, she opened the door to her worst nightmare, Ellen dressed for town. Gwen saw her through Max’s eyes. He was used to pearls and pumps and the discrete hint of Channel, but Ellen loved Fellipe of Beverly Hills, and Gwen doubted the guy was from Beverly Hills or even named Fellipe.

The fragrance swung in like a baseball bat of sugar and nearly knocked her out, but Max smiled and seemed ready to be introduced. To his credit he wasn’t staring at the big ole serving of cleavage jostling in the tight blouse. Maybe his mom had done a better job of raising him than he gave her credit for.

"I’m Max Holter. You must be Mrs. Ciarrochi."

"Aren’t you the sweetest boy? I’m Ellen. Gwennie, he’s so polite."

"Yeah. You’re early, Mom."

"Early bird gets the worm."

Max grinned at her. "First come. First served."

Ellen lit up like it was a great game. "He who hesitates is lost."

"But he," Max paused for effect, "Who is last shall now be first."

"And fools rush in where angels fear to tread."

"But the meek shall inherit the earth." Max waited, and they both laughed.

"Oh, he’s funny, Gwennie. Keep this one."

Gwen felt her cheeks heat. That wasn’t going to freak him out or anything. And of all the advice her mother should give, fools rush in where angels fear to tread? She wanted to add to their old-timey sayings with hello, kettle, you’re black.

Ellen, clueless as always, just smiled, touched Max’s arm and nodded towards the door. "I’ll just wait for you in the hall, Gwennie."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ciarrochi."

"Ellen." She gave him a wink and left.

Gwen stepped into the closet.

Max watched her close the door and would have laughed, but he’d seen her turn red and knew this was serious girl business and the wrong word might make her mad for probably ever. Or she’d cry. God, he didn’t think he could survive that. So he’d go with normal conversation and hope she’d come on out, and he’d get to kiss her again before the long Thanksgiving weekend. "So, we’re having turkey. I used to get the wish bone. You ever do that?" Well, he’d have to do better than that. "Bet Ellen makes a good turkey."

Gwen’s muffled voice came through the door. "She barely cooks."

"Bet you make a good one." He waited.

"Pretty good."

"She’s got other things going for her."

"Ohmygod you did not just say that."

Well, hell. That’s not what he’d meant. She was old. Yuck. What could Gwen be thinking? "I mean that she’s funny. And smart like you. And strong. You can see it."

"Right."

Did Gwen honestly not get it? "She couldn’t have lost her husband and raised you alone and had you turn out so great, if she weren’t okay, Gwen." He watched the closet door crack open, slid his foot in enough he could wedge it the rest of the way, and squeezed in. Four days apart. He had to put his hands on her even if just for a second. He pulled her body tight against his, felt the relief of having her arms around his neck, her mouth open to him. They staggered back, the clothes swinging, the metal hangers clanging against the back wall.

Ellen’s voice carried from the hallway. "I don’t know what you’re up to..."

Max froze, still holding Gwen.

"But you need to let Gwen go."

He shook his head. "How does she do that?"





"Dad told me you were moving back home." Missy had said it ten times already, and Gwen didn't think she could hear it again and not go strangle Steve. She'd remind Missy that it was Steve who had done the leaving, but she didn’t want her to be put in the middle. Of course, Steve had done that when he'd taken away her dorm room, well, the dorm room Gwen had taken from Missy in the first place. Damn, she needed to strangle somebody. Maybe herself.

The whole gang sat around Max's table while he flipped French toast in the kitchen. French, naturally. The guy couldn't have made pancakes. Well, she wasn’t going to have any, just drink her coffee and go, go before she discovered the coffee was French roast and have to boycott that as well. Not that he’d notice. He'd set up Ellen on a tall stool at the breakfast bar, and she'd cracked the eggs for him, the two of them making breakfast like they'd worked together before.

The boys and Annie had delivered Missy, who'd spent the night somewhere and only found out in the morning. Gwen intended to straighten herself out first, however long that took, then grill the girl to figure out what she'd been up to. Not that Gwen really wanted to know. The advantage of your child going off to college was that you didn't know what they were up to.

She'd counted on that when she’d been eighteen, hadn't she? Ellen back home in the dark, although given her Mom's correct guessing down the hall, she probably hadn't been in much darkness. Wherever Missy had been, she hoped it wasn't with some Austin knock-off. The original had been bad enough, clone that boy and you'd get a poor imitation of a poor original. Like a photo copy, the subsequent copies could only get dimmer.

She watched the boys with Missy. Yeah, they’d found the new girl alright. Bryan sat on one side of her, Hayden on the other. She eyed Bryan. He was a great kid, but he’d better not be dating Missy. Hayden, on the other hand, was smart and reliable and Gwen would definitely put in a good word on his behalf. As if Missy would go for him.

"She is a bit of one, but we love her just the same."

Gwen looked up to see her mother nodding at her. What had she missed?

Max grinned, happy it seemed, to fill her in. "She just called you a fuddy duddy."

"She did not." Gwen looked at her mother then glared at Max.

He put his hand on his chest. "I didn't call anybody a fuddy duddy. I might say repressed or provincial."

"Provincial’s good." Annie set the plate of French toast on the table where it was immediately forked by four boys.

"I'm not provincial." Who called people provincial? "Oh, I'm not international. Excuse me for being an American woman."

He lifted one hand and a spatula in innocence. "Your mother merely suggested that it wouldn't work with Dingo Boy because you’re a fuddy duddy."

"Mother!"

"Gwennie, I've dated plenty of younger men, but I don't think you could loosen up enough. Nothing wrong with staying in your comfort zone."

Max flipped four more golden squares onto a plate. "The Crikey Kid is a long way out of Gwen’s comfort zone."

Missy snagged a piece of toast from the batch. "Ty's really hot, but Mranda said you didn’t really have a date with him."

"Well, Mranda's wrong." God she wanted to take that bleach blonde down a peg. "All the time, incidentally. And he’s not that young, and it’s not like I’m the hunchback of Belmar. Why is it so unbelievable?"

Missy shrugged. "You're a mom. He's Australian."

"Not." Max shook his head, his hair curling around the edges and still damp from his shower not that she'd noticed. "He's not Australian. He just talks like one to lure unsuspecting American moms."

He’d called her a cougar once, and she’d let him live, but she wasn’t going to stick around and take it past the half cup of coffee she had left. "Screw you."

Bryan grinned. "Ooh, you're pissing Venus off, dude."

"Alright." Ellen clapped her hands once. "This is not suitable breakfast talk."

"Thank you, mom."

"We need to use appropriate language." She turned to Max. "If you really want to know, simply ask her if she had intercourse with the boy."

Gwen choked on her coffee. "Intercourse? That's appropriate breakfast conversation?"

"Yes." Ellen delicately placed another slice of bread in the egg batter. "I didn't say screwed or laid or, of course, the f-bomb."

"How do you even know--"

"Back home I am in a mixed bunco group. I hear things, Gwennie. I hear things."

"Well, I didn't do anything inappropriate with that man." The kiss might have been somewhat, but not entirely, inappropriate. Of course, if Steve had been in the hall and not Mranda, it might have technically been the appropriate that’s in.

"Hey!" Jason pointed at her, his fork waving a hunk of eggy bread that dripped with maple syrup. "Something happened." He turned to Hayden. "Did you see her face? Venus had that thing." Jason pointed to the right corner of the kitchen and let his eyes follow.

Gwen tried to track what he saw. "I looked at the ceiling?"

"No," Hayden sat up straighter, a young professor with the opportunity to educate the masses. He was a sweet boy, but if he said anything insulting, she was going to strangle him. "You looked this way with your eyeballs and that's the making things up look. You know, when your eyeballs go that way, you're using the side of the brain where things are made up. I think you were lying. Not that I think any less of you."

"Thank you, Hayden. But I wasn’t lying."

Max brought the last of the food to the table and sat down. "Sins of commission."

Hayden nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that." He looked around the table and seemed to realize no one else understood. "She didn't lie so much as not tell us--"

Max jumped in, "Her friends, what really happened."

"I don't have to--"

"We tell her plenty." Bryan looked hurt.

"We tell her everything." Annie turned to Guy who nodded in agreement.

"He kissed me. End of discussion."

"Did you kiss him back?" Max looked around the table. "Your friends want to know because we care about you and don't want to see you taken advantage of by a younger man who is probably just after your social security checks."

Jason sighed. "My dad says social security’s not even going to be there for us. It's so unfair. We are the screwed..." he looked at Ellen. "Sorry. We are the intercoursed generation."

"I do not collect social security."

"Well," Jason reached for more orange juice, "You'd better get it now before it's too late."

"It's too early! I'm too young. I’m young, plenty young enough to go to college and live in the dorm and start over and kiss Ty back in the elevator."

"In the elevator?" Bryan reached up for a high five. "The mile high club."

"That's in an airplane," Max shook his head, "What are they teaching young men these days? Get the sexual terms straight, boy."

"That's sex in an airplane." Gwen caught her mother clearing her throat. "Intercourse in an airplane. No airplane and no intercourse. A kiss." She turned to Max, "What are they teaching grown men these days?"

"To do more than kiss a woman in an elevator, the Aussie amateur."

She could still see the doors opening to the vindictive face of Mranda, and then the smug arrogance of Steve telling her he controlled the college fund. "Ty was interrupted because Mranda and Steve were there."

Ellen snorted. "I bet the tool took that well."

"Is that why Dad said you were going home because you were making out with Ty?" Missy sucked in a breath, "Is that why the university kicked you out? Fraternizing with a student?"

"I am a student. And the university didn't kick me out, just out of the room. My God, I’m going out for breakfast from now on. You’re all making me nuts."

"That's what he said." Bryan laughed.

Gwen glared at him.

"Sorry, Venus."

She glared at Max.

"What did I say?"

She headed to grab her bag for school. She just needed to go before she told somebody to intercourse off.

"A little touchy about her boy toy."

She froze at Max’s taunt then turned slowly back. The boys waited in fear. She could see it on their faces, but Max had his chin up, relishing the prospect of a fight. He liked it, the bastard. She stepped back into the dining room, leaned against the wall and closed her eyes in an imitation of rapture. She rapped the back of her head twice, opened her eyes, and smiled at Max. "G'day mate."

He stopped smiling.

And before he could recover from her reminder of headboards and head banging, before the door had even fully closed behind her, the boys started in with the inquisition. It was planned, he could tell, as well as eighteen-year-olds could manage. Even Missy seemed to have been part of what he was going to call Operation Protect Gwen.

Ellen excused herself and made her way down the hall, and he watched her work her crutches to navigate it before even bothering to listen to the boys.

"So, she was pretty upset about it and..." Bryan shrugged, "Not cool. She's a great lady and, you know, you dumped her once so we just want to make sure that--"

"You really did dump her?" Missy drilled him with eyes the same hazel shade as Gwen's.

"I…" he what? What should he tell Missy? After twenty years he didn't know what really happened then or what the hell was still between them. "Things got complicated, and I wasn't good at complicated."

Annie snorted.

Annie was a smart girl. "Okay, I'm not that good at complicated even now." He looked at her. "Happy?"

She nodded.

Missy’s eyes widened. "Are you my dad or something?"

"No. No." He said it with such force, he instantly regretted it and had to watch the hurt on her face. "Listen, Missy, you'd be the best thing that ever happened to me. You would. But you're the best thing that ever happened to Gwen and Steve."

It took him by surprise, the pain he felt saying it. He knew from the time he'd walked away from Gwen she'd marry and have children. She was the kind of woman who would do just that and well, no matter what had come of her and the tool. And seeing Missy had just felt good. He'd been happy for Gwen. It had nothing to do with him. But somehow saying no to Missy reminded him he'd given something up, something big and important. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry that you dumped my mother? Sorry that you're not my father?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Hayden, always the practical one, jumped into the silence between them. "We saw your girlfriend."

Max tried to make the shift. Nicola? "You what?"

Bryan sat straighter in his chair. "We checked her out, man. I mean, somebody has to have Venus' back. She feeds us and, you know, she's Venus."

"So, you checked her out to find what exactly?"

Jason joined in. "Grandma Venus said that she did the Google. Get it, did the Google? She's funny. And she didn't find anything good, isn't that what she said?" He checked with Missy, and she shrugged.

Bryan motioned to the guys around the table, "So, we decided we'd better see for ourselves, and so we, you know, hung around the arts building and just checked her out. No stalking or anything. I mean, I don't need another restraining order."

Max considered he may need to keep Bryan away from Missy. "Another?"

"High school, dude. Parents are a little crazy about their youngest daughter, like she didn't invite me in, and it's not like we even went all the way but--"

"Got it."

"Yeah, well I didn't ‘cause, man, that girl could tease like--"

"You saw Nicola. Everybody happy?"

"No. She's completely hot. There's no way you're leaving her."

Max tried to follow that logic. Maybe he had matured past an eighteen-year-old male.

Bryan shook his head. "She leave you, man?"

Annie, looking increasingly uncomfortable, seemed to break from the crowd in his defense. "I don't think it's our business if--"

"Hell, yeah, it is." Jason, wearing his farm boy goodness, even had a little waver in his voice. "If he's not a free bird, he can't just chase Venus down."

"Gratis fugel!" Guy grinned.

Bryan smiled back at him. "Yeah, Guy, gratis fugel." Then he leaned closer to Max, asking with his posture to be reassured.

Max wished he could. "I'm doing a job for Nicola, some photos. We made an agreement that I’d do this one thing for her, and then it’s done."

Bryan relaxed. "Probably a bitch anyway. I mean, hot, but--"

"Don't." Max stopped everyone with the word, but all his attention focused on Bryan. "Don't ever talk about her that way."

Bryan sat back, surprised. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything, just talk."

"Yeah, well, don't talk like that."

"Got it."

Max pointed down the hall. "I’ve gotta get ready to go to campus."

"Thanks for breakfast." Missy spoke up, an automatic politeness schooled, no doubt, by her mother. "We'll clean up."

"Thanks." Max didn't turn but kept walking.

They sat in silence until they heard his bedroom door close.

Annie looked near tears. "He's not over her."

Jason patted her arm. "Venus?"

Annie shook her head. "Nicola."





She might have stormed into Deb's office with more force than she should have. She hadn't meant to. She'd just been all stirred up with Max and the towel deficient in fabric softener and the French breakfast. Plus there’d been Ty and then Mranda, and then losing her dorm room to Steve’s manipulation. And Deb had been, right from the first day, the only real adult around for her to vent to. But Gwen watched her, seated at her desk, arms crossed. She’d reacted to all of Gwen's woes with visible annoyance.

"Sorry, Deb. I didn't mean to dump on you. You go. What's going on with you?"

Deb laughed, short and without any humor at all. "Well, maybe you should ask your friends."

"My friends?"

"Nicola and Max. You know, that campus power couple you're buddies with? The ones that run things around here, like you didn't know."

"Until he walked into the kitchen that day--"

"And all that help you gave me getting rid of the lamb. Nicola didn't need it anymore did she? We were moving on to testing beef recipes for her. When did she tell you about her cookbook?"

"She's writing a cookbook?"

"Don't come into my office and pretend that you didn't know." Deb stood and pointed to her office door.

Gwen started to defend herself but could see Deb wouldn’t listen, so, shaking, she made her way into the hall. She was going to see Max and find out what the power couple, and didn't that just make her want to scream, were up to.

She tried his office and the classrooms down the hall where the photography courses were taught. A lone student capturing a still life of citrus fruits on a blue tray sent her to the darkroom and assured her that in the basement the dark arts were still practiced even in the age of the digital revolution.

The darkroom sign had to be original to the building, and outside the door, a green light encased in a wire cage promised she could go in without ruining anything. She wished everything could be that clear. She’d never make another bad decision if only a green light would come on when everything was safe. She knocked just in case even darkrooms didn’t work like that and heard Max's cranky, "What?" through the thick door.

She went in and he didn’t react in surprise, but seemed to sharpen, like he was forever trying for an advantage in a hunt only he was engaged in. Yeah, that was good. "This is a hunt only you are engaged in." That gave her the upper hand. She watched him lean against the counter, a swirly grey Formica, worn but still working and could tell she had his attention. A green light really did mean go. "I have a couple of questions about you and Chef Gaspard."

"First," Max still leaned against the counter, but she thought she could see some irritation in his posture. "Chef Gaspard is the head of your program, so you’ll have to take up your questions with her. And second, you came here," he gestured around the room, the shelves teeming with jugs of chemicals, "hunting for me. Did you want to talk about Nicola?"

Nicola. Even the way he said her name made it sound lovely and elegant. And French. No, she did not want to talk about Nicola. "Chef Gaspard is writing a cookbook." She studied him to see if he knew, but he kept the same relaxed stance. Maybe Deb was just buckling from the pressure. Still, she should give it one more try. "Do you know if she’s writing a cookbook?"

"Uh, no. Don't care either. Why would you?"

"Some people," she wasn't going to cause Deb any more trouble, "think that she's using the program to test recipes for a cookbook. And you would be the photographer."

Max's eyebrows drew together then he shook his head. "The photos are for publicity for the program, brochures for potential students, you know, just documentation of what the cooking program produces."

That made sense, didn't it? Why would a big name chef like Nicola, Chef Gaspard, use a bunch of students to do her work anyway? She was a chef. She'd test her own recipes wouldn't she? God knew she had the skill, the time, the facility. Deb was just under a lot of stress. She'd been saddled with far more teaching than she could have planned for. It was a new program and a difficult time for everyone. She'd try to talk to Deb again. Maybe she'd calmed down already. Maybe she just needed caffeine.

Max walked to the door and flipped the lock down. When the green light went out and the red light flared on, she thought oh no he didn’t and started to tell him to knock it off when he plunged the entire room into darkness.

Trying to catch her breath, the dark hit her like a blanket that required struggle for air. Her eyes adjusted just enough to see the area lit red below the door. She might be able to lift the latch.

She reached for it, felt Max take her hand, and pull her from the door. "I already opened the film canister."

She felt the first touch of responsibility. She didn't want to ruin an entire roll of film. Who knew what was on it? But this was Max. And he was not above lying to get his way. "You're bluffing."

He released her hand but guided her fingers, and she felt a film canister with several inches of film fluttering out of the metal holder. "Dammit, Max. You think I'm going to stay in here while you develop that?"

"Know it."

"Well, what if I don't care if Chef Gaspard gets her lamb photos?"

"These aren't from the kitchen. These photos are nothin' but kitties and puppies."

She laughed before she could stop herself.

"And children sitting in carved-out watermelons with little melon rind hats and shit."

She slapped at his hand. "Just finish already."