Charles carefully angled the table through the narrow doorway, then plunked it down unceremoniously, leaning on its polished surface and breathing heavily.

“Good evening, Chas,” said Angela. “Who’s your friend?”

“Table,” Charles gasped.

“Yes,” Angela agreed. “But why is it here in my living room?”

A pause while Charles recovered the powers of speech and upright movement; then he went to the ugly side table at the end of Angela’s sofa and kicked it.

“Shall we burn this?” he asked. “Or shall I just toss it out the window into the courtyard?”

Together they lifted and positioned the exquisitely carved piece of furniture Charles had brought, then stood back to admire the effect.

“It’s very beautiful,” said Angela dubiously. “It doesn’t go with anything I own.”

Then she grinned at him. “Running out of room up at the mansion, Chas?”

“It’s a present,” he told her. “For me. Because if I have to look at that piece of plywood you call a side table one more time, I’ll spit. So don’t say ‘Oh, Charles, you shouldn’t have!’ “

“Oh, Charles, you shouldn’t have!”

“Now that we’ve got that straight, let’s go out to dinner and celebrate. Go get dressed.

“Dinner? Angela was suddenly confused. The casual visits she’d gotten used to over the past week or so - the comfortable banter, the tea and the backhanded sympathy, all enjoyed in the small self-contained world of her apartment - had given her friendship with Charles a definite aura of unreality. And because of that, she hadn’t had to think about what the friendship was turning into, what it might mean to both of them. The fact that Charles now wanted to take her, take them, public seemed somehow significant. But of what?

Her response was cut short by the ringing of the phone. She answered, and Vivienne’s voice said, “Hi, Angie! How’re you feeling?”

Angela glanced guiltily at Charles. “Fine,” she said, “just fine. And how’s life in the fast lane?”

Charles looked at Angela’s face. Oops, he thought. I bet that’s Vivienne. He wandered into the kitchenette, wondering why he should feel so uncomfortable at the idea of Vivienne knowing he was visiting Angela. After all, he thought, she told me to.

“Life in the fast lane is nice and easy,” Vivienne replied. “I’ll be sorry to fly home day after tomorrow.”

Angela lowered her voice slightly. “Charles won’t be,” she told Vivienne. “I think he’s bored without you.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s been hanging out a lot at my place.” Telling Vivienne made Angela feel less guilty.

For a moment, Vivienne felt a stab of . . . what? Jealousy? But that was silly. Angela seemed to pick up her thoughts, because she said quickly, “Don’t worry, kid. I’m harmless. Better me than the barracudas out there.”

Angie was right of course, Viv thought. Besides, Charles had never liked Angela much. Then why is he spending so much time with her? said a little voice inside her, but she brushed the thought away.

“How’s the chemo going?” she asked instead.

“OK, I guess. I mean, it’s not nice, but it works. And guess what? I’m getting thin!”

“Are you sure you’re supposed to?”

“Who cares? I look great! Even Charles says so!”

Even Charles says so?

“And, Viv,” Angela continued, “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way or anything, but guess what Charles has arranged as a sort of ‘hurray-you’ve-survived’ present for next month?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Viv quietly. Charles was giving Angela a present?

“Remember how you tried to help when I had to go for surgery? Well, Charles is arranging for me to have one!”

“One what?”

“A blueprint thing. You know, they take your cells and grow them and you can use the parts . . .”

“Angela, no!”

“Why not? You have one. Besides, even after I’m cured, the cancer can come back somewhere else. I might really need it.”

“But when we talked about it before the operation, you told me you thought it sounded kind of scary, remember?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Well, change it back! Look, Angie, it’s not just cells. Remember those papers I saw at Charles’s house?”

“You said you couldn’t be sure . . .”

“I know, I know. But later I broke into Brian Arnold’s office and . . . Angie, it’s something living, something horrible.”

“Look, Charles explained it all to me and I think it’s great.”

Vivienne gasped. “He explained . . . ?”

“Well, sort of. Listen, Viv, I need it and I’m going to have it!”

“But you can’t . . .”

“Why not? You did!”

“But I didn’t know . . .”

“Well, I don’t care! If I get cancer again, in my ovaries, say, I want new ones so I can have a child someday! And I want to have a new breast sometime too, a whole, pretty one! Charles says . . .” Angela suddenly broke off.

“What did Charles say?” Vivienne asked softly.

“Now, Viv, we were just talking.”

“Talking about your breasts.”

“It’s not like what it sounds like. Listen, Viv, it’s different for you. You’re whole and healthy. You don’t know what it’s like to lose a part of you.”

“That’s true,” Viv responded, “But, Angie, think about the other, uh, whatever it is. It’ll lose a part of itself to you.”

“I don’t care. It’s made with my cells, so it’s really mine. It’s a part of me already.”

“Angie, it’s . . . it’s wrong.”

“Sure, it’s okay for the rich and famous, but for little old Angie, it’s a no-no!”

“You know I don’t mean that . . .”

“Don’t you?”

“Angie, stop that right now! I’m your friend!”

“Then be my friend!”

Vivienne was silent, marshaling her thoughts. “Look, I can understand that it sounds great in theory . . . but you can’t know what it’s really like. It could be horrible! Please, Angie!”

“Your imagination’s working overtime again, Viv,” Angela retorted. “You don’t know what it’s like either.”

“No, but I’m going to find out!” As the words left her lips, she realized she’d known it all along.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to Spain. I’m going to see for myself. It’ll only take a day or so. Today’s Monday . . . well, almost Tuesday, actually. It’s nearly midnight here. So I’ll be home Wednesday evening, for sure. Promise me you won’t do anything till I get back.”

“The hell I will!” Angie shot back. “Why do you have to try to ruin it all for me? If you were really my friend, you’d be happy for me!”

“I am happy for you,” said Vivienne tiredly. “But I’m very sad for the world.” She hung up.

Angela replaced the receiver with a bang. How dare Vivienne presume to make her decisions for her?

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked.

“Vivienne is!” said Angela loudly. She felt a sudden sharp pang of disloyalty, but her anger overwhelmed it. “She doesn’t think I should have a blueprint! She’s going on a one-woman crusade to save the world from the Institute!”

“She’s what?” said Charles in alarm.

“She’s going to Spain, babycakes! She wants to see it for herself.”

Good God! thought Charles. Good God.

He’d been truthful when he’d told Vivienne he’d never seen the Institute. His father’s description had been enough. The Institute had been in its infancy then; by now it would be even worse. No; he could use Talmidge’s technology if need be, but he had no desire to see it for himself.

And for Viv to see it was unthinkable.

“Are you sure that’s what she said? She’s definitely going?”

“Yep. She said she’d be back on Wednesday night, so she must be planning to go tomorrow.”

“Shit!” Charles reached for the phone.

“She’ll be all right, won’t she?” Angela asked him. “I mean, it’s not really so bad, is it?”

Ignoring her, he dialed Brian Arnold at home.

The phone rang and rang. Answer, damn you! Charles urged. At last Arnold picked up, a little out of breath.

“Brian, it’s Charles. We have a problem.”

Arnold pulled himself upright among the pillows. “What’s she done now?” he demanded.

“She’s going to Spain,” Charles said. “She wants to see for herself.”

“Good going, Charles,” Arnold told him sarcastically. “You really calmed her down.”

“Screw that. What are we going to do?”

“You’re not going to do anything,” Arnold told him firmly. He paused, thinking furiously. “Listen, Charles, it’s not the end of the world. Let her go. Talmidge knows how to handle tourists.”

“You really think so?” Charles sounded relieved.

“Of course!” said Arnold reassuringly. The news had caught him off-guard, but now the solution was clear to him. Let Ben handle her, he thought. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said soothingly. “I promise.”

“But you were so upset the last time we talked about Vivienne’s interest in the Institute. You said . . .”

“Yes, yes, I know. I got a little emotional, but now that I’ve thought about it, there’s really no risk. Talmidge will make sure she doesn’t see anything she shouldn’t. And if she tried to talk about the place, well, who would believe her?”

“I guess you’re right,” Charles said. Then a new thought hit him. “You don’t think she’ll be in any danger, do you?”

“Danger?” Arnold scoffed. “Of course not! Don’t be so dramatic, Charles. Anything else? No? Well, I’m rather busy at the moment, so I’ll say good-bye.” And he did.

Charles sat there for a moment, relief flooding over him. The idea of Vivienne visiting the Institute had badly frightened him, but now that Arnold had assured him it would be all right . . . Why hadn’t Vivienne told him how she felt when she’d called from the airport? He sighed in frustration.

He looked over at Angela, half-turned away from him on the sofa, and felt a strange happiness. How comfortable I am here with her, he thought. His feelings had nothing to do with her attitude toward the Institute; she could change her mind about the blueprint and he’d still feel the same. The same what? he wondered.

“How about our dinner date?” he asked her, “I feel like celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Angela glanced up at him questioningly, and was surprised to see the same sense of puzzlement in his eyes as he walked around the coffee table to her. “Damned if I know!” he said with a little laugh. But something inside him sang: Vivienne’s not coming home till the day after tomorrow. I can spend more time with Angela. Guilt nagged at him, but he pushed it away. That damn Institute’s more important to Viv than I am, he told himself.

They went to a small neighborhood bistro; Charles ordered a bottle of wine and they sipped it, adjusting slowly to this change in their relationship.

At first Angela’s guilty pangs returned; here she was, having dinner with her best friend’s fiancé. But as she replayed their phone conversation in her head, guilt was replaced by resentment. How could Vivienne understand what she’d been through? How dare she tell her what was right and wrong? She pushed all thoughts of Vivienne away, determined to enjoy herself.

For Charles, the evening was a revelation. The dinner invitation had sprung to his lips without thought, but as he spoke, the words released a rush of emotions, emotions he now realized had been building in him for weeks.

Why do I feel like this? he wondered as they walked the few blocks back to Angela’s apartment. The woman can offer me nothing. She’s a glorified secretary, for God’s sake; not famous, not rich. No glamour, no connections. And she doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe that was it, he thought, settling himself on the spavined sofa.

Maybe the reason he was so comfortable here was that she was so comfortable with herself. Even his mother wouldn’t have been able to shake her, he reflected.

Angela and his mother; it was a bizarre thought, and for some reason it made him grin.

Angela came and sat beside him. “What’s the big joke?”

“I was just thinking about you and my mother. She wouldn’t have approved of you at all.”

Angela’s first reaction was pain: he’d just been marking time, using her until Vivienne came home. But somehow she didn’t really believe that, and the pain quickly turned to resentment: she wasn’t good enough for the sainted Elizabeth. Then she realized she didn’t give a damn whether Elizabeth would have approved or not.

“Fuck your mother,” she told him.

Charles looked at her in surprise. He’d been thinking what fun it would have been to watch Angela best his mother, but of course Angela hadn’t known that.

“Look,” said Angela hotly, “I’m not impressed by your money or your goddamned family. You brought that table. I like that table. Not because it cost more than my old one or because it’s been in your family for a million years, or even because it’s you that brought it. I like it because it’s a terrific table. And I like you because . . . well, I’m not sure why I like you. I didn’t used to. But now it seems I do. I mean, a lot. But I will not put up with a bunch of crap about how classy you are and how your mother would have hated me. So maybe you better just get the hell out of here!”

Elizabeth would have been horrified, he thought gleefully.

“And if you’re enjoying the idea of a roll in the lower-class muck as a way of thumbing your nose at your mother . . .”

Lower-class muck? “Shut up a minute, will you?” said Charles.

“Why should I?”

“I’m thinking.”

Despite her fury, Angela found herself both moved and amused as his brow furrowed in concentration.

Is that all this is? he wondered. A roll in the muck? But Angela isn’t muck. I never really thought she was.

He studied her eyes and the planes of her face. She’s strong, he reflected. She’s stronger than my mother, yet she needs me in ways no one else has ever needed me.

It made him feel strong and protective. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this protective about anyone before.

He continued to stare at her for what seemed like a long time. At last his expression cleared and he leaned forward and took her face in his hands.

It was time to say good-bye to his mother.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he brought his lips toward hers.

Angela’s face betrayed her panic, her confusion. Vivienne, she thought.

“Don’t,” Angela said. “Please. Don’t.”

“Shut up,” said Charles again. He kissed her.

He could sense his mother’s wraith, culling slowly in agony, twisting, bending, dissolving.

Angela’s arms went around him, she didn’t tell them to, they just did, and he kissed her and kissed her.

I bet I’d look good in a pink shirt, he thought. Angela held him tight. Elizabeth was a faint shadow; now she was gone.

His lips moved against hers, and wandered over her cheek, her ear, her neck . . .

She pulled back, but he held her firmly as his lips moved down her neck to her collarbone. Gently he pulled at her robe as his mouth continued downward.

She recoiled in horror: he couldn’t want to kiss her there. She stared at him, frozen with fear and self-loathing. But his expression was gentle and his eyes were kind.

“Relax, Angie,” he said softly. “It’s just me.”

Vivienne, a robe wrapped around her, leaned on the railing of the small balcony outside her hotel room and looked out over the rooftops. She wasn’t ready to sleep. She needed to think. Aside from simply visiting the Institute, was there really anything she could do about it?

A cloud drifted across the moon and she shivered in the night air. So Charles was giving Angela gifts . . .

But even if they did listen, who would believe her? Proof. She’d need proof.

She headed back toward the cafe, her steps quickening with her thoughts.

Finding proof shouldn’t be so hard. She was Charles’s fiancée, after all. And his family had been involved in the Institute from the beginning. Surely they’d give her special treatment. If she asked them to, they’d probably even show her secret things they wouldn’t show other people. No one would suspect her of treachery.

Tonight, she thought. I’ll fly to Barcelona tonight, check out the Institute tomorrow. As she’d told Angie on the phone, it would only mean an extra day. She pushed open the wrought iron gate and stepped onto the sunlit terrace, a smile on her face. It felt good to decide.

They were laughing at something Pazula had just said when she rejoined her colleagues. They welcomed her back and poured her some wine, and she joined in the general silliness and high spirits. After lunch they played tag along the riverbank until they fell exhausted onto the scrubby grass. Then Pazula sang them a French folk song - probably dirty, they decided with a giggle - and someone sang a Rumanian love song, and then someone else suggested a shopping expedition, and soon it was time for a cool drink. . . . The afternoon was such fun, Vivienne was surprised to notice the shadows lengthening. Four o’clock! she’d never get a flight out tonight.

They arrived back at the hotel around six, and Vivienne filled the bathtub for a long soak before she attacked the packing. But the ringing of the phone soon brought her out again, dripping on the thick carpet. A last-minute addition to the fashion spread had been urgently requested by the magazine, Pazula told her. Would she and another model stay on for one more day? He promised he’d get them to the airport by tomorrow evening.

Vivienne sighed. Of course, she told him. No problem.

Sliding back into the bath again, she thought vaguely of calling Charles and Angela to alert them to this new delay in her return, but decided against it. She was still very disturbed by Angela’s attitude toward Charles’s offer of a genetic blueprint. And just how had Charles and Angie suddenly gotten cozy enough for him to make such an offer, she wondered.

She’d told Angie she’d be home in two days - Wednesday evening. Now she wouldn’t even get to the Institute until Wednesday. Let them stew for a day, she thought. Let them miss me a little. Do them good.

She reached over and turned on the hot water.