Disclaimers in Part 1
Jim versus the Volcano
Part 2 - Staten Island - Jim  

I scared him.

I got him back to my dingy little apartment and pulled him into my arms. His 
lips were soft and warm under mine. I left those lush lips and wandered 
across his cheek to his ear. I took it between my teeth and tugged gently. 
The warmth of my breath made him shiver. I ran my hand down his torso to his 
crotch. His dick was hard, and it quivered under my touch. Sandy groaned and 
rocked his hips forward into the hard grip of my fingers, and he whispered 
raggedly, "You're so alive! What's happened to you?"

Why did I say what I said? What possessed me to say, "I'm gonna die?" 

Sandy went still in my arms, and then pulled back.

"Sandy..."

The light in my apartment was dim, but I could see how pale he'd become. 
"You're gonna... Uh... I gotta go."

I reached for him, and he flinched. My hands dropped to my sides. "Please 
don't."

"I've got the job in the morning. You may have quit but... You're gonna die?" 
His voice rose to a squeak, and he backed further away from me. 

"Sandy..."

"Oh, god, Jim. I do want you! There's nothing I want so much as to have you 
making love to me, but... I can't handle this! You're really going to...? I'm...
I'm sorry!" The door slammed shut behind him.

I stood there. The light from the moon came in through a gap in the curtains 
and glinted off the doorknob. It seemed to reach out and suck me in, and I 
fell down... down... down...

There was the most annoying tapping, and the rhythm was so erratic that I 
couldn't hold on to it long enough to capture it and tear its tapping little 
heart out. I opened my eyes, stunned to see that it was morning. My knees had 
locked, my neck felt as if an iron bar was jammed through it to my spine, and 
my eyes felt so gritty I thought they were about to fall out of my head and 
roll around on the floor.

"Mr. Ellison! Jim!" The tapping started again.

I shook myself, trying to get everything to fall back into place, and went to 
the door. "Who are you, and what do you want?" I growled hoarsely.

"Naomi Sandburg, Jim." The woman who stood there was a little over medium 
height, for a woman. She had reddish-brown hair and blue eyes, and she looked 
a little familiar, but I couldn't place her.  She wore a black pin-stripe 
suit, with a slim skirt that flitted around her long legs. If I was into 
women, I might have been into her.

She brushed past me into my apartment and looked around indifferently. "Oh, 
not a nice place, Jim."

"I don't recall inviting you in, Ms. Sandburg. You see the door there. Don't 
let it hit you in the ass on the way out." I stalked into the kitchen and 
began to make a pot of coffee. I filled the Mr. Coffee reservoir with water, 
then measured out the grounds. 

The sound of silk dragging across silk was loud in the room, and when I 
turned, she was sitting on my ratty couch, her legs crossed elegantly and her 
hands folded in her lap.

Her lips parted in a smile that would have been at home on a shark, 
displaying perfect white teeth. "I've done quite a bit of research on you. 
Jim Ellison. Five years on the Cascade police force. You went from Narcotics 
to Vice to Major Crimes. You were Cop of the Year. You rescued two kids from 
a hostage situation that had gone south, then ran back and saved the third. 
And then... you quit the force and disappeared. Why, Jim? For the last eight 
years you've gone from one miserable, shitty job to another, and now... Now 
you've left another job."

I'd heard the coffee finish dripping. "I think the coffee is ready, Ms. 
Sandburg. Would you like a cup?" I turned away from her and pulled a couple 
of cups down from the cabinet above the sink. They were dusty, and I used the 
tail of my shirt to wipe them out. "I can't believe you came here just to 
tell me my job choices have sucked, and, by the way, I have to agree with you 
there. How did you know I quit American Panascope?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she said, "Does my name mean anything to you?"

I shook my head and took a sip of my coffee. It was too hot, and I went to 
the fridge for the milk. As I opened the cap, the odor of milk gone bad 
almost overwhelmed me, and I started to gag.

"Jim, are you all right?" Naomi Sandburg was beside me.

"Sorry. This milk is awful!"

She sniffed at it. "It smells fine to me." Before I could stop her, she took 
the container and poured a dollop into her own coffee. I waited for the 
inevitable reaction, but to my surprise, she sighed happily and resumed the 
thread of the conversation.

"Jim, I am owner, president and CEO of Sandburg Enterprises. At this moment, 
my company dominates the world market in super conductors. Do you know 
anything about super conductors, Jim?"

"Nope," I said shortly. "Can't say that I care, either."

She frowned at me. "You don't seem to care about much, do you, Jim? That is 
not a healthy attitude to take. Maybe you should change your diet, become a 
vegetarian."

"Huh?"

"Never mind, that isn't what I came to see you about. I have a proposition 
for you. There's a mineral called chatarra that's elemental in the creation 
of super conductors. The only place on the face of the earth where you can 
find it now is on this little volcanic island in the Pacific, off the coast 
of Peru. According to legend, Isla del Volcan Repugnante was once a part of 
the mainland, but when the volcano erupted, it broke off, much as everyone 
thinks California is going to do one of these days, and drifted out to sea. 
The inhabitants of Volcan Repugnante are descendants of a band of Chopecs who 
were trapped on that spit of land."

I stared at her and rubbed my short-cropped hair vigorously. "So?"

She peered at me over her glasses. I wondered why she wore them. It was 
obvious, to me at least, that the lenses were plain glass. "The Chopecs 
believe in Sentinels, individuals who have enhanced senses. The sole purpose 
of a Sentinel is to protect the tribe, even going so far as to lay down his 
life if that should prove necessary."

"Why are you telling me this?"

She ignored my question. "Their last Sentinel vanished years ago, and now 
Volcan Repugnante is on the verge erupting once again, something it hasn't 
done in over a dozen generations. Incacha, the shaman, has meditated and 
communicated with his gods, and he has told his people that the only way for 
the island to be saved is for a Sentinel to throw himself into the volcano. 
But as I said, they have no Sentinel. However, Incacha has promised my 
company an unlimited supply of chatarra if I can provide him with such a 
man." 

"Yeah, so? What does this have to do with me?"

Her gaze was shrewd. "You would be perfect for this, Jim."

I stared at her in shock. "Hold on a second! You want *me* to throw myself 
into an active volcano?" Clearly the woman had lost her mind. "Why would I 
want to do something so insane?"

"Because once you had balls of solid steel! Because eight years ago you 
wouldn't have hesitated. And because I intend to make it worth your while. 
Listen to me, Jim. I'm going to give you the opportunity to live like a king 
and die like a man!" Ms. Sandburg opened her shoulder purse, reached in and 
pulled out a handful of plastic. She fanned out the rectangles, and I could 
read Visa, MasterCard, American Express. There was even a Discover Card. "All 
unlimited credit, Jim. All yours for the taking."

"Again, I ask you why?"

"Jim, you have no family." 

I did, but my father had refused to have anything more to do with me when 
he'd learned I was gay, and my brother, Stephen, followed along with whatever 
he said.

"Families are a pain, anyway. I know, I have two sons who are such a... Well, 
that's neither here nor there. What do you say, Jim? I know you're going to 
die. Do you want to wait out the little time you have left here?" She saw my 
shock. "Oh, yes, I know you're going to die."

"How...?"

"I'm one of the wealthiest women on earth, Jim. Do you have any idea what 
it's like when people are willing to bend over and take it up the ass, just 
because they think I want them to? Whatever I say, whatever I want, people 
fall all over themselves to do my biding. That makes it very easy for me to 
find out things, not to mention getting things done. Now here. Take these."

I looked at the credit cards that were in her hand. I really didn't have 
anything... anyone keeping me here. "If I agree, and that's a big 'if', Ms. 
Sandburg, what happens?"

"Tomorrow you'll take a jet to LA. The next day you board a yacht, and then 
twenty days from today... "

"I jump into a volcano."

"Yes. Live like a king, die like a man. That's what I say. What do you say, 
Jim?"

I thought about the last eight years, about the way my senses would go 
haywire, and all the money I'd blown on doctors who just couldn't figure out 
what was wrong with me. I thought about the loneliness that had followed me 
from city to city. For a fleeting second I thought about Sandy... I thought 
about Sandy.

"Yes. Okay, yes. I’ll do it. But I want you to do something else for me." I 
scribbled down his name and handed her the slip of paper. "I want him taken 
care of. I want him to have the opportunity to get out of that shitty job and 
do something with his life, something that *he* wants to do."

She took the paper and studied the name, then smiled, pulled out her cell 
phone and made a phone call. 

Once Sandy's future was assured, she folded the credit cards into my hand, 
back to the business at hand. "Your ticket will be waiting at the American 
Airlines counter, and you'll fly out of Kennedy at noon tomorrow. First 
class, of course. Someone will be waiting for you at LAX. Good luck, Jim, and 
godspeed." And she was gone.

Well, I was committed. Or maybe it was that I *should* be committed. 

I took the Yellow Pages down from a shelf, picked up my coffee cup, and 
sipped as I thumbed through it the phone book. Libraries. Light Bulbs. 
Lighting Consultants... Ah, Limousine Service. I pulled the phone to me and 
dialed.

"Good morning, Acme Limousines," a cheerful voice on the other end announced.

"I'd like to rent a limo. Do you take MasterCard?" 


Manhattan - Jim  

By the time the limo showed up at the front door, I had gone through the 
rooms of my apartment, trying to decide what I needed to pack. And then I 
pulled out the credit cards and looked at them in my palm, and decided that 
there was nothing that couldn't be replaced. I left it all. 

The toot of a horn alerted me to the fact that my ride was there. I closed 
the door behind me and locked it, and dropped the key off with Mrs. 
Caravelli, who lived in the basement apartment of the two-story house.

Behind the wheel of a white limousine was a figure wearing a black driving 
cap. As I approached the car, the figure stepped out to open the passenger 
door for me, and a cascade of reddish-brown waves flowed to her shoulders. I 
was startled to realize my driver was a woman.

"G'day, mate," she said in a lightly accented voice. "I'm Megan Connor, and 
I'll be your driver for today." She waited patiently until I climbed onto the 
rear seat, then leaned forward. I flinched away, and she glanced at me 
curiously. 

It was a reflexive movement; too often people came close to me, and the smell 
of the perfumes or mouth washes they used to mask the odor of their bodies or 
their breath were enough to make me pass out. I found myself relieved when 
her scent didn't overcome me. I smiled at her weakly, and her expression 
became thoughtful, but she said nothing about my odd reaction.

She gestured to the interior of the limo. "There's a mini bar. You'll find a 
selection of beer, wine and designer water, and that little cabinet beside it 
is filled with an assortment of snacks, healthful and otherwise. If you need 
to talk to me, this switch will activate a speaker in the front of the car." 
I noticed there was a Plexiglas barrier between the front and rear sections 
of the luxurious vehicle. "Now, where can I take you, Mr. Ellison?"

I stared at her blankly. "Um." I had lived in the most cosmopolitan city in 
the world for over four years, but I had never left Staten Island. "I think 
I'd like to go to Manhattan, please?"

"You got it, mate!" She shut the door and returned behind the wheel, then put 
the limo in drive and effortlessly steered the powerful car to the bridge 
that would take us over the river. I could hear her singing softly, 'I'll 
take Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island, too...' She saw my smile in the 
rearview mirror and thumbed the intercomm. "Something tickle your funny 
bone?" she asked conversationally.

"Not at all. I just thought that song was rather appropriate."

"What song?"

I was confused. "The one you were just singing, Ms. Connor."

"You *heard* me? Mr. Ellison, there's inch thick glass between us, and I was 
barely mouthing the words!"

I hunched a shoulder defensively. "I could hear you."

She pulled over to the side of the tree-lined street, parked, and joined me 
in the back seat. "All right, Mr. Ellison. Tell me what else you can do."

"Well, I can tell that you hurt your wrist recently." For some reason I was 
willing to talk to her. "You've got a bandage on it, and I can hear it 
rubbing against the shirt you've got on. You usually wear some 
orange-ie-smelling perfume, but today you're not. And there's a cop who's 
headed this way, because it's alternate side of the street parking, and 
you're parked on the wrong side."

Her head shot up at that and she peered in the direction I indicated. "I 
don't see a cop." But she returned to the front seat and drove off.  Three 
blocks down we passed a cop who was diligently ticketing cars.

"You believed me. Why?" 

She lowered the partition that separated us. "Say again, mate?" I repeated my 
question. "I think you're a Sentinel, Mr. Ellison. Someone with enhanced 
senses. The protector of the tribe." That's what Ms. Sandburg had insinuated. 
"They used heightened sight and hearing to guard their people against 
enemies, track game, things like that. Some of them could find water by 
scent. A *very* few had all five senses online at the same time. Sentinels 
were highly valued members of their community. Needless to say, there aren't 
too many in this day and age."

"How do you know about this, Ms. Connor?"

"Please, call me Megan." She reached back awkwardly over her shoulder to 
shake my hand.

I leaned forward to take hers. "I'm Jim."

Her smile was warm, and for the first time in years, I felt... not safe, but... 
comforted. "I'm a Guide, Jim. It's the Guide's job to protect the protector. 
You see, Sentinels have a tendency to loose themselves in their senses, go 
into a zone, a white-out if you will, which can be very dangerous. So Guides 
keep them grounded, bring them back out of a zone. Each Sentinel has his or 
her own Guide. It's a system that worked. However, as the centuries 
progressed, there became less and less need for them, until now they're 
considered a myth, when they're considered at all."

I felt hot and then cold. "Is that what's been wrong with me?"

"You just lacked a Guide to show you the way. There's absolutely nothing 
wrong with you."

That's what she thought. Still, my last days would be more endurable if I 
could control my senses. "Will... will you be my Guide?" 

"I can show you the way to go on, Jim. I can help you learn how to dial down 
your senses, piggyback them, but I'm already a Sentinel's Guide. I'm sorry."

Not as sorry as I was. 

****

We spent the next few hours exploring the city while Megan taught me the 
basics of handling my senses. We went to the zoo in Central Park, and I 
learned to dial down my sense of smell. We visited the Cloisters in Fort 
Tryon Park, and I began to master my sight. We took the Circle Line Ferry for 
the sightseeing tour around Manhattan, along with a gaggle of school-aged 
kids, and I managed to get my hearing under control.

Megan explained how things were between her and her Sentinel. "When I first 
came to the States, I was rather at loose ends. I had no idea what I wanted 
to do, but for some strange reason, I knew I had to be here in the States to 
do it. And then I met my Sentinel and everything fell so easily into place; 
we've been together ever since. Jordan works in the medical examiner's 
office. Her senses have enabled her to find clues that anyone else without 
them would have missed, even with today's advanced technology. It's hard on 
her sometimes, and there have been days when she'd come home so upset by what 
she'd seen that I was sure we were looking at major burn out. I've been able 
to help her overcome the effects of a really bad day."

"You love her. You're both very lucky." 

She didn't understand why I was so subdued, when I should have been on top of 
the world. "It will be all right, Jim. When you find your Guide, or rather, 
when he finds you, you'll see." Her expression became rapt, and I wanted to 
rail at the gods in protest. She didn't know I had the threat of a brain 
cloud hanging over me, and in order to die on my own terms, I would be 
throwing myself into an active volcano in twenty days' time. "I tell you wh
at, Jim. Let's go shopping! That always makes Jordie feel good!" 

Megan drove me to Giorgio Armani's, where I bought two different tuxedoes, 
one in black and one in white, and patent leather shoes to go with them. Next 
she chauffeured me to Alfred Dunhill, an exclusive men's shop, where I 
selected clothes that for once didn't feel like sandpaper on my skin, enough 
to last me twenty days, boxers and undershirts, dress shirts and trousers. 
Then we went to Horn of Africa, and I bought shoes and boots and sandals. I 
tried on sporting clothes, walking shorts, safari jackets and bush hats in a 
variety of colors, and I piled them into a patient salesclerk's arms as well. 
As with the other shops, there were no price tags visible anywhere. And I 
charged everything to Ms. Sandburg.

"You've got enough to clothe a small country, Jim!" The woman who could not 
be my Guide chuckled.

"Let me buy something for you, Megan."

"Oh, no, that isn't necessary..."

"Please. You've saved my..." well, not my life, but... "my sanity. Please. And 
something for Jordan, also."

Her face lit up, and we walked down the street to a Victoria's Secret. Megan 
selected amethyst satin lounging pajamas for herself, and a camellia pink 
silk chemise with black lace inserts for her Sentinel.

"All right, Jim," she said briskly as sales clerks helped us load my 
purchases into the limo. "I'm going to drop all these packages at your hotel. 
You're doing well enough that I can leave you alone for a bit."

"Megan..." I could feel panic start to creep up my spine.

"I have every confidence in you, mate. And besides, you're going to need some 
heavy-duty luggage to carry all this stuff, and I've got no more room in this 
limo! This place right next-door has some excellent steamer trunks. Why don't 
you take a look at them? I'll come back in about an hour and pick you up. Now 
tell me, what hotel are you staying at?"

"I haven't chosen one yet. I'd like something really nice." I searched my 
mind for the name of a classy hotel. "The Plaza?" I could see from her 
expression that she didn't think much of my choice. "Well, then, Megan, where 
would you stay?"

"If I wanted someplace really nice, then I would go to The Pierre."

"Megan, I am going to be staying at the Pierre! Would you reserve a luxury 
suite for me, please?"

She smiled and slapped my shoulder. "Fair dinkum, mate!" I watched a little 
forlornly as she got in the limo and drove down 5th Avenue until she was out 
of sight, amazed that I had no problem tracking her and pleased that I was 
able to do it so easily.

I gave myself a little shake and entered Mark Cross. I was wearing one of the 
business suits that I had purchased, and it made me look as if I had enough 
money to shop in this store. The scent of fine leather threatened to overcome 
me, and I quickly dialed down my senses the way Megan had instructed me.

A tall, quiet man in a hound's-tooth suit and bowtie approached me. "Are you 
well, sir? May I help you?"

"Just give me a moment, please. The smell of the leather..."

He smiled. "Yes. One of life's decadent pleasures, rather like the scent of a 
new Mercedes. It's one of the reasons why I love working in this store. Would 
you allow me to show you around, perhaps?"

"Yes, please." I just needed something to put my clothes in, but I could see 
some interesting items scattered around the store, and the salesman saw my 
fascination with them.

"Putting green." A six by six square of green felt with plastic cups. It came 
with a putter and a sleeve of a dozen golf balls.

"Yes, I'll take it."

He beamed and gestured to a stocky man with thinning hair. "Set this aside 
for us, would you please, Joe?" The man hurried to do as he was requested.

"Violin case bar." He opened the finely-tooled leather case to display tiny, 
50 ml bottles of whiskey, scotch, and gin, an atomizer that held vermouth for 
very dry martinis, and water, as well as a collapsible metal shot glass, a 
small jar of olives, and a slim, sterling silver case of toothpicks.

I nodded and grinned at him. "That's fantastic! I'll take this too! It comes 
fully stocked?"

"Of course!"

"All right! What else have you got?"

The pile of stuff grew larger and larger, things I most likely would never 
need in the three weeks I had left to me, but I'd never gone on a shopping 
spree like this before, and it kind of went to my head.

"Swiss army knives." He laid out three different models. They contained 
everything from the actual blades to screwdrivers, wire strippers, a woodsaw 
and even a crotchet hook. 

I took all three of them, a Black Matte Forrester Torch Flame lighter, which 
came with a compass, a world-band travel radio and two brass Coleman 
lanterns. You never could tell when something like that would come in handy.

"I think I'd like a new watch. Do you have any in this store?"

"Do we have any watches?!" He led me to a discreet corner of the store. "If 
you'll take a seat?" There was a safe in the wall, and he threw the 
combination, being careful that I couldn't see. I stretched my hearing just a 
bit and was able to tell what the numbers were as the tumblers fell into 
place. Not that I would be returning to lighten their inventory, but it 
amused me to put my senses to a little test.

"Here we are. This is an Audemars Piguet, with a John Schaeffer platinum 
minute repeater." I had no idea what that was, but I watched in fascination 
as he explained all its capabilities. "It will give you the time in every 
capital in the world, in both standard and military time, as well as their 
ambient temperatures. Waterproof, shockproof. It can withstand up to six 
gravities and has a homing devise that will insure you are never lost. The 
list price for this little beauty is $270,000."

It was a good thing I was sitting down, because otherwise I would have fallen 
down. Before I could tell him I had no intention of paying that exorbitant 
sum, he handed it to me. "It's calling your name, sir. Try it on." He leaned 
closer. "I can give you a wonderful discount on this." 

The price he named was still five figures, but instead of assuring him that 
the watch wasn't exactly what I had in mind, I found myself strapping it to 
my wrist. 

I thought of the credit cards in my pocket, and the unlimited amount of 
credit they afforded me. In spite of all I'd already purchased, I'd hardly 
tapped into them. It was petty, but I wanted Ms. Sandburg to pay for her 
pound of my flesh. "Add it to the bill, I'm taking it!"

"Yes, sir," he sighed happily. "Might I interest you in anything else, sir?"

"A trunk!" The original reason why I'd come into this store. "I'm going to 
need a trunk!"

He nodded. "Certainly. If you'll come this way?" I followed him through a set 
of recessed doors to a small, chapel-like room where various pieces of 
luggage were elegantly displayed. "Luggage is actually the central 
preoccupation of my life. You're away from home, away from your family; you 
have only yourself to rely on. Yourself, and your luggage."

"Uh... yeah." I stepped back from him a little. He had suddenly become almost 
evangelical.

"Tell me something, sir. Will you be traveling light or heavy?"

I thought of everything Megan had taken to the Pierre, of all my additional 
purchases. "Heavy." I'd only need the stuff for about three weeks, but I'd 
have every comfort necessary to man.

"Hmmm. And will you be... flying?"

"Well, I'm taking a plane, and then I'll be on a ship, which will take me to 
an island, and I don't really know what kind of accommodations I'll find 
there, if I'll have to live in a hut, or what."

His eyes lit up, and his gaze grew avid. "So, a real journey! Very exciting, 
as a luggage problem. I believe I have exactly what's called for." He 
approached the rear of the room and pressed a button. I almost expected to 
hear a heavenly choir sing a verse or two of The Hallelujah Chorus. Two doors 
slid apart, to reveal a very large trunk.

"This is our premier steamer trunk." He rolled the huge piece of luggage out 
and stroked a loving hand over its sides. "Completely hand made of only the 
highest quality materials! It's even watertight, so water-tight that it will 
float!" He unsnapped the locks and opened it, and I could barely catch my 
breath. "If I had the need, and the wherewithal, this would be my trunk of 
choice!" On one side were a series of drawers ranging from slim to quite 
deep. On the other was a space where clothes could be hung from wooden 
hangers. At the bottom were several pairs of shoetrees. There was even an 
ironing board that swung out. What really knocked my socks off was the fact 
that the lid had an additional compartment that could be accessed when the 
trunk was closed. And by moving a panel, a person was able to reach the 
contents of the trunk proper.

"I'll take four of them!"

He turned away. "Joe? Joe! I'll need four of these steamer trunks for Mr....?"

"Ellison."

"For Mr. Ellison." He gripped my hand and shook it enthusiastically. "May you 
live a thousand years, Mr. Ellison!"

"Oh, uh, thank you. Same to you." I followed him to the cash register. He 
began to ring up the purchases, and when he told me the total, I gulped, 
unable to believe I had spent such an exorbitant amount in less than one 
hour, in just one store. I handed over a platinum credit card, wondering if 
Ms. Sandburg would be able to return any of these items after I was... when I 
was done with them. 

"Jim!" Megan sauntered into the store. "You about ready to go, mate?"

"Just a second." I signed the receipt and offered the salesman his pen.

"Oh, no, Mr. Ellison. Please, keep it! And have a very nice day!"

"You too." I thought Megan's eyes would pop when she saw all the additional 
packages I'd managed to acquire in the time she'd been gone. Then she laughed 
and led the way out into the late afternoon sun.

On the curb were the four steamer trunks, and I helped Joe tie them to the 
roof of the limo, then tipped him out of my own cash. 

"Okay, Megan, let's go." I got in the front seat beside her, and she eased 
the car into the rush hour traffic. 

"You're going to love your rooms! I booked a Presidential suite for you. It's 
got a beaut view of Central Park. I know you didn't need all that space, but..."

"How much space?" I asked, not really paying attention. I was observing the 
denizens of Manhattan swarming over the sidewalks. Being able to control my 
vision was sheer joy.

"It's thirteen hundred square feet."

I started choking. "Jesus, Megan! That's bigger than my apartment on Staten 
Island!"

She grinned. "Yeah. It's bonzer, ain't it, mate?" She continued chatting 
happily. "I got a call from my girl. She's been offered a position with the 
Boston M.E., and we'll be going back there. She's excited, although I don't 
know how her dad is going to take to me. He had his eye on some detective 
there for her."

"If he has half a brain, he'll love you." I hesitated a minute. "Listen, 
Megan, would you like to have dinner with me?"

"Oh, Jim. I can't. I promised Jordie I'd be home as soon as I got you settled 
at The Pierre." She pulled up in front of the hotel, and the doorman and 
bellboys came running out to help with all my purchases. "Isn't there anybody 
you can call?" 

I thought fleetingly of Sandy, then shook my head. "I guess there are certain 
times when you're not supposed to have anybody, certain doors you have to go 
through on your own." I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. 

"I'm sorry I'm not the one who's your Guide, Jim."

"Thank you. Thank you for helping me." Her image blurred, and I blinked 
furiously until my vision cleared. Megan was back in her limousine, waving a 
final farewell.

I turned and went into the hotel. "Check-in is right this way, sir." As I 
crossed the noisy lobby, I realized that I wasn't overwhelmed by the sights 
and sounds and smells of the crowd of humanity; I had control of my senses!

After I registered and took the keycard from the desk clerk, I rode up to my 
suite on the 39th floor, accompanied by numerous members of the hotel staff 
who seemed willing to bend over backward to grant my every wish. 

I sighed. The idea of bending someone over didn't even interest my dick. I 
tried thinking of Sandy, and it twitched, but then subsided, and I sighed 
again.  Maybe I was just too tired. First a shower, I decided, and then I'd 
see what room service had to offer.

As I stepped out of the shower, I heard the telephone ringing, and I wrapped 
a towel around me and went into the bedroom. I picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"Mr. Ellison, this is Mr. Carlyle, the manager of The Pierre. If it would be 
convenient, I'd like very much to invite you to dine with me in the Cafe 
Pierre."

"Well... well, thank you, Mr. Carlyle." I'd been growing more and more 
depressed at the thought of eating a solitary meal in my rooms the only night 
I would ever be in Manhattan. "I'd enjoy that!"

"Excellent! Shall we say half an hour?"

tbc