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leaving the table.
    “My turn now.”  His honey smile is back.  “Do you want to go to the B.V .?”
    We continue Twenty Q uestions in the car.  I learn that he has a younger brother, Mike; an older brother, Matt who’s a lawyer; his mother’s maiden name is Austen; he started the band with John about 5 years ago; writes the lyrics and some of the music.  Peter, the drummer, joined them later. Other musicians have come and gone.  Tommy is the newest addition.  He learned that I have a younger sister, Joanie, still in high school; grew up in boring and dull Spokane; originally thought about being an English teacher, dropped out of college after two years and worked for TV Weekly in Seattle.
    I also told him I love the song “Night Ride across the Plains”.  He wrote the lyrics and music and likes that I like it. It has been their biggest hit so far. I hope I don’t sound too much like some silly groupie fan.
    The interior of the Buena Vista bar at the foot of Hyde Street is dark and packed with people—locals, tourists, even a few long-haired types. Along one side is a long bar. Small round tables and chairs are lined up along the other side. We squeeze into seats at one of the tables and he orders two Irish coffees. I can hear the cable car bell clanging, outside.
    His arm is around my shoulder and his fingers run around my earlobe and down my neck.  It feels good now.  Not too scary, although my body is still humming and I feel slightly flushed.  I think I have appeared quite poised so far—at least I hope so.
    The Irish coffee is served in a heavy stemmed glass and has a layer of whipped cream on top. I take one sip and realize there is a lot more of something else in it. “Wow, this isn’t what I expected.”
    “It’s espress o and Irish whiskey,” he smiles.  “The B.V. is famous for it.”
    “Oh, so now you’re going to try to get me drunk.  Is that it?”   I smile as I say it.
    The look on his face changes. He pulls me toward him and whispers in my ear:  “For what I want to do with you I’d rather have you sober.”
    I freeze, then look away. I feel paralyzed. I don’t know how to react or what to say. The bar is noisy.  People are coming and going.  I don’t see or hear any of it.  Then I feel his fingers trace along the side of my face to my chin, gently.
    “S o you’re not going to look at me.  Again.”  He sounds amused.
    My mind is churning : ‘What he wants to do with me’.  I know what he means but what do I say? What do I do?  Finally I turn to him.  “That was truth or dare.  I’ve never been good at that game.  I don’t have an answer.”
    “A t least you didn’t jump up and run out and leap into a canoe.”  He smiles that honey smile again and his blue eyes are twinkling.
    I can’t help but laugh a little and the laughter dissolves some of my anxiety. “That night was so funny and strange.  I know he is part of your band, but Tommy is awful. Ali and I laughed so hard after we left that we almost ran the canoe into a dock. Up close like that he is so different from his image.  And so drunk.”
    “That’s one of Tommy’s problems.  It was his big idea to rent that boat and see the sights of Seattle from the water.  It was so damned cold.  Well, at least I met you there, Lady of the Mist.”  He shakes his head.  “I don’t want to talk about Tommy.”
    Lady of the Mist?  The matchbook read ‘Lady of the Lake’.  I guess he has forgotten that.
    “Okay, Tommy’s off limits.  What do you want to talk about?”
    “How I can help you come up with the right answer, Julia.”  He is serious again or is he?
    “I think time is what I need.  Time.”   My answer is serious.
    “Okay.  I’ve got time.”
     
    * * *
    The gate in front of the cottage squeaks as he opens it.  We walk to the front door.
    “Thank you for this evening.  I loved the Basque Hotel.   And the Buena Vista.”
    “My pleasure.”
    Then he takes my face between