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the preparations for the weekend.
    This was totally untrue, of course, and she knew it. Marc and Ethan would have everything under control; any idea Vicki could come up with which would make the gathering a success had already been guessed at and implemented by the couple. In addition, there would be a litany of surprising details attended to which would impress not only the guests but Vicki and Ted as well. The boys had a knack for discovering which single malt scotch a guest might be overly partial to or who preferred a Times at the breakfast table but a Post slipped under his or her bedroom door. In addition, Marc would already be busy preparing incredible food while Ethan was combing the gardens and pinpointing which flowers would go into arrangements and then contemplating in what rooms they might look best. No, she was comfortable in the knowledge that everything was humming along like a finely tuned engine and there was little left for her to do.
    The truth was that she was running away. Last night had left her head spinning, and she was tired of thinking about the whole mess. Once she and Clementine got to the house and into her garden, the rest of the world would disappear, and the most important thing would be making sure she dug up the dandelions properly, roots and all. There was only one problem; it wasn’t working. Because as she sat in a sea of poorly extracted dandelions, staring across the river at the Catskills, she saw nothing but last night’s events at the Duchess playing over and over in her head.
    Fortunately, Ethan broke her troubled reverie. “You know,” he said, as he sat on the grass beside her and gathered Clementine in his arms, “it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gardening help. And I’m sure you meant well. It’s just that now I don’t have a clue where to search for those dandelion roots.
    “ Sorry,” Vicki said as she surveyed the ground around her. “I’ve really made quite a mess. You’ve come to ban me from the gardens, haven’t you?
    ” Actually, I came to order the two of you to the gazebo.”
    “ The gazebo?” Vicki questioned as she gathered her tools and put them in her gardening basket.
    “ Uh huh, the Gazebo. Marc is waiting there with a pitcher of martinis. “And, of course, ” he added, in response to the dog’s mournful gaze, “a homemade peanut butter doggie treat for you, Clem.”
    With that, she scampered out of his arms and trotted toward the lovely whitewashed Victorian structure where she knew Marc was waiting, treat in hand. The two men spoiled her even more than her owners, if that were possible.
    “ But it’s 4:00,” she said, rising and wiping the dirt from the knees of her pants. “Isn’t it a little early for cocktail hour?”
    “ Marc said that you would protest,” Ethan said, rising gracefully from his yoga-like position. His devotion to the meditative regimen probably explained his usual serenity. “However, I am to counter with the ‘but you look as if you could use a strong one right now’ argument.”
    “ Well, it’s a good one and I readily concede,” Vicki said as she tucked her arm in Ethan’s and walked with him down the meandering path to the gazebo, where Marc was already pouring her a drink as Clementine lay on a pillow at his feet, devouring an enormous bone shaped treat. How he kept the glasses that frosty on a summer day was a mystery to her, as was how in the world she and Ted were lucky enough to have the couple in their employ. Oh sure, Marc was a little bossy and controlling and Ethan could be moody, but what writer wasn’t? For their part, long-time couple, Ethan Weiss and Marc Denby, had been looking for a change from city life and were acquainted with Ted and Vicki through various theatrical projects. Marc and Vicki had performed in more shows together than either of them could remember, and Teddy had recognized and coddled Ethan’s writing talent early on, even going so far as to produce one of his