Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter 4

The next morning Edward got up early to make a few final changes that Elinor had suggested the night before. Yes, his novel really was nearly done, or at least nearly done enough to show to his agent who could then show it to editors who would tell him to change everything.

Edward expected to have to creep around the living room to avoid waking up Marianne, but he was surprised to find that she was already awake and dressed at 7:30 am. She established herself in front of the bathroom mirror, and Edward thought it was pretty safe to say that she wouldn't be in his way for a while. Elinor never spent that long getting ready in the morning, but then again she didn't need to. Elinor always looked lovely in the morning.

Marianne had to give up the bathroom at 8:00, when Elinor woke up and wanted her shower. The younger Ms. Dashwood, now with her hair immaculately done and make-up put on and taken off and put on again at least a half dozen times, sat down in the living room to wait to be able to examine herself some more. She really must be determined to look her best for John Willoughby.

After flipping through a fashion magazine she had brought with her, Marianne seemed to finally notice that Edward was still in the room working on his novel. "What's your story about?" she asked. "Is it a romance? It ought to be. There's no greater force in existence than love."

She was crazy about her Willoughby. Edward wondered how seriously he should take her question, and decided that she probably wasn't the sort who would take kindly to having all her ideals trampled in a few choice remarks.

"I'm afraid there's no happy wedding scene in the end or a kiss fade-out to the sequel," Edward said with an overly melodramatic sigh. "But no one dies." He could tell that Marianne's thoughts were miles away from what he was saying, but it seemed oddly sweet that she could become so captivated by the idea of one man so quickly. "So how did you and John like the Greek and Roman art?" Edward finally asked.

Right question. Marianne smiled dreamily and said, "It was lovely. I love Greek statues, don't you? John does. He said that I could be a model for an Aphrodite. Isn't that a wonderful thing to say to someone?"

Edward thought it sounded pretty trite, but perhaps in context it was very romantic.

Elinor came out of the bathroom, wearing her white fuzzy bathrobe and a towel on her hair. "What about Christopher?" she asked. "I liked him. He's quite good-looking, I might add. Don't you think so, Edward?"

"Studly," Edward responded automatically. One of his core beliefs was that one should always agree with women when they ask about the attractiveness of other men.

"Chris?" Marianne repeated, as if hearing his name for the first time. "He's so... serious. He's much more your style, Elinor."

"Then you should be afraid of my running off with him. I'll steal him away from right under your nose, and you won't miss him until it's too late. I can be quite devious. Right, Edward?" Elinor asked.

"You're absolutely scandalous," he replied absent-mindedly. "I think I'm going to read a book now."

"Which one?" Elinor asked.

"Mine," Edward replied, and they both laughed. Elinor went back to her room to get changed and Marianne went back into the bathroom, even though the steam from the hot shower was sure to make her sweat and smudge her make-up.

Catherine looked at her closet with despair. How could she possibly have gotten to the ripe old age of eighteen without owning a single flattering outfit? The most important audition of her life was tomorrow and she didn't have a thing to wear.

Her immediate conclusion: she would have to call Henry Tilney. If there was anyone she knew in the city whose fashion taste she trusted absolutely, it was Henry.

Catherine had not grown up in New York City. The rest of her family lived in upstate New York, just outside of Rochester. She was one of ten-yes, ten-children and she was never short of friends and companions while growing up. But being one of ten children meant that affording college tuition was no easy matter. She had been offered scholarships to study at other music schools, but she had made up her mind that she would only settle for going to the best, the school where all her heroes had studied, Julliard. But if she wanted to go to Julliard she needed to get a lot of special scholarships.

That's where her godmother, Mrs. Allen, came in. She lived in the city and she had well-connected friends who had found Catherine the perfect piano teacher. All Catherine needed to do was to not mess up tomorrow and things would be set.

Catherine knew she was good. She knew her audition pieces. But she didn't have an outfit. How could she be taken seriously if she came in looking like a pauper? An element of showmanship always was involved in performances.

Mrs. Allen was a wonderful friend for Catherine, but she dressed like a middle-aged woman. All of Catherine's free time outside of work was spent on her music. She really didn't know anyone in the city beyond Mrs. Allen and the Allens' friends, and then her friends at Northanger Pianos. Henry, Edward, John Thorpe, and Hugh Palmer were much older than she was, but they seemed to always treat her as an equal. Of course she couldn't go out with them Friday night, but yesterday in the shop Henry had treated her so nicely. Henry Tilney...

She had never called him at home before. She knew he lived with the General in the old family house out on Long Island. She imagined him staying at home finding more valuable pianos around the world, contacting piano manufacturers, updating the books from that week. She was the General's secretary so she was fully aware that Henry did the bulk of the work for the shop. The General would go out and meet people to make the final deals, but he was acting on Henry's recommendations.

Henry was really cute, too. No, Catherine immediately corrected herself: she admired his character. He had an excellent sense of humor. He was a good friend. Oh, who was she kidding? Henry Tilney was damn hot. And he probably thought of her as a sister. A much, much younger sister. Six and a half years was a significant age difference. Six years, four months, and eleven days to be exact (she had asked him his birthday). That was certainly at least three years too large of an age gap.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be a friend when she needed one.

"Hello, is Henry there?"

"Speaking."

She suddenly felt very young and very stupid for calling. What was she supposed to say? Can you come shopping with me? "Could you meet me and help-"

"Sure."

"What?"

"I have been doing nothing all day. So I'd love to."

"But I haven't asked you to do anything yet."

"I'd be glad to do whatever it is you're going to ask me to do."

"Really? But it's not very important-"

"No problem. I'll be there. I'll meet you downtown in an hour. How about at the shop? I need to pick up something from there."

"Um, OK. Thanks. But I need to go shopping for clothes. Are you sure?"

"Have no fear, you've called the right guy. I know more women's clothing stores than I would ever want to. It comes from having a little sister. I'll see you in an hour."

"OK."

Catherine hung up and shook her head. She was being silly. He would never in a hundred million years like her as much as she liked him. He was just bored. But she still had to smile. She would get to spend an entire afternoon shopping with Henry Tilney.

A final draft. Wow. Edward tried to change punctuation and a few words here and there, but his changes weren't very good and he immediately erased all he had tried to alter. Somehow his book had decided it was finished, and there was nothing more he could do with it. It was really, completely done.

Edward's Bildungsroman Blues was all about a young man, Edgar, who attempts to reconcile his hidden past with his present happiness and who is ultimately redeemed through the love of a cute kitten. It had mystery. Sort of. It had adventure. Not really. No sex or blood or car chases. No one would be banging at his door asking to buy the movie rights. Heck, no one would be able to correctly pronounce the title. But Edward liked it. He liked it a lot. And Elinor liked it, too.

At 4:30 pm Elinor and Marianne returned to the apartment so they could get changed before going out to dinner. "You're coming, too," Elinor added. "It's to celebrate your success."

"But I haven't succeeded yet," Edward protested.

"Marianne, John, and Christopher may not all be in New York City when that happens, so you'll have to be content with a celebratory dinner now."

"Celebratory means that I don't have to pay, right?"

Elinor laughed. "Oh, just get dressed, already."

A shoe emergency caused the Dashwoods and Edward to arrive late to the restaurant. Marianne had bought a new dress during the afternoon but had neglected to buy matching shoes, and Elinor's shoe collection was inspected and declared inadequate. Marianne wanted to go out and buy new shoes immediately, when they were already running late, but Elinor talked her into accepting wearing white sandals with her new baby-blue dress. But Marianne wouldn't stop complaining about the shoes all during the cab ride to the restaurant.

"It's always the little details that are the most revealing about someone who've just met," Marianne lamented. "He'll see the shoes and he'll know I'm not the one for him."

Trying to make her feel better, Edward remarked: "In that dress, no one is going to be looking at your feet."

Marianne half-smiled and asked, "Do you really like it?"

"Yes, of course," Edward said quickly. He never knew how to talk about women's clothing. But seeing that Marianne expected him to say more, he said, "The color suits you." Marianne was still waiting for more compliments. "The dress makes you look really ... nice."

"I like the shoes," Elinor said. They came out of her closet, so Edward nodded in agreement. Excellent shoes.

"They make me look like an old lady," Marianne whined. "Just look." It was dark in the cab and the three of them were squeezed into the back seat, but she still tried to shift around to show off the offensive shoes.

"OK, you're right, Marianne. You look like you'll need false teeth and a walker at any moment," Elinor said, rolling her eyes.

Brandon and John Willoughby were silently sitting next to each other at the restaurant's bar when they finally arrived, fifteen minutes late. Edward hadn't seen Brandon in a suit before, and he decided that Brandon looked like a lawyer when formally attired. You'd think he was a rich, successful lawyer, perhaps, but he still gave off the same aura as a dull, down-to-earth, practical lawyer. He didn't stand a chance with Marianne Dashwood.

John Willoughby, on the other hand, was dashingly handsome. Wonderfully handsome. Absolutely forgettably handsome. Edward saw him, was introduced to him, and then when they were all walking through a crowd to get to their table, Edward had already forgotten which of the well-dressed, dark-haired men in the crowd was John Willoughby. They sat down and Edward saw John Willoughby again and noted how dashingly handsome he was. Then Willoughby had to make a phone call and Edward forgot what he looked like until he sat down again.

Everything John Willoughby said was equally forgettable. He told a story, Edward listened, Edward laughed, then after the story was over Edward realized he had forgotten how it began, and then he forgot how it ended, too. Willoughby talked about himself often, and yet Edward could not tell you for the life of him where he was from or what he did for a living. He forgot nearly everything about John Willoughby fifteen minutes after they all split up for the night.

Marianne and John were going out to one of John's favorite jazz clubs for her last night - of course Edward did not remember its name - and Elinor and Brandon had tickets to a Broadway show. Elinor was really going out of her way to try to distract Brandon, and sometimes she seemed to be succeeding. Edward still felt bad for the guy. Marianne, of course, was completely obviously to all angst and inconvenience she was causing by her behavior. But she was young and in love, and there was little Edward would not excuse people in that situation. So Edward returned home by himself to savor his completed manuscript and to play with the kitten.

As the night wore on and as Edward tried unsuccessfully to remember the length of "Miss Saigon", he was suddenly inspired to call his parents back home. Call back home? That sounded drastic. Then again, they would probably be interested in his novel's well-being.

"Hello, Mom? This is Edward."

"This is Fanny, you idiot. And it's nearly midnight. Mom's asleep. Do you want to leave a message?"

"Tell her that -"

"You're dropping Lucy and marrying a wealthy New York socialite?" Fanny asked, in her usual bored way. She made no secret of the fact that she thought that Lucy Steele wasn't good enough for him. Of course Lucy was perfectly acceptable before, when she was one of Fanny's best friends, but then Fanny decided that Lucy had just been using her to get to Edward. He thought that Fanny was being overly melodramatic. He knew he wasn't worth being schemed over.

"No, I'm afraid no wealthy New York socialites will have me," Edward said. "But the book is done."

"Did you change the title?"

"No."

"Change the title. No one knows what Bildungsroman means. That's the word, right? What a pretension word. So did you get a publisher?"

"Not yet. I just finished editing today."

"So your big news is that you decided to stop typing?"

"The book is finished."

"Have you shown it to an editor?"

"No. I haven't even shown it to my agent yet."

"Then it's not finished. It's finished when I can pick up a copy at Barnes and Noble. Until then, you're still working on your novel. And when you're finished your novel you have to come back here and marry your Lucy Steele." She didn't try to hide the contempt in her voice when she said Lucy's name.

"Lucy's..." he should say something in defense. "Lucy's..." Something. Then, suddenly, completely unexpectedly, the kitten leaped up onto his lap - the first ever spontaneous act of regard from the feline - and Edward exclaimed, "Lucy! I have to go." And he hung up to enjoy the moment. However, he made too sudden of a move and Lucy jumped back down.

Feeling rejected, he decided that there was absolutely nothing for him to do. He certainly wouldn't be having much company in the apartment tonight. Marianne was out painting the town red before she had to go back home tomorrow and Elinor was doing something very cultural and intellectual with Brandon. So what was he supposed to do now? Even his novel was finished.

He had arranged a meeting with his agent for the morning; he should tell the General that he wouldn't be in to work until the afternoon. He should probably have told the General that before 12:15 am Monday morning. Edward decided he would inform a more sympathetic representative of Northanger Pianos and searched in his wallet for Henry's cell phone number.

"Hello, Henry? This is -"

"Ed, I know. At least I can recognize your voice. Do you know what time it is?" said the chirpy voice on the other end of the line. Henry Tilney was always too full of energy.

"It's just that something came up and I won't be into work until eleven," Edward said.

"'Something came up and you won't be into work'? You are forgetting a very major detail in all of this."

"What's that?"

"That I'm one of the best friends you have and you aren't telling me anything about what it is you'll be doing. Therefore I'll tell you what I'll be doing rather than be at work. I'll be driving Cathy to her audition at Julliard."

"Cathy?"

"Don't tell me you forgot her name again. Catherine Morland. The cute brunette who yells at you for not calling Lucy. And as in Catherine Morland, one of the most amazing pianists I've ever heard. You should hear her - she's good, and I mean good."

"She's the secretary, right?"

"She needs the money, but I think she'll get into the conservatory on scholarship for the spring semester. She's too late for the fall semester now. They can't not let her in. And you should see the cute little pantsuit we got for her today. It's very professional looking. At least it makes her look more than fourteen years old."

Edward was going to ask Henry when he started going out shopping with Catherine, but he decided it was probably best not to bring attention to that fact. The girl was probably thrilled to death by the attention, and Henry always did like to shop. In college Edward had thought Henry's knowledge of women's clothing was really strange until he noticed how much women loved Henry for it. Henry knew how to appreciate a dress because he would recognize the designer or identify the fabric, and he'd be able to compliment shoes much more genuinely than any man could.

Henry continued, "Cathy needs a ride to her audition tomorrow, so I asked the General's secretary to schedule me for some time off."

"So none of us are going to be in? Just John Thorpe in the store and Palmer going on a few jobs?"

"Cathy won't be there to take note of our absences, so no one will ever know. So what are you doing?"

"Charming my agent with my newly completed manuscript."

"Completed? Congrats, old boy! If it weren't after midnight and if Cathy's audition wasn't at 8 am, I would insist that we go out and celebrate."

"I've already celebrated. I went out with my roommate and a few other people. Now I want to sleep. You're sure the General won't fire us all after tomorrow?"

"He'll never notice. He is meeting someone about advertising in the Times. He won't even be in the office."

That sounded good enough to Edward. If anyone knew the General, it was Henry. So with only limited guilt, Edward went to bed.

At around four o'clock in the morning Edward woke up with the overwhelming desire for a cup of chamomile tea. He opened his bedroom door and was about to walk through the living room to go to the kitchen when he noticed that Elinor and Marianne were back, still fully dressed in their evening clothes, talking quietly together. No doubt they were having quintessential girltalk that is best for men not to disturb. He began to quietly close the door again.

"What about Edward?" he heard Marianne ask. Now he really should be closing the door, but he couldn't help from being curious to know what they were saying about him.

"What about him?" Elinor asked. Yes, what about him? "He's an excellent writer, an excellent piano tuner, and an excellent friend. And I bet he'll make some lucky woman an excellent housekeeper some day, if he ever can remember where all the cleaning supplies are kept."

Edward had to smile at that description of himself. It was very sweet of Elinor to only think of his good qualities in describing him. And she called him 'an excellent friend.' She was such a sweetheart when she chose to be.

"So you say he's only a friend?" Marianne asked. "I know you better than that, Elinor. Too bad he isn't handsome. Cute, maybe, but not handsome. You could do better."

What? Was Marianne really insinuating that... that there was something going on between Edward and Elinor? Where would she get an idea like that? They were just friends, like Elinor said. Besides, he wasn't even remotely in Elinor's league.

Elinor laughed, just as he'd expect her to laugh. It was such a preposterous idea, right? "I'm touched by your consideration, Marianne," she said. "Edward is just a friend. And you haven't spent much time with Edward, or else you'd realize that he is very handsome, just not in the conventional way." Defending him as usual.

"Really?" Marianne still sounded skeptical. Should Edward be offended that she didn't think him unconventionally handsome? Edward thought he could at least get by with that euphemism. Cantaloupe hair wasn't that awful.

"Nothing about him is conventional. That's what I like about him," Elinor said. "I never know what to expect from Edward. I'm sure I must bore him to death because you can always predict what I'm going to do next, but he keeps things interesting for me."

Had Edward not been hiding behind the door he would have protested that Elinor was not nearly as predictable as she claimed-he would never have predicted, for example, that she would stay out until 3 or 4 am with Christopher Brandon-but he thought that silence was a better plan for the present.

"Is that all you want in a relationship? Someone to keep you from being bored? Is that enough?" Marianne asked, her voice getting louder.

"Keep your voice down, Edward is sometimes a light sleeper," Elinor hissed, now also speaking in a much lower voice than before. Edward had to listen more carefully through his mostly closed door. "And it's certainly enough for a friend."

"A friend?" Marianne repeated again. She apparently still wanted to imagine that Elinor wasn't telling her everything.

"Yes, a friend," Elinor said in a tone to end all conversation. "But I'm here to work, save the people of New York City, make it a better place. So stop trying to pester me about my personal life. I'm not interested in having one at the present."

And that was that. Edward crept back to bed and tried not to think about what he had overheard.

Chapter 5

Henry Tilney waited outside the building. Catherine would not let him come in with her for her audition, not even as a show of support. She was very nervous, and that made Henry nervous, too. Maybe she shouldn't become a performer if she went through so much every time she played in public. She couldn't actually enjoy the stress she was now going through, trying to prove that she really did have a future in music through one audition. He certainly didn't enjoy it.

If she didn't get the scholarships for Julliard, she'd settle for somewhere else. Somewhere outside of New York City, no doubt. Henry didn't like to see friends leave, particularly before he even had a chance to get bored with them, and he wasn't bored of the kid yet. She was so young, sweet, and innocent, and then out of nowhere she'd say something so funny that he wished he had said it himself.

She'd get her scholarships to go to Julliard. He had heard her play. If she could play that well for him, when he knew that he made her feel self-conscious in a very cute, immature way, she could play for a couple of professors.

But how long would it all take? Henry sat on a bench on the street, watching the door to the building for when Catherine came out. Hopefully she would come out smiling. He didn't know what he'd be expected to do if it didn't go well.

Catherine was the same age as his little sister Eleanor. What would Henry do if Eleanor was in that building? He'd be sitting out on that same bench, waiting for the door to open, too. How would he be able to comfort Eleanor?

What would Michael Corleone from The Godfather do? Or Jimmie Conway from Goodfellas? Or the guy Robert de Niro plays in Casino?

Henry sat on the bench trying to think of all the other potential role models he had to look to. That FBI guy from Donnie Brasco was really cool, too. Surely Henry could do as well as that guy would do under these circumstances. All her hopes and dreams could be destroyed by a single poor performance.

He didn't notice when Catherine did come out of the building until she tapped him on the shoulder, smiling.

Edward Ferrars and Elinor Dashwood were eating dinner together Tuesday evening when the phone rang. Elinor answered it because, as they both knew, the only important phone calls were for her. Edward didn't even give his mother his home phone number.

"Hi Mom," she said, taking the cordless phone over to the table so she could sit down again. "A family emergency?" she asked, immediately concerned. "What's wrong? Marianne just got back yesterday. What happened?"

Edward couldn't eat now, either. Marianne was a nice girl. What could have happened to her already?

"Yes, I met John," Elinor said. She listened while her mother started explaining, and her concern diminished. By the time Mrs. Dashwood was finished, Elinor looked more annoyed than alarmed. "That's all? The guy Marianne likes doesn't call back and she refuses to eat? ... OK, you're right. If she really does insist ... OK, OK, but I need to tell people I'm going away..."

Edward couldn't continue to listen to Elinor's half of the conversation after that - Elinor was going away? He didn't want her to go away. What would he do in the evenings and on the weekends? She was his entire social life outside of work.

She finally hung up. "Remember John Willoughby?" she asked him.

"Yes, what happened?" Actually he hardly remembered what John Willoughby looked like and he couldn't recall a single thing John had said during the one evening Edward had met him, so perhaps saying that he remembered him was inaccurate. He did remember the name, at least, and the name's significance.

"He's broken Marianne's heart," Elinor said, and from her tone Edward could tell that she hardly found it surprising. "Apparently he said that he would visit Maryland next weekend to see her, but he called and told her he's not coming after all. He hasn't called back since then. Marianne is convinced that he's found someone else."

"How could he already have found someone else?" Edward asked. "He went to dinner with us on Sunday and was crazy about your sister. So that gives him a day and a half to get over Marianne and find a new love of his life. I wish I could find women so easily."

Elinor laughed and said, "Don't be silly, Edward. You're the sort who will fall in love once and forever. Not even Marianne could imagine that you'd change your mind about someone in a few days or a few months or even in a few years."

Edward smiled at that assessment of him and he briefly wondered if now was a good time to bring up Lucy Steele. But then he remembered the other part of the conversation he had just overheard.

"But you said you're leaving?"

"Yes, apparently Marianne has decided that she wants me home. Mom's main concern is still dealing with Dad-things, so I'm guessing that Marianne is using this Willoughby thing to get more attention. This must be some stage of mourning." Elinor made herself smile, but Edward could see that she really was concerned about her sister and her mother.

"Then how long will you be gone?" Edward asked.

Elinor glanced at the calendar hanging in the kitchen and said, "I haven't visited Mom in ages. She'll probably want me to stay a while. I haven't seen everyone since the funeral and we have a lot of friends and some relatives around Washington. I suppose it's time I see how everyone else is coping." She always sounded more distant when even alluding to her father's death. Edward tried to think of something supportive to say.

"That's understandable," he said.

Elinor looked at him and smiled. In a more flippant tone of voice, she said, "But I will make certain I'm back before Lucy's next check-up. There's no way I'm putting her second round of vaccinations into your hands."

Edward looked at the calendar. The vet appointment wasn't until the end of the month, three and a half weeks away. How was he supposed to keep the apartment in one piece without her for three and a half weeks? And what about Lucy? What if he did something wrong with their cat?

But Elinor needed to go home to be with her family. It was understandable. He said so himself. That didn't mean that Edward had to be thrilled about the idea, but he couldn't complain.

"What about your work?" Edward asked. "Three and a half weeks is a long time."

"It's not like I get paid anyway," she said, shrugging. "I think it will be nice to spend some quiet time back at home. We moved to that house after..." Edward knew she meant to say after the funeral, but instead she said, "right before I moved here, so I haven't really lived there for long, but it's still, well, home. That counts for something. We can't spend forever in New York City."

Edward nodded, even if he still didn't want to agree. Leave New York City for over three weeks?

Elinor left late Wednesday night, and on Thursday morning the entire atmosphere of the apartment already seemed to be different. The apartment was so much quieter, even though Elinor was not usually even awake yet. The door to her room was slightly open, the way she always left it when she wasn't home, when it should be completely closed, the way she always left it when she was asleep. The apartment was too large for one person and one cat. It was lonely.

Edward still automatically woke up early, but his agent had his manuscript and he didn't have anything to add to it. He could start on another story or another novel, but all he could think about was what he was supposed to do now with his life. So he sat at the kitchen table with his tea and his breakfast and contemplated what a jerk he was being.

He told everyone he was staying in the city to finish his novel. Now the novel was finished, but he told Lucy Steele and his family that he now had to stay in the city to deal with his agent and the publisher, once a publisher was found. Then he would maybe have to do something to promote the book, like do readings at bookshops. It made sense that he lingered in the city rather than returned immediately to Sussex, PA. Besides, he had a life in New York. He had a nice job at Northanger Pianos. He had his friends at the shop. He had the apartment with Elinor and Lucy. He couldn't just decide that this stage of his life was over and that he should go back to Pennsylvania.

But he was making the people waiting for him in Pennsylvania wait and worry longer. One day he was still going to have to leave the city and his friends, and putting his departure off would only make saying good-bye harder. He was being selfish and shortsighted. He just so happened to really like New York City and he was now trying to buy more time for himself before he had to go home to real life.

He missed Elinor already. If she were home, he wouldn't be thinking about Pennsylvania. He'd be lecturing her about pop-tarts. He was tired of waiting around the apartment by himself, so he decided he might as well go to work early. When he was working on pianos he couldn't think much about the future. Edward checked to make certain Lucy had enough food and water, and he left the apartment to go to work.

The first thing he heard when he walked into the shop was a menacing growl: "Edward Ferrars!"

Standing in the entrance of his office was the General. He usually treated Edward with a distant sort of respect, like he trusted Edward to do his job well but he couldn't be bothered to actually deal with Edward directly. But now the General was directly addressing Edward, and Edward was terrified. Had he forgotten to go to a job? Arrived too late? Did someone complain?

"Yes, sir?" he finally asked. He now regretted getting to the shop so early. Not even Catherine was around to deflect the General's attention.

"Where were you last Monday morning?" the General demanded. Monday morning was when he was meeting with his agent. So Henry was wrong about the General never finding out. Edward hesitated before replying, hoping that maybe Henry or Catherine would conveniently walk in to provide a distraction. Maybe the phone would ring. Lucy always called in the morning.

"I had an appointment, a very important appointment," Edward nervously began. "You see, I -"

"A very important appointment? More important to you than keeping this job?"

In a way the novel was more important to Edward than his job at Northanger Pianos, but Edward thought it would be best not to argue the point with the General. "I am very sorry, sir, but I couldn't reschedule the meeting Monday morning. I came in by noon."

Apparently his apology was insufficient. "Do you know what happened last Monday?" the General asked, still fuming. Edward had only seen the General this mad at secretaries, never at him. And he could see why so many secretaries chose to quit rather than put up with the General. The General said, "A very important client called. A very important client needed someone to fix his piano. And do you know what happened? Nothing. The piano didn't get fixed because apparently Monday morning was a previously undeclared holiday at Northanger Pianos. Both you and the secretary were gone, and my good-for-nothing son Henry. Palmer was out on a job and I assumed you had done the same until I found out the truth. You canceled other jobs that morning."

Edward didn't know what to say. It was obviously his fault that he was not at work. He wanted to save his job, but he also wanted to save Catherine and Henry from the General, too, so he couldn't say that he got permission from Henry. "The important client with a broken piano last week," he finally said, "is it still broken?"

"Yes, he talked to me personally this morning. You're going to fix it. Today. Now. Don Corleone."

"Donald Corleone?" Edward repeated. "Does Catherine have his address on the computer?"

"The Don, not Donald. That's what everyone calls him," the General said. Edward wanted to ask why he was called 'the Don,' but the General did not look like he was in a chatty mood at the present. The General said, "He is a new client. I personally recommended that he get you to look at his piano. I have his address in my office. Make certain to give him our most sincere apologies. We want to keep the Corleones happy."

"Are they looking to buy a new instrument?" Edward asked. That was the usual reason why the General referred people to the shop.

"We want the Corleones to be happy," the General repeated, disappearing briefly and reappearing with a piece of paper. He handed Edward the directions to Don Corleone's, scribbled in the General's own writing rather than neatly typed out complete with maps like Catherine usually provided. But Edward knew he didn't have much ground for complaining. He just hoped that the clients he had to cancel last Monday didn't need to be as happy as the Corleones apparently were required to be.

An unusually large butler let Edward into the Corleones' penthouse in a fashionable area of the city. Edward was quietly impressed by the building and the status that the Corleones must have, but he had dealt with other rich clients.

"I'm Edward Ferrars from -"

"The Corleones are expecting you," the butler said simply, slamming the door shut behind Edward.

Edward was shown into a large, pink room filled with antique bric-a-brac from different time periods of Italian history. Definitely a woman's room. In one corner was a very neglected-looking piano. He hoped that that was merely a decoration. From 10 feet away he could tell it was shoddily made, though the wood was pretty enough to look at. It would never sound good, and the Corleones were destined not to be pleased with him, and so the General was destined not to be pleased with him, he was going to lose his job, and he was going to have to go back to Pennsylvania.

He could hear some voices from another room. A deep, gruff voice said, "He'll talk, boss."

The response was from an older, more refined and more commanding voice. "Good. Make him. If he's hiding anything, unhide it. We'll make Sam Kifner regret the day he was born."

"And if he doesn't talk to us?" a woman's voice asked.

"We'll make him," the first voice said. "He knows the consequences."

Edward felt a melodramatic shiver go down his spine at the words, like everything was out of some bad film noir movie. Who was Sam Kifner and, more importantly, who were the Corleones?

A pair of double doors opened and a handsome Italian woman came in from an adjacent room. She was probably in her fifties and had the look of someone who was used to having her own way. She looked her visitor over, decided she approved, and then smiled radiantly.

"Hello, thank you for coming. I'm Carmella Corleone," she said, shaking his hand. "You are Edward, right?" He nodded his head while she looked at him even more closely. Apparently he passed this closer examination as well. She said, "My husband says that you were highly recommended. You must meet my husband. He is not a great lover of music, but he loves to indulge my hobby."

"Playing the piano?" Edward asked. He couldn't imagine Mrs. Corleone sitting in front of a piano for hours on end practicing. She would be much better at finding a good pianist to perform for her.

She laughed and said, "No, I've never played a piano in my life. I collect. Porcelain, jewelry, music manuscripts, pianos, piano tuners..."

"Piano tuners?" Edward repeated.

"Of course," she said, sitting down on the pink-upholstered sofa. She motioned for Edward to sit on the magenta antique chair opposite the sofa and he awkwardly did so. So much pink disconcerted him. Carmella Corleone disconcerted him. She was either an eccentric character or a raving lunatic. A collection of piano tuners? She said, "I've met many piano tuners, so I think I am quite the connoisseur. And I can tell you'll be wonderful for my pianos. There's something in expression of your eyes. Did you go to school for this?"

"Not for tuning pianos, but I have plenty of experience, don't worry. And I am fully certified to do tuning and piano repair," he said quickly. "I studied English in college. I'm a writer."

"A writer?" Mrs. Corleone repeated, her eyes lighting up. Did she collect those, too? "Yes, you would be. You have the hands of a writer. Has anyone told you that you have beautiful hands? Oh, but to do this sort of work you must have very sensitive hands. Do you have a book? My husband is a very influential man. He could do wonders for your career." She spoke very quickly and with a pronounced Italian accent, and the words seemed to flow together and mix and combine until she stopped to take a breath.

"Is that the piano?" Edward asked, hesitantly pointing to the piano in the room.

Mrs. Corleone laughed, thankfully. "Randolf tried working on that one once. It's simply awful. I tried to explain 'Randolfo, darling, why would anyone want to play that piano when we have the Steinway in the other room?' But he said, 'It's the challenge.' Randolf was a real darling. In love with pianos, and in love with me I'm afraid, but he would have grown out of that anyway. I'm so sorry he left the business. An accident, I believe it was." She gave an adequately sorrowful sigh to portray the full tragedy of the accident before she started moving across the room with the look of beginning to talk again.

Hoping to keep the conversation somewhat to the point, Edward asked, "So is it your Steinway that you're having problems with?"

"No, the Steinway is fine. The B”sendorfer, though. It has been terribly neglected with all the excitement over our new Yamaha." Now Edward knew the reason for the General's command to keep the Corleones happy - three expensive pianos. The Corleones' piano collection must still be in the process of expanding.

"So the problem is that your piano is feeling neglected?" Edward asked.

"It's out of tune, too." Mrs. Corleone smiled again at him. "I like you, Edward. You have such crazy hair. Vito will love you too."

She opened the door to the hallway, revealing her husband's office directly across the hall. Edward could see that her husband, a short, portly man, was sitting at his desk, talking to a large man and a middle-aged woman. The man looked like he could strong-arm Sam Kifner, whoever he was, into telling him whatever it was they wanted to get from him, and the woman looked like she could be equally ruthless. This did not look like an ordinary business meeting, and all three of them peered suspiciously at Edward.

Mrs. Corleone stepped into the hallway and began, "Vito, dear, come meet our new piano tuner. Oh, Constanzia, you must meet Edward." The last sentence was directed to the young woman walking down the hall. Standing next to Mrs. Corleone, Constanzia looked almost ordinary, sharing the same beautiful long, thick hair but having eyes slightly too small and slightly too close together and having a nose slightly too large. But she looked rich and she had all the confidence that comes with being rich even if she fell short of being beautiful. Mrs. Corleone turned back into the room and said, "Edward, you aren't married, are you? My daughter Constanzia, isn't she pretty? And available."

"Mother." The daughter rolled her eyes and walked on.

Mrs. Corleone obviously thought that Constanzia was the most desirable and adorable woman ever, and smiled proudly after her. She then told Edward, "I have a son, too, a terribly good-looking boy with a good honest face. You would like Michael. He lives in the area. My other boy Fredo is in LA and poor, poor Sonny... but we aren't here to talk about that. You must meet my Vito."

Don Corleone appeared in the doorway before Edward noticed that he had left his desk and his business associates. He was short, hardly coming up to Edward's shoulder, but he looked like he could still crush Edward like a bug. Don Corleone looked Edward in the eye in a very intimidating manner and said, "Well, my friend, are you ready to do me a service?" He was definitely the commanding, scary voice Edward had heard when he first came in.

For a moment Edward was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been while at a job. This was the man he had to make happy? Edward took a deep breath and said, "Your B”sendorfer, yes, I would love to look at it. B”sendorfers are beautiful instruments."

"Just don't be careless. The only thing I hate more than carelessness is incompetence."

Edward decided that Don Corleone was, without a doubt, one of the scariest people he had ever met.

"I would never -"

"Good." The Don nodded his head in obvious approval of what he saw, and Edward almost let out a sigh of relief. Mr. Corleone added, "Keep my wife happy."

"Of course -"

"If she's happy, I'm happy. And then you'll be happy."

With that, Vito Corleone left the room to return to his office. Mrs. Corleone stepped forward, delighted that her husband approved of the same thing that she heartily approved of herself. For a moment Edward thought that she was going to hug him in celebration of his acceptance into the Corleone payroll.

"The B”sendorfer," she said, gesturing for him to follow her into the hallway. The music room was diagonal from the room Edward had first been shown into, one door down from the Don's study. The three pianos were in three different corners of the room, with the fourth corner being occupied by bookcases displaying glass vases. Another one of Mrs. Corleones' collections. There were a few piano scores carelessly tossed around, but it was obviously more of a show room than a place of intense musical study. Edward soon found himself alone with the three fine instruments, and he felt much more comfortable surrounded only by things that he knew.

Edward left the penthouse a half hour later, dearly hoping that the Corleones were happy and that he wouldn't be forced to become part of Carmella Corleone's collection of piano tuners.

And he missed Elinor. Stable, sane Elinor.

Elinor called the next morning, when Edward should have been yelling at her about pop-tarts.

"John Willoughby still hasn't called back and Marianne is still despondent."

"Heartbroken over a guy who sounds like he never deserved her? Do you think there's any hope for recovery, Nurse Dashwood?"

"I'm afraid it may be too late. My little sister may have a terminal case of romanticism. How's Lucy?"

"She loves to watch the street now. I left the window open and she likes to listen to the cars."

"Does she really? Have you fully studied her habits?"

"I do have had quite a lot of free time. I don't even have my book to work on."

"Well, just don't let our kitten fall out the window."

Edward laughed and made Elinor promise to call again tomorrow before he left to go to work.

The first time Henry Tilney spotted a real-life Mafia-operated business, he was a sophomore in college. Edward and he went to a laundry mat down the street from their dorm, and it took Henry over a year to realize that the interior was too nice for an ordinary laundry mat. The floor tiles were always immaculately clean. There were never any broken washing or drying machines. All the change machines were never out of quarters. The entire business ran too smoothly. It was obviously a front for money laundering. The Mob always uses laundry mats in books and in the movies for that sort of thing. Of course Edward had said that it was merely a particularly successful laundry mat, but what did Edward know?

Then there was Henry's revelation that their university's basketball team was throwing games. How else could the basketball team have such an unpredictable record, losing by five points to a difficult team, then losing by twenty points to a much easier game? It had to be a Mafia-masterminded gambling conspiracy. No team really could be that bad.

OK, maybe the trip during spring break to Sicily wasn't the best idea he had ever had. On the second day Henry spotted a very suspicious looking shepherd, and Edward had to bail him out of the local jail when his private investigation got out of control. But what else are friends for? The shepherd wasn't an escaped convict after all, but it was really an honest mistake.

On that Friday morning Henry Tilney was unexpectedly thrown another opportunity to uncover the inner workings of the Mafia, and not just from watching the director's cut of The Godfather II. He went into the back room to say hi to Catherine and found her talking to Edward Ferrars.

When she saw him, Catherine exclaimed, "Henry! Edward's working for the Godfather!"

"Whose?" Henry asked. Edward looked confused and Catherine looked terrified. They were a funny looking pair, and Henry was waiting for an opportunity to burst out into laughter.

"Vito Corleone!" Catherine said in a lowered voice.

Henry met the news with surprising skepticism. He laughed. One does not meet the Mafia boss from The Godfather movies in real life, or at least if you did meet a Mafia boss like the guy from The Godfather, he does not have the same exact name as the character from the movies.

Henry said, "Cathy, are you sure you took the name down right?"

Edward said nervously, "I met Don Corleone yesterday. He seems like a... nice enough guy." Henry knew that Edward didn't know a thing about the Mob or the Mafia movies, so his nervousness must mean that he was terrified of Mr. Corleone himself. Interesting.

But Henry was not yet convinced. "So did he have a raspy voice, like Marlon Brando?" he asked sarcastically. No one was named Vito Corleone. If someone were named Vito Corleone and were remotely related to the Mafia, surely Henry would have heard of him by now. Someone was lying to someone.

"Yeah, did he sound like Marlon Brando?" Catherine said, sounding too enthusiastic at the absurd suggestion. Didn't the kid know the difference between reality and fantasy? If there were someone named Vito Corleone living in New York City, what were the chances that he happened to resemble the actor who played the part of the character in the movie?

"What does Marlon Brando sound like?" Edward asked, also looking like he was taking the suggestion too seriously. But then again, he was Edward. He really did not know the difference between reality and fantasy.

In her best Marlon Brando voice, Catherine said, "'That I cannot do.'"

Henry snickered and tried his own impersonation. "'I'll make him an offer he can't refuse.'" Just because he thought his friends were going overboard didn't mean that he couldn't have some fun with them.

"'Well, my friend, are you ready to do me a service?'"

"Wait, he did say that!" Edward said, sounding relieved that things were making sense in some way. "Not in that voice, but that's what he said. Don Corleone was quoting The Godfather, which has a guy named Vito Corleone. Right? He must think it's a great joke to do that and then try to scare visitors into thinking that he's some sort of criminal."

"Scaring visitors?" Henry repeated, now interested. "So what happened?"

"He just said something," Edward said, waving his hands vaguely. "I was in another room, but I thought he said, well, I think he was threatening some guy, Scott or Simon or Sam Kifner -"

Catherine gasped and took out a newspaper from her backpack under her desk. She flipped to the New York Region section. "'Mob Lawyer Kifner Dead'!" she read, then looked up. "Henry! Edward! Don Corleone had him killed!"

"Scott or Simon or Sam?" Henry asked. "Are you sure it's the same guy?"

"Samuel," Catherine said. It wasn't possible for her eyes to be any wider.

For once, Henry Tilney didn't know what to say. The words 'Mob Lawyer' seemed to jump out of the newspaper. The Mob, the real Mafia! Edward heard people threatening this same guy in the home of Vito Corleone. That was actual evidence, not just an educated guess. Puzo had to have gotten the idea for the books somewhere, right?

Edward asked, "Don Corleone, when he called, what did he say that he wants?"

"His wife called for him. They want you, first thing this morning," Catherine said, looking at the article again. "The Corleones killed Samuel Kifner, ordered the hit. He was cooperating with the police against the Mob. The article doesn't say so, but I know it. Why else would he die now? He was forty, and you don't just die from a heart attack when you're forty. You won't go, Edward, will you? You don't want to get messed up with the Mob."

"The Corleones are friends of your father's, Henry," Edward said uneasily. "The General personally recommended them. And they have three gorgeous pianos - a Steinway, a B”sendorfer, and a Yamaha. All fairly new. Really, I can't believe that Vito is really part of the New York Mafia. He wasn't that creepy. It just doesn't make sense."

"But- but are you sure?" Henry asked. "It really does sound like there's more going on here. They did threaten Samuel Kifner, you know."

"I think it all makes perfect sense," Catherine declared. "Don Corleone is connected to the Mob." It wasn't just her usual habit of enthusiastically agreeing with everything Henry said in order to get his attention. She genuinely looked concerned. She added, "Don't you think, Henry?"

"But why call us? Why get us involved? My dad isn't a gangster," Henry shook his head, but he was becoming more and more convinced the more he thought about it. "We're missing something."

"Yes, I agree with Henry. We're missing something," Edward said, still skeptical but, nevertheless, uneasy. He tried to smile and said, "But the moment I start thinking the Corleones are mobsters, you'll be the first to know. I should be on my way there soon."

"Are you sure Vito Corleone isn't really a mobster?" Catherine asked, looking at both men for reassurance. Of course Henry wasn't much help; he was already wondering when they would be able to call in the FBI. She said, "I don't want to tell people I work for the piano tuners of the Mob."

"Could be profitable," Henry said, shrugging his shoulders. "Don't worry, Cathy, even Ed would know if he's really getting involved with the Mafia rather than just hearing a few incriminating conversations." Could they get those on tape somehow? "Besides, he has us here to look after him. If he isn't back in a few hours, we'll investigate. Or they'll send us the Sicilian message that Ed sleeps with the fishes." He grinned at his own joke but Edward and Catherine looked less pleased.

"Thanks loads," Edward said, and went off again to the Corleone's. The poor, brave guy. Henry checked his watch. If Edward hadn't checked in by lunchtime, Henry would call the cops.

"The Steinway," Carmella Corleone said, waving in its direction. "Connie was playing it yesterday and said the keys felt hard. You can change that, right? Connie is a wonderful musician. And a great lover of literature. You aren't seeing anyone, are you?"

Edward was not expecting that question. He said, "Well, sort of..."

"Living with a woman?" Mrs. Corleone asked.

Over the course of twenty-four hours she had somehow changed from the role of employer to meddling friend, and Edward wasn't certain if this was a good thing. And he was very certain he did not want to get involved with Constanzia Corleone. He had Elinor - no, he meant he had Lucy. But Mrs. Corleone was not interested in Lucy Steele; she wanted to know about his roommate. And one did not conceal information from Carmella Corleone.

"Actually, yes, I am. But we're just friends."

"You do not just live with a woman," Carmella declared. She sat down at the bench for the Yamaha and Edward sat down in front of the Steinway. But he was not allowed to start working yet. The conversation was not over. Mrs. Corleone said, "Tell me about her."

"About ... Elinor?" Edward asked.

Based on what Catherine and Henry said, he didn't think that he wanted to tell the Corleones much about Elinor. But Carmella was waiting for a description. Perhaps if she really liked him, she would be pleased with his work and not complain to the General. And if he wasn't really available for her daughter, perhaps she won't immediately call him to come back. So he decided it would be best to praise Elinor as much as possible. Just don't give her complete name and identifiable characteristics.

"She's beautiful," he began.

"You certainly do not just live with a beautiful woman," Carmella said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Tell me more."

"She's brilliant."

"Of course." Mrs. Corleone smiled; that was a good sign, right? "Are you in love with her? Yes, I see that you are. And is she in love with you? Don't tell me - I can already see that is the problem. Your clothes, Eduardo, your clothes. You could be so handsome. I don't know if I like this Elinor woman if she lets you free for some other woman to steal."

She had completely lost him now. In love with Elinor? That was ridiculous; he was engaged to marry Lucy Steele. Edward merely thought very highly of Elinor. He was allowed to. She was a very good friend.

And his clothes weren't that bad, were they? A plaid blue and yellow short-sleeve dress shirt and khakis. Well, maybe Mrs. Corleone had a point about that.

"Your Steinway..."

"Forget your Elinor, we'll make you worthy of someone better. We need to get you a haircut. Vito's associate Clemenza is here today. Clemenza cuts hair. Not as a profession, but he is excellent with scissors and razors. Knives, too."

Now that was more information than Edward wanted to hear. Razors and knives? "Thanks, but first..."

"You are so funny, Eduardo." Carmella Corleone was not to be easily dissuaded once she had an idea. "If Connie wants to play the piano today, she'll play the B”sendorfer you did such marvelous work on yesterday. Perhaps we should get you to a real hairdresser - don't protest. I told you before that my husband likes to indulge me in my hobbies. And I love piano tuners."

Edward's eyes widened with fear. He was joining her piano tuner collection, and he didn't want to, no matter how much she paid him. If he were part of the collection, he'd have to come back again, and again, and again... "Mrs. Corleone, that's really not necessary."

"Of course it isn't. That's where the fun is. Constanzia, how would you go about making Edward look sexy and handsome?"

"Get rid of the glasses," was the reply from the hallway as Constanzia hardly paused in making her way to the kitchen.

"Did you hear that? We need to get you contact lenses."

"I like glasses."

"Then we'll get you new glasses."

"But I can't afford -"

"I'll get you your glasses. You look at our Steinway."

"But then wouldn't you need my prescription?"

"Let me have your glasses."

"But I need my glasses to work on the piano."

"Then wait until I come back. I already know what I want for you."

"But I have another appointment in an hour and a half."

"I'll be back well before then."

So Edward Ferrars was intimidated into sitting in the music room flipping through the score of Bach's "Goldberg Variations" only being able to tell that the pages were filled with some sort of blurry black squiggles, while Carmella happily went off to the optician's. And the door to the music room was not closed all the way, so Edward could hear fragments of conversation in the Don's study, something he was very desirous of avoiding.

"McNeil is a dead man," the unmistakable voice of the Don could be heard saying. Edward fervently hoped that he could forget the name McNeil by the time he got back to the office so Catherine wouldn't be able to look up the name.

"Kifner, he never did listen," another voice said. "He got what he wanted, that's all I can say."

"Don't say that about the dead," Don Corleone snapped. "Get Gootman's people to handle McNeil, Gootman and Flynn. Maybe talk to the mayor to see where he stands, keep him in line. We don't forget about these things."

Edward concentrated on forgetting all those names as well, particularly the mayor's.

"What about that guy out there, the piano-tuning writer?" a different voice asked. Edward wished that there were some way he could close the door all the way without making it obvious that it had ever been opened, because if they knew that he could hear what they were saying... "He's been hanging around a lot. Is he with us or not?"

"Candles? The tall skinny guy with red on top, like a big candle?" Don Corleone said. Candles? Edward had a Mob nickname? "He's one of Carmella's piano tuners. I'm saving him for us, too."

"For what?"

"A special job I have in mind for our next project. He doesn't know it yet. Candles won't talk, though. Candles isn't stupid."

And Candles most certainly wanted to get out of there. The unmistakable sound of Carmella Corleone's stilettos coming down the marble hallway could be heard and the door to the music room was opened fully without any suspicion of overheard words.

She held a pair of dark, titanium wire frames - very elegant, very intellectual looking, very expensive, and procured far too quickly and far too easily. Edward couldn't appreciate those subtleties until he had the glasses on and looked in the mirror hanging on the side of the room.

"The optician owed the Corleone family a favor," Carmella said casually. "But don't you love them? They make you look like a real writer now. If we could get you a haircut... I'll make you an appointment for this evening. I can handle everything - you go there and let them cut your hair as I tell them, and I pay. Don't protest. Consider it a gift."

"But the Steinway..."

"Oh, go play with it," Carmella said, waving her hand. "Constanzia, come in here and help Edward. He'll make it play beautifully for you."

The daughter appeared in the doorway at her mother's mention of her name. She took her seat behind the Steinway, giving Edward a very distant look to show she knew that he had been hired on her behalf. But she did compliment him on the glasses and she did say something to her mother after Edward was finished on her thoughts for the haircut. Edward wished he had other plans for the evening after work, but he didn't have a single excuse for not following Carmella's wishes and going to the salon she recommended at her request and at her expense at 7 pm. It will keep her happy, and then the Don will be happy, and then the Don won't kill him and the General won't fire him. Getting a haircut seemed like a little sacrifice for the larger goal.

The obligatory disclaimer: I stole the Corleones from The Godfather, of course.

Chapter 6

Elinor had said that she would be gone for up to three and a half weeks, but she found her family harder to leave than planned. She had booked flights back to New York twice, and every time, at the last possible minute, Marianne or Mrs. Dashwood would think of a reason why Elinor could not possibly leave until the following week. Edward had to take Lucy in to get her second round of vaccinations by himself, and he had the vet send Elinor a detailed report of the visit so she wouldn't have to rely on his word alone that their kitten was doing fine.

Edward did not like living alone. He needed someone to remind him when to buy more bread. He needed someone to inform him of the latest developments in British politics. He needed someone to insist they get buttered popcorn at the grocery store when passing the junk food aisle. He wanted Elinor back.

She called every day at 8:30 am to check up on the cat, and only the cat she would assure Edward. Every phone call began with the same question from Edward: "When are you coming home?"

"Home?" Elinor repeated. "Everyone keeps on saying how nice it is that I'm home now. But all my things are in New York, including my cat and my silly roommate. I miss the two of you, you know. As much as I love Marianne, she can really become trying on one's patience."

"Then come back to New York. Tell Marianne that John Willoughby isn't ever coming to visit. Tell all your family's friends and relatives that you have a job to do here. Tell your mother you'll save on these long distance calls to me."

Elinor laughed and said, "Mom wouldn't let me leave yet. My half-brother John, from my dad's first marriage, is coming Saturday-oh dear, that's only in two more days. Mom and Marianne can't stand John. Actually, none of us can. You know how much I hate saying bad things about other people, but he's a complete drip. I would enjoy laughing at him if there was someone like you around to laugh with me."

Elinor never was that harsh with people they knew; John Dashwood must be really awful. And she wished he was there. What else was he supposed to say other than, "Then I'll come."

"What?"

"I'll come. Saturday."

"Really?"

"It's been nearly a month since I've seen you. The only real problem is Lucy." If Lucy Steele found out that he went all the way down to Maryland to keep Elinor company when tedious relatives were visiting, he would have hell to pay. "Are there kennels for cats?"

"Those are for dogs, and we would never let Lucy stay somewhere like that," Elinor said and Edward immediately agreed. Only the best for Lucy. But this was a problem. Elinor lamented, "Why don't we have more hospitable neighbors, or at least more interesting neighbors who we would have gotten to know by now? Do you know anyone who would know how to look after a cat?"

Edward thought of his friends at Northanger Pianos. Catherine Morland would be very good at looking after Lucy and she would certainly follow any directions he left very well. If he told her to only look at cat-related things, she would only look at cat-related things in fear of what would happen if she disobeyed. But she lived in a completely different part of the city and Edward would feel bad about having her go all the way over to their apartment on the weekends.

That left Henry Tilney. No, bad idea. Henry would start searching for hidden microphones and would certainly find things that he shouldn't find that would tell him more than he should know about Edward's living conditions, such as his unnamed roommate was female. Henry knew him too well and would be able to tell precisely was and was not Edward's. And he'd be so caught up on his game of name-the-roommate that he'd forget about changing Lucy's litter box.

But Henry had been treating Edward very nicely at the shop recently, probably because he expected Edward to be bumped off every time he went to one of his near-daily stops at the Corleones'. If Edward asked for anything, Henry interpreted it as a last request and the least he could do for his courageous friend. Maybe he'd even listen to Edward if he told him to just feed the cat, change the litter box, and discuss the current headlines with her. Edward had decided that Lucy liked to hear human voices, or at least he found that without Elinor in the apartment he liked to talk to Lucy and she seemed to have gotten used to it and would remain in the room while he talked to her.

Besides, Elinor was right. They didn't know their neighbors. They never invited people to their apartment. Edward didn't know anyone else who he could ask. It was still a bad idea. Henry was going to ask a lot of questions. But having Henry cat-sit would mean that Edward would get to make his trip, so it would be worth it.

"My friend Henry owes me enough favors, so if he doesn't know anything about cats he'll learn," Edward said. "So it's set. I'll go down to Maryland."

"You have no idea where I live. It's really not very interesting. You won't want to make such a long trip to visit here. And what about travel expenses?" She was trying to be the voice of reason, but Edward could tell that she was happy that he was going to go.

"Don't worry about that. I haven't left the city since we moved here. And I'll stop by to visit my parents, too. Pennsylvania is on the way to Maryland."

"But you live in western Pennsylvania, don't you? That's not between New York and Maryland."

"It will be a big loop."

She laughed and gave Edward the necessary directions. He called a travel agent and had his flight booked before he left to work. He was in such a good mood that not even another scary trip to the Corleones could ruin his day. That weekend he was going to go on vacation.

The bell over the back entrance to Northanger Pianos jingled as the door was opened. Catherine looked up from the letter she was trying to write on behalf of Northanger Pianos, expecting to see Edward or Hugh Palmer back from a job that afternoon. Instead, she saw a pretty young girl about her age with a very fair complexion and long, beautiful dark hair pulled back in a loose braid. She was dressed in elegant black, pulling off the latest styles that always looked odd on Catherine. She stood by the door, looking at Catherine without saying a word while Catherine looked at her, also not saying anything.

"Is Henry here?" the visitor finally asked in a quiet voice.

Catherine immediately guessed the worst. Henry Tilney had a girlfriend. Or a fianc‚e. And she was beautiful. And shy. Men always found shy girls attractive, it lets them play the macho protector role. Catherine could never be so perfectly shy. Catherine could never wear all black without looking like she was in mourning. And Catherine could never simply walk into the back entrance for a piano store and ask for a guy.

"He's out front," Catherine said as pleasantly and as naturally as she could manage. "Are you expected?"

"No, no, I'm not," the visitor said, blushing slightly. Men always found blushing girls even prettier than simply shy girls. Catherine could never compete with a girl like that. The girl said, "I just wanted to see Henry. The General isn't here, right?"

So she was a secret girlfriend or fianc‚e that his father did not know about or at least did not approve of.

Henry appeared from the showroom, and he immediately smiled as soon as he saw the visitor. He said, "Is that who I think it is?" Right in front of lovelorn Catherine's eyes, he then proceeded to hug her. Catherine wasn't nearly as pretty as the visitor. And he so genuinely loved this other girl.

"Ellie, you haven't met Catherine yet, have you?" Henry said. "She's Dad's new secretary." He was still beaming with happiness from their visitor's arrival. He never beamed when Catherine came into the shop.

"How long has she lasted?" the girl asked, raising a surprised eyebrow.

"A month," Catherine said. "Nice to meet you."

"I know you've heard me talk about my little sister Eleanor before, Cath," Henry said, and the visitor smiled bashfully.

"Oh, there's nothing to tell about me," she said quickly.

Catherine's eyes widened in unspoken surprise, then she smiled more broadly than she had ever smiled before. Henry's little sister, Eleanor, or Ellie. Now Catherine could see the family resemblance, the eyes. Definitely the eyes. She liked Ellie already.

Henry said, "I'll see if I can convince John to take over things for the rest of the day. I'll be back." He returned to the showroom, leaving Catherine and Ellie Tilney together.

"Sorry for not being so helpful before," Catherine immediately began to apologize. "I just thought that you were Henry's girlfriend or something and I didn't know whether or not the General would like it if he was sneaking off work to see his girlfriend and -"

"You thought I was Henry's girlfriend?" Ellie asked, and she giggled. "That's silly. He's like six years older than me. How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"So am I. I'm a freshman at Barnard."

"Really? Here in New York? You should visit more! I hope to be a freshman at Julliard next year, if they let me in and if the money works out, of course. I play the piano and I would really like to try to be a performer, but if I can't I would at least like to be able to teach, you know, keep my fingers on the keys and everything," Catherine said, not even realizing that she was beginning to tell her entire life story to a near stranger in her relief that Ellie was not Henry's secret fianc‚e. After pausing long enough to take a breath, Catherine continued, "The General isn't here now. Would you like to leave him a message? He doesn't like it when Henry leaves early so I won't tell him that Henry left early. Henry is really dedicated to the shop. I sometimes wonder if the General realizes how much he has to thank Henry for how well we're doing. Just the other day I watched Henry sell a piano to a man who just came in to browse. Henry was able to immediately tell what the man wanted and then he was able to show the man why it was precisely what he wanted. I think Henry has a real gift for business. Don't you think? But you're his sister, surely you think just as highly of him as all his friends simply must."

Henry came into the room again and said, "I knew you two would get along well once I threw you two together in a room together for long enough."

Ellie and Catherine laughed self-consciously, and Ellie said, "Yes, I already like Catherine. I hope you will be able to stand the General for longer than the others. And don't tell him I was here."

"Don't?" Catherine asked, looking at Henry for an explanation.

"The General and Ellie aren't exactly on speaking terms because of her boyfriend," Henry explained. "I haven't met him - I don't even know his name - but Ellie loves him, and that's enough for me."

Ellie bashfully looked down at her feet while her brother made that short explanation that said little but suggested all sorts of romantic stories to Catherine. Her boyfriend, no doubt, had no money but a lot of dreams. And he wanted to marry Ellie, of course, but the General wouldn't permit it until he had proved himself in the world. But Ellie wanted to be there with him and...

On their way out of the shop, Ellie said to Henry in a low voice, "So that is the famous Catherine Morland."

"What do you mean the famous Catherine Morland?" Henry asked defensively.

"You keep on talking about her," Ellie said. "She's crazy about you."

"I don't keep on talking about her," Henry protested. They were out of the shop and the door was closed, so he could speak loudly. "It just so happens we do a lot of things together because, you know, we work together and we're good friends. And-" He paused, thinking of what else Ellie had said. He half-grinned and said, "You think she's crazy about me?"

Ellie laughed and said, "She isn't exactly trying to hide it"

"Well, she's just a kid," Henry said quickly. Ellie gave him a skeptical look, but he refused to elaborate any more.

Meanwhile Catherine was busy in the shop making up happy endings for Ellie and her mystery boyfriend. They would have a lovely wedding ceremony, and Catherine would dance with Henry at the reception. Henry would look at her and tell her how much he loved her and needed her in his life...

Edward told Henry to come to his apartment at 8:00 to get cat-sitting directions, but before his friend came Edward had to prepare the apartment. He was still determined to keep the identity and the gender of his roommate a mystery. Edward carefully removed all the photographs from the living room and kitchen and obvious feminine touches, or so he hoped. He closed the door to Elinor's room and removed the flowers. It was just a very clean apartment. Two very clean men could perhaps live there. Hopefully Henry would think so.

Henry arrived precisely on time to get his instructions. He was obviously curious about the apartment he had never been invited to see before. His first reaction was: "How on earth can you afford this, Ed?"

"There's two of us living here. We split the rent," Edward said.

"You can afford half the rent to this?" Henry asked.

Of course he would know how much Edward made, and he would know the market value of the apartment better than Edward would. Edward admitted, "My roommate calculates my portion and I pay it. If it's not exactly 50/50, I don't complain. But you still have to meet our cat..."

Edward stood still in the center of the living room, trying to track down the kitten. A flicker of a tail behind a large bookshelf - Edward crept in that direction and darted his hands behind the shelf before the Lucy could run away. He was good at picking up the cat, even if he had to sneak up and take her from behind. Lucy loved Elinor and would practically leapt into Elinor's arms, but she was getting more edgy now that Elinor had been away for a while.

"Henry, meet Lucy," Edward said, cradling the kitten in his arms like a child.

Henry raised his eyebrows in amused surprise and asked, "Lucy? As in Lucy Steele, the fianc‚e? Did she give the cat to you?"

Edward had forgotten about that aspect of letting Henry look after the cat. "The cat came with the name," he explained simply.

"So you're going to visit Lucy and everyone else in Sussex?" Henry asked.

"Yeah," Edward said. It wasn't a complete lie. He was going to visit Sussex. It just so happened that he was going to be visiting Elinor first. Edward was being intentionally vague about his travel plans. It was a lot easier to explain that he wanted to make a quick visit back home than to explain that the main reason for his trip was that his roommate happened to mention during a phone call that she would like to see him again.

"What about the Corleones?" Henry said. "They've been calling a lot for you these past few weeks."

"I talked to them after I decided on going away," Edward said solemnly. "They know I won't be around."

He really was the piano tuner of the Mob, as Catherine often repeated; there was no escaping it now. Kifner was dead, McNeil was dead, Zielbauer disappeared after he was deemed in need of "stern talking to," Arenson was dead, and Candles remained in reserve for a "special project." Catherine convinced Edward that he was morally obligated to keep on listening to what he could hear from the Don's office, if only in case he heard the name of someone he could help. Of course he had yet to actually ever do anything but he was quite terrified by all that he did hear and then saw in the next day's newspaper. Elinor's distress call was perfectly timed.

Edward was beginning to look much more reputable, though, for all his questionable company. The new glasses, the clean cut buzz-cut that made his yellow-orange hair angular as well as peculiarly colored in a way that oddly suited him, additional presents like a new watch and new clothes... Edward knew that Carmella Corleone was amusing herself with fixing him up to her specifications, and he knew that he couldn't stop her if he wanted to. A vacation from the Corleones was ideal.

Barton Cottage was in a wealthy Maryland suburb beyond the Washington D.C. boundary. Elinor's mother now worked in Washington D.C., like her uncle's wife the Senator and her cousin the British diplomat. Edward did not know much about her family beyond a few casual remarks Elinor made. She wasn't one to talk about herself, and Edward wasn't one to force her to say more than she wanted to.

Even though Edward was not wearing his old tweed coat, he felt just as out of place as he had been back at that party where he first met Elinor Dashwood. Her family was rich and important, and he was just an unpublished writer who was good with pianos. He did have a publisher for his book now, but there was a big step from having a publisher to fitting in with people who lived at huge houses like Barton Cottage. Whoever called the house a 'Cottage' should really invest in a better dictionary.

Before he could ring the doorbell, the door opened and Elinor came out to greet him.

"Edward!" Elinor immediately hugged him. Edward didn't quite know what to do - she had never hugged him before. He did what seemed logical: he put his arms around her, too, and said how glad he was to see her again.

"You've cut your hair," Elinor said. "And you're nearly well-dressed. What happened?"

This did not seem like the ideal time to start telling her about his Corleone problems, so he said simply, "It's been so boring without you that I've had to keep myself busy somehow."

Elinor laughed and said, "Don't think you will get out of telling me the story later. But you'll disappoint Marianne. She was going to reform you. I told her you're a lost cause." She looked at him again and nodded in approval. "You clean up well, Ferrars."

Edward smiled and for the first time felt glad that he had met the Corleones. "I'm allowed to surprise you every now and then, right? Is John here yet?"

"Oh yes, awful John is here with his awful new girlfriend," she said, rolling her eyes. "We might as well join them." She grabbed his hand and led him into the house and into the drawing room. She continued in a low voice, "She's so young you'd think it should be illegal for those two to be together. But I still hope they get married and have some awful children to terrorize them for the rest of their lives." Those were very strong words for Elinor, but Edward could tell from the last few phone calls that the situation with Marianne was wearing her out.

The drawing room was already filled with people. Marianne was sitting on the sofa next to an older woman who was, no doubt, Mrs. Dashwood. She was well into her middle age, but she was still a very handsome woman, with gray bouncing curls loosely tied back from her face and a pleasant smile. She obviously resembled Marianne more than Elinor in temperament. She showed in a glance that she did not enjoy the company of John and his girlfriend and that she was disposed to like Edward already. He couldn't help from immediately liking her as much as she showed that she immediately liked him.

There was an empty chair next to the sofa where Elinor must have been sitting. Then on the loveseat with the back towards the door were awful John and the awful girlfriend. Seeing that Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood were looking at the doorway, the awful couple turned around to see the new arrival themselves.

John Dashwood was a few years older than his half-sisters and had a look of smug prosperity about him. His dark hair was slicked back and reflected light from the overhead lights in a particularly unattractive way. He looked Edward up and down with a critical eye and didn't say anything. But Edward's inspection of John was cut short by his noticing the awful girlfriend.

"Fanny?"

At the same time, with the same tinge of disbelief, she said, "Edward?"

His little sister was the awful girlfriend? Elinor's family was going to hate him. Fanny was at least ten years younger than John Dashwood. She was pretty enough, Edward supposed, but then again he was her big brother so he could be expected to underestimate her feminine charms. But she was only nineteen years old! She had the unmistakable Ferrars yellow-orange hair limply hanging in a ponytail. It was slightly darker than Edward's courtesy of some different hair dyes she used in combination. The combination of dyes always changed but the shade of yellow-orange did not vary nearly enough to her liking. She liked to control everything, including her hair color. She had blazing dark eyes that could be much more threatening and intimidating than Edward could ever be, and she used those to her advantage when trying to control her big brother.

"I had no idea you..." Fanny looked to Elinor, focusing those small dark eyes more specifically on Elinor's hand, still being held by her brother, who was engaged to her ex-best-friend.

"Err, yes, Elinor, Fanny's my little sister," Edward said, awkwardly letting go of Elinor's hand and running his hand through his hair.

"Your sister?" Marianne asked. She looked just as she did before, conventionally drop-dead gorgeous, though Edward knew she had been suffering much, or at least she was constantly complaining to Elinor that she was suffering much.

"Umm, yes, well, I didn't expect..." He just really screwed everything up by visiting, didn't he? "Do you mind if I had a word with Fanny for a moment? Let's step outside."

Fanny immediately stood up and followed Edward out of the room into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Out of hearing of everyone else, Edward tried to begin to explain. But then he couldn't. What could he say to make it sound like what it really was?

Fanny smiled mischievously and said in a low voice to be sure not to be heard by the people in the other room, "So now we see why you were so unwilling to leave New York City. How did you meet Elinor Dashwood?"

"We're living together, actually - no, that doesn't sound right - I mean to say - actually - we're roommates - just friends, of course." Edward really had no idea what to say. Fanny obviously didn't believe a word of it.

"You two are living together. What does Lucy say to that? She doesn't know, does she?" Fanny smiled in a particularly unpleasant way. Edward knew that she knew that she now had the upper hand.

"No, and I was rather hoping... well..."

"So that's your game," Fanny said, with that same knowing smile. "Keep Lucy in the wings in case it doesn't work out with Miss Rich Society Girl."

"What are you doing here, anyway? Does Mom know? John looks like he could be your... uncle or something."

Fanny laughed quickly and quietly before hushing herself and continuing in her near-whisper, "Now do you really think you're one to go on the high moral ground, brother dear?"

"I'm not doing anything wrong," Edward said defensively, speaking at a regular volume. Then matching his sister's lowered volume again, he said, "Elinor's my best friend -"

"Your best friend? Elinor Dashwood? As in that beautiful blonde who looks like she was all over you?"

"She wasn't all over me," Edward protested. Had it really looked that bad? "I'm a friend, Elinor's a friend, and we just haven't seen each other for a while."

"Right." She didn't believe him, Edward could tell that.

"Listen, Fanny, I'm going back to Pennsylvania on Monday, and I would really like not to be killed while I'm there. There is nothing going on between Elinor and me, understand?"

"Perfectly. I'm all for moving on."

"I'm not moving on."

"Moving up, then. Mom would be out for blood if she knew you were living with a woman. And Lucy..." That thought especially appealed to Fanny. She smiled broadly and Edward became even more terrified.

"You hold my life in your hands, Fanny," he said. "I've never asked anything from you before."

"You can bet I'll now be asking a lot from you."

"So you won't say anything?" Edward asked hopefully. "And, well, I haven't exactly told Elinor everything she should know about, well, Lucy."

Fanny suppressed her laughter as much as humanly possible. "I should give you more credit, Edward. You have more nerve than I ever could have. A fianc‚e and a girlfriend who don't know about each other."

"Elinor is not my girlfriend," Edward insisted. "She's a friend. Really."

"Mrs. Dashwood said that you were Elinor's boyfriend. That's been all we've been talking about since we got here. Elinor's boyfriend Edward who was coming all the way from New York just to see her."

"Really?" Edward asked. That wasn't quite the welcome he was expecting from Elinor's family. "Maybe that's how Elinor explained our living situation. But it's not true, me being her boyfriend and all. I have Lucy, you know. And Elinor, well, she's Elinor Dashwood. You've now met her. She's way too good for me."

"OK, sure, don't tell me anything about what you're intending to do about all your women," Fanny said, shrugging. "But you do know I'll find out eventually."

Unfortunately, Edward knew that Fanny was telling the truth. "I really am going to tell Elinor about Lucy, as soon as I get a good chance to, but I would really, really like it if Lucy Steele never heard a word about it. OK?"

"OK, OK. How about you look a little less like you're lying to everyone and hiding a fianc‚e in a different state," Fanny said, with another short laugh. She rarely got to see Edward so disconcerted. "Let's get back in there and convince those Dashwoods that we Ferrarses don't have a single skeleton in our closet. And thanks for inquiring for so long about Mrs. Holden, who died last week. That's what we've been talking about, got it?"

"Mrs. Holden? She's dead?"

"Yes. A car accident." Fanny opened the door and walked into the drawing room, with Edward following, now concerned about their elderly neighbor.

"But she didn't drive." Seeing that they were back in the drawing room and everyone was looking at them again, Edward immediately said, "Sorry, just some family issues. Our neighbor died last week." Smooth, very smooth. Everyone stared. Fanny took her seat next to John and Edward walked across the room to sit on the chair next to the one Elinor had reclaimed by Marianne.

No one said anything for a moment while everyone inspected each other again. Mrs. Dashwood finally said, "So you are Edward," with a quick glance to Elinor. Edward wondered whether Marianne had communicated some of her views about how Elinor could do so much better than her unconventionally handsome roommate. How could any of them seriously think that he was Elinor's boyfriend?

"Yes. So you are Mrs. Dashwood," he asked, matching her skeptical tone.

"Yes." The interrogating look vanished and Mrs. Dashwood smiled again, just as she looked like she was meant to do. "Has my daughter been eating well?"

"Absolutely terribly," Edward replied. "I've tried and tried, but you can't get her away from the snack aisle when we go to the grocery store."

"You were supposed to lie for me," Elinor said, giving Edward an affectionate punch on the arm.

Edward smiled. Elinor usually was very formal in front of other people, no matter how she freely abused him when they were together at home. But this was her home, so Edward tried to feel as comfortable there as she did. "Perhaps you'll listen to both of us now," Edward said. "Mrs. Dashwood, what do you say about poptarts for breakfast?"

"Is she really eating them?" Mrs. Dashwood asked with feigned shock in her voice. Edward was starting to like Mrs. Dashwood even more.

"Frosted poptarts."

Fanny snickered. She was used to Edward's health food rants.

"My youngest, Margaret, isn't home now. She got Elinor into those poptarts. They would both have rotted their teeth out by now if left to their own devices," Mrs. Dashwood said, shaking her head.

"Where is Margaret now?" Edward asked. He didn't know that there was another Dashwood sister.

"At school. She's a senior at MIT. She never leaves Boston."

"But it's July."

"It makes no difference to her. She just never leaves."

Christopher Brandon, their dear next-door neighbor and frequent visitor, appeared just as Edward was convinced that he was doing all right with Mrs. Dashwood. But he could immediately tell that Mrs. Dashwood simply adored Brandon. Elinor also seemed happy to see Brandon, so Edward tried to be tickled to death as well. Marianne didn't seem to be adequately delighted to see her old friend, but Edward remembered that Marianne was supposed to be broken-hearted over the Willoughby incident so she was allowed to be out of sorts. Brandon sat on the sofa next down to Marianne, of course, but seemed to talk primarily to Elinor. He nodded at Edward with an air of friendly recognition, but it was obvious that Brandon was accepted as part of the family and Edward was just a visitor passing through, almost on the same grounds as John and Fanny.

Edward tried not to look miffed by being upstaged by Brandon, especially since Fanny was sitting near by watching the exchange with far too much interest. In fact, everyone seemed to be looking at Edward too much.

"John, what do you do?" Edward asked across the room, out of lack of anything to ask. He didn't know a thing about John Dashwood but if his little sister was going out with him, Edward should know something beyond the fact that Elinor thought that he was a drip.

"I'm in advertising."

"Oh Edward," Fanny groaned. "He always feels like he has to be the over-bearing parent since our dad left."

"Left?" Marianne repeated.

Elinor perked up, obviously surprised. Edward had never told her that before. In fact, they knew very little about each other's personal lives, now that Edward thought about it. He didn't even know about the youngest sister.

"It was a long time ago," Edward said, hoping to lightly brush aside the unpleasant subject. "Mom hasn't heard from him in years. But it now gives me a good excuse for butting into things that are completely and utterly none of my business."

Fanny gave Edward one of her infamous death-glares, but this one had a different meaning than the usual "Back off" - it was "Back off or I tell Lucy". Much more effective.

"Just treat my little sister well," Edward satisfied himself with saying.

Brandon was telling Marianne about some new local poet he had discovered and Mrs. Dashwood was talking to John and Fanny, so Edward had the chance to talk to Elinor again.

She asked, "What have you been doing in New York while I've been gone?"

"Getting into far too much trouble without you around to keep me in line," Edward said, smiling. But then he noticed Fanny looking at him - his response could sound like they were a real couple, which would give Fanny more blackmail material. However, Elinor didn't seem to think there was anything odd in his response.

"And how's Lucy?" Elinor asked.

That really attracted Fanny's attention. "You know Lucy?" she asked Elinor.

Elinor turned to look at Fanny, obviously confused by why this seemed so surprising. "Of course," she said. "I found Lucy myself."

Edward knew he had to interfere quickly before Fanny said the wrong thing. "You remember Lucy, right, Fanny?" Edward asked. "I know I must have told you about her. She's our kitten."

"Your kitten? Lucy?" Fanny repeated. Luckily she was still committed to covering for Edward, so she smiled and said, "Of course. I was just thinking of a different Lucy from back home."

"Oh," Elinor said. She still looked confused, but she seemed to accept the explanation. Edward noticed that Brandon was looking at Fanny and him too closely at that moment, too. Brandon must suspect something. But he still had Marianne Dashwood's attention, so rather than worrying about the Ferrarses he focused his efforts on entertaining Marianne.

Mrs. Dashwood turned to Edward and said, "So Edward, I hear you're a... piano tuner?"

"Actually, I'm a writer," Edward said. "But until I'm a great success, I tune pianos." At least this conversation topic had no potential to get him into any trouble.

"So you plan on being a great success?" Mrs. Dashwood asked, glancing at Elinor.

Elinor smiled and said, "It would be a waste of at least one good year of his life if he wasn't a great success. And his book is good. I wouldn't be surprised if it's as great of a success as Edward says it will be."

"It won't go anywhere. Do you know the title?" Fanny interjected. "Bildungsroman Blues. What sort of title is that? Quasi-intellectual BS, if you ask me."

No one said anything for a moment - Fanny was such a nuisance - then Edward decided that her remark was wildly hilarious. "My first critic, Fanny Ferrars," he said once he stopped laughing. Elinor laughed as well, though Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood simply looked shocked that Fanny would insult her brother's novel.

"You're staying the night, aren't you, Edward?" Elinor asked. She was right; it was a good time to change the subject. "Let me show you to your room."

Edward grabbed his single small piece of luggage and made a hasty good-bye to the people in the room as he followed Elinor out of the drawing room.

"So you have a little sister?" Elinor asked once they were alone together in the foyer.

"And a little brother Robert and a mother and probably a father somewhere. What about you? Marianne, Margaret, Mom, half of John - any more relations I should know about?"

"No, those are the important ones."

"Fanny said that your mother thinks I'm your boyfriend," Edward said flippantly. He noticed that Elinor blushed when he said that; he had never seen her blush before. Just as lightly, he said, "Shouldn't you have asked me out first? I'm a very cheap date."

Elinor laughed. "I tried to correct her but once Marianne and Mom decide on something, it's very hard to get them to change their mind. They like things to be in categories, and if you wanted to really categorize our relationship..."

Edward could imagine what an awkward situation Elinor was forced into, and he wasn't going to make it any more awkward by giving it any more significance than it was worth. He said, "OK, I understand. Your sister has a very active imagination. She still thinks John Willoughby is the love of her life, right?"

Elinor sighed and said, "You don't know the half of it."

"The poor girl," Edward said, shaking his head. "Well, the news of our relationship did surprise my little sister. I've never told my family about you. They all think I'm living with a guy."

"What?"

He tried to explain, "My mother is really traditional. She'd get the wrong idea from us living together. I don't think it would ever occur to her that a man and a woman our age can live together without wanting anything more than just, you know, friendship. Everyone back home would just assume that there's something more going on than there is."

"Yeah," Elinor said, but she obviously didn't like the idea that Edward was lying about her to his family. Edward wanted to apologize, but then that would only lead to more unpleasantness when he told her about all the other lies he had been telling about her and to her. She said, "I'm glad we've settled it, at least."

"Settled what?"

"Our story," she said. "My mom and sister think we're in love, your mother thinks I'm a guy, and your sister thinks-what does she think?"

"Oh, Fanny knows the truth," Edward said. "She'll be quiet, though."

"Quiet?" Elinor repeated.

"She won't tell Mom," Edward said, then he regretted saying that. Elinor looked down at her feet and blushed again. He didn't want to sound like he was ashamed of his friendship with Elinor. It was much more complicated than that.

"But, you know, my mom would really love you," he added, and he was rewarded with a slight smile from Elinor.

"Really?"

"Yes. She'd probably start plotting with your mom and Marianne to get us married," Edward said, and that made Elinor laugh.

When he heard her laugh, he couldn't help himself from laughing, too. And hearing him laugh made Elinor laugh even more. Edward knew they weren't laughing now about how their relatives would want them to be married. They were laughing because they both knew that things were still OK between them, in spite of all the lies they had surrounded themselves with.

Elinor showed him his room and they spent the rest of the day talking together like the good friends they were.

It was nearly 2 am and Edward was attempting to read a Thomas Pynchon novel in the guest room. As much as he liked seeing Elinor again, being Elinor's assumed boyfriend bothered him. During dinner he had let Mrs. Dashwood and Marianne give him extra smiles and he had noticed Brandon giving him extra glares, but he felt awful. He was engaged to someone else. He had to tell Elinor. It was getting ridiculous.

There was a knock at his bedroom door. How could it be anyone other than Elinor? Who else would think of seeing if he was awake at 2 am? He got out of bed and started to open the door, then remembered he was in Elinor's family's house and was only wearing his boxers, so he threw on a shirt before fully opening the door.

But instead of finding Elinor, there was Marianne Dashwood. She was barefoot and wearing a long, thin white night gown. What was she doing there, and was it really appropriate for her to be visiting her sister's boyfriend in the middle of the night? His room was next to Elinor's and he knew that she was a very light sleeper, so he ushered Marianne into his room instead of interrogating her in the hallway.

"Did I wake you up?" Marianne asked, walking over and sitting on his bed. Edward pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down a respectful distance away.

"No, no," he said, "but why are you here?"

"Thomas Pynchon?" she asked, picking up the book on his bed. "Chris says that he's a very good writer."

"So I've been told. I can't get more than 10 pages into any of his books," Edward said. "But why are you here?"

Marianne put the book down and said, "I've been dying to talk to you, Ed. It's about John."

"John?"

"John Willoughby, of course," Marianne said. "Elinor said you were bad with names, but I'd think you'd remember John." She now smiled like she was always smiling during her stay in New York. If he didn't know all the circumstances better, Edward would think it was sweet that the mere thought of John Willoughby made Marianne happy.

Edward could see that she was going to elaborate about all the different reasons why one could and should not forget about John Willoughby, so he quickly said, "Oh yes, him, I remember him perfectly." Perfectly was a bit strong; he vaguely remembered that John Willoughby had brown hair.

"Well, I haven't heard from John in weeks, so I'm getting worried," Marianne said, the smile now replaced by a look of concern. "What if something has happened to him?"

"Like ... an accident?" Edward asked. She had gone from thinking that John Willoughby had fallen in love with someone else to thinking that he was lying unconscious in a hospital for the last month? Was this progress?

"Precisely! Wouldn't it be terrible?"

"So what am I supposed to do?" he asked. He really didn't want to get involved, but he could imagine that Marianne would have difficulty accepting no as an answer.

"Look for him, of course!" she said, loud enough to certainly wake up Elinor in the next room.

"But I don't know him," Edward said in a lowered voice. He glanced in the direction of Elinor's room, waiting to hear her getting out of bed and seeing what they were doing, but it was surprisingly still quiet. He asked, "Have you contacted the hospitals in the area?"

"Some of them, but there are a lot in the city. I'm sure if you were there in person, it would be much easier for you to locate him."

Did she have any idea how large New York City was? Edward shook his head and said, "How do you suggest I find him?"

"Go to his favorite jazz club, Allenham. Everyone knew him there."

"Allenham?" Edward repeated. Oddly enough, that plan sounded reasonable. The only problem was that it sounded like there would be a good chance that Edward would actually be able to find John Willoughby that way, and then what was he supposed to do? The guy wasn't exactly going out of his way to see Marianne again. Elinor sounded like she would throttle John Willoughby if she ever saw him again, and Brandon would certainly hate Edward forever for bringing John Willoughby back into their lives.

"Shouldn't you write that down?" Marianne asked.

"Sure, sure," Edward said, obediently grabbing some paper from the desk and writing down the name of the club. "Where is it?"

"I don't know, in the city, we took a cab," Marianne said. But she was now very pleased. She was smiling her thinking-of-John-Willoughby smile, and Edward had to smile, too. She said, "You'll tell him that I'm waiting to hear from him, won't you? I don't care if he thinks he's found someone else. We work so well together. And tell him that I'll be coming back to the city in a few weeks."

"Oh, are you?" Edward asked. If Marianne was coming to the city, that meant that Elinor would certainly be coming back before then, too.

"Yes. I'm going to get one of our relatives, Mrs. Jennings, to take me."

"That's good," Edward said. Then again, maybe it was a very bad thing. If John Willoughby really could be tracked down, reuniting Marianne with him would probably not be very healthy.

Marianne was not done with giving all her instructions. "And tell him I got the CD he recommended, the one by the singer at the club, Eliza B."

"Eliza? OK," Edward said, obediently writing down the many messages.

"Oh, thank you, Edward!" Marianne said, getting off from the bed and giving him a hug. She was speaking too loudly again, but Edward didn't try to get her to lower her voice. She started walking towards the door, then turned around and added, "I'm so glad you're going to marry Elinor! I always told everyone around here that Elinor and you had to be madly in love."

"Wait, wait, Marianne-" Edward began, but Marianne was already out the door. He really did have to tell Elinor about Lucy Steele before Marianne started hiring wedding planners.