I mean, the woman is like eighty-two years old or some- **

thing. Why should she know love when I don't? When I can't?

She's only got a few years **

at best. Why should they be warmed by love when my own coming decades are doomed to frigidity?

Greta's beau shares the dinner table with a half-dozen old women, but he sees only her.

And she sees only him, despite the banter and pleasantries exchanged all around and between them.

I can't help but watch through eyes tinged green. Then Greta laughs, from the heart, like she has laughed **

with me, only sweeter. And suddenly I am ashamed. No, horrified, at myself.

How could I think that way?

200.

That Was an Incredibly Bad Scene Like looking inside myself and finding a stranger, someone not only vicious but downright evil.

How odd, to suddenly glimpse a facet of me I didn't know existed.

I guess it really isn't all that unusual to surprise oneself with an ugly bit of ego. But was this unsuspected piece of me born at the same instant I was?

Or was it spawned some time between that moment and now? I know, it's a question with no answer, undeserving of introspection.

But was this hideous thing conceived, or was it created?

201.

Raeanne Kaeleigh Takes Herself Way, way too seriously.

Everyone has a secret side, one that's not so nice. But evil?

I prefer to reserve that designation for presidents, terrorists, and Madison.

Okay, I guess the bitch isn't really evil either. Too stupid for evil. Oops. That lets presidents off the hook too. Terrorists are rarely stupid, but even they aren't born evil. But you know, preach it-- whatever "it" is--loud enough, long enough, someone will buy in.

Witness Jerry Falwell. Ask me, it's a sin to pervert faith with religion.

Despite every church, mosque, and synagogue in it, this is not the world any God worth his salt would have created.

202.

But Whatever Created It It's my world, the only one I've got. Might as well make the best of it, right? Might as well have a little fun while I'm here. Or a lot of fun.

Might be dead tomorrow.

I'd call Mick, but he's out of dope, and anyway, he's an irritating prick. Stupid, too, all ranting about how he's going to sue the sheriff's department for stealing stash.

I told him to shut up and think about it, and hopefully he's doing exactly that about now.

I do know a few other people who might have some bud.

But the one who comes first and foremost to mind is Ty.

He gave me his number, for the next time you find your mouth watering for a hot red lollipop...

Yeah, he's totally disgusting.

Why do I like men that way?

203.

Oh, and Guess What He answers his phone first ring, and he isn't busy at the moment.

Lucky, lucky me. It's a school night, and I might very well hear **

about not coming straight home, but hey, if I go straight home, I won't **

be going out tonight. No-brainer.

I wait for him at a little convenience **

store, and about the time I grow impatient, a sheriff's sedan cruises **

by, reminding me I do not want to be caught in the backseat of a car **

in a compromising position. Turns out that's not a problem. Ty whips **

into the parking lot, in a blue BMW 24 convertible. Top down. No back- **

seat. We won't be smoking or making out in this stunning little car.

He smiles at the look on my face.

Get in. How 'bout we take a little spin?

204.

Zero to Sixty In five point six seconds, says Ty. Seemed faster to me. I love the way acceleration presses me back against my seat. But what's **

really interesting is that Ty can afford this car at all. Might as well just ask.

"So what do you do, anyway?

Or are your parents loaded?"

He smiles and settles the car into an easy cruise mode.

Actually, my parents are loaded. More ways than one.

I really look at him for the first time. Handsome face, chiseled, strong. Works-out-in-the-gym body. Dark, longish hair, tied back.

Simple black T-shirt and Levis, though clean, totally belie the Beamer.

And what exactly did he mean by more ways than one?

Might as well just ask. "Your parents get high? Do they deal?"

205.

Nah, they don't deal. They indulge plenty, though. See, my dad is Chumash. When the casino was built, he made --.

how best to put this?

more **

than a tidy little sum on the deal.

He and my mom now own quite an operation out Foxen Canyon Road.

Cattle. Horses. Young vineyard.

Who would have guessed?

Certainly not me, not even after our little private party up there on Figueroa. Still...

"So how about you? What do you do?

Do you live with your parents?"

A bunch more questions pop into my head, bubbling over like champagne, but the answers to those two might answer the rest.

Shit, yeah. In a guest house, actually. Once our vines mature, I'll play vintner. Right now, I'm apprenticing at another winery.

206.

Several questions answered indeed.

Finally I notice we have in fact been driving along Foxen Canyon Road. Ty slows the BMW and we **

turn up a long driveway through rows and rows of immature grapes.

We make a left before reaching the rather overbearing main house.

Finally Ty crunches to a stop in the gravel.

Here we are. Home sweet home. Hope you're up for fun and games.

207.

Fun, Ty-Style Begins with tall Jack Daniel's and Cokes. As he mixes them, I wander around the "guest house,"

thinking half the country would flip if they could live in a home like this. Two oversize bedrooms.