” “Who?” “Mercedes. From the Count of Monte Cristo.” “Never read it.” She laughed showing her dimples again. “I know, it’s one that ...obody will get. I wanted to be something specific, and now it’s perfect.” “What is? “You. You can be my Count.” Anthony laughed again. “Glad to know who I finally am.” They had quickly downed their champagnes and took two more. Anthony rarely drank. On the occasions he went to parties with his wife he was always the designated driver. The alcohol hit him quickly. She worked him over as to the merits of the drive-along and her quest for front seat privileges. I steeped the tea, set out the cookies and watched not them, but, over them. I'd interject once-in-awhile, but, I just liked to, well, yes, watch.---------And it was amazing how we'd become so comfortable around one another so rapidly. I thought nothing of the fact that she was perched on his lap like that. Seemed so natural, even though the sight was striking. There was a beauty there, the contrast. More

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