Trent tuned his acoustic and sighed. He had a tune, a variation on the last one. Herb had called again, desperate for his jingle. He'd had offered Trent a bonus if he got the thing done sooner, but with work, practice and Daria it was hard to come up with lyrics. Herb seemed to expect miracles from him. Trent needed inspiration. Fortunately, these days inspiration was usually nearby.

     Daria sat on Jane's bed, worried.

     Jane was painting Daria, in a short, tight, shiny green leather dress.

     Daria shook her head. "Does Tinkerbell know that you stole her dress? If Trent ever sees that he'll probably buy me something like it and try to make me wear it."

     Jane shrugged. "You can only hope."

     "Jane!" Daria flushed. "Don't you think that you maybe exaggerated a couple of things there?"

     Without embarrassment, Jane shook her head. "I've seen the goods, Daria. That's exactly how you'd look in that dress."

     Daria groaned. There was no fooling Jane. She'd seen too much. Now Daria had to endure her extremely frank views on sex, which was all the more irritating in that Daria strongly suspected that Jane had yet to do the deed. "Oh, god. You and Quinn aren't going to make that, are you?" Daria suddenly knew, with a touch of dread, that she was going to be wearing that dress someday.

     Jane smiled. "Hey, amiga. It's all for one and one for all, in the rag trade." She planned to use Daria as her primary model, because Daria, from long practice, was easier to draw and because it would be extremely amusing. She couldn't tease her about Trent anymore, so this was the next best thing.

     Daria wondered again how she'd let Jane and Quinn talk her into it. "Well, just keep that away from Trent. I don't want him nagging me ab-"

     "Keep wha-" Trent had stuck his head in the door and now he stared at Jane's painting. "Woah! Hey, I like that!"

     Jane smirked and continued her painting.

     "I wonder if they have it at the Funky Doodle?" Trent looked at Daria the way a starving dog looks at a porkchop.

     Jane smothered a snigger.

     Daria shot her a glare. "So, Trent. What do you want?"

     Jane laughed out loud.

     Trent quit looking from the picture to Daria. "I was wondering if you could come down and help me?" He gave her the look.

     Daria smiled. "Sure. Just give me a minute with Jane and I'll be riiight down."

     "Okay!" Trent left, grinning.

     Jane raised an impassive eyebrow at her. "What?"

     Daria sighed. "Someday Lane, when you least expect it, I'll make sure that you get exactly what you deserve." Daria tried to glare, but ended up with an embarrassed smile instead. She left quickly, mourning the loss of her edge.

     Jane watched Daria leave. "Well," she said, softly, to herself, "Keeping Trent from self destructing when he finally gets a hit would be good. And a few nieces and nephews would just about take care of it."

     Daria came down to the basement and joined Trent on the couch. "So what's this big emergency?"

     Trent leered. "Well..." He laughed at her expression. "I'm stumped, Daria. I need help with some lyrics. Sing along and inspire me."

     Daria pulled away from him in surprise. "But I can't sing!"

     Trent didn't change his expression. "You? Sing? Of course not. All that I need help with is lyrics and phrasing, Daria. You can croak along with me and when I get something down, I'll get a real singer in to do your part. Maybe Monique could do it."

     Trent was aware that he was on thin ice. Jane had told him all about Daria's explosive reaction to the innocent kiss on the cheek by his ex-girlfriend. He didn't plan to see Monique again, if he could help it.

     Daria glared at him. "Well, you could at least... Alright," she relented, "I'll do it." That scheming bitch Monique... She clamped down on the jealousy, aware that she was being stupid. Self improvement wasn't easy.

     "Great! This is the tune that I have." He played it all the way through.

     "Adequate, I suppose. So what's this guy Herb trying to say?" Daria grinned at Trent's nonplused look. His tune was great. It stuck in the head like a remora.

     After an hour of brainstorming, Trent played what they had so far.

     I'm a millionaire in peso's and I really need a car
     I'll visit Happy Herb, cause he can stretch a peso far
     I wasn't lyin' baby, last night at the bar
     I'm still a millionaire in peso's with a Happy Herb car!

     Trent stopped. "Was that what you meant?"

     Daria nodded. "Sort of, but well...." She picked up his other acoustic guitar, played the tune perfectly and sang the part with a whole different phrasing and intonation. "Like that, Trent. But with some life to it." She smiled shyly at him.

     Trent swallowed and nodded. He'd never heard anything like it. "Hey, yeah, that's great, Daria! Why don't we take alternate lines? We can make it, you know, like a little lovers quarrel. At the end, we'll both sing and I'll come in with some change ups. That'll really give it something."

     Daria, caught up in the creative process, never noticed that he'd gotten her to really sing for him.

     An hour later, Daria went up to the bathroom and Trent scrambled over to his equipment trunk. He connected his PA amp and mixer, then unpacked and set up two microphones. He turned on his ancient Ampex four track and let it warm up. Running the tape back to zero, he paused it. He wanted to know if they sounded as good together as he thought.

     Daria came back down the stairs, looked at the recording gear and swallowed. "Look, Trent, I just don't know if I can sing into that thing."

     Trent spent a half hour rubbing her back and persuading her to relax and then started the recorder. After a few flubs, they finally laid down the track. When he played it back, he was unsurprised. Daria sounded great. Her oddly monotonous voice was haunting, her range narrow, but absolutely true within that range.

     Daria frowned. Her part in the duet sounded like a sarcastic bitch. If she sounded like that without even trying, what would happen if she really got mad at him? Would her sarcasm drive him away? She blinked in momentary despair. Having a relationship was so hard. She never knew what to do. Life was so much simpler, before.

     Trent gazed at her, for the first time considering her as a potential colleague. He had a sudden flash of her, on stage at the Shelbyville Coliseum, in the green leather outfit of Jane's painting, wailing away with her green Diablo. His mouth sagged open.

     Daria swallowed and looked away in humiliation. Her monotone was worse than ever. She couldn't seem to put any life into her voice at all. Her part seemed to drip sarcasm. She glanced at him and it was worse than she thought. He was staring at her, mouth agape with fascination.

     "Hey, Daria, Do you mind if I use this? Monique could never do that."

     Squeezing her emotions down, she shrugged like humiliation didn't matter to her. "Do whatever you want, Trent. Just... don't tell anyone that it was me."

     Trent laughed at her joke and rewound the tape. Maybe he could get her up on the stage someday. She'd probably hit the big time. That would be a kick in the ass. He could be her roadie.

     Herb was sitting at his desk, drinking his morning coffee and watching his two salesmen handling the customers. It amazed him that he had customers, this close to new year. Naturally cheap, he'd tried several other musicians before Trent had come back to town. They all gave him stuff that sounded like every other jingle out there. As far as he could tell, Trent's TV spot had made him at least a hundred thousand simolians to date. If he could get sales up again this year, he'd be able to take the Buick franchise away from Jerry Becker. With new cars, and increased revenues he could dramatically expand. He leaned back, contemplating a congressional run in 2010.

     The phone rang and Herb picked up. His wife, who was also his secretary, came on.

     "Herbie, that guy you were wanting to talk to is on the line."

     Herb sighed. "What guy?" She had the brain of a cockerspaniel, but a body that more than made up for the deficiency.

     "The music guy, silly!" She giggled. "I'm putting him on!"

     Herb shrugged. "Hello?"

     "Yeah, is this Herb?"

     Herb recognized the distinctive voice and sat up. "Trent! How's it going? Are you going to have it soon?"

     Trent smiled and turned on the tape player "Listen up, Herb."

     Herb gripped the desk and grinned. While he was listening, he got out the title of the Dodge. It was already filled out, in the name of Jane Lane. This was better than last time. Much, much better.

     Jane stood in the garage, measuring the hood of her car. She was planning on trying out her airbrushes with a mural, something to commemorate the year. It was a strange time in her life. So much had changed, yet so much had merely turned out to be different from what she had always perceived.

     Vincent was out of her life as a father figure. The man had clashed with her childhood image of him one too many times. She had always mythologised him, believing since she was very young that he was somehow aware of her, no matter how far away he was. The missed birthdays, Christmases and the total lack of the normal, daily intimacy that a daughter needs had led her to manufacture a childish fantasy. When that fantasy had abruptly collapsed, it had been like losing a real father.

     Maybe a stormy, silver-gray background, with some jagged rents in the clouds could symbolize that heartbreaking moment.

     Trent had changed in her eyes more than anyone. She had seen him as a hopeless slacker and to some extent she had been right. But then the admission had come from him. He stayed in Lawndale for her. He'd always sensed that her usual low key cheerfulness was based on a pipe dream. When the damn broke in Texas, she had felt so lost and disconnected that she'd briefly considered not returning to Lawndale.

     There needed to be light. Something to show the victory over the dark. Maybe rays of light breaking through the clouds. Green had always been Trent's color. That was one of the things that had made her pair him with Daria in her mind, long before the two had met. Daria habitually wore green and had the same ironically skewed outlook on life that he did.

     Jane was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of someone opening the garage door. She looked up and gaped.

     "Jane?" Vincent stood there, suitcase and camera bag in hand.

     Trent knocked on the peeling yellow door, tape reel in hand. He'd gone to see Herb and when he'd arranged for the title for Jane's car, he'd been asked to deliver the reel to the producer of Herb's commercial. Herb had said that there might have to be edits and he offered a bonus if Trent would oversee it. Trent accepted, happy to take the money. He'd give it to Daria, for her singing part.

     The last time, Trent hadn't met the guy. He'd just given Herb a reel with the music on it and collected his tires.

     The door opened and he found himself looking into the hardest, coldest black eyes that he'd ever seen.

     "Yes?" She looked at him, with scorn.

     "Are you Jay Jones?" Trent was a bit confused.

     She smirked, unpleasantly. "No, I'm Jacey Jones. I use the first initial in correspondence. What do you want?"

     "Hmm. Well, this is for you." Trent thrust the reel into her hand and started to walk away.

     "Oh! Wait!" She caught up with him. "I'm sorry, I was rude. You woke me up. Are you Trent?"

     Trent nodded. "Yeah. That's alright. I hate being woken too." He glanced at his watch and took another step toward his car.

     She grabbed his arm. "I really wanted to meet you after the last commercial, but Herb said that you were gone. I hope you didn't mind my edits."

     Trent shrugged. "It was only me and a guitar, uh, Jacey. I got fifty bucks and tires."

     "Herb! That... He told me that you had blown the budget!" She looked angry. "That commercial was worth thousands! He's going to pay big for this one. I hope you got more than fifty bucks this time!"

     Trent shrugged. "I got a car that was worth about five thousand." He followed her incredulous gaze toward his dented blue 1970 Plymouth. He laughed. "No, that's not it."

     "Well, won't you come in and listen with me? I'd like your opinion. This is a more complicated ad. I have some story boards worked out and there are some timing issues." Jacey tugged at his arm. She really needed contacts in Lawndale and she just knew that he would be shooting music video's some day.

     Reluctantly, he went with her. She'd only begun acting civil when she'd realized that she might need him.

     Trent sat uncomfortably on her tiny couch, listening to the music. He looked around at the crowded room, surprised that she could fit so much junk in. The walls were covered with lesbian-erotic art.

     "God, Trent, that was good." She looked at him, speculatively. "Ever thought about shooting a music video?"

     He smiled. "Sure. You know, just as soon as the band gets a little better and we get a break."

     She shrugged. "That sound's familiar. Who's the other singer? Is she the only other singer in your band?"

     Trent smirked. "That's my girlfriend, Daria. She's just helping me out. She's way to smart to be in a band."

     Jacey laughed. "I was about to say that she sounds like Edie Brikell, but thinking about it, she really doesn't."

     Trent smiled, contentedly. "Daria doesn't sound like anyone. She's an original."

     Jacey shrugged. "She sounds like someone worth knowing." She rolled out a flip chart. "What I had in mind was this..."

     Jane sat uncomfortably across from her father. "So, why are you here?" She flushed. "I mean... Well-"

     "I came to ring in the new year with the family and to see you." Vincent shrugged, uncomfortably. "I didn't realize that my little slip of the tongue had hurt you so badly. I want to make it up to you, somehow."

     Jane just looked at him. He called forgetting her name a 'slip of the tongue.' What a guy.

     "What can I do for you, Jane?" Vincent clamped down on his urge to catch a plane, anywhere.

     Jane shrugged. "You do enough. The house has a roof with no leaks over my bed. The heat works. I get money for clothes every year. Food appears occasionally. I don't know what else I could ask for."

     "The roof leaks?" Vincent frowned.

     Jane nodded. "Trent does his best, but he's no handyman. He bought a bunch of shingles and nailed them on and it leaked worse than ever. He finally put a plastic tarp over that side of the roof. You can't see it now, because of the snow."

     "Why didn't you say anything?" Vincent saw the stains on the ceiling now. It pissed him off. "Household repairs aren't something that can be put off. Did any get into the fuse box?"

     Jane shrugged. "I told Mom and so did Trent."

     Vincent stood, examining the hall ceiling. "Amanda never pays attention to that stuff. Why didn't you tell me?"

     "How? You never call. You never got home this year, Dad. I haven't seen you here since... Well, a long time." Jane felt a little surge of satisfaction when she saw his wince. "You move around so much that we never know where you are."

     "Well, I'm going to try and be here more often, from now on." He was resolved to try and make it up to her.

     Jane smiled at him, a little sadly. Water didn't run uphill. She'd be moving out pretty soon. That time was already past.

     Trent flew through the door and ran straight down the basement stairs, not noticing either Jane or his father.

     "What's with him?" Vincent stared after his son.

     "Success is staring him in the face. He avoided it for years and it's made him a little jumpy." Jane smiled, fondly. "He's gotten pretty lucky lately."

     "Oh yeah?" Vincent cudgeled his brain. Trent was out of school, what the hell was he doing?

     The house shook as a power chord rang out.

     "Oh, yeah." Vincent tugged at his earlobe. Now he remembered why he wasn't so enthusiastic about the old homestead.

     Jane opened her mouth to elaborate and the doorbell rang. She opened the door and let Daria in.

     "Hey, amiga." Jane smirked "Lover boy is in the pit, torturing a guitar."

     Daria smiled. She was carrying her Diablo in a soft case. "They deserve it." She caught sight of Vincent. "Hello, Mr. Lane."

     Vincent didn't recognize her at all. "Hi! How have you been?"

     Daria smiled, a little shyly. "Pretty good, actually. Well, Trent's waiting. I'd better get down there and help him finish off that guitar." She went down the basement stairs.

     "Who was that?" Vincent thought she looked familiar.

     "That was Daria. Your future daughter in law, if Trent stays lucky." Jane wondered if Vincent would finally assign enough importance to Daria to remember her name the next time. She doubted it. He didn't even bother to remember hers.

     Vincent stared at the basement door, bemused.

     Daria and Trent played the jingle on their guitars, gazed into each others eyes and hummed along with the tune. Tearing himself away, he glanced at the stopwatch and slowly turned down the mixer's master volume slider with his toe. "And, that's it!" He unslung his guitar. "Did I ever tell you that you are a truly beautiful woman?"

     Daria flushed, smiled and sat Trent's old Yamaha acoustic aside. "Yes... Wait, that wasn't you. I guess not."

     Trent laughed, rewound the tape and sat down next to her on the couch. He kissed her, then stroked the nape of her neck, eliciting a shudder of pleasure.

     "Well, I met the director."

     "Director?" Daria's mind was elsewhere.

     "Director, producer, whatever. The lady who's shooting Herb's happy little commercial." He slid his hands under her shirt and kissed her on the top of the shoulder. "She want's to work with us on some other projects."

     "Ohhhh?" Daria was having trouble concentrating, but something brought itself to her attention. "Lady?"

     "Yeah, Jacey. She's really ambitious." Trent mentally cursed when he felt her stiffen. He wondered when she'd start trusting and get over the jealousy.

     Daria pulled back. "How old is Jacey, Trent?"

     Trent shrugged. "I don't know. She's around 25 or 26 I'd say." He frowned. She could be younger or older. Her hard black eyes said she was fifty, but her body said twenties.

     Daria relaxed a smidgen. "So, are you guys going to do a music video?"

     Trent nodded. "Someday, but when I said that she want's to work with us, I meant you and me, Daria."

     Daria pulled back to the other side of the couch, defensively. "Trent, there's really no need to do that. I know that my voice is horrible. Those old people asked me to leave the retirement home because my voice was so bad. I've tried to change it, but I just can't."

     Trent stared at her in surprise. "Daria... Look, your voice is different. You sing in a monotone, and it sounds really cool. Really you. So you aren't Brittany Spears. I can live with that." He took a cassette tape out of a pocket and handed it to her.

     "What's this?"

     "Just a tape of us, singing. Listen to it sometime." He started to get up.

     Daria grabbed his belt and pulled him back, trapping him against the arm of the couch. "We aren't done here, Lane."

     "It'll be right down here." Quinn steeled herself and led the way down into the Morgendorffer basement. She'd always been afraid of basements, ever since Daria had locked her in one when she was four, back in Highland.

     The basement was essentially a long, empty rectangle with the door and stairs at one end. Four small windows, high on the walls, admitted a small amount of pale winter sun light. It was much deeper than the Lane basement, with a lot of headroom. At the far end of the rectangle sat the gas furnace, set back a foot from the wall and in the right corner of that part of the room, next to the hot water heater. Water and sewer pipes ran high overhead. Some furniture cluttered the area beside the furnace, but the room was otherwise empty.

     Stacy looked around, noting the lack of light. "At least it isn't all creepy and wet down here. We need some lights."

     "There's a lamp over there." Quinn turned on the old floor lamp, revealing Daria's amp, a small couch that Jake had torn the upholstery on while 'helping' the movers and Daria's music stand. There was a small rug in front of the couch. Behind the couch was the furnace. Against the wall opposite the couch, an arrangement of planks and cinderblocks precariously held the original wall mounted TV from Daria's room and Jake's old camcorder, which wouldn't record any more, but which would still play back tapes. A number of guitar lesson videos and books were on the lower shelf.

     "What's that?" Stacy looked curiously at the amp.

     "That's just some of Daria's stuff. She's plays a guitar and that thing is part of it." Quinn wrinkled her nose at the amp.

     "This place is kind of cool." Stacy wondered if Quinn would ever admit that Daria was her sister.

     Quinn nodded, apprehensively peering into the shadowy corners. "There's no cable down here though. Eww! A spider!"

     Stacy walked over and kicked at it.

     "Watch out. They can really jump!" Quinn glared at the filthy thing.

     Stacy smiled. "It was already dead. Maybe we should spray down here, if Daria hasn't."

     Quinn was a little taken aback at Stacy's boldness, arachnophobia being a strong Quinn trait.

     "I think we'll have to put a long table right there, and mount some florescent shop lights over it." Stacy paced around the empty space, making plans. She'd never had anyplace larger than a closet sized storage room to work in before and the possibilities here excited her. "Do you think that Daria would mind us moving her stuff?"

     "Yes." Quinn decided that Jamie could do the electrical work. His dad was an electrical contractor, and he sometimes worked with him. Joey, Jeffy and maybe Trent could serve as the muscle, carrying down the tables and sewing machines.

     Stacy shrugged. "That's all right, I see a better way to do it, anyway."

     "Uhm, Stacy." Quinn decided to make her big admission now.

     Stacy was measuring along a wall, visualizing the layout of the proposed dress factory. "Yes?"

     "Daria isn't my cousin. She's my sister." Quinn waited for the shocked surprise.

     Stacy smiled. "Yeah, I know."

     Quinn gasped. "Really?"

     Stacy laughed. "Everybody knows, Quinn. I always wondered why you were so worried about it. Daria is a fairly popular senior."

     "Really?" Quinn was shocked, and a little mortified.

     Stacy shook her head at Quinn. "Jodie and Mack, Brittany, Kevin and almost all of the other seniors like her. She could never be Homecoming Queen, but she's okay."

     "She could be Homecoming Queen. She would just never care enough to make the effort." Quinn frowned at the ceiling, in the direction of Daria's room.

     Stacy looked at Quinn and nodded, doubtfully.

     "Hey, she's my sister. We're almost exactly the same size, except she's a little taller. When she takes those hideous goggles off, she's got a face that could seriously break some hearts." Quinn smirked at Stacy's surprised expression.

     Stacy shrugged. "She's not ugly or anything, but she never dated and she isn't in any activities. Why is that?"

     Quinn smiled. "Her boyfriend is only like the hottest guy in the state. He's got a band, called Mystic something. Daria just never liked any high school guys." Quinn smirked at Stacy. "And with a guy like that, who has time for activities?"

     "Ohmigod! You don't mean that guy... Clint Lane?" Stacy was in shock.

     "Trent Lane."

     Stacy sighed with envy. "I saw him at the Zen once, with Brittany and Andrea."

     "What? What were you doing with those two?" Quinn was surprised.

     Stacy looked at her, apprehensively. "I'm in the same group therapy with them. It's sort of a... breakfast club thing."

     Quinn stared. "Wha... But there's nothing wrong with you!"

     Stacy smiled, sadly. "But there is, Quinn. The summer before you came to Lawndale, I ate a whole bottle of sleeping pills and then went swimming. I've been in therapy ever since." She sat down on the stool. "I'd never tell Sandi or Tiffany, but you're more like... Well, a friend."

     "But why! You have it all, Stacy! A really good look with a great personality... I don't understand!" Quinn was shaken.

     Stacy shrugged. "I'm the same as all the other suicide survivors, I guess. In my case my parents divorced and I felt like it was all my fault. One day I decided it wasn't and I tried to get even with them."

     "The group... Brittany tried to kill herself?" Quinn was shaken.

     Stacy looked at her, sharply. "That's really like... none of your business, Quinn. Your family is still together, so you just don't know. The group is a private thing. We talk about our feelings and keep each other cheered up. Please, please don't ever say anything to Sandi about it. I shouldn't have-"

     "I'd never say anything to anyone. I'll forget about the whole thing and never ever talk about it again." Quinn sighed. "I'm glad that you didn't die, Stacy. I think that you're the only real friend that I ever made in Lawndale."

     Stacy smiled and stood up. "Thanks. So, what's the deal here? Who are these mysterious partners that we're going to have?"

     Quinn looked at her, thoughtfully. "Before I tell you, I want you to see some sketches that one of them made." She led Stacy to her room and brought out Jane's sketchpad.

     Slowly flipping through the pad, Stacy exclaimed over the artistry of the drawings and the beauty of the clothes. Sighing with admiration over a sketch of Quinn in a sarong like garment, she flipped the page and halted in shock.

     "Ghad!" Stacy giggled, flopped down onto the bed and laughed until the tears flowed free. Jane had drawn a pornographically hilarious sketch of a leering, well equipped cartoon pig with Upchucks features, doing something improbable to a cartoon rabbit. The rabbit had Sandi's features, mouth agape and eyes crossed in exaggerated bliss.

     Quinn laughed with her. "I'd love to see that posted all over school!"

     Stacy shook her head and wiped a tear away. "That would be too cruel, even for Sandi. Who drew this?"

     "Do you know Jane Lane?"

     Stacy nodded. "Yes, we've talked. She's really pretty nice. I didn't know that she was that good an artist, though."

     Quinn smiled in relief. "Well, she's Daria's friend and I like her too. You and her will be the designers, I'll sell it, Daria will be the business manager and we'll all make and model dresses."

     Stacy cocked her head at Quinn. "Maybe you should be manager."

     Quinn laughed. "Daria's way smarter than me. She'll make a great manager."

     Stacy shrugged, doubtfully. "What about Sandi and Tiffany? Won't they be mad when they find out? Maybe we should include them."

     Quinn shook her head, decisively. "I vote no. Sandi would try and take over and then ruin everything out of spite when she couldn't. Tiffany would be dead weight and Jane would eventually murder Sandi. Daria is going to be hard enough to-"

     "Okay, I don't think that I could work with Sandi around anyway." Stacy shook her head. "It's funny, Quinn. Without the Fashion Club, all the agenda's, schedules, official business... What would we all say to each other?"

     Quinn laughed. "We would do fine. Sandi would have to find something to argue about and Tiffany would be there to suck up. Maybe we can let them model for us, to keep them sweet."

     Stacy smiled, shyly. "Maybe they just won't care."

     "Maybe." Quinn doubted it.

     "Quinn?"

     "Yeah?"

     "I kind of have a confession to make." Stacy wondered if she was doing the right thing.

     "Oh?" Quinn smirked, knowing what was coming. "Go ahead. I'll keep it to myself."

     Stacy looked at her, nervously. "I'm going steady with a guy."

     Quinn nodded. "Yeah, I know. Ted. So what's the big confession, then?"

     Helen sighed and shifted restlessly in her seat. The doctor had assured her that she was still capable, but now she was having second thoughts. She did the math again. Did she really want to go through pregnancy again?

     Marianne buzzed from the outer office.

     "Yes, Marianne?"

     "Mr. Hedly would like to see you in the partners lunch room, today." Marianne crossed her fingers. Maybe she'd get a raise if Helen was given more responsibility.

     "Okay... Did he give any indication as to why?" Helen wondered if it was about the proposed new section. There'd been some talk about it at the party, people sounding her out, finding out what she thought should be included. Much of the firm's recent work had come from various clients of hers, the new rich from the growing local hi-tech manufacturing base who were entering the stratospheric world of IPO's.

     "No, Ma'am."

     "Thank you." Helen looked at the clock. She didn't have long. The door was closed at five after and no one gained entry until the lunch was over. She gathered her things and made for the lunchroom.

     Helen entered through the huge carved cherrywood doors and marveled at the sheer luxury of the room. Of course, it had come about because the Firm had found a way to write it all off, but still it spoke of wealth and power. The new building was very quickly becoming as crowded as the old one, though.

     She saw Martin Hedly sitting halfway down the table, next to a still embarrassed Eric. Ordering a salad from the caterer, she joined him.

     When everyone had been served and the waiter had left, the senior partner opened the meeting. After the routine business had been taken care of, Helen got a shock. Almost without consultation and amid effusive congratulations, She was appointed to head the new IPO's acquisitions and mergers unit. She would have a staff of ten associates, eight clerks and five secretaries. She sighed. This huge overhead would drag her down, if she wasn't careful.

     Closing her eyes, Helen suddenly realized that another pregnancy would be out of the question, unless she quit the firm.

     Eric noticed. "What's the matter, Helen?"

     Helen smiled at him, sadly. "Just a little headache. Nothing to worry about. So, Eric, how has Meiko been? Any little ones on the way yet?"

     Helen stood and listened to him talk about his wife and wondered if material success was really worth forgoing a child.

     Vincent called Amanda's guru, and finally tracked her down at a sweat lodge, undergoing the Hopi Sun-People convocation. That done, he called the rest of his brood. All agreed, after much bribery, blackmail and cajoling. The new century would be welcomed, albeit reluctantly, by all the Lanes, together.

     "What!" Jane was not a happy camper.

     Vincent smiled at her. She'd come around. Jane had always been kind of solitary. She'd cheer up when the family got home. "I said, that we're having a New Years reunion!"

     "And you didn't think to ask if anyone else had any plans? Me, Tom, Trent and Daria were going to Time Square." She glared. "We already booked the rooms." This was a lie. She hadn't been able to get a room in the city. They were going to stay in Max.'s van for a night.

     Vincent goggled at her. "Who is this Tom?"

     "Tom is my boyfriend. What, you'd rather I had a girlfriend?" Jane smirked and walked away, leaving him to stew.

     Trent sneezed, his eyes watering from solder fumes. He was replacing the volume pot on Daria's amp. He hadn't cared that the pot didn't go all the way down when the amp was his, but Daria did. He heard the basement door open, and footsteps come down the stairs. He tensed slightly in anticipation.

     "You shouldn't breathe those lead fumes, son." Vincent pulled up a stool to the makeshift workbench and looked around. Trent had an oscilloscope, a DVM, a signal generator, a frequency counter, a soldering station and a few hand tools. His area was crowded with partially disassembled band equipment.

     Trent looked at him, without expression. "I try not to. The ventilation isn't that great down here."

     Vincent straightened. "I have some small clip-on fans up in the photo lab. I could bring one down here."

     Trent nodded, courteously. "Thanks, but unless you don't use them any more, don't bother. I don't do this very often anymore."

     "Oh?" Vincent motioned to the rough workbench, with its burned and gouged surface. "You sure have a lot of gear there."

     Trent nodded. "I inherited most of it from Wind. He used to have that short-wave radio, remember?"

     Vincent laughed. "Yeah, I fell off of the roof when I was helping him put the antenna up."

     Trent smiled, politely. "I remember that."

     "I nearly busted my ass. I guess that you were about twelve, then." Vincent remembered that he'd gotten his contract with National Geographic the next day. He'd had to travel most of the year, after that.

     Trent nodded. That had been the last time that he'd seen his dad for more than a few weeks a year.

     "Well, you'd better hide that stuff, unless you want Wind to remember it. He's coming for new years, with his wife." Vincent smiled at the alarm in Trent's eyes.

     "Which wife?" Trent knew that there was some irregularity there. Wind was constantly ducking process servers. His ex was trying to get some of the money that he'd made in the software business, after the divorce. There was some speculation that his divorce hadn't been final when he married his secretary. It was ridiculous, but Wind morbidly feared the California courts.

     "Margo." Vincent frowned at Trent's revulsion. "What's wrong with her?"

     "I guess I just don't like her." Trent remembered the way that she'd chased him, backing him into a wall and groping him, attacking his zipper and inviting him point blank to a motel. Like he'd do that to his own brother.

     Vincent shrugged. "I can't say that I like her either. You have much better taste in women, son."

     Trent laughed aloud.

     "What's so funny?" Vincent smiled at him, puzzled and waiting to hear the joke.

     "Dad, I'm a musician. You should see some of the ... Well, let's just say that Jane is the one with taste. She kind of found Daria for me."

     He smiled, contentedly. It had taken time for him to really see Daria. She wasn't the type that he would have looked at twice, ordinarily. It had taken Jane to bring them together. He'd often just talked with her, like friends do. One day, he'd just been talking to her, like usual, when it had abruptly hit him that he couldn't imagine a life without her. He'd run like hellhounds were after him, but hadn't been able to stay away. She'd shocked him to his toes when he overheard her in the mall. He'd been standing behind her, wishing that he could just take her into his arms when Jesse had played his prank. It'd been a perfect moment.

     Vincent, looking into his unguarded eyes, felt a frission of astonishment. Things were moving very quickly around here. "Well... That's fine, son. I'm... happy for you. Your Mother, Penny and Summer will be coming too. You can introduce her around."

     Trent mumbled something and unplugged his soldering iron. "We had a little trip planned, but it really wasn't that big a deal, I guess. Janey might be a little unhappy."

     Vincent sighed. "Jane seems to be unhappy with me whatever I do."

     Trent shrugged. "She's just... growing up."

     Vincent bridled. "Why should growing up make her hate her father?"

     Trent frowned. "She doesn't hate you. She's mad at you. She just thought that she knew you and suddenly found out that she didn't, really."

     "What?" Vincent rubbed his forehead. Being a father was the pits. The only children that he had that weren't totally screwed up were the ones that he'd had the least contact with.

     Trent looked away and started to put the amp back in its case. "You need to talk with her, not me."

     Vincent looked at him. "We don't really get along either."

     Trent wondered if he would piss Vincent off if he left. "I don't hate you or anything."

     Vincent sighed. "I guess not." He stood. "I guess you're going to test that thing. I'll just toddle along, before you loosen my fillings."

     Trent watched him leave, then plugged in his tone generator. He tested the volume and tone knobs, then brightening, carried the amp out to his car. It was time to go see Daria.

     Jake was reading his paper when the doorbell rang. He opened the door, saw Trent with the amp and then motioned him in. "Trent, my man! Daria went to the store with Helen. Something about not getting lasagna. They ought to be back pretty soon, if you want to wait."

     Trent put the amp down. "Sure." He sniffed. "What's that? It sure smells good."

     "It's Kitchen Sink Stew! Try some?" Jake led Trent into the kitchen. "We call it Kitchen Sink Stew because it has every thing in it but the kitchen sink!" He frowned. "But no dried habanyeros." Smiling again, Jake scooped a bowl full and handed it to Trent, with a spoon. "Eat up, big guy!"

     Trent took a big bite and his eyes watered. The stew had several different kinds of pepper in it and it instantly cleared his sinuses. He swallowed, inhaled deeply, then quickly ate the stew. "Mr. M, that was the best damn stew I ever tasted." Trent wasn't sucking up. He'd long since burned away most of his tastebuds. He liked cholula sauce on almost everything that he ate.

     Jake, watching his face closely for signs of deception, was overjoyed. Finally, an ally in this Kitchen Sink Stew hating world. The girls wouldn't touch it. Even Helen wouldn't try it. At least he didn't dribble cigar ashes into it, like the cook back in camp shithole. He frowned, then with effort that would have gladdened his therapists heart, tore his mind away from his dark memories. "I can't get anyone to eat it! Like a cold brew to wash it down?"

     Soon they were watching TV. Jake turned it to football, and Trent started getting into it. He'd gone out for football as a freshman, trying to impress Marjory Birkenstadt. He'd had almost gotten killed before being thrown off of the team for gambling. He and Jesse had been the two selected as scapegoats, so they had been sacrificed to protect the all important Tommy Sherman. Sherman and his goons had had it in for Trent and Jesse for the rest of their high school careers. When Trent had heard of his death, all that he'd felt was a vague satisfaction.

     Trent still wondered what life would have been like if he'd been allowed to play through his senior year. He hadn't been particularly big, but he was very, very fast. Sometimes, when he caught a game, he wondered if he would have been a rich NFL running back right now if it hadn't have been for Tommy and the coach's lies. He sat back and smiled. He might have been rich, but he might also have been injured. Besides, he would get rich from his band anyway and he probably would never have noticed Daria if his life had gone that way.

     He was absorbed in the game when Daria came in. She snuck up on him and kissed him on the cheek from behind the couch. He looked over at Jake and saw that he was asleep, so he pulled her over the back of the couch, tumbled her into his lap and gave her a much better kiss.

     "Whoo! Trent, you've been eating dad's kitchen sink stew." Laying with her head in his lap, Daria's lips stung slightly.

     "Yeah, it's good stuff." Trent wasn't talking about the stew.

     "Ever since he got that electric pepper mill set his cooking's been even more ghastly." She tasted his lips again, just to be sure.

     "Well, I like it hot." He smirked at her.

     "Really?" Daria gave him a look that set him afire.

     "Ahem!" Helen gritted her teeth and wondered if Daria was at least taking the proper precautions. She hoped that the infatuation would wear off soon.

     Trent backed off in a hurry. "Oh. Hi, Mrs. Morgendorffer."

     Daria scrambled upright on the couch, wearing a silly smile. Helen was glaring holes through them.

     "Hello, Trent," she grated. "Are you staying for dinner?"

     Trent decided that he'd better minimize his contact with Helen. "No thanks, Mrs. Morgendorffer. My dad's at home, so me and Janey are going out to dinner with him, tonight."

     "Oh." Helen swiveled her gimlet eyed gaze to Daria. "What is that box doing in the hall?"

     Daria glared back at her. "That's a guitar amplifier, mom. Trent was just fixing it for me."

     Helen forced herself to stop glaring. "Well then, will you please put it away? Someone's liable to trip over it, there."

     Daria allowed her expression to soften. Helen was trying. "Sure." She stepped toward the hall, but Trent vaulted over the couch and got there first.

     "Where do you want this?" Trent grabbed it and decided to get her a smaller, less cumbersome amp. It sounded good, but it's ancient, tube driven circuitry made it heavy.

     Daria flicked a glance at Helen, who was clearly hoping that they wouldn't go to up to her room. "I've been keeping it in the basement."

     Helen, hearing the word basement, relaxed. Her phone rang and she lost interest.

     Daria eyed Helen's back and concluded that if she stayed out of sight she would be forgotten. Quietly, she led Trent to the seldom used door. "I made a little... practice area down here," she said, a tell tale flush spreading down her face.

     Grinning, Trent followed her down.

     Quinn led her cavalcade into the house, rousing Jake.

     "Honey! What's all this?" Jake took in the three J's, each carrying a sewing machine.

     Passing, Quinn smiled at him. "Nothing, Daddy. We're just setting up that sewing room in the basement that I told you about."

     Jake stood. "Do you fellas need some help?"

     Jamie opened his mouth to accept and Quinn jumped in quick. "No, Daddy, you just sit back and I'll bring you another beer." There were things down there that Quinn didn't want him to see.

     Jake sat, happy to get out of it.

     Quinn led the way down, then halted. Daria was sitting on the sofa with Trent, rapidly disentangling herself. Repo Man was playing on the TV.

     Quinn smirked. "That door needs a bolt on the inside." She'd known exactly what Daria had in mind, the instant she'd laid eyes on the place. She also had plans for it.

     Trent laughed. "Yeah." He saw the porters behind her. "Hey, dudes."

     Jamie, Jeffy and Joey, a little taken aback, mumbled their greetings.

     Daria finally got herself together and spoke. "Quinn, what are you do- Oh, I didn't know that you were starting today."

     Quinn smirked. "Sorry to interrupt your fun, but we were just getting the stuff down here. We'll arrange it and get the lights and stuff tomorrow." She looked at Trent.

     Trent smothered a curse with a cough. Janey had told him about the sewing thing, but he hadn't really paid much attention. Reluctantly he stood. "I'll give you guys a hand." He looked at Quinn. "Come on out of the way, Quinn. Those things look heavy."

     Quinn came down and before she could say anything, Trent directed the J's to put the machines in a corner. When he went up the stairs for the next load, they followed, already used to obeying him.

     Daria watched him go, then looked at Quinn, who grinned back.

     "He's kind of a... stud." Quinn felt envy again.

     Daria shrugged. "He's used to bossing the clueless around."

     Jane started the compressor and pulled the trigger on the airbrush slightly. A fine mist of paint came out. She hummed, setting up a big sheet of white cardboard, then pulled the trigger again. A big blob shot out. "Damn!"

     There was a knock at her door.

     "Come in." Jane hoped it was Tom. Maybe the roads had cleared enough for him to risk driving his Pinto, with its bald tires.

     Vincent stuck his head in. "What's that buzzing sound?"

     Jane nodded at her compressor. "I got an airbrush." She scowled. "I can't seem to figure it out, though."

     "Hey, that's a nice one! Here, let me show you." Vincent took it from her and slowly drew a line on the cardboard. "See, this is a side mount, internal feed, dual action brush. Dual action means that the trigger controls both air and color. You push down for air and back for color. This allows you to change the width of the line, the range of value and the opacity of paint without stopping your hand motion." He smiled. "This is a great brush for detail work, but it takes a while to change the color cup."

     Jane took the proffered brush back and tried it. "Oh, this is great!" She marveled at how fine a line she could draw.

     Vincent saw the large, siphon type airbrush, assortment of smaller screw type brushes and spare color cups in the styrofoam case. "Hey, you really went all out! That must have cost you."

     Jane smiled. "Daria gave me all of this, for Christmas."

     Vincent suddenly realized that he'd forgotten Christmas again. Ah, crap! He thought. "Oh." He said.

     Jane frowned at him. "Where did you learn to use an airbrush?"

     Vincent shrugged. "I've been a photographer for a long time, Jane. I can remember knowing how to use one when I was a kid."

     But you can't remember my name. Jane looked back at the cardboard and drew a shape that looked like the first few microseconds of an explosion. "Is that so. Thanks for showing me how to use this thing."

     Jake was almost asleep when Helen spoke.

     "Jake?"

     "Umph. Wha?"

     "Are you awake?"

     Sighing, Jake came fully awake and reached for the lamp.

     "Please... Just leave it off." Helen didn't want him to see her face.

     He grunted.

     "I... I got a promotion." She said it in the same tone that she would have used to announce a cancerous tumor.

     Jake rolled over to face her, just able to see her face in the dimly reflected street lighting that leaked in around the curtain. "What's the matter?"

     Helen felt a tear slip out and run into her ear. "I can't have a baby!" It came out as a wail. "I don't have time!"

     Jake pulled her over to him. "You have all the time that you want to make, Helen. You just have to find a way to get what you want."

     "But the firm-"

     Jake suggested that the firm do something anatomically impossible to itself. Then he took her mind off of things.

     Jamie took a long look around and climbed over the fence. He reseated the wire-cutters and screwdriver in his pocket, picked up his shovel and crept over to the bleachers. He looked nervously at his watch. He was supposed to meet-

     "White!"

     Jamie stiffened. It was Coach Williams!

     "Where's your jacket and hardhat, White?" Williams strode up to a paralyzed Jamie.

     "What?" Jamie wondered if burglars wore that kind of gear, these days.

     "Get over there and help out." Williams shooed him toward the goalpost, where Ted was carefully shoveling snow away from the course of the disused underground conduit. "Thanks for showing up, White. This means a lot to me. Now I know who's really a team player around here."

     "Uh, right." He walked up and Ted handed him a hardhat and a reflective safety vest.

     "Ah. Jamie. I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up." Ted winked at him when Williams looked away. He gestured at the field. "You know the problem. All this old conduit running underneath the field is causing problems. It wasn't buried deep enough and it's heaved up. Someone could break their neck during spring practice."

     Jamie gaped. He'd expected to help steal the wire, but not so blatantly. He gave Ted an admiring grin. "Cool! What do you want me to do?"

     Ted glanced at Williams. "Go to the other side of the field and locate that end of the conduit."

     "No problem." Jamie picked up a shovel.

     "Wait, we have a metal detector. What you boys need to do is clear off the snow on top, dig it up, cut it where it goes under the track, pull up the old outlets and fill it all back in." Williams eyed them, happily. When he'd seen the conduit sticking up out of the ground, he'd known that he'd end up working like a dog to get it all out. Li didn't spend money on upkeep. He looked at his watch. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. Thanks, men. Thanks again for pointing it out, Ted. That could have caused real problems with next year's football schedule." He walked away, whistling.

     "Brilliant idea, man! How'd you get that stupid sack of shit to fall for it?" Jamie had to laugh out loud.

     Ted shook his head. "I can't take the credit. Do you know Daria's boyfriend, Trent?"

     Jamie nodded. "Yeah, he's a cool dude." Jamie had been brainstorming with them, trying to figure out where to get free wire and lights for Quinn. She'd been dumbfounded when he'd told her how much that stuff would cost, new. He'd told them about his father rejecting the job of pulling up the old wire under the field. Earl White had been stiffed by Li once too often, plus the job was too small.

     Ted frowned, then deciphered the slang. "Right. After you left, Trent came back to help Daria with her... guitar playing. Anyway, I told him what you'd said and about our plan to procure the material in an unauthorized way. I must admit, I had some misgivings. He introduced me to a concept called 'Social Engineering. He's really quite well versed in the art."

     Jamie laughed. "We usually just call it scamming."

     "Hmm, scamming. I wonder at the etymology of that term. Anyway, it was his idea. He had a piece of conduit and we bent it into a slight U shape on a tree trunk. Then we stuck it into the field last night, with one end under the track." Ted grinned. "I called Coach Williams and told him that I'd seen it while I was jogging on the track and that I was afraid that it would heave up the tarmac surface pretty soon. I helpfully volunteered us to remove the offending material."

     "Way to go, Ted!" Jamie laughed.

     Ted looked modest. "Just recycling."

     Trent wrinkled his nose and pulled the Tank up to the concrete pad. An old trailer, converted into a hazmat registration office, sat next to it. It was located far enough away from the body of the landfill that there wasn't much of a smell.

     He got out and went in search of his buddy. He found him, on the other side of the trailer, sitting on a lawnchair in front of a table full of cans, jars and bottles.

     "Doug!" Trent waved as he walked up.

     Doug, An ugly, hirsute man in his late twenties, wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his filthy coldsuit coveralls. "Hey, dude." He gestured at the table. "Got all kinds of paint and shit here for ya today."

     Trent collapsed into an old barcalounger. "All right! Janey will be pretty happy. How's it going, Doug-man. Haven't seen you around much, lately."

     Doug took a swig from a whisky bottle. "I punched a hole in my head, man."

     "What?" Trent sat up. "No shit?" Trent waved off the offered bottle.

     "No shit. I was under my car and the jack slipped. Anyway, I got thumped on the head. I crawled out from under, reached up and felt a fuckin' hole! I went over to the hospital and they put some staples in my head, to hold the bone in place while it heals." He scowled. "It cost me eight hundred bucks."

     "Woah. Did that include getting them out?" Trent was sympathetic. He hadn't had any medical insurance either, until he'd gotten his job.

     "Nah. I clipped them out myself, with a pair of dykes. Took ten minutes. Those fucks would have charged me another five big ones. Fuckin' doctors." Morosely, he drained his flask.

     Trent coughed, covering his mouth to hide his smile. "Woah, that must have hurt some."

     "Fuckin' A, man. You bet it hurt. I had to cut 'em in the middle and pull 'em back through the skin. But it didn't hurt no five hundred bucks worth."

     Trent laughed. "Now you can tell people that you're a brain surgeon."

     Doug smiled. "Hey, yeah! So, how's it been going for you? I heard you was outta town."

     Trent shrugged. "Pretty good, man. I came back, got a new girlfriend, got a pretty good job in the mall, got the band back together... All I don't got is a bunch of big florescent lights."

     Doug smiled. "I think we can do business, my man. The old lights from the remodel job of the Federal building got dumped off here last week. I been keepin' it separate, in the Dougatorium. Come and take a look around my establishment."

     Trent collected five large box-lights, the bulbs, hanging hardware and covers, a bunch of hospital-grade three way switches, GFI outlets and a small fuse box. He also got about five hundred feet of ten gage, four conductor wire and plenty of steel conduit.

     Doug looked the pile over. "Fifty bucks."

     "Five," Trent countered.

     "What! This shit is worth hundreds!" Doug waved his arms, histrionically.

     "Hey, I'll just go to the end of the line then, Dude."

     They settled at twenty.

     Dirty and dispirited, Ted and Jamie straggled off of the field, having removed fifty yards of rotten wire. It was useless. All they got for their efforts was a brownie point from the despised football coach. As they reached the parking lot there was a honk. They saw Tent pull up in a beat up black van.

     "Hey, guys, how's it going?" Trent stared them down, ignoring their hostile gaze.

     "It's not going. That wire was crap!" Jamie suddenly noticed the thick bundle of conduit pipe sticking out the van's open back door. "Hey, what's that?"

     Trent shrugged. "I found some stuff that you guys might be able to use. Do you think that you could take it? I need to give Max his van back."

     Jamie opened the side door. "Hey! You've got everything that we need, right here!" He wished he'd known that before he dug up all that old pipe.

     Ted smiled. "Excellent. Stacy will be pleased." He blushed, for no good reason.

     "Really? Cool." Trent noted the muddy clothes and felt even more justified in his decision not to lift a finger. He watched in satisfaction while they unloaded the van into Ted's small pickup. With any luck, he could avoid all the labor and reap all the reward.

     Jane brushed at her face, then fell back to sleep. A few minutes later the tickling came again, this time strong enough to rouse her. "Whaa?" She fumbled for the lamp and saw nothing. Just as she was falling back to sleep, she heard a childish whisper. Tensing, Jane erupted out of bed and collared her niece and nephew, who had been hiding at the foot of her bed.

     "Ah ha!" Jane quickly bundled the shrieking children up in her blanket. "Gotcha!" She uncovered their faces. "Hold him down, Courtney! It's the death of a thousand kisses!"

     Adrian shrieked and laughed until after about ten kisses, she allowed him to escape.

     "Now, Courtney... Your turn!" Courtney got the same treatment.

     After Jane had washed off her lipstick mustache, she went downstairs to see what else the morning had brought.

     "Oh, there you are!" Summer smirked at Jane. "Good to see you, kid. Did they try the mustache trick on you?"

     Jane smiled. "Summer!"

     Summer laughed. "Hey, be grateful, Janey. I took the indelible marker away from them this morning."

     Jane smirked. "Art chicks can get away with anything."

     Summer looked at her, fondly. "Well you're really looking good. I see that you've managed to avoid my mistakes, so far."

     Jane shrugged, thoughtfully. "Your mistakes are kind of cute. All in all, I could do worse things."

     Summer shrugged. "Once you have them, you wouldn't give them up for anything. But sometimes I wish that I'd waited. Their dad is a dead loss and they're growing up wild. That little lipstick trick is just the tip of the iceberg."

     Jane returned an evil smile. "Well, Sis, don't worry. I taught them something that will take their minds right off of that!"

     Summer nodded. "I'm sure." She gazed at her sister. "Aren't you tired of that yet? No one's seen your hair since you started junior high."

     Jane shrugged. "I like the contrast between black hair and blue eyes." She had dyed it because she'd felt the peer pressure. She was being turned into a dumb blonde.

     "AAAHHH!" The kids ran past, a boxer clad Trent in hot pursuit, his lips and cheeks marked up with lipstick.

     "Hm, I see that they've developed consciences." Jane was a bit surprised.

     "No," replied Summer. "That'll never happen. I caught them filling up the pot with warm water. Janey, someday when your little hellions are bouncing off of the walls, I sure hope that I'm there to teach them the old dip the sleeping persons hand in warm water and make them pee in their bed trick. Guess who they try these things out on when there aren't any handy aunts and uncles around?"

     "Ohh, you are in a spot then." Jane grinned at her sister. They'd fought a little, but mostly Summer had helped raise her. "It's really good to see you."

     "Likewise, Janey." She took a drink of coffee. "So, what's going on with you? Why is dad so tripped out? You on drugs or pregnant or something like that? Because if you are, I'm going to beat you black and blue. As for Trent, I'm going to beat him into a quivering pulp and then break all ten of his fingers and both big toes. He's supposed to be watching out for you."

     Jane shrugged. "Nothing like that. Dad's just hanging around, trying to be my 'friend'. I don't know what he wants from me. I haven't seen him for more than three full hours in the last two years and now he acts all hyper because I don't fall all over myself when he comes around. I wish he'd go back to wherever the hell it was that he came from." She looked down, blinking away wetness.

     Summer nodded. "I wish I could say something big sisterly to make it all better, but you're right. He doesn't deserve any slack. If he wanted the father daughter thing from you, he'd have stuck around here or taken you with him. I guess you were about what, nine when he first went on the road?"

     Jane nodded. "My ninth birthday was the day after he left."

     Summer sighed. "I got pregnant with the twins that next year. I wonder what would have happened if he'd stayed?"

     Jane shrugged. "He had to make some money, Summer. He had a lot of kids to feed."

     Summer snorted. "Bullshit. He's got a trust fund, Jane. He's a fairly rich man. There's just no excuse for him. He left because he was a father too early and he was bored here."

     "Rich?" Jane remembered what Beaureguard Lane had told her.

     "Our grandfather was a fairly rich banker. He didn't approve of Amanda or something, so Vincent sort of cut himself off. The whole family is pretty comfortable."

     "I didn't know that." Jane decided it had to be true. Neither of her parents seemed to work in the conventional sense.

     Trent came back with a giggling child tucked under each arm. "Look what I caught! Anybody want to buy some half-pint slaves?"

     Summer shook her head. "Sell 'em south. They eat too much."

     Trent sat them on their feet. "Well, I guess I'd better get my branding iron out, then."

     "Ooh! I'll take them!" Lips pursed, Jane reached for Adrian. They shrieked, then ran off at high speed, taunting Trent.

     Summer laughed. "Cute lipstick, Trent. Have you gone punk?" Summer and Jane exchanged smirks.

     Trent rubbed his face, then grimaced. "Be right back, sisters." He went to wash his face.

     Summer shook her head after him. "He's sure filled out a lot, lately."

     "Daria thinks so." Jane smiled.

     "Who's Daria?" Summer was very surprised that Jane would approve of any girl who liked Trent. She usually described them scathingly as groupies, or worse.

     When Trent came back down the stairs, his sisters fell silent, looked at each other and started laughing.

     "Now I remember what it's like to have a pack of sisters in the house. I'd better just get along to work now." Trent knew from long experience that they'd talk incessantly about him, so long as Wind wasn't around.

     "Oh? Not going to stay and tell us all about Daria?" Summer smirked.

     Trent gave Jane a 'you asked for it' look. "Sorry, Big Sister, I just don't have time. Maybe Jane could tell you all about her new soulmate, Tom. See ya!" Trent left, laughing all the way.

     "Yes, do tell, Jane." Summer leaned forward frowning, her chin resting on her clenched knuckles. She had to make sure that Jane didn't end up like her.

     Jake came home, a little tired, but very elated. He'd gotten a contract to handle the advance legwork for Merck industries proposed expansion into the area. It could mean a lot of money and influence. He sat down on his couch and wished that Helen would hurry up and get home. He wanted to share the big news.

     A kid wandered by, carrying a great big conduit bender.

     Jake stared after him, then followed. He opened the basement door, then reluctantly went ahead. He hated basements, ever since his father had used one as a prison for him.

     Jake looked around in disbelief. The dim basement was now brightly lit. Two kids armed with hammer-drills were attaching runs of conduit to the cement walls.

     Quinn came through the door behind him. "Daddy! What are you doing here?"

     "That's my line, Quinn." He inspected the lights. The ceiling had been drywalled.

     Jamie came up beside him. "Hi, Mr. Morgendorffer. Everything here is done strictly according to code."

     "Nice job there, big fella." He turned to Quinn. "What are you doing down here?"

     Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm making a sewing room, Daddy. For me and Daria. I told you already!"

     Jake took in the chalked notations on the wall, where outlets were being run down the cement wall. "Pretty fancy sewing room."

     Quinn looked at him like he was crazy. "Well, it's my sewing room."

     Stacy came through the door, two cans of paint in hand. "Will this be enough?"

     Quinn shrugged. "I don't know."

     Jake took a can and read the label. "No. You're painting cement here. You need to prime it first, because it will just absorb this paint if you put it on directly. You need three cans of primer and another can of paint." He frowned. "These paints aren't the same shade. You're going to have to mix it up before you can use it."

     Quinn shrugged. "Daddy, would you please get us the stuff we need? We'll do the work."

     Jeffy scowled and Joey looked at his watch.

     Jamie said, "You know what looks good on a cement floor? Gold paint. They make a special kind of sealing paint. We can seal this floor and paint it over after the walls dry. If you're going to be down here a lot you should do it anyway. It keeps the radon out."

     Jake shrugged and nodded. "Sure! I'll head over to the hardware store, right now." He turned to Jamie. "Is there anything else that you need?"

     Daria sat on a stool at the counter behind Trent's section of Megatunes, half watching the clock. She had a borrowed Hamer and was making great progress. Fortunately the amp that she was using could be turned down very low. Periodically, Trent would come by and help.

     Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see Monique smiling at her.

     "Well, hey, hey, hi, cutie pie! You're sounding pretty good!

     Daria made herself smile back, politely. "Thank you."

     Monique laughed. "I knew he'd get you into playing, eventually."

     "Really?" Daria was surprised that Monique knew anything about her.

     Monique shrugged. "He asked me to give you a hand getting started, but I can tell that you're far from a beginner."

     Daria put the Hamer down on the counter. "I've been playing acoustic on and off since I was about twelve. I was never really serious about it, though."

     Monique nodded. "I can tell by your fingering. It's natural for you." She handed Daria a card. "I teach a little class out of my house. It's five dollars a lesson, if you want to go a little farther."

     Daria took the card. "Thanks, but I already have a free teacher."

     Monique smiled. "Trent's very talented, but he's a doer, not a teacher." Her smile widened. "I taught him how to play in open D tuning... and a few other things that you should really appreciate."

     Daria frowned briefly, then flushed. She wondered what would happen if she brained Monique with the Hamer. "Is that so," she said, flatly.

     Monique suppressed a giggle and shook her head. "Look, Daria, you don't have to worry about me with Trent. We just wasted time together until someone better came along. That's all over. Me and Candy are together now, so relax."

     Daria flushed a deeper red. "Sorry, Monique. I can't seem to help it. I trust Trent, but I-"

     "Want to see any woman who could ever possibly tempt him burn eternally in a particularly hot patch of hellfire." Monique smirked. "It comes through pretty clearly, sweetie."

     "Did you say Candy?" Alarmed, Daria suddenly realized that Monique's teasing closeness might have a reason to it other than Trent.

     Monique nodded. "She's my girlfriend. She plays keyboard in the Harpies."

     "Whew!" Daria made a show of relaxing, not wanting to appear as phobic as she suddenly felt. "If you only knew how many nightmares I've had about you and him."

     "Well, I might act like I'm still interested, just to watch you get jealous, but it isn't going to happen, so relax, Daria." She picked up the Hamer. "Trent's a good friend. You're good for him. I hope that you won't have him avoid me any more. She played a riff. "He's a great contact for the Harpies. He gets us gigs. Trent's a pretty influential guy in this town."

     Daria relaxed for real. "I don't have a problem with you talking to Trent. I'll tell you what, Monique. I'll take a few guitar lessons from you. That'll let him know that it's okay."

     Monique smiled. "Good!" She played part of a Harpies guitar piece. "Try that."

     Daria shrugged and played the whole thing through without a mistake. She'd heard it often enough.

     "Oh! That's good!" Monique laid her hand on Daria's shoulder. "Maybe you could swing over and sit in with the Harpies sometime, Daria. I could teach you a lot."

     Daria felt sweat spring forth on her palms.

     Jane sat at the foot of her bed, trapped between her sisters.

     "All men are dogs!" shouted Penny, into Jane's left ear. "Has he tried to get into your pants?"

     Summer looked at her, sympathetically. "It's okay to get laid, Jane." She leaned in close, then shouted into her right ear, "But only if you have a ring! A ring! If he really wants you, get him to stand up with you first!"

     Penny grabbed her arm. "Who is this guy, really? How well do you know him? Are you sure he's clean? Who knows where that thing's been!"

     Summer grabbed her other arm. "Tell me, has this guy got a job? When the stork comes, will he run for the border, like Steve?"

     The phone rang.

     Jane wrenched herself free of her family and snatched it up. "Hello?"

     Quinn was a little taken aback by the desperation in Jane's voice. "Hello, Jane, this is Quinn. I hope I didn't call at a bad time. I just have a quick question about paint and I-"

     "Oh no! Really? I'll be right over!" Jane hung up and looked at her sisters. "Sorry, gotta go. Big emergency at Quinn's!" She suddenly sprinted for the front door, just a blurry shape grabbing up her car keys on the way.

     After the front door had slammed, Summer looked over at Penny and grinned. "Damn, she's as fast as you! Do you think she believed any of that crap?"

     Penny shrugged. "Well, maybe she'll take a few precautions."

     Summer smirked. "Maybe. I've sicced the twins on her as much as I can today. If that doesn't make her think twice, nothing will." She picked up Jane's picture of Tom. "God, that guy is cute!"

     Penny nodded. "If I'd have met a guy that looked like that when I was her age, he'd have had me in the sack ten minutes later."

     Summer nodded her agreement. "Her age, hell! But those were the good old days."

     Jane pulled up to the Morgendorffer residence and knocked at the door.

     Jake answered. "Jane-O! Hi!" He stepped back to let her in, then remembered. "Daria isn't home."

     Jane smiled. "Well, I actually need to talk to Quinn for a minute."

     Jake brightened. "Well, Quinn is here. Come on in!" He led the way to the basement door, and opened it. "She's down there."

     Jane looked down, smelled fresh paint and heard Quinn cooing at one of the J's, scamming some more work out of him. She closed the door. "On second thought, If all of her little... friends are there, it can wait."

     Jake shrugged and walked ahead of her toward the living room. "So, what's up, Jane? You look a little depressed."

     Jane hung her head. "My whole family is at home. There's just no place to hide."

     "Again? I've been there before!" Jake shook his head, wincing at a memory. "A few years ago, all of Helen's sisters stayed with us over the Thanksgiving weekend. Well, if you want," he gestured at the TV, " an Emergency! marathon is on TV-Land right now."

     "Oh, good!" Jane sat. "I like that show."

     "Me too! I never saw it much back in the 70's, because we didn't have TV in the commune." Jake sat back, happily. He liked to have someone around to talk to. He had papers spread on the coffee table and his laptop booted up, but the work was almost done.

     "No TV! All those wholesome values. What a terrible place." Jane was joking.

     Jake grimaced. "It was okay. In some ways it was like military school, but instead of some fat old retired noncom screaming at you with his whisky breath it was always some 'movement' guy running his big mouth." Jake frowned. "Communist punks, always hitting on Helen. I'd drag 'em out behind the barn and show 'em who's the real reactionary pig. They couldn't give anyone that crap about the dialectic with a mouth-full of broken teeth!"

     Jane was interested. For an instant she'd glimpsed a much more dangerous Jake. The fiery tempered man that had undoubtedly attracted Helen. "Why did you stay?"

     Jake shrugged. "Helen was there. She finally saw through them and we left, together."

     Quinn looked around, happily. The walls were white, the room was bright and every thing was perfect. She stepped carefully, avoiding paint droplets, even though they were mostly dry, as she helped Jamie fold up the last of the tarps that had covered the floor while they painted.

     Jamie, the only one who had stayed the distance, put the paint roller in the plastic garbage bag and tied the neck. "Well, that looks like it will do, Quinn."

     Quinn eyed him. She had seen how he took the lead anytime something had to be figured out. Jeffy and then Joey had snuck away when the work got onerous, but Jamie had proven to be a perfectionist who seemed to enjoy the job for its own sake. She was glad to have had a chance to see him in his element. "Why don't you take off those coveralls and come over and sit on the couch with me?"

     Jamie stared at her in happy shock. Christmas had come again. "Sure!" He stepped out of his White Electric coveralls and followed Quinn to the couch.

     "Thanks for helping, Jamie. I knew that I could depend on you." Quinn turned on the TV. "Ooh! How does this thing work?" There was no antenna and no remote.

     Jamie plugged in the power brick for the old playback-only camcorder, pushed the play button and the screen cleared. An introduction came up and then South Park started.

     "Cool!" Jamie sat back.

     "Daria was watching this?" Quinn sat next to him and then with deliberate intent, leaned into him. "It's kind of cold in here with the windows open."

     Hesitantly, he put his arm around her. "I know a way to keep warm." He pulled off the old blanket that was laying over the torn upholstery on the back of the couch and tucked it in around them. "Comfy?"

     "Oh, yeah."

     Daria pulled up and saw Jane's car at the curb. When she got inside, she was surprised to see Jane and Jake, sitting at the table, locked in a deeply serious conversation. Jane looked almost like she'd been crying.

     "Hi Kiddo!" Jake smiled at his daughter. "Where have you been all day?" He saw Daria's sharp gaze on Jane and wanted to distract her. Jane didn't need to talk anymore.

     "I was at the mall." Daria eyed Jane and decided not to bother her with questions. Trent had already spilled the beans about her problems with Vincent. If there was anything that Jake knew, it was how to relate to a problem like that.

     Jane managed a nod. "Hey."

     Daria nodded at her in return. "Want to go watch some TV?"

     Jane shrugged. "I kind of lost track of time, here. I'd better get home before the pizza gets there." She smiled at Jake. "Thanks."

     "Hey, anytime, Jane-O!" Jake bustled away, to spare her any more embarrassment.

     Daria followed her out. "Is everything okay?"

     Jane nodded. "Jake really helped. He had some pretty cogent things to say about Vincent."

     Daria nodded in agreement. "He's pretty much been through that wringer. I guess if anyone could tell you how to get past it all, he could."

     Jane looked at her. "He hasn't really told you anything about it, Daria."

     Daria nodded. "Ruth did, when he had his heart attack."

     Jane looked surprised. "So you know about the beatings?"

     Daria's mouth sagged open.

     Jane shook her head. "He doesn't talk about it, but one reason that he got dumped into hotel hell was the old Mad Dog's enjoyment of a good beating after a night of drinking with his buddies. I guess that none of you really know much about Jake, Daria."

     "W- Why would he tell you?" Daria felt a little of anger that this... outsider knew more about her father than she did.

     Jane looked unutterably sad. "He was explaining why a man would walk out on his family. He said that those twists get passed down."

     Daria gazed at Jane in horror.

     Jane sighed, then straightened. "He made me understand about 'sins of the fathers' being visited on the child. He told me that if I ever want to understand why, I have to find out about Vincent's demon." She scowled "Mark Lane, the banker."

     Daria watched the car pull away, and then went to put some lotion on her sore fingers. Maybe there was such a thing as knowing too much. Jake's blundering began to look an awful lot like a man desperately controlling his inner monster. It came out, usually inappropriately, but never, ever physically, or directed at the family.

     Trent sat in the basement, playing with his acoustic, trying to drown out his sisters offspring. They had somehow bonded with him and he suddenly found himself in a quasi-parental role. Adrian had a set of Max.'s drumsticks and an old snare drum. Courtney had a rusty harmonica that he thought might be Daria's. The racket was indescribable, but sometimes they seemed to synch up with him, and for a brief moment, they'd be jamming.

     He saw Summer standing on the stairs, staring at Adrian. He stopped and after a moment, so did they.

     "Hey, Summer." He got up and unslung the guitar.

     Summer just shot him a look. "The pizza's ready!"

     Courtney dropped the harmonica, but Adrian reverently tucked his drumsticks into his belt before pelting up the stairs.

     "Thanks a whole bunch, Trent." She spun around and stalked out.

     Mystified, he followed, but she caught him again at the top of the stairs.

     "Trent, what the hell are you doing to my children?" Summer really had a head of steam up.

     Trent, knowing better than to answer an angry woman's question, replied with one of his own. "Why are they so interested in me?"

     "Why? Why! Because you're cool uncle Trent, the rock star! Steve is long gone, so you are the male relative that they," her voice dropped, "especially Adrian, adore! You have to be careful, Trent! Adrian does everything that he sees you do!"

     Trent gazed at her, thoughtfully. "I see. And you don't want him playing drum."

     Summer shuddered. "Being a telemarketer is bad enough without having a kid beating on a bucket all day long."

     Trent's eyes narrowed and then he grinned. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

     Summer looked at him curiously. "How?"

     Trent looked at her with messiahnistic intensity. "Trust me, Summer. He won't give a damn about the drumsticks."

     As they all settled down around the table, Amanda and Wind came in together. Wind announced his divorce from Margo. This time he seemed happy about it. His lawyers thought that he would come off pretty well in court, he crowed, as she seemed to have never been legally divorced from her first husband.

     "I caught her..." Wind looked at the children. "doing something wrong, so she's got no legs to stand on in court." He smiled.

     "Well thank god!" All three sisters said it simultaneously, then laughed.

     Penny smirked at Trent. "Well, what you ought to do, Wind, is follow Trent's lead. He just lets Jane pick out his girlfriends for him. I know someone who'd be perfect for you, but she lives in a village in Nicaragua."

     Wind laughed. "No fixups. Come on, the shrimp's a rocker. He probably has a million girlfriends and can't remember their names half the time."

     "No. Penny's right, Wind. You could do a lot worse." Trent smirked at Jane. "So who are you gonna get for him?"

     Wind stared at Trent, astonished. "What?"

     Amanda suddenly gasped, happily. "You and Daria? Oh, Trent, how sweet!"

     Gritting his teeth, Trent stoically endured the impromptu convocation of the inquisition. Only Vincent and Jane left him alone.

     After dinner, Jane followed Amanda out to her bomb shelter to try and find out a little bit about Mark Lane. All that Amanda would say about him was that the one time that they'd met, he'd been very cold and formal toward her and that Vincent had always refused to speak of him. He had cut all ties with his fathers family until the day that he'd been informed of Mark's death. He'd been so totally unmoved by the news that it had scared Amanda.

     Jane went to her room, and started her compressor. Soon, as she'd hoped, the noise brought Vincent to her door, anxious to have another conversation. She would oblige him.

     "Hi, Janey. What are you painting?"

     Jane shrugged. "You, if you'll sit for me."

     Vincent smiled, pleased. "Sure, baby!"

     He sat.

     "So, Daddy, do you know Beaureguard Lane?" Jane turned off the compressor and started mixing paint.

     Vincent looked pleased and uncomfortable. She'd called him 'daddy,' but asked about one of them. "Well, he's my uncle, my father's brother. Who told you about him?"

     "He called and apologized for that fiasco at the reunion in Lane. He seemed pretty nice." Jane had already been re-embursed for the money that she'd spent on the trip and then some.

     "They all have good manners." Vincent sounded like he was talking about vampires.

     "I guess he's my great uncle, then." Jane saw the flash of negation pass across his features.

     "He's nothing to you. Nothing!" Vincent sprang to his feet. "I should never have let Mom browbeat me into going to that sorry town."

     Jane pounced. "What did Mark Lane and his brother do to you that was so bad?"

     Vincent stared at her, an expression of cold fury growing on his face, until she swallowed in fear. Finally he spoke.

     "Those filthy... they killed Jan, my sister. Her full name was Jane Lane. She called herself Jan, in the third person, when she would talk. She only answered to Jan. I hate them for it. Both of them."

     Jane exhaled, feeling faint. "They... killed her?"

     Vincent spun suddenly, and began pacing, a vein in his neck throbbing. "As good as. Jan was beautiful, like you. She was also autistic, unable to speak coherently. My father was embarrassed by her. He ignored her, treated her like a thing." Vincent snorted. "Hell, he treated everyone like a thing. She was just a worthless, broken thing to him."

     He stopped pacing and stood still, looming over her. "Like all assholes, he was very concerned about his precious reputation. He would cringe every time one of his banker friends asked about her. Then the ultimate in bad taste happened. Even as little as she could communicate, she managed to find a lover when she was twenty. Another high level autistic. A man named Robert Parker that she met at her independent living class."

     Tears started in his eyes, then were burned away by the sheer force of his rage. "Jan would get happy sometimes and run around that friggin' mausoleum that we lived in, knocking things over. She was doing a lot of that, in those last days. Then he found out about her and Robert. She just disappeared, Jane. Mom was frantic. It was only after she called the police herself, a week later, that she found out that there was no investigation and that he'd been lying to her, all that time."

     Vincent collapsed back onto the bed. "He'd had her locked up. We couldn't even find her to go see her. He wouldn't talk to us about her, just emptied all of my mother's bank accounts and went off to Zurich to hide, while his fat ass brother ran legal interference for him in Connecticut."

     Jane exhaled. "No!"

     "Mom fired all the servants and sold the furniture to come up with enough money to hire a detective. I went with him to do legwork and keep expenses down. We finally found her in a private mental hospital in Fishkill, New York. We got a writ and they had to produce her."

     He inhaled, deeply. "They'd lobotomized her, Jane."

     Jane gasped.

     "She was nothing but a zombie after that, all the life gone out of her eyes. She was the living dead. She drowned in the bath tub, a week after we got her home. I'm... I think that Mom set it up and let it happen. A mercy killing. Jan really was a thing, after they'd butchered her mind."

     Jane started crying. She held on to him tightly, feeling the tremors of rage passing through him.

     "Mom eventually forgave the worthless bastard, but I never will. After the funeral, I hitchhiked west, out to Frank's place in Venice Beach. That was the summer of 68, when I was seventeen."

     Jane blew her nose and tried to control her sobbing.

     He sighed, less heated now. "I only saw him once after that, in a lawyers office when my trust fund was turned over to me. My grandfather had made Mark and Beaureguard the trustees and they did a good job, investing it in the war."

     Jane shook. "How could they do that to her? Didn't anyone care?"

     He shook his head. "It was a bad time, Jane. Dead kids were coming back from 'Nam every day and no one knew what to do. Bad things were happening to everyone and one poor girl that couldn't talk... Well, he was a very powerful man. She was just one more sad story in a world full of them."

     Jane took his hand. "I'm glad that you named me after her."

     He smiled. "You're a lot like her, Jane. Always happy, always self contained. I've always felt... more connected with you, wherever I was. I guess it was just a fantasy, but I always kind of thought that she'd come back to me, in you." He shrugged. "That's why I accidentally called you Jan. Being so close to one of them made me think of her."

     Jane smiled through her tears. "What did you do in California?"

     He looked at her, fondly. "I grew up a little. I stayed with Frank and finished high school. I met Amanda there. We were both in the photography club and she was my favorite subject for composition."

     Jane smiled.

     He pulled a Kleenex out of the box and dried the tears on her face.

     He frowned. "Then I got my draft card. I didn't have money for college, Jane. That meant no rich-boy exemption from the draft. Frank was close to broke, so he couldn't help. He talked to my dad and there wasn't any hope there. Dad used his veto over my fund to try to force me back home. It was come home and suck up, or go to Vietnam."

     He shook his head. "I just couldn't do it. After high school, I kept signing up for college and not showing up. Berkley never reported that I wasn't a student, so I had an exemption for a while. The thing is, they always checked up. I got a job changing tires at a truck stop and waited for the inevitable."

     Jane's eyes widened. "You weren't in college?"

     He shook his head. "Not then. Things were rough, Jane. We went to your uncle Trent's army funeral the same week that I graduated and they announced an increase in the draft. I was pretty much resigned to taking my chances over there, but Amanda found me a way out."

     Jane was leaning forward, wrapped up in the story. "How! What did she do?"

     "She was just seventeen, still in high school, but she was smart. After losing her brother, she looked up all the rules for the draft and saw that married men with kids weren't being taken." He smiled. "She went after me like... well, a few weeks later she was pregnant with Wind. We went to a judge and got married. Things were tight, but we were happy. I got my draft letter right after Wind was born and they had to let me go."

     He frowned, remembering how they had tried to pressure him into signing the waver at the induction center. He'd been hard muscled from his job and had threatened to break a colonel's nose.

     Jane sighed. "That's a great story, daddy."

     He smiled. "Yes, it is. Anyway, things went pretty well for us after that. I worked hard, got a lawyer and got control of the fund. Dad wasn't so respected after the thing with Jan. He got really sick, had a run of bad luck and made some political enemies. He lost a lot of clout after the election, that year. I finally beat him in court."

     "Did you ever speak with him again?"

     Vincent seemed to deflate. "He called me up and cursed me, the night he died. I've never told anyone about that before."

     Jane looked at him, stricken. "No..."

     He shrugged. "Not all stories have happy endings."

     Trent went into his room and reached under his bed. He pulled out his first guitar, the one his Uncle Frank had given him when he was just ten. He took it out of it's case, dusted it off, went over the wood with some polish, restrung it and started tuning it up, waiting for the inevitable visit from Adrian. Courtney preferred to visit with Amanda and Penny, out in the bomb shelter.

     This guitar had kept him busy and out of trouble when all the kids around him were running wild. He hoped that it would do the same for Adrian. He heard a hesitant little knock at the door and smiled.

     "I'm passing the torch here, Uncle Frank. Hope you're happy, wherever you are," he whispered, on his way to the door. Frank, a poor musician all his life, had died when Trent was just fourteen.

     Quinn heard Daria playing as she approached the basement door. She'd never really listened to Daria before, but her playing was pretty good. She smiled, remembering how years before, Daria had 'tortured' her with her old guitar by singing 'The Mighty Quinn' to her. With hindsight, she wondered why she'd been so horrified and embarrassed. Quinn suddenly felt sad. She could have had a friend and confidant all those years.

     Descending the staircase, Quinn didn't turn on the new lights, not wanting to disturb Daria.

     Daria came to the end of her exercise and shook her tired hand.

     Quinn startled her, applauding. "God, Daria, you're really good! Are you going to join Trent's band?"

     Daria laughed. "No way, Quinn. Band mates fight all the time. I want to keep him for myself."

     Quinn shrugged. "I can understand that." She turned on a lightswitch, filling the room with brilliant light.

     "Ugh, I feel like I'm being x-rayed," said Daria, squinting.

     Quinn flipped a switch, turning off two of the lights. "That's a little better." She walked into the middle of her new empire and swept her arms out. "Well, Daria, I did my part."

     Daria sat her guitar down. "What do you want from me?"

     "I want a virtual store." Quinn waved an arm at the sewing machines. "Here's how it works. We make cute outfits, take pictures of them and sell them over the Internet. You build the store so they can get a look and I'll sell everything that we can make, with my site and column."

     Daria smiled at her. "Careful, Quinn. Your brain is showing." She looked at the tables, thinking. "I'll have to diagram this out on a bunch of notepads. We need to break the process down into steps and then work on each step."

     Quinn nodded. "Well, if you need my help, I'll be right here." She sat down at a sewing machine with a couple of blue sheets. "I need to practice. I'm going to make a cover for that couch. Stacy can't do it all, and I'm not that good at it."

     Daria smirked. "I'd have thought that you'd have those three goons down here, learning to sew."

     Quinn flushed. "Well, I thought of it... but I can't, now. Two goons, please. I'm going steady with Jamie."

     Daria started coughing. "Whaaat?"

     Quinn frowned and crossed her arms defensively. "Well, you were having a good time, having a boyfriend. Why not me? Don't I deserve to be happy too?"

     Daria got control of her Larynx. "Yes! Sure Quinn, I'm not... well It's just a shock."

     Quinn frowned. "Why?"

     Daria shrugged. "No reason."

     "Daria, tell me why it's a shock!"

     Daria shrugged again, unwillingly. "Remember how you used to taunt me all the time for never dating, by hinting that I was a lesbian, where Mom could hear?"

     Quinn flushed. "I'm really sorry about all that. It's hard sometimes, but I like that we don't have to fight all the time anymore."

     Daria nodded. "Likewise, so please don't take offense at what I'm going to say. I was beginning to suspect that you-"

     "No!" Quinn stared, then giggled, then laughed herself red faced. "Wait till Jamie hears about this!"

     Daria shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, so maybe I was a little wide of the mark. People usually attack you out of their own weakness. A stupid person will call you stupid, a coward will taunt you for being afraid... They project their own weakness when they attack. So when you started that lesbian thing, it made me wonder."

     Quinn stared at her, lost in thought. "That's true! Tiffany always calls people fat, and Sandi calls them tacky." She smirked. "I wish I'd known them in grade school. I wonder if Lawndale Middle School has pictures..."

     Daria smiled and played the opening riff of The Mighty Quinn.

     Quinn laughed aloud. "I don't know why that ever bothered me so much."

     Daria shrugged. "It was probably my singing."

     Quinn shook her head. "You sing fine. Better than me, anyway."

     Daria smiled, in her understated way. "Thanks."

     Quinn shook her head. "Sandi said all that lesbian stuff about you, first. I was just needling you, using her words. She was always using you to get at me. Saying how you and Jane were lesbians and all. That was stupid, even then. Jane checks out every guy that walks by. Even then, you broke out in hives every time Trent looked at you."

     Quinn looked at her, curiously, wondering how far Daria had gone with Trent. "Still, I dated a lot of guys. Why would you even wonder about that?" Quinn cocked her head at Daria and schemed. Maybe she could get Daria to talk about her sex life.

     "Well, it was the sheer number of losers that you date. You never seemed to distinguish between them. I mean, come on, Quinn, you wanted to date Kevin! I would sooner date Upchuck than that moron."

     Quinn shrugged. "Daria, you don't know what it's like. Not everyone is as lucky as you. You move to Lawndale, find this great friend with a totally dreamy brother, get to know him really well without any pressure and then one day you hook right up! What about the rest of us? We have to date six losers a week, just to try and get to know someone."

     Daria nodded. "I guess you're right. That's why I never really bothered. I just don't see dating as a way to get to know someone. First you get to know them. Then you date and see if you could love them."

     Quinn nodded in agreement. "I've dated Jamie at least a dozen times. I never thought much of him until I saw him taking charge in the basement. He's like Trent. He's got something going for him. I really like Jamie. Why shouldn't I go steady? Fending off six losers a week is getting boring. Besides, all that dating of losers was starting to turn me off of men. How'd you like a lesbian sister for real?"

     "Well, I wouldn't disown you or anything. I'd rather you weren't, though." Daria chuckled. "I guess that you could join the Harpies and keep Monique far away from me, then."

     "Monique? Isn't that Trent's ex girlfriend?"

     "Yes. The Harpies are her band. She apparently swings both ways, now." Daria shuddered. "She's being very friendly, lately. She used to get my name wrong all the time. Now she's putting her hands on me and calling me sweetie pie, and honey, telling me that she can teach me things."

     Quinn's jaw dropped. "Ewwww! I guess that outfit has more going for it than I thought."

     Daria looked at the ceiling, unhappily. "I still think that she's trying to stay close to Trent."

     Quinn looked less than surprised. "Well duh, Daria."

     Daria looked at her in surprise. "You don't think that I'm being paranoid, or bigoted?" She implicitly trusted Quinn's social instincts.

     "No." Quinn eyed her sister, shrewdly. Daria was too passive sometimes. "She misses him. She'll try to be your friend so that she can keep him in sight. When you have your first fight, she'll move in on one and console the other. She probably wants a threesome."

     "Well I don't go in for that sick stuff! It's ...degrading!" Daria stood, angrily. "What if she's... better in bed? What if he gets bored?" I've got some serious research to conduct, she thought.

     "So, you are having sex with Trent!"

     Daria flushed as she realized what she'd just admitted. "No comment. I'm going to get to work on the website, now."

     "I always thought that I'd be first." Quinn shook her head at her departing sister. Still waters ran deep. "God, Daria, I hope you're taking precautions. I'm too young to be an aunt."

     Daria smiled back at her. "Don't worry about it."

     Bingo, thought Quinn.

     She was fitting the blue cover onto the couch, when she heard Jake yelling that her friends were here. The door opened, and Sandi poked her long nose down the stairs.

     "Like, Quinn, are you down there?"

     "That guy... said she was."

     That guy. Quinn wrinkled her nose. Tiffany had been to her house a hundred times, had been introduced to Jake and seen him around at least a dozen times, yet she still called him that guy. "I'm right down here, Sandi."

     Sandi descended the stairs and inspected the place. "This is pretty good, Quinn."

     "Thanks." Quinn wondered what was eating Sandi. There'd been no catty remarks yet. "Would you like to sit down?"

     Sandi and Tiffany sat on the couch and Quinn sat on Daria's amp.

     "What's that thing?" Sandi looked at the amp, puzzled. "A radio?"

     Quinn shook her head. "That's the amplifier to my sister's electric guitar."

     Tiffany looked startled. "You haave a... sister?"

     "Daria." Quinn looked into Sandi's eyes and was surprised to find nothing but amusement at Tiffany's dimness there.

     Tiffany looked up at her. "That one girl that lives here with you?"

     "Surprise! She announced it in that assembly last year. Remember?" Quinn shook her head, exasperated. She wanted to get back to work.

     "Come on Tiffany, it was just a joke. Of course Daria's her sister. She announced it. She has the same name. She lives here. Like, get a clue." Sandi and Quinn looked at each other in a moment of perfect non verbal communication.

     "Tiffany... Have you ever thought about going to the doctor to find out why... you read so slow?" Sandi wondered about her. She seemed to be getting dumber and dumber.

     "I'm not... stupid." Tiffany smiled thinly. "I'm just... stoned."

     "Whaaat!" Both girls stared, wondering if it could be true.

     "I toke up every day... from my... stepdad's stash. It helps me like... maintain." She stretched, languidly. "You guys are like sooo fucking boring."

     Quinn slowly toppled off of the amplifier and started laughing.

     Sandi stared, then also began to laugh. She hee hawed like a mule, setting Quinn off even more. After a while, Tiffany started to giggle. She had a hard time stopping, once she got started.

     After a few minutes, Quinn laughed herself out. "So, anyone else? I told about my sister, Tiffany told about being a total stoner, what about you?"

     Sandi flushed. "I like, don't have any secrets."

     Quinn gave her a look of calf-like innocence. "I called you a few times this week. Your brother said that you were with some guy. Are you dating in the afternoon, now?"

     Sandi's flush deepened. Charles had gotten right through all of her defenses. He wouldn't go away now and honestly, she didn't really want him to. For all of her posturing, she often had real trouble getting a date at all. No one dated her twice. "Like, why are we even talking about this? We're going to the mall to check out the new fashions. Are you coming?"

     Quinn looked at her and smiled. She had a weapon of last resort now. "Oh, Sandi, I'm like, sooo sorry, but I have to stay here and help Daria with the website. I promised! You go on. Hey, you can tell us all about it at the meeting!"

     Grateful for Quinn's forbea