Marcel hung up the phone just in time to see Jerome push open the back door to Marcel's. The politician wore a look of pensive intensity that must have matched Marcel's own.

"Everything okay?" Marcel pressed.

Looking up, Jerome nodded a casual greeting to his friend. "Not sure," Jerome mumbled. "I just received a strange phone call."

"That makes two of us," Marcel snickered. "You'll never guess who just called and asked for you."

"Was it someone named Barbara Crenshaw?"

Marcel couldn't contain his shock. "No," he blurted. "But close enough. It was Marshall Crenshaw."

At the name, Jerome peered skeptically at his friend. "Are you sure it was him?"

"The operator placed the call from Marshall Crenshaw's line. I double checked before I hung up the receiver. He said he wanted to meet you."

Jerome stood in indecision at the threshold of Marcel's. The coincidence seemed unlikely that both Barbara Crenshaw and her father would call him within half an hour of each other. Either way, though, the opportunity seemed too good to pass up – definitely a good connection to make. Not a soul alive could claim a grudge against Marshall Crenshaw, and the man garnered respect both among his own constituency and in the general populace.

My populace, Jerome reasoned.

Not that Jerome expected an entirely fair election, but perhaps someone as influential as Marshall Crenshaw could gain Jerome a few votes and a little protection from the powers that be.

Not wanting to prove derelict in his duty, Jerome grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled out a quick message to Tony. If he could trust Barbara Crenshaw's phone call, Marissa stood in some deep trouble. Keep Marissa close today, he wrote. Apparently, someone is out to get her for something. I'll let you know more if I find out more. Jerome folded the paper and handed it to Marcel.

"Give this to Tony, would you? I'm about to go pick up some political clout!"

Jerome grinned at Marcel who couldn't quite offer as much enthusiasm as his friend.

"Don't be so cynical, Marcel. Providence has a way of guiding us where we need to be when we need to be there so we can meet who we need to meet. If Marshall Crenshaw wants to meet me, then who am I to pass up the opportunity."

Before Marcel could answer, Jerome had run out the door and disappeared behind a nearby building.

Marcel turned back into his club and made his way toward Doris's dressing room.

"Leonard," he called out as he approached the back hallway.

"Leonard stepped out, Marcel," Tony answered. "Sorry."

In response, Marcel pulled the note from his coat pocket. "I needed you anyway. Jerome told me to give this to you."

"Did Jerome bring it himself? I was about to come see him."

"He did, but he's gone now," Marcel replied. "He was on his way to an important meeting."

Tony tried not to grab the letter with too much enthusiasm. Ever since he had talked to Sam's groupie the night before, he had completely forgotten the campaign. Now that he sat restless with inaction, Tony would welcome a distraction. Marissa had removed herself from his consideration some time before. Since Doris had appeared after breakfast, Marissa had not shown her face.

Perhaps Jerome's note would provide an opportunity for him to escape the misery of killing time. He flipped it open, hoping for some content that would give him a reason to move.

Keep Marissa close today, it read. Apparently, someone is out to get her for something. I'll let you know more if I find out more.

On first reading, the note produced a sense of disappointment. No new tasks to entertain him; Tony had already spent the past twelve hours watching out for Marissa. As the note's import dawned on him, though, Tony sprung to his feet. If Jerome knew about Marissa's dilemma, then the news must be out. Someone else had found out her connection to the paper.

"Leonard?" Tony called out. "Leonard!" The man had just walked across the square; surely it wouldn't take much time.

When Leonard didn't respond, Tony moved to Doris's dressing room, knocking as soon as he arrived.

"Doris, have you seen Leonard?"

For a moment, nothing happened, but the knob turned, and Doris stifled a chuckle at some private joke she had just shared with Marissa. When Doris saw Tony's expression, though, she sucked in the laughter.

"What's the matter? Is everything okay?"

Tony took a breath, calming his demeanor for the sake of the ladies. "I just need to talk to Leonard for a minute. Everything is fine."

"You're a horrible liar," Doris offered sardonically. "If you don't start talking, I'm going to cause a ruckus. If something is important enough to get your calm self so riled up, something big is going on."

"I'm not sure if something's going on," Tony appeased her. "I just got a note from Jerome, and I'm not sure what it means. I need to know what Leonard has told Jerome."

He hadn't intended to, but he glanced inadvertently at Marissa as he spoke.

"Something about me," Marissa chimed in.

"Maybe," Tony allowed.

"Well," Doris insisted, "everything Leonard knows about Marissa, I know about Marissa."

"But does Marcel or Jerome know?"

Doris shook her head. "Not through our talking. Leonard and I discussed whether or not to talk to Marcel or Jerome, and we both decided no. We know Marissa, and we know her heart, but even Jerome might think less of her or mistrust her if he found out about the paper."

"They should blame my brother, not the girl," Tony grumbled, and for the first time since he had known her, Marissa looked at him with something other than suspicion or irritation. She almost looked grateful.

"So, no, Leonard and I did not tell anyone."

Yet, somehow, Jerome knew that Marissa was in danger. "Does Marcel know Marshall Crenshaw or Paul Garner? I know that Jerome doesn't know either. Maybe they told him, and he told Jerome."

"Well," Doris allowed, "Marcel has hired some musicians out for Mr. Crenshaw's rallies. Other than that, I don't think Marcel has ever had contact with either Professor Garner or Mr. Crenshaw."

As he spoke to Doris, Tony grew aware of Marissa's expression. She seemed less scared than embarrassed, as if she wished everyone would quit paying quite so much attention to her at the moment. Without consulting with Leonard or Jerome to find out how they knew, Tony could find no direction to invest his energies. He could craze around and waste all of his energy trying to make a decision, or he could calm down and think rationally. At the moment, he didn't even feel confidence that Marissa would accept his help, so he saw no choice but to go the rational route.

"Marissa," he ventured, "if I told you that we need to get out of Marcel's, would you leave with me?"

"Well, a few days ago, I wouldn't even have come to Marcel's," she shrugged. "Today, though? I think I'd rather stay." She ducked her head sheepishly. "I don't really know you, so I'm pretty sure it would be unwise for me to be alone with you. Besides, I think I feel safer around people I know well."

Even after last night, Marissa didn't trust him. Tony began to wonder why he bothered.

"Honey," came Doris to the rescue, "there is no one on this planet you should feel safer around than Tony. After what he did last night, if you can't trust him, you can't trust anyone."

For a moment, Marissa could just stare at Tony, who seemed to work desperately to appear casual as. True, he had faced danger to save her. In fact, she really didn't understand her reaction to him; as far as she knew, he had only ever helped her, yet she found herself poutier and sulkier around him than she ever did around other people.

"Well," she backtracked, "of course, I'm grateful." She peered up at him as best as she could manage with her absolute nervousness. "I mean, obviously, I'm in a place where I need help, and Tony has volunteered."

Hardly a ringing endorsement, Tony realized, but no longer a refusal. If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure why he cared.

"Look," Doris interrupted the awkward pause that had ballooned out of Marissa's admission. "Marcel is about to finish a set. Why don't we just go ask him if he knows anything?"

As the trio made its way down the short hallway, the music rekindled Marissa’s memories of Calloway’s, and her step faltered.

“Are you okay?” Tony wondered, slowing his forward progress to assess her mood.

“Fine.”

Despite her words, she froze immobile in the dim hallway.

Doris didn’t notice that her companions had stopped, and she pulled open the door that led to the dance floor.

Suddenly, Marissa noticed her surroundings, and she realized that she had three choices: go back to the room she had left, stand in the hallway with Tony, or brave the dance floor. If she went back, Tony would just follow her. She would not dare remain in the dark, close space with Tony Garner. She already had to fight every moment not to run into his arms and beg him to keep her safe. The tendency already rendered her peevish with him lest he respond to her wishes. Pathetic, she castigated herself. Ironically, the trigger that had first upset her seemed the least terrifying of the three options – she would just go forward.

“I’m fine,” she breathed, glancing up at Tony with as easy a smile as she could manage. “I don’t want to lose Doris.” Though she did not know exactly what lay on the other side of the door, she pressed forward as if she would find her way by wanting to. When she opened the door and encountered the swirling mass of bodies, her courage faltered.

Tony, fast on her heels, squeeze past her through the doorway, gripping her hand as he slipped by. “Come on,” he encouraged, and the next thing she knew, she was dodging arms and legs, making a line toward Doris where she stood at the edge of the stage speaking with Marcel.

When Tony had made it halfway through the throng, Doris turned and started back into the fray. Their meeting stalled them directly amidst the dancing crowd.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Doris hollered over the music, and Tony unconsciously tugged Marissa closer with their joined hands.

He didn’t seem to realize what he had done, but Marissa’s hand tingled with the electricity of the connection. Ironic, she considered, that though the general sense seemed similar, her connection with Sam at Calloway’s had primed her to flee, where the connection with Tony pulled her closer. In the middle of the chaos, she couldn’t make herself regret the fact.

“That means the news has gotten out,” Tony murmured, leaning close into Doris so he didn’t have to shout. If anyone around them had less-than-stellar intentions, Tony did not intend to create opportunity for mischief.

“What did you say?” Marissa demanded, yanking impotently on his hand. After a couple of private exchanges between her companions, Marissa grew frustrated, and she pried her hand away from Tony, intent to dash back to the room from whence she had come. Unfortunately, she spun too quickly and found herself almost slammed by a rather large man engaged in a surprisingly violent twist.

From nowhere, an arm gripped her waist, and she felt herself wrenched backward just in time to avoid a smashing collision with the large figure. She realized with a start that her back nestled close against another figure, and she twisted to face the person she had hoped she would not find. Of course, who else would have done it?

“Not sure this is the best place for us to have stopped for conversation,” Tony smiled, leaning in to speak close to her ear.

She noticed that he did not let go of her waist. Though only moments before she had stood in serious anxiety, Marissa found that the thrumming of the music quelled the fluttering her chest, and her nerves faded to the background. The warmth of his arm around her seemed to buzz with the music, and she peered up into his face, mesmerized by their connection.

“Not for conversation,” she agreed, but the music seemed to hold her in place as tightly as did his arm. Neither of them moved for a second as their eyes met, and the beat of the music slowed to a slow swing.

At that moment, Leonard appeared beside them, and he grabbed Doris’s hands. “We should dance,” he insisted to his fiancée, and Tony and Marissa grew unexpectedly aware of their friends only a few feet away. They had both lost Doris for a moment, though she had clearly registered the exchange between her friends.

Leonard and Doris began a slow sway with the rhythm, and Doris veered for an instant into their sight before Leonard pulled her back. “You should make him dance,” she instructed Marissa. “He never loosens up.”

To Marissa’s surprise, none of the sensors that had set off her instincts at Calloway’s reared their heads. Marcel’s patrons wore class in their bearing and their attire, and the action swung in tight tornados of motion rather than the chaotic bacchanalia of Calloway’s. Though she had worked her hardest to raise her guard against him, Tony just did not stir the same sense of danger in her mind as had Sam. Certainly there was danger, but the only lions prowling on the dance floor of Marcel’s were in her own thoughts.

Tony peered down with confusion into unexpectedly eager eyes, and he hesitated before deciding that there was nothing untoward in dancing. With a slight release of her waist and a motion of his arm, he mimicked the motion of the other dancers. Marissa, too, seemed instinctively to sense the motion of the music, and her hips began to swing gently from side to side.

“Do you want to dance?” he wondered, charmingly uncertain despite his initiation of the move. Marissa found herself nodding before she realized what she was doing. The rhythm swelled naturally, as if it reverberated from her heartbeat to the instruments on the stage.

Tony gripped both of her hands, and he started a side-to-side sway that pulled her in its wake. She found her feet and her hips bounced with every beat, and when Tony slid one hand behind her back, she and he began to move as one. After several measures with little change, the music swelled, and Tony released her waist, using their joined hands to wrap her around, then flinging her in an arced spin. Marissa gasped, laughing, as he spun her back into his grasp.

Mesmerized, their bodies undulated there in the middle of the dance floor, the music easing to a gentle thumping finale before fading away. For several seconds, the pair stood like statues, their hands clasped, her back to his chest, his breath sweet on her neck.

Both Tony and Marissa jumped when Leonard and Doris started a whooping and clapping from right next to them. The rest of the crowd followed immediately, and Tony released Marissa, removing himself to a more respectable distance and turning toward the stage to join the applause. Marissa followed suit, her breath battering against her lungs from the exertion and excitement of the dance.

Several of the couples used the pause to return to their tables, and Doris kissed Leonard on the cheek before making her way to the microphone. Leonard stepped to his friends as if he hadn’t noticed their surprising encounter on the dance floor.

“Doris has a set for the next several minutes. Do you guys want to stay out here?”

“No!” Marissa almost shouted, and Tony knitted his brows as he took in her renewed anxiety.

So, you lose all the tension with the music? he wondered silently.

“I’m really tired, and I’d like to lie down in Doris’s dressing room, if you don’t think she’d mind.”

Leonard shook his head. “I have to take care of some things up here, but Tony will get you back there.”

If Leonard thought that would make her feel better, he didn’t know how to read her at all.

Tony knew, and he shrugged his shoulders as he again grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door. Since he had read her anxiety, he let go of her hand as soon as they made it back into the hallway, and he led the way back to the common area backstage.

“Thanks for the dance,” he threw out casually, determined to communicate all of the nonchalance he could drum up. Apparently, familiarity with Tony created stress for Marissa, and though he didn’t appreciate the fact, he figured that she could probably use some consideration from someone. She had dealt with far too many self-centered or unscrupulous people of the past few days.

“I…” she started but stopped herself. She had wanted to return the thanks, but she feared encouraging him. Feared encouraging herself, too, if she were honest.

With little ado, he pulled out a chair for her and then seated himself at the little table they had left fifteen minutes before. She thought of leaving the room, of holing up in Doris’s dressing room, but she had not quite recovered from the dance and didn’t trust herself to stand with stability. Instead, she just sat and stared at the table.

For several minutes, Tony did not speak, and Marissa grew ever more uncomfortable with the silence. Finally, she heard him draw a breath, and the noise drew her eyes to him without her permission.

“I can leave if you want. But you know my job, and now that I know that you wrote the articles, I will have to lie to my boss to protect you. I would like to discuss them for a few minutes, if you’re willing. If I can understand your part in all this, I’m pretty sure I can make him understand. He is a good man, and he won’t blame you if you don’t bear the blame."

Taken aback, Marissa could not reply immediately, but she managed to steel herself enough to offer a coherent response. "Well, I…I guess that depends on your perspective, whether or not I’m to blame.”

“Are you okay explaining this to me? I won’t like it, but I will hide what I know from Jerome if that’s what I need to – the protection of the innocent is part of Jerome’s whole purpose in running for politics. He might not like it in the short term, but his principles would agree with me.”

Despite her personal aversion to being drawn out, Marissa couldn’t censure Tony’s thoughts. He seemed fully to intend her protection, and she couldn’t escape the implicit kindness of the intentions.

“I can try to explain. – I want to try to explain.” She interrupted another protest that she didn’t have to tell him anything if she didn’t want to. “I see people through their stories. I mean, I know that their lives entail more than the small picture I can paint with words, but I also think that the small pictures can give a good representation of the color and character of the big picture. That's not always the case, but I find it is often true."

"So, did you know the nature of the paper before it was printed?"

Marissa suppressed a sudden urge to cry at the question. For a few glorious minutes, dancing had pressed her situation out of her mind, but his question brought back all the events of the past few days. "I knew," she managed weakly, "that Barbara wanted to use the paper to change people's minds. I thought she was going to focus on how we are more alike than we are different, so that we could all relate to each other's pains and triumphs. I thought she might discuss the philosophy of politics. Apparently, though, Barbara saw it as more. She saw it as a tool to affect the upcoming election."

"The age-old battle between the idealist and the pragmatist," Tony shrugged. "Both have the same goal, but they can't come together on a method to reach it."

"So, of course, I'm the idealist," Marissa lamented.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Tony wondered.

Marissa rolled her eyes. "Well, it's certainly not as effective as the pragmatist's approach. I mean, it cost me my friends, didn't it? Maybe if I had been willing to compromise my standards a little – if I had proven more approachable - Barbara and Mario and I might have found a more practical approach to the injustice in this. Instead, we only got out two circulations before we fell apart, and we only accomplished a lot of hurt feelings. My high standards proved pretty worthless."

For a moment, Tony said nothing, but then a thought hit him, and it left his mouth before he gave it permission. "Is that why you went to Calloway's?" he begged, trying to get a glimpse of her eyes. "Were you trying to compromise your 'high standards'?"

Marissa looked too shocked to speak, and Tony tried to backpedal. "I mean, I don't think you compromised anything just by going. Of course, you wouldn't -"

"No," Marissa interrupted. "You're right. That's exactly why I went. I saw that my way was too painful. I wanted to try something different. Apparently, I do stupid things when I'm hurt and angry. Maybe because I so rarely get angry that I have little experience in how to handle it."

Tony stifled a laugh at her candid admission. "Why is it so easy for you to talk to me sometimes, and others, your words are chained behind your lips?" He changed the subject abruptly. He might as easily have asked why he had so much trouble controlling his curiosity around her, but he would save that question for later.

"I -" Marissa stuttered, and she looked back down at the table. "I guess I don't like the way you notice me," she allowed with more bravery than he had expected. "I mean, people see me, but they tend to just note my presence and then go about their business. You pay attention to me, and when other people see that, they pay attention, too. I'm not sure I know how to handle that. It doesn’t bother me quite as much, though, when it's just you. I really do appreciate all the help you've given me, and to tell you the truth," she bit her lip as if to stem the flow of her words, "when you're around, I'm not really afraid of all those people who might be out to get me." Perhaps she said it to make up for any negative sense she had given off with her negative thoughts. Still, she couldn't believe she had said it.

Tony had only noticed, though, that she had said the exact words from Jerome's note, "out to get her." Though he didn't know what he thought of her candor, he couldn't help but feel a moment of smug satisfaction at her vote of confidence.

"Of course, just because I'm comfortable around you doesn't keep me from being afraid of you," she amended in a near whisper, and Tony almost laughed. Afraid of him?

"So, I understand that you’re frightened, probably of a lot of things, and I’m one of them. But you have to recognize the difference between me and the people at Calloway’s. So, just promise me," Tony pressed when he had finally recovered from her declaration, "that you'll choose me instead of Sam next time your friends upset you."

"What right do you have to ask me that?" she countered unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry," he allowed. "I guess it's presumptuous of me, but it’s Sam. You don't know Sam like I do. He is not just teasing you – nothing is a game to him. He is a seriously dangerous man, and you could have gotten yourself killed last night seeking him out. Just because you're mad at Barbara and my stupid brother, you can't go running off after someone like Sam."

She didn't mean to do it. His words had incensed her, and she wanted to punish him for his audacity, but the reprimand drowned behind another sound she couldn't contain. The timidest of laughs. With every new thought, though, its volume increased, and - perhaps because of her hysteria over the last few days - she found herself staring through squinted eyes into the confused face of Tony as she bubbled over with laughter.

Mario, stupid? The name and the word had never entered her mind at the same time, so opposite were the terms. Plus, the phrase had sounded so juvenile! Instead of offering Marissa sage advice, Tony sounded as if he had some younger brother complex that he couldn't overcome. Perhaps, though, what sent her over the edge came with the realization that she loved hearing those words. Here she felt so mature, yet she derived immense pleasure in the simple insult.

"What did I say?" Tony finally ventured.

"Stupid Mario," she sighed. "He is stupid. And stupid Barbara! And the stupid Rats, and the stupid McReynoldses. This is all," the laughter subsided, easing into a breathy gasp, "so, so stupid. Why," Marissa wondered, "are people so small-minded? Why are they so focused on what they think is best that they cause so much injury on the way? And why are people so stubborn when you point it out to them, even if you do so in the gentlest way you can?"

With her final words, Marissa peered up at the ceiling and collected herself. The ridiculous exercise in insults seemed a catharsis, and she suddenly felt much less burdened by the whole situation. Of course, once she cleared out the emotions that her friends' betrayal had stirred up, Marissa's mind began to work overtime. The events of the previous evening flashed before her reel by reel like a talkie. She stared back at Tony. Still he said nothing.

Fortunately, everything she said made sense, or Tony might have thought that she had lost her mind.

"So," she wondered, forcing herself to cover the uncomfortable silence that followed her outburt, "you said that I could have gotten myself killed last night. That thought is never far from a young lady's mind, but Sam has had many opportunities to perpetrate some ill against me, and he hasn't done so. I mean, he obviously enjoys tormenting me, but he doesn't seem the murdering type."

Tony shook his head at the girl before him. "Just that statement makes me doubt your sanity. How exactly does a murdering type seem?"

"Well, not like Sam," she shrugged before leveling a gaze at Tony. "And, I admit, not like you either. I may be naïve - I know you, along with everyone else in this town consider me naïve. And maybe I am. But I'm smart, too. I am really good at distinguishing the good guys from the bad. I'm just not good at telling when a good person is going to choose to do wrong. Sam likes power, but he's not particularly vicious."

"But you said it yourself: you can't tell when someone is going to act out of character. Sure, Sam wouldn't just find a young woman and pick her out for destruction. But what if Sam stood to gain a lot by hurting her, or even by letting someone else hurt her."

Marissa paused; the possibility hadn't occurred to her, but once spoken, it made too much sense to ignore. "He probably would."

"And I happen to know that he stood to gain a lot by taking you to Calloway's last night."

With Tony's words, Marissa chewed her bottom lip. She hadn't exactly listened to her senses on the previous evening anyway, so the point would not have persuaded her.

"What could he gain?" she begged. "No, even more important, why did you end up coming after me?"

Tony rubbed his face with his hands, unsure if he wanted to dive into such deep waters. Still, maybe the excursion could serve a purpose.

"Why did I come after you?" Tony stared at her a moment, still unwilling to explain to her the full significance of her danger. "If I tell you, and you figure out that you can trust me, will you come with me as soon as we're finished? I mean, even if I'm not sure where we're going?"

"Trust you..." she paused. "I don't know."

"You trusted Mario and Barbara, and look how that ended. Maybe you should consider finding friends a different way, like noticing when they consider you over themselves." Tony wished he could transfer his earnestness directly into her mind, so she could understand his intentions. "I do not want to see you hurt."

"I know what's in Mario's and Barbara's hearts, and I know why they did what they did. It hurt me, but I know that if I were in true need, they would help. Apparently, though,” she paused, considering him as if he were a player in a chess move, “you're good at thinking on your feet, and you're smart. So, it might prove beneficial to accept your offer."

Again, Tony shook his head. "I don't get you at all. Just when I'm thoroughly convinced that you're a naïve simpleton, you prove yourself the opposite."

Marissa couldn't quite suppress her grin at the unsolicited praise, and for the first time, her eyes met Tony's with something resembling relaxed pleasure. Tony almost lost his breath at the effect.

"So," she redirected, "what did you know and why did you come after me?"

With a deep sigh, Tony realized that she would not let him gloss over the danger.

"I'm sure you noticed that I showed up a couple of times over the last couple of weeks, at weird and convenient times."

"When you put it that way, yes, I have."

"Well, they have stemmed from coincidences, but some of them happened intentionally. For one, when Sam and his gang confronted you in the park? I had followed you from Clarice's. Now, before you start to worry," he halted her protest. "I only followed you from Clarice's because I knew you were my brother's friend, and it seemed like you would run into trouble walking through that neighborhood at night. I knew you were new in town, and I didn't want you to suffer for your ignorance. But I really did it for my brother, because I didn’t really know you then."

After a moment of looking skeptical, Marissa seemed to shrug off her concerns.

"So, after that, when I ran into you in the courtyard with the Mice, I knew who you were, and I had already drawn some conclusions about your ability to take care of yourself. Against Barbara, those boys would have held little threat, but not so much with you."

"You’re going to persuade me by insulting me?" Marissa scoffed.

"Are you going to tell me that you had everything under control?" Tony challenged.

Marissa could say nothing, because he was right. "It's still not very nice to say," she mumbled.

"So..." Tony smiled at her petulance, drumming his fingers on the table as she returned a smirk. Something about the motion reminded him of her lips under that green paint. Unfortunately, the memory meant that he studied her lips where she sat across from him, and that he was still staring at them when she realized the placement of his eyes and nervously began to chew her lip. Tony shook himself. He was not usually so…alert. Maybe something about the danger. "So,” he continued, forcing his eyes to meet hers, “when I first found out that you knew Leonard and Doris as well as my brother and Barbara, I decided that you were important by proxy – important to people who were important to me. I mean, maybe my friends and family were stupid to care so much about you, but since they did, I felt like – for their sake – I had to do something. I mean," Tony laughed as he read how incensed the words made her. "…as far as I knew, your only charming quality lay in your helplessness, because that's what I had seen."

His explanation did little to help his cause with her. At least I admitted I found something charming, he snickered internally.

"When I thought about it later, though," he pressed, forcing himself to seriousness, "I recognized something else in you that made me even more determined to help: my own curiosity. I mean, maybe my friends knew something about you that I didn't. Plus, when we had met on those several occasions, I had enjoyed our short conversations so thoroughly. I knew one thing that did impressed me from the begning. For their whole lives, Leonard and Doris, and even Clarice, have lived their lives less than two miles from my father's office, yet none of my family or Barbara ever managed to meet them. Yet you did. What about you sent you into a neighborhood like Jerome's and gave you the ability to care? I admit, when I considered that question, it intrigued me. "

Mixed with Marissa's pleasure came a measure of sadness at Tony's words, because she had never considered the point he made. Neither Barbara nor Mario, nor even the professor, had ever gone out of their own little neighborhood to meet those around them. Why? When she had presented her story to her friends, she had presupposed their sympathy. What if, instead, she had created the sympathy? What if they had no natural proclivity to notice injustice after all, and Marissa had just put her own sensibilities on them?

"Then Providence kept throwing me in your path," Tony continued. “That was hard to ignore – and honestly, a good excuse.” He grinned.

"So you’re saying that God told you to save me out of Calloway’s?" She was entirely too interested in him, and she prayed that he would prove himself a little crazy so she would have an excuse to dismiss him.

"No!" Tony insisted. "Not unless God’s name is Jerome. I was on an assignment for Jerome."

"About me?"

Tony sighed in exasperation. "No, not about you. He needed me to find out who had published the paper because whoever had done so had hurt Barry, and potentially the political campaign."

"Leonard and Doris knew I had done it."

"They did," Tony agreed. "And that is further proof that you can trust them. They didn't tell Jerome, or Marcel, or even me."

"But you found out about me."

"Do you remember," Tony probed, "a woman who liked to hover around Sam? A woman with red hair?"

Despite her usual forbearance, Marissa could hear the disgust in her tone. "Of course I remember her," Marissa agreed. "She asked me if I had slaves. I mean, who would ask that? And who would find the thought funny? I'm not usually violent, but I wanted to slap her for her casual attitude."

"I know the feeling," Tony admitted. "Well, I'm not sure how she did it, but she found out that you had written the articles. She didn't know about Barbara or Mario, but she knew about you."

As she registered Tony’s expression, Marissa shocked herself by an unexpected jealousy that popped up in her thoughts. The woman was honestly one of the most beautiful women Marissa had ever seen, and she had disclosed confidences to Tony.

“Did she just come out and tell you?” Marissa wondered, and Tony donned wry expression.

“She took some persuasion, but she was fairly proud of herself. She somehow thought her cleverness would recommend herself to me. Fortunately, that vanity gave me what I wanted. She knew about you, and she told the McReynolds campaign about you. When she told me that? That's when I wanted to slap her, though I would never strike a woman."

"So, she's a friend of yours?" Marissa asked with perhaps more curiosity than she intended.

"She apparently would like that, but, no. I have only met her twice, and she is not the type to be my friend.”

If a woman that beautiful bargained for Tony’s attention, had Marissa completely missed the boat on his value? Now she had evidence that perfect strangers, politicians, and two of her favorite people considered Tony a valuable friendship. And Marissa had spent so much time absorbed in her own insecurity and her injury by Mario and Barbara that she had pushed him away out of a misguided need to protect herself.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, completely unaware of Marissa’s inner dialogue, “when she told me that, I went directly to find Mario and Barbara, but they were nowhere to be found. Since you and I had only spoken a few times, and I had no occasion to seek you out myself, I thought perhaps Mario would be able to warn you. But when I stumbled upon your meeting with Sam, I had to follow you to Calloway's. You had no idea what you were walking into."

"So, you followed me into Calloway's..."

"Just in time to see you pressed to the back by Sam. I mean, I panicked, because I couldn't imagine a worse position to put yourself in."

"Me either," she agreed. "If he had given me one second to think or stopped pushing me for a moment, I would have turned and run. He just kept talking to me like he was my friend – all the while pressing me into that hole."

Tony tried not to bare his teeth in anger lest he make Marissa more nervous than her circumstances already had. Taking a breath, he continued in a steady tone, "Fortunately for me, my brother came in a few minutes later – I still don't know why – and I used the diversion to follow you down the hall. Sam seemed to expect Mario, which made no sense at all to me, but regardless, I was not leaving you there."

A small sound from Marissa halted Tony's story, and he leaned down to look in her eyes. "What is it?"

"If you hadn't seen me. I mean, if you had come in a second later -" Marissa bit her lip as she tried not to pout.

Sensing her fear, Tony reached his hand toward where hers rested on the table between them. An inch before he reached her, though, he arrested the motion. "I'm sorry this is happening to you," he spoke in a low tone, and when she looked up at Tony, he stared down at where their hands nearly touched, a look of profound sadness on his face. "Mario and Barbara have put you in a position that you don't deserve to be in. I mean," he looked back at her. "You're right. The stories you've written? That's the right way to change people's minds. They have to be persuaded to change, not pressured. Not to make a lasting change. And a good person will read what you've written and step out from the sidelines. I just can't believe my brilliant brother caved in under Barbara's faulty reasoning."

With a profound shock, Marissa found herself restraining a sob. She didn't know why his apology made her feel so much relief, especially when the words released all the pent-up pain she had experienced over the last few days. She had forced herself to hold it together, but her near disaster with Sam made her feel like a ridiculous failure. Despite her best efforts, she had failed to make it on her own. Seems she needed friends after all, but then she had lost the only friends she had made in St. Louis. She had failed Leonard, and Barbara and Mario had forfeited any claim to friendship.

“It was incredibly brave, what you did – I can’t really understand why, but…” Her hand crept closer to Tony's, though she would not let herself complete its trek between the contravening space. Neither Tony nor Marissa spoke for over a minute, and her anxiety rendered her awkward. "But you went into Calloway's," she prodded, desperate to end the silence. "How did you get me out?"

"Well, that's probably the least interesting part. I walked down the corridor, saw that you had passed out and that Sam had slipped something in your drink, carried you to a window, jumped out, and ran here. As soon as I got away from the Moran goons."

"Oh, completely uninteresting," Marissa mumbled, and Tony couldn't help but smile. "So, are you sure Sam slipped something in my drink?"

"Well, I tasted it, and I felt pretty certain that I tasted alcohol, although masked by fruit flavor."

"So," Marissa ventured with a mix of curiosity and disgust, "you've drunk alcohol."

Tony's mouth twisted in amusement. "I'm Catholic, Marissa. Sacramental wine is exempt from Prohibition. And, yes, the taste is different, but it's more the feeling. There's a slight burning in the nose with alcohol."

Laughing at herself, Marissa smiled at Tony with an ease that revolutionized his attitude. If she kept smiling at him with such abandon – twinkling eyes, crinkled nose, eager amusement – Tony thought he just might take on the Morans' army of thugs all by himself to protect her.

"But if I've got Carson McReynolds' machine working against me, what chance do I have? I mean, I don't really want to go home to South Carolina, but what other choice is there?"

Though the thought gripped him painfully, she had a point. Going home, in all likelihood, would solve her problem. Still, even if he got her on the next train out of St. Louis, she would have to survive until then, and the streets literally oozed with hostility for her at the moment. The thought both cheered and depressed him. He was glad it wasn't the best time for her to leave, but he hated the reason that was so. How could one girl unintentionally become the sole target for so much pure malevolence?

Tony sighed. He couldn't share his morose thoughts. Most likely, she had little idea the extent to which her life hung in the balance with the Morans after her, and he saw no reason to distress her more.

"Going home might be necessary," he hedged, "though I hope it’s not. But first we need to keep you out of harm's way for this very moment. The question is, could we just stay here until the election is over? I have a feeling that if we can keep you out sight until then, much of this will die down on its own."

Finally unable to restrain herself, Marissa finished reaching for Tony's hand. "Thank you," she pressed, working to infuse her expression with all the gratitude she now felt for Tony Garner. "I don't know what would have happened to me in that back room at Calloway's if you hadn't interfered. "

Tony huffed a laugh, relishing the sensation of her hand on his. All too quickly, she pulled it away, though gently and with only a hint of her usual embarrassment.

"Yeah, I guess even I can cave in to sentimentality sometimes.” When she narrowed her head in confusion, he tried to explain. It was a strange rationale, when he thought of it, but it was true. “You're kind of nostalgic for me."

“Nostalgic after a few conversations?”

"You remind me of my mother," Tony blustered. He didn’t fully understand the thought himself "How could I just leave you to her fate?"

Not that Tony had really codified the words into a solid thought in his own head, but he felt certain of their veracity. He had never known his mother, but he had heard the stories, and Gemma Gargano possessed a spirit very like that of Marissa Erinson. Gemma had never noticed lines of separation among men. She would help anyone who asked; she could never abide an unmerciful heart in others. And, she was entirely too naïve for her own good, expecting men to act as they should even to her own harm. From the moment he had seen Marissa in deep conversation with Clarice, Tony had sensed both attraction and anger for Marissa Erinson, and his new revelation explained why.

When he looked up at her, Marissa asked in a hushed tone, "What happened to your mother?"

Tony considered trying to change the subject, but really, he thought, after he had revealed so much, why hold back? Besides, maybe explaining to her would make her trust him enough to listen to him. Her survival over the next few days might depend entirely on that trust.

"She was basically killed by people like you write about. The ones who cause problems in your stories. When I read your stories – when I saw that you thought rightly about the injustice – no one has ever acknowledged that for me before."

Her hand found its way back to his, and this time, she held on. "I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago," he shrugged without looking at her. "I mean, it happened the day I was born. I actually never knew her. Everyone here thinks she died in childbirth. It was the easiest explanation to offer to all the curious busybodies." When he looked up into Marissa's compassionate face, he had to force himself to continue. "But people don't actually know the circumstances surrounding her death.

"My brothers spent part of their childhood in the Bronx, and my pop spent most of that time fighting to gain respect. The problem was, we were Italians in a mostly Irish neighborhood." Dropping his eyes to his hands, Tony continued his even tone. "My pop had spent a fortune getting a college degree, working his fingernails down to nubs at the two jobs he undertook to fund his education. Somehow, he also managed to provide for his family. After he finished his degree, he thought for certain that people would respect us, that we could find a way to overcome what my pop considered a ridiculous distinction. I mean, almost everyone in New York had the same story. Either they or their parents had sailed across an ocean to escape the chains that millennia of history had laid upon them. They had come to the place where a man could earn as much as he could, including respect, by the sweat of his brow and the spirit he showed."

Though she tried to remain impassive, Tony's story had drawn her in. She leaned toward him, leaning her chin on her other hand so she could give him her full attention. For a moment, Tony stuttered in his storytelling as he registered her sincere compassion.

"Anyway," he pressed on, "when my father approached some of the neighborhood's businessmen with ideas about how to improve the financial standing of the area, the entire group took offense to what they considered an effrontery. I mean, they were the establishment, the "good red-blooded Irishmen." What business did a guido have telling them how to run things? The first time my father approached them, they told him to go back to Italy, that he had no business advising people smarter than he was."

Now Tony felt the familiar ire build within him. "Of course, my pop could have been offended. He could have turned against them and gone in for a fight, but my pop decided to work in a different way. He didn't challenge the local Irishmen; he didn't want to cause trouble. Instead, he went around them. He took his ideas to his neighbors, all of whom respected him because he had always treated everyone with kindness and respect. Unfortunately, the Irish businessmen didn't like his grassroots activism, and they decided to go after my pop on a personal level. They began to spread rumors about my mom, telling everyone that the child she carried - me - didn't come from my pop. They said that my mom had fallen in with a black man and had an affair. My mom would never have an affair; the rumor was just made to hurt. Negroes were looked down upon in that neighborhood even more than Italians, and claiming an affair with one was the worst insult they could have thought of. The injustice of it is actually what brought me into Jerome’s campaign. They are judged before they even open their mouths, no matter how they dress or how educated or intelligent they are. And almost every other group judges them, not just historical rivalries. Which, of course, is another reason I appreciated your articles."

Marissa squeezed the hand she held, and Tony managed a sad smile.

"With such a rumor going around," Tony continued, determined to explain everything now that he had begun, "people began to shun my mother and brothers. My family couldn't go to mass or to a store without hearing whispers, or sometimes overt expressions of disgust. At that point, my pop spent so much time trying to fight the powers, that he didn't notice what was happening to his family. My mom wouldn't tell him. She wanted to protect him – she was so proud of him."

Marissa looked up and saw the softest expression she had ever seen on Tony's face. Though he had not known his mother, he admired her kindness.

"One day, my mother dragged my brothers down the block to the vegetable vendor, and someone called out an epithet - a regular occurrence by that point - that really bothered my mother. She had tried so hard to protect her boys from the bigotry. In an attempt to lessen the sting for Carl, my eldest brother and the only one besides herself who understood, my mom made some comment about the man's intellect." Again, Tony smirked at the thought. Though the memory stirred up pain, he never ceased to feel cheered at his mother's occasional feistiness.

"In response, the man came sauntering across the street toward my mother, and according to Carl, that was the only time he ever saw her scared. She glanced around her and spied a woman pushing a small child in a buggy. Carl figures she must have thought a mother would understand. I imagine you would think that way, too. My mother tried to dash past the woman in an attempt to obscure herself behind a newspaper stand. No one could have mistaken the large swell of my mother's abdomen from where I had grown so much. No one could doubt that she was pregnant." The bitterness returned to his tone, and Marissa could just watch in silence. She wanted to say something, comfort him somehow, but she could think of nothing to say.

"Instead of helping my mother in any way, the woman called my mother another name, and shoved my mother away from her. By that time the man had reached a spot only a few feet from my mom, and nudged my mother past what her balance could bear. A moment later, she lay gasping on the pavement. When Carl and Mario began to cry, the woman backed away from them. She did nothing to help, just turned and hurried away. No one else gave my mother as much as a glance. She had fallen so hard," the emotion leaked into Tony's carefully controlled tone. "That her waters broke, and she couldn't right herself even though she tried. If my six-year-old brother, Carlo, hadn't spotted a policeman and braved the street to hail him, my mother and I would both probably have died on the street in New York."

Taking a fortifying breath, Tony gathered himself before he could finish his tale. He didn't know whether his purpose in telling the story would be worth the misery of retelling it, but he at least knew he could trust Marissa not to repeat it. When she had promised to protect Leonard's family, she had done her best to do so. She had even protected Mario and Barbara after they had betrayed her. Tony risked little beyond a few moments of discomfort, and since he had determined to help Marissa, he had to convince her to accept his help.

"By the time my father reached the hospital, my mother had died, and I lay crying in a bed near her body. The doctors had worked harder to save me because they said that my mother couldn't recover. From a seat in the corner, Carl held Mario's hand and watched my father break down in grief. From that point on, my pop changed. He seemed to give up the fight somehow, and not long after, we moved to St. Louis and changed our names. I've been Anthony Garner as long as I can remember."

For several minutes, neither Tony nor Marissa spoke. Even though telling her had proven trying, Tony found the experience equally cathartic. Somehow, he realized, he had never really told anyone about his mother before, content to let the stories circulate as they would. Only his family knew, and they never discussed "life before." He couldn't decide whether he loved Marissa for being safe enough to tell or hated her for knowing something so intensely secret.

When he finally looked into her face and saw the tears, he decided he couldn't hate her. Not only did he see tears of sadness in her eyes, he saw a quiet fury that so mirrored his own sentiments. How could people be so cruel and heartless, he had always wondered? Long before, he had given over expecting anything different from the hearts around him, yet he could see his own sentiments reflected in Marissa's eyes. For the first time in his life, Tony felt himself starting down a road of connection, a spark in a portion of his soul that he had not realized he possessed.

"Tony," Marissa ventured, her tone as soft as if she spoke to a frightened child, "you're right, you know. And everyone else is wrong. It is worth fighting for. Your father was so deeply hurt; I can understand why he ran away to tend his wounds. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't fight. If I didn't believe the same thing," she continued, "I would have run straight home when Mario and Barbara printed those lists. You weren't there for our discussions, but we always knew we were fighting not just the bad guys, but the prejudices and misunderstandings of everyone else as well. Apparently, that includes your brother and Barbara."

Tony wanted to protest, but he couldn't. Coming from Marissa, he knew she couldn't mean any insult by it, and he agreed too much with her assessment to blame her for her words. “Knowing what I know about my mother, it’s hard for me to see cruelty or injustice and just sit by doing nothing…”

“ ‘I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape,’” Marissa murmured, memorizing the determination on her companion’s face. Certainly, he seemed sincere both in his sorrow and in his desire to further the cause of the injured.

On hearing her words, though, his intensity faded, and vague smile brushed his lips. “Dickens,” he acknowledged, and Marissa, shocked that she had said the words aloud, drew in a breath, replying only with the slightest of nods.

Tony stared down at the table, but his expression had settled into contentment, and neither of them seemed compelled to speak. For several minutes, they sat in silence, each wrapped in thoughts too deep for expression. At some point, Marissa released his hand, and Tony felt again the wall of self-consciousness erect itself around Marissa as the emotion from his story faded into a memory.

"Someone said they heard you calling for me, Tony," Leonard's voice billowed down the hallway toward them. "Is everything okay?"

If Leonard noticed the intense expressions of his friends, he didn't betray his knowledge.

"Yeah, Leonard," Tony replied with a somber smile. "Everything is fine." Fine enough, anyway, though Tony couldn't help feeling the loss of the intimate isolation of the moment before.