May was the best - she knew.

In the world? Perhaps not, perhaps she wasn't the best in the world -

But she was the best in her world. And now, without technology, without a mind that has to reach. That has to sort, that is one small search away from a mountain of falsehoods and explosive talents. Without that Farce -

Bob Dylan was incredible. He was folk, he embodied a sound that was both timeless and simple and picturesque of the period - he wasn't a great singer. He was also the best -

That a town could be filled with Bob Dylans? Who knew if Smith, pounding and melting whatever he could find was the worst blacksmith? That his name was actually Desmond? That he'd worked at DairyQueen - not even the good one, the one past the overpass, halfway to Taberts Ferry, it was also a gas station, Employee's Only sign on the restroom -

Bob Dylan wouldn't have made it in modern music, May didn't think, didn't think he would have wanted to -

But there is a time and place where everybody can be a star - that time and place was here. In Red Hills, it was now. Because there was nobody to stand next to you and beat you. To show you up -

Perhaps - perhaps it had always been that way, that if they had just closed their eyes, just minded their own business - as those naughty boys were want to say - she couldn't help it - they were all stars.

That even if - somebody built a forge right next to Smith's - of course they were, of course, there was one Mason and then they were like rabbits. If Hunter flatuates and it sounds like a Skill Name - people got it. His contracts were like the local newspaper - people had contracts up - to tell them when Hunter put a contract up - it was a speculators market.

Stars were being born - nobody knew who had talent, or even cared. Some of Smith's nails were bent - perhaps his competition would do straighter nails - charge more. Perhaps they'd have twenty smiths, twenty stars - at twenty different tasks -

What was a Star? It was just a person everybody knew, it was like Smith - the Smith. Bob Dylan - that folk singer, that guy!

Yes - May was a Star as well, May was incredible. She was a superstar - for so many reasons - so many ways -

And perhaps before she'd felt a bit special, lovely - important in her own way, but there wasn't the absoluteness, the promise - and she'd been lucky. Gifted - in a position and still she hadn't felt so wonderful - so pretty.

Everybody felt that way - about something. Everybody could -

Earl's Fishing Poles, Bethel's Canned Tomatoes, Clint's Cut and Shave and Saloon, Ben's Beeswax...

And there was so much to love about it all, so much to enjoy and discover, people scrambling to remember an old Wives Remedy or family recipe. You didn't even need a skill -

It wasn't perfect. They were going to run out of things and that had implications. Consequences. They were going to run out of most spices. Coffee and tea were already luxuries, sodas put away in cellars to be dusted off later like a bottle of wine -

But they wouldn't starve. That they'd have fish to eat, vegetables - the seed machine produced 25 seeds a day of each variety, one hundred in all - all looked like dried peas. All uniform. Four varieties - Weston had chosen potato, corn, beans, and melon -

Worms love melons - she knew that now...

May didn't like Hickory. It had been a slow, dawning, almost damning - realization. She was absolutely in love with him. She was insanely attracted to him, she was passionately obsessed with him -

She didn't like him -

That was what it came down to, he was...perfect. But he was also so incredibly uninhibited - so incredibly...good. At times it could be boring -

He wasn't complicated. That was what bothered May, Hickory was so direct, so unequivocal that he was frustrating. She couldn't handle him, she couldn't be surprised by him.

Part of it was because he was young. Had such a narrow perspective of the world, his concepts of right and wrong were all black and white, he was all fishing, all fun, all fighting, all loving her, all -

"You're breaking up with me?" May cried, looking at Hickory, she felt the tears already dancing at her eyes, she felt the hot disbelief -

"Now, May." Hickory said, "I don't reckon we ever so much as went out on a proper date, not for lack of trying, and you've been busy. Busy doing all them good things you do. I'm not the sort of man that would hold you back from your passions, May, I'd not force ya to be my Lady."

May felt a sob coming - tried to push it back only for it to emerge as a hiccup. She was the best - she was lovely, a flower. She was wearing a dress of the finest moon-silk, Hickory's favorite color - it was a classical style, that widened her hips, was almost victorian - with a wide bow that tied behind, on the small of her back - he loved to imagine untying those knots - it left her hips wide. She knew he loved it -

She was supposed to break up with him - then he'd...he'd fawn, it was a cycle -

She had a small umbrella of lace, her hair was pinned up and curled, she opened her fan, using it to dry her eyes -

Fans were popular. She'd made them popular. That, and the heat -

"I just - I love ya, May, I do, but a man sometimes ain't got time for things to be complicated."

He had an erection. May knew he did. He was young. And he was - he wouldn't cheat. They couldn't date. She knew that, knew it would be a terrible mistake, knew that in a way it would be perfect. For her to just marry Hickory, to date, it would be - storybook.

That wasn't where her passion was. Weston was a Prince, her Prince. Hickory was the scoundrel - the seducer, the -

It was insane. May knew it was some insane, convoluted intuition, perhaps a part of her power, perhaps - Hickory, if she married him. He'd be great. He'd be there each night, sometimes smelling like beer, sometimes just fish - he'd crush her against the wall, across the couch, in the countryside or on a carriage ride-

If she married him - he wouldn't be a scoundrel. He'd be a...

Her tears were authentic. She was dripping...it was so hot, her fan fluttered like her heart, and she was - oh, the fabrics this moment would make! The music! It was heartbreak and -

"Oh, Hickory." May said, she put her hand over his, the white satin gloves - she could almost feel the rough callus that claimed his fingers, the nail bed, how they quivered, how he sought to reach within the crevices of her compassion this moment and spread her compunction and - "I understand."

It was a careful balance - a romance. It needed obstacles. Did May want to wear a dress that weighed nearly as much as she did? In this heat? Did she want to - to force him to look at that clever knot, like a hangman's noose, to see his eyes bulge and swallow - for him to look lost, confused. His desire to untangle, to paw at the ribbon, to use his mouth to taste and loosen the silk -

The best romances - there was cruelty to them, a torture, even - that when she'd came to him at the river, May knew - knew that no person would ever touch her like he did, no person had that capacity. That power - that alone, throw away the Book, his massive sword, the town, the prestige, perhaps not the sword - there was a desire that had her pulsating in pleasure, at just imagining -

They couldn't be physical all the time - that as much as she wanted it, it was impossible, that she'd - she'd devour his soul, they'd devour each other. And right now Hickory and her - they didn't have the mental conflict to arouse each other to greatness -

It would be a conflagration of passion in which the whole world burned around their coupling, ignored and forgotten, all their duties put aside for sensational satisfaction.

Everything was already perfect - the End - this was still the first page - this wasn't a storybook, this wasn't even a fable. That Hickory wasn't even wanting to be King - that May would just be a regular wife, just a woman, perhaps a Star, perhaps a Super Star - but not a Queen.

Hickory was right, it was - it was complicated. Would she take him? As he was? Would she love him, and -

When Hickory sat down with May it was all he thought of, it was like nothing else mattered in the world - it was amazing. When he touched her hand, it was like her hand became the universe, that even the rest of her - didn't exist - it was a drug. Addiction.

That if there was any chance at all that another woman could have him?

They were star crossed lovers - they were Epic.

"We'll still see each other?" May asked, composed.

Hickory gulped and nodded, she smiled at him, the proper mix of sullen sadness and accepting dignity, turned her head so he could see the tightness of her neck, her chin, that supple skin, the small, tight crease it made there like a single slit - also giving him a moment to adjust, so he could stand up -

"Then don't be a stranger." May whispered as their farewell.

She heard him - heard him get up, hurry off - was he crying? Oh the tenderness, the - the depth, already, he was discovering, probably hurrying off to ask Gage for advice, perhaps to fight Weston again - May turned, turned and watched him enter the Casino?

He wasn't - certainly Hickory wasn't going to them, to use - those -

Hookers -

May felt a - a numbness. It was like he'd taken her story and instead of turning the page, he'd bent it! Closed the book - put it on the shelf. This is the part of the story where Hickory enters into some pining state of barely self-restrained despair and depression, comes crawling back with some insane method to win her -

Not see a Hooker!

May felt her fan snap closed like a bear trap, her fist tighten, squeeze at the fabric of her dress, pull against the rigidness of her corset - he had no idea - how many knots went into this outfit!

Oh, he'd find out! He'd learn -