Hello people! (someone’s high on sugar today.) Whooosh, its getting tricky. I changed the POV a coupla times within this chapter.

It starts out from Rod’s (for those of you who still can’t figure the pattern out...), and magically changes whenever you see (let me just pull out my wand...) OOHHDALLAALLEEEE! (does fayre dance...):

I love Teucer. The more I find out about him - the more there is to love. He’s funny, smart, good looking, has next to no bad habits, a cute accent, almost perfect. The bad habits he does have - they are virtually nothing, and nothing big enough to put a wedge in our relationship. And what’s more, I think, he might love me back.

The worst thing is, I have to go back to NY in two weeks. That is one of the reasons I’ve been so unwilling to sleep with him - it would put us in a position (you sic minded people, not THAT sort of position), but one where we were well, more formally attached, and when I have to return . . .

IT’S NOT FAIR!

He is so hot. And he barely acknowledges it, which makes him cool as well. I want him so bad, it is hard (literally - AHEM) to say goodbye in the evening. Friday it all got too difficult. I went home with Teucer, and we ended up lounging on his couch watching Batman on DVD. I know my life is slow when I’m contemplating superheros in spandex, especially when there are so many other things I could be doing with my boyfriend . . .

It sounds so nice to call him that.

I had wanted to take Teucer to ice-skating, but he showed me all these scars on his feet - seriously, it was like he was crucified, and they were from five years before, he told me, the first and last time he went ice-skating. So we went horse riding instead.

Teucer was so funny; he acted like a typical bush hero, until he got up on the horse. He was fine as it walked along, perhaps a little jolted, but when the apparently gentle grey mare rocked back on it’s feet and went into a trot - he fell off, right over the ears of the Horse!

I don’t really know how it happened that he fell forwards, but it was damn funny.

He wasn’t hurt badly, but lay on the ground and slowly crawled out of the horse’s way, while it just stood there, waiting for him to move. When he finally did, the horse snorted, and went off into a canter by itself.

“Owwwww . . .” Teucer held his head, and frowned.

“Are you okay?” I asked, sliding off the back of my horse. Teucer stood up, shaking his head and grinning.

“I spose I should tell you that I’ve never actually seen Crocodile Dundee, right?”

I laughed, relieved that he wasn’t seriously hurt. And then it occurred to me (naughty brain...) that Teucer had no way of getting back to the farmstead. We had chosen to take the cross-country route, so I could get to see some of the scenery, and were about five kilometers from the stables, and the car. No way...

Unless, I thought half-sneakily, I could get Teucer to ride up with me...

“Come on, I’ll give you a boost.” I offered.

“Uh uh, no way am I going on that ride again.” He shook his head and backed away.

“Oh come on,” I implored “I’ll sit up next to you and you’ll be perfectly safe . . .”

“Hm - let me think about that - no!” Teucer spin on his toe, and turned to walk after his horse. I quickly mounted mine, and followed two paces behind him walking my horse in his footsteps.

He made it about 20 meters, before relenting, and, with my help, managing to clamber onto the pinto. I hopped up behind him, and put my arms around him and held onto the reins. Seeing how we had done little more than make out in movies and on Teucer’s couch, this was quite pleasant. (tee hee heh...)

We led the horse the last 200 meters, in sight of the farmhouse. And there was Teucer’s horse, it snickered wickedly when it saw him. Teucer made a show of not looking at it, and flicking it on the rump with the reins of the bridle as he unsaddled it. This spurred me to do the same to him. Fun-eee.


I rang Kell-sa that night, and she was delighted that I’d found someone.

“I can’t believe it! This will never last.”

“You’re just jealous”

“You bet I am! Tell me all about him.”

“Okay, um, five foot eight, 23, brown hair, blue eyes . . . I really can’t put him into words, he’s just so . . . wonderful.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Bring him over here, and let me meet him. Then I’ll be convinced, one way or the other.”

So she was cautious, and warned me that Teucer might not be any different from that person-who-shalt-not-be-named, but I laughed at her fears. Teucer is the sweetest person on earth.

Then she told me the bad news. My honcho, the producer of the musicals I direct, a man not dissimilar to Mr. Sheffield from the Nanny, wanted me back early to work with him on a new production. Wednesday, to be precise. Sunday night, when we were in Teucer’s kitchen, and I was in charge of the nearly infallible soup while Teucer was decorating a pavlova with strawberries and kiwi-fruit, I told him.

“I, urm, got news today from my boss. I have to go back to New York early.”

Teucer stared at me in this heart-breakingly sad way. Cream dripped over the edge of the plate the dessert was on, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“When?”

“Wednesday.”

“Of this week?”

I nodded.

“Oh . . .”


Things slowed down a little after that. We still met every day, but it seemed as if Teucer was distancing himself from me. I asked Teucer if he wanted to come back over with me, but he replied that it really wasn’t a good time, with his work and all . . .

We hugged, and I walked onto the plane. I looked back when I got to the corner in the gangplank/corridor thingy. Teucer stood alone, blinking and glaring at a mother and her small child as they jostled him aside to put their tickets through. He looked up, and waved and smiled. I waved back, forced a smile, and stepped out of his sight.

The trip was long and boring. Perth had been the last place on the map of our Australian Tour, as it was the furthest. I had to catch a plane back to the east coast before I could get one back to the US, so it was really long. I fly first class, always, there is a certain glamorous reputation that I have always felt the want to uphold that goes with working in showbiz. Besides, they give you chocolates...


I showed Kelly photos that I’d taken that day we went horse riding.

“I am shocked and appalled,” she said “that you went and left him behind! How could you!” she slapped my arm. I didn’t feel so hot.

I became moody and reproachful, and even Mr. Sheffield (as I mentally called him) noticed, and told me to take the night off, and get some rest. He also gave me the number for an escort agency, which seriously pissed me off.


But just out of curiosity I rang it.

“Hello” an airy female voice said. “You have reached the line for Girls, Guys, and In Between. Call costs are two dollars a minute, for the best over the phone time you’ll ever have. To speak to a real live Girl, press one. For a guy, press two. For an in between, press three. Speaking to the operator is not an option.”

For some reason, I found myself curious about option three.

“Hey there” an indiscriminate voice purred.

“What are you?” I asked.

“I’m in-between . . . “

“Meaning?”

“Not feminine enough to be female, nor masculine enough to be male”

“Emmanuel, is that you?”

“ . . . “

I hung up. Well, it sounded like Emmanuel! Damnnit, I was getting paranoid again.

When hopeless people came for interviews I started yelling “NEXT” while they were halfway through their songs, which is an incredibly rude habit I had sworn to myself I would never do. Fall came around, and I took to long walks down snowy lanes, and watching my breath curl out of my mouth.

I own a small apartment in NYC, but now it seemed all too large. I was so lonely.

Decided to make Teucer’s POV into the next chapter. Ejoy! ^-^

Kat