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Veronica had said Pauline was my mermaid, a radiant mythical creature I had pulled from the water too late to be of any help. If I had loved her from afar back then, that affection only increased the more I learned about her now. Mermaid, Beehive, cheat, femme fatale, tutor to the retarded . . . In the end, I realized I wanted to tell her story and in the process try to do her justice. It would also be Edward Durant's story, but he was the moon to Pauline's earth: He may have affected her tides, but all of their light came from her.

I had a long talk over the phone with Durant Sr. about it.

"You're right, Sam. You either write about what you know, or what you wish you knew."

I felt so good about this breakthrough that I called Cassandra to ask if she would like to go to a Yankees baseball game. Her mother answered the phone and filled my ear with her waxy woes. Out of nowhere, a memory of an event in our marriage came and I laughed out loud in the middle of her whine.

When Cass was a little girl, she had to do a report for school about Russia. Always the conscientious student, she came to us wanting to know if the citizens of Moscow were called Mosquitoes. The best part of the story was her mother looked at me for a few seconds and I knew she was wondering if it was true. Great beauty is like a fat person sitting down on a crowded bus. Everyone else has to shove uncomfortably aside to let this fatty in. Everyone else in this case meaning good sense, taste, intelligence . . . I married a beauty and would be forever grateful to her for giving birth to our daughter. The rest was silence.

Cass was eventually able to wrestle the phone away and we made plans. We hadn't spoken much since I blew up at her for investigating Veronica. This conversation began edgily, but when she heard about the Yankees game she dropped her defenses and we were back on keel. Before we hung up, she hesitantly asked if Ivan could come. I said sure. I would have preferred just the two of us, but there was a man in her life now and she wanted him around.

I took the train into the city and met them at the Grand Central Station information booth. When I walked up, they were having an animated conversation. Cass wore overalls and a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. Ivan had on a black T-shirt with the name THE EVIL SUPERSTARS across it. On the back was the title of their album, Satan Is in My Ass. I realized they were speaking French. It was so impressive and flat-out cool that I couldn't resist putting my arms around both of them and moving us toward the subway.

The game was a pleasant bore and I spent much of the time watching the kids delight in each other. What is more exquisite than the first time you are in love? The first time you realize something this all-encompassing is possible and it's actually happening to you? The contrast between the kids was marvelous: Where Cass was all liveliness, Ivan was grave and thoughtful. She was so different with him than with me. For years I had watched her tread the earth carefully, afraid of taking any wrong step or saying the wrong thing. How great to see her ignoring caution altogether now, exploding with happiness and all the things she had to say right this minute. Naturally with Pauline and Durant so much on my mind, I kept seeing parallels between the two young couples.

Had they gone to baseball games together? Flirted the same way? Her hand on his arm six times in thirty seconds. His eyes gulping her down, his body tensing with joy every time she touched him?

During the seventh-inning stretch I went to the bathroom and then to buy a beer. Standing in line at the counter, I was idly checking out a good-looking redhead nearby when I heard Ivan's voice.

"Mr. Bayer?"

"Hey, Ivan. Call me Sam. Wanna beer?"

"No thanks. I would like to talk to you for a minute. I didn't want Cassandra to hear. You know your friend Ms. Lake?"

"Veronica?" Our eyes locked.

"Yes. She called me. I don't know how to say this, so maybe I should just say it: She told me to stop bothering you."

The vendor handed me a beer but suddenly I wasn't thirsty anymore. "Bothering me? How are you bothering me?"

"With your book. She said you didn't want me to help with the research. That's fine with me, don't get me wrong, I just thought it was kind of queer she was telling me and not you."

"She had no right to say that, Ivan. I never said I didn't want your help."

"She sounded adamant."

"Well, so am I. I need your help. There are some things I would appreciate your checking for me. I can't believe Veronica called you." We started back to our seats.

"She also said you didn't like my dating Cassandra."

"Look, forget what she said. I think it's great you two are together. For whatever it's worth, you have my blessing. I like you and the way you treat Cass. I wouldn't just say that."

He stopped and stuck out a hand. We shook.

The telephone rang at two o'clock in the morning. Late-night calls mean only two things to me – disaster or wrong number. I hate both.

"Hello?"

"With whom am I speaking?"

Confused, I said my name.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you –" Veronica's voice was nervous and stilted.

I hung up.

Hearing her voice at that empty hour threw a pan of cold water on me. There was no way I'd get back to sleep for a long time. I would have roused the dog and invited him to go for a walk. But knowing my roommate, he would have ignored the invitation or farted – his one great talent. So it was just me in the dark with a lethal dose of adrenaline in my veins and too much Veronica Lake in my head. Switching on the light, I sat on the side of the bed.

The middle of the night has its own song and it's not one I like to hear. In that deep silence, all your ghosts gather in a Greek chorus and each voice is brutally clear. Why haven't you? solos one. Why did you? People think you're a fool. You're getting old. You haven't done it. You never will.

Years ago I went to an analyst who told me not to worry, everything flows, nothing remains. If you don't like it today, tomorrow will be different. I laughed in his face and said, wrong – everything sticks. These big fat bugs of memory and loss stick to us, some dead, most still very much alive, buzzing and squirming.

The silence was getting too loud. It was a nice night, so I decided to put on a robe and go sit in the backyard.

Why didn't it surprise me that Veronica was out there? Why did I do only a small double take, then walk over and lower myself tiredly onto the lawn chair next to hers?

"Did you call from your cellular phone?"

"Yes. I've been sitting here a long time, trying to get up the courage to call."

"What if I hadn't come out?"

"I would have stayed here awhile and then gone away."

"What do you want from me, Veronica?"

"I want the same thing Pauline wanted! I want to live ten lives at once. I've tried to do that, and I've tried to do it right, not hurt people, but –" And then she wept. It went on and on. She cried until she was gasping for breath, like a child who knows it's no use crying anymore because nothing will change.

I was thunderstruck. Why hadn't I realized it before? Veronica was Pauline! A grown-up, electrifying, confused woman with so much to offer but who kept putting it in the wrong places. How often had I yearned to know what Pauline Ostrova would have been like if she'd lived. Here she was a foot away, crying herself inside out.