Chapter 28: Petals on the wind.

We left the club at around three, as Claire was finally starting to look a little tired. I had gotten my second wind at around one, but probably looked worse than I felt. The trip back to the car was uneventful, and we didn't talk until she had gotten us back into the more respectable side of town.

"So, what next?" she asked five minutes later, as we were waiting for a green light. "Got any more ideas for things to do up your sleeve?"

I raised my bare arms. "No sleeves, so that's out."

"Do you have any idea how old that joke is?"

"Okay, okay." As she turned to look at me, I put on my best lascivious face. "I want what any guy wants at three in the morning."

"Let me guess: breakfast?"

"Aw, you stole my line. Did you watch the movie, or just remembered the trailer?"

"Both, actually. A little too predictable for me, but 'Coyote Ugly' wasn't exactly written to win Oscars."

"The soundtrack wasn't bad though."

"I liked the-" A police car sped through the intersection, and drowned out the rest of her answer.

"Wha-wha-what?"

"I said that I liked the instrumental stuff, but didn't care one way or the other about the songs by Leann Rimes. That reminds me of something, though."

"Hmmm?"

The light turned green then, so it was a few seconds before she continued. "Where did you get 'Wha-wha-what?' from?"

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"It's just that you also used 'boatload' earlier tonight, and I've only met one other person who used both. I worked for a congressman in the summer of my junior year, and he had a high school intern who used those two phrases."

"You've got a great memory for something that happened that long ago."

She shrugged. "We were the only girls on the staff, and hung out a lot during that summer. Didn't keep in contact afterwards, though, which was a pity. The weird thing is, I can remember what she looked and sounded like, but her name is a blur. It was a really prim and proper name, like someone from one of the Boston Brahmin families, though she was from the Midwest. No, wait, I remember now. Elizabeth Carstairs!"

My God, this is a freaking small world. "Who!?" I said with more force than intended.

"Elizabeth Carstairs. Why, do you know her?"

Major improv time; I did not want to go down this particular road. "She wouldn't have preferred to go by Beth, would she?"

"No, she hated that nickname."

"Must be someone else, then. Now, it would have been some kind of coincidence if it had been the same person, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah. But back to our original topic: what did you want to do next?"

I gave a mental sigh of relief. "You know, breakfast doesn't sound that bad. Especially if you can find us a place where we can watch the sunrise."

"I think I can manage that."

We ended up at a truck stop ten minutes outside of Boston proper, of all places. Despite the burly clientele, the place was surprisingly well kept and the food quite good. A cut above either Denny's or IHOP, believe it or not. And service was good, even at three in the morning.

"Remind me not to judge a place by its appearance again," I said after swallowing a bite of french toast. "How did you stumble across this place?"

"A friend of mine from high school became a trucker after he graduated. He told me about this place when I told him I was moving out to Boston. I came here my first week, and usually stop by at least once or twice a month for the last few years." She grinned. "It's a nice place to take someone for good food, especially if I'm not trying to impress said person."

"Duly noted." I brought out an imaginary tape recorder out of my pocket, and started talking into my hand. "Sunday. Having early breakfast. Note to self: I'm not on Claire's try-to-impress list."

"Well, if you're going to get all snippy about it-"

I waved it off. "I'm not being snippy; I understand what you meant. It's sweet of you to say that you're comfortable enough around me that you don't feel as if you need to impress me. Besides," I took a bite of sausage, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed before continuing, "Mädchen Amick guest starring on Dawson's Creek--now, she was snippy."

"I hadn't pegged you for a Dawson's Creek fan."

"Used to be. Not as much anymore, ever since the show's original creator left, citing creative differences. I'm more into Roswell now."

"That's the show about the aliens who crashed near Roswell? The teenagers who play CDs without CD players, change ketchup to mustard with a wave, and love tabasco sauce?"

"Right in one."

Her brow furrowed. "I had heard something about the show, but not about the show, if that makes any sense. Something about the studios and networks scrapping it out over some contract negotiation for a TV show, and how much money they were willing to pay per episode."

"That was about Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It used to be on the WB, but Twentieth Century Fox, who produces the show, asked for 'reasonable compensation' when renewal time came up. The WB balked at paying more per episode than they would make from advertising-"