Dream a Little Dream

Chapter 11

Elizabeth Webber's hands fluttered as she unlocked the door to her apartment near Port Charles University. She opened the windows to air out the stuffiness, and turned the little window air conditioning unit in her bedroom on, just to “fan” to help circulate the air. She lit a lavender scented candle on the coffee table.

She'd just finished her nursing shift, and had just a little over two hours to get ready for her date with Ric Lansing. She spent Saturday night doing a big housecleaning in case he came in, then spent an hour on the phone with Gia Campbell, who was distraught over the disastrous reaction of her brother, Marcus Taggert, to Gia dating Marcus' friend and fellow police detective Linc Murphy.

The little one-bedroom apartment was part of an eight-unit brick building. It had been a plain, white space, with all the woodwork painted white. But there was a bay window in the bedroom, and French doors off the living room, opening onto a little porch. The porch was only big enough for two chairs and a table, but Elizabeth loved to sit there and sketch. A park was across the street.

The landlord had allowed her to paint the walls. She painted the kitchen in a wash of warm gold that worked nicely with the old faux-brick backsplash. The tiny bathroom, with its white clawfoot tub, was done in a buttery yellow, with accents of blue for a French country look. Elizabeth got bold in the living room, painting it a brilliant red. The bedroom was a soothing retreat in aquamarine. She'd gotten a solid comforter in a tone-on-tone stripe and sheets to match the walls, with accents of creamy white and brushed nickel.

Her furniture fit her just-starting-out place in life. Most of it was hand-me-downs from Audrey, and flea-market finds. Audrey had given her a massive old armoire, which Elizabeth painted black and used as an entertainment cabinet. An antique champagne velvet couch set her back a week's pay, but it was worth every cup of ramen noodles. She bought huge jewel-toned velvet floor pillows at an import store in the Asian Quarter for extra seating. The round black coffee table and end tables were from the Ikea catalog. She picked up two gold-leafed lamps with golden silk shades at a thrift store. A small dinette set was in one corner. She'd picked it up from someone's treelawn one day, brought it home, and painted it black. It also served for using her laptop. A large table in country pine was in the kitchen, but with next to no counter space, Elizabeth used it for food prep and to hold her microwave.

The bed with its creamy white tufted headboard was another hand-me-down from Audrey, who insisted on buying her a luxury mattress set for it.

“Nursing is hard work, and you need to be well-rested,” Audrey said when Elizabeth protested. But one night on the bed after a long day at the hospital, sinking into comfort, and Elizabeth never protested again.

Elizabeth quickly shucked off her clothes and got into the shower. She decided to let her hair air dry a little, to bring out some flirty curls. She put on scented body lotion that matched her perfume. Wrapping on her cherry-red bathrobe, she went into the bedroom to decide what to wear.

Too plain, too casual, too dressy, too sexy, she thought, as she inspected her clothes. She came across a long, swishy, red floral print skirt she'd gotten on sale a few months ago. She rummaged through her drawers for a red satin camisole, then pulled a black crocheted shrug from the closet. With her gold sandals, it was perfect. She went back to the bathroom and polished her toenails.

She sat at the little vanity – another thrift-store buy – in her bedroom and did her makeup. Slightly smoky eyes, she decided. Her cheeks were already flushed with excitement, so no blush was needed. She put some mousse in her hair, and began drying it, using a diffuser and scrunching her hair in her fingers to bring out the body and curl. She spritzed herself with perfume – Chance by Chanel, her one indulgence – and got dressed. Dangly garnet earrings and a gold bracelet completed her outfit. She turned carefully before the mirror, making sure she hadn't tucked the back of her skirt into her panties or something equally embarrassing.

Satisfied, Elizabeth turned off the fan, blew out the candle and closed and locked her windows. She had ten minutes, so she put on some rich red lipstick and carefully sat on the couch to read the Herald, checking to see if Ric was mentioned in any stories, so she could bring it up over dinner. Nothing. She groaned. What would she talk about? She folded up the newspaper and put it in the recycling bin in the kitchen. Just then, the doorbell rang.

Elizabeth resisted the impulse to run – either to the door, or to her bedroom to hide under the bed. She walked to the front door.

Ric was standing there, in a navy blue blazer, striped shirt unbuttoned at the neck, khakis and loafers without socks. He looked every inch the Massachusetts preppie.

“Hi,” he said. “Wow...you look great.”

Elizabeth smiled sweetly.

“Thanks, so do you,” she said. She turned and locked the door, double-checking it by turning the knob. They walked out to his car – a BMW convertible in silver blue. Ric held the door for her and closed it when she settled in. The engine roared to life, and off they went to the Floating Rib.

Neither of them looked across the street, where Lucky Spencer was jogging in the park. He saw Elizabeth leaving with Ric, and ducked behind a massive oak tree. He watched them drive away, not sure if the tears in his eyes were relief or regret.

* * *

“Thanks for meeting us on a Sunday, Keesha,” Jasper Jacks said.

Keesha Ward smiled.

“I'm always glad to see you, Jax, and Brenda,” she said. “But I take it this isn't just a drop-in on an old friend.”

They were sitting in Keesha's office at the Ward House in Harlem. The walls were covered with artwork done by the children, along with framed citations. Brenda reached out for her husband's hand. He gave it a squeeze.

“We wanted to discuss something with you,” Jax said. “Brenda and I have been trying to have a child for a long time...”

He blushed.

“But nothing happened,” Brenda chimed in. “So we've been going to doctors for a lot of years, trying to find out what was wrong and how to fix it. Last year, we got our answer. It's a combination of things on both our sides, but it basically came down to the fact that getting pregnant was going to be a big challenge, and staying pregnant an even bigger one.”

Keesha looked sadly at her friends. “I'm so sorry,” she said.

“We grieved, a lot,” Jax said. “We had to decide what to do. The treatment route would be risky, and pretty painful both physically and emotionally. Even if we went through with it, the odds were against us. So we thought a lot about it, and decided we just didn't want to do it. I couldn't risk Brenda's health, and neither of us were up for that kind of strain, maybe going on for years, before even tackling parenting.”

“So that's why we came to see you,” Brenda said. “We wanted to talk with you about adoption.”

Keesha's face lit up.

“How wonderful!” she said. “What do you want to know?”

“We're thinking of an older child, maybe two or three years old at the youngest,” Jax said. “We know there are special challenges with that, but it seems like unless you're a lily-white newborn, nobody wants you.”

Keesha nodded.

“You're right on all counts,” she said. “There will likely be challenges. Older children may be coming out of abusive homes, or may have lost their mothers to domestic violence. They may have been shuttled between foster homes. They may have abandonment and attachment issues. Their mothers may have been doing drugs while pregnant. They may be disabled in some way physically or developmentally. Of course, they may have no problems. It's a big thing you're considering. But if you're serious, the state and a lot of organizations will bend over backwards to make it happen.”

“We know, Keesha,” Brenda said. “But we have the resources and the love for the job. If we go through with this, I'm leaving my job at the casino and coming home to Port Charles. I'll be a full-time mother. We can give a child – or children – every opportunity to thrive.”

Keesha began thumbing through her Rolodex, stopping every so often to write something down.

“Here are some names of people with adoption agencies, including one in Port Charles,” she said, handing them a sheet of paper. “Tell them I sent you. That, and your name, should get you prompt attention. Are you going back to Port Charles soon?”

Brenda looked down awkwardly.

“We're going up this weekend,” Jax said gently. “There's a party at the Quartermaines. A welcome home party for Jason.”

Keesha took it calmly.

“Robin e-mailed me and told me he'd woken up,” she said. “I'm glad, so glad. I'd love to see him, but. .. since I'm married ... it might be hard for him right now. Maybe I'll see him at Thanksgiving.”

* * *

Elizabeth was more relaxed at dinner. She had scallops, while Ric ordered a strip steak.

She and Ric told stories of their childhoods. Elizabeth told about her parents, and Sarah and Steven. Rick spoke of summers on Martha's Vineyard.

She told Ric about coming to Port Charles, a little bitch on wheels, jealous of her “good sister” Sarah and acting out because of it. Then she skipped ahead to deciding to go into nursing instead of art, and how fulfilled she was in her work. She didn't mention the rape that stole her youth, or of the long emotional recovery, or of the harrowing time when Lucky was thought to be dead, or of their old “permanent lock.” That was way too heavy for a first date.

Ric talked about prep school, and the insular world in which he'd lived. He went on to Yale, and for the first time, he really got to know people outside of his own station. He discovered a strong sense of justice, and decided to make the law his career. His father, seeing a glittering future in corporate law for his son, was stunned when Ric decided to go into criminal law and become a prosecutor. But his father accepted Ric's choice, and beamed with pride when he was elected, then re-elected, as district attorney in Port Charles. After all, a lot of successful politicians began as prosecutors.

Dessert – cheesecake topped with strawberries for Ric, a rich chocolate cake for Elizabeth – arrived with coffee. They gossiped about mutual friends. Elizabeth warned Ric about Marcus Taggert's ugly reaction to Gia's relationship with Linc Murphy.

“Taggert is a great cop,” Ric said, shaking his head. “But he's had anger issues for a long time. This might be the one that boils over the top. I'd hate to see him blemish his record over something like this. Sounds like Mac's going to have his hands full.”

Then they talked about Mary Bishop, and how she and Sam McCall had blossomed on Friday night out with Elizabeth, Karen, Gia and Robin.

“Mary seemed better, lighter than she has in a long time,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe the memories of Connor aren't hurting so much, and she can move on with her life.”

“I hope so,” Ric said. “I've seen Sam at crime scenes. She's always been matter-of-fact, all business. From what you've told me, she's had a tough life. I'm glad she fell in with you all. It sounds like it's the best thing that's happened to her in a long, long time.”

The bill came. Ric paid it, then they went out to wait for the valet.

The conversation was light on the way back to Elizabeth's. Dark had fallen, the streetlights twinkled. Ric parked the car, and walked Elizabeth to the door.

“I had a really great time, Elizabeth,” he said. “And I'd like to do it again...soon.”

Elizabeth looked down, then up at Ric, smiling shyly.

“I'd like that, too,” she said.

“I'll call you in a day or two,” he promised. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she said. He leaned in and kissed her softly. Elizabeth almost melted. After the kiss, she went in and shut the door. She watched him drive away, then scooted into her bedroom, dove on the bed, and called Karen, then Mary, then Robin, then Sam, then Gia.

* * *

Ric's prediction was right. Mac had his hands full.

Marcus Taggert had done nothing but stew Saturday night and all day Sunday. Linc was visiting his grandmother over the weekend, and Marcus, angry as he was, was loath to bring this into the old lady's home. Monday morning, he strode into police headquarters with blood in his eyes. He went straight for the locker room. Linc had his back to the door, putting a gym bag into his locker.

In one swift motion, Marcus spun Linc around and nailed him with a right cross to the jaw. Linc staggared. Marcus got in a vicious punch to the stomach and an uppercut before Linc could respond. And respond, he did. Two strong body blows and a shot to the nose.

Officer Brian Beck and Detective Andy Capelli leaped in and separated the two.

“You backstabbing little turd!” Marcus yelled at Linc.

Mac Scorpio burst into the locker room. “Hey!” he boomed. “What is this?”

Dead silence followed as Linc caught his breath and Marcus wiped his nose.

“No one wants to talk?” Mac said. “Okay. Murphy, go into the interrogation room and wait there until I call you. Taggert, you wait at your desk and stay there. Capelli, Beck, my office. Now.”

He turned and marched out. The others followed, Capelli and Beck forming a barrier between Marcus and Linc.

“Okay, what happened?” Mac demanded of Beck and Capelli.

“Beats me, Chief,” Capelli said. “Taggert stormed in there and just started wailin' on Murphy. They got into it good before Beck and I could break it up.”

Mac frowned. This made no sense.

“Beck?”

“Capelli summed it up, sir,” Brian said. “But Taggert also called Murphy a backstabber. Everything was fine on Friday. I can't explain it.”

“That's it?” Mac said.

“That's all we saw, sir,” Brian said. Andy nodded in agreement with a shrug of his shoulders. Mac sighed. Not a good way to start a week.

“Okay, thanks, guys,” he said. “Capelli, bring Murphy in here. And don't let Taggert near him. Beck, stay close just in case.”

Linc walked to Mac's office not looking once at Marcus. He was concentrating on not letting Marcus see that his blows had hurt. Marcus followed him with a fiery glare.

“Shut the door and sit down, Murphy,” Mac said. “So what's going on?”

“It's a personal matter, sir,” Linc said.

“Not when two of my best detectives, who were like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer 72 hours ago, go at it like Spencers and Cassadines right in police headquaters,” Mac said. “Talk.”

Linc sat silently for a minute, struggling with his own grief and anger.

“I'm seeing Gia Campbell, sir,” he said. “She told Marcus this weekend, and he took it badly.”

Mac groaned.

“Of all the women in town, Murphy,” he said. “You had to pick Gia.”

“She was picked for me, I believe, sir,” Linc said softly. “My grandmother says God answers prayers. Gia and I have been seeing each other for a while. But Gia wanted to keep it quiet, so Marcus wouldn't interfere while we were just starting out. I thought she was making too much of it, but I guess I was wrong. But whatever Marcus thinks, sir, I love Gia and I won't stop seeing her. I don't know how that affects things here, but it's non-negotiable.”

Mac nodded.

“As it should be,” he said. “All right, Murphy, thank you. Now go get yourself checked out at Mercy. I want to make sure you're all right. I have to discipline you for fighting with Taggert, Linc. I can't have my officers at each other's throats like this. You're suspended for two days, without pay, starting today. Report back on Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir,” Linc said. He left the station without a glance at Marcus. Only when he was outside did he clutch his aching torso. One of his old beat cop buddies gave him a ride to Mercy, wisely not getting into the incident with Taggert that was already common knowledge throughout headquarters.

“Taggert, get in here,” Mac said. Marcus walked in.

“You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, Taggert,” Mac said. “Assaulting a fellow officer! What in God's name has gotten into you?”

Marcus exploded.

“Did he tell you? Did he tell you that he's been messing around with my sister behind my back for months? He never even asked permission to go out with her! All the while smiling and pretending to be my friend! Little punk, I'm gonna---”

“You're going to, what, Taggert?” Mac jumped in. “Beat him up again? Try and wreck his career? Well, forget about it. I'm not letting this crap spill over into my department. The only career in danger of being wrecked is your own. Your temper has nearly gotten you in trouble lots of times, Taggert, and it's gotten you in trouble big time today. First of all, when you leave here, you're to go to GH and get examined. Secondly, you are not to see, talk to or mix it up with Murphy in any way until I think things have calmed down enough. Thirdly, you are suspended for a week, without pay, starting right now, for assaulting a fellow officer.”

“Wait a minute, did you punish Murphy the same?” Taggert demanded.

“Murphy didn't initiate the incident, so his punishment is not as severe,” Mac said sternly. “And, fourthly, I'm ordering you to begin counseling for your anger. I'll call Cameron Lewis over at GH and set up an appointment for you tomorrow. They'll notify you as to when and where. Until I'm satisfied you're making progress, you're working strictly with me on cases. I won't have your attitude jeopardizing our work and affecting our other officers. If you go through counseling and start making some positive changes, I'll keep this off your record. Go to counseling and don't fight it, or you face further discipline up to and including dismissal. I mean it, Taggert. Now get over to GH.”

Marcus stormed out of Mac's office. Brian and Andy looked at each other.

“Murphy better look both ways before crossing the street in the near future,” Andy said. Brian nodded.

In his office, Mac picked up the phone and called Felicia at the detective agency.

“Have some beer cold when I get home, please,” he said.

“Already?” she asked. “It's not even noon yet. Not a good sign. Hang in there.”

* * *

Stefan Cassadine threw himself into work Monday after the ugly incident at Wyndemere over the weekend. The defiant glare in Nikolas' eyes, his selfish dismissal of anyone else's feelings, they were so ... Stavros-like that Stefan felt chilled even in the summer sun while he was riding his Harley on Sunday. He'd ridden out to Syracuse, stopped at the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que for lunch, talked Harleys with the other bikers there, then drove back on country roads. But even on a fast motorcycle, Stefan could not leave behind the anguish of uncovering Nikolas and Emily's treachery. He knew that even if Nikolas and Emily followed his rules, and Zander was protected from this whole mess, Stefan's relationship with Nikolas may be forever broken.

He had a 11 a.m. meeting with Courtney Matthews to get an update on her fundraising efforts for the mobile health clinic. Hopefully some good news, combined with trying to keep up with Courtney's angles, would be a distraction. He impulsively decided to give her a test.

“Good morning, Mr. Cassadine,” Courtney said, breezing into his office in a flippy white skirt, white twinset and white sandals. Does she always have to look like a breath mint advertisement, Stefan wondered silently.

“Good morning, Miss Matthews,” Stefan replied. “I hope you have something good to tell me.”

“Your call,” she said, handing him the latest projections. They were better than Stefan had hoped. At the rate Courtney was scaring up donors, the mobile health clinic would be fully funded three months ahead of his original projections.

“This is wonderful!” he said. “The best news I've had in days. Outstanding work, Miss Matthews.”

“Thank you so much!” she said. “I'm glad I could give it.”

“I notice that there's no mention of our mysterious Mr. Logan in this report,” he said.

Courtney frowned.

“That's something that worries me,” she said. “I haven't heard from Mr. Covington since I gave him the information you provided in our last meeting. I don't know what it means, and I didn't want to push things.”

“No, you did the right thing,” Stefan said. “Reclusive billionaires can be capricious. He may just send us a check tomorrow. Or he may have forgotten all about us. While his money would be a huge help, we can't count on it right now. We'll just keep working as if he's not a factor.”

Courtney nodded. She was hoping to deliver J.H. Logan to Stefan on a silver platter. That would make everyone sit up and take notice. Still, Stefan was right. Logan still might come through. Patience was best in this case.

“What else can I do for you?” she asked, thinking solely of the fundraising.

“There is one thing,” Stefan said. “The Quartermaines are having a party to welcome home their son Jason from the hospital. It's Saturday night. Come with me.”

Stefan then saw something few saw. The careful mask slipped from Courtney's face.

“Are you insane?!” she demanded. Stefan forced back a smile, and kept cool.

“Despite my family history, I can assure you that I am not,” he replied whimsically. She stared back at him.

“What on earth gave you this idea?” she asked. “I might as well waltz into the party with a 'kick me' sign on my back! The Quartermaines hate me!”

“Perhaps rightfully so,” he nodded. Her face flamed.

“Then why would you want to bring me into something like that?” she asked. “It's sadistic! No way! I've worked too long and too hard to get what I want--”

“And what is it you want, Courtney?” Using her first name instead of the formal “Miss Matthews” totally threw Courtney, and she responded instantly, with no filter.

“A life for myself!” she shot back. “I don't want to be like my mother, dependent on men for everything, jumping from one job to the next, terrified of the day I lose my looks and have no way to lure the next job in. I want the stain of my brother off me! I'm sick of everyone seeing me and thinking of that sociopath! I want a respectable place in the community that no one can take away from me! I don't know what your agenda is here, Stefan – whether you're trying to play games with the Quartermaines, or your family, or me. Maybe all three. But I'm not playing when I have nothing to gain and everything to lose. Good day.”

She snatched up her white crocodile briefcase and blew out of the office like a hurricane. Stefan watched her go, feeling shaken and shamed by his actions. He had taken out his own unhappiness on Courtney. It was something Helena would do, or Stavros. Or ... Nikolas in his current state of mind. He sat at his desk a long time, trying to get back to work. Finally he gave up, and left the office for the day.

* * *

Emily Quartermaine sat at her window seat in the afternoon, looking out over the expanse of the front lawn at the Quartermaine estate but not seeing it.

She'd been in the clutches of fear and dread since leaving Wyndemere late Saturday night. Under the spell of Nikolas' love and lovemaking, she'd been able to put aside the nasty confrontation with Stefan. But away from Nikolas, it consumed her.

Nikolas had said to let things lie, everything with Stefan would blow over, and that Stefan would never follow through on his threats. His masterful ways worked when she was in his bed. But doubt kept creeping in. Maybe it would be best to end things with Zander now. Her double life was exhausting her. She'd almost fallen asleep in lab that morning, and received a stinging rebuke from Dr. Chris Ramsey that still smarted. She was struggling to keep up in classes. She decided to skip the library that afternoon, and came home to take a nap instead. But even in her sleep, she was haunted by Stefan's sneering mockery of her true love, and dread flooded her dreams.

After waking up, she'd called Nikolas, broaching the subject of breaking up with Zander that week. Nikolas put his foot down.

“No,” he said in the commanding voice that Emily loved. “We cannot capitulate to Uncle. It would let him believe that he can control me, and I cannot have that if I am to keep a firm grip on the Cassadine empire. I won't go back to being a prince-in-waiting. And it's not a good time to do it. The big party is this weekend, and there'd just be a ton of questions. Besides, Alexis and Cameron are going to be there, and it would be awkward if you'd just broken up with Cameron's son. We'll talk about it after the party.”

Emily yielded. Nikolas knew best. With an impatient gesture, she got up from the window seat. There was a knock at her door.

“Come in,” she said. It was Jason.

“Hey, brother,” she said, forcing a smile. It was a weak one and Jason wasn't fooled by it.

“Hi,” he said. “I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

“No,” Emily said. “I woke up from a nap a little while ago. I may take another one before dinner.”

“Are you okay, Emily?” Jason asked. “I know med school can be hard, but it really seems to be doing a number on you.”

She tried to laugh off his concern. “Yes, it is hard,” she said. “But it'll be fine. Maybe Dad was right and I should have taken the whole summer off. But it's too late to withdraw from classes. I'll get through, and then take the rest of the summer to rest. It's not much longer. I can hang in.”

Emily ran her fingers through her limp hair. Jason saw how pale she was, and the deep, dark circles etched under her eyes. There was something else. She looked tense, like a cat trapped in a corner, darting its eyes, desperately looking for a way out and ready to fight if need be.

“That's not all that's going on,” Jason said. “There's something else.”

Subduing her panic, Emily asked, “What do you mean?”

“There's something else eating you,” he said. “I heard you crying the other night. You and Zander having trouble?”

Emily hesitated. She longed to pour her heart out to Jason, tell him everything about the true love she shared with Nikolas, have a good heart-to-heart as they used to before his coma. But Stefan's threats tied her tongue. She decided to start laying the groundwork now for her breakup with Zander.

“No...I don't know,” she said vaguely. “I hardly see him anymore. He's got school, I've got school...”

“You managed all right before,” Jason said. “What's different now?”

“It just is!” she said. “I don't know if we're meant to be together anymore!”

“Emily,” Jason said. “If you're feeling this way, then talk to Zander about it. He seems like a great guy who really loves you. He'd understand. And if you still feel like it's not right, then either take a break or end things. Either way, Zander deserves to know the truth.”

His last sentence struck a nerve with Emily. She shut down.

“I don't know,” she said. “We'll see. I'll wait until after the party to think things over. Now, do you mind, Jason? I think I'll take another nap. Have Alice come get me for dinner.”

Jason went out. Emily lay on the bed. Her eyes closed quickly. This time, Stefan appeared in her dream as a panther, ripping to shreds the wedding dress she'd bought for her fairy-tale wedding to Nikolas. He snarled, baring sharp fangs, as she tried to pick up the tattered pieces of her gown. She woke with a start, tears on her cheeks. She rolled over and stared at the wall. Finally, exhaustion overtook her and she fell into a deep sleep.

After he left the room, Jason went to his bedroom and called AJ.

“I talked with her,” Jason said. “From what she told me, it's a combination of school stress and not being sure about her relationship with Zander anymore. But there's something more going on. She totally shut down at the end after I suggested she talk to Zander. I'm not sure why.”

“Well, at least she talked with you some,” AJ said. “Maybe getting some of it off her chest will help. Thanks, Jase. I knew you could do it. See you in a bit.”

After hanging up with AJ, Jason sought out Alice.

“Don't call Emily for dinner,” he said. “She's exhausted and needs to sleep. I'll tell my parents when they get home. Tell the rest of the staff to stay away from her room. I don't want her disturbed.”

* * *

Stefan rang the buzzer for Courtney Matthews loft. She, too, lived in the Waterfront District, a few buildings down from Stefan.

“Yes?” came Courtney's voice over the intercome.

“It's Stefan Cassadine,” he said. “May I please come up?”

Several moments passed before Courtney said tightly, “Sure,” and buzzed him in. He took the elevator up to her floor, and knocked on her door.

Courtney answered. She'd changed out of her dressier clothes, and into a pair of white yoga pants and a white cropped t-shirt.

“Hello, Courtney,” he said. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” she said, and led him in.

Courtney's loft was spacious, although not as grand as Stefan's. A smart kitchen was done in blonde maple, with simple brushed nickel handles and pulls. The countertop was black quartz, with sparkling flecks in it. An island featuring a small breakfast bar squared it off. A wire basket on the counter held two bananas and an apple. A black coffeemaker, three silver canisters, a toaster and a bamboo cutting board were also on the counter.

The open living area had a dining table at one side in a similar light finish, flanked by six chairs padded in black leather. A simple red vase held a bouquet of white hydrangeas. Above the table was Fun 1 chandelier by Verner Panton, with its cascade of round white shell pieces. A china cabinet displayed simple white dishes, with square bowls.

A wall of windows facing the city was on the other side. Between them was a brick support pillar, with black-and-white prints on each side. Courtney had made a comfortable living area. A sleek black desk, flanked with bookcases filled with books instead of tchochkes, was against one wall facing away from the kitchen. A black leather Le Corbusier Petit Confort sofa, with its steel external frame, was nearest the desk, facing the kitchen. Another one faced it, with a black metal glass-topped coffee table between and a white friseed area rug underneath. Two Eero Saarinen Womb Chairs in red, each with a matching footstool, faced the window, with a sturdy black tray table between them. Directly in front of the window was a black leather Ludwig Mies van der Rohe Barcelona couch, which looked like a bed with its flat surface, no back, and a neckroll cushion on one side. S-curved track lighting in brushed nickel, with lamps of blue, yellow and red, lit up the living area. Courtney had put a Fun 1 floor lamp next to the Barcelona couch, and one behind the red chairs. Simple black blinds were pulled all the way up, and white linen drapes fell in narrow columns. They were open now, tied with white tassled cording, but could be closed to hide the view.

There was an absence of personal knickknacks in the space, save for a framed photo of her mother on the shelf above her desk. The bedroom and bathroom doors were closed.

“For you,” Stefan said, holding out a bottle of white wine. “A token of my apolgies.”

“Thank you,” Courtney said in a clipped voice. Her face was calm, but her eyes were still faintly rimmed in red.

“I'll put it in to chill and we can have some,” she said, glancing at the bottle as she set it in the freezer. It was a Chardonnay, from a French vineyard that Courtney recognized as top of the line.

“I wouldn't blame you if you put hemlock in my glass after my inexcusable conduct this morning,” Stefan said. “I must apologize profusely for that, Courtney. I...had my faith shaken recently, and I took it out on you. I was trying to test you, if you hadn't already guessed. It was most unfair and cruel, and more Cassadine-like than I care to be. You did nothing to deserve it. I'm so very sorry.”

“Thank you for that,” Courtney said, her face softening a little. “Please, sit down.”

He sat on the couch facing the kitchen. She sat opposite him.

“I won't ask what happened,” she said. “I can see by your face that it's a closed subject.”

“It is, thank you for understanding.”

“And understand that it may take me a while to trust you,” she said. “This was business, and I treated it as such. I'm not sure how I feel about personal issues getting involved.”

Stefan nodded.

“But the genie's out of the bottle now, so to speak,” he said. “I don't think we can go back to pretending to be just business associates, walking on eggshells.”

“No, I don't think we can,” she agreed cautiously. “We'll see how it goes.”

They chatted politely about the fundraising efforts.

“You have a lot on your plate,” Courtney said. “Between the Nurses' Ball and the Edward and Lila Quartermaine Family Health Center, and the mobile health clinic, you're pushing several agendas. Do you ever worry about overextending?”

“It's a fair question,” he said. “I believe in pushing to the limit. And I believe this is the start of a new era in Port Charles, and that General Hospital can be at the center of it as a top-notch health facility. I want the hospital to be a leader in health care, a place that kings would come for treatment, a place that is at the forefront of national health care issues, a place on the cutting edge where the finest practitioners are working to heal the world. There's a lot of change and growth – here at the waterfront, at the university – the rest of the city is ready for something new. Now that organized crime's poisonous influence has been cleared out, this city is alive with possibility. This time is an opportunity too rich to be passed up.”

He noticed Courtney wincing after he mentioned the mob.

“I'm sorry again,” he said. “I completely forgot.”

“That was the best compliment you could have paid me,” she said. “I sometimes feel I'm permanently tainted because of my brother.”

“I won't make polite denials,” Stefan said. “Your brother was a vile, despicable disgrace of a human being. No one mourned him outside of your father, and now that he's gone, Sonny Corinthos is just a grease mark on the pages of the city's history. It must have been hard for you, losing your father so soon after Sonny's death.”

“Yes, it was, but not for the reasons you may think,” Courtney said, making a face of distate over the memories this brought up. “I didn't mourn Sonny at all. The only reason I went to the burial was because of my father; it would have crushed him if I didn't come. Sonny was as vile to me as he was to everyone, and a misogynist pig to boot. Sonny didn't set me up with that trust fund out of the goodness of his heart – it was to hide his legitimate money. He could have accessed it and cleaned it out if he needed to flee the country suddenly. My father's heart attack was really a broken heart over losing his precious son. He came here to try and make up for leaving Sonny when he was a boy. He couldn't be bothered to do that with me. After I came here, it was all about him wanting me to be Sonny's sister. It was never about us mending fences. He couldn't understand why I thought Sonny was so ... abhorrent. When Sonny died, he had no reason to live anymore. I certainly didn't count.”

Her bitter voice rang home for Stefan.

“I understand fully,” he said. “I'm sure you know something of my mother, Helena. My childhood was hell in paradise. My father, Mikkos, stayed away for long periods of time. He was either expanding the empire, planning nefarious deeds, or with his mistress, Kristen Bergman, in Sweden. She was the mother of Alexis and my late sister Kristina. Helena murdered Kristen to get my father back home. Meanwhile, Helena had decided I was too human, 'weak' in her words, and shoved me off to the sidelines while she smothered my brother Stavros with affection. He was as sociopathic as she was. When my father and uncle died in the Ice Princess affair, it got even worse. Nikolas was my salvation. Watching my mother die, all I could feel was liberation.”

Courtney looked at him with understanding. Then she got up and took the wine out of the freezer, pouring two glasses in Stefan's view.

“See? No hemlock,” she said, offering him a glass. She sat back down and took a sip.

“Mmmm,” she said. “Absolutely wonderful.”

Just then, Stefan was startled by a scratching noise and high-pitched whine.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Oh, Rosie must be up,” she said. “Are you allergic to dogs? I can bring her out to meet you.”

“By all means,” Stefan said.

Courtney opened the bedroom door, and Stefan caught a glimpse of her bedroom. It had a bed, with a tufted brown leather headboard, and simple bedding in robins-egg blue. From the bedroom bounded a pug, who saw company and made a beeline for Stefan. She leaped on the sofa and sat beside Stefan, grinning that inimitable pug grin.

“Hello there!” Stefan said, petting her. “You said her name is Rosie?”

“Yes,” Courtney said. “Easy, Rosie, that's a good girl. I got her from the pound about a month ago. She's great company.”

“She seems like she would be,” Stefan said.

“I got a full-grown dog because with fundraising, I didn't have the time to be home for all the housebreaking stuff,” she said. “Besides, puppies go fast at the pound. No one wants the adult dogs. That kind of spoke to me, if you know what I mean. I've always loved pugs. I think their faces are proof that God has a sense of humor. How could He not and still come up with a face like that?”

Stefan threw back his head and laughed heartily. Rosie jumped on his lap and began licking his face, which made Stefan laugh all the harder.

“Come on, Rosie, get down,” Courtney said. “You're going to be the world's worst watchdog. A burglar comes in here, you'll probably try to play catch with him.”

Rosie climbed off Stefan, but laid her head in his lap. He stroked her head as he and Courtney continued their conversation. After finishing the wine, he got up to leave.

“Thank you for a most interesting afternoon and early evening,” he said. “And thank you for forgiving me.”

“You're welcome, Stefan,” she said. “I'll call you next week for a meeting, and sooner if I hear anything from our mystery man.”

* * *

After Stefan left, Courtney put his glass in the dishwasher and got a little dinner for herself. She'd marinated two chicken breasts in tequila and lime juice, and grilled them on her stove's grill top. She topped one with a little salsa, and ate it with some nutty brown rice, and another glass of the wine, as Rosie ate her dinner nearby.

Courtney put the dishes away, put the other chicken breast in the fridge for tomorrow night's salad, and straightened the kitchen. It was time for Rosie's evening walk. She clipped the leash on, grabbed the pooper-scooper, and they headed toward Steve Hardy Park.

The walking trails were lovely in the early evening. Rosie sniffed everything as she trotted along.

Courtney was grateful for the cool night air. She was a jumble of relief and confusion. The relief was that this morning's ugliness would be put behind her and Stefan. The confusion came from revealing herself. It was frightening, because it made her vulnerable, but it also felt good not to have to put up a front for a little while.

She stopped for a few minutes while Rosie walked off the path and did her business. Courtney scooped it up, and they kept walking. Her thoughts kept her from hearing footsteps behind her.

“Good evening, Miss Matthews.”

Courtney whirled around. She knew the man greeting her.

“Good evening, Mr. Logan,” she said. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”

J.H. Logan, nee Jeremy Hewitt, was of average height, with an average build. His brown hair was slightly shaggy, that of a man who gave little thought to regular haircuts. The old Coke-bottle glasses were long gone. He'd grown into his features, and while not stunningly handsome, was pleasant to look at.

Courtney shifted the pooper-scooper and the leash into her left hand and held out her right. Jeremy shook it, taking in her unruffled appearance.

“I figured you'd recognize me,” he said. “When you didn't press Mr. Covington, and played it cool with him, I thought you might have gotten a bead on me.”

“Yes,” Courtney said. “And I played it cool because I figured you wanted to play it that way. No point in scaring you away just to show off.”

Jeremy laughed.

“It would take more than that to scare me,” he said. “I've stared down industry leaders.”

“So what made you decide to come now? You could have kept us hanging a lot longer.”

“First of all, I wanted to visit my great-aunt Audrey,” he said. “She's getting older and can't travel well. But I also decided I'd learned all I could about this mobile health clinic plan by proxy. I came here to see things for myself.”

Courtney nodded.

“Well, we're ready for you,” she said. “Come on, Rosie.”

They turned and walked back towards Courtney's building.

“Have you been to see Mrs. Hardy yet?” she inquired. He nodded.

“I got into town this morning,” he said. “I went straight there after checking in at the Lady Jane Plaza. We had lunch, and I've spent the rest of the day looking around. There are a great deal of changes. This neighborhood is the most impressive change. I remember it as a dark, seedy place with bars with names like the Bucket of Blood. My mother, Anne, never allowed me to come down here unless we were going to Kelly's. And this park means a great deal to me. It embodies the love of health, sports and the community my great-uncle had.”

“I've heard a great deal about him,” Courtney said. “He was a real leader in this town. It sounds like he'd be pleased to see all of this – especially the ballfields, with his past as a baseball player. I'm surprised you haven't come home oftener.”

Jeremy looked away, across the green field.

“I was here last about five years ago,” he said. “I came in quietly, and stayed with Aunt Audrey. No one knew I was here except she and my somehow-cousin Elizabeth. They respected my privacy. I've been busy since with business...and my mother. She was ill for some time before she passed away last year.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Courtney said. “It sounds like she was a good woman, judging by what I read about her.”

“That she was,” Jeremy said. “It sounds like your research was thorough.”

“When I do a job, I cover everything,” Courtney said.

“As do I,” Jeremy said. “I'll make no pretense, Miss Matthews, I know about your history, both here in Port Charles and in the past. And I'll admit it put me off, having you involved in this project. But you've dealt with things very smartly. I can't make any promises about a donation yet, but we'll see.”

They had approached Courtney's building.

“That is perfectly fair and reasonable, Mr. Logan,” she said. “Mr. Covington knows how to reach me, so get in touch when you're ready and I'll set up a meeting with Mr. Cassadine.”

“I will,” he said. “And please pass along my regards when you call him tonight.”

Courtney blushed a bit at his guessing what she was going to do. Then she laughed.

“I will, Mr. Logan,” she said. “Good night.”

“Good night, Miss Matthews.”

Courtney went up to her apartment, and wiped Rosie's paws with a damp towel. Unclipped from the leash, a pooped Rosie padded into the bedroom and promptly fell asleep. Courtney grabbed her phone. Stefan's voicemail picked up.

“Stefan? It's Courtney. He's here. Logan. I met him tonight. Call me. I'm at home. 'Bye.”

She flopped on the Barcelona couch and stared out at the city lights. What a day, she thought.