Treff and Jack stood in the front of the bus looking back at the two women. Lora was wrapped in a shapeless black dress that brooked no challenge to its sense of fashion. It was trimmed with gray fur and decorated with thin, sparkling silver lines. Fern was all in white, her clothes as hard to make out as theory written in white crayon, except for her gloves, which were trimmed with red at the wrists. Treff and Jack could both see her hand rise to beckon them, just once, to the back of the bus.

The woman driving had been scrounged up from the New Jersey Turnpike, plucked from one of the ticket booths and put behind the wheel of a luxury bus. Her hand rested on a massive gear shift sprouting from the floor next to her as she watched Treff and Jack, waiting to see where they'd go, as if, after that summons from the white glove with the red trim, there was any choice at all.

Lora and Fern were sitting on a sofa tucked perfectly against the back wall. They were staggered so that after Jack reached out to them, after he reached out to shake hands and say it was nice to meet Lora and Fern, and after Fern politely laughed at him and patted the seat beside her, after that, when Treff and Jack sat down, they each sat next to one of the women. Jack, in the middle with Lora, sat next to both of them. Treff and Fern held down the ends.

Jack was not sure if Fern had thought he was being insincere when he said it was nice to meet you. He was not. He already liked the bus. And Lora and Fern. And being in the middle. Treff liked them, too. Mostly because he wanted them to tell the Sard that they liked him.

The driver didn't seem to like anything but, all the same, she pushed her huge gear shift forward, squared her cigarette in her mouth, draped her free hand on the wheel and abused the accelerator.

"So," Treff asked, "what are we shopping for?"

Lora's hand was tracing a silver spiral on her shoulder. "A birthday present for the Sard."

"Which you have to buy," Fern added. "It would be a mistake to shop for the Sard's birthday present. We already know what we're getting her. We only need to buy it."

"What are you getting her?" Jack wanted to know.

Fern laughed again and Jack thought she might not like him.

"I like you," Fern said comfortingly, resting her hand on his arm but laughing once more. Jack did not dare say I like you, too, afraid he would get laughed at again.

Treff felt a kiss on his neck. It was quick and neat and when he looked at Lora her lips were already pulling away from him, a brighter shade of red applied than he had noticed.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "The Sard said to kiss you on the neck. That it would be nice."

"Thank you," Treff said.

Lora laughed this time. She and Fern had the similar laughter of people who spend much of their time together. "Nice for me, I mean."

Treff nodded. The Sard had always been very kind about his neck.



Treff had met the Sard two weeks before, during a very bad day. The day started out with a blood transfusion, which Treff took very seriously and was sometimes a good start for a day. Treff reported to the hospital for his transfusions early and he asked many questions about his condition, in spite of the fact that his doctors had all told him many times that he could afford treatment but not prognosis. They gave him blood transfusions every week for two months but never any answers.

On the morning that Treff met the Sard he was given a transfusion of blood filthy with alcohol. The donor had been nearly dead from alcohol poisoning when he gave his blood and just a pint of it was enough to leave Treff stunningly intoxicated.

He staggered out of the hospital, not feeling rejuvenated at all and without any of the solemn dignity with which he normally left his blood fillings. Treff drove recklessly to a lunch date he did not have, thinking it was possible he had scheduled one earlier in the week. It may have been the blood donor's lunch date or Treff may have just drunkenly confused himself.

Inside, the walls were covered in old signs, eccentricity paid for handsomely at antique stores. Treff was confused and dizzy and anxious to sit down. He was not sure why he was intoxicated. He was loath to blame the hospital because he took his work there so seriously. Most weeks it kept him alive.

There was a woman sitting alone under a metal sign advertising a circus. Treff had the vague idea that she was not his date but he sat down anyway, anxious to get off his feet and rest his eyes a moment.

"Are you going to introduce yourself?" the Sard asked.

"I thought we might already know each other," Treff said without opening his eyes.

"We do not," the Sard assured him.

"I'm sorry. I thought I had a lunch date here."

"You might. It is not with me."

"I expect not. I'm very turned around. I apologize for barging in on you. I'm very intoxicated."

"It's early in the day for most people. I admire your determination."

Treff hoped that he did not have to stand up and move. He tried opening his eyes. The restaurant was dimly lit and he was thankful for that.

"You're welcome to stay and have lunch with me," the Sard said comfortingly.

"I don't know how I got so drunk," Treff offered by way of saying thank you.

"Have you been drinking?" the Sard asked.

"No."

"Well, that is a mystery."

The Sard was smoking. Even though Treff had trouble focusing his eyes, he was fairly sure that smoking was not allowed in restaurants.

"Is there smoking allowed in here?" He asked because he felt better when he talked.

"No, but I don't mind. How did you ever get intoxicated without drinking?"

A waiter approached their table and Treff realized he did not have a menu. He was very hungry. The Sard ordered a salad with chicken and Treff said he would take the same.

"I've been thinking about that," Treff said after the waiter left. "It was on the drive over here that I finally realized I was drunk. I was not drunk before my blood transfusion."

The Sard was silent for a moment as she smoked her cigarette.

"That must have been it. You were transfused with diluted blood."

Treff was silent also, as he thought about this.

"Why did you get blood transfused?" the Sard asked after their salads arrived. She cut all her chicken into smaller pieces. Treff was too hungry and lifted the chicken strips whole into his mouth. Later, he would be embarrassed for being so rude and drunk in front of the Sard.

"I get one transfusion every week. On Wednesdays."

"That isn't a why. That's a when." Then she added, "What's your name. Just then I wanted to say 'That isn't a why, Your Name' but I didn't know it."

"I'm Treff. What's your name?"

"The Sard."

"There's an article in your name."

"Yes. Still. That you get a transfusion every Wednesday isn't a why, Treff. It's a when."

"Oh yes." Treff was grateful to be eating. "I have a slow leak."

"A slow leak," the Sard echoed.

"A slow leak. Like a tire."

"Can I kick you?" the Sard asked.

"Like a tire. Not actually a tire." With food in him Treff was feeling drunk and playful. It was a marked improvement over drunk and miserable.

It wasn't until coffee and dessert, when Treff got up to go to the bathroom, that the Sard spotted his slow leak.

"Treff," she said after he had taken only a few steps away from the table. "I have spotted your slow leak."

Treff laughed. He was drunk and he thought the Sard was joking. He was also falling in love with her and, while it would be a long, painful process, on that first, drunken day, he thought it was funny.

"Where is it?" he asked, excited for the punch line.

"Your right foot."

Treff didn't get it but he laughed anyway. He turned and walked to the bathroom. The bathroom was ordinary and tiled. It was a shock after leaving all the old signs and nostalgia of the dining room. There was a blind man sitting next to the sink but Treff was not sure if he was an official towel giving man because he was wearing blue jeans and reading a book, running his hands over the brail.

As Treff eased up to the urinal and smiled to himself about falling in love with the Sard, the blind man said, "Sounds like you've got a wet shoe." Treff laughed at this, too. He did not know why it was funny, either.

When he zipped his fly and walked to the sink he heard the squish the blind man was talking about. He looked down and his right shoe was soaked and squishy. Treff pulled up his pant leg and his right sock, which ought to have been white, was red. Treff looked back to the urinal. He had left a trail of bloody footprints in his wake. The Sard was right. His slow leak was in his right foot. His shoe was filled with blood. Treff tipped the blind man one dollar, even though he had not given him a towel, and hurried back to the dining room to tell the Sard he got her joke and that it wasn't a joke. The Sard, however, was gone. She had settled their bill before she left.



Back on the bus, discussing the Sard's recommendation to kiss Treff's neck, Jack asked Lora, "Do you do everything the Sard tells you?" He sensed that Lora only laughed at Treff and Fern was sure to laugh at him.

"No," Lora said.

"Treff's an interesting name," Fern said.

"So is Fern," Treff said. Jack and Lora smiled at each other. They did not have interesting names.

"We're passing the theater," the driver shouted over her shoulder. Fern and Lora stood up and walked to a wide, wooden door set in the side of the bus. Jack and Treff stood, too, but there wasn't room enough for them to all cluster around the door. They waited in front of the sofa.

Fern turned the knob but the door opened out from the bottom, not the side, and most of the wall it was set in opened with it. Fern let go and it rose above her like a garage door, replaced by windows, windows enough for them to all step up and look out. The bus was moving slowly through the city and as they looked out they could see a theater roll past. A sign, in addition to the marquee, hung perpendicular to the building. It was orange with overfed blue letters that read the Sard. The article, much smaller than Sard, rested on a turtle's back. The turtle had his back to the world but was looking over his shoulder to acknowledge the crowds milling around the theater.

"It looks nice," Lora said.

"Should we get her something for her birthday?" Jack asked.

"You'd only be shopping," Fern said. "It wouldn't be worth it. For you or for the Sard."

The theater rolled out of sight and Fern reached up and pulled the wall back down. They all returned to their seats on the sofa.

Lora rested her hand on Treff's arm. "You know that William is going to be there?"

Treff did know and he said so.

"He's quite in love with the Sard, of course," Fern added.

"Everybody is," Lora agreed.

"Well, isn't Sard in love with Treff?" Jack asked.

"The Sard," Treff corrected. Jack could never remember the Sard's article.

"Well, isn't she?" Jack pressed. He didn't see what difference the article made.

"The Sard knows better than to love anyone," Fern said.

"The Sard loves everyone," Lora agreed. Both women laughed and neither Jack nor Treff knew which one of them they were laughing at.

The woman from the New Jersey Turnpike stopped the bus and pulled a lever that slung open the door. She got up and off the bus without saying anything.

"We're here," Fern said and she led the four of them outside.

They landed on polished marble outside a grand department store. The doorways were set in deep, pink granite arches. Treff and Jack looked up and down the street. There were crowds of people shoving each other off the sidewalk, into the gutter, pushing in and out of storefronts. The marble in front of the department store was nearly empty. Even the pedestrians knew it was too prestigious for shoving out front. They gave it a wide birth.

Jack saw two people wearing orange tee shirts picturing that turtle and wishing the Sard a happy birthday.

"We will wait here for William," Lora announced as she and Fern pulled their coats closer around their necks. They were standing next to the luggage bay of the bus which was open, revealing a walk in closet. The hangers their coats had been on were still rattling against the walls. Fern, of course, had a long white coat, with the lip of one pocket edged in red. Lora had a heavy gray fur coat with a high collar that framed her hair.

"So, Jack," Fern started and Jack got nervous because he was sure she was going to laugh at him. "You recently quit your job?"

"Yep." Jack kept it simple.

"Is that nice?"

"You know."

"I don't. I've never had a job."

"We have jobs," Lora protested.

"We work for the Sard," Fern admitted. "It's not a proper job, is it? I'll never quit."

"What about you, Treff?" Lora asked.

"My job?"

"Anything. The Sard said you recently had a leak. You had a number of transfusions before they fixed it?"

"I did. It was the Sard who found it for me. Her and a blind man. My hospital doesn't do diagnoses, only treatment."

"You still have the leak?" Fern asked, looking down at Treff's feet.

"He went in and told them where it was and they patched it right up," Jack said.

"They were very nice about it," Treff added. "All the nurses kept saying, 'We were hoping and hoping you'd notice it was your foot. We wanted to say something but?.'"

"But?" Fern demanded. "To not tell you like that!"

"It's the rules," Jack shrugged. Treff nodded. He was often annoyed when Jack spoke for him but when talking about his leak he was glad to have help. It was repetitive to tell everyone the story and difficult to explain his hospital. It had all made sense when the doctors explained it to him.

Treff turned to his side and noticed that a tall man in a tuxedo was standing next to him.

"Hello, William," Lora said.

"Hello, William," Fern echoed.

"Hello, ladies," William replied. Then he turned to Jack and Treff and smiled. He was a gentleman and charming, although he must have known that Treff was also in love with the Sard. He was much older than the four of them, in his fifties or sixties, Jack noticed as Fern did the introductions. His face had wrinkles that looked as if he had been sleeping recently but they were dark wrinkles, not the soft pink of sleep wrinkles. It was a face that looked as if it had been baked before it was done finding its own level. His hair was receding and gray in a way that Jack decided he would mock later, in whispers to Treff. Treff had to admit to himself that William had aged well, that he looked distinguished.

Inside the store, all three men following Fern and Lora into the housewares section, William chatted amiably about his flight into town before nosing ahead and asking Fern about the Sard.

"She's at the theater, of course," Fern said.

"Right."

"I thought you were the one who negotiated her contract," Lora said.

"No, no. I just introduced her to her French publisher. I know nothing of the theater."

"That's an exaggeration," Lora said. "You met the Sard at the theater. I was there. You were very knowledgeable."

William laughed.

I met the Sard twice in one day, Treff thought. That's pretty good, too.



After he left the restaurant, still marveling at his squishy, leaking foot as he made his way back into the sunlight, Treff had wisely decided to walk home. He was nearly there, anyway. And now that he realized how thoroughly drunk he was he knew it was not safe to drive. Besides, he liked hearing the squishing sound his foot made. It was comforting to know where his slow leak was after all those months of obliviousness. On top of all of that, he was nearly in love and the anticipation put a bounce in his squishy step.

A left hand turn, away from his car and toward his home, left busy streets and commercial zoning behind. Treff trailed his red footprints through a quiet neighborhood of small lawns. Some of them were neat and edged, others spilled onto the sidewalks, outlining bricks and reaching for the esplanade. Some houses had pumpkins on their little brick porches, but it was too early to carve faces onto them. Treff was glad there were no carved faces because he was feeling drunk and rowdy and he might have been tempted to smash an idyllic jack-o'-lantern or two.

Instead, he walked along counting the leaves that had turned bright red in their effort to stall the first frost with pageantry. As Treff neared home, the houses dropped from four and three stories to three and two. He was still quite intoxicated and he walked slowly. He stopped twice to look at a particularly large pumpkin and his slowly leaking foot. The third time he stopped he looked at a flyer stapled to a telephone pole, a few intersections south of his house.

A photocopied picture of an animal the shape of a cat held court on the center of the poster. It was gray and hard to make out so Treff stopped to read the printed description underneath.

"Gray tiger cat, ringed tail, slightly overweight. Answers (sort of) to the name Buckley. Last seen on George Street on Monday." At the top of the poster was the word MISSING.

Treff read the poster twice. The cat sounded very much like his cat except that his cat was not named Buckley, nor was she missing.

"But the resemblance is uncanny," Treff said out loud.

Leaving white triangles trapped under industrial staples, Treff tore down the flyer and studied it as he walked the final two blocks home. The more he looked at the indecipherable photograph of Buckley, the more he tripped on the bricks that he was drunkenly not paying attention to, the more he was convinced that this missing cat looked just like his cat.

By the time Treff reached his door and searched his pockets for his keys, he had decided he would find his own cat and bring her to the address listed on the poster. He was sure it was a whimsical and generous idea. He liked his cat, but this would bring joy to Buckley's owner and be hilarious.

"Buckley," Treff called to his cat when he finally found the right key and pushed the door open. Her actual name eluded him for the moment. "Buckley!"

Treff found Buckley in the laundry hamper in his bed room. She slept there most days and it was an arrangement that worked well for both of them. She got a comfortable bed and Treff was spared cat hair on any clean clothes.

"There you are, Buckley." The cat answered (sort of) by looking at her master through closed eyes.

In ten minutes, Treff and the cat were outside. Treff had changed his sock and rinsed and drained his shoe so that he was not squishing so loudly as he walked the four blocks to Buckley's home. He held his cat tightly against his chest. At first, she had swished her gray tiger tail and purred when Treff lifted her out of the hamper, but once they were outside she became alert, then agitated.

"This will be hilarious," Treff assured her in the voice he used to soothe cats. He laughed to back up his claim and held the cat closer.

Three blocks away from their house the cat began to meow, sure something was wrong. Treff, too drunk to really mind meowing, ignored the cat until it scratched him. He was only a hundred yards away from the address on the poster. He was carefully reading the black numbers next to the doors he and his cat were passing and he couldn't bother with a scratching cat. He absentmindedly opened his arms and let her jump away.

Until he was on the porch of Buckley's house, Treff did not notice that he no longer had any cat to offer. He frowned as he folded the flyer and put it in his pocket. His funny joke was ruined. He tried to take consolation in the fact that he got to keep Buckley.

Treff decided to ring the doorbell anyway and tell whoever was home about the similar looking cat that he had seen just a few blocks north. It would be something. Treff pushed the ivory doorbell and waited.

The Sard answered the door. Treff did not say anything in case he was mistaken, but the Sard recognized him.

"Hello, Treff," she said.

He dug back into his pocket and pulled out the flyer. He unfolded it and double-checked the address. The Sard waited for him.

"I had your cat," he said. "It got away."

"Really," the Sard said, raising her eyebrows. Treff dropped the flyer and remembered that he was falling in love with this woman and he had arrived, by chance on her doorstep. He should be happy.

"I'm sorry I lost your cat," he said, "but this is great. I had no idea you'd be here."

"Seems like a sign, huh?"

Treff looked down at the flyer sticking to one of his damp footprints. "It is a sign," he said.

"I don't even own a cat," the Sard clarified. "There's been a pretty one around here lately. I named it Buckley and put up those signs. I wasn't even sure why. I knew it'd lead to something. I thought maybe a new cat. Apparently it led to you, instead, Treff."

"You could have just stayed at the restaurant."

"Well, I wanted to get home in case anyone called about my cat."

"I'm sorry he got away," Treff said. The Sard invited him inside and that night she kissed his neck for the first time.

The Sard made love to him four times. It was the kind of sexual experience that took place on an oversized bed with lots of room to roam and explore, with twisted sheets, misplaced pillows, and lost-forever underwear. Treff realized very quickly that the Sard, with all her theatrical and literary ambitions, was twice as imaginative as he.

After the way she had disappeared from the restaurant and because of her ambition and imagination, Treff expected her to tactfully ask him to leave, but even when they had retreated to opposite sides of the bed for the last time she was happy he was there. She ran her fingernails across her stomach.

"My birthday is in two weeks. The same day that my show opens. Would you like to come?"

"Very much. Come to what?"

"My show and a party afterward."

"I love it here," Treff said.

The Sard laughed but she didn't stop massaging her stomach.

"Should I pick you up?" Treff asked and the Sard laughed again.

"I have to be at the theater. My friends will pick you up and bring you to me. Fern and Lora. They're dears."

The Sard reached one of her feet across the bed and flexed her toes toward Treff's shoulder. Before she ran her big toe up to his chin he saw that her toenails were painted orange, to match her fingernails.

"You have such a nice neck," the Sard said.



All five of them stood in housewares, clustered around a waist high display table. William knocked on something hard in his pocket.

"I've got my gift, right here," he said.

Treff silently panicked. Jack increased his dislike of William.

"If it's jewelry, William, God help you," Fern said, "for you know how the Sard feels about jewelry."

"Believe me, I know," William said. "It's not jewelry," he added, but his face turned a darker shade of gray than was becoming.

"Well," Lora said as she hoisted the Sard's birthday present off the display. "Let's pay for this and get back on the bus. We don't want to be late for her show."

"A jello mold?" Jack asked, not sure if Lora had picked up the right gift.

Lora laughed and Jack silently reprimanded himself for saying anything to her. "A turtle jello mold."

"She'll love it," Fern assured all three men. "She'll laugh and laugh and call it tacky and then she'll use it constantly."

"All the Sard's parties will have turtle jello," Lora concurred. "Starting tonight."

Treff laughed and shook his head to show that he agreed with this assessment of the Sard, seeing as he did know her intimately. And he felt quick, warm lips against his neck. He turned to Fern as she eased off her tip toes. Her eyes were closed, her lips bitten shut, as if she were trying to place the flavor of Treff's neck.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "The Sard said it would be nice."
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