Inseparable
Phil Wohl
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Phil Wohl

Table of Contents
Spring Has Sprung
Dorm Lovin’	
Straight Line to Nowhere
Pass Me a Pint
Needle in a Haystack
Beat the Clock
Rising Star
bagger.com	
Epilogue


Front cover artwork by Jordan Wohl

Dedication
Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall.
For a chance to be with you, I'd gladly risk it all.
                                             Chaka Khan

In our song and in life, my love. 
Anything for you, D!
                 

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Spring Has Sprung

It was a spring day and love was definitely in the air.  Outside the flowers were blooming, the birds were belting out Luther Vandross songs, and Shawn Elvin was heading to his favorite neighborhood pizza joint looking to put a smile on an otherwise ordinary day.
It wasn’t long before Shawn realized that it would take a lot more than a slice of baked ziti pizza to escape the endless stream of visions that had plagued him since he won his first spelling bee.  In first grade, he thought everyone saw what he saw when two kindred spirits came into contact.  But now he knew different.
	June may be the month for weddings, but Shawn thought that every other month was reserved for separation.  The search for a soul-mate, or life-partner, had become all-consuming for a population that was lucky to stay in a relationship only half of the time.  
      Shawn looks at us and says, “Yeah, and that’s only the people that take the plunge and get married.”
     He continues, “I have seen more separation than coupling in
my lifetime.”  He stops talking and cuts a decent chunk of pizza and eats it.  “Seeing is not always believing for most people, but for me it is all I have.”
He looks over at the main counter and eyes the owner of Pizza Emporium, Carmine Pantoro.  Carmine is making a regular cheese pizza masterpiece with all of the style, grace and skill of Leonardo Davinci.  His ladle of marinara sauce is his brush as he slowly swirls the sauce around the center of the circular-shaped dough, to the very edges of the crust.  Carmine then reaches for some mozzarella cheese from a stainless steel bin and distributes the handful of fluffy goodness like he was a maestro conducting an orchestra.
 	Carmine’s wife, Lucia, then walks by as he places the long wood pallet into the oven and releases the pizza to cook.  She puts her hand on his shoulder as Shawn’s eyebrow raises.  
      “You see two people making delectable Italian food, and I see that and a whole lot more.”  The frame fixes on the couple and their previous lives together unfold like a colorful accordion.  Variations of the bodies that housed their souls in prior lifetimes are displayed next to both Carmine and Lucia.  The bond was strong, with seven Lucia’s and seven Carmine’s sharing lives together.
	Shawn says, “Seven.  That’s pretty impressive.  No wonder the food here is good, it's made with so much love.”
	He finishes his pizza and stands up to put his paper plate a cup in the garbage.  Lucia comes over and grabs Shaw’s arm, “You leave that to me.”  Shawn says thank you and then nods to Carmine as he walks out of the door.  “You come again, cousin,” Carmine says as he smiles at Shawn and then beams as he watches his wife clean the table and walk into the kitchen.  Shawn looks back and says, “Inseparable.”


Dorm Lovin’

	The college years are often represented as a shallow pool of emotions and feelings for the masses.  It doesn’t really matter if a student is attending Harvard or Oswego State, but what does matter is the life-learning that is absorbed and processed.
	Shawn spent his first few years at the University of Michigan treading water and just trying to keep up with his studies.  Freshman year was a complete disaster, as he fell in love with a girl named Carlie and proceeded to follow her around like a lost puppy.  Needless to say, Carlie flawlessly led Shawn on and then stopped his advances in seamless fashion.
	“Why won’t you go out with me?” Shawn said with a hint of a red-blushed whine.
	Carlie replied, “You know how much I like you Shawn.  It’s just that I have a boyfriend back home.”
	That reply is the single most-used excuse by women that go away to college.  A closer look at the contents of that double-layered package with sharp thorns, reveals two statements that are neither completely true nor false.  On the one side we have a compliment directed toward Shawn that reveals Carlie’s “like” for him.  Sure, “like” never got a guy laid unless he was given the extreme gift of mercy sex.  Freshman girls are not very likely to administer mercy sex because they are still too new out of the box to allow such a random act.
	On the other end of the spectrum is the preverbal “boyfriend back home.”  That boyfriend back home stands on about as much solid ground as a world explorer stuck in quick sand.  Any guy with half a brain—and the four guys that stood up, please put your tails back between your legs and sit back down—knows that women will take things as far as they desire.  Simply put, if you’re a hot guy then a women will suffer from temporary amnesia and completely forget about the paper boyfriend back home.  Sadly though, most men usually fall short of expectations and have been strung along like yesterday’s wet clothes drying on the line.
	Shawn is sitting at a local Starbuck’s and says to us, “I did get to make-out with her once."
Making out with Carlie Sutherland was like playing a game of Operation.  Every time Shawn attempted to enter an erogenous zone, a buzzer went off and she denied his access.  Whether it was a hand slap or a “No” with a heavy sigh attached to it, Carlie had become the master of “you almost got past first base.”  She took as much affection as she needed to jump-start her sexuality and then let her handy-dandy pocket rocket lurking in the depths of her dresser drawer finish the job.
“Are you saying that I was merely a primer for a small, but effective, vibrating object?” Shawn inquired.
Yeah, and the only reason she let you get that far was because you were the closest warm body that didn’t repulse her.
	“That’s not right,” Shawn said.  “Well, what about April in the beginning of my sophomore year?  She nearly attacked me.”
Ah, April in October.  Shawn’s first conquest since he admittedly “nailed” his prom date after they each had a little too much to drink.
“I’m still not even sure if I knew what I was doing?  All I know is that it felt good and I finished quickly and passes out afterward.”
	A man’s life is all about the being fast and furious and then drooling uncontrollably on a pillow while snoring.  April was definitely on the prowl after she broke up with her boyfriend during the summer between her freshman and sophomore years.  She had bumped into Shawn a few times in the library and sensed that he had some juice that was worth squeezing.  Shawn, on the other hand, had been spending a lot of time in the library on sort of a research mission.  His classes were boring him to tears, so he spent most of his hours trying to hone his craft by using his gift.
	“College is a difficult place to find suitable soul matches, but places like the library are perfect for matching up people with similar interests,” Shawn said and then took a sip of his whipped cream-laden hot chocolate.
In fact, Shawn would walk up to people if he saw that the connection was strong.  One afternoon he was cruising through the periodicals—because spending more than 25 minutes sitting still in those hard wooden chairs gave him a butt ache—when he saw a studious-looking guy with glasses talking to one of the student librarians.  The guy touched her hand when he passed over a piece of paper with reference information and six previous lives unfolded.
	“A six pack,” Shawn said as he made a bee-line toward the couple.
	“Excuse me, but you two should be together,” Shawn said as he smiled and then walked out of the library.  He got halfway down the front steps when a voice yelled “Hey!” in the distance. 
	Nobody had ever run after Shawn and called him out so he kept walking.  “Hey, wait up!” the guy said as the voice got closer.  Shawn turned around mostly out of interest as he got to the bottom of the lengthy stone stairs.
	“What was that all about in there?” the confused guy asked Shawn.
	Shawn replied, “You two were destined to be together.”
	“I’ve been after that girl all semester.  How did you know?”
	Shawn replied under his breath as he started walking, “Because you’ve been after her before.”
	“What did you say?” the guy questioned.
	Shawn explained, “I know I might be young but my vision is true.”
	“A visionary?  For real?”
	“You like the girl, don’t you?” Shawn asked.
	The guy thought for a moment and said, “I think about her all day, every day.”
	Shawn looked at him with an “I told you so” glance.
	“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked.
	Shawn answered, “Make it a hot chocolate and you have a deal.”
	The two guys sat down for a few hours and by the end of the conversation, the guy named Jerry Martin offered Shawn his own column in the school newspaper.  As the paper’s editor he had that kind of hiring latitude.  Shawn appropriately named the column The Relationship Dr. and his bi-line quickly became one of the most read pieces in the entire publication.  The only hitch was that Shawn’s name wasn’t attached to the column, so no one knew that a raw, inexperienced sophomore was responsible for the juicy content.
	Back to April… Shawn made another of his frequent trips to the library when a familiar face popped up near the reference aisle.  
	“Hello!  Remember me?” April said.
	Shawn surprising replied, “Wow!  You’re the girl that camps out in the periodicals section, right?”    
	“Yeah, I have a thing for gardening magazines,” she stated.
April looks at us and says, “I picked Shawn because he was a decent looking guy and he had inexperience written all over him.”
“Did you go after me because you knew I wouldn’t put up a fight?” Shawn asks.
She smiles and counters “Did you?”
Shawn was at a loss for words.  Not only did he not resist the obvious temptation, he also raised the white flag after three hours of exhausting bed aerobics.  All of Shawn’s essential bodily fluids had been drained and an optimal state of uselessness had been attained.
“Sorry, I was horny as hell,” April said to Shawn.
Shawn replied, “No apology necessary.  You know where to find me if you get the itch again.”

By the middle of Shawn’s junior year it became impossible to conceal his hidden identity. The Relationship Dr. had moved from the back inside page to the front cover of the Blue Review.  It got so crazy that other columnists were rabidly investigating who was behind the social fervor.  Before Jerry Martin graduated he passed on the secret to the new editor, Dawn Zabriski.  Dawn split all of her time either studying or working for the paper, so there wasn’t any time left for social pursuits.  That was until Shawn showed her the light.
“I don’t really understand the point of your column,” Dawn said to Shawn one afternoon.
“Have you ever been in love?” Shawn asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she replied.
“You won’t understand the thrust of the column if you don’t have the need for love,” he stated.
“So, all of your readers have the need for love?”
He replied, “Don’t we all?”
She hesitated for a moment and then nodded her head in agreement.  “What I need to do is pick this week’s editorial.”  She picked up two pictures from the conference table and held them up for Shawn to see.  The minute she touched the picture in her left hand a weak image of a four-bagger appeared.
“Put that picture in your right hand in the garbage.  The guy you want is literally in your left hand,“ Shawn explained.
She half-cocked her head and said, “How do you know that without reading what he wrote?”
“I’m just saying that there is an opening for an Assistant Editor and this guy is definitely your man.”
Two days later Dawn met with Kurt Bradley and she instantly realized what had been missing in her life: Kurt Bradley.  Needless to say, Shawn’s column would remain the paper’s anchor every week. 
Word was traveling fast about Shawn’s abilities and everyone from Dawn Zabriski to a Michigan Stadium student ticket taker could see it.  Gary Roth wound up outing Shawn in a very public way one gorgeous fall day as the Wolverines were about to do battle with in-state rival Michigan State.
Shawn had been waiting on a pretty long ticket line for about 20 minutes and had seen only a sparse selection of one- and two-baggers.  Bagger is a term often used in sports such as bowling when a person strings together a few consecutive strikes.  Although Shawn had only casual experiences with bowling—because the thought of wearing a shoe that has been shared by half of the free, size 11 shoe-wearing world, sort of repulsed him—he nonetheless used the term when describing the depth of the connection between two people.
     Purple Weinberg was the University of Michigan’s answer to Whoopi Goldberg.  Purple had long, frizzy, curly hair that seems to jut out in just about every possible direction.  She also wore dark purple glasses that rested on her rather substantial proboscis, which definitely inhabited the center of her universe.
Purple and Gary appeared to be polar opposites, at least on the surface.  Gary was a plain looking dude with no distinguishing characteristics other than his extra pinky toe on his left foot.  This extra digit repulsed even the most tolerant co-ed into sprinting from ear shot at the sight of toe number 11.  When Gary was born, the doctors were baffled by his extra toe and wanted to perform surgery to remove the extra bit.  But Gary’s parents, Marge and Elliott Roth, believed that everything on their new born son was beautiful and that was the way that god intended him to be.   
  So Gary spent most of his life cramming his six left toes into shoes, and very rarely would he walk around barefoot.  Kids can be so cruel, and scoping out the obvious freaky foot was such an easy target to make fun of.  The guys in the dorm had passed the word down about Gary to every girl on campus, and it seemed that no one was taking him seriously.  Aside from his obvious foot issue, Gary was a wonderful, caring guy who was a lot of fun to be around.  He was always so upbeat and rarely let the narrow-minded opinions of others stand in his way of having a great day.
When Purple handed Gary her ticket, their lives together unfolded in the most impressive fashion.  Shawn was so shocked to see ten joined lives that he lost track of the people in front of him and softly crashed into a few students.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Shawn said to the surprised people.
They exchanged pleasantries but Shawn never lost visual contact with Purple and Gary—after all it’s pretty difficult to lose sight of 20 life visions and two current bodies standing within 15 feet of you.   Purple smiled with a certain kind of shyness that she was not known for after she locked eyes with Gary.  He had made contact with at least a thousand people that day, but usually stopped briefly to make the experience a more personal endeavor.
Gary scanned Purple’s ticket and said, “Pretty lady across from the Michigan State bench.  Should be the best thing they see all day.”
She smiled and took a few steps forward before turning around and looking at Gary again.  He was in the process of scanning other people’s tickets but never took his eyes off of Purple.  He then said, “Looks like a beautiful day for a ballgame!”
Shawn just happened to be one of the few people that were able to look beyond Gary’s extra digit.
“Hey, Shawny!  What happening?”  Gary said as he scanned Shawn’s ticket.
Shawn looked at Gary and replied, “Her name is Purple and she’s exactly what you’ve been looking for.”
Gary smiled and stated, “Can’t argue with The Relationship Doctor, can I?”
Shawn walked away shaking his head, “No, not this time.”         
  Purple was almost to her concrete slab seat in the massive Michigan Stadium by the time Shawn caught up with her.  He seemed to know all of the people that were just outside of the mainstream, and Purple seemed to be the captain of that crowded ship.
“Purple!” Shawn said in a somewhat elevated tone, trying to get her attention quickly so he could sprint halfway around the stadium to get to his seat before the game started.
“Dr. Shawn!  What’s up?  I thought your seat was on the other side of the stadium?” she replied.
“Come to my room in West Quad after the game.  I have the Psych notes for that classed you missed on Thursday,” Shawn said trying to conceal the real reason for his request.
“Thanks.  I’ll stop by after dinner,” she said.
Shawn was never aggressive in his attempts to establish the connection between two people.  All that was necessary on his part was to keeps his eyes open and then build a bridge between two intersecting paths.  This day would be no different.  Shawn knew that Gary would be stopping by, because Gary always stopped by after dinner to talk about the football games.  His quick decision to have Purple stop by was an educated gamble at best, but at worst it was more like a can’t miss setup.
“What took you so long?” an impatient Gary asked Shawn as he waiting by his door.
Shawn smirked and replied, “I had some unfinished business with a bowl of cereal and some vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles.”
Gary nodded his head in understanding as Shawn reached into his jacket pocket to find his dorm room key.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Purple emerge from the stairwell—it was pretty hard to miss her with her fluffy hair and color-coded glasses.  Shawn took his time looking for his keys like he was a nervous guy waiting for a kiss at the end of a date.
“I tell you, there’s nothing better than watching Michigan throttle State,” Gary finished saying and then his head swiveled to the left like a barber shop chair when he caught sight of Purple.
Shawn said to himself, “Until now.”
Purple seemed to be walking in slow motion as she strolled down the hallway.
As she got closer to the guys she thrust her right fist in the air and said, “Go blue!”
She high-fived Shawn and then looked over toward Gary and decided to give him a slice of five, too.  Instantly, their ten previous lives exploded out and covered most of the hallway.  Shawn hadn’t seen a ten-bagger since he was in high school when a gym teacher and the Home Economics teacher collided in the hallway while rushing to class.  He rarely saw them apart after that day.
“Gary Roth, this is Purple Weinberg,” Shawn said making what he often thought was a trivial introduction to such strongly connected souls.
Shawn quickly slipped into his room and collected the notes he had promised Purple at the game.  He returned to the hallway and said, “Here are the notes, PW.”
She barely responded, gesturing to her book bag.  Shawn obliged and slipped the notes into the bag.
Purple and Gary couldn’t take their eyes off each other.  She said, “Thanks, Gary” and then he said as they started walking away, “Yeah, thanks Gary.  We’re going to be somewhere else.”
Shawn smiled as Purple and Gary walked down the hallway.  Purple said as she gazed at Gary, “Hey, you’re the guy that takes the tickets at the game.”  Gary nodded and smiled.  “Is it true what they say about your feet?” she asked.
Gary stopped in his tracks as Purple opened the stairway door.  “Yes.  Is that a problem?” he replied in a defensive tone.
Purple smiled and shed a single tear of joy that rolled down her right cheek.  “No, not at all.”
Gary smiled as the two walked through the doorway and disappeared from Shawn’s sight.  He walked back into his room and closed the door behind him.  “Good thing she has a foot fetish,” Shawn muttered.
While it was easy for Shawn to see the value in the coupling of two kindred spirits, he felt a little jaded by his lack of personal success on the relationship front.  He had been in contact with so many females since he was a little dude, but had never experienced even a one-bagger.  Seeing other people happy together made Shawn feel great, but he was starting to get inpatient and wonder what was in it for him, proving that even the most unselfish of people turn inward in human moments.
Shawn weaved himself in and out of people’s lives for the next year until he was on the doorstep of graduation.  He went to pick up his cap and gown at the school’s bookstore when he decided to take a shortcut through the philosophy section.  Shawn must have been daydreaming because he failed to notice a girl that was cutting through the psychology aisle, and a kaboom finally happened.
He picked himself off the floor and said, “I’m sorry, my head must have been in the clouds.”
Shawn bent down and reached his right hand out to pick up the girl and said, “Where were you coming from?”
For the first time in his life, Shawn was able to see his own connection.  Even though it was only a two-bagger, there was no mistaking that there was a turn-of-the-century connection in their backgrounds.
She also felt a connection and smiled as she slowly got to her feet.  “I was just selling some of my books and I cut through psychology.”  She looked him in the eye and asked, “Do I know you?”
He smiled back at her and replied, “Yeah, I think so.”
Two days of rampant lovemaking ensued as Shawn felt a real sense of belonging that had previously been missing.  Through 21 years of his life, he had viewed love but had never felt the touch of a person he shared a real connection with.  Liking a person because they possess certain physical attributes was always a bonanza for Mr. Happy, but it eventually wound up being an empty aerobics session for Shawn’s heart.


Straight Line to Nowhere

Shawn felt like he had a little momentum as he left the vanilla flatness of Michigan for the filthy concrete of his roots in New York.  After all, he could focus on his career now that he had replaced his essential body fluids courtesy of his first multi-bagger.  Most of Shawn’s anxiety and self-doubt was also released, and he was ready to take on the world with his laminated Sociology degree in one hand and his new recycled material briefcase in the other.
One of the weirdest feelings in the world occurs when you go away to school for four or more years and then return to live in your parents’ house.  The whole object of leaving the nest to go to college is to build character and hone your abilities to survive on your own—coming home to live with mommy and daddy only unearths lazy tendencies and cancels out any progress during the collegiate years.
Shawn’s experience was no different than the average 20-something freeloader.  He sprawled around the house during his first weeks back until he realized that it would probably be a good idea to breathe in some oxygen from the outside world.  While it was nice that his mother was once again cooking his meals and washing his clothes, the prospect of trying to bring a girl up to his room left him feeling that like his parents would be watching his every move.  Placing sex and parents in the same place can be quite a deflating experience, much in the way that the word “period” can puncture even the boldest of spirits.
He saw an ad on Monster.com for a “Marketing Associate” position at a New York City advertising agency.  Shawn needed the money—he was starting to run a bit thin on cash as a result of declining eBay sales.  When he was in college, Shawn would scrounge the local resale shops and garage sales in search of gems that he bought for a fraction of what he could sell them for.  Michigan was a bonanza for people getting rid of things that had value—he figured it must have been all of that Prozac that they pumped into the public water system.
Shawn is the kind of person that needs to be in motion in order to stay in motion.  In fact, his name should be “Inertia” not Shawn.  In the back of his mind, he knew that the whacky and plastic world of advertising was not his calling.  But, how many of us find our true calling in our first job?  To say that Shawn was “up” for the interview would be like saying you need to wear a tie to cut the circulation off to your brain.  He was never known for his time management skills, anyway.  Shawn wouldn’t be late for his own funeral, because he would probably forget to show up.
There are times in life when we literally don’t give a crap, and that disinterest remarkably makes us even more interesting to other people.  Shawn was 15 minutes late and he had a stain on his red tie from spilling some Gatorade he was chugging on his way out.  He waited another 10 minutes at the reception desk and then was escorted into a conference room with three other people.
Shawn turned to a guy sitting next to him and said, “This is how cows must feel before they’re slaughtered.”      
The guy rolled his eyes in a gesture that signified that Shawn had no idea of the gravity of the situation.  Shawn looks at us and says, “Gravity ain’t got nothing to do with it, buddy!”
Two people then walked into the brightly decorated room—a guy with slicked back hair and a shiny suit and a woman with a skirt so short that you could see most of her most vital of organs.
Shawn thought to himself, “A pimp and a whore.  Welcome to the advertising business.”  He must have muttered that under his breath and not even realized it, because the pimp said, “Did you say something, friend?”
Shawn hated when people used protectionalist affectionism on him—names such as “friend” or “sweetie” or “pal” were sure fire ways to have Shawn prematurely ejaculate from any conversation.  It was like being in Miss Marshall’s third grade class all over again—now there was a teacher that took effective classroom management to whole ‘nother level.  She was so mean and tight that she made Billy Parker squeeze one off in his pants during a math lesson.  Billy was dyslexic before it was okay to be different, and he just couldn’t put the numbers in the correct sequence.  Marshall grilled him until Billy ran out of real estate in his poop chute and then used his desk as a portable john. 
Shawn reacted quickly and replied in an elevated tone, “I am excited to be here!  This is a great opportunity!”
The pimp looked at his trick and stated, “Now, that’s the kind of enthusiasm we’re looking for!  What’s your name?”
Shawn almost spit up as he tried to stop himself from laughing.  “Shawn Elvin, sir!”  That might have been a bit much going for the military angle, but Shawn could do no wrong in the upside-down world of advertising.
Brad Campbell and Michele Bruce shuffled through the stack of resumes and pulled out Shawn’s bio, which was about as trumped up as an ambulance-chasing attorney’s list of billable hours.  Summer camp jobs became important internships and conversations with family friends that worked in advertising became work experience.
Pimp and ho conversed in whisper for a moment, undoubtedly trying to come to some kind of accord on the fee for a hand job.  Brad spoke first, “Quite impressive, Mr. Elvin.  You start Monday.”  Then the street walker stepped forward and held out her hand, “Congratulations Mr. Elvin.”
Shawn shook her hand and then pressed palms with “Fad” Brad, and then exited the room before anyone realized they had just hired him for a job he had absolutely no interest in, or qualifications for.  He was so disinterested, in fact, that he left the Park Avenue building without even asking how much he was going to make or what benefits he would be receiving.  All he had to know was that some money would start flowing in and he would be able to go out again and be amongst the kindred souls searching the globe for each other.
Shawn liked his job as a Marketing Associate as much as he took pride in clipping his mother’s toenails.  He always thought the task of clipping his mom Alice’s nails should have rested on the broad shoulders of his dad, Ben Elvin.  But, in the cruel and harsh world of pampered Long Island life, the hurl-inducing chore of nail reduction fell on his nimble fingertips.  While Ben quickly opted out by claiming arthritis, Shawn was stuck between a rock and razor sharp toenails because of his lack of adaptability.
Adaptability was the primary force behind Shawn’s survival at Solomon, Overman, and Bullshit.  He didn’t mind so much fetching coffee for unappreciative assholes, or even picking up dry cleaning or scooping up and disposing of dog poop after a photo shoot with rat-resembling Yorkie’s—the thing that really drove Shawn crazy was the distance.  The people that worked at S.O.B were so into results that they were required to check their souls at the door.  This lack of human sensation made any normal interaction virtually impossible, and also froze any connection with the outside world.  Artificial imbalance created distance and distance morphed into an unfulfilled pilgrimage to a fictitious pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  That’s the imbalance a so-called workaholic creates—focusing on the hedonistic pocket book and ignoring the heart is always a recipe for unmitigated disaster.
It was Friday afternoon and Shawn was trying to wish away the last 15 minutes before the silent five o’clock whistle.  He was pretending to be doing some research by Googling with one eye and then toggling back to amazon.com with the thumb and middle finger of his left hand.  The intercom on his phone, which was used as more of free-wheeling abuse vehicle, beeped and the squeaky voice of Junior Market Associate Craig Darvocet summoned, “Brad’s office, now!”
Like the good dog he was, Shawn took a few quick steps toward Brad’s office and then took his sweet-ass time once he realized that his days of playing fetch for biscuits were coming to an abrupt close.  Craig, with brown shit still freshly surrounding his nose, closed the imaginary door behind Shawn and then went and nearly tossed off under his desk from the aromatic scent of shit-canning.
“Shawn, please come in and sit down,” Brad said trying to sound human for a change.  Shawn nearly cracked a smile of relief because Brad never called him by his given name, choosing to call him “Pube,"which is short for pubic hair, instead.   Shawn looked down at the pimp’s ergonomic chair—was confused at how the devil could contort his body just so he could potentially appear more comfortable—and replied, “That’s OK, I think I’ll just stand.”
Brad continued, “It has come to my attention that we had a slight shortfall in account retention this quarter.”
Shawn thought, “Because you and the whores inhaled more snow than a rookie ski jumper?”
Shawn had nothing to do with account retention other than filling lunch orders properly and making sure clients got useless baskets filled with hard, tasteless cookies, endless varieties of caffeine, and rent-priced slimy fish eggs that saw water for the first time in the bottom of a toilet bowl instead of hanging out at school.
“We’re gonna’ have to let you go.  You’re just not S.O.B. material,” Brad said with the same tone of voice he ordered sushi with.  Shawn stood their motionless, his body frozen from the neck down, bobbing his head up and down although he felt like he already has left the building.
“Since you are just short of being with us six months, we cannot offer you a severance package.  Craig will hand you your final check on your way out,” Brad said as he went back to aggressive mouse clicking about half-way through the sentence. 
Shawn felt like saying something but squinted in disbelief as he walked out of the office.  What can you say to an inanimate object anyway?  He passed by Craig and swiped the pay envelope out of his hand.  He could hear Brad say to Craig, “Call in Sheila.”  Sheila Greig was hired the same day that Shawn was, and would also be gathering her meaningless work possessions and moving down in the cruel business world.  In all, seven out of the nine people that were hired with Shawn were fired that day.  It was Solomon, Overman, and Bullshit’s way of doing its part to saving the corporate environment by recycling employees a day before they reached severance and unemployment plateaus.  The following week, a new crop of six newbie’s would start and finish in the blink of an eye, all in the name of saving the company enough money to throw an extravagant Christmas party, or send a successful account team to tropical hedonism for a week.
Happy hour at Muldoon’s Pub took on a whole new light that afternoon.  Shawn was the first to arrive but was soon joined by a stream of co-workers holding white envelopes and small boxes containing calendars and slightly dusty desk possessions.  With the prices of New York City drinks about as high as the monthly rent in Ames, Iowa, the lucky seven would be exhausting much of their final paychecks before it was even deposited in their malnourished bank accounts.
“Wow, that was cold,” Shawn said to the group and then drank some beer to ease the pain.
“My dad made me take that job,” Bob Walters said in a defiant tone.  “They just beat me to the punch.  I’ve been interviewing at Manhattan Savings & Loan for their Management Training Program anyway.  I start there on Monday.”
It had been a slow six months for soul searching, but Shawn got a surge of energy when he saw Carla Gathers put her hand on Bob’s shoulder to congratulate him and six matches on each side emerged.
Shawn quickly chugged the rest of his $10 Budweiser, dropped $80 on the table, and said, “You two should stay in touch.  You look good together.”  Two years later Carla and Bob got engaged and then lived in Westchester in what amounted to a long a prosperous life together.  They sent Shawn a Christmas card every year since then.  Shawn shook hands and exchanged hugs, numbers, and good wishes, and exited the bar into the madhouse known as New York City.  The raw, cold January air filtered through his nostrils and cascaded down into his lungs, as he drew his first real breath in months.  The exhale produced a white stream that quickly disappeared as it floated aimlessly toward the murky Manhattan sky.  Shawn slowly got his bearings and decided to walk the ten blocks to Penn Station so that he could clear his head a bit.  But the walk produced little more than the early stages of a cold and a raging sensation to pee a river.
The late night ride on the Long Island Rail Road was a 45-minute detoxification impasse for many Happy Hour revelers trying to sober up before they got to their stop and drove home.  Shawn was a bit buzzed but he could swear that the train was much noisier at this time than his usual rush-hour trip.  It could have been the alcohol doing a collective volume enhancer, or maybe it was simply Shawn’s thoughts and visions getting the best of him.  The last time he was with a woman was seven months prior around his graduation.  Time seemed to float forward and leave him catching his breath in the dust.  That’s what happens when you get out of relationship shape—even the smallest bends in the road give you a brain cramp.
Opportunities for sexual advancement were constantly facing Shawn in his six months of hard labor at S.O.B.  Sexuality was commonplace in the advertising workplace because it sold, not because anyone had anything but an ulterior motive.  One time he was pinned to a desk by a senior vice president who made Shawn take one too many trips to Starbucks.  She grabbed his balls and then tugged on them like they were fuzzy dice dangling from a rear view mirror of a ’57 Chevy.
Shawn needed a break from the grind—perhaps he took his first job too soon after graduation, perhaps he was just a lazy shit who only got off the couch for the right opportunity.  Whatever the case was, he was thinking really hard and deep on the half-mile walk from the icy train platform to his car.  That’s the problem with seemingly profound drunk thoughts—unless you can write them down coherently, which is as likely as locating a guy with smooth palms, they evaporate into thin air by morning.
Shawn decided to not take another job to merely to pay his bar bill.  Anything less than doing what he loved would be foolish.  What did Shawn love?  What was he good at?  While the answer was as obvious as the two brown eyes on either side of his nose, Shawn labored over the questions until he reached his car.  He dug into the left pocket of his black wool overcoat and pressed the open door pad on his car keys.  Shawn was sorely in need of a car upgrade from his old beaten up Toyota Camry that he abused in his last two years at Michigan.  But that was the great thing about Toyota’s—they would keep starting and running long after the exterior faded, especially when the accelerator pedal stuck and the car would rocket into a crowded intersection like a heat-seeking missile.
Shawn had his eye on this cool Scion coupe a few days before he got canned.  He shook his head in disbelief knowing that the impending purchase would have to wait until he could get another job.  The Camry family man look was one that he would rather avoid, but he was grateful to have any piece of crap to drive around.  Sure, summer jobs had given him the ability to pay for gas and his job at S.O.B. helped him take over the insurance payments, but it was time for him to take another step forward in the business world.
A hangover had Shawn staggering to the bathroom the next morning.  All of his brilliant, clear thoughts seemed to drain from his body as he struggled to see and shoot straight.  He wiped away some eye crust, flicked the last remnants of liquid into the bowl, picked up his shorts and then realized that had moved back to the beginning of the game again.  Monday morning he would begin a new job search that would uncover flaws that he barely knew existed.  Getting a degree from the University of Michigan could not protect him from being exposed to typing tests, a skill that he neither honed nor perfected at school.  Words-per-minute was all the rage for advertising and marketing jobs, and Shawn knew that he needed to go in a different direction with his career.
“So, are the people at work still treating you like crap?” Shawn’s dad asked him as he took a sip of his morning coffee.
“Give me your boss’s number.  I want to talk to that man,” Alice Elvin said trying to protect her son.
Shawn rolled his eyes at his dad, “Yeah, about that.  They fired me yesterday, one day before my six-month anniversary.” 
 “What?” mom yelped.
“Fuckin’ corporations,” Sam Elvin grumbled.
Sam Elvin was obviously not a fan of corporate America.  He had been unceremoniously dumped one too many times by greedy companies looking to secure upper management bonuses.  Sam was so fed-up, in fact, that he walked away from the grind when he was in his mid-40’s and started his own company.  Shawn wasn’t the only Elvin man in the family with a special ability, as Sam started a company called Happy Home, in which he utilized people with special talents in all household-related capacities.  He could see the pureness of people’s spirit and the special talents they had inside and matched them up with jobs.
In ten years, the company had grown from two employees to over 100, and the personnel turnover was less than 1%.  Two women had left to raise their children and one other handyman left to start his own business in another state.  Sam took care of his people the same way he took care of his family.  All employees received full benefits including health insurance, paid days off, and the company’s success helped Sam offer matching 401K plans.  He employed everyone from housekeepers to handymen to landscapers to personal organizers to interior decorators.  Happy Home was a one stop shop for all home needs, and Sam used the slogan “Make Your House a Happy Home”, which Shawn came up with when he was 14.
      Alice Elvin was the company’s bookkeeper, schedule maker, and resident eBay expert.  Computer-deficient people knew that Harriett was the next best thing to a garage sale—heck, people with all sorts of stuff to sell came to her and she would get magically transform dust collected junk into wads of cash.  There is something about eBay that makes people buy crap and actually pay good money for it. 
“You’ll come to work with us,” Shawn’s mom said like the matter was instantly settled.
“Alice, the kid needs to do his own thing,” Sam shot back.
Sam’s parents had a habit of holding conversations about him when he was standing right next to them in the room.  As inviting as it was to fall back and work out of his parent’s house, Shawn had bigger plans.
“Thanks guys, but I think it’s time for me to get serious,” Sam said.  “I talked to one of my friends and he told me about this management training program at New York Bank.”
Mr. Elvin looked at the Mrs. and said, “Did he just say management training program?”  He then looked at Shawn and stated, “Shawnie, you know those programs are dressed up entry-level positions where only about 1% of the trainees ever get a whiff of management.”
Shawn exasperating put is arms up and replied, “I know, dad.  I don’t pretend to have all of the answers, but I know I have to walk before I can run.”
Shawn’s parents looked at each other and thought for a few seconds.  “All right, Shawn.  It’s your path, not ours.  We just want the best for you,” his dad said.
 Shawn started walking away and said to himself, “Me too.”


Pass Me a Pint

The management training program at New York Bank provided Shawn with another nine months of experience and a steady income.  He was also able to receive unemployment for six months after they fired him on Christmas Eve.  It was Bah Humbug for Shawn from a boss that was so fixed on numbers that he didn’t even realize that Santa was on his way—proving that a little coal in the stocking can go a long way.
Depression had slowly taken control of Shawn’s body like an uninvited guest that never seemed to leave.  Weeks of collecting unemployment benefits turned into months, with no job prospects in sight.  Combine this complete professional shutdown with a social life that mirrored that of a latent paramecium, and you had a complete waste of space.  The worst part of Shawn’s general malaise was his lack of fight, his apparent disinterest in rejoining the human race.
A few months had passed after Shawn’s unemployment stipend had run out and he was casually reading Newsday, one cool late fall morning.  A job ad in the Sunday paper caught his half-cocked eyes: EXECUTIVE IN THE MAKING!  Work your way up the corporate ladder and have fun on the way.  Come work with us at The Progressive Group. 
Although he has absolutely no idea what The Progressive Group did, or why it was in business, his sleepy delusions of grandeur had him dialing the 212 area code number quicker than a slug slithering across the concrete.  Thirty-six hours later, Shawn was sitting at the front desk of The Progressive Group in his first day of work.  The crazy thing was that Shawn went through a 45-minute interview that Monday and still was in the dark about what the company’s function was.
“So, what does this company do?” Shawn’s mom asked him when he got home from the interview.
Shawn’s dad kneed his mom under the table and said under his breath, “He got a job, who cares.”
Shawn looked at his parents and replied, “It’s OK, guys.  Honestly, I have no idea what this company does.”
His mom persisted, “What are you going to be doing?”
Shawn thought for a moment and stated, “I’ll get back to you on that one.”
“But they’re paying you, aren’t they?” dad questioned.
Shawn squinted and wondered before saying, “Yeah.  Yeah, they're paying me.
He got up from the table to go to the bathroom.
“Wow.  He is in bad shape,” his dad said.
“I’ve seen toddlers with more fluid thoughts,” his mom chimed in.  “Do you think we should step in?
	Dad quickly responded, “No! No, that would be a catastrophically-bad idea.  He’s got to find his own way, his own path by himself.”
	“I agree.  But, if he loses this job then we have intervene,” mom said in a concerned voice.
	Dad nodded and replied, “Agreed.”
	Shawn showed up for work the next day bright and early, which in his world was about two minutes to nine.  He was greeted by a perky girl named Carrie who said, “Can I get you a coffee, Mr. Elvin?”
	Shawn said, “No thank you” because he was naturally high on life and super motivated to complete whatever task was in front of him—like the time when his mother asked him to cut the grass but the lawnmower was on the fritz, so he cut each blade individually with a hedge clipper.
	Carrie led Shawn to his desk and handed him a Janet Jackson-like Control headset.  He thought for a moment that The Progressive Group was in the music business, but that thought was quickly squashed when Carrie said, “We sell mainframe computers and systems.  All you have to do is answer the phone by saying ‘The Progressive Group, how may I address your call?’ and then transfer it to the appropriate department.”
	Shawn was stunned, although it was hard to tell what he was thinking, “So, that’s all I do?”
	Carrie nodded and then pointed to the phone as it starting ringing just as the clock struck nine.  Shawn was so besieged by calls that he didn’t figure out where to plug in his headset until 10:15.  But, by then, he was anything but in control.
	The clock struck 12 and Carrie came walking by, “15 minutes for lunch.”
	Shawn thought, “What the fuck?  Are they going to feed me through a tube and shove another one up my ass so I don’t have to get up at all?  Lunch came and went and then Carrie came by again at two o’clock.
	She had this phony, preachy kind of look on her face when she said, “Ah Shawn, could you put a little more energy in your voice?”
	Although Shawn was not raised to be a quitter, he also realized that it was important in life to be at the right place at the right time.  The Progressive Group quickly proved to be void of neither of those scenarios.  Thirty seconds after Carrie advised Shawn to put more pep in his intonation, he removed the headset and calmly walked straight out the front door without even saying a word.
	Carry swept by his desk a few minutes later and looked under his desk saying, “Shawn, are you under there?”  By that time, Shawn had already bellied up to the nearest bar.  Yes, it would be beer and more beer that would give him clarity.  He always seemed to think clearer when guided to an altered state.  Luckily, this time, Shawn had brought a pad and a pen so that he wouldn’t forget his brilliant, inebriated ideas.
	Hours passed and the Happy Hour crowd was replaced by the serious Wednesday night drinkers.  It was a good thing that Shawn ate a few bowls of pretzels and ordered a hamburger with fries, because much of the beer he consumed was now approaching the last leg of its journey from piss water to merely piss.  Shawn must have been sitting at the bar for a good nine hours by the time the bartender replaced his well-worn beer mug with a coffee cup. 
	“I think you’ve had enough, big time,” the bartender said as Shawn sat glumly was his head in his hands.
	“You think you’ve had a bad day,” a voice proclaimed next to Sam.
	Shawn heard the voice but didn’t bother to pick up his head.  “It’s been a bad few years,” Sam replied.
	“Well, my friend, it can’t be as bad as losing five billion dollars,” the man said.
	Shawn slowly picked up his head and focused on the person sitting next to him.  He wiped his eyes a few times and even flicked some water on his face. 
	“Well, either I’m seeing things or you’re Blair Tinsley?” Shawn stated.  Shawn sobered up quickly, “Shawn Elvin, Mr. Tinsley,” he said as the two men shook hands.
	“Why don’t we step into my office,” Tinsley said as Shawn followed him to a secluded, dimly-lit booth.
	“I usually come in the back door of this place once the crowd has cleared out.  The bartender’s dad used to work for my dad.”  Tinsley’s dad was an infamous New York’s real estate mogul and corporate motivational speaker.  Darren Tinsley’s son, Blair, had spent the better part of his 20s as an international playboy and permanent gossip fixture on Page Six of the New York Post.
	The two exchanged pleasantries until Blair dropped the bomb.  “I’ve never told anyone this, but for some reason I trust you.  Maybe it’s because you drank the better half of that keg behind the bar, but here goes.  If I don’t get married by the end of the year I lose it all.”
	Shawn had little inhibitions left when he replied, “Yeah, its’ like that movie Arthur.”
	“Yeah, that’s one of my favorites, too” Blair stated.
	“So, you still have a few months left.  What’s the problem?” Shawn said in a calm tone.
	Blair looked around, and it appeared that all of the confidence of this brash man had disappeared.  “I don’t know where to start?”
	The chambers in Shawn’s brain tumbled in place like the correct numbers of a combination lock.  “Why can’t you just marry for the money then?”
	“My dad didn’t get where he is by being fooled by people.  He knows what people are thinking at least four city blocks before the thought even approaches their brain.  The marriage has to be legit and he will be the sole determinator of my fate.”
 	Shawn thought for a moment trying to absorb the heavy information.  “Whoa!  Dude you were fucked until you met me.”
	Blair took a sip of whisky and replied, “Why? What are you going to do?”
	Shawn smirked and stated, “What I was put on this earth to do.”


Needle in a Haystack

	So Shawn and Blair Tinsley became quite the inseparable duo, going to Broadway shows, using the Tinsley helicopter to the Hamptons, attending various gala charity benefits, and even taking in a game at Yankee Stadium (even though Shawn was a Mets fan).  Shawn’s life had taken a dramatic turn from his parents couch and jobs that had absolutely nothing to do with him, to the veritable lap of luxury.  The $10,000 per month stipend and free room and board at one of the Tinsley luxury apartment buildings didn’t put a damper on Shawn’s confidence either. 
	Since every coin has two sides, it was only natural that Shawn’s stroke of good luck was met by some skepticism from his parents.  Seeing their son in a Page Six picture as an “unidentified accomplice” of Blair Tinsley made them a little wary, but when they pressed Shawn for the story he was unusually tight lipped.  Their son was always very up front with the goings on in his life.  He often used his parents as a sounding board when he ran into difficulty, but they surmised that his sudden prosperity quickly translated into shutting them out.
	“Did Shawn tell you how he met this Tinsley boy?” Mrs. Elvin asked.
	“Nah, he’s become a real politician as of late,” Mr. Elvin replied.  “He didn’t even bother to come home and get his clothes before he stopped living with us.”
	“I don’t like the smell of this,” the mommy said.
   	“Alice, the boy’s got to make his own mistakes.  At least he’s not melting into that couch,” dad said as he pointed at the well-worn sofa.
	The truth was that Blair Tinsley traveled around the city in a certain style and wanted Shawn to blend in, so he took Shawn for a whole new wardrobe.  Shawn felt a little funny at first accepting all of those new clothes, but all of that expensive fabric felt so good against his skin.  He was also introduced to world of ists, where Blair had an assortment of anything from publicists to stylists to support his every need.
	When the two men started their journey Blair turned to Shawn and asked, “So, how does this work?”
	Shawn looked at Blair with a straight face and replied, “All you have to do is touch someone for a split second.”
	Blair started laughing and said, “No, really how does this work?”
	“I’m serious!” Shawn stated.
	Although Blair and Shawn had only been recently acquainted, Blair knew when Shawn was dead serious.
	“OK, Mr. Matchmaker I’ll buy into that.  But can I touch woman anywhere?”
	Shawn, sitting next to Blair in his limousine, shot back “I find that hand to hand contact works best.  Occasionally I’ve seen a shoulder tap or a pat on the back work in cases where the connection is so strong that it can’t be denied.”
	Blair shot Shawn a look and replied, “You’re really serious about this?”
	“Well, either I’m serious or you’re desperate and, for your sake, you better hope that both of those dots are connecting.”
	The first month went by in the blink of an eye without even a hint of a connection.  Shawn quickly got the impression that the women on the elite vagina circuit were born without souls, and that their very reason for existence was to marry rich and leave any thoughts of marrying for love in a dumpster with last year’s fashions.  He always trailed Blair by at least a few steps so the paparazzi wouldn’t start sniffing around and wondering who Shawn was and why he was suddenly Blair Tinsley’s new buddy.  Blair knew that he would only make headlines if he went out with the girl flavor of the month, anyway.
	One weekend in late September, Darren Tinsley hosted a party at the family’s Greenwich, Connecticut estate.  Blair made sure to invite Shawn but didn’t want his dad to get even the least bit suspicious.  Sadly, trying to hide something from Darren Tinsley was about as easy as trying to sneak into a turn of the century house with creaky floorboards.  He had a sixth sense of flushing out even the most well-hidden mouse.
	It was the middle of the party and the elder Tinsley was surveying the crowd that had assembled on his great lawn in the back of the 15-acre property.  He turned to his head of security, John Martin, and said, “Who is that guy always walking three steps behind Blair?”
	Martin, an ex Navy Seal, lifted his right arm up to mouth and stated, “Can I get an ID on the guy in the Blue Sports jacket that is trailing Blair.”
	A few seconds later a positive ID was confirmed through Martin’s earpiece.  “His name is Thurman Munson.”
	Tinsley smiled knowing that his son always used aliases for random guests using ex-Yankees stars.  “Do me a favor and keep an eye on Mr. Munson.”  He then started walking away and quickly turned and said to Martin, “If that’s Thurman Munson then I’m Mickey Mantle.”
	Darren Tinsley was a lifelong New Yorker and had a certain inclination toward immediate confrontation.  He quickly approached Blair, who was talking to a couple of ice queens, and said, “Let’s walk.”
	Blair, being the consummate good son, quickly said his goodbyes and followed his dad.  He turned briefly and gave the signal for Shawn to stay put, all under the watchful eye of half of the security force.
	“So, how is the construction on Tinsley Court in Brooklyn coming along?” Darren said trying to feel his son out.
	Just then, the two men shook hands to give the appearance that they were having a jovial conversation.  Shawn did a double-take as he saw one linked lifetime unfold between the two men.  He almost hurled up whatever food he had lodged in his throat at the thought of father and son being linked in a former life.  Although he had seen many couplings of men with men and women with women over the years, this was his first exposure to a father and son connection. 
	It probably would have been a lot easier for Blair to have introduced Shawn to his father, or if Darren had asked Blair directly who Shawn was, but this wasn’t the Tinsley way.  The two men engaged in a few more minutes of meaningless banter and then parted ways like two strangers that just met at a party.  Blair younger sister, Bianca, came out of nowhere and intercepted him before he could get back to testing the waters with Shawn.  She wrapped her arms around his and three connected lifetimes appeared in front of Shawn’s pained eyes.  He knew Bianca from all of her tabloid appearances and was starting to edge closer to the door with every passing stride the siblings took. 
	The clincher came a few minutes later when Bianca’s gay publicist, Roger, walked over to Blair and put his hand on his back.  Shawn hid behind his glass of wine and said under his breath, “God, no.”  Two lifetime sightings later, Shawn sped out to the limo and had the driver race him back into the city away from incest central.
	The background check began without even the slightest hint of suspicion from Blair or Shawn.   There are so many people in New York City tangled in a web befitting a thousand Charlottes.  Darren Tinsley used money as a motivator at all times, but he also knew the value of a personal image.  All of Blair’s playboy publicity served him well over the years, but it was time for his son to move on to the next stage of the plan.
	Darren Tinsley was no stranger to marriage, or divorce for that matter.  Three times locked, two times unlocked was his current tally.  It was not Darren’s intention to cut his son off at the end of the year if he didn’t find a suitable bride.  His focus was on creating a buzz for the unveiling of his new mega apartment complex in Brooklyn.  Advertising would only spread a limited net as opposed to good old free publicity, which Darren said was “priceless.”
	Tinsley’s head of security, John Martin, had no trouble digging deep into Shawn’s background and his family history.  He then let himself into Shawn’s apartment and spent a few hours combing for clues.  All he found was that Shawn had a small porn stash in the bedroom closet and he had an affinity for Bed Head shampoo.
	Martin then returned to the Tinsley complex in Greenwich and spent hours reviewing security tapes of Shawn at Darren Tinsley’s party.  Green Berets had a way of detecting even the minutest plot.  Martin surmised that “Elvin must be some sort of seer?”
	“What kind of seer?” Tinsley questioned.
	“He can see what woman would be right for Blair.”
	Tinsley questioned, “Are you saying this guy is some new-age matchmaker?”
Martin snapped at attention, “Yes, sir.”
Tinsley said, “Very good.  Good work, Martin.  Call my publicist and tell her that I want to schedule a news conference at my property in Brooklyn tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.”
	“Yes, sir,” Martin sternly answered.
	That night, Shawn and Blair went out to view a private screening of the latest blockbuster movie.   Blair picked Shawn up in his limo and the two were off to dinner before catching the movie.
	“So, where did you run off to yesterday?” Blair asked Shawn as he settled into the limo.
	“Um, I realized I had left my laundry in the washing machine,” Shawn stammered.
	“What?  C’mon stop fooling around.  You have all of your clothes cleaned by a service,” Blair countered.
	“Yeah, to be honest, I saw some things that disturbed me.”
	Blair was excited, “Did you see some connections yesterday?”
	Shawn was slightly embarrassed, “Yeah, but it’s not what you think.”
	“Well, who was it?  Spit it out, Elvin!” Blair demanded.
	Shawn was taken aback at first to hear Blair spout his last name when he wanted something.  He guessed it was a case of like father, like son when it came to people working for them—in the world of Darren and Blair Tinsley, just about everyone worked for them.
	Shawn hesitated for a moment because he needed to gauge his employer’s level of irritation before proceeding.  Blair initially had a “reveal it, slave” look on his smug face, but Shawn quickly wiped that off by saying, “You have some issues, Tinsley.”
	The nervous, insecure boy quickly replaced the impatient master.  “What do you mean, Shawn?”
	Shawn continued, “Do you think it’s weird that the first three matches I witnessed for you were with your father, your sister, and her publicist?”
	Blair was never at a loss for words, but Shawn’s revelation turned him instantly into a deaf, dumb, and blind kid called The Park Avenue Wizard.
	Shawn reached over to the built-in bar and poured Blair a glass of water. 
	“Scotch, I need scotch” he said in a confused voice.
	“From my experience, people that have intimate connections with family members usually have that one person outside of the family they have spent most of their lives with,” Shawn said somewhat talking out of his ass.
	Blair took a huge gulp out of the Scotch carafe and then regained some of his composure.  He looked at Shawn and said, “Really?  You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
	Shawn laughed nervously and replied, “Nah, we’re getting closer, Blair!  Just hang in there.”
	Blair sat back and stated, “Shawn, you’re really a good friend.  I mean, I know I’m paying you 10 grand a month and a bunch of other stuff, but I know you’ve got my back.”
	The two guys nodded in agreement and then Shawn looked out the tinted window onto the bright city street and took a deep breath.  He knew that Blair’s match was out there somewhere but finding her might be like finding an American-born taxi driver in New York City. 
	The next morning Darren Tinsley held his grand press conference as scheduled. 
	“I want to thank you all for coming this morning to what I think will be one of my most spectacular and most important properties ever.  Tinsley Court will open the gate for a full scale renaissance in Brooklyn.  My son Blair and I will see to that.  Any there any questions?”
There was a slight hesitation and then the vultures swooped in to clean up the carcasses.
“Jack Wallace, New York Post.  So, where is Prince Charming this morning?  We saw him out late last night.  Is he working on another special project?”
 Tinsley was unusually jovial for a change, “Jack, I’m glad you mentioned that.  In fact, my only son has been working on a very special project that has remained a secret until now.  As a condition of Blair receiving the full extent of his inheritance, I simply want him to select a bride.  He has until the end of the year to do so.  That’s all people.”
“Are you saying that he has only a few months to find someone to marry?” a voice yelled from the crowd.
Darren Tinsley turned slowly and replied, “The statement speaks for itself.  By midnight, December 31st, or he forfeits his inheritance.”
It appeared that Blair Tinsley’s publicist was a night owl much like her boss.
It was 10:00 a.m. and Blair Tinsley was still in a groggy state while sprawled in his bed.
“Tinsley, here.  Yeah, what’s up, Margo?”
Blair then reached for his remote and turned on his flat screen TV.  He flicked though the stations and no matter where he turned the story was still the same: Blair Tinsley had until the end of the year to find a bride.
Blair was enraged.  He took a quick shower and slipped on one of his 30 custom-made suits with the ease that most people put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.  Blair’s car was always waiting for him no matter the time of day or night, so he walked out of his building knowing he would get to where he wanted to go, fast.
He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his cell phone.  Speed-dial number four and a few seconds later Shawn’s cell phone rang.  Since he was on Blair time, Shawn was in the middle of a mid-morning dream that involved three club girls and a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka.  The tent he was pitching made it structurally impossible for him to roll over when his phone vibrated, so Shawn reached over and said, “Yeah” in a gravelly voice.
“It’s Blair, don’t move.”
Shawn closed his phone and threw it on the dresser.  “No problem.”
A few minutes later Blair arrived at Shawn’s apartment with a full head of steam from the moment his shoes hit the pavement.  The doorman said, “Good morning, Mr. Tinsley,” but Blair was focused on the elevator and the confrontation that awaited him on the 44th floor.  Digital fingerprints were used to open the apartment doors and Blair’s tread opened any and all doors in front of him.
“Shawn?  Elvin!” Blair screamed as he entered the palatial apartment.
	Shawn sat up slowly in bed, trying to shake the cob webs of a late night.  “I’m in the bedroom!” he yelled as he sat at the edge of the bed because standing without being erect was not an option just yet.
	Blair didn’t even wait to enter the room to break into a full tirade.  “How could you do this to me?  I thought we were good friends…”  He entered the room, “despite the fact, once again, that I am paying you an exorbitant amount of money and letting you live in this apartment!"
	Shawn always attempted to use levity in tense spots, “What did I do to you? Yes, we are good friends, and you have a guy that cleans shit off your polo boots that makes more than me.  Good morning, by the way.”
	While it was true that the Tinsley’s were not known for their sense of humor, Shawn nonetheless pressed on and added a few more logs on what was about to become an inferno.
	“Wow.  You look like shit this morning.  What crawled up your ass?”
	Blair’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, “What crawled up my ass?  What crawled up my ass?  Well, it seems that your hairy fist crawled up my ass this morning!  To think that I trusted you with my secret!  How could you do this to me?  How much did they pay you for the story?”
	All of the blood in Shawn’s body shifted from his most vital central organ to his second most vital organ on a higher floor.  He stood up and replied, “What the hell are you talking about?  I came home last night and went right to sleep after a little Robin Byrd rerun on public access!”
	Blair stopped for a moment and said, “You still watch that shit.  Wasn’t that bitch like 60 years old?”
	Shawn chimed in, “Yeah and she’s cross-eyed, too.”
	Blair shook his head and got back on track.  He looked for the remote and turned on the television.  Shawn watches as accounts of Blair’s situation were given in detail.
	Shawn stood motionless.  “How did they find out?”
	Blair’s face turned cold, much in the way his father’s face often looked.  “I want you out of this apartment immediately.  The locks will be changed by 5:00 today.  Do me a favor and leave all of the clothes—I’m sure I can find some other schmuck off the street that wears your size.”
	Blair walked away and Shawn was left standing near his bed speechless.  He took a shower and found the original clothes he came in—an old pair of Levi’s, a New York Islanders t-shirt, a burgundy crew neck sweater, a pair of Nike running shoes, and a navy blue Lands’ End jacket.  He took one last look at his Armani suits and closed the door on the good life.
	Meanwhile, Blair stormed out of the building after he instructed the building super to change the lock on Shawn’s former apartment door.  He slid into his limo and said, “Central Park spin, William.  I need to clear my head.”    
 	It was plain to see that Blair was completely distracted.  He flipped through a few reports and then browsed a couple of business publications before settling on his last resort, the television.  To say that Tinsley’s were not big television watchers would be like saying that the Flintstones got decent gas mileage in their foot-powered car.  Blair’s television was always tuned to CNN so he could be a few minutes away from catching up to world developments.  The second he clicked the power button the audio, which preceded the video, started burrowing a hole in his gut.
	“And in an unrelated business development, it appears that Blair Tinsley is on the clock.”  An attractive woman that Blair dated was delivering the entertainment side of the business news.  He was about to change the channel until he heard the woman say, “The news was delivered at a press conference this morning by none other than Darren Tinsley.”
	Blair sat in his car motionless as his father’s press conference was replayed.  His brain went fuzzy about midway through as his thoughts turned to Shawn and how he had falsely accused his new friend.  He took a deep breath and reached into his inner breast pocket for his cell phone.  He hit the speed dial and Shawn’s phone started buzzing—Shawn was half-way out the door and he looked back at his rent-a-phone, which was squirming on the kitchen counter.  He thought briefly about answering it but decided that he wasn’t in the mood to get another earful from Blair Tinsley.  
“William, please take me back to Shawn’s apartment building at once!” Blair said in an excited and somewhat desperate tone.
	Shawn was planning on going somewhere fast, but the exact location of that “somewhere” was proving elusive.  It was a sunny, mild mid-October afternoon but the forecast in Shawn’s brain was definitely cloudy with a good chance of showers.  He was all the way near 92nd Street and York Avenue near the East River but decided that a long walk in Central Park would do the trick.  He left his personal affects with the doorman and said, “If I don’t come back for this stuff can you have it sent to this address,” and then he scribbled down his parents address, shook the doorman’s hand, said “Thanks for everything, Carl,” which was short for Carlos, “I think I’ll take a walk in the park,” and he exited the building.
	In the meantime, Blair Tinsley was in hot pursuit.  His driver, William, an ex-New York City cab driver, was as familiar with the streets as he was with the inside of a bottle of Jack Daniels.  He zoomed in and out of traffic French Connection style and had Blair at the doorstep of Tinsley Palace East within three minutes.  Blair jumped out of the car and into the building where he was greeted by Carl who said, “He’s on his way to the park.”
	Blair asked, “When?”
	Carl replied, “A few minutes ago.”
	Shawn was famous for having a target and then diverting from the plan.  As much as he was becoming his own man, he was still very much his parents’ son.  They would always draw plans in the sand but inevitably adjust when waves rolled onto shore and sent them in another direction.  That level of flexibility had always worked for them and had guided Shawn to the nearest bagel store, once he realized that his empty stomach was growling.
	It’s not easy to walk or drive in New York City during the week on a normal day, but Blair was about to experience a whole new level of gridlock.  He was so locked in on finding Shawn that he completely forgot that half of the media outlets and eligible bachelorettes in the city would be tracking his whereabouts.  Women were willing to give of themselves to help Blair satisfy his father’s requirements with the deadline.  It was a field-day for the press, who had been focused on providing insight into whether the mayor was gay or straight.  By the way, Mayor Braun had a wife and a few kids in the early stages of his political career but had more recently focused on young, buff Hispanic gentlemen.
	Shawn sat down on an elevated stool overlooking the street with a sesame bagel and cream cheese, a bag of baked Fritos, and a large plastic bottle of chocolate milk.  He rested his elbows on the counter and started reading the New York Post to see how his friend’s life had been turned upside down.  He then looked up and saw video of Darren Tinsley and the graphic “Marry for Money!”  It then became clear why Blair had mistakenly thrown him out and was so irate.  He couldn’t believe the level of pressure that Blair had to operate under.
	Shawn washed down the chunk of bagel that was lodged in his throat and reached into his jacket to get find his cell phone.  Just then, Blair came anxiously walking by and the two guys unfolded their phones and then locked eyes.
	Shawn looked at Blair and pointed to the mounted flat-screen, to which Blair replied, “Yeah, I know.  I’m coming in.”
	Blair walked in the door of Natural Bagel and saw that Shawn was the only patron.  It was 11:15 am and the breakfast crowd was long gone and there was a good half-hour before the lunch stampede was to begin.
	Blair screamed, “Can I see the manager up front, please!  I need this place shut down immediately!”
	A 50 year-old, bagel veteran named Mortie Bernstein came bellowing up to the front, “Who the hell?...”
	Once he saw that Blair Tinsley was making the request his tune instantly changed, “What can I do for you, Mr. Tinsley?”  He stepped up and offered his hand, “Mortie Bernstein.”
	Blair shook his hand and replied, “My pleasure, Mr. Bernstein.  The first thing you can do is take that big key ring on your belt and lock that front door.”
	Bernstein walked fast to the front door and locked it, much to the chagrin of the mob of reporters and women that were in hot pursuit on the sidewalk.
	“Here’s my card and my private fax number, please send me an invoice for the lost lunch sales today and then I will send you a contract to cater our breakfast meetings next year,” Blair stated with the ease befitting his pedigree.
	Shawn looked at Blair and thought that “This is a guy that can get anything he wants.”
	Mr. Bernstein was shaking Blair’s hand and thanking him profusely until Blair said, “Do you have a back way out of this place?”
	Bernstein looked at the crowd pressed against the glass then quickly sped Blair and Shawn to the back door.  He pointed toward the back of the store and said, “It’s back there just behind the kitchen.”
	Blair instantly took the lead, showing his experience of being able to duck out of the limelight.  He passed the huge oven and looked back to see if Shawn was keeping up with him; he turned back around and then picked up speed as he entered a darkened corridor.  A loud crash and two heavy screams stopped Shawn in his tracks and caused Mr. Bernstein to run up his back.
	Time slowed as Mortie started to walk around a flash-frozen Shawn; in the darkness, a confused Blair was knocked senseless on his fanny by a person that was putting some garbage in the dumpster in the alley behind the store.  Shawn extended his right arm into Bernstein’s chest so he could get a clear look.  Blair rubbed his head and said, “Are you all right, buddy?” sure that the person he collided with was a man.   He slowly got to his feet and then extended a hand to the fallen bagel worker.
	Shawn focused all of his energy on the pick up; their two forms were still sunken in the shadows but Shawn could feel a huge swirl of energy start to mount.  Blair knew the moment their hands clasped that the soft, long fingers were not that of a dude.  As Blair brought the woman to her feet, the subsequent explosion generated by a 12-bagger hurled a startled Shawn back toward the front door. 
	Blair emerged from the darkness and glibly said, “Wow, this girl packs quite a punch.”  He then bent down in the dimly lit hallway and helped the fellow crash victim to her feet.   Shawn sat in the middle of the store giggling at the whacky series of events.  Blair walked into the light with the girl who was wearing a maroon colored baseball hat with white graphics that read Natural Bagel…For that Healthy Appetite.  And while that was a lot of lettering for a small hat, the slogan proved to be quite effective.
	Blair took a few steps into the room and then questioned Shawn, “Are you all right, Shawn?  What happened?”
	Shawn stood up as Lori Allison Wilson, better known as Allie, stepped further into the light, removed her hat, and released the bun that held her long, light brown hair.  He smiled and responded, “She happened.”
  

Beat the Clock

	Allie didn’t know from 12-baggers, but she did gaze into Blair’s eyes and see something strangely familiar.  Blair turned around after he checked on Shawn and took a long gaze of his own at Allie.  Although he had some doubts about Shawn’s abilities, the gravity of his desperate situation undoubtedly called for desperate measures.
	It wasn’t easy being Darren Tinsley’s son.  In fact, the only good thing about being his son was the money—okay, that probably doesn’t suck as much as having intrusive, meddlesome, but caring parents that consider Fiddle Faddle fancy popcorn and a decedent treat.  Frankly, Cracker Jack used to be all that and a bag of hot roasted peanuts until they went exceedingly cheap on the prize.  It’s tough to maintain a buff persona when your Cracker Jack tattoos have the average shelf life of a loaf of bread.
	Darren Tinsley expected the most out of his employees and even more out of his kids.  He must have shredded the memo headline that read “Don’t inherit your family’s fortune and cash it in for wooden nickels.”  He had the genius idea to build luxury apartment buildings on abandoned toxic waste dumps in New Jersey.  Midway through one of the projects, a drum oozing with toxic chemicals was found and a huge lawsuit was filed.  The company that dumped the drums had been out of business for at least a decade but the man that owned the property had misrepresented the land’s history and paid off the inspector to give a favorable report for the site.
	Highly paid lawyers had gotten Darren Tinsley out of one mess or another over the years.  Poorly built buildings, advertisements that didn’t exactly measure up with the product, paternity suits, divorces backed by iron-clad prenuptial agreements, custody battles, and questionable affiliations with all-male boarding schools.  All the while, Tinsley’s mug was never far from the front page of the tabloids.           
	Blair Tinsley was front page news whenever the paparazzi got a clear shot of his Hollywood-like, heartthrob, chiseled features.  His million-dollar smile was his cart blanche’ whether he closed a big business deal, spoke on behalf of his father’s company, or gave motivational speeches to corporate employees.  While cash is the great motivator, it is the raw power that truly impresses the masses.
	As much as Blair tried to convince Allie to escape with him out the back door to his limo, she just wouldn’t budge.  Once she got over the initial thrill of looking into a familiar pair of eyes and soul, the gravity of the situation pulled her back down to earth.
	You had to be completely detached to live in the city and not be aware of the trials and tribulations of Blair Tinsley.  Allie had seen the television reports on a perpetual loop the entire day.  She thought to herself, “What kind of jerk would make his quest for a wife public?”  Even though she did see something special in the jerk’s eyes, she somehow resisted the temptation to act rashly.  If her prince was really Blair Tinsley, then he would have to regroup at his castle and ride back through town on a white horse.
	The press had surrounded the bagel store like a group of ants on picnic leftovers.  Blair only had a faint moment to sweep Allie off her feet before he and Shawn raced to the alley, where his car was poised to make a narrow escape.
	“Was that the one?” Blair asked as he nestled into the back seat.
	Shawn dove in the car, and then the driver closed the door and sped away from the fracas.  “Yeah, that girl was the atomic bomb.”
	“How many lives?” Blair questioned.
	Shawn smiled and looked at Blair, “Believe it, or not, 12.”
	“12?”  An excited Blair exclaimed, “12!” He thrust his arms toward the top of the car.
	The guys sat quiet for a moment until Blair stated, “One question, though.  If the 12 is that way,” he pointed behind them, “then why are we going this way?” he pointed toward the front of the car. 
	The Tinsley’s are as famous for their extravagant lifestyle and cash flow, as they are for their paranoia.  Background checks are the norm for anyone from the gardener to the sanitation engineers.  Blair was so thrown by his explosive meeting with Allie that he lost his Tinsley sense for a little while.  Good thing for Blair that Shawn stepped in and took care of business.
	Shawn took his cell phone out of his pocket and started dialing.
	“Who are you calling?” Blair asked as he looked over at Shawn.
	Shawn put up his index finger of his left hand, signaling to Blair to give him a minute.
	“Hi, is this Mr. Bernstein?  Shawn Elvin here.  Yeah that was quite a morning.”  He looks over at Blair and the two guys roll their eyes.  “I just wanted to see if you could give me some information.”  He then took out a piece of paper and a pen and quickly scribbled some information down.  “Thanks, again Mr. B.  I’ll stop in tomorrow to test out that new bacon and cheddar bagel.  I’ll tell him.  Goodbye.”
	Shawn closed his phone and put it back in his pocket.
	“Bacon and cheddar bagel?  Blair questioned.  “Isn’t that kind of a Jewish oxymoron?
	“He uses artificial bacon bits and real cheddar cheese.  Anyway, he told me to say hello to you and thank you for being so generous.”
	Blair put his hand and Shawn’s shoulder signifying that he wanted to know the real meaning behind the call.
	“Her name is Lori Wilson, but everyone calls her Allie.  That’s all I could get out of him.”  Shawn explained.
	“Allie Wilson?  Why does that sound so familiar?” Blair pondered aloud.
	Shawn tapped Blair’s arm with the back of his hand, “Maybe you knew her in a previous life?”
	Blair smiled and then they both started laughing.  “Yeah, you think?”
	Blair couldn’t get the name Allie Wilson out of his head.  He tried to talk it out with Shawn in the car but his mind was more locked up than a death-row inmate.  He went to dinner that night at Tavern on the Green to honor his father for his charitable contributions to the Central Park Conservancy.  There wasn’t a subject that Darren Tinsley ever felt overmatched by, so Blair thought he would dip into the vast cesspool of knowledge during the cocktail hour.
	“Thanks for unleashing the bloodhounds on me today,” Blair said in an annoyed tone.
	Darren quickly shot back, “It’s good publicity for Tinsley Court.”
      Blair knew he wouldn’t get anywhere if he continued to voice his displeasure, so he shifted gears.  “Does the name Allie Wilson ring a bell?”
	Darren looked at Blair like he had bird shit on his head and didn’t realize it.  “She’s Larry Wilson’s daughter.  You went to Phipps Academy with her.”
	Blair thought for a second and then the light started filtering into his brain, triggering the dormant neurons that had started to form cob webs.  Larry Wilson lived in Greenwich, Connecticut and was one of the biggest real estate lawyers in the country.  Blair was a pre-schooler when he attended Phipps Academy, and Allie was his best friend in the class.  He remembered that she loved to finger-paint while he would erect great structures out of blocks and LEGOs.
	Shortly after Blair and Allie graduated from Phipps Academy, Larry Wilson was hired by a wealthy Italian real estate mogul and the family moved to Italy for a number of years.  Blair had buried his hurt that Allie never said goodbye to the point that he had trouble recalling who she was when it was right in front of him.  
	Blair turned to his dad and said, “I think she could be the one.”
	Darren Tinsley was about as level-headed and unflappable as an IRS Auditor.  He glibly replied, “Yeah, well the clock is ticking.  Not going to get much accomplished standing here drinking …” he grabbed Blair’s drink and smells it, “a glass of water disguised as a dry martini.”
	“You know I don’t drink dad...” Blair said as he started walking out of the restaurant, “at least not around you.” 
	Blair left the party and took a deep breath of the nippy air.  Thanksgiving was still a few weeks away and the end of the year seemed to be closing in on him like a linebacker hungry for a sack.  Blair wasn’t going to let Allie slip through his fingers, so spending the afternoon trying to figure out where she lived seemed logical.
	The Tinsley’s could literally find a needle in a haystack if need be.  Simply extracting a person’s phone number and address was one of the more basic tasks for the security force, so Blair looked it up himself to avoid suspicion.  Avoiding suspicion in the Tinsley household was a difficult task at best, considering that security kept track of his every move through GPS tracking.
	Being naturally paranoid was a trait that Darren Tinsley did not pass on to his son.  Blair was a more trusting man-of-the-people type than his father.  While Darren walked through life pretending to have a heart and soul, it was his son that was the real humanitarian of the family.  Darren used words like “too soft,” “needs to toughen up,” and “wasting time with flowers, trees and grass” when talking to and about Blair.  In fact, it was Blair who suggested that they get involved with the Central Park Conservancy—it was typical of Darren Tinsley to take credit for the ideas of others.  Conversely, Blair didn’t care who got the credit as long as the job got done.
	Darren was also having some difficulty with Blair’s recent success.  It was a combination of genetic pride and straight-up envy.  The elder Tinsley always protected his personal interests over anyone on the planet, including his own son.  When Blair came to him two years earlier with an idea to put up some middle-income housing, Darren threw a few million dollars at him and said, “See what you can do with this, kid.”  He was sounding more and more like his abrasive “old man” each day.  As much as Darren despised his penny-pinching and verbally-abusive father, he also admired his strength and ability to build a nickel into a billion-dollar company.
	Darren’s ideas were much more extravagant and less profitable than his dad, Theodore “Teddy” Tinsley.  He witnessed Blair take the two million dollars, solicit investors to join the project, and then double his return on investment before the building was even finished.  Of course, Darren Tinsley stepped in and reaped all of the glory when the project was completed.  The 25-story building was situated adjacent to Shea Stadium in Flushing, New York, and was near the Grand Central Parkway, Long Island Rail Road, and the #7 subway stop.  It was also the first high-rise in Queens that utilized all “green” materials.  The project was so wildly successful that Blair pushed Darren to create TinsleyGreen, which would serve as a subsidiary of Tinsley Corp. 
	Despite Blair’s recent rise, Darren had instantly reduced him to a playboy that had to get married in order to retain the family fortune.  Blair was growing tired of his father’s take-no-prisoners approach to media attention.  But, he was a Tinsley and he knew that 24/7 attention came with the territory.  The car stopped at 120th Street and Broadway and Blair, wearing a tuxedo and a black overcoat, rose from his seat to enter Allie’s apartment building.  There was no doorman in this uptown building, so Blair opened the first door and looked for the button for apartment 5D.  The button was labeled “L. Wilson” and within a few seconds a muffled, subway-sounding Allie said, “Yes.  Who is it?”
	Blair had been asked many questions in his life but this one seemed to jumble his brain like a food processor.
	“Ugh, it’s Blair Tinsley.”
	There was a slight hesitation and Allie backed away from the intercom.  She screamed, “Shit!” as she ran to the bathroom to remove the bright green face mask she had applied only a few minutes earlier.  Blair stood in the hallway patiently waiting for a response.  A few minutes went by and then he pushed the buzzer again.  Allie was in the bathroom washing her face and applying a fresh coat of makeup.  She was so intent on her face that she completely forgot about Blair.
	“Oh shit!  Blair!” Allie said as she sprinted to the intercom.
	“Blair!  Is that you?”  Allie asked.
	“Yes, Allie.  I’m still here.  Are you going to buzz me up?”
	Allie thought for a moment and replied, “Yeah, come on up.”
	She pressed the buzzer, unlocked the door, and then raced into the bedroom after throwing a pair of jeans on—then she resumed her face painting in the bathroom.  Five flights of stairs in an old Brownstone building seemed like climbing Mount Everest at times.  Debris from past climbers were scattered on the route and there was even a finger bone of an unfortunate soul that met their demise between the third and fourth floors.  Blair left part of his left lung next to the finger and realized that his recent neglect of physical conditioning had come back to bite him in the legs.  He stopped for a moment and pulled out his phone and text messaged his assistant because calling would have involved too much additional breath.  The message read, “PERSONAL TRAINER.  9 a.m. tomorrow.
	He sent the message and then geared up for the final leg of his journey.  The air grew thinner in the higher altitude, but Blair pressed on.  He had removed his coat to reduce he load somewhere around the third floor.  Blair became emotional with only a few steps remaining and started shedding a few tears.  He struggled to get to the door as his legs had become heavier than a pair of tree trunks.  He slowly lifted his right arm and softly knocked on the door.
	Allie heard the knock and yelled, “It’s open!”
	Blair opened the door, trying to regain his trademark composure.  Allie then came flying through—hair reborn, face freshly painted with the skill of Van Gogh.
	“Have a seat,” Allie said as she pointed to the couch.  “You want something to drink?”
	Blair wheezed, “Water.”
	“Filtered tap, O.K.?”
	Blair nodded his approval.  Allie came out with two glasses of water and Blair pointed toward the door.
	“Left my jacket on the trail.”
	Allie smirked and replied, “Don’t move.  I’ll get it for you.”
	Allie zoomed out the door and Blair faintly said, “No problem.
	She had climbed the mountain of stairs at least a few times a day and was a permanent daily fixture before work at New York Health & Racquet Club.  She raced down two flights of stairs, stopping for a brief moment before she re-entered her apartment to smell the sweet scent of his jacket.  Allie then stepped back into the apartment and wedged his jacket on a hanger in her crowded coat closet.
	“Thank you.  I had to shed excess weight to complete my journey,” Blair stated as he began to regain his composure.  “Those last two floors gave me a little clarity on the meaning of life, though.”
	Allie sat down in the tub chair next to the couch and replied, “So what is the meaning of life, Blair.”
	Blair smiled broadly and said, “Love.  Love is the meaning of life, Allie.”
	Allie was about as guarded as the Hope Diamond when she defensively replied, “How did you come to that conclusion?”
	“I realized it the moment I saw you,” Blair exclaimed.  He didn’t mean for the bold, yet honest statement to come out with more cheese than an enchilada… but it did.
	Allie sat back, retreating even farther into her warm, soft, fuzzy cocoon.
 	“You know this from all of your years of research in the field?”
	Blair quickly sensed that Allie was defensive, so he tried to put out the fire with a gallon of gasoline.
	“What I meant to say was that everyone needs to love at some point in their life.  Why not now?” Blair smirked thinking that he had straightened the misunderstanding out.
	Allie turned red and looked as if she was going to erupt.
	“You come into my apartment at ten o’clock at night and throw some sappy crap at me and I’m supposed to bow at your feet?  Why not now?  That’s your best shot?  I’ll tell you, why not now?  Because, Mr. Money Bags, now is when you need to be in love, but have you stopped to consider if it’s my time to be in love?  Have you?”
	Blair’s mouth slowly opened until he could have been a conduit for a moth colony.  He tried to put a band-aid on a gun-shot wound, “I didn’t mean to…”
	“You always mean to!  You always think that you can get away with everything!  I thought for a brief moment that I could actually fall for you, but that jumped off the cliff when I remembered who you were and what you were trying to do.  I’m no mail order bride, Mr. Miyagi!”
	Blair looked puzzled and thought to himself, “What’s with the Karate Kid reference?”
	He didn’t dare say a word for fear that she would make him climb the stairs again.
	“So, what do you have to say about that?” Allie questioned, initiating the chess match.
	“I think that I don’t have to get married, I want to get married.”
	She countered, moving her knight into position.  “So, why the deadline?  Why didn’t you get married before the whole stunt by your father?”
	Blair tried to get his power pieces off the back line, but his pawns were blocking the way.  “I just haven’t met the right person,” was all he could come up with.
	He took his finger off his queen, and within a blink of an eye it was captured.
	“Until now?” she asked.
	He looked at her in the eyes and replied, “Until now.”
	Allie waited for a moment because she wanted to believe in what she was saying.  She thought about giving in and prolonging the game, but instead went for the kill and called “Check, mate.”
	“I don’t buy it.  You’re probably just doing it for the money and I don’t need that.”  Allie stated.
	Blair opened his mouth to talk but Allie put her right hand up in the form of a stop sign.
	“Save it!  I think your legs should be back and it’s time for you to leave.  I have to be up early.”
	Blair slowly stood up from the couch with the knowledge that he had lost the battle, but not the war.
	“Well, good luck making those bagels,” he said.
	She walked him to the door, handed him his coat and said, “Yeah, thanks.”
	He barely cleared the doorway as she slammed the door shut and locked three locks in succession.
	Blair looked down the stairs and figured that it would be a lot easier to repel down the mountain than it was to climb up it.  He was disappointed at first that Allie was so resistant, but he figured that the sweet struggle of love was well worth the wait.  Before he even had a shot at breaking down some of Allie’s walls, he needed to find out more about her.  While her core was still wrapped around that sweet, warm girl he knew when they were young, she had grown up.  He assumed that her life would be more complicated than finger painting and seeing how close the swing could reach toward the sky.
	Blair got back in the car, knowing that he would have to be better prepared before he went mountain-climbing again.  He located his cell phone and then hit speed dial number four.
	“Shawn, its Blair.”
	Shawn replied, “Blair?  Do I still know a Blair?”
	“I’m coming right over with a pizza and a six pack.  We have to talk.”
	Shawn was lying in his bed with silk sheets, watching a flat-screen television with built-in surround sound.
	“Let me check my schedule…”
	He picked up the TV clicker and checked the schedule.
	“Yeah, I can fit you in between Islanders-Rangers and Knicks-Lakers.”
	“Okay, bye,” Blair said as he started laughing.
	A few minutes later, Blair was at Shawn’s door with a large pie and a six-pack of Bud.  He opened the door and said, “That’s what I love about New York.  It’s always open.”
	Shawn got out of bed and replied, “Yeah, thanks for knocking.  You’re just lucky that Robin Byrd wasn’t on.”
	Blair put the food on the counter and asked, “Are you still mad at me? You can’t still be mad at me?”
	“I’m still a little drained from the whole ordeal.  I can’t believe that you thought I would betray you like that,” Shawn stated.
	“From where I come from, trust is about as steady as a junkie trying to go cold turkey,” Blair said.
	Shawn nodded his head in understanding in an “Apology accepted,” gesture.
	“So, what’s on your mind, my friend?  Having trouble convincing Allie that you’re the man of her dreams?”
	Blair smiled and replied, “Are you a mind reader, too?”
	The two guys talked for a few more hours and planned out strategy for “Operation: Marry Allie”.  Although Blair was not as paranoid or as sneaky has his old man, he was willing to whatever it took to spend the rest of his life with Allie.
	The pain for gain began the next morning in the dark.  Blair slept over Shawn’s place and had alerted his driver to be in front of the building at 5:00 a.m.
	“Do you need to borrow some clothes from me?” Shawn asked as he staggered out of bed.
	Blair, who always seemed to be awake and composed, replied “Check this out.”  He walked over to the full-length mirror just outside of the bathroom and placed the fingers of his right hand against the glass.  In an instant, the wall spun open to reveal a huge walk-in closet filled with a set of Blair’s clothes.
	“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shawn said aloud.
	Blair smirked, “This apartment has been a lot of things to a lot of people over the years, but I’ve always been able to come up here if I needed to change my clothes.  A little trick my dad taught me.”
	“Well, score one for Mr. T!” Shawn exclaimed.
	Blair wasn’t the kind of person who could walk on the street without his game face on.  He was photographed more than most celebrities, and the paparazzi were always camped out waiting to catch him with his guard down.  While most people had bad hair days, looked heavy in unflattering outfits, or needed to be photographed at a certain angle, Blair apparently was the exception to the rule.  He loved the camera and the camera loved him right back.
	The guys figured Allie would start the day at the bagel store, but she quickly thwarted those plans by walking straight out of her apartment and heading uptown.  She had her purse over one shoulder and a small duffle/gym bag slung over her other shoulder.
	“She’s going to the gym,” Shawn said as he threw out the first guess of the day.
	“Five bucks says she goes somewhere else,” Blair countered.
	“You’re on.” 
	Allie approached a brand new location of New York Health & Racquet Club on Broadway and 125th Street, and then kept on walking.  Shawn reached into his pocket and then tossed the tossed a crumpled-up five-dollar bill at Blair.
	Blair straightened the bill out and said, “This is nice.  You should take better care of your money.”
	Shawn stared straight and replied, “Eat me.”
	Blair smiled and was happy to have a real friend for the first time since, well, five year-old Allie.  Blair was so familiar with the city that he said, “All right.  I’ll give you a chance to win back this wrinkly five-spot back.  Shawn, you’re up.”
	Shawn thought for a moment, stroking his chin.  “Make it 20, and she’s headed to a soup kitchen.”
	Blair chuckled confidently and stated, “Bet.”
	Actually, it really wasn’t much of a bet at all.  Shawn had seen pictures on the wall of the bagel store bagels and other breakfast items at the 135th Street and Broadway soup kitchen.  He figured her schedule would consist of serving the homeless, working out, law school, bagel store, and studying.
	Allie was in her second year of law school after earning an M.B.A. and a Bachelor’s degree in Architecture, Planning and Preservation from Columbia University.  She had brief thoughts about attending Harvard or N.Y.U., but decided to make her life uptown, in the West Side of Manhattan.  Allie planned to become an advocate for the environment, and already had a job lined up at the U.S. Green Building Council a few blocks from her apartment.
	Meanwhile, Blair handed over the crumpled five plus another crisp five spot and a ten dollar bill even before Allie walked into the soup kitchen.
	“Well, that was rigged.  I feel so used,” Blair said in a sarcastic tone.
	Shawn replied, “Okay.  Now we’re even, big shot.”
	Blair nodded, “We could sit in the car all day, or you could simply tell me what the rest of her day looks like.”
	Shawn turned to Blair and said, “Soup kitchen, gym, law school, bagel store, studying.”
	“I don’t know.  I’m still a little thrown by the bagel store job,” Blair wondered aloud.
	“My guess is that she likes bagels,” Shawn conjectured.
	Blair’s mind was in overdrive, “No.  It’s got to be more than that.  It’s always more than that.  William, the bagel store please.”
	William asked, “Back alley, sir.”
	“Yes, that will be fine, “Blair responded.
	The guys were driven downtown on Broadway until William ducked into the back alley of the bagel store.  Blair grabbed his phone and dialed the number of Natural Bagel.
	“Natural Bagel,” Max Bernstein said as he answered the phone.
	“Mr. Bernstein.  Hello, it’s Blair Tinsley.”
	“Mr. Tinsley!  What a pleasant surprise!” Bernstein exclaimed.
	“I’m standing in the alley with Shawn at your back door.  Do you have a few minutes to talk?  Blair asked.
	Mr. Bernstein dropped the phone and ran to the back door to let Blair and Shawn in.  Blair and Mr. Bernstein shook hands and then Mr. B. and Shawn hugged like old friends.
	“Wow!  It’s good to see you boys again!” and excited Mr. Bernstein said.  “The bagels are coming out of the oven—please pick a few out and a shmear and we’ll sit down and talk.”
	With 15 varieties of bagels to choose from, the decision took a little while.  Blair settled on a whole wheat and date bagel with vegetable cream cheese, while Shawn went for a bacon and cheddar bagel with vanilla-walnut cream cheese.
	Mr. Bernstein sat down and said, “Did you guys know that everything we make here is 100% natural?”
	They both said, “No,” as they started stuffing their faces.
	“That was all Allie,” Mr. B. stated.
Blair’s eyes widened as he asked, “What do you mean?”
“While I’m confident that you love my bagels, I’m also sure that you came here to talk about Allie.  She’s been like a daughter to me since she started working here seven years ago.  She was doing a project for one of her classes on taking mainstream foods and making them healthier.”
The guys kept eating and Mr. B. got up and got them a couple of more bagels and topped off Blair’s coffee and Shawn’s glass of milk.
“The guys said, “Thank you,” and Mr. B continued his story about Allie.
“What started as a simple project turned into quite a partnership.  I resisted at first to go natural out of fear that it would cost too much and then put me out of business.  But Allie helped me source all of the ingredients and then she eventually helped make my operations more efficient with her M.B.A. background.  The majority of our business comes from catering now.”
Shawn asked, “So, can you give us an Allie timeline?”
“Well as far I know, she spent most of her life in Italy then Greenwich, Connecticut with her parents until the end of high school.” Mr. B. said and then took a sip of his green tea.  “That was when her mom got real sick.”
Blair stopped eating and put his bagel down.  “Mrs. Wilson?  What happened to her?” a solemn Blair asked.
“You knew her?" Mr. B. said.
“I remember how excited Allie would get every day when her mom came to pick her up.  Mind you, this was way back when we were five,” Blair said.
Mr. B. countered, “I’ve seen pictures, but… she came down with A.L.S.”
Shawn’s mouth was half-full but he blurted, “Lou Gehrig’s Disease?”
“Yeah, she was 42 years old when she died,” Mr. B. explained.
“Allie was a few weeks away from graduating high school, so she finished it up and spent the next four years trying to make sense of the world,” Mr. B. stated.
“What did she do in those years?” an intrigued Blair asked.
“She spent a year in France, another year driving across the U.S., joined a Buddhist monastery in Nepal, and then she volunteered for Greenpeace.”
“Wow!  That is quite a journey,” Shawn stated.
“My god.  I didn’t know she went through all of that,” a dejected Blair added.
“I think you guys already know that she’s quite a girl,” Mr. B. said.
The guys nodded in agreement and then struggled to get the words out.
“What’s the matter Blair?  You look distressed,” Shawn inquired.
“Something wrong with the bagel?” Mr. B. asked.
Blair shook his head and said, “No, the bagel is great.  I… I don’t know what to do.  This kind of thing has always come easy for me.  I’m not sure if I know how to climb out of this plastic skin and be a real person for a change?”
Mr. B. stepped in, “All right.  First thing, swallow what’s left in your mouth and then take a deep breath.  Y’know I’ve been following your career lately, and I’m not talking about the Page Six side of you.  What you’re doing with Tinsley Green is nothing short of brilliant!”
Shawn looked at Mr. B. and the two of them looked at Blair.
“Green?” they said to Blair.
Blair thought and responded with an affirmative nod, “Green.” 
The three men sat at the table for another 15 minutes, and then Mr. B. gave them another two dozen bagels for the road.  When they left, Mr. B. hugged Shawn again and Blair said, “What the hell,” and hugged Mr. B.
Mr. B. pulled back slightly from the hug and said, “Welcome to the family, son.”
Perhaps the jubilation was a bit premature.  After all, there was still one insanely-huge slice of the pie left—convincing Allie that it was her destiny to be with Blair, again.
Shawn and Blair got back in the car and Shawn said, “I’m feeling a bit underutilized lately.  You know, after the whole 12-bagger explosion and everything.  Do you need me to do anything?”
Fifteen minutes later, Shawn had a complimentary gym membership to New York Health & Racquet Club and a full outfit to change into so he could work out.  The last time Shawn saw the inside of a gym was in high school and red dodge balls were whizzing past his head.  It wasn’t exactly the memory he needed to catapult him toward a productive day.
Shawn figured that Allie would be working out any minute, so he sat on a stationary bike to get a good view of the entire gym.  Five minutes on the bike seemed like 500 miles—Allie finally walked in wearing a Carolina blue Columbia sweatshirt with gray sweatpants.  She headed straight for elliptical machine, so Shawn stopped peddling and tried to get control of his legs.  The first step was the most difficult because his legs felt like they were still circling.
Allie programmed her workout and was fully active with coordinated arm and leg movements when Shawn stepped up on the machine to her right.  She briefly looked over at him and then did at least a double take.  He looked over at her and smiled—Allie was so into her workout and the music streaming from her iPod that she couldn’t remember where she knew Shawn from.  After all, they never really officially met in the first place.  The rampant horde of paparazzi pushing the time envelope made sure of that. 
Once Allie replayed the scene in the bagel store in her head, she clearly saw Shawn sitting on the floor.  She thought about confronting him right away but figured he could use a nice, long workout instead.  Thirty minutes later, Shawn was in a fitness coma in which his mind thought his body was still moving but he had actually stopped participating five minutes earlier.
Allie stepped off her machine and then wiped it down with a cleansing towel.  She looked up at Shawn, who was sweating like he stepped out of a sauna, and said “Go take a shower.  I’ll meet you in the lobby.”  Shawn smiled and nodded his head while he slowly backed off “the machine of death.”
It took Shawn more time to get undressed than it took lunch ladies to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for an entire grade school.  In actual time, his shower took about seven minutes but it felt more like an hour.  Shawn thought it was one of the best showers he had ever taken, even though he couldn’t help but realize that his exposed feet would probably be stricken with at least 10 different strains of athlete’s foot.
He emerged from the locker room a new man, with much of the numbness going down the drain with the soap in the shower.  Allie was sitting on a couch in the lobby and said, “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come out.”
“That makes two of us,” Shawn replied.  “Hi, I’m Shawn Elvin.”
He extended his arm and shook her hand.  “Allie Wilson.”  You want to grab a fruit smoothie down the block?”  Shawn didn’t own a watch and wasn’t going to even pretend that he had somewhere else to be.  “Sure.  Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Nah.  No school today and Mr. Bernstein called me and gave me the day off.”
“You’re the man, Mr. B.,” Shawn thought to himself.
They started strolling on the street and Allie took the first shot, “So, how do you know Blair?”
Blair and Mr. B. agreed that Shawn would be as direct and honest as possible, and if that didn’t work he should run as fast as he could and get the hell away from her.
“Well, that’s a funny story…” Shawn countered.
He started from the beginning as they sat down—Allie with her yogurt/strawberry/kiwi smoothie and Shawn with his banana/strawberry/orange concoction—from when he and Blair first met at the bar.
Allie listened to Shawn’s story and exclaimed, “Get out of town!  Are you serious?  No way!  You have to prove that to me!”
Shawn knew that the proof really was in the results—in the lives spent together—but it was difficult to show people what he could only see.  They resumed walking until they reached Central Park.  It was only 7:30 a.m. and the sun was starting to make an impact on the mild November morning.
“So, how long have you had this gift?”
“For as long as I can remember.”
They sat on one of the park’s classic green wood benches with stone/concrete foundations, and had a prime view of people walking by.  A few minutes later a couple strolled by holding hands.
“What about them?” Allie asked.
“Only two lives.  That’s probably a lust-based relationship.”
In between sightings, Allie talked about everything from being inside the monastery to how to make the best bagel.  The only thing that was missing was a conversation about Blair.  Allie seemed to be avoiding the topic like the plague.
The biggest connection between couples was a five-bagger between two women, but Allie seemed to be impressed nonetheless.  She called one of her friends and told her to meet them in 10 minutes at the Fairway Market with her boyfriend.
“I think my friend Brenda and her boyfriend Craig are perfect for each other, but she isn’t sure.  You know, if the word ever got out on you it would be the biggest thing since online dating.”
They walked from the park to the world-class, Fairway Market on 74th Street and Broadway.  Allie could see her friend waving at her in the distance.
She nudged Shawn and said, “There she is.”
Shawn located her and a 7-bagger ensued.
“How many?” Allie, the now connection junky, asked.
“A seven-bagger.  Really strong, you were right.”
The four of them exchanged greetings and then the girls branched off and disappeared into the store.
“You have to marry Craig,” Allie pleaded.
Brenda replied, “Yeah, you’ve told me that already.”
“But now I’m telling you that you really have to marry him.”
She stopped and held Brenda’s arm like a really good friend, “Don’t ask me how I know, but Craig really is your soul mate.”
The two girls hugged and cried a bit, and then strolled and shopped.  Within minutes, Allie and Shawn were back as a duo and walking through the New York streets headed uptown.  She stopped on a corner and asked Shawn, “Why were you on the floor when I saw you in the bagel store?”
Shawn took a deep breath and rolled his eyes.
“What happened in there?” Allie asked as tears started streaming down her cheeks.  She avoided the subject all morning, but the massive gorilla was now staring at her straight in the face.
“How many?”
Shawn paused, “Are you sure?” prolonging the agony for dramatic effect.
“How many!” she yelled as people looked back at her as they passed.
“12!” Shawn yelled back.
“12?  12!  12.” Allie voiced as she went from questioning, to elation, to out-and-out realization.
While it had been relatively easy to rebuff Blair’s initial advances, it would be next to impossible to dismiss him now.
“Have you ever seen 12 before?” Allie nervously asked.
Shawn quickly replied, “Never” as he put his arm around Allie as they started walking.
“You would think that it would seem more familiar after that many lives together,” Allie said.
Shawn responded, “I think you knew it from the moment you saw him at the bagel store.”
“Between you and me, I knew it when we were five,” Allie stated as they continued to walk down the street.
Meanwhile, Blair had to do something with all of his nervous energy, so he spent three hours with the personal trainer until he had exhausted all of his doubts.  It just so happened that he had to go out of town on business for a few days.  His Tinsley Green destination this time was the Buckhead district of one of his favorite cities, Atlanta, Georgia.
Like many other jet-setting playboys, Blair had women he knew in just about every major city in the world.  His special lady in Atlanta was a former Miss Georgia, Tracey Stanton.  Blair and Tracey had dated on and off for the past few years, but she was now on the verge of her man-catching years.  She had been dating a wealthy real estate developer and the relationship was about to get real serious.
Blair was in Atlanta to break ground on one of his new green buildings for Coca-Cola.  Although his dad mostly focused on upscale residential housing, Blair had decided to entrench himself in corporate America with an eye on being profitable with only minimal risk.  Not only was Tinsley Green paid a premium for its designs and the erection of the buildings, but it also collected an annual fee for its upkeep consulting services.  The upkeep alone provided a two million dollar income stream for the company.  Blair figured that if he could multiply that kind of fee by a few hundred accounts, Tinsley Green would be well on its way to becoming a billion dollar company.
Ever since Tracey Stanton won Miss America five years earlier, she had been besieged with requests to make personal appearances.  She recently started to scale back a bit, and appeared ready to settle down and start a family.  But, when Blair called, she couldn’t resist doing one more for old time’s sake.
Tracey looked as good in a Tinsley Green hard hat as she did in a diamond tiara.  She and Blair had green shovels in their hands and the press snapped pictures for the better part of five minutes.  Blair then explained the structure of the building, “Believe it, or not, this building will look exactly like the old Coke bottle.  The bottles had a green tint to them and so will this structure, which will be made primarily of recycled glass.”  
He then went on to talk about the advantages of building “green” and how much he loved Atlanta.  The only things missing from his trip was to kiss a few babies and shake a few more random hands.
The press conference took place at 11:00 a.m. because Tracey needed time to get ready in the morning.  Tinsley press conferences were notoriously early—usually at 7:00 a.m. before the actual work day.  Blair and Tracey then went to lunch together to talk about old times and catch up on their lives.
“So, it’s really good to see you,” Blair said in a somewhat informal tone.
“What’s it been?  Over a year since you’ve been down here?” she questioned.
“Actually, I was down here a few months ago to watch a Braves-Mets game,” Blair stated.
She gave him a look like “Thanks for calling.”
“That’s probably about the time I gave up on you,” she said.
He calmly replied, “I wasn’t aware that there was anything worth giving up on between us?”
She countered, “Exactly.  You didn’t know it but I had you all lined up.”
She leaned over and bumped him playfully with her shoulder.  He returned the gesture with a brotherly kiss on the forehead.
“It looks like you’re about to head down the aisle,” Blair said.
“Yes.  I think the question will be popped any day.”
“Anyone I know?” Blair asked.
“Bill McGuire.”
“Oh, Billy, he’s a great guy.  Good choice.  He’s got an excellent eye for space and architecture,” Blair said innocently and then realized that she had taken it to the gutter by the look on her face.
“How about you?  You gonna’ make it by the end of the year?”
He paused for a moment and then rubbed the side of his face.  “I’m not sure.  I mean, I know who… you know, the person…”
“Wow Blair, I’m impressed.  You really are in love.”  
Yes, Blair was head-over-heels in love and the static was interfering with his mojo.  All he could think about was green and Allie and he even had a dream the night before about a green Allie asking him if he wanted to get married.  He woke up in a cold sweat and had trouble going back to sleep, so he turned on the TV.  That didn’t work either as he clicked from “Sleepless in Seattle” to “When Harry Met Sally” before settling on a few rounds of Sportcenter.
He eventually trailed off to sleep with the television still on and then had a dream about Tracey.  She was standing in a hotel naked, wearing only a tiara and holding a bouquet of red roses.  Tracey was waving at him, like she was greeting her adoring fans, and then she said “Blair, you should marry me.  Don’t you like my hair?”
Then Blair heard a gunshot and he looked over across the room and saw a fully glamorized Allie wearing a red party dress and holding a blow dryer in her hands like a gun.  She blew on the dryer and said, “I didn’t like her hair.”
This was more than enough to wake Blair up and send him on his way for the day.
“I had a dream about you last night,” Blair said to Tracey as he picked up the check.
“Yeah? Was it the naked tiara dream?”
“Something like that,” he replied.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Blair flew back to New York the next morning because he had meetings all afternoon with Home Depot and Jimmy Carter, on behalf of Habitat for Humanity.  Both parties were interested in “going green” with projects they wanted Blair and Tinsley Green to oversee.  Although former president Carter had aged, he was still as sharp and as humble as ever.  Blair wished he could age as gracefully as the former peanut farmer who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and was truly a man of the people.
Home Depot was looking to update its store format and grow its customer base, so it made sense to go with an all-glass enclosed warehouse.  Many customers complained over the years about how dark and dreary the current warehouse format was; the new concept would combine its current format with the defunct, upscale Expo format.  Word had spread fast about Tinsley Green, and it appeared that the few dozen people Blair had working for him was about to mushroom over the coming months.
Blair climbed aboard his jet the next morning following another night of strange dreams.  Many of his ex-girlfriends made cameo appearances, asking the question “Why didn’t you marry me?”  He had spent the majority of his life bouncing from one meaningless relationship to another, never getting close enough to expose his true feelings.  Darren Tinsley had been quite the champion of the superficial relationship, so much so that it had a huge impact on his son.
When Blair walked into Georgia, he wanted to be seen with the best.  Miss Georgia seemed like a good place to start when Blair met Tracey at a benefit for the American Cancer Society.  He also made similar moves around the world, dating everyone from models to heiresses to princesses.  His dating resume was truly a who’s who of the finest women in the world—at least on paper.
He picked up the Atlanta Journal Constitution and saw his picture on the front page with the headline:
TINSLEY: “GREEN IS GOOD!”
	Blair hoped to travel across many of the major U.S. cities in the near future and espouse the benefits of green building and living.  His Lincoln Town Car was also being replaced with a custom-made, Lexus 450 Hybrid sedan.  Since most of his local travels were in stop-and-go Manhattan traffic, the impact of electric-only use would be of great benefit to the environment.
	Blair was warmed by the knowledge that he was finally getting his message out.  He was also really looking forward to getting back to the city and seeing Allie.  Time was no longer a factor in his mind—even if it took the rest of his life he would know that his place was with Allie.
	That morning, Allie completed her workout and then walked to the bagel store.  She passed a few newsstands, almost ignoring the headlines for fear of seeing something about Blair.  Each step seemed to regenerate her anxiety, so once she approached the next newsstand her eyes quickly scanned the headlines until she stopped at the New York Post.
	Although her dad told her repeatedly to ignore sensationalized headlines, when she saw the words “THE FUTURE MRS. TINSLEY?” her body froze like she had been trapped in a meat locker.  Accompanying the headline was two pictures: one of Tracey in a hard hat and the other of Blair kissing her forehead at the restaurant.
	Allie was devastated.  In fact, she lost track of time and wandered the streets until she was 20 minutes late for work.  Mr. B. noticed her “million miles away” look and knew immediately why she looked that way.  He wanted to say, “You know, those pictures aren’t always as they seem,” but he even had no defense for Blair’s behavior.
	All he could muster was, “Are you okay, kiddo?”
	A few minutes later he said, “Why don’t you go home.  I can handle everything here.”
	Allie was still dazed and confused when she replied, “No.”  She walked into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror.  Her initial feelings of self-loathing and doubt quickly transferred into defiance and anger.  “Forget him” she muttered as she emerged from the small, dimly-lit bathroom.
	Mr. Bernstein could see the fire in Allie’s eyes when she came back on the floor.
	He muttered, “Oh crap.”
	Allie asked, “What?”
	“Oh, I said you’re back.”
	She didn’t say another word for the next three hours until she left and said, “See you tomorrow.”
	Allie was so angry that she could have scaled the stairs to her apartment a few times and not even brake a sweat.  She had so much nervous energy, in fact, that she decided to go for a run before dinner.  Two hours later it was eight o’clock and Allie still had enough angst left over to run up the five flights of stairs to her apartment.  She quickly removed her clothes and hopped into the shower.
	Blair had been calling Allie all day long.  He wanted to see her so bad that he stopped off at the bagel store but Mr. B. said, “You just missed her.”  As Blair walked out Mr. B. mumbled “Poor son-of-a-bitch.”  Allie had turned her cell phone off and was so lost in tunnel vision that she didn’t bother to check the four messages on her home voice mail.
	The hot water from the shower cascaded down from Allie’s hair and made the journey from her body to the drain.  She was so disturbed that her tears blended seamlessly into the soft New York City water, although she barely even recognized that she had been crying.
	Blair really started to worry about Allie’s well being.  He had barely missed her on at least three separate occasions—at the bagel store, when she first went home and then when she returned from her run.  He finally gained access to the building when he hit another apartment’s button and the person buzzed him in—so much for apartment security.
	It was 8:10 p.m. and he had to see Allie!  This time around he seemed more prepared for the climb than his previous brush with death.  He was so focused on getting up to the fifth floor that he barely acknowledged the boney finger by the time he had only one flight left.  But, that last flight… he had so much he wanted to say, but all of his thoughts seemed to be intertwined like a pound of steaming spaghetti on a platter.    
	Allie was in the bathroom and was blowing her hair dry.  Blair knocked on her door repeatedly, but a rhino could have crashed through the door and she wouldn’t have blinked.  He sat outside of her apartment on the stairs until he heard the blow dryer stop.  He raced to the door but it was too late—she had quickly resumed her drying.
	A few minutes later, the noise stopped and Blair hopped on the opportunity.
	“BANG!  BANG!  BANG!” Blair pounded the door like he was part of a SWAT team about to make a bust.
	Allie stepped into the living room and said, “Who is it?”
	“It’s Blair!  Are you all right?”
	“Sorry, not interested!” she coldly yelled without hesitation and then went back into the bathroom to finish her hair.
	Twenty minutes went by before Allie walked into her bedroom and started to paint her toenails.  Blair knocked on the door again and Allie closed the pink nail polish bottle and stomped toward the front door.
	“What do you want?” she yelled.
	“I’ve been trying to find you all day.”
	She put her hands on her hips, “We’re through, Blair!  Go away!”
	Blair was completely confused, “Why are you so mad at me?  At least let me come in and talk to you face to face.”
	Her hands and head dropped before she stepped up and unlocked the door.
	“You got two minutes.”
	She walked into her living room and plopped down on the couch.  Blair took his coat off and sat in the tub chair.
	“Sorry I didn’t call you in the past few days.  I was in Atlanta breaking ground in a new project.”
	“So, that’s what you call it,” Allie replied as she picked up her laptop.
	Blair continued undaunted, “Looks like Tinsley Green picked up a few more projects down there, too.”
	She picked up her head and said, “Projects?  That’s what you’re calling women now?”
	Blair lost his cool, “What is wrong with you?”
	Allie stood up with her computer.  “What is wrong with me?  What the hell is wrong with you?”  She then flipped around her computer revealing the electronic version of the front page of the New York Post.
	Blair took hold of the wireless laptop and sat back in the tub chair.  He closed the computer and the gently rested it on the coffee table.
	“Is it true?” Allie asked.
	Being a true New Yorker, he answered the question with another question.
	“What do you think?’
	She pointed at the laptop and replied, “Well, from what I see, it looks like you found Mrs. Tinsley.”
	Blair was starting to become unglued, which was both a welcoming and disturbing sight for Allie.
	“What does it take?” Blair stated in an exasperated tone.  “Didn’t you get any of my messages today?”
	Allie walked over to the phone dialed her voice mail.
	Message one: “Hello, Allie.  This is Blair.  Give me a call.”
	Message two: “Allie.  Just wondering where you are.  Call me.”
	Message three: “I really missed you the past few days.  I should be landing in a few minutes and I’d love to see you today.”
	Message four: I’ve just missed you all day.  Please call me.”
	She hung up the phone and Blair said, “There’s a bunch of those on your cell phone, too.”
	“Again, let me ask, what the hell is wrong with you?”
	Blair flipped his palms up to say “I don’t know?”
	She continued, “I mean.  You come into my life like 25 years after I last saw you.  Please, just leave.  I don’t want to see you anymore.”
	Blair slowly got up and, slung his coat over his arm, and walked toward the door.  He started to open the door when Allie said, “Yeah, walk away without saying goodbye—just like you did when we were five.”
	Blair closed the door as tears welled up in his eyes.  He turned around and the water and words simultaneously let loose.
	“I walked away from you?  I ran away from home and sat on the stoop of your brownstone for two days when you left.  A part of me died when you left without saying goodbye.  I missed two weeks of school because I couldn’t stop crying, but I did stop crying the day my dad told me that you already had another boyfriend in Italy.  He even showed me a picture of you and another boy.”
	Blair then reached into his pocket and pulled out the well-worn, 3x5 picture.  He handed it to Allie, who muttered, “Holy shit.”
	“I haven’t cried a single drop since that day.  I haven’t felt a single thing since that day.”  He stepped closer to Allie.  “I haven’t loved again since that day.”
	Then they exploded into a long, passionate kiss.
	“You broke my heart,” Blair stated.
	Allie initiated another kiss and then replied, “You’ll get over it,” as they continued kissing.
	The kissing apparently went well, as Blair witnessed the sunrise from someone else’s apartment for the first time in his life.  He wasn’t running out once he got dressed, either.  Those bagels were too good to pass up.
	“You want a lift to the soup kitchen? Blair asked and then sipped some green tea.
	“In that gas-guzzler?” Allie playfully replied. 
	“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised if you come with me today.”
	They were getting ready and Blair noticed that all of the buttons of his dress shirt had been ripped off.
	“Hey, did you do this?” Blair asked Allie.  “I can’t go out like this.”
	She threw a grey sweatshirt at him.  “Put this on, it’s an extra large.”
	Blair hesitated for a moment and then slipped the hooded sweatshirt over his shoulders.
	“You have to loosen up, anyway.  If you really want to be a man of the people, then you have to wear more comfortable clothes.”
	Blair reached into the middle pouch pocket and slid out an adjustable Mets hat.  He opened the latch all the way and then slid the hat on his head.
	“You see, you’re a different guy already.”
	“I would have taken you for a Yankee fan,” he said.
	She replied, “Don’t get me wrong.  I was a big Reggie fan when I was a kid, but then my dad had this thing with Steinbrenner.”
	He said, “My dad loves the Yankees…”
	“And you love the underdogs… yeah, that makes sense.”
	Allie and Blair walked onto the street and his new dark green hybrid sedan was parked with William standing by the curb.
	Allie smiled, “This, I’ll drive in.”
	The paparazzi were tripping over themselves at the sight of Blair wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a baseball hat.  He took his time getting into the car, too, starting a trend of substance over style.
	The car rolled down the street and Allie said, “This car is so quiet.”
	Blair nodded, “How does it drive, William?”
	William, ever the straight man, replied “It doesn’t suck, sir.”
	He looked back and smirked at the laughing couple as he continued to drive toward the soup kitchen and a whole new world.








Rising Star

	The urgency associated with the December 31st deadline melted away like snow on a sunny, 50-degree day.  When told about the news, Darren Tinsley calmly replied, “That is too funny.  When Blair and Allie were kids, Larry Wilson and I would joke that they would get married one day.  Blair was inconsolable when Allie and her family moved away—he ran away and we couldn’t find him for a stretch—he wouldn’t stop crying, so I had one of my photo guys produce a picture with Allie and another kid.”
	For all of Darren Tinsley’s faults, he was still a decent father.  The word “conventional” would not pop up when describing his parenting style, but it had nonetheless produced a respectful, intelligent, planet-loving man.  Go figure.
	Blair and Allie decided to get married the following spring, because a wedding of that magnitude required sufficient time to plan and coordinate.  On the living front, Allie was steadfast on remaining in her building, so they compromised.  Blair bought the entire building and the helped all of its tenants relocate to another property close by, that he owned and recently renovated.
	Since Allie’s building was zoned for both residential and commercial use, Blair decided to turn it into their home and the corporate headquarters for Tinsley Green.  It took two months of overtime to fully renovate the free-standing brownstone to green standards.  He utilized the top floor for their living space, complete with access to a new roof garden.  The entire building was connected to solar power, including a clear, recycled glass elevator.
	The only way to access the top floor was through a fingerprint scan—Blair might have been less of a security nut than his dad, but he always tried to take hold of the latest technological advances.
	The front of the building had two doors—one for the residence and the other for Tinsley Green, which utilized a simple cherry blossom tree for its logo.  The separate doors were designed for mail purposes and to allow corporate clients to enter the Green offices directly.
	Darren Tinsley always said, “You have to be able to separate work and life, although life is work.”
	Confusing at first, but Blair wanted his work at Tinsley Green to spill over into his life because “green” was life for he and Allie.
	Once Blair got the ball rolling in his court, he set his sights on Shawn and his newfound fame.  Word got out with the speed of bad cheese ripping through the digestive system, about what Shawn had done for Blair.  Like any new product, though, Shawn was only available to the highest bidders, the people with the most resources.  He made more than $20 million dollars in the first year and was able to rent out a space on Park Avenue.
	“I’m not an asset, I’m a person with freakish ability” Shawn said to Blair as they ate lunch at the bagel store.
	“To these people you are an asset.  Anything of use is an asset to them,” Blair responded while he stuffed his face with the new wheat grass bagel.  Shawn scooped up some excess tuna salad with a baked pita chip and asked, “Was I an asset to you?”
	Blair finished chewing and made it seem like he was searching hard for an answer.  He then cracked a smile and said, “A fully depreciated asset at that.”
	Shawn smiled but he was dead serious, “I don’t want to be a toy for the privileged.  My interest is slanted more toward a Tinsley Green than a Tinsley Corp.  I made a ridiculous amount of money but I don’t feel anything anymore.  My lease is up next month on Park Avenue and I’ve decided not to renew.”
	Shawn was so busy that he lost touch with his parents.  The occasional phone call could not replace his absence on major holidays and a general indifference toward their existence.  Shawn’s parents were cool—they knew their son would eventually get back to being just Shawn and not simply a gun for hire.
	“Long Island or the city?” Blair asked.
   	“Maybe I could work out of my parents’ house,” Shawn sarcastically responded.
	“How are Alice and Sam doing?”
	Shawn shook his head, “I haven’t had much time lately to catch up with the folks.”
	“Yeah, making a lot of money is a real bitch, isn’t it?” Blair glibly said.  “So, NYC or Long Island?”
	Shawn made an instantaneous decision.  “NYC.  I can’t live without the action.  I also don’t want mind being near you and Allie.”
	Blair avoided his sensitive side and kept plowing ahead.  “I have this property around the corner that would probably be perfect for you.  Two floor walk-up, decent space, plenty of room for living and working, good light, easily convertible to green, pack your bags, favorable financing available.
	Shawn smiled and replied, “I just want to make a difference in the average person’s life.”
	Blair beamed and replied, “I don’t think that will be problem,” but what he really thought was, “We have to find you a woman.”
	Shawn’s space proved to be much different than Blair’s new digs.  Blair was always looking for new ways to incorporate nature into his buildings, so he placed a huge tree in the middle of the all-glass structure.  This also provided an organic opportunity for an atrium—which created a calming atmosphere—including a running stream throughout the structure that funneled into a waterfall.
	Blair also had an atrium and a waterfall in his new place, and tried to incorporate as many elements as possible in the Tinsley Green section of the structure.  Shawn’s building had two floors, as opposed to Blair’s five floors, but the buildings were similar in the respect that the living quarters were on the top floor and were accompanied by beautiful Asian rooftop gardens.
	Blair and his architects were obviously big fans of Frank Lloyd Wright.  Their open floor plans were truly wide open—no doors or walls in their spaces.  That way, light was able to filter through the space unimpeded.  The only enclosed areas in the structure were the bathrooms—conference rooms and offices were all enclosed by glass, but never fully closed to ensure proper air flow.
	Shawn had a place to call home and, with the help of some of Blair’s people, he developed a business plan.  While it was more profitable to do business with the upper crust of society, it wasn’t the market that Shawn wanted to exclusively operate.  In fact, he planned to scale that exposure down to a little over half of his business—at least initially.  He also added three people to his company to help with the administrative and scheduling tasks.
	The only thing missing for Shawn was a name for the company.
	“You need a name for your company,’ Blair told Shawn as they stood outside of his building one day.
	“How long did it take you to come up with the name for Tinsley Green?’
	 Blair smirked, “About thirty seconds.”
	“What took you so long?”
	“Well, I was struggling with the quandary of using the family name in my business.”
	Shawn thought, “What other names did you come up with?”
	“Honestly, all I had was ‘Green’ and I knew my dad would insist on putting the family name in front of every business, so…”
	“How about Elvin Red?”
	“Keep trying,” Blair said.  “What’s your middle name?”
	“Eric.”
	Blair stated, “So, you’re initials spell the word ‘SEE’.
	“Yep.”
	Blair put his arms out with his palms up.  “Dude, you have to use that.  That’s unbelievable.”
	“So, you’re saying that the company should be called SEE?” Shawn asked.
	Blair replied, “SEE, Inc.”
	“Soul, Energy, Existence” Shawn said glowingly.
	Blair nodded, “Brilliant.”
	“Brilliant,” Shawn agreed as they shook hands.
    Shawn’s vision for SEE, Inc., now that he became more comfortable with his natural surroundings, was slanted toward a more new-age approach.  “Holistic” and “organic” were words that immediately came to mind.  He wanted to be more than just a new age matchmaker—his vision centered on an alignment of mind, body and soul.  Shawn also realized that even though lives might have been shared between people, there was no guarantee they would either be at the appropriate time of their current lives or in the right frame of mind to fully give of themselves to another person.
	Plans for a yoga/tai chi/ meditation area were established, as well as an aromatic juice bar near the front of the main floor.  The high ceilings of the original structure enabled the architects to expand the main area into a multi-level, open-air floor plan.  Blair was aware of all of the rules and regulations on keeping the integrity of the original structure.  Although all of the original materials from the former building were replaced, much of the glass and wood were salvageable and were able to be recycled and used in the new structure and other Tinsley Green projects.
	Once it cleared inspection, Shawn decided to christen the new building by throwing a party.  He delivered the first set of invitations in person.
	“Mom, dad, I’m home!” Shawn yelled as he walked through the front door of his parents’ house.  He strolled into the kitchen and his mom entered from the bedroom.
	“Is that you, Shawn?”
	His dad could be heard from the next room, “Alice, I thought you changed the locks.”
	Shawn’s dad stepped toward him and then gave him a big hug.
	“Everything all right?” Mr. Elvin whispered in Shawn’s left ear.
	“Yeah,” Shawn replied as they broke from the hug.
	Mom, still feeling a bit scorned asked, “So, what brings you to these parts?”
	Shawn was about to talk but then walked a few steps to his left and gave his mother a big hug.
	Mrs. Elvin wiped a few tears from her eyes as the hug-fest ended.
	“Well, I came over to personal deliver this invitation,” Shawn said as he removed the envelope from his jacket pocket.
	“You gonna’ make me sit in traffic in the city again?” Ben Elvin asked.
	Shawn smirked, “No driving for you, dad.  I’m sending a limo for you guys.  This is a real special occasion.”
	Mr. Elvin turned to his wife, “Alice, it’s our son, the millionaire.  He’s come a long way from moping on the couch.”  He turned to Shawn, “Does this mean we can finally turn your room into a conference room?”
	“You bringing a date?” mom inquired.  Shawn’s mom was the equivalent of a pin through a balloon.  Although success had finally knocked on Shawn’s door, he had gone through a pretty dry patch with the ladies.  Work had consumed so much of his time that an occasional fling with a stewardess or a pharmaceutical rep was all he muster.
	There were months when Shawn traveled from city and city and never made it home.  But those were the pre-business model and corporate headquarters days.  Besides the occasional one- or two-bagger, Shawn had somehow avoided being blessed by a Blair and Allie-like connection.  Life truly was bittersweet for Shawn Eric Elvin.  His gift had elevated him to a lofty place in society, but that gain was leveled by the loneliness of not being able to share it with another person. 
	The grand opening party was truly a gala affair, complete with catered food that Blair deemed “Edible for a change.”  Shawn wanted his home/business to be the kind of place that people would feel like they were wearing their favorite sweater or pair of shoes.
	Shawn’s parents pulled up in a stretch limo and then experienced their first, and last, red carpet treatment.  Paparazzi lined the pathway and a few even snapped pictures of the formally-attired Elvin duo.
	“Smile for the camera, dear” Alice Elvin said.
	Ben Elvin was pulling on his tight collar.  “I can’t smile, this shirt is choking me.”
	They walked up to the corporate front door and Alice started to cry.
	“Oh, Shawnie.”  She turned to her husband, “Shawnie’s back, Sam.
	They looked at the company’s logo in amazement.  SEE, Inc. was everything they wanted for their son.  It was a very rare moment when parents see all of the promise they brought into the world fulfilled.  It was truly a special and proud moment to be Alice and Ben Elvin.
	Blair had a similar, but more extravagant opening for Tinsley Green’s headquarters and he was now exclusively doing his own thing.  His company was officially spun off from Tinsley Corp. and he rarely ever had any business dealings with his father.  However, Darren Tinsley stayed true-to-form and made sure to capitalize on any, and all, press opportunities.  He was present at Blair’s opening and also made an appearance at Shawn’s party.
	“Hey Shawn, nice place.  Where’s the john?” were his sage words after he posed for the paparazzi.
	It was pollution amidst a sea of green on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.  Darren Tinsley stayed for about 15 minutes and then made a classic Tinsley exit out the back door.
	Shawn emerged from the bathroom on the main floor wearing a gas mask and holding a scrub brush in one hand and a plunger in the other hand.
	“Everything all right in there?” Blair asked as they met in the hallway.
	“Yeah, somebody left a deposit and didn’t flush.”
	Blair chuckled, “Yeah, that was probably my dad.”
	“Mr. T. dropping all of the kids off at the swim club.”
  	“He’s got this thing about flushing toilets.  He usually hires people to do that for him.”
	Shawn thought about asking Blair if his dad wiped his own butt, but pulled up at the last second.
	“I have someone I want you to meet,” Blair stated.
          They walked about five paces to the left side of the room and Blair began the somewhat formal introduction, with the hopes of producing a magical effect.
              "Shawn, this is Olivia Easton," and before he could return the introduction round-trip style, Shawn jumped in there.
              "Shawn Elvin," he said in his most professional tone as the two shook hands and a five-bagger unfolded. 
               They broke the handshake and Olivia could sense Shawn's disappointment, but reached into her jacket breast pocket and pulled out a business card and handed it to him.  Before Shawn could even react to the gesture, he was being beckoned by a loud voice behind him.
           "Mr. Elvin, you are needed in the kitchen immediately.  The chef said there is some kind of franks and blankets emergency!"
       Shawn took the business card and slipped it into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket.
        "That sounds serious," he joked.  "I better get in the before the knishes stage a smorgasbord revolt."  He then turned to Olivia and said, "It was nice meeting you," conveniently leaving her name out because he had forgotten what it was.
       He zipped away as Olivia sarcastically said to Blair, "That went well."
       Blair was trying to be supportive, "Just give it some time."

	A few days later, Shawn was picking up his dry cleaning—the elderly Asian woman behind the counter said, “This drop out of pocket.”  She handed Shawn the business card that Olivia had tucked into his outer pocket.
	“Solutions by Easton” was written in black letters in the middle of the card, along with the name Olivia Easton, a phone number, and an e-mail address.  Shawn buried the card in his pants pocket and then flipped it on his desk when he walked back into his office.  He had trips planned to L.A., Chicago and Miami in the coming weeks and really didn’t have time to discuss business with a person that he could barely remember from the party.
	“Did you call Olivia yet?” Blair asked Shawn on the phone as he drove to the airport.
	“Who?” Shawn replied.
	“The woman I introduced you to at the party.”
	“Oh, the technology person,” Shawn remembered.  “No, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
	Blair understood why Shawn hadn’t called but still tried to instill a sense of urgency into his friend.
	“I don’t think you should wait.  She can do wonders for your business.  She’s going to get scooped up by someone else if you wait too long.”
	“Is this a business deal or a fix-up?” Shawn said in a sarcastic tone.
	Blair scrambled trying to conceal his true intent.  “What?  You’re breaking up. I’ll talk to you later in the week.  Have a good trip.”
	A few minutes later, Shawn reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out Olivia’s business card.  He started dialing her number as the driver pulled up and stopped at the curb.  Shawn quickly realized that the call would have to wait for another times.  Meanwhile, Olivia was staying in touch with Blair.
	“It’s been pretty quiet on this end.”
	He tried to keep a positive spin, “Well, I have some more work for you on this end before you two get together.”
	“Thanks, Blair.  You know I appreciate it.”
	It just so happened that Olivia Easton was bagel 
proprietor, Mr. B.’s stepdaughter.  Her father had passed away after 15 years of marriage to her mother.  The cause of death for Mr. B.’s marriage was a lack of green—Mrs. B. ran off with her wealthy gynecologist.  It was hard for Mr. B. to figure out how a couple transitioned from stirrups to the altar, but it must have been better for her than long hours making bagels with nothing to show for it.  She obviously didn’t have the foresight of her husband, who was now making more money than Dr. Pruitt.
	The same could not be said about Julia Easton.  She not only fell in love with bagel at first bite, she also fell in love with the bagel man in the process.  They met shortly after Allie came into Mr. B.’s life, when Olivia was away at Boston University getting her undergraduate degree in philosophy and then her graduate degree in computer science.  There was no winning an argument either directly or through e-mail against Olivia—not with that background.
	Olivia’s father died when Olivia was 10 years old.  A heart attack was the official cause of death, but liver cancer was the defining root of all evil.  Julia Easton stayed single for 10 years and then woke up one morning craving a bagel with lox cream cheese.  She took one bite of the bagel and nearly fell off her chair.  She was sitting at the front counter, which Mr. B. styled after the old coffee shops.
	She said, “What’s in this?”
	Mr. B. turned around and set his sights on this red-haired beauty.  “There are five ingredients in the spread—cream cheese, nova lox, natural vanilla, cinnamon stick, and love.”
	“Julia took another bite and purred, “Hmmm.  Well, I’m in love.”
	Mr. B. wiped the counter and then muttered as he walked away, “Yeah, me too.”
	Olivia was pretty miffed when she returned home after her junior year, only to discover that her mom was married and living in another house.  No, it wasn’t Mr. B.’s house—the two of them decided to sell both of their houses and consolidate into a smaller, two-bedroom condo with a loft.  Mr. B. took the excess cash and invested it in the bagel store, and Julia Easton decided to upgrade the kitchen in the condo and start Julia’s Cookies.
Within two years, Julia’s cookies were the hit of the city.  Once she uncovered the missing ingredient of love, and her best friend moved uptown into the mayor’s mansion with her husband, business started booming.  It definitely was a quality business where quantity was not the order of the day.
Seven years after Julia went into business, she was bought out by Nabisco, who was looking to come out with a line of soft-batch cookies.  A few million dollars later, combined with a lucrative consulting contract, Julia Easton was on to her next successful venture: motivational speaking.
In the category of it helps to know people, Mr. B. had been in talks with Blair and Tinsley Green to franchise Natural Bagel at all of its green locations.  Blair even had a Natural Bagel counter installed at his corporate headquarters, which just happened to be downstairs from where he and Allie lived.
Shawn met Julia one afternoon when he stopped by the store to eat and talk to his friend, Mr. B.
“Shawn, this is my wife, Julia Easton.”
Shawn continued chewing and then swallowed, “That’s a mouthful.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Yes, Mr. Elvin.  I’ve heard a few things about you, too.”
Mr. B. held his wife’s hand and an 11-bagger ensued.  Shawn spilled his egg cream on the counter due to the aftershock, and then Julia ran into the kitchen to get a rag to clean it up.
Mr. B. mouthed, “How many?”
Shawn tried to put up the appropriate amount of fingers but quickly realized he was one short.
“Eleven,” he softly stated.
Julia came back and started wiping up the mess.  “Eleven, what?”
Shawn turned red while Mr. B. quickly walked into the back of the store.  “I was telling your husband that I have an appointment at 11.  Quick bite, spill egg cream, go to meeting at 11.”
 Julia finished cleaning up the counter, threw the rag into the sink, and then turned around in a way that made them feel like young boys on their way to cleaning erasers and washing the classroom chalkboard.
She looked at Shawn, “Do you think I don’t know the strong bond I have with this man?  I knew it the first moment I saw him, or was it the first bite of that bagel?”
“Thank you, dear,” Mr. B. said as he walked over and hugged his wife.
Julia looked over Mr. B.’s shoulder and mouthed the words, “How many?” to Shawn.
Shawn was prepared this time—he put up ten fingers and held a straw between his left index and middle fingers.  She tried to conceal her excitement but the word “Wow!” slipped out.  Shawn quickly placed the straw between his ear and his head and Mr. B. looked at his wife and then Shawn before the three of them burst into laughter.
Shawn finished eating and gave Mr. B. a hug and a kiss—a sign of respect between generations—and he was off one his next soul-finding trip.
“I like him“Julia said to her husband.
Mr. B., never to one to mince words, “Do you like him enough to set him up with your daughter?”
Julia thought for a few seconds, “What do you think?”
“The kid’s a mench.  He’s definitely a throwback to our generation.”
Julia joked, “Do you think they can beat 11?”
Mr. B. smiled and then snuggled with his wife, “Family is good.”
“Yes, family is good” she replied

Olivia’s life was still in limbo and it was becoming a frustrating experience.
“How’s everything going, sweetie?” Julia asked her daughter over the phone.
Olivia paused and then replied, “To be honest, I’m a little frustrated.  I went on a date last night with a guy who used a fork like it was a spear.”
“Who set you up?” her mom asked, without trying to sound too concerned.
“My friend, Margo.  She works with the guy.  He already called me today for another date.”
“So, are you going to go out with him again?” Julia asked.
Olivia snapped, “Yeah, if we go spear fishing.”
“I hear there is access to that on Pier 17 at the South Street Seaport.  Don’t worry, Olivia, there are plenty of fish in the barrel.”
“But I only want one good fish,” Olivia responded.
Mom got down to it, “You know, I thought it was over for me when your dad left us.  We had many discussions about my future, but he told me that I had to keep living—he wanted the same for you.  I never repeated this, but he always told me there was a light around you, and the person you marry would have a light around them, too.  It was one of those real clear moments he had in the final days.  It was really remarkable.”
Olivia started to cry.
“Don’t cry, ‘O’.  Everything’s gonna’ be all right.  You’ll see.”
Olivia sniffled, “Thanks for cheering me up, mom.”
“Any time, dear.”
It was easier for Julia to have a clear perspective when she could see what might be ahead for her daughter.  Olivia, on the other hand, was in career and dating limbo.  It was impossible for her to see anything clearly when she was in the middle of nowhere.  Olivia knew she would eventually arrive at her preferred destination, but that didn’t change the fact that the rent was due and she wasn’t pleased with her latest haircut.  Good hair would definitely trump money strain any day of the week.
“This is Olivia.  I’m not available right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I will be sure to call you back soon.  Thanks.  BEEP!”
“Hello, Olivia.  This is Shawn Elvin of See, Inc.  We met at my party, so I wanted to get in touch with you.  All right, talk to you soon.”
Shawn was so fried that he didn’t even leave a number where he could be reached.  It was a long day of hand-holding the cosmetics mogul’s temperamental daughter.  The girl was about as unstable as nitroglycerin, and Shawn was ready to blow the whole thing up before they had a breakthrough.  His days were long because the selection pool was so variable.  He probably did need some sort of database to keep track of everything, and that’s why he called Olivia.  The one thing that Shawn learned about wealthy people was that they run in very tight circles, so that definitely whittled down the potential matching possibilities.
The method was always equal to the madness—he instructed Josephine Vandermunch, on this occasion, to invite three potential husband candidates to lunch and another three for dinner.  Both meals came up as empty as a chocolate chip cookie jar at a Weight Watchers camp.  But, when Shawn and Josephine walked out of the restaurant and waited for the valet to fetch their cars, the strangest thing happened.
A well-tanned guy pulled up in a Mercedes convertible with the audacious license plate “TRADER”.  He exited the car and then did a double-take before he walked into the restaurant.
“Jo Jo Vandermunch, is that you?”  It took Josephine a second to get her bearings, “Greg?  Greg Childress?” she said in an excited tone.
They hugged and a seven-bagger unfolded.
“Close enough,” Shawn muttered under his breath.
“I haven’t seen you since… how long has it been?” he asked.
“I think we were 15 when our parents were vacationing in Zurich.”
Shawn checked out of the remainder of the conversation, figuring that the rest of the babble was just a formality for the coupling of two people that would put more time and effort into a prenuptial agreement than their marriage.  But $250,000 in his pocket and all of his expenses paid wasn’t a bad day’s work—it just wasn’t where Shawn saw himself anymore.
“Hi Shawn, this is Olivia Easton.  Thank you for calling me back.  Yeah.  Give me a call.  Bye,“ Olivia said in an upbeat, but somewhat confused tone of voice.  She was very happy to hear Shawn’s message because the opportunity to work for Shawn was really appealing.  Any steady job would have held appeal for Olivia, but she had been experimenting with a few technologies in preparation of meeting with Shawn.
“Hello.”
“Is this Olivia?”
“Yes.  Who is this?”
“Hi, it’s Shawn Elvin.  Is this a good time for you to talk?”
Olivia smiled, “Oh yeah, this is a good time.”
“I’m sorry it has taken me a few days to get back to you.  I’ve just been lost in other people’s problems, I guess.” Shawn candidly said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Olivia replied, while bringing her guard down a little.
“Thanks.  It’s the nature of the beast that I’ve created.  I’m looking to move away from truly fortunate and connect with the people that really need me the most.”
“And who would that be?” Olivia questioned.
“You know.  People like you and me,” Shawn replied and then realized what the statement might have sounded like.  “I didn’t necessarily mean the two of us getting together… just people like us.”  More silence and the Shawn said, “You know what I mean.”
Olivia broke into laughter and said, “Yeah, ugh ha.  So that’s how it’s going to be?”
Shawn chuckled and then replied, “Yeah, I can’t see it any other way.”
They agreed to meet the following day, but that got postponed when Shawn was flown to France for $200,000 to see if an oil heiress had tapped into true love, or hit a dry well.
“I got some good news and some bad news,” Shawn said as he called Olivia.
“Give me the bad news first.  I want to finish on an up note.”
Shawn smiled, “I’m going to have to cancel our meeting today.”
She replied, “That’s really bad news.”
Shawn continued, “The good news is that I just made $200,000 by telling a woman she should be in love with her personal assistant, not her fiancée.”
“Did she believe you?”
“I think she was in love with him the whole time.  Sometimes people need to hear it from another person to make it real.”
“Well, good for you,” Olivia replied.
“It’s all good for us,” Shawn stated.
“What do you mean,” she asked.
“I trust Blair Tinsley like he is my brother.  While I might have been busy lately, I’m not deaf, dumb and blind.  I’m going to be out of the office the next few weeks but I wanted to call to offer you the job of VP of whatever title you like.  If it’s technology, that’s fine.  If you decide on something else, that’s great, too.  How does that sound to you?”
Olivia nearly dropped the phone, “Ugh, yes.  That sounds great!  Thank you, Mr., I mean Shawn.”
“Yeah, I’m definitely not ready for that Mister title, so let’s discuss salary.  Are you ready to negotiate?”
“Sure,” Olivia said bracing herself for some tense moments.
“Why don’t we discuss salary face-to-face when I get back.  If you’re as good as Blair says, then I’ll be happy to pay you six figures.  I’ll tell you what—why don’t you set up at SEE, Inc.—I’ll call my people and tell them at you’re coming.  Be sure to pick a nice office with a great view, and I’ll front you $50,000 so you can get the proper equipment you need to get started.  Is there anything else you need?”
Olivia was nearly speechless, “No, that really sounds great, Shawn.  Thank you for the opportunity!”
“No.  Thank you for making my life easier!  I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

bagger.com

True to his promise, Shawn set up everything that he discussed with Olivia.  He had also left an e-mail for her at her corporate address, Olivia@SEE.com:

FR: Shawn@SEE.com
TO: Olivia@SEE.com
RE: Starting Salary

Olivia,

Welcome!  Let’s start at $100,000 and work our way up.  Your “signing bonus” is an envelope next to your desk.

Shawn

	There was a white envelope to Olivia’s right, so she picked it up and looked around to see if anyone else was watching.  She opened the sealed envelope and pulled out a $50,000 check, a $5,000 gift card to Whole Foods Market, which had just opened its first big city location on the Upper West Side, and a note that read:

Olivia,
Just a little something to get you started.  I hope this is the beginning of a long, fruitful relationship.

Shawn

	She wanted to scream out loud, but that would have created pollution in a green building.
Olivia met her mother and Mr. B. for lunch.
“Wow!” Mr. B. exclaimed.
“You’re right.  That boy is a mench,” Julia added.
“Have you met Shawn yet?” Mr. B. asked.
“Yeah, they met at a party at his house,” Julia interjected.
“But that was only for a few minutes,” Olivia explained.
“And he gave you a job, anyway?” Mr. B. kidded.
“Blair Tinsley put in a good word for me,” Olivia said.
The light went on in Olivia’s head, “Wait a minute!  You two both know Shawn, don’t you?”
“Well, I just met him,” Julia admitted.
“We’ve become fast friends,” Mr. B. said without elaborating further.
“Did you have anything to do with Blair Tinsley meeting his fiancée?” Olivia said and then looked behind the counter at Allie, who smiled back and waved.  Everyone was in on the big secret, but they wanted to let nature take its course between Shawn and Olivia.
“You really have to get out from behind that computer and read a newspaper every once in a while, dear.” Julia said.
Olivia turned to Allie and whispered, “I know who you are.  Play along with me, OK?”
“Hi, I’m Olivia, your name is?” Olivia said to Allie.
Allie looked at Mr. B. and Julia who were shaking their heads, “No.”
“Hi, Julia, my name is Theresa.”
“That’s a pretty name.  You look real familiar.  Do I know you from somewhere?” Olivia asked.
“Perhaps we met in a prior life?” Allie replied. 
“I don’t doubt anything anymore,” Olivia said.

Two weeks went by in a flash for Julia because she was busy, but it dripped as slow as sap from a tree for Shawn.  He was happy to be home, and even happier to see the office filling up.  He went straight up to the residence, dropped his stuff off, and then took a quick shower.  He had lost three hours in travel, due to the time change, and when he emerged from his apartment it was 6:00 p.m.
Olivia heard that Shawn would be returning, so she was going to hang around until he came down.  It was the least she could do to thank him in person.  When Shawn walked in a few employees greeted him and the he told them to go home.  Olivia started bouncing her legs up and down from nervousness as Shawn drew closer.  She could hear him saying, “Where is Olivia?”
He had high hopes for Olivia, both professionally and personally.  They had talked on the phone almost every day he was gone.  A few nights prior they had talked for three hours until Shawn realized that it was 2:00 a.m. eastern time.
“Over here!” she yelled as she anxiously stood up.
She had been working on fingerprint technology but then hoped that their initial handshake would be inspiring.  He extended his hand as he got closer, as the action slowed down on both of their minds.  She reached out as their hands got closer.
“It’s a pleasure to finally shake on the deal,” Shawn said.
Olivia pulled back her hand in jest, “Your hands dirty?”
“No, I’m clean.  I just took a shower.”   
Olivia sent her hand back in and Shaw saw a less-than-inspiring five-bagger.  He tried to conceal his disappointment but Olivia could sense it.
She frankly said, “How many?”
He replied, “That’s not important right now.  What is important is that you are here and we are going to revolutionize the industry.”
She nodded, “How many?”
Shawn previously told Olivia in depth about his abilities so she could fully synthesize it into her operating system.
“Five-bagger.”
“That’s seven fewer than Blair and Allie.  Are you disappointed?” she asked.
He replied, “Yes, and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not disappointed because it’s three more than I’ve ever experienced, but I am disappointed because I wanted it to be me for once.”
Olivia tried to maintain some objectivity, “So, two is the most you’ve ever seen for yourself?”
He nodded and said, “Yes.”
She smiled, “Well, at least I’m the best at something.”
He smiled and said, “Why don’t we pick this up in the morning and you can show me what you’ve come up with.”
They shook hands and then met in a nice, firm, semi-professional hug.
“It feels good to be back,” Shawn said and then walked away.
She smiled, “Yeah, it felt real good.”
In an instant, their powers were aligned.  Shawn called Blair and then Blair called Mr. B. so they could meet for dinner.  Olivia called Allie, who she had been talking to a few times a day since they met.  Then she called her mom, and the three of them also met for dinner.
“Five-bagger” Shawn said, much to the chagrin of Blair and Mr. B.
“I guess I didn’t realize how lucky you both are,” Shawn stated.  “I might have gotten lost in the business aspect of my sight.”
Blair asked, “Isn’t that more than you’ve ever seen before?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you’re just blocked up,” Mr. B. added.
“Maybe, baby,” Shawn said as he smiled.  “I missed you guys.  It’s lonely out there on the road.”
“You mean you didn’t indulge in any Spectravision?  It doesn’t list what movies you watch unless your name is Tinsley and one hundred dollars finds its way onto the counter.”
“I was talking to Olivia most of the night,” Shawn said.
Mr. B. looked at Blair and asked, “Should I tell him?”
“Tell me what?” Shawn inquired.
“Remember when you met my wife Julia the other day?” Mr. B. asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well she has a daughter.”
Shawn was waiting for the punch line, or at least a clarifying follow up.  Shawn nodded at Mr. B. and Blair until reality smacked him in the back of the head with the force of a shovel.
“Wow!  How long have you been keeping this from me?” Shawn asked.
Blair stepped in, “We were trying to let nature take its course.”
“What?  Has my life turned into the Discovery Channel?” Shawn said and then plopped his napkin on the table.  “I need some air.  Thanks for meeting me,” Shawn tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and said, “I’ll pick up some pizza on the way home.  Sorry guys, I need some time to think.”
Blair stood up and hugged Shawn.  “Sorry, bro’.  We were just trying to help.”
Shawn then hugged Mr. B., “I’m just a little frustrated.  I thought I had something special with Olivia.”
He walked away as Mr. B said to Blair, “Then don’t let anything stand in your way.”
A few blocks away, Olivia, Allie and Julia were mixing salad together, because “tossing” the greenery would have implied something completely different.  It was their first chance to go out as a group, but it appeared that the chemistry was instantaneous.
“I saw Shawn today,” a confused Olivia threw out there to get the conversation going.
“Oh, how did that go?” Julia excitedly asked.
Olivia looked at Allie, who she had already spoken to on the phone, and then replied, “I’m not sure.”
The waiter then came by with three huge salad bowls in front of the three ladies and then asked, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, this looks great,” Julia responded.
“Enjoy,” the waiter said and then walked away.
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
Olivia had a mouthful of salad, so her mom continued, “The guy gave you a great job and salary, and he’s a good guy, too."
Allie interjected, “Five-bagger.”
Julia swallowed with an audible gulp and said, “Oh.”
Silence ensued as the women turned their full attention to their salads.  Olivia took a long drink of water, wiped her mouth with her napkin, and then said, “But that’s three more than he’s ever seen for himself.”
Julia and Allie squinted trying to figure out why Shawn had produced such low totals for himself, while he was wide open to see the potential of others.  Olivia squinted, too, as the collective smoke rose from their brains producing a cloud over the circular booth.
“Blockage,” Julia said in a quiet tone of voice.
“Blockage?” Allie questioned.
Olivia thought for a moment and then yelled, “Blockage!  Oh crap, I have to go!”
She blew a kiss at both ladies and then struggled mightily to extract herself from the booth.  Olivia reached into her purse to get money, but her mom said, “Just go!”
Olivia nodded and said, “I’ll talk to you two tomorrow.  I have some work to do.”
Allie nodded and then turned to Julia and asked the question again, “Blockage?”
The meal proved quite filling between salad munching and explanation.  Julia went into detail about her first husband’s blockage in his arteries, which eventually led to his death.  She thought a similar condition had afflicted Shawn, although the rumors of his possible death were probably greatly exaggerated.
    If it’s true that for every positive there is a negative attached, then Shawn’s gift of sight was also a curse against his discovering his own happiness.  This is usually the case with people endowed with special powers.  Shawn was a superhero in his own right, although Olivia wasn’t going to be satisfied unless she was able to unlock the door to his and their happiness.
The office was dimly lit and completely peaceful when Olivia walked through the door at 10:15 p.m.  She had to make a few minor adjustments to her SEE ME technology system before she would be able to prove a point to Shawn.  While Olivia was slaving away downstairs, Shawn was busy with his own pity party upstairs in his bedroom.  Pizza, beer, Heaven Can Wait, was the antidote for his blatant love failure.
Somewhere around the sixth piece of cold pizza, fifth beer, and Leo Farnsworth falling down the well and QB Jarrett winning the Super Bowl, Shawn decided to empty his hose and check his security system downstairs.
It was 2:00 a.m. and Shawn expected to see dim lights and no employees scurrying around on his six security screens.  What he saw on screen five was Olivia drinking coffee and fiddling with a device on his desk.  He walked back into the bathroom and rinsed his mouth and washed his face.  He also put on a pair of sweatpants over his shorts and a New York Knicks sweatshirt that Walt “Clyde Frazier, a former unsuccessful client, gave him.  It appeared that Clyde was a seed-scatterer, and had not planted significant roots with just one person during his lives.  This was music to Clyde’s ears and he even gave Shawn season tickets and a lifetime pass to the Garden’s restaurant.  The perks were even fruitful when Shawn didn’t succeed.
Shawn made his way down in the solar-powered elevator and tried to keep his head as clear as possible with a bunch of beers in him at two o’clock in the morning.
He walked toward Olivia and said, “While I appreciate your dedication, it is two o’clock in the morning for god’s sake.  Have you lost your mind?”
Olivia muttered, “Blockage, blockage.”  At first, she didn’t acknowledge Shawn’s presence because she assumed that he was a hallucination, a figment of her imagination.
“Blockage?  Why are you talking about blockage?” Shawn asked Olivia.
Olivia looked up, “Shawn!  I didn’t see you standing there.  What brings you down here?”
“You.  Do you realize that it’s two o’clock in the morning?”
“Yeah, just one more turn and… all ready.  You want to test out my new SEE ME system?” she asked.
Shawn replied, “I’m not exactly in the proper mental state of mind…”
She grabbed his left hand and placed his index finger on a small, long pad.
“You see, the reason you haven’t been able to secure your own romantic path is because of blockage.  Your abilities send out a kind of cloaking mechanism when your hand physically touches another hand.  I finally came to that conclusion when I was at dinner with my mom and Allie, and they helped guide me down the right path.”
“Well, I was at dinner with Mr. B. and Blair, and all they did was propel me into beer, pizza, and a Warren Beatty-fest.”
“Did you make it to the end when he told her that everything was going to be all right?” she asked.
“No.  I got up when she was accusing Mrs. Farnsworth and Tony Abbott of killing Leo.  I love that movie.”
She nodded, “Yeah, I like the one with Chris Rock even better.  Well, my theory with your ‘bagger shortness’ is grounded in a factor of three.  You’ll see what I mean in a moment.”
“How does this device work?” Shawn asked
Olivia was busy manipulating the data with the mouse-like device when she explained, “You just match up your fingerprint with, let’s say, mine, and…”
Olivia stared at the overlapping prints in a semi-trance, as the explosion sent Shawn flying through the room and then sliding ten feet across the shiny, composite, recycled materials floor.  The impact startled Olivia from her soft coma, and she quickly rose from her chair.
“Shawn!  Are you all right?” Olivia yelled.
Shawn was a little shaken up, but probably benefited from being pretty numb from the beer.  He sat up and saw enough lives to fill up the entire spaciousness of the first floor.
Olivia stood over him and said, “Still seeing five?”
She helped him to his feet and he replied, “Factor of three, eh?  Wow!  I’ve never seen 15 before.”
She stepped closer, “And you thought beer, pizza, and Miss Betty Logan would help cure the blues.”
Shawn smiled, “We have to patent that technology,” and then he moved in for a kiss.
The smoldering kiss broke for a moment and Olivia said, “Applied for it this morning.”
A few more minutes of kissing and then Shawn said, “Remind me to give you an obscene raise in the morning.”
“What’s the company’s policy on office romances?” she asked.
“We don’t have one,” he said as he dove back into the deep end of heaven.
A few minutes later he said, “Miss Easton.  Do you want to take this meeting up to the second floor?”
Olivia smiled, “Do you have enough space for all of us up there?”
Shawn looked around at all of the connected lives standing together, “It doesn’t look like we have much of a choice,” he replied as everyone went back to kissing.


EPILOGUE

The SEE ME was patented shortly after Shawn and Olivia’s successful test.  Her technology was able to capture and build a database of fingerprints from people around the world and superimpose the prints in order to be evaluated by Shawn—there was no substitute for his vision, which was both a competitive advantage and a disadvantage for the company.
While the technology was patented, it could not be duplicated because Shawn’s interpretive power was the engine that powered the car.  His longevity was also paramount to the survival of the company.
Shawn and Olivia had three beautiful daughters and then one boy, while Allie and Blair had three boys and then a girl, but none of them had experienced prior lives together.
Shawn’s second daughter, Sarah, inherited the vision gift from her dad, and started realizing what she was viewing by the age of seven.  His youngest daughter, Brooklyn, and his son, Danny, inherited the vision of putting people together from Shawn’s parents and kept the other family business going.  His eldest daughter, Monroe, had an eye for technology and continued to drive the evolution of SEE, Inc. for years to come.
Blair turned Tinsley Green into the sole family business once Darren Tinsley passed away at the age of 79 from a heart attack.  He became a huge benefactor for green organizations and was one of the main drivers of emission-free driving across the globe on January 1, 2044.  The crushing of the last internal combustion engine car—a Ford Mustang convertible—was witnessed around the world and roads were entirely filled with electric and solar-powered cars that could go for 10 years on a single renewable-powered battery that was as quiet as an empty gymnasium.
   In the end, Shawn was cited as the primary catalyst in the decline of divorce rates from over 50% to less than 10% in only 15 years.  However, there was still no avoiding the devastating pressures of money and family, and the lure of breaking a strong bond to stray toward another lover.  The drop in the divorce rate also caused a trickle-down as enrollment at both law and psychiatry schools plummeted—no harm, no foul there.  Some impactful developments are unexpected, but are still greatly appreciated.