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It wasn't a nonstop flight we were taking. Just like before, we were stopping at JFK to rush onto the next British Airways jet that would take us straight to Heathrow. Right now, we were back in the air, first class passengers aboard a Trans World Airlines 747. This isn't the Starship, but it sure beats riding coach.

I had my nose stuck in a January issue of Time magazine, laughing silently to myself at the cover story. "Global cooling" was the environmental worry of the decade, and the author of the article was sounding the horns of judgment upon we humans for hearkening forth the second Ice Age, which was due to arrive in the next two or three decades. Little did he know that in that same amount of time the message would flip, and become "global warming." Still our fault, though.

"Always something," I said aloud.

Freddie glanced up. "Hm?"

"Oh, nothing, just reading this story," I explained. "We're apparently all going to freeze to death before long."

"Bloody ozone," he said absently, turning back to his pencil and paper.

We hadn't said much to each other since getting out of K's truck. Freddie saved his conversation for Mary, whom he called to let her know he was on his way back (and to say a quick hello to the cats).

"Two more seconds, dear, I need to make another call," he had said.

"Call whom?"

"Just want to page Straker and Paul, they must have landed by now."

Freddie timed this perfectly; they had apparently just come in off the tarmac, about to board their plane back home. The phone call didn't take much time, Freddie just wanted to make sure his two friends were all right. As he hung up, I saw him roll his eyes.

"Now you've got Peter doing it," he muttered to me.

"Doing what?"

"He asked how Harley Quinn had liked her fiance," he chuckled.

"That's his name for me."

"It's harlequin, not Harley Quinn."

"Just go with it, Mr. J," I sang.

"Bad habits do spread so quickly," he sighed.

I bore his abrupt distance as well as I could, but I was finding it harder and harder to shift alongside him. Freddie was a chameleon, with a face for every hour of every day. I had only one face, and only one protective mask, which was wearing ever thinner with unbroken use.

For the past half hour Freddie had been hard at work sketching something, and I didn't want to distract him. I would have updated the NFOs and activities by now, but he was using my hardback journal as a desk; it seemed the tray table just wasn't doing the trick. I kept my eyes moving from the magazine pages to his steady pencil traces, making sure he didn't pry the journal open and see whatever potentially unkind things I had noted as recently as yesterday. Once I let myself stare too long at his handsome face, long enough to make him feel the pressure of my gaze. He looked up, and I turned away, my cheeks burning.

I understood it this way: Freddie wanted my body, and I wanted his. That much had been crystal clear since we had worked on "My Melancholy Blues" in the wee hours of the sixth morning- and that seemed to be about it from what I could tell (or admit, at this time). The brief spells of intimacy we had shared, wherein something always seemed to get in the way, were invariably followed by a drastic cool-down on Freddie's part. And he and I had not kept up one single conversation that lasted longer than five minutes.

Even now after ten days, he was so hard to read- but Freddie wasn't the kind to narrate his true feelings aloud to almost anyone. And since I wasn't calm and quiet Mary Austin, I felt it safe to say he still wouldn't make an exception for me.

Watching the lights of Las Vegas disappear behind the clouds reminded me that the party was over. The entire experience truly had been one for the books, and to Freddie I was and always will be grateful. Nevertheless, I needed to examine my options once we landed on British soil-

Hey, wait a minute. I couldn't go back without a Passport! And there was no trunk to stow away in this time. Here was the wrinkle! Oh, no! I was toast! But then, perhaps Freddie had a plan for this too. It was still too early to freak out, we weren't leaving America for another hour. Freddie's got this. I needn't worry.

Forcing myself not to fret, I continued to muse. I still had no ID, and most employers expected applicants to prove their official existences- legal authorization to work, so to speak. I had none.

I closed the magazine and put it back into the bin. What was it a person could do for a living without ID, without a Social or anything like that? True, now I had a marriage license, but that little document was already headed for the shredder, and the ink was barely dry.

That was the thing no one ever bothered to mention in the films. Going back or forward in Time, and then staying there, always seemed so hassle-free. Not so! In real life, you need to show you are who you say you are. You are dead in the water unless you have the papers to prove you're not. Not that that's a bad thing, that's just the way it is. But there had to be exceptions.

I sat there with my hands folded. Off the top of my head I could think of only one thing: I could be a nun and therefore have to convert to Catholicism or the Anglican church. To my knowledge there aren't too many Baptist convents.

Oh, right. I can just see me now. The new Maria von Trapp. I snickered to myself.

Again, Freddie looked up. "Sorry," I whispered, covering my mouth.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"I was just, um- thinking," I murmured.

"About what?"

"Nothing, sorry, I didn't mean to laugh out loud like that. I was just thinking about my options."

"Options?" He frowned.

"You know, for, uh- for what I'm going to do with my life now."

"Oh yes?" Freddie put the pencil back into my bag and started tucking away his drawings.

I waved my hands, "No no no, don't do that, I-"

"Don't be silly, I'm not making much progress anyhow," he answered. "Just trying to come up with ideas."

"Oh yeah? What for?"

"Costumes and things. For the tour after the album."

Oh, yeah, that's right. He's a rock star. I actually almost forgot.

"Well, don't let me distract you-"

"You're not distracting me." He handed me back the journal, a mischievous smile curving his mouth. "Not like that, anyway."

"Still, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be. Come on, talk to me."

"Uh-uh. I've distracted you enough." With that I opened up my journal. Taking that same pencil in hand, I was poised to write. I had a whole day and a half to account for after all. As soon as the tip hit the paper a hand swooped in and shut the journal. I looked at Freddie, half-irritated.

He just leaned back and crossed his legs. "I'm all ears- and teeth."

I fought down surprise at this joke he'd made at his own expense. "What does that mean?"

"Darling, really. You've got eyes, haven't you? Now tell me what's on your mind."

NFO: Not above a little self-deprecating humor.

"Well," I shrugged, "I was just thinking about what I'm going to have to do with myself since the Relic still hasn't turned up."

"Oh, yes," Freddie nodded, pursing his lips. "The Relic." His eyes seemed to cloud for a minute, then cleared again. I pretended not to notice.

"Yeah. I'm going to have to figure out a game plan. I have to get myself a job, for one thing."

"You can work for me," Freddie offered brightly.

I shook my head, grinning. "Thank you, but I'm already in debt up to my nose to you."

Freddie groaned, "Darling-"

"You know what I mean. I need a real job. Thing is, again, I don't have ID."

Freddie must have misheard me, because he said, "So you need ideas?"

"I have one."

"Go on."

"I could be a nun."

"Of course, your head would go there."

"I think it's a very good idea if worst comes to worst."

"You could do that. But then I couldn't come visit you, they'd never let me in. I have the air of iniquity hanging too heavy about me." Freddie's eyes gleamed.

So that's what that is. Iniquity smells like licorice. Good to know.

"Oh, let's see," he went on. "Hypothetically, I suppose, you could become a streetwalker."

"What?!"

"Hypothetically, dear! Doesn't mean you have to, it's just a possibility."

"Okay, then. That's two! Two ideas in the hole. Nun and prostitute."

He nodded sagely and said, "Or you can join the circus."

"And do what?"

"Be a snake charmer perhaps. Wear some slinky little number and sway about with a python round your waist. I'd pay a lot to see that."

"Okay, that's good too. So three! Three ideas for future careers. Nun, prostitute, snake charmer-"

"Mud wrestler-"

"I'm kind of seeing a pattern here, I don't know about you. But yes, FOUR! Nun, prostitute, snake charmer- what were the other ones?"

"Mud wrestler, stripper, fan dancer- Wait, I'll come in again!" Freddie laughed.

I stared at him, a grin spreading across my face. "Was that a Monty Python reference?"

"Nobody expects a Monty Python reference!"

"Or the Spanish Inquisition."

"Or a dead parrot."

"No, no, he was just stunned."

And in this single exchange I forgot again about weighing options for my new future, quit thinking about the Relic, and instead joined Freddie in spouting off Monty Python lines like the two closet nerds we were. Rudy looked up from his newspaper, watched us laughing. It was only his attention that made us realize maybe we were being a bit disruptive.

"Since when were you such a Flying Circus fan?" I asked in a softer voice.

"Since it came along. I love them."

"Did you see the Holy Grail?"

"I did, but honestly, I liked the sort of variety facet of the show better."

"Me too. Besides, it ended so stupidly. The film, I mean."

"I thought it was funny!"

"It was obvious. They ran out of money before they could end it properly so they just stopped and had the police come and arrest everybody."

"And that's funny."

"No, it's just British. I mean, the organ music was great, but I felt so cheated at the end. So anticlimactic."

"My dear, such a shame you can't find it in yourself to appreciate true humor," Freddie yawned. "You Yanks are so difficult to please. If there's no resolution, you want nothing to do with it."

"Oh, you dandy old snob. Acting all high and mighty when you know you love the Marx Brothers too, who are anything but highbrow. Now you're distracting me. I have to get writing here, get my head together-"

"No indeed, I'm far too enthralled. I just found out how much you love Monty Python and that endears you to me more than you realize. You've got me curious. I now intend to learn all about you."

"What's there to learn? You think I'm an angel or something like that. Angels are dull and boring."

"But you're not."

I rolled my eyes. "Bull. Please go back to work, far be it from me to slow you down." I opened the journal again, pressing down on either side in case he should try to shut the book once more. And he didn't. Instead, he simply pulled the thing out of my hands altogether and sat back against it with an air of triumph.

"Pushy, pushy," I muttered.

"Write after we change planes," he sang.

We were changing planes in another two hours, by which point I would be too tired for anything but sleep. And I wasn't feeling like writing much anymore anyway. So talk we did.

Somehow, Freddie and I jabbered on about everything and nothing, about the band, about the new album, about what made us happy and unhappy, and about "heaven," where he allegedly assumed I came from, in which I was able to freely talk about my "angel family," for the whole two hours we had. I at first tried stepping carefully, to make sure I didn't ask him the same questions any journalist would ask. As the minutes passed, however, I let myself relax and said what I wanted. I knew where the tender spots were -seven years of study and over a week of firsthand experience taught me where those lurked- so I managed to avoid most of them. I let him tell his naughty little stories and laughed and blushed where appropriate, as I popped peanuts into my mouth and he contented himself with a glass of red wine.

And we did this, quite miraculously, without interruption. I mean, unless you count the couple of times someone walked up and asked for his autograph. And a couple of times we dragged Rudy into the fray to settle a facetious dispute about this or that. But that was really all. By the time a miniature version of the New York glow reappeared outside my window, I felt like I'd known this man for ten years as opposed to a mere ten days.

Okay, fine, I conceded to myself. So we can keep up a nice long talk! So what? We're friends after all, why shouldn't we?

Good grief. Can you say, "denial"?

We landed, and Freddie and I stood to stretch our legs. I reached into the overhead shelf to grab my backpack, stuffed the journal back in. Freddie was watching my every move, a funny light in his eyes.

"You're still wearing your ring, I see," he noted.

"And you couldn't get yours off fast enough," I replied, smiling. Freddie just shrugged and let Rudy walk behind him, so that he was sandwiched between me and his bodyguard/driver as we filed off the plane.

Freddie leaned forward and whispered, "Hey, Eve, can you tell me something?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"What's your name?"

"You just said it. I'm-"

"I mean your real name, dear."

I looked back at him slyly. "Who wants to know?"

"This dreadfully nosy tart does, that's who."

"Eve Dubr- I mean, Eve Zuckerberg not enough anymore?"

"No. That's the name I gave you in a careless moment. I want to know what your family calls you."

"Why?"

"Darling, would it kill you not to ask a question every time you open your mouth?"

"I want to know. What do you care what my real name is?"

"I'd just like to be a little more in the loop. Call you by a more intimate name."

"My family's not the best place to go. They call me different things, too."

"Julie Christie" is what my dad liked calling me, thanks to my real name being Julia Christine, and the fact that the actress Julie Christie was one of my dad's first crushes. My mother was more fond of the nickname "Goose" herself- and Freddie already called me that. The one brother I have did not even bother to call me by first name, and instead settled for a shorter version of the middle one: "Chris."

"I'd settle for your real first name."

"I can't tell you."

"Good Lord. Why not?"

"Because!"

"Oh, well, I'm convinced now. Is it like some kind of rule, you can't use your angel name?"

I began to laugh.

"I mean it! What's it going to hurt? Can't I at least guess?"

I grinned. "You can try."

"Right!" He rubbed his hands together, brows furrowing. "Hmm..."

"You get three. After that, no more guesses."

"Oh, f---, always a string. Then you had better give me a hint. A good hint."

"It's in a Beatles song."

"Thanks a lot. After all, there's only four thousand names in Beatles songs."

"That's all you get. Take it or leave it."

"All right, fine. Let me think it over, I want to make these count."

We were in luck; there was a flight out to London in another thirty minutes. All we had to do was buy the tickets- and (GAH!) provide the proper identification to do so. Again the pit formed in my stomach. Stay calm, I told myself nervously. Freddie knows what he's doing. Doesn't he?

But as Rudy grabbed our one bag, Freddie still gave no indication of what I was supposed to do now. We approached the ticket line, taking our place behind seven other people. Rudy and Freddie produced their Passports, and I stood there like an idiot, wondering if maybe something had indeed slipped through the cracks.

(By the way, I have to say, weren't the seventies a cool time to be alive? True, it was the era of Nixon's Watergate and Carter's "malaise," years complete with the very inconvenient 1979 oil crisis still yet to transpire. But there was no TSA or anything, and you didn't have to be early to the airport, you could almost be late and still make the skies by running for the tarmac- it was wonderful... Okay, I just had to throw that in there, carry on.)

I was a nervous wreck by the time we approached the desk. Rudy spoke for Freddie, "Three for the 12:15 flight to London, please."

She nodded. "Passports?"

Two of three were spread out before her. Freddie took my shoulder gently and tugged me toward the front. "She's with me."

The woman stamped the boys' papers, then looked at me expectantly. "Do you have your Passport, ma'am?"

I stammered, "Uh- one second."

Hands shaking, I reached into my backpack, pretended to rummage around although I knew I wouldn't find anything.

Freddie's brows came together. "Don't you have it, darling?"

"Not that I can see." My voice quavered violently. "Uh..."

I was holding up the line, I knew I was, but I still checked every flap. Stupid things, they put way too many small spaces in these bags, they're just crazy for you to misplace something, they make it too easy. Not that I had anything to lose in the first place...

When I'd convinced myself I was out of luck, I stood, about to hold out my hands in supplication when Freddie's brows rose.

"Oh!" He snapped his fingers and chuckled apologetically. "That's right, how silly of me." He reached into his inside jacket pocket. I watched numbly as he drew out a third Passport and put it in my palm.

"You gave it to me for safe keeping, remember?" he said. I stood and stared at him. Freddie nudged me a little. Stiffly I turned to hand her the Passport. She opened it to reveal the picture he'd taken of me just before we went to the Heatwave, but with my bedroom replaced with a dull beige background.

She looked up at me. "Ms. Evelyn Dubroc?"

My dry throat swallowed and I whispered, "That's me."

The woman stamped the Passport, handed us our tickets, gave us back our papers, and said "Bon voyage."

And I fainted.

The next thing I knew, I was slouching in a plush chair, with Freddie slapping gently at my wrist. I opened my eyes, and he kissed my forehead. We were on another plane, this one a bit more spacious than the last.

"I'm so impressed, my dear," Freddie said. "That was a wonderful imitation of a marionette when one cuts its strings."

I looked at him. "How long did you work on that one?"

"From the moment you hit the floor."

"That's pretty good," I muttered, chuckling. "Where are we?"

"We've already landed in London," Rudy quipped. "I'm afraid you suffered a mild concussion, so you've been out for about twelve hours now. The ambulance is on its way."

"Rudy!" I smiled. "You're being sarcastic!"

And Rudy almost blushed with pleasure. He does like me! Oh, it's so wonderful to be accepted.

"Actually, we're just waiting to take off, which should be in another five minutes or so," Freddie explained. He smiled almost shyly. "Were you, um- were you surprised?"

"Surprised?" I said. "Man, I almost had a heart attack." I fumbled for my Passport again and stared at it. There was my