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From a diner to a window, from a window to a diner.

It's disgusting."

He waited. She said: "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve all of that."

"You needed to say it," he said. "And I know I have to earn trust. I won't lie to you, pita."

"I don't think you will," she said. She paused and said sheepishly. "You look honest and I believe your face."

Joe peered into the cam with a raised eyebrow - he knew how he was looking, and "honest" was not in his aging face - he reached for his glass of soda without comment and took a sip.

He said: "My question is whether you want submission and will obey."

"And what sort of faith do you need to trust me?" she asked. She was not sarcastic.

"We both need actions, not more words."

He was on a plane to her now because he needed her to take action toward trust. His plan was simple. She knew his flight number, and that he was eager... but she didn't know where they were going.

He hadn't told her they would stay in Orlando, but he had let her assume it. The fact was that she was ticketed to return to New England with him for the week.

She wouldn't expect it; if she wanted an excuse to back out she would have one. But if she was willing to risk trusting him enough to step onto the plane ... in that instant ... their lives could move ahead rather than trickle out into the dry streambeds of her desperate divorce and his empty heart.

They both needed to free themselves from the quiet despairs haunting them. Since Mattie's death over two years earlier he had resisted his personality's insistence that someone should be in submission to him. He called her as his plane reached the gate.

"Are you here, Sir?"

Doubt springs eternal. "You're ready to leave? Dressed as I said?"

"Yes, my Joe." Her voice was even softer than usual, and there was a quiver.

"You're frightened, pita."

"Not much, Sir."

She took a breath. "I'm worried about work, I guess. And about Philip. A little, Sir." She was afraid of her ex-husband, a self-absorbed bully who once threatened to "keep her." There was a restraining order and he wouldn't come to the house.

Joe just assumed that pita was not only wondering about Philip but about himself, too. It would be strange if she didn't wonder if he was just another belligerent and ego-centered tormentor who wanted to keep her weak.

They would have to learn to trust. But they could do only one thing at a time.

He reviewed the call forwarding for her phone with her. He made her hang up and then called her house so she could see it would forward to the cell phone he had sent. He reassured her. He told her to meet him and to park in the long term lot; when she started to ask why, he interrupted: "Because you trust me, pita. It's what I want you to do."

She was to meet him at the Southwest ticket counter, traffic willing, in forty-five minutes, where he would locate her. "Call me if you can't be on time," he said. "Now that I'm here I'm feeling responsible." She laughed nervously. He could hear her breathe. She was not hanging up.

"I want you, pita," he said and talked to her. He felt her relax and was smiling when he closed the phone and clipped it to his belt.

He walked down the concourse to the terminal area for Southwest. He spoke with a skycap, a small black man who was eager to please, and who became even more obliging when Joe handed him two twenty-dollar bills along with a plain, white envelope. The skycap's eyes were attentive as Joe gave instructions. The black man nodded enthusiastically.

The little man's eagerness had Joe smiling when he turned to look for the bartender in the VIP lounge.

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