Chapter 2

Marty worried about growing old. Marty worried that he was through in show business. Marty worried that his wife would leave him as soon as he was no longer a man of influence and power. Too many cigarettes, too much brandy, and too many cocktail parties that ended up with his being too drunk to drive home. And then there was the intense pressure of work. And Marty was only thirty-five years old.

The working vacation in Acapulco might do him some good, he mused, looking at himself in the mirror. But the upcoming party for the Broadway producers and their angels, the men with the money, was what worried him most. The bags were packed for Acapulco, but his career was still up in the air, hanging. The party, less than an hour away, could make him . . . or break him.

"Fuck it!" Marty mumbled to himself. It was so hard to get anywhere in show business without having to pay for it in one way or another. Even when you were reasonably successful, you couldn't sit back and simply enjoy it. You lived under a constant compulsion to prove yourself all the time. You couldn't relax-couldn't afford to relax-not even for one little minute.

Marty thought again of his precarious hold on fame and good living as he sat on the bed and eased his feet into a pair of expensive black leather shoes and laced them tightly. He glanced quickly around the room and reveled briefly in its elegance. There was the small black leather couch and its twin chairs, overstuffed and overpriced. There was the big, beautiful sofa that separated the bedroom from the living room, and the sliding panel that was now up. There was the thick, plush wall-to-wall carpeting, thick drapes on the windows that opened at the press of a button. All of this could disappear unless luck was with Martin C. Gebhart tonight.

He began to think again about his predicament and the fickleness of all show business, particularly Broadway and the more professional off-Broadway houses. After his fiasco with his last writer, who proved to be a twenty-four-hour drunk once he became ensnared by the "evils of Manhattan," and the play that never made it out of the red, Marty would be lucky to survive unless his luck and his ability took a very quick turn for the better.

There was hope. And that hope lay in a brilliant and promising young playwright named Allenby Borden. Marty picked up the synopsis of the unknown writer's play and flicked briefly through it again. There was another half dozen copies in the living room and tonight they would be handed to the three top Broadway producers and various angels (the money men who backed the productions).

The synopsis showed the promise of a great hit. And Marty had been wrong only once about recognizing and nurturing writing genius along. With a little help from him to bring out all the finer qualities, and then perhaps a final re-write to omit the petty things that might annoy some of the angels, Marty would literally create a great playwright from an unpublished and unknown writer like Allenby Borden.

Marty's contract with Borden was the same as he had always had with a new writer. For professional counseling and collaboration in producing a final script that a producer and his backers would buy, Marty received fifty percent. Later, if the writer hit, Marty's fee would go down to twenty-five or even ten percent. But there was another clause in the contract that often accounted for Marty's making twice as much as the writer. When the producer bought the play, he also bought Marty's services for promotion and publicity. And Martin C. Gebhart was a hustler. He had to be. His publicity and promotion fees were based on a percentage too, a small percentage of the gross box-office receipts. If the play was a real hit, the money would flow in like king-size confetti, a deluge of hundred dollar bills that would never seem to end. But if the play flopped, all of his efforts would not produce enough for a single night out with Louisa for dinner at "21".

Marty had drawn up the contract (fortunately) with young Al Borden before the big flop. And if anybody could persuade the producers to accept the work of a nobody (before the flop), it was Martin C. Gebhart. His name on a contract had long been considered a guarantee of success for any playwright . . . and his play. Marty was the hottest agent, collaborated and flack man in the business when it came to a stage play or musical.

Or, was that all in the past? He wondered as he threw the synopsis back on the table. In this business, no matter what your previous record was like, you were almost solely rated on your very latest success. What you had accomplished in the past (like making a box-office bonanza from an unknown playwright's script that most producers would reject after reading the first three pages) meant nothing. Show business is a now business. It allowed only one or two chances at redemption after a fizzle. And they were tougher to make than all the others.

Until that very last utter failure, Marty had them eating out of the palm of his hand. Now, unless he was able to do a selling job on young Borden's synopsis, and convince them he could do a fantastic job of collaboration and promotion, the pendulum looked like it was already beginning to swing the other way. And one of the troubles was that Marty had become a cult figure. Lake other cults and trends, his success was an inconstant, unreliable phenomenon. As soon as he showed any sign of failure, or growing stale, or not relating to today's audience, he could easily become an overnight "has been" as easily as he had become an almost overnight success.

Suddenly, Marty realized that he felt a little better, that a spark of his confidence had returned. Why? Because he was at once aware that he was no longer alone in the room. Louisa was there. She had been at his side for only a few seconds, but it worked a miracle. She ruffled a hand playfully through his hair and licked her lips in that way that could propel him toward her like an erotic magnet.

"You look worried, darling . . . mm-mmm, lover," she said in her soft voice. She then looked up warmly into his eyes and asked, "Are you still fretting over that damn play that flopped?"

"Yes . . . " he admitted with a shrug, then became more dramatic. "The hounds! The bastards! They've all been waiting for the great Martin C. Gebhart to louse one up! And he did." Marty slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. "You could almost smell their perverted glee! All of those condolences, the obvious hints that 'the boy wonder' has fucked up! No more inspiration!

"Louisa . . . you'll see it in their eyes tonight here. The dirty, fucking bastards! To hell with them. I'm going to show them! Once they've read Al's synopsis and I tell them they can't have it without my usual contract, they'll fight over it! At least.. . I think they will."

Louisa grasped his hand and sat down on the bed beside him. "Easy, darling . . . relax." She soothed him with her whispery voice again (just as the night before). "We both know that this is going to work out." Her perfume, her sparsely draped body in that same sheer peignoir, began to lure him to a new sense of luxury. The round thrust of her breast pressed against his thin shirt. "You and Al will put together the final script while we're on vacation together in Mexico. We do leave tomorrow, you know! When we return, they'll be fighting each other for the privilege of producing it!"

Louisa continued to talk, but her voice became more husky, intimate, and just a little breathless. At the same time, she began to caress the nape of his neck, her long, skillful fingers lulling him into a gradual easing of his tensions. She kissed him just below his ear. With her lips still on his flesh, she murmured, "Lay back on the bed, Marty . . . please. I want you."

The next half hour was a reprise of the night before, albeit an abbreviated version, one reduced to merely a half hour. The results for Marty were great. His tensions were gone. He felt relaxed. No longer was he afraid of the night that lay before him. Louisa, however, was frustrated. She wanted more. She wanted to swallow Marty's come.

Marty said something about "only thirty minutes," and Louisa opened her legs so he could slip right out of her. She knew how important the party was to Marty, that it could make a tremendous difference in his career. It could spell success or failure. Therefore, she did nothing nor said nothing that would make him think she was frustrated, that she wanted to have a virtual private orgy with her husband, swallow his come, use her mouth . . . everywhere!

She smiled as she watched Marty's chest rise and fall when he slowly climbed down from the ecstatic heights of his orgasm. She kissed him softly on the cheek and whispered, "Why don't you relax a few minutes, darling? I'll get dressed and finish getting everything ready. Quickly, she jumped off the bed and slipped out of her peignoir.

The shower felt good to her. Louisa stepped under the jets of water again and soaped her crotch carefully, trying to ignore the urge that crept through her as her fingers worked up a lather. The feel of her own hands on her flesh made the temptation strong. She wanted to fondle the lips, the clit, the fleshy insides, and complete the sensations that Marty had denied her.

The warm water was like a caress to her white, soft flesh. She leaned back so that the jets hit her stomach and crotch, washing away the odor of the recent sexual union and, at the same time, stinging the half open lips of her vulva with a fierce patter.

Almost unconsciously, Louisa's fingers drew the slit wider so that the water jetted more inside her pussy and hit the nymphae and clit. She closed her eyes dreamily. She found herself wondering what it would be like to have sex in the shower. To have a wet, naked body pressed up against hers, hands fondling her breasts, tweaking and massaging her nipples under the warm water splashes. And while the spray bathed her breasts and nipples in a delicious steamy heat, she imagined that she and her lover were soaping each other lovingly, using their hands to foam up a generous and abundantly creamy lather.

Louisa sighed languorously. She could almost feel their breasts rubbing together, the large wet globes melting into one another, their firm sexy crotches sensing the . . . Oh, no! Louisa opened her eyes in sudden shock! She gripped the shower stall walls to steady herself as panic flooded her body! The fantasy was too strong! It was too detailed to be thrust aside immediately! Again, even while she tried so desperately to suppress it, Louisa visualized herself being fondled in the shower by her lover. Her lover! The vision was too clear! Her lover was another woman! A beautiful young woman with large breasts.

Louisa wanted to scream! Instead, she reached numbly for the faucets and turned off the shower. This was the first time any such thought had ever finally, smiling at the couple and taking the girl's hand in her own. "You too?" He nodded please-exciting and intriguing. Who was the other girl? For a brief second, she thought she knew. But then the picture vanished.

A new fear rose up in her. Louisa realized that she was afraid to look at Marty, afraid even to let him see her naked, while she felt so intrigued by the idea of lesbian love. She attempted to reassure herself. "It was only a daydream-a silly little fantasy!" she told herself. She spoke aloud, but in a soft whisper. Yet the very sound of her own voice reminded her of her femininity. In turn, this conjured up a vision of another naked girl. Or was it the same one? The girl pressed up tightly against her, naked and voluptuous. The sensation in her cunt was rising again!

"No . . . no, please go away . .Louisa muttered half-heartedly. But no matter how fiercely she tried to rid herself of the visions and sensations, the warmth and softness of a female body against her seemed all the more provocative and desirable.

It was altogether against her nature, Louisa kept telling herself, for such an idea to even occur to her, much less grab her so passionately. She shivered, although the steam in the shower had made her temperature soar. Perhaps it was just a by-product of her frustration, she thought. Nothing more than a symbolic expression of resentment at Marty for not completely satisfying her.

Louisa kept on thinking, rationalizing, and coming up with ideas she had read about in school, in psychology. "Some women are attracted by a homosexual relationship because they feel instinctively that another female can give them longer and more intense pleasure . . . " And then: "It isn't necessary for a woman to dislike heterosexual relations for her to respond to sexual acts with other women. She may find them enjoyable simply because they are different-an adjunct to her regular enjoyment of sex.

And then the shock that" she might have lesbian tendencies began to fade. Louisa licked her already wet lips. The idea of making love with another girl still was uncomfortable, but it no longer terrified her. She couldn't really imagine herself crossing the bridge that divided fantasy from reality and actually putting her strange new desires into practice.

In a few weeks, Louisa would be twenty-seven, yet the idea persisted that her sexual development was somehow not complete. But why had she never thought about sex with another woman until this moment? Still puzzling a little, she stepped softly from the shower, dried her feet, and quietly walked back into the bedroom. Marty was asleep, sprawled on the bed, his penis slack.

Louisa wondered some more about herself. As she dressed, she looked at Marty again and was overcome by a feeling of distaste for his hairy, male body. Again, the image of a gentle, soft-skinned girl came to her mind. They were cuddling, warmly, intimately. But she refused to let the picture come into focus more clearly. Instead, she immediately called out to Marty, "Get up! Get up, darling. It's getting late!"

Louisa stepped back from him as he stirred himself from a deep slumber, her mind's eyes superimposing on his muscular frame the curvy contours of a voluptuous girl. The girl was playing with herself, and then she became separated from Marty, who had his finger in her asshole while he was sucking a tit.

Louisa shook her head to dispel the vision. She was irritable and angry with herself for not being able to control it. As the chimes sounded from the front door, she shook her head again and said, "I'll get it, Marty. You hurry up and get dressed." Marty yawned and told her that it would only be Al and Susannah, whom he had requested to arrive early so they could have a little talk before the producers and their angels arrived.

Checking herself in the mirror first, Louisa left Marty fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and walked into the living room. Her heart was beating more rapidly than usual, and it wasn't until she stepped into the foyer and opened the door that she realized why! It was Susannah! It was Allenby Borden's wife, Susannah!

Louisa was hard pressed to take her eyes away from the beautiful young girl who stood there, and the girl who would be with her for a full week in Acapulco while their husbands worked over Al's play. Louisa had met Susannah only once before, though Al had been a regular visitor to their apartment during the past weeks. But a strange and thrilling sensation passed through her as she stood there staring at Susannah's remarkably large and firm breasts. Her coat was half open and the upper slopes of the girl's exquisitely white breasts were spilling out of her low-cut evening dress.

"Nice to see you again," Louisa managed to say finally, smiling at the couple and taking the girl's hand in her own. "You too, Al." He nodded pleasantly at her and Louisa noticed that he seemed rather nervous and on edge.

The prospect of meeting so many important people all at once, she decided was the cause. Poor Al! He was taking quite a chance throwing in his lot with Marty at this particular time. But still, at least Louisa had some faith left in her husband. She had skimmed over parts of Al's play and knew that Marty was the one man in the world who could make it a hit.

"I'll fix you a drink," she said, leading them in to the living room. "Marty won't be more than a few minutes."

"To the play!" Al toasted, after clearing his throat, and they clinked glasses and drank.

Louisa was looking over the rim of her glasses to observe Susannah. She was such an extremely sexy looking girl, Louisa decided, carefully appraising the deep brown eyes and lovely blonde hair that Susannah usually wore so that the tresses cascaded over her shoulders. But tonight, perhaps because she felt this should be a more formal occasion, the beautifully luxuriant hair had been built up high on her head. Louisa burnt with a compelling desire to unfasten it and watch the golden plaits shimmer down the girl's back . . . and let some fall over those marvelously firm breasts which, of course, would be naked, the big red nipples (that Louisa envisioned) swollen.

Susannah met her eyes suddenly and then looked quickly away again. Louisa caught a trace of embarrassment in the girl's expression-and realized that she thought Louisa was studying her critically; finding fault with her appearance.

Could it be that Susannah saw the appreciation in her eyes and understood that Louisa was looking at her rather more intensely than a mere sizing-up would warrant?

The uneasy atmosphere was broken by Marty's entrance. He opened the door suddenly and practically bounded into the room-rushing up to Al, and shaking his hand powerfully, at the same time putting his arm around Susannah's shoulders and drawing them both into a warm embrace.

"You look beautiful, Susannah-really tremendous!" He pecked her on the cheek affectionately, then turned his attention entirely to Al.

"We haven't got much time before the others arrive and there's a lot of things I want to tell you . . . "

He drew the man towards the couch and Al sank down into the cushions, shrugging his shoulders helplessly at the two women as Marty stood over him and began talking quickly and urgently.

Louisa smiled at Susannah. "We'd better leave them to get on with it," she said. "Come and sit down next to me. We can get to know each other a little better. After all, the four of us are going to spend a whole two weeks together starting tomorrow."

She took Susannah s hand-mildly surprised at her outward show of calm when her heart was still hammering and her nerves felt taut as a bowstring-and led the girl to an easy chair. While Susannah settled herself rather primly on the edge of the cushions, Louisa sank informally onto an ottoman at the girl's knee-tucking her feet under her body and resting her elbow on the arm of Susannah's chair.

"Do you really think they'll accept the play?" Susannah asked her suddenly. "Somehow, you know, I just can't see any of the theatres putting it on, even with Marty pushing it. It's a very unusual theme isn't it? And-".

Something about Susannah's choice of words made Louisa realize that she, at any rate, had guessed that Marty's present reputation could do more harm than good to Al's play.

"What you mean, darling," she interrupted. "Is that with Marty urging them to produce it, the chances are that they'll refuse the play simply out of spittle. Isn't that what you're really trying to say?"

Louisa watched sharply for Susannah's reaction. The girl blushed and bit her lower hp in confusion; and it became immediately obvious to Louisa that she had scored a direct hit. To Susannah's credit, however, she noted that the girl didn't try to deny the truth of Louisa's accusation.

"Well . . . yes, I suppose it is!" she stammered. Susannah leaned forward confidentially until her face was only a few inches from Louisa's. The girl's scented sldn and the wider opening of her cleavage made Louisa feel weak and dizzy with a strange, persistent desire. It was all she could do to keep her eyes averted from the enticing, semi-nudity of Susannah's breasts. Susannah whispered:

"Please understand, Louisa-I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful. It was very kind of Marty to read the play in the first place and sponsor it.. . But after the way his last production flopped-"

Susannah bit her hp again." I'm sorry-"

"Look-Al brought the play to Marty in the first place because he knew that my husband could take it to a producer and get the highest price for it and the most expensive budget. Maybe things are a little different now; maybe Marty needs Al more than the other way around . . . " Louisa said.

"Once they've read the synopsis, they'll still be clamoring to produce the play. Whoever showed it to them in the first place! It doesn't matter! Believe me, Susannah, it's a fine play and they're simply not stupid enough to pass it by. Now, supposing I ask you to leave things as they are at present! Supposing I ask you not to put any kind of pressure on Al to back out of his agreement with Marty? Would you do that?"

Susannah sighed. "I've spent the entire evening before we arrived here telling him to do just that!" she said wearily. "And it hasn't made the slightest bit of difference! I was going to take things into my own hands when we met the producers: create a scene and force Al to stand on his own two feet. But now that I'm here, now that we've talked like this . . . " She shook her head and sighed again. "I don't know," she admitted. "I really don't know what to do for the best."

Louisa still holding the girl's hand, gave the warm, slender fingers an affectionate squeeze.

"I like you, Susannah, she murmured. "I like you an awful lot! I'd like to be very good friends with you-honestly!"

Susannah frowned, unsure how to take this rather odd and irrelevant remark. But she made no attempt to disengage her hand from Louisa's.

"Do this for me, darling," Louisa continued, beginning to stroke the girl's fingers slowly and deliberately. "Give Marty a chance-you won't regret it. I promise, you won't regret it!"

Louisa brought her lips very close to Susannah's ear, whispering sexily and letting her arm brush as if by accident against the girl's breasts. "You'll see-they'll give Marty another opportunity and hell do such a good job on Al's play that your husband will be able to name his own price for his future work!

"It's not too much to ask of you, is it? After all, Al himself has faith in Marty: why shouldn't we?"

Susannah licked her lips-and the tip of her tongue rubbed momentarily, electrically, against Louisa's cheek. The girl trembled. It was only an accident, she told herself. Only an accident! Don't jump to conclusions! But Susannah's breasts seemed to press more firmly against her arm-resting heavily on Louisa's bare flesh. She felt her heart beginning to race again . . .

"I came here tonight with the intention of telling you that we didn't want to go on vacation after all," Susannah was saying. "I was going to be a real bitch and jump off the sinking ship! That was cowardly of me, wasn't it?"

Louisa waited silently for her to continue. "I'm sorry," Susannah whispered. "I'll do what you said: I won't talk Al out of his association with Marty-even if I thought I could do it!"

She smiled a little sadly. "Anyway, if they really are as pretty-minded as that-to refuse to consider a play simply because they've got a grudge against the man who handles the writer . . . screw them!!"

Louisa twisted her head round in surprise. The crude epithet sounded rather shocking on the girl's sweet and innocent lips. Susannah smiled at her. "Don't pretend you haven't heard that phrase before," she said mockingly. "I know them all-and I bet you do, too!"

Louisa pressed her fingers tightly, then released the girl's hand. "I'm glad you're on our side, Susannah," she murmured. "Very, very glad!"

The door chimes sounded again and Louisa got to her feet. "Let's charm the hell out of these bastards I" she said grimly. "Well show them they haven't got a monopoly on conspiracies!" Then she set her face into a fixed smile and deliberately tugged the bodice of her evening gown a little further off her shoulders, revealing rather more of her breasts than was usual.

She paused at the couch and gave Marty's hand a squeeze. "All set, darling?"

He grinned at her. "All set!"

When it was all finally over, Louisa opened the windows wide to let out the smoke and other odors of the room that had collected over the last few hours. It was two o'clock in the morning, and when she turned around to look at the living room again, she winced at the sight.

Louisa resented the condition in which her unwelcome guests had left the place. All of them rich, supposedly cultured and refined. "Damned scavengers!" she said aloud. They showed little respect for property and gulped down the free liquor like a bunch of bankrupt alcoholics. Cigarettes were left to burn down on the edges of tables, drinks were toppled carelessly onto the carpet. It was a huge mess!

Angrily, Louisa kicked a brandy snifter out of her path. Even the fact that the evening had seemed to be a success didn't altogether compensate for their lack of manners. But then Louisa checked herself, recalling the past parties they had held for producers, angels, even actors and directors. They'd made a mess of the apartment too, particularly the actors.

It was at that point that Louisa realized why she was upset and edgy. She remembered Susannah and her ripe breasts practically overflowing her tight and revealing dress. Susannah getting slightly high and rubbing herself sexily against Louisa in the kitchen when they were fixing more ice.

Susannah. That was the reason she felt so different this time. And they would be together for the next two weeks. Louisa shivered a little as she looked at the beautiful girl, lying asleep on the couch, curled up like an innocent baby and sucking her thumb. Susannah looked so damn sweet, guileless, innocent and lovable on the surface. But under that coy and tempting veneer, the girl was obviously more experienced in a great many facets of life and love than Louisa could yet imagine.

This was not merely a figment of her imagination, the attraction, and the mutuality of it. Louisa was sure of that much. Once the alcohol had begun to loosen her inhibitions, Susannah had deliberately behaved as provocatively toward her as she dared. She had hinted at certain things, things that would not be understood by another female without a feeling for her, a sexual desire. Susannah had been quite cautious. She never made a direct proposition.

Yes, it was crystal clear to Louisa that Susannah was only too aware of the desires which had been awakened in her that evening, and which the girl had fanned by her subtly sexy overtures. Louisa's eyes betrayed her every time she looked at the girl.

Marty and Al were still talking quite seriously in one corner of the room. They were discussing the play, recalling remarks that some of the producers and others had made about certain little points. The guests had all agreed that they would read the plot outline in the synopsis. And even Louisa knew that this was the major part of the battle. Once the detailed synopsis had sunk into their thick skulls they could hardly fail to realize the play's potential, especially if it were handled by Martin C. Gebhart.

They would be crazy to let that one little flop stand in the way of an almost guaranteed success for all of them. Allenby Borden's play was different. It was what the critics had been begging for.

As Louisa walked by the two men, she could hear bits of the conversation quite clearly. She heard Marty say, ". . . but I heard one of the producers say something about blacklisting. Did you hear it?"

Al twisted the stem of his glass and looked the other way. He felt very ill-at-ease, but replied, "Yes . . . I have to level with you, Marty. They were talking to me. I didn't know you overheard. To be quite frank and honest, I was told that if I would cancel my contract with you, they would almost certainly produce it. They would provide another of collaborator to help me iron out the wrinkles. Oh, but, Marty-they did say that one reason they were sure it was good was because you were excited about it!"

"And they don't want to work with me at any price, huh?" Marty interrupted. And then he was silent. He tapped the rim of his glass with his fingernail for a few moments. Then: "All right, Al what was your response? What did you tell them?"

It was still uncomfortable for Al, but at least he could let Marty know that all was not lost. "I told them," he said very firmly, "to wait until after they had a chance to read over the synopsis entirely, and then make a definite offer to me . . . but I asked them not to rule out entirely . . . to read the synopsis first."

Fat lot of good that would do, Marty thought to himself. Al was looking out for Number One. If they said they'd buy him and his play, but not Marty, the young unknown would sign on the dotted line.

What good would Marty's contract with Al be? He could sue, of course. And they could keep appealing, even if he won. They would outdistance him in lawyer's fees and, in the meantime, the show would go on. But that play needed Marty. It needed the kind of help only he could give it!

Al broke the silence with, "You know, this means a hell of a lot to me, Marty. I'm sure the play won't be as well done as if you worked with me and promoted it, but.. . . "

"I know! I know!" Marty interrupted, waving his hand. "But you'd rather have it produced without me than not at all."

All Al could do was to nod slowly, then add, for whatever it might be worth: "It's-possible they're only bluffing me, Marty. If they like the play as much as we think they will, maybe-maybe I could insist that I keep my contract with you!"

"Possible . . . yes," Marty mused, but he knew the idea was a pipe dream that only a young innocent (? ) like Al could think of. "I suppose the only thing we can do is to wait and see what happens, li you want to stick with me for the present, we'd better do some work on that script"

"Of course, I'm with you, Marty," Al insisted, smiling, as if he felt better than he had three seconds before. "Everything is going to work out for us. You'll see. Let's give it time."

Marty suddenly was aware that Louisa was standing right behind them. He gulped down the last of his drink, then addressed her, "Hello, there! I suppose you heard that interesting little conversation. Great, huh?"

Louisa nodded, shrugged her shoulders, and took another load of spilling-over ash trays into the kitchen.

"Al, boy!" Marty said with an unexpected resurgence of spirit as he stood up. "I feel like working on that damn play of yours right now. We might even iron out the plot and get set for the first draft before daylight. Suppose we go back to your place and work? We can pick up our suitcases and the girls back here first thing after breakfast."

"It's great by me," Al said. I'm used to scary hours as much as you are."

"Let's go then," Marty said quickly, throwing on his jacket and giving Louisa a quick kiss, as Al did the same with the sleeping Susannah. "Maybe you girls could fix breakfast for all four of us. But not too early, mind you. Our plane doesn't leave until noon."