The cameraman's name was Gary Taylor。
And the rest； as they say； was history 。。。
Gwen blushed with the memory。 It was a long way from Atlanta to here； sometimes she could scarcely believe that she was the same person at all。 She and Gary had bopped around a lot； going from Atlanta to Chicago to the Big Apple； always following Gary's gigs。 Some places she liked better than others； all of them were ripe for learning and growing。
But none of them felt like home。
It was a simple need； if an all…consuming one。 Home began to call to them from the pages of magazines； from the gushings of friends who lived upstate； riding a clear whiff of breeze in the stale summer air of their too…small Chelsea apartment。
That one simple need had gotten to them both； after a while： New York was too expensive； too dirty； and too crowded to grow old or raise kids in。 Gary had no real hometown to speak of； that pretty much narrowed it down。
Exodus。
She'd been happier； in all： a lot less angry； a lot less stressed。 The house was wonderful； and she loved fixing it up。 She hiked and went to the farmer's market； and lived an altogether kinder and gentler existence。 With the ing of the Spikester； her world seemed to be nearing pletion。 What more could anyone truly want？
But still； sometimes it chafed。 She felt so 。。。 so normal here。 She didn't trust it。 It was clean here； yes； with an immeasurably lower crime rate and a cost of living cheaper by half 。。。 what LifeStyle magazine called a real 〃quality of life〃 area。 But there was no art scene to speak of； a lame nightlife； a meager handful of restaurants worth eating in。 She felt torn between the two Gwens inside her： the wildass and the earth mother； the hellion and the homebody。
And now a third； on top of it。 The Gwen/not Gwen nesting in her belly。 The one that was so much a part of her and Gary； yet so ultimately other。 The one that was so much more than the sum of its parts。
The one that would call her mommy。
She worried if that were such a good thing； like she worried about routine and responsibility and all the trap…pings of adult life。 She worried that the day…to…day of it all would siphon off her imagination； steal her weirdness by degrees。 Leave her cut off from the essence of the Mystery。
Inside； she knew differently。 Her inner voice told her so。 Mystery is more than a fashion or a lifestyle； it said； Mystery is a state of mind。
Gwen wanted to trust her inner voice。 She always had。 But lately she'd been wondering； there was something about ing back here that blew through her like a bad wind every once in a while。 Saying being here is the kiss of death； it'll suck the life right out of you； it'll steal your sense of the Mystery 。。。
Gwen shuddered。 〃Stop it；〃 she told herself。 〃You're being stupid。〃
On the wall； the Faery Queen smiled knowingly； being more real with every stroke。 Gwen was ninety…nine percent finished with the mural； and was determined to lay down the hundredth stroke before Micki hit town。 Or Spike。
Whichever came first。
Gwen genuinely loved her work； which was a rarity by anybody's standard。 Over the years she had persevered； parlaying her penchant for weird vision into a somewhat successful illustration career； doing fantasy and sf and the occasional horror paperback； but most notably covers for Micki Bridges's Bob…Ramtha！ series。 Micki's contracts always had a rider that specified Gwen Taylor covers； and with over eight million copies in print her publishers were perfectly willing to humor her。 Thus did a lifelong friendship get the added perk of professional fruition。
Plus we get to write of our lunches together； Micki always reminded her。 Gwen smiled and swirled mottled streaks of jet black and neon green into the fabric of the cape。
The Faery Queen was one of the archetypal figures detailed in Micki's books； which was a big reason why Gwen had decided to put her on the nursery wall。 No Smurfs for the Spikester； Gary and Gwen had agreed long ago。 They wanted their child to grow up fortable in the lap of the Mystery。
Part animal； part insect； part fish； part fowl； the Faery Queen was a regal being who embodied the Spirit of the Living Earth。 Her robes were a lush drapery of green living plants； her hair a cascade of feathery plumage。 Her features were arthropodal； elegantly humanoid but rendered in chitinous exoskeleton。 Her body was wasp…waisted and segmented； the thorax swelling into fully human breasts。 Her feet were softly cloven； doe's feet； her fingers were long and delicate。
In her left hand she held a white candle。 In her right glowed a tiny star。 A rainbow of sleek scales covered her throat and neck； a precious amulet hung there； glistening on a fine golden chain。
In other illustrations she looked fierce； imperious； sometimes even cruel； here； Gwen deliberately softened the effect； giving her a wise smile and warm blue eyes and surrounding her with birds and rabbits and all manner of gentle creatures； making her a benign sort of otherworldly übermother。
But with cheekbones； Gwen added as an afterthought。 Great cheekbones。
Gwen stepped back and surveyed her work； her brow knitted fretfully。 This was the biggest project she'd undertaken during the pregnancy。 She wanted it to be perfect。
〃Something's off；〃 she said； and the moment she said it； the answer came clear。 〃A…HA！〃
She took a fine brush； dabbed it in the paint； and added a carefully placed dot of white to the blue of the Faery Queen's eyes。
Adding the spark of life。
〃There you go；〃 Gwen said； satisfied for now。 She checked her watch。 〃Oh； shit； how's that for timing；〃 she said to her work。 〃We've got to get a move on。〃
She scooped up her brushes and headed for the sink。
While on the wall； the Faery Queen watched her go。
Meanwhile； Gary crouched in the garage； practicing his own gentle art of motorcycle maintenance。
His scoot was an '88 Harley…Davidson custom softtail； and it was his pride and joy。 He'd personally torn it down in the winter of '89； putting in a ninety…six…inch S&S stroker kit； transforming it。 Gary had an innate sense about tools and technology。 Mechanical； electrical； digital； if it got up and ran； Gary Taylor could figure out what made it tick。
He was bench engineer for WPAL。 Mostly； he did equipment repairs； transformer maintenance； a monthly checkup of the broadcast tower and the microwave uplink； but he was pretty much qualified to handle any broadcast situation。
It was a good gig； as gigs go。 But it was still just a job。
Gary worked to live； and not vice versa。
He'd grown up on farms； the son of migrant workers； which was a romantic way to say he'd grown up hard。 A lot of drifting； a lot of backbreaking； monotonous scrabbling in the dirt； with very little return to speak of。 On more than one occasion he'd had to lend a hand in birthing cattle and then drown a batch of kittens in the very same day。 He'd known hunger…not the what's for supper not hamburger again kind but the real thing； the bottomless dull…knife gnawing in your belly that's the last thing you feel at night and the first thing that greets you in the morning。 He'd known hardship and hopelessness and despair； and by his own bootstraps he'd hauled himself out of all of it。
The experience had； if nothing else； given him a useful perspective。 When life deals you shit； make fertilizer。 If the nukes hit tomorrow； and they survived； he'd raise mutant cows with Gwen and be just as happy。
Gary reached under the block and freed the crankcase bolt； nudging the catch pan under the engine block with his knee。 On the outside the softtail looked bone…stock； but he'd tweaked and cranked it until it was two…hundred and forty horses of flat…out drag bike； street legal but just barely。 It could do a buck and a half without even breaking a sweat； though Gary'd never really cranked it past one…twenty； and not much over ninety since Gwen put the bun in the oven。
Oh well 。。。 ； he thought。 Must be gettin' conservative in my old age。
Little Feat was on the radio。 Let It Roll。 The garage door was open； and bright streamers of light filtered in。 The day had turned Indian summer…warm； and Gary was looking forward to one last ride before the cold： burning down some back roads； heading nowhere and loving every minute of it。
〃Hey； Dad；〃 Gwen said； appearing behind him； a steaming mug already in her hands。 〃Want some coffee？〃
〃Thanks； Mom。〃 Gary stood and turned toward her； accepting the Java and a kiss。
〃Ick； you're all slimy；〃 she said； pulling away。
〃Thought you liked slimy；〃 he said； nuzzling her。
〃Not like that；〃 she said； pushing away and moseying over to the door。 〃Better get cleaned up； babe。 We gotta be at the airport by eleven 。。。 〃
〃Blech！〃 Gary cut in。 He made a sour face and stared at his cup。 〃What's with this coffee？〃
〃I just made it；〃 Gwen said； perplexed。 〃What's wrong？〃
〃It tastes like shit。 That's all。〃 He held out the cup to Gwen； she sniffed it。 There was an ugly； bitter taint。
Gwen shrugged； hurt。 〃I don't know； I got it at a little shop at the Galleria。 It's expensive enough。〃
〃Yeah； well；〃 Gary