*****179:

Eric Michaels was tall, very lean, bearded, long hair tied back in a decent pony-tail. He sat in on Tracy's video: playing-- with her, against her, around her. They had energy together as Michael had known they would. Creativity.

 At a separate photo session, they'd been characteristically energetic, full of cosmic moments, a lot of enthusiasm. They were easy to direct, easy to keep on track, but hysterically funny the rest of the time, and a lot of good footage was shot. 

Michael was able to produce rather quickly, he had a friend in the business, did whole movies, mixed and engineered in his basement. The guy was a wizard, and very fast. Three videos were released in less than three weeks, all the footage shot for nine of them in six days. 

In the evenings, Tracy went home, but once the kids were down, she and Eric and Rod were out on the town, visiting old Pepper's haunts, clubs in LA, dance joints, having a blast.

She and Archer started in-studio on the Disney, and Tracy was approached to do a high-adventure film to be shot in three months, and another Disney. She agreed, and off they went on location in Hawaii for the rest of the summer.

*****

It was the middle of the night, noise from the street below divided the waves on the beach from the busy night life in Kailua. The cast was partying, she'd stayed for awhile.

 It had been the most successful wrap she'd ever seen, and she longed to do another Disney. It was the most integrated role she'd ever played, and she'd had to have a tutor. She worked with Blaze. He was the lead male, but there was another lead, a younger man, who played closer to her part, named Ramiro. Both of them were young, dynamic, talented and really full of eagerness and ideas. Tracy reveled in it, and responded to it, feeling at last finally, inside and out, to be healed as much as it was possible to feel healed.

She had almost stopped nursing the twins and got a nanny to help give her mom a break as she was gone so much of the time. She worked on a book in her free time, having no household responsibilities, and stayed up very late with Blaze and Ramiro, rehearsing, trying out things, laughing and talking about the future. They surfed when they could.

There was continual noise though, and her music was muted.

This evening she gazed out the open window, looked down at the sandy beach and smiled. She needed to feel the cool sand in her toes, she needed to be outside.

She wore shorts, and a couple of colored tank tops, it was too hot for much else. Her hair was up, high up, on top to keep it off her neck, she'd been tempted to cut it off, but the contract with Disney said she couldn't. Her hair was currently a trademark.

She took her beeper, so she could hear if the babies woke, and took her phone. Outside the breeze was balmy, smelled of salt water, but more like the Hawaii salt spray, a gentle profusion of it, not the droplets that soaked her skin and dried her out in Huntington Beach. She walked along, close to the water, unable to see a whole lot, except the white of glowing shells reflecting. She walked in the tiny surf her feet cool and comfortable.

No thoughts were there, she'd hit a plateau with thinking. What she really wanted was one specific person to talk to.

She reached in her pocket and flipped open the phone without looking at it. 

Against mission rules. 

He was almost done. Four more months, no not even that much. His release date was December 6th according to his last letter. Today was the 6th of September. Three more months. 

Her fingers caressed the dial carelessly, pushed the button, almost negligently, slowly brought it to her ear and stopped walking. Maybe just an answering machine.... She didn't even know what time it was there.

"Hi.' He answered on the third ring. His voice easy, controlled, so familiar.

It had been five months since she'd heard that rich timber, that gentle caring tone, that all-encompassing knowledge. "Hi. You busy?"

"No, just doing my morning study time. It's about eight here. I'm almost ready for comp prayer. What are you up to?"

"I'm walking on the beach.... last night." She said softly.

"You okay?" Always that concern, always putting her first.

"Yeah." She said, feeling a little guilty for disturbing him for no reason. He had permission to talk to her if there was a real problem but she was over that now. The healing was taking place, had taken her to the acceptance level, and she not only was coping, but had coped.

The silence lasted a little longer than was necessary. She didn't feel the need to ask him anything; she'd just received a letter from him today, and had mailed two off as well. There was nothing really pressing to say. She just wanted the connection. Waiting was becoming harder as the time drew closer.

"Hey, pretty lady. I saw you on the cover of some magazine. A nicer one. You were obviously in a shoot. Prom dress thing. How's the video making going?" He was making small talk to ease her into her reason for calling.

"I'm doing the movie, now. It's really fun. I like everybody, they've made it so easy for me. And acting is not normally my thing, but I can't help it this time, it's really fun."

"When I get home, maybe you'll do some of that with me?"

"Maybe." She quipped playfully. "If the project is right."

"Well, we have several projects to work on." He said as if that were a given and making a movie together were something extra.

Tracy gripped her phone harder, pulling him close. She stopped walking and sat down, watching the distant barely lit skyline. "I'd like to work on some projects with you."

"Is that why you called?"

She chuckled. "No. Impulse, only. Sorry. I wasn't even really missing you desperately either. I just impulsively hit speed dial."

He was laughing softly. "Well, you're a sweet voice to start the day with." He announced softly. "I'm glad you called. I was feeling a little trunky."

"I'm sorry." She said, remembering that his last letter had also said he was feeling trunky. "Does that make it hard to concentrate?"

"Oh, a little. Like thoughts of what I will be doing this time next year, stuff like that." She heard him blow out his breath. "Not to worry, I'm still focused." He always said that, that he was focused. He never missed a chance to assure her.

But it was a topic of thought for her as well. "I think focus is so important." 

"Oh, really? In what way?" His voice was conversational, as if he had all the time in the world. Tracy pictured his dark hair, the way it had been when she'd tended his convalescence: roguishly un-parted, left to fall haphazardly, the dark curls glistening in the sunrise as she'd smoothed the sheets over his naked shoulder. 

She forced herself to turn inward. "The last five months or so, I've really put a lot of effort into my relationship with the Lord, and it has really helped me focus."

"It does, you're right." He agreed easily. "Things become clearer."

"I don't get ruffled as often. I have a lot of patience for the kids, and my mom."

He laughed. "Mom's are like that." He said. "I wouldn't know about the kids, but I suspect you need a lot of patience to handle them."

She laughed as well, an easy companionable laugh, something shared-- not the kids, because they hadn't really shared the kids-- only Danny-- but the knowledge of each other. A lot of that knowledge, of those moments building trust, and hope and friendship, these things came rushing to the fore, and Tracy felt her throat clog with longing. 

He would know if she didn't answer now, he would suspect her thoughts and she didn't want to go there. She held the phone away from her so her breathing wouldn't give her away and tried to swallow the sudden throat choking longing. She put it back.

"Trace?" His voice was so soft, had changed pitch, had become so evidently concerned. She didn't really want that, she hadn't wanted to upset or concern him unnecessarily. She felt bad, and wondered at her ability to break rules, to lose patience so easily.... She mentally kicked herself.

"Yeah?" she shuddered, trying really hard to put some note of cheerfulness into her voice.

"Is something wrong with the kids?"

"No."

"Is something wrong with the flick?"

"No."

"Is it your mom?"

"No, Richard, no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have got so emotional." She felt another clogging choke and this time cursed inside. What was this PMS? How dare she call him like this and get him all worried?

"Is it.... Something I am uniquely able to understand?" His voice was very soft and very comforting.

She took a cleansing breath and closed her eyes in relief. "Yeah."

She felt his relieved smile. "It's okay, baby. I have moments like this too."

"It's not even a moment." She laughed, regaining a semblance of control, and feeling better for it. Why, with him, did the guard slip, and she feel so... dependant? She'd worked so hard the last twenty months to be clear, and in control, so independent. But when she talked to him... or wrote to him, which she still did every day or so....

"Oh, I know. It's just that feeling that sort of overcomes you when you least expect it."

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting it. It choked me up..."

*****