Thirteen: Only Correction

Tara Malleck tipped her head back and stared up at the frescoed ceiling in the Elite Mythology exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan, New York.

She accepted another glass of wine from a passing server and thanked him before looking up at the ceiling again. Gods from all polytheistic religions fixed themselves on the crowd with their dead, elegant elegant stares. All along the wall, gigantic statues of deities and mythical creatures were carved out of recessive niches. Far beyond, the extraordinary chamber tilted at an angle to show the ruins of the Temple of Dendur, then the nightfall over Central Park.

She had been at this party since it had started. Guests began arriving for Griffin’s party. She had been introduced and passed around, and her face hurt from the smile she kept plastered there day and night. She was grateful that she would never be his equal in responsibility and power for his company, Shahar International. A small, forgotten part of her roared and screamed and protested at that, but…

Dinner and luncheons and picnics. All for Shahar Pharmaceuticals. Griffin’s company had developed amazing, incredible drugs over the last six months. His doctors and scientists had created miracle drugs from extracts of the deviant x-factor into injections to give ordinary humans deviant powers such as flight and super strength.

Tara had begun looking forward to these parties, just so it could be over, knowing that she would not have to be pleasant or talk to anyone or do anything for a week. A month. A year.

Griffin endured it all–in that quiet, near-feral deviant way of his–and told her again and again that these parties were a way for him to introduce her to his inner circle, to his community, to give his people something to celebrate. He assured her that he hated these gatherings as much as she did, but…she caught him grinning and laughing with his friends. And truthfully? She tried to believe he earned it, but…she was not sure that Griffin was helping people with these Deviant Hormones. Was he really helping people by giving them brief tastes of deviant powers, or just synthesizing rage and envy?

But Tara kept these thoughts to herself. She weathered it, clinging to Griffin when she was at his side, or if they were confronted by others, let him lead the conversation while she counted down the hours until they would leave.

Tonight, there was a party at the Metropolitan Museum of Art to celebrate these new medicines, gifts from deviantdom to humanity that would make life infinitely better for so many people, as Griffin put it. Idly, Tara drained her wine and wondered how the Star Legion would feel about this. She wondered if it would help them with their dream of peace and coexistence, or if this was another impediment to it.

The Met was filled with partygoers that clustered around tables set with white orchid flowers and small glimmering candles. The most wealthy and elite of human society–the cream of the crop–laughed and drank and joked with one another, lifting champagne flutes to their lips and draining them before motioning at servers for more. Power moved in its own way here, driven by the currents of fortune and fame and money, and it eddied and flowed around the room, primarily around the men.

I do not belong here. The words echoed in her mind, and Tara wasn’t quite sure whose voice it was that spoke to her with such conviction. She shivered and pushed the thought away.

It was important for Griffin to make an appearance, and with the pharmaceuticals and new drugs and all–and she should support him. She was here, and it should mean that she wanted his happiness more than her own. And she did. She did, she thought.

So why does it feel like I’m being stabbed to death from the inside out? Tara wondered. Why is it that I don’t know who I am without Griffin?

Tara raised her second wine glass to her lips and did not sip this time, but once more noting the party scene just over the glass rim. She looked toward the emerald-green columns guarding the west and south exits–the Galactic supersoldier authorities of the Eternity Corporation, who were sponsoring Griffin’s party. They stood motionless in their shock suits and masks. They were there for her protection, she knew, but their presence just made the chatter and clatter of the voices and the swell of music felt unwieldy, like a song being sung off-key or a precious object being stolen away. She felt like a little girl again, being put to bed while the rest of the adults stayed awake to party.

“Tara!” said a booming voice.

Tara stiffened and gritted her teeth together before turning around and smiling politely at the chiseled features of Dr. Tristan Lopez, who, both in her personal and professional life, was better known as Natural Selection, the Oxford-educated man with a famous obsession for understanding the complexities of DNA in all lives.

Standing well over six feet tall, he wore a clean white shirt of fine cotton and a sleek black blazer, and a pair of thick, red-lensed sunglasses covered his eyes so completely. He cut an imposing figure, Tara thought–but not that she was anything to sleep on, either, with her Japanese/British features just as striking: high cheekbones and a button nose and full lips, and shapely legs that seemed to go up to her neck.

But even in three-inch stiletto heels that made her feet hurt, she looked like a child in comparison to Lopez’s larger-than-life appearance.

“Hello, Tristan,” Tara greeted him. “I was just reading about some of your work in biofuels. Isn’t that what your research is primarily focused on? That bacteria can convert waste into various environmental gasses? I think that could really help solve part of our climate crisis.”

Lopez seemed startled, as if he were really seeing Tara for the first time. Tara rolled her eyes inwardly–it was just like people expected her to have fluff instead of brains, that she did not read. She was Captain England, after all, even in secret. But Lopez recovered fairly quickly and grinned broadly.

“The bacteria is still a work in progress, but that is the goal,” he said. “Ideally, it would help with conversion and reduce waste by over forty percent! It is still a long way off, though. If I could just have access to more DNA samples…how we can understand these creatures and use them to benefit ourselves.”

That sounds like exploitation, Tara thought to herself, and continued to smile as she nodded. “I’ve always found it amazing that a simple understanding of our world can change things for the better.”

“Thanks,” said Lopez, and quickly changed the subject: “So, where’d you two meet–Tokyo, right?”

“Excuse me?” Tara asked, startled.

“You and Shahar,” Lopez said; an easy, knowing smile spread across his face, making it clear that he enjoyed catching her off-guard–returning her favor for her comment, obviously. “Way I’ve heard it, you and your prince Charming met during one of his fact-finding tours of the Orient. You were working in some karaoke bar, cranking out ‘I Will Survive’ and ‘One Headlight’ for the locals, and he was meeting with some potential investors for Shahar International. But he took one look at you, and it was love at first sight.” He shook his head. “You must feel like the luckiest girl in the whole world, Tara, meeting a guy who swept you off your feet and gave you everything, bringing you to America and making you the face of his company. Even sets you up as the Number-One singer in his nightclub.”

“Bu-but…I am British…” Tara responded, her voice trailing off. “A-and it never happened like that…” She felt her cheeks grow hot. How had this conversation taken such a bizarre turn? And more importantly, when would this flashy scientist who thought he knew everything go away?

Lopez shrugged. “Oh. Guess you can’t trust what you read in the tabloids, right?”

“I-I should say not…” Tara stammered.

Lopez looked over his shoulder, then turned to Tara. He smiled his winningest smile. “Hey, look–I’ve gotta go. My publicist hates it if I don’t try to mingle with every person in the room. But there’s more research to be done about deviants down in the labs at the Blackcraft Institute. I say I’ve mingled enough for tonight, wouldn’t you?” He laughed and grabbed Tara’s hand, shaking it so hard she half-expected it to snap off. “Nice talking to you.”

Without waiting for a reply, Lopez turned and walked off, the crowds parting for him like he was Moses in the Red Sea.

Tara’s eyes narrowed as she watched him stomp away. “Wish I could say the same for you…you git,” she growled softly.

Tara closed her eyes and leaned back against a pillar, sighing. For a moment, she had forgotten about all the stories, the rumors of how she and Griffin met. Looking back, she had to admit it was the most unlikely of all pairings–the golden-skinned millionaire deviant playboy and the purple-tressed British Chanteuse with Japanese roots–a lineage stretching back since the Opium Wars–who had been struggling for years to move on beyond the small West Village clubs and Alphabet City bars in which she had been performing in.

But then again, Griffin had never been a typical millionaire–he was as comfortable with old college friends in a smoky tavern as when he was in control of Shahar International’s boardroom. And the fact that wings sprouted out from between his shoulder blades, giving him the power of flight, also tended to make him stand out from the other CEOs listed in the Economist. As for Tara, she had never been a typical British singer–especially when one considered she was actually a member of the House of Mallek, one of Britain’s most prestigious families, though she tended to keep that information to herself. Only Griffin and her brother Clark knew of her real origins.

Over the past year, friends often said that she and Griffin had been destined to meet by birth, even though they lived an ocean apart. And Destiny must have certainly been holding Griffin by the hand when he and his two friends showed up at the Bronzed Room to hear a lavender-tressed nightingale sing.

“Is he gone?” said a voice off to one side. Tara looked out the corner of one eye to see Griffin standing a step behind her, tilting his head back.

“And who would that be?” Tara asked without turning around.

“Man-Mountain Kent over there,” Griffin replied, pointing past her shoulder. She followed the direction of his index finger; it led straight to Natural Selection, who was involved in another pointless conversation with another poor soul unlucky enough to have lacked the speed to avoid him. With a bemused smirk, Tara recognized the scientist’s new sounding board: Marcus Swick, the famed military man. She noticed the man casting furtive glances at Natural Selection from across the room while she was trapped in her conversation with him.

Poor dear, she thought. I’m sure “Natural Selection” doesn’t seem as half as attractive now as he did before he opened his mouth…

“You’re referring, of course, to the annoying Mr. Lopez,” Tara remarked to Griffin. With a start, she saw the scientist glance in her direction, as though he had heard her from across the room. She waved to him and smiled, silently praying he didn’t think it was an invasion to return to talk off her remaining ear. Thankfully, he only waved back and continued toying with Marcus Swick, before he left to the exit.

“Yeah,” Griffin said, his voice slightly muffled by her hair. “That’s the guy.”

Teeth still locked in a sardonic grin, Tara turned to face her boyfriend. “How long have you been standing here, and were you aware of the hell you were putting me through by dragging me here?”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad, honey. Right?” Griffin paused. “You know, you’re starting to freak me out with that death’s-head stare of yours. This is not going to lead into the you’re great, but I don’t think this is working talk, is it?”

The muscles in Tara’s face relaxed. “No.”

Griffin raised his head and beamed brightly. “That’s what makes me a great warrior in the arena we powerbrokers call ‘global finances,’ Tar.” He leaned forward to lightly kiss her on the forehead. “Like any smart businessman, I know when to let the other party establish the ground rules for negotiations.”

Tara smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You mean you’ll take what you can get.”

Like me. Me too.

…

“Well, this case just got a little more interesting,” the Teacher groaned to his partner of almost ten years, Maria Pelayo. Maria had been a detective third grade in the NYPD before working on a joint task force with the FBI and was transferred to the Intelligence Sector as a result. She walked up to his desk and handed him a cup of coffee–one medium Guatemalan with cream and two sweeteners, just the way he liked it.

“What were the COD results?” she asked.

“The cause of death was the result of two gunshots from two different guns, fired at the same time, hitting the abdomen and chest from two different directions. How is that even possible?” the Teacher huffed in frustration as he handed Maria the autopsy report.

“So much for a simple through-and-through,” Maria sighed as she eyed the paper.

“Looks like an all-nighter,” the Teacher agreed as he rubbed his hands over his face, then resting them upon the top of his desk, which was filled with papers and reports in scattered stacks. This government job was important, but it was just a cover for his real job: investigating Sebastian Herrick and the other members of the government who wished deviantdom harm. It was morally gray, but sometimes that was necessary.

“But I am Will Morgrant,” he said to Maria. “I am the ultimate Alpha sentinel. I can see the world in a way no one else does.”

“I never had any doubt,” Maria replied, unfazed. She took a sip of her own coffee, oblivious to the Teacher’s real meaning.

“Morgrant. Pelayo.” As if the Teacher’s thoughts had summoned him, Sebastian Herrick walked up to the government agents and rapped his knuckles upon Maria’s desk. “Upstairs. Now.”

Maria gave Will a questioning glance that was exasperatingly affectionate. “What did you do now, Morgrant?” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Will gave her smirk. “Nothing that was against the rules, partner. Just the hidden letters between the secret lines.”

They followed Herrick into his office on the second floor of the office building. Herrick closed the door behind them as they sat down.

“As summoned, boss,” Will said with the faintest trace of sardonicism. “What did we do to deserve the privilege of gracing your presence?”

Herrick’s nostrils flared and his face reddened with rage–Will Morgrant infuriated him with his hard-headed nature and short temper, but aggravated him even further with his tireless work ethic and keen instincts that were honed in from years of experience. Herrick was much more tolerant of Maria Pelayo–though not by much–because she was more thoughtful and curious, and more protective toward her loved ones.

Herrick breathed out his rage, then turned to a corner of his office, where another man stepped out of the shadows. “Agents Morgrant and Pelayo, meet Tristan Lopez, the founder of Operation: Decimation. It is a plan to combat deviant superiority and wipe out the most radical ones.”

Wow. Apparently Herrick wasn’t wasting any time with small talk. He was going straight to the jugular.

“Oh, that is just wonderful,” the Teacher muttered. Maria gently touched her partner’s arm, her mouth in a ‘hush’ oval, and met Herrick’s gaze with a fierce sincerity.

Lopez opened a file and spread the contents out on Herrick’s desk and the government operatives gathered around it. Lopez pointed to a photo of a group of colorfully-garbed men and women, then to a drawn image of a star piercing a circle.

“These are photos and the symbol of one of the most prominent groups in the world. The deviant team known as the Star Legion,” Lopez said.

Maria studied the photos. “The Star Legion,” she repeated.

“The superhero team,” Will clarified.

Herrick’s mouth curled into a frown of disgust and he slammed a fist down on the table, making Lopez and Maria flinch. “They are not heroes,” he growled. He picked up the group shot and crumpled it up, before smoothing it out and proceeding to shred it into pieces. “They are terrorists. They are a militant faction of deviants that are hellbent on wiping us off the face of planet Earth and promoting their cause of superiority deviantdom. I have joined Operation: Decimation’s Inner Circle, and I will not allow them to continue doing that.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Okay. And what does that have to do with us, sir?” Will asked cautiously, respectfully.

Herrick’s eyes flashed and his body tightened. “I am doing what the Executive ordered me to do, Morgrant. I am investigating. I am sure the Star Legion is working with another crime syndicate unknown to us that is in coordination with the entity known as the Phoenix, and they have agents in their inner circle–I presume. So, I want you two to investigate. Both of you have proven yourself to be capable, thorough investigators. Agent Pelayo, you have experience with the FBI, and Morgrant, you are a renowned biologist. I want you two to investigate the Star Legion. I do not care how you do it–Morgrant, I know that you have a tendency to walk the line in some of your cases. Do that now. Get me results. Break them down.”

“Sir. What do you mean by ‘break them down’?” Maria asked.

“Every Legionnaire has a dual identity. They reveal themselves to the public under certain aliases: Astra, Sparks, Grandmaster, and so on and so forth. But their civilian identities have been carefully hidden from the public. Use forensics, DNA, security, whatever you have to do to find their civilian identities and arrest them.”

The detectives exchanged glances and then looked up at Herrick again. Could he actually be asking them to try to dismantle the Star Legion? Maria thought.

Lopez crossed his arms and leaned against Herrick’s door, letting out a mournful sort of breath. “The look on their faces says it all, doesn’t it? This won’t be easy.”

“No,” Will said. “Absolutely not.”

Maria nodded in agreement and turned to Herrick. “No disrespect intended, sir, but it sounds like you hold something against the Star Legion personally. This sounds like a revenge case. The Star Legion does operate within the laws. We do not do retribution. My partner and I don’t believe in that, sir. We believe in the elimination and correction of criminals.”

“So do I,” Herrick argued. “Did you know when a team of doctors could not cure a cancer, they cut the cancer out? That is what I am doing and what I am asking you to do. The Star Legion and the deviants are a scourge of humanity. They are trying to replace us! We must eradicate them to save ourselves. It is the only way.”

“What you are asking for is cruel,” Maria countered back.

“It is not cruel. The devils are cruel. The Lightbringers run amok and try to claim their superiority. Blackstar kidnapped humans and kept them as slaves. Aten has ignited an age of apocalypse. The deviants themselves corrupt the pure gene pool and reduce our kind to nothing more than freaks and scans. We have to save ourselves before it is too late.”

“And the Star Legion battles the Lightbringers and wins; they stopped Blackstar, who also kidnapped deviant children; they put their own lives on the line to stop Aten. Your reasoning is a small grace, Herrick, but not a saving one,” said Will.

Herrick bared his teeth and almost snarled out his next words, spitting them out like shards of metal. “I am not asking to be saved, Morgrant,” he said. “But I do want to save humanity. And this is the only way to do it–by bringing down deviantdom’s paragons of virtue, the Star Legion.”

Maria did not speak for a while. She turned her gaze to the window. It had started to snow. Flurries. It would make the ground slick. People would fall, hit their heads. The hospitals would be busy tonight.

Then she looked over at Herrick and Lopez again. She seemed resigned. A weight of sadness had slithered up from a deep pit of nothingness in her stomach. “Humans have so many lofty ideals and so many safeguards to protect us from corruption and depravity, but even we cannot ignore the virus known as human nature. Yes, there are bad deviants, but there are bad humans too. How can you want to wage a war against humans when they have not even done anything to us?”

“ ‘Yet’ is the key word you are missing, Agent Pelayo.” Lopez rose from his position by the doorway and began to pace back and forth. “The devil freaks have not done anything yet–but they will. Because that is the way of evolution, of natural selection–just like my namesake. Those who are genetically inferior claw their way up from the bottom of the pyramid, determined to do anything it takes to survive. Deviants are more primal than humans–they still have fangs and ears that move. They are the last rung of the ladder, but they do want to climb up. And we will not let that happen.”

Will shook his head sadly. “Conscience is becoming a casualty among humans,” he said. “Fear, regret, hatred–we should all be united as one species, one people, because we are all one people, and not let ourselves be torn apart by the darkness of our hearts.”

“That is enough!” Herrick exploded, shattering the conversation like a piece of china. The color of his face had swelled to purple and spittle flew out of his mouth as he spoke. “This is not a philosophical debate, detectives! We are agents of the law, charged with doing whatever is necessary to protect the humans we serve! The deviants and the Star Legion are dangerous creatures and must be stopped!”

“And what if we do not want to?” Maria challenged, her voice only quavering slightly as she looked at Herrick’s furious face. “What if we do not wish to go along with your schemes, Mr. Herrick? And you,” she turned to Natural Selection, “I have heard of you, Dr. Lopez. You have been working with the fallen deviant Grail and other organizations to destroy deviantkind. You are working on gene therapies to ‘cure’ them. That is genocide. I refuse to partake in that.”

Herrick exhaled sharply and turned away, swearing under his breath as he struggled to control his temper. Maria and Will exchanged another glance and hid smiles behind their hands, feeling some sense of triumph in getting Herrick so riled up.

However, Herrick had calmed himself rather quickly. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts as he breathed gently and his face lightened in color, though his eyes remained hardened. “Because,” he hissed, “if you are not complying and refusing my direct orders–and I supersede all other authority here–you can both be charged with obstructing justice and interfering in a federal investigation, tampering with evidence, hindering prosecution…the list goes on and on. In short, I can make both your lives hell. Do you really want that?”

Time seemed to halt, stand still for a moment with Herrick’s words, his threat.

But Will knew they were empty.

“No,” Will said. He stood up and pulled Maria to her feet. “The Executive gave me the same authority as you, Herrick. I am on the same level as you. And if you are claiming Operation: Decimation is a federal organization, you are wrong. Even though your group may be backed by the World Court, it is not a government-based organization.

“Agent Pelayo and I do not wish to do this. We, nor anyone else, shall be your lap dogs. And you will not sink your hooks into us–I will be reporting this to the Executive immediately. If you try this again, I will see to it that you will be disbarred.”

Maria opened the door and nodded to him. Without another word, the two of them walked away, leaving an amused Natural Selection and a furious Herrick behind.

…

“Glad to be out of there?”

Staring off into space, Tara started, then glanced at Griffin. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if you were glad to be out of there, away from the party,” Griffin said. Tara and Griffin were walking hand-in-hand along Central Park West, the tree-lined, four-avenue lane that extended from Columbus Circle in the south to 110th Street in the north. To their left, the park, with its architectural symbiosis of nature’s trees and rocks with men’s winding footpaths and brass-plated lamp posts stretched out in the darkness. To their right, elegant, cream-colored Art Deco apartment buildings that pierced the night sky, reaching up toward the heavens. Traffic, both pedestrian and vehicular, were surprisingly light in this part of Manhattan. And of course, the songs of merrymaking still echoed in Tara’s ears, even though the Met was blocks behind them.

“Ummm…yes, actually,” Tara responded. She bit her bottom lip and winced. She hadn’t meant to be that brutally honest–but there it was, out in the open with just two words. “I’m sorry, Griffin. I know how important it was for you to make an appearance, with the new drugs and the pharmaceuticals and all–”

“And I did,” Griffin replied. “I showed up, shook some hands, let some wannabe movers-and-shakers suck up to me, make it clear how much I loved it…” He rolled his eyes toward the night sky. “I’ve done my part for the company tonight.” He gently took her chin between thumb and forefinger and lifted it so she could look directly into his cool blue eyes. “And my reward for my dedication is to spend the rest of the evening with the most beautiful woman in this–or any other–world.”

Tara’s lips parted, but she suddenly found herself at a loss for words. It was one of those moments when Griffin was so completely serious–so confident in expressing his feelings for her–that she wasn’t quite certain what she should say in response.

But really, though–there’s only one thing that needs to be said, isn’t there? she thought, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

“And I love you, Tara.” Griffin shook his head and smiled. “You know, a few years ago, I would’ve been surprised to hear me say that. But when I first saw you, that night in the bar…”

The light in Tara’s eyes dimmed, her brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?” Griffin asked.

Tara looked away. “It’s–”

“Don’t say it’s nothing,” Griffin said. “You know that makes me crazy, when you try to avoid something that is bothering you. So, come on. Out with it.”

Tara took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly released it. There was no point in avoiding this issue, now that she allowed it to come forward; Griffin would not relent, he would keep nagging her until she cracked. The best thing to do was to just say it, get it out of the way, and move on.

“It was a comment someone made at the party,” she said at last.

“Who?” Griffin asked, baring his fanged teeth together. “Was it Richards? He tried to come on to you, didn’t he?” He paused, then snapped his fingers. “It was that Uttrenaya guy, right? Wanted to show you his ‘paintings.’ ” He nodded, as though agreeing with himself. “Yeah, I’ve heard about him.”

“It doesn’t matter, Griffin,” Tara said, a tad too brusquely for Griffin’s taste. “Besides, it’s the comment that bothered me, not the person who said it.”

“And that comment would be…”

Tara stopped walking; Griffin immediately halted in his tracks.

“About us,” Tara said at last. “About me. About my place in your life. In life in general.”

Griffin exhaled. “Tara, that sounds pretty intense. What exactly did this person say that got you thinking about all this?”

Tara grimaced, immediately regretting it. “He mentioned the rumors…” she mumbled.

“Tara, we have been through all of this before. It did not bother me back then what people were thinking, and it sure as hell doesn’t bother me now,” Griffin said, his tone gentle. “Remember all the things I had to deal with even before I met you, because I was, you know, a deviant and different from all the other kids?” He shook his head in resignation. “They are always going to talk about us, honey–it comes with the territory when you are a public figure.” He placed his hands on her shoulder. “You’ve gotta put that nonsense behind you, Tara, before it destroys you.”

“I have put it behind me,” Tara countered. She paused. “At least, I thought I had.” She gnawed on her bottom lip for a few moments; Griffin patiently waited for her to continue. “It’s just that…ever since we met, I stopped being Tara Malleck; stopped being me. I had a career, a good bit of word of mouth going around, a life that had its fair share of problems, but at least it was mine.” She frowned. “Now, I’m just ‘Griffin Shahar’s gal pal,’ jetting around the world, eating at the finest restaurants, doing five shows a week at the Bronzed Room.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Griffin asked defensively.

Tara sighed. “You know what I mean,” she replied. “It is wonderful–I would not trade the time we spent together for anything else in the world. But…” Go ahead, Tara. Get it all out. “But the public doesn’t take me seriously as an artist, as a person; the press, too. They treat me like I’m some bit of fluff you’d find posing for the tabloids back home. Just a pretty face and a nice pair of…legs.” She sneered at the thought. “As far as they’re concerned, I’m nothing more than window dressing for your arm.”

“That’s not how I see you,” Griffin said.

“I know that, and I appreciate it. I really do. You’ve always been there for me, always been respectful of my wishes, never interfering with my decisions, never using your station or your power to force other people to do things for me.” Tara looked up and met Griffin’s arm gaze. “But it all does come down to perception–how the public sees you, and how that makes you see yourself. You know how important that can be.”

“True,” Griffin conceded.

“And when people think of you, they see a man who overcame adversity and prejudice, who rose to become the head of an international corporation.” Tara’s head slowly dipped until she was staring only at her clasped hands, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. “But when they see me…when they see me, they think of a hanger-on. A playgirl. An oriental. A… ‘golddigger,’ I think is the term. Anything but a singer who only started singing to try to go to college.”

“Tara…” Griffin started.

She shook her head. “I have never made my mark, you see. My place in the world. Never made people stand up and pay attention to me. I’ve always been relegated to the background–first with my brother Clark, and his athletic awards…that’s why I’ve never told too many people about my heritage–then I would just be ‘Clark Malleck’s sister.’ ” She glanced at Griffin. “And then it just happened anyway…with you.” Tara laughed curtly, a small trembling note, as tears formed in the corner of her eyes. “Pretty silly, wouldn’t you say? The luckiest woman on three continents, with the most beautiful man in this–or any other–world, and she’s worried about how future generations will remember her.” She sniffed loudly.

Griffin reached out to brush away her tears. “I don’t think it’s silly at all,” he said softly.

Tara reached into her purse for a portable dispenser of Kleenex. She wiped her nose and dabbed at her eyes, managing a small smile. “Oh, you’re just being kind,” she said in a phlegmy half-whisper.

“No, I am entirely serious,” Griffin said. “So what do you want to do about it?”

“Do?”

“About making your mark on the world.”

Tara was confused. “I really hadn’t–I don’t know,” she answered softly.

“What is the matter? You talk about a big game, but you never took the time to figure out how to make it happen?” Griffin teased, playfully pressing the tip of his pointer finger to her nose and flicking it. “Come on, Malleck–what’s it going to take for you to smack those half-wits in their faces and get their attention to show off to the world?”

For the second time that evening, Tara was at a loss for words.

“I…I don’t know,” she whispered again.

Griffin nodded to himself. “Okay, okay, okay. There must be something we can do about this,” he said. He stared off into space, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger in thought before his face suddenly brightened. “I got it! How would you like the opportunity to perform for the head of the Eternity Corporation himself?”

“And how exactly would I do that?” Tara asked skeptically.

“Well, next week is his tenth anniversary of his rise to power. And the celebration is going to be held in Washington, right?”

Tara slowly nodded in agreement. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, but decided to say nothing for the moment.

“So what if you were picked to be on the entertainment bill that night?” Griffin continued. “The ceremony is going to be televised around the world–that is over a hundred thirty million people watching–more than the Super Bowl! And with your talent, they will have no voice but to see how wrong they’ve been about you. You’ll never have a better chance at a showcase in your entire life. Would that qualify as making your mark?”

Tara frowned in thought, then pursed her lips.

“What?” Griffin asked.

“It is a wonderful idea, Griffin,” Tara said earnestly, “and I appreciate the offer, but it’s not the kind of thing that could happen to just any cabaret singer living in the West Village…”

Griffin smiled. “Oh, I get it. Not without her well-respected boyfriend pulling some strings, is that it?” He drew an X across his chest with the point of his index finger. “I swear,” he glanced up at the night sky, “with the Throne as my witness, I will in no way influence anyone’s decision to give you a shot at the anniversary performance. The Minister of Entertainment is in town for a couple of days to check out potential acts for the gala. All I will do is invite him to the Bronzed Room; then we will see what happens when he hears you sing.” His smile widened. “You know me, Tara. I only use these powers of mine for good, not evil.”

Tara raised a quizzical eyebrow, still skeptical. “Really?”

Griffin patted the pockets of his tuxedo awkwardly. “Well, deviants don’t have a holy book,” he mumbled, “and I don’t have a Bible on me, but I am telling you the truth.”

Tara stared at him, then walked over to a nearby park bench and sat down; the planks of wood were almost frozen beneath her bare legs. She hunched forward, elbows placed on her knees, she rested her chin in the palm of her hands to think.

He was right–performing for Aftab Ferrara, for the Monarch of the Eternity Corporation on a worldwide telecast would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She would be an utter fool to pass it up, even if Griffin had a change of heart and went back on his promise. Which she half expected him to do anyway. It was just that, when it came right down to it she had always been reluctant to accept help from anyone–family, friends, even old girlfriends. It made her feel beholden to the girls she had a relationship with, even if they expected nothing in return for their actions; made her feel as though she were incapable of achieving her goals on her own. And while Griffin was her first boyfriend, he was no exception.

Still and all, it was the Monarch. And one hundred thirty million TV viewers…

“All right,” she said at last. “I will do it.”

Griffin clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He strode over and helped Tara to her feet before embracing her. “But it is all going to be up to you, honey. I’m just gonna take a seat in the back and watch.”

“Suuuurrree you will,” Tara teased, her chin resting on his shoulder, and tried to come up with reasons why she should not mind.

“Griffin?” she said softly.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Do you really consider me to be the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Taking a step back, Tara forced herself to give him a coy, wicked smile as she stared at her lover. Her eyes narrowed, glittered, daring him to take back his earlier comment.

“Well…sure,” Griffin replied. “With the exception of Cindy Crawford. And Zoe Kravitz.” A boyish grin slowly spread across his face. “And–” He tapped the side of his head with the knuckle of one finger, as though trying to shake loose something hidden in the depths of his memory. “What was the name of that cute little red-headed waitress in Moscow…”

The scarlet lips that slammed into his mouth to silence him made him forget about any woman but the one in his arms.