The afternoon dragged on with one of the few interesting moments occurring when Mr. and Mrs. Mark returned to the patio hand in hand with huge drinks and a bowl of popcorn. Gordon brought the mail back from the box but didn't look at it; he just left it on the desk and went back to sitting in the living room and feeling sorry for himself.

The phone rang and Deborah came through to take it.

"It's for you, Gordon. Your favourite sister."

"Oh shit, I forgot all about it." He slogged into the office.

"What?"

"The flickering friggin' light in their bathroom." He took the phone. "Hi, Betty, listen, I'll be right down to change the lamp. Things got a little hectic here today and I completely forgot. I'm sorry."

"Miranda had a terrible time trying to wash. It gave her a migraine and she's lying down so don't come right now. I'll call you when it's suitable."

"Right. Okay. Thanks, Betty. Sorry again."

"What's wrong now?"

He told her about Miranda's migraine and that he would be given an appointment time to change the goddamn lamp.

"Probably right when I'm eating dinner."

"Speaking of which, what are we having? Nobody did any shopping yet this week." Deborah didn't sound sympathetic.

"I'll go out now and-- ahh, crap. I can't in case Betty calls." He looked forlornly at her. "You mind? Just something for tonight and I'll shop tomorrow."

She shrugged and grabbed her purse. "There's something in the mail there for you. Personal." She left.

Gordon picked up the envelope and opened it, reading his invitation to the pre dinner cocktail party for the Mayor at Jeannette's home. He tapped it against his hand as he pictured Deborah's reaction and he prepared several approaches depending on how she seemed when she got back. The invitation was a surprise and he felt a bit of a thrill at rubbing elbows with the town's elite, as well as getting a look at Jeannette's home-- and Jeannette as well.

The rest of the mail was mostly bills that gave him an ache in the chest. Business over the month was okay but not leaving much in the way of profit after things like the pool pump and the locksmith. He filed the things to be paid and checked the booking page for the rest of the week.

Mr. And Mrs. Kotsuris, whom he'd been referring to as the Marks, were leaving in the morning and there would probably be some hinting at a discount for the inconvenience and stress. The other couple that Deborah had booked was leaving as well. He hadn't even met them and in the morning they'd be gone.

A salesman was coming in for one night. He was a regular who always wanted three pillows and a grapefruit from the hotel tree. Herman Grouse, by name and by nature, if things weren't perfect in his life. Gordon had spent many unfortunate evenings listening to the woes of selling paint rollers across the country. Other than that there was nothing until Friday then he had Jeannette's friends for one night and Mindy Cowls for three. The weekend was looking bleak.

Deborah came in with two bags of groceries and went straight through to the kitchen.

"What did you get? I said I'd shop tomorrow."

"I was there; it seemed dumb not to get what we needed." She began unpacking and putting things away. "What was your personal mail?"

"Oh, hah. Funny. It was an invitation to the cocktail party for the Mayor."

"Just for you." She packed with more care, slowing her actions as she processed the comment.

"I guess because I'm on the hotel committee." He offered weakly. "It's only for an hour. I don't rate the dinner." He tried to lighten the mood.

"This is at Jeannette's place?"

"Uhm . . . "He made a skit out of reading the invitation again. "Yeah, yeah it says here- yeah."

"Guess I'd better clear my calendar Friday night. That's when her friends are checking in, no?"

Yes, but they'll be in around three or something. Early anyway. Then they're going straight to Jea- her place."

"Still, somebody has to be here for any weekend bookings."

"Hell, Deb, you were out all night last night. I'm going to be away a couple of hours."

She turned her focus to dinner and cursed her jealous behaviour. Considering her all night with Grace, Gordon wasn't doing anything even close. And what could he do at a full house cocktail party for an hour?

"Okay, I get it and I'm sorry for being a bitch."

"You aren't a bitch. . .well maybe a bitchette." He grinned and grabbed her about the waist. "No more bickering. What's for dinner?"

"Frozen chicken fingers."

"Ahh, can we thaw them first?"

"Stop, please, my sides are aching." She shooed him out of the kitchen and began dinner.

Gordon sat in the office and decided to pay some bills. He dug out the file and the company cheque book and was just getting comfortable when the phone rang.

"Yes, Betty."

"We're ready to have the light changed now."

"Marvelous, I'll come right down." He tossed the pen and the cheque book in the drawer and went back to the laundry area.

"Betty?"

"Yes. It's time to change the light." He intoned dramatically. "Be right back, I hope."

The sisters stood together by the bathroom door, ready to offer advice and make their inspection of his work. Gordon switched on the light and it did indeed flicker. He opened the cover and twisted the lamp out."

"You should shut the power down before doing that." Miranda cautioned.

"No need, there's no danger when changing a lamp." He twisted the new one in place and it glowed to life steady as a rock. He replaced the cover, shut the light out, waited a few seconds and turned it on again. A miracle. It worked perfectly.

"There you go. Sorry I forgot earlier what with the lock trouble in number eight and all."

"That was terrible. The poor man must have bee so stressed." Betty said.

"He wasn't happy, I can tell you that." Gordon smiled a quick retreat and hurried back to the house.

"Okay?"

"Yep. The sisters are back in the illuminated world."

"Mr. Grouse called; he's about twenty minutes away. He wants his grapefruit when he arrives."

"Jesus, these people. Where do they come from and why do we get them?"

"It's a sale so don't knock it. We can't eat them all anyway. Give him two."

"Oh no! No precedents. What if we have a bad crop some time? I'll either be buying the damn things or giving him some kind of discount." He went back out and around to the side by the parking area and stepped over the wall into the garden where the fruit trees were.

"Who's out there?" A nervous voice called from a suite window.

"It's just me, Gordon from the office. I'm getting some grapefruit."

"You shouldn't be prowling around out there in the dark. Scares people."

"Hey, sorry. I've got the grapefruit and I'm going, okay?" He stepped back over the wall and walked around the corner to the street. "Christ, it's my bloody property."

"Mr. Hardy." The car door slammed and Herman Grouse scurried across the drive to meet Gordon.

"Hello, Mr. Grouse. Got something for you." He handed the flushed looking man the grapefruit and offered to carry his small bag.

"Thanks, this is why I look forward to coming here."

"Nice to know it's the fruit." He responded dryly.

"God, what a week!"

Gordon steeled himself for the deluge of complaints and wasn't any too soon doing so. Herman began with a time line that only reached Tuesday morning by the time Gordon had checked him in and seen him to his room. Standing in the doorway and nodding eagerly, he listened to each hour of each day, struggling to tear himself away from the man's non-stop patter.

He was almost bent double as his feet made their escape but his head was still trapped, nodding in sympathy and agreement. At last Herman paused for a breath and Gordon held up a finger.

"Sorry, Herman, that's my dinner call. You have a nice night now and enjoy the fruit." He dashed away at full speed, vaulting the lounges on the way like an Olympic hurdler.

"Dinner's on the table."

"It was Herman; I couldn't get away from the man."

"Lucky it's cold then."

"You mean they're still frozen?"

"Oh Hardy, how could Las Vegas ever let you go?"

"I'm only going by what you said earlier. You said the fingers were frozen, so--"

"We're having wings instead. I couldn't be bothered trying to thaw the fingers tonight. We can have them tomorrow."

"Chicken two nights in a row!"

"Better than fixing your own, Hardy."

"I love chicken."