Cindy D. Baker           

 

 

land of the giants

 

“Birds in a Gilded Cage”

 

 

 

         The rising sun gleamed off the orange metallic spaceship above the heads of Betty and Valerie, who stood at the ship’s hatch, passively observing their three co-strandees; Betty with hand on hip, Val her arms crossed. Steve, Mark, and Dan were preparing to depart on another scavenger hunt, and the women were awaiting the last minute instructions they knew would be forthcoming.

         “Good to go?” Steve asked, watching Dan as he worked the knot on their improvised grappling hook. The giant safety pin and thread, although crude, had saved their lives many times.

         “Yup,” Dan quipped, climbing to his feet with a big smile on his face. For once, he couldn’t wait to get going. Of late, the tight living space and lack of privacy had begun to gnaw on even his infinite patience.

         “I’m ready, too,” Mark chimed in. He, most of all, was looking forward to the limited seclusion and the demanding exercise the excursions offered. A sprained back had kept him grounded to the ship for close to two weeks, and although he had done his best to keep his infamous short-temper under control, his pent up energies had, nevertheless, morphed into irrepressible grouchiness.

         Betty, seeing Steve approach, thoughtfully looked down at the small radio in her hand. The handsets, as had been her duty, were charged and ready to go.

         Steve looked sternly between the two women. “Barry and Fitzhugh are at the outpost so stay close to the radio,” he commanded, throwing the rope over his shoulder and taking the transceiver from Betty in one smooth movement. “The brook we’re going to isn’t far from here, and we’re only scouting for what debris might have been washed into it from the rainstorm the other night; so, as of right now, I’m expecting to be back sometime around nightfall.”

         “Aye, aye, Skipper,” Valerie said with a happy, crooked grin. 

         Steve cocked an eyebrow. When Val was this chirpy, it meant she was restless, and that usually lead to trouble. “Stay in camp,” he said firmly, looking her dead in the eye. 

         Val’s grin vanished. “Yes, Captain,” she replied with a pout.

         With a suspicious frown, Steve turned and joined Mark and Dan at the tree line. With brief waves, they called their good-byes, then started down the trail.

         “Be careful,” Val shouted to them as one by one they disappeared into the forest.

         “And Mark, don’t over do it!” Betty added. And she meant it. She had been his nurse for most of the time and, therefore, the major recipient of his foul mood. An experience she didn’t want to repeat anytime soon.

         When the men were no longer be seen through the green and brown of the undergrowth, Valerie let out a long, bored sigh, then looked over the crude, meager camp with a disappointed frown. A mischievous twinkle popped into her bright, blue eyes.

         “I don’t know about you, but I need a change of clothes. Let’s go play dress-up!”

         “Dress-up?” Betty asked with a raised eyebrow as Val darted towards the cabin. “Dress into what?” Curious, and with nothing better to do, Betty followed her.

         Within half hour, all of Val’s luggage and clothes were strewn about the passenger cabin like a washing machine that had thrown up. 

         The vivacious redhead stood in the center of the turmoil before a full-length, portable mirror, admiring the powder blue snow-ski outfit she held against herself. “Too bad this isn’t the Swiss Alps. This would have knocked them dead,” she grinned.

         Betty peered up at her from the floor with a look of sympathy and annoyance. At the moment, she was on her knees amidst the many suitcases, refolding into neat bundles the disarrayed evening gowns rummaged through by her friend. Her eyes turned to the reflecting glass.

         “I sometimes wonder that . . . if that mirror had been made of real silver, could Mark have charged the solar batteries and gotten us home?”

         “Hey!” Val spun on her heels, her face glowing with their adventure. “I don’t want to hear about repairs and if what’s. I want to talk about frilly clothes and expensive jewelry. Ah, Francoise,” she sighed, hugging the outfit tight, “where are you skiing tonight?”

         An amused grin came to Betty’s face as she pulled yet another tousled dress from the carrier. Never having seen so many beautiful and expensive gowns before, the former stewardess gave into temptation and held one up. Made of olive green silk, it had a v-neckline, spaghetti straps, and a floor length skirt with a moderate train.

         Betty’s eyes got large as saucers. “Val, why is it some of your dresses look like they’ve never even been worn before?”

         “That’s because they haven’t,” she said proudly. “Versace’s best, hot off the designers’ platform in New York City. I always bought a new wardrobe before going overseas.”

         Lifting another gown, Betty’s face lit up. This dress was full length, also with a modest train, strapless with a square bodice, and covered in white sequins. “Oh, Val!”

         “Try it on,” Valerie impishly urged.

         “Oh, I couldn’t. It must have cost a small fortune.”

         “Actually, yes, but,” Val shrugged, “what the heck! You only live once.”

         “But if anything happened to it, I’d never forgive myself,” Betty replied, climbing to her feet, regardless, and moving to take Valerie’s place before the mirror. She held the dress in front of her, her face full of longing.

         “Bet you’d look beautiful in it,” Val whispered in her ear. “And it’s certainly your color. Go ahead, be daring!”

         “But Steve and the others. . . .”

         Val gave an impatient wave of her hand. “The men folk won’t be back for hours. Go on, have some fun!” she pressed. “You deserve it after everything we’ve been through. Especially in taking care of Wilson. That’s a job that would make any nurse quit nursing.”

         Betty, undecided, looked at the stunning white dress shimmering in her hand, then smiled broadly. “Better shut the door first,” she said with a shy grin as she started to undo the zipper. 

         Behind her, Valerie jogged to the instrument panel and hit the button that extracted the compartment door.

         Moments later, Betty again stood in front of the mirror, her face full of wonder and joy at how beautiful the gown looked on her, and at how feminine it made her feel.

         “Do I know how to pick a dress or what?” Valerie nodded. “But, hey, if we’re gonna do it, let’s do it right.” Digging into a small, hard suitcase, she pulled out tan stockings, long white gloves, sling-back white heels, and a large, matching fan. 

         Within minutes, the image was complete. Betty, beside herself with unbridled delight, twirled around—and promptly grabbed onto the seat back to save herself from toppling over.

         “I’d forgotten shoes this high take a while to get used to,” she muttered, peering down at the three-inch, stiletto heels. Straightening up, she peered at Valerie. “How do I look?” she asked, her face bright. This time she turned slowly.

         Val scrutinized her from top to floor. “I have to admit,” she nodded, “it looks better on you than it did on me. You have the right figure for it.”

         Picking up the fan, Betty snapped it open, stretching a well-toned leg out before the mirror. “Oh, Val,” she uttered, changing position to peek playfully over the fan. “I feel like I should be singing, Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend.”

         “On this planet, it’s more like Two Little Girls from Little Rock,” the redhead guffawed. “But hey, if you feel like singing, do it!” she smiled. “A little song and gaiety would be nice right now.”

         A lopsided grin came to Betty’s face. She took a few steps, whirled, then suddenly stopped in a theatrical pose. “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,” she sang. From there, her voice grew stronger as her confidence and enthusiasm increased, her hand- and leg-movements also becoming more elaborate.

         Valerie slid into a nearby seat from where she showed her enjoyment with loud claps, cheers, and whistles of encouragement.

         Meanwhile, outside. . . the lost-in-their-own-thoughts trio of Steve, Dan, and Mark stepped from the forest into their home camp. The closer they became to Spindrift, the more their footsteps unconsciously slowed in unison as each registered the musical sounds that wafted towards them.

         “I hear singing,” stated Mark, coming to a halt and looking baffled at the others.

         “So do I,” Steve nodded.

         “It’s a song from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes,” replied Dan, cocking his head to hear better as an appreciative smile came to his face.

         “Yeah,” Steve said, “the movie with Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, but where’s the song coming from?” He scanned the area for a clue.

         “No giant would know that song.” Dan looked at Steve, crinkling his forehead. “Would they?”

         Steve casually shrugged and was about to reply when Mark pointed to Spindrift. “The view ports are closed.”

         “The voice sounds familiar, too,” said Dan.

         The three men looked at each other then grinned.

         Silently they entered the ship, pausing in the corridor where they listened to Betty belt out the show tune filtering through the closed cabin door. 

         Steve peered at the others, brought a finger to his lips, and pushed the small button on the control panel. In front of them, the door slid open without a sound. With utmost stealth, they made their way into the room, hugging the back wall where they remained undetected. The men, although amused at their own duplicity, were soon caught up in Betty’s zealous performance.

         “. . .  find a gentleman who’s shy or bold or short. . . ” Betty happily went on.

         From the corridor, Chipper quietly slipped into the room, then wove his way round the men’s legs as if he were a part of the conspiracy. Spotting Betty, the dog, his tail wagging a mile a minute, trotted over to the entertainer. 

         Betty, seeing the terrier, kept beat as she picked him up and ruffled his head fur, “. . . or tall or young or old, as long as the guy’s a millionaire!” Finishing, Betty, in big-finale-like fashion, kicked up her leg then propped it on a chair, where the dress fell aside revealing her shapely limb—just as it dawned on Valerie, “Chipper, how did you get in here?” 

         The same realization struck the women simultaneously and their heads whipped around in unison; their mouths dropping at the sight of their unintended audience at the front of the cabin. 

         “More! More!” Dan clapped, adding a wolf whistle as they meandered further into the room. 

         Even Mark, an uncharacteristic smile on his face, eagerly applauded.

         Betty snatched her exposed leg off the chair and released Chipper to the floor. “Excuse me while I find a hole to crawl into,” she muttered, turning three shades of red.

         “You, sirs, should be horsewhipped!” Valerie glared, getting to her feet. “What are you doing back so soon? You were supposed to be gone all day.”

         Dan’s face fell in disappointment. “For once the park people were efficient. The debris was cleaned up by the time we got there.”

         “Probably afraid some kids might play in it and get hurt,” volunteered Mark. He looked at Betty, his mouth tugging at a restrained grin. “I think you should dress up more often. Adds class to the place.”

         “Here, here,” cheered Dan as Betty turned a new shade of rose. “And where, may I ask, might you be going to need such eloquent attire?”

         “Actually, it’s Val’s,” she replied, running a hand through her tousled hair.

         “Not very practical,” Steve commented dryly from his observation perch on the arm of one of the chairs.

         Val’s eyes narrowed. She walked over to Steve, with arms crossed arms. “With that kind of charm, Captain Burton, I can see why you’re still a bachelor.”

         “Well, Miss Hamilton,” Dan broke in, “let me be the first to tell you how beautiful you look.” With an exaggerated flair, he bowed, and took her hand, giving it a gentle kiss.

         “Thank you, Sir Erickson,” Betty replied, dropping into a deep curtsy.

         “Too bad we’re not in London,” Valerie said, once again admiring her creation, “I would have loved to have seen the fish you would have caught with this bait.”

         “All kinds, let me tell you,” Dan said, on the more serious side. “I have three sisters an—”

         “Giants!” The alarm shouted from outside. Footsteps thundered into the corridor before anyone could move. It was Barry. “A giant’s coming!” he panted, pausing at the hatchjamb to catch his breath.

         Steve jumped to his feet, taking the boy by the shoulders. “How many?” he asked in a calm, even voice.

         Barry took a big gulp of air then following Steve’s lead, squared his shoulders and replied  calmly. “Just one, but he’s coming right for us.”

         Steve turned to the others. “All right, everyone, head for the shelter!”

         The group, having been through this danger many times before, didn’t hesitate at the Captain’s command. Mark, being the next one closest to the door, automatically took lead, jogging out of Spindrift just as Fitzhugh, huffing and puffing, barreled into camp.

         “Giants!” he bellowed, his face purple from exertion.

         “We know!” Wilson replied, turning to wait for the others. Observing Fitzhugh’s confusion as to what to do, Mark grabbed him by the shoulders, and spun him in the direction of their escape route just as Valerie sprinted from the ship. Barry was close at her heels and Chipper in his arms.

         “Hurry,” Mark urged, heading into the woods.

         “But where. . . ?” Fitzhugh stammered. 

         Barry grabbed the flustered man by the hand. “This way, Mr. Fitzhugh!” and struggled to pull him after the others. Dan appeared on the opposite side and took hold of Fitzhugh’s other arm. “Come on, Alex, you can make it.”

         “Uhhh,” the older man groaned. Too winded to argue, he let them drag him away.

         Inside the ship, Steve stared with growing irritation at Betty, who was frantically scouring the compartment. “Betty!” he growled, “we have to—” 

         “My clothes! I can’t find my— ” Spotting the attire on a far chair, she made a dash towards it but Burton snatched her wrist mid-air and swung her around.

         “No time!” he yelled. 

         Steve pulled her into the hallway and released her, but Betty spun, dodging back inside. Her hand was an inch away from her boots when Burton again intercepted her. 

         “Come on!” he snapped, dragging her out once more.

         At the main hatchway, Steve flew over the outside steps, gave a quick glance to confirm Betty was still behind him and continued, at a dead run, to the shelter.

         Betty looked down and grimaced. The improvised steps were nothing more than two descending rocks pushed together and were narrow, uneven, and hard to see, especially when one had their arms full—or wore a full-length dress with three-inch heels.

         Hoisting the hem, Betty jumped. Landing on her toes, she held her balance, then sprinted  as best she could after her companions. 

         Steve was only a few yards ahead of her when she witnessed him catapult over a giant twig that lay across the pathway. 

         However, this “twig” was the circumference of a full-grown Oak tree and nearly its length. The strandees had tried to remove it several times, but the heavy object was jammed firmly between several giant shrubs. Although not a major problem, it was an inconvenient one. 

         “Oh, hell,” Betty muttered, staring at the obstruction that lay at waist level. She knew there was room to go under, but the spindly sprigs would tear at her and the dress. She could go over. Those sprigs had been removed, but the height of the log, its rough bark, and the confining design of the skirt would make maneuvering difficult. 

         Betty turned, and was about to hunt for an alternate route when she heard the loud footsteps in front of her, and knew she had no choice. Heaving her, bottom first, onto the barrier, she swung her legs up and over, then slid off the other side. Landing on her feet, Betty took off, but was jolted to a stop. The skirt was caught on something!

         “Damn!” Betty’s heart pounded as she glanced at the noise coming towards her. She dropped onto the thick twig via her stomach where her hand speedily searched over, under and around for the imprisoned material.

 

         The newly built shelter was nothing more than a hollow dugout under an overhang at the bottom of a huge boulder. Close to camp, it had been created for emergencies like this, which the group had already experienced far too many times for comfort. 

         Dan, Mark, and Val were huddled just inside its opening, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the other two when Valerie gasped, putting a hard grip on Mark’s wrist. But he hadn’t noticed. Like his two companions, his eyes were locked on the giant that now roamed the area—a funny little man in a tan bowler hat, brown plaid suit, and unlit cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth.

         Chipper whined from his owner’s lap where he was held fast against his struggle to pull free.

         “Quiet, Chipper,” Barry scolded, wrapping his arms tighter around the dog. He and Fitzhugh were pressed at the back of the tiny cave. 

         “Uhhh,” Fitz groaned, his hand on his chest, “of all the flights from the airport, why did I have to get on this one?”

 

         The giant lowered the stogie then took in a long, deep breath. “Ahhh,” he cooed, gazing up at the trees. “Nothing like a good, invigoratin’ walk to clear the brain matter.”

         Mark’s hand found Valerie’s as he gave it a tight squeeze. “He’s right over the ship!”

         “Good thing we put fresh leaves on it yesterday,” she whispered back. “Maybe he won’t notice it.”

         “Maybe we can—” Dan started, but the rest of it was lost when Burton burst into view.    Charging into the shelter, Steve trotted towards the back to catch his breath, while Dan, knowing they were missing one, scanned the area for their last fugitive, his alarm skyrocketing when she didn’t appear. “Steve, where’s Betty!”

         Bent over, Steve’s head shot up. “She was right behind me!”

 

         Betty patted down the tree limb for the umpteenth time but the snag wasn’t within her reach. 

         “Damn it!” Desperate, she swung herself back over to the other side. Hearing the giant footsteps, she glanced up. She could now see him from the waist up, just off to her left. Betty paled—if she could see him, he could see her. 

         Feverishly, Betty tracked the elusive anchor to a giant sprig on the underside of the obstacle. Using both hands, she tugged with all her strength but the material was impaled on a small branch.

        

         “Ah. . . ” the giant sighed, “time to get back to work.” He took the cigar, dropped it to the ground, and begun mashing it out when a flash caught his eye. Curious, he watched with growing interest the odd whiteness that sparkled a few feet ahead of him in the brush. 

         “It can’t be a bird.” His forehead crinkled. “A flower, maybe. . . ?” He bobbed his head in indecision, then went forward to investigate.

         Betty’s throat tightened with fear as she heard the giant coming towards her. Unable to run, her blood pounding in her ears, she ducked down as low as possible, still trying to tear the hem free.

         But the shimmering, sequined material only served as a beacon for the giant. 

        

         “I don’t believe my eyes!” The funny little man sprouted a lopsided grin as he stared down at the white form. Leaning over, he braced his hands on his knees, and peered closer at Betty with a thoughtful tilt of his head.

 

         Steve and Dan raced out of the shelter and over the trail, only to arrive in time to witness the giant reach for their former stewardess.

         The giant began to rise with Betty, who was now in his hand, when he too felt the tug of the snag. “So that’s why you didn’t run away.” His other hand grasping the large twig, he raised them concurrently. Once upright, the giant, with a quick flick of his wrist, had the hem untangled and tossed away the stick.

 

         “Look out!” Steve hissed. Both men ducked, their arms over their heads. The twig whizzed over them, missing them by mere inches, and landed in a shrub beside them.

         Shaken, the two men peered at it, then at each other with looks of “unbelievable” and “that-was-close.”

 

          The giant had opened his palm and was closely studying the tiny woman when his eyes shot wide open. “I don’t believe it! Ya . . . ya look exactly like Nightingale.” With a broad smile, he tucked Betty into the safety of his coats inside breast pocket and with a loud, joyous whistle, hurried away.

         Behind him, Steve and Dan charged full out and were able to keep the giant in view most of the time, despite the obstacles and dangers of the forest. But after a long stretch, tired and winded, they began to lose ground.   

         “That way!” Dan yelled, having spotted the tan bowler once again.

         They reached the border of the park’s sidewalk and watched with destroyed hope as the giant sped away in a little green sports car.

         Dan spun, throwing a punch at a dangling leaf. “I didn’t even get a chance to see his license plate!”

         Steve stood like a statue, staring at the disappearing vehicle as if by doing so he would learn its destination by telepathy. “It didn’t have one,” he said stoically. “It was a new car.” He looked at Erickson, the devastation as clear on Dan’s face as on his own.

         Exhausted and defeated, their shoulder’s slumping, the two men returned home.

 

         Mark squatted beside the smoldering cigar, staring at its metal band as if hypnotized. He knew they had a use for the metal, but at that moment, with his concern elsewhere, he couldn’t recall specifically for what. 

         Behind him, Valerie paced, alleviating her anxiousness by gnawing on a fingernail.             

         Barry, sitting on the small log only a few feet from them both, played fetch with Chipper while Fitzhugh, next to him, watched soberly on. 

         Hearing sounds of brushing amidst the ground cover, their heads turned in that direction. 

         “Chipper, come,” Barry ordered in a bare whisper. He took the dog in his arms and stood as Fitzhugh did the same, gripping the boy’s shoulders out of fear and nervous habit.

         But the tension and fear drained away when they saw it was Dan and Steve.

         Val glanced at Mark and him at her, the tension back in their eyes—Betty wasn’t with them. 

         Without a word, Spindrift’s two downtrodden pilots took a seat on the log that Barry and Fitzhugh had just vacated. By the look on the men’s faces, everyone knew what had happened.

         “She’s been caught,” Mark stated dryly.

         Steve dropped his head into his hands. “Yeah.”

         “I’ll get the equipment.” Mark turned to do the errand, but when no confirmation came from Burton, he turned back to them, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What’s wrong?”

         Dan squared his shoulders. “The giant took off in a car. It didn’t have a license plate.”
         Valerie gasped, her face paling. “No license plate!” Her knees weakening, she reached out for Mark.

         Fitzhugh and Barry shared the same stunned expression; Fitzhugh sank to the nearest rock, as the boy’s arms tightened around his dog.            

         “B-but,” Barry stuttered, “without the license plate. . . ”

         “. . . you can’t find her,” finished Valerie.

         “We can’t just sit here!” Mark bellowed, his face red with anger.

         Steve sprang to his feet. “If anyone has any suggestions,” he snapped, his eyes blazing, “I’d love to hear ‘em!” He spun away, the air thick with stunned, emotional silence.

         “But you must have some idea, Captain Burton,” Fitzhugh pushed hopefully. “There must be something you can do.”

         Steve whirled. “Well, this time I don’t! Without a registration number there’s no way we can trace the car. We don’t even have this guy’s name to look it up in the telephone book!”

         “Then she’s gone,” Valerie’s words choked in her throat as wetness formed in her eyes. “Unless we find out where she is, she’s really gone. . . .” She dropped onto the ship’s steps as the men watched on; their own misery mirrored in her distraught face. 

         Mark looked at the others, then after a moment of uncertainty, went over. As he sat down, Valerie stifled a sob. Putting his arm around her, Mark pulled her close, giving her his shoulder to cry into, which she did so readily.

         Fitzhugh stood, resting a hand on Barry’s shoulder. “Come, lad,” he said quietly. “We’d better go retrieve those berries we found.” With an arm around the boy, he led him out of camp.

 

         Betty held on as best she could to. Sitting awkwardly on the floor of the giant’s pocket, she held her arms out to minimize being thrown in the hard jostling. She was fearful, but that always came with being caught, and there was little she could do except find ways of escaping; either in route or once she arrived, which she’d been contemplating ever since she’d been put there, but no opportunities as yet had presented itself.

         For Betty, it wasn’t the final destination that bothered her so much as was getting there. The giants’ wobbly standings, their uneven gait, and jerky movements always made her nauseous.

         Overall, the journey so far had been an easy one. She was sure the giant had gone out of his way to make it so. He seemed kind and courteous, and had been very cautious in his handling of her.  But, Betty thought wearily. She ran a hand over the gown’s delicate material, and let out a sad sigh. Why is it, every time we have a little fun, it always ends up like this?

         After several minutes, Betty felt the car turn a corner. After which it immediately began to slow. Dread crept into her chest.

          

         The green sports car took the corner with ease, gliding to a stop before the valet parking sign that stood sentry in front of a three-story stone building. Modest businesses were to the building’s left, while its own large parking lot was adjacent to its right side. Bordering the parking area was a meticulously kept rock garden where a foot-tall nymph sprouted water into a marble pool.

         Made of sandstone, the building’s front was molded into columns, interrupted by a wide, double glass-door entry, trimmed in brass. Atop the door, also brass-lined, was a story-high box sign. The marquee advertised its presence with red neon tubing that read, Four Seasons Show Palace. Below that in black, transferable letters was, “Presents Nightingale.”

         Millo threw open the door, and with his hand cupped protectively over Betty in the pocket, slid carefully out of the car. On the curb, he pulled a cigar from the other breast pocket, and inserted it into his mouth next to a smug, lopsided grin. 

         “Afternoon, Mr. Millo,” Erwin the doorman greeted from his post at the entrance. Wearing the uniform of gray coach coat, yellow and black epaulets, matching hat and buttons, the tall doorman drew the door open, tipping of his hat as his guest passed under the canopied walkway. 

         “Afternoon, Erwin,” Millo said, returning the gesture with his bowler as he vanished into the building. 

         Sauntering through the foyer, Millo passed under an open, arched doorway into a large elegant room decorated in rich shades of red and gold. But he barely paid attention to the expensive decor and the gold-lined china table settings as he veered to the far left of the room. Bypassing the highly polished, oak stage, he continued to the door next to it where he entered the corridor and there paused to listen the distinct sounds of a piano and the sultry song of a female singer accompanist wafting through the walls. A smug, pleased look came to his face.

         Walking a few feet more, Millo turned left into another room. This one, only a fraction of the size of the one he had just left, had musical instruments stored all along its scuffed beige walls.        In the middle of the Rehearsal Hall stood the piano where the beautiful music had resounded, accredited to an older, gray-haired man at the keys. 

         Next to the piano man stood Nightingale. She was blonde, slender, and except for her curly, shoulder-length hair, the spitting image of Betty Hamilton. Her voice was low and sweet as she glanced at the sheet music in her hand, then at the Millo in the doorway.

         Taking the cigar from his mouth, Millo mimed a silent clap to his client, then signaled he would meet her upstairs in her dressing room. Gale, her forehead folded in concentration and not skipping a note, nodded.

 

         The Guest Accommodations was large enough to * accommodate comfortably any star the nightclub booked, and expertly decorated to match the rest of the facility. Included was a kitchenette at the far, street-side part of the room, complete with a sink and a full-sized refrigerator. Opposite the kitchen were a mahogany coffee table and a chintz couch with matching armchair. Between the two areas were a modest dining room table and four chairs.

         Near the door stood an ornate make-up table and mirror. A doorway beside the dressing table on the right lead to a walk-in wardrobe closet and the bathroom. The bath, with a luxurious sunken tub, opened up into another walk-in closet, which led to the bedroom containing a king-size bed. 

         Entering the private quarters, Millo closed the door firmly behind him, then gave the rooms a quick, cursory check. To his satisfaction, no one else was there. Shifting his unlit cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, he began a new search of the rooms, this one intensifying until he came upon an empty shoebox beside the trash can near the make-up table.

         “Perfect,” he grinned ear-to-ear.  Setting it on the dining table, he carefully, gently transferred his captive into it. Bending down to Betty, he gave her a friendly smile. “What’s ya name, beautiful?”

         “Betty Hamilton,” she frowned, crossing her arms. To her surprise, the giant giggled. 

         “Hamilton. . .  what a strange name. But Betty has potential.” Millo straightened up and took a few thoughtful steps. “Let’s see. . . Betty. . . Butterfly. Butterfly and the Nightingale. Nightingale and Butterfly. I’ll have ta work on it.” He spun back. “But first, let me reassure ya that these are just temporary accommodations. We’ll get ya something a little more befitting a star as soon as—”

         The door flew open, followed by a furious Gale. “Millo!” She stormed towards him. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed during rehearsal! This is a new routine I’m trying to—”

         “This was important. I’ve got something that’ll knock ya off your feet!”

         “It had better be,” she scowled, crossing her arms. “What is it?’

         “This.” He pointed to the box. 

         Suspicious, the woman took a wary stepped towards it. Peering in, Gale’s eyes sprung wide as her mouth dropped to the floor. “A little people! I don’t believe it!”

         “I still don’t, but this is it, honey! This is what’s gonna put us over the top!”

         “Millo,” Gale rolled her eyes, “we’re at the top, we can’t go any higher.”

         “Sure we can. And she’s what’s gonna do it for us.”

         Gale shook her head in bafflement. “How?”

         “Don’t ya get it? Ya ‘little’ sister! A duet! Ya’ll capture the section of audience we’ve never been able ta touch before.”

         “What if she can’t sing?”

         “We’ll fake it!”

         “Except you’re forgetting one thing . . . it’s illegal to own little people.”

         “Only without a license. But not ta worry,” he flashed her a confident grin, “my brother-in-law’s on the Supreme Counsel.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “This is it, baby!” he said excitedly. “The last hurtle. Nothing can stop us now.”

         Gale’s face clouded over. “But—”

         “I gotta go make some arrangements.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Take care of them pipes of yours.” 

         “But—” she stuttered as he bounced out of the room. Staring at the swinging door, Gale threw up her hands up exasperation. “But nothing has stopped us before!” 

         Suddenly her shoulders drooped and she frowned, looking like a soldier who knew she had lost the war. Strolling to the table, she looked wearily down at Betty. “My name’s Gale.” She shrugged her shoulders in befuddled compassion. “So what am I supposed to do with you . . . ?”

 

         Mark studied a hand-drawn, rough schematic of Spindrift while behind him, Val, Fitzhugh, and Barry, with Chipper trotting after him, stacked firewood. Hearing a snap in the forest, Mark’s head whipped around. Hearing a second crackle, he sprinted to the others.

         “Quiet!” he whispered, signaling them to duck down. “Something’s coming.” The tiny group obeyed instantly. All that moved was the breathing of their chests as they watched and waited to see who or what the noise belonged to. The answer came a moment later when Burton’s red uniform gleamed like a flashlight through the green and brown undergrowth.

         Valerie sighed with relief. “It’s Steve and Dan.” 

         In unison, the five relaxed and climbed to their feet. 

         Fitzhugh, his face red with exertion, made a beeline to the water bucket, while his companions went to welcome the journeymen.

         Steve and Dan, hoisting a piece of bread between them, stepped into the small clearing. Contrary to the delectable prize, both men looked grim.    

         It had been two weeks since Betty’s capture, and despite the group’s combined experience, as well as having investigated all avenues of pursuit, they had not found one clue to her whereabouts.

         “Find anything?” Mark asked, trying to keep the hostility and frustration out of his tone. For him, Betty’s disappearance had brought “useless” to a new, infuriating level.

         “No,” Steve muttered gruffly. 

         Mark glanced at Valerie, who had appeared by his side. The two echoed worried looks. Dan and Steve had known Betty longer than any of them, and her capture had hit them the hardest. The empty mission would only heighten the angst in the already tense camp.

         “But we did find this,” announced Dan, trying to sound upbeat. The men dumped the bread onto the table under the lean-to, then stepped back to appreciate the treasure. Dan glanced at Steve with an expression that read, “at least the expedition wasn’t a total waste.”

         The strandees gathered round, yet looked at it sadly.

         “I’m not hungry,” Valerie stated with an unhappy frown.

         “Neither am I,” said the gloomy Barry. Picking up Chipper, he went and sat down on the log.

         Dan shoulders slumped. “I’m not either.”

         Concerned, Steve looked from one to the other to the others. “Look, you all have to eat something!”

         “Fine,” Mark snorted, “you can have my portion!”

         Steve stared at the food. The bravado slide from his face. “I’m not hungry either.” He took a seat next to Barry, his dejected mood matching everyone else’s.

         “There’s got to be a way to find her,” Dan insisted after a few minutes of  heavy silence. “If only I could remember what the giant said.”

         Mark hitched his chin at him. “What do you mean?”

         “The giant said she looked like something. A bird, a quail . . . ” Dan shook his head, pursing his lips as he tried to remember “. . . something, I don’t know. What good would it do us even if we knew what he was talking about? We have no way of following up on it.”

         Steve gave a despondent shrug. “I didn’t even hear it.” He turned to Barry. “Nothing new in the newspapers or posted on handbills?”

         The boy shook his head. “No, sir.”

         “Nothing.” Valerie growled, picking up a stone and pitching it with all her strength.           

         “Even visiting Kobick’s office again proved fruitless,” mumbled Mark.

         “But we’ll keep searching, won’t we, Captain?” Barry lowered Chipper to the ground. “No matter how long it takes.”

         Steve stared at Barry, admiring his loyalty and persistence. Not wanting to let him down, Steve felt his own determination reinvigorated. He grinned. “Yes, Barry, we will. No matter how long it takes.”

 

         “So how do ya like it?” Millo asked, bouncing on his heels in thrilled expectation. “I had it ordered special.” 

         Betty stared speechless at the huge object sitting before her on Gale’s dinner table. It was a new green and white, two-story, colonial dollhouse. The present took up nearly the entire tabletop.

         “It even has a small porch on the back,” he told her, sounding like a kid in a candy shop.

         Opening the front door, Betty went inside, her mind still not accepting what she was seeing. After so many months of sleeping in a hammock and bathing in the woods, the house—a normal-sized house, a house her size—was overwhelming. Looking over the sparkling-clean foyer and its frilly curtains, Betty felt her throat tighten. Within hours of her entrapment, Millo had purchased her an abundance of new clothes of which she’d already been very grateful for receiving. And now this.

         Her eyes wide, Betty, dressed casually in blue jeans and a white tank top, meandered through the rooms, her footsteps falling silent over the minuscule carpet. The house was painted in rich colors of Burgundy and pine green, and furnished with pieces made of real wood. Dainty floral curtains on the windows matched the walls and rugs.

         “This place is nicer than my last apartment,” she mumbled to herself as she took in the bare, contrasting walls. Walking to the fireplace, she gazed up at the painting hanging over it. Up close, the “painting” was nothing more than a color picture cut from a magazine. Melancholy swept over Betty as her eyes dropped to the empty mantel.

         “Not much use,” she frowned, running a hand over the varnished, wooden mantelpiece, “if you don’t have pictures of friends and family to put on it.” With a deep sigh, she glanced outside.    Millo, chomping on his usual unlit cigar, was no longer watching her, but was pacing before the dressing screen where Gale was currently changing.

         “Hurry up, will ya,” her manager urged with a chuckle.

         “Millo, if ever you learned to reign in your impatience . . . ” the singer lightly scolded as she slipped past the shield.

         “I can’t help it. I’m just excited for ya.” He turned around, stopping dead in his tracks.

         Nightingale twirled, glistening in a replication of Valerie’s white gown.

         “Hey,” Millo beamed, taking the stubby weed from his mouth, “you look terrific!”

         “It’s a beautiful gown, Millo, but do you really think—”

         “Honey, this is what ya needed! A change in pace . . . a change in style, although class ya already had. Listen to your manager. If this doesn’t do it, nothing will.”

         Crossing her arms, Gale looked at him fondly. “Oh, Millo, will you ever listen? We’re at the top, we don’t need to go any higher.” She took a step towards him. “I’m tired . . .  I miss my family. . . ”  Uncrossing her arms, she grabbed his lapels and jerked him to her. “ I want to go home!” she growled playfully.

         “Right, sure,” he waved, unconcerned. “I’ll let ya two rehearse, but remember ta keep it quiet. I don’t want our little secret getting out too soon.”

         “But . . . ” Gale protested. Her words went unheard as Millo disappeared out the door and pulled it shut. A second later came a hard rap. Gale knew he wouldn’t leave until she followed through on their prearranged procedure, so with an irritated grunt, the songstress stepped to the door and turned the lock. 

         From the other side came two more distinct taps. It was Millo’s confirmation that she had complied, as well as his way of saying “good bye.” 

         Gale gripped her hair with both hands. “I love you, Millo, so help me I love you, but one of these days I’m gonna kill ya.” Dropping her arms, she plopped down into the chintz armchair under the street-side window from where her troubled mind found an obscure defect on the wall to lock onto.

         Betty, hearing the silence, strolled out of the house.

         Gale looked over, her mouth a deep frown. “You ready?” she asked, her question devoid of all enthusiasm.

         Betty gave a lame shrug of her shoulders. “I guess so.” When Gale made no attempt to stand, Betty sat down on the stoop, and leaned gloomily against the wooden structure.

         Neither moved, both lost in their own jumbled worlds. 

         After several minutes, Gale gave a heavy sigh. “Well,” she grunted as she pushed on the chair, “time to . . .” and came to her feet just as a series of knocks reverberated on the door.              Startled, Gale looked at Betty, and Betty, her face paling, looked back. Gale stabbed a finger at the Colonial mouthing, “Get inside.”

         Betty shot to her feet as the singer went to the door. 

         There were more knocks, this time more insistent. Gale glanced over her shoulder at the small house. Satisfied Betty was safely hidden within, she threw open the door where her expression turned to one of pure shock.

         “Salvan!” Gale gasped at the handsome man in the doorway. Her gloomy mood of a moment ago vanished into one of sheer joy.

         “Hi, honey,” Salvan said, his warm, blue eyes sparkling as he gazed at her. He was taller than she by several inches, and had a square jaw, short-cropped, dark brown hair, and broad shoulders that complimented the black business suit he wore.

         With a delighted squeal, Gale threw herself into the man’s arms, covering him with fiery kisses. One quick kiss on the mouth transformed into a deeper one and Gale melted in his embrace. 

         After a long moment, Salvan grasped her hands, pulling her from him. “Here, let me look at you,” he grinned.

         Returning the smile, Gale stepped to arm’s length, allowing him full view.

         “The dress is beautiful,” he said, drawing her back to him. “You’re beautiful.”

         “Thank you,” she returned breathlessly as he leaned in for another long kiss.

         “I’ve missed you,” he finally said.

         “I’ve missed you, too,” she purred.

         “Are you coming home any time soon?” His tone had turned serious.

         Gale pursed her lips, her eyes filled with regret. “I can’t. Millo has me booked all the way till next summer.”

         Salvan forced a smile. “The price you pay for being a star. You realize you’ve missed the holidays four years in a row now?”

         “Van, we both knew it was going to be rough. And you know how much I’ve wanted this, how hard I’ve worked to get this far.”

         He nodded. “I do.” He played with a ringlet of her blonde hair. “I also realize I’m losing you.”

         “No, you’re not,” she said with a nervous chuckle, followed by her best, reassuring smile while trailing a seductive finger over his chest.

         Salvan took her chin in his hand, lifting her face to his. “Maybe you’re too locked into your career to see it.”

         Nightingale stiffened. “I am not locked into my career!”

         “Yes, you are.” A look of hope blossomed on Salvan’s face. “Honey. . .”  he began, grabbing her tenderly by the forearms, “come home with me, right now, right this minute. You deserve a vacation. Why not take it now?”

         “I can’t just walk out on Millo. . . ” she frowned. “He’s worked just as hard for this success as I have. I just . . . can’t.” Gale gazed at him, her face torn with disappointment, indecision, and longing.

         Salvan cocked his head, the happiness on his face fading. “No,” he nodded. “That was one of the things I loved about you. You were loyal to a fault. But I guess if it was meant to be, it was meant to be.” He leaned forward, giving her another kiss, only this one was abrupt, his expression dissolving into sadness and regret. “Good-bye, Gale. I love you.” Reluctantly he let her go, then turned towards the hallway. As he walked out, he did not look back. 

         Gale’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. As if on automatic, she closed the door, and locked it. 

         The full reality of the situation striking her, Gale shot to the front of the apartment where she landed in the armchair, her knees burrowing into its cushions. She watched Salvan enter the taxi and pulled away, her face falling and shoulders drooping ever so deeper the farther the car drove down the street. When it became a speck on the horizon, Gale abruptly whipped around in the chair, her face a mass of emotions. Seized with doubt, regret, and fear, she raised a hand and began chewing on a fingernail like it was a steak—until she mentally heard Millo’s nagging admonishment of her habit and then, uttering an agitated groan, she switched to furiously taping her fingers. 

         Betty cautiously came out of the house. Seeing was all clear, she silently resumed her position on the stoop. 

         “You’re very close to your family, aren’t you?” Betty said, after a few minutes of studying the woman. 

         “Was,” Gale snorted. Slamming down a pillow, she jumped to her feet and began pacing, wiping away subtle tears as she went. “I miss my brothers and sister.” She glanced at a photograph on her dressing table. “And my nieces and nephews. I miss the big holiday dinners and family gatherings we used to have. I miss Salvan and my parents and home . . . .” She brushed away the stream that now flooded her cheeks.

         Wrapping her arms around her upright knees, Betty laid her sorrowful head on it. “I miss my home, too,” she said quietly. 

         Gale stopped dead in her tracks, a look of surprise on her face as she stared at the small woman as if she’d never seen her before. “Aren’t your family with you?”

         Betty shook her head, wiping away her own tear.

         “How long have you been here?”

         “Almost two years.”

         “Two years!” Gale dropped onto the dining room chair. “Wow. . . ” She cocked her head thoughtfully at Betty and after a moment, shook her head. “I can’t even imagine what your life is like. How do you live—where do you live?”

         “In the . . .” Betty halted. She liked Gale, and wished she didn’t have to lie to her, but she knew she had to for everyone’s sake back at Spindrift. “. . . places,” she finished with a frown.

         “But you are with others, right?  You’re not totally alone, are you?” Gale’s voice dripped with compassion.  And concern.

         Betty thought a moment, then shook her head.  “Not any more.”  Her heart sank.  If she never returned to Spindrift, then it would be the truth.

         “It’s Monday night and the club’s closed,” Gale slapped the table with her palm, “I feel like getting drunk!”

         “So do I!”  Betty said with delight.  It had been too long since she’d been able to do anything except worry.  And run.  And hide.  It would be wonderful, she thought, to eradicate her present misery, even if it was just temporary.

         The giant woman crossed the room to a mahogany cabinet next to the couch.  There, she pulled out a clear bottle of pale pink wine and a glass as Betty fetched a miniature mug from the dollhouse kitchen.  After both glasses were filled, Betty raised hers in a toast.  “To home,” she shouted.

         “And family,” added Gale. 

         In tandem, the two women threw back their heads and drank it down.  When finished, Gale took a miniature lounge chair from the second floor of the Colonial, and brought it tableside for Betty.  She then refilled her glass as Betty dunked hers into a shot glass that held her trove of the liquid.

         Over the next several hours, the two talked about their careers, their families and friends, and what their dreams had been or were.

         “I dreamt of being married and having a family someday.  Had I been on Earth, it might have happened.”  Betty took another sip.

         “I thought the same thing,” Gale confessed, draining the last drop of her glass.  “I never really believed I’d become as much of a success as I have.  That’s why it’s so hard for me to give it up.  Another?”

         Betty held out the mug.  “Yes, please.”  As she waited, she glanced towards the window where she observed the brilliant gold and pink colors of the setting sun.  Thinking of the others, gloom and depression hit her like a boulder and she couldn’t wait to down another glass. 

 

         Under the lean-to, Valerie stood over Dan as he sat stiffly on a tree stump, his red, blistered palm held out to her.  His lips thin, his face tight, Dan watched as Val gently positioned one end of the sterilized cloth on his hand and began to wrap it.  Around them, Steve and the others watched on with concern.

         “Be careful the next time you grab a pot on a hot fire,” Steve scolded, but there was no malice behind his words, only subdued worry.

         “Betty always handled the cook-king,”  Dan winced as Val pulled the cloth about the tender, salve-covered hand.

         “That’s because you burn everything!” Fitzhugh boomed from the sapling he’d been leaning against.  “We have little enough food as it is, and we—”

         Dan spun, shooting the man a look that could kill.  “Not everyone can be a gourmet, Mister Fitzhugh.”     

         Fitzhugh’s mouth twitched, but the warning had hit home.  With a furious grunt, he skulked into the brush, leaving any further comments unsaid.

         Valerie grinned broadly as she tied off the bandage, and tucked the ends under the cloth on the backside of the hand. “There, finished.  And not a bad job, even if I do say so myself.”  She looked at the others and waited for a contradiction, but no one gave it.

         Dan flexed his hand, a pleased smile crossing his face.  “That is good.  Thank you, Val.”

         “Just call me Florence Nightingale,” she beamed.

         Dan’s head snapped up.  He stared at her hard, his brow furrowed in concentration.  “Nightingale . . . where have I—” his eyes shot wide, “that’s it!”  He jumped to his feet and shot over to Steve. “That’s what he called her!”

         Mark, hearing the commotion, left the ship’s exterior control panel he’d been working on and came over.

         Burton, sitting on a log next to Barry, had been showing the boy how to sharpen the hatchet.

         Steve shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.  “What are you talking about?” he asked, standing up.  Below him, Barry looked as baffled as the captain did. 

          “The giant who took Betty!” Dan shouted, grabbing Steve’s shoulders.  “That’s what he called her!”

         “Florence Nightingale?” growled Mark.  “What kind of a name is that?”

         “A singer’s name!” Val exclaimed with delight.  “I may not be on Earth, but I still like to keep up with high society.  Nightingale’s famous.  I’ve seen her name several times in the newspaper and she’s on a poster I spotted just last week on the edge of town.  She’s appearing in a club somewhere around here!”

         Steve turned to Barry and took the matchstick weapon the boy held out for him.  Steve then looked at the others, his face filled with renewed conviction.  “In that case, it’s time to bring Betty home.”

 

         It was long after nightfall by the time the travelers (minus Chipper) reached the  entertainment district of the town.  Valerie had taken them to the weatherworn poster where she had seen the name.  From there it was easy for the group, with their knowledge of the city, to find the street where the nightclub was located.   

         Approaching their final destination via the nighttime shadows, the Spindrift six hid under a mailbox by the curb, from whence they surveyed the situation and discussed their next route. 

         There were many giants, men, women, and mostly couples, out on the streets, but they were too busy rushing along to the area’s numerous theaters to see what was at their feet.  When show time came around, not too long after the six’s arrival, the area was suddenly deserted.

         To the group’s growing discomfort, the marquee on their targeted building stayed unlit, while the interior remained dark and devoid of any sounds or movement.

         Dan glanced at Steve, his lips tight.  “I don’t like it.  The place looks to be closed.”

         “It probably is,” Valerie chimed in.  “Some places shut down for at least one day a week to do cleaning and make repairs.”

         “If this place is as prestigious as you say, then I bet they have a supply entrance. And that,” Steve pointed to the shadowy demarcation between the Four Seasons and the other building, “should be where it is.” He looked at his companions.  “Shall we, everyone?”

         First, they made sure no one or thing was around, then double-timed it to the entrance of the alleyway.  When they weren’t chased, the group jogged deeper into the passage where they stopped below a single, bare light bulb.  A light that illuminated a metal service door.

         “This has got to be it,” said Dan, peering down the alley.  “I don’t see any other entrances beyond this point.” 

         They spread out along the door’s threshold, then simultaneously slipped underneath, assembling on the other side.  While memorizing their position (and exit route), they discovered something they had never seen before.  Ornate wooden boxes containing petite, red lights hung at key positions throughout the corridor.  Although the color shed an eerie glow upon the hall, it also revealed the way around the unfamiliar building.

         “It must be their version of emergency lighting,” Mark commented, studying the fixture.

         “The owners must really love this place,” Valerie commented, gliding her hand over the rich, textured wallpaper.

         “From what we’ve seen so far, I bet they do,” Dan commented, peering down at the decorate floor tile.  “They’ve invested a lot of money into it.”

         “Good,” Steve blurted out, “then it’s doubtful they’d have an interior security dog.”  With a wave of his hand, they continued onward.  A quick check to the doors on either side revealed one to be a storage room, and the other the kitchen.

         “It’s a safe bet, Betty’s not in either one of those,” quipped Valerie with a crooked smile. 

         A few minutes later, they reached another junction in the floor plan.  At that point, they listened intently, but heard no sounds other than their own breathing within the structure.

         “So far so good,” muttered Mark as they scrutinized the long, red-bathed hallway.

         Fitzhugh looked one way then the other, and scowled.  “How are we ever going to find Betty in this place?  We don’t know where to look.”

         “We found Nightingale, didn’t we?” crowed Valerie, her face bright with exhilaration.  Two years on the planet hadn’t dampened her thrill for adventures.  “Besides, what have you got to do for the rest of the night?” 

         “Dear lady—” but Steve’s hand to Fitzhugh’s chest ended any further retort.

         “We’ll just have to split up,” Steve told them.  “Valerie—”

         “I know,” the redhead pouted, holding up the radio in her hand.  She locked arms with the man next to her.  “Let’s go, Fitzhugh,” and pulled the con man away, much to amusement of those behind her.  “Ah . . . ” she did an abrupt about-face, again dragging Fitz with her. “Skipper?  Contact in ninety?”

          It had become procedure on search and rescue missions to reestablished contact, by either radio or in person, at the ninety-minute mark.

         Steve broke into a delighted smile.  “Contact in ninety.”  After all the months on the planet, Valerie had finally learned the drill!  He next nodded at the two closest to him. “Barry, you go with Dan.”

         “Right, Captain,” Barry answered with confidence and enthusiasm, bringing a grin to Dan’s face.  If the others had obeyed orders the way he did, Dan mused, they would have had less trouble all the way around.

         “Contact in ninety,” echoed Dan as he urged Barry forward into their journey. 

         Steve looked at Mark.  “How ‘bout we take the upstairs?”

         “If you’re asking me my choice, I’d prefer the easier route,” there was a rare hint of teasing in Mark’s tone, “but since the others have that covered, let’s get it done.” 

         Without another word, the two trotted past the rooms they had seen their friends vanish into until they reached the far end of the hallway where the stairs were located.  Luck, for once, was with them.  The thick, ornamental baseboard ran throughout the entire building, and had been squared off on its top, which gave Mark and Steve enough room to walk up the staircase, as opposed to the usual tedious and exhausting climb.

         “Just a second,” Burton said, sprinting to the far edge, where the bottom step adjoined the lode-bearing wall.  There was dirt in the cracks of this corner, just as Steve had counted on.  No person, not here or on Earth, had ever been able to clean out a corner completely, Steve smiled.  Smudging his fingertips into the dust, he returned to the waiting Mark.  On the lowest post of the stairwell, he drew an upwards arrow and under it, he put his initials.

         “Just in case the others need to know where we went,” explain Steve to the dubious Mark.

         Next, they made their way upwards to the second floor landing where, to their surprise, a thin strip of yellow brightness cut through the redness like a beam.  The light emanated from under a distant doorframe.

         The captain cocked his head to listen while Wilson took note of the hallway. There were seven other entrances besides the lit one.

         “Could be an office,” Mark suggested.  “Somebody working late.”

         “Could be.” Steve shook his head.  “I don’t hear anything.  Do you?”

         “No.  Let’s check it out.”

         Minutes later, the pair slid under the door to the next side.  Climbing to their feet, they blinked furiously at the assault of the room’s bright light.  When their eyes had adjusted, they looked over the room, and found the accommodations just as plush as the rest of the building.

         “I think we found our Nightingale,” Steve grinned with happy expectation.  He scoured the higher areas for any signs of a cage, box, or even Betty, and immediately found a clue. Steve tapped Mark’s shoulder and pointed to the dollhouse on the dining table. “Jackpot.” 

         They jogged around the table searching for a way up, and found it on the side nearest the closet.

         “The back porch looks close enough to the edge for the hook to catch its railing,” said Mark. 

         “Let’s give it a try,” Steve replied as he dropped the rope from his shoulder.  He moved into position and was about to throw the line when a loud groan filled the room.  The men jumped—then froze, analyzing every noise they heard.  No giants approached, and the only other sound in the room was the ticking wall clock. 

         Steve opened his mouth to say something when the couch moved.  Rather, what was on the couch and under a black coat that they had failed to notice earlier. First, its feet appeared.  Then the giant underneath it muttered something inaudible and shifted, causing the cover to slip away from her face.

         Now able to see the giant clearly, Steve and Mark looked at each other with cautious relief.  The giant woman was sound asleep and, at the moment, of no threat to them.

         Mark gave the air a tentative sniff, then inhaled a deeper one.  “I smell alcohol.” 

         It took them half a second to spot the empty wine bottles on the coffee table, and those next to the couch.  

         “I think she’s drunk,” stated Steve, who then broke out into chuckles of amusement and empathy as Mark did the same.  Both had had their shares of hangovers, and knew from experience the woman wasn’t going to be waking up any time soon.

         Steve was about to turn away when he did a double take.  He tilted his head in curiosity and took a step forward when Mark stayed his arm.

         “What are you—”

         “Humor me,” Steve said.  He cautiously moved closer, angling for a better view, the reluctant Wilson right beside him.  From the leg of the coffee table, Steve studied the face of the woman, while Mark sampled the liquid in the olive green bottle.

         “It’s wine all right.  And not the cheap stuff either. She’s gonna be out of it for a while.”

         “Mark, take a look at her, a good look.”  Steve was serious.

         The engineer, his own curiosity piqued, did as requested, straining to see the woman’s side-turned face.  It took a moment before Mark’s mouth dropped open in amazement.  “It’s Betty!  You don’t think—”

         “No, I don’t think it is,” Steve quickly replied. “The hair is much longer. And curlier.” He, too, was remembering when Jodar, the boy genius, invented a pill which turned Fitzhugh and himself into giants.  An experience Steve didn’t want to repeat no matter what the benefits were.  “But it is unnerving, isn’t it?  Nevertheless, let’s just make sure it isn’t Betty,”

         Returning to the table, Steve lined up his position, then tossed the grappling hook upwards. The safety pin latched onto one of the porch’s spindles.  He looked up at the long climb then turned to Mark.  “Why don’t you wait here until I make sure,” he suggested.  “I don’t want to waste manpower if she isn’t there.”

         Mark gave an easy shrug.  He wasn’t about to argue with logic. Not on this night anyway.

         Reaching the top in quick time,     Steve scouted the rear side first.  To his encouraged hope, he found the house’s back door firmly nailed shut, as were all the windows on the lower floor.  He peered inside, but saw nothing of Betty.  Nor was there anything that would confirm she was, or ever had been, there.  

         He next went to the front.  A giant barrel-bolt latch secured the decorative door, and being new, needed little effort to slide it open.  Inside, Steve wasted no time in searching the first floor. After confirming she wasn’t there, he went up to the second story. 

         Steve stepped onto the landing, glanced to his left and was about to go straight when he noticed a pale blue, slip-on shoe on the floor of what appeared to be a bedroom. 

         Hurrying in, he had to stop himself from shouting with joy; Betty, wearing the matching shoe, was snuggled into a large, fluffy pillow.  She, too, seemed to be suffering from too much alcohol.

         Grinning, Steve sat down on the bed next to her. “Lady, am I glad to see you!”  He brought her gently to him to confirm she had no injuries, then allowed himself a brief moment to hug her and let the fear and tension of the last few weeks drain away.      

         A moment later, Steve, always vigilant, returned to the crisis at hand.  He took Betty’s chin and turned it towards him. “Betty, it’s time to wake up.”  When she didn’t move, or even blink, Steve patted her cheeks. “Betty, it’s Steve.  You have to wake up now.”

         Betty’s eyes flickered open for half a second.  “What?” she mumbled.

         “You need to stand up, we’re leaving.”

         “Where we going?” She sounded like she was speaking through cotton balls.

         “Home.” Steve stood.  He wrapped her arm around his neck and slid his arm around her waist, then lifted her to her feet.  Her eyes half-closed, she did more swaying and veering than walking. 

         “Concentrate, Betty,” Steve growled.  They had nearly fallen several times in the few steps it took to get the doorway.  “We have to get out of here. Mark’s waiting below.”

         Betty looked confused. “Andy?”

         “No, honey, it’s Steve.” 

         “Steve, who?”

         “Burton!” 

         He brought them to the stair landing where he looked downwards, then at his friend.  Their escape was taking much longer than he was comfortable with, and there was no way Betty could make it down the steps. 

         Steve squatted low, bringing Betty’s wavering form over his shoulder.  With a firm grip on her legs, he hurried downstairs.

         At the table’s edge, Steve placed Betty on her feet, but kept one arm around her waist to keep her balanced as he leaned over the void.

         “Mark!” He called down as loud as he dared.  “I found her, but I need your help . . . ”

         Betty, in the meanwhile, her eyes glazed, raised her head.  Seeing Steve, she blinked.  She then stared appreciatively, a longing smile coming on her lips.

         “. . . Get up here as fast as you can,” Steve finished.  He then turned to Betty. 

         At that instant, Betty threw her arm hooking Steve around the neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him—long and deep. 

         Steve, astonished, didn’t move. 

         Betty pulled away, wearing a delighted smile.  Her eyes then closed and her head dropped to Steve’s chest where she began to sink to the floor.

         It was only when he felt her sliding did the stunned Steve realize she had passed out.         “Betty . . .  Betty . . . ?” He grasped her under the arms and tried to keep her from sagging, but it was like holding onto a bag of sand.  “Oh, honey, don’t do this.  Not now!” As Betty slipped from his fingers, he tried embracing her, but her dead weight only served to drag him down as well.

         “Betty, come on, wake up.” Steve felt his legs fold awkwardly under him as he sank to the tabletop with her.

         Mark pulled himself up over the table’s edge. He paused a moment, silently savoring the rare shocking—and comical—moment in Steve Burton’s life.

         “Mark, where the hell are you!  Come on, Betty, wake up!”  Steve growled as he checked under her eyelids.

         Suppressing a chuckle, Wilson stepped forward. “What’s the matter with her?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

         “She’s drunk!” Steve barked.  “Just like the other lady, now will you give me some help here?”

         Mark swallowed his enjoyment.  A moment later, they had the unconscious woman on her feet. 

         “You know . . ., ” Mark said, still hiding his amusement, “from where I stood on the floor, it looked like Betty kissed you.”

         “You’re right,” Steve replied quickly, his eyes riveted to the ledge, “it was the angle.  Any way we can tie the rope around her some how and lower her down?”

         “Not if she stays this way.  Too dangerous.”

         “What if we . . . ” Heavy footsteps in the corridor cut him off. “Damn,” Steve muttered, as the footfalls got closer.  “The house!” 

         Half-dragging, half-carrying Hamilton between them, they had just reached the front door when Steve abruptly yelled out, “The rope!” 

         Mark charged back for it as Steve, tired of wasting time, dropped Betty onto his shoulder and carried her inside.  He dumped her down on the couch just when Wilson came tearing in and the dressing room door flew open.  Both men dived to the floor.

         “Hey, yous two most beautiful women in my life!”  Millo shouted, his extravagant greeting bouncing off every corner of the apartment.  “Have I got . . . ”

         Mark and Steve glanced uneasily at each other as they listened to the giant make his way across the lodgings. 

         Millo stepped before the couch where he peered down at his sleeping client, disappointment washing away his jovial mood. 

         “Ah, Gale. . . .” he sighed, removing the stogie.  “I guess the big news is gonna have ta wait.”  Turning to the two-story Colonial, he popped the weed into his mouth.  “Betty, ya in this evening?” 

         Hearing this, Steve and Mark scuttled to the wall.  Flattening themselves under the large picture window, they no sooner had caught their breaths when the outside light was blocked out.  Half second later, the smell of sour tobacco blow over them, leaving no doubt that the giant was peering inside.

         Millo saw Betty peacefully asleep on her sofa, and frowned. “Nope, ya aren’t either. Well, maybe I can get some work done while I wait,” he said, straightening up.

         Mark and Steve, shooting each other surprised looks, strained their necks to see out the front window.  Their expectations dropped to their feet as they watched the giant pull a large notepad and several telephone books from an end table, then disappeared to the rear of the miniature house. 

         Keeping low, Steve and Mark followed.  There was one door on the backside and two small windows, positioned chest high (by earth measurements), which allowed them some freedom to move around.  Erring on the side of safety, the two men scurried low to the right rear window.  Peering out, their hopes of escaping nose-dived.  The giant had established his workstation directly adjacent to the structure’s back porch.  

         Mark, his expression grim, pointed to the radio.  Steve checked his wristwatch, then shook his head no.   Sneaking another peek at the giant, the men frowned, exchanging futile looks. The giant was entrenched in his paperwork.

         “Looks like we’re gonna be here a while,” Mark whispered.

         Steve nodded with a grimace, then slid onto his rear, proceeding to make himself as comfortable as possible.

 

         With nothing for Steve and Mark to do, time crawled at a snail’s pace.  After a while, the two men chose to slip back into the living room where they wouldn’t be easily heard or seen by the giant.  Since then Mark had stretched out on his stomach where he had fallen asleep out of boredom.  Beside him, Steve had his back pressed against the corner with one knee bent. His eyes too were closed, but he wasn’t asleep. 

         Giving a shallow cough, Wilson turned his head to his cellmate.  “What time is it?”

         Steve, with a catatonic look, raised his arm, dropping it in the next heartbeat.  “Half hour past contact time.”

         “You think they’ve figured out yet that the radio’s dead?”

         Steve gave a lame shrug.

        

         At the junction of the main hallway and the service corridor, the remaining teammates waited with grim, uneasy expressions.  As Valerie and Fitzhugh worked off their tension by pacing, Dan was a pillar of patience.  He sat on the floor, ankles crossed, counting the bricks in the wall.  Only Barry had taken advantage of the down time.  He had stretched out on the floor, folded his arms under his head, and took a nap.         

         Valerie, her eyes defiant and arms crossed, came to an abrupt stop before the black man. “It’s been almost an hour, Dan.  If they were all right, they would have been here by now.”

         Dan stiffened.  Valerie was in what he called, her mutiny stage.  He wasn’t surprised when it came, but he had hoped Steve would have been back in time so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.  When Val was in this mood, she was hard to reason with.  But not always, he reminded himself.  Nevertheless, he chose his words carefully.  “Under normal search conditions, Val, I would have agreed with you.  However, we are in a building so we don’t have to worry about outside traps or animals getting to them.”

         “There could be—”

         “We already concluded that this place doesn’t have a dog, and we’ve yet to hear a security guard,” he replied, beating her to the punch, while thinking of all the other animals they had run into on the interior of buildings.  “Or cats, rats, spiders or snakes, for that matter.  We don’t even know in which direction Steve and Mark went to search.  We, ourselves, only just arrived back here in time to make the rendezvous.”

         “They went upstairs,” blurted out Barry from the floor.

         Astonished, the three adults looked to him.

         “How do you know that, Barry?” Dan asked.  This wasn’t the first time the boy had surprised them.  He was very astute at times.

         “There’s a small arrow above the initials ‘SB’ on that post over there.”  He stretched around to point at the foot of the stairwell.  “I saw it there when I was walking around earlier.”

         “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” demanded Valerie.  Dan knew by the tone of her voice she wanted to give the boy a tongue-lashing, but didn’t dare.  Not with him there.

         “Like Dan said, we barely beat the clock back, so at that time I didn’t think there was a reason to worry.”

         Dan raised a hand to hide his smug grin.  “However,” he then said loudly, climbing to his feet. “I do agree with you, Val.  They’re an hour past due, time to go look for them.”

         It took the foursome close to an hour to hike upstairs, due mainly to Fitz’s cumbersome bulk and his unwillingness to move fast.  “I refuse to hurry and risk falling off this thing and injuring myself, thank you very much,” he had bellowed.  “Then where would you be? Having to transport me back to camp with a broken leg, or perhaps a broken back?” 

         At the top, they, too, had seen the light, and came to the same decision their teammates had.  They headed towards it as the place to start searching. 

         Minutes later, the weary group had barely drawn up to the lit doorway when Dan turned and pointed to a fire extinguisher just past their target.

         “I want everyone to go wait for me over there,” he ordered.  “We don’t know what’s inside this room, and I don’t want to take any chances.”  To his surprise, none of the three argued.  It had already been a long night and there was no end in sight.

         Dan waited until the trio had reached safety before dropping onto his stomach and sliding between the wooden door and threshold.  He was careful not to go in too far.  Peering up and out, he found he need not have worried.  The brightly lit room was not very big and he could see everything from where he lie.  This included two giants.  One, a woman (Dan deduced by the delicate hand drooping off the couch) was asleep, and the other, a man, was working at a table, right behind a large, dollhouse.  The same man, Dan recognized, who had abducted Betty!

         Dan’s spirits soared, and his heart raced as he went to rejoin his friends.

         “Did you see them?” Barry asked eagerly.

         “No.” Dan couldn’t stop smiling, “but the man who took Betty is in there, and so is a doll house!  Barry, Fitzhugh, I need you to go create some noise while Valerie and I hide.  Think you can find something?”

         Fitzhugh squared his shoulders.  “Mr. Erickson, what—”

         “Why, Dan?” Valerie broke in before the indignant Fitzhugh.

         “Val, I need you as a go-between.  Between me in there,” he pointed at the room, “and those two,” he pointed to Barry and Fitzhugh, “out here while they’re creating the red herring.  Got me?” he asked with an I’m-trusting-you grin.  He knew Val enjoyed feeling like she was doing something important, and in this case, she was.

         “Got’cha,” she said with a proud smile.

         “Dan, Mr. Fitzhugh,” Barry piped up, excited, “I think one of the rooms on this floor is a broom closet.  I could smell the cleaning fluids when we passed it.”

         Valerie wriggled her nose.  “I wondered what that awful smell was.”

         “I think it was halfway down on the right,” Barry added.

         “Perfect, Barry,” Dan gripped him by a shoulder.  “Go to it and make it LOUD!” Then spun the boy in that direction.
         “Don’t I . . . ” Fitzhugh groaned as he watched Barry take off for the closet. Then with a mournful, “uhg,” reluctantly followed.

         The door was slightly ajar when Barry arrived.  Being small, he was able to squirm his way through to the other side.  The light source from the hallway was meager, but it gave him enough brightness inside to see what was there. 

         Barry’s enthusiasm jumped. By the doorjamb stood various bottles and jugs of chemicals and cleaners.  Propped in the midst of this stuff was a sponge mop and broom.  As Barry strained to make out what was above his head, a series of agonized grunts emitted in back of him.  It was the stout Alexander Fitzhugh trying to squeeze past the door into the closet.

         “Need help, Mister Fitzhugh?” the concerned Barry asked.  Halfway through, the man seemed to have gotten stuck.  Nor was the door about to budge.

         “If you would kindly lend me a hand . . .” Fitzhugh huffed, his face red from being scrunched into the wood. 

         Clasping the man’s hand with both of his, Barry pulled with all of his might.  Getting Fitzhugh past the crack was like sucking a cherry threw a straw.  It was tight and the man’s body had become a wedge.  Suddenly, that wedge had become leverage.  It forced apart the opposing structures and sent Barry and Fitzhugh torpedoing into the room where they crashed into the empty and half-empty bottles and jugs.  The bowled-over containers careened into the mop, the mop fell against the broom, and the broom toppled into the overhead shelf where it hit a galvanized bucket sitting there. After a loud clang of wood hitting metal, the bucket toppled over, crashed to the floor and into the articles stored below, creating a din that reverberated into every corner of the building.

 

         “Good Lord, Fitzhugh!”  Val, her eyes as large as plates, stared at the closet. “Dan said to create a distraction, not alert the entire town!”

         Dan stifled a chuckle.  “Well, it’s a safe bet the giant heard that. . . .”

         Inside the guest room, Millo was on his feet, his eyes glued to the door, his head tilted and listening intensely.  After a moment, he cautiously moved closer to the corridor.  When he heard no further sounds, Millo’s eyes narrowed with uncertainty.  Tapping a nervous finger to his chin, he scanned the room.  Noticing the wine bottles on the floor and table, he scooped up one, which looked to be the heaviest.  Millo held the bottleneck tight as he swung it around several times, testing its weight. 

         “That’ll work,” he muttered as he backtracked to the door.  There, he stepped into the corridor.

         And when he did, Dan dashed into the dressing room. 

         Millo paused to listen, analyzing every sound the building made. Not hearing anything nearby, he cautiously made his way down the hall, stopping at each doorframe on the way to the stairs.

         Dan, in the meantime, his head down in determination, raced for the table.  Halfway there, over the pounding of his own heart and footsteps, he heard his name called.  He skidded to a stop and looked up. Steve was waving to him from the tabletop. 

         “Steve, you all right?” he yelled up, the depth of his relief lost in his angst.

         “Yeah!” Steve’s grin was a mile wide.  “We found Betty, but we can’t leave.  No time to explain.  We’ll meet you at the edge of the woods tomorrow.”

         “But. . . ” Dan argued.  He wasn’t liking this idea.

 

         Millo reached the storage door and stopped.  It was open.  Suspicious as to why, he made sure he had a firm grip on the glass bottle, then flung the door open.  Finding nothing except the designated supplies, he deeply exhaled the tension he’d been holding.  When he did, he noticed the askew metal bucket atop the disarrayed heap. 

         “Millo, ya getting soft in ya old age,” he chuckled over the weed in his mouth.  Closing the door, Millo headed back to the guest room and the paperwork that awaited him.

 

         “Are you sure . . . ?”  Dan urged.

         “Yes, but can you leave your radio in case we have trouble?  Our batteries died—” Steve’s head snapped up as Dan spun about.  Footsteps in the hallway were coming towards them.

         “We’re okay, now go!”  Steve ordered, his face anxious.

         Unsure, Dan glanced between the hallway and his friend, but Steve had already gone.  Dan took the handset from inside his jacket, and placed it behind the inside table leg he was next to, then sprinted for the exit. 

         At the threshold, Dan flattened himself against the wall just as Millo strode past.  The giant gave the door a shove to close it and by the time it swung shut, Dan was beside Valerie on the other side.

         “That was close,” he said, taking deep breathes.

         “But did you find Steve, Mark, and Betty?” Valerie asked, her face etched with worry.

         “Yeah.”  He took other breath.  “I talked to Steve.  He found Betty.  I’ll tell you more when we meet up with the others.”

 

         “Betty’s with him,” Dan told them after the foursome had regrouped a few minutes later, “but for reasons Steve didn’t have time to explain, he said not to wait,”

         “Not wait?” Fitzhugh exclaimed with thick skepticism causing Dan to bristle. 

         “That’s right,” Dan replied evenly. He was not in the mood to argue the moot point with Fitzhugh.  “He said he’ll meet us at the edge of the park tomorrow.” 

         “Why don’t you call?” Fitz made a grab for the radio Valerie held, but his hand was smacked away by Erickerson.

         “If it had been safe to call, he would have,” Dan snarled.  “Now Steve knows what he’s doing.  He wants us to wait at the park, therefore, we will wait at the park.”

         “That means all of us, Fitzhugh,” Val said sternly.

         “I didn’t think it meant anyone else, Miss Scott!”  With a huff, he spun on his heels, and  started for the stairs.

 

         The sun was high over the trees when Gale finally began to stir. 

         Hearing her moan, Millo peered at her over his work. “Good morning, beautiful.  How ya feeling?” His eyes were half-slits of sympathy, the grin on his face one of amusement.

         Gale dropped her legs over the couch and sat up with agonizing slowness.  “I feel like every energy cell in my body has been sucked out.”  Her voice was no more than a dry whisper. “Even my skull bone hurts,” she said, covering her face with her hands.

         “Well, ya better nurse it real quick because you and the little lady have an audition at three o’clock.”  He looked at his wristwatch.  “And by the hour of it, ya don’t have much time to get ready.”

         Gale spread her fingers to look at him.  “Audition?  With who?”

         Millo’s expression turned smug.  “Only the biggest producer of shows in the country.”

         The singer dropped her hands to ogle him.  “Are you serious?” she asked, more with dread than delighted anticipation.

         “Absolutely.  Don’t ya want to become rich and famous?”

         Gale hoisted herself to her feet.  “Right now I just want a drink of cold water.” 

         At the sink, she held a glass under the facet, turned the nozzle, but nothing came out.  “It’s going to be one of those mornings,” she murmured, closing her eyes and massaging her throbbing forehead.

         Millo, about to insert a fresh cigar into his mouth, halted. “Try the club’s kitchen.  Tell ya what . . . get dressed and I’ll take ya out for breakfast— rather lunch,” he quickly corrected.

         “Please don’t mention breakfast,” Gale moaned.  “But orange juice sounds good.  I wonder if I . . . ” she strolled to the refrigerator.

         “Is Betty awake, do ya think?” he asked, eyeing the house.

         “I don’t know,” Gale answered, her head in the appliance and searching the shelves.  “Why don’t you go look.”

         Millo shot her an appalled look.  “What do ya think I am, a peeking pervert?  However . . .” Sticking the cigar in his mouth, he stood and went around to the front of the dollhouse where he knocked on the tiny door.  “Time to get up, my little lady.” He waited, but received no reply.  He looked over at Gale.  “She must still be asleep.”

         Gale, her hands empty, shut the refrigerator door, and leaned against it, closing her eyes.  “I need a drink of water.  Where’s the kitchen?”

         “Downstairs,” Millo said, coming beside her, “I’ll take ya to it. I need to check on something anyways.”

         They stepped into the hall where Millo grasped the door handle. 

         From the small house, two sets of eyes watched as the giant pulled it closed, its solid thud resounding over the silent room. 

         On the couch, Betty’s head jolted.  Her eyes fluttering open, her blurry orbs came to focus on the two odd shadows in front of her.  Her eyes widened, then blinked furiously as she pushed herself upright.

         “Morning,” greeted Mark from his position on the floor.

         “Sleep well?” added Steve, beside him.

         “Ohhh,” Betty groaned as she fell back onto the couch where she buried her head into a pillow.  “I thought you weren’t coming!”

         Steve looked at Mark, Mark looked at Steve.  In unison, without a saying a word, the men got to their feet.

         “Time to go home, Cinderella,” Mark announced as each took hold of the woman’s arms.

         “Gently, fellas,” Betty warned wearily as she was lifted to her feet, “I’m not feeling so well.”  She closed her eyes in a half-stupor, trusting the men and their leadership.

         At the rear of the house, Steve secured the grappling hook to the back porch banister and waited as Mark climbed down first. 

         “He’s on the floor,” Steve announced.  He looked over his shoulder to the steps where Betty sat, her eyes shut and head leaning against the column.  “Betty, time to go,” he called. When her eyes fluttered opened, Steve waved her over. 

         Sluggish and moving slow, Betty obeyed without argument.  However, when she came to the table’s edge, she took one look and did an abrupt about-face, plowing into Steve in her haste to escape.  “I can’t,” she gasped. 

         Steve bit back a chuckle.  Inside, he understood her misery; outside, time was wasting. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around.  “Go,” he ordered, in no uncertain terms.

         Betty peered over and down, and swallowed hard.  With a deepening frown, she hesitantly picked up the rope and had just reached the edge when they heard Gale’s far off voice in the hall.

         “Well, why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?” demanded Gale.

         “ ’Cause he only called me back yesterday,” Millo replied, his heavy footfall echoing closer with each step.

         Steve leaned over the side and yelled, “Mark!  Hide!”

         Down below, Mark had heard the couple and was already looking for a place.  He knew from experience that with two giants in the room, he would be too vulnerable behind the table supports.  Nor were the chair leg spindles thick enough to conceal him.  Therefore, he bolted for the area that held the best opportunities—the wardrobe closet.

         Steve and Betty, in the meantime, had returned to the house where Betty, upon reaching the sofa, collapsed upon it.

         Steve, tired of the floor, scanned the room. There was no other furniture in sight and being a dollhouse, it was also devoid of cabinets, large or small.  He heard the doorknob click over the latch-plate and spun in time to see, through the tiny window, the two giants entering the room.  With no options left, Steve dove, once again, behind the couch, where he laid prone against the window’s wall.

         “I’m just not ready,” Gale insisted, the sought after glass of water in her hand.

         “But yous and Betty would be terrific!” Millo returned with an exaggerated wave of his arm.  He crossed the room to knock on the door of the miniature Colonial.  “Betty, honey, ya awake?  Time to get up.”

         “I’m awake,” she called out, immediately sorry she had done so.  Reluctantly she rolled off the couch, and with a hand on throbbing head, stepped through the front door to lean on its threshold where she continued to massage her aching brow.

         “Today’s the day ya become a star, honey!” he announced, unable to contain his exhilaration.  “I even had ya gown cleaned.”  He handed her the white dress. 

         Betty, finding it on a doll hanger and wrapped in plastic, gave him a questioning look.       

         “My cousin’s in the dry cleaning business,” he answered with a conspiring wink. “No questions asked.  Now take a shower and get ready.  Ya don’t have much time.  I’ll be back in an hour with some coffee.  Some good coffee.”  He gave his disenchanted client a quick kiss on the forehead, and disappeared in a heartbeat.

         “That . . . ” Gale gritted her teeth, flinging her arms in the air “. . . man!”  Rolling her eyes, she went to the small Colonial where she lowered her palm for her companion.  “You’ll have to take your shower in the downstairs kitchen, Betty.  This sink isn’t working.”

         “Gale?” Betty asked with uncertainty, nervously draping the gown over an arm.  “If I had a way to leave, would you let me go?”

         Gale tilted her head in thought.  A moment later, her brow furrowed as guilt flooded her eyes. “No,” she said sadly.  “I’m sorry, Betty.”  There was genuine regret in her voice. 

         “Even after everything we talked about?  About home and family?”

         “Betty, I’ve thought a lot about last night.” Gale went down on one knee, bringing them eye to eye.  “If it were just me, you wouldn’t even be here, but Millo’s been wonderful to me.  I’m not saying no for myself, I’m saying no for him.  This means the world to him.  It’s what he’s worked for all of his life.”  She frowned, shaking her head, “I can’t hurt him that way.  But I want to reassure you, you will go home someday.” 

         Betty’s shoulders fell.  “When you’re a little person stranded on a giant planet, someday doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.”  Staring at Gale’s outstretched hand, Betty, her face melancholy, slowly stepped upon it.

 

         Steve heard the door shut and sat up. He knew the women had left, but he wanted to make sure.  With caution, he peered out the window as he listened intently to the room.

         There was only silence.

         Steve jumped to his feet and ran for the back porch.  At the edge, he scanned the floor, but didn’t see his cohort.  He hurried to the kitchenette-side and repeated the procedure.  “Mark?” he called out, on the edge of alarm.

         “Over here,” Wilson shouted from somewhere behind him.

         Steve trotted to the front of the house where he watched Wilson jog from the wardrobe.

         “Did you hear?” Mark shouted up.

         “Yes.  Nothing we can do now but wait.”  A thought suddenly came to Steve.  “Hey!  I had Dan leave us his radio.  It should be down there somewhere.  Probably by one of the legs.  Give him a call and let him know what’s going on.”

         “I will in a minute.  Have any game plans up your sleeve?”

         “As a matter of fact, I do,” Steve nodded.  While stretched out on the floor next to Betty, he had had plenty of time to plan strategies, and quickly summarized them for the engineer.  Moments later, the two, hearing soft footsteps in the corridor, retreated to their respective hideouts.

         The footsteps belonged to Gale, and within an hour of returning, her and Betty’s assemblage of clothes, hair and make-up was complete.  For Betty’s easy access, Gale had pulled the make-up out of the drawer and set the tray on the tabletop.  Betty, having no brushes her size to apply the cosmetics, used her fingertips. 

         “Nobody’s going to be able to tell if it’s smudged or not anyway,” she told Gale with a disheartened shrug.

         The two were done early: Betty in the white sequined gown, and Gale in a red silk, halter-top dress, with a slit up the side from ankle to the thigh.  With nothing to do but wait for Millo’s return, the two women stretched out on the couch, their faces morose with demeanors of gloom.

         Eventually, a gentle knock came to the door.  “Gale, Betty, ya dressed?” Millo called timidly.

         “Come in, Millo,” Gale answered, remaining prone.

         Millo strode to the couch.  Seeing the two beautiful ladies, his face beamed like a proud father. Then it dropped.  “Look at the two of ya!” he frowned, waving his cigar.  “Yous about to become world famous and ya look like the world’s coming to an end.”

         “You don’t understand,” Betty yelled up to him.  “I want to go home. I miss my friends and family.”

         “So do I!” Gale chorused.

          “I know, I know . . . ya miss ya boyfriends,” the man replied with parental patience, “but, ladies, with the money we’ll be pulling in, ya’ll be able to marry your boyfriends and buy them  and ya children anything ya desire!”

         “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Betty told him, feeling the tears well in her eyes. And if I stay on this planet, I will never have a husband.  Or children.

         Millo’s mouth dropped.  “A looker like ya not having a fella! What?  Are the men on ya planet blind?”

         “Sorry,” she said sarcastically, “but where I live the selection of men is critically limited at the moment.

         “Hey, with our money we’ll buy ya one.”

         “Millo!” Gale snapped, appalled.

         “Ah, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his face turning beet red and tone apologetic.

         “Millo,” Betty stood to face him, “if all I needed was food and clothing, I could have turned myself into the SID or any number of places and be provided for, for the rest of my life.  What I want—what I need—is my freedom.  I need be with my friends!  They’re my world at this moment, and as limited as my life is, I’d prefer being with them then have all the money and pretty clothes you can buy me.  At least where we’re at now, I can go where I please, when I please, within my own restrictions, not somebody else’s.”  Beside her, Gale was listening quite thoughtfully.  “I’m sorry.  This kind of life may be fine for Gale—,” Gale shot her a stunned look, “—but not for me, that’s why I became a flight attendant in the first place.” 

         “Betty, sweetheart—” 

         A sudden knock at the door caused them all to jump.

         “Mr. Theopolos is here, Mr. Millo,” the young male voice on the other side announced.

         “We’re on our way,” he called over his shoulder.  He laid his palm out for Betty.  “Miss Hamilton . . .  if ya please.”

         Betty’s face fell like a stone.  Biting her lip, she wiped away the tears as she walked onto his hand.

         Millo raised her to his face and gave her his most reassuring smile. “I may be tough, Betty, but I’m not uncaring.” He was stunningly warm and gentle.  “I’ll take good care of ya, I promise.  Ya’ll be happy here, ya’ll see.”

         Steve and Mark, hearing movement, peered out from their respective hiding places and with evaporating hopes, watched the two giants leave, taking Betty with them.  Their escape plans once more destroyed, their emotions beyond disappointment, Burton gave a hard kick at the pencil on the table as Wilson punched the bathroom’s wicker trash basket.

 

         Downstairs, the dinning/entertainment hall was empty except for the lone, heavy-set figure, who sat in a chair dead center, five tables from the stage.  The reflection from the lights played on the big man’s glasses as he stared motionless at the two women performing before him.  For Betty’s safety, Millo had built a special stage for her.  Made of polished oak, it stood hip-high to Nightingale and was a good ten foot by ten foot in diameter.

         Millo, stage left from his clients, gnawed nervously on his unlit cigar as he spied on the producer from behind the heavy drapes at the corner of the performance area.

         “Theopolos hasn’t moved since he sat down,” Millo muttered to himself, digging into his pocket. “What the hell is his problem?” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the beading sweat from his forehead.  “My ladies are great!”

         In the theater, stoic Theopolos peered at his huge wristwatch.  The design on its faceplate was a large, distinct money sign. 

         “. . . as long as the guy’s a millionaire!” Betty and Gale concluded, then froze into a dramatic pose.  There, they waited.  And waited.  The room was dead quiet.  The women exchanged uncertain looks.  Both had seen Theopolos’ immobility and despite their earlier protests, now felt affronted by his rudeness at their efforts.

         “Well, I guess that ends that,” Betty whispered to Gale, fighting off the disappointment.

         Suddenly they heard out of the darkness, “Fantastic!” followed by loud, energetic clapping.  Shielding their eyes against the bright lights, the women followed the producer as he rushed up the aisle towards the stage.  At the steps, he was met by Millo, who wore a broad smile (and was chewing on a fresh cigar).

         “Wonderful!” Theopolos repeated, continuing his clapping.  “Terrific!  That was great!  I’ll promote them to the hilt.  They’ll be the biggest show the world has ever seen.  We can start rehearsal immediately!”

         The pleased expression on the women’s faces collapsed. 

         “Immediately?” Gale repeated in a daze.  Rehearsals meant she wouldn’t be able to go home and see her family, or Salvan, for a long, long time.  She looked at Betty.  The little woman was pale, her eyes wide with shell shock. 

         “I told ya they were the best, didn’t I?” Millo gazed proudly at his act.

         Theopolos cocked his head at the stage.  “Why don’t you escort the ladies to their dressing room so we men can discuss business.”

 

         Millo was practically dancing when they entered the room.  “Ya hear that?” he grinned, dropping Betty off at her place.  “The biggest thing this world has seen!”  He snatched Gale into a bear hug and followed it up with a big smooch to her forehead.  “I love ya, baby, so help me, I love ya. When I get back, I’ll take ya out to the most expensive restaurant in town!”  He shot out of the room before Gale or Betty could protest.

         Millo’s dinner proposal hit Betty like a car hitting a brick wall.

         “He can take you out on the town, but what about me?” Betty asked, overwhelmed with hurt and anger.  This was wrinkle in her captivity that hadn’t occurred to her before.  “What’s he going to do with me?  Lock me in the house and bring me a doggy bag?  Or feed me from his pocket?” 

         But mostly, she was scared.  If we start traveling the country, Steve will never be able to—

         “Betty!” 

         Betty jumped, whipping around at the whisperer.  It was Steve, hiding at the window.  In her fear and frustration, she’d forgotten all about him.

         “I’m sorry, Betty.” Gale dropped wearily onto the chair.  Leaning her head back, she stared at the ceiling, looking as equally depressed as Betty did.  “The biggest show . . . ” she sighed.  “ I can’t handle that.”  She closed her eyes, cupping her hands over her forehead. “Not yet.”

         “Then tell them before it’s too late!”  Betty shouted.

         “I can’t!”

         “Yes, you can!  Many women have had successful careers while still having a family.  If you lose Salvan now, you might never find him again.  You do love him, don’t you?  If you’re that good, show business will always be waiting for you.”

         Gale hesitated, a pained look on her face.

         “Gale, listen to me.”  Betty’s tone softened.  “I’m already in a cage, I know what I’m talking about.  I can’t see my family or friends.  I can’t go to the movies or out to dinner, or even watch a sunset with people I love because they’re not here.  I . . .don’t . . . have . . . a . . . choice,” she emphasized.  “You still do, but only if you tell him right now, otherwise, you’re in no better position than I am.  The only difference is I would wish I were you because then I would be able to walk away.”

         “MILLO!”  Gale screamed then sprang out of the seat as if shot by a cannon.  “Millo, wait!”  She charged for the door, pulling it closed behind her as she exited.  “Millo!  We have to talk!” echoed over the loud slam.

         Mark peered from his hiding space behind the trashcan for half a second, then bolted for the table.

         “Come on!” Steve ordered Betty. 

         This time she didn’t hesitate.  She ran, with lifted hem, beside Burton as they bee-lined it for the back porch.

         Steve hurriedly locked the grappling hook to the railing and tossed over the rope. 

         Concern crossed Betty’s face as she peered over the edge, then down at her dress.  “I can’t climb in this—”

         “Climb down, or take it off!” Steve snapped, without thinking.  He was not about to lose another chance of escaping.

         Betty’s eyes narrowed at him.  Her expression turning hard, she snatched up the rope. The gown will be in shreds by the time I get down, she acknowledged, but I want to get home! 

         With gritted teeth, she started downward.  A moment later, she gasped with fright when she felt the gown slip between her ankles. As she had feared, the abundant material made it difficult for her legs to get a strong hold around the rope.

         Lord, get me down safely, she prayed, before continuing on.  The descent was slow going at first, but then she found a rhythm and was able to pick up speed.

         Betty was little more than two-thirds of the way down when loud voices were heard in the hall.

         “But ya missing the chance of a lifetime!” argued Millo.

         “Yes, I am!” answered Gale.

         Steve glanced anxiously between the voices and the floor.  Climbing a rope was hazardous with one person on it, but two people could be a disaster.  With no time left, Steve threw precaution out the window.  Starting his descent, he said his own silent prayer.

         Mark helped Betty down when she neared the floor, and next held the rope steady for Burton.  He too, the fear growing on his face, glanced constantly at the corridor.  “Hurry up, Steve!”  He looked over his shoulder at Betty.  “Go hide in the bathroom.  There’s a trash can there.” 

         Betty hiked the skirt and ran.

         “I’m missing the chance to be with my family, and to start a family of my own,” Gale angrily argued, pushing open the door.

         Although a proficient climber, Steve could only climb so fast and had reached the halfway point when the two giants entered. 

         Mark, torn between helping Burton and his own safety, jumped behind a table leg.  He couldn’t help Steve if he too had been caught.

         Steve pushed to quicken his pace on the rope, but the erratic movement only drew the giants’ attention.   

         “What the . . .” Millo said gasped, doing a double take.  “Why hello there,” he grinned as he stepped closer.  Shoving the cigar in his mouth, he cupped his hands around Burton. 

         Steve, knowing he had lost the war, did not put up a fight as the manager transported him to, and dropped him down on, the dining table.

         Gale, her arms crossed, looked between Steve and her manager, who was again searching the floor with determination.  “Oh, Millo,” she sighed, “let them go.”

         “But this is my lucky day!” he spouted happily as he got off his bent knee.  “Another one!”  He dropped Wilson alongside Burton.

         Betty had been watching with hopeful, yet worried eyes from behind the wicker basket.  Seeing Wilson caught, her shoulders dropped.  Knowing it was just a matter of time, she decided not to prolong it.  “Millo,” she called from the bathroom’s threshold, “I’m over here.”

         Grinning from ear to ear, Millo swooped her up, and set her beside her friends.  “So which one’s the boyfriend?” he asked, looking over the two men.

         “ ’ cuse me?” Betty sputtered, her face turning beet red.

         “Oh, Millo,” Gale said, rolling her eyes.  “Neither.”  She stepped forward and pointed.  “The man in the red uniform is Steve Burton, the pilot of the spacecraft that brought them here, and the other is Mark Wilson, the engineer.  He’s the one trying to fix their ship so they can go home.”

         Steve and Mark looked at each other, stunned beyond words.

         Millo blinked.  “How do ya know?” he said, sounding hurt.

         Gale threw her arms into the air.  “Never mind!  You wouldn’t understand.”  Shaking her head, she went to her closet.  There, she pulled off her red stiletto heels, threw them inside, then pulled out and put on her flat shoes. 

         Millo, watching, raised a suspicious eyebrow.  “What are ya doing?”  The suspicion turned to utter disbelief.  “Ya not really gonna leave me, are ya?”

         Gale turned.  Staring at him, she wanted to berate him, but instead, the anger and determination melted into fondness and respect.  “Yes, I am,” she said warmly, giving him an affectionate smile.  “You’ve given me the town already, Millo, but it’s time to take a rest.  To recharge.”  She leaned into him.  “And then we can take the world!  But until that time,” a joyous grin came to her face, “I’m going home to marry Salvan, and have lots and lots of babies!” 

         “But—”

         “No, Millo,” she  pulled a coat over her red gown, then grabbed a handbag off the closet hook, “I’ve decided I’m going to do this.”  She flipped open the latch on the bag, and dropped it onto the table where its mouth faced the little people.  “Get in,” she commanded them.  “You’re going home as well.”

         Betty climbed in without hesitation, but Steve and Mark waited a few uncertain seconds before following her.

         “Ya crazy,” Millo laughed out of annoyance.

         Gale turned to him, her expression steadfast.  “I know exactly what I’m doing.”  With great care, she raised the bag, sliding its strap over her shoulder.  “And if I’m as good as you say, I should be welcomed back at any time.  Now you can either sit here and cry, or come home with me so we can do some serious talking.”  She broke into a smile.  “And you can finally meet my family!”  She leaned back, crossing her arms.  “So . . . what will it be?”

         Millo, his eyes narrow as he contemplated her, chewed on the cigar, switching it from one side of his mouth to the other.   Finally, he tilted his head and nodded.

         “I’ll meet ya there.”  He wasn’t angry or bitter, but a man driven to come up with a new angle for his client. “I have ta make up some story for the man out there, not ta mention the nightclub.”

         Gale leaned into him.  “I’ve been working here straight for nine months, tell them I got sick!”

         “Hmmm, sick,” he mulled it over.  “Nine months, hey!” his face lit up.  “I’ll tell ’em ya pregnant.”

         “Uh, Millo, don’t you think they’ll figure it out when there’s no baby in nine months?”

         “Hey,” he grinned, “I’m fulfilling my part of the bargain, ya fulfill yours.”

         Gale chuckled, then touched by his loyalty and forgiveness, gave him a peck on the cheek.  “You’re the best, Millo.  The two of us will still go far,” she smiled.

 

         In the woods by the beginning of the park, the other little people waited, their eyes and ears trained on every sight and movement that might be a sign of their friends’ return, but so far, there was nothing. 

         “I don’t like it, Dan,” stated Valerie, her eyes locked in the opposite direction, her senses on alert.   “Steve and Mark have never been out of contact this long before.”

         Several feet away, Barry jumped to his feet.  “A giant’s coming!”

         Everyone automatically went into hiding. 

         The giant was Gale, feigning an interest in the flowers that had been planted next to the park’s main walkway.

         When the others saw her, they were awestruck.  All except Fitzhugh, who’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “It’s Betty!” he muttered.

         “Shhh!” Dan admonished.

         Gale sneaked a peak around her.  Satisfied no one was watching, she stepped into the woods, cautiously making her way to the rendezvous site.  Steve had described the site in detail to her right before they had left.  When she was sure she had the right spot, Gale dropped to her knees.  She slowly slid the bag off her shoulder, to the ground, where she gently opened the aperture. 

         “Betty,” she whispered, “you can come out now.  All’s clear.”

         The three little people crawled out and to their feet.

         “Good-bye, Betty,” Gale smiled, a tear appearing in the corner of her eye.  “I feel like the door’s been opened to that gilded cage you were telling me about.  I hope your door is opened soon, too.”

         “Thank you, Gale.  For everything.”

         “Oh, and tomorrow, make sure you stop by that gaudy cherub statue at the beginning of this trail.  I asked Millo to wrap up your clothes and some other things for you and your friends.”  She winked.  “And it won’t be leftovers in a doggy bag, I assure you.”

         “Thanks again, Gale,” Betty smiled up at her.  “To you and Millo.”

         “I’ll tell him that.”  Gale clamored to her feet, then looked around.  Giving them a final good-bye wave, she disappeared down the walkway.

         Steve, Betty, and Mark looked at each other and blinked.  Free once again, they broke out into ecstatic grins.  Hearing the sound of running feet—little people feet—they turned.

         “ ’Bout time you got here,” Dan scolded as he broke through the undergrowth, but his broad smile said otherwise.  Throwing his arms around Betty, he gave her a long, tight squeeze.  “Welcome home, Miss Hamilton.”

         “Thank you, Dan.”

         “Where have you been?!” Valerie, too, hugged her. “We’ve been worried sick about you!”

         “We thought we’d never see you again.”  There was genuine concern on Barry’s face.

         “I want to know who was that woman?” demanded Fitzhugh.  “For a moment, I thought you had eaten one of Jody’s giant pills.”

         Betty gave a tired sigh.  “Oh, it’s a long story.  I’ll tell you when we get home after I’ve changed out of this dress.”

         As the group turned toward Spindrift, Val fell in beside Betty so she could hear in advance some of the exciting details.  In front of the women were Fitzhugh and Barry and behind them came Steve, Mark, and Dan.

         “So tell me everything,” Valerie badgered.  “Dan said you got to perform again!”

         “I did,” Betty nodded wearily.  “But I’ll tell you, Valerie, I hope we get back to Earth soon.  These days even my best dreams are disappointments.”

         Val’s eyebrow shot up.  “How so?”

         “I dreamt I kissed a man,” she frowned.  “He was handsome, and it felt wonderfully real, but it was the worst kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life!”

         Steve stopped, his mouth open and face shocked, much to the surprise and confusion of Dan, who had been beside him.

         “What. . . ” Dan started to ask when Mark, coming up from the rear, passed them.  Adding to Dan’s bafflement, the engineer was uncharacteristically snickering.

         “Guess you angle was better than mine,” Mark smugly grinned, continuing by.

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