{Image Description- a theatrical poster advertising the Gilbert and Sullivan Broadway musical HMS Pinafore, which opened on 3/20/19XX. The poster is a rather simple painted image of three characters against a dark blue background. The foreground features the female lead Josephine, whose voluminous pink dress takes up two-thirds of the poster, with two male navel officers on her right, gawking at her appreciatively and seemingly without her knowledge. Most of the artist's efforts have gone into drawing the young lady, as the naval officers look fairly generic in comparison to attention has been paid to her hair and facial expression, the former of which is pulled up to the crown of her head, with several auburn corkscrew curls escaping from the bun to frame her face in a pleasing manner. Her expression is one of deep longing, the combination of her closed eyes and curved lips giving the viewer the idea of a woman in love. Perhaps most striking of all are the woman's eyelashes- they are long, thick,and curled upward in a way that is beyond the ability of even the most advanced eyelash curler. Those not aware of the Broadway canon of famous stars may assume this a stylistic exaggeration on the artist's part, but anyone who considers themself to be a musical aficionado would recognize this actress by the lashes alone.

On the bottom of the poster in large, Times New Roman font runs the title of the play. Below it, in a much fancier, more feminine script: Staring Gloria von Gouton as Josephine.}

Much in the same way that the events are altered in works purporting to based upon truth, so too are the details surrounding the people associated with them changed. This is done to minimize the risk of defamation and to protect the privacy of the innocent persons involved. It also provides the creators of a work a basic defense from legal retaliation (although, as was mentioned in the previous chapter, this does not always work- 'innocent' parties with enough resources may attempt to shut a publisher down even if it's obvious the law is not on their side). Name changes are usually sufficient enough, though in cases where the material is sensitive from a security standpoint, it may also be necessary to obscure a location or two.

True-Psychic-Tales is no different from any other work in the True Crime Canon in this regard (indeed, given the fantastical nature of most of the tales, this is probably the only way in which TPT is similar to other entries in the genre). Longtime fans of the series may notice, however, an inconsistency in the identities that receive protection and the ones that do not. The featured Psychonauts for example are almost always referred to by the names that they work under, which some claim defeats the purpose of a secret agent. This claim can be countered by the argument that most Psychonauts are operating under a fake name anyway, as it seems that a significant percentage have legally changed their names for one reason or another. In the case of this particular issue, Agent Ford Cruller is the name printed on the pages of the numerous TPT comics he starred in and upon his birth certificate. He is one of those rare agents who has not bothered to conceal his real identity, a bold, perhaps dangerous decision in his line of work.

Others whose 'real' identities are included are that of a certain type of villain. Not the ones who only make a single appearance, but those who show up in multiple volumes at a time as a recurring antagonist, mostly in a role secondary to the main bad guy. They often escape from the heroic agents in the nick of time, usually parting with some poorly written quip before flying off to plot their next scheme. In this issue, the role is played by Marseillia Nix, a mercenary whose history and connections remained frustratingly obscure to this humble blog-author. We will become better acquainted with her later on (although no-where near as acquainted as yours truly would like to be!).

And what of those whose names have been changed, the so called 'innocents' who needed to be protected? There were many characters in Psi-monds are Forever- miners, hired goons, stage hands and actors- but the majority of them were only seen in the background in a few panels, at most only having a few lines to move the story along. They were not given any names and it is probable that they were not based on anyone in particular. There were some exceptions to this, however. One minor character was given a name, Lucian Van Loos's beleaguered secretary, whose role consisted mostly of hurrying back and forth to do his boss' bidding, all the while wearing an expression of worry on his generic face. The only reason that we know his name at all is because Van Loos would bark 'Scheiler!' anytime he needed something nefarious done. It is not clear whether or not he had a real-life counterpart. Some have speculated that he may have been a stand-in for Walter Windt, the Vice President of the Van Loos company at the time, since at the end of the comic the secretary ends up taking the reins once his boss has been taken away in the paddy wagon. Others are skeptical, claiming that the man in the comic bears little resemblance to Windt in appearance and personality, and that it is more likely that the author just made him up. My own personal opinion leans more towards the latter theory, for reasons that will become abundantly clear when we touch upon Mr. Windt in a later post.

Let us move on to the main focus of this chapter; the two people important enough to receive a name change, starting with our lovely leading lady. The comic's black blurb mentions a Glenda Goodwill, a name that evokes the image of a swooning young beauty just waiting to fall into peril, and then into the hero's arms. Her appearance certainly fits the Damsel in Distress stereotype. Long blonde hair, full, pouty mouth always painted fire-truck red, and perfectly hour-glass figure (with a waist not much wider than the span of the hero's hand), she is a woman who would not be out of place on the cover of a lurid pulp novel. Quite a bit of effort was put into making her look helpless and sexy, effort that could have been better put into creating a personality less flat than a sheet of paper. Glenda does look pretty-she seems to be wearing a full face of make-up and a push-up bra in every single scene that she's in, even when it makes no sense in context- but she doesn't really do all that much. It's established early on that she is a famous Broadway actress and that van Loos has his eye on her, but we learn nothing else about her. Her dialogue is limited to cries for help and praise for the manly Agent Cruller, and she seems more like a doll being passed from one goon to the next instead of a living, thinking being. Glenda adds little to the story and one may assume that the only reason she was included at all was because the woman she was based on played an important part in the 'true' part of this psychic tale.

Female characters were problematic in the first few issues of this comic. They had only a few strictly defined roles; either as buxom, braindead maidens in need of rescuing, or marginally smarter, equally voluptuous femme fatalles who always inexplicably attempt (and fail) to seduce the hero of the story. This was due to the first T.P.T writer- a man named Jonathan Steele- having a viewpoint that he referred to as 'old fashioned' but could be more appropriately termed as 'ragingly misogynistic'. The artist of the comic, one Luis Alberto, was less overtly-sexist in his opinions, and arguments did arise between the two concerning the direction of Glenda Goodwell's character during the creation of the comic, documented mostly in the margins of the script. Unfortunately, the man's love of pin-up inspired designs for his female characters gave him little credit, and he too was sacked alongside Steele when the Psychonauts demanded a different team for the comic.

From a story standpoint, it is a shame that Glenda Goodwell did not retain more of the qualities of the woman she was supposed to portray. The astute reader will have figured out by now who this woman is, but for those of you who are still confused, you need only scroll up to know that Glenda Goodwell is but a very poor caricature of Gloria von Gouton one of the most famous and infamous stage actresses of the twentieth century. These days, her name is one steeped in scandal and misfortune, her star having long imploded in the most fiery manner. But back when the events of this comic took place, it was a name illuminated by the bright lights of theaters all alone Broadway street.

It is not the purpose of this post to delve into the life and career of Gloria von Gouton in detail- that would be a rabbit hole deeper than the Van Loos mine shafts- but it is prudent that we examine relevant parts of it, as they explain why Gloria acted the way she did during several key events, and also because they explain why her comic counterpart was so bland. Von Gouton was a very complicated person, whose life was very much a roller coaster ride. The metaphor is cliche, but it is the most appropriate way to describe her turbulent existence. There were the soaring heights of success and mania, the plunging lows of interpersonal failure and depression, and periods of flat stability. As the years went on, these stable periods became briefer and briefer, the coaster hills crowding closer together until they looked like a heart monitor tracking someone with a case of tachycardia. From the way von Gouton coped with this distressing ride, one might assume that the train had no seatbelts, forcing her to hang on to the bar for dear life, lest she be flung onto the ground below.

It has been theorized by medical doctors, pop psychologists and von Gouton's many unofficial biographers that the impulsive, high-risk lifestyle she led was fueled by the mental illness she allegedly suffered from. I use the term 'allegedly' here because this has not been confirmed as fact (and since von Gouton has been missing for decades, is very unlikely to ever be confirmed, unless she makes a sudden, miraculous return), but many first-hand accounts made by those closest to her point to her having some form of mood disorder. That, however, only explains what made the ride so chaotic, it does not explain what set it in motion to begin with.

Information about von Gouton's pre-fame life is scarce, for the actress was notoriously tight-lipped when the subject came up. Her mother, Estrella von Gouton, was a woman similar to her daughter in that she was both famous (being a moderately successful opera singer ) and infamous(most notably for having Gloria out of wedlock). Von Gouton's pedigree is the most well-known fact of her early years, but even that is still shrouded in mystery. Gloria's family tree only has half of its branches, for the identity of the man who fathered her is still unknown. Speculation as to the identity of Gloria's father has naturally run wild. The suspects include Loman Kricke, Estrella's manager-slash-longtime boyfriend, Llopis Domenech, a fellow opera singer who performed with her on several occasions, and Armen Weissbern, the Austrian Ambassador to Italy during the peak of Estrella's fame, a man known for his fondness for both opera and young, pretty opera singers. We will never know for sure exactly who this man was, as the only person who had that information was Estrella, and she passed in 19XX, taking one of theater's greatest mysteries to the grave with her.

Estrella's autobiography Opening Night to the Rest of My Life may not shed any light on the paternity of her only child, but it did provide the world with the only glimpse into Gloria's formative years. The third part of the book focuses on the six years following Gloria's birth, during the time in which Estrella's career was spiraling down the drain. In this section Estrella recalls both the joyous experience of being a mother to a lovely little girl and the emotional ache of being forced off the stage by the conservative press and judgmental public.

"I don't want to write those years off as dim, overcast ones where the warmth of the sun never touched my face. My sweet Gloria provided so much light in my life that it was overwhelming. Sometimes I would look at her and feel so much love filling my heart that I thought it would burst. Every little thing she did; the way she had a different way of snuggling each individual stuffed animal she owned, how she would mimic the way I held my coffee mug when playing with her little tea set, it was all so beautiful. No aria could ever compare.

But the glow of a child's affection is a very different thing from the adulation of the masses. My greedy soul wanted both. There was always this craving for the stage that nagged at me through the long hours of the night. The love I had for Gloria walked hand and hand with If. If I had gone on hiatus and given birth to her in secret, if I had listened to Loman and given her up for adoption, if I hadn't been so public about all of it, then I would still be performing, would still have that high that comes after nailing a difficult song in front of an audience of hundreds. These Ifs would stampede through my head like a herd of uncontrollable cattle, trampling my heart underneath. And then the guilt would follow. Guilt that I could not be satisfied with what I had, for it was a lot more than most women in my position did. Guilt that it wasn't enough for me to have a nice house, financial security, and a pretty, happy little girl to love. I wanted to have it all, even if trying to get it cost me everything. "

Eventually, the desire to regain her former fame and the constant pressure from Loman Kricke convinced Estrella to try and restart her career. She dropped Gloria off at Hagatha Home for Girls and then headed back to the world of Operatic Theater, with dubious results.

Estrella does not mention Gloria very much in the remainder of the book, other than to say that she felt very hurt at her daughter's lack of response to her letters (later revealed to be the work of her embezzling boyfriend- manager). Thus, the glimpse we are given of Gloria's early life is merely a small parting of the curtains into the backstage area of her past. But what we do see is more revealing than one would initially think.

That Estrella would enroll the daughter she supposedly adored into a place like Hagatha Home may come as a surprise. Hagatha Home was established in 19XX by Hermina Hagatha, after her recent retirement from the stage following an unfortunate incident with a lemon that permanently damaged her vocal chords. Not wanting to fade completely from public memory, she opened the school despite having little experience or interest in educating aspiring starlets (her own training had been rather informal). Her role was limited to providing funds not covered by the girls' tuition fees and visiting when the mood took her. The actual running of the place was left in the hands of one Agneizika Stroop, a governess known for her ability to crush the spirit of even the most willful and unruly students under her gnarled thumb.

Headmistress Stroop was a laconophile, and thus ran the school like a Spartan agoge, an odd choice given that the school's purpose was to train little girls from upper-middle class families in the performing arts. Competition within the school was fierce, and not because the students were eager to be famous singers or actresses. Basic necessities were considered a privilege, and resources were deliberately understocked and provided only to the students the instructors felt had earned them. The sleeping arrangements, for example, were sparse, with one bed available for every two students during most terms. Only the top half of the class were allowed to sleep in the beds, the rest were given a blanket and a pillow if the room monitor was in a generous mood. Any attempts made by those fortunate enough to have earned a bed to share it with a floor-bound friend was met with swift and brutal punishment. The same went for all other acts of altruism- there was to be no sharing of food, no loaning of clothing, or other accessories, no gift-giving or soothing of bruised egos or bruised flesh. Friendship was actively discouraged, while the girls who sabotaged their peers received no form of retribution from the teachers, even when it was obvious. If anything, the girls were encouraged to use underhanded tactics to get ahead of their competition, and given the conditions that they lived in, it's no surprise that many did so.

If this horrid environment wasn't enough to squeeze all the happiness and kindness out of these children, the teaching methods utilized by the teachers employed surely would have. Negative reinforcement was used in every class, with teachers using belts, rulers, and switches to beat children who answered questions incorrectly or stepped the slightest bit out of line. Ms. Stroop herself was known to carry a whip with her at all times. The turnover rate for teachers at the school was naturally very high, for only the most sadistic of schoolmarms could stomach beating innocent girls for no real justifiable reason.

Hagatha Home operated like this for sixty-two years. Ms. Stroop died in 19XX after a fall down the long, winding staircase between the second and third floors (ruled an accident). Her two nieces, Ms. Hester Stein and Ms. Heather Stahl, subsequently took over, which did not improve the conditions for the girls one single bit. During that time, only occasional reports of the horrors that went on within the home were made, all of them given by former employees who had left in disgust. Officers only showed up to the school after the first report, but found nothing to back up the allegations. That may shock and outrage the reader, but in truth it wasn't very surprising. For one, the school's benefactress had a reputation for being a kind, if eccentric person, and nobody would have believed that she would have allowed the teachers under her employ to beat the students with whips, or sleep on the floor.

In addition to Hermina Hagatha's reputation providing protection for Stroop and her underlings, the students themselves had a vested interest in keeping the law off of the Headmistress's back- the fear of retribution. An odd notion- how could these girls possibly be treated any worse than they already were? The answer lies not in further deprivation or in more severe beatings, but in blackmail. Stroop and the other staff members who ruled over these girls threatened to write home to their parents and report that they were being expelled from the school for having inappropriate relationships with their peers. Stroop would take certain girls aside- the ones with the most acting potential- one by one into her office, and then question them intently about their interactions with those closest to them at the school. "What's the nature of your friendship with Ms. Schultz?" "Didn't Ms. Ramsey catch you and that Williams girl together in the pantry after curfew?" " Why did you allow Olive to sleep in your bed last week? You know that sort of behavior is not permitted."

And so on. The questions were fired out so rapidly that they may as well have come from a machine gun, and the insinuation behind them was not lost even the most naive. Most could do little more than stammer out a weak defense in response, with more than a few bursting into tears right then and there. The sort of allegations that Stroop was threatening to send the girl's families were ones that back then could have been life ruining, regardless of their veracity. It was enough to keep the girls quiet about their cruel treatment, and when the officers came to interview them, they smiled happily and gushed about how much fun they were having at the school, and how much they loved Headmistress Stroop. "I love it all so much," one girl was reported to have said, "that I forget to eat and sleep sometimes!"

Thus the investigation closed, and the report written off as a disgruntled ex-employee's attempt to besmirch the school's good name. Hagatha Home was cleared of wrongdoing, and would receive no further scrutiny until 19XX, the year it was finally shutdown. The incident that led to the school's closure and the ensuing investigation will not be detailed here. As interesting as it is, it has little to do with Gloria herself, since by then she had been missing for decades. It is unknown if she is still alive, or, if she is, if she is aware of the fate that befell her alma mater.

There is no way to even know what her exact experience was at the school, other than that she was enrolled while Headmistress Stroop was running it. But based on the evidence available, we might imagine a little-girl with long lashes and worn, patched dress sitting in a sparsely-decorated and spotlessly clean classroom amongst her peers. It was a cold day in early December, during her first year at the school. Little Gloria still had hope in her heart that her mother's response to the harrowing letter she had sent listing all of the miseries inflicted upon her by Ms. Stroop and her peers would be coming any day now.

The textbook for her Theatrical Literature class, a tome far too large and advanced for her young mind to process, was laid out open before her on the desk. Her eyes, however, were not squinting at the tiny print, but fixed on the scenery outside the window she'd been lucky enough to be seated by. Snow had fallen during the previous night, blanketing the ground in glittering white. Right outside of the window was a tall tree, one that normally frightened Gloria- the long, spindly branches made shadows on the walls that resembled Ms. Stroop's sharp, witch-like silhouette. Today, however, there was a thick layer of snow covering the boughs, which made the tree look softer and friendlier, the white-on-brown coloring reminding her of hot-chocolate topped with whipped cream; and oh, wouldn't it be nice to have a cup of that on a cold day like this! A cardinal alighted on the branches closest to her, and she watched as it chirped and hopped back and forth on the branch, for no other purpose other than to leave perfect imprints of its talons in the snow for Gloria to admire.

An immense, unexplainable satisfaction rose up within her at the scene. Oh, wouldn't it be fine, Gloria thought, the ghost of her once cheery smile gracing her lips, if Mother came to save me from this awful place today and I showed her this fellow here? "What a lovely bird," she would say. And then I would say, "Yes, he is beautiful. He's my one friend." And then she would say, "Well in that case he must come live with us. This is no place for such a sweet thing." And I would ask, "But what about Mr. Kricke? What would he think?" And she would tell me that she had gotten rid of him for making her send me to this evil place, and that she was so very sorry that she ever let a man like him separate her from her only child. And I would say "It's okay Mother. I forgive you." And then the bird would swoop down onto my shoulder and sing the most wonderful song as we drove home…

Pain, swift and red-hot, erupted between her shoulder blades, knocking her out of the pleasant daydream. The thin frock she wore did little to blunt the impact of Ms. Stroop's whip on her skin (already marred by other visits the rough cord had paid to her back) and was so sudden and strong that it took the breath from her lungs. Meekly, she turned her head and dared to raise her gaze upward to Ms. Stroop, looming over her in the way a cat would over a mouse it has cornered. She cringed and resisted the temptation to look away, unable to take the expression on the headmistresss' face for very long. It wasn't that Ms. Stroop looked mad; that Gloria could have understood. It was the glee alighting her cold eyes, bright like the sunlight reflecting off a sharp icicle, and in the curve of her wrinkled lips, that unnerved and scared Gloria terribly. Gloria couldn't put a word to it, but it gave her the idea that Ms. Stroop was glad that Gloria had misbehaved, because it gave her an excuse to crack that whip of hers.

Ms. Stroop let Gloria squirm for a moment, enjoying the way she trembled and winced from the pain in her upper-back (it felt as though a thousand bees had stung her all at once on that part of her body). Then Ms. Stroop spoke, her voice the auditory equivalent of having sandpaper rubbed on one's skin. "Gloria von Gouton," she said, and the way she said it made shivers run down Gloria's spine. She extended one skeletal finger and brought it downwards to the open book, tapping her nail on the yellowed page. "What page are you on?"

Gloria knew that Ms. Stroop wasn't asking because she couldn't read the page number, even if the print was tiny. She opened her mouth to speak, but let out a breath of air instead- apparently she'd been holding it without noticing. "Page 394," she croaked, in a voice thinner than thread.

Ms. Stroop turned and struck the desk that belonged to the girl sitting next to Gloria's, startling the poor girl badly. "Giselle, what page are you on?" she demanded.

Giselle, shaking with fear, answered quickly and loudly. "395!" she barked like a dog on command. "W-We were just reading through Marc Anthony's monologue and-"

"Be silent," Ms. Stroop ordered, cutting off Giselle's rapid rambling. "Now, you tell me, dear," she said, the endearment sounding more like an insult, "why you are behind the rest of the class."

There was no excuse that Gloria could come up with that would save her, and she was not yet a good enough actress to lie effectively. "I got distracted, Ms. Stroop," she said, hunching her shoulders in shame, "by that bird outside in the tree."

Ms. Stroop glanced out and then reared the arm holding the whip back, flicking the cord out. The snap of it hitting the frame frightened the bird away, along with making everyone in the room jump. "Nasty vermin," she muttered. "Thought the poison in the bird feed took care of all of them." She shook her head and glared back down at Gloria. "Do not blame the bird for your inability to focus. You are a lazy, inattentive girl with no respect for the theater or your mother. The only reason you are here is because of your mother's name. There were many other girls who had their applications denied so that you could be here, girls that I am by now certain have more potential than you do. Any one of them would take your place in a heartbeat."

That seemed unfathomable to Gloria, who had not had a happy day since arriving here. She did not try to argue with Ms. Stroop on that point, or any of the others, because she hoped that if Ms. Stroop's opinion of her sank low enough that she would give up on Gloria and expel her from the school. "I'm sorry, Ms. Stroop," she said, head hanging pathetically.

Ms. Stroop snorted, tossing the apology away like it was a piece of garbage. "Since you enjoy looking out that window more than receiving an education, you may remain in your seat and continue to do so..." She paused, for what Gloria had to assume was Dramatic Effect, something she had learned about in her vocabulary class. "For the rest of the day."

Terror spawned in her stomach and rushed upward to her mouth. She swallowed it down before it could force her to cry out. Being locked in this creepy, creaking classroom rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of people who lived here before the place became a school was bad enough. Crying or protesting the punishment would only lead to something much worse. She said only for the day, right? Maybe I'll be let out before night if I'm good for the rest of the class. "T-thank you?" Gloria said, unsure of how else to respond.

A few students giggled at this odd reply. Ms. Stroop allowed it, thinking that it would add to Gloria's humiliation. It really didn't, because Gloria had not missed the hint of relief within the laughter. The other girls were merely glad that they were not sharing Gloria's fate, because sometimes Ms. Stroop saw fit to punish an entire class for the misdeeds of one, and Gloria couldn't hold it against them. Ms. Stroop ordered the class to settle down and the reading of the play resumed. Gloria did her best to follow along, but it was hard, for she could not stop herself from being distracted yet again. Not just by the sting of her wound, but by things running down her skin, dripping down her back and off of her chin. The former was blood from the welt, the latter, tears.

Time now to leave conjecture like this behind and travel to a cloudy day in March fourteen years later. Gloria was again staring out of a window, but this time, she had no fear of being struck or humiliated by a sadistic headmistress. The scared, skinny little girl, terrorized by teachers and peers alike, was now a beautiful, accomplished young woman of twenty. Her hair, no longer styled into two scraggly, short pigtails, was long, thick, and shaded a rich red-orange, hanging loose around her shoulders and held back from her face by a simple barrette at the back of her head. Her body was the very image of poise and grace even when seated in the cushioned, dark-wooden chair, with her back straight, head held high, and hands clasped demurely in her lap. Most striking were her eyes- they were a light golden brown with something of a dreamy look to them. Framed by her famous, curling lashes, they give one the impression of innocence, although at this point in her life she is far from the naive ingenue she often portrayed on stage.

The setting, a warm, richly-furnished living room within a brownstone townhouse located in a historic New York city neighborhood, was miles away from the grim, bare classrooms of her youth. The house had been purchased six months ago by Gloria. Buying expensive homes was something that Gloria could do now, as she was now a wildly popular and highly sought after stage actress following the success of Sunshine Shenanigans, the production she debuted on. The house had been purchased for her mother Estrella, who she had reunited with a little over two years ago, a present that Gloria hoped would show her mother how much she loved and cared for her. Estrella had put on a show of gratitude for the gift, though she did comment that it seemed, "a bit old fashioned. But beautiful, simply beautiful!" Secretly, Estrella wondered if Gloria was trying to tell her something, for the brownstone, although much nicer than her old apartment, was farther away from the Theater District, and she felt like an old shame that her daughter was tucking away out of sight.

On this Sunday morning, Gloria was making her weekly visit to her mother, an obligation she had been fulfilling religiously ever since Estrella had moved in. It was an informal mother-daughter ritual that for Gloria had ceased to be a mere chore and had become an exercise in endurance akin to plucking her leg hair out one by one with a pair of tweezers. There were certainly better ways that she could have spent the one free morning her busy schedule allowed her, but she could not bring herself to put a stop to them, even as interacting with her mother took an increasingly greater toll on her emotional well-being after each visit. In her heart, she hoped that the ever-present tension that had sprung up between them shortly after her rise to fame would just magically evaporate without any sort of acknowledgement of its existence during one of these visits. A foolish hope coming from a woman who had experienced the sort of abuse that Gloria had, but she was the type of person who needed to believe that things would one day just get better. It's what happened in the musicals she sang and danced in, after all- surely it wasn't out of the question that it could happen in real life.

The tension never went away, though. Not on this visit, nor on the final one before Estrella's suicide. There always seemed to be a presence in the room with Gloria and her mother during these mornings spent together, a presence that constantly shifted in form. Sometimes it was Ms. Stroop, whip in hand, other times it was the thieving Loman Kricke, last week it had been the reporter who had tricked Estrella into giving him Gloria's contact information. Today, it would take on the guise of a man with much broader shoulders than the reporter, who we shall get more familiar with shortly. Not yet; let us focus on Gloria and Estrella for now.

Estrella had just made an inquiry that Gloria could not answer, as she had not caught it the first time it had been made. She turned her gaze away from the tall, narrow window that she had been looking out of. "I'm sorry, mother, I didn't catch that," she said in a manner that was more absent than apologetic. "I was daydreaming." Daydreams were something she fell into very often, but on this occasion it was not true. She had actually been on the lookout for a deep red-wine colored Cadillac Coup d'ville- her ride out of this place.

"Don't worry about it, darling!" replied Estrella with a voice as sweet as cough syrup. "I know you must have a lot on your mind, with all of the work you've had lately. Easy to drift off. I was the same way, before I had you, of course." She tittered before Gloria could register the offhand comment. "Really, I should be glad that you have anytime to spare at all for me."

Maintaining eye-contact with Estrella was difficult for Gloria, and not just because of the guilt twisting in her stomach, or the bitterness that had crept into her mother's tone. There was a large, bird-cage like contraption on Estrella's head, one that looked too much like a torture device for Gloria's comfort. Metal rods, attached to the cage by screws, jutted inward, each one touching a point on Estrella's face. A make-up technician in a white coat was bustling about her, adjusting the screws and occasionally standing between the two of them as they spoke. Her mother had called the thing a 'Beauty Micrometer' and claimed that it was not as painful to wear as it looked.

Gloria did not know what the Beauty Micrometer was supposed to do, for she had never seen one before today. She only hoped that her mother would be allowed to take it off soon. I guess it's less gruesome than that ice-cube mask she wore last week… "Mother, it's no trouble for me to come see you," Gloria said, "why, I must! We have so much lost time to make up for!"

Gloria had not meant it as a barb, but Estrella had taken it as one nonetheless, and it hit her directly in the heart. She flinched and her smile dropped, which caused the make-up tech to huff in annoyance. She recovered it quickly and agreed with Gloria in the most insincere way possible. "You're absolutely right, my love! I do have quite a lot to make up for, don't I? For leaving you at that prestigious, expensive school! Well, I just can't apologize enough for that one, can I?"

Gloria sighed, annoyed at her mother for her over-sensitivity and at herself for saying the exact wrong thing. "Mother," she said placatingly, "I have already told you that it's all in the past now." She smiled and would have reached out to squeeze Estrella's shoulder if the make-up tech had not been in the way. "What matters now is that we are together, and won't be separated again for such a long period of time again. I do so enjoy these visits- it feels like I know you better with each one."

The statement was not entirely false. Both of them learned a bit more about the other with each visitation, but what they learned made them like the other less and less. Gloria discovered that the mother she had loved and wanted so desperately to please was not the warm, maternal figure she recalled from her childhood, but a woman ruled by jealousy and the desire for things she had in the past and could never have again. She also thought that Estrella was dismissive of her accomplishments and unable to show real affection. How dare she, Gloria would think anytime Estrella cut off her attempts to bridge the gap between them, doesn't she know how much I've been hurt because of her?

Estrella, for her part, found that Gloria was no longer the sweet, adoring girl she had dropped off at Hagatha Home. She'd grown up to be a young woman who, despite all of the social and professional boosts Estrella had given her, was moody, arrogant, and ungrateful. How dare she, Estrella would think anytime Gloria complained of wanting more from her mother, doesn't she realize how much I've sacrificed for her?

Estrella also thought that Gloria was heading down the same road that she had a long time ago- the one that had pretty scenery and a smooth ride but led right off a cliff into the Ocean of Regret. This concern, unlike some of the others Estrella had about Gloria's decisions, came from a place of genuine worry. As she sat across from her daughter (whose boredom and irritation were more showing more than she thought), she felt the need to set Gloria back onto a safer course gnawing at the back of her mind. She wanted to bring it up, but she did not know how. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world that adored her, Gloria had a vicious temper, and nothing triggered it like constructive criticism on aspects of her life not related to her profession.

So Estrella held her tongue on the matter and instead repeated the question she had asked a minute before. "Did you get the package I sent you?"

Gloria's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Yes, she had gotten her mother's present; it had been on her doorstep when she'd gotten home early that morning. She'd opened the plainly packaged box and discovered yet another weird, archaic beauty treatment within it. This one was a strap meant to go over the wearer's forehead and chin, with a string attached to either side. The accompanying note read this:

My Dearest Gloria,

Saw this at an auction and thought of you. Hope that it will help

you with your problem area.

-Love and Kisses, Mother.

The 'problem area' the note was referring to was Gloria's chin, the one flaw maring her otherwise conventionally attractive face. The device, called a Chin Reducer, was meant to correct weak chins like Gloria's; through some method that was no doubt both uncomfortable and ineffective.

For Gloria, receiving this thing as a gift was like someone had poked their finger into bruised skin. She was very sensitive in regards to her physical appearance, as it played a huge role in getting her roles. It was also the first thing that her detractors, as few of them as there were, criticized her for, with one critic famously stating that "her average looks do not quite measure up to her immense vocal talent."

Gloria wanted to believe that her mother had meant no harm in sending her the Chin Reducer. But convincing herself of that was very difficult, because lately the subtle jabs that Estrella made about Gloria's appearance had been coming more frequently. Not that it really mattered what Estrella's intentions had been. Gloria had no plans to use the Chin Reducer, had in fact already thrown the thing away in disgust. She couldn't tell her mother that, for unbeknownst to the rest of the world, Estrella had a terrible temper, and nothing set it off quite like rejection.

So Gloria smoothed her features and did what she usually did when the truth was likely to upset her mother- she told a lie. "I did receive it, just this morning." Her mother's eyes lit up, expecting to have Gloria's gratitude heaped upon her. The light was quick to dim as Gloria continued. "But I didn't have the chance to open it yet. I didn't get home until very late and ended up sleeping in, and I was in such a rush to get here that I just put the box on the table and left it. But I shall be sure to open it the moment I get home. It'll be the first thing that I do, I promise. I do so love the presents that you send me."

Estrella bought the story but was far from happy with the product. Her face became blank and she dropped the fake smile from her face, and no amount of chidding from the make-up tech could bring it back. She wanted very much to believe that Gloria had not meant any harm when she had left the package unopened. But convincing herself of that was difficult, for as of late it had become rather obvious that Estrella had fallen low on Gloria's list of priorities. Here she had taken the time, effort, and money (from her own dwindling fortune, no less) to purchase and send Gloria an item that would be beneficial to career and health (for was beauty not a part of overall health?) and not only had Gloria not opened the present, she had not bothered to ask what it was.

Though deeply wounded by what she perceived as a rejection, she did not dare say anything about it- her pride would not allow her to. She mustered up her smile and reassured Gloria that she understood and that it was not a big deal. "Although I have to wonder," she pondered aloud in a deceptively innocent manner, "what it was that kept you up so late at night. You must have been out doing something very exciting if it made a girl as disciplined as you sleep in." The way Gloria stiffened only encouraged the interrogation. "I know that you just closed out the H.M.S. Pinafore- I heard it was a smash hit, so sorry I couldn't make it to one of the shows- so it wasn't an after party." She raised an eyebrow delicately. "So what were you up to? You can tell me; a girl shouldn't keep secrets from her mother."

Had Gloria been a slightly less talented actress, the insulation would have completely flustered her and turned her face as red as her mother's brightly dyed hair. "It wasn't anything, really," she said lightly, waving her hand. "Miles Broadsmith had a little get together at The Plaza. Just him, his wife, and a few others." She spoke quickly, as though doing so would allow the subject to be left behind sooner.

It did not. The mention of Miles Broadsmith only made things much worse. Mr. Broadsmith owned the most prosperous record label in New York City and many years ago Estrella had been very close to striking a deal with him. But that deal had fallen through when news of her pregnancy broke. To hear that Gloria had been out and about with a man that had dropped her like a hot potato made that dark bitterness rise up to Estrella's throat. "How nice for you," she said, each syllable dripping with insincerity. "Networking is always smart. I imagine that pretty face of yours will be plastered on the cover of a record soon enough!" She gripped the arms of her chair so hard that her nails left crescent-shaped indentations in the leather. "Ha, if I weren't your mother I might get sick of seeing you everywhere!"

On the surface the words were innocent, but the hostility with which they'd been spoken was so thinly veiled that Gloria's mouth dropped open in shock. She could not understand where it was coming from, for she was unaware of Estrella's history with Mr. Broadsmith. As it was, it just seemed like yet another expression of that bizarre envy her mother harbored toward her success. "Oh no! No! That didn't come up at all." She laughed airily, stealing a glance outside the window before continuing. "It really wasn't anything more than a dinner party. Really, who wants to talk business on a Saturday night?" This was yet another lie. Mr. Broadsmith had pitched the idea of Gloria recording an album at his studio in Manhattan but Gloria was not so sure she wanted to take him up on the offer. The way he kept touching her knee- never for longer than a second but very frequently- had been very off-putting.

Unlike the other lie, Estrella did not believe this one. She reacted to Gloria's attempt to shield her from the truth with scorn. "Don't lie to me," she said sharply. "I know how these things work. Business is always on the table, no matter what day it is or how late the hour." She leveled a gaze so intense at Gloria that she flinched- good, she ought to squirm. "I also know how men like Mr. Broadsmith work. He would never invite a young, pretty starlet to his table without some kind of ulterior motive. What did he offer you? A deal in exchange for," she lifted her hand up, gestured at Gloria, "you?"

Deeply uncomfortable, Gloria could only sputter forth a weak protest. "Mother, no such thing happened!" She laughed again, to give the impression that she found the situation funny instead of disturbing. "Why, his wife was right there next to him the entire time!"

Estrella gave a hollow laugh of her own. "That means nothing. A smart woman knows when to look away." She watched as Gloria twisted her hands in her lap, assuming her daughter's visible discomfort to be a show. "Stop all that blushing, it's childish and looks awful with your hair. Really, I wouldn't judge you if that's indeed how things happened. Having an affair with a man in Mr. Broadsmith's position would be far smarter than what you're doing now. Running around with That Man."

The heat that rushed to Gloria's face was due to anger instead of embarrassment. "Don't," she said lowly, "bring Laurence into this."

Estrella had not intended to; it had really just slipped out. But now that she had opened that can worms, she felt that she should not twist the cap back on just yet, even if the contents were slippery and squirmy and getting all over her nice Persian rug. "Gloria, I am your mother, and as your mother, it's my duty to tell you things that you might not want to hear, even if it hurts us both. Your involvement with That Man is a bad career move."

The make-up tech piped up for the first time since Gloria's arrival. "I have to um, go get more screws." He hastily quit the room before Estrella could acknowledge his departure.

"I am not with Laurence because he can advance my career," Gloria said, her lips thin and trembling. "We enjoy each other's company. He makes me happy, mother, and I think that's quite enough. Not everything has to be about the theater."

That was confirmation of Estrella's worst fears. Though Gloria had not explicitly said that her dalliance with That Man was anything more serious than a casual fling, Estrella knew firsthand how easily love could creep into the picture, especially for a girl as vulnerable and emotional as Gloria. Love could cloud the mind worse than any drink or drug, and it never lasted long enough to make up for the disastrous decisions made while in the haze of it. The lingering remnants of her maternal instincts kicked in, and she knew that she had to do something to get Gloria away from what she believed to be the biggest threat to her daughter's well-being. "Gloria, you must end this before it goes too far," she lectured with the all-knowing, somewhat patronizing tone of one who had Been There. "You are in the prime of your life. You will never be prettier, never have more energy, and the world will never love you more than it does now. Take advantage of it- don't waste your time with a man who will one day grow bored of you and-" she cut herself off to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "...and leave you with nothing but regret."

Gloria would have felt less pain if Estrella had stabbed her in the heart with a needle. It was not that she was being harangued about her personal business again; that Estrella had been doing for a while. It was the way her mother's voice had cracked with grief as she spoke. It made her think that Estrella had been thinking about her own past with Gloria's father than of Gloria's future with Laurence. Is that how you feel? she thought as she blinked back tears. Am I nothing but a regret? She wanted to put the question to Estrella directly, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Of course you are, the Estrella in her head cackled, why wouldn't you be? You ruined my life!

Gloria hardened her heart, let it become cold, and then, with a voice like ice, said, "I think you're reading too much into this. Laurence is not going to hinder my career. He's been nothing but supportive."

Estrella scoffed. "If he was truly supportive of you, he wouldn't hover over you all of the time. He'd allow you to network."

Is that what you call letting that dirty old man cop a feel? Gloria shook her head. "Mother, enough. Laurence does not hover over me."

"You spend too much time with him," Estrella fired back. "And the more time you spend with him, the more likely you are to make a mistake-"

"Like you did?" Gloria spat out before Estrella could finish.

Estrella fell silent, stricken, the wind in her sails abruptly taken out of her. Gloria reaching over and slapping her would have caused her less pain. She had not meant it that way at all, for even if part of her did feel that, she never would have said it to Gloria's face. It felt like Gloria was accusing her of not loving her. Is that what you think? she thought, trying to keep her expression from collapsing in despair. I gave up so much for you...I'm trying to protect you right now! How could you think that I don't love you? She wanted to ask this, but could not, for in her heart, she knew it was her own jealousy that kept rearing its ugly head, forcing her to say cruel things to Gloria. It was just so hard sometimes to watch Gloria ascend while Estrella remained on the ground, craning her neck up to see her like everyone else.

She could not admit this, no matter how much she wanted to reassure Gloria, and to be reassured in turn. All she could do was stare at her daughter with a tongue as heavy as lead, her hurt writ upon her features behind the wires of the Micrometer.

Gloria stared back, at a loss for words herself. Sometimes, while in the heat of anger, things slipped out of her mouth; things she often regretted the very second after she spoke them. The raw pain in Estrella's eyes brought Gloria no joy, for although there were times in which Estrella upset her to the point of tears, she was not the sort who enjoyed hurting others. She knew that she must do something, say something to abate the unbearable tension between them, but she did not know what. She had no script for this, and improv was very much not her thing.

The heavy silence was eventually broken, but not by words. A car was coming down the otherwise quiet street, the tread of tires on smooth asphalt catching Gloria's attention. She averted her gaze, grateful for an excuse to do so. Relief washed over her, for she recognized the car coming down the driveway as the one belonging to Laurence. "That's my ride," she said, only realizing afterward that she should have tried harder to conceal the eagerness in her voice.

Alarm surged through Estrella, though she morphed her expression into a look of casual recognition. "Ah, so it is," she said with a calmness she did not feel. "Noon already?" She knew it could not be any later than 11:30 am. "My, how time flies!"

"It is, um, a little early," Gloria admitted. She wondered if they were really going to pretend this incident had never happened- it would not be the first time. "I don't have to leave right now. The driver will wait if he has to."

Estrella waved the offer away. "Oh no! You go on, I'm sure you have a lot to do today. And I have a function that I must prepare for as well." Her tone was nonchalant but her thoughts were in a panic. She had the strangest impression that this would be the last time that she would see Gloria for a long time, a premonition like the ones mentalists were said to have. But what could she do? Gloria was not going to listen to anything Estrella had to say; she wouldn't be able to talk sense into Gloria even if she had twenty hours instead of twenty minutes. "Goodbye my dear. Lovely to see you as always."

Gloria sprang up from her chair, not noticing the slight tremble in her mother's voice. "Goodbye mother. I'll call you as soon as I get home. Oh, and I'll open that package right away." She leaned forward to kiss Estrella on the cheek, but since the Micrometer was in the way she had to settle for an awkward hug instead. The cage and her own desire to escape kept it brief.

As she reached the threshold, Estrella tossed one last question at her back. "Same time next week?" There were notes of hopefulness and pleading mixing together in her tone. Hearing it reminded Gloria of the day she'd been dropped off at Hagatha Home fourteen years ago. The question that six-year old Gloria had asked her mother had been a different one- "you will come back for me soon, won't you?" - but the manner in which she had asked it had been the same, with the need to be assured that things would be okay. It was a reversal of roles so strange and so disturbing that Gloria did not even look back as she gave a non-committal hum in reply.

Gloria walked out of the parler and crossed the foyer as fast as she could, the speed of her steps slowed only the tight, calf-length pencil skirt she wore. She gave the butler a smile and a soft farewell, but did not pause to make small talk with him like she sometimes did. All she wanted was to be out of this house and away from her mother, for she could feel her mood plunging deeper and deeper into that dark place it sometimes went following these visits.

Things got brighter once the front door opened, for not only had the clouds cleared away, she saw that the man standing outside the car was not the driver who normally came to pick her up, but Laurence himself. He cut an impressive figure even in casual khakis and dark green cashmere sweater, the glint of the sun reflecting off his short, neatly styled silver hair. A smile made its way onto his face the moment Gloria emerged from her mother's house, making warmth spread throughout her chest. She hastened down the steps and the short path to the street, heedless of the clack of her kitten heels on the concrete.

The man whose arms Gloria was running into was named Laurence Reitnauer, and he was the president of the Van Loos Fine Diamond Corporation. He is also the real-life counterpart of Lucian van Loos, the villain of the issue we have been closely examining. It is hard to say whose personality has been butchered more, for if Glenda Goodwell is a cardboard cutout with two water balloons affixed to the front, then van Loos is a paint-by-numbers image of a mustache-twirling villain, sans facial hair. Lucian van Loos was a man with plans to take over the world by making everyone hallucinate that he was their king with the Psi-monds. He cackled, he went on about his evil plans to anyone within earshot, and he introduced himself to Glenda Goodwell by spiriting her away to his evil lair against her will. Not exactly a good first impression.

Laurence Reitnauer was not a man who cackled. Laughter was rare for him, and if something struck him as funny he would usually just smile. He never had any plans to take over the world; his motives for doing what he did were more complex than an overabundance of greed and ambition. We won't get into what he did to Gloria- everything has its proper time, after all- but it's clear enough that she was very well acquainted with him. Physically, the two men were very different. Lucian van Loos was short, stooped, and had a tuft of wild white hair on his head and nowhere else. His forehead was creased with lines and his facial expression would alter between a sour scowl and maniacal glee, with little variation between the them. He looked like an ugly, bent old man, in short. In contrast, Reitnauer was well-built, and handsome in the way that wealthy men in their middle age tend to be. There were lines on his face, near his eyes and mouth, but they made him look dignified rather than elderly. The same went for his hair, which had gone from a dull brown to silver by the time he'd turned forty ("an improvement," he would joke to Gloria on their first date). He was also quite tall for a non-psychic, about six foot seven inches, the same height as Agent Cruller.

If Laurence Reitnauer is not Lucian van Loos, then who is he? Kind of boring, actually. There is no rags to riches story here that would inspire a motivational novel or film. He was born in 19XX, to the wealthy Reitnauer family, who had owned the Van Loos Fine Diamond Corporation since the turn of the century(having bought it out from the original van Loos'). He attended Institut Le Rosey as a youth and pursued further study at prestigious universities in France and Germany. After graduating he worked at the family company as an executive until he turned thirty-two, when the title of President was passed down to him after his father was forced to step down for health reasons.

Reitnauer did a good job running the company, deviating little from his father and grandfather's profitable footsteps. He was rational and cool-headed at all times. He didn't yell at his employees, even during times when anger or frustration might have been expected. His reaction to good news and bad news were the same; a hum of acknowledgement and a furrowing of brows. Prior to the incidents recounted here, his most controversial decision had been the promotion of Walter Windt to the position of Vice President. Not even the worst disasters could ruffle his feathers; and his composure, respected by allies and rivals alike, was attributed to the unwavering sense of professionalism that had run in the Reinauer family for generations.

In reality, Reitnauer was trapped in a mineshaft of melancholy, and had been there for as long as he could remember. It was an affliction that had baffled him for his whole life, and it would have baffled others too if he had ever bothered to tell those closest to him about didn't seem to be any reason for him to feel so low all of the time. He didn't have a bad childhood. There was a world war or two, but he'd never been terribly affected by it; he had lost no homes or family members (the Reitnauers fled to South Africa during the worst of it, and were away from most of the fighting). His company was doing well, and he didn't have any vices such as drinking or gambling to get him into trouble. There had been tragedy in his life, a few deaths in the family, but the depression had been with him before all of that.

He'd just never been happy. And he had no idea why.

Reitnauer tried very hard to figure it out. He read all of Freud's theories and had attempted to interpret his dreams in the manner Jung and his associates claimed would enlighten him to the reason for his internal numbness. He was none the wiser for it. He even went so far as to hire a private psychoanalyst but he quit the sessions shortly after starting them. He felt foolish that he, a man who by all conventional standards of success was excelling, couldn't shake off this...malaise. Eventually, he gave up on finding an answer and accepted that he was just not wired for happiness. He shot for contentment instead. Reitnauer attended to his business matters competently, trying to feel pride when things were going well and frustration when they weren't; not really experiencing either.

He almost got married twice. Once to the heiress of a Swiss watch company who died of tuberculosis before she could walk down the aisle. The second time was to a widow who changed her mind a week before the ceremony, after realizing that Reitnauer was going through the motions and didn't actually love her. Reitnauer reacted to both of these failed relationships with mild disappointment, most of it directed at himself for not feeling more strongly towards the losses.

He did not think he was miserable, but he was aware that he was missing something that other people had. He could see it in the eyes of his employees, that spark of liveliness that was not present in the pale blue gaze of his reflection. He had read about it in novels and poetry, had seen it in great works of art, had heard it in symphonies- but couldn't say he had ever experienced it himself. If I could just find this thing that I am missing he would think to himself, then I would gladly give up all the diamonds and mines in the world.

And then, at forty-six years of age, he found it.

Gloria threw herself into his arms, greeting him with a kiss on the lips. "You could not have come at a better time," she said, burying her face into the crock of his neck. The subtle scent of his cologne was a welcome change from the overpowering perfume she'd been inhaling for the past hour and a half. "How did you know that I was in need of rescuing?"

Laurence chucked softly into her hair and pulled her closer, lifting her up so high that her heels hovered a couple of inches off of the ground. "I had a feeling that you need to escape early," he replied, his words accent with a note of humor and the multitude of languages he'd grown up speaking. "Call it a premonition."

"Are the rumors about you secretly being a psychic true?" Gloria teased, her eyes sparkling. "How lucky for me."

Laurence laughed, marveling that he had done so. The whole scene- him publicly embracing the enchanting young woman he felt genuine affection for and laughing at her jokes- was nothing short of surreal. But everything about it was a part of his new reality; from the sky rapidly clearing up into a perfect blue overhead to the song of the birds that called the poplars that lined the street home, to the feel of Gloria's slender body in his arms, her breath on his neck.

He set Gloria down, keeping his hands on her waist. "I take it," he began gently, bringing one hand to cup the side of her face, "that it did not go well?"

Gloria sighed and shook her head. "Oh, Laurence," she said, leaning into his warm touch. "I just don't understand. It was so good in the beginning." She turned to look back at her mother's house and thought she saw the curtain behind the front window move. "How could it have gone so wrong between us?"

Laurence guided her gaze back to his. "Gloria," he said, drawing his thumb over her bottom lip. He paused, unsure of what to say but wanting very much to chase the sadness in her eyes away. There was something strangely exciting about that desire; a year ago he never would have thought himself capable of caring for himself that much, let alone someone else. "I am sorry that things are not going well with your mother." He inhaled, knowing that anything he said would be inadequate. "Perhaps she is having trouble adjusting to…" He trailed off, gesturing at their intimate position. "I am aware that she is not fond of me." He could not hold that against Estrella, for he knew what their relationship looked like to outsiders- a rich man resolving his mid-life crisis by having an affair with a much younger woman.

Gloria shook her head again. "No...well yes, we did argue about you a little." She took a step forward, rested her forehead on his chest. "But it's more than just this. It's something I just can't understand." She looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I want so badly for her to be proud of me, but...it seems like the more I succeed, the more she resents me. What do I have to do to make her love me?"

Laurence frowned, wished he had something better to give her than bland reassurances and gentle back rubs. I do have something better. Something that will give her the happiness she deserves. Out loud he suggested that they head into the car. "It may be best to get away from here for now. Come, we can talk more at the restaurant."

Gloria nodded, getting into the car and settling herself into the comfortable leather seats while Laurence walked to the other side. She was grateful that he had come to get her this time, for she was sure that she would have descended into a weepy mess by now if he had not. There was something about Laurence's presence that calmed the storms raging in her head, that was able to pull her back from the edge of total despair. When he looked at her, she knew that he was not seeing Gloria von Gouton, famous actress, but her actual self, the woman who sometimes felt so down that it took all of her energy just to manipulate her lips into a smile. He understood the dark emotions that simmered just below the surface of her charming persona and was not afraid of them, wanted only to help her into the light. She'd never been cared for like that by anyone; not even her mother.

The moment Laurence was in the car she slid over to him, close enough so that her body was pressed into his side, lacing her arm through his. "Let's skip the restaurant," she said, "I don't want to be around a crowd of people."

Laurence did not argue; he directed the driver to take them back to his place.

The next few hours can be skipped over, for they are irrelevant and mundane. We shall resume at about mid-afternoon, in the bedroom of the penthouse Laurence resided in while doing business in New York City. Gloria was sitting at the bureau, brushing the tangles out of her hair and humming a tune from Sunshine Shenanigans. Clad only in a thin white slip, her face and chest a pretty pink, her mood was much elevated from what it had been when she'd left Estrella's house. The disastrous visit had not been forgotten, but she had been able to shove it into the storage room of her mind, where she hoped it would stay for a while.

She paused in her brushing and humming when Laurence called her name from the bed. "I have something for you," the opening of the nightstand drawer accompanying his voice.

She watched him from the mirror's reflection as he pulled out a long whtie box, shirtless and as flushed with exertion as she was. Her curiosity was piqued. Laurence did not often lavish gifts upon her, which was how she preferred it, since she was not with him for material gain and had plenty of money of her own. "What is it?" she asked, moving to rise from her seat.

He motioned for her to remain where she was. "It is something I had made for you," he said, coming to stand by her side. His eyes were glittering with excitement and had her attention more than the box he was opening. It must be very important, she thought as her gaze drifted down to the item held within.

To Laurence, it certainly was, no mere trinket made to spoil his lover. It was a thin rose gold chain necklace with a pendant set with a large, brilliant cut yellow-diamond, surrounded by smaller white diamonds. Laurence believed that the necklace was what would banish the emotional turmoil that haunted Gloria's smile so subtly that only he could pick up on it.

Gloria did not know this, for he worried that she would think him mad if he tried to explain what it could do. To her, it was just a lovely piece of jewelry that went well with her natural coloring, albeit one with an enchanting quality that she could not put her finger on, even after she ran it over its cool metal surface. "It's beautiful." She picked the necklace up to get a closer look at the pendant. It shimmered, reflecting light warmly back at her. "Thank you," she said, appreciating the effort taken to have the necklace made- it was in the style that she liked. "This must be one of your diamonds."

"Fresh out of the mine," he said, holding his palm out to her. Gloria put the necklace into his hand and he stepped behind her, sweeping her hair over her right shoulder. With little trouble, he fastened the clasp, his fingers brushing the back of her neck.

Gloria shifted a little, maneuvering the pendant so that it fell in the middle of her chest. A slight tingling sensation bubbled up from the pit of her stomach- she put it down to how good the necklace looked on her. "I have the perfect dress to go with this," she said, already envisioning the outfit she would put together. "I could wear it to this year's Tony awards."

"I think it looks best with what you have on now," Laurence said, flicking the strap of her slip. His eyes, however, were not on Gloria's reflection, where the necklace stood out boldly against her skin. They were focused intently on two small stones set on either side of the necklace's clasp. The psi-monds did not shine quite as nicely as the real canary diamond that adorned the pendant, and were not likely to be noticed by any but the most observant. That was okay- they weren't meant to be seen; they were meant to change Gloria's life the way they had changed his.