Top of Form

Anyone who knows me with any degree of familiarity would agree that I am not prone to violence. Being quite tall and rather slender of build, I'm not built for vicious activities, such as punching, kicking, and wrestling . . . except in cases in which I need to defend myself, of course. Blame it on upbringing . . . as an only child, I had no brothers to roughhouse with and no friends to speak of until I became much older and such activities were usually not practiced.

Yes, it is safe to say that I am a gentle man, more interested in the might of the mind rather than of the fists. A pacifist of the first degree.

That was why the desire to knock Peter and the smug grin on his face into the middle of Times Square puzzled me greatly.

Please understand me: Dr. Peter Venkman is one of my best friends in the world, and, as I have known him for more than a decade, I would say that I am quite familiar with his myriad moods, quirks and other personality traits. Perhaps that was why I was so perturbed. I knew that look. And that tone of voice.

And that smile. That insinuating, wry little smirk, coupled with a merry twinkling in his eyes told me all that I needed, and, frankly, wanted to know.

I was in for quite an uncomfortable conversation.

"So," he began, leaning casually toward me from across the kitchen table. "So, my dear Egon. You want Dr. Venkman to help you out with your sex life -"

I had been correct. The warning signs had never proved wrong. "Peter," I said with what I hoped was a measure of confidence in my voice. "I do not want your -help-, per se. I'm seeking. . uh . . . an opinion."

"Help, opinion, same difference." He waved a dismissive hand. "At any rate, let me just congratulate you, Egon, on proving your vast intelligence once again. You need an opinion," he said, raising an eyebrow at me. "You come to the man who would know. Dr. Peter "Love Machine" Venkman."

I stifled a groan. He was testing me, but at least the twinkling had stopped. Usually that indicates that the "playfulness" is drawing to an end . . . just a few more double entendres and embarrassing references more . . .

"I mean, I've gotta say, Spengs, your gettin' any is a revelation unto itself," he continued, "But -now- you're going the extra mile! Calling in the, ahem, big guns . . . I guarantee Melnitz will thank you for it."

I blushed to my hairline. "Peter, please lower your voice -"

"Spengs, get a grip. She's out running errands and Winston and Ray have "Name that 'Toon" turned up so loud, they can't hear a thing." Peter's eyes narrowed and the smirk melted into sort of a slight quirk at the corners of his mouth. "Now. What do you need that opinion on? Positions? Oral etiquette? Best brands of lube?"

I hardly thought it possible, but my face burned an even brighter shade of red. "Uh . . . no. Nothing like that. My, er, predicament is a little more, um, complex."

"I get you." He nodded sagely. "I think it's safe to say that we've -all- been down -that- road once or twice, Spengie."

"Ah . . . yes?" Finally we were getting at the heart of the matter.

"Well sure. . . though it hasn't happened to -me- in a good while, but when you're first startin' out, being a little quick on the trigger is pretty normal -"

I blinked in confusion. "Peter . . . what in the world are you talking about?"

"Holding back may seem difficult, but it really is easy," he rattled on, apparently unaware of my horrified expression. "Me, I usually think about baseball or cleaning the refrigerator . . . something real unsexy. If you're getting close, think about the dullest thing in the world . . . like the Mathieu equation or something."

"Uh yes, thank you, but that, uh, is not the problem, either." I said weakly. I disagreed with him on the unsexiness of the Mathieu equation, but the concept itself was worth remembering.

"No . . . even more -complex- than that?" his eyes started their glittering once more. "Well then, say on, Spengs. This, I gotta hear."

I exhaled. Finally. "Thank you. I was wondering if you could advise me on the creation of an appropriately, er, romantic, " I stumbled a bit around that word, "setting most conducive to the execution of activities of a, um, highly intimate nature."

Now he blinked in confusion. "Huh?"

I sighed. "Peter, I simply desire your opinion what sort of setting I could create that would be considered a fitting backdrop for, uh, lovemaking."

He tilted his head to one side. "Setting . . . you mean like atmosphere? Like candles and music and stuff like that?"

I nodded. "Exactly. As I'm sure you are well aware, I have had little experience in such endeavors, and I thought that perhaps you . . . as the "love machine" are much more skilled in such matters than I."

"Uh huh." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, sure . . . I suppose that I could give a few pointers, but I've gotta ask . . what've you done the times before now?"

My eyes darted around nervously. I didn't quite know why, but at that moment, I felt somewhat ashamed. "Well . . . ah . . that is . . . I . . I've, er, rather, we've, um, never . . . that is to say actually -"

"Egon," he said, eyes widening in shock. "You mean to tell me you two've been dating for nearly four months and you haven't screamed each others' names out yet? I mean, while you're both in the same room?"

"Peter!" I hissed. "I would appreciate if you would not poke fun -"

"All right, all right. I'm sorry." He laid a conciliatory hand on my arm. "I'm just a little surprised, that's all. I figured Melnitz would've jumped you after Date One."

I suppressed a smile. She had tried something after Date Two, actually, but I got cold feet. "Not quite."

"Guess not. Well, let's get to it. What can I tell my favorite physicist about setting the stage for looooove?"

"Hey guys. What's going on in here?" Raymond's voice, dripping with curiosity, pre-empted my reply and caused my face to pale noticeably. Apparently the game show had ended much sooner than Peter and I had expected. Winston entered the kitchen a little behind Ray carrying an empty platter (it had contained quite a substantial stack of oatmeal-raisin cookies).

"Nothing," I said a little too quickly. I felt three pairs of eyes bore into me. "Er, I mean, Peter and I were just having a discussion. Nothing terribly important."

"Oh yeah?" Winston put the tray in the sink and pulled up a chair next to Peter. "Anything we could help out with?"

I blanched. "No . . . that is . . . er -"

"As a matter of fact, Zedd, maybe you could -" Peter began and was cut off by my glare.

"Peter, I really don't think -"

"Oh come -on- Spengs. We're all adults here," Peter said as Raymond, thoroughly puzzled but instantly curious, sat down next to me. "I think that the more opinions you can get, the better."

"But-"

"Opinions?" Ray looked from me to Peter with a look of interest. "On what?"

"Sex," Peter said so bluntly that my breath caught in my throat. "Spengs is having a bit of an issue in the sex department and he thought-"

"Peter!" There. My breath was back, and apparently in full force, though no one seemed to have heard me; rather, Winston's and Ray's eyes were riveted to Peter's face.

"Y'see, our mad scientist there wants to do the deed with a certain redhead of all our acquaintance . . . not -you- Tex," Peter shot Ray a teasing grin. "And he wants some ideas on a romantic way to set the mood . . . candlelight maybe or a violin serenade."

"Jazz," Winston offered. "I have always had my best luck with some Coltrane on the stereo and some silk sheets."

I started to protest again, but stopped. Perhaps Peter was right about soliciting other opinions. Besides, all was out now.

"-I- know something that might work," Ray said with more delight than I thought was perhaps necessary. "I saw it in a movie once. See, a guy and girl were, you know, fooling around and all, and the guy takes out this bottle of Dom Perignon and they take turns pouring it over each other and licking it off," Ray smiled. "It looked like fun."

His suggestion was met with amused looks from Peter and Winston and averted eyes and a blush from myself.

"Ray," Winston began with a grin, "Just what -kind- of movie was this?"

"Oh," Ray's cheeks suffused a most interesting shade of red. "Um . . . well . . . I don't really remember. It was . . . um . . . a long time ago."

"-Sure- it was, Tex," Peter's smile only served to turn Raymond's blush up a notch and did nothing to abate my own. "It's not a bad idea, though . . . I might file that away for future reference . . . I think that wouldn't work for Spengs, though. It's seems a little too out-there."

That was quite the understatement, but I gave Peter a glare for implying that my tastes were too pedestrian to even entertain the thought. Although he and I both knew he was right.

"Couldn't you ask her what she might like?" Winston asked. "I mean, it might avoid a lot unnecessary headache. I remember dating a girl who was really into meditation and massage and inner peace, and I decided to surprise her by putting all these scented candles and incense all around the bed . . . "

Winston's voice trailed off and he shook his head remembering, I would assume, an experience less than ideal.

"Bad move?" asked Peter.

"The worst," came Winston's rueful reply. "She was allergic to all that stuff. We still did it, but she was wheezing and sneezing through the whole thing . . . it was pretty awful. See if I had known beforehand . . . "

"I understand, but it's just that I, well, somewhat want this to be a surprise of sorts," I explained. "I fear that Janine's assessment of my capacity to create a romantic setting matches that of everyone in this room . . . and I want to dispel that notion." However, I thought, it would probably be prudent to omit scented candles and incense, just to be on the safe side.

"Well in that case, we're gonna have to go with known quantities," Peter said. "In other words, stuff we know she likes . . . or at least things she isn't allergic to . . . and go from there."

That sounded reasonable. "All right."

"Good. Well, let's start off easy, all right? Things we know Janine likes. Well, she's kinda stuck on a certain tall blond . . . " He smiled at me. "I think we got that covered. So we gotta make -you- the centerpiece in this grand creation."

I mulled that. "I see. But how?"

"Patience, Spengs, patience." Peter wagged a finger at me. "After all, you've waited -this- long to get laid -"

My familiar friend, the blush, returned. "Peter, you know very well that I am not -"

"Oh yeah . . . I seem to remember walking in on a certain doctoral student and a pretty lab assistant back in our college days," Peter's smirk was accompanied by guffaws form Winston and Ray. "I'd nearly forgotten."

So had I, damn him. I -wanted- to forget that entire fiasco. What had I been thinking then? Surely that was a rare case of my, ahem, little head ruling my larger one.

"So, all right, we've got Spengs in the center of it all," Peter continued. "What else?"

"Chocolate," Ray said. "Janine loves chocolate."

"True." Peter nodded. "Hey, maybe we can adapt Ray's champagne idea and use chocolate sauce instead. It's a lot cheaper than Dom and it probably won't roll off as easily."

"Messy." Winston shook his head. "Been there, done that. We had to throw out the whole sheet set, pillowcases and all. That stuff doesn't wash out. I don't care what the detergent bottles say."

"Maybe you could put towels underneath," Ray suggested. "That might help some."

"Then you'd just have to throw the towels out," Winston shook his head.

"It's an idea, but there's probably something else that would be as good and not as difficult to clean up. All right, let's keep thinking. We've got chocolate at least as a possibility. What else is on the list?" Peter asked.

"Plants and flowers," Winston said. "We know she likes those, and she's not allergic."

We all nodded in agreement. Janine's apartment was filled with the evidence of her love of most things horticultural. I quickly discovered that bringing some sort of bouquet before every date never failed to produce a smile from her.

"This may sound a little weird," Ray said with a fond smile, "but I had a buddy who told me that the best sex he ever had was when he decided to propose to his girlfriend and he got a huge bouquet of roses, went to her apartment about an hour before he knew she'd be home, made a trail of rose petals from the front door to the bedroom door, sprinkled some petals on the bed, and laid on top of them stark naked. Um, I think he might have put some on himself, too. I don't remember."

Peter and Winston looked at each other, then at Ray. "Tex, we've got to talk more," Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I've been underestimating you."

"Well, I'm no virgin either, Peter," Ray said with a smirk of his own before turning to me. "Anyway, I thought that sounded sweet. It seems like it would be easy to do . . . and the only thing you'd have to clean up are the petals. No stains, no fuss."

"I like it," Peter nodded. "I really like it. It's simple, it's to the point, and Spengs, you won't have to say a word. I mean, you whip out a bottle of Hershey's syrup all of a sudden, and Janine might want to stop and ask some questions. But if she walks into her bedroom and sees you in the buff surrounded by rose petals, she's gonna know what's up."

"Yeah, literally," Winston smiled, eliciting gales of laughter from the peanut gallery and even I cracked the tiniest hint of a smile.

"One thing - how's he going to get into her apartment? Break in?" Winston asked after they'd all recovered their breath.

"There goes the element of surprise," Ray added.

"Hey. . . never thought of that," Peter's brows knit. "That could be a slight problem."

"Er, well, no," I coughed uneasily. "I, um, do have a key -"

They all stared at me: Raymond in mild surprise, Winston with a look of approval and Peter with something of a grudging respect.

"For emergencies," I sought to explain. "You all know as well as I do the paranormal situations in the past that have manifested themselves at her apartment. My having a key is just a . . . precaution in case there is a problem there. It facilitates entrance."

"It will in this case," Peter said so dryly that I was sure he had some other meaning in mind. "But at least that problem is solved. Now it's relatively simple. A few visits to the florist and you, my dear Egon, are set."

"A question. When's this thing supposed to go down? Uh, so to speak," Winston asked amid chuckles.

I tried to ignore them. "I was planning on tonight. We already have plans, so I know that she will be returning to her apartment relatively shortly after the completion of the workday to prepare."

"Good. So the thing for -you- to do is get going and get -yourself- prepared," Peter said glancing at his watch. "It's nearly four o'clock. Just enough time for you to get the blossoms, get over there, get everything set up and get naked before Janine gets there."

"But what if we get a call?" I was reluctant to leave, extreme nervousness overtaking me.

"Are you kidding? It's been slow as molasses all day. If it's an emergency, we'll call you at Melnitz's. Now come on," Peter stood and we all followed suit. "You don't have much time . . . and I'm not going to let you sit around here and think about this to death and talk yourself out of it. We'll go with you every step of the way, if necessary."

"That will -not- be necessary, Peter," I said firmly. "I'll be just fine."

"Good," he prodded me toward the stairs as the others looked on. "Now get going before she gets back and starts asking questions. I'll make sure she's out of here before the petals wilt," he winked at me. I smiled somewhat uncertainly back.

"Thank you, Peter, all of you . . . I um, appreciate all of your . . . advice."

"Just do us proud, Big Guy," Peter said with a grin devoid of sarcasm. Highly rare for him. "Oh . . . and you are going in good health, right?"

I was momentarily confused. "What?"

"He's talking about condoms," Ray put in helpfully, "You have condoms? If not, I have some in my drawer you could have -"

"You do?" Peter and Winston chorused together in disbelief. Raymond rolled his eyes in reply.

"Er, no, thank you. I have some," I mumbled. "Well. Good-bye. Again, thank you for all of your assistance."

"Anytime, Spengs, anytime." Peter nodded at me, and Ray and Winston beamed. "I expect to see you and Janine in here tomorrow with the hugest, cheesiest grins ever seen. Got me?"

I nodded gravely. "I will give it my finest effort."

"Hear that?" He looked around at the others. "And we -all- know what happens when Spengs gives it his finest, don't we?"

"Yeah," Ray said mildly. "Things usually explode."

The mingled derisive laughter of my three co-conspirators followed me as I hurried down the stairs and out of the firehouse doors.

---

By the time I reached Janine's apartment, I had become quite proficient in setting up a trail of rose petals, however, I suppose when one buys eight dozen roses, some shedding is to be expected.

I had told the delighted florist not to bother wrapping the blooms or inserting the usual greenery seen in typical bouquets (this elicited a puzzled glance, but it was nothing to the looks I received from my fellow subway riders) - for, I figured that the fewer cumbersome trappings the better for the task at hand.

And, as I timidly entered Janine's quiet apartment, the realization that the "task at hand" was fast approaching gave me pause. It wasn't as if I did not want to do this - if, in fact, I did not, I most decidedly would not have subjected myself to the semi-humiliating conversation that had taken place earlier that afternoon. I supposed it was just the slightly giddy nervousness every man (and woman) must feel when beginning an intimate relationship.

I considered for a moment that in the past, I had been somewhat less nervous (excepting, of course, my very first time), but then, in the past, I had much less at stake. The sexual act never really did hold as much appeal to me as it may to other men. Not to say I hadn't enjoyed the handful of encounters I'd had, but it was something that I never really thought about until the situation arose. I never felt, as Peter has expressed on numerous occasions, as if I absolutely needed to have sex, else I would suffer some form of horrible physical or mental deterioration.

But this was different. I knew I was falling deeply in love with Janine, and that is, perhaps, responsible for my change in attitude. She had never pushed me to go to bed, but as of late, I felt myself rather -wanting- to be pushed. Following one such night after we'd parted with little more than a goodnight kiss, I went back to the firehouse and to bed, with a keen feeling of disappointment. Looking back at it, I suppose it was then I decided to take matters into my own hands, as it were.

And firmly in my hands they were. After re-locking her front door, I surveyed the small area and developed in my mind's eye a prudent course of action. I placed the bag of flowers down on the floor and glanced at my watch. I had very little time until Janine would arrive and there was much work to be done.

Step one: Detach petals. I could not hit upon a documented method of doing this. Painstakingly removing the petals one by one appealed to me, but I knew I hadn't enough time for that, therefore, I decided to take the path of least resistance and began to pull bunches of petals at a time from the rest of the flower. I realized that even at that rate, it might be some time before I could remove enough petals to make a good-size trail and subsequently make that trail, so I decided to attempt to do the two at once, scattering the fragrant bits of flower on Janine's carpet as I pulled them somewhat roughly off the stem. Sooner than I'd expected, I had a pretty sizeable - and neat - line of pink and white petals leading from her front door and stopping right outside the bedroom door.

Step Two: To the bedroom. I felt somewhat shy about entering, but I mastered my hesitation and pushed forward. Her blinds were raised letting in a goodly amount of sun, suffusing the entire room in bright light. I lowered the blinds just a tad in order to reduce the glare, and to ensure that none of Janine's neighbors could see inside. I then repeated my actions from the living room, sprinkling rose petals thickly around and on her modest bed. I was busily sprinkling when I noticed something odd.

Why I had not taken note of it before, I did not know, but it made me stop short. Janine's bed was bare, stripped of linens, coverlets, and even pillows. A solitary (yet thick) white mattress stared up at me. I wondered where the bedclothes were. It seemed highly strange that they would not be in their usual places. I was reluctant, however, to poke around in Janine's dresser . . . I would never compromise her privacy in that way. I shrugged it aside and added more petals. It didn't matter. Perhaps they wouldn't be needed.

I stepped back and studied my handiwork. I was rather pleased. It had a neat, yet disordered, look to it that I hoped would pass for spontaneity. But I had only to wait and see.

Step Three: Calm down. My hands were sweaty and throat dry. I checked my watch once more. Twenty minutes to spare. I had time to repair to the kitchen for refreshment and perhaps scout around there for some blankets. Stepping carefully to avoid disturbing my creation, I made my way to the kitchen.

The humming of the refrigerator sounding vaguely cheerful to me as I opened it and removed a container of cranberry juice. Pouring myself a glass, I leaned against the sink and sipped slowly, willing myself to remain calm. My body slowly relaxed as I allowed the tension and nervousness to seep away. I felt it melting from my head down the length of my body, through my shoes, to the floor. . .

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

I jumped in surprise, spilling juice all over myself. The hideous sound, wafting from the street below to the open kitchen window, of someone hitting his brakes to avoid near disaster had caused a minor one in Janine's kitchen. My clothing was splotched with the bright red juice. I sighed as I unbuttoned my shirt. I would be quite pleased if that were the only thing to go wrong that night.

As I began to run cold water, a thought occurred to me. I would need to disrobe eventually, so why not at that moment? I could soak my clothing in the sink and dry them later. Besides, I reasoned, as I began to rapidly divest myself of my clothing, the room was nicely strewn with flowers. Piles of clothing would spoil the atmosphere.

Slightly chilled, and naked save for my glasses and watch, I went into the bathroom to place my soiled garments in the tiny washing machine lodged rather tightly against the sink. I rummaged around said sink until I hit, to my delight, upon a bottle marked "stain removal." After a quick glance at the directions, I applied the product liberally to my now wet clothes and left them in the sink.

I returned to the bedroom somewhat hurriedly, feeling somewhat self-conscious at walking through Janine's living room without a stitch of clothing on. I didn't have very much time to think about it however as I returned to Janine's bedroom and gently closed the door behind me.

Again, stepping gingerly around the petals on the floor, I rummaged around in the bag I had half-hidden underneath Janine's bed and pulled out the piece de resistance - a mini-bouquet made up of two pink, two red, two yellow and two white roses. On the way to the florist, I decided that instead of sprinkling of rose petals on my person, I would cover myself in part with the roses, thus achieving the original goal of adorning myself with added bonus having an ornamental sort of cover-up.

I glanced around once more and was met with the sight of the bed, bare save for the flowers of course. It looked rather inviting, but the lack of pillows did disconcert me a little. Perhaps in the linen closet -

I looked up in alarm at what sounded like a slight click from beyond the bedroom door. I checked my watch. Ten minutes past when I expected her. It stood to reason - she was late and still I was nearly caught unawares. Stepping over the flower trail, I quickly jumped into the bed.

Flower petals rose and settled around me - not an unpleasant feeling, though they felt slightly damp - and I arranged the flowers over my private area while placing my glasses (and watch) on the nightstand beside me.

I attempted to make myself comfortable . . . somewhat difficult given the slightly inadequate length of the bed, the squishiness of the roses and my overall nervousness – and then I heard a noise . . . the unmistakable sound of the front door opening and closing. I could hear Janine's voice, muffled by the door of course. I could not imagine what was going through her mind. Confusion, most likely. Anticipation, perhaps? Fear?

I shifted uneasily for a moment as that thought rolled around. Perhaps I should have checked some of the local papers to ensure that a serial killer that left a trail of flower petals in his victims' apartments was not at large. I dismissed that thought. Something of that nature would have been all over the news.

The muffled sound was getting closer. I took a deep breath in and ran through the checklist. Everything was in order. There were prophylactics in the bag I'd pushed completely under the bed, I was relatively calm and relaxed, I was covered in roses, and the anticipation had had an unexpected, but rather convenient, effect on my private area. I had to move the roses about a little to compensate, but other than that, I was fine. I was ready.

A hand on the doorknob, turning slowly. I trembled a little and closed my eyes. Courage. Courage. I chanted inwardly. I've come this far . . .

A slight squeal as the door opened, again, very slowly. It made sense. I would be somewhat wary if I came home to see my apartment strewn with bits of roses. I decided to take some of the suspense out of it by removing my little bouquet, exposing myself to full view as I heard the door swing open wide.

"Janine. Welcome home." I rumbled, grateful that my voice was deep enough to conceal the tremor of excitement that ran throughout my body.

A startled gasp. I smiled slightly. I'd expected as much.

The shriek of horror, however, I did not.

Confused, I opened my eyes and sat up a little, ignoring the petals that had stuck to my back. "Janine? What is the mat-" my voice died as I met with the sight, albeit fuzzy, of Janine, eyes widened in a mixture of shock . . . and .

. . something else. -Someone- else. A shorter, decidedly older woman in a large overcoat, eyes as wide as saucers, yelling something about a pervert . . .

My blood ran cold as my eyes came into focus for a split second.

Oh my dear, sweet god. It was her mother.

I jumped up and momentarily lost my footing on the damned rose petals. I snatched the only source over cover handy, the bouquet, and held it tightly against my crotch. That seemed to stop Mrs. Melnitz's hyperventilating a tad . . . she did not, however, stop staring at me.

"Egon?" Janine's voice was hushed. She was staring at me with only a slightly less shocked expression.

"Janine. Mrs. Melnitz." I attempted to infuse my voice with some degree of dignity. Needless to say, it was very difficult to do so when the only thing covering my modesty was eight roses. "Good evening. I . . . um . . . I can explain . . . " I tried to hit upon a plausible excuse, but my being nude obliterated many logical explanations. "I-"

"Never mind." Janine shook her head at me and I lapsed into silence. "Mom just stopped by for a moment and was just about to leave. Weren't you, ma?"

Mrs. Melnitz seemed not to hear. She was still staring at me rather intently, her mouth agape. I squirmed in agony wishing that I could be anywhere - yes, even naked - but in that apartment.

Janine tugged at her mother's coat. "Come on, mom. Show's over. I'm sure it hasn't been -that- long for you and dad." She tugged harder Mrs. Melnitz, with some reluctance, took the hint, and with a last, most significant glance in my direction, allowed herself to be steered away. Janine gave me a significant look of her own before leaning in to shut the door tightly.

Still in a state of shock, I stared at the closed door, trying in vain to make sense of the muffled, rather animated sounds. It would stand to reason that the night I get up my nerve and am prepared to lay myself bare at the feet, et al., of the woman I love, some humiliating catastrophe would occur instead. I turned in despair to the window, despondently watching the frenetic activity below.

Though jumping out would be preferable to having to face Mrs. Melnitz again, it was not advisable, at least not according to Newton's Second Law of Motion.

I had only the best intentions in mind, but I saw how much a fool I'd been. Winston's anecdote about the allergic girlfriend revisited my conscious mind. It had been a warning that I, in my haste, had let go unheeded. Surprises were good . . . sometimes very good . . . but not when there was the potential, no matter how slight, for something terribly wrong (or, in this case, extremely discomfiting) to go wrong.

A simple conversation could have prevented this entire episode, even if it did mean possibly disclosing my plans. I had been so focused on proving to Janine (and, quite honestly, to myself) that I was not the unfeeling, un- romantic clod I sometimes appear to be. Instead, I just appeared as a fool in front of the very woman I wanted to impress. Was there anyone in the world at that moment who was a bigger idiot than I?

I ruminated on that point as the bedroom door opened again. "Janine," I turned with a sigh. "Please allow me to - eeep!" I backed up against the window in horror as the forbidding sight of Mrs. Melnitz once again filled the doorframe.

Wonderful. She had now seen me naked from front -and- back. At least my humiliation was complete.

"I'm sorry I startled you," she began, her voice sounding big and bold in the void of silence. "I just wanted to apologize for walking in on you earlier and -" She looked sharply over her shoulder "all right, Janine! I'm only saying goodbye to the man!" She turned back to me. "Well. It looks like I'm being given a rather strong hint. Have a . . . pleasant evening, Dr. Spengler." She smiled tightly at me. It looked as if she were making a huge effort to remain calm. Tremendously brave of her under the circumstances.

I smiled back as best as I could. "And you as well, Mrs. Melnitz. It was nice . . . er . . . seeing you again."

She glanced at me from top to toe, and I turned, by my count, ten different shades of red. "Likewise." She gave me a strangely intimate smile before turning and closing the door behind her.

I shook my head slowly as I heard a mélange of voices, footsteps, and then, mercifully, an outer door open and close. I did not relax my guard however, keeping myself tightly covered in the front and with my backside pressed firmly again the windowsill.

I looked at the floor and wondered how long it would take to clean up the now-trampled petals when the bedroom door opened again and a smirking Janine entered, alone, thank goodness. Her hands folded across her chest, we regarded each other for a moment in silence.

"Well?" She raised an eyebrow at me. "I'm listening."

"I don't know what to say . . . " I mumbled, and then said the obvious. "It was, er, supposed to be a surprise -"

"Oh, it was, Egon. -Believe- me."

"I mean," I continued, "I wanted to . . to . . romance you. To bring an added element to, er, lovemaking." I looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "I -thought- I had it meticulously planned, however -"

"However, you didn't count on my mother stopping by to pick up some old pictures I'd been promising to give her weeks. She always -did- have horrible timing." She smiled slightly and gazed at me, a slightly bewildered look on her face. "You mean you did all this, went to all this trouble just to seduce me?"

"It was going to be more than just a simple 'seduction', Janine," I sighed. "You're worth much more to me than that. I wanted it to be special. Unforgettable."

"Well, I'd say you achieved that." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, while embarrassing the both of us and incurring your mother's hatred in the bargain," I said bitterly.

"Oh . . . don't worry about that," Janine said with a shrug. "Mom's seen a lot worse. Believe me."

I shuddered as I tried to imagine 'worse.' "Oh?"

"Sure. She would have still been screaming if she'd been -that- spooked. In fact, I think you made a pretty good impression on her."

I looked at her askance. "I fail to see -how- under the circumstances."

"Well, when she was leaving, she whispered to me that you were a keeper," Janine shook her head and smiled. "Something she saw must have -really- impressed her," she glanced downward and then up at me with a slight grin.

I flushed again. "Ah . . . well . . . um . . . "

"Do you think this is some kind of sign? You know, my mother seeing you naked before I have?" she asked, advancing toward me.

I gave it a little thought. "Well, perhaps. If she has given her blessing to the match after seeing me in the altogether, perhaps she's suitably impressed by my attributes to believe that I will be able to adequately satisfy you."

Janine's laughter trilled through the room. "You know, I wouldn't put it past mom to think that. She's a strange one, but she's right about a lot of things. . . especially about your being a keeper," she reached up and stroked the side of my face. "No one's ever done something this sweet . . . or this elaborate. Just for me."

Her arms went around my waist, presumably to embrace me, but was halted momentarily by the flowers, still planted, as it were, in front of my manhood.

She looked down at them and her eyes widened in delight. "Aw, Egon. Flowers for me?" she spoke as if she hadn't noticed them before. "You really shouldn't have."

Before I could reply, she whipped the roses from their resting place, and with a merry twinkle in her eye, sent it sailing over her shoulder, much like a bride tossing her bouquet to her waiting attendants.

Soft, gentle hands pushed me onto the bed, which, not surprisingly, was still liberally covered in petals. I was again reminded of the absence of pillows and, as I sought to get comfortable, wondered if it would be an appropriate time to ask her where they were . . .

But then my breath left me as my body and mind became otherwise – and blissfully - occupied. No. Now was definitely -not- the time for questions.

FIN