I sat at the electric keyboard, staring at the black and white rectangles before me, my hands on my lap. The melody ran through my head, a lilting rhythmic tune that brought to mind shades of the ocean and pink sand beaches against an azure sky.

I brought my hand up to the keys, poised to bring to the surface the music in my mind's eye. I brought my hands down, my fingers caressing the keys. I closed my eyes and let my fingers move across the plane of the piano. I imagined myself on the sand under the sky next to the ocean hearing the breeze through the trees and the birds in the air. I transported myself to this magic place.

It was good I did, because the music under my fingers sounded an awful lot like chopsticks.

"This is why you don't do this for a living, Fran," I said to myself. I picked up my sketch pad and went for coffee.

*****

Rain and Southern California don't really mix until the middle of February. It was the middle of February and it was mixing up really good. The nice thing about rain in California is that it's never really too hard -- it's usually a light but steady sprinkle. But that's what makes it deceptive. You get lulled into this false sense security. And then the next thing you know, portions of Malibu are falling down.

I sought haven at Mocha Daze. Croissant, paper, sketch pad, Hugo's special. The perfect rainy day combination. I didn't think anything could spoil it.

Then I caught the scent of Passion, the perfume not the emotion. I looked over and caught sight of a thin waist in a leather jacket that cradled breasts just so. As she sat down next to me, I saw her crimson lips and flashing eyes, her mouth in her usual seductive smile.

"Hey Jane," I said very politely. "Fancy meeting you here. I didn't think you mixed your alcohol with caffeine."

"Very funny, sweet," she said in her soft sexy way. "I was looking for a friend."

"Well, I hope you find one," I replied returning my attention to the paper.

She got the hint. She wasn't happy. "You've really turned into quite the bitch haven't you? With "friends" like you, it's a wonder he went back to New York."

"Huh?" I asked, dumbly. "When?"

"He flew back to New York yesterday," she flipped at me and, apparently not finding what (or who) she was looking for, walked on, her hips gently swaying.

I don't know why that news stunned me or why it would make me sad or mad, or anything -- and it did all those things. In about thirty seconds I ran through an entire gamut of emotions about this guy who essentially made my life hell and drove me to insanity.

"Did you know?" I asked Hugo.

"Well, yeah, he dropped by on his way to the airport," he said matter-of-factly.

"Why didn't anyone tell me he was leaving yesterday?!?!" I said in exasperation. "He didn't even say good-bye!"

"What for?? You hate the guy. You should be glad he's leaving."

"I am." I mean, I am. Really.