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The lounge car was more crowded than George had expected. He touched his hand to the brim of his black baseball cap and smiled at the waif-like creature in bright clothes as he made his was toward the small bar. A veteran train rider, he had little trouble keeping his balance. In fact, he enjoyed feeling in sync with the rhythm of the rails. He was surprised, though, at the number of people in the car. It was almost like a party atmosphere. There was even music coming from a small CD player plugged in behind the bar. He put his hand on his beard and glanced around as inconspicuously as he could. He was always a little uncomfortable in this type of crowded situation, but who could blame him? He tried to shake off the feeling as he ordered a beer. The uniformed attendant handed George his drink and asked, "Are you going to the mandolin convention too?"

"What? . . . Mandolin convention? Oh, uh, no."

"Most of these folks are. Who ever heard of a whole convention just for mandolin players?"

George shook his head. "I don't know. Thanks. Here you go." He handed him a large tip and turned away. Maybe he should take the beer back to his private compartment. But Tami would still be there, and he was tired of listening to her whine. Why did she go on and on about this beard? And what did she have against this hat? She knew why he wore them. Anyway, she didn't have to take the train. She could fly and meet him.

Or just stay home, like she usually did.

George sipped his beer as he looked around. At one of the small tables, a ruddy-faced man in a denim shirt was playing cards with a grey-haired man in a tweed jacket. Were those actually leather patches on the elbows? The older man peered over his half glasses, and said quietly across the table, "it's almost time."

George paid no notice of the utterance. He had turned his attention to the thin, short woman that he had seen earlier. She was standing close to the card players, but her back was to him, so he was able to stare.

Her shiny black hair was straight and long. Very straight and very long. The ends brushed across her slim hips. She was dressed in an impossible-not-to-notice dress. Yellows, oranges and reds, each color blending into the next. She was fiddling with the strap of a large red bag that was slung over her right shoulder. She looked at the watch on her left wrist, then suddenly turned around and smiled right at George. Encouraged, he moved through the crowd to her, his pestering wife now the furthest thing from his mind. "Hi. I'm Wendy Kim. You were watching me," she said when he reached her.

"Guilty as charged, Ma'am." George replied.

"Yes," she said, glancing again at her watch.

"What is it? Do I have a time limit? "X" number of minutes to impress you?"

"Oh, you've already impressed me." She smiled up at him.

"Are you on your way to that mandolin convention?" he asked.

"No, I don't play the mandolin. And you?"

"No. I mean, I'm not going. I do, well I, . . . Wait a minute. Did you say Wendy Kim? Like the famous designer? The one who does those wild clothes?"

"Not like the famous designer . . ."

"You mean you are THE Wendy Kim?"

"The one and only. But what about you?" she asked.

"Oh, there's nothing special about me. I'm just a . . ."

Their flirtation was cut short when an elderly lady cheerily cried out, "Oh, look everybody! There's a tunnel up ahead!" Several passengers crowded toward the windows, some losing their balance in their excitement.

The man in the tweed jacket stood up. His card playing partner looked at the door, threw down his cards and said loudly, "Gin!"'

Wendy suddenly lost her balance and fell into George, putting her arms around him. Just at that moment, George looked at the door. There she was. His wife, Tami. She did not look happy. As he attempted to untangle himself from the thin arms around his waist, Tami started walking slowly toward him.

The cheery elderly lady cried out, "we're almost to the tunnel!" There was more jostling as the passengers tried to get a better view. Several of them laughed and apologized for stepping on toes. One of them bumped into George, who was still trying to detach Wendy, who in turn seemed to be struggling with the her large red shoulder bag.

"Here we go!" said that same cheery voice.

Suddenly, the music from the CD player stopped. The refrigerator quit humming. The lights flickered and went out. A feeling a panic took hold and grew as the lounge car entered the tunnel in total blackness.

To Be Continued