ge." Rhiannon looked impatient. "When it was completely green it
jumped onto a leaf that was the same color." Joe paused. "It's writing
I want to do now; I'm ready to jump. I'll probably kick myself for the
rest of my life," he said, "but I'm calling a cab to take you home."

Rhiannon gathered her things. They rode the elevator down in silence,
but as they waited for the cab she sighed and leaned against Joe. He
put his arm around her. "You have to take love where you find it," she
said. "My father told me that."

Joe squeezed her tighter. "Your father's right." The cabbie pulled in.
Joe gave him the address and double the fare. "Keep the change, huh."

"Thanks, Brah." Rhiannon rolled down the window and turned her face to
him. She held his eyes until the cab turned out into the street.

Joe walked up the stairs, feeling heavier with each step. Rhiannon's
scent lingered in the apartment. He didn't want to bother Batman with
his troubles, so he put on _La Traviata_ and finished the Chianti. He
felt terrible. He had denied love in order to protect himself and his
precious writing. He was a selfish asshole with one foot in the grave.
It was a good thing that he was out of wine.

In the morning, he returned to their cafe. If Rhiannon wanted, she
could see him there without making a big deal about it. She did not
appear. A week later, he arrived home in the afternoon to see a box by
the door. He knew immediately that it was from her. He opened it and
found an object wrapped in white tissue paper. He unwound the paper and
found a doll. She was dressed in a kimono and had Japanese features, an
eternal bittersweet look. She was gorgeous. A note read, "Her name is
Sumoko. I made her for Batman. I'm leaving today. Love, Rhiannon." Joe
took the doll and a Napoleon Bonaparte mystery out on the lanai.

"Batman, someone is here to meet you." He laid the book on the table
and put Sumoko and Batman next to each other on their backs, with the
book as a pillow, looking towards the mountain. We'll see what happens,
he said to himself and to Rhiannon, who was probably at thirty thousand
feet. What a sweetheart. He slid the lanai door closed and made himself
sit at the computer and enter what he had written earlier. As he
worked, he forgot about himself and Sumoko. He was pleasantly
surprised, later, to see her with Batman. They seemed to be getting
along.

Morgan's father, an historian, once told Joe that habits are a writer's
best