CHAPTER 25
The next morning I awaken at the crack of dawn, greeted by a headache and dread. I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Calla, and tiptoe downstairs. My spirits lift quickly. Tonight’s my Girls’ Night Out. I can hardly wait. Only I still have no clue how I’m going to escape Marcella.
When I wander into the kitchen, Gallant-Shmallant is already there. Damn it! I left his stupid lily upstairs. A missed opportunity to shove it down the drain.
“Can I pour you some tea?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say in spite of myself. Maybe, it’ll help me get over my hangover.
“How is your hand?”
“I’ll live.” I’ve taken off his handkerchief. Mental note: Burn it in the hearth tonight. And make sure he’s watching.
Gallant hands me a cup of tea. A fragrant blend of orange blossoms, rose petals, and lavender trickles into my nose. I take a sip. It tastes delicious, almost magical. The Prince gazes at me with his piercing blue eyes. I get that tingly-all-over feeling. My teacup shakes in my hand.
“Jane, I shall be visiting my father tonight. So, please tell the cooks there is no need to prepare dinner for me. They should be back any minute.”
“Is Marcella, by chance, going with you?” How perfect would that be?
“No, it is official kingdom business.” A resentful tone accompanies his words.
So much for wishful thinking.
The Prince furrows his brows. “Please excuse me. I must prepare for the meeting. My father shall be displeased if I do not come with a formal agenda.” Taking his tea, he marches toward the kitchen door. He turns to me before exiting.
“And, Jane, please keep me posted about Calla’s birthday party.”
I want to throw my teacup at him but spill the remains down the drain instead.
Despite my anger and queasiness, my stomach begins to growl as soon as Gallant is gone. I’m starving. I grab a handful of oats and search for the barrel of eggs.
“Jane, you poisoned me!” comes a deep, raspy voice from behind me.
Startled, I swing around. It’s Marcella. She’s almost unrecognizable. Her brassy blond hair is plastered to her head like a helmet, and her complexion is a ghastly shade of green.
“I didn’t sleep a wink last night,” she croaks.
How could she have in that clingy leopard-print duster? It’s bursting at the seams. And those feathers would have driven me crazy.
“It’s all your fault! It had to be something I ate!” Ha! Serves you right for hogging the bread, you pig. “If it weren’t for the fact that I think I’ve lost three pounds, I’d fire you right now!”
“Can I get you something?” I don’t know whether I want to laugh or punch her.
“The only thing I want is my liquid diet potion. And if you don’t have it by tomorrow morning, you will be fired!”
Great! Tomorrow could be my lucky day.
“I’m going back to bed. I’ll be there all day. Whatever you do, don’t disturb me!”
Let’s hope she’ll be there all night. And I promise, I won’t disturb her.
As she staggers out the door, the cook and his staff return.
With Marcella in bed all day, I’m able to get a lot done for the ball. I start working on the seating arrangements. It’s weird. I can’t seem to find Snow White’s RSVP. In fact, I don’t recall seeing her invitation. It must have been among the two thousand or so I sent out. Marcella invited every princess in the universe. I make myself another mental note: Talk to PIW about Snow White’s invite status. On second thought, why bother? The less I have to do with my stepdaughter, the better.
Next, Marcella’s liquid diet potion. I have no idea what to do. Or where to get it. That sorcerer who sold me that bogus evil potion? Nah. He’s probably out of business. And then, bing! A brainstorm! Another one of my genius ideas. I’ll make it myself.
Returning to the kitchen, I throw together sugar, lard, honey, and some cocoa. I pour the thick gooey mixture into a bottle and label it “Lose Pounds Fast.” It’s going to be the best tasting liquid diet potion ever. And the most fattening. Hee-hee. Her Royal Skankiness will love it!
Dinner is just Calla and me. Gallant’s gone to his meeting with his father, and Marcella still hasn’t left her room. All Calla wants to talk about is her birthday. A mixture of guilt and anxiety eats away at me. I still haven’t had a chance to get going on her surprise party. The truth is, I don’t know where to begin. The only surprise birthday party I ever had was at Faraway. And that doesn’t really count.
“I want a puppy for my birthday,” says Calla. “Did you ever have one?”
I tell her about my little pup Bambi, leaving out all the painful, sordid details. Tears sting my eyes.
“Jane, why are you crying?” asks Calla.
“Because I still miss him,” I sniffle, thinking about his cruel fate.
Calla gives me a hug. It makes me feel better.
After dinner, I put her to bed. I make up a cute story about Bambi, bid her sweet dreams, and kiss her good night.
Perfect! I couldn’t have planned it better. With Gallant gone, Marcella locked in her room, and the cooks back to take care of Calla in case she wakes up, I can escape for a few hours and have my GNO with Elz and Winnie.
I sneak out of the castle a little before nine o’clock, and before I can even inhale the crisp night air, a coach pulls up, almost running me over. The vehicle oddly resembles a giant gilded pumpkin. “The Glass Slipper” is scrolled across it in big flowery letters.
I’m shocked to see Elz in the driver’s seat. Winnie, seated next to her, looks relieved to see me. I climb aboard.
“Whee-Ha!” shouts Elz, slapping the horses on the rear. The coach takes off like a bolt of lightning. I’m not sure about this.
Elz is a total speed demon. Who would have thought that this shy, timid girl would ever be driving a coach? And like a maniac! Then again, she’s the one who wanted to go on a high seas adventure with Hook. As we race through the dark, bumpy countryside, the wind rips through me, threatening to blow me away. I exchange a this-is-it look with Winnie and cling to her for dear life.
I have no clue where Elz is taking us. Or if we’ll make it there alive. Finally, we come to a small tavern somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It’s called Puss ’n Boots. Elz brings the coach to a screeching halt, causing my stomach to lurch forward. Grateful to still be alive, I heave a sigh of relief. So does Winnie.
Inside, the tavern is dark and smoky and reeks of piss, puke, and vinegar. Loud, swarthy men line the bar along with an assortment of your usual fairy-tale freaks. Their eyes swivel our way as we head toward the counter. We’re the only women here.
The nauseating stench is getting to me. It reminds me of the men my mother used to bring home. The boar head on the wall is not helping. I bet my damn Huntsman donated it.
“How did you find this place?” I ask Elz, wishing we could leave.
“Hook. We come here all the time.”
My eyes widen. Is Elz seeing Hook? Before I can find out, she orders each of us a mug of beer. The beverage is cold and refreshing. I chug mine and get an instant buzz. I order another.
“I’m convinced Shrink placed us in our post-rehab positions for a reason,” says Winnie, nursing her beer.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, silently cursing the thinks-she-knows-it-all therapist for placing me with Marcella.
“Since I’ve been working at Sparkles, I’ve lost my craving for sweets. I haven’t had any for weeks.”
“Wow!” chirps Elz. “I can’t believe you can resist those yummy cupcakes, especially the ones with the creamy surprise inside.”
I know exactly what she’s talking about, and it’s making me ravenous. Damn! There aren’t even any munchies around this joint. Time to change the subject.
“How’s it going with John?” I ask.
“Now that I’m working, he’s pitching in a lot more.” Winnie smiles. “And he’s paying a lot more attention to me.”
“He should be. You look amazing!” Her weight loss really is astonishing.
“Thanks.”
“She’s had to buy a whole new wardrobe,” chimes in Elz.
I hope she’s burned her fat-girl frocks, destroyed them for good. “How are your kids doing?”
“Hansel and Gretel are doing great. I really want you to meet them.”
Her sage eyes glisten. Winnie and her family have obviously put the past behind them.
“I’d love to,” I say and switch subjects again. “So, Elz, how’s life in the shoe biz?”
“Crazy busy!” She launches into her story.
“When I got there, the store was going out of business. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, women can never have enough shoes, right? Customers complained the shoes weren’t fitting properly. They were either too big or too small. And they didn’t care for the dated styles.”
Winnie takes over. “So, Elz started to design fashion forward shoes and worked with John to perfect the fit. He developed a new concept—half sizes—for those in-between feet.”
Elz continues. “I begged the owner to let me give the store a makeover and stock it with our chic, comfy shoes. I came up with a new name—The Glass Slipper—and John came up with the catchy motto ‘For the Perfect Fit Shoe.’ Within twenty-four hours, we were sold out.”
“John is now Elz’s business partner,” adds Winnie, proudly. “He also thought of the see-through glass boxes. It makes it a lot easier to find your shoes, especially when you have hundreds of them. And they help preserve them.”
Little glass coffins. Like the glass coffin the dwarfs built to watch over Snow White. I shudder and take another swig of beer.
“You’ll never guess who came in!” exclaims Elz.
My heart stands still. I bet she’s going to say Snow White!
“Cinderella!”
“No way!” I say, relieved.
“See, Jane, it’s all meant to be,” says Winnie.
“I told her how sorry I was about being so mean to her. She couldn’t have been nicer. She was even sorry to hear about my mother.”
Her story is getting better by the minute.
“And guess what, she was so wowed by my collection of hard-to-find Size 4 1/2 heels that she loaned me money to buy the store.”
“And her old coach,” adds Winnie.
Too bad she didn’t throw in driving lessons.
Elz pauses to slurp her beer, then tells us she has some other news. Her face lights up.
“I’m seeing Hook; we’re kind of a couple.”
I have mixed feelings about the news. Hook’s such a pompous asshole. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe.
“What’s Hook up to?” I ask.
“Oh, he’s working at an orphanage,” beams Elz. “He’s like a mother to all these poor lost boys.”
It must be that orphanage built by that Midas megalomaniac.
“What about Sasperilla?”
Elz’s face loses its glow. “I’m not sure she ever got out of Faraway. It’s weird, but I miss her.”
“Because she’s still family,” says Winnie.
Ah! Winnie’s words of wisdom.
Elz brightens and signals for another round of beers.
I guzzle mine. Elz and Winnie are so happy. Their post-rehab stints are perfect for them. Elz is using her artistic talent and has finally become her own boss, and Winnie has managed to control her eating and improve her marriage. Mine, however, in a word, sucks.
I fill Elz and Winnie in on everything I’ve had to put up with as Marcella’s personal assistant. “She’s a total nightmare!”
Elz, having met the skank, vouches for me. “With all you’re doing, that’s so mean of her not to invite you to the ball,” she singsongs.
I seriously want to shake her.
“Don’t worry about Calla’s birthday party,” says Winnie. “I’ll take care of everything. It’ll be a piece of cake.”
That’s a relief! At least, another thing on my To-Do List will get done. Thank goodness for best friends.
“Shrink promised I could go back to my castle once I complete this rotten gig,” I go on, “but I’m not going to survive Marcella.”
“Hang in there,” says Winnie. “Trust me, everything’s happening for a reason.”
Trust me, I can’t think of a single good reason to be slaving for Her Royal Skankiness. I’m supposed to be finding some meaning and light, but I don’t even have the time to find my way to the bathroom.
“I should poison the bitch!” I say, rage rising inside me.
Winnie and Elz shoot me a don’t-go-there look.
“I don’t understand what The Prince sees in her.”
“She’s blond, busty, and brazen,” says Winnie, the relationship guru.
And I, former Miss Fairest of All, am overworked, rundown, and as flat as an unbaked loaf of bread.
“What’s Gallant like?” asks Elz.
The mere mention of his name makes my stomach flutter and temperature rise. What’s wrong with me? It must be the beer. It has to be.
Elz’s attention suddenly turns to someone else.
Hook. He pushes through the crowd toward the bar. Elz’s bespectacled eyes sparkle.
“Yo, Ho, Ho,” Hook says to the bartender. “Give these fine ladies another round and throw in a bottle of rum for me.”
The swashbuckler chugs his rum and sets the bottle down hard. So much for Faraway’s cure.
“Whatch’ya been up to, babe?” Hook leans in close to me, pressing his thigh against mine. Something hard digs into me. I glance down and gasp. A massive ivory-handled sword is lodged inside his belt.
I take a gulp of beer and edge away. With a flick of his hook, the swine yanks me back to him. Elz frowns. Shit! I wish he’d leave me alone. Or that a one-eyed ogre would come up to me and start a conversation.
My rescue-me prayers are answered.
“Give everyone another one on me!”
All eyes turn toward a dashing, long-legged man who has burst through the front door with such force the room quiets. He’s dressed in formal military attire and wielding an intimidating sword. My heart drops to my stomach. It’s The Prince!
My pulse goes into overdrive. I can’t let him see me here of all places. I quickly hide my face behind my mug, but it’s too late. Recognition flickers in his eyes. Sliding his sword into his belt, he heads in my direction. I chug my entire mug of beer in one gulp. I feel sick. Very sick.
“Jane, what brings you here?” he asks, brushing up against me.
A giant lump forms in my throat. Swallowing hard, I ask him the same question.
“Just letting off a little steam.” He orders a beer and downs it. “I had another argument with my father; he does not understand me. I always stop by here after seeing him. It is quite refreshing to be with real people instead of a bunch of headstrong royals.”
“Introduce us to your friend,” insists Winnie.
My lips quiver. “This is Prince Gallant.”
All Winnie and Elz can say is “Oh.”
Oh is right. I’d better get out of here. Fast!
Gallant grabs me by the elbow, holding me back. “Please don’t leave, Jane. I need someone to talk to.”
He gazes at me. His blue eyes are glazed over. He’s drunk. Really drunk. I struggle to break free from his tight grip.
“Leave the lady alone!” says Hook, slurring his words.
“Who is she to you?” asks Gallant.
“None of your bilge sucking business!”
And then the unthinkable happens. Hook takes a whack at The Prince, and The Prince whacks him right back. Holy crap! They’ve begun a bar room brawl!
“Remember what they say,” says Gallant. “The wise man hits first; the better man hits last.”
“Well, I’ll show you who’s better,” responds Hook. He packs a powerful punch that sends The Prince to his knees, gasping for air.
“You like pain? I’ll you show you pain,” says Gallant, getting back on his feet. At full force, he charges at Hook and knocks him down. Pinning his opponent to the sawdust-covered floor, The Prince delivers a series of hard blows, one right after the other.
Poor Elz winces with every blow and, finally unable to stomach it any more, buries her head in her arms. My heart hammers. Gallant’s going to do the pirate in!
Suddenly, Hook whips out his sword with his good hand and slices Gallant across his neck. The Prince recoils, freeing Hook. Oh my God. Blood is trickling down his neck. I’m going to be sick.
Undeterred, Gallant staggers to his feet and draws his sword. “I challenge you to a duel for the fair maiden’s heart!”
I can’t believe this is happening! The Prince must be drunk out of his mind.
“My pleasure,” says Hook. Without wasting a second, he lunges at The Prince, who ducks his assault.
Clinkity-Clink. Our Girls’ Night Out has now turned into a life-or-death jousting match minus the horses. The pub-goers crowd around the dueling duo and cheer them on. They’re even placing wagers.
“Round 2 goes to the challenger,” someone shouts out. Gallant gives a nod of acknowledgement as he holds off Hook.
Elz peeks up at the fight and bites her lip. “It’s all my fault,” she says tearfully. “I should have never brought you guys here.”
Winnie consoles her with a hug. “Life happens.”
“But Winnie, what if death happens?” asks Elz, her voice shaking.
“Good question.” Winnie ponders. “Let’s think on the bright side.”
Forget it, Winnie! There is no bright side! If Gallant kills Hook, Elz will never forgive me. And if Hook kills Gallant? Oh, God! I can’t even begin to imagine the consequences. And then, there’s the third scenario: they kill each other…
A loud gasp from the crowd stops my thoughts cold. Gallant has knocked Hook’s sword out of his hand, sending it flying across the room.
“You think you’ve got me?” says Hook, red with rage. “Well, you’re wrong!”
The Prince doesn’t see it coming. Neither do I. In the blink-of-an-eye move, the pirate whacks Gallant in the head with his heavy metal hook. The blow is more than The Prince can bear. He crumples to the floor as I gasp.
Hook retrieves his sword with his good hand and brandishes it victoriously above his head. “This time, drinks all around on me!” he shouts boastfully.
The crowd charges to the bar as I race over to the unconscious Prince.
“Hook! You’ve killed him!” screams Elz, in hysterics.
“He’s alive!” I yell on the top of my lungs. “Help me get him out of here!”
Winnie and Elz rush to my aid. Elz calls out to Hook for help. He ignores her. He’s too busy drowning himself in another bottle of rum.
Elz fights back tears. The poor girl! I despise the swine more than ever.
“Come on, Elz. Let’s get The Prince into your coach and take him home,” I say, surprised I can still think straight. Or think at all.
Winnie and Elz each take a leg while I take his arms. On Winnie’s count of three, we lift him up.
“He must weigh a ton!” grunts Winnie.
“He doesn’t look like he weighs that much,” says Elz. “What do you think, Jane?
I want to smack her. Who cares! All I care about is getting him home.
Somehow, we manage to carry him out the door. There’s only one “little” problem: Elz’s coach is no longer parked outside the tavern. It’s gone!
“Read that!” says Winnie, pointing straight ahead at a road sign.
TOW AWAY ZONE
PARK AT YOUR OWN RISK!
We silently read it together. Winnie and I shoot Elz a scathing look that reads something like: We’re going to kill you even if you’re our best friend.
Elz shrivels with guilt. “That sign must be brand new,” she squeaks meekly. “I’ve parked here dozens of times.”
We are so screwed. Now what are we going to do? Maybe we should toss The Prince’s body into the gutter and make a run for it.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a handsome white horse parked just outside the tow-away zone. I recognize the animal instantly. It’s Gallant’s steed. What good luck! We’ll get him on the horse and send them both home.
Using all the strength we have left, we hoist up The Prince and slide him over the saddle. His arms and legs dangle lifelessly over the beast’s flanks. The horse doesn’t mind.
“Beat it, horsey!” I give the animal a slap on his rear. “Go home!” I don’t think the horse understands me. He doesn’t budge. Damn it! I wish I knew the horse’s name. Maybe that would help.
There’s only one solution. I’m going to have to ride the horse and take The Prince home. While I’ve ridden a few times, I’m not what you would call an experienced equestrian. Coupled with the fact that I’ve had a couple of beers or three or four or more, this is not going to be fun. Oh, and did I mention, I have no idea where we are? Let’s hope the horse will know the way back to the castle since Gallant mentioned he’s been here before.
“What about you guys?” I ask Winnie and Elz.
“Don’t worry about us,” says Winnie with her usual optimism. “We’ll figure out a way home.”
“Maybe I can get someone to take us to the local impound,” chimes in Elz. “It’ll be easy to spot my coach.”
Winnie and I roll our eyes. Remind me never to come back here.
Except for the fact that my inner thighs are killing me, the ride back to the castle goes smoothly. Lucky for me, the steed indeed knows his way and gallops confidently across the dark countryside. I’m just nervous that The Prince, who’s draped over the saddle in front of me, will fall off. Or that I will in my tipsy state.
I let out a big sigh of relief (and so do my thighs) when we at last reach the gated castle. Gallant is still out cold. The guardsmen let us in without saying a word. It’s as though they’ve seen The Prince like this before.
I lead the horse to the front entrance. So far, so good. Suddenly, something spooks the animal. A snake! Hissing, it slithers across the cobblestone path. The steed rears up, catapulting us to the ground.
It takes me a minute to come to my senses. I’m straddled on top of The Prince, his torso rising and falling beneath me. With every breath he takes, his taut chest presses deeper into my ribs. Even in this lifeless state, he’s so strong. So powerful. I gaze at his moonlit face. The blow he received from Hook is beginning to swell, but other than that, he looks so peaceful. And so handsome. I resist the urge to run my fingers over his fine features.
In the distant meadow, the horse is grazing. “Get your ass back here, horsey!” I shout, staggering to my feet.
The animal trots off. It doesn’t really matter because there’s no way I could have gotten The Prince back up on it by myself.
Okay. So, now what am I going to do? I can’t leave him here. I mean, a wild beast could come along and eat him alive. Or a storm could erupt, and he could drown or get struck by lightning. Or that snake could come back and bite him. Poor Calla would never get over it if he died just like her mother.
Think! Think! The problem is I’m exhausted and have had way too much to drink. I can’t think. Luckily, the obvious comes to me. I take hold of The Prince’s muscular arms and drag him face up to the castle entrance. Cripes! He is heavy!
The front door of the castle is unlocked. I kick it open and pull him inside, hoping not to wake up Calla. She’ll freak out if she sees her father in this state. Marcella doesn’t concern me. I remember what Calla told me. She sleeps with earplugs. Nothing could wake her. Not even a cannonball blowing through her window.
Taking a deep breath, I rest for a moment. Now, all I have to do is get The Prince up to his chamber. Forcing myself back to work, I slide him across the entry hall, then lug him up the grand staircase. Each step is torture. Pure torture.
Finally, we reach the top of the stairs. I’m a sweaty, wheezing, woozy mess. I take another breather, then haul him down a long, dark corridor. It seems much longer than I remember. And he seems to be getting a lot heavier. His chamber is unfortunately at the very end. When my head slams against a wall, we’ve hit a dead end and made it.
The door to his chamber is unlocked. Swinging it open, I poke my head inside. It’s pitch-black; the drapes must be pulled. I can’t see a damn thing. I glance down at The Prince lying by my feet; he’s still out cold. It’ll be easier to leave him here at the doorway and come back for him after I locate his bed.
This is my first time inside Gallant’s personal quarters. The room must be very spacious because I can’t find his bed. Stumbling blindly, I knock into chairs, tables, candelabras, and statues. When I dip my hand into a water tank filled with finger-nibbling fish, I almost take a fall. Let’s hope he doesn’t have any loose swords lying around.
A thought crosses my mind. A new problem. If I ever find the bed, how will I remember my way back to it with Gallant in tow? I remember the story Winnie told me about her two kids. How they got lost in the woods and left a trail of bread crumbs to find their way home. That’s what I’ll do! But wait, I don’t have any crumbs or bread. Maybe I can find some parchment and make spit balls.
But why get ahead of myself? I still can’t even find his bed. Weary and wasted, I’m about to give up when I stumble over what could be a boot and tumble head first into a mound of fluffy down. Heaven! Gallant’s bed! It’s fit for a king with its luxuriously thick duvet and array of luscious, plump pillows. And it smells so fresh and inviting. I wish I could curl up right here, right now, and call it a night.
I force myself to get up. Rolling out of the bed, I knock something over. Crash! It must have been a vase because water is seeping through my shoes. I scoot down, find the vase still luckily in one piece, and fumble for the flowers scattered on the plush rug. They smell like roses. And there’s dozens of them. Brainstorm! Forget stinky beer-breath spitballs. I’ll scatter rose petals along the floor. Jane, you clever, clever, girl!
Creating a fragrant path with the velvety petals, I crawl back to the entrance and retrieve Gallant. With one hand gripping his collar and my nose to the floor, I inch back across the rug, sniffing away. My little plan is working though not exactly like a charm. By the time we get to the bed, my knees are stinging from rug burns; the smell of roses is sickening me, and I’m exhausted from lugging Gallant. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if my arms fell off.
Staggering to my feet, I gaze down at Gallant. How the hell I’m going to get him into the bed? Without over thinking, I grab him by his wrists and miraculously manage to heave him onto the duvet.
Okay, I can get out of here. I so need to get sleep. My head is swirling, and I don’t know how much longer I can stave off waves of nausea. As I creep away, Gallant groans. He groans again, this time louder. Of course! He must be miserable in his tight britches, those boots, and that buttoned up jacket.
I start with the jacket. Yet another challenge. Fumbling for the buttons, my fingers run down his chest, feeling the ripple of every finely honed muscle along the way. My fingertips feel like they’re on fire. With each button, I find myself growing hotter and fighting the urge to rip the jacket right off his body.
Grabbling for the last one, my fingers graze a hard bump between his legs. This is not a button. I hastily pull my hand away.
Suddenly, Gallant comes to.
“Branch, I want you. Come to me,” he mutters. At least, that’s what I think he’s saying. Holy crap! He’s into that tree-hugging game too?
I’m out of here. As I pivot around, he grips my arm and pulls me on top of him. To my shock, he gropes my breasts and strokes my neck with the tip of his warm tongue as if he’s painting me. The sensation arouses a divine tingling deep inside me. Moving his fluttering tongue to my chest, he wraps his muscled arms firmly around me. I struggle to break away, but he’s too damn strong for me in his drunken stupor. Or I’m too damn weak in mine. Rhythmically, he slides his body against mine. Up and down. Slowly. Then faster. I find myself rocking in perfect harmony. Inside, I’m throbbing. Moaning. I don’t want him to stop. It feels good. So good. Oh God! Too good!
The Prince lets out a long, loud sigh and falls back to sleep. I tiptoe out of the room, careful not to knock anything else over and relieved that I didn’t take his britches off first.
I hope The Prince remembers none of this tomorrow. And I hope neither do I.