Every time he saw her at one of his shows, it killed him a little inside to know he couldn't talk to

her. Not yet. He had to make sure things happened exactly as they had then. For events to unfold

the same way.

It didn't mean he couldn't tease her though. She always sat first or second row in the fan club

section. Which meant he could see her. So whenever he was singing a song that would allow it,

something about love making, he would make eye contact and gyrate his hips. Remembering

how she looked beneath him as he made that move in a more intimate way. If she wore

something low-cut he'd glance down first, then look her in the eyes and smile a sly smile.

Loving the way she blushed. Once he had even let out a "Freudian slip" after glancing at her

breasts, referring to his hit songs as "big tits." Only the two of them knew he said that because of

where he had been looking.

His name was Dean Eban. In the 1970s he had been a rising star. Now, while he still had

millions of fans world wide, because he wasn't Justin Timberlake or Josh Groban, because he

was in his 60s and not his 20s, he was seen as a "has-been." He was the butt of jokes. People

wrongly stereotyped him as a homosexual - even though he had been attached to some of the

hottest women of the 1980s. Maybe it was because the relationships never lasted, never got past

mindless sex.

Well, how could they? When he had been in love with a woman who still hadn't grown up at the

time?

Tonight he decided it was time to check on the progress. To see how close it was to the time. So

tonight he smiled at her and said, "Hello, Misty." He chuckled a bit when she looked shocked he

knew her name. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to a lovely young lady, from

my MySpace top eight, Misty Robinson. Come on, Misty, stand up and wave to everyone. Isn't

she beautiful, folks? And you should hear her sing."

Misty was blushing from deep in her cleavage to the roots of her thick blond hair. Shocked and

happy to be singled out, that Dean actually knew her name. God, she was beautiful and so

unconscious of it. Sure, she was fat - a good two hundred pounds or more. But she had that

classically shaped rounded face, a sweetly short neck, all that beautiful hair, those big almond-

shaped blue-green eyes, and breasts barely contained by her bra.

"So enjoying the show? Good. What brings you here again?" Dean and those nearest Misty could

hear her answers, but not those farther away. "Happy birthday! So," he said, waggling his

eyebrows a bit, "mind if I ask how old you are?" When she answered he felt his heart flip-flop, it

was time, finally. Yet he kept the anxious look off his face and just teased with a wink. "Good,

then you're legal. Perhaps after the show I could sing you Happy Birthday in private?" The

audience tittered and hooted. Misty blushed and looked down. Dean backed off just a bit and

made a sign to someone backstage that he wanted a backstage pass issued. Then he began to sing

again. He wanted to invite Misty on stage. He knew how well their voices blended together.

However it was not time. Everything had to unfold like before.

It was so hard - he had loved her, five years before she was even born.

Misty felt her insides quiver. She hadn't thought Dean was serious about having her backstage.

Yet her she was, sitting in his dressing room waiting for him, while he greeted fans who paid

large amounts of money to his charity in order to meet with him for five minutes.

While she waited a woman came in with a tray. "Hi there." She said, smiling at Misty as she laid

out what she was carrying. "Dean thought you might be a little hungry. He said to go ahead and

start without him. He'll be another ten minutes."

"I don't think I could eat." She replied, looking at what was being laid out. Two styrofoam

containers of soup, two cups of coffee, and a bottle of - chocolate syrup. Now how did he know

she loved chocolate syrup in her coffee? "The butterflies in my stomach are tap dancing."

"Oh don't be nervous. He's a really nice guy. Though I'm kind of surprised. In the three years

he's been playing here in Vegas he's never invited a woman to his dressing room." She gave

Misty a critical going over. "I can see why though, you're just his type. He loves blonds.

Especially ones with - well, big breasts. Though you're the youngest he's ever flirted with."

"I'm older then I look." Misty said. "I'm 31 today." She wilted inside, thinking how old she had

gotten. Still single, still living with her parents, still trying to get her music career going while

working one dead end job after another to pay her bills.

"You're still pretty young. And single. Seems like he normally only flirts with the ones who are

married. Even when the single ones throw themselves at him. Well, I better get going. Try to eat

something."

The woman left and Misty felt guilty for never asking her name. With a shaking hand she took

the lid off the soup. Okay, so it was matzo ball soup, her favorite. But that shouldn't shake her

up so. After all, Dean was Jewish, so it could just as easily been his favorite too.

What shook her up about it was her container - not his, because she peaked - had two big sprigs

of parsley on top. She always liked to add extra parsley, preferably whole and not that chopped

up, dried stuff.

Chocolate syrup for her coffee, extra parsley in her soup. How did he know little things about

her that her own family had trouble remembering?

"Hey there." He had entered and stood behind her and even now his hand was moving under her

hair and he began to firmly massage the base of her neck. "Sorry I took so long." His lips

brushed her cheek, close to her ear. Both of these things made her feel all melty inside. It was

like he knew the right things to do to slowly seduce her. "Come on, I'm starving."

Dean had moved so she could see him even as he kept massaging her neck. His eyes were

hypnotizing. A kind of grey-blue, the colors seemed to shift a bit with the light, swirl. He had a

large nose, but it suited his face. The tips of his brown hair had been frosted blond to help hide

the grey. He had a face lift at some point like all entertainers, but he still had a few wrinkles

around his eyes. He was very thin, and yet still oozed masculinity and sex appeal - more from his

attitude then anything. He wasn't very tall either. Misty had a feeling if he took off his shoes

with their inch thick soles he would only be a half an inch to an inch taller then her. Yet

mentally, emotionally, it felt like he towered over her.

What caught her right now was the look in his eyes. It wasn't food he was starving for. She

didn't know how, for Misty was ignorant when it came to men and flirting, but somehow she just

knew it was her he was starving for. Rather then soup and coffee, he wanted to devour her. She

couldn't speak and her breathing quickened. He smiled and leaned in, brushing his lips lightly

against her's. Then he guided her into her chair and took the lids off their soup. He also took her

coffee and put in a teaspoon of syrup, stirring it first clockwise, then counter clockwise.

"How did you know?" Finally, words could come out, and that's the first thing she could think of

to ask. "The soup, the coffee, even how I - how I like to be touched." She blushed furiously. "We

never met before."

He wanted to tell her that wasn't true. That he had known her for all her life, but of course he

couldn't. "It'll all become clear - in time. Just - let me take the steps I need, alright?"

Somehow, Misty trusted him and the butterflies in her stomach calmed.

He was charming, kind, romantic. Soon he had her completely at ease. They talked about all

sorts of things. Music, animals, books, his childhood, her's. She learned he was named for a

paternal grandfather he never knew, for his parents proved to be incompatible and broke up just

months after he was born. He never saw his father and his mother gave him her maiden name.

He took her back up to his room and though it was obvious he wanted to sleep with her, he

respected her wishes. Misty didn't think she could take a one night stand with him. She wanted

more. She didn't know so did he. So they talked for hours more. At one point as they snuggled

together on his suite's couch, they dozed off, leaning against each other. When they woke his

head was against her chest, a goofy smile on his face.

"Oh geez, mom must be freaking out!" Misty said as they untangled themselves. She checked

the time, four am. "I should go."

He caught her arm for a moment and pulled her into a deep kiss. Even though both of them had

that "just woke up from a nap" breath, it was still the sweetest kiss she had ever had. "I don't

want to let you go." He whispered against her lips. "I will see you again - and again."

Finally, he let her go. Misty walked away feeling drunk, even though they had never opened the

wine he had bought. Her favorite kind.

How did he know?

Dean fulfilled his promise. Whenever he wasn't touring or planning his next album, he was

seeing Misty. At first her parents weren't thrilled. After all, he was twice her age. And her father

had wanted her to marry a Christian man. Her mother didn't care as long as Misty married a man

period, it seemed she feared her long dateless daughter was a lesbian. He soon charmed them

though. He was good at charming people.

It wasn't like her father was a bigot either. Far from it. He just didn't want to see his little girl

leave the religion he brought her up in. He didn't realize she had long ago. Oh, she still believed

in God, just not the church. And ever since doing her family tree as well as a DNA test that

connected her to a Jewish family line that had been hidden on her mother's side for years, she

longed for a connection to ancestral history that had been denied her by bigotry and ignorance.

"Truth be told," Ned Robinson said one night as they sat together in the living room, waiting for

Misty to finish getting ready, "I'm glad this time she's with someone who believes in God, even

if you do worship him in a different way. That first boyfriend of her's didn't, but her self esteem

was so low I think she would've gone out with Jack The Ripper if he asked her prettily enough.

Bastard sent her home with bruises more then once. He'd get high and start beating on her, knew

how to hit her so it was covered by her clothes. Finally one day she couldn't take it anymore and

called the cops." Ned paused. "She always said that she finally realized she didn't deserve this

when she heard one of your songs on the radio while he was hitting her. Said it gave her the

strength to stand up for herself. Guess I have you to thank for saving my little girl's life."

One thing Dean hadn't done was take her to bed. She wasn't sure why. For he surely tried to

seduce her. And he always knew exactly what she liked. Her favorite foods, her favorite flowers,

even her favorite scents. Every time she asked how he knew, he wouldn't answer, just said it

would become clear in time.

"Come to my place this weekend." He had said that on Monday. "Please, you'll love Palm

Springs. It's perfect for singers like us."

That was one bone of contention between Misty and her mom. She thought that Misty should ask

Dean for help with her music career. Misty refused to be one of those using whores. She had

even said it to him - she wouldn't turn him down if he offered help, but if he wanted her to make

it without him, that was fine too. Because, frankly, she'd never be sure if he did help if people

liked her for her, or because of her connection with him.

They were together at a unpretentious little café in Hollywood. One of the few places in

Hollywood that wasn't stuffy and stuck up. Here even the McDonald's practically had a dress

code.

"Are you really sure?" Misty looked up at him.

"Yes." He leaned forward. "It's time, Misty. One of my friends is throwing - a costume party and

I've got your outfit picked out. Then we can start picking the songs for your album. The one I'm

going to produce." His eyes twinkled. "And once we have your career off the ground - well, we

can arrange to tour the same cities when I'm not in Vegas. We can be together more often." He

seemed to grow excited with his plans. "I'll take you to New York for your debut. I'll show you

where I grew up. Oh you'll love it."

"I'm sure I will." Misty said, feeling mushy inside. "Because I'll be there with you."

He took both her hands in his, looking her deep in her eyes. "I love you. I have loved you for

longer then you know, longer then you can understand at this time."

"You're always saying things like that. That I'll understand everything in time." Misty looked

down at their hands, he had entwined his fingers with her's. "But at time goes on, I end up more

and more confused."

"After this weekend," he whispered, "you'll understand it all."

Somehow she trusted what he said. So they finished their meal and headed out arm-in-arm.

Outside was a man working on a parking meter. It had been out of order when they went inside

yet. So he was fixing it. Suddenly he looked up at them. "You." He was looking straight at

Misty. "You're alive - and you haven't aged a day."

There was anger in his eyes. Murderous anger. Directed mostly at Misty, but he also looked at

Dean with anger as well.

"Still a kike-loving whore, I see." He pushed up his sleeve, a swastika was tattooed on his wrist,

as he approached them. "Traitor to the Aryan people."

"Actually," Misty said, anger filling her in return, "DNA tests and genealogy research have

proven my maternal ancestry is in reality Jewish. Just like your buttheaded friend Adolf."

Clearly this guy was a lunatic, acting like he knew Misty. He had to be close to Dean's age and

she had never seen him before in her life. Still, she never knew when to keep her mouth shut,

especially where bigotry was concerned.

"Misty, don't enrage him, trust me." Dean began to pull her down the street. "He's not worth it."

The lunatic continued to spout anti-Semitic insults at them. Misty looked back to see him trying

to run after them, but he limped awkwardly. So he couldn't keep up at all and they were soon in

Dean's car and driving away.

"What was that all about? He acted like he knew me and you defiantly knew him." Looking at

Dean, Misty couldn't contain her sudden quivering as the adrenalin wore off and fear set in.

"You'll understand after this weekend." Was his only cryptic reply.

"That's what you always say!" Misty was enraged now. "How you know so much about me. This

crazy guy. Everything is that I'll understand in time! I want to understand NOW, Dean!"

"Misty, trust me," Dean said calmly, giving her a brief, heartbreaking look before returning his

gaze to the road, "I have to let things take their course. If I told you before it was time it could

ruin everything."

"Great, suddenly I'm living an episode of Star Trek."

"My love," Dean whispered so softly Misty could barely hear him, "you have no idea."

The weekend came and Misty was as nervous as a cat in a dog show. She knew that Dean

intended on finally taking her to bed this weekend. He didn't have to say anything. She could see

it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Her parents could tell too. Her mother took her to a spa and

insisted on every portion of her went over with a fine-tooth comb. Waxing was the main part of

the day, but they also did things to remove dead skin from her back that ordinary scrubbing

never got rid of, make sure she didn't have any acne breakouts anywhere. It was like a doctor's

physical, but somehow way more embarrassing.

Her father, who thought his little girl was still a virgin at 31, was irate and kept saying she

couldn't go. Trying to treat her like a child. Misty ignored him. Even when he threatened to kick

her out of the house.

"Then I'll just quit my job and go live with Dean. He wants me to move in with him anyway."

The suggestion that she'd live in sin with a man, even one her father knew loved his daughter

dearly, was enough to shut him up with pure shock. All he could do was mutter, "I thought I

raised you better then this and didn't say another word. Not even goodbye.

Friday afternoon found her on a small private plane that took her to Palm Springs. Dean greeted

her at the airport and took her straight back to his place.

"I have been waiting so long for this." He whispered against her lips once they were through the

door. Not even giving her a chance to settle in as he took her up the stairs. "I can't wait any

longer."

He knew just how to touch her. How to excite her. It was like he was reading her mind. Leaving

her weak and glowing. And for the first time ever she actually enjoyed cuddling afterwards. In

her limited experience - only two men before Dean - she had hated the cuddling. All that sweaty

flesh pressed against sweaty flesh, it grossed her out. Now, however, she needed that with him.

Loved the heat rolling off of his body and mingling with her's.

"I love you." She whispered as she listened to his heartbeat, the steady breathing that signaled he

had fallen asleep. "I honestly love you."

Misty would've been happy spending the rest of Friday in bed, but instead she and Dean ended

up showering together then spent hours in his music room. He had already picked out possible

songs for her album and now wanted to see which ones were the best and how he might arrange

them for her. Making music together was as exciting, as satisfying as making love. Their voices

seemed to fit each other's perfectly.

There was one song, written in the 1930s, that he avoided at first. It was called My Ideal. After a

bit of pushing, Dean finally allowed her to try it. Halfway through the song he stopped. "I can't -

it's - it's got too much meaning. Maybe after this weekend..."

Misty was disappointed, it was a lovely song and she really enjoyed what she had been singing.

However, judging from the look on Dean's face, it wasn't the time to push it.

Saturday he sent her to a salon to get her hair styled for the party that night. With strict

instructions it had to be 1971 style. The stylist grumbled but did their job. When Misty returned

Dean looked at her with a bit of shock. Like if he was remembering something.

"Go on and try on your outfit." He said, sending her upstairs.

It was a dress straight out of a 1971 Sear's catalogue. Ugly in cut. However instead of bold, ugly

patterns, it was just a lovely shade of purple, Misty's favorite color. There was even underwear

to go with that was straight from the ‘70s. It took her a bit to figure it out, but eventually she got

the old fashion gear on. Feeling like she was wearing armor, even though it fit her perfectly, like

she was measured for it. Same with the dress and even the shoes - which felt like they had been

broken in prior just for her feet.

"You are so beautiful." Dean said from the doorway. "You just need one last thing." In his hands

was a necklace. A simple sliver chain with a small crystal cut to look like a disco ball hanging

from it. "Not entirely part of the 70s, but I felt it would look good on you."

His hands seemed to shake as he put it on her. Then he turned her around and looked at her.

"Just like I remember."

"What are you talking about?"

Dean turned her towards the mirror. Knowing Misty would never look on her own for she hated

her body due to her weight. Then, after making her look, he handed her a picture. A very old

picture, faded with time, well loved.

There were two people in the photo. One was unmistakably her. Not a look alike. Even wearing

the same dress, the same necklace. The other - the other was Dean, but Dean as he was at around

30, before he was discovered, before he was famous.

"Now you know, or you will soon. I can't explain it, Misty, but somehow I met you before you

were even born. In 1971. Every love song I wrote, every song about heartbreak after that, they

were all about you."

"No." Shaking her head, Misty shoved the picture at him, grabbed the purse that was part of her

costume. "I can't believe it, it isn't possible." She was so dizzy and her head felt like it was

splitting open. Pushing past him, she ran for the door. Not thinking. "It can't be possible."

Her ankle turned under her as she headed for the stairs. The world was fading out.

Dean watched as she seemed to tumble into nothingness. Then retrieved a first aid kit and

returned to the bedroom. Hoping she would return to this point. He was ready when she did.

"Are you okay, miss?" The voice belonged to a pair of dark chocolate colored eyes. It took a

moment to focus on the face. Dark skin to go with the dark eyes, the beginning of a small afro.

The voice's owner was helping her up. "That was quite a tumble you took there."

"I think I'm alright." Misty said, rubbing her eyes. It took her a minute to focus. There were

sounds nearby, shouting. She looked over. People protesting the war in - Vietnam? Wait a

minute, how the hell did she get into the street when a second ago she was in Dean's house? The

clothing styles. The signs. The cars. "Or maybe not." She whispered.

"Whatcha doin' there to that nice white lady, boy?" This voice was filled with sneers and hatred.

It dripped it like oil.

Misty looked at this evil voice's owner. Sweet Jesus, it was the crazy guy, only - much, much

younger. He also walked just fine.

"He's just helping me up. I fell." Misty snarled at the racist retard.

"Sure he is. Probably helpin' himself to a nice feel of pretty white flesh, ain't ya, nigger?"

"Oh would you shut up?" Misty's hackles rose. "I realize it's hard for you, knowing your mother

and father happen to be brother and sister, and you're probably still heartbroken over the fact

your uncle-daddy is no longer playing special bedroom games with you, but you don't have to

take your anger out on helpful gentlemen."

The racist's face turned white with rage. "Now look here you nigger-lovin' bitch..."

"What's going on here?" This voice belonged to a policeman. No doubt originally here to keep

an eye on the protestors. However as he was coming out of an alley and his belt was still partly

undone, he had been taking a break.

"Oh nothing much, officer." Misty said, turning on the charm. "This gentleman," she patted the

arm of the black man who had helped her up, "was helping me up after a fall. And this moronic

neanderthal thought he'd use it as an excuse to start a fight."

"That's not what happened. This negro attacked this lady." The racist said, trying to turn on his

own charm. "Or so I thought."

"I did not. The lady fell just like she said and I helped her up. That's all." The original man said.

"That's right, officer." Misty said. "The only criminal here is this putz's parents for raising him

up wrong." She motioned to the racist. "Too bad that's not an arestable offence."

"All right." The cop said. "Here's what we're going to do. You are going to go your way," he

said this to the racist, "and not say one word more. And you two go the other way. Young lady, I

suggest from now on you watch your mouth and try not to fall down anymore."

Muttering to himself, the racist turned on his heel and seemed to actually goose-step off. The

cop rolled his eyes and muttered something to himself as he fixed his belt and headed back to

the protestors.

"Lady, you have some mouth on you." The man left with Misty said. "What did you think you

were doing?"

"I don't know. My parents always raised me to believe racism is wrong. I tend to get upset

whenever I hear any form of bigotry." She sighed and retrieved her purse. Then held out her

hand. "I'm Misty Robinson."

"Edwin Baker." He shook her hand. "You with the protestors?"

"No. Not that we should be in Vietnam, but - well, I'm really here because I seem to be having a

run of bad luck."

"No job?"

"No job, no place to stay. All I've got is the clothes on my back."

"Come on," Ed said, "I know a place that might temporarily suit your needs."

Ed was a trumpet player at a little hole in the wall club. It wasn't much but the tips were good

and the owner didn't pick people based on looks or race but rather on talent.

"All in all it's not a bad place to work, but it goes through waitresses like some people go

through underwear. My girlfriend is the only one that's stuck around - she's looking for a

roommate. We want to save some money so we can get married. You get the job, she'll probably

let you move in, and her sister's about your size, so you might be able to borrow some clothes."

"I really appreciate this, Ed." Misty replied.

"Well, I've always had a soft spot for damsels in distress. But please, try to keep that mouth of

your's shut."

It took a bit to realize that not only had Misty traveled through time, but somehow she had been

transported to the other side of the Atlantic as well. She had only been to New York once, so it

wasn't until she had actually looked at a licence plate before she realized that's where she was.

Okay, so it got weirder. If it wasn't for the fact she could feel the breeze that ruffled her hair, the

sun on her face, Ed's hand on her arm when he would guide her around objects or people, she'd

think she was dreaming.

When she entered the club she wasn't so sure she wasn't dreaming.

Behind the piano, practicing a song for later that night, was Dean. Dean as he was in the

photograph. Around 30 years old. Smooth of skin, longer more 70s-looking hair. He looked up

and stared into her eyes. It seemed that something passed between their looks for he smiled that

same sly smile he gave her when he was trying to seduce her.

"Hey, Ed, who's your pretty friend?" He called out.

"Some clumsy rabble-rouser who's down on her luck." He called back. "Thought I'd see about

getting her a job here."

"Oh you and your white knight syndrome."

"White knight? I'm the black knight all the way." He had slipped into the stereotypical groovey

70s man mode.

"Whatever you say, Don Quixote." Dean replied. "Come here, for a minute, pretty lady, and tell

me what you think of this."

"Careful of that one. He likes them large and lovely."

Misty blushed. She knew exactly how much Dean liked the plus sized women, especially her.

Yet she walked over and went to see what he was working on. It wasn't a song that was read. In

fact, it was one of the songs she knew would be his first big hit, but some of the words were

different. "Well, the phrasing here is a bit awkward." She pointed to a line. "Not to mention the

words "I'll love you beyond death" is morbid and conjures images of vampires. "Till the end of

time and beyond" would work better. Also the name Susan doesn't fit. Lacey would work

better."

Dean dropped all his flirting and looked at the song he had been composing. "Damn it, you're

right." He blew out a breath. "No wonder this thing had been defeating me at every turn. Oh,

sorry, where are my manners? I'm Dean Eban."

"Misty Robinson." Oh how she wished she could kiss him! But he didn't know that somewhere

years from now they were lovers.

"You better get that job, Misty, cause I've got a lot more songs I want your help on. Plus that

pretty face of your's could inspire sonnets." He grinned at her, back to his flirting.

"You're a bad boy, Dean Eban." Misty said with a wink. "I'm not sure I can trust you."

"Oh you can't, baby doll." He winked back. "But it'll sure be fun pretending that you can."

"If you two are done," Ed said, "we still have to introduce Misty here to the boss."

"I'll be pining for you every second you're gone, my goddess." Dean said, clutching his heart.

"No you won't," she quipped back, "you'll be working too hard on that song to notice if the

building is burning down around you."

"If you and Nero are done fiddling while Rome burns..." Ed dragged her off towards the

kitchen.

The boss was named Ned, which gave Misty an opening since that was her father's name. Of

course, Ned was just his Americanized name. He was from Austria, of Slavic descent. Giving her

a bigger opening as her great-grandparents on both her maternal grandfather and maternal

grandmother's sides had been from Austria. She didn't even need references. She was hired on

the spot.

Ed's girlfriend, Lisa, was a tall, slender woman, with a lighter shade of skin then Ed. She was a

bit cold and aloof at first, but when Ed told her what had happened earlier she started to laugh

and warmed up to Misty. "Okay, you seem clean enough and even if you're not it'll be worth it if

you use that mouth of your's on my downstairs neighbor Judy. That old bat could stand to be

taken down a peg or five. Let me call my sister. Spoiled brat's got more clothes then she knows

what to do with and I'm sure she'll love the excuse to buy more by unloading some on you."

So it was settled. Misty was going to work at the club - near a young Dean, unable to tell him

what was going on - and live with Lisa.

Now she was starting to understand it all. What Dean had been talking about all this time. No

wonder he always seemed to be a little mysterious. It was because he was holding in this huge

secret all this time! Well, it was Misty's turn to hold in the secret.

Waitressing was so not fun. It was aching feet and legs. Men grabbing your butt or staring openly

down your top when you bent over to serve their drinks. It was jerks shoving tips between your

breasts and angry women blowing cigarette smoke in your face.

Getting along in the 1970s when you were used to the 2000s wasn't fun either. Women's lib

hadn't made a huge dent, neither had racial equality. Nearly every day Lisa was telling Misty to

watch her mouth whenever she wanted to spout off to someone who called her roommate a

racist name. She had, indeed, torn Judy, a 60 plus year old woman who barely came up to

Misty's chin, a new one when she dared to make a remark about Lisa, calling her "that negro

whore."

Dean flirted with Misty shamelessly, but never bothered to ask her out. Which killed Misty. In

fact, it seemed he went home with a different woman every night.

"Dean," she said to him one day, "do you think it's wise to - be - with all those different

women?"

"I'm not with them. They're singers - or think they are, most of them are tone deaf. Truth is,

Misty, I got divorced from my high school sweetheart six months ago and - well, I'm just not

ready for that step."

"Oh," she said, feeling relieved. "Well, maybe when you do feel ready - you might - break

yourself back in with me?"

For the first time Dean was the one blushing. He stammered for a bit and finally said, "I'd like

that a lot, Misty."

Smiling, she went back to her work, dusting the bottles off, singing My Ideal to herself.

"Wow." Dean said, interrupted her. "You have a beautiful voice." He dragged her out from

behind the bar and produced the sheet music for My Ideal and began to play. "Come on, sing it."

So she did. Trying to use this old song to tell Dean he was her ideal. That he was her one and

only. Maybe he got it, for when he looked at her, he looked like he was going to jump up and

kiss her.

"Misty!" Ned said, "I pay you to waitress, not sing..." The burly man was perfect at ruining the

moment. "Well, at least until now. You can sing a few sets with the skinny boy here tonight, but

in between you serve drinks and food."

"Well," Dean said, pulling out more sheet music, "shall we plan our sets?"

Things went awesome after that. The club slowly became more and more packed every night.

Misty, Dean, and Ed made quite the trio. Lisa felt a bit left out, as someone who couldn't carry a

tune in a bucket, she couldn't find a way to join in. Until Misty pointed out that Lisa was a whiz

with numbers and promotion. Though she still waitressed, she also took over managing them.

One day Dean came running into the club and grabbed Misty, pulling her into a deep kiss. "I sold

it! I sold my song! More then that, I sold a whole album's worth of songs! Lacey and nine others

- and they want ME to sing them! I wouldn't have been able to do it either if you hadn't fixed

them! Oh Misty, my darling Misty, you are my muse, my inspiration, my good luck charm!"

Misty was still reeling from the kiss. She barely registered when Dean started talking about

taking her home to meet his mother and grandparents.

"I hope you don't mind kosher food. I'll come by to pick you up tonight. Wear that purple dress.

You look so lovely in purple and it's grandma Miriam's favorite color."

"I'm sorry, I seem to have blacked out after that kiss..."

Dean chuckled and kissed her again. Deeper and slower this time. "God, you taste good. I wish I

would've done this sooner." There was that warm look in his eyes. The one he always got either

when he was singing a song that really moved him, or before he began to kiss and touch her.

Though he didn't know about the latter. "Mmm - how do you know how just to kiss me?"

"Instinct." Misty replied. Unable to tell him it was because she kissed him hundreds, thousands

of times in the future. "It's how I've kissed you in my fantasies..."

Cupping her cheek, he ran his thumb along her bottom lip and spoke something in Yiddish. It

wasn't the first time he had spoken it in front of her, whenever his emotions ran high he spoke it.

Then he leaned in and kissed her again. "I feel like I've known you for my entire life. The way

you know little things about me. The way I like my coffee, what I like to eat..."

"Dean, I - at the risk of sounding like a woman of loose virtue, I really want - to be with you. I

care about you deeply. Since the first time I looked at you." She bit her bottom lip. "Does that

sound crazy?"

"No, it sounds like the beginning of love and the perfect theme for a song." It took a few more

kisses before he finally broke away. "My grandparents eat early. I'll pick you up at 5."

Misty figured that this must've been what happened. Somehow she came to the past and Dean

fell in love with her then. Nevermind her parents had only gotten married by her calculations a

week ago. Her birth was still approximately five years away. How it killed her to not tell him the

truth.

Because there was one thought in mind - in all his career, he never married, never even lived

with a woman. Where was she in all this? Either she died in this time or got sent back to the

future.

She hoped it was the latter.

Dean's grandmother hated her, Misty was sure of that. His grandfather, David, was a delightful

jokester, his mother Eve was a rather liberated woman. But his grandmother was the obvious

head of the house. Over-seer of her family's religious obligations.

And she did not like Misty at all.

Though Misty tried to act like a perfect lady, she was found lacking in every respect. The only

thing Miriam said that was nice was, "I'm glad you wore purple."

So dinner was a tense affair. Any compliments on the food was greeted with a snort and

something muttered in Yiddish. Eve actually rose to Misty's defense, and so did David, but

neither could sway Miriam.

Finally, Misty couldn't take it anymore. "Mrs. Eban, dislike me if you must, but at least have the

honesty to tell me why."

That was the first time in the past two hours Misty saw a tiny flicker of admiration from Miriam.

Everyone else held their breath.

Putting down her tea, Miriam said. "Very well. First off, you work in that - that club. Dean has

not kept the Sabbath in years because of his playing music for loose women. Lost a perfectly

good wife because of that. A strong, Jewish girl. Which brings me to my other reason for not

liking you..."

"Because I'm not Jewish?" Misty took a deep breath and smiled. "Actually, I did my maternal

family tree recently. It seems that both on my mother's father's side and mom's mother's side -

and on both the paternal and maternal family trees of my great-grandparents - my ancestors were

actually originally Jewish. They just changed their name and religion to escape persecution.

Now while it is true my mother was raised Catholic and I in turn was raised Protestant, if I

remember correctly, Jewish law says if you can prove direct maternal Jewish descent, especially

if the conversation was done to save your ancestors' skins, you are considered Jewish."

David chuckled. "She's got you there, Miriam."

"But will she convert for our Dean?" Her grey-gaze was steely, cold.

"Ma'am, even though it would break my parents' hearts, especially my father's, for Dean not

only would I convert if he asked me to, I'd cross space and time for him."

It became a staring contest between them. Misty would not give up until Miriam Eban

understood how sincere she was. Finally, the older woman gave one short nod and smiled. "Very

well then. When you don't work, come here and I'll teach you proper cooking. Come, help me

with the dishes so I can show you which are the meat and which are the dairy."

Eve threw up her hands and laughed. "She's going to teach the girl to cook. Someone get the

Rabbi, there's going to be a wedding! I might just be a grandmother myself yet!"

Under any other circumstances a man should looked shocked, even scared by such talk. Not

Dean, he looked delighted.

Misty was the one who was scared. For sooner or later, they would have to part. It was just a

question of how and when.

Eve Eban was a study in contradictions. Outside the home the petite, dark haired woman wasn't

concerned much with religion or traditions. Formerly married to a non-practicing Catholic who

had abandoned her and her newborn son, even at her age she was defiant against her mother like

a teenage girl. Inside the home she drilled Misty without end about what she knew about

practices and traditions. She was a chain smoker who always made sure to eat brown rice, tofu,

and get all her vegetables and fruits.

Because she was the central figure in his young life, Dean loved his mother dearly. Which made

Misty wonder why Dean liked plus sized blonds. Even his ex-wife had been fat, judging from the

pictures she out-weighed Misty by a good fifty pounds and had favored blond wigs.

"She didn't leave Dean, you know. He left her." Eve said one day. "They fought all the time.

Married too young. And despite my mother's attitude, she never liked the girl. And deep down,

mother likes you. Otherwise she wouldn't be teaching you her secret recipes." Eve smiled and

leaned a shapely hip against the counter. "So you sleeping with my boy yet?"

Misty blushed crimson. Truth was, she and Dean wanted to sleep together, but Lisa tolerated no

hanky-panky in her apartment, she wouldn't even let Ed in there when they would be alone

together and they were engaged. And Dean's landlord was a nosy creep who wouldn't leave

them alone long enough.

"No offense, ma'am, but that's really none of your business." Misty finally said.

"You're a strange girl, Misty." Eve said. "By the way, why did your parents name you Misty?"

"There's a tradition my mom's maternal grandmother's side," Misty said. "If a child is born

sickly or worse, stillborn, they're named after whatever the weather was like that day with slight

variations. Sonny with an O for a boy, Sunny with a U for a girl. That sort of thing. The theory

goes that the mother won't get as attached and won't grieve as much if the child is referred to by

weather then a name, but it never works that way. If the sickly child survives, normally the name

is changed - great for those kids named Thunder or Lighting. Well, I must've inhaled some fluid

when I was born cause I had real big breathing problems. It was misting that day - California

isn't known for it's rain, after all. My folks never could decide what to rename me, so I was

stuck with Misty."

"Well, I for one am glad you survived. I haven't seen my son this happy in years." Eve grinned,

despite her heavily tobacco stained teeth, it was still a pretty smile. "From day one he's talked

about you. And now he's got this contract. They want his songs, and they want him."

Shouting outside distracted them from their conversation. They could hear Miriam and David's

voices. Both women headed for the door. Misty a little bit ahead, for even though Eve was

lighter, her smoking had hurt her lungs so much that she just couldn't get enough breath when

she went above a fast walk.

"Damn it," Misty said as she headed down the stairs. "He just keeps turning up like a bad

penny."

It was that racist again, with some friends. This time wearing a badly done replica of a SS

officer's uniform. He had shaved his head and he was raising his fist to strike David. Misty

rushed forward and flung her weight into the guy's side, tumbling him into the street just as a car

came roaring by, crushing his foot.

Even as he screamed out in pain, he looked directly at Misty. His screams turned into foul insults

directed at Misty. His friends at first looked ready to attack, but like all cowards decided to take

off when they saw police officers coming from either side. Instead they scooped up their friend

and got into a car, heading off as quick as they could.

"Everything all right here?" One of the officers asked.

"It is now." Misty said, her fists clenching and unclenching. "Just some racist scumbags trying to

cause trouble." She would've said more, but she was dragged inside by David and the ladies.

Both David and Miriam yelled at her in Yiddish. While she couldn't understand it, she got the

gist. By protecting David she had just made things worse. They would be back and God only

knew what would happen then.

Misty had an idea though. She had set things in motion. By giving Dean the changes to his songs

that would make them hits, she got him the contract which would lead to the record that would

launch him to stardom. More then that, she remembered the lunatic's limp. No doubt what she

did today caused that limp in the future.

When it was just the two of them again, Misty said to Eve, "I need a place where Dean and I can

really, truly be alone for awhile."

"Are you sure about this?" Dean asked as he looked around the room. It was just on the nicer

side of seedy. Though Misty never said it, Eve seemed to know the place well.

"I'm not a virgin, Dean, you know that. We've talked about our sexual pasts." Misty was so

incredibly nervous, it was like the butterflies inside her stomach were doing the mambo.

Dean smiled, though it was a sad smile. "I know - it's just that - you're so different from other

girls - women. You don't smoke, you hardly drink, you don't use drugs. You're the one who

warned Ed and Lisa away from that party and you were right, it was a Swingers Party and at least

half the party goers ended up with the clap. You're - you're like a throw back to another time."

Oh if only he knew that to her this time was very old fashion and restrictive! If her parents

hadn't brought her up with 1940s and 1950s values, she'd never get along in the 1970s.

"Dean, the first time - he was a cruel man but my self esteem was so low, I only did it to prove

my peers wrong, that I wasn't going to die a virgin. Plus, well, the way he acted sometimes, I

think if I didn't give in - he would've forced me." She shuddered to think about those dark times,

barely 18, an abusive boyfriend. "The other one - well, he was a shoulder to cry on when I was

all bruised outside and in. I think he just felt sorry for me. Either way, I never loved either of

them." She stood close to him and stroked his face, softly singing, "Long ago my heart and mind,

got together and designed - the wonderful boy for me... and his name is Dean."

Cupping her face in his hands, Dean kissed her. She let him take the lead, but she already knew

just the way he liked to be touched. What to do to excite him beyond reason.

The way Misty figured, they had this week and no more. For there was no mention of a

girlfriend, a wife, anything when Dean's first album came out. There was mention of a deep

sadness in his first year of being famous.

She had to find a way to tell him, make him believe. Prepare him for the future. For he knew

somehow. So she must've told him.

The answer to how to tell him lay in a letter. She had found it in the purse that had been part of

her "costume." Dean had wrote it to himself. In it was pictures of him at various ages. In the 80s,

the 90s, and the 2000s. There was proof he couldn't deny.

It was just a question of when to bring it up. Obviously not now, not when he was doing that

with his tongue.

They were like newlyweds on a honeymoon. They rented the place for the entire week. The

album had been done and they were just trying to get ready to release it. So with Dean's extra

money they had taken a vacation from work. Rarely leaving the room. Though once they did

long enough to take the picture that would one day be used by Dean to convince Misty they had

met years ago.

"Have you told your folks about me yet?" Dean asked one day. When Misty didn't answer right

away, he said, "You haven't, have you?"

"Oh, they know about you," Misty said. Sighing as she got out of the bed and retrieved her purse.

"Dean, do you like science fiction?"

"Not really, I mean, Star Trek's okay but I never could get into it."

"Do you believe in - weird things? Aliens, time travel, kismet?"

"What are you getting at, Misty?"

"I'm about to tell you a story, Dean, an - unbelievable story about two people who fell in love.

One was a 31 year old woman who had worshiped this older man from afar since she was a

child. He was a very famous man. One night he singled her out and she was surprised to find out

he knew a lot about her. How she liked chocolate syrup in her coffee, fresh extra parsley in her

soup. He knew how to touch and kiss her. What she liked to read, listen to, her favorite color,

her favorite flowers. He even knew her allergies." She looked at Dean. "The story begins in the

year 2007, but continues in the year 1971..." The letter was in her hands, she fiddled with it as

she told Dean the story of their first meeting. He started to look at her as if she was insane.

Especially when she mentioned the tumble towards the stairs that turned into a tumble through

time.

Then, just before he looked like he was ready to jump out of bed and run away from her, she

handed him the letter.

Dean knew his own handwriting. He also knew his special little abbreviations for words. Little

trick codes he inserted that only he knew the meaning of. He looked at the pictures - no doubt

that was him. Slowly getting older, more grey, going blond to cover it. He saw the quality of the

pictures become better and better, the cars changing.

There was no yelling his denial, for there was no denial. Misty couldn't speak anymore Yiddish

beyond "Oy vey", "shlep," and "putz" - let alone write an entire letter in it. Nor could she have

faked these pictures. She couldn't have forged his handwriting. Didn't know all his secret codes.

But she did know everything he liked and disliked. She knew how to touch and kiss him. There

was no way to deny the proof.

"So did I ever tell you what happened - to you? Why we weren't together in the future?"

"No. I can only think of two things. At the end of this week, before you album is released - either

I return to my own time - or I die..."

"No. No you won't die." He pulled her tight against him. "If that's what was going to happen, I

would never have risked your life by meeting with you. I'd sooner never know love then to risk

the life of - My Ideal."

From her purse she took out the necklace Dean had given her that fateful day. "I don't know how

this fits in, but you either had it made, or somehow you have it before - whatever happens,

happens. All I know is you gave it to me."

He took it and fingered it. As if memorizing it incase he had to have it recreated. Then he put it

over her head and they made love until it's shape was pressed deeply into both their chests.

"Lisa," Misty said the day before the record release, "I want you to promise me something."

Lisa looked up at Misty from the books scattered in front of her. Since becoming their business

manager, Lisa had been reading up on everything regarding business and music law as well as

mathematics. "What, honey?"

"If something happens to me, will you and Ed look after Dean?"

"Is this about those threats you got from those Nazi punks?"

Ever since that day she had defended David and Miriam, letters had been coming to the club. It

wasn't until Ned finally called Lisa, who called Ed, who called the motel, that Misty had found

out about them. All were threatening to kill her, calling her all sorts of vile names and saying she

was a traitor to her race. All had swastikas through out.

"Some of it, yes." She bit her bottom lip. "Please, I don't want him moping or giving up if I'm

ever - gone."

"Oh sweetie," Lisa hugged Misty. "We're not going to let anything happen to you or Dean. If it

wasn't for you Ed and I wouldn't finally have enough money to marry, get a little home of our

own. You and Dean are family to us. We're not going to let anyone hurt you."

"Things happen. Sometimes things beyond our control."

The conversation would've continued, but their program that they had been watching was

interrupted with a report about the war.

"Oh that damn war. Why are we in Vietnam in the first place?" Lisa sighed and snapped the tv

off.

"I don't know." Misty said. "What I hate about it is how we're treating the people actually doing

the fighting. Sure, some of them are bad people themselves, but most are just kids who don't

want to be there. Don't like what they're doing any better then we do. So why do people spit on

them, call them names? Act like it's their fault? They're not Jack The Ripper. They didn't chose

to go over there. They're just doing what they were told. People are spiting on the wrong

targets."

"First time I heard it put like that." Popping her back, Lisa bent over her work.

"Yeah, well, I'm weird."

"You can say that again."

The day the album was released was the day the true hype started. Normally a group would tour

for awhile before the release, but there had been problems forming a permanent group. Not to

mention the company didn't want Ed but did want Misty, but knowing that she was never on the

albums, she had refused. So after much whining and kicking of feet, they finally agreed to take

Ed.

Ned wasn't happy. He had just lost two waitresses and three musicians in one fell swoop.

However he was given a chance to invest in the album and to be the first stop on the tour.

Misty had left the dress, shoes, and purse with Dean, knowing he had them in the future. Tonight

she wore a classic black number with the crystal necklace. He had insisted that she keep. Along

with a small diamond ring he had given her with a promise that no matter what happened, they

would be together forever.

All four went to the club together. They would meet the rest of the band there along with the

record producers.

Outside the club was about five protestors. At first Misty thought it was strange that war

protestors would be here. Then she realized it wasn't the war they were protesting. All wore

variations of Nazi uniforms. They were protesting them. There were even crude drawings of

Misty with the words "Traitor to the Aryan race" on them. Misty felt sick.

"We'll go around the back." Dean said.

But they never got the chance. They had been spotted and the car was blocked off. The racist

scum began to beat on the car. Demanding they come out. One of them smashed a window near

Lisa and tried to drag her out. Misty couldn't stop herself. She jumped out of the car and onto

the one attacking Lisa, digging her fingers into his eyes.

"SCUM BAGS! TRASH!" She roared. She wanted to say more, wanted to say how the bastard

who's teachings they were following had a maternal grandmother who was Jewish. That they

were following a hypocrite and a madman who suffered from such low self esteem that he took

his self hatred out on others.

But she never got the chance. One of them yanked her off the other and flung her to the ground.

People were coming out of the club. She saw Dean fighting his way to her. Ed hitting someone

with his trumpet case. Lisa driving her knee into the groin of another.

Someone kicked her in the head and the world began to go black. Misty felt like she was

falling...

The riot quieted in a heartbeat. For everyone was shocked when the woman in the black dress

suddenly vanished.

"Misty! MISTY!" Dean roared, sobbed. "God no - Misty..."

"Misty? Misty wake up." The voice seemed so far away. "Come on, my ideal, wake up."

Head splitting open, Misty unglued her eyelids and finally opened them to see Dean's face.

"How long have I been out?" Surely it had all been a crazy dream. She must've fell, bumped her

head. There's no way she just lived several months in 1971.

"You've been gone three hours. A lot less time then I would've expected." Dean helped her up

and encouraged her to take some aspirin and water. It was while she was drinking that she

realized she was wearing a rather torn up black dress. That there was a ring on her finger that

wasn't there before.

"Oh God, it did happen. All of it..." She looked at Dean. "And all this time you knew."

He smiled and kissed an uninjured part of her forehead. "I can't explain any of it, I've tried to

figure it out but I can't. All I know is somehow I fell in love with you before you were born. Oh

Misty, I've longed for years to tell you, but I had to wait until you were the right age. Otherwise I

wasn't sure this would happen like it should. It killed me - I've loved you for so long."

"Can we continue this conversation sometime when my head doesn't feel like it's going to

explode?"

"Of course, my darling Misty, my muse, my inspiration." He kissed her again and touched the

ring. "From here on out, no matter what, you and me together, for all time."

"Just do that kissing thing again."

The End

"My Ideal"

Copyright 1930, Famous Music Corp.

Lyrics by Leo Robin

Music by Richard A. Whiting & Newell Chase

Long ago my heart and mind;

got together and designed

the wonderful (girl/boy) for me.

Oh what a fantasy.

Tho' the idol of my heart

Can't be order a la cart

I wonder if (she/he) will be

always a fantasy.

Will I ever find the (girl/boy) in my mind

the one who is my ideal?

Maybe (she's/he's) a dream and yet (she/he) might be

just around the corner

waiting for me.

Will I recognize

a light in (her/his) eyes

that no other eyes reveal?

Or will I pass (her/him) by

and never even know that (she/he)

is My Ideal?

Will I ever find the (girl/boy) in my mind

the one who is my ideal?

Maybe (she's/he's) a dream and yet (she/he) might be

just around the corner

waiting for me.

Will I recognize

a light in (her/his) eyes

that no other eyes reveal?

Altho' (she/he) may be late

I trust in fate and so I wait

for My Ideal.

My Ideal...