"Thanks for breakfast, Mom. It was great." Ted bent over his mother to brush a kiss on her cheek. As always, it was delicately scented. The perfume had changed, though. It smelled even more expensive than yesterday's sampling.

"Of course. Nothing but the best will do for my boy." His mother smiled at him over the roses on her china cup. "Will you be home for supper? I have a new tenderloin recipe I'm thinking of trying."

"Tenderloin?" Ted groaned disappointment. "Darn it, no. I have a dinner meeting with the hospital board tonight."

"Do you? On a Friday?" His mother gave him her attractive, rather dry smile. "Now why do I think you might be lying to me? Well, never mind. You go ahead and have fun. The tenderloin will keep for tomorrow."

"You're the best, Mom." Ted grinned and caught up his briefcase at the door. "I'll see you in the morning."

He was whistling as he tossed the case into his late-model sports car and hit the garage-door opener. No doubt about it, he was a lucky, lucky man. He had a medical practise he loved, a car to die for, and a home that was not only a place of pampered luxury but didn't cost him a dime. Wealthy as his father's life insurance had left her, his mother was only too happy to house, feed and spoil him. He was just as happy to allow her to do so. It left him with his own considerable income to spend as he pleased. And besides, it made her happy. Gave her something to do. It pleased him to think that was really why he still lived with his mother. For her sake.

As he turned onto the highway and let the low-slung car out in a powerful, silken rush, his mother vanished from his mind. There were more important things to think of on a Friday. He had "The Game" to play, and the certainty of another victory was sweet.

At times, he waxed sentimental over "The Game", remembering those early innings with friends now long gone out of his life. Other times, it tickled him to know that, if the others only knew it, he was light-years ahead of them on points by now.

"The Game" had started in junior high school, the brainwave of the leader of their little clique of well-to-do, "cool" boys. Grant was a lawyer's son, rich, handsome, with a gift for mimicry and wicked sense of humour that made him admired and feared by students and teachers alike. Ted had been thrilled when Grant had chosen him to join the select few allowed to be his friends.

"The Game", as Grant had devised it, was simple.

"It's like calling shots in pool." Grant had narrowed his eyes around the cafeteria table at his eagerly listening disciples. "You all know how to play pool, don't you?"

Ted didn't. His mother didn't approve of pool, considered it a seedy game. But he nodded along with the rest of the boys anyway.

"OK. So I'll call the shot we're gonna play on - ," he jerked his head toward a nearby table of chattering girls, "- them. See which of us can make it first. Got it?"

They didn't, quite.

"Look, morons," he shot a wary glance around to make sure none of the teachers was listening, "I'll call the first shot. Getting inside a girl's bra. First one to grab himself a naked feel wins."

The table erupted in raucous, slightly shocked laughter. "Man, that's wild." The boy beside Ted shook his head in admiration. "But what if a couple of us get to first base the same night? How're we gonna break the tie?"

"Easy." Grant smirked. "Whoever gets hold of the biggest set will bag the prize."

The boys laughed uproariously at Grant"s clever play on words; "bags!", they howled, "prizes!".

The teacher on lunch duty had to tell them twice to break it up.

Grant had won that round. Ted suspected that he'd set himself up before issuing the challenge. But the game was on, and Ted's competitive spirit was roused. He threw himself into the job of winning with eager, if ignorant, enthusiasm. His mother, strangely enough, helped. He told her some sappy story about not wanting to be the only guy in Grade Seven without a date for the Christmas school dance, and she bought it.

"Make sure you look good, and especially that you smell good." She wrinkled her nose at him in joking distaste. "Too many boys never realize how dreadful they smell. Talk about her, not yourself, give her compliments. Honest ones, if you can. Look into her eyes when you're talking to her." Her expression softened as she ruffled his hair. "You don't need to worry, sweetie. Every girl is going to want to go out with a smart, handsome boy like you. You just make sure that you can be proud of the ones you pick."

He ignored that part, but the rest of her advice sure helped. Looking back, Ted thought that the absolute best day of his life, even sweeter than his graduation from Med School, was the morning he swaggered into class to brag to the other guys that he had made it to third base. Even Grant hadn't gotten that far. Ted's conquest was more of a looker, too, than the girl Grant was after. Man, that was the thrill of a lifetime, seeing the other guys glare at him, knowing they were sick with jealousy.

Grant was gone now, killed at sixteen when he pancaked his first car, a Beamer, against a rock cliff near Kenora. The other guys had all gone their separate ways after high school. But although he played by his own rules now, Ted had never lost the thrill of "The Game".

Tonight, he was going to try his luck at the new bar in town, the one that was supposed to be the latest hot spot. He'd have to see if he could talk his dentist buddy John into going along. John's wife was away visiting her parents in Vancouver, a nice safe distance away. Ted figured it was time the ol' dog remembered how to howl.



It was disappointing when John turned him down, but not surprising. Some guys were just too whipped to know what fun was any more.

Still, John was a good enough buddy that Ted was happy to lend him his cabin for a family weekend. He even agreed to housesit for the Pattersons while they were away. It was then he first met Connie Poirier.

"Hi. Any chance I can borrow that lawnmower when you're done with it?" The tall, athletic looking woman grimaced as she swept the damp tendrils of her hair back from her face. "I've been yanking the cord on mine forever. I think it may be belly-up for good."

Ted felt his pulse skip as he stared at her. It was a sweltering day, and she was wearing a skimpy pair of shorts and a t-shirt that was sweat-dampened and clinging from her battle with the lawn mower. All of which was revealing one fine, lean streak of woman.

Wow. Why hadn't John told him a gem like this lived next door?

He realized he still hadn't answered her. "Um. Yeah. Sure. I'll be done in a few minutes." He slid a quick look at her left hand. No wedding ring. It was worth double-checking, though. He'd seen a little boy playing in her back yard earlier. He'd gotten himself into some awkward situations from assuming too much.

"Your husband isn't much at fixing stuff?"

"No husband." She brushed her hand through strawberry blonde hair. A blush ran up the freckled cream of her face. "I'm divorced."

Ted felt his grin stretch ear to ear.

" I tell you what." He gestured toward the mower. "This mower of John's is a clumsy thing, not the easiest chunk of junk for a woman to handle. When I'm finished with the Pattersons', why don't I come over and do your lawn, too?"

"Thanks. But I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

She was still smiling, but her words were clipped. Uh oh. One of those. Ted switched tactics with practised smoothness. "I'm sure you can. Probably better than I can, to be honest. But you know, you'll ruin my brilliant strategy if you refuse." He unleashed his most boyish smile. "See, if you let me hack away at your lawn, then I'll have the right to ask you a favour in return."

Her eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

"Like, invite me to supper. I'm getting sick of cold beans, and that's about the best I can manage. You wouldn't believe how disgusting cold beans are for breakfast."

She laughed. This was looking better and better.

"All right, it's a deal." She walked over - a nice, easy stride - and offered him her hand. "I'm Connie Poirier, by the way. And you must be Ted. Elly told me you were house-sitting for them this weekend."

It turned out to be a terrific weekend. By the time it was over, the two of them were an item.



John was worried Connie might get hurt. Ted found this funny. It wasn't as though he was seducing some innocent girl. After all, Connie had been married, had a couple of affairs, done plenty of dating in between. That's what women's lib was all about, wasn't it, women being able to enjoy the same freedom as men? He, personally, had no trouble with that notion. As long as everyone was having fun, that was all that mattered.

It shook him a little, though, when Christmas came and he and Connie were still together. Six months was longer than he'd gone out with any woman, ever. His strict rule had been to cut it off after three months, max. Any longer than that, and a female started to get ideas about white dresses and bouquets. He had no intention of letting any chick, no matter how appealing, put a ball and chain on him.

Still, the weeks went by, and he couldn't quite bring himself to end the romance. He found Connie fun, and interesting too. She was smart, savvy and in some ways tough, but at the same time as warm and generous as any woman he'd ever been with. Fortunately, he was good at stringing things out without getting himself in too deep. When she pressed him for some sort of commitment, he knew all the right things to say. Words that sounded good, hinted at long-term, but didn't pin him down. If she read too much into them, that was her problem. He was just doing his best to keep her happy.

When February came, however, he knew it was time to split. Connie was getting a little too starry-eyed and Valentine's Day was looming. When she casually stopped to check out the window display in a jewellery store on the way to a movie, Ted felt a surge of panic. The final straw came when Connie's kid Lawrence said something that made it clear he was counting on having a new Dad soon. That worried Ted. It was one thing to play the game with women who were old enough and experienced enough to take care of themselves. It was quite another to hurt a kid. Before Lawrence could get too attached to him, this had to end.

There are fifty ways to leave a lover, so the song says. Ted figured he knew all of them and maybe a few more. They all fell into two basic categories: ones that left the door open to the possibility of romantic re-runs (once the woman had cooled a little from looking at him as husband material), and ones that slammed it shut for good. Being a firm believer in leaving all his options for good times open, he preferred Category A. But his feelings for Connie were beginning to worry him. He had actually, in weak moments, spent some time looking in jewellery shop windows himself.

His mother was getting nervous, too. She was starting to pick Connie apart, point out all her flaws, sniff at her grooming and wardrobe, anything at all. That was a bad sign. His mom knew him better than anyone in the world. If she figured he was in danger of getting hooked, the odds were she was right. He wouldn't be his mother's boy if he devoted his life to someone else.

If he was going to save himself from the worst temptation he'd encountered yet, he had to go with Category B. With some regret, he dumped Connie in one of the nastier ways he knew - by cutting her to pieces. Knowing her insecurities as well as he did, it seemed like the surest way to turn her off. It worked. He told himself it was kinder to be cruel. She'd thank him some day.



Trouble was, he missed her. There were lots of other women willing to go out with a good-looking doctor. But none of them was Connie. When traumatic or exciting or just plain weird things happened in his practise, she'd been the one person who knew the medical system well enough to understand. She cared enough to listen to his tales of woe or triumph. His mother cared, but didn't understand. His colleagues understood, but didn't care. It hadn't occurred to him how much he'd come to rely on Connie for companionship and support.

He was brooding over how to reverse the results of Category B, when John dropped the shocking news that Connie had found another man.



Ted couldn't believe it. Their break-up had given him the space he needed to realize that he and Connie belonged together. Why hadn't she been smart enough to figure that out, too? He went back to his office and phoned her. The conversation didn't go well. He had to face the frightening fact that he might have lost her forever.

It was a relief when he heard that her romance with the "other man" had fizzled. Immediately he went into gear to get her back. The Game had turned serious; this time the shot he was calling was marriage.

It took almost a year, but Connie finally agreed to go out with him again. Ted was thrilled. He took it slow, laid on plenty of flowers and chocolate. He did his best to get back into Lawrence's good graces. In the meantime, the boy had developed a hard streak of cynicism, and it wasn't easy going. Ted wondered what the "other man" had done, to make Connie's son so distrustful. It made him indignant to think of anyone being so inconsiderate of a kid's feelings.

He had another problem, too. His mother had reacted to the news that he and Connie were back together with startling anger.

"You're back with that woman?" His mother slapped the tureen of bouillabaisse down in front of him. "Teddy, she's used goods. Do you even know how many men she's been with? What on earth do you see in her, anyway? A gangly freckle-faced girl from some scrubby little town. I could tolerate her, maybe, if she could at least cook a decent meal. But my goodness, that pot roast she fed us last week!" She rolled her eyes. "You'll be back here scrounging meals within a week of marrying her."

Ted soothed as best he could. But he was deeply worried. His mother could be like a dog with a bone about the grudges she held, and the signs were there that she wouldn't be letting up on this one soon. Since his father's death, the two of them had been as close as any mother and son could be. She had always thought of him first, devoted her life to making him happy. Now that she was getting older, developing some worrisome medical conditions, it was unthinkable that he might abandon her.

He did his best to reconcile the two women, but it was hard. His mother dug in deep to her contrary position, and Connie had her back up, too. Neither was making much effort to get along, and if this was going to work out, Connie would have to do the compromising.

Ted told her the blunt truth - if he had to choose between them, there would be no real choice. He exaggerated his mother's medical problems, pointed out how cruel Connie was being if she expected him to leave that sweet old woman alone and helpless. There was room for three of them in the house. His mother was a great cook, Connie wouldn't have to strain her minimal talents there. Everything would be fine if she could just be reasonable.

Connie listened quietly, asked a few questions, and went home looking tight-lipped and thoughtful. Ted was confident he had brought her around to a more reasonable position.

Within a week, she had put her house up for sale. Within the month, she and Lawrence had left town. They moved a thousand miles away.

Ted was devastated. He couldn't believe that the only woman he had ever loved would treat him so badly, dump him without a word of warning or even a good-bye. He did his best to stand on his pride, take his mother's brusque advice and get over Connie. But it made him miserable to think he had lost his one chance for happiness.



The bleak days of November crumbled the last of his pride. He called Elly and begged her to plead his case with Connie. She was reluctant, but agreed. The response, he was told, was not encouraging. There was only one thing to do - confront Connie himself. He had his secretary cancel his appointments for a week and booked a flight to Thunder Bay. All the way there, he thought about what he would say. He soothed his edgy nerves by imagining Connie falling into his arms and begging his forgiveness. He even pictured their wedding. The secret to success, he knew, was in positive thinking.

But when he knocked on the door of her house, another man opened it. What followed was the most humiliating experience of his life. Connie was coldly polite and completely uninterested. The other man was kind in a pitying sort of way. That stung even more than Connie's rejection. With his pride in tatters, Ted left the house. He walked for miles through snowy streets, then spent the rest of the day in a bar seedy and decrepit enough to suit his mood. The next morning, head aching, he caught the first plane home.

"Dr. McCauley! I wasn't expecting you in today." His secretary rose from her desk to stare at him in concern as he stumbled into the office. He was half blind with a headache. "Are you all right? Here, sit down." She caught his arm, guided him gently to a chair. "I'll get you some coffee."

After two cups of coffee strong enough to make his eyes water, several aspirin and a half-hour spent with a damp cloth on his forehead, he began to feel almost human again.

"Irene, you're a gem." He made an effort to smile at her. "I haven't appreciated you enough."

"True." She lightly brushed his damp hair back and began to rub his temples in light, incredibly soothing circles. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let himself drift. She was wonderful, Irene . . . funny how he'd never noticed that before . . . even though she'd worked for him almost twelve years now. She knew him so well, could take one look at him in the morning and know what mood he was in, how he wanted the day to be organized. She was uncomplicated, too. He had taken her along as his date to business functions a few times, when no other woman was handy. She'd always been a pleasant, undemanding companion, and never seemed to be bothered if he went off with someone else and left her to find her own way home. His mother liked her. The two of them always talked a long while on the phone before Irene put her through to him. His mother and Irene had planned his 30th birthday party together.

This was the kind of woman a man needed, not some temperamental feminist.

His eyes flew open and he stared at the woman hovering over him. "Irene." He grabbed her arm, sat up and stared into her startled face. "Marry me."

She studied him a long moment, her expression unreadable. Slowly, she nodded. "All right. If you're sure this is what you want."

It tickled him that she agreed as calmly as if he had asked her to pull out a patient's file. "Right now." He shook her. "You understand? As quickly as it can be arranged. Today, if possible."

"Not today, Doctor. We need a marriage license. And I believe there is a requirement for a two-day waiting period from its purchase before a couple can be married."

"Fine." He laughed in sudden euphoria. "This weekend, then. Make all the arrangements, will you? And let my mother know." He leapt to his feet, his headache forgotten. "Darn it, I'm doing this all wrong. I need to buy you a ring. Come on, let's go make the nearest jeweller a very happy man."

For a month, married life was wonderful. Ted congratulated himself time and again on his good sense in snapping up Irene. His mother was not quite as thrilled as he'd hoped, but she accepted his bride gracefully once Ted assured her the two of them would live with her. Irene was perfectly content to continue to work as Ted's secretary and let her mother-in-law rule the household. In the office, she was as competent, quiet and deferential as ever. Her serenity was unfailing.

By Christmas, it was beginning to irritate him. By the time spring came, he was thoroughly bored with his wife. Her calm, he had discovered to his dismay, wasn't the result of disciplined self-control. Irene simply didn't care much about anything. Outside of work, her only interests were her TV shows.

Even his attempts to arrange a belated honeymoon for them, somewhere warm and luxurious and fun, were met with a total lack of enthusiasm. Irene pointed out the dangers of tropical diseases, murmured about the uncertain sanitation in hotels, and informed him with a sigh that she was always air-sick on long flights.

Before summer was out, Ted had given up any hope of livening up his boring bride and was looking for excitement elsewhere.



It became a new version of "The Game" - to see how much he could get away with before his wife caught him. That, he thought with glee, would surely ruffle her tidy feathers.

The explosion never came. Their marriage died with neither a bang nor a whimper. He came home one day to find their little suite of rooms neat as a pin and a note on his pillow. Irene was gone.

Ted told himself he wasn't sorry, except for the alimony she wrested out of him. His mother was openly relieved.

"She wasn't good enough for you, sweetheart. A wonderful man like you can do better than that dry stick."

So he could. Ted took to playing the old game with a new zeal. Other men his age might have deteriorated into pot-bellied, stay-at-home losers, but he wasn't going the same way. He worked hard to stay in shape, bought a new sports car every year, and took pride on being still able to pick up the hot young things he met at bars and night clubs. The young guys sneered at him, muttered about his age, but he knew it was all jealousy.



For his 50th birthday, Ted decided to treat himself to a week at a Caribbean resort that catered to a young and "hot" clientele. It was a long trip, but at last he was strolling through the silky tropical night toward the dim-lit and very noisy bar. He spotted his "call shot" the minute he walked in - a beautiful red-haired girl with long tanned legs and a lithe way of moving that reminded him of the young Connie. Humming with anticipation, he wove his way through the chattering masses toward her. She glanced at him as he approached, and immediately gave him a warm, welcoming smile.

Congratulating himself that he still had "it", Ted sidled up beside her. But before he could say a word, she thrust out her hand and energetically shook his. "Hi. I'm Tasha. You must be Jamie's dad. She was thrilled that you decided to come for her wedding!"

"No, I'm nobody's dad." Ted tried for an amused laugh, but it rasped a little. "I just wanted to ask the most beautiful girl in the room if she would allow me to buy her a drink." He gazed deep into the redhead's eyes, gave her his most melting look.

The warm friendliness vanished as abruptly as if it had been slapped off her face.

"Eewww, you've got to be kidding. You're older than my father!"

She walked away, joined a group standing nearby. One of the other girls glanced over at him and said something. The redhead shook her head emphatically. Even through the hubbub, Ted caught the words, creepy old man. Two boys in the group turned as one to stare at him with narrow-eyed, measuring menace.

Shaken, he turned toward the bar. The big mirror behind it reflected the whole noisy, laughing place - and one grey-haired guy with a lined face and desperate expression, looking as pathetically out of place in that youthful crowd as a beetle on a cheese plate.

Leaving his drink untouched, he fled to his room. The view and the balcony, he obscured with the blinds.

After that disastrous trip, it was a relief to be home again, to bury himself in his practise. He had been losing interest in it the last few years, letting his professional development slide as his younger associates took over the more difficult cases. Now he felt an urgent need to sharpen his diagnostic skills, update his equipment, and reclaim his pride of place in Milborough's medical community.

To his surprise, he found himself genuinely loving his profession again. There was value in his work, camaraderie with his colleagues, and continuity in the generations of families he served. Re-focusing on his career gave him far more deep-rooted satisfaction than hollow victories in The Game ever had.



Ted still practises family medicine in Milborough, and with his associates has made his clinic one of the most respected in the region. He sits on the Milborough Hospital Board as well as on an advisory committee to the Board of the Local Health Integration Network, and is an avid supporter of preventative medicine, particularly when it comes to pre-natal care.

His mother died after a brief illness which took her quietly from Ted's life in October 2005. He still lives in the house they shared for so long, and still feels her presence there with him. Sometimes he even catches himself talking to her, sharing the events of the day as he used to do each evening over supper.

With a little help from a psychologist, Ted has sworn off "The Game" completely. He still dates, but sticks to women closer to his own age and finds more satisfaction in an evening at the theatre than a night spent cruising the bars. There is one woman in particular, a retired school principal, who is a particularly frequent companion. They have shared vacations and are comfortable together, but there is no talk of marriage on either side. Both feel they have been there, done that, and not enjoyed the experience much. This independent relationship suits them just fine.

In his determination to turn over new leaves, Ted gave up his sports cars and bought an SUV. But that, he quickly realized, was going too far. His current vehicle is a sleek black beauty that his staff have affectionately named 'the Batmobile'. He is already looking at buying a newer model.