The elevator doors opened again. This time however, was no surprise as Karen obediently followed Izzy into the living room. She deposited the boxes by the long, glass-topped coffee table and collapsed on the couch. Sleep was catching up to her. Jet lag was a hungry monster. Somewhere over the Atlantic it had devoured eight hours and her body knew it. "Hey, hey, hey, no time for a nap now, sugar baby. It‟s nearly four." Izzy tapped his watch as he hurried down the hall, disappearing into the bathroom. Karen heard the water running and his voice, muffled by the shower door, echoing through the tiny room. "You should really be in here first. Bein‟ a woman, and all that jazz, and needing time to find your face and attack your hair." He started to sing again. The water pounded a rhythm on the shower stall. The soothing melody and pulsating beat began to lull her further into sleep. His deep tenor, with the occasional silly remark or squeal that made her smile in her dreamy state of consciousness, soon made her forget his admonition of time. She had nearly found the dream she searched for nightly, the dream that took her back to a time when another deep voice carried itself through her days and kept her secure in the comfort of its presence-the voice that protected her, loved her, and nurtured her children. The voice that was gone forever except in that special world of dreams. A rude shaking threatened to end her revere. "Izzy, stop." She opened her eyes as little as possible. She allowed them to open only enough to see the bronze figure of a man, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping tiny cold droplets of water on her face as he shook her violently. "I can‟t move, let me sleep." She pushed his hand away, but it returned, shaking harder the voice above her more demanding than the voice in her dreams.