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“And here I am,” said the twelve million dollars.

“Two sleepy people—” said Ben.

“I never sleep,” said the Kilraine fortune.

“Fate’s a funny thing,” said Ben, “bring us together like this tonight.”

“Heh heh heh,” said the twelve million. The hehs were spaced far apart, and the sarcasm in them squawked like rusty hinges.

“What’s this house and everything got to do with me?” said Rose. “I’m just a plain, ordinary person.”

“With a plain, ordinary twelve million simoleons,” said the Kilraine fortune.

“Sure you are,” said Ben. “Just like the girls I used to go around with in high school.”

“Only with twelve million iron men,” said the Kilraine fortune.

“I was happy with what I had,” said Rose. “I’d graduated from nursing school—was making my own way. I had nice friends, and a green ’49 Chevy that was almost paid for.”

The twelve million let out a long, wet raspberry.

“And I was helping people,” said Rose.

“Like you helped Kilraine for twelve million spondulics,” said the twelve million.

Ben drank thirstily. So did Rose.

“I think it speaks very well for you that you feel the way you do,” said Ben.

“And somebody’s going to bamboozle her out of the whole works, if she doesn’t brighten up,” said the twelve million.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Gee—it’s funny about troubles,” he said. “You got troubles, I got troubles—everybody’s got troubles, whether they’ve got a lot of money or a little money or no money. When you get right down to it, I guess love and friendship and doing good really are the big things.”

“Still, it might be kind of interesting to shuffle the money around,” said the twelve million, “just to see if somebody might not get happier.”

Ben and Rose covered their ears at the same time.

“Let’s get some music in this mausoleum,” said Ben. He went into the living room, loaded the big phonograph with records, and turned the volume up loud. For a moment, he thought he’d driven the Kilraine fortune away. For a moment, he was free to appreciate Rose for what she was—pink, sweet, and affectionate.

And then the twelve million dollars started singing along with the music. “Bewa, scratch, and lucre,” it sang, “Mopus, oof, and chink; Jack and bucks and rhino; Bawbees, specie, clink.”

“Dance?” said Ben wildly. “Rose—you wanna dance?”

They didn’t dance. They huddled together to music in a corner of the living room. Ben’s arms ached, he was so grateful to have Rose in them. She was what he needed. With his store and his credit gone, only a woman’s touch could make him whole.

And he knew he was what Rose needed, too. He pitted muscle against muscle, to make himself hard and bulging. Rose fawned against the rock he was.

Bundled up in each other, their heads down, they could almost ignore the hullabaloo from the Kilraine fortune. But the twelve million dollars still seemed to prance around them, singing, cracking wise—hell-bent on being the life of the party.

Ben and Rose talked in whispers, hoping to keep a little something private.

“It’s a funny thing about time,” said Ben. “I think maybe that’s the next big thing science is going to turn up.”

“How you mean?” said Rose.

“Well, you know—” said Ben. “Sometimes two years seems like ten minutes. Sometimes ten minutes seems like two years.”

“Like when?” said Rose.

“Like now, for instance,” said Ben.

“How like now?” said Rose, letting him know with her tone that she was way ahead of him. “How you mean?”

“I mean,” said Ben, “it seems like we’ve been dancing for hours. Seems like I’ve known you all my life.”

“That’s funny,” said Rose.

“How you mean?” said Ben.

“I feel the same way,” murmured Rose.

Ben caromed back through time to his high school senior prom—when childhood had ended, when the scrabbling curse of maturity had begun. The prom had been an orgy of unreality. Now that feeling was back. Ben was somebody. His girl was the prettiest thing on earth. Everything was going to be just fine.

“Rose,” said Ben, “I—I feel kind of like I was coming home. You know what I mean?”

“Yes,” said Rose.

She tilted her head back, her eyes closed.

Ben leaned down to kiss