They Want to Arrange a Meeting Between Me and Barzini. On Tessio's Ground. Where I'll be safe.

The day came when we'd have what the Corleones would have called a "sit down." All the homicidal parties sit in various parts of the same building, far enough apart where no one can hear each other's attacks and accusations and go sailing over the edge of reason. And concealed from each other's view so you can be alone with your own murderous thoughts, willing each other to choke on a Tic Tac and wishing you'd brought the voodoo doll and the big pins.

So when all hope was nearly lost and my second lawyer and I (I'd fired my first, totally incompetent.) were talking Worst Case Scenarios v. Litigation, we spent a full day (and a few of my paychecks) conferencing, negotiating, rejecting offers, and finally, against all odds, settling.

It was pretty close to the top tier of scenarios on my lawyers Worst Case list, but nothing unmanageable. I got to keep the things that were important. Sure I had to pay a settlement (the price for being more successful, in spite of all those additional degrees) and had to continue with the child support (even though I know the kids do not really realize the benefit of the support) but I did not have to distribute any of my investments (I am really seriously too old to start over. Hard cheese if he has not planned well.) And, best of all, I got to keep the house. The kids could continue to build a life in the place they'd called home their entire lives. In spite of the fact that Lars did his best to convince everyone that I would never be able to manage the yard work and "old house" problems. (I can fix anything - that is what a check book is for.)

So - we were settled. Bring on the papers. I have my pen poised above the desk, ready to sign.

Elated, I drove home - calling J. on the way to say the two year ordeal had finally heaved its last breath. Buy the champagne and meet me at my house. My house.

I arrived. J. arrived. The bubbly was uncorked and poured.

I decided to flick on the telly to put on some festive music courtesy of one of my 47 music channels. When the screen came to life, the movie channel I'd been watching the night before popped on.

And remarkably, To Sir With Love was playing.

I gasped and looked at J.

The movie, to my everlasting amazement, had just reached the precise moment when the title song is first heard.

The violins were playing. Dad was at hand. And, so it seems, had been all day.