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Despite the darkness of the theatre, with Nick front right stage behind a podium, its dim light a little eerily lighting his face from below just a little, keeping the light to a minimum so that Naomi’s amazing drawings could be seen projected behind him, I could see the mesmerizing effect on the audience. He read the introduction to the first Tale and the entire series. My voice actually, in terms of the viewpoint, not the way I talk, which was still a little weird.

Unlike the pages you read here, in which the introduction covers an entire book, it had been condensed to a few pages, and characters, including me, had been changed to protect the so-called innocent. And even if he didn’t send us back into ancient places, I could feel myself there. Not nearly as completely. More images flashing in my brain, too real to be normal, forming out of Naomi’s drawings. Thus the mesmerizing, if not the complete immersion.

Not being explicitly sexual, it didn’t create a huge orgy.

When Nick concluded, it took several seconds of silence before applause, enthusiastic and sustained.

Nick, Lindy, Naomi and I sat behind a long table in the gallery signing books. With over two hundred people, it took a while. Luckily the gallery offered many distractions, including Nicky’s amazing art, and Nicky herself proving an amusing and eccentric hostess. My wives and friends, angels and mortals, beautiful and brilliant, charmed as well. We also teased with pages from our next Tale, set in plexiglass facing out on the top shelf across from the sales counter about eye level for those between five feet five to six feet in height.

To enable people to enjoy the gallery and charming conversations, Betty proved her brilliance in logistics as well as editing. She purchased a roll of numbered tickets and a stand to hold them, placing it at the entrance to the gallery. When the audience and potential purchasers arrived, a sign suggested taking the number for buying the book and for its signing. A young woman, a minion, stood beside it to explain and encourage plucking the tickets. The same woman managed the electronic display that announced, along with her voice, the next number to purchase the book and get it signed. Sometimes, since the book had been available earlier in the week, the person headed directly to the table to get his or her previously bought book signed. That’s why a basket sat on the table, along with one at the counter, to collect the tickets.

Being the first to sign the book, Nick used seeing a buyer place his or her ticket in the basket at the table to encourage that person to consider subscribing to the rest of his Tales, prorated of course.

A different reason placed me at the end of the table. Female interest. Women tended to want to linger. My wives took turns encouraging them to move on. Eva and Helena stood beside me and gave them the evil eye. Shira did it from my lap. The other two lap sitters didn’t seem capable of flashing their anger. I got kisses from my cutest and smallest wives, Zhenzhen and Angelique claiming their property. If my wives’ efforts didn’t work, either Eva or Helena pulled the woman aside. “You want to fuck my husband?” they would ask her. Of course the woman did, but shame seemed to encourage most to let go of the intense urge for impregnation. Those that sustained their desire, my angel wives asked for a business card or had them write on the back of one of ours with the Serpentine logo. That worried me a little. Not so much with Eva. She had a tendency towards possessiveness, which my first wife didn’t share. Helena’s winks didn’t help. Of course it occurred with the women I found to be the most attractive. Sexiness helped that attraction, but mostly the women seemed more interesting. I had sexiness aplenty already after all.

Perhaps her plainness, although she looked especially lovely all dressed up and not in the casual wear of a cobbler, perhaps that in itself making her unseen by me, or perhaps the many distractions of our first signing, but I didn’t notice Caitlin until she stood before me for her signing.

“Cait!” I exclaimed with a grin.

She laughed while I inscribed her book. I handed it to her, curious. “You never saw me,” she explained.

“I...” I tried.

“Not to worry. I find it useful. An observational tool. Do you plan coming to my reading tomorrow?”

“I do, actually. The chief reason I was excited to come down here this weekend.”

I got a slap, gently applied, by Zhenzhen, currently occupying my lap. And another laugh from Caitlin.

“What?” I asked, referring to both responses.

“You never said,” Zhenzhen explained.

“You do seem excited,” Caitlin giggled.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” I told my wife. “Her reading is not far from where we’re staying.” I replied to Caitlin with a wink.

“Do you think I could have a ride?” Caitlin asked.

“Of course,” said Zhenzhen, reddening.

“Just give me a sec.”

“Wait,” said my wife leaning down and forward as if to whisper to Caitlin. Her hand led Caitlin around the table until the cobbler’s body hid what happened from most. Eva moved closer to hide things from her angle. Short and fast bounces on my lap brought my cute wife her orgasm, my fingers rubbing harder where they had been teasing before, on her clit. I nibbled her petite earlobe for one more excitation. “Fuck,” she trembled. Her pussy trembled around the buried cock. It tempted release.

I had actually cum earlier, inside Angelique, when this had begun. Shira always managed to get me hard, and her riding my left leg, with her moistness and heat revealing she felt the same, did its usual thing. The tablecloth hid her unzipping me and rubbing what she caused. When Angelique took her place, she straddled my lap, facing forward. I could feel her naked pussy. Reaching down with my left hand, I guided myself in blindly. My left hand remained, fondling her clit. We hardly moved at all. Inner muscles did the movement. But somehow we reached ecstasy. I don’t know how I stifled the moan, nor how Angelique did either. “You okay?” asked the current customer, a nerdy young man. “Very,” I grinned.

I don’t know if it had been planned, but all of the wives had worn dresses. It was an important event in our lives, so it made sense. But it definitely made it easier for Shira to excite me and for me to fuck Angelique surreptitiously, and for Zhenzhen to follow her. I remained inside Angelique long enough to let that happen.

After a giggle and a kiss, Caitlin kissing Zhenzhen, the cobbler dashed off and returned sans panties, which I soon discovered when she guided me into her sopping pussy. I whispered that discovery, and she whispered back how she had watched me fuck my wives and imagined herself there, riding my cock, without anyone quite sure what was going on.

“But everyone guessing,” I added.

“Rightly as it turns out,” she giggled, a little roughly as it contained a moan.

This happened at the tail end of the signing. A little over a half hour later, and Dominique knelt beside us, asking, “You two need a room?”

“Please,” said Caitlin, who had gotten close but somehow not finished.

“Follow me,” Nicky chuckled. Caitlin moaned when her pussy lifted off my rigidity. Somehow I zipped it into my pants. Luckily the exit into the theatre took five steps, and we went through a nearby door, which led to the toilets and to a locked elevator. Nicky’s key opened the elevator, already awaiting occupation, and we slowly rose two stories to her loft. Kissing me, the gray haired artist told me, “You won’t need a key going down,” and closed the door once Caitlin and I exited.

Clothes created a trail to Nicky’s familiar four poster bed. Caitlin knelt on it and lowered her head. “Fuck me!” she ordered. Getting behind her, I complied. I held her hips, pulling her onto my cock powerfully. Her hands worked her pussy and her dangling nipples. Leaning down, I suckled her neck and her ear. Her head turned and our lips met. She broke the kiss when a powerful orgasm seized her. I fucked through it and continued fucking her, fingers taking over for hers pleasuring her most sensitive erectile tissue. Another orgasm resulted. My thrusts became more powerful and faster until it became too much for both of us.

“Please,” Caitlin moaned.

“I’m cumming!” I announced.

“Thank ... God,” she moaned, joining me in ecstasy.

We laughed when we could, when normalcy returned somewhat to our senses. She lay under me, turning her head for some gentle kisses. I started to move off her. “No, don’t,” she objected. So I stayed on top of her. Even when my flaccid penis slid out of her I remained.

“You know I love you,” she told me.

“You know I have five wives,” I returned.

“It’s not a problem,” she said, turning beneath me and looking up at me.

“It’s not?” I asked.

“No. You love me?”

“Yes Caitlin. I love you.”

“See. No problem,” she grinned a lovely grin. I kissed it.

“How is that not a problem?” I asked.

“I’m going to have a friend. A fuck buddy if you will. You’ll see. But you ... when you move here, I expect this to happen as often as you’ll let me.”

“Will it be often enough?” I asked her.

She embraced me, pulling me into the deepest kiss we had ever shared. Her grin remained when it ended. “Yes, Joe. It will.”

“You may have to call me to remind me,” I suggested. “I have a few ladies I love. And I have a feeling my crazy first wife plans on giving me more.”

“If I call you... ?”

“I will be happy to receive it.”

She studied my face, and the grin, briefly gone, returned. She pulled me into another wonderful kiss. “I should go,” she finally said.

“You can stay,” said Helena standing nearby, hand in hand with Zhenzhen.

“You have an incredible body,” said Zhenzhen. “And we would love sharing it.”

“Thanks,” Caitlin responded, “and I have nothing on yours, all of his wives for that matter. But, to tell you the truth, I’m not interested in women.”

“That’s good,” Zhenzhen smiled. “I think he has enough wives, right Helena?”

“Maybe. For now. But you could ignore us. Focus on Joe. Perhaps imagining this,” Helena removed a strap-on already containing a long, narrow dildo, the usual anal probe, “as another man’s cock. Believe me, being double penetrated will blow your mind.”

Caitlin chuckled. “Maybe, but unnecessary. He already has.”

“You could help us get him ready for Nicky when she’s done downstairs,” Zhenzhen suggested. “This is her bed after all, and we should have Joe thank her for its use. Imagine his pleasure. Three of us sucking him.”

“He probably has gotten used to that,” Caitlin grinned.

“I’ll never get used to that,” I argued. “And I could distract you with some cunnilingus.”

“Even with your seed inside it,” Caitlin shook her head.

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah. You told me. Turn over, lover.”

I kissed her in thanks while obeying her. “Such a sexy pussy, like the rest of your incredible body,” I approved when it hovered over my mouth. I brought it down to it and made love to it while three mouths made love to my penis, restoring it to full height in a matter of minutes. Once accomplished, and after Caitlin came on my tongue, she moved off it, getting off the bed. My hands cuddled her gorgeous breasts as she leaned down for one final kiss.

“Call me,” she said.

“I promise.”

She looked at my wives, naked, still working on my erection and shook her head. “You’re one lucky fucker,” she said.

“You make me luckier,” I grinned and moaned and pulled her into a last kiss.

By the time she dressed and walked to the elevator, my wives shifted. I watched Caitlin covering her sexy body, and could no longer see her only after she turned around in the elevator and winked at me. Only then did Zhenzhen lower her pussy onto my mouth. My cock already impaled Helena.

A while later, after several orgasms from my wives and one from me, Nicky joined us. After reviving my penis, she got what Caitlin refused: double penetration. Helena fucked her along with me, while Zhenzhen offered her her pussy for cunnilingus while I kissed my adorable wife and fondled her lovely little titties. An explosive orgasm resulted for Nicky, added to by my mind bringing the rest of us into it, allowing my joining her in ecstasy, along with Zhenzhen, who was close anyway, and Helena, who, like me, wasn’t.

“Fuck,” said Nicky afterwards, waking from passing out. “That was almost too much.”

“Almost?” Helena laughed, removing the strap-on.

“Yeah,” Nicky sighed, and we all laughed. She snuggled against my right side and Zhenzhen took her usual position on top, leaving room for Helena to snuggle my left after she cleaned the dildo. Everyone exchanged kisses with everyone before Nicky and I lapsed into sleep. Angels don’t need it.

Awaking alone on my bed, I spied my wives and Nicky working on breakfast in the kitchen, still gloriously naked. I hopped out of bed, secreted my urine in the bathroom and took a quick shower. Knowing Nicky’s preference, I joined them naked in the kitchen and ate a perfectly prepared and delicious cheese and mushroom omelette.

We returned to the lovely Williamsburg brownstone later. My wives joined me in a long walk through a reviving Brooklyn. I purposely ended up beside Eva, taking her hand. “You’re avoiding Nicky,” I guessed.

“It’s not like she’s missing out,” Eva countered. “She got Maria, to both of their enjoyment I heard, and Zhenzhen, and Helena twice.”

“True,” I nodded. “But you know what I mean.”

“I suppose I do. But she’s as interested in me as I am with her.”

“Impossible,” I argued.

Eva shrugged. “Maybe she senses my lack of interest.”

“But you said she’s cute.”

“She is. I genuinely like her. She’s eccentric and interesting.”

“But...”

“I think she senses the reluctance. And perhaps Shira? Her stripping for older men ... And women, actually.”

“Shira’s surprisingly interested,” I remembered. “She’s got a MILF fetish. But maybe it’s a racial thing.”

She laughed, and I heard Helena laugh behind us.

“Then you haven’t paid attention to at least a quarter of her artwork,” Helena pointed out.

I chuckled, remembering two of the more sensual figures in her art, a man and a woman, both clearly African in their heritage. It would be surprising, knowing Nicky’s horny nature, if the models hadn’t been her lovers.

“I imagine Nicky must have eyed Shira,” I guessed.

“She has, and Eva as well,” Helena answered. “Perhaps studying us rather than hungering for them. A gaze of appreciation instead of lust.”

“Then she must sense your reluctance,” I addressed Eva.

“I can imagine. She’s sensitive.”

“She impresses you.”

“More and more. I’m thinking of modelling for her. Me and Shira, actually. A contrast in skin shades and body types. Shira and I making love.”

“I think Nicky imagines the very same thing. Do you think Shira would go for it?”

“The two of us making love? What do you think happened last night?”

“Angelique?”

“She spent the night with her wardeness.”

“That’s good.”

“For all of us. Shira is amazing.”

“That she is.”

“And having some old lady watching us? Appreciating our appreciation for each other? We’d barely notice when she joined us. I’ll talk to Shira. But when would this happen?”

“Tomorrow?” Helena suggested. “We’re not leaving until late. The gallery closes around five.”

Eva nodded and retreated back to walk with Shira and Zhenzhen. I watched Shira’s reluctance and Zhenzhen adding to the convincing. With a nod, all three stopped and kissed. It seemed my adorable Chinese wife might be adding to the tableau for Nicky. Or, if not, helping Nicky with her horniness until she finished her studies and they joined the black and white lovers.

That evening, everyone attended Caitlin’s reading. We filled the remaining seats in the café. It turned out to be a group show, all women poets, with an older lesbian featured. Popular in the extremely relative term of a poet being popular. Most of the rest of the audience were female. We didn’t change that percentage much. I couldn’t be certain if the other two poets shared the same sexual predilection of the older woman, but it seemed likely. Each young woman rose from a table of women. And each kissed their probable partner before walking to the dais. Caitlin preceded the featured woman, probably because of her being a well-regarded poet’s daughter, since she hadn’t released a book yet.

Arriving, I noticed the cobbler sitting with three attractive redheaded women. His wife and two other daughters I figured. Before approaching them, Caitlin approached me. I noticed a tall, somewhat attractive woman in a horse-faced Katherine Hepburn sort of way hovering behind her as if attached to her invisibly. Her eyes scanning Caitlin’s backside probably caused the attachment.

And Caitlin dressed specifically for that. Her top held her torso tightly, showing plenty of cleavage and the amazing shapeliness and resiliency of her breasts. Shorts revealed her bottom half similarly, her equally shapely and resilient butt, her strong and sexy thighs, and even a suggestion of her beautifully formed pussy. A gap between the two revealed her curvaceous waist, and a bit of roundness at her tummy that spoke not of fatness, but of fleshy perfection, like the rest of her. The older poet must have hoped she found nirvana with this plain faced young woman and her incredibly sexy body. But Caitlin destroyed all hope like a splash of frigid water by embracing me and kissing me with unmistakable passion.

“Sarah, this is Joe,” Caitlin introduced us. The older poet reluctantly shook my hand while Caitlin leaned against my left side. The woman seemed lost when she walked away. “Thanks for that, Joe,” Caitlin said.

“I take it she didn’t get your lack of interest.”

“I didn’t wear this for her,” Caitlin giggled. “Speaking of which...” she started away. Turning back, she said, “Go say hi to my Dad and meet my family.”

“I will,” I smiled.

I watched her gorgeous ass shifting as she headed to a large round table filled with four young men and three young women. Grabbing a chair, she sat with the odd man out, tall and thin and nerdy looking. I chuckled. “Lucky boy,” I thought.

Approaching the cobbler’s table, I heard all three Irish lasses discussing the merit or lack of merit of their sister’s or daughter’s revealing clothing. Surprisingly, the mother took her plainest daughter’s side. “And you think she must not use what she must for her advantage?” she voiced in a lovely Irish accent. “Unlike me, most men cannot see her real beauty. And unlike you two, with your parade of suitors, caught in your pretty green eyes and your well-formed face, you think she has a pick of them? She can make them beg for but a scrap of interest from you two high and mighty majesties? And not even the lowliest of them suitors could you deign to come meet a humble cobbler which is your father? You think he would have been your Da if I thought the way you two think? That what makes a man great is in his wallet rather than between his ears, or even the shape of his face? Not to say another shape didn’t attract me.”

“Mother!” both daughter’s exclaimed, suddenly losing their shame. The cobbler laughed.

“Hello,” I finally said.

“Ladies, meet your audience,” the cobbler smirked.

I got immediately struck by the familiar lust filled interest from all three women. “Uhm,” I started amidst another chortling laugh from the paternal presence at the table, “Forgive me for ease dropping, but I have to agree with your charming mother. You see, Caitlin has become a good friend of mine...”

“More than that, young man,” the cobbler added.

“Yes. True. We have become intimate.”

“Is he ... him?” asked his wife. When the cobbler nodded, she sighed as if releasing a hidden tension. “I understand better. Good to meet you young man.”

“Good to meet you. Despite his great command of words, he still failed to communicate your beauty and charm.”

“Ah, a bit of the Irish in you,” she laughed. “But I presume another character of mine got featured.”

“True,” I shrugged, “but no less appealing.”

Helena, my gatekeeper, seemed to appear out of nowhere and pulled me into her arm. “Joe,” she scolded me, “you have no need to charm her. She’s already interested. As are her daughters.”

The cobbler looked shocked. “Isn’t Caitlin enough for Nick?”

“She is, my friend,” Helena grinned. “And for Joe.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I forget this weird attraction sometimes. But I said the truth. No blarney. Honest. I’d like it if we could be friends. Just friends. I admire your husband. And I admire his choice in mate.”

“I don’t know if it was my choice. I mean it was, but she had to want to be caught.”

“I did, didn’t I,” she grinned and kissed him. “But I think it would be good, knowing the father of my first grandson. Or granddaughter.”

“It will be a son,” said Helena. “According to Nick.”

“Even better,” said the wife. “I always wanted to raise a son.”

“Me too,” said the cobbler. “But a generation away, isn’t it?”

“We’ll raise him. Our daughter will be too independent to be captured by a man. She’ll be a fine mother, but we’ll be there as well. And Joe?”

“Yes?”

“I’d like us to be friends. I’m attracted, but not as much as these two I think. I did a very uncatholic thing and had a hysterectomy.”

“So the ugly duckling finds a man and gets pregnant with a bastard,” one of the daughters remarked snidely.

Both parents reacted strongly and loudly. I did too. “The ugly duckling turns out to be a swan,” I pointed out, restraining a yell. “Which is perfectly apt, because your sister is lovely. She may seem plain, and may have acted the role, but she has the most remarkable eyes, and as she has finally revealed to the world, an incredible body. Not to mention her brilliant mind and beautiful soul. In what way are you better than her? None that I can tell, especially the last of those things. She attracted me. You two don’t in the least.”

“You’re kidding,” said the other daughter, obviously not getting it.

“He’s not,” said their mother. “I love you, like a mother loves her daughters. And, God forbid, if you died, it would be like losing my limbs, or a great piece of my heart. But lately you test this love. I don’t need our familial bond to see how lovely you are as I perhaps do with your sister. But I also thinks it reveals ugliness. You both attract men, like pollen attracts bees. And yet nothing comes of it.”

“Things cum of it,” one daughter joked.

“They never hold my interest,” said the other.

“So your sister gets a little slutty, but you two are the sluts,” I said.

“So true,” their mother sighed.

“It’s my fault,” the father interjected. “There’s no depth, no poetry in these shallow men.”

“Maybe,” said one daughter, surprised by her agreement.

“Not for me,” said the other. “I did look for you in some men. Prettier than you, I have to admit, because I like my men pretty. It’s led to friendship with no sex, with the gay ones, of which there seem to be a majority. But the pretty ones with deep souls that actually wanted to fuck me, I discovered to be dark and self-destructive. They wanted to destroy me, too. Such is the poetic soul.”

“Are you talking about drugs, sweetheart?” her mother asked.

“Yes, and I won’t get into detail with my parents. Okay? I woke up soon enough to see the lie of his love. He just wanted companionship in his journey of self-destruction.”

“Have you been tested?” asked her mother.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Thank God.”

“Too many poets lean towards such depths,” said her father. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s true the more sensitive can be lured to numbing,” I said. “Especially when young and foolish. And especially when numbing agents are so readily available. Not just alcohol, which is bad enough. But I’m certain there are those, like your father, brilliant and sensitive, who find a purpose beyond their own mind that distracts from the darkness, and even makes things lighter, in only the sense of accomplishment and pride brought forth by this other thing, becoming less a distraction than a profession, on equal footing to the profession of the internal made external by writing.

“I don’t know about the pretty part. Pretty leads to narcissism. And a self-destructive narcissist? Sounds like seas of troubled thought seething beneath a fragile sheet of reflective ice. The beautiful sheet inevitably gets broken. It reminds me of famous pretty men made ugly by madness or addiction. Antonin Artaud. Chet Baker. No one has a portrait hidden away to take the dissipated life away from being reflected on a face.”

“I get it,” the daughter smiled. “Superficial is a fragile veneer. Someone smart and interesting would be better. Someone confident enough to fight off his demons. Someone like you.”

“I think he’s pretty,” Helena smirked.

The pretty redhead stood and embraced me. “Pretty enough,” she murmured and kissed me, her hand reaching down to my genitals. For some reason, at least for a moment, I returned the kiss.

“Someone like me but not me,” I insisted when my lips became free, carefully extracting her hand and ending our embrace. I shut my eyes and sought whatever secreted this enzyme of attraction and suggested it shutting down. She retreated and sat, though she remained stunned. “Sorry,” I said.

“I’m not,” she grinned, the effect dissolving. “You’re a good kisser.”

“You are too,” I returned. We laughed. Her parents looked relieved. Her sister puzzled.

It became a test, controlling the output of the gland that seemed to excrete pheromones. Could it be a switch, to be turned off and on, or did I need to hold it down, to restrain it, like a tiny monster fighting to be free? I noticed the attention, when I sat with my wives. Before, when we first entered, women stared at me. Even the lesbians, of which I think were a majority there. But that seemed to have ended. I thought of the gland switched off, and let go of the concentration. It seemed to work. At least for some time.

I enjoyed the readings. All four poets had talent. If I voted, though, Caitlin would be first. Perhaps biased. Perhaps not. She did gain the greatest applause. And even when she read her last poem, and I realized she chose me as her subject, making me even less objective and a little embarrassed, especially since she focused on me half the time, I could still hear how good it was. And it made me happy that the other half of her focus landed on her newest conquest, even if what she described, being penetrated by love in all ways, hadn’t happened for him. Yet. “Lucky boy,” I thought again.

She made it clear, from the beginning, I had inspired the poem. She looked into my eyes with hot intensity when she pronounced its name. “Love.” That and the poem that followed, made me hard. I managed to look around when her focus shifted to the nerdy young man, and saw the familiar interest of the many women in the room. I shut my eyes and shut off the gland again.

Upon its completion, completing her reading, she nodded at me during the applause, and headed to her conquest. I had an urge to embrace her, but I thought better of it. He didn’t seem up to challenging me for her. He needed all the sexual confidence he could muster.

So I waited for the older lesbian poet to finish. Accomplished at reading and writing, she held my interest, somewhat. I still tended to glance at my lover probably too often. Mostly she focused on the poet, or exchanged whispers with her young man. But a couple times, our eyes met, and I saw the heat there, and I knew it wasn’t the young man stirring her passion. It was me.

At the end, I approached her, kneeling beside her so as not to have my semi-hard package in her face. “You were brilliant,” I told her.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “What did you think of my last poem?”

“Uhm, it was hot?”

She giggled. “Can I call you tomorrow?” she asked more seriously.

“I’d like that,” I replied. Her smile in response communicated better than words.

A night with my wives proved especially relentless and satisfying for all of us. I managed to fuck each of them, even if only two received my seed. After the finale, ejaculating into Helena’s vibrant pussy, she cuddled on my left, my other wives cuddling around me or each other. “Was it Caitlin making you so horny?” she asked me.

“Perhaps all those hungry lesbian eyes,” Eva quipped.

“It was that poem,” said Angelique. “It made me horny.”

“Me too,” Zhenzhen agreed.

“Me too,” I admitted.

We laughed.

We went our separate ways the next morning. Eva, Zhenzhen and Shira headed to Dominique’s. It turned out as inspiring and libidinous as hoped, enough for Shira and Eva to enjoy the older artist’s flesh. “She’s a sexy bitch,” Eva later told me. Shira agreed.

Helena decided to shop with her sister angels. What a parade of pulchritude!