"Come along, darling," Pharlen caroled, capturing Gem's arm as the woman was engaged in perhaps practice for unauthorized and illegal entry. Gem wouldn't admit to anything and Pharlen wouldn't ask.

"Where are we going?" Gem asked with a laugh. Pharlen could be as utterly implacable as the wind, and still couldn't 'keep Gem out of trouble'.

"Lunch."

"Lunch," Gem echoed, her stomach abruptly growling in response. She'd had a difficult time, eating hadn't been even a thought unless Benjamin cajoled her with something decadent. That was all past, though.

"Lunch," Pharlen echoed, and then....

Imagine, if you will, two young matrons of the era, stepping from a Rolls Royce painted a decadent buttery cream, the ladies wearing silk hose, fluttering linen, fussy white gloves, netted veils and tiny hats, hair sleek and elegant in braids. Thus, did a pair of borderline outlaws join the rest of the beauties at the Brown Derby....

"What's this lunch for?" Gem asked with a chortle, avidly admiring Clark Gable as he strolled between the tables.

"Happy Mother's Day, darling," Pharlen responded with a curl of smile, placing a small gift before Gem, a brow quirking, "It's about time you had one."