STEPPING  UP

PART THIRTEEN:

"I think," Holli said seriously, as she parked near the bottom of the first

paper street they came to on the South Side Slopes, "that you will have to

photograph from this end and then we can figure out how to drive around

so you can see the top. There's no way you're going to be able to go up these

buggers."

Steve got out of the car and stood there, looking up the endless series of stairs.

Of all assignments for him to have gone and gotten a bum knee on! Damn!

A grey-haired man was leaning against the metal railing just a little way up

the steps. When he saw Steve setting up his camera, he turned and smiled.

"Going to photograph the paper street, are you?"

"Sure going to try," Steve replied amiably.

"Nothing very nice-looking about most of them, I'm afraid," the man added.

"Is how I get my exercise. Go climbing up the paper streets."

"You pretty familiar with them, I guess?" Steve asked.

"Pretty much," the man admitted, coming back down the lower steps and

extending his hand. "George," he said, "George Albright."

"Steve Moran." Then Steve turned, indicating his companion. "And this is

Holli Tittswell."

George nodded in acknowledgement.

"Lot of these aren't places you'd want to be going on your own, Miss," George

commented, looking up the long series of steps he was about to ascend. "More

often than not, the paper streets that're left go through some pretty rough areas.

Some of them get mighty lonely."

Steve was frowning as he looked up the paper street. George was right. There

was nothing about it that would make a great photograph. A few ramshackle

houses lay close on either side, a bit of trash, old leaves from last autumn, dead-

looking trees.  Top or bottom, off either side, there was no way to make it look

better than it was.

"I don't know about this, Holli. There's nothing I can do with something like this."

"Do they want that, Steve? Maybe they just want to illustrate the steps as they really

are...nothing more?"

"Well, that's what they're going to get," he sighed. "Let's don't worry about going to

the top of these steps. I don't think a downward view will be any better than an upward

one."

"Didn't know the paper streets would be the rib cage of the underbelly of the city, did

you?" Holli smiled. "I'm sure there are some nice ones here and there."

"Bunch a lot worse than this one," George interrupted. "Some just go through old

brush, nothing else. Some are pretty broken up. Sprained my ankle pretty good back

in the spring. Best be careful of them, you two."  He turned, looking up the steps again.

"Better be on my way. Maybe we'll run into each other again on some paper street

somewhere."

George was at least twice Steve's age, but scooted right up the steps with leg muscles

used to constant stepping.

"Look at him go," Steve grumped. "Makes me feel like a cripple."

"Well, you ARE a bit damaged," Holli chimed in. "Though parts of you still work well,

very, very well."

"Why, Miss Tittswell," Steve grinned, "nice of you to notice."

"I intend to notice a lot more."

Smiling now, Steve took several shots of the paper street. He was glad Holli was with him.

This whole thing would be rather depressing if he were alone.

Holli had watched Steve's eyes as he looked up the steps. Uh oh, she thought, strike one for

Pittsburgh. Not good. Here she was trying to show him the city as it was for her, and where

were they? Creeping around the underbelly. Damn, damn, damn! And the next couple of

paper streets went right through scrubby brush.  Why couldn't his assignment have been

the bridges?

Oh, great! she sighed, getting out of the car at the top of the next paper street on the route

she'd planned out yesterday evening.

"At least there's no yukky houses close to this one," she said, looking at Steve

hopefully.

He just shook his head and took a few shots in silence.

The next set made an interesting right-angled turn that caught his eye but there

was no way to get it from both ends without simply going down the steps.

He took it slow and Holli tried not to hover.

Then, of course, there was the going back up.

They managed five more paper streets before it began to rain and Holli turned

her car toward the bed and breakfast. Steve was very quiet as she drove and that

worried her.

When she'd parked, they sat there in the car, waiting for the rain to slack off a bit.

"Pittsburgh's not just the paper streets," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, a fleeting suggestion of a smile passing over his lips. "It's

just...I...well, they made me feel all heavy inside this morning. I don't like it. But

it's why I'm here, what I have to do."  He was genuinely dreading having to complete

his assignment. For a moment all he wanted was to be back in his apartment in New

York.  He closed his eyes, putting a hand over his face, the only sound the rain

pattering against the windshield.  Was his stuff still there; was his apartment still

there; was...he...still there? The old panic began to rise in him. He bit his lip. He

hadn't thought he could still feel like that.

He leaned forward, putting both hands on the dashboard then pressing his forehead

against them.  Stop it, Steve! he ordered himself. Stop it NOW!

"Steve?"

"It's harder than I thought, Holli," he whispered, not lifting his head. "I'm afraid if

I don't check, it'll all be gone, I'll be gone."

She knew it was because of his sister, Bethie, how she'd died and everything for him

was gone after that. He'd carried that with him all these years and right smack-dab

in the middle of his adulthood, the little boy who'd felt like everything was gone was

still there.

"Come," she said softly, ignoring the rain. "Come inside and let me show you."

He didn't even know what it was she meant, but he came and, rain-wet, they lay on

the violet-strewn bedspread.  His hair was plastered across his forehead and she

smoothed it back, beginning to kiss every part of his face.  He pressed into her

eagerly, suddenly desperate for her.

Then, later, as they lay side by side entwined, she asked, "Where are you, Steve?"

He was slightly startled by her question. "I'm right here, Holli."

"You're sure?"

"Positively."

"You're not afraid that you're gone?"

"Not at all."  Then he understood.  He was right here. He wasn't gone.  It was because

of Holli. It wasn't being in New York or being on some paper street in Pittsburgh. It was

Holli.  There was no place he needed to get back to to check and see if he were still there.

"Will you marry me, Miss Tittswell?" he murmured into her ear.

"I do think I might just do that, Mr. Moran."

.........................................

"Ah, good," Holli smiled, "this is just a block away."

She had parked on Grandview as close as she could get to The Tin Angel, a small

restaurant situated in the heart of restaurant row down near the Trimont, that

black building Steve always thought of as a boned fish.

"You'll like this," she said as they paused in front of the actual angel made of tin

that graced the front wall. "Has great views of the city and is...."

She stopped when a black limo pulled up in front of the near-by Le Mont restaurant

and Martin, in full tux, stepped out with a sleek brunette in red on his arm. Damn!

Was the man everywhere? All she'd wanted was a good dinner in a nice restaurant

with a glorious night view of the city...something to further take away the taste of

this morning's paper streets...and there came Martin.

Martin saw them and detoured from the front doors of Le Mont in their direction.

"Didn't think you could afford to eat at this end of the street, Holli," he purred.

"You seem to be everywhere, Martin...like the plague," she smiled in return.

Martin ignored her and sized Steve up. Steve was dressed more simply in nice

slacks, a dark suitcoat and tie. "This the parking valet?"

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Holli practically dragged him through

the Tin Angel's door.  "Dinner," she said firmly. "We're here for dinner, not Martin."

Steve turned his head as the large door closed slowly, still able to see Martin standing

in a hostile, spread-legged position on the sidewalk.  He looked for all the world like

some curly-horned ram on a craggy mountain slope, staring after his ewe. And just

as possessive.

Holli had made reservations early and as it was a week night, they were led to a table

beside the large  windows.   It was  dark  now,  and the city  spread out below in  a

panorama of glittering light.  Holding hands across the table, they both forgot about

Martin.

Dinner was served in five courses by very attentive waiters. Steve explored the stuffed

grape leaves and baby eggplants and was already getting full when his main course of

Black Forest filet arrived, complete with cherries. They ate and talked and ate some

more.  She slipped off her shoe and ran her toes down his leg, murmuring something

about being a good girl and therefore not going so far as the gal did in Flashdance

under the restaurant tablecloth.

He remembered the movie. "That was Pittsburgh? I'd forgotten where it took place."

"You never will again," she smiled, moving her toes just a bit higher.

He almost spluttered his wine on the white tablecloth.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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