"The Chauffeur is the stag friend?" Ivy spoke low to Maryanne, grasping her hand as they skipped through the lobby of the swanky apartments just a short drive from the Gilded Cage.

Maryanne cringed. "I didn't know, I swear. I mean, at least he's tall."

Ivy groaned as she peeked over her shoulder at the two men following behind as they turned towards the elevators. Maryanne's date was swinging his walking stick with a silver handle cast in the shape of a wolf's head. Maryanne had mentioned that his name was Rupert Swift.

The Chauffeur still remained anonymous. He ambled alongside Rupert, his uniform jacket tucked under his arm and hands in his pockets, his eyes everywhere but her. That fact annoyed her the most. He'd barely said two words to her the whole drive, congenially chatting with Maryanne and Rupert as he parked the car.

"I think he's nice," Maryanne offered as they stopped in front of the elevator. "Just give him a chance."

Ivy gave a pained smile and refrained from rolling her eyes as the men stopped behind them. Rupert swung his walking stick around and hit the up arrow button. The numbered curve with it's golden arrow over the doors rang out as the elevator dropped down to them.

"So what is this place?" Maryanne asked coyly over her shoulder.

In his well tailored, pinstripe suit and fedora, Rupert appeared like quite the dandy, very different from the usual fella' that Maryanne gravitated towards. Ivy assumed the car must be more of a draw than the man.

Rupert tossed his white scarf over his shoulder. "Just a small get-together of friends."

As they reached the penthouse, Rupert pinched Maryanne in the side flirtatiously, the doors ringing open. Maryanne giggled as Rupert slung an arm over her shoulders and led her into the dimly lit foyer, the dull roar of jazz music in the rear of the richly decorated apartment.

"You two coming or what?" He shouted over his shoulder as they sauntered out of sight.

Ivy and the Chauffeur stood awkwardly in the elevator with him a step behind her.

"Long time, no see," she growled without looking at him. "Where have you been skulking about?"

Before she could strut away he reached past her shoulder for the elevator buttons, his chest grazing her back. The doors slid shut.

"Hey! What's the big idea!?"

"I hear you've got a new boss."

"Yeah? What's it to you?" She scoffed, sneering at his uniform. "Not like you two run in the same crowd."

"No. But I do know him. Better than you think at first glance." He grabbed her hand as they reached the ground floor once again. "C'mon, I want to show you something."

Reluctantly, Ivy followed him through the echoing lobby. She didn't want to admit it but he intrigued her as much as Mal Smith did, their odd conversation still plaguing her. She slid into the passenger side as he started the engine. They drove off into the city, igniting under the summer night sky.

They did not speak, even as as they crossed over the bridge leading out of the island of Manhattan. The Chauffeur held the wheel lightly with bare hands, his leather gloves discarded in the backseat. Her interest was piqued when she noticed a thick gold band on his ring finger.

"Are you married?" She braced her arms over her chest and gaped over at him accusingly. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but if believe for one second I'll have a fling with a married man..."

He didn't look over at her, but flexed his hand before resting the wrist against the wheel with a deep breath. "I used to be."

Something in his voice made her pause. She chewed on her tongue and turned to face the front, squinting into the headlights of the oncoming traffic. "What... what happened?"

"She died."

The rest of the drive was silent as the grave as they passed the remaining boroughs and deep into the adjacent woodlands of New Jersey. By the signs, Ivy noticed they were heading for the coast. They drove through sleepy seaside villages up towards the long, sandy beaches that lined the ocean, somewhere between New York and Atlantic City. At a small town with a long pier lined with fishing and commercial vessels, they parked.

"We're here," he said, starting to get out of the car.

"Wait." Ivy gripped his forearm, drawing his attention. "I'm not going out there."

"We're not getting on a boat, only to the end of the pier."

"I'm not doing that either," she replied firmly. "I don't like water."

He snorted. "You? Don't like water?"

"Yes, I never learned how to swim. I grew up inland. And when I was a child there were a series of shark attacks in a river here in New Jersey. I read all about it in the papers."

"Shark attacks," he repeated incredulously, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yes. Sharks..." Her hands drifted to her lap and wrung against the silvery tassels of her dress. "And... I've had some bad dreams in the past."

He turned his body towards hers and perched an elbow between them on the back of the seat, his wedding ring glinting in the electric light of a lamp post overhead. "What kind of dreams?"

"I don't want to talk about them."

"But you should. You are looker thinner and more ill every time I see you. You aren't sleeping anymore, are you?"

She shrugged. "Not sleeping well, I suppose."

"I started to have my own bad dreams when I was younger. My grandfather encouraged me to talk about them. The more I told him about them, the better I felt." His mouth softened in remembrance. "My grandfather was a good man. He knew how to take care of me."

Ivy gave a weak grin. "I've never had anyone."

The Chauffeur shifted his misty eyes towards her and Ivy fell under his spell. His hand lifted as though he would graze her chin with his knuckles, but clenched it into a fist and pulled away. "For that, I am more sorry than I can say."

Drawing a shaky breath, Ivy fluffed her hair and bounced out of the vehicle, only getting as close as necessary to the rocky drop off by the pier. "So what is it you wanted to show me?"

The car door slammed and he came alongside her, one hand in his pocket. He pointed out towards the dark ocean. Despite it being close to midnight, she was able to catch a bobbing row of ships in the distance. They were brightly lit. The wind carried strains of music towards them.

"You see that line of boats?"

"Yes, what are they doing out there?"

"Twelve miles out to sea from the coast, the legal distance that liquor can be within US territory. It used to be three miles, but the government extended it last year. It's called the Rum Line."

Ivy laughed. "Like Rum Runners?"

"Exactly. They ship the liquor in from Canada, whiskey from Ireland, rum from the Carribean. Then they set up shop out there and ferry in potential costumers to sell it illegally, gangsters and speakeasy owners, to sample their wares. They even get hookers out there to add to the atmosphere. It's quite an ingenious set up. The Coast Guard can't touch them since they are legally out of their jurisdiction." The Chauffeur sat down on the stony ground, his long legs resting on the boulders that led down to the crashing surf below. "But it's a dangerous venture. Highly competitive, especially among the mob. Your new boss, Mal Smith, one of his ships is out there and he's looking to procure more."

Ivy's jaw dropped with a raw laugh. "But Mal is a millionare."

"Yes he is."

"Why would he go and get mixed up with such a thing? He doesn't have a need. Wouldn't that put him in danger with the mob? Encroaching on their territory?"

"He likes the thrill of it, I think. Perhaps he enjoys controlling things as well. He thinks he could do a better job of it. Like The Gilded Cage, he believes he can run it better than anyone else."

Kicking a pebble into the water, Ivy sank down beside him and sat an arm's length away. "How do you know so much about him?"

"We were in the war together. He was the superior officer in my unit."

Ivy smirked. "Ah. I see. So you're a war hero too, I expect?"

The Chauffeur glared over at her, his brow furrowing. "If you need to know anything about Mal Smith, know this. He is no war hero. Not in this life or any other."

He shuffled to his feet, snatching a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Ivy watched him silently as he took out two smokes and stuck them between his lips, flicking his lighter furiously. She stood, the salty breeze whipping at her dress. Goosebumps broke out over her bare arms.

The Chauffeur held out one of the cigarettes. "You look cold."

She took it and tried to ignore the overwhelming sense of deja vu that came over her. "I'll manage."

Blowing out a cloud of smoke, his eyes drinking her in like a tonic, he gave a wry grin. "I don't doubt it."

Hoofbeats thundered as she ran from danger. Strong arms swung down and lifted her up onto the saddle of the horse, holding her as they rode across a windswept plain and down into a dell. It had been so long since they had been that physically close to one another.

Ivy shuddered as the memory escaped her. The Chauffeur appeared as breathless, his body turned towards her.

"What did you see... just now..." he whispered.

"Who are you?" She demanded, shocked as tears filled her eyes. "What is your name?"

The Chauffeur grimaced and threw the cigarette to the ground. "I have never wanted to deceive you, not once. Never like Mal Smith. So I will not start now. I will tell you my name when you are ready to hear it." He strode back towards the car. "Let's get back to the city. It's getting late."