Nicasio was sleeping on his sofa. He had returned home from campus and his meeting with Professor Simons, still not quite believing what he had seen and heard. Nevertheless, the emotional shock of putting his thesis on hold to work on some new, unprecedented find, had debilitated him hours earlier. His lack of sleep and food for days, the pressure of the meeting, were all responsible for his now near comatose state at around eight o'clock that Monday evening. As he began to recover with a beer in his hand, the thought of how his life would obviously take a new direction began to play heavily on his mind. Travel to Spain? Greece? Turkey? Why Turkey? His thoughts kept playing over the photos of the tomb-its beehive construction, the white marble sarcophagus.

Nicasio had briefly studied ancient Greek funerary architecture at some point during his undergraduate years, yet the images of it, until seeing its magnificence again, had been buried under years of sixteenth and seventeenth century New World history. Specifically, he knew more intimately the age which brought in a wave of explorers from Europe to the western coast of North America, almost three-thousand years later. And his most prominent research had taken him into the hearts and paths of these sometimes ruthless, but always exceptional men. Universally they had been hungry for sources of wealth that would lead them to the edge of the known world. This left him with little precedence for Amazons, either in their more ancient traces of myth or as they appeared in his mind-now only as pop characters depicting strong, aggressive females.

It was all too bizarre that his scholarship would have to be considering any connection between Greek Mycenaean burial elements, the Amazon legends, and the exploration of the California coast. it was just too chimerical to make any historical sense, and even more surreal that one of his most admired and respected professors of history was to give the whole affair so much credence and attention.

Nicasio reached over and picked up a small, framed photograph from the end table. It was a picture of him and Daniela, taken at his little nephew's birthday party the previous winter in Los Angeles. Though it was only ten months before, the two of them seemed somehow more innocent, even naïve-but looked far happier. It was hard to believe they had been together now a full five years. He peered closely into Daniela's smiling face as she held the young Enrique in her arms. There was something very maternal about her there with the restive three-year old-the way she pressed her cheek against the boy's shoulder and held his small hand in hers.

Nicasio mused with the idea of Daniela holding his own son in such an embrace one day. It was an idea that in all of their five years together he had only rarely considered. Yet it was an image which he now visualized realistically as his PhD neared completion and the prospect of teaching for Cal or any number of the colleges or universities in the Bay Area emerged.

It was surprising how the two of them seemed still so juvenile in the picture, like many of his students now in the California course he taught. And yet Daniela was twenty-four, and he twenty-seven. The couple in the photo smiled back at him quietly and he remembered how relatively unconsumed he allowed himself to become with his studies during that Christmas break. In contrast now, he was aware of how strained at times his relationship with Daniela had devolved, really through no choice of his own. The pressures of academic validity had been taking its toll on both that relationship and himself. Feeling a pang of sudden guilt, Nicasio surmised it was time to give her a call. To reassure her of his genuine affections after the hellacious weeks he had recently spent.

Looking at his watch, he knew she would be home from work and certainly back from the riding club which several times a week she so loved to visit. He also predicted she would be up in her room, browsing or reading from websites on her computer. She was known in the afternoons to be watching inane television programming which Nicasio so loathed and which he felt was emblematic of a culture in decline. This habit she had developed out of boredom too easily after finishing her graphics art degree at UCSB and upon starting her work at her father' advertising firm.

Nicasio picked up the telephone on the end table and dialed her smart phone. After six or seven rings, the line opened.

"Why are you even bothering to call me," the voice sharply asked?"

"Hey, come on Dani . . . is that anyway to be? Listen, Angelina, I've got some good news."

"What good news, Nicasio? Let me guess . . . you've re-booked a table for us at Rafael's tonight? Well, you can cancel on that one!"

"What? Daniela? Are you OK?"

"Very OK, Nicasio. I just don't want to talk to you right now."

There was a pause.

"OK, but look. I had my meeting with Dr. Simons. It' kind of strange what happened . . ."

"Goodnight , Nicasio." The line went dead.

He held the phone receiver in his hand and just listened to the empty dial tone for several seconds.

"Jesus Christo. Women!"

Quickly he jumped off the sofa and threw himself into action, showering, shaving and dressing to go out. Within twenty minutes he was on his way across the city to Daniela's posh neighborhood of Pacific Heights. He parked his 2004 VW Golf down the street from her house and ran back to the entry gate. He pushed the doorbell, glowing amber against the gray wall and looked into the remote fish-eye camera lens situated above him.

Daniela took her time to reach the hallway and looked into the small TV monitor. She knew it would be him, feeling a certain satisfaction that her uncaring demeanor on the phone might have brought instant results to her door. At last she pushed the release button and the gate lock was freed for his entrance.

Down the dimly lit walkway Nicasio traveled like he had done so many times before, to pick her up for dinner or concerts or outings on the weekends down the coast. Daniela was determined to not let this time be anything like the routine she had fallen into with him. She met him at the front door, near the termination of a well-manicured flower-lined walkway, and brusquely asked why he had come.

"I just wanted to see you," he said. "Look, I know I've been a real shit to you these past few weeks, Dani. And I am sorry about that . . . really. . . Are you gonna let me in?"

She stood aside, signaling him to pass through the doorway. She had her arms crossed and followed him into the main family room where he knew no one would be. He removed his weathered leather jacket and took a seat on the large cream-colored divan, across from the marble-faced fireplace. Daniela sat down on the Chinese carpet in front of him, with her legs crossed. Her expression was still resolute to not be cooperative.

She was wearing a simple athletic sweat suit and her hair was still damp and brushed down, practically in front of her face. She nevertheless always looked ravishing to him.

"Nicasio, I don't know why you're here. I don't want to go out with you. I'm tired, I'm still upset, and I just want to get some sleep."

"Dani, I know that. And I can totally see why. I just have to tell you something that's going to make a few changes in my life right now . . . OK? Probably this whole next year . . . at least."

She unfolded her arms and stared at him. "What kind of changes?"

There was seriousness to her voice now that hinted at the potential of hurt, or fear. She suddenly looked anxious, as if he were about to tell her of something devastating, like the possibility of another woman.

"Well at the meeting today, Dr. Simons offered me a huge part of some project he's working on . . . kind of a special thing, really. He claims it will be good for my career and . . . well he's chosen me as his only co-researcher. It makes me more as a colleague with him now. Can you believe that?"

Daniela took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Her relief that it was not about another female belied her present anger. She was looking at him more like she used to-with a glimmer of affection, but now still angry and newly reserved.

"So how is that going to change things with us, Nicasio? You say your life will be different? How different?"

"Well, for one, I'm going to be traveling. At least for a while, I guess."

"Traveling? Where?"

"I can't say much about it yet . . . maybe as far as . . . Turkey."

"Turkey? What's this about, Nicasio? Why so far? You're specializing in California history. . . Right?"

"It's about some new find. And I guess it's pretty . . ."

"Far away? So, where does that leave us? I'm asking you now."

"That's why I'm here, Dani. To tell you I still love you. And . . . to ask you . . . to come with me in two weeks . . . to Spain . . . or maybe Greece."

"What?"

"Where ever it is I have to go. I don't want us to be apart anymore. Not like these last months."

Daniela crossed her arms again. Her face was flushed, still tinted with sun from her phenomenal ride that afternoon.

"Oh great! So now instead of standing me up here in the City, you can just cancel-out on me while we are in . . . Madrid. . . or maybe . . . Istanbul? Is that it?"

Nicasio groaned and mumbled something in Spanish under his breath. He looked up into the wainscoted ceiling, seemingly so far above him. He had never noticed the little angels that were carved into the panels of wood. They seemed to be laughing. Mocking him now.

"Why did you even take on this new thing, Nicasio? You had a choice to not accept it, right? And just finish your thesis . . . didn't you?"

"It's all about the university, Dani. About Cal. My guarantee of teaching there fulltime could be cinched by this opportunity. And to be a part of something . . . well, so amazing . . . You just have to try to understand. This thing is really big. Simons is insisting. He has this faith in me. I just couldn't turn it down, Angelina."

Daniela was strangely quiet again. Nicasio was looking down at the complex patterns in the Chinese rug she sat upon. He began to feel hurt that she could not see the new development as a positive direction for him or even think of expressing some pride for his achievement.

He looked beyond her, into the other spacious rooms of the house and spoke sullenly. "Look, where are your parents, anyway?"

"San Diego." She answered in a monotone voice. "At my aunt's house in La Jolla for the week."

He held out a hand to her. "Come on, mi novia. I do miss you. I realize this academic thing has been a lot for you. It just means so much. Maybe our whole future depends on it."

Daniela got up slowly, and seemed ready to leave him there in the large room. He stood as well and stopped her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her closer to him. In a soft embrace he looked into her greenish-brown eyes. They seemed truly more indifferent than he had ever seen them, yet somehow also more feral and attractive. He quickly pressed his lips to hers and waited for a response. There was little to none. But as he caressed her back tenderly and moved his hands onto her hips she grudgingly yielded to a longer, more passionate kiss.

It had been almost two weeks since they had made love back at his apartment. Now, it seemed, as she gave no resistance to his unbuttoning her blouse and kissing her neck, it might finally take place again, right there on her living room floor.

* * *

As Nicasio found himself nearly an hour later completely spent and exhausted, ending what seemed like the longest day and night of is life. Daniela was still on top of him, silent but radiant and naked. She still softly pressed against him in small waves of passion. Once again it became all too evident to this young, would-be professor that the female sex was by far the most unpredictable, and in the end, the most enduring when pitted against man as his most timeless and alluring rival.

* * *