Date: Fri, 29 Feb 2008 03:12:36 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Fork in the Road"  Chapter 13

FORK IN THE ROAD
By Scott Turner
Chapter 13

"If you come to a fork in the road, take it."
-Yogi Berra

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that occasionally contains rather
graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting adult men.  If
that's not your cup of tea, or if it is illegal for you to possess or read
such material, then please go elsewhere.  This story is copyrighted, 2008,
and may not be reproduced, reposted or published without the expressed
permission of the author.



Scott arrived at The Union at twelve twenty on the nose.  He hurried down
the hallway and spied Kelly waiting under the broad arch.  He gave a shy
grin.  "Hi, Kelly.  Thanks for agreeing to meet me."

There was no physical contact.  She merely grinned a little and shrugged.
"No problem.  Like I said I have to eat anyway.  You ready for lunch?"

Scott nodded enthusiastically.  "Starved.  Didn't have any breakfast and
was in and out of our offices all morning long.  Lots of running over to
the senators' offices.  Most of their staff members won't deign to visit me
in my humble little cube."

Kelly led the way to the food line.  "Ah, the high and mighty, or the
imaginary high and mighty.  I really miss that crap."

Scott chuckled and nodded.  The pair made their way through the food line
and the tension, stocking up on greasy burgers, greasy onion rings and a
couple of Cokes.  Hers was diet.

"Put it away," he said as she fumbled with some cash at the register.  "My
invite, my buy."  Kelly tightened her lips and she frowned.

"Really, Kelly, I want to do this.  It's not that much.  Please, put it
away."  He picked up her tray with his free hand and looked over his
shoulder.  There was an empty table near the back windows overlooking the
terrace.  "Why don't you go and get a few little paper cups of ketchup and
I'll meet you back there."  He carefully put the trays down and dropped his
book bag off his shoulder.  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top
button.  In a minute, Kelly returned with six little cups full of ketchup
for both the burgers and the rings.  He picked up the shaker and held it
over the big basket of onion rings.  "Salt?"

She shrugged.  "Sure.  A little bit."

He smiled and sprinkled a modest dusting on the rings.  They were still
very hot and pretty oily, so the sodium crystals stuck.

Kelly removed the top of the bun, lightly salted and peppered the burger
patty and then squeezed one of the little cups of ketchup over the beef.
She put the bun's cover back and pressed down on it lightly.  She glanced
up.  "So...you wanted to talk?"  She picked up the sandwich and bit into
it.

As she dropped four or five rings onto her plate, he sipped his Coke.
"Uhm...yeah.  I've wanted to for days.  I was awful at Homecoming, Kelly,
and I'm really sorry."

She licked her lips and stared.  "Then would you please tell me just what
the hell that was all about?"

Scott chewed and mentally reviewed the little speech he'd rehearsed so many
times.  He raised three digits.  "Three things, really, I guess."

Kelly leaned over in anticipation.  He took another sip of his soda.
"First, and it's not your fault, but I had a really shitty time."  He
shrugged.  "I should have seen it coming, and maybe should have backed out,
but didn't want to leave you high and dry.  But I spent most of the day and
much of the night by myself."  He met her gaze.  "In all honesty, it just
sucked."

Kelly put down her burger and glanced down at the plate in remorse.  "I'm
sorry, Scott.  I should have paid more attention."

"No!  Like I said, I should have anticipated it and maybe could have done
something before hand to let you set something else up with somebody who
wouldn't have acted like such a jackass."

She grabbed an onion ring, broke it and dunked it in the ketchup.  "Okay,
that was the first thing."

It was his turn to look down in embarrassment.  "Second, I got drunk.
Judgment eluded me for a time.  I was dealing with being pissed and then,
as you know," he looked around, "when I've had a few I get horny.  And, for
a time, I was hell-bent on getting you back to the hotel to indulge my
carnal ambitions.  I know it sounds kinda piggish, and I guess it is, but
me and the alcohol were thinking you owed me, and I got the feeling that
you were ready and rarin' to go."  He looked at the ceiling.  "And I hope
you'll believe me when I tell you I take no pride in that."

She swallowed another bite of her burger.  "Well, I knew you were kinda
drunk, and I guess I was `rarin and ready.'  So, at the end of the night,
it felt like you were either playing some kind of sick game, or the wheels
had fallen of your sanity track."  She leaned over and spoke in a hushed
tone.  "I mean...Scott...there was a time when you and I would have made
the windows rattle in that room."

He shook his head in shame.  "I'm sorry, Kelly.  I really can't explain
much about how the night ended, but that's the third thing."  He thought
for a moment as she waited in anticipation.  "It's like I was suddenly hit
by this thunderclap that screamed in my head, `No!  This isn't right.
You're leading her on in something you're not going to be able to live up
to, to sustain.  It's just wrong."  He put down his burger and wiped his
lips.  "I wish I could explain it better than that, but it was like a
sudden panic attack.  I was uncomfortable and ashamed and just plain
desperate to get the hell out of there.  I know I did it badly, but it was
like all I could do."

She scowled at him as her beautiful emerald eyes bore into him.  "All you
could do was leave me half-naked on the bed and drop a twenty on the
dresser?  Make me feel like some sort of cheap whore who wasn't living up
to your expectations?  Jesus, Scott!  It was fucking humiliating."

He hung his head.  "I'm sure it was, and I'm so very sorry.  Really, I am.
That's why I called."

"And a burger and a few onion rings are supposed to make it all up?"

He shook his head.  "No, Kelly, it's not.  You don't owe me anything, and I
know it's too much to ask your forgiveness.  I was a lout, a slug, and it's
been gnawing at me ever since.  I just needed to tell you that we don't
have a future in the world of romance.  I like you a lot, and I'd love it
if we could remain friends, but that part of our relationship has died on
the vine.  It's over.  I can't explain why, but it just is."  He looked
back at her like a puppy dog who's just been caught chewing on some shoes.
"And I'd consider myself damned lucky if you could ever see your way clear
to remain my friend.  It's too much to ask, I'm sure, but I had to give it
a shot."

She leaned back in her chair and sighed.  "Well, you need to know that I
won't likely answer any of your calls or e-mails.  And if you ever make a
move on me again, I'll slap you silly."

He grinned slightly.  "And I'd deserve it, but it isn't going to happen."

She reached back to the table and grabbed an onion ring.  "At the same time
you need to know that it's looking like I'm going to be volunteering for a
certain candidate for our State Senate, as yet unannounced, and will be
staying at Aunt Mo's place a lot this summer so that I can work on the
campaign.  So it's likely our paths will be crossing a lot in June, July,
August and maybe after that.  You might have to work at keeping your
distance."

Scott slapped the table.  "No shit?  Maureen told me that the political bug
had stung you pretty good while you were in Governor Hackett's office.
Gonna come up and do some heavy lifting for Big Scott, huh?"

She grinned slyly and shrugged.  "And Aunt Mo'.  I figured `what the hell?'
I'm going to graduate in May with the marketing degree.  Thought I'd take a
dip in the political waters while I figure out what's next.  Could be grad
school back here at the LaFollette Institute."  The Robert M. LaFollette
Institute on Public Policy was an outstanding graduate program in political
science within the University of Wisconsin.  She went on.  "My application
is already in the hopper for their graduate program.  Might be that I'll
want to follow in Mo's footsteps one day.  But in the meantime, I'm still
going to the meetings with recruiters and the like in the private sector.
Keeping all my options open, ya' know."

They dumped their trash in the bin and put the trays on top, and then
walked together toward the arch.  Scott went out on a limb and nudged her
with a shoulder.  "Friends?"

"Please don't do that, and the jury's still out.  I need some time to think
about it, but am not about to make the state of our relationship a big
priority."  She thought for a second.  "I do hope this did you some good.
Not sure if it did me any, and it could be that all we did was double my
normal daily intake of calories and fat.  I'm sure our paths are going to
cross again before long, but won't promise what you'll find when that
happens."



Scott returned from Randy's funeral with just enough time to change
clothes, nuke some leftover hot dish, fill his gut, grab his WSA stuff and
make it to The Union for the meeting.  As he strode toward the car, he was
again comforted by the knowledge that Walter Jamieson would have everything
arranged and in order for a smooth session.

After Scott called the meeting to order, Walter called the roll.  The first
procedural move at every meeting was the formal adoption of the agenda.
Elliot stood and made a motion to add the finance committee's
recommendation to the night's activities.  Priscilla Standish quickly
seconded it.  After Scott called for discussion on the motion, Elliot made
an impassioned speech about the democratic process.  He spiced it up here
and there with condemnations of the deviance and perversion facing the good
students of the university at practically every turn.  He demanded that the
committee's proposal be pulled from the president's desk and "see the light
of day."

Sonja Weiss was on her feet.  "Mr. President, will the senator yield for a
question?"

Elliot nodded with a bit of drama.  "Yes I will, Mr. President."

Scott nodded and pointed with the gavel. "Go ahead, Senator Weiss."

"Mr. President, I'm wondering if the senator is aware that a minimum of
four, and maybe as many as ten percent or more of our student body are gay,
lesbian or bisexual."

Elliot uncrossed his arms and signaled his readiness to answer.  Scott
nodded.  "Mr. President, I am indeed aware of the purported numbers and,
frankly, I don't care about them.  What I'm aiming for with this committee
proposal is to right a wrong that has been foisted upon all of our students
for the better part of two decades, ever since these groups started forming
to advocate these deviant lifestyles."

Sonja shook her head.  "Another question Mr. President.  And how many
students would Senator Lyman disenfranchise on such an issue as this and
still feel okay about it?  Forty, fifty, sixty percent?"

Elliot stood rigid.  "Mr. President, that's absurd.  Besides, it's not the
numbers we on the committee are interest in at all.  It's the moral
principles involved.  It's the nature of their relationships we're
concerned about and don't care to fund."

Sonja didn't even ask permission this time, and Scott let her go.  "And I'm
curious, Mr. President, just when did the nature of those personal, private
relationships, relationships that have absolutely no impact on any of our
lives, when did they become an interest of the WSA?  When did we 31 members
of this student body of over forty-four thousand become the bedroom
police?"

Elliot looked at the floor and smirked.  His head came back up and he
glared at Sonja.  "Mr. President, I can assure the senator that the last
thing I want to do is hear about, let alone peek in on, the goings on in
her bedroom"

Sonja tilted her head down and said, just loud enough for the folks nearby
to hear her, "You might learn a thing or two, you weenie."

Scott fought back a smirk and tapped the gavel lightly.  "The senators will
direct their questions or comments to the chair."

Sonja smirked.  "My apologies, Mr. President.  Will the senator yield for
another couple of questions?"

Elliot stood firm.  "Of course, Mr. President.  I have nothing to fear or
to hide on this issue."

"Mr. President, the senator said earlier that he basically accepted the
numbers, the percentages that is, of men and women around us who are gay or
lesbian or bisexual or transgender.  Do I understand that?  Am I in error?"

Elliot shrugged.  "As I said, four percent, ten percent, I frankly don't
care.  But let's assume it's ten percent.  It's irrelevant to the fact that
my money is going in support of that ten percent."

"Question of the chair, Mr. President."  Scott nodded.  "Do I understand
our bylaws correctly, so that if we do nothing right now all student
organizations will continue to be funded at last year's levels?"

Walter nodded at Scott and Scott nodded at Sonja.  "That's correct.  Doing
nothing right now means status quo."

She continued.  "Another question, Mr. President.  If we added up all the
fees currently going to the five organizations targeted by Senator Lyman,
what portion of the student fee allocation would that represent?"

Scott frowned.  He didn't know.  "One moment while I consult with the
clerk.  If anybody has that answer, he will."  Scott and Radar huddled for
a moment as Elliot crossed his arms again and tapped a foot on the floor.
Scott returned to the podium.  "Well, senator, and this is just a quick
estimate, but it looks like something just over nine percent.  We fund over
thirty organizations with student fees.  Some cost a lot more than others,
but it looks like about nine percent is the answer to your question."

Thank you Mr. President.  No other questions for you or the senator, but I
will request now the opportunity to address the body before we vote on
Senator Lyman's motion."

Scott looked back at Elliot.  "The floor is still yours, senator."

Elliot cleared his throat.  "Well ladies and gentlemen, all I'm insisting
on is a vote to bring the committee's recommendation onto the agenda
tonight and up for a vote.  The committee's members were duly elected, they
were duly appointed to the committee by President Turner, and they've made
a legitimate recommendation according to our constitution and our bylaws.
It deserves an up or down vote, and it deserves one tonight.  The students
who have stood outside or joined us inside tonight have a right to have
this process played out.  Their will is clear.  We owe it to our peers to
deliver a legitimate democratic decision."  He paused.  "Mr. President, I
call the question."

"Sorry senator, we'll vote on your motion in a couple of minutes.  Senator
Weiss has already reserved some time before we vote.  Senator Weiss."

Sonja stood up again.  "Ladies and gentlemen.  You've heard Senator Lyman
concede that perhaps as many as ten percent of us are gay or lesbian or
bisexual or transgender.  Now, I've long believed that in this country we
don't discriminate against citizens because of who they are.  And it
doesn't matter if they make up one, five, ten or fifty percent of the
population.  We only treat you differently because of what you chose to do.
But that's only if your choices and actions actually have some impact on
somebody else.  If I drive my car into yours or punch you in the face, then
throw my ass in jail.  If I close my bedroom door and read, or if I close
my bedroom door to enjoy the company of my partner, it's no harm and no
foul to any of you.  You don't like the thought of what I might be doing?
Then quit thinking about it.  It doesn't have any impact on you.

"I've worked with a few of you to draft a substitute amendment to the
committee's recommendations.  The problem is, it's not ready yet.  This is
a complex set of questions and issues that I fear the finance committee has
dealt with far too much simplicity.  We ought not rush it.  However, I can
assure the senators that our substitute will not allocate funds that are
out of proportion.  That is, if ten percent of the total student population
is what we're agreed on, then the funding will not exceed ten percent of
our fees.  They'll all be paying their own way and Senator Lyman and his
colleagues can sleep easier in the knowledge that not one red cent of their
precious fees are being spent on such deviant and degrading organizations.
Never mind that they're just making the University a more welcoming and
safer place for all of our students."  She paused.  "Thank you ladies and
gentlemen.  Thank you, Mr. President.  I yield the floor."  She quietly sat
down.

Scott cleared his throat and took a large gulp of water.  "Motion has been
made and seconded to add the finance committee's recommendation on the
disbursement of student fees to this evening's agenda.  As you know, such a
motion requires a two-thirds affirmative vote in order for adoption.  That
means twenty-one votes in favor are required for its approval.  The chair
is going to call for a roll call vote.  The clerk will call the roll."

Radar started through the list of names.  Half way through it was clear to
Scott that they'd won.  But that was only on the procedural question of
changing the agenda that night.  It was not the same as a vote on Lyman's
ideas or the committee's exact proposal.  That would come another day.

Radar cleared his throat.  "Mr. President, there are fifteen votes in favor
of the motion.  Fifteen against.  Since the two-thirds standard applies,
it's really not a tie so you're vote isn't required."

Scott smiled.  "Nonetheless, Mr. Jamieson, please record me as having voted
`nay.'"  He looked back at the crowd.  "Two-thirds not having been
attained, the motion fails."  Scott banged the gavel.  "Okay, let's move
on."



Michellina's was a popular Italian restaurant in Decorah, Iowa.  It was
nicely located, allowing for visitors from Wisconsin, Minnesota and
Illinois as well as from all over Frank Martine's home state.  And it had a
nicely appointed room in the back suited for banquets, large parties and
the like.  Seventy-five business and property owners from the four states
had been invited.  Sixty of them showed up.  They'd enjoyed a very nice
buffet of various Italian dishes and now several members were nibbling on
chocolate pistachio biscotti or enjoying creamy cannolis.  Others just
sipped coffee or water.

Frank was wrapping up.  "And so, what I'm proposing, ladies and gentlemen,
is the formation of the Greater Midwest Economic Growth Group.  All of us
would pony up a few thousand dollars annually, and all of us would cast the
widest possible net to solicit contributions from like-minded friends and
colleagues wherever we live and do business.  We would then use those funds
strategically to increase the odds of electing pro-business and
pro-development candidates at all levels of government, from your city
councils and county boards, to state legislatures and, when appropriate,
even to Congress.

A hand went up and Frank nodded.  The attractive woman from Minnesota
asked, "So this is a political action committee?"

Frank paused.  "Well sort of.  It's really an issue advocacy group.
There's a subtle difference.  PACs typically donate directly candidates and
are limited by each state's campaign finance laws.  This group would
identify candidates who think like we do and, where they need a boost into
office or are being seriously challenged and at risk of being ousted, we'd
do our own advertising regarding that race.  It's not a contribution to a
candidate's campaign, and isn't even done in coordination with the
candidate or his or her campaign committee.  It's simply a group of hard
working, honest businessmen and women and property owners, all of whom
share a common point of view on what's best for our states, for our nation
and for it's citizens.  And we have the right to air that point of view to
try and enlighten the voting, tax paying public as to what's going on in
their own halls of government.  In addition to advocating for pro-business
candidates, we could identify pro-business bills and proposals in our
localities and state legislatures.  Where we think this member of that one
needs a little pressure to vote the right way, we target that district and
urge people to call and write their representatives to vote the right way."

He continued.  "I'll give you an example.  I've had several conversations
with Jeremy Frick the Assistant Majority Leader of the Wisconsin State
Senate.  Senator Frick is ready to propose two significant bills.  One
would greatly improve the infrastructure, specifically Highway 151 from
Madison right to Iowa's border.  Another one would dramatically reform the
onerous rules and regulations under which property owners and business
people may or may not manage their own property.  Both bills would have
substantial benefits to the folks living there and others who might
consider investing there.  If we pooled our resources, we could identify
candidates who might need a nudge to vote the right way and target their
districts with our ads in support of pro-growth policies.  The bills are
going to be proposed and I believe we could affect their passage by
identifying the potential nay-sayers all over the state and putting some
pressure on them to vote the right way."

He was on a roll, practically shouting now.  "And then, in succeeding years
we can monitor the goings on in Minnesota, in Wisconsin, in Iowa, in
Illinois, and perhaps in all of our other border states.  We'll make damned
sure that we'll be doing business with a pro-growth environment.  Wouldn't
we all like to be doing business in a world where we believed the 'powers
that be were on our side?"  Most of the heads nodded.  "Well, folks, these
things don't happen just because we sit at our desks and gripe about it."
He slapped the table with the flat of his beefy hand.  "They happen when
good people like you and I do something about it.  Ladies and gentlemen,
the founders gave us a representative democracy, a wonderful republic where
the elected have to listen to the electors and do their bidding.  The
reality is that those representatives only react to what's on our minds and
what we expect of them.  Muttering on the drive home from work, or whining
down at the corner bar after a hard week doesn't get it done.  Action like
I'm proposing is what gets it done."

There was a round of applause.  "And so, I'll thank you all for coming
tonight.  Please fill out the cards that were placed next to your plates.
This initiative is going to go on with or without you, and we need to know
what's going on in your neck of the woods, and the extent to which you're
willing to do something about it.  Like I said, folks, it's action and not
just lip service that gets it done.  We can get it done!  Have a safe drive
home, and I hope you all enjoy a wonderful Thanksgiving with friends and
family."

There was another polite round of applause and everybody started writing on
the pledge cards in front of them.  One by one, the members of the newly
founded Greater Midwest Economic Growth Group dropped off their cards and
grabbed their coats.

Martine smiled.  `Great fucking night.  If just half of these folks can
bring one or two more into the fold, we could be a real force within a year
or two.  Who knows how big this could get?'



Scott was in the kitchen with his mom.  He was happy that they were doing a
real Thanksgiving dinner this year and he enjoyed helping out.  Suzanne's
brother and his second wife and kids would join them the next day for a
full-blown Thanksgiving feast.

The previous year had been clouded by Big Scott's budding political
ambition and by his grandmother's continuing battle with Alzheimer's.
Suzanne hadn't been very sure she wanted to become the political wife, and
Evelyn was positive that she didn't want to give up to the demons that
visited her all too often.  At least he was chopping onions at the moment,
so wiping his eyes as he remembered his grandma wasn't all that wimpy.  He
could blame the onion for the tears.  He'd been warned about all those
firsts after the death of a loved one: the first birthday, the first
Christmas and so forth.  This was going to be the first Thanksgiving
without Evelyn giving thanks and then raising hell about one thing or
another.  The woman could humbly say grace and then bitch and moan in the
same breath.  She was a marvel.  Scott grabbed a napkin from the holder and
wiped his eyes again.

Still, he was happy to be chopping veggies next to his mom, while Suzanne
was busily grating cabbage and carrots for the cole slaw.  "Scotty, check
the bread cubes in the oven, will you?  I want them toasted but not
burned."

Scott peeked into the oven.  "Na.  They're good."  He closed the door and
straightened up.  "Ya' know, Mom, you can but those stuffing cubes at the
grocery store."

Suzanne scoffed.  "Are you nuts?  My sister-in-law would notice and snidely
comment that her stuffing only allows for home baked bread cubes."  She
wasn't very fond of her brother's choice in a wife.  Scott's Aunt Melanie
generally returned the sentiment.

Big Scott ambled in, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and opened
it.  He leaned against the kitchen table.  "I talked to Marshall Oakes the
other day, Scott."

Scott continued chopping the vegetables for the stuffing.  "Yeah?  How's he
holding up?"

"Seems it's all still weighing pretty heavily on him, both Randy and me and
Maureen, but he's doing his best, I guess.  At least he was cordial.  Not
warm by any means, but he's just lost a son and has reason to be pissed at
me."

Scott nodded.  "I suppose so.  So, is he still going to run?  He gonna
challenge you for the nomination?"

The father took a draw from his beer bottle and shrugged.  "Didn't say, but
I doubt it.  I can tell you it's kind of a scary proposition under
optimistic conditions.  The thought of sticking your neck out, offering
yourself and your ideas in serving the folks back home, busting your ass to
grovel and plead for money and votes, and run the risk of being told `no
thanks, not interested.'  It's more than a little intimidating.  I think
Marshall knows that once Maureen comes out for me, it's going to be over
within the party.  She's the eight-hundred pound gorilla in our political
room."

Suzanne rolled her eyes but said nothing.

Big Scott continued.  "But he said something that's had me wondering.  He
told me that Randy called him from the road.  I guess he was fairly
incoherent by this time, but Marshall said he was babbling and ranting
something about you.  What's that all about?"

Scott grabbed a Granny Smith.  "Apples in the stuffing this year, mom?"

Suzanne continued scooping the grated cabbage into a big bowl.  "Nope.
Just the basic.  Hot sausage, celery and onions."

Scott kissed her cheek.  "Love it.  And lots of poultry seasoning."

She nodded and grinned.  "And lots of poultry seasoning."

Big Scott interjected.  "Any idea, Scott?  Why would Randy have been upset
with you?"

Scott went to the fridge and got a beer for himself.  He looked at his dad.
"May I?"

The father smirked and nodded.  "One."

Scott unscrewed the cap and took a sip.  "Hard to say, Dad.  You should
have seen him, though.  The guy was a fu..." he glanced at his mother.  "He
was a friggin' train wreck."

Suzanne smiled.  "Thank you, son."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek.  "No f-bombs in my mommy's house."
Both parents chuckled.  Scott leaned against the counter.  "Randy stopped
by my cube at about eleven that morning, already obviously impaired in a
big way.  He basically made an ass out of himself.  He was weaving and
spitting and drooling and his eyes were all red.  At eleven in the morning!
His main rant was `you knew!'  Apparently he was sure that I'd known all
along that Marshall was going to run, and so were you.  You know they
invited me to work on Marshall's campaign, right?"

Big Scott nodded.  "Yeah, Marshall told me."

"Well, anyway, Randy had convinced himself that I should have told him and
his dad that you were thinking of running yourself.  He was a lunatic, Dad.
He said he was going to show up at your press conference and raise all
sorts of hell.  That's why I tried to call and warn you.  That's about all
I know about why he'd be screaming about me over the phone to his dad."

The father dropped the bottle into the recycling bin.  "Weird.  Sad, but
really odd."

Scott nodded.  "Scary, actually.  Randy was a pretty sharp guy when he has
his stuff together."

Suzanne sighed.  "We all have our demons.  Sadly, Randy's got the better of
him."

Scott heard his cell phone ringing in his coat pocked.  He fished it out
and grinned, and then looked back at his folks.  "Gotta take this.  Back in
a few and we can assemble the other side dishes."  He walked into the
dining room and opened the phone.  "Hey, you!"  That was the last the
parents heard as Scott headed for the stairs and his bedroom.

"Happy Thanksgiving, sexy."  Greg and Scott both giggled.  "So, how goes it
up north, stud?  Keeping warm?"

"Not as warm as I'd like to be, but I'd need you here for that."

Scott snorted.  "Slut."

"You love it."

Scott smirked.  "Yeah, I do.  Big doings tomorrow?"

"Going over to my grandparents.  My aunts do all the cooking, but my
grandma and grandpa still insist on hosting.  My dad has two brothers and a
sister, and they put on quite a spread with Grandma supervising and
generally driving everybody crazy.  Dad and Jesse just set down a couple of
pies in the kitchen and get the hell out of the way to sit and watch
football with the other guys, and I divide my time between watching
whatever game is on and entertaining some of my younger cousins."

Scott smiled.  "Sounds like fun."

"It's not bad.  At least I'm not cooped up with just Dad and Jesse all day,
so that's all good.  Then I eat too much and do the guy thing; flop on the
couch, unbuckle my belt and doze off during the Lion's game."

Scott grinned again.  "Oooooh.  I like the unbuckle the belt part."

Greg giggled.  "Slut."

Scott giggled back and then became a bit solemn.  "But at least you still
have your grandparents to enjoy and visit with.  Hang onto that.
Seriously, Greg.  Make the most of it while you still can."

Greg paused.  "That's right.  This is the first Thanksgiving without your
Gran', isn't it?"

"Yep.  The old gal was with us last year.  Wasn't doing real well, but we
managed to squeeze some quality time out of it.  You should try to do the
same while you still can.  They're not going to be around forever, ya'
know."

Greg sighed.  "Yeah, I know.  Grandma is still pretty spry, but Grandpa is
slowly becoming more and more frail and forgetful."

"Spend as much time as you can with him tomorrow."

"I will."  There was a pause.  "I wish I could spend some time with you
tomorrow.  I know it's only been a couple days, but I miss you."

"Me to you."

"Hey, I had an idea today."

"Well, I'm very pro-idea.  Want to share it?"

"Well, my dad has a cabin an hour or so east of here.  Pretty modest, but a
beautiful place.  We have a couple of snowmobiles there and some great
trails that the county does a good job keeping in shape."

Scott was already smiling.  "And?"

Greg was grinning too now.  "Well, I'll be working at my uncle's hardware
store most of the time during the winter break.  But I was thinking if you
wanted to come on up, we could hide out there for a few days just before
classes start up again in January."

"Got a fireplace?"

"And lots of wood."

"I know you got `lots of wood,' but anything to burn in the fireplace?"

Greg giggled.  "Horn dog.  Yeah plenty of flammable material to chock into
the fireplace."

"Good.  I have this image of the two of us in a small, rustic cabin up
north, soaking a sleeping bag with our sweat in front of a roaring fire."

"Mmmmm.  Bottle of red wine warming in front of a blazing fire."

"Your legs in the air, sucking on my tongue, moaning my name and grabbing
my ass."

Greg coughed.  "Keep that up and I'm gonna have a lot of wood before too
long."

"My tongue in your ear, on your neck, teasing your nips.  Nibbling on your
earlobes and your chin.  Brushing the sweat-soaked hair off of your
forehead and sweetly kissing every square inch of your face."

"Stop it!  You're evil.  I call to wish you a happy Thanksgiving, and you
try to turn it into phone sex.  Jesus, you're a piece of work, ya know?"

"Yep, and you love it.  But really, I'd be delighted to trek north for a
few days to spend with you.  But only if we get to do all the stuff I
talked about."

There was a naughty snicker on the line.  "And then some."  Greg paused.
"Hey, bud.  Jesse's shouting up the stairs about one thing or another.  I
should run now."

Scott let out a suggestive chuckle.  "You're gonna go jack off, aren't
you?"

"Eventually, and so are you."

"Right now.  Then I'm gonna wash my hands and go back down to the kitchen
to help my mom with dinner for tomorrow.  G'night.  Have a good day
tomorrow.  Call me when you get back to town."

"You know it.  I will.  G'night."

They both did take care of themselves right away, each one envisioning the
other's sweaty body and cumming wildly.

Tuesday after Thanksgiving had been a hectic day.  Will had been out of the
office again and Scott had some questions he needed to have answered.  He
was supposed to have dinner with Greg, but had to cancel because the
deadlines on two major papers were looming.  He was hammering on the
computer in his room, the fattest cat in the world carefully monitoring his
progress and occasionally interfering for a pet or a scratch on the chin.
The cat had finally thumped off the desktop onto the floor, did a couple
short rubbing laps around Scott's ankles and plopped onto his feet.  It was
nice to be loved, or used anyway.

The cell phone rang.  "Aw fuck!  Hello?"

"What goes professor?"

Scott sat up straight.  "Marty!  How are you?  How's Jill?"

"I'm okay.  She's hanging in there; tired but okay.  I'm kind of beat too,
but nothing like she's going through though."

"How'd the holiday weekend go?"

"We split Thanksgiving with dinner at my mom's place and dessert with her
parents.  Ashley held the day, of course, but Jill had to basically
force-feed herself.  We were home on the couch by six and in bed by eight.
How was yours?"

"Great!  I had plenty of quality time with Big Scott and Suzanne.  On
Thursday I watched my mom and her sister-in-law fire eyeball daggers at
each other all day, ate like a pig and saw some pretty good football.  The
nieces and nephew are growing up so fast, it's scary."

"Ain't it the truth?  Hey, what're you doing next weekend?"

Scott thought and pulled up his day planner on the computer.  "Don't think
I'm doing much.  Hang on while I check the calendar.  What's on your mind?"

"Well, I'm bringing Jill up to UW tomorrow for another round of chemo.
She'll be there `til Saturday.  Now this is her idea, okay?  But she knows
I've been trying to put in fifty and sixty hour weeks at work, take care of
the kids and am basically going bonkers.  Her thought was that her folks
would take her back to Rockford when they kick her loose from the hospital,
and then I'd hang back in Madison for a little `r and r' on Saturday and
Sunday.  Got room on your couch for a squatter?"

"For you, always.  `Send me your tired, your poor...'"  He scanned the
screen.  "Nope.  Nothing I'm committed to."

"Very cool.  I'll be running up every night this week, but it'll be in and
out of town the next few days.  Then I'll send her home with her mom and
dad and head over your way on Saturday."

"Excellent.  I'll pick up some brats.  Not sure what Craig and Brett are up
to."

Marty scoffed.  "Brett will be with the ho' and Craig will be at a
concert."

"Probably.  Maybe I'll call a buddy of mine and see if he wants to join us.
He's a good shit.  You'd like him."

"Good good.  This is the baseball player you talked about?"

"Yeah.  Greg Page.  Freshman third baseman.  He's kinda quiet and shy so
you'll probably scare the shit out of him."

"I'll do my best.  I'll call on Friday night or Saturday with an ETA."

"Sounds like a plan, man.  Looking forward to it.  Hugs and kisses to Jill
and the kids, please."

"Always.  I'll let you go.  Get back to work."

"K, Marty.  Glad you called.  Talk to you in a few days."



Scott was slicing some limes and Greg was snuggling him from behind.
"Knock it off, perv.  Marty's gonna be here any minute and I don't want him
to walk in on us making out in the kitchen, or me on my knees giving you a
quick header, or you bent over the table."

They heard the front door burst open and an awful Cuban accent boomed up
the stairs.  "Heay Luuuuucy!  Aahhm hooooome!"

Scott smirked.  "In the kitchen, honey.  Getcher ass up here!"

Marty clomped up the steps and appeared in the doorway.

Scott's jaw dropped first, then the knife.  "Jesus fucking Christ!  What
the hell did you...?"

Marty giggled and rubbed the `peach fuzz' on his head.  "Like the new
look?"  He took a step forward toward Greg and thrust out his hand.  "You
must be Greg...Page, right?  Marty.  Marty Anderson, Special Advisor to
President Turner and former owner of a thick head of gorgeous, wavy rich
brown hair."

Greg smiled and returned the firm grip.  "Good to meet you, Marty.  Scott's
told me a lot about you."

Marty flashed his most dazzling smile.  "Don't believe all of it.  I'm not
quite as magnificent, marvelous or stupendous as he makes me out to be.
Close, maybe, but he's given to exaggeration."

Marty picked up the bottle of Tequila.  "Greg, why don't you ice three
glasses and we'll make use of this agave nectar."  Greg went to work on the
glasses and the ice and retrieved the mix from the fridge.

Scott snorted.  "But your hair!  What the hell did you do?"

"Well, once Jill's hair started falling out, one of the physicians'
assistants told us that a lot of chemo patients go ahead and beat the beast
to the punch and shave it themselves.  Kind of our way of saying `Fuck you!
We don't need our stinking hair!'  It can be very depressing to see it
falling out in clumps.  So, she decided to go ahead and shave the noggin'
and I decided to join her.  Went out and got an electric razor and we did
each other.  Ashley took the pictures."  He snorted.  "Actually, she wanted
to join the cue ball club, but her mom would have none of that."

Greg handed him the glasses full of ice.  "Man, I'm really sorry to hear
about her leukemia, but it sounds like she's dealing with it in the right
spirit."

Marty nodded as he filled the glasses.  "Thanks, man.  Yeah, we're all
dealing with it about as well as you can, I guess.  We went out and got her
an assortment of bandanas, a couple of cool turban kind of things that I
actually think make her look exotic and sexy, and even had her fitted for a
very good looking wig to wear if she's well enough to go out for an
evening.  She doesn't like it, though.  Says it makes her feel like she's
pandering to her own vanity."

Greg shook his head again and sighed.  "Bad deal, man.  But sounds like
she's holding her own under some shitty circumstances."

Scott led the guys into the living room. He and Greg took the couch and
Marty plopped into the recliner.  Scott nudged Greg.  "You need to know
Jill.  She's a rock."

Marty offered a subdued grin and nodded, and then he sighed. "Well, she's
still very sick, but tolerating the chemo pretty well.  She complains about
mouth sores and a terribly sore throat at times, but the weight loss hasn't
been too bad, thank God.  It's not like she had that much to lose to begin
with.  She complains that the chemo leaves a metallic taste in her mouth
and so eating can be both a little painful and not as enjoyable as it used
to be.  But, she's a trooper.  We're gonna beat this devil."

Scott leaned forward and straightened his arm, holding out his glass.  "To
beating this devil!"

The other two leaned in and they clinked glasses.  "To beating this devil!"

Forty-five minutes later, Greg drained his glass.  "Boys, we're out of
margarita mix and I'm not eating brats without kraut."  Greg looked at
Marty.  "Mr. Anderson, our host is performing dismally."  Then he sneered
at Scott.  "How the hell could you pick up a dozen fresh bratwurst, some
good hard rolls and not get a bag or, God forbid, even a can of
sauerkraut?"  He shook his head as he slid his arms into his bomber jacket.
"Toss me your car keys and light the grill.  I'm not gonna sit and drink
shots of straight tequila all night long, and I refuse to eat brats without
kraut.  It's downright un-American!  I'm gonna run to the store."

Marty reached back and below for his wallet.  "Need some cash?"

Greg grinned and waved him off.  "You're company this weekend and you got
two kids to raise.  Keep it."  He winked.

Marty watched his firm ass head for the stairway.

Scott caught the leer and sipped his margarita.  Once the door closed
downstairs he grinned.  "Forget it, bud.  Ain't gonna happen."

"What?"  Marty feigned a protest.

Scott guffawed.  "Don't give me that bullshit.  I know exactly what you're
thinking, and there's not gonna be some big, sweaty three-way in my bedroom
tonight."

Marty cocked his head and questioned with his face.

Scott leaned forward and put a hand on Marty's knee.  "Look, bud.  What you
and I have, and what we have had, is ours.  What Greg and me got going is
ours.  They're both really special, but they're not really the same and I
don't want to mix them up."  He leaned back and shrugged.  "Now, I don't
have any exclusive claim over the guy, so if you want to make a move on him
then go for it.  But don't count on it, and count me out.  I'm not going
there."

Marty sighed.  "You're no fun anymore, ya' know?"  He swatted Scott's hand
and then gulped his drink.  He thought for a moment.  "But he seems like a
really good guy."  He thought a little longer.  "There's a quiet shyness
there, though.  He seems kind of apprehensive around people at first."

Scott leaned back into the couch.  "You ever known anybody who grew up with
a son of a bitch for a father?"

Marty snickered and shook his head.  His own father, Dan, had been a
tremendous burden for both he and his mother until she found the courage to
dump him.  "No.  Never heard of that."

Scott laughed, but then a dour demeanor fell over his brow.  "Well, add to
the mix a dick-head of a big brother.  Greg is successful.  His brother,
Jesse, is a loser.  Jesse and Greg's dad both wrongly blame him for their
mom's death, and they've spent most of the past two years beating him down
emotionally about that."

There was a minute of silence as Marty stared at the wall and Scott gazed
out the window at the lake across the street.  Finally Marty shook his
head.  "Raw deal."

Scott nodded.  "But I think there's some strength, some resiliency there."

Finally, Marty snickered.  "So we ain't having any sex tonight, huh?"

Scott roared and leaned over to smack Marty on top of his buzzed head.
"Leave it to you, you monster."  He leaned a little further and looked into
Marty's eyes.  "We're gonna grill some brats and eat plenty.  We'll play
some cards and watch a pitiful episode of SNL.  We're gonna drink plenty
and shoot the shit.  Greg's going to hike back to the dorm eventually, and
I'm gonna go to bed.  Between now and then, we're all keeping our clothes
on.  You can sleep where you want.  The couch is free, Brett's room is
open, Craig's room is open and you know you're always welcomed on the free
space next to me.  The fattest cat won't like it, but he's getting used to
it."

Marty bobbled his eyebrows.  "And then?"

Scott snorted and shook his head.  "We'll see.  No promises."

"Damn.  Time was you couldn't keep your hands off me."

Scott shrugged.  "I never say never bud.  Gimme a kiss before Greg gets
back."  Marty leaned over and pecked him on the lips.  Scott actually
blushed.  "God, I feel like such a whore."

Marty kissed him again, a bit longer this time.  "You should."

Scott stood up and pointed.  "Yeah.  Married father of two is perving over
my buddy and kissing me in my living room telling me I should feel like a
whore."

Marty swatted his ass as he turned.  "You said it first, ya' whore."

Scott closed the bathroom door just as he heard the front door opening.

Coming out of the bathroom he heard the other two in the kitchen.  Greg was
slicing onions and Marty was filling a pot with two bottles of beer.  In
Wisconsin, you have to simmer bratwurst in beer, whether it be before or
after they're grilled.  They were chatting amicably, as if they'd been
friends for years.  But that was Marty's magic.  He could melt even the
shyness of Greg Page.  Amazing.

Scott peeked in the grocery bag and found some slaw and potato salad, and a
large jug of margarita mix.  He went to work on making another round of
drinks.  Then he went out front, dusted the snow off the top of the grill
and filled it with charcoal.  Once the coals were ablaze he went back in.
The fattest cat in the world walked past, looking annoyed at all the
commotion and noise.  Scott sneered at him.  "Fuck you."

Marty was regaling Greg with a recounting of the previous year's Halloween
party on State Street, and Greg was eating it up.  He was trying to
envision Scott dressed as Batman, shaking it with Catwoman, in the midst of
hundreds of spectators, and he was laughing painfully at Marty's
recollections of the evening.

After a satisfying feast of bratwurst, potato salad, slaw and baked beans,
followed by three games of Hearts, Greg went for his jacket.  "Gotta get
goin' guys.  Workin' out with the team at the gym tomorrow morning."

Marty snickered.  "What, no church?"

Greg shimmied into his coat and found his cap.  "The gym, my friend, is
church these days.  Every other Saturday morning, every other Sunday
morning at the gym with the guys.  This weekend it's Sunday."  He put on a
cap and shrugged.  "It ain't all that bad.  A good workout and a nice
shower with a few dozen or so hot bods, great butts and cute faces."  He
grinned, confident in his understanding of Scott's relationship with this
hot firecracker.  He had come to genuinely like Marty in a very short time.
He patted Marty on the chest with the back of his hand.  "You guys have fun
tonight."  He winked at Marty and then again at Scott.  "Talk to you later,
buddy."  Then he was bouncing down the stairs.

An hour later, Scott craned his neck and head off the pillow and stuck out
his tongue.  Marty leaned down and sucked it into his mouth until it hurt,
but he didn't lose his pace bouncing up and down on Scott's groin.  He
gripped Scott's pecs so hard that it was going to leave a couple small
bruises.  Scott didn't mind.  It had been a long time, and he felt
comfortable that he had Greg's go-ahead to play around with his old friend.



Scott was prepping for his killer heart attack omelets: eggs, sharp
cheddar, tomatoes, bacon and green onions.  They were great, but he'd have
to skip lunch and eat salad for dinner that night, and then go out for a
run after the Packer game.  Marty made a couple bloody mary's and put some
shredded potatoes in the frying pan.

"So how's my godson?"

Marty smiled.  "He's doing great.  Getting' as big as a horse.  He's gonna
be a linebacker."

Scott swatted his ass.  "With your skinny build?  Tennis star's kid playing
football?"

Marty giggled.  "You met Jill's brothers at the wedding.  They're big boys"
He wiggled his eyebrows.  "And I've seen `em in the shower after swimming.
They're very big boys."

Scott dropped the spatula and laughed.  "For Christ's sake!  You're perving
on your brothers in law too?"

Marty shrugged.  "Not perving.  Just admiring.  There's a difference. But I
think my handsome son managed to tap into their end of the gene pool in a
major way."

Scott poured some beaten egg into the frying pan and added the chopped
bacon.  He lifted the pan and swirled the mixture around to even it
out. "So, last night, were you perving on Greg or merely admiring him?"

Marty wrapped his arms around Scott's waist.  "Admiring.  A little bit
jealous, I admit."  He kissed Scott on the neck.

With Marty's arms still around his waist, he sprinkled some green onion and
tomatoes on top of the setting egg and bacon and then reached for the
cheese.  "You are in-fucking-corrigible, Mr. Special Advisor."  He swatted
Marty's hand.  "Turn the potatoes and make some toast."

Marty took the spatula from Scott and tossed the hash browns.  He sipped
his drink and poured two cups of coffee.  "Honestly, Scotty, he seems like
a really good guy, and it sounds like he kind of needs you."

Scott nodded and bit the inside of his bottom lip.  He didn't disagree.
Greg was a terrific guy.  It was the whole `need' thing that frightened
him.

Author's Note: More thanks going out to those of you who've taken the time
to drop me a note.  And, of course, many thanks and well-wishes to Kory for
his diligence and his sharp eye.  Several have written to ask about finding
"Strange Bedfellows," the prequel to this little story.  If you're
interested in the introductions of these and other characters, "SB" can
still be found in the Nifty archive.  It's last posting was May 1, 2007.  A
few of the characters from "SB" will be making cameo appearances in coming
chapters.  (Fans of Kip, stay tuned!)  Finally, I'll encourage once again
any feedback that might be on your mind.  Contact me at
scotty.13411@hotmail.com It's been a lousy few winter months here in
Wisconsin, and I can't get out all that much these days.  The
correspondence always brightens my days.  Be Well.