Date: Tue, 1 Apr 2008 03:29:23 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Fork in the Road," Chapter 17

FORK IN THE ROAD
By Scott Turner
Chapter 17

"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.


Abysmal.  It was the only word Scott could come up with to describe the
February Regents' meeting.  Later, back at the apartment, Brett would
furrow his eyebrows and ask, "abysmal...uhm, that's bad...right?"

Scott was exhausted.  The recent battle within the WSA, the looming fiasco
at the capitol, Randy's sudden death, his dad's candidacy, his classes,
Marty and Jill's dilemma...they'd all combined to push him to the edge.
And then there was the roller coaster that was Greg.  Scott was wondering
if maybe he was the one needing counseling instead of his buddy.  He'd
promised himself to just sit and shut up for the evening's meeting and see
what happened regarding the budget in the coming couple of months.
`Watchful waiting' became his mantra.  `Shut the hell up and react on the
budget if, and only if, you see a good reason and an invitation to spout
off.'

He suffered through several mind-numbing committee reports, including a
painfully detailed analysis of the School of Agriculture's achievements
including student retention, bio-fuel research, Wisconsin's booming ginseng
production and the incredible versatility of the soybean. `That is one
amazing legume,' he thought.  `And I'm glad we grow lots of them.  Now,
could we please move on to adjourning?'

Finally, Andy began to wrap things up.  "Okay, folks, before we call it a
night, let's look ahead.  The governor's office has notified me that his
budget projections and his expectations for all departments will be coming
out by the end of the month.  We'll meet once in March to compare the
governor's dictates to our work thus far and then we'll finalize things in
April.  The legislature will get the budget from the governor in May and,
with a little luck, they'll have passed a state budget by the end of June."

Scott raised his pen asking for recognition.  "Mr. Turner?"

"Uhm, just to confirm.  We're meeting on the second Monday again next
month?"

Andy snickered.  "Let me guess...making spring break plans, are you?"
Several members chuckled.

Scott gave a subtle grin and shrugged a bit.  "Maybe.  I'm not sure yet.  I
just didn't want to make any plans that might conflict."

Andy flashed a cheesy grin.  "Well, rest assured that we'll reconvene on
the 11th and you'll be free and clear to head south if the mood strikes
when the break begins."  Scott just nodded.

"Now, one last item for discussion.  I've received a very unusual
solicitation from one of our students and I'm not quite sure how to best
deal with it.  I wanted to bring it up for discussion and try to get a
sense of the Board.  We don't need to act on this in any way, and it's not
on the agenda, but I wanted to get some feedback and try to get a feel for
the collective mood of the group on something like this."  He picked up a
stack of paper.  "I've received a petition signed by roughly seventeen
hundred students.  It's accompanied by a cover letter signed by another
member of the Student Association, a Mr. Elliot Lyman."  Scott sat up
straight and his head snapped to his right.  "In essence, Mr. Lyman is
calling on this board to adopt official policy regarding the distribution
of student activity fees.  In particular, the opinion expressed is that the
WSA has been too willing to provide student-controlled funds to
organizations that aren't consistent with the values of the average UW
student."  He glanced at Scott, and was delighted by the agitation that was
evident on the young man's face.  Andy had followed the story all year long
and he was going to enjoy this.

"Let me read it to you, and then we can discuss how to best deal with
this."  He cleared his throat.  `We, the undersigned, do hereby request
that the University of Wisconsin Board of Regents adopt policy that
prescribes the appropriate allocation of student activity fees within our
system.  We believe that current board policy is too vague to ensure that
the fee distribution adequately and fairly represents the will of the vast
majority of our student.  In particular we believe the funding of
organizations that promote or support the self-serving interests of
homosexuals on campus, and we hereby request formal policy of the Board of
Regents prohibiting such use of student fees.'"

Scott slumped back in his chair and did a slow boil while Andy read the
text of the petition and he chewed on his pen.  He was tightly wound when
he had first arrived at the meeting, and this threatened to push him over
the brink.  Abby sensed the mounting pressure and looked apprehensively to
her left.  Scott's face was becoming flush and he was gnawing on the end of
the pen more and more feverishly.  Finally, he took it out of his mouth and
hurled it to the floor blurting out, "Aw, for Christ's sake!  He's the
damned un-dead!  He just keeps coming back to torment us all!"

Andy raised his eyebrows and had to fight the urge to smirk.  "Well, it
seems like Mr. Turner has a thought or two about this request.  Care to
expand on that thought, Scott?"  He swept his upturned hand toward Scott.
"The floor is yours."

Scott took a long drink from his water bottle, wiped his lips and nodded.
"Thank you, and I apologize for the outburst.  I'll try to be as brief as
possible, and then I'd be happy to answer any questions.  But you all need
to know at the outset that I've worked and met with Mr. Lyman extensively
over the course of the school year.  His concerns have received more than
their fair share of attention and deliberation, and this question has been
resolved to the satisfaction of a clear majority of the elected members of
the WSA Student Senate."

He took another breath.  "First, with regard to policy and this board's
role, it is long-standing practice for The Regents to establish the amount
of the activity fees and to allow the WSA their own informed discretion in
disbursing them.  It's a sane and reasonable approach.  The kind of
micromanagement that Mr. Lyman's petition requests would be unprecedented,
unwarranted and, I respectfully suggest, unwise."

Andy interrupted.  "Don't you think seventeen hundred student signatures
should mean something to us Scott?"

He paused to order his thoughts.  "That's what I was going to speak to
next.  Quite frankly, getting seventeen hundred signatures on a petition,
from within a student body of over forty-four thousand, is no blazing
demonstration of real representation.  If I typed up a petition that said
"Nuke the Gay Whales for Jesus," I could probably get twice that number of
signatories who don't have a dog-gone idea what it is they're signing."
Abby nodded and muffled a chuckle.  Her experiences as a political activist
told her that Scott was right.

"Third, as I said, this question has been thoroughly and thoughtfully
deliberated within the WSA on behalf of the students who pay those fees and
who benefit from them.  Mr. Lyman has had his day in court, but he
obviously can't take `NO' for an answer.  Perhaps he'd finally get it if he
heard it again from this board."

"Finally, I will tell you that Mr. Lyman is a religious zealot with a
bigoted and narrow-minded agenda.  I don't begrudge the man his faith.
What I do object to are his efforts to manipulate the existing procedures
to shove his rigid and intolerant views down the throats of every other
student on campus."

He slapped his hand on the table.  "Ladies and gentlemen, this is just
plain, damned foolishness that should not take up one more minute of our
time."  Abby patted his arm to rein him in a bit.  He nodded.  "Okay.  I'll
shut up now.  If anybody has any questions I'll be happy to address them."

Pennington gave the group several seconds to ask, but there were none.  He
put the petition down.  "Any other comments on whether we ought to do
anything with this request?"  Abby raised her hand.  "Ms. Svendsen?"

Abby sat forward and folded her hands together.  "Thank you,
Mr. Pennington.  I agree with Mr. Turner.  I am as guilty as many of you of
not paying attention to the debate that's been waged within the Student
Association.  Nonetheless, Mr. Turner is right when he suggests that this
is an area into which we need not, and ought not involve ourselves.  We're
already on the verge of whittling away and carving out of the budget too
many opportunities for our students.  They deserve some measure of
sovereignty through their elected student government.  These aren't
children we're talking about.  They are young adults.  These fees are
nickels and dimes compared to the numbers in the budget we've been juggling
all year long.  We ought to restrain ourselves and tend to the big picture.
It's their money.  Let their elected representatives do what they will with
it."

Silas Lee, one of the longest serving members of the board, who rarely said
anything, raised his eyebrows and hand at the same time.  Andy nodded at
him.  "You mean to tell me that there are clubs or organizations or
whatever on our campus that support homos?  I didn't even know that, and
not sure I like it one bit."

Abby nearly came out of her chair.  Then she paused and took a deep breath.
"Mr. Lee.  There are, as you say, `homos' attending this fine university.
Believe it or not, they do have brains and hearts and talents and lofty
goals, and they contribute more than you might know.  They are also, as you
seem to demonstrate, misunderstood, shunned, castigated and humiliated
every day.  The incidence of depression, alcoholism, self-mutilation and
suicide among that group is much higher than in the total population, and
it's a disgrace.  They also pay student activity fees.  Any support that
they can give or receive through student-sponsored organizations is a
blessing.  But we require them to pay these fees, and it's their money to
dole out as they see fit.  It's simply none of our damned business!

"And by the way, Silas, you and I have agreed on most things since I joined
this board.  We've enjoyed many conversations, meals and more than a few
jokes together.  We even exchanged Christmas cards last year.  I believe
we've become friends.  Silas.  You need to know that I am a `homo.'  I've
been in a steadfast, stable and loving relationship with my partner for
more than thirty years.  She and I are sane, normal, responsible and
committed to each other as much as you are to your wife."

She turned toward Andy.  "Mr. Pennington, I'd suggest that you simply write
back to this Mr. Lyman informing him that the petition is untimely given
the work that is still in front of us this year, and that such a move would
be unprecedented and wholly inappropriate.  Tell him it's up to the WSA to
determine the fee allocation.  Tell him that we trust the student
government to do right by the people who elected them."  She looked Andy
squarely in the eye and said, "I'd be happy to put that in the form of a
motion directing the board president to send such a message...if need be."

Andy cleared his throat and fidgeted in his chair.  "Uhm...well, since this
wasn't a formal agenda item for tonight's meeting..."

She cut him off.  "Then go ahead an put it on next month's agenda and I'll
make the motion then."  She looked around the table.  "Scott and his
colleagues have already fought this...spitting match once this year and
it's been resolved.  If this board wants to wade into these waters, I'm
game.  But it will not be comfortable, it will not be quiet and it probably
won't be pretty.  I'd ask that if any one member wants this issue on next
month's agenda, speak your mind and then it should be added and we can take
it up formally.  Otherwise, I'd respectfully suggest that Mr. Pennington
should simply write back and tell this young man we're not going to go
there."

Silence.  It appeared quite clear that nobody wanted to go there.

Andy cleared his throat again.  "Well, hearing no call for another plan of
action, I'll heed what I believe to be the sense of the board and notify
Mr. Lyman that the Regents don't believe it is appropriate to dictate such
issues."

More silence, but several nodding heads.  Silas Lee sat quiet and
motionless, still stunned by Abby's revelation.


Scott scanned the e-mails in his inbox first thing in the morning.  There
was one from Senator Frick that he opened immediately.  The subject line
simply said "Congratulations Will Maxson."

It read: "It is with very mixed emotions that I inform you that Mr. Maxson
has requested an early retirement.  After his many years of service to the
State Senate and the people of Wisconsin, the personnel committee has
decided to support Mr. Maxson in his request.  Will's last day will be
February 28.  We will begin a search for a new Executive Director
immediately.  Until a suitable replacement can be selected, I will directly
manage the affairs of the caucus staff.

"All full-time staff members will meet with me tomorrow afternoon at 3:00
p.m. in the caucus conference room."

`Hmmm.  Full time only?' Scott wondered, and then he just shrugged.  `Good
for Will.  And I'm in class at three o'clock anyway.'

Two days later he ran into Penny Harrington as they entered the building
together.  "G'morning, Penny!"  Her smile was forced and she simply nodded.
"How's it going so far today?"

She didn't even look at him.  "Fine, thanks."

"So, did I miss anything dramatic at yesterday's staff meeting?"

She continued to look straight ahead and shook her head.  "Uhm, no."  Just
as they got to the bottom of the grand marble stairway, Penny took a sharp
turn.  "Going to take the elevator.  Uhm, have a good day."

`Odd,' Scott thought, and he mulled it over all morning long.

Nearly four hours later he stood up to stretch and take five.  He saw Penny
heading toward the exit of their office complex.  He locked his computer
and walked quickly to follow her, catching up with her on the stairs.
"Lunch time, Penny?"

She paused and looked over her shoulder.  "No time for lunch.  Just running
down to the snack bar for something to tide me over."  The snack bar was in
the basement of the opposite end of the building.

"Got a minute?"

She started down the steps again.  "Uhm, not really.  I'm very busy today."

He followed her anyway.  "Well, then I'll just walk with you."  She didn't
answer as they came off the bottom step and walked toward the rotunda.
"You're pretty quiet these days, Penny.  Did I do something to tick you
off?"

She shook her head but said nothing.

He nearly whispered.  "You can't talk to me can you?  You're under orders,
right?"

Again, she said nothing but her face was a small portrait of tension and
torture.

They cleared the open space of the rotunda and entered the opposite wing.
They were quickly approaching the steps to the basement.  "Ten seconds.
Just listen to me for ten seconds, Penny.  You don't have to say a word and
then I promise I'll leave you alone."

She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned.  She pleaded, "Look! I
need this job!  I have two little kids at home and my husband's situation
at work is iffy at best.  I'm not sticking my neck out and screwing things
up."

Scott waved his hands.  "I'm not going to ask you to take any risks."  He
inhaled and held it as he thought.  "Tell you what.  I'll just say what's
on my mind.  If I'm wrong, just tell me `you're wrong,' and we'll leave it
at that.  But if I'm right, then you say nothing.  Just turn and walk down
those stairs to the snack bar."  She pondered it.  "Two words at most.  If
I'm wrong, just look at me and say, `You're wrong.' If I'm on the mark,
then say nothing and go grab your snack.  That way, you didn't spill any
beans, didn't rat anybody out, and you didn't talk to me about this at all
if anybody should ask."

She slowly nodded and looked at the floor.  He continued.  "Okay, here's
what I'm thinking.  Frick had you guys campaigning on state time and I
raised a fuss with a couple of you.  That must have gotten back to him by
now.  I didn't pose any kind of threat, but I knew what I knew.  I told
Wade that I though you folks should fix it and I wouldn't raise any hell.
Then, Will Maxson plans his quick retirement, leaving Frick as the sole
eyes and ears to mind the store for the time being.  He calls a meeting of
the full time staff, puts me on ice, and the campaign activity is going to
continue.  I'm guessing it will only expand in the summer months with Will
out of the way.  So, Frick engineers the breaking of a few state laws and
should get a healthier majority in the Senate for his efforts.  Maureen
McCarthy goes to the AG's office and he steps into her place with a bunch
of senators who owe him plenty."  There were several seconds of silence as
his eyes searched hers.  He inhaled.  "Okay.  That's what I think."

She turned and walked down the stairs.


Daisy was gone to lunch so Big Scott answered the phone himself.  "Scott
Turner."

"Hey ya' old fart, whatcha doin?"

Big Scott smiled.  "Just shut down the computer.  Working on a few outlines
of stump speeches and answering some parade invitations.  Summer's going to
be here sooner than we know it."

"Need to exercise the right hand and wrist to get in shape for the
handshaking season."

The father chuckled snidely.  "Nothing to worry about there.  My right hand
and wrist get plenty of exercise, depending on your mother's mood."

"TMI, Daddy, TMI!"

Big Scott snickered again.  "You brought it up, and don't play innocent
with me...like you didn't mean it that way."  He paused.  "So what's up?"

"Well, Dad, I'm glad you mentioned the campaign."  He had to fudge a bit.
"I had a conversation today with a couple office mates and we started
speculating and arguing about the Senate Election Campaign Committee's
functions.  It got me thinking.  You know Jeremy Frick, right?"

"Sure.  He's been very helpful, though he doesn't always leave me with the
most comfortable feeling.  He oozes ambition every time he opens his mouth,
even when he blinks or breathes.  But yeah, he's been in touch."

"Contributing to your war chest?"

Big Scott nodded.  "The max amount, right after I declared.  That was very
helpful."

"Uhm, Dad, has he sent or offered any manpower once the campaign really
starts on all cylinders and really gets rolling?"

"As a matter of fact he has.  He said he could round up two or three
volunteers to come to the district and help out with all sorts of things."
There was a pause.  "Why do you ask?"

Scott inhaled.  "Dad.  You have to tell him `no' on that one."

"What?  Why?  Scott, what's wrong?"

"Dad, I don't think they're volunteers.  I can't go into all of it now, but
you know I'm in the caucus five days a week.  I have reason to believe that
Senator Frick is using state employees on state-paid time to work directly
on campaigns.  I'm pretty sure they won't be `volunteers' Dad."

Big Scott coughed.  "Are you sure?  That's illegal!  We've all been well
schooled in that stuff and we know what we can and can't do, and so does
Frick!"

"Well, I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure.  That's about all I can tell
you for now.  I just wanted to give you a `heads up' so that you don't get
sucked into something that might bite you in the ass down the road."

More silence.  "Okay, son.  Thanks for the info.  You'll keep me posted?"

"Well, if my suspicions are on the mark, I might not have to.  Could be
that the next time you hear about any of this crap is going to be in the
newspaper."  He checked his watch.  "Well, father dearest, I'm going to see
a movie with a buddy of mine, and I'm driving so I have to run."

"Your mom and I are staying in tonight, but rented a couple of movies too.
I'll probably be asleep half way through the first one."

"That's why your hand and wrist are in such good shape.  Cuddle and snuggle
with my mother during the movie. Make out a little, then you might be
getting some."

"Okay, I'm going to hang up now.  I refuse to take advice on my sex life
from my son.  Good night now."

"Talk to you later."  Scott hung up the phone and left to drive over to the
dorm to pick up Greg.


The next day Scott met Maureen for lunch.  After squeezing a lemon into her
iced tea, she crossed her legs and folded her arms.  "Scotty, do you ever
get the feeling that you're beating a dead horse?  Your fixation on
campaign finance around here seems to becoming something of an obsession."

Scott set down the roll he'd been munching on and rubbed his hands on his
knees.  He leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones.  "No, Maureen, I think
this is different.  It looks like Senator Frick is having caucus staff
members work directly on campaigns on state time.  We both know that's
illegal.  I'm not going to name names and get anybody in trouble, but I
think they're going up to Green Bay to work on the Lombardi campaign during
the regular work days.  Since I'm only there in the mornings, I can't track
their comings and goings, and I wouldn't normally make it my business
anyway..."

Maureen interrupted him.  "Scotty, dear, you obviously have made it your
business and now you want to make it mine.  You're not going to name names,
but you're pretty quick to name Jeremy Frick."  She paused long enough for
the waitress to take their lunch orders and then continued.  "As I've told
you, I don't do the political crap for the caucus.  I'm not going to try
and manage the caucus staff.  That's why we have a chairman and a director
for that staff.  If this kind of shenanigans was really going on, Will
Maxson would have caught it and brought it to my attention with hard
facts."  She shrugged and sighed.  "Scotty, all you've brought me are
suspicions apparently based on second-hand observations.  I can't call
Senator Frick on the carpet on that basis."  He shook his head in
frustration.  Finally, she leaned over further and stared him right in the
eyes.  "And, Scotty, we need to hang onto that seat in Green Bay."  Scott
rolled his eyes and she grinned hopefully.  "Scotty, dear, you know I love
and respect you.  But I'm afraid that on this one you might be out of your
league.  And I know it's out of my hands, and that's the way it will stay."

After a lunch full of other conversation, they paused to chat with Bradley
and then strolled arm in arm, out the front doors.  They paused on the
sidewalk.  Scott looked at her earnestly.  "I hope you know that one of the
reasons I'm making such a fuss is that I'm afraid this is going to end up
in your lap.  Either before the election next November or after, I'm
betting the shit's going to hit the fan.  Either it will land on you while
you're running for Attorney General or after you've been elected.  And then
you're going to have the rare pleasure of hounding Jeremy Frick into jail."
He looked at his shoes, checked his watch and then looked back up at her.
"Well, you have a hearing starting in about ten minutes, and I just
realized I left my cell phone sitting on the table in there.  I'm going to
retrieve it and head down to campus," he smiled and winked "and you'd
better get back to work."

She kissed his cheek.  "I know your heart is in the right place dear.  You
have a good day."  He nodded as she turned and crossed the street.

Scott walked back in, his frustration propelling a quick step in his walk.
He muttered under his breath, "Jesus!  Could it be that she just doesn't
get it?"  He double checked his coat pocket and felt his cell phone, and
then stopped at the podium to wait for Bradley to return.  He smiled.
"Bradley, my friend, I have a favor to ask of you.  I have a friend with a
birthday coming up and I'd like to plan something special."


On Friday Grant and Scott walked together to `Noodles' for a bite to eat
and another chat.  Scott asked, "So how go things with the mighty
`Journal?'  All you'd hoped for?"

Grant shrugged.  "Yes and no.  Lots of grunt work.  Some days I feel like
I'm Bruce Weeden's indentured servant.  But every now and then he'll throw
me a bone and let me behave like a real live reporter."  Scott opened the
door and held it for his friend. They got in line and Grant looked over his
shoulder.  "And what's shaking in the caucus.  Any news you can share?"

Scott looked around.  "Let's order and get a table, and we can talk."  Ten
minutes later they were setting down their steaming bowls of pasta and
sauce.

Grant grabbed the shaker of Parmesan.  "So, what gives?"

Scott shrugged.  "Well, I can tell you that it's pretty clear the
campaigning on state time is still going on, and I'm betting it will expand
this summer and fall.  I've been paying attention to absenteeism and would
guess five, maybe six, are actively working on the Lombardi campaign up in
Green Bay.  The only thing I know first hand is that the environment sure
as hell has changed."  He shook his head.  "I've been iced out of
practically all office chat.  I can't even strike up a conversation about
the weather with any of these folks.  I'm fricking persona non grata these
days.  But one of them basically confirmed for me that the campaigning on
taxpayer time and money in Green Bay continues.  The only other thing I
know is that Frick directed the max donation from the party election
committee to my dad right after he announced his bid for the seat.  Nothing
wrong with that, but Frick followed up with the promise of actual manpower
from Madison up in our district this summer.  I'm not sure what your boss
needs to make this a story, so I don't really know what else to look for."

Grant leaned over.  "Hard facts.  Some proof of that absenteeism and
whether or not they were docked sick days or vacation days for those days."

Scott frowned.  "Well, what if I just pointed you in the right direction
and you can put on your reporter's hat.  Hunt down the right people and
interview them.  And you can demand state employee attendance and payroll
information.  It's public record."  He grinned.  "You can't ask me to do
your entire job."

Grant flipped him off.  "And if I do that, bells and whistles will go off
all over the place.  They'll go to Frick and the entire staff will shut up
tighter than a nun's cunt.  Before I approach any of them, I need some
questions to ask where I already know the answers."

Scott's eyes widened.  "How about, `Are you doing this?  Is it legal?  Did
anyone ever tell you it was not legal?  Why'd you keep on doing it?'  Seems
those are good questions for starters."

Grant shook his head.  "Need more direct official proof.  You're gonna have
to think about it and bring back something with more meat on its bones.
Then maybe Weeden will confront Frick."

"Jesus, Weeden is such a spineless dickhead!  A little over a year ago,
when I was introduced as Governor Hackett's new student appointee to The
Regents, that jackass had no problem publicly bashing us about tuition.
And now his balls fall off?"

Grant shook his head.  "Scott you have to understand.  When it comes to
political reporting we live and die by our relationships with the office
holders, and charges of political corruption are at the very top on the
seriousness scale.  It does us no good to end up looking like we're trying
to create news.  Shit like this requires special handling."

Scott pushed his chair back.  "Gotcha.  I gotta pee.  Be right back."
Grant just nodded as he tried to scoop every last drop of marinara sauce
from his bowl with the last bite of a soft breadstick.

Scott came back and sat.  "Tell you what.  I have an idea or two that I
might be able to pursue.  Let's keep in touch on this."  He chuckled.

Grant stacked the trays and bowls in preparation for their exit.  "What's
so funny?"

Scott smirked.  "I think I just signed on as `Deep Throat.'"

Grant grinned and then his eyes lit up.  "Hey, Bruce gave me his tickets to
the Badger's basketball game tonight.  Want to go?"

Scott shook his head.  "Thanks man.  Ought to be a good game.  Ohio State's
playing well this year and so are the Badgers.  But, I have plans."

Scott was parked illegally at the curb right in front of the gym where the
team practiced.  He had to leave the car running in order to keep warm, but
also to move it if he spied the parking Nazis on the horizon or in the rear
view mirror.  He could have pulled into the lot and parked legally, but
then he might not see Greg leave the building.  Greg came through the front
doors with two other guys.  He watched them chat and then part ways.  He
hit the horn with three quick blasts and flashed his lights.

Even from forty or fifty feet, and in the dusk, he could see the hot jock's
dimples.  Greg lobbed his way toward the curb as Scott rolled down the
window.  Greg leaned in "What the hell...?"

"Get in."

"Tell me what's going on."

"Get in."

Greg chuckled and got inside the car.  "You gonna provide chauffer service
every day when it's cold out?"

Scott smirked and shook his head.  "Nope."

Greg put a hand on Scott's knee as they made a left turn.  "So, what is
up?"

Scott's smile didn't wane.  "You'll see.  Now quit asking questions and
relax."

Greg was very curious by now.  "So, have a good day?  Oops, sorry.  That
was a question."

Scott nodded.  "Pretty good day, thanks; ups and downs, but nothing too
awful.  And you?"

Greg nodded.  "Classes were okay.  Had a really good practice just now.  I
think I'm finally out of the doghouse with Coach for the practices I missed
last month."

Scott made another turn toward Greg's dorm.  "That's good.  And, if I may
ask... counseling today?"

Greg smiled.  "Went great.  I really like that gal."

Scott pulled up in front of the dorm and turned.  "You've got fifteen
minutes to get up to your room, pack an overnight bag and get your ass back
down here."

Greg's face contorted in confusion.  "Huh?  What the..."

Scott raised a hand.  "Fifteen minutes.  You told me Darrin would be there
tonight and my roomies are both home."

Greg shrugged.  "And...?"

Scott squeezed his knee.  "And, happy birthday.  I have a plan, and you
have fifteen minutes. Now get it in gear."

Greg's face showed shock and then glee.  "Fifteen minutes.  Be right back."

Scott put the car in drive even before Greg had shut the door.  "Thirteen
minutes.  I'm impressed."

Greg was still a bit winded and very curious.  His head was swimming.
"So...so...how'd you know?"

Scott grinned.  "I'm a big shot, remember?  WSA, Board of Regents, I can
find out just about anything that's on record here about any of our
students."

Scott drove quickly to the Inn on the Park.  He tossed his key to the valet
and invoked Bradley's name.  The guy nodded.  Scott had already checked in
before going to get Greg, so they bypassed the desk.  As they walked by
Greg noticed Scott waving at one of the desk clerks, and followed him
straight to the elevator.  Scott hit the button for the eighth floor.  They
exited the elevator and Greg followed Scott to the end of the hallway.
Greg's anticipation was making him sweat.

A lamp on the table farthest from the door dimly lighted the room.  There
was a king sized bed, an enormous dresser and armoire, a sizeable table
next to the window that looked out on the lit dome across the street.  The
table was set with linen, fine china, silver and stemware.  Greg was as
giddy as a little kid.  In his nineteen years, he'd only stayed in a hotel
twice.  Compared to the elegance and opulence that this room offered he now
remembered those places as being downright primitive.  He grabbed Scott
into a hug and their lips eventually found each other's.  Greg's hands
roamed down Scott's back and settled on either side of his ass.

Scott pulled back.  "Slow down birthday boy.  We've got all night and we're
going to have company in a minute or two."

Greg leered.  "Ooooohh.  Three way?  More way?"

Scott swatted his shoulder and was about to speak when there was a knock on
the door.  He patted Greg's ass.  "Take off your shoes and get comfy."

Greg nodded toward what he assumed was the bathroom door.  "Gotta go to the
little boy's room first."  He closed the bathroom door just as Scott opened
the door to the room.

The room service waiter was surprised by Scott's obvious youth.  Bradley
had told him that `Mr. Turner' was very well connected at the capitol and
was to be taken good care of, no questions asked.  He knew that if this
young customer reported back anything other than first-rate service,
there'd be hell to pay.

Scott smiled.  "Hi there!"

The waiter half bowed.  "Good evening sir.  Mr. Manning has arranged
everything and I hope it is to your satisfaction.  May I present this
evening's hors d'oeuvres and the champagne?"

Scott waved him and his cart in.  "Have at it..." he checked the nametag,
"Alberto."

Alberto wheeled his ware up next to the table.  He picked up a platter and
removed the silver cover.  "First we have mushrooms stuffed with lobster
and crab."  He picked up and uncovered the other.  "And to complement that,
we have a wonderful bruschetta with a light papaya and tomato salsa."  He
smiled.  "I'm sure you'll find them both very much to your liking."

Scott just stared and nodded.  "I'm sure we will."

"May I pour the champagne sir?"

Scott perched his butt on the bed and untied his shoes.  "Please do.
That'd be great."  They heard the toilet flush, and then the water in the
sink was running.  Alberto removed the foil and the wire from around the
top of the bottle with an elegant flourish.  Scott was arranging the guys'
bags at the foot of the bed when he heard the `pop!'

Greg was shocked to see the uniformed stranger when he came out.  Alberto
didn't flinch.  "Good evening, sir.  Welcome to the Inn on the Park."

Greg looked mostly at the floor and raised a nervous hand.  "Uhm...hey.
How's it goin'?"

Alberto filled both glasses with bubbly and half of his mouth showed a
grin.  "Very well, thank you sir."  He looked at Scott.  "Will there be
anything else immediately?"

Scott shook is head.  "No, thank you very much."

With that, Alberto gave both young men another subtle bow and made his
exit.

Scott lit the candles in the center of the table, and pulled out both
chairs.  He motioned.  "Sir, the mushrooms are getting cold.  Please make
yourself comfortable."

Greg just stared at the table for a moment with his jaw hanging open.  "My
god.  I can't believe..."

Scott put two fingers to his lips.  "Shush!  I really wanted to do this,
and I have connections with the right staff member here."  He kissed him
softly.  "Now, let's just relax and enjoy a good meal."

Greg smiled shyly and gave a soft nod, his eyes never leaving Scott's.
"And some great company."

They both sat down, clinked glasses and sipped the wine.  Then they dug
into the appetizers like a couple young guys would.  Scott asked Greg a bit
more about the counseling, and he received a glowing, enthusiastic report.
He stared at Greg and smiled wistfully.  "I thought it was going good.  I
have to tell you, you're a much different guy than the one I met last
fall."

Greg chewed half a mushroom and cocked his head.  "How's that?"

Scott paused to sum it all up in his head, then he beamed.  "Well, you're
happier.  You're more confident, even out-going at times.
You've...uhm...come out of your shell quite a bit."

Greg leaned back and folded his hands.  "Yeah.  Finally, what's past is
past and I'm not carrying any of that shit around with me any more."  His
face clouded a bit.  "There's still one more encounter I'm going to have at
home, or I should say my dad's place, and then I get to write `The End'
once and for all."

Scott's face questioned the encounter Greg mentioned, so he explained.
"Well, after the school year ends, I'm going to have to get back up there
and collect all of my stuff that's still there."

"Want me to come along and help?  Just say the word."

Greg thought it over for a second.  "I don't even have a plan yet, but I'll
let you know."

There was another soft knock on the door.  Scott opened it and Alberto was
back with a second cart.  "Dinner is served, sir."  Scott waved him in.
Without speaking, the waiter made short order of clearing the table.  He
presented each guy with tenderloin wrapped in bacon, potatoes au gratin and
steamed asparagus.  Then he replaced their champagne glasses with fresh
ones and opened a bottle of red wine.  "Would you care to taste the wine,
sir?  It's a wonderful Pinot that's been breathing for two hours."

Scott shook his head and Greg snickered.  "Er, no, not necessary.  If it's
lousy, I'm sure as heck not going to know it.  But I'm all in favor of
breathing and I'm sure it's fine.  Thank you."  He generously tipped the
waiter and told him they were good for the night.  Alberto thanked him, bid
them both a good evening, nodded once more and made his way out.

They dug into the small steaks, and Greg nodded toward the window and the
shiny white dome.  "So, how are things going over there?"

While they attacked the steaks, Scott reviewed the various trials and
tribulations in his work-a-day world.  He touched on what he knew, what he
suspected and his frustration with not just Frick, but Maureen too.  "Ya'
know?  This would be easier to deal with if she wasn't such a good friend,
and if my dad wasn't gearing up to try to step into all that shit."

Greg frowned slightly.  "But, from everything you've said, `Big Scott'
sounds like a hell of a guy.  I'm sure he'll be able to keep it on the
straight and narrow, assuming he wins."  After another mouthful of
potatoes, "I'd like to meet him some day."

Scott's eyes lit up.  "Here's a thought.  I'm planning on going up and
taking care of a mess of the yard signs for the campaign once it's warm
enough to plant them in the yards."  He quickly mulled over the calendar
for the coming several weeks.  "How `bout this.  We can kill two birds.
Easter's in April, and you're sure as hell not going home for the holiday.
Let's plan on your coming back to the folks' house for the long weekend,
and we can knock ourselves out doing the signs that Saturday."

Greg smirked.  "Bringing me home to meet the parents, huh?"  Then he
winked.

Scott actually blushed a little when he put it that way.  "Bringing you
home to put you to work."  After a moment, he nodded.  "But, yeah, I'm sure
they'd like to meet this Greg character I'm always talking about."  Scott
glanced at both empty plates and refilled the wine glasses.  He picked up
both of them and stood.  "Ready for your presents?"  He turned and walked
toward the bed.

Greg's eyes widened once again.  "Presents!?  There's more?"  Scott set
down one glass on each nightstand at either side of the bed.  Greg waved
around the room and at the table.  "I mean, all this and...Jesus, Scott,
there can't be more."

Scott hopped on the bed and leaned back against the pillows, resting his
head against the headboard.  He patted the space next to him.  "Hey.
Bradley is the head honcho downstairs.  He pulled some strings and I'm
getting away with murder on the room and the meal.  Now get over here or
you're not getting anything else all night."  He lowered his head and
looked up with his eyes suggestively.  "And I mean nothing...at all."

Greg giggled as he crawled up the mattress, arranged a couple pillows close
to Scott and nestled in.  Scott grabbed his wine glass and motioned for
Greg to do the same.  He held it up between them.  "Happy birthday, Greg."
They clinked glasses again and sipped.

Greg shook his head again.  "Scott, this is just too..." He was prevented
from saying anything more when Scott's lips got in the way.  They kissed
softly, longingly, each one gently stroking the other's face, for a full
minute or more.

Scott whispered.  "Hush.  Everybody deserves a birthday party.  Now enough
of the protests, or I'm leaving."

This time Greg's face made the advance.  He softly rubbed the back of
Scott's neck as he ran the tip of his tongue around his lover's parted
lips, then slowly invaded Scott's mouth for another full minute of
passionate dancing of tongues and lips.  He pulled his head back and took a
deep breath.  "You're not going anywhere."  Then he giggled and patted
Scott's chest.  "Now, gimme my presents dammit, or I'm leaving."

Scott chuckled and leaned over the side of the bed.  He retrieved a shiny
gold gift bag overstuffed with tissue paper in a variety of colors.  He
handed it to Greg.  "Kind of overdid the tissue stuff, but gift wrapping
isn't quite my forte.  You're going to have to dig."

Greg set the bag on his lap, pulled out a few sheets and dug his hand in.
As soon as he felt the fabric, he grinned.  "You dog!  Did you get this for
me or for you?"  He pulled his hand out of the bag gripping a bright red
jock strap.  Bright red.  It had "GP" embroidered in white just above the
cup.  Greg hooted and bounced his heels up and down on the bed.  He elbowed
Scott.  "Now where in Hell do you think I'm gonna wear this?"

Scott wiggled his brows up and down.  "Where do you think?"

Greg pecked Scott's lips.  "Can't wait to model it for you.  Thank you."

"There's more.  Dig to the bottom of the bag."

Greg's hand went in again and he pulled out a small box with a black
lacquer finish.  He slowly opened the lid and looked at a silver medallion.
It was roughly the size of a quarter, although much thicker and not
perfectly round.  It was more oval in shape and had an imperfect edge,
giving it a rather ancient look.  He lifted it.  It was heavier than it
looked by its size.  On its face was the raised profile of an angel,
complete with wings and harp, looking to the heavens.  Greg didn't speak,
but held it and stared at it, rubbing his thumb over the surface.

Scott gently nudged him.  "Your guardian angel."  Greg still didn't speak
but continued to gaze at it.  Scott wiggled a bit on the bed as he fished
his left hand into his hip pocket.  He retrieved an identical small silver
medal.  "I never leave home without mine."  He rubbed his thumb over the
surface of his own.  "This one used to by my Gran's, but she gave it to me
when I left for college.  She said, `Scotty, you know it's important to
make your own way and fight your own battles, but it never hurts to believe
that someone or something is looking over you.'"  He chuckled.  "Sometimes
when I feel I'm up against the wall I find myself fishing this out of my
pocket and doing just what you're doing now, rubbing it with my thumb."

Greg turned to his side and wrapped his arms tightly around Scott's neck
and digging his chin into Scott's shoulder.  His voice cracked.  "Thank
you.  Thank you so much, Scott.  You're...you're..." he was searching for
the right words.

Scott grabbed Greg's wrists to unleash himself from the stranglehold and
gently nudged Greg back.  He used both thumbs to wipe the small tears from
Greg's cheekbones.  Then he leaned over and lightly kissed his nose.  "What
I am...is waiting for you to model your other present."

While Greg was in the bathroom, Scott shut off the lamp and blew out one of
the two candles on the table.  The curtains were opened all the way, and
the reflection of soft light coming from across the street softly lit the
room.  He laid back down in the center of the bed, locked his fingers
behind his head and sighed.  He though, `Thank you Bradley Manning.'

He heard the bathroom door open and he glanced to his left.  Greg was
strolling slowly, sexily across the floor, his right index finger between
his teeth and grinning lips.  Scott zeroed in on the bulging cup and
sighed.  "Good thing I got an extra large.  Best present I've ever picked
up for anybody.  God Damn!  I wish I had a camera.  We could make a
fortune."  Greg was in great shape when they'd first met, but the workouts
with the team all year had taken what was great and made it superb.

Luckily, the easy chair in the corner of the room was wide, plush and
sturdy.  Fifteen minutes after Greg exited the bathroom, his knees and
shins were propped on its arms with his forearms leaning on the top of the
chair's back.  Scott stood behind him, his hands on Greg's hips, slowly
easing his wrapped and lubed cock in and out of his buddy's welcoming hole.
Greg "oooh'd and aaaaah'd" his pleasure as Scott leisurely slid in up to
his pubes, and then out until the head of his dick was nearly visible.  He
heard, "That's right, Scotty.  Oh, man!  Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmm," with each in
and out motion.  Scott reached up and rubbed Greg's back from his shoulders
down to the top of the elastic band of the jock strap and then he kneaded
the bucking ass cheeks firmly.

Scott's head tipped back to face the ceiling and he closed his eyes,
completely lost in the wild sensations emanating from his hard-working
manhood.  He moaned.  "Oh, God!  Oh, yeah!  Uh huh, uh huh, yeah man.  God,
you're so fucking hot!  Uh huh, uh huh.  Mmmm."  He opened his eyes again
and leaned all the way down so that his stomach and chest were pressed
firmly against Greg's back.  He reached around and grabbed the slick and
steely meat that had been released from the elastic cage of the jock's
pouch, and he licked and sucked on the back and side of Greg's neck and
shoulders.  He rasped, "How we doin' stud?"

Greg opened his eyes and turned his head, craning to meet Scott's
approaching mouth.  They mashed their lips and tongues together as Scott
started to pick up the pace.  Greg moaned into Scott's mouth.  "Yeah.  Do
me, Scotty!  Pick it up and ride my ass!"

Scott bit Greg's lip lightly and then smiled.  "I want you on your back.  I
want to look at your face while I fuck you right."  He pulled out and Greg
whimpered.

Greg turned and fell into the chair, his back on the seat, and his head
against the chair's back.  He pulled his feet off the floor and glared
upward in raw lust.  "Then do me right, dammit!"  Scott grabbed both ankles
and hoisted them high.  He rested the left calf on his shoulder so that he
could aim the head of his cock toward its shiny quivering target.
"Oooooohhhhh my gaaaaaawd!" Greg growled as the head of Scott's tool hit
his love nut.  "God dammit, Scotty!"  Scott pulled back and then pushed
forward again until his groin was melded to Greg's ass cheeks.  He held it
there for a second and swiveled his hips round and round.  Greg's eyes
rolled back in his head and he bit his lower lip and whined in delight.

Then Scott picked up the pace.  For the next several minutes, Greg's eyes
never opened again, but his face gave Scott a slideshow of unbridled lust,
rapture and contentment as he drove in and out fast and hard.  Scott
reached down with his right hand and began pummeling Greg's pole, just as
hard and just as fast.  Greg's abs began to heave and his head jerked
forward off the back of the chair.  His eyes shot open wide and he grabbed
Scott's biceps.  "Yeah!  Oh, God Scotty!  Awwww shiiiiiit!"  He exploded
all over his own chest and abs, firing a couple shots onto the arm of the
chair.  He gasped and panted for a few seconds until Scott leaned down and
offered a healthy blast of his own breath in a passionate kiss.

Scott pulled out and stood up.  He peeled off the rubber and began
stroking.  Greg was still regaining consciousness when he muttered, "I want
it, Scotty.  Gimme that load, man!"  Greg slid out of the chair and onto
his knees in front of Scott.  He looked up and cupped Scott's balls, and
then opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.  Scott started to moan and
shudder, and he reached down and grabbed hold of Greg's hair.  His whole
body jerked and he whimpered while he painted Greg's face and fed him his
seed.  He was jolted for several seconds by waves of pure ecstasy.
Finally, he slumped to the floor gasping.

Greg wiped his face with his hand and he chuckled before nuzzling up to
Scott's chest.  He smiled and listened to the pounding heart beneath the
heaving pecs.  He half-hummed, half-mumbled, "Happy Birthday to me...Happy
Birthday to meeeee..."

Scott gasped for the sixth or seventh time.  "Holy fuck!"

Greg giggled again and gently licked at Scott's left nipple.  "Yeah.  Holy
fuck!"

Scott grinned and stroked his fingertips through Greg's sweat-soaked hair,
his eyes still closed.  "You don't say fuck."

Greg pinched the nipple.  "It's my birthday.  I can say `fuck' if I want to
on my fucking birthday."

After several minutes on the floor, Scott finally glanced down.  "You gonna
run the shower to heat it up, or am I?"

Greg patted his chest.  "I got it."  He rolled to his side and stood up
with a groan, then walked rather gingerly toward the bathroom.

Scott got up and went to the closet.  He grabbed the two thick terrycloth
robes off their hangers and laid them on the bed.  He picked up the phone
and dialed room service.

The shower was hot and leisurely.  Each one soaped the other from head to
toe, and rubbed the lather away under the steaming spray.  They held their
bodies together for several minutes, playfully kissing and licking and
nibbling one another.  Finally, Scott matted Greg's wet hair back and
smiled.  "We should get out of here.  Room service will be here in about
five minutes."

Greg looked startled.  "Room service?"

Scott shut off the water.  "Dessert."

As they stepped out Greg laughed.  "I thought we just had our dessert."

Scott wrapped him in a towel from behind.  "Well, sorta, but that was all
about expending some energy.  Now we need to replenish it."

Greg leered at him in the mirror.  "In case we want to expend some more?"

They slowly toweled each other off, paying full attention to every inch.
Their hair still damp and unkempt, they padded out and slid into the robes,
then plopped onto the bed, side by side.  Immediately, there was a knock on
the door.  Scott got up.  Greg heard him say, "I'll just take the tray,
thanks."  He came back with two silver dishes heaped with ice cream.  Scott
smiled.  "Mint chocolate chip and pistachio."

They lounged on the king sized bed and took turns dipping into the dishes.
Finally, Scott looked over and grinned a knowing grin.  "You think you
could handle driving a straight ten-hour shift?"

Greg was sitting with his legs crossed and he scooped another spoonful of
the pistachio. "Yeah, probably with a potty stop or two."  He finally
pulled the spoon from between his lips and raised a brow.  "But why would I
do that?"

"Or what if we did five hours for you and then five for me and then we do
it all over again?"

Greg shrugged.  "Is this a word problem in math?  I'd say we'd have driven
twenty hours.  And where would we end up?"

"DeLand.  DeLand Florida."

Greg screwed up his face.  "One, where on God's green Earth is that and,
two, why the Hell would we go there?"

Scott licked his spoon.  "One, it's on the north end of eastern Florida,
western Valusia County.  Two, the weather's warm.  Three, my uncle Dale has
a nice little bungalow there that'll be vacant during our spring break.
They usually spend from early December to May there every year.  But
they're having their 25th anniversary this year and he's taking my bitchy
aunt on a cruise in March.  Four, you told me that the team is off during
UW's spring break and, five, it's only about a half-hour from Daytona Beach
and maybe forty minutes from Orlando.  So if we wanted to slip out and take
in the college spring break madness to the east of us, we could do it in a
heartbeat and party our brains out.  Or, we could go west and join the
other tourists at Disney or Universal Studios.  And six, depending on how
we decide to spend the time you might see a manatee."

A small smile crept across Greg's lips.  "Those big old sea cows?  They are
so cool!  Can we pet them?"

"No, the site I checked said, `no touching the sea cows.'"

Greg pouted.  "Aw, shucks.  I want to pet a sea cow."

"You want to pet a cow?  Then get dressed and we'll head out for a farm.
It's kind of late, but I know a lot of places that have cows around here."

Greg swatted Scott's arm with his spoon.  "Not the same thing."  He had a
small mouthful of the mint ice cream and smiled.  "So when do we leave?"

Scott patted Greg's knee and smiled.  "Right after your last class on
Friday before break."  He picked up the tray of empty dishes and put it on
the bedside table, then turned back and propped his head in his hand.
"Dude!  This'll be perfect.  We stay for free, unless we want to head to
Daytona or Orlando for a night or two.  I haven't been there since I was a
little kid, but Dale's place is a fairly modest two bedroom with a nice
screened in porch where we can have sex in the moonlight without the bugs
eating us alive."  He slid a hand into the opening of Greg's robe and
played with the hair on his chest.  "There are a lot of state parks in the
area where we can go diving, swim, canoe or kayak."

Greg rubbed Scott's thighs.  "But no petting the manatees?  Or is it
manatee, like moose?  Ya' know one is a moose, two are two moose and a
whole herd are a herd of moose?"

Scott smiled.  "Manatee, manatees, whatever.  But no.  No petting them.
And, I read that the downtown in DeLand is `revitalized,' whatever than
means.  Sounds a little artsy-fartsy to me, but it's not some nasty tourist
trap.  All it'll cost is gas money and groceries `cuz we'll do most of our
own cooking.  The rest will depend on what we decide to do while we're
there."

Greg slid his hand under the hem of Scott's robe and rubbed his thigh.
"Don't forget the cost of the liquor."

"I'll talk to Brett.  He's legal now and we'll hit the road fully stocked
for the week."  He leaned over and kissed his lover.  "I'll get you drunk
and take outrageous advantage of you."

Greg wrapped his forearm behind Scott's neck.  "I'm gonna pet one when
you're not looking."

Scott rolled on top of him and whispered, "I've got something you can pet."


Scott needed to spruce up the warm weather wardrobe for spring break.  He
wasn't sure how much they'd be going out and about in Florida, but the
summer stock in his dresser and his closet was rather thin.  He stopped
into the Banana Republic at West Towne Mall.  He picked out a couple pairs
of shorts, one navy and the other khaki and tried them both on.  They
looked okay and fit nicely.  Coming out of the dressing room, he did a
double take to his right.  `Jeez.  That guy looks familiar,' he thought to
himself.  The other guy was rummaging through the same rack of shorts.

Scott found a ribbed tee that he liked and thought would look good, and
then grabbed a pair of flip flops off a hook on the wall.  He strolled
casually, scanning the racks.  He wished he'd made a list of what he might
need for a trip to Florida in March.  As he browsed through a rack of Pima
polo shirts, sliding the hangers back and forth he glanced up and caught
the other guy looking at him.  Their eyes met, but that was all.  `Who is
that?  I know I've met that guy before,' Scott said to himself.  He picked
up a sharp looking black polo and moseyed on.  The Hawaiian shirts casught
his eye.  `I've never owned one of those god-awful things before.'  He
grinned and pondered it.  "Oh, what the fuck," he muttered.  `Ya' only live
once, and I'm gonna be on vacation.  Caution to the wind, Scotty.  At least
take a look at them.'

The other guy came from behind a column and started fiddling with the stock
on the opposite side of the circular rack.  "It's Scott, isn't it?"

Scott looked up, startled.  "Uhm, yes it is.  Have we met?  You look
awfully familiar."

The tall blond walked around the rack and put out a hand.  "Peter.  Peter
Andreassen.  We met at a couple of parties last spring down on campus."
Peter was tall, over six feet, and was thin.  He had blond hair and blue
eyes that gave away his Scandinavian heritage.

Peter's fetching smile quickly restored Scott's memory.  "Oh, shit!  I
remember now!  You're the med student, right?  We met at Brandon's party
last spring, and then again standing around the keg at the frat house the
last week of school."

Peter smiled and nodded. "That's what I thought."

Scott left the gaudy shirts alone and leaned his elbow on the rack.  "So,
what are you up to these days?"

Peter sighed.  He looked tired.  He looked good, but tired.  "Well, I
finished my fourth year last spring, and now I'm working through a
three-year internship at UW Hospital."

Scott smiled.  "Good for you!  Long hours, I suppose."  Then he smirked and
winked.  "The last time I saw you, you were heading up the stairs at the
frat house with my old buddy Kip."

Peter grinned shyly and actually blushed.  "Yeah, quite an evening, that
was."

Scott hadn't noticed the third man who had been hanging behind Peter, but
who'd obviously been within earshot and interested in their conversation.
The stranger took two steps forward and put a hand on Peter's waist.
"What's that I hear?  You?  Messing around at a frat house?  I'm shocked!
Shocked, I say!"  Both men laughed.  The newcomer was shorter than Peter,
an inch taller than Scott and was very well kept.  He had curly dark brown
hair and hazel eyes that danced behind rimless glasses and beneath thick
dark brows.  He had a square chin with a cleft, not unlike Scott's.

Peter shrugged.  "That was way back when, when I was still being a little
bit naughty from time to time."  Peter leaned into the newcomer and looked
back at Scott.  "Scott, this is Travis Stevens.  Travis, this is
Scott...uhm..."

Scott put out a hand.  "Turner.  Nice to meet you Travis."

"And you too."  The man had a very firm grip and looked Scott squarely in
the eyes.  He liked that.  Travis surveyed the handful of hangers Scott was
carrying.  "Looks like somebody's getting ready to bust out for spring
break!"

Scott nodded.  "Florida, with a buddy of mine.  We're not sure where we'll
be spending our time yet, but I needed to work on the warm weather wardrobe
anyway."  He couldn't help notice that the jeans Travis wore were so tight
that one could count the change in his pocket.  `Now there's a few happy
quarters' he thought.  `And, Peter's still looking mighty fine.'

Peter glanced back at Travis as he nodded sideways.  "I met Scott a couple
times last spring, at parties on campus."  He looked back at Scott.  "Well,
I've followed the news in the campus press, and you've been raising all
sorts of hell with the right-wing nuts on campus.  Good for you!  Is your
sidekick still around?  What's his name...Marty?"

Scott's smile quickly faded.  "He moved back to Rockford.  Got married last
summer, and his wife, Jill, has been diagnosed with leukemia.

Peter frowned.  "Oooh.  Sorry to hear that.  I mean, happy about the
marriage but the cancer is a bitch.  Do you know what type of leukemia?"

"A.L.L.  And now she's being treated at the UW."

Peter's frown grew darker.  "Ooooff.  A.L.L.  Tough nut to crack at that
age.  She must be in her mid-twenties?"

Scott shrugged.  "Don't know exactly, but Jill's probably closer to thirty
than twenty."

Peter shook his head.  "Ouch.  It's treatable at that age, but it's a tough
row to hoe.  It's a lot more common at younger ages, and often more
successfully treated."

Travis slapped Peter's arm.  "Now stop it, doctor.  You're going to depress
the man when he's gearing up for vacation."  He smiled at Scott.  "Looking
for a Hawaiian shirt, huh?"

Peter looked down.  "Sorry, Scott.  Travis is right.  Marty's wife is in
great hands, and so is he for that matter.  I know some of the guys and
gals in oncology and they're top-notch.  They'll both be well taken care
of."

Scott nodded his appreciation and then cocked his head as he held up a
shirt splashed in blue and orange.  "Not sure I have the balls to actually
wear one of these."

Travis waved a hand.  "Oh, go for it.  It's for vacation.  It's not like
you're going to be wearing it where people know you.  And it makes a
statement, `I'm foot loose and fancy free, and out to have a good time.'"

Scott nodded.  "I suppose so."  He flipped a couple more hangers to the
left.  "So what do you do, Travis?"

"I'm doing graduate work in psychology and am constantly surveying the job
landscape.  Peter's locked in here at least two more years, so I'm not
going to move too far."

Scott nodded as he pondered it.  "Psych huh?  Do you want to do research,
or practice that witchcraft?"

Travis took it in good humor.  "I love doing research."  He smiled
admiringly at Peter.  "For about the past nine months I've been engaged in
an in-depth research project on what makes med. students tick."  He nudged
the new doctor with an elbow.  "Very small study sample though, so I doubt
it'll ever get published."

Scott understood and played along.  "Still, it sounds fascinating.  Any
initial conclusions?"

"Haven't got a clue...yet.  I'm finding that med students are a rare breed,
a real enigma.  Very intelligent, very sensitive and yet practically
masochistic in their devotion to their calling."  Suddenly he pointed at
the rack and the shirt that Scott had come around to.  "That one!"

Scott held up the shirt.  It had a cranberry colored background, splashed
with large orchids in white and gold.  "You think so?  I'm not sure this is
me."

Travis nodded enthusiastically.  "Oh, live a little!  Put a bright yellow
crewneck tee under that and you can wear it opened or buttoned.  It'll look
great!"

Scott glanced at Peter, who just grinned and shrugged.  "Don't ask me.  He
might be an intellectual, but he's the fashion guru.  Hell, he dresses me
most days."

Travis checked his watch and tapped Peter's forearm.  "Well, buddy, we
ought to get going.  The recital starts in an hour."

Peter nodded and stuck out his hand.  "Travis has a cousin who's performing
her graduate recital tonight.  We're going to lose ourselves in an hour or
so of Debussy."

Scott didn't know the difference between Claude Debussy and Gary Busey.
Still, he smiled and shook Peter's hand.  "Sounds cool."  He reached for
Travis's hand.  "Great to meet you, Travis.  Thanks for the help on the
shirt."

Peter's face was suddenly one of a concerned doctor.  "I'll try to look in
on...is it Jill?"

Scott nodded.  "Jill Anderson.  I think she's due for another round of
chemo next month, and I know they'd both appreciate another friendly face
and voice from the staff, even if you're not treating her."

They said their last good-byes.  `I need to tell Marty that I ran into the
guy,' he thought, and then he went back to the shelves of tees, quickly
finding a canary colored one in his size.  He held it up against the gaudy
Hawaiian shirt.  `Not bad,' he nodded, and then headed for the counter.  He
chuckled as he reached for his wallet.  `Greg's gonna think I'm a freak for
wearing this shirt.'


Author's Note: My thanks go out to Scott, Kory and Peter for their
assistance with this chapter.  If you haven't yet discovered "Recovering
Austin," by Bill McBride, (hard to believe) you might want to check it out
before Chapter 18 is posted.  It's here on Nifty and can be found at the
Rainbow Community Writer's Project, posted by William Tyler King.  Billy
and I are collaborating on the next chapter, and it will be out as soon as
we're done with the flurry of e-mails back and forth.  As usual, send your
comments to: scotty.13411@hotmail.com.  I love to get the e-mails.  Be
Well.