Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2008 10:45:03 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: FORK IN THE ROAD, Chapter 20

FORK IN THE ROAD
By Scott Turner
Chapter 20



      "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.



      After Greg's last morning class on Good Friday, the guys left for the
Turners' place to see Big Scott and Suzanne, and to do some of the legwork
for the campaign.  Just before one o'clock in the afternoon, they were half
way home.  When a small roadside convenience store appeared in the
distance, Scott announced that he had to relieve himself of much of the
coffee he'd consumed that morning and he pulled off the highway to the
right side of the road, parking right in front of the restroom door.  The
pair entered the store and Scott asked, "Do I need a key for the men's
room?"

      The friendly looking woman with a bad brunette dye job told him no.
He looked at Greg.  "Be right back."

      Greg nodded.  "I'll grab a couple sodas and some chips or something.
Didn't have lunch."  Scott gave him a thumbs up and exited.

      As he was finishing up at the urinal and shaking the excess out of
his member, Scott heard the car door open and close outside.  Just as he
was zipping up and stepping to the sink, Greg stepped in, closed the door
and locked it.  Scott caught his smiling face in the mirror.  "Gotta go
too, huh?"

      Greg's grin morphed into a lascivious leer as he stepped behind Scott
and reached around with both hands and grabbed his package.  "Nope."

      Scott stood up straight, startled but kind of turned on.  "Greg!
What the hell...?"

      "I've had this fantasy about doing it in a public john for a long
time."  He kneaded Scott's cock and balls.  Scott giggled a little and
swatted Greg's hands, but he didn't make a huge effort to remove them.
Greg's tongue lapped its way up the side of Scott's neck to the back of his
left ear.

      Scott tilted his head and he sighed a faint protest.  "Greg!  We're
gonna get busted!"

      Greg felt the equipment beneath Scott's denim getting firmer and he
rubbed his own hardening manhood against Scott's ass.  "Not if we hurry."
He sucked on Scott's neck and his left hand roamed up Scott's torso to his
pecs.  He pinched the left nipple through the fabric of his long sleeve
tee.

      Scott's moan gave Greg the go-ahead.  He released his grip and put a
hand on each shoulder, turning Scott toward him and then gently guided him
back to the wall.  Now that he had Scott pinned between the sink and the
paper towel dispenser, he kissed Scott furiously, grinding their groins
together.  He pulled back and stared with determination into Scott's eyes.
"You're going to do me.  Right here, right now."

      Scott tried to protest once more.  "But what if somebody else wants
in...and besides, we don't have..."

      Greg reached into his pocket and dropped a rubber and tube of lube
into the sink.  "We do too.  Grabbed `em out of my bag when I put the Cokes
in the car."  He went to his knees and began unbuckling Scott's belt.  "And
you saw the parking lot.  Nobody's here.  If they show up, they'll just
have to wait."  He unzipped Scott's pants and tore them down nearly to his
knees.  Scott's cock sprung to half-mast.  With one hand on each of Scott's
thighs, Greg lunged forward with an open mouth and swallowed the budding
member down to the pubes.

      Scott bit his lip and clamped his eyes shut, emitting a muffled
whimper.  Greg went to work on his own belt buckle as his head slowly
bobbed back and forth, sucking with all his might.  `This needs to be
quick,' he told himself as he enjoyed the taste of precum and finally
released his own aching tool.

      Scott finally acquiesced completely and put one hand on each side of
Greg's head and started moving his hips back and forth.  Greg moaned his
approval of his buddy's newfound enthusiasm and the vibrations sent a
pleasant jolt through Scott's center.  With his own throbbing member now
firmly in hand, Greg began to quickly stroke it.  He moaned again and Scott
clenched his teeth, struggling to avoid their usual verbal sexual banter.
After a couple minutes of rambunctious face fucking, Greg's hand reached up
and into the sink and found the condom.  He backed off of Scott and admired
the glistening crimson rod before him.  As he tore open the package, still
on his knees, he leaned forward again and quickly teased Scott's sack and
balls with his tongue.  Then he grabbed hold of Scott's missile and quickly
rolled the rubber down the shaft.  He stood up and quickly kissed Scott
again, and then handed him the lube.  "Here ya' go, champ.  I really need
you in me, and I need you to ride me fast."  Greg turned and grabbed hold
of both sides of the sink.

      Scott stepped behind him.  "This is gonna be tricky with our pants
around our ankles."  He squirted some of the K-Y gel onto two fingers.

      Greg looked at him in the mirror.  "If anybody can do it, bud, we
can.  Now get to work, dammit!"

      Scott eased his greased fingers into Greg's crevice and found his
hole.  He lubed the area and then inserted his middle finger.  Greg moaned
softly through his nose.  Scott withdrew the digit and applied more gel.
Then he probed Greg again to get him completely oiled up.  He quickly
greased his throbbing dick and stepped forward, nudging the head between
Greg's muscular cheeks.  He rubbed it up and down a couple of times and
finally settled in on Greg's anxious rosebud.

      Greg sighed a complaint.  "C'mon, Scotty, quit with the foreplay.  Do
me, man!"

      Scott pushed forward and breached the ring at the entrance of Greg's
chute.  He looked in the mirror and watched Greg's eyes close as a sublime
smile emerged on his lips.

      Greg whispered.  "Yeah.  Now, go to town, stud!"

      Scott quickly picked up the pace and was soon driving into Greg with
a fury.  Greg braced himself with his left hand against the back of the
sink. With his right he stroked himself hard as his head swayed left and
right, up and down, all the while giving out a quiet rhythmic whimper.  The
image in the mirror of fucking Greg so fiercely and the illicit aspect of
their coupling had Scott ready to blow in a hurry.  That was good, because
Greg's buttons were being pushed in all the right places.  Within minutes,
Scott's body tightened and began to quake.  He thrust all the way in and
leaned down, dropping his chest and stomach on to Greg's back.  He reached
under Greg's armpits and grabbed hold of his shoulders, grunting into
Greg's ear as he hammered one quick short thrust after another, finally
exploding with a muffled growl and several fierce gasps.

      Greg grunted a long, stuttered moan through his nose as streams of
white goo fired onto the front if his shirt, the front of the sink and
finally onto the floor.  They stood there panting, Scott still inside Greg
for several seconds.  Finally, Greg chuckled softly.  "Told you we could do
it."  Scott smiled and slowly stepped back.  Greg gasped as Scott withdrew
fully, and let out a soft, short squeal when Scott swatted his ass.

      Scott slid the rubber off and dropped it in the trashcan.  He grabbed
several paper towels as Greg slowly stepped away from the sink.  He wet one
of them and carefully cleaned his deflating member.  Then he pulled up his
pants and dropped three towels onto the floor, using his foot to wipe up
the puddles of Greg's cum.  Greg wiped his hands and the front of the sink,
and then grabbed two more towels to clean off the front of his shirt.

      Scott grinned.  "Good thing you're wearing white, but you're going to
have to change that shirt before we get to my folks' place."

      Greg chuckled as he finished his cleaning.  "Don't want me shaking
Big Scott's hand smelling of cum?"  He threw the soiled paper in the trash.

      As Scott pulled out of the parking lot, he looked over at Greg trying
to be nonchalant.  "Well now, that was fun.  You got any other fantasies
you'd care to share?"

      Greg winked at him.  "I'll surprise you."



      On Saturday morning, Scott sat at Daisy's desk in his dad's law
office, being very careful not to disturb or move anything.  There would be
hell to pay if she came in on Monday and found things out of order.  He had
a list of the folks in the community who had agreed to take a "Turner for
Senate" yard sign.  Greg had a list of his own and was manning the phone in
the conference room/law library.  The task was simple.  Call the people to
confirm their willingness to have a sign in their front yard and to give
them a heads-up that they'd be placing the sign later in the day.

      They'd been at it for a little over an hour when Scott heard the back
door open.  A voice called down the hallway, "Scotty, you in here?"  It was
Seth Kirschbaum, or perhaps his twin brother Sean.  Scott always had a hard
time telling them apart.

      He took a stab at it anyway.  "Yep.  Come on in Seth.  Dad left a
list and a map for you guys."

      The tall blond farm boy walked into the office area wearing a broad
smile.  The ruddy complexion, flannel shirt and John Deere cap gave a hint
to his chosen vocation.  The twins ran their dad's farm a few miles south
of town.  "It's Sean, actually, but Seth's coming in right behind me.  He's
finishing loading the truck."  The Kirschbaum twins, occasional clients of
Big Scott's had volunteered to traverse the county and plant the big
four-by-six foot plywood signs along the country roads.

      Scott got up and walked over to greet him.  "How are you, Sean?  Been
a long time."

      The farmer nodded.  "Haven't seen you since graduation."  Scott had
graduated from high school with one of the guys' nephews.  The back door
opened and closed again and the carbon copy of the muscular yeoman ambled
down the hall.  "Hey, Scotty!  How ya' been?"

      "Good, Seth.  Real good.  Got the list and the map right here."  He
went back to the desk and grabbed the clipboard his dad had left.

      Greg came out of the conference room with an empty coffee cup and
stopped dead in his tracks.  He eyed the very manly duo before him from top
to bottom.  "Greg Page," Scott said, "meet Seth Kirschbaum and his brother
Sean."  He squared the few sheets of paper and secured them with a clip.
"Greg's a buddy of mine from college."  As Greg was shaking hands and
smiling, Scott looked at his awestruck friend with some amusement.  "The
Kirschbaums are doing the big signs that were stacked out back.  They get
to do all the heavy stuff today."

      Greg half mumbled.  "I...I was just gonna go get some more coffee.
Anybody want some?"  The Kirschbaums waved him off, but Scott handed him
his empty mug.

      Scott's grin didn't abate.  "Well, here's the list and the map.  Dad
wanted me to thank you guys again for all your help."

      Seth shrugged.  "For Big Scott?  Anything.  He's always covered our
backs and he'll make one hell of a senator."  He looked at his brother.
"Well, we told Dad we'd be back at the farm by three, so we'd better head
out."

      They shook Scott's hand again and headed for the back door.  Greg was
on his way back from the break room and paused in the hallway to give them
room to pass.  "Good meeting you guys."  They both smiled and nodded.  He
handed Scott the coffee mug and grinned.  "Woof!"

      Scott giggled.  "Down, boy.  They're about ten years older than you
are.  Sean is happily married and I think Big Scott is representing his
brother in a paternity suit right now."

      Greg shrugged.  "Age is just a number, and you can't tell me you
never undressed them with your eyes and imagined a roll in the hay with
those two."

      Scott winked as he smiled and then sipped his coffee.  "Only since I
was about twelve."

      A half hour later, they were both nearly done with their calling
lists when the door in back opened and closed again.  Scott put down the
phone and hollered.  "Forget something guys?"

      His father's voice came back.  "Yeah, I forgot to lock the door at
home.  Leave the damned thing open and you never know what's going to come
crawling in."  Big Scott appeared in the hallway with his arm around a
grinning Marty Anderson.

      Scott's jaw dropped.  "What the...?"

      Marty flashed his cockiest grin and tossed a casual salute.  "Well,
since we talked at Greg's game, things have gotten brighter.  Jill's back
home and feeling better than she has in ages.  She and my mom went to some
craft fair for the day.  And her folks have an overnight stay booked at
that new waterpark resort up in Wisconsin Dells.  They wanted to take the
kids along, and Ashley's on a mission to teach her little brother how to
swim."  He snorted and shook his head.

      Scott furrowed his brows.  "Really?  He's only eight months old."

      Marty waved a hand.  "Infants are naturals.  And Jack and Meredith
aren't going to let anything happen to him.  They're like overly protective
bears when it comes to the kids.  And you know that Scotty's totally
fearless."

      Scott puffed out his chest.  "Just like his godfather."

      Marty rolled his eyes.  "So, anyway, I'm `bachelor for a day' and
said to myself, `Self you need a road trip today.  You'd said that you guys
were coming up here for the weekend and I figured the Turner campaign could
use the assistance of a special advisor with a proven track record."

      Greg heard the voices and came out of the conference room smiling.
Marty gave him a quick half hug and reached over to pat Scott's back.
"Well boys, let's get busy!"

      Big Scott laughed.  "Guys, I need to get going.  I have three
neighborhood meet-and-greet coffees today.  And, remember, Scotty, your mom
and I have the hospital's charity ball tonight.  You guys will be on your
own for dinner."

      Scott clapped his hands together.  "Kozy Korner Pizza!"

      Marty elbowed Big Scott.  "And all of dad's beer."  He looked up at
the father.  "Pick some up on the way home, will ya'?"

      Big Scott laughed, and then put on a serious face.  "You're not
traveling anywhere tonight, are you?"

      All three guys shook their heads `no,' but Marty added, "I have to be
back home in time to go to the late church service tomorrow, but I'll be a
good boy.  Not going to be sinning the night before Easter."  He looked
with an innocent gaze.  "Really, sir, I will."

      Big Scott guffawed at Marty's effort.  "Well, in that case, there
might be another twelve in the basement fridge when you get back to the
house."

      A hundred and fifty signs dotted the community's boulevards and front
lawns by the time they were done.  One and a half large pizzas had been
demolished and several beers consumed.  Greg peeled at the label of his
beer bottle.  "Scotty.  Do you think those signs really make a difference
in an election?"

      Scott shook his head.  "Oh, hell no!  The only thing that really
makes a difference is getting one more vote than your competition.  The
signs create an impression that the old man might be the real deal, but
yard signs don't vote.  Not only that, you'd be surprised at how many of
those folks will take a sign because they know you or they don't know how
to say `no,' and then to and vote for the other guy, or not at all."

      Greg studied the two guys sitting on the couch for a moment.  "Hey,
it's a nice night.  I'm going to go for a stroll.  Give you guys a chance
to get caught up."  He looked back at Marty whose hair was coming back
since the head shaving he and Jill had done together.  "I like the new
`do,' Marty."  Then he was out the door.

      Marty glanced at Scott.  "What's that all about?"

      Scott shrugged.  "Just what he said, I suppose.  I guess he figured
we could use some time alone to get caught up.  He knows our history and
I've been up front about all aspects of our friendship.  Knowing Greg, I'll
bet he feels a little like he's intruding when it's the three of us."

      Marty thought about it and shrugged.  "Okay, but I wish he didn't
feel that way."  He paused and shrugged.  "Well then, let's get caught up.
So what's shakin' these days?"

      Scott put his head on the back of the couch.  "Oh, shit, you have no
idea."  He filled Marty in on the goings-on within the Board of Regents,
and the preliminary decision to pull the plug on the UW baseball team.

      Marty stared, his mouth open.  "How's Greg taking all this?"

      Scott closed his eyes tight.  "He doesn't know."

      Marty's wide eyes tried to catch up with his disbelieving open mouth.
"Well, you are going to tell him, right?"

      Scott closed his eyes again.  "That's just it.  I can't!  We all
agreed we wouldn't discuss any of this shit outside the boardroom.  It's
not final yet."  He sighed.  "I figured I can tell you `cuz you're not
connected to the university anymore and...well...and, just because you're
you."

      Marty shook his head.  "But the way you tell it, it IS going to be
official in just a couple of weeks."  He grabbed Scott's empty bottle and
he headed for the kitchen.  Walking back with two fresh beers he waved one
in Scott's direction.  "All I'm saying, Scotty, is if I'm Greg and I read
about this in the paper or hear it from the coach...after the fact...I'm
going to be one pissed off mother fucker.  Once I realize that you've been
in on this all along, or at least that you saw it coming, and you didn't
say anything?  Hell, you'd be getting a big old `F.U.' if I was in his
shoes."

      Scott took the beer and shook his head.  "I just can't, Marty, and
it's tearing me up."

      Marty frowned and nudged him.  "Well it ought to be tearing you up,
dammit!  Think about it.  He might have to make other plans for next year.
Other UW campuses have baseball programs that won't be cut, right?"  Scott
nodded.  "Scotty, you have to tell him!"  Marty grabbed his forearm.  "If
your friendship, or relationship or whatever it is means anything at all
you need to consider the damage that's going to be done if you don't at
least give him a heads up."

      Scott didn't speak.  Marty shook his head again in disbelief and
leaned forward, so that their noses were mere inches apart.  He put a hand
on Scott's right shoulder and lightly shook him.  "Scotty!  Think about it
for chrissake!  You can say something now about what might happen and it's
gonna freak him out for a time. But at least he's sort of ready for it.
Plus, you're at least trying to be up front about something that means to
world to him.  Or, you say nothing, and you let him hear it from the coach
or read about it in the paper.  At that point, he realizes that your
fingerprints are all over this disaster from day one and that you've been
keeping it from him."  Marty poked him lightly in the chest.  "Now, get
your head out of your ass and think about it!  Which approach do you think
is going to get you a louder `Fuck You!' from Greg?"


      Scott nodded.  "I'll think about it."

      After several moments of silence, Marty shook his head and snorted.
"How do you do it, man?"

      Scott's head shot left with a quizzical look.  "Do what?"

      Marty put a hand on his shoulder again.  "Scotty.  You keep tryin' to
do good and stepping in shit all along the way."  He scoffed again and
shook his head.  "I mean you run for student government and get saddled
with the likes of me and Kip Monmouth and that prick Lyman to make your
life miserable.  You land an appointment to The Regents and you have to
deal with the likes of Andy Pennington and now this shit with baseball.
You dote over your grandma only to lose her.  You take an honest job in the
caucus and find yourself swimming amid all this scum."

      A crooked smile emerged on Scott's face. Well, number one, dealing
with you has given me a few ulcers now and then, but a little Pepto makes
you worth worrying about.  Two, Kip was a major pain in the ass, but it was
kind of fun stickin' it to him now and then.  Plus, I like the way things
worked out there.  Three, it was kind of fun putting it to Pennington over
the tuition thing last year too, and we got some good stuff done in the
process.  Four, Gran' was going to go sometime and her passing,
heartbreaking as it was, shortened her misery and ours."  He grinned a coy
grin.  "And me and her still talk just about every day."

      Scott sipped his beer and shrugged again.  "Finally, as far as the
caucus goes, it looked for a long time like all the stinky shit was legal
and there was nothing to be done.  Well--and I can't tell you a lot--but I
think the wheels are in motion to right those wrongs.  A couple of friends
of mine are talking and it could end up that Frick could actually get
what's coming to him."  He hesitated, and then shook his head with a grin.
"Not sure there's anything more I can do.  He squinted his eyes and squared
his jaw in a horrible Clint Eastwood impersonation.  "A man's got to know
his limitations."

      Marty booed the impersonation but Scott continued.  "And the baseball
shit is what it is.  In my brain it makes sense, as sad as that is.  In my
gut, it makes me want to puke.  In my heart, it's killing me."  He shrugged
again.  "But I asked for it.  Remember, I fought like hell for that
position on The Board.  There were no guarantees that it'd be a smooth and
comfy ride.  Big Scott always told me, `If you really want to make a
difference out there, be ready to piss some people off in the process.
Just be damned sure that it's for the right reasons.'"

      Marty patted his knee.  "But you still need to do right by Greg.
It'll make a difference for the right reasons.  That decision might make
sense in your head, but you have to give your heart and your gut some room
to feel okay too.  Not to mention his."

      Greg got back fifteen minutes later and immediately wondered if his
leaving had been a mistake.  There was a certain chill, a tension in the
room.  It quickly abated, however, and they spent another hour sipping
beers and watching an NBA playoff game.  Soon, all three were yawning and
Marty declared it was time to call it a night.  "Have to be up and on the
road early tomorrow, gents.  Scotty, find me a pillow and a blanket and
I'll make myself home on the couch.  I'll sneak out early."

      Scott had assured him that his parents would not be peeking in on
him, so it was safe for them to share his bed.  They cuddled for a time
before Greg was softly snoring with his arm draped over Scott's chest.  By
5:00 in the morning, Scott was staring at the ceiling afraid his tossing
and turning would wake his lover.  Hearing some stirring downstairs, he
slowly crept out of bed and slid into his robe.  As the smell of brewing
coffee reached Scott at the bottom of the stairs, he caught Marty in his
stocking feet tip toeing back to the kitchen.  Marty smiled and gestured
toward the sound of the gurgling machine.  "Coffee's done," he whispered,
and Scott followed him.  Marty poured two mugs as Scott slumped into a
chair and yawned.  Marty set a steaming mug down and ruffled his friend's
hair.  "Sleep well?"

      Scott looked up with a `give me a break' glance.  "What do you
think?"

      Marty sat down across the table.  "Sorry if I laid in on pretty thick
last night, Scotty.  I didn't want to rock your boat or anything."

      Scott shot him a knowing grin.  "The hell you didn't.  You always try
to rock my boat."

      Marty grinned and winked.  "That's why you love me, professor."  He
blew on the surface of the brew and sipped it lightly.  "Besides, I'm
usually right."

      Scott ran his fingers through his hair.  "Fuck you, Mr. Special
Advisor."  He dropped his chin into the palm of his hand and sighed.  "I
know, Marty.  I know."

      "So, you're gonna..."

      "I'm going to talk to him.  I will."

      "I think it's best, for both of you."  Marty got up and walked to the
living room.  He returned with his shoes, his overnight bag and a travel
mug.  He dumped the coffee into the larger insulated mug and topped it off
from the pot.  As he put his shoes on, he asked, "What are the Turners
doing for Easter?"

      "Church at 8:00, a big buffet brunch at Dad's country club after
that.  I'm hoping it's going to be a nice day.  They have the front course
opened already, and maybe we can talk the old man into at least nine holes
before we go back.  Suzanne hasn't picked up her clubs in a while, but
maybe I can twist her arm, too."  He couldn't remember the last time they'd
golfed together.  "And what goes on in Rockford?"

      After tying his shoes, Marty sat back up.  "I'll get home in time to
shower and change, and then me and Jill will fill the Easter baskets and
hide the eggs we colored the other night.  Jack and Meredith will meet us
at the church, and then my mom's having us all over for a big meal.  She's
been having a ball all week getting ready.  It's been a while since she's
had a houseful for dinner."  The rest of the day will just be lazy family
time.

      Scott smiled serenely.  "Sounds nice.  You guys haven't had enough of
that lately."  Marty stood and Scott asked him, "Give them all a kiss and a
hug for me?"

      Marty set his bag down near the back door.  "Then give me one of each
to give them."  The two old friends hugged warmly at the top of the back
stairs and then shared a playful quick peck.  Scott looked his buddy in the
eyes with gratitude.  "Thanks for coming, man."

      Marty ruffled his hair again.  "When you least expect it..."

      Scott giggled.  "I know, I know.  But I've come to expect you to show
up at the damnedest times."

      Marty patted his back.  "You're learning."  He quietly walked down
the steps and out the door, winking again over his shoulder as he closed it
behind himself.

      Over the course of the day, Scott's spirits gradually rose.  Greg had
become well at ease with Scott's folks.  They had a great time at the club,
with Big Scott and Greg chatting baseball most of the time.  Suzanne did
agree to drag her clubs along and join the guys for a smooth nine holes.
Later, nearly an hour into the drive back to Madison, Greg finally turned
and asked, "So, what's eating you?"

      Scott glanced right with his eyes.  "Huh?  What makes you so sure
something's eating me?"

      "We just had a great weekend and we ought to be jabbering away about
it.  But last night, you tossed and turned and sighed most of the night.
You've hardly said squat since we left your folks' place, and you're
pinching your bottom lip a lot.  You only do that when something's really
bugging you.  You're making me nervous."

      Scott forced a faint smile and shrugged.  "Sorry."  After another
minute of silence, Scott finally broke.  "Okay.  Thanks for noticing and
for asking.  But..." He paused a long time.

      Greg turned in his seat.  "But what?"

      Scott swallowed hard, but didn't answer right away.  Greg leaned
toward him and raised the volume.  "But what, dammit?  Come on, Scott, I
can handle it whatever it is, and I'm sure you can too."

      Scott sighed.  "Well, I have no choice but to handle it.  You, on the
other hand, are going to hate it.  And, I'm afraid you're going to wind up
hating me."

      Greg's face was showing genuine fear now.  He slumped back against
the passenger side door, still facing Scott.  "Scotty, I'm not going to
wind up hating you whatever it is.  You've convinced me that I really can
handle practically anything.  But whatever this shit is, it's weighing
damned heavily on you, so unload.  Fill me in."

      Scott squirmed in his seat.  He took a deep breath and held it, and
then slowly exhaled.  "Okay, here goes."  He leaned down and shut of the
radio.  "The god-awful bottom line, Greg, is that the baseball program
might well be cut from next year's budget."

      There was a full minute of absolute silence.

      Greg's tone was even and measured.  "How long have you known this?"

      Well, it's not a sure thing yet.  We're meeting a week from tomorrow.
But I'm telling you that it really looks like it could go.

      "Okay, now...again...how long have you known that this could happen
to me?"

      Scott was approaching panic.  "It's a long story, Greg.  It started
coming into focus near the end of the first semester, but..."

      "You knew this in December?  You've been sitting on this for about,
what, four months?  How the hell could you...?"

      "Greg!  Hang on!  Let me try to give it to you in a nutshell.  We
started gearing up for the possibility of cuts...any and all cuts in the
budget.  We agreed on some ground rules and priorities.  Then we went
through the whole fucking thing, department-by-department, item-by-item.
Over time, baseball made its way onto the `we could do without it if we had
to' list.  And there it sits."

      Greg slumped back in his seat and shook his head.  He rubbed his face
with both hands.  "I can't fucking believe..."

      Scott cut him off.  "And I couldn't say anything because we also made
a common agreement that we wouldn't scare the shit out of people with
hypothetical scenarios and possibilities.  No sense in creating pockets of
panic all over the place if it isn't necessary.  It was a good idea, a
sound principle that I agreed with at the outset."

      Greg snapped back.  "So you're telling me now?  You said it's not
final."

      Scott pursed his lips and nodded sheepishly.  "Yes I'm telling you
now and I'm breaking the rules, but I didn't want you to hear it from the
coach or read it in the paper if it does become final."

      "And you've been going along with this?"

      Scott inhaled deeply.  "I agreed with the ground rules that we
established way back when. But baseball wasn't even being looked at then.
I agreed with the `no talk rule' because I believed it would keep the
process cleaner and less politically charged.  I hate the idea that it
could go against you and the rest of the team.  I fucking hate it!"

      "Can you stop it?"

      Scott sighed again.  "I don't know.  I just don't know how I could.
I already tried once but ran into the `brick wall' that is Andy Pennington,
the board's president."

      Greg's elbows were on his knees and his forehead rested in the palms
of his hands.  He moaned, "You have to!  You just have to stop this!"  He
lifted his head a little and turned to face Scott.  "What the hell am I
supposed to do if the program dies?  The scholarship goes away, I can't
move home, and my shit head old man isn't going to put up any money to keep
me in school."  He wiped his nose.  "You've told me about the glory days on
the board last year when you took this asshole Pennington to the woodshed
and gave him a spanking over tuition..."

      Scott interrupted.  "It's not the same, Greg.  Last year he was
manipulating the process for his own personal benefit.  This year, to my
surprise, he's actually demonstrating some sane leadership.  I still don't
like him, but I can't argue with the way he's managed us and got us to this
point.  This idea has a lot of support, IF it HAS to happen."

      The final forty-five minutes of the drive was made in absolute
silence.  Scott kept his eyes on the road and Greg fidgeted and chewed on
his nails, mostly looking out the side window.

      Finally, Scott pulled up in front of Greg's dorm.  After putting the
car in park, he turned to Greg.  "Hate me?"

      Greg sighed.  "I did for a little while, and then I wanted to, but I
guess the jury's still out.  I'm still trying to make sense of why you
didn't tell me before now."

      "I wanted to, Greg.  I really did.  But it wouldn't have changed a
thing other than to freak you out for months."

      "It would have changed things for me.  This is a huge bombshell, you
know.  I've been having a pretty good year so far."

      Still gripping the top of the steering wheel, Scott dropped his
forehead onto the backs of his hands.  "I know!  Greg, I've been sick about
this off and on for months.  I don't want to do anything that hurts you in
any way."  Greg opened the door and got out.  He opened the back door and
grabbed his bag.  Scott looked over his shoulder.  "Call me tomorrow" Or
I'll call you?"

      Greg was quiet for an uncomfortably long time.  "Give me some time,
will you?  Just...if there's any way you can stop this...please do it.
Please?"

      "I will, and I'll back off and give you whatever time and space you
want."

      Greg nodded and hit Scott with a stoic stare.  "Okay.  Thanks.  And
thanks for the weekend.  Have a good night."  He closed the door.  Scott
watched him walk to the dorm's main entrance, and then slowly eased away
from the curb.

      Every night for the next week, Scott's routine was the same.  Have a
bite to eat, often with the guys, hit the books and take care of the
academics, and then hide himself away in his room with a pot of coffee.
He'd take out all of the budget materials that The Regents had handled and
considered throughout the year and review them again, line by line, item by
item.  Thursday night he actually pulled an all-nighter fiddling with a
calculator and an Excel spreadsheet.  At three a.m., he finally broke down
and sent Greg an e-mail.  It simply said, "I hope you're well."

      Thirty minutes later a response came.  "I'm hanging in there."

      "Shit," Scott thought, "he isn't sleeping either.  I'll bet he's a
wreck."  He was tempted to call, but resisted.  He'd told Greg that he'd
give him some space, and there was a chance Darrin would be in the room.
So, he just went back to pouring over the books.



      Scott was nervous when he took his seat at the April Regents meeting,
but he hid it pretty well.  Pennington had sent word from his law office in
Milwaukee that he was running a little late, so Scott had time to banter
casually with several members, including Abby.  That helped to calm him.
Fifteen minutes after they were to start, Andy dashed into the room.  He
was a bit short of breath and seemed to be rather frayed.  "Sorry, folks.
Got caught in a bankruptcy proceeding today with a judge who thinks he's a
CPA.  We ended up going through practically the entire list of items in the
proposed settlement, line by line."

      `Poor Andy.  I feel your pain,' thought Scott.

      Andy sat and pulled a folder out of his briefcase.  He asked the
clerk to call the roll as he got organized at the head of the table.  Once
settled in he said, "Good.  Everybody's here.  That's going to be important
this evening.  It'll be a short meeting, I think, as we only really have
one item to deal with.  We'll take up the final recommendation to the
governor for next year's budget, act on it and then call it a night."
There was still a stressful edge to his voice and he appeared a bit
flustered.

      `He must have had a really rough day,' thought Scott.  `He's usually
a lot smoother than this.'

      Andy cleared his throat and nodded.  "Okay then.  You've all had
another month to review and consider the work we've spent so much of our
time on this year.  I believe we can be proud of our over-all management of
the university system this year, and particularly of our handling of the
myriad of budget considerations we've had to tackle.  I realize that we'd
all like to do nothing but add to this section of the state's budget, but I
commend you all on the clear-headed and thoughtful manner in which we've
proceeded.  So, with that, as chair of our finance committee, I will move
final adoption of this recommendation to Governor Hackett on behalf of the
University of Wisconsin.

      Silas Lee raised a hand.  "Second."

      Andy nodded.  "I know we've discussed and deliberated this thing to
death but, with a motion and a second before us, I still have to ask: is
there any further discussion?"  Scott raised his hand.  Andy barely
squelched a sneer and slowly said, "Mr. Turner."

      Scott sat up straight and laid his hands flat on the table.  "Ladies
and gentlemen, I need to make one last minute appeal.  This isn't going to
go over very well, but it's important to me and an awful lot of students.
And it's been bugging me for a long time.  I know I should have done
something before this evening and I apologize for this last minute effort
on my part."

      Everyone could sense the storm clouds gathering in Pennington's
brain, his heart and his gut.  He wanted to crawl across the table and
punch this uppity punk.  Abby closed her eyes and shook her head.

      Scott swallowed a gulp of water so large that it hurt going down.  He
cleared his throat and went on.  "I'd like to propose an adjustment to this
fiscal plan that would spare the baseball team.  I think it's important,
and I have a couple of alternatives involving modest additional cuts in a
number of areas, a small increase in ticket prices for those athletic
events with heavy attendance and, if needed, a small increase in student
activity fees.  With your permission, Mr. Pennington, I'd like to present
the details for The Board's consideration."

      Andy slapped the table hard.  Several members were jolted in their
seats.  "No!  I asked for discussion, not amendments.  That train has left
the damned station!  You, young man, are so out of order that you ought to
be in a straight jacket!  Bringing this up at this point, past the eleventh
hour, is an insult to the other fourteen members who have given so much
time to this effort."  He paused to regain his composure.  "In addition,
your brainstorm should have been included on the agenda, and no such
request was made.  You're sandbagging, bringing this up at the very last
minute, trying to blindside everybody with a proposal they haven't even had
a chance to look at."

      Scott was trying hard to not sound like he was begging.  "But I'm
asking to show it to them now and explain how it would work!"

      Andy leaned on the table and glared.  "And I'm telling you, once
again, NO!  Your request is out of order.  Whatever you've brought along
tonight will NOT be shown, it will not be discussed and it will not be
considered.  Period!  End of story!" Scott sat back in his chair and hung
his head.

       Andy fiddled with the knot of his tie.  "Alright then, unless anyone
else wants to try to derail the final resolution of this extremely vital
issue, I believe it's time to vote. The clerk will call the roll."

      Andy's assistant read through the names alphabetically.  `Turner' was
last on the list.  Abby Svendsen was right in front of him.  It wasn't
until she voted in favor that he finally made up his mind.

      "Mr. Turner?" the clerk asked.

      Scott cleared his throat.  "Aye."



      Scott called Greg's cell as he left the building.  On the second
ring, Greg answered.  "Hello."  It was cold.

      "Hi, Greg.  Is Darrin there?"

      "Yes."

      "Then would you please meet me outside the dorm in about ten minutes.
I'd like to talk."

      "I don't think..."

      Scott cut him off.  "Please, Greg.  Please."

      After a long pause, "Okay.  Ten minutes."

      There was a footbridge over the street that separated the dorm and
the cafeteria.  Greg was leaning on the railing of its steps when Scott
cleared the curb.  He sat on a step and gestured for Scott to do the same.
Scott took a seat on the other side of the handrail.  The nearest
streetlight was behind Greg and it lit Scott's face.  The dim light from
the dorm lobby thirty feet away allowed Scott to get a partial view of his
friend.  Greg peered at him.  "You don't look too well."

      "I feel like shit."

      "Not a good meeting, huh?"

      Scott hung his head and his palms faced the dark sky.  "I tried,
Greg.  I appealed to the Board to reconsider baseball.  I pleaded, I
practically begged for an opportunity to show them how it could be done,
but they'd have none of it.  Well, actually, the board's president ruled me
out of order and read me the riot act.  I think if we'd been alone and he
could've reached me he'd have taken a swing at me.  No surprise there.
He's a dickhead."

       "So you've said.  Greg stared up at the top floor's windows of his
dorm.  "Was the final vote...uhm...was it unanimous?"  He faced ahead still
staring at the building, but managed to finally peer at Scott out of the
corners of his eyes.

      Scott looked down and merely nodded.

      There were several awful moments of silence.  Scott finally looked
back up and gazed plaintively at Greg's contorted face.  Greg turned his
head and glared back at him, nearly growling.  "So...let's see if I have
this right.  Most of the year, you're fucking me at your place, fucking me
in my room, fucking me at the cabin, fucking me in a public restroom,
fucking me at your parents' house, fucking me in a swanky hotel room while
you whisper sweet nothings in my ear."  He inhaled deeply through his nose
and angrily scratched his head.  "Let's see, am I leaving anything out?"
He slumped back against the step behind him and deflated.  "And all that
while, you were planning on fucking me from The Regents' boardroom when I
wasn't even there.  Quite a trick, Scott.  Fucking me out of my only
remaining lifeline, my last ever-loving dreams!"

      Scott tried to reach out to put his hands on Greg's shoulders, but
Greg recoiled.  "You know that wasn't my plan, Greg.  Like I said, I tried
to undo it.  I tried to save it.  Really, I did!"

      Greg squinted and shouted.  "Too fucking little, too fucking late!
You say that you tried tonight!  Where the hell were you four or five
months ago?"

      Scott shook his head.  "But back then you and I weren't...uhm...well,
we weren't where we are today."

      Greg gritted his teeth and sneered.  "And just where the hell is
that?"

      Scott couldn't put words to the various answers swimming through his
heart and his head, and Greg preempted his effort to respond.  He pointed
directly at Scott.  "Besides, I hope you don't think I believe that would
have made a damned bit of difference.  Even if we'd been head over heels,
star struck lovers last winter, you'd have still stuck with your fucking
principles and priorities and procedures, and you'd have ignored me and my
future!"

      Scott pleaded.  "You don't know that, Greg.  Please don't try to
condemn me to Hell on hypothetical shit.  You have a right to be mad, even
mad at me, but I'm pretty sure that IF what we had in December, back before
the Christmas break, if it had been close to what we have today, I think I
would have dealt with the whole fucking mess differently.  But IF isn't the
case.  Honestly, Greg, you gotta believe me.  I never disregarded you.  I
never wanted this to happen and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt
you."

      Greg rolled his eyes and scoffed.  "But, still, you voted `Yes.'"

      Scott inhaled deeply and paused.  He worked to speak calmly,
rationally.  "Greg, a `No' vote from me would have made absolutely no
difference in the outcome.  But it would have made a difference for the
students' voice on The Board down the road.  I'd have been a hypocrite to
vote `No.'  I'd have shot my own credibility all to hell with those folks.
A `No" vote would have sent every other member the message that I'm no
longer worth listening to, that I can't be counted on.  I have a year left
there and might be able to make a difference, but only if they all believe
that I mean what I say."

      Greg ignored the rationale.  His eyes looked upward again and they
began to leak.  "Jesus fucking Christ, Scott!  You know that this means I'm
fucking toast!  You know I basically have no family, nowhere to go, no
scholarship and no way to stay in school.  Fuck!  I don't have a God Damned
reason to even stay in school now.  I might as well head over to the
Seven-Eleven and apply for the cashier's job they have advertised on the
counter."

      Scott shook his head with a vengeance and tried to look optimistic.
"No!  I thought about that.  When the school year and season are over, you
can come back to my folks' place for the summer and we can look at all the
options together."

      Greg sniffed and then stood.  "Right.  Like spending my summer months
with the guy who helped to toss my future in the shitter is gonna be high
on my list."  He dug into his pocket and sneered.  "Hold out your hand
please."  Scott did as Greg asked.  Greg dropped the guardian angel
medallion into his palm.  "Here.  She doesn't work."  He turned and walked
toward the dorm's entrance.  Scott called out his name twice, but Greg
never looked back.

      After watching Greg get on the elevator in the lobby, Scott hung his
head for several seconds.  Without even realizing it, he was rubbing the
medallion in his palm with his thumb.  As he got up to leave, he heard
footsteps on the stairs behind him.  "Rough night, eh Scott?"  Elliot's
voice was the last thing he needed to hear at the moment.  Lyman sauntered
down a few stairs.  "Truth be told, Scott, this is the second time I've
followed you here.  First time was a couple months ago, after you got all
wise with me as you were leaving the WSA meeting.  But that time, I
couldn't be positive what was really going on. I did know that this was the
jock dorm, and you had bragged that you were going to get laid, but I
couldn't be a hundred percent sure.  For all I knew, you'd been yanking my
chain about the sex.  I'm told a lot of guys do that."

      He took a few more steps.  "But after I got the letter from
Mr. Pennington, the one informing me that The Regents were going to simply
disregard our petition, I followed up with a phone call to him.  We had a
good, candid chat.  Mr. Pennington told me you'd made quite a show of it at
that meeting when he brought up the petition, and he said that you seemed
to have a particular fixation on the baseball program.  I figured it was
one of our baseball players you were behaving badly with.  Pennington said
that he had the impression that you were taking the whole baseball thing
very personally.  So, knowing that the Regents were meeting this evening
and that budget cuts were on the agenda, I figured you'd run someplace cozy
after a round of rough decision making.  It seems to be kind of your habit
after all.  Little did I know I'd be treated to such high drama tonight."
He chuckled, then paused and smirked.  "So I was right.  You are a filthy
sodomite.  Just another degraded, unnatural, hedonistic pervert.  One more
fag, damned to Hell and determined to take as many with you as you can."

      Scott wanted to knock Elliot's smug expression all the way to the
curb.  "Elliot, if you think I have even one second to spend on you
tonight, then you are one delusional fucker.  I'm not going to waste a
single breath on you, you sick piece of shit!"

      Elliot chuckled.  "Oh, but you will.  You see, I'm not sure what I'm
going to do with this little revelation...yet.  I'm going to mull it over
for a time.  I want to guarantee that when I finally put it to good use,
it'll be worth it for the entire university.  You're not the only one who
cares, Scott.  I plan to continue on here in grad school next year and will
most likely return to the WSA.  Maybe I'll just sit on the `Turner's a
closet homo' news until then."  His snicker sounded like some sinister
laugh right out of an old, bad movie.  "Perhaps you'll be supporting me for
President of the WSA next fall."

      Scott rolled his eyes in disbelief.  "When pigs fly, Elliot.  When
Hell freezes over.  When you learn to walk upright and stop dragging your
knuckles, or when you convert to real Christianity."  Still, he couldn't
deny the pang of fear that crept through his head.

      Elliot laughed again.  "We'll see."

      Scott's lips curled as his vitriolic contempt overcame his concern.
"Then have at it, Elliot!  Take your best shots!  Give it your all!  Of all
the people on the planet I don't give a shit about right now, you're the
one I don't give a shit about the most!  If you come at me or anybody I
care about, I'll publicly do any and everything I can to make you regret
it.  I'll have you for lunch, you asshole!  Nobody is going to fuck around
like this with Scott and Suzanne Turner's son and not regret it."  He
turned, wiped the spittle from his chin and walked away.  Elliot stood at
the foot of the stairs with a self-satisfied grin.



      As Scott turned over for about the fortieth time in the last several
hours he finally opened his eyes.  Although it was still dark outside, the
forecast had promised it would be a beautiful spring day.  "Fuck," Scott
muttered to the fattest cat, who was pissed off that Scott had moved his
feet.  "I wanted cold, gray and rainy."  He hadn't slept well.  He looked
down at the cat.  "Life sucks sometimes, ya' know?"

      Sitting on the couch, surfing the channels and having a third cup of
coffee at 5:30 in the morning was a drag.  Still, he knew that any effort
to try to doze off again would be futile.  He contemplated a run.  After
all, he had over two hours before he had to be in the office.  The dog had
ambled into the living room and up onto the couch, dropping his heavy head
onto Scott's right thigh and he looked upward with a plaintive gaze.

      As far as Scott could tell, the dog understood exactly three complete
phrases in the human voice.  That was the dog's understanding too.  "Wanna
go for a ride?" meant that the dog should thunder down the stairs and whack
his tail back and forth between the front door and the adjacent wall.  Then
he'd get to stick his head out the window and have his ears and jowls blown
around by the passing air.  He liked that.  "Getcher leash!" was just about
as good.  That meant he had to romp to Brett's bedroom door and chomp on
that damned leather strap that hung over the knob and bring it back.  Then
they'd hook it to his collar so that he could drag one of them around
outside and pee on trees and bark at passing cars or other dogs until he
got a swat on the head or the snout if he got out of hand.  On the other
hand, "Who did that?" was decidedly bad.  That meant that the day's
activity with the garbage or the shoe, or taking a dump inside the house
had been ill-advised.  Usually, he wanted to blame the cat for goading him
on, but didn't know how.  Invariably, that question caused him to slowly
slink out of the room with up-looking, mournful eyes.

      Scott set the empty mug on the end table, rubbed the dog's head and
said with a smile, "Getcher leash!"  The lab jumped off the couch, slid on
the wood floor as he exited the living room and turned left toward Brett's
bedroom door.  He grabbed that damned leather strap and brought it back to
Scott.

      Brett had done a good job teaching him to sit and stay.  Scott got a
kick out of having him do just that on one corner of the capitol lawn.
Then he'd jog a full city block to the other corner of that section of the
lawn.  Once there, Scott would turn around and shout his go-ahead, "Come on
boy!"  Damn!  For a thickset retriever, the dog could fly.  And the only
thing waiting on the other end was a scratch on the ears and a couple
offerings of baby talk `good boy.'

      But this day would be a little different.  The dog was mostly an
indoors pet and he hadn't been out and about all that much in his first
year.  The flora and the fauna, outside of the apartment's back yard, were
a real fascination to him when he had the chance.  Other animals were the
most interesting.  The capitol lawn was fraught with beautiful old trees:
stately oaks, broad maples that blazed in the fall and tall elms.  And that
meant plenty of squirrels.

      Scott had him sitting and staying.  He was playing along, knowing
that the "C'mon!" wouldn't be long.  Scott jogged to the opposite end
facing Wisconsin Avenue.  He turned, slapped his knees and shouted the
command.  About a dozen leaps into his blazing stride, the furry gray
rodent with the large fluffy tail darted in front of him.  `The hell with
my human,' the dog thought.  `He'll be there when I'm done with this little
fucker.'  The squirrel darted left, then right, and then left again.
Scott's jaw dropped.  The maverick pooch damn near caught the little
fucker's tail in his mouth more than once.

      Then the dog learned a tough lesson.  Squirrels can go vertical when
they get to a tree.  Dogs can't.  The squirrel leapt and darted skyward.
The dog's brakes weren't up to the task.  Scott winced and ducked his head
when he heard the loud `thud' of canine cranium hitting oak at nearly full
speed.  The dog fell to his side and Scott started running toward him.
After a couple of seconds the dog wobbled back up onto all fours, shook his
head three or four times, looked up into the tree's branches and slowly
ambled toward Scott, his tongue flapping all the way.  He was sure the
squirrel was laughing at him.

      Scott rubbed his ears and checked his skull.  Parting the fur with
his thumbs, he wrinkled his nose and curled his lip.  "Ouch!  That's gonna
leave a mark, dummy."

      The dog gave Scott a grateful and loving look, a lick on the hand and
wagged his tail.  Scott reattached the leash and began their trek back to
the apartment.  Halfway there, he looked down.  "Don't feel bad.  I won't
tell the fattest cat what you just did, and I'm sorry I called you dummy.
There have been a few times when I knew I was running my ass off after
something good, only to wind up feeling like I was smacking my own skull."



      The fattest cat in the world was snuggled up in the crook of Scott's
legs behind his knees.  Scott chuckled.  The cat looked up.  `What a
freak,' he thought.  `He's sound asleep and he's grinning and laughing.'

      In his dream Scotty Turner was sitting in the passenger seat next to
his grandmother.  Evelyn shrugged.  "Well, Scotty, you might as well shit
in one hand and wish in the other, and I can tell you right now which one
will get full first."

      Scotty blushed.  "Gran, you shouldn't talk like that."

      She laughed.  "When you're my age and a grandma, you can pretty much
talk the way you want.  Some people just think you're crazy, and the others
have enough respect for their elders that they'll let it pass.  Now, you
will be my age some day, God willing, but you'll never be a grandma."

      Scotty frowned.  "Huh?  I don't get it."

      "That you'll never be a grandma?  You don't have the right plumbing.
Hasn't your father had that conversation with you yet?  You're already
twelve, and stuff like that is going to start making a difference in your
life.  I'm going to have to talk to your father about doing his job."

      Scott blushed.  "No, Gran' me and Dad talked about the baby stuff and
the making baby stuff and a lot of other stuff that I...well, I really
don't want to talk to you about.  I was asking about...uhm, pooping...in
one hand and wishing in the other."

      She checked the rear view mirror and chuckled.  "Well, you said you
wished your teacher would listen better to you and your classmates.  What
I'm saying is that just wishing about something and not doing anything
about it is useless.  It's lazy.  It's convenient.  Feeling like a victim
is kind of comforting to a lot of people, but it's a bunch of B.S.  Sitting
and bitching and moaning and feeling sorry for yourself or for those around
you, and then doing nothing about it is the motus operandi of the average
American."

      "The what?"

      "Motus operandi.  `M.O.'  It means the way people usually do things.
And like I said, the average person does nothing but wish."  Her emphasis
was on the word `average.'

      She looked directly at him but thankfully kept the car between the
lines.  "Scotty, you're not average. I'll tell you what.  I want you to
think about that teacher and the way she deals with you and your
classmates.  Then I want you to think of three ways you could actually make
what you want to happen actually happen."  She pulled in to the lot and put
the car in park.  "But first, we're going to have a couple big, gooey hot
fudge sundaes."

      Scott rolled over and opened his eyes.  The fattest cat in the world
crawled up the length of the mattress and was staring back at him.  He
mewed, `breakfast time, if it wouldn't kill you.'

      Scott yawned and reached over to scratch the cat's head.  "I know
it's late.  Didn't get to sleep `til late last night."  He yawned again.
"Make that early this morning."  At Brett's insistence, the guys had gone
to a party that the senior marching band members held every year, and Scott
was nursing a fairly mild hangover.  "Looks like it's going to be a
beautiful day," he said to the cat.

      "Mew."  `Feed me!'

      He rolled out of the sack and stepped into a clean pair of shorts,
then grabbed the light robe that hung on his closet door.  He padded into
the kitchen with the cat leading the way.  The dog heard the sound of food
hitting his big metal dish and trotted in from the living room.  He too had
been getting a little concerned about the time of day.

      Scott started to put on the coffee but the sound of running water
woke up his bladder, so he set down the pot and headed for the bathroom.
After relieving himself, he completed the task and then walked down the
hall and opened the front balcony door to let in some fresh air.  He ducked
into the living room and plopped on the couch.  He dozed in and out for ten
minutes, thinking again of his dear departed grandmother, Evelyn Turner.
He heard the coffee maker gurgle, signaling the end of the brew cycle and
then grunted as he sat up and moseyed back into the kitchen.  As he filled
one of the large mugs, he heard the cat kicking litter over his latest
contribution to the box.  The cat stepped out and sat in the center of the
kitchen floor, licking his paw and rubbing his face.  Scott grabbed a cube
out of the freezer and eased it into the hot brew.  He blew the melting
cube around the surface and he looked down at the cat.  "My Gran' should
have met you.  You get to wish for breakfast, shit in the litter box and
then do nothing.  Seems to work out okay for you."

      He lumbered back to the couch and sat down.  After a couple long sips
of coffee he laid the back of his head on the top of the couch and stared
at the ceiling.  He whispered aloud, "Aw Gran.  I wish I was a cat, and I'm
not going to shit in the other hand.  No, my dear, not to worry.  I'm going
to do something.  Really, I am."



      The fundraiser back home the following Friday had gone well.  Scotty
saw a lot of old family friends and some of his high school chums.  Big
Scott was in fine form pressing the flesh and working the crowd, and he
gave an excellent little speech.  Suzanne was diligent and dutiful as the
smiling, hand-shaking and hugging political wife.

      On Saturday, Scott planted sixty more yard signs in some neighboring
communities in the county while his dad put in a few hours at the office
and then had lunch and the same little speech at the assisted living center
on the edge of town.  It was a gray, chilly and damp day in early May, but
the ground had thawed enough to allow for the easy planting of the signs.
Returning home, he opened the back door, inhaled deeply and burst into a
smile.  "Mmmmmmm.  Pot roast!"

      Suzanne smiled as she closed the oven door.  "And roasted potatoes
and carrots, and scalloped corn.  And I stopped at the bakery and picked up
a fresh loaf of that crusty bread you like so much.  I thought a little
comfort food would be good for you and your dad on such a bleak day.  We'll
be ready in about an hour."

      He kissed his mother's cheek.  "You are the best.  And tomorrow, a
hot beef sandwich slathered in that gravy.  I'm going to have to run extra
in the morning."  Suzanne grinned.  "Need me to do anything, Mom?"

      She waved him off.  "Not a thing dear.  You look tired.  Why don't
you go lie down and take a nap, and I'll call you when dinner is ready."

      That was exactly what he wanted to hear.  He headed for the stairs.

      Two hours later, Big Scott sat back and rubbed his tummy.  "Boy, you
have to come home more often.  The missus doesn't do this just for little
old me anymore."  Suzanne shot him a glance and he smirked back.

      Scott stood and picked up his plate, and then placed his mom's and
dad's on top.  "I'm going to put on a half pot of coffee, and I picked up
some chocolate chip at the Ice Cream Palace on the way home.  Who wants
what?"

      Big Scott raised a hand.  "Make it decaf and I'll have a cup, but
I'll take a pass on the butterfat and sugar."

      Suzanne nodded.  "Same here, honey."

      Scott put on the coffee rinsed the plates and silver and loaded the
dishwasher.  He put the leftover beef and gravy in some Tupperware and left
it on the counter to cool.  He scooped a moderate helping of the chocolate
chip into a small dish.  Then he poured three cups and carried two to his
parents.  He went back for his own cup and the ice cream and rejoined them
at the dining room table.

      After swallowing a spoonful of ice cream and sipping his coffee, he
looked back and forth.  "Mom, Dad...we need to talk."



Author's Note: Many thanks to Kory for once again lending me his sharp eyes
and brains on the editing.  Please feel free to share your comments with me
at scotty.13411@hotmail.com.