Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2007 09:28:00 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Fork in the Road, Chapter 3

FORK IN THE ROAD
By Scott Turner
Chapter 3

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

Disclaimer: This work is a sequel to my first effort at writing gay erotic
fiction.  As such, it may help if you've read "Strange Bedfellows,"
(available in its entirety on Nifty, with a cleaned up and re-edited
version now partially posted at the Rainbow Community Writers' Project).
The story is fiction, but it occasional depicts scenes of sexual activity
between consenting adults.  If it's illegal for you to view such material,
then please move on.  The work is the sole property of the author, and my
not be reposted, reproduced or published elsewhere without my expressed
consent.  Thank you for reading.  I hope you enjoy it.


From Chapter 2:

One of the good parts of falling asleep early is waking up early.  Scott
shook off the fog of the bourbon, drank a tall glass of water and went for
a run near the lake across the street.  It wasn't a long run, just enough
to work up a good sweat.  He had just finished showering and dressing and
was reading the paper when there was a loud thump on the front door.  He
looked at the clock.  "Jesus Christ!" he said to the fattest cat in the
world, who had plopped on the table in front of him.  "It's not even
seven-thirty on a Saturday.  Do the Mormons, or the Jehovah's Witnesses or
the Avon Ladies work door fronts this early in the morning?"  The fattest
cat didn't respond.

He thumped down the stairs and immediately recognized the profile that
shown through the glazed window on the front door.  His face erupted into a
smile as he threw open the door and looked into the smirking face of Marty
Anderson.

" Sup. Professor?"


CHAPTER 3


The shit-eating grin was more than Scott could resist.  He hit Marty's
shoulder with the screen door when he threw it open, grabbed a handful of
his buddy's t-shirt and dragged him inside.

They nearly injured each other in the hug that followed the slamming of the
front door.  Then they kissed softly.  In the moment, neither one cared
that anybody walking by on the front sidewalk might see them.  After a grin
and during a second kiss, Scott kicked the inside door closed.  The dog
barked from the top of the stairs and the fattest cat in the world ran
under Scott's bed.

Scott broke away and stared at the grinning mug.  "What the fuck?"

"Jill's uncle out in North Carolina is retiring and the family decided to
head out there for a long weekend to surprise him at his party.  They left
on Thursday.  But we all thought it was best if I stayed here to tend to
the business.  Plus I don't know the guy very well, and what I do know I
don't like all that much anyway.  He's kind of an asshole.  So, I called
here the other night when you were gone and talked to Brett and then to
Craig for a while. Brett said that they were both gonna be gone this
weekend.  So I told him not to say anything, worked at the paper Thursday
and late on Friday and then said to myself, `Self, Scott Turner Jr. is
running for re-election, he's going to be alone this weekend and he's going
to need a Special Assistant or Special Advisor or whatever the hell I was
last time around."

They both laughed and hugged again, this time softly and serenely.  Then
they kissed again, softly and serenely.  Scott grabbed Marty by the arm and
dragged him up the stairs.  "C'mon!  I was just gonna make some eggs and
bacon.  You can help."

"Not quite the protein I had in mind, Scotty."

Scott laughed and nudged an elbow back into his friend's ribs on their way
up the stairs.  "Maybe later, horn dog.  Jeez!"  Marty giggled and swatted
Scott's ass.

The dog greeted them on the upper landing tail flailing and ass swooping
around, and he thoroughly inspected Marty.

"So this is Brett's pooch, huh?"

Scott rolled his eyes.  "You won't believe it."

Marty raised a hand.  "Don't say it.  I heard.  I talked to Brett the other
night, remember?  He's proud of himself.  You don't call him that, do you?"

They walked into the kitchen and Scott reached into the refrigerator and
grabbed the eggs.  "Of course not!"  He stood up and sighed.  "I mean, on
an intellectual level, I understand where Brett's coming from, but I just
can't say it myself.  Not even to a lovable pooch like this one who will
never get all the political shit tied up in his name.  But, he does respond
to my voice okay. And he answers to it when Brett calls him that.  I wish I
could train him to ignore it or bite him when he uses the name, but I don't
know how to do that."  Scott reached back into the fridge and grabbed the
bacon.  "I just refer to him as `the dog,' and sometimes call him `Nig'
when I'm calling him.  Brett chides me about it but the pup's learned to
answer to nothing more to `c'mere dog,' too."  Nig sat, wagged his tail and
whined, begging for a morning treat.  Scott chuckled and found a large
Milkbone and tossed it.  The Labrador caught it in flight and quickly
scooted under the kitchen table to munch for a minute.

The two of them worked together on breakfast, with Marty tending to the
bacon and the toast and Scott working on the eggs and the hash browns.

"So you moved the elections up this year?  Only a couple weeks away, huh?"

Scott sipped his coffee and nodded.  "Yeah, we did that last spring.  The
November election didn't make sense.  Seven of the members graduated in
May, so it's hard to represent everybody for a while.  So, we rescheduled
the WSA elections for the end of September.  Two weeks away, and then we'll
see where it takes me."  Marty grinned in a way that made Scott do a double
take, but he said nothing.

As he was turning the strips of bacon, Marty did a double, then a
triple-take toward the floor.  "Hooooooly shit!  That is the fattest
fucking cat I have ever seen on God's green earth."

The fattest cat looked up and quickly dismissed the visitor.  He waddled
toward the litter box because he had more important business to tend to.
He'd flop onto the newcomer's feet later.  Scott laughed while slicing a
tomato.  "Yeah, he's amazing isn't he?  And I only give him about a cup of
food every day, sometimes less.  Sort of inherited him from the lady who
used to live next door.  He might be fat, but he sure is slow. And like
most cats, he's basically a fickle prick, and doesn't give a flying fuck
about what you might think."

They ate a hearty breakfast and got all caught up on each other's lives.
E-mail had kept them in touch, but they'd both needed to be careful about
the content.  Neither one knew for sure whether or not Jill had access to
Marty's e-mail inbox, or if she'd use it if she did.

Marty nearly fell off his chair when he learned that Randy was working as
Maureen's Chief of Staff.  "How conveeeeeeenient."  He leered and wiggled
his brows.

Scott bit into a crisp slice of bacon and smirked.  "Don't go there."

As he was mopping up some egg yolk off of his plate with the last corner of
toast, Marty laughed.  "I thought you hated cats."  He popped the soaked
piece of bread into his mouth.

"I did.  I guess you'd say I'm a recovering cat hater.  But that tub of
lard kind of grows on you after a while."  He gave a smug grin.  "Kinda
like you.  Annoying as hell at first, but once you get to know him you find
that his minuses and his plusses are pretty much the same thing.  The stuff
that pisses you off and the stuff you find endearing are one in the same."
He shrugged.  "Might be a bit psycho, but can't help it.

Scott stood and grabbed both empty plates, setting them in the sink and
running some hot water onto them.  Then he reached over Marty's shoulder to
fill his coffee mug.  He put his left hand on Marty's shoulder and gently
rubbed it.  "It's good to see you, buddy."

Marty's hand came up and enveloped Scott's.  "It's good to be here."  He
rubbed the back of Scott's hand.  "I've missed you guys.  I mean, I love
where I am and what I'm doing, but I really have missed the..." he paused
and squeezed Scott's hand.  "The... uhm...college life."

Thirty minutes later, Marty was gripping the headboard and he looked over
his shoulder.  "Go slow, Scotty.  It's been a while."

Scott pressed the head of his cock against his friend's hole and gently
pushed.  "Jesus Christ, you are tight."

Scott popped through the tight ring.  Marty dug his nails into the wood.
"Oh my fucking god!"

Scott eased in and rubbed Marty's back and hips.  "Okay bud, goin' slow.
Just let me know."  Scott ceased his advance and slowly rubbed Marty's back
some more.

After a few seconds, Marty smiled and simply nodded.  "Dammit, I'd swear
you've grown since last spring."  A few seconds later, Scott's pubes were
pressed against Marty's ass cheeks, and he leaned over and wrapped his arms
around his buddy's chest.  "Yeah, bud.  That's it."

Nearly an hour later, Scott was gently wiping Marty's chest and stomach
with a warm washcloth.  His friend was still panting and giggling a little.
They'd never lasted that long, but they'd cooled it a few times during this
romp, and both guys were mildly impressed by each other's stamina. They'd
fucked in every position known to men.  Scott leaned down and kissed him.
"We've gotten pretty good at this."

Marty snickered.  "Taught you everything you know, ya' know."

Scott tossed the cloth in the general direction of his laundry basket and
flopped on the bed.  "Fuck you, you fucking fucker."

Marty sighed.  "You just did."  He leaned over and nipped Scott's chin with
his front teeth.  "And you done good."

They napped until nearly eleven in the morning, and then got dressed and
went up to the Capitol Square's farmer's market.  Scott bought some fresh
sweet corn, tomatoes and a small wedge of cheddar, and Marty paid for a
couple of rib eye steaks.  He also picked up an arrangement of dried
flowers to have at home when Jill and Ashley came back from North Carolina.

They played backgammon while they watched the Brewers vanquish the hated
Cubs.  Then they made salads, grilled the steaks, boiled the corn and
sliced the tomatoes.  They drank bourbon and laughed over old times, had a
hell of a meal, then went back to bed.

Marty reached down as far as he could and smacked Scott's ass while his own
knees were being pressed against his chest by Scott's weight.  He was
loving it.  Scott giggled and shoved his tongue in Marty's mouth.  Marty
sucked it in and he moaned in rhythm to Scott's thrusts.

Several hours later Marty rolled over and opened his eyes.  Scott was
laying on his side, his elbow on the mattress and his head resting in the
palm of his hand.  He grinned.  "I've missed you."

Marty nudged closer and put a hand on Scott's hip.  "Me too, you."  He
closed his eyes again and yawned as the hand slid back onto Scott's ass and
pulled him closer.  Marty nudged his chin into the crook of Scott's neck.

"But life is good?"

Marty's voice was muffled into Scott's collarbone.  "I told you last night
during dinner, life is great."  He looked up into Scott's eyes.  "I do miss
this."  He reached down with his other hand and gripped Scott's morning
wood.  "But yeah, life is good.  Even better if I can come here from time
to time and have you scratch this itch I get."

Scott giggled and rolled on top of him.  "You're a slut."

Marty swatted his buddy's ass.  "I'm only fucking my wife, and giving it up
to you from time to time.  But like I said, as pregnant as she is right
now, getting a little sump'n has been tough lately.  But away from her I
only want it from you."  He bit Scott's neck.

The fattest cat in the world stood up on the throw rug, arched his back and
ambled out of the room.  Scott could tell that he was pissed that there
hadn't been any extra room in the bed last night.

Scott leered as he snatched a condom off the nightstand and lifted Marty's
legs.  "Well, let me help you out with that itch."

They showered together, slowly soaping and stroking each other under the
hot spray.  As they finished drying off, Marty checked the digital clock on
the nightstand.  "Turn on the radio.  The `John and John' weekend show is
on, and I don't hear those guys in Rockford."

Scott rolled his eyes.  He listened to those guys on most mornings too, but
he recalled Marty's phone interview with them nearly a year earlier,
following Marty's arrest for streaking across Camp Randall during a
football game.

The Home Depot ad was just starting as they were both pulling on their
fresh boxers.  Marty's cell phone rang, and he dug it out of his jeans.

"Martin Anderson here.  Uh-huh.  Yep.  Any time you're ready."  He adjusted
his package in his shorts and sat on the edge of the bed.  "I'm good to
go."  Scott wanted to give him some space on a personal call, and they both
needed a cup of coffee, so he headed toward the kitchen.  The only sound
from the bedroom was the end of the Home Depot ad and a bunch of promos for
coming on-air events for the station.  Scott poured two cups and walked
slowly back to the bedroom with two steaming mugs.

He stopped short and abrupt at the doorway when the show came back on air
and slopped a little coffee over the rims of both mugs.  The dog heard
something hit the floor an promptly inspected it, but he wasn't a coffee
drinker.  Scott tossed the still-damp washcloth on top of the spill and
wiped it around with his foot.

One of the two Johns was announcing, with the usual radio voice enthusiasm,
"G'mornin, boys and girls!  I know that most of you are still half-asleep
or nursing hangovers, and we're both sad and glad for you, but we have a
very special guest on the phone today."  Marty grinned as he looked up and
reached for the mug.

Scott's head went back and rolled left and right.  "You have got to be
fucking kidding me!"

Marty put the coffee mug on the nightstand and his index fingers went to
his lips to shush him.  Then he giggled.

"Well, kids, it's been nearly a year since we've seen his cute though
muscular butt, and then some, prancing all one-hundred yards across the
field at Camp Randall.  But, with us this morning is none other than the
alleged streaker from last season's football game against Iowa, Mr. Martin
Anderson."  They played some canned radio applause.  "Marty, how the hell
have you been?"

"Hey, John.  How's it going?"

"Me and the other John are living large.  And you?  Word is things have
changed a bit since your...alleged...streaking days."

Marty chuckled.  "Glad you remembered the alleged part.  But yeah.  Got
married, have the most beautiful step-daughter in the world and we're going
to see the next generation of Andersons join us in a few weeks."

"Way to go, Maaaartaaaaaay!  The world will be a better place with more
fun-loving guys like you."

"Now, John, I'm going to raise my son as a responsible, law-abiding
citizen."

The other John chimed in.  "So you know it's going to be a son, huh?"

"Yep.  Two ultra sounds have confirmed the plumbing that tells us I've
sired a son.  Scott Martin Anderson will enter the world in a few weeks, if
all goes as planned."

"So you've already decided on the name."

"Yep.  The middle name is obvious, but we decided to name him after my hero
and role model, Scott Turner, Jr.  As you may know, Mr. Turner is current
president of the WSA, running for re-election in a couple weeks.  And I
want to urge all my friends out there in Scott's district to get off their
asses on election day and go cast a ballot for Scott Turner, Jr. for WSA,
and then see the Student Senate re-elect him as their president.  The
University of Wisconsin can't do any better.  Even though I'm no longer a
student here, I do still care."

Scott flopped backward on the bed and put his hands on his face.
"Un-fucking-believable," he muttered.  "But why does this surprise me?"

One of the Johns picked it up.  "So today it's married career man,
step-father, soon-to-be father from his own loins Marty Anderson.  What a
difference a year makes, eh Marty?"

"Oh, yeah.  Different life, but all is well.  Only thing that hasn't
changed is my loyal support for Turner, and I'd be hugely disappointed if
the good students of the UW didn't return him to office.  In fact, you guys
ought to plug his bid for re-election every morning."

"Hah!  Not sure the FCC reg's or station management will allow, but we'll
look into it.  But I can say in this interview, if Marty Anderson is for
Scott Turner, then so are John and John."

Marty glanced at Scott and grinned.  He would have winked, but Scott wasn't
looking at him, his hands still covering his face.  He feigned a serious,
studious tone of voice.  "Well, you're both great Americans then.  Keep up
the good work."

"Okay, Marty, you know we will.  Hey, we have a couple callers on the line.
You up for a question or two?"

"I'm up for most things most of the time, John.  Let's have at it!"

"Hehe.  Okay, Maryann wants to pose a query."

"Not Ginger?"

A woman's voice came into the discussion.  "No, this is Maryann from the
north side of Madison."  She sounded kind of snippy.

"Okay Maryann, what's on your mind for our young guest?"

She huffed.  "I can't believe you're applauding this young man's
exhibitionism.  I don't really listen, but merely hear the show because my
kids listen to it in the morning before school.  I was appalled when he was
celebrated by you and the rest of the media a year ago, and can't believe
you'd have him back for an update and another round of applause for his
indecency."

"Well there ya' go Marty.  Care to respond?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, get your ovaries in check, turn off the radio
or switch the station, get your kids ready for school and get off my
ever-loving back. You don't want your youngsters listing to this?  Then why
is it still playing in your house right now?  There's a tuning dial and an
`off' switch on that radio.  I'd suggest you hang up the phone, change the
station and tell the kids that I'm a bad, bad man, and that what I
allegedly did was the wrong thing.  But please, don't allow it to be
broadcast in your own home and then call in here and bitch about it.
You're the mom.  Do your job.  But don't neglect that job and then call in
and blame these good guys or blame me."

Scott smiled and giggled in the background.  Then he moaned again and
muttered, "Oh my fucking god."

There was silence on the line.  "Or I just might drive up there to the
north side and start waving my wiener at you and the family in your front
yard."

Click.

"Sorry, guys.  Think I just cost you a valued listener.  Can I say `wiener'
on the radio?"

Both Johns sang in unison.  "Oooooh, I wish I was an Oscar Meyer
Wienerrrrrrr."

"Well, Marty, thanks for the follow-up, and for the insightful commentary,
but we have to go to commercial break.  We like to broaden peoples' minds,
but we're here to make money after all.  Best of luck to you, to the
family, to little Scotty Martin Anderson when the day comes, and best of
luck to Scott Turner, Jr. in his bid for re-election to the WSA."

"Thanks, John.  Always a pleasure to chat with you guys.  Go Badgers!"
They cut to commercial.  Marty folded his phone and turned to his right
with a gleeful grin on his face.  "That was fun!"

Scott moaned as he started to sit up.  "You are..."

Marty cut him off with the wave of a finger.  "Shut up.  Don't even start!
They called me two weeks ago for a follow-up to last year's interview, kind
of a progress report on the infamous streaking event from last year.  I was
already thinking of coming up for a visit this weekend, and knew the
election was coming up at the end of the month, so I asked them if we could
do it today instead.  You probably don't need the boost, but it can't
hurt."

Scott shook his head, as hard as he tried, he couldn't suppress the smile.

Marty knew he'd won.  Again. "Besides, it's fun.  Don't deny me a little
fun now and then.  I'm a married man now with responsibilities.  I have to
be a crazy-assed fuck-up now and again or I'll lose my mind entirely.  I'd
explode."

Scott laughed and shook his head again.  "You, Mr. Special Advisor, are a
piece of fucking work."

Marty's smile was one of grand satisfaction.  "Yep.  Now, get over the
dog's name, find a way to get Brett's mind right and get here and kiss me
thanks."

Scott slid to his left and put a hand on the back of his friend's neck. He
breathed heavily into his buddy's face.  "I'll keep working on Brett."

Marty nuzzled him, licked his chin and then his neck.  "Fuck that.  Work on
me."

 Twenty minutes later, Marty was on his back on the bedroom floor.  Scott
was sweating and moaning as he rode up and down on his friend's upright
pole.  Marty used his right hand to stroke Scott's turgid cock and his left
alternated between playing with Scott's left and right nipples.  Their
bodies quaked together as each one exploded; Marty into the condom buried
deep inside his friend, and Scott all over Marty's chest.

An hour later, they both had corned beef hash with eggs over-easy at The
Avenue Bar before Marty drove back to Rockford.  Marty's very pregnant wife
and rambunctious stepdaughter were due back that afternoon.  Ashley would
soon turn five but, despite her size, one would think she was going on
fifteen.  "Precocious" didn't quite do the girl justice.  The adoption
would be formalized about the same time Jill gave birth, but she was
already calling him "Daddy."

Marty promised to call him either before they left for the hospital or
right after the delivery.  He said that Ashley was already very busy
decorating her little brother's bedroom.  Scott promised to pencil out
every Sunday in October and November for the occasion of his godson's
baptism.

They walked out back to the parking lot and hugged next to Marty's Jeep.
Scott said he'd walk back to the apartment.  It was a beautiful day and he
hadn't been running nearly enough.  His friend had provided some good
exercise in the past thirty-six hours, but the eight-block walk would be
nice.  He thanked him for the effort on the radio show.  Marty honked and
flashed the lights as he drove away.

It was sunny and warm, and there was a light breeze coming off the lake.
Scott admitted again to himself that he really did love Marty and was happy
for the visit.  But he was also happy for Marty's good fortune in Jill and
Ashley.  He was content with what they were able to hang onto in their dear
friendship and, hopefully, the occasional romp.

He picked up a Sunday paper on the way home, and then hit the couch.  He'd
missed all of the Sunday morning news programs, so he'd have to work
through the world's problems next week with Russert, Stephanopolous and
Schieffer.  They'd wait.  He was a happy camper.  And with a belly full of
hash and eggs, plus a bloody mary, there was a nap coming on.  The fattest
cat in the world climbed up and made himself at home on Scott's thighs,
purring out his happiness that the stranger was gone.  The dog flopped on
the floor next to the couch.  Scott reached down and scratched his chest.

"He's a great guy," Scott muttered as he gently scratched the cat's back.
"I know he took your spot last night, but he's a great guy."  Minutes later
his quiet snore drowned out the cat's purr.


Grant Cornell was a good guy, too.  Scott's late grandmother, Evelyn, would
have said he was a `tall drink of water,' and she would have been right.
At about six foot five, he loomed over the partitions of their cubes like
the jolly green giant.  Well, he wasn't green.  Actually he was pretty
pale.  His shaggy red hair and pallid freckled complexion gave hint to his
Irish heritage.  He sat two cubes away from Scott, but could still see into
Scott's workspace even from that distance when he stood up.

Grant was a senior majoring in journalism.  He'd come in second for an
internship in the Capitol pressroom, and was then referred to Will Maxson
for an internship in the caucus office.  He didn't have a political bone in
his body, but he figured it would be good for his resume.  He just wanted
to write.  And he was good at it.  On one hand, he was a fish out of water
in this post.  On the other, he was perfectly suited for the job.  He could
turn out a perfect phrase for the situation in almost any instance when the
dopes who worked in the senators' offices were not quite up to the task.

Grant drank tea rather than coffee.  He grinned sheepishly when Scott slid
into the break room for his third cup of mud.  He squeezed the bag of Earl
Gray against the spoon and smirked.  "So, what's up `Scooter?'" "Screw
you, asshole."  Scott chuckled through his nose as he filled his mug.  "I
need to come up with an obnoxious nickname for you and feed it to Frick."

Grant had shared that he came from a solid Irish Catholic family of six
kids and the parents had sent all of them through a parochial system in the
Milwaukee suburb of West Allis.  His folks were crushed when he opted for
the UW over Marquette University. "Look, when your Catholic parents ask the
Jesuits to help raise you, you wind up either intimidated or impertinent.
You wouldn't know it, but I'm pretty much the latter."  He laughed.
"Besides, that sleazebag Frick doesn't even know I exist."

"That's `cuz you work so hard to avoid any attention.  How can somebody so
big stay so invisible around here?"  He sipped again and then put a hand
over his mouth to avoid spitting it out.  After swallowing, he grinned,
"Corny!  Grant Cornell...Corny.  That's what I'll give him.  If Frick is
gonna insist on calling me Scooter, he can call you Corny.  Next time we're
in the same room and he deigns to speak with me, I'm going to introduce you
as `Corny.'  Grant Cornell...'Corny.'  It's perfect."

Grant sipped his tea.  "You realize, of course, that I'll abuse you
physically and I'll vandalize your car."

Scott sized up the gentle giant again and chuckled.  "Okay.  Never mind.  I
do believe you can and would do it."  They both raised their mugs and
laughed.

"So, is McCarthy really going to make a bid for the AG's office?"

Scott liked the guy but he wasn't going to be too candid.  "That's what I
hear, but I'm not exactly in her inner circle."

Grant smirked again.  "Bullshit.  Everybody here knows you're her golden
boy."

"You are an impertinent s.o.b."

"You're not my boss, so being a smart-ass with you isn't impertinence.
It's just being a smart-ass.  And, everybody also knows that the current
Attorney General is gonna retire and that Hackett is going to hold Senator
McCarthy's hand into the AG's office so that she can then follow him into
the Executive Mansion when he either goes national or retires himself."

 Scott sipped and smiled at the amiable giant.  "Grant, my friend, I think
you're imagining a hand writing on the wall."

 "And `Scooter,' my friend, I think you're full of shit some of the time."
Then he smiled and made quote marks in the air with his fingers.  "I might
be `invisible' a lot of the time, but I have two of the biggest ears you'll
ever find.  And they work...well."

Scott chuckled and raised his mug.  "Yeah, you do.  Those are two of the
biggest damned ears I've ever seen.  But they're permanent.  I'm only full
of shit some of the time, `Corny'."

Cornell raised his mug of tea again and nodded with a smirk before heading
back to his cube.


Scott's appointment to the UW Board of Regents as its only student
representative had been an adventure.  And his first year there, locking
horns with the president over tuition had been dicey to say the least.
He'd mustered up a certain amount of animosity from the Board's president,
Andrew Pennington, but it had been worth it, and it had been satisfying.
But Scott wasn't looking to cross swords with the sleazy attorney from
Milwaukee any further.  The tuition issue was settled, the students had
won, and Scott didn't have any major items on his agenda as far as the
Regents were concerned.  He was busy with school and the job with the
caucus and a re-election campaign for the WSA, so he wasn't about to take
up any causes with the Board

Abby Svendsen, his old friend and ally on the Board greeted him with a hug
the moment he walked into the room.  She had to reach up and stand on her
tiptoes in order to wrap her short arms around his shoulders, but he
happily reached down with both of his arms to oblige her.  "Abby, my dear!
It's been too long!  You're getting around better I take it?"  She'd broken
her hip the previous spring in the midst of the pissing match over tuition
and had been out of commission for a time.

She swatted his shoulder.  "Can't keep this old broad down.  Fit as a
fiddle and ready to raise some hell."

Scott poured himself a cup of coffee.  "Well, girl," he humored her, "lead
the way.  I did all my hell-raising last year.  Now you're up to bat."

She patted and then rubbed his back.  "You did one hell of a job too.  It's
great to see you again."  They chatted for a time about their summers and
Scott's fall schedule and his job at the Capitol before President
Pennington called the meeting to order.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to a new school year.  It's good to see
you all and I look forward to a fresh new start of a new school year.  We
weathered a few storms last spring, and I'm confident that we can continue
to build on those successes for the benefit of all of our students."  Most
heads around the table nodded cordially.  Scott struggled with his eyes to
stop them from rolling.

He continued.  "Since there are no new appointments to the board this year,
I'm content with leaving the committee structure as it is.  If any of you
would like a change in your committee appointment, please notify me as soon
as possible."  Abby and Scott exchanged smirks, as they both sat
comfortably on the budget committee and had no intent of giving up those
seats.

Pennington went on.  "As your agendas reflect, all we have to do today
officially is to act on a number of faculty appointments and tenure
decisions that have already been decided by their various departments.
Then, I do want to set the stage for continuing to manage our ongoing
budget challenges.  I like to look ahead and don't want us getting caught
short."  They acted on all the appointments in the affirmative in short
order.  Then, the board's clerk walked around the table handing out thick
packets.  Pennington shifted in his chair.  "This is, believe it or not,
the short version of the university system's budget, the Cliff's Notes if
you will.  I've asked the various departments, across the board, from
academics to maintenance to buildings and grounds to athletics to answer
one question for us: `If you had to trim and cut from your expenditures,
where would you do it?'  I figure that if we do need to make those
decisions, best to hear from the folks who are in the trenches and have to
make it work."

Scott raised his eyebrows.  `Fucking-a,' he thought, `an enlightened
decision from the president.  Whoda thunk it?'

"And so, I'm hoping that by mid-year we'll have some concrete numbers on
next year's state funding, and we'll be able to shape a priority list in
case we have to make cuts.  If the financial picture looks any brighter by
then, we might be able to invite the same department heads to send us a
wish list for add-ons, but I haven't asked for that yet.  I've found that
if you ask that question you run the risk of raising expectations that they
might actually happen, and then only antagonize our good people if they
don't."  Several heads nodded.

Andy looked around the table.  "So please review this information, and if
you come to any of your own conclusions about possible savings, you know
who the members of the budget committee are."  He paused.  "Any questions?"
Silence.  "In that case, ladies and gentlemen, lunch is being served right
next door."

They all rose, and shuffled into the adjoining meeting room where a buffet
of soups and sandwiches was waiting.  Scott and Abby joined two other
Regents at one of the tables.

A half hour into the lunch, Scott put down his sandwich and lifted the
hefty packet Pennington had distributed.  "Jeez!  Like I don't have enough
homework already.  This is a mountain to climb in the next month."

Abby patted his arm.  "Dear, there's no need to get through it all in the
next month.  I'm going to simplify it."

Scott sipped his iced tea.  "How so?"

Abby slurped some soup and dabbed her chin.  "Well, Scott, I'm going to
leave the instructional stuff alone entirely, for now.  Anything that deals
with teaching and learning is currently off limits in my mind.  That's what
we're here for."  She took another sip of soup as he bit into the turkey
sandwich.  "So I'm going to prioritize now.  I'm going to start with the
administrative budgets, cuz I'm assuming they can always be cut somewhere.
Then I move on to buildings and grounds and take a good look at what we
spend planting geraniums and tulip bulbs on the campus grounds.  Who knows,
maybe we could get by mowing the lawns every eight days instead of every
six."  She leaned over and whispered.  "Then I'm gonna consider treading on
hallowed ground and put a fine toothed comb to the athletic budgets."

Scott leaned back.  "Whoa.  The girl's got guts."  He grinned and winked,
and Abby laughed.

"At my age, Scott, what the hell?  What's it you history and poli-sci folks
say?  `The most dangerous one in the room is the one with nothing to lose'?
Well, hell, I got nothing to lose.  She leaned over again.  "And don't get
me wrong, Scott.  I'm a Badger through and through.  I love the cardinal
and white, and Bucky Badger himself.  But we're an academic institution
first and foremost, and we need to keep our priorities straight."  She
glanced around slyly.  "Keep our shit straight, I think you kids would
say."

Scott grabbed his napkin to avoid spitting his iced tea onto the tablecloth
and Abby giggled.  "My bias is `hands off the teaching and the learning.
The rest is up for grabs, even athletics if need be.'"

Scott coughed and nodded.  "Makes sense, Abby.  Thanks.  Tear it apart a
department at a time and take the areas in order of their true importance."
He wiped his lips and dropped the napkin on his plate, then squeezed her
hand before standing. "Well folks," he put a hand on Abby's shoulder, "I
have a two o'clock class and need to get over the hill in twenty minutes."

Abby patted his hand.  "I'll see you all at next month's meeting."

Pennington caught him at the door.  "Scott!  Didn't get a chance to chat
before the meeting started.  Good to see you again."  He extended a hand
and flashed a fake smile.  He was lying and Scott knew it.

"Hello, Andy."  He refused to say it was good to see him.  It wasn't.  "I'm
afraid I was the last to get here, just before you called us to order.

"Well, new year, clean slate, fresh start, if you get my meaning."

Scott was surprised by the posturing, but wanted to laugh at the clumsy
handling of it.  `And this guy's a lawyer?' he asked himself.

In order to win the tuition fight, Scott had basically beat Pennington to a
pulp with some very incriminating pictures and e-mails just four months
earlier, and the maneuver had put Andy in very hot water with the governor
at the same time.  And here was Andrew Pennington pretending there was no
harm, no foul, no hard feelings.  Pennington had it coming last spring, to
be sure, but for him to stand here now and act like there was no animosity
was beyond belief.

"Uhm, yeah, Andy.  Ready to get back to work.  New year.  Fresh start."
Pennington patted him on the shoulder, the same phony smile plastered on
his face.  Scott just shrugged.  "Well, I got to get to class.  We'll see
you next month."

"Okay then.  Good luck in the new school year."

Scott nodded.  "Thanks."  And then he exited.  `Schmuck,' he thought to
himself, and he wanted to go home and take a shower.



Author's Note: Happy Holidays, and my very best wishes for each of you in
2008!  Watch the Outback Bowl and see the Badgers beat Tennessee on January
1!!  Look for a lot of points scored on both sides, but a Wisconsin win,
34-31.