Date: Wed, 20 Jan 2010 01:53:15 -0500
From: perti@live.com
Subject: Dermot II, Chapter 8

This story is fiction.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.  These stories have as their main character a sexually
active gay teenager.  If this is offensive to you, or if it is illegal in
your area, or if you are under age, please leave now.

There is a religious element in these stories.  If you don't like that,
maybe now is a good time to leave.

Thanks to Colin for editing.

Constructive criticism is welcome on my e-mail at perti@live.com.

____________________________________________________________________


Dermot II Chapter 8, Ups and Downs

     Diane accompanied Dermot, Lando, and Jason to Mrs. Mattingly's room,
where they found the teacher in better spirits than previously.  She seemed
confused by Diane's presence, but began by complimenting the boys.

     "I don't know what you boys did yesterday, but Michael was in great
spirits when he got home.  I want to thank you for talking to him."

     "Not a problem, Mrs. Mattingly," Lando assured her.  "Mike's a great
kid, and a real whiz at computer games."

     Mrs. Mattingly looked questioningly at Diane.  "You're not in this
class."  Then something clicked.  "Oh, you're on the 'Talon' staff."  The
school symbol was the eagle, and the school paper was called "The Eagle's
Talons," but most people used the shortened version.

     "Yes, that's right.  I'm Diane Pedigo.  I was talking to these guys at
lunch about what happened in this class yesterday.  They gave me a great
interview, but suggested that I speak with you as well."

     "Well, I don't know that I should be speaking out about that,"
Mrs. Mattingly temporized.

     "Please, Mrs. Mattingly.  It will make the article I'm going to write
anyway so much better," Diane pled.

     "Go ahead," Lando advised.  "There are all kinds of rumors floating
around.  Better to get the facts out there."

     "And it was Mike who suggested that Diane interview you," Dermot
added, stretching a point, since in fact Mike had only seconded Lando's
suggestion.

     At that, Mrs. Mattingly smiled.  "I think I'm being ganged up on, but
I see the point about getting the facts straight.  Very well.  After this
period?" she asked Diane.

     "That will be wonderful, Mrs. Mattingly.  Thank you," the reporter
agreed.

     Diane fled to her next class, and the boys took their seats with only
a minute or two to spare before the period began.  They noticed Brian
Mulvihill and his cronies on the opposite side of the classroom, but could
not tell what they were up to.

     When the bell rang, Mrs. Mattingly took charge in her usual brisk
manner.  She began by saying she wanted any discussion in her class to be
civil, without the raised voices and the offensive language they had
experienced the previous day.  She then launched into a discussion of
Tennessee Williams' sexuality, and how he struggled with it, perhaps
contributing to his problems with alcohol and drugs, and how it affected
his work.  This was a much more thorough and candid exposition than that
given the previous day, and left some of the class uneasy, while others,
like Brian and his friends, seemed to take it as a personal affront,
sulking through the remainder of class and refusing to become involved in
the discussion which ensued.  That discussion was lively, however, but
civil.  At the end of the period, Mrs. Mattingly reminded the class that
there would be a test over the works they had read by Salinger and Williams
on Friday.

     When Dermot got to his last period class, he found Diane there ahead
of him, requesting the cooperation of Coach Rockwood in gathering materials
for her article.  Dermot approached the teacher's desk.  When he heard
Coach reply that he did not know that it was appropriate for him to comment
on something he had not experienced first hand, Dermot intervened.

     "Coach, I was the one who suggested that Diane interview you.  I did
that because of what you said yesterday, about Lando being an asset to the
soccer team, and about school policy.  That's stuff you know first hand."

     "You're right about that, Dermot," Coach replied.  Turning to Diane,
he said, "If that's the kind of thing you're interested in, I'll be glad to
furnish you with information.  Lando was a great player last fall, and I
would definitely hate to miss him in next year's lineup.  I don't know for
certain about Lando being gay.  He has not confided in me on that subject,
and there's no reason why he should.  But I do know he's an outstanding
soccer player, and you can quote me on that."

     Diane evidently had free time, as she remained in the room after the
bell rang, and continued her interview with Coach Rockwood for several
minutes after the period got started.  Then she disappeared.  But, when
Dermot and Lando were leaving the building, she hailed them.  Running up to
them, she said breathlessly, "How's this?"  Lando read the pages Diane
handed him, with Dermot looking over his shoulder.  It was a beautifully
written article, recounting the "incident in sixth period English,"
praising Dermot for raising a controversial topic, but one which students
at Baltimore needed to consider.  She went on to laud Lando for his honesty
and courage in standing up for his principles, and defending the school
anti-discrimination policy, in the face of biased reactions from "a
minority of the class."  Accompanying this was background material on
Lando, including a picture of him in soccer gear from last fall's sports
section and the assessment of his athletic prowess by Coach Rockwood.  The
article also mentioned that "newcomer Dermot Barry joined the student body
only recently after a lengthy stay in University Hospital."

     "I sure can't object to that," Lando said.  "If you didn't know I was
gay, I'd think you were lining me up for a proposition."

     Diane blushed.  Dermot laughed.

     "That's extremely well written, Diane.  How'd you manage so quickly?"
Lando asked.

     "Last period is my Journalism class.  As a member of the 'Talon'
staff, I can use the time to work on an article like this.  And in case you
haven't noticed before, I AM a good writer," she confidently asserted.

     "That part about my 'lengthy stay' in the hospital is a good cover,
not false, but not the entire truth either.  Since I don't want the entire
truth known, it's a lot better than I have any reason to expect," Dermot
said.

     "And just what is the entire truth?" Diane asked.

     "Oh, no.  That's definitely not something I'm sharing with a reporter,
no matter how friendly," he replied.

     The boys picked up Emily and arrived back at the Lyle residence.  When
they entered, laughing about the article Diane was submitting to the
'Talon,' Dermot was surprised to find a black boy sitting at the breakfast
room table.  However, he was evidently no stranger to Lando or Emily, both
of whom greeted him by name.

     "Dermot, this is Gary Spalding.  He's Aunt Carrie's nephew.  Gary,
this is my friend Dermot Barry."  Lando performed the introductions.

     "Yeah, I heard about you and Dermot," Gary replied, not acknowledging
the new boy.  "The whole damn school has.  Why'd you have to go looking for
trouble?"

     "That's not what happened," Lando insisted.  "All I did was put a
couple of trouble makers in their place."

     "Not the way I hear it," Gary answered.  "And you seem to be making it
particularly hard on my teammates.  That won't help me any."

     "I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble."

     "You're always rushing off saying things without thinking about how
other guys feel about it," Gary complained, his voice rising.  "Shit, man,
can't you keep your mouth closed about any fucking thing?"

     "Watch your language, Gary."  That was Aunt Carrie, who appeared in
the doorway with snacks for the new arrivals.

     "I can't win!" Gary said angrily, rising and leaving the house.

     "Wow!" Emily said.  "He's really pissed."

     "You watch your language, too, Miss Emily," Aunt Carrie said.  "Gary
will be okay.  He just got joshed a bit by some of his buddies."  Aunt
Carrie returned to the kitchen.

     "What sport does Gary play?" Dermot asked.

     "You should be able to answer that by just looking at him," Lando
said.  "He's a running back for the Eagles.  Had a great season last fall.
He's hoping for a scholarship if he does really well this coming year.
Gary's a junior."

     "I can see why he's concerned about getting along with his teammates,
but that doesn't excuse dumping on you," Dermot said to his boyfriend.

     "Gary's a good guy, but he's a jock," was Emily's assessment, "like
Lando," she could not refrain from adding.  Lando attempted to grab her,
but she ducked away giggling.

     About an hour later, Dermot stopped in the middle of his preparations
for his English make-up exam.  Something occurred to him.  Gary's name,
Spalding, rang a bell.  He walked down to Lando's room to confirm his
memory.  He loved Lando's room.  It was so much a part of the boy he loved.
There was nothing effeminate about it, but it was not all that typical of
teenage boys, either.  For one thing, it was neat.  Lando liked everything
to be in its place.  He had a queen sized bed, with a golden cover on it,
and lots of fluffy pillows.  Naturally, the drapes matched the bedspread.
To say the walls were tan did not do them justice.  It was not your blah,
lifeless beige, but a golden tan with flecks of sunlight in it.  Dermot was
not sure whether that was an effect of the lighting or somehow part of the
paint job.  There were books lining a couple of shelves, indicating Lando's
taste in literature, and beneath that another shelf with CDs giving equal
testimony to his preferences in music.  On one wall was a poster of Kylie
Minogue, while facing her was a blown-up portrait of Mozart.  There was a
sophisticated sound system, on top of which was Lando's trophy as
outstanding new player from his freshman year on the soccer team.  On the
wall over the bed was a crucifix.  Dermot admired Lando's room, and hoped
to make his own as expressive of his interests and personality before too
very long.

     As Dermot entered, Lando looked up from his desk.  He did study after
all.  "What's up?"  he asked.

     "Something just clicked in my tiny brain.  You said Gary's last name
was Spalding, and he's Aunt Carrie's nephew, right?"

     "Right."

     "If I remember correctly, your father mentioned a Spalding in his
background when he was giving me the grand tour the day I arrived.  And you
said Aunt Carrie's family had been working for your family forever.  So
...."

     "Good detective work, boyfriend.  As a matter of fact, you're right.
Aunt Carrie's family were once slaves owned by my family, or at least the
Spalding ancestors on my Dad's side.  I think Aunt Carrie's direct
ancestors came to us Lyles as part of a dowry back before the Civil War.
Gary's dad is Aunt Carrie's brother.  But don't mention this slave business
to Gary.  He's kind of sensitive about it."

     "Is there a biological connection?"

     "I don't know.  In some cases, slaves took the name of their former
owners after emancipation without there being any family connection.  Maybe
Mom would know.  It's not her family, but she's the genealogist."

     "Interesting, very interesting," Dermot clowned.  He was pleased that
his deductions had been confirmed, and the issue of a family connection did
not really matter to him.  Two things stuck out as he returned to his room
and his homework, viz., the Lyles, or at least some of their family, had
been slave holders back before the Civil War, and they had no hesitation in
recognizing the possibility of black kinfolk.  Maybe Aunt Carrie was not
Lando's aunt, but she might be a relative of some sort.  He wondered
whether it would be possible to trace his own family further back than his
grandparents.  And he was quite certain that Uncle Steve would never
recognize the possibility of having black relatives.

     After dinner that evening, Walt Lyle asked Dermot to accompany him to
the library.  Without being asked, Lando tagged along.  When they were
seated, Walt opened the conversation.  "You have probably been wondering
what I've been doing about your legal matters, Dermot."

     In fact, Dermot had not been wondering that at all.  He had been so
busy getting himself established at the Lyle home and at school, and then
trying to catch up on his education, that he had not really thought about
the men who had beaten him, or about his uncle, in terms of legal
proceedings, except for a few fleeting moments.  But he could hardly tell
that to Walt, who seemed to be concerned about these matters, so he
politely nodded.

     "I realize that, to a layman, these things seem to take forever, but
actually they are moving along satisfactorily.  Not everything is going our
way, however," Walt continued.  "To use a trite expression, I have good
news and bad news for you."

     "Well, let's do the bad news first and get it out of the way," Dermot
decided.  "I think I'd like to leave here with the good news on my mind."

     "A very positive attitude," Walt agreed.  "Okay.  We filed against
your uncle and cousin on the grounds of rape as well as abuse and neglect.
With so much time having elapsed, there is no medical evidence of that
rape, although, of course, no question about that on 21 February by your
more recent assailants.  We have only your word against that of your uncle
and cousin, so, unless one of them breaks down and confesses, we may not be
successful with the rape charge."

     Walt paused to see how Dermot was taking this.

     "You mean they may get away scot free?" the boy asked.

     "Oh, no.  There are still the charges of abuse and neglect, as well as
the misuse of your inheritance," Walt assured him.  "We are on pretty solid
grounds there.  We have the evidence of your initial complaint to Social
Services, the evidence of the priest at St. Pius, and the evidence of your
cousin Alice."

     "What evidence from that priest?  And what did Alice say?  I don't
remember any of that," Dermot wanted to know.

     "Well, naturally we went back to Father Seligmann at St. Pius X.  His
initial response, you may recall, was that he did not remember you coming
to him back in May.  But, when Mrs.  Harper persisted on a return call, he
revealed that he keeps a kind of log or journal of what we might call
professional visits.  He allowed her to consult that record, and, sure
enough there it was, under the date you provided: 'Barry boy - in bad shape
from a beating by his uncle - sodomite - demanded he repent - refused.'
Not much, but it substantiates the basic claim of abuse.  Then, you may
recall that when Mrs. Harper saw your cousin at school, she said you had
been kicked out for being 'a disgusting pervert.'  No, I think we are on
solid grounds there.  Of course, the Barrys did themselves no favor when
they lied to Mrs. Harper about you being in another state.  It calls all
their testimony into question."

     "What's this about an inheritance?  As far as I know, all I inherited
were those photographs and medals my dad left."

     "Oh, no.  I asked you about finances, and you had no information, but
that does not mean there was none to be obtained," Mr. Lyle assured Dermot.
"First of all, before going into combat, your father completed a number of
legal steps.  He designated you as his next of kin and sole heir, although
under the guardianship of your uncle.  Next, he took out an insurance
policy for $500,000 with you listed as beneficiary.  In addition to that,
the Army has been paying benefits into an account in your name for the past
two years, and is concerned to know where that money has gone.  You will
continue to receive these benefits until you arrive at age eighteen or, if
you remain in school, until age twenty-one."

     "Wow!  Did I hear right?  Five hundred thousand?"

     "That's right.  That was paid to Stephen Barry in his capacity as your
guardian, but it's your money.  We have not been able to trace what your
uncle did with this money as yet, but we are working on it.  We got the
court to freeze all his accounts until this is cleared up.  In addition, as
your father's sole heir, you should have received the income when the house
in which you lived was sold, and most of the contents as well.  We have the
sales records.  While there was a mortgage, there would still have been
just over thirty thousand cleared, plus the income from the sale of the
furniture.  Again, we do not know what your uncle did with these funds.
Your aunt says she knows nothing about it."

     "That's probably true.  Uncle Steve gave her a certain amount each
week for groceries and stuff, but he kept a pretty tight fist on the cash.
I don't think Aunt Florie even had access to the back account.  I don't
remember ever seeing her sign a check or use a credit card," Dermot
confirmed.

     "That meshes with what we have been able to discover," Walt said.
"Right now, only your uncle has access to the bank account, and we have a
court order freezing that until the matter of your inheritance is settled."

     "If nobody can get to the bank account Uncle Steve had, how are they
getting by?  Even if Uncle Steve is out on bail, didn't you tell me he lost
his job after he was arrested?" Dermot asked.

     "I don't know the answer to that," Walt confessed.

     "Well, you guys have been very generous to me, so I'm not hurting.  I
don't know how to do it, but can you let Aunt Florie and Alice have some
money from whatever is there, kind of like an allowance or something each
week?  I don't care about Uncle Steve or Zach, but I wouldn't want the
others going hungry, or worse, having to work the streets like I did.  No
one should have to do that," Dermot declared.

     "Dermot, that is a very generous offer.  I will check into it first
thing tomorrow.  I'm sure something can be worked out.  The banks are very
hesitant to give up information, or to allow anyone except the owner of an
account to have access, but the courts can overrule that in special cases.
Do you have any idea at all what your uncle might have done with your
funds?"

     "Not really.  He always complained that I cost so much.  I'm surprised
to find that I have this 'inheritance' you mention.  He did have a bank
account, but I know nothing about it.  I saw him signing checks, but no one
else.  Wait!  There is one thing.  I'm pretty sure Uncle Steve did a lot of
gambling.  He had some guy he hung around with who he called his bookie.
But I don't know the guy's name or how to contact him."

     "Hmmm.  That's not good news," Walt said.  "If your uncle gambled the
money away, or a good portion of it, there may be no way of recovering the
entire amount.  However, we will follow up on this information.  Maybe your
aunt knows who this bookie might be.  In any case, we will not give up
until we have identified all that is coming to you, and what has happened
to it if possible."

     "Now, with respect to the other matter, Charles M. Wilhoit, Gary
W. Fowler, William P.  Hertz, and J. Shawn Daugherty have been charged with
assault and battery and, in two cases, with rape, but they have lawyers,
and in the case of Wilhoit some very influential friends.  Fowler will be
tried separately, as he has agreed to provide testimony against the other
three.  But nothing is moving very fast on that side, as Wilhoit's father
has filed several delaying motions.  He also intends to bring out the fact
that you were engaged in prostitution at the time of the attack, we have
learned, which he hopes will sway the court.  What he's doing is trying to
undermine your credibility."

     "You mean I might have to say in court that I was hustling?" Dermot
asked, obviously not pleased with that.  It did not seem to matter much
when he was ensconced in the hospital, with no one to consider except
himself, but now he immediately wondered how this would be received at
school, and how it would affect Lando.

     "Most likely," Walt confirmed.

     "And this is supposed to be the good news?" Dermot asked.

     "Only in the sense that the four men have been officially charged, and
Wilhoit and Fowler have had their attorney's licenses suspended.  The other
two men are minor functionaries with the large automotive company here in
town.  One's an accountant, the other an engineer.  Their respective
licenses are also suspended.  There is sufficient evidence, with the
physical evidence from your person at the time you were admitted to the
hospital, and the testimony of Mr. Fowler, that I am confident of the
eventual outcome.  I am not telling you that it won't be painful along the
way, though," Walt admitted.

     Dermot turned to Lando.  "I don't know about this.  We're going to
have enough grief from coming out yesterday.  Maybe I should not be in the
same school as you after all, if my past is going to be in the news."

     Lando came over and stood behind Dermot's chair.  He reached down and
put his arms around the other boy's neck.  "We'll survive," he said.  "I'd
rather be in school with you, and have no one else speak to me, than have
you somewhere else.  Dad, when do you think this case will come to trial?"

     "As I said, the Wilhoits are busy with delaying tactics.  Given the
normal procedures and their delays, several months at least.  Sorry,
Dermot, I know you want to put this behind you, but that's about the best
we can do," Walt admitted.

     "But, Dad, that's great!" Lando proclaimed.  "Several months will push
it into the summer.  School will be out by then.  By the time we get back
in August, most kids will have forgotten about it, and even if they are
reminded by trouble makers, it will be old news."

     "Hey, that's right!" Dermot enthused.  "You are so smart, boyfriend!"

     Walt smiled.  "I had not considered that aspect of the timing, but
you're right.  Okay, we will make no effort to hurry this matter along
until after school is out in May, but we want it settled as soon as
possible after that, is that right?"

     "Right on!" Lando insisted.

     With that, the conclave broke up.  Dermot and Lando retreated to the
third floor to continue with their school work, but talked on the way about
the information Walt had imparted.  "Maybe I won't be as much of a drain on
the Lyle finances as I thought," Dermot said.

     "You don't notice anyone complaining about that, do you?" Lando
replied, as he pinched Dermot's ass.  He was slightly behind his boyfriend
going up the stairs.

     Dermot jumped.  "You keep that up and I'll bean you with my crutch,"
Dermot threatened.  "In fact, that might be the best use I could get out of
these things."

     "Oh, I am so frightened," Lando pretended.  Then, in a different
voice, he announced, "You have a very sexy ass.  Don't blame me if I can't
keep my hands off."

     "Flatterer!" Dermot objected, but he was obviously pleased.

     On Wednesday morning, Dermot was encouraged when Mr. Carlyle told him
he had done very well on his first make-up exam.  Not only very well, but
when he handed Dermot the exam, there was a big A in red on the first page.
So far, Dermot was batting a thousand in his effort to make up for his
lengthy absence.  With this success, Mr. Carlyle not only agreed to
continue with the make-up exams for the current semester, but agreed to
give Dermot an exam over the material from the first half of American
History, from colonial times through the Civil War and, if he did well
enough, assign credit for that required course.  This was definitely good
news.  It consolidated Dermot's position in a course in which he was
greatly interested, and with a teacher he admired.  It also helped his
position with respect to his American Literature course, and with
Dr. Schlegel.  Things were on track.  He was scheduled to take his first
make-up in English that afternoon, and if things went as well there, then
he felt certain Mrs. Mattingly would agree to a similar arrangement with
respect to the first semester.

     When Dermot appeared in his first study hall at 10:00, Coach Duvall
teased him.  "What?  No test today?"

     "Got one in English this afternoon," Dermot confided, "but nothing for
you until Friday.  But I do want to thank you for stepping in yesterday at
lunch.  Those guys were a lot bigger than any of us."

     "Just doing my job."  Coach Duvall looked sideways at Dermot, then
appeared to reach a decision.  "Do you think you could spare a few minutes
during this period?"

     "Sure, Coach.  What do you have in mind?"

     "I know you're a good writer, so how about writing me a short story?
Pure fiction, of course.  But something like this: Why would a small,
helpless guy in the lunchroom purposely try to antagonize a hulking
football player?"

     Dermot grinned from ear to ear.  "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

     "Satisfaction brought him back," Coach responded.

     "I think I can whip up something.  Pure fiction, of course."

     "Of course."

     In this manner, Dermot informed Coach Duvall of the verbal harassment
of the entire table, and of Mike's stealthy revenge, including his own
remark about primates just learning to walk on two legs.  He was kind of
proud of that comment.  In the story, the prime movers were called Lonnie,
Micky, and Devin, with their friends Jared and Donna, but Dermot had no
doubt that Coach Duvall would know exactly who was meant.  He grinned again
as he turned in his 'pure fiction' at the end of the period.

     During Current Events, Dermot noticed something which he did not
immediately understand.  Bob Lynch was again at his provocative best.  The
topic of discussion was again the terrorist tactics of the militants in the
Near East.  One of the students commented that she did not know why God
allowed such atrocities to happen.  Bob responded, "Maybe it's because
there is no god to allow or disallow anything."  In further discussion, he
added, "There is not a shred of evidence for the existence of god.  All
there is, is the wishful thinking of ignorant people."  These comments
naturally were greeted with rebuttal from other students, but the reaction
which interested Dermot was that of Nate Greenwell.  Instead of his usual
parroting of Bob's sentiments, Nate seemed disturbed by them, saying
nothing, but scowling and making notes to himself.  He actually looked
frightened.

     After home room, as Dermot and Lando were on the way to their table in
the cafeteria, Lando was ahead, but this time Dermot insisted on carrying
his own tray.  He wanted to assert his independence once again.  Because he
had to negociate around tables and students with his tray in one hand and
his crutch in the other, he lagged behind Lando on the way to their table,
where Mike and Jason already sat.

     All of a sudden, Dermot was tripped.  Precariously balanced as he was,
he went down like a dead duck.  Food and drink splattered everywhere, and
his crutch clattered under a nearby table.

     "Does the little fag have trouble walking upright?" a mocking voice
asked from the table next to where Dermot lay on the floor.  This was
followed by raucous laughter.  Looking up, Dermot recognized Jack, the
student who had been tripped the previous day by Mike, leering at him,
surrounded by his buddies.

     Lando, of course, rushed over to help Dermot up.  The fall had been
embarrassing, but not seriously harmful.  What really surprised Dermot,
though, was the intervention of a strong brown hand, which grabbed the
laughing tripper by the arm and twisted it behind his back.

     "You're going to clean up this mess, and get Dermot some fresh food,"
Gary Spalding proclaimed.

     "What!  You sticking up for the queers now?" the offender asked
incredulously of his teammate.

     "Naw.  I got nothing to do with queers, but this kid is on crutches.
What kind of scumbag are you to trip a guy on crutches?" Gary asked,
pressing his opponent's arm even higher.

     "Awright!  Okay!  Let go!" Jack groaned.

     At that point, Coach Duvall again appeared.  He had proctoring duty
during that lunch period.  "All right you guys, what's going on?  Same
bunch as yesterday, I see.  Can't you dumbasses keep out of trouble for a
single day?"

     "No problem, Coach," Gary said.  "Dermot kind of tripped, and Jack,
here is going to clean up the mess, and get him some fresh food.  Right,
Jack?"

     "Yeah.  Yeah, that's right," the boy replied.

     "You remember what I said yesterday about the fall roster?" Coach
Duvall warned the football players.  Deciding to let the boys work it out
among themselves, he folded his arms across his expansive chest, and
stepped aside.  "You okay, Dermot?"

     "Yes, sir.  Just a little spattered and shaken.  Nothing serious."

     "Okay, Jack, get busy.  First, Dermot needs his lunch.  Then, this
floor needs cleaning."

     "Yes, sir," Jack agreed, and set off to carry out his sentence.

     Dermot turned to Gary.  "Thanks.  I appreciate the help."

     "I still think queers are gross, but I don't stand for picking on guys
who can't defend themselves," Gary said, as he sat back down with his
teammates.  He glared at them, daring anyone to disagree with him.  No one
did.

     Dermot, with Lando's help, made his way to the restroom to clean up
some.  By the time they returned, Jack had replaced his lunch.

     "We'll take support anywhere we can find it," Dermot told the table of
friends, with a glance back at Gary.

     That afternoon, he earned another A on his English make-up exam.  The
past day and a half had sure been one roller coaster of emotional
experiences.