Date: Sat, 15 May 2004 17:10:56 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Graschels of Guenther Street - Chapter 3

Pertinent information is noted at the beginning of
this series.  Comments are welcome at
quasito_cat@hotmail.com or quasito_cat@yahoo.com


The Graschels of Guenther Street

M.C. Gordon

Chapter Three

     Manuel sat across from Deet on the back patio and
sipped his hot coffee.  "This is a business meeting,
you know," he told his friend.

     "I know," Deet replied, the darkness around his
eyes betraying the fact that he hadn't been able to go
back to sleep.

     "I just wanted to be sure," Manuel said, "because
so far you're paying me several hundred dollars to
drink your coffee and wait for my son to wake up."  He
didn't push Deet because he knew the man was
struggling with something deep inside, something that
hurt and infuriated.

     "Would it be okay if Jorge stays the weekend?"
Deet finally asked.  "Eric seems to trust him."

     "Sure," Manuel replied.  "Mi hijo es su hijo.
Does he get seven hundred an hour?"

     "Greedy asshole," Deet mumbled.

     "The boy has to earn money for college and he's
too young to work."

     "I'm paying you enough to send all five little
Fuentes to Harvard."

     "True," Manuel agreed before smiling and adding,
"but Consuela's going to present me with number six
and my money's going to be spread pretty thin."

     "Goddamn, man, you're a horny bastard aren't
you?"

     "Not my fault," Manuel said, continuing the light
conversation.  "You've seen my Consuela."

     "I prefer her brother Ramon," Deet said and
finally smiled.

     "Joking aside, Deet, it's no problem for Jorge to
stay several days if he and Eric both want it.  In
fact, it's probably a good idea for Eric.  You haven't
had kids in school so you don't realize that school is
out an entire week for Thanksgiving.  The girls treat
Jorge like he's Christ reincarnate and it might be
good for him to spend a few days in an all male
atmosphere.  You know you're expected for Thanksgiving
dinner again this year."

     "Thanks, Manuel," Deet replied.  "You're a good
friend."

     "So is this why you're making me rich?" Manuel
asked, "or do you want to explain that second phone
call?"

     "I want that little girl in my custody, and her
baby if it lives."

     "Why?  You haven't even figured out how to help
your son and know absolutely nothing about girls."

     "You didn't hear Eric screaming last night.  Ask
Jorge to tell you about it because I can't, not just
yet.  I only know that it curdled my blood and I
vomited for half an hour.  I've got so damn much
money, Manuel.  I give away a hundred thousand every
year and I've still got more than I started with.  I
can afford the medical and psychiatric bill for these
kids.  And you know that little girl won't be sold for
sex as long as she's with me.  Putting her in the
foster care system isn't the right solution."

     "You have Eric because you're his legal father,
Deet," Manuel said.  "You know as well as I do that
Texas frowns on single male foster parents.  Adoption
is completely out of the question."

     "Do you trust Milhauser?" Deet asked, an idea
forming in his mind.

     "You know, I think I do.  What kind of scheme are
you devising?"

     "Do you think he would agree to be counsel for
that girl?  Maybe he could force a private adoption."

     "Freeman, Freeman, and Birch pack a lot of power,
Deet.  I might not agree with them buying up smaller
firms but they do a lot of good work.  They encourage
their partners and associates to put in time each
month doing pro bono.  Two partners in their firm are
death lawyers.  All they do is fight against the death
penalty in any state.  They wouldn't agree with your
instinctive desire to see Warren stoned to death but
might not object to boiling his balls.  And they fight
for gay rights.  It won't ever happen in Indiana but
they fight for it in other states.  So Milhauser could
call on the power of his firm to help force through a
private adoption, if he wants to, but don't you think
it would be a good idea for you to at least meet the
child first?  You might take an instant dislike to
her.  And you have to think about Eric."

     "You make a lot of sense, Manuel, and I'll think
about everything you just said.  But would you ask
Milhauser if he would consider being that girl's
attorney and present the possibility?"

     "Of course," Manuel replied.  Before they could
continue their conversation, two energetic young teens
bounded down the stairs and burst through the patio
doors.

     "You promised pancakes for breakfast!" Jorge
exclaimed.  "But first you got to bring Wolf down the
stairs.  He quit about halfway down.  Oh, hi, Dad!
Can I stay until after breakfast?"

     "Please?" Eric asked and Manuel was struck by the
beauty of his smile.

     "I was looking forward to some of those pancakes
myself," Manuel said as he gave his son a hug and
smiled at Eric.  "We'll all help.  Eric, I know your
dad keeps an ugly plastic tablecloth in the bottom
drawer of that sideboard over there.  Could you get it
and put it on the kitchen table?  I'll take the plates
out of the cabinets, Jorge, and you can put set them
out for us."

     "Uncle Deet told you, didn't he?" Jorge whispered
when Manuel handed him the plates.

     "Yes, he did."

     "Eric didn't remember his nightmare when we woke
up," Jorge said, still whispering.  "He's really
scared inside, but he's scared to admit it."

     "Something really bad happened to Eric," Manuel
said.  "I can't tell you but he might one day.  I
think you're old enough to be strong for him when he
does."

     "Dad?" Jorge asked, "can I spend a couple more
nights?"

     Manuel Fuentes felt a surge of pride at his son.
His boy knew Eric needed someone his own age and
stepped forward.  Sometimes a man can be so proud of
his children that it hurts and this was one of those
times.

     "I think we might be able to arrange for you to
stay until school starts again.  Would you like that?"

     "DAD!" Jorge exclaimed, "that's so totally rad!
No little sisters and I'll get to help Eric pick his
bedroom.  And I have GOT to tell Uncle Deet that he
needs to go shopping again.  He bought Eric all the
wrong clothes.  I mean, Eric's just a kid and he's got
a whole wardrobe of Gap type stuff.  And he promised
Eric a computer and someone has to be sure that he
gets the right games."

     Breakfast didn't take long because young teen
boys inhale their food as opposed to actually eating
it.  The pancakes and bacon disappeared in the blink
of an eye and Deet decided he'd better call a friend
in Vermont and ask for several gallons of maple syrup
to be shipped to him immediately.

     "I have to go to the office," Manuel finally said
as he pushed himself away from the table.  "I had
everyone clear their calendars for the holiday but
need to check on a couple of cases pending in Austin.
And I have a lunch appointment with our local
representative of Freeman, Freeman, and Birch on
behalf of a minor who just ate too many pancakes.  I
want to be sure that he doesn't file a petition on
behalf of the minor in question alleging abuse by
pancake.  And there's a question to be resolved
regarding another minor who would possibly benefit
from some of the learned counsel's pro bono."

     "Thank you," Deet mouthed.

     "Dad, you're so cool when you talk all legal and
stuff," Jorge said.

     "So what do you have planned for today?" Manuel
asked.

     "Apparently I have to take Eric shopping again,"
Deet said.  "Nothing I bought has Jorge's seal of
approval.  I've been advised by the fashion consultant
that Eric needs a lot of T's, faded jeans, and
speedos.  I promised Eric a puppy, and we're going to
Bandera for a horse auction.  I'll be a pauper before
the day is over and have to open the house as a Bed
and Breakfast again just to make ends meet."

     The mood was light and easy as the boys went back
to Deet's computer and Manuel promised to call later
about his meeting with Herbert Milhauser.  The boys
headed back to the computer and a laser game they had
discovered the night before.

     Deet poured the final dregs of coffee into his
cup and settled on his couch to read the morning
newspaper.  He spilled coffee on himself, the couch,
and the floor when he saw a small article tucked away
on page twelve of the front section.

     `Legislature Makes Bold Move', the heading read.
`The Texas legislature, in an attempt to avoid a
negative budget, has abolished the Department of Human
Services.  This reporter has learned the truth about
the recent house bill which will harm the most
vulnerable of this great state's citizens.'

     Deet put the paper down.  He had worked for DHS
for twenty years.  He remembered the plight of the
elderly and infirm, the mothers abandoned by their
husbands who refused to pay child support, the young
women working twenty hours a week flipping burgers for
minimum wage.  And he hoped that Protective Services
would be impacted.  He'd had close contact with many
of the caseworkers through the years and had a very
low opinion of the dowdy women who sauntered slowly
through the hallowed halls of their offices making
life or death decisions on their wards.

     His thoughts were interrupted when Eric and Jorge
bounded into the room, endless bundles of energy
contained in two growing bodies.

     "Can we go now, Daddy?" Eric asked.  "I want to
see about my puppy."

     Deet had decided to call his veterinarian to
recommend a suitable breed for a growing boy, one who
wouldn't be much of a nuisance to the aging Wolfgang.

     "There are several good breeds available," Dr.
Whitman said.  "Stay away from the obvious -- some of
them have throwback genes and can turn vicious without
provocation.  One of my patients was a beautiful
collie whose territorial instinct was so strong that I
had to put her down when she tried to attack the
family's new baby."

     "I thought collies were gentle," Deet said.  "I
read all the `Lad' books when I was a kid."

     "They usually are," Dr. Whitman replied, "but
like I said, this one's primitive instinct was
overpowering.  Do you want a house or yard dog?"

     "Well," Deet said, "I think we'd like one that
can run and play in the backyard and still be suitable
for indoors."

     "Hmmm, in that case I think I'd recommend a
Tibetan Spaniel.  They're very people oriented and get
along well with other dogs.  And they make good watch
dogs.  They're full of energy but quite capable of
picking up on nuances and know when to do nothing more
than cuddle.  I've got the name of a local breeder,
and I know she's got a litter ready to sell because I
just finished giving them their shots last week.
They're all healthy pups.  Tell Margaret I referred
you.  She's particular about who she sells one of her
precious babies to."

     "Thanks, Doc," Deet said when he had written down
the breeder's name and phone number.  He made a quick
call to Margaret Willis who agreed it was convenient
to meet as soon as possible.  Deet made one more
telephone call to his friend John Montgomery in
Bandera and headed out the door with the boys in tow.

     Local in San Antonio usually means closer than
Houston.  Margaret Willis lived in Helotes, several
miles west of town and between San Antonio and
Bandera.  It was a pleasant drive once they finally
got beyond the city limits and out of the crushing
Saturday traffic.  Eric and Jorge kept up a steady
stream of conversation deciding which movies they both
liked, discussing the pros and cons of rock stars, and
the terrifying thought of Eric meeting Jorge's sisters
at Thanksgiving.

     "Mexicans are strange," Jorge told Eric.  "Our
women wait on us hand and foot, then for no reason at
all try to rip us a new asshole."

     "Jorge Fuentes!" Deet shouted.  "What did you
just say?"

     "Um, that Mexicans are strange?  I can say that
because I am one."

     "Not that ... the other thing you said.  I know
your dad doesn't allow you to curse."

     "Sorry," Jorge repented.  "You gonna tell Dad?"

     "Do I look like a stoolie to you?  Look, I don't
really care what you say when the two of you are
alone.  Just don't use that kind of language in front
of an adult.  I remember what it was like as a kid,
and I know kids like to use bad language sometimes.
But it's not nice and it makes you sound like a street
punk."

     "I won't do it again, Uncle Deet, I promise."

     "Good," Deet replied, "because I'd hate to have
to send you home."

     Eric sat very quietly, absorbing the
conversation.  He knew his dad was upset with Jorge
for using a bad word, but he seemed to understand
boys.  His voice hadn't sounded angry, just firm like
he was more concerned with how other people would view
a boy who cursed.  And he'd all but given his
permission for them to use bad words if he couldn't
hear them.  He was beginning to like his dad even
more.

     Margaret Willis greeted them at the door to her
limestone house in Helotes.  They had barely entered
the living room when they were attacked by six lively
puppies who sniffed their feet and bounded around the
room.

     "I apologize for their behavior," Margaret said.
"But what can I say?  They're full of energy."

     She asked them to please sit and make themselves
comfortable while she disappeared from the room.  When
she returned she carried a tray with hot cocoa and
chocolate chip cookies.

     "Choosing the right puppy takes a little time so
I thought you boys might like something to eat while
you get to know them," she said.

     The Tibetan Spaniel is a small dog, usually
blonde and white, with short front legs and fluffy
tail that curls up over its back.  Black eyes, nose,
and mouth give it the appearance of intelligence and
curiosity.  Eric was captivated and sat on the floor
munching on cookies while the pups pranced around,
attacking each other and doing what puppies usually
do.

     "Won't it miss its mother and brothers and
sisters?" he asked, and Margaret instantly lost her
heart to the teenager.

     "For a little while," she replied honestly.  "But
these are bred to be `people' dogs.  It won't be very
long before all it cares about is the new family."

     One pup in particular seemed to be trying to get
Eric's attention.  The little male crouched in front
of Eric and barked, bounced back a few steps and
barked again.  He darted forward and tugged at the
edge of Eric's jeans, then barked some more.

     Margaret laughed.  "I think you've just been
selected," she said.

     "Well, son, what do you think?" Deet asked.

     "Do I got a choice?" Eric giggled as the puppy
jumped toward him, knocking him on his back, and
slathered his face with doggy kisses.

     Deet accepted the AKC registration papers and
paid Margaret the full asking price for the puppy even
though she quoted him ten percent less because she'd
taken a liking to the boy.  She agreed to have the pup
bathed and ready to go home with his new family at the
end of the day after Deet explained that they had to
go on to Bandera before they returned home.

     They had barely gotten settled in the car when
Deet's cell phone rang.  It was Manuel.

     "Are the boys driving you crazy yet?" the lawyer
asked.

     "Not yet, but they're trying to," Deet replied.
"What's up?"

     "Got some news for you.  My esteemed colleague
Herbert Milhauser and I had an interesting morning.
He called his partners in Indianapolis, who called
their Family Court judge.  She in return called a
Family Court judge here who was her roommate in
college.  The world is a small fucking place, Deet.
The judge here, Angelina Solari, lovely lady by the
way, has taken Protective Services out of the picture.
 She appointed Herbert as that little girl's learned
counsel.  We're to meet in Family Court Monday morning
at precisely ten.  I've never met Judge Solari but I
know her reputation.  She's a stickler for protocol so
we have to be there on time.  She's very much pro
child and the folks at Protective Services hate her
because she usurps their authority every chance she
gets."