Date: Sat, 26 Jun 2004 17:56:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Graschels of Guenther Street - Chapter 9

The Graschels of Guenther Street

M.C. Gordon

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

Chapter Nine

     Deet woke early Monday morning, saddened in
spirit when he remembered that his faithful friend of
twenty years was gone.  He had spent the day before
trying to be attentive to the children instead of
locking himself in his room as he wanted and wallowing
in self misery.  He could detect the siren call of the
aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the
kitchen and knew Deidre was already up and about.  He
hadn't hired her as a housekeeper or cook but she
quickly let him know that she'd spent her entire adult
life taking care of a man and children and wasn't
about to change her ways.  If that meant coffee would
be waiting for him, Deet wasn't about to argue with
her.

     Coffee and the bathroom beckoned and he tried to
sit up but found that he was trapped by the bodies of
two children.  Jane was snuggled against his right
side, her head using his shoulder as a pillow.  Eric
was stretched out along his left, facing away from him
but as close as it was possible to be.  He felt
something on his feet and, lifting his head enough to
see the end of the bed, saw that Benji was draped
across his feet and being uncharacteristically quiet.

     His brain began to function and he vaguely
remembered Eric and Jane creeping into his room at
some ungodly hour of the night and slipping under the
covers with him, whispering something about wanting to
be there in case he woke up crying about Wolfgang.
Their concern touched his heart and he would have been
content to drift back to sleep but he had a morning
erection that demanded a visit to the bathroom to
relieve his bladder.

     He eased Jane away from him and climbed over her
as quietly as possible, thanking any good sense he
ever had that he'd started wearing pajamas to bed as
soon as Eric moved in with him ... not that he ever
anticipated waking up with either of the kids in bed
with him.  Content in knowing that both of the
children were still asleep, he found an undamaged pair
of slippers and managed to reach the bathroom before
his bladder exploded.

     Several moments later he sat across the kitchen
table from Deidre and enjoyed the feel of his first
sip of coffee as it danced across his palate and
caressed the tissues of his throat before it hit his
stomach and bloodstream with a welcome injection of
caffeine.  It was his drug of choice.

     "I took the liberty of looking at the
sticky-notes decorating your computer screen," Deidre
told him when Deet finally opened his eyes enough for
her to sense that he was awake.  "You're scheduled to
work with the Elf Louise Project from nine until one.
Eric and Jane both have separate appointments with Dr.
Tran this afternoon at two and three.  You made a
notation to call Mrs. Fuentes between four and five.
I don't understand your notation about the Ronald
McDonald House."

     "I'm spending this coming Saturday there," Deet
mumbled while he waited for his third sip of coffee to
take effect.

     Deidre made a notation on the legal pad in front
of her.  "A Mr. Milhauser called half an hour ago.  He
said to tell you the judge wants to know about the
children's tutor by tomorrow afternoon.  Your
accountant called and said something about knowing
where you can buy some ... Morgans?  And if it's alright
with you I thought I'd use some of the Thanksgiving
turkey to make a nice turkey-mushroom soup for lunch."

     Deet, now partially awake, wondered when Deidre
had decided to become his personal secretary as well
as chief cook & bottle washer, governess, and nanny.

     "Mr. Fuentes called and said I should to tell you
to call him at his office after you've had your third
cup of coffee."

     "Manuel can kiss my ass," Deet growled, now
finished with his first cup.

     "I feel that is highly unlikely," Deidre replied
and Deet glanced at her to see her smiling.

     "Do you know what my schedule looks like the rest
of this week?" Deet asked as he poured his second cup
and added two teaspoons of sugar.

     Deidre looked at the notes she'd made from Deet's
stickys.  "You have meetings scheduled Wednesday with
the board of directors for two museums.  I think
Thursday is reserved for the Conservation Society, but
I'm not sure.  You do tend to scribble a bit you
know."

     "Do I have anything for tomorrow and Friday?"

     "Nothing I've noticed."

     "Good," Deet finally said, the second cup of
coffee spreading through his veins.  "I intend to have
the tutor here tomorrow to test Eric and Jane and make
sure they're ready to start school in January.  When
that's finished we're going to put up the Christmas
decorations on the outside of the house.  I'll let the
Conservation Society know that this house goes back on
the holiday tour this year.  Call Carlos Fuentes this
afternoon and him set things up with the guy who has
the Morgans for Friday morning.  John Montgomery's
number is on my computer.  Please call him and ask if
he can have three stalls available by the weekend."

     Twenty minutes later showered, shaved, and
dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a t-shirt from the
local hockey team the Rampage, and a pair of
comfortable loafers, Deet drank his last cup of coffee
and listened to Deidre as she prepared breakfast for
Eric and Jane.

     As she told him something of her life he wasn't
surprised at the easy way she had assumed part of his
daily worries.  She had been raised in the military,
an Army Colonel's daughter, and had spent most of her
school years in Europe.  Her mother was expected, as
were all officers' wives, to assume civic
responsibilities and entertain a great part of the
time.  A career military man's advancement depended on
his family's comportment almost as much as his own
abilities.  Her father spent the final years of his
military service at the Pentagon in Washington D.C.
where Deidre was introduced to families of great
military and political influence.

     She graduated at the top of her class from a
prestigious female university in New England and
married an up and coming young member of the Foreign
Service.  Her marriage had been spent following Bill
Thompson from one consular station to another as he
began to rise in position.  He'd chosen San Antonio as
their permanent home in the United States because of
her Aunt Minnie and it was where they lived when he
was not assigned to an Embassy or Consulate.  His last
position was in one of the world's many hot-spots and
he had been returned to her six months earlier, now
forever asleep at the Ft. Sam Houston National
Cemetery.

     During the course of her marriage she had been
expected to entertain as many as one hundred guests
with no more than an hour's notice, be gracious at all
times and uphold the official line of the U. S.
government on any political or military decision.  She
provided a loving home for Bill, tended to his daily
schedule, and raised her son to be as well adjusted
and well educated as possible.

     "So you see," she finally told Deet, "helping you
and the children will seem like a piece of cake.  I've
finished grieving and this position is going to fill a
void in my life.  I'll still keep my hand in the
issues that concern me, if you don't mind.  I have
causes I wasn't able to openly support while Bill was
alive because they were often at odds with the
`official position'."

     Deet smiled and said, "Somehow I don't picture
you as the perfect daughter and wife."

     Deidre laughed again and replied, "I never said I
was a perfect daughter.  I always had a circle of
rebellious friends and my parents would roll over in
their graves if they knew some of the escapades we
had.  But we were always careful to never get caught.
I've read several different studies done by
sociologists on the adult lives of military
dependents."  She smiled.  "I think we're supposed to
be a bit odd."

     "In what way?" Deet asked.

     Deidre laughed.  "One theory says we became
saints."

     "And the other theory?"

     "That we're terrible sinners," she answered with
a smile.

     "Which theory do you support?" Deet asked.

     "The one that hasn't been published yet," she
answered, "that should say we were normal teenagers
living in a rigidly controlled society.  We spent the
weekends with our foreign national friends and drank
too much because it was forbidden.  We gazed in awe at
public swimming pools where it was common practice to
change from street clothes to bathing suits in the
open.  The first words we learned in any foreign
language were the curse words.  I can swear profusely
in six languages.  We listened to American tourists
raise the volume of their voices as if everyone in the
world intuitively knew English and yelling would
finally seep through to that part of the brain.  It
was a crazy world and we thrived on it.  We learned
patriotism tempered with common sense.  We loved
everyone who wasn't an American.  We ate the finest
food in the world served in small restaurants in out
of the way places.  We marveled at the history in
European architecture and narrow cobbled streets.  We
listened to Wagner performed in the Grotto and Italian
operas in Vienna.  We were a combination of the most
free and most controlled teenagers America's ever
known.  We loved and hated it simultaneously.  It made
us different."

     "Who's different?" Eric asked as he led Jane to
the kitchen, both of them barely awake.

     "Everyone is," Deidre replied as she filled two
plates with drained bacon and pancakes covered with
butter and Vermont maple syrup.  "That's what makes
the world a beautiful place."

     "I guess so," Eric said as the overwhelming aroma
of breakfast caught his attention."

     "I'll be gone most of today," Deet told the
children.  "I've got a prior commitment I have to
keep.  I know you guys bought Christmas presents last
Friday and Deidre will help you wrap them today.  I
want the two of you to go through the boxes I brought
down earlier and decide what you want to use to
decorate the front porch and yard.  Eric, you need to
decide on a bedroom if you want me to set up your
computer.  I'd prefer you to choose one on the second
floor, but the choice is yours.  I'll be moving my
room from the parlor back upstairs and I'd like the
two of you to pick out which room I should use.  Any
questions?" he asked.

     "What you got that's so important?" Jane asked.

     "It appears," Deidre provided, "that your dad is
going to be a Christmas elf today."

     "No way!" Eric said.

     "Way, boy," Deet replied.  "I'm a Christmas elf
every year."

     "You don't look like no elf," Jane added.

     "And just exactly how many elves do you know?"
Deet asked her quite seriously.

     "None, but the ones when I could see a TV didn't
wear jeans."

     "Ah, and therein lies the problem.  You see, the
elves union decided several years ago that it wasn't
nice to expect us to wear horrid red or green tights
and those silly shoes with bells on the toes.  And
Santa, being the kind and considerate soul that he is,
agreed that we could wear jeans and t-shirts instead."

     "I'd like to be an elf," Eric stated.

     "Me, too," Jane added.

     "I don't know," Deet said.  "I'm going to spend
most of the day wrapping presents for children whose
parents can't afford to buy them anything.  Gifts from
Santa are nice, but boys and girls like something from
their moms and dads.  And Santa expects all of his
elves to spend a little time every year helping those
moms and dads.  And you've got presents of your own to
wrap."

     "Jeez, Daddy," Eric said, "we can do that
anytime.  If I promise to pick my room out as soon as
I finish breakfast, can me and Jane be elves with
you?"

     "What about picking my room?" Deet asked.

     Eric and Jane put their heads together for a
minute and Eric announced, "We want you to have one of
the rooms with a balcony.  That way if you ever get a
boyfriend we can sit on your balcony and watch you
smooch in the back yard and decide if we like him or
not."

     Deet was speechless.

     Deidre laughed.  "Finish your breakfast and let
your dad go.  I need you two to help me put all my
things in place this morning.  And you haven't seen
all the boxes you have to go through for Christmas
decorations.  I know your dad wants the house to look
extra nice this year and thought we'd run to the
library.  Did you know there are books with pictures
of this house the way it looked at Christmas a hundred
years ago?"

     The children silently weighed their options and
finally decided to concentrate on the house.

     "I'll make arrangements for you to be elves next
year," Deet told them.  "Be good for Deidre while I'm
gone.  We're going to see Dr. Tran this afternoon.
You'll meet your tutor tomorrow.  We'll put up the
decorations outside and then tomorrow evening I'll
take you downtown to the Riverwalk.  How would you
like to eat dinner tomorrow night on a boat going down
the river?"

     Eric and Jane both opened their eyes in wide
amazement.  "That sounds rad," Eric said.

     Deet held his arms open, inviting the children
for a hug.

     "Can I tell you a secret?" Jane whispered into
Deet's ear when she hugged him.

     "Of course you can, honey," Deet answered, not
quite sure what to expect.

     "I don't want to tell Eric," she continued
whispering, "but I don't think there's really a Santa
or elves."

     "Then don't tell him," Deet whispered back.

     He had a sudden thought and asked them, "What do
think of the idea of being Whos?"

     "What's?" Jane asked.

     "Not what, who," Deet said, "from the Grinch
story.  Every year some friends and I go to the Ronald
McDonald House and spend time with the kids there.  We
put on a little play from the Dr. Seuss story.  I
think we were short on Whos last year."

     He glanced at Deidre who said, "We'll stop at the
video store and get a copy to watch tonight."

     "Be sure it's the cartoon," Deet replied.  "Boris
Karloff is my favorite Grinch."  He added to Jane, "I
want you to pay special attention to Cindy Lou Who
when we watch the video.  The lady who usually does
her is getting a little old for the part and we really
need a new Cindy Lou."

 . . .

     Deet relaxed with a cup of hot cocoa and listened
to Boris Karloff's unique voice caress his mind.  He
had stopped counting the number of presents he had
wrapped during the day when it reached four hundred.
The session with Dr. Tran seemed to have gone well
because Eric and Jane seemed more at ease with him and
each other.  The chosen decorations were in four boxes
in the foyer and everyone helped carry the rest of the
boxes back to the attic.  He'd called Manuel,
expecting it to be something of earth shattering
importance only to find that his friend had been
thinking about a family dinner on the river to enjoy
the Christmas lights and confirmed that Manuel would
reserve one of the river barges for all of them.

     His call to Consuela dealt with the tutor.  He
had been concerned about his choice because the man
who most impressed him turned out to be a distant
cousin named Pieter Musselman.

     "I'm not sure how Judge Solari will react to my
hiring a relative," he told Consuela.

     "Pete's my first choice," Consuela said.  "I'll
give Manuel a letter of recommendation for him to give
the judge.  I've known him for years.  He's brilliant.
 He gave up teaching in the system because he feels he
can have more influence in a one on one setting.  He's
one of the more highly sought tutors in town and I'm
sure Judge Solari knows his reputation."

     Things were, miraculously, falling into place.

Author's Note:

There are several beautiful old homes in the King
William District.  The one I have chosen as my mental
image of the Graschel home is named `The Beauregard
House', an actual Bed and Breakfast Inn.  I've driven
by it several times but a picture of it can be found
with a little web-surfing.  I was looking for a gay
friendly BnB in town for a friend one evening and
found a nice picture of it among the many when I
searched for `King William District'.