Fork in the Road

FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 13

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

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that occasionally contains rather graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting adult men. If that's not your cup of tea, or if it is illegal for you to possess or read such material, then please go elsewhere. This story is copyrighted, 2008, and may not be reproduced, reposted or published without the expressed permission of the author.

Scott arrived at The Union at twelve twenty on the nose. He hurried down the hallway and spied Kelly waiting under the broad arch. He gave a shy grin. "Hi, Kelly. Thanks for agreeing to meet me."

There was no physical contact. She merely grinned a little and shrugged. "No problem. Like I said I have to eat anyway. You ready for lunch?"

Scott nodded enthusiastically. "Starved. Didn't have any breakfast and was in and out of our offices all morning long. Lots of running over to the senators' offices. Most of their staff members won't deign to visit me in my humble little cube."

Kelly led the way to the food line. "Ah, the high and mighty, or the imaginary high and mighty. I really miss that crap."

Scott chuckled and nodded. The pair made their way through the food line and the tension, stocking up on greasy burgers, greasy onion rings and a couple of Cokes. Hers was diet.

"Put it away," he said as she fumbled with some cash at the register. "My invite, my buy." Kelly tightened her lips and she frowned.

"Really, Kelly, I want to do this. It's not that much. Please, put it away." He picked up her tray with his free hand and looked over his shoulder. There was an empty table near the back windows overlooking the terrace. "Why don't you go and get a few little paper cups of ketchup and I'll meet you back there." He carefully put the trays down and dropped his book bag off his shoulder. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button. In a minute, Kelly returned with six little cups full of ketchup for both the burgers and the rings. He picked up the shaker and held it over the big basket of onion rings. "Salt?"

She shrugged. "Sure. A little bit."

He smiled and sprinkled a modest dusting on the rings. They were still very hot and pretty oily, so the sodium crystals stuck.

Kelly removed the top of the bun, lightly salted and peppered the burger patty and then squeezed one of the little cups of ketchup over the beef. She put the bun's cover back and pressed down on it lightly. She glanced up. "So...you wanted to talk?" She picked up the sandwich and bit into it.

As she dropped four or five rings onto her plate, he sipped his Coke. "Uhm...yeah. I've wanted to for days. I was awful at Homecoming, Kelly, and I'm really sorry."

She licked her lips and stared. "Then would you please tell me just what the hell that was all about?"

Scott chewed and mentally reviewed the little speech he'd rehearsed so many times. He raised three digits. "Three things, really, I guess."

Kelly leaned over in anticipation. He took another sip of his soda. "First, and it's not your fault, but I had a really shitty time." He shrugged. "I should have seen it coming, and maybe should have backed out, but didn't want to leave you high and dry. But I spent most of the day and much of the night by myself." He met her gaze. "In all honesty, it just sucked."

Kelly put down her burger and glanced down at the plate in remorse. "I'm sorry, Scott. I should have paid more attention."

"No! Like I said, I should have anticipated it and maybe could have done something before hand to let you set something else up with somebody who wouldn't have acted like such a jackass."

She grabbed an onion ring, broke it and dunked it in the ketchup. "Okay, that was the first thing."

It was his turn to look down in embarrassment. "Second, I got drunk. Judgment eluded me for a time. I was dealing with being pissed and then, as you know," he looked around, "when I've had a few I get horny. And, for a time, I was hell-bent on getting you back to the hotel to indulge my carnal ambitions. I know it sounds kinda piggish, and I guess it is, but me and the alcohol were thinking you owed me, and I got the feeling that you were ready and rarin' to go." He looked at the ceiling. "And I hope you'll believe me when I tell you I take no pride in that."

She swallowed another bite of her burger. "Well, I knew you were kinda drunk, and I guess I was `rarin and ready.' So, at the end of the night, it felt like you were either playing some kind of sick game, or the wheels had fallen of your sanity track." She leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone. "I mean...Scott...there was a time when you and I would have made the windows rattle in that room."

He shook his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Kelly. I really can't explain much about how the night ended, but that's the third thing." He thought for a moment as she waited in anticipation. "It's like I was suddenly hit by this thunderclap that screamed in my head, `No! This isn't right. You're leading her on in something you're not going to be able to live up to, to sustain. It's just wrong." He put down his burger and wiped his lips. "I wish I could explain it better than that, but it was like a sudden panic attack. I was uncomfortable and ashamed and just plain desperate to get the hell out of there. I know I did it badly, but it was like all I could do."

She scowled at him as her beautiful emerald eyes bore into him. "All you could do was leave me half-naked on the bed and drop a twenty on the dresser? Make me feel like some sort of cheap whore who wasn't living up to your expectations? Jesus, Scott! It was fucking humiliating."

He hung his head. "I'm sure it was, and I'm so very sorry. Really, I am. That's why I called."

"And a burger and a few onion rings are supposed to make it all up?"

He shook his head. "No, Kelly, it's not. You don't owe me anything, and I know it's too much to ask your forgiveness. I was a lout, a slug, and it's been gnawing at me ever since. I just needed to tell you that we don't have a future in the world of romance. I like you a lot, and I'd love it if we could remain friends, but that part of our relationship has died on the vine. It's over. I can't explain why, but it just is." He looked back at her like a puppy dog who's just been caught chewing on some shoes. "And I'd consider myself damned lucky if you could ever see your way clear to remain my friend. It's too much to ask, I'm sure, but I had to give it a shot."

She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Well, you need to know that I won't likely answer any of your calls or e-mails. And if you ever make a move on me again, I'll slap you silly."

He grinned slightly. "And I'd deserve it, but it isn't going to happen."

She reached back to the table and grabbed an onion ring. "At the same time you need to know that it's looking like I'm going to be volunteering for a certain candidate for our State Senate, as yet unannounced, and will be staying at Aunt Mo's place a lot this summer so that I can work on the campaign. So it's likely our paths will be crossing a lot in June, July, August and maybe after that. You might have to work at keeping your distance."

Scott slapped the table. "No shit? Maureen told me that the political bug had stung you pretty good while you were in Governor Hackett's office. Gonna come up and do some heavy lifting for Big Scott, huh?"

She grinned slyly and shrugged. "And Aunt Mo'. I figured `what the hell?' I'm going to graduate in May with the marketing degree. Thought I'd take a dip in the political waters while I figure out what's next. Could be grad school back here at the LaFollette Institute." The Robert M. LaFollette Institute on Public Policy was an outstanding graduate program in political science within the University of Wisconsin. She went on. "My application is already in the hopper for their graduate program. Might be that I'll want to follow in Mo's footsteps one day. But in the meantime, I'm still going to the meetings with recruiters and the like in the private sector. Keeping all my options open, ya' know."

They dumped their trash in the bin and put the trays on top, and then walked together toward the arch. Scott went out on a limb and nudged her with a shoulder. "Friends?"

"Please don't do that, and the jury's still out. I need some time to think about it, but am not about to make the state of our relationship a big priority." She thought for a second. "I do hope this did you some good. Not sure if it did me any, and it could be that all we did was double my normal daily intake of calories and fat. I'm sure our paths are going to cross again before long, but won't promise what you'll find when that happens."

Scott returned from Randy's funeral with just enough time to change clothes, nuke some leftover hot dish, fill his gut, grab his WSA stuff and make it to The Union for the meeting. As he strode toward the car, he was again comforted by the knowledge that Walter Jamieson would have everything arranged and in order for a smooth session.

After Scott called the meeting to order, Walter called the roll. The first procedural move at every meeting was the formal adoption of the agenda. Elliot stood and made a motion to add the finance committee's recommendation to the night's activities. Priscilla Standish quickly seconded it. After Scott called for discussion on the motion, Elliot made an impassioned speech about the democratic process. He spiced it up here and there with condemnations of the deviance and perversion facing the good students of the university at practically every turn. He demanded that the committee's proposal be pulled from the president's desk and "see the light of day."

Sonja Weiss was on her feet. "Mr. President, will the senator yield for a question?"

Elliot nodded with a bit of drama. "Yes I will, Mr. President."

Scott nodded and pointed with the gavel. "Go ahead, Senator Weiss."

"Mr. President, I'm wondering if the senator is aware that a minimum of four, and maybe as many as ten percent or more of our student body are gay, lesbian or bisexual."

Elliot uncrossed his arms and signaled his readiness to answer. Scott nodded. "Mr. President, I am indeed aware of the purported numbers and, frankly, I don't care about them. What I'm aiming for with this committee proposal is to right a wrong that has been foisted upon all of our students for the better part of two decades, ever since these groups started forming to advocate these deviant lifestyles."

Sonja shook her head. "Another question Mr. President. And how many students would Senator Lyman disenfranchise on such an issue as this and still feel okay about it? Forty, fifty, sixty percent?"

Elliot stood rigid. "Mr. President, that's absurd. Besides, it's not the numbers we on the committee are interest in at all. It's the moral principles involved. It's the nature of their relationships we're concerned about and don't care to fund."

Sonja didn't even ask permission this time, and Scott let her go. "And I'm curious, Mr. President, just when did the nature of those personal, private relationships, relationships that have absolutely no impact on any of our lives, when did they become an interest of the WSA? When did we 31 members of this student body of over forty-four thousand become the bedroom police?"

Elliot looked at the floor and smirked. His head came back up and he glared at Sonja. "Mr. President, I can assure the senator that the last thing I want to do is hear about, let alone peek in on, the goings on in her bedroom"

Sonja tilted her head down and said, just loud enough for the folks nearby to hear her, "You might learn a thing or two, you weenie."

Scott fought back a smirk and tapped the gavel lightly. "The senators will direct their questions or comments to the chair."

Sonja smirked. "My apologies, Mr. President. Will the senator yield for another couple of questions?"

Elliot stood firm. "Of course, Mr. President. I have nothing to fear or to hide on this issue."

"Mr. President, the senator said earlier that he basically accepted the numbers, the percentages that is, of men and women around us who are gay or lesbian or bisexual or transgender. Do I understand that? Am I in error?"

Elliot shrugged. "As I said, four percent, ten percent, I frankly don't care. But let's assume it's ten percent. It's irrelevant to the fact that my money is going in support of that ten percent."

"Question of the chair, Mr. President." Scott nodded. "Do I understand our bylaws correctly, so that if we do nothing right now all student organizations will continue to be funded at last year's levels?"

Walter nodded at Scott and Scott nodded at Sonja. "That's correct. Doing nothing right now means status quo."

She continued. "Another question, Mr. President. If we added up all the fees currently going to the five organizations targeted by Senator Lyman, what portion of the student fee allocation would that represent?"

Scott frowned. He didn't know. "One moment while I consult with the clerk. If anybody has that answer, he will." Scott and Radar huddled for a moment as Elliot crossed his arms again and tapped a foot on the floor. Scott returned to the podium. "Well, senator, and this is just a quick estimate, but it looks like something just over nine percent. We fund over thirty organizations with student fees. Some cost a lot more than others, but it looks like about nine percent is the answer to your question."

Thank you Mr. President. No other questions for you or the senator, but I will request now the opportunity to address the body before we vote on Senator Lyman's motion."

Scott looked back at Elliot. "The floor is still yours, senator."

Elliot cleared his throat. "Well ladies and gentlemen, all I'm insisting on is a vote to bring the committee's recommendation onto the agenda tonight and up for a vote. The committee's members were duly elected, they were duly appointed to the committee by President Turner, and they've made a legitimate recommendation according to our constitution and our bylaws. It deserves an up or down vote, and it deserves one tonight. The students who have stood outside or joined us inside tonight have a right to have this process played out. Their will is clear. We owe it to our peers to deliver a legitimate democratic decision." He paused. "Mr. President, I call the question."

"Sorry senator, we'll vote on your motion in a couple of minutes. Senator Weiss has already reserved some time before we vote. Senator Weiss."

Sonja stood up again. "Ladies and gentlemen. You've heard Senator Lyman concede that perhaps as many as ten percent of us are gay or lesbian or bisexual or transgender. Now, I've long believed that in this country we don't discriminate against citizens because of who they are. And it doesn't matter if they make up one, five, ten or fifty percent of the population. We only treat you differently because of what you chose to do. But that's only if your choices and actions actually have some impact on somebody else. If I drive my car into yours or punch you in the face, then throw my ass in jail. If I close my bedroom door and read, or if I close my bedroom door to enjoy the company of my partner, it's no harm and no foul to any of you. You don't like the thought of what I might be doing? Then quit thinking about it. It doesn't have any impact on you.

"I've worked with a few of you to draft a substitute amendment to the committee's recommendations. The problem is, it's not ready yet. This is a complex set of questions and issues that I fear the finance committee has dealt with far too much simplicity. We ought not rush it. However, I can assure the senators that our substitute will not allocate funds that are out of proportion. That is, if ten percent of the total student population is what we're agreed on, then the funding will not exceed ten percent of our fees. They'll all be paying their own way and Senator Lyman and his colleagues can sleep easier in the knowledge that not one red cent of their precious fees are being spent on such deviant and degrading organizations. Never mind that they're just making the University a more welcoming and safer place for all of our students." She paused. "Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Thank you, Mr. President. I yield the floor." She quietly sat down.

Scott cleared his throat and took a large gulp of water. "Motion has been made and seconded to add the finance committee's recommendation on the disbursement of student fees to this evening's agenda. As you know, such a motion requires a two-thirds affirmative vote in order for adoption. That means twenty-one votes in favor are required for its approval. The chair is going to call for a roll call vote. The clerk will call the roll."

Radar started through the list of names. Half way through it was clear to Scott that they'd won. But that was only on the procedural question of changing the agenda that night. It was not the same as a vote on Lyman's ideas or the committee's exact proposal. That would come another day.

Radar cleared his throat. "Mr. President, there are fifteen votes in favor of the motion. Fifteen against. Since the two-thirds standard applies, it's really not a tie so you're vote isn't required."

Scott smiled. "Nonetheless, Mr. Jamieson, please record me as having voted `nay.'" He looked back at the crowd. "Two-thirds not having been attained, the motion fails." Scott banged the gavel. "Okay, let's move on."

Michellina's was a popular Italian restaurant in Decorah, Iowa. It was nicely located, allowing for visitors from Wisconsin, Minnesota and Illinois as well as from all over Frank Martine's home state. And it had a nicely appointed room in the back suited for banquets, large parties and the like. Seventy-five business and property owners from the four states had been invited. Sixty of them showed up. They'd enjoyed a very nice buffet of various Italian dishes and now several members were nibbling on chocolate pistachio biscotti or enjoying creamy cannolis. Others just sipped coffee or water.

Frank was wrapping up. "And so, what I'm proposing, ladies and gentlemen, is the formation of the Greater Midwest Economic Growth Group. All of us would pony up a few thousand dollars annually, and all of us would cast the widest possible net to solicit contributions from like-minded friends and colleagues wherever we live and do business. We would then use those funds strategically to increase the odds of electing pro-business and pro-development candidates at all levels of government, from your city councils and county boards, to state legislatures and, when appropriate, even to Congress.

A hand went up and Frank nodded. The attractive woman from Minnesota asked, "So this is a political action committee?"

Frank paused. "Well sort of. It's really an issue advocacy group. There's a subtle difference. PACs typically donate directly candidates and are limited by each state's campaign finance laws. This group would identify candidates who think like we do and, where they need a boost into office or are being seriously challenged and at risk of being ousted, we'd do our own advertising regarding that race. It's not a contribution to a candidate's campaign, and isn't even done in coordination with the candidate or his or her campaign committee. It's simply a group of hard working, honest businessmen and women and property owners, all of whom share a common point of view on what's best for our states, for our nation and for it's citizens. And we have the right to air that point of view to try and enlighten the voting, tax paying public as to what's going on in their own halls of government. In addition to advocating for pro-business candidates, we could identify pro-business bills and proposals in our localities and state legislatures. Where we think this member of that one needs a little pressure to vote the right way, we target that district and urge people to call and write their representatives to vote the right way."

He continued. "I'll give you an example. I've had several conversations with Jeremy Frick the Assistant Majority Leader of the Wisconsin State Senate. Senator Frick is ready to propose two significant bills. One would greatly improve the infrastructure, specifically Highway 151 from Madison right to Iowa's border. Another one would dramatically reform the onerous rules and regulations under which property owners and business people may or may not manage their own property. Both bills would have substantial benefits to the folks living there and others who might consider investing there. If we pooled our resources, we could identify candidates who might need a nudge to vote the right way and target their districts with our ads in support of pro-growth policies. The bills are going to be proposed and I believe we could affect their passage by identifying the potential nay-sayers all over the state and putting some pressure on them to vote the right way."

He was on a roll, practically shouting now. "And then, in succeeding years we can monitor the goings on in Minnesota, in Wisconsin, in Iowa, in Illinois, and perhaps in all of our other border states. We'll make damned sure that we'll be doing business with a pro-growth environment. Wouldn't we all like to be doing business in a world where we believed the 'powers that be were on our side?" Most of the heads nodded. "Well, folks, these things don't happen just because we sit at our desks and gripe about it." He slapped the table with the flat of his beefy hand. "They happen when good people like you and I do something about it. Ladies and gentlemen, the founders gave us a representative democracy, a wonderful republic where the elected have to listen to the electors and do their bidding. The reality is that those representatives only react to what's on our minds and what we expect of them. Muttering on the drive home from work, or whining down at the corner bar after a hard week doesn't get it done. Action like I'm proposing is what gets it done."

There was a round of applause. "And so, I'll thank you all for coming tonight. Please fill out the cards that were placed next to your plates. This initiative is going to go on with or without you, and we need to know what's going on in your neck of the woods, and the extent to which you're willing to do something about it. Like I said, folks, it's action and not just lip service that gets it done. We can get it done! Have a safe drive home, and I hope you all enjoy a wonderful Thanksgiving with friends and family."

There was another polite round of applause and everybody started writing on the pledge cards in front of them. One by one, the members of the newly founded Greater Midwest Economic Growth Group dropped off their cards and grabbed their coats.

Martine smiled. `Great fucking night. If just half of these folks can bring one or two more into the fold, we could be a real force within a year or two. Who knows how big this could get?'

Scott was in the kitchen with his mom. He was happy that they were doing a real Thanksgiving dinner this year and he enjoyed helping out. Suzanne's brother and his second wife and kids would join them the next day for a full-blown Thanksgiving feast.

The previous year had been clouded by Big Scott's budding political ambition and by his grandmother's continuing battle with Alzheimer's. Suzanne hadn't been very sure she wanted to become the political wife, and Evelyn was positive that she didn't want to give up to the demons that visited her all too often. At least he was chopping onions at the moment, so wiping his eyes as he remembered his grandma wasn't all that wimpy. He could blame the onion for the tears. He'd been warned about all those firsts after the death of a loved one: the first birthday, the first Christmas and so forth. This was going to be the first Thanksgiving without Evelyn giving thanks and then raising hell about one thing or another. The woman could humbly say grace and then bitch and moan in the same breath. She was a marvel. Scott grabbed a napkin from the holder and wiped his eyes again.

Still, he was happy to be chopping veggies next to his mom, while Suzanne was busily grating cabbage and carrots for the cole slaw. "Scotty, check the bread cubes in the oven, will you? I want them toasted but not burned."

Scott peeked into the oven. "Na. They're good." He closed the door and straightened up. "Ya' know, Mom, you can but those stuffing cubes at the grocery store."

Suzanne scoffed. "Are you nuts? My sister-in-law would notice and snidely comment that her stuffing only allows for home baked bread cubes." She wasn't very fond of her brother's choice in a wife. Scott's Aunt Melanie generally returned the sentiment.

Big Scott ambled in, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and opened it. He leaned against the kitchen table. "I talked to Marshall Oakes the other day, Scott."

Scott continued chopping the vegetables for the stuffing. "Yeah? How's he holding up?"

"Seems it's all still weighing pretty heavily on him, both Randy and me and Maureen, but he's doing his best, I guess. At least he was cordial. Not warm by any means, but he's just lost a son and has reason to be pissed at me."

Scott nodded. "I suppose so. So, is he still going to run? He gonna challenge you for the nomination?"

The father took a draw from his beer bottle and shrugged. "Didn't say, but I doubt it. I can tell you it's kind of a scary proposition under optimistic conditions. The thought of sticking your neck out, offering yourself and your ideas in serving the folks back home, busting your ass to grovel and plead for money and votes, and run the risk of being told `no thanks, not interested.' It's more than a little intimidating. I think Marshall knows that once Maureen comes out for me, it's going to be over within the party. She's the eight-hundred pound gorilla in our political room."

Suzanne rolled her eyes but said nothing.

Big Scott continued. "But he said something that's had me wondering. He told me that Randy called him from the road. I guess he was fairly incoherent by this time, but Marshall said he was babbling and ranting something about you. What's that all about?"

Scott grabbed a Granny Smith. "Apples in the stuffing this year, mom?"

Suzanne continued scooping the grated cabbage into a big bowl. "Nope. Just the basic. Hot sausage, celery and onions."

Scott kissed her cheek. "Love it. And lots of poultry seasoning."

She nodded and grinned. "And lots of poultry seasoning."

Big Scott interjected. "Any idea, Scott? Why would Randy have been upset with you?"

Scott went to the fridge and got a beer for himself. He looked at his dad. "May I?"

The father smirked and nodded. "One."

Scott unscrewed the cap and took a sip. "Hard to say, Dad. You should have seen him, though. The guy was a fu..." he glanced at his mother. "He was a friggin' train wreck."

Suzanne smiled. "Thank you, son."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "No f-bombs in my mommy's house." Both parents chuckled. Scott leaned against the counter. "Randy stopped by my cube at about eleven that morning, already obviously impaired in a big way. He basically made an ass out of himself. He was weaving and spitting and drooling and his eyes were all red. At eleven in the morning! His main rant was `you knew!' Apparently he was sure that I'd known all along that Marshall was going to run, and so were you. You know they invited me to work on Marshall's campaign, right?"

Big Scott nodded. "Yeah, Marshall told me."

"Well, anyway, Randy had convinced himself that I should have told him and his dad that you were thinking of running yourself. He was a lunatic, Dad. He said he was going to show up at your press conference and raise all sorts of hell. That's why I tried to call and warn you. That's about all I know about why he'd be screaming about me over the phone to his dad."

The father dropped the bottle into the recycling bin. "Weird. Sad, but really odd."

Scott nodded. "Scary, actually. Randy was a pretty sharp guy when he has his stuff together."

Suzanne sighed. "We all have our demons. Sadly, Randy's got the better of him."

Scott heard his cell phone ringing in his coat pocked. He fished it out and grinned, and then looked back at his folks. "Gotta take this. Back in a few and we can assemble the other side dishes." He walked into the dining room and opened the phone. "Hey, you!" That was the last the parents heard as Scott headed for the stairs and his bedroom.

"Happy Thanksgiving, sexy." Greg and Scott both giggled. "So, how goes it up north, stud? Keeping warm?"

"Not as warm as I'd like to be, but I'd need you here for that."

Scott snorted. "Slut."

"You love it."

Scott smirked. "Yeah, I do. Big doings tomorrow?"

"Going over to my grandparents. My aunts do all the cooking, but my grandma and grandpa still insist on hosting. My dad has two brothers and a sister, and they put on quite a spread with Grandma supervising and generally driving everybody crazy. Dad and Jesse just set down a couple of pies in the kitchen and get the hell out of the way to sit and watch football with the other guys, and I divide my time between watching whatever game is on and entertaining some of my younger cousins."

Scott smiled. "Sounds like fun."

"It's not bad. At least I'm not cooped up with just Dad and Jesse all day, so that's all good. Then I eat too much and do the guy thing; flop on the couch, unbuckle my belt and doze off during the Lion's game."

Scott grinned again. "Oooooh. I like the unbuckle the belt part."

Greg giggled. "Slut."

Scott giggled back and then became a bit solemn. "But at least you still have your grandparents to enjoy and visit with. Hang onto that. Seriously, Greg. Make the most of it while you still can."

Greg paused. "That's right. This is the first Thanksgiving without your Gran', isn't it?"

"Yep. The old gal was with us last year. Wasn't doing real well, but we managed to squeeze some quality time out of it. You should try to do the same while you still can. They're not going to be around forever, ya' know."

Greg sighed. "Yeah, I know. Grandma is still pretty spry, but Grandpa is slowly becoming more and more frail and forgetful."

"Spend as much time as you can with him tomorrow."

"I will." There was a pause. "I wish I could spend some time with you tomorrow. I know it's only been a couple days, but I miss you."

"Me to you."

"Hey, I had an idea today."

"Well, I'm very pro-idea. Want to share it?"

"Well, my dad has a cabin an hour or so east of here. Pretty modest, but a beautiful place. We have a couple of snowmobiles there and some great trails that the county does a good job keeping in shape."

Scott was already smiling. "And?"

Greg was grinning too now. "Well, I'll be working at my uncle's hardware store most of the time during the winter break. But I was thinking if you wanted to come on up, we could hide out there for a few days just before classes start up again in January."

"Got a fireplace?"

"And lots of wood."

"I know you got `lots of wood,' but anything to burn in the fireplace?"

Greg giggled. "Horn dog. Yeah plenty of flammable material to chock into the fireplace."

"Good. I have this image of the two of us in a small, rustic cabin up north, soaking a sleeping bag with our sweat in front of a roaring fire."

"Mmmmm. Bottle of red wine warming in front of a blazing fire."

"Your legs in the air, sucking on my tongue, moaning my name and grabbing my ass."

Greg coughed. "Keep that up and I'm gonna have a lot of wood before too long."

"My tongue in your ear, on your neck, teasing your nips. Nibbling on your earlobes and your chin. Brushing the sweat-soaked hair off of your forehead and sweetly kissing every square inch of your face."

"Stop it! You're evil. I call to wish you a happy Thanksgiving, and you try to turn it into phone sex. Jesus, you're a piece of work, ya know?"

"Yep, and you love it. But really, I'd be delighted to trek north for a few days to spend with you. But only if we get to do all the stuff I talked about."

There was a naughty snicker on the line. "And then some." Greg paused. "Hey, bud. Jesse's shouting up the stairs about one thing or another. I should run now."

Scott let out a suggestive chuckle. "You're gonna go jack off, aren't you?"

"Eventually, and so are you."

"Right now. Then I'm gonna wash my hands and go back down to the kitchen to help my mom with dinner for tomorrow. G'night. Have a good day tomorrow. Call me when you get back to town."

"You know it. I will. G'night."

They both did take care of themselves right away, each one envisioning the other's sweaty body and cumming wildly.

Tuesday after Thanksgiving had been a hectic day. Will had been out of the office again and Scott had some questions he needed to have answered. He was supposed to have dinner with Greg, but had to cancel because the deadlines on two major papers were looming. He was hammering on the computer in his room, the fattest cat in the world carefully monitoring his progress and occasionally interfering for a pet or a scratch on the chin. The cat had finally thumped off the desktop onto the floor, did a couple short rubbing laps around Scott's ankles and plopped onto his feet. It was nice to be loved, or used anyway.

The cell phone rang. "Aw fuck! Hello?"

"What goes professor?"

Scott sat up straight. "Marty! How are you? How's Jill?"

"I'm okay. She's hanging in there; tired but okay. I'm kind of beat too, but nothing like she's going through though."

"How'd the holiday weekend go?"

"We split Thanksgiving with dinner at my mom's place and dessert with her parents. Ashley held the day, of course, but Jill had to basically force-feed herself. We were home on the couch by six and in bed by eight. How was yours?"

"Great! I had plenty of quality time with Big Scott and Suzanne. On Thursday I watched my mom and her sister-in-law fire eyeball daggers at each other all day, ate like a pig and saw some pretty good football. The nieces and nephew are growing up so fast, it's scary."

"Ain't it the truth? Hey, what're you doing next weekend?"

Scott thought and pulled up his day planner on the computer. "Don't think I'm doing much. Hang on while I check the calendar. What's on your mind?"

"Well, I'm bringing Jill up to UW tomorrow for another round of chemo. She'll be there til Saturday. Now this is her idea, okay? But she knows I've been trying to put in fifty and sixty hour weeks at work, take care of the kids and am basically going bonkers. Her thought was that her folks would take her back to Rockford when they kick her loose from the hospital, and then I'd hang back in Madison for a little r and r' on Saturday and Sunday. Got room on your couch for a squatter?"

"For you, always. `Send me your tired, your poor...'" He scanned the screen. "Nope. Nothing I'm committed to."

"Very cool. I'll be running up every night this week, but it'll be in and out of town the next few days. Then I'll send her home with her mom and dad and head over your way on Saturday."

"Excellent. I'll pick up some brats. Not sure what Craig and Brett are up to."

Marty scoffed. "Brett will be with the ho' and Craig will be at a concert."

"Probably. Maybe I'll call a buddy of mine and see if he wants to join us. He's a good shit. You'd like him."

"Good good. This is the baseball player you talked about?"

"Yeah. Greg Page. Freshman third baseman. He's kinda quiet and shy so you'll probably scare the shit out of him."

"I'll do my best. I'll call on Friday night or Saturday with an ETA."

"Sounds like a plan, man. Looking forward to it. Hugs and kisses to Jill and the kids, please."

"Always. I'll let you go. Get back to work."

"K, Marty. Glad you called. Talk to you in a few days."

Scott was slicing some limes and Greg was snuggling him from behind. "Knock it off, perv. Marty's gonna be here any minute and I don't want him to walk in on us making out in the kitchen, or me on my knees giving you a quick header, or you bent over the table."

They heard the front door burst open and an awful Cuban accent boomed up the stairs. "Heay Luuuuucy! Aahhm hooooome!"

Scott smirked. "In the kitchen, honey. Getcher ass up here!"

Marty clomped up the steps and appeared in the doorway.

Scott's jaw dropped first, then the knife. "Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell did you...?"

Marty giggled and rubbed the `peach fuzz' on his head. "Like the new look?" He took a step forward toward Greg and thrust out his hand. "You must be Greg...Page, right? Marty. Marty Anderson, Special Advisor to President Turner and former owner of a thick head of gorgeous, wavy rich brown hair."

Greg smiled and returned the firm grip. "Good to meet you, Marty. Scott's told me a lot about you."

Marty flashed his most dazzling smile. "Don't believe all of it. I'm not quite as magnificent, marvelous or stupendous as he makes me out to be. Close, maybe, but he's given to exaggeration."

Marty picked up the bottle of Tequila. "Greg, why don't you ice three glasses and we'll make use of this agave nectar." Greg went to work on the glasses and the ice and retrieved the mix from the fridge.

Scott snorted. "But your hair! What the hell did you do?"

"Well, once Jill's hair started falling out, one of the physicians' assistants told us that a lot of chemo patients go ahead and beat the beast to the punch and shave it themselves. Kind of our way of saying `Fuck you! We don't need our stinking hair!' It can be very depressing to see it falling out in clumps. So, she decided to go ahead and shave the noggin' and I decided to join her. Went out and got an electric razor and we did each other. Ashley took the pictures." He snorted. "Actually, she wanted to join the cue ball club, but her mom would have none of that."

Greg handed him the glasses full of ice. "Man, I'm really sorry to hear about her leukemia, but it sounds like she's dealing with it in the right spirit."

Marty nodded as he filled the glasses. "Thanks, man. Yeah, we're all dealing with it about as well as you can, I guess. We went out and got her an assortment of bandanas, a couple of cool turban kind of things that I actually think make her look exotic and sexy, and even had her fitted for a very good looking wig to wear if she's well enough to go out for an evening. She doesn't like it, though. Says it makes her feel like she's pandering to her own vanity."

Greg shook his head again and sighed. "Bad deal, man. But sounds like she's holding her own under some shitty circumstances."

Scott led the guys into the living room. He and Greg took the couch and Marty plopped into the recliner. Scott nudged Greg. "You need to know Jill. She's a rock."

Marty offered a subdued grin and nodded, and then he sighed. "Well, she's still very sick, but tolerating the chemo pretty well. She complains about mouth sores and a terribly sore throat at times, but the weight loss hasn't been too bad, thank God. It's not like she had that much to lose to begin with. She complains that the chemo leaves a metallic taste in her mouth and so eating can be both a little painful and not as enjoyable as it used to be. But, she's a trooper. We're gonna beat this devil."

Scott leaned forward and straightened his arm, holding out his glass. "To beating this devil!"

The other two leaned in and they clinked glasses. "To beating this devil!"

Forty-five minutes later, Greg drained his glass. "Boys, we're out of margarita mix and I'm not eating brats without kraut." Greg looked at Marty. "Mr. Anderson, our host is performing dismally." Then he sneered at Scott. "How the hell could you pick up a dozen fresh bratwurst, some good hard rolls and not get a bag or, God forbid, even a can of sauerkraut?" He shook his head as he slid his arms into his bomber jacket. "Toss me your car keys and light the grill. I'm not gonna sit and drink shots of straight tequila all night long, and I refuse to eat brats without kraut. It's downright un-American! I'm gonna run to the store."

Marty reached back and below for his wallet. "Need some cash?"

Greg grinned and waved him off. "You're company this weekend and you got two kids to raise. Keep it." He winked.

Marty watched his firm ass head for the stairway.

Scott caught the leer and sipped his margarita. Once the door closed downstairs he grinned. "Forget it, bud. Ain't gonna happen."

"What?" Marty feigned a protest.

Scott guffawed. "Don't give me that bullshit. I know exactly what you're thinking, and there's not gonna be some big, sweaty three-way in my bedroom tonight."

Marty cocked his head and questioned with his face.

Scott leaned forward and put a hand on Marty's knee. "Look, bud. What you and I have, and what we have had, is ours. What Greg and me got going is ours. They're both really special, but they're not really the same and I don't want to mix them up." He leaned back and shrugged. "Now, I don't have any exclusive claim over the guy, so if you want to make a move on him then go for it. But don't count on it, and count me out. I'm not going there."

Marty sighed. "You're no fun anymore, ya' know?" He swatted Scott's hand and then gulped his drink. He thought for a moment. "But he seems like a really good guy." He thought a little longer. "There's a quiet shyness there, though. He seems kind of apprehensive around people at first."

Scott leaned back into the couch. "You ever known anybody who grew up with a son of a bitch for a father?"

Marty snickered and shook his head. His own father, Dan, had been a tremendous burden for both he and his mother until she found the courage to dump him. "No. Never heard of that."

Scott laughed, but then a dour demeanor fell over his brow. "Well, add to the mix a dick-head of a big brother. Greg is successful. His brother, Jesse, is a loser. Jesse and Greg's dad both wrongly blame him for their mom's death, and they've spent most of the past two years beating him down emotionally about that."

There was a minute of silence as Marty stared at the wall and Scott gazed out the window at the lake across the street. Finally Marty shook his head. "Raw deal."

Scott nodded. "But I think there's some strength, some resiliency there."

Finally, Marty snickered. "So we ain't having any sex tonight, huh?"

Scott roared and leaned over to smack Marty on top of his buzzed head. "Leave it to you, you monster." He leaned a little further and looked into Marty's eyes. "We're gonna grill some brats and eat plenty. We'll play some cards and watch a pitiful episode of SNL. We're gonna drink plenty and shoot the shit. Greg's going to hike back to the dorm eventually, and I'm gonna go to bed. Between now and then, we're all keeping our clothes on. You can sleep where you want. The couch is free, Brett's room is open, Craig's room is open and you know you're always welcomed on the free space next to me. The fattest cat won't like it, but he's getting used to it."

Marty bobbled his eyebrows. "And then?"

Scott snorted and shook his head. "We'll see. No promises."

"Damn. Time was you couldn't keep your hands off me."

Scott shrugged. "I never say never bud. Gimme a kiss before Greg gets back." Marty leaned over and pecked him on the lips. Scott actually blushed. "God, I feel like such a whore."

Marty kissed him again, a bit longer this time. "You should."

Scott stood up and pointed. "Yeah. Married father of two is perving over my buddy and kissing me in my living room telling me I should feel like a whore."

Marty swatted his ass as he turned. "You said it first, ya' whore."

Scott closed the bathroom door just as he heard the front door opening.

Coming out of the bathroom he heard the other two in the kitchen. Greg was slicing onions and Marty was filling a pot with two bottles of beer. In Wisconsin, you have to simmer bratwurst in beer, whether it be before or after they're grilled. They were chatting amicably, as if they'd been friends for years. But that was Marty's magic. He could melt even the shyness of Greg Page. Amazing.

Scott peeked in the grocery bag and found some slaw and potato salad, and a large jug of margarita mix. He went to work on making another round of drinks. Then he went out front, dusted the snow off the top of the grill and filled it with charcoal. Once the coals were ablaze he went back in. The fattest cat in the world walked past, looking annoyed at all the commotion and noise. Scott sneered at him. "Fuck you."

Marty was regaling Greg with a recounting of the previous year's Halloween party on State Street, and Greg was eating it up. He was trying to envision Scott dressed as Batman, shaking it with Catwoman, in the midst of hundreds of spectators, and he was laughing painfully at Marty's recollections of the evening.

After a satisfying feast of bratwurst, potato salad, slaw and baked beans, followed by three games of Hearts, Greg went for his jacket. "Gotta get goin' guys. Workin' out with the team at the gym tomorrow morning."

Marty snickered. "What, no church?"

Greg shimmied into his coat and found his cap. "The gym, my friend, is church these days. Every other Saturday morning, every other Sunday morning at the gym with the guys. This weekend it's Sunday." He put on a cap and shrugged. "It ain't all that bad. A good workout and a nice shower with a few dozen or so hot bods, great butts and cute faces." He grinned, confident in his understanding of Scott's relationship with this hot firecracker. He had come to genuinely like Marty in a very short time. He patted Marty on the chest with the back of his hand. "You guys have fun tonight." He winked at Marty and then again at Scott. "Talk to you later, buddy." Then he was bouncing down the stairs.

An hour later, Scott craned his neck and head off the pillow and stuck out his tongue. Marty leaned down and sucked it into his mouth until it hurt, but he didn't lose his pace bouncing up and down on Scott's groin. He gripped Scott's pecs so hard that it was going to leave a couple small bruises. Scott didn't mind. It had been a long time, and he felt comfortable that he had Greg's go-ahead to play around with his old friend.

Scott was prepping for his killer heart attack omelets: eggs, sharp cheddar, tomatoes, bacon and green onions. They were great, but he'd have to skip lunch and eat salad for dinner that night, and then go out for a run after the Packer game. Marty made a couple bloody mary's and put some shredded potatoes in the frying pan.

"So how's my godson?"

Marty smiled. "He's doing great. Getting' as big as a horse. He's gonna be a linebacker."

Scott swatted his ass. "With your skinny build? Tennis star's kid playing football?"

Marty giggled. "You met Jill's brothers at the wedding. They're big boys" He wiggled his eyebrows. "And I've seen `em in the shower after swimming. They're very big boys."

Scott dropped the spatula and laughed. "For Christ's sake! You're perving on your brothers in law too?"

Marty shrugged. "Not perving. Just admiring. There's a difference. But I think my handsome son managed to tap into their end of the gene pool in a major way."

Scott poured some beaten egg into the frying pan and added the chopped bacon. He lifted the pan and swirled the mixture around to even it out. "So, last night, were you perving on Greg or merely admiring him?"

Marty wrapped his arms around Scott's waist. "Admiring. A little bit jealous, I admit." He kissed Scott on the neck.

With Marty's arms still around his waist, he sprinkled some green onion and tomatoes on top of the setting egg and bacon and then reached for the cheese. "You are in-fucking-corrigible, Mr. Special Advisor." He swatted Marty's hand. "Turn the potatoes and make some toast."

Marty took the spatula from Scott and tossed the hash browns. He sipped his drink and poured two cups of coffee. "Honestly, Scotty, he seems like a really good guy, and it sounds like he kind of needs you."

Scott nodded and bit the inside of his bottom lip. He didn't disagree. Greg was a terrific guy. It was the whole `need' thing that frightened him.

Author's Note: More thanks going out to those of you who've taken the time to drop me a note. And, of course, many thanks and well-wishes to Kory for his diligence and his sharp eye. Several have written to ask about finding "Strange Bedfellows," the prequel to this little story. If you're interested in the introductions of these and other characters, "SB" can still be found in the Nifty archive. It's last posting was May 1, 2007. A few of the characters from "SB" will be making cameo appearances in coming chapters. (Fans of Kip, stay tuned!) Finally, I'll encourage once again any feedback that might be on your mind. Contact me at scotty.13411@hotmail.com It's been a lousy few winter months here in Wisconsin, and I can't get out all that much these days. The correspondence always brightens my days. Be Well.