FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 17
"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.
Abysmal. It was the only word Scott could come up with to describe the February Regents' meeting. Later, back at the apartment, Brett would furrow his eyebrows and ask, "abysmal...uhm, that's bad...right?"
Scott was exhausted. The recent battle within the WSA, the looming fiasco at the capitol, Randy's sudden death, his dad's candidacy, his classes, Marty and Jill's dilemma...they'd all combined to push him to the edge. And then there was the roller coaster that was Greg. Scott was wondering if maybe he was the one needing counseling instead of his buddy. He'd promised himself to just sit and shut up for the evening's meeting and see what happened regarding the budget in the coming couple of months. Watchful waiting' became his mantra. Shut the hell up and react on the budget if, and only if, you see a good reason and an invitation to spout off.'
He suffered through several mind-numbing committee reports, including a painfully detailed analysis of the School of Agriculture's achievements including student retention, bio-fuel research, Wisconsin's booming ginseng production and the incredible versatility of the soybean. That is one amazing legume,' he thought. And I'm glad we grow lots of them. Now, could we please move on to adjourning?'
Finally, Andy began to wrap things up. "Okay, folks, before we call it a night, let's look ahead. The governor's office has notified me that his budget projections and his expectations for all departments will be coming out by the end of the month. We'll meet once in March to compare the governor's dictates to our work thus far and then we'll finalize things in April. The legislature will get the budget from the governor in May and, with a little luck, they'll have passed a state budget by the end of June."
Scott raised his pen asking for recognition. "Mr. Turner?"
"Uhm, just to confirm. We're meeting on the second Monday again next month?"
Andy snickered. "Let me guess...making spring break plans, are you?" Several members chuckled.
Scott gave a subtle grin and shrugged a bit. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet. I just didn't want to make any plans that might conflict."
Andy flashed a cheesy grin. "Well, rest assured that we'll reconvene on the 11th and you'll be free and clear to head south if the mood strikes when the break begins." Scott just nodded.
"Now, one last item for discussion. I've received a very unusual solicitation from one of our students and I'm not quite sure how to best deal with it. I wanted to bring it up for discussion and try to get a sense of the Board. We don't need to act on this in any way, and it's not on the agenda, but I wanted to get some feedback and try to get a feel for the collective mood of the group on something like this." He picked up a stack of paper. "I've received a petition signed by roughly seventeen hundred students. It's accompanied by a cover letter signed by another member of the Student Association, a Mr. Elliot Lyman." Scott sat up straight and his head snapped to his right. "In essence, Mr. Lyman is calling on this board to adopt official policy regarding the distribution of student activity fees. In particular, the opinion expressed is that the WSA has been too willing to provide student-controlled funds to organizations that aren't consistent with the values of the average UW student." He glanced at Scott, and was delighted by the agitation that was evident on the young man's face. Andy had followed the story all year long and he was going to enjoy this.
"Let me read it to you, and then we can discuss how to best deal with this." He cleared his throat. `We, the undersigned, do hereby request that the University of Wisconsin Board of Regents adopt policy that prescribes the appropriate allocation of student activity fees within our system. We believe that current board policy is too vague to ensure that the fee distribution adequately and fairly represents the will of the vast majority of our student. In particular we believe the funding of organizations that promote or support the self-serving interests of homosexuals on campus, and we hereby request formal policy of the Board of Regents prohibiting such use of student fees.'"
Scott slumped back in his chair and did a slow boil while Andy read the text of the petition and he chewed on his pen. He was tightly wound when he had first arrived at the meeting, and this threatened to push him over the brink. Abby sensed the mounting pressure and looked apprehensively to her left. Scott's face was becoming flush and he was gnawing on the end of the pen more and more feverishly. Finally, he took it out of his mouth and hurled it to the floor blurting out, "Aw, for Christ's sake! He's the damned un-dead! He just keeps coming back to torment us all!"
Andy raised his eyebrows and had to fight the urge to smirk. "Well, it seems like Mr. Turner has a thought or two about this request. Care to expand on that thought, Scott?" He swept his upturned hand toward Scott. "The floor is yours."
Scott took a long drink from his water bottle, wiped his lips and nodded. "Thank you, and I apologize for the outburst. I'll try to be as brief as possible, and then I'd be happy to answer any questions. But you all need to know at the outset that I've worked and met with Mr. Lyman extensively over the course of the school year. His concerns have received more than their fair share of attention and deliberation, and this question has been resolved to the satisfaction of a clear majority of the elected members of the WSA Student Senate."
He took another breath. "First, with regard to policy and this board's role, it is long-standing practice for The Regents to establish the amount of the activity fees and to allow the WSA their own informed discretion in disbursing them. It's a sane and reasonable approach. The kind of micromanagement that Mr. Lyman's petition requests would be unprecedented, unwarranted and, I respectfully suggest, unwise."
Andy interrupted. "Don't you think seventeen hundred student signatures should mean something to us Scott?"
He paused to order his thoughts. "That's what I was going to speak to next. Quite frankly, getting seventeen hundred signatures on a petition, from within a student body of over forty-four thousand, is no blazing demonstration of real representation. If I typed up a petition that said "Nuke the Gay Whales for Jesus," I could probably get twice that number of signatories who don't have a dog-gone idea what it is they're signing." Abby nodded and muffled a chuckle. Her experiences as a political activist told her that Scott was right.
"Third, as I said, this question has been thoroughly and thoughtfully deliberated within the WSA on behalf of the students who pay those fees and who benefit from them. Mr. Lyman has had his day in court, but he obviously can't take `NO' for an answer. Perhaps he'd finally get it if he heard it again from this board."
"Finally, I will tell you that Mr. Lyman is a religious zealot with a bigoted and narrow-minded agenda. I don't begrudge the man his faith. What I do object to are his efforts to manipulate the existing procedures to shove his rigid and intolerant views down the throats of every other student on campus."
He slapped his hand on the table. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is just plain, damned foolishness that should not take up one more minute of our time." Abby patted his arm to rein him in a bit. He nodded. "Okay. I'll shut up now. If anybody has any questions I'll be happy to address them."
Pennington gave the group several seconds to ask, but there were none. He put the petition down. "Any other comments on whether we ought to do anything with this request?" Abby raised her hand. "Ms. Svendsen?"
Abby sat forward and folded her hands together. "Thank you, Mr. Pennington. I agree with Mr. Turner. I am as guilty as many of you of not paying attention to the debate that's been waged within the Student Association. Nonetheless, Mr. Turner is right when he suggests that this is an area into which we need not, and ought not involve ourselves. We're already on the verge of whittling away and carving out of the budget too many opportunities for our students. They deserve some measure of sovereignty through their elected student government. These aren't children we're talking about. They are young adults. These fees are nickels and dimes compared to the numbers in the budget we've been juggling all year long. We ought to restrain ourselves and tend to the big picture. It's their money. Let their elected representatives do what they will with it."
Silas Lee, one of the longest serving members of the board, who rarely said anything, raised his eyebrows and hand at the same time. Andy nodded at him. "You mean to tell me that there are clubs or organizations or whatever on our campus that support homos? I didn't even know that, and not sure I like it one bit."
Abby nearly came out of her chair. Then she paused and took a deep breath. "Mr. Lee. There are, as you say, `homos' attending this fine university. Believe it or not, they do have brains and hearts and talents and lofty goals, and they contribute more than you might know. They are also, as you seem to demonstrate, misunderstood, shunned, castigated and humiliated every day. The incidence of depression, alcoholism, self-mutilation and suicide among that group is much higher than in the total population, and it's a disgrace. They also pay student activity fees. Any support that they can give or receive through student-sponsored organizations is a blessing. But we require them to pay these fees, and it's their money to dole out as they see fit. It's simply none of our damned business!
"And by the way, Silas, you and I have agreed on most things since I joined this board. We've enjoyed many conversations, meals and more than a few jokes together. We even exchanged Christmas cards last year. I believe we've become friends. Silas. You need to know that I am a `homo.' I've been in a steadfast, stable and loving relationship with my partner for more than thirty years. She and I are sane, normal, responsible and committed to each other as much as you are to your wife."
She turned toward Andy. "Mr. Pennington, I'd suggest that you simply write back to this Mr. Lyman informing him that the petition is untimely given the work that is still in front of us this year, and that such a move would be unprecedented and wholly inappropriate. Tell him it's up to the WSA to determine the fee allocation. Tell him that we trust the student government to do right by the people who elected them." She looked Andy squarely in the eye and said, "I'd be happy to put that in the form of a motion directing the board president to send such a message...if need be."
Andy cleared his throat and fidgeted in his chair. "Uhm...well, since this wasn't a formal agenda item for tonight's meeting..."
She cut him off. "Then go ahead an put it on next month's agenda and I'll make the motion then." She looked around the table. "Scott and his colleagues have already fought this...spitting match once this year and it's been resolved. If this board wants to wade into these waters, I'm game. But it will not be comfortable, it will not be quiet and it probably won't be pretty. I'd ask that if any one member wants this issue on next month's agenda, speak your mind and then it should be added and we can take it up formally. Otherwise, I'd respectfully suggest that Mr. Pennington should simply write back and tell this young man we're not going to go there."
Silence. It appeared quite clear that nobody wanted to go there.
Andy cleared his throat again. "Well, hearing no call for another plan of action, I'll heed what I believe to be the sense of the board and notify Mr. Lyman that the Regents don't believe it is appropriate to dictate such issues."
More silence, but several nodding heads. Silas Lee sat quiet and motionless, still stunned by Abby's revelation.
Scott scanned the e-mails in his inbox first thing in the morning. There was one from Senator Frick that he opened immediately. The subject line simply said "Congratulations Will Maxson."
It read: "It is with very mixed emotions that I inform you that Mr. Maxson has requested an early retirement. After his many years of service to the State Senate and the people of Wisconsin, the personnel committee has decided to support Mr. Maxson in his request. Will's last day will be February 28. We will begin a search for a new Executive Director immediately. Until a suitable replacement can be selected, I will directly manage the affairs of the caucus staff.
"All full-time staff members will meet with me tomorrow afternoon at 3:00 p.m. in the caucus conference room."
Hmmm. Full time only?' Scott wondered, and then he just shrugged. Good for Will. And I'm in class at three o'clock anyway.'
Two days later he ran into Penny Harrington as they entered the building together. "G'morning, Penny!" Her smile was forced and she simply nodded. "How's it going so far today?"
She didn't even look at him. "Fine, thanks."
"So, did I miss anything dramatic at yesterday's staff meeting?"
She continued to look straight ahead and shook her head. "Uhm, no." Just as they got to the bottom of the grand marble stairway, Penny took a sharp turn. "Going to take the elevator. Uhm, have a good day."
`Odd,' Scott thought, and he mulled it over all morning long.
Nearly four hours later he stood up to stretch and take five. He saw Penny heading toward the exit of their office complex. He locked his computer and walked quickly to follow her, catching up with her on the stairs. "Lunch time, Penny?"
She paused and looked over her shoulder. "No time for lunch. Just running down to the snack bar for something to tide me over." The snack bar was in the basement of the opposite end of the building.
"Got a minute?"
She started down the steps again. "Uhm, not really. I'm very busy today."
He followed her anyway. "Well, then I'll just walk with you." She didn't answer as they came off the bottom step and walked toward the rotunda. "You're pretty quiet these days, Penny. Did I do something to tick you off?"
She shook her head but said nothing.
He nearly whispered. "You can't talk to me can you? You're under orders, right?"
Again, she said nothing but her face was a small portrait of tension and torture.
They cleared the open space of the rotunda and entered the opposite wing. They were quickly approaching the steps to the basement. "Ten seconds. Just listen to me for ten seconds, Penny. You don't have to say a word and then I promise I'll leave you alone."
She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned. She pleaded, "Look! I need this job! I have two little kids at home and my husband's situation at work is iffy at best. I'm not sticking my neck out and screwing things up."
Scott waved his hands. "I'm not going to ask you to take any risks." He inhaled and held it as he thought. "Tell you what. I'll just say what's on my mind. If I'm wrong, just tell me you're wrong,' and we'll leave it at that. But if I'm right, then you say nothing. Just turn and walk down those stairs to the snack bar." She pondered it. "Two words at most. If I'm wrong, just look at me and say, You're wrong.' If I'm on the mark, then say nothing and go grab your snack. That way, you didn't spill any beans, didn't rat anybody out, and you didn't talk to me about this at all if anybody should ask."
She slowly nodded and looked at the floor. He continued. "Okay, here's what I'm thinking. Frick had you guys campaigning on state time and I raised a fuss with a couple of you. That must have gotten back to him by now. I didn't pose any kind of threat, but I knew what I knew. I told Wade that I though you folks should fix it and I wouldn't raise any hell. Then, Will Maxson plans his quick retirement, leaving Frick as the sole eyes and ears to mind the store for the time being. He calls a meeting of the full time staff, puts me on ice, and the campaign activity is going to continue. I'm guessing it will only expand in the summer months with Will out of the way. So, Frick engineers the breaking of a few state laws and should get a healthier majority in the Senate for his efforts. Maureen McCarthy goes to the AG's office and he steps into her place with a bunch of senators who owe him plenty." There were several seconds of silence as his eyes searched hers. He inhaled. "Okay. That's what I think."
She turned and walked down the stairs.
Daisy was gone to lunch so Big Scott answered the phone himself. "Scott Turner."
"Hey ya' old fart, whatcha doin?"
Big Scott smiled. "Just shut down the computer. Working on a few outlines of stump speeches and answering some parade invitations. Summer's going to be here sooner than we know it."
"Need to exercise the right hand and wrist to get in shape for the handshaking season."
The father chuckled snidely. "Nothing to worry about there. My right hand and wrist get plenty of exercise, depending on your mother's mood."
"TMI, Daddy, TMI!"
Big Scott snickered again. "You brought it up, and don't play innocent with me...like you didn't mean it that way." He paused. "So what's up?"
"Well, Dad, I'm glad you mentioned the campaign." He had to fudge a bit. "I had a conversation today with a couple office mates and we started speculating and arguing about the Senate Election Campaign Committee's functions. It got me thinking. You know Jeremy Frick, right?"
"Sure. He's been very helpful, though he doesn't always leave me with the most comfortable feeling. He oozes ambition every time he opens his mouth, even when he blinks or breathes. But yeah, he's been in touch."
"Contributing to your war chest?"
Big Scott nodded. "The max amount, right after I declared. That was very helpful."
"Uhm, Dad, has he sent or offered any manpower once the campaign really starts on all cylinders and really gets rolling?"
"As a matter of fact he has. He said he could round up two or three volunteers to come to the district and help out with all sorts of things." There was a pause. "Why do you ask?"
Scott inhaled. "Dad. You have to tell him `no' on that one."
"What? Why? Scott, what's wrong?"
"Dad, I don't think they're volunteers. I can't go into all of it now, but you know I'm in the caucus five days a week. I have reason to believe that Senator Frick is using state employees on state-paid time to work directly on campaigns. I'm pretty sure they won't be `volunteers' Dad."
Big Scott coughed. "Are you sure? That's illegal! We've all been well schooled in that stuff and we know what we can and can't do, and so does Frick!"
"Well, I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure. That's about all I can tell you for now. I just wanted to give you a `heads up' so that you don't get sucked into something that might bite you in the ass down the road."
More silence. "Okay, son. Thanks for the info. You'll keep me posted?"
"Well, if my suspicions are on the mark, I might not have to. Could be that the next time you hear about any of this crap is going to be in the newspaper." He checked his watch. "Well, father dearest, I'm going to see a movie with a buddy of mine, and I'm driving so I have to run."
"Your mom and I are staying in tonight, but rented a couple of movies too. I'll probably be asleep half way through the first one."
"That's why your hand and wrist are in such good shape. Cuddle and snuggle with my mother during the movie. Make out a little, then you might be getting some."
"Okay, I'm going to hang up now. I refuse to take advice on my sex life from my son. Good night now."
"Talk to you later." Scott hung up the phone and left to drive over to the dorm to pick up Greg.
The next day Scott met Maureen for lunch. After squeezing a lemon into her iced tea, she crossed her legs and folded her arms. "Scotty, do you ever get the feeling that you're beating a dead horse? Your fixation on campaign finance around here seems to becoming something of an obsession."
Scott set down the roll he'd been munching on and rubbed his hands on his knees. He leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones. "No, Maureen, I think this is different. It looks like Senator Frick is having caucus staff members work directly on campaigns on state time. We both know that's illegal. I'm not going to name names and get anybody in trouble, but I think they're going up to Green Bay to work on the Lombardi campaign during the regular work days. Since I'm only there in the mornings, I can't track their comings and goings, and I wouldn't normally make it my business anyway..."
Maureen interrupted him. "Scotty, dear, you obviously have made it your business and now you want to make it mine. You're not going to name names, but you're pretty quick to name Jeremy Frick." She paused long enough for the waitress to take their lunch orders and then continued. "As I've told you, I don't do the political crap for the caucus. I'm not going to try and manage the caucus staff. That's why we have a chairman and a director for that staff. If this kind of shenanigans was really going on, Will Maxson would have caught it and brought it to my attention with hard facts." She shrugged and sighed. "Scotty, all you've brought me are suspicions apparently based on second-hand observations. I can't call Senator Frick on the carpet on that basis." He shook his head in frustration. Finally, she leaned over further and stared him right in the eyes. "And, Scotty, we need to hang onto that seat in Green Bay." Scott rolled his eyes and she grinned hopefully. "Scotty, dear, you know I love and respect you. But I'm afraid that on this one you might be out of your league. And I know it's out of my hands, and that's the way it will stay."
After a lunch full of other conversation, they paused to chat with Bradley and then strolled arm in arm, out the front doors. They paused on the sidewalk. Scott looked at her earnestly. "I hope you know that one of the reasons I'm making such a fuss is that I'm afraid this is going to end up in your lap. Either before the election next November or after, I'm betting the shit's going to hit the fan. Either it will land on you while you're running for Attorney General or after you've been elected. And then you're going to have the rare pleasure of hounding Jeremy Frick into jail." He looked at his shoes, checked his watch and then looked back up at her. "Well, you have a hearing starting in about ten minutes, and I just realized I left my cell phone sitting on the table in there. I'm going to retrieve it and head down to campus," he smiled and winked "and you'd better get back to work."
She kissed his cheek. "I know your heart is in the right place dear. You have a good day." He nodded as she turned and crossed the street.
Scott walked back in, his frustration propelling a quick step in his walk. He muttered under his breath, "Jesus! Could it be that she just doesn't get it?" He double checked his coat pocket and felt his cell phone, and then stopped at the podium to wait for Bradley to return. He smiled. "Bradley, my friend, I have a favor to ask of you. I have a friend with a birthday coming up and I'd like to plan something special."
On Friday Grant and Scott walked together to Noodles' for a bite to eat and another chat. Scott asked, "So how go things with the mighty Journal?' All you'd hoped for?"
Grant shrugged. "Yes and no. Lots of grunt work. Some days I feel like I'm Bruce Weeden's indentured servant. But every now and then he'll throw me a bone and let me behave like a real live reporter." Scott opened the door and held it for his friend. They got in line and Grant looked over his shoulder. "And what's shaking in the caucus. Any news you can share?"
Scott looked around. "Let's order and get a table, and we can talk." Ten minutes later they were setting down their steaming bowls of pasta and sauce.
Grant grabbed the shaker of Parmesan. "So, what gives?"
Scott shrugged. "Well, I can tell you that it's pretty clear the campaigning on state time is still going on, and I'm betting it will expand this summer and fall. I've been paying attention to absenteeism and would guess five, maybe six, are actively working on the Lombardi campaign up in Green Bay. The only thing I know first hand is that the environment sure as hell has changed." He shook his head. "I've been iced out of practically all office chat. I can't even strike up a conversation about the weather with any of these folks. I'm fricking persona non grata these days. But one of them basically confirmed for me that the campaigning on taxpayer time and money in Green Bay continues. The only other thing I know is that Frick directed the max donation from the party election committee to my dad right after he announced his bid for the seat. Nothing wrong with that, but Frick followed up with the promise of actual manpower from Madison up in our district this summer. I'm not sure what your boss needs to make this a story, so I don't really know what else to look for."
Grant leaned over. "Hard facts. Some proof of that absenteeism and whether or not they were docked sick days or vacation days for those days."
Scott frowned. "Well, what if I just pointed you in the right direction and you can put on your reporter's hat. Hunt down the right people and interview them. And you can demand state employee attendance and payroll information. It's public record." He grinned. "You can't ask me to do your entire job."
Grant flipped him off. "And if I do that, bells and whistles will go off all over the place. They'll go to Frick and the entire staff will shut up tighter than a nun's cunt. Before I approach any of them, I need some questions to ask where I already know the answers."
Scott's eyes widened. "How about, `Are you doing this? Is it legal? Did anyone ever tell you it was not legal? Why'd you keep on doing it?' Seems those are good questions for starters."
Grant shook his head. "Need more direct official proof. You're gonna have to think about it and bring back something with more meat on its bones. Then maybe Weeden will confront Frick."
"Jesus, Weeden is such a spineless dickhead! A little over a year ago, when I was introduced as Governor Hackett's new student appointee to The Regents, that jackass had no problem publicly bashing us about tuition. And now his balls fall off?"
Grant shook his head. "Scott you have to understand. When it comes to political reporting we live and die by our relationships with the office holders, and charges of political corruption are at the very top on the seriousness scale. It does us no good to end up looking like we're trying to create news. Shit like this requires special handling."
Scott pushed his chair back. "Gotcha. I gotta pee. Be right back." Grant just nodded as he tried to scoop every last drop of marinara sauce from his bowl with the last bite of a soft breadstick.
Scott came back and sat. "Tell you what. I have an idea or two that I might be able to pursue. Let's keep in touch on this." He chuckled.
Grant stacked the trays and bowls in preparation for their exit. "What's so funny?"
Scott smirked. "I think I just signed on as `Deep Throat.'"
Grant grinned and then his eyes lit up. "Hey, Bruce gave me his tickets to the Badger's basketball game tonight. Want to go?"
Scott shook his head. "Thanks man. Ought to be a good game. Ohio State's playing well this year and so are the Badgers. But, I have plans."
Scott was parked illegally at the curb right in front of the gym where the team practiced. He had to leave the car running in order to keep warm, but also to move it if he spied the parking Nazis on the horizon or in the rear view mirror. He could have pulled into the lot and parked legally, but then he might not see Greg leave the building. Greg came through the front doors with two other guys. He watched them chat and then part ways. He hit the horn with three quick blasts and flashed his lights.
Even from forty or fifty feet, and in the dusk, he could see the hot jock's dimples. Greg lobbed his way toward the curb as Scott rolled down the window. Greg leaned in "What the hell...?"
"Get in."
"Tell me what's going on."
"Get in."
Greg chuckled and got inside the car. "You gonna provide chauffer service every day when it's cold out?"
Scott smirked and shook his head. "Nope."
Greg put a hand on Scott's knee as they made a left turn. "So, what is up?"
Scott's smile didn't wane. "You'll see. Now quit asking questions and relax."
Greg was very curious by now. "So, have a good day? Oops, sorry. That was a question."
Scott nodded. "Pretty good day, thanks; ups and downs, but nothing too awful. And you?"
Greg nodded. "Classes were okay. Had a really good practice just now. I think I'm finally out of the doghouse with Coach for the practices I missed last month."
Scott made another turn toward Greg's dorm. "That's good. And, if I may ask... counseling today?"
Greg smiled. "Went great. I really like that gal."
Scott pulled up in front of the dorm and turned. "You've got fifteen minutes to get up to your room, pack an overnight bag and get your ass back down here."
Greg's face contorted in confusion. "Huh? What the..."
Scott raised a hand. "Fifteen minutes. You told me Darrin would be there tonight and my roomies are both home."
Greg shrugged. "And...?"
Scott squeezed his knee. "And, happy birthday. I have a plan, and you have fifteen minutes. Now get it in gear."
Greg's face showed shock and then glee. "Fifteen minutes. Be right back."
Scott put the car in drive even before Greg had shut the door. "Thirteen minutes. I'm impressed."
Greg was still a bit winded and very curious. His head was swimming. "So...so...how'd you know?"
Scott grinned. "I'm a big shot, remember? WSA, Board of Regents, I can find out just about anything that's on record here about any of our students."
Scott drove quickly to the Inn on the Park. He tossed his key to the valet and invoked Bradley's name. The guy nodded. Scott had already checked in before going to get Greg, so they bypassed the desk. As they walked by Greg noticed Scott waving at one of the desk clerks, and followed him straight to the elevator. Scott hit the button for the eighth floor. They exited the elevator and Greg followed Scott to the end of the hallway. Greg's anticipation was making him sweat.
A lamp on the table farthest from the door dimly lighted the room. There was a king sized bed, an enormous dresser and armoire, a sizeable table next to the window that looked out on the lit dome across the street. The table was set with linen, fine china, silver and stemware. Greg was as giddy as a little kid. In his nineteen years, he'd only stayed in a hotel twice. Compared to the elegance and opulence that this room offered he now remembered those places as being downright primitive. He grabbed Scott into a hug and their lips eventually found each other's. Greg's hands roamed down Scott's back and settled on either side of his ass.
Scott pulled back. "Slow down birthday boy. We've got all night and we're going to have company in a minute or two."
Greg leered. "Ooooohh. Three way? More way?"
Scott swatted his shoulder and was about to speak when there was a knock on the door. He patted Greg's ass. "Take off your shoes and get comfy."
Greg nodded toward what he assumed was the bathroom door. "Gotta go to the little boy's room first." He closed the bathroom door just as Scott opened the door to the room.
The room service waiter was surprised by Scott's obvious youth. Bradley had told him that `Mr. Turner' was very well connected at the capitol and was to be taken good care of, no questions asked. He knew that if this young customer reported back anything other than first-rate service, there'd be hell to pay.
Scott smiled. "Hi there!"
The waiter half bowed. "Good evening sir. Mr. Manning has arranged everything and I hope it is to your satisfaction. May I present this evening's hors d'oeuvres and the champagne?"
Scott waved him and his cart in. "Have at it..." he checked the nametag, "Alberto."
Alberto wheeled his ware up next to the table. He picked up a platter and removed the silver cover. "First we have mushrooms stuffed with lobster and crab." He picked up and uncovered the other. "And to complement that, we have a wonderful bruschetta with a light papaya and tomato salsa." He smiled. "I'm sure you'll find them both very much to your liking."
Scott just stared and nodded. "I'm sure we will."
"May I pour the champagne sir?"
Scott perched his butt on the bed and untied his shoes. "Please do. That'd be great." They heard the toilet flush, and then the water in the sink was running. Alberto removed the foil and the wire from around the top of the bottle with an elegant flourish. Scott was arranging the guys' bags at the foot of the bed when he heard the `pop!'
Greg was shocked to see the uniformed stranger when he came out. Alberto didn't flinch. "Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Inn on the Park."
Greg looked mostly at the floor and raised a nervous hand. "Uhm...hey. How's it goin'?"
Alberto filled both glasses with bubbly and half of his mouth showed a grin. "Very well, thank you sir." He looked at Scott. "Will there be anything else immediately?"
Scott shook is head. "No, thank you very much."
With that, Alberto gave both young men another subtle bow and made his exit.
Scott lit the candles in the center of the table, and pulled out both chairs. He motioned. "Sir, the mushrooms are getting cold. Please make yourself comfortable."
Greg just stared at the table for a moment with his jaw hanging open. "My god. I can't believe..."
Scott put two fingers to his lips. "Shush! I really wanted to do this, and I have connections with the right staff member here." He kissed him softly. "Now, let's just relax and enjoy a good meal."
Greg smiled shyly and gave a soft nod, his eyes never leaving Scott's. "And some great company."
They both sat down, clinked glasses and sipped the wine. Then they dug into the appetizers like a couple young guys would. Scott asked Greg a bit more about the counseling, and he received a glowing, enthusiastic report. He stared at Greg and smiled wistfully. "I thought it was going good. I have to tell you, you're a much different guy than the one I met last fall."
Greg chewed half a mushroom and cocked his head. "How's that?"
Scott paused to sum it all up in his head, then he beamed. "Well, you're happier. You're more confident, even out-going at times. You've...uhm...come out of your shell quite a bit."
Greg leaned back and folded his hands. "Yeah. Finally, what's past is past and I'm not carrying any of that shit around with me any more." His face clouded a bit. "There's still one more encounter I'm going to have at home, or I should say my dad's place, and then I get to write `The End' once and for all."
Scott's face questioned the encounter Greg mentioned, so he explained. "Well, after the school year ends, I'm going to have to get back up there and collect all of my stuff that's still there."
"Want me to come along and help? Just say the word."
Greg thought it over for a second. "I don't even have a plan yet, but I'll let you know."
There was another soft knock on the door. Scott opened it and Alberto was back with a second cart. "Dinner is served, sir." Scott waved him in. Without speaking, the waiter made short order of clearing the table. He presented each guy with tenderloin wrapped in bacon, potatoes au gratin and steamed asparagus. Then he replaced their champagne glasses with fresh ones and opened a bottle of red wine. "Would you care to taste the wine, sir? It's a wonderful Pinot that's been breathing for two hours."
Scott shook his head and Greg snickered. "Er, no, not necessary. If it's lousy, I'm sure as heck not going to know it. But I'm all in favor of breathing and I'm sure it's fine. Thank you." He generously tipped the waiter and told him they were good for the night. Alberto thanked him, bid them both a good evening, nodded once more and made his way out.
They dug into the small steaks, and Greg nodded toward the window and the shiny white dome. "So, how are things going over there?"
While they attacked the steaks, Scott reviewed the various trials and tribulations in his work-a-day world. He touched on what he knew, what he suspected and his frustration with not just Frick, but Maureen too. "Ya' know? This would be easier to deal with if she wasn't such a good friend, and if my dad wasn't gearing up to try to step into all that shit."
Greg frowned slightly. "But, from everything you've said, `Big Scott' sounds like a hell of a guy. I'm sure he'll be able to keep it on the straight and narrow, assuming he wins." After another mouthful of potatoes, "I'd like to meet him some day."
Scott's eyes lit up. "Here's a thought. I'm planning on going up and taking care of a mess of the yard signs for the campaign once it's warm enough to plant them in the yards." He quickly mulled over the calendar for the coming several weeks. "How `bout this. We can kill two birds. Easter's in April, and you're sure as hell not going home for the holiday. Let's plan on your coming back to the folks' house for the long weekend, and we can knock ourselves out doing the signs that Saturday."
Greg smirked. "Bringing me home to meet the parents, huh?" Then he winked.
Scott actually blushed a little when he put it that way. "Bringing you home to put you to work." After a moment, he nodded. "But, yeah, I'm sure they'd like to meet this Greg character I'm always talking about." Scott glanced at both empty plates and refilled the wine glasses. He picked up both of them and stood. "Ready for your presents?" He turned and walked toward the bed.
Greg's eyes widened once again. "Presents!? There's more?" Scott set down one glass on each nightstand at either side of the bed. Greg waved around the room and at the table. "I mean, all this and...Jesus, Scott, there can't be more."
Scott hopped on the bed and leaned back against the pillows, resting his head against the headboard. He patted the space next to him. "Hey. Bradley is the head honcho downstairs. He pulled some strings and I'm getting away with murder on the room and the meal. Now get over here or you're not getting anything else all night." He lowered his head and looked up with his eyes suggestively. "And I mean nothing...at all."
Greg giggled as he crawled up the mattress, arranged a couple pillows close to Scott and nestled in. Scott grabbed his wine glass and motioned for Greg to do the same. He held it up between them. "Happy birthday, Greg." They clinked glasses again and sipped.
Greg shook his head again. "Scott, this is just too..." He was prevented from saying anything more when Scott's lips got in the way. They kissed softly, longingly, each one gently stroking the other's face, for a full minute or more.
Scott whispered. "Hush. Everybody deserves a birthday party. Now enough of the protests, or I'm leaving."
This time Greg's face made the advance. He softly rubbed the back of Scott's neck as he ran the tip of his tongue around his lover's parted lips, then slowly invaded Scott's mouth for another full minute of passionate dancing of tongues and lips. He pulled his head back and took a deep breath. "You're not going anywhere." Then he giggled and patted Scott's chest. "Now, gimme my presents dammit, or I'm leaving."
Scott chuckled and leaned over the side of the bed. He retrieved a shiny gold gift bag overstuffed with tissue paper in a variety of colors. He handed it to Greg. "Kind of overdid the tissue stuff, but gift wrapping isn't quite my forte. You're going to have to dig."
Greg set the bag on his lap, pulled out a few sheets and dug his hand in. As soon as he felt the fabric, he grinned. "You dog! Did you get this for me or for you?" He pulled his hand out of the bag gripping a bright red jock strap. Bright red. It had "GP" embroidered in white just above the cup. Greg hooted and bounced his heels up and down on the bed. He elbowed Scott. "Now where in Hell do you think I'm gonna wear this?"
Scott wiggled his brows up and down. "Where do you think?"
Greg pecked Scott's lips. "Can't wait to model it for you. Thank you."
"There's more. Dig to the bottom of the bag."
Greg's hand went in again and he pulled out a small box with a black lacquer finish. He slowly opened the lid and looked at a silver medallion. It was roughly the size of a quarter, although much thicker and not perfectly round. It was more oval in shape and had an imperfect edge, giving it a rather ancient look. He lifted it. It was heavier than it looked by its size. On its face was the raised profile of an angel, complete with wings and harp, looking to the heavens. Greg didn't speak, but held it and stared at it, rubbing his thumb over the surface.
Scott gently nudged him. "Your guardian angel." Greg still didn't speak but continued to gaze at it. Scott wiggled a bit on the bed as he fished his left hand into his hip pocket. He retrieved an identical small silver medal. "I never leave home without mine." He rubbed his thumb over the surface of his own. "This one used to by my Gran's, but she gave it to me when I left for college. She said, `Scotty, you know it's important to make your own way and fight your own battles, but it never hurts to believe that someone or something is looking over you.'" He chuckled. "Sometimes when I feel I'm up against the wall I find myself fishing this out of my pocket and doing just what you're doing now, rubbing it with my thumb."
Greg turned to his side and wrapped his arms tightly around Scott's neck and digging his chin into Scott's shoulder. His voice cracked. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Scott. You're...you're..." he was searching for the right words.
Scott grabbed Greg's wrists to unleash himself from the stranglehold and gently nudged Greg back. He used both thumbs to wipe the small tears from Greg's cheekbones. Then he leaned over and lightly kissed his nose. "What I am...is waiting for you to model your other present."
While Greg was in the bathroom, Scott shut off the lamp and blew out one of the two candles on the table. The curtains were opened all the way, and the reflection of soft light coming from across the street softly lit the room. He laid back down in the center of the bed, locked his fingers behind his head and sighed. He though, `Thank you Bradley Manning.'
He heard the bathroom door open and he glanced to his left. Greg was strolling slowly, sexily across the floor, his right index finger between his teeth and grinning lips. Scott zeroed in on the bulging cup and sighed. "Good thing I got an extra large. Best present I've ever picked up for anybody. God Damn! I wish I had a camera. We could make a fortune." Greg was in great shape when they'd first met, but the workouts with the team all year had taken what was great and made it superb.
Luckily, the easy chair in the corner of the room was wide, plush and sturdy. Fifteen minutes after Greg exited the bathroom, his knees and shins were propped on its arms with his forearms leaning on the top of the chair's back. Scott stood behind him, his hands on Greg's hips, slowly easing his wrapped and lubed cock in and out of his buddy's welcoming hole. Greg "oooh'd and aaaaah'd" his pleasure as Scott leisurely slid in up to his pubes, and then out until the head of his dick was nearly visible. He heard, "That's right, Scotty. Oh, man! Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmm," with each in and out motion. Scott reached up and rubbed Greg's back from his shoulders down to the top of the elastic band of the jock strap and then he kneaded the bucking ass cheeks firmly.
Scott's head tipped back to face the ceiling and he closed his eyes, completely lost in the wild sensations emanating from his hard-working manhood. He moaned. "Oh, God! Oh, yeah! Uh huh, uh huh, yeah man. God, you're so fucking hot! Uh huh, uh huh. Mmmm." He opened his eyes again and leaned all the way down so that his stomach and chest were pressed firmly against Greg's back. He reached around and grabbed the slick and steely meat that had been released from the elastic cage of the jock's pouch, and he licked and sucked on the back and side of Greg's neck and shoulders. He rasped, "How we doin' stud?"
Greg opened his eyes and turned his head, craning to meet Scott's approaching mouth. They mashed their lips and tongues together as Scott started to pick up the pace. Greg moaned into Scott's mouth. "Yeah. Do me, Scotty! Pick it up and ride my ass!"
Scott bit Greg's lip lightly and then smiled. "I want you on your back. I want to look at your face while I fuck you right." He pulled out and Greg whimpered.
Greg turned and fell into the chair, his back on the seat, and his head against the chair's back. He pulled his feet off the floor and glared upward in raw lust. "Then do me right, dammit!" Scott grabbed both ankles and hoisted them high. He rested the left calf on his shoulder so that he could aim the head of his cock toward its shiny quivering target. "Oooooohhhhh my gaaaaaawd!" Greg growled as the head of Scott's tool hit his love nut. "God dammit, Scotty!" Scott pulled back and then pushed forward again until his groin was melded to Greg's ass cheeks. He held it there for a second and swiveled his hips round and round. Greg's eyes rolled back in his head and he bit his lower lip and whined in delight.
Then Scott picked up the pace. For the next several minutes, Greg's eyes never opened again, but his face gave Scott a slideshow of unbridled lust, rapture and contentment as he drove in and out fast and hard. Scott reached down with his right hand and began pummeling Greg's pole, just as hard and just as fast. Greg's abs began to heave and his head jerked forward off the back of the chair. His eyes shot open wide and he grabbed Scott's biceps. "Yeah! Oh, God Scotty! Awwww shiiiiiit!" He exploded all over his own chest and abs, firing a couple shots onto the arm of the chair. He gasped and panted for a few seconds until Scott leaned down and offered a healthy blast of his own breath in a passionate kiss.
Scott pulled out and stood up. He peeled off the rubber and began stroking. Greg was still regaining consciousness when he muttered, "I want it, Scotty. Gimme that load, man!" Greg slid out of the chair and onto his knees in front of Scott. He looked up and cupped Scott's balls, and then opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Scott started to moan and shudder, and he reached down and grabbed hold of Greg's hair. His whole body jerked and he whimpered while he painted Greg's face and fed him his seed. He was jolted for several seconds by waves of pure ecstasy. Finally, he slumped to the floor gasping.
Greg wiped his face with his hand and he chuckled before nuzzling up to Scott's chest. He smiled and listened to the pounding heart beneath the heaving pecs. He half-hummed, half-mumbled, "Happy Birthday to me...Happy Birthday to meeeee..."
Scott gasped for the sixth or seventh time. "Holy fuck!"
Greg giggled again and gently licked at Scott's left nipple. "Yeah. Holy fuck!"
Scott grinned and stroked his fingertips through Greg's sweat-soaked hair, his eyes still closed. "You don't say fuck."
Greg pinched the nipple. "It's my birthday. I can say `fuck' if I want to on my fucking birthday."
After several minutes on the floor, Scott finally glanced down. "You gonna run the shower to heat it up, or am I?"
Greg patted his chest. "I got it." He rolled to his side and stood up with a groan, then walked rather gingerly toward the bathroom.
Scott got up and went to the closet. He grabbed the two thick terrycloth robes off their hangers and laid them on the bed. He picked up the phone and dialed room service.
The shower was hot and leisurely. Each one soaped the other from head to toe, and rubbed the lather away under the steaming spray. They held their bodies together for several minutes, playfully kissing and licking and nibbling one another. Finally, Scott matted Greg's wet hair back and smiled. "We should get out of here. Room service will be here in about five minutes."
Greg looked startled. "Room service?"
Scott shut off the water. "Dessert."
As they stepped out Greg laughed. "I thought we just had our dessert."
Scott wrapped him in a towel from behind. "Well, sorta, but that was all about expending some energy. Now we need to replenish it."
Greg leered at him in the mirror. "In case we want to expend some more?"
They slowly toweled each other off, paying full attention to every inch. Their hair still damp and unkempt, they padded out and slid into the robes, then plopped onto the bed, side by side. Immediately, there was a knock on the door. Scott got up. Greg heard him say, "I'll just take the tray, thanks." He came back with two silver dishes heaped with ice cream. Scott smiled. "Mint chocolate chip and pistachio."
They lounged on the king sized bed and took turns dipping into the dishes. Finally, Scott looked over and grinned a knowing grin. "You think you could handle driving a straight ten-hour shift?"
Greg was sitting with his legs crossed and he scooped another spoonful of the pistachio. "Yeah, probably with a potty stop or two." He finally pulled the spoon from between his lips and raised a brow. "But why would I do that?"
"Or what if we did five hours for you and then five for me and then we do it all over again?"
Greg shrugged. "Is this a word problem in math? I'd say we'd have driven twenty hours. And where would we end up?"
"DeLand. DeLand Florida."
Greg screwed up his face. "One, where on God's green Earth is that and, two, why the Hell would we go there?"
Scott licked his spoon. "One, it's on the north end of eastern Florida, western Valusia County. Two, the weather's warm. Three, my uncle Dale has a nice little bungalow there that'll be vacant during our spring break. They usually spend from early December to May there every year. But they're having their 25th anniversary this year and he's taking my bitchy aunt on a cruise in March. Four, you told me that the team is off during UW's spring break and, five, it's only about a half-hour from Daytona Beach and maybe forty minutes from Orlando. So if we wanted to slip out and take in the college spring break madness to the east of us, we could do it in a heartbeat and party our brains out. Or, we could go west and join the other tourists at Disney or Universal Studios. And six, depending on how we decide to spend the time you might see a manatee."
A small smile crept across Greg's lips. "Those big old sea cows? They are so cool! Can we pet them?"
"No, the site I checked said, `no touching the sea cows.'"
Greg pouted. "Aw, shucks. I want to pet a sea cow."
"You want to pet a cow? Then get dressed and we'll head out for a farm. It's kind of late, but I know a lot of places that have cows around here."
Greg swatted Scott's arm with his spoon. "Not the same thing." He had a small mouthful of the mint ice cream and smiled. "So when do we leave?"
Scott patted Greg's knee and smiled. "Right after your last class on Friday before break." He picked up the tray of empty dishes and put it on the bedside table, then turned back and propped his head in his hand. "Dude! This'll be perfect. We stay for free, unless we want to head to Daytona or Orlando for a night or two. I haven't been there since I was a little kid, but Dale's place is a fairly modest two bedroom with a nice screened in porch where we can have sex in the moonlight without the bugs eating us alive." He slid a hand into the opening of Greg's robe and played with the hair on his chest. "There are a lot of state parks in the area where we can go diving, swim, canoe or kayak."
Greg rubbed Scott's thighs. "But no petting the manatees? Or is it manatee, like moose? Ya' know one is a moose, two are two moose and a whole herd are a herd of moose?"
Scott smiled. "Manatee, manatees, whatever. But no. No petting them. And, I read that the downtown in DeLand is revitalized,' whatever than means. Sounds a little artsy-fartsy to me, but it's not some nasty tourist trap. All it'll cost is gas money and groceries cuz we'll do most of our own cooking. The rest will depend on what we decide to do while we're there."
Greg slid his hand under the hem of Scott's robe and rubbed his thigh. "Don't forget the cost of the liquor."
"I'll talk to Brett. He's legal now and we'll hit the road fully stocked for the week." He leaned over and kissed his lover. "I'll get you drunk and take outrageous advantage of you."
Greg wrapped his forearm behind Scott's neck. "I'm gonna pet one when you're not looking."
Scott rolled on top of him and whispered, "I've got something you can pet."
Scott needed to spruce up the warm weather wardrobe for spring break. He wasn't sure how much they'd be going out and about in Florida, but the summer stock in his dresser and his closet was rather thin. He stopped into the Banana Republic at West Towne Mall. He picked out a couple pairs of shorts, one navy and the other khaki and tried them both on. They looked okay and fit nicely. Coming out of the dressing room, he did a double take to his right. `Jeez. That guy looks familiar,' he thought to himself. The other guy was rummaging through the same rack of shorts.
Scott found a ribbed tee that he liked and thought would look good, and then grabbed a pair of flip flops off a hook on the wall. He strolled casually, scanning the racks. He wished he'd made a list of what he might need for a trip to Florida in March. As he browsed through a rack of Pima polo shirts, sliding the hangers back and forth he glanced up and caught the other guy looking at him. Their eyes met, but that was all. Who is that? I know I've met that guy before,' Scott said to himself. He picked up a sharp looking black polo and moseyed on. The Hawaiian shirts casught his eye. I've never owned one of those god-awful things before.' He grinned and pondered it. "Oh, what the fuck," he muttered. `Ya' only live once, and I'm gonna be on vacation. Caution to the wind, Scotty. At least take a look at them.'
The other guy came from behind a column and started fiddling with the stock on the opposite side of the circular rack. "It's Scott, isn't it?"
Scott looked up, startled. "Uhm, yes it is. Have we met? You look awfully familiar."
The tall blond walked around the rack and put out a hand. "Peter. Peter Andreassen. We met at a couple of parties last spring down on campus." Peter was tall, over six feet, and was thin. He had blond hair and blue eyes that gave away his Scandinavian heritage.
Peter's fetching smile quickly restored Scott's memory. "Oh, shit! I remember now! You're the med student, right? We met at Brandon's party last spring, and then again standing around the keg at the frat house the last week of school."
Peter smiled and nodded. "That's what I thought."
Scott left the gaudy shirts alone and leaned his elbow on the rack. "So, what are you up to these days?"
Peter sighed. He looked tired. He looked good, but tired. "Well, I finished my fourth year last spring, and now I'm working through a three-year internship at UW Hospital."
Scott smiled. "Good for you! Long hours, I suppose." Then he smirked and winked. "The last time I saw you, you were heading up the stairs at the frat house with my old buddy Kip."
Peter grinned shyly and actually blushed. "Yeah, quite an evening, that was."
Scott hadn't noticed the third man who had been hanging behind Peter, but who'd obviously been within earshot and interested in their conversation. The stranger took two steps forward and put a hand on Peter's waist. "What's that I hear? You? Messing around at a frat house? I'm shocked! Shocked, I say!" Both men laughed. The newcomer was shorter than Peter, an inch taller than Scott and was very well kept. He had curly dark brown hair and hazel eyes that danced behind rimless glasses and beneath thick dark brows. He had a square chin with a cleft, not unlike Scott's.
Peter shrugged. "That was way back when, when I was still being a little bit naughty from time to time." Peter leaned into the newcomer and looked back at Scott. "Scott, this is Travis Stevens. Travis, this is Scott...uhm..."
Scott put out a hand. "Turner. Nice to meet you Travis."
"And you too." The man had a very firm grip and looked Scott squarely in the eyes. He liked that. Travis surveyed the handful of hangers Scott was carrying. "Looks like somebody's getting ready to bust out for spring break!"
Scott nodded. "Florida, with a buddy of mine. We're not sure where we'll be spending our time yet, but I needed to work on the warm weather wardrobe anyway." He couldn't help notice that the jeans Travis wore were so tight that one could count the change in his pocket. Now there's a few happy quarters' he thought. And, Peter's still looking mighty fine.'
Peter glanced back at Travis as he nodded sideways. "I met Scott a couple times last spring, at parties on campus." He looked back at Scott. "Well, I've followed the news in the campus press, and you've been raising all sorts of hell with the right-wing nuts on campus. Good for you! Is your sidekick still around? What's his name...Marty?"
Scott's smile quickly faded. "He moved back to Rockford. Got married last summer, and his wife, Jill, has been diagnosed with leukemia.
Peter frowned. "Oooh. Sorry to hear that. I mean, happy about the marriage but the cancer is a bitch. Do you know what type of leukemia?"
"A.L.L. And now she's being treated at the UW."
Peter's frown grew darker. "Ooooff. A.L.L. Tough nut to crack at that age. She must be in her mid-twenties?"
Scott shrugged. "Don't know exactly, but Jill's probably closer to thirty than twenty."
Peter shook his head. "Ouch. It's treatable at that age, but it's a tough row to hoe. It's a lot more common at younger ages, and often more successfully treated."
Travis slapped Peter's arm. "Now stop it, doctor. You're going to depress the man when he's gearing up for vacation." He smiled at Scott. "Looking for a Hawaiian shirt, huh?"
Peter looked down. "Sorry, Scott. Travis is right. Marty's wife is in great hands, and so is he for that matter. I know some of the guys and gals in oncology and they're top-notch. They'll both be well taken care of."
Scott nodded his appreciation and then cocked his head as he held up a shirt splashed in blue and orange. "Not sure I have the balls to actually wear one of these."
Travis waved a hand. "Oh, go for it. It's for vacation. It's not like you're going to be wearing it where people know you. And it makes a statement, `I'm foot loose and fancy free, and out to have a good time.'"
Scott nodded. "I suppose so." He flipped a couple more hangers to the left. "So what do you do, Travis?"
"I'm doing graduate work in psychology and am constantly surveying the job landscape. Peter's locked in here at least two more years, so I'm not going to move too far."
Scott nodded as he pondered it. "Psych huh? Do you want to do research, or practice that witchcraft?"
Travis took it in good humor. "I love doing research." He smiled admiringly at Peter. "For about the past nine months I've been engaged in an in-depth research project on what makes med. students tick." He nudged the new doctor with an elbow. "Very small study sample though, so I doubt it'll ever get published."
Scott understood and played along. "Still, it sounds fascinating. Any initial conclusions?"
"Haven't got a clue...yet. I'm finding that med students are a rare breed, a real enigma. Very intelligent, very sensitive and yet practically masochistic in their devotion to their calling." Suddenly he pointed at the rack and the shirt that Scott had come around to. "That one!"
Scott held up the shirt. It had a cranberry colored background, splashed with large orchids in white and gold. "You think so? I'm not sure this is me."
Travis nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, live a little! Put a bright yellow crewneck tee under that and you can wear it opened or buttoned. It'll look great!"
Scott glanced at Peter, who just grinned and shrugged. "Don't ask me. He might be an intellectual, but he's the fashion guru. Hell, he dresses me most days."
Travis checked his watch and tapped Peter's forearm. "Well, buddy, we ought to get going. The recital starts in an hour."
Peter nodded and stuck out his hand. "Travis has a cousin who's performing her graduate recital tonight. We're going to lose ourselves in an hour or so of Debussy."
Scott didn't know the difference between Claude Debussy and Gary Busey. Still, he smiled and shook Peter's hand. "Sounds cool." He reached for Travis's hand. "Great to meet you, Travis. Thanks for the help on the shirt."
Peter's face was suddenly one of a concerned doctor. "I'll try to look in on...is it Jill?"
Scott nodded. "Jill Anderson. I think she's due for another round of chemo next month, and I know they'd both appreciate another friendly face and voice from the staff, even if you're not treating her."
They said their last good-byes. I need to tell Marty that I ran into the guy,' he thought, and then he went back to the shelves of tees, quickly finding a canary colored one in his size. He held it up against the gaudy Hawaiian shirt. Not bad,' he nodded, and then headed for the counter. He chuckled as he reached for his wallet. `Greg's gonna think I'm a freak for wearing this shirt.'
Author's Note: My thanks go out to Scott, Kory and Peter for their assistance with this chapter. If you haven't yet discovered "Recovering Austin," by Bill McBride, (hard to believe) you might want to check it out before Chapter 18 is posted. It's here on Nifty and can be found at the Rainbow Community Writer's Project, posted by William Tyler King. Billy and I are collaborating on the next chapter, and it will be out as soon as we're done with the flurry of e-mails back and forth. As usual, send your comments to: scotty.13411@hotmail.com. I love to get the e-mails. Be Well.