Fork in the Road

FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 20

"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.

After Greg's last morning class on Good Friday, the guys left for the Turners' place to see Big Scott and Suzanne, and to do some of the legwork for the campaign. Just before one o'clock in the afternoon, they were half way home. When a small roadside convenience store appeared in the distance, Scott announced that he had to relieve himself of much of the coffee he'd consumed that morning and he pulled off the highway to the right side of the road, parking right in front of the restroom door. The pair entered the store and Scott asked, "Do I need a key for the men's room?"

The friendly looking woman with a bad brunette dye job told him no. He looked at Greg. "Be right back."

Greg nodded. "I'll grab a couple sodas and some chips or something. Didn't have lunch." Scott gave him a thumbs up and exited.

As he was finishing up at the urinal and shaking the excess out of his member, Scott heard the car door open and close outside. Just as he was zipping up and stepping to the sink, Greg stepped in, closed the door and locked it. Scott caught his smiling face in the mirror. "Gotta go too, huh?"

Greg's grin morphed into a lascivious leer as he stepped behind Scott and reached around with both hands and grabbed his package. "Nope."

Scott stood up straight, startled but kind of turned on. "Greg! What the hell...?"

"I've had this fantasy about doing it in a public john for a long time." He kneaded Scott's cock and balls. Scott giggled a little and swatted Greg's hands, but he didn't make a huge effort to remove them. Greg's tongue lapped its way up the side of Scott's neck to the back of his left ear.

Scott tilted his head and he sighed a faint protest. "Greg! We're gonna get busted!"

Greg felt the equipment beneath Scott's denim getting firmer and he rubbed his own hardening manhood against Scott's ass. "Not if we hurry." He sucked on Scott's neck and his left hand roamed up Scott's torso to his pecs. He pinched the left nipple through the fabric of his long sleeve tee.

Scott's moan gave Greg the go-ahead. He released his grip and put a hand on each shoulder, turning Scott toward him and then gently guided him back to the wall. Now that he had Scott pinned between the sink and the paper towel dispenser, he kissed Scott furiously, grinding their groins together. He pulled back and stared with determination into Scott's eyes. "You're going to do me. Right here, right now."

Scott tried to protest once more. "But what if somebody else wants in...and besides, we don't have..."

Greg reached into his pocket and dropped a rubber and tube of lube into the sink. "We do too. Grabbed `em out of my bag when I put the Cokes in the car." He went to his knees and began unbuckling Scott's belt. "And you saw the parking lot. Nobody's here. If they show up, they'll just have to wait." He unzipped Scott's pants and tore them down nearly to his knees. Scott's cock sprung to half-mast. With one hand on each of Scott's thighs, Greg lunged forward with an open mouth and swallowed the budding member down to the pubes.

Scott bit his lip and clamped his eyes shut, emitting a muffled whimper. Greg went to work on his own belt buckle as his head slowly bobbed back and forth, sucking with all his might. `This needs to be quick,' he told himself as he enjoyed the taste of precum and finally released his own aching tool.

Scott finally acquiesced completely and put one hand on each side of Greg's head and started moving his hips back and forth. Greg moaned his approval of his buddy's newfound enthusiasm and the vibrations sent a pleasant jolt through Scott's center. With his own throbbing member now firmly in hand, Greg began to quickly stroke it. He moaned again and Scott clenched his teeth, struggling to avoid their usual verbal sexual banter. After a couple minutes of rambunctious face fucking, Greg's hand reached up and into the sink and found the condom. He backed off of Scott and admired the glistening crimson rod before him. As he tore open the package, still on his knees, he leaned forward again and quickly teased Scott's sack and balls with his tongue. Then he grabbed hold of Scott's missile and quickly rolled the rubber down the shaft. He stood up and quickly kissed Scott again, and then handed him the lube. "Here ya' go, champ. I really need you in me, and I need you to ride me fast." Greg turned and grabbed hold of both sides of the sink.

Scott stepped behind him. "This is gonna be tricky with our pants around our ankles." He squirted some of the K-Y gel onto two fingers.

Greg looked at him in the mirror. "If anybody can do it, bud, we can. Now get to work, dammit!"

Scott eased his greased fingers into Greg's crevice and found his hole. He lubed the area and then inserted his middle finger. Greg moaned softly through his nose. Scott withdrew the digit and applied more gel. Then he probed Greg again to get him completely oiled up. He quickly greased his throbbing dick and stepped forward, nudging the head between Greg's muscular cheeks. He rubbed it up and down a couple of times and finally settled in on Greg's anxious rosebud.

Greg sighed a complaint. "C'mon, Scotty, quit with the foreplay. Do me, man!"

Scott pushed forward and breached the ring at the entrance of Greg's chute. He looked in the mirror and watched Greg's eyes close as a sublime smile emerged on his lips.

Greg whispered. "Yeah. Now, go to town, stud!"

Scott quickly picked up the pace and was soon driving into Greg with a fury. Greg braced himself with his left hand against the back of the sink. With his right he stroked himself hard as his head swayed left and right, up and down, all the while giving out a quiet rhythmic whimper. The image in the mirror of fucking Greg so fiercely and the illicit aspect of their coupling had Scott ready to blow in a hurry. That was good, because Greg's buttons were being pushed in all the right places. Within minutes, Scott's body tightened and began to quake. He thrust all the way in and leaned down, dropping his chest and stomach on to Greg's back. He reached under Greg's armpits and grabbed hold of his shoulders, grunting into Greg's ear as he hammered one quick short thrust after another, finally exploding with a muffled growl and several fierce gasps.

Greg grunted a long, stuttered moan through his nose as streams of white goo fired onto the front if his shirt, the front of the sink and finally onto the floor. They stood there panting, Scott still inside Greg for several seconds. Finally, Greg chuckled softly. "Told you we could do it." Scott smiled and slowly stepped back. Greg gasped as Scott withdrew fully, and let out a soft, short squeal when Scott swatted his ass.

Scott slid the rubber off and dropped it in the trashcan. He grabbed several paper towels as Greg slowly stepped away from the sink. He wet one of them and carefully cleaned his deflating member. Then he pulled up his pants and dropped three towels onto the floor, using his foot to wipe up the puddles of Greg's cum. Greg wiped his hands and the front of the sink, and then grabbed two more towels to clean off the front of his shirt.

Scott grinned. "Good thing you're wearing white, but you're going to have to change that shirt before we get to my folks' place."

Greg chuckled as he finished his cleaning. "Don't want me shaking Big Scott's hand smelling of cum?" He threw the soiled paper in the trash.

As Scott pulled out of the parking lot, he looked over at Greg trying to be nonchalant. "Well now, that was fun. You got any other fantasies you'd care to share?"

Greg winked at him. "I'll surprise you."

On Saturday morning, Scott sat at Daisy's desk in his dad's law office, being very careful not to disturb or move anything. There would be hell to pay if she came in on Monday and found things out of order. He had a list of the folks in the community who had agreed to take a "Turner for Senate" yard sign. Greg had a list of his own and was manning the phone in the conference room/law library. The task was simple. Call the people to confirm their willingness to have a sign in their front yard and to give them a heads-up that they'd be placing the sign later in the day.

They'd been at it for a little over an hour when Scott heard the back door open. A voice called down the hallway, "Scotty, you in here?" It was Seth Kirschbaum, or perhaps his twin brother Sean. Scott always had a hard time telling them apart.

He took a stab at it anyway. "Yep. Come on in Seth. Dad left a list and a map for you guys."

The tall blond farm boy walked into the office area wearing a broad smile. The ruddy complexion, flannel shirt and John Deere cap gave a hint to his chosen vocation. The twins ran their dad's farm a few miles south of town. "It's Sean, actually, but Seth's coming in right behind me. He's finishing loading the truck." The Kirschbaum twins, occasional clients of Big Scott's had volunteered to traverse the county and plant the big four-by-six foot plywood signs along the country roads.

Scott got up and walked over to greet him. "How are you, Sean? Been a long time."

The farmer nodded. "Haven't seen you since graduation." Scott had graduated from high school with one of the guys' nephews. The back door opened and closed again and the carbon copy of the muscular yeoman ambled down the hall. "Hey, Scotty! How ya' been?"

"Good, Seth. Real good. Got the list and the map right here." He went back to the desk and grabbed the clipboard his dad had left.

Greg came out of the conference room with an empty coffee cup and stopped dead in his tracks. He eyed the very manly duo before him from top to bottom. "Greg Page," Scott said, "meet Seth Kirschbaum and his brother Sean." He squared the few sheets of paper and secured them with a clip. "Greg's a buddy of mine from college." As Greg was shaking hands and smiling, Scott looked at his awestruck friend with some amusement. "The Kirschbaums are doing the big signs that were stacked out back. They get to do all the heavy stuff today."

Greg half mumbled. "I...I was just gonna go get some more coffee. Anybody want some?" The Kirschbaums waved him off, but Scott handed him his empty mug.

Scott's grin didn't abate. "Well, here's the list and the map. Dad wanted me to thank you guys again for all your help."

Seth shrugged. "For Big Scott? Anything. He's always covered our backs and he'll make one hell of a senator." He looked at his brother. "Well, we told Dad we'd be back at the farm by three, so we'd better head out."

They shook Scott's hand again and headed for the back door. Greg was on his way back from the break room and paused in the hallway to give them room to pass. "Good meeting you guys." They both smiled and nodded. He handed Scott the coffee mug and grinned. "Woof!"

Scott giggled. "Down, boy. They're about ten years older than you are. Sean is happily married and I think Big Scott is representing his brother in a paternity suit right now."

Greg shrugged. "Age is just a number, and you can't tell me you never undressed them with your eyes and imagined a roll in the hay with those two."

Scott winked as he smiled and then sipped his coffee. "Only since I was about twelve."

A half hour later, they were both nearly done with their calling lists when the door in back opened and closed again. Scott put down the phone and hollered. "Forget something guys?"

His father's voice came back. "Yeah, I forgot to lock the door at home. Leave the damned thing open and you never know what's going to come crawling in." Big Scott appeared in the hallway with his arm around a grinning Marty Anderson.

Scott's jaw dropped. "What the...?"

Marty flashed his cockiest grin and tossed a casual salute. "Well, since we talked at Greg's game, things have gotten brighter. Jill's back home and feeling better than she has in ages. She and my mom went to some craft fair for the day. And her folks have an overnight stay booked at that new waterpark resort up in Wisconsin Dells. They wanted to take the kids along, and Ashley's on a mission to teach her little brother how to swim." He snorted and shook his head.

Scott furrowed his brows. "Really? He's only eight months old."

Marty waved a hand. "Infants are naturals. And Jack and Meredith aren't going to let anything happen to him. They're like overly protective bears when it comes to the kids. And you know that Scotty's totally fearless."

Scott puffed out his chest. "Just like his godfather."

Marty rolled his eyes. "So, anyway, I'm bachelor for a day' and said to myself, Self you need a road trip today. You'd said that you guys were coming up here for the weekend and I figured the Turner campaign could use the assistance of a special advisor with a proven track record."

Greg heard the voices and came out of the conference room smiling. Marty gave him a quick half hug and reached over to pat Scott's back. "Well boys, let's get busy!"

Big Scott laughed. "Guys, I need to get going. I have three neighborhood meet-and-greet coffees today. And, remember, Scotty, your mom and I have the hospital's charity ball tonight. You guys will be on your own for dinner."

Scott clapped his hands together. "Kozy Korner Pizza!"

Marty elbowed Big Scott. "And all of dad's beer." He looked up at the father. "Pick some up on the way home, will ya'?"

Big Scott laughed, and then put on a serious face. "You're not traveling anywhere tonight, are you?"

All three guys shook their heads `no,' but Marty added, "I have to be back home in time to go to the late church service tomorrow, but I'll be a good boy. Not going to be sinning the night before Easter." He looked with an innocent gaze. "Really, sir, I will."

Big Scott guffawed at Marty's effort. "Well, in that case, there might be another twelve in the basement fridge when you get back to the house."

A hundred and fifty signs dotted the community's boulevards and front lawns by the time they were done. One and a half large pizzas had been demolished and several beers consumed. Greg peeled at the label of his beer bottle. "Scotty. Do you think those signs really make a difference in an election?"

Scott shook his head. "Oh, hell no! The only thing that really makes a difference is getting one more vote than your competition. The signs create an impression that the old man might be the real deal, but yard signs don't vote. Not only that, you'd be surprised at how many of those folks will take a sign because they know you or they don't know how to say `no,' and then to and vote for the other guy, or not at all."

Greg studied the two guys sitting on the couch for a moment. "Hey, it's a nice night. I'm going to go for a stroll. Give you guys a chance to get caught up." He looked back at Marty whose hair was coming back since the head shaving he and Jill had done together. "I like the new `do,' Marty." Then he was out the door.

Marty glanced at Scott. "What's that all about?"

Scott shrugged. "Just what he said, I suppose. I guess he figured we could use some time alone to get caught up. He knows our history and I've been up front about all aspects of our friendship. Knowing Greg, I'll bet he feels a little like he's intruding when it's the three of us."

Marty thought about it and shrugged. "Okay, but I wish he didn't feel that way." He paused and shrugged. "Well then, let's get caught up. So what's shakin' these days?"

Scott put his head on the back of the couch. "Oh, shit, you have no idea." He filled Marty in on the goings-on within the Board of Regents, and the preliminary decision to pull the plug on the UW baseball team.

Marty stared, his mouth open. "How's Greg taking all this?"

Scott closed his eyes tight. "He doesn't know."

Marty's wide eyes tried to catch up with his disbelieving open mouth. "Well, you are going to tell him, right?"

Scott closed his eyes again. "That's just it. I can't! We all agreed we wouldn't discuss any of this shit outside the boardroom. It's not final yet." He sighed. "I figured I can tell you `cuz you're not connected to the university anymore and...well...and, just because you're you."

Marty shook his head. "But the way you tell it, it IS going to be official in just a couple of weeks." He grabbed Scott's empty bottle and he headed for the kitchen. Walking back with two fresh beers he waved one in Scott's direction. "All I'm saying, Scotty, is if I'm Greg and I read about this in the paper or hear it from the coach...after the fact...I'm going to be one pissed off mother fucker. Once I realize that you've been in on this all along, or at least that you saw it coming, and you didn't say anything? Hell, you'd be getting a big old `F.U.' if I was in his shoes."

Scott took the beer and shook his head. "I just can't, Marty, and it's tearing me up."

Marty frowned and nudged him. "Well it ought to be tearing you up, dammit! Think about it. He might have to make other plans for next year. Other UW campuses have baseball programs that won't be cut, right?" Scott nodded. "Scotty, you have to tell him!" Marty grabbed his forearm. "If your friendship, or relationship or whatever it is means anything at all you need to consider the damage that's going to be done if you don't at least give him a heads up."

Scott didn't speak. Marty shook his head again in disbelief and leaned forward, so that their noses were mere inches apart. He put a hand on Scott's right shoulder and lightly shook him. "Scotty! Think about it for chrissake! You can say something now about what might happen and it's gonna freak him out for a time. But at least he's sort of ready for it. Plus, you're at least trying to be up front about something that means to world to him. Or, you say nothing, and you let him hear it from the coach or read about it in the paper. At that point, he realizes that your fingerprints are all over this disaster from day one and that you've been keeping it from him." Marty poked him lightly in the chest. "Now, get your head out of your ass and think about it! Which approach do you think is going to get you a louder `Fuck You!' from Greg?"

Scott nodded. "I'll think about it."

After several moments of silence, Marty shook his head and snorted. "How do you do it, man?"

Scott's head shot left with a quizzical look. "Do what?"

Marty put a hand on his shoulder again. "Scotty. You keep tryin' to do good and stepping in shit all along the way." He scoffed again and shook his head. "I mean you run for student government and get saddled with the likes of me and Kip Monmouth and that prick Lyman to make your life miserable. You land an appointment to The Regents and you have to deal with the likes of Andy Pennington and now this shit with baseball. You dote over your grandma only to lose her. You take an honest job in the caucus and find yourself swimming amid all this scum."

A crooked smile emerged on Scott's face. Well, number one, dealing with you has given me a few ulcers now and then, but a little Pepto makes you worth worrying about. Two, Kip was a major pain in the ass, but it was kind of fun stickin' it to him now and then. Plus, I like the way things worked out there. Three, it was kind of fun putting it to Pennington over the tuition thing last year too, and we got some good stuff done in the process. Four, Gran' was going to go sometime and her passing, heartbreaking as it was, shortened her misery and ours." He grinned a coy grin. "And me and her still talk just about every day."

Scott sipped his beer and shrugged again. "Finally, as far as the caucus goes, it looked for a long time like all the stinky shit was legal and there was nothing to be done. Well--and I can't tell you a lot--but I think the wheels are in motion to right those wrongs. A couple of friends of mine are talking and it could end up that Frick could actually get what's coming to him." He hesitated, and then shook his head with a grin. "Not sure there's anything more I can do. He squinted his eyes and squared his jaw in a horrible Clint Eastwood impersonation. "A man's got to know his limitations."

Marty booed the impersonation but Scott continued. "And the baseball shit is what it is. In my brain it makes sense, as sad as that is. In my gut, it makes me want to puke. In my heart, it's killing me." He shrugged again. "But I asked for it. Remember, I fought like hell for that position on The Board. There were no guarantees that it'd be a smooth and comfy ride. Big Scott always told me, `If you really want to make a difference out there, be ready to piss some people off in the process. Just be damned sure that it's for the right reasons.'"

Marty patted his knee. "But you still need to do right by Greg. It'll make a difference for the right reasons. That decision might make sense in your head, but you have to give your heart and your gut some room to feel okay too. Not to mention his."

Greg got back fifteen minutes later and immediately wondered if his leaving had been a mistake. There was a certain chill, a tension in the room. It quickly abated, however, and they spent another hour sipping beers and watching an NBA playoff game. Soon, all three were yawning and Marty declared it was time to call it a night. "Have to be up and on the road early tomorrow, gents. Scotty, find me a pillow and a blanket and I'll make myself home on the couch. I'll sneak out early."

Scott had assured him that his parents would not be peeking in on him, so it was safe for them to share his bed. They cuddled for a time before Greg was softly snoring with his arm draped over Scott's chest. By 5:00 in the morning, Scott was staring at the ceiling afraid his tossing and turning would wake his lover. Hearing some stirring downstairs, he slowly crept out of bed and slid into his robe. As the smell of brewing coffee reached Scott at the bottom of the stairs, he caught Marty in his stocking feet tip toeing back to the kitchen. Marty smiled and gestured toward the sound of the gurgling machine. "Coffee's done," he whispered, and Scott followed him. Marty poured two mugs as Scott slumped into a chair and yawned. Marty set a steaming mug down and ruffled his friend's hair. "Sleep well?"

Scott looked up with a `give me a break' glance. "What do you think?"

Marty sat down across the table. "Sorry if I laid in on pretty thick last night, Scotty. I didn't want to rock your boat or anything."

Scott shot him a knowing grin. "The hell you didn't. You always try to rock my boat."

Marty grinned and winked. "That's why you love me, professor." He blew on the surface of the brew and sipped it lightly. "Besides, I'm usually right."

Scott ran his fingers through his hair. "Fuck you, Mr. Special Advisor." He dropped his chin into the palm of his hand and sighed. "I know, Marty. I know."

"So, you're gonna..."

"I'm going to talk to him. I will."

"I think it's best, for both of you." Marty got up and walked to the living room. He returned with his shoes, his overnight bag and a travel mug. He dumped the coffee into the larger insulated mug and topped it off from the pot. As he put his shoes on, he asked, "What are the Turners doing for Easter?"

"Church at 8:00, a big buffet brunch at Dad's country club after that. I'm hoping it's going to be a nice day. They have the front course opened already, and maybe we can talk the old man into at least nine holes before we go back. Suzanne hasn't picked up her clubs in a while, but maybe I can twist her arm, too." He couldn't remember the last time they'd golfed together. "And what goes on in Rockford?"

After tying his shoes, Marty sat back up. "I'll get home in time to shower and change, and then me and Jill will fill the Easter baskets and hide the eggs we colored the other night. Jack and Meredith will meet us at the church, and then my mom's having us all over for a big meal. She's been having a ball all week getting ready. It's been a while since she's had a houseful for dinner." The rest of the day will just be lazy family time.

Scott smiled serenely. "Sounds nice. You guys haven't had enough of that lately." Marty stood and Scott asked him, "Give them all a kiss and a hug for me?"

Marty set his bag down near the back door. "Then give me one of each to give them." The two old friends hugged warmly at the top of the back stairs and then shared a playful quick peck. Scott looked his buddy in the eyes with gratitude. "Thanks for coming, man."

Marty ruffled his hair again. "When you least expect it..."

Scott giggled. "I know, I know. But I've come to expect you to show up at the damnedest times."

Marty patted his back. "You're learning." He quietly walked down the steps and out the door, winking again over his shoulder as he closed it behind himself.

Over the course of the day, Scott's spirits gradually rose. Greg had become well at ease with Scott's folks. They had a great time at the club, with Big Scott and Greg chatting baseball most of the time. Suzanne did agree to drag her clubs along and join the guys for a smooth nine holes. Later, nearly an hour into the drive back to Madison, Greg finally turned and asked, "So, what's eating you?"

Scott glanced right with his eyes. "Huh? What makes you so sure something's eating me?"

"We just had a great weekend and we ought to be jabbering away about it. But last night, you tossed and turned and sighed most of the night. You've hardly said squat since we left your folks' place, and you're pinching your bottom lip a lot. You only do that when something's really bugging you. You're making me nervous."

Scott forced a faint smile and shrugged. "Sorry." After another minute of silence, Scott finally broke. "Okay. Thanks for noticing and for asking. But..." He paused a long time.

Greg turned in his seat. "But what?"

Scott swallowed hard, but didn't answer right away. Greg leaned toward him and raised the volume. "But what, dammit? Come on, Scott, I can handle it whatever it is, and I'm sure you can too."

Scott sighed. "Well, I have no choice but to handle it. You, on the other hand, are going to hate it. And, I'm afraid you're going to wind up hating me."

Greg's face was showing genuine fear now. He slumped back against the passenger side door, still facing Scott. "Scotty, I'm not going to wind up hating you whatever it is. You've convinced me that I really can handle practically anything. But whatever this shit is, it's weighing damned heavily on you, so unload. Fill me in."

Scott squirmed in his seat. He took a deep breath and held it, and then slowly exhaled. "Okay, here goes." He leaned down and shut of the radio. "The god-awful bottom line, Greg, is that the baseball program might well be cut from next year's budget."

There was a full minute of absolute silence.

Greg's tone was even and measured. "How long have you known this?"

Well, it's not a sure thing yet. We're meeting a week from tomorrow. But I'm telling you that it really looks like it could go.

"Okay, now...again...how long have you known that this could happen to me?"

Scott was approaching panic. "It's a long story, Greg. It started coming into focus near the end of the first semester, but..."

"You knew this in December? You've been sitting on this for about, what, four months? How the hell could you...?"

"Greg! Hang on! Let me try to give it to you in a nutshell. We started gearing up for the possibility of cuts...any and all cuts in the budget. We agreed on some ground rules and priorities. Then we went through the whole fucking thing, department-by-department, item-by-item. Over time, baseball made its way onto the `we could do without it if we had to' list. And there it sits."

Greg slumped back in his seat and shook his head. He rubbed his face with both hands. "I can't fucking believe..."

Scott cut him off. "And I couldn't say anything because we also made a common agreement that we wouldn't scare the shit out of people with hypothetical scenarios and possibilities. No sense in creating pockets of panic all over the place if it isn't necessary. It was a good idea, a sound principle that I agreed with at the outset."

Greg snapped back. "So you're telling me now? You said it's not final."

Scott pursed his lips and nodded sheepishly. "Yes I'm telling you now and I'm breaking the rules, but I didn't want you to hear it from the coach or read it in the paper if it does become final."

"And you've been going along with this?"

Scott inhaled deeply. "I agreed with the ground rules that we established way back when. But baseball wasn't even being looked at then. I agreed with the `no talk rule' because I believed it would keep the process cleaner and less politically charged. I hate the idea that it could go against you and the rest of the team. I fucking hate it!"

"Can you stop it?"

Scott sighed again. "I don't know. I just don't know how I could. I already tried once but ran into the `brick wall' that is Andy Pennington, the board's president."

Greg's elbows were on his knees and his forehead rested in the palms of his hands. He moaned, "You have to! You just have to stop this!" He lifted his head a little and turned to face Scott. "What the hell am I supposed to do if the program dies? The scholarship goes away, I can't move home, and my shit head old man isn't going to put up any money to keep me in school." He wiped his nose. "You've told me about the glory days on the board last year when you took this asshole Pennington to the woodshed and gave him a spanking over tuition..."

Scott interrupted. "It's not the same, Greg. Last year he was manipulating the process for his own personal benefit. This year, to my surprise, he's actually demonstrating some sane leadership. I still don't like him, but I can't argue with the way he's managed us and got us to this point. This idea has a lot of support, IF it HAS to happen."

The final forty-five minutes of the drive was made in absolute silence. Scott kept his eyes on the road and Greg fidgeted and chewed on his nails, mostly looking out the side window.

Finally, Scott pulled up in front of Greg's dorm. After putting the car in park, he turned to Greg. "Hate me?"

Greg sighed. "I did for a little while, and then I wanted to, but I guess the jury's still out. I'm still trying to make sense of why you didn't tell me before now."

"I wanted to, Greg. I really did. But it wouldn't have changed a thing other than to freak you out for months."

"It would have changed things for me. This is a huge bombshell, you know. I've been having a pretty good year so far."

Still gripping the top of the steering wheel, Scott dropped his forehead onto the backs of his hands. "I know! Greg, I've been sick about this off and on for months. I don't want to do anything that hurts you in any way." Greg opened the door and got out. He opened the back door and grabbed his bag. Scott looked over his shoulder. "Call me tomorrow" Or I'll call you?"

Greg was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. "Give me some time, will you? Just...if there's any way you can stop this...please do it. Please?"

"I will, and I'll back off and give you whatever time and space you want."

Greg nodded and hit Scott with a stoic stare. "Okay. Thanks. And thanks for the weekend. Have a good night." He closed the door. Scott watched him walk to the dorm's main entrance, and then slowly eased away from the curb.

Every night for the next week, Scott's routine was the same. Have a bite to eat, often with the guys, hit the books and take care of the academics, and then hide himself away in his room with a pot of coffee. He'd take out all of the budget materials that The Regents had handled and considered throughout the year and review them again, line by line, item by item. Thursday night he actually pulled an all-nighter fiddling with a calculator and an Excel spreadsheet. At three a.m., he finally broke down and sent Greg an e-mail. It simply said, "I hope you're well."

Thirty minutes later a response came. "I'm hanging in there."

"Shit," Scott thought, "he isn't sleeping either. I'll bet he's a wreck." He was tempted to call, but resisted. He'd told Greg that he'd give him some space, and there was a chance Darrin would be in the room. So, he just went back to pouring over the books.

Scott was nervous when he took his seat at the April Regents meeting, but he hid it pretty well. Pennington had sent word from his law office in Milwaukee that he was running a little late, so Scott had time to banter casually with several members, including Abby. That helped to calm him. Fifteen minutes after they were to start, Andy dashed into the room. He was a bit short of breath and seemed to be rather frayed. "Sorry, folks. Got caught in a bankruptcy proceeding today with a judge who thinks he's a CPA. We ended up going through practically the entire list of items in the proposed settlement, line by line."

`Poor Andy. I feel your pain,' thought Scott.

Andy sat and pulled a folder out of his briefcase. He asked the clerk to call the roll as he got organized at the head of the table. Once settled in he said, "Good. Everybody's here. That's going to be important this evening. It'll be a short meeting, I think, as we only really have one item to deal with. We'll take up the final recommendation to the governor for next year's budget, act on it and then call it a night." There was still a stressful edge to his voice and he appeared a bit flustered.

He must have had a really rough day,' thought Scott. He's usually a lot smoother than this.'

Andy cleared his throat and nodded. "Okay then. You've all had another month to review and consider the work we've spent so much of our time on this year. I believe we can be proud of our over-all management of the university system this year, and particularly of our handling of the myriad of budget considerations we've had to tackle. I realize that we'd all like to do nothing but add to this section of the state's budget, but I commend you all on the clear-headed and thoughtful manner in which we've proceeded. So, with that, as chair of our finance committee, I will move final adoption of this recommendation to Governor Hackett on behalf of the University of Wisconsin.

Silas Lee raised a hand. "Second."

Andy nodded. "I know we've discussed and deliberated this thing to death but, with a motion and a second before us, I still have to ask: is there any further discussion?" Scott raised his hand. Andy barely squelched a sneer and slowly said, "Mr. Turner."

Scott sat up straight and laid his hands flat on the table. "Ladies and gentlemen, I need to make one last minute appeal. This isn't going to go over very well, but it's important to me and an awful lot of students. And it's been bugging me for a long time. I know I should have done something before this evening and I apologize for this last minute effort on my part."

Everyone could sense the storm clouds gathering in Pennington's brain, his heart and his gut. He wanted to crawl across the table and punch this uppity punk. Abby closed her eyes and shook her head.

Scott swallowed a gulp of water so large that it hurt going down. He cleared his throat and went on. "I'd like to propose an adjustment to this fiscal plan that would spare the baseball team. I think it's important, and I have a couple of alternatives involving modest additional cuts in a number of areas, a small increase in ticket prices for those athletic events with heavy attendance and, if needed, a small increase in student activity fees. With your permission, Mr. Pennington, I'd like to present the details for The Board's consideration."

Andy slapped the table hard. Several members were jolted in their seats. "No! I asked for discussion, not amendments. That train has left the damned station! You, young man, are so out of order that you ought to be in a straight jacket! Bringing this up at this point, past the eleventh hour, is an insult to the other fourteen members who have given so much time to this effort." He paused to regain his composure. "In addition, your brainstorm should have been included on the agenda, and no such request was made. You're sandbagging, bringing this up at the very last minute, trying to blindside everybody with a proposal they haven't even had a chance to look at."

Scott was trying hard to not sound like he was begging. "But I'm asking to show it to them now and explain how it would work!"

Andy leaned on the table and glared. "And I'm telling you, once again, NO! Your request is out of order. Whatever you've brought along tonight will NOT be shown, it will not be discussed and it will not be considered. Period! End of story!" Scott sat back in his chair and hung his head.

Andy fiddled with the knot of his tie. "Alright then, unless anyone else wants to try to derail the final resolution of this extremely vital issue, I believe it's time to vote. The clerk will call the roll."

Andy's assistant read through the names alphabetically. `Turner' was last on the list. Abby Svendsen was right in front of him. It wasn't until she voted in favor that he finally made up his mind.

"Mr. Turner?" the clerk asked.

Scott cleared his throat. "Aye."

Scott called Greg's cell as he left the building. On the second ring, Greg answered. "Hello." It was cold.

"Hi, Greg. Is Darrin there?"

"Yes."

"Then would you please meet me outside the dorm in about ten minutes. I'd like to talk."

"I don't think..."

Scott cut him off. "Please, Greg. Please."

After a long pause, "Okay. Ten minutes."

There was a footbridge over the street that separated the dorm and the cafeteria. Greg was leaning on the railing of its steps when Scott cleared the curb. He sat on a step and gestured for Scott to do the same. Scott took a seat on the other side of the handrail. The nearest streetlight was behind Greg and it lit Scott's face. The dim light from the dorm lobby thirty feet away allowed Scott to get a partial view of his friend. Greg peered at him. "You don't look too well."

"I feel like shit."

"Not a good meeting, huh?"

Scott hung his head and his palms faced the dark sky. "I tried, Greg. I appealed to the Board to reconsider baseball. I pleaded, I practically begged for an opportunity to show them how it could be done, but they'd have none of it. Well, actually, the board's president ruled me out of order and read me the riot act. I think if we'd been alone and he could've reached me he'd have taken a swing at me. No surprise there. He's a dickhead."

"So you've said. Greg stared up at the top floor's windows of his dorm. "Was the final vote...uhm...was it unanimous?" He faced ahead still staring at the building, but managed to finally peer at Scott out of the corners of his eyes.

Scott looked down and merely nodded.

There were several awful moments of silence. Scott finally looked back up and gazed plaintively at Greg's contorted face. Greg turned his head and glared back at him, nearly growling. "So...let's see if I have this right. Most of the year, you're fucking me at your place, fucking me in my room, fucking me at the cabin, fucking me in a public restroom, fucking me at your parents' house, fucking me in a swanky hotel room while you whisper sweet nothings in my ear." He inhaled deeply through his nose and angrily scratched his head. "Let's see, am I leaving anything out?" He slumped back against the step behind him and deflated. "And all that while, you were planning on fucking me from The Regents' boardroom when I wasn't even there. Quite a trick, Scott. Fucking me out of my only remaining lifeline, my last ever-loving dreams!"

Scott tried to reach out to put his hands on Greg's shoulders, but Greg recoiled. "You know that wasn't my plan, Greg. Like I said, I tried to undo it. I tried to save it. Really, I did!"

Greg squinted and shouted. "Too fucking little, too fucking late! You say that you tried tonight! Where the hell were you four or five months ago?"

Scott shook his head. "But back then you and I weren't...uhm...well, we weren't where we are today."

Greg gritted his teeth and sneered. "And just where the hell is that?"

Scott couldn't put words to the various answers swimming through his heart and his head, and Greg preempted his effort to respond. He pointed directly at Scott. "Besides, I hope you don't think I believe that would have made a damned bit of difference. Even if we'd been head over heels, star struck lovers last winter, you'd have still stuck with your fucking principles and priorities and procedures, and you'd have ignored me and my future!"

Scott pleaded. "You don't know that, Greg. Please don't try to condemn me to Hell on hypothetical shit. You have a right to be mad, even mad at me, but I'm pretty sure that IF what we had in December, back before the Christmas break, if it had been close to what we have today, I think I would have dealt with the whole fucking mess differently. But IF isn't the case. Honestly, Greg, you gotta believe me. I never disregarded you. I never wanted this to happen and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you."

Greg rolled his eyes and scoffed. "But, still, you voted `Yes.'"

Scott inhaled deeply and paused. He worked to speak calmly, rationally. "Greg, a No' vote from me would have made absolutely no difference in the outcome. But it would have made a difference for the students' voice on The Board down the road. I'd have been a hypocrite to vote No.' I'd have shot my own credibility all to hell with those folks. A `No" vote would have sent every other member the message that I'm no longer worth listening to, that I can't be counted on. I have a year left there and might be able to make a difference, but only if they all believe that I mean what I say."

Greg ignored the rationale. His eyes looked upward again and they began to leak. "Jesus fucking Christ, Scott! You know that this means I'm fucking toast! You know I basically have no family, nowhere to go, no scholarship and no way to stay in school. Fuck! I don't have a God Damned reason to even stay in school now. I might as well head over to the Seven-Eleven and apply for the cashier's job they have advertised on the counter."

Scott shook his head with a vengeance and tried to look optimistic. "No! I thought about that. When the school year and season are over, you can come back to my folks' place for the summer and we can look at all the options together."

Greg sniffed and then stood. "Right. Like spending my summer months with the guy who helped to toss my future in the shitter is gonna be high on my list." He dug into his pocket and sneered. "Hold out your hand please." Scott did as Greg asked. Greg dropped the guardian angel medallion into his palm. "Here. She doesn't work." He turned and walked toward the dorm's entrance. Scott called out his name twice, but Greg never looked back.

After watching Greg get on the elevator in the lobby, Scott hung his head for several seconds. Without even realizing it, he was rubbing the medallion in his palm with his thumb. As he got up to leave, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him. "Rough night, eh Scott?" Elliot's voice was the last thing he needed to hear at the moment. Lyman sauntered down a few stairs. "Truth be told, Scott, this is the second time I've followed you here. First time was a couple months ago, after you got all wise with me as you were leaving the WSA meeting. But that time, I couldn't be positive what was really going on. I did know that this was the jock dorm, and you had bragged that you were going to get laid, but I couldn't be a hundred percent sure. For all I knew, you'd been yanking my chain about the sex. I'm told a lot of guys do that."

He took a few more steps. "But after I got the letter from Mr. Pennington, the one informing me that The Regents were going to simply disregard our petition, I followed up with a phone call to him. We had a good, candid chat. Mr. Pennington told me you'd made quite a show of it at that meeting when he brought up the petition, and he said that you seemed to have a particular fixation on the baseball program. I figured it was one of our baseball players you were behaving badly with. Pennington said that he had the impression that you were taking the whole baseball thing very personally. So, knowing that the Regents were meeting this evening and that budget cuts were on the agenda, I figured you'd run someplace cozy after a round of rough decision making. It seems to be kind of your habit after all. Little did I know I'd be treated to such high drama tonight." He chuckled, then paused and smirked. "So I was right. You are a filthy sodomite. Just another degraded, unnatural, hedonistic pervert. One more fag, damned to Hell and determined to take as many with you as you can."

Scott wanted to knock Elliot's smug expression all the way to the curb. "Elliot, if you think I have even one second to spend on you tonight, then you are one delusional fucker. I'm not going to waste a single breath on you, you sick piece of shit!"

Elliot chuckled. "Oh, but you will. You see, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with this little revelation...yet. I'm going to mull it over for a time. I want to guarantee that when I finally put it to good use, it'll be worth it for the entire university. You're not the only one who cares, Scott. I plan to continue on here in grad school next year and will most likely return to the WSA. Maybe I'll just sit on the `Turner's a closet homo' news until then." His snicker sounded like some sinister laugh right out of an old, bad movie. "Perhaps you'll be supporting me for President of the WSA next fall."

Scott rolled his eyes in disbelief. "When pigs fly, Elliot. When Hell freezes over. When you learn to walk upright and stop dragging your knuckles, or when you convert to real Christianity." Still, he couldn't deny the pang of fear that crept through his head.

Elliot laughed again. "We'll see."

Scott's lips curled as his vitriolic contempt overcame his concern. "Then have at it, Elliot! Take your best shots! Give it your all! Of all the people on the planet I don't give a shit about right now, you're the one I don't give a shit about the most! If you come at me or anybody I care about, I'll publicly do any and everything I can to make you regret it. I'll have you for lunch, you asshole! Nobody is going to fuck around like this with Scott and Suzanne Turner's son and not regret it." He turned, wiped the spittle from his chin and walked away. Elliot stood at the foot of the stairs with a self-satisfied grin.

As Scott turned over for about the fortieth time in the last several hours he finally opened his eyes. Although it was still dark outside, the forecast had promised it would be a beautiful spring day. "Fuck," Scott muttered to the fattest cat, who was pissed off that Scott had moved his feet. "I wanted cold, gray and rainy." He hadn't slept well. He looked down at the cat. "Life sucks sometimes, ya' know?"

Sitting on the couch, surfing the channels and having a third cup of coffee at 5:30 in the morning was a drag. Still, he knew that any effort to try to doze off again would be futile. He contemplated a run. After all, he had over two hours before he had to be in the office. The dog had ambled into the living room and up onto the couch, dropping his heavy head onto Scott's right thigh and he looked upward with a plaintive gaze.

As far as Scott could tell, the dog understood exactly three complete phrases in the human voice. That was the dog's understanding too. "Wanna go for a ride?" meant that the dog should thunder down the stairs and whack his tail back and forth between the front door and the adjacent wall. Then he'd get to stick his head out the window and have his ears and jowls blown around by the passing air. He liked that. "Getcher leash!" was just about as good. That meant he had to romp to Brett's bedroom door and chomp on that damned leather strap that hung over the knob and bring it back. Then they'd hook it to his collar so that he could drag one of them around outside and pee on trees and bark at passing cars or other dogs until he got a swat on the head or the snout if he got out of hand. On the other hand, "Who did that?" was decidedly bad. That meant that the day's activity with the garbage or the shoe, or taking a dump inside the house had been ill-advised. Usually, he wanted to blame the cat for goading him on, but didn't know how. Invariably, that question caused him to slowly slink out of the room with up-looking, mournful eyes.

Scott set the empty mug on the end table, rubbed the dog's head and said with a smile, "Getcher leash!" The lab jumped off the couch, slid on the wood floor as he exited the living room and turned left toward Brett's bedroom door. He grabbed that damned leather strap and brought it back to Scott.

Brett had done a good job teaching him to sit and stay. Scott got a kick out of having him do just that on one corner of the capitol lawn. Then he'd jog a full city block to the other corner of that section of the lawn. Once there, Scott would turn around and shout his go-ahead, "Come on boy!" Damn! For a thickset retriever, the dog could fly. And the only thing waiting on the other end was a scratch on the ears and a couple offerings of baby talk `good boy.'

But this day would be a little different. The dog was mostly an indoors pet and he hadn't been out and about all that much in his first year. The flora and the fauna, outside of the apartment's back yard, were a real fascination to him when he had the chance. Other animals were the most interesting. The capitol lawn was fraught with beautiful old trees: stately oaks, broad maples that blazed in the fall and tall elms. And that meant plenty of squirrels.

Scott had him sitting and staying. He was playing along, knowing that the "C'mon!" wouldn't be long. Scott jogged to the opposite end facing Wisconsin Avenue. He turned, slapped his knees and shouted the command. About a dozen leaps into his blazing stride, the furry gray rodent with the large fluffy tail darted in front of him. The hell with my human,' the dog thought. He'll be there when I'm done with this little fucker.' The squirrel darted left, then right, and then left again. Scott's jaw dropped. The maverick pooch damn near caught the little fucker's tail in his mouth more than once.

Then the dog learned a tough lesson. Squirrels can go vertical when they get to a tree. Dogs can't. The squirrel leapt and darted skyward. The dog's brakes weren't up to the task. Scott winced and ducked his head when he heard the loud `thud' of canine cranium hitting oak at nearly full speed. The dog fell to his side and Scott started running toward him. After a couple of seconds the dog wobbled back up onto all fours, shook his head three or four times, looked up into the tree's branches and slowly ambled toward Scott, his tongue flapping all the way. He was sure the squirrel was laughing at him.

Scott rubbed his ears and checked his skull. Parting the fur with his thumbs, he wrinkled his nose and curled his lip. "Ouch! That's gonna leave a mark, dummy."

The dog gave Scott a grateful and loving look, a lick on the hand and wagged his tail. Scott reattached the leash and began their trek back to the apartment. Halfway there, he looked down. "Don't feel bad. I won't tell the fattest cat what you just did, and I'm sorry I called you dummy. There have been a few times when I knew I was running my ass off after something good, only to wind up feeling like I was smacking my own skull."

The fattest cat in the world was snuggled up in the crook of Scott's legs behind his knees. Scott chuckled. The cat looked up. What a freak,' he thought. He's sound asleep and he's grinning and laughing.'

In his dream Scotty Turner was sitting in the passenger seat next to his grandmother. Evelyn shrugged. "Well, Scotty, you might as well shit in one hand and wish in the other, and I can tell you right now which one will get full first."

Scotty blushed. "Gran, you shouldn't talk like that."

She laughed. "When you're my age and a grandma, you can pretty much talk the way you want. Some people just think you're crazy, and the others have enough respect for their elders that they'll let it pass. Now, you will be my age some day, God willing, but you'll never be a grandma."

Scotty frowned. "Huh? I don't get it."

"That you'll never be a grandma? You don't have the right plumbing. Hasn't your father had that conversation with you yet? You're already twelve, and stuff like that is going to start making a difference in your life. I'm going to have to talk to your father about doing his job."

Scott blushed. "No, Gran' me and Dad talked about the baby stuff and the making baby stuff and a lot of other stuff that I...well, I really don't want to talk to you about. I was asking about...uhm, pooping...in one hand and wishing in the other."

She checked the rear view mirror and chuckled. "Well, you said you wished your teacher would listen better to you and your classmates. What I'm saying is that just wishing about something and not doing anything about it is useless. It's lazy. It's convenient. Feeling like a victim is kind of comforting to a lot of people, but it's a bunch of B.S. Sitting and bitching and moaning and feeling sorry for yourself or for those around you, and then doing nothing about it is the motus operandi of the average American."

"The what?"

"Motus operandi. M.O.' It means the way people usually do things. And like I said, the average person does nothing but wish." Her emphasis was on the word average.'

She looked directly at him but thankfully kept the car between the lines. "Scotty, you're not average. I'll tell you what. I want you to think about that teacher and the way she deals with you and your classmates. Then I want you to think of three ways you could actually make what you want to happen actually happen." She pulled in to the lot and put the car in park. "But first, we're going to have a couple big, gooey hot fudge sundaes."

Scott rolled over and opened his eyes. The fattest cat in the world crawled up the length of the mattress and was staring back at him. He mewed, `breakfast time, if it wouldn't kill you.'

Scott yawned and reached over to scratch the cat's head. "I know it's late. Didn't get to sleep `til late last night." He yawned again. "Make that early this morning." At Brett's insistence, the guys had gone to a party that the senior marching band members held every year, and Scott was nursing a fairly mild hangover. "Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day," he said to the cat.

"Mew." `Feed me!'

He rolled out of the sack and stepped into a clean pair of shorts, then grabbed the light robe that hung on his closet door. He padded into the kitchen with the cat leading the way. The dog heard the sound of food hitting his big metal dish and trotted in from the living room. He too had been getting a little concerned about the time of day.

Scott started to put on the coffee but the sound of running water woke up his bladder, so he set down the pot and headed for the bathroom. After relieving himself, he completed the task and then walked down the hall and opened the front balcony door to let in some fresh air. He ducked into the living room and plopped on the couch. He dozed in and out for ten minutes, thinking again of his dear departed grandmother, Evelyn Turner. He heard the coffee maker gurgle, signaling the end of the brew cycle and then grunted as he sat up and moseyed back into the kitchen. As he filled one of the large mugs, he heard the cat kicking litter over his latest contribution to the box. The cat stepped out and sat in the center of the kitchen floor, licking his paw and rubbing his face. Scott grabbed a cube out of the freezer and eased it into the hot brew. He blew the melting cube around the surface and he looked down at the cat. "My Gran' should have met you. You get to wish for breakfast, shit in the litter box and then do nothing. Seems to work out okay for you."

He lumbered back to the couch and sat down. After a couple long sips of coffee he laid the back of his head on the top of the couch and stared at the ceiling. He whispered aloud, "Aw Gran. I wish I was a cat, and I'm not going to shit in the other hand. No, my dear, not to worry. I'm going to do something. Really, I am."

The fundraiser back home the following Friday had gone well. Scotty saw a lot of old family friends and some of his high school chums. Big Scott was in fine form pressing the flesh and working the crowd, and he gave an excellent little speech. Suzanne was diligent and dutiful as the smiling, hand-shaking and hugging political wife.

On Saturday, Scott planted sixty more yard signs in some neighboring communities in the county while his dad put in a few hours at the office and then had lunch and the same little speech at the assisted living center on the edge of town. It was a gray, chilly and damp day in early May, but the ground had thawed enough to allow for the easy planting of the signs. Returning home, he opened the back door, inhaled deeply and burst into a smile. "Mmmmmmm. Pot roast!"

Suzanne smiled as she closed the oven door. "And roasted potatoes and carrots, and scalloped corn. And I stopped at the bakery and picked up a fresh loaf of that crusty bread you like so much. I thought a little comfort food would be good for you and your dad on such a bleak day. We'll be ready in about an hour."

He kissed his mother's cheek. "You are the best. And tomorrow, a hot beef sandwich slathered in that gravy. I'm going to have to run extra in the morning." Suzanne grinned. "Need me to do anything, Mom?"

She waved him off. "Not a thing dear. You look tired. Why don't you go lie down and take a nap, and I'll call you when dinner is ready."

That was exactly what he wanted to hear. He headed for the stairs.

Two hours later, Big Scott sat back and rubbed his tummy. "Boy, you have to come home more often. The missus doesn't do this just for little old me anymore." Suzanne shot him a glance and he smirked back.

Scott stood and picked up his plate, and then placed his mom's and dad's on top. "I'm going to put on a half pot of coffee, and I picked up some chocolate chip at the Ice Cream Palace on the way home. Who wants what?"

Big Scott raised a hand. "Make it decaf and I'll have a cup, but I'll take a pass on the butterfat and sugar."

Suzanne nodded. "Same here, honey."

Scott put on the coffee rinsed the plates and silver and loaded the dishwasher. He put the leftover beef and gravy in some Tupperware and left it on the counter to cool. He scooped a moderate helping of the chocolate chip into a small dish. Then he poured three cups and carried two to his parents. He went back for his own cup and the ice cream and rejoined them at the dining room table.

After swallowing a spoonful of ice cream and sipping his coffee, he looked back and forth. "Mom, Dad...we need to talk."

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kory for once again lending me his sharp eyes and brains on the editing. Please feel free to share your comments with me at scotty.13411@hotmail.com.