Fork in the Road

FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 22

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

-Yogi Berra

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

Scott went into the office very early on Monday, so early that the exterior of the building was still brightly lit when he threw his car into park. As he approached his usual entrance with an empty box under his arm, the rising sun told the floodlights to shut down and they obeyed.

Being the first one in, he started the coffee maker in the break room and then went straight to his cube. He finished the two research projects he'd been working on and forwarded them to the appropriate senators' offices. Then he answered a dozen e-mails and forwarded another dozen regarding unfinished business to Frick's secretary. As more and more of the team arrived, the challenge to disregard the growing din and buzz in the office grew more and more formidable. The Sunday paper obviously had people squirming, but Scott remained focused on his cube and his computer screen.

Finally, at about 10:30 he copied all of the remaining e-mails in his inbox, and those in the deleted files' folder as well, and e-mailed them to himself at his personal address at home. There wasn't anything troubling in the mix, but he reasoned, I might be asked questions about correspondence. I might have to show names and dates of messages I've received or sent.' He knew that if anybody in tech. services was directed to do so, they could pull up anything they wanted, especially if the request came in the form of a subpoena from the District Attorney. He just wanted to make sure his own memory was clear, just in case. Finally, he did the same with the `sent items' folder. He switched screens, opened a fresh Word document and typed quickly.

"Senator Frick,

"After much reflection and consideration, I find that I can no longer serve the majority caucus in good conscience. Therefore, please consider this my resignation from the caucus staff, effective immediately.

"Sincerely,

"Scott Turner, Jr."

Beneath his signature he noted that copies would be going to Maureen McCarthy and, for payroll reasons, the Senate Chief Clerk's office. He printed three copies and signed each of them, folded and stuffed them into envelopes and sealed them. Then he emptied and washed his mug and placed all of his personal items in the cube into the box.

Before logging off and shutting down, he typed one last e-mail.

"Corny,

"Lunch at Ella's on Wednesday? You said you're buying and I'm going to hold you to it. I'll be there at noon. Let's clog our arteries with some fatty sandwiches and get caught up. Call my cell if there's a problem. You won't be able to reach me in the office after you've read this.

"Scott."

He logged off and shut down the computer, picked up the box of his personal items, grabbed the resignation letters and headed for the door.

He stepped into the Chief Clerk's office. C.C. must have already gone to an early lunch, as only Penny Harrington was in the outer office manning her new post. Unfortunately she was on the phone. Scott smiled a big, bright smile and shot her a thumbs up.' He held up the envelope and mouthed "For the Chief." He set it on the counter along with his key to the caucus office complex. Penny smiled, nodded and waved, and he was gone. Next, he walked one flight up to the majority leader's office. Maureen's office suite was open, but the door to her personal office was closed. No surprise there,' he said to himself. Scott imagined some pow-wow with her political strategists, fund raising guru and maybe even another lawyer or two working on damage control possibilities. He handed the envelope to her secretary. "This is for Senator McCarthy," was all he said. He turned and left. He took the elevator down to the ground floor and slowly walked to the exit.

A half hour later, he walked into the Advising Center and scanned the directory on the wall. He hadn't consulted with his academic advisor since he first arrived on campus, when they'd finalized his initial course choices. There really had been no need to see her since then. He knocked politely on the open door and she glanced up. She consulted the desk calendar and looked at her watch, then stood. "Scott, right?"

He nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Come on in and have a seat, Scott, and it's Mary Ann." Her fingers rattled the keyboard for a couple of seconds and she glanced at the screen. "Impressive start, Scott. Any guess as to how the grades are going to end up this semester?"

"I have a lock on an A, a lock on an A minus, and the third should be one or the other."

She scratched her head. "Excellent." She leaned back and smiled again. "I have to tell you Scott, this time of year most of the students who beat a path to my door are my `regular customers,' and they're often here because they're expecting the worst and want to know what their options are. But you're obviously eating this stuff up. So, what can I do for you?"

"Uhm, I've been weighing all of my my options and I've decided to change majors."

She arched her brows. "Really? Didn't you win the big enchilada in Poli-Sci last year?"

"Yes ma'am, er, Mary Ann, but I've confirmed with Dr. Cushing that the scholarship will still be there with the change."

She grinned again. "That's fine. And it's not an unusual move at your point in a program. A lot of students reconsider it all by the end of the sophomore year. So, where do you see yourself heading?"

He smirked and raised one brow. "You don't know how many times I've asked myself the same question the past few months, under a lot of different circumstances. I've stumbled onto a number of crossroads lately, and I believe I've been making the right decisions." He sighed softly and then looked the counselor squarely in the eyes. "I want to move into the School of Education. I've decided I want to be a teacher when I grow up." He chuckled a bit. "If I grow up."

She laughed with him and nodded. This kind of move into teaching was not all that unusual. In her experience there were a variety of reasons, some noble, others not so noble. Many wanted to make lasting contributions by affecting young lives and minds. Others just wanted to coach or have their summers off, and were willing to teach in order to make it happen. She scrutinized him for a moment and asked, "Mind if I ask why?"

He shifted in his seat. "Two things, really. I've come to a couple conclusions. First, I've worked in the State Senate now for almost a full year. One of the things I've learned about myself is that I'm better at analyzing and explaining issues and peoples' positions than I am at being a blindly loyal advocate for one side or the other. My folks always raised me to approach things with an open mind, and sometimes I think mine is a little too open. I think that if I tried to make a career out of always bowing mindlessly to one party or to one rigid position on any issue, I'd go nuts." Mary Ann grinned and nodded. "Second, after the time I've spent up there, I have a pretty lousy taste in my mouth. All the bullshit and backstabbing and the need to cover your ass has already worn me down. And I'm only twenty."

He thought for another minute and inhaled. "I mean I know that a good politician and office holder can do a lot of good for a lot of people. But it seems like they need to go out of their way to crap on somebody in the process. The screwings and waving of knives are just too much. But, I've had a lot of great teachers along the way. I know that if you're a really good teacher you can't avoid making a positive difference in a lot of kids' lives, whether they want you to or not. And it lasts a long, long time." He puffed out his chest a little and held his head a little taller. "I want to be a teacher. Maybe I can inspire the kids to walk the road I that I'm not willing to, and to do it in a noble and honorable fashion."

The counselor looked over her glasses. "You, Mr. Turner, have your shit together."

Scott grinned and blushed a bit. "Thank you very much."

She smiled again and leaned forward. "So, what do you want to teach?"

Scott was finally relaxing and he crossed one leg over the other. "Social studies. You know, history, government, law-related stuff like that would be ideal. I've read bits and pieces of the school's catalog and it seems like the credits I'll have at the end of this year would transfer over nicely to that kind of teaching license."

She nodded. "True enough, but then you have to go further and take all of the `how to teach' courses. Knowing how government works isn't the same thing as being able to successfully teach how government works. There's adolescent psychology, writing effective curricula, classroom management, school and community relations, special education, assessment and evaluation methods...a whole huge load of material that's beyond the subject matter you want to teach. There's an awful lot more than just knowing the content."

Scott nodded. "Oh, I know! But I'm done working part time at the capitol so I'm not doing any more nine-credit semesters." He considered her admonition again and said with a smile, "Trust me. I've met a lot of folks who know politics and government inside and out, but who I'd never want teaching it to our kids!"

She smiled and looked over her glasses again. "And you realize there's one full semester where all you'll be doing is student teaching. It's a full-time job, without any pay."

He nodded again with confidence. "Yep. But like I said, Dr. Cushing assured me the scholarship will still be there, even if I go outside of the Political Science Department. I look forward to it."

She handed him a form. "Well, this is the paperwork for a change in majors. It also asks you to map out a graduation plan. Sit down with the requirements and the catalog again, and make a game plan. Then make another appointment with me and we'll review it together." She smiled. "I'm sure the folks over in Education will be happy to have you join their ranks." She leaned back. "And I have a strong sense that some school district, and their kids, will be very lucky in a couple of years to have Mr. Turner join their faculty."

Scott slid the form into a folder and put it back in his book bag. Then he stood. "Thank you, Mary Ann. This is kind of exciting actually."

"Hang onto that Scott. We need teachers who are excited."

He smiled, thanked her, and went on his way. He was beaming as he left the building. `Mr. Turner...Teacher!'

After leaving the counselor's office, Scott strolled up the hill toward Bascom Hall. It was a gray and windy day. So far, the rain that had been forecast hadn't started to fall. Part of him was thankful for that, but part of him wished it would rain. His spirits were lifting by the minute and he knew he could scoff at anything Mother Nature might hurl at him this day. He looked at the sky. "Bring it on, bitch. I'll make Gene Kelly look like a clod with two left feet." `Singin' in the Rain' had been on his list of favorite movies for a long time. It was near the bottom of the favorites list, but it was there.

As was her habit Dr. Cushing's secretary, Gloria, greeted him curtly and directed him to a chair in the outer office. He was familiar with the routine and once again he resolved to make her smile before he left. `This might be the last time I get to do business with the old gal,' he considered.

She didn't look up from her typing. "Dr. Cushing hasn't returned from his lecture yet. He must be caught up in a discussion with a student or two. He's usually here by now." She seemed perturbed by his tardiness, as if Cushing somehow owed it to her to return immediately after class.

The office door opened, and the professor filled the doorway with his stout frame. "Scott! Twice in a couple weeks! I haven't seen this much of you all year! Come on in my boy."

Scott stood and grinned at the my boy' remark. Suddenly he felt like he was in an old movie. Nobody says that,' he thought as he shook the professor's beefy hand.

Cushing led him into the private office and directed him to a chair. "So, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure Scott?"

He shifted his weight nervously and finally crossed his legs and leaned back. "Well, Dr. Cushing, I've come to an important decision and wanted to discuss it with you."

The professor leaned forward and folded his hands on his desktop. "Changing majors, eh? So what's it going to be, Scott? History, like Ambrose did? Or maybe Education calls?" Scott was floored and it showed. "Don't be so alarmed. I'm not psychic, but you're at that point where the smarter students take stock of where they're going. And the last time we talked you were awfully interested in the whole change in majors scenario as it pertained to the scholarship."

Scott looked down, a little embarrassed. "That obvious, was I?"

Cushing nodded and chuckled. "Yes. That obvious."

The professor's continuing smile and good humor put Scott at ease. He'd been afraid that the great old man would disapprove. "I'm going to move to the School of Education, sir. I want to teach government and history to high school students."

Cushing leaned back and folded his hands on his `front porch' of a belly. "Let me guess. Two years leading the WSA, another two with The Regents, and one working for the legislature. And now you've come to the realization that you don't need, in fact you don't want, all the crap that goes along with it."

Scott grinned and blushed a little. "Yes, sir. Something like that. Actually, that's just about exactly what I just told my academic advisor a little while ago. Politics isn't something I want to try and make into a career."

Cushing raised his brows and sighed. "Well, God knows we need more excellent teachers in our public schools, particularly in the area of government. It's very abstract to so many people and a difficult discipline to get across to the average teenager." Then he rolled his eyes and moaned, "Or even the average adult on most days." He gave Scott a fatherly smile. "I'm sure that the district that has the good sense to hire you will be richly rewarded. You'll be an outstanding teacher, Scott. And the experiences you've already had in your young life will be with you always. You'll share them with your students and they'll benefit from it."

"Thank you, sir. I hope so."

"So if you came here for my blessing, not that you needed it, you should know that you certainly have it."

Scott sighed and smiled. "Thank you, professor. You've done so much for me. I was feeling like a bit of an ingrate who was turning my back on you."

Cushing slowly stood. "Ahh knock it off. With the credentials you're pursuing, you're still going to need some additional Poli-Sci credits each semester, so I do believe our paths will cross again." He stuck out his hand and slowly stood. "And I hope you know I'll be here if you need anything. But you might have to hurry."

As he shook hands and stood, Scott's face asked the question.

The scholar nodded. "Retiring after another, maybe two, years...finally."

Scott's jaw dropped. "Completely, like, for good?"

Cushing shrugged. "Not sure yet. I might accept emeritus status and keep an office here. You know...do some research and write a bit here and there. And, I might consult in the outside world and go for the big bucks." Both men chuckled. "And so, young Mr. Turner, I'll just ask you to keep excelling in the manner you have, keep thinking clearly about what you want out of life, and please give my regards to your parents. We're going to miss you in the department, Scott, but it's clear that your head and heart are right where they ought to be."

Scott nodded appreciatively. "Thanks again, Professor Cushing. With a little luck, I'll be able to get into your class next fall."

They walked toward the door and Cushing opened it. "Gloria, please reserve a seat in my fall Checks and Balances Seminar for Mr. Turner, will you?" He winked at Scott and whispered. "She hates that; me reserving spots and her dealing with the folks in scheduling. But, you're in. I look forward to it."

"Me too professor! Thanks a lot." He walked toward the office entrance and paused at the secretary's desk. She was opening and sorting Dr. Cushing's morning mail.

"Okay, Gloria. Time to lighten up a bit. Tell me, why do so many blonds move to L.A.?"

She continued slitting the envelopes with the letter opener. "I'm sure I wouldn't know."

"Because it's easier to spell."

Gloria had to work at it, but she subdued the impulse to smile.

Scott went at her again. "Alright, then try this one. A blond is walking along a river bank. She looks across the water and sees another blond walking in the same direction along the other bank. The second blond shouts, Hey...like, how do I get to the other side?' The first one hollers back, But you're, like, already on the other side."

This time Gloria grinned and rolled her eyes, but still wouldn't laugh.

Scott dropped his book bag and put his hands on his hips. "You're a tough nut, Gloria." He thought for a couple seconds. "Okay, a blond goes out for a stroll. About ten feet in front of her she sees a banana peel lying on the sidewalk and she says, `Oh shit! Here we go again."

She chuckled a little as she tossed the empty envelopes into the recycling bin.

Scott took a deep breath. "Okay, let's try a little political humor here in the Poli-Sci office. This one's gonna get you. So, Dan Quayle walks into a Burger King, looks at the kid behind the counter and says I'll have two Whoppers.' The kid looks him straight in the eye and says Okay...you're an intellectual giant and the best vice president we've ever had."

Gloria finally cracked. She howled and cackled for about ten seconds, took a deep breath and hooted all over again. Just as Scott was picking up his backpack and turning for the door, Cushing's office door flew open. He was wide-eyed and panting because of the dash from his desk to the door. "What's wrong?"

Gloria leaned on her desk and took a deep breath. "Oh, nothing professor. Young Mr. Turner was on a mission to make me laugh." She waved Scott toward the door. "Enough already! You win! Now, go!"

Scott gave a subtle salute and a nod to Ellison Cushing, winked at Gloria and headed out the door. `Marty would be proud,' he thought to himself.

Tuesday evening Scott was sitting in the living room polishing off the rest of the chicken soup he'd made and a BLT with turkey when his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and slumped back on the couch. `Maureen's home phone. Fuck.' He took a drink of his milk, opened the phone and tried to sound pleasant. "Hello. Scott Turner."

"Scotty, dear, it's Maureen. I was so sad to read your resignation letter. How'd you like to come to the apartment for dinner some night this week? I'd like to discuss all this with you."

Scott pinched his lower lip and silently cursed himself. He was pretty sure a call like this would be coming and he should have rehearsed the best answer. There was an awkward moment of silence before he finally said, "Uhm, Maureen, I don't think that's such a good idea right now."

"What? Scotty, why in the world would you think that?"

He took a deep breath and told himself, `What the hell? We're gonna have to get through this sooner or later.' "Okay, Maureen, we've been such great friends for such a long time, I know I can't get away with lying to you. And I'd never try to. But I've been thinking about this since I read the Sunday paper. Two thoughts are pretty clear to me. First, I was pretty pissed off by the response you gave to the press when this story broke."

"And you're still pissed off? Am I the reason you decided to quit?"

"No, Maureen, you're not THE reason. I've been reevaluating a lot of stuff the past couple of months, and the work with the caucus was one of them. Your response in the paper over the weekend was more like that classic straw that broke the camel's back. I probably would have taken my leave anyway. I've calmed down since Sunday, but I'm still really frustrated. And that means it's going to be impossible for us to sit and have a meal and reminisce and joke and talk about school or the weather or my parents or Kelly or anything. We would have to discuss this fiasco. I'm afraid I'd have to insist."

"We wouldn't absolutely have to discuss it, Scotty."

"Yes we would Maureen. I wouldn't be able to sit through some phony conversation with you and not raise the issue. And I couldn't sit through an hour of `I can't answer that' coming from you, of all people."

"I see."

"The second thought that occurs to me isn't about our friendship and my frustrations. Take off your friend cap and take off your politician cap for a minute and put on your lawyer's cap. We don't know yet whether or not one of those subpoenas being drawn up by the D.A. is going to be coming my way. Part of me expects to be served any day now, to tell you the truth. I'm betting everybody on the staff will get one. Somewhere along the line, somebody's going to mention to the investigators that you and I are dear old friends. There are more than one or two in the office that resent that fact anyway. They won't waste a minute pointing that out as they're answering questions. So I could wind up under oath being asked, `Did you ever discuss this stuff with Senator McCarthy, and, have you discussed it with her since the story broke in the press?'"

There was a long pause and then she finally spoke. "Then let me ask you...should that happen, and if you are asked if we'd ever discussed these alleged goings-on inside the caucus, you'll say...?"

"What do you think? I'll say yes."

"And if you're asked what you told me...?"

"I'll tell them what I told you: that I had reason to believe that all this shit was going on. I'll also tell them that I wouldn't fill you in on why I believed it, that I wouldn't name names and that I couldn't actually prove anything."

"And if you're asked about my reaction...?"

"I'll say you told me that all the political operations within the caucus were being directed by Jeremy Frick; that you were all about policy and doing the peoples' business. You told me that it was Frick's job to tend the store when it came to elections and crap like that. I'll tell them you said my basis for believing such things was flimsy and you didn't have time to look into so much second-hand rumor mongering."

Maureen admired Scott's determination to stick to the truth and nothing but the truth, and she sounded relieved when she said, "Well, dear, it's too bad you don't think dinner is a good idea right now, but I certainly understand."

Scott scratched his head, a combative mix of loyalty and frustration swimming through him. "Don't get me wrong, Maureen. I'd just like to be able to tell anybody who might ask that we haven't discussed the whole mess since our last lunch at The Inn several weeks ago. And like I said, if we break bread together any time soon, we're going to have to discuss it." There was a long pause. "Hey, Maureen?"

"Uh-huh?"

"How long do you suppose this whole process is going to drag out?"

She'd thought about that quite a bit the past few days. "Well, that will depend on what the D.A.'s investigation comes up with. If it's poison, then it could be quick and easy with guilty pleas and firings and plea bargains all over the place. If it's less then a slam dunk, then it could go on indefinitely, with the accused fighting the D.A. tooth and nail."

"Suppose one or two staffers who actually did the illegal campaigning stepped up and came clean, and they showed the D.A. where all the bodies were buried, so to speak."

"That sounds like a slam dunk to me."

"And you meant it when you said a while ago that you'd jump into it if you became Attorney General, and you'd hound the guilty parties down and run `em out of office?"

He could envision Maureen's vigorous nodding on the other end. "Damn straight. Right now all this b.s. falls under the jurisdiction of the Dane County D.A.'s office. But I've made it clear, publicly and privately that I'll cooperate with them completely, both now and in the future. And if I should become Attorney General they know they can count on me to lend all my political and legal weight to the cause of cleaning house, if in fact that's what needs to happen."

Scott sighed, but felt only slightly better. "Okay, Maureen. Sorry, but I have to go now. I know we'll be in touch and we'll be seeing each other as the campaign season heats up."

They said their goodbyes and Scott closed his cell phone. He looked down at it one more time. "You could have put an end to this a couple of months ago, my dear," he muttered. He leaned back, stared up at the ceiling and considered it. `But then again, Jeremy Frick might not be all jammed up today if she'd done something sooner. If she had stepped in and put an end to his sleazy tactics, he'd still be where he is politically. He'd be safely poised to take over the majority if and when she moves up. In a way, her foot dragging gave the guy enough rope to hang himself. Maybe this is a good thing, long term.'

Scott was sipping lemonade and reading the School of Education catalog, trying to get his brain around the various requirements for teacher licensing in Wisconsin. He didn't even notice Grant come in the front door of the deli. Corny tapped him on the top of the head as he took his seat. "You crazy, impetuous fucker! You open a can of worms at the capitol and then bolt for the door."

Scott's smile was explosive. "Grant Cornell, you...da...man! What a great story! Glad Weeden deigned to credit you at the end of it. Hey, sorry I didn't call you back on Sunday, but I was in such a funk. Thought I'd let my head clear a bit before we talked about it. But in order for that to happen, I just had to get the hell out that friggin' snake's den."

"McCarthy's response hit you hard, huh?"

"Like you don't know! God, was I pissed off! She says, `This is the first I've heard of these allegations.' What a pile of shit. I tried more than once to get her to notice what was going on, but she'd have none of it. Then she gets up on her soapbox, all righteous and shit. It really knocked me for a loop. I mean, I still love the gal, and you know we go way back and how much I've admired her for so long. It just crushed me. I even stiff-armed her last night on a dinner invitation."

They ordered a couple of greasy grilled sandwiches full of corned beef, pastrami, cheese and all sorts of other sinful things. As he handed his menu back to the waiter, Grant looked across the table. "You might want to press `pause' on your judgment meter and keep your powder dry."

Scott smiled. "And you might want to stick to one metaphor at a time, Mr. Journalism." Grant flipped him off and Scott cocked his head. "But, what do you mean?"

Grant shifted in his seat. "Well, we worked on this story for a couple of weeks before going to print. After I brought Penny Harrington's stuff to Bruce, we drew up a list of contacts to make quietly without attracting Frick's attention. I've developed a solid relationship with a guy in the D.A.'s office. I called him and we met for coffee. At that time, I thought we were the only show in town on this issue, even though we were still below everybody's radar screen, more or less. My buddy tells me, off the record, that they'd been looking into the allegations for over a week, and that was over a week ago now when he told me that. He says that when he went to the Chief Clerk's office to get copies of attendance and payroll records for the caucus staff, they were ready and waiting for him when he got there. He said a sweet, round-bodied little lady told him that Senator McCarthy's office had directed her to have them ready."

Scott's jaw dropped.

Grant gulped his iced tea. "McCarthy's pretty good friends with District Attorney Kachelski, right?"

Scott knew that she was. "Uhm, yeah. They go way back to when they were both in private practice. They faced off in court more than once. She says he's one a hell of an attorney."

Grant leaned forward a bit. "My buddy says that Kachelski was out of the office one day for a legal conference where McCarthy was speaking and pressing the flesh with the legal community. You know, buffing up her support among the public and private attorneys in the state. So, the next day the D.A. returns to the office and starts directing a few assistants to look into this and that, and..."

"And you figure that Maureen took a minute during the conference to have a one-on-one with Kachelski?"

Grant shrugged. "Yeah, my guess is that McCarthy gently suggested that this matter might be worth at least looking into. But we were way ahead of the D.A.'s office in uncovering the shit, and they have a way to go to catch up."

Scott smirked. "And of course you guys aren't going to give `em anything, are you?"

The sandwiches arrived. Grant chomped into a pickle and shook his head. "Hell no! Of course not. If we start running to the cops or the prosecutors with everything we dig up, who the hell will ever talk to us again? Free press goes down the shitter when the folks who know the dirty stuff are afraid of us. Let the cops and prosecutors do their own friggin' jobs. Plus, it's a good way for us to find out if the public is being served by them. If the paper is ahead of the police or the D.A., then there's something wrong."

Scott shifted in his seat and wiped a dab of Russian dressing from the corner of his mouth. "So you think Maureen tipped them off, huh?"

Grant's hands came out, palms up. "Makes perfect sense. She smells a rat, but can't afford to alienate any party loyalists right now by stirring up the shit in their own caucus. Still, she wants to clean house before the fall elections really heat up." He munched on a chip. "Plus, everything you've told me says she has a pretty keen moral and ethical compass. And she's not going to tell even you if my impeccable logic is on the mark and she was the `quiet mole' who set the wheels in motion with the D.A."

Scott slumped back. "Well, I'll be dipped in shit. Now I want to give her a call, but we pretty much agreed to keep some distance between us until this is all blown over and settled. In case I get subpoenaed and find myself under oath, I want to be able to say that she and I haven't discussed this in any depth."

Grant grinned and rested his arms on the back of the bench. "Well, Mr. Turner, it looks like you got out of there when the gettin' was good."

Scott rolled his eyes. "You ain't shittin' me on that one. I'm just glad that Penny got out in time, too. I hope her `I was only following orders' defense will have some weight with the D.A."

Grant sucked a tidbit of pastrami from between his teeth and shrugged. "I think she's gonna be okay. I mean, she broke the law and she knows it, but I'm pretty sure she's been their primary source of info. I doubt that anybody who really cooperates will end up with their balls in a vice with Kachelski's office."

The two friends and former colleagues said their goodbyes on the sidewalk in front of the deli and promised to keep in touch as the drama unfolded and after.

That evening, Scott was in a great mood and he tapped the gavel in a playful rhythm. "Aaaaaalllllllright, ladies and gentlemen, I'm glad you're all here tonight for our final WSA meeting of the school year. I'm not surprised that you're all here, since this is the night Walter hands out the stipends for the second semester." Laughter and light applause filled the room.

"We have a short agenda with only two items, and then I'll have a few closing remarks of my own." Many in the group chided him with a round of groans about his planned closing remarks. Scott grinned and stepped back from the podium to give them time to give him some good-natured shit. "Okay, then. Thanks for the voice of support." The first item tonight is a recommendation from the elections committee to set the date for next year's elections. I'll recognize the committee chair, Senator Hashemi."

After a quick report to set the date on the first Tuesday of October, followed by a unanimous vote of approval, Scott moved on. "The other item simply reads `Consideration of a Resolution from the Chair.' I confess to being intentionally vague on this one, and I've waffled several times this week with our clerk who has wanted to send you a copy of the resolution for the past several days. Frankly, it's been driving him crazy." He was wearing a wide smile now, and Radar was still confounded, but he typed away dutifully. Two of the members were circulating copies. "The resolution itself is being distributed now." He gave everybody a minute to review it and was warmed by the growing number of smiles spreading throughout the assembly.

"I don't mean to insult you by reading it to you, but I do want to read it publicly and for the record."

He cleared his throat, stood tall and straight and in a loud, very official sounding voice he intoned, "Whereas the Wisconsin Student Association serves over 44,000 University of Wisconsin students by acting as their representative voice and by providing a myriad of services that add to their quality of life at the UW, and

"Whereas the elected members of the Student Association have been assisted and supported in their efforts by their Clerk, Walter P. Jamieson, for five consecutive years, and

"Whereas Walter Jamieson has consistently performed his duties with unabated dedication and flawless efficiency, often going above and beyond the call of duty,

"Therefore be it resolved that the University of Wisconsin Student Association commends and applauds Mr. Jamieson on the occasion of his graduation and departure from the University of Wisconsin, and

"Be it further resolved, that the University of Wisconsin Student Association hereby calls on the Chancellor and the University's administration to rename the building that houses the Student Association's office at 244 Bascom Court `Jamieson Hall.'"

Walter's head shot to the right and his mouth fell open. Scott gave him a quick wink and turned back to the crowd. "This resolution is a recommendation from the president, and I will now entertain a motion for its adoption."

A thundering unanimous chorus of "So moved!" exploded.

Scott laughed. "Second?"

The unanimous second was even louder.

Scott was having fun. "Okay, then. I hope the clerk is accurately recording who is offering the motions and the seconds." Walter shook his head and blushed. "Having been moved and seconded, all those in favor..."

He didn't even get to finish the sentence when the crowd erupted again, "AYE!"

"BANG!" The gavel pounded the podium louder than it ever had with Scott wielding it. "All members having voted in the affirmative, the resolution is adopted. The clerk will duly note its unanimous and enthusiastic adoption and will forward it to the Chancellor." The crowd was on its feet, wildly applauding. Scott stepped back and joined them in clapping their appreciation and approval.

As the applause subsided and the members took their seats again, Scott stepped forward again. "As many of you know, Walter will receive his Master's in Art History this month and has accepted a teaching position at a small private school in the Milwaukee area. However, there is still one thing he has never done for us in all the time he's been here. I can't allow him to leave without performing one last duty. He turned toward the clerk and grinned at Walter's confounded expression. "The chair hereby directs the clerk to come to the podium and address the assembled Student Senate with whatever might be on his mind."

Radar's eyes bugged out of his head and his head shook a vigorous No!' His whole face pleaded with Scott, Please, don't do this to me!' A smattering of "Speech! Speech!" came from among the members. Scott stood back and gestured with both open hands toward the podium. As the clerk slowly stood, the group clapped again.

Walter gripped the podium and took a deep breath. "I hate doing this, you know," and he grinned nervously. "Uhm...well, first, thanks a whole lot for that nice resolution. It put a heck of a lump in my throat. I'll probably send Scott or some of the rest of you some mail next year just so I can address the envelope to `Jamieson Hall.'" Chuckles rippled through the room.

He paused and thought for a moment. "It's been a real...uhm...a real privilege, and often a challenge, to help manage the WSA's affairs for five years. I've seen over a hundred different people come and go in this body. Sometimes I've been frustrated by their cluelessness, but usually I've been impressed by the sincerity and dedication that you bring to your jobs. You do good work here, and I'm proud to have been a small part of it." The senators applauded.

"Most of all, though, I'd like to thank President Turner. I've worked with four presidents in these five years, and Scott is the only one who has ever really appreciated the demands, the ups and downs of the clerk's job. On top of that, I've often marveled at the quality of his leadership, his character and his dedication to the student body as a whole. This is a stronger organization and we're a better university because of his efforts."

He paused for the group to applaud their agreement; all but one of them.

His voice cracked when he said, "So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for the privilege of being a part of your good work, and especially for the great honor you've paid me tonight. Thank you all so very, very much."

Radar returned to his seat to yet another round of applause, and then removed his glasses and wiped his eyes.

Scott stepped back to the podium and gripped the edges of its top surface. "And finally, ladies and gentlemen, a few brief words before we call it a year. I've had several conversations with a number of you regarding what may or may not be on this organization's horizon when we return next fall. I want to notify you, and the good people who have twice elected me to this body, that I likely will not be on that horizon after our next round of elections." He looked at Walter. "No need to send me any mail next year, Radar." Looking back at the crowd, he said, "For a number of reasons, I do not plan to run for another term as a member of the WSA Student Senate."

The silence was deafening, and Scott looked out on a sea of wide eyes and opened mouths. The widest eyes were those of Elliot Lyman. Gradually, groans emerged for the body and a few voices offered polite protests. He let the news register and sink in before continuing. "First, I'm changing majors next year, making a move into the School of Education. As a junior, I'll be hip-deep in upper level courses in my new major and will be wading into a lot of unchartered territory as a teacher-in-training. Second, I've been making some moves to simplify my life and clarify my life's goals. I'm excited about what lies ahead for me, but I don't believe it lay within the WSA."

The tension in the room had abated somewhat, and some of the heads were nodding sympathetically.

"You see, I really thought I was cut out for this stuff when I decided to run and came on board. I hope and would like to believe that I've made a difference for the good, and I've always been proud when I've needed to introduce myself to outsiders as the President of the Wisconsin Student Association. But I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and have decided it's best for me, and probably for the organization, if someone else steps up and takes their turn up here. Any of you could do this and, if you are so inclined to run for another term, then I'd urge you to consider making a bid for this spot behind the podium. With elections in October, I'll remain in office through the month of September, and we can say our goodbyes then."

Phil Wharton raised his hand. "Question of the chair!"

Scott grinned and nodded. "Senator Wharton. Glad to see you here. You must have stayed home last night and behaved yourself."

The crowd laughed, remembering that Phil had missed a key meeting because he was in the company of the Madison Police Department. Phil looked down with a sheepish grin and shook his head. Looking back up, he slowly scratched the bridge of his nose with his extended middle finger, much to the group's amusement. "Mr. President, I'm sorry to hear of your decision, but will this affect your role as the student member of the Board of Regents?"

Scott was still giggling as he shook his head. "No, Phil. The two positions are not technically connected. When I accepted that appointment, I made a three-year commitment to the governor. In here the deal is one year at a time. I'll continue for one more year with The Regents. We only meet once a month and, besides, somebody's got to keep an eye on that gang." He glanced at Elliot as Phil nodded and returned to his seat. "But, I'm glad you asked, Senator Wharton."

Scott inhaled and sighed. "So, for now I'll just say thank you for your support and for the selfless good works you've done to make this university a better place for all students." He stepped back from the podium and the senators, all except one, rose in unison and delivered a wild round of applause, complete with hoots and whistles.

As the crowd sat down again, Elliot slowly rose. "Question of the chair."

Scott pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. "Senator Lyman has a question." More than a few members' eyes rolled and their heads shook back and forth.

Elliot slowly rose. "Mr. President. Is there any veracity to the notion that the real reason you're leaving is because you're afraid of being outed to this body and the student body at large as a closeted homosexual? Could it be that you have some hidden political skeletons you're trying to continue to hide?"

Several groans rippled through the room.

Scott took a second to consider the question and its source. Finally he said to himself, `Aw, what the fuck. I guess it's time. He asked for it.'

He leaned over and propped his forearms on the podium. His eyes bore into Elliot's. "Jesus friggin' Christ, Elliot! What is it with you and my sex life? You obviously have this bizarre preoccupation with who I'm doing and what I'm doing in my bedroom, or anywhere else for that matter. This obsession of yours really concerns me, and probably a few others. For the love of Pete! You and I go on the radio together and you ask, are you gay?' We debate student fees in here and you ask are you gay?' I announce that I'm not running again and you ask, are you gay?' One gets the impression that if I were to say today is Wednesday,' then you'd ask `are you gay?'" Several voices chuckled and most of the faces were sprouting grins. "Good Lord, man! Get over it! Get a hobby! Read a book! But please stop asking me about my sex life!" Several senators, and the clerk, were laughing by now.

Scott took a step back from the podium. "What is it really Elliot?" He motioned to himself with open hands. "You want some of this?" Most in the crowd roared and a few catcalls were hurled in Lyman's direction. "I mean, you're so focused on me and my sexuality, I figure there's got to be a reason." He grinned widely and winked at his foe. "But I gotta warn you, Elliot, I'm not a cheap date and I don't put out on the first one." The laughter got louder and was smattered with applause. Sonja Weiss nearly fell out of her seat.

Elliot's head darted frantically back and forth, his mouth open in shock and his wide eyes lit up with a mixture of outrage and embarrassment. By the time he began shouting, his face was glowing red. "I'm not...I meant...I'm only...I mean...I'm, I'm, I'm only trying to...!" He couldn't find the words to finish the sentence.

Scott put up both hands to quell the group, and then leaned back onto the podium and glared. "What you're only trying to do is raise the level of your own idiocy, Elliot. What you are only trying to do, sir, is to come off as a bigger asshole than you've ever been. I'm happy to tell you that you are succeeding in amazing fashion." He pointed at the slack-jawed Lyman. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, and again and again as long as you keep asking it. It is simply none of your friggin' business, and I will not honor that question with any kind of answer. I simply WILL...NOT...EVER...dignify that question with any answer except the one I'm giving you now. So, you can keep asking it, and I'll keep thinking you want me. Then I'll blow a gasket like this all over again. If you're enjoying this, then keep on being an ignorant asshole!"

Scott was warmed up now and on a roll. "I realize that you believe you're doing God's work here. In reality, sir, you are the poster child for some of the most disgusting, vilest, anti-Christian prejudices that are still alive in our society and our culture. You are, I believe, out of your element here. This is a university, where freedom of thought is embraced and all ideas--even yours--are welcomed; where diversity of opinion and lifestyle ought to be celebrated. You belong, I think, in a monastery or some cult's walled compound or maybe even an asylum. You are a hateful, hurtful, mean-spirited vicious bigot. You've made it your mission to torment good people you've never even met and you ceaselessly try to shove your perverted interpretations of short snippets of Biblical passages down the throats of the innocent. What would Jesus do, Elliot?"

He paused, hoping that Lyman would at least consider the question. "Well, He and I are pretty good friends, so let me tell you what I think. I remember, some time ago Senator Barry Goldwater, a great conservative by most measures, was speaking of The Reverend Jerry Falwell. He noted, as only Goldwater could, that `Every good Christian ought to get in line right behind the Reverend Falwell...and give him a good, swift kick in the ass.' I do believe that, that if Jesus Christ wasn't such a good guy, he'd give you a swift kick in the ass and introduce you to the New Testament." Another short burst of applause followed. "But forget the religion for a moment. I'm just talking about plain, simple human decency. And I, for one, am done... absolutely finished...now and forever...finished with putting up with all of your bullshit."

Scott paused, took a sip of water and wiped his lips. He glared and pointed again at Elliot for a couple seconds before scanning the other thirty faces. "Keep an eye on this man, ladies and gentlemen. He tells me he plans to return to this body next year, and I have every confidence that, IF he wins reelection, he will renew his attacks on those who are not just like him in heart and mind. And if he succeeds in shafting the gay and lesbian population on our campus, then who will be next on his hit list? Our Jewish and Muslim students? Or maybe our friends and neighbors who adhere to of any number of Eastern faiths might wind up in his crosshairs. Perhaps people of color will earn his enmity if they haven't already. Somebody is going to have to keep this man at bay, unless he has some miraculous epiphany between now and then, but I'm guessing that's not likely. So, please, I implore you. Do NOT allow Elliot Lyman to rule the day. Please!"

He paused and wracked his memory for a few seconds before continuing. "There's a verse some of you have probably heard before. If you haven't, it's worth considering, now and always. It was written by a German Lutheran pastor back in the thirties or forties.

`First they came for the Jews

and I did not speak out

because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the Communists

and I did not speak out

because I was not a Communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists

and I did not speak out

because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for me

and there was no one left

to speak out for me.'"

Scott allowed the words to hang for a few seconds as heads nodded throughout the room. He looked back at Lyman. "Now, Elliot, please do yourself and the rest of us a favor and stop asking me, or anybody else, about our sex lives. It's making you look like a complete jackass. Now just sit down...and shut the fuck up!"

The crowd was stunned. In their shocked silence, Scott smiled. Sonja Weiss started the clapping. Slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed as other member joined. In a few seconds all the members, save one, were on their feet clapping and whistling. Phil Wharton was thrusting his fist in the air, shouting "woo, woo, woo." Scott waved the tumult down to a slight din. "Anybody want to move adjournment?"

They bellowed in unison, "SO MOVED!"

Scott nodded. "Second?"

"SECOND!"

Scott banged the podium. "We stand adjourned until the second Monday in September!"

Elliot sat motionless in his chair as Scott walked over to Radar and got a great big hug from the rather little guy. "You son of a bitch," Walter protested.

"Hey, I just thought I'd try to toss you a curveball on our way out the door."

Walter stepped back. "Your treatment of that scumbag was a bonus. You know I'm gonna have to clean up the meeting's minutes before we release them publicly." He giggled.

Scott patted his shoulder and pasted on a serious face. "Don't you dare."

Walter laughed again. "And the resolution thing really blew me away, but the decision about next year really didn't faze me. I kind of expected it."

Scott was shocked. "Really?!"

The clerk shrugged. "Yeah, I think I've seen it coming for a while now. You've been getting the job done, but you haven't really been your old light-hearted self for a lot of weeks now."

"I'm getting there, Radar. I'm getting there." Scott looked over Radar's shoulder and saw Elliot getting up to leave. "Hang on here a minute or two, Walter. I need to have one more conversation." Lyman was exiting the room just as Scott was stepping down from the stage. By the time he hit the hallway, he was forty or fifty feet behind. He shouted, "Elliot!" Lyman kept moving. Scott picked up the pace and waited another few seconds until Lyman was passing the alcove to one of the Union's small theaters. "Dammit, Elliot! We need to talk! You're going to want to hear this!"

Elliot stopped abruptly and turned. Scott pointed toward the alcove. Lyman didn't budge, but simply glared and scowled at Scott. Scott walked past him and veered left into the theater's entryway. He motioned Elliot to join him in a little privacy. He stood in there for several seconds before his nemesis finally stepped in.

In the dimly lit alcove Scott lifted his hand with three fingers raised. "Just a few things you need to understand, and I fear you're kind of a slow learner. I wanted to add some emphasis so that you really get it. First, I'm going to have to pray for forgiveness tonight, for the vengeful manner in which I just tore you up, and then tell the `Big Guy' I'm sorry for enjoying it so much. It was a very un-Christian thing to do. Happily my Lord is just full of forgiveness. Second, if you're thinking for one little second that my decision on next year had anything at all to do with your silly little threats, then you are poorly mistaken. Fact is, I meant what I told the group. I've been contemplating any number of changes for the near future and this is just one of them."

Elliot rolled his eyes, still wanting to believe that he'd chased Scott Turner away from the WSA.

"Finally, keep in mind that I was careful in how I chose my words tonight. I said I DON'T BELIEVE that I'll be on the organization's horizon in the next term,' and that I DO NOT PLAN to seek another term.' I was very cautious to characterize my mood as it is today. But I also like the old adage never say never.'" He paused to let it sink in. "In other words, if you and your minions try to come back to office next fall with the same hateful agenda, my intentions could change in a heartbeat. Hell, I hadn't planned on running for the WSA when I first got here last year. It took an arrogant s.o.b. from Fraternity Row' to convince me that it was worth the effort. Taking you to the cleaners in public because of your own asinine declarations is kind of fun, actually. I'll miss it. You're the friggin' gift that keeps on giving."

Elliot's angry gaze had evaporated and he just stared, expressionless, at the floor between their feet.

"Moreover, there's a reason I looked at you when I answered Phil's question about The Regents. Keeping that seat means I'll be at every WSA meeting to present monthly updates on what's going on inside the board. AND it will continue to provide me with a public platform from which I can call you to task when I think you're out of line. I've learned a thing or two since I got here. There's power and authority, which I have right now. Then, there's also influence, which I also have. But they are not the same thing. I can give up the office and still have the influence. I'm going to recruit members to run, and I'll lobby the group hard to oppose you at every turn. I've earned my stripes around here, Elliot, and that won't go away. So, Senator Lyman, if you thought you were rid of me, think again. If and when you try to shaft any segment of our student population just because of who they are, I will be your worst nightmare."

Elliot continued to look downward. Scott gave him a chance to respond. There were several seconds of silence while Scott surveyed as much of Elliot's fallen face as he could see. "I take it from your silence that my message is understood. I just wanted you to know all of this, in case you just might want to adjust your ambitions for the near future."

Scott left him standing there and hurried back to the meeting room. He wanted to make plans to take Radar out for dinner before the school year ended.

All week long, while Scott was rearranging his future, Greg was working to bolster his own on the baseball diamond. The playoffs had kept the two apart since the previous Saturday night when Greg rolled out of Scott's bed and returned to his dorm room. On Wednesday night the late news reported that the Badgers had lost their third-round game against Iowa earlier that evening. Nevertheless, Greg's performance had been spotless; more than spotless, in fact. It had been a real attention getter from those who mattered. So, despite the team's loss, Scott felt good for Greg. On Thursday morning, Scott was sitting at his computer when he punched up Greg's number on his speed dial and hit "send."

"Hello?"

"Hey slugger. Great series. Congratulations," Scott offered, trying to sound as optimistic as he could in the wake of their loss.

Greg sighed. "Thanks, I guess."

"Why so glum, chum?"

There was a pause. "Well, I had a couple good games but I really wanted a couple more to beef up the stats a little more. There are still recruiters out there every day with their video cameras and notepads."

Scott tried to chide him into a brighter mood. "Come on, Greg. Everybody out there knows you're a lean, mean studly machine on the field. That's obvious." Greg didn't respond. "Hey, let's get together for an early lunch today. I have class at one o'clock, but we could meet at someplace like Subway or Ella's Deli down near the bottom of State."

"What about work? Aren't you on `til noon?"

"Uhm, no. Had a major schedule change with the job this week, among a few other things. That's one of the things I wanted to tell you about. Plus, I want to hear all about your games this week. All I know is what I was able to squeeze out of the sports page."

"Aw shit, Scott. I'd like to, but I'm swamped with schoolwork. This week's games pulled me out of a couple classes, and with finals just a week away I'm going to have to bust my ass just to break even. Then I have a season's end meeting with Coach Bidwell. He has one-on-one's with everybody when the season's over. He said he wanted to do mine today."

Scott was tempted to make a snide remark about busting Greg's ass, but restrained himself. Naughty banter obviously wasn't on Greg's mind at the moment. "Okay, fair enough. What about after? Let's meet at The Parthenon and mow down a couple greasy, juicy Gyros sandwiches and fries."

"I don't know, Scott. Can we just play it by ear? Besides the classes, I need to hit up a couple TA's during their office hours the get a good handle on what needs to get done. Let me call you after my meeting with the coach."

Scott nodded. "Sounds good. Call me later." Each guy hung up.

Scott was feeling better emotionally than he had in a long, long time. On Tuesday, after his conversation with Maureen, he had called home to fill his parents in on the recent change in direction he'd been making. Big Scott was surprised by Scotty's decision to leave the capitol. The son had been careful to not be too harsh on Maureen. The jury in his heart and mind was still out on her handling of the mess unfolding under the dome, and he was trying mightily to give her the benefit of the doubt. It was a struggle, but he was trying to reserve final judgment. And he wasn't going to bash this dear old family friend to his parents, especially not to his dad. Big Scott's voice also suggested more than a hint of disappointment in his son's decision to forgo an education and career in the law.

"Now, Dad. You know I can always come back if I decide down the road that law school is still a good idea. Hell, your undergrad work was in geology, and you pulled it off. What's to say that after a few years of teaching I might not decide that your chosen profession really is my calling? And if it's the political career you're thinking, I suppose that could change too. I can't see it happening, but you don't have to have a law school education in order to join the ranks of the elected class under the dome. There are four former teachers serving as lawmakers right now."

Big Scott conceded the point, and Scott's heart was warmed when his father offered up, "Teaching is one of the noblest and most important professions in the world. The direct and positive impact you can have on kids, and often the kids who need it the most, is remarkable. Go for it, son."

Suzanne was gushing. Her own mother had been an elementary teacher for nearly thirty-five years. Suzanne remembered very clearly the days her mom would come home late, beaming about that day's successes with the kids, often with a tear or two of joy. "But, Scotty, you know it's not a forty-hour a week job. Every night, especially at first, you're going to have plans to write, papers to grade, sometimes parents to call. Most people don't realize that."

"I know Mom. I can't wait."

He was still leaning back in his chair, comforted by his parents' support when he heard the front door open and close. Craig and Brett had the same morning class twice a week and they were just getting back. As they clomped up the stairs, he heard Brett insisting, "Dude! I'm just saying that the power of invisibility would be waaaay cooler than the power to fly. You could sneak into the professor's offices and read the tests ahead of time. You could eavesdrop on conversations people don't want you to hear. Shit! You could even saunter into the girls' locker room and stand there looking at countless titties and cute little asses."

Craig came back, "And big manly Amazon lesbians. Plus, it's not like you could do anything about it. You couldn't walk over and grab any of those titties. You'd just go walking away with a raging invisible hard on and blue balls."

"Yeah, but then I'd scamper over to Angie's. She'd love it."

The roommates went directly into Scott's room. Brett plopped his butt on the edge of Scott's bed. "Hey, bud. Glad you're here." Craig stood in the doorway.

Scott saved the text on the screen and turned in his chair. "Having one of mankind's great philosophical debates, I hear. Invisibility versus flight. Deep." He pointed at Brett. "You, my boy are watching too many cartoons."

Craig shrugged. "Well, we exhausted the great `Ginger versus MaryAnn' debate again yesterday. We thought we'd kick it up a notch."

Scott looked back at Brett. "So why are you so glad I'm here?" He offered up a sarcastic smirk. "You're never glad I'm here."

Brett nodded. "True enough, unless you're cooking or Nigger needs a walk or something." Scott winced again at Brett's casual use of the name, but knew he only did it because it bugged him. Brett leaned back with both hands flat on the bed behind him. "Well, if you guys plan to stay here next year, you're going to have to find another roommate."

Scott's brows arched and he gave way to a knowing grin. "Moving in with the ho' are you?"

Brett scowled a little for effect. "She's not a ho'." Then he paused. "Well, not anymore anyway." After another short pause, he explained. "Yeah, we found a pretty cool apartment that's closer to campus. Decent rent, good amount of space and off-street parking. I figured, hell, nearly half my clothes are already over at her place already and I stay there more than half the time as it is. It just makes sense."

Scott nodded and glanced at Craig. "Are you going anywhere?"

Craig shook his head. "And leave you all by yourself? That would be irresponsible. You need supervision." He shrugged and looked around. "Nah. I like it here. The rent is good and old Wilbur doesn't bug us as long as we pay it on time. But we would have to find a third roommate."

Scott pondered it. "I might know just the person. He wants to get out of the dorms, and he's a really good guy."

In unison, his roomies said, "Greg Page."

Scott blushed. He was still getting used to his friends being clear about that part of his life, and they were getting good at playful snide remarks.

Brett rolled his eyes. "Oh sure. But if Greg moves in, you're still going to have one empty bedroom."

Craig grinned at Brett. "Maybe I'll move over into your room. It's further away from this one, and then I won't have to listen the `thump, thump, Oh Scott! Thump, thump, thump. Oh Greg! Oh Scott!' every night."

Scott was learning to give as good as he got. "Good idea moving to the other side of the apartment. Wouldn't want to make you jealous. But it might not be every night." He thought for a second and said, "Tell you what. Him and me might be getting together tonight for dinner. I'm going to fill him on all the other shit...the capitol, the change in majors, the WSA and I'll ask him about this." He grinned at both of them. "Now get out of my room. I have work to do."

Brett didn't stand. "Uhm, there's one other thing. The building we're moving into won't allow pets."

Inside, Scott was delighted to hear that and knew where this was going. Still he faked his annoyance. "You mean to tell me that you dragged that poor pooch to Madison, unannounced, gave him the most unfortunate name and call him your dog for one measly year...and now you want to pawn him off on us?"

Brett did look apologetic and offered up a somewhat embarrassed shrug. "I know. I didn't see this coming. But I think he likes you better anyway. If you'll take him, can I keep some visitation rights?"

Scott couldn't restrain the grin any longer. "Only if you call first and stop calling him Nigger."

Brett smiled. "Done."

Scott nodded. "Okay, NOW get the hell out of my room."

The guys both retired to their respective rooms to hit the books.

Just as he was walking down the hill after his last class, Scott's cell phone rang. He opened it. "Have a good day?"

There was a pause. "Uhm, yeah, pretty good. At least I have all my shit in one bucket finally as far as the classes go."

"Atta boy. And how'd the meeting with Bidwell go?"

"Good. It went good. I need to stop back over there one more time today, but if you still want to meet at The Parthenon at six I'll be there."

Scott checked his watch. "Perfect. That's an hour and a half. I'll go to the WSA office and tidy up some end-of-year matters with Radar. He's putting together a shit load of notes and stuff because we'll be without a clerk for the summer. He's trying to find somebody who can fill in until the new members are elected in October. So, I can get some stuff done and meet you at six."

Greg's voice was still rather demure. "Okay, Scott. See you then."

"Later." Scott folded his phone and looked at it. `He still doesn't sound too chipper. Maybe the apartment idea will cheer him up.'

By six fifteen, Scott was sitting in a booth at The Parthenon and was beginning to wonder. He checked his cell phone again to see if he'd missed any calls. None.

Finally, about ten minutes later, Greg's familiar form ambled in the front door. Scott smiled and waved. Greg returned the greeting as he walked between the tables and slid into the booth across from Scott. "Sorry I'm late. Got hung up with Coach."

"He's still working with you on plans for next year?"

"Uhm, yeah. But I'm starved. Let's go up and order our food, and I can fill you in while we eat."

They each ordered a Gyros with fries and a large Coke. Scott set down his tray and went to the condiment stand for ketchup and extra napkins. As he sat down, Greg smiled. "You look like a little kid. You're absolutely glowing. It's like you're walking on air. What gives, Mr. Turner?"

Scott bit into the pita bread and lamb. A dribble of cucumber sauce ran down his chin. He reached for a napkin to catch it, chewed quickly and grabbed his soda to take a long pull from the straw. "Well, the week started out very, very shitty, but it's been all up hill from there. This has been just about the best fucking week of the school year for me." He recalled for Greg the article in Sunday's paper that set him off, and his decision to resign right on the spot Monday morning."

"Didn't your friend Maureen do or say anything?"

Scott nodded. "She called on Tuesday to invite me to dinner. After some back-and-forth, we're pretty much agreed that it wouldn't be a good idea until all this shit blows over." He paused and thought for a second, then smiled. "Damn! I hope that bastard Frick goes to jail."

They both bit and chewed for another minute and Scott continued. "So then, after leaving the office, I headed straight to my counselor's office to get schooled in the way of changing majors."

Greg stopped in mid-chew and stared. "Huh?" he asked with a mouthful. When his mouth was empty again his face still registered amazement. "What the hell?"

Scott grinned, his eyes twinkling and he pointed a thumb in the direction of the capitol. "Made up my mind that spending the rest of my adult life in their culture is definitely NOT what I want to do. I've learned that I'm better at explaining what's going on there than actually participating in it. But the experience has done me good and will make me a better teacher. And we mapped out the credits. I shouldn't have to extend my undergrad work by a single semester if I follow the plan I have down."

Greg shook his head in amazement. "Jesus! I mean it all makes sense I guess." He wiped his fingers and mouth. "Any other bombshells?"

"Well, as a matter of fact..."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Oh God. Now what?"

"Well, we had our last WSA meeting of the year last night. I informed the group that I wouldn't seek re-election next fall."

"You mean for president, right?"

Scott shook his head. "I mean for the WSA at all. I won't be on the ballot."

Greg rolled his eyes and his head this time. "Holy Christ! What did they do?"

Scott shrugged, and then smiled shyly. "They gave me a very warm and appreciative response." He stopped and the smile grew along with his very wide eyes. "And then...and then...Lyman gets up and asks if I'm running away because I'm afraid of being outed."

Greg stopped breathing for several seconds. He just stared at Scott with a stunned, stone face. Finally, he gasped. "No shit! What did you do?"

Scott giggled. "I pulled out all the plugs. Even dropped the f-bomb a couple times. I asked him, in front of the group, if he keeps asking me that question because he wants me. Then I tore into him for his worn out views and finally told him to sit down and shut the fuck up."

Greg roared. "You did not!"

Scott smirked. "I did. Loudly. And then, after the meeting, I hounded him down in the hallway and let him know that I'd be keeping an eye on him. If he doesn't knock this shit off, I'll do all I can to exact a heavy price, and I'll do it publicly." Scott's entire face exuded complete satisfaction. "Message received, I do believe." He popped another french fry in his mouth and wore a smug grin as he chewed.

Greg was still shaking his head. "Quite a fucking week! No wonder you're so giddy."

Scott was finished with his food. As he wiped his fingers and balled up his napkins, he sighed. "Like I said, best fucking week in...well, I'm not sure how long." He giggled. "I was actually humming `I've Got the World on a String' on the way over here. He tossed the paper into the red plastic sandwich basket and slid it to the side. "But there's one other thing..."

Greg smiled. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You don't have to. I was going to tell you anyway." He took a long drink and cleared his throat. "This morning, Brett let us know that he's moving out to live with his girlfriend next year. That means we need another roommate." He was grinning like a little kid again. "How'd you like a Johnson Street address for the next year or so?"

Greg cleared his throat, pushed his own basket to the side and laid his hands on the table. He looked directly but nervously into Scott's eyes. Scott could see an anxiety nearing fear on Greg's face and his own smile evaporated in an instant.

Greg slowly shook his head. "I can't Scott. I'm leaving."

Author's Note: I often catch hell from a lot of readers for this nasty habit I have of leaving you hanging. Oh, well. Thanks again to Kory, who has been as steady as ever with the proof reading and the editing. Chapter 23 will conclude this tale, but it might be a little bit longer in coming than has been the pattern the past few months. It's undergone several revisions already and I fear that I might want to take the knife to it again before typing "The End." Meantime, feel free to contact me with your comments at scotty.13411@hotmail.com