FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 3
"If you come to a fork in the road, take it." -Yogi Berra
Disclaimer: This work is a sequel to my first effort at writing gay erotic fiction. As such, it may help if you've read "Strange Bedfellows," (available in its entirety on Nifty, with a cleaned up and re-edited version now partially posted at the Rainbow Community Writers' Project). The story is fiction, but it occasional depicts scenes of sexual activity between consenting adults. If it's illegal for you to view such material, then please move on. The work is the sole property of the author, and my not be reposted, reproduced or published elsewhere without my expressed consent. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy it.
From Chapter 2:
One of the good parts of falling asleep early is waking up early. Scott shook off the fog of the bourbon, drank a tall glass of water and went for a run near the lake across the street. It wasn't a long run, just enough to work up a good sweat. He had just finished showering and dressing and was reading the paper when there was a loud thump on the front door. He looked at the clock. "Jesus Christ!" he said to the fattest cat in the world, who had plopped on the table in front of him. "It's not even seven-thirty on a Saturday. Do the Mormons, or the Jehovah's Witnesses or the Avon Ladies work door fronts this early in the morning?" The fattest cat didn't respond.
He thumped down the stairs and immediately recognized the profile that shown through the glazed window on the front door. His face erupted into a smile as he threw open the door and looked into the smirking face of Marty Anderson.
" Sup. Professor?"
CHAPTER 3
The shit-eating grin was more than Scott could resist. He hit Marty's shoulder with the screen door when he threw it open, grabbed a handful of his buddy's t-shirt and dragged him inside.
They nearly injured each other in the hug that followed the slamming of the front door. Then they kissed softly. In the moment, neither one cared that anybody walking by on the front sidewalk might see them. After a grin and during a second kiss, Scott kicked the inside door closed. The dog barked from the top of the stairs and the fattest cat in the world ran under Scott's bed.
Scott broke away and stared at the grinning mug. "What the fuck?"
"Jill's uncle out in North Carolina is retiring and the family decided to head out there for a long weekend to surprise him at his party. They left on Thursday. But we all thought it was best if I stayed here to tend to the business. Plus I don't know the guy very well, and what I do know I don't like all that much anyway. He's kind of an asshole. So, I called here the other night when you were gone and talked to Brett and then to Craig for a while. Brett said that they were both gonna be gone this weekend. So I told him not to say anything, worked at the paper Thursday and late on Friday and then said to myself, `Self, Scott Turner Jr. is running for re-election, he's going to be alone this weekend and he's going to need a Special Assistant or Special Advisor or whatever the hell I was last time around."
They both laughed and hugged again, this time softly and serenely. Then they kissed again, softly and serenely. Scott grabbed Marty by the arm and dragged him up the stairs. "C'mon! I was just gonna make some eggs and bacon. You can help."
"Not quite the protein I had in mind, Scotty."
Scott laughed and nudged an elbow back into his friend's ribs on their way up the stairs. "Maybe later, horn dog. Jeez!" Marty giggled and swatted Scott's ass.
The dog greeted them on the upper landing tail flailing and ass swooping around, and he thoroughly inspected Marty.
"So this is Brett's pooch, huh?"
Scott rolled his eyes. "You won't believe it."
Marty raised a hand. "Don't say it. I heard. I talked to Brett the other night, remember? He's proud of himself. You don't call him that, do you?"
They walked into the kitchen and Scott reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the eggs. "Of course not!" He stood up and sighed. "I mean, on an intellectual level, I understand where Brett's coming from, but I just can't say it myself. Not even to a lovable pooch like this one who will never get all the political shit tied up in his name. But, he does respond to my voice okay. And he answers to it when Brett calls him that. I wish I could train him to ignore it or bite him when he uses the name, but I don't know how to do that." Scott reached back into the fridge and grabbed the bacon. "I just refer to him as the dog,' and sometimes call him Nig' when I'm calling him. Brett chides me about it but the pup's learned to answer to nothing more to `c'mere dog,' too." Nig sat, wagged his tail and whined, begging for a morning treat. Scott chuckled and found a large Milkbone and tossed it. The Labrador caught it in flight and quickly scooted under the kitchen table to munch for a minute.
The two of them worked together on breakfast, with Marty tending to the bacon and the toast and Scott working on the eggs and the hash browns.
"So you moved the elections up this year? Only a couple weeks away, huh?"
Scott sipped his coffee and nodded. "Yeah, we did that last spring. The November election didn't make sense. Seven of the members graduated in May, so it's hard to represent everybody for a while. So, we rescheduled the WSA elections for the end of September. Two weeks away, and then we'll see where it takes me." Marty grinned in a way that made Scott do a double take, but he said nothing.
As he was turning the strips of bacon, Marty did a double, then a triple-take toward the floor. "Hooooooly shit! That is the fattest fucking cat I have ever seen on God's green earth."
The fattest cat looked up and quickly dismissed the visitor. He waddled toward the litter box because he had more important business to tend to. He'd flop onto the newcomer's feet later. Scott laughed while slicing a tomato. "Yeah, he's amazing isn't he? And I only give him about a cup of food every day, sometimes less. Sort of inherited him from the lady who used to live next door. He might be fat, but he sure is slow. And like most cats, he's basically a fickle prick, and doesn't give a flying fuck about what you might think."
They ate a hearty breakfast and got all caught up on each other's lives. E-mail had kept them in touch, but they'd both needed to be careful about the content. Neither one knew for sure whether or not Jill had access to Marty's e-mail inbox, or if she'd use it if she did.
Marty nearly fell off his chair when he learned that Randy was working as Maureen's Chief of Staff. "How conveeeeeeenient." He leered and wiggled his brows.
Scott bit into a crisp slice of bacon and smirked. "Don't go there."
As he was mopping up some egg yolk off of his plate with the last corner of toast, Marty laughed. "I thought you hated cats." He popped the soaked piece of bread into his mouth.
"I did. I guess you'd say I'm a recovering cat hater. But that tub of lard kind of grows on you after a while." He gave a smug grin. "Kinda like you. Annoying as hell at first, but once you get to know him you find that his minuses and his plusses are pretty much the same thing. The stuff that pisses you off and the stuff you find endearing are one in the same." He shrugged. "Might be a bit psycho, but can't help it.
Scott stood and grabbed both empty plates, setting them in the sink and running some hot water onto them. Then he reached over Marty's shoulder to fill his coffee mug. He put his left hand on Marty's shoulder and gently rubbed it. "It's good to see you, buddy."
Marty's hand came up and enveloped Scott's. "It's good to be here." He rubbed the back of Scott's hand. "I've missed you guys. I mean, I love where I am and what I'm doing, but I really have missed the..." he paused and squeezed Scott's hand. "The... uhm...college life."
Thirty minutes later, Marty was gripping the headboard and he looked over his shoulder. "Go slow, Scotty. It's been a while."
Scott pressed the head of his cock against his friend's hole and gently pushed. "Jesus Christ, you are tight."
Scott popped through the tight ring. Marty dug his nails into the wood. "Oh my fucking god!"
Scott eased in and rubbed Marty's back and hips. "Okay bud, goin' slow. Just let me know." Scott ceased his advance and slowly rubbed Marty's back some more.
After a few seconds, Marty smiled and simply nodded. "Dammit, I'd swear you've grown since last spring." A few seconds later, Scott's pubes were pressed against Marty's ass cheeks, and he leaned over and wrapped his arms around his buddy's chest. "Yeah, bud. That's it."
Nearly an hour later, Scott was gently wiping Marty's chest and stomach with a warm washcloth. His friend was still panting and giggling a little. They'd never lasted that long, but they'd cooled it a few times during this romp, and both guys were mildly impressed by each other's stamina. They'd fucked in every position known to men. Scott leaned down and kissed him. "We've gotten pretty good at this."
Marty snickered. "Taught you everything you know, ya' know."
Scott tossed the cloth in the general direction of his laundry basket and flopped on the bed. "Fuck you, you fucking fucker."
Marty sighed. "You just did." He leaned over and nipped Scott's chin with his front teeth. "And you done good."
They napped until nearly eleven in the morning, and then got dressed and went up to the Capitol Square's farmer's market. Scott bought some fresh sweet corn, tomatoes and a small wedge of cheddar, and Marty paid for a couple of rib eye steaks. He also picked up an arrangement of dried flowers to have at home when Jill and Ashley came back from North Carolina.
They played backgammon while they watched the Brewers vanquish the hated Cubs. Then they made salads, grilled the steaks, boiled the corn and sliced the tomatoes. They drank bourbon and laughed over old times, had a hell of a meal, then went back to bed.
Marty reached down as far as he could and smacked Scott's ass while his own knees were being pressed against his chest by Scott's weight. He was loving it. Scott giggled and shoved his tongue in Marty's mouth. Marty sucked it in and he moaned in rhythm to Scott's thrusts.
Several hours later Marty rolled over and opened his eyes. Scott was laying on his side, his elbow on the mattress and his head resting in the palm of his hand. He grinned. "I've missed you."
Marty nudged closer and put a hand on Scott's hip. "Me too, you." He closed his eyes again and yawned as the hand slid back onto Scott's ass and pulled him closer. Marty nudged his chin into the crook of Scott's neck.
"But life is good?"
Marty's voice was muffled into Scott's collarbone. "I told you last night during dinner, life is great." He looked up into Scott's eyes. "I do miss this." He reached down with his other hand and gripped Scott's morning wood. "But yeah, life is good. Even better if I can come here from time to time and have you scratch this itch I get."
Scott giggled and rolled on top of him. "You're a slut."
Marty swatted his buddy's ass. "I'm only fucking my wife, and giving it up to you from time to time. But like I said, as pregnant as she is right now, getting a little sump'n has been tough lately. But away from her I only want it from you." He bit Scott's neck.
The fattest cat in the world stood up on the throw rug, arched his back and ambled out of the room. Scott could tell that he was pissed that there hadn't been any extra room in the bed last night.
Scott leered as he snatched a condom off the nightstand and lifted Marty's legs. "Well, let me help you out with that itch."
They showered together, slowly soaping and stroking each other under the hot spray. As they finished drying off, Marty checked the digital clock on the nightstand. "Turn on the radio. The `John and John' weekend show is on, and I don't hear those guys in Rockford."
Scott rolled his eyes. He listened to those guys on most mornings too, but he recalled Marty's phone interview with them nearly a year earlier, following Marty's arrest for streaking across Camp Randall during a football game.
The Home Depot ad was just starting as they were both pulling on their fresh boxers. Marty's cell phone rang, and he dug it out of his jeans.
"Martin Anderson here. Uh-huh. Yep. Any time you're ready." He adjusted his package in his shorts and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm good to go." Scott wanted to give him some space on a personal call, and they both needed a cup of coffee, so he headed toward the kitchen. The only sound from the bedroom was the end of the Home Depot ad and a bunch of promos for coming on-air events for the station. Scott poured two cups and walked slowly back to the bedroom with two steaming mugs.
He stopped short and abrupt at the doorway when the show came back on air and slopped a little coffee over the rims of both mugs. The dog heard something hit the floor an promptly inspected it, but he wasn't a coffee drinker. Scott tossed the still-damp washcloth on top of the spill and wiped it around with his foot.
One of the two Johns was announcing, with the usual radio voice enthusiasm, "G'mornin, boys and girls! I know that most of you are still half-asleep or nursing hangovers, and we're both sad and glad for you, but we have a very special guest on the phone today." Marty grinned as he looked up and reached for the mug.
Scott's head went back and rolled left and right. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!"
Marty put the coffee mug on the nightstand and his index fingers went to his lips to shush him. Then he giggled.
"Well, kids, it's been nearly a year since we've seen his cute though muscular butt, and then some, prancing all one-hundred yards across the field at Camp Randall. But, with us this morning is none other than the alleged streaker from last season's football game against Iowa, Mr. Martin Anderson." They played some canned radio applause. "Marty, how the hell have you been?"
"Hey, John. How's it going?"
"Me and the other John are living large. And you? Word is things have changed a bit since your...alleged...streaking days."
Marty chuckled. "Glad you remembered the alleged part. But yeah. Got married, have the most beautiful step-daughter in the world and we're going to see the next generation of Andersons join us in a few weeks."
"Way to go, Maaaartaaaaaay! The world will be a better place with more fun-loving guys like you."
"Now, John, I'm going to raise my son as a responsible, law-abiding citizen."
The other John chimed in. "So you know it's going to be a son, huh?"
"Yep. Two ultra sounds have confirmed the plumbing that tells us I've sired a son. Scott Martin Anderson will enter the world in a few weeks, if all goes as planned."
"So you've already decided on the name."
"Yep. The middle name is obvious, but we decided to name him after my hero and role model, Scott Turner, Jr. As you may know, Mr. Turner is current president of the WSA, running for re-election in a couple weeks. And I want to urge all my friends out there in Scott's district to get off their asses on election day and go cast a ballot for Scott Turner, Jr. for WSA, and then see the Student Senate re-elect him as their president. The University of Wisconsin can't do any better. Even though I'm no longer a student here, I do still care."
Scott flopped backward on the bed and put his hands on his face. "Un-fucking-believable," he muttered. "But why does this surprise me?"
One of the Johns picked it up. "So today it's married career man, step-father, soon-to-be father from his own loins Marty Anderson. What a difference a year makes, eh Marty?"
"Oh, yeah. Different life, but all is well. Only thing that hasn't changed is my loyal support for Turner, and I'd be hugely disappointed if the good students of the UW didn't return him to office. In fact, you guys ought to plug his bid for re-election every morning."
"Hah! Not sure the FCC reg's or station management will allow, but we'll look into it. But I can say in this interview, if Marty Anderson is for Scott Turner, then so are John and John."
Marty glanced at Scott and grinned. He would have winked, but Scott wasn't looking at him, his hands still covering his face. He feigned a serious, studious tone of voice. "Well, you're both great Americans then. Keep up the good work."
"Okay, Marty, you know we will. Hey, we have a couple callers on the line. You up for a question or two?"
"I'm up for most things most of the time, John. Let's have at it!"
"Hehe. Okay, Maryann wants to pose a query."
"Not Ginger?"
A woman's voice came into the discussion. "No, this is Maryann from the north side of Madison." She sounded kind of snippy.
"Okay Maryann, what's on your mind for our young guest?"
She huffed. "I can't believe you're applauding this young man's exhibitionism. I don't really listen, but merely hear the show because my kids listen to it in the morning before school. I was appalled when he was celebrated by you and the rest of the media a year ago, and can't believe you'd have him back for an update and another round of applause for his indecency."
"Well there ya' go Marty. Care to respond?"
"With all due respect, ma'am, get your ovaries in check, turn off the radio or switch the station, get your kids ready for school and get off my ever-loving back. You don't want your youngsters listing to this? Then why is it still playing in your house right now? There's a tuning dial and an `off' switch on that radio. I'd suggest you hang up the phone, change the station and tell the kids that I'm a bad, bad man, and that what I allegedly did was the wrong thing. But please, don't allow it to be broadcast in your own home and then call in here and bitch about it. You're the mom. Do your job. But don't neglect that job and then call in and blame these good guys or blame me."
Scott smiled and giggled in the background. Then he moaned again and muttered, "Oh my fucking god."
There was silence on the line. "Or I just might drive up there to the north side and start waving my wiener at you and the family in your front yard."
Click.
"Sorry, guys. Think I just cost you a valued listener. Can I say `wiener' on the radio?"
Both Johns sang in unison. "Oooooh, I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wienerrrrrrr."
"Well, Marty, thanks for the follow-up, and for the insightful commentary, but we have to go to commercial break. We like to broaden peoples' minds, but we're here to make money after all. Best of luck to you, to the family, to little Scotty Martin Anderson when the day comes, and best of luck to Scott Turner, Jr. in his bid for re-election to the WSA."
"Thanks, John. Always a pleasure to chat with you guys. Go Badgers!" They cut to commercial. Marty folded his phone and turned to his right with a gleeful grin on his face. "That was fun!"
Scott moaned as he started to sit up. "You are..."
Marty cut him off with the wave of a finger. "Shut up. Don't even start! They called me two weeks ago for a follow-up to last year's interview, kind of a progress report on the infamous streaking event from last year. I was already thinking of coming up for a visit this weekend, and knew the election was coming up at the end of the month, so I asked them if we could do it today instead. You probably don't need the boost, but it can't hurt."
Scott shook his head, as hard as he tried, he couldn't suppress the smile.
Marty knew he'd won. Again. "Besides, it's fun. Don't deny me a little fun now and then. I'm a married man now with responsibilities. I have to be a crazy-assed fuck-up now and again or I'll lose my mind entirely. I'd explode."
Scott laughed and shook his head again. "You, Mr. Special Advisor, are a piece of fucking work."
Marty's smile was one of grand satisfaction. "Yep. Now, get over the dog's name, find a way to get Brett's mind right and get here and kiss me thanks."
Scott slid to his left and put a hand on the back of his friend's neck. He breathed heavily into his buddy's face. "I'll keep working on Brett."
Marty nuzzled him, licked his chin and then his neck. "Fuck that. Work on me."
Twenty minutes later, Marty was on his back on the bedroom floor. Scott was sweating and moaning as he rode up and down on his friend's upright pole. Marty used his right hand to stroke Scott's turgid cock and his left alternated between playing with Scott's left and right nipples. Their bodies quaked together as each one exploded; Marty into the condom buried deep inside his friend, and Scott all over Marty's chest.
An hour later, they both had corned beef hash with eggs over-easy at The Avenue Bar before Marty drove back to Rockford. Marty's very pregnant wife and rambunctious stepdaughter were due back that afternoon. Ashley would soon turn five but, despite her size, one would think she was going on fifteen. "Precocious" didn't quite do the girl justice. The adoption would be formalized about the same time Jill gave birth, but she was already calling him "Daddy."
Marty promised to call him either before they left for the hospital or right after the delivery. He said that Ashley was already very busy decorating her little brother's bedroom. Scott promised to pencil out every Sunday in October and November for the occasion of his godson's baptism.
They walked out back to the parking lot and hugged next to Marty's Jeep. Scott said he'd walk back to the apartment. It was a beautiful day and he hadn't been running nearly enough. His friend had provided some good exercise in the past thirty-six hours, but the eight-block walk would be nice. He thanked him for the effort on the radio show. Marty honked and flashed the lights as he drove away.
It was sunny and warm, and there was a light breeze coming off the lake. Scott admitted again to himself that he really did love Marty and was happy for the visit. But he was also happy for Marty's good fortune in Jill and Ashley. He was content with what they were able to hang onto in their dear friendship and, hopefully, the occasional romp.
He picked up a Sunday paper on the way home, and then hit the couch. He'd missed all of the Sunday morning news programs, so he'd have to work through the world's problems next week with Russert, Stephanopolous and Schieffer. They'd wait. He was a happy camper. And with a belly full of hash and eggs, plus a bloody mary, there was a nap coming on. The fattest cat in the world climbed up and made himself at home on Scott's thighs, purring out his happiness that the stranger was gone. The dog flopped on the floor next to the couch. Scott reached down and scratched his chest.
"He's a great guy," Scott muttered as he gently scratched the cat's back. "I know he took your spot last night, but he's a great guy." Minutes later his quiet snore drowned out the cat's purr.
Grant Cornell was a good guy, too. Scott's late grandmother, Evelyn, would have said he was a `tall drink of water,' and she would have been right. At about six foot five, he loomed over the partitions of their cubes like the jolly green giant. Well, he wasn't green. Actually he was pretty pale. His shaggy red hair and pallid freckled complexion gave hint to his Irish heritage. He sat two cubes away from Scott, but could still see into Scott's workspace even from that distance when he stood up.
Grant was a senior majoring in journalism. He'd come in second for an internship in the Capitol pressroom, and was then referred to Will Maxson for an internship in the caucus office. He didn't have a political bone in his body, but he figured it would be good for his resume. He just wanted to write. And he was good at it. On one hand, he was a fish out of water in this post. On the other, he was perfectly suited for the job. He could turn out a perfect phrase for the situation in almost any instance when the dopes who worked in the senators' offices were not quite up to the task.
Grant drank tea rather than coffee. He grinned sheepishly when Scott slid into the break room for his third cup of mud. He squeezed the bag of Earl Gray against the spoon and smirked. "So, what's up `Scooter?'" "Screw you, asshole." Scott chuckled through his nose as he filled his mug. "I need to come up with an obnoxious nickname for you and feed it to Frick."
Grant had shared that he came from a solid Irish Catholic family of six kids and the parents had sent all of them through a parochial system in the Milwaukee suburb of West Allis. His folks were crushed when he opted for the UW over Marquette University. "Look, when your Catholic parents ask the Jesuits to help raise you, you wind up either intimidated or impertinent. You wouldn't know it, but I'm pretty much the latter." He laughed. "Besides, that sleazebag Frick doesn't even know I exist."
"That's cuz you work so hard to avoid any attention. How can somebody so big stay so invisible around here?" He sipped again and then put a hand over his mouth to avoid spitting it out. After swallowing, he grinned, "Corny! Grant Cornell...Corny. That's what I'll give him. If Frick is gonna insist on calling me Scooter, he can call you Corny. Next time we're in the same room and he deigns to speak with me, I'm going to introduce you as Corny.' Grant Cornell...'Corny.' It's perfect."
Grant sipped his tea. "You realize, of course, that I'll abuse you physically and I'll vandalize your car."
Scott sized up the gentle giant again and chuckled. "Okay. Never mind. I do believe you can and would do it." They both raised their mugs and laughed.
"So, is McCarthy really going to make a bid for the AG's office?"
Scott liked the guy but he wasn't going to be too candid. "That's what I hear, but I'm not exactly in her inner circle."
Grant smirked again. "Bullshit. Everybody here knows you're her golden boy."
"You are an impertinent s.o.b."
"You're not my boss, so being a smart-ass with you isn't impertinence. It's just being a smart-ass. And, everybody also knows that the current Attorney General is gonna retire and that Hackett is going to hold Senator McCarthy's hand into the AG's office so that she can then follow him into the Executive Mansion when he either goes national or retires himself."
Scott sipped and smiled at the amiable giant. "Grant, my friend, I think you're imagining a hand writing on the wall."
"And Scooter,' my friend, I think you're full of shit some of the time." Then he smiled and made quote marks in the air with his fingers. "I might be invisible' a lot of the time, but I have two of the biggest ears you'll ever find. And they work...well."
Scott chuckled and raised his mug. "Yeah, you do. Those are two of the biggest damned ears I've ever seen. But they're permanent. I'm only full of shit some of the time, `Corny'."
Cornell raised his mug of tea again and nodded with a smirk before heading back to his cube.
Scott's appointment to the UW Board of Regents as its only student representative had been an adventure. And his first year there, locking horns with the president over tuition had been dicey to say the least. He'd mustered up a certain amount of animosity from the Board's president, Andrew Pennington, but it had been worth it, and it had been satisfying. But Scott wasn't looking to cross swords with the sleazy attorney from Milwaukee any further. The tuition issue was settled, the students had won, and Scott didn't have any major items on his agenda as far as the Regents were concerned. He was busy with school and the job with the caucus and a re-election campaign for the WSA, so he wasn't about to take up any causes with the Board
Abby Svendsen, his old friend and ally on the Board greeted him with a hug the moment he walked into the room. She had to reach up and stand on her tiptoes in order to wrap her short arms around his shoulders, but he happily reached down with both of his arms to oblige her. "Abby, my dear! It's been too long! You're getting around better I take it?" She'd broken her hip the previous spring in the midst of the pissing match over tuition and had been out of commission for a time.
She swatted his shoulder. "Can't keep this old broad down. Fit as a fiddle and ready to raise some hell."
Scott poured himself a cup of coffee. "Well, girl," he humored her, "lead the way. I did all my hell-raising last year. Now you're up to bat."
She patted and then rubbed his back. "You did one hell of a job too. It's great to see you again." They chatted for a time about their summers and Scott's fall schedule and his job at the Capitol before President Pennington called the meeting to order.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to a new school year. It's good to see you all and I look forward to a fresh new start of a new school year. We weathered a few storms last spring, and I'm confident that we can continue to build on those successes for the benefit of all of our students." Most heads around the table nodded cordially. Scott struggled with his eyes to stop them from rolling.
He continued. "Since there are no new appointments to the board this year, I'm content with leaving the committee structure as it is. If any of you would like a change in your committee appointment, please notify me as soon as possible." Abby and Scott exchanged smirks, as they both sat comfortably on the budget committee and had no intent of giving up those seats.
Pennington went on. "As your agendas reflect, all we have to do today officially is to act on a number of faculty appointments and tenure decisions that have already been decided by their various departments. Then, I do want to set the stage for continuing to manage our ongoing budget challenges. I like to look ahead and don't want us getting caught short." They acted on all the appointments in the affirmative in short order. Then, the board's clerk walked around the table handing out thick packets. Pennington shifted in his chair. "This is, believe it or not, the short version of the university system's budget, the Cliff's Notes if you will. I've asked the various departments, across the board, from academics to maintenance to buildings and grounds to athletics to answer one question for us: `If you had to trim and cut from your expenditures, where would you do it?' I figure that if we do need to make those decisions, best to hear from the folks who are in the trenches and have to make it work."
Scott raised his eyebrows. Fucking-a,' he thought, an enlightened decision from the president. Whoda thunk it?'
"And so, I'm hoping that by mid-year we'll have some concrete numbers on next year's state funding, and we'll be able to shape a priority list in case we have to make cuts. If the financial picture looks any brighter by then, we might be able to invite the same department heads to send us a wish list for add-ons, but I haven't asked for that yet. I've found that if you ask that question you run the risk of raising expectations that they might actually happen, and then only antagonize our good people if they don't." Several heads nodded.
Andy looked around the table. "So please review this information, and if you come to any of your own conclusions about possible savings, you know who the members of the budget committee are." He paused. "Any questions?" Silence. "In that case, ladies and gentlemen, lunch is being served right next door."
They all rose, and shuffled into the adjoining meeting room where a buffet of soups and sandwiches was waiting. Scott and Abby joined two other Regents at one of the tables.
A half hour into the lunch, Scott put down his sandwich and lifted the hefty packet Pennington had distributed. "Jeez! Like I don't have enough homework already. This is a mountain to climb in the next month."
Abby patted his arm. "Dear, there's no need to get through it all in the next month. I'm going to simplify it."
Scott sipped his iced tea. "How so?"
Abby slurped some soup and dabbed her chin. "Well, Scott, I'm going to leave the instructional stuff alone entirely, for now. Anything that deals with teaching and learning is currently off limits in my mind. That's what we're here for." She took another sip of soup as he bit into the turkey sandwich. "So I'm going to prioritize now. I'm going to start with the administrative budgets, cuz I'm assuming they can always be cut somewhere. Then I move on to buildings and grounds and take a good look at what we spend planting geraniums and tulip bulbs on the campus grounds. Who knows, maybe we could get by mowing the lawns every eight days instead of every six." She leaned over and whispered. "Then I'm gonna consider treading on hallowed ground and put a fine toothed comb to the athletic budgets."
Scott leaned back. "Whoa. The girl's got guts." He grinned and winked, and Abby laughed.
"At my age, Scott, what the hell? What's it you history and poli-sci folks say? `The most dangerous one in the room is the one with nothing to lose'? Well, hell, I got nothing to lose. She leaned over again. "And don't get me wrong, Scott. I'm a Badger through and through. I love the cardinal and white, and Bucky Badger himself. But we're an academic institution first and foremost, and we need to keep our priorities straight." She glanced around slyly. "Keep our shit straight, I think you kids would say."
Scott grabbed his napkin to avoid spitting his iced tea onto the tablecloth and Abby giggled. "My bias is `hands off the teaching and the learning. The rest is up for grabs, even athletics if need be.'"
Scott coughed and nodded. "Makes sense, Abby. Thanks. Tear it apart a department at a time and take the areas in order of their true importance." He wiped his lips and dropped the napkin on his plate, then squeezed her hand before standing. "Well folks," he put a hand on Abby's shoulder, "I have a two o'clock class and need to get over the hill in twenty minutes."
Abby patted his hand. "I'll see you all at next month's meeting."
Pennington caught him at the door. "Scott! Didn't get a chance to chat before the meeting started. Good to see you again." He extended a hand and flashed a fake smile. He was lying and Scott knew it.
"Hello, Andy." He refused to say it was good to see him. It wasn't. "I'm afraid I was the last to get here, just before you called us to order.
"Well, new year, clean slate, fresh start, if you get my meaning."
Scott was surprised by the posturing, but wanted to laugh at the clumsy handling of it. `And this guy's a lawyer?' he asked himself.
In order to win the tuition fight, Scott had basically beat Pennington to a pulp with some very incriminating pictures and e-mails just four months earlier, and the maneuver had put Andy in very hot water with the governor at the same time. And here was Andrew Pennington pretending there was no harm, no foul, no hard feelings. Pennington had it coming last spring, to be sure, but for him to stand here now and act like there was no animosity was beyond belief.
"Uhm, yeah, Andy. Ready to get back to work. New year. Fresh start." Pennington patted him on the shoulder, the same phony smile plastered on his face. Scott just shrugged. "Well, I got to get to class. We'll see you next month."
"Okay then. Good luck in the new school year."
Scott nodded. "Thanks." And then he exited. `Schmuck,' he thought to himself, and he wanted to go home and take a shower.
Author's Note: Happy Holidays, and my very best wishes for each of you in 2008! Watch the Outback Bowl and see the Badgers beat Tennessee on January 1!! Look for a lot of points scored on both sides, but a Wisconsin win, 34-31.