Date: Fri, 15 Dec 2006 08:28:25 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: STRANGE BEDFELLOWS CHAPTER NINETEEN

FROM CHAPTER 18

     Kip stepped forward.  "You can have it, you know."

     Scott's head jerked back into the conversation.  "Huh?  WHAT?"

     Kip smiled demurely, and stepped again, putting both hands flat on
Scott's desk.

     "The seat on the board.  You can still have it."

     Scott tried not to freeze in Kip's headlights.  "What are you saying,
Monmouth, you don't really want it?"

     Kip leaned in, about two feet from Scott's face.  "I didn't say that.
I said you can still have it, if it's important to you, and I believe that
it is.  And, you can have it without a fight, and with my support."  He
stood back up straight, and his hands plunged back into his pockets.

     The denim surrounding the fly of Kip's jeans rolled as his knuckles
rose and fell with the movements of Kip's fingers.  Scott glanced back up.
"And...uhm, just how do you see that happening?"

     Kip leered down once again.  "Well, Mister Turner, Junior, there's
something else you can give me that I've wanted from you for some time.  I
could be convinced to walk away from this little battle and feel better
about our continuing to work together."  Kip adjusted his package a little
more through the pockets of his jeans.  His hands slowly emerged from the
snug confines of the pockets, and he laid them both flat on the desk.  He
leaned in closer and looked down upon Scott.  "Well, here we are, Scott.
What's the old saying?  Politics makes strange bedfellows, right?"


CHAPTER 19

     "Well...uh...that's the cliché, Kip, but I sure as hell don't see how that
applies to you and me.  And I'm sure I don't have anything at all that you
might want, or that I'd be interested in...uhm...giving you, for that matter."

     Kip stepped around the corner of his desk, and propped the right side
of his ass and thigh on the edge.  He leaned over again, laying his right
hand flat, the left still dug deep into his pants pocket.  "Oh, c'mon,
Scotty.  Don't sell yourself short.  I have a strong sense that you have
just the thing I want, even need, right about now, and I have this strong
feeling that you're not above giving it up, under the right, er,
conditions."  Kip's expression said he was enjoying this, perhaps a little
too much.  "And besides, that old cliché does apply.  Look at us.  We
couldn't be more different.  We don't like each other very much.  You look
down your pretentious nose at me and you think I'm a sleazy shit.  I think
you're a phony do-gooder with his head in the clouds.  Yet, here we are,
each one in a position to scratch the other's back, so to speak.  You get
clear sailing to the appointment to the UW Board of Regents.  First freshman
ever so appointed.  It's one thing to win a popularity contest among a bunch
of half-witted, loser college students who spend half their days either
drunk or stoned.  This would put you that much closer to the real halls of
power.  A real feather in your cap.  You seem to have quite a habit for
collecting those, you know."

     Scott pushed his chair back a couple of inches and cleared his throat.
He'd been feeling on the defensive since they'd first sat down in the
office, and was becoming even more discomforted, even annoyed, by Kip's
continued pursuit.  "Any feathers I might have, I've earned."

     Kip shifted his weight as he watched Scott roll the chair.  He scoffed
through his nose.  "Whatever.  Fair enough.  So, here's your chance to
`earn' one more, if earning's what you want to call it."

     Scott's anger finally peeked through his effort at a calm veneer.  "Cut
the shit, Kip!  Quit dancing, dammit.  Just tell me what you want!"

     Kip sat up straight and folded his arms, and he spoke calmly,
matter-of-factly.  "I want that fucking disc."

     Scott blinked.  "What?"

     Kip stared intently, his upper lip curling into a small scowl.  He did
not blink.  "Anderson's camera disc.  The one with the pictures of me and
that other guy...what's his name.  I want that God Damned disc!  And I want an
assurance from him that he isn't keeping another copy."

     Suddenly, it made sense, and Scott was relieved.  Even better than
relieved, now Kip was the one making requests.  He took advantage of the
change of direction in the conversation, and barely concealed a grin.  "You
mean the one that has the two of you swapping spit with your pants around
your ankles?  The one that shows you stroking your harden with his rammed
down your throat?  The one that shows him bent over the desk, smiling at the
camera with your face buried between his ass cheeks?  Is that the disc
you're talking about, Kip?"

     Kip glared back.  "Fuck you!  You know what I'm talking about."

     Scott leaned back in his chair.  "Well, bad news, buddy.  I don't have
it.  Never have had it.  It's not mine to give, and I'm in no position to
promise you can have it.  Consider it off the table, Kip.  If you came here
to set up some kind of bargain, then I'm afraid that's a non-starter."

     Kip stood up straight, and put his hands on his hips.  "But you could
get it.  If you asked, Anderson would hand it over.  You two are tight.
Jesus Christ, that nutcase ran naked in front of seventy-plus-thousand
people and a national TV audience to help you out.  Surely, you could
convince him to give it up for something like this."

     "First, he did the streaking thing just `cuz he is, at times, like you
said, kind of a nutcase.  He didn't do it for me.  Okay, I admit I reaped
some benefit from it, and it was awfully fucking funny, but that was all
Marty, all the way."

     Kip waved him off.  "Whatever."

     "And how do you know he won't keep an extra, even if you get the one he
has now?"

     Kip jerked his head and smirked a bit.  "Let's just say I have faith in
you.  You could get it from him, and I believe he'd promise you to give up
the one and only copy, if you asked him for it."

     Scott mulled it over, and he was sure Kip was right, but he didn't want
to ease up on the offense.  "But, what's the urgency, Kip?  Why give up a
shot at the Regents' seat over something like this?  And what makes you so
sure I could deliver?  That is, of course, if I had the mind to even try."

     Kip scoffed, and rolled his eyes.  "Aw, Christ, Turner!  Get your head
out of your ass!  I'm coming into the home stretch of my senior year.  I'm
working on the resume.  There are jobs to scope out, and other opportunities
to look at.  Anderson is a devious, vindictive little dick-wad who would
jump at any opportunity to jam me up. You know he actually threatened to
send those pictures to my own father, right?  How do I know those pictures
wouldn't show up in the program at the fraternity's graduation banquet?
Sort of a parting graduation gift from Marty to Yours Truly."

     Scott was quietly amused by that prospect.

     "We have another half-year to spend together in the WSA, and who knows
what chance he might have to shit on me again while I'm still serving here?"
  Scott mulled it over.  The prospects for future conflict were amply
evident.  Marty might see any number of reasons to feel the need to put Kip
on a short leash down the road.  "Plus, and I already checked on this, I
have to take a class with that fucker next semester.  I can't stand the
thought of spending four months looking at that shit-eating smirk of his for
the next four months."

     Scott held up a hand signaling `stop.'  "Okay...okay...I get your point."
It was clear this had been weighing on Kip's mind, and heavily, for a good
long time.  "But that doesn't change the fact that the disc isn't mine, Kip.
  I can't make that kind of promise, and I'm not sure I would, even if I
could."  He stood up and reached for his coat, then checked his watch.  "So,
if you don't have anything else, Monday Night Football is nearing half-time
by now.  I'm going to go back to the room, relax and watch some football.
If you're interested in stepping aside on this for a reasonable
consideration, then let me know.  But this...this is just not do-able."

     Kip followed him through the door, hitting the light switch as he
crossed the threshold.  He followed him down the hall.  "Like I said, I'm
sure he'd hand it over, if you just asked!  I've seen you guys work
together.  For reasons I don't get, he's loyal, practically devoted to you."

     Scott stopped dead on the second step and turned, halting Kip in his
tracks.  He pointed a finger and stared back with conviction.  "It's called
a real friendship, Kip!  If you don't get it, it's because, sadly, you don't
have the tools to form one yourself."  He dropped the accusing finger, and
rested his hand on the banister. "You might be right, though.  I can't think
of much that he wouldn't do for me, or I wouldn't do for him, and I wouldn't
expect you to understand that."  He did a quick one-eighty and continued
down the stairs.  "If you have anything else to discuss, any other questions
grounded in the real world, then maybe we can negotiate on this.  In that
case, give me a call.  Otherwise, this is closed."  He locked the door with
some emphasis, and stuffed the key into his hip pocket.

     Scott took a sharp right on the sidewalk out front, heading in the
direction of his dorm.  Kip paused before leaving in the other direction.
He looked at Scott's back, quickly moving away from him, and shouted.  "This
could happen, Scott!  You know he'd do it!  And if you don't at least ask
him, then you'll never know for sure.  It's yours to give up now.  Think
about it, but hurry.  Morrison's not going to drag the committee's feet on
this, so you don't have much time!  But, you know Marty'd do the right thing
on this to help you out.  Just think about it!"

     Scott's stride was brisk.  He glared at the sidewalk, the steam from
his breath clouding his vision every few seconds. `He would, you know.  He
really would.  But, I can't.  Can I?'



     "Wwwwweeellllll!" The familiar voice squealed.  Scott was still staring
at the floor as he crossed the lobby of the Inn on the Park.  "My stars!
It's my favorite young Badger!"  Bradley Manning was at his station,
overseeing the hubbub a busy Wednesday lunchtime power crowd. Scott had
caught his eye from the moment his hand touched the front door handle.  "Mr.
Turner!  It's been far too long!  You shouldn't be such a stranger, Scott!"
He grasped Scott's hand in both of his.

     "Hello, Bradley.  How have you been?"  Scott smiled.  He couldn't help
but admire the man's attentive nature.  Scott shed his coat and draped it
over his arm.  "Trust me, I'd lunch here every day, if the schedule would
permit.  Coming into the last few innings of semester one, and most days I'm
not sure if I'm coming and going."

     Bradley scanned him again from head to toe, as subtly as he could,
which wasn't very subtle at all.  He waved a hand.  "Well, I'm sure you're
team's winning, Scott, and you'll finish the game with a victory lap."
Scott grinned politely at his effort to continue the metaphor.  "Senator
McCarthy arrived about five minutes ago, and she said to expect you.  I'm so
glad!  She's at the usual table in back.  Come with me please."

     On the way to the table, Bradley snapped his fingers, and two servers
and a bus boy jerked their heads in his direction.  He quietly pointed
toward two other tables that must've been missing or needing something,
though Scott couldn't say what it was.  Nonetheless, the staff moved
instantly in separate directions.

     Maureen looked up and smiled, then offered her cheek as Scott leaned
down and pecked it gently.  Bradley held the chair out as Scott got settled.
  "Coca Cola, Scott?"

     Scott considered it for a moment, and then looked up.  "Actually, it's
kinda nippy out there Bradley, how `bout some black coffee?"

     Bradley nodded and patted him on the shoulder.  "I should have guessed.
  Students coming into final exams.  Coffee, coffee, coffee."  He patted
Scott's shoulder.  "I remember it well.  It'll be right over."  The host
turned, and waved a hand.

     Maureen scrutinized him carefully.  "Scotty, you know I always love to
see you, but...you look...uhm... absolutely... exhausted!"

     Scott nodded at the waiter who placed the coffee in front of him.  "You
were gonna say I look like shit, weren't you?"

     Her sympathy came through the gentle smile.  "Well, I wasn't going to
be quite so crass, but it would've been apt if I had."

     Scott sipped the hot, strong brew, and then surveyed the menu that he
already knew very well.  "Yeah...well...been awfully busy.  Not a lot of sleep
the past few nights."  He smiled his best, then sighed.  "But it's all okay.
  Only a couple weeks left before the finish line.  I'm young, pretty
healthy, and the juggling act is pretty much under control...I think."

     The waiter stopped and took their order, then was off in a flash.

     Maureen propped her forearms on the table's edge, and leaned in a
little.  "So, the LaFollette Scholarship interview went well?"

     He nodded.  "Yeah.  I think so.  At least I didn't leave thinking
`shit! I should have said this or that or...'"  He shrugged and leaned back
with a smirk.  "You tell me.  By now you've already talked to Dr. Cushing,
right?  He was the one asking the questions, though I guess he doesn't have
a vote."

     Maureen suppressed a knowing smile.  "Busted, huh?  Yes.  I did call
Ellison to inquire.  Since he and I both signed off on your nomination, I
couldn't stand it any longer.  It's one of my weaknesses.  If I have a horse
in any given race, I like to pay close attention."

     Scott raised his brows. "And...?

     She sipped her tea.  "Well, he said you represent yourself in person
every bit as well as you do on paper, and then some.  Let's see...I think his
actual words were," she thought for a second, "Mr. Turner's scholarly
bearing, personal good nature, his formidable work ethic and basic optimism
shown through."

     Scott's ego was stroked.  "And...?"

     Maureen winked.  "And he said that the selection committee would
deliberate and vote next week, then notify the recipient during the holiday
break, some time between Christmas and New Years."

     The waiter came by with a pitcher of iced tea in one hand and a pot of
coffee in the other.  After a careful refill, he smiled again and was on his
way.

     Scott cleared his throat.  He'd been debating the issue for several
days, and was frustrated.  It seemed that, lately, he'd been struggling over
what to say to whom, and when, and had been feeling more than a little
insecure in conversations.  Finally, he just made a snap decision.
"Speaking of having a horse in any given race..."

     Maureen looked down at her placemat.  "Your dad...huh?  He tells me
you've been through more than a little turmoil lately, brought on largely by
the two of us.  Is that part of the baggage that your sagging face tells me
you've been carrying around?"

     Scott took another drink and nodded.  He'd assumed they'd spoken since
he had it out with Big Scott, but wasn't positive. "Some of it.  Not all of
it, but yeah, some.  It just doesn't all quite square, the idea that he's
decided, pretty much out of the blue, to run for public office.  And, it's
not like this is some friggin' school board seat.  There are only
thirty-three members of your little club, in a state of what...five million?
To decide to take a shot at going from pretty small-town lawyer to your
circus of the stars is a little beyond the pale, don't you think?  I mean,
when you were persuaded to set your sights on Madison, you already held a
pretty high public office, a track record and a political base to call your
own."

     Maureen jumped into high gear.  "But, he's the prefect man for the job,
and at the perfect time!"  Scotty imagined that this was the same pitch
she'd given his dad, but he was listening carefully, nonetheless.  "Scotty!
You know the ins and outs of the 29th as well as anybody who follows state
politics!  I read your breakdown of the district as it exists today. Ellison
sent me a copy, I hope you don't mind.  Anyway, I know that you know the
following: on the demographics," She was ticking off the points on her
fingers,  "on the hot-button issues, on his temperament, on his friendships
and connections, the list goes on and on..." She paused to take a breath.
"And I know the district even better than you, and, as objectively as I can
muster up, Scott Turner, Sr., is the ideal candidate to step into what will
be a wide open field when I announce for Attorney General."

     The encroaching waiter came into her peripheral vision.  She took
another breath, but stopped short, leaned back and smiled as he set down her
crab salad and politely nodded.  Scott's Reuben Sandwich landed next.  They
both smiled up and nodded.  He smiled down and asked, "Anything else,
ma'am...sir?"

     Both shook their heads and thanked him, "No."

     They unfolded their napkins and laid them down, then met again, face to
face.  Maureen picked up where she'd left off.  "Scotty.  You know that the
party and, yes, both the governor and myself, are looking at a razor thin
majority in the senate.  I surveyed the landscape for someone I knew could
win and hold the seat.  AND somebody who would be damned good in the office,
for our agenda, for the people of the district, for the people of the state,
and for our public institutions.  I read your own profile of the ideal
candidate.  You, my boy, have described `Big Scott' Turner."

     Scott had just chomped off a big bite of his sandwich.  Suddenly, he
couldn't chew fast enough, so he raised a finger to say, `hold on a second!'
  Finally, he was able to swallow the corned beef and kraut, and then take a
tall drink out of his water.  He gasped,  "I can't deny that.  I know he's
right for this position.  But is this thing right for him?  You've heard him
make enough disparaging remarks, many of them joking, but all with a large
dose of sincerity, about you greedy, dirty pols, right?"  He wiped his
fingers and his mouth on his napkin.  "All due respect, Maureen, `cuz you
know I love you, but can you point to another guy who'd be least likely join
the ranks of you dirty office-seekers?"

     Maureen waved a hand.  "Oh, Scott, who doesn't say crap like that?
Nobody likes politicians.  Bad mouthing us is like discussing the weather.
For Christ's sake, even most of those running for office say, and with a
straight face, `but, I'm not a politician.'  But folks don't hesitate to
pick up the phone, or a pen, when they need something done.  And, given a
viable opportunity to have a real, positive influence, the average person
will step up.  And, you're dad's waaaaay above average.  Besides, Scotty,
like the rest of us, he's a work in progress.  We don't stop evolving at
forty, you know"  She took another bite of her salad, looking perfectly
comfortable in her station, and in her rationalization.

     Scott took another sip of coffee and reflected on what she'd offered,
until she changed the topic.

     "Now, dear, how about this Regents appointment?"

     Scott hesitated.  He was dreading this.

     He'd replayed that last confrontation with Kip, and had all but ruled
out Kip's bottom line, and the Board of Regents.  There was no way he could
ask Marty to deliver that damned disc for his own gain.  `That fucking thing
has already caused us enough grief,' he thought for the umpteenth time.
Marty had made it clear it was off limits, and Scott couldn't dispute the
point.  `Would he give it up, if I asked?  Yeah, probably.  Can I ask him to
do it just so I can feather my own nest?  No.  Absolutely not.'  At the same
time, he was a little amused by that.  `A year ago, shit, three months ago,
I'd probably have asked him in a heartbeat to give it up.  And, I wouldn't
have felt selfish about it.  Is this what they call growing up?  Evolving,
as Maureen had just said?  I guess that goofy bastard is rubbing off on me.'

     He sat back in his chair.  "I don't know, Maureen.  I've thought about
it, a lot, and I'm thinking it's not the best idea.  I don't need anything
else on my plate, really.  Our V.P., Kip Monmouth, has said he's interested,
and I've been thinking it'd be a good idea to make something more out of
that office anyway.  He went to their last meeting, and he already knows the
lay of the land.  Well, sort of, anyway."

     Maureen looked crestfallen.  "Oh, Scotty!  You should reconsider.  It
really isn't all that time consuming.  They only meet once a month, you
know, with occasional committee meetings in between.  Besides, I thought you
didn't think very highly of, what'd you call him once?  `That snake?'  Do
you really think he's the right one to represent the students?  Plus, he's a
senior, right?  But, this is a three-year appointment."

     Scott folded his hands.  "Well, it seems he's looking at graduate
school, so he'd remain a student throughout the term.  Besides, I don't see
that the appointment of the student Regent as having that much impact, would
it?  The board has fifteen members, and the majority is already loyal to the
governor, aren't they?  It's just one more voice."

     Maureen looked around, then put down her fork and leaned in.  "But,
Scotty, I think this round of appointments is going to make a difference.
Now, more than ever, you kids need a voice on that board that has the
backbone to stand up and be heard."

     Scott's brows and searching gaze showed that he was struggling to grasp
her meaning.

     "Okay."  She put down her fork.  "I suppose I can share this.  Hell,
it's been quietly bouncing around the capital for months, and even reared
its ugly head a couple times in the occasional print story.  Scotty, I'm
guessing you're going to see the biggest tuition increase in a good long
time figure into the next budget that crosses our desks."

     "Really!  How big?"

     Maureen whispered.  "I've heard as high as twenty percent kicked
around"

     "What?  Are they fucking nuts?"  Several heads at nearby tables turned.
  Those who recognized that it was Maureen McCarthy who had prompted this
reaction from the young man suddenly wanted to listen in.  Scott was aware
of the attention, and leaned forward to heed Maureen's facial admonishment
for the little outburst.  He spoke in more of a whisper now.  "How the hell
does anyone justify anything like that?  That's insane!"

     "Okay, Scotty.  Let me take you to school.  These are the realities.
First, we're inside of two years before Ted's going to run for what will be
his last term as governor.  He's going to have a strong challenge from the
other side.  Given that, any kind of tax increase in the budget he sends to
the legislature, and the one he ultimately signs...a tax hike is off the
table.  Period.  Second, next to human services entitlements, education in
general makes up the single biggest chunk of the state's tax and spending
plan.  Within that, the University System is the easiest category to mess
with.  A college education isn't a right, after all, like public schooling
is through high school graduation.  Third, it's a fact that UW students and
their families pay out of pocket a smaller share of the total cost of your
education than practically any other state in the country.  Finally, and
this is a harsh reality, Scotty, that you know is true.  It's easy to pick
on the 18 to 25 year old crowd, especially college students.  Most people,
even if they start college, never earn a degree.  It's not hard for the
average Joe out there to look, with a lot less than sympathy, at the lazy,
spoiled, drunken teenaged college boy or girl.  Especially when they know
they're footing the bill for most of the cost of the college experience.
And, of course..." she paused to sip her tea once more.

     Scott finished the sentence.  "...we don't vote."

     Maureen rolled her eyes.  "No shit!  Politically, kids are road kill.
Sadly, they're sometimes cannon fodder, too, but you're the easiest
political demographic to ignore, or even pick on sometimes.  You can't keep
a gray-haired property tax payer away from the polls on election day with a
baseball bat."  She motioned across the street with her thumb.  "But there
are 132 lawmakers and one governor over there who know that, come Election
Day, the youngsters aren't going to hold us accountable for anything."

     Scott knew she was right in that last bit of political reality.  It was
a fact as certain as gravity itself.

     "So, how's this gonna happen?"

     "Well, the magic is in the process up front.  The pissing match that
will go on at the capital a year from now is largely window dressing, after
most of the real decisions have already been made.  The governor will give
directions to all the department heads in the budget requests he will
accept, and that includes the Regents.  It's one of the reasons the governor
wants this guy, Pennington, in the president's chair over there.  He's a
puppet, I'm told, and isn't going to buck Ted once he has his marching
orders.  They'll be under the gun to maintain all existing programs in the
name of academic excellence, raise standards, in fact, without asking the
state's general treasury for any increase in funding.  In fact, chances are
excellent that they'll be told they're getting less from the state in order
to maintain the rest of what the good people are expecting."

     "And the students are going to get to pay for it?"

     "Scotty.  We're a high tax state already."

     "We're a high service state, too."

     "Yeah, but roads and schools and health care and police protection and
all the rest are seen as essentials, as entitlements.  College is seen as a
frill to a lot of folks out there."

     "It's one of the state's greatest assets!  It's a world-class
university system!"

     Maureen nodded her agreement, "And the average guy and gal out there
don't see the value every day, at least not the same way they see their
interstate highway, their snow removal or the neighborhood elementary
school."

     As he listened, Scott was also trying to do the math in his head.  He
wondered if he'd be able to handle any kind of increase at all, never mind
the kind of mammoth jump Maureen had just touted.  There could be a
scholarship in his own future, but he couldn't take it for granted.  He
wondered how many of his classmates might not be back if they saw that kind
of leap in cost.  What about somebody like Marty, especially if things don't
go well for his mom?  "So, how do you stop something like this?"

     Maureen shrugged.  "Like I said, it's got to be on the front end.  I
can practically guarantee that a `zero increase' in tuition is realistic.
But, an effective voice within the Regents could limit the damage to the
students."  She paused again, and leaned forward to be very quiet, but still
clearly heard.  "Especially if that effective voice had access to other
offices or sources of information within the machinery that is our state
government.  But, somebody's going to have to be there to shout for the
students before the plan gets returned to Governor Hackett"  She propped her
elbows back on the table and rested her chin in her palms.  "Now, do you
honestly think that Kip Monmouth is really the one to deliver for you kids
when and where it's really going to matter?"

     "Can't the majority leader do anything about this?"

     Maureen leaned back as the waiter quietly removed her plate.  Scott
dropped his napkin over what was left of his fries and slaw, and nodded his
thanks as his was lifted away.  She twirled her straw in what was left of
her tea.  "Well, it goes like this.  The governor sends us his budget once
it's written.  We tinker with it, first in the Joint Finance Committee, with
members from each house, then separately in the Assembly and the Senate.
I'll have some influence in the general outline as Ted drafts it before
sending it over, and then I'll have some influence within Finance.  I'll
have zero input when those monkeys in the `lower house' try to jam it full
of additional corporate tax loopholes.  But a tax break for one group needs
to be made up by an increase on someone else, or a further cut in spending.
Fact is, Scotty, we don't like to raise too much hell with what's proposed.
By the time it gets to us, if we want to increase one thing, we have to take
it from someplace else.  That means making tough, public choices and
actually standing for or against something.  Risky political business,
that."

     "But you're the majority leader, Maureen!"

     "And, as such, I have two main sticks at my disposal.  First, I'll be
in a position to command loyalty.  I can twist their arms and threaten their
chairmanships to keep them in line with the party's position, and with the
governor.  If there's a big-ass tuition increase in the budget already, with
the governor's name on it, that'll be my job.  Second, I can almost always
decide whether or not something even comes up for a vote.  But, not with the
budget.  This isn't some simple bill that might raise or lower the drinking
age, Scott.  I can't prevent the entire state budget from being voted on,
just `cuz I might not like the whole thing."

     Scott sat back, pondering a bunch of stuff he already knew, but had
never been confronted with in such stark, concrete terms.

     "Scotty.  That's why I keep saying; the best way to fight this is at
its inception.  An effective student Regent with some guts and the ability
to wake up the student body will be the only way I can see the harm to our
students being limited.  Find somebody else, but it's got to be the right
person."

     He shrugged.  "Okay.  I'll think it over."  He thought to himself
`Fuck!'

     Maureen began gathering her things.  "Good.  I know you could make an
important difference, Scotty.  Now, I'm going to go to the little girls'
room while you finish your coffee.  Then, I need to get back over there, and
you need to get your ass back to class."  Scott smiled and nodded as she
stood and walked toward the exit.  On the way, she paused signed a receipt
that the waiter had already prepared, and left it at the host's podium with
Bradley.

     Scott took the last gulp of coffee from the cup, and stared straight
ahead at the wall.  He felt the start of a headache, but knew he wouldn't
have time to stop back at the room before class, and wasn't even sure if he
had anything for it anyway.

     "More coffee, Mr. Turner?"  The waiter smiled shyly, looking expectant,
almost hopeful that Scott needed something more.

     He covered the cup with the flat of his hand.  "No, thank you very
much. But its just Scott, if that's okay."  He scrutinized the young man's
hesitant face.  He was handsome, with a very smooth, light tan complexion
beneath shiny, jet-black bangs.  His eyes, the shapes of thin almonds, and
his accent suggested Asia, southeast, Scott guessed.  Probably Hmong, he
reasoned, given Wisconsin's immigration experiences over the past decade.
He had a very engaging smile, although Scott was a little taken aback by the
timid demeanor.  "I'm sorry, but have we met?"

     "Oh, no!  I am a freshman here, like you.  I remember you from our
orientation last fall, and I am in Dr. Cushing's lectures like you, but we
are not in the same discussion.  I very much admire your win of the student
association office, and the work you do for we students.  You are a fine
example for all of us who want to be successful here, like me."

     Scott blushed.  "Oh...thank you, uh..." He craned his neck to get a better
glimpse of the nametag.

     "Vang."

     Scott stood and put out his hand.  The waiter's reach was tentative at
first, and he looked around self-consciously, wondering if Bradley would
object.  Finally, he wrapped his small, slender fingers around Scott's, and
smiled broadly.  Scott tightened his grip, but shook his hand gently.
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't know you, Vang, but I'm glad we've met now.  Thank
you very much for the kind words, and for the excellent service today."  His
peripheral vision caught the sight of Maureen approaching.  "I hope we will
run into each other again on campus.  Of course, Cushing's class is nearly
done now, but hopefully we'll be in a class together next semester."

     Vang's smile and eyes widened to the attention.  "That would be very
good!"  He nodded with enthusiasm.  "I want to study the government here and
learn all that I can about how it works.  I want to make a difference, like
you.  Thank you very much.  Please keep doing your good work for the
students here.  You are very important to us."

     Scott swallowed.  "And, you are very important, too, Vang.  Thank you
for introducing yourself."  Maureen had paused to chat at another table as
Scott released the handshake and looked at his watch.  "Well, I have to go
now.  Thanks again, Vang.  I'll see you around."

     Vang nodded once more.  "I hope so.  Thank you."

     Maureen saw him heading her way, and excused herself from the couple
she was chatting with, then met him at the restaurant's entrance.

     As they strolled through the lobby, arm in arm, she leaned in toward
his ear.  "And, Scotty, please don't be too hard on your father.  He's put a
lot of thought into this election thing, and he's licking his wounds right
now.  Please try to find a way to cut him some slack."  After a few more
steps, she leaned back again and nearly whispered.  "Besides, it couldn't
hurt you any in the long run if he wins, you know."

     He scoffed.  "How do you figure?"

     She turned to face him in the lobby.  "Think about it.  We figure your
dad wins one term, then maybe another one, or two.  That's eight, maybe
twelve years of people seeing `Scott Turner' signs in their front yards, of
hearing Scott Turner on the radio, of getting `Scott Turner' pamphlets and
questionnaires and legislative updates sent to them in the mail, of seeing
`Scott Turner' on their ballots.  Then, you're in your mid- twenties, maybe
thirty, and he's ready to hang it up, and..." She grinned and squeezed his
hand.

     "Whoa!  Maureen!  `We figure...?'"  Scott's brows sank again as he
frowned.  "You saying you two are doing this for me?  What?  You and the old
man planning my political career already?"

     Maureen shrugged, matter-of-factly.  "Well, I wouldn't put it quite
that way, Scotty.  But the thought does occur to us that this could be a
great way to..."

     "Drop it, Maureen!  If this is his idea, or yours, of paving the way
for me to step into that seat down the road, he can pull...you can both the
plug right now, for all I'm concerned!"

     "Scotty, don't be so dismissive.  I'm not saying it's the main
motivation.  But honestly, of course the thought did occur to us as we
discussed it."

     "Not what I want to hear right now, Maureen.  You know I love you, but
that is not what I need to hear."  He leaned forward without smiling and
pecked her cheek.  "Thanks for lunch.  I gotta get to class.  I'll be in
touch."

     He growled a long sigh on his way through the front door.
"Sonofabitch."



     As Scott was trudging down State Street, brooding under the sudden
feeling that he knew the real reason for Big Scott's probable candidacy,
Marty Anderson was checking his e-mails.  He'd spoken with his mom's lawyer,
Mr. Schachtner the day before, and offered to provide any number of
narrative accounts of the emotional abuse his mom had alleged against the
man he reviled, Dan Anderson, his own father.  He'd just finished typing
answers to a variety of questions that were born out of Shelly's examples of
Dan's maltreatment over the years.  He was comfortable that his answers were
truthful and specific.  Marty had a good memory, and the episodes weren't
hard to reconstruct, though they were painful.  Schachtner had told him that
he'd had to tell Shelly about the pictures Marty had sent him, but they'd
agreed there was no need for her to see them.  They'd be given to Dan's
attorney when the time was right, and the lawyer felt confident that Dan
would exit the picture with his tail between his legs.  It was just a matter
of time.

     He was proofreading his message before sending it when a balloon at the
bottom of the page announced the arrival of another message, this one from
"jillandashley." His face lit up when he recognized the address and he
quickly clicked on "Open."

     "Marty,
     "Sorry it's taken so long to get in touch again.  I've really been
meaning to, but Ash' has been down with the flu the past week, and I've been
working as many shifts as I can because of the holidays, plus finishing up
the current term at school.  If it weren't for the grandfolks, we'd be
completely lost!  Anyway, when I hinted to her that we might see you again
over the holidays, she perked up, and insisted we send you a note.   How
could I argue?  Like we do with her grandmas and grandpas, Ashley's going to
dictate and I'm going to type.  I'll warn you, though.  Once she learns how
to handle the keyboard on her own...look out!!

     "Dear Marty," He heard her three-year-old voice squeak "Mawty."
     "Thank you for taking me to the circus.  I liked the clowns.  I liked
you and the clowns the most.  And the cotton candy.  You should be a clown.
I liked the lunch.  My hamburger was really good, and the man who gave it to
me was very handsome, but not as handsome as you.  My French fries were
really good.  I liked it when you made the spoon hang off your nose, and
when you pulled the quarter out of my ear.  You are magic.  I peeked out of
my room and saw you kiss my mommy.  I liked that too.  I had to do a
time-out for peeking.  It was okay though. I know Santa Claus will be good
to you, and I hope you will come and see me soon.
     "Love, Ashley.

     "I liked it too.  Call me when you know what your plans are for winter
break.
     "Love, Jill."

     The chill that had gripped him while he was typing the answers to
Schachtner's questions had melted. "You should be a clown.  You are magic."
He swallowed a big lump in his throat.



     Scott scanned through the contents of the Inbox, mentally prioritizing
his messages.  He saw the one from Bart Morrison, marked "urgent" with a red
exclamation point.

     It was addressed to Scott, but the "CC:" line included the names of all
the other members of the Student Senate, plus Walter "Radar" Jamieson.  He
opened it.

     "President Turner,
     "I am pleased to advise you that the WSA Student Senate Committee on UW
System Relations has fulfilled its duties and has voted unanimously on a
recommendation regarding the UW Board of Regents.  We further recommend,
unanimously, that the full Student Senate meet prior to the winter break so
that we can act on it in full.  We request that you schedule a special
meeting at the earliest convenience to act on the committee's judgment.  In
this way, we can meet the governor's request prior to breaking for the
holidays, and he will be in a position to submit his appointments to the
State Senate by the time we return to campus, and when the new legislature
convenes, in January."
     He signed it "Respectfully."

     Scott scowled.  "Shit.  The fucker has copied all the members.  They'll
be expecting a meeting now.  I can't avoid it."

     That was followed by a second message from Bart, but this one was only
addressed to both him and Kip.

     "Gentlemen,
     "I am pleased to report, on behalf of the WSA Committee on System
Relations, that it will be the unanimous recommendation of our panel that
the WSA endorse both of you for the governor's consideration as he decides
whom to nominate to the legislature for the student's seat on the UW Board
of Regents.  The purpose of this e-mail is to solicit your reaction.  The
committee is interested in knowing whether, if recommended, you would accept
the nomination and, if confirmed, whether you will be able to commit to
serving a complete three-year term.  Should you, for whatever reason,
determine that you are no longer interested in this position, please inform
me at your earliest convenience.  The committee has empowered me to amend
the recommendation based on your response(s).  I will assume that silence on
your part will signify your willingness to serve, if called.
     "As you know, we have requested a call for a special meeting of the
Student Senate in order to act on this proposal at the earliest possible
date.  We anticipate a response from President Turner very shortly."

     Scott stood up.  "Jackass!"  He was filling the coffee maker's carafe
with water when the e-mail alert pinged.  This one was from Kip.

     "Scott,
     "The clock's obviously ticking.  I need to know how I should respond to
Bart.  Give me a call, deliver the disc, and assure me that Marty hasn't
made another copy, and I'll bow out gracefully.
     "I know you'll do the smart thing.
     Kip."

     After starting the coffee maker, he flopped back on the bed and folded
his hands behind his head, then closed his eyes.  "Okay, Turner.  Think."

     He slowly worked in his head to sort out the various scenarios.
"Option One: Ask Marty to give up the disc.  He'd probably do it, though it
would probably roil the waters somewhat.  It gets you the appointment and
puts you in a position to fight the good fight down the road.  But, it's
caving into Kip Monmouth.  Barf.  It pleases the parents and Maureen, but I
don't need to feed their sense of mapping out my life any more than they
already are.  No, pleasing them has to be low on this list.  Finally, it
could bust open a wound between Marty and me that's pretty much healed.  I
told him last week I didn't even want to discuss that fucking disc again."

     The coffee maker gurgled its last burps of the brewing cycle.  He got
up off the bed and filled his favorite tall mug.  He stared blankly out the
window of the room and watched the snow swirling around the lawn out back.
Six guys were playing three-man football, whooping it up and covering
themselves and each other in the cold, white powder.  He sighed and took a
deep sip, holding it in his mouth for a second while it cooled.  "Option
Two:  Bow out.  Call Morrison and tell him you've reconsidered, that you've
decided you're not interested.  It signals a certain unselfishness to the
members, and it creates some sense that Kip is getting a promotion because I
allowed it.  But, it's Kip fucking Morrison II we're talking about here.
Anybody else, I could maybe live with it, but it's that miserable waste of
human DNA.  Plus, it puts him in a position where he'll be either unable or
unwilling to do the right thing most of the time, and it looks like there's
going to be a lot at stake for the students in the near future.   Of course,
he would get to live with the knowledge that Marty still has him by the
balls, and he knows the guy's not afraid to twist them if the situation
calls for it.  Maureen would be disappointed, and probably Mom and Dad, too,
but right now, that might be a good thing.  They need to know that I'm not
just dancing to their tune, and that I'm not going to...ever.  When are they
going to accept that I'm my own man?"

     He sat down at his desk again and set down the mug.  He wiggled the
mouse to clear the screen-saver.  Kip's message was still there.  "The
clock's obviously ticking.  Fuck you!  Fuck you both!"  Then he leaned back
and whispered a light chuckle.  "Got to hand it to `em, though.  They're
playing this just right.  Good thing they didn't have their shit together
when I started on this odyssey.  They'd be a dangerous combination in
tandem: Dummy and Sleazy, the two forgotten Dwarfs."

     He thought back a minute or two.  "Anybody else," he remembered
thinking.  "Is there a third?  Is that Option Three?"  He had to finish the
involuntary chuckle before taking another drink of coffee.  "Martin J.
Anderson, Regent of the University of Wisconsin System."  He sat back and
pondered it.  "Hey! Need to be creative here.  Think outside the box.  I'll
bet Marty would be a hell of a match for our friend, Andy Pennington.  But,
I couldn't get him through the WSA unanimously, thought I'd bet it'd be
close.  I doubt the governor would be warm to appointing the guy who's just
now finishing his community service because he ran naked across Camp Randall
on national television.  And, face it.  If they did a background check, who
knows what else they might find?  And, it's getting late.  Any third
prospect at this point in the game, especially if they'd never even been
considered by the committee, would be dead on arrival."

     He closed Kip's e-mail.  "Okay, Option Four:  Do and say nothing, and
let the chips fall where they may.  Let Maureen know that if she wants to
see me as a member of the Board of Regents, she's going to have to go to bat
with hizzoner The Guv'.  She and Dad want to manipulate the playing field in
my favor, anyway.  Let `em earn it.  Saying nothing tells Morrison `I'm in.'
and doing nothing tells Kip `Fuck You!'  And, it avoids the possibility of
treading over sore ground with Marty."

     He picked up the phone and dialed.  "Walter, it's Scott."

     "What took you so long?  I take it you've read your e-mail from Bart?
Man!  Are his undies in a bundle!  He's called three times asking about when
the meeting's gonna be scheduled.  It's looking like Thursday, but I haven't
told him that.  You need to set the schedule and agenda.  You should be the
one to tell them, not me."

     "Thursday.  How do you...?"

     "I started polling all the members over the phone and via e-mail as
soon as I got his message.  They're not really happy about a special meeting
two days before the end of final exams.  I told them nothing had been
decided, but I wanted to find out when they might be able to make it."

     Scott smiled and, once again, shook his head.  "And your poll of the
body tells you Thursday?"

     "It seems to be best time, or so I'm hearing so far.  A lot of folks
are already done with exams by then, and a couple will wait to go home on
Friday.  I didn't tell any of them they could vote on the recommendation by
proxy, `cuz I didn't want to give them a reason not to attend.  I figured
this was gonna be important enough to have as many as possible in the room."

     "Radar, what do you want for Christmas?"

     "I want you to go to the Regents and shove this rumored tuition
increase down their friggin' throats, chief."

     "Thursday it is.  I'll send the e-mail to the members.  Will you
prepare the notices for the papers so that it's legal?  And post the agenda
on the bulletin board.  One item only."

     "The notices are done and ready to go, and the printed agenda is
sitting right here."

     Scott returned to the computer, and Kip's last e-mail.  "Delete."


     Marty was scrambling.  He'd just gotten back to the dorm after his
final shift at the stadium, and his community service debt to society was in
the bank.  Now he needed to scurry to the computer lab to fine-tune the
final Anthropology paper that was already a day late.  Earlier in the day,
he'd charmed his professor into giving him a one-day extension, but it had
to be on her desk before 8:00 in the morning.  Without it, he was likely
going to finish the semester with less than a C.  There was no way he was
going to give his dad the satisfaction of below-average grades.  But, he had
to hurry.

     His cell phone rang.   "Fuck.  Not now!"  He looked at the screen and
froze.

     "Marty!"  It was Shelly, his mother, and her voice was frantic, nearly
screaming.  "Marty, I don't know what to do!"

     "Mom!  Mom!  Slow down!  What's going on?  What happened?"  He fell
into his desk chair and locked rows of hair between his fingers.

     "We served your dad today, Marty.  We served him with the papers.  They
delivered them at a work site, and he screamed at me tonight over the phone
about the humiliation.  Then, he was just here, Marty, screaming at me
across the kitchen.  Shouting that I'd never take what was his."

     "Mom!  He can't hurt you.  He can't touch you now!  Schachtner said
that once he was served, it would be the start of the end.  He's being
himself...all ego and bluster...and he's feeling defensive right now...he's...

     Shelly shouted into the phone.  "Defensive?  Jesus Christ, Marty!  He
said he was gonna go back to the site and get one of the `dozers and come
back and take the whole damn house down.  Said I'd never take what was his."
  She sobbed, and struggled to catch her breath.  "Oh, Marty, he called me
every vile name in the book.  He said he'd come back and bury me in the
rubble of this house."

     Marty shook his head.  He felt the need to drive to her, but that was
two hours away.  "Mom.  He's not gonna do that, but you need to get out of
there.  Here's what I need you to do.  First, hang up, and then call 911.
Get at least one squad car over there in front of the house.  That gutless
fuck isn't gonna challenge a badge or a uniform."

     "I already called the police, they're sending someone over."

     Marty sighed.  "Good...okay.  Are all the doors locked?  Okay.  Then,
stay on the phone with me until they get there.  Do you have a pencil or a
pen?  Something to write on?"  He took out his wallet and retrieved a piece
of paper, then picked up the receiver from the wall phone.  "Write this
down."  He read the digits as he dialed the number.  "Okay, now just hang
on."  As the phone at the other end rang, he anxiously bounced on the balls
of his feet.  `C'mon! Answer!  Answer!' he silently pleaded.

     Finally, "Hello?"

     Marty gasped.  "Oh good!"  Into his cell phone, he blurted, "Just hang
on another sec, ma."  Then, back to the wall phone, "Hey, Jill?  It's
Marty."

     Shelly could hear his voice, quickly summarizing that she was in what
he called a "shit mess with his fucked up father," and that she might not be
safe.  "She needs a place to stay, if only for the night."  A couple of
"uh-huhs" then a quick, "Thanks, Jill, you're the best!  She'll call you
right back.  Talk to you later."

     He returned the phone to its cradle, and then went back to his cell.
"Okay, mom.  Call the number I gave you.  It's Jill's.  I want you to call
her, and then wait for the police.  Once they know the story, I want you to
go over to her place, and I'll call you back a little later.  As soon as you
can, call Schachtner and let him know what's going on.  Maybe he can help
reign in the crazy bastard.  I can come down there later tonight, if I have
to."

     "No, Marty, you stay put.  I think the police are here now."  There was
a brief silence, and then Shelly returned.  "Yeah, Marty, there's a patrol
car in the driveway."

     "Good.  Okay, mom.  Turn on the front lights.  Let them in, and then
lock the door again.  Then pack up a few things you might need for a couple
days, and get the hell over to Jill's.  If you don't talk to Schachtner
tonight, go right to his office in the morning and let him know everything
that Dad said to you.  I'll call you at Jill's later tonight."

     "Honey, I have to go.  The officers are on the porch.  I'll talk to you
later."

     "I love you, Mom."

     "I know, honey.  I'm sorry.  I love you to."

     He was about to say `don't ever be sorry' when the phone went silent.
Marty shut off his phone, and then pounded his fist into the desktop.  "If
he hurts her, I'm going to kill him."



     A half hour later, Kip looked up from his station at the computer lab's
service desk, and smirked.  Marty Anderson hadn't set foot in the lab since
the night he'd blackmailed him, and Kip was surprised to see him.

     Marty just scowled in his direction as he stormed past the desk.
`Obviously not happy to be here,' Kip surmised.  He watched for a couple of
minutes while Marty unpacked a folder and a couple of computer discs, then
began sliding the mouse around and flipping through sheets of paper next to
the terminal.  There were only four others using the lab, and he noticed
that Marty quietly shot each one of them a scornful glance from time to
time.  It was a little less than an hour from closing, an odd time for
somebody to arrive, if they had any substantial work they needed to
complete.

     Kip returned to the textbook on the desk in front of him and grinned.
He reasoned to himself, `Looks like Morrison's email had the right effect.
Scott's feeling the heat to make a decision about his next move.  I'm just
surprised he sent Marty to hand it over himself.  Then again, it is his
disc, as Scott had said more than once.  I suppose he'd want to deliver it
himself along with a parting shot.  Not like Anderson to just go quietly
into that good night.'  Their eyes met a couple of times, and Kip was
enjoying the obvious annoyance that his occasional attention seemed to be
causing his nemesis.  He was relishing the obvious contempt in the guy's
demeanor.  `This is gonna be fun.'

     After awhile, Kip checked the clock and sounded the alarm.  "Ten
minutes, folks.  Save or print what you need to, then please remember to log
off."  Marty saved the final draft to his disc, and then printed a copy.
The laser printer on the table next to the service desk clicked and hummed
to life.  The only other student still in the room pushed in her chair and
passed Marty as he stood and stretched.

     "G'night, Kip!" The perky blond giggled as she passed the desk.

     "And a very good night yourself, gorgeous."  He flashed a dashing smile
and she giggled again.  He rolled his eyes as she passed through the
doorway.

     Marty logged off of his computer and carried his book bag and folder to
the front, setting each on the counter.

     Kip scooped the stack out of the printer tray and counted them out.
"Fifteen pages.  That'll be a buck-fifty, please."

     Marty already had a couple singles in his hand and laid them on the
desk.  Kip laid them in the cash tray, and retrieved a couple of quarters.
He held them out and grinned.  "And...?"

     Marty squared the pages and slid them into the folder.  He glared back.
  "And what?  You want a tip or something?  Okay, stay out of dark alleys."
He held out a flat palm to receive his change.

     Kip's smile evaporated.  "And...and I take you have something else for
me, right?"  He dropped the quarters into the outstretched hand.

     Marty's upper lip curled, and he glared back under furrowed brows.
"Yeah.  I have contempt.  I have disdain.  I have derision.  Sometimes, I
have nausea.  How's that?"

     Kip's jaw dropped as Marty put the folder into his book bag and zipped
it up.  "So...ah... you mean, Turner didn't talk to you?"

     Marty slung the bag's strap over his shoulder and he zipped his jacket.
  "We talk almost every day, Kip, and we talk about a lot of things.   Can
you narrow it down a bit for me?  Talk to me about what?"

     Kip looked at the clock.  It was ten minutes past closing time.  He
stepped over and shut the door.  "Have a seat.  This won't take long."



     By Tuesday, Scott couldn't wait any longer.  It'd been driving him nuts
for nearly a week now, and he had to talk to his dad.  He set aside his
Literature review materials, checked his watch as he sipped a third cup of
coffee with the receiver to his ear.  The phone rang once more before the
beautiful voice chimed, "Turner Law Offices.  How may Ah help you?"  He
could hear "Go Tell It on the Mountain..." in the background.

     Scott piped in.  "Over the hill and ev-`ry whe-ere!  Go tell it on the
mountain, that Jesus Chri-ist is born."

     Daisy giggled.  "You li'l scamp!  I'll praise the Lord today for
lettin' me hear your voice, honey.  And singin' to old Daisy too!  Sweet
Jesus!  I mus' be livin' right.  You bein' good and keepin' that skinny
white butt outta trouble down there?"

     She could hear him smile.  "Ain't getting' caught, Daisy.  Same thing,
right?"

     Daisy cackled.  "I'll say another prayer for you, sweetie.  I s'pose
you want to talk to your daddy?"  Scott was about to affirm when she
continued.  "Cuz he's really busy this afternoon, so you can't have long,
honey.  Holiday season brings out bad behavior and bad debt, and the end of
the year brings all sorts of tax hoo-ha, and just about all of it needs
gettin' done by yesterday.  I can give you a few minutes of his time, if you
can keep it short."  He was being reminded who truly ran that office, as if
there was ever a question about that.  "Besides, you're comin' home pretty
soon anyway, so unless it's life and death stuff, he's gotta be filin' these
motions within the hour."

     "Daisy, if you give me just a few minutes, I'll bring you somethin'
special for Christmas."

     "You'll bring me somethin' special anyway, you little toad."

     He looked at the small box, wrapped in gold foil that held a small
ceramic angel.  A black, overweight angel at that, with oversized wings and
an adoring gaze.  Daisy collected angels, and this one looked just like her.
  He couldn't wait to give it to her.

     "Now, honey, you hold on so's I can shuffle some deadbeat out of his
office and get him on the phone for you."

     After a minute more of Christmas tunes while he was on hold, his dad's
voice came through.  "Scotty, is everything okay?"

     Scott rolled his eyes.  "Why is it every time I call, I get the same
question?  Like the only reason I'd call my dad were if I was in some sort
of trouble."

     "Hang on, hang on!  I didn't ask if you were in trouble.  I asked if
everything is okay."

     "Okay.  Sorry.  Uhhmm...I'm not sure."  He thought of Daisy's warning,
and jumped right to the punch line.  "You have it in your mind that you're
doing this for my benefit, don't you?"

     "Well, I like to think I've done a lot for you benefit.  Want to narrow
it down a bit for me?"

     "C'mon, Dad!  The election thing.  You're running for this, hoping to
save the seat for the day you think I'll be ready to step into it, aren't
you?"

     Big Scott sighed.  "Maureen told me you two had lunch, and that you
might have gotten the wrong impression by something she said.  Is that it?"

     "Look, Dad.  I know you don't have a lot of time, but I want to know if
you're doing this just to help me, then it's a lousy idea.  If you're gonna
do this just so that you and Maureen can tattoo the name Scott Turner onto
the 29th Senate District, then I think it sucks!  And, if that's what's
really up here, I want you to know, for the record, I'm against it!

     Big Scott frowned, and his voice grew stern.  "And, I want you to know,
for the record, that I don't think you were listening very well the last
time we spoke about this.  I didn't think so then, and I know so now.  Fact
is, it could wind up being a good thing for you, but what's the harm in
that?  Think about it, Scotty.  If I'm successful at this, you could some
day build on that and make quite a career of it, too.  Worse things could
happen, you know.  So the folks back here get used to seeing the name Scott
Turner connected to their senate district.  All the better for you if...IF...
you decide to go in that direction yourself some day."  Daisy's face peeked
around the corner.  Her brows arched in sympathy for Big Scott and his son,
but she pointed at her watch nonetheless.  "Scotty, I'll see you in a few
days.  We'll sit down and have it all out then.  Just relax, concentrate on
the final exams, and this Regents business, and we'll all have a good
Christmas break here at home.  Now, Daisy's giving me the finger, and
neither one of us wants to piss her off this time of year."

     Scotty grinned.  "Okay.  She's the boss, and we don't want to push her
into sinning."  Before his father could hang up, "Dad?"

     "Yes, Scotty?"

     "How's Gran'?"

     His father sighed.  "She's doing better.  Better than when you saw her
last.  She's been asking about you."

     Scotty smiled again.  "Good!  Tell her I love her and that I miss her,
and that I'll be back in a few days to watch Jeopardy with her.  Give mom a
kiss for me, and Daisy too."

     "Will do, son, on all counts."

     Scotty hung up the phone.  "He can't do this for me," he said to
himself.



     Marty ran a finger under his right eye and squeezed a tear out of the
corner.  "That's great, Mom!  I'm so happy for you...for us.  This is a new
start.  New year coming, and it's all up from here."  He giggled.  "There's
a light at the end of the tunnel, Mommy, and it's not an oncoming train."

     There was a tap on the door.  Marty half-stood, leaned over and tugged
it open.  He smiled, and motioned in before returning to his chair, wiping
the other eye in the process.  He gave Scott a thumbs up as he closed the
door.

     "Okay, Mom.  I'll be home Thursday, mid-day.  My last final's Wednesday
afternoon, late.  I'm gonna finish packing, finish some Christmas shopping
and come running home to celebrate.  You got a tree up, right?  Good."  He
winked at Scott.  "Well, Scotty just came in, and I've got to wrap up some
of the academics for the semester, but I can't wait.  Tell Jill thanks for
me, too, and give Ashley a hug.  Yeah, she's something else, isn't she?
Tell `em I'll call when I get back to Rockford.  Okay.  G'nite now.  Love
you...more than ever."

     He laid down the phone and beamed with satisfaction.  "Life is good,
Scotty.  The fucker is gone, once and for all, it appears."

     Scott's face lit up.  "Really?!  The old man folded?"

     Marty laughed a nasty chuckle as he propped his feet on the edge of the
desk and linked his fingers behind his head.  "Looks like he's throwing up
the white flag faster than a French general."  He clapped his hands
together, and then sighed as he rubbed his face with both hands.  "Ma' said
she heard that, after his big display the other night, he went over to the
whore's apartment and found her getting it from one of his foremen."  He
cackled.  "Then, between a call from his own lawyer and a visit from
`Rockford's Finest' at his trailer, he wised up.  Got permission to visit
the house, twice, while Mom was over at Jill's, packed up all his shit, and
I guess he's camped out at some extended stay hotel, for now."

     Scott leaned forward with an elbow on each knee.  "That's great, Marty!
  I'm really glad for both of you."

     Marty peered out of the corners of his eyes.  "C'mon, professor.  That
ain't real happiness.  What gives?  Why so glum...really?"

     Scott shook his head, squinched his eyes and rubbed his temples.  "Aw
fuck, Marty.  It's my dad.  He's doing all this for me."

     "Huh?"

     "The whole senate thing.  He's gonna run for the seat `cuz he and
Maureen, and I suppose, my mom, are hoping to hold it down for, oh...about a
decade or so...until their fucking golden boy is ready to lay claim to it."
He shook his head again and pled to the ceiling with his palms.  "It's like
they think they're gonna map out my whole friggin' life for me."

     Marty's eyes narrowed.  "And this is bad, because...?"

     Scott stood and thrust his hands into his pockets.  He paced toward the
closet, and turned back toward the opposite wall.  "Fuck!  I don't know if I
ever wanna go there.  And, if I do, it's gotta be on my own terms.  I gotta
do it on my own.  I can't have my old man trying to hand it to me.  I'm not
going to deal with thinking something good came my way `cuz somebody else
paved the way.  I gotta do it on my own.  Can't you see that?"

     Marty bolted off of his chair and took two steps to face Scott.  With
one hand on each side of his chest he pushed, hard.  "Sit down and shut up!"
  Then he stepped back and glared.  "God Damn It!"  Even Marty's voice
seemed to capitalize each word.  "Do you ever listen to yourself?  Do you
ever realize what a self-absorbed son-of-a-bitch you sound like at times?
Just who in holy fuck do you think you are, Mr. Turner?"

     Scott was dumbfounded.  "Hey!  You asked what the hell..."

     "I didn't expect some fucking pity play, you sorry sonofabitch!"

     "Hold on, Marty, I'm not feeling..."

     "The hell you're not!  You're bein' a sad sack asshole, wallowing in
self-sorry mud, but in your own special way.  You amaze me with your ability
to feel pity for yourself, when you're the last mother-fucker who has the
right to feel sad about your `godawful burdens' in life."  His voice reeked
of sarcasm.  "Boo-hoo-hoo-fucking-hoo!"  It stung. Bad.

     Marty's fingers sped through his hair, even as he shook his head.
"Scott, you gotta get over it!  You have got, somehow, to get your brain
around the idea that you are not, never have been and never will be in this
shit we call life all by yourself.  I mean, Bravo! for your noble,
self-reliant intentions, but you are deluding yourself!  Look at what you
got already.  Take friggin' stock of all your assets.  Then, point to one of
them and tell me they're all yours, by yourself, with nobody else's
fingerprints on them."

     Scott sat silent.

     "You got your great looks from a great gene pool.  You got most of that
hot bod from the same source, and the rest from a strong sense of pride and
work ethic that you got from Big Scott and Suzanne Turner.  You got your
brains and charm from mom and dad too, with hundreds of friends and family
and teachers along the way helping you mold that clay into a winner.  You
got into the UW with those same brains, and probably some strong
recommendations from people who believed in you."

     He sat back down and leaned over onto his thighs, trying to establish
eye contact.  "And these past several months, all you did to become a
candidate for Big Man on Campus was listen to Maureen McCarthy and a few of
your friends, and then fill out a few forms with the help of that guy
"Radar" down at the office, who has, by the way, become your irreplaceable
right nut in managing the job you have today.  You got into office with
Brett and Craig and Frank and Jesse and Kelly and me giving you a big-ass
boost all along the way.  You're in the running for a gold-plated
scholarship `cuz of the support of a teaching assistant and the wisdom of an
alert academic who is in the perfect position to wave his wand in your
direction.  For Christ's Sake, Scotty!  Get a fucking clue, man.  You are
not, should not, and never will be, sole owner of your own good fortune.
Now, grow up and live with it, God Damn It!!"

     Scott stood up and faced his friend.  He nearly choked on the words.
"You!?  You are telling somebody else to grow up?  Mister `foot loose and
fancy free...I'm gonna do what I want `cuz it feels good at the time...' Marty
Anderson is going to tell me...or anybody...to grow the fuck up?"

     Marty grinned and shook his head.  "I'll give you an A for effort
there, but you know that's not what I'm talking about.  I'd be defensive
right now if I was you, too.  But, fuckin-A, Scotty!  You bitch about making
success with the help of loved ones?  Well, you should try, like some people
have to, try getting your shit together and making it IN SPITE OF those
folks who should be there hugging and loving you.  Not a fucking chance!  I
don't think you'd know good fortune if it came up and bit you in the ass."

     He took a deep breath.  "Come on, Scotty!  You're a political science
and history guy, and a smart one, too!  You name me one man or woman who's
managed to really make a difference all by themselves."  Scott opened his
mouth to say something, but Marty cut him off.  "And I mean think about the
All Stars!  Give me the solo artists of major accomplishments.  They all had
help.  Love `em or hate `em, they all had help.  Jefferson had help.
Churchill had help.  Dr. King had help.  All the fucking Roosevelt's had
help and, God knows, so did the Kennedy's."  He paused.  "Okay, they might
have a curse too, but..."  He regrouped and went on, "Fuck!  Even Reagan had
help.  Maybe not enough, but you know he didn't do it alone.  Those fuckers
up on Mount Rushmore all had help.  Anybody with a statue had a shit-load of
help that eventually got somebody to want to cast his or her likeness in
bronze.  And those great ones who never will have a statue, too.  Your dad...
Maureen...and even your beloved Gran had help."

     Scott stared at the floor between his feet.

     "Jesus Christ, man!  People don't give you a boost `cuz they feel sorry
for you or they think you can't do it on your own.  They do it because they
DO have faith in you, because they're proud of you, because they want to
help you make the most of it all.    One of life's great punch lines isn't
in doing it all on your own.  It's in taking the great stuff that others
give you, cuz they fucking believe in you, and then making the most of it
for others...and, on a good day, for yourself, too.  And the real kick in the
ass, my friend, is that while nobody makes it all on his own, that's how
everybody fucks it all up!  We do good with the help of others, but we can
throw it in the shitter all by ourselves.  And that's exactly what you're
gonna do if you don't get over yourself!"

     With one hand, he clutched Scott's chin between his fingers and glared
down at him.  "So, dumb-ass, the way I see it, ya' got two options.  You can
take Big Scott at his word.  You can accept that he's doing this for all the
reasons he said, and one of the fringe benefits for him and Maureen might be
a big old boost for you some day down the line.  Or, you can stay all hung
up on the idea that this is all about you.  And, so what?  What's the worst
that could happen?  You make no promises to anybody, your old man still gets
elected, does some good stuff for the people of the state and the district,
and you go on your merry way doing whatever the fuck it is you want to do."
He let go of Scott's face and turned.  "Sounds like a real hardship, doesn't
it?"  The sarcasm had returned.  "How in the world could anybody ever
tolerate something so horrible as that?  Oh-My-Friggin'-God!  I don't know
how you will EVER survive such an awful fate."

     Marty dropped his ass onto Brett's bed and he flopped onto his back.
The room was dead silent.  He was panting, and Scott could see his heart
beating through the fabric of his tight-fitting sweater.

     After a minute had passed, Scott cleared his throat.  "Uuhhhhmmm...what's
it like, Marty?"

     His best friend's gaze never left the ceiling.  "What's that?"

     "Being right all the time.  What's it like?"

     Marty sucked in a couple lung-fulls of air, and slowly exhaled, but he
grinned nonetheless.  "It's hard."



     They'd been in the library's reading room for two hours, but it was
still pretty early.  Scott had sprung for a couple Gyros sandwiches at one
of his favorite spots on State, then they'd dutifully returned to the books.

     Kelly looked in amazement across the table.  "Never?"

     "Never."

     "Never, ever, ever, ever?"

     "Not once."

     "I don't believe it!"

     Scott shrugged and fought back a grin.  "Come on, Kelly!  It's not a
difficult concept.  Never.  I don't know what to tell you.  Believe it, my
dear, or don't.  But I've never, ever seen it."

     She slapped a hand on the table and threw her head back.  "But, we're
talking about `It's a Wonderful Life!'  How does a normal American kid make
it to your age without ever seeing `It's a Wonderful Life?'  I just don't
believe it."

     Scott looked back to his notes and tried to look sad.  "What can I say?
  I guess I had a deprived childhood.  Blame my parents."

     Kelly rolled her eyes in exasperation.  "That's just crazy, not to
mention, flat-out wrong.  It's downright Un-American!"  She pointed at him,
her dazzling emerald eyes carefully examining his demeanor.  "Ha!  A
deprived childhood.  You!  Ha Ha!  You're smart, you're well-read, you're
into...what's it called...Americana...history and all that crap...you're...
shit...you're practically cultured, I guess.  You can name every cast of
practically every sit-com ever televised.  You quote Faulkner and Hemmingway
and Mark Twain and Maya Anjelou and George Carlin.  And you've never seen
`It's a Wonderful Life?!"  You know...Jimmy Stewart?  Donna Reed?  Little Zuzu
and the flower petals?  Uncle Billy?  Old Mr. Potter?  Come ON Scott!
Think, man!"

     He squinted and looked into the distance, as if thinking really hard.
"Aaahhhhh...no.  Doesn't ring a bell."

     She shook her head and slammed her text, then looked at her watch.
"Come on, we got a half hour, but we can still make it."

     She was closing his notebook now, and grabbing his textbook as Scott
sat back in alarm.  "Kelly!  What the hell?"

     "Hurry.  There's a group that's showing the movie up in the big lecture
hall at the Commerce Building tonight at eight.  It's a fundraiser for the
food pantry next to campus.  We don't have time to stop for any food
offering for admission, but I'll cover the donation."  She zipped her
backpack, and then her jacket, and was on her feet.  "Up, man!  I'm gonna
fix this cultural deficiency...NOW!"  Scott stood up as she grabbed his
backpack, and dropped it on the table with a `thud'.

     "Good God!  You carrying a whole semester in there?  Zip up!  We're
gonna get you a decent education before the term ends."  She grabbed his arm
and led him toward the front door.

     They held their gloved hands together tightly on the way up the hill.
"So, you're going home on Friday?"

     Scott nodded.  "Yeah.  Last test on Thursday afternoon, then I have one
more meeting with the WSA Thursday night.  Want to finish some shopping, and
haven't done a thing toward packing for the break.  What about you?"

     "Heading back on Wednesday night.  So, how's the Regents thing coming
along?"

     Scott grinned; a little surprised it'd taken her this long to ask.
"Won't know `til then.  It's pretty much out of my hands.  Either way, I can
live with what happens.  I've got plenty to keep me busy."

     There was a vague tension in his voice, so Kelly didn't push it.  "Any
other big plans during the break?"

     Scott kicked a clump of snow on the walk.  "Usual stuff.  See some old
friends.  Visit with Gran'.  I might go down to Rockford to see the Marty
and the guys.  And, I'm trying to talk him into coming up for a weekend.
It's all pretty up in the air right now, though.  You should join us, maybe
when I go down to see Marty and his mom?"

     Kelly let go of his hand, then locked their arms.  "Give me a call.
I'll be around all...oh, shit!"  There was a line outside the Commerce
Building.  She smiled nonetheless, as if the crowd was proof of all she'd
said earlier.  "Told you!  It's a friggin' classic, and you need to see it."
  She motioned toward the crowd, some of them in their forties and fifties,
but most were clearly UW students. "A lot of these good folks have seen it
probably six, seven, eight times."

     Scott looked up into the clear sky as they fell into the queue.  "Nice
moon tonight."  He put his arms around her waist, and her head fell back
into the crook of his neck.  Her hair smelled wonderful mixed with the crisp
scents of the cold night air.

     She gripped his forearms and rubbed them with her thumbs.  "Yeah.  I
like a bright full moon, but there's something about a midnight blue sky,
when you can see the Little Dipper in the north like this, and there's that
crisp crescent moon, slicing through it all.  It's like this huge smile,
laying on its side, with the stars winking at us."

     Scott leaned down a bit further and whispered in her ear.  He pinched
his voice up an octave, made it squeak a few times and mashed nearly every
`S' into one of the worst Jimmy Stewart impressions ever attempted.  "What
izh it you want, Kelly?  What do you want?  You want the moon?  Jusht shay
the word and I'll throw a lashoo around it, and pull it down.  Hey!  That'sh
a pretty good idea.  I'll give you the moon, Mary...I, I, I mean...uh, Kelly."

     Slowly, her head rolled between his shoulder and chin, and she giggled.
  "I knew it!  I really did!  You know this movie inside and out, you
asshole!  You didn't fool me for a minute!"

     He squeezed her tighter.  "I did too."

     "You are a shit, you know that?"

     "Yes, I am."

     He nuzzled her neck as they stepped forward in line.  "I just wanted
you to take me to the movies.  Besides, I always thought Donna Reed was
pretty hot."  Her elbow hit him in the ribs, but both of the coats they wore
softened the blow.

     They'd made it to the head of the line, only five minutes before the
movie was scheduled to start.  The box of non-perishables was filling fast
with donations from moviegoers.  Kelly started to dig into her pocket for
some cash when Scott dropped his backpack.  "Hang on."  He knelt and
unzipped it.  Before she knew what he was doing, Kelly was holding two boxes
of stuffing and he stood with four cans of vegetables.

     "I'm just working on seeing what could be coming my way.  Hope this
works."  He winked at her and kissed her nose.

     Her smile lit the entrance of the building.  "You're getting better."
She kissed his nose.  "Now, let's go see if Clarence get his wings again."



     Walter did a quick head count, then nodded toward Scott, who banged the
gavel twice.  "Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats."  Various
members groused as they found their way to their desks.

     "I want to thank you all for making time to accommodate this unusual
request for an emergency meeting.  This is a rather important opportunity.
Senator Morrison and his committee have worked hard, and with efficiency,
and his call for a special meeting is well-reasoned."  He couldn't resist
reminding everybody that this was Bart's idea.  A few voices in the room
grumbled.

     "We have only one item on this evening's agenda, and then we can all
get back to the business of final exams or our journeys to home and hearth.
With that, I'll give the floor to Chairman of the Committee on WSA System
Relations for a recommendation and a motion.  Senator Morrison."

     Bart was already on his feet.  "Thank you Mr. President.  As you said,
it was the committee's judgment that it is important to advance this to the
governor's desk at the earliest opportunity.  I'll join you in thanking the
members for heeding your call to hold this meeting tonight."  He emphasized
`your call.'  At times, the guy could dish it out, too.  Scott grudgingly
respected that.  "Before the members is a recommendation of our committee to
send the names of two of our own for consideration in appointing the next
student member of the Board of Regents.  We recommend, unanimously, that Mr.
Christopher "Kip" Monmouth II and Mr. Scott Turner, Jr. both be endorsed as
fully qualified to represent the students of the UW System on it's highest
policy-making body.  With that, Mr. President, I move adoption of the
committee's recommendation."  He quietly took his seat and stared straight
ahead.

     "Is there a second?"

     Several voices and a scattering of hands indicated "Second."

     "Very well, the recommendation having been moved and seconded, is there
any discussion?"

     Kip was on his feet.  "Mr. President."

     Scott stuttered.  "Ah...Senator Monmouth?"  He looked at Radar who simply
shrugged, without ever taking his eyes off the screen of his laptop.

     Kip didn't look directly at Scott, but faced the members.  "Thank you.
I would like the committee and the body to know, first and foremost, how
humbled I am by this honor, and the confidence you express in advancing my
name for consideration to the governor."  The fucker was practically
gloating.  "However, after much personal reflection and consultation with my
family, I have concluded that a commitment like this one, as rewarding as it
would be to me, and I hope, to the students we serve, is not in my own best
interests, or those of the students or our system."  He looked to Scott and
smiled.  "I have, therefore, decided that I must respectfully withdraw from
consideration in this matter.  I ask unanimous consent to amend the
committee's recommendation to include only the name, Scott Turner, Jr., and
I further ask unanimous consent that it be adopted immediately."

     Scott stared blankly at Kip's proud, satisfied mug.  Finally, Radar
cleared his throat and tapped his pen on the table, bringing him back to
earth.  "Uhm...one moment for a point of order from the clerk."  He leaned
down and whispered into Walter's ear.  "What the fuck is going on here?  Can
I preside over this?  I'm the only one to benefit.  I can't entertain this
from the chair, can I?"

     Walter blinked a few times as he mentally scanned the Bylaws and the
Robert's Rules of Order.  He whispered back.  "Well, don't ever ask me what
the hell is going in his head.  As far as the Rules go, I can't think of
anything to prevent it.  Besides, if there's no objection, there's no
objection.  Give them a minute to offer their concerns, then bang the gavel
and we can get the hell out of here."

     Scott was still flustered, even as he stood upright.  "Uhm...folks, this
is highly unusual and very unexpected.  I'm advised that it's not
inappropriate for me to preside over Senator Monmouth's unanimous consent
request.  However, since I am the object, and the beneficiary, of the
request, I'll give you a moment to consider."  He paused to give any voice a
chance to object.  Bart was sitting, slack-jawed, but looked as if he
wouldn't know what to say even if he had any wind left in his sails.  Scott
had just enough time to analyze the situation.  "Alright then, we have, in
effect two requests from Senator Monmouth.  The first is to amend the
committee's recommendation to remove his own name.  Is there any objection?"
  He paused again.  "Hearing none," Bang!  "So ordered."  Kip returned to
his seat.  "Okay, then, the request is to unanimously approve the
recommendation as amended.  Are there any objections?"  Bang!  "So
ordered!!"

     The room erupted in a round of applause.  Scott shouted above the
cheers.  "The chair will now entertain a motion adjourn!"

     A chorus of "So moved!" burst forth.

     Bang! Bang! Bang!  "Ladies and gentlemen, we stand adjourned until the
first regularly scheduled meeting in the New Year.  Please accept my thanks
and gratitude for your support, and my fondest wishes for nothing but the
best for you and yours through the holiday season, and in the coming year.
Best of luck on finals, please travel safely, and we'll see you again in a
little over a month."  Bang!

     Another burst of clapping followed as Scott stepped back and scratched
his head.  Several friends in the body smiled and flashed him their thumbs
up as they headed toward to exits.  Walter continued to type out a fresh
record of what had just happened.  Bart glared at Kip, who just looked back
and shrugged.  Morrison waved a hand in disgust and turned to head for the
doorway, shaking his head all the way.

     By the time he looked back, Kip was already zipping up his leather
bomber jacket.  He looked at Scott and nodded with a slight grin.  He held
up the disc between two fingers, and slowly slipped it into the inside
breast pocket.  He joined some of the other Greek members, and they strolled
out the door together.

     Scott said goodnight to Walter, and hugged him a Merry Christmas.  The
clerk blushed, but hugged him back and returned the sentiment before
adjusting his scarf and gloves and scurrying out the door.  Scott snugged up
his own gloves and braced himself to meet the December Wisconsin air.

     "What took so fucking long?  That should have taken, what, ten minutes,
tops?"  Marty was bouncing from foot to foot on the sidewalk, his hands dug
deep into his coat pockets.  Scott looked down at his own feet and shook his
head.  He joined his friend at the curb.  Marty winked.  "So, I'm guessing
that congratulations are in order, Mr. Future Regent?"

     They walked, side by side, across the street in silence.  For a moment,
Scott pondered all the questions, and then just dropped them.  This was just
Marty Anderson at work.  At his best.  Scott didn't care to know how he'd
pulled it off.  It was what it was, and the rest was just irrelevant.

     When they got to the curb, Scott looked to his right.  "Thought you
were going home today."

     Marty shrugged and smiled.  "Called my mom this afternoon.  She's back
in the house, and doing good.  I told her I needed to tie up a few loose
ends up here, and would be home mid-day tomorrow."

     Though the tears weren't dripping, his eyelids were full, and the cold
wind threatened to freeze the moisture on his lashes.  He wiped each eye
with the back of his gloved hands.  "Why, Marty?  Why would you do that?"

     Marty nudged him with his shoulder, and when he felt Scott's arm fall
across them both, he kept the weight shifted and leaned into him.  "Call it
an early Christmas present.  I do what I do `cuz I want to and `cuz it feels
good.  You know that.  That's all the reason I need.  So, shut up."  He
glanced over and upward.  Hey... do ya'..."

     Scott's hand slid back across the shoulder, and he squeezed the back of
his buddy's neck.  "Don't even ask.  You know I do."  Involuntarily, he
coughed out a chuckle through his runny nose and tight throat, and had to
wipe his lips and nostrils.  "Clarence."  He blinked again against the wind,
and the emotion.  "You're my fucking Clarence."

     "Huh?  Ya' mean like the `Wonderful Life' Clarence?"  Marty liked that
idea.

     "Yup.  You're my guardian angel, but you know that already.  Maybe you
haven't admitted it to yourself, yet, but you know that's what you are."

     "So, like...I got my wings?"

     Scott laughed and squeezed his shoulder tightly.  "Dude.  Like, you
have to ask?  You got wings to spare.  I'm guessing you picked up your first
pair, what...ten, fifteen years ago?  You got a whole friggin' flock of
wings."

     Marty didn't respond.  He just smiled.

     Scott let go so they could navigate the street traffic at the stoplight
across from their dorm.  As they hit the sidewalk, he looked over with some
sadness.  "Uhm...Marty, I feel like shit...but it's been such an insane couple
of weeks.  As much as I love what you did back there, when you called it a
Christmas present, it reminded me I haven't gotten you anything yet."

     Marty's eyebrows wiggled as he held the front door to the dorm lobby,
bidding his friend through.  "Oh...I'll bet you can `come up' with something,
professor.  I'm not leaving `til late tomorrow morning, and you're stuck
here `til tomorrow afternoon."

     Scott looked around to size up the bystanders.  "Oh, shit!  That'd be
so very cool, Marty, but Craig's gonna be in the room when I get up there."
The elevator doors closed, but still he whispered.  "I want to take you back
there and show you my proper appreciation for tonight, but it ain't gonna
happen."

     Marty put his hands in his pockets, shrugged and sighed.  "Yeah...too
bad.  And, Brett's still up in our room sweating about his morning exam.
Oh, well."  Slowly a grin crept across his face.  "But..."  His right hand
emerged from the pocket, dangling a key on the index finger.

     Scott recognized the rabbit's foot key chain.  "The James Brothers?
But, I saw them early this morning. They left for Minnesota at about noon."

     The elevator slowed to a stop.  Before the door opened, Marty put his
maintenance key in the slot and turned it, stopping the automation dead.
"Exactly.  They asked me to extend their holiday best."  He checked his
watch.  "By now, they're meeting Danny in his apartment, for a little
Christmas party of their own before he drives up north to his folks' house."

     He pressed into Scott, pushing him up against the wall, then whispered
into his face.   "Merry Christmas, professor."  He grabbed the collar of
Scott's coat, and lightly touched their lips together before locking his
eyes onto Scott's and smiling.  He reached over and turned the key, and the
door slowly opened.  Marty stepped through, looked over his shoulder, winked
once more and motioned to his left with his head.  "C'mon.  Let's go make
some bells ring."




Author's Note:  Okay, here's the deal, in case you haven't seen it.  In the
movie, Clarence is an angel, sent to earth to stop George Bailey (Jimmy
Stewart) from committing suicide.  Clarence's personal goal is to earn his
wings by proving himself a competent guardian angel.  To confront George's
despondency, Clarence shows him the ugly fate of his loved ones (like his
wife, Donna Reed) and his hometown, had George not been on the scene all
those years to contribute to their lives.  In the course of the movie, we
learn that "every time a bell rings, another angel gets its wings."

This chapter comes to you with my very best wishes for a happy and healthy
holiday season, and a peaceful and joyous 2007.  More than ever, I remain
thankful for the thoughtful support and assistance I receive from so many of
you as I continue this hobby of mine.  Whether it's simple note to let me
know you're reading the story, or a response to my request for editing help
or feedback, every correspondent over the past many months has been greatly
valued.

Particular thanks and holiday hugs go out to: Peter, Kory, Billy, Scotty,
Les, Glenn, Tim, Jack, Danny, Mike, Rick, Terry, Rock, Frank, Ted, Ryan,
Richard, Homer and Tyler for their continued advice and support.  And the
gang at Nifty... YOU'RE THE FRIGGIN' BEST!!

Finally, I can't say for sure when Scott and the gang will be back.  Truth
is, with the mixed blessings that are the holidays (plenty of blessings, too
many things and folks to tend to and never enough time to get it all done
right), plus some fairly heavy-duty and some unexpected personal and
professional stuff added to the mix (don't fret, none of it bad, just time
consuming), it looks like I need to consider another hiatus.  Not pulling
the plug, mind you, as this is too much fun.  I'm just going to be devoting
more complete time and attention to other very important matters.  I know
you'll understand, and I appreciate that.  Meantime, pick up another good
author, tell `em you love `em, and send a holiday donation to Nifty for all
their efforts.

Please feel free to email me your reactions at:  scotty.13411@hotmail.com

BE WELL!!


God Bless Us, Everyone!

Scott