Hell house

     The cafeteria noise had the crisp feel of autumn.  Joseph Petrelli, a newly anointed senior, held the attention of his table as he had never before held the attention of any group before.  His brown eyes shifted from one face to the next as he spoke. “There are demons. We all know there are demons. Each of us has seen his own demon and knows deep in his heart the name by which it is called.”  He was quoting, but they didn’t know that.  He was imitating the pauses and the eye contact, but it was working with a larger charm than he ever thought possible. “Sometimes, we have a chance to confront a host of demons at the same time. To see them in all their grotesque splendor.” Grotesque splendor, he especially liked that phrase. Their eyes were widening. Their mouths open far enough for Joseph to see the metal work on their braces. He took the tapes from his bag and spread them out on the table. The picture on the cover was of a  skull holding up a candle. “When you play this tape, you might be frightened, but not as frightened as you will be on Friday night!”

     After school he met Branlee. She had been even more successful with distribution. He gazed with wonder at the energy that poured out of her contact tinted blue eyes. She was vibrant. She hugged him and pressed her young breasts into his chest. He felt them against his shirt and immediately became physically excited. She broke the embrace, and he hoped that she wouldn’t notice the evidence of his excitement. He shifted the bag to hold in front of him. “I can’t wait to see how many everybody else gave out,” she said. “It’s only been two days and there are at least a thousand of them everywhere.”  Branlee giggled like a zealot and placed her cool white fingernails on his forearm. Reaching up, she kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s go to the church,” she whispered. Joseph nodded. Holding the book bag protectively in front of himself, he walked with her to the car. The scent of her perfume caressed him like a silk glove. Joseph matched her steps as they walked, feeling now for the first time ever that he was part of the plan.

      Andrew Blake was still holding his coffee container and wearing his raincoat when the woman came into his office. She was a fiftyish blonde whose concern for her figure had been reduced to avoiding obesity. The lines of her pudgy face showed worry, fear, and insecurity.  No one liked Blake’s office. It had a dismal feel to it; stains left by people who weren’t happy to have been in this room. She handed him the tape and said, “This is devil worship.”

     Blake trained his eyes on her face without taking off his jacket. She had trouble looking up as she spoke. He liked the feeling of power.  “My son brought this home. He told me what was on it. He said that his friends all had them. He’s in fifth grade and told me that it didn’t scare him, but it sure scares me, and something needs to be done about it, either here or by the police.”

     “Where did you son say he got the tape?”

     “From students here, at the high school,” she said, nodding her head and finding the strength to stare up at his eyes; judging what he was going to do about it. His head was salt and pepper somber, and it reassured her.

      Blake drank his coffee. He was turning the hard plastic cover over and over as he listened to the tape. The electric guitar scream that dissolved into a human scream, the confused voices, a choir of them all talking at once; voices all rising at once. The electric guitar coming back over them… The voices screaming, the guitar screaming and then the macabre whisper, “I need you to be with me. It is our destiny to rule the night. It is our future to rule the grave. We must crawl inside of each other. Let me crawl inside of you. You will feel good; you will be strong; you will need nothing else but me inside of you, and I will never crawl back out! Together, sweet decay… We shall make sacrifices of those too stupid to know what we need. Together we will drink blood. Together we will feast on the unimaginable. There will be no rules to stop us. We will be all of what we are; all of what we can be. We’ll be all.” The screams and the guitar rising with a frantic drum roll. “We can be.” Then the screams became laughter, uncontrolled, unstable, mocking laughter, and then thin high voices singing, small children’s voices singing a fairy tale rhyme. The rhyme voicing the invitation to come on Friday night over and over like an incantation… Blake’s face darkened into a perplexed frown. He hadn’t encountered anything like this before

      By the end of the morning, two more tapes had been turned into him. One was brought by a freshman named Jacob, who said that he thought that it was “screwed up” and that somebody should know about it. Jacob’s hair hung in his face while he talked.  Blake questioned him in a soft voice and got a name.

     Then he brought the tape to the principal’s office and tried to explain what was happening, but she was on her way to a conference and wasn’t really listening. She told Blake that she was sure he could deal with whatever it was. He nodded and said, “I can handle it.”

     Now Joseph Petrelli sat in Blake’s office and stared at the poster on the wall that read, Be Under Your Own Influence. The boy tried to console himself, but he was too nervous. He told himself that we were all always either under the influence of God or of Satan. How difficult they made it seem when it was really so simple! Then he tried to convince himself that he believed that, but he knew that he didn’t. He closed his eyes and thought about the way Branlee smiled at him and took his hand.

     “Did you give these tapes out, Joseph?” Blake held up the hard plastic cover and twirled it slowly in his hand as he spoke.

     “Yes Sir, I gave them out all day yesterday.”

     “Where did you get them?”

     “At my church.”

     “And is that the Church of the Lighted Mountain?” Blake had seen the name in very small print at the bottom of the plastic cover.

     “Yes, Sir,” said the boy proudly. Joseph could see the kind, focused eyes of his pastor. Hear the pastor saying, “This is the most important work that you can do with your life.” He remembered the feel of Branlee’s breasts on his bare arm yesterday when she smiled, so he knew that she had pressed them there on purpose.

     “Did you have anyone’s permission to distribute these tapes?”

     “What kind of permission, Mr. Blake?”

     “Well, Joseph, when you bring things from an outside organization into the school, don’t you think that it’s right to let somebody know before you give them out?”

     “I didn’t think of it that way, Mr. Blake.”

     “What is this tape about, Joseph?”

     “It’s an invitation. It’s nothing bad. My church is sponsoring this event on Friday night”

     “What kind of church is it?”

     “It’s a church that believes in doing God’s work, Mr. Blake.”

     “Joseph, I want you to stop giving these tapes out, turn over the ones that you have to me, and promise that you’ll try to get back the tapes that you can recover.”

     Joseph’s hands were sweating profusely. They left streak marks on his tan slacks. He closed his eyes and saw Branlee’s breasts. Then he managed to look up at Blake. “No, Sir. I won’t do that!”

     “Joseph, did you know that these tapes were scaring people? Did you know that they have frightened young children?

     Joseph blinked and tried to think of what to say, but he decided to say nothing. He told himself that maybe it was good that they were scared.

 

     “We don’t belong to this Church,” said Mrs. Petrelli. Her voice showed the stress behind it. We’re Catholics. My husband and I are Italian! We don’t know about cults.”

     Blake tried to sound sympathetic. “Have you tried to talk to him about this cult?”

     “I don’t know what they are. I really don’t know if it’s a cult.” She shook her head sadly. 

     “They read the bible. My son used to be normal. He went to church with the family and once in a while with his friends, but that was it. My husband and I don’t talk religion in our home. Now, everything is about Jesus.” Her face crumpled up like a bag. “I’ve grown to hate the sound of the Lord’s name, and I feel like there must be something wrong with me because of it.”

     Blake nodded again and stared at her. She wore glasses with rhinestones in the corners of the frames. She wore a print dress. She wore one strand of pearls on her wrist. “I want you to take him home, Mrs. Blake. He can return when he’s ready to accept my conditions, or on Monday of next week.”

     When the door to Mr. Blake’s office opened, Branlee Tucker was standing there holding a stack of the tapes. “Mr. Blake, I want you to know that I also intend to continue to distribute these tapes, and if you try to stop me that you’ll have to deal with my father!” Blake felt things slipping away just a bit; there was a sound like thunder in the distance of his calm.

      Gregory Tucker, speaking into the telephone said, “Let me ask you something, Mr. Blake. When your other students pass the trash that they listen to from one person to the other in the cafeteria, the CD’s with lyrics about drugs, and permissive sex, do you haul those students into your office as well?”

     “Mr. Tucker, I didn’t haul Branlee in here either. She presented herself.”

     “Yes, after you hauled her friends in and interrogated them. My daughter called me just a few moments ago, Mr. Blake.  I know full well what she’s doing, and she’s doing it with my permission.”

     Blake’s mind was on a fast track, trying to think ahead now, trying to determine  how far into this he had been manipulated. He was silent for a moment. He felt like he was on an island and that the ocean was creeping up the shore as the rain fell.

     “Mr. Blake, what policy is it that states my daughter cannot distribute these tapes?”

       Blake wasn’t sure. He knew that he must have the right to limit the distribution of the tapes but he couldn’t for the life of him remember seeing something in print. The floating feeling was inside of his stomach. “I’ve had complaints, Mr. Tucker.”

       “What kinds of complaints?”

       “Parents, other students…” Blake gained confidence as his mind seized onto something. “…and that makes it a disruption of the educational process.” He felt himself find firm ground now. “I have to make decisions about what I believe is in the best interests of the educational process, Mr. Tucker. In this instance, my decision is that since no one was consulted about the distribution of these tapes, and since I have people who have been upset by them, that it is going to stop.”

       “Well, we’ll have to see about that.”

       “I need your daughter’s promise that she will not continue to distribute these tapes until we have figured this out, Mr. Tucker.”

       “My daughter isn’t making any promises.”

       “If I see her distributing the tapes, I’ll have to suspend her.”

       “That would be an unfortunate decision for you, Mr. Blake.”

       Branlee was staring at him with a defiant glow. “I want to talk to my father!”

       “Daddy, he might as well suspend me right now. You know that I won’t stop doing the Lord’s work”

       Mr. Tucker lowered his voice when he spoke into the receiver. “Do you have any tests this afternoon?”

       “Nope,” she said, shaking her head back and forth with little girlish emphasis.

       “Mr. Blake, I’ve decided to take this to your Superintendent of Schools before I press charges. Am I correct that you are suspending my daughter?”

       “Yes, if she distributes the tapes I’ll suspend her. Mr. Tucker, I was hoping that as the adults involved we could work to give her better counsel.”

         Blake heard the phone click down.

           Perhaps it was fate, or faith, or mutual boredom, or fear, and maybe they are interchangeable in the instance, but Joseph and Branlee both wound up back at the church after their suspensions. They both went to the basement of the meeting room, where the Hell House was being constructed. There the tiny coffin would be displayed, filled with the blood and bones of the human sacrifice of abortion. There the worm infested, lesion covered corpse of the homosexual aids victim would speak from beyond the grave where the demons continued to torment him.

     Joseph was just sitting by the coffins when Branlee walked in. She sat down next to him. They exchanged a smile and shared the comfort of standing up for what was right. Branlee told Joseph that he had been heroic and had inspired her. Joseph kissed her. Branlee wrapped her arms around him and pressed those breasts into his chest again. Joseph squeezed her towards him. Branlee moved on top of him; her mouth open. Her hips moved on him. Joseph kissed her and groaned, transported. Branlee, excited now, was squirming on him. Joseph exploded in his pants; his testicles and penis convulsing, pumping out sperm into his underwear. Holding her tight, panicked at the thought that she must know what had happened. Branlee pushed him away from her, looking at him like he was a little boy. “What did you do?” she said with a look of repulsion.

      Joseph was shrinking quickly, feeling sticky and small. “I couldn’t help it,” he said.

     That night Joseph got sick. He vomited over and over again. The next morning his mother tried to feed him some broth and he vomited it up before he was done eating it. He ran a fever. They took him to the doctor, who said that it must be some kind of an intestinal thing. Joseph slept and tried to eat, vomited and fell asleep for two days. On Saturday afternoon he was able to keep some toast in his stomach. On Saturday night he held down some cereal and by Sunday he was better.

      Branlee’s father met with the Superintendent the afternoon of her suspension. They both agreed that they did not wish their town to become the place for a test case with all the baggage that came along with that kind of publicity. The Superintendent agreed to sponsor the formation of a prayer group that his daughter could lead and which would meet in the school each morning before classes. They both knew that this was better for all concerned in the long run.

     Joseph felt lighthearted as he walked into school on Monday morning. He didn’t realize that he had been punched in the side of the face until after he was on the floor. His head began spinning. He felt the blood in his mouth. “That’s what I think of you and you’re fuckin’ Jesus. I’m a Jew, and I’m glad we killed him. We waited too god damned long to kill him. Tell that to your asshole pastor.” Jacob was screaming at him, his red his blonde hair pulled back out of his eyes.

     Joseph opened his mouth. “What’s wrong with you?” he sputtered.

     Jacob leaned in and swung his fists like hammers, crying “My cousin died of AIDS, you stupid asshole.”

     Joseph pushed back blindly, his eyes were closed and he was thrashing to get free. It was then that he felt another presence and thought that god must have intervened for him, but it was Mr. Blake and he was holding Jacob back. He was saying they were going to the nurse.

     As they walked down the hall, other kids were laughing at him and staring. Jacob was only a freshman, and Branlee was looking at him like he was a pathetic thing with no self-control.

 Details

      The faculty lounge was almost empty. Howard Snow was sitting in one of the easy chairs next to Marcy Chez. They were drinking coffee, talking softly and trying to avoid touching each other. Snow liked the nervous energy that Marcy had trouble controlling when he was around her. He liked the plump ripeness that women no longer seemed to cultivate and that she possessed. He liked it when she saw him looking at her breasts and squeezed them together between her arms. He no longer wondered if his wife would find out about them. Marcy had left her husband last spring. Snow’s children were grown. If push came to shove, it would be an easy transition.

      Newton Roxbury stared at the notes that he’d taken from the phone conversation with a grimace. The English Department Chairman didn’t like complaints about his teachers. He was particularly unappreciative of complaints that caught him off guard. The parent who called about Howard Snow had seemed realistic and that was even more troubling. She claimed that her son had received no corrected tests, quizzes, or papers from the first marking period and didn’t understand why he’d been given a D. In his two months on the job, Dr. Roxbury had few occasions for dealings with Snow. The veteran teacher seemed to avoid him. Roxbury had noted that Snow had missed turning in his lesson plans on two occasions and had been late with them several other times, but that was no big deal He decided to leave a note in Snow’s mailbox.

      Roxbury waited the next day for Snow to walk into his office during the teacher’s prep, but it didn’t happen. With about fifteen minutes left in the period, he went to the faculty lounge to get coffee. Marcy and Howard jerked their heads towards the open door. Marcy ran her hands along the lap of her dress and picked up her coffee. Newton Roxbury tried to appear casual.

     “Good afternoon, folks. How are we today?”

     “Tired,” said Marcy. “The students have figured out that they’re back in school and that they’re going to grades.”

     “Yeah, life is tough,” said Howard Snow.

     “Isn’t it always the way,” said Roxbury. He moved over to the Mr. Coffee and poured out a cup. “Howard, did you get my message?”

     “Something about a student?”

       ^“Yes, we need to have a quick conversation, so that I can return a parent’s call.”

     “Do you want to just give me the name and let me take care of it?”

     “Probably, but let’s talk first.”

     “I’ll come by in a few minutes, if you’re going to be free.”

     “That’ll be fine,” said Roxbury.

     Roxbury left the room after he’d fixed his coffee. He wondered when Snow intended to come down to his office, but decided that he could call the parent back at any point in the afternoon. He couldn’t help wondering why Snow hadn’t come to his office as soon as he got the message but dismissed the thought.

     The rest of the day passed without Snow going to the office. Roxbury went down to the main office about twenty minutes after dismissal and found that Snow had left for the day. He would have to postpone his return call to the parent until the next morning. He wrote himself a follow-up note before he left for the school.

     By the next afternoon, Roxbury was annoyed. He took his coffee cup and headed purposefully to the faculty lounge. Marcy and Howard were in their chairs and their heads again jerked up when he entered. Newton went over to the Mr. Coffee without saying anything. Peripherally, he saw the two of them exchange a tense look. He filled his cup quietly and started for the door. He stopped as if he’d been struck by an afterthought. “Howard, I do need to speak with you about that student matter.”

     Snow looked up from his coffee and grimaced. “You know, I thought about that this morning, and then I just got tied up doing whatever. I’ll stop by in the morning.”

     “I do need to return the call this afternoon,” said Newton Roxbury. He was trying to sound casual and official at the same time.

     “When do you want to talk?”

     “Well, I’d like to take care of it now.”

     “Do you want to talk about it here,” said Snow. There were clear traces of annoyance in his tone.

     “I’d like to have my notes in front of me. They’re at my desk.”

     “Do you want to go get them and come back, or do you want me to stop down there?”

     “Why don’t you come down to the office.”

     “As soon as I’m finished with my coffee.”

       About five minutes before the end of the period bell, Howard Snow walked in Dr. Roxbury’s office. He was dressed in a polo shirt, outrigger shoes, and casual cotton jeans. “What’s the problem?” he said gruffly.

     “I got a call a call from Mrs. Van Tek. She’s concerned about the D that her son got on his report card.”

     “Oh. I’ll call her,” said Snow.

     “It seems that he told her that he didn’t have any tests, papers, or quizzes in the first marking period.”

     “He said what?”

      “That he doesn’t understand his grade because he hasn’t had any testing experiences or essays.”

     “Did she also mention the kind of mouth that her son has?”

     “No.”

     “Did she say anything about the lack of homework that he does?”

     “Parents never talk about things like that when they call to find out about a grade. Perhaps we should have her in for a parent conference.”

     “I don’t see why we have to do anything like that yet. Why don’t I just call her and straighten things out.”

     “That would be fine,” said Roxbury. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I do need to return her call this afternoon as I said that I would. What can you tell me about Dave’s grades?”

     “He got a D.”

     The bell signaling the end of the period rang.

     “What were his test grades?”

     “I don’t have them with me,” said Snow.

     “Could you bring them down before you leave for the day.”

     “I think that I have those papers at home.”

     “Well, just give the marks from the grade book.”

     “I haven’t entered them all yet. I’ll bring the papers by in the morning.”

     “That would be fine if it was yesterday, but I do need to call her.”

      “Just tell her that you spoke with me and that I’ll be in touch with her. Listen, I’ve get to go to class. Who knows what they’ll do if I’m not in the room when the bell rings.”

       “Bring me what you’ve got before you leave for the day.”

       “Whatever you want,” said Snow. He sighed and left the room.

       He didn’t come back at the end of the school day. Roxbury was furious. This was the second time. He decided to call Mrs. Van Tek and do what he thought was necessary so that he didn’t look like a fool.

       “Good afternoon, this is Dr. Newton Roxbury from the high school.”

       “Hello, Dr. Roxbury.”

       “I said that I’d get back to you by this afternoon. I’ve spoken to Mr. Snow and he tells me that he’ll be happy to get in touch with you to discuss Dave’s grade.”

        “Did he tell you what the grades were?”

       “Not exactly. He did say that he was having a bit of trouble with Dave’s behavior in class, however.”

       “What kind of trouble?”

       “He said that Dave was inconsistent about turning in his homework and that he tended to mouth off in class a little.”

       “I spoke with my son further last night. He tells me that they don’t do any work in Mr. Snow’s class. He said that he doesn’t get any real homework because all Mr. Snow does is tell war stories.”

       “War stories?”

       “About his experiences in Viet Nam.”

       “Sometimes teachers do share a bit of personal experience with the students in order to bring the literature home to them.”

       “I’m aware of that, Dr. Roxbury. My husband is a teacher. I was hoping to get this settled before he had to get involved.”

       “Why is that?”

       “Well, I suppose I should have told you this at the outset, but we’ve had previous experiences with Mr. Snow, and I can’t say that they’ve been good. I think that what I’d really like is to have my son out of that class.”

       “Perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to talk to Dave.”

       “I’m sure that you’ll do what you think is best.”

       “I should expect that you’ll hear from Mr. Snow this evening or tomorrow morning at the latest. In the meantime, I’m going to speak with your son now. I’ll call you back tomorrow afternoon if that’s okay.”

        Dave Van Tek was well over six feet tall and was all legs. He stood in the doorway of the English Department office nervously. I got called down from the main office and they said that Dr. Roxbury wanted to see me.”

       “You’re Dave Van Tek?”

       The boy nodded.

       “I want to talk with you about your English class. It seems that you’re having a bit of trouble with Mr. Snow.”

       “No real trouble. I just don’t understand how he grades. We never get anything back.”

       “Do you turn your work in?”

       “Yeah. The class had a test a month ago, and we didn’t get it back. We turned in a paper at the end of the first week of school and never got it back. The only things that he gives back to us are homework assignments, and they’re not graded. They just have check marks on them.”

       “What do the check marks mean?”

       “I don’t know.”

       “Doesn’t Mr. Snow explain them to you when you go over them.”

       “We don’t go over them.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “He just assigns them and collects them.”

       “What about quizzes?”

       “We had one, I think.”

       “Did you get a grade on that?”

       “He said that he threw them out because they were so bad.”

       “Do you and Mr. Snow have difficulties in class?”

       “We didn’t until I asked him when we were going to start doing English. Then he told me that I had a wise mouth and that I’d do a lot better if I kept it shut.” The boy paused. He was uncomfortable with the situation. “See, this is my junior year and everybody says that it’s the most important one that colleges look at. I think that he gave me a D because of what I said.”

      “Have you been doing your homework?”

      “I was but then I stopped. It doesn’t count for anything.”

      “What percentage of your grade does Mr. Snow count for homework?”

      “He doesn’t tell us. He just says that we’re all getting what we deserve. Look, can’t I just get out of his class. Once he finds out that I talked to you, he’s really going to screw me.”

      “Why do you think that?”

      “He screws everybody that gives him a hard time. All the kids know that.”

       Before he went home that afternoon, Roxbury decided to run the story by the high school principal. There were several aspects of the situation that quietly gave Adele Becker cause for concern. As Roxbury was talking she jotted down a note to herself to review Mr. Snow’s last three years worth of evaluations before she left for the day. When Roxbury got to the part of the story where Dave Van Tek said that Mr. Snow was infamous as somebody who screwed all the kids who gave him a hard time, she ran her hands through her blonde hair, straightened a pin on her jacket lapel, and scrutinized Roxbury. She wondered why she needed to hear all of this, and why he hadn’t been more forceful in the way that he dealt with the incident from the start. It was true that this was his first year on the job, but it wasn’t as if he was an inexperienced administrator and the truth of the matter was that it was also her first year as the high school’s principal. When she’d heard enough, she began to try to abbreviate his story by saying, “uh-huh” at the end of each of his phrasings. Roxbury noticed the technique but decided that he was going to make sure that his boss was completely informed of this matter. He wasn’t going to be second-guessed at a later date for not having kept her abreast of things. Roxbury had noticed, in his brief time with Adele Becker, that her patience quickly evaporated after she had a sense of what it was that she was hearing. He’d also made mental note of the hot and cold mood swings that she seemed to have.

        It was about six-thirty that evening when Becker came across her note to herself on Snow. She went to the file cabinet and pulled out his folder. Over the next hour, her mouth fell open several times. Snow had been employed by the district for ten years. She had intended to look at the last three years worth of final evaluations and wound reading all of them. The pattern was repeated again and again. Complaint after complaint that papers were not returned in a timely manner. Complaints that he did not teach the material in the curriculum. Complaints that he used grades in a retaliatory manner. But what shocked her the most was that the documentation of this behavior had been noted since the first year of his employment. Nothing had ever been done. There were no letters of reprimand. There were no unsatisfactories listed on his final evaluation check sheets, but instance after instance had been alluded to in the narratives written by previous administrators.

       It was after seven-thirty. Adele Becker had been in her office for thirteen hours and wanted to go home, but her curiosity about this Snow character was keeping her there. She needed a clue as to why they had given him tenure. She knew it would be there, but she wasn’t sure what it was that she was searching for. It popped up about fifteen minutes later when she decided to check his attendance and use of sick days. In his ten years in the district, he had been absent more than 250 times! That was strange enough but the irregularity came when she saw that he still had accumulated sixty-four unused sick days. The numbers didn’t come close to matching. It was then that she found the envelope of letters requesting military leave on a yearly basis. She saw the superintendent’s approval along with the supportive notes expressing personal gratitude for Mr. Snow’s dedication to the service of his country. She decided to pack away the problem for the evening and head home

       The next afternoon Newton Roxbury approached Howard Snow in the hall before the beginning of the last period of the day. “I was wondering if you got a chance to straighten things out with Mrs. Van Tek.”

       “No, I haven’t had a chance to call her yet. I was intending to take care of it in the morning.”

       “Tomorrow?”

       Snow forehead shifted back and the curly head of hair seemed to elevate. “Is there a problem with that?”

      “I was hoping that you would have called her last night or at least by this morning.”

      “I have to leave the building right after school today. I’m refereeing a soccer match.”

      “Suppose I come down to your class for the last fifteen minutes, and you use the time to go down to the office and give her a call?”

      “Whatever you want,” said Snow with exasperation.

       Roxbury decided to wait until after he’d taken care of this part of things before he went to see Adele Becker again, but his phone was ringing when he got back to the office. “Mrs. Becker wants to know if you can come down to her office,” said the secretary.

       “Right now?”

       “Yes, I think so.”

       “Could you put me through to her.”

       “Hi, Adele. This is Newton Roxbury. I was hoping to postpone our getting together until after school.”

       “Did Snow call that parent yet.”

       “No. As a matter of fact, I’m covering his class in a few minutes, so that he can make the call.”

       “That figures. Why didn’t he call last night or this morning?”

       “I asked him but he really didn’t say.”

       “Ask him again and give me a call when you’re done with him. I think that I’d like you to set up a parent conference with the kid, the parent, the guidance counselor, Snow and yourself.”

        When Roxbury relayed that information to Snow, the teacher was very annoyed. “Why does she want me to do that?”

       “She didn’t say.”

       “Did the mother call her?”

       “I don’t know,” said Roxbury.

       “Well if there’s going to be a conference,  there really isn’t any reason for me to call her, is there?”

       “I think that it would be wise to make the call.”

       “Why don’t you go ahead and call her. I can say whatever I have to say at the meeting. I don’t want to have to repeat the same things over and over again.”

       Now it was Roxbury’s turn to look annoyed. “I thought that you said you were going to take care of this either last night or today.”

       “Details,” said Snow. “Besides it seems that the principal already took care of it. Did you tell her about the mother’s call?”

        “It was appropriate that I should.”

            Dr. Roxbury set the meeting up for the following morning. The mother said that she thought that her husband would want to attend. Roxbury said that would be fine. Then he called the guidance counselor. The meeting was set for 7:30 in the morning. He informed Snow who just shook his head and said that he supposed that this was necessary, although he didn’t see why. Finally, Roxbury went back to see Adele Becker.

 

          “I’ve set up a meeting with the Van Teks for tomorrow morning.”

         “Did Snow contact the mother?”

         “No. He said that he didn’t want to repeat himself and that he’d speak with her in the morning.”

          “That son of a bitch.” Adele Becker took off her glasses and began to pace in front of her desk. “I did some reading last night. I think you’ll find it very interesting. The bottom line here is that this isn’t a new problem and it might only be the tip of a real iceberg.” She handed him Snow’s file. I’d like you to read this before tomorrow morning’s meeting.”

            Derrick Thomas arrived at about 7:15 in the morning. He made a mental count of the number of people expected at the meeting and started bringing in extra chairs. Space was going to be very tight. In fact, they were going to be right on top of each other. Thomas didn’t like confrontational meetings, and he was less than pleased that he hadn’t been brought into this situation earlier. He would include those sentiments in the memo that he was required to send the guidance director after the meeting.

            Roxbury was the next to arrive. He was wearing his traditional Brooks Brothers suit, carrying his mug of coffee and a legal pad. He went into the counselor’s office and began to spread out his things.

            “Can you give me a little background about the situation?” said Derrick Thomas. He was purposefully trying to sound friendly and to hide the edge that he knew was in his voice.

              “The student and the parents have some concerns about how Howard Snow arrived at his English grade for the student’s first marking period.”

              “What kind of concerns?”

              “The student claims that he didn’t receive any work back from the teacher.”

              “Nothing unusual about that, is there?”

              “I don’t know what you mean,” bristled Roxbury.

              At that point the Van Teks arrived. The three of them were together, the young man coming in complete with his book bag. They exchanged “good mornings” and maneuvered in the close quarters. Mr. Van Tek opened his attache case and took out a pad. The guidance counselor offered the parents some coffee, which they refused. Roxbury made a mental note not to drink any more of his coffee. By 7:35 they were staring at each other a little uneasily. Snow had been due to arrive in the building twenty minutes earlier. There was no sign of him.

               “Was Mr. Snow informed about this meeting,” said Mr. Van Tek.

               “I told him about it yesterday afternoon,” said Roxbury.

               The bell rang for the start of first period and Snow still wasn’t there. A minute or two later, he appeared carrying a mug of coffee. “Sorry about being late folks,” he said without looking at the parents and moved into the room. “Sort of tight in here, isn’t it?”

                “Once we’re all seated it will be better,” said the counselor.

              “Mr. Snow,” said Mr. Van Tek making obvious note of the time by looking at his wrist watch and jotting something down, “my son’s report card tells me that he’s not doing acceptable work in English. I’d like to know what his problem is.”

”            Well to begin with,” said Snow, “he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

             Roxbury and Thomas grimaced. It was hardly the tone that they wanted to set.

             “What exactly is he supposed to keep his mouth shut about?” said Mr. Van Tek.

            “Well it would be nice if he’d show me some respect in class. If he chooses not to learn, I don’t think that it’s appropriate that he keep his classmates from learning.” Dave Van Tek put his head down and shook it back and forth. He knew that these kinds of meetings never worked out well for students, but the problem was that this time he knew that he was right.

             “Why don’t you think that he wants to learn, Mr. Snow?” said Van Tek. His wife’s face shared the hard expression that everyone in the room was beginning to have.

               Howard Snow laughed. “Well I suppose that I can’t prove that he doesn’t want to learn, but his performance surely indicates that to me.”

              “What performance?” said Van Tek deliberately.

              “For one thing, his homework assignments are rarely turned in.” The boy raised his head in a look of disbelief.

               Van Tek made notes on his pad. “How many assignments has he missed?”

                “I don’t know exactly, “said Snow. “I left my book upstairs. But it seems that the real question is how many has he turned in on time and complete.”

                 “Would you be able to tell me that?” said Van Tek.

                 “Not many. I can tell you that for sure,” said Snow with another sarcastic laugh.

                  “What about tests and quizzes?”

                   “What about them?”

                   “Well how’s he done?”

                   “Poorly,” said Snow.

                   “Did you bring those grades with you?”

                  “I thought that we were here to discuss his behavior,” said Snow glaring at Roxbury.

                   Newton Roxbury returned his look. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get the grades.”

                    “If these people have enough time to wait, and you can find coverage for my classes.”

                      “We can wait,” said Mr. Van Tek. He turned to his wife and she nodded.

                       When Snow left the room, she said, “What’s done is done here, Dr. Roxbury. My main concern is Dave’s future and it seems to me that changing classes would be the easiest solution to the problem.”

                       “Dave, are you sure that you didn’t get any grades back from Mr. Snow?” said Roxbury.

                        “Yeah, I’m sure.”

                      “Then there are some issues here that we need to get settled,” said Roxbury.

                      “Forgive me if this sounds selfish,” said Van Tek, “but if Dave is going to transfer out of the class, then I’m not sure that we have much more to discuss.”

                     “Basically, you’re right,” said Derrick Thomas. “The only other thing would be Dave’s first marking period grade.”

                       “Dave,” said Van Tek, “did you stop doing homework in his class?”

                       “He didn’t go over it or use it for anything, Dad!”

                       “That’s not what I asked you.”

                       “Yeah,” said Dave,”I stopped doing homework in his class.”

                        “Do you understand why that was a poor decision?”

                        “Not really. Except that any excuse that he pulls out of his butt will be enough to satisfy everybody.”

                      “I wish I had a better answer for you about that, Dave.”

                      “Right.”

                     “You don’t need to get obnoxious!” said Mr.Van Tek

                     “Let’s see how difficult it will be to change this class,” said Thomas.

                     By the time Snow came back with a fresh mug of coffee and his grade book, Mr. and Mrs. Van Tek were on their way to the car. Dave Van Tek, Derrick Thomas, and Roxbury were in the office. Thomas was putting the necessary entries into the computer.

                      “What happened?” said an indignant Snow.

                      “Dave is going to be transferring to another English class,” said Thomas.

                       Snow looked at Roxbury who was writing a list of things down. “Do you need me here for anything else?”

                      “Let’s talk upstairs,” said Roxbury.

                      “I just came from there,” said Snow.

                     “Dave,” said Roxbury, “I’ll get back to you about your grades myself.”

                     “Let’s just forget it,” said Dave Van Tek.

                      “Let’s make sure that you don’t forget to turn in your books,” said Snow.

                     They walked upstairs in silence. When they got into the English office, Roxbury said, “Can I see the grades, please.”

                      Snow handed Roxbury a torn half of a sheet of notebook paper. An F and a C were the only two letters on the page. What do these represent?”

                       “His two first marking period tests.”

                       “When were they given?” Roxbury held the paper out away from him and kept staring at it while Snow went to his book.

                       “The first one was given on September 28, and the second one…. Oh, I see the second one was a quiz that was given on… the week of October 4th.”

                       “Are these all of the grades for the first marking period.”

                       “No, there was homework and class participation.”

                      “And what did he get in those?”

                      “He got D’s in both.”

                      “And what percentage of his grade was homework?”

                      “Oh, I’d say 25%.”

                      “And class participation?”

                      “Another 25%.”

                     “How was the rest of the grade figured?”

                                    ^“Tests and quizzes.”

                     “Of which you provided one of each?”

                                    ^“Yeah_, that’s right.”

                      “And when were they returned?”

                      “I don’t keep track of that,” said the frustrated Snow. “Let me put it this way, were they returned? I’m sure the quiz was.”

                     “What about the test?”

                       “I think so.”

                       “You’re not sure?”

                       “I’m pretty sure. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it was. You probably shouldn’t hold me to it though”

                      “So, all of the students got one quiz returned to them so far this year?”

                      “Well, you could look at it that way, I guess.”

                      “Dave Van Tek isn’t far oft when he says that he had no way of knowing what kind of a grade he was going to receive.”

                       “All he had to do was ask,” said Snow.

                        At five-thirty that afternoon, Newton Roxbury was debating about whether he wanted to face Adele Becker before he went home or in the morning. Her moods were immeasurably better in the morning, but this late in the day there was much less chance of being interrupted. He decided to call her and test the climate.

                         “Hi Adele, this is Newton. I was wondering if you had a preference about meeting this afternoon or in the morning.”

                         “About what?”

                         Newton was a bit startled. She had led him to believe that she was waiting to hear from him. “The meeting with Snow and the Van Teks.”

                        “Come on down now.”

                        When he got there, he found here fiddling with a stain that one of the after school kids had gotten on a new shirt. Roxbury was privately chagrined at the grammar school nature of the activity. He reminded himself again that he was no longer working at the college and that it had been his decision to leave the campus.

                         She finished with the stain while Roxbury stood and watched. The principal would have liked to spend a few more minutes talking with the student. It was a relatively new phenomena that she was noticing; kids that didn’t want to leave the school; who would deliberately get detentions and join clubs and teams that didn’t interest them so that they could avoid going home.

                          “How did the meeting go?”

                          “Not well.”

                         “What does that mean?”

                         Roxbury flipped open his legal pad. “Well first of all both Mr. and Mrs. Van Tek showed up for the meeting.”

                        “What was the outcome?”

                       Roxbury stammered. He had prepared what he expected would be a twenty-minute synopsis of both of the meetings, and he had organized and structured his presentation. “Well there were a lot of factors…”

                       “Just tell me what the determination was.”

                      “The student is going to change classes.”

                      “That’s it?”

                       “Not exactly.”

                      “What else?”

                      “Snow’s marking period grades seemed to be largely based on the results of one graded quiz.”

                      Her eyebrows went up like the tailof a hunting dog catching a scent. What does that mean?”

                      “It looks like that’s the only paper that he returned to them, if he even returned that.”

                        “There were no tests, no papers, no reports.”

                        “He says that he gave a test but that he’s not sure if he returned it. He thinks he did.”

                         “What the hell does that mean?”

                         Roxbury shrugged. “He also says that he had class participation and homework grades, but he wasn’t at all clear on how he arrived at them.”

                         Adele Becker felt her face flushing. She took off her glasses and began to pace in front of her desk. “We have to find out how bad this actually is. How many classes are in this kind of shape. How deep this pile of bullshit is. I want you to meet with him again tomorrow and get the big picture.”

                         “I’m not sure that he’ll be very cooperative.”

                          “Well he fucking well better be cooperative, or I’ll personally chew off one of his balls as a warning.”

                           Roxbury was stunned. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever heard a woman say that. He was certain that he’d never heard a school official talk that way. Before he left the office, Becker instructed him to call Snow at home to set up the meeting and to make sure that the teacher had all of his materials prepared.

                           “Mrs. Snow?”

                           “Yes.”

                           “Good evening, this Newton Roxbury at the high school. Can I speak with Howard please?”

                           “He’s still working, Mr. Roxbury. He must be right around there someplace.”

                             “Perhaps I’ve just missed him. Can I leave a message with you?”

                            The next afternoon Roxbury and Snow sat down with his grade book. Snow showed up at the beginning of his prep period with all of the necessary materials. The tone in his voice was less casual.

                             “I understand that needed to go over some things with me?”

                            “Mrs. Becker is concerned about the number of evaluative experiences that you’re providing for your students.”

                             “Why?”

                           “I suppose that it was touched off by the Van Tek meeting.”

                           “I wish somebody would have just drowned that kid at birth.”

                           Roxbury faked a chuckle, got out his legal pad and Snow’s schedule of classes and said, “Let’s begin with your first period class.” By late that afternoon he realized that the problem was even deeper than he thought it would be. Some of his classes had “not gotten up to” the point where they were ready to be tested. None of the classes had seen any essays returned to them. It was a mess. Becker would want to chew off both of his balls to prevent further propagation.

                            Dave Van Tek was on his way up the main corridor stairs talking with his friends. “So, I’m out of his fuckin’ class as of today. What I feel like doing is walking in and shoving the books that he says he’s doing with us right up his ass in front of the whole class.”

                              Marcy Chez was walking in back of Van Tek, close enough to hear what he was saying and who he was talking about. She told Howard about it over lunch.

                              That afternoon Dave Van Tek entered Snow’s class.

                             “Here are my books, Mr. Snow. I need for you to sign my change of class form.”

                            “Isn’t there anything else you want, Dave?”

                             “What do you mean?”

                             “I understand that there’s something that you want to do with these books in front of the class. Well, the class is here. I’m here. You’re here, and the books are here.”

                             “I don’t know what you mean.”

                             The class was shifting uneasily now. Usually when students changed classes it happened with little discussion. A voice from the back of the room said, “Maybe he wants you to tell us how much you enjoyed reading them, Dave.”

                             “I don’t know what’s confusing you,” said Snow. “From what I understand, you were pretty clear about what you wanted to do with these books earlier today.”

                             At that point, Van Tek realized that somebody must have overheard him. He shifted from one foot to the other and tried to find a place to look.

                              “Is there something else that you wanted to do?”

                              “Not really.”

                             “Because if you think you’re a man and you want to step out into the hall we can settle this thing right now.”

                               “No.”

                               “That’s right no. Because you’re not a man are you? You’re a little boy who has to run for Mommy and Daddy every time he gets himself into a mess, aren’t you?”

                               “Whatever you say, Mr. Snow.”

                               “The class will hardly miss you.” Snow signed the class change form and indicated that the student had done failing work for the fraction of the second marking period that he’d spent in Snow’s class.

                                “Adele Becker speaking.”

                               “Mrs. Becker, this is Donald Van Tek calling.”

                                “How can I help you?”

                                “My son Dave is a student at the high school.”

                               “Yes.”

                                “Until recently_, he was a student in Mr. Snow’s class.”

                               “Yes.”

                               “Your teacher embarrassed and physically threatened my son today, Mrs. Becker, and I want to know what you intend to do about it.”

                               The principal grimaced. “Excuse me?”

                              “He called him out in front of the class and then humiliated him for not being willing to fight. What kind of a teacher is this man?”

                               “Mr. Van Tek, this is the first that I’m hearing anything about this.”

                              “Mrs. Becker, this is a courtesy call. I intend to take this up with the superintendent.”

                               “Of course. That’s your privilege. But, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate you filling me in on the details.”

                                The principal now felt that she had several obligations. She drew up a quick list of three steps: 1) notify the superintendent and fill him in on the details 2) notify Roxbury of this new development 3) set up a meeting with Roxbury and Snow. It was time that she started to address this situation directly.

                                  The call to Peter Farmer was a brief one. The superintendent listened to the details of the story without comment. He made note of the date, and the name of the teacher and the name of the family and nothing else. He had always believed that putting too much in writing was a weakness that could cause vulnerability at the most unexpected times. It also made it difficult to change the position that one took or the way one characterized ones actions in hindsight.

                                    Adele felt good about having brought her boss into the loop. He didn’t seem overly concerned. She liked the confident approach that he exuded about everything.

                                  Her next step was the meeting with Roxbury. That would be easy, but it would take more time because he would be a fusspot about wanting to know everything that the father said. Newton Roxbury’s attention to detail was comforting in a different sort of way. She had instructed him from the start to document what had occurred with the Van Teks. She was sure that what he had prepared was comprehensive. For the sake of time, she could do that on the phone. The last step was the meeting with Snow and Roxbury. She’d let her secretary arrange that for the next morning.

                                     Newton Roxbury hung up the telephone and scanned his legal pad. Before he went home that afternoon, he would transcribe the notes to the computer file that he was preparing. His phone rang again.

                                    “English Department Office, Newton Roxbury speaking.”

                                    “Dr. Roxbury?”

                                    “Yes,  how can I help you?”

                                    “My name is Georgia White. My son is a student in Mr. Snow’s English class. There are some things going on in that class that I don’t understand.”

                                   “What seems to be the problem?” Roxbury cleared out another sheet on his legal pad.

                                 “My son says that they’re studying the Viet Nam War instead of literature this year.”

                                  “Oh?”

                                 “My son, William White, he tells me that his teacher has told them that they’re not really responsible to do any reading this year. That what he wants is their undivided attention in class while he explains what happened during the Viet Nam War. I’d like to know if you’re aware of this.”

                                 “No, Mrs. White, I’m not aware of any course that we’re presenting in the English Department that is based on the Viet Nam War. There are certainly books having to do with various wars that we do discuss in English. Is it possible that he misunderstood what Mr. Snow said?”

                                   “I’m sure it is. You know how teenagers hear what they’d like to hear, but William has always loved English and almost always has gotten A’s and B’s. This year he’s only getting C’s, and when I asked if he was having difficulty, he said that when his teacher got around to correcting his essays that he was sure that his grade was going to be changed. I didn’t understand that. I thought that report card grades were rather final, unless of course some kind of a mistake has been made.”

                                  “They are rather final unless some error or incompleteness has necessitated a change.”

                                  After the conversation he saw that he had two more legal sheets of notes. He called Adele Becker. He was sure that she was going to go ballistic when she heard this latest problem but instead she laughed.

                                   “Well, what do you know, there’s more than one run in the hose, isn’t there? Isn’t that too bad! Did you get the details and tell her that you were going to get back to her?” said Becker.

                                    “Yes.”

                                   “Make sure that you follow the same sequence that you did with the Van Teks.”

                                    “Do you want me to start a new file for the Whites, or shall I just keep it all together?”

                                   “Absolutely a new file,” she laughed again. “Maybe you should give him his own computer folder.”

                                    “I’ve got all of this information stored on a confidential disk so that no one else can access it.”

                                    Adele smiled on the other end of the phone. She was sure that he also had a backup locked away someplace too.

                                      At the next morning’s meeting, Howard Snow produced a letter from the army saying that he was being called from the reserves for a three week period of maneuvers beginning the day after next. Adele, her eyes squeezed together against the frame of her glasses, asked to see the letter. It was dated September 14. ^“When did you get this?”

                                    “A while back, but you know how things are I just kept forgetting to bring it in from my house.”

                                    “Did you inform anyone about it?”

                                    Snow’s left eye flicked with a nervous twitch. “l think I told you_, didn’t I?” he said to Roxbury.

                                    The chairman’s face crinkled into a grimace. “When did you tell me about it?”

                                     Snow’s eye continued to twitch. “I don’t know exactly, but I think it was right after I got it.”

                                    “I don’t recall that.”

                                  “Well, that’s just detail. In any event I’ll be gone for at least three weeks.”

                                  Adele Becker was angry now, and when she was angry she dealt in clipped tones with nothing but facts. “I’ve had another call from Mr. Van Tek.”

                                  “What now! His precious son is out of my class, isn’t he?”

                                 “The boy claims that you embarrassed him and physically threatened him in front of the class.”

                                  “Do you believe that! I never threatened him, and if he was embarrassed by what happened, it was his own fault.”

                                   “What did happen?” said Becker. She hated men like this. They were cowards and bullies. This one made it all the worse by being incompetent as well.

                                  “He came in with his class change form and I signed it. That’s all.”

                                  “What did you say to him?” said Roxbury.

                                  “He had been mouthing off about what he was going to do when he left the class. I just gave him enough rope to hang himself with.”

                                  “And did he hang himself?”

                                 “No. He acted like a little baby. He shut up like a clam.”  Snow’s eye stopped twitching. “I want both of you to know that the way these things have been handled doesn’t give any feeling of administrative support.”

                                “Administrative support!” Adele Becker shouted and leaped to her feet. “What have you given us to support you with?”

                               The twitch began again. “I’ve gone out of my way to cooperate with both of you, but I feel like I’m being accused of things and that the two of you are just leaving me out there to hang.”

                                Becker walked over to her window. “Van Tek has told me that he’s bringing his concerns to the superintendent. I’ll keep you posted.”

                               “Do you know who’s going to be taking my place for the three weeks?”

                               The principal took a breath to avoid hollering again. “You’ve just informed me about your leaving a minute ago.”

                               “As I said, I thought I told Mr. Roxbury but I’ll let that go.”

                              Sometimes Newton Roxbury very much enjoyed his own sense of timing. “Unfortunately, we now have another problem to discuss.”

                             “What now?” said Snow.

                             “William White’s parents contacted me yesterday. It seems that William told his Mom that they weren’t going to be doing any reading this year because you had decided to teach them about the Viet Nam War instead.^”

                             Snow’s eye was twitching furiously now. “Excuse my language, but that’s just horse hockey.”

                            Adele Becker had already decided what her next move was going to be. “I think that you and I should get together tomorrow afternoon. We need to get a number of things straightened out. Bring your lesson plans for the year. Bring the unit plans that you’ve prepared for the substitute and also bring me samples of some corrected essays.”

                           “You want all that by tomorrow?”

                           “I’m sure it’s just a question of gathering it together in one spot. What time is good for you?”

                          “My prep is period seven but I had planned to do some of this work then.”

                          “What about after school?”

                         “Darn it. I’ve got to leave right after school tomorrow. I’ve got some things to clear up before I go away .”

                         “It’ll have to be during your prep period then,” said Becker. “I’m also going to ask Dr. Roxbury to join us. Now, as I understand it, you’re telling me that nothing really out of the ordinary happened when the Van Tek kid came in to have you sign his change of class form and that the White kid is mixed up about his facts.”

                          “He’s just plain lying,” said Snow.

                          “I see. Well, that about does it for today. Gentlemen, I’m going to have to cut this short. I’ve got to be in Morristown in less than an hour.”

                          Howard Snow was holding court in the faculty room. He was surrounded by Marcy Chez and three of their colleagues. “You know, they wonder downstairs why the students act the way that they do, but it never occurs to them that they might be part of the reason. Let a parent call the school, and they’ll hang a teacher out to dry without thinking about it twice.^”

                          “What did Becker say?” said Marcy. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to give Howard a chance to get it off his chest again. Talking like this was good for him. He held too many things in as it was.

                           “She wants to over my lesson plans and see samples of the essays that I’ve corrected.”

                           Maria Taglieri was one of the building’s union reps. She had seen administrations do more inappropriate things than she could remember. “What does that have to do with the way the kid was behaving in class?”

                           Snow extended his hand. “Exactly! What does it have to do with that? I guess that a student’s behavior in class isn’t important enough to discuss when a parent decides to call the superintendent.”

                           “Maybe it would be a good idea if you didn’t go to this next meeting alone. Maybe it’s time for the union to get involved.”

                          “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” said Snow.

                           When Adele Becker got Maria’s request for class coverage so that she could attend the meeting with Snow, she was relieved. It was about time that he had union representation. She was planning on bringing the issue up herself but it was better that it came from them.

                           The four of them sat down at the beginning of seventh period the next day. Maria began the meeting by saying that she was there on behalf of Mr. Snow and that she would like to see any memoranda that had been placed in his file relative to the meetings about the Van Tek incident, the White incident, or Mr. Snow’s military obligations.

                           “As far as I know there haven’t been any memos placed in Mr. Snow’s file. If there had been,  the law requires that he be given a copy and a chance to respond.”

                            “I’m just checking,” said Maria. “So that we can all agree that as of today’s date there have been no documents or notes placed in Mr. Snow’s file?”

                            The approach annoyed Roxbury. It was tinged with distrust and it seemed to him to be an attack on his sense of propriety. Adele Becker was amused. “I want to assure you, Maria, and you too Howard that our only focus here is how to help you to resolve all of these matters in an equitable way.”

                               Maria Taglieri tilted her head to the side in a skeptical way. She knew that Becker was patronizing her but she could also play that game.The principal went on to say that Mr. Van Tek hadn’t yet contacted the superintendent and that she would let him know as soon as she heard anything in that regard. “Have you brought in your lesson plans?”

                                “Only the ones for this week,^” said Snow. “I wasn’t able to put my hands on the other ones last night. I’m sure that I have them but I just wasn’t able to locate them at a moment’s notice.”

                                “Why’s that?” said Roxbury.

                               “I just didn’t lay my hands on them.”

                              Maria Taglieri said, “Wel, l according to the contract all of the lesson plans were already submitted to you.”

                              “That’s not completely true, “said Roxbury. “According to my records, Mr. Snow has failed to submit lesson plans on two occasions: 9/8 and 10/20.”

                             “That’s according to your records,” said Snow.

                              “And what did you do when you didn’t receive the lesson plans?” said Maria.

                              “I made note of it.”

                             “Did you ask for the plans?”

                             “I’ve mentioned at department meetings that it is necessary that I receive all of the lesson plans in a timely way. You know that. You’ve been at the department meetings.”

                             “Did you ask Mr. Snow what happened to his plans?”

                             “No. I didn’t see the need. I was relying on his professionalism.”

                             “So you never followed through and asked for the plans?”

                             “Let’s take a look at what’s here,” said Becker.

                             The examination of the lesson plans was grueling. Whenever Snow said anything that Becker didn’t understand, she asked him to clarify what he was saying. After he clarified what he was saying, she would ask questions about the clarification. What was becoming very clear was that Snow didn’t understand the teaching of the language because he had a vast amount of trouble understanding the language himself. When they came around to a discussion of the upcoming military leave, Maria Taglieri re-involved herself. Roxbury had quietly noted to himself that she had passed no comment and had tried to seem as disinterested as possible in the discussion of the bogus lesson plans. When Snow had stated that a junior English class had spent two weeks on the formation of a thesis statement, Roxbury had asked her how long she spent on the same topic with her freshman classes. Taglieri seemed offended by the question and said that she would be more than happy to spend as much time as he would like her to spend clarifying her own lesson plans, but that she had no intention of commenting on the teaching techniques of one of her colleagues. Her message was dear; she was not there as an English teacher, she was there only in the capacity of a union rep.

                              “When did you receive notification of the military obligation?” said Becker.

                               “A while back, as I said yesterday, and I’ve thought about since then and I’m positive that I informed Mr. Roxbury at that time.”

                               “You did no such thing,” bristled Roxbury. “If you had notified me, I would have made note of it and taken the appropriate steps.”

                              “We seem to be at impasse on this point, and I suggest that we move on. Mr. Snow has stated that he informed Dr. Roxbury and Dr. Roxbury has replied that he doesn’t remember being informed,” said Taglieri.

                              Newton wasn’t satisfied with that rendition of the facts but he decided to let it pass.

                            “The last thing on the agenda for today’s meeting has to do with the White family. I received a call from Mrs. White concerning her son. She tells me that he’s saying he doesn’t have any literature to read this year and that instead you’ve decided to talk about the Viet Nam War.”

                            Snow raised his voice. “You asked me about that yesterday and I told you that it wasn’t true.”

                          “Well how do you suggest I respond to the mother?’

                          “Did she ask to speak with me?”

                         “No, she didn’t.”

                         “Then I guess it’s your problem.”

                         Adele Becker cut in sharply. “You don’t see this call from a parent about the literature in your class as your problem?”

                          Snow began to twitch again. “Ultimately, I suppose that it is.”

                        “And you don’t see the fact that tomorrow you’re going away for three weeks and you haven’t begun to draw up at least a unit plan to cover that time as your problem either?”

                         “I know that’s my responsibility.”

                         “Well thank God for that!”

                        “I don’t see the need to become abusive here, Mrs. Becker,” interjected the union rep.

                        “Does the union intend to take responsibility to make sure that I’ve got these plans in time to implement them?”

                         “Of course not.”

                         “Do you, in your capacity as a rep, recognize that adequate planning is one of the responsibilities of the position?”

                        “There’s no need for me to answer that, and it won’t be at all useful to become condescending.”

                        Becker turned to face Snow. “I want those plans on my desk by 7:15 in the morning.”

                        “That’s not a problem,” said Snow.

                        When Mr. Van Tek got through to Peter Farmer’s office, the conversation was rather brief. Farmer had been the district’s superintendent for three decades and there wasn’t much that was going to get him excited. He listened to the story and was satisfied that Van Tek wasn’t saying anything that Becker hadn’t already told him. When Van Tek had finished he said, “Well this certainly seems quite serious on the face of it. I’ll have Mrs. Becker speak with Mr. Snow, but you say that Dave (he’d written the student’s first name down when the father had first used it) is no longer a member of the class? That would mean that the possibility of him having to have any more dealings with Mr. Snow is rather remote.”

                            “That’s true,” said Van Tek.

                          “We’ll certainly follow through on this. We don’t want any of our students ever put into a situation where they’re abused in any way.”

                         After they said goodbye, Farmer called Becker. “The situation with Mr. Van Tek has been resolved. I don’t believe that we’ll be hearing too much more about it. I’ve told him that you’d speak with the teacher and he seemed satisfied. Just make sure that the kid doesn’t get him for any other classes.”

                          “I wish the situation with Snow was as easy to resolve,” said Becker. “I just had him in here with his union rep and the department chair. He’s a disgrace. He has given no tests, he’s not doing the proper readings with his classes and he’s uncooperative.”

                        “I suppose that you’d better draft up some kind of memo about it for his file.”

                        “Do you want me to copy you?”

                       “Not unless you feel that it’s absolutely necessary.”

                       “He’s also going away for three weeks on military leave.”

                       “We can’t blame the man for that.”

                       “No, that’s true. But it would have been nice if he’d told me before today.”

                       “When is he leaving?”

                      “Tomorrow.”

                      “Well maybe it’s a godsend. It’ll give the smoke a chance to clear. Follow up on him and keep me posted as you see the need.”

                      Adele Becker was perplexed. She had gotten the message. It hadn’t exactly been subtle. This was no big deal. She was to keep him posted as she saw the need. The translation was  simple. If you must be a pain in the ass about this, do it sparingly. She didn’t have to wonder why. It was a no win situation for Farmer, and for her too actually. Before she got into any more of a confrontation with the union or with anybody else, she was going to have to rethink her position. That afternoon she wondered out loud with Newton Roxbury about where they were going with this.

                        “I think that we have a obligation to educate students or to see that students are being provided with the opportunity for education,” said Roxbury.

                        “I know what our obligations are. I’m asking you what we can hope to accomplish.”

                       “We need to get him back on track in the classroom, if he’s capable of that.”

                      “That’s what I’ve been thinking about. We both know that the next obvious step is to evaluate his classroom performance. What are we going to do here if we find out that he’s not capable of getting back on track? Suppose we bring his incompetence out in the open where both of us have to look at it and know it’s there,” said Becker.

                     “What you really mean is what are we going to do if we know it’s there and can’t do anything about it”

                     “Yes.”

                      Roxbury closed his pad and put his pen away. He took off his glasses and put them into the leather case that was engraved with his initials. “How far are you willing to take it?”

                     “How bad do you think it is?”

                    “I’m afraid that we really don’t know how bad it is yet. My instincts tell me that it’s going to get worse.”

                     “I was wondering if other administrators had gotten to this point with him and then backed away,” said Adele. “It’s nothing but a huge can of worms. If he’s absolutely horrible and we get full board and central office support and he doesn’t get any better, it will take a minimum of two years before we can actually threaten his job.”

                   “Two years, two hundred more students.”

                  “That really is the only problem, isn’t it?” she said thoughtfully. “Let’s rethink how we want to approach this or if we want to approach this.”

                   “I know what I want to do. It’s the only thing that I can, in good conscience, do.”

                  “Is it? We’re talking about a thousand hours of work that you’re going to absolutely despise. Do you think that there’s a way that you spend that time more effectively? I want you to think about that.”

                  Snow seemed like less of as problem when he was away. Roxbury and Becker both knew that his classes were reading minimal amounts of material and writing out answers to study guide questions that came were taken verbatim from Cliff’s Notes, but they pushed those observations away. Becker pushed for one more conversation with Peter Farmer who asked her, after she had delicately cornered him, why, if Snow was so bad, no one else had brought this to his attention before now. She responded that she didn’t know. Farmer then told her that she had a careful line to walk. “I’ll support whatever decision that you make regarding him, but I don’t want you to be draining your own resources with this any more than necessary. Perhaps you can effect a change in his job performance with a certain amount of coaching and arm twisting.” Based on that conversation, Becker decided that she wanted Roxbury and herself to observe his classes. She also told Roxbury that she wanted to postpone any more discussion of Howard Snow, unless something new came up, until after the observations.

                           Waiting for Snow and most of his students to enter the room, Adele Becker quietly slipped into a desk in the back near the door. She smiled and nodded at the students who acknowledged her. She didn’t seem to be staring but her attention was fixed on the front of the room. The buzz that accompanied an observer passed among the students and then the bell, which signaled the beginning of the period, rang. Becker noticed that a large group of students entered the room several minutes after the bell, but Howard Snow hadn’t seen them or her. He was busily engaged in conversation near the front of the room with Marcy Chez. Another two minutes went by and finally one of the students got up and went over to the two. “Can I help you?” said Snow. The student handed him a sheet of folded notebook paper:”The principal is in the back of the room” said the note.

                       Snow began to twitch and stared up at the back of the room. Adele Becker returned his gaze with even tempered ice. Marcy Chez followed Snow’s gaze was visibly startled by the sight of Becker. She began talking loudly. “Well I’ll make sure that student stays in contact with you, so that she doesn’t fall too far behind.”

                        Becker heard one of the students close to her mutter, “What about her behind?” There was a small rash of laughter and then Chez walked quickly to the door and left without making eye contact with Becker. Becker shook her head in an imperceptible back and forth of disgust and glanced up at the clock. She had been there for almost eight minutes, and he’d only now discovered her presence, and that had only come because one of his students had brought him a note. It was the first positive thing that she’d seen about him; he had instilled enough of a sense of loyalty for the kid to take the trouble to tell him that she was there.

                       “Sorry about the interruption,” said Snow. “Let’s take out our books and get to work.”

                       “Which books, Mr. Snow?”

                     “Well,” said Snow thinking it over, “I think that we need to concentrate on some grammar today.”

                      A collective groan rose from the class.

                     “You can complain all you like, but the way to get out of using grammar is to stop making stupid mistakes.” Becker winced. “If I didn’t need a translator to read your essays,  maybe we wouldn’t have to spend as much time on the boring stuff as we do.” Becker winced again. She saw one student put his head down on the desk and close his eyes. Snow didn’t seem to notice him.

                         “What page?” said the girl that had brought the note up to the front of the room.

                         Snow thumbed through the book. His eye was a explosion of twitches the made the side of his face go up and down. “I want to say some things about commas,” said Snow. The class groaned again. Becker noticed that less than half of them had their books out. Becker read the first ten rules of comma usage slowly. The he called on students to reread the rules after which he would ask if the student knew what it meant. When the student responded affirmatively, Snow went on to the next rule. Then he turned to the board and started copying the sample sentences for one of the rules out of the book. While he was doing that, the students who had largely forgotten that Becker was there chatted among themselves. Snow had just finished copying the last sentence when the bell rang. He quickly told the students to do the exercises on the next page. Becker looked over at a book on the desk of the student next to her and saw that the next page was a continuation of the rules. The class filed out quickly. Becker left without saying anything to him. It was easily one of the worst classes she had ever seen.

                             That afternoon Newton Roxbury told Snow that he would like to observe one of his classes and that Snow should pick the one where he would be most comfortable.

                           “Not to be confused with this morning when the principal just walked in to one of my classes,” said Snow:

                          “This is one of the two formal observations that are conducted for all tenured teachers.”

                          “And what was that this morning with her?”

                          “I don’t really know,” said Roxbury coldly. “You’ll have to ask Mrs. Becker.”

                          Snow chose the junior class in which Dave Van Tek had been a student. “The class is reading Hamlet right now,” said Snow.

                         That next afternoon Becker and Roxbury got together to compare notes. Both had come away appalled for different reasons. In the class that Roxbury observed, Snow had read all the parts of the play to the class for the entire time. Less than half of the students had come with their books. Snow read the parts of the play badly. Roxbury had seen students sleeping or engaged in private conversations throughout the class. At one point a student had raised his hand and asked if the class was ever getting their tests from the last marking period back. Snow had replied that the question was not pertinent to what they were doing.               

                                    ^“You’ve had the tests for a really long time, Mr. Snow. I was just wondering if they were good enough for you to correct this time.”

                      “I’ll speak to you after class.”

                     “Never mind,” said the student.

                     Adele Becker shook her head sadly. “You were right_,” she said to Roxbury. “It’s even worse than I thought it was. I don’t see that we have any choice.”

                    “I spent the afternoon drafting his evaluation. I’d like you to take a look at it before I give into him.”

                    Becker read the evaluation form. Of the fourteen categories listed, Snow had received Unsatisfactories (U’s) or Needs Improvement (N’s) in eleven of the categories.

                   In his attached narrative, Roxbury had written: “‘Mr. Snow seems incapable of preparing and presenting well organized instruction. His students do not appear ready to learn and their lack of enthusiasm for work seems to be a reflection of their teacher’s inability to be enthusiastic.”

                   “We need to also draft a letter which says that if improvement isn’t shown by the end of the year that we will be recommending a withholding of increment.”

                   “I’ll draft it before I go home,” said Roxbury.

                   “When do you want to give him the evaluation?”

                   “I’m ready whenever you give me the go ahead.”

                   “Do it tomorrow,” said Becker.

                  When Howard Snow sat down to read the evaluation form, he prefaced his reading by saying, “I’ll bet this is a glowing report.” As he read, he shook his head back and forth and several times he muttered, “Yeah right,” to himself. Roxbury was maintaining control, but he could feel his anger rising. When he was done reading, Snow said, “You don’t expect me to sign this, do you?”

                 “That’s up to you.”

                  “Well I’m not signing it,” he said. He let the evaluation slide from his hand and it continued across the desk in Roxbury’s direction. Snow got up to leave.

                  “That’s your copy,” said the chairman.

                 “Thanks,” said Snow.

                 “If you’re going to respond, you have ten days to put it in writing.”

                “It won’t take that long,” said Snow. Then he left.

                The next day the teacher received the letter about the need for improvement and the possible recommendation for the withholding of his increment. Snow went directly to Becker’s office and asked if they could discuss the letter. Becker said that she would be happy to do that, but that she wanted Roxbury present and she suggested that it would be a good idea for Snow to have his rep with him.

                 The mood was tense when the four people sat down for their next meeting. They began by handing out copies of Snow’s response to Becker and Roxbury.

               “To say that I was shocked by the content of my most recent evaluation is an understatement. Why Dr. Roxbury has singled me out for unfair treatment is a mystery to me. I can only conclude that I possess some unknown quality that he resents. Perhaps it is his lack of experience with secondary school education that it is at fault, but only he can truly know that. I have done nothing to him to instigate the personal attack that he has waged on me, but I do know that the strain of his unfair scrutiny has soured my relationship with my principal and adversely affected my relationship with some of my students.

            I reject the unfounded notion that my classes are not well prepared because Dr. Roxbury has never commented negatively on any of my lesson plans. He has given me no clue that he was less than satisfied with my work. Therefore, as is my right under the contract, I request an observation by a different administrator. I further request that any recommendation regarding me be postponed until the results of that observation are clear.”

            Roxbury felt the heat in his face as he read. He told himself to take it easy. He told himself that he should have expected this kind of attack. He glanced down and saw that a copy of the response had also been sent to the superintendent

            Adele Becker read through the response easily. “I think that getting a second opinion on your classes is a good idea,” she said to Snow. Roxbury bristled.

             Maria Taglieri saw that Newton was on the edge and took the opportunity to add, “What we would really like is to have Dr. Roxbury’s evaluation expunged from the files,” she said.

            Roxbury opened his mouth to respond but Becker cut him off. “That’s not really an option that, according to the contract, you have. You can request a second evaluation and, as I said, I think you’ve done well to do so.”

             Newton maintained his silence until the meeting was over. When they left, he snarled, “Can you believe the gall of this man?”

             Becker laughed. “Do you think that he wrote the response himself? I don’t think he’s capable of it?”

             “It’s easy for you to take this lightly; they didn’t attack you,” whined Roxbury.

             “Oh, grow up Newton. What did you expect them to do? You’re a big boy.” She slid her tongue into the side of her mouth. “A little constructive criticism is good for you.”

            Roxbury knew that she was busting his chops but he couldn’t help himself.

            “How can you call that constructive?” he complained.

            “Ok, let’s get down to business,” said Becker. “Who do you think we should have observe him?” Becker watched Roxbury’s face with delight. She had already decided that she was going to do the observation herself.

            The second marking period was over. Becker sent a memo to Snow requesting that he come to her office, with his grade book and his plan book for a pre-observation conference. She purposefully waited until the grades were due before she wrote the memo, but prior to sending it out she received a call from Roxbury.

            “We’ve got a problem.”

             “What is it?”

             “Snow’s grades.”

             “Yes.”

             “He’s given out thirty-five incompletes.”

            “Thirty-five?”

            “Yes.”

            “I want to see him and I want to know about each incomplete on an individual basis,” said Becker..

            Sitting in his office, Roxbury reflected with relish on the two and one half hour meeting that he’d just sat through. Becker was a surgeon but she made her incisions so delicately that Snow didn’t even know he was being cut until she was holding up the organ that she’d removed and was asking him questions about it. Roxbury had begun to take real pleasure in seeing Snow squirm. He waited with expectancy for the nervous tick to begin twitching. He enjoyed the way she smiled and sweetly led Snow to the conclusion that he was an asshole. He fantasized that at one of these meetings Snow would actually admit that he was a useless teacher and that for the sake of everyone involved he was getting out for good. But that wasn’t going to happen, and Roxbury knew it. Why should he get out? He was making a better salary than anyone else in the department and doing no work for it.

                  After the marathon meeting about the incompletes, Becker directed Roxbury to begin weekly monitoring as part of Snow’s Professional Improvement Plan. Snow was to show Roxbury all of his tests before they were given. He was to show him the corrected papers before they were returned. He was to submit his lesson plans for evaluation and then redraft them after his weekly get together with Snow.

                  Maria Taglieri had objected to the provisions of the PIP, stating that they placed an undue pressure on Snow, but Becker had showed her where, in the contract, such provisions were allowable and Taglieri was forced to acquiesce.

                   Roxbury kept a written record of all the meetings. By spring vacation he had written more than fifty memos concerning Snow. By April, Roxbury and Becker were prepared to take their recommendation to the Beard of Education.

                  The Board met in executive session to hear the substance of the situation surrounding Snow. By law, they were not allowed to act in executive session and also, according to the law, Snow had the right to attend the meeting. He declined to attend. The executive session was composed of the five voting members, the board lawyer, the school business administrator and the superintendent.

                  Peter Farmer had seen boards of education come and go. Sometimes they were a help, but more often than not they presented hurdles that he had to clear in order to get what he wanted. The law said that Farmer worked for them, but no one was naive enough to think that was the case. Whatever happened regarding Snow had already been decided. The meeting itself was perfunctory.

                Becker and Roxbury made their presentations and then Adele Becker presented her recommendation. “After almost an entire year of close supervision, I have come to the conclusion that I must recommend the withholding of Mr. Snow’s increment. I must further recommend that we present him with a one year timetable for sufficient improvement. The consequences of not meeting this professional improvement plan would be a breaking of tenure and dismissal.”

               Jack Speck, a longtime friend of Farmer, was the first to ask questions. “Why do you think that all of this is just coming to light now, Mrs. Becker?”

              “I can’t speak for what happened in the past. My check of evaluations has shown that these patterns of incompetence are chronic and were first noticed during Mr. Snow’s initial year of employment.”

              “But what are you telling us? Are you saying that he’s just a poor teacher, or that he has problems with his paper work?”

              “At this point, I would have to say that both of those things are true.”

              “Do you seriously believe that his performance can be improved?”

               “Predicting the future is not something that I like to get involved with, Mr. Speck, but I know what you’re asking me, and I would have to say that given his attitude and actions, his ability to improve is highly suspect”

               Eva Ringbolt was one of the newer board members. She’d been elected to the board about a year and a half ago and already twice threatened to resign as a result of what she termed Farmer’s blatant disregard for acceptable procedure. As a result of her actions, Farmer usually informed her about nothing. “Do you dislike Mr. Snow?”

              “I don’t have any personal feelings about him at all, Ms. Ringbolt.”

              “Have you visited his classes?”

              Becker hid her annoyance at the uninformed question. “As my evaluation indicates, I have observed two of his classes personally. I have spent a number of hours reviewing his lesson plans and grading procedures. I would say that I have acquainted myself with his job performance as well as I could in a year.”

               “But is a year a long enough time to make this kind of a determination?”

               “As I also said, I reviewed his evaluation history and I am recommending that we give him formal notice of the need to improve during the upcoming school year.”

                “Aren’t we really just threatening him?”

               “No. I don’t intend that this monitoring become a threatening situation. However, I have little control over Mr. Snow’s perceptions.”

               Paul Grady was the next board member to ask questions. Adele Becker had been around long enough to know that he was a swing vote. Most times he aligned himself with Farmer, but he also had five children in the school system. The oldest was going into tenth grade this year. “Has anyone suggested that this man might need psychological help?”

            The question hung like a suspended object over the table. Adele Becker did not answer right away. Roxbury did not want to meet her gaze. Peter Farmer decided that it was better if he spoke up now. “As I have said on several different occasions in the past, whatever the board decides to do is fine with me. However_, it is my job to advise you of some of the consequences that certain actions might have. I have spoken with our attorney regarding the possibility that Mr. Snow is in need of psychological assistance, and he tells me that it would not be in our best interests to raise this issue.”

              “Why is that, Mr. Caray?” Ringbolt had deliberately avoided asking the question of Farmer.

               The attorney responded, “If the board was to raise that issue, and Mr. Snow should allow himself to be evaluated, it would be incumbent on the board to assist and financially support that psychological evaluation. It would also be necessary for the board to wait until after that treatment had been rendered to reevaluate his circumstances.”

                “What’s wrong with that?”

               “Simply put, you could be stuck paying him for the several years that psychological therapy might take and would be prevented from raising these issues again until after it was concluded.”

                Paul Grady had another concern. “Isn’t Mr. Snow a member of the military?”

               “Yes, he’s in the reserves.”

                “With what’s occurring overseas, don’t you think that the timing of this is rather poor? I mean the truth is that Mr. Snow doesn’t know when or if he’s going to be asked to go and risk his life for his country. He’s forty-one years old. He’s got a family. It would seem that he’s under a great deal of pressure. Have you factored those things into your evaluation, Mrs. Becker?”

                 “No, I haven’t. My charge is to oversee the education that is offered at the high school. My only concern here is the number of students that are not receiving adequate preparation.”

                 “Dr. Roxbury, do you have anything to add?”

               “Only that I concur with Mrs. Becker, and that I assure you that we haven’t come to this recommendation without a good deal of soul searching.”

                The Beard reconvened its public session and voted to withhold the increment. However, they voted to reject the mentoring plan and the letter that Becker had recommended.

                “They gave us something anyway,” said Becker. “Although I hate to think about what next year is going to be like for us.”

                “We need to talk about that Adele. I’ve been asked to return to the college as the Dean of Humanities. I’ve decided to accept the offer. I’ll be leaving after the school year is over.”

               Becker smiled. “Do you think that college life will be less upsetting to you?”

               “I don’t know if it’s that, but this is a good opportunity.”

               Snow and Roxbury had one last conversation before the end of the year. Snow tried to be conciliatory. “I just don’t think that you understand what we’re facing at this level. This isn’t like college.”

              “Did you ever enjoy teaching?” said Roxbury.

              “This is a job, like any other job. It gets colored over with a bunch of sugar coating but finally that’s a load of crap.”

               Roxbury couldn’t answer him. It really was as simple as that for Howard Snow.

              At the end of that school year, Marcy Chez was transferred to the middle school and Maria Taglieri was named as the new department chairperson. Her initial conversations with Becker included no mention of Howard Snow. Adele Becker was now heavily involving herself with curriculum restructuring. Peter Farmer retired that summer and the board went about the search for a new superintendent.

               By the end of the next September, Maria Taglieri was becoming familiar with her new duties. She was a bit concerned about the hard fact that she was no longer a member of the union, but she was enjoying the curriculum work with Adele Becker immensely.

               “Ms. Taglieri, my name is Sheila Penn. I wonder if I might talk to you about a rather unusual situation that has developed with one of your teachers. It’s about a Mr. Snow…^”

               Taglieri knitted her eyebrows together. As she listened, she found herself reaching for a legal pad to take notes.

The Unintended Legacy

 

 

A family dinner on a  Sunday afternoon in July –  Mario Brago was cooking barbecue on the gas grill and his wife Anne was making conversation with her niece Barbara while her daughters, Tina and Celeste, were adding finishing touches to the meal.  Anne and Barbara smiled and fawned over Anne’s two grandchildren who were running around the redwood table.

The meal was noisy.  Mario said that he liked to let his neighbors know when the Bragos were in their backyard.  Anne said that conversation aided the digestion.  “When people are quiet at the table, it’s because they’re uncomfortable,” she said to Barbara who nodded in agreement.

Barbara Biamonte was accustomed to having dinner with the Bragos.  She and her mother used to show up for coffee several times a week and always for dinner on Sundays.  Now that her mother was dead, she came alone.

After Anne finished eating, she reached for a Chesterfield.  Mario had turned the cellophane upside-down on the pack again. He had done that to her several times a day for as long as she could remember.  It never ceased to annoy her.  She saw him sitting there watching everyone eat and talk.  He loved preparing for a party and then taking a back seat while everyone had a good time.

Almost as if he saw her, Mario called for everyone’s attention and stood to speak.  “Your mother and I want to share some of the good fortune that we’ve received.”

Celeste and Tina knew what was coming.  They felt very proud.  They had seen their mother and father struggle through such hard times and it made this taste sweeter.

“As you know, I’m going to retire at the end of this month.  I don’t intend to stop working altogether, but it’s the end of my full time days as a driver.  Well, to make a long story short, I got some money from them.  Enough so that we can pay off our second mortgage, give each of our beautiful grandchildren something that will get them started someday, and go to Italy next summer.”

Anne chuckled at the look of surprise on the faces of her children.  She hadn’t told them about the trip to Italy.  She and Mario had planned the trip so many times before that she had been too embarrassed to tell anyone that they were planning it again.

Mario gave an envelope to each of his daughters and sat down.  He shook his son-in-law Joey’s hand and patted him on the shoulder.  Joey grinned and put his head down.  Joey was as close to a son that Mario could ever come and the young man made him proud.

Tina opened the envelope that was addressed to Joey-boy, squealed and ran over to hug her mother and father.  She hollered to Joey, “Look at what my mother and father are giving the baby!”

It was a thousand dollars.  Celeste kissed her father and lingered with her mother.  “That’s gonna help pay for her college,” she said.  They both regarded Angel with admiration; her eyes were everywhere and looked as if they understood everything.

Angel’s step-father didn’t say anything.  Mario stared thoughtfully at his new son-in-law.  He had never really cared for teachers that much but it figured that Celeste would go for one.  Mario couldn’t help wonder if this marriage would last any longer than the last one.  Finally, he came over and went over to shake the newcomer’s hand.  Ron seemed uncomfortable with the gesture.

Barbara waited until the daughters were finished before she offered her congratulations.  Then they all had coffee, and Barbara took out the pictures she had just gotten back from the developer.  She had been to Italy in May.  It was the first place she had really gone by herself since her mother died.  She thought about her mother quietly and wished someone would have mentioned her.  Sometimes they acted as if her mother had never lived.

After everyone had gone home and Mario was settled in front of the TV set, Anne called her friends.  “Mario promised that we are definitely going this time,” she told Lucy DeMarco.  “My grandchildren are beautiful and fresh.  My daughters can take care of themselves.  I’m sure that Mario will drive me nuts when he starts retirement, but so what?”

It had been years since Anne had worked. The bad back that had gotten her disability had left her quite sedentary.  But now she was into her soap operas and talking on the phone dozens of times a day.  She and Mario had made it to their 60’s and the hardest part was over.

“Anne, who deserves this more than you?” said Lucy.

“Lucy, I don’t intend for this to be my only trip to Europe.”

They both laughed.  Anne said, “I don’t know what I’m thinking.  I’ll probably never get Mario to go anywhere after he does this.”

“Aren’t they a bunch of old farts after they’ve stopped running around?”

“And when they’re running around, you’re pissed off because they’re not watching the TV.”  They laughed again.

At 11 o’clock she made her way downstairs to the living room.  Mario was asleep on the floor.  The guns from the TV were blasting over him.  “WW II is over for tonight, Mario.  You better get a good night’s sleep.  Tomorrow is Monday.”

He went to the kitchen and drank some water.  He went to bed without kissing her.  She lit a Chesterfield and tried to get comfortable.  At 5 foot and 200 pounds, she only liked being on her side on the couch with the ashtray beneath her.

Sinatra was on channel 7 in “The Detective.”  During the commercials, she could stare up at the autographed picture of him that hung in her living room.

In the middle of August, after dinner while Anne was sitting at her dining room table, the phone rang.  Mario answered it.  Anne started to get up assuming it was for her.  Mario came back into the room and said, “That was Celeste.  Tina and her and the rest will be over here in a few minutes.”

Anne was surprised.  “They’re all coming over here tonight?  Are they bringing the kids?”

Mario was on his way back to the TV.  “That’s what they said.”

Anne saw that her daughters looked tense when they arrived.  They had all arrived together.  Nobody was talking when they came in.  She asked them what was wrong.

“Dr. Avenel called, Mom,” said Celeste.

Anne’s face dropped quickly.  She looked around the table at them. “And?”

“Well they really don’t know but…”

“I’ve got cancer.  They found cancer in my chest x-ray, didn’t they?”

“Nobody’s sure of that, Mom,” said Tina.

Celeste winced.  “They think they saw a spot on your lung.”  Dr. Avenel is concerned.  He knows how you are.  It might not really be anything.”

“It might even be a shadow from one of the machines,” said Tina.

“Nobody said you’ve got cancer,” hollered Mario.  “They probably just want to take

the x-ray over again.”

“They didn’t all run over here because I’ve got to take an x-ray again, Mario,” said Anne sharply.

There was a painful “ouch” and then the children started pushing each other.  Tina hollered at her son.  Celeste pulled Angel aside and told that she had to be a good girl because there was some adult business to talk about.

Anne interrupted her and said she wanted Angel to sit on her lap.  Angel cried to her grandmother that she was always getting the blame for things that Joey-boy started.

Angel said, “Can I have some special Nanna water to make me feel better?”

“Of course you can honey,” said Anne.

Joey-boy began to cry that he wanted some Nanna water too.  Angel screamed that he couldn’t because have any because the Nanna water was only for her.  Anne told Angel that she had to be nice to her cousin.  Angel twisted her mouth and said that if he was gonna be allowed to drink the special Nanna water then she didn’t want any ever again.

Anne tried to take Angel into her arms, but the child pulled away and ran into the other room where she hit Joey-boy on the head with her doll.  Joey-boy cried and Ron took Angel for a walk around the block.  Angel stopped at the door and turned around to look at her grandmother.  “I’m sorry that the doctor said you’re sick, Nanna.”

Celeste began to cry.  Mario said there was nothing for Angel to worry her little head about.  After Ron and Angel were out the door, Tina took Joey-boy into the other room and told him that she wanted him to tell Nanna that he was sorry that the doctor said she was sick.

Joey-boy said, “No,” and then laughed and ran away from his mother.

 

 

By the end of the week, they were pretty sure that Anne had cancer.  Celeste told her mother that she was moving her family into the house so she could be there to take care of her.  Mario was in retirement but he’d gotten a part-time job driving a delivery truck.  He wasn’t going to be around at least three days a week, and nobody expected him to provide the kind of care that Anne was going to need.

Dr. Avenel was a good looking, well-dressed man in his thirties.  He loved Anne Brago.  She had been his nurse when he was a little boy.  He remembered her always as soft and warm.  She made everything into a game for him.  When she pricked his finger for blood or gave him a needle, he’d cry and she’d hold him and tell him how strong he was.  She’d tell him how other little boys had to be held down to get their shots and that he was tough.  It always made him feel special.

Anne was sitting in his office.  Avenel thought that it was serious but early.  She had a real chance.  He needed a biopsy and then he could start treatment and just maybe…

Tina and Celeste were sitting in Avenel’s office with each other.  Mario had to work.  Dr. Avenel smiled and said hello to everyone.

“Anne, I think you’ve got a pretty serious problem here,” he began.  Anne Brago nodded her head.  “I’m not going to lie to you or soft soap this in any way.”  Anne nodded again.  “In all probability, you have a tumor in your left lung.  I’m not sure what kind of tumor it is or how long it’s been there.  We need a biopsy for that.  But I do believe we’ve got this thing in time. There’s a real chance that treatment will be very effective.”

Celeste looked a little startle by the last remarks.  Her mother’s breathing was getting worse by the day.  Tina was smiling at Anne.

Anne said, “How long do you think I’ve got?”

“I don’t think it’s at all necessary to think in those terms,” said Avenel.  “I’d like you to start to thinking about what you’re going to have to do to get better.”

Anne stared at him without saying a word.  She began to think, for some stupid reason, about Mario bringing a guitar to her house to serenade her from beneath her window on the night before they were married.  She tried to remember the song he’d played over and over, but she couldn’t.

Celeste, Ron and Angel moved in with Anne and Mario temporarily. The thought of having Angel around was almost enough to make Mario feel that there was a bright side to all of this.

During the first days after the visit to Avenel’s office when she wasn’t going for tests, Anne would sit at her kitchen table and think about Calabria.  She had heard about the place all of her life.  And the things she had heard!  She, at least, deserved this trip. Her thoughts always came back to asking if she was still well enough to travel.  The doctor said that it would be wrong to go away now.  She had begun to feel so much weaker since the tests began.

Seeing the doctor was a chancy proposition when something was really wrong.  They hadn’t really helped her back.  They hadn’t helped her allergies.  They owed her this one.  If they could do something now, all accounts would be square.  During the war, she had nursed many people who were close to death.  She would have sworn that she could always tell which ones would make it and which ones wouldn’t.  She couldn’t have sworn anything about this case.

Often she would be carried through the soap time by the reveries, but Tina and Celeste would fill her in on what was taking place.  Her children were so good to her.  She knew that her feelings for them could not be better.  Now Celeste was even there to help her.  She felt stronger when her children were around.

After a failed attempt as an out-patient, Anne was admitted to the hospital for another try at a chest biopsy.  She was having a lot of trouble breathing.  She was always weak.  But the hospital was filled with her friends.   Familiar faces called out to her from every department – the one-time kids that she had grown up with – her relatives through marriage.

The night before her biopsy, she had dinner with Mario, Celeste and Tina from her bed at the hospital.  At first everyone was tense, but she teased them and they hugged in ways that she knew would make them calm.  It was her smile and the feel of her arms.  It was the feeling that her soft body, strong will and knife sharpener’s tongue belonged to all of them.

Celeste kept telling her that the first thing she had to do when she came out of surgery was to spit out the tube with which she would be intubated.  Dr. Avenel had stressed the notion that the oxygen would make her breathing feel much easier but that she had to give it up as soon as possible.  Celeste asked for the 50^th time, “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you wake up?”

“Pull out the tube,” said Anne. She looked at Tina and then back at Celeste.  “I’m as proud of the two of you as I can be.  You’ve both brought beautiful, precious grandchildren home to me.  They make my home ring with life.”

“It rings real good sometimes,” said Mario, nodding his head emphatically. Everybody laughed.  That was followed by quick, half-hidden tears.

It was like they were splitting soft atoms of emotion.  It went on that way for hours.  Not so much memories as the reopening of circuits.  Then the girls kissed her good-bye.  She was very tired.  Mario sat by the bed holding her hand as she dozed.

She watched him leave.  The music that he had played for her that night long ago came flooding back.  Then it dissolved into Sinatra singing, “I’ll be Seeing You.”

They gave her Demerol early in the morning.  Her friends had worked it out that way so that she wouldn’t miss her morning coffee so much.  It didn’t work.  Anne still wished that she had her coffee.  Then they took her downstairs.  They gave her a second shot to further calm her down and parked her in the hall outside the operating room.

Alone in the hall, Anne stopped breathing.  It was the size of the tumor that was really in both sides of her lungs and had made its way through the rest of her respiratory system.  It was her weight.  It was the Demerol.  One of the nurses finally saw her pallor and called for help.

Immediately, Anne was coded.  They put her on a respirator.  She awoke in Intensive care and immediately tried to pull the tube out of her throat.  They had to code her again.  This time they tied her hands down.

During the time Anne lived on the machine, she saw all of them again.  Angel was scared of the big machine that Nanna was attached to.  At first Anne had been angry with Celeste about the tube, but eventually she understood what had happened to her.  And then she died.

Anne Brago’s wake was large and emotional.  Even Dr. Avenel came to pay his respects.  Mostly things were the way Anne would have wanted them.

After the second night of the wake, Mario asked to have a conversation with Celeste and Ron.  It took place after the people who had come to their house for coffee and sandwiches had left.  Mario told Celeste and Ron that he wanted them to move into the house permanently.  He told them that he didn’t’ think that he would be able to hold on to the house without their help.

“I know how you people feel about this pace,” said Ron.  “It would be a crime to see you lose it.”

Celeste loved Ron at that moment more than she ever thought she could.

On the day they were moving their furniture in, Mario said, “Now you know how niggers feel all the time.”

Angel said, “What’s a nigger, Ron?”

Ron’s face went hard.  His eyes glared.  “I try not to use words like that around children,” said Ron.  “In fact, I’d rather if she grew up without knowing what any of those words mean.”

“A nigger is a nigger,” said Mario loudly.

“My father is a racist asshole too,” said Ron.

“The assholes are the ones who don’t know what a nigger is,” hollered Mario.

Ron turned to Angel.  “I don’t know what a nigger is,” he said.  “You’ll have to ask your grandfather, but just remember that what he tells you is the way people thought before they knew better.”

Mario began to split his time between Tina’s house and his own.  He disliked the way Celeste cooked.  She put fancy sauces on things that were better left plain, and she cooked chicken all the time.  If she served real meat two nights in a row, Ron would comment that they were eating too much beef.

But there was Angel.  She looked at him with a loving face.  She put her head on his stomach and her arms around him when he stretched out on the floor to watch TV.  He did everything that he could think of doing for her.  He hollered at his daughter when she was sharp with her.  He gave her desserts when she wasn’t supposed to have them.  He let her watch TV in the middle of the night when she woke up.  And he promised her the world forever.

Some weeks after the funeral, the family gathered for the reading of Anne’s will.  Her son-in-law Joey was the executor of the estate, but he didn’t want to read the will and gave it to Mario.  It was read after Sunday dinner during which they had left Anne’s seat empty.  Everyone who was mentioned was present.

It began with the naming of several people to whom Anne had bequeathed her undying friendship and a piece from her china closet.  Barbara received all of her picture albums with the exception of those special photos that Anne’s daughters might want for themselves.  Celeste and Tina were to have all of her personal belongings and half of whatever proceeds there might be from her estate to share between them.  She left Mario the other half and the promise that if there was a next life, she would do everything she could for him there.  She told him it was because of their union that anything was left of her in this world.

Everybody cried again.  Mario continually slipped and called Celeste by Anne’s name.

First the friends and cousins came forward.  They kissed the paper where she’d signed her name and went to the china closet.  There were sentimental treasures there; the wooden beer mug from Germany, the pictures of Sinatra, the ceramic zodiac the demitasse set.  No one dared to touch her crystal champagne glasses or the music box that played “I’ll be Seeing you,” while an elegantly dressed couple twirled under glass in the center of a globe.

When they were finished Mario said, “I want you all to know that Anne and I have always been thankful for everything you brought to our home.  Now this house belongs half to my daughters and half to me in trust for my grandchildren.  I hope that all of you will still want to come here and be with us.  We may be sad for a while, but for me anyway, I don’t want to be left alone, to mourn.

Everyone hugged him and cried some more.  Celeste and Tina served coffee and cake.  More memories and tears about the life and death of Anne Brago were shared.  After the people had left, Mario stretched out on the floor and watched “Von Ryan’s Express” until he fell asleep.

It was after midnight when he woke up.  He clicked off the TV and went into the kitchen for some water.  In the quiet he could hear Celeste crying from upstairs.  He walked to the stairway and went halfway up.  The crying had gotten softer.  He heard her say, “Ron. Hold me!  Come in me so that I don’t feel alone!”  He turned away just as she started to moan.

His first feeling was anger.  He wanted to go up and knock on the bedroom door.  It was still his bedroom, even though he couldn’t sleep there anymore.  His hands trembled.  He turned and went to the guest room downstairs.

Mario began to keep the TV on all night.  He spent more than half of his time with Tina and her family.  Celeste was the same girl she’d always been, but Mario didn’t think he could continue to put up with his son-in-law.  He didn’t do anything the way it was supposed to be done, and he was unsociable. You couldn’t make conversation with somebody who always had his nose in a book.  Most of all he didn’t pay the proper respect that a man was due in his own house.

Tina had been listening to her father complain about Ron’s strange ways for as long as she could stand to keep quiet.  Ron was now insisting that Angel be punished when she had a tantrum.  Anne would have turned over in her grave at the sight of Angel slouched against the door of her room letting loose with pitiful howls.

Joey said, “Ron thinks that you can do everything the way it’s written in a book.”  Mario and Tina laughed at the remark.

Joey-boy had been listening and said, “I don’t like them books.”  They all laughed again.

“Tell that to your Uncle Ron,” said Tina.

That Sunday they all had dinner together.  They were having roasted chicken.  Tina went out and bought steaks for her husband, her son, and her father.  She was going to cook them on the gas grill in the backyard even if it was December.  If her sister didn’t like it, that was just too damn bad.

Ron was in the basement supposedly correcting papers when they arrived.  He didn’t come up to say hello or to play with the children.  When the food was ready, Celeste saw Tina going out the back door with the steak.  She understood what was going on immediately.  She did not object for the sake of keeping peace but she felt Tina had stuck it to her.

While waiting for the steaks to cook, Tina said, “Is Ron angry with us for some reason?”

Celeste could see that this did not have the makings of a pleasant day.  “He’s just busy.  His grades are due tomorrow.”

“It’s Sunday.  We always forget the jobs on Sunday.”

“Ron’s not like that.”  Celeste was beginning to feel defensive and felt relieved when she saw Ron coming up from the basement.

Tina said, “I’m sure,” and went back outside for the steaks Then it was time to eat.

As soon as Joey-boy spied Ron, he ran up to him with a look of urgency.  “Uncle Ron!  Uncle Ron….” He was almost too excited to get it out.  “I don’t like them books, Uncle Ron!”

“What books?” said Ron.

Mario, Tina, and Joey began to laugh.  Joey-boy was encouraged by his success.  “I don’t like them books, Uncle Ron!”  Then a big smile came over Joey-boy’s face.  He slapped the table with his palm and said, “I hate them books, Uncle Ron.”  Mario, Tina, and Joey laughed harder.  Celeste wasn’t sure what was funny, but she laughed too because she was glad that at least everybody looked happy.

“I don’t get it, “said Angel.

“Never mind, honey,” said Mario.

“But what books is he talking about.  He finally says something that I can understand and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Don’t get smart,” said Celeste sharply.

Angel looked at her mother with huge disbelieving eyes.  “You always take his part, don’t you?  Never my part!”  She ran away from the table crying.

Mario hollered at Celeste.  “What did you have to say anything to her for?”

“She’ll get over it,” said Celeste.

Mario threw down his fork and went to get Angel.  He coaxed her back to the table.  She sat with her arms folded and her back to the table.  Tina tried to convince her to turn around.  Mario told her that her mother was sorry for what she had done.  Angel wouldn’t budge.  Finally, Ron got up and walked around in front of Angel.  He said quietly, “Either turn around and eat your food nicely or leave the table.”

Angel ran out of the room crying that no one loved her and that everyone thought that she was always wrong.  Mario threw down his fork again, “What did you do that for?” he said to Ron.  “We were just getting her calmed down.”

Celeste hollered, “it’s not his fault, Dad!”

Mario turned red and screamed, “Shut up!  This is all your fault.  The way you pick on that child, it’s no wonder if she acts up the way she does.”

“What do I do to her, Dad?  Do I beat her?  Do I take things away from her?
“She’s four years old.  What do you expect from her?  These are her carefree years and you’re ruining them for her.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Daddy,” said Tina.

“What kind of mother do you think she is?  Tell the truth the way you told it to Joey and me the other night.”

Celeste turned to her sister.  “Yeah, Tina, tell it to me the way that you told it to them.”

Tina pushed back from the table.  She was looking down at the floor.  “I’m not getting involved in this.  Come on, Joey.  Get the baby.  We’re leaving before this really gets out of hand.”

“Sit back down and finish your dinner,” ordered Mario.  He was standing.  His face and neck were red – his voice shaking with frustration, “We’ve finally got some decent meat on the table again, and I’m not going to watch it go to waste.”

Tina wasn’t finished yet.  “Why should we?  Do you think they really want us here?”  She looked at Ron.  “Aren’t you just waiting for us to leave so you can go back to your basement?”

“I don’t care much either way,” said Ron.

Tina stood up.  “That’s it!  This is the last time that time that I’m coming here without being wanted.  It’s too painful.  This was my mother’s house.  Sunday dinner had happy memories for me.  I’m not going to destroy them with scenes like this.”

This time Joey got up too.  They were gathered up and out the door quickly.  They left Celeste on the front porch crying for them to come back.

Mario watched Joey’s fully reconditioned ’69 corvette pull away.  He turned to Ron with anger and disgust.  “Did you get what you wanted?  My daughter just ran out of my house on a Sunday because you didn’t want her here.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Ron.  “She left because she never wants to face the messes she makes.”

Mario shook and began to scream.  “Don’t you ever do such a thing like that again, or I swear to Jesus, I’ll pop you in the mouth.”

“You’re not making a whole lot of sense,” said Ron.

“Well, let’s see if you understand this:  This is my house, while you’re under my roof, you’ll do things my way.”

Ron didn’t answer.

“My way!” screamed Mario.  Then he turned on Celeste.  “And that goes for you, too.  I want you to call your sister and apologize to her.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Celeste.  “I’m not going to do any such thing.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?  Do you want to push me?”  He was walking back and forth swinging his arms.  “Is that what you thought you would do when you came back here, push me around?”

Now it was Ron’s turn to shout.  “We moved in here because you asked us to help you.  We moved in here because you said that there was no way for you to hold on to your house.”

“Maybe that’s the line she gave you,” said Mario.  “I was just as content to move into a furnished room.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open.  He had sat there when Mario had made the request.

The old man punched himself on the chest.  “Mario Brago doesn’t need anybody,” he shouted.

The image struck Ron comically.  It was something he’d read about, people who call themselves out loud by their own names, but had never actually seen.

Mario saw the snicker.  “Young man, you may think this is funny.  You’ll be laughing out of the other side of your face if I belt you.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” lied Ron.  “I’m laughing at how you could stand there and say just the opposite of what you said when you asked us to move in here.”

“Then get out,” said Mario.

“We just moved in,” said Ron.

“Things have to be the way they have to be.”

Angel had been listening to the argument from the living room.  First, she had considered turning the TV up loud enough to hear it over their shouting.  She decided against that when she remembered how the argument had started.  But when Ron began to laugh, she honestly thought it was all over.  If she had been able to see their faces she would have known that it wasn’t.  The last interchange started tears rolling from her eyes.  She ran into the dining room crying, “Papa, don’t make me go away.”

Mario was shocked.  Ron stood there silently.  “I would never make you go anywhere, Angel.”

“Then don’t make Mommy or Ron go because I have to go with them.”

“Nobody’s going anywhere, baby.  We’re just talking about something else.”

Angel looked into his eyes.  She wondered why her Papa had gotten so mad.  Aunt Tina left in a hurry all the time.  She wondered if it was what she’d done.  She knew she was being bad when she was cruel to Joey-boy, but he got her so mad.  She wanted her Nanna.  Her Nanna would understand what she was supposed to do now.

She began to cry.  Then it seemed like a huge wave that came along and picked her up.  It was like a thunderstorm.  The crying was accented with sobs that broke out of her chest.  She wasn’t thinking about anything now.  There was nothing but the crying.

Several hours later, everyone was worried.  Mario had actually gotten down on his hands and knees and begged her to stop.  She was trembling badly and the tears seemed to have no end.  For a while, Celeste cried with her, but she couldn’t keep up.

Angel cried late into the night, holding her mother and saying, “Mommy, I want to stop, but I just can’t.”  She cried for at least another hour after they told her no one was moving.  Just before she fell asleep, she thought she heard her Nanna say, “Just forget about all of this, honey.”  The next day she told them that she didn’t remember anything about the night before.

Mario stayed by himself even more after that.   He either ate his meals out or at Tina and Joey’s.  He visited his relatives in Connecticut.  On New Year’s Eve, he announced that he was going to Italy in June.  “I’ll have your mother on my shoulder,” he told Tina and Celeste.

They cried and held his hands and said, “Mommy would want you to go.”

Quietly, in the middle of February on a Saturday night, Mario went out on a date sponsored by his cousin and Gerard and Gerard’s wife.  The girl was somebody that Gerard’s wife worked with.  Her name was Anne.

At first Mario refused the date, but Gerard brought it up again and again and told him that Anne was perfect for him.  Gerard said that he was still a young man, and he shouldn’t have to hold his joint in his hand for the rest of his life.

The image of looking like an old man with his dick in his hand scared Mario.  He agreed to go out on the date.  He didn’t want to look like that to the world.

Her having the same name as his late wife bothered Mario, but Gerard pointed out the advantages to him.  There would be no danger of slipping and calling his date by the wrong name.  It wasn’t her fault that she had the same name, and Mario shouldn’t hold it against her either.

The four of them went out for dinner.  It was an Italian place that Gerard said was as close to the food in Italy as anything that was available in this country.  They all met at Gerard’s house.  He was very nervous.  His daughters had seemed to know something was up.  They kept asking him where he was going.

Mario ordered linguini and sausage.  Anne said she would try the same thing.  After dinner she asked him to pick out a dessert for her.  He was in his glory.  His late wife had never let him do things like that for her.  It made him feel strong.  He was quite solicitous about whether or not she enjoyed the food.

Gerard and his wife were good company.  They talked like young people.  They were all quite a bit younger than Mario.  It made him feel rejuvenated.  He told them about his trip to Italy.  He drank whiskey sours and never felt tired once that night.

She took his arm when they left the restaurant.  He flexed his muscle so that shoe could feel his bicep.  They didn’t kiss each other night.  Mario wasn’t comfortable enough to make that leap.  There was a loyalty of 37 years to another woman in his body.  That wasn’t dead even if she was.

Mario felt good on his ride home. He was a little frightened by how much he’d had to drink.  He decided to take the long way home, through the back streets of Paterson.  Unconsciously, he drove to the old neighborhood, down the street where he and Anne had lived when they were first married.  Mario gasped.  This was where Celeste had come home from the hospital to.  It was run down now.  Only one or two of the houses were still in the old families.  The silk mills had closed.  Then the Blacks moved in and got what was left.  They hadn’t been able to stop it from getting shitty and, of course, got the blame.  It was like driving a direction in time, but then he stopped reminiscing.

The house that had belonged to his parents wasn’t far away.  He drove there and stopped the car.  He looked around in the dark and then he smiled to himself.  None of this was real anymore.  Anne wasn’t real anymore.  He had to move on.  Maybe he would marry this new woman.

Now Mario had always taken the position with his daughters that any woman who slept with a man that she wasn’t married to was a whore.  It was, according to Mario, a man’s duty to get as much as he could whenever it was a possible.  It was a woman’s obligation to say no until they were married.  When he and Anne decided to spend their first weekend together, he lied.

That Tina and Celeste knew about his new love at all was an accident – a slip of his son-in-law Joey’s tongue.  Tina confronted her father about it and screamed that she hoped that her mother wasn’t able to see what was going on before she was hardly cold.

Mario retorted “What did you expect me to do?  Stay by myself for the rest of my life?  Be treated like a child by your sister for wanting to be myself in my own home?”

Tina called Celeste and screamed that she had driven their father away from both of them now and she hoped that she was happy with herself.

Celeste said, “You’re being crazy.  You’re letting Daddy manipulate you into being angry at me for something he’s done.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve lecturing me about being manipulated.  You’re the one he’s got living there.”

Celeste flushed.  She was angry.  “Have him come and live with you if you’re so concerned about me driving him away.  Or better still, why don’t you sell your house and pick up your family and move them over here.”

“You couldn’t wait to get back in there,” said Tina.  “You decided to move back in there the minute that you heard Mommy was sick.”

“I felt she needed me, Tina.”

“I know that,” said Tina.  “But you and Ron decided to move in over there after Mommy died.  And now I have to pay for it.  You’ve taken his home away, and I get him for dinner every night.  All I hear about is how weird and unsociable Ron is, and how unhappy Angel is, and how distant and unapproachable you are.  What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t expect you to take it out on me.  You don’t know what we’re going through here.  On top of everything else, Daddy is always acting like an asshole in order to show Ron that he’s in charge.  Ron feels screwed.”

“Daddy’s got a girlfriend,” said Tina.

“A what?”

“He’s seeing somebody.  He slipped and told Joey about being out with Gerard and his wife.”

“That bastard,” said Celeste.  “He didn’t slip.  He used your husband as his messenger boy so that he wouldn’t have to face us.”

“This is all because of the way you’ve screwed things up over there,” said Tina.

Celeste slammed the phone against the wall.  She walked into the living room where Mario was watching TV.  “Tina just told me about your going out with someone, and I don’t feel like pretending not to know about it; but I want you to know that I feel really crummy that she was the one to tell me and not you.”

Mario flicked off the remote and sat up.  “I should have told you, but I just didn’t want to tell anybody.  It seemed too soon, but I wanted to do it.  It was no big deal really.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

“I don’t know.  I think so.”

“What’s her name?”

Mario told her.  Celeste was able to stay silently under control until she got upstairs.  She shoved a pillow into her mouth and punched the mattress violently.  Ron lay there astonished.  She told him about Mario’s girlfriend Anne.  Ron didn’t say anything.

And so Mario lied about where he was going for the weekend.  They slept together that Saturday night.  They had quite a bit to drink.  Anne said that she felt nervous about being in bed with him.  Mario proposed.  Anne said she would think about it, and then they had sex.

All spring Celeste was peeking out the kitchen window trying to catch the first bloom on the cherry tree.  The first day that she saw them, she sat in her mother’s chair and cried.  She was cooking dinner.  Mario was bringing Anne home to meet his daughters.  He had already introduced her to Joey.  His son-in-law had kept this secret.  He knew better.

She was a woman in her early fifties.  She looked maternal.  As she sat in the dining room, Celeste told herself that she shouldn’t hate this woman.  She would try to be nice.  Tina’s pleasantries on the other hand were laced with undertones of hostility.  Anne steered clear of Tina.  The woman wore a print dress with a black cloth belt.  She spoke softly.  She stared, starry-eyed, at Mario.

Even Angel was trying to act nicely for the sake of Papa’s new friend.  But she was nervous and when Joey-boy kicked her from under the table, she let out a howl and threw her fork at him.  As usual, her aim was good.  The boy had ducked when he saw her wind up, but the fork hit him in the ear and cut the bottom of his lobe.

Joey-boy was bleeding.  Celeste and Tina jumped up to tend the frightened boy.  Mario hollered, “What did you do that for?”

Angel screamed that she was sorry and that everyone was always blaming her for everything. She ran out of the room crying.  Mario apologized to Anne who said there was no problem.  She’d had enough experience with her own grandchildren to know that these things happened all the time.  Tina and Celeste stopped long enough to exchange a look that said neither of them knew about the grandchildren.

After they got Joey-boy’s bleeding to stop and settled him, they had coffee.  Mario said, “I have something to tell you.  I only met this lady a short time ago, but I feel I’ve known her forever.”

Both girls winced.  Mario didn’t seem to notice.  Anne stared starry-eyed at Mario.  Joey had his head down.  Ron was watching all of them.

“We’ve got a deep and warm feeling for each other, and we hope that you respect that.  The thing is that I’ve asked Anne to go to Italy with me this summer, and we’re going to get married there in my father’s home town.  We’ve asked my sister and brother-in-law to stand for us, and they’ve agreed.  When we come back, we’ll be living here.”  He turned his eyes to his new son-in-law.  “I hope you don’t mind the short notice.  Of course, if you have trouble finding something, we can all fit in for a little while.”

Tina buried her face in her hands and began to cry.  Celeste stared at the wall in front of her.  Joey never looked up.  Angel had fallen asleep in her room upstairs.  Anne stared at Mario as he hugged Tina.

Mario and Anne left for Italy on the first of June.  Tina had begun to accept them both by then.  The problem was Celeste.  She wouldn’t talk about it to anyone.  All Tina really knew was that they had an apartment that they were going to be moving into on the tenth.

The day after they moved their things out, Celeste went back home for a visit.  After her mother had died, she had always been able to feel her presence there.  She could feel it in every room.  “I’ve got to help you get out of here, Ma,” she said and went into the basement.  She piled up some oil rags next to some old carpets that her father wouldn’t throw away and set them on fire.  She then left very calmly.

 

Corporate Proposal

 

 

They loved staying in bed together but that wasn’t where they did it_. They did it on the floor, in his car, and in the shower. They did it in the closets, on the kitchen table, and on the stairs. Sometimes they did it several times a day. They were that hungry for each other.

One day she said that she didn’t want to do it for a while.  A short time later they broke up. They cried. He said that he wanted to do it one more time_. She turned her back to him and said, “That’s impossible.” He got angry and then they screamed at each other as he took his things from the closets, the bathroom and the kitchen. When he left, he threw his keys on the floor.

He hadn’t been back there or seen her since, until tonight. Allison was startled to see Tim at the door and with her secretary. Tim thought that his ex-lover looked awfully good. She wore a slinky, blue-green shift that clung to her hips and outlined her ribs. Tim had always liked the way she dressed. He remembered a black negligee that had places for her bare breasts to come through. He wondered if she still decorated her nipples when she wore it.

The sight of him stopped Allison. She hadn’t thought of him in almost a year. Allison tried to be very careful to keep her business and private relationships separate from each other. Her secretary, June, had never spoken to Tim or even heard her boss make reference to him. June had simply told him that they were going to her boss’s party_. He hadn’t really asked any questions about it. She hadn’t gone into detail.

“How very strange to see you here again,” said Allison. The look on his face told her that he hadn’t expected to see her either. He managed to mumble hello. She wondered briefly if he really could have been dense enough to walk up to the house that he used to share with her and not realize where he was. She knew that Tim had a tendency for being obtuse, but this was unusual even for him. “I always knew that June had good taste,” Allison said with a smile and a voice that seemed incompatible with her thoughts.

June looked back and forth between them. “You’ve both met, haven’t you?”

Tim smiled at the two women. “I didn’t realize that you worked for Allison MacNamara, ” he said.

There was an inevitable pause where no one knew what to say. June’s first thought was about whether this was going to somehow affect her job. Then she began to wonder about Tim and her boss sleeping together. Then she thought about whether they should leave. Clearly, she didn’t want to upset Allison MacNamara. She’d be out on her ass on Monday.

Allison turned squarely to June. “You know most everyone here. Make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be sure to see the both of you a little later on“

            Tim’s gaze involuntarily followed her hips as she walked away_. He should have realized that June would be watching him, but all his mind could picture was a small red dagger that was tattooed about three inches below her waist.

June said, “Let’s get something to drink,” and took Tim’s hand. He was still looking at Allison as they walked over to the bar. She was wearing the crescent moon earrings that he^’d given her.

The house was expansive. The living room was sunken down three steps and highlighted by a huge fieldstone fireplace. Sometimes on hot days, Allison liked to do it in front of a fire. They would get slippery with sweat and then burst into a waiting shower for their climax. Allison was nervous as she watched them. This could turn out to be embarrassing. The business side of her disdained embarrassment, but what was embarrassing the internal hell out of her right now was how excited she was to see him again.

Finally, Tim focused his attention on June. She was smiling. He thought she looked fresh and pretty. He wanted to explain, but people were coming over to them and she was introducing him_. He listened to their conversation and added an occasional word of agreement. Then they were moving away and June led him into a curved alcove where he and Allison had done it standing up.

She was smirking now. “Where do you know Allison MacNamara from?” There was a spark in her eyes. She was beginning to find the thought of Tim and her boss amusing.

“About two years ago, we used to date,” said Tim.

“And?” said June.

He gave her an innocent smile. “What?”

“Tell me about it.”

“We saw each other for almost a year and then broke up. I haven’t seen her since.”

“You seem upset,” she said.

“No, I’m just surprised. I didn’t even realize where we were.”

Allison watched them talking in her alcove. Tim had put on a few pounds, but the weight looked good on him. He was wearing clothes that she hadn’t seen before. He stood straight without seeming stiff. She liked the way he held his drink. June was a pretty girl. Her Ivory Snow skin and chubby breasts must be very attractive to Tim. She wondered how long he had been seeing June. She hoped that he wouldn’t tell her too much about them. It might be easier to simply transfer the secretary, but that could make matters worse. Allison knew that if you pissed off your secretary, she was sure to badmouth you.

About thirty people had showed up for the party. Allison had been given permission to pay for the gathering out of her expense account. It was recognized in her office that affability was good management policy.

She wished there were some way for her to hear what he was saying to June. This had never happened before and it made her uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Allison moved off and tried to occupy herself with something a little less disturbing, but her eyes kept returning to the alcove and involuntarily examining Tim and how he looked with her secretary.

She decided that the best way to go was to say something briefly to June tonight and then decide how she intended to deal with it on Monday. She wanted this worked out discreetly. When she saw that Tim had drifted over to the fireplace and was talking to Josh Lowe, she moved towards June. Talking to Josh was safe. He didn’t let anybody get too many of their own words into a conversation and didn’t seem to listen that carefully to what was being said. “Let’s step over here for a second, shall we?” she said as she took June back into the window seated alcove.

They sat at right angles to each other. Allison adjusted her gold crescent earrings without remembering that she’d gotten them from Tim. She began, “Knowing Tim, I’m sure that you weren’t aware that we’d had a love affair…”

June interrupted, “I never would have brought him here if I’d had any idea that the two of you had been involved.”

“Be that as it may,” Allison continued in her best -professional voice, “it would seem to be in the mutual interest of everyone’s comfort if nothing was said about the coincidence.”

“That’s true, Ms MacNamara,” responded June. Her secretarial manner was meant to convey support and loyalty.

“Why don’t the two of you quietly decide to scurry off before too much longer?”

“That would be no problem, “said June as if she was being asked to work overtime.

“We’ll talk more on Monday,” Allison was smiling warmly.

“I’d say that I owe you one, but under the circumstances I’m not sure that’s the correct way to put it.”

June laughed nervously. “I see what you mean,” she said. She thought that it would be easy to get Tim out of the party. She wanted to go to bed with him that night anyway. She’d put on silk underwear and perfumed herself extensively in case things had worked out.

June and Tim had sex in his bed.  The unfamiliarity of each other’s body quickly excited them. She laid on her back with her hair feathered against the pillow. He pulled on her nipples with soft tugs. She wondered if he looked the same to Allison MacNamara when she had been underneath him. There was a certain added satisfaction after she orgasmed.

 

*                         *                             *

 

 

 

At ten o’clock on Monday morning, Allison asked June into her office. She told the secretary to leave her pad at her desk. They had coffee.

June had asked Tim about his relationship with Allison MacNamara a second time. She wanted details. He told her that Allison was hot beyond cooling. He told her that Allison could be unusual in her appetites. June’s mouth had dropped open, and Tim laughed harder than she’d ever seen his laugh before. June just couldn’t imagine her boss as a hot commodity. She had remembered once hearing Josh Lowe and two other junior executives talking about Allison. One of them had said that Allison’s problems with them stemmed from the absence of a stiff one in her life. The others agreed_. But Allison MacNamara had always been decent with her. She didn’t take advantage of her and use her to cover mistakes. She overlooked some of the petty details that her male bosses accented. The weekend left her unsure of what this would mean for her.

Allison gave her a warm smile that June knew to be professional. It was, none-the-less, comforting. June returned the smile and Allison began talking. “I hope that your Saturday night wasn’t too inconvenienced. It’s just that I was rather surprised to see an ex-lover there with a co-worker,”

June noticed her temporary elevation to equal status. She sipped her coffee quietly and waited to see what Allison would say next.

“I hope that I can rely on your discretion in this matter. I don’t believe that who you see is any of my business, nor do I think that my private affairs should become a subject for water cooler discussion. It may seem that I’m making too much of this thing but there are people in this office who would have a field day with the information. It just wouldn’t seem normal.”

June felt instantly relegated back to the ranks of a subordinate. She put her coffee cup down and said, “I don’t see that we have a problem. I’m not particularly interested in passing the details of my love affairs around either.”

Allison agreed. “I know,” she said. “In a way this whole thing is kind of funny and silly at the same time that it’s serious.

“I should tell you,” said June, “that I enjoy Tim’s company. I hope you don’t see it as a problem that I’m going to continue to see him.”

“He’s an intriguing man,” said Allison, “if a bit of a bumbler.”

June didn’t feel comfortable discussing Tim with Allison, but if that’s what her boss really wanted to talk about. She felt saved when the telephone rang. June answered it. It was Harry Wiman’s secretary, Mary. She told June that the conference call that was to be held with the Cleveland and St. Louis branches was ready and that she was signing Allison’s line into the hookup. June said, “Wait a second, I’m not at my desk.” She informed Allison of the call and went out to her phone to complete the hookup. They didn’t speak about it anymore that day.

Allison had just taken a long bath and was sipping a glass of Frangelica when the phone rang on Monday night. It was Tim. He told her that he had been thinking about Saturday night and hoped that he hadn’t caused any problems for her. “No, there aren’t any problems, but I was surprised to see you.” She went on to say that she thought it strange that he hadn’t been aware that he was at her house.

“I’ve got a bit of a confession to make,” said Tim. “I did realize it was your house when we got there. I suppose I was curious about you. Anyway, I let it happen. I thought that you looked quite elegant.”

She laughed. “Why thank you. You looked good too.”

“There have been times when I’ve regretted the way that we ended things, “he said.

“Endings often seem more final than they are,” she said.

“How would you feel about having dinner with me?” he asked.

“Under the circumstances,” she said in a measured voice, “I don’t think that it would be appropriate or possible.”

They had dinner on Wednesday night. She knew that he wanted to sleep with her. They certainly weren’t going to meet to discuss his adventure with her secretary. She wore a proper blue dress with crotch less panties underneath.

He was waiting at the bar when she arrived. The private room atmosphere that the place offered was perfect for them. He was dressed in a pair of finely tailored slacks and a sport shirt. Her stomach was fluttering when she sat next to him. She was acutely aware of every motion that he made. He was direct.

“I know that you aren’t sure that this is a good idea,” he said.

“No,” she answered. “I know this isn’t a good idea.”

“I saw you, and I just didn’t want to let the opportunity slip by.” He looked into her face. “Allison, you’re the most exciting woman that I’ve ever met.”

She was flattered and a bit apprehensive. As the evening progressed, she kept waiting for him to talk about his relationship with June, but he didn’t. He followed her home and they made love on her back porch. They were good together, as always.

When he came into the house, she said, “What are you intending to do about my secretary?”

“June and I don’t really have anything going on,” he said.

“Does she know that?” said Allison.

Tim shrugged.

“Then just end it with her.”

Tim agreed without hesitation. They had a drink. “I’ve been studying erotic dances,” she said with a naughty smile. “Would you like a demonstration?”

Two days later Tim brought some of his things over to her house. Their intercourse was more intense than it was the last time. They reveled in each other. Her supply of imagination and new ideas was as inexhaustible as his stamina.

Tim didn’t call June during his week at Allison’s. His reasons were vague. Allison kept telling him that she wanted him to be fair with June although she also told him not to mention her name. On the third day of the second week, June called a secretary that she knew from Tim’s office. It had been through her that she had met Tim. He had picked them up at a downtown happy hour. They had partied and then he had treated the two of them to dinner. He asked each of them to dance.  When he danced with June, he had told her that he wanted to see her again. She had answered that she didn’t know. He smiled and said, “I’ve waited all night to be able to ask you that question.” June was swept away. She thought that it was true, but she was trying not to let on that she believed it.

She called her friend in Tim’s office and told her about Tim suddenly being among the missing. She asked her friend to find out what she could, She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t enjoyed sleeping with her, She knew when she had satisfied a man.

The return call came right after lunch. There was only one piece of information. He had temporarily changed his private number. She stared at the number after she wrote it down. Her face was hard.

That Friday, June sent a request to Harry Wiman’s office that she be transferred. She told his head of staff that she would be more comfortable working for a man. When Allison questioned her about the abruptness of the change, she said, “There’s a lot of pressure working for someone on the way up, like yourself. I want to work in less intense surroundings.”

Allison didn’t believe a word of it. She tried to be sisterly and asked what the problem really was. June was proud of herself for not giving the bitch the slightest indication that she knew anything. Allison asked, “Do you know where you’re going to be reassigned?”

“I was told that Josh Lowe was going to be needing a secretary in two weeks. That will be about how long it will take me to turn things over here.” June smiled and held out her hand, “It’s been quite an experience to work for you.”

There was little question in Allison’s mind that she knew about them. Too much of this was coming from out of nowhere. Secretaries didn’t like change and Josh Low was no prize. There was a part of her that was happy that June was gone, but she was uncomfortable as to the reasons. The worst part was that she was falling in love with Tim again. It was even stronger than it was the last time. He enjoyed her diversity. She didn’t feel smothered. He was quiet and he was her equal. A briefly flickering voice told her to end the relationship because it had crossed over into her professional life

Harry Wiman, in his late fifties, was a conservative man, but also someone who understood the need for evolutionary change. When the mores of the marketplace dictated that he have a visible female executive or be grouped with those companies considered discriminatory, he recruited Allison. She was very bright and ambitious and bore a striking resemblance to his daughter. Harry was proud of the way things had worked out.

Allison MacNamara, Josh Lowe, and Tom Fitzsimmons sat in front of his desk as he began his prepared remarks. “The Board of Directors and myself have decided that we are ready and most needful of a new Vice President in charge of Special Projects. Our sponsorship of athletic and artistic events has begun to give us a reputation and prestige that will keep this corporation growing at a rate that will insure additional prosperity for everyone in our corporate family. The Board has nominated you three as being the best and most deserving of our junior executives. Only one of you can have the position. Going in, I want you to understand that the two people who aren’t chosen will be transferred to branch offices. This will cut down on friction and make room for a new trio of people who, like yourselves, have earned a chance to move up. At this point, you can remove your name from consideration and stay on in your present capacity. However, once we’ve agreed upon entering the selection process, the wishes of the Board about anyone disqualifying himself or herself from the competition are clear.”  Harry stopped and gave them an inspecting gaze. “Are there any questions at this point?”

Tom Fitzsimmons was a married man, thirty-eight years old, with a ten-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son. He presented an outstanding appearance, worked long hours, was consistent but lacked corporate inventiveness. Josh Lowe was here because he deserved at least one nomination in his career. He wasn’t outstanding, but he had friendliness and a congeniality, which had staying power. He had cultivated his share of allies and friends.

Fitzsimmons was the first to speak. “What kind of branch office position will be offered to those who aren’t promoted?”

Wiman indicated that he understood the nature of Tom’s concerns. “At least a district manager’s duties and quite possibly control of a branch itself.”

Allison felt confident when she sized up her competition. She smiled to herself. She had been wondering the same thing that Fitzsimmons asked about, but she would never have let her first comment be a timid “what if I lose” kind of statement. The positions would be considered lateral moves, but they weren’t at corporate headquarters,

Josh Lowe was next to speak. “Mr. Wiman, I’d be happy to serve this corporation in any of the three capacities that you’ve mentioned, and I’d like to first thank you and the Board for so honoring me. I can give you my answer right now. I’m in for the process all the way.”  He emphasized the smoothness of his all the way intentions with a palm down gesture that made a smooth cut through the air and capped off with a thumbs up signal.

Allison spoke easily and distinctly into Harry Wiman’s smiling face, “I think that it almost goes without saying that we all feel honored. I’d simply like a little more of the detail about the selection process.” She didn’t feel fearful or anxious. She was interested, but it was important to appear circumspect with regard to having the right information to make a proper decision. She felt certain that Wiman was the person who was actually making the decision and that he would appreciate her stance.

“The Board of Directors would like each of you to select and develop a presentation for this corporation’s involvement with a here-to-fore untapped area of special projects, a long-range area where we could make a wise investment of resources and pioneer something that would be more uniquely identifiable as a project of Worth Corporation.

Allison felt even better. The project was tailor made for her talents.

“I’ve made arrangements to have each of your major areas of responsibility transferred to other people. That is, once you agree to become part of the process. There won’t be much time for you to complete your proposals. The Board and I are both anxious to settle this move as quickly as possible. The next regularly scheduled board meeting is in six days. The meeting has been expanded to include a working lunch at which these proposals will be presented. A decision will be made and communicated to you at a time no later than the conclusion of that week’s business.” He smiled broadly and looked at the three perspective vice-presidents. “Let me assure you that, in my opinion, the Board won’t really be able to make a mistake. I have no doubts about the qualifications and abilities of any of the three of you_. For the rest of the day, I’d like you to simply consider your options. I’ll expect to hear from each of you tomorrow morning.”

That night she told Tim that a project that was going to occupy all of her energy had come up at the office. She told him that she wasn’t going to have any time for anything else for a while.

“Are you telling me that you’re done with me again?” said Tim. He was trying to sound steady even though he felt punched in the stomach.

“That’s not it,” she said emphatically.

“Then what is it?” he said. His face looked fierce. Similar to when he was about to have an orgasm.

She told herself that he had a right to feel rejected, but there wasn’t anything that she was gonna do about that right now. When she didn’t have anything to say, he said, “I’ll take my things out of here tonight.” She wanted to tell him that this wasn’t what she meant. It was what she needed though, so she sat there looking confused.

He got up and started for the bedroom. He was surprised when she followed him. “I must have been crazy to want to get involved with you again,” he said without looking at her.

“Nothing bad has to happen here, Tim,” she said. If he had been listening he would have heard a struggle in her voice.

“Well, then why the hell won’t you tell me what it is you’re talking about. It sounds an awful lot to me like something that I’ve heard before.”

“It wouldn’t change anything, and you know how I feel about talking about what happens at the office.” She knew that it sounded stupid, but she found herself saying it anyway_. After she said it, she knew that it was what she believed.

“For Christ’s sake.’ I feel like I’m involved with some­body who works for the CIA or the Mafia. You know,” he delivered his Michael Corelone impression, “Don’t ask me about my business,” It looked funny and she laughed in spite of the situation.

“Great!” he fumed. “You think that my concern over our relationship is funny. I guess you think it’s really hilarious that I was going to ask you to be my wife?”

She stopped laughing. “That’s really nice,” she said softly. “And if you’d ask me in a week, I think I could give you a better answer than I can right now.” Then she decided to trust him. She told him about the competition. She came close to him and put her hands low on his waist. “If you want me for a partner, then you want a woman who’s always going to need a certain part of her life separate from the rest.”

There was a connecting hall between the bedroom and the den. He pulled her down onto the floor. He was very hot inside of her. They went slowly at first and then ferociously. She held herself up into the air, so that he could get deeper inside of her. He dug his nails into her hips and slapped her behind hard as they climaxed. As he gradually softened inside of her, she told him that she was in love with him. Then he got dressed and left. Afterwards, she was unable to think about the presentation. Tim had actually proposed to her and what was even more astounding was that she was going to say yes. This week was going to be even harder on her now. She didn’t allow herself any close friends, so there was no one she could call and tell about her dilemma. She fell asleep wrapped around pillows that she doused with his cologne.

The next morning she was ready to go to work. There were three possibilities that she wanted to brainstorm. Her first idea entailed a label of business wear that could be created and styled in conjunction with the designer’s label “Executives of Worth.” She liked the sound of it. Her second idea was the creation of the Worth Museum. It would consist largely of papers and artifacts from the great minds in business history. Her third notion was The Worth Film Institute. It would combine technological R&D with opportunities for filmmakers who presented optimistic visions of a corporate future.

By the time she’d finished her lunch, she’d made up her mind. The line of clothing was a good idea for a different occasion. Conceivably, it could be the most profitable, but it lacked the prestige that Wiman was after. Besides, to some on the Board it might appear too womanly to suggest a line of clothing. She was trying to avoid unnecessary prejudice. She had decided that she could effectively combine her second and. third ideas. What Wiman wanted was a place in history. She would go with it.

The end of the workweek found Allison in good shape with her project. She had spent all of her waking hours on it. It was going to be a competent presentation. Her estimates were that the first phase could be mapped out over a period of three years and cost approximately $ 15 million. The beauty of her approach was that after the name of the project had been established and initial procurements were made, other sponsorships would be made available to the corporate community.

She told herself that she’d earned a treat. She wondered if she would able to get in touch with Tim. When she allowed herself to think about him, she realized that she was horny for him. There was still work to be done, but it was a matter of filling in details. She put in a call to his office.

“I’ve had nothing but you on my mind all week,” he said when he got on the phone.

She whispered even though the door to her office was closed. “Can you come over for breakfast on Sunday morning?”

“Are you sure?” he said.

She teased. “Be well rested,”

“I’ll be there by nine,” he said.

“Even earlier,” she said with huskiness.

“Dawn?”

She laughed and whispered. “Let’s be a little more civil than that. I need some time to get ready for you.”

Within two hours of the conversation, Josh Lowe was listening to a tape of it. He had bugged her phone the day after the meeting with Wiman and after a conversation that he’d had with his new secretary.  He had straight out asked June if she could tell him anything about her ex-boss that could be helpful. At first June had been reluctant to answer, but he put a hundred-dollar bill into her hand and told him that his new loyalties were to him.

June took the money. “All I know is that she spreads her legs like a slut and that she doesn’t care who she steps on in the process.” Then she related the story of what had happened to her and Tim. She told him what Tim had said about her appetites.

Josh had June put in a call to the detective agency that he’d used when he got a divorce from his first wife. He gave them an address and a time. He wanted audio and video. They told him that it would be no problem, but that there would be an added cost because of the short notice. Josh said that he would be happy to pay as long as he got results,

Allison was wearing a dress based on designs created by Pauline Re’age. Last night she had reread the novel as she went to sleep. She opened the door for Tim just as he was arriving.

 

*                             *                             *

 

The videotape was delivered to Josh Lowe’s house late Sunday afternoon. He put it on immediately. He saw Allison dressed in a satin gown that exposed her breasts and was folded up to reveal her front and rear. She answered the door and Tim kissed her immediately, “I want to treat you like a king this morning,” he heard her say. She led him into the bathroom with the sunken tub. The tape switched to another camera as Josh watched Allison bathe and oil Tim’s body. Tim was smiling and his eyes were half closed. When he came out of the tub, she brought him to her bed. She patted his body dry. She used her hair to dry him in intimate places; She patted him down with powder and quickly messaged him. She rubbed everywhere, lightly and quickly. She kissed across his belly and said, “Your breakfast is ready.”

The camera shifted back to the dining area where Allison served Tim breakfast. While he ate, she waited on her knees. She gazed at his mouth and stroked herself as he chewed the tropical melon that was diced on one of the plates in front of him. Occasionally, Tim caressed a part of her body. She held herself up so that he could touch her wherever he wished. Sometimes he fed her small pieces of food. At the conclusion of the meal, he pushed his chair back from the table and she crawled between his legs. What followed caused Lowe to lower the volume on the VCR for fear of being overheard by his second wife or their children.

On Monday morning he made an appointment to see Harry Wiman as soon as it was convenient. Wiman was concerned by Lowe’s request. He hoped that there wasn’t going to be a problem. The Board meeting was scheduled for the following day. Lowe had always been a loyal employee.

Wiman saw him at 9:45 that morning. Lowe came into Wiman’s office with a serious look on his face. He sat down in one of the chairs that made up the conversation area off to the side of the boss’s desk. “Josh, can I get you some coffee?” said Wiman.

“I would appreciate that very much, but please sit down and let me serve you. I’ll feel more comfortable with what I have to show you.”

“I don’t care for any coffee just now Josh, but by all means help yourself.”

“Mr. Wiman,” he began with a hard swallow, “I’ve been made aware of some very disturbing and potentially damaging things. Because I know you to be a gentleman, I’m reluctant to bring this information to you, but because I’m first and always a company man I feel I must.” He took out videotape from his briefcase. Next to it was a written report.

“I should tell you right off that I didn’t solicit or in any way gather this information. It was given to me by my secretary, June Wally, who had very different motivations for wanting me to see this.” He stopped and parenthetically added that June had previously been Allison MacNamara’s secretary.

“I don’t mean to seem to be in a rush, “interrupted Wiman, “but get to the point, Josh?”

“Can I use the wall unit, Sir?” asked Josh Lowe.

Wiman gestured him ahead without answering this time Josh started the tape. Wiman leaned forward and gaped at Allison. Neither of them said anything for about twenty minutes. Then Wiman said, “Please turn that off now, Josh.”

“Mr. Wiman, I was also repulsed by the content of this tape. My secretary brought it to me over the weekend. She explained that after Allison MacNamara had seduced the man that June was seeing. The secretary had asked to be transferred. She told me that she had learned from a friend of hers that worked at the man’s company that they had stopped seeing each other, and so she had him followed to learn for herself. This was the report they had given to her.”

“Josh, do you expect me to climb into this pile of manure with you?”

Harry Wiman stared at an obviously shaken Josh Lowe. “I just didn’t know what to do, Mr.Wiman. The boss snapped on his intercom and asked that June Wally be sent to his office immediately. “I would like you to give me this tape, Josh. And I would like to know if there are any copies.”

“I don’t really know. I don’t think so Mr. Wiman.”

“I should hope that there aren’t any.”

Wiman’s secretary announced June. She came into the office with a nervous smile on her face. However, there wasn’t the slightest hint that she thought she’d done anything wrong. Harry looked sadly over at Lowe. Josh hadn’t figured out that this harebrained scheme had not only cost him a chance at the promotion, but that in all likelihood, it had also cost him his job.

“Do you know about this video tape, June?”

“What tape is that, Mr. Wiman?”

Josh looked over at her and said, “It’s alright June. I’ve told him everything.”

Wiman picked up the report and looked at the cover. “Do you know of a Cooperman Detective Agency?”

“Yes sir. I think that’s the place Mr. Lowe asked me to make an appointment on Friday last.”

 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Wally. That’s really all I need to ask you about.”

 

When she left, Wiman turned to Lowe and said, “Josh, I’m going to let you resign because I’ve always thought you were a good man, and I want to save you embarrassment. I also want to assure you that if anybody else ever comes by this information that I will personally ask that criminal charges be filed against you after I punch you in the mouth.” He paused and sighed. “When you leave the office please write your letter and take whatever time you have coming commencing immediately. If you do all of this without incident, within thirty days you’ll receive my letter of recommendation. If for any reason this doesn’t work out, I’d suggest that you not use me for a reference.

Josh was sweating and rubbing his hands. “Mr. Wiman, I was only doing what I thought was best for the company.”

“I’ve not lost my temper yet, Josh, but if I have to ask you to leave again, it will be more difficult for me to not tell you that you’ve brought a new spelling for the word low to my mind,”

It was a difficult afternoon for Harry Wiman. He called Allison up that evening, He asked if he could come over and see her at her home. She was startled but said that she’d be waiting for him.

Allison put down the phone and turned to Tim. “My boss is coming over,” she said.

Tim’s face showed concern. “The night before your presentation?”

“Something’s wrong,” said Allison. “I think I want you to stay out of sight.”

“Are you gonna put me in the closet, Allison?”

“Maybe later,” she said smiling. She was none-the-less worried.

Wiman arrived about thirty minutes after his phone call₀ Allison invited him down into the living room. Wiman stared off into the dining room area for a moment before he sat down.

“Is there a problem with the presentation, Mr. Wiman?”

“Possibly, Allison. What I’m here to talk to you about is unpleasant but never-the-less necessary.” He shifted in his chair and looked toward the bathroom. “Someone has invaded your privacy. In fact, invaded the privacy of your home. You’ve got every right to charge this individual with a crime. Unfortunately, he’s a colleague at Worth and any legal action that you might take would affect the company in the most adverse of ways.”

“I don’t understand what you’re telling me, Mr. Wiman,” Allison was scared.  She wished Tim wasn’t in the other room. Then she wished that he were sitting there beside her.

“Josh Lowe has had a tape made of you and your lover having relations. He showed it to me this morning. I apologize to you for having seen any of it. But I’m afraid that we could conceivably have an image problem here.”

Allison knew that an image problem was code for saying that she’d made the company look bad.

Wiman continued, “I’ve asked for Mr. Lowe’s resignation, but I’m not certain of what he’ll do.”

Out of the corner of Allison’s eye she saw Tim walk out of her bedroom. He walked up to Harry Wiman and introduced himself. “Mr. Wiman, my name is Tim Landcraft, Allison’s husband. I hope you’ll excuse my eavesdropping on the conversation.  My wife and I had decided to keep our marriage a secret until after her presentation, but under the circumstances, I thought you should know.

Wiman’ s face brightened like that of a little boy who has gotten the gift he never thought he’d have. “You don’t know how happy I am to meet you, Mr. Landcraft.”  Wiman shook his hand. “I’m chagrined at the circumstances. I hope that you’ll accept my apologies. He looked at each of the people and said, “On second thought, I see no problem at all here.” Then he hurriedly added, “Unless you wish to pursue this…” Allison shook her head in a negative gesture. Wiman put out his hand. “Mr. Landcraft, you’re a lucky man.” When he realized what he’d said, Allison saw him blush. He started for the door and told her that he’d see her at the office in the morning.

After he was safely out the door, Allison hugged Tim and said, “Now you really are stuck with me.”

“We’d better make arrangements to get married as soon as possible,” said Tim.

Two weeks after Allison got the promotion to Vice President, Harry Wiman ordered June Wally fired. He didn’t like loose ends.

Medbet

 

                        When a blueToyota stomped on its brakes, a jarring screech shouted down the other sounds of the highway. Veering over the centerline, sparking like crossed wires, the car spun in a wild jig. The cameras showed that the Chevy had no time to react. Explosion shattered  the steady, rush hour buzzing with a crunching whack!  Drivers were slammed against  headrests; their bodies in spasm. TheToyota was smacked back across the centerline. The Chevy bounced hard to the right and staggered for the guardrail. Tire screams echoing everywhere- Airbags covered the passengers with white cocoons. The Chevy slapped the rail. It was a seeing-eye miracle that it struck no other car. TheToyotastopped spinning, dead in the center of the road, leaking smoke and fluids.  Safety glass pebbles reflected the sun on the highway with the glimmer of shattered diamonds. The camera, the beautiful sleek steady eye of the camera, caught every second of it.

                           “MedBet Alert….5:17..head on US 14…..male and female…. head trauma and possible internals….one conscious…..camera ready…..ten minutes from extraction and arrival at NewBeth….” 

                        The alert was accompanied by synthesized voice on Nathan’s screen. It looked promising. He toe paddled his rolling chair into place behind his workstation. He was wearing a very thin wired headset and had three monitors in front of him. Barbara sat on a lower chair to the right at a smaller station that was slaved into his control. Her gray eyes flicked between Nathan and her screens.  “OK, I need the EMT, the emergency room at New Beth, and get me the camera footage. In that order please.” His voice was smooth and well modulated, only showing just a trace of excitement with the request for the accident footage. Those cameras were a relatively new feature and it was still a bit exciting to snag one live. But then his afterthought showed clear annoyance. “Barbara, make sure they keep the thing on for the extraction and the scenery this time.”

                        Nathan saw the icon flashing for an audio patch. He plugged it in to his head set.

                        “Keyon EMT James Pike, # 1728…. We have two participants… a male… early to mid 30’s with facial lacerations and head trauma…. a female mid to late…20’s with head trauma and possible internals. We have guarded confidence of live delivery and should have amb-pics within two minutes.”

                         “Evaluation stage two,” said Nathan.  A steady flow of life-sign data on both subjects began to flow into the split screen just to his left. Heart rate, pulse, breathing and whatever else was necessary for him to work. The screen to his right popped up the live scene. Cars stopped in a street-choking pattern…

                        Barbara stepped on the heels of his sentence. “We have a stage two situation with feed from US 14 and will be on a dedicated follow awaiting further determination.”  The dedicated follow informed the Center not to patch any new reports to the team at this point. Then she opened a line that would give Nathan’s direct feed to the receiving locations. “I have hubs ready for you, Nathan.

                        “Make sure that I am hooked on the big tits first,” said Nathan.

                        “Yes Sir, their nipples are waiting for you.”

                        The big tits were theNew YorkandLos Angelesconnections. Nathan did not want to take a chance of getting squeezed out by a severed finger or some other bullshit event. The Med-betting on this kind of an accident could be huge. The time of day was great, and if they could connect with a live feed, there were eight figure possibilities.

                        The first ambpics were good. There was frantic activity. There was some blood. There was the girl moaning and trying to thrash around. The guy was out, but his face was handsome. Nathan and Barbara exchanged a grin when they saw him. She scrunched her nose for him, in a way that brought her freckles together. His grinning dimples flashed her.

                        It was magic time. He had to make some quick calls now or run the risk of losing the live ingredient. The live ingredient, showing all of it to the players as it unfolded, could be worth more than 250% on the outlay, which made it worth that much more on his commission. “Barbara, get me crash speed estimates.” He clicked audio into the amb, “How much time to arrival?”

                        “ETA three minutes,” said Pike #1728

                        “Nathan, I got the crash footage. It’s perfect, it’s perfect Nathan!”

                        Nathan grinned. “Don’t get wet yet.”  Barbara lowered her head, smiled and blushed.

                        The hospital showed that Dr. Crane Chatlew was in charge of the NewBeth room right now. That was good. Chatlew was a rising star.

                        “Give me the nipples,” said Nathan.

                        Barbara obediently sent his patch over. Nathan had already brought up his actuarial. He didn’t really need them for this one, but it was policy. Nathan smiled again. Mid twenties and early thirties; a long fight going here. Secondary betting as the event progressed- The life signs were just erratic enough to be a tease, but familiar enough for him to be confident of live delivery. There was a flickering on the screen of the unconscious male, probably from the activity.

                         “OK, we have a live feed situation fromNew JerseyhighwayUS#14 with a male and a female from different vehicles. Patching through vitals now and we’ll call it a 17-5 on double survival, an 8-6 on the female and a 10-5 on the unconscious stud. We are piping live crash pics.” He pointed at Barbara and held out three then two then one finger, “Now… and are recommending a big screen approach. Piping in amb pics.” again the fingers. She loved it when he pointed at her. “Five seconds,” a pause “that’s now.”

                        Barbara said, “We have ER room info and two minutes to arrival.”

                       New YorkandLos Angeleswould be going crazy now. They would be piping to affiliates, cutting into existing situations, calling for instant hook. Nathan was ready. He loved this part.

                        “MedBet, this is Pike 1728…I’m showing a repeater signal on the ID for both subjects.” Nathan’s mouth opened. Barbara stopped moving immediately. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!!!!” screamed Nathan. “When were you gonna’ check the ID? When they were on the operating table?”

                        “This is Pike 1728, again. I am sending ID information for you to confirm the repeater status.”

 “Yeah, you’re a real peach, Pike.”

                        The screen ID numbers were coming into both Barbara and Nathan.  “Get me a workup and put the hubs on standby.” Nathan went back to the amb pics to see what was there. The screen went blank and came back. The guy was still out. His heart rate was steady but at 96. His pressure was 125/60. Dammit! It looked real! It looked solid! He might be a crasher, but if he was, it was high stakes crashing. The female was still moaning and had been restrained. Her vitals were more erratic, but it was because she was making such a fuss.

                        “We’ve got one reported prior for him, a single. And we’ve got two reported priors for her, a single as driver and a triple as passenger.”

                        “Screw it!” said Nathan. “Tell the tits that we aren’t going with live feed.”

                                    “New Yorkis screaming at me, Nathan. They are saying that they have taken action and that they have lines and a high level of interest.”

                        “Give me the patch!”

                        Instantly Nathan heard aNew Yorkaccent in his ear. “We got a line of betters here that would fill your wazoo, lady!”

                        “We got repeaters. Do you want to override? I don’t care what you do, but make your call right now,New York.”

“Repeaters! Ah shit! No, let it go!”

                        The names of the repeaters were Jennifer Wren and Roger Edicot. Jennifer was a dental assistant, age twenty-five. She had been involved with her first crash at the age of twenty-two. She had sustained a broken collarbone and collapsed lung. She had stopped breathing, presumably from the shock, and had been resuscitated in the ambulance. She had made the screen and gone off at 4-5. There had been a fair amount of interest, nothing overwhelming.  She had recovered easily. On the second occasion the driver had checked out. Jennifer had suffered a concussion and two broken legs. The front seat must have slammed into her. The third passenger had been uninjured and unreported. That was unusual. The two out of three had gone off at 11-6 and the company had cashed in on it. Roger’s one reported situation had been just six months ago. He had hit a tree and suffered a concussion.

                         Nathan was liking it less and less. Head injuries were weird. Airbags had reduced them dramatically. They still got people’s attention, but they weren’t as real as a crushed sternum or a broken neck. They were going to have to drop it all together.

                        MedBet didn’t like taking those kinds of chances. They had watchdogs to ensure the integrity of the system, and in the five years since its inception, they had steadily improved their ability to sniff out fraud. He glanced over at Barbara. She looked worn out. The instant intensity was an adrenaline rush and having it end like this was prematurely frustrating. He would have to fill out an incident report and he might have to sit through the lecture again. Four hours of how there came to be a Med-bet and how it served the needs of the HealthCare industry better than any insurance policy had ever served the needs of the country. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe it, but how many times could she hear it.

 

*               *                       *

 

                                    New Beth hospital was proud to be a MedBet facility. In order to qualify it had updated the trauma rooms, which now had all the cutting edge equipment needed to provide a full range of immediate services. No one wanted to hear that there was a procedure available that a facility wasn’t able to perform. And now more than ever before, the public new exactly what was available. Response! The official MedBet magazine outlined, in layman’s terms, the latest developments in trauma treatment. Also, in the new growth area, long term betting on the chronic care patients who were receiving donor organs. The risk of rejection and infection and the outside envelope for life expectancy was a whole new, long range frontier. There had been a resurgence of research and development in every area that the MedBet Corporation touched. For this and other financial reasons, New Beth was not thrilled with having to treat Jennifer Wren.  The MedBet philosophy was Care for All and New Beth was providing care, but they didn’t have to be happy about it.

                                    Jennifer and Roger were placed in the same room. Hospital officials were not about to use up two private rooms on them, and they also didn’t want these two contaminating the other patients in the population. Jennifer’s injuries were not life threatening.

                                    She moaned and tossed for most of the evening. The television in her room had not been activated. Her head throbbed and seemed to both want her to sleep and to wake up. Her face was swollen and very sore. When she saw the outline of Roger’s body on the other side of the curtain, she rang for the nurse immediately. She had difficulty talking because of the raw stiffness of her mouth.

                                    “Why is there a man here?” she said.

                                    The nurse smirked and said, “I don’t do the room assignments.”

            “This isn’t fair!” Tears ran from Jennifer’s eyes. “I’ve been in an accident.”

                                    “We’re very busy,” said the nurse,   pivoting on her rubber sole and exiting the room quickly.

                                    Jennifer pressed her buzzer again and again. The

nurse didn’t come back. Tears were dripping onto the bandages on her face, when Herbert Scottie came into the room. He was holding a clipboard and spoke in quiet, well-rounded tones. A medium sized man with absolutely no distinguishable characteristics, he did not seem to notice Roger.

                                     “How are you feeling, Ms. Wren?”

                                    Finally, Jennifer thought. “I’m a bit upset at the moment,” she sobbed.  “I don’t know why I am in a room with this man! My television doesn’t work and my head and face are throbbing. No one is helping me”

                                    “We’ll have to see what we can do to make you more comfortable,” he said. She heard his pencil scratch the pad. “What happened to you?”

                                    “I was in an accident. My car went spinning. There were people everywhere. I lost control of it.”

                                     “Do you remember how you lost control?

                                     “No,” she said shaking her head as if she were trying to reach back in her memory. “Who are you?”

                                     “Oh,” he said flashing a non-descript grin. “I’m an investigator for MedBet. We’re just doing a little follow-up here, for our records.”

                                     Jennifer tried to smile. “This wasn’t a MedBet feature, was it?”

                                    “Didn’t you know?” Scottie looked as if he were genuinely surprised. “Yes, it was a prime feed.” He paused, “And, you can’t remember how it happened? It is always so much better when the history is complete.”

                                    “Well,” said Jennifer. “I remember thinking that we were all so lucky to be driving such new cars. All the cars on the road seemed so new and then…I just can’t think.”

                                    “The tape we have of your accident shows that your car applied the brakes very hard, but we can’t see what it was that made you do it. The crash was really rather spectacular, you know. A real miracle that more people weren’t hurt-” Scottie tried to coax another smile out of Jennifer. He succeeded.

                                     “Maybe I saw something in the road,” she said.

                                     “Yes, perhaps you did.”

                                     Jennifer felt reassured. Soon after Scottie left, the television was turned on, although they had forgotten to give her a remote control, and she only had the one all news channel. And the nurse came back in with an injection that she said would make her more comfortable. She began to drift in and out of sleep and the evening slid into the early morning. Atfour am, a doctor came into the room to officially pronounce Roger dead. He recorded the time for the nurse and left. It was the only time she had seen anyone at Roger’s bed, but she was too drowsy to understand what was happening.

 

        *               *                       *                                              

 

                                     “Nathan, why are they asking both of us to report to the inquiry room on our day off?”

                                    He answered her smoothly, not pretending to be asleep. “…because of the repeaters. We let it go out as a live feed. Bets were taken.New Yorkwas pissed. So we are gonna get pissed on a little.”

                                    “I’ve never been in the inquiry room before,” she said in a small voice.

                                     “You had one responsibility today, to do as you were told. Is that correct?”

                                    Barbara pouted out a sexy smile, “Isn’t that always my responsibility when I am with you?”

                                    He didn’t answer. “I made the calls. You took nothing into your own hands.”

                                     She reached over to take his shoulder, but he shrugged her away. “Now get out of bed and sleep on the floor for the rest of the night. You woke me up.”

                        “Yes Sir,” said Barbara and quickly slipped onto the floor beside the bed. “May I have a pillow?” With a soft thud, it hit her head in the dark. She curled into a ball and tried to go to sleep, resting her grateful head on the pillow.

        *                   *                        *                       

                        The MedBet inquiry room was a famous place. It had the comfortable feel of a conference room except that there was a large mural comprised of faces of MedBet employees that seemed to be watching everyone in the room. Everything was taped and available for viewing by all those who had security clearances. Instructional session viewing was required for all MedBet employees. Over the top of the door was a sign that read Care For All. Nathan glanced up at it and nodded as if seeing an old friend. In theory, he believed the words of the sign. The faces of his colleagues made him feel secure and part of an important community.

                        Barbara was sitting next to him, hoping that they didn’t ask her too many questions. She held Nathan’s hand under the table. Herbert Scottie was smiling at both of them. They went through the sequence of events. Scottie was very polite and nodded  with understanding and approval as they spoke.

                          “When did you first request identification?” said Scottie.

                          “As soon as extraction was complete,” said Nathan, but he couldn’t remember having done it. Usually the assistant did that with the EMT.

                       “That would have been the correct time,” said  Scottie.                                “But the audio tape shows that you went directly to the live feeds.”

                           Nathan’s mind picked up speed. Had he done that? Had he skipped over the ID check because he was trying to get the live feeds? He shook his head. “I may have made an error.” Nathan felt Barbara let go of his hand.

                        “Have you ever met Jennifer Wren?” said Scottie

                         Nathan’s mouth opened slightly. “No, I have not. I would have called for a team switch immediately.”

                         Scottie turned to Barbara. “And you have never met

Jennifer Wren either?”

                         “I don’t think so,” said Barbara

                         “Well, that’s all I have for right now,” said Scottie.

                        Nathan observed Scottie’s mechanical smile and had the feeling that the investigator had definitely gotten what he was looking for.

                        *                       *                       *

                        NewBeth hospital released Jennifer the next afternoon. Her doctor told her that she had suffered a concussion and some fairly extensive facial lacerations and that if she experienced any unexplainable nausea, she should contact her local physician. No one asked for her insurance identification card. No policeman interviewed her about the accident. No mention was made of her car, and what had happened to it. She was driven home by a hospital employee who told her that he sometimes provided transportation for patients who needed it. She didn’t believe him.

                        The telephone startled her. She had been lying in bed with the television on the all news channel and drifting in and out of consciousness.

                                    “It’s Jim. Are you ok?”

                                     “I guess so.”

                                     “I want to come over.”

                                     “Wait until later. Come later.”

                                     When she hung up the phone, Herbert Scottie checked the caller location. It came from a public phone located just outside the EMT station located onUS Highway#14. Herbert Scottie smiled. Sometimes things were so simple.

                                      Two hours later, Jim Pike sat in the inquiry room. He was sweating and contrite. His reddish blonde hair kept the imprint that his cap made before he took it off. He looked to Scottie as his friend, someone who would help him through this mess.

             “When did you first meet her?”

                                     “We had a mutual friend who had an accident while she was giving us a ride to a concert. I ran away from the scene because I was in training and I knew that it would look bad for an EMT to have a fatal accident in his past.”

                                      “How soon after that did she contact you?”

                                       “Maybe it was a year later.”

                                     “And then what happened?”

                                     “She said that she had a plan that could make a bundle of money for us. She said she would take all the risk. She asked where the camera location was on US#14. She said that she knew how to rig her car so that she survived a violent crash.”

                                       “And what was your job, Mr. Pike?”

                                       “I had to keep her ID from the Medbet people until it was too late and they had to go with it.”

                                     “We were gonna put everything she owned on her recovery. But the guy died in the ambulance and I had to cut the feed to Medbet early so that the odds-setter didn’t see his vitals. The only way was to distract him with the ID so he wouldn’t notice. The assistant made it easy because she was so excited.”

                                     “Have you ever met the odds setter or his assistant?”

                                    “Those people are weird. They keep to themselves like some kind of a secret society.”

                                      “Yes, they do Pike. I understand what happened to you. You were frightened of being exposed about something that wasn’t really your fault.”

                                    “I really am a good EMT, Sir. I care about people

and I react well in crisis.”

                                     “I can see that you do, Pike.” Scottie allowed his smile to show condescension.

        *               *                       *              

 

                                    Scottie accompanied the arresting officers to Jennifer Wren’s apartment. She was reluctant to let them in. She said that she felt nauseous. Scottie sized up her diminutive frame. Her movements were specific. She claimed to be woozy but didn’t seem to have any wasted or careless gestures.

                                     “Before we talk at all Ms. Wren, I would like you to listen to this tape.”

                                    Jennifer sat down on her couch. She lit a cigarette and took that first sweet drag. She held the smoke in and timed the release to the mention of the Pike’s name. She half expected it, but when it came out she was startled. She glanced up at Scottie and tried to read his face. His smile was implacable. It was unnerving. It was almost gentle. It was knowing. She watched the smile as the tape played. She did not raise her eyes to meet his, but kept focused on the carefully upturned ends of his mouth. She brought the cigarette to her mouth with a steady hand and sucked on it softly. She would survive being caught too. She always survived.

                                    “Things will go more smoothly if you just agree to answer all of my questions, Ms. Wren.”

                                    “Just clearing a few more things up for the file?”

she said with an ironic grin.

                                      “Exactly,” said Scottie. “Did you know Mr. Roger Edicot?”

                                      “No.”

                                    “Was James Pike the only person with whom you worked?”

                                     “Yes.”

                                      “Really? Who was going to place the bets? Pike wouldn’t have been able to bet.”

                                     Jennifer Wren’s was smile was cold. “Well I guess the file will have to stay closed incomplete on that little part of things, won’t it?”

                                     “Perhaps,” said Scottie. “But when you are charged with murder, it will cause a massive search through the records of everyone that you have ever met cross matched with those who bet on your incident.”

                                     Jennifer paused. She looked like a reptile. “Is there any way to avoid the murder thing?”

                                     “What was the name of the person placing the bets?” repeated Scottie.

                                    Jennifer gave him the name the address and the amount of money that had been bet.

                                     “Can I ask you one question?” said Jennifer.

                                     Scottie instinctively knew what she wanted to ask.

He excused the patrolman from the room. “What is it?”

                                    “Why did you put a dead man in the room with me for eleven hours?”

                                     “We needed about eleven hours before we were ready to pronounce him dead,  Ms.Wren.” Scottie smiled. “Now, there were other matters to discuss. The rest of it would go smoothly now. The door opened and the administrator from New Beth came into the room.

                                    “We’re ready for you now,” said Scottie.

 

        *               *                       *                      

 

                                    Nathan and Barbara were called back to the inquiry room the next morning. Barbara had been very nervous and had chattered all morning about how sorry she was for her mistake. Finally, Nathan threatened to gag her, knowing how much she hated to be gagged. She fell very quiet.

                                    Herbert Scottie and an administrator from New Beth were sitting at the conference table when Nathan and Barbara arrived. Nathan was cautiously optimistic about being called back so soon. He thought that it was a good sign.

                                        Scottie smiled and began to speak directly to Nathan. “The investigation is drawing to a close folks. It seems that the two of you were set up by a couple of people. Jennifer Wren staged the accident in collusion with James Pike. They have confessed, and MedBet is satisfied that neither you nor your assistant had any knowledge of the scheme.”

                                    Nathan exhaled slowly. He loved MedBet. Everything would be fine now.

                                     “There is just one more thing. We would like you to do a re-creation of your response to the accident with a different EMT. Barbara, this time you will ask for proper identification, and we will learn that Jennifer Wren is a repeater. We will immediately sever her from the action. We will continue with interest focused on the comatose Roger Edicot who will be operated on and who will die eleven hours after surgery.”

                                      Perfect timing, thought Nathan. That’s when most deaths occurred, but after ten hours the payoff was smaller for those who bet for death. After ten the payoff odds were significantly lower. Larger profit for MedBet. All round good deal-

                                    “Barbara and I will be happy to do whatever it takes

to clear this up for all concerned.”

                                       When Nathan said that, the NewBeth administrator got up, shook hands with Scottie and left the room, without looking at either Nathan or Barbara again.

                                        “Is there going to be a trial?” said Nathan.

                                      Barbara gave him a worried look, wondering who was going to be placed on trial.

                                    “Trials are expensive. And with trials like this, there is small profit and little interest. Let’s say there is going to be an accommodation.”

                                    Nathan knew that he was part of the accommodation and so he pressed the point. “Can I ask what it is?”

                                    “Of course! Unnecessary secrecy is a burden that slows everyone and does not add to efficiency in the slightest.” Scottie’s grin was real this time. He would be congratulated for working things out this comprehensively. “Because Mr. Pike and Ms. Wren have no desire for a trial, we have agreed upon an administrative settlement. Mr. Pike will find a new career. Ms. Wren will be paying damages to Mr. Edicot’s family. She has volunteered to sell one of her kidneys and one cornea in order to immediately raise the $175,000 that is required. She has also permanently forfeited her health care and of course her driving privileges. Each of them is going to relocate immediately.

                                      “What’s going to happen to us?” blurted Barbara.

                                      Scottie’s grin held genuine amusement when he spoke to her. “You are going to have some well needed additional training.”

                                     Barbara face panicked for a second and then she relaxed. “Yes Sir,” she said.

                                     Nathan knew how to wait. Scottie was much too thorough to have left him out.

                                    He would miss Barbara, but she had not been his first assistant. The unwritten rules about assistants and odds-setters  never varied.

                                     “Nathan, you are a loyal employee. I find that this one mistake, this one time, can be overlooked. Of course, it must go into your file. Any expenses that MedBet does not make up from the re-creation will be deducted from your commissions over the next two years. But I think that we will actually turn a small profit out of this.” Scottie stood up and extended his hand to Nathan. Nathan smiled.