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Subject: {ASSM} Tom's Diary 4-04-02 {Gina Marie Wylie} (Teen, mf, cons)
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_________________________________________________________________
Plan your next US getaway to one of the super destinations here.
http://special.msn.com/local/hotdestinations.armx
<1st attachment, "Tom's_Diary_4-04-02.doc" begin>
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The following is fiction of an adult nature. If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it. IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Official stuff: Story codes: teen, mf, ff, fF, inc, con.
If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2003, by Gina Marie Wylie.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots. All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.
Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/
My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/
And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http:// www.ewpub.org/
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Tom's Diary
Thursday, April 4, 2002
Around three in the morning, JR got up to use the bathroom. In
spite of the best intentions, the groan I let out when she moved
was relief, not sadness at her departure. My mind was more on
automatic than anything else; I simply rolled over onto my
stomach and was fast asleep before she'd taken more than a couple
of steps.
Someone knocking on the door woke me. I looked and saw JR was
gone, so I pulled on some jeans and peeked around the door.
"Tom," Uncle Craig said, "you need to get in gear. We have a
9:30 appointment with the lawyers, another meeting at 11:30 at
the bank."
I opened the door a little wider. "I didn't think this was a
good idea before yesterday. Now..." I shook my head.
"Tom, two things for you to think about. First, like the
lawyer said; you'll be twenty-one before any lawsuit has a
verdict. So don't worry about it. Also, consider damage
control. If you have a pot of money, they are less likely to
chase after David's, Joanna's or mine.
"Now, please get ready. We can get something to eat, if you
like, on the way."
I really, really thought he was crazy, but what could I do? Be
obstinate? What would that prove? Maybe it might prove I was
unworthy of his trust, but would I really do that? No, another
thing that wasn't in me.
I took a shower, considered the Bic shaver in my toiletry kit,
and decided I didn't need it today. In fact, I looked around the
hotel room and made up my mind. Uncle Craig wasn't the only one
given to snap decisions.
A bit later, wearing Dockers and a nice long-sleeved shirt, I
was knocking on Mom's door. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.
"I want to go home," I told her without elaboration. "I'm going
to pack my things, I'll put them in Uncle Craig's car. After
we're done doing the paper signing, I'm going to have him drop me
off at home."
"You won't have a car," Mom reminded me, not that I wasn't
reminded of it every time I looked around.
"Then I won't have a car. Tony does, I think Sue Ellen does,
too. I can get a ride; I've gotten in pretty good shape lately
with all of these walks."
Mom nodded. "Actually, it's not a bad idea. Mary was
complaining this is a long way from work; even car-pooling with
Dave. It's been a pain for me, too. I'll organize something.
Expect company before the afternoon's out!"
I did pack, Uncle Craig was only a little curious when I put the
suitcase in the back of his rental. We stopped at a supermarket,
got some Krispy Kreme doughnuts and coffee; we were munching them
before we got on the freeway for downtown.
The lawyer from yesterday, Dwight Hammond, was waiting for us in
a meeting room with a heavy wood table of some dark wood. The
paneling was dark wood as well. All, I thought, pretty
expensive. He'd introduced himself again, this time I made a
point of remembering his name. There were three other lawyers as
well, who sat at one end of the table, talking to Uncle Craig.
Everyone agreed that my statement about the traffic accident was
important, and I should do that first. They had me write it up
on a yellow pad, then a notary was called and embossed the
original. They would, they told us, type up a copy and send it
to us. I asked if I could get a copy to give to the police
because they wanted a statement. There was a conference that I
wasn't privy to, but then again, neither was Uncle Craig. They
handed me several copies of my statement, done on legal paper,
before I left. Uncle Craig asked for a few more copies as well,
and he got those.
When I was done with that, it was my turn at Uncle Craig's end
of the table. They had papers ready for me to sign; I was
getting used to how much paperwork was involved with what I
thought were the simplest things, like getting out of the
hospital, getting Jenny permission to stay with us. This was
even more tedious than the latter, not to mention there was no
Eleanor Johannsen to distract my attention, either.
Still, a little before eleven we were back outside, blinking in
the bright sun. Nothing had actually happened, that had been
made clear to me. I'd signed papers to apply to a family court
to be emancipated. The most important part about being
emancipated was that it meant I could sign legally binding
contracts, I was told. Well, most of them. Some things, like
buying a house or renting a car, you had to be a certain age; I
wouldn't be able to vote yet or buy alcohol or any of that. Once
the court signed off on my emancipation, then I would actually be
able to deal with Uncle Craig's financial matters on my own; at
least the things I was judged old enough for. It seemed to me to
be as arbitrary as everything else I'd experienced having to do
with the government.
That was fine with me, I was getting more and more sure I didn't
want any part of this. The worst thing? I was thinking I didn't
want my Uncle to handle my affairs. I liked him, I knew Mom
loved him, that Dad liked him a lot. JR hadn't mentioned Uncle
Craig last night when she was talking about the people she was
not that much of a hurry to get back into bed with, but it didn't
strike me that Uncle Craig was going to be an exception to her
general statement.
What really bothered me was his cavalier dismissal of what I'd
said. Yes, we'd discussed it and he'd seemed to go along at the
end. But that was Monday and today was Thursday. Since then,
there had been no further discussion of anything I'd said. I was
tolerably sure what he was hoping was that it hadn't been but a
passing fancy of mine, and if he ignored it, it would go away.
We were early for our meeting at the bank, and Uncle Craig made
a little detour to check out the Diamondback's baseball stadium.
"I was thinking of getting season tickets," he told me. "You
interested?"
I liked baseball, I thought it would be cool, so I agreed. We
stopped and went up to the ticket office; I stopped being so
agreeable when I saw what a season ticket cost. In fact, I told
him that I'd pass, thanks. Nearly a thousand dollars a ticket?
Even if it was a bunch of tickets? Uncle Craig bought two.
Then it was bank time and that was as eye opening as everything
else I'd ever seen or done.
Plain business utilitarian in the outer areas, the higher we
moved, the finer the office, until finally we were in a small
conference room, every bit as well appointed as we'd seen in the
law offices. It seemed like lawyers flaunted their wealth, and
bankers were embarrassed by it.
And, unlike the lawyers, the bank people had no idea what Uncle
Craig wanted. "My name is Craig Summers, I wish to a open an
investment account," he'd said repeatedly. "Wells Fargo in Los
Angeles was supposed to have notified you about this." Then they
would ask him how much money the account would be for, then they
would politely excuse themselves and seek guidance from someone
higher up the food chain when they heard him answer "Around a
hundred and fifty million."
While we were sitting in yet another conference room, I told
Uncle Craig that it didn't appear as though they believed him.
"Probably not. On the other hand, I'm in slacks and a nice
shirt, and you're not dressed like a Goth. It's something you
need to learn, Tom, as early as possible. At some point we will
find someone who knows the score; at that point, you will see
some serious ass-kissing and apologies. The sooner you learn to
deal with that sort of thing, the better. At this level, it is
simply a fact of life."
Then he grinned. "Of course, at some point in time, if they
continue to be total morons, I will reach the end of my patience
and we'll try another bank."
Another trip, back to the elevators and up to more sumptuous
offices, a smiling young man who shook our hands, asked for
Craig's driver's license and left at once. He wasn't gone long,
and when he handed my Uncle's license back, he told us someone
would be with us shortly.
A bit later, a man in a suit, more hand shakes. He told us his
name was Gavin Henderson, he apologized profusely, promised
imminent job action against those who had misunderstood Uncle
Craig's request. In short, Uncle Craig was right.
After about five minutes of that, Uncle Craig waved his hand.
"A hundred and fifty million dollars invested in the pathetic
two and a quarter percent you offer on straight savings would
have earned me $427 in the last half hour. Time, sir, is money.
Time to get down to the matter at hand."
"You want to open an investment account?" Mr. Henderson
inquired.
"What I want is to transfer a portfolio that belongs to my
nephew here, from our California branch, to Phoenix. We are
going to be relocating to Phoenix from LA in the next few weeks,
there will be quite a bit more flowing, this is just the start."
Mr. Henderson started another round of thanks and apologies;
Uncle Craig simply cut him off. "Enough! You've said it
already. Right now, what I want to see are assholes and elbows,
working on the issues at hand.
"Tom has applied for emancipation, I expect that to be complete
in four to six weeks. From now to then, you'll have fiduciary
responsibility for his account. Tom Ferguson might be young, be
he's an incredibly capable individual. I would suggest that you
don't start out by shifting the money around and running up
transaction fees."
The banker nodded. It was obvious that Uncle Craig had won
whatever battle he'd been fighting. The man was now focused and
intent, as they went over the details. Phone calls were made,
papers were faxed from LA to Phoenix. I'm not sure where they
called for take out, but lunch was steak and vegetables, a glass
of wine for Uncle Craig, a glass of tea for me.
After lunch, Uncle Craig got to the last important part of the
business. "We need a capable account executive, one that can
handle the day to day details, until Tom gets the emancipation
issue cleared up."
Mr. Henderson looked at Uncle Craig carefully. "You would not
be doing that?"
"No, once Tom has signature authority, it will be up to him to
decide who will administer the portfolio. In the meantime, I
want him to deal with you."
I saw the gleam in Mr. Henderson's eye; I mentally shook my
head. I didn't like him either.
"What's an account executive?" I asked.
"The individual at the bank who would supervise the handling of
your portfolio," Mr. Henderson told me.
"Think of them for the next few weeks as your check book," Uncle
Craig added. "It should be an interesting relationship."
Never ever, I thought, forget that Uncle Craig wasn't stupid;
that he didn't have his own agenda. It seemed pretty clear to me
that Uncle Craig believed in learning by doing, that and toss you
into the shark infested water to see if you can learn to swim.
Would I do that with so much money involved? I didn't think so.
Then, what was he trying to accomplish?
I half listened to the two adults talking about this or that
person, while I mused on why Uncle Craig, who, he had told me,
was interested in running up as many points in the game as he
could, was now willing to trust me with more money than most
people could ever dream of having. There absolutely, positively
had to be a reason, and that reason just as assuredly had to
involve him winning big.
The two of them had started writing names down on a list making
pluses and minuses after each.
"Umm," I said, not entirely confident about interrupting them,
"Do I get a say in this?"
"Oh, you have the final say, Tom," Uncle Craig told me.
"Cool!" I said with a fake smile. "Why don't we just invite
them all in here, have each say a few words about themselves, and
I'll pick. Unless, of course, your account executives have
something more important to do than deal with already, than my
portfolio." I kept my smile pasted on my face, remembering
Melinda Carter's expression, just after I told her I'd forgotten
her name.
"We'd be wasting a lot of people's time," Uncle Craig said
mildly, "Why don't you let us narrow the field a little first?"
I let my smile go, frowned slightly. "So, I just get to
approve, not pick?"
Mr. Henderson spoke up, "Well, I think young Tom's idea isn't
bad at all. I'm sure you know, Craig, how important personal
chemistry is in relationships like this."
I could sense Uncle Craig's mild tension at the word 'chemistry'
and then 'relationships.' It was his fault; he'd used the word
first.
I made up my mind. Unless all the account executives were male,
fat or ugly women, I was going to pick a woman. And I was not,
under any circumstances, going to feel the least sexual interest
in her. None.
And so, it came to pass about a half hour later. One by one
people came in, introduced themselves. I made my own notes, not
plusses and minuses, but Y or N. Exactly two of the account
executives caught my eye.
Rita Collingworth was a slight woman with light brown hair, and
piercing blue eyes. She was nicely dressed in a knee length
skirt and a navy blouse embroidered with bright flowers. From
the instant I laid eyes on her, sparks were flying in the room.
If she'd had been at Sue Ellen's party, I would have been panting
at her feet in seconds, even if she was probably twice my age. I
wrote down four N's after her name, even if I gave her a mental
'two thumbs up'.
Later, another woman came in. She was rather tall, perhaps five
eleven. She had raven black hair, dark brown eyes, and was
wearing a black dress with a short dark jacket. It was hard to
tell much about her breasts, but they didn't seem to be large or
small. Miriam Goldberg spoke as confidently as any of the
others, but there was no list of great achievements that had been
the hallmark of other presentations. She simply reported that
she worked on 'small investor accounts' and that she enjoyed it
thoroughly.
More important to me, was the fact that there were zero sparks.
In fact, it was almost the opposite of Rita; Miriam seemed to
have a wall around her, a wall that reminded me a little of the
same wary caution that Jenny had had the first day I'd met her.
Maybe, I realized, Miriam was a lot like Jenny. Tall and dark.
Larger breasts, I thought, but nothing like Sue Ellen; probably
nothing like Marsha, either.
Miriam left and Uncle Craig looked at Mr. Henderson. "There are
a couple I'd like to have back, to re-interview," my Uncle said.
Mr. Henderson looked at me and I simply shook my head. "Miriam
Goldberg. I don't think we need to waste anyone else's time." I
paused, sought a bit of information from my pack rat memory.
"Unless you think she might not be able to make the jump to
handle a larger account?"
The banker shook his head. "No, Miri is, if anything,
under-utilized. She likes working with small accounts, she is
really good at it, and her clients really like her. The other
account execs want to work with larger, splashier investors and
tend to push the smaller ones off on her. Miriam is content to
do a good job for her clients and for the bank."
I wondered if the man had any idea what he'd just said, in real
terms.
"Her then," I told him confidently, then I looked at Uncle Craig,
who shrugged.
I decided that it wouldn't hurt to mollify my Uncle a bit.
"Could we have Ms. Goldberg back in? I'd like to ask a few more
questions."
A minute later, she was back, her attention went to Mr.
Henderson, who was obviously her boss. I'd just sat silently
before, the only person who had spoken was Mr. Henderson, who had
simply asked her to introduce herself and talk about her work.
"I'm Tom Ferguson," I said, standing up, proffering my hand for
her to shake.
She looked at me, then at my hand. She wasn't reluctant to take
it, but it was obviously something she hadn't expected.
"In a few weeks, I will be given the authority to manage my own
portfolio," I went on. "I was wondering if you'd like to take
responsibility for managing it for me until then?"
She nodded without hesitation. "I enjoy helping my clients
realize their investment dreams," she told me, obviously a rote,
stock phrase.
"I think you will find," I said wryly, "that my dreams have been
realized. The question in front of me is what do I want to do
with the responsibility and opportunity that has been handed to
me?"
Mr. Henderson spoke up. "A hundred and fifty million dollar
portfolio, Miri." He gestured at Uncle Craig. "Right now, Craig
Summers has been managing it. He is in the process of relocating
to the Phoenix area, with about seven times that amount in play;
this will give him a little less to worry about."
Maybe I would have noticed it if Uncle Craig hadn't spoken about
it before; you'd like to think you'd notice when someone is
kissing your ass. The big banker guy certainly was kissing mine,
and a whole lot more effectively than he'd done earlier with
Uncle Craig.
Miriam took the news without batting an eye. Instead, she turned
back to me. "Would you like to spend some time discussing what
you are looking for?"
"I would," I told her. "What have you got on the schedule for
the rest of the day?"
"Research. I'd be happy to talk to you as long as you like."
"I have some errands I have to run," I told her. "Do you have a
car?"
Miriam nodded.
"Would you be willing to chauffeur me around? We can talk and I
can take care of my errands at the same time."
Again she looked at the boss banker who nodded. "Sure, no
problem."
"I'm going to spend some money, start small, go up from there," I
told her. "For one thing, I need a new car."
Uncle Craig started to speak, but I simply met his eyes and
willed him to be quiet. Something worked; he closed his mouth.
"You can take care of the paper signing and all of that, right?"
I pushed the woman.
"It would be part of Ms. Goldberg's duties," the boss banker
confirmed, "until your emancipation is signed off by the court."
"Cool," I said, knowing that every time I said that word, every
adult in hearing winced.
"You can either drop my suitcase back at the house, Craig, or
deliver it back to the hotel; although I do believe Mom was
planning on checking out this afternoon. You might want to check
with her first."
I got up. "Ms. Goldberg, why don't we go to your desk, and you
do what you need to do to be out of the office for the rest of
the afternoon. I have to make a few phone calls, then I'll be
ready."
She nodded, watching me with curiosity.
She led me out of the office, and I smiled as the conference room
door closed behind me, leaving Uncle Craig alone with the banker.
I would probably never know for sure what was said in there, but
I could be pretty sure of the outlines. There was no chance I
was going to be allowed to do anything 'rash'.
I stood a few feet away from Miriam's desk. It was in something
that was really just an elaborate cubical, for all that it had
floor to ceiling panels. "I'd like to talk to a fireman, then I
need to talk to a policeman. If I can get in to see either of
them, we'll do that first. Last on the list is buying a car."
She nodded, and I pulled out the cell phone and dialed Johnnie
Dugan's number off his card.
"Dugan, here," the familiar gravel rasp answered.
"Mr. Dugan, Tom Ferguson. You remember, from yesterday."
He laughed. "I'm not the one with messed up short term memory,
Tom. What can I do for you?"
"Do you have some time this afternoon we could talk for a few
minutes?"
"Right now, I have my feet up on my desk. Had a session this
morning with some rookie firemen." He laughed again, "Got my
equipment all cleaned and stowed neat after yesterday. Lord, I
love rookies! Sure, Tom, come on in. I'm downtown." He gave me
the address and I wrote it down on the card.
Then I dialed the number Officer Moss had given me. I was told
he wasn't in, but when I told the man on the other end that
Officer Moss had wanted me to fill out a report on the accident
yesterday, I was switched to a detective.
"Harris," a familiar voice said.
"Detective, this is Tom Ferguson. Officer Moss asked me to come
in with a report on what I remembered from yesterday from the
automobile accident I was in. I gave a statement to our lawyer,
they say I can use that. I'd like to come in with it."
"After three," the Detective advised without hesitation.
"Between three and five, the main police building downtown."
I told him I'd be there, found that Miriam was ready. She led me
down into a subbasement parking structure; she drove a newer
version of the Camry that had been wrecked the day before. I
told her where I wanted to go, and she just started the car and
drove there.
"Please, come along," I asked her when we arrived at the fire
station. We walked inside; I don't know about Miriam, but I was
a little nervous. Almost at once someone asked Miriam what she
wanted and I answered that I was there to see Johnnie Dugan.
I saw the fireman look me up and down and saw him nod. A minute
later, we were ushered into a large room filled with every sort
of tool and cutting device known to man. Johnnie Dugan was
sitting at a desk in a corner, talking on the phone. He saw me,
waved, and finished up. He grabbed something from his desk, and
handed it to me when I got to him.
I took it, and saw he was looking at Miriam; I smiled to myself.
What I held was a framed picture of my car; taken, I thought,
early on. Not nearly as much foam as there had been when I'd
gotten loose.
I stared at it for a minute, then handed the frame to Miriam and
once again held out my hand. "Johnnie, I owe you."
He laughed, shaking his head but shaking my hand. "My job,
Tom."
"What," I said, fairly sure of the answer I'd get, "are the
chances I could ride along with you some time?"
"Not a chance. There was a reason you spent a lot of time
alone."
"I don't understand."
Miriam was watching us, obviously curious. She glanced at the
picture and I could see her shiver.
I looked closely at the picture, considered what I could see.
Except for ruin, there wasn't much else. Then I noticed a small,
light colored patch in the car window. I put my finger on it.
"That's my elbow, I think."
Johnnie craned to look. "Yep, that's what it is."
Miriam looked at the picture, then back at me. "Yesterday," I
said, trying to keep my voice sounding like things like that
happened all the time.
"Yesterday?" Her face went pale, she handed me back the picture,
almost shoving it into my hands.
I ignored her, wanting to get to my point with Johnnie Dugan.
"I'd like to watch you again, Johnnie. Yesterday you told me I
completed your short course in car cutting. I'd like to have a
better view, next time."
He grinned, but shook his head. "It's really dangerous, Tom.
You have no idea, even the short course... it's not a warm up for
the real thing."
I hadn't thought so, so I switched to something I felt more sure
of. "I'm not stupid or insensitive, Johnnie. But Johnnie, I
might have completed the course, but I don't believe I'm going to
get the t-shirt, am I?"
He looked at me, a faint smile. He shook his head.
"So, I was thinking. My allowance could probably afford some
t-shirts. I realize that maybe not everyone you help might be
interested... or able to appreciate the humor. But some of us,
Johnny, that's all we have out there."
"Amen," his voice was soft.
"Lucky me, today I have a friend who could help with that.
Johnny, this is Miriam Goldberg. Think of her, at least right
now, as my walking, talking, opinionated check book."
I turned to Miriam. "I'd like you to get with Johnnie, work up a
design for a t-shirt for Johnny to give to some of the people he
helps. Johnnie's decision carries the day on the design, how
many, who gets them."
Johnnie nodded. "You're right, Tom. Some, not many. But for
some it'll mean a lot. Say, about two dozen a year."
"Please, Miriam. Work with Johnnie. Whatever he wants."
Miriam had nodded already, and they traded business cards. I
thanked Johnnie again, then we went back to Miriam's car. It was
a little before three, so I asked her to take me to the main
police station.
"Is this about yesterday?" she asked.
"Partly. Partly there are people there too I want to thank." I
grinned at her. "No t-shirts this time."
"Why did you tell him I'm opinionated?"
I grinned at her. "You either voice them or I fire you. I know
you have them, I can see it in your eyes. Please, all I ask is
for you to listen, and if you don't understand, ask questions.
Then you decide."
Again, when we got to the police building I asked her to come
with me. This time they were far more formal. We were given
small badges that said, 'TEMPORARY' and escorted up to a floor
with detectives.
I shook Detective Harris' hand. "Thanks for Dawn," I told him.
"Our job," he repeated the common refrain. "You did yours, and
then some. Thanks, Tom."
"I filled out a statement about the accident at the law office
this morning," I told him, then pulled a copy from the leather
folder I'd gotten. "They didn't have a problem with my giving it
to you." I met his eyes.
He laughed. "Thanks. There's hope for your generation, maybe,
after all.
He gestured at his desk, piled high with paper and photographs.
"We found the car used in the robbery yesterday afternoon, there
was considerable blood on the passenger side, plus some on the
driver's side as well. We put out a bulletin to local hospitals
and picked up two suspects this morning. One went to a Mesa
hospital, the other went to Tempe. They are both in custody,
both have long rap sheets. Not going to get out for years and
years, if ever again."
I saw Polite and Surly, standing across the room, talking with a
small group of others, who, I was sure, were police officers of
one sort or another.
Detective Harris followed my gaze, shook his head. "We all have
crosses to bear. Still, thanks." He waved the deposition I'd
given him.
"This too. Joe said he told you, but I'll repeat it. You ever
need anything, just ask."
"I'm not going to get a ticket?"
Elizabeth had said the robbers would be arrested today; my mind
was on that, instead of thinking about what I was saying. Asking
about a ticket was just plain stupid. Coming after an offer of
help, there was about one way a reasonable person could take the
question.
He laughed. "Well, not for yesterday. You understand, Tom, when
we get eye witness reports, sometimes the stories vary widely.
Sixteen of seventeen said they saw you slow down for the light,
fifteen of those said you didn't speed up until it had been green
for a few seconds. Five or six seconds after it had changed and
before you got into the intersection.
"On the other hand, don't get cocky. We cops think giving a kid
your age a ticket is doing you a favor. Make you think, hope
you'll take care."
"Yesterday did all the scaring I'll ever need," I told him.
We were done, but I wanted to do something else. So I walked
across the room and nodded to Polite. "I was wondering if there
was any progress in finding William Leary's killer?"
Sure enough, Surly got his mouth open first. "We think she's
going to Canada."
I simply stared at him for a second, then turned back to Polite.
"I heard that the last time; I was wondering if there was any
progress?"
"No, there's nothing."
"Thanks," I told him, and we retraced our way out of the
building.
"I got the distinct impression you were baiting those last two
policemen," Miriam said as we settled into her car, letting the
air-conditioning work its miracle.
"That's right," I answered. "I don't like the way they do their
job. I want them to know it."
Miriam looked at me like I was crazy.
I went on. "Just as I like the way Detective Harris does his job
and I let him know."
"Where would you like to go now?" Miriam asked.
"Car shopping." I smiled at her. "Undoubtedly you have a
question or two about what's going on. Welcome to the fellowship
of your fellow confused. But I am not going to go crazy at a car
lot and drive off with the most expensive car I can find. Or the
fastest."
"That was really you? Yesterday?"
"Yes it was, Miriam." I could read what she was thinking in her
eyes. "It's something you just have to do, Miriam. If you quit,
if you give up... it would just make it easier to quit the next
time. So, if you know a good place to buy a larger size car or
van, let's go. Or we can find a phone book someplace and look up
a dealership."
"I have a cousin who's a salesman at Central Dodge. He could get
you a deal," she told me.
"A deal's always good."
She put the car in motion, and I got out the cell phone and
called Tony.
"Tony, what are your plans tomorrow night with Sue Ellen?"
"Sue Ellen's parents have invited me to dinner and then a movie.
Then back here. Quality time with my girl."
"I was thinking it would be a lot of fun to get a bunch of people
and go out together; dinner and a movie. Gloria Rodriquez and
me, Mary and Elizabeth. You and Sue Ellen. JR and Shannon,
Jenny and Katrina. Maybe we could invite Mindy, even if she
doesn't have a date."
"She's been over a couple of times this week, Tom. She has a
date, Michelle Paz. You met her." I remembered that I had met
her at Sue Ellen's.
"Could you give me Mindy's phone number and I'll invite her?"
"Just how many people do you want on this?" Tony asked.
"As many as I can get." I paused, decided that while it would be
nice to tell this to Tony face to face, this way was okay. And
it was something I should do.
"Tony, yesterday after I left..."
"Yeah, we had a good time. You should have stayed."
"Tony, I should have." I swallowed, unsure why I felt so
nervous. "Tony, I wrecked my car."
"You wrecked your car? Are you in trouble?"
"No, but the Camry is totaled, I'm about to go look for something
new."
"Cool, get something like a Spyder or an Eclipse!"
I laughed. "That's not me, Tony. I'm thinking a van. Something
big and heavy, for sure."
I still couldn't come out and tell him. I was almost shaking,
the temptation to shut off the phone and ask Miriam to take me
home was nearly overpowering.
"You okay, Tom?" Tony asked, concern in his voice.
"Piece of cake, Tony," I said glibly. "I was upside for two and
a half hours while they cut me from the car, smelling the leaking
gasoline the whole time."
"Shit!" Tony exclaimed. "You sure you're okay?"
"Tony, I have two small bruises. One of the other people was
killed, two more seriously hurt, two more hurt a little. And all
I got was some minor bruises." I couldn't help it; hearing
Tony's concern meant a lot to me. "I'm working on getting the
t-shirt.
"Tony, tomorrow night, think of it like you'd think of
celebrating the night you won the lottery. My treat for my
friends. As many as we can get together."
Tony agreed, so I called Mary and asked if she would tell
Elizabeth, and ask Jenny to talk to her friend, Shannon to get
with JR.
When I'd finished giving instructions, I felt a little
overwhelmed. The dream the other day had been right, getting
together with my new friends was not going to be easy to do.
I called Gloria, made sure everything was set with her; I had
lots of time, the traffic at 4 in the afternoon was pretty heavy.
Eventually, we arrived at a car dealership, and sure enough,
Miriam's cousin was no where to be found. "His day off," they
told her.
"I'm looking for a van," I informed the salesman who we'd learned
the good news from. "New, large, roomy."
He eyed me, then looked at Miriam, obviously trying to discern
the relationship. "We have," he started to say, "a number of
fine quality used vehicles..."
"New, large, roomy," I repeated.
"Humor him," Miriam added, "pretend like someone else will sign
the papers. Me."
Reluctantly, I was shown several new large Dodge Caravan vans,
even more reluctantly, I was allowed to drive one: around the car
lot. Miriam was very effective, she simply told them that she
wanted to test it too, so she got behind the wheel, we drove
about a quarter of a mile away, she got out, and I took over,
over the salesman's protests.
The van was large, it was roomy and handled well. I liked the
feel of the large steering wheel, I liked the feeling the power
brakes gave me. I was a very happy camper when we got back to
the dealership.
And, of course, they had a lot of problems with selling a $33,000
vehicle to a sixteen year old who had brought his check book to
pay cash.
Miriam was patient, firm, and every time they put in some BS
delay, found another reason to knock down the price. Eventually,
we were dealing with the 'sales manager' who 'knew someone' at
Miriam's bank, and made a call.
After that, it was like at the bank, profuse apologies, what
could he do for us... A while later I thanked Miriam, told her
I'd be in touch, and I drove the new van home.
Uncle Craig was already there, and looked over the van without
much expression. "Gosh, you could have got a Camry for half
that, and bought everyone season tickets to the Diamondbacks," he
said.
I smiled at him. Gosh, you people really do talk too much! That
and you've forgotten how to keep a secret. You know how much the
van cost, which means either the bank, Miriam or both, told you.
Mom showed up a bit later with JR, Jenny, Elizabeth and Shannon.
For an hour, I carried luggage into the house, or transferred it
to the van. By then, Dad and Mary got home, and off I went with
most everyone to Mary's to drop off their stuff, then back to the
house to get everyone for dinner.
I was a little surprised when Dad claimed the wheel to drive us
off to dinner, but I decided that I could ask him why later. I'd
been feeling good all evening; I'm not sure what it is about the
first expensive purchase you make all on your own, but I was
definitely jazzed.
I didn't mind that Uncle Craig had decided to drive to the
restaurant, found no takers and had to go by himself. Shannon
was only too happy to have JR on her lap in the van; that too was
a little amazing. In spite of everything, the van only seated
seven. And we were eight.
At dinner, I got to sit between Mary and Elizabeth, which made me
happy as I could have wanted. Everything was, I thought, coming
back together.
But, there was something more to think about too, because at the
restaurant there were nine of us around the table. There was no
way to talk privately to everyone. JR and Shannon were too far
away, towards one end, Mom and Dad too far the other way. And I
didn't feel much like talking to Uncle Craig, who was across the
table from me.
I dropped off Mary, Elizabeth and Shannon at their place, on the
way home. I pleaded fatigue, which was true, and it was Jenny
who followed me up to my room.
I wanted a shower, and Jenny wanted one too; we didn't spend
overlong at it, being intent on getting done and into bed.
Before lights out, Mom, Dad and JR appeared and we got our good
night hugs and kisses.
When they were gone, I sat down on the bed, Jenny stood
silently, looking at me.
"It's been more than a week," I told her, waving towards the door
where the others had just left, "since we did that the last time.
God, I've missed it."
Jenny nodded silently.
I looked up at her, standing nude next to my bed. A week ago,
had I made love to Jenny, I'd have been content. Not quite a
week ago, if I'd made love to Shannon, I'd have been content. JR
would have contented me, Marsha would have. All in fact, had.
Why wasn't I content?
"You and I think too much," Jenny said softly.
I focused on her, drinking in her beautiful breasts, her
beautiful pussy; I'd not been erect at all during the evening;
now I was, instantly. Jenny saw it and grinned.
Abruptly, she was doubled over, laughing. I tried to retain my
composure, but while I might have retained that, my erection fled
at her gale of laughter.
She finally drew herself up, looked at me, a big grin on her
face. "I was going to do something pointless, Tom. Sorry." She
waved at my flaccid lap toy. "I was going to ask you if we could
pretend again. That I was me, and you were you... and Sam never
existed.
"Tom, I swear, I wish none of this had ever happened. Not what
happened to my parents, not what happened to Sam. I wish I could
forget Sam existed, but I have the memories, up here." She
tapped the side of her head. "You have memories, too. I know."
I could only nod.
Jenny came close, put her hand on my chest and lightly pushed. I
leaned back, and she knelt down in front of me. "Tom, Sam
doesn't exist any more. I don't have to pretend." Her fingers
ran the length of my back-again erection, then she cupped my
balls. "You, Tom. You brought me back. I love you, Tom. Not
the way Elizabeth does, not the way any of your other friends do;
in my way.
"You brought me back, more importantly, you freed me from the
devil's curse. You're a really decent human being, Tom. Then,
you helped me meet someone else, someone I care for in a way I
thought I'd never be able to."
"You love Katrina," I told her.
"Now you know about life partners," Jenny said. "Elizabeth and
Mary have taught you, you've taught them. Katrina and I..."
Jenny grinned, even though her fingers were still wrapped around
my balls, talking about her real lover. "You understand. You
understand all sorts of things."
I contemplated that. If I'd have been asked, I'd have probably
said no, I didn't understand all that much. I'd helped people,
that I had. Sometimes I'd asked, sometimes, I'd just helped.
I'd acted because someone needed help. Better, far better, if it
had never been necessary. But things hadn't been kind, clean or
simple.
"I can't think of anything I'd have done different, if I had to
do it over again," I told her.
Jenny grinned, leaned close and planted a kiss on the head of my
erection. "You are, Tom, a primal force. You could no more have
done differently, than water could run uphill."
She leaned closer, taking me in her mouth.
I nearly died, then. Not in the sense you think, but because
Jenny's teeth touched me in a way that got my attention
instantly. "Ah!" It wasn't pleasurable pain I cried out in.
Jenny looked at me, concern writ large on her face. "What,
Tom?"
"That hurt!" I hated to say it, but it had hurt. A lot.
Jenny looked at me, surprised. "Sam..." I saw her stop
herself.
I reached out, pulled Jenny to me, hugging her. "Jenny, he's
gone. Not only that, you have to think from now on, 'If this is
something Sam liked, is it a good idea?'"
She started to cry, and I hugged her tighter.
"I wanted to go down on you," she said, looking at me. "I
haven't. Joanna likes to do it. Shannon liked it... every one
gets to do it, except me. I wanted so much for you to like
it..."
"You remember a while ago you told me I understood things?"
Jenny nodded, tears still trickling down her cheek.
"Jenny, I understand this. Not to mention, I've shown someone
else how to do it, so I'm up to do a refresher course for you
too."
She leaned close, kissed me on my cheek. "Oh, Tom! I keep
finding ways to hurt you!"
I kissed Jenny on the mouth, hard and horny. I'd kissed her like
that when I'd been making love to her. But not like this, not
when we weren't really started yet. Jenny promptly kissed back,
our arms went around each other, and both of us squeezed
tightly.
When I finally pulled back, I was grinning, my eyes were bright
with passion, desire and love. For a moment, Jenny looked at me,
then shook her head, smiling a little.
"When someone you love hurts you," I told her, "it happens. They
didn't mean to, it just happens. And when it happens, why, you
make it up. Let's make up some more."
She giggled hard, then used her size to lever me back, her tongue
pushing into my mouth. And when she squirmed around and took me
in her mouth, she was more careful, but there was nothing wrong
with her enthusiasm. I remember the final blaze of pleasure as I
peaked; I remember running my hand along her thigh, about all I
could reach.
I was standing on a high cliff, the sun was high in the sky, a
few puffy cumulus clouds hung here and there. The ocean
stretched to infinity in front of me, behind me, hills bulked
into blue distance.
"It is really pretty."
I turned to the voice, it was a woman I didn't recognize,
eighteen or nineteen, I thought. She saw me looking at her, and
grinned.
"A very pretty hotel," she told me, waving her hand around.
I looked more closely. We were standing on a roof of several
acres of extent. Swimming pool, tennis courts; something that
looked like a giant sand box, but with a net. Volley ball?
Quite a few people were doing one thing or another.
We were on a high cliff, atop a building set into the face of the
rock. Below, at the base near the ocean, was a sliver of
blinding white beach, a small half moon arc centered below where
I stood.
I had no control, none. It was as though I was just sitting
inside someone else. "Nothing is too good for my friends." I
said it, it was my voice, but I had nothing to do with what words
were spoken.
I felt someone come up next to me, I turned and saw Elizabeth. A
glowing, radiant Elizabeth; older, mature, serene and confident.
She linked arms with me.
"Jenny sent you a last minute request," Elizabeth said, squeezing
my arm. I lifted an eyebrow. "Please see that Scotty is
toilet-trained by the time she gets back."
"She's only going to be gone three months," what had to be me,
said.
"Jenny says, when you put your mind to it, you can teach anyone,
anything, overnight."
In the distance, far out to sea, a light shone. A shining flare
that grew longer and longer, a tiny silvery sliver at the very
apex of the flame. A beacon that came out of the sea, a shining
sword that stabbed down as it lifted up.
"Keep her safe," I muttered.
"Keep all my sisters safe," Elizabeth breathed softly, next to
me.
Dreams.
What do dreams mean? Anything! That you're asleep!
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