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From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Laura Alban Hunt Ch 27 {Gina Marie Wylie} (Ff, cons)
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Date: Wed,  8 Dec 2004 20:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Laura Ch 27.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: Ff, FF, Cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, 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/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Laura Alban Hunt

Chapter 27 -- A Bowl of Cherries

I looked up from the Good Book and met Marybeth's eyes.  "I don't
know what to say," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"An interesting read."

Marybeth laughed when I said that.  "I saw tears, I saw laughter.
 I saw pride."

"All of that and much more," I told her.  "You read in history
about Julius Caesar and King Tut.  Charlemagne and Charles the
Great.  Ivan the Terrible."

"Don't forget Jesus and Buddha.  They also came preaching love
and not hate."

"It seems almost a crime that so few people have read this."

"She never envisioned the world we live in today; God knows, she
was amazed by the changes.  Do you know she was born before the
Wright Brothers flew?  And she lived to watch men walk on the
moon?  And the one thing she wanted most: for two women to be
able to walk down the street, hand in hand, and not be bothered.
She got to live long enough to see that."

"The other part is going to be harder to bring about," I told
her.

"Yeah.  She was grossed out by NAMBLA.  I've always been
ambivalent about it; I'm not sure if I'm the pot calling the
kettle black."

"What's that?  NAMBLA?"

She smiled in glee.  "The North American Man-Boy Love
Association.  They promote sex between adult men and boys.  They
actually lobby to get the laws changed.  Fat chance."

"Is that so bad?"

"It is if you believe a whole lot of altar boys who were seduced
by their priests.  Of course, a lot of that might depend on the
ease of winning those lawsuits.  I don't know, Laura.  It sounds
the same, but it's never worked the same, at least I don't think
so.

"Sure, it sounds self-serving, but we have a lot of history now
on our side.  Denise is a case in point.  How easy would it be
for Terry to just throw up his hands and walk away from her? 
Carolyn is confused; I know she doesn't like her mother, but who
would, the way Denise has been acting the last few months?  But
Terry wants to make his marriage work, Carolyn can't conceive of
her mother leaving, and Denise is ashamed of herself.

"We don't get many problems like this, but we've put the pieces
back together before.  We will again.  Maybe someday we'll fail,
but I don't think it will be with Denise."

	I turned off the computer, got up and stretched.  Marybeth eyed
me.  "You're not a bad-looking woman, you know."

	"I've heard a few people mention it." I was smiling when I said
that.  "I wouldn't kick you out of bed, either."

	"Have you given any thought to the main problem?"  Marybeth
asked.

	I nodded.  "Yes.  Looking back, it's clear why it worked so well
for so long.  You couldn't afford to tell on someone else,
because it meant you were in water almost as hot.  I'm surprised
you didn't have problems before this."

	"I think we were having problems, which is why we've been
drifting for the last few years.  I think it's why there's been
more pushing, too.  If you come on strongly to someone and they
say no, it doesn't cause the gossip it once might, and no one
looks at your friends to see if there's a common thread.  Rhett
Butler syndrome."

	"Pardon me?" I asked, confused.

	"Rhett Butler.  You know, 'Frankly my dear, I don't give a
damn!'"

	"Oh!" I exclaimed.

	"Yeah, oh.  And the first time a girl gets it into her head to
lash out at one of us because she didn't get what she wants...
now that will be a mess!"

	"Maybe the conservatives are right, society is going to hell in
a hand basket.  Loss of our moral compass or whatever."

	"That had to be a joke, right?" Marybeth asked.

	"Not a very funny one.  But I think it's true.  Everything's
becoming relative, morally equivalent.  Maybe some day people
would accept what we do, but not in time for us."

	"No, I don't expect so.  But any ideas?"

	"How do you make someone swear an oath, based on their personal
honor?" I asked rhetorically, "when the whole concept of honor
has pretty much been replaced by self-actualization and personal
aggrandizement?"

	"True enough.  In the past it was loyalty to your teammates and
it never mattered what kind of teammates; that was the glue that
held them together.  Stitched together by the social downside of
what else we liked.   We still have the glue, but even that's
been weakened.  People move so much, they come and go, you don't
stay and bond as once was true.  Even when everyone else was
moving, our girls have tended not to.  And when they did, we
could send them to someone who was a fellow traveler.  It's been
getting harder and harder to do that.

	"I know Nancy's expressed some doubts about transfers, even
girls who were vouched for from elsewhere."

	She paused to think.  "I believe our girls have loyalty in
greater measure than most others, but like everything else any
more, it's just a shadow of what it once was.  Personal honor? 
If Shirley or Reggie had any sense of it, they'd never have
talked outside the group.  Honor and loyalty; they are something
you have to suck with your mother's milk.  You can't teach that
to a teenager.  Not with any certainty."

	"Surely some of the others must have noticed by now, too?"  I
asked.

	"I was thinking the same thing.  We don't send many emails, but
for something like this, it will be best."  She waved at the door
to her office.  "Why don't you go out there, eat someone for
lunch, maybe."

	I stuck my tongue out at her.  "Don't tempt me!"

	I left her sitting at the computer and wandered into the living
room.  Denise was sitting on the couch, talking to Amy and a girl
I recognized from the squad, even if I didn't know her name.

	Amy smiled at me.  "My dad's coming over soon.  He says Mom is
feeling better."

	I gave her a warm, sisterly hug and she smiled at me.

	"Denise was telling me about how worried you guys are," Amy said
after we let go.  "I wouldn't talk, not even if they were pulling
my arms and legs off with hot pinchers!"

	The other girl was a year older than Amy and, I thought, more
mature.  "I don't think any of us would say anything, Amy.  It
would be a betrayal of everyone on the squad, and all those who
came before us.  That would be the worst rat thing a person could
do."

	The girl looked at me.  "Amy told me about how you're helping
her and her family.  That's what we do.  We help each other. 
With grades, with personal problems, even just staying on the
squad can be hard, sometimes."

	"Laura's helping my family, too," Denise offered up.  "For no
reason I can see, except that she can and wants to help."

	"I like Carolyn and Terry," I told her.

	Denise flashed me a wintry, weary, woeful smile.  "One day I
want to be on the list of your friends."

	The girl looked at Denise curiously, but didn't say anything.

	I held out my hand to her.  "I'm Laura Alban Hunt, wonderful
helpmeet, incompetent with names."

	"Vivian Sloan," she responded.  She had an odd handshake, sort
of like I'd seen politicians use.  "One of these days, I'll be
old enough to change my name, it'll be Peggy Vivian Sloan."

	She smiled at me.  "I understand you've been reading some of my
family history."

	Her eyes were mesmerizing.  "I'm not related by blood to anyone
in it.  I was nearly seven years old when I was adopted.  But my
adoptive mother was Clara Denham's granddaughter, Peggy Sloan.  I
went to Miss Peggy's funeral."

	"Viv's mother was killed in a car accident eight years ago,"
Denise told me.  "And she was her mother in all ways but the
one."

	"Even if it was just for a year and a half," Vivian agreed. 
"Since then my grandmother Peggy and Angie raised me."

	I grinned at her.  "Want a hug?"

	She grinned back.  "Almost never can get enough!"

	I hugged her to me, and as was so familiar any more, the press
of her breasts against mine made me sigh.  Neither of us was
wearing a bra, I could tell she felt pretty much the same way.

	Terry Bowden showed up then and I gave Amy another hug before
she went off.

	"You'd never know her mother was dying," Vivian said as I closed
the door.  "For me, it was quick.  My dad showed up at school to
tell me what had happened.  I don't know how people can stand
protracted goodbyes."

	"I'm a widow; I don't know either."

	She nodded, "I heard.  Marybeth also told me that after reading
the Good Book all morning, you just might be a little horny."

	"Just a little or a lot?" I asked her. "I'd have to say a lot."

	"Well, I've been dying to meet you.  Would you like to show me
your etchings?"

	I laughed, "No etchings, but I do have the loan of a bedroom."

	"Even better!"

	Denise caught my eye and waved towards the bedrooms, a gleam in
her eye.

	I took Vivian's hand and led her away.

	Inside the bedroom, I kicked off my shoes and turned to her.

	She was standing, watching me.  A crooked smile on her face.  "I
know what you're thinking," she said, her voice a whisper.

	"What am I thinking?"

	"That you have to be crazy.  For wanting to make love to a
sixteen year old girl.  To a girl you met a few minutes ago. 
There are all kinds of words people use to describe girls who do
that sort of thing with guys."

	"Slut, tramp, whore."

	"And worse.

	"Laura, my mother, my grandmother, and all of their mothers and
grandmothers all the way back, wrote in the Good Book.  Marybeth
may have a copy of it, but there's a verbal tradition as well,
particularly in my family.

	"Almost as soon as I was adopted, Mom began to tell me stories:
about girls who played hard and did well, who won games and
championships in the most amazing feats of derring-do you can
imagine.  All girls, all sisters, I was told at first.  Not
sisters of blood, but sisters of the heart, who loved each other
like their real sisters.

	"I was too young when my mother was killed to understand all
those stories and just what she meant by loving each other.  But
those stories had an enormous impact on someone as messed up as I
was in those days.

	"When I went to Miss Peggy's funeral, I was a hard case.  I
smoked, I drank, I did drugs.  It was kind of a last gasp of hope
by a few of my mother's friends that I might see the light.  Did
I mention I have a living grandmother and great-grandmother as
well?  They don't quit; they never quit.

	"I stood there and looked into the casket of the old woman, and
I turned around and looked at all the women around me, who'd come
to pay homage to her.  I met some of the heroes from those
stories I'd been told.  I shook hands with them, and they all
looked at me with the calm confidence that you all have.

	"I scandalized everyone, because I leaned in and kissed her on
the forehead.  I swear, Laura, there was a spark.  Something
jumped between us.  Something I don't really understand.  She's
inside me, I know she is."

	I was silent, trying to digest it.  There were times I felt
totally evil and depraved, that all I was doing was justifying to
myself slaking my lusts on fragile teenage girls.

	Only what was the truth?  Who was fragile?  My daughter, who had
buoyed me up after Roger was killed?  Carolyn, who had taken
savage abuse from her mother... and still talked about wanting to
do things with her.  Who was fragile?  This sixteen year old girl
standing in front of me, glowing in the dimness of the bedroom? 
Or me?

	"I want to found a church," Vivian said.  "The First Church of
Peggy, Reincarnate.  A church with priestesses like you and
Marybeth, Nancy and Denise and all the others who've gone before.
 And acolytes like myself who do our learning, but not at your
feet."

	She giggled then.  "Which makes it our holy duty to get naked
and make love for the rest of the afternoon."

	I looked at her, feeling a little silly and giddy.  "Some day, I
want to make love to one of you, wearing a cheerleader uniform."

	Vivian looked me up and down.  "You're a little older than
usual, I'm not sure we have anything in your size.  But I'm sure
we could fix one up."

	I realized that I'd phrased it wrong, that Vivian had known
exactly what I meant and had pulled my leg anyway.

	I reached out and began pulling off her blouse, and then I undid
her shorts and pushed them down.  When she was down to the buff,
I lay on my back on the bed and positioned her over my mouth.

	I was feeling really horny, and I could sense that Vivian was as
well.  This time I didn't bother with preliminaries, instead,
seeking out her clit with my tongue.  I fluttered my tongue over
it and heard her sigh with pleasure.

	Viv moved, sighing and moaning as I slaked my thirst.  She
twisted and pushed, sometimes matching me, other times moving in
opposition.  It was wonderfully delicious trying to anticipate
her moves, with that special girl tang as a reward.

	I don't know how many times she came; I took each orgasm as a
pat on the back and then went on to do it again.

	Viv finally lifted up and moved to lie next to me, her tongue
pushing into my mouth.  I kissed her, feeling the same sort of
teenage urgency and fervor.

	After a few minutes of that, Vivian pulled away. "Now you know
me for the total perv I am.  The person's taste I love best is my
own.  There are times I can't get enough."

	I kissed her again, but this time resisted her tongue entering
my mouth.  After a few seconds, we were rolling over and over in
bed, trying to tickle each other.  Finally the two of us were
laughing too hard to do anything more than just lie there
together, wrapped up in each other's arms.

	She moved down and started suckling on one of breasts, reminding
me a great deal of Susan.  I arched my back and came, surprising
me that I'd come so quickly.  She nipped one of my nipples and I
came again.  Her finger penetrated me and I wanted to curl into a
little happy, complete ball.

	It took a while for my heart to stop hammering, my breathing to
slow to something less than a steam engine chuffing frantically
away.

	I reached out and took her by the shoulders, swung her up, so
that the two of us were sitting up in the bed, facing each
other.

	"Vivian," I started, sounding too serious, even to myself.

	"Laura."  She was mocking me, but it was with a smile.

	"Do you know Elena Bustamonte?"

	"Sure, she graduated a few years ago.  She's the one whose
father is a priest."

	"Have you ever been with her?"

	Vivian looked at me and shook her head.  "Why do you ask?"

	"Who do you live with?"

	"My adoptive grandmother, Peggy Brewster Sloan and her wife,
Angie.  They've considered themselves married for more than fifty
years.  Awesome."

	"Are you happy there?" I asked.

	Vivian shrugged.  "I'm not unhappy.  But I'm not blind; I see
grandmother Peggy look at me at times and then she goes into her
room.  I know she cries.  I don't know if it's for me, for my
mom, or what.  It breaks my heart; Angie doesn't say anything,
but I know sometimes she worries.  Grandma Peggy isn't in the
best of health."

	"I'm buying a great huge house for me and my friends.  If you'd
like, you could join us."

	Her eyes lit up.  "We could do this some more?"

	I nodded.

	"Who, besides Elena?"  Vivian asked.

	"My daughter, Susan.  Sherrie Licht."

	"I know Sherrie; she graduated last year.  Her girlfriend
decided it was time to go straight, I heard."

	"Close enough," I told her.  "Some others who visit.  Denise's
daughter Carolyn, Amy and her friend, Fred.  Some others."

	Vivian grinned.  "Sounds like you're working on a harem."

	I shrugged.  "Sounds like.  You were the one who said it,
Vivian.  The First Church of Peggy."

	For a second she stared at me; her expression had gone blank,
showing nothing.  She shook herself.  "Jesus!  Sometimes I get so
paranoid.  You're serious.  You believe me.  You really believe
me.  You don't think I'm kidding."

	"I believe you.  And yes, I'm serious.  I mean, I just can't
wave a magic wand and make it happen.  It will take a while. 
There's the chance that I'm going to be assigned a foster child
as well.  I'm told they want my scalp and that I'm going to get
someone incorrigible."

	Vivian shook her head.  "Laura, I was incorrigible.  Been there,
done that.  Never want to get close to that again.  Your world
narrows until you can focus on just this minute.  Not tomorrow or
next week, just at the moment.  You don't think about the future.
 The way to get out of it is to wake up, look around, look at
yourself, smell the roses and decide you can do better.  Then you
can just walk away.  But what sounds as easy as pie is harder
than trying to lift a rock too heavy for even God to lift. 
Sometimes, you just can't."  She reached out and touched my arm.
"A lot of the people I knew like that are dead.  Not even
sixteen, but dead.  Dead."

	She shivered; her eyes glowed in agony.  "I want to help. 
Please, Laura, let me help."

	"Others have a say, as will you.  We have to be together.  Like
the cheerleaders, only more so."

	Vivian nodded gravely.

	There was a soft rap on the door; I considered ignoring it,
because I was very, very hungry.

	"Yes," I said, giving in to decades of politeness hammered into
me.

	"Laura, it's Denise.  When you have a minute, could we talk?"

	Vivian reached out and took my hand.  "Later, I want to be with
you.  Tonight."

	I nodded.

	"But Denise... she needs help.  This isn't my thing, you know?"

	"I understand."

	"Save up some energy for me!" She bounced up and opened the
door, and left, not bothering to dress.

	Denise stood there hesitantly, looking at me.  "Please?"

	"Sure, Denise."

	She came in and closed the door behind her.  She walked to the
bed and looked at me as I sat there nude and well loved and
pretty well tickled out.

	"How can I say I'm sorry, when you don't want to hear the
word?"

	"Deeds, not words," I told her.  "Deeds can speak more words
than a thousand pictures."

	I saw her eyes widen as she got the message.

	"For years and years, I watched the sisters.  I knew the older
women made love to the younger girls, the ones who wanted it. 
Most girls weren't interested, but there were always some.  I was
one of those, and when I got older, I wanted to be like those
older women.  Even after Carolyn was born I was like Marybeth
said.  I wouldn't turn away a cherry... or even if someone wasn't
cherry.  But, God save me, I liked to be a girl's first lover. 
It made me feel so..."  She shook her head as words failed her.

	"Then Carolyn was born.  She was a cute baby.  She was a cute
young girl.  Heart-stoppingly beautiful.  I could, I realized,
reach out my hand and she would be mine.  Carolyn is curious,
trusting.  It always worked in the past, even the times when it
was mother and daughter.

	"I got cold feet, Laura.  I looked at my daughter, and then I
looked at myself in the mirror.  There I was, thirty-something,
looking forward to the day I could take my daughter to bed and
make her a woman.  I looked at my future, as I raised a daughter
so that I could make love to her.  I wondered how I could think
about that, I wondered what Terry would think if he knew.

	"It made me sick to my stomach.  So I put my sex life in a box
and left it there.  I worked, I kept house.  Then one day Carolyn
came home from the party that first time.  She glowed.  She
talked about you.  I knew what was going to happen; I knew it
wasn't going to be me.  I know I'd been lying to myself all that
time and that I desperately wanted to be with Carolyn.  Except
somewhere in there I'd convinced myself it was wrong.

	"All the things we teach ourselves and each other about being
cool and not coveting someone else's special person... all of
that seemed to pale in my eyes.  You were going to be Carolyn's
first.

	"I found a million reasons to take out my frustration and fear
on Carolyn.  God, I just fell apart!  She was there at your
house, having a good time, surrounded with like-minded girls, all
having a good time.  Not only was I not going to be first, I had
lots of competition!"

	She was sobbing.  "I don't know what I can do to make it
right!"

	I spoke quietly, "Denise, it's history.  You can do things to
show that you aren't that person any more, but you can't undo
what's happened.  It's not as bad as you think, though.  Carolyn
is a wonderful young woman; I think you should think about that,
first and foremost.  You did good, woman!  You and all of the
others who helped raise Carolyn, you did a good job!

	"Mothers and daughters... that's not common.  I don't know.  You
have to be extra careful.  Never very often.   Take one day at a
time, think it through and do the right thing.  After a while,
it's what you do without thinking."

	I stopped, thinking.  Vivian had said that in the awful world
she'd dwelt in, you needed to look around.  Wasn't I
contradicting that?  She had to know what would work and what
wouldn't.  Or was it what she said as she left?  This wasn't her
thing.  That one solution doesn't apply to all problems.  If you
are going too fast, you need to slow down.  If you are going too
slow, you have to speed up.  Both cases, you had to use judgment.
 That was the hang-up, I thought, when you had faulty judgment. 
And usually you would be the last to know you were screwing up.

	Was that why the cheerleaders did so well?  They gossiped; they
knew everyone's business.  And they weren't shy about commenting
on mistakes and, more importantly, reacted to problems quickly,
with all the force necessary to resolve the problem.  Even if the
"force" involved was a good finger fuck from a friend.  Or a good
talking-to by someone older and wiser.

	I laughed at that, thinking of Vivian.  Maybe you just needed to
be wiser.

	"What?" Denise asked.

	"I was thinking through how the cheerleaders resolve problems. 
Then I realized I'd left out the last step."

	"I don't understand."

	I smiled at her.  "After everything is under control, you make
furious love and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow."

	Denise looked at me, and then looked away. "I didn't think I had
any right.  I look at you, and you are all the things I wish I
was, that I long to be.  I..."

	"Denise, I was thinking it would be really nice if someone went
down on me.  Then I want to see what I taste like.   I'm not
better than you, Denise, just different.  We have a lot of the
same tastes, you and I.  I think most of what I've learned in the
last few weeks is not to be ashamed of my urges.  Like anything,
they can lead you the wrong way, but on the other hand, they can
lead you to someplace really wonderful."

	She knelt down in front of me, and I spread my legs, opening
myself to her.

	She leaned close, and did to me what I'd done to Vivian,
fluttering her tongue over my clit.  I swallowed and nearly came,
a second later I did come.  Her tongue could move at a speed that
I found incredible.  A few seconds after I'd come once, I was
nearly there again.  Denise reached up and started rubbing my
breasts, not the gentle strokes of Vivian, but strong and
masculine, massaging them roughly.

	And a few minutes later her tongue surged into my mouth, while
she kept on roughing my breasts.  I licked and sucked my own
juices; I smiled to myself.  I liked Vivian's taste better.  And
Elena's.  Jamie and Susan... not so much.  I was a perv, too!

	"Do you suppose," I said, whispering into Denise's ear, "that
Marybeth has a dildo someplace close?"

	Denise looked at me, her eyes bright.  "You want that?"

	I nodded.

	Denise smiled.  "Marybeth loves them, there's almost always one
around when you need it."

	She got out of bed and went to a dresser and pulled it open,
then dug under some things and held one up.  "This will do!"

	She set it on top of the dresser, and then stripped out of her
clothes.  Marybeth was an amateur, compared to Denise, when it
came to using a dildo.  She brought me off three times in such
rapid succession that I nearly passed out.  Then I did fall
asleep.

	When I awoke, I was alone and it was late afternoon, early
evening, with shadows starting to lengthen.  I showered and
joined the others, working on dinner.  Nancy was there; Shirley
was back as well.

	It was a fantastic meal, cooked by people who took pride in what
they did.  We sat around afterwards, talking late into the night.
 It didn't matter to me that some were younger than others. 
Marybeth, Denise, Nancy and I weren't the same ages, and we were
peers.  Vivian and Shirley were intelligent and if not as
knowledgeable as the rest of us, eager and willing to listen.

	And if I was a little surprised by the pairings when it came
time to go to bed, it wasn't much of a surprise.  Shirley went
with Denise, Nancy and Marybeth left Vivian and me making out on
the couch.  We retired to my bedroom and made love and talked the
rest of the night.

	Sunday's sun was peeping over the horizon before the two of us
curled up together.  I couldn't remember ever feeling more
comfortable with anyone before.  I held Vivian after she was
asleep, amazed and proud at the same time.  I didn't know what we
could do to keep this going, but we had to find a way!  Finally I
leaned close, kissed her hair and was asleep seconds later.

	Waking up at eleven wasn't easy, although Vivian was bright-eyed
and eager to make love one last time.  I was reminded of Peggy's
writing about her differences with Angie, particularly Peggy's
brushing her teeth first thing.  Considering where Vivian was
kissing me, I didn't think a furry tongue was going to be a
handicap.

	Then we showered together and used the same basin to brush our
teeth, brush our hair and make ourselves as close to presentable
as two naked women can be.

	Then we dressed; I put on a turquoise-green blouse and white
jeans, Vivian wore khaki shorts and a Scottsdale High T-shirt.

	We'd missed breakfast, but were in time for lunch.

	I smiled at Marybeth.  "I apologize I didn't read more in the
Good Book."

	"You'll just have to keep coming back until you finish.  It's
only a million and a half words."

	I sipped on my ice tea and considered that it was definitely
going to take more than a weekend to read something that long.

	Nancy took Denise home right after lunch.  Denise was looking
far more relaxed and I mentally crossed my fingers and wished her
all the luck in the world.  They were working on plans to have
dinner with Terry and Carolyn at Nancy's house later.

	I offered to drop Vivian off and she laughed. "If you do that,
I'll never let you leave without meeting my grandmothers."

	"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

	I called home and told Susan to tell everyone I'd be home about
two in the afternoon.  Then I drove Vivian home.

	Vivian lived in the southern part of town, due south on
Scottsdale Road, near McDowell Road.  "I take the bus to school,"
she told me.  "It's a trip and a half in the morning, but not so
bad in the afternoon.  On practice days it can be pretty late
when I get back."

	She led me inside and a woman in her seventies greeted us.  "I'm
Angie Mann," she told me.  Her eyes sparkled with life and
energy.

	"Laura Alban Hunt," I replied.  We didn't shake hands, instead,
we traded kisses.

	"I've heard about you," she said with a smile.

	"And I've read a tiny bit about you."

	She shrugged.  "We are the worst gossips in the world."

	"Back before there was writing and printing, it was called
history.  I've learned that it isn't as bad as people make it
sound."

	She smiled.  "Well said!  I never thought of gossip in terms of
oral history.  We tend to think of gossip as a pejorative.  The
stuff we wish people wouldn't talk about."

	She reached out and took my hand.  "Come, meet Peggy."

	She led me from the living room into a room at the back of the
house, where the rays of the sun slanted inside.  Peggy Brewster
was sitting on a hard-backed wooden chair, crocheting.  She
looked up when we came in and smiled.  "Afternoon, Vivian.  Did
you have a good time?"

	"Yes, Grandma.  Grandma, this is Laura Alban Hunt."

	She smiled at me.  "I'd stand up and give you a kiss, but my
legs don't really pay much attention anymore to what the rest of
me wants."

	I walked over and leaned down, kissing her like Angie had kissed
me.

	"You've come along rather late in life, I understand?"  Peggy
asked me when I was upright again.

	"Yes, ma'am."

	"It's just Peggy, I gave up on formality a long time ago."

	"I'd say I'm a Johnny-come-lately but I've learned a new
perspective on things."

	She smiled slightly.  "I had a similar perspective at the
beginning of my life, then in the first days of feminist
revolution.  I should have remembered what happened the first
time.  There are decent, kind and wonderful men in the world. 
The feminists went off track in the worst way when they tried to
write men out of existence.  You can't mess with Mother Nature. 
There's a lot of hardwiring in our brains that serve to give them
a certain attraction.

	"And most men blink and shake their heads when they hear the
rhetoric about men dominating women, keeping them slaves of their
hormones and gender."  She looked at me.  "But I suspect I'm
preaching to the choir."

	"You are, but there's a reason preacher men keep repeating the
Bible stories we grew up with.  They are good lessons and
sometimes people need to be reminded."

	"Amen," Peggy said and all four of us laughed.

	"Laura says that I might be able to come and live with her,
Grandma," Vivian told her.

	The old woman's eyes met mine.  I don't know how long we traded
looks, but finally she smiled again.  "Might be able to, eh?"

	"I have a daughter and some others I want to check with.  Could
Vivian come over next weekend?"  I asked.

	"You sleeping with my granddaughter?"

	"Yes."

	"Lately she's got some very odd ideas.  Considering what she was
like before, I think it's an improvement, but I'm still not sure
I like it."

	"We need to do something, Peggy," I told her.  "Two of the girls
on Nancy's squad were talking to someone from outside... about
things."

	She grimaced.  "I think we've known all along that our soft spot
was all the gossip we engage in.  It's only good up to a point."

	"Things have certainly changed in the last ten years," Angie
said, agreeing.  "I would never have thought we could come so
far, so fast.  I've never been comfortable with in-your-face
politics, but it looks like I was wrong."

	"Was it that, or just a growing tolerance in our society?"  I
asked.  "Not just for gays, but people of color, people of
different backgrounds?"

	"Hard to say," Peggy said.  "I keep waiting for the pendulum to
swing back the other way."

	"I'd hate to see that," I told her.

	"Don't we all," chorused the three of them at once.  They all
exchanged looks and laughed.

	"Well, now I know where Vivian lives.  I will talk to her later
in the week.  Right now, I need to get home."

	"You do look a little peaked, dear," Angie told me.

	"Good friends, good company.  A better way to spend a weekend
doesn't exist!"  I told them.

	Vivian came outside with me, and before I left, reached out and
took my hand.  "Thanks, Laura."

	"Thank you, Vivian.  I'm going to be giving your idea some
thought, you know."

	"I'd give anything to make it work."

	I smiled.  "Too many martyrs in the early days of religion. 
Let's see if we can be a little thoughtful and avoid that."

	"Yes!"

	When I was back on the road, I drove automatically, paying only
the least amount of attention to the traffic.  What a great deal
I had to think about!

<1st attachment end>


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