Babypants

littlebopeeper has left a comment on Katari's TEQUILA INDUCED CHAOS to the effect that tequila shots use high end reposado and not the low end stuff that typically goes into margaritas. In my HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, there is a running joke (explained at the beginning of the story) that Ian's drinking bouts play out in accordance with "Hong Kong Rules." In short, when you don't have much money, cheaper is better. In the "cop bar" scene that will unfold on Thursday night (we are now at Thursday morning), Ian, Vickie, Priscilla and Amos will be challenging the Fifth Precinct's reigning champions on behalf of the Third. The revision now has Vickie, nose in the air, declaring that she's a tequila snob, and will only drink reposado. But Ian still insists on drinking rotgut in the time honored manner of any American serviceman on leave in Hong Kong during the Vietnam war. Their difference of opinion will play out in the bar, where I'll set it up as a Marx Brothers skit, with all the cops weighing in on one side or the other. Either way, a good time will be had by all, although it's a foregone conclusion that Priscilla's team will win because only Amos will not be wearing a diaper, while the cops will make the mistake of relying on stakeout trained bladders, not diapers, to see them through to victory (first team visibly to piss itself loses). And this plays into another joke that runs through AARDVARK, namely that Julia Canon hates stakeouts because she doesn't have a cast iron bladder. Comments from readers have also impacted how Tippi Bjornsen is going to be punished for her part in the diaper heist, to give a second example of reader input. Bouncing ideas off of readers who take a real interest in one's story can pay rich dividends.

Dave has it exactly right. I do a lot of business with Bambino, and have learned how to use ACCOUNT to avoid dealing with Shop. Roughly a third of the time, the discount fails to come up, so I cancel the order and start from scratch. Works every time. Now, I wish I knew how to use the coded coupons they send me with each order, and the points that I've been accumulating over time. Like every other company out there, Bambino assumes a level of tech awareness on the part of its customers that I cannot meet.

When I was growing up in Los Angeles (50s and 60s), there were no less than three different diaper services delivering weekly in my neighborhood, and all had pin on, cloth adult diapers. They were also readily available for purchase at infant's wear and medical supply stores. Vinyl baby pants in adult sizes (and dramatically different quality) were easy to find. I began using an adult service when I was 17, and continued to do so when I moved to Toronto, then back to LA, and ultimately to Minneapolis. Here I was a customer of Crib Diaper Service until they finally shut their doors. Paired with Comco's wonderful vinyl pants, their diapers (delivered in a gaudily decorated diaper service truck) provided excellent daytime coverage, but needed to be reinforced with baby diaper stuffers at night (this was common to my diaper experience from all these services). There are excellent cloth diapers available for purchase as we speak. I have never had to use stuffers with the Baby Pants product at night, and there are many quality products in the marketplace for daytime wear. However, unless you are a stay at home, disposable are a more practical answer for daytime use.

Duran Duran, Ordinary World

One of the fun things about posting stories on this site is the chance to interact with readers. More than once,I have revised the content of future chapters in response to a reader's comment-- and not just in comments on my own work. Last night, reading a comment on another story that I'm following, inspiration hit. I immediately pulled up a finished scene and edited it to make use of the reader's observation. A planned but still unwritten scene still farther out will also be influenced by this observation. It should also be noted that, around here, lack of comments does not equate to lack of interest. Only a very small percentage of the people coming here to read our work ever leave a comment. So, let me finish by saying yet again what many here have said before me: write for your own enjoyment, and because you have a story to tell. If you are a halfway decent writer, at some point you will hit the sweet spot, and the comments will come.

Thanks for the like. Like Vickie in Homage, Suzie is more complex than she seemed when first you met her. Bernice is also worth keeping an eye on. Her relationship with Ian will prove special for them both.

A NEW DAY “Good morning, baby girl,” Sarah whispered in Vickie's ear as she rubbed her shoulder. “Time to rise and shine, and drink your ba bas!” Sarah had awakened to find Vickie's head still nestled up against her chest, the rhythmic beating of her heart soothing her baby as once, long ago, the beating of a mother's heart had perhaps comforted her in the womb. Sarah had taken her time getting out of bed, choosing to let Vickie sleep since there was only room for one in her bathroom. She had showered and dressed, and fixed her hair and makeup before retreating to the kitchen to warm the last two bottles of breast milk in the frig. There was still one clean diaper left in Vickie's diaper bag, which would have to do until they got to work. Sarah wanted Vickie to become functionally incontinent as quickly as possible, which meant a steady diet of breast milk laced with diuretics and laxatives. Her target was six to eight diaper changes a day, and for all of them to be poopy. From Sarah's point of view, the diaper pails that she had at home, and in both her office and Rita's, couldn't fill up fast enough. “Did you sleep well, Sweetie?” “Yes, Mommy! Like a baby,” Vickie cleverly replied. “Aw, you're so cute, and Mommy loves you sooo much! Now, let me crawl into bed, sit up, and cradle you in my lap. It's time for breakfast!” Vickie obliged, and a few moments later was sucking on the nipple of her pink baby bottle. As she nursed, she felt completely at peace. Looking down on her new baby, Sarah was silently cursing herself. She had known Vickie for almost ten years, and in all that time had paid no attention to the warning signs. Living life on the high wire was a self-destructive cry for help, and she had ignored it-- she and Rita, both. No more. We're a family, and it took having Ian come along to drive the point home … drive it into our very thick skulls. We're a family, and what do families do when one of us is hurting? We pitch in, and we help. Vickie needs her mother … needs to experience love at first hand. That's where Rita and I come in, so that … Please,God, please let Vickie and Ian have children! “Diapee, Mommy! Diapee!” “Oh, you finished your ba ba already?? Such a good baby girl! Yes, you are; yes, you are!” Sarah fished the key to Vickie's diaper cover out of her pocket, and unlocked it. Vickie raised her hips, and Sarah quickly removed the cover and baby pants, setting them aside. They were clean enough to be reused, but would soon need to be replaced. On both, the smell from Vickie's poop was unmistakable. Sarah ran her hand over Vickie's diaper, and was delighted to discover that it was soaked. Her baby girl had wet heavily during the night, and perhaps more than once. Her control was rapidly slipping away. Leaning down, Sarah took a deep breath, and instantly recoiled. “Baby girl, did you make a poopies in your sleep for your mommy?” Sarah found it remarkably easy to speak to Vickie as if she were an infant. “Poopy, Mommy … poopy!” “Well, let's get you out of that dirty diaper, get you into the tub, and get that cute, little bottom of yours nice and clean! Does that sound good, baby girl?” “Yes, Mommy! Clean!” Taking Vickie by the hand, Sarah led her into the bathroom, but did not attack her diaper until she was safely in the tub. When she unpinned the heavy, wet fabric, it was full of mushy poop, which was also coating the whole of her nether region. During the night, the laxatives had done their work. “I'm sorry, Mommy; I'm such a baby.” “Don't be sorry, baby girl.” Sarah was using a damp washrag to clean off as much of the mess as possible, but suddenly she paused. “I'm sorry, Vickie. I love you … you and Rita, both … my sisters. And I am so ashamed that I never saw how much you were hurting.” “She never loved me,” Vickie wailed. “I was … was such an inconvenience … a … a blemish on her country club standing. She never loved me!” Vickie broke down completely, holding onto Sarah for dear life, Sarah hugging her close in return. “The past is the past, over and done.” Sarah was whispering into Vickie's ear, trying to give her hope, trying to connect with whatever vestige of faith in others that Vickie could still muster. “I love you, baby girl, now and forever. And Ian loves you … God, how that man loves you! Both of you will always be my babies, long after yours have grown up and run off to make lives of their own. And you will, you know? You and Ian? My crystal ball tells me that you will have at least two daughters, maybe more!” Sarah hugged Vickie, willing her to let go, willing her tears to flow. For both of them, the morning had brought a new day. . . . . Opening the door just a crack, Bernice peeked into the guest room. In the last hour before dawn, it was still pitch black outside, and the only light entering the room came from the hallway behind her. In the darkness, she could not tell if Ian was still asleep. Entering the room but leaving the door partially open, Bernice approached the bed. Looking down, she saw that he was still sleeping peacefully, still holding tight to the pacifier that Suzie had offered him the night before. What a contradiction in terms you are. Truly, an enigma. In the semi darkness, standing beside the bed, Bernice was studying him, trying to get all the disparate pieces of the puzzle that was Professor Ian Grady to come together in a meaningful pattern. I'm glad that Suzie came over, and offered to help get you settled in for the night. And it was so nice of you to let her feed you the bottles of breast milk that Sarah insists you drink at bedtime, though what that's all about I have absolutely no idea. And as for the pacifier … Bernice shook her head, still baffled by what she had seen and learned about this young man. Suzie told me how you helped Wendy Stafford, and something about volunteering to help vets at the hospital. And last night you helped my girls, kept most of them from making a terrible mistake that would tear this house apart and saddle them with lifelong guilt … What you told them about Viet Nam … lifting the veil on all the hurt you carry around inside you … collapsing into Priscilla's arms with another seizure … how can you do this to yourself? Does retreating into infancy like this somehow balance the scale? Allow you to function? Bernice set the two bottles of warm breast milk on the nightstand, where they would be within easy reach of the couch. She would wake him, feed him, change his diaper during the course of his morning routine, and offer him a decent breakfast. The Chief would swing by to pick them both up, delivering Ian to his morning class and her to a meeting with the Dean that was bound to be awkward and humiliating in the extreme. Later, the three of them would go downtown, to the courthouse, where Ian and the District Attorney would do their best to sell a settlement to the court that would spare the girls public exposure yet satisfy the wrath of the gangster who owned the diaper service. Bernice desperately wanted her girls back. There were only eleven in the house, and it felt as empty as a tomb. These would be gone by term's end, leaving her with forty-one charges with a criminal record hanging over their heads-- forty-one charges who would be wearing and using diapers 24/7 for the rest of their university careers. If Tippi and Cindy agree to Ian's plan … if the DA doesn't have a change of heart when he gets up this morning … if the judge will go along with this absurd plan to keep Spats Belmondo at bay … Truly, an enigma. . . . . It was a morning ritual that dated back to Priscilla's mid-teens. Her dad got up first, and headed downstairs to start the percolator. When the paper landed on the front porch, he went out to collect it. Then, cup of scalding black coffee in hand, he sat down, took out the sports pages, and settled back to read about the latest misadventure suffered by the Twins or the Vikings, the North Stars or the Gophers. Forever doomed to be teased but disappointed, only a masochist could love sports in Minnesota. This Thursday morning started out like all the others. In due course, Julia staggered down the stairs-- a person best avoided until she had drowned her displeasure with the world in general and Minnesotans in particular in a cup of joe, no cream or sugar added, thank you very much. Julia hated mornings almost as much as she hated stakeouts. When she arrived on scene, like Pavlov's dog Herb put down his cup, opened the paper wide, and hid behind the thin but hopefully impenetrable barrier of the Star Tribune. They both understood that Julia could violate the truce, but only if she was having a particularly bad morning. The twenty ninth of November, in the year known as 1979 in some circles and 2522 in others, was a particularly bad morning. Invariably, Priscilla was the last to put in an appearance. She had discovered early on that hiding behind a cup of coffee didn't work if you were the third and last to arrive, so she had developed an ongoing love affair with the toaster. It was so positioned in a corner of the kitchen that anyone bowing down in worship before it would have their back turned to the dining room table. On good days, Priscilla would have her slice of white bread lightly toasted; on bad days, it would come out burnt to a crisp. This was an especially bad day. Priscilla had given careful thought to the confrontation-- in fact, had been thinking about it for years. No man would ever be good enough for Herb and Julia Canon's little girl, although it had become glaringly obvious in recent years that her lack of matrimonial prospects was worrying them both. Parents, she thought as she sat down directly opposite her mother and began doling out the butter and the apricot jam; they always want to have their cake and eat it too. She had come to the table this morning prepared for combat. Parents could be dragons, but she was a dragon slayer. And she had in her possession the one weapon before which the most fiery of dragons were helpless. Grandchildren. The ultimate weapon in the eternal war between the generations. She had seen it in Ian's eyes. When he first spoke of his daughter, his expression had softened, his eyes filled with tenderness and love. And then had come the moment when he acknowledged her loss, and his eyes had filled with pain, hot and searing. Priscilla did not know whether the search for Linh and Thu would ever bear fruit, but she knew that she wanted to start a family, and for Ian to be the one who gave her children. If anything could heal a wound cutting this deep into the soul, even diminish its pain, it was to have more children. And time would be on her side. She might suffer their wrath today, but her parents would never take out their displeasure on her children. In time, all would be forgiven. “About Quantico,” she decided to begin. And sure enough … Herb lowered his newspaper, and looked at her quizzically. “Dad, you were right about Ian … well, both right and wrong. He does work for the CIA, but he's not on the payroll. It's more like he does them the occasional favor, and in return they search ...” Priscilla visibly choked on what she had to say next. She didn't need to see photographs to imagine what rats and the tropical sun had done to Ian's family. The rats had visited her in her sleep. “Search?” Herb had set the newspaper aside. “For his daughter, Dad. The Agency is searching for his daughter. He married in Viet Nam, but when he was in hospital, someone came to the village. They slaughtered everyone except the little children. Ian … the whole intelligence community suspects that someone knew he had a child, and took the children because they didn't know which one was his. It's his gift for languages, Dad; you don't know how rare it is. If his daughter has inherited it, her value would be incalculable.” Herb glanced at his wife. “Did you know about this?” “I found out last night, at the sorority house. He bared his soul to keep those girls from making a terrible mistake. It worked, but the cost to him personally was high. And this morning he and Q-Ball are going into court to try and sell the judge on a plan that they cobbled together on the fly … a plan to buy off Spats Belmondo.” Herb let out a deep sigh. He was almost afraid to ask the next question. “And what does Quantico have to do with this?” "Ian called a friend at Langley … a Deputy Director. They want me to do the embassy security course so that ...” Priscilla paused, not sure which parent to address. Neither of them was likely to take what was coming next very well. “The Agency expects Ian to have more children, and they don't want a repeat of what happened in Viet Nam. So, a security net will be dropped over any woman he sleeps with. The net will become more visible if someone gets pregnant, and very tight once the baby is born. Ian wants me to take charge of the inner security ring-- the one inside the house, and on the surrounding grounds. I'm the logical choice because ...” Priscilla took a deep breath, hoping that her parents could guess what she was about to confess. “... because I'm already inside the net.” “You're sleeping with him.” Julia made it a statement, not a question. “Were either of you using protection?” Priscilla shook her head. “No, and we won't be in the future.” “You want to have a baby … with a man you've known for what … three days? Priscilla, this is insane!” Herb wondered whether his daughter had actually taken leave of her senses. “And where,” he pressed, “does this leave Rita … and Vickie … and, and … what's the name of the one he's going to marry?” Herb was looking at his wife, desperately in need of answers not only to the question he was asking but also to the ones he wasn't. “Sarah,” Julia prompted. “Right,” Herb said, “Sarah. Where does this leave Sarah?” “On Saturday night, when they hear the truth, the three of them will have to decide whether they want to pay the price that loving Ian demands. The loss of privacy … the price is high, Dad, so we're going to wait to hear what they have to say.” “And if the three of them want to go ahead with this bizarre plan of theirs?” “Then the three of us will become the four of us,” Priscilla shrugged. “It's that simple.” “So you propose to have a baby out of wedlock ...” “Oh, Dad, really? Ozzie and Harriet, Dad? Donna Reed? In case you haven't noticed, the nineteen fifties have come and gone. Welcome to the seventies! Even Three's Company is passé! With inflation and all? Five's company sounds about right!” “Pris, I have never been so proud of you in my whole life as I was last night.” Julia opted to try a different approach. “Ian is a remarkable person, and he's hurting in ways that I can't even begin to fathom. And you were there for him, embracing his pain, giving him the strength to do something that had to be done despite the cost. You love him, and he loves you. That's so plain to see that I expect the whole campus to be talking about little else today. I'm happy for you, but I would like you to tone it down until Saturday night rolls around. Be gentle. Give Sarah … give all three of them some time to come to terms with this.” “Julia ...” “No, Herb. We have to respect our daughter's wishes. Besides, you're two years away from retirement, and I'm sick of stakeouts. We can take the money we'd blow on a big wedding and finally take that cruise we've been talking about all these years. Then I'll be ready to become a grandma, and spoil my grandson or daughter rotten.” “Okay … okay.” Herb threw his hands in the air in surrender. “I know when I'm beaten.” “Good,” Priscilla declared. “Now that that's out of the way, it will be okay for you to tag along tonight.” “Tonight? Where?” “To the bar, of course. Ian, Vickie, an orderly named Amos Waring, and yours truly are challenging the reigning champs to a drinking contest, with Hong Kong Rules. Ian thinks you're too old to hold your own, but I told him you were good for it. We'll see.” “And what exactly are Hong Kong Rules,” Herb smiled. “Tequila shots until someone pisses their pants. The loser has to buy the next round for the whole bar. We play until one team is all pissed out-- and it won't be us because Vickie and I will be wearing the same diaper Ian wears … that big, thick hospital monstrosity. We'll be able to piss ourselves with merry abandon, and no one will be the wiser! We win, and become the new champs, much to the delight of the Third, which is strongly of the opinion that Amos will still be standing when everyone else passes out.” “We'll see.” Herb's smile was getting bigger by the second. “Starting time?” “Around eight. I promised Ian a gourmet meal of home made onion rings, a juicy lucy, and house cut fries. Since I'm the world's worst cook, I need to lower his expectations.” “Now, that sounds more like the daughter I know and love,” Julia laughed. “I think I'll tag along, if only to pick up the pieces and figure out who's going to be sleeping where!” . . . . Ian picked up the phone on the first ring. “That you, Street?” “In the flesh.” “You'll be happy to know that I've got you on speed dial,” Donnie laughed. “I gather you made the local news last night; don't let being a celebrity go to your head!” “They mentioned me by name?” Ian was pretty sure that Donnie was pulling his leg. “Nah … just a global reference to somebody ripping off diapers from a badly wounded war hero. Anybody say anything in class just now?” “Nary a word.” “Well, then, as you have been known to say: 'no harm done'. Now about Vincent Belmondo ...” Ian could hear Donnie shuffling papers on his desk. “Street, you have a talent for unearthing interesting people, and this guy is definitely interesting. Let's start with his father, Tommaso. Got off the boat from Naples in twenty four, blew a kiss to the Statue of Liberty, and immediately headed west … destination, Chicago. Grandfather was definitely Neapolitan, so if there's a Sicilian connection, it won't show up on our end. Capiche?” “Got it. I'll pursue it from this end. Maybe Antonio will have a better sense of the family history.” “Going to call him?” “Yeah, but it would help if you could come up with something to add spice to the conversation.” “Consider it done. Your Libyan pal has let it be known that there's not enough grease on his palms.” “That works. Antonio is getting on in years, but he still likes to keep his hand in. Let him run with the ball.” “Don't fancy a desert outing, I take it.” “Camels make me seasick. I learned my lesson in that Algerian fiasco. One hundred and forty five degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, only there was no shade. And the gold embossing on my passport melted! The immigration officer gave me a really funny look when I landed at LAX.” “Okay, so back to the American branch of clan Belmondo. Tommaso quickly hooks up with Al Capone, and starts running trucks over to Lake Huron. With a little help from the Purple Gang, Tommaso is soon making regular runs with Seagram's finest, and he gets rewarded for his loyalty and reliability. In short, for a Wop fresh off the boat, after a couple of years spent proving his worth, he's living the American dream, complete with wife and child. Only, he doesn't want his first-born son to get caught up in the family business, so he scrimps and saves to put his boy through private schools with a penchant for sending their prodigies to the Ivies.” “You have got to be kidding me!” Ian was laughing so hard that he doubled over. “Nope!” Donnie was laughing just as loud. “Brown, class of forty eight … a Phi Beta Kappa, no less! And then … then … Vincent takes an MBA at Princeton-- my alma mater! Ian, no matter what … please … I'm begging you … find out if he remembers the fight song!” “It'll be high on my list, Donnie … high on my list!” Ian could feel mushy poop pouring into his diaper, which seemed only fitting given the way this conversation was going. “So, after he gets his degree, he goes back to Chicago, at a moment when Minneapolis is wide open because Humphrey's run the mob out of town. Seizing the opportunity, Vincent migrates north to fill the void, but he's smart enough to realize that no one is going to take an Ivy League hood seriously, so he comes up with Spats Belmondo, and sells the product with the help of Tony Accardo, who by then is running the Chicago Outfit.” “Oh, this just gets better and better,” Ian guffawed; “no wonder he has a hard on for wood chippers … he was tutored by Joe Batters, no less!” “Yep, the Big Tuna himself!” “Okay,” Ian decided, “here's what we're going to do. Call our friends at the IRS, and have them send a certified letter to Spats informing him that he's won the grand prize-- a comprehensive audit of the last seven years of his personal and business returns.” “That will certainly get his attention,” Donnie chuckled. “But have our guy add a phone number and extension at the bottom of the letter, and do it by hand. I'll tell Spats that, if he plays ball, he's one phone call away from getting a reprieve. And to sweeten the deal, an ironclad guarantee that he can visit the old country without worrying about being denied reentry when he comes home.” “Okay, so after you recruit him, what the hell are you going to do with him?” “Put him to work, of course. In fact, if they're still juicing the food service industry, I'm going to put the whole, damned Mafia to work!” . . . . “This is gross,” Melanie complained. “I mean seriously. What's the point of getting us up at six? Hello? We're in jail, already! It's not like we have to dash off to class or something … and that shower! The last time anybody cleaned the floor in this dump was when dinosaurs were walking the earth!” “And the food,” Joyce added; “don't forget the food! A two week old Danish? And corn flakes? I didn't know that anyone even made corn flakes anymore!” “And you call this milk?” Cindy had her own litany of complaints. “Poor Blofeld would starve to death in here!” “Good riddance,” Janis muttered to herself. “Sweetie, you gonna eat that Danish?” Ruby was eyeing Tippi's pastry the way a shark eyed its next meal. “Help yourself,” Tippi said. Ruby did just that. The twelve cellmates were having breakfast at a long trestle table in the dining hall. “You count yourself lucky you locked up in Hennepin County,” Ruby smugly declared. “You know what you get for dinner out in Dakota? Turkey sandwiches! Seven days a week, you get turkey sandwiches, with this thimbleful of fruit cocktail. At least, I think it's fruit cocktail, though it's a bit hard to tell. Turkey sandwiches!” “Gross,” Melanie reiterated. “Worse than the house, worse than the dorms … gross!” “I want to go home,” Janis whined. “My mom's gonna kill me, but so what? I want to go home!” “She ain't gonna kill you, beeech. Nope, no way, no how. She gonna be diapering you, and taking her damned sweet time changing you. You gonna stink to high heaven. Even the cops down in the Third ain't gonna touch you, and they got no taste whatsoever! Yep, I can see it now-- you gonna be dumping your breakfast in the seat of your pants.” “The corn flakes' revenge,” one of the other hookers cackled. “The corn flakes' revenge!” Janis folded her arms, and lowered her head to the tabletop. “I want to go home,” she repeated. “I want to go home ...” “Oh, for God's sake!” Tippi had had it. Pounding the table with both palms, she got to her feet, and glared at her sisters. “Just listen to you! They got us up too early … the shower's dirty … the food sucks … what the hell did you expect? For crying out loud, this is a jail! We'll be out of here in a few hours, so suck it up! We screwed up a simple heist, but we're getting off easy. We wear diapers for a few semesters, but so what? Professor Grady has been wearing diapers for years! And the fine? Big deal! It's our parents who'll be picking up the tab. And what are they gonna do … spank us? Yeah, like that's gonna hurt when we're wearing diapers. Jeesh!!!” “Tip's right,” Kimberly declared as she climbed to her feet. “No one's locking up these babies ...” Kimberly was running her hands back and forth across her very well endowed chest. “... and my blow jobs are second to none! I'll survive!” “You go, girl,” Ruby clapped. “You and me? Maybe we can show the rest of these pussies how it's done!” Ruby stuck her thumb in her mouth, wiggled it around a bit, and began moaning as she sucked (or perhaps, Dear Reader, she was sucking as she moaned; we'll leave it up to your imagination). . . . . “Hail, hail, the gang's all here,” Chief Mischof gleefully remarked as he walked into the courtroom behind Bernice and Ian. With a sincere grin lighting up his features, Walt walked over to shake hands with Herb Canon. He settled for nodding to Julia and Priscilla, glad to see that both had showed up to testify if it should prove necessary. “You okay?” Ignoring everyone else, Priscilla had walked straight to Ian, and reached out to clasp both his hands. Her concern for his well-being was obvious to all. “Bernice gave me the five star treatment,” Ian smiled; “Bernice and Suzie Marshall both.” “Suzie? What was she doing there?” Ian could hear the alarm in Priscilla's voice. “Pris, she came over to see if Bernice needed any help. And she was nice … more than nice. She was kind. This morning, Bernice told me that Suzie is going to declare me off limits to the scalp hunters, and apparently she has enough clout to make it stick. Apparently I said something to Suzie last night that had a real impact, and I don't even know what it was. Bernice knows, but she refuses to say.” Ian briefly looked her way. Walt stared at the floor, trying hard not to let Julia and Herb see what he was thinking. He knew, because Bernice had told him. Barely twenty-four, and yet Ian had been ready to die. He had lost far more than a wife and daughter in Viet Nam. “I think … I think it has something to do with her husband, who died at the very end of the Korean War … on hill 255 … what we kill Pork Chop Hill.” Ian's voice had grown very soft. “Have you noticed, Pris? Bernice still wears her wedding ring.” “Oh, Ian,” Priscilla sobbed. “God, how I love you!” She reached out to clutch him in her arms, her head resting upon his shoulder. A part of her, a big part, wanted never to let go.

I'm 78, and have been incontinent since birth due to a spinal cord birth defect. I have been counselling people in my community about incontinence for more than fifteen years, both informally and through outreach programs. ADHB has gone to the heart of it. On this site, threads over and over again discuss the definition of incontinence, and the variations (overflow, stress, urge, etc.), but there are more fundamental issues. When dealing with the incontinent community, people on sites like this who are not incontinent need to be aware of the DABDA imperative. We associate this with cancer (Denial / Anger / Bargaining / Depression / Acceptance), but it applies in a very direct way to those rendered incontinent by injury or illness. I'm lucky, in the sense that being a lifelong incontinent I do not have to "unlearn" the continence lifestyle. But this is exactly what happens to people who progress from diapers to pull-ups to underpants/panties. Suddenly, everything that has applied to your daily life since early childhood is swept away, and you have to "unlearn" to clear the decks for "learning" to live with a disability that may be with you 24/7/365 until death. The emotional toll on one's self-esteem can be as devastating as the physical. So, when you go on a site devoted to incontinence, you should expect that individuals at different points on the DABDA scale on going to react to your comments differently. Someone who has been in diapers for ten years has probably run the whole scale, but someone who has been at it for six months has not. So, be patient, and above all don't be too quick to draw conclusions from the feedback your comments receive.

THE LONELY NIGHTS OF LONG AGO “Good evening, Chief Mischof.” As Suzie watched, two more of the girls were brought out of the house, locked into the back of a squad car, and driven downtown. “What, no need for a SWAT team? How disappointing for you.” Like so many in the surrounding houses, Suzie had drifted over to find out what was going on. “Good evening, Miss Marshall,” the Chief calmly replied. “And yes, everything's under control. Just another sorority stunt, although particularly well planned and executed … a gang running around town stealing diapers off of people's front porches. Alas, the diaper service in question is a Mafia operation, and the mobster in charge is a rather nasty piece of work. Thankfully, Professor Grady is confident that he can make Spats Belmondo an offer that he can't refuse, so there are forty-one girls here that hopefully will be living to see another day.” “Forty-one? Chief, that's virtually the whole sorority!” “All but eleven, and the fact that five of the girls are pleading guilty to a crime of which they had no knowledge is a testament to the Professor's persuasiveness.” “This is surreal! How did Ian get involved?” “His was the last batch of diapers stolen. But there was a tracking device in the bag, and it led us straight here. As the saying goes, we caught them with their hands in the cookie jar.” “I should speak with Bernice. How's she taking it?” “All but frothing at the mouth. You know the drill: a meeting with the Dean at eight for the ceremonial dressing down, and then the three of us will be heading downtown for the court hearing.” “The three … who?” Suzie was more than a little confused. “Bernice, Professor Grady, and yours truly. I'm looking forward to seeing the Professor in action; this guy's got some serious chops.” “He's … he's still here? He hasn't gone home?” “Bernice is offering to put him up for the night. Hope he accepts 'cause at the moment I haven't got anyone who can drive him back to his place.” “If he needs a ride, I'll take care of it.” "Thanks, Suzie.” The Chief looked her over shrewdly. He was good at reading people, and the more the Pi Iota Sigma house mom danced around the subject of Professor Ian Grady, the more obvious her feelings for him became. “And thanks for helping us fend off the headhunters. Now that Grady has come to an agreement with Marilyn Marsden, I'm hoping that next week things will get back to normal around here.” “He's hired an agent?” The news took Suzie completely by surprise. “Does … does that mean that we're going to lose him?” “I hope not, because if he goes, Officer Canon will be going with him.” “WHAT,” Suzie squealed; “what does the Batgirl have to do with this?” “The Batgirl?” Walt had a huge grin on his face. “Sorry. That's … uh … that's her nickname.” “Pretty good one,” he conceded. “Anyway, Grady had one of the seizures that Professor Lessing warned me about. He was pleading with the girls to come together as a family, not tear each other apart, and he pulled back the curtain and let them see the mistakes that he made in Viet Nam, and how much they've cost him. And in the midst of it all, down he went. Priscilla knew what to do, so he wasn't out for very long-- but long enough for it to be obvious to anyone with half a brain that she's deeply in love.” “But he's engaged,” Suzie protested, “and the Batgirl knows it! What is she doing?” “Don't have a clue how it's all going to turn out,” the Chief shrugged. “But for now, why don't you go up to the house, tackle Bernice, and find out where we stand.” . . . . Suzie paused in the entrance and scanned the dining room. There were less than two dozen girls sitting around, most with dejected looks on their faces. A few officers were also present to maintain order, but in fact they were simply standing around: there was nothing for them to do. “Does anyone know where Bernice is?” “I think she's in the kitchen,” one of the girls replied in a dead voice. “Thanks,” Suzie said as she turned away. She had been in the house many times over the years because Bernice Miller was Fraternity Row's doyenne. The house moms and dads came to her for advice, and when they had to assemble for a group meeting, it was in her dining room. Suzie had long thought it bitterly ironic that the Row's most seasoned and pragmatic parent presided over a house that was forever on the edge of academic disqualification. “Knock, knock.” Bernice looked back over her shoulder, and smiled when she saw Suzie. She well remembered the undergraduate who had so boldly carved a path through the male faculty during her senior year, setting a scalp hunting record that still stood twelve years later. And Bernice admired the passion with which Suzie defended the houses against all comers, her never ending crusade to compel a self-interested administration and faculty to concede that a critical part of the education preparing the child for adulthood occurred outside the classroom. “I'll give them full marks for creativity,” Suzie giggled. “Running around town stealing diapers ranks right up there with that time the Deltas nabbed a billy goat and smuggled it into the Dean's office.” “Or that time the Gammas released all those fireflies in the chemistry lab, then set off the fire alarm,” Bernice laughed. “I don't think the fire department has ever forgiven us.” Bernice removed one of the baby bottles from the pot of boiling water, and tested the temperature on her wrist. “Is there a baby in the house?” Suzie was wide eyed with curiosity. “In a manner of speaking,” Bernice coyly replied, as she removed the second bottle. “Oh, come on! Don't keep me in suspense! Give!” “Professor Grady. He's staying the night in our guest room, and his girlfriend instructed me in no uncertain terms to change his diaper, feed him his bottles … breast milk, no less … and give him a good, hard spanking if he gives me any lip. Much to my disappointment, he has behaved like an angel.” “Unbelievable!” “Believe it. And believe this, too: inside that diaper lurks a beautifully firm, shapely ass that just cries out for a spanking. You have no idea how badly I want to put him over my knee, but for now I'll have to settle for cradling him in my arms and giving him his ba bas.” “Unless … Suzie, would you like to nurse him? There's no one holding down the fort in the dining room, and at the very least the girls deserve my moral support.” “I'd love to! But I don't want to surprise him; you should ask.” “I will. But if he agrees … Suzie, I was getting him ready for bed, so right now all he's wearing is an undershirt to go with the diaper, baby pants and canvas cover. I have to warn you … there's a lot of scarring, and some of it is pretty bad. But in some ways it's the scarring you can't see that's much worse … the emotional scarring. He's had a very rough night, so he needs to be comforted.” “Walt said that he had a seizure … that he was begging the girls to stick together, not turn on one another. It looks like he really got to them.” “He did.” “And yet you want to spank him?” “Very much so.” “I don't get it, Bernice. You say that you want to spank him, and in the next breath, that he needs comforting.” “It looks like his girlfriend took a paddle to him last night. Bad move, that, because it instills fear. But a spanking, properly administered, absolves guilt-- and this poor guy is awash in it. He'll sleep better tonight if we can take some of it away from him.” “Ah … so that's why you have handed out so many spankings over the years! A girl does something bad, gets caught, and you spank her not just to punish her but also to get the guilt out of her system before it takes root. That's clever!” “It doesn't work on every girl, but it works often enough to make it worth doing. Now, stay here, and I'll check on the Professor, and see how he feels about all this.” . . . . “Check out the hunk,” Cindy whistled as she nudged Melanie in the ribs. “Man o' man, gimme some of that!” The hunk was striding purposefully down the corridor, a tall, well tanned specimen with chiseled features and incredible hair. His suit was tailored, both his tie and his shoes imported. “Forget it,” Melanie warned; “that's Hamilton Burger in disguise.” “Oh,” Cindy groaned, her enthusiasm already deflated. The hunk walked up to their cell, and curled his lip in a well practiced sneer. “I'm District Attorney Ballstrom; which one of you is Bjornsen?” Tippi wearily raised her hand. “Miss Bjornsen, we're still processing your cellmates, but the consensus of opinion is that you're the brains of this outfit. Tomorrow morning, I have the unenviable task of parading the forty-one of you before a judge, but I need one of you to speak for the others. You've been nominated, and considering that you're the only one with a rap sheet, you'd be my choice as well. You staying off the booze, or do I need to report you to your parole officer?” The others stared openly at Tippi. Even Ruby was paying attention. “A DWI,” she confessed. “And yes, I was well and truly smashed. I learned my lesson.” “And you're about to learn another one. Here's the deal; it's got the standard elements: community service, which Professor Grady will set up for you at local hospitals. A fine large enough to make your parents pay attention; twenty-five hundred each has a nice ring to it. Probation until you graduate, with an interesting twist. Professor Grady is big on the idea of family, so he wants me to make all of you jointly responsible for getting the house GPA up to three point one, or you'll all be going before the judge a second time.” Melanie audibly gasped, and Cindy turned pale. The District Attorney glared at them. “You good with that, Bjornsen,” he barked. Tippi nodded her head. “We can't salvage this term, but I'll commit the house to a three one starting next term” “Works for me. Now, we get to the bit that could break this whole deal unless we work together and sell it to the judge, because he ain't gonna like it. All of you are going to become good, paying customers of Lullaby Diaper Service. You'll wear 'em, and you'll use 'em, until you graduate. The Professor and your house mom will work out the details, like who's going to wipe your fannies, where and when. Not my problem, nor the judge's. The Professor's confident that he can keep Spats Belmondo out of your hair if you agree, so are you in or out?” “In,” Tippi acknowledged. “Good. You will note that I am not at all curious about what motivated you to pull this cockamamie stunt, but the judge may have a question or two. I suggest that you ladies put your heads together and come up with something plausible. See you in court.” “Shit,” Tippi muttered when the DA took his leave, “diapers.” “A three one GPA,” Cindy moaned. “A three point one! The Titanic had better odds after it hit the iceberg!” . . . . Ian looked up when Bernice returned, her hands empty. “Suzie's here, Ian. She's in the kitchen, tending to your baby bottles.” “Well, I guess that cat's out of the bag.” Ian could only shake his head in disbelief: how could all the women in his life treat his bottle feedings so casually? “Look, I can't be two places at once, and the girls need me. I asked Suzie to feed you, and she's willing, but not if it will make you uncomfortable.” “Seriously, Bernice? Seriously? I like Suzie, but I doubt if she knows one end of a baby bottle from the other. Maybe I should just go to bed.” “After you've had your ba bas, not before. The question remains: Suzie wants to help, but will you be gracious enough to accept her offer?” “Why not?” Ian was already resigned to his fate; if Suzie was going to tell the whole campus that he was dining on bottle fed breast milk, there was nothing that he could do about it. “Sure. By all means. Show her in.” Bernice turned to walk away, but then paused. “Ian, she doesn't know. Walt and I are dancing around what happened to your wife and daughter, and I'll do my best to have the girls respect your privacy, but there are no guarantees. 'Minnesota nice' is not an empty slogan, so be prepared. If the word gets out, an awful lot of women are going to offer you a shoulder to cry on.” Bernice quietly exited the room. “Some Secret Agent Man,” Ian said to himself, thinking about the nickname that Pris had given him. “There's not an intelligence agency on the planet that doesn't have a file on me about as thick as the Manhattan Yellow Pages, so why should the people I care about be kept out of the loop? Who am I fooling, anyway?” Ian slammed his fist into a throw pillow, but it refused to fight back. He ached to find out who had slaughtered Nguyen, and taken Linh and Thu. All the talk about wood chippers was giving him ideas. “Hi.” Suzie's voice was soft and tentative. She was standing in the doorway, oddly unsure of herself, clutching a baby bottle in each hand. The room was in semi-darkness. “If you want me to leave ...” “No.” Ian stood up, and crossed the room to give her a brief hug. “Thank you for coming. It's been one of those nights.” He led her back to the couch. Fully dressed, Suzie was acutely aware that Ian was only wearing his t shirt and diaper. She had fantasized about this moment, but reality and fantasy were two very different things. Setting one of the bottles aside, Suzie hesitated, then lowered her hand to Ian's thigh. Bernice was right about the scarring. “Oddly enough, I never felt it. Oh, the round knocked me down, but I never felt it.” Ian gently pressed his hand on top of Suzie's, and patted it with his fingers. “Somehow, I managed to get back on my feet. One of my men was down, and I had to get to him. It seemed like a good day to die.” In that moment, like spun glass dropped from on high, Suzie's heart shattered. Never again would she think of him as Diaper Butt, and the idea of scalping him suddenly nauseated her. “I want you to lay with your head in my lap,” she whispered. “I'm going to feed you, then put you to bed. The Chief says that you're going to have a long day tomorrow.” “Yeah, a long day and a long night.” Ian stretched out on the couch as best he could, waiting for Suzie to cradle him in her arms. She slipped the nipple into his mouth, and he began instantly to nurse. The breast milk was still too sweet, but the taste no longer disgusted him. He closed his eyes, the tension beginning to drain from his limbs. Suzie watched him, and felt his body go limp in her arms. Cradling him felt incredibly similar to cradling an infant. She wanted to ask him what it was all about, wanted him to explain how he could allow himself to be treated this way, but she didn't want to spoil the moment. Ian fell into a light sleep, the warm milk working its magic, but he continued to nurse, gradually finishing first one bottle and then the other. Suzie knew that she should burp him, but she didn't know how to go about it, so instead she chose quietly to sit there, occasionally running her fingers through his hair. When she spotted the pacifier, she touched it to his lips. He opened his mouth, and welcomed it as if he was embracing a long, lost friend. Suzie did not know how much time had passed when Bernice finally returned. Together, the two women managed to get him up from the couch, and taking his weight between them, put him to bed. He was still suckling on his pacifier when Bernice turned out the lamp, and quietly shut the door to allow him to rest. . . . . One by one, the girls gave up the fight, and dropped to the filthy floors of their various cells. Kimberly fell asleep with her back against the wall, her head drooping. Janis Marsden fell asleep with her head cradled in Kimberly's lap, her arm lightly clutching her legs. For her part, Kimberly's arm rested lightly on Janis' back. As she slept, and without any awareness of her actions, Kimberly occasionally patted her younger sister, calming troubled dreams, and offering a measure of comfort.

Thank you. At bottom, these two stories are an exploration of family. What is a family, and what is it that ties its members to each other?

As a general rule, a fiction writer should try to avoid info dumps. The better approach is to fill out a character's backstory in dialog. The character her/himself can be one of the participants, or the subject of a conversation between others. There's a crisp example of the latter coming up in a future scene (The Curtain Rises), when Becky braces Rita in her office and lays out what she has learned about Ian's past.

Spats will loom large as we dive deeper into the story unfolding in HOMAGE and AARDVARK. Indeed, in the next two scenes of HOMAGE, you will meet him up close and personal. And in the process, readers may begin to question just who Ian is, and what he is up to. Hope so.

Quickie historical quiz: While the massacre of Ian's village is fictional, there were other alleged war crimes in Viet Nam (Operation Speedy Express, for one), but the slaughter of civilians in only one community resulted in the prosecution and conviction of an American officer. This community was: A. Da Nang B. Khe Sanh C. Le Drang D. My Lai

AUTHOR'S NOTE: it is recommended that readers jump from this scene to AARDVARK, scenes 7 and 8.

CHILDREN OF THE HEART “What's going on,” Ruby asked scornfully; “Homecoming at the lockup? You da Homecoming Queen, cutie pie?” Baffled, Melanie looked to Tippi for an explanation. She had no idea what the skank in the slutty dress was talking about. “A hooker,” Tippi shrugged; “semi-permanent resident. She's been schooling us on what to expect in the morning.” “And it's not the sort of thing we learn in the classroom,” Cindy giggled. “Anyway, how's it going on the home front?” “You didn't tell them?” Melanie was looking at Janis, shocked that she hadn't brought their sisters up to speed. “What was I supposed to say, Mel? Maybe you know how to answer Cindy's question. I don't.” Janis was sitting on the edge of a fold down bunk, holding her head in her hands, trying as best she could to hide from the world. “Chief Mischof, that female detective, and Professor Grady laid it out for us, and they didn't pull any punches. The DA was there in person, and the four of them worked up a deal. The whole sorority does community service as hospital volunteers until we graduate. We get hit with a big fine, which means our parents get hit with a big fine. We'll all be on probation, and have to keep our noses clean-- no more drinking, no drugs, no parties, no nothing. Hit the books, get the house's GPA out of the dumps, and our records will be wiped clean.” “Pretty predictable,” Tippi mused, “and nothing we can't live with.” “There's one more thing. Because we seem to have such a hard on for diapers, they've decided that we're all going to wear them 24/7 until we graduate … wear them and use them. We're losing our toilet privileges.” “Hoo boy,” Ruby clapped, “ain't that a hoot? You hear that, ladies? We done sharing this cell with a bunch of babies!” The other four miscreants were hooting and laughing so hard that two of them were bent over, swearing that they were going to bust a gut. “You all'd look so pretty in them pink baby dresses,” Ruby crowed, “crawling on the floor and all. And I know some boys that'd just love to have you suck on their binkies. For sure, my home boys'd teach you a thing or two! Hoo boy!” “How'd they nail you?” Tippi chose to ignore the ruckus. “I confessed,” Melanie answered, strangely proud of the decision that she had made. “Tip, we didn't just rip off the diaper service; we ripped off a mobster named Spats Belmondo ,,,” “You ripped off the wood chipper king?” Ruby licked her lips, and grinned wickedly. “Hoo boy, you ladies thought you wuz in trouble before? Well, now you got trouble! Dat Spats, he one mean mother fukker. He gonna put your asses to hooking in the streets, get you a pimp weigh about three hundred pounds when he dieting, a pimp who'll beat some manners into you. And when you all dried out and used up, then he gonna feed you to the wood chipper. That's his specialty … the wood chipper!” “Professor Grady thinks that our best shot to get out of this alive is to become his customers … get our diapers every week from Lullaby. He makes money and we get humiliated. Considering the alternative, I'm doing it.” “And the others?” “Eleven of the girls who don't know the score are bailing, some in the morning, some at the end of term. But five others are confessing to a crime they didn't commit, and everybody who's in the know is going to plead guilty as well. If you're in, that's forty one of us. Safety in numbers.” “But how?” Cindy couldn't comprehend what she was hearing. “I mean, how did he persuade the five to go along with this? It doesn't make any sense!” “It would if you had been there.” Janis lifted her head and stared at the others. “That poor man … we found out that he married a girl in Viet Nam, moved into her village, and they had a baby. But when he was wounded and put in the hospital for all those months, the men under him moved on, leaving the village defenseless. And somebody attacked it. They slaughtered everyone, Cindy … his wife and sister-in-law, the rest of his family, the whole village … everyone except the babies and the little children. He thinks that someone who knew that he could speak all those languages found out that he had a baby, and thought that it would be very valuable … a real prize, but they didn't know who to look for. So they took all the kids, and slaughtered everyone else to keep the secret hidden. For years, he's been looking for his daughter all over the world, him and the CIA both. Everybody seems to think that the little girl could be turned into a really dangerous weapon if she can absorb languages the way he does.” “I still don't get it,” Tippi cut in. “What does any of this have to do with us wearing diapers?” “He said … he told us that we all have the family we're born into, and the family we choose. He asked each of us to think about whether we're a family, real sisters, or just a bunch of strangers living under the same roof for a few years, never to see one another again after we graduate. I'd never thought about it before, but when he said it … the answer was obvious, to me and most of the others. The house … we're a family, Tip, a real family, and we're going to stick up for one another, just like real families do. Forty one of us are going to plead guilty and take our punishment. That's a lot of diapers, Tip, and a lot of money going into his pockets.” “So, we're going to buy him off.” Tippi began walking back and forth in the limited confines of the cell, thinking it over. “It's a shitty plan ...” Cindy audibly groaned, not at all sure whether Tippi was being too clever by half. “But it's better than no plan at all,” she finished. “All right; if that's the deal, we're going to take it.” “Are we all going before the judge,” Cindy wanted to know. Forty one members of ZAP could easily turn the courtroom into a madhouse. “Yeah,” Melanie answered. “The Chief and the Professor are going to talk with the judge about making it a closed hearing so that the press won't get a hold of our names. Professor Grady … he's some kind of CIA agent. The Batgirl calls him her Secret Agent Man … and talk about being in love! She'd crawl over broken glass if that's what it took to save him! Anyway, he seems to have a lot of pull. I mean, he snapped his fingers and the District Attorney came running … the DA himself! So, there's a good chance he can pull this off. I hope so!” . . . . “Excuse me, Professor.” Ian was quietly engaged in conversation with a quartet who had opted to plead guilty, and were awaiting their turn to be ferried downtown. He had now had several such conversations, and in each case he had been deeply touched by the shows of sympathy and the occasional hug that awaited him. Twice, he had taken out his wallet, and passed the photo of his family around the circle. Each time, the poignancy of the moment brought tears to young and foolish eyes. Bernice held up his diaper bag, which Priscilla had passed to her before making a run downtown. “Officer Canon wanted me to remind you to call your fiancee, and let her know where you are. Have you made plans to get home tonight?” “No,” he confessed. “It never occurred to us that we would get caught up in something like this.” “Well, we do have a guest room, and now that we have your things, you are welcome to stay the night. I can even offer you a toiletry kit, courtesy of one of the airlines.” “Bernice, thank you, but I don't want to be a nuisance.” “Actually, Professor, you would be doing me a favor. If the girls are locked up, this house is going to be virtually empty … more so than at any other time in the twenty-five years that I've lived here.” “Did … uh ...did Officer Canon pass you the key to my diaper cover?” “She did,” Bernice smiled, “along with strict instructions to change you myself, and then lock you up again before putting you to bed. Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” “I wish I could say that we're just having some good, old fashioned kinky fun,” Ian lamented with a sigh, “but the truth is that I risk a sciatic attack every time I change my diapers, especially the poopy ones. So, my fiancee came up with the idea of using a locking cover to take matters out of my hands. She wants me to become comfortable with having other people change me. I must say, her plan does seem to be working.” “I see.” Then Bernice grinned knowingly. “But would I be right in guessing that she does not want me to pass this key on to one of my charges … let a sorority girl do the honors?” Ian exploded with laughter. “Let's just say that Sarah is not on board with scalp hunting! Nor does she trust me, and with good reason. Every time that I smile at a woman roughly my age, and she smiles back? I fall in love!” “And where does this leave Officer Canon? A person would have to be blind not to see that the two of you are madly in love!” “Well, Sarah is already sharing me with two of her friends, and I've come up with a devious plan to persuade her to add Priscilla to our household. And before you go there? Priscilla is keen on the idea.” “Which leaves her parents ...” “Working on it.” “Right, then. Go say goodnight to Chief Mischof, and remind the girls that you will be there in the morning to wave your magic wand and make everything come out all right. Then, I'll show you to your room, change you, and tuck you in. But promise me that you will call this Sarah of yours. You don't want her to be up all night worrying about you.” . . . . Ian!! When the phone rang, this was the first thought to run through Sarah's sleep fogged brain. In the darkness, with Vickie's head resting peacefully upon her chest, she could not reach the phone or the lamp on her nightstand. As gently as she could, she eased Vickie onto the pillow. The phone kept ringing. She was sure, now, that it was Ian. “Hello,” she whispered. Glancing at her alarm clock, still drowsy, she was surprised to see that it was not even ten o'clock. “Ian?” “Is this Sarah?” A woman's voice. “Yes … yes … who?” “Sarah, my name is Bernice Miller. I'm the house mom for the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority. Ian is here. Professor Grady and the Canons, mother and daughter, traced the stolen diapers to this property, and now, in concert with Chief Mischof of our campus police department and the District Attorney, they are trying to keep this from turning into a circus. Fully forty one of the fifty two girls in this house will plead guilty in court tomorrow morning. If you turn on WPPP for the local news at ten, at some point I should imagine you will see some of what has been going on over here.” “Ian. You say that he is there, in your house?” “Yes. Sarah, it's late, he has no transport, and between classes and the court appearance, he is going to have a busy morning. We're calling to let you know that he will be staying here overnight; we have a guest room that over the years has accommodated many a stranded parent, so it's not an inconvenience.” “Can I speak with him, please?” “Of course; I'll put him on … but don't hang up when you're finished. We have more to discuss.” “Mommy?” Vickie had slowly come awake, and realized that Ian was on the phone-- Ian and someone else. “Shhh, baby girl; let me talk to Ian first. You can speak to him when I'm done.” “Hello.” Sarah recognized his voice instantly. “Are you okay?” “It's been a long day and an even longer night, and I had another seizure, but Priscilla did exactly what Vickie taught her to do, so I wasn't out very long.” “Oh, Ian ...” Sarah choked, the words caught momentarily in her throat. “This can't go on,” she finally managed to say. “What happened?” “It was just another frat house stunt, but it's put some of the girls in serious trouble. They were at each other's throats in the dining room, about to make a terrible decision that in time some of them would come bitterly to regret, so I … I … I told them what happened to me in Viet Nam … what happens when you fail the family you choose … I didn't want them to repeat my mistakes, but just talking about mine … trying to persuade them to choose more wisely than I did … triggered the episode. One moment I was fine, and the next it felt like I was being sucked into a whirlpool, and I ended up … one second I was talking about the last battle, and the next I was living it. Again.” “Mommy?” Vickie's voice was much more insistent. She knew that something was wrong, and knew that it involved Ian. “He's had another seizure,” Putting her hand over the mouthpiece and wanting to keep Vickie calm, Sarah made it an offhand remark. “But he's okay.” In response, Vickie simply held out her hand. She wanted to speak with Ian, and she wanted to do it now. “Vickie's here,” Sarah said as she returned to the phone. “She wants to speak with you.” Sarah passed Vickie the phone. “Vix, it was another seizure, but Priscilla had everything under control. You taught her well.” Like Sarah, Ian didn't want Vickie to jump off the deep end. “Ian, this is the third time in six days. We have got to get on top of this before it happens when there's no one around to help you. I want you back in the ward, where we can safely use Princess Poopy Pants to take you deeper. The sooner, the better.” “Sunday morning,” Ian suggested, knowing that the revelations he would deliver to the Circle on Saturday night might end more than one relationship. “Please put Sarah back on.” “Bernice wants to talk with you again,” he said as he passed the phone. “About his diapers,” Bernice began. “My first thought was simply to change him, and then leave. But after he told me that you're an RN, I changed my mind. I'd like you to walk me through this.” “Do you have the key to his diaper cover?” “Yes.” “Good. Simply insert it. It will attach to the lock, and pull it out. Don't let him interfere when you're changing him-- and don't hesitate to slap his hands aside if necessary. For the rest, it's just like changing a baby … there's really no difference. When you're finished, reinsert the lock, and you will hear it click into place.” “Anything else?” “Yes. If you look in the side pockets of his diaper bag, you should find four bottles of breast milk. Warm up two now and two in the morning, and bottle feed him just like you would any other infant. If you can manage it, cradle him in your arms and treat him to your version of baby talk. I know it sounds silly, but this is an important part of his therapy. To get past these seizures, we have to regress him to infancy.” “I understand. Your fiance is an extraordinary man, Sarah, and I want to help.” “One more thing. He's due for an over the knee spanking. If he gives you any trouble, I'd like you to give him twenty hard spanks before you feed him his ba bas. Think you can do that?” “Easily,” Bernice laughed. “You'd be amazed to discover how many times I've delivered an over the knee spanking in this house!” Bernice winked at Ian as she hung up the phone. “I think we've found another sitter for little baby Ian,” Sarah grinned as she rolled over and pulled Vickie close. She had thoroughly enjoyed changing her baby girl's wet and messy diaper at bedtime, and she was confident that the diuretics and laxatives would continue to work their magic during the night. Reduced to infancy, a hopelessly incontinent Victoria Robinson would finally receive the love and attention she so clearly craved. For her part, as she returned to sleep Vickie opened her mouth and latched onto her mommy's breast. As she nursed, Sarah could feel a stirring in her body that wasn't sexual. She was certain that in time she would begin producing the milk that her babies required. . . . . “And the hits, they just ah keep on ah coming!” Hands on hips, Ruby was shaking her head in mock disappointment. “Look, ladies, we got us three more of dem babies to play with! Oh, yes we do!” Ruby's four friends, all of them veterans of jailhouse row, were gleeful. “I want that tall, skinny one,” one of them declared as she pointed her finger at Tippi. “Her tongue as long as her legs, we gonna have ourselves a good, old time!” “Hail, hail, the Council's here,” Tippi muttered as Joyce Wiggins, Kimberly Doyle and Amanda Cunningham piled in, the door slamming loudly shut behind them. The three newcomers were as wide eyed as Janis had been upon arrival, but Tippi knew that they would settle down soon enough. Misery, after all, did thrive on company. “The press is having a field day.” Kimberly wanted to bring Tippi and Cindy up to date. “We'll be all over the news at ten, and the campus cops love us. They're hauling us over two to a squad car, which adds up to a lot of overtime. The Batgirl started at seven this morning, and she's still going strong. Can you imagine what that's gonna do to her paycheck?” “What I'm trying not to imagine is what my parents are going to do to my ass,” Cindy spat out through gritted teeth. “They watch the news at ten, and my Dad is going to go ballistic. When he gets to work in the morning? He'll probably find a pile of bibs, baby bottles and diapers sitting on his desk, with a note to the effect that everybody wanted to pitch in for my layette. And Mom will make me use them. My life is in the toilet.” “Well, since our social life has been flushed, on the plus side at least we'll have a lot of time to hit the books.” Joyce was determined to find the silver lining. “We might actually graduate!” “Legacies,” Melanie groaned; “why did they have to put me in a cell with Legacies?” . . . . “Just out of curiosity, how many?” “Spanks, you mean?” Ian simply nodded. “Twenty hard ones. Your mommy says that you're a very naughty baby, and that if you give me any trouble … any trouble at all … I'm to put you straight over my knee. I've meted out many a spanking in this house, and speaking frankly, I rather enjoy it. So, I'm going to change your diapee, and put you to bed with a couple of nice, warm bottles of breast milk-- and if you do give me any trouble, straight over my knee you'll go. Are you going to give auntie Bernice any trouble, baby?” “Uh … nope … going to be good as gold. My bottom has still not recovered from the paddling that I got yesterday!” “Then let's get to it. Am I supposed to undress you like a baby?” Again, Ian nodded. He figured that the less said, the better. Bernice removed his coat, necktie and shirt, unbuckled and dropped his pants, then ordered him to sit on the edge of the bed so that she could remove his shoes and socks. When his trousers had also been set aside, she had him stand so that she could examine his thickly padded bottom. She tried, and failed, to get so much as a finger inside the waist band of his heavy canvas diaper cover. She nodded with approval. “This is impressive,” she remarked; “in fact, I'd like to buy a few to keep on hand. They would definitely come in handy.” Again, Ian said nothing. “I've had quite a few bedwetters living here over the years,” she went on, “and they have all fallen into one of two groups. The first are the ones who know that they need to wear protection, and don't make a fuss about it. These I can trust to manage the problem on their own. But the second group? These are the girls that swear it was just an accident, and won't ever happen again. Well, it won't, at least not in this house, because I diaper them myself, and finish off with a pair of locking baby pants. It means extra work in the morning, but the savings on ruined bedding and mattresses makes it worth it.” “So, this is what my girls are going to be wearing from now on,” Bernice mused as she ran her fingers over the impenetrable canvas. “Well, it looks like I'm going to be cleaning a lot of messy bottoms.” “The logistics is the one part of this I don't have figured out.” Ian figured that he was back on safe ground. “Things will sort themselves out when they're at the hospitals, but you're going to need help here, and I haven't a clue how we see to their changes on campus. Setting this up is going to be a real challenge.” Rummaging around in Ian's diaper bag, Bernice had no difficulty finding the baby bottles, powder and wipes, but she also came up with a pacifier, which she triumphantly held aloft. “Babies don't need to think about such matters,” she said dismissively as she waved a warning finger in front of Ian's eyes. “Now, no more talk. Suck on your binkie like a good baby, and don't even think about taking it out, unless you really do want me to spank you. Do you?” “No, auntie Bernice; I'll be good.” Ian was beginning to wonder whether every female on the planet had a barely concealed spanking fetish. Not at all sure whether Bernice was serious or just playing around, he opened wide. “Be back in a moment.” Bernice dashed into the office to collect a diaper pail and a changing pad, which sported enough stains to make it clear that it had seen plenty of use. Unlocking and removing Ian's diaper cover and baby pants, with a grimace she waved her hand in front of her nose. “Definitely messy,” she declared. Bernice spread the pad across the bed, and ordered Ian to lie down. Gingerly opening the diaper and surveying the damage, she wasn't at all sure that she had enough wet wipes, but she set to work with a will. Surprisingly, however, it was easy to clean the mushy poop off of Ian's bottom. “Breast milk does have its advantages,” she murmured to herself as she methodically scrubbed his diaper area, paying especial attention to the folds of his skin. “And I love your diaper,” she commented. “It's so thick, and it looks to be super absorbent. Too bad that we can't get these from the diaper service; it would cut down on the workload.” Why didn't I think of that? Spats will need to add to the inventory to outfit all his new customers … These hospital diapers are good quality, and the girls won't be able to conceal them … he'll love the humiliation factor … Got to put him in touch with whoever does the ordering for the hospital … just one more carrot to ward off the stick! When she was powdering his behind, Bernice paused. The bruising was mottled, some of it an ugly shade of purple. She wondered whether this Sarah person actually knew what she was doing. “I'm glad that you're staying here tonight,” she went on. “And that you are being such a good baby. Another spanking you definitely do not need.” When she pulled them back up, Bernice carefully inspected Ian's vinyl pants. There were no telltale poop stains-- still another endorsement of the four pin method. The diaper cover quickly followed; the lock slid in easily, and slammed home with a satisfying click. “There,” she said as she helped him to his feet. “Let me have your binkie … ah, such a good baby.” She sat it on the nightstand, and pointed Ian in the direction of the bathroom. “Can you brush your teeth, baby, or do you want your auntie to do it for you?” “I think I can manage,” Ian grinned. “Then get to it while I go warm up your bottles. When you're finished, park that cute little butt of yours on the couch. I'm going to feed you just like any other baby.” With that, Bernice left for the kitchen

In the next scene, Bernice will be asking pretty much the same questions you raise here, although the setup comes in the next two scenes in AARDVARK, which come first. So, a pivotal character also finds this all rather odd, which makes Ian's unusual behavior an integral part of the plot. Again we ask: what is he up to? Just as Vickie is defined early on, and then hints are scattered to lead you to anticipate what you are now learning about her, so there are hints scattered throughout the text to foretell what Ian is doing. In short, you are being set up, in the manner of Alec Leamas in Le Carre's early and brilliant The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, and the clues will continue to dribble out as we move forward. Hope you have fun unraveling the mystery!

You're quite right. In scene one, we learn that Sarah quit her job at the VA because she can't penetrate the walls the vets have built around their emotions. Ian has to trade war stories with Phil to draw him out, and Ian and Amos have to tag team Don in a group setting to achieve a breakthrough. We also learn that Sofia only found out about her husband's wartime experience after his death. It is indeed highly, highly unusual for a veteran to open up the way Ian is doing here. So, what's going on?

LOVE WITHOUT MEASURE The sorority girls came down the stairs in groups of four, and as the funereal procession to the dining room advanced, each quartet confirmed the shrewdness of Bernice Miller's judgment. The house mom had scribbled a “C” next to the name of each Council member on her roster, and check marks separated those on the list she considered suspect from those she did not. The most likely suspects had received two checks. The seven members of the governing Council fell in the latter category. While the rest of the officers on duty retreated to the street to restore order and get traffic moving again, Priscilla and three others were charged with getting each quartet seated in the dining room. It was as obvious to Ian as it was to Bernice, Julia and Chief Mischof that the first four groups didn't have a clue. The diapers heaped in a pile at the front of the room didn't register on any of their faces, and they were clearly bewildered when Priscilla ordered them to take seats at the back. The fifth quartet was a different matter altogether. The girls eyes went wide when they spotted the bags of Lullaby's finest, and each paused in mid step as she entered the room. Once seated, they began to talk in conspiratorial whispers, occasionally leaning back to answer a question from one of the girls who had preceded them. The fifth group was the first on Bernice's list to receive check marks. Faltering footsteps and wide-eyed, fearful glances at the bags of diapers betrayed one group after another, making it clear to Ian and the others that fully two-thirds of the sorority seemed to be in the know. When everyone was seated except for the five members of the Council still upstairs, Ian took Priscilla aside and asked her to bring Janis Marsden down by herself. He wanted to see how the others responded to her; in particular, he was curious to learn how many of the girls even knew what she had done. He also advised her to cuff Janis and take her into the office once they had finished making their pitch. He hoped that one dramatic gesture would sober the entire sorority up in a hurry. When Melanie Wilson, Joyce Wiggins, Kimberly Doyle and Amanda Cunningham entered the chamber, the jig was well and truly up. At every turn, they were welcomed with daggers drawn, leaving no doubt in Chief Mischof's mind that he had pierced the heart of the conspiracy. Finally, Priscilla escorted a solitary Janis Marsden to a seat in the front row, which she had all to herself. Ian thought it curious that, like the other members of the Council, she was treated with scorn, but was not singled out for special treatment. Janis was hanging her head in shame, and it took every ounce of resolve that Ian could muster not to rush to her side, take her in his arms, and console her. He only steeled himself by thinking about the tricky game that he was about to play with Spats Belmondo, an ace in the hole that he wanted to hide up his sleeve and perhaps play on a later day. . . . . Decisions, decisions, decisions, Sarah sighed. She was sitting on the couch, arms splayed, occasionally glancing in Vickie's direction to make sure that her baby girl still had her nose pressed to the wall. What do you think, folks? Should I pump again, or warm up baby girl's yummy bottles of laxatives and diuretics? Yeah, you're right. We want her diaper to be wet and messy come the morning. We want her to think that she's already lost nighttime control, and needs her diapers for real. And if she should happen to fill her diapers again while driving to work, Rita can take care of it. Sorry, my little poop monster, but we all know that a steady diet of breast milk will leave you with diminished control of both bladder and bowel. And breast milk is now a mainstay of your hitherto alcohol soaked diet … Getting up from the couch, Sarah strolled out to the kitchen to warm up Vickie's bottles. When they were ready and she was comfortably settled on the floor, her back resting against her couch, she ordered the baby girl to crawl over. Still sucking on her pacifier, Vickie readily obeyed, settling into Sarah's lap in anticipation of her feeding. Gently, Sarah lifted the baby girl's head to cradle it in her arm. She removed the pacifier, and offered her the bottle. Vickie accepted it readily, and began to nurse on the warm milk. “Mommy loves you soooo much, baby girl, do you know that?” Sarah was looking down into Vickie's eyes, her feelings warm and real. “You are going to be Mommy's sweet baby girl forever and ever, and Mommy will always love you. Always!” “Wuv Mama,” Vickie somehow managed to mumble around the nipple firmly planted in her mouth. “Wuv Mama,” she repeated. And it was true. Deep inside Victoria Robinson, there was a lonely little girl starved for affection. Her birth mother had been emotionally distant, her feelings genuine only when she was expressing her disappointment in her daughter's behavior. Her father had always taken her mother's side, the prototypical absentee father. She knew that, on more than one occasion, he had forgotten her birthday. An envelope hastily stuffed with cash left bitter memories of the party that he had come home late to attend on her fourteenth. A few weeks later, she had taken her revenge by sacrificing her virginity to a boy whose face she could no longer summon up from the store of her memories. Unbidden, Vickie reached up to clasp her mommy's arm, and the infantile gesture struck a chord deep in Sarah's psyche. She accepts me as her Mommy! Sarah didn't know how or why this was happening, but she could see it in Vickie's eyes: the measure of acceptance. And in that moment, Sarah's world changed. I have a daughter … a baby girl for real! And I love her! My hopelessly confused, totally mixed up, sweet baby girl. I love her! The realization stunned her. In an instant, Vickie had gone from being the friend of whom she was a bit jealous to a responsibility at once in need of discipline and love. For how long have we been deaf to her cries for help? For how long?? God! Is Ian the only person ever to say the three magic words to her … to speak them with conviction and feeling? How could the rest of us have been so blind? Gazing into Vickie's eyes, a baby sucking so contentedly on her ba ba, Sarah impulsively leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I love you, baby girl,” she whispered; “I really, really love you, and we are going to start over. All the years that I've known you, and I don't even know your mother's name. Not once have you ever mentioned her … even referred to her. Was she ever there for you? Ever?” In response, Vickie's grip on Sarah's arm tightened. “Wuv Mama.” It was all that Vickie could get out, but her grip on Sarah's arm never faltered. Is it possible to repair damage that runs this deep? There is only one way to find out! . . . . Standing at the front of the room, arms folded, Bernice Miller was genuinely angry, and she was letting it show. “In the morning,” she began, “Chief Mischof and I expect to be summoned to the Dean's office. After he reads the Chief's report, it would not surprise me if the Dean reaches out to national and gets our charter revoked. It's happened before, and for reasons far less serious.” Bernice walked over and lightly kicked one of the bags of diapers. “Twenty-three separate acts,” she continued, “not including Janis' stealing from the hospital. Twentythree. And guess what … you get to meet the last victim because Professor Grady is sitting right here. Do you know his story? If not, let me share some of it with you: three tours in Viet Nam … four purple hearts … barely alive when evacuated from his last battlefield. Then came nine months of surgeries and rehabilitation before he left the hospital-- wearing a diaper and leaning on a cane. And his is just one story; there are twenty-two others. It's screamingly obvious that the Council put a lot of time into this, and that more than half the people in this room knew what they were planning. Did any of you ever think about the people your actions would be hurting? Anyone?” “No, I didn't think so,” Bernice concluded. No one was willing to look her in the eye. As Bernice sat down, Chief Mischof stood up to take her place. “Let me bring you up to date. Tippi Bjornsen and Cindy Carlson have been taken into custody, transported to jail, and in the morning will go before a judge. Processing them will take time, because the poor clerk who has to type up the charge sheet has his work cut out for him. Miss Marsden here is also under arrest, for a separate but related crime, and in due course will be joining them. I expect others in this room to be taking the trip as well.” The Chief walked over to the untidy cache of diapers, and shook his head. “You may wonder why we are taking this so seriously, even to the point of reading each of you your Miranda rights, and being prepared to seek warrants to search the rooms of anyone here who does not cooperate. Well, let's start with the fact that the houses make up less than five percent of the student body population, but are responsible for more than seventy percent of the complaints that we have to investigate. The judge is going to hand out some hefty fines because someone has to pay for the twenty-three officers dispatched to investigate the thefts and write up reports on each one of them. Someone has to pay for the processing, housing, transport to the courtroom-- and did I mention the District Attorney's office? Well, guess what; Mister Ballstrom was here earlier, and is going to present this case to the court personally. He takes it very seriously.” The Chief began pacing back and forth in front of the assembly. “Want to plead not guilty, and take your case to trial? See why that fine is just going to get bigger and bigger? And the press will have a field day … they just love the term 'criminal conspiracy'. Right now, we can keep your names out of the press, but once this case is scheduled for trial? Nope. You will be splattered all over the newspapers, the TV and the airwaves. Whether you are found guilty or not, the notoriety will follow you for years to come. God forbid what it will do to your parents.” “In the ordinary course of things,” the Chief continued, “this would be a slam dunk. Plead guilty. Pay the fine. Do community service. Mind your P's and Q's while you're on probation. Your names remain hidden, and in the end your records are expunged. But the DA is going to handle the matter personally because, this time, the same old, same old will probably get you killed. Detective Canon will explain.” Julia took over. “I'm the lady you ran all over town.” She noted with satisfaction that the shock waves that the Chief's closing remark had triggered were still rippling across the room. “And sometime tomorrow, I expect to have an ugly meeting with the client who hired me to investigate this matter-- the gentleman who owns Lullaby Diaper Service. His name is Vincent Belmondo, although he is better known as Spats Belmondo. Congratulations, ladies; you targeted Minneapolis' Mafia kingpin, and he hired me to find you. He does not want the police mixed up in this because you have humiliated him, and he wants revenge. He cannot afford to turn the other cheek because it would be seen as weakness, and rivals would seek to exploit it. No. He wants you, and what he's planning to do with you is feed you, feet first, into a wood chipper. You will, of course, be alive when he turns on the switch. I should imagine that it's a most unpleasant way to die.” “Oh, God,” one of the girls moaned. “You stupid cunts,” someone else yelled at the members of the Council. They were trying to make themselves invisible, and failing miserably. “So the problem,” Julia calmly continued, “is to find a solution that will make Spats happy, and that the DA can sell to the judge. We think that Professor Grady has come up with the answer, inspired no doubt by his many years of practical experience wearing and using diapers. I'll let him explain.” Julia nodded at Ian, and sat down. “The DA and I have cut a deal. A stiff fine, probation, and community service as candy stripers until you graduate. I can place some of you in the hospital over yonder.” Ian nodded in the general direction of the river and the complex just beyond. “But there are two other medical facilities within walking distance of this house, so placement won't be an issue.” Ian looked around the room, seeking and making eye contact. “This will satisfy the judge,” he went on, “but not Spats Belmondo. What may satisfy him is if you become his clients-- clients of Lullaby Diaper Service. So, it comes down to this: everyone in this sorority will have to agree to wear and use diapers 24/7 until you graduate. Spats can turn a nice profit, revel in your humiliation, and you walk away with your reputations reasonably intact. Your social life will be ruined, but on the plus side, your grades should go up. As deals go, it sure beats the wood chipper.” “No!,” a girl at the very back of the room protested. “I had nothing to do with this, and I'm not about to spend the next year and a half shitting myself to appease a mobster. Go screw yourself!” “Fine,” Ian mildly rejoined. “Who would you like to start with? Come on, you choose the first victim. Melanie Wilson, perhaps? She's in this up to her eyeballs, so she'd be a good choice. But perhaps there's someone else on the Council that you'd like Spats to run through the wood chipper, to become a tasty snack for the pigs that he keeps on a farm down in Iowa. You decide.” Ian had strolled up to the second row of seats, and he reached out to clamp a hand firmly on Melanie's shoulder. She looked like she was ready to puke, and he wanted to spare her the indignity. “You de … de … cide,” he stuttered, the room suddenly spinning around him. The rats feasted, initially on the exposed flesh. But when there was no resistance, they were emboldened. Some got inside the clothing and burrowed into the intestines, eating their fill. Others went after the eyes, a tasty morsel. The photos had come later, when the tropical heat and humidity had taken over where the rats had left off. Identifying Nguyen had been a challenge, Anh and his parents-inlaw more difficult still. The entire village … “IAN!” Somebody was screaming his name … “But that's not right. I'm Street Racer ...” “SMELLING SALTS,” Priscilla yelled; “SMELLING SALTS!!” Bernice dashed into her office to grab the first aid kit. Standing close by and paying close attention, Priscilla had heard Ian's voice trail off, got to him as he dropped to his knees, passing out as she caught him, his weight carrying both of them to the floor. It had taken hours to reach Minh … or so it felt. Rationally, Street Racer knew that it couldn't have been more than a minute. “Can't walk,” Minh had grunted, “legs are gone.” “It's a nice day.” Street Racer grimaced, the transition to Vietnamese seamless but the pain getting worse by the second. “A good day to die. Can you light 'em up?” He had somehow hoisted Minh onto his shoulders, his brother-in-law still gripping his weapon. He was vaguely aware that Quy had risen from the rice paddy, closed the distance to protect his right flank. Slowly, staggering under the weight, Street Racer headed in the direction of the LZ, the choppers now landing in a steady stream, evacuating the POW's that they had liberated from the hellhole southwest of Hanoi. The raid had been a brilliant success, until the rains had come early, forcing them to head west, into the mountains that separated them from the Laotian frontier. Everything had conspired to slow them down, to miss the rendezvous at the secondary … A stray round slammed into his chest, the right side of his rib cage on fire. He was looking to his right, toward the tree line when Quy's chest exploded in a cascade of torn flesh and blood, knocking him off his feet. Street reached out to get a grip on his fatigues, his mind willing him to drag his brother-in-law to safety even as his body began to give out ... “We need to elevate his legs.” Janis was struggling to remain calm, fighting to draw upon the knowledge that she had won in the long hours of her rounds in the hospital. She had found a couple of throw pillows to put under his ankles, but needed more. Chief Mischof removed his jacket, hastily bundled it, and pushed it under Ian's left knee. Watching her daughter the whole time, Julia did the same, sliding her coat under his right knee. Bernice unceremoniously dropped to the floor, cracked the ampule, and waved it under Ian's nose. Ian was prone on the floor, his head cradled in Priscilla's arms. “Ian, do you hear me? Do you?” She was sobbing, willing him to wake up. “I love you. Do you hear me, Secret Agent Man, do you? I love you, and you are not going to die on me! Not now, not ever!” “Here!” Kimberly had had the presence of mind to race to the living room, grab two cushions off the couch, and rush them back. Janis used them to elevate his ankles still higher. “Wha … what happened?” Ian was returning to consciousness, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. He remembered being in Viet Nam, but not how he had got there. It was all a blur. “Another seizure,” Priscilla cried. “It happened, just like Vickie said it would happen.” “The pig sty,” he groaned. “The rats,” she guessed. Someone brought a wet wash cloth, and she used it to mop his brow. His skin had been pale and lifeless only moments before, and now sweat was pouring off of him. Priscilla feared that the rats would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. “I love you.” “I know,” she said with a manufactured smile. “Your third lady of the week, and fourth of the month. But that's okay. I'm lucky to have you, and I'm willing to share. But there will be no more running off to save the world, do you hear me? The President can send somebody else to Poland, or Iran, or wherever it is that you're supposed to go next week. I'm not having it!” Julia started to speak, then shut her mouth with an audible snap. Now was not the time. “Do you think that you can stand,” Bernice asked as she slowly climbed to her feet. “Lying on the floor in the middle of the dining room is a bit undignified.” “I'm getting too old for this,” the Chief huffed as he also stood up. “And we still haven't resolved this mess.” “No,” Ian agreed as he managed to get onto his knees, and then with the Chief's help onto his feet. “We haven't.” Staggering, Ian reached out to grab the back of a chair, knowing that there was still work to be done. And perversely, he badly needed a diaper change. Later. Looking around, Ian could see that the room was in turmoil. Some of the girls were still seated, while others were up and milling around, talking to their friends and trying to get a handle on the situation. As he watched, two of the girls tried to leave, but the officers blocking the doorways politely but firmly instructed them to return to their seats. They are all so young … The floodgates opened, and memories began pouring into his conscious mind-- memories of childhood and innocence, and innocence lost. Lives lost. Willie Ross swam up once more from the depths, the nineteen year old kid with the perpetual smile, raised by loving parents to treat everyone around him with kindness. A baby abandoned on the outskirts of a village, lying there helpless, unable to escape the pitiless sun? Of course Willie picked the child up-- it was in his nature. And the anti personnel mine concealed beneath the infant had detonated, shredding them both. Holding onto the chair for dear life, eyes tightly shut in a hopeless attempt to ward off the pain, Ian shuddered. From a great distance, he felt a hand reach out to clasp his own. They need to hear the truth. You cannot let them make the wrong choice. Open your heart to them … teach them to love without measure … Nguyen? Rapidly blinking, Ian opened his eyes, unaware of the tears that were trickling down his cheeks. “You can do this,” Priscilla whispered, gripping his hand still more tightly to reassure him. “You are the bravest person I have ever met, and you can do this. Open your heart, and they will look inside theirs. Go on.” “Listen up, everybody!” Priscilla clapped her hands to get the room's attention. “Ian … Professor Grady has something to say that you need to hear. I'm not going to sugarcoat this. When he confided in me this afternoon, parts of it were so bad that I came close to putting my head in the trash can and puking my guts up. Some of it is going to give me nightmares, so I've asked him to edit it. But you need to hear it.” The girls looked at one another in confusion, no one quite knowing what to do. “Park it,” Bernice roared. Everyone scrambled to find a seat. “Thank you.” Ian said, stalling for time while he collected his thoughts. “What you just saw was a flashback, my third of the week. My doctor says that, just as a fuse blows to protect an overloaded circuit, my brain hurls me back to Viet Nam … back to the worst moments of my life … to prevent me from making decisions. And it does so with good reason.” Looking around the room, it was clear that some of the girls were paying attention, but others were just going through the motions for the sake of politeness. Ian abruptly decided to try a different tack. “I'm curious. How many of you are twenty-one?” Hands went up throughout the room, but instead of counting, Ian looked over to Bernice. “Fourteen,” she said, “including the two who are still absent.” “I was twenty-one when I landed in Viet Nam, and took command of a platoon. I was in way over my head, but I was fortunate to have a highly experienced sergeant to lean on. But I still made mistakes, and one of them killed a goodhearted kid from Alabama. He was nineteen years old, which I guess would make him a sophomore today … maybe a member of one of the fraternities. But he came home in a body bag, and yet he still talks to me in my dreams. That's guilt, and I have a mountain of it eating away at me. My therapist says that, to get better, I have to bring it out into the open, embrace it, and somehow find the grace to forgive myself, but that's easier said than done.” Ian had their attention now. Even the cops in the doorways were listening hard. “In February of sixty eight, I was wounded badly enough to end my army career, but not my military service. My ability to speak Vietnamese, and several other languages, kept me in country, but fighting in the shadows. I was now outside the chain of command, reporting to a civilian at the Pentagon, the Special Assistant for Counterinsurgency and Special Activities. The unit I pieced together became the tip of the special operations spear, carrying out one high risk mission after another in the North and South, in Laos and Cambodia. We had little interaction with the regular military, and in our isolation truly became a band of brothers … a family in the truest sense of the word … and I failed them.” Ian barely registered the sharp intakes of breath that swept across the room. “We had sworn an oath … our Commandment, really: everyone comes home. Whole, wounded, in a body bag, we leave no one behind. And in the last battle, I left two men in the field, two Vietnamese sergeants … my brothers-in-law, Minh and Quy ...” “WHAT,” Julia yelped, her cry echoed by others, a shock wave rolling back and forth in the confined space. “It's a compact,” he whispered, the pain visible now, framing each word, every syllable. “and I … I … I was wounded, but they … I was carrying Minh over my shoulders, and dragging Quy … already dead, maybe … I'm not sure. And then another round came in, fragmented in my spine, knocked me down. I lost my grip just as a chopper swooped in … the last chopper … someone dragged me aboard … I remember him screaming something like 'they're dead, let's go' … and we left them behind. My family.” “No! That's not fair!” Janis had not spoken with her mother, but Marilyn had left a message with the office to let her know that she was now representing Ian and would be shielding him. The note was still sitting on the desk in her room, asking her to thank all of the sisters that had stood duty outside his office, keeping the headhunters at bay. Her mother could not protect him from a nightmare. “You can't do this,” she protested, climbing to her feet, “because it's wrong. You were hurt so bad that you spent months in hospitals. There was nothing you could do! Nothing!!” “I'm sorry, Janis, but there's more.” Ian didn't know why, but it was somehow easier to confess his sins to one person than to a sea of disembodied faces. “We needed a base of operations, and because it was ideally located and we were welcome, I gravitated to Minh and Quy's village.” Ian took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “I was twenty-two when I met Nguyen, and fell in love with this beautiful, kind and caring woman who loved me in return. And our marriage was blessed. I have a daughter, Janis; her name is Linh, which is pronounced 'Ling' in Viet Nam, but 'Lynn' in America. We were, you see, thinking ahead.” A wistful smile creased Ian's features. They had batted names around in the dark, his head resting on her belly, the baby kicking out in protest. She had run her fingers through his hair, always so unruly. Julia gaped, as stunned as everyone else in the room. She stared at her daughter, watching the play of emotions washing across her features. Her gaze never wandered, and what Julia saw was pride and pain infusing love so intense that it radiated off of her in waves. In that moment, she realized that she had lost her little girl. And she knew how this story would end. There could be only one reason for this man to tell this story to this audience, to revisit all this pain. Scanning the room, seeing in their faces that none of the girls sensed how it would go … she pitied them for the choice that he would set before them. And she understood why her daughter had fallen in love. Julia had been wrong. Ian had not pulled the wool over her daughter's eyes. He had told her the truth. And Priscilla had embraced it, granted him the absolution of the confessional. Bernice Miller also knew what was coming. She had been widowed at twenty-seven, the telegram coming out of the darkness, her husband fallen at Pork Chop Hill. Eighteen months later, she had moved into the house, sharing it with young women less than a decade her junior. She had never remarried, and still wore her wedding ring. Bernice did not know what choice her charges would make, but they would choose, and their choices would have lasting consequences. This was the night, she sadly thought, when they would suffer childhood's end. Walt Mischof turned his head just enough to steal a glance at Bernice. They had known each other for so long, and had made the short trip together more than once-- to lay flowers on the graves of Bernice's husband and Walt's brother, both laid to rest in the VA cemetery out by the airport. The Chief knew that Bernice was childless, and that for all her bluster, she dearly loved the girls in her care-- an entire generation, and more, that she had taken from … How does the song go? “From crayons to perfume” … He knew that she was hurting, sadness and regret marring her features. Although the ground was snow covered, he resolved to ask her to join him in another visit once term came to an end, when almost every student went home for the holidays. Although it won't be much of a holiday for these girls … “I always left a skeleton force behind to secure the village in our absence,” Ian continued, “but not once did I leave Minh and Quy behind … and that was my mistake. When I was wounded … while I was in the hospital … the unit was disbanded, and my men moved on. There was no one left to defend the village … and at some point it was attacked. I knew nothing until I went home … to the village … and found it deserted. Even then, it took time to piece together what had happened ...” Ian dipped his head and so did not see the looks of horror as the truth began to dawn around the room. “I saw photos,” he went on, still oblivious. “My wife … my sister in law … her parents … everyone was dead, their bodies left where they had fallen. Everyone except the babies and small children. We … we think that someone who knew about my gift for languages also knew that I had a child, who would be incredibly valuable if she inherited my gift. But whoever did this did not know which child, so they played it safe by taking them all and leaving no one alive to tell the tale. And it was only by accident that we were able to piece together what had happened.” Ian looked over at Julia, knowing full well that she had unmasked him. “This was eight years ago, and on that day the search for my daughter began. I made a deal … some would say with the Devil. I travel the globe putting my talents to work for the CIA, and in return they have made finding Linh a priority mission. Others are searching as well, including ...” Looking up, Ian grinned sheepishly. “Including Mafia overlords, with whom I have a somewhat complex relationship. And that brings me to Spats Belmondo.” Reading the room, Chief Mischof chuckled to himself. The hammer was about to fall, and every head was upturned, awaiting the blow. “I don't know the man, but I do know the mindset. Julia is right. You've humiliated a Mafia don, and he can't ignore the hit. If he doesn't respond, his enemies will sense weakness and seek to exploit it, and the danger of betrayal within his own ranks is greater still. We have to make him the proverbial offer that he can't refuse; otherwise he will come for you, and there will be no easy deaths. An oldie but goodie would be to turn you into addicts, and then put you to work in the streets. Life expectancy? Less than three years.” The Chief estimated that more than half the people in the room were terror stricken-- and his officers covering the doorways didn't look so good either. But it wasn't every day that a CIA agent with the Professor's vast experience showed up so bluntly to talk about the facts of life. “I don't envy you your choices,” Ian concluded, “but I pray that you will prove wiser than me. There's the family you're born into, and the family you choose. Look around you, and ask yourself who you see. Are these mere acquaintances who share your life for a few years, and then depart, never to be seen again? Or are these what sorority girls have long styled themselves … sisters? Is this the family you have chosen?” Ian once more rested his hand on Melanie's shoulder. “I chose a family, and my mistakes cost them their lives. I'll carry that burden with me to the grave. If Tippi and Cindy, Janis and Melanie … others here … are your family, don't abandon them. If you do, the knowledge of what you have done will haunt you forever.” Ian turned to Priscilla, and mouthed one word. Nodding, she walked over to Janis and got her to her feet. Ian was gambling that cuffing her would bring home the reality of the situation in a way that mere words couldn't. Priscilla led her out of the room; she would get one of the officers on duty outside to put her in the back of a patrol car, collect Ian's diaper bag, and then return to change him. The battle for the sorority's collective soul would either be won or lost before she reentered the dining room. . . . . “Mommy, I poopy,” Vickie whined. “Let Mommy check,” Sarah replied as she kicked off the covers to roll over and sniff Vickie's butt. They had gone to bed only minutes before, entwined in each others arms. Vickie's head was cradled against Sarah's chest, and she was praying that her baby girl would begin to nurse. Sarah would cheerfully exchange the breast pump for Vickie's hungry mouth any day of the week and twice on Sunday. “Yep, you're poopy, all right. But don't worry; Mommy will clean you up and get you into a nice, dry diaper. Then we'll go to sleep, and Mommy will change you again in the morning.” Sarah reached over to the nightstand, grabbed Vickie's pacifier, and held it out to her. Vickie opened her mouth, accepted the offering, and began eagerly sucking on her binkie. Sarah had given up on the idea of sending Vickie to work in a dirty, stinky diaper. In so many ways, Vickie really was a big baby desperately in need of a mother's love, and Sarah was determined to see that she received it. In the morning, she would let Rita know that there had been a slight change in the plans for their new household, and a massive change in strategies. The antidote to Vickie's rebelliousness was to be found in diapers and baby pants, bottles and binkies, and above all in the love that a mommy and auntie could lavish upon their baby girl. A return to infancy would give the lonely little girl inside Victoria Robinson a chance to heel.

Intimations sur La Vie, which is one of the lithographs in Alvar's celebrated Le Miracle Quotidien series (1974).

I never release a scene until I am at least six chapters farther along. This allows you to revise content for next week on the basis of what you know is coming more than a month out (assuming weekly production). A lot of stories around here have died because the author painted her/himself into a narrative corner, from which there was no escape.

Quickie historical quiz: Mafia dons have been treated like royalty in books and movies alike, but the foot soldiers who actually do the work for the families never seem to take center stage. Well, one Mafia foot soldier has an important place in history. His name is: A. Nate Diamond B. Mannie Goldstein C. Mark Jade D. Jack Ruby

It's safe to say that Vickie is going to have a wet and messy night, perhaps the first of many. Her big girl panties are history, but methinks Sarah and Vickie are redefining their long relationship in a way that will be to the benefit of both. Stay tuned. Kimberly is a Senior, so her sentence will run about six months. Poor Tippi, a first year student, is staring diaper chastity in the face for the next three and a half years! But, as we shall see here and in AARDVARK. she is a very resourceful young lady.

Good start. Wish we had more stories around here slanted to the humorous side, but for some reason a sense of humor is rarely on display in the comments, or the stories.

Thank you! AARDVARK is meant to be funny in a kind of Rowan & Martin Laugh-In kind of way. Pompous ass wipes like the Dean made me desperate to find an excuse not to attend department meetings!

Thanks for the comment. I wish more people would take the time, because it's interacting with readers that makes the writing experience on this site so enjoyable. Tippi's role in this saga is going to get larger as we move along, with a serious (and hopefully unanticipated) twist in scene 9 of AARDVARK.