[AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 85: HOMECOMING]

WHAT'S COOKIN', DOC?

“God, it smells heavenly in here,” Vicki moaned, inhaling deeply as she walked into the kitchen, suitcase in hand. "What's cookin', Doc?”

She gave Ian a peck on the cheek, then grabbed him by the nape of the neck. Eyes closed, she leaned forward to kiss him hard on the lips. “That's just a preview,” she murmured, “of what I have in store for you.”

“Punishments and rewards,” Ian asked, “in the form of spankings and sex?”

“Mommy's orders,” Vickie giggled as she sneaked a peek at Sarah.

“Works for me,” he grinned.

“This clinches it,” Sarah decreed, her eyes taking in the organized chaos that only hours before had been Rita's neat and tidy kitchen. There were pots and pans everywhere. “Ian, from now on, this is your domain. Everybody else? Keep out!”

“Thanks, Mommy,” he managed to get out before kissing her in turn. Simply holding Sarah in his arms summoned warm memories of the night before …

And the morning after …

Sarah reached down to pat his diaper, her hand lingering over the chastity cage that lay beneath.

“I like your new diaper,” she quietly noted as her hand continued to wander. “Do you like your new toy?”

Vickie looked at her curiously. Neither Sarah nor Rita had brought up the subject of Ian's chastity cage when they were at the hospital.

“Barely notice it,” he said in return.

“What gives,” Vickie asked. Watching Sarah's fingers dancing across the surface of Ian's diaper, which was now identical to her own, she had her suspicions. She was certain that it would be easy for him to masturbate through the fabric, which was markedly thinner than his usual hospital diaper.

“I locked him up this morning ...”

“What? I thought we agreed that ...”

“Vic, I'm good with this, and it's not like it's forever.”

Ian was choosing his words carefully. He did not want Vickie to fly off the handle and start a fight in the kitchen.

“We need to temper his libido in order to make Anna more comfortable with Carlie,” Sarah interrupted. She did not want Ian to defend her actions; she could take care of herself. “You know the drill,Vic; one of us will summon the Princess, then pass her on.”

“I'm also worried about Tippi,” Ian confessed. “If she's going to change me several times a day, this will keep things from getting out of control … and I mean that quite literally.”

“But here, in the house?”

“No cage … no diaper cover. And yes,” Sarah smiled, “I'm well aware of the conflict between caging Ian to help Carlie on the one hand, and us making babies on the other. We'll have to play it by ear, and make adjustments as we go along.”

“This is also about skin care,” Sophia added. She was slicing up cucumbers and tomatoes for the Greek salad that she was preparing. “I don't like these diaper covers because they make it awkward to do a diaper check, and they don't allow the skin to breathe. They're an open invitation to diaper rash.”

Sofia turned away from the kitchen counter, and looked Vickie squarely in the eye. “The cage will prevent Ian from giving in to a moment of weakness, but what are we to do about you? Your lack of self-control is glaring.”

Vickie blushed. Between them, Rita and Sarah had taken her wands away, but without the canvas cover locked over her diaper, she would have been happy to let her fingers do the walking.

“So my cover really is a chastity belt, isn't it?”

“It's like this, baby girl.” Sarah decided to pick up where her mother had left off. “Your skin also needs to breathe, so I've brought a pair of locking mittens home that has your name on it. We all know how creative you can be, and how impulsive. This will allow us to give you the run of the house without having to keep an eye on you at all times.”

“Save all that pent up energy for me, Vic. Spankings and sex, remember?” Ian's eyes were alive with mischief; he was eager to find out just how crazy Vic could get in the bedroom.

. . . .

“I was expecting you a couple of hours ago,” Sophia commented as she continued slicing up the vegetables. Ian's instructions had been exact, and she was following them to the letter.

“The movers were on time,” Sarah sighed, “but it was a slow process because Ian's couches had to go out the window. They had to use a winch ...”

“Probably the same guys who moved me in back in August. They were obviously prepared.” Ian was busily dicing up the feta cheese that was a mainstay of any Greek salad.

“And then I decided to stop by the office, and let them know that Ian's car is down for the count. They want it gone, so we have to decide what to do with it. There's no room for it here, so it comes down to junking it or putting it in storage.”

“It's a good runner; all it needs is a new alternator.” Ian was pleading his case.

“I'll let you know what I decide.” Sarah's tone was firm, and Ian got the message. This was her call, and if she wanted his opinion, she'd ask for it.

“Mom, when's the last time you checked his diaper?” She wanted Ian to understand that she was his Mommy, and diaper checks were an efficient way to underscore the point.

“He's overdue,” Sophia admitted. “We've been busy. You, or should we call Vickie?”

“Turn around, Ian.” Sarah made it an order, and Ian knew better than to mouth off. He barely avoided snapping off a crisp salute.

“Vickie needs time to put her things away in the nursery. With so many stacks of diapers eating up space in the drawers, she doesn't have a lot of room.”

“You need to be changed,” she observed after checking both his front and rear. “You're wet, and you're poopy. Why didn't you say something?”

“I didn't notice,” he confessed.

“That's the breast milk in action,” Sophia gleefully noted. “From now on, every time you nurse him, he's going to dirty his diaper.”

“Such a baby,” Sarah theatrically sighed. “Well, come on; I'll change you in the nursery, and then you can get back to work. It does smell good in here; what are we having?”

“I'd like to start with saganaki, but it's flambeed, and I don't know much about smoke detectors. So, we'll play it safe and lead off with spanokopita. That's a spinach and feta cheese pastry.”

Ian pointed at one of the large trays sitting on the counter.

“Baklava for dessert. Kleftiko is in the oven, and won't be ready until around seven. It's roast lamb with roasted potatoes, onions and so forth. I'll whip up lemon rice to serve as a bed for it while everybody's working on the salad. Your Mom's got that under control.”

“Not planning to eat with us?”

“I'll steal a few bites in the kitchen. I've done this sort of thing before, Sarah, in Viet Nam. I always tried to put on a good spread for my command, so take my word for it: laying out a four course meal for twenty is time consuming.”

“Are you afraid, Ian? The only man at a dinner party with some twenty women? Be honest.”

“A bit. The last time we did this, the crowd was a lot smaller, and I was drunk. Dutch courage.”

Sarah fingered one of the bottles of Kourtaki that Ian had opened and left out on the counter to breathe. Curious, she picked one up, and sniffed the contents.

“Well,” she smiled as she eyed the stacks of glasses on the dining room table, “perhaps we'll lift the ban on alcohol, but just for tonight. Smashing glasses the way they did in Never On Sunday sounds like a lot of fun, and water would ruin the moment.”

“Not to mention what it would do to the fire,” Sophia cheerfully warned.

“Hmm, that's true.” Ian pretended to think about it. “It would get smoky in here, and the detector ...”

“Can't have that,” Sarah murmured as she took him by the hand and headed for the bedroom. “It would definitely spoil the moment.”

Vickie looked up when they walked into the nursery. She had finished unpacking the first suitcase, but there was one more out in the car, as well as a number of garment bags. She still had a lot of work ahead of her.

“I have to change the baby's diaper; how's yours holding up?”

“I need a change, Mommy, but it's not urgent.”

“Then let's get to it. Ian, you first.”

When he kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants, Vickie gasped.

“Pink baby pants?” The look on her face was priceless.

“Hey, I like pink, and hopefully Anna likes it too!”

Ian pulled himself up onto the table and stretched out.

In a matter of moments, Vickie found herself staring at the chastity cage that imprisoned his penis. It's so small, she thought, so impossibly small …

To her surprise, Sarah took the key out of her pocket and unlocked the sheath. Using a fingernail to pry out the insert that prevented his cock from escaping, she slowly pulled the sheath down and set it aside. Ian was free.

“Vic, this isn't some kind of kinky game. I meant what I said: at home, no cage … no cover. You and Ian wear the same diaper, and he can have a freebie with anyone in the household who's in the mood. Right now, my job is to clean the both of you up so that you can get back to work. But he goes back into the cage before leaving for campus on Monday morning. Am I getting through to you?”

Vickie nodded. “I'm sorry, Sarah; I misunderstood. We all want you to give Ian some space. I … I guess it's an okay compromise.”

. . . .

“Long day?”

Manny Cepeda teased the steaming cup of coffee with his spoon, and waited for Rita to get started. He visited the hospital on Saturdays only for special occasions and true emergencies, but a summons from the beautiful head of the Psych ward was always special.

Rita looked around the cafeteria. It wasn't crowded, but she chose nonetheless to keep her voice low.

“Very. Manny, we want to go ahead with the 'diaper your favorite nurse' auction,” she explained. “Ideally, we'd like to hold it on Tuesday afternoon, at the shift change. The winner will have to be upstairs to diaper Sarah at eleven on Wednesday night, and she should be back to change her when the first shift takes over at seven on Thursday. I'll take my turn in the trenches on Thursday night.”

“And we're still limiting the auction to female members of staff, with all funds going to one of our charitable causes?” Manny wanted to make sure that nothing had changed since he and Rita had first discussed her proposal.

“Exactly. There's a lot at stake here, Manny, and time is somewhat pressing. Can you reach out to all the departments on Monday?”

“Not a problem. Tuesday at three, here in the cafeteria? Do you guys still want to mount one of the tables and display your wares?”

“Absolutely. And you can invite the press, if you think it will gin up interest.”

“Good idea. And I'll set up a bank of telephones so that third shifters can get in on the action. Fair is fair.”

“Thanks, Manny; you're a peach.”

“Who can resist the pleas of a beautiful woman,” Manny smiled, before reaching for Rita's hand and gallantly kissing it.

. . . .

“How's it coming,”

Sarah smiled as Priscilla walked in the door. Like Vickie, she entered with a suitcase in hand.

“So far, everything's going according to plan. Bob and Amos set Ian's bed up in my room. It's really too small for a king size, so we had to stick one of the dressers in the closet. Then they collected the stuff from Vickie's apartment and put it in the garage. Not sure Dad will be able to get his car in.”

“How's your diaper holding up?”

“Mom changed me just before I left, so I'm good.”

Priscilla peeked over Ian's shoulder, and almost burst out laughing when she saw that he was actually using breast milk in his homemade tzatziki.

“Where am I putting my stuff?”

“My bedroom. I'm not a clothes horse like Vickie, so there's plenty of room in the closet and the dresser drawers. Help yourself.”

“Great! Where am I sleeping?”

“You can share a queen with me, a king with Rita, or I suppose you could squeeze into Vickie's crib.”

“So I don't get a bed of my own?”

“Nope … well, at least, not in this house. Not enough space. But you'll have a room of your own when we get our new digs.”

“How about Carlie? Where is she going to sleep?”

“Rita wants to partner with her, and I'm leaning in that direction. What about you, Pris? We would both welcome you, and I take it for granted that Carlie would as well. Are you willing to try?”

“To be honest? I don't know. I mean, I've thought about it … it's been in the back of my mind ever since you welcomed me into your household. But I don't think I'll know until I'm actually doing it.”

“That's fair. Again, you could also bed down with Vickie. You'd be locked into the crib for the night, so you'd have to use your diaper. You fine with that?”

“Yep. I take it Sis has no interest in sleeping with you or Rita?”

“None whatsoever,” Sarah laughed. She found the idea of Vic having sex with another woman infinitely amusing.

“She's a man's woman through and through, and she's deeply in love with Ian. She won't stray, but she also needs a mother's love as well as a sister's. That's where you and I come in.”

“Got it. Are you good with giving my Mom a key to Vickie's cover? Then she can change both of us.”

“When the two of you are staying over at your parents? Sure. I'm glad to have your mother's help. That reminds me to ask her for the key to yours.”

“Mom's a mind reader; she bringing you one tonight. I don't think this will work when I'm on the job-- we argued about it just before I came over. She wants me kept under lock and key, just like Sis. It's pretty obvious that she wants her baby back.”

“Well, I'm bottle feeding Vic; I guess your Mom and I could nurse you as well. This would really help Vic with her therapy, but you should know that there's a downside ...”

“Like I'll start pooping my diapers for real?” Priscilla had a huge grin on her face. “I'm okay with that, Sarah; after all, it's only temporary. All of this stops when I go to Quantico.”

“Having you and Vic share a crib is beginning to make more sense. And what's another baby in the house? Two becomes three …”

Sarah thought about it. Vic was the older sister that Pris badly needed to fill a gap in her life, which hinted at a lonely childhood. Treating them as baby sisters might do them both a world of good.

“Big deal,” Sarah shrugged as she made up her mind.

“Pris can share my crib,” Ian offered.

“Only when the two of you are making love,” Sophia cut in. “That's going to be a hard and fast rule. You make love in your crib and only in your crib … nowhere else in the house. The beds are for grown ups; you're just a big baby.”

“If we go down this path, Priscilla, the same rule will apply to you.” Sarah wanted to make sure the young policewoman knew what she was getting into. “Your cover stays locked on unless someone is changing you, bathing you, or you and Ian are making love. No exceptions to the rule.”

“I understand; but wouldn't it be more convenient if Sis and I changed each other? We've talked about it, and we're both willing.”

“I'm sure you are, but it isn't going to happen. As you pointed out, it is pretty obvious that your Mom wants to treat you like a baby, and I'm happy to oblige. But babies don't change one another; mommies and aunties, and only mommies and aunties, do the diaper changing in this family.”

“But the added work ...”

“That's Mommy's problem, Pris, not yours.”

Ian sensed that Sarah was on the verge of losing her temper. Priscilla clearly wasn't seeing the connection between regressing and submitting. It was time to set her straight.

“Pris,” he warned, “you are this close to getting a spanking … a real spanking.”

“What?” Priscilla blinked; she had no idea where Ian was coming from.

“You're a junior partner, Pris, and you're mouthing off to the boss. Personally, I think that she should spank you. Call it a reality check.”

“And where does that leave us, Ian? You and me?”

“It doesn't change anything. Pris, I'm the infant in this household, and you are one of my aunties. But you and Vic both act like whiny toddlers, Vic most of the time and you some of the time. You'd better believe that your two Moms are going to have a heart to heart talk about your future tonight. It wouldn't surprise me if Julia ends up putting you over her lap in front of everybody, including Babs and Carlie. You want that?”

“No.” Suitably chastened, Priscilla stared down at the floor.

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” she murmured. “I forgot my place. Please be patient with me.”

“My patience is wearing thin,” Sarah replied in a tone that made it clear to Priscilla that she was on thin ice. Reaching out, Sarah grabbed the girl's wrist, and dragged her into the dining room. She stood Priscilla in the corner, and told her not to move.

“We'll start with a time out so that you can think about your behavior, and what I will expect from you going forward. Don't move, and don't talk; if you do, you will go straight over my knee. You won't enjoy the experience because I spank very, very hard.”

. . . .

Herb jumped out of the car and ran into the house. The back of the garage had the usual clutter, but he had it well organized, with just enough room to get the car inside and lower the door. Only someone had stacked a row of boxes right in front of the space that his four door sedan called home. And with the rear end sticking out into the driveway, there was no way for the garage door to come down.

Desperate, barely holding on, Herb dashed up the stairs, the bathroom door second on the right.

It looked like he would make it. Standing in front of the toilet, Herb fumbled with his zipper, a few drops of urine beginning to dribble into his underpants. His sense of urgency increased tenfold.

Zipper down, he was preparing to get down to business when the dam burst. A gusher of hot pee exploded, soaking his pants, warming his hand, and puddling the floor around his feet. He tried to clinch, but nothing happened. All he could do was stand there, bearing witness to his own humiliation as the puddle turned into a pool. His trousers, his socks, his shoes, the floor …

He started to whimper. Julia had dashed up the stairs behind him. She had stood in the doorway, mutely observing her big, strong husband wet himself like a two year old still struggling to get to the potty on time.

“I feel like such a baby,” he whispered, not turning his head, not wanting to see the look in her eyes. He could not bear the thought that she might pity him.

“Take off your shoes and your clothes, and leave them where they lay,” she ordered. “I'll clean up out here while you take a shower. Then we'll run everything that got wet through the washer. Not sure what to do about your shoes, though.”

“I didn't drink anything at work … not one single, solitary cup of coffee. Not one. Why is this happening to me? Why?” Herb was on the verge of tears.

“You know why, Herb. The only question that matters is what we're going to do about it.”

“Diapers,” Herb sighed. He knew what Julia was going to say.

“Protection,” she corrected. “You did well today, Herb … cutting back on the caffeine. We'll tackle alcohol the same way … see if reducing stimulants will reduce the urgency … buy you more time to get to the toilet. Still, for the time being, you're going to have to wear protection. Changing our diet … exercise … we can get on top of this, Herb, but Rome wasn't built in a day. It's going to take time.”

“I love you, Julia.”

Julia hugged her husband, ignoring the fact that she was now standing in his pee. “We're lucky, you know,” she whispered into his ear. “All these years, and neither of us has ever had to fire a weapon except on the range. No accidents, no tragedies … just life taking its course. If you need to wear diapers to bed, I'll wear them too. Who knows, maybe a change of pace will add a little spice to our middle aged lives.”

“Like adopting a daughter at our age isn't excitement enough?” Herb kissed her on the cheek.

“Not adopting when Pris was small, when we found out that I couldn't have more children … that's my one regret in life.”

“We were so busy, trying to get ahead so that we could give Pris the best of everything.” Herb sighed, his regrets running as deep as Julia's. “We missed the one thing she really wanted until it was too late to do anything about it.”

“And then Victoria stumbles into our lives,” Julia laughed, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. “Oh, I spoke with Tom Reynolds a couple of hours ago. He wants to administer the adoptions himself, but he'll leave the venues up to us. He encouraged me to think big, like a formal wedding, rather than a small ceremony in his chambers. I got the impression he's done this before!”

“I'm looking forward to meeting Bernice. I've heard about her … Fraternity Row's Rock of Gibraltar … but I've never had the pleasure.”

“You'll meet her tonight.”

Herb leaned back so that he could study Julia's face. After thirty years of marriage, he knew his wife well.

“Herb, you're going to be spending the night at the sorority. There's no alcohol in the house, so no need for you to resist temptation. I want the two of you to put your heads together and start sorting out the nuts and bolts of the adoptions. How many people do you want to invite from the Department? How many friends does Vickie have up and down the Row? We may need to rent an auditorium to hold everybody who's expecting an invitation.”

“Uh huh,” Herb grinned. “And by an amazing coincidence, every girl in the house will be well and truly diapered when she climbs into bed. Is that what this is all about, Julia? Do you want Bernice to diaper me?”

“Would you rather have one of the sorority girls do the honors?” Julia reached down and patted Herb's dick. “I'm pretty sure there would be quite a few volunteers, but no. Since it looks like Bernice will be changing Pris when she's at work, let's keep this in the family. Yes, Herb … no coffee, and no booze. Perhaps a nice cup of warm milk at bedtime instead. I'm hoping that you'll give diapers a try, and I thought it might be less awkward for you if Bernice diapered you rather than me, but it's still your call.”

“Sort of like having it done by a nurse in the hospital.” Herb nodded; he could see the logic in what Julia was saying. “And what,” he added, “will you be doing while Bernice and I are hard at it?”

“I'll be partying at Rita's house. It's a big to-do, so a chance for me to get acquainted with Vickie's friends outside the workplace. And since Ian will be there, we can go over both adoptions at once. Will we end up inviting everyone who works at the hospital? Ian's whole department? The whole of Fraternity Row?”

“Ah, well, there goes that cruise to Hawaii. Or maybe we'll take out a second mortgage.”

“We could sell the house … buy something close to wherever Pris and her menagerie settle, downsizing in the process. And no more stairs! I am sick and tired of lugging the laundry up and down two flights of stairs! Enough, already!”

“Maybe one of those airplane sized bathrooms in the entryway? You know … for guests.”

Julia glared at her husband.

“All right, already; I'll wear the diapers. But I draw the line at pink baby pants!”

. . . .

“From now on, let's make it a rule,” Rita declared as she came into the kitchen. “First two to get home park in the garage, and the rest of us use the driveway. Since we all have to be at work by seven, it really doesn't matter who parks where.”

“We could carpool,” Sarah suggested. “It would save a lot of wear and tear on my beater.”

“Worth thinking about,” Rita agreed. Seeing Priscilla standing quietly in the corner, she looked curiously at Sarah.

“She's in time out. She's been a little too mouthy for my liking, so it was either this or a spanking. We'll try a gentle punishment first, but she's going to be diapered for the duration, and share Vickie's crib. When Julia gets here, the two of us will sit down, discuss her behavior, and figure out her place in the household. It may turn out that we have still another baby on our hands.”

“The nursery is going to be crowded. At this rate, we'll need a much bigger room in our next house.”

“One room for all the babies, big and small?”

There was something about the image of Ian and her daughter making love in one crib yet trying not to wake their firstborn just a few feet away that brought a smile to Sofia's lips.

“Well, maybe two rooms,” Rita laughed, catching Sofia's point.

“I'm done here,” Ian announced as he covered the bowl of tzatziki with Saran Wrap before slipping it into the icebox. “And I need to talk to Vickie … preferably before she throws my stuff out the window to make room for her stuff.”

Sarah looked sharply at Ian. He was keeping it casual, but she caught the underlying tension in his voice. She remembered what he had said to Vic last night-- how he wanted to help Babs, but didn't know where to begin.

And she desperately needs help. Thursday night, that girl put on a clinic … a graduate seminar in self-destructive behavior …

Priscilla caught it too. Standing in the corner, nose pressed to the wall, her body stiffened.

“Do you want me to start cleaning up?”

Sarah blindly gestured at the pots, pans and utensils that littered the countertops. Her eyes never left Ian's.

“No rush … and Vic's volunteered for KP, remember? Besides, this won't take long.”

I love you, Ian mouthed, reaching out to clasp both of Sarah's hands.

“One more soul to save,” she whispered, wanting to reassure him that she was good with this.

“Habit forming,” he conceded in a resigned voice. Ian never spoke of his final mission and the terrible choice that had awaited him in a tiny hamlet deep inside North Viet Nam. Coming to terms with his own humanity had jeopardized the mission and put his command at risk, but he had always refused to second guess his decision. The French had honored him with the Croix de Guerre, which was gathering dust in a desk drawer in his office alongside the South Korean Order of Military Merit and Australia's Victoria Cross.

It was harder to forget the children whose lives he had spared that day, harder yet not to wonder what had become of them. Some would now be Linh's age …

North, South … what does it matter … they were all children, and they all deserved better of us …

Sarah silently watched the play of emotions in Ian's eyes, knowing that it was not Babs but something in his past that had swept him away.

“I love you,” she softly declared, wanting with all her heart for her feelings to cleanse his soul. She nodded in the direction of the nursery.

Ian quietly left the room.

. . . .

“How's it coming,” he asked.

Vickie looked up, and smiled. It had been a while since she and Ian had been alone.

“Be it ever so humble,” she nervously stammered.

She didn't quite know what to say. They were standing in a nursery, both in diapers, with hers locked on. Ian was the only man with whom she had ever fallen in love, and suddenly she felt very shy.

Holding her close, he kissed her, tentatively and then with greater passion.

Vickie melted into his arms. She was an intensely sexual being, but with Ian she had finally come to understand that lust and love were not one and the same. The single minded pursuit of one's own pleasure in the arms of another, she now realized, was selfishness in its purest form.

“Ready to tackle the pots and pans?”

“I guess … maybe ...”

“Don't worry; I'll teach you the dos and don'ts. Show the kitchen some love, and it will reward you.”

“And will you reward me? If I show you some love?”

Vickie's voice was hushed, but her eyes were on fire.

“I can't believe how much I love you … you and that ridiculous turkey drumstick of yours. Doctor Victoria Robinson … the only woman who's ever taken up arms to defend me.”

Ian nuzzled Vickie's nose. If she had not been under lock and key, he would have taken her right then and there.

“I need your help, Vic; I don't know what to do.”

“Babs.”

“Babs …”

“And me,” he added after a very long moment.

“It stops with me, Ian.” Vickie looked up into his eyes, wanting him to understand that she would never betray his trust.

“In a lot of ways, my life began when I was nine years old … when I was raped.”

Vickie screamed, and her face collapsed, the pain washing over her like water exploding from behind a shattered dam.

Footsteps.

Racing from the living room. Priscilla was the first. She had been dreading this moment.

Sarah stood in the doorway, blocking her mother and Rita. She knew without asking that the demon that had tormented Ian for so long had finally been unleashed.

Priscilla rushed to Vickie's side and threw her arms around her, wanting to protect her from something monstrous, even if it was invisible. She looked at Ian, her eyes imploring, helpless to fight back against a ghost summoned up from the depths of his memories.

“It's okay, Sis,” Vickie stammered as she began to pull herself together. “Really, it's okay. Now, I need you to go, all right?”

“But ...”

Vickie sadly shook her head, her eyes mirroring the anguish that was overwhelming her being. But she was a physician and she had taken an oath; in this terrible moment, it was her salvation.

“Priscilla, we need to give them some space.”

Sarah was gentle, but she was also insistent. She held out her hand, and waited for Pris to take it. Leading her from the room, she closed the door and pushed everyone away.

Time passed, moments measured in heartbeats.

Eternity took the form of a ticking clock.

The door opened.

. . . .

This concludes season two of An Homage to Vincent Vega.

[AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 85: HOMECOMING]

Quickie entertainment quiz:

The Mouse That Roared was a terrific novel that was turned into a darn good movie.  What famous comic actor played the mouse that roared?

A.  John Cleese

B.  Jack Lemmon

C.  Jerry Lewis

D.  Peter Sellers

E.  Dick Van Dyke  

[AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 85: HOMECOMING]

18 hours ago, zwergi said:

Eine tolle Geschichte mit vielen  Wendungen,  ich liebe  Sie.

Vielen Dank.  Es geht viel Spass zu schreiben.

[U.S/A.DIAPERS]

15 minutes ago, ValentinesStuff said:

To be honest what is needed is to see why such disparities in trade exist, not just the amount of disparity. Is the country restricting US imports? Or are US companies just not finding what they want? Or is there just not the population base to support an equity in trade?

You are asking the right question, and in the case of tariffs, there is much for us to complain about.  For example we tariff cars produced in the EU with internal combustion engines at 2.5%; the EU tariffs our cars at 10%, effectively locking them out of the market.  But the President is addressing a broader range of issues, including currency manipulation, theft of intellectual property, patent infringement, discriminatory regulations, and state subsidization of production.  The classic case is Airbus versus Boeing, but here's a personal example.  In 1968, my father shut down his steel company because he could not compete against steel imported from South Korea and Sweden, where the cost of production in both instances was state subsidized.  Again, look at the date.  This abuse has been going on for a long, long time. 

[AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 85: HOMECOMING]

ANNOUNCEMENT: a fifteenth tranche, consisting of scenes 43-44, is now up and running on the STORIES page of the site.  Once again, comments have been removed to enable readers to enjoy the story without interruption.  The balance of season 2 will follow.

[Northshore and tarrifs]

49 minutes ago, Wolfie thy wolf said:

But a VP is elected which intern would being that he would be an elected president if it was passed down to him

Nope

7 minutes ago, Dubious said:

Trump can be Speaker of the House, and this way find his way up to President again. 

Just need 2 people to go away.

There is a reason why one member of the Cabinet is always far away from DC during the President's State of the Union address.  

[Northshore and tarrifs]

45 minutes ago, ValentinesStuff said:

Except that the XX Amendment just says that "No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice." It doesn't say anything about serving as President more than twice. 

Precisely.  This is a superseding amendment.

[Northshore and tarrifs]

12 minutes ago, SpiderBaby said:

So what does that mean exactly?🤔

The importer pays the tariff at the point of entry.  

 

7 minutes ago, zzyzx said:

it would probably be against the sale price by Rearz.

In my personal experience, the tariff is assessed against the price on the bill of lading.  This is actually where it gets interesting.  The price that you pay, and the price on the bill of lading, may not be the same.  I expect Chinese exporters to be creative-- playing games with the bill of lading, shipping through an intermediate country (Vietnam is their traditional choice), shipping through Canada or Mexico (the latter is especially favored to move drugs and automotive parts) to get inside the North American trade zone at a more favorable point of entry.  Lots of variables in play here.

So far, very little attention has been paid to the effective abolition of the de minimis exemption.  Think Ali Baba, Temu, and the like.  E-commerce, whether it be platforms like ebay or amazon, is going to take a massive hit because the Chinese cannot fight back given that there is no de minimis exemption for goods entering China.  If you think the cost of diapers is going to increase, wait until you see what happens to pacifiers.         

[Northshore and tarrifs]

14 hours ago, drynot said:

I can't see that changing unless you have a significant cultural shift back towards manual labour

This is already underway.  If you are a male, 21 years of age, your best shot at the gold ring is to become a plumber or HVAC repair specialist.  No college loan debt, and here in Minnesota, a starting salary of 125K a year.  Take a look at the growing divide between college educated females and males, and you will be catching up on a trend that has been underway for almost a decade.  And this is producing fascinating social trends.  If you are not familiar with the concept, spend some time reading up on hypogamy.  It's been going on for a very long time, but for a generation now, in this county the shoe has been on the other foot.

14 hours ago, NoIllDL said:

If our crazy tangerine president wants to run for a third term, in violation of the 22nd Amendment,

Have your read the amendment?  There is nothing in it to preclude President Trump, President Obama, President Bush, or President Clinton from holding a third term.  All it takes is for Trump to be the Vice-Presidential nominee in '28, and have the President resign.  This has been done more than once at the state level.  See, for example, George and Lurleen Wallace in Alabama.  As we speak, the governor of Florida is testing the waters to see if he can pull this off with his wife.

[Buy your diapers now! Stock up!]

57 minutes ago, Rachael-Little said:

Yeah stop buying from china would be a smart choice 

I have worked in China, and I have seen poverty everywhere, from high rise apartment blocs in Shanghai where the only toilet is an outhouse in the center of the complex, to villages in Yunnan province where the only toilet is an open trench running down the middle of the muddy, unpaved road that constitutes the main street.  What I have witnessed is slave labor working in appalling environmental conditions.  And here at home, I have seen the destruction caused by the outsourcing of millions of jobs in places like Cairo, IL and Youngstown, OH.

The time has come for all of us to choose: our own needs on the one hand, and the greater good on the other.  At age 79, with a granddaughter only 6 months old, this is an easy choice for me to make.  I do not envy those of you who are younger because your choice will not be so clear cut.  But it will define you.  

[AI Section Rules]

5 hours ago, Cute_Kitten said:

One trick some authors use to read their dialogue out loud so they hear how it sounds and can adjust accordingly

This is very good advice.  I began my writing career more than 50 years ago with tape recorder in hand, and still use one (I have several).  I listen to the whole text because I want it rhythmically to flow faster here and slower there, and it is a very good way to take command of your dialog. 

There are tools that a writer can use to give dialog a more natural feel.  For example, don't use a string of commas to segment the elements in a sentence.  Instead, use three dots with spacing both before and after.  This conveys in print the momentary hesitation that your character is experiencing as he/she organizes their thoughts while speaking.  If these programs cannot do this on their own, can the user train them?    

[U.S/A.DIAPERS]

55 minutes ago, drynot said:

Can you provide a list of GOOD disposable adult diapers that are produced here? (ie: USA)

Disposable: Attends, Prevail, Tranquility.  

[Northshore and tarrifs]

Mexico and Canada = NAFTA.  

[AI Section Rules]

2 hours ago, ValentinesStuff said:

If the AI analysis were just fixing grammar and spelling, then then I would say it is written by a person.

Let's apply this to the writing of fiction.  For the vast majority of us, the way we think and speak is far removed from being grammatically correct, and dialog and introspection should reflect this reality.  Frankly, the vast majority of stories that appear here fail this test, yielding dialog that is stilted and artificial.  Having one of these programs correct poor grammar would therefore be a positive in the narrative, but make a bad situation worse in the dialog. Do you always think in complete sentences?

In sum, there is at present no substitute for doing the hard work of learning how to write.  You have to master the fundamentals, and deploy them in one paragraph only to junk them in the next.  AI may get there at some point in the future, but it is certainly not there now.       

[Northshore and tarrifs]

China has been using Mexico and Canada from the beginning to get product into the US.  Look into fentanyl for a recent and deadly example.

[AI Section Rules]

2 hours ago, TBCuri said:

response.

 

2 hours ago, TBCuri said:

AI Analysis

 

[AI Section Rules]

4 minutes ago, TBCuri said:

Human applies and integrates AI analysis to draft

At this point, you are looking at a work that should be credited to AI.  To use an analogy, Robert Parker created the Boston private eye Spenser, but after his death the series was continued by Ace Atkins.  Atkins is acknowledged as the author despite the fact that he did not create the character.

[Northshore and tarrifs]

15 minutes ago, rusty pins said:

Just to set the record straight, during the Clinton era, the economy boomed

Just for the record, the Democrats had the White House and both houses of Congress during Clinton's first 2 years in office.  And they made such a mess of the economy that the Republicans gained and kept control of both houses for the ensuing 6 years.  Remember Newt Gingrich's Contract With America?  The architect of the good times was Jack Kemp; Clinton's enduring legacy is NAFTA, and the Chinese have exploited its loopholes brilliantly. 

[AI Section Rules]

13 hours ago, Elfy said:

There is no way to really enforce anything without relying on people self-tagging their work.

I'm not happy about this, but at present see no viable alternative to self-policing.  AI's presence is distinctive, but what are we to do when the author insists that this is the way he/she writes?  What I would like to do is find a way to encourage first time authors who are relying upon their own God given talents to keep at it.  

[AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 85: HOMECOMING]

20 hours ago, mushy bottom said:

Tom & Jerry?

Oddly enough, I debated calling this scene "Tom & Jerry" or "Sylvester and Tweety."  I wanted to go with the latter because at the moment Ian and Tweety are both caged-- but how many readers have ever heard of Tweety?  Gracias!

[Northshore and tarrifs]

4 hours ago, Dubious said:

There is nothing good with tariffs

If you dig a little deeper, you will learn that the term "tariff" is a catch-all for a long overdue series of reforms.  For example, the EU will not permit any American manufactured product to enter the zone unless it conforms with the entire gamut of EU regulations.  This has made it all but impossible for US automakers to gain a foothold in the European market.  The EU also does not recognize our patent laws, making it possible for pharmaceuticals to go generic in France after 13 years, in contrast to the much longer patent protection that is in play here.  The list of similar abuses is very long, and listing the number of countries that have been taking advantage of us for generations would be a tedious exercise.  It would be simpler to write up a list of those who have traded fairly with us.

And tariffs do work, especially when the objective is reciprocal.  This means using the threat of tariffs to get the other guy to get religion real quick.  So far, Vietnam, Thailand, Taiwan and Japan have got the message. More will follow, with reforms at home paired with investment here.  Take a look at the massive flow of foreign investment capital into our semiconductor industry, and you will be looking at the future.    

[AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 85: HOMECOMING]

8 hours ago, CDfm said:

Ian continues to adjust to the situation no matter what. Even though it’s forty love I still think Ian can come back and at least make a duce.

Thanks, but he skunked Sofia in this game.  Hence "The Mouse That Roared."

[Northshore and tarrifs]

53 minutes ago, Crinklz Kat said:

China is essentially a closed economy - very few imports at all.

Food and energy, little else.  China has been relying heavily on a loophole called the de minimis exemption to flood our marketplace with cheap products via Ali Baba, Shein, and Temu.  This exemption has now been closed for both Hong Kong and the PRC, and this is going to have a massive downstream impact on e-commerce in addition to making it a lot easier for Customs to intercept illegal drugs in transit.

In politics, it helps to have a long memory.  Back in the late 80s and early 90s, when the Democrats were beholden to Big Labor, people like Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi loved tariffs and ranted and raved against free trade.  But now the Democrats are a wholly owned subsidiary of the Wall Street hedge funds, right alongside what is laughingly called the Republican party.  Collectively they are The Establishment, and I for one am comforted to have a businessman in the White House who is equally loathed by Schumer and McConnell.  And yes, I twice voted for Ross Perot; indeed, I voted third party six presidential elections in a row.  

   

[AI Section Rules]

 

Saw this ad on you tube: Words That Work | Communicate Clearly With Grammarly

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Obviously, there is a lot more to this program than doing spell checks and correcting bad grammar.

[AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 85: HOMECOMING]

THE MOUSE THAT ROARED

“Please.” Ian gestured at one of the two empty chairs. “And if your friend would like to join us, she's welcome.”

“Thank you, Professor; that's most kind of you.”

“Please, call me Ian.”

“Jennifer.”

“And this is my soon to be mother-in-law, Doctor Sofia Haikonnen.”

“Ah!” Jennifer's smile was radiant. “So that's why you call her 'Mommy'.”

“You heard us?”

Sophia's plan publicly to embarrass Ian was going better than she had hoped. And Jennifer's reaction gave her all sorts of ideas for how to proceed with Bob's training as her submissive.

“Oh, yes … and I would be happy to do his next diaper check. How do you go about it?”

“Oh, same as with any toddler; I just loosen his trousers enough to let my fingers do the walking.”

This time, Jennifer laughed outright. Ian and Sophia were highly amusing, even outrageous. She liked them both.

“Have we met?” Ian had an eye for buxom blondes, and couldn't place her.

“No. I saw you on television several times on Thursday … you and those sorority girls of yours. They're here, by the way … no doubt looking for something outrageous to wear to the Delta kegger, or maybe just to conceal their diapers.”

“They're here? What, all of them?” Ian was flabbergasted. He had expected Bernice to ground the whole house.

“Crawling all over the mall. But I just saw Cindy and her mom in Dream Weaver a few minutes ago, with Kim and Mel. There was another girl with them, tall and thin, but I don't know her.”

“Tippi Bjornsen would be my guess,” Ian mused.

“Your caregiver?” Sophia's eyes it up.

“One and the same,” Ian conceded.

“You have a sorority girl … what … changing your diapers?” Jennifer was astonished.

“Yeah, 'fraid so,” Ian conceded.

“Ian was badly wounded in his last engagement, and there's still a shell fragment lodged in his spinal cord. Changing his diaper is something that he can't safely do for himself, so my daughter has arranged to have him receive care when he's on campus.” Sophia hastened to correct a misunderstanding that would cast her daughter in a bad light. She was having fun with Ian, but there were limits to how far she was willing to go.

Remembering what Ian had said to the frat boys when he got off the bus that brought the girls home from jail … his offhand comment about R&R … Jennifer's hand flew up to cover her mouth. Her mistake was obvious, and deeply embarrassing. She looked at Ian with equal parts pity and admiration.

“So, how do you know my daughters?” Sensing Jennifer's discomfort, once again Ian was quick to change the subject.

“Oh, I'm a Kappa … class of sixty-six. I'm very active in our chapter, and I'm proud to say that I know most of the girls on Fraternity Row at sight.”

“Now, there's a coincidence,” Ian chuckled. “My closest friends are the Freemans, and Elaine is not only a Kappa but also a member of the national board. She used her powers of persuasion to move two of your girls over to ZAP. You'll be happy to know that they've settled in nicely.”

“Jackknife and Slasher,” Jennifer laughed. “And you know Elaine? My God, how small the world has become! I met her at a function in DC several years ago. This is amazing!”

“Terri, you've got to join us,” Jennifer called out as she turned around. “Ian is best friends with Elaine Freeman!”

“Terri's also a Kappa,” Jennifer whispered; “she was a year behind me.”

“Congratulations, Professor, on your appointment to the Panhellenic Council.”

“You know about that?” Teresa Bradley was another stunning blonde, although not as well endowed as her companion.

“Oh, Professor,” Terri laughed, “by now there won't be a sorority chapter anywhere in the country that's out of the loop. Our grapevine is a well oiled machine! Has Karen Walsh brought you up to speed?”

“She's the current Council president,” Jennifer explained to Sofia. She often felt ignored when attending dinner parties with her husband's colleagues, and she tried hard not to treat others similarly.

“Other than mandatory attendance at keggers and toga parties, not a whole lot.”

Ian's stoic expression didn't change, not even when all three women laughed loud enough to cause heads to turn yet again. Spotting some of the college girls looking up, he felt like he was really on a roll.

“Seriously,” he went on, "I gather that they need help with fundraising, and expect me to keep the Dean off their backs. On both counts, it would help if they would stop sparking riots and getting themselves arrested. Don't get me wrong; I love Cindy Carlson, but she is driving me crazy!”

“Speaking of the devil.”

Jennifer was looking over Ian's shoulder, causing him to turn around.

“Mom, look! There's our new Dad!” Cindy was waving excitedly, and she rushed forward with Kim, Tippi and Mel in hot pursuit. Emily Carlson was left to bring up the rear.

Ian looked around, but there were no larger tables available, so he began scrambling to grab empty chairs wherever he could find them. Seconds later, Mel and Kim pulled a nearby table alongside, and suddenly Ian found himself surrounded by eight attractive women, four of them in bulky diapers that couldn't be missed by anyone who even glanced their way. For the first time since Sophia had dragged him into the mall, Ian felt like he was hidden from view.

“Dad, this is Emily, my Mom. Gosh, I'm surprised to find you here. Did Mom tell you that we'd be here, and ask you to come along and keep us out of trouble?”

“Mommy, Cindy is referring to ZAP's house manager and my adoptive parent, Bernice Miller. Everyone, this is my mother-in-law, Sophia, whom I shall henceforth address as 'Mommy' because this conversation is beginning to feel a lot like a remake of Abbott and Costello.”

“Who,” Cindy asked.

“That's right,” Ian nodded. “Who's on first.”

“First what?”

“First base. Who's on first.”

“Why are you asking me, Dad,” Cindy replied with a perfectly straight face. “I don't know who's on first ...”

“Stop it,” Emily barked. People at several of the other tables were clapping, and Ian's companions were laughing so hard that some of them were tearing up.

Ian gave Cindy a hug, and whispered that he would explain later. But he wondered if he was holding the next Gracie Allen in his arms. Cindy was a natural who only needed the right straight man to take the comic world by storm.

“Gotcha,” Cindy crowed. “Seriously, Dad, everyone knows Abbott and Costello. They're the best!”

“Holy Cow!” Ian rocked back on his heels. “Cindy, that's incredible! You really had me going there!”

“Next stop, Hollywood,” Cindy crowed. “This morning, a producer called from American Bandstand. They want me to do the Cindy Shuffle on the air!” She broke into an impromptu version that delighted a number of men walking around the food court.

“Do you want me to put in a good word with Dick Clark?”

“You know Dick Clark?” Jennifer didn't know whether to take Ian seriously or not.

“Met him once in Viet Nam. He was doing a USO tour up in the Highlands, and Charlie tried to crash the party. My men got seriously pissed because they thought they would miss the Playboy bunnies. There was a brief pause while we took care of business, and then a good time was had by all. Dick and I chatted for a bit after the show.”

“Sarah warned me about this,” Sophia mused. “All the places you've been and the things that you've done. You never talk about them, but occasionally you let something slip, like palling around with Dick Clark in Viet Nam.”

“And then there's my Mafia pals,” Ian smiled. “Cindy, forget the Bandstand. I'll make a few phone calls, and then we'll head out to Vegas. We'll start with a lounge show at one of the hotels on the Strip, and then work our way up from there … Grady and Carlson. We'll resurrect vaudeville from the dead!”

“Ian, stop it!” Emily knew just how gullible her daughter could be. “There's a lot of empty space in Cindy's skull, and you're filling it with dangerous ideas. Now, both of you, sit down!”

The two comics hastened to obey, but a moment later Cindy was back on her feet. “They know about the Cindy Shuffle, but they don't know about the shimmy shake! Gran taught me, and I'm good!”

Cindy began to move her shoulders and her hips, her whole upper body gyrating to music that only she could hear.

“I did the shimmy when I was starring in our school production of Scheherazade a couple of years ago. If I can figure out a way to tie them together, the sky's the limit!”

“How's your diaper holding up, Dear?” Emily was determined to bring her daughter back down to earth. “And Ian, what about yours?”

“I changed him a few minutes ago in the maternity shop,” Sophia interjected.

“The maternity shop? Is your daughter expecting?”

“Not yet, but we're hoping that will change soon. No, Sarah wanted me to buy Ian some new diapers-- something less bulky.”

Sofia reached under the table, and pulled one of the shopping bags out. She took a diaper off the top of the stack, and laid it on the table.

“May I,” Tippi politely asked as she reached out to feel the material. “Sarah wants me to be his caregiver on campus. This is a lot lighter.”

She opened the diaper, trying to get a sense of how much it would hold. “How often will I need to change him?”

“Roughly every two hours. On his breast milk diet, he poops as frequently as a newborn, and it has pretty much the same texture.”

Sofia reached into her purse, and pulled out Ian's last bottle to show the others. Cindy and her friends took it in stride, but Emily, Terri and Jennifer stared at the bottle in open disbelief.

“They breast feed you,” Terri somehow managed to squeal.

“Not yet, but we're all keeping our fingers crossed. Ah, but you don't know ...”

Ian could see the consternation on all three faces. “I'm polyamorous, and Sarah is generous enough to share me with the four other women that I've fallen in love with this month. Three of them also want to have babies, so if things work out, we'll be drowning in breast milk. I'm getting a head start-- this stuff is definitely an acquired taste-- but we all expect to end up there. It's healthy, but just as importantly, it takes a potential source of jealousy off the table. In a commune like ours, that's important.”

Ian stole a glance at Sofia. Fifteen love …

“You're living under the same roof with five women, and sleeping with all of them?” Jennifer was not judgmental by nature, and being married to a prominent surgeon required her to behave as impeccably as she dressed, but at the moment she was well off the fairway, deep in the rough.

“There are others who would like to join us, but I don't think I could cope with the stress.”

Thirty love ...

“Besides, I have all these daughters to look after, and at the moment it feels like I'm failing them.”

“That's not true,” Tippi hissed. “Not even remotely true. You kept us out of jail … you kept us from tearing the house apart. We're failing you … we're the ones who need to do better.”

“Here, here.” There was no missing the conviction in Tippi's voice, and Emily was thankful that it was one of her younger sisters who had spoken up in Ian's defense. “You saved the house, Ian, and all of us owe you a debt that can never be fully repaid.”

“If you'd like to make a down payment, I could use some family recipes.”

Emily looked at Sophia, hoping that she knew what this was all about, but Sophia was obviously just as puzzled as everyone else in the group.

“Okay, Ian, I'll bite.” Emily was sure that she was being set up, but she wanted to hear the punch line. “Why do you need family recipes?”

“For the cookbook I'm writing.”

Ian had donned his poker face-- the one he perfected during briefings for the idiots who periodically summoned him to Saigon. Staff officers didn't get out very much, and he suspected that what they knew about the war came largely from Walter Cronkite.

“You're writing a cookbook?”

“Ian's cooking tonight,” Sophia warned, “for roughly twenty people, We're doing Greek.”

“Yes. I'm thinking of calling it Cooking With Breast Milk ...”

Cindy hooted, and started drumming the tabletop.

“When we get home, I'm going to whip up some breast milk yogurt, then convert it into tzatziki. It will go well with the roast lamb. Tomorrow morning, I'll treat everyone to breast milk biscuits and pancakes, and for dinner I'm thinking fettucini a la breast milk.”

Forty love ... 

"That explains your new hair styles,” Ian went on, abruptly changing the subject. “It's straight out of the twenties, right along with the shimmy. Costumes?”

Ian was pointing at one of the garment bags draped over Kimberly's left arm, but he had noted that each of the girls was carrying an identical bag from a shop called Yesterday's News.

Kim jumped up, and excitedly opened the bag. She pulled out her flapper dress, and held it up to her shoulders. “For the party tonight, and if it goes well, maybe help us cut the line to get into Moby's. What do you think, Dad?”

“Can you do the Charleston?”

“Cindy's gonna teach us.”

“Then what I think is that Thug's in real trouble.”

“And if our flapper outfits don't make the grade, there's always ...”

Melanie stood up and pulled a pair of elaborately studded pants out of her bag from Dream Weaver. “Ta da … high waisted bell bottoms! But it's gonna take a crowbar to get this on over my diaper! Moby's, here I come!”

“Don't worry about getting in.” Ian shrugged nonchalantly.

“You'll make a call?” Jennifer was grinning from ear to ear. Diaper or no diaper, she had come to the conclusion that Professor Ian Grady was the catch of a lifetime.

“Yeah. Hell, for all I know, Spats own the joint. And if he doesn't, he sure as hell knows who does. Besides, we need to give him a head's up. He'll want to send a few of his boys along to look after you, like they did last night. Which reminds me … Tippi, tonight? I want to introduce you to Harriet Belmondo. She runs the diaper service for Spats. If I'm not around, you can always reach him through her.”

“Wait a second,” Terri gulped. “Are you saying that Lullaby Diaper Service is owned by the mob?”

“Spats is a man of many parts,” Ian observed; “he's a shrewd businessman, and Lullaby is apparently quite profitable.”

“But … but … I used Lullaby for both of my children! Are you telling me that I was forking money over to the Mafia?”

“Looks that way,” Ian grinned. “But I like Spats, although I should note that I've been doing business with the Mafia all over the world for a number of years. Lest you judge them too harshly, the Outfit runs Vegas, and it's by far the safest city in America. If you walk down the Strip at two in the morning, you are not going to get mugged.”

“That's what slot machines are for,” Emily laughed. “They aren't called one armed bandits for nothing!”

“Can you call all the parents of the girls Missus Marshall has recruited for the house? If we lose them, Mom says that ZAP will be in real financial trouble.”

Tippi was chewing on her lip; she was worried that the brawl they had caused at the hockey game would come back to haunt them, and she had no illusions about how a drunken outing to Moby's was likely to end.

“Yes, and be sure and let them know that the sorority has a Mafia don keeping an eye on things.” Terri was still trying to come to terms with the fact that she had handed money over to Lullaby month in and month out for over six years.

“And Fraternity Row's new Dad is known to one and all as 'Secret Agent Man',” Ian reminded her. “And Elaine is married to Donald Freeman, the CIA's deputy director in charge of our covert activities worldwide. I do favors for Donnie, and I do favors for the Mafia. Elaine knows the score, Terri, and she's fine with it.”

Sophia stole a look at Ian out of the corner of her eye, and she noted that Emily Carlson was openly sizing him up. Ian was charming and soft spoken, but when the mask slipped, one sensed a very different personality hiding in the shadows. She was familiar with the Studies and Operations Group because a junior officer who had been traumatized by his experiences in the field had taken to drink, and then started telling tales in the bars that he frequented. He had been swept off the street and deposited in the secure wing of her Psych ward, where in all likelihood he would remain for the rest of his life. SOG had been the tip of the spear in Southeast Asia, several of its units suffering a hundred percent casualties in dead and wounded. The senior ranks had been decimated, and then some. Ian was one of the few unit commanders who had made it home alive.

“Ian, I am going to call a meeting of the board, and I would like you as well as Bernice to attend.” Emily had decided that the moment was at hand to get down to business. “We need to host a reception at the end of term, with an eye to winning over the parents of our prospective new members. Cindy wants to do a theme event-- a Roaring Twenties formal affair straight out of The Great Gatsby. If the board agrees, I will want you to make the rounds and sell the fraternities on the idea, complete with tuxedos for all the young men attending. Can do?”

“Can do,” he agreed.

“I would also like to invite you and Sarah to dine with us. Andrew, my husband, is eager to meet you.”

“I would be honored, but you will need to talk with Sarah. When it comes to our social life, she makes all the decisions. My only request is that you invite our whole exotic household, and that includes Tippi.”

“What? Me?” Tippi was taken completely by surprise. She had never thought of herself as part of the family to which she was admittedly attached.

“Tip, I don't leave people behind, at least not willingly. And the one time it happened has left a bad taste in my mouth.”

Ian looked at her steadily, the mask stripped away. Every woman at the table could feel the command presence that had been lurking behind the facade.

Ian folded up the diaper and put it back in the bag. He was ready to head home and do battle with his new kitchen.

. . . .

Shit!!

Herb Canon paused in mid-stroke. It was the end of the month, so in addition to the run of the mill investigative reports that needed updating, he was saddled with writing performance reviews for the men and women in his unit. Herb worked major crimes, which in practice meant anything involving a weapon. Since car jacking was way up, with an organized gang apparently hitting parking ramps all over the downtown area, his typewriter was getting a real workout.

Herb gritted his teeth and squeezed his legs, but to no avail. His bladder was relentless.

Getting up from his desk and grabbing the newspaper, Herb headed for the men's room. He tried to be nonchalant, but couldn't help but wonder whether one of the other keen eyed desk jockeys had remarked that this was his third trip in the last two hours.

And will anyone notice that my coffee mug has been banished to the nether regions of my desk? The damn thing has been sitting next to the phone for more years than I care to count. Used to be the case that when I got up, it was to hit the percolator. And now it's the God, damned toilet …

Opening the door, Herb was relieved to discover that he once again would have the men's room to himself. Sticking to his spur of the moment plan, he headed straight to the porcelain throne, closing and locking the stall door in his wake.

Make it look like number two … I mean, everybody's got to take a dump, right? And that's why God invented newspapers …

Herb eased his trousers and his slightly damp underwear down to his ankles, and took a seat. The sports page beckoned, but it would have to wait until he had answered nature's call. These days, his bladder definitely had a mind of its own.

With the riot at last night's college hockey game above the fold, the sports page cried out for attention, but Herb couldn't get his mind off his troubles.

Maybe I can get by with wearing the thermal underwear that guys sometimes need when shoveling the driveway. It's padded, so the brief can handle a little pee …

Maybe, just in case, I should wear rubber pants, or maybe whatever Vickie and Pris had on over their diapers the other night at the bar. There's gotta be something short of diapers …

Two more years … just two more years …

. . . .

“Did you enjoy your trip to the mall, baby? Did you?”

“Yeth, Mommy,” Ian managed to mumble around the nipple that Sofia was keeping firmly in his mouth.

Returning to the car, they had gone full circle, Sofia insisting that he finish the last bottle of breast milk in her purse before driving home. Ian was once again laying awkwardly across the front seat with his head in his motherin-law's lap. She had pushed his pants down to his ankles, and while he nursed she was once again performing a thorough diaper check. Although she had changed him less than an hour earlier, he was already both wet and dirty.

“Just like a newborn,” Sophia teased as she brought her finger up and waved it under Ian's nose. “Now that your body has adjusted to the breast milk, you can expect to mess fifteen or twenty minutes after every bottle. This will make it easy for Tippi to schedule your diaper changes at the office … which reminds me. You'll need to have two, maybe three diaper pails to hand. You'll probably be lugging one home every day.”

Ian reached up to grasp the bottle with both hands. Sarah was his Mommy, and if she wanted her mother to treat him like an infant, he would go with it. He had entered into this relationship with his eyes wide open, and he had no intention of backing out. Besides, when the showdown finally happened, the illusion might buy Street Racer the precious seconds that, in battle, were often the difference between life and death.