AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON TWO SCENE 56 (INTERMISSION) READ FIRST

[CDfm]

Wow I felt better after that message.  Messages are definitely one thing I miss about Southeast Asia. Looks like they could potentially win a considerable amount of money with their bets.  I would expect that there will be some hard feelings believing they have some inside information. 
I am bc looking forward to seeing more. 

[CCApril]

I'm not sure  anyone would have taken the $1000 on a 10-1 bet.  The bookie needs to have $10,000 worth of action on the other side to make it work. Victoria seems a sure pick to the staff but will she generate that kind of money?

How much is Ian skewing his treatment when he just goes with the baby flow?  Are the nurses missreading his baby cues?

Looking forward to the reveal about his indifference to the bondage. Or is it just a way for Ian to give up the decision making?

April

[Babypants]

10 hours ago, CDfm said:

 I would expect that there will be some hard feelings believing they have some inside information. 

To put it mildly!  Meanwhile, down there in the weeds, all poor Ian wants is a decent meal.

[Babypants]

On 8/15/2023 at 10:38 PM, CCApril said:

How much is Ian skewing his treatment when he just goes with the baby flow? 

Freud was acutely aware of this problem.  The Freudian couch had several purposes, but one of them was to prevent the patient from studying the analyst's facial expressions and body language (not all analysts have poker faces), and answering questions accordingly.  Since Ian is never on the couch, and clearly enjoys playing the game, at this point in the story he is certainly skewing his treatment.  But there is a deeper problem here ...  

On 8/15/2023 at 10:38 PM, CCApril said:

Looking forward to the reveal about his indifference to the bondage. Or is it just a way for Ian to give up the decision making?

To wit:  several chapters up the road, we shall see that Ian has a ridiculously simple and reasonable explanation for this.  But this is his conscious mind at work.  Is he rationalizing a behavior that, on the subconscious level, has a quite different explanation, such as coping with the acute anxiety triggered by being forced to make consequential decisions?  Like any analyst, Vickie will have to separate the wheat from the chaff.  

[Babypants]

On 8/15/2023 at 10:38 PM, CCApril said:

I'm not sure  anyone would have taken the $1000 on a 10-1 bet.  The bookie needs to have $10,000 worth of action on the other side to make it work. Victoria seems a sure pick to the staff but will she generate that kind of money?

This is a fairly large urban hospital, with over 900 people on the payroll, and another 300 service personnel placed there by companies with contracts with the hospital.  Minimum bet is $20, so the floor with full participation is a bit over $25,000 per pool.  Football is normally hot in the fall, but the Vikings are about to go 7-9, and the Packers 5-11.  The biggest pool this year (1979) to date is the spring time Minnesota high school hockey tournament, won by Edina East in double overtime against Rochester John Marshall.  This was a huge pool because so many of the staff either live in the Edina area, or did residencies at Rochester's Mayo hospital complex.  This pool will surpass it, and Manny is collecting vig at 5% on all bets.  He is delighted to take Heidi's bet on behalf of the third floor (he doesn't actually know what Sarah is betting) because he wants to bring the odds down as close to even as he can get.  In short, he wants late bets on Sarah to balance the early bets on Vickie.  In a later chapter, we'll learn what Manny does with the vig.

  

[Babypants]

Although illegal in 37 states, in 2019 the American Gambling Association estimated that millions upon millions of Americans participate in at least one betting pool a year.  The estimated number in this survey is:

A.  18 million

B.  27 million

C.  36 million

D.  45 million

E.  54 million

F.  60 million

[Babypants]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: back in scene 20 (Breast Milk Blues), I buried two narrative arcs.  One, which will become increasingly visible, will play out at story's end.  In contrast, the second will end in a reveal in scene 27.  I thought that it might be fun to treat this one as a mystery, and set out clues that would allow readers to deduce what is coming before we actually get there.  The clues are temporal, and to lay them out required two overlapping "beats," to use screenplay terminology.  The first is the very slow paced massage scene involving Candy and Ian (22-23), and the second is centered on Becky's mad dash back to the office (23), which gives a sense of urgency to the negotiations between Ian and Rita forthcoming in 24 (Counterattack). 25 (Playing the Field) is expository, 26 (Blowout) action, and 27 the reveal.  22 (Lessing's Folly), opens "a little after nine," and clocks out with "say around lunch time."  There are specific times (09:20 and 10:00).  Time is synchronized in Casino Not So Royale (23), with Becky rushing into the office to find Rita, Vickie and Marge observing Candy shaving a heavily restrained Ian.  WHAT TIME IS IT?  As we move into Counterattack in scene 24, more specific times come into play, to wit 11:30, 11:40, and 11:50.  In Playing the Field, we shall see that Marge has left to have a session with Don.  And that's the last clue.  If you want to play along, after you read scenes 24 and 25 you should have enough information to figure out what has been going on beneath the surface starting in scene 20, although posting chapters in serial fashion definitely makes this more of a challenge than it would be between the covers of a book!

[Guilend]

I'll be honest, I don't understand anything you just posted lol. I'm pretty sure a lot of other folks are smarter then me and can understand it. That being said I absolutely love this story and can't wait to see how it ends.

[Babypants]

COUNTERATTACK

“Vickie will be here at lunchtime; why don't you take advantage of the opportunity to do some more grading?” With that, Candy closed the door behind him.

Clean and freshly diapered, the thick canvas cover once again locked securely in place, Ian strolled over to the desk and planted his well padded posterior on the swivel chair. Deciding to take it for a post-orgasmic spin, he was delighted to discover that the chair was good for a full three hundred and sixty degrees and then some. Around and around he went, secretly grateful that Candy had left him to his own devices. A nurse in room eleven always seemed to mean another bottle or two of breast milk, which would have put a quick end to Ian's current good mood. Ian was reasonably certain that he hadn't pooped in the tub, if only because he promptly pooped all over the floor when he got out. And Candy hadn't said a word.

Things they are getting out of hand, Street Racer. So, what do ya say we kick some blue book butt, and gird our already well girded loins for battle with the management of this here Ho … tel Californ …i … a? Who says you can never leave?

Without further ado, Ian brought the chair to rest, grabbed a blue book, and got to it.

. . . .

By half past eleven, the natives were no longer getting restless. They were fully there. The odds had fallen so far and so fast that large swathes of Vickie's tribe were beginning to wonder out loud whether they had placed sucker bets. Was it The Sting all over again? The word had got out that seven had only placed a lousy hundred bucks on Vickie, which stank to high heaven even by Hotel California standards. The crash team, which had laid a bundle on Vickie, was asking pointed questions about the code 2222. Who was this guy? Was he a psych ward inmate? Who did he love, if he loved anybody at all? It was time, as one Director with a serious gambling problem so eloquently put it, for habeas to produce the corpus.

Down in the subterranean depths, Manny Cepeda was feeling the heat. He had so many Directors up his ass that he could no longer feel his posh, naugahyde encrusted swivel chair beneath him. The inevitable happened at 11:50 hours (which, by an amazing coincidence, was the time that nurses hospital wide asked their elderly patients to draw on a blank clock face to demonstrate that they still had their wits about them). Manny announced that there would be a Steward's Inquiry. He would not call in anyone's marker until he was satisfied that everything was on the up and up. Roughly translated, this meant that no one would get paid until he got the answer straight from the horse's mouth.

And the horse, of course, of course, of course, was one Ian Grady.

. . . .

Rita got her first hint of trouble brewing when she went down to the cafeteria at 11:40 to cobble together lunch for herself and Vickie. As luck would have it, she found herself going through the line side by side with Heidi Freymiller. For the head of Vickie's department publicly to be showering hugs and kisses upon Sarah's surrogate up on three was a little too in your face for all parties concerned. In particular, neither noticed that Manny Cepeda was farther back in the same line. In fairness to Rita, however, it should be pointed out that her attention was largely elsewhere. In her imagination, she kept seeing Ian sitting in his crib on his well spanked bottom, tearfully gnawing on his pickle while watching her and Vickie eat their lunch, the baby bottle of breast milk at his side. Something about the combination of pickles and breast milk was making her panties damp.

Still, she did not miss the sour expression on the cashier's face when she was making change, nor the angry looks that far too many of her colleagues were casting her way. She realized that something was off, even if her prized gherkin was everything that a gherkin should be.

. . . .

“We've got a problem,” Marge grumbled.

Rita looked at her blankly.

“Just got the call a minute ago from the cafeteria. Apparently Manny saw you and Heidi yukking it up in line … Manny and about a hundred other people. After you left, the place exploded, everybody screaming that 'da fix is in'.” Marge was doing her best gangster imitation. “Anyway, Manny told the whole damn room, which means the whole damn hospital, that 'nobody gets paid nuttin' until he sorts out what's going on. How much have we got in play here?”

"Twenty-two hundred, minus the hundred dollar ghost bet that I put down on Vickie.”

“Shit! We must have really shifted the odds! Shit!!!!!”

“Word in the cafeteria is that the odds settled at four to one, so the third floor must have gone all in, but it would still be a big payday. Any idea how Manny wants to play this?”

“Isn't it obvious? He wants to interview Ian, preferably live on national TV.”

“Isn't going to happen. Ian's a patient, and we do not parade our patients up and down the corridors just to satisfy a bunch of sore losers. The jerks are just blowing off steam.”

“Rita, it's a lot of money!”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Look, give me an hour. In the meantime, spread the word. If anybody's got any bright ideas how we play this, I want to know soonest!”

. . . .

“Good afternoon, Princess! Is my widdle poopy pants having a good day?”

Ian looked up with an uncertain smile on his face. He was expecting Vickie to show up at some point and deliver the promised spanking, but when Rita walked in behind her, he was taken off guard.

“Making progress,” he answered evasively, gesturing at the small pile of blue books yet to be graded. Ian did not want to get Candy in trouble, and he was not at all sure if his “reward” had been sanctioned, or was of a more extracurricular nature.

“Candy tells us that you were a very good girl this morning … that you really enjoyed your bath!” Vickie liked having fun at Ian's expense. He was an easy target, and she was a natural tease.

“It was very relaxing,” Ian agreed, his voice neutral. He couldn't figure out what Rita was doing here.

“And do you remember our discussion of rewards and punishments?”

“I do.” It was clear where this conversation was heading.

Vickie disappeared into the bathroom, and came out a moment later dragging a stiffbacked wooden chair. She sat it down in the middle of the room, and turned it so that it was in full view of the camera. It had a deep seat, but no armrests.

“Do you know what this chair is for, Princess/”

“Yes, aunt Vickie … it's for my spanking.” Over the past week, Ian had become intimately familiar with bare bottom spankings delivered over the knee. The only question now remaining was how much it was going to hurt.

“Correct. Now, tell auntie Rita why you are going to be spanked.”

“I lied to aunt Vickie during therapy.” Ian was still sitting at the desk, but he was now staring at the floor.

“Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Princess.”

Ian looked up, his face a complex mix of visible regret and equally visible fear. His earlier trip over Vickie's lap was still seared into his memory.

“Was your lie one of omission or commission?”

“Omission, auntie Vickie … omission.”

“So, should I be more lenient because you did not tell me an outright lie?”

“No, aunt Vickie. Both lies are equally bad, and should be punished the same.”

“I agree. Now, tell auntie Rita what this lie was all about.”

“Aunt Rita, I was lying about Hue … about what happened during Tet.”

“And why were you lying?” Rita spoke up for the first time since entering the room.

“Because … because talking about it makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Because you were in combat? Because you were wounded?”

“I guess … maybe … maybe that's part of it.”

“But there's more.” It was a statement, not a question.

“They said that I was a hero because I charged into enemy fire to save Donnie Freeman, and it's not true. I was scared, Aunt Rita, scared and angry. And I didn't think about what I was doing; I just did it. And each time I got shot I pissed my pants. The last time I soiled myself. I was hurt bad, but my legs were fine … only I couldn't move. I was so scared that I froze in place. It wasn't until the guys came out and laid down smoke that I was able to get my ass in gear, get inside, make my report, and pass out. When I woke up, I was in a chopper headed for a MASH station. Some hero … yeah, some fuckin' hero.” Ian was hanging his head, the shame washing over him.

Rita and Vickie exchanged glances. This, at least, was familiar territory.

Rita crossed the room, and bent down to ease Ian to his feet. She placed her hands over his kidneys, and gently tapped spots just above them. “Do you know what's here, just above your kidneys?”

“No, aunt Rita,” he mumbled.

“Your adrenal glands. When your conscious or subconscious mind senses danger, it warns you to flee or fight by flooding your body with two hormones, adrenaline and cortisol. This is the sensation of fear that makes you run away, but it is also the anger that makes you stand and fight. There are no heroes, Ian, not as you understand the term. That's all Hollywood make-believe. There are only frightened men who override their fear by giving in to their anger. Isn't that what happened to you? Seeing Donnie shot, lying there, made you so angry that you acted. But when you were lying there, alone … helpless … the anger was gone; there was nothing to stave off the fear, and so you succumbed to it. In both instances, your reaction was completely natural … almost predictable.”

“It's not true, aunt Rita; I'm sorry, but it's not true. There are real heroes out there, men like Audie Murphy, men who charge the guns because it's the only way forward … fearless men. I'm just not one of them.”

Vickie burst out laughing. “Princess, you are getting ahead of yourself! Or is this exercise in self-pity something you concocted to get out of your spanking? Well, guess what? It won't work. You are going over my knee, and it will hurt. Then you are going in your crib. You can drink your ba ba while your aunt Rita and I have a nice lunch, courtesy of our basement cafeteria!”

Playing bad cop to the hilt, Vickie sat down on the chair and began purposefully tapping her knee. It was Rita's turn, and the boss did not disappoint her. She guided Ian over to perch on Vickie's lap before collecting the swivel chair.

“Have you ever read To Hell and Back?”

“No, but I did see the movie.”

“Hollywood again,” Rita scoffed. “They do like their heroes. Well, I have a copy in my office, which I would like you to read after you polish off your blue books. But there is one passage that I have copied off and carry with me whenever treating a combat veteran.” Rita reached into her pocket, and brought out a small piece of paper. She handed it to Ian, and instructed him to read it out loud.

“In the heat of battle,” he murmured, “it may go away. Sometimes it vanishes in a blind, red rage that comes when you see a friend fall. Then again you get so tired that you become indifferent. But when you are moving into combat, why try fooling yourself? Fear is right there beside you.”

“Did you know that Audie freely admits that he has constant nightmares, and keeps a gun under his pillow when he goes to sleep? Did you know that he has a gambling addiction for which he has never been treated?”

Ian mutely shook his head. He didn't need to borrow demons from anyone else; he had plenty of his own to contend with.

“In my office yesterday morning, you had a nightmare while you were awake. It's called a hypnagogic hallucination, and when it happens to someone who's fully awake, it's scary as Hell. Do you remember any of it?”

Again, Ian could only mutely shake his head. Friday was a complete blank.

'We had to call downstairs to put a crash team on alert. You came this close to being wheeled into the ER.” Rita's thumb and forefinger were barely separated. “Now do you understand why Sarah wants you to quit drinking … why we all want you to quit? Nightmares and addiction go hand in hand.”

“So the next time we do Saturday night? What am I going to be doing while you're all getting drunk?”

“You'll be getting your ba bas, Princess.” Vickie was drawing lazy circles on Ian's thigh with her fingernails. “Breast milk and apple juice … but if you're a good baby, we'll give them to you in separate bottles!”

“And here I thought all of you would be giving up booze to set a good example. Silly me.”

“Yep, silly you. We are going to put temptation in your path, just like we did last Saturday night. You made a promise to Sarah, and now we are going to see if you can keep it.”

“Cranberry juice.”

“Cranberry juice?” Vickie looked at him blankly.

“Doctor's orders. I have a problem with my right kidney-- and no, I didn't get shot there. I do have a few, honest to God health issues that are not combat related. So, cranberry juice.”

“Cranberry juice it is,” Vickie agreed. “Now, since I am getting hungry, let's get your spanking out of the way. Twenty-five good, hard spanks should get your attention, Princess. And if you were wondering, Rita is here to take care of your diaper. I have been forbidden to touch the crown jewels, as it were!”

It took Rita bare moments to strip Ian, who for his part settled across Vickie's lap without complaint. Mercifully, his bottom was not soiled, so she was able to get right to it. When it was over, he was oddly pleased with himself for taking his well-earned punishment with a bit of whimpering and the odd cry, but without breaking down in a full-fledged crying jag. What puzzled him was their insistence on calling him a Princess when he was clearly in adult mode.

His spanking over and with the crown jewels once again locked away inside his heavy diaper cover, Ian retreated to his crib, bottle of breast milk in one hand and a crunchy pickle in the other. Looking through the bars of his crib, watching them eat salads piled sinfully high while he munched on his gherkin, Ian's stomach finally mastered his fear: it was time to do what a Headhunter always did, and that was go on the offensive. Still, he waited patiently for them to finish.

“Aunt Rita?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I want to go home now.”

. . . .

“Are we there yet?”

Sofia cast an irritated glance in the mirror. She didn't know which was worse-- having her mom sitting up front and issuing directions on roads she'd driven a thousand times, or sitting in the back expressing her impatience in the time honored manner of a two year old.

“Almost.” Sarah was cast as the peacemaker.

“Good,” Kaarina huffed. “All the money I won at whist is burning a hole in my pocket!”

“Gran, you don't have a pocket.” Sarah had decided to settle for being sensible. “And besides, what did your winnings come to … a couple of dollars?”

“I'll have you know that I raked in almost five,” she crowed, “which is more than enough for a cheeseburger, fries and a cherry coke! So, are we almost there?”

The trio was approaching Calumet, which was the heart and soul of the Keweenaw. Its unique claim to fame was that every restaurant in town sold homemade pasties, but only one would be crowned the winner at the annual Pasty Fest, and that one would lord it over the others for the next year.

“Does your boyfriend like pasties?” Kaarina was in a jubilant mood. Her granddaughter rarely made it home anymore, and she fervently hoped that the next trip would see her sporting an engagement ring.

“He may not even know what a pasty is.”

“Well, how about cheeseburgers? Surely he likes cheeseburgers!”

“Very much so.” Sarah was thinking about their recent outing to The Dead Zone. “Preferably with bacon, fried onions, pickles, and ketchup that ends up everywhere but in his mouth. Last Saturday night I spent so much time wiping his chin that my food got cold. Next time, I'm going to make him wear a bib.”

“Keep the bib handy, especially when you're serving spaghetti! Do you remember that night when your dad's plate sort of exploded, and there was spaghetti sauce on the floor, the table, his chair, and above all in my hair? What a mess!”

“I remember all too well,” Sarah laughed. “And the nursing home across the street from the hospital has a wide assortment of bibs. They'll really come in handy when I start breast feeding him.”

“Him? Who?” Kaarina was more than a little confused.

“Ian, gran … Ian.”

“You're going to breast feed your husband?”

“Absolutely. Gran, these days, it's all the rage. Did you know that wives who breast feed their husbands never have to worry about cheating or getting a divorce? Well, unless they're the ones out cheating and shopping for a good lawyer.”

“Mom, it's just another facet of the Feminist Revolution.” Sofia winked at her daughter. “Honestly, I don't know where young people come up with these ideas!”

“Well, are you at least going to go through the motions and get married, or is that also considered hopelessly old-fashioned by you kids?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I've already informed Ian that we'll marry sometime around Christmas. Rita is supposed to check on dates for the hospital chapel. Next weekend I'll take him to my favorite jewelers, pick out my engagement ring, and our wedding rings. That will give us a couple of weeks to make all the other arrangements. And I thought that we'd honeymoon in Hawaii or the Caribbean. I'll get together with my travel agent, pick out someplace really romantic, run it by Rita and Vickie, and then we'll tell Ian where he's taking us.”

“Us? Us who?”

“Rita and Vickie, gran. We're all going to honeymoon together, and then we're all moving into Rita's place, at least until we find a nice house out on Lake Minnetonka. They'll be breast feeding him as well, helping me with his diaper changes, and of course we'll all be sleeping together. Just one big, happy family!”

“Kids,” Kaarina groaned; “kids. What is the world coming to?”

. . . .

“What's wrong, baby?” The concerned look on Rita's face was genuine.

“I'm down to my last few blue books, and I've done what I can to help Phil and Don. So, it's time for me to leave.”

Ian was looking out from behind the bars of his crib; he wasn't going anywhere unless Rita released him. The crib aside, he did not have any of the codes that would open the three doors that stood between him and freedom. He knew his rights, but he was not at all sure that Rita would honor them.

“Already tired of our company? Itching to go back to changing your own diapers?” Vickie was improvising, hoping that mockery would draw Ian out. They couldn't keep Manny Cepeda at bay forever, and Rita and Vickie were both anxious to get back to the office for a sitrep. They needed to settle this fast.

“What about your therapy?” Rita laid a firm hand on Vickie's arm, shushing her. She had been dreading this moment ever since Ian awakened.

“Vickie and Sarah can work out a schedule, and as long as it doesn't conflict with classes and office hours, I'll be here. Aunt Rita, please try to understand. I made Vickie a promise to see this through, and it wasn't forced. I want to do this. But right now? Right now, I just want to go home.”

Rita stepped on the pedal to release the lock, and lowered the panel-- but she refused to step aside, preventing Ian from escaping the crib.

“Ian, Sarah has given me explicit instructions not to let you out of my sight until she returns. I would prefer that you stay here until Monday morning, but if you want to come home with me tonight, that's fine. You are our guest, not our prisoner, and I cannot and will not keep you here against your will. But you are literally asking me to put your life at risk!”

“Aren't we being a little melodramatic,” Ian scoffed.

“No, not at all. This morning, we had our weekly patient review-- what we call 'Lessing's Folly'-- in honor of one of your colleagues, Professor John Lessing. John is the actual head of this department, and after he reviewed your file he told us to keep you under wraps and not to allow you to make decisions but to defer them to Sarah. Ian, listen to me!”

Rita reached into the crib and clutched his arm. She had to get through to him!

“There's something in your mind that throws a switch when you have to make a decision, and we don't know whether it's only for big decisions like the one that caused your blackout yesterday, or whether even minor things could trigger another event. I watch you grading your exams on the video feed, and I hold my breath, wondering if trying to decide between a B minus and a C plus would push you over the edge. Now imagine that you're outside, in the cold, trying to decide between taking the bus home, or calling a taxi. And you collapse, right there on the sidewalk. Ian, it happens to at least a dozen people in the Cities every winter! They collapse on the sidewalk, there's no one around, and hypothermia kills them in less than ten minutes. Please, for the love of God, don't do this!”

“All right … okay, already.” No one could miss the fear in Rita's eyes, and there was enough panic in her voice to bring Ian's fears racing to the surface. “But we have to come to some kind of agreement. Breast milk just isn't cutting it. Rita, it feels like my insides are turning to mush … the milk goes in on top and comes right out on the bottom. It's like your turning my body into an open sewer. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because Sarah wants to nurse her big baby, and Vickie and I want to as well. There's a plan in place for the four of us to live together ...”

“Taking Three's Company to the next level,” Vickie grinned. “Oh, it will take a bit of negotiation to work out the fine details, but trust me, you are not going to have to decide between Sarah and me. You will have us both, and do not think for a moment that you are going to leave Rita on the outside looking in.”

Vickie pointedly tapped Ian's diaper cover. “This fellow is going to be very busy,” she chortled, “and rumor has it that there's an ingredient in our breast milk that will create an unbreakable emotional bond. But don't worry. You're not going to drown in the stuff because we are all going to share and share alike!”

Ian shook his head, trying to part the cobwebs. Was he asleep and dreaming, or awake and hallucinating?

“I don't mind the breast milk, see?” Ian held up his now empty bottle. “But as far as I know I haven't had water since Wednesday night, and I'm dehydrated. And without food I'm not getting enough sodium and other stuff, so maybe that's why I passed out. So, I'll agree to stay here, but in return I want to get dressed, go down to the cafeteria, and have a proper meal! And I want a steak for dinner, damn it, a steak and a baked potato!!!”

The light bulb went off over Rita's head, and she could see at a glance that Vickie had had the same idea.

It was time for Ian to meet Manny Cepeda.

[Babypants]

2 hours ago, Guilend said:

I'll be honest, I don't understand anything you just posted lol. I'm pretty sure a lot of other folks are smarter then me and can understand it. That being said I absolutely love this story and can't wait to see how it ends.

I suspect that you are really going to like scene 28!  As for 20-27, this continues to be a salute to Quentin Tarantino, whose Pulp Fiction shook up Hollywood big time.  It's not easy to see because the only clue is in the clothing that Travolta and Jackson wear, but the movie abandons what we call linearity (having a film, script or novel advance in chronological order).  Instead, the film begins near the end, and weaves back and forth between two separate narratives that are tied together by a very strange knot.  QT did this again in the two volumes of Kill Bill, but he spread clues around to make it easy for the audience to follow.  But QT did a little known film in between called Jackie Brown, whose closing chapter awes me, and directly inspired 20-27.  Here we have a bait and switch in a department store dressing room, and we see it in multiple scenes giving the perspective of different characters.  Ah, but if you look very, very closely, you discover that the differing perspectives are not in chronological order!  I love it because I'm bored by stories that just plod along from A to B to C and so forth.  I like twists and turns, and detours, and finding out that what I think is going on is sometimes off the mark.  At first glance, therefore, scene 27 is going to look out of place, but it is in fact exactly where I want it to fall.

One final note.  These scenes are also a tribute to Groucho Marx and the Three Stooges, who did hilarious hospital skits.  Men in Black is one of the earliest Stooge shorts, and the Doctor Hackenbush bit in A Day at the Races is Groucho at his best.  I grew up on this stuff, and very much regret that slapstick has fallen out of favor.    

[CDfm]

Boy that one comment put the fear of god into the staff there.  “I want to go home now” is definitely not what they wanted to hear.  I pretty much expected the betting to go just about the way it did.  I look forward to seeing how they manage to get things straightened out now.  Ian can still throw a wrench into the mix that will throw the hole thing off.  His visit with Manny is going to be good. 

[Babypants]

Quickie health quiz:

Keeping in mind that Rita, Sarah and Vickie will probably be donating or selling some of their breast milk to the hospital milk bank, they should be eating all but one of the following.   Which one should they avoid?

A.  Avocados

B.  Bananas

C.  Blueberries

D.  Cherries

E.  Mango  

[littlebopeeper]

On 8/18/2023 at 6:14 PM, Babypants said:

E.  54 million

I had to look this one up, and it really surprised me.  I expected the number to be much higher.

23 hours ago, Babypants said:

E.  Mango

 

[littlebopeeper]

On 8/20/2023 at 11:08 PM, CDfm said:

 I pretty much expected the betting to go just about the way it did.

I'm with you here.  When I go to the track, I never bet a long shot until the last 30 seconds  before the window closes.  Late action can make a 40:1 shot turn into an 8:1 shot in a hurry!  But what I really like here is that we see poor Becky running around like a chicken with its head cut off while Candy is doing sex in a hot tub and taking her sweet time.  Now, let's see if Ian can turn this mess into a decent meal, which is not how I would describe cafeteria food in a hospital.  The stuff sucks.

[Babypants]

On 8/22/2023 at 3:14 PM, littlebopeeper said:

E.  Mango

While viewed with suspicion in some cultures, mango is actually high on the list of desirable fruits for breast feeding.  It is high in vitamins A, C and K, the trace element potassium, fiber, and antioxidants, notably quercetin.  Anyone writing a story on this site that features breast feeding should make sure that their character is on the right diet, which means eating this while avoiding that.

Another thing that is never taken up with the breast feeding trope is lactose intolerance.  The lactose component of human breast milk is fully 20% higher than cow's milk, so someone who can tolerate dairy products may not be able to tolerate human breast milk.  Back in the day, I also found it to be incredibly sweet; even small amounts triggered my gag reflex.  

[Babypants]

PLAYING THE FIELD

“So let's make sure that we're all on the same page here.”

Once Rita stepped aside, Ian had wasted no time getting his feet on the floor. It was bad enough trying to negotiate with two beautiful and highly intelligent women, one of whom held a key to his heart and the other the key to his otherwise impenetrable diaper cover. Trying to do so when locked inside a crib that he couldn't open, a crib brimming with restraints that he perversely welcomed, was simply not in the cards.

“I'll stay here until Monday morning, when someone will take me to work, where Amy will be in charge of my diaper changes until Sarah picks me up in the afternoon. I'll continue to wear this diaper cover, and will do so permanently if that's what Sarah desires. And I'll give up alcohol and drink breast milk in its place, in preparation for the day when all three of you will be breast feeding me.”

“That's right, Princess, to the tune of thirty-six bottles a day.”

Which will turn you into quite the little chubster, a cutie pie who will need his aunties to change his diapees at least fifteen times a day. My sweet, little Princess Poopy Pants indeed!

“And in return I get regular food and drink, starting right now with a visit to your cafeteria … water and juice … soup, salad, meat, potatoes, veg … the whole nine yards. And no baby food-- no way, no how, ever!”

“Agreed, with the proviso that in private your drink will always be limited to baby bottles unless one of us says otherwise. No cups, no glassware, not even sippy cups!”

And your meat, potatoes and vegetables will probably be pureed, but technically it won't be baby food …

Rita was determined to feed the Princess a bottle or two before the day was done; she had yet to experience the feeling of cradling Ian's head in her lap, but the mere thought of doing so was sending goosebumps down her spine. Like Vickie before her epiphany moment, Rita was still struggling with the fact that she had deep feelings for Ian, and didn't know how to process them.

Lunch at the faculty club five days a week is beginning to look like a really good idea, especially if my secretary is being caught up in this nonsense. And maybe I should start accepting some of those late afternoon public lecture invites that are always cluttering up my faculty mail box … the wine and hors d'oeuvres should take the edge off my appetite. Thirty-six bottles of breast milk indeed! In your dreams!

“Before we go downstairs, there are a few things you need to know.”

Rita did not think that this outing was a good idea because it was about as far removed from John's order to keep Ian “under wraps” as you could get. Still, she reasoned that if he was going to have another seizure, it was better for it to happen in the cafeteria with a hundred doctors and nurses demanding that he publicly decide between Sarah and Vickie, and not wait for some headhunter to bushwhack him crossing campus on Monday morning.

“First, you need to know that Gayle Soderberg in Patient Relations may show up with Harrison Knowles, her Director, in tow. If they come, you should expect them to wave a checkbook in your face. They badly need your language skills, and I'm betting that they will offer you a lot of money to switch jobs. Be polite, but tell them firmly that this is something that you have to discuss with Sarah, and that the two of you will come to a decision together. Can you do this?”

“Easily. But why not simply tell them to deal with Sarah and leave me out of it?”

“Because they won't believe you … unless I tell them about your seizure and what caused it. And that may come up, in which case you can tell them the truth-- that you don't remember a damned thing-- and defer to me. I'll handle it.”

“This is going to keep happening, isn't it?” Ian's tone was resigned. He could see it in Vickie's eyes as well as Rita's, sorrow and pity laced with fear.

“The danger is real.” Vickie's voice was toneless, and that shook Ian hard. “John is trying to arrange for campus police to protect you on Monday, but there are no guarantees, and it's a band-aid in any event. The cure lies within you.”

“I don't understand ...”

“We are talking about something that the public never sees,” Rita sadly admitted, “and that's the dark underbelly of the medical profession. It's money, Ian, and the sums in question are staggering. You have a remarkable skill set; indeed, you may be unique-- a man who is fluent in Khmer, Lao, Vietnamese, and God only knows how many other languages. By the way, how many do you speak? I don't think any of us ever bothered to ask.”

“Eighteen fluently … maybe another hundred and fifty well enough to read the menu and order dinner. I've never counted.”

“Dear God!” Vickie shook her head in amazement. “How did they miss you? How did you ever slip through the cracks?”

“Who?”

“The headhunters! They beat the bushes looking for talent that they can sign up, and then they make a fortune auctioning off people like you to the highest corporate bidder. It goes on in this business day in and day out … it never stops!”

“But this doesn't make any sense. I commanded the Headhunters!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“It was two months after Hue. They patched me up, but there was no way that I could have passed a physical, not with my shoulder so screwed up, so they didn't give me one. Instead they sent me back to Saigon, a newly minted twenty-two old Major, and they tasked me with assembling an all-volunteer company of guys from all over the map-- the US, South Korea, France, Australia, and of course ARVN regulars. Our job was simple: search and destroy. That's how we became the Headhunters. We didn't sit around in bunkers and pillboxes playing defense; we were a guerilla force that went looking for the enemy, which in practice meant that we were out there looking for the Ho Chi Minh trail. We were fighting in the shadows-- no other choice, really, because we often found ourselves in places where no American troops were supposed to be.”

“But what does this have to do with our corporate headhunters?”

“Everything, aunt Vickie, everything. Don't you see? There were rumors. Every time I went back to Saigon, I heard rumors about the Headhunters and their cocky CO, some young kid who happened to speak all these foreign languages. So, I didn't fall through the cracks. When I resigned my commission, the army buried my records … mine and the unit's. We simply ceased to exist. After that I became just another graduate student, lost in the shuffle of student ID numbers.”

More artful evasion. You told Phil that you and the military parted ways on bad terms, and that you went back to Viet Nam as a civilian. What was that all about?

“And now we've brought you out of the shadows and turned this great, big spotlight on you. God, what a mess!”

“No, aunt Rita! God, no! To help Phil and Don? This was my choice, and it was an easy one for me to make because duty and honor will trump fear every time. That's why you're so wrong about heroes. It isn't just anger … it's something deep down inside that's more important than life itself!”

“Reiko's samurai.” Vickie was finally ready to concede the point. “That's what she calls you, a samurai warrior from Japan's distant past. And you are … you really are. And here I've gone and fallen in love with you. Does this mean that I was a geisha in some previous life?”

Ian reached out and clasped both of Vickie's hands in his own. “Geisha are renowned for their beauty, their intellect, their talent, and their charm. You would have stood head and shoulders above them all.” He pulled her close, and then tenderly kissed her.

Rita let the moment linger. She and Vickie were like sisters, and had been for years. But there had always been something missing in Vickie's life, although Rita doubted whether many of their friends and colleagues sensed it. Vickie's devil may care attitude was so convincing that the hints of underlying sadness were easily missed or explained away. But they were there-- and now they were gone. Like Candy, Rita had caught it the moment Vickie walked into the conference room. Her stride was longer, her posture more erect, and her eyes intensely alive. Ian had set something inside her free, and the result was almost achingly beautiful.

Reiko was right from the beginning. We all want to fall in love with a hero, but not one who walks among the gods. We want a fallen hero, someone who cannot stand without our love and care to support him. The honorable man and the helpless baby. Bian has gifted us with something truly magical.

. . . .

Marge wiped Don's forehead with a damp washcloth, and then gently dabbed his cheeks. His skin was pale and cold to the touch, yet he was sweating profusely. His eyes were in constant motion, darting back and forth between imaginary enemies.

She was holding his hand, their fingers tightly laced. Marge had removed the mittens so that she could comfort him, but he was otherwise fully restrained. She reckoned that it had taken her twelve long hours to get him to acknowledge her presence, and to respond to her questions not with sentences but with a few disjointed words.

But he's responsive, and that's the critical point. With patience and care, we can make the Corporal whole again …

“What is it that you see out there?”

Marge spoke slowly, and in a monotone. She was taking great care not to do or say anything that would startle him.

“Suh … suh … suh … snake.”

“What kind of snake?”

Sitting on a stool, with the side of the crib lowered, she was at his eye level, and filled his field of vision. What he saw was a calm demeanor, and what he heard was the warmth of a maternal voice.

“Cuh … cuh … cuh … co … cob … ra.”

“Is it daytime, or nighttime?”

“Da … day.”

“And where are you? Are you in Quang Tri?”

“Yeh … yeh … yeth.”

“Were you working, or were you in bed?”

“Bed. Red … reed … reeding.”

“Were you reading a letter from home?”

“Yeth.”

“What happened to the snake?”

“Die … die … duh.”

“Did you shoot the snake?”

“Yeth.”

“That's good, Corporal Phillips. That's very good. You did well.”

“Suh … snakes. Meeny … snakes.”

“I know, and you did well. Now, I want you to eat something. How about a treat? Do you like chocolate pudding?”

Marge was holding a spoon, moving it in a lazy circle inside his field of vision. Don opened his mouth, and Marge slowly spoon fed him. He swallowed without gagging, and Marge silently fed him the entire bowl. Lifting his head with her free hand, she offered him water through a straw. He got most of it down, and she used the wash cloth to mop up what had dribbled out of his open mouth.

Unlocking his diaper cover, Marge loosened it just enough to slip her hand inside Don's baby pants. She was relieved to discover that he was still clean and dry, sparing her and one of the orderlies another cumbersome diaper change.

Foregoing the mittens, Marge leaned into the crib to kiss Don affectionately on the cheek before raising and locking the bars in place. They were making hard but steady progress, and she wanted him to rest in preparation for an afternoon session. But now it was time for lunch, which meant a quick dash down to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich and fruit, and an equally quick dash back upstairs to take over for Rita, who had her own session with Ian just ahead. On this late Sunday morning, it was business as usual inside the Hotel California.

. . . .

Two down, one to go …

Ian was back in the locker room, freshly diapered and, for the moment at least, clean and dry. One more door was all that stood between him and getting his life back. The problem was … he wasn't at all sure that he wanted it back. He had been in the ward less than seventy-two hours, but he wasn't about to kid himself. The man who was getting dressed to leave the ward was not the same man who had got undressed to enter it. A lot had happened inside that door, and with the exception of his lone visit to Hell's own diaper changing station, it had all been good. Helping Phil and Don … bonding with Amos and Andy … working so closely with Becky and Candy … and above all else, discovering in the most improbable of circumstances that he had fallen in love with a woman he had once casually dismissed as bar bait.

The admission had hit him hard, so hard that if he had been standing on his feet, it would have knocked them out from under him. All things considered, therefore, he considered himself fortunate to have been lying in the midst of Thanksgiving dinner when the sledgehammer descended. And like any reasonably rational being who has just discovered that he has fallen in love with two women who are the closest of friends, Ian had begun instantly to second guess himself. He had, after all, been in love once before. He had married Emily, and they had ended up detesting one another, the divorce mutually beneficial. Viewed rationally, “love” was the most abused concept in the human universe. He didn't trust it.

But it turned out that Maxwell's silver hammer, incarnate in the form of a turkey drumstick, was not Ian's epiphany moment. Sitting in the locker room, struggling to get his pants on over the mass of cloth, vinyl and canvas that at once protected and frustrated him, he realized that this had come but bare minutes earlier, when he was still trapped in his crib, struggling to lay his hands on a decent meal:

Oh, it will take a bit of negotiation to work out the fine details, but trust me, you are not going to have to decide between Sarah and me. You will have us both, and do not think for a moment that you are going to leave Rita on the outside looking in.

This was Ian's epiphany moment. He had felt it in the very depths of his soul. He had been staring into Vickie's eyes, eyes so warm and expressive, and he had caught the conviction lurking just beneath the merriment.

He believed her.

Just as he believed Sarah.

He trusted her.

Just as he trusted Sarah.

He would never have entered the race except for Sarah.

And he could not win it without Vickie.

It was a race that he did not want to run, but it was a race that he had to win. He could only prevail if he conquered his fear, but on this battlefield anger would be of no use to him whatsoever. Worse yet, giri, the ancient Japanese concept that so defined him, with its calls to duty, honor and so much more, offered little hope. He had no weapons with which to fight. It was as he had explained it to Sarah over dinner at the Dead Zone. In the end, it came down to a matter of trust-- of which he had very little.

Until now.

Princess Poopy Pants alternately puzzled and amused him. If there was a female side to his personality, he was pretty sure that it was very well hidden indeed.

No matter.

He trusted Vickie to get this right. If she wanted him to wear a baby dress and drink breast milk from pink baby bottles, he would cheerfully do so. If spankings would keep his therapy on track, he would suffer them gladly.

For Sarah, for Vickie.

For himself.

And maybe … just maybe … Princess Poopy Pants could fill in the gaps in his recent memories. If she was real.

The gaps terrified him. Yesterday morning was gone, and yet something had happened that left Rita badly shaken. He had seen it in her eyes and heard it in her voice when she was literally pleading with him not to wander off on his own.

Ian made a mental note to ask Vickie to find out whether the Princess had been home yesterday morning, and could bear witness on his behalf.

If she was real, it was bloody well time to put her to work.

. . . .

“While he's getting dressed,” Rita murmured, “I'll duck into my office and call Manny and Heidi. Unless someone's come up with a better idea, we'll go with feeding Ian to the lions.”

“Wonderful,” Vickie whispered in return. “Just wonderful. Here I've gone to all the trouble of falling in love with the guy, and now we're going to turn him into lunch meat. Some first date.”

“Well, get your butt over there, sit down, give him a peck on the cheek, and then lay it out for him. Remind him that he's our patient, has a right to privacy, and that we take this sort of thing rather seriously. I'll warn Manny to go easy here, but it would really help if Ian would be willing to disclose that he was the subject of the code 2222. You know the score, Vic; around here it's all fun and games until it's not.”

. . . .

“Alone at last.” Vickie's smile was heartfelt. She wrapped her arm around Ian's waist, and rested her head on his shoulder. It felt good to be in love. Ian had filled a hole inside her that she had not even realized was there.

“But not for long.” He reached out and pulled her still closer. “Anyway … is there anything good on the menu today?”

“You men!” Vickie was laughing as she sat up straight. “Do you ever think about anything but your stomachs and your dicks?”

“Not really. And a word to the wise: hungry men do not make attentive lovers.”

“Then I'd go with the meat loaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. And don't be surprised if cranberry sauce ends up on your tray, whether you want it or not. Vickie's magic drumstick, and Ian's magical tongue, have become the stuff of hospital legend!”

“How about the pumpkin pie? Can I have it with real whipped cream?”

“Ah, the possibilities … the endless possibilities. Rest assured that whipped cream and chocolate sauce are perennial favorites in my kitchen.”

“You forgot the maraschino cherries,” he whispered in her ear. What Ian really wanted to do was drive his tongue into Vickie's ear, but the damned diaper cover was ruining his act, and it was abundantly clear that Vickie did not have the key.

“I've forgotten nothing,” she grinned, knowing that his de facto chastity belt was competing with his stomach for attention. “Speaking of which, I need to bring you up to speed about what awaits you in the cafeteria. You really are a celebrity, Ian, in a dump that runs on gossip, and with a staff that's hard wired to bet on anything. Any … way, someone figured out that Vickie's crush and Sarah's boyfriend are one and the same, which got the pool off and running. Who would the mysterious Ian Grady choose to make his own? I'm rather proud of the fact that I started off as a ten to one favorite, and even after the third and seventh floors bet heavily on Sarah, I'm still going off at four to one!”

“Wow! This is so cool! But how does it work? I mean … do you have a bookie or something?”

“Yep. Manny Cepeda runs the whole casino out of the subbasement. He's the Head Supervisor for Building Services … and he wants to meet you in the cafeteria. He's not paying anyone anything until he's heard from you-- a public pronouncement. You should expect an audience of between one and two hundred doctors, nurses and assorted staff to be hanging on every bite of your meat loaf because this looks to be the largest pool in hospital history!”

“Double wow!! Is it too late for me to get in on the action?”

“NAUGHTY BABY! Vickie laughed, but she also slapped Ian's thigh very hard. “Are you looking for another spankie when we come back upstairs, hmm? 'Cause I love spanking your cute, widdle butt!”

“You are coming back up with us, aren't you?” She was worried that, once free of the ward, Ian would refuse to reenter it.

“I've got religion,” he responded as he reached out once more to pull Vickie close. “You and Rita, both; you've convinced me that I'm on very shaky ground. Friday morning is not here, Vix.” Ian was tapping on his forehead. “And it's scary. Which reminds me … can you ask Princess Poopy Pants if she was there? Maybe she can fill in the missing pieces.”

“That's a terrific idea! Ian, thank you … you know, you would have made a great therapist! How could I have missed this?”

Vickie was shaking her head in exasperation-- therapists weren't supposed to miss the screamingly obvious.

“I'll send you a bill,” he chuckled.

“And can I pay in the currency of my choice?” Vickie was licking her lips in anticipation, thinking about the bowls of cranberry sauce that undoubtedly awaited in the cafeteria. In her imagination, she was slowly pouring the sauce all over her chest, and Ian was stepping forward to lick it off. She was holding his head in her hands, his tongue flicking like a serpent's, first to one breast and then to the other. And the whole hospital, suitably awestruck, was cheering them on, Manny Cepeda calling out the odds on the exact minute when she would have another earth-shattering orgasm …

“Are you okay?”

Returning to earth, Vickie could see concern written all over Ian's face … concern for her. It felt good to be loved.

“Yes and no. I was thinking about that damned diaper cover of yours. It's keeping you in, but it's also keeping me out. I NEED SEX!!!”

“Well, couldn't we, like, cut it off?”

“No. The lining is reinforced with steel thread, and the canvas itself is too thick to attack with scissors. We're stuck.”

Vickie climbed to her feet, and pulled Ian up to stand beside her. “Let's go collect Rita, and head downstairs. Just remember that someone may ask us about the call that we made for a crash team to stand by. We can hide behind doctor-patient confidentiality, but we can't stop the rumors. Rita and I both think that it would be in your best interest simply to admit that you had an event, that you don't remember the details, and that we are treating you for it. I want our neurology unit to look you over, and this will get you in there quick.”

“But I can't afford ...”

“They'll lose the bill.”

“How about … do I need to sign some kind of waiver to protect Rita … the … the confidentiality thing?”

Vickie shook her head in mock despair. “Do you always have to be such a nice guy? Do you have any idea how hard you're making it for me to spank you? Do you? I swear, Ian; I love you, but sometimes you're just no fun at all!”

. . . .

Ian walked out of the ward with his tie off and his shirt collar unbuttoned. In all other respects, he appeared to be the same man who had entered the ward on Wednesday afternoon, and he knew it. But there was simply no putting the lid back on Pandora's Box, and he wasn't about to try running away from a reality that kept rising up and kicking him where it hurts. How was he supposed to ignore the face that he was now closely flanked by Rita and Vickie? Were they his babysitters, bodyguards, or both? He loved Vickie, but what was he to make of his feelings for Rita? Almost overnight, his life had become very, very complicated.

In the corner off to his right, Ian spotted Phil Kettering. Phil was talking with an older couple, and the scene reeked of awkward and long overdue family reunion. Becky, sitting a bit to Phil's right and looking very relaxed, glanced up and smiled in his direction. He smiled in return, glad to see that things were going well.

Ian looked up at one of the television screens overhead, and stopped in mid-stride. Wile was collecting still another package from Acme, doubtless yet one more Rube Goldberg device to be deployed in his never ending quest to catch, cook, and eat the detestable Roadrunner. Ian Samuel Grady and Wile E. Coyote were kindred spirits, but still …

How is Wile paying for all this stuff? Can coyotes get credit cards?

All in all, Ian was in a very good mood as they entered the elevator and started the long descent to the basement.

[CDfm]

It seems the more I find out about Ian the more confused I am. He is willing to be diapered and treated like a baby girl yet he says he is unaware of any such desires. I can understand the submissive side to an extent although that does go against being an Officer in the Army. It would also seem to go against his actions while under fire. He seems to be well aware of what he is doing and is very accepting of anything thrown at him.  He is in total control but wants others to have that control. He seems to believe that he does have some daemons in his head he needs help getting rid of and at the same time he’s the one getting rid of the daemons of those around him. He is very complicated to say the least. 
I am really enjoying the story and look forward to seeing the inside of Ian’s mind much more. 

[Babypants]

On 8/27/2023 at 9:48 PM, CDfm said:

He seems to believe that he does have some daemons in his head he needs help getting rid of and at the same time he’s the one getting rid of the daemons of those around him. He is very complicated to say the least. 

Thanks so much for taking the time to make such thoughtful observations.  More than that, thank you for engaging the story rather than simply reading it.  This is an author's dream.

I'll tackle each point, but I wanted to start with this one.  Ian continues vigorously to deny that he has a problem with alcohol (he's wrong), and while acutely aware of his inability to make decisions, it takes a breakdown that almost lands him in the ER to convince him that this is a mental health issue, and he needs treatment.  Until that moment, he was there only to help others, namely Phil and Don.  Indeed, until that moment he was so amused by the attempts to analyze him that he was consciously / satirically playing the role of baby girl to the max.  So, he's clever, but at times too manipulative for his own good.  Now, he'll do whatever Vickie wants because his trust in her is absolute, but note in this scene that he's also standing up to Rita, and forcing her to compromise in a way that runs directly counter to Sarah's instructions.  He is, as you have shrewdly noted, in control, but chooses to exercise it sparingly.  In the cafeteria scene next up, he wants to be visibly in control.  It is not, repeat not, a coincidence that he does this in a public setting rather than in the privacy of the ward.

On a deeper level, this story is about four flawed individuals, who love, forgive and redeem one another.  Scene 1 is about the failures that haunt Sarah, and understanding that taking responsibility for Ian's well being can set her free.  Sarah's mother intervenes in later scenes to construct a stable foundation for a relationship that must endure, or her daughter's best chance to find happiness will be lost.  But Ian's role in this story is also to bring meaning to Vickie's life and Rita's, both of whom spend long hours at work because there is really nothing waiting for them at home.  We have arrived at the point in the story where Vickie and Ian clearly understand that Rita is not going to be cast aside, while poor Rita is still trying to figure out what is going on.  For Vickie, this is about love, but for Ian it is about the principle that so defines him: no one gets left behind.        

[Babypants]

On 8/27/2023 at 9:48 PM, CDfm said:

I can understand the submissive side to an extent although that does go against being an Officer in the Army. It would also seem to go against his actions while under fire.

Like Don and Phil, Ian's problems only surfaced after he came home.  By 1979, troubled vets, many of them homeless, were overwhelming shelters and hospital ERs.  This is when the term PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) first surfaced, though it would not finds its way into the congressional appropriations process for several more years.  This deep into the story, Ian remains skeptical that he is suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD), but this is normal.  As a student in the Jung school, Vickie is focusing on combat trauma, to the exclusion of his childhood, which a Freudian would start exploring at the outset.  Note that I have told you nothing about Ian from birth in 1946 to deployment in 1967.  The blank slate is deliberate, and bits and pieces of his childhood and adolescence will slowly emerge in upcoming scenes.  We should at least consider the possibility that his therapy would yield better results if he was working with a classic Freudian like Marge.

[littlebopeeper]

On 8/27/2023 at 2:28 PM, Babypants said:

Vickie was licking her lips in anticipation, thinking about the bowls of cranberry sauce that undoubtedly awaited in the cafeteria. In her imagination, she was slowly pouring the sauce all over her chest, and Ian was stepping forward to lick it off. She was holding his head in her hands, his tongue flicking like a serpent's, first to one breast and then to the other. And the whole hospital, suitably awestruck, was cheering them on, Manny Cepeda calling out the odds on the exact minute when she would have another earth-shattering orgasm …

Good to see Ian standing up and fighting back against being babied, and this is another fantastic piece of erotic writing.

[Babypants]

In preparation for the cafeteria skit in scene 26 (soon to follow), let me encourage readers to search "Dr. Hackenbush and Mr. Whitmore."  This should direct you to Randy Hargis' 3:08 slice of A Day at the Races, a Marx Brothers slapstick comedy classic dating to 1937.  In our scene, which is a tribute to Groucho, Ian fills in for Dr. Hackenbush, and Manny Cepeda takes the place of Mr. Whitmore. 

[Babypants]

BLOWOUT

“All ashore that's going ashore,” Vickie murmured as the elevator groaned to a halt. The door opened with a grudging squeak.

Ever the gentleman, Ian exited last, all but falling into the arms of still another Scandinavian bombshell-- blonde, blue-eyed, a robust chest, and towering a good three inches over his own five foot ten inch frame. He thought that a Viking battle ax would not have looked out of place in either of her hands, one of which was currently outstretched in his direction.

“Hi, Ian! It's nice to meet you at last! I'm Heidi … Heidi Freymiller.”

Ian shook hands, admired the glistening teeth behind the dazzling smile, and wondered who the hell she was.

“Heidi is second shift charge nurse on three,” Rita explained. “She's double shifting to cover for Sarah while she's up north.”

“And don't worry about Heidi falling under your spell,” Vickie teased. “She's a happily married mother of two little boys who love to play soldiers when they're not playing cops and robbers.”

Heidi stole a glance at Ian's well diapered crotch, the telltale bulge unmistakable to any nurse working a post-surgical ward. For his own part, Ian was wondering when and where the seam on his overburdened trousers would split, baring his canvas underwear for the whole world to see. Pulling his zipper up had proven quite the challenge.

“Have you spoken with her since she left?”

“No, not since she dropped me off at the office on Wednesday morning. We … uh … we didn't part on the best of terms.”

Rita and Vickie exchanged sharp glances. It was obvious to both that Ian wasn't lying, which meant that he had no memory of the events leading up to his seizure. Vickie made a mental note to add this to the list of items that she wanted to explore with Princess Poopy Pants.

“Except I did talk to her, didn't I?” Ian was looking at Rita, needing confirmation, his voice very, very soft.

“Yes.” She reached out to grasp his arm, wanting somehow to comfort him. “Yes, you did.” Her own voice equally soft.

“Hypnagogic hallucination,” Vickie whispered to Heidi; “his heart rate soared. “Extensive memory loss … we're still mapping it.”

“So the code 2222?” Vickie simply nodded. “Does Sarah know?”

“She was on the telephone. It was something she said that triggered the event.”

“Oh, dear God! No! That poor woman! And you, Ian. How are you holding up?”

“Reasonably well, considering that yesterday's gone. The whole of it. Marge put me to bed early Thursday evening, and the next thing I knew it was Saturday morning. But Rita says that I was on the phone with Sarah on Friday morning, and she was pressuring me to make a decision about something-- and down I went. It makes sense because I hate making decisions. Ask me whether it's partly sunny or partly cloudy, and I'll break out in a sweat.”

“But … but … Manny will want you to decide between Vickie and Sarah, and to do it in front of a cafeteria filled with people who have money riding on your answer! Talk about pressure!”

“Actually, I don't think that will be a problem.” Ian's grin was positively malicious. “Unless, of course, I pass out between here and the cafeteria from sheer hunger. Heidi, would you believe it? Apart from one pickle, I haven't had a damned thing to eat since Wednesday night-- except for God only knows how much breast milk served up in who knows how many pink baby bottles! So, when we get to the cafeteria? Stand aside, because I am going to make John Belushi look like an amateur!”

. . . .

“So, what's all this about breast milk?” Bringing up the rear, Heidi had leaned forward to whisper in Ian's ear.

“I'm training for the breast milk Olympics,” Ian whispered back. “That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.”

The cafeteria was physically enormous, but with its high ceilings, colorful frescoes and brace of windows overlooking an adjoining patio, it was bright and far more cheerful than the drab institutional facilities that had awaited him in Japan and Hawaii.

Yokosuka and Tripler had taken nine months out of his life. His first visit to the cafeteria in Japan had been in a wheelchair, but he had walked out of the hospital on crutches. He had left Tripler on his own two feet, albeit with a cane in hand. It was still hanging on a coat rack behind his office door; its twin dangled from a hook in the entryway closet of his apartment.

It had taken Ian less than ten days to come to terms with the diapers, in no small part because there had been so many nurses to take on the job of changing him. Some had been coldly professional, but others had been warm and caring, and a few had clearly enjoyed mothering him. A pragmatist at heart, Ian accepted the reality of being incontinent, and simply got on with it.

Being crippled was another matter altogether. Physical therapy had got him out of the wheelchair, and exercise kept him on his feet, but he had long since reached the upper limit of his mobility. On a good day, he could take eighteen hundred pain-free steps. At twenty-one hundred, the pain was so bad that he was reduced to precisely three choices: sit down, fall down, or use the cane. And he hated the cane with a deep and burning passion. He had spent years trying to increase his range, convinced that this was a mountain he could climb if he just tried harder. And it had all been for naught.

On a bad day, the horizon of his world was reduced to fifteen hundred steps. And so he knew what lay fifteen hundred steps beyond his office or apartment door. He had chosen his apartment with care, calculating that it was some twelve hundred steps from the nearest supermarket. He could walk there, use the grocery cart as a walker, and then walk home. The only variable was the weight in his grocery bags … some trips were more problematic than others.

And Vickie wanted Princess Poopy Pants to crawl around on the floor like a baby? There were times when crawling was the only way he could even move!

Scanning the room, Ian didn't know whether he should be relieved or disappointed that less than half of the seats were occupied. Still, their quartet was clearly the center of attention, and the usual chit-chat had died the moment they walked in. Once again, however, Ian was impressed with the military precision of Rita's planning. She was directly ahead of him, taking point. Heidi was protecting his rear, and Vickie, while outside the line, was protecting his left flank.

Reaching out, Ian grabbed a plate of green jello; he considered it a good omen that it had been cut into the same square that Belushi had snagged in the student cafeteria. Indeed, for a long moment he thought about doing a Bluto, but the atmospherics just didn't feel right. Shrugging, he set it neatly in one corner of his tray, and moved on.

The mashed potatoes and green beans were a no brainer, and there was no way to resist a bowl of cranberry sauce, but Ian stared hard at the meat loaf even as the food server behind the counter stared hard at him. It was a mutual staring contest, and in the end the meat loaf prevailed. But only because he was so damned hungry.

Dessert saved the day. He had been expecting the usual mushy pumpkin concoction, but to his delight he had a choice of pecan pie and crème brulee-- and nestled squarely in between was an iced bowl filled to overflowing with fresh whipped cream! Four desserts later, and having left a sizable dent in the mountain of whipped cream, Ian was just about ready to grab a seat and get down to the serious business of filling his tummy.

Got the bill and Rita paid it …

But first he needed to thank Rita, who had whipped out her wallet and paid for his lunch before he could even reach into his back pocket. Ian put his tray on the table, and then reached out to hug Rita close. He whispered his thanks into her ear. Then, he pulled back, but just far enough to look her squarely in the eye.

Time stopped, the moment lingering. Rita was clearly waiting for him to do something, but what? Ian's brain was trapped in the romantic no man's land bordered by “almost sure” on the one hand and “not completely sure” on the other. But he trusted Vickie, and her marching orders were crystal clear:

Do not think for a moment that you are going to leave Rita on the outside looking in.

“Thank you. For everything you've done for me … for Don ... for Phil. There are no words ...” Ian leaned in to kiss Rita on the lips, a polite peck shared between friends. Only ...

Rita kissed him back, not at all sure why, still second guessing herself, but just wanting to do it-- and do it in front of an audience gone deathly silent, knowing that this was not the performance that they had paid good money to see.

When Ian sat, Rita at his side, he looked up to see Vickie directly opposite. She had a twinkle in her eyes, a huge grin on her lips, and a spoon filled with cranberry sauce in her hand. Wordlessly, she waved it slowly in front of his eyes, and he speared it between his teeth, slowly licking it clean. Impulsively, he ran two fingers through the mashed potatoes, and offered them to her in trade.

Vickie laughed with delight, admiring the clever way in which he was returning her Thanksgiving favor in front of an audience very much in the know. She leaned across the table, opened wide, and began to suck hungrily on his fingers, gambling that everyone in the room knew exactly what she really wanted to be sucking.

Eyes closed, Ian began to purr like a contented kitten. The atmosphere was charged with sexual energy-- enough, he reckoned, to power an entire city block.

The Hotel California! How does the lyric go? “We are all just prisoners here of our own device ...”

“Welcome to the Hotel California,” he hummed, extricating his fingers from Vickie's mouth and picking up his knife and fork, an impromptu pair of batons … “Such a lovely place, such a lovely face ....” Ian was staring hard at Vickie.

Vickie, Rita and Heidi burst out laughing. All three joined in ...

"Plenty of room at the Hotel California.  Any time of year, you can find it here …"

Cheers and clapping erupted at the tables nearby. The hospital was vast, but the community tightly knit. Even the jerks appreciated the seventh floor's penchant for self-mockery.

Still wary of the meat loaf, Ian polished off the jello and then dove into the green beans and mashed potatoes, but he paused periodically to allow Vickie to spoon feed him still more cranberry sauce. Along the way, Rita had to wipe his chin with a napkin, which brought a twinkle to Heidi's eye. The whole scene reminded her of the high chair wars in her kitchen, and she wondered if Rita and Vickie knew that they were treating Ian like a great, big toddler. He was clearly oblivious, not so much eating his food as attacking it. And the way he was eyeing the whipped cream! Would Rita slap his hand away if he abandoned his meal in favor of dessert? Would she scold him? And where was his diaper bag? Sarah had made it clear that her boyfriend was incontinent, and there was no mistaking the enormous bulge in his pants, both fore and aft. Why weren't they prepared for the inevitable? Right then and there, Heidi decided that she would have a heart to heart talk with the three of them about the realities of leaks and blow outs. Ian would have plenty of both, and they needed to take his care more seriously. When it came to diapers, there was no place for wishful thinking.

Why wait?

“Where's his diaper bag?” Watching Ian wolf down his food, and thinking about the breast milk, Heidi had a pretty good idea how this meal would end.

“We change him in the ward.” Vickie was still playfully teasing her big baby with a spoonful of cranberry sauce.

“Hello? Girlfriend, we're not in the ward. If you've been giving him breast milk? The way he's eating right now? Trust me … you're heading for the blowout to end all blowouts!”

Taking a deep breath, and offering a silent prayer to the meat loaf gods, Ian finally cut a piece off the end and shoveled it into his mouth. He grimaced, then choked it down.

Dry and crumbly … not enough ketchup … no oregano … Wouldn't even qualify as a Lurp, and there were eight of those kicking around in the bush. Still …

Ian soldiered on, masking the hideous taste of the meat loaf with a makeshift relish of green beans and mashed potatoes, the gravy doing service above and beyond the call of duty. He persevered, got through it, and turned his attention to his prized desserts. The crème brulee called out to him the way the Sirens had called out to Odysseus, driving him mad with desire. Saigon … Vientiane … Phnom Phen … Algiers … Paris … Montreal … the genius of Francois Massialot had traveled far, and Ian had shadowed his footsteps. The Headhunters lived rough in the mountains and jungle, but he made sure that they dined well in their base camps.

Ian savored each bite of his treat, carefully doling out the whipped cream. He worked his way through the twin slices of pecan pie (not bad, but he had had better), and was just settling in to enjoy his second round of crème brulee when Manny Cepeda slid into a chair beside Heidi.

. . . .

“Ian, this is Manny Cepeda, who heads Building Services. Manny … Major Ian Grady, who has been helping us with a couple of troubled vets in our ward.” Rita had decided to minimize the introductions. She knew that Ian had an ace up his sleeve, but she had no idea what he was planning.

"It's an honor to meet you, Major.” Manny extended his hand, and the two men shook. “And from what I'm hearing, you've had a spectacular impact on the seventh floor!”

Ian frowned slightly. There was more than one way to interpret Manny's comment, but he decided to be diplomatic.

“I'm glad to be of help, but I'll leave it to Rita to determine whether we're making any progress.”

Ian resumed spooning whipped cream onto his fourth and final dessert. He was debating getting a couple more to take back to the ward-- anything to offset the godawful breast milk that he now felt obligated to drink without complaint. He had made this bargain with Rita, and he fully intended to live up to his end of the agreement.

Girl, you have got to get a grip! He gives you a polite peck, and you kiss him hard in return? In front of the whole, damned cafeteria? Why didn't you just shove your tongue down his throat and be done with it? What the hell is the matter with you?

“Ian is being far too modest,” Rita protested. “We've had breakthroughs with both patients. Neither would have happened without him. His fluency in Vietnamese, never mind Khmer and Lao, gives us a weapon that up till now has never been in the arsenal. The possibilities are staggering.”

Am I in love with him? What other reason could I have for asking the three of them to move in with me? This is Minneapolis, not Paris! In this burg, a sophisticate is someone who has a pepper shaker on the dining room table alongside the salt! If the people in this room knew what we're planning, they'd think we're all certifiable!

“I was actually thinking of Doctor Robinson here.” Manny, who was a full generation older than the three nurses, smiled paternally at Vickie. “Victoria, when you walked in? I swear, you looked like you were walking on air. I have never seen you look so happy. Being in love agrees with you.”

You think she's happy now? Wait until I get this freaking diaper cover unlocked!

“And has love stolen its way into your heart, Major? Do you love Victoria?”

“I do.”

Ian reached out to clasp Vickie's hand. He had read somewhere that the newly in love were always supposed to hold hands in public.

Besides, holding hands is a hell of a lot more fun than holding hand grenades ...

And then there's the breast feeding … I want to nurse him so bad that it hurts! Is this my biological clock ticking? At thirty-four, I'm definitely vulnerable to a smart, goodlooking guy who's not only diaper dependent but needs someone to change him. And he definitely likes being babied … so I get all the perks without going through thirty-eight weeks of hell to earn them!

Ian, I need sex!!! And I want to fuck you so bad that it hurts! But who do I want to fuck? Major Grady, the bad assed soldier, or Princess Poopy Pants, the innocent virgin? I'm thirty-three, and would definitely like to get it on with a virgin, but I am not, repeat not, going to put up with the angst of some horny sixteen year old!

“So you cannot be the soldier with whom Heidi's colleague, Sarah Haikkonen, has fallen in love.”

“Oh, no. Sarah and I are very much in love. I am hoping and praying that, when she gets back from the U.P., she will ask me to marry her. I am looking forward to becoming Doctor Ian Grady-Haikkonen.”

Ian congratulated himself on getting all this nonsense out with a straight face.

Manny recoiled, utterly confused. “I don't understand. You just said that you love Victoria ...”

“I do … with all my heart. And I also love Sarah with all my heart.”

“But that's impossible! You can't love two women with all your heart!!”

“Why not? Manny, I have a good friend in Karachi … you know, Pakistan? He's a devout Muslim, has four wives, and loves them all-- and I daresay he does so with all his heart. Where does it say that we only get to love one woman at a time? Oh, that's right … we live in a country where first cousins can marry in California, but if they move to Nevada, the marriage will be annulled and they can be put in jail for incest. Wonderful.”

“So, where … where are you going to live?”

“Oh, Sarah, Vickie and I all have to give notice that we're vacating our apartments, not later than the end of the year. We're all moving in with Rita.”

“WITH RITA?” Manny's voice croaked, and Ian reckoned that his eyes had swollen to about twice their normal size. “DO YOU LOVE HER, TOO?”

And there's today's “Oh, shit” moment, Rita sighed. Best to put my game face back on and tough it out.

"We definitely have feelings for one another,” Ian agreed as he let go of Vickie's hand to reach out for Rita's, “but I've been so busy falling in love with Sarah and Vickie that there's been no time to work through them. And then there's my seizure, or whatever you call it-- you know, that code 2222? That was me. Anyway, I'm hoping that we can spend some quiet time together later next week.”

“Thursday would work well for me,” Rita offered. She began rubbing the top of Ian's hand with her thumb. But she glared at Vickie, who was once again grinning ear to ear even as she continued humming her favorite parts of The Hotel California.

“And we need to find time next weekend,” Ian continued, “to sit down and figure out how much house on Lake Minnetonka our combined incomes will buy. Communal living doth have its advantages!”

Heidi was laughing so hard that she was on the verge of peeing her pants. The incredulous look on Manny Cepeda's face was priceless, and the cafeteria had gone so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop!

This is WAY better than Candid Camera! Ian is a comic genius! Move over, Groucho!!

“Now, Manny … about that pool that you've got going ...”

“You know about that?” Manny's voice was strangled.

“Sure. But I'm curious. Do you know what a field bet is?”

“Of course. At the window, you tell the guy that you want to bet on every horse in the field except Joe Schmoe. If the odds are right, it's a good way to lay off the favorite.” Manny was inordinately proud of his betting skills.

“Yeah, I like to do it at the dog races. So, didn't anyone try to bet the field?”

“Nah. Everyone laid a straight bet on Vickie or Sarah. The punters here ain't that sophisticated.”

“Wow! Imagine. Just one person could have walked off with the whole purse. What did it come to, anyway?”

“Firty-seven grand and change.”

Ian whistled. He was genuinely impressed. “So, what are you gonna do?”

Manny shrugged his shoulders. “Call it a draw, I guess. Nobody gets nothin', end of story.”

“Seems fair. Hey Manny … did you know that I'm incontinent, bladder and bowel both?”

“Yeah … and Major … I just wanna say that we all know what happened out there. No one in this room's gonna make fun of you. I promise you that.”

“Sit tight while I finish off this dessert.” Ian had managed to snatch a few bites of his last crème brulee while he and Manny jousted. He gulped down the rest, and slapped his stomach with a contented sigh. “How about we start a pool on what happens when I stand up and walk away from the table? What are the odds that I'm going to make a dump in my pants in the first thirty seconds?”

Now it was Manny's turn to laugh. “One to one would be a sucker bet! I'd put the odds of you holding out that long at seven to one against!”

Ian stood up, and reached out to shake Manny Cepeda's hand. “Good call! I think I'm having the blowout to end all blowouts! You got kids?”

“Four … and eleven grandchildren … three of 'em still in diapers. Seen my fair share of blowouts.” Manny climbed to his feet, wished the ladies well, and walked away.

Behind him, Ian was surveying the room. Nodding heads, hurried whispers, and the occasional pointed stare aimed in his general direction now seemed to be the order of the day. The Hotel California indeed.

Inordinately proud of his contribution to the seventh floor's scandalous reputation, Ian gallantly helped Rita to her feet. He was eyeballing the dessert counter when she put a fist in the small of his back, shook her head, and pointed him in the direction of the exit.

So like a toddler, Heidi grinned.

Ian sighed theatrically, and bowed his head in surrender. Diaper sagging, pants straining, he waddled on his way.

Hi ho, hi, ho, off to the ward we go ...

[kerry]

This is easily my favorite chapter so far!

[Babypants]

3 hours ago, kerry said:

This is easily my favorite chapter so far!

Thanks a lot!  This scene was fun to write-- a bit of light comedy to balance the darkness that lies just ahead.  Remember, scenes 20-27 are an arc spanning a four hour period from 0900 to 1300 hours, and you are not reading them in chronological order.   

[CDfm]

I got quite the chuckle out of how Ian handled Manny and the bet. I think even Manny was impressive with him.  
It was a great fun chapter.  I look forward to the next.