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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

THE NIGHT STALKERS

 

“All present and accounted for,” Bernice declared as Carlie, Rita and Ian entered the bedroom.  “We need to figure out who's sleeping where, but first I would ask Carlie to salute the winners of this evening's contest.”

 

“Would you like to do the honors,” she asked as she gestured at the faux bottle of Don Iulio Blanco.

 

Carlie frowned at the pitcher of limeade, but thought that another round of tequila shots would be a nice way to end the evening.  Taking her time, she started pouring, but she paused to look up at Sarah.

 

“Are you staying the night?” 

 

“I am,” Sarah confirmed, “so pour away!”

 

“Nothing for Tippi,” Bernice warned.  “She's on probation.”

 

Carlie nodded, and continued to pour.  She emptied the bottle into the seven glasses, and began passing them around.

 

Priscilla politely but firmly put her glass back on the tray, and Rita and Sarah quickly followed suit.  Visibly reluctant, Vickie was shamed into joining them.

 

“No more alcohol until we're done having babies … done breast feeding.”  Pris was speaking to the room, but she was staring at Ian.  “You are not going to do this alone,” she added as she reached out to take hold of his arm in a gesture of unity.

 

“Cranberry juice in the morning, limeade at dinner, and lots of water throughout the day to offset the breast milk,” Ian teased as he set his own glass down untouched.

 

Carlie shook her head at the absurdity of it all, and thought for a moment about what she wanted to say.

 

“It's been a weird yet somehow wonderful evening, but it's hard to salute Pris and Vic and Amos and Ian as the victors when Ian has been so gracious that it never felt like we had lost.  Instead, let us toast new friendships, and the commitments that come with them.”

 

Carlie raised her glass and emptied it, with Bernice following suit.

 

“WHAT?”  Carlie stared at the glass in her hand, and then looked reproachfully at Bernice.  “THAT WASN'T TEQUILA ...”

 

“Water,” Bernice grinned as she dropped ice cubes into a glass, filled it with limeade, and handed it to Ian.

 

Nodding his head, Ian couldn't help but laugh.  “You suckered me,” he confessed; “I mean, seriously-- you really had me going there!”

 

“Do you want to offer a toast,” Carlie asked, looking at him as everyone in the room reached for one of the glasses of water.

 

“I can't improve on what you said, so let me simply repeat it: to new friendships, and the commitments that come with them.”

 

Ian downed his glass, and the others followed suit.

 

“Congratulations, Ian, you've passed the test, and for now at least, that means this little gadget of mine will remain in my purse.”

 

“She referring to a kind of male chastity belt,” Ian reminded the throng.  “But I shall honor what I said to you this afternoon, Sarah: if the four of you think it best for me to be locked up, now's the time.”

 

“No,” Vickie objected.  “I've never been good with this.”

 

“Even if Carlie and I are going to spend the night in bed?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Vickie and Priscilla were equally confused.

 

“Carlie somehow senses the Princess,” Rita interjected.  “Only she's older … possibly much older.  And her name is Anna.”

 

“WHAT?”  Vickie reacted as if she had been shot out of a cannon, the tequila in her system being brutally pushed aside.  “How old is she?”

 

“A little girl,” Carlie answered; “that's all I can tell you.”

 

“But she speaks to you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“My God!  Rita, this is DID taken to the next level!”

 

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” Rita amplified.  “It's unusual for the primary and secondary personalities to be adults of different ages, but everything about this case is otherwise textbook.”

 

“How old is she,” Vickie pressed.

 

“A child … a very unhappy child.  She loves Ian, and she is acutely aware of the anguish that he suffers because of her.”

 

“And you want them to sleep together ...”

 

“Because the Princess is borderline pre-verbal when the body awakens, but matures as full consciousness returns.  Vic, the only way to discover where this goes is to let them run with it.  It's possible … a real possibility … that Carlie can connect with Anna when Ian wakes up.  Imagine the payoff  if she can link up and start asking questions ...”

 

“Ian, you and Carlie take the guest bedroom.”  Sarah decided to intervene, and start giving orders.  “Rita, I gather that you will be sleeping with one of the girls upstairs?”

 

“Geri Galbraith,” Bernice confirmed.  “And Tippi will show you to her room.  Priscilla, you and Doctor Robinson can take my room.  I'll sort something out for Sarah and myself on the fly, and in any event I'm not going anywhere until the girls are safely home.”

 

Bernice was thinking about Kimberly and Jackie, who by now were halfway across the city.  But she was also thinking about Mel and Cindy, wondering whether they would be able to keep their distance from the allure of the bars that lined Lake Street for miles.  Now was not the time, she decided, to ask Ian whether he would agree to adoption.  In her heart, she had already taken him for her son.  Regardless of his answer, her feelings were not going to change.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“And here we are,” Kimberly quietly noted as they made the turn and followed Julia up the driveway.  “And something tells me that Missus Canon will need help getting her husband out of the car.”

 

“I can keep him upright,” Jackie laughed.  “It's called boarding, only in this case there's no ref and no two minute penalty!”

 

“Goons,” Kimberly laughed in turn as she patted Jackie on the arm.  “God, how I love goons!”

 

“So, you and Derek are a thing?”

 

“We are.  After Lake Placid, he's going pro.  A little birdie tells me that the North Stars are going to draft him.  When that happens, I'll start planning the wedding.”

 

“I'll teach you a few moves … me and Steph both.  Might come in handy during the honeymoon, eh, never mind when you settle into married life.”

 

“Here we go,” Kimberly replied as she started to get out of the car.  Julia had come around to the passenger side, and was trying to drag her husband out of his seat, but Herb was not being very cooperative.

 

“You pull,” Jackie ordered, “but wait for me to give him some incentive.”

 

“What do you have in mind,” Kim asked as Jackknife slid into the driver's seat.

 

“Watch,”

 

“Hey, ouch,” Herb squealed as he swung his legs out of the car and tried to stand.  With Kim's help, he made it.

 

“What did you do,” Julia laughed.  “Herb hasn't moved that fast in ages!”

 

“Something one of my brothers taught me.  A knuckle strike just behind the left ear always gets their attention!”

 

“You might want to give lessons back at the sorority.  From what the girls were saying, drunken frat boys are a perpetual menace.”

 

“I need to go pee,” Herb announced; “can we go inside now?”

 

“Think you can hold it, big boy, or do we need to put you back in diapers too?”

 

“Ha, ha … very funny.”  Herb gave Julia a sour look.  Leaning on Kimberly, he began staggering towards the front door.

 

“We know a lot of dirty moves,” Jackknife confided, “and we're happy to share.  Frat boys belong on their knees, sucking our toes and begging to give us a pedicure.  You should come by the house for one of our upcoming training sessions.”

 

“Give me a call,” Julia laughed as she dug into her purse for a business card.  “Herb's spent a certain amount of time on his knees over the years ...”

 

Julia winked, and Jackie gave her a big “oh, yeah” in return.

 

“... but he's never sucked my toes-- and that's just one of my many unrequited fantasies!”

 

“The next time he passes out drunk, give him a pedicure.  Pink toenails are all the rage.”

 

“Julia,” Herb whined, “I can't find my keys … and I've gotta pee!”

 

“Coming, Dear.”

 

Julia and Jackknife joined Kimberly and an increasingly agitated Herb Canon, who was beginning to do a quite passable riff on the potty dance.

 

“I know they're in here somewhere,” she noted as she dug through her purse.

 

“JULIA!”  Herb's voice had gone up a full octave.

 

“Come, Dear; surely you're not going to pee your pants in front of these lovely college girls.  Wouldn't that be embarrassing, hmm?”

 

“Damn,” Herb wailed as the floodgates opened, and a dark stain spread across the crotch of his pants.  In a matter of a few, very long seconds, Herb was standing in a puddle of his own piss.

 

“Oh, my,” Jackie tsked, “what have we here, eh?  Look, Kim … another pants wetter.”

 

“Do you need help undressing him?  Cleaning him up?”

 

“Oh, I think I can manage from here, girls, but thank you very much.”  Julia found her keys, unlocked the door, and opened it wide.  “After all, this isn't my first rodeo with Sergeant Droopy Drawers here.  Now, just let me get the newspapers spread out so that he doesn't traipse pee all over the house ...”

 

Jackknife and Kimberly were roaring with laughter when Herb Canon stood obediently on the newspaper, waiting for Julia to undress him.

 

“Fantasies … so many fantasies,” she sighed as she bid the girls good night and shut the door.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Can you believe it,” Priscilla giggled as she settled comfortably into Bernice's bed.  Her head was resting on Vickie's shoulder, and her free hand was hugging Vic close.  “My first sleepover since my early teens, with the big sister I've longed for my whole life-- and we're wearing matching diapers that are locked on … no escape.”

 

“My first sleepover was when I was ten … at my friend Wendy's house.  I wet the bed until I was seven, and my parents kept me in nighttime diapers until I was nine.  Then there was a year of 'just in case'.  My mother wasn't about to risk me embarrassing her … and she never allowed me to host a pajama party.  She was, and still is, a stuck-up bitch.”

 

Vic squeezed Priscilla's hand.  “Pris … what Ian said?  Do you think … do you think that your parents would really be willing to adopt me?  To have a real family ...”

 

“Not to worry, Sis.  Mom's been throwing out hints, and in our house there's an iron clad rule: what Mom wants, Mom gets.  Dad's always a bit slow out of the blocks, but he will get there.”

 

“Vic … you okay with the diapers … being treated like a baby?”

 

“As hard as it is to believe, I'm actually enjoying myself.  Sarah is strict, but in an old fashioned way, which is a far cry from my parents.  My Dad was never there, and my Mom opted for shaming rather than discipline.  And she loves me … Sarah and Rita both.  And now I've got you and Ian … becoming a part of your family would be the cherry on top of my very own hot fudge sundae!”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Priscilla laughed, “because I think Mom wants to take over where Sarah leaves off!  She wants grandkids in the worst possible way, but until we deliver, you're nominated.”

 

“Hello?  Weren't you listening out there?  It sounds like Mom wants to change your poopy diapers as well!”

 

“No way!”

 

“Way!”

 

“You're so mean.”

 

“That's what big sisters are for!”

 

Priscilla kissed Vickie lightly on the back, and snuggled up still closer.  “This has been the best week of my life,” she whispered.  “First Ian, and now you.  It's like a fairy tale.”

 

“Speaking of which,” Vickie whispered in return, “there's something that's been bugging me.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“Snow White.  All the time she was asleep, she must have been wearing a diaper, right?  So, which Dwarf was changing her, or do you think they took turns?”

 

“Grumpy,” Priscilla giggled.  “It's gotta be Grumpy.  All those messy diapers!”

 

“I'm voting for Happy.”

 

“Happy?  Why”

 

“It's obvious.  Day after day, he got to fondle her girl bits.”

 

“Ouch!  That's sick!”

 

“Well, I do work in a psych ward.”

 

“There's that,” Priscilla conceded.  “There's that.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“It's not much,” Amos nervously remarked as he opened the door to his tiny one bedroom apartment, “but it suits me.”  He didn't add that Cindy and Melanie were the first girls ever to cross the threshold.  “You want a beer?”

 

“Can't,” Mel said as she surveyed the living room.  A couch and end table with a lamp along one wall faced a TV set on the other.  The usual stereo components had a table to themselves, and a pair of large Xfinity speakers were at opposite ends of the room.  “We don't want to miss the kegger that the Deltas are holding on Saturday night, and Mom will ground us if we come home with liquor on our breath.”

 

“Coke or Dr. Pepper okay?”

 

“We live on Dr. Pepper,” Cindy called out as she knelt on the floor to begin going through the record albums.  She pulled one out, but almost dropped it when she saw what she was holding in her hands.

 

“Dixieland?”

 

“Gotta keep Andrew happy,” Amos called out from the kitchen.  “He plays a mean clarinet.”

 

“He's kidding,” Andrew grinned.  “When he's not beating up pinball machines, Amos can really tickle the ivories.  Every once in a while, he tackles that Steinway in the lobby.  When the Saints Go Marching In is a huge crowd pleaser.”

 

“And you've got a truck to die for,” Melanie cut in.  “An honest to God stick shift.  That's how I learned to drive … out in the fields, helping Daddy with the stump hauling.”

 

“Farm girl,” Amos asked as he returned with a coke for Andrew, and three Dr. Peppers for himself and the girls.

 

“From the only Zumbrota in the world,” Mel laughed, repeating her home town's main claim to fame.  “Corn, soybeans, dairy cattle … the usual operation.  You?”

 

“River rat.  Dad's got a tavern in Wabasha.  That's how I got into Dixieland.  Catfishing … dreaming about taking one of the old steamboats all the way down to New Orleans.”

 

“Wow!  Talk about the trip of a lifetime!  Call me the riverboat gambler!”

 

“More like The Farmer's Daughter,” Cindy joked as she settled back on the couch and kicked her feet out.  “We had fun with your CB, toying with The Galloping Gaucho.”

 

“Ken's an independent … does mostly regional runs out of Iowa City.  Puts Ranch Dressing on his onion rings.  Nice guy … you'd like him.”

 

“You know the people you're talking to?”  Melanie was in CB heaven.

 

“Mostly truckers.  There's a big truck stop out on the Rochester highway.  Usual choke and puke, but they've got a nice lounge.  Andrew and me … a couple of other guys on string bass and the trombone… we go out and play there sometimes.”

 

“Double wow!  Let us know the next time you're heading out, and we'll put together a convoy.”

 

“Not sure about that,” Andrew cautioned.  “The place can get pretty rough.  Don't see college girls in there.  And your diapers would attract all manner of attention-- the wrong kind.”

 

“You mean like … maybe somebody could pick the lock?”

 

“More like follow you into the restroom, and offer you petty cash for a blow job.”

 

“Nice thing about diapers … we can skip the communal toilet.”

 

“Besides,” Cindy hastened to point out, “we've got Jackknife and Slasher on our team.  They're goons, and nobody messes with them!  Jackie will board him with a pool cue, and Steph will use a bridge to plant him, face first!”

 

“They do have pool tables, don't they?”  Melanie had never heard of a bar that didn't.

 

“Four, the last time I checked,” Andrew shrugged.  Like, Amos he preferred the action on the pinball machines.

 

“Then, it's a date.  Now that we're candy stripers, we're bound to run into you.  You hang out in the cafeteria?”  Melanie was keen to meet some over the road cowboys; Convoy was her new, all-time favorite flick, and the Rubber Duck was like sixteen different kinds of cool.

 

“For dinner, and on breaks.  We're second shift.”

 

“Then we'll catch you on the flip side, Pinball Wizard.”  Melanie got to her feet, finished off her Dr. Pepper, and headed for the door, with Cindy hot on her tail.  “This here's The Farmer's Daughter, eastbound and down!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I've been on the force for fourteen years,” Carlie sighed.  She was lying on her side, looking down at Ian, who was spending his second night in a row in the sorority's guest bedroom.

 

“I've delivered a baby by the side of the road in a raging snow storm.  I've responded to domestic disturbance calls that ranged from dangerous to downright bizarre.  But this is the first time I've been tasked to share a bed for the night with a grown man wearing a diaper.”

 

Carlie slipped her fingers inside the plastic pants and felt around, trying to gauge whether Ian was wet enough to warrant a change.  There was a stack of diapers waiting mutely on the coffee table, along with containers of powder and wet wipes.

 

“Hard to judge given how thick this monster is, but it doesn't feel like I need to change you yet.”  She ran her fingers around some more, pausing lightly to tap where she figured his penis must be.  But she couldn't feel it through the thick cloth, and reckoned that she should be thankful for small mercies.

 

“I like Sarah … appreciate her bluntness.”  Carlie glanced at the canvas diaper cover; it was also lying on the coffee table, the lock and Sarah's key both equally visible.

 

“If the two of you weren't engaged, I would probably sound her out, see where things might go.”  Carlie leaned over to sniff inside his baby pants, knowing that he was not always aware of the rivers of mushy poop that accumulated there.

 

“Don't let our engagement stop you,” Ian replied in a low voice, his tone matter of fact. “A guy who lives under the same roof with four women has no business being judgmental.  I would welcome you into our household with open arms, and not just because I love you.  Priscilla has a slot waiting for her at Quantico, and I'm seriously considering reserving one for you as well.  You would make a fine addition to our security detail.”

 

“Ian, I'm enjoying our time together, and I appreciate your feelings for me.  I like holding you … cradling you in my arms like a baby.  And I'm looking forward to giving you your ba ba … which should be just about ready.”

 

Carlie felt along the headboard for the bottle warmer, and wrapped her fingers around the pink baby bottle.  It was warm, but not quite warm enough.

 

“And I can't wait to change your dirty diaper and clean your messy bottom.  I could baby you forever-- but we are not going to be lovers.  I'm sorry, but it just won't happen.”

 

“I'm serious about this, Carlie.  Look, you are the only person to sense Princess Poopy Pants lurking somewhere in the shadows of my mind.  Isn't it possible that you are also sensing something about Sarah that the rest of us have missed, including Sarah herself?  I want her to be happy, just like I want you to be happy.  And maybe it's just one man's misplaced opinion, but I think the two of you would be good for each other … I really do.”

 

A warm smile brought Carlie's features fully to life, and she leaned down to kiss Ian lightly on the forehead.

 

“You are an extraordinary person, Ian Grady … generous … so giving.  And perhaps one day we shall make love.”

 

Ian blinked hard, having no way to know whether Carlie was serious, or simply playing with him.

 

“Anna … your Princess Poopy Pants ...”

 

“But she's a little girl,” Ian protested, truly shocked that Carlie would even suggest such a thing.

 

“Is she?  Isn't that what I'm here to find out?”

 

“Sure, but ...”

 

“Shhh.”  Carlie placed a finger across Ian's lips to hush him.  “I know what you are going to say-- that I would still be making love to a man.  And you're wrong, Ian; if the attraction is there, I would be making love to a woman who happens to inhabit a man's body.  There is a difference.  Remember what I said earlier … how Babs hates men but I embrace women?”

 

Carlie ran her fingers through Ian's undisciplined mop of hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

 

Eyes closed, Ian groaned with pleasure.  Carlie's touch was out of this world.

 

“I'm a very experienced lover, Ian, and I'd like to think that I'm reasonably good at it.  Suppose Anna's nipples are sensitive … what do you think I would do?”

 

“But they're not …”

 

“Ian, you keep missing the point.  It's not your body.  It's one that you and Anna equally share.  Pain to you might be pleasure to her, and vice-versa.  What do you think I would do?  Hmm?”

 

“Uh … nibble on them?  Suck them?”

 

“And what if she likes having my fingers inside her?”

 

“She'll like that!  I know because when Vickie ...”

 

Ian stopped in mid-sentence, too embarrassed to continue.

 

“Because you enjoyed it when Vickie … how shall I put it?  Tested your response?”

 

“I'd vote for that,” Ian grimaced.  “A good way to put it.”

 

“Do you know why Sarah left you unlocked?”

 

“Another test.  I'm not supposed to act on my feelings because it puts my partner at risk.  But will alcohol shatter my inhibitions?”

 

“Make it child's play for me to seduce you?  For any woman to seduce you?”

 

Carlie reached for the bottle, and nodded-- the temperature was just right.  Unplugging the warmer, she took the bottle and shook a few drops onto her wrist just to make sure.  Leaning upright against the headboard, she coaxed Ian to lay with his head in her lap.  When she offered him the nipple, he latched on without hesitation and began to nurse.

 

What, she wondered, would the morning bring?

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sitting in his car around the corner from the sorority house, Bob Rowland was freezing his butt off.  He would have liked to fire up the engine so that he could run the heater, but even with Midnight only an hour away there was enough foot traffic along Fraternity Row that he couldn't risk drawing attention to himself.  So he sat and froze while keeping the house under surveillance and mentally drawing up his report.  If he didn't want to feel Mister Black's wrath, he would have to do some judicious editing of his nocturnal activities.

 

He had taken a huge risk by entering the bar shortly after six, but the bug wasn't going to plant itself, and he was in the mood for a cold one on draft anyway.  With a U shaped bar coursing through two otherwise separate rooms, he opted to secure the tiny transmitter under the counter directly opposite the restroom.  If nothing else, gossipy women standing in line while they waited their turn were generally good for a laugh or two, and they sometimes tossed out a useful piece of information.

 

As it turned out, although sitting in the dark at the back of the parking lot, Bob had a ring side seat for the decline and fall of Babs Patterson, as well as the mysteriously unconditional surrender of Carlie Voight. He learned that Street Racer had gone hiking in northern Afghanistan-- a tidbit that might or might not be of interest to his superior.  Then, more than half a dozen sorority girls had shown up, one of them pounding on the door demanding to get in at about the same time Babs was, from the sound of it, having the orgasm to end all orgasms.

 

And that's when it got interesting.  A young woman so drunk that she could barely stand upright had been more or less carried out to the lot, summarily dumped in the back seat of a car driven by one of the sorority girls, and off they went.  In due course, one of her escorts reappeared arm in arm with Street Racer, leading Bob remorselessly to the conclusion that both of the policewomen would be bedding down for the night on Fraternity Row.  But of course the real question remained: would one of them, or both of them, be sharing Songbird's bed?

 

Any way you cut it, Bob decided, they were going to need more code names.  “Mother Hen” was a good fit for Bernice Miller, but good luck trying to find a good fit for the two gay cops.  And then there were the sorority girls whom Street Racer had more or less adopted-- dozens of them!

 

Yeah, anyway you cut it, Bob decided, the mission was turning into a logistical nightmare.  There weren't enough agents on the payroll to keep tabs on this lot, and the budget was already stretched to the breaking point.  What they needed, Bob concluded, was to plant an agent inside the house.  But were there any female agents young enough, and crazy enough, to blend in?

 

As Bob fired up the ignition and prepared to drive off, a truly evil grin spread across his features.  If they could insert an agent, she would be diaper bound for however long this assignment turned out to last.  He had crossed swords with four female trainees at Quantico, and he would happily recommend any or all of them for this particular op.  Long years wearing poopy diapers would truly be giving your all for the cause.

 

THE MORNING AFTER

 

“Where am I,” Babs moaned as she sat bolt upright in bed.  The room was pitch black, no light coming in through the window or even through the crack beneath the door.

 

Sitting up, she belatedly realized, was a bad mistake.  She had a raging headache, and a dozen butterflies seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach during the wee small  hours.  If she was going to puke, she could only hope that there was a trash can sitting somewhere inside the dungeon into which she had been cast.

 

Last night started to come back to her, but in scattered bits and pieces.  She vaguely recalled drinking her body weight in tequila and getting really seriously pissed about something. 

 

But what?  

 

She remembered taunting Diaper Butt, making the bet and losing.  She had given him the paddle, dropped her pants and offered him the most tempting target he would ever have.  Only he had refused to let fly, humiliating her in front of all her friends.  Letting anger trump common sense, she had played the game a second time-- his game-- and he had put her on her knees, courtesy of a mind blowing orgasm that left her self image in ruins.

 

And then he had helped her to her feet.  No gloating, no rubbing it in, just reaching out to steady her until one of the sorority girls had taken his place, leading her by the hand to a table of his friends.  And there she had remained, mute as a statue and feeling like shit, until they tossed her into a car like a bag of dirty laundry and drove her here. 

 

Wherever the Hell this is …

 

And there was something about being diapered …

 

Panicking, Babs felt between her legs-- or tried to.  In the dark, she ran her fingers over what felt like heavy canvas underwear that was covering another garment so thick that, no matter how hard she pressed, she could not feel her crotch.

 

A fucking diaper.  They did it … they put me in a fucking diaper!

 

She attempted without success to pull the canvas cover down.  Exploring some more, her fingers latched onto the locking mechanism.  She pushed and pulled, but to no effect.  She was wearing a diaper, and couldn't remove it.

 

Where the fuck is the key?

 

In the dark, exploring around her with her fingers, Babs was startled to discover that she was not alone.

 

“Wake up, whoever you are!  Let me out of this fucking diaper!”

 

Babs poked the inert body lying beside her, relieved to discover that her bedmate was another woman.

 

And since I'm locked into a fucking chastity belt, there couldn't have been any hanky-panky going on …

 

“It's early,” Joyce grumbled, not even half awake; “go back to sleep.”

 

“But I need to pee,” Babs wailed.

 

“Use your diaper; that's what it's for.”  Joyce rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head in a vain attempt to escape from her irritating new sex toy.

 

“Roll call at seven.  Can't miss it.”  Babs pressed her fingers to her forehead, the pain relentless.

 

“Your partner's got you covered; go back to sleep.”

 

“Carlie?  Carlie's here?”

 

“Think so.  At least, last I heard, that was the plan.”

 

Babs breathed a sigh of relief.  If Carlie was here, she wouldn't have to deal with the lunatics in this asylum by her lonesome.

 

Surrendering to the inevitable, Joyce rolled over and kicked the blanket aside.  “Come here, Baby Girl,” she ordered as she reached for the policewoman with her arms open wide.  “Mommy has a treat for you.”

 

“I need to pee,” Babs stubbornly repeated; “and I need a couple of aspirin.  My head is killing me.”

 

“What you need, Baby Girl, is to come to me.  Last night you were so upset, but all your worries faded away when you started to nurse.  You fell asleep in my arms, and you slept soooo … well.  What Mommy gives you is way better than aspirin.”

 

“But I still need to pee,” Babs countered with a resigned sigh.  She knew that there was no avoiding using her diaper, not with a Mommy who was such a strict disciplinarian. 

 

Blindly reaching out, she located the promised land, and eased down to lay her head on Mommy's tummy.  She latched on, and as she had feared, began peacefully to nurse.

 

And I don't even know Mommy's name, she mused as she suckled.  But maybe this time I'll get lucky.  I'm such a naughty little girl, and my last Mommy finally ran out of patience …

 

And then she ran off … abandoned me …

 

Maybe this time I'll get lucky … a no nonsense Mommy who will spank me every time I'm a bad girl …

 

Lots and lots of spankies for a naughty little girl …

 

Fully relaxed, Babs let go and flooded the heavy diaper with warm pee.  It felt good …

just to let go.

 

So this is what it's like to be a helpless baby girl …

 

Babs slightly shifted her position, searching for the best angle at which to nurse.

 

Maybe this time …

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I hate mornings,” Priscilla growled as she and Vic stumbled into the kitchen.  “Don't try and get me to do anything until after my second cup of coffee.”

 

“Ah,” Rita observed as she looked up from the newspaper.  Steam was rising from her own cup, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.  “I did wonder,” she added, knowing that Vickie was poorly acquainted with her own kitchen.

 

“And fresh baked cinnamon rolls,” Vic added as Pris poured cups for both of them.  “Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.  My day normally starts at Mickey D's.”

 

“And we're fresh out of breast milk,” Sarah lamented with a theatrical sigh.  “You'll just have to make do until we get to the office.  Think you can drag your butt over the finish line?”

 

Sarah dipped a chunk of her roll into the mound of melting butter, and began chewing contentedly.

 

“I'm a girl who comes prepared,” Vickie said with a triumphant grin as she dug a bottle of aspirin out of her pocket.  “I won't accomplish a damned thing today, but hey!  Just showing up is half the battle.”

 

“How are your diapers holding up,” Bernice asked.  “Are either of you in urgent need of a change?”

 

“I'm good,” Vickie decided.  “All that tequila we drank last night?  I am seriously dehydrated.”

 

“Me too,” Priscilla nodded.  “But what a great night!  If that was our last hurrah, it was a good one!”

 

Priscilla sipped her coffee, frowned, and put her cup down.  “What's this about changing me?  I don't need to wear diapers.”

 

“Your Mom disagrees,” Sarah laughed.  “She thought you looked absolutely adorable strutting around the bar with your diapered behind hanging out in the wind.  And your fellow officers certainly enjoyed the show.  Sorry, but your mom wants her baby girl back, and Bernice and I think it's a great idea.  Still, you needn't worry.  Lullaby's diapers are thin enough that no one will catch on to your little secret, especially under what you're wearing right now.  Stretch pants?”

 

“You can't be serious about this,” Priscilla objected.  “And they're yoga pants.” 

 

“Do you have the key to your diaper cover,” Bernice asked.  “No?  Didn't think so.  So, you are not negotiating from strength.  And as for your Mom, there's a phone on the wall behind you.  Why don't you give her a call.  I know that she's up because I spoke with her not ten minutes ago.  She is leaving the matter of your wardrobe up to Sarah and me.”

 

“Vic, Julia is keen to adopt you.  Frankly, she feels terrible that Priscilla is an only child.  That was not the plan, but it just didn't work out.”  Sarah took another sip of her coffee, mentally counting off the seconds while she gave Vic time to absorb the news.  “But your new Mommy does not tolerate slackers.  She's going to introduce you to the vacuum cleaner, and teach you the proper way to clean a toilet.  We all expect you to carry your weight in our new household.”

 

“And she's good with changing your diapers,” Bernice added.  “But Priscilla, the four of us agree that sharing your sister's diapered fate will make it easier for Vic to fit into her new family … sort of like all hands on deck.”  Bernice nodded in Rita's direction, wanting Priscilla to understand that Vickie's superior was fully on board with the plan.  “And it would be nice if you could be relied upon to change each other, the same way Wendy and the rest of our bed wetters are pitching in to help me change their sisters' daytime diapers.”

 

“And how long would this 'arrangement' last?”  Priscilla would never admit it publicly, but in her heart she knew exactly what Bernice was saying.  Having her Mom change both of them would make the transition far less awkward for Vic-- and there was nothing like changing messy diapers to bind the three women tightly together.

 

“Once the household is up and running,” Sarah went on, “everything changes.  After all, you can't get pregnant if you're wearing a diaper.  So, it will be short term-- unless, like Vickie here, you discover that you like being babied.  I'm prepared to keep you in diapers forever, but only if that's your wish.”

 

“Okay,” Priscilla nodded as she reached out to clasp Vickie's hand.  “I'll meet you halfway.  I'll call Mom, and set up a lunch date at the Deli … say … quarter after twelve?  The three of us will talk this out, and come to some kind of agreement.  I'll do whatever it takes to help Vic, but Mom's sense of humor can be a bit whimsical.  You don't want to take everything she says at face value.”

 

“So, for right now,” she concluded as she got up to refill her cup, “we'll put the diapers on hold.”

 

“Fair enough,” Bernice decided.  Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the key to Priscilla's canvas cover, and handed it over.  “Use the diaper pail, and then the shower awaits ...”

 

“Take your sister with you,” Sarah ordered as she slid the key to Vickie's cover across the table.  “You both smell like wet socks, so leave your clothes on the bed and go soap each other down.  We'll do a quick wash and dry ...”

 

“That goes for you, too, Rita.”  Bernice was staring at the vomit covered smock that Rita was still wearing.  “And yes, I know that it's some kind of perverse badge of honor, but I have the reputation of the house to uphold.  You are not leaving here this morning looking and smelling like a refugee from a drunk tank!”

 

Rita was actually planning to call an emergency meeting of the entire staff, and she was toying with the idea of using her smock to drive home the fact that her entire department was ill equipped to deal with what awaited them when they started to work with men like Amos and Ian.  And they were out there, she knew, in the scores if not the hundreds, in bars and shelters-- not one of them more than five miles from the hospital.

 

“There are guest bathrobes in the back of my closet,” Bernice went on.

 

“Reminds me of the Hilton,” Vickie laughed.

 

“Only we serve better food,” Bernice proudly rejoined.  “It's the fear of missing breakfast that drags the girls out of bed.  Too bad you have to leave so early … you're going to miss the show!”  

 

.  .  .  .

 

“It looks like there's no joy in Mudville,”  Rita remarked when Carlie and Ian, both fully dressed, wandered into the kitchen.  Their crestfallen expressions left nothing to the imagination.

 

“Alas, the Mighty Carlie has struck out,” she confirmed.  “I was the first to wake, and I called out to Anna … barely a whisper.  But there was no one home.”

 

“No one?”  Rita wasn't sure what Carlie meant.  “Literally?  No one?”

 

“That's right.  Ian's body was an empty chalice.  But it was Ian who surfaced, and sitting here his is the only personality that I can sense.”       

 

“Don't get too excited, Rita,” Ian cautioned.  “I used a Buddhist technique called Shamatha to shelve my personality and give Carlie a better chance to make the connection.  Just one of the tricks in a combat soldier's kitbag.”

 

“So, what are we to conclude about last night,” Sarah frowned.  “You both had a lot to drink, and Ian … your emotions were running wild.  You love so intensely, but you suffer in the same, all encompassing way.  You were broadcasting on both wave lengths, and Carlie picked up on both.  No surprise there, really, when you think about it … but how could Carlie identify Anna as the source of your pain?  Where is this coming from?”

 

“Apart from the alcohol,” Ian shrugged, “the other noteworthy variable is Carlie's sexual orientation.  Sarah, she does not feel me in the same way that you do.  Hell, as far as that goes, she doesn't feel you in the same way that I do!  This is alien territory!”

 

“And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”  Sarah was ignoring Ian, her attention now focused on the policewoman.

 

“If you and Ian were not engaged, last night I would have sounded you out.”  Carlie's look was no less direct.

 

“WHAT?  YOU THINK THAT I'M ...”  The thought was so outrageous that Sarah couldn't voice it.

 

“I sense that you're bi.  I'm attracted to you because instinct tells me that we would be good for each other.  It would also be to your benefit to have someone like me helping you keep order in this … unusual … household of yours.”

 

Carlie casually tossed the key to Ian's diaper cover across the table.  “I changed his diaper, bathed him … a baby in Mommy's arms.  It felt good.  I'd like to do it again.”

 

“What you said about wave lengths, Sarah … maybe that's the key.”  Ian wanted to get control of the conversation before Sarah went looking for a frying pan or some equally lethal weapon.  “Carlie senses both of us differently.  What we need to do is figure out how to work with that … in a way that doesn't involve alcohol.  I'm thinking that Vickie needs to teach all of you how to summon the Princess, so that you can work with her … find out what's going on.”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Rita concurred.  “And let me freely admit that, from the beginning, privately I've thought it for the best for everyone in our household to sleep with everyone else-- and I'm really looking forward to threesomes!”

 

“You … you want to sleep with me?”  Sarah's eyes felt like they were bugging out of her head.

 

“I do.  Ian gave me some ideas, and I'd like to run with them.  With you, especially, Carlie.  What lurks behind that frosty exterior of yours, hmm?  Since you won't let Ian have a go, I'd like to take you on.”

 

“Uh, let me try and clear the air here,” Carlie gulped.  “First, I take it for granted that Ian could rock my world, and that on a purely physical level I would enjoy it.  But, Rita, I'm not promiscuous, and I don't do casual sex.  There would have to be an emotional connection between us for the sex to be meaningful, and that's not possible with Ian, which is clearly my loss.  I'm attracted to Sarah because there's something there, but right now you are coming on to me like a man, and that's pretty much a dead end.  If you want to get inside my defenses, you should take lessons from Ian, who pulled it off last night without even trying … pulled it off precisely because he wasn't trying ...”

 

Carlie paused in mid-thought as Vickie and Priscilla reentered the room.  Priscilla headed straight for the coffee pot.  With a hot shower and two cups of joe under her belt, she was beginning to feel vaguely human.

 

Bernice got up, and silently began to ready a second pot.  Moms and Dads up and down the Row had gathered around the table many times over the years, and with no alcohol allowed in the house, it was caffeine that had always fueled their conversations.

 

“What have we missed,” Vickie wanted to know.

 

“Well, let me see.”  Sarah began ticking off points on her fingers.  “The Princess is laying low this morning, so no progress to report on that front.  Carlie and Ian both think that I'm bi, and they want me to explore this side of my personality.  Rita wants to have a threesome, presumably with me and Ian, but it sounds like she would be receptive to other combinations as well.  Rita also wants to have a fling with Carlie, but Carlie is turned off by Rita's masculine aggressiveness.  She wants Rita to take lessons from Ian, which suggests that we're about to learn just why all of us have gone and fallen in love with the poor guy in the first place.  Have I got that right, Carlie?”

 

“Sarah, you are a police officer's dream.  My job would be a lot easier if the witnesses at crime or accident scenes would just report what they saw without wrapping it up in a lot of meaningless fluff!”

 

“Just the facts, Ma'am,” Ian teased.

 

“Just the facts,” Carlie laughed.

 

“Last night, you reminded me of Joe Friday 'cause I couldn't get a read on you.  For that reason, I decided that you're probably a pretty good cop.”

 

“Thank you, Major-- and I mean that sincerely.  Last night, you read the room very, very well, and it got harder and harder for me to maintain the poker face that I roll out on the witness stand.  You really did get inside my defenses.”

 

“I wasn't trying ...”

 

“I know … I know.  You got to me precisely because you weren't trying; you see, I don't respond well to manipulation.  And you missed it anyway-- the one moment in which everything changed.”

 

Ian had a blank look on his face, and he wasn't pretending.  He had no idea what Carlie was talking about.

 

“Priscilla saw it, Ian, and so did Julia.  I think every woman in the bar saw it, and we all reacted the same way.  Empathy is a very rare quality.  You put Babs on her knees, but you refused to take a victory lap.  Instead, you helped her up, and you continued to support her when that very upset young woman threw herself into your arms.  You comforted them both, with compassion for one, and a father's love for the other.  It's who you are, and it's why these women have fallen in love with you.  They, and the others.  I don't remember their names, but when you were being roasted, the look on Julia's face was priceless.”

 

“And then there's the little matter of my adoption,” Vickie reminded everyone.  “He saw how much Pris and I meant to each other, and he quietly went to work to make two unspoken dreams come true.  And now he's stuck with us, proving once again that no good deed goes unpunished.”

 

Warm laughter filled the room, and Bernice decided that the moment was at hand.

 

“Hopefully, yours will be the first of two adoptions.”  Bernice looked at Sarah, wanting her permission to proceed.

 

Sarah nodded slightly, which was all the encouragement Bernice required.

 

“As you all know,” Bernice began, “my husband died in Korea.  We barely had time for a honeymoon before he shipped out, and although we certainly tried, we were not blessed with children.  The girls who have passed through this house over the last twenty-five years have been my daughters, but of course having a son was a pleasure always denied to me.  I gave up all hope when Rick died, and with him our dream of raising a son who would grow up to make us proud, a son who would marry and have children of his own-- the grandchildren whom we would spoil rotten.  And then two nights ago, suddenly and without warning, the decent, honest and caring young man we hoped to raise was standing right in front of me, baring his soul to save my girls from making a tragic mistake.  In that moment, what for so long had been an empty and desolate place in my heart became filled to the brim with love and joy.”

 

Bernice reached out to clasp Ian's hand in her own.

 

“I love you, Ian, and I would very much like to adopt you as my son.”

 

An expectant hush fell over the table, everyone waiting on Ian's response-- everyone except Sarah.  This was her decision to make, but it had to come from Ian.

 

“Bernice, I would be deeply honored to have you for my mother-in-law,” she softly observed; “deeply honored.”

 

This was as far as Sarah felt she could go.  She hoped that it would be enough.

 

“I'm an only child,” Ian finally began.  “My mother had me when she was thirty-three.  It was a difficult pregnancy, and she almost died delivering me.  They cut her tubes ...”

 

Priscilla wrapped an arm around Ian's shoulders, and leaned her head against him.  She knew well the regret that she could hear in his voice.

 

“They were good people, and they worked hard to give me a good home and a chance to make something of my life.  I'd like to think that mine are the values with which they raised me.  They both wanted grandchildren ...”

 

Ian shook his head, remembering how badly his father had wanted a little girl to complete their family.  But his parents had died almost four years before Linh's birth.

 

“They would have judged all of us to have taken leave of our senses, but when it comes to spoiling the grandkids, my parents would have given Priscilla's parents a run for their money!  I suspect the four of them would have become close friends.”

 

“What do you think your parents would want you to do?”  Like Sarah, Rita was trying to  find a way to lighten the decision that Ian would have to make.

 

“Oh, Mom would tell me to think it through, and Dad to follow my heart.”

 

“That's different,” Vickie laughed.

 

“Well, Mom was a bookkeeper, and Dad a jazz pianist.  Then there's my Uncle Harold, who was a bootlegger during Prohibition, though he settled down after the war to become a professional gambler.  On my Dad's side, Uncle Paul was a Moonshiner … knew every creek and holler in eastern Kentucky.  Revenuers never came close to catchin' him.”

 

“No wonder you get along so well with Spats,” Priscilla gleefully observed.  “And our kids!  Just think … they'll be descended from a long line of cops on the one side, and a colorful cast of shady characters on the other!  So, when they're good, I'll take the credit, and when they're bad?  It's all your fault!”

 

“Mom, are you sure that you want to do this?  Get mixed up in the craziest household in the Cities?”  Ian was keeping it casual, but he was looking directly at Bernice, and they were still holding hands.  He already thought of her as 'Mom', but having Sarah so openly give her approval took an enormous load off his shoulders.

 

“I've been running a lunatic asylum for twenty-five years,” Bernice countered.  “Now, I'll have a fine, young man and a team of professionals to help me keep the herd in check.  And when the babies start coming … it's a win-win situation all the way around.”

 

“Then I would be honored … deeply honored … to become your son.  And it just so happens that I'm on good terms with a judge who can perform the honors.” 

 

Ian and Bernice leapt to their feet, and embraced, oohs and ahs erupting all around them.  The four young women who shared Ian's life were all thinking the same thing: another piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Right on schedule,” Bernice chuckled as Tippi, Kim and Mel trudged into the kitchen in search of coffee.  “Carlie and your aunts only left about ten minutes ago, so your seats are still warm.”

 

“It's still dark out,” Kim complained, much to Bernice's amusement.

 

“Ian, you should know that this house is Minnesota in the raw.”  Bernice joked.  “Our suburban girls all sleep in, and our small town girls and dairy maids are up before the crack of dawn.  Morning in and morning out, Mel and Kim have to take care not to wake Cindy and Linda.  It's been that way for four years now.”

 

“How did it go with my Dad,” Priscilla wanted to know.

 

“Jackknife and I got him out of the car ...”

 

Only half awake, Kimberly still smiled at the memory.

 

“... but your Mom took her time finding her keys, and your Dad started doing the potty dance.  By the time she finally got the front door open, he was flooding the stoop.  She got newspapers down for him to stand on, and when we left she was undressing him.  It looked like a well worn routine.”

 

“Well worn indeed,” Priscilla laughed.  “In bad weather, the drive home takes a long time, and Dad's bladder is no longer up to it.  Once the adoption goes through and Mom starts changing your aunt Vickie's diapers, I expect Mom to try and put Dad in diapers as well, at least for our outings to The Pig Sty.”

 

“Your mom wants to put you back in diapers too, aunt Batgirl-- and I want to change you!”  Now that she was Sarah's second in command, Tippi expected to be put in charge of changing everyone's diapers.  She couldn't wait to take control of Sarah's household.

 

“What have I missed?”  Melanie had no idea what Tippi and Priscilla were talking about.

 

“Behind the scenes, your Dad here ...”

 

Priscilla paused to pat Ian gently on the back.

 

“Your Dad and my Mom have been conspiring to give me the older sister I've wanted my entire life.  My parents are going to adopt your aunt Vickie.”

 

“Whoa,” Melanie yelled; “that's fantastic!  It's obvious to all of us that the two of you are super close.  Fantastic!”

 

Tip and Kim were both clapping, their faces alight with joy, their distrust of the young policewoman now a fading memory.

 

Bernice pursed her lips, debating whether to share her own good news before Ian and Pris left for campus, or wait until her girls had come downstairs for breakfast and the odd diaper change.

 

Ian and Tippi were both looking at her expectantly.

 

“Ian and I also have an announcement to make,” she quietly confessed.  “I have asked, and Ian has agreed … to become my son.  We hope to perform both adoptions at the same time.”

 

Melanie and Kim jumped to their feet and rushed around the table to hug their Mom and congratulate her, but Tippi stayed where she was.  Catching Ian's eye, she mouthed a heartfelt “thank you.”  In her estimation, Bernice Miller was a wonderful woman with an aching hole in her heart, and their new Dad had literally come out of nowhere to set about healing the wound.  She knew that Bernice had mentored more than five hundred girls during her quarter century at the helm, and that the vast majority held her in high esteem.  Many, like Emily Carlson, continued to think of the sorority as their home away from home, and they constituted a fiercely protective network of trustees and donors.

 

When Ian and Priscilla drove off a few minutes later, Ian was mentally rehearsing his eight o'clock lecture, while Priscilla was contemplating how the protests that the left wing student groups had undoubtedly planned would disrupt the campus on a slow news day.  How, she wondered, would Emmett Bailey slant the story for his station's three nightly broadcasts?  Just how far down the rabbit hole was he prepared to go?

 

Still deep in thought as they crossed the river, neither Priscilla nor Ian could foresee the effect that their actions would have on the sorority, and on Fraternity Row at large.

 

REVELATIONS 1

 

“Thank you everybody,” Rita began.  “I know that all of you have files to update from this morning's sessions, and I hesitated to call this meeting on a Friday morning when we all need to clear the decks for tomorrow's edition of Lessing's Folly.  But some of what we are going to discuss will be on the docket, which is why Sarah is joining us.  And thank you, Sarah; we all appreciate the fact that you have been giving so much of your time to our department.”

 

“Why don't you move up here, Sarah?”  Becky was in a playful mood.  “We need an administrator who won't puke all over the potted plants.”

 

“Ouch,” Reiko exclaimed.  “That's gotta hurt!”

 

It was a little after ten, and Rita had summoned the senior staff to an informal meeting in the conference room.  Such events were rare, and unheard of on Fridays, so curiosity alone guaranteed that everyone would attend.

 

“I wanted to show off my vomit stained frock to the whole hospital,” Rita laughed, “but Bernice refused to let me out of the sorority house looking like something that the dog had dragged in.  Pity, that … I was seriously debating having it framed to mount in the foyer.”

 

“So, want to give us a blow by blow description?”  Candy had debated going the sorority route, but the oft repeated, scandalous reports of drunken orgies at every turn had scared her parents off.  They had put their collective feet down, relegating her to four long years in the dorms.

 

“It was magical … the whole night was magical.  I love those girls!  Being around them makes me feel young again!”

 

“Which explains why Vic has never grown up,” Marge dryly observed. 

 

The room exploded with laughter.

 

“Growing up is seriously overrated,” Vickie shot back.  “I'm thinking of giving it up for Lent.”

 

Another round of laughter greeted Vickie's riposte, the banter creating exactly the warm atmosphere that Rita was looking for.

 

“When I say 'magical', I mean that literally.  I swear, Ian pulled so many rabbits out of the hat that I lost track.”

 

“Amen,” Sarah muttered under her breath.

 

Vickie nodded in agreement.

 

“Did you tell anybody?”  Vickie had promised Rita that she would not tell anyone about the adoption.  She had kept her word, but it had been hard-- very, very hard.

 

“No,” she whispered.  “But I can't hold out much longer!”

 

“You won't have to,” Rita smiled.  “Priscilla Canon is an only child, who has spent her whole life aching for a sister who was never there, and we all know how alienated Vic is from her family.  Ian saw how drawn they were to each other, and without telling anybody, he quietly went to work.  He studied the law, and when he discovered that Priscilla's mother was on the same page, he and Julia collaborated to bring her husband and Vic together.  Last night, Ian introduced Herb Canon to his new daughter.  Herb and Julia are going to adopt Vickie ...”

 

The room erupted, Becky, Candy and Reiko jumping out of their chairs to embrace their friend and mentor.  Everyone in the ward had some awareness of the nightmarish childhood that Vickie had endured.  A loving family was the greatest gift that anyone could possibly give her.

 

“Pris and Vic shared Bernice's guest room last night, which is causing a slight change to our plans for this weekend.  It's Priscilla's bed that is going into storage; we'll set Ian's up in her bedroom in its place.  They will be very comfortable when going home to visit their parents.”

 

Another round of applause echoed around the room-- and Rita was just getting started.

 

“And we have another adoption to celebrate.  Bernice lost her husband in Korea, and never remarried, so she has remained childless.  She has had surrogate daughters aplenty, but never a son … until now.  On Wednesday night, when Ian opened his heart to keep the girls from tearing their home apart, Bernice opened her heart as well.  This morning, she asked Ian if he would become her son.  Kudos to Sarah for gently nudging him in the right direction.  Ian said 'yes', which makes all of us very happy because Bernice is a wonderful woman.”

 

Vickie started crying, but there were few dry eyes in the room.  Ian had performed his magic, and it had affected everyone that it touched.

 

“And now we come to the items for action,” Rita continued when the room had quieted down.  “Last night, at the bar?  Ian was forging an alliance … the people in this room, the police, and even the sorority girls … everybody coming together to help Amos and the other vets down on Lake Street, and then we move on from there.”

 

“It's about time,” Marge blurted out.

 

“Meaning?”  Rita had a pretty good idea what Marge was going to say, and she wanted it out in the open.

 

“Rita, let's face facts.  For years, this department has been practicing therapy for the suburbs.  We've stayed far away from drug addiction, and until Ian came along, we had absolutely no idea what to do with Phil and Don, despite the fact that we all personally know vets in this hospital who are similarly troubled.  If we're serious about our profession, it's time for us to get in the game.”

 

“Anybody disagree?”  Rita looked around the room, but she saw the same answer on every face.

 

“Good,” she nodded, “because I think that Marge is absolutely right.  But let me add that, as you all saw yesterday afternoon, I couldn't process what Ian was telling me.  Nothing in my training prepared me for what was coming.  I need to go back to school, and tomorrow I'm going to drop this in John's lap because I think we're all in the same boat.  There have to be people in the military, like that guy on MASH ...”       

 

“Sidney Freedman,” Becky murmured.  She was a huge fan.

 

“Exactly.  There have to be people out there who can school us in the mental health issues peculiar to combat veterans.  With any luck, John or Glenn can put us in touch with someone who already has a program in place.”

 

“We also have to work the financial angle,” Marge added.  “There's a limit to how much pro bono work we can get away with.”

 

“True.  We need to talk to the people who run the shelters … see if we can piggyback on their resources.  Glenn can tell us what the VA has to offer, and John knows the foundations like the back of his hand.  And if push comes to shove, I'll beg Ian to make some phone calls.”

 

“I don't follow,” Vickie admitted.

 

“Ian's friends in DC,” Sarah amplified.  “They have more money in contingency funds than they know what to do with.  Ours is a worthy cause.”

 

“Ah,” Vickie nodded in understanding.

 

“And now we come to the part that is really going to rock your world.  If anybody has any textbooks left, get ready to give them the old heave ho.”

 

“Ian,” Candy asked.

 

“Ian,” Rita agreed.  “But before we get started, there's someone else that I want you to meet.  If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll go see if our guest has arrived.”

 

Leaving the conference room, Rita crossed the foyer, entered the code, and opened the door that accessed the seventh floor waiting area.  She was relieved to see that their visitor was on time.

 

“Thank you for coming,” Rita said as they shook hands.  “I really appreciate this!”

 

“No, I thank you for giving me a break from the same old, same old.  Let's do this!”

 

With Rita leading the way, the two friends entered the conference room.  Seeing their guest, Sarah smiled, but Vickie burst out laughing.  It was so like Rita to take the bull by the horns.

 

“Everyone,” Rita announced, “this is Officer Carlie Voight of the Minneapolis Police Department.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Should I be disappointed?”

 

Ian was shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he and Priscilla walked back to the office from his early morning class.

 

“Disappointed about what?”  Priscilla was on Cloud Nine.  She had called home as soon as she got to campus, and her Mom had confirmed that her parents would welcome Vickie into the family.  Julia intended to buttonhole Judge Reynolds ASAP, and get the paperwork rolling.  Thanksgiving was now in the rear view mirror, but Julia wanted both of her daughters home for Christmas.

 

“That I'm yesterday's news, my fifteen minutes of fame come and gone.”

 

Ian sobbed theatrically.

 

“Well, I'd say that you should give Suzie and your friends back East something special for Christmas.  Our stalwart sentinels of the Left are free to protest all they want on the Quad, but at eight o'clock in the morning they have better things to do … like catching up on the sleep they missed last night while they stayed up plotting ways to overthrow the Establishment.  Besides, they won't show up until the news hounds arrive on scene-- and even Emmett Bailey isn't going to show up at so uncivilized an hour.  Let's give them time.”

 

“Works for me.  What do you say we wander over to the Student Union for an early lunch, and test the mood of the student body at large.  If they start throwing things at me, we'll know we've got a problem.”

 

“You've got a date,” Priscilla laughed, “but I want to change you before we leave.  If we cause a riot and end up in the hospital, I want your diaper to be clean, or everyone will think that I'm falling down on the job!”

 

“Know, fair maiden, that I shall defend your honor to the end!”

 

“My Galahad in snow covered armor!  And there's even a round table in your department's conference room!”

 

“Aye, but we lack a king!  Well, unless we crown the department chair, but Stuart might object to being crowned.”

 

“Cute … and what have we here?”

 

Exiting the elevator and rounding the corner, they walked into a crowd of students waiting outside Ian's office.  They were both taken by surprise because his office hours were an hour away.  Were they friend, or foe?

 

“Good morning, Professor,” one of the girls shyly said as she introduced herself.  “My name is Karen Walsh.  I'm an Alpha, and represent the house on the Panhellenic Council. 

All of us ...”

 

Karen swiveled to take in the crowd gathered behind her in one sweeping motion.

 

“All of us are here on behalf of our fraternities and sororities, and every house on campus except for Zeta Alpha Pi has at least one person here to speak for them.  We, uh … that is … well, everybody on the Row knows what you've done for ZAP, how you've become a Dad to all of our sisters.  In times of trouble, we all stick together, so we wanted to thank you for standing up for them.  Can you … can you come with us to the Business School cafeteria?  We have a gift for you, but we're crammed in here like sardines.  We need more space.”

 

“Thank you, Karen; thank you, everyone.”  Ian was deeply touched.  “I'd be honored, but why don't you go ahead and let us catch up.  Officer Canon and I have a routine that we follow, and it will take us a few minutes.”

 

“We understand, Professor.”  Karen couldn't keep herself from looking down at Ian's midsection.  “And we want to thank you for your service.  We want you to know that we're not like those other students.  We honor the men and women who have served our country, sometimes at great cost.”

 

Closing the door behind them, Ian shucked his jacket, kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants, but he waited for Priscilla to put down his changing pad before dropping to the floor.

 

“How many times a day have we been doing this,” he asked as Pris unlocked the diaper cover and got to work.

 

“Haven't counted … don't care,” she shrugged.  “I like these moments because they're so intimate, and we don't have to share them with anybody else.  And it gives me a chance to eyeball the equipment,” she pointed out as she playfully tweaked his penis.  “Make sure that everything is in working order.”

 

“Want to take it for a test drive,” Ian asked hopefully.  Having made love two days in a row, his libido had shifted into overdrive.

 

“No quickies, remember?  Besides, you're poopy; I need to clean you up, you little stinker!”

 

“Bummer.  Well, can I ask you a question?”

 

“Fire away, Sir Poopy Pants!”

 

“Uh … do you know where the Business School cafeteria happens to be?”

 

“Basement level.  Do you know how to get there?”

 

“Uh … not really.”

 

“Not to worry.  There are a few twists and turns involved, but I'll lead the way.  Outside the Faculty Club, it probably has the best food on campus.  It's far and away your best option if you ever end up teaching a night class.  All those hot shots pursuing the coveted MBA demand quality.”

 

“So, the breast milk is first class?”

 

“Ian!!!” Finishing up his diaper change, Priscilla could only shake her head in mock despair.  “You have the weirdest sense of humor,” she concluded.  “Is it a Southern California sort of thing?”

 

“More like Malibu.  When you go surfing in shark infested waters, your world view can get a bit warped.”

 

“Well, come on.”  Priscilla climbed to her feet and began putting her supplies away while Ian redressed.

 

“Now,” she said as she took his wrist firmly in hand, “let's go see what the Panhellenic Council has in store for you!”

 

True to her word, Priscilla led Ian through a maze of underground corridors, but there were no signs at the junctions, and he quickly realized that it would be easy to get lost in this rat's nest.  He was glad that he had had the foresight to bring his cane.

 

“This is depressing,” he observed at one point.  Both sides of the corridor were lined with gunmetal gray lockers, which were interrupted only by the occasional doorway.

 

“Every girl on campus has a locker,” Priscilla explained.  “A little thing like sub zero weather is not going to derail the hunt for hunks.  If you had more girls in your classes, the pheromones would be giving you a headache!”

 

“Whoa!”

 

They had rounded the last corner, and in the distance Ian could see the cafeteria.  But he stopped dead in his tracks, the full service bar and cocktail lounge on his left the last thing on earth that he expected to see on a college campus.  A Grand Piano dominated the lounge.

 

“Technically, neither the Business nor the Law School are on campus.”  Pris could see the confused look on Ian's face, and she could easily understand its source.  “Both are funded through their endowments, and the sums involved are staggering.  The Steinway over there?”

 

Priscilla pointed at the Grand Piano.

 

“It's a gift from one of the high powered law firms downtown.  It's one of Mom's clients.”

 

“I have a lot to learn,” Ian muttered.

 

“You have some good teachers.  Suzie and Bernice know this place inside out.  And next week, I think I'll ask Cindy to take us on a tour.  It's always good to see a campus from a student's point of view.  Now, come on!  Your many sons and daughters await!”

 

With Priscilla leading the way, Ian slowly approached the students, wondering all the while what they could possibly have arranged as a gift on such short notice.

 

“Sorry to take so long,” Ian apologized.  “The tunnels that the Viet Cong called home were less complicated than this place.  If Officer Canon … oh, Hell, who am I kidding?  If the Batgirl didn't know her way around this place, I'd have got lost.”

 

Ian's disarming manner had its intended effect.  He could see the students visibly relaxing all around him.

 

One of the men, who had been standing quietly behind Karen Walsh, stepped forward with a gift wrapped box in his hand.  “We hope this fits,” he shyly remarked as he handed it over.

 

Ian lightly bounced the box up and down in his hand.  It weighed next to nothing, so he guessed that it was a shirt and tie … maybe a sweater.

 

“Everyone on the Panhellenic Council signed this except for Melanie; no one at ZAP knows about this.” Karen opened the card, which rested above a sweatshirt.  “Eighteen of us in all,” she added.

 

Ian swallowed, a lump in his throat.  It had been a long time since anyone outside the Freeman household had given him a present.  He opened the sweatshirt with care, and held it up.  It was maroon, with bold gold lettering.

 

A lightning bolt ran across the chest, with ZAP stenciled at its center.  Beneath, the slogan was simplicity itself, but he had to struggle to hold back the tears, remembering the t-shirts that his men had worn when they went off on R&R.  They had worn them with such pride in the streets of Bangkok and Hong Kong, Singapore and Manila.

 

FRATERNITY ROW

 

OUR DAD

 

1979

 

“Let me try it on,” he whispered as he once again discarded his jacket, overcome with emotion.  He handed the sweatshirt to Priscilla, then bent over with outstretched arms.

 

“A sniper put a bullet in his left shoulder,” she explained to the puzzled crowd.  “Our Secret Agent Man has trouble raising his arm over his head.”

 

When she finished, Ian stood up and tested the fit.  He nodded in satisfaction.

 

“Thank you.”  He decided to keep it simple.  “We're having an early lunch in the Student Union; I'll wear it with pride.”

 

“Would it be okay if some of us joined you,” Karen asked.  “We have a request, but it's okay if you need time to think about it.”

 

He looked at her curiously, and gestured for her to continue.

 

“Professor Edmundson in the Math Department?  He's our advisor, and he wants to step down.  Professor Grady, would you be willing to serve in his place?  Become the Faculty Advisor to the Panhellenic Council?”

 

Priscilla coughed, and the merry expression on her face made it clear that he had stepped in another one.

 

“Afternoon sessions, with appetizers for all attending?”

 

“Courtesy of the Dean's office,” Karen grinned.  Willard Turgeson was an officious pain in the ass, but he did lay out a decent spread.

 

“Then I'm in, but you should know that since moving up here I've become addicted to deep fried walleye fingers.”

 

“With Ranch dressing,” Priscilla joked, remembering last night's debate about what to do with onion rings.

 

“We'll see what we can do.”  Karen had a big smile on her face.  A stuffed shirt Professor Ian Grady definitely was not.   

 

.  .  .  . 

 

“Carlie is one of the officers who went head to head with Vic and the rest of our team last night at The Pig Sty,” Rita explained.  “She was gracious in defeat, so much so that she joined our ragtag bunch afterwards to nosh on some seriously good onion rings.  She and her partner, Officer Babs Patterson, then spent the night with us at the sorority.  Although Carlie is a Lesbian, for reasons that shall quickly become clear, we asked her to share Ian's bed, and she agreed to do so.  I want everyone here to free wheel what you are about to learn because I'm going to dump this in John's lap tomorrow morning, and I'd like to give him the benefit of our collective thinking.  Sarah?  Vic?  You saw more than I did, so don't hesitate to jump in!”

 

“Thank you, Rita,” Carlie began.  “I suppose the first thing I should point out is that I had thirty-six shots of tequila in my system when I sat down to plunge into the onion rings.  The two guys on our team were already down for the count, and Babs, Vic and Pris were wobbly.  But Amos, Ian and I were still going strong, which makes it difficult to judge whether the alcohol contributed to what happened.”

 

Carlie looked from face to face, making eye contact.  “Rita has told me about your Saturday night parties, which sound very similar to ours.  And what are the odds that some of the people we scrape off the pavement pass through the ER and ICU to end up in Sarah's ward, or one of the others?  I think that's why Ian is working so hard to create a team of doctors and police to help the vets down in south Minneapolis.  He knows that we are working the same street from opposite ends of the block.”

 

“We were just talking about this,” Marge interrupted.  “We don't have the training, and we don't have the resources.  But we're done ignoring the problem.”

 

“I appreciate what you're saying.  We are used to people leaving The Pig Sty with a bit of vomit on their sleeves, but Rita is the first person to drip vomit on the floor when she walked in the door!”

 

“Our potted plant is on life support,” Reiko chortled.

 

“And the guys in the Third are thinking about buying Amos a pinball machine for Christmas,” Carlie mused.  “They keep looking the other way because Amos and his friends brought the war home with them, and grappling with their issues is not something we're trained for.  Ian's right: out best shot at this is working together.”

 

“Here, here.”  Candy voiced what everyone in the room was thinking.

 

“Anyway, I've been doing these drinking contests for years, maybe six to eight each year, and this one felt different from the outset.  We were doing six shots a round, but in between Ian was also doing double shots with Herb Canon-- and he all but dumped Vic in Herb's lap.  And Julia was sitting right there, watching.  The way that she and Ian were looking at one another, it was obvious that they were up to something-- but what?  It wasn't until I discovered that Vic is estranged from her family that the pieces clicked neatly together, and it dawned on me, the sheer audacity of what they were doing taking my breath away: Ian wanted the Canons to adopt Vic, and Julia was all for it.  That's what the evening was really about … that, and helping Amos.  Ian couldn't have cared less about the contest.”

 

“You're right, Carlie.”  Sarah had a pensive look on her face.  “When we were sitting around the table … police and college girls, hospital staff, Amos … that's when it hit me, although I missed the adoption until you congratulated him for a job well done.”

 

“And then everything changed, and we were all witness to what happened next.”  Rita looked around the room, savoring the moment.  “Ian was visibly falling in love with Carlie; you would have had to be deaf, dumb and blind not to sense it.”

 

“WHAT?”  Becky had come halfway out of her chair, taken completely by surprise.  “What … what did you do?”  She was staring at Carlie in open disbelief.

 

“At first, I doubted what I was sensing, but Rita's right-- you couldn't miss it.  And I could feel myself responding, which made no sense whatsoever.  I'm lesbian.  I'm not attracted to men, and they don't interest me.  But Ian … there's so much sadness there, and I could touch it … taste it.  A part of me wanted to rush around the table, take him in my arms, and do something … anything … to make all that pain go away.  But I couldn't move!  The contradiction between who I am and what I was feeling was too great.  So, I just sat there, totally confused until the fog gradually began to lift.  And that's when I felt her … this female presence inside him … this sad little girl who believes that she is the source of all his pain ...”

 

“You sensed the personality that we've nicknamed 'Princess Poopy Pants' WHILE IAN WAS CONSCIOUS?”  Marge was on her feet, glaring at Carlie.

 

The policewoman nodded.

 

“And there goes another textbook,” Reiko smugly commented.  Like Candy, Reiko passionately believed that textbooks were right only until they were proven wrong.

 

“Sixth sense,” Rita murmured, but loud enough to be heard.

 

“Granted,” Marge conceded, “between mothers and their children, but there's no clinical evidence to suggest that it amounts to anything more than anxiety, which sometimes turns out to be well-founded.  Even if we were to expand the pool to extended family … are you and Ian related?”

 

“No.”

 

“There you have it.”

 

“The case studies have a serious flaw,” Reiko pointed out.

 

“Go on.”  Marge wanted to see where Reiko was going with this.

 

“Carlie is a lesbian.”  Reiko thought the answer was obvious.

 

“Alcohol, sexual orientation … we've come full circle,” Sarah interjected.  “This is where Carlie and I left it last night.”

 

“Dear God, you think that this woman can somehow breach Ian's conscious mind and connect with the female personality because she's gay?”  Ignoring Sarah's comment, Marge was still focused on Reiko.

 

“Lesbian,” Carlie sighed.  She was getting tired of pointing out the difference.

 

“It has to be considered simply because the textbooks have never gone there.  And we don't know how much all the booze played into this.  Will alcohol, consumed in quantity, weaken the boundary between the two personalities … invite them to share consciousness simultaneously?  There's so much we don't know.”

 

“This is why we asked Carlie to sleep with Ian,” Rita explained.  “We wanted to find out whether she could make the connection in the morning, when the tequila had run its course.”

 

“What happened?”  Becky thought that Reiko was really on to something.

 

“I couldn't sense Anna at all,” Carlie admitted, her disappointment evident.

 

Here comes the fun part, Rita thought.  Hope Marge doesn't have a nervous breakdown.

 

“Wait a second!  Who's Anna?”  Marge was wondering whether her attention had wandered for a moment or two.

 

“The little girl-- and she is a little girl, not a baby-- that you call 'Princess Poopy Pants'.  And why do you do that?  The term is very demeaning, and completely inappropriate.  She told me that she is called Anna.”

 

“YOU SPOKE TO HER???”

 

Marge's voice had somehow climbed two full octaves up the scale.

 

This has to be a prank … has to be … has to be …

 

“Think DID,” Rita prompted.  “We need to bring Anna out into the open, and give her more time.  She may be much older than we think.”

 

“A fully adult personality of the same age ...”

 

Marge was pursing her lips, more or less thinking out loud.

 

“That's worth thinking about,” she concluded, “and we should definitely run it by John.  For me, the sticking point is Carlie's ability to speak with her while Ian is fully conscious.  That would indeed throw the textbooks out the window.”

 

“I have a question.”  Reiko was actually raising her hand to get Carlie's attention.

 

Carlie gestured for her to go ahead.

 

“The way you phrased it … not 'my name is Anna' but 'she is called Anna'.  Who is she referring to?”

 

Rita burst out laughing.  If Marge was going to have a stroke, this is where it would happen.

 

“She didn't say.  She knows that Ian loves her, and she's sorry for all the pain that she's causing him.  That's where the conversation ended.”

 

“You know who she is, don't you?”  Reiko was staring hard at Rita, challenging her.

 

“I have my suspicions,” Rita conceded, “but that's all they are.  Nothing concrete.”

 

“You want one of us to say it, don't you?”

 

“I want you to free wheel.  Put everything on the table … hold nothing back.”

 

“Sure,” Reiko shrugged.  “Ian loves a little girl, and his love for her is causing him great pain.  There's only one person in the universe who fits that description.  Her name isn't Anna, but it may well be that she does not know her real name.”

 

“OH, MY GOD!!”  Candy knew what Reiko was implying, and the possibility stunned her.  For her part Sarah was staring at Reiko, mouth agape, her expression no doubt mirroring Candy's own.

 

“Go on,” Rita urged.  A great calmness surrounded her.  She had followed the same path that Reiko was taking, and had come to the same conclusion.  But she wanted someone else to put it on the table.

 

“Her real name is Linh.  Princess Poopy Pants is Ian's daughter.”

 

 

              

 

 

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