After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index

 

AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

AN OFFER HE CAN'T REFUSE

 

“Please rise.”

 

The bailiff scanned the courtroom, making sure that everyone had got the message.

 

“This court is now in session,” he intoned; “the Honorable Judge Thomas Reynolds presiding.”

 

“Be seated,” the judge commanded as he spread his black robe and took his seat.  Looking around the courtroom, he took the measure of the five defendants, and then shifted his gaze to the District Attorney.

 

“Mister Ballstrom, I'm surprised to see you here this morning.  What have we got?”

 

“Solicitation, Your Honor,” the DA said in a conversational tone.  “The Public Defender has agreed to a pleading on behalf of all five of the defendants.”

 

“I see … or rather, I don't.  Mister Ballstrom, in the immortal words of the Rolling Stones, The Under Assistant West Coast Promotion Man could have adjudicated this matter.  So, I ask again: what brings you to my little corner of the world?”

 

“It's the next matter on the docket, Your Honor.  It's rather unusual.”

 

The judge looked down at the paperwork in front of him, then looked back up.  “I see what you mean.  Forty one defendants … multiple acts of related and unrelated theft … conspiracy … aiding and abetting … what did they steal?”

 

“Diapers, Your Honor.”

 

“Diapers?”  Judge Reynolds gave Q-Ball one of those looks that suggested his sanity was in question.  “Are you serious?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor.  We have one count involving theft from a local hospital, but the other victims were clients of a local business, the Lullaby Diaper Service.  Unbeknownst to the thieves, Your Honor, the owner of this establishment is a local businessman of some renown-- one Vincent Belmondo.”

 

The judge leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh as he began looking over the spectators.  A few were familiar faces, elderly citizens seeking live entertainment in lieu of the televised sort, but he spotted Spats in the back row.  The gangster was attended by his attorney, a slimeball of the first order whose name the judge could not recall, and an equally slimy flunky who bore an amazing resemblance to the late Toothpick Charlie.  Spats appeared to be studying the back of Julia Canon's head, spearing her with one of those sinister looks that suggested a man trying to figure out where to park the ice pick.  It was anybody's guess what the Canons were doing in his courtroom-- the Canons and Chief Mischof.  Adding to the mystery, the Chief was flanked by a nicely dressed, middle aged woman on his left, and a well dressed young man on his right.

 

And Priscilla Canon has her left hand firmly planted on the young man's thigh.  Interesting …

 

“Will Hercule Poirot be testifying for the prosecution?”

 

“No, Your Honor.  There are witnesses, but I do not believe that it will be necessary to call them.”

 

“I see,” Reynolds said, although in reality he didn't see at all.  “Well, then, let's get this show on the road.  Miss Kaplan, how do your clients plead to a single count of solicitation each?”

 

“Guilty, Your Honor,” the Public Defender declared.

 

Reynolds sadly shook his head.  “Ruby, I'm surprised at you.  By now, I should have thought that you knew every officer and sheriff's deputy in the five country area.  Are you losing your touch?”

 

“No, Your Honor; they brought in a bunch of ringers.  State troopers.”

 

“Fair enough,” he smiled.  “Mister Ballstrom, what have the two of you worked out?”

 

“A five hundred dollar fine, Your Honor, and forty-five days in County, which will keep them out of our hair over the holidays.”

 

“So ordered,” the Judge declared as he brought his gavel down with a commendable thump.  “Next case!”  Leaning still farther back in his chair, he began gently swiveling to left and right while waiting for Ruby Montpelier and her friends to exit, and a gaggle of forty one new defendants to take their place.

 

Forty one defendants in one courtroom … this has got to be one for the Guiness Book of Records ...

 

He stopped swiveling when it dawned on him that the defendants were all college girls, none of them likely to be over twenty-one years of age.

 

“Mister Ballstrom,” he barked, “can you assure me that there are no minors in this group?”

 

“I can, Your Honor; the youngest is eighteen.”

 

“And who is their legal counsel?”

 

“Your Honor, we are waiving our right to counsel.”

 

“And you are?”

 

“My name is Tippi Anne Bjornsen, Your Honor.  We are all members of the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority, and my sisters have asked me to represent us in this matter.”

 

“Stealing diapers, you mean.  What on earth possessed you to do something this stupid?”

 

“It was a sorority stunt, Your Honor, but it got out of hand-- and we do have someone to speak for us.”

 

“And who would that be?”

 

“Professor Grady, Your Honor.”

 

“C'est moi,” Ian announced as he climbed smoothly to his feet.  Without waiting for an invitation, he walked through the gate and crossed the courtroom to stand at Tippi's side.

 

“Professor Ian Grady, Your Honor … and no, I'm not on the Law School faculty.  My beat is East Asian Languages, and to make this affair a bit odder still, I am a customer of Mister Belmondo's diaper service-- in fact, the last one to have his diapers stolen, Miss Bjornsen here having done the honors.”

 

“You're wearing a diaper,” the Judge declared, not quite believing what he was hearing.

 

“Fully incontinent, Your Honor, courtesy of an AK-47 round, a piece of which is still lodged in my spine.  And I apologize in advance if I … uh …”

 

“I quite understand,” the Judge interjected.  “Viet Nam?”

 

“Special Forces, Fifth Airborne.  Nha Trang.  Ended up a Major.”

 

“Judge Advocate,” Reynolds replied; “Marines … Da Nang.  I was fortunate enough to get out in one piece.  Welcome to my courtroom, Major; it's an honor.”

 

“Now,” he continued, “what have the two of you masterminds worked out?”  The Judge nodded at the District Attorney.

 

“For the most part, Your Honor, it's pretty standard.  Each of the forty one defendants will do six hours a week of community service at local hospitals, and will do so until they graduate.  Professor Grady will see to their placement.  Each will be fined in the amount of twenty-five hundred dollars, and they will remain on probation until graduation.  The most unusual feature here, and one that we all agree is in the best interest of these young women, is that their collective grade point average must reach or exceed three point one throughout, or they will be in violation of their parole and making a return trip to court.”

 

“I can live with that.  Miss Bjornsen, do I need to poll each of you, or can you agree to these terms on behalf of your sorority house?”

 

“We all agree, Your Honor … to these, and the additional term that has yet to be mentioned.”

 

“Mr. Ballstrom?”

 

“There is one additional element, Your Honor, and it is … unprecedented.  However, before introducing it, I would like to request a recess so that Professor Grady can discuss the matter in private with Mister Belmondo.  Rather than clear the courtroom, Your Honor, in the interests of time I would suggest that you allow them the use of your chambers.”

 

Judge Reynolds stared hard at Q-Ball before coming to an abrupt decision.

 

“Mister Ballstrom … Professor … Miss Bjornsen … in my quarters, now!”

 

The Judge stormed out of the room, leaving a flabbergasted bailiff belatedly to announce that court was now in recess.

 

Priscilla dashed through the gate, and followed in Ian's wake.  She had smelling salts in her purse, and was prepared to intercede if this meeting went completely off the rails.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Knock, knock,” Vickie announced as she waltzed into Rita's office and dropped into her accustomed chair.  “I only have one of Ian's diapers left in my bag.  You got any?”

 

“No, but not to panic.  I washed and dried all the diapers that Sarah bought you when I got home last night, and I brought a dozen in with me.  So, if we can get by with changing you three times a shift, we're good until early next week.  Are you still continent?”

 

“Hard to say.  I'm peeing like a race horse, and my bowel control is shot.  The breast milk is running right through me the same way it does Ian.  I shit myself before bed, but Mommy changed me, and she was sweet about it.  Same thing this morning.  My diaper was absolutely soaked, and I messed at least once during the night.  At the rate I'm going, I figure that in the near future I'll be going through about a dozen diapers a day.”

 

“And you just walked in here without your winter coat while wearing your hospital diaper.  Vickie, it is pretty obvious; are you becoming more comfortable with your diapers?  With incontinence?”

 

“Yes, definitely, and as odd as it might sound, I'm enjoying this.”

 

Vickie frowned, sensing that she had misspoken.  “That's not quite right.  It's more like I'm benefiting from this … like it's therapy.”

 

Rita leaned forward in her chair.  She had occasionally wondered about the wellspring of Vickie's madcap lifestyle, but she had never questioned her.  The wall of silence that surrounded her parents had always hinted at underlying emotional trauma.

 

“When she was cleaning me up this morning, Sarah apologized for not paying attention to the warning signs … how I never talk about my family.  She hugged me, and told me that I now had a mommy who loved her … cherished her … and that I would always be her little baby girl.  And I started crying … bawling, really … and I couldn't stop.  I was screaming that my parents had never loved me, and she was hugging me, telling me how much she loved me, and it felt so good to be loved … to be her baby girl.  I need this, Rita; I really do!”

 

“I'm glad, Vic … really glad, because if things go according to plan, on Saturday night you will be sleeping in your bed for the last time.  It's going into storage.  It's a tight fit, but yesterday I had another crib delivered and set up in the nursery-- your crib.  You and Ian will both be our babies, and receive the love and the discipline that we think you deserve.  You can be grown-ups with one another, but babies for us.  Giving you a place in both worlds will allow you to heal, even as you express your love for one another.”

 

“But … but … Auntie Rita, does this mean that you and Mommy aren't going to sleep with Ian?”

 

“Oh, no, baby girl, far from it.  Look, maybe it's the conversation we had last night, or maybe it's the one I'm having with Ian this afternoon, but I've been giving this a lot of thought.  The way it looks is that you love Ian, and want children to be the outcome of that love.  You want this so badly that I can easily see you throwing over your career to become a stay at home mom, and that's fine.    But Sarah and I have careers that we're not giving up, only to have discovered at the eleventh hour that we also want to have children.  We have both chosen Ian to be the father, and if that sounds calculating … well, it is.  Oh, we do love him, but not in the way you see in the movies or read about in romance novels.  He's a wonderful man, Vic, warm and giving, but also wounded and vulnerable and very complex.  Passion is wonderful, but he also needs comforting-- a wife's love, and a mother's.  So it's good that I'm a bit more comfortable with the baby than the man, and Sarah much prefers the baby to the man.  I don't know where her control issues are coming from, but ultimately it doesn't matter because we need her.  The bottom line, Vic?  I don't want to run the household, and … sorry, but it's just not your thing.  We can't do this without Sarah, so all of us are going to have to compromise.  It looks like you will get to have the man to yourself most of the time; I'll settle for a piece of your action, and Sarah, I suspect, won't even be a disturbance in the Force!”

 

“It all seems so cold … a household devoid of warmth ...”

 

“Like an arranged marriage, you mean?”  Rita softly laughed.  “Well, it is an arranged marriage-- Sarah is arranging it!  But they endure, Vic, and they tend to become more and more loving with the passage of time.  And as for warmth?”

 

Rita clapped her hands with delight, her eyes alive with good humor.  “With two naughty babies in perpetual need of yet another spanking, you'll find that there's plenty of warmth in our household!”       

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Right,” Judge Reynolds snorted, “which one of you wants to tell me what's going on.”

 

“Professor Grady will take it from here,” the DA quickly responded.  He wanted to put as much distance between himself and this fiasco as possible.

 

The judge simply looked at Ian.

 

“Have you ever heard of Tony Accardo,” Ian asked.

 

Reynolds shook his head.

 

Uh, oh, Ballstrom thought.  He was well acquainted with the Big Tuna, if only by reputation.

 

“Tony heads up the Chicago Outfit-- a euphemism for the Mafia.  He worked his way up through the ranks the old fashioned, Chicago way.  His nickname, Joe Batters, doesn't leave much to the imagination.  He mentored Belmondo, who seems to get a hard on around wood chippers.  In short, Tippi here and her friends out there are in a lot of trouble.  With your cooperation, I can make it go away.”

 

Welcome to the real world, Tom ...

 

Ballstrom had his head down.  He was studying a speck of something on the carpet, wishing that he could make himself equally small.

 

“Go on,” the Judge instructed.

 

“We're going to make the punishment fit the crime, at least as Spats will see it.  The girls are going to become his customers … diapers 24/7 for the whole of their probation.  He'll get off on humiliating them, and turn a tidy profit in the process.”

 

“And you think this lunacy will be enough to buy him off??”

 

Ian nodded.  “I've got some serious leverage that I can bring to bear, both carrots and sticks.  But none of it is for public consumption.  Give me ten minutes alone with him, and I'll seal the deal.”

 

“Gareth, are you good with this?”  Reynolds was done dancing around.

 

“Yeah,” Ballstrom conceded.  “Belmondo can't risk the consequences of a public humiliation, and I won't be reelected if he's going around bumping off sorority girls.”

 

“And you think this man can make the pitch work?”  The Judge was pointing at Ian.

 

“I do.”

 

“And how about you, Priscilla?”  The Canons and the Reynolds lived on the same block, a mere four properties separating the two households.  Reynolds considered himself lucky to have a grizzled veteran like Herb Canon living just down the street.

 

“You can take anything Ian tells you to the bank.”  Short and sweet.

 

“And you are here … because?”

 

“Part bodyguard, part nurse,” she replied.  “Ian is a hot commodity that the university doesn't want to lose, so I've been assigned to keep the corporate headhunters at bay.  But he also brought Viet Nam home with him in the form of flashbacks that can put him on the ground.  So, I'm also here to get him back on his feet.”

 

“All right.  Professor, I don't know who you are, and from the looks of Gareth's body language, I'm content to leave it that way.  You've got your ten minutes-- and help yourself to coffee.  My clerk brews a mean pot!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Be right back,” Julia said.  Patting Herb's knee to reassure him, Julia headed toward the rear of the courtroom.  Prudence dictated that she confront Belmondo on neutral ground.

 

Herb followed her with his eyes, and so did Walt Mischof. 

 

“Not to worry, Herb,” the Chief muttered.  “Spats is too smart to make his play in a crowded courtroom.”

 

“How's business, Jerome?  Ambulance chasing still paying the bills?”

 

Julia had taken a seat directly in front of Jerome Goldstein, the white-haired attorney who had been running interference for Spats Belmondo for almost thirty years.

 

“Making ends meet,” Goldstein laconically replied.  He wasn't in the mood to play games with Julia Canon.

 

Julia opened her purse, and pulled out a copy of her billing.  She turned to face Spats, and thrust it in his face.

 

“Tuesday's expenses came to nine hundred, fifty seven dollars and twenty-six cents.  I haven't had a chance to work up yesterday's, but they'll be in the same neighborhood.  A thousand up front would be nice.”

 

“Pay da lady, Pauly,” Spats said to his Consigliere, who leaned forward to drop an envelope on the chair next to Julia's.

 

She opened it, and quickly thumbed the ten C notes inside.

 

“Do you want a receipt?”

 

“What I want is an explanation for hows I ended up on da local news.  Yous was supposed ta do this real quiet like.”

 

“Take it up with Jerome.  He apparently missed the lecture on setting up dummy corporations to hide the assets of clients who value their privacy.”

 

“Dat right, Jerry?”  Spats was glaring at his mouthpiece.       

 

“Your businesses are all legitimate, Vincent; you don't need fronts.”  Jerome's tone was world weary.

 

“Dats right, Twinkster; everytings legit.  Only now, every two bit hood in da Cities knows that I deal in diapers, and dat I been ripped off by a bunch a college floozies.  Dis ain't good … not good at all.”

 

“Not to worry, Spats.  Professor Grady-- one of your customers, by the way-- is selling it to the judge as we speak.”

 

“Selling what?”

 

“A plan that will make you a tidy profit if you play along.  And you get to stick a fire hose up their asses in the process.”  Julia nodded in the general direction of the young defendants.

 

“I like da sound a dat.”  Spats was licking his lips; after all, he was in business to make a profit.  There was no such thing as too much cash on hand.

 

“Then follow the Professor's lead.”  Dropping the envelope into her purse, Julia walked across the courtroom to rejoin her husband.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Diapers aren't all that bad, Tippi-- especially when you've got the right person changing you.” 

 

Ian playfully winked at her.

 

“Maybe we can change each other,” Tippi fired back, staring him down.

 

After the judge had sneaked out of his chambers to pay a lengthy visit to the Men's Room with the District Attorney hot on his heels, Ian had escorted Tippi back to her friends while nudging Priscilla in the direction of her parents.  There could be no witnesses to his conversation with Spats Belmondo.

 

Sauntering to the rear of the courtroom, Ian sat down in the same seat that Julia had occupied a few minutes earlier.  He took Goldstein's measure in one casual glance, but did a double take when he shifted his attention to the Consigliere. 

 

I swear to God!  It's Toothpick Charlie, risen from the dead!

 

Ah, well … time to get down to business …

 

“Mister Belmondo, I'm Professor Ian Grady, one of Lullaby's adult customers.  I'm happy with the product, and with the way your niece sees to my needs, but there are alternatives in the marketplace that offer superior protection.  I'm wearing one right now.”

 

Ian stood up, and turned around to give the trio a good look at his well padded rear.

 

“Your business is about to expand, so if you'll give me your number, I'll set you up with a purchasing agent at the hospital who can point you in the right direction.”

 

“Mister Belmondo's number is unlisted,” Goldstein interrupted, “but I'm in the phone book.”

 

“Don't have a copy.  Why don't you and Toothpick Charlie here go out and find me one?Spats and I have pressing matters to discuss, and the judge has been kind enough to offer us his chambers.  He's even willing to share his coffee!”

 

Ian looked down at the gangster with a pleasant smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold.

 

Spats recognized the look.  He was being measured for his coffin.

 

“So you're da war hero dat I keep hearin' about.”  Spats decided to bluff it out.  “How many guys you clipped?”

 

“The official count is eleven hundred, plus.  The real number is north of twenty three hundred.”

 

Ian's look did not change.

 

“The judge is giving us the use of his chambers for ten minutes.  Shall we?”  Ian vaguely gestured at the door behind the bench.

 

“Yeah.  Let's get to it.”  Spats climbed to his feet, double checked the shine on his shoes, and then followed Ian out of the courtroom.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Priscilla was watching the girls milling around in the well of the court.  Most of them looked totally lost.

 

“Do you think any of them have made their phone call,” she asked Bernice.

 

“I thought that was just on TV,” the house mom replied.  “You mean it's for real?”

 

Priscilla nodded.  “An attorney … a loved one … the really crazy ones will call out for pizza.”

 

“No.”  Bernice sadly shook her head.  “I don't think anyone's called; they're way too ashamed.”

 

“Some of their parents must have seen the news last night.  They'll be frantic.  Did any of them call the house before you left?”

 

“I don't know.  The last thing I did after getting Ian settled was go around the public areas and unplug all the phones.  I don't want to speak with the press, and I definitely don't want them upsetting the few girls left in the house.”

 

“We should talk to them.  They may not even know that they have the right to contact their families.  Come on; let's go find out.”  Priscilla led Bernice inside the railing, and together they approached Tippi, who was clearly the leader of the group and not just its spokesperson.

 

“How are you holding up,” Bernice asked.

 

“Oh, it's been great fun so far!”  Tippi's reply was as vicious as it was sarcastic, and she was aiming daggers at Priscilla.  “Comfortable beds … first class food … and we've made some new friends.  Ruby is a real hoot!”

 

“You are all entitled to make phone calls.”  Priscilla decided to ignore the sarcasm.  “Did anyone call your parents?  Your arrests were all over the ten PM news; they must be worried sick.”

 

“Anyone,” Bernice asked in a softer tone of voice.

 

The girls were looking at one another, and shaking their heads.

 

“We'll wait until we have something tangible to report.”

 

Priscilla dearly wanted to slap Tippi Bjornsen hard enough to knock her down, then beat some sense into the self-absorbed brat.  Instead, she spun away, looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down.

 

God, give me strength!!!

 

“I'm disappointed in all of you,” Bernice continued, her voice still soft.  “There's a man in there giving you life lessons in the meaning of compassion.  He's one of your victims, and yet he's in there trying to shield you from the consequences of your actions.  And none of you seem to get it … none of you.”

 

“We're all afraid,” Janis sobbed.

 

“I understand that Janis.  And how do you think your parents feel right now?  You know what's going on … they don't.  I doubt if they got any sleep last night, and now their imaginations must be running riot.  They love you, and they need to hear you say that you're safe.  The rest will sort itself out in time.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Vinnie, I need to make a quick call.  Why don't you pour us a couple of cups of coffee?”

 

Without waiting for a response, Ian pulled Marilyn Marsden's card out of his wallet, and dialed her home number.  It seemed highly unlikely that either of the Marsdens would have gone to work this morning.

 

“Hello?”  Marilyn picked up on the first ring.

 

“Ian Grady here, Marilyn … and by here, I mean in the chambers of the judge who got stuck handling this case.  Has Janis called you?”

 

“No!  Oh, God, Ian, what's going on?  We've been up all night, waiting for the phone to ring … praying ...”

 

“Marilyn, your daughter is safe … confused, scared, probably afraid that you're going to disown her, but safe.  It was your typical fraternity row stunt, only it got out of hand.  Right now, I'm putting the finishing pieces on an agreement that the District Attorney and Judge Reynolds have already signed off on, so with luck, Janis will be out of here in another half hour or so.  Now, can you do me a favor?”

 

“Yes! Of course, Ian; thank you!”  Ian could hear Marilyn telling her husband that Janis was okay.

 

“I'm guessing,” Ian explained when Marilyn got back on the line, “that there are a lot of worried parents who've had rough nights.  Do you know how to get a hold of them?”

 

“Yes.  Bernice gives every parent a sheet with the home addresses and phone numbers of all the girls.  It's for emergencies.”

 

“Understood.  I'd like you to call everyone on the list, and let them know that their daughters are safe.  They should also take a peek at their check books.  I don't know who's who here, but there are forty one girls who are going to be fined twenty-five hundred dollars each as part of their punishment.  I'll lay out the rest of it once the judge enters his decree.”

 

“Are you taking the girls back to the house?”

 

“I'd like to take them to the hospital, but first I have to see about transport.  Give me time to sort it out, and I'll get back to you.”

 

“Ian, I don't know how or why you're mixed up in this, but thank you.  From the bottom of my heart … thank you.”

 

“Touching,” Spats grunted when Ian hung up; “very, very touching.”

 

Spats handed Ian a cup, and took a sip of his own.  The gangster curled his lips in satisfaction.  “Not too shabby,” he nodded; “in fact, not bad at all.”

 

“First things, first.”  Ian took a sip, and nodded his approval.  “I've checked out your dad, and I know that Tomasso emigrated from Naples, but that's where the trail goes cold.  What can you tell me about your grandparents?”

 

“Wat da hell?  Whys you int ... er ... rested in my family?”

 

“Vinnie, cut it out.  As bootleggers go, your dad was a good soldier, able to work with both Capone and the Purple Gang.  However, Tomasso did not want his sons to follow him into the rackets, so he scrimped and saved to provide you with a high quality, private school education.  And you did so well that you ended up a Brown Phi Beta Kappa, class of forty eight … next stop, a Princeton MBA.  Which reminds me: my source is also a Princeton man, and he wants to know whether you still remember the fight song.”

 

“Here comes that Tiger, wow!
He's running wild,
They'll never stop him now!”

 

“There are several fight songs,” Spats grinned as he settled back in one of the judge's plush chairs, “but Here Come That Tiger is my favorite.  And I'm impressed Grady … really impressed.  I've put a lot of time and effort into the Spats Belmondo persona, and you're the first person to crack it in all the years I've been in the Cities.  What gives?”

 

“I'm interested in your grandfathers … whether the family's roots are in Naples, or Sicily.”

 

“Sicily.  We hail from Catania … still got family there.”

 

“Antonio?”

 

“WHAT?”  Spats was so surprised that he almost shot out of his chair.  “You know my cousin?”

 

“I've employed his services,” Ian acknowledged.  “Good man to know when you need to get in and out of Libya without the authorities being any the wiser.”

 

“Holy shit, if you'll pardon my French.  How is the old reprobate?”

 

“Prospering.  A wife who cooks up a storm, and a discreet mistress.  Life is good.”

 

“And do I want to know how a disabled vet teaching out here in flyover country happens to be chummy with a Mafia don in Sicily?”

 

Ian curled his lips thinking about it.  “I do favors for friends with a wide range of international interests.  That good enough?”

 

“It'll do,” Spats shrugged.  The Professor had CIA written all over him.  DA's and judges didn't bow and scrape before every Tom, Dick and Harry.

 

“Okay, here's the deal.  First, the girls out there are all off limits.  No repercussions of any kind.  If that causes you any problems with the Big Tuna, let me know, and I'll make them go away.  In return for this favor, as I said, I'm going to help you grow your diaper business.  The forty one girls out there are going to become customers, and they don't get out of diaper prison until they graduate.  You'll make a few bucks, and have a good laugh over your cigars and sambuca.”

 

“Second, you're going to get a letter next week from the IRS.  You've been selected for a seven year audit of your personal and business filings-- a comprehensive audit, the kind where they want proof that you actually tossed those nickels and dimes into the Salvation Army kettle.  If you can't support every claim on every line of every form, they're going to crucify you.”

 

“Let me guess.  I agree to leave the girls alone, and this all turns out to be a  great, big mistake.”

 

“Yep.  They'll be a handwritten telephone number at the bottom, left corner of the cover letter.  Pick up the phone, and you'll be treated to abject apologies for a filing error.  We got a deal?”

 

“We got a deal,” Spats agreed.

 

“Good.”  Ian settled back in his chair.  “Now let's get down to business.”

 

“Huh?  I thought we were talking business!”

 

“Just preliminaries.  My sources tell me that you would like to visit the old country, but are afraid that if you leave, you'll be denied reentry.  Well, I want you to do me a little favor, and in return it's bon voyage, happy trails, however you want to put it.”

 

“How little?”

 

“The families still taking an interest in the food services industry?”

 

“Are you kidding,” Spats laughed.  “I'm the union rep for the SEIU in this burg!”

 

“Well, I'm in the market for a rather odd piece of information, and I want the search to be nationwide.  What I'm after is an unusual delivery, probably scheduled monthly or twice a month, to someplace remote and easy to defend.  Security will probably be heavy, but it may be well concealed.  The tell that there's something wrong will be in the cereals.”

 

Utterly mystified, Spats simply shook his head.  “You've lost me completely.”

 

“The order will include kids' cereals … quite a large quantity of them.”

 

“Shit.”  Spats saw it instantly.  “Kids are off limits, Professor.  I want you to know that … inside the families, kids are off limits.”

 

“It's the same with us.  We've all got families, and we're all exposed.  So, it's a hard, red line.  You cross it, and the entire intelligence community sanctions you … nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  It's open season, and an agent whose family has been targeted gets first crack.”

 

Spats nodded his head.  It was beginning to sound like the Families had a lot in common with the CIA.

 

“Your friends should also be on the lookout for a second tell-- a sudden increase in supplies on regular order.  Now that I've surfaced, I'm expecting security at this facility to be reinforced.”

 

Ian leaned forward in his chair, his cup of coffee forgotten.

 

“Nine years ago, while I was laid up in a hospital figuring out how to cope with wearing diapers for the rest of my life?  Back in Viet Nam, someone murdered my wife and massacred an entire village in order to run off with my daughter, all in the hope that she's inherited my gift for languages.  I want her back, Vincent, and then I'm going to sanction everyone of the bastards involved.  If you want a piece of the action, I'll deal you in, and I'll make it worth your while.”

 

“I'm in.”  Spats got up and walked over to the desk.  He grabbed a pen and pad, and hastily wrote a number.

 

“My personal number,” he said as he handed Ian the scrap of paper.  “Anything you need?  You got it.”      

 

Ian took a business card out of his wallet, and handed it over.  “A pizza joint out in Bloomington, and it's a legit business.  If you come up with the information I'm looking for, call this number and order a large pie.  If the info is rock solid, make it a thick crust; if it's sketchy, a thin.  When you're asked what type of cheese you want, say Gorgonzola.

The response will be 'sorry, we're all out, but if you leave me a phone number, I'll make one for you free of charge'.  The call back will set up a rendezvous; I'm thinking Julia Canon's office, which is right across the street from the hospital.  I take it you've been there?”

 

“Works for me,” Spats agreed. 

 

“One last thing.  Is it true that you've got a cabin somewhere near Ely?”

 

“Yeah … some of the boys like to go hunting.”

 

“Got a wood chipper up there?”

 

“In good working order.”  The gangster's smile was cruel.

 

“I might need to use it one of these days.”

 

Ian wasn't smiling at all.

 

IN LOCO PARENTIS

 

After Spats reentered the courtroom, Ian slowly counted to thirty before opening the door to the hallway.  As he had expected, Judge Reynolds and the District Attorney were having a quiet conversation, with their prospects for reelection, he thought, the most likely topic under consideration.

 

“Is the circus in town,” Ian asked once they were back inside the judge's chambers.

 

“It could be worse … a couple of beat reporters for the local dailies, and one TV crew.”  The Judge had taken advantage of the break to dash off to the men's room, which gave him a chance to size up the press contingent waiting outside the courtroom.  “Emmett Bailey of WPPP News is once more on the prowl.”

 

“That guy,” Ian groaned.  “He was at the house last night, reporting live.  Doesn't he ever sleep?”

 

“No rest for the wicked,” the DA snorted.  Bailey was as pushy as he was ambitious, and he wasn't above sensationalizing a story.  “Anyway, is Spats on board?”

 

“He is,” Ian confirmed.  “If it's possible, I'd like to avoid the press.  The best way to tamp down on this story is to protect the girls' anonymity.  Since there are eleven girls back at the house who haven't been charged with anything, the media can't broadcast everybody's name without inviting a lawsuit for defamation.  So, is there a back way out of here?  A loading dock would be good.”

 

“What do you have in mind?”  Reynolds, like all of his colleagues, had used a trap door more than once to escape the press.

 

“I'll ask Chief Mischof if he can scrounge up a bus from the Athletic Department.  We get the girls on board, and we make a run for it.”

 

“Let's get it done.  My clerk has a phone Walt can use to make the call.  Once we're set, Gareth will swallow his pride and introduce the diaper punishment.  You get Bjornsen publicly to agree to it, I enter it in my order, and we all live to fight another day.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Well, let's get you into one of these new diapers that Sarah bought yesterday, and see if they're as good as the salesperson says they are.  You know the drill.”

 

Vickie got to her feet, closed Rita's office door to give them privacy, and then began to strip.  She didn't stop until she was down to her bra.

 

Rita unlocked her diaper cover, and eased both the cover and vinyl pants down to her ankles.  Vickie gingerly kicked them off before Rita inspected the thick, hospital diaper.

 

“Dry,” she announced.  “I'll set it aside for tonight's festivities.”

 

Rita shifted around to examine Vickie's backside, and yelped in surprise.

 

“My God, Vic!   “Never mind the diaper rash … you're bright red!  What did Sarah do to you?”

 

“She used one of her new toys on me … the paddle with the holes in it that she bought at Fantasy Island.  It was the most painful spanking I've ever had, Rita, and believe me, I've had plenty of spankings!”

 

“Oh, I believe you.  I just don't know what to do about it.”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“What?  Nothing?”  Rita couldn't believe what she was hearing.

 

“Rita, I … I enjoyed it.  I was so close to coming … just a few more strokes, but she stopped right when I was on the edge.  I begged her to finish me off, but she refused … locked me up in the same damned diaper.  Only I liked that, too.  Pissing and shitting myself … having Mommy coo over me like a baby while she cleaned me up … I was in Heaven.  And then again this morning ...”

 

Rita shook her head in despair.  It was obvious that Vickie craved attention, and had discovered that being naughty would get her plenty of it.  But if Sarah was a sadist only now coming out of the closet, this could get out of hand very quickly.

 

Not waiting for the command, Vickie dropped to the floor, and spread her legs.  “Rita, I'm so horny that I could scream.  Please,” she whispered, “help me!  Fingers … tongue … a cucumber … anything will do.  Please!”

 

“You want me ...”  Wide-eyed, stunned, for the second time in as many minutes Rita couldn't believe what she was hearing.  “Vic, no!  Not at the office; hell, not even at home!”

 

“My wand ...”

 

“No!!  Absolutely not!!  Vic, are you crazy?  Do you want to get us both fired?”

 

Rita got down on the floor, and ordered Vickie to raise her hips so that the new diaper could be slid into place.  Working hastily to put the nightmare behind her, Rita doused her diaper area with powder and worked it into her skin.  As soon as she was finished, she pinned the diaper in place, then fetched Vickie's baby pants and cover.  It was only when the lock clicked home that she could lean back, take a deep breath, and try to make sense of what had just happened.

 

“All right,” she said in a tone of voice that brooked no opposition.  “First things first.  Go to your locker, get your Wand, and bring it to me.  If you have any other toys that you're using to masturbate on company time, bring those as well.  The fun and games are over, Vic, maybe over for good.”

 

“But ...”

 

“No buts, and no whining!  If you need to do a regression to get past all the crap that your parents dumped on you, fine.  I'm good with Sarah being your Mommy, and I'm even good with being your Auntie.  I'll change your shitty diapers, and I won't complain about it.  I'll do my best to get Sarah to tone it down.  And all I ask in return is that you store up all this sexual energy for the only person in this universe who's worthy of you, and that's Ian.  Sarah and I can parent you, but we can't love you the way he does.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Aunt Rita, I understand.”

 

“Then get dressed, and go collect your things.”  Now that the crisis was past, Rita could afford to be gentle.  “Then we need to start earning our paychecks!”

 

“There's one more thing.”  Vickie had stopped in the doorway.

 

Rita looked at her expectantly.

 

“We got a call late last night from one of the sorority houses.  I don't know the details, but Ian was there, and he had another episode.  Priscilla … the policewoman assigned to him was still on duty and dealt with it, but he never made it home.”

 

Rita slapped her desktop, which told Vickie that she had come to a decision.  “I'll tell Manny to expedite the 'diaper your favorite nurse' auction.  When all three of us can trigger the Princess Poopy Pants persona, I want him back in the ward.  We are going to hit him from all sides, trigger an episode in a controlled environment, and see it through to the end … a breakthrough.  We are not, repeat not, taking a ticking time bomb into our new household!!” 

 

.  .  .  .

 

When they reentered the courtroom, Ian walked straight to the railing that separated him from Walt Mischof.  It took only a few seconds for Ian to make his request, and for the Chief to confirm that he could have a bus ready and waiting in less than half an hour.  While he was speaking on the phone, Ian rejoined Bernice and Priscilla, who were still hard at work trying to keep the girls calm.  It was a daunting task.

 

“May I have everyone's attention,” Ian asked in a calm, confident and reassuring voice.

“Tippi, when we resume the Judge is going to ask the District Attorney to continue, which is when your proposed diaper punishment will be brought up.  Then Judge Reynolds will once again ask whether you are speaking for the whole group.  Say 'yes', then agree to being diapered for the duration of your probation, and we are out of here.  We'll go out the back way to avoid the press, and Chief Mischof is arranging for a bus to pick us all up.”

 

“You're coming with us?”  Janis couldn't understand why the Professor was going to so much trouble to help them, but she was grateful nonetheless.

 

“Yes.  The rest of us will gather our wits in the hospital cafeteria while you track down whoever is in charge of the candy stripers.  Then we'll dot the proverbial I  and cross the proverbial T, get you home in time for lunch, and me off to my next class.”

 

“And the gangster?”

 

“All taken care of, Janis.  Don't bother looking over your shoulder because he won't be there.”

 

“But how?”

 

“Oh,” Ian smiled wistfully, “I made him an offer that he can't refuse!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Okay,” Ian said when they got off the bus, “I'll take the lead since I actually know how to find the cafeteria in this maze.  Priscilla, why don't you bring up the rear to make sure we don't lose any stragglers.  Bernice, you should go with Janis, and help her sell our story to the relevant party.”

 

“How's your diaper holding up,” Priscilla whispered in return.  “I've only got one spare in your bag, and we're running on empty at your office.  We need to reload.”

 

Ian winced.  In all the excitement, he had lost track, which was an invitation to disaster.  Leaky diapers … blowouts … both meant public embarrassment.  His vinyl pants and canvas cover could only take so much abuse before they would give up the fight.

 

“Sounds like we should pay Rita a visit.  She's got diapers coming out of her ears, and now's as good a time as any for you to make her acquaintance.  Once Bernice gets back and we have the girls settled, we'll sneak off.” 

 

A party of forty young women trooping through the hospital hallways was, Ian suspected, quite a sight, but the cafeteria was the only place he could think of to park them.

 

And people were stopping and staring.  For their part, the girls all wondered how many of the people they were passing had put two and two together, and realized that they were now face to face with the infamous diaper thieves who had been plastered all over the late night news only twelve hours earlier.

 

Happily, at mid morning the cafeteria had few patrons, so Ian had no trouble commandeering two of the long trestle tables that dominated the room.  While the girls sorted themselves out, Ian took Priscilla to the side.

 

“Got any money on you?”

 

“Some.  Why?”

 

“They had a bad night and a not so good morning.  The least we can do is buy them all something to drink to soften the blow.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“They don't know it yet, but they're going to be wearing the same hospital diaper that I'm sporting.  That's part of the deal I made with Spats-- he gets to grow his inventory, and the girls will be paying for it.”

 

“But they won't be able to hide what they're wearing ...”

 

“No, they won't.  The seniors are looking at six months or so, but there are first and second year students in this bunch who have two and a half to three and a half years of humiliation ahead of them.”

 

“With no time off during the summer.  Ian, what about their parents?  The only way to make sure that they remain diapered is to use the same locking cover that you have on.  Would you trust a parent with the keys?”

 

“No.  Bernice will change them morning and night, so she will need to have keys.  We'll know in a few minutes whether it's feasible for them to be changed here during their shifts, but I can't figure out how to change them on campus.  It's a big school, and they're attending classes all over the place.  So, we're talking a lot of diaper pails; where do we put them?  Who would be willing to change them, and can we trust that person with the keys?  On paper it all looks pretty cut and dried, but this is real life, and in real life it's a safe bet that all of these girls will also be looking for a way to cheat.  We have to nip that in the bud.”

 

“This is what happens when you don't pay attention,” Priscilla laughed sympathetically.

 

“Meaning?”

 

“The DA and the Judge ran for the hills, Ian, leaving you hung out to dry.”  Priscilla was rummaging around in her bag, searching for her wallet.

 

“Twenty-eight dollars,” she announced.

 

“And I've got seventeen.”  It didn't take Ian long to paw through his wallet.

 

“While you were daydreaming,” Priscilla continued, “the Judge issued a decree making you personally responsible for cleaning up this mess.  An officer of the court will be dropping in on you next week, with the official paperwork.  Congratulations!  You now have forty one surrogate daughters!”

 

“Huh?  Wait a second.  Won't they have probation officers?”

 

“They will,” Priscilla agreed.  “And guess who's responsible for making sure that each and every one of them keeps their appointments!”

 

“But ...”

 

“Ian?  What are you doing here?”

 

“Startled, Ian spun around, his stance shifting to attack mode.  Then, making a conscious effort to relax, he stood fully upright.

 

“Becky!  Hi!  And Reiko.  Wow … it's good to see you both!  But I'm surprised; isn't this your shift?”

 

“It is.  Mornings are set aside for groups.  Vickie takes the alcoholics, Candy gets the abused women, and Reiko and I split the hopelessly neurotic.  We rack up a lot of overtime at Chuck E. Cheese.” 

 

Becky and Reiko were both looking at Priscilla.

 

“Sorry,” Ian said; “I just got sucker punched, so I'm a little out of it.  Pris, say hi to Becky and Reiko, who work upstairs in the psych ward.  Vickie is mentoring them both.”

 

“Priscilla Canon, campus police department.”  Priscilla held out her hand, and the three women briefly shook.  “Technically, I'm Ian's bodyguard, keeping those pesky corporate headhunters at bay, but it feels more like I'm his nursemaid.”

 

“Changing his diapers, are you?  Becky and Reiko exchanged knowing grins.

 

“Routinely,” Priscilla grinned in return.  “And it's a fun job.  Ian knows a really colorful cast of characters, and slowly but surely, I'm making their acquaintance.”

 

“And these are the diaper thieves.”  Becky gestured at the girls.  “What, if you capture them, you get to keep them?”

 

“He's stuck with them!”   Priscilla was laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.  “The court … the judge has charged Ian to supervise them throughout their probation.  Right now, we're trying to figure out how to see to their diapers.”

 

“Diapers?  These girls?”  Reiko was aghast.

 

“All forty one of them … 24/7 until they graduate!  They wanted diapers; well, now they've got them!  And they're going to use them!”

 

“What brings you down here?”  Ian was desperate to change the subject.

 

“Coffee break,” Reiko shrugged.  “It's an excuse to get out of the ward for a few minutes.”

 

“Got any spare change?” 

 

“You need money?”

 

“I thought I'd buy the girls something to drink.  They've had a rough morning ...”

 

“Spoken like a true parent, although forty one daughters is a ...”

 

Priscilla's eyes widened in shock, and involuntarily, she clamped a hand over her mouth.    The enormity of her mistake …

 

“Oh, God!  Ian, I'm sorry!   I didn't mean … I was just teasing … please … I'm sorry!”

 

“Pris, it's okay.”  Ian wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close, her head resting upon his shoulder.  He forgot about Becky and Reiko, forgot about the girls, forgot about the handful of visitors, nurses and doctors scattered around the cafeteria.  His one thought was for her.

 

Becky and Reiko were openly staring, trying to digest what they were witnessing.  It was as obvious to them as to everyone else who happened to be watching that Ian and Priscilla were very much in love.

 

“It's getting easier, Pris; really.  Knowing that it's all out in the open now … that I don't have to pretend anymore.”  He tenderly kissed the top of her head, enjoying the smell of her shampoo, enjoying the simple pleasure of holding her in his arms.

 

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.  “I love you ...”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“This stinks to high heaven,” Herb Canon complained.  “Honestly, Julia, why didn't you say something?”

 

“Walt's your friend; why didn't YOU say something?”

 

The Canons were in the parking ramp adjacent to the courthouse.  The trunk lid of their car was up.  The trunk was bulging with the two bags of diapers that Chief Mischof had ferried from the sorority house to the ramp, but they had never gotten any closer to the courthouse, and the rules of evidence be damned.

 

The Canons ignored the bag of clean diapers-- and they were keeping their distance from the dirty ones.

 

“I don't remember Priscilla's diapers ever smelling this bad.  Do you?”

 

“Well, in fairness to Ian, they have been lying around for the last couple of weeks.  But stop complaining.  You can walk to work from here, and I'll drive out to Lullaby and deliver them in person.  After all, I did promise Pris that I would retrieve Ian's little toy … and no, I won't pass out before I get there.  I'll keep the window rolled down.”

 

“It's your funeral,” Herb shrugged.  “But here's something else to think about while you're rambling down the highway: who's going to change Grady's diapers and give him his bottles while Pris is at Quantico?”

 

“Ouch!  Herb, that is downright nasty!”

 

“Come on, Julia, out with it!  Has she asked you to do the honors in her absence?”

 

“Not yet,” Julia conceded.

 

“But any day now?  Is that what I'm hearing you not saying?”

 

Julia slammed the trunk lid shut as her temper flared.  “Damn it, Herb, we have got to come to terms with this.  Priscilla is old enough to make her own choices; she's fallen in love with a battle scarred vet, and she has chosen to commit to this relationship.  If you can look past the diapers ...”

 

“And the trauma,” Herb interrupted.  He suspected that Ian was a loose cannon, and he did not want his daughter to be around when he blew up.

 

“For which he is being treated by a network of professionals who are giving him a strong support structure.  And in so many ways they make the perfect couple ...”

 

“Couple?  Get real, Julia!  Our daughter is joining a menagerie that sounds like it's going to be one step shy of a hippie commune!  Will our grandchildren, if we have them, nurse on four different sets of boobs?  Will they grow up thinking they have four mommies?  Julia, this in insane!”

 

“It's life, Herb, and often life doesn't make any sense.  The only issue here is Priscilla's happiness, and right now she's happier than I've ever seen her in her whole life.  Our job is to support her, and to make Ian feel welcome.  We are going to do that.”

 

“So, if she asks … are you telling me that you would agree to change his diapers?”

 

“I would agree to talk with him about it.  But seriously, Herb, what on earth makes you think that he would want me to be his nursemaid?  You're getting all riled up about something that has about the same odds as a snowball in Hell!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I'm good with this,” Ian said as he peeked over Priscilla's shoulder, his eyes jumping from one face to another as he systematically worked his way from the top of one table to the bottom of the next.  It was slowly beginning to dawn on him that the two of them had taken center stage in a vast theater that offered no other entertainment.

 

“Being a surrogate parent, I mean.  Do any of the sororities have dads?”

 

“No … don't think it's ever been done before.”

 

Priscilla leaned back to study him, and saw it instantly.  It was in his eyes as he looked out at the girls, the sense of family, and she imagined that years earlier, a much younger man had looked upon those he led into battle with the same sense of affection.  She knew all too well how much the death of Willie Ross had wounded him.  And then his brothers-in-law.  There must have been others.

 

“This is a tad awkward,” she whispered, thinking of Vickie.

 

“Have faith,” he whispered in return before kissing her lightly on the cheek.

 

“Any idea how much soft drinks for forty three is going to cost me?'”  Ian decided to address the question to Reiko.

 

Reiko frowned as she quickly ran the numbers through her head.  “Twenty five should cover it.”

 

“What's going on, Ian?”  Becky made no attempt to conceal her anger.

 

“Give me a moment, please,”  Without waiting for an answer, Ian turned away and walked over to stand at the head of one of the tables.  He waited patiently for the girls to give him their attention.

 

“First things, first,” he began.  “While I had the run of the judge's chambers, I phoned Janis' mother.  In turn, Marilyn is reaching out to all of your parents, to assure them that you are safe.  She is also letting them know that each of you is being hit with a twenty- five hundred dollar fine.  Be ready for the subject to come up when you get back to the house and call home.  As for the other elements of the Decree-- the community service, the diapers, and the probation-- I strongly advise you to be straightforward, and not to attempt to defend the indefensible.  Admit that you screwed up, concede that your punishment is warranted, even lenient, and move on.”

 

Leaning on the table, Ian sighed deeply, searching for words.  “Before Janis gets here and we get down to brass tacks, please get yourselves something to drink; Officer Canon and I will foot the bill.  But first, there is something that I want to ask: does anyone here know what in loco parentis means?”

 

“Sure,” Cindy answered.  “Everyone on Fraternity Row knows that our house moms and dads are looking after us the same way our parents do at home.”

 

“Well, as Priscilla … er … Officer Canon ...”

 

“Batgirl,” Kimberly called out.

 

“Is that what you call me,” Priscilla laughed.

 

“From one end of the Row to the other,” Melanie confirmed.

 

“Cool!  Wait until you see the Batcycle!  It's got all the bells and whistles!”

 

“A Honda CB 750,” Priscilla grinned when Ian gave her one of those looks.  “What can I say?  The family that rides together stays together.  I never miss Sturgis!”

 

“Oh, wow, Sturgis,” Melanie shrieked.  “I've got a Suzuki GT 750, but my parents won't let me ride it in the city, and they won't let me get anywhere near Sturgis.  They're afraid that I'll join a motorcycle gang or something!”

 

“Get your GPA up,” Ian suggested, “and Priscilla might be persuaded to form a club for all you easy riders.”

 

“Are you offering us a bribe,” Kimberly teased.

 

“More like an incentive.  Look, as I was about to say before being sidetracked, Priscilla says the Judge's decree is going to charge me with supervising your probation.  So, now you have a surrogate mom in Missus Miller, and in me a surrogate dad.  Going forward, if you're having problems with your studies, come see me.  If I can't help you personally, I'll reach out to people who can, and that includes arranging tutors.  I'll collect performance reports on your community service, and you better believe that your probation officers will examine them closely.  As for your diapers, let me remind you that all of you are going to be paying customers of Lullaby Diaper Service, and the bill is going to be around seventy five a month.  There's another conversation to plan on having with your parents if you aren't working and don't have savings.  Finally, acting in loco parentis and keeping your individual schedules in mind, Bernice and I will figure out a way for each of you to have her diapers changed in a timely manner, and that includes on campus.”

 

“Any questions,” Ian asked as he scanned his audience.  As he expected, his comments had taken the air out of the girls.  There were long faces everywhere.

 

“In the beginning, this is going to be hard.”  Looking up, Ian saw that Bernice and Janis had returned, along with a nurse and a second woman wearing a severe business suit.  “Some of the people you count as your friends will abandon you, but on the flip side, once the novelty wears off and your peers stop tormenting you, new friends will take their place.  The one constant is that Bernice and I will always have your backs.  We won't lose faith in you, and in return we ask only that you not lose faith in yourselves.  Now, help yourselves to something to drink.”

 

While Janis scurried off to join her friends in line, Beatrice stepped forward to make the introductions. 

 

“Officer Priscilla Canon of our campus police department and Professor Ian Grady,” Bernice nodded, “Marcia Mason, who is the first shift charge nurse in Janis' unit, and Gayle Soderberg, who administers Patient Relations.  Her department reviews applicants for the candy striper program, with a view to finding the best fit for their experience and interests.”

 

“I should add,” Bernice went on, “that I have brought them up to speed on what's happening here.”

 

“Any interest,” Ian asked.

 

Gayle nodded in response.  “Definitely, but I will tell you straight out that we're looking for candidates able to work three hour shifts between seven in the morning and two in the afternoon … also six to ten at night.  High School and College students all want to work between two and six; those slots are filled.”

 

“Any objections to having staff change their diapers?”

 

Marcia's smile was warm and friendly.  “It's an unusual request, but everything that Bernice has told us would seem bizarre if many of us had not caught the late night news.  Talk about the punishment fitting the crime!”

 

“Glad you're good with it,” Ian grinned.  “If it's at all possible, later this afternoon I'd like to get together with whoever does purchasing around here.  Lullaby Diaper Service will need diapers, vinyl pants and locking diaper covers for forty one new customers.”

 

“We might have enough to get you started,” Gayle said.  “One key for our staff, one for Bernice, and two for you.  Will you be changing them personally?”

 

“Uh … no.  I don't think my fiancee. Sarah Haikonnen up on the third floor, wants me anywhere around sorority girls in general, and definitely not changing their diapers in particular!”

 

“Perhaps it's for the best.”  Gayle and Marcia exchanged sympathetic looks.  “We caught the tail end of your address.  If these young women need a father figure to serve as a role model, they are fortunate indeed to have someone this caring.”

 

“I just hope I don't go broke in the process,” Ian sheepishly replied, trying to find a way around the awkwardness of the moment.  “Reiko says that their drinks will set me back around twenty five dollars.”

 

“Oh, don't worry about it!”  Gayle waved him away.  “I'll put it on my departmental tab; light refreshment to help the interview process along.”

 

“Thank you,” Ian sighed.

 

“Can you hold the fort for a little while,” Priscilla interrupted.  “I need to refill Ian's diaper bag, so we're on our way up to Seven … to talk with Vickie and Rita.”  She gave Ian's arm an encouraging squeeze.

 

The gesture's import was lost on none of the five women gathered round, and Bernice could see that one of the nurses standing behind Ian was seething.  Long years of defusing angry confrontations had given her a sixth sense when it came to situations spinning out of control.  This one was on the edge.

 

“Ian, while we were reluctant to infringe upon your privacy, you should know that Janis and I also told Marcia and Gayle what happened last night.”  Bernice's voice became soft and maternal.  “Last night at the house … this morning in the courtroom and now here … you have formed a deep, visible attachment to the girls.  I don't want anyone to misinterpret what they're seeing, nor to misunderstand all this talk about changing their diapers.”

 

Bernice stared pointedly at Becky, praying that the message had gotten through to her.  After they had put him to bed, Suzie had given her a colorful description of Ian's complicated love life, and it was obvious that this nurse was close to one or more of the women involved.  She had been triggered by the interplay between the professor and the policewoman.  As for the young Asian woman: her expression was stoic, but her body language tense.  It was safe to assume that she was also upset by what she was seeing.

 

“Cracks in the wall,” Ian observed with a resigned sigh; “cracks in the wall.”

 

“Which means?”

 

“Bernice, I'm a patient here, up on the seventh floor … the psych ward.  In fact, Reiko and Becky are on the team that is treating me.”  Belatedly, Ian realized that, when it came to introductions, he had not picked up where Beatrice had left off.

 

“Sorry,” he said.  “Bernice Miller, the sorority's house mom, and Reiko … I'm sorry again.  I don't know either of your last names.”

 

“Doctor Reiko Matsumura, and my colleague and friend, Doctor Rebecca Cameron.”

Reiko performed the introductions for both of them.  (In reality. Ian was formally introduced to Reiko all the way back in scene 3, but the poor lad was far too drunk at the time to remember much of anything.)

 

“Vickie and Rita are going on the theory that I've constructed a wall inside my head to keep all the guilt that I tapped into last night at bay.”  Ian knew that neither Bernice, Gayle or Marcia grasped how bad last night had really gone. 

 

“If I do something that my psyche sees as a threat to the wall, it short circuits the process by catapulting me back to my last battlefield.  I relive what happened … every second of it … and I collapse, just like I did for real all those years ago.”

 

“So when you told the girls what happened to your family ...”

 

“I thought I was safe because yesterday I told Priscilla everything, including the really bad stuff that only two other people have heard at first hand.  And it had no impact on me … maybe because it felt like I was talking about somebody else … talking in the third person.”

 

“'Bad' doesn't begin to describe what happened out there.”  Priscilla warned.  “I have been pushing Ian to sit down with Sarah, Vickie and Rita; they have to know what's going on … have to know that acting on their feelings for him will have consequences.  There's a price to be paid, and I'm going to pay it … but I didn't sleep well last night, not well at all.  I do not want him to describe what he learned once he got out of the hospital in any detail.  What you heard last night is where I would draw the line.”

 

“You want him to withhold information that might be critical to his treatment,” Becky asked sharply.

 

“I would go there only as a matter of last resort.”  Priscilla's tone was equally acerbic.

 

As the first of the girls exited the line, soft drink in hand, Gayle excused herself to begin the interview process.  She had brought applications for the candy striper program, and as she handed out forms and pens to each girl in turn, she emphasized that she needed to know their class schedule for the following term.

 

Marcia watched the line slowly advance.  She had two children of her own, one a girl in junior high.  In a few years, she realized, her daughter might well become a candy striper in her own right, and stand in this very line once or twice a week.  There were always a number of high school students in the program.

 

“Professor … no … Ian … who's taking the lead on your therapy?”

 

“Vickie.”

 

“And the two of you are madly in love.”  Marcia shot a sideways glance at Priscilla, wondering if Vic knew that she had been cast overboard.

 

“Vickie and I will work it out,” Priscilla smiled.  She knew exactly what Marcia was thinking.

 

The line continued slowly to advance, and Becky and Reiko continued to hover in the background.

 

Nodding her head, Marcia came to a decision.  Someone had to go first.

 

“Ian, Gayle and I … we both have children … daughters.  The vast majority of the people in our age group working in this hospital have families.  I'm not going to pretend that I understand your suffering because it's on a scale that I can't imagine, and frankly don't want to imagine.  But I know two things, the first being that you are trapped inside every parent's deepest, darkest nightmare.  And the second is that Becky is right; if you want to reclaim your life, you cannot pick and choose the information that you share with your therapist.  If you insist on shielding her, then Vickie needs to step aside so that someone can take her place-- someone who can handle the worst that you can throw at them.”

 

“It's not that easy,” Ian  grudgingly admitted.

 

“Why?”

 

“I have trust issues.”

 

“And cracks in the wall.”

 

Ian looked at her blankly.  He didn't see the connection.

 

“You can't make good what you've lost by adopting every young woman in need of help who enters your life.  You'll drown if you try … more and more seizures.  If you truly want to help others, you must first help yourself, and that means baring your soul to your therapist.  Guilt attaches itself to the ugliest of all our memories.”

 

Wendy Stafford, Priscilla thought.  How many more Wendy Staffords are waiting out there?

 

Her eyes swept over the line, and settled on Janis Marsden.  The answer was staring her in the face.

 

“Wait … what,” Becky squeaked.  She looked at Reiko, thinking that she must have misunderstood what Marcia was saying, but she saw the same look of incomprehension on her friend's face that was no doubt plastered on her own.

 

“Are you saying that … that … Ian … that you have a daughter?”

 

Silently, Ian pulled out his wallet, and removed the photograph.  No longer hidden away, it slid out easily.

 

He handed it to Becky.

 

“My wife's name was Nguyen.  When I was in the hospital, someone came to our village and slaughtered everyone except the babies and little children.  They were taken, and have never resurfaced.  We think that someone was looking for my child … for my daughter, Linh.  But they didn't know which child was mine, so they took them all.”

 

“But … but, why?  Dear God, why?”

 

“My gift for languages is rare in the extreme.  More men have walked on the moon than can do what I do.  If Linh has inherited this ability ...”

 

“Someone massacred an entire village to kidnap a child that might grow up with the ability to speak dozens of foreign languages?”  Becky was thunderstruck.

 

“Ian, does Vickie know any of this?  Vickie?  Rita?  Sarah?”   Reiko got right to the point.

 

“No.  No one wants to put another My Lai on the record, and very few people even know that there was a massacre.  Reiko, my whole life after Hue is heavily classified; it was only yesterday afternoon that I received clearance to talk about this with anyone.  Priscilla knows it all, and when we get upstairs, so will Vickie and Rita.  I'll deal with Sarah later.”

 

“But why, Ian?  Why, after all these years, are they suddenly allowing you to go public?”

 

”Reiko, I blindsided the Agency, and now we're scrambling to do damage control.  I was supposed to live a quiet life out here, but instead I foolishly agreed to help Phil and Don.  It was a spur of the moment decision, and it felt right at the time, but it ended up wrecking my cover, which was never designed to survive even casual scrutiny.  A part of me is glad that it worked out this way because lying to the women I love has been tearing me apart.  But at the same time, it's putting my daughter in great danger.”

 

“Go on,” Reiko gently encouraged.

 

“For years, we have been looking worldwide, an intense but quiet search.  Now that I've surfaced, we are going to recruit people outside the intelligence community to assist, which will make our efforts impossible to hide.  If we get too close ...”

 

“They'll kill her.”  Priscilla had followed everything Ian had said to its logical conclusion.

 

“We can get coffees up in the ward,” Becky decided.  “We'll take you up.”

 

“Marcia and I will help Gayle,” Bernice declared.

 

“And now I'm a bodyguard for real,” Priscilla sighed.  “And first things, first: I still have to change Ian's diaper!”

 

THE PLOT THICKENS

 

“Normally,” Becky explained as she entered the six digit code and waited for the door to open, “we share the access code to the Psych ward with law enforcement personnel as a professional courtesy.  But I'm wondering, Officer Canon, whether we should make an exception in your case.  Technically, Ian is one of our patients, and we have a strict policy in place to prevent any patient from obtaining the codes.  So, if you don't want to keep secrets from him, I'd suggest that we keep you in the dark.”

 

“Good idea,” Priscilla agreed.  “Somebody can buzz us out when we're done here, but right now I need to change Secret Agent Man's diaper, and replenish our stock.  We're just about down to using paper towels from the men's room.”

 

“If there's one thing this ward has in abundance,” Reiko grinned, “it's diaper supplies.  When you have some free time, ask Ian to describe his visit to the diaper changing room in the secure ward!”

 

“Oh, yuck,” Ian shivered, remembering the stench.  “That place needs to be fumigated … several times a day!”

 

“In we go, Secret Agent Man.”  Becky held the door open, waiting for the others to enter.  “Do you really call him that?”

 

“Yep.”  Priscilla had a smug look on her face-- one of those smiles that communicated in unmistakable terms that she knew things the others didn't.

 

“IAN!”  Vickie had been sitting in her favorite chair, working up a report on the morning session with her current crop of alcoholics, when she had spotted him coming through the door.  Jumping up, she rushed across the room to hug him close, love and fear for his well being animating her in equal measure.

 

Ian hugged her tightly in return, while gently patting her bottom.  It was clear that Vickie was once again well diapered.

 

“Are you all right,” she asked as she stepped back to study him.  Another seizure ...”

 

“Priscilla was on top of it.  Priscilla and Bernice Miller.  Some of the girls helped too.”

 

“Thank you.”  Vickie hugged Priscilla in turn, her feelings heartfelt.  It was a relief to know that Ian was in good hands when he was on campus.

 

“No; thank you!  Vickie, you figured that this might happen, and you took the time to teach me how to respond.”  Priscilla reached into her pocket.  “Now I carry smelling salts with me wherever I go-- a simple but effective first line of defense.”

 

The two women hugged again, and this time Priscilla felt Vickie's diaper. 

 

“Practicing for tonight,” she asked with a grin.

 

“Nope.  24/7 until I'm pregnant, and after the baby comes, postpartum incontinence is a real possibility because ...”

 

Looking around, Vickie paused in mid-sentence.

 

“Wha … what …?  Oh, damn!  Did I just let the cat out of the bag?”

 

Priscilla had winced so hard that, for a second, Vickie wondered whether she had slapped her and not even known it.  Becky's eyes had gone wide, and Reiko was looking down at the carpet, determined to avoid eye contact.  Something was very, very wrong.

 

“Ian, I ...”  Vickie's voice faltered as she turned to face him.  “I'm sorry.  I'm getting ahead of myself.  We haven't talked about this … I mean … I mean the three of us have talked about it, and it's a big part of what Rita wants to discuss with you this afternoon.  Having children, I mean …  Damn it, I'm making such a mess of this!”

 

Vickie ran out of steam as she stood there, watching a wave of pain wash across Ian's features, tears welling up in his eyes.  Something was very, very wrong indeed, and she didn't understand what or why.

 

Gently, Ian reached out to pull Vickie into his arms.  His kisses were just as gentle.

 

“I love you, Victoria,” he finally managed to say.  And, yes,  I want to start a family … with you … with all four of you.  But ...”

 

“All four of us,” Vickie interrupted.  And then she realized that Ian was staring over her shoulder-- staring at Priscilla.

 

“Oh,” was all she could manage as the truth dawned.  An involuntary spurt of hot piss began to warm her diaper, and she sensed that it was only a matter of time before she filled it with the mushy poop to which the bottles of breast milk now condemned her.

 

“Does Sarah know?”  It was a lame question, but Vickie was at a loss for words.

 

Priscilla clasped her arm, and Vickie turned in her direction.

 

“It wasn't planned; it just sort of snuck up on us.”  Priscilla was patting her arm now. 

 

“And I want to have children, too … and for Secret Agent Man here to be the father.”

 

She smiled at Ian, happier than she had ever been in her life, knowing now that he wanted more children.

 

“But there's so much about me that you don't know,” Ian quietly continued, ignoring the interruptions.  “So much that all of you need to know, and that I can finally share with you.  So many sacrifices that you are going to have to make ...”

 

“I don't understand.”  Vickie was utterly lost.  “Sacrifices?”

 

“Loving Ian … having children ...”  Priscilla did not want him to bear the burden of disclosing this truth alone.  “There's a price to be paid, Vickie, and it's high.  But I'm going to pay it ...”

 

“So you know what this is all about?”  Vickie looked at Reiko and Becky, and finally grasped that they must know at least a part of it as well.

 

“I found out yesterday afternoon … sharing in a three way telephone conversation that was a tad unusual.  And last night, Ian laid most of it out a second time, at the sorority house.  That's why we're here, Vickie: there's a good chance that the story will get out, and if it does, it will spread like wildfire.  Ian and I most definitely do not want you to hear about what really happened in Viet Nam at second hand.  You and Sarah … Rita … the three of you … maybe others here … deserve to learn the truth from him, so we don't have the luxury of waiting until Saturday night.  It has to be now; just let me change his diaper first.”

 

“About Sarah ...”

 

“No, Ian.”  There was no give in Priscilla's tone.  “She needs to be here.  Marcia is right … you are punishing yourself to assuage your guilt, and I'm putting a stop to it.  From now on, the four of us are in charge, and if you need a spanking or a time out, one of us will see to it.  There will be no more self-flagellation-- not physical, not emotional.”

 

“Marcia Mason,” Becky elaborated when she saw that Vickie had no idea what was going on.  “I think we're going to need the conference room, so while the two of you are changing his diaper, Reiko and I will brief Rita, get Sarah up here, and track down Candy and Marge.  And Ian ...”

 

Becky held out her hand.

 

“This will go a lot more smoothly if Rita sees the photograph.”

 

Becky was right, and Ian knew it.  He pulled out his wallet, removed the snapshot, and surrendered it without a word.

 

“Let me ...”

 

“No, Vic; not here.”  Becky was adamant.  “Please … wait for Sarah.  Don't force Ian to explain this more than once.”

 

Not giving Vickie a chance to protest, Becky and Reiko headed for Rita's office.  Feeling abandoned and bewildered, Vickie led Priscilla and Ian down the corridor to the supply room.  She stood tamely by while Priscilla helped herself to diapers, and then escorted the pair to a room equipped with a changing table housing an abundance of wipes, lotions and powder.  Watching the policewoman efficiently attack Ian's dirty bottom with wet wipe after wet wipe before powdering him and pinning him into a nice, clean diaper, Vickie could not help but wonder whether Priscilla would soon be attending to her diaper changes as well.  There seemed to be a lot of Sarah in the policewoman, but would that make them natural allies, or mutual enemies?

 

.  .  .  .

 

For the Carlson household, the night had bordered on forever.  After watching Cindy being perp walked in front of the ghouls who reported the late night news, her sister Andrea had run screaming to her room, slamming the door behind her, certain that she would never again be able to show her face at school.  Her boyfriend would dump her, she had declared, and she would be forever banished from the cheerleading squad.  Her locker would be overflowing with diapers (probably used), and Felicity Gundy and the rest of the Gloom and Doom Squad would hound her with pacifiers and baby bottles.  Did convents take sixteen year old virgins?

 

As for Cindy's parents, Andrew and Emily had stayed up all night, waiting for the phone call that never came.  When Marilyn Marsden did finally telephone with good tidings, the two of them hugged and kissed before debating their next move.  A small town in rural Kansas was beginning to sound awfully good.

 

When Andrew finally summoned up the courage to drive to work, he knew that he was in for it as soon as he pulled into the parking lot.  Having the parking spot closest to the front door was one of the perks of owning your own company, but this morning the sign prominently reading RESERVED FOR THE PRESIDENT was festooned with all manner of pink ribbons.

 

The President's spacious office was on the fourth floor, at the end of a long corridor, facing west to capture the often splendid sunset through the floor to ceiling plate glass window.  It was truly a magnificent view, but this morning he found himself sharing it with a teddy bear that appeared to be about four feet tall.  Predictably, Teddy was sporting a diaper and ruffled pink baby pants, with a matching bonnet and a bib decorated with pink lambs and dancing unicorns.

 

Andrew's desk was piled high with diapers and baby bottles-- all pink, of course-- and a variety of pacifiers.  One of them was so large that at first glance he mistook it for a dildo, but on reflection he thought how adorable Cindy would look sucking on it at the annual family Christmas dinner.  If Cindy truly wanted to go back to wearing diapers, he was certain that Emily would be delighted once more to have a baby in the house, if only for the few weeks between the fall and winter terms.

 

Maybe Andrea would enjoy changing her, Andrew mused, and I'd like to be a fly on the wall at Emily's next get together with Bernice Miller.  Emily was a senior when Bernice took over the house, and over the years they have spent endless hours organizing the Winter Carnival, decorating for the Formals … wonder how Bernice is going to explain this disaster to all the alumnae who still regard the house as an extension of their family?

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Knock, knock.”

 

“What is it this time, Vic?  I'm busy.”

 

Enmeshed in her paperwork, Rita didn't look up until Becky cleared her throat.  When she did, she grinned sheepishly.  “Sorry, Becks, but I swear to God that you've got her entrance down cold.  You even sound like … her.”

 

Rita's voice trailed off when she saw the grim look on Becky and Reiko's faces.  “What's up,” she managed to ask.

 

“Is Marge still doing rounds inside?”  Becky was referring to the secure ward.

 

Rita nodded, still wondering what was up.

 

“And Candy?”

 

In the conference room; her group is running late.”

 

“Can we use it over the next hour?”

 

“Sure … want to tell me what for?”

 

“I'll go find Marge,” Reiko said as she slipped out the door.

 

“The Circle can't wait until Saturday night.  Call Sarah, and tell her to drop everything and get up her now!”

 

“Becky, enough with the drama, already.  What is this all about?”

 

“Ian.  He's here with that policewoman.  Right now, Vickie is helping them replenish his diaper supply, which is running on empty.  Then, after the officer changes him, she'll bring them here.  Rita, right now Vickie is running on autopilot because it's clear as day that Ian and the lady cop are madly in love, but somehow, not at her expense.  And that's the smallest part of what's going on.”

 

“THE SMALLEST PART?”  Rita was flabbergasted.  “The smallest part,” she repeated more calmly.

 

“Yes,” Becky nodded.  “Right now, there are forty-one sorority girls down in the cafeteria being interviewed by Gayle Soderberg and Marcia Mason-- the diaper thieves.  Ian brought them here; part of their punishment is to do community service as candy stripers until they graduate, and he's trying to arrange it.”

 

“Typical Ian,” Rita sighed, her relief evident.  “Anyone who needs a helping hand ...”

 

“He didn't adopt Don and Phil.”  Becky cut her off in mid sentence.  “He's adopted all forty-one of these girls.”

 

“That's ridiculous,” Rita scoffed.

 

“You can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice,” Becky went on.  “Last night, at the sorority house, the girls were at each other's throats, and to pull them back from the brink, he told them what happened to him in Viet Nam-- the parts that we have yet to hear.  And it worked!  Forty-one of the fifty-two girls in the house went to court this morning and pled guilty, including some who weren't even involved!  He took them into his heart, and they responded.  So, now he's a surrogate parent to an entire sorority, and I pity the chances of anyone who threatens to harm so much as a hair on one of their heads.  Rita, we tend to forget that Ian is a hardened combat veteran … a highly trained specialist in handing out death, with plenty of it in his background.  And he's wallowing in guilt … guilt far worse than what we have imagined.  If someone threatens one of his daughters ...”

 

“He'll explode.”  Rita nodded.  It was all so obvious.

 

“What have you learned?”  She was on her feet now, thinking ahead to what needed to happen in the conference room.

 

“Apparently only a small part of what Priscilla … what the policewoman has learned.  She and Marcia went at it in the cafeteria.  Priscilla says that it's so bad that he needs to dance around the edges, while Marcia correctly points out that it's the darkest parts of his trauma that are the wellspring of his guilt.  She's urging him to get it all out, and to get a new therapist if it's too dark for Vickie … for any of us … to hear.”

 

“Come on, Becky … what have you learned?”

 

In response, Becky took the photograph out of her pocket, and passed it over.

 

“Ian's wife.  Her name was Nguyen.  She's dead, Rita … massacred along with everyone else in the village except for the babies and smallest children.  His daughter was taken … and all these years later, Linh is still missing.  She must be nine or ten now.”

 

“Oh, Dear God!”  Rita could not stop her hand from shaking, and tears welled up in her eyes.  “Oh, Dear God,” she repeated, choking on the words.

 

“Was it My Lai?”  Rita's voice had grown very small.

 

“No, not My Lai.  It's all being covered up, and in the shadows the CIA is looking all over the world for his daughter.  They think that whoever did this was after the little girl, gambling that she would inherit her father's gift.  None of us really appreciate how rare Ian is, and how valuable, though it's plain to see in his passport if only we stretch our imaginations.”

 

“The guy's been everywhere,” Rita whispered, remembering how she had compared her own milquetoast existence to his just the night before.

 

“He wants to have more children; that's the good news.”  But Priscilla says that there are strings attached, and that's what the three of you need to find out.  And you probably don't have much time-- too many people have heard the whole story, including people in this building.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Do I want to be present for this conversation?”

 

Ian was lying on a changing table, with Priscilla hovering over him to the right, and Vickie to the left.  Priscilla had removed his thoroughly soaked and dirty diaper, cleaned him up, and was now in the process of powdering him.  She would be finished in less than a minute, and he was not at all sure what would happen next.

 

“One hurdle at a time, Secret Agent Man.”  Priscilla winked at Vickie, who had remained silent throughout the diaper changing ritual.  “I haven't had a chance to tell you, but I had a heart to heart with my parents over breakfast.  Last night?  You won my mother over, Ian; after what you did for the girls, she's your biggest fan.”

 

“And your Dad?”

 

“He thinks we're all nuts, but he knows that he's outnumbered and outgunned.  He's coming along tonight, so you'll have a chance to win him over too.  I'm looking forward to seeing the two of you doing the male bonding bit over tequila shots.”

 

“I'm a tequila snob,” Vickie confessed; “if we're doing shots, I want Don Julio Blanco.”

 

“A true connoisseur,” Ian laughed.  “Personally, I prefer rot gut, especially when playing by Hong Kong Rules.  When I run out of cash, I want to be well and truly tanked!”

 

“I'm with Vickie on this one!”  Priscilla grinned.  “After all, we ladies do have delicate stomachs-- and our bar is well stocked with high end tequila!  Reposado, anyone?”

 

“So, are you two going to make this work?”

 

“I'm not possessive, Ian,... you know that.”  Vickie was pensive.  “If you love Priscilla, then she has my vote … to join our household, I mean.  Of course, I can't speak for Rita or Sarah.”

 

“Thank you, Vickie.”  Priscilla reached across the table to grip Vickie's arm.  “My Dad isn't thrilled, but my Mom is good with this, and that means a lot to me.  And don't worry about Sarah and Rita.  When we all sit down and Ian takes the floor, a lot of things that people take for granted around here are going to be thrown overboard.”

 

“The photograph ...”

 

“A good place to start.  It's just that … some of the details … Vickie, I don't want you … any of you … to hear some of what he told me yesterday.  Please, if his therapist has to know what Ian saw when he got out of the hospital and went back to Viet Nam, I'm begging you to send him to someone else.  I don't want you to do this.”

 

“I'm sorry, Priscilla, but I'm going to see this through to the end.  I wouldn't be very good at my job if I couldn't handle blood and gore-- and the worst that the human imagination can summon to the surface.”

 

“I didn't sleep well last night, and I've seen some bad car wrecks.”

 

“And I've had sessions where I had to go out and get raging drunk in order to get the demons out of my head.  Priscilla, this is part of the price that our professions demand of us.”

 

“Vickie, it involves children,” Ian warned.

 

Vickie reached out to clasp his hand, and stared deeply into his eyes.  “Do you really want to have children?”

 

“If I have anything left in the tank,” Ian said as he reached for her, “I want to have a family more than anything.”

 

“Well, the good news is that, unless the lab botched the sperm sample that Candy collected from you in the hydrotherapy chamber, you are ridiculously fertile.  And by some miracle, the three of us are still capable of bearing children, although the clock is definitely ticking.  So, with four of us ...”

 

Vickie paused to look at Priscilla.

 

“Ready, willing, and definitely able,” she laughed.

 

“So, with four of us wanting to get pregnant,” Vickie continued, “you might not get a lot of sleep once we all get settled.” 

 

“I, for one, am planning on keeping you very busy,” she leered as she ran a finger over his well powdered but still exposed shaft.

 

“Your crib or mine,” Ian asked affectionately.  And then he turned serious.

 

“Right now, I don't want to plan too far ahead … not until you've heard the whole of it.”

 

“It's that bad?”  Vickie's eyes had grown large.

 

Ian nodded.  “On many levels” he added enigmatically.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Rita swiveled in her chair, a nervous habit that told her colleagues and friends that she was deep in thought.  She was peering out the window, but her eyes were blind to the view.  She went over all of it in her mind.  She had written the script, planned everything out.  A heart to heart in the afternoon with Ian to explore his feelings about children … buying Vickie and Ian some time at the bar, and with it time for her to work on Sarah, get her to ease off.  Then the grand finale on Saturday night, with Ian taking center stage and the Circle laying the foundations for their new household.

 

And it had all just blown up in her face.

 

“You're right.”  Rita picked up the phone, and dialed Sarah's extension from memory.

 

“Sarah, it's Rita. You need to get up here right now!”  

   

 

 

After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index