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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

INTERMISSION

 

“Good Morning, Bob Rowland, Sino-American Investments; how can I help you?”

 

“It's your father, Robert.  I thought that I'd give you a call, see how things are going.  How's the Korean coming along?”

 

“Hey, Dad, it's good to hear from you.  Oh, and it's Japanese, not Korean.”

 

“My mistake.  I do get them mixed up.”

 

“Now that we've got that cleared up, what's on today's agenda?”

 

“Two things.  First, we have hard evidence that Songbird is in direct contact with Soviet intelligence, which is actively searching for the hatchlings.  It is possible that they have positioned an asset near Songbird, but the finding lacks confidence.  Eyes open, but do not jeopardize your cover.”

 

“Understood.  We are approaching end of term; in three weeks, I will lose contact with Songbird until mid-January.”

 

“We are committing additional resources to your sector, which leads to the second item.  It is now confirmed that Songbird and Scarecrow are intimate.  We expect our brethren to activate the beta protocol within the next twenty-four hours.  Do try not to stumble over their feet.”

 

“I'll do my best,” Rowland smiled.  While the CIA had to work around its charter to engage in domestic operations, his own outfit suffered under no such constraints.  Hidden in the budgetary shadows where funding took the preposterous form of  six hundred dollar hammers and ten thousand dollar toilet seats, STD was merely the latest incarnation of an elite unit with a worldwide brief.  In one form or another, it had been around for years, plugging the glaring hole that had emerged in the postwar intelligence superstructure.

 

And, for a time, Songbird had been at once its most colorful and valuable asset-- the glue that held a multilingual unit together.  The unit was dismantled when it became clear that Songbird would never return to the field, and the whole department got flushed less than two years later.  But like a Phoenix risen from the ashes …

 

“The description was generic,” Rowland went on to say, “but last night Songbird showed up on the local news … decorated, now crippled war hero.  Sir, if the local press finds out about his daughter, odds are the story will go national; romance and tragedy make the news go round.”

 

“Give me a heads up if it happens … highest priority.  I don't want to reinforce the security detail … the island is a black hole in our budget … but ...”

 

“I understand, Sir, but the girl is worth her weight in gold … her weight, and then some.”  Rowland, code name Mister Pink, had spent a year on the island in a supervisory capacity.  Remote, wind and storm swept, the abandoned Air Force radar installation had been home to the project for the past five years.  No one could approach it by sea or by air, and as best they knew, no one had ever tried.

 

“True.  Now, moving on … give me an update on Eagle, Bluebird, and Owl.  We're getting nothing useful on the tapes.”

 

“Nothing to report on this end, either.  Scarecrow is cozying up to Spitfire, but whether or not she is jockeying for leverage over Bluebird is unclear.  There is a lot of recent  activity at the Eagle's nest … furniture deliveries, for the most part.  Purpose still indeterminate.”

 

“Songbird has a meeting in the works with the Soviets in Athens, date yet to be decided.  The Agency wants hard intel on Teheran, but it's the Russians who are pressing, and no one has a clue.  It smells like horse trading, but the brethren are keeping their cards close to the chest.”

 

“Makes sense.  I'll talk to the Professor after class … find out whether he'll be holding office hours over the term break, that sort of thing.  Maybe I can get a sense of his timetable.”

 

“The brethren are getting nervous.  He's rejected a mission to Poland, and he's ignoring overtures for another round of camel races in the Libyan wastes.  Songbird knows everybody, and our colleagues have no backups to plug the holes when he calls it quits.”

 

“Funny about that.  But falling in love does tend to have an effect on one's priorities.”

 

“Yeah.  Keep on top of the goings on at Eagle's nest.  If Songbird is moving in, security will soon be cluttering up the premises.  Observe and evaluate, but again, do not risk your cover.  He poses no immediate threat, and the Deputy Director can't sneeze without me holding a hankie to his nose.  We've got it covered on this end; your job is to make sure that we have no nasty surprises out there.”

 

Rowland stayed on the line until he heard the click, then he quietly hung up.  If Langley was going to beef up its presence and his own department was sending reinforcements, the chances were good that someone would slip up and give the game away.  The Professor was nobody's fool, and he was far too experienced an operative to be rendered deaf, dumb and blind as a consequence of falling in love. 

 

And God help the agent who makes the mistake of underestimating Songbird because of the diapers.  Said agent will be returning home in a body bag.

 

Bob actually liked Songbird, who was a first-class teacher.  But there was no room for sentimentality in his business, and the man was a threat of the highest order.  It was very much to be hoped, therefore, that a fatal accident was at least in the planning stages.  One of STD's predecessors had staged a drunk driving incident to eliminate Songbird's parents, and it seemed like a scenario that could be used to sanction him as well.  After all, Songbird did like to drink ...

 

To excess.

 

ENTR' ACTE

 

“What's up with Loretta?  She's definitely off her feed.”

 

Foregoing the chair permanently parked in front of the Chief's desk, Herb Canon sank into the couch against the far wall with a long, slow sigh.

 

“Unlikely,” Chief Thornquist observed.  “I have never known Miss Carlson to be off her feed.”

 

“Yeah?  Walt, she smiled at me on the way in; honest to God, she smiled at me!”

 

“Probably setting you up to ask for Priscilla's autograph,” the Chief smirked.  “Now that she's a celebrity, and all.”

 

“It was just a cameo appearance,” Herb protested.   “That damned Emmett Bailey,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“I heard that,” Walt barked.  “Bailey wants to interview Pris and Julia, both … the mother/daughter tag team that nabbed the notorious diaper thieves terrorizing Minneapolis and the suburbs.  He's angling for a live broadcast … the Sunday morning time slot right before Meet the Press.”

 

“Oh, God,” Herb groaned; “what next?”

 

“So, Q-Ball called me last night-- after he got off the phone with Walt Mischof.  Our esteemed District Attorney dropped Grady's name into the conversation … wanted to know what I knew.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“As little as possible.  Just a summary of the phone call I had yesterday morning with Fart, Barf, and Itch.  Q-Ball got the message, and hop scotched it over to the sorority house.  That's all I know.”

 

“Julia was present for the whole shebang.  Basically, Grady told the DA how it was going to go down, and made it clear that he would deal with Spats Belmondo, thank you very much.  He softened the blow with a vague promise to lubricate Ballstrom's run for higher office.  Apparently, Gareth left the room a lot happier than when he walked in.”

 

“Figures,” the Chief laughed.  “So, what happened in court?  Who drew the ticket?”

 

“Tom Reynolds.”

 

“Who lives just down the street from you.  Small world.”

 

“And Spats dropped by, with his mouthpiece and that Toothpick Charlie character … never can recall his real name.”

 

“Just a face in the crowd,” Walt snickered.  “Did Grady get what he wanted?”

 

“Yeah … complete with a one on one with Belmondo in the Judge's chambers while the rest of us stood around and looked dumb.  I'm glad Bailey wasn't there for that one!”

 

“Friendly conversation, you think?”

 

“Looked like it, but I hope to find out more tonight.”

 

“Now, that's quite a teaser!”

 

“Priscilla, Grady, Doctor Robinson, and some hospital guy named Amos Waring are challenging our guys to a drinking contest.  Tequila shots, no less.  Priscilla wants me to put in an appearance, and for the two of us to get drunk and do a little male bonding.  Julia's planning to come along to pick up the pieces and put everybody to bed, which could be a trace awkward since Pris and Grady are sleeping together.”

 

“WHAT?”  The Chief bounded out of his chair.  “Say that again!”

 

“Yep.  Madly in love, and hoping to have a baby … this, with a guy she first met on Monday morning.  But Julia says that it's the real deal, and we have to go with it.  After what went down in the sorority last night, she's become one of Grady's biggest fans.”

 

“Dear God!  And Amos Waring is mixed up in this?”

 

“Yeah.  Why?  Do you know him?”

 

“You don't?  My God, Herb; down in the Third, the guy's a demigod.  He beaten up so many pinball machines in the Lake Street bars that the boys periodically pass the hat to raise money to repair the damage.  He's serious competition!”

 

“Duly noted … and I'll see what I can find out about Spats.  After what Priscilla told us over breakfast, the odds are that Grady has taken him off the board.”

 

“Why do I get the feeling,” the Chief observed as he settled back into his chair, “that we're now getting to the good part.”

 

“Yeah.  Grady's CIA all right, and get this … he picked up the phone, called someone high up the food chain, and presto!  Priscilla's got a slot at Quantico waiting for her-- the embassy security course, no less.  The plan is to have her head up the security detail that is going to be protecting Grady's wife, girlfriends, and above all else, any children born into this oddball household of theirs.  Walt, we are going to be drowning in Stepford husbands, and wives!”

 

“But why?”  The Chief got up, and started to walk back and forth in the limited confines of his office.  He liked to think on his feet, and what Herb Canon was laying out for him was an intricate puzzle that, so far, didn't make much sense.

 

“Why,” he repeated.

 

“Yeah.”  Herb paused to rub his eyes, then his forehead.  He badly wished that Julia was in the room.

 

“This is all second hand, you understand.  What Priscilla and Julia learned last night … what the whole sorority and a bunch of campus cops heard … is that Grady had a wife and daughter in Viet Nam, but while he was in the hospital, someone raided their village and massacred everyone except the babies and little children.  His wife … his whole family except for his daughter … they're all dead.  What Grady and his buddies back east think is that someone is hoping to cash in if it turns out that she's inherited his gift for languages-- cash in, big time.”

 

“And I take it that we're not talking about My Lai here?”

 

In the Chief's mind, the pieces were beginning to come together.

 

“No.  They've kept the lid on this one, and with good reason.  Walt, if his daughter … if he has more kids … can you see where this is going?  The Agency will want them to pick up where he leaves off ...”

 

“The perfect spies … raised from birth to do the Agency's bidding.  Now, it makes sense.”

 

Walt Thornquist walked behind his desk, but he did not sit down.  Opening a bottom drawer, he withdrew a bottle of aged Scotch.  He poured two fingers into a pair of glasses sitting on the window ledge, and held one out to Herb.

 

“There's a part of my conversation with Fart, Barf, and Itch that I most definitely did not share with Q-Ball,” Thornquist reluctantly admitted.  “And remember, this guy was the head honcho in Counterintelligence.”

 

Herb looked at him, knowing that a very hard punch was about to land.

 

“I was told … bluntly told … that if Grady suddenly begins to rack 'em and stack 'em, we are to observe, but not to interfere.  Hell, I got the distinct impression that if Grady needs a quick reload, we're supposed to help him out.  Then, when the dust settles, I pick up the phone, call a certain number, and order up a disposal unit.  Apparently, it's on permanent standby.”

 

“And here I thought that the Agency's charter prohibited domestic operations.  Silly me.”

 

“Yeah.”  The Chief swirled the scotch around in his glass, and then suddenly gulped it down.  “Remember Jack Ruby?”

 

“Sure.  Talk about amateur hour.  They must have been desperate.”

 

“Langley and the Mafia have been in bed for a long time, maybe from the beginning.  So be careful when you talk with Grady about Spats.  I'm thinking that, whatever's going down, we're probably better off not knowing the details.”

 

“Walt, we're talking about my daughter here-- and maybe about my grandchildren.”

 

“I know,” Thornquist acknowledged.  “And, if it comes to it, we'll do whatever we have to do to protect our own.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Janis, we have to stop meeting like this,” Ian laughed.  “People are going to talk!”

 

Freshly diapered and arm in arm with Vickie and Priscilla, Ian was en route to Rita's office when he nearly collided with Rita and Janis in the corridor.

 

Rita eyed the makeshift diaper bag slung over Priscilla's shoulder,  “Did you get what you needed,” she asked.

 

Priscilla nodded.  “For now, but if we are going to go on using these hospital diapers, we'll need a more reliable supply.”

 

“Agreed, but things should get a lot easier once Ian moves in with me.  I'll bring some more to the bar … say around eight?”

 

“Seven would be better; I'm treating Ian to his first Juicy Lucy, complete with gourmet fries and onion rings. It would be nice if you could join us.”

 

“Thank you; I'd like that.”

 

“Uh … excuse me, but do you two know each other?”  Ian would have sworn that he had yet to perform the introductions.

 

“Only by reputation,” Priscilla smiled.  “My Dad thinks the world of Doctor Stevenson.”

 

“He's a fine officer.”  Rita smiled in turn.  “And I'm hearing a lot of good things about his daughter.”

 

The two women shook hands, and then Rita stepped back and gave the trio the once over.

 

“So, are you also going to be moving in with us?”  Seeing that Vickie and Priscilla had already come to some kind of agreement, Rita chose to be diplomatic.

 

“Not right away.”  Ian wanted to nip this particular conversation in the bud.  “Rita, I have a lot of explaining to do ...”

 

“We're going to use the conference room.  Becky is rounding up the whole team, and Janis and I will join you as soon as she is properly diapered, complete with locking cover.  She'll leave one key for Marcia, and you'll have the other three.  Have you … uh … have you and the sorority house mom figured out how you are going to change so many diapers?  During the day, when they're not here, your forty-one newly adopted daughters must be spread out all over the campus.”

 

“I'm not going to be changing them!”  Ian held up his hands in protest.  “But you're right.  Bernice and I have discussed this, and she pretty much told me that she would take care of it.  Works for me!”

 

“Figures,” Vickie chortled.  “Another dad in the making who thinks that changing diapers is strictly women's work.”

 

Ian flinched, involuntarily closing his eyes to keep the pain at bay.  The memories … holding his daughter in his arms … the memories were still so intense.

 

Priscilla gripped his arm more tightly, and Janis paled, her eyes filled with pity, knowing how much he was hurting.

 

Rita stepped back, staring at him.  Her arm came up, and then fell limply to her side before she could reach out to comfort him.  Vickie, she reminded herself, had yet to hear the story, and could not possibly know how deeply such passing comments might wound.

 

“Ian, when Becky showed me the photograph, the psychiatrist in me fled the room.  Maybe my feelings for you are getting in the way, clouding my professional judgment, but all I want to do right now is take you in my arms and somehow make all this pain go away.”

 

Rita swept the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away the tears that had finally started to fall. 

 

“Right now, Candy is wrapping up a morning group for abused women.  It's her specialty, although all of us have led these sessions at one time or another.  They're heartbreaking, and they always run long because there's so much pain finally coming out into the open.  But none of us … none of us ...”

 

Rita slowly, slowly reached out to grasp his arm.

 

“None of us,” she choked, “have ever sat down with a parent who's … who's … child has been taken.  I don't know what to do, or say ...”

 

“Rita?”

 

Vickie's eyes bulged as she began to glimpse the truth.  She had known Rita for more than ten years, and not once had she ever seen her friend cry.  Not once had she so completely lost her composure.

 

Standing so close to him, her arm still wrapped in his, Vickie could feel Ian shaking, his eyes once more tightly shut to ward off the pain.  In vain.  Inside his mind, it was like a slide show, one brightly lit image yielding to the next.  His wife and child.

 

Inside Janis, something snapped.  Shrieking, she collapsed into Rita's arms, Rita instinctively hugging the distraught child close, trying to shield her from the awful realization that the monsters lurking in the deepest recesses of the human imagination turned out, far too often, to be only too real.

 

Two orderlies, responding to her cries, rushed down the corridor.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Mission accomplished?”  Suzie looked up from the mass of paperwork scattered across her desk as Wendy Stafford slid into a chair opposite her.

 

“Mission accomplished,” Wendy confirmed.

 

“Any pushback?”

 

“None.  All the other house moms I spoke with will follow your lead, no questions asked.  Professor Grady is now off limits.”

 

“Good … that's good to know.”  Suzie leaned back in her chair, gazed up at the ceiling, and briefly shut her eyes.  In the cold light of morning, nothing had changed.  Ian's casual admission that he had been ready to die on that long ago, far off battlefield had rocked her to her core.  For the first time in her life, she had been brought face to face with the cold, hard truth: war was not a movie or a TV show but real life, with real, enduring consequences for good people.

 

And it had felt wonderful to cradle him in her arms and hold the baby bottle to his lips.  With a house full of teenage girls to shepherd through college, year after year the hard work of guiding them into adulthood had satisfied her maternal urges.  She had never met the right man, and had given little if any thought to having children of her own.

 

Until now.  Without warning, holding Ian in her arms had triggered something dormant deep inside her.  Quite simply, she wanted to have a baby.

 

And she knew exactly who she wanted the father to be.  The problem was, he was already spoken for, and many times over.  What to do?

 

“The sheets were a little wet this morning,” Wendy confessed, bringing Suzie out of her reverie.  “I think I need that heavy diaper Professor Grady wears,” she added, “ the one from the hospital.  Do you think we could buy some?”

 

“I'll ask Vickie … er … Doctor Robinson, to put me in touch with their purchasing department.  But for now, what we'll do is line your adult diaper with baby diapers.  They'll give you the extra absorbency you need, although the added bulk may take some getting used to.”

 

“Anything's better than a wet bed!  And Miss Marshall?  What are we going to do to help ZAP?  I heard that they're losing about a dozen members; can the house survive this?”

 

“I'm not sure, Wendy; I'm not sure at all.”  Suzie knew that she would have to have this conversation with Bernice at some point during the day.

 

“I have a suggestion.”

 

“Go on,” Suzie encouraged.  She was intrigued to learn what Wendy had in mind.

 

“Suppose … since all the girls staying in the house are going to be kept in diapers ...”

 

“Where did you hear that,” Suzie asked sharply.

 

“The girls who are bailing are telling everyone what happened last night.  It's all up and down the Row … about the diapers, I mean, and what happened to Professor Grady out there … his wife being murdered and his baby kidnapped ...”

 

“WHAT?”  Suzie came halfway out of her chair.

 

“YOU DON'T KNOW?”  Wendy was equally stunned.  “But I thought that … I thought that you knew.”

 

“No,” Suzie admitted.  “No, I didn't.”  Her planned conversation with Bernice Miller had suddenly taken on new urgency.

 

“I'm sorry; maybe I spoke out of turn.”  Wendy was staring at the floor, retreating into her shell.

 

“It's all right, Wendy … and thank you for telling me.  Now, let's get back to your suggestion.”  Suzie could see Wendy withdrawing into herself, and she wanted to prevent it from happening.

 

“Since all the girls in the house are going to be kept in diapers,” Wendy repeated, “suppose that we transferred all the sorority girls who still wet the bed to ZAP.  We could get everyone who wears diapers under one roof, and maybe there are enough girls like me that we could make good their losses … keep the house financially afloat.”

 

“You'd do that, Wendy?  Leave PISS to help a rival house?”

 

“I don't want to leave, Miss Marshall, because I really like it here!  But I'll do it, if that's what it takes to save their house!”

 

Suzie was dumbfounded, and found herself literally at a loss for words.    It took her several seconds to come up with a response, and it was heartfelt.

 

“Wendy?  Over the years, I've watched hundreds of girls come and go.  But if I could adopt only one girl to be my daughter, it would be you.  I am so proud of you … so really, really proud.  I'll take this up with Bernice, and with the other house moms.  We are not going to let ZAP fall by the wayside.  That won't happen.  I promise you: that won't happen.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Vickie had the presence of mind to hold up her hand, and halt the orderlies in mid-stride.   

“We're good,” she yelled out; “we're good.”

 

Still hugging Janis. Rita caught Priscilla's eye.

 

“I think that you should take charge,” she said.  “Go with Vickie.  If you need to make calls, there's a phone in the conference room.  We can put it on speaker, if you think anyone out there needs to listen in.  I'll take care of Janis.”

 

“Maybe I ...”

 

“No, Ian.  I want you to go with Vickie and Priscilla … please.  I'll take care of Janis.”

 

Ian nodded, slowly and reluctantly, his concern for the girl trumping his anguished memories.  The two parties went their separate ways, Ian looking back over his shoulder, wanting assurance that Janis would be okay.

 

“All right.”  Rita patted the changing table.  All of the supplies that she would need were in the supply room next door.  “I want you to get undressed, then crawl up on the table and wait for me.  It's diaper time, and I'll just need a moment to collect what we need.”  She dashed out the door without a backward glance, and returned just as Janis was draping her dress over the lone chair in the room.  She waited for the girl to lay down, and then got to work.

 

“You surprised me, Janis.”  She had slid the heavy diaper under the girl's behind, and was busily coating her skin with baby powder.  “What was that all about?”

 

“When I was twelve, there was a little girl … nine years old?  She lived a couple of streets over, went out to play in the front yard, and was never seen again.  And now, I can't even remember her name.  It's as if she never existed.”

 

“It could have been me,” Janis shivered.  “It could have been me.  And now, no one would remember me.  It would be like I never existed … no one would care!!”

 

Janis broke down, and started bawling.  Once she started, she couldn't stop.

 

Rita pulled the diaper into place, and pinned it snugly.  Then she began to work the baby pants up Janis' legs.

 

“Lift your bum,” she commanded. 

 

Janis obeyed, and Rita wrestled the vinyl cover over the thick diaper.  It took but a few more moments for the heavy diaper cover to complete the ensemble.  When the lock clicked into place, Janis didn't even notice.

 

Rita helped her to sit up, but she did not let go of Janis' hands.  If anything, she tightened her grip.

 

“It would have been eight years ago that Ian's daughter went missing,” she murmured.  “Do you think that he's forgotten her?  Do you think that your parents would forget you?  Or would they go on, day after day after day, suffering the pain that poor man bears?  Is there anything worse than losing a child?”

 

“I guess not,” Janis whimpered, her eyes red and swollen.

 

“We're going to talk about this,” Rita added as she squeezed Janis's hands, wanting to offer her reassurance.  “And about how complicated your life has just become, because that man loves you.  In a very real sense, you are what he has been searching for all these years.”

 

Rita urged Janis to her feet, and reached for her dress.  For her part, Janis was wiggling her hips, trying to get used to the unusual bulk between her legs.

 

“In the beginning, you'll waddle like a toddler,” Rita warned, “but you'll get the hang of it soon enough.  And you'll also soon discover that wearing your toilet around your waist has its advantages.  At least, I'm assuming that the ladies rooms on campus are still the pig sties of old.”

 

“They're gross,” Janis agreed, “and I won't miss them!”

 

“Okay.  Finish getting dressed, and dry your eyes.  It's time for us to learn the truth.”

 

Arm in arm, Rita and Janis headed back down the corridor, for what in her heart Rita sensed would be her date with destiny.

 

THE CURTAIN RISES

 

Entering the conference room, Sarah braked to a halt in mid-stride, forcing Tippi to squeeze by her on the right.  She wasn't particularly surprised to see the whole of the Circle in attendance, but finding Ian seated between Vickie and the policewoman caused her to do a double take, and she didn't know what to make of the teenager seated next to Rita.

 

“You okay, Jannie?”  Tippi didn't have any idea what Janis Marsden was doing inside the Psych ward, but she knew that Janis was so timid that she would not resist electro-shock therapy if one of the shrinks insisted upon it.  For her part, Tippi would not be so easily intimidated.  Her mother had worked at the Minnesota Security Hospital in Saint Peter when it was known as the Asylum for the Dangerously Insane.  Tippi had heard many a hair-raising tale at the dinner table; her mother's sense of humor, she had concluded some years earlier, was seriously warped.

 

“Still getting used to my diaper,” Janis weakly grinned as she once again wriggled her hips.  “Tip, it looks like you need help with your wardrobe!”

 

“Amen to that,” Tippi blushed.  In Sarah's office, she had finally managed to pull her jeans up over the thick adult diaper, baby pants and canvas cover, but she couldn't fasten them, and she wasn't wearing a belt.  The only thing holding her pants up was a hair tie, which Sarah had found in one of her desk drawers.

 

“Janis, this is Sarah, my fiancee; Sarah, this is Janis Marsden … Marilyn's daughter, and a diaper thief extraordinaire!”  Ian had already introduced Janis to the rest of the Circle.

“Ladies,” he went on, “yonder stands Tippi Bjornsen, the truly cunning mastermind who thought up The Great Diaper Robbery, and carried it off with but one small hitch.  Tippi, I'm surprised to see you here; if all forty-one of you are coming up, we are going to need a bigger conference room!”

 

“I was about to find Tippi something more appropriate to wear,” Sarah objected, “when Rita called, told me to drop everything, and get it in gear.  Rather than send her back to the cafeteria with her diaper on display, I'd thought I'd bring her along.  Candy, you're about the same height, so I'm hoping that you have something in your locker that she can wear for now.”

 

“Better than what she's wearing,” Candy agreed, “but Tippi I have to warn you that there's no concealing the bulge caused by our diapers.  Even with a full skirt your diaper will be obvious.  I'm afraid that you are going to bring out the worst in some of your classmates.”

 

“Hazing,” Tippi shrugged.  “We're used to it.”

 

“Ian, I have a question for you, and I want the truth … no lies ...”

 

“Sarah ...”

 

“Not now, Rita.”  Sarah held up her hand to silence her friend, but never took her eyes off Ian.  “Yesterday afternoon, when returning from our shopping trip, I saw you on the telephone in the lobby … saw the two of you together.  What I saw leads me to ask: are you sleeping with her?”

 

“Have we made love, you mean?  Yes, Sarah, we have.”  Ian looked at her steadily, and there was no apology in his tone.  “And have we fallen in love?  Yes, we have.  My feelings for Priscilla are real, and they run deep … very deep.  But they in no way diminish my feelings for you, or Rita, or Vickie.  This is about addition, not subtraction.”

 

“And I believe you, Ian; I really do.  First me, then Vickie … Rita … and now Priscilla, all in less than a month.  Does any of this bother you?”

 

“That's a fair question,” Ian conceded, “and it deserves an honest answer.  If I was a 'butterfly' in the Asian sense-- a man who flits from one woman to the next-- it would certainly bother me.  But I'm not.  I love all four of you, Sarah, and I hope to have children with each of you.  That's why we're here … to talk about children.”

 

“Thank you, Ian.”  Sarah smiled for the first time since entering the room.  “The three of us badly want children, and we all want you to be the father.  Poor Rita here has been agonizing over how to broach the subject in the conversation the two of you were supposed to have this afternoon, but you've just taken an enormous weight off of all of our shoulders.  Thank you.”

 

Ian nodded, but chose to keep his mouth shut.  He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

“And who will you fall in love with tomorrow,” Sarah frowned.  “Will it be Tippi here?”  Sarah rested a hand upon the girl's shoulder.  “Until graduation, she will be working as a candy striper under my direction.  Since she's going to spend the next three years in a diaper and under lock and key, I'm debating asking her to take over changing your diapers when you're on campus.  But will you fall in love with her even if her diaper puts her out of reach?  Will you?”

 

“I don't know, Sarah, and that's also the truth.  I don't understand any of this.  Last night?  At the sorority house?  Suzie Marshall put me to bed, and she was tender and caring.  I like Suzie; she's attractive, intelligent, and passionate.  But I did not wake up this morning to find myself in love with her.  I'm not.  I meet lots of intelligent, attractive women on campus, and I don't fall in love with them just because they favor me with a smile.  It's scary, Sarah, not knowing how this works.  Believe me, if there's a pill that will put a stop to it, I'll take it … cheerfully!”

 

Laughter erupted all around the room.

 

“Ian,” Reiko offered when the laughter died down, “there is a pill that will suppress your libido, but it doesn't distinguish between the women you love and the women you don't.  Unfortunately, it's all or nothing-- and if you want to have children, it will have to be 'nothing'.”

 

“There is a practical solution,” Sarah added, “which the five of us will talk about in private, but therapy is also an option.  Having your emotions run wild this way … taking multiple lovers to fill something empty inside you … these point to a condition called BPD, or Borderline Personality Disorder.  It is treatable.”

 

“I'm not sure that's what we're dealing with,” Vickie opined, “but let's find out.  Ian, I want you to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and then let it go slowly.  As best you can, just relax.”

 

Ian happily obeyed.  He wanted to make love to Vickie so bad that it hurt.

 

“I want you to see yourself climbing the stairs, coming home at the end of a work day.  Put your key in the lock, but before you open the door, think about what lies beyond.  There's no one there, no one waiting for you.  Your apartment is empty and silent.  Now, open the door … step inside … turn and close the door … lock it.  How do you feel standing in the entryway, knowing that you won't leave the apartment until the following morning?  How do you feel?”

 

“Relieved,” Ian sighed.  “At peace.  What should I have to drink, and what sounds good for dinner?  Maybe I'll listen to some music while I'm cooking, then watch something on TV while I eat.  And I like to read before I go to sleep-- a mystery or a thriller.  A quiet night, away from the maddening crowd, away from the world and all its problems.  Recharge the batteries, get ready to do battle again tomorrow.”

 

“Sorry, Sarah!”  Reiko was gleeful.  “It's not BPD ...”

 

“Polyamory,” Vickie crowed as she affectionately patted Ian's knee.  “The tell is that he isn't falling in and out of love in serial fashion.  Nope.  He's gone and fallen in love with four of us in less than a month, and he's not letting go of any of us.  A textbook case of polyamory.”

 

“The more interesting question,” Marge thoughtfully observed, “is how the four of you all seem to be good with this communal vision.  Whatever happened to good, old fashioned female jealousy?”

 

“Three of us have been friends for a long, long time,” Rita noted in response.  “We've all worried about what would happen if one of us ran off and got married.  Would our friendship survive, or would we just drift apart?  All things considered, a polyamorous relationship with a nice guy who wants to have kids suits the three of us just fine.”

 

“And this policewoman,” Marge pressed.

 

“Indeed.”  Priscilla decided that the moment was at hand.  “Sarah, you just said that the five of us need to find a way to curb Ian's habit of falling in love once or twice a week ...”

 

“Three times,” Vickie chuckled.

 

“Are you counting me here,” Priscilla went on; “are you letting me in?”

 

“Yes, and I want you to be the last person to gain entrance.  And you will have to acknowledge me as head of household.  If this is going to work, someone has to be in charge, and the four of us are already in agreement that I'm the only one who's both able and willing.”

 

“Sarah, I still live with my parents, and my mother is most definitely the head of our household!”  Priscilla's smile was genuine.  “So, in principle, I'm fine with following your lead, but ...”

 

Priscilla and Ian shared a quick glance, both of them thinking about the revelations still to come.

 

“But maybe all five of us need to go see a shrink,” Ian awkwardly cut in.  “Or am I the only one who thinks that this whole conversation is sort of weird?”

 

“Uh, Ian … there are five shrinks in the room.”  Candy sympathized with Ian, who from her point of view was in way over his head.

 

“Polyamory is the subject of heated debate inside the profession,” Marge explained.  “Only about a third of us regard it as an illness to be addressed, and there is no course of treatment laid out for anyone to follow.”

 

Reiko clapped her hands in delight.  “It should be added that ours is a male dominated profession, and we ladies sometimes suspect that our male colleagues are envious of guys who can pull this off.  And it is a challenge, Ian, make no mistake about that!  Time management is a major league headache, especially if you are planning to have children with four women under one roof!  Do you get my meaning?”

 

Reiko also thought that poor Ian was in so far over his head that he couldn't tell which way was up, and which way was down.  He looked so confused!

 

“Uh … well … does anyone sell Spanish fly around here?”  Ian was seriously beginning to wonder whether he had stumbled into The Twilight Zone.  This was most definitely not how he had expected this conversation to go, and he was at a loss as to how to get it back on track.

 

“The other thing at a premium in a polyamorous household is effective communication,” Rita quietly added.  She was staring at him, making it clear that it was time to get down to business.  “Lies, misunderstandings … everything tends to be blown out of proportion, so we have to be honest with one another … honest without being hurtful.”

 

Rita gestured for Sarah and Tippi to take seats.

 

“Have you been honest with us, Ian,” Rita continued.  She already knew the answer, but not the why of it.

 

“Wrong,” Janis whispered to herself, staring down at the floor, fists clenched.

 

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” she suddenly cried out, surprising everyone in the room. 

 

“Why are you doing this,” she yelled at Rita.  “You say that you love him, but he's in so much pain, and now you're piling on.  Why?  Why don't you wait until he's ready, and let him tell the story his own way?

 

“Janis?” 

 

She looked up, surprised to see Professor Grady kneeling on the floor in front of her, reaching out to grasp her hands.  Her eyes went wide, glistening with fresh tears yet to fall.

 

“Thank you, Sweetie.”  The room was deathly silent, but Ian didn't notice, and wouldn't have cared anyway.  He had erupted from his seat, rushing to comfort her  “You're right; this hurts.  But sometimes, like now, we have to ignore the pain … fight through it.  Besides,” he said as he reached up gently to brush a stray lock of her hair aside, “if I fall, you and Priscilla are here to catch me, aren't you?”

 

“Uh huh,” she whispered.  “Both of us.”

 

Becky caught Rita's eye, and nodded meaningfully in Ian's direction, but everyone in the room could see it.

 

This was a father-daughter moment.

 

Priscilla's heart ached for the lonely little girl seated but a few feet away.   She didn't know Janis' father, but her mother was clearly a successful businesswoman.  Had they kicked Janis to the curb as they sat off in pursuit of their dreams?  Clearly, Ian and Marilyn were going to be having a heart to heart conversation at some point in the near future.

 

For her part, Vickie felt like she was watching the preview of a much heralded movie.  Will he be a good father?  On some level, it was a question that gnawed at every woman considering marriage and family.  Am I making the right choice?  Watching Ian take the girl so gently in hand, Vickie knew that she had chosen well.

 

“You're right, Janis, and I want to apologize to both of you.  It must have sounded like an accusation, but it wasn't.  I'm sorry.”

 

Mentally, Rita was kicking herself all around the room.  She had given a lot of thought to how best to raise the issue of children with Ian, only to have the proverbial rug yanked out from under her.  Janis was right; she was handling this very badly.

 

“There's a clock running here,” she explained to the room at large, “and time is short.  Some of what Ian is about to tell us may already be spreading around campus, and even in this building.  He wants us to hear it at first hand, not at second, and I agree with him. 

What remains to be decided is the level of detail that he should share.  Priscilla is warning us that some of this is really, really bad … literally, the stuff of nightmares.  And yes, I know that we all see ourselves as battle scarred therapists who've seen and heard it all, but I believe that we should take what an experienced police officer tells us very seriously.  So, Ian, for now I want you to gloss over the worst of it.  We'll go ahead and have our meeting this afternoon as scheduled, and there I want you to share everything with me.  I'll decide whether Vickie should hear it, or whether we need to get you a new therapist.  I expect you to abide by my decision.” 

 

Returning to his seat, Ian slowly nodded in agreement.  Donnie's background check had made it clear that Rita was a serious player, but the file on Vickie was thin.  John Lessing was a safe bet, but dropping him into this conversation could lead to questions that Ian was not prepared to answer.

 

“The photograph,” Ian asked.

 

“Do you want me to pass it around,” Rita asked as she removed it from the pocket of her smock.

 

“To Sarah first,” he instructed.  “But I want everyone to see it.”

 

Rita stood up, and slowly crossed to the opposite side of the room.  Visibly reluctant, she passed the aging photograph to Ian's fiancee.

 

Priscilla reached out to grasp Ian's hand.  She wanted him to know that he was not alone, and that she was going to help.

 

Frowning, Sarah studied the photograph, and then looked up at Ian.  Her lack of comprehension was written all over her face.  Silently, she passed the print to Tippi, who looked at it for a moment before passing it on.

 

“This was taken in the Spring of 1970.” Ian's gaze never wavered.  He was looking at Sarah, and only at Sarah, but he waited until the photograph came to Vickie.

 

Her first thought was that the woman was stunningly beautiful, and then she looked more closely, and saw the baby that Ian was cradling in his arms.

 

Their baby.

 

Ian's family.

 

The source of all the love and all the pain that so defined him.

 

She thought of the other photograph, still hanging on the cafeteria wall, and how fitting it would be for this photo to rest at its side.  Together, they explained so much.

 

“Nguyen is dead, Sarah … murdered while I was in the hospital.  Whoever did this massacred the entire village, although they spared the littlest children … took them.  I agree with my counterparts at Langley, and in other intelligence agencies around the world, that they were after my daughter … after Linh.  If she has inherited my peculiar gift, she would be incredibly valuable to the right party-- and incredibly dangerous if properly trained.”

 

“So, all the travel that is so curious ...”

 

Sarah blinked, looking for a refuge from the storm brewing in her mind.  Anything to avoid confronting the awful truth.

 

“You're a spy,” she finally declared.

 

“No,” Ian sighed.  “Not at all … just a guy who combines a very high security clearance with the ability to speak almost two hundred languages well enough to go out and do the meet and greets.  That's my primary function.  I talk to people; mostly, it's asking questions cooked up in some office at headquarters, and writing up the answers as a report when I get back.  I do evaluate character traits, but it's for others to pass judgment on whether the subject is worth our time and effort.  In return, the Agency uses its resources and connections to search for my daughter.  From Langley's point of view, she poses an unacceptable long-term risk to national security.  They want her back almost as badly as I do.”

 

“And if they find her?”

 

“I will raise her, and my niece Thu, and any others who have survived.  In the photos, it's … it's hard to tell how many were taken.”

 

Priscilla squeezed Ian's hand hard, silently warning him not to go any farther.

 

“Sarah, I want you … the three of you to take your time, and examine your feelings about this … and to be honest with yourselves.  I'm placing a heavy burden at your feet, and there's no shame in saying that you can't lift it … no shame in walking away.  Please, just be honest.”

 

“Ian, I don't understand: why did you wait until now to drop this in our laps?  Why didn't you tell us sooner?  For God's sake, we're engaged to be married in less than a month!”

 

“I couldn't.  Sarah, since sixty-eight my whole life has been classified, at a level so high that only four men in the whole government can break the seals on my file.  Helping Phil and Don ended up wrecking my cover, so yesterday one of the four didn't stop at simply authorizing me to talk about this-- he ordered me to do so.  The people that matter understand now that they destroyed my marriage to Emily.  I was never authorized to tell her the truth, and we drowned in all the lies and half-truths that I was forced to fabricate.  My friends want this marriage to work.  I'm retiring, Sarah, because there are no shadows left out there for me to hide in.  Quite simply, my usefulness in the field is pretty much at an end; it's time for me to come home.”

 

“Which is what we all want you to do.”  Rita had been listening carefully, and she was having trouble putting all the pieces together.  “Ian, I can tell you right now that I will welcome your daughter and your niece with open arms, and love them as if they were my own ...”

 

“Here, here,” Vickie whispered, leaning her head on Ian's shoulder.

 

“And I'm good with foster care,” Rita continued.

 

“At law,” Candy cut in, “there's a difference between a foster home and an orphanage.  It's a matter of numbers.  We run into this problem a lot when placing abused children taken away from their parents.  The system is so crowded that we sometimes have no choice but to split up siblings.  Tragedy on top of tragedy,” she sighed.

 

“We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it,” Ian countered.  “I want to circle back to the here and now … to the children that I'm hoping to have with you, and how much it's going to cost you if we keep going.  Friendship is in play here, but it is also very much in the Agency's long-term interest to support us.”

 

Ian paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers.

 

The perfect analogy!

 

“Has anyone here ever heard of the Defense Language Institute, out in California?”

 

The girls all shook their heads.      

     

“It's where the military send people to master a foreign language.  Courses run thirty six to sixty four weeks.  You're in class seven hours a day, five days a week, with two to three hours of homework tacked on each night.  So, they're budgeting eighteen to thirty two hundred hours per pupil-- to learn one language.  Want to learn both Japanese and Korean?  That's a pair of sixty four week courses; when I was a kid, I mastered each of them in less than five weeks, and I was self-taught.  In high school, it took me a weekend to achieve fluency in Romanian.”

 

Ian leaned back in his chair, and let out a deep sigh.  “Sarah, in the near future I have to go to Athens, to meet someone in Soviet intelligence.  We're going to do some horse trading, but the Director would like all four of you to come with me.  He'll even foot the bill for a honeymoon in the Greek isles, and it just so happens that I have a friend who runs a charming little hotel on Santorini.  Zorzis won't blink an eye when asked to make the necessary arrangements for a party of five. “

 

“I'm going,” Priscilla announced; “just to keep Ian out of trouble!” She nudged him with her elbow, relieved to see that he had steered the conversation onto safe ground.

 

“Ask yourselves,” Ian went on; “why would the Director be encouraging us to set up a household that would shock the average citizen?”

 

“Like my Dad,” Priscilla laughed.  “He thinks that I'm joining a hippie commune, and that our kids will all think they've got four mommies!”

 

“Let me guess,” Becky scowled.  “If any of your children inherit this 'gift' … or maybe it's a curse?  The CIA will want you to raise them to take your place, and save everybody a lot of time and money in the process.”

 

“That's it in a nutshell,” Ian agreed.  “And having let my daughter slip through their fingers, the Agency will go to elaborate lengths to keep the four of you and the children safe.  It's already started-- Priscilla is going to do the embassy security course at Quantico to qualify her to head the staff that will be assigned to us.”

 

“Staff?  Ian, I have my heart set on buying my dream home out on Lake Minnetonka … for us, Ian … for us and our children!  What is this about staff?”  Rita was genuinely upset, and it showed.

 

“I'm sorry, Rita, but the Agency will choose a property for us, and it will do so with an eye to minimizing risk.  At the very least, they will want a secure room inside the house in which you and the children can shelter if someone attacks, and a free fire zone surrounding the house.  Think grounds without cover behind which an enemy force can hide.  Priscilla will be in charge of the inner security ring, while another agent will be responsible for the grounds and approaches to the property.  Security will be 24/7, like with the Secret Service and the President.”

 

“So, we'd be living in a glorified cage,” Sarah sneered, “and taking orders from this woman.”  She nodded at Priscilla.

 

“You would still be running the household, Sarah; Priscilla would take over only in the event of an emergency.  As for living in a glorified cage?  Sure, if you want, I guess that you could describe the White House or Buckingham Palace that way.  But the security detail isn't going to cook your meals, or change a baby's diapers.  Their job is to keep us safe, and they can't do that if we integrate them into the household.  We are talking apples and oranges here.”

 

“And this goes on for how long?  Until they grow up, and run off to attend Spy School, or whatever you call it?”

 

“Well, we call it Harvard, Princeton, or Stanford,” Ian smiled.  “One or the other is where all the best spies finish up after they graduate high school.”

 

“You've given us a lot to think about, Ian.”  Vickie patted his arm affectionately while she searched for words that would blunt the simmering anger that threatened to erupt at any moment.  Rita was visibly upset, Sarah disgusted, and Becky seriously pissed. “What you're describing isn't the White House, and it isn't a cage.  It sounds more like life in a fishbowl.  Is there anything else that you think we need to know?”

 

“No, I guess not.  I have to believe that I'm going to get my daughter back.  Raising her … the loss of privacy … that's what it all comes down to.”

 

Ian stood up, and Priscilla stood up with him.  She looked around the room.

 

“I'm here to stay,” she concluded in a calm but absolutely certain tone.  “If you can't pay the price, we'll understand … and we'll face the future together.”

 

“Janis, it's time to take you home.”  Ian reached out for her.

 

“Here are the keys to her diaper cover,” Rita said as she belatedly stood up.  “She's to leave one on Marcia's desk; the other three are for the house mom.”

 

“And these are for Tippi's cover,” Sarah added as she pushed three of the keys into Ian's hand.  “After we get her more properly dressed, she'll rejoin you in the cafeteria.”

 

“I'd like to keep the photograph, and pin it alongside the other one.”  Vickie was still holding the aging print in her hand.  “You have a lot of friends here, and they deserve to know what happened out there.”

 

Ian simply nodded, then reached for Janis' hand.  He would return in the afternoon, sit down with Rita, and let her decide how to proceed with his therapy.  But for now he had a family to look after, another village to protect.

 

As he left the ward he prayed that, this time, he would get it right.

 

MARSHALLING THE FORCES

 

“Holy cow,” Ian exclaimed as they reentered the cafeteria.  The quiet facility that they had departed little more than half an hour earlier was now bustling with activity.

 

“It looks like Gayle and Marcia summoned reinforcements,”  Priscilla noted.  There were at least a dozen more nurses processing applications from the sorority girls, and the impromptu interviews were being carried out in every corner of the hall.

 

“Janis,” Marcia Mason yelled; “get over here!”

 

Excusing herself, Janis toddled across the room, the thick diaper sealed between her thighs dramatically altering her stride.

 

“Janis, I need you to get up to Four, grab a cart, then get down to Supply.  We need a hundred diapers, a hundred pairs of vinyl pants, sizes small, medium and large, and fifty of the canvas diaper covers.  You know where everything is, right?”

 

Wide-eyed, Janis nodded.  She was being put to work!

 

“Make more than one trip if you need to, but drag everything back upstairs-- and give this note to Sylvia!  When you're finished, hustle back down here; I need you to take the girls upstairs and help Sylvie get them into their diapers!”

 

“Yes, Ma'am,” Grabbing the note, Janis toddled off in the direction of the nearest elevator.

 

“And don't mix up the keys to the covers,” Marcia yelled at Janis' retreating back.  Seeing Janis safely underway, Marcia resumed her interview with Amanda Cunningham, which looked promising since Amanda seemed only too happy to work a seven to ten PM slot that no one else wanted.

 

“Ian … Priscilla … it's good to have you both back!”  Taking it upon herself to supervise the chaos, Bernice had been efficiently directing the girls to one table or another for their interviews.  “How did it go?”

 

“About as well as expected,” Ian laughed; “which is to say … not well at all.”

 

“A palpable sense of betrayal,” Priscilla added, “inevitably seasoned with anger and resentment.”

 

Ian nodded.  “Rita called the whole team into the conference room, and gave me the floor.   They handled the news about my daughter well enough, but it went downhill from there.”

 

And that's putting it mildly.  No one was thrilled at the prospect of raising our children in a fortress with armed guards patrolling the premises twenty four hours a day ...

 

“All of them?”

 

“I'm pretty sure that Vickie's on board, but we may well lose Sarah and Rita.”

 

“That's how I see it as well,” Priscilla agreed.

 

“Well, if the two of you need a place to bed down,” Bernice smiled, “you're welcome to stay with me as long as you like.”

 

“And if it's three of us,” Ian teased.

 

“It won't be the first time three people have bedded down in the guest room,” Bernice laughed, “although it would be the first time that I hosted a menage a trois!”

 

“You need to talk to my Mom,” Priscilla grinned.  “The three of us, and my Dad, are going out tonight and getting drunk … a genuine, old fashioned drinking contest.  My Mom's tagging along to pick up the pieces, but she hasn't sorted out who's sleeping where.  I don't care about the where, so long as Ian and I end up sharing a bed.”

 

“When we get back to the house, I'll give you a key.  Just be quiet when you sneak in!”

 

“Thanks, Mom; it's good to know that you're on our side.”  Ian was immensely relieved to learn that, if everything went sideways with Sarah, he wouldn't have to camp out in his office.

 

Bernice gave him a long, appraising look.  “Mom,” she simply asked.

 

“Sorry; it just slipped out.”  Ian flushed with embarrassment.

 

“No, don't be sorry.”  Bernice turned wistful.  “My husband and I … we eloped when he got his induction notice, but there wasn't enough time for me to get pregnant … although we did try.”  She smiled at the memory; as honeymoons went, theirs had been a good one.

 

“I'd like to think that, if we had had a son, he would have turned out much like you.  And I'd very much like for you to go on thinking of me as 'Mom'.”

 

Bernice opened her arms, and Ian didn't hesitate even for a moment.  He hugged her in return.  He missed his mom.  Being held by Bernice brought home to him just how badly he missed both of his parents.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“How do I look?”

 

Tippi was twisting back and forth in front of the mirror, but she couldn't get a sense of how her butt would appear to anyone walking directly behind her.

 

“Like a teenager wearing a bulging diaper,” Candy good naturedly laughed.  “A teenager of indeterminate sex,” she added.  “Sorry, Tippi, but you are one of the few androgynous individuals I have ever encountered.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Tippi sighed.  “In high school, it became abundantly clear to me that my sex appeal is zero.  Guys had only one use for my mouth, and it didn't involve kissing.  One senior even told me outright that kissing me would be like kissing another boy!”

 

“I was thinking in clinical terms,” Candy elaborated.  “What's your height and weight?”

 

“I'm five ten, and sopping wet … maybe a hundred and five pounds.”

 

“Tippi, you are seriously underweight; at a minimum, you should weigh about one thirty five.  With a BMI this low, you shouldn't even think about having a baby without consulting an OB/GYN first.  The risk, both to you and the baby, would be severe.”

 

“I know!  When I was sixteen?  My mom was so concerned that she switched me from my pediatrician to our regular family doctor-- and the first thing he did was send me to a specialist.  Doctor Royce didn't pull any punches.”

 

“Did they send you to a dietitian, or a therapist?  Check for an eating disorder?”

 

“Sure.  I don't have any food allergies, and I eat everything put in front of me.  But I can't gain weight!  And you don't know how hard I've tried!  I want to have boobs and hips,” Tippi choked; “I want to look like everybody else!  I want to meet a guy like Professor Grady … a guy who'll love me.  And I want to have a baby … a child of my own.  If I can't?  If I can't, then I'm useless!  Just take me out and shoot me!”

 

Tippi started to cry, finally releasing the tears that had been welling up inside of her for so long.

 

Candy wrapped her arms around the trembling child, hugged her tight, and stood quietly while her tears freely flowed.  She would have to run it by Rita, and get together with Sarah to go over scheduling, but Candy had already decided to take Tippi Bjornsen under her wing.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Ian!  Over here!”

 

Ian slipped out of Bernice's grasp, and saw Gayle Soderberg waving to him from across the room. 

 

“Can I put you to work,” she shouted.

 

Nodding, he strolled over to find out what was going on.

 

“I've got staff here from just about every unit in the hospital,” she explained;  “I'm trying to speed up the interview process so that we can get the girls into their diapers and send all of you on your way.  I need you to go to my office, which is just down the corridor from the reception desk in the main lobby.  Ask Sammy to give you a hundred lanyards-- two for each set of keys to the locking diaper covers.  If they get mixed up, we'll have a gigantic mess on our hands, and I mean that literally!”

 

“Amen to that,” Ian grinned.  If they had a poopy diaper in hand but no way to get at it, the mess would indeed be spectacular.  “I'm on my way!”

 

“And ask Sammy to hook you up with Crummy.  He can put you in touch with the company that manufacturers our diapers.  Do you know how many the service will need?”

 

“No, but I'll call Harriet Belmondo for an estimate.  What about the vinyl pants and the diaper covers?”

 

“Talk to Crummy.  We can tide you over, but consider it a loan, not a gift.  We can sell you ours at a discount, or she can buy directly from the suppliers … and no, I don't know the wholesale price for any of this.  That's Crummy's department.”

 

“Sammy and Crummy,” Ian repeated.

 

“Try and get back before Janis returns.  And bring a black marker pen!”

 

As Ian hurried off, Gayle followed him with her eyes for a moment, then focused on the interviewee currently sitting across the table.  With a CPR certificate in hand and two summers as a lifeguard on one of the busiest beaches in the Twin Cities, Linda was a dream candidate.  Charge nurses in at least four departments would cheerfully compete for her services, which made Gayle's job a whole lot easier.

 

“How I would love to hire that man,” she murmured, as much to herself as to Linda.  “Fluent Vietnamese, Khmer, Lao … and who knows how many other languages that we need help with ...”

 

“Right now, he's teaching Korean and Japanese.”  Linda had done two tours of duty in the corridor outside the Professor's office, keeping the poachers at bay.

 

“How I would love to hire that man,” she whispered yet again as she studied Linda's upcoming class schedule, trying in her mind to find the best fit for the girl  in the sprawling and often confusing universe of the hospital complex.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Deep in thought, Suzie was visibly irritated when someone knocked on the door.

 

“What,” she yelled out.

 

Jennifer Strickland knew that voice … everyone in the house knew that voice.  It screamed: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!  She opened the door just wide enough to stick her head in, but not wide enough for her body to follow.

 

“Excuse me, Ma'am, but there's a man here … from a diaper service.  He says that he's supposed to pick up a bunch of diapers from the ZAP house, but there's no one home.  A note on the door instructed him to come here.”

 

Jennifer quickly retreated, not sure whether the exasperated house mom would fire a missile in her direction or not.

 

For her part, Suzie got up from her desk and walked into the closet.  There was a key locker fastened to the back wall, with a combination lock.  She opened it, collected the right key, and stormed out of the room.

 

Jennifer had the good sense to stand meekly to the side, and follow in Suzie's train.

 

“And you are,” she growled at the man standing in her doorway.  He was about her age, a little taller perhaps, wearing a uniform sporting the Lullaby Diaper Service monogram.

 

“Ken Howell … and no, I'm not related to Thurston, and I don't howl at the moon. Not even on paydays.”

 

“But you,” he added with a leer, “have got Ginger and Mary Ann beat any day of the week.   If you want to go ice fishing, I have a house out on Forest Lake.  It's very cozy.”

 

“Seriously?”  Suzie favored him with a look that she normally reserved for the Dean.  “As pick up lines go, that's pretty lame.  Does it ever work?”

 

“Only in the last hour before closing,” Ken replied with a confident grin; “and only in certain bars of my acquaintance.  I'd take you to Meister's, out in Scandia; you look like a lady who'd appreciate the best bacon cheeseburger in the state!”

 

“With fried onions and house made hash browns grilled in butter and topped with melted cheese?”

 

“You've been there?”

 

“Are you kidding?  I worked tables there for two summers! I was born and raised in Scandia!  Graduated Forest Lake High.  Alas, my boyfriend moved to 'Vegas, leaving me to fend for myself at the U … four long, lonely years ...”

 

Behind her, Suzie could hear Jennifer helplessly giggling.

 

Suzie glanced down the street, confirming that there was indeed a brightly painted diaper service truck parked in ZAP's driveway.

 

“Jennifer,” she ordered as she whirled about and forced the key into the girl's hand, “let this gentleman into the house, and help him get the diapers into his truck.  If any of the frat boys are standing around gawking, put them to work!”

 

“Yes, Ma'am!”  Jennifer was hard pressed not to respond with a curtsey.

 

“One last thing,” Suzie declared.  “You've now got forty-one new customers in that house.  What is your delivery day?”

 

“Thursday afternoons … did you say forty-one new customers … for adult diapers?” Ken blanched.

 

“That's right,” Suzie smirked, knowing that she had finally put the insolent delivery man in his place.

 

“But at three to four dozen diapers weekly … that's … that's ...”

 

Ken was running the numbers through his head.

 

“Roughly fifteen hundred to two thousand diapers a week.”  Suzie had already done the math, and she delighted in knocking the delivery guy down a peg or two.  Faculty material Ken Howell (no relation to Thurston) definitely was not.

 

“But we don't have near enough adult diapers to service such an order.  It's bigger than our largest nursing home account!”

 

“Not a problem, I assure you.  Professor Grady will sprinkle a bit of faerie dust, wave his magic wand, and the diapers will suddenly appear!”

 

“Oh, that guy.  Yeah, he's one of our customers down in Bloomington.  Harriet, my boss, has a serious crush on him.”

 

“Really?  Well, the two of us will talk about it when we get together on Saturday night.”

 

“You … you know my boss,” the delivery driver gulped.

 

“And when I see her, I'll be sure and mention how polite you've been … and how efficient.  Now, why don't you run along and get all those diapers out of Bernice Miller's dining room, and back where they belong.”

 

“Yes, Ma'am!”  Ken didn't curtsey, but he did bow.

 

“So easy,” Suzie whispered as the driver rushed off to do her bidding.  “So easy.”

 

Suzie returned to her office to await a call from the hospital.  She had the weak-minded fool currently occupying the presidential mansion down on East River Road by the short hairs.

 

And if Ian cooperated, she intended to squeeze hard.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Ian found Gayle's office without difficulty, but it nevertheless took him by surprise.  He was expecting the reception area to be spacious and richly furnished, a harbinger of things to come for those fortunate enough to be granted admission to the inner sanctum hidden behind a stout, oak door.

 

What awaited him was a cheaply decorated chamber about the size of a hotel room.  A utilitarian desk and chair, currently occupied by a raven haired beauty in her mid-twenties, was flanked by a row of gunmetal filing cabinets to her left, and a threadbare couch and end table to her right.  The lampshade dominating the table looked like a refugee from Goodwill.

 

Wonder, Ian thought, if the two wooden chairs facing the desk were salvaged from a  trash heap.  What a dump!

 

“Can I help you?”  The young lady behind the desk was coolly professional.

 

“Uh … hi,” he stammered.  “Um … Gayle … uh, Missus Soderberg … she sent me here to collect a hundred lanyards and a black marker pen.  Is Sammy around?”

 

“I'm Samantha,” the young lady announced.  “And you are?”

 

“Professor Grady … Ian Grady.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Samantha smiled.  She glanced down at Ian's waist, and pursed her lips as she took in the bulk of his all too obvious diaper.  “Your reputation precedes you.  It's an honor to meet you at last.”

 

“Delighted.”

 

It was the best that Ian could manage.

 

“Now, what's this about a hundred lanyards?”

 

“Well,” Ian blushed, “I've got forty-one sorority girls in the cafeteria, being interviewed for jobs as candy stripers.  They're all going to be wearing the … uh … the same diaper that I'm wearing, and it'll be locked on … uh … just like mine ...”

 

Get a grip, Grady!  Just because she's got Lauren Bacall's eyes …

 

Samantha lowered her gaze a second time, lingering over the bulk imprisoning the Professor's loins.  “Go on,” she ordered.

 

“Uh … we don't want the keys to get mixed up, so we're going to fasten each set to a lanyard with the girl's name on the tag.”

 

“Hence the black marker pen,” Samantha smiled, finally raising her eyes to meet Ian's.

 

When Samantha stood up and walked around the desk, Ian gulped.  She had an hour glass figure, and her knee length skirt showed off her trim legs to their maximum advantage. 

 

“Do you want me to change your diaper,” she asked.

 

“Huh?”  Ian shook his head to clear the cobwebs.  He would have sworn that she had asked about changing his diaper.

 

“I said, do you need a folder to carry the lanyards?”  Samantha had opened one of the filing cabinets, but she was giving him an odd look.  She wondered whether the Professor was high on something.

 

Focus!  Get your head out of the clouds!

 

“Oh, yes, please,” Ian smiled as he made a determined effort to regain his composure.  “And I also need to get in touch with Crummy, in purchasing.  Gayle said that you would have his number.”

 

“Of course,” she answered as she dug into the filing cabinet.  She came out with a cardboard box filled with lanyards, which she carried back to the desk.  It only took her a couple of minutes to count out the hundred, and place them in a large manila envelope.

 

“Jerry Cromwell is in charge of purchasing,” she stipulated as she wrote her colleague's name and telephone number on a notepad.  “Would you like me to call him for you?”

 

Samantha's tone made it unmistakably clear that she wasn't sure whether Ian knew how to use a telephone.  He was behaving like a space cadet, which struck her as pretty much the norm for college professors.

 

“Actually, I need to call my diaper service first,” he blushed.  “I'll need to speak with the manager.”

 

“I'll make the call.”  Samantha opened a bottom drawer, extracted a copy of the Minneapolis Yellow Pages, and opened it to the right page.

 

“Lullaby,” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Lullaby,” Ian agreed.  “Oh, and ask for Harriet Belmondo.”

 

“Of course,” Samantha murmured as she dialed the number.

 

“Harriet Belmondo, please.”  She continued to stare at Ian with unblinking eyes.

 

“Miss Belmondo?  Right, let me pass you to Professor Grady.”  She gave Ian the phone.

 

“Ian?  Hi!  Julia's here.  She tells me that we have forty-one new adult customers … the sorority girls.  I don't have enough diapers!”

 

“That's why I'm calling,” Ian soothed.  “Do you know how many diapers you'll need to beef up your inventory?  These hospital diapers are really thick, so I don't know how many changes the girls will need on any given day.”

 

“We're thinking an initial order of thirty-five diapers a week per customer, so let's round it up to fifteen hundred diapers.  And they'll need baby pants!”

 

“Gayle Soderberg, who's in charge of Patient Relations here, will help us out short-term, but I need to talk to the Purchasing Department.  She says that we can buy used from the hospital and get a discount, or buy direct from the suppliers at wholesale.  I'll get quotes both ways, and get back to you”

 

“Fantastic!  Can you hang on for a sec?  Julia wants to speak with you.”

 

“Did you … uh … cross the Rubicon?”   Julia figured that enough time had passed for  Ian to have had his reckoning.

 

“It was a raging river, but it's in my rear view mirror.  It's going to take time for all of us to process what happened.”

 

“But Pris stayed the course?”

 

“She did, and so did Vickie.  They seem drawn to one another, so don't be surprised if you come out of this with a second daughter.”

 

“We'd like that, Herb and I both.  Now, one last bit of good news: we've recovered your homing device.  I'll bring it along to the bar this evening.”

 

After Julia hung up, Ian turned back to Samantha, who informed him that Crummy had an office inside the mammoth warehouse on the basement level.  After a quick detour to the cafeteria to offload the lanyards, this would be his next destination.  He just hoped that his diaper would hold up until he was safely returned to the cozy confines of his own office.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“A hundred adult diapers!”  The young clerk glared at Janis, looked down at the order form, and then looked at her anew.  “And a hundred vinyl pants … and fifty of the locking covers!  What the hell is this about?  Are you converting Four into a geriatric ward or something?”

 

“No … no,” Janis stuttered.  “Marcia Mason sent me down to collect these.  Why, is there … is there a problem?” 

 

“Oh, we can fill the requisition,” he sneered, “but I need to know whether this is daily or weekly, a one-off or a scheduled order.  The only department in the building that does this kind of a draw down on the inventory is the Psych ward.”

 

“I'm not sure,” Janis confessed.  “Marcia and Gayle are interviewing the sorority girls who went around stealing diapers … trying to fit them in as candy stripers.  We all … that is … they all have to wear and use diapers until they graduate.  That's part of the sentence: no diapers, no probation.”

 

“Hey!  You said 'we'.  You one of the diaper thieves?”  He looked down at her dress, but he couldn't detect a bulge.

 

“Are you wearing one now,” he pushed.

 

“Yeh … yes,” Janis blushed.

 

“Cool!  Can I see?”

 

“See what?”

 

“Your diaper, Silly.  Your diaper!”

 

Blushing furiously, Janis lifted the hem of her dress just enough to give him a glimpse of the canvas cover.

 

“Cool,” the now wide-eyed clerk repeated.  “Totally cool!”

 

“You … you like the fact that I'm wearing a diaper?”  Janis was mystified by his reaction.

 

“It's hot!  I mean … you know … it's hot, but it's totally cool.  Can you dig it?”

 

“Dig what?”  Janis was way beyond lost and nowhere near found.

 

“Your diaper!  Don't you dig it?  You're wearing a diaper!”

 

“Yes, and I'm trapped!  I have to use it for number one, and number two!”

 

“Awesome … totally, freaking awesome!  Hey, when I get off work?  Do you want to go smoke some weed?  I've got a stash of Colombian that is outta sight!”

 

“Wait … wait, you want to go out with me because I'm wearing a diaper?”

 

“Absolutely!  I mean, sure … you're freaking awesome, and it's so totally cool!”

 

“Um … I've never tried pot … my parents ...”

 

“Your parents?  That's, like, totally lame.  Parents!”

 

“Uh, okay … uh … what's your name?”

 

“Elvis.  You know?  Like Costello?”

 

“Sure.  Can I think about it?  I mean … right now I have to collect these supplies …”

 

“Cool.  Do you know where everything's stashed?”

 

“Absolutely!  I've done this before.”

 

“Cool!  Well, let me know if you need any help.”

 

“Thanks, Elvis!”  Janis manufactured what she hoped was a convincing smile.  “I'll wave to you on the way out!”

 

“Cool,” Elvis leered as Janis pushed her cart deeper into the warehouse.  She was walking just like a toddler.

 

“Cool,” he repeated as she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

 

“Totally cool.”    

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