Civilian

Chapter 61: Moving Home

Friday, January 22, 1982

The time was over to dance around it. Marilyn and I needed to figure out what we were doing with the rest of our lives, or at least the near future. Neither of us was thrilled with staying in Fayetteville. She wanted to move somewhere more north of here; I wanted to get away from the Army. That part of my life was over, no matter what else I did. Even my deposit on the house in Lawton was gone, it had been nonrefundable.

We had lunch at a small diner near the base. Marilyn dug into her voluminous baby bag and dug out a bottle, and we took turns holding it for Charlie. Otherwise, he was a good boy, and quiet. That would undoubtedly change! We ordered sandwiches for ourselves, and Marilyn reached across the table to take my hand. “Carl, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why you felt you had to serve in the army, but I’m proud of you.”

I smiled at my wife. “But you’re not sorry I’m out of it, either, are you?”

She smiled back and squeezed my hand. “No, but not as much as you think. It was what you wanted, and that was okay with me. If you can’t be in it anymore, I won’t complain, but I didn’t complain when you were in, either.”

I laughed. “Oh, really? I seem to recall a message I got in Honduras about a future homicide!”

Marilyn laughed, too, causing our son to gurgle and look around for her. “Well, the next time you leave me alone to have a baby, I’ll make good on that!”

The waitress brought our sandwiches, and I stole Marilyn’s pickle and gave her my cole slaw. The waitress chatted with Marilyn and Charlie for a moment, and then went off. “So now what do we do?” asked my wife.

“I guess the first thing is to figure out where to move to. I’ve been thinking about it and more than ever, I think we should at least consider Maryland. It’s where Tusker and Tessa and Suzie live, and also where my investment base is.”

“Explain that.”

“Well, the names were in that envelope you weren’t supposed to open. There’s my lawyer, John Steiner, who I’ve known since I was thirteen, and my broker, Missy Talmadge, and Jake Eisenstein, my accountant. They all live in the Timonium and Towson area.”

“I still find that so hard to believe!”

“I’ll introduce you to them. Even if we end up in Kansas, you should know them,” I replied.

“Why would we go to Kansas?”

Marilyn could be a bit literal at times. “I’m just saying, no matter where we end up, you should meet them.”

She nodded. “Given any more thought to what you want to do?”

“No. Maybe after we talk to the brain trust I’ll have an idea. It’s not like I’m under any pressure. Even at a 10 % return on my investments, which would be low, I’ll be making at least $3 or $4 million a year. Probably more — there are a number of opportunities coming up.”

Marilyn’s eyes glazed over a bit. “Three or four million dollars! A year?! Oh my God! I guess you won’t have to ask my father for a job after all!”

I damn near snorted my Coke out through my nose when she said that. “Good Lord, no! Besides, your dad thinks I’m a loser. He thinks I went into the Army because I couldn’t get a real job!”

Marilyn made a face, as if conceding my point, but she tried to be a dutiful daughter and defend her father. “He’s not that bad!”

“Well, just don’t tell him too much about my money. I don’t need him thinking that the next time he needs a loan he can call us! My terms would be worse than the bank’s! No, I’m not going to work for your father.”

She giggled. “That probably wouldn’t work out too well anyway.”

“No. So, here’s my idea. Why don’t we move back to Maryland, and get an apartment for a year. I can show you some rural areas and if you like them, I’ll build you a house. How does that sound?”

Her eyes goggled a bit. “You’ll build a house?”

“Well, no, not me. I’ll hire an engineer or architect or somebody to build a house.” She simply stared in disbelief some more. “So, what would you like in a house? Start thinking about it.”

“I’ve never even thought about building a house. What do I do?”

I shrugged. “Next time you’re at the supermarket, buy one of those house design type books and look through it. Get some ideas. It probably won’t happen until the spring, anyway.”

“Wow!”

After lunch, we drove home. I was starting to be able to move well enough that it didn’t hurt very much, though not for long distances or drives. I had also discovered that wearing a heavy Ace bandage on my knee seemed to lock all the pieces into the right position, and made my knee a lot more stable.

Charlie had fallen asleep on the drive home, and Marilyn put him in his crib. She found me afterwards standing in front of the mirror over the dresser, looking at my reflection, still in my uniform with the Bronze Star on my chest. It felt weird; after I took it off I would never wear it again. Marilyn came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me from the side. “I don’t think I have ever told you just how handsome you are in your uniform.”

I laughed at that. “I think you must be blind, then. Nobody has ever used my name and the adjective ‘handsome’ in the same sentence.”

“It’s true,” she cooed into my ear. “Why, when we got married, and I saw you standing there in your dress uniform, my pussy got so wet I was worried about staining my dress!” She brought her hand down from my waist and began rubbing the front of my pants. “I always get so hot when I see you looking so good!”

My mouth got dry and my pants got tight! She kept whispering to me, and said, “That medal says you’re an official hero, so I think you need to be thanked like a hero, don’t you?”

I just nodded, and croaked out, “Yeah!”

She licked my ear and then knelt down on the floor. I turned to face her, and Marilyn undid my pants and pulled them and my briefs down to my knees. Then she opened her mouth, and I was inside her, while she used her hands to stroke and jack my cock. “Oh, God, don’t stop!” I begged. Stopping wasn’t what she had in mind! Marilyn kept sucking and jacking me until I pumped a load into her mouth. She drained me, and then smiled up at me.

“I think that’s a good start, don’t you?”

“A start?” I asked, leaning back against the dresser and taking the weight off my bad knee.

“Well, I think heroes need a really big thank you! Why don’t you change out of your uniform, and I’ll change into something a little more comfortable, and I’ll show you what I have in mind.”

“Uh, yeah, okay!” You bet, honey! Whatever you want!

I finished undressing and pulled on some shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, commando style. I looked into the bathroom at that point and Marilyn was in the shower. “Want to make some drinks?” she asked.

“Gin and tonics all right?”

“Thank you.”

I left my cane in the bedroom and limped down to the kitchen, which is where we kept our rather informal liquor cabinet. I cut up a lime and pulled out the tonic, and then made a couple of strong drinks. I carefully carried them back down the hallway to the bedroom. “Where do you want it?”

“In here, on the counter,” she answered. I stepped into the bathroom, but she was still in the shower. “Now, shoo! Go on out to the living room. I’m going to be a while,” I was told.

I headed to the living room, and sank down in the La-Z-Boy. I sipped at my gin and tonic and waited for my wife to show up. Please, God, let Charlie have a long, long nap! I had finished my drink when Marilyn showed up.

It was worth the wait. Marilyn came out wearing a criminally short denim skirt that had a row of tiny snaps up the front, mostly unsnapped, and a halter top that wasn’t much more than a bikini top. She also had on some very nice high-heeled sandals. She sauntered over and held up her empty glass. “Care for another drink?” She bent over and picked up my empty glass and flashed me a lot of cleavage.

She headed for the kitchen slowly, really throwing her hips around as she moved out. I struggled to my feet and followed her, just to watch. She smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” so I leaned against the door and let her do it. She made it a work of art! At one point she rubbed an ice cube over her throat and chest. “It’s so hot!” she complained. Then she dropped the ice cube on the floor. To pick it up, she turned away from me, spread her legs, and then bent at the waist, to pick it up. She must have spent some time in the shower shaving! When she was done with the drinks, she told me to head back out and sit down, and she would carry our drinks.

As soon as I had sat down in my chair, Marilyn crawled onto my lap and sat sideways, completely exposing her freshly shaved pussy to me. She sipped her drink for a moment, but then wrapped her arms around my neck and began licking and nibbling my neck. “You made me so hot and wet today,” she whispered. “It made me want to do things, nasty things, naughty things. Do you like how my pussy looks? I shaved it for you.”

“It looks delicious!” I told her.

“Well, you hold that thought for later. Maybe after Charlie goes to bed tonight. Right now I have something else in mind. Do you want to know what else I did in the bathroom?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“I touched myself, you know, down there. I was trying to take care of things myself, but it just didn’t work. It just made me hotter and wetter! Here, see for yourself!” She took my hand and pushed it down between her legs.

She was right, she was hot and wet! I fingered her to a quick orgasm while she wrapped her arms around me and shuddered. As soon as I stopped, Marilyn climbed off my lap and quickly undid my pants. I was pointing skyward and she crawled back onto me, straddling my thighs, and sank down onto me. I peeled her top up and off her tits and we screwed there in the La-Z-Boy until I blew another load into her.

“I don’t know what’s come over you, but I sure like it!” I laughed. I was breathing hard and needed another shower from sweating so hard.

Marilyn giggled at that. “Well, since you’ll be home all the time now, I have to figure out a way to keep you busy!”

“I may need to get a job just to keep from being fucked to death,” I responded. “Hell of a way to go, though!”

“I love you so much!”

Charlie took that moment to wail and announce his presence. We laughed at each other and then disengaged, climbing to our feet. “He’s yours,” she said. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“He can wait. I need a shower myself.”

Charlie survived another five minutes by himself. Marilyn washed up at the sink while I showered quickly. Happily, I noted that afterwards she kept on her little top and skirt and heels. I was going to get lucky later, it seemed.

Monday morning it was time to start figuring things out for real. I sent Marilyn off with Charlie for a long walk while I started working the phone. Besides, I needed a break! Marilyn had been trying to wear me out, and it was working! Old age was creeping up on me. I wasn’t a teenager anymore, where I could go three or four times in a row. I was only good for twice in a row before I needed a breather before screwing her again. Then again, some things improve with age, like technique, and Marilyn was not complaining on that score!

My first phone call was to my old friend, Explorer Post adviser, and lawyer, John Steiner. I dug out my address book and called him shortly after nine. I had no hope that he would actually be there or free, but I could leave a message with his secretary to have him call me. I was actually quite surprised when she said she would put me right through. After a moment I heard his gravelly voice, “John Steiner.”

“John, it’s Carl Buckman, how are you?”

“Carl! Good to hear from you. How are you doing?”

“Okay. I’m surprised I reached you on a Monday morning! Business slow?”

I got a barking laugh in return. “Funny you should say that. I was supposed to be in a meeting with a client about revising his will, but he died over the weekend!”

“Well, as long as you collected your fee ahead of time…” I joshed back.

“Very funny! What brings you to call me this lovely morning?” he asked.

“Well, several things. First and foremost, I’m moving back home. I got out of the Army on Friday.”

“What!? I thought you were going to go career? What happened?”

I sighed. “The short version is that I made one jump too many and screwed up my leg something fierce. I’ve spent the last month or so in Walter Reed getting rebuilt, and I’m getting medicalled out.”

“Walter Reed? In Washington? You should have called me! I’d have come down and visited. Allen, too! He was visiting for a week last month.” Allen was his son, the President of the Post when I was in.

“You’re right, I should have. How’s Allen doing? Where’d he end up, San Francisco, wasn’t it?”

John laughed. He said, “He seems to like it out there. He says he’s the only straight and single guy in town, and in a supply and demand setting, the demand is high!”

“That sounds like him. He got that degree in economics, so I guess he’s the supply part of the equation.” I had to laugh. Allen had been a pretty straight laced guy, but he thought with his dick like the rest of us.

“So you’re out of the Army? Now what?” asked John, getting back on the topic.

“Well, neither Marilyn or myself want to live in Fayetteville, so I convinced her to give Maryland a shot. What I’m thinking is to rent an apartment for a bit, look around and find a nice piece of property. I promised her I would build her a house and we would settle down.”

“Build or buy?”

“I could buy, I guess, but she’s going to want some acreage, and I don’t want some old falling-down farmhouse. I’ll probably end up building,” I told him.

“Well, it would be good to have you back here. What can I do to help?” John asked.

“Well, first of all, I want a nice apartment. Timonium or Cockeysville, that area, two or three bedrooms, ground floor. A nice place, not some dump, you know? Maybe even a townhouse. I haven’t got a clue what’s available or the prices. Can you dig up a real estate agent or broker for me? Dangle the house or property sale in front of them, maybe they can help with the apartment.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. I haven’t looked at that sort of thing in a few years either.”

“Well, get in touch with Missy and Jake. Let them know I’m coming back, too. Maybe they’ll have some ideas. Also, let them know I’m going to be spending some money in the near future. I’m going to buy a couple of new cars as well as the house or property. They need to know for taxes and stuff.”

“Makes sense. Between the three of us, we can figure something out. When are you planning on moving?”

“Another week or so. I’m going to call a moving company today, get some pricing and timeframes, I don’t think it will be this week, but if you can get me some answers by the end of the week, we can go from there,” I replied.

“Carl, when I was in the service, they had to move you and pay for it,” he commented.

“Yeah, but it’s at their convenience, and only to my address of record, which is my frat house in Troy.”

“Figures. Worse comes to worse, you can stay in a hotel for a few days while checking apartments, and then move in. You’ll have to come up here anyway to look at property.”

I promised to do that, as well as introduce him to Marilyn and Charlie. He agreed to set up a nice lunch date with the others, to introduce my family to them. I also called up both Missy and Jake, to let them know I was going to be writing some large checks in the near future (for some new cars, if nothing else) and to transfer some funds (Missy) and tell me the tax ramifications (Jake). Of course I told them about a lunch date also. Finally, I hung up and went to digging up a phone book to call some moving companies.

Marilyn and Charlie came home, and I gave her a quick synopsis of my results, and then dialed around for a moving company. I got somebody from the local Allied company to make an appointment to see me later that week. After that I made us lunch, Charlie got a bottle, he fell asleep afterwards, and Marilyn and I took a little nap of our own. Afterwards I pulled my pants back up and left her snoozing in the bedroom. I went out to the living room to think.

The Sixties and Seventies were one of the most turbulent times in American history, made more obvious by coming off one of the calmest and quietest periods. From about 1946 to 1960, the nation was quite peaceful. We were unquestionably the strongest nation in the world, and nobody messed with us. Oh, there was the Korean War, but compared to World War II, it was small potatoes, and never fully engaged the public. It wasn’t even a war, just a ‘police action’, like we were out arresting the North Koreans and Chinese.

Domestically, the economy was booming. As the only great nation in the world not rebuilding from the utter devastation of the war, every American who wanted a job could find one. Things were quiet and happy, or at least it seemed that way at the time. For a fifteen year period the country was governed by a pair of presidents, Truman and Eisenhower, who were quiet and unassuming and relatively popular.

The next two decades were totally different. My parents’ generation raised a bunch of spoiled brats, the Baby Boomers, who rebelled against everything their parents stood for. Suddenly we were back at war, a big war, an unpopular war, that allowed huge numbers of rich white kids to avoid serving. There was an explosion of drugs, some good and some bad. The Pill allowed women to control their bodies and enter the work force in growing numbers, but totally altering the social landscape in doing so. Recreational drugs like marijuana, cocaine, heroin, and LSD exploded onto the scene and into mainstream communities. Urban violence hit new highs. All the minorities — blacks, women, even the gays — started mouthing off and demanding their rights.

It seemed like there was a war on everything. We got the War on Drugs, the War on Poverty, the War on Inflation, the War on Cancer — we were fighting everybody and anybody. Riots in urban areas were common, as somebody was always fighting over something. We got new civil rights, women’s liberation, anti-war violence — nobody was happy about anything. In a twenty year period we had five presidents. One was killed, the next two quit early, and the last two got voted out of office ignominiously.

And now we had entered the Eighties. To almost everyone’s amazement, the nation calmed down. There were a lot of reasons, but one that nobody talked about was simply that my generation, the Baby Boomers, simply got tired of fighting everybody! By then we had husbands and wives and kids and jobs. Who has time to protest when they’ve got to go to the supermarket to pick up the groceries?

Politically, we saw the same thing. We only had two-and-a-half Presidents during this time (Bush 1 was generally considered to be Reagan’s clone) and both were considered above average Presidents, although Reagan was loved and Clinton was detested. Economically, America was on a tear. The digital revolution hit everything, and the world center of anything electronic was the good ole’ US of A! For almost 20 years investors made a solid 20 % return in America. It was almost a golden age.

In retrospect, it was much like a roller coaster. After World War II, the nation had been on a pleasant but gentle glide. The Sixties and Seventies were a lot more like a very bumpy uphill climb, with lots of dips and scares. Then we hit the Eighties and Nineties, where we coasted on up to the very tip-top of the ride, and we all threw our hands in the air and went, “WHEEEEE!” Of course, everybody knows what happens next on the roller coaster, you get a sickening plunge into the abyss!

For right or wrong, Reagan proved to be one of the three most influential Presidents of the century. Teddy Roosevelt led the country to become a global power and broke the backs of the giant trusts and monopolies. A generation later it was his cousin Franklin who led us through a Depression and a World War. He also saddled us with the concept of Big Government — Social Security, jobs programs, and government regulation. All that succeeding administrations did was simply to add on to what FDR had already created to fight the Depression. Reagan came to office with the promise of limiting government. We needed to downsize drastically. Government wasn’t the solution, government was the problem! Even though his success at taming the beast was limited, he spawned two generations of deep thinkers who ran wild with his beliefs, and ultimately led to the Tea Party and the demise of the central Federal government.

So what to do with my money? Where should I invest it? Just as important, what did the timing have to be? For the last couple of years, since the run-up with my accounts based on the silver bubble, most of my funds had been in fairly simple investments, some money market funds, and a few big cap stocks like Exxon and IBM. My only real startup, so to speak, was Intel, which I bought during the IPO. The boom, though, was about to start, and was set to go hog wild. I needed to think!

Wal-Mart was an obvious place to invest. So too was Hewlett-Packard. Buying ATT before the split in a few years was going to be a wise decision; after the split, over the next twenty years the Baby Bells and Ma Bell would go through umpteen different configurations, but ultimately would be much more valuable. Keep an eye out for the IPOs for Microsoft and Dell. Intel would capture the growth of the tech market. When biotech started getting big, pick up some Amgen and Genentech. Buy Pfizer at some point. Amazon and Ebay. Pick up Apple after they rehired Steve Jobs. Diversify. Dump anything tech related in 1999, except Apple, before the bubble burst. At some point in the future sell short on both Enron and Lehman Brothers. Dump everything by the summer of 2008, before the start of the Great Recession.

I was going to have to pay close attention to the Wall Street Journal and look for names I would be familiar with, both from an investment standpoint and from a non-investment standpoint. There was no reason I couldn’t become ridiculously rich without undue effort over the next few years. At that point, start stashing some overseas for when the collapse came. I would also start looking for homes overseas by then. America became a decidedly uncivil place by 2020.

Eventually Marilyn came out of the bedroom carrying Charlie. Thinking time was over. She dumped our son in my lap and headed into the kitchen to make him a bottle, so I played with him. He had learned how to grab your nose and lips, which was considered great fun! I would protest and he would tug and laugh. Mommy returned, not soon enough for my facial features, and handed me the bottle. “Doesn’t seem like an equitable distribution of labor,” I commented.

“You seemed to enjoy the practice. This is the consequence,” she replied.

I stuck the nipple in my son’s mouth and he started sucking it down greedily. “Well, yeah, but I’m more the Big Picture, Thinker type! I leave the grunt work up to others.”

“Get over it! If you’re home, you get to help!”

“Maybe I need to go find a job after all!” I said. That simply got me a raspberry in response. “I’m going to need some serious motivation when he’s done.”

My wife grinned at me. “Just what did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it will probably involve handcuffs and Crisco.”

“On who?”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains excite me!” I chimed. I got another raspberry.

Charlie kept sucking down the formula like he was on a starvation diet, and in no time at all it was inside him. I held the empty bottle up and waved it at Marilyn. “He’s a piglet!”

Marilyn nodded and came over. I thought she was going to take him, but she just took the bottle and handed me a burp bib. “Your mother is really asking for it!” I told my son. I put the bib over my right shoulder and laid him down and started patting him on the back. After a couple of minutes I got several very loud ‘URP’s from the north end, and then got an equally loud ‘PFFFFTTTT’ from the south end.

“Okay, that does it for fatherly duty today.” I stood up and carried him over to where Marilyn was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. “Mommy can go back to work now!”

Marilyn just looked at our son and said, “Daddy’s a wimp! Some hero!” She took him off to be changed.

By the end of the week we had met with somebody from the moving company and started making plans. We would move in two weeks. Next week we would pack our stuff that we would travel with, and then the moving company would come in and pack everything else into a van. We would load our travel stuff into our cars and head north and the moving company would take everything into temporary storage.

Both John Steiner and Missy Talmadge had found us a real estate broker (the same one, in fact, which I thought boded well) and had found us a few apartments. They had overnighted some info to us, and after we got to Timonium, we would get a hotel room and the next day find an apartment. Once that was settled, we would let the moving company know where to bring our stuff. It was a monumental pain in the ass, but nothing money couldn’t handle.

The drive north was a pain as well. It was about an eight hour drive, pretty much straight up I-95 and then around the Baltimore Beltway, but we needed to stop every hour or so. We were driving separately and Marilyn had Charlie and needed to feed him occasionally and change his diapers, and I needed to get out and stretch my leg and move it around. It seemed like it took forever to get there. It was probably closer to eleven hours by the time we got off the road in Timonium and found a motel. We were so tired we simply collapsed on the bed and fell asleep in our clothes.

Chapter 62: Back Home

At the time, Timonium wasn’t the world’s greatest choice for awe inspiring hotel rooms. In fact, the only place I could think of was the local Holiday Inn. Certainly no suites were available, so we crammed into a single room with a king sized bed and set up the port-a-crib in the corner. Saturday we decompressed a little, unpacked our bags, and then loaded all of us up in the rusty old Impala and went out car shopping.

First on the list was a new car for me. It’s not that I was any more important than Marilyn, because I’m not. What I am, however, is much more decisive. I knew what I wanted (roughly) and hated shopping for a car. We went to the local Caddy dealership and then the local Lincoln dealership. I was looking for a full size sedan, four doors, big trunk, big engine, screw the mileage, nothing too trashy (no pimp-mobile!), in a silver or gray. No black Mafia staff car. I found a nice Town Car at the Lincoln dealership on York Road and had them do a quick trade appraisal on the Impala. Then I dickered them out of the tax and tags and wrote them a check for the balance. I would pick it up the following week after the check cleared.

Buying a car for Marilyn was a much more traumatic event. She simply couldn’t make up her mind, and we drove up and down York Road to every dealership between Baltimore and York. She was always like this. On my first go-around, I refused to shop with her. I would turn her loose and just show up to give a perfunctory test drive and write a deposit check. I remember one time where she wanted me to pick the car. I spent two weeks looking them over, even going so far as to bring her back cars for ‘overnights’ and she hated them all. Finally I told her she had three days to pick a car or I would buy one for her, whether she liked it or not! “You can’t do that!” I was informed!

“Just watch me, honey! Three days!” She picked out her first minivan after that, inside of three days, too.

This time was no different. We made no progress at all that day with her, and none on Monday either. Threats weren’t working either. Oh well, I would give her another few days before I issued any ultimatums. What she needed was a station wagon, something she could drive Charlie around in, preferably big and roomy and safe. I was thinking of an Oldsmobile Cutlass Cruiser or a Buick Estate Wagon, but I just didn’t care. I’d get her whatever she wanted. What she wanted was something as small as her Toyota, with the cargo capacity of a C-130, and it had to be ‘cute!’ I had a feeling we were going to end up in a brawl over it anyway, since I wasn’t being ‘helpful’ about it. Jesus Christ, I was paying for it, wasn’t I!? How much more helpful could I get?

I got a reprieve from car shopping on Tuesday. We were meeting with the brain trust for lunch at a steakhouse on York Road. Charlie was turning out to be a fairly good kid for taking out (Alison had been colicky as hell!) and behaved as long as we kept pouring formula into the bottomless pit he called a stomach. He wasn’t on baby food, not yet anyway, and I dreaded what that would do to his diapers when it happened.

We weren’t the first ones there. Once we got inside, I saw Missy Talmadge at a table in the center of the room. As soon as she saw me she had a big smile on her face and stood and waved. I told the hostess we had found our table, and led the way inside. As soon as she saw little Charlie, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my God, he’s adorable!”

“Missy, I want you to meet my wife, Marilyn, and this is our son Charlie. Marilyn, this is Missy Talmadge, my broker from way back when,” I said introducing them. Missy was the same as when I first met her, small and slim, blonde (now with some frosting to set it off, and a shorter hairdo as well), and perky. She was in her mid 30s.

Missy came around the table and gave me a hug, and then shook Marilyn’s hand. “It is so good to finally meet you! Carl has told me about you so often. Your son is so cute!” She bent down and let Charlie grab her finger.

Once Missy had come around the table, I noticed there was a reason for all the family bonding. She was a good four months pregnant! “Congratulations! What’s this, your second?” I asked.

“Third!”

“Well, you look fantastic. When are you due?”

“Probably in February. A winter baby,” she answered.

“Well, I guess we know what you did on your summer vacation,” I teased.

Missy laughed and swatted at me. “You’re awful. Is he like this at home?” she asked Marilyn.

“Usually he’s much worse.”

Missy cut off any further remarks when she looked back towards the entrance and waved again. I turned around and saw three men come towards us. Two of the men I knew. There was John Steiner, probably in his late 50s, and Jake Eisenstein, who was in his early 50s. The third man was about Marilyn’s and my age, mid 20s. All of the men shook our hands, and John kissed Missy on the cheek.

I introduced Marilyn to the others, but when I got to the young man I was stumped. He responded, “Sorry about that. I’m Jake Eisenstein Junior. I work with Dad.”

“Oh, okay.” I glanced over at Jake Senior.

He nodded. “Jake just graduated from Columbia Law this year. He wants to get into tax law, so I’m seeing about bringing him on board.”

I nodded as well; Columbia Law was a good school. “Your new partner?”

“Not yet, he’s not!” said his father drily. “Let’s just say he’s an associate with prospects. I’m not sure we need a tax lawyer as much as another good accountant.”

“Well, this might be a chance to prove it, huh, Dad?” Jake Junior wasn’t about to be cowed by his father. Jake snorted in response, and John laughed.

“Well, Carl, you’ve all moved up here? How bad is your leg, anyway? I see you’re using a cane,” said John.

I simply shrugged. “I probably will the rest of my life, unless I get the knee replaced. Maybe even then. It’s all ligament and cartilage damage. It is what it is.” I held my hands up in a what-can-you-do-about-it-anyway gesture.

“How do you like it up here, Marilyn? You’re not a Maryland girl, right?” he asked.

“It’s just so unreal! I don’t know what’s happening any more. I mean, it wasn’t two months ago I found out my husband isn’t just a soldier, he’s got a whole secret life, like in a comic book! He has lawyers and accountants and brokers and who knows what else! I don’t know what to think!” Charlie fussed a little and she lifted him up from his stroller and started digging out a bottle. “It’s like I just found out my Clark Kent is somebody else.” She looked over at me apologetically.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “That’s why I wanted you to meet everybody. No more secrets. I had a reason for that, but the time for that is over. You’re going to need to know about this stuff, too.”

“No secrets?”

I gave another shrug. “Well, almost no secrets. I’m certainly not going to tell you about my mistress. Mistresses, actually.”

That got a laugh out of John and Missy, a snort from Jake, and a blank stare from Jake Junior. Marilyn looked down at our son and said, “Daddy thinks he’s so funny!” and then she gave me a raspberry.

That got us talking about the money, and John told Marilyn how we originally met and how I got my initial stake of twenty grand. Missy gave a surprised look at that. “Twenty? You only put fifteen into the brokerage back then. What happened to the other five?”

“Living expenses. It wasn’t like I was getting any money from my parents,” I answered.

“No allowance?”

“Not after that. Hamilton was given it, instead.”

Marilyn interjected, “Your brother was given your allowance?”

“A fact he repeatedly told me.”

“Unbelievable!” Then she looked over at Missy. “So you’re telling me that Carl turned that fifteen thousand into thirty-five million”

Missy nodded. “Closer to forty as of the close of business Friday. Your husband rarely missteps on this stuff, and he’s very good with leverage and options and calls. Commodities, too. He knows his commodities.”

Jake chimed in, “It’s almost spooky, but I haven’t seen Carl make many mistakes. Sometimes his timing is a bit off, but not terribly, and not in an overly bad way. I don’t know where he comes up with some of the stock picks, but the accounting and all is fairly straightforward.”

“Wow!”

I took my wife’s hand again. “And now I get to do something I really enjoy, which is buy you a few things and take care of you. You need to pick out a car and then we’ll look at some property and build a house.”

Over lunch we made a broad agreement to what would happen in the near future. Marilyn already had an American Express card. Marilyn was absolutely forbidden to get any more credit cards. (They had been so destructive before!) We would open a new checking account locally, at Maryland National Bank. Missy would put a chunk of money into the checking account so that we could buy property and build on it. Marilyn would have access to the checking account, but not to the brokerage accounts, which would remain in my name, though she would remain my survivor on the accounts. Jake Junior also suggested that I incorporate, in the event I wanted to directly invest in any companies rather than go through the brokerage. I didn’t quite follow that reasoning, but I was vain enough to like the name of the company, The Buckman Group. Jake, Jake Junior, and John started talking that over among themselves.

After lunch, we split up, though I made arrangements to meet with them later in the week by myself to sign some paperwork. Marilyn was also getting along well with Missy, and Missy made her promise to call and get together for lunch with her kids. Then we drove down York Road towards Ridgely Road. Tusk Cycles & Repairs was in a small industrial park on the west side of York between Ridgely and Timonium, on the site of a converted gas station. It wasn’t very big, but there were a number of cars parked and a number of bikes as well. We pulled over to one side and parked, and then fished Charlie out of the back. I led the way inside.

It wasn’t a very big operation, but it was well lighted and clean, and seemed to be split down the middle. One side consisted of the old service station repair bays and was now the motorcycle repair area. The other half was a small office and a somewhat larger showroom, with several gleaming restored motorcycles on display. My advice to Tusker had been to start with repairs and used bikes, rebuilding them and getting a reputation for quality workmanship. I didn’t know shit about bikes, but I knew a fair bit about sales and quality. At some point he’d be able to move to a larger setting and then think about getting a dealership.

It seemed to be working. Tessa grinned madly and waved to us from behind the counter, where she was writing up a repair slip, and we just waited at the side and looked things over. As soon as Tessa finished with the one customer, another came forward and started asking her questions, so I wandered around the room and on into the service bay. As I did, a mechanic of some sort looked over and said, “Sorry, sir, you can’t come in here.”

Tusker turned around at that and his face lit up, too. “It’s all right, Joey. I’ll take it.” He wiped his hands on a rag and came over. “Damn, you made it up here after all! It’s good to see you!”

“Damn straight! Good to see you, too.” I shook my friend’s hand enthusiastically.

“Marilyn with you?”

“And Charlie. They’re in the showroom.” I turned and went back through the archway and found Marilyn hugging Tessa. Charlie was starting to squirm around some. The two women saw us and a few more hugs were exchanged.

“Where’s Bucky?” I asked.

Tessa answered, “He spends the day with my mom. Now that she’s a granny all is forgiven. Now she’s pushing for number two. I’d offer to let her keep him full time but she’d probably take us up on it! You’re back!”

“We got back Friday. Long drive!” said Marilyn.

I nodded. “Between my knee and stopping for pit stops and feeding Charlie, it must have taken us twelve hours.”

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“The Holiday Inn up by Padonia Road,” I answered.

“You want to stay with us?” asked Tusker. “It’ll be a little tight, but we’ll survive.”

I glanced at Marilyn, but I already knew the answer. Unless they had a new place, we’d be packed in like sardines. “We appreciate that, but we’re going apartment hunting tomorrow. If we find something, we’ll just move right in. Our stuff is in storage right now.”

I think they were as happy as we were about that. Tusker just nodded. “So, how do you like it? This is the first you’ve been here!” My friend was very proud of his place.

I smiled and nodded. “Very nice. Very professional. That’s the image you’re trying to present. By the time you get to a larger place, you’ll be all set.”

Both he and Tessa laughed at that. “That better be soon! I had no idea how much room we’d need! We are totally crammed in on both parking, display space, and people. We can’t grow any more here!”

“Well, it’s better to have that problem than another type. We’ll have to talk about that.”

Just then a couple of bikers roared into the place and parked. They came in, but Tusker held up a hand. “Sorry guys, you know the rules.” He pointed to a sign on the wall that read, ‘No Colors.’ “Leave ‘em outside.” That was one of the rules that Tusker and I had talked about. Bikers could come in, but if they were affiliated with a gang, they had to leave their colors, or riding jackets and vests, outside. This place, like the bar they had worked at, was neutral territory. The two bikers grumbled, but they took off their jackets and went outside and laid them on their seats. They were safe enough there; nobody on the planet was stupid enough to steal biker colors!

I looked over at Marilyn. “Listen, we’ll let you get back to work. We’ll call you tonight and figure out when we can get together.” Tusker gave us a thumbs up, and Tessa kissed Charlie and handed him back, and then hugged Marilyn and me again.

After we got back to the motel, I called the real estate broker who was supposed to have apartments lined up, and we made an appointment for the next morning. Marilyn put Charlie in his crib so he could take a nap before dinner. That actually seemed like a good idea, so once he was out, I pulled Marilyn onto the bed and we took a nap, too. Eventually, anyway. Funny, but we didn’t go to sleep right away!

The next morning I woke when Charlie started fussing and I nudged Marilyn awake. “What?” she asked blearily.

“You know who is awake.”

“Well, take care of him. He’s your son, too.”

“No way am I going near him until he’s got a new diaper. You need a hazmat suit around him.”

Marilyn grumbled some and called the father of her son a few choice names, but she got up and took care of him while I headed towards the bathroom. Afterwards, I got out of the shower and fed him a bottle while she showered. We swapped Charlie detail back and forth while getting dressed. Eventually we got out of the room, and that was when I realized I had forgotten to shave.

“What would you say if I grew a beard?” I asked my wife.

“A beard? You?”

“Are you saying I can’t grow a beard?” Back on my first trip through, I had a mustache within weeks of graduation and starting my job. By the time we got married, I had a Fu Manchu mustache and muttonchop sideburns that would have made a Victorian era general proud!

“No! Don’t be silly. I just can’t picture you with a mustache or a beard,” she answered with a smile. “What if it tickles me when you kiss me?”

“That would depend on where I kiss you, wouldn’t it!”

Marilyn blushed at that and ordered me to take us to breakfast. I drove to a nearby diner.

“This is getting pretty old,” I told her. “This is not what we could call a healthy diet.” Since we had left Fayetteville we had been surviving on fast food and restaurants.

“Let’s hope the broker knows something decent,” agreed Marilyn, nodding.

“We’ll need to set up a weight room when we build the house. I’m starting to get fat.”

“No, you’re finally back to where you were before you left home,” she countered.

I knew better and told her so. “I’m out of shape, hun. I need some serious time in a gym, and I have to find a dojo again. How the hell do I do karate or aikido with a cane? Maybe I can call Mister Miyagi again, see if he can help. I mean, I can’t even run anymore!”

“This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she commented curiously.

“I used to be the smallest kid in school and I got picked on by everybody!” I replied with a laugh.

“I just can’t picture you like that!”

I laughed some more. “Oh, yeah! When I was in junior high, I was the smallest kid in the entire school, girls included! Tessa could have beat me up if she wanted to!”

Charlie made some sounds from his seat and Marilyn played with him. “Daddy’s so funny, isn’t he?” He smiled at that. “Daddy wants to be a he-man and grow a mustache!” More gurgles and smiles.

“Daddy’s going to get strong so he can spank Mommy on the butt! Maybe Mommy needs to exercise, too, to shrink down that butt!”

Marilyn looked over at me and asked, not in a happy tone, “Are you saying my butt’s big?”

DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, DANGER! “No, actually it looks pretty nice. You’re not out of shape or overweight…” I paused for effect, and then continued, “… yet.”

“Oh?” she answered coolly.

“Oh! Marilyn, you look great, but you don’t take care of yourself. You lost most of the weight from the baby, but not all of it, right?”

“Well, you try having a baby!”

I just grinned. “I prefer my part of the bargain. Seriously, though, you’ve probably put on about five pounds, haven’t you?” Marilyn nodded, so I went on. “What happens the next time we do this? Or is Charlie going to be it?”

“We’re having more children and you know it!” she said with a grin.

“Just so long as we practice a lot. Anyway, what if you put on five pounds with each kid? What if it’s more? The first five doesn’t look bad on you, but after that? Besides, in a few more years you’ll be adding a pound or two a year regardless, if you don’t take care of yourself. So will I. For our silver anniversary they’re going to have to cart both our fat asses around!”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking. Maybe we can join a gym and get a family discount.” I looked over at my son. “Drop and give me twenty, mister!” I got a burp in response.

“We’ll see,” said Marilyn.

We met the broker, Andrea Greene, in the parking lot behind John Steiner’s office. After the routine greetings, she said she had three ideas for us. “The first is a fairly standard garden apartment, two bedrooms, one bath, probably similar to what you had down south. The other two are different. Why rent an apartment? Why not rent a house?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. It wasn’t what I had asked for, but why not? “Uh, okay. I guess we could look at that.” I turned to face Marilyn, but she had kind of a blank look on her face as well. She hadn’t thought of it either. “As long as somebody else mows the lawn.”

Andrea offered to load us all up in her Cadillac to drive around in, but Charlie had his car seat and that’s a nightmare to move in and out. We decided to follow her on her rounds.

She first drove us over to an apartment complex off Padonia Road, on the east side of Timonium. It was a lot like what we had left in Fayetteville. It would certainly be adequate, but otherwise it was very boring. It wasn’t any different than what we had just moved out of. Next we drove into a small development off of Ridgely. The homes here were nice single family units, separate houses on small lots, a little smaller and a few years newer than the one I had grown up in. It was a three bedroom house, but it had small bedrooms and was only a bath and a half. I remained noncommittal, but Marilyn didn’t seem to like it.

Andrea picked up on that. Her final selection was about fifteen minutes away, in a townhouse development in Cockeysville. When I was a little kid, Cockeysville was where the country started, and very rural, but that was changing. Now it was seeing suburbs and townhouses, as people moved up I-83 towards the northern end of the county. This place was off of Shawan Road, about a mile from the Hunt Valley interchange.

I was rather taken by it almost from the moment we got out of the car. It was much newer than the other two places, maybe a couple of years old at most. The town houses were in odd shaped three or four house clumps on winding streets. As we pulled in I noticed a van belonging to a yard maintenance company that was hauling a trailer with a couple of large platform mowers. At the place in Ridgely I’d either have to buy a lawn mower or pay somebody; here it seemed it was part of the amenities.

Way back when, on my first trip through, when I was 14 I had my own lawn business. I mowed five lawns every week, one a day, and made decent money for a kid. I also learned I detested mowing lawns! The following year I gave the business to Hamilton, who promptly ran it into the ground and went out of business.

Andrea took us to an end unit and let us inside. It was very new and clean and white. The only problem was that it had multiple levels. You walked into the living room level on one side. To the left and down half a level was the kitchen and dining room, to the left and up half a level were two bedrooms and a bath, and up another half level, over the living room, was the master suite. In the long run my knee was going to be an issue, but for a year, we could handle it. “I thought these places were like condos, you had to buy them?” I asked.

Andrea said, “Eh, yes and no. There’s usually a few units available for rent, or with a lease arrangement. I think the idea is that you move in, fall in love, and decide to buy at some point down the road. Do you like it?”

“Give us a few minutes.” With my wife carrying Charlie, we went from floor to floor and looked it over. Up in the master bedroom, which was fairly roomy, I asked Marilyn, “What do you think?”

“I like it, but what about your leg?”

“Unless it gets really bad, I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t want to live here forever, but we can hack it until we get something else,” I answered.

Marilyn asked, “How long will that be?”

I shrugged. I had never built in Maryland before, but I had built homes for customers in New York. “Probably a year. Let’s ask. Could you see yourself living here?”

She nodded. “Yes, at least until we build a place of our own.”

“Keep thinking about that. Let’s ask.”

We headed back down the stairs to find Andrea in the living room, smiling. I don’t know if she had heard us, or just could read our expressions. “I get the funny feeling you like it,” she said.

“Yes, actually we do. What’s the rent going to be like?” The rent proved to be a couple of hundred higher than anything else we had looked at, but this was partly because of ‘homeowner’s association expenses’; the cost of having the lawns mowed and maintenance fees. Otherwise it was still a bit on the high side, but not outlandishly so. It was also larger than the other two places.

Marilyn asked how long it would take to build a home. She knew something about homes, but only because Big Bob sold trailers. What we were planning wasn’t a trailer!

Andrea answered, “Well, first we have to find you a piece of land. There’s at least thirty days before we could close on it, what with title searches and financing and escrow…”

“No financing. This will be a pure cash purchase. The same goes towards construction,” I interjected.

Andrea didn’t bat an eye. “That certainly simplifies things. We’ll run the escrow through the agency in any case. Anyway, after the land clears, you’ll need an engineer or architect to sign off on the plans, and then the contractor can get a building permit.” She kept on with some different steps, all of which I was familiar with. The bottom line was that we could probably move in sometime next year, in the spring of 1983.

This was rather disheartening to Marilyn, but quite natural to me. I took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “This is nothing I wasn’t expecting, honey. I’ll make a deal with you. We’ll take this place, I’ll look for land with Andrea, you tell the movers where to put everything, and then we take a nice vacation.”

“You’re going to look for land and I’m going to move furniture! That sounds like a really lousy deal!” she said, laughing.

I bent down and whispered in her ear, “I bet I can make the bed move!”

That got a squawk and a smack to the arm, but Marilyn smiled. For the next few minutes we were tied up in paperwork, signing some papers Andrea had in her briefcase. Some were for the townhouse and some were for a brokerage agreement to buy property. As per my instructions, she had run everything through John Steiner ahead of time, and I could see his initials on several of the pages. More time was taken when Charlie decided to fill his diaper, drink a bottle of formula, use up a second diaper, and then throw up his formula. It just wasn’t his day!

We concluded the day by agreeing to meet Andrea on Monday to look for properties. Then we went back to the Holiday Inn, where I called the moving company and gave them our new address.

Sunday we went over to Tusker and Tessa’s place for dinner and a chance to play with Bucky. We made sure to stop at a ToysRUs and picked him up a few toys. They were still in their little apartment that they had moved into back before they got married. All of their money had gone into school and their business.

Tessa opened the door for us and immediately took possession of Charlie. (Now, if I could only figure out how to do that for the next 18 years or so…) “It is so good to see you again! I’m so sorry we couldn’t talk the other day!” she said.

“Well, you were busy,” said Marilyn.

“Is it always like that?” I asked.

“Well, not always, but most of the time. Tusker’s doing a lot of service work and rebuilds, as well as buying and selling the used bikes. I mean, you wouldn’t believe what he gets when he does a rebuild and then sells it.”

“What wouldn’t they believe?” asked Tusker, coming into the living room. Over in the corner little Bucky was watching Bugs Bunny on the VCR, so we all retired to sit around the kitchen table. Tusker pulled some National Bohemians out of the refrigerator and we all sat down and relaxed.

“About your rebuilds and resales on the used stuff!”

My friend gave a wry smiled and nodded. “It’s true. I’ll pick up some old bike that somebody wants to dump for a few hundred, maybe a grand, strip it down and clean it, rebuild it, repaint it, and BOOM! Classic motorcycle! I’ll make ten times what I paid for it.”

“Wow! None of that means anything to me, but it sounds good.” Tusker knew I wasn’t a biker. The only time I ever rode a motorcycle back on the first go, I ended up laying it in the gravel. That wasn’t enjoyable, but the bad part was when Marilyn landed on me and broke two of my ribs and put me in the hospital for a couple of days. In Aruba! I learned my lesson! “That pays for the place in Timonium?”

“The service work pays for it. The bike resales and rebuilds are the profit,” answered Tessa.

Tusker grinned. “She’s the real businessperson in the room. I can follow along easily enough, but she’s the brains of the operation.”

That was it for the time being. We talked about old times and new, about my getting out of the army and moving back up to Maryland. We told them about getting an apartment in Cockeysville and made them promise to come up as soon as we got our furniture moved in.

Tusker smiled at Marilyn. “You’re going to love it here. The weather’s great. You can ride almost ten months a year.”

“You can ride. I’ll drive, thank you,” she said.

“I don’t know, honey. I think you’d look pretty hot in your leathers and colors, with Charlie in the sidecar. Talk about your motorcycle mamas! You and Tessa can form your own gang!” I teased.

Tessa started laughing at that, and she got up and went into their laundry room, coming back out a minute later with a tee shirt of her husband’s. On the back it read, ‘IF YOU CAN READ THIS, MY BITCH FELL OFF!’

I laughed at that. “One of the guys in my battery had a shirt like that, only it was written upside down and it read, ‘IF YOU CAN READ THIS, PICK ME UP AND PUT ME BACK ON THE BAR STOOL!’”

“I don’t know about riding. I’ll give it a year, but otherwise I’m heading back to New York in the summer. I did three years down in Fayetteville and it was too hot there!”

“Marilyn, that is why the Good Lord invented air conditioners! At least you never had to shovel snow!” She shrugged in agreement at that. “Besides, when we were kids, I can remember Willard Scott on the Today Show, every winter morning telling people where the coldest spot in the country was, and it was always one of two places, either Mooseprick, Minnesota, or Old Forge, New York. How far was it from your parent’s house to Old Forge? Thirty minutes? Less?”

“There’s no such place as Mooseprick, Minnesota!” she protested.

“That’s not an answer, that’s an evasion!” Tusker and Tessa laughed at that. Tessa remarked she had heard Willard talking about Old Forge a few times.

Tusker ordered out for a couple of large pepperoni pizzas, and Bucky surprised Marilyn and me by eating an entire piece by himself. Tessa commented, “He’s got a very healthy appetite!”

“Which he uses to run around madly!” added his father.

Marilyn and I looked at each other, and then over at Charlie, who was wide awake and looking around at the rest of the world. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked her.

“I’m not sure!”

“So what are your plans now?” asked Tessa. “After you move into your apartment?”

“Got anything lined up for work?” asked Tusker.

Marilyn looked at me. “Nothing specific. I’ll probably get involved in the stock market, investing, that sort of thing,” I said.

“Like in high school?” he asked.

For a second or two I was stock still, and then I tried to recover. “Huh? What?”

He grinned. “Thought I didn’t know, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The money, man! I knew you had some sort of gig making some serious bucks. What was it? You can tell now.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Tessa, looking at her husband.

I looked over at Marilyn and sighed. She said, “Go ahead, tell them. I still can’t believe it myself.”

“Tell us what?” Tessa asked.

“How’d you figure it out?” I asked my friend.

“It was the money. Your folks wouldn’t have coughed up for that apartment any more than mine would have. And you always had major cash on you. Whenever you had me pick up booze for you, you’d give me twenties or fifties. Who the hell back at Towson High in those days had fifties? You and the drug dealers, and you didn’t use drugs; I’d have known!”

I nodded. It was a habit with me when I worked for LeFleur Homes. I was always traveling and looking at job sites, eating on the road and paying for expenses with cash. I always kept three or four hundred in cash on me at all times.

I shrugged. “I’m pretty good in the stock market. I’ve had a brokerage account since I was a teenager. Remember that fight I got into on the school bus back in junior high?”

Tusker shook his head, but Tessa nodded. Tusker had gone to Cromwell Valley, I think. “Sort of. I remember three guys tried to beat you up,” said Tessa.

“Oh, shit! I bet that was a lot of fun! For them!” commented Tusker.

I smiled at him. “Maybe not so much. Anyway, the long and short of it was that I sued them and got some cash out of it. Not much, but some. The deal I made with my folks was that I would save it for college, but I didn’t put it in a bank, I put it into a stock brokerage account. I’ve been pretty lucky, too. I’m not going to get into details, but I don’t need to work for somebody else.”

Tessa looked stunned, but Tusker had an I-told-you-so look on his face. “I knew it! That’s why you knew so much about setting up our shop!”

I nodded. “That is correct! And that is why I am going to give you some more help. What are you planning to do there? Your business is too big for your location!”

“I don’t know yet, but we have to do something. I’m already looking to hire another mechanic, and I could use somebody in the lobby, but we don’t have enough room for the people we have,” he groused.

“And what did I tell you that you had to do way back when you told me you wanted a bike business?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, make a plan! You’re a real pain in the ass at times, Buckman!” he replied with a laugh. “Is he like this at home? Always making plans?” he asked Marilyn.

I laughed and answered for her. “Are you kidding? In the Army you can’t go to the bathroom without a five point action plan, to make sure you do it in a proper, efficient, and military manner!” Everybody laughed at that. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make a plan!” he said while flipping me the middle finger. Charlie reached out for it, which made Marilyn and Tessa laugh. Tusker dangled it in front of my son, who grabbed for it and tried to put it in his mouth. “That’s really gross!” commented Tusker.

“Dig out your old business plan and use that as a start. Your new goal is to get a bigger location. Outline what you want in a bigger location and be specific. It’s not just a bigger service bay, it’s ‘I’ve got 1,200 square feet now and I need 3,500 square feet plus a paint shop.’ That way when you go to the bank for financing, you can show them specifics.”

That got a grimace from both Tusker and Tessa. “That’ll be fun! It was like pulling teeth to get the bank loan for where we are now. I thought they were going to take Bucky as collateral,” she said.

“Standard operating procedure,” I commented. “If you need money they don’t want to lend it, if you have money they’ll lend you all you want!”

“Maybe I should borrow the money from you!” laughed Tusker.

Suddenly things began to move in slow motion, with a clarity to them, and I just sat there stock still for a minute, as the room revolved around me. Everybody else turned to face me, and it was Tusker who said, “Hey, Carl, it was a joke! Don’t sweat it!”

I shook my head and came out of the little trance I was in. “No, it’s what you said. There’s actually a name for that sort of business. It’s called venture capital, where you invest in new businesses in the hopes they grow bigger. They do it in Silicon Valley all the time, for computer companies and such.”

“I don’t follow,” said Tessa.

Her husband was just looking at us blankly. “What, sort of like a bank that loans money, but not a bank?”

“Sort of. It’s not really a loan, either, it’s capital in equity.”

“You’d better start using small words and big pictures, buddy.”

I grinned at him. “Okay, let’s say I have this idea for a new computer gizmo that’s going to change the world. I start a company and start to work on it, but the banks have never heard of it and won’t loan me any money, since I haven’t sold any yet. Following me so far?” The others nodded, although this was flying way over Marilyn’s head, I could see. “So, I go to a venture capital company and make a deal with them. They give me the money, and I give them a chunk of the company. They now own some of the stock in the company.”

Tessa looked over at her husband. “You mean they give away part of the company to the bank?”

“That’s pretty much it. The venture capital company is betting that my new gizmo will work and everybody will want one and I’ll sell lots of them and the company makes a fortune. At some point down the road, the company puts their shares up on the stock market and the venture capital company can sell their shares and make a buttload of bucks.”

“But you’ve also lost control of your company,” countered Tusker.

I shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. It all depends on how much money they put up in the first place, and how much of your company you had to give away to get the money. A lot of those big companies, the owner still has the biggest amount of shares, but maybe not even half the shares. He still controls it, though.”

“And you want to do this to a bike repair shop?”

I waved my hands at him. “Hey, I’m just talking about how it’s done. Theoretically, yes, it could be done. Realistically? Nobody’s going to put a motorcycle dealership on the stock market.” They looked a little relieved at that.

I turned to face Marilyn. “Maybe I can figure out a way to become a venture capitalist? I’ve got the money. After we get back from vacation, I think I’ll look into that.”

“Wait, you’re serious about loaning money out, like a bank?” asked Tessa. “You have enough money to do that!?”

I turned towards her. “Yeah, actually, I do, at least at a small level.”

“Whoa!” she commented slowly.

“I’m still the same jackass I was when I came in here, Tessa,” I told her.

“Yeah, but… whoa!”

“You mean, you actually have enough money to loan us to expand?” asked Tusker.

I needed to tread carefully here. “Yes, I do. That doesn’t mean I would be any easier to work with than a bank, though. If I do something like that, it would have to be as a business, not as a friend. That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be friends, but you have to do that as a business, right?”

“Wow! I just never thought about that!”

“Well, start working on that updated business plan. At that point you can start talking to your bank and see what they have to say. We might all just be sitting here whistling Dixie for all I know. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” I shrugged. I’d have to talk to Jake Eisenstein and his namesake tax lawyer about something like this, in any case.

We started talking about Bucky and his latest adventures, and about our plans for a new house and moving into the townhouse. We also finished off the beers in the fridge. Eventually Bucky got fussy and needed to go to bed (which was set up in a corner of their living room), and we bundled up Charlie. As he saw us to the door, Tusked tapped me on the shoulder and asked, out of hearing of the women, “Were you serious about being able to loan money to businesses?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I could do that. I need to talk to my accounting people but it could happen. Listen, I’m serious, too. If I do that, that part has to be business. I won’t be as much of an asshole about it as a banker would be, but it has to be business, you know?”

Monday Marilyn and I split up. I was sick and tired of her complaining about cars, so I had her follow me over to the local Toyota dealership and turned her loose. Then I kissed my family good-bye and left to meet with Andrea and look for property. Most real estate people don’t want to deal with raw property; since they work on commission they make more money selling a house than just the land it’s sitting on. Still, she had made a commission on the apartment, and I think she had me pegged as a trust fund baby she could squeeze some future work out of. I wasn’t averse to that. If she did a good job, she’d be the first one I’d call in the future.

The requirements I had laid out were relatively simple, and I figured she’d be able to match something up. I wanted about twenty acres, maybe more, in a rural setting, but not ridiculously far from civilization. Maybe an old farm property, but I was flexible. I wanted something near to a main road, and not mountainous, although there really aren’t any mountains in Baltimore County. I just didn’t want to need four wheel drive to go home in the winter, which had been a necessity in New York.

We met behind John’s office again, and I parked my car and switched to hers. Andrea must have been fairly successful since she drove around in a Caddy. Look successful and you’ll be successful, I suppose. We quickly got on the Harrisburg Expressway and headed north. It was about fifteen minutes later that we got off the highway at Mount Carmel Road. “When we talked it didn’t sound to me like you were looking for one of the old horse properties in the Hunt or Oregon Valley areas, and the farm properties in the Cockeysville area are starting to get expensive, as developers snatch them up for new home construction.”

“I’ve heard that was happening.” Actually, I had seen it, before. The entire corridor would become a giant subdivision for increasingly expensive homes. No thank you! “That won’t cut it with my wife. She’s going to want some acreage outside of town, not in a subdivision.”

She nodded. “I understand. There’s still quite a bit of available property in northern Baltimore County, especially if you head over to the west side, near Carroll County.”

“Sounds good to me. Were you saying earlier that some of the old money places in the Hunt Valley and Oregon Valley areas are for sale?” You would see some of these places as you drove along the Expressway. Huge rambling horsey places with corrals and fences and ludicrously expensive thoroughbreds. Old money! Did you know the official state sport of Maryland is jousting? This is where you would go to joust!

Andrea laughed. “Anything is for sale if the price is right, but I think the right price might involve the gross national product of a small country to afford them. Certainly not in the budget you gave me!”

“I’m just looking to build a nice house, not a castle.”

We drove west on Mount Carmel Road about ten or fifteen minutes. Then she turned right and drove a hundred yards up a side road, and then parked. “This is the first place I wanted you to see,” she announced.

“Where are we? Are we still on Mount Carmel Road or is this Lower Beckleysville Road in Carroll County?” I asked.

“We’re still in Baltimore County, just, anyway. It turns into Lower Beckleysville just a bit further on. It’s the Hereford school district. What do you think?”

Well, Andrea earned her commission right then and there. We ended up looking at two more places, one more in Carroll County and one back in Baltimore County, but this was the one. It was a bit over 25 acres on the north side of Mount Carmel Road, with about two thirds being an abandoned farm field and the other third a wooded area that had never been cleared. It was on the side of a hill with a very shallow slope, so that it rose at most about fifty feet from Mount Carmel Road to the northern edge of the property. It would be nothing to grade a flat area in the center to put a house and yard, sited to look down onto the road. We were very close to the Carroll County line, maybe a couple of stone’s throws away, and closer to Hampstead than to Hereford, but Mount Carmel Road/Lower Beckleysville Road is a major road and was maintained well. After looking at the next two sites, we drove back to this one and I walked the property.

I was sure Andrea could count her commission check as she saw me walking the site and planning things. This was the place, and I told her so. I memorized the location, and we went back to Timonium. I would drive Marilyn out here Tuesday.

Well, no we wouldn’t. As I suspected she would, Marilyn found a nice new Toyota at the dealership, a brand new Tercel, just like her old one. I was to go with her tomorrow to buy it. We also had a message from the Lincoln dealership that the Town Car was ready to pick up. The check must have cleared. (That wasn’t the message, we were told the ‘dealer prep’ was finished, but really, everyone knew better.) When I asked Marilyn about the Tercel, she got very excited and told me all about it, and gave me a blow-by-blow description of her day.

“I wonder if we’ll be able to pick it up faster if I give them a certified check tomorrow?” I commented to her.

“The salesman wanted to know about what we were doing with the old one and I told him we were giving it to your sister, so he made an appointment for me to leave it with their shop to be looked at.”

I was on the verge of making a comment about how they had seen her coming, since repair work is a real profit center, but I stopped, my mouth wide open. “You know, actually, that makes pretty good sense. Let’s see what it needs. Suzie won’t have any time or money to fix it.”

“I know it’s overdue for an oil change,” my wife said. “When do you want to get it to her?”

“Let’s shoot for Friday. If we do car stuff tomorrow, maybe they can work on it so we can pick it up on Thursday and drive it out there. Did the moving company call and say when they would be able to move us into the town house?”

“Wednesday.”

“Perfect. We do car stuff tomorrow, move in on Wednesday, settle in on Thursday and look at some property, and visit Suzie on Friday,” I told her. Marilyn nodded in agreement.

Well, the plan sounded good. It didn’t quite work out that way, but it sure sounded good. We ended up spending the entire day Tuesday taking care of the two cars, picking mine up and turning over the Impala, looking at Marilyn’s new Tercel, running around town getting a certified check from my new bank, switching all Marilyn’s crap from her old car to the new one. It was late in the afternoon we finally got it all sorted out. We had insurance through USAA, a small and not well known outfit with excellent service that is operated for the benefit of military officers. I’d heard of it in glowing terms in my first life; now I took advantage of it, since I qualified.

Wednesday we went over to the town house. The movers were late and Charlie was acting fussy, crying and not eating. Worst, he was pulling and tugging at his right ear, a sure sign of an ear infection! We didn’t have a doctor yet. We didn’t even have phones in the town house yet, so I had to run around and find a phone in the complex’ office to call John and ask for his pediatrician’s name, from when his kids were young, but the nurse told me they were booked and suggested taking Charlie to the emergency room. By the time the movers showed, Charlie was screaming. Marilyn would never find the hospital on her own, so I had her go back to the Holiday Inn and try to calm our son down.

I stayed behind at the town house and directed traffic. I knew I was getting some of it wrong, but I wanted the stuff in and the movers gone, so that I could get back with my family and take Charlie to the hospital. I’d just have to move stuff around properly later on. It was a very long day. I got back to the motel, we loaded up a crying baby, and headed to GBMC, where we sat around waiting for a space in the emergency room. It was late when we got out of there, well after dinner. Charlie was on amoxicillin for a week and we stopped at a drive-thru for some food.

Charlie was still fussy on Thursday, which made Marilyn rather short with me. I moved everything in the town house where she wanted it and it still wasn’t right. Some of the crap we just stored in the spare bedroom next to Charlie’s room. He eventually settled down and took a nap, but we kept moving stuff around all day. Friday we stayed home rather than visit Suzie. Charlie was just too fussy. I went back to the Holiday Inn, packed up everything, and officially checked out, none too soon for my taste.

Amazingly, Charlie was starting to settle down by the time I got back, and Ma Bell showed up to plug in some telephones. I had ordered an ‘expedited’ install, so the cost was just slightly less than the cost of the property I was looking at. Maybe we could have twins, and I could sell one of them to pay for the phones.

Our first phone call was to Suzie. She had given us a number for her suite, which certainly sounded nicer than the slums that passed for dorm rooms at Rensselaer. It was a Friday afternoon, so the odds were good she didn’t have any classes, and we got lucky. Marilyn and I had originally wanted to just drive up there and say, “Surprise!” but we came to the conclusion that was probably a lousy idea. We would have to make sure she had time to take it over to Delaware DMV, and get insurance on it.

That part was a bit of a stickler. I had no qualms about giving her the car, and I knew she’d love to have it. It was a reliable little beast, and perfect for a college kid, yet had no real resale value. Still, Suzie would have to foot the bills, and insurance on a 20 year old wouldn’t be cheap. Dad would be happy to pay, but the family couldn’t know I had given it to her. Dad couldn’t keep it a secret from Mom; Mom would come up with all sorts of reasons she couldn’t have it; Hamilton would probably torch it if he knew where it came from.

I dialed her number and after a few rings a female voice came on the line. “Hello?” There were sounds of giggles in the background.

It wasn’t Suzie, so I decided to have some fun. “Is this the residence of Suzanna Elizabeth Buckman,” I asked, in as officious and pompous a voice as I could muster.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t say anything, but is she currently in this residence?”

The girl on the other end started acting serious. “Yes, she’s here. What’s this about?”

“This is Doctor Rufus T. Firefly, from the Johns Hopkins Clinic for Advanced Venereal Disease. Don’t be worried, but we have a team on the way to the residence. We’ll need to quarantine her for exposure to Herpes Simplex 14, the infectious version. Don’t get any closer than you have to but…”

I heard a sharp bang as the phone on the other end of the line clattered onto a hard surface. Next, faintly over the line, I heard the girl yelling, “Suzie!”

“What?” yelled my sister’s voice.

“Some guy says you’ve got the clap!”

“WHAT!?”

Marilyn was looking at me from across the room and giving me the evil eye. “She’s going to kill you, and I’m going to help her!”

“Who is this!?” demanded my sister’s voice angrily.

“Suzie, it’s me, your brother Carl. What’s wrong?”

“Were you fucking with my roommate?” she demanded.

“Suzie! How can you say that?”

“YOU ASSHOLE!” she yelled. Then I could hear her turn away from the phone and yell, “It’s my asshole brother!” Then she got back on the phone with me and asked, “Just what did you tell her?”

“Who? Me? Nothing! Oh, maybe there was a question or two about you and venereal disease…”

“YOU ASSHOLE!”

I laughed. “Is that any way to speak to a guy who’s about to give you a car?”

It took her a second to respond. “What did you say?” This was asked in a much more normal tone.

“We moved back home and I just bought Marilyn a new car. You want the old one? We’re getting it serviced for you right now.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, excitedly.

“You bet. You want it?”

“Sure!”

“Okay, hold on. Marilyn’s here. You two sort it out.” Marilyn had come over, with Charlie on her hip. I handed her the phone and moved into the living room. As I settled into my La-Z-Boy, I heard Marilyn start swearing about me along with my sister. After they talked for a bit, and I came back over. “Let me talk for a minute.”

Marilyn handed me the phone and Charlie grabbed my nose. I pulled back and said, “Suzie?”

“What’s up? This is great!”

“You’re going to have to tell Dad some sort of story about this. You can’t let them know that I’m giving you a car. It will be too much trouble. Dad will put you and the car on his insurance, but when he asks where you got it, just tell him somebody in the dorm moved out or something, and you got it for a song. Spin him a line of BS,” I told her.

Suzie was slow in answering. “Okay, I can do that, but you know you’re going to have to settle this someday. You can’t avoid them forever. Sooner or later you’re going to run into them.”

“Maybe so, but let’s make it later. Did you and Marilyn figure out when we’re bringing it up?”

Both Suzie and Marilyn answered, “Next Friday!”

I nodded at my wife and chatted with my sister a few minutes more, and then hung up.

Marilyn smiled at me. “You’re a good brother, even if you are a jerk.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to say to the father of your infant child!” I replied.

“He has to learn about you sooner or later. Your daddy’s a stinker!” she told him, holding him up towards me. Then she sniffed. “Peee-yewww! So are you!”

I held my fingers up in a cross, to ward off the evil spirits, and backed away. Marilyn just rolled her eyes and ordered me to nuke a baby bottle for a few seconds. She changed a diaper, and then fed and burped him while I watched. Then, Charlie was dumped, sleeping, into his crib in his bedroom. Marilyn came back down the stairs and into the living room, to find me back in my recliner. “I’m exhausted,” she said wearily.

Chapter 63: A Gentleman Of Leisure

“Me too!” I reached out and tugged her towards me. “Sit down and rest.” I pulled her closer and my wife twisted around and sank down onto my lap in the recliner. I idly rubbed her back, but when my fingers rubbed against her bra buckle, something not quite so restful came to mind. I began moving my fingers around her bra straps and buckle under her t-shirt. “You know, I’m pretty much a gentleman of leisure these days. I would think that the woman I was married to would understand that sort of thing.”

Marilyn snorted at that. “Is that what you call yourself? A gentleman of leisure? Try unemployed!”

“How about self-employed?” I countered.

“So?”

I tugged on her bra buckles and playfully snapped her with it. “Well, I simply think that the wife of a gentleman of leisure should be trying to keep her husband happy.”

“Happy?” she asked, laughing. “You have anything specific in mind?”

“Well, I’d think you’d be trying to be creative about it,” I teased. I snapped the bra buckle again.

She laughed some more. “Your sister is right, you really are full of shit!” Marilyn sat upright and pulled her t-shirt up and off, and then quickly removed her bra. I smiled at her. “Is this what you had in mind?” she asked.

I put my hand on her breast and cupped it, and began flicking the nipple with my thumb. “Well, it’s certainly a start!”

I helped Marilyn out of her clothes, and then she returned the favor for me, and we made love in my recliner, with it laid as far back as possible and Marilyn laying on top of me. La-Z-Boy is supposed to have a really good warranty, and we can’t be the only people to have ever done this, but it’d make for a hell of an accident investigation if anything bad were to happen.

Afterwards we lay there, naked in each other’s arms, idly resting and planning on a second bout, as long as Charlie stayed asleep. Marilyn laughed and said, “You know, maybe I should divorce you and take half your money. Then I can get my own teenage boy toy to take care of my needs!”

“I think I can still handle your needs,” I replied.

“Are you kidding? I’ll be able to afford two teenagers as boy toys!”

“I’ll handle your needs!” I wrestled Marilyn out of the chair and onto the floor, where we ended up with me on top, and being a bit more vigorous then we were in the chair. Afterwards we cuddled and I smacked her bottom for being a tease.

At that point, Charlie decided to announce himself. I groaned and Marilyn got to her feet. We dressed and she went off to take care of our son. I followed after her and then continued up to our bedroom. I stripped and took a quick shower, and then pulled on some shorts and a flowered shirt. I went commando. I also rummaged around in the closet and found a simple sundress for Marilyn and tossed that on the bed as well.

I went back downstairs to find Marilyn changing Charlie’s diaper again, and putting a fresh outfit on him. “Daddy took a shower,” she told him. “Now Daddy gets to play with you while Mommy takes a shower!”

I chuckled at that, and took him from her. “Yes, Mommy is smelly and needs to clean up. Mommy stinks!”

“Those boy toys wouldn’t make fun of Mommy!” Marilyn replied.

“I’m too tired to cook. Want me to order a pizza?”

“Sounds good!”

I nodded and juggled Charlie around, and then Marilyn headed up to our room and I took Charlie down to the living room and then on down to the kitchen. I put him in his seat and grabbed the phone book and went through the Yellow Pages until I found a place that would deliver.

Marilyn returned just after I hung up the phone, wearing the sundress but barefoot. She gave me a hug and said, “Maybe I’ll keep you around after all.”

“Good idea. Wine?” I pulled a bottle of Chianti out of the little wine rack on the counter, and held it up for her.

“Sounds good!” She took over taking care of Charlie and I dug out a couple of glasses and opened the wine. I glanced over at Marilyn and noticed the absence of panty lines through the thin cotton of her dress. That boded well for later.

We goofed off until the pizza arrived. Marilyn handed me a pad and pen and had me follow her around and make notes of everything we needed to do to the town house and what we needed to buy. Some I agreed with, like a bunch of book shelves (I have a lot of books), and some I wasn’t thrilled with, like painting the various rooms (I detest painting and wallpapering.) By the time the pizza arrived I wondered if I was going to need a second notepad.

While we ate, I quizzed Marilyn. “Where do you want to go on vacation?”

“Vacation? What vacation?”

“I’m sure I told you that after we moved, we’d take some time off. Well, we moved. Let’s take a vacation.”

“I thought you were just joking.”

“I never joke about goofing off!” I replied.

She gave me a double-take when I said that, but then said, “Well, what did you have in mind?”

“Let’s dump Buster here with your parents for a week or two and go somewhere, just the two of us. You tell me where, and I’ll make it happen!”

Marilyn was just not being very inventive with vacation ideas, so I tossed out a few. It was the beginning of March, and while Maryland was nowhere near as cold and snowy as upstate New York, it was still winter, or at least the end of winter. A vacation south would be an excellent choice. “How about the Bahamas?” I asked.

Marilyn blinked and looked at me curiously. “I don’t know. What’s it like there?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Never been there. Let’s find out.”

“Just like that?!”

“Sure, why not?”

“You mean, just go?”

“Well, maybe I should find a travel agent first,” I replied.

“When?” She smiled and shook her head. “I can’t believe we can just up and go somewhere.”

“Get used to it. It’s what us gentlemen of leisure do. Just don’t forget what we expect of the women in our lives.”

Marilyn snorted and laughed. “Just make sure there’s only one woman in your life!”

I lifted my glass of Chianti. “Old English toast — ‘To our wives and our lovers, and the hope they never meet!’”

Marilyn smiled. “Keep it up, smart ass! Next time I see your brain trust, I’m going to ask them about divorce in Maryland!”

I gave Andrea a call and rescheduled a visit to the acreage on Mount Carmel Road for Monday afternoon. By then Charlie should be well enough to go out again, and Marilyn should see what I had in mind. I also took her grocery shopping and we stocked the kitchen, and while we were at it, I had her pick up a few house design books. I had a few things in mind, but she needed to think it over, too. We spent the rest of the weekend playing house and looking at plans.

On Monday we drove out to Mount Carmel Road and met with Andrea. As I suspected, Marilyn liked the location as much as I did. “How big is it?” she asked excitedly.

Andrea looked down at the file in her hands, fumbling with them in her gloves. It had snowed lightly overnight, probably the last snowfall of the season, and it was chilly. Charlie was all bundled up, but he was sleeping and we had left him in the running car. “It’s 25.24 acres. It’s just under 1,000 feet of road frontage down there on Mount Carmel, and just over 1,100 here on the side we’re parked on.”

“How come it’s available?”

I looked at my wife and shrugged. “Good question.” We both turned to Andrea.

“The previous owner was a farmer, but after he died, neither of his sons wanted to become farmers. One of them lives in Baltimore and the other moved out west somewhere. The original farm was split, half on this side and a larger piece actually on the other side of Mount Carmel Road. The farmer down there…” she said, pointing towards the east, “… he bought the piece across the road, leaving this piece.”

“What’s the farmer raise?” I asked, curious about my future neighbors.

“Not completely sure,” admitted Andrea. “Sweet corn, probably.” Andrea turned and pointed up the hill slightly. “My understanding is that there are some apple trees over there.”

I looked where she was pointing, and made out several apple trees, looking bare and gnarled in the late winter breeze. I grinned at Marilyn. “Sold! You need to learn to make apple pies!”

“I already know how to make apple pies, and you know it,” she said with a smile.

I turned to the real estate broker. “Okay, this is looking pretty positive. I’ll give you a deposit today, but it needs to be contingent on a few things. Has a survey been done on this piece?”

Andrea nodded. “Just this past summer, when the property was subdivided. That’s current. What else?”

“I’m going to want a perc test run. I won’t close on the property until I know the land percs and the septic won’t cost more than the land.” I knew that out here, we weren’t near municipal water and sewer lines. We’d need a well and a septic system.

Andrea nodded, but a bit more slowly. “I can do that, but I don’t think the owners are going to pay for it themselves.”

“Well, we need to run it anyway. I doubt it will be a problem. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of drainage problems out here, but you never know. I’ll give you enough of a deposit to pay for the perc. Can you arrange it?”

“What’s a perc test?” interrupted Marilyn.

After thirty plus years in construction, I knew all about them, but Marilyn’s father would have never explained these details to one of his daughters, only his sons. “It’s short for a percolation test. It tests the soil for a septic system.”

“You need a perc test to get a septic system designed. There’s no sewer lines out here to tie into,” answered Andrea.

“Well, what is it?”

It took me a second or two to understand, but then I nodded. “Oh, it’s real simple. You dig a hole in the dirt and dump a bucket of water in the hole, and then time how long it takes for the water to drain. If it doesn’t drain, but sits there like a swimming pool, you fail the test, and you need a very expensive septic. If it drains quick, though, everybody is happy.”

“And here.”

I shrugged. “Probably pretty good. Maryland farmland is not noted for its clay. It’s mostly sand and loam mixes, I think.” I looked back at Andrea. “Do you want to do the paperwork here, or go back to the office?”

“We can sit in my car. I can arrange for a perc test, but I won’t promise the sellers will absorb the cost.”

I waved that off. I wasn’t going to quibble over the cost of the test, but I wasn’t going to buy the property without a test. We checked on Charlie (still snoozing happily) and then got into Andrea’s car and did the paperwork. She expected to be able to close between 30 and 60 days from now. John Steiner would handle my legal work. Finally, we shook hands and climbed out of the car. I wanted to look around the property some more, but Andrea wanted to get back to her office.

“One last question. Just curious, but which airport is closer, Philly or BWI?”

She smiled. “You’re not that far away from things. Philly’s probably over two hours away. BWI will be a lot closer, maybe an hour away. Why?”

“Just trying to figure it out. We’ll probably want to travel a bit, and with my bad leg, flying is a lot nicer than driving,” I explained.

“Well, maybe you can get a feeder flight out of Westminster.”

Huh? “Westminster?”

She pointed west, towards Hamsptead and Westminster beyond. “Yeah, maybe twenty minutes that way. There’s a small regional airport. It’s mostly small aircraft and some corporate type jets and stuff, but maybe you can catch a connecting flight to BWI.”

“Really! I had no idea there was an airport out here! That would be a lot nicer.” I turned to Marilyn. “Want to go exploring?”

“No. You can go explore. I want to get Charlie home and get dinner going.” Almost on cue, we heard our son start to fuss and cry inside the car.

“Okay. You take care of him. I’m going to look around a bit more.” I turned back to Andrea. “Andrea, thank you for everything. Get any of the paperwork and reports to John. Marilyn and I are going to be out of town for a few weeks, but I’ll check in with John at some point.” We shook hands again.

I left Marilyn with Charlie and wandered out into the field. I walked around it for a bit, trying to visualize placing the home, and even went over towards the apple trees. I was smiling as I got back to the car. “Happy?” asked Marilyn.

I smiled back. “Happy! I’ll do my exploring tomorrow.”

Marilyn snorted at that and leaned across the seat to kiss me, and then we loaded Charlie back into his seat and headed home. We looked through the books on home plans some more, trying to settle on a design. I already knew we were going to end up modifying the plans, but not by how much.

Tuesday morning I kissed my family and drove out towards Westminster. I had an address from the phone book, but otherwise was winging it. I figured I should be able to find an airport. It was not quite three quarters of an hour from where we were living, but like Andrea had said, maybe half that distance and time from our new place.

I found it easily enough, or at least easily enough after I stopped at a local gas station in Westminster and asked direction. The airport was a single mile-long paved strip serving light aircraft and business jets, but was surprisingly modern. A plaque near the door announced it had been modernized extensively just a few years ago, and everything still looked new. It was supposed to be a relief airport for BWI, Baltimore Washington International, between Baltimore and Washington. In case BWI vanished, it was long enough to send jets to in an emergency, I guess.

I walked in and found my way over to an information counter. A harried looking young girl came over and asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

“Maybe. Are there any charter companies here at the airport, or is it all private plane owners only?” I asked her.

“No, sir, I mean, yes, sir!” she replied. I simply gave her an amused look and waited. “I mean, yes, sir, there’s charter planes here. It’s not just private owners.”

“Can you point me towards one of them?” I was trying valiantly not to laugh at the poor girl.

She pointed across the lobby area to a hallway and a door. “Over there.”

“Thank you.” She went scurrying back to her other work, and I chuckled and headed over to the hallway.

I chuckled and turned towards the hallway and went down it. The first door was open and labeled “Executive Charters”, which sounded promising. I looked inside and saw a middle-aged man sitting at a desk looking over some charts, and wearing a semi-military shirt and slacks. I knocked on the door. He looked up and said, “Can I help you?”

“The girl out front pointed in this general direction and said the air charter companies were down here,” I said. “But I’m not sure she was sure.”

“Pretty little blonde, a bit ditzy?” I nodded. “That’s Brenda. A sweet girl but a real airhead.”

I grinned at the description. “I bet she makes up for it in other ways.”

He laughed. “I’m too old and married for that, but you are right. How can I help you? Looking to charter a plane?”

“Yeah, but I want to know how it works.”

“Well, have a seat. I’m Lloyd Jarrett.”

“Carl Buckman.”

“So, Carl, where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Well, first, I want to take my family up to Utica for a few days. After that, we’ll come home and I want to travel to the Bahamas. Can that be done?”

He nodded. “No problem. Just say when.”

“So, Lloyd, how does this work? For the last few years most of my flights have been one way. The Army made me climb on board and the Air Force made me jump out rather than land.”

Lloyd laughed at that. “Paratrooper?” I grinned and inclined my head in assent. “I know what that’s like. I have some buddies who fly C-130s for the Maryland National Guard and they occasionally do their two weeks a year down at Pope. You might have jumped from one of their flights.”

Lloyd had the look of a military man, with the stocky build and short hair cut of a pilot. “Maybe so. You?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I fly A-10 Warthogs for the Guard.”

“A fighter jock,” I said with a smile. “Well, I want to fly charter to a few places, and not commercial, so, again, how does this work?”

“Rates are based on the size of the plane and the distance we fly, usually expressed in a cost per hour and the number of hours. You usually end up with a flat fee on a flight. We take most major credit cards.”

Executive Charters had a mix of planes, with a couple of Beechcraft King Airs, a Learjet 25, and a de Havilland Twin Otter for cargo purposes. They also had access through a network of charter companies to larger planes, including Gulfstream IIs and IIIs.

“Do you normally get guys like me just asking to fly places?” I asked.

Lloyd shrugged. “Not so much, but it’s more like you’re younger than the norm, by far.”

“I’m in investments these days,” I replied, temporizing. No need to get into the money with everybody. I could always run the bills through ‘The Buckman Group’. I was starting to be thankful that Jake Junior had me start up the corporation.

Lloyd just nodded. “Still, most of our work comes through corporate travel departments, or a few high end travel agents.”

Now we were getting somewhere! What I had in mind for Marilyn and me would involve a high end travel agent of some sort. “Such as?”

Lloyd gave me a few names and numbers for some travel agents he had worked for, and then took me out to the flight line and showed me a couple of his planes. Eventually I thanked him for his time and took his card. Lloyd had been very helpful; maybe I could have the travel agent use his company.

I had lunch at a small place in Westminster, and then drove back to the town house. Marilyn was busy trying to feed Charlie as well as do the laundry, so I rescued her by taking my son. She thought I was getting off easy until he spilled his bottle all over me and then burped up the rest on top of that. I took him up to the bathroom and stripped off both our clothes and we took a quick shower together. I’m not sure whether he liked the shower or not, but it certainly seemed to fascinate him! I returned him naked and clean to his mother to redress.

“I can’t believe you gave him a shower!” she exclaimed. Charlie wriggled and giggled in his mother’s arms as she struggled to put a fresh diaper on him.

“Hey, a man’s got to do what a man’s go to do! He’s a natural at it! He’ll never want to take a bath now.”

“Men!” she exclaimed. She finished dressing him and then dumped him back in my lap.

I waited until Charlie got sleepy and then put him in his crib. Afterwards I grabbed the phone and started dialing a few of the travel agents that Lloyd had recommended. I made an appointment to meet one of them, a Taylor Hannity of Dream Vacations, at our house tomorrow afternoon.

I’m not quite sure why I selected Ms. Hannity from the names Lloyd had given me. Maybe it was because she didn’t seem to bat an eye when I asked her to meet at our home. The other two wanted to meet at my office or theirs, and were curious when I said I didn’t have an office. Ms. Hannity never missed a beat and simply asked for the address and the time to be there. Maybe she was familiar with the habits of rich people. Or maybe I needed to get an office to meet people in. I would have to give that some thought.

What in the world would I do with an office? What would I do there? Hide from Marilyn? That didn’t seem like a productive use of my time, even if I wanted to be productive, which I was ambivalent about to begin with. I sort of liked just goofing off!

Taylor showed up the next day at 2:00 in the afternoon. By then we had been in the town house for almost two weeks and everything was basically put where we wanted it to be. The walls were still white primer, but it was a good primer and simply looked like a stark white finish coat. I could live with it for a year, especially since the alternative was having Marilyn hector me into painting and wallpapering. If Marilyn decided she wanted colors, maybe that office idea would pay off after all!

The doorbell buzzed at us and I said, “I’ll get it,” and headed towards the door. I opened it to find a trim brunette in her mid-thirties holding an attaché case. “Hello. Ms. Hannity?”

She gave me a dazzling smile and held her hand out. “Call me Taylor. Mister Buckman, I presume?”

I shook her hand and nodded. “Call me Carl. Come on in… I turned and said, „Marilyn, our guest is here.“”

Marilyn came closer and said, “Ssshhh! I just put Charlie down for his nap. You wake him and he’ll be fussy for hours!”

“How old is he?” asked Taylor.

“It will be five months next week,” answered my wife.

Taylor smiled again. “That’s a good age. By this time next year this place is going to look like a war zone. Kids that age can get toys out faster than you can put them away!”

“This time next year I hope to have that problem in our new house,” I replied.

“Oh?”

I nodded. “Come on in. Let’s sit down and talk.” I led the way to the dining room. “Please have a seat. Can we get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you.”

I’m sure it would be, if I knew how to make coffee. I don’t drink it, so I don’t know how. Marilyn smiled at me and said, “I’ll do it. You want some iced tea?”

“Please.”

She snorted in laughter at me, which mystified Taylor, and went to the kitchen. I smiled at Taylor’s quizzical look. “I can’t stand coffee and Marilyn knows it. I don’t even know how to make it.”

“Well, don’t go to any trouble on my behalf.”

I waved off the concern. “Don’t worry, she always has a pot on the Mister Coffee.”

“So, exactly what did you have in mind, Mister Buckman. What kind of dream vacation do you want?”

“Well, several things come to mind. I suppose that at the top of my list is that I can’t stand flying commercial. Even if we travel to the same old places everybody else does, I don’t want to spend the entire day in airports. I did enough hurry-up-and-wait in the Army. I don’t need to keep doing it now.”

“Is that where you got the limp?” she asked.

Marilyn brought back two cups of coffee in one hand, holding them by the handles, and a glass of iced tea for me. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“Black is fine, thank you.”

“I take sugar in mine.” She sat down next to me and asked, “What’d I miss?”

“I was just asking if your husband got his limp in the Army.”

I gave a wry shrug. “I made one jump too many with the 82^nd Airborne. Now I’m in investments. As I mentioned, this is only temporary. We just bought some property out near Hampstead and are going to build a house. I promised Marilyn to take her on a nice vacation once I was out.”

“Sounds like fun. Well, you already know we can handle flying with charter operators. What did you have in mind?”

I glanced at Marilyn, and then pressed ahead. “Two trips, actually. The first is to her family in Utica. That won’t be any too fancy,” I turned to my wife. “You were saying we need to get Charlie baptized, right? You haven’t even joined a church down here, and all your family is up there. We can fly Suzie up with us, take a weekend, give him the bath, and then leave him with your folks while we fly off on our vacation.”

“You make that sound so simple!” she answered.

“That’s because it is simple,” interjected Taylor smoothly. “Simply give me the dates and I can arrange it. Will you want a car while you’re there? Do you plan to stay with family or will you need a room? Any preferences?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” I added. “The only reason I want to fly is because seven hours in the car is going to really bother my knee!”

“Okay, that’s one trip. What did you have in mind for your vacation trip? That will be just the two of you, correct?”

I nodded. “We talked about that. Neither of us have been to the Bahamas. However, I don’t want to just stay in a hotel on the beach. I’m thinking something a little more exotic.”

Both women asked the same thing at the same time, “Just how exotic?” although Marilyn asked it in a much more suspicious tone.

“Okay, I’m thinking a private villa of some sort, on the beach, but private. Not too private, though, since we’ll want to go into town and see the sights or whatever. No desert islands. Is that sort of thing possible?”

Taylor nodded. “Certainly. The only question is how fancy you want to be and when you want to go. Some times of the year are more popular and more expensive, or might already be booked. The Bahamas are actually a bunch of islands, although quite a few have small airstrips that private jets can fly in and out of.”

“How much lead time do we have to give you?”

“Well, I would prefer a few weeks, but I can show you some ideas in a day or two.”

I smiled at Marilyn and nodded. “So I’m not actually as crazy as my wife thinks I am.”

Taylor laughed. “No, not hardly. I think I know of a few places you might like. Private, but not too private. Maybe a place you can work on your tans without any tanlines?”

Marilyn turned bright red, and I just laughed and nodded. “I think you have the general drift.”

“If I call you in two days, will you have figured out when you can do your christening? Maybe we can do the vacation trip the week after that.”

“We’ll figure it out and I’ll call you tomorrow,” I assured her.

We showed Taylor out, and I laughed at Marilyn’s embarrassment. Then I chased her upstairs and showed her my technique for getting her out of her swimsuit. That kept us busy until Charlie woke up.

That afternoon, I had Marilyn call her Mom and see about getting St. Peter’s for a christening. Harriet in turn called St. Peter’s and got the first date available, which was Sunday, April 4. I then called Suzie and checked that April 4 was free for her.

“I guess so. You want me to drive to Utica? Can’t we wait until the summer?” Suzie asked.

“You let me handle that. I’ll let you know. Just be free that weekend, okay?” I assured her.

I turned to Marilyn. “Call your mom back. April 4 it is. I’ll give Taylor the message.” It was after five, so I left a message on her answering machine, and asked Marilyn to remind me to call her the next morning.

Taylor called us by 9:30 the next morning. We gave her the dates, and she said she would have some suggestions by the next day, and asked if she should come out again at the same time. Marilyn and I agreed to that, and Taylor came out at 2:00 just like before.

This time Marilyn had some fresh coffee brewed, and had a sugar and creamer set on the dining room table. I had to take two looks at them. They were a brand new and matching Raggedy Ann and Andy set. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“They’re cute!” protested Marilyn.

“They’re atrocious!” I replied.

“They came with matching salt and pepper shakers, too.”

I stared at her for a second. “Oh my God! My mother really was right about you!”

Marilyn simply stuck her tongue out at me and gave me a long and loud raspberry.

I turned to Taylor. “Wherever we’re going, put me in the Learjet. Put her in a Goony Bird with only one engine!”

“She’s right, they’re cute,” laughed Taylor.

“You can sit with her on the Goony Bird!”

Taylor and Marilyn laughed at me, and Taylor pulled some files from her attaché case. “The first trip is certainly the easiest. You can fly out of Westminster, drop into the nearest airport to — your sister, I believe you said?”

I nodded. “My sister, Suzie. She’s a student at the University of Delaware. I think that’s in Newark.”

Taylor’s eyes unfocused a little as she thought for a second. “Yes, that’s the main campus. I think the nearest airport is actually Philadelphia International. You could fly in there, pick her up, and then fly to the Oneida County airport, which is near Utica. Would that be close?”

Marilyn nodded. “That’s closer than Syracuse.”

“Okay, then. That’s the travel arrangements. I would have a car waiting for you at the airport, and we can put you up for the weekend at the Sheraton. Would you want separate rooms or a nice suite for all of you?”

I grinned at my wife. “Do we keep her in the suite with us, or give her her own room and hope she doesn’t get into trouble?”

“You’re a mean brother! Give her her own room.”

“Okay, but warn her about your brothers. In my family, at least, we don’t think of a family reunion as The Dating Game!”

“Oooh, I’ll get you for that!” Marilyn protested, laughing.

I turned to Taylor. “You’ll notice she didn’t deny that.” Taylor didn’t respond, though her eyes had an amused light to them. “I’d say two rooms at the Sheraton. And a decent sized car at the airport, maybe a Caddy or a Town Car, something that size. We’ll probably bring enough gear to send Charlie into combat.”

Taylor made some notes. “I’ll let you know of the final details and you can let your sister know about the itinerary. That Sunday you simply reverse course. You drop the car off at the airport, fly to Philly and then back home. When will you want to go on your vacation?”

I looked at Marilyn and we shrugged at each other. “Maybe a day or two later?”

Marilyn said, “We’ll need to do the wash and repack. If we fly home on Sunday, I don’t see how we could travel again before Tuesday.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed. “If we fly home the following week, how do we get Charlie back? Fly back up to Utica?”

“Why not fly directly from the Bahamas to Utica, pick him up, and then fly home?” asked Taylor.

I had to laugh at that. “Won’t that freak out your parents!? They’ll never believe us when we have them drive over to the airport and see us climbing out of an airplane!” I looked at Taylor. “What kind of an airplane?”

“Well, the first weekend, the distance is so short, you won’t save any time in a jet. We can put you in a nice turboprop like a King Air. Going to the Bahamas is another thing. I’m figuring a Learjet for that.”

I looked over at Marilyn. “Holy Christ! I told you to stick with me and see the world!”

“I just can’t believe this!”

Taylor looked at us strangely. “Do you mind me asking a personal question?”

“Let me guess — what’s with us and this vacation?” I responded.

“Yes. You’re not my usual clients.”

I grinned and nodded. “Okay, short version. I’m a very good investor in the stock market. However, until now, for the last few years in fact, I’ve been the property of Uncle Sam. I was an officer in the Army, in fact. After I ripped up my leg, I was medicalled out. I’m still a very good investor, but now I plan to goof off a little.”

“You do realize what this vacation is going to cost, don’t you?”

“When I said I was a good investor, I meant it. My net worth is around $40 million right now, and rising. Start buying tech stocks, Taylor. We are at the start of a long boom period in American finance.”

Taylor blinked at that. “Wow! And you were a soldier?”

“Do you only want the poor people protecting you?”

“Wow!”

Taylor pulled out several colored brochures and spread them around the table. “Now, these are just a few possibilities. They’re a mix of things in the Bahamas. Like I said the other day, the Bahamas are a bunch of different islands, most of which are quite lovely and have a small airport on them. The biggest island, well, there really isn’t much of a biggest island. The capital is Nassau.” She pulled out a map of the Bahamas and pointed to an island in the center of the small archipelago. “There’s nice places here, but also some on these other islands. It all depends on what you want.”

I looked at my wife and shrugged. I had been to the Bahamas before with her, back on my first trip, but always on a cruise ship, where we never stayed on the land. I didn’t know much more about the place than what Taylor was saying. I turned back to our little lecture.

Taylor pulled out one brochure. “This is one possibility. It’s in Nassau, the Graycliff, five stars, very discreet, very upscale, an old time estate converted to a very nice resort. Then again, there are also some places nearby, more conventional resorts, but also very modern. That’s a possibility.”

Marilyn looked interested, but it wasn’t quite what I had in mind. “What else do you have there? I was thinking of a sort of villa or house, not really a hotel. Something more private than that.”

“But not so remote as to be a desert island, right?”

I thought briefly back to my hike back through Nicaragua. “No, not that remote. Maybe a place we could get a nice car for the week and go into town if we wanted.”

Taylor nodded. She put away the brochures on the hotels and pulled a few others out. “Here’s something you might like. This is on Eleuthera.” She tapped the map on a different island. “This is called La Valencia. It’s a private estate that can be rented. It’s right on the ocean, almost a thousand feet of private beach, plus a very discreet staff.”

“How do you get there?” I asked. The place certainly looked lovely on the brochure.

“It’s near the island capital, sort of, called Governors Harbor, and there is a small airstrip there. It’s certainly large enough to fly a Learjet in and out of. It also takes flights in and out of Nassau and Miami,” she explained. “Rent a car for a week. Oh, by the way, they’re English originally, so they drive on the left.”

I snorted at that. “Maybe we can save on the jet fuel for the ride home if we die while driving on the wrong side of the road.”

“I’ll drive,” said Marilyn.

“Now I know I’m going to die!”

Charlie woke up at that point and we all took a break as Marilyn tended to our son. She came back down five minutes later with Charlie in a fresh diaper and a clean onesie. He was deposited in my lap while Marilyn scurried off to the kitchen to prepare a bottle. Taylor made a few funny faces at him, and then took him from me and played with him a bit.

Marilyn returned to find Taylor making raspberries with our son. “Typical man, get a woman to do your job for you,” she commented.

“He’s so adorable! Mine are all older than him,” commented Taylor.

“How old?” asked Marilyn.

“My oldest daughter is twelve and my son is nine. The baby is our youngest girl and she’s already seven.”

“What’s your husband do?” I asked.

“He works for the telephone company, but we don’t know whether he’ll stay with AT&T or go with one of the regional companies.”

“He should be safe either way,” I commented. “Ultimately the value of the various Baby Bells will be greater than that of the mother company. I put a flat million into shares of AT&T after the court agreement was made. I intend to stick with it after the breakup.” Taylor blinked at this announcement. While I couldn’t remember all the values and foolishness, for the next thirty years and beyond the various Bell companies and Baby Bells and the original national Bell bought and sold various pieces of each other and their competitors. The ultimate result was a very strong phone system and very valuable stocks.

This seemed like the kind of vacation I had in mind. Taylor told me she would make the various arrangements over the next day or two, and asked how I wanted to get them. It was at times like this that I missed more modern communications methods. Forget about computers — fax machines were still in their infancy! Modem speeds were practically nonexistent. Fiber optic didn’t exist yet. Cell phones had been invented but still hadn’t been rolled out to the United States. I told her to simply mail it to me. I gave her my American Express card number and we wrapped it up for the day.

The next few weeks went quietly. Andrea’s engineer did a perc test and the property passed, so we gave the word to John to start the work on the title and the closing. We would close on the property after we got back from vacation. Marilyn and her mother chattered frequently about the christening and they made arrangements to do a double christening. Mark and Lauren were christening their second child, Justin.

I spent quite a bit of time teasing Marilyn about what I was going to do to her once we got to the Bahamas. That got her very turned on for a few days, but then she had her period and that put a kibosh on any fun and games for most of the week before we left. Well, better than during our vacation week, which we both agreed on.

I converted part of the spare bedroom into an office, buying a desk, a small filing cabinet, and a small copy machine. Jake Junior had me bill this all through The Buckman Group, since it would be a business expense. Theoretically I could have claimed some portion of my home expenses towards office costs, but that’s one of those items the IRS red flags for special attention. At my income level, everything gets audited in any case, but why ask for trouble?

At some point I was going to have to ask John about actually running a business. Right now all of my money was tied up in the stock market, or some more liquid assets that I could tap for quick cash. As my wealth grew, however, was I going to need to hire an accountant or bookkeeper for the Buckman Group? What about a secretary? Get an office somewhere? That sounded like more of a pain than anything else. Right now it didn’t take all that much time, but would it be less expensive to bring it in-house rather than outsource it?

Was I about to become a business?

Chapter 64: Vacation

On Friday, April 2, Marilyn and I packed up all our stuff for the weekend and loaded it in her car. We would drive up to the Westminster airport, unload it into the plane, and then leave the car for the weekend. I felt like I was climbing in and out of a clown car. It was very nice and very cute — and very small!

“Honey, why are we using your car?” I asked.

“Because the car seat is already set up for my car.”

“Well, why don’t we buy a second and put it in my car? Same type, same model, same everything.” We had gotten this very expensive and elaborate contraption that you could unhook from the car and use as a carry around baby carrier, and then put onto wheels as a stroller.

Marilyn didn’t have an argument against this, and we decided to get a second one for when we came home. As it was, with Charlie in the passenger seat, I drove and let Marilyn ride in the back, which seemed very confusing to our son. He kept trying to turn around to look at his mother.

Lloyd Jarrett turned out to be our pilot, and he loaded our gear into a Beechcraft King Air. By the number of bags Marilyn had packed in the trunk, you’d have thought we were making a pilgrimage to Mecca. I just had my B4, but Marilyn had a jumbo suitcase, and Charlie had even more stuff. “You do realize,”, I asked her, “that your mother has everything imaginable that he’s going to need! She only had thirteen children!”

“It’s not the same!”

I just stared at her for a moment and then shook my head. My wife would learn. Eventually, after we had our children, we used to joke that the first one is utterly special. The second child isn’t so special, but is still kind of nice. By the time the third comes along, they’re all just spare parts! You’re too tired to find anything special about them! We used to joke that after we got rid of them all, we’d buy a one bedroom trailer from her father and move into it, and then throw carpet tacks on the living room floor to keep them from coming back! It didn’t quite work out that way.

We had gotten a call from Taylor a couple of days after we had made our arrangements with her. She had heard from Lloyd Jarrett that a better choice for airport would be New Castle in Wilmington. It was closer to Newark and vastly easier for a small plane to fly in and out of, and even more vastly easier for passengers. We got the directions to Suzie.

Lloyd got us loaded and settled in, with me in the copilot’s seat (I made a solemn promise not to touch a damn thing!) and Marilyn and Charlie right behind us. Charlie was turning out to be a good traveler. He didn’t cry or fuss much, and seemed to enjoy it all. The trip to New Castle was barely an hour long, and we had hardly gotten up to altitude when it seemed like we were starting down again. It was a little louder than I liked, but what do I know about airplanes. Lloyd kept up a pleasant chatter about the plane as we flew, and it certainly seemed nice and plush.

New Castle turned out to be pretty quick to fly in and out of. Lloyd told me that it was an ex-Army Air Corps base from WW2 that was just on the edge of being commercially viable for scheduled service from an airline. It was big enough and well built enough to handle commercial traffic, but nobody had figured out how to make any money doing it. The airlines mostly used Philly, and northern Delaware was just too small an area to support an alternative airport. When we landed and taxied to the terminal, we just parked and Lloyd and I climbed out. A door to the side of the terminal opened, and Suzie came out, looking quite bewildered. I waved to her and she just stared at me. I motioned her forward, and she came closer, dragging a suitcase on wheels.

“Hey, there kiddo, you look surprised!”

She stared at me. “When you said we were flying, I thought you meant in a real airplane!”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. I said, “Suzie, this is a real airplane. You think I can charter a 747?”

“You chartered this plane?!”

“Come on, let’s get on board. We can talk about it later.” I took her bag and folded away the handle. Lloyd loaded it aboard, and then motioned for Suzie to get on. This time I sat in the back with Marilyn and Charlie.

As soon as she saw the others, Suzie forgot her questions. She hugged Marilyn and then started playing with her soon-to-be godson. Charlie gurgled happily at her and tugged on her fingers.

As soon as we were loaded, Lloyd got into action and was on the radio, getting us clearance to taxi to a runway and take off. I couldn’t complain about the speed or efficiency of everything, and it was a lot more comfortable than flying commercial. A King Air isn’t the biggest bird in the sky, but the seats were very nice and they sure beat six across seating in the tail end of an overloaded 727.

We arrived at the Oneida County Airport after another couple of hours, and I marveled at it all. We had gotten to Westminster just a bit before nine this morning, and now it was just barely afternoon. If we had tried to do this all flying commercial it would have taken all day to go through two airports, and we would have ended up an hour away from Utica. After 9/11 you could add another four to five hours in security checkpoints. This was so much better!

We hadn’t talked about it during the flight, since I didn’t want to get into it with Lloyd, and it was still a bit noisy. Suzie’s mystification increased when she found a Caddy waiting for us at the airport’s terminal (a shed with delusions of grandeur!) I was able to drive the car up to the airplane and Lloyd helped me load everything up. Then he took off with a promise to return Sunday afternoon at 2:30. That would give us enough time on Sunday to baptize Buster and then have a nice dinner.

We drove over to the Sheraton and put Suzie in her room, and then went up to ours, which was a small suite. It’s not that we were being snobby, but the suite gave us a place to put Charlie in his crib. No, we hadn’t brought the crib. I had been able to keep Marilyn from packing that, too. No, we would use one provided by the hotel. Suzie simply dumped her stuff in her room and followed us up.

She looked around the suite, and simply said, “Okay, what gives?”

“Hmm?” I asked blandly. I went into the bedroom and returned with a bottle of whiskey from my suitcase. “Drinks, you two?”

“Please!” called out my wife. Suzie simply nodded.

I found an ice bucket and sent Suzie down the hallway. “Find us some ice and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“What about lunch?” asked Marilyn.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I took the ice bucket back from my sister. “Let’s go downstairs and have lunch, and we can talk there.”

Marilyn changed Charlie while Suzie watched, and then we loaded him into the stroller and headed out. We’d have a nice lunch, a drink or two, and then head over to the Lefleurs.

We made it to the dining room and didn’t have to wait. Charlie was behaving well, so we just gave him a bottle. The rest of us ordered sandwiches and beers. Finally, Suzie wouldn’t be put off any longer. “Okay, no more stalling. What’s with the private planes and the Cadillac and the suite at the Sheraton? Did you guys suddenly become rich or something?”

Marilyn gave a bit of a shrug and simply pointed at me. I looked at my sister and gave a smile. “Close enough. I’ve been investing in the stock market since I was a kid, and I’ve done well.”

“Like what? How well? Are you a millionaire or something?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am,” I answered.

Suzie just stared at me for a second or two. “Are you serious?”

“You bet! Now, you have to promise not to tell anybody. This is just private, between family members and a very, very few friends. Promise me you won’t blab it to anybody.”

Suzie gave a big grin. “Won’t Mom be surprised! Or do they know already?”

Marilyn and I looked at each other, but we weren’t smiling. I turned back to my baby sister. “See? That’s why I said not to say anything. No, I’ve never told them, and I don’t want to tell them. I haven’t talked to them in four years. Can you think of anything good that would happen if they knew I had money and had moved home?”

“You moved home!?”

“I thought we told you that. We’re living in Cockeysville. We bought some property in Hereford and plan to build a house in the spring.”

“HOLY SHIT!” she exclaimed, a little too loudly. Several people turned their heads to look at her, and she gave a guilty look and lowered her voice. “Holy shit! I had no idea!”

“We moved back a couple of months ago, when I got out of the Army. We’re renting a town house right now. When you come home for the summer, you’ll have to come out. The development even has a pool.”

“Cool!” Suzie turned to Marilyn. “I had no idea!”

“Neither did I! He kept it a secret, even from his wife!” grumped Marilyn.

I shrugged and failed to look all that sorry. “Yeah? Well, there’s a reason for that. People act differently when they think you’re rich. I have friends now that I would have never had if everybody had known I had money, and the friends I did have I would never know why they had become my friends.”

My sister looked startled at that, and when she glanced over at Marilyn, my wife shrugged and nodded in agreement. “I love your brother, but I don’t know what I would have done if I had known he was rich when I met him. What if I had been too afraid to even talk to him? Or what if some beautiful blonde had been chatting him up instead?”

I smiled at my wife. “That wasn’t a concern. I prefer brunettes… Ouch!” Marilyn had slugged me in the shoulder at that comment. I looked back at my sister. “It’s just, well, keep it under wraps, okay?”

“Just how rich are you?”

I shook my head. “Does it matter? I’m rich enough I can fly on chartered airplanes and take my wife on nice vacations. How rich do you need to be?”

“How?”

No way to explain that one. “Remember long ago when I had that fight on the school bus…” I gave her the quick and simple explanation. I finished, however, with, “Don’t tell the family.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that!”

“I know, it’s just… it would become a problem.” Charlie was snoozing peacefully, so I ordered another round of beers. “How’s the family?”

“It’s okay. Hamilton’s working for the phone company now. Aunt Nan and Aunt Peg got him a job there. He works the midnight shift in the billing department, I think. It’s something to do with computers, anyway. Did I tell you that before?”

I nodded. It’s what had happened before. “Is Mom on his case about going back to school?”

Suzie grinned. “Of course! He’s actually started part time at UMBC.”

I snorted at that. Back before, he had spent seven years going to school part time at UMBC, and then dropped out with only 6 credits left to go, giving some bullshit statement about a conflict over the course scheduling. He simply refused to ever finish something properly. It was part of his mental problems. He just threw it all away.

“How’s Mom and Dad?”

Suzie shrugged. “Mom’s Mom. She’s just like always, as long as nobody mentions you. You’re the one who caused all the trouble. I don’t know whether she just says that to hide the fact that Hamilton’s a jerk, or whether she actually believes it. Probably both.”

I just nodded. What more could I say?

“Dad asks about you from time to time.”

My ears perked up at that. “Oh? Like what?”

“Well, he knows that you and I still stay in touch. It’s just that sometimes, every few months, it will just be the two of us in the house or driving, without Mom or Ham, and he’ll ask if I’ve heard from you, if you’re all right.”

I felt a cold and painful fist closing around my heart. Without my brother, couldn’t I have had a decent relationship with my father again? What made my brother so hateful? What had changed in me this time that made him so much of a problem? I missed my Dad. “What do you tell him?” I asked quietly. Marilyn reached over and took my hand.

“Nothing you’ve asked me not to say. Usually just that you are fine and happy. He doesn’t know about Charlie or getting out of the Army or moving home. If he presses, I simply tell him he has to ask you directly. I did offer to give him your phone number, but he hasn’t asked for it. Maybe you should call him?” she said.

I shook my head sadly. “And say what? Listen, if he asks, give him the number. I can pretty much guarantee, though, that if he calls, it won’t be from home, where Hamilton and Mom can throw a tantrum. He’ll call from the office.”

“I’m sorry. It can be pretty weird at times. As soon as I’m out of school, I’m moving out and getting an apartment.”

We talked about her classes for a bit. Suzie was finishing up her junior year, and had another year to go. She was sharing a suite with three other girls, and they planned to stay together the next year, too. When I asked her about her love life, she blushed and told me to mind my own business. That just made me laugh and push harder. If you can’t tease your baby sister about boys, what’s the world coming to? Marilyn was happily torn between defending Suzie and asking questions of her own.

Charlie woke up and fussed, so I paid for lunch and we went back to our rooms. We planned to change him, clean up a bit, and then head over to the Lefleurs for the rest of the day. I told Suzie to come up in about 30 or 40 minutes. I told Marilyn we needed to get ready immediately.

The family reunion with Marilyn’s folks was interesting, to say the least. We had traveled up here frequently over the years, since Marilyn was very close to her family. I should say that Marilyn frequently traveled to Utica. Quite a few times were when I was in the ready cycle, preparing to invade some far off place on a moment’s notice. If it fit with her schedule for school, I would often fly my wife home for a week or two. This, however, was the first time I had visited in over a year, and Marilyn hadn’t seen them since her parents had come down in the fall when Charlie was born.

It started simply enough, but like I suspected, it got complicated quickly enough. “How was the drive up?” asked Harriet.

“Well, actually we flew. Carl’s knee gets stiff when he sits or drives for a long time,” answered Marilyn. I just nodded agreement.

“Oh, so you drove here from Syracuse? What, did you upgrade the rental car?” Harriet was looking out the window to the parking lot and could see the Cadillac.

“No, we had that waiting for us at the Oneida County Airport in Whitestown. Carling arranged a charter flight. We flew to Philadelphia and picked up Suzie, and then flew here. It’s so much faster if you don’t have to go through a regular airport!”

I rolled my eyes slightly. Both Harriet and Big Bob turned to face me. “You chartered a plane?!”

I shrugged and smiled. “Come on, let’s go in and sit down. Can I get a beer?” I led the way into the kitchen, limping and using the cane. Marilyn was right. I tended to stiffen up when I was sitting in a chair for a few hours. It was worst in the morning when I crawled out of bed. I felt like I was moving like an old man then. Then it would get better during the day, and get stiff again in the evening.

Once in the kitchen, I got out a few beers, and Marilyn set Charlie in his seat on the kitchen counter. I smiled at my son and said, “You’ve still got a few years to go, Buster!” Marilyn laughed and started feeding him a bottle. The kid was an absolute piglet!

I turned back to my in-laws, who were still waiting for my explanation. “I have a confession to make. I’ve already told you about most of my history. It was all true. What I didn’t tell you was that I have a pretty good ability at investing on Wall Street. Actually, more than a pretty good ability. I have kept it a secret until just recently, but now that I’m out of the Army, I’ve told Marilyn, and a very, very few friends, and now I’m telling you. I am a millionaire.”

Big Bob looked like he had been smacked with a two-by-four, and Harriet looked like she simply didn’t believe me. They both exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

“It’s true!” said Marilyn. “When we moved to Maryland, Carl introduced me to his lawyers and accountants. They said it was all true!”

“You’re kidding us, right? This is just some sort of joke,” said Big Bob.

“I was a millionaire before I ever met your daughter. I am worth considerably more than that now,” I answered.

“How much more!?” he demanded angrily. It was like I had set out to fool them somehow. Well, okay, I did, but not in a bad manner. Most guys would want to marry into the family to get their hands on Big Bob’s money. Instead, I was richer than him!

I sighed. “As of last week I had a touch over $40 million. That’s mostly in stocks and commodities, though. I only keep about a half million of it in checking and savings accounts.”

They just stared at us with open mouths. Big Bob was considered very much a success in his chosen profession, selling house trailers to people who couldn’t afford anything else. He was honest and fair, sold only better quality house trailers, and was thought well of in the business. He would expand the business to cover most of upstate New York before he sold it to his kids. He knew most people in the business nationwide, and was constantly consulted by his suppliers, since Big Bob was a Big Deal.

And now he had learned that the guy his idiot daughter had married, who was stupid enough to join the Army because he couldn’t get a real job elsewhere, and who he would probably have to support the rest of his life, so his idiot daughter and her children wouldn’t starve and be homeless, was many times wealthier than he was. It was a wrenching change in his worldview.

There wasn’t much for me to say at this point. Suzie just sat there and watched it all, and Marilyn just smiled at me and held my right hand, while using her free hand to pour formula into Charlie. Big Bob and Marilyn stared at us some more, and then looked back and forth at each other.

Finally he asked, incredulously, “Are you serious?!”

“Yes.”

Marilyn piped up. “Listen, when we come back from our vacation, come out to the airport and meet us there! We’ll be flying back here in a jet!” she said excitedly.

“A jet!”

I nodded to them. “Right now we’re planning on a Learjet but that could change, I suppose. It’s not like I own the plane. The charter company promised it, but if it breaks or something, they have to send something else.” I shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like we really care which type of plane it is.” I looked at Marilyn and grinned. “It sure beats the hell out of flying commercial!”

“Unbelievable!” finished Big Bob.

“I told you years ago, sir, that I would take care of your daughter. I meant every word!”

“Unbelievable!”

I didn’t even bother asking the Lefleurs to keep quiet about this. That would have been simply impossible. Marilyn can’t keep a secret to save her life, but she comes by this honestly. Neither of her parents can keep a secret either. In fact, the entire family blabs and gossips like a bunch of old women!

Friday night was pizza night, and the whole family was there. Now, with the kids getting older, it was just getting bigger. Mark and Lauren were there with their little one, and Luke and John had their wives there. Even the high school boys had a couple of girlfriends over. There were just a huge number of questions for us. Many of them were on purely domestic type things. How old was Charlie? Where were we living? What kind of house were we building? (Real simple answer — no idea! Marilyn hadn’t done much more than look at the books.)

A few of the questions were about me and the Army. Was I out? What happened to my leg? Why did I limp and use a cane? The questions didn’t end when Marilyn gave her folks a present. I had no idea she had done this, but she taken the pictures from the ceremony where I got the Bronze Star and had one of them, with her, me, and Charlie, standing with Colonel Longworth, done up nicely. She must have had it done at the PX before we moved, since it had a formal ‘Army’ type look to it. It was laminated to a walnut plaque, with a representation of the medal at the top, the picture, and then a copy of the citation at the bottom.

I think I stared at that plaque as much as her family did. It had only been a few months, but it already felt like a lifetime ago. I had let my hair grow longer, and had grown a mustache and goatee. (Marilyn thought it looked nice, and every once in a while I tried tickling her with it. She didn’t seem to mind my efforts, especially if I tickled her in special places!) It was like Colonel Featherstone had said, that job was over, I had a new job as husband and father.

“When did you have this made?” I asked.

“The photographer sent me the prints and a copy of the negatives, and I called Missy Talmadge about the plaque. She said that the brokerage does similar things, and gave me the name of a company in Towson. Charlie and I drove down there.”

“Without getting lost?”

Marilyn gave me a raspberry, and then said, “Yes, Mister Smarty Pants, without getting lost! I also had one made for you. You can put it on the wall of your office, someday, when you have an office.”

I just stared into space for a moment. The plaque was now being passed around the kitchen as the kids ripped through the pizzas. It just didn’t feel real anymore.

It felt real enough a moment later. Mark and Lauren were sitting at the counter with us, with the two baby seats side by side. It was funny sitting there watching Charlie and Justin looking at each other curiously. Mark had grown up a lot since high school, at least in that he didn’t try to push my buttons intentionally any more. He was still an arrogant son of a bitch, but not as bad as before. Maybe his wife had him on a leash. “Why did they give you a medal?” he asked. At least the tone of the question was one of information seeking, not derision.

“Uh, I can’t really say. It’s classified,” I said. Even as I said it, I knew it sounded lame.

“Classified?”

I glanced at Marilyn, but for once, she didn’t feel like talking about it. She hadn’t said anything to Tusker or Tessa either. It seemed that if I invoked national security, she could actually keep a secret! “Mark, when I was in the Army, I had a Top Secret clearance. That mission was classified Top Secret. I am simply not allowed to talk about it.”

“I thought you were down there training,” he commented.

Lauren agreed. “That’s what Mom said when she and Dad went down after Charlie was born. You were off in Honduras on some training thing.” Of course, Mom and Dad were Harriet and Big Bob. “That’s where you hurt your leg, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s where I hurt my leg. Listen, everything the Army does is training, right up until the point when it isn’t, you know? Anyway, that’s all I can tell you. It’s legit. It wasn’t faked.”

“You can’t say anything?” pressed Mark.

I felt my jaw tightening, and Marilyn squeezed my hand. I just took a deep breath; Mark was being curious, not an asshole. I said, quietly, “Mark, Top Secret is Top Secret. I am not allowed to discuss it with anybody without the proper clearance. There are things that happened on that mission that I haven’t even talked to Marilyn about.”

Then I simply pushed my way away from the counter and smiled. “Besides, it’s all ancient history. That seems like a different me. Now I just live at home with my family.”

None of the boys said anything to us about our money. The little ones didn’t know or understand, and the big ones were generally too polite. I got much more grief over my beard. While Big Bob was always clean shaven, most of his sons grew beards on and off over the years. Matthew had a mustache, Mark and Luke both had trimmed but full beards, and I knew that a number of the others would grow them over the years as well. Both Mark and Luke wanted to know if the goatee was because I couldn’t grow a full beard. I asked them if they had any hair on their balls, or if they only had it on their face. I didn’t ask them that where their mother could hear, just their wives. It was a fun night, actually.

It was after nine when we all headed over to the Sheraton. The next morning we slept late, had breakfast at the hotel, and then drove back over to the Lefleurs. It was actually a lot quieter, since Mark and Luke and their families weren’t around, and most of the high school boys were off somewhere. We just hung around for the day, with Marilyn giving her mother detailed instructions on taking care of Charlie. Harriet put up with this with considerable humor, since she could write books on taking care of babies. Hell, by the time we got back, they’d probably have him potty trained, weaned, and driving a truck!

Saturday night we had hamburgers at the Lefleurs. Think of charcoal briquettes on buns. Still, I had to suffer through one meal that weekend. Sunday would be better.

Sunday turned out very nicely. We didn’t go to the Lefleurs at all. Instead, after breakfast, we dressed in our Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes and drove directly over to St. Peter’s. The day was quite chilly, since it was only the first weekend in April. It was still well inside the snow period for upstate, which is usually considered anytime between Thanksgiving and Easter. Even that isn’t a sufficient time frame. It can snow anytime in November, and right into May. Most farmers don’t even plant until May. This was a real difference to Maryland, where the seasons seemed to start six weeks earlier. We bundled Charlie up and hustled inside the church.

Matthew and Suzie were going to be godparents to Charlie, and this was considered quite unusual to the Lefleurs. Both were single, and Suzie wasn’t even Catholic. Their tradition was that only married Catholic couples could be godparents. Marilyn didn’t realize it yet, but the only godchild she would get, out of over forty grandchildren, was one of Suzie’s kids. Mark and Lauren had selected her oldest brother and his wife as godparents.

After the mass and the double baptism, we headed over to Grimaldi’s for lunch. They had a banquet room upstairs, and I had let Marilyn sort this out with her mother and Lauren. We had a big group, what with Lauren’s family, and it just seemed so much simpler this way. On Friday night I told Mark I would pay and then he could send us a check afterwards. As it was, by the time you added in the Lefleurs, Lauren’s family, the older boys’ girlfriends, Luke’s wife and her family, and my little brood, we were somewhere between 40 and 50 people. No way could we do that at the Lefleur household, even if we catered it.

It all went very smoothly. At least we got Charlie baptized, so my wife could rest easily. Up until now, I had threatened to spritz him with the sprayer at the kitchen sink, and intone “Now you are a Lutheran!” That would usually give her apoplexy, thinking that the heathens had finally gotten their hands on our child. I would usually just laugh and then threaten to do it secretly, so that when Charlie did make it to Heaven some day, St. Peter would send him to the Lutheran section.

Before we left, Marilyn spent another half hour telling her mother how to raise our son, to the point where Harriet simply took the baby seat with Charlie in it and ordered her daughter away. At that point I rescued Harriet by pulling Marilyn away and hustling her and Suzie out to the car. We were there about half an hour early, but Lloyd Jarrett was already there, sitting in the lobby and reading the Utica Observer-Dispatch. We had a phone number to call to return the car, so I found a phone and made the call, and then went back out and left the keys under the front seat. Lloyd had a lot less to load in the King Air without all of Charlie’s gear!

The flight home was even quicker. We landed at New Castle and practically tossed Suzie out as we rolled down the runway. We had her and her luggage unloaded in just a few minutes once we got to the terminal, and then we buttoned up again and turned around for the taxiway. We got permission to fly out very quickly. I guess Sunday afternoons aren’t heavy traffic days. I wondered if New Castle even had heavy traffic days. An hour later Lloyd landed back at Westminster.

“Will you be flying us Tuesday?” I asked him, as we unloaded our luggage from the King Air.

“No, I’ve got a flight in the King Air to Chicago. I have another pilot who’s going to fly you down. He used to be Air Force, too.”

“What’d you do after you dropped us off in Utica on Friday? You hang around Utica?”

“God forbid! I flew home. Your bill would be a whole lot higher if you made me stay in Utica!”

“That’s kind of why we live in Maryland, you know,” I said, agreeing with him.

“Now, if you want me to hang around in the Bahamas, just let me know. Maybe I can load the wife and kids into the cargo hold, or they can sit on the wings or something.”

I just laughed at that and thanked him, and then Marilyn and I got in her car and drove home. It was a touch wearing flying around like this, but compared to flying commercial, it was a breeze! We got back to the town house just in time to catch the evening news. I warmed up some leftovers from the refrigerator, and then we cleaned out everything that would go bad over the next week. I made a couple of trips out to the dumpster with garbage bags. I left enough to live on during Monday, but otherwise cleaned out the fridge.

Chapter 65: Off To The Bahamas

Tuesday, April 6, 1982

We spent the next day unpacking and repacking our bags for the coming vacation. We just tossed our dry cleaning from the weekend into a pile in the corner of the bedroom. That was really just my suit and Marilyn’s dress from the baptism. We had several suitcases and a hanging bag. I teased Marilyn about cutting down on luggage by eliminating all her underwear.

Marilyn grinned at me. “I think you have ulterior motives!”

I gave her my most innocent look. “Marilyn, how can you think that of me? I just worry about taking all that luggage with us.”

“So it has nothing to do with wanting to see me running around without my bra or panties on.”

I held my left hand up, with the middle three fingers extended and the thumb and pinky folded over. “Scout’s Honor!”

She gave me a double take at that. “I thought you did that with your right hand.”

“Oh, well I guess it doesn’t apply then.”

“Did you want to help me pick out my clothing?” she said teasingly.

“What an excellent idea!”

We spent the rest of the evening going through some of her outfits. She would try one on, I would comment on it, and then she would take it off and I would have my way with her! It took us a long time to sort through her closet and dresser, but it was sure worth it! I bet Victoria’s Secret could really boost sales if the models boffed the customers!

Monday we packed and rested. Marilyn spent some time taking a bubble bath, and then afterwards invited me upstairs to help her shave. That kept us both occupied the rest of the afternoon. By God, that pussy was clean enough to eat off of, which I did! By dinner time, the refrigerator was empty and we ended up going out for Chinese.

We got up at 8:00 the next morning, ate breakfast (bagels and juice), cleaned up, and finished packing. We left the town house about an hour later, and drove to the airport in my car, and not Marilyn’s little clown car. One of these days Chrysler would invent the minivan and I could buy her a “Mom bomb” I could fit into. We were figuring that if we could get to the airport by 10:00, we’d be in good shape. According to the map, the Bahamas were about 1,000 miles away, and the Learjet was supposed to cruise at about 500 miles an hour or so, so we should get there around lunchtime.

I drove up to the terminal and around to the charter area, where we saw a small jet sitting on the tarmac near the building. “Is that it?” asked Marilyn, wide-eyed.

It looked tiny, at least compared to an airliner, but I could see the distinctive wing tanks of the first generation Learjets. “I told you, honey, stick with me.”

Marilyn turned to me and laughed. “You’ve told me a lot of things over the years!”

I smiled at her. “And the check was in the mail, wasn’t it?”

“What else?”

“I would love you in the morning, right? I did!”

“And what else?”

I gave my wife a big shit eating grin. “And I wouldn’t come in your mouth!”

“That’s the one! Liar, liar, pants on fire!”

We both laughed at that, and then I parked the car. I popped the trunk. Marilyn grabbed her purse and climbed out. She was wearing a new sundress, halter topped and mid thigh length, along with a pair of medium heeled sandals. It was warm enough that we didn’t need coats or jackets, at least as long as we stayed in the sunlight, and by the afternoon it would probably be very pleasant. I suspected it would be even more pleasant a thousand miles south of Westminster. I grabbed our bags and pulled them from the trunk. We had three suitcases and a hanging bag, and Marilyn stood there smiling expectantly. At least I got her to carry my cane.

A pilot came out of the terminal and headed over to me. “Mister Buckman?”

I dropped the suitcases. “That’s me!”

“Okay, excellent! I’ll be your pilot. I’m Jim Johnson.” He was in his mid-thirties. Lloyd had said he was ex-Air Force. I suspected that he was a flyboy who had gotten to the point in his career where he was spending more time flying a desk and less time flying a fast jet, and it wasn’t fun anymore. It was time to get out and either fly 747s for Continental as a junior pilot, or fly fast and nimble little private jets for a charter company. I bet Jim had chosen option 2.

I stuck my hand out. “Carl Buckman, and this is my wife, Marilyn.”

He turned to her and shook Marilyn’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. Just checking, but you’re going to Eleuthera in the Bahamas, right?”

Marilyn looked confused and turned to me. “I thought you said this was in a place called Governors Harbor?”

“That’s the airport on Eleuthera,” I answered, and she looked relieved. To Johnson, I said, “Yes, that’s right.”

“Just checking. I’d hate to get there and find you wanted to go skiing in Canada or something,” he said with a smile.

I laughed. “Has that ever happened?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not to me, but it happened to a friend of mine.”

“Well, you got it right this time.”

“Then let me give you a hand with that. Do you have your passports handy?”

Marilyn immediately began pawing through her handbag, but I simply reached into my back pocket and pulled them out. We had Marilyn’s, from when she had changed her name after we got married, and my new blue one, from when I had surrendered my red military version to get my new civilian model. “How does that work, anyway?” I asked.

“A Bahamian customs officer will be at the airport. You have to stay on the plane until he clears you.”

Okay, that made sense. But later? “What happens when we fly home? Are there customs officers in Utica?” That just didn’t sound right. There couldn’t be customs people at every Podunk airport in America.

He shook his head. “No. For one thing, we’ll need to tank up on the way back. We can’t make it there in one hop. So we’ll fly to someplace in between with customs officers, and then go through customs. Once we’re inside the US, we can refuel and fly where we want to go without problems. At that point it becomes an internal flight and nobody cares.”

“So we fly to Miami and go through customs there.”

“Probably north of there. I’m thinking Charlotte.”

“It’s big enough to have a customs office but not too big to get lost in the shuffle, and it’s about halfway to Utica. Why in the world do you want to fly to Utica, anyway?”

“Our baby is staying with Marilyn’s family. Otherwise, I’m with you!” Marilyn stuck her tongue out at both of us, which simply made me laugh.

Jim simply smiled and grabbed a couple of the suitcases. I followed him over to the jet and passed him the bags as he loaded them into the jet. Afterwards, we stepped back and Johnson allowed us to climb up the stairs into the plane. As a gentleman, I allowed Marilyn to go first. The fact that I liked watching her legs as she climbed up the stairs ahead of me was simply coincidental!

And it got me to thinking.

I stood there hunched over (it was surprisingly short, between four and five feet high) in the front of the cabin looking around as the pilot climbed on board. He was followed on board by a good looking blonde who was wearing what looked like a stewardess outfit. I looked at her curiously. “These little babies need a stewardess?”

“Flight attendant!” she answered with a smile. “No, not really. I’m Jim’s wife. I occasionally fly with him.”

“Hi. Carl and Marilyn Buckman.”

“Samantha Johnson. Let’s get you buckled in and airborne. Once we’re at altitude, we have a bottle of champagne courtesy of your travel agent.”

“Well, that’s nice. I’m sure I’m paying for it somehow, but it’s still nice,” I replied with a smile. Then I glanced back to where Marilyn was sitting. There were six seats on the jet. three rows of two seats. Marilyn was sitting in the first row, with her legs crossed and showing a lot of very nice thigh. I turned back to Samantha and lowered my voice. “Let me ask you, where do you sit during the flight?”

Samantha looked past me towards Marilyn, and then gave me a small smile. “I think I can ride up front with Jim. We actually have a partition door between the cabin and the cockpit.”

I returned the smile. “That would be very nice.” I turned and moved into the cabin. Marilyn was sitting on the right side of the jet and looking out the window. I sat down in the seat across the aisle from her.

Marilyn turned to me and said, “I can’t believe this!”

“I have to admit, it definitely beats the last airline I flew routinely.”

“Hmm?”

“You know, me and a hundred of my closest friends, and we didn’t even have to worry about whether we were going to crash when we landed! We weren’t going to be on board then!”

“Yeah, but I bet you didn’t have seats this comfortable.”

“And we didn’t have a flight attendant serving champagne, either.”

“Champagne! It’s the middle of the morning!”

“It must be five o’clock somewhere. If you don’t want any…”

Marilyn interrupted me. “I didn’t say that!”

At that point Jim Johnson came out of the cockpit and headed to the door, and pulled the folding stairs up into the plane, and then pulled the top portion of the door down and closed us up. “Let’s buckle up, folks.”

He went back into the cockpit and Samantha came back to do the flight attendant bit. “Do I need to tell you how to buckle your seat belts?”

“I think we have it covered.”

Just then a whine started from outside as the engines began starting up. Samantha moved into a fold-down jump seat next to the cockpit door. I looked over at Marilyn. “In the event of an emergency, do you know the proper crash position?”

“What?”

“You bend over, put your head between your legs, and kiss your ass good-bye!”

“Shut up! You can’t say things like that on an airplane.”

I laughed at her. “What? I’m going to upset all the other passengers?” That simply got me a raspberry.

I faced forward and considered my seat. The seats on this bird were really nice and luxurious leather, big, wide, and soft. They must have been made from a very happy cow. The cabin wasn’t all that big, but it still beat the back end of a 727, with a screaming four year old on one side and a sweaty overweight Shriner on the other side, coming off a hangover and reaching for an airsick bag.

Of course, not all 727s are like that. In my first go-around I had flown private jets several times. Most of the times were with various trailer suppliers, but back before that, I had been with ITT for a time and had flown a few times on one of their corporate jets. This was back when ITT was one of the largest conglomerates, and had a fleet of jets. Their pride and joy was a 727 rigged up as a corporate jet. Leaving aside the super-plush seats and ample legroom, it had meeting rooms and a bedroom. On entering the plane, we had been greeted by a steward who told us that as soon as we got to altitude he would take our drink orders and ask how we wanted our steaks cooked. It was a bunch of us flying back from Seattle to New York on a red-eye, and they got into a high stakes poker game in the back. We had been scabbing in a pulp mill on strike, living in the mill, and making about three times our normal pay with nowhere to spend it. There were thousands riding on that table, which is way more than I felt comfortable with.

At the time I was working in a lab in New Jersey and got tapped to work on the West Coast for three months in an emergency. While out there, separated from family and friends, we all went native. I grew my hair out to my shoulders, and for the first time grew a full beard. Once a month they would fly us home to see our families after working 84 hour weeks. When I went over to the lab to check my mail, people stared at me and moved away from the hairy mountain man moving down the hallway. Of course the best moment was that first time I flew home and got into the apartment after Marilyn had left for work. I was beat, and climbed into bed and went to sleep. That afternoon I woke up to my wife screaming in the bedroom. She didn’t know I was coming home and didn’t know who the hairy bearded guy sleeping in her bed was! Of course, about ten seconds after she figured out who I was, she was in the bed with me. It had been a long cycle on the West Coast.

Anyway, that 727 set the gold standard for corporate jets, that and the Playboy DC-9 that Hugh Hefner owned briefly. This bird wasn’t that fancy, but she was pretty nice, and she apparently could haul ass. Once we taxied to the runway, Jim Johnson put the pedal to the metal and I found myself pushed heavily back into the seat. It didn’t seem like very long before he rotated off the runway and started climbing like a raped ape at a crazy angle. I looked over at my wife and found her looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and awe. I just grinned back.

It was well under ten minutes before we were at cruising altitude and leveled off. At that time, Samantha unbuckled from her jump seat and got to her feet. She popped open a hidden cabinet and pulled out a pair of champagne flutes. These she handed to us, and then she opened a different cabinet to reveal a hidden wine cooler. Inside was a bottle of Dom Perignon. She pulled this out and popped the cork carefully, and then poured some into our flutes. Then Samantha set the bottle into a holder built into the wall of the cabin in front of me. “I’m going forward now. I’ll let you know when we’re about ten minutes out from Eleuthera.” Then she headed towards the cockpit, and a minute later a full partition slid shut closing off the cockpit.

I looked over at my wife and held out my champagne flute towards her. “Here’s to our vacation. We earned it!”

Marilyn looked over and laughed, and then clinked her flute against mine. “We earned it?”

“You had a baby and I blew apart my knee. We earned it!”

She smiled and sipped her champagne, and I did the same. In fact, we finished our glasses and I refilled them. I also undid my seat belt and tucked it down into the seat and out of the way. Marilyn noticed me and did the same.

I patted my right knee and smiled at her, and gave her a ‘come along’ motion with my index finger. “Have a seat.”

“We can’t do that!”

“Do what? We’re just going to sit and talk.”

Marilyn rolled her eyes and carefully got up, and then twisted around to sit on my lap sideways. Since I was in the left hand seat, I had my glass in my right hand and Marilyn had hers in her left, with her right arm around my neck. I pulled her face down to mine and gave her a quick kiss. “Who knows, maybe by the time we get back, your parents will have sold Charlie to the gypsies and it will be quiet again.”

“You are a heartless and evil person,” she replied with a smile.

“You think so? Wait until he hits the teenage years and grows up to be just like his old man! You’ll be happy to move him out of the house then.”

Marilyn gave me a disapproving look. “I think you’re just making it all up. No way could you have been like you say you were when you were a teenager.”

I just smiled. My left hand snaked its way up to the zipper on the back of her dress. Ten seconds later I had flipped the hook-and-eye catch and pulled the zipper down. “Carling! You can’t do that here!”

“Now, how old do you think I was when I perfected that little maneuver? It wasn’t after I met you, not hardly!”

Marilyn tried to reach around with one hand to zip up her dress, but I already had my hand inside, caressing the skin of her lower back. “You can’t do this!” she protested.

“Do what? This?” I quickly reached up and pulled the tie holding her halter top up.

Marilyn squealed and pulled her hands around to her front. “Carl!”

“You complain way too much!” I commented. I finished off my champagne and tossed the flute over into her seat. Then I placed my hand on her knee and slid it up and under the edge of her sundress.

Marilyn squealed again and moved her hands to her lap, which simply dropped her top down and exposed her breasts. “We’re going to get into trouble!”

“Ever heard of the mile high club?” I kept pushing my hand up her dress, and began running my fingers across the front panel of her panties.

“Yes,” she answered weakly, her resolve weakening as her pussy got hot and moist.

“Well, why do you think I asked the stewardess to close the door?”

Marilyn’s head spun to look at the door, and the whipped around to me again. “You didn’t!?”

I just grinned like a madman. “Why do you think she told us she would let us know ten minutes before landing?”

Marilyn’s eyes widened at that. “Oh my God! You didn’t!”

I laughed. “Yeah, now sit up a bit and give me a hand.” I tugged her dress down around her waist, and then had Marilyn lift up enough so that I could pull it down and off her. As I moved down past her hips, I also reached out with my fingers and tugged her panties down, too. I tossed her clothing onto her seat, so that she was now sitting naked on my lap, wearing nothing but her high heeled sandals and a nervous smile. I put my hand back between her legs and began fingering her pussy. “You are so beautiful!” I told her.

“Oh God!” Marilyn moaned as she arched her back, and I lowered my face to suck on her tits. Ever since Charlie came along, I think they grew a full cup size; she was now about a C+. “Unh… unh… unh…” she grunted, her body shivering beneath me.

I let her come that way and then relented. “Lift up a bit,” I ordered her. As soon as she lifted off my lap, I undid my belt and zipper and pushed my pants and briefs down and off. “Now, twist around. This flight isn’t long enough for us to get too silly.” Marilyn cautiously moved to twist around and straddle my hips and then lowered herself onto my cock. She was very juicy and turned on, her nipples, normally so small and faint were now engorged and pointing out at me. “Oh, yeah, that’s it!”

“You’re so bad! If we get in trouble it’s all your fault!” she answered, lifting up and dropping down onto me.

“Yeah, right, that’s why you’re on top, because I’m the bad guy, right!” I laughed. I put my face back down and began sucking her nipples, first one and then the other, as she bounced on my cock. Marilyn was letting out little keening noises as she orgasmed, and her cunt was spasming around me. It was rippling around my cock, and it felt exquisite! After a bit, I just groaned and pulled her down onto me, hard, as I lifted my hips up and out of the seat and blasted my jism up and into her pussy.

Marilyn sagged down against me, and then she stirred and looked around guiltily. “I guess we’d better get dressed.”

I smiled at her. Glancing at my wristwatch, I just rubbed her back and kept her on my lap. “I think we’ve got a little time. If I was really motivated, you could have some more fun.”

“If you were motivated?”

“Well, if you were to tell me about what you wanted me to do this week to you, that would probably motivate me.” I rubbed my hands along her back and down to her ass. “Any ideas coming to mind?”

“I think you just want me to talk dirty to you,” she whispered. “I bet you already have some things in mind that you are going to want me to do.”

“Oh, like what?” I kept up the gentle massage along her back and bottom. I had slipped out of her pussy by now, but I could feel myself starting to get stiff again.

“She gave a small whimper, and then said, „I bet you plan to fuck me all this week!“”

“Oh?”

“You’re going to fuck my pussy, aren’t you?”

I leaned in and licked an earlobe. “What else?” I whispered. I was definitely stiff now.

“You’re going to make me suck your cock and swallow your come, aren’t you?”

“Yes. What else?” I rubbed my hands across her rear, and slid my fingertips down into the crack of her ass.

Marilyn’s eyes opened wide. “You’re going to fuck my asshole, aren’t you?”

I lifted her bottom up and Marilyn moved to position my cockhead at the entrance of her pussy. Once in line with the target, I dropped her down onto me and pushed both her hands between us, to play with her clit and rub my cock as it moved inside her. “Yes. I’m going to fuck you all week long. By the time the week is done, you’re going to need a vacation from your vacation. You’ll be taking all your panties and bras back home unused.”

I kept telling her graphically what was going to happen, and Marilyn whimpered as she moved on top of me. I kept her hands trapped between us, and Marilyn’s body responded, moving her from one orgasm to another seamlessly. This fuck was longer, but even better than the first one, and I held out into her third orgasm before I blew my load. We were both a bit sweaty at that point.

Marilyn climbed off my lap. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked.

I looked around and smiled. “I don’t think there is one.”

“Oh, shit! I wanted to clean up!”

I looked at my watch. “We’ll be on the ground in another half an hour.” I grabbed my pants and briefs and pulled them back on, and then stood in the aisle and tucked everything back into place.

Marilyn grumbled and dressed again, and pulled her panties back on as well. “I feel like I’m squishing!” she complained.

“It’s nothing these guys haven’t seen or heard of before.” I sat down and grabbed our champagne glasses. I poured the rest of the champagne into them and handed a glass to my wife. “Cheers! Here’s to a great vacation!”

Marilyn rolled her eyes, and then smiled. “To a great vacation. Just don’t do anything that will get us thrown in jail.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Jail’s overrated, anyway!”

Marilyn just groaned.

A few minutes later the intercom went off and Samantha announced, “Governors Harbor in about ten minutes.” Ten minutes later the partition opened and Samantha came back out to meet us. “Okay, seats and tray tables in the upright position,” she said with a smile. “We’re going to be descending any moment now. Have you enjoyed the flight?”

Marilyn turned beet red, but I just smiled and nodded. “It was everything we could have asked for. Thank you.”

“Well, a week from now let’s hope you have just as nice a time flying with us.” She took away the glasses and the empty bottle and hid them away, and then sat back down in the jump seat with us.

I looked over at my wife and smiled. “I’ll be looking forward to that next flight.” Marilyn simply stayed red faced and looked out the window, although she did smile at me before she turned away. I simply chuckled at her.

The airport wasn’t very large, and I really couldn’t see much of it on the approach. All I could see was crystal clear blue water. Eleuthera couldn’t be very big. Eventually, out the window I noticed sand and concrete getting alarmingly close, but he flared out at the last minute and floated us onto the runway with barely a whisper to the tires. Then the engine roar went into overload as Jim flipped in the thrust reversers and we were pressed forward as the little jet slowed down abruptly.

After the landing we taxied up to the terminal and our pilot got on the intercom and warned us both to stay on the airplane until we were released by Bahamian customs. After we stopped, he shut down one engine and came out and repeated this to us. He waited until there was a knock on the door, and then he opened the door on the Learjet. Sunlight flooded in, along with humid air that smelled of the sea.

I took a deep breath and unbuckled my seat belt. “We ain’t in Kansas anymore, baby!”

The customs officer came on board and looked at our passports but didn’t bother stamping them. In those pre-9/11 days, you could travel anywhere through the Caribbean, Canada, or Mexico with just a driver’s license and no passports or visas. Jim and I unloaded our luggage and carried it in the building, and then I shook hands with Jim and Samantha, who had followed us in.

“Flying home now?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she replied. “We’ll spend the night in town and fly out at dawn. We have friends down here and we’ll stay with them.”

“Well, that sure sounds like fun. It’s almost like it isn’t even work!”

She just grinned and nodded. We waved good-bye and shuffled over to the rental car booth. I hadn’t specified anything fancy, so we were just getting a small car. This surprised me quite a bit. The Bahamas, like most of the British Commonwealth, drives on the left hand side of the road (the wrong side to Americans) so the proper type of car would have the driver positioned on the right hand side of the car, opposite to American vehicles. However, since the Bahamas is so close to the US, most of the vehicles are actually imported from there, and are left hand drive cars. I was quite used to driving the Chevrolet Cavalier we ended up with, even if it was generally a piece of crap.

I might die by driving on the wrong side of the road, but at least I would know how to drive the car I would end up wrecked in!

We got a map of Eleuthera and directions to get to La Valencia. It turns out it’s pretty hard to get lost on the island of Eleuthera. There’s only one road, which runs the length of the entire island, the Queens Highway. Once you left the airport we found ourselves on this one road and headed south. The airport is a few miles north of the town of Governors Harbor, and La Valencia is in the town of North Palmetto Point. We got there twenty minutes later.

I didn’t kill anybody on the drive down, not even Marilyn, who complained the entire time we were driving. “You’re going too fast! You don’t know how to drive like this! You’re not in America anymore! Stay over! Stay in your lane!” I wondered if I could hire that Honduran pilot who had dumped us in Nicaragua. He couldn’t have been any worse to drive with than my wife!

Chapter 66: La Valencia

We drove into the little town of North Palmetto Point and found the rental office. I parked and we went inside. A little bell rang when we pushed open the door, and a tall and slim black man came out from the back. He was wearing lightweight slacks and a polo shirt and sandals. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“I certainly hope so. We’re Carl and Marilyn Buckman. We’re supposed to have a reservation for the next week. La Valencia?” I responded.

The man relaxed and smiled. “Yes, please come in. Welcome!” He came towards us and shook our hands when we met. “My name is Jonathan Finch and I’m the resort concierge. La Valencia is only a few minutes from here. Let me get the keys, and you can follow me out there.” Mister Finch spoke with a distinct English accent, but I could hear the sing-song cadence of the islands in his voice. He went into the back again and then came out with a set of keys and some papers. “Just follow me. We can do all the paperwork out there.”

We followed him out of the office and got back in our rental car. It wasn’t five minutes later when we were driving down a long driveway towards the beach. He parked and we parked behind him.

Well, it was simply gorgeous! It was done in a Spanish style. The place looked immense, and we could hear the surf from the far side of the building. It wasn’t clear to me if it had been a private home that had been converted to a resort or was custom built as a high end resort, but it simply looked unbelievable. There was supposed to be a staff, but whether they were full time or part time wasn’t clear either. Either way, just standing there in the sunshine, it made me think this was precisely what I had asked Taylor to find for us!

Finch came over to us and said, “Let me have your keys. I’ll see that your luggage is put in the master suite. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Certainly. Thank you.” I handed him the car keys and let Finch lead the way. I took my wife’s hand and we walked up the path to the house.

Once inside, Finch motioned for us to stay in the foyer, and he stepped into another room, and I could hear him speaking to someone, and then he came back out. “One of the groundsmen will be along in a moment to unload your car. Here, let me show you the master suite.”

It was almost too much to take in at once. The foyer led into the living room and dining room combination, which was bright and airy, with tile floors and twelve foot ceilings, and a variety of wicker furniture with cushions. It looked to be roughly the size of our entire town house! Down a short hallway to one side was the master suite, which was quite large, with a gargantuan four poster bed in the center, and plenty of dressers and cabinets. This room had a master bathroom that was simply sybaritic in detail, with a whirlpool tub, a shower large enough for both Marilyn and I and all our closest friends, and even a bidet.

“Perhaps you would care to freshen up before I show you around?” suggested Finch.

“Yes, please!” piped up Marilyn. She scooted into the bathroom and closed the door.

I simply nodded agreement and followed the concierge out into the living room again. “When she gets out, I’ll do the same.”

“Of course. Could I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Something harder?”

“Only if you will join us.”

He smiled. “It’s still early in the day, so perhaps just some coffee.”

“Well, you and Marilyn can have coffee, but if possible, I’d prefer tea,” I replied. After all, this place used to belong to the Brits, so maybe they still did tea.

He nodded and went off to the side room again. I just wandered around the room looking at things. When he came out, he said, “Mrs. Wilkes will bring it out in a moment.”

“Mrs. Wilkes?”

“Yes, she’s the caretaker. She’s normally here every morning, Monday thru Friday. I’ll introduce you both to her. Mrs. Wilkes actually runs the place. The rest of us are simply tolerated guests,” he said with a smile.

“I quite understand,” I said, laughing. Marilyn came out at that moment and I excused myself and went into the bathroom. I simply had to take a leak and wash my face and hands. I noticed, however, that Marilyn had taken her panties off and had tossed them in the corner. I guess after sitting in them, ‘squishing’ as she called it, she preferred going commando after cleaning up.

I returned to the living room to find Wilkes and Marilyn sitting at the dining room table, as a very large and very black woman served coffee and tea from a tea service and tray. “Tea, sir?” she asked, in a much heavier dialect than Wilkes had.

“Please, and cream and sugar. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.” She poured me some tea. “It is Earl Grey, sir.” I nodded my acceptance, and she continued. “I am Mrs. Wilkes. I am the caretaker for La Valencia, and supervise the ground staff. I am here in the mornings, until noon, during the week. If there is anything I can do for you, I am normally in the kitchen.” She pointed to a room to the side of the dining area, and I realized that when Finch had gone in search of somebody with our car keys, he must have gone looking for Mrs. Wilkes.

“Thank you.” I glanced at my watch, and it was almost two in the afternoon. “I’m sorry we got here so late. I hope it doesn’t mess up your schedule.”

She waved it off. “No problem, sir, no problem!” She left the service and lumbered back to the kitchen.

I stirred some cream and sugar into my tea. “So, Mister Finch, I’m curious. Is La Valencia an estate used for rental part of the year, or was it designed for rental to begin with? What’s the story about this place?”

He smiled at me. “Well, actually, it’s a little of all of that. The original estate was built back in the Twenties by an Englishman who made his money smuggling rum into Miami during Prohibition.”

I smiled at my wife and the said, “Sounds like my kind of guy!”

Marilyn rolled her eyes. “Spare me!”

I had to laugh at her. Then I told Finch, “Keep going. After Prohibition?”

“Well, Sir Douglas — that was his name — died during the Blitz in the War. His son, an only child, died at Arnhem with the Paras. After that, the government took it over, and for the next twenty years it went through a succession of owners who all tried to turn it into a vacation resort or hotel. The original building was a Victorian monstrosity.”

“Not this place.”

“No, the current owner bought it in the Sixties, and about two weeks later it burned to the ground…”

I laughed at that. “We call that Jewish lightning back in the States.”

He smiled and nodded. “I have heard the term. Well, he built the current structure, along with several others in the area, and designed them specifically as resorts for those individuals seeking something above the normal thing you’d find in Nassau.”

Expensive and high end, in other words. Well, if what we were paying was any indication, it was money well spent, even if the clientele was limited to the rich. “Well, it’s really very nice. What is your job?”

“Well, the title is concierge, but I am really the manager of the various properties for the owners. Still, if you want to do something not here, just call my office and either I or my assistant will make the arrangements.”

I must have looked confused, and I glanced at Marilyn and noticed her brows furrowed as well. “Like what?” she asked.

“Oh, well, say you wanted to go deep sea fishing or snorkeling or set up a dinner party or something. Just call the office and we can help you.”

“Ah.”

He handed me a business card with his name and number on it. “Perhaps you would care to look around the grounds and the resort?”

“Sure thing.” I stood up and Marilyn stood with me. “Who owns the resort now?”

Finch simply smiled. “The staff at la Valencia prides itself on its discretion.”

I shrugged and waved it off. “Just curious.” We followed him through the house. The kitchen, where Mrs. Wilkes was, was spotless and large. There were some basics and staples in the refrigerator and the pantry, but that was about it. She could serve us breakfast and lunch, with an unspecified amount to be tacked onto the bill. Anything after noon, however, would have to be specially ordered. That seemed fine to us, since we planned to go out for dinner.

Beyond the kitchen, were two more bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, although these opened up to public spaces. It would be very easy to split the resort into separate apartments, in case you brought a group of people down. Everything was done in white tile, with high ceilings and lots of windows and doors. It was very spacious and open.

Along the back side, facing the Atlantic, the various sections all opened onto a huge veranda and deck, with a swimming pool built in. From there you could walk down through a palm tree forest to the beach, or just wander through the palm trees. The beach was at least a thousand feet long and private, and the property was at least as large as our 25 acres back home, and very private. There was a groundskeeper in the morning who cleaned the pool and kept everything running and the grounds neat.

After lunch it would just be Marilyn and me. Hmmmmm…

When we got back to the house, Mrs. Wilkes had already left, as had the groundskeeper, and after inquiring whether we needed anything and signing some papers, Finch left us with a few brochures about island activities and his phone number. Then it was just Marilyn and me. However, before I could get funky with my wife, she said, “What are we doing for lunch?”

My own stomach growled as I contemplated the answer. We smiled at each other. “Maybe you should have asked Mrs. Wilkes before she left.” I led the way into the kitchen.

The kitchen was modern and had just about every appliance known to mankind. In fact the only drawback that I could see was that it was all electric; my preference was for gas. Regardless, I could work just fine in an electric kitchen. The fridge had the basics — eggs, milk, butter, and the like — so I asked Marilyn, “Omelet?”

“Sure. Anything I can do?”

I grinned. “Get undressed.”

“Carling!” she protested.

“It was worth a try.” I turned away and started searching through the drawers to look for a frying pan or skillet to use. I found a small pan and then went back over to the fridge. “I think it’s just scrambled eggs. No ham or cheese…”

Marilyn was standing there in her high heeled sandals and a smile… and nothing else! “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah…”For once my big mouth was speechless. Marilyn just looked amazing. She had lost almost all her baby weight, with the exception of her tits, which were larger. Her pussy was puffy and moist looking. Her legs looked perfect, and you could see where she had been working on her tan. She was now 26, and damn near perfect.

“Well, you did tell me to get undressed, and a wife is supposed to obey her husband, isn’t she?” she asked teasingly.

“I always liked that portion of the vow.”

I pulled the eggs and milk out of the refrigerator and dug out a mixing bowl, all the while trying to keep an eye on her. It got to be a problem when I tried opening the refrigerator door from the wrong side. “Problem?” Marilyn asked.

“Yeah, why don’t you come around over here, so we can talk.”

“Talk? I though you wanted to look.”

“Po-tay-to, po-taht-to.” Marilyn laughed at that and came over, and I lifted her up onto the counter. “Now isn’t that better?”

“Are you going to return the favor the next time I cook?” she asked.

“Aren’t you still under a court order from the Fayetteville Fire Department prohibiting your cooking?”

“Very funny! Maybe I should get dressed and let you cook by yourself?”

I chuckled and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. “I cook better when your oven is hot!”

“You’re disgusting!” she said with a smile.

“Maybe I need to check the oven temperature. I prefer a moist heat, too.”

That earned me a raspberry. Still, Marilyn sat there on the counter, inspiring me, so to speak, as I whipped up some eggs and poured them into a hot buttered skillet. Even better, her pointy little nipples and wet bare pussy made me think she was enjoying her part of the meal. I poured a couple of glasses of milk and set them on the kitchen table, and then split the eggs onto two plates. And then I scraped them off of one of the plates onto the other, leaving a pile on a single plate.

“What’re you up to?” asked my wife.

I pulled a chair away from the table and sat down on it. “Come here, take a seat?”

“Oh?” Marilyn hopped down off the counter and came closer. “What did you have in mind?”

I set the plate down on the table at my side, and then pulled her closer. I kept tugging so that Marilyn was forced to sit on my lap, facing me and straddling my legs. “Well, I was thinking…” I forked up some eggs and held them to her lips; Marilyn opened her mouth and I fed her the eggs. “… that if I was feeding you, you’d be free to use your fingers elsewhere.”

Marilyn moved her hands into her lap, between us. A moment later, I felt her fingers tracing across my belt and zipper. “Is this what you had in mind?”

I ate some of the eggs and smiled as I chewed them. After I swallowed them, I answered, “Yeah, I think you’re getting the idea.” I fed her some more eggs, and we traded bites for a bit. After a few minutes, I felt my belt getting loosened. Thankfully, I had adjusted myself before sitting down, so that Carl Junior was pointed north. Just after my zipper was tugged down, Marilyn’s hand slipped inside and began stroking me.

I quickly fed Marilyn and myself the eggs, without even drinking the milk. As soon as I could I set the plate and fork on the table, to put my hands elsewhere. My left hand went around her waist, and down to caress her rear and hold her against me, while my right hand began playing with her tits.

It was Marilyn’s turn to be aroused. Her back arched and I lowered my face to her chest, lifting her breasts up one at a time to begin sucking on her nipples. Marilyn continued to tug on my cock, but her efforts became quite distracted. She pressed her lips against mine, and as our tongues played with each other, I could taste the scrambled eggs again. Marilyn hurriedly unbuttoned my shirt and began rubbing herself against me.

I lifted up and Marilyn helped me push my pants down, and then she sank down onto me. “I love you so much,” I whispered to her.

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” she told me. Marilyn was pressing herself against me tightly, her arms wrapped around me as she humped herself up and down on the cock deep inside her. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”

I moved against my wife as she rode me. Her eyes were closed and a blissfully intense expression suffused her face. When I finally exploded and blasted into her, Marilyn’s back arched again and she gasped in orgasm.

Afterwards, she sagged down against me. “I love you,” I whispered in her ear.

It took her another couple of minutes to rouse herself, at which point Marilyn climbed off my lap. “I think I need a nap,” she said, holding out a hand to me.

“Dishes can wait.” I got to my feet and kicked off my pants and stripped off my shirt, and then allowed her to lead me to our bedroom. I figured an encore in a more comfortable setting was in order.

We took a nap, a real one, after our ‘nap’, which while quite enjoyable, hadn’t been all that restful. Marilyn fell asleep with her head on my chest, and I had to ease her off me so I could get a little sleep myself. We cleaned up when we woke and I drove us up to Governors Harbor to a small restaurant that Mr. Finch had recommended. Afterwards, we drove home, took a quiet walk on our private beach, and then went inside. We made love one more time before falling asleep.

The next morning I woke at about seven. My kidneys were telling me I needed to get up now, despite it being a vacation. I went to the bathroom, and left my wife snoring, face down on the bed in the zillion count sheets. This place was pretty nice. I pulled on my swim trunks and padded barefoot out through the patio door to the ‘back yard’, the immense veranda and porch that looked out over the pool and on down to the beach. The sun was already up and it was very pleasantly warm. Charlie was probably buried in snow in upstate New York right now, but he was welcome to it!

I felt like I was moving very slowly as I wandered around the veranda, looking at things in the morning sunlight. I remembered a line from The Electric Horseman, with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. In it, Redford played a broken down rodeo cowboy, and Fonda once asked him why he looked like he was hurting in the morning. His reply was that some parts just took longer to wake up than others. I felt like that some days, more now than before.

I was out of shape. I wasn’t fat, but I was starting to get soft. It was easy enough to stay in shape in the Army, because the troops usually had some form of PT every day, and I would join them for it. If the ‘Old Man’ can do it, they can do it without bitching, too, and it will be a very bold and stupid lieutenant who complains when his captain is working out.

Now, the only exercise I had been getting was with the rehab program, and that was effectively over. I had been doing some weights and swimming, but that had really been on hold. I had been thinking about putting in a pool at the new house, but that might not be until next year, and the pool at the town house complex wasn’t open during the winter. My knee really prevented me from running, and I hadn’t joined a dojo since moving home. Hell, I could probably get pushed around by an underdeveloped Brownie Scout right about now.

As I thought about it, I realized that I hadn’t even practiced either aikido or tae kwan do since last summer, before I had deployed to Honduras. Prior to that I had kept up with my practice, even joining the clubs to be had on any large army base. I wasn’t the toughest guy on the base, not by a long shot, but I certainly held my own and often managed to surprise an opponent.

I moved across the patio and down to the palm forest and on down to the beach. I looked up and down the beach, but it seemed pretty empty. I didn’t have my glasses on, but I couldn’t even see a blur of activity. I wondered if I could even do a kata still. I moved into the trees and found myself a flat piece of sand. I needed to at least try something. I began to slowly go through the motions of the most basic kata I could imagine.

The kata is a combination of training and exercise. It is common in almost all eastern martial arts, although often to different degrees depending on the art. There are different types, from slow and simple movements that act as a warmup, up to quick and furious combat maneuvers. Done properly, it is a balletic dance of precision and skill. Done improperly, you look like an arthritic Parkinson’s patient.

I moved like the latter.

I focused on simply loosening up and getting my muscles used to the movements again. I tried to bring back my old precision, although at the expense of any power or strength. Some of the poses required strength, though, and I found myself pushing to hold them, though it was definitely for less time than I had previously been able to work. I kept the speed down and tried not to push the knee too hard. After about thirty minutes of this, I found myself shaking with exhaustion and nerves. Those Brownies would be able to knock me on my ass — easy!

“CARLING!” I heard Marilyn calling for me and slowly moved in the direction of the beach, where her voice seemed to be coming from. I found her calling my name on the beach, and heading towards the northern end. She looked like she had pulled on a bathrobe and flip flops.

“Here!” I called back, and kept moving towards her.

“Where have you been?” she asked, concern in her voice.

I pointed back behind me. “Just down there.”

“I’ve been calling for you for ten minutes! Where have you been? What’re you up to?”

“I just needed to get out and clear my head for a bit. I was just doing some exercise.”

Marilyn smiled and looked relieved. “Oh, okay. I thought maybe you had gotten lost or something.”

I had to laugh at that. “Marilyn, this island ain’t all that big! It can’t be more than a mile or two wide in most places. All I have to do is walk towards the sun and in less than an hour I’ll find myself someplace wet and salty!”

She smiled at me. “You think you’re so smart. What if you were walking the length of the island, not the width?”

I smiled down at her. “Then if I haven’t hit the water after an hour, I’ll just make a hard right turn and find the water after another short walk.”

“You’ve just got all the answers, don’t you!” she protested.

“And I’ve got an answer for you!” I replied, crudely grasping my crotch.

Marilyn squawked and laughed and moved backwards away from me. “That’s not an answer! That’s a problem!”

I advanced towards her, but she kept dancing backwards away from me. I was just beat enough that catching her would probably leave me breathless before I had my way with her. I stopped and stood there with my hands on my hips and looked around at our surroundings.

“Carl, what’s wrong?” she asked.

I turned back to look at my wife. “It’s me. I tried to do some katas and they damn near killed me. I am so goddamn out of shape it’s not funny.”

Marilyn gave me an odd look. “You’re fine. It’s not your fault your knee is shot. You’re already moving way better than the doctors thought you would ever move. Look at you! You didn’t even bring your cane out here!”

I chuckled at that. “A cane in the sand? I don’t think so.” I took her hand and walked back down the beach. “I was thinking earlier, I haven’t done any training since last summer, before I went to Honduras. I need to join a gym and a dojo. I have to get back into shape.”

“You’re not out of shape!” she protested loyally.

“Well, I’m certainly not in shape,” I told her.

“Why is this so important to you?”

I led her up towards the palm trees and found a spot on the sand, and sat down. Marilyn sat down at my side, facing me. I looked out at the sea rolling in for a moment, and then turned to face her. “You’ve never seen me not in shape, but it’s not a pretty sight. I’ve told you before, but I don’t think you believe me. Back when I was a kid, right up into my teen years, I was always the smallest kid around. I was short and skinny and weak. It was pathetic! I used to get the crap kicked out of me on a routine basis. I finally just cracked and had enough of it. You heard the story. When I was 13 I just said enough was enough; they can kill me but I’ve had enough. That fight on the school bus — it was like I was out of control almost.”

“I can’t imagine you like that. Normally you’re so much in control!” she commented.

“I think it’s because of that. Ever since then, if you think I’ve been successful, it’s because of the control, the discipline. Physically, it was the workouts and the running and the aikido. Mentally it was always the preparation and homework. I can’t control the world around me, but I can control myself. So much around us is so totally random. I can’t control my family — God knows I would like to! — and I can’t even control you and Charlie, but I can control myself.”

“You worry me, at times, always trying to be in control. Some things you can’t control.”

I just nodded. “I know that. It’s like I said, though, the discipline and control is about me, not anything else. I can’t change how the world is going to behave or what is going to happen to us. I can only change what I have control over. I can control myself, my thoughts, my actions, my behavior. Whenever you have seen me at my worst, it’s been when I have lost that control. I have to fight that constantly. It is so easy to give in and lose control.”

“I have never seen you like that!” Marilyn protested.

“Oh yes, you most surely have! Don’t you remember that weekend when I got into it with Mark and your parents? I lost control then! I was so out of control I damn near lost you! You were the one who kept me in control then. You rescued me that weekend.”

Marilyn looked startled at that, being reminded of that Thanksgiving weekend all those years ago. “One time!”

“One time too many. There have been other times as well. What I’m saying is that I function better when I don’t lose control.”

“Is this an Army thing? Is this because you can’t be in the Army anymore?”

I had to smile at that, but it also made me think. “No, but it’s related. I think one reason I did well in the Army is because the Army is all about control, control and discipline and purpose. It was easy to stay controlled, and that control allowed me to control my men and my unit.”

“And now you don’t have it anymore.” It was a statement, not a question, and I just nodded.

“And I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I suppose I always knew the day would come when I couldn’t do it any longer. I mean, I always knew that sooner or later the Army would catch on and hoist my ass out the door, but until it happens, you just don’t think it will happen to you.”

Marilyn took my hand. “Well, this week you’re on vacation! We’ll worry about the future when we get back home. Maybe we’ll just have to find you a job after all!”

I laughed at that. “God forbid! It’s bad enough that I have to put up with my own bullshit! There is no way I could ever put up with someone else’s!”

“So the exercise? It’s not like you’re fat! My God, Carl, you are in tremendous shape! I wish I was as in shape as you are!”

I grinned at that. Marilyn was sitting there on the sand and her robe had shifted enough for me to realize that it was all she was wearing. I liked her shape, just like it was! I shook the thought off, at least for the moment. “It starts out slowly. You ease off and slow down. Maybe skip out a day a week. The next thing you know it’s two days, then three. Eventually you notice that you are goofing off more than you are exercising, and your pants are a bit snug. Then you’ve put on five pounds and you need the next size up. So you decide to lose the weight, and end up killing yourself to lose the weight, and it never really comes off, and you get tired of the fight and gain another five pounds. After a while, you’re fat!”

This was precisely what had happened to me the first time, although I had never been one for exercise then. My natural lankiness and wiry build had kept my weight in bounds until I hit my thirties, but after that, it was always a pound or two a year, and it wasn’t a positive thing. It’s one thing to be 5’11" and weigh 185, it’s quite another to weigh 245.

“It translates into other things, too. Do you know the quickest way to make a small fortune on Wall Street?” I asked.

“How?”

“Start with a large fortune!” Marilyn groaned at that, so I said, “So I study. Every day at home I read the newspaper and the Wall Street Journal and magazines. It’s a discipline, so that when an opportunity comes along, I can react first.”

Marilyn nodded, not understanding perfectly, but nodding regardless. “I worry about you. Nobody can be in control, not always.”

I reached over and took her hand. “That’s your job. You keep me sane. I’ll control everything else, you control me. Listen, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll get to the gym and a dojo when we get back home. Maybe I can get back in trim and learn how to move again.”

Marilyn leaned over and hugged me, and in doing so, her robe shifted and gaped open in the front, exposing her tits. SPROING! Carl Junior popped to attention! I held onto her and leaned backwards, pulling her with me to the sand. I slipped a hand inside her robe and began fondling her breasts.

“Carl! We can’t do that here?”

“Why not? Who’s going to see?” I tugged loose the belt holding the waist of her robe closed, although Marilyn tried a pro forma protest. “You’re the one who came out here in nothing but a little silk robe!”

“I was looking for you!”

I peeled her robe open and lowered my face to her chest and began flicking my tongue over her nipples. “You found me.”

“Carl! What if we are seen?” she asked me this even though she was starting to pant.

“By who? Mrs. Wilkes? You think she hasn’t seen crazy Yankees doing this before” I sucked her tits some more and slipped my hand between her legs. For all her complaints, Marilyn was quite wet.

“Carl!”

“Just don’t scream my name loudly!” I teased. “We wouldn’t want them investigating!” I reached down and pushed my swim trunks down around my knees and then pushed Marilyn onto her back. She automatically spread her legs and I crawled over her, and sank down into her. She moaned and I whispered to her, “I think you actually came looking for me so I could give you a good fucking!”

“Oh, God! Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

I pounded into her pussy, praying to God that the sand didn’t get into anyplace inappropriate. That would be very unpleasant. Marilyn had her arms and legs wrapped around me and I fucked down into her, driving my cock into her as I whispered how she wanted it so much. Her moaning was constant and incoherent by the time my back arched and I spasmed my jism into her.

Marilyn kept her arms and legs tight around me as I sagged down onto her. Eventually she relented and untangled herself, saying, “I can’t believe the things you get me to do!”

“Are you complaining?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t you enjoy that?”

“Stop trying to put words in my mouth!” she teased.

“What would you like me to put in your mouth?”

“You are an evil person!” I was pushed away and Marilyn stood up and tied her robe around her again.

I stood and pulled my swim trunks back up. Then, holding hands, we went back up to La Valencia. As we got closer, we could see Mrs. Wilkes standing out on the veranda waiting for us. I whispered to Marilyn, “I think I like your outfit. Why don’t you keep it on?”

“Because I need a shower! You got me all sweaty.”

“And that’s my fault?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, it’s your fault!” she answered in her most superior tone.

I just laughed and waved Marilyn off to the bedroom while I went over to Mrs. Wilkes. “Good morning, Mrs. Wilkes. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Yah, chief, dat it is,” she answered in her sing song accent.

We talked briefly, and I got the distinct impression that without Mr. Finch around, she spoke in a much heavier dialect. On some things she needed subtitles! Still, I told her that tea and some fruit would be good for me, and that Marilyn preferred coffee and maybe some cereal. I stuck my head inside our room and yelled into the bathroom confirming this. Mrs. Wilkes said it would be in the dining room when we came out.

I thanked her and went inside. Marilyn was just getting out of the shower, and refused to be enticed back in, saying she was hungry. I slipped off my trunks and took a quick shower and then shaved, before slipping my trunks back on, along with a polo shirt. When I came out of the bathroom, Marilyn had left the bedroom, so I tracked her down in the dining room. She was sitting there in a lacy beach cover-up that I could see a swimsuit through, and was having Kellogg’s Corn Flakes and orange juice along with her coffee.

“I told Mrs. Wilkes that if she had any fruit salad, you’d probably like that,” said my wife.

“Yes, thank you.” I nodded to Mrs. Wilkes and thanked her as well, and she went back into the kitchen. There was a large bowl of fruit salad on the table, and a serving bowl, so I helped myself to a large helping, along with some juice.

I turned my attention back to Marilyn. “I like your dress. Too bad you had to bring underwear along.”

Marilyn looked at me with considerable confusion, before looking down and seeing what I was referring to. Then she gave me an exasperated look. “This is not a dress, this is a beach cover-up, and this is a swimsuit, not underwear!”

“Oh. Well, it would be an interesting dress, too,” I said with a leer.

“For a hooker!”

“Do you charge by the act or by the hour?” I asked.

“In your case, it’ll be cheaper if I charge by the inch!”

Marilyn doesn’t zing on me all that often, but when she does, it’s memorable. I spluttered out my juice all across the table and started coughing. She laughed uproariously as I got my breathing under control. “That is cold, lady, cold!” I protested.

“That’ll teach you!”

“I think you’ve earned yourself a spanking!”

“You’ll never be able to catch me, Gimpy!”

I tossed my napkin to the table and Marilyn shrieked and ran out of the room, heading towards the bedroom. I caught up to her and captured her before she could make it outside through the patio door. The pounding I gave her had nothing whatsoever to do with a spanking!

Afterwards, as we were both trying to catch our breath, I rolled off her and Marilyn rolled onto me. “Was that supposed to be a punishment?” she asked. “If it was, I plan on being very, very bad!”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe the real punishment will be that I don’t punish you that way!” I sat up and grabbed for my trunks. “Come on, Mrs. Wilkes must think we’re barbarians!”

We collected ourselves and headed out to the dining room, but Mrs. Wilkes was much too efficient; the table had been cleaned off, even where I had sprayed out my juice. Marilyn even noticed Mrs. Wilkes smiling at us from the kitchen, and turned beet red in embarrassment. I just laughed and sent her off to the bedroom to dig out the sunscreen and beach towels.

We went down to the beach and I spread out our towels on the beach. I had my sunglasses on now and it looked truly deserted. Marilyn stripped off her cover-up and I got my first glimpse at her swimsuit. “Is that new?” I asked.

“You noticed!”

“I’m a guy! We always notice women in swimsuits. We try and figure out how hard it would be to take it off.”

“And how hard do you think it would be?” she giggled.

“Not very!” I think this was Marilyn’s first string bikini, and the bottoms had ties on the side. It still wasn’t as extreme as what they would become in another twenty years (it had a back, for instance) but it looked pretty good on her. “I’m just guessing here, but I don’t think you got advice on that one from your mother.”

“Tessa, actually.”

I thought of Tusker’s little blonde honey of a wife and had to smile. “It must drive him crazy when she wears something like that at the beach!”

“She says it does, and she likes it that way!”

I laughed at that, and started rubbing the suntan lotion on. I tossed the bottle to Marilyn and she did the same. Then we oiled each other’s backs and ran down to the ocean. The water was warm and clear and calm. I limited my exercise regimen to floating around and slowly chasing after my wife as she floated in the water. Eventually we got waterlogged and headed back to the beach, where we put some more lotion on. We both agreed that the sun would probably broil us otherwise!

Before lunch time, we were both feeling well done, and we gathered our stuff and headed back to the house. Mrs. Wilkes offered to make us some sandwiches, and we got her to do grilled cheese. Mrs. Wilkes spiced it up with some hot pepper and something else I couldn’t place, and then she took off. We were on our own again. I cleaned up and then Marilyn and I made love again in our bedroom.

About an hour later, while Marilyn dozed, I just wasn’t feeling sleepy. What I was feeling was thirsty, and not just for orange juice. I stirred myself upright and smiled as I looked down on her rump, now starting to show some color from the sun. I slapped her on the ass and woke her up. “What?” she grumbled.

I stood and tossed my trunks to the side. “Come on, get up. We need to go shopping.”

Marilyn rolled over and looked at me. “Shopping!?”

“Shopping! In a couple of days we are going to be on our own for the weekend and will need to fend for ourselves. That and I could do with a drink, and I don’t mean more orange juice! There must be a liquor store somewhere on this island!” I headed off to the bathroom for a quick shower.

When I came out, Marilyn was still lazing in bed, so I slapped her on the ass again. “Come on, up and at ‘em!” I ordered. “Time’s a’wasting!”

Marilyn grumbled and called me several names, none of which were printable, so I slapped her on the ass again and got out of the way while she started swinging. After a moment she crawled out of bed and hit the shower, too. By the time she got out, I was in cutoffs and a Hawaiian shirt.

Marilyn found me in the kitchen, looking through the pantry and the fridge and writing down a grocery list. She had pulled on a pair of shorts and a halter top, and was in her flip flops. “Ready?”

“Almost. Give me a second and then we can go.” I jotted down a couple of things and then went back to the bedroom, where I slipped into my deck shoes. I grabbed the car keys and said, “Okay, let’s go!” I slipped on my sunglasses and led the way to the front door.

We drove up to Governors Harbor and spent the next couple of hours shopping. Aside from some food and snacks for the weekend, we also needed some liquor, beer, and wine. It’s not like we were being drunks and alcoholics, but I knew from experience that laying in the sun for an afternoon, it was easy to go through a six pack or more between us without getting drunk. Likewise, Marilyn and I enjoyed a bottle of wine in the evening, so I picked up several bottles of red and white. As for liquor, rum was pretty cheap, and there was even a local rum, produced by a branch of Bacardi, made on one of the other islands. While I’ve never been a big rum drinker, Marilyn liked it, so we picked up a bottle and some Coke to mix with it. After a couple, they start tasting better to me.

It wasn’t until we were going through the little grocery store we found that I really thought about what my wife was wearing. “I thought you didn’t pack any shorts.”

“Huh?” she asked, looking over at me.

I looked down at her, and moved my eyes to her shorts. “Remember, you weren’t going to be wearing any shorts or pants. You broke the rules.”

“That was your rule, not mine!” she countered.

“I think you’re going to need to be punished!”

“Didn’t we go over that earlier today? What did you have in mind?”

“You’ll find out. I’ll think of something.” That earned me a raspberry in return.

Marilyn found out a few minutes later. We carried the groceries out to the car and loaded them in the back seat. We had already picked up the booze, so we were ready to go back. Before we left, even before I put the key in the ignition, I told her, “Now, get undressed.”

“WHAT! HERE?!” sputtered Marilyn.

“You wanted to know what your punishment was. This is it. Take your shorts off.”

“Here? In the parking lot? You’re crazy!”

“Go ahead, do it. Nobody can see you. Come on, do it!”

“You’re crazy!” I just sat there and smiled at her. “Come on, let’s go!”

I just shook my head and smiled at her, and shook the keys at her. Marilyn made a grab for them but I yanked them out of her reach. “Nope. Shorts first, then we’ll go. That’s the punishment.”

“No!”

I put the keys back in my pocket. “Then I guess we sit here until you decide to take your shorts off.”

Marilyn stared at me. “You’re serious? You want me to get undressed in the parking lot? Come on, let’s just go back.”

I shook my head. “No.” I smiled and pointed at her lap. “Shorts.”

Marilyn groaned and rolled her eyes. She grumbled, “I can’t believe what you make me do!” and unzipped her shorts and lifted up pushing them down off her legs to the floor of the car. “Now, let’s go!”

I smiled. “Now, that wasn’t hard, wait. See? Nobody even noticed! Now, the panties.”

“Okay, but start the car!” Marilyn lifted her ass up off the seat again and slipped off her panties.

I started the car and put it in gear. “See, that wasn’t hard at all, and nobody even noticed.” I got on the Queen’s Highway and headed north.

After a few minutes, Marilyn looked around and said, “This isn’t the way back to the resort, is it?” I just smiled and shrugged. “Where are we?”

“I thought we’d take a little drive around first. Now, take off your top, too.”

“CARL!” I glanced over at Marilyn and smiled at her. Marilyn simply rolled her eyes at me. “When we go to jail, I am blaming you!” She leaned forward and undid the ties holding her top on and pulled it off. Then she slumped down so only her head was visible from outside the car.

I just laughed and then turned the car around at the next empty spot on the highway. I reached over and took her hand and pushed it into her lap. “Now, get warmed up for when we get back,” I ordered.

“You are such a bastard!” she whispered at me. I just laughed, but when I glanced over at he, I could see her fingers working on her clit, and her nipples were stiff. I ostentatiously adjusted my cock in my shorts, and not just to be lewd; she had my cock nice and stiff with this display!

“You need it, don’t you?” I asked. I reached out and tweaked an erect nipple.

Marilyn’s back arched and she hissed out a quiet, “YES!”

I chuckled and kept fondling her naked body with my spare hand. When we got to the turnoff to La Valencia, I slowed and turned off the road, but didn’t remove my hand until it was time to stop and put the car in Park.

Marilyn gasped and collapsed into the seat. “You are cruel!”

“We’ll see about that.” Marilyn bent over and picked up her clothing, but before she had a chance to get dressed, I took it from her. “You won’t need that.”

“Carl!”

“There’s nobody around. Come on. The sooner we get this stuff inside, the sooner we take care of your needs.”

“You bastard!” I smiled as she said that, and Marilyn smiled back, shaking her head in disbelief.

I tucked Marilyn’s clothing into the bag containing the wine bottles, and carried it and the case of beer inside. Marilyn, wearing nothing but her flip flops and a smile, got the bag of groceries and the bottle of rum.

We went into the kitchen, and my wife looked mightily distracted. She almost looked at me pleadingly. I set the wine and beer on the counter, and then took the bag of groceries from her and stuffed it in the fridge. “Okay, come on.”

I took Marilyn’s hand and led her out of the kitchen. She was practically skipping with delight. However, rather than take her into the bedroom, I led her over to the couch in the living room. “Kneel!” I ordered.

Marilyn kicked off her flip flops and knelt on the couch. I pulled off my shirt and pushed my shorts off. Then I moved up behind her and slipped my cock inside her pussy. She gasped and began humping her cunt back at me, fucking herself against me furiously. I grabbed her by her hips and began fucking her back. “From now on…” I teased her, “… no more shorts and panties.”

“Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh…” Marilyn was babbling as I fucked her cunt. She had been orgasming endlessly from the moment I had plugged into her. Now, as her pussy spasmed around me, I felt myself getting closer.

“As soon as I come, you start sucking me and getting me hard again, so I can fuck you some more!” That just seemed to make her even crazier, and she pushed back even harder, burying me even deeper. I kept giving her orders as to what she would do to continue my sexual use of her., which seemed to turn her on even more. Finally I just grabbed her hips and held her against me as I unloaded into her.

As soon as I finished coming, I sighed and pulled out, and twisted around to sink down on the couch, smiling at the world. Feeling me leave her empty, Marilyn looked over her shoulder at me with glazed eyes. She saw me sitting there and her eyes went to my slimy cock. She immediately turned around and put her face into my lap. Her lips opened and she took my slowly softening cock into her mouth.

I had almost forgotten my ridiculous orders to keep me hard so I could fuck her some more. Still, as I looked down at her head bobbing in my lap, I had to think that it was actually a pretty good idea! I wrapped my hands in her hair and guided her movements. As soon as I was stiff enough, she pulled her head away and lay back on the couch. She spread her legs wide and reached between them, to spread her pussy lips apart and show me the creamed pink inside. “Fuck me!” she demanded.

I nodded and smiled, and crawled on top of her. I forced her fingers to stay between us, rubbing my cock and her clit as they ground together. This fuck took longer, but not by much. I fucked her hard down into the couch before filling her a second time.

We both lay there together on the couch as we came down from our orgasms. “You know, now that I think about it, you can keep wearing shorts, if it always ends up like this,” I commented.

Marilyn tried to slug me in the side, but ended up tangled in my arms. “I can’t believe we did that!”

I wrapped her up to keep her from punching me, and kissed her. “You liked it, you know you did. It turned you on just as much as it turned me on. Tell me I’m wrong!” Marilyn blushed and turned her head away, but wouldn’t deny me. I simply laughed and leaned down to kiss her neck. We made love one more time that afternoon, laying there on the couch, and this time we made love, and didn’t just fuck each other silly, taking our time and going slowly. By the time we finished, we were exhausted, sated, and happy.

And hungry! We got off the couch and took a joint shower, but refrained from fooling around, and then dressed and went out to dinner. I wore some chinos and a short sleeve shirt and my deck shoes. I had Marilyn wear her halter top from this afternoon, but instead of shorts, I pulled a denim miniskirt from the drawer, and had her pull it on, along with some high heeled sandals. I left her panties in our impromptu hamper, a pile in the corner of the bathroom.

As we climbed into the car, Marilyn said, “Just don’t expect me to drive around with you in the nude again!”

I grinned over at her. “You loved it, and you loved what happened later even more!”

Marilyn grinned back. “Just drive!”

I laughed and drove.

The next morning I did my exercising out on the veranda, rather than down at the beach. Marilyn saw me and came out and watched for a moment, and Mrs. Wilkes saw me through the window and gave me a strange look. What in the world are these crazy Americans going to do next? I simply smiled and nodded to her, and then ignored her. I felt better today, a little looser and not so arthritic, although I still wasn’t flowing gracefully in the kata routines.

Marilyn came out towards the end of my session, wearing a bikini and a cover-up, and carrying a cup of coffee. “Feeling any better today?” she asked.

“A bit. I’m still really rough,” I replied. “Care to join me?”

She laughed. “NO!”

“You should, you know. It would be good for you.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

I chuckled and stopped, and came over to the table she was sitting at. I plopped down in a chair next to her. “I didn’t say that. I said it would be good for you.”

“Well, I’m on vacation, and if I want to get all sweaty and yucky, I can think of a lot more fun ways than that!” she answered.

“I’ll get to that next!” I answered with a leer. Mrs. Wilkes chose that moment to come out with a tray, carrying a pitcher of juice and some fruit salad. She set it down and said she would be back in a moment with coffee and tea. I thanked her and poured some juice for myself.

“What about when we get back home?” I asked. “You should join me.”

She waved her arms around in a bunch of fake karate chops, and yelled “HI-YAAA!” I just rolled my eyes. “No thank you. I’d feel silly.”

“No, not that. I mean the exercise.”

Marilyn went back to the “Are you saying I’m fat?” response.

Okay, there were danger signs abounding, but maybe I could work through them. “No, not yet, but that day is coming.” I got a dirty look at that, so I explained. “Let me explain myself. No, you are not fat now. In fact, your shape is damn near perfect. The problem is that unless you start taking better care of yourself, it won’t stay this nice. Right now you are at an age where your metabolism is high and you are still in your twenties and fairly active. You don’t have to pay attention to anything now if you don’t want to.”

She nodded and looked at me in a superior fashion. “But that’s going to change, and sooner than you think. What do you weigh, 125? 130?” Marilyn wouldn’t answer me, but the look on her face made me think it was closer to the second number, not the first. “Five years from now, we’ll have had another kid or two, and you’ll have added another five pounds with each of them, at least. What will you end up weighing after three kids and not working out and putting a couple of pounds on every year? You know what you’ll be like, you’ll be like your mother!”

Marilyn’s face clouded up. “Be nice! You’d have a problem, too, if you had 13 kids!”

I just smiled and nodded. “Not in a million years, but that’s the thing. It just kind of creeps up on you. If I put on 50 or 60 pounds, it will be bad enough, but I’m seven inches taller than you. At your height, that weight would make you look like a beach ball. Besides, it will be good for you, you know that. It will be good for your heart.”

Marilyn grumbled but shrugged her shoulders. “When we get back, I’ll look into joining a gym. Maybe there will be one with a family plan.”

“Just so you don’t expect me to go to your karate classes!”

“It’s aikido and tae kwan do, and no, I won’t expect that.” I counted that as a victory, but Marilyn is lazy and doesn’t have the organization or drive that I do. I would have to make sure we went together, and not give her a chance for an excuse. Fortunately, it wasn’t like we needed to go to work. “Maybe I’ll teach that to Charlie.”

“Then you can go to school and explain how come he gave the kid in the cafeteria a karate chop!”

“Maybe I’ll wait on that.”

“Good idea!”

I smiled at her. “In the meantime, did you want to work up a sweat another way, or go down to the beach?”

Marilyn grinned at me. “Beach!”

I stood up and collected our breakfast fixings. “Okay, I bet we can work up a sweat down there, too.”

“You are so full of crap, it is not funny!” She stuck her tongue out at me and went inside. By the time I had finished carrying things in, she had a beach bag in her hand and was headed down to the beach. I went into the house and slipped into my shoes, grabbed my straw hat and a beach towel, and followed her. Once down at the beach, I followed my wife down into the water. We played grabass for a bit, but then I caught her and wouldn’t let go, and I worked her swimsuit off her and we fooled around in the surf. By the time we got back to the house, Mrs. Wilkes was already gone, although the bed was made and the laundry had been done.

And so it went for the next few days. We spent Thursday and Friday and Saturday on a second honeymoon, which went pretty much like the first one. In other words, we goofed off and screwed our brains out! Once Mrs. Wilkes left for the day, Marilyn became much more relaxed about running around in the buff. Thursday afternoon, I stripped Marilyn, and then as she lay there, I rubbed suntan lotion all over her front, with the excuse that I was helping her take care of the tan lines. Of course I wasn’t all that helpful, since after working her up, she dragged me on top of her and wrapped herself around me as I fucked her. Friday it rained most of the day, so we just stayed inside and goofed off. Saturday we got a little more adventurous. Marilyn was laying face down on the beach and sunning her back, when I offered my help. After undoing the ties on the swimsuit, I oiled her all over, paying special attention to her rear. I rubbed the oil into her asshole, and then lubed up my cock and assfucked her long and hard under the hot island sun. Afterwards we ran down to the water to clean up.

Saturday night things got… complicated.

Chapter 67: Complicated

Every evening we would go out to dinner. There are a number of small inns and restaurants in Governors Harbor, although none of them are very fancy. A lot of them are just bars that offer food, usually seafood. That was fine; we didn’t have to get dressed up and we both loved seafood. Besides, the island is pretty small. It stretches almost 90 miles long, but is really just a big beach in the middle of the ocean, and there are maybe 10,000 residents in about a dozen little towns up and down the length of the island. The biggest is Governors Harbor, but that can’t be more than a few thousand people, with the rest spread all over, and the only industry around is fleecing Yankees of their dollars.

So we helped them out by going to dinner every night and having a few drinks in the bar. After dinner we often would go back into the bar for a few more drinks, or maybe find a different bar and have a few drinks there. I kept my drinking under control, but didn’t mind if Marilyn wanted to get a little crazy. Friday night, in particular, we stayed out late, after the storm had passed, and did a little bar hopping. Like any vacation town, weekends are the crazy nights, and my wife was no exception. On the way home she got silly and began playing with herself and demanded that I pull off the road and take care of her. Always a gentleman, I did just what she asked me to do!

Saturday Mrs. Wilkes was away, so we had the place to ourselves. We did the dinner and bar hopping routine again, this time parking in a central spot in Governors Harbor and walking from bar to bar. We would have one drink in each bar and then move along, seeing the sights and simply enjoying the beautiful Caribbean night. Over dinner, Marilyn said, “I almost wish we didn’t have to go home.”

“Charlie might notice in a few years, don’t you think?”

“I said almost. We’ll have to bring him down here some day.” I simply smiled and nodded, but I didn’t answer, so she asked, “You don’t agree?”

“No, I agree. He’d love it. What kid wouldn’t?”

“Do you think we could do that sometime?”

“Sure,” I told her. “Whenever you want to. At least until he gets in school.”

That made her smile, but then she gave me a curious look. “By then we’ll probably have another child or two. What about then?”

“What about what? If we bring one down, we’ll probably have to bring them all down.”

Marilyn nodded. “Here?”

“Wherever. Listen, give me a few years and we’ll buy a place down here. How about that?”

That shocked her. Her mouth opened and nothing came out! Finally she said, “We can do that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Here?”

I shrugged. “If you want to. Let’s look at a few other places first, before we get too attached to any one place.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s make a deal. For every family vacation we take, let’s also take a mommy and daddy vacation, like this one! For the next few years we’ll try different places. When we find an island we like, we can buy a place.”

“Can we afford that?! I mean, can you afford that?” She gave me an odd look as she asked that question.

“I can afford it, which means that we can afford it. Still, I’d prefer to wait a few more years. How about we wait until I’m worth about a hundred?”

“A hundred?”

“A hundred million. Probably another two or three years. Shouldn’t be any longer than that. I don’t know what these places cost, but they have to be more than our place back home.”

Marilyn stared at me briefly, and then just smiled and shook her head. “Do you hear the way you talk? A hundred million dollars? What was your original plan? To become the first billionaire artillery captain in history?”

I had to laugh at that. When she said it that way, it really sounded ridiculous. “Nah, I’d be at least a major by the time that happened!” We both had a laugh at that, but then I commented, “Actually, I wouldn’t be the first billionaire in the service. You know who Sam Walton is?” Marilyn gave me a curious look and shook her head. “He’s the guy who started Wal-Mart and he made a fortune doing it. One of his kids didn’t want the corporate life and went into the Army. He was a Green Beret in Nam, I think. I know he got a Silver Star.”

“Huh. You know what that means?”

“What?”

“That you weren’t the only screwed up guy in the Army!” she laughed.

I had to laugh. “Not hardly!”

We finished our dinner, and I asked Marilyn again if she had thought about the house back in Westminster. I had packed our housing plans books and I told her we would have to look at them in the morning. Marilyn has a horrible tendency towards procrastination. She was perfectly happy with being presented with a fait accompli that she could complain about for the rest of her life, and beyond.

After dinner we started walking, going from oceanfront bar to oceanfront bar. It was Saturday night in the islands, and things were kind of loose. For some people it was their first night on the loose, for others it was their last chance to get nuts before heading back to the States. We were the oddity, people going from midweek to midweek. Eleuthera isn’t a big tourist spot relative to Nassau, but there are still a number of small resorts and hotels, and you can fly there direct from Miami without having to change planes in Nassau. The crazy and rich Americans were on the loose, and the locals were out in force to help them get more crazy and less rich.

It was after eleven when we entered a place called Blackbeard’s Parrot. Lots of fake pirate crap on the walls, lots of drunken American tourists at the tables and the bars. By midnight all the casual people had packed it in and gone back to their hotel rooms, you know, the thirty-somethings who went out for a drink while the kids watched television and slept. Now it was the hard partiers. I was ready to pack it in myself, but Marilyn was having a fine time, and ordered herself another rum punch every time the waitress came around.

I was still nursing my drink, although my wife was on her third, and I laughed as she came back from the ladies room and joined a conga line that was snaking its way through the room. When she came back, she ordered another rum punch. “You are going to be sorry for that tomorrow morning!” I yelled to her over the din.

Marilyn laughed. She had worn a sundress with a tube top tonight, and she jiggled her tits at me inside the dress. “You’re an old fuddy duddy!” she replied. When I rolled my eyes at her and groaned she just laughed some more.

“Here, your turn to watch your shit.” I pushed her purse across the table. “Nature calls and I have to answer.” I stood up and headed towards the back of the bar, past a young blonde laying on the bar with her boyfriend doing tequila shots from her belly button. Christ, what next? Jell-O shots? I kept moving back to the bathroom.

It felt like I was standing there at the urinal about a year, pissing everything out that I had been drinking since dawn. Eventually, a gallon or two lighter, I zipped up and headed over to the sink and combed my hair. No, I didn’t wash my hands. Old joke:

Two fellows go into a bathroom and take a leak side by side. Afterwards one guy goes and washes his hands. When he notices the other guy leave without washing up, he says, ‘When I was at Harvard, I was taught to wash my hands after going to the bathroom!’ The second guy nods and goes, ‘Well, when I was at Rensselaer, I was taught not to piss on my hands.’

I straightened myself up and smiled at the bloodshot eyes in the mirror. I was still holding my own, but Marilyn was going to be so hungover in the morning! Laughing to myself, I left the bathroom to see what mischief my wife could get into now. As I walked past the bar, the blonde had been joined by a brunette friend who was also getting shots licked off her. Now, if I could only get Marilyn up there, and get a few photos, I would have blackmail material for the rest of our lives!

That was when all hell broke loose!

I heard a high pitched scream and then Marilyn’s voice yelling, “STOP! THIEF!” and a black guy came running towards me, in a direction that looked like he wanted to run out the back of the bar. I just sort of vaguely noticed he had a couple of purses in his left hand, but Marilyn was still screaming, and at least one other woman had joined in. I never even thought about it, but as he ran past, I raised my left arm and whipped it forward, and caught him across the throat in a move known in football as “the clothesline.” I also put some force into it, as much to make sure I stayed on my feet as anything else. I caught him straight across the throat and his head and neck came to a complete and utter stop. His legs and torso, however, kept moving, with the amazing effect that his legs came out from under him and kicked upwards, and then he slammed down to the floor, hard and dazed.

If only that had been the end to it. Unfortunately, I had seen this guy sitting at a table with another guy, a white guy, and they seemed to be a ‘salt and pepper’ team of thieves. He yelled at me and came forward swinging. He also was carrying a purse in his arm, and that went whipping towards me. I stepped back and caught his arm as it went around, then grabbed it and twisted him up and over, and dumped him upside down on the floor. I kept twisting, though, and dislocated his shoulder, taking him out of the fight. Thief Number One was starting to get up again, so I kicked him in the face and busted his jaw, and he was lights out. Then I kicked Number Two and busted his knee.

“CARL! BEHIND YOU!” Marilyn was still screaming, and I turned to see what her problem was. As I did, a third guy swung at me, and he wasn’t carrying any purses; he was carrying a large knife! Apparently the team was actually three guys, two black and one white, with one being the backup for the other two. The knife flicked past me twice, as I backpedaled and screaming women blocked my path. Jesus Christ, what a clusterfuck!

My attacker seemed to know what he was doing and was feeling aggressive about it. I guess the plan was to punish me for fucking with his buddies and then try and get them out of there. The knife kept slashing at me, but not wildly enough to act upon, and a few times he came close. Then he made his mistake, when he lunged forward, hoping to skewer me on the point. I twisted to his outside and wrapped his arm up, breaking his wrist and his elbow, and then I lifted him up and rammed him backward and down, throwing him to the floor and following him down. His head bounced on the barroom floor and I pulled my hand back for the coup de grace, and then hands grabbed me and pulled me away.

I struggled for a moment, wondering just how many attackers there were, when Marilyn came around in front of me, a look of horror on her face. “Carl! Stop it! It’s all right, it’s over! You got them!”

Seeing her in front of me was like a bucket of cold water to the face. “Wha… what?”

“It’s over, you got them,” she repeated.

Behind me, the guy who had me wrapped up said into my ear, “It ovuh, mon! Dey down!”

Outside I could hear the peculiar sound of a European style police siren winding up as it got closer. I sagged down, and turned to face the guy behind me. He was a gigantic black guy, and I recognized him as one of the bartenders. “It’s over?”

He nodded and loosened his grip on me. “Yah, dey down, mon. No more, mon!”

The bar was total chaos by now, The two girls on the bar were now cowering behind it, the second robber was screaming on the floor, most of the bar’s clients were streaming out through the front, and to top it all off, a squad of police came barging in through them. I just leaned back against the bar, shaking as the adrenaline washed through me. Marilyn crept through the crowd and came over to my right side and wrapped her arms around me. At that point Marilyn leaped away and stared at her hands. They were red and wet. “Carl! You’re bleeding!”

“What? No I’m not! I can’t be!” I shook my head. “That must be someone else’s.”

“No, it’s not!”

I looked down at my left side, where Marilyn’s hands had been. Big mistake! My left bicep and my entire left arm were red. “Oh, shit!” That third guy, the one with the knife, must have been better than I thought he was.

I fished out my handkerchief and slapped it on my upper arm. It looked like I had a long cut across the arm, maybe not that deep, but deep enough that I was bleeding steadily. I looked over at my wife and she was white as a ghost. I glanced back behind the bar and saw a sink. “Honey, I’ll be fine. You go back there behind the bar and wash your hands. That dress is too pretty to ruin.”

“Carl?”

“Go wash up. I’m not going anywhere.” I had my hand clamped on my arm, trying to keep up pressure. It hadn’t hurt before, but that was changing quickly. Now I was at the ‘stinging like a bitch’ stage! Shit!

That was about the end of the evening in the bar. I think we turned out the entire police force on Eleuthera that night, at least a half dozen, along with a few ambulances. I spent most of my time calming Marilyn down. Nobody even asked me any questions. A large Bahamian cop grabbed me by my right arm and tugged me outside and put me in the back of a police car. Marilyn demanded to go with me, and she went in the other side. Then he drove us to a different part of town. To be fair it wasn’t a very long drive.

We stopped in front of a brick building, but that was about all I could see. I figured I was at the local jail, but the cop who had hauled me away wasn’t saying anything. He just took me by the right arm and hustled me inside. It looked like a hospital actually, and definitely had that medical institution smell. Marilyn followed along behind us. A woman in a white uniform pointed to a room down a small hallway, and we went in. There was a medical table in the center of the room, and I was led to it, so I climbed on and looked around.

Marilyn was standing there next to me, holding my right arm like she would never let me go. “Come on; get up here next to me.” I scooted over as best I could.

Marilyn hopped up next to me. “Where are we? What’s happening?”

I gave her my best smile, even though my arm was really starting to bug me, and I was still dripping. “Well, either this is the local hospital, or the local jail has a really great medical plan!”

“Jail?”

“Maybe the Bahamas have coed jails! We could be cell mates!”

“We’re going to jail?” Marilyn looked scared.

I shrugged. I looked over at the cop who had brought me in, and was still standing in front of the door, blocking any escape. “Do the Bahamas have coed jails?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but he smiled. I leaned over and whispered in Marilyn’s ear, “If this is a jail, it’s a hell of a lot nicer than the last one I was in!” Marilyn’s eyes opened wide at that. She was sobering up very quickly!

After five minutes, a guy in a white coat came in. “I’m Doctor Bellinger. Let’s have a look, shall we?” Doctor Bellinger was as black as the ace of spades and spoke with a distinct British accent, so I figured he came over from England. Then again, on some of the islands, they end up trying to out-British the British. He peeled the handkerchief off my arm, and pulled my shirt sleeve up, which only started the bleeding up again.

“Hold on, Doc. Let me take off the shirt.” I winced as I moved my arm around, but I got the shirt off and tossed it on the floor in the corner. It was a lost cause in any case.

Bellinger poked and probed at the cut for a minute, and then said, “Well, you’ll need some stitches, but it’s not life threatening.” He pulled out an oversized band-aid and slapped it on my arm, and then said, “I’ll be back. I need to see to your other handiwork in the meantime. They need to get sent to Freeport. A helicopter is on the way.”

Great! That didn’t sound too promising, especially since he was calling them ‘my handiwork.’ This wasn’t looking all that positive. I think I really stepped in it this time! I suddenly felt very tired.

I climbed down off the exam table and went over to the sink on the side of the wall. I washed the blood off my hands as best I could, and then dried off with some paper towels. Not only was my shirt cut up, my chinos were red with blood on the left side, and ruined also. I needed to rest, but unless I wanted to lie down on the floor, the exam table was it. I looked it over, and then pulled an extension out at the bottom and cranked the top half into an elevated position. Then I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the table. Marilyn curled up at my side, very nervous. Our silent guard stayed by the door.

I woke up a few hours later when the door to the exam room opened up and the doctor came back in. I shook Marilyn awake and we both sat up on the exam table. Marilyn’s face showed that she had been crying. I just hugged her with my good arm and said, “Everything will be all right. Just you wait and see.”

My left arm was starting to throb. Bellinger didn’t help it when he yanked off the bandage he had slapped on me earlier. The wound started bleeding again, and he examined it closely, and then he began opening drawers and cabinets, setting up for the stitches. Thankfully, he pulled out a hypodermic needle, so I suspected I would get some pain shots first. Some places I’ve seen, that’s sort of optional at best. “Not too deep, and fairly clean, so we’ll simply scrub the wound out and give you about six stitches. How does that sound?”

“Fine by me, Doc. Do we get to leave then?” I asked hopefully.

He snorted at that, and a glance over at the cop showed him smiling. Well, it was worth asking.

“Now, this might sting a little.” The next thing I knew he had squirted something on my arm and was rubbing a small brush over it. Sting? A little? It felt like my arm was about to come off! The blood started flowing again, and I suspected Bellinger was getting back at me for screwing up his night.

I swore under my breath. “Doc, if that’s what you call a little sting, I don’t want to be around when you think something is going to hurt!”

“It’s a good clean wound. We’ll let it drain a moment, and then start sewing you up.” He washed off the surface again, and rubbed some Betadine on it. Then he filled his syringe with Novocain or something and started injecting me around the cut. That didn’t feel all that good either.

I looked over at Marilyn. “Whatever happened to good old morphine?”

“Later,” commented the doctor, “Afterwards I’ll give you something for the pain.” He opened a clear plastic envelope and removed a curved needle with some thread attached. “Now, don’t complain or I’ll make sure the scar is ugly.”

I turned my head away. I’m pretty good around blood, but if I watch, I’ll flinch. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but Marilyn’s eyes were wide. I grinned at her. “I thought chicks dug scars.”

“You’re not funny!”

I didn’t feel any pain, but the tugging on the flesh as the stitches were pulled through and knotted was disconcerting. About halfway through this, there was a knock on the door and the guard opened it. A slim man in a police uniform came in, and from the way the guard looked at him, I figured he had to be of some importance. Doctor Bellinger stopped what he was doing and glanced over at him. The new man said, “Don’t stop on my account.” He had a Bahamian accent, but used the Queen’s English and not the local dialect. Come to think of it, so did the doctor.

“I wasn’t planning to. He’ll be all yours in a few more minutes.”

“That’s all right. This will give us a chance to get acquainted.” He came closer and stood to my side, and watched what the doctor was doing, and then faced me. “My name is Assistant Superintendant Javier.”

“Hello. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a bit occupied at the moment. Or will you be slapping the cuffs on me when my hand comes up?” I asked.

“Why don’t we talk about that, Mister Buckman.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, in curiosity. “You know my name.” Nobody had even asked me up to this point.

“Indeed, I do. Mister Carl Buckman, of Cockeysville, Maryland.” He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a couple of driver’s licenses. “And Mrs. Marilyn Buckman, also of Cockeysville, Maryland. Husband and wife, I presume.”

“How did you get my driver’s license?!” I moved my right hand back to my pants pocket, but it was empty. My wallet was gone!

Assistant Superintendant Javier smiled and nodded. “Yes, we found your wallet, also your wife’s purse. Was that the reason you attacked those men?”

I had to be very careful. This man was smart, and I could easily talk myself into big trouble. Back home, in the States, I’d just shut up at this point and demand a lawyer. Here, things were different. This wasn’t the United States, I no longer had any constitutional rights, and I might never see a lawyer. I wasn’t afraid; the Bahamas are a civilized place and had a British common law legal system, but it would be best to watch my mouth and not be funny.

“I did not attack them, Assistant Superintendant. I think you have been misinformed.”

“Then maybe you should tell me what happened.”

I took a second to collect my thoughts, simply nodding in understanding. Fortunately, Doctor Bellinger took that moment to finish his sewing, and he started commenting. “Well, if you didn’t attack them, I’d hate to see what you could do if you were attacking them!”

“Thank you, Doctor!” said Javier, pissed at being interrupted.

I kept my mouth shut. Better that he be angry at the doctor than at me. When the doctor didn’t respond, he turned back to me, “You were saying?”

“I was saying, I didn’t attack anybody.” I gave him a straight retelling of the events of the night from the moment I stood up to go to the bathroom to the point where I was grabbed by the bartender. By the time I finished, the doctor had finished with me, but he was leaning against the wall listening in, with no intention of leaving.

“So, you’re telling me that you were attacked by three armed men, and all you got was a cut on the arm, and all three of them are in the hospital?” he asked.

Always turn a hostile question back on the questioner. “Are you saying that it makes more sense that I would attack three armed men?”

He didn’t answer either. He’d be a dangerous poker player. He changed the subject. “What is that around your neck?”

For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. It took me a second to realize what Javier was referring to. “My dog tags? These?” I lifted them and jangled them. I still wore them, and realized I probably always would. I had kept my draft card back the first time around, tucked in my wallet behind my Social Security card.

“You are a soldier?”

“I was. I left the Army in January,” I told him.

“Why?”

Was his theory now that I was a crazy soldier killing for no reason? I reached down and pulled up my pant leg, exposing the zipper factory that my right knee had become. “I made one jump too many.”

“A jump?” he asked, confused.

Marilyn spoke up at this, angrily. “My husband was an officer in the Eighty-Second Airborne, and decorated for bravery! Why are you treating him like a criminal?! Those men stole my purse, and a bunch of others, and he stopped them! Why are you arresting him!? You should be arresting them! Let us go!”

I took her hand and pulled her close. “It’s all right, just settle down. Things will be fine.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and hugged her. The last thing I needed was to have Marilyn thrown in jail with me. If nothing else, she needed to be free to call a lawyer!

Javier looked at me with a wry smile. “Are you sure you were the soldier and not your wife?”

“My wife is very protective,” I replied, also smiling.

He turned to face Marilyn. “You are not under arrest. You have never been under arrest. I simply wanted you kept together so we could talk. We have already arrested those men. I simply wanted to hear your side of everything.”

Marilyn was still looking mulish, but I just patted her hand. “They’ve been arrested?” I asked.

Javier nodded. “You are an extremely fortunate man, Mister Buckman. We have been after this gang for several months. If they are who I think they are, you are lucky to be alive.”

Marilyn gasped at that, but I just gave him a curious look. “Oh?”

“Yes, they are a mix of pickpockets and strong arm thieves. They go from island to island, which makes it difficult to track them or know if it is the same group. Two of them are pickpockets, and they go through and lift wallets, like yours, and then when they leave, they race through and steal purses. The third man takes care of anybody who tries to stop them. We think this is the same group that killed a German tourist in February, with a knife. You are lucky.”

I thought about it for a second, and then looked over at my wife, who was white as a ghost and shaking. I just hugged her some more. “No Assistant Superintendant, I’m not. They were just very unlucky. I was in the airborne artillery, but we were all combat soldiers. Those men are lucky. I knew guys who would eat them for breakfast.”

He snorted at that. “Well, I’d prefer if you didn’t tell the reporters that.”

“Reporters? What reporters?”

He grinned at me. “The reporters outside the clinic. This is a very small island, and very peaceful. The local reporter for the Guardian is out there, and probably the fellow for the Journal. This is national news!”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Oh, please, you have got to be kidding me!” He shook his head and I gave my wife a horrified look. “This just gets better and better! The next time, I’m letting them take the purse, the wallet, and you!”

“I’m not talking to any newspapers!” she told me.

“Shit!” I muttered. Then I looked over at Javier. “Okay, but if you want me to behave, you need to get me some clean clothes.” I looked at Marilyn, and she had some blood on her sundress. “Her, too.”

“Mmmm?” he replied, noncommittally.

“Mmmm! Yes. You know where La Valencia is? Send Mister Talkative here out there and bring us back some clean clothing. Then I’ll see your reporters and sing the praises of the Bahamas. Sound reasonable?”

“Reasonable.” He motioned our guard out. “So, you are staying at La Valencia.” He looked at me curiously. He must have known what it cost to stay there.

“You know it?”

“I know it. I shall also have a talk with Mister Finch. I know him, too.”

“It’s a small island, isn’t it?”

“And very friendly and peaceful. Remember that when you talk to the reporters,” he replied.

“Well, then why don’t you be friendly and get one of your officers to drive our car back to La Valencia for us. No way am I up to driving around tonight. Or is it the morning already?” I turned to Bellinger, still listening in. “Hey, Doc, what about those painkillers you mentioned. My arm is starting to kill me!” The Novocain had worn off and my entire arm was throbbing. “I’ll be able to say the words friendly and peaceful better if my arm doesn’t hurt so much!”

Doctor Bellinger left and came back with a bottle of pills. “These are Tylenol with codeine. Take one now, and don’t drink while you are taking them. They should have the pain and inflammation down in a day or so, but if you still have pain after that, come back and I can give you something a little stronger. These should be good, though.”

I nodded to him and popped open the bottle. I dry swallowed one, and then said, “Thanks. I’ve had them before. These should be okay.” Codeine is not my drug of choice, since it makes me nauseous. In fact, most opiates make me nauseous. If nothing else, this would keep me from becoming an addict to pain pills. I’d take another after we got out of here and he wasn’t watching. Marilyn would complain, but that’s pretty much a wife’s main job, and I didn’t need her doing her job in front of the doctor.

The doctor left, and Assistant Superintendant Javier excused himself, saying he’d be right outside. Marilyn and I shrugged at each other and sat back down on the exam table. “Are we really going to have reporters out there?” she asked in disbelief.

“It must be a slow news day in the Bahamas,” I answered.

“Why are you being so nice with that Javier guy!? He was awful to you!”

I smiled at that. “He was just doing his job. Trust me, he could have been a whole lot worse!”

“How? How could he be any worse?!” demanded Marilyn.

“Well, for one thing, he could have thrown us both in jail!” I said with a laugh.

“Jail! For what?”

“Well, let’s see. A couple of drunk foreigners start raising hell in a quiet local restaurant. The wife, dressed provocatively, by the way…” Marilyn looked shocked at that, but I continued. “… starts dancing around the place and bothering people. Her husband, equally drunk and rowdy, gets in a barroom brawl, wrecking the place and putting three innocent locals into the hospital with life threatening injuries. How does that sound for a scenario?”

“That’s… that’s crazy!” she sputtered.

“Yeah? Well, it’s also highly possible! What if there’s a fourth guy in the crowd, who swears I attacked them? What if the bartender or a waitress is in cahoots with the bad guys? We end up in jail while the cops sort things out. I’ve been in jail, honey, and you wouldn’t do well there.”

Marilyn stared at me for a few seconds. “You’re serious.”

“It happens. Now, the odds of anything bad happening in the Bahamas are pretty remote. The U.S. is right next door and the locals know where their money comes from. Still, why take a chance? If I need to smile and say nice things about the Bahamas to the reporters, it is a cheap price to pay. Trust me, by this time tomorrow, this will have all blown over and we’ll be able to finish our vacation quietly.”

“You bet it will be quiet! I’m not leaving the villa!”

I just laughed at that and hugged her with my good arm. What I had outlined happens every year, somewhere in the world. The Caribbean is pretty tame and safe for tourists, but there are any number of shitholes around the planet where trapping and imprisoning Americans is considered both sporting and profitable.

It was approaching dawn when there was a knock on the door and Assistant Superintendant Javier and his silent minion returned with an armload of clothes. “Your car has been taken over to La Valencia. After you are dressed, we’ll go outside and see the reporters and then drive you home.”

“They’re still out there?” I asked.

He grinned. “Three of them, now, and they have cameras!”

I just rolled my eyes and groaned. Then I noticed his silent friend smiling at us. I turned to him and said, “Can you even speak? I haven’t heard you say one thing tonight!”

“Didn’t have anything to say,” rumbled out of him in a thick accent. Then he went back to being silent.

I looked over at Marilyn. “Words to live by.” I got a dirty look in return.

Javier and the constable (I had learned just enough to know that regular cops start out as constables, very British) left and we sorted through our clothing. I stripped down and washed off as much as possible of the blood and Betadine where it was showing outside of the bandage. I pulled on some fresh clothing, khakis and a long sleeved shirt. I rolled the shirt sleeves up above my elbows, but not so far as to show the bandage. I slipped back into my blood spattered shoes, but hoped that nobody would notice them. Marilyn took off her dress and put on a clean sundress. She hadn’t been wearing anything under it last night, which I generally approved of, and the police hadn’t brought over any underwear. Now, while I still approved, I was too tired to contemplate any fun and games. I knew that as soon as we got back to La Valencia we would both sleep like rocks!

Dressed, I opened the door to the exam room and looked outside quickly. It was just Assistant Superintendant Javier and his silent partner, who was holding a plastic garbage bag. “Throw all your extra clothes in here.” We bundled everything up and he handed the bag to the constable, who turned and headed for the rear of the building. Javier, Marilyn and I turned the other way and headed for the front door. “Remember, honey, friendly and peaceful!” I said to Marilyn. Javier laughed.

As soon as we hit the lobby a flash went off and I stopped to blink my eyes. There were three men in the lobby, two black and one white, and at least two of them had cameras pointing at us. Another flash and I stopped. “Hold on, fellows, give us a chance to say hello! We’re not going anywhere.” It was time to try and control the situation. I put my right arm around Marilyn’s shoulders and smiled. “Better?” Javier stepped away and the cameras flashed again.

“Wow, it must be really quiet in the Bahamas to have all of you out like this!” I commented, grinning at them. Defuse, defuse, defuse…

All three immediately started talking, all at the same time, and generally the same damn questions over and over. What happened? Why were we there? Who were we? Why were we arrested? How bad were my injuries? Did I know the thieves and killers? How was I able to capture them?

I could feel Marilyn tensing next to me. She was tired and nervous and definitely not in her element. I just gave her a reassuring hug. “Calm down, fellows! I’ll answer your questions, just one at a time, just one at a time. Let’s do this in order.” I pointed at the one on the right. “You first.”

“Who are you and where are you from?”

“Who are you and where are you from?” I returned.

“Michael Westcott, Nassau Guardian. You didn’t answer my question.”

I reached out my hand and he instinctively took it. I shook his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Michael. I’m Carl Buckman and this is my wife Marilyn. We’re from Maryland, in the States. Next?” I turned to the guy in the center.

“Gregory Hancock, the Tribune. What happened?”

That started a civilized conversation. I shook Hancock’s hand and gave them a brief synopsis, downplaying everything, and trying to be gracious and polite. In particular:

It was all very minor, nothing to get worked up about. It was over before you even knew it had started.

Injuries? What injuries? We were just brought here to be checked out! We’re fine!

Everybody should thank Assistant Superintendant Javier for arresting the criminals so quickly. What great policework!

This is the sort of thing that can happen anywhere, so, no, we don’t have any bad feelings about Eleuthera or the Bahamas.

Everybody has been so friendly. We’re having a great time.

The island is so peaceful and quiet. We recommend vacationing here, and we’ll be sure to visit again.

Marilyn was asked several questions, but she just made some general noises for the reporters, and then I amplified on them. She did let out that I was a decorated and medically retired combat soldier, which really got them interested, so I had to explain that. They scribbled everything down. Thank God they didn’t have any recorders or video gear, but that stuff was still somewhat pricey in those days.

“Hey, I’d love to keep talking to you, but Marilyn and I are pretty beat. We really need to get back to the resort and get some rest. Otherwise we’ll never be able to enjoy the rest of our vacation here.” I had deliberately avoided any mention of where we were staying. Better to seem like normal tourists staying at some resort than millionaires staying at an exclusive and very expensive villa.

The reporters immediately started asking more questions, but we just nodded and smile and the Assistant Superintendant shuffled them out the door. When he returned, we simply followed him out the back, to a police car with our silent driver. Fifteen minutes later we were back at la Valencia. We got out and grabbed our bag of clothing and said thank you. Mr. Talkative simply nodded and gave us a little salute before driving off.

I stood there in the driveway as the sun rose and looked at my wife. “I’m going to bed!”

“Me too!”

Chapter 68: Hero

Back inside, I took another pill and drank about half a beer while getting undressed and climbing into bed. Marilyn had already fallen asleep by the time I got into the sheets. I tried to close the drapes and shut out the daylight, but the entire place had been designed to be light and airy. Even the curtains seemed bright. It didn’t matter. I was out like a light in about thirty seconds and didn’t wake until dinner time.

I woke to find myself alone in the bed, but I heard the shower running, so my wife couldn’t have been up much earlier than I was. I lazed there a few minutes, getting back into things, until I crawled out of bed stiff and sore. I picked up my beer to finish it, but it smelled flat and stale and made my stomach churn. I took it into the bathroom with me and poured it down the sink.

My wife stuck her head out of the shower and asked, “How are you feeling?”

I smiled at her. “I’m fine. You?”

“I’m not the one with the stitches.”

I waved it off. “I’ll be fine.” I took the empty beer bottle and padded out to the kitchen. In one of the drawers I found a roll of duct tape, so I carried it into the bedroom, along with a plastic bag.

The shower was off, so as soon as Marilyn was finished drying her hair I asked her to come out. “Here, let’s make a covering of some sort and duct tape it over the bandage.”

“Won’t that hurt when you take it off later?” she asked, tearing a length of tape off the roll.

“Honey, I need a shower!”

Marilyn shrugged and nodded, and between the two of us we taped the bag over the bandage so it would be watertight. So armed, I headed into the bathroom and took a long and hot shower. Afterwards I had her tear it off, which hurt worse than the stitches! “Yowza! Watch it!” I yelled.

“You should have shaved your arm before I did this,” Marilyn commented.

“I will never ask you to go get waxed,” I replied. If it was anything like this, it really had to suck!

“I don’t understand.”

Probably not, now that I thought about it. Marilyn shaved, and occasionally plucked an errant eyebrow. She wasn’t into waxing. I explained, which earned me a loud, “Forget it!” I just nodded in agreement.

“I guess we’re not going swimming anytime soon,” she said.

“Not me, anyway. You can, and I can watch. I’ll be happy to oil you up in between laps,” I offered.

Marilyn had a robe on. “What are we doing for dinner?”

“Go out, I suppose.”

“I don’t want to go out. I’ve had my fill of going out for the time being,” she replied.

I shrugged and held my hands up. “I don’t think we have much choice. There’s nothing in the fridge, or at least not enough to cook. We only got some snacks and stuff, unless I do omelets the rest of our stay.”

“No,” she answered, grumbling slightly.

“Get dressed. We’ll go get a pizza, maybe bring it back.”

“Okay.”

We dressed quickly and sorted through some of the flyers that Finch had left for us, finding a nearby place that did pizzas. I grabbed the flyer and the car keys, and we went in search of dinner. It was Sunday night, and relatively quiet. We placed our order and then sat down at a table over in the corner.

Marilyn was looking around the room covertly, and I noticed. “What are you looking for?” I asked.

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m wondering if anybody has seen us in the paper yet.”

I thought about it for a second. “I doubt it. By the time those guys got through sending in their stories this morning, the morning edition was already out. That means it will be delayed until tomorrow, and maybe not even then. This has got to be a really small story. ‘Tourists robbed.’ Like that’s never happened before! It will probably be in the middle of the back section, buried under an ad for wrinkle cream.”

Marilyn looked hopeful at that. I was certainly hoping it would be true. Maybe we could have a tornado or earthquake in the meantime. I didn’t remember anything happening in the spring of 1982, but maybe I had forgotten a disaster.

Marilyn got quiet while we were waiting for the pizza to come over. “What’s up, honey? Sorry we came?” I asked. She had a bit of a nervous look on her face.

“Oh, no, it’s not that. I mean, it’s actually been a lot of fun, at least until the other night, and like you said, that sort of thing can happen anywhere.”

“So, what is it?”

“Okay. Now, don’t get angry. Just let me speak.” I nodded and made a rolling ‘move it along’ motion with my fingers. “Last night, in the bar, when you were in that fight, you almost looked like you were going to kill them.”

I just smiled and waved it off. “Oh, you know me, take no prisoners and that sort of thing.”

My wife wasn’t smiling. “That’s what I mean. I mean… Carl, don’t be angry with me… before we left Fayetteville, I heard stories. I mean, just rumors, not even stories, whispers, even. I never believed them, but last night, watching you in that fight, I started believing them.”

Suddenly I started getting very nervous and still. I knew where this was going, and didn’t want to go there. “What did you hear, honey?” I asked her quietly.

Marilyn lowered her voice to a whisper. “When you were in Honduras, and that last jump dropped you and your men in Nicaragua, and you captured those drug runners, I heard at least two wives saying that you killed those men rather than let them talk about what happened afterwards, and that you burned their bodies.” She looked very guilty as she said this, guilty and embarrassed to be bringing it up.

“Okay.”

“Well?”

“Well what? You haven’t asked me a question yet.”

My wife rolled her eyes. “Well, is it true or not?”

I sat back and looked out the window to the pizza parlor towards the beach. I turned back, just as our order was brought out, so I delayed my answer a minute longer. Finally, when we were alone again, I answered very carefully. “Well, I have heard that accusation made. From a legal standpoint, that would be impossibly hard to prove. As far as I know, there have been no charges from any Nicaraguan authority demanding my extradition for any charges related to that mission. Nobody seems to have reported our presence, so the Nicaraguans have not made any protests. Certainly any talk like that could compromise security and cause an international incident, so it would be best to not even ask such questions.”

She gave me an angry look. “You haven’t answered my question. Saying you can’t be found guilty is not the same as saying you are innocent.”

“Does it matter whether I am innocent or guilty?”

“Yes!” She looked around to see if we were being overheard, and then lowered her voice again. “Carl, before last night I could just ignore it and pretend I never heard those rumors, but last night, in the bar, you looked like you were going to kill those guys. I have to know what kind of man I married.”

“You picked a hell of a place and a time to ask me this!” I replied gesturing at our surroundings.

“Please, Carl, I need to know.”

“Well, let me ask you a question. What if we had been at war, in combat, and while being shot at, I had killed four men. Would I have been the man you thought I was then?”

Marilyn shook her head. “But you weren’t in combat.”

“Marilyn, that mission was as close as I ever want to come to combat. If I did what you are asking me I did, it was necessary to the completion of the mission, not because I am a bloodthirsty killer. I only had two things I had to absolutely accomplish — get my men home, every last one of them, dead or alive, and keep the United States out of a shooting war, which is what could have happened if those four men had talked. I accomplished my mission.”

“That’s about as much of an admission as I’m going to get, isn’t it?” she asked.

“If the question is, if I’m the kind of man who could kill another man, then the answer is yes, I could do that. If the question is, have I done that already, I am not going to answer. You already know the answer; you just don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

“And last night?”

I had to shrug at that. “I don’t fight for fun. For fun I’ll go to the gym or the dojo, and there are rules and referees. In a real fight, there are no rules and no refs and people get hurt. I’ve never lost that kind of fight and don’t plan to. The question for you is whether you can live with a man who will do whatever it takes — whatever it takes! — to keep you and your children safe.”

“I don’t know what to think,” she replied, quietly. Then she put down her pizza. “I don’t think I’m all that hungry anymore.”

I guess that wasn’t all that surprising. I sighed and stood up. Marilyn went outside to the car while I paid for our meal.

It was a silent ride home. Marilyn didn’t even look at me, and I could see tears forming in her eyes. Back at La Valencia she didn’t say anything, but simply went inside and went into the bedroom. I didn’t feel like drinking a lot, but I wasn’t really all that tired. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went out onto the back veranda and watched as the night deepened and the stars began showing.

I wasn’t sure what the result of this was going to be. I wasn’t worried that Marilyn was going to divorce me and throw me out of the house, but she was sure thinking about me in a way she had never thought before. I suppose at some point, every wife has to ask herself, just what kind of man she married? There’s always something that they don’t know about us. We have a secret vice — we’re a secret drinker, a cockhound, a gambler, an addict. Or maybe we’re a criminal or mentally disturbed or abusive. Sometimes the secret is a good one; Marilyn couldn’t complain about not knowing I had more money than I let on. Sometimes it’s a harmless secret, like the fact that I am both a lousy handyman and lazy.

I finished my beer and went back into the house. The bedroom door was closed, so I went into the kitchen and got a second beer. Tonight I wasn’t going to get drunk, but another beer would be fine. Then I would curl up on the couch and get some sleep. It wasn’t the first time I had slept on a couch and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It was the first time on this go-around.

In my first life, Alison had been very colicky, and a couple of times I had gone out to the car and slept in the car, just so I could get enough sleep to go to work in the morning. Another time, while Parker and I had been on a Boy Scout camping trip, using Marilyn’s car as a people transporter, we had been sideswiped by a car in an accident in Pennsylvania. Marilyn had been furious over that, and I ended up sleeping in the living room a couple of nights while she worked it out.

It was late when I heard the door from the bedroom open. I had been nursing that second beer for over an hour, and I set it aside when I noticed my wife coming over. She was wearing her satin robe and looked very sad. I was laying on a chaise lounge. “Want to talk?” I asked. I moved over and patted the edge of the chaise.

She sat down next to me. “I’m sorry about how I behaved earlier,” she told me quietly. “I wasn’t being fair to you.”

“It’s all right, don’t worry about it,” I told her.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I reached out and patted her hand. “You didn’t do anything. It’s all right. I simply surprised you. I’m sorry about that.”

“I guess I never thought about things before.”

I nodded. “I know. Marilyn, your problem is that you think I’m a better guy than I really am. I work hard at being the kind of man you think I am, but sometimes I slip up. All I could think about when I was in Honduras was how much I wanted to come back to you and see Charlie. I’m sorry when I don’t live up to your expectations.”

Marilyn started sobbing and lay down in my arms on the chaise lounge. I wrapped my hands around her back and held her. She just cried and repeated over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Eventually she stopped and pushed herself upright. “I think I understand better now. You really are better than you think you are, but you’re also a lot tougher and harder than I thought you were. You’re strong, but you’re ruthless. Does that make sense?”

I shrugged and made a half smile. “Yes.”

“How did that happen? What made you so strong but so hard?”

I sighed. “I don’t know, hun. Hell, look at my family. The only way I could get out of there with my sanity was by being strong and hard and tough, and yes, even a little ruthless. I’m sorry I’m not the guy you want me to be. What happens to us now?”

“What do you mean?”

I felt a chill as I said the next words. “Do you still want me? Is there still an us?”

Marilyn’s jaw dropped when she heard those words. “WHAT?! Carling! No! It’s not like that at all! I think I love you more than ever now. I just never thought about it before, not like this.”

I sighed and smiled. “You had me worried there.”

“Sorry about that. No, you be tough and I’ll be soft and somehow we’ll meet in the middle. How about that?”

“That sounds fine by me,” I answered.

“Come to bed, Carl. You’re my hero, so let me give you a hero’s thanks.”

I smiled at that. “I think I like that idea. You know, as the rescued fair maiden, you are going to have to really, really work at thanking me. Us heroes kind of expect it!”

Marilyn stood up and I climbed to my feet after her. “Don’t push it. You weren’t that much of a hero!” she laughed.

“And you’re not a maiden, either.”

“And whose fault was that?” She took my hand and led me inside.

We were late getting up the next morning. In fact, I completely skipped out my morning exercise routine, sort of. I was actually getting a totally different sort of exercise, and getting sweaty doing it. Marilyn was working out with me, and she got sweaty as well. It must have been very aerobic, too, since we both were panting at the end of the routine.

A clatter in the living room roused us. Marilyn swung her head around afterwards, from where she was laying on top of me, and said, “Mrs. Wilkes must be cleaning up from the weekend.”

“Yeah, you were pretty sloppy,” I replied with a straight face.

That earned me a shot to the ribs. “You can be eliminated!” She rolled off of me and climbed to her feet. “Well, somebody needs to take a shower, and I think you are too lazy to move.”

I sniffed the air theatrically, and said, “You’re right somebody does need to take a shower. Off you go.”

“I was going to invite you to wash my back, but just for that, you can stay in bed!”

I looked down my torso and saw that Carl Junior needed the rest. “I’ll just take a nap. Somebody kept me up all night long.”

Marilyn gave me a harrumph and went off to the bathroom. I put my hands behind my head and smiled. I actually did doze off for a few minutes, but woke up when my wife tossed a wet washcloth at me. I rolled out of bed and smacked her on the ass as we passed each other, her leaving the bathroom and me entering.

Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and shaved, and dressed in shorts and a polo shirt. I also had forgotten about my new stitches, and I ripped the wet bandage off and tossed it in the garbage. The line of stitches on my arm looked red and angry, but was relatively pain free. Maybe Mrs. Wilkes could scrounge up a bandage for it. No swimming for me the rest of the trip, though.

I looked at myself in the mirror, studying my nose. Most people never noticed that it was broken all those years ago. Maybe they thought it was supposed to be kind of bent down and a little spread out. One thing I could certainly say, my body really showed the beatings I had taken over the years. I scarred easy. Now my arm was just one more addition to the zipper factory.

Another reminder was my right knee. It had improved enough so that while I walked with a slight limp, it wasn’t hard to push it too hard, and then it hurt like the dickens and I needed the cane. Since the fight the other night, it was hurting me. I had skipped on the cane when we went out for pizza the other night, but I needed it now. I grabbed it and went out to the living room.

I hobbled over to the dining room table, where Marilyn was sitting and drinking some coffee while reading the newspaper. That was unusual in itself; my wife rarely reads the newspaper. She looked up at me and grinned at me. “Morning!”

“You really don’t have to worry about me getting in fights, hun. The way I’m going, the next time I decide to get into a fight, you’re going to have to push me into it with a wheelchair.”

She laughed and pushed the newspaper over to me. “The middle of the back section, over a wrinkle cream ad, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” I looked at the paper where she was tapping it with a finger. “Oh, shit!” There, just below the fold, on the front page of the Nassau Guardian, was a picture of me, flanked by Marilyn and Assistant Superintendant Javier, under a headline, ‘Tourist Captures Killer Gang!’ I looked up at Marilyn and said, “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Read it!” she laughed. “Why, if I wasn’t already married, I’d want to marry a guy who was that heroic!”

I flipped my wife the bird, which just made her laugh harder. Then I read the story. Leaving aside the parts about the amazing tourist who caught the robbers, it was pretty obvious that Assistant Superintendant Javier hadn’t spent Sunday lazing on his porch. In fact, reading between the lines, it sounded like he had gotten at least one of the gang to roll over on the others. In addition to a whole mess of robbery charges related to the pickpocketing and purse stealing, murder charges had been levied against them, related to the death of the German tourist Javier had told us about.

Mrs. Wilkes bustled in from the kitchen with some juice and fruit salad for me. She saw me reading the newspaper and asked, “Dat be you?”

I looked up at her and grinned. “It wasn’t that big a deal, Mrs. Wilkes.”

She just shook her head and cried out, “You be crazy, mon!”

I put my head back and laughed loudly at that. Marilyn smiled over at me, and then said, “I’ve been saying that for years, Mrs. Wilkes.” I just laughed some more. I waved them off and the two women chatted a bit about the night in the bar. After a bit, Marilyn and Mrs. Wilkes scrounged up a bandage and covered up the stitches for me.

The real surprise came about an hour later. There was a knock on the front door, and while Marilyn and I looked at each other curiously, from where we were sitting in the living room, Mrs. Wilkes hustled out of the kitchen and opened it. There were some subdued words said, and then Mr. Finch came in. I promptly climbed to my feet in greeting.

“Mister Buckman, Mrs. Buckman, good morning. Might I have a word with you?”

“Sure, come on in.” I glanced over at Marilyn with a bit of mystification. She looked back the same way. We hadn’t had anything to do with Finch or his office since we got there, other than a restaurant recommendation or two. I stepped out of the way and he came into the living room.

The first thing he saw was the newspaper on the coffee table. “Ah, you have seen the paper already,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, Mrs. Wilkes brought it this morning.”

“That was quite a remarkable thing you did, capturing those three men. They were very dangerous men!”

I waved a hand. “Really, Mister Finch, the paper made it sound much more dramatic than it really was.”

“That is not what Assistant Superintendant Javier told me,” he replied.

“Don’t listen to him, Mister Finch! Carl was just as heroic as they reported. Too heroic, if you ask me!” commented Marilyn.

I laughed at that and reached out and took her hand. “I promise, no more heroics.” I turned back to our concierge. “So, you talked to the Assistant Superintendant.”

“Oh, yes, he called me Friday night, or really Saturday morning, to ask about you. Both of you, actually.”

“Both of us!? Whatever for!?” asked my wife.

I had to smile at that. She can be a bit naïve at times. “Standard police work, honey. You always check on everybody,” I told her.

“Precisely so,” agreed Finch, amiably. “The Assistant Superintendant is a very thorough man.”

“I gathered as much from the newspaper. It seems that Assistant Superintendant Javier has made a nice little string of arrests and cleared up a number of crimes here.”

“Yes, it would seem so. I have to tell you, as a citizen of the Bahamas, these men are very unusual. The Bahamas is a very quiet and safe place, and crime is very unusual! You should not think this sort of thing is common!” he said.

I glanced at Marilyn and smiled. She smiled back. “Neither of us thought anything of the sort. We have found it quite lovely here, and hope to come back some day.”

My wife chimed in, “Really, everyone here has been terrific. Some day we will have to bring our children here for a visit.”

“Oh, there are so many things for children to do! How many do you have?”

“Just one now, a baby boy, but we plan on a few more,” she said.

He nodded. “So this was in the way of a second honeymoon, then?”

“Yes it was.”

“What a terrible way to see it end! Allow me to make it up to you. I know you leave tomorrow. I want to invite you to a small dinner party at my home tonight. I know a number of the local people and they would all love to meet you and thank you for your help.”

“Well, really Mister Finch, that’s just not necessary. It really wasn’t that big a deal,” I protested.

“No, I insist. Mrs. Wilkes told me how you have been cut and how she bandaged you up this morning. I know Assistant Superintendant Javier would like to see you once more before you leave.”

I looked over at my wife and shrugged. “I guess dinner is taken care of tonight.”

“Fine by me,” she agreed.

“Okay, Mister Finch, but we really don’t have anything fancy to wear. We’re just a couple of tourists on vacation. My wardrobe is pretty much limited to clean khakis and a shirt.”

“I promise, that will be fine. We will be very informal. Shall we say seven this evening? Mrs. Wilkes can give you directions. It is very close by.”

“We look forward to it, sir. Thank you.” We shook hands and then he left. After he left, I commented to Marilyn, “I think that is what they call a command performance.”

“I think you’re right. What do we do?”

“Well, today, let’s just get in the car and drive up and down the island, one end to the other. I want to see more than what there is here.”

She nodded. “Okay, let’s get ready and go. Give me five minutes.”

I smiled at that. Five minutes to Marilyn is closer to thirty minutes to normal humans. I used the bathroom myself, and then waited for Marilyn to get ready. Once she appeared, I tapped my watch and said, “Five minutes on the dot, honey!” She immediately started protesting, but I just waved it off and moved her out the door.

First stop was to gas up the Cavalier. I wasn’t too sure how long the drive was, but I knew it would be a few hours. Gas is not cheap outside of the States. I remember the first time we drove in the islands, in my other life, I thought it was pretty reasonable, until I figured out that the prices listed were for liters, not gallons! Ooops!

Eleuthera is about a hundred miles long, and the Queens Highway is the main drag the entire length of the island. In most places it’s the only drag; the island is very narrow and it’s the only main road. We sent the day driving it, first north past Governors Harbor, all the way up to Spanish Wells, and then turned around and drove back and beyond. We kept going all the way down to Bannerman Town, where we had lunch. Then it was back north again, to La Valencia, where we took a nap before dinner.

At six, we got ready to go out. It was pretty simple for both of us. Marilyn pulled on a calf length halter top sundress and a pair of high heeled sandals, and she looked pretty good. My choices were limited, and I decided that in the future I’d be sure to pack at least a sport coat. I pulled on some clean khakis and a long sleeved dress shirt, and then rolled the sleeves up, but not high enough to show the bandage. I didn’t even have socks, and it had totally slipped my mind to buy any while we were out and around, so I simply slipped into my deck shoes. They were going to have to take their heroes as they came. I grabbed my cane and we headed out.

The address I got from Finch was only about five minutes away, if that. It was a little north of us, back towards the airport, in what I suspect was an upscale neighborhood. It was certainly very neat and tidy, although it wasn’t beachfront. I suspected beachfront property was too valuable for anybody local. Better to live a little inland and use that beachfront to fleece the Yankees. The address seemed correct and there were several cars already in the driveway, so I parked and Marilyn and I headed towards the door.

I knocked on the door and a few moments later, Finch opened the door. He smiled broadly when he saw us. “I’m so glad you could make it,” he said.

“Everyone here has been so pleasant, how could we not,” I replied. “Thank you for inviting us, Mister Finch.”

He opened the door wider and ushered us inside. “Please, call me Jonathan.”

“Thank you. You already know us as Marilyn and Carl. I’m glad we were able to find you. I’m still getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road.”

“Here we think of it as the right side of the road, or more accurately, the correct side of the road.”

“I’ll probably get used to it just in time to go home and get in an accident back home,” I said with a laugh.

“Maybe I’ll have to drive when we get home. You’ve been doing all the driving here,” commented Marilyn.

“Come in, let me introduce you to a few people.”

“I just hope nobody is expecting anything fancy. Marilyn looks good in anything, but I wasn’t planning much. I mean, I’m on vacation, right?”

“You have an interesting way of spending your vacations,” commented somebody coming in from the side. I looked over and found Assistant Superintendant Javier coming closer. “What do you do when you are working?” he asked with a smile.

“As little as humanly possible,” I replied. I reached my hand out and shook his. “It’s nice to see you again, Assistant Superintendant. Is it still Assistant Superintendant?” I asked with a smile.

Most of the other guests, along with Finch, were dressed relatively informally, with slacks and a dress shirt being the norm for the gentlemen and dresses for the ladies. Javier, however, had his uniform on. “It is still Assistant Superintendant, at least for the moment,” he responded with a smile.

“You are still in uniform?”

“It was a long day. I was still handling details from this weekend.”

A third man came up, along with a woman. They were both in their forties, and he had the look of somebody who thought he was important. He also had a big white smile on his dark brown face. He promptly put out his hand, and said, “And you, young man, are the reason for all those details. When you go fishing, you go after the big fish, don’t you?”

I shook his hand, and so did Marilyn. “If you ask my wife, Marilyn, she’ll tell you my fishing license has been cancelled.”

“For good!” chimed in Marilyn.

That got everybody laughing. At that point, Finch announced our presence to the rest of the room, and then introduced everybody. To be perfectly honest, I forgot all of their names almost as soon as I met them, but I was polite. The important looking man who had joked about fishing was the local Member of Parliament for Eleuthera, sort of the equivalent to the local Congressman back home. Jonathan Finch was a member in good standing of the local Big Shots Club. Also present was the Mayor of Governors Harbor, a couple of members of the local town council, a banker, and a couple of other business types. Most of them had their wives with them, and most of them were black, which wasn’t surprising, since it is a majority black country. Only the banker and one of the other businessmen were white. Javier was the only man without a wife at his side.

Also present was a face I had seen the other night, though he was alone, also. I eyed him curiously. “We met the other evening, didn’t we?”

He nodded and smiled. “You remember! Michael Westcott of the Guardian. My editors want me to do a follow-up piece. How are your injuries?”

I simply smiled at him. “Injuries? What injuries?”

“Are you saying you didn’t get half a dozen stitches at the clinic early Saturday morning?”

I smiled and looked over at my wife. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

She gave me a dirty look. “Very funny. Don’t make me the bad guy.” She turned back to Westcott. “My husband is in fine shape. If he did receive any stitches, they are healing just fine. If he ever pulls a stunt like this again, I’ll give him some stitches he won’t be laughing about!”

He laughed. “So you aren’t happy about this?”

She snorted. “My husband is a brave and heroic man, but there are times I wish he wasn’t so brave and heroic. He scared the daylights out of me!”

“So, tell me what really happened that night,” he pushed.

He might have been the local stringer for a very sleepy island, but Mister Westcott knew the questions to ask. “Okay, here’s the bottom line. I came out of the bathroom and heard my wife scream. That’s when I saw a guy running towards me with her purse, so I stopped him. Then the other two attacked me, so I had to stop them also. One of them had a knife, but he didn’t really hurt me.”

“Your cane — did you hurt your leg?”

“No, not at all. I injured that last year. Really, if I hadn’t heard Marilyn scream, I’d have been happy to just let things be. I’m actually a very peaceful guy. I think you should be talking to Assistant Superintendant Javier. I think he’s done the really hard work here.”

“How so?” By now the MP and the Mayor were near us and listening in.

“Well, the easy part was stopping them and capturing them. He was able to link them to all these other crimes, including a murder. That’s really good police work, and is a lot tougher than just catching a few bad guys. Because of him, they are all going to jail, right?”

“For a very long time!” answered the Member of Parliament. He started pontificating about the wonders of the Bahamian justice system, and I was happy to let him run with it.

Dinner was a number of local seafood dishes and vegetables, all done with some interesting island spices. The cook proved to be Mrs. Wilkes, and when Finch told us this, Marilyn and I both commented that we should have had her cook a meal or two for us. Throughout dinner, we assured everyone of the same talking points from our first interview with the reporters at the clinic — ‘These things happen!’, ‘Everybody has been so nice!’, and ‘It’s been so friendly and peaceful!’ It was a little more political than I would have liked, but what can you expect when you are dining with politicians.

I did have an interesting conversation with Javier, who was seated across from me at the table. “So, Assistant Superintendant, I’m not all that familiar with your title. Is Assistant Superintendant a rank or a position?”

He nodded in understanding. “We use standard British ranks in the Royal Bahamian Police. You start out as a Constable, then you move up to the Corporal and Sergeant ranks, and then to Inspector and Chief Inspector, then to Assistant Superintendant. I think the closest thing to your thinking might be Lieutenant or Captain. I am the second ranking officer assigned to Eleuthera. Superintendant Musselwhite is in Nassau right now.”

“Well, the next time we visit, maybe you’ll have a different title.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smile.

The Mayor had to chime in with that. “You’ll have to hire Mister Buckman here as your constable. He can catch them and you can send them to jail.”

“Don’t give my husband any more ideas!” warned Marilyn.

I simply shrugged and smiled. “I don’t know, hun. You have to admit, the working conditions seem pretty nice.” Marilyn pushed me in the arm and everybody laughed. I just shrugged theatrically to the others. “I think the Assistant Superintendant is going to have to catch his own criminals.”

“That’s more like it!” she agreed.

Marilyn answered a few questions about our family and home, and also a few about my service in the army. She was the one who told them about my black belts and the Bronze Star and my leg, which I would have been happy to let slide by. I could see the reporter’s eyes widen, and knew he had more stuff to feed his editor for the next edition.

All in all it proved an enjoyable evening, and certainly beat going out to a restaurant. We assured one and all how much we enjoyed the Bahamas and that we would certainly return some day. Then we thanked our host and beat feet. We were both tired and needed some sleep. Tomorrow morning we were flying out, back to the real world.

Chapter 69: Home

The flight home Tuesday morning was uneventful. We woke up and hustled to get our bags packed. Thanks to the efforts of Mrs. Wilkes, we had very little in the way of dirty clothes, so we just dumped that in one bag and packed the clean clothes in the others. We also had a bag of some souvenirs for Marilyn’s family, and a little steel drum to bang on for Charlie. He was a little young, but hey, all kids like to play the drums!

Jim and Samantha were flying us again in the Learjet. When Samantha asked if she should sit up front with Jim again, Marilyn turned a dozen shades of red and sputtered out an incoherent, “That won’t be necessary!” I just laughed until I turned red myself. My wife said, “I can’t believe the things you get me to do!”

First stop was at Raleigh-Durham, not Charlotte. For some reason Charlotte wasn’t able to handle our customs inspection. We made it to the terminal, and waited a few minutes while we refueled for the customs officer to show up. We filled out our forms and when he asked, ‘Do you have anything to declare?’, our mutual response was, ‘We need a vacation from our vacation!’ He laughed, stamped our form, and waved us on our way.

While airborne on our next leg, I had Jim send a radio message ahead to have the terminal call the Lefleurs to let them know when we would land. This was to be a quick stop. We weren’t going to have a car waiting for us, and Marilyn’s family was supposed to drive out with Charlie and load him and all his gear onto the Learjet. I hoped to be out of there inside of an hour.

When we floated in for a real greaser landing, Marilyn looked out her window and squealed, “They’re here! I can see their car!” I looked over at her side, but the angle was wrong and I couldn’t see anything. It felt good to be almost home. Marilyn was excited to be back. She turned to look at me with a big smile. “I really loved it, but I missed Charlie, too.”

“Next vacation, we’ll take him too. I think he’s a little young for Disney, though.”

“That’s not important. We’ll take him, too. Besides, I’ve never been there either,” she answered serenely.

I shrugged. “Just remember the deal. For every kid vacation, you and me take an adult vacation. Start making a list of places you want to go to.”

She simply smiled and shook her head. We pulled up to the terminal and shut down. We wouldn’t need to refuel for the quick trip down to Westminster. After the hatch was opened, we looked out to see Harriet and Big Bob staring at us. We climbed down, and I waved as Marilyn scurried over to her parents. I limped along slowly after her. My leg was still bothering me since the bar fight. I was going to have to get to a gym and a dojo that could work some strength and flexibility back into my knee.

It was a lot cooler in upstate New York than it was in the Bahamas. I was sorry I had left my jacket in the car in Westminster! I gamely hobbled over and shook Big Bob’s hand. “Welcome back!” he said.

“Thanks. It’s good to be home. How was Charlie?” I asked with a nod towards where Marilyn was cooing over our son. He had a big grin on his face, so he obviously still remembered Momma.

“Oh, pretty good. He’s a healthy eater, that’s for sure.” He looked back at the little jet. “This is for real? You really can charter a jet?”

“It’s for real,” I assured him. “Want to see what it’s like?”

He gaped at that, so I touched his elbow and urged him forward. He followed me along, and I let him climb inside. He looked around, and his first comment was, “There’s not a lot of headroom, is there?”

Well, no there wasn’t. “There’s bigger jets than this, but for this trip, this was big enough. Man, it really beats going through airports and sitting back in coach. Fast, too! We left Westminster, back in Maryland at ten in the morning and landed in the Bahamas by noon. You spend that long just sitting around in the airport waiting for a regular plane to load. You can’t beat that!”

“Unbelievable!”

I grinned at him. “Next time you and Harriet want to take a vacation by yourselves, let Marilyn know. I’ll set it up for you.”

He stared at me when I said that, but I just smiled and shrugged. Why not, it would be good for family relations. I remembered a trip made a couple of years ago, when the entire family — kids, fiancées, girlfriends, etc. - less us (I was on ready cycle), 20 in all, drove from Utica down to Orlando in a five car convoy. It took three days with that crowd. Wouldn’t that have been simpler if they had flown charter and then rented a couple of large vans while down there? Probably cheaper, too, when you figure in hotel rooms and meals on the trip down and back. I had been on that trip the first time through and it was a fucking zoo!

“Well, this is really something, I have to say that!” he said.

“Trust these two to leave us with Charlie and all his gear!” groused Harriet from the bottom of the stairs.

Big Bob ignored the complaint and said, “Mother! You have to see this! Come on up here!”

Harriet grumbled and handed Charlie’s bags up the stairs to the pilot, and then lumbered up the stairs. She immediately began oohing and ahhing herself.

“Make way!” sounded from the bottom of the stairs. Marilyn came up carrying Charlie in his car seat. Samantha immediately moved through the press of people and they figured out how to secure him on one of the seats. Marilyn told me I was being evicted from my seat for our son, and she would sit across the aisle from him, so that he could see her during the flight. It was a short flight, barely an hour, but better to see Mommy then spend the time screaming. Charlie was a good traveler, from what I could see, but better to be safe than sorry. I was moved one row back.

Big Bob and I went back to his car to find anything else left behind, but Harriet and Marilyn had grabbed it all earlier. We shook hands and Marilyn kissed her parents good-bye, and then we went winging off to Westminster. Charlie was the best kind of traveler; he was sound asleep before we ever got to cruising altitude.

When we got back to the town house, Marilyn and I were thoroughly exhausted. Despite the private jet, we had still been on three flights through three airports and it had taken the day. Charlie woke up as we landed and was pretty good, but he was hungry, so he squawked until Marilyn fed him and I had to handle the luggage myself. It was late in the day, and after we got into the town house, I was immediately sent back out with a grocery list. Add to that a very funky smell from the refrigerator, where we found a bottle of formula from a week ago. Ahhhh — Home Sweet Home!

Wednesday morning I called John Steiner and asked him how the paperwork was going with the property purchase. He indicated that everything was fine, and that we should be able to close next Friday. Then he invited me to lunch, and I told him I’d meet him at noon in Timonium. He wanted to see me about something, but didn’t want to get into it on the telephone.

I got to the steak house at twelve, just in time to find that I was following John into the parking lot. He got a spot near the door, but I had to go around to a different row, so we didn’t actually meet until I got to the front door. He smiled when he saw me. “Nice tan! Been down in the islands, have we?”

“How’d you know? Did we tell you?” I had to think about it. Marilyn and I hadn’t been secretive about the vacation, but we hadn’t specifically told anybody about it either.

“Yes and no. You told me you were going away, but not where. You did mention something to Missy, I think, or maybe Jake, about the Bahamas. I simply put two and two together.”

I nodded in understanding. We went inside and got to a table quickly, despite the lunch crowd arriving. We both ordered small steaks and salads, and ice teas. John said he was a working man and didn’t need a drink. I joked I wasn’t a working man and could have a drink if I wanted, but then ordered an iced tea anyway. No point in making my friend uncomfortable.

After the waitress left, he looked at me and asked, “How’s your arm?”

“My arm? My arms are fine. What are you talking about?”

“The cut on your arm and the stitches. That’s what I’m talking about.”

My eyes popped at that. “How do you know about that!?” I asked.

He reached inside his suit coat and pulled out a folded up page of the Tuesday edition of the Baltimore Sun, from the local section. ‘Local Hero Foils Robbery, Catches Bahamas Killers’, was the headline for the piece. “What the hell!?” I exclaimed quietly, looking up at John.

“That’s what I said!” he replied.

I looked back down at the paper. The Associated Press had picked up the piece from the Nassau Guardian and run it on the national wires. The Sun had, of course, picked up the piece. It was a no-brainer for them; local boy makes good and all. I ran through it quickly, and it was just a basic rehash of the original Monday morning piece.

I looked back up and just shook my head. “It really wasn’t like that.” I folded the paper up and passed it back.

John refused it. “No, you keep that one for your scrapbook. I have one all for my own.”

“You have a scrapbook?”

“Sure, I put in it all the news pieces about my clients who’ve been in bar fights and gone to jail.”

“Maybe you need to start one about lawyers who do stand-up comedy,” I replied.

John snorted at that. “Do you have life insurance? Should I be finding you a broker?”

I laughed. “Wow! Your wife feeding you Wheaties these days? You’re sure full of piss and vinegar for an old fart!”

“I just don’t want my billable hours being cut when you end up in the morgue!” We both laughed at that, then he asked, “So, tell me the truth, what really happened.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t all that heroic. Marilyn and I were out barhopping on Saturday night — I mean, we were on vacation, right? — and we were in this one place, late. Nice joint, a little crazy, but not in a bad way. When I got up to go to the bathroom, there was this chick laying on the bar, with her boyfriend doing body shots out of her belly button.”

John rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if I should be jealous or disgusted. Please, please, don’t tell me you had Marilyn do that.”

I laughed. “No, but I think I’ll mention it the next time. Anyway, I head off to the can, and when I come out, now there’s two broads on the bar getting body shots…”

“Naked?”

“No, it wasn’t that crazy. So I’m actually kind of watching them, when I hear Marilyn scream. I turn around and see this black guy running my way carrying a bunch of purses, including hers, so I stopped him…”

“By putting him in the hospital.”

I ignored this. “… and then his two buddies, who were also thieves, came after me, so I stopped them, too. I wasn’t trying to stop a crime wave. I just heard Marilyn scream. You’d have done the same thing.”

“Right, just as soon as I can get Helen into a bar to do body shots.”

I had to grin at that. I had met Helen Steiner a number of times, going back to when I was in Explorers with John and Alan, and while Helen was a lovely lady, she wasn’t exactly shaped for body shots. “I want photos when you do that!”

That got me a smile. “I’ll be needing a lawyer for that, a divorce lawyer!” He reached over and tapped the paper. “Your father called me.”

I sighed. That was an easy one to predict. As long as I had known my family, we had always gotten the Sun, and my father would have certainly read the local news. Hamilton, too, now that I thought about it. Mom and Suzie, not so much. I nodded but didn’t say anything.

“He asked about you, if I had talked to you lately.”

“And you said?”

He just shook his head. “He knows you’re one of my clients. Leaving aside any ethical issues about talking about my clients, I do not want to get into this with you two. You need to work it out on your own. I told him to call you, and gave him your phone number.”

I just nodded sadly. “I know. Suzie has told us the same thing. She told me that Dad asks every once in a while, but is afraid to say anything in front of Mom or Hamilton. She gave him the number also. What the hell am I supposed to do, John? He won’t even call me from his office. I think he’s afraid of what Mom will do if she finds out he still thinks he has two sons.”

“I don’t have any answers for you either, Carl.”

We let it go at that, and over lunch I told him about the trip down and where we stayed. He was very impressed with our dinner with the Who’s Who of Eleuthera, although I had to remind him it’s a very small place. Then we talked about the property and what we were going to build.

I asked him, “So, know any good home builders?”

“Like contractors?” I nodded as I chewed. He shook his head. “I think you need more than just a contractor. I think you need a professional outfit, one of the big builders. You’re going to need an architect, blueprints, permits, all that stuff. Your average contractor isn’t going to do that.”

I thought about that a second. Back when I was with Lefleur, we often had customers who wanted a package deal, a turnkey project. I had occasionally been forced to be the general contractor myself, and I’m just not cut out for it. I can do it, but I don’t enjoy it. “Okay. I’ll buy that. Know any good professional builders?”

He shrugged. “Nothing rings a bell, but I can’t say as I’ve ever looked. You can call that real estate agent and ask her if she knows any. Heck, on your drive home, just pull into one of the new developments along the way and find the sales office. Those are mostly run by a big outfit. Ask them. For what you want, you’ll want a big outfit.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll do both. If you think of anything, let me know.”

It was a long lunch, a working lunch in a lot of ways, and it was close to two when we left. On the way home, I thought about what John had said, and as I passed a development, saw a sign stating that it was part of Pulte Homes. That was a name that rang a bell. They were a big national outfit of home builders. They would certainly be capable of the job, but would they want to? I was a single house, and these guys thought in terms of hundreds and thousands of houses. Only one way to find out.

There was a young fellow in the sales office, a demo model of a split level. He seemed young, anyway, at least to me, although we were probably the same age. He simply seemed green, like he had just been hired the week before and didn’t know his product or his system or his company. Well, we all have to start somewhere. “Hello! Welcome to Maplewood Manor! How can I help you?” came rushing out, almost before the door was shut behind me.

“I’d like to talk to somebody about building a house,” I replied.

“Well, I’d be happy to help you! Please have a seat.” He waved me to a chair in front of him, and picked up a clipboard with a questionnaire. “First things first. Can I have your name, please?”

“Carl Buckman.” I was really starting to figure that this kid wasn’t the fellow I wanted to speak with. For one thing, he hadn’t even introduced himself. Maybe I was supposed to simply read his name tag and leave it at that.

He asked me a few more standard questions, address, phone number, and such, and then asked, “And when would you like to move in?”

I held my hands up in a ‘time-out’ manner. “Hold up a moment… Scott,” I said, reading his name tag. “I have a few questions first.” He looked at me blankly. “Do you build in other locations than this?”

“Well, Maplewood Manor is owned by the Pulte Group, which has developments all across America…” He started a spiel on the wonders of Pulte.

I stopped him again. “No, I mean, I own my own property already. Do you build on private property or only in a development?”

This really confused him. “You mean you don’t want to live in Maplewood Manor?”

“I am buying property already. Now I need to build a house on it.”

We were now off the charts completely for this poor guy. “I don’t know.”

“Is there somebody who would know?” No way was this kid going to last as a professional salesman. I should know, I had sold homes for over thirty years.

“Well, you could speak to Mister Marsbury,” he said after a few seconds contemplation.

“That would be fine.”

“He’s not here now.”

What a fucking moron! “Well, do you know when he’ll be back? Will it be today?”

He smiled and nodded. “Yes, probably in about fifteen minutes. Do you want to wait for him?”

No, I asking because I’m just checking up on you! I was rapidly losing patience. This kid was what we called in the Army a ‘soup sandwich.’ “Please. Do you have a demo unit I could go through while I wait?”

“Sure, we have one right across the street. You’ll be able to learn about living in Maplewood Manor.”

“I’m not moving into Maplewood Manor, remember? Listen, when he gets back, send him over to find me.”

“You want me to send him over there?”

“Please.”

“Well, okay, I guess I can ask him.”

I just shook my head and walked out of the office and across the street in the development to the demo unit. At least in the Army you have to pass an IQ test to get in. That did not seem to be the case at Pulte Homes. It was not an auspicious beginning.

The demo unit was a nice looking home. I knew enough construction to figure out that if they were cutting any corners they were well hidden, and the specs listed on the brochures were certainly adequate. We’d be looking for some items on the higher end, but not because this stuff was bad. I looked through some literature and samples while keeping an eye out through the window back to the office. After about fifteen minutes a car pulled up at the sales office and a fellow in his forties got out and went inside, after glancing at my car parked there. A few minutes later he came out and walked across the street towards me.

He came inside. “Hello?” he called out.

I came around the corner from the kitchen. “Hello.”

“Mister Buckner?”

“Buckman, Carl Buckman.”

He just rolled his eyes for a second and stuck out his hand. “Bill Marsbury. Pleased to meet you.”

“Same here. What name did Scott give you?”

Marsbury rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, sorry about that. He misheard you as Charles Buckner.”

I simply smiled. “Is he somebody’s relative?” I ventured.

I got a sharp look and a smile from that. “The project foreman’s nephew. I just haven’t had the heart to let the foreman know he ain’t working out.”

“Hey, it happens.”

“He did say you wanted to build, but not here. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s it.” I filled him in on my plans. “Now, I’m looking for an outfit that will draw up the plans, build the house, and act as the GC. Can you do that, or if you can’t do you know who could. I’m not looking for a mansion, but I am looking for good solid workmanship and reliability.”

Marsbury had been nodding as I went through my ideas. “Sure, we can do that. We don’t get the same benefits of scale as when we do it here in a development, but it’s not out of the question. I’ll need to do a site appraisal before I can say for sure, and I’ll want to see the plans. Is this something you’ve gotten plans for already, or seen in a book of plans, or something?”

“Marilyn — she’s my wife — and I have been through a few books and I’ve penciled a few things out. I don’t have anything with me, but this was a spur of the moment drive. I was talking to my lawyer and he suggested I get one of the big professional outfits to do a turnkey for me. I saw the sign as I was heading home.”

“Well, we’re a big professional outfit. We can build you your house. I’ll need to see your drawings. When can you come in with them? Or would it be better for me to visit you?”

As much as Scott had been unimpressive, Bill Marsbury was the opposite. This guy had his shit tightly packed. I could work with this guy. “Which is more convenient for you?”

“Where do you live?”

It would be easier to do this if he could visit us. That way we wouldn’t have to pack Charlie up for a trip. He promised to come out Thursday afternoon. We shook hands and I left feeling good about it.

My reception was a little mixed back at the town house. I filled Marilyn in on my day. It was disconcerting to her that I didn’t have a regular nine-to-five job with a fixed schedule, but she would get used to that very quickly. I had often had a very flexible schedule at Lefleur Homes, with going to different lots and seeing customers and traveling to job sites. No, Marilyn wasn’t quite used to the idea of having money and being able to spend it.

Marilyn wanted me to get competitive bids on the house construction. Me, I could care less. This was just one of those differences in us. I was always going to be much more concerned with speed, quality, workmanship, reliability, and other such factors. Price, simple cash amounts, was way down on my list. Life was too short to worry about saving money on every possible thing. I can remember back on the first go-around, when we were going to have a party and she spent half a day going from store to store to find the absolute best deal on tiki torches. I remember asking her afterwards, “So you spent four hours and ten bucks in gas, driving all around Utica, to save five bucks on tiki torches? Do I have that right?” She tried to argue, but it totally failed.

On the plus side, this was one of my benefits as a salesman and sales manager. Research shows that you sell the same way you buy. The salesman who goes to five separate stores looking for the absolute best bargain on something for his own use will also be the salesman who thinks it is perfectly acceptable to send a customer on his way who wants to ‘think about it’ a little more. Fine, send them on their way, right until they land in front of me, and I ask them ‘What are you waiting for?’ and sell them something. I was never able to convince my wife of this, and we often had lively arguments about sales techniques. One thing she couldn’t argue about was that I kept food on the table and kept my sales averages well above average.

Thursday afternoon, Marsbury showed up on time. Marilyn was closest to the door, and she let him in. I heard him introduce himself, and then he was inside. “Honey, Mister Marsbury is here!” she cried out.

Charlie fussed when he heard Marilyn’s voice. He was cutting teeth and tended to be cranky, another reason not to travel with him. I brought him towards the door, trying to soothe him, but he demanded Mommy as soon as he saw her. I motioned the builder in and gave my offspring back to Marilyn. “Come on in. Sorry about that.”

“That’s all right. Call me Bill. How old?”

“Charlie’s about six months or so. I’m Carl, of course, and this is my wife Marilyn.”

Marilyn shook his hand while juggling our son. “Sorry about this, but Charlie’s teething and gets cranky. I’m glad we can do this here.”

“It’s my pleasure. You’re very close to my office. Where do you want to do this?”

“Let’s sit around the dining room table,” I suggested, and led the way. We settled around the table, and I looked over at Marsbury, who dug a scratch pad out of his briefcase, along with a pen.

“Let me ask you a few questions, first. Would that be alright?” he asked.

Good technique, ask permission to quiz the buyer. I was liking this guy. “Please.”

“Where specifically do you plan to build? Do you have the property now?”

I nodded. “We are in the process now. Our offer has been accepted and we will be closing in a week or two. In the meantime we can access the site; it’s just bare land right now, no improvements.”

“Where precisely is it?”

“Out on Mount Carmel Road, in Hereford, out near the county line. It’s still in Baltimore County, though.”

“Have you given any thought to what kind of house you are looking for? Are there any features you want, or don’t want?” he asked.

Good, ask open-ended questions, get the customer talking. This guy was a pro. “Actually, yes. Marilyn and I have been looking through some books of plans, and have some ideas. Can you build like that? Or do we have to use your own plans?”

“Either way. We often have plans similar to what you are interested in, and can modify them accordingly.”

I dug out one of the books of plans and opened it to a page Marilyn and I had liked. I had drawn on it with a pencil. “Something like this, the Somerset, but larger, maybe about 3,500 square feet. It definitely has to be a rancher, though. My leg probably is not going to get better, so I want everything on one level.”

“I noticed the limp yesterday.”

“I hit the trees jumping with the 82^nd Airborne. It’s a bit shot,” I told him.

Marsbury nodded. “Will handicap access be a requirement?”

That surprised me. I looked over at my wife and saw her staring at me in surprise. I simply shook my head. “I don’t think I’m going to end up in a wheelchair anytime soon, but wide hallways and doors, and a large bathroom wouldn’t be a bad idea. I don’t need anything special, though.”

“That’s fine. Specialty items, though, can run extra. By the way, how much were you planning to invest?”

Good, use words like investment and budget, not price, very professional. “Let’s table that for the moment. I’m more concerned with quality and workmanship than the price. This is going to be a cash deal. I know this home is larger than you normally build, but I want something nice. We’ve got 25 acres, so I don’t think a sprawled ranch is going to look out of place.”

He nodded. “Okay, let’s take a look at this.” I turned the plan book around and pushed it over to him.

Marilyn and I had gone through the books and found a very interesting plan. It was basically in the shape of an H, with two long vertical pieces connected with a horizontal crosspiece. On the right side, the long vertical piece was actually four bedrooms and two bathrooms with a short central hallway. On the left side was a large eat-in kitchen, the utility room, and a garage. In the center, the horizontal section, was actually a large great room and dining room combination. We had modified this all somewhat, making the house four bedrooms rather than the original three, replacing the garage with a library/study and an exercise/weight room for me, and just generally making it all larger. Now it had a half bath off the kitchen, for instance.

Marsbury murmured to himself for a few minutes, and made some chicken scratches on his note pad. After a couple of minutes, he pulled a book of plans from his briefcase and flipped it open, finally settling on a plan. He placed that before us and said, “It’s not identical to what you have here, but it’s close. The easy way to do this would be to take our plan and do a modification.”

I looked it over, nodding to myself. It was close, and I had read enough prints and plans over the years to know exactly what would be involved. I pushed it over to Marilyn, so she could see. Fortunately, Marilyn can read plans, too. Over the years, working with Lefleur Homes, that had been useful to her. “It’s close, isn’t it,” she commented to me.

This model was called the Berkshire. “Similar. It needs to be bigger, and it’s missing a bedroom and we need to change the garage totally, but it’s a place to start. I like how the study opens up onto the great room as well as the kitchen. I would want to keep that. That’s a nice little touch.”

“Can I take your book here, with your drawing? I’ll want to give that to my engineering people,” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Okay, anything else? Basement or crawlspace? Any particular features inside or outside?”

“Yes. Okay, here goes, get your pencil ready.” He smiled and nodded to me. “I’m not sure what the building code specifies, but I want 2x6 sidewalls with a good insulation package; a 5/12 roof with a good insulation package; no attic, it won’t be necessary; 40 pound roof load at least; everything on 16s; crawlspace, no basement, so we need to design the mechanicals into the first floor; brick exterior; decent sized overhangs; minimum 30 year shingles; good quality double pane windows, double hung.”

Marsbury was jotting notes down feverishly. I waited for him to finish, and he commented, “You know a fair bit about construction. The building code here isn’t this stringent.”

“Marilyn’s family does construction, sort of, up in upstate New York. Way too far for them to build, though. As for the specs, I’d rather be overbuilt.”

“Okay, anything specific about the inside?” he asked.

“No carpets. I’m going to want laminate or hardwood flooring throughout. We can always put down throw rugs. Forced hot air heating and central air, of course. A nice kitchen and appliance package. We’ll probably want to talk to your kitchen designer on that. We both want something relatively bright and airy. Like I said, I’m more concerned about quality and workmanship and scheduling. I promised my wife I’d build her a nice house, so it needs to be nice.”

He smiled at that. “I think we can handle that. It’s going to take me a few weeks to get some drawings going on this. I can make a guesstimate now, but without the drawings, it won’t be accurate, and I can’t do drawings without some form of deposit. Are you prepared to do that now?”

Excellent, go for the money. You’re not a pro without the money. “I can write a check. I assume that at some point somebody is going to have to visit the property with me, with us really, to stake out the site.”

“We can’t stake it out until you have your closing. We can walk the site and examine it first, though, and get an idea.”

Yes, let us know the limitations. “Fair enough.” I wrote out a check and we did some paperwork and Marsbury was on his way.

“That seemed awfully quick, honey,” remarked Marilyn.

I smiled at her and shook my head. “Here’s the alternative. We do this with three more guys. This takes us another two or three weeks. Nobody gives us a price or drawings without money anyway. All we end up doing is wasting the better part of a month. Let’s say we save some money but the project takes longer than planned. That means that next year we are still living here, and paying somebody else’s mortgage. We don’t save a cent!”

“You say so,” she remarked dubiously. I simply chuckled.

In 1982 it was going to take us several weeks to get preliminary drawings back from their architect or engineer. Thirty years later it could be done in an afternoon, by somebody sitting at a computer console, and manipulating digital plans. In the here and now, it meant somebody was going to have to sit down at a drafting table with pencils and T-squares and triangles. Commercially available CAD programs were probably already on the drawing board (so to speak) but wouldn’t be viable for a few more years, when computer hardware became more powerful and the first computer literate engineers were trained.

We had Tusker, Tessa, and Bucky over on Sunday for the afternoon and dinner. This was the first chance they had to visit us in our new digs. Bucky found it all quite fascinating and kept climbing up and down the stairs, exploring everything over and over. Our friends had read about us in the newspaper also, and they quizzed us about our vacation. I got us off that topic, only semi-successfully, by asking about their growth and expansion. Tusker told us they had been working on their business plan, but had hit a snag. “We don’t know what a new place will cost us, so we can’t figure the budget,” he admitted.

“Okay, so call the guy you bought your current place through and ask him,” I replied.

Tessa smiled and nodded. “That’s what we did, but we simply found that place by driving around, and the agent who handled it moved to Texas. Neither of us have a name for a new real estate agent.”

“Do you think Andrea might know somebody?” Marilyn asked me.

“Maybe. It can’t hurt to ask,” I said.

“Who’s Andrea?” asked Tessa.

“She’s the woman we bought the property through. She’s a real estate agent or broker or something. Maybe she knows somebody,” answered my wife.

I nodded approvingly. “That’s a good idea. I’ll call her tomorrow and ask her. If she doesn’t do it, I’ll bet she knows somebody.”

Tusker looked at Tessa and nodded. “That would be good. We’ve been working some budget numbers and think we know what we can afford, but aren’t really sure.”

“Have you talked to your bank yet?” I asked.

That earned a sourpuss face from both of them. “They aren’t really interested. They want to see another year or two of business before they do any expansion financing. They even suggested we go elsewhere in the future.”

That made me curious. “What, are you late with your payments or something?”

“No!” barked Tusker.

“Settle down, he’s just asking!” said Tessa to him. She turned our way and said, “I just don’t think they want to do business with a biker, even a successful biker. I don’t know if they have a new manager or owner or what, but for the last six months, they’ve been pretty cold.”

I shrugged. “Well, that’s why they have other banks. We’ll just have to find you a new banker.”

“Yeah, sorry, man. It just pisses me off at times. I mean, I make my payments, we’ve got a growing business, we’re profitable, I’m hiring employees — I mean, we are doing everything they say we are supposed to do, right? — and they treat us like something to be scraped off the bottoms of their shoes! Why? Because I have long hair and tattoos and ride a bike? That’s just bullshit!”

“Watch your mouth, honey. Bucky can hear you,” said Tessa.

“Charlie, too,” commented Marilyn.

“Sorry,” he said contritely.

I just shook my head. “Wow, long hair and tattoos! Now that I think about it…” Marilyn, Tusker, and Tessa threw napkins at me. I was chased out of the living room and sent to cook dinner.

Chapter 70: Becoming An Entrepreneur

Monday morning I called Andrea Greene at her office and left a message. She returned the call around noon. “Yes, Carl, how can I help you? Is everything still on track with the closing?”

I should have known her first thought was to our current deal. “It should be. I talked to John Steiner last week and he indicated the closing was the end of this week. I’m calling you about something totally different.”

“All right, what’s on your mind?” she asked.

“Do you get involved with commercial real estate at all, or do you know somebody who does?”

“Yes, I can handle it. I do a little of everything, jack of all trades, master of none, I suppose you can say. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s not for me. A close friend of mine has a business, buying and repairing and selling motorcycles, and he’s doing very well. Unfortunately, his present location is just too small! He is busting out at the seams and needs to relocate and expand. Can you help him?” I asked.

“Probably, but I think I need to meet him first and see what he needs.”

“When can you do that? This afternoon? This week?”

She hesitated slightly, and I could almost hear her flipping through an appointment book. “I’m free this afternoon after two, but then not again until Thursday.”

“Okay, give me five minutes to confirm this.” I hung up and called the cycle shop. Tessa agreed they would both be there. I called Andrea back and gave her the address and promised to meet her there.

Then I got off the phone and Marilyn put me to work doing the laundry. I was definitely starting to think about getting an office, simply to hide from Marilyn when she was in a house cleaning mood.

After lunch, I grabbed my briefcase and kissed Marilyn and Charlie good-bye. I was starting to tote around with me a mini-office in the briefcase, including all the details of the land purchase and the house construction. Now I was adding to it with my planner and address book. Maybe I really did need to set up an office.

I got to the cycle shop a few minutes early. I didn’t see Andrea’s car yet. Tessa noticed me and we waved at each other, but I decided to stay outside and wait for Andrea. She showed up about ten minutes late. “Sorry I’m late! I get lost in these old industrial parks.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. Come on in, let me introduce you.” I held the door to the shop for her and ushered her inside.

Tessa was already coming around from behind the counter to greet us. “Hi, there, I’m Tessa Tusk. Welcome to Tusk Cycle!”

Andrea held out her hand. “Thank you. I’ve never been in a motorcycle shop before. What do you do here?”

“Well, we do some repairs and maintenance for bikers, but a lot of what we are doing these days is buying and selling used bikes. Tusker — he’s my husband, Jim Tusk — he gets these old bikes in and then rebuilds them and then resells them. Like this one,” she said, pointing at a gleaming chrome and purple lacquered Harley. “He picked this one up as a junker for about a thousand, put another thousand into it in parts, rebuilt it and repainted it, and we just sold it this morning for ten thousand!”

“Very nice!” I commented.

“I wouldn’t have picked you as the motorcycle type, Carl,” said Andrea with a smile.

“Who? Me? No way!” I said, waving my hands.

Tessa just laughed at that, and then a booming laugh came in from the garage. Tusker came in wearing grease stained overalls and wiping his hands on an old rag. His hair was done up in a pony tail, and his five o’clock shadow showed it was around half past four. “Carl? He’s no biker!”

“Tusker, meet Andrea Greene. She’s the broker we’re buying our property through,” I said.

He smiled and nodded, and kept wiping his hands off. “Don’t bother shaking. I get pretty messy in there. I just ripped the engine off a ’52 Indian Chief that has seen better days. When I get through with it, though, it will be a collector’s piece!”

“I have no idea what that means,” I told Andrea. “Tusker and Tessa are some of my oldest friends, going back to high school. I told them they needed to expand, but they have no room to grow here.”

“Yeah, that’s an issue,” agreed Tusker. “My service bays are too small, as is the showroom here, and there’s no parking for our customers, let alone the employees, and I need to hire at least one more person as it is.”

“We have got to move!” chimed in Tessa.

Andrea nodded sympathetically, and then began looking around the place. She did ask one interesting question — “Did you buy or lease this place?”

My friends looked at each other for a second, and then said, “Lease. Why?”

“Well, if you had bought it, you’d have to sell it, right?” They gaped at each other. They had never thought of that. Andrea continued, “If you leased it, you can simply end the lease, or even break out of it early.”

“Is that what we should do on a new place?” asked Tessa.

Andrea shrugged and smiled. “Don’t know yet, we’ll have to see. Let’s find you two a better place first and then worry about the finances.”

I piped up at that. “Andrea, do you know a decent commercial bank? Their current bank is giving them grief.”

“Maybe. Who is your current bank?”

I gave a blank look in reply and looked at my friends.

Tusker answered, “I think it’s Clifton Trust now. We started out at Berkshire, but I believe they got bought last year.”

Andrea gave them a strange look. “Why them? They’re a residential building and loan!”

Tessa said, “Well, they were the only bank we had. We both had checking and savings accounts there, and we borrowed ten grand from our parents, five from each, and did everything else with credit cards when we started.”

I buried my face in my hands. If I had been around, I would have helped them arrange a decent financing package, but I had been off in Fayetteville at the time. If they could survive with those interest rates, they were doing well. I rubbed my face for a second and then looked over at Andrea. “I think we can find them some better financing.” To my friends I said, “No wonder your bank doesn’t want you around. They’re a residential mortgage bank, not a commercial bank. Give me a few days and I can find you something better.”

“Try Maryland National, they can handle this,” agreed Andrea. She turned back to Tusker and Tessa. “Listen, give me a few days. I don’t have anything off the top of my head, but I can find something for you. Here’s my suggestion — move a bit further out, say Cockeysville or north of there. The price will be lower and for the same payment you can get a larger piece. It will be simpler to modify an existing property than develop raw land, too.”

Tusker and Tessa looked at each other, and nodded. “I can’t believe it’s going to happen. It seems awfully fast!” he said.

“Hey, Tusker, if it was a bike you just picked up, you’d hustle it out, right, so that you can resell it and make your money back, right? You wouldn’t let it sit around. Same thing here. The sooner we can do this, the sooner you can grow your business and the sooner you can move out of your apartment and the sooner you can hire Andrea to find you a house,” I told him.

Andrea laughed at this, especially when Tessa elbowed Tusker and told him to shut up.

I spent most of the next morning on the phone with several banks. No, I didn’t know any bankers in particular, but yes, I can read the phone book and figure out who to call. By lunchtime I had something in place and told Marilyn.

Her attitude surprised me. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Well, they are paying rates too high and need to expand and get on a business footing,” I responded.

“No, I mean, why are you doing this? Why aren’t they?”

“Well, I am pretty good at this business stuff, you have to admit that,” I said with a smile.

Marilyn was serious, however. “Yeah, but when did you become their boss?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Are they your friends or your employees? Did you tell them to do this or did they ask you?”

“Marilyn, it wasn’t like that! You know me better than that,” I protested.

That earned me a smile. “Yes, I know you. I know you better than you know you. You can be real bossy at times. These are your friends, not your second lieutenants!”

I snorted at that, but it made me think. For revenge, I toasted some bread for lunch and made myself a couple of sardine sandwiches. Marilyn loudly protested the smell, and I retaliated by threatening to teach Charlie about sardine sandwiches and anchovy pizzas. That brought another round of protests. It reminded me of the first time she came to my family’s house in the summer, during my first go, when my mom had a crab feast. I love steamed crabs, and showed Marilyn how to tear one apart and eat one. Afterwards, my mother asked Marilyn if she wanted a second, and Marilyn made a classic reply — ‘Do I have to?’ I damn near died of laughter.

I decided to take Marilyn’s advice to heart, even if I didn’t admit it to her. I’d never hear the end of it. I’d be hearing ‘I told you so!’ until the day I died. She can hold a grudge and beat a dead horse with the best of them, like my mother.

I got a call from Tessa the middle of the next week, just a day after our closing on our property. I had pointedly avoided asking Andrea how things were going, and she hadn’t volunteered anything. Tessa said they had looked at a place and wanted me to come out and look at it. I met them at their place, and they turned it over to the staff and we drove in their car out to the prospective site. It was off York Road, north of Paper Mill Road, at the site of an A&P grocery store that had gone out of business.

My first thought was that it was certainly large enough for them, as in, it was too big. “Well, it’s certainly bigger than what you have now!” I commented, as we climbed out of the car.

“But not too big for what we want,” said Tessa.

“Are you kidding? This place is huge!” I said.

Tusker clapped me on my shoulder. “You forget, this isn’t going to be just for the repair shop, this is for a dealership, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said slowly. Now that I looked around, it would probably be good for that. Tons of parking, lots of glass windows, and a cavernous space inside. It was a little plain looking, but that wouldn’t be a problem. “Have you been inside?”

“Last Friday. Andrea gave us a key. Come on in.” He unlocked the front door and we stepped inside.

It looked like an abandoned grocery store. Most of the store shelves had been removed and you could see in the cracked old linoleum where they had been. The checkout aisles were still in place, although the cash registers were all gone. It was a little cluttered and messy, but nothing that a crew couldn’t clean up in a few days. Tusker was talking excitedly. “We put the bikes for sale up here, in the front, facing the windows. Over on the side there we can do an office, and a counter for Tessa and whoever. In the back is a loading dock, and we can bring in bikes or parts back there.” He led the way through some swinging doors to the stockroom area. This end looked pretty trashed, with a lot of debris and some pooled water at one end.

I pointedly walked over to this spot and looked up at the ceiling. “We talked to Andrea about this. We told her that the price would have to be reduced to cover the repairs and cleanup on the place,” he said.

I smiled up at him. “Very good. That way I don’t have to say anything. Marilyn says I’ve been too bossy lately.”

That set Tessa to laughing, and Tusker remarked, “You? Bossy? Never!” at which point Tessa really broke down.

“Keep it up, laughing girl!” I told her. I scratched the side of my face with my extended middle finger, and got Tusker to laughing as well. “Same to you, too, buddy!”

After a few minutes more of looking around, I agreed that the site was suitable, especially if they had a dealership of some sort. “Do the payments work out?”

“They do if we can keep up our level of sales and increase them slightly. We’ll need a bank loan to cover transfer costs and setup, also operating capital,” answered Tessa. She was always the real business head of the team.

“I left some phone numbers of banks in my car back at your place. I’ll give them to you when we get back. You two can make your own phone calls!” That got me another round of laughter. Maybe Marilyn was right, after all.

The rest of the week I spent with Marilyn and Charlie, and one day we drove out to the property on Mount Carmel Road to meet Bill Marsbury. He had a quick preliminary drawing to show us, though not any blueprints, and we used the drawing to pound some stakes in the ground. It was really getting overgrown, and he promised to have a brush hog, a giant industrial size lawn mower mounted on a tractor, sent out to clear it. We also looked over the plans and drew a couple of minor revisions on them, then initialed them. The way it looked, the top of the H would be pointed west, towards the side road where the driveway was. The bottom of the H would be towards the center of the property. It was all fairly level, or would be so after some grading, and would enable us to have a big back yard.

“What are you planning on doing back here?” asked Marsbury.

“Nothing right away, but in another year or two, maybe a swimming pool,” I told him.

“A swimming pool!?” gasped Marilyn.

“Well, I was just thinking, anyway. If you don’t want one, we don’t have to.” I thought she would have been excited by a swimming pool.

“No, I mean, yes, that’d be great! We can do a swimming pool?”

“Sure, unless you just want the little inflatable one for you and Charlie to sit in. I want to watch you huffing and puffing on that.”

Marilyn began carrying Charlie around, him in his little jacket and sun cap, telling him how ‘Daddy was going to dig a swimming pool!’ while Marsbury and I just shook our heads at each other. I simply commented lowly, ‘“Daddy’s not digging anything. Daddy will pay somebody to dig. Daddy’s way too lazy!” That got Marsbury and me to laughing. After a few more minutes, Marsbury took the preliminary drawing and headed back to his office.

Another day I spent in a long meeting with the brain trust. I wanted to start making plan for the future, and needed their input, not so much on what to do, but on how to do it. We made plans to meet over at John Steiner’s office. We met after lunch on Wednesday, him, me, Missy Talmadge, and the two Jakes.

When the meeting started, John commented, “I’m not really sure why I’m here, Carl. I know I handle a lot of your legal work, but it’s not that involved, and I don’t do anything with your investments. It’s not that I’m not happy to have you over, but I’m curious.”

“Fair enough. Two reasons. First, I trust you. We’ve known each other a long time, and I trust your judgment. We might disagree on something, but I know you won’t knowingly get me in trouble.” John nodded his head in agreement with that. “The second reason is about the future. The last week or so, I’ve been helping a friend of mine expand his business, and spending some time doing it, too. Marilyn commented to me that it wasn’t like they were my employees or my business. Another time we were talking and it came up that maybe I could do some investing other than the stock market, like in local businesses. Private equity or venture capital, that sort of thing.” I looked over at Missy. “You’ve heard of that sort of thing, right?”

“Sure. You’re on the small side for that, but everybody has to start somewhere.”

I turned back to John. “So it doesn’t hurt to get your thoughts on things. Same with Missy. As for Jake and Jake, I can just about guarantee that there is a right way to do things as well as a wrong way, and I’d bet I’ll pick the wrong way.”

That got a chuckle for everyone. “So, what’s on your mind? Which topic first, the market or your local business?”

“Market first.” This I was fairly sure on, just not the timing. The late Seventies and early Eighties had been a time of economic stagnation for the country. I can remember working for a lab where we were getting cost of living increases simply to keep us ahead of the inflation adjusted salaries of the kids being hired right behind us. It’s one of the things that killed both the Ford and Carter presidencies. Now, in the late spring of 1982, we were in the depths of a recession. My string of market successes despite this made sure the others would listen.

Everybody leaned forward, in anticipation, which I though faintly amusing. There used to be a commercial by one of the big investment companies, where a broker would say something like, “What we think…” and immediately the entire room, restaurant, theater, or whatever, would go silent and lean in his direction. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we are on the verge of the biggest market bull run in history. I know it sucks now, and it will probably get worse, but in a few months, the market is going to take off like a rocket! We need to be prepared. Missy, you’re going to be handling the stock transactions, as well as anything else related to Wall Street, and you two guys are going to have to make sure I don’t lose my shirt on taxes and costs.”

The others stared at me. “You’re kidding me, right? The market sucks right now,” said Missy, with the others nodding in agreement. “I mean, I know my job is to sit around and blow smoke up your butt, but that’s the truth, and you’re smart enough to know it.”

I grinned at that. I was probably the only guy at the table who knew where that particular expression came from. “Regardless, it is about to happen. I know this like I heard it on the news. We are about to enter a prolonged period of time when the market is going to go straight up. Oh, I’m sure there will be a few burps and bumps along the way, but the long term forecast is for significant growth.”

“What could possibly be the cause of this?” asked Jake Number One, the older Jake, my accountant.

“Computers,” I replied.

“What about them? We’ve had computers for years?”

“No, not like this. I’m not talking about the mainframe computers I did all my programming on back in college. I mean the little ones you can buy from IBM.”

“I’ve seen them,”, countered Jake, “but they’re practically toys. They break constantly, and you need to have a degree in computers just to run one.”

“Carl, I bought one myself, from IBM. They work, but you need to program them yourself. I’m a smart guy, but it’s a real pain. Most people won’t even bother,” added Jake Junior.

“Yeah, I know, and they don’t have much memory and they are expensive and cantankerous. I know all this. Let me ask you this question — what use is a baby? They are expensive and cantankerous and break constantly and so forth and so on. Sooner or later they grow up, though, and get real useful!”

“So, you’re saying they get more useful in the future?” said John.

“Precisely! It’s all about Moore’s Law.”

“Moore’s Law? Who’s Moore?” asked Missy.

“He’s the head of Intel, one of the companies I own stock in. Anyway, he discovered, a number of years ago, that the number of circuits on a chip doubles every two years.”

“I’m not following you,” said John.

I pulled out my calculator. “Okay, here’s a typical calculator. Actually it’s more than that, it’s a scientific calculator. It cost me about $50. It has a chip inside with transistors and circuits. In two years, according to Moore’s Law, that chip will have twice as many components.” The others were still looking blank, so I pressed on. “In two years, this calculator will be twice as powerful. Or maybe half the price. Or maybe half the size! Two years after that, one quarter. It’s an exponential relationship. In ten years time, the size of the components will be a fraction of their current size, the price will be lower than now, even after inflation, and the power will be immensely larger.”

“So, you want to invest in computer companies?” asked Jake Junior.

“No, absolutely not! That’s the totally wrong conclusion. In ten years time, computers and components will be as cheap as dirt. It will be a commodity business. No, I want to invest in the companies that write the programming for the computers, the software!”

That stunned them. They just looked at me like I was crazy. I pushed forward. “Let me tell you a story. You know how IBM introduced the Personal Computer a year ago. What you may not know is that IBM only made the magic box. The program that runs the whole thing is called DOS, and it was written by an outside company called Microsoft. They bought the program, called an operating system, from this Microsoft. Without it, nothing can happen with their computer, it just is an expensive paperweight.” The others were nodding, they knew about the IBM PC, even if they didn’t own one.

“So, anyway, IBM screwed up. They thought like you guys do, that the money is in the box. That box will be a commodity in a few years, and IBM will lose its shirt. They make money selling programming and services, not commodity black boxes. Instead, they let Microsoft keep all the sales rights to DOS, the operating system. Microsoft can sell it to anybody who makes a computer. It’s like cars. IBM makes cars, but Microsoft makes the gas. Anybody can build a car, but wouldn’t you rather be in the gas business?”

John caught on first. “Which would you rather do? Sell razors or sell razor blades?!”

“You got it!” I said.

Around me, the others were staring at me and each other, like I had just explained quantum mechanics to them. “Ten years from now, history will look at this decision by IBM as one of the classic screwups in business history. What I want to do is invest with the guy who runs Microsoft.”

“Who’s that?” asked Missy.

“I looked him up. He’s a fellow in Redmond, Washington, named Bill Gates. Microsoft isn’t on the market yet, but when he does an IPO, I want to grab a chunk. If you can look into it, see if he wants to do a private placement now. I would definitely cough up a million or two now.”

“What else comes to mind?”

I shrugged. “It’s almost endless. Sometimes I see a name in the Journal or the news about a company and it makes sense. Sometimes I see one that sounds great and it makes no sense. It’s as important to know who to avoid as it is to know who to buy. Here’s a name for you, Autodesk. You all know I’m building a house. It is going to take an engineer or architect at least two weeks to draw my blueprints by hand. Suppose you can get a computer to do it and then print it out. How long would that take you? How much does it cost to pay for an architect for two weeks? I know the company is working on a new product for this.”

“And this has an effect on the country? The economy?” asked Jake Senior.

I nodded. “Imagine it’s a hundred years ago, and this fellow named Edison has just come up with this product called electricity. How many fortunes were made from that? What happened to the American economy? What if you could invest with Bell and his telephones, or Morse and the telegraph? That’s where we are today. Right now I’ve got a chip in my calculator. Look at cell phones, what will happen to them.”

“You mean those gigantic bricks? Nobody will want one of them,” protested John.

I nodded. At least he knew about them. “It’s a brick now, but apply Moore’s Law. In two years time it will be half the size, two years later, half again. In ten years, it will be the size of my calculator and fit in my pocket.” John’s mouth snapped shut as he started to think about things.

Jake Junior looked thoughtful. Then he asked, “How do I get in on this? Not just me, but the rest of us? Say you’re right. What about us? Can we invest, too?”

I shrugged. “Fine by me. I have no personal problem with you investing along with me. Just remember, timing is everything, and if I get out of something, it means something. Remember, never to gamble more than you can lose.”

“Okay, but it’s not like a few years ago, when you bet everything on oil or silver. You’re a lot more diversified now,” he pressed. I just nodded and Jake continued. “What about the Buckman Group? Can I — we — buy into that?!”

Well, that took me by surprise. I sat there and looked at him, and then looked at the others as well. They seemed surprised, but weren’t protesting. “You’re serious? You want a piece of the action, too? I’ve had my own money at risk here. There won’t be a free ride.”

He waved that off. “No, no, nothing like that. Maybe we could buy shares or something?”

I stared at him. I thought about my answer carefully. “Jake, I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I’m worth almost fifty mill right now. There is no way you can come up with a twenty percent share of that.”

“No, but you’re not against the idea, are you?”

“No, not really, but it won’t be free, either.”

“Can you give me a week or two to think something up? All of us? I haven’t asked the others yet, but now I want to!”

I cocked my head and smiled. “I sure wasn’t expecting this. What about you guys? Do you want in, too?”

John answered first. “Depending on price and terms, yes, I could see doing it.”

“I’ve been watching you since you were a kid. I’m in,” said Missy.

“I’m like John,” said Jake Senior. “It would depend on price and conditions, but yes, I’d at least want to know more.”

I just nodded for a moment, as my mind went at light speed. I had never considered this before. “Okay, a few ground rules. You guys hear them out and then get together and figure this out.” Everybody nodded and I continued, “Rule One — I’m the boss. I’ll have the majority of the funds and I will run things. Rule Two — everybody is going to have to cough up some cash, and it won’t be a trivial amount. Rule Three — if you work for the Buckman Group, you work for me, not anybody else. Think that one through.”

Jake thought it over. “Give us a few weeks to sort it out. Can we do that?”

“Fair enough. Until then, we leave things as they stand. Missy, you look into that Microsoft thing. We’ll meet again next week, and go over the local business items then.” I was intellectually beat, and wanted to go home and think about things. We ended the meeting and I left.

Chapter 71: The Buckman Group

Was this something I even wanted to do? Right now I was worth just shy of $50 million. By 1982 standards that qualified as ‘Fuck You!’ money. If I worked at it, I could see myself at $500 million, which was ‘Fuck the World!’ money. With a team behind me, we could add another 0 to the number. When you get to $5 billion, it’s ‘Fuck the Universe!’ money! Yet to get that kind of money, and not spend my every waking hour thinking about it, I needed a team. No man, not even one with knowledge of the future, can do it by himself.

I didn’t tell Marilyn what the meeting was about, preferring to keep my counsel on it. Besides, she had very little interest in investing or Wall Street. She was much more of a hands-on practical minded person, and not one for high finance. As long as the bills were paid, and I was around to nag, she was happy as a clam.

Instead, I called John the next day, and made arrangements to see him for lunch the following day. We met at a steakhouse in Timonium.

“I was wondering if you were going to give me a call,” he said.

“Were you aware of what Jake Junior had in mind?”

“No. I’m not surprised, but he didn’t ask us ahead of time, or swear us all to secrecy or anything like that,” replied my friend. “What did you think about his idea?”

“I was going to ask you the same question,” I answered.

John smiled. “It’s your business, not ours. It’s your opinion that’s important. Do you have a problem with it?”

I shrugged. “Not in any moral sense. I mean, it’s not like I would have had a problem if any of you had hung on my coat tails on these trades.”

“I think that’s a violation of SEC regs, for Melissa, at least,” commented John.

“Huh. Really? I guess that makes sense.” I thought about that for a second, then asked, “So, what did you think about the idea?”

“It depends. I’d be in favor of the idea, but I need to know the cost and how it would be structured.” I nodded; it was a nice and safe lawyer-like answer, but it made sense. John continued, “The question is how we eventually get the money out? How do we earn any income without selling shares or stocks? As it stands, the vast majority of your money is tied up in equities. Your personal expenditures are relatively low compared to the amount you have invested. You have to juggle your portfolio to buy different stocks, but it’s relatively low key. You don’t actively trade, day in, day out.”

I shook my head. “Not my style. That just sounds like a great way to rack up trading commissions. I would much rather buy a quality stock for the long term, and hold it and watch it grow. Or the opposite, find a company in trouble, and ride it down the chute. I’ll make more from the steady rise or fall than what I’ll make playing the market on a daily basis, at least on a net basis.”

“Exactly. The devil is in the details here. I’m most concerned with the structure and reimbursement details.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Well, take me and Jake — father, not son — we’re both of an age, we’re stable, we’ve got some cash or stocks, we can probably come up with a buy in figure, as long as it isn’t in the millions. Melissa, too, for that matter, although she’s not as old as Jake and me. I’m curious, though, on where young Jake is going to come up with the buy-in. If he plans to use his income from the company to pay off a loan to buy his share, then how does he make a withdrawal to pay for the loan?”

I gave a bewildered look. “No idea. Here’s another question — can we all get along and do this? If we do this, it’s going to be fairly small and tightly held. Can you get along with everyone? Missy? Can the two Jakes?”

He nodded. “That part I’m pretty comfortable with. We’ve all known each other for a number of years now, except for young Jake, and I don’t see him as a problem. He’s ambitious, that much I can tell, but that’s not a problem for a young man. You young fellows are supposed to be ambitious!”

I snorted a laugh out at that. We talked a little more about how we could structure the Buckman Group, and make it more than just a nice name on a business card. I was already starting to get some ideas of my own. By the time we finished, we were dawdling over coffee and tea, and we broke apart. I drove home, found Charlie was taking a nap, and then chased Marilyn around the bedroom until I caught her. She didn’t run all that fast.

Two weeks to the day after Jake brought up the idea, he called for another meeting over at John’s office to discuss his ideas. I suspected that John had called him and gone over some of the questions we had raised that day at lunch. He had been a busy little beaver in the meantime. Like John said, Jake Junior was ambitious.

I wasn’t terribly surprised by this. I remember thinking, back on the first trip, how I was the same age as Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, and why was it them and not me. Now, Jake was looking at me and seeing somebody who was only a couple of years older, and he was wondering how to get his hands on the goose with the golden eggs.

I listened as he laid out his proposal. Some of it was enough to make the toughest accountant’s eyes glaze over. There was stuff about S corporations and C corporations and capital gains taxes and distributions and shares, and God only knows what else. After about an hour and a half, I made the time-out sign. “Okay, so we can do this, have it be legal, not go to jail, and make a few bucks. Let’s go back to the questions I posed a couple of weeks ago.”

He nodded. “Okay, correct me if I’m wrong, but the percentage of shares would be based on the amounts we have invested. If I have $49 million and you have $1 million, then I have 98 % of the votes, right?” I asked.

“Right.” He tried to expound on this but I just waved him off.

“Okay. So it doesn’t matter what our titles are. You can call yourself the Queen of the May, but I still get 98 % of the vote, right.”

He grinned at that. “Right!”

“Okay, ground rule two — everybody coughs up some dough. Did you have a figure in mind?”

At this, Jake got a little more nervous. He was almost stammering, as he said, “Well, I wasn’t sure what you had in mind, but I would imagine we can all come up with about $100,000.” He almost said this as a question. I simply gave him a half smile and made a thumbing gesture, indicating ‘Up!’ “$150,000?”

I smiled again. “Let’s make it simple. I want to see a real commitment from anybody involved in this, and setting this up will take some cash. If you want in, let’s make the buy-in an even $250,000, a flat quarter million.”

That woke them up, but nobody ran screaming from the room. Well, Jake Junior looked like he was about to puke. John and Jake Senior slowly nodded, Missy nodded even slower. Jake Junior started sweating. His father had to put his hand on his arm and say, lowly, “Don’t worry, we’ll handle this.”

Missy asked, “What did you mean by setting this up would take cash?”

“Well, if we are going to do this for real, make the Buckman Group a real company and not just a business card and a mail drop, we’ll need an office, some desks, furniture, computers, a bunch of stuff. Stuff like a real company.”

She nodded in understanding. “Anything else? You had three rules.”

“Well, it sort of goes with the real company, idea. No man can serve two masters, that sort of thing. You can’t work for other people, too.”

She nodded easily. “That won’t be a problem for me. To be blunt about it, you are far and away my largest client. They already tried to take you away from me last year, remember?”

I vaguely remembered getting a phone call from somebody at the investment firm’s Private Investment Group (PIG, nice acronym!) last year, suggesting how they would be better suited to handle my accounts, rather than a mere broker. I had turned them down, and then called Missy to ask what was going on.

Missy continued, “My bet is that I can save you enough on commissions to cover any salary I might get, as well as what I’ll lose out elsewhere. The capital upside is worth it in any case. I’m in.”

John was a touch slower to respond. “I have enough savings that I can convert some of it to cash. However, I do have a problem with suddenly dropping all my other clients. I can certainly agree to not take any more on, but I will need time to unravel the rest of my practice.”

Jake Senior agreed with John, although he had a partnership to transfer clients to, and would need to unravel the partnership. His son looked like he was swallowing a turd; he didn’t have clients beyond the accounting partnership, and wasn’t a partner, and he had nowhere near a quarter-million dollars to invest.

I nodded in understanding. “Okay, here’s a counterproposal. John, you and Jake have two years to unwind everything outside of the Buckman Group. Missy and Jake Junior, you can start immediately. Your shares vest immediately; theirs vest 50 % now, 50 % in two years, or whenever they are fully with the Buckman Group.”

Jake and John nodded slowly at this, and I could see the gears working in their minds. I kept on. “Here’s something I’ve been thinking about. I think that $49 million figure for me is probably accurate?” Jake Senior nodded and shrugged. “Okay, that makes the $1 million buy-in equal to 2 %. Let’s make things sporting, and give everybody here an incentive to do this right, and not just ride along. Over the next five years, we will automatically increase that 2 % to 10 % with a stock option program. Does that sound interesting?”

There was dead silence at the table. Everybody was running numbers in their head, but the gist was simple. They cough up a quarter million now; they make many, many millions down the road.

“Sign me up!” breathed Jake Junior quietly. Missy gulped and swallowed, and nodded wordlessly. Jake Senior nodded.

Only John said anything, “So in five years…”

I smiled at him. “So, we do this for real. What happens if we grow this company to $1 billion in assets? You guys are splitting 10 %, or $100 million. That makes you each worth $25 million. Are you in?”

Suddenly it was my old friend sweating. “Sweet Jesus!” he muttered.

Jake Junior smiled broadly. “I’ll start doing the paperwork!”

John muttered, “Unbelievable!” and then he put a hand on young Jake’s arm. “Okay, start your paperwork, but until we do this, I am still legally Carl’s lawyer, and so are you. This violates about a zillion ethics rules if we don’t get a third party to vet the paperwork.”

“Agreed,” said Jake Senior.

Missy solved the problem. “I know some guys who know some guys. I’ll get somebody from New York to review it all, an outside source.” The others all agreed with this, and we broke apart. In the meantime, we would continue going as we had been, and the others would start making their plans for coming up with the buy-in.

In the meantime, something interesting happened. I was contacted by the State Department! It seemed that the Bahamian government wanted to give me an award or a plaque or something for helping their police catch that gang of robbers. They wanted me to come down to Washington to receive the award. I told them I’d let them know.

They had contacted me through John, who I had listed as my contact back when I was talking to Assistant Superintendant Javier. He asked me what I was going to do.

“Ignore it, I think. I have zero interest in going to Washington,” I told him.

He gave me a disappointed look and shook his head. “Don’t be silly. If you ever want to go back to the Bahamas and not be persona non grata, you go down to D.C. and make nice. You should know better than that!”

“John, this is all blown way out of proportion to what really happened.”

“So what? You go down, you make nice, you come home. Everybody is happy. Take Marilyn. Smile. Do I have to do all your thinking for you?”

I just rolled my eyes. “Yes, Dad, I’ll behave.”

I called back the under-under-under-assistant who had called me and arranged a date to come down the next week. Then I called my wife. She was kind of excited about it, and hung up on me and called Tessa. Tessa and Tusker would watch Charlie for a night, and we would go down and spend a night in Washington. I wasn’t all that thrilled by the concept. Washington was built in the middle of a malarial swamp following a tug-of-war between Maryland and Virginia; Virginia won, and the capital was carved out of Maryland. It would be very warm and humid the day we stayed.

Taylor got us a suite at the Hay-Adams Hotel, very nice and swanky in an old school sort of way. We drove down on a Tuesday morning, and met the Bahamian Ambassador and a State Department flunky Tuesday afternoon. There were some kind words said, a few photographs taken, and then we left with our plaque. Afterwards, I took Marilyn to dinner and chased her around the bedroom afterwards. Wednesday, we slept late and then came home to rescue our friends from our son.

Then it was back to work for me. It turned out that by the time the papers were drawn up, reviewed by everybody, reviewed by a Wall Street lawyer, and people coughed up the cash, it would be at least three months, and this was considered moving swiftly. In the meantime, we would keep going the way we had been. Meanwhile, the Buckman Group’s first client/investment called me.

It was Tusker. He and Tessa asked me to come over to their shop about a month after I had seen their new location. Only it wasn’t theirs yet. They were still at their old site, and were looking rather grim.

After the usual greetings, I asked, “So, what’s up? How’s the move going? Did you ever figure out some better financing?”

Tusker looked like he was sucking a lemon, and Tessa answered dejectedly, “I don’t think it can happen.”

“What! Why not?”

“We can’t get any financing! Even the commercial banks won’t loan to us!”

That surprised me. “Okay, truth time. Are you missing payments? Have they said your business isn’t big enough to handle the payments? They must have a reason.”

Tusker loudly protested, “Hey, we make all the payments on time! We always have!”

I just waved him down. “Hey, great, but it’s a question that has to be asked. So it’s not your credit rating then?” Both of them shook their heads. “So what is it? You can’t make the payments on a new loan?”

“No, that works out, too. It’s us; we have no assets other than the business. Everyone wants loan guarantees or for us to sign our house off as a guarantee. We don’t have a house! We wanted to invest in the business first,” cried Tessa.

I rubbed my face for a second. I had run across this before, way back when. Typical banker behavior. My friends were doing everything they were supposed to, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Well, nothing new, I suppose. There’s an old statement about bankers — the only time they’ll be happy to lend you the money is when you have enough money not to need it. Which bank had the best deal?”

“Maryland National.”

I nodded. Maryland National was a decent sized business bank; they would grow to become much larger, but for Tusker and Tessa, it was a good bet. “Give me a few days to sort this out. Give me a copy of their latest proposal, and tell Andrea not to let it slip away. I’ll have some answers in a day or two.”

Tusker still looked unhappy, but Tessa began to look hopeful. I took the paperwork home and called Jake Senior. He wasn’t in, but his secretary took a message. Jake called me back about half an hour later. The call arrived while Marilyn was napping in her chair, and I was on the floor chasing Charlie around as he crawled across the living room. This was a new thing he had just learned, and he thought locomotion was just the cat’s ass!

When the phone rang, Marilyn snorted and looked around. I stood up and said, “It’s your turn to chase him around. He’s faster than me.”

“What makes you so special? He’s faster than me, too!”

I laughed at that and picked up the phone. “Buckman Child Experiment Laboratory. Do you have a child you’d like us to experiment with?”

Jake laughed on the other end of the line. “Too late, he’s already a lost cause. You called?”

There was a crash from the other end of the room, where Charlie managed to get into something. His mother hopped up to set it right, and I sat down to talk to Jake. “Yeah, I’ve got some business for the Buckman Group. I’ve got a friend that I’ve been helping over the years, just giving him some advice on building a business and all, no money or anything. Anyway, he needs to expand his business, and the banks are giving him some grief. I need to figure out how to help him. Can I come over to see you?”

“Today’s shot, but how about tomorrow morning?”

“Sure, 9:30?” I asked.

“Make it 10:30. You have any paperwork on him?” Jake asked.

“I’ll bring what I have. I’ll see you then.” I hung up. I didn’t know how, yet, but I knew we could sort this out. I turned around to smile at Marilyn. She was busy chasing Charlie down again, as he headed towards the coffee table. Fun times were starting!

The next morning I met with Jake at his office and went over Tusk Cycle’s operation and current problems. He agreed with me that Maryland National would be a much better fit than Clifton Trust. He also understood when I said that Maryland National wanted them to tie their non-existent home in with the loan. “My problem is that these guys are doing everything we say they should be doing to get ahead. They’re saving, investing in a business, they’ve both been to college. They are living in a crappy little apartment and putting all their money into the business, with a three year old living on a cot in the dining room. There has to be a way to help them.”

“How important is this to you?”

“Pretty important. They are some of my oldest friends. We go back to high school together. He was one of my groomsmen and she damn near gave birth at the reception!”

That earned a grin from Jake. “That must have been fun!”

“Like you have no idea!” I laughed.

“Okay, here’s what I see is happening. The bank is looking for collateral, in case these two go belly up.” I nodded, and he continued, “For instance, if they get a dealership, the factory probably has the title to the bikes, or the bank that does the floorplan, which might be through the factory anyway. You understand floorplanning?”

Oh, Lord, yes, I understood it. Trailers have it, too. I nodded. “Marilyn’s family sells trailers. Same deal there.”

“So what happens if they default? The bank is stuck with an old commercial building and a bunch of rebuilt used bikes. Since your friends have no equity in the deal, they don’t have any skin in the game.”

“Any ideas?” I asked.

He grinned at me. “This is where we can do some things as the Buckman Group. For instance, any work I or the others do is absorbed as our cost. Currently, they are billable hours to you.”

“I had figured that part out already,” I said drily.

“Would it be okay to call them, ask them a few questions? I’ve got a few ideas in mind.”

I shrugged. “Fine by me. Let me use your phone and I’ll call them, let them know what’s happening.” I reached across his desk and picked up the phone, and Jake pushed a 9 to get an outside line. I made a quick call to Tessa and simply told her that a fellow named Jake Eisenstein was going to call them later, and that he was my accountant and had a few questions for them. Then I left him with their paperwork from Maryland National, and told him to use my name if he needed to call the bank directly.

The following week, I got a call from Jake. “You still want to help your friends?”

“Sure thing.”

“Okay, be at my office next Wednesday at 1:00. I’ll let them know to give a check to Andrea in the meantime. I’ve got John doing due diligence now on them.”

“Really? How’s it going to work?” I asked.

“I’ll explain it next Wednesday.” He hung up, leaving me mystified but hopeful.

I called Tusker and he wasn’t completely sure either, but he did indicate that Jake had asked them if they would be willing to have me as a minority owner, at a 10 % level. They had both said yes, which made me think I was providing some guarantees, using my credit in place of theirs.

The following Wednesday, after lunch, I drove over to Jake’s office. I met Tusker and Tessa in the parking lot and I could tell that Tusker was nervous, being a long haired biker type meeting with businessmen. I told him to calm down, he’d be fine. Tessa had on a business suit, and Tusker was scrubbed free of all petroleum products, and had a suit on also. We went inside to find the entire brain trust inside I introduced them to Jake, Jake Junior, Melissa, and John. “I wasn’t expecting everybody to be involved,” I commented.

John answered, “If we are doing this, we all need to be in the loop. Jake ran some of the numbers. I was in touch with Andrea, the seller, and Maryland National.”

I nodded. “Jake Junior is setting up the paperwork and legal documentation I guess.” He nodded in agreement, and I turned to face Melissa. “And you?”

“I ran numbers for John. It’s been fascinating!”

“And we have a plan in place?”

“We do!” answered Jake Junior. He extended a hand to his father, who began the explanation.

Basically, I would invest $50,000 in Tusk Cycle in exchange for 10 % of the business. This valued the firm at half a million, which was ludicrous, but that was discounting the value of the work that Tusker and Tessa were doing. I was never going to actually work there. Further, I would keep an interest bearing account at Maryland National for a few years. In turn, that account would act as collateral on a loan Maryland National would make to Tusk Cycle, providing them with the ability to buy the old grocery store and renovate it (three year lease with an option to buy) and move their operation. There were some other provisions in the paperwork about the length of the loan guarantee and certain covenants as to accounting standards, but nothing I hadn’t run across before.

Tusker just sat there, his mouth open. Tessa was a bit more animated and happy. Tusker said towards the end, after all the terms had been reviewed, and a copy of the paperwork provided to them for their own lawyer’s review, “I just don’t know what to say. We’ve been talking about this for the last week, but it’s just starting to sink in. We can really do this!”

Tessa leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “You are our hero! I promise we will pay everything back! This is tremendous!”

Some of the others chuckled when Tessa kissed me; I was embarrassed. I got over it by saying, “You bet you’ll be paying back this loan! Remember Snidely Whiplash? I will really enjoy evicting widows and orphans! You’ll think about Ebenezer Scrooge and wish I was that nice!”

We sent Tusker and Tessa on their way, with instructions to have their lawyer call John about any questions and to set up a date to close all the paperwork. Afterwards, we just sat around the table and smiled at each other. “So, we can really do this sort of thing?” I said in wonder.

“We really can,” agreed Jake Senior, grinning back at me.

“Well, let’s get this Buckman Group thing all set up, and do a few more,” I answered, grinning.

It was the end of June before all the lawyers and outside people agreed on everything, and we all signed the papers. On June 30, we all sat down in John’s office along with a couple of New York lawyers who had reviewed all the paperwork. They started passing around papers and we all started signing. Then everybody coughed up a check, although Jake Junior’s face was a little strained as he handed it over. He had borrowed some money from his father, and some from the Buckman Group, to be paid back out of his salary. We ended up with the following structure.

John Steiner — Chairman of the Board — He was older, seasoned, and made a good impression as the ‘grown-up’ running this thing.

Carl Buckman — President and Chief Executive Officer — Left unsaid was that the vast majority of the company stock was in my hands.

Jake Eisenstein, Sr. - Treasurer — Well, he was an accountant, after all.

Jake Eisenstein, Jr. - Vice President of Operations — We had to give him a title, and he was pretty ambitious. I could see him actually running the daily operations when we got bigger — if he worked out!

Melissa Talmadge — Vice President of Investments — She had all the brokerage and SEC credentials, and would handle anything we needed to do in buying and selling stocks.

Jake Senior brought his secretary, Grace, from the accounting office with him; John’s stayed with his practice as he began to unwind it. She had already told him she was going to retire soon, anyway. Jake Junior, as the head of operations, was told he was in charge of finding us some cheap office space. He was pretty excited about that; John, his father, and I just sort of rolled our eyes at this, but figured we could keep an eye on things. I was looking at him like one of my young but promising lieutenants. Everybody starts out somewhere.

Afterwards, I went home and told Marilyn. She wasn’t very impressed, as she was putting Charlie in his crib for his nap. “Business, business, business! I’ve got important business here!”

“I’ll give you some important business!”

Marilyn looked at me and smirked. “That’s not all that important.” She took Charlie’s dirty diaper and carried it out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen, with me following and protesting.

“I think you need a good spanking, with that kind of attitude.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. You are so funny.”

“What?!” I advanced on my wife.

“Oh, no you don’t! You can behave!” I was told.

I moved closer, and Marilyn tried to get past me, but I trapped her in a corner of the kitchen. “I think you need a spanking!” I pulled her into my arms, and brought my hands down to smack her on the bottom. She was wearing tight jeans, and there was a loud ‘SMACK!’ sound as a result.

Marilyn’s eyes popped open! “Don’t you dare!” She struggled in my arms to get loose.

“You earned it with that attitude.” I gave her another smack on the bottom. Marilyn continued to struggle. “You’d better behave, or you’ll earn one on your bare bottom,” I told her.

That caused her to laugh. “That’s no threat! As soon as you see my bare bottom, you think of things other than spanking me!”

I grinned at that. “Oh, really? Maybe I need to do an experiment!” I pulled my hands around to her front and began fumbling with her zipper.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so!” protested my wife. She was really laughing hard now. She tried to keep her pants on, while I tried to reverse the decision. I think it all came down to motivation — I was very motivated to pull her pants down, and she wasn’t really all that motivated to keep them pulled up. After a few minutes of laughing struggle, Marilyn’s pants and panties were down around her knees.

“Okay, now, let’s check!” I turned her around so that she was facing the counter, and knelt down behind her. I could see the faint marks her panties had left on her. I began to lick her butt, even as I tugged her clothes down and off her bare feet.

Marilyn murmured happily as I worshipped that perfect ass. Grinning, she looked back behind her and said, “I told you you wouldn’t want to spank me when you saw it.”

“Hmm…” I stood up behind her and undid my own pants, pushing them down and off, and Marilyn leaned forward over the counter. My cock had been stiff since I had started undressing her, and I pushed it inside her from the rear. “Maybe you were right after all.”

“Told you so!”

I pushed in, and then smacked what I could of her asscheeks, drawing a squeal of outrage. “And maybe you weren’t!”

Marilyn pushed back, but that just seated me inside her that much more firmly. I reached down and rubbed her ass as I fucked her, and then gave her another quick smack. She squealed again, and then said, “You’re not funny!”

I kept pumping into her. “Well, if you want me to use my hands elsewhere, take your top off.” She had on a tank top and a bra. Marilyn peeled them off and I reached around to grab her tits. “Now, isn’t that better?”

“Fuck me, you son of a bitch! Fuck me!” She was very excited now, and pussy juice was sloshing around my cock and down my balls. “Fuck me!”

I stopped talking and concentrated on screwing her. Marilyn began moaning in orgasm, and after a few minutes more I slammed forward and groaned myself, as I unloaded inside her. It felt like I would come forever before I finished!

I sagged against her back, and nibbled on her ear. Marilyn pushed back against me and raised her head up. “I think you need to let me go.”

“I kind of like you this way.”

“Well, I need to clean up, and so do you.” She pushed back some more, and I slipped out and shuffled back myself. My wife turned around and put her arms around my neck. “That was fun. We should do that more often.”

“Like later?” I said hopefully.

“Maybe! If you don’t start spanking me again.” I moved my hands down her back, and she backed against the counter. “Behave!”

I had to laugh at her. “Okay, I’ll behave, but you have to dress to make me behave.”

“Oh?”

I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “A very short skirt and a very small top would probably distract me from that, don’t you think?”

Marilyn giggled. “And what about your son? What’s he going to think when he sees me like that?”

“Let him get his own girl!” I stepped back and grabbed both of our clothes, and then led my naked wife back through the town house to our bedroom. Charlie was still asleep. I tossed our clothing in the hamper, and then dragged her over to the bed. “Maybe we can work on your wardrobe later.”

My wife giggled again, and got on the bed with me. “Afterwards, I am going to clean up, and you can deal with the little monster.” She grabbed my cock and began stroking me back to life.

“That’s the fruit of our loins you are talking about.”

“Exactly! Now I know where he gets it from!”

“I think you need another spanking.” Marilyn just smiled and rolled onto her back, and spread her legs apart. “Well, maybe not.” I climbed on top and got into position. “Maybe not.”

Afterwards, I was too tired to spank her. Maybe that was her secret plan after all. Fuck me to death and inherit my wealth! What a way to go!

Chapter 72: Microsoft

July 1982

Being a gentleman of leisure turned out to be more work than I thought it would! First off, after we got back from the Bahamas, I had found a gym and a dojo. I had joined, and just as I had threatened my wife, I signed us up for a family plan. I just didn’t tell her about that until after I got home.

Marilyn’s response wasn’t all that bad. After all, how could she complain about something so healthy, right? No, the complaint came the next morning when I woke at 7:00 and smacked her on the ass. “Time to get up and go to the gym!”

Marilyn struggled to focus on me, “Wha… what?”

I tapped her butt again. “Time to get up! You need to get up and get ready.”

Marilyn rolled over and told me, “Go away.”

“Come on, lazy bones, time to work out. You promised, remember?” I pushed her shoulder until she rolled over and swatted at me.

My wife grumbled and opened her eyes. “You were serious? Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s time to get up and go work out!” I pulled on her arm and got her to sitting upright.

“We can’t leave Charlie here.”

“We’ll take him with us. He’ll be fine! Come on, we’ll get him used to exercise.”

“I hate you.” Marilyn rolled out of bed and took another blind swing at me. “I need a shower.”

I pushed her towards our closet instead. “Shower afterwards. You’re going to exercise remember? Shower at the gym. Now toss some clothing in a bag.” I chivvied her into dressing in a sports bra and tee shirt, and some plain panties and an old pair of shorts. I dressed for a workout and then pointed her towards the door. I tossed some clothing and my toilet kit into a gym bag and then got her to do the same. Charlie was already awake, but he was a fairly happy fellow in the morning. Momma changed his diaper and dressed him in some clean clothes, and we bundled him up and drove to the gym.

Marilyn never really took to working out like I had. She had never been a really physical person, and had always relied on her youthful metabolism to stay in shape. Eventually she hit her 30s and they hit back, especially after our third child really caused her to ‘blossom’. She never lost the baby fat that time. For me, I knew just what would happen to me, and how bad that was, and I was not about to let that happen again.

We made a compromise, to go three times a week, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, in the early morning. We did an hour workout, although they ended up pretty much separate. Marilyn liked walking on the treadmills, which I just couldn’t do anymore. I spent most of my workouts on the Nautilus machines. Aside from the upper body workout from pumping the iron, I could also use my leg muscles on some of the combinations, without the impact of running on my right knee. As long as I kept the impact down, it didn’t bother me too much, but it was kind of sensitive. I always started each workout with a long kata session before any other exercise, to warm up and loosen everything up.

Charlie found this all quite amusing. He was a happy child. Parker was much more reserved and sober, even as a little boy. I still thought about Parker, how he had been and what he had grown into. He was a son any father could be proud of, but now he was gone, off in a time and a place I couldn’t fathom. I occasionally felt the pain of a loss that never existed in the here and now.

Which did not mean that I wasn’t very happy with Charlie. If nothing else, he was hilarious to be around. All kids get into everything, but Charlie outdid them all. Even worse, he was impossibly clumsy and ungainly, not in any kind of neurological sense, but in the sense that you could trust him to be a disaster! He would crawl everywhere, and if he brushed against a pile of books or magazines or Marilyn’s knitting, he would just go through, spreading chaos all around. Once he figured out standing and walking, the entire town house would be at risk!

By July, he had figured out how to squirm his way out of his seat. This was discovered one morning at the gym. It was the first Wednesday in July, the week after we set up the Buckman Group. I was over in the section with the Nautilus machines while Marilyn was around the corner on the treadmills. Suddenly, around the corner, came Charlie, crawling for all he was worth, with one of the gym attendants, smiling, in semi-hot pursuit. He saw me and came over, in high speed four wheel drive. I sat upright and laughed as he got closer, and then scrambled after him myself. The little bastard had closed on me and then scooted off in another direction! I grabbed him and tucked him under my arm and went in search of his mother.

Marilyn was still churning away on the treadmill, watching a television tuned to the Today Show, the baby seat at her feet and off to the side. She had been totally oblivious! I came around to her front, between her and the television, and held up our son. He was gurgling and happy, and grinning at the world. “Lose something?”

Marilyn stared at us, so startled she stopped walking. The treadmill was still running, so her feet slid out from underneath her and she had to grab the rails and hold herself up. She slammed the STOP button. “Where did you find him?! How did he get loose!?”

“I found him around the corner, making a break for it. As for how he got loose, you’ll need to ask him. He isn’t talking much, but give him some time, maybe you can wear him down.” I thrust him at her, and she took him from me.

“It’s baby handcuffs and manacles for you, Charlie!” she told him. Then she handed him back to me. “Keep him. I’m going to shower and dress, and then it’s your turn.” I took our son and Marilyn headed off to the locker room.

I knelt down and strapped Charlie into his seat. “We’re not waiting,” I told my son. I carried him into the men’s locker room. I set his seat on the bench and kept an eye on him as I pulled off my sweaty crap and grabbed my towel and toilet kit. And Charlie in his seat! I set him on a counter across from the shower and left the curtain open as I showered quickly. I managed to shower, shave, and dress, and pack Charlie and me up and get out to the lobby, long before Marilyn did it just for herself!

She started at seeing us. “How did you get out here before I did!?”

“I live a clean and efficient life, and am filled with a wondrous and righteous need to live better than my fellow man. Or woman, in your case.”

“I think you’re full of shit!”

I covered our son’s ears. “You use that mouth to kiss your son!?” I picked him up and smiled at him. “Mommy says bad things!” I told him, earning a happy gurgle.

Mommy took him away. “Daddy’s going to sleep alone tonight!” I grabbed our bags and followed Mommy and Charlie to the car and kept my mouth shut. Daddy preferred sleeping with Mommy.

My trips to the dojo were normally by myself. Marilyn never really cottoned to watching me practicing martial arts. It mostly seemed like weird exercise to her, and then after seeing me in the bar fight, just made her very uncomfortable. It was a part of my makeup at odds with her view of me.

Usually every other day I would drive out to the property on Mount Carmel Road to check on the progress of the house building. Things had started, but it was a maddeningly slow process building a house using conventional construction techniques.

By the Nineties Lefleur Homes had begun selling modular homes as well as trailers. The pace is vastly quicker than with conventional ‘stick building’. In a stick built house, you have to build the basement first. Then you build a floor, and then you build the walls. Only at that point can you build the roof. With modulars, at the same time as the basement is being dug and built, in a factory hundreds of miles away the walls, floor, and roof are all being built at the same time. When the pieces are finished, they are craned into place and bolted together, all inside a closed factory. Bathrooms and kitchens are installed, and then the whole kit and caboodle are freighted away. A house might spend only a week or two in a factory, versus months or more being built in the field.

In 1982, modular construction was still in its infancy. Oh, there were companies that did it, but it was for relatively small and simple rectangular boxes, not for what we were doing. Here, too, the computer revolution would change things. Over the next twenty years technology as applied to design and construction would make modulars a high end method for building million dollar mansions.

But that was for the future. No, I didn’t make myself a nuisance. I stayed out of the men’s ways and didn’t ask a million damn fool questions. I knew what they were doing, and it was obvious to me that they knew as well. I did make sure the foremen knew my name and number, so if they had any questions, they could call. It seemed obvious that I would be able to move in sometime during the decade. It wouldn’t go beyond that.

I studiously avoided going over to Tusk Cycle. I might have been a part owner, but I wasn’t an employee and didn’t know the business. I did go over once a month to review the books with them, but that was it. Well, that wasn’t exactly all. Right after we closed on the deal with them, Andrea had a crew out to the new site, fixing the roof. The owners wouldn’t reduce their price, but they did agree to pay to have the leak in the back fixed. After that was fixed, they had a big weekend planned. They shut down the old shop and their employees and everybody and their brother pitched in to move everything from one place to the other. We even invited everybody at the Buckman Group in to help. Marilyn, Tessa, and Missy handled baby duties, while the rest of us cleaned and scrubbed and sorted and arranged and then cleaned some more. By Sunday evening they were back in business and the rest of us were wiped out.

There was also work with the new company. We all agreed to meet every Monday morning to discuss the business and plans. The first few weeks were in John’s office, but after that, Jake Junior had us begin visiting some offices to see if we liked them. We were trying to compromise on location. Everybody else lived in the Timonium and Lutherville areas, but Marilyn and I lived west of Hereford. Jake found us a nice office park a few miles south of Hereford on York Road, and we leased half of one floor. Then we divvied up the offices. There was a front lobby area, with four separate and equal offices branching off it, and then a hallway towards the rear. The hallway had a conference room on one side and a fifth office and a storeroom on the other side. I took the fifth office, across from the conference room and the others took the front offices. Jake Junior was then assigned to make the place habitable and get some furniture and office equipment going.

There was one thing I did which surprised the others. I went out and bought the best computer I could buy. While the others had seen them, and Jake Senior had even had bought a home computer for his kids to play with or for games, they were still very exotic in 1982. I spent what was a small fortune at the time for an IBM 5150 PC with a CGA video card and color monitor and dual 5¼" floppy drives, with PC-DOS as the operating system. I had been away from math and computing for years, and needed to get back to it.

I kept it at the office and went there to study and practice programming in DOS and GW-Basic. I also bought a matching unit for home, since I could store stuff on the floppy disks and take them back and forth. That didn’t work out so well. Marilyn balked at putting it on the dining room table and Charlie would see it and want to play with it.

We had a big meeting in my new office once it was livable and I had refamiliarized myself with DOS and Basic. It felt like I was moving back to the dawn of time, but I had done a shitload of DOS and Basic programming back in the day. I looked around the room and then pointed at the computer on a side desk. “That machine there is the future, and I want to invest in it,” I told them.

“You want to buy stock in IBM?” asked Melissa.

I shook my head. “Absolutely not. Remember when I told you about computers a few months ago? There are three parts of any computer system. You have the hardware, the box and the TV screen and the keyboard and all the hard parts.” I reached over and rapped lightly on the metal case to the computer.

“Next you have two types of programs. One is called the operating system. It tells the box what to do, how to make the pieces run and turn on and turn off and do stuff. That’s the second part of the system.”

“And the third part?” asked John.

“Those are the programs that you run, like an accounting program or a typing program.”

“And those aren’t the same as an operating system,” he replied, with a half question and half statement tone.

“No.” I grasped for an analogy. “It’s like a railroad system. The computer is the rails. They go everywhere and you absolutely need them, but without any engines or the cars, they are pretty much useless. The operating system is the locomotive. It drives around on the rails and can do things, but by itself, it’s pretty useless. What it needs is cargo to haul around, the boxcars and tankers and whatever. Those are the programs, or applications. Following me?”

He nodded slowly. The others were watching the two of us, but not weighing in. “And you can’t do anything without all three pieces, rails, locomotives, and cars.”

“Precisely.”

“Okay, and you don’t want to buy the companies that make the hardware, the rails in your analogy,” he asked.

“Nope. It’s just like with the railroads. Any idiot can make steel rails and lay them out on the ground. The guy who can make the cheapest rails wins. It’s a commodity business and nobody makes any money, at least not for very long. No, you want to be the guy building locomotives and boxcars,” I answered. “I want to invest in the operating systems and the application programs.”

Jake Senior chimed in at that. “For all the types of computers out there, or just that IBM type you bought?”

“IBM. Within a few years almost everything will be an IBM or an IBM compatible anyway. All those others will be gone,” I told him.

“All of them!? I just got the kids a Commodore 64!”

I shrugged and gave him an evil grin. “So, if we do this right, in a few years, you’ll be able to afford to buy each of them an IBM computer.”

“Shit!” he said disgustedly.

I explained how the IBM open architecture allowed them to greatly increase the speed of innovation and improvement, but made the hardware end of the business a game for suckers. I also explained, like I had done before, how Microsoft and their operating system, was going to be the big deal in all of this.

“So you want to invest in Microsoft?” asked Missy. I nodded and she continued. “I looked into them a few months ago, when you first mentioned their name. You can’t buy them. The company isn’t publicly traded. By the way, they aren’t in Redmond, but in Bellevue.”

Damn! That was right! They moved to Redmond later! “It’s just a different Seattle suburb. Anyway, that just means I can’t buy them on the stock market. We can offer to invest, however. When they do an IPO, we make a small fortune. That’s if we sell. If we hold our shares, we make an even bigger fortune down the road.”

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Jake Junior.

“The sooner we do this, the better. I promise you all, this is the company to do business with. It will only get more expensive in the future.” I looked at Melissa and said, “I want you to find out as much as possible about Microsoft and the founders of the company. Most of all, I want to get an appointment with Bill Gates as early as possible. I’ll fly out and meet him as soon as he’ll see me. This week or next.”

Next I turned to Jake Junior. “Okay, Vice President of Operations, I want some cash to buy stock with. Figure out how to raise $5 million in cash by the time I fly out there. If we have to sell some stocks, which ones? Can we free up some cash by using margins or selling options? Can we do this without going broke or going to jail?”

The young man goggled at me. “Five million?”

“More if we can. I don’t want to buy the company, but I want a piece of the action.” I looked at the other two men and said, “And keep an eye on them and help them. If I can do this, I want to do it quick, so figure out the mechanics of doing this and doing the paperwork and the due diligence. The longer this takes, the higher the price will be and the lower the amount of stock we can buy.”

Everybody kind of stared at me and each other for a moment, but then they left. John lingered in the doorway. “You think these things are worth investing five mill?”

“John, if you could have invested five million with Thomas Edison a hundred years ago, what would it be worth now?”

He rolled his eyes and left. I thought about what I was doing, and then drove home. As a budding tycoon, I wanted a little afternoon action with Mrs. Tycoon.

And so I found myself flying out to Seattle-Tacoma on Monday, July 19. Missy had gotten me an appointment to meet with Gates on Tuesday morning. I figured it was a little ostentatious, and reckless with the company money, to charter a flight direct, but I did take one of Lloyd Jarrett’s turboprops to Philly, where I caught a non-stop American flight to Sea-Tac. I did insist on flying first class.

I had offered to take Marilyn, suggesting we could do another little parents-only trip, but she had put me off. “Remember, one trip for us, one trip for the family. You owe us a family trip, first.”

“We can stick Charlie in one of those doggy carriers down in the luggage compartment,” I countered.

“Forget it! Anyway, we still need a real family trip. I was talking to Anna Lee yesterday and she said we hadn’t seen each other since last summer, and she’s right!”

I gave her a wry smile at that. It was true. The last time we had seen our friends was right before I deployed to Honduras. Now, Harlan had gotten his promotion to captain and was assigned to the 25^th Infantry, commanding a mobile artillery battery. “You’re right, we need to visit them. Where are they stationed, anyway?” I knew he was with the 25^th, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember where they were based.

Marilyn grinned. “Hawaii!”

I grinned back. “Well, I’m willing to support the troops if you are. Let’s figure two weeks, not just one!”

“You always amaze me with the sacrifices you are willing to make. I’ll call her back later. They are six hours behind us, or something like that.”

We ended up making plans to fly out and visit them at the end of July. In the meantime, though, I had to go meet a man who was probably the smartest businessman in America since the end of the Second World War, and try to buy a piece of his baby. A baby he wasn’t overly thrilled about selling a piece of. Melissa had told me that from the sound of things on the phone, I was on a fool’s errand.

I flew out on Monday, so that I would be rested and fresh on Tuesday. I packed light, with just a few days of clothes in my hanging bag and my briefcase. I left my return trip date open. If things worked out, I would stay as long as I needed to make the deal. If Missy was right, I’d be flying home on Wednesday.

I rented a car at the airport, and headed out. Bellevue was east of Seattle, and I needed convenient, not fancy. I found a Holiday Inn that would meet my needs just outside of Seattle. I went inside, checked in, dumped my crap in the room, and went down to the restaurant for dinner and a drink. No, I wasn’t going to get lit up, not if I wanted to hold my own with the man who would one day be the richest man in America.

I recalled what I remembered about Gates from reading about him in what would be the future. We had relatively similar backgrounds, in that we grew up in wealthy suburbs. His family was definitely better off than mine. While my father was a successful engineer, his was a very successful lawyer. We had both gone to good schools, although I seemed to recall he went to a private school, but I just wasn’t sure about that. I do remember how he dropped out of college to start Microsoft.

It was very difficult to get any financial information on the company, which wasn’t at all surprising, since they were not a publicly traded firm. Further, in 1982, they were a very small fish, and not really on anybody’s radar. Melissa’s best guess was that they were somewhere in the low 20s in sales, that is to say, annual sales in the low $20 million range. Profits and cash flow were anybody’s guess, but they were profitable, that much I did know. In the DOS days, the coding was relatively simple, and their per unit costs were mostly the cost of packaging and shipping the diskettes. Until they had their IPO, they financed almost everything internally.

So, why would he sell? As I had told John, Gates was using the standard Silicon Valley startup tactic for hiring — pay a decent enough salary, but promise them the world with stock grants and options. Sooner or later his own people would begin looking for a big payout, and he would be forced to sell a piece to generate a market and let people cash in. Still, that was probably for a few years hence, not now.

I needed to convince the shrewdest businessman of our generation to sell me something he didn’t need to sell!

My appointment was for 10:30 on Tuesday. I left the motel around 10:00 and got there with a few minutes to spare. I was in his office at the agreed time.

Bill Gates looked just like his future press clippings and articles would depict him, a somewhat rumpled looking guy in glasses, wearing slacks and a button down dress shirt without a tie and with the top button undone. In other words, he looked like a nerd. I, on the other hand, had dressed neatly, in a charcoal suit and a white dress shirt, and shined shoes. I was going for the businessman look, which might or might not work out here. I even had my good cane, a nice ebony and brass gift from Marilyn for Father’s Day. I also had an old and beat up oak cane for around the house.

His office wasn’t all that glorious, but it did have a few armchairs and a coffee table to the side. “Thank you for seeing me, Mister Gates. I appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome, Mister Buckman.” He eyed my limp and the cane.

I smiled. “An old injury from my last job. I think flying aggravated it a bit. I get a little stiff at times.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I used to be a paratrooper, and I made one jump too many,” I answered.

He held his arm out, gesturing to the armchairs, and I selected one and sat down. He chose a chair opposite me. “Well, please have a seat. I’m curious why you’re here. It wasn’t quite clear over the telephone why you were coming.”

“Thank you.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a silver business card holder and slipped out a card. When we started the company, I had business cards made up, crisp white with a slightly pebbled finish, lettering in a glossy black ink.

The Buckman Group

Private Equity and Capital

In one corner we had our address and phone number, diagonally across we had our names and titles. I had ordered two sets made for myself. Both of them listed me as Carl Buckman, President and CEO, but one set, what I called the ‘Nerd’ cards, had the letters ‘PhD’ after my name. I gave Gates one of the nerd cards.

He looked at it and said, “Excuse me, Doctor Buckman. What did you get your degree in?”

“My bachelors and masters I got in mathematics, my doctorate is in applied mathematics. I worked in Set Theory, mostly Information Theory and Topology, but really, I liked all aspects of the field,” I replied.

He looked at me oddly. “You have me curious. I was under the impression you were here to talk to me about an investment. Or are you looking for a job?”

I laughed at that. “Investment! Really! I have a very nice job back home, and a family and friends. I have no interest in moving across the country. Thank you for the offer, though, if that’s what that was.” I grinned as I said this.

He gave me a brief smile, but not much of one. He’d be a hell of a poker player, I suspected. I recalled at that moment that he didn’t play poker, but that he was a world class bridge player. “Well, it wasn’t, but it did make me curious. So, you are here about investing with us, in Microsoft? I don’t recall ever even hearing about your firm.”

“We’re a new company, only a few months old, really. We’ve just started in the private equity business, although I’ve been actively investing for a number of years now.”

“So, this is your business, then. Not family money, with you on the letterhead?”

I shook my head. “Roughly 98 % of the stock in the Buckman Group is in my name. I’ll be blunt about it. I’ve been investing on Wall Street since about the time you started playing with computers back in high school. Probably before then. I’ve had a brokerage account since I was 13. Now I’m doing it for real, just like you and computers and programming.”

Gates looked at me curiously. “Since you were 13? And how old are you now?”

“Your age. Maybe a bit younger. I was born in November of ’55, you were when? Earlier that year, right?”

“October. So what made you get degrees in math and not business?”

“Good question.” I smiled at that. More than a few of those late nights down at Amos Eat-Me had made me ask the same question. “I think I just wanted to prove I could do it. Same thing when I went into the army. I wanted to test myself, to see if I was good enough. Nothing good comes unless you push yourself.”

“So, you made enough money to come to me and invest, while going to school and being in the army? Just how much money?”

“Well, I’m certainly not planning on divulging our holdings, but let’s put it this way. We’re prepared to write a check for several million dollars, and we won’t be investing more than ten percent of our capital in doing so.”

Gates sat back in his chair and considered me for a second, but I couldn’t see what was going on in his mind. “I’m curious. Even if I wanted to do this, why should we choose you? I’ve probably had a half dozen investment companies in to see us this year alone, all of them with names and sizes much larger than yours.”

I nodded. “It’s going to get worse. Next year the number will be ten times that. The following year you’ll need to hire a secretary simply to handle the calls and tell people NO. The year after that, she’ll need a secretary.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Okay, what do we bring to the table? Well, cash for one thing. Cash that you can use to hire additional programmers, cash that you can use to develop new products, cash that you can use to figure out how to put your products on everyone’s desk,” I answered.

He waved it off. “Everybody offers cash.”

“But do they offer me? I am going to make a guess here. The usual guy you see from the investment companies is a businessman or a lawyer. He doesn’t own a computer, or if he bought one, he either gave it to his kids or to his secretary to try and figure out. I not only have a computer, I’ve been writing code since I was 17. I may not be in the league of what you guys out here do, but it doesn’t scare me off, either. I can understand your business at the most intimate level, and if I can’t help you, at least I won’t hurt you.”

I detected a faint glimmer of interest in this. “So you’ve been writing code? With DOS?”

“Well, DOS is just the operating system. I made myself a little application shell to run programs with. Right now it doesn’t have much use, but I figure in another year, we’ll be seeing computers with installed hard drive memories, and it will be very useful then. I’ll be buying computers for the entire staff then. Right now, it would be a waste of time.”

“How so?”

I smiled at him. “Right now, I am the only person in our company who has probably even seen a computer. The commands have to be typed in at the A: prompt. Now it’s one thing to ask a geek like me to do that, but your average customer is a lot more like the people I work with. I’ve got a couple of lawyers, a stock broker, an accountant, a secretary or two. To really make the computer usable, you need something a little friendlier to the user.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I’m sure you are aware of the research going on down at the Xerox PARC complex.” That was a shot across the bow he couldn’t ignore! Xerox PARC invented most of the concepts in modern computers, from graphic interfaces to the mouse to laser printers. Gates’ eyes popped wide at that.

“What do you know about that?” he asked, half sitting upright, moving from his traditional slump.

I waved it off. “I know what Bob Taylor is doing down there is state of the art, and that Xerox doesn’t have a clue, and that you do. So does Steve Jobs. You know of him, right?” Gates nodded, speechless. “He knows about PARC, too. Here’s a word of advice, free of charge, regardless of whether we invest — pay attention to PARC. The things they are working on will change the world. Buy the patents, invent it yourself, I don’t care, but incorporate what they are doing as soon as you can.”

He sat there for another minute, and then abruptly stood up. “Stay there. I’ll be back in a moment.” Then he went out of his office. Mystified, I stayed in my seat. What was he up to, summoning the Microsoft police?

He returned a couple of minutes later with a piece of paper in his hands. He thrust it at me and said, “Sign this. It’s a non-disclosure statement. Then we can talk.”

I tried to keep my joy off my face. We didn’t have a deal yet, but he was at least willing to talk about it! I read over the paper and signed my name. The Buckman Group had its foot in the door!

I was invited to lunch, which was a little amusing. I was the only one dressed up, so to speak. Everybody else emulated the boss. I did get to meet Paul Allen, who was as wildly bearded as Bill Gates was clean shaven. There were three others, all some sort of senior programmer or executive. Over lunch I was asked about my degrees. These guys were some serious techies and wanted to know my credentials.

One of them, I forget who, asked, “Where did you go to school?”

“Well, when I was in high school, I also took about two years worth of classes over at Towson State. That’s a teaching college outside of Baltimore. Later, after I graduated, I went to Rensselaer, up in Troy. That’s where I officially got all my degrees,” I said.

“So you were going to high school and college at the same time?” asked another.

I nodded. “Sounds crazy, right? I just figured that if the school would pay for college that way, it meant I didn’t have to.”

“What was your thesis on?” asked Gates.

“I combined Information Theory and Topology and examined the effects of a network’s topology on information loss. It probably deals more with the engineering side of the issue than what you are doing, at least for the moment,” I answered.

Allen, who had been relatively quiet up to this point, said, “I’ve heard of work in the field, but it was several years ago. A collaboration of some sort, I think it was something called the Rhineburg-Buckman Equations or something. That stuff?”

I swallowed what I was chewing, and nodded. “I’m the Buckman. Professor Rhineburg was my thesis adviser. I haven’t talked to him lately, probably not for a few years, but I think he is still working in the field. Nice guy, really good.”

Gates and Allen looked at each other, and the other three just eyed me curiously.

After that, I was asked about what I thought of computing in general, and I gave my standard speech about the future of computing, and how it would change the world. I altered it, however, to speak on topics that I knew Microsoft was involved in or would become involved in. I mentioned the need to move beyond the command prompt, to move to a graphic interface, to work with faster and more powerful processors, and finally the need to control critical applications like typing and spreadsheets.

“What about your specialty, networking?” asked Gates.

“I think that is going to be probably the biggest change of all, but not for another generation. It all depends on how fast speeds on the connections can be raised. Right now you have the ARPANet and the NSFNet, but they are limited. It is going to grow from there, but one of the biggest barriers will always be how fast the computers can talk to each other. Worst of all — every time you raise the transmission speed of the network, somebody else is going to increase the size of the file to be transmitted. It’s a never ending cycle.”

I must have impressed them as somebody who knew what he was talking about, even though it was straightforward History of Computers 101 from 2020. After lunch, I found myself closeted with Gates again in his office. I don’t know what else he had planned, but he must have had his secretary reschedule them.

“You mentioned an investment. What kind of numbers did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Let me ask a few questions first, for background,” I responded. He nodded, and I asked, “What are your revenues and income for the last fiscal year? By the way, what is the period for your fiscal year?”

“It ended at the end of June. Our financial results are, of course, confidential,” he countered.

“Yes, but before we ever finalized anything, I would have to have our financial team look at the books and run their numbers. The nondisclosure agreement would apply to them as well, of course.”

“I’d still be interested in the investment size.”

We could dance around this the rest of the afternoon. Screw it. “I’d be willing to put up $5 million, provided the terms were right.”

It was hard to read his reaction, disdain or glee. He simply asked, “What terms would you want?”

“Nothing too difficult. An appropriate piece of the company. We can argue about the valuation, but that’s why I asked about the financials. A board seat. That’s all. We won’t tell you how to run the company. We won’t tell you when to do your IPO. We won’t tell you we have to run the IPO. We just want a percentage of the company,” I replied.

“How big a percentage?” asked Gates.

Well, he hadn’t thrown me out. It reminded me of the old joke about a man who asked a woman if she would become a millionaire’s mistress for a million bucks. She said, ‘Yes.’ Next he asked her if she would sleep with him for $100, and she asked, ‘What kind of a woman do you think I am?!’ His answer — ‘We’ve already established that; now we’re just negotiating.’

“Financials first.”

He looked at me for a moment, and then said, “Our gross revenues for the year ending in June were between $24 and $25 million. Our gross income was between $5 and $6 million.”

“Thank you.” This was roughly in line with what Missy and Jake had come up with. Sales were on the high side, income was on the low side. I had been guessing gross margins of 25–50 %. I knew the net income was going to be lower yet. I started doing some numbers in my head.

I looked over at my host. “I was thinking that for the $5 million, that should be worth about ten percent of the company.”

Gates smiled for the first time. “That only values Microsoft as worth $50 million. That seems awfully low.”

“What do you think it’s worth?” I countered. Time to dicker.

“Several times that. Maybe $150 million, at least.”

I shook my head. “Six times current sales? Thirty times current earnings? I would think that would be an extraordinary valuation, don’t you?”

“As you said earlier, over lunch, the future is going to be digital. This is the chance to start at the ground floor with the company that will lead the way.”

“The future will be digital, but the question is, will it be Microsoft? There are other companies out there as well. I can always take my money down to Palo Alto and see what other companies are doing. Heck, I can just take my money and buy land in the valley, and wait for somebody to pay us top dollar for the land!”

We went back and forth for several more rounds. I wanted to get in, but I wasn’t going to slit my throat for the privilege. Likewise, Gates wanted the cash. I was offering almost his last year’s gross earnings for a piece of the pie, and probably over a 50 % premium over his net earnings.

It took us another hour, but we settled on a rough valuation of $100 million, which would make my offer equivalent to 5 % of the company. Anything more would have to wait on our analysis of the financials. “When do you want to do this?” he asked.

“I’ll call home before the end of the day. I’ll get my team out here by the end of the week. I’ll stick around until then. When can you make it official?” I responded.

“I’ll need to meet with the board, and Paul, of course.”

I nodded and stood up. “Well, you need to make your calls and I need to make mine. Speed is of the essence in the digital world, speed of the computers and speed of the deals. I want to make this happen as soon as possible.”

“Understood. Go make your phone calls.” We shook hands and I left.

I drove back to the Holiday Inn and dug out my address book. It was well after five on the East Coast, but I didn’t care. I called Jake Senior at his home, and caught him before he went to bed.

“How did it go?” he asked. “Do you know what time it is here?”

“It’s time for you to make some flight reservations. I want you and Junior out here as soon as you can, to review the books,” I replied.

“So it went well?”

“Better than I had hoped. He offered us five percent of the company and a seat on the board. I told him I would stick around until you two flew out here.”

I heard Jake whistle on the other end of the line. “I’ll make the calls in the morning…” he started.

I laughed. “Make the calls now! I want you two out here as soon as possible, and pack extra clothing. You guys can live out here until this is finalized! Call Junior tonight! Move, move, move!”

Jake laughed through his grumbling. “Okay, give me your number and get some rooms booked. I’ll call you in the morning. I’m also telling John to smack you for keeping me from my beauty sleep.”

“Lost cause, Jake.”

“After he smacks you, I’m going to smack you for being a smartass!”

We hung up and I called Marilyn, and told her I wouldn’t be home for a few more days. My wife was pretty good about my hours and travel. It had never been a problem before, and it wasn’t this time either. She told me to come home soon, and that we were going to go see Harlan and Anna Lee in a couple of weeks.

The two Jakes flew out Wednesday afternoon, and I introduced them to Bill Gates the next morning. He in turn introduced his finance people, and we sent them all off to start working. Back in his office, he commented, “They seem competent. How did you build your group?”

“Well, three of them have been with me since I was a teenager. John and Melissa were my lawyer and stockbroker when I was 13, Jake, the older Jake, was my accountant. Jake Junior is Jake’s oldest son, and he just joined his father as a tax lawyer. The first three I have known since I was a kid, and I trust them with my life. Junior I trust, too, and I trust his father to keep him in line,” I laughed.

“If the numbers work, we can do this in a few weeks time,” he told me.

“We’ll make it work.” I excused myself and said good-bye to the Jakes, and then left. I had an afternoon flight back home.

Chapter 73: Work and Home

Friday morning I met with John and Missy in our offices. “I gather it went well,” commented John.

I nodded and smiled. “I thought it went very well. I’ll let you know after we sign the papers. Until then, nothing is definite.”

“You have learned wisely, Grasshopper,” he said, imitating the television series, Kung Fu.

“Thank you, Master,” I replied, bowing towards him.

“Great, now we have you two doing bad television,” said Missy. “So tell us, how did it actually go?”

“Good. I think what did the trick was my math background. I told them that no matter how many different bankers and investors they saw, I was going to be the only one who actually understood whatever the hell they were talking about. Paul Allen, one of the cofounders, actually knew about my work with Professor Rhineburg up at RPI.”

She nodded in understanding. “So you’ll be our board member and the main contact.”

“Sounds like. I mean, we can talk about it if anybody has a problem with it, but in this case, I think it’s a necessity. As we go forward though, that will probably change.”

“I think it should either be the person who brings in the deal, or somebody we all agree on,” said John.

I nodded, and Missy asked, “May I assume you will be getting directors and officers liability insurance through them?”

I actually had my mouth open to answer, but I realized I wasn’t even sure what she was talking about. I motioned for her to continue. “What are you talking about?”

“Liability insurance, in case Microsoft, or any company, does something that causes a law suit. It protects you from expenses involved in any litigation,” she answered.

I looked over at my old time lawyer. “Really?”

“Really. I’ll call Jake and make sure it’s included in the deal. Usually it’s a package deal for all the directors and officers in a company.”

“Do we have it? Speaking of which, do we have any insurance on us? You know, in case old geezers, not to mention any names, fall down?”

John smiled. “It’s a good thing Missy is here, otherwise I’d tell you about old geezers and young whippersnappers. Yes, I made sure we had insurance before we ever moved in here.”

I looked over at Missy. “See why I keep old geezers around?”

“You have any smart comments to make about women?”

“God forbid! You’d tell Marilyn and I’d never hear the end of it!”

That earned me a laugh, and they left. I made a phone call to Taylor Hannity, the exotic vacation broker. She agreed to meet me for lunch.

We met at a place off York Road, a nice steakhouse in Hereford. Once seated, I asked her, “Have you ever done any corporate work?” I thought she told me she had, but I wanted to be sure.

She nodded. “To be fair, most of my jobs have a corporate billing. Even if it’s a personal vacation, most of it goes through a company. You’re a perfect case in point. It’s a founder or officer, and even if it’s a personal vacation, I bill the company. If they pay the company back, it’s none of my business.”

I shrugged and nodded in understanding. We were interrupted by the waiter taking our orders. When we were able to talk again, I asked, “What about more routine stuff? You know, regular flights, business trips, that sort of thing.”

It was her turn to shrug. “I can. It’s not exactly my specialty. A lot of companies will have a secretary or department that specializes in that.”

“Well, we’ve actually gone and created a company.” I slid across one of my non-nerd business cards. “We’re not very big, and I just can’t see us hiring somebody to handle travel arrangements. I’d much rather sub it out to somebody who knows what they’re doing.”

Taylor was studying my card. “So what do you do? What is… private equity and capital?”

“We invest in companies, preferably smaller companies, new companies, provide seed capital, that sort of thing.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for instance…” I thought for a second. “Let’s say you wanted to start a travel agency, but you don’t have enough money to do it. Maybe I give you the money, but I take a piece of the company for the Buckman Group. Then, if you ever sell the agency, we get our piece of the pie. Hopefully it’s worth more than what we put in originally.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “You think I should start a travel agency?”

I shook my head. “That was just an example. We’d probably never invest in something that small. Besides, I wouldn’t actually suggest you do that. I think that would be an excellent way to lose your shirt.”

Taylor bristled a bit at that. “Are you saying I couldn’t run a travel agency?”

I smiled and held up my hands plaintively. “No, but let me explain. It’s more complicated than you can imagine.” She nodded and let me go on. “There are two different things going on here. First, there is the commodity business. Joe Schmoe calls up and wants a couple of tickets to Miami, a cheap hotel room, and a car for the family. Money is very important. If he can do it cheaper, he will. He and the family are flying in the back of the plane, booking the cheap room facing the parking lot, and getting the special from Avis. Right?”

“Right, but that’s not what I do!”

“Exactly. You do exotic imports, this guy wants a Chevy and cheap. What is going to die in your business is that commodity end.”

“How so?”

“Do you have a computer, or at least a terminal?” I asked.

“I use a terminal. A lot of what I do is on a phone.”

“Okay. That terminal is hooked up to a computer system on the other end. Now, you’ve seen these new computers right, the little ones you can put on your desk. Well, right now, they are pretty anemic, but they are getting more powerful by the day. What is going to happen is that in a few years they will be powerful enough that you won’t need a special terminal, you’ll be able to use a cheap computer. How does that affect the travel agency business?”

Taylor thought about it for a second, and then longer, as our meals were served. “Well, it makes it cheaper to run the business. That’d be a good thing, I would think.”

“Initially, it is. But then what happens? Computers keep getting cheaper. A few years later, they are so cheap that everyone has one on their desk, either at work or at home, and any Tom, Dick, or Harry can make those reservations, without going to you and paying your commission. What happens to the business then?”

Taylor’s eyes widened as she contemplated this. “That will never happen! The airlines don’t want to have to deal with everybody who calls! They’ll want to deal with somebody who knows what they’re doing!”

“They could care less. They pay you a commission. They won’t pay somebody else. With the money they save, they’ll figure out how to do it!”

What I was describing was simply the coming history of the travel agent business after the invention of the Internet. And, like most other travel agents, Taylor had a hard time believing it. It was like I was telling a buggy whip maker that those new-fangled automobile contraptions were going to kill his business off. Some learned, more than a few didn’t.

“Now, you won’t be hurt very much,” I assured her. “You run a very specialized business catering to a high end client. They, like me, want personal service and the price isn’t as important as the result. But don’t ask me to invest if you start a new low end business.”

“Huh!” Taylor looked a little struck by all this. “I am going to have to give this some thought.”

“Also, think about the outsourcing I described. Earlier this week I had to go out to the West Coast, flying commercial, getting a crappy room and a crappy car. I flew back and now I have two other people out there. There is some more travel coming up. I’d prefer using somebody who knows us and who I knew, and who can offer us something better than the Holiday Inn and the economy Chevy Cavalier.”

“Can I call you Monday?” she asked.

“Call me in the morning, and if the answer is positive, you can come out and see the operation. At the minimum, I have two guys stranded on the West Coast right now, and Marilyn and I are planning on a trip to Hawaii in a few weeks. That just came up a few days ago, by the way, but we are going to want to spend a couple of weeks out there. We don’t need a fancy villa, but we’ll want something nice. I can talk to you about it on Monday.”

Taylor was quiet the rest of the meal, trying to digest what I told her would happen. It was the truth, though. The airlines hated the travel agents, who cost them millions of dollars a year in commissions. Once the Internet came around, and customers with computers could book flights directly, most airlines stopped paying commissions entirely, killing the industry. The few travel agents left became niche players, much like Taylor already was.

I spent part of the weekend at the office with John and Melissa, on telephone calls out to Bellevue with Jake and Junior. I was really missing modern communications! As soon as we could, I swore to get a modern digital system in, with conference calls, plenty of lines, and all the whistles and bells that businesses needed. As soon as cell phones shrunk down from the brick size to something we could carry, everybody was getting them, too. Even speakerphones were exotic in 1982. After lunch on Saturday I called it quits and went home. John was still talking to Junior about legal shit, and I just didn’t care.

On the plus side, Jake Senior told us, in pretty much an awestruck tone, that we were really on to something out there. He also told me that he was negotiating our percentage up, from five to six percent. I warned him not to get greedy and blow the deal, and he promised not to.

Marilyn celebrated my good news by handing me several baby gates, to be installed across the stairwells. Charlie was becoming adventurous. “This isn’t quite the way the hero gets welcomed in the movies,” I told her.

“You were expecting something a little more intimate?” she commented.

“Well, yeah!”

She lifted our son up to eye level, where he squawked and laughed. “You did the intimate thing a year and a half ago. Now, get back to work.”

I took our son and juggled him as he laughed. “Mommy’s not funny. Mommy needs to treat Daddy nicer!”

Marilyn took Charlie back, and handed me a bag with the baby gates. “Daddy’s pushing his luck. Daddy can’t chase Mommy until the baby gates are installed.”

I snorted at that. “Yeah? Then Mommy better get ready, because baby gates are going in!”

I spent the rest of the weekend alternating chores and chasing Mommy around.

Monday morning Taylor called and told me she wanted to talk some more about my proposal, so I invited her to the offices. We met mid-morning, and I introduced her to John and Melissa. “I’m talking to Taylor about outsourcing our travel needs,” I explained.

“Good idea,” commented John. “I was talking to Jake last night and he and Junior are staying in a crappy Holiday Inn in Seattle. There has to be something better than that. It was also a pain to drive down to BWI. They had to get his wife to take the pair of them down, and will need to be picked up when they get back.”

“Yeah, I told them to call and maybe I’d free up to do it,” added Missy.

“Do you see a need for this kind of travel in the future, routinely?” asked Taylor.

I glanced at the others, and then nodded. “Probably. It might come in spurts. Right now we are doing business with a company out in Washington, and I’ve traveled there for a few days, we have another two guys out there now, and probably I’ll be going back, as well as these two. Then we might be doing something elsewhere.”

John quickly interjected. “We should have done this before, but you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement. What we do here is confidential. You can’t speak about it, or where we travel to.”

“I would never do that!”

He smiled, and said, “I never thought you did. It’s just the lawyer in me.”

“Just what do you do here, anyhow?” she asked, curious.

Missy gave her a quick rundown of the private equity and venture capital business, and then tossed in, “There will probably be some travel to New York, too, to see people on the Street.”

I hadn’t thought of that, and I nodded in agreement. “Westminster is the nearest airport. Maybe we can get connecting flights or something from here to larger airports if we are flying commercial. Of course, someday, when we’re big enough, we’ll just buy our own fleet of jets.” I said this with a laugh. “Hey, you never know!”

“I like that idea!” agreed John.

“Something to work for,” said Missy.

I decided to break it up for the moment. “Okay, let me take Taylor into my office. We can work out some details. Priority One is to get the two Jakes into decent quarters closer to where they are. Priority Two is to get Marilyn, Charlie, and me to Honolulu in a couple of weeks. We are visiting an old army buddy and his family who’s stationed out there.”

John snorted. “How come all of your army buddies are in Hawaii and all of mine are in Nebraska? Something’s not quite right about that.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” asked Melissa. “What if they need you in Bellevue?”

I nodded towards Taylor. “That’s what we’re going to be paying her to figure out.” I turned to her. “You can sort that out?”

“Absolutely.”

We made a deal where any of us, or Jake’s secretary, could call Taylor at her office and make arrangements for travel. The bills would cross either my desk or John’s, so we would keep some control on things. Further, vacations, nice high end vacations, would be available. If we closed on the Microsoft deal, I was going to give everyone involved a week wherever they wanted, my treat. We got a message out to the two Jakes to call Taylor at her office about a better hotel, and then she and I sorted out heading out to Hawaii.

At that point, I announced I was done for the day, and handed Taylor off to John to get the non-disclose signed. Then I drove out to the Mount Carmel Road building site. The excavation was done now, and the crawlspace had been poured. The framing was going to start next week. I needed to take Marilyn over to the kitchen designer for a last minute meeting. That was scheduled for after lunch. I went home and made sandwiches for all of us, and then I loaded her and Charlie up and we headed out.

Back when I was selling homes, it was gospel that what sold the homes were the bathrooms and kitchens. Marilyn wanted a fancy bathroom. That was pretty easy. Separate tub and shower, double vanity, decent size linen closet. That was what we had before, or almost. On the first go, we had a combo tub and shower unit. Now I had the room to do both. I made sure the shower was two-person (in case we both needed to get clean at the same time) and I made the tub unit a big whirlpool type, which she loved.

The kitchen I wanted big and fancy. The kitchen was an important part of the house, and very important to a cook like me. Marilyn could get by with a microwave oven, and be convinced it and a refrigerator was all she needed. Me, not so much. I wanted a double oven and a gigantic fridge, with a freezer unit in the utility room. Lots of cabinets and counter space, and a large island. I debated getting a Sub-Zero fridge, one of the enormous types, but then I remembered a trick we used to do in the days I was selling homes. Clayton had a setup where they would park two matching refrigerators side by side, with the doors opening towards each other. If you lined them up right, got them close together, and leveled them up right, it looked like a Sub-Zero at a fraction of the cost.

I also made sure we had a dishwasher. Marilyn thought that was silly, and on the first go, wouldn’t spend the money. She insisted that she was the only one in the house who knew how to wash dishes properly, by hand, with a dishcloth. Brushes or scrubbies wouldn’t do. The kids and I were constantly picking through the dishes to find clean ones. We argued about that for over thirty years, before I scraped up enough money to rebuild the kitchen.

That afternoon, we signed off on the final details and specifications. I wasn’t going for anything exotic. I didn’t need Italian marble countertops; a decent Formica with a beveled edge was just fine. The same went for the cabinets. I didn’t need handmade frosted cherry (which my mother had done). A fairly standard light stained maple from a regular production cabinetry company was quite fine. I’m not a snob, but I did want functionality and practicality. I selected for a number of oddball drawers and cabinets, so I could hide different types of pans and appliances and cutting boards. It would be good looking and practical and comfortable. I wasn’t pushing for Better Homes and Gardens.

Then we all went home. I was enjoying this gentleman of leisure lifestyle! I teased my wife about fooling around, but Charlie wasn’t sleepy. Fun and games would have to wait until after dinner. Marilyn did some knitting and I read some magazines, and we goofed off the rest of the day.

Chapter 74: Hawaii

I had been to Hawaii twice before, once on my first time around, and the other with Marilyn on the trip her parents gave us for our wedding. My first time, way back when, we had stayed at a resort on Hawaii itself, the Big Island, and while we did a little traveling, we never left the island. On the trip this time, we had stayed at the Hilton Hawaiian Village, which is on Waikiki Beach near Diamond Head.

This time was going to be a bit different. Harlan and Anna Lee might be living in paradise, but they wouldn’t be living on the beach in paradise. Harlan, despite being an all around great guy and fine fellow, was just another regular payday captain in the army. He had made Captain at about the time I was being discharged. They told us they had a place on base, and Schofield Barracks is pretty much in the center of the island, not on the waterfront. I talked to Taylor about it, and she had actually been out there. She suggested the Royal Hawaiian — why stay at the same place as before!

Flying to Hawaii is one of those forever flights, because that’s how long they take. Taylor’s itinerary had us getting ferried to BWI by Lloyd Jarrett in a turboprop, and then flying nonstop to LAX, where we would catch another flight to Honolulu. No matter what, it takes an entire day to go there and an entire day to get back. I figured in another couple of years, we would be able to charter a plane even for this, and not just to go to the Caribbean. At the moment, unless it was company business, I thought it was a bit extravagant.

I was also worried about what my friend would say. He knew me as just another asshole captain in the Army. He knew I had blown my knee out, and that I was medicalled, although I had yet to tell him about the vacation jaunt in Nicaragua. He didn’t know, though, that I had serious money. He was bound to find out, sooner or later, and I just hoped it didn’t screw things up. Most of my life I had hidden my wealth, although that was becoming more difficult. Originally it had just been my lawyer and accountant; now it included all of the Buckman group, Marilyn and her family, and Tusker and Tessa. Very soon and it would become impossible to hide; I would only be able to disguise the extent, not the existence.

I just hoped it wouldn’t screw up our friendship. Big money can change things between people.

We flew out of Westminster at oh-dark-hundred, before dawn, in order to catch the earliest possible flight to Los Angeles. Marilyn had screamed at the inability to take more than two large suitcases, but I kept reminding her that where we were staying we could get housekeeping to do the laundry. (I didn’t tell her what that would cost; why cause trouble!) Because of the time difference, we made it into LAX around 11:00, and then transferred to a different flight. That left a little after noon, which got us into Honolulu around 5:00 in the afternoon by my watch. Just to make it more confusing, they don’t have Daylight Savings Time in Hawaii, so we were landing at 2:00 PM Hawaii Time. Even with first class seating, and even though Charlie had been an absolute perfect angel, it was still mind-numbingly exhausting!

Anna Lee and Roscoe met us at the gate. Roscoe was sleeping in a stroller. As soon as we came through, she jumped up and down and waved to us. I was too tired to do anything other than wave back, but Marilyn dumped Charlie on me and scampered over and gave our friend a big hug. I trailed behind, burdened by my son and his gargantuan diaper bag. I swear, I could carry him inside it!

“Hi, Carl! Good to see you! Oh my God, that must be Charlie!” gushed Anna Lee excitedly. “Oh, I want to see him!”

I handed him across. “Here you go, then. Feel free to keep him. Send him back in about 17 years or so.” I handed the diaper bag to my wife. “Your son smells. I think he needs a new diaper!”

“Some father you are!” answered Marilyn. She smiled down at Roscoe, who was stirring awake. “Hi there, Roscoe! Remember me? It’s your Aunt Marilyn!”

Roscoe took one look around at the busy terminal and let out a wail. I just rolled my eyes. “You two handle offspring. Let’s get out of everyone’s way. It’s safer.” The women took the babies off to the bathrooms and I dug out the luggage tags and waited for them to return.

They were gone the better part of fifteen minutes. Anna Lee led us down to Baggage Claim, and it’s a good thing she did, since the signs made no sense whatsoever. She pointed me towards the carousel. We had Marilyn’s two suitcases, my B-4 and a hanging bag stuffed to capacity, and a suitcase and rolled up stroller for Charlie. I got most of the stuff and dragged the suitcases out of the throng and dumped them in front of Marilyn. “Hold onto these. We’re still one short.” I dove back into the mass of people and got to the front just in time to see my hanging bag disappear around the other side of the carousel. I had to wait another few minutes for it to circle around before I could grab it.

I bulled my way out again, and got in front of the ladies, who had wisely pulled everything back towards a wall. I dropped the hanging bag on top of the others and bent backwards, stretching. Then I leaned forward and got a hug from Anna Lee. “It’s good to see you.”

“Same here! Oh, Carl, your son is adorable!”

I glanced over at Charlie, now sitting in his stroller. He had slept most of the flight and now was looking around curiously. Next to him was Roscoe, now about a year-and-a-half old, who had stopped fussing and was working on a bottle of formula. “Really? Adorable?” I looked over at Marilyn. “Did we get an adorable child someplace? Was there a mix-up at the airport?”

“You are an awful person,” she replied. “I don’t know why I married you!”

I simply held my hands out, palms towards each other about a foot apart. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

That earned me a squawk of outrage from Marilyn and a loud laugh from Anna Lee. “You sound just like Harlan,” she said.

“Hey, I’ve seen your husband in the shower, back in boot camp. You know what they say about black guys? It’s just not true.” That got another set of laughs and squawks.

“I’m going to tell him you said that. So where are you staying?”

“The Royal Hawaiian.” I dug out my paperwork. “Know where it is?”

“Sure. Do you have a car reserved?”

“Supposed to. Where’s your worse half?”

“He had duty. He’ll see you tomorrow. He’s taking a few days off.”

The rental cars weren’t at the airport, but offsite, so we had to wait around for a shuttle bus over to the rental area. I grabbed as many bags as I could carry, and hobbled and waddled my way over. The ladies each grabbed a bag and started pushing the strollers. At that point Anna Lee and Roscoe took off, Anna Lee promising to meet us over there in her car. Between the shuttle bus and the line at the counter it took us almost twenty minutes to discover my reserved full size Ford was not available. I could, however, rent a full size Lincoln for only a small upcharge. What a racket! I was too tired to care and if I argued I’d probably lose the Lincoln. I signed on the dotted line and got the keys.

We loaded everything up in the car, and then we found Anna Lee as we left the rental area. She was driving a blue Ford Fairmont Futura, probably the world’s ugliest car. She had the window rolled down and was waving at us. She yelled out, “Follow me!” We nodded back and followed her out of the airport. It wasn’t hard to follow her, since the Fairmont was easy to see, with its two tone paint job and weird vinyl roof.

The Royal Hawaiian was not just one more of the big towering behemoths lining the beach west of Diamond Head. It was an older style hotel that was startlingly pink in an age of concrete and glass. I would have preferred a bungalow of some sort, but they simply didn’t exist in an area convenient to us. We had a suite reserved. Who knew — maybe we could have a luau and get Gidget and Moon Doggie to sing. Still, after an entire day on airplanes, it looked like heaven.

Our two car caravan pulled up to the front, and Marilyn and I got out. Anna Lee stayed in her car. We walked over to her, and she said, “I can’t stay. I need to get back to the base and start dinner. You’ve got our number?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what ours is, but if you call the main desk, I’m sure they’ll put you through,” I replied.

“Great! I’d get out and help, but I’d probably have to put my car in parking, and these places cost a fortune. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She waved and took off.

Marilyn and I headed over to the car, where a bellman approached us. “Checking in, sir?”

“Yes, and can we get a valet to take this off our hands?”

“Certainly, sir.” He made a hand motion and a second man came over. We got the luggage loaded on a cart, and I handed over our keys and a tip to the valet, getting a receipt in turn. The bellman led us to the front desk.

I laid my paperwork down on the registration counter.

“Aloha!” said a perky and pretty tanned Oriental girl. “Checking in?”

“Aloha to you, too. Yes, please, we are. We’re the Buckmans.” I slid my reservation notice across the counter.

Keani, that was her name according to her name tag, took the notice and went through her paperwork on her side of the counter, to pull out a set and start sorting through it. “Yes, sir, one of the Royal Hawaiian suites, the King Kamehameha Suite, very nice.”

“Great! Right now I would almost settle for a beat up No Tell Motel. Where do I sign? I have been flying since dawn!”

She laughed and slid the paperwork across to me, with several Xs where I needed to John Hancock them. “Sorry about that, but if Paradise was easy to get to, it wouldn’t be Paradise.”

Marilyn laughed and I snorted. “I hear you. Of course, this is about as close to Paradise as I’ll ever get. Saint Peter’s never going to let me through the Pearly Gates.” That got laughs all around.

King Kamehameha must have done well for himself. We had two bedrooms, a gigantic living room and dining room, and a small wet bar. I tipped the bellman, and Marilyn turned Charlie loose to look around.

“It’s gorgeous!” said Marilyn.

“It’s not bad,” I said, agreeing with her. I opened the sliding glass door up and was hit with the warm tropical breeze. I could look out at the beach and the ocean lapping slowly at the sand. “I really can’t argue with you.”

“We should have them stay with us for the weekend,” added Marilyn. “We’ve got the second bedroom. We can put the boys out here in the main room and they can have the other bedroom.” She looked over at me for confirmation.

“Sounds good to me. Let’s ask them. No reason not to,” I said, nodding.

We unpacked, and then the first thing I did was to call back to the office and leave the phone number to the suite on the answering machine, with a note that we were six hours behind them, so don’t call when they came into the office. That would be three in the morning, and I would be cranky.

I unpacked my stuff and grabbed my toilet kit and a towel (we had towel and linen service.) After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I went out into the living room and lay down on the couch. I was just going to wait for Marilyn to come back, but I woke up about two hours later. It was still light outside, although Marilyn was snoring in the bedroom. I shook myself awake and looked in on her; she had simply collapsed on the bed still in her travel clothes. Charlie was curled up next to her.

I sat down next to her and nudged her shoulder. She grumbled in her sleep and tried to roll away. I nudged her again. “Come on, sleepyhead, wake up.”

“Go away,” she grumbled.

“Come on. If you stay asleep now, you’ll be up all night. Go get cleaned up and we can go eat.”

Marilyn grumbled some more, but swung her legs off the bed and sat upright. “What’s for dinner?”

“Seafood and booze. Lots and lots of booze!” She just nodded and went into the bathroom. Charlie stayed sleeping on the bed. I looked him over and propped a couple of pillows around him to keep him from rolling off the bed in his sleep. Out in the living room I found a book showing the restaurants and services at the Royal Hawaiian. I shook my head as I looked over the list or rooms, since they all looked alike. I remembered learning during my Information Theory classes that the Hawaiian language only has twelve letters, less than half of what is in the English language. When you have a small symbol set, information density is limited, so you have large words that all look and sound alike.

We went downstairs and had dinner and about three or four drinks. We were too tired to do much more than push the stroller around the place and look at the beach. After the late local news, which is always interesting when you are in a foreign place, Marilyn and I went to bed and fell asleep, exhausted.

The next morning we were woken up by Charlie, yelling up a storm in his crib. Marilyn and I nudged each other, trying to get the other one to go to work. I won, and Marilyn grumbled and got up, throwing her robe on to retrieve our son. I climbed out of bed, too, and headed into the bathroom. I returned to find her changing his diaper. “You want more of this?” I commented. Marilyn had recently begun quizzing me about when we could make the family bigger.

She grinned at me and handed me a very young man. “Absolutely! Don’t you?!”

“That is questionable at best.”

Marilyn laughed. “Go warm up a bottle and feed him.” I was dispatched to fatherly duties while my wife went into the bathroom. I knew she would be in there the rest of the morning.

I set Charlie down for a moment and pulled on some gym shorts, and then he and I headed towards the kitchenette. I made some formula from powder and started warming it up in the microwave. I don’t mind the input; it’s the output that is the problem. Afterwards, I handed him the bottle and he fielded it like a pro. I took him and his seat outside to the patio and looked around.

Marilyn came out dressed in shorts and a tank top, with regular industrial strength underwear beneath them. This was another reminder this was a family vacation and not a ‘mommy-daddy’ vacation. She found me under the sunlight and Charlie gurgling happily and waving around his empty bottle. “Is this how you take care of your son!?” he protested.

I looked over and waved at Charlie, who waved both arms back at me. “He doesn’t seem any worse for the wear. Where could he go?”

“Daddy thinks he’s so funny!” She picked him up and carried him back inside. “You don’t even have a sunhat on!” she told him. I rolled my eyes and looked back out at the sea for a moment.

“What’s for breakfast? He might be satisfied with a bottle, but I’m not,” asked Marilyn.

“Hey, back in college, that was the breakfast of champions.”

“Well, we’re not back in college. Don’t give your son any ideas,” she answered primly.

I laughed at her. “Give me a break. He’s not even a year old yet.” I looked at him and said, “Do as I say and not as I do. When you’re old enough, I’ll tell you about what Mommy was like in college.” Almost in response, Charlie started gurgling happily and flapping his arms. “He likes that idea!”

My wife’s eyes widened at that. “You wouldn’t dare!”

I mimed toking on a joint, at which Marilyn squawked in outrage, and headed towards the bathroom. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll go out for breakfast.”

Breakfast was one of the strangest meals I’d had in a long time. Good, but strange. We ate in the main restaurant of the Royal Hawaiian, and you had the usual suspects — eggs, pancakes, bacon, and so forth — along with some tropical highlights like passion fruit/orange juice/guava juice mix. I ordered my standard eggs over easy with bacon. Then I said to Marilyn, “I’m kind of surprised they don’t have Spam on the menu.”

“What’s Spam?” she replied.

I smiled and shook my head. “All those years around the Army and you don’t know what Spam is? Are you sure you’re an American?”

Marilyn stuck her tongue out at me. “So? I’ve heard of it, I guess. What is Spam, anyway?”

I gave her a wry smile. “S-P-A-M, Spare Parts, Assorted Meats!” That was the standard Army answer. “Actually, nobody knows for sure. I think it’s all the leftover pieces of ham you get when you carve up a pig. They grind it up and cram it into cans. It’s not the worst stuff in the world. Hell, my old man eats scrapple, that’s even worse!”

“What’s scrapple?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but from what I’ve seen, it’s the stuff rejected by the Spam people.”

Marilyn said, “Yuck!” I just nodded in agreement.

“Anyway, I mention that because Hawaii has four times the per capita consumption of Spam as anywhere else? It dates back to World War II,” I told her.

“What’s it taste like?”

I shrugged. “Like ham sausage, sort of. It’s okay. I prefer it sliced or cubed, and then fried.” Heaven knows, if you hang around the army long enough, you’ll get to eat Spam. “I’ll get some with my eggs and you can have some.”

There was a message light lit on the phone when we got back to the room. Before I could check on it, the phone rang again. I was closest, so I picked it up. “Fortress of Solitude, Superman speaking.”

A loud bass laugh came from the other end. “In a pig’s eye! If you’re Superman, I’d prefer Lex Luthor!”

“Harlan, how they hanging?”

“Just like always, one below the other. You just getting up?”

“We’ve already been out to breakfast. We just got back.”

“Well, drive on up. I’ll meet you out at the main gate. Half an hour,” he said.

I looked over at my wife “Make it an hour. Half an hour to drive and half an hour to get Marilyn out the door.” I hung up and turned to Marilyn. “Let’s put everything away and go.”

“Okay, first we need to change a diaper.” She picked up Charlie and headed towards his bedroom.

We made it there in just under the hour I had allotted. Marilyn didn’t take as long as I thought she would, but we had to get the car from the valet and get directions back to the highway. We ended up on H2, which ended just after you passed Wheeler Air Force Base and dumped us on Wilikina Drive. Harlan was sitting in the Ford Fairmont on the grassy shoulder of Wilikina. I beeped the horn at him and he simply waved, and then made a ‘Follow Me!’ gesture and pulled out. I followed him through the gate and to a residential area. He pulled up in front of a small duplex. I parked behind him and we all got out of our cars.

“Damn, boy, every time I see you, you just keep getting uglier and uglier! I almost didn’t recognize you with that faggoty mustache and beard,” he asked.

“When Halloween comes around, I’m buying an eye patch and a sword, and I’ll pretend I’m a pirate. You’re still as ugly as ever. Who’d you have to blow to get a cushy gig like this?”

“Screw you.” We shook hands and then he looked over and said, “Marilyn, what are you still doing with this guy? You could be doing so much better!”

“I keep telling him that, too.” She handed me Charlie in his car seat. “Where’s your better half? I need a beer and somebody to complain to about men.” She kissed him on the cheek and then headed towards the house.

“Is that any particular men, or just a general men?” my friend asked me.

“Probably both. Say hello to the latest transgressor.” I lifted up the car seat and Charlie looked at Harlan with wide eyes.

“Damn, he’s too cute to be your son.” As we watched, Charlie’s little face screwed up and he looked like he was concentrating, and then he relaxed happily. “I think I know what that means.”

“It means it’s time to go inside and find his mother!”

“We’re having sandwiches for lunch and a barbecue later,” said Harlan.

“Sounds good!”

We went inside and then on through to the back yard. All the windows in the house were open, and the breeze was blowing through. “No air conditioning?” I asked.

“Don’t have one. Don’t need one. Same with the furnace. Don’t have it and don’t need it. However, we do have a fireplace,” he told me.

“A fireplace?!”

Harlan grinned. “Everything was built before the war, and they used blueprints from somewhere on the Mainland. Since officer’s quarters had fireplaces, well…”

I just shook my head in disbelief. That sounded like perfect Army thinking.

I remember when I was on the Big Island my first time through, seeing the construction standards and telling Marilyn that if I even looked at blueprints like that, I could get arrested back home. Housing construction was marginal at best compared to stateside, but it was satisfactory for paradise. It never got hot enough to need to cool down and never got cold enough to need warming. There were no floods or blizzards. Most homes had no insulation. On the Big Island, where the topsoil was only an inch deep, if that, and under which was volcanic rock, a lot of houses had the water and sewer lines lying on top of the ground. Un-fucking-believable!

I gave Charlie back to his mother and grabbed a chair around the table on the back patio while Harlan went back inside and grabbed some Budweisers. Marilyn picked up Charlie and held him to her nose, then looked daggers at me and took him inside. “I think I just got busted,” I whispered.

“No shit, Sherlock!” he said quietly back.

Roscoe toddled out through the open door, wearing his diaper and a t-shirt/shorts outfit. He had a binkie in his mouth and came over to me, looking up at me with curiosity. Who was this new guy in his house? Satisfied, he kept moving along, to a Little Tikes playhouse in the corner. “He’s growing like a weed,” I commented. The last time I had seen him he hadn’t been much younger than Charlie was now.

“Tell me about it! It’s a good thing I’m in shape, because he has more energy than Anna Lee and I do together.”

“Charlie, too. He’s just figured out crawling, and he doesn’t go around things, he goes through them!”

The moms came out of the house, with Anna Lee carrying Charlie and Marilyn holding a beer and an iced tea. She set the iced tea down in front of Anna Lee. Charlie was deposited in his seat on the side of the table and the ladies sat down with us. I cocked my beer bottle over at our hostess. “Not drinking?”

She shook her head and smiled. “I can’t, or at least, I shouldn’t.”

“Huh?”

Anna Lee gave Harlan a sly smile but didn’t say anything else. It was Marilyn who twigged to it first. “Oh my God! Congratulations!”

I looked at my wife. “What are you talking about?!”

“She’s pregnant, silly!”

I swiveled my head to my old friend, who was grinning back at me. “I assume you had something to do with this.”

“So I’ve been told. She keeps telling me she’s going to get an outside contractor, though.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Well, congratulations the pair of you. Now I will never hear the end of it from her.”

“That’s right!” gushed Marilyn. “We need to catch up!”

“Catch up? With him around, I can’t even catch my breath!” I answered.

“I can chase one while you chase the other.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Then we can’t do it. With my leg, I’ll never be able to keep up.”

Marilyn simply wagged her finger at me. “Forget it! I don’t want to hear it!”

I just rolled my eyes and drank some more beer. Marilyn and Anna Lee sat there and discussed baby and maternity related topics, which interested me not in the slightest. I shifted my chair around to keep an eye on them, but more to face Harlan.

He did the same. We talked about when the baby was due, and then the conversation invariably drifted to the Army. “So, what’s the army got you doing out here, defending this little slice of Heaven?” I asked.

“It’s like I told you before, I’ve got a battery of M109s here with the 25^th.”

I smiled. “The Electric Strawberry needs self-propelled 155s?” The shoulder flash of the 25^th Infantry was red with a lightning bolt through it; it looked exactly like a bright red strawberry with a lightning bolt. “Which brigade?”

He shook his head. “None of them. We’re divisional level. The brigades are still using motorized 105s, like you had.”

“As long as you don’t have to hump around those shells. I used to have a second lieutenant who managed to drop one on his foot while training at Sill. He showed up two weeks late in a cast.” We laughed through a description of Lucky Lou.

“Man, I can’t believe you are out. I always figured you as a lifer,” Harlan said after going back for another round of beers. Marilyn and Anna Lee had gone off to the kitchen to make ham and cheese sandwiches, with Roscoe following them, and now we were on our third beer of the afternoon.

“It’s the knee, man, no way around it.”

“Just how bad is it?”

I shrugged. “Most of the time I just have a bit of a limp. What happened was I ripped up a bunch of ligaments and messed up most of the cartilage in the joint. I can walk okay as long as I keep a brace or bandage on it, but forget about any distance, and no running either.”

“How’d it happen?”

“This is what happens when you leave a perfectly good airplane in mid-flight, before they have a chance to land and stop. I had a really bad landing. Simple as that,” I replied.

“When was this, when you were down in South America?” The Buckminsters had visited us in Fayetteville the summer right before I had visited Honduras. “The last time I saw you you were still a first lieutenant exec of a company of 105s, about to be promoted and sent to Fort Sill. The next thing I hear, you’re a captain somewhere south in taco land. What gives?”

I shrugged. “Sh…” I glanced over at Roscoe, who was in earshot, and amended myself. “… stuff happens.” Anna Lee and Marilyn gave me superior looking nods of approval. “We got tasked to provide a battalion task force to go down to Honduras to train their army. That’s in Central America, by the way, not South America.”

“Whatever. Nobody cares. Keep going.”

“So, we had a battalion of paratroopers, and my battery got tasked to be the support battery, plus the usual whistles and bells for support. Then the State Department weighed in on things. I had been running the battery as an exec without a captain just fine, but that wasn’t good enough. We needed a captain, so division rushed my promotion through and gave me the battery officially. By the way, that really pissed off my CO. I was glad to be away!”

“Hmmph!” grumped my wife. “I wasn’t so thrilled!”

“It’s not like they asked me about any of it, honey.”

“So your bad jump was in Honduras?”

I drained my beer and reached for another. “Uh, yeah.”

It must have sounded odd to Harlan. He looked at me funny and asked, “So, what happened?”

“It’s like I said, I had a bad landing.”

Marilyn grabbed her handbag and reached inside. “You might as well tell him the rest. He’s going to learn sooner or later.”

That sobered me up some, and I sat upright and was saying, “Marilyn, stop it…”

She didn’t. She pulled out a mini-photo album and flipped through it, and opened it to a small picture of me getting the Bronze Star at my discharge parade. I simply groaned when Harlan picked it up and looked at it. “What is that?”

“Carling got the Bronze Star,” answered Marilyn.

I muttered something under my breath, and Harlan handed the photo album to his wife. “The Bronze Star? They don’t give the Bronze Star out for bad jumps. Just what the hell did you do?”

“It was nothing really!”

“Carl, it wasn’t nothing, and you know it!” protested Marilyn.

“It’s classified,” I answered back.

“Who are they going to tell!?” she replied.

I just shook my head in exasperation. Marilyn simply didn’t believe the concept of security applied to her. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut if you stapled her lips together! “Marilyn!”

“Come on, buddy, give!” said Harlan. Anna Lee looked on curiously, too.

I rubbed my face. “Okay, this is what happened. We were down there training the Honduran Army. Really routine stuff, good neighbors and all that crap. So, anyway, we’re nearing the end of the deployment, when the general running this whole shebang, a frigging one jump chump, comes up with this great plan to cement US-Honduran relations. He’s going to have the Honduran Air Force drop the American paratroopers and we’re going to drop the Hondurans.”

Harlan was following this closely. He also understood my reference to the straight leg, since he now had his paratrooper wings as well. “Okay, I’m following you. I’m guessing this didn’t work out too well?”

I snorted and shook my head. “Not hardly. Here’s where it gets crazy. One of the paratroop companies was missing their FIST officer, and I got tasked to provide one from my battery. No biggie. My mistake was that I said it was going to be my last jump in Honduras and my last jump with the division. As soon as I got back home I was going to Sill. So rather than pick one of my second lieutenants, I went myself. I mean, the whole thing was supposed to be a daytime milk run, almost a Hollywood jump, only with light weapons.”

Harlan nodded slowly. “And?”

“And the Honduran Air Force was using C-47s, not 130s or 141s. It was an absolute disaster!”

It took Harlan a few moments to figure it out. A look of horrified comprehension suffused his face when he did. “C-47s? You don’t mean…”

“Bingo! We were jumping from World War II era Goony Birds!”

“Holy shit!”

“Harlan!” scolded his wife.

Roscoe didn’t seem to notice, though, and Harlan just waved her off. “So, what happened?”

I sighed. “It was a world class soup sandwich. One of the birds blew a piston, and it took us until the middle of the night to rebuild the plane. Instead of being the pathfinders, we ended up tail end Charlie, dropping at the end of the exercise. Mostly that went well, but the plane I was on, the pilot got lost, and after a bit, he just turned on the green light and dumped us out. It took us most of a week to get back to civilization.”

“You weren’t over the drop zone?”

“Harlan, I’m just glad he didn’t drop us in the ocean! He didn’t have a clue where he was.”

“Okay, so that really sucks. You blew your knee out landing where you weren’t supposed to.” I just nodded at that. “So they still don’t hand out Bronze Stars for getting lost.”

I laughed at that. “No they don’t. Okay, here’s the story. The captain of the company, who I was jumping with, he broke his neck on landing. A private got killed on landing, and another one ripped up his leg worse than I did. The platoon leader I was jumping with was a numbnuts second john who couldn’t find his ass with a flashlight and a map. I had to take over the stick of troopers and get them back home. That’s what I got it for.”

“No, there’s more than that.”

I looked at him and then shrugged. “Okay, but remember, this is totally classified. The entire operation took place in Honduras. We landed in Honduras. We were lost in Honduras. If you were to ever hear any rumors about any other events taking place, it would be your responsibility as an officer to report those rumors to G-2.”

Harlan’s eyes widened. “What kind of rumors?”

“Rumors that the Goony Bird dropped the stick not in Honduras, but a hundred miles to the south, in a different country, where they were in the middle of a hostile Communist army and surrounded by drug runners. Rumors that it took them three days to get to a place where they could catch a dustoff, all the while avoiding the Sandanistas. And especially any rumors that the dustoff had to take place at an occupied drug running airfield, which needed to be captured during a nighttime combat assault. If you ever hear rumors like that, you should immediately report them to higher authority, so they can track down these total untruths. Got it?”

“Shit!” he whispered. Anna Lee was kind of staring at us both. Marilyn had a little half smile on her face.

I smiled. “It wasn’t all that impressive. The combat assault simply rousted out a bunch of stoned out drug guards, or so the rumor says. Now remember, those are simply rumors. The truth is that we were on a training mission in Honduras. Hey, it’s over. We made it home, I got to a hospital, end of story. I’m a civilian now, and now you can tell me lies about what you are doing to protect the homeland from the godless Communist hordes.”

We talked some more. With any luck, Harlan would have his chance to shine in a few years. With some real luck, Harlan would be able to grow old without having that chance to shine. My little taste of something that wasn’t just a training exercise was more than sufficient for me. I was now a devout pacifist!

“So, what are you doing now? You got out in January. What have you been doing since then?” asked Anna Lee.

Marilyn answered excitedly. “Well, we moved back home, Carl’s home, not mine, in Maryland, and now we’re building a house! Next time you are back there, you’ll have to come and visit us!”

“You’re building a house?” asked Harlan.

I nodded. “That was kind of the deal. I didn’t want to move to upstate New York and she didn’t want to live near the city, so we made a deal. I would buy some rural property and build her a house. We closed on it this spring and they just started the framing. I am hoping to move in this fall sometime. Hoping, anyway.” I knew enough construction to know it always took longer, and cost more, than the most pessimistic initial estimates.

My friend gave me a bit of an odd look and said, “So, who do you do for work now?”

Marilyn started to answer that, but then she shut her mouth and looked at me. I answered obliquely. “I went into business. I’m with an investment company with some people I knew from before I got into the army. Now that I’m out, it’s what I do.”

“An investment company? You mean, like stocks and bonds, that sort of thing?”

I nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Sort of. It’s mostly investing in different companies, some startups, that sort of thing. I’m in operations and planning. Speaking of which…” I turned and looked at Marilyn. “Before we left, I was talking to John. There’s a good chance I might need to fly out next week for a day, to sign some papers. It’s not definite yet, though. I left the number to the room with the office, so they might call us.”

“And what are we supposed to do?”

“Honey, it’s not like I’d be stranding you in the desert. Heck, you and Anna Lee can go and sacrifice Charlie and Roscoe to the volcano gods. Maybe you can get a two for one deal going.” That earned me a raspberry.

One amusing moment came when Harlan tasked me to help him harvest some mangoes. They had a mango tree in their yard, and it turns out that mango trees are very fruitful and if you don’t pick them and do something with them, the ripen quickly and start rotting and the fruit flies are incredibly bothersome. We were to take a big bag of them back to the Royal Hawaiian with us. We hung around the rest of the afternoon, and as the day ended and turned towards evening, Harlan set up the grill and we did some burgers. Charlie was still working on formula plus some rice, which looked like something out of Oliver Twist. More gruel, please! Roscoe, on the other hand, was eating a hamburger and bun, though very, very sloppily, and drinking from a sippy cup. More to look forward to.

It was starting to get dark when we broke up the party. We made plans for the Buckminsters to come down to the Royal Hawaiian tomorrow and go swimming with us. I would be able to show them the plans for the new house, which I had in my briefcase. Later, during the week, Harlan would get me into the base and I would have a chance to see his command. This would be interesting to me, but not to Marilyn. I still wouldn’t be able to see his M109s. According to Harlan they were simply too powerful and long ranged to be fired on Oahu, so they were mothballed. When they wanted to fire them, they would barge them over to the Big Island and take them up into the mountains, where it can get damn chilly, surprising everybody.

Otherwise, we goofed off. We were on vacation. I teased Marilyn a number of times about how the next trip we made, without Charlie, was going to be different, and that I had Taylor looking for clothing optional resorts. That definitely got her saying “NO! NO! NO!” (Just like Roscoe was starting to say!) but I just laughed at her. Then I told her that there were actually resorts for swinging and swapping, which pretty much blew her mind! I didn’t know if the Hedonism resorts were up and running yet, but it didn’t matter, since we would never have gone to one in any case. Still, it was fun to watch her reaction! I told her I could compromise, sticking to the clothing optional package, but she wasn’t even buying that idea. She kept protesting and I kept laughing.

We didn’t spend our entire time with the Buckminsters. We spent several days just on our own, sightseeing. Also, a couple of evenings we left Charlie with our friends and went out to dinner on our own, and we returned the favor, taking Roscoe while Mommy and Daddy had a date night. Roscoe wasn’t thrilled about that (“NO! NO! NO!”) but we ignored him and he settled down. One of those nights for us, we went to see Don Ho at his new domed showroom next to the Hilton Hawaiian Village. Taylor had gotten us tickets. The show was nice, and Marilyn certainly enjoyed it. Me, well, it was nice, but Tiny Bubbles was never all that big with me. Cute dancers, though. It was just good to get out for the night!

I stayed in touch with John during the vacation. It was easier if I called the office at 9 AM Hawaii time, which was 3 PM Eastern time. If John wasn’t in the office, I would try him at his old office, where he was tidying up old business. That was when I confirmed I would need to fly to Seattle again, before my vacation was over. Closing documents needed to be signed on Tuesday. I had him let Taylor know, and she would arrange transportation. I wanted a quick day trip, without any staying over. She could call me with details and send me an itinerary and whatever I would need. Likewise, John could send me any paperwork I needed to take with me.

On Friday and Saturday several envelopes showed up by way of FedEx, then known as Federal Express. One envelope had some documents related to the investment, with John’s comments jotted in the margins; I would sign the clean versions on Tuesday. Another envelope was from Taylor, and had instructions for my flight to SeaTac and back. That I looked at with considerable interest.

For her part, Marilyn was not amused by the flight plans. It was about a five or six hour flight from Hawaii to Seattle, and because I would be traveling west to east, I would add another three hours to the trip. If I was to arrive in Bellevue at 9 AM Tuesday, I needed to fly out around midnight Monday night. I could catch a cab and leave the Lincoln for Marilyn. I kissed her good-bye and told her I would call when I got there.

The only airport big enough to handle international traffic was Honolulu. Even travel back and forth from the Mainland required that you go through a Department of Agriculture screening station, sort of like Customs but a lot less invasive, since they can’t allow any new species on the islands, and fruit flies from the islands can’t be allowed loose on the Mainland. The charter base was across the runway, on the other side of the airport, from the main terminal.

The pilot was waiting for me in the charter operations office when I got there. He looked up when I arrived. “Are you Mister Buckman?” he asked.

“Yes, I am, Captain. Are you the pilot?”

“Yes, sir. We’re all prepped and ready, just waiting for you.”

“I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting. I’m ready when you are.”

“No apologies necessary, sir. Luggage?”

I shook my head. “It’s just a day trip. We’ll probably head back a few hours after we land. I just need to sign some papers and meet a few people. My only luggage is my briefcase.” I lifted it and showed him. I had repacked it prior to the trip, with the paperwork related to the Microsoft deal.

He pointed to a poster on the wall and asked, “Any fruits or vegetables?”

“Nope.”

“Well, then let’s get going.”

Taylor had outdone herself this time. It was my first time in a chartered jet since the vacation trip to the Bahamas. That had been in a Learjet, and while very nice, it was small. However a Learjet only had a range of about 1,500 miles and Hawaii to Washington is almost twice that. To fly that far you need more fuel, which means a bigger plane. That bigger plane turned out to be a Gulfstream II. If the Learjet was luxurious, the G-II was simply sybaritic! Best of all, the cabin was large enough that I could stand upright without my head going through the roof.

“I was told to prep the plane with a couple of bottles of champagne, one for the flight there and one for the flight back,” said the captain, pointing to a small refrigerator in the front bulkhead.

I laughed at that. “My travel agent is being a bit too thorough. I am certainly not drinking before my trip. Maybe on the way home.” I told the pilot my plans, to sleep on the trip. He dug out a blanket and a few pillows for me, and promised to wake me before we began our descent.

“Well, we don’t have a flight attendant, just a copilot. Take a seat. I’m sure you know how to use a seat belt,” he said.

Through the doorway to the cockpit, I saw the back of a second man in the copilot’s seat. I smiled and nodded. “And in the event of an emergency, bend over, put your head between your legs, and kiss your sweet ass good-bye!”

“You’ve flown with us before! You already know the important stuff!” He headed into the front office and I grabbed a very comfortable and plush seat with a good view out the right side. A couple of minutes later the engines whined into life, and we began to move.

I didn’t actually see anything; once we got airborne, it was pitch black out. I reclined the seat and caught some shuteye. It had been a long day and it was late. I had showered and shaved and changed my clothes before we left, putting on a suit. Now I kicked off my shoes and tossed my jacket onto the seat opposite me, and decided on forty winks.

True to his word, the captain announced over the intercom we were approaching SeaTac about half an hour before we were scheduled to land. I stretched and rubbed my eyes, and then moved the seat upright. I wasn’t fully rested, but I was still better off than if I had stayed awake. I unbuckled and shuffled back to the bathroom, which was small, but functional. I used the facilities and washed my face. I didn’t have a toothbrush, but I swilled some water around my mouth. Maybe I could do that once we landed.

As the plane began to descend, I headed back to my seat. I decided that if travel like this was going to be more common, I needed to develop a ‘go bag’ similar to what a lot of us had in the 82^nd. A lot of experienced soldiers make up a special bag that they can grab whenever they are heading somewhere with no notice. They keep it in their car or their office or wherever. It might typically have a small toilet kit, a change of underwear and socks, a bottle of their favorite booze, some cash, and (usually) a handgun and spare ammo. I figured something like that would be very useful, though maybe not with the gun.

I was presentable by the time we had landed at SeaTac. A limo was waiting for me at the charter center, but it was simple, not one of those ridiculous stretch Hummers that would be popular in another twenty years, but simply a large and comfortable Cadillac with a driver.

Still, first things first. I looked at my watch and said, “I need to find a drug store and grab some breakfast. Something simple, Mickey Ds or something like that. Can we do that?”

“Can do! Which do you want first?”

I thought for a second. “Drug store, then breakfast.”

We headed out and found a drug store, where I bought a toothbrush and some toothpaste, and then we headed to a McDonald’s for a quick Egg McMuffin. This was definitely a guilty pleasure. You know they have absolutely no redeeming nutritional value and are loaded with salt and cholesterol and fats, but they just taste so good! After breakfast I scurried into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, tossing my new gear into the back of my briefcase.

I hustled my ass back out to the limo (the driver had turned down my offer of breakfast) and gave him the thumbs up sign and told him to move us along. We got to the Microsoft offices a few minutes before nine. I found both Jake and John waiting for me in the lobby. Jake had been staying in Bellevue since we started this project; John had flown in on the first available flight this morning, flying commercial out of Philly. We greeted each other, and then Jake led us into a small office he had commandeered during his and Junior’s due diligence work.

“Everything all set?” I asked.

Jake nodded. “The schedule is that we’ll do the signing at ten, in the main conference room, followed by some champagne and snacks, I believe.”

“Champagne at ten in the morning,” remarked John, shaking his head and smiling.

“Let’s just make sure we do the signing before the champagne!” I laughed.

“No kidding!”

“I have to tell you, Taylor was just a little too efficient with that flight she got me. She had two bottles of champagne loaded on, one for each leg of the flight. I skipped it last night, so now I have two bottles still on the plane. They are going to have to pour me off that thing!”

Both Jake and John laughed at that. “So, you have one, and share one with Marilyn. How’s your vacation going?” asked Jake.

“Just fine, until I left her all alone on our vacation. I’ll make it up to her, maybe with that bottle of champagne.” I looked around. “Where’s Missy and Junior? I thought they would be here, too.”

John shook his head. “Jake Junior decided to head home. We didn’t need his signature on anything, so he took off Friday night. Missy was supposed to come, but changed her mind at the last minute.” I gave him a curious glance, and he continued, “Something’s going on with her. I think there’s a problem or two on the home front.”

I grimaced at that. We had designed the operation to be closely held and to stay that way. If one of us died, the Buckman Group had to buy out the shares of the deceased at the market value. A spouse could not inherit the shares. I didn’t know what a divorce would involve, and didn’t want to find out. “We’ll be flying home this weekend. Maybe I can ask her next week. Or you can ask her when you get home. I’ve known Melissa almost as long as I’ve known you, John, but I can’t say as I’ve ever met her husband.”

“Me neither. Then again, maybe it’s nothing. I’ll let you know when you get back. There’s nothing we can do about it now, in any case.”

“Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow,” added Jake. I nodded agreement.

We started discussing what was going to take place, and then a secretary came in and ushered us to the conference room. The Microsoft team was already inside, and a number of papers were laid out on the conference room table. Introductions were made first. I remember that Bill Gates was wearing a suit and tie, which was unusual for him. Also present was his father William Gates, Jr., a prominent Seattle attorney in his own right, and who was obviously involved in the stock purchase. He shook hands with me, and I lingered in front of him. “It’s very much a pleasure to meet you, Mister Gates. I have to say, your son must make you very proud. This is quite an accomplishment.” I waved my arm around lazily, as if taking in the entire company.

“Thank you, Doctor Buckman. Bill has said many kind things about you. I think his most interesting comment was that he wished you had gone to work for him when you got out of college, and not the army,” he said with a smile.

I smiled and shook my head. “I think I have the independent bug as much as he does. I do have to ask, though, what did you think when he told you that he was dropping out of college to start up a computer programming company?”

He glanced over at his son and grinned hugely. “I thought he was nuts!” We all laughed at that, Bill Junior also.

After that, we all sat down around the table and started reviewing paperwork and signing. On our side of the table, it was John as chairman and me as the president; on the other side it was Bill Gates and James Towne, the new president of the company. He was supposed to be the designated grownup, but I knew it wouldn’t last. They were just too different. Also in the room was Dave Marquardt, who was on the board and represented Technology Venture Investors. They had bought six percent of the company a year ago. The Buckman Group would probably be the last outside investor until the IPO. Eventually, after we had all suffered from terminal finger cramp, it was finished. John slid a check across the table. Several bottles of champagne were brought out and we had a quick celebration.

It was during this period that Bill came up to me, with one of his senior programming developers, and asked, “Remember when you were out here the last time. You commented on a menu program you had developed. Did you ever do anything more with it?”

I had almost forgotten that during the signing, but I had been a good Boy Scout ahead of time and was prepared. I set my champagne down and went over to my briefcase. “Actually, I did do some work ahead of time, in case you were interested. I just forgot about it until now.” I pulled out a 5¼" floppy and some printouts, and handed them to Gates, who handed them off to the programmer. “Put that into a PC and run it from the command prompt,” I said. I laid the documentation out on the table and picked up one of the pens we had been signing with.

I noticed the rest of the room staring at Gates and me as I led him through the printout on the menu program. I ran down through the logic and discussed shell operations and non-shell operations, which were important in that period of limited memory. “Most of it I wrote in Assembler, since I don’t have access to your source code. I never gave it a name. If you want it, it’s yours. Just send me something to assign it to you.” We then had a brief discussion of programming choices. “If you guys can’t tighten this up and clean it up, I’ve invested my money with the wrong people,” I finished, smiling.

“I really wish you had come here instead of the Army,” smiled Bill.

I simply shook my head. “We’d have butted heads at some point. Besides, my home is back east, not out here.”

Later, when we were in a corner, Jake gave me a funny look, with John joining him. “You really do understand this stuff, don’t you?” he commented to me.

I nodded. “I really do.”

John asked, “So, why did you give them that program? Why didn’t you go into business on your own?”

“It’s only going to be useful for the next few years. After that the computers will be more powerful and the programming environment will have changed. Besides, I don’t need to be a competitor. You watch. Bill Gates is like a shark after chum. He will run roughshod through this industry. I don’t need him chasing me.” Then I just grinned at them. “Besides, that would be like… work! I’m too lazy for that!”

John rolled his eyes and Jake snorted. The meeting broke apart before noon.

I led the others outside, stopping on the front walkway to take a deep breath. I looked at the others and said, “You have no idea guys, but we just became a billion dollar company! Jesus Christ! I am going to drink those two bottles of champagne on the plane. I have been having nightmares something was going to derail this at the last moment.”

“A billion dollars? Us?” asked John incredulously.

“I know the upside is big, but that big?” asked Jake.

I snorted and took another deep breath. “You just have no idea what they are doing. In five years, this place will have done an IPO and will have a billion dollar capitalization. What’s six percent of a billion dollars? What will it be in ten years? Ten billion, twenty billion? Come on John, even a lawyer can figure this out! What’s six percent of twenty billion dollars?”

John’s eyes bugged out at that. Jake commented there would be some dilution at the time of the IPO, but I just waved it off. “Guys, if we can find a few more deals like this, we are all going to make a fortune!” I saw my driver standing by the limo, and I waved him towards us. He got back into the car, and I turned back to Jake and John. “Gentlemen, this has been a good day for us. I want to thank you both, and make sure you thank Missy and Junior for me. I’ll be back in the office on Monday in any case, and I’ll thank them as well.” We shook hands and I got into the limousine and left.

I had too much nervous energy on the flight back to Hawaii to nap, and not enough energy to do any more work. I sorted some papers in my briefcase before saying ‘Fuck it!’ to myself. At that point I looked inside the mini-fridge and found the two bottles of champagne, and pulled a bottle out, and then grabbed a flute. These I set on a table, and then I knocked on the door to the cockpit. The door popped open and the pilot came out. “What can I do for you, Doctor Buckman?”

I smiled at that. Very few people called me Doctor anymore. It might be useful as tech credentials, but that was about it. “I think I’m going to have a drink, some of that champagne, but before I do that, I have a question to ask. Can I make a phone call from this plane?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I can have the tower relay a message to somebody, but we really aren’t rigged for that.”

“Okay, I wasn’t sure. Would it be possible to get a message to the charter office to call my wife and let her know when we are scheduled to land? Later, I mean, not now, say an hour before we land.”

“Sure thing. Want to sit up here? The view’s better,” he asked, pointing to the co-pilot’s seat. “Joe can move if you want.”

I waved him off. “The last thing you need is me sitting up here drinking and playing with all the buttons. Maybe some other trip!”

He laughed and nodded, and moved back into the cockpit. I just shook my head and smiled. I knew my limitations, and I somehow figured that being a pilot was beyond them! It’s one thing to jump out of airplanes, quite another to drive them. I closed the cockpit door and went back to the table and grabbed the bottle of champagne. Moet & Chandon, one of the good ones. I knew I was paying for it, so I might as well enjoy it. I carefully removed the wire cage and popped the cork, and then filled my flute. The G-II was flying as smooth as silk, and as I looked around the cabin, I decided that this really was the way to travel!

I decided to mention it to Marilyn. If before the goal had been, even if only jokingly, to build my equity to $100 million, so I could buy an island getaway, maybe I needed to think bigger. How much do you need to be worth to be able to afford your own G-II or G-III? Five hundred million? A billion? A fellow could get used to living like this!

I drank my first glass of champagne, and then set down my glass and rooted through my briefcase for a pad and a pen. What other good stocks or situations were there for us to invest in? Dell started up in the Eighties, I remembered. I jotted Michael Dell down on my pad. Who else? I thought about Steve Jobs, but the time to invest with him was in the future. Don’t invest with Steve Jobs I, the developer of the Apple computers, invest with Steve Jobs II, the inventor of the IPhone and the IPod and the IEverythingElse!

I knew that if I was to see the names in the paper, I would be able to recollect what they were up to and whether to invest or not. I also needed to split the investments into two categories — buy and keep for a good, long time, and buy and keep until something bad was going to happen! The first category would probably be Microsoft, but the second might include some companies with a hot technology that would wow the world for a few years, and then fall by the wayside. For instance, buy Motorola when their cell phones took off in a few years, but then dump them for Nokia, and after that, dump Nokia for Research In Motion (the Blackberry) or Apple. This was a good long term project for Melissa. If she couldn’t do it, she would know the best investment research firms to track down the info.

I sat there and sipped my champagne and made notes. After a while, I noted my handwriting was getting sloppy and my champagne bottle was empty. That was when I realized I didn’t want to make any more notes! I collected my wits enough to cram my crap back in my briefcase, and then buried the dead soldier and pulled his brother from the fridge. No use flying on only one wing, which was a singularly inappropriate metaphor when actually flying, I realized.

I was in the process of opening the second bottle when the intercom chimed, and the captain came on, to announce, “We’ll be starting our descent in about five minutes, Doctor Buckman. We should be back on the ground in Honolulu in half an hour. I radioed ahead and the charter office was going to call your home number.”

I would have thanked him, but couldn’t find a speaker button, or even if we had one, so I just yelled loudly, “THANK YOU!” I had no idea if he heard me, so I poured myself another glass of champagne, and sipped it as the plane nosed over and powered down and made a slight turn. I continued sipping my glass as we landed smoothly and taxied to the hangars.

After we came to a stop, the pilot came out of the cockpit and smiled as he saw me. “Feeling happy, are we?”

“Feeling very happy, captain! This is definitely the way to fly!”

He laughed. “Well, let me get the door open, and you can tell that to your reception committee! You can’t leave until the Agriculture people release you, but somebody’s already on the way.”

My reception committee? I looked out the right side window but didn’t see anything, and it was only when the pilot started opening the hatch that I remembered the door was on the left side of the plane. I got up and looked out a left side window, and muttered, “Oh, shit!” to myself. Not only was Marilyn there, but so were Harlan and Anna Lee, and the boys! They were going to witness good old Carl Buckman climbing off the plane half potted! Nothing to do but brazen it out.

I pulled my jacket on, grabbed the bottle of champagne in one hand and my briefcase in the other, and made it to the stairs without stumbling. The bright Hawaiian sunlight was almost blinding as I got to the door, so fumbled my sunglasses on before leaving the bird. I stopped on the top step and threw my arms wide. “Hail the conquering hero!”

A guy in a uniform came up, smiling. He was walking an adorable beagle wearing a vest. I handed him my declaration form, swearing I didn’t have any fruits, vegetable, soil, seeds, or animals. He glanced at my form and said, “Well, Killer, he carrying anything?” The beagle started sniffing me and my briefcase.

“Killer? That’s Killer?” I asked.

“You don’t think he looks terrifying?” he asked, smiling.

“Only to pussycats.”

Killer failed to find me in violation of the law, so I was waved through. I waved to everyone again.

“He’s drunk!” commented Harlan.

“Carling! You’ve been drinking!” complained Marilyn.

I simply grinned and came closer. “Just the one bottle, honey. I’ve hardly touched this one!”

Harlan laughed, even as he stared at the plane. Marilyn was not as amused. “This one? You’ve had two bottles of champagne!?”

“Well, I haven’t finished this one yet. Here, want a drink?” I passed her the bottle. “Go on, it’s the good stuff!”

Marilyn stared at me in disbelief, until Anna Lee laughed and said, “Go ahead, I’ll be the designated driver.” Marilyn groaned and gave me a dirty look, but then she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a swig. She passed the bottle back to me, and I took a swallow, and then passed it to Harlan.

Harlan looked at the label and shook his head. He took a healthy swallow as well, and then asked, “Okay, what gives? Just what the hell do you do?” He climbed on board the Gulfstream and looked around, and then came back out. “Unbelievable! What the hell do you do that has you staying at the Royal Hawaiian and flying around like this?”

I looked over at Marilyn, who had taken another sip from the champagne. “Well, go ahead and tell them. No use hiding it anymore.” She handed me the bottle again.

I shrugged and had another swallow. “Okay, here goes.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card holder, and pulled one of my cards out, and handed it to Harlan.

Harlan looked at it, looked up at my smiling face, and then looked back down at the card. “President and CEO of the Buckman Group, Private Equity and Capital? What the hell is this?”

“I told you I worked for an investment company, right? That’s it. I own the company. I’m the Buckman in the Buckman Group.”

Both Harlan and Anna Lee stared at me for a second. I had another swallow of champagne, and passed the bottle to Marilyn. I chuckled as Charlie tried to take it from her. His mother kept it out of his reach while she had another swallow, and then she passed it to Harlan. “Here, finish this off.”

Harlan finished the bottle off and we set the empty in the back seat of the Lincoln. “So, you’re rich, right? You have to have some bucks to be in, whatever this is. What is private equity and capital, anyway?”

I leaned back against the car. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We can explain it along the way.”

“You can explain it,” said Marilyn. “I don’t have a clue what you do. Hell, I didn’t even know you had money this time last year!”

“Hey, I never lied to you. I just never told you everything. There’s a difference,” I protested.

“Whatever! Come on, let’s go, and you can explain it all. Maybe they’ll understand it better than I do.”

I didn’t explain all that much for the five minute drive back to the Royal Hawaiian. The boys were getting fussy and Roscoe was smelling like he needed a change. We bundled the boys inside and spent ten minutes sorting them out. I was tempted to open another bottle of wine up, but decided I would probably pass out if I did. Finally, when the boys were in cribs or sleeping, Harlan asked for an explanation. “So, what is this Buckman Group, and what is private equity?”

It took me about ten minutes to explain private equity and capital to the Buckminsters, both of who seemed to understand the concepts. The Buckman Group also seemed to go over, although Harlan asked the inevitable question — “So where did you get the money to start this? Is it family money?”

I shook my head. “Definitely not. For one thing, my family doesn’t have this kind of dough, nowhere near it, in fact. For another thing, I’m the black sheep of the family. I’ve never received a penny from them. I haven’t even seen my family since the wedding, and that was the first time I had seen them in years. Except for my sister, of course. She and I are close, but that’s it.”

“Why not?” asked Anna Lee. “What’s wrong with you and your family?”

I smiled and shook my head. “I haven’t had anywhere near enough to drink to start talking about my family. No, trust me when I say I never got the money from them. I did it the old fashioned way, I earned it. I’ve had a brokerage account since I was thirteen years old, and I am very, very good at picking stocks. By the time I got to college, I didn’t even need a scholarship, I could have paid my own way if I wanted to.”

Harlan’s eyes goggled at that. He was as patriotic as the next guy, but a big piece of why he went army was the ROTC scholarship. “So why did you take the ROTC scholarship?” he asked.

“Why not? I wanted to go in the army anyway, even if just for a few years. I gave the Army four-and-a-half years and a blown knee and seventeen live paratroopers in the end. They can’t say they didn’t get their money’s worth out of me.”

“So, how much are you worth?”

“How much are you worth, Harlan? That’s not a question people ask, generally. Millions. If this Buckman Group thing works out as well as I think it will, billions. That’s why I never told you anything. People get weird when they know you have serious bucks.”

“Billions?!” said both Marilyn and Harlan. Anna Lee just stared with her mouth open.

“Probably within ten years.” I grinned over at my wife. “Just remember that the next time you think you want to kill me. The longer you hold off, the more you’ll be able to inherit!”

“There’s times I think it would be worth it!” she said, and then gave me a raspberry.

I waggled my eyebrows at her lewdly. “That’s not what you said before!” That got me another raspberry.

“So, what were you signing on?” asked Harlan.

I shook my head. “As of now, that’s confidential. In a few years’ time, when the company goes public, I will be able to tell you, but for right now, I can’t say. I will say, it’s going to be very, very big!”

“Huh.” He thought for a second. “So, can anybody buy into this group?”

“Sorry, but we are very closely held. I have four partners in this, and they all had to cough up a quarter mill each. That being said, you never know. Some day we might want to do a sale ourselves. If that happens, I’ll let you know.”

Harlan rolled his eyes. “Man, I never knew a millionaire, let alone a billionaire.”

I grinned. “You still haven’t! Give me ten years, though, and I’ll have that and more!”

“Unreal!”

“Listen, I’m still the same guy who smacked the Orange Army around with you way back when. I am not about to start buying mansions around the world. The next time you are back on the mainland, plan to take a few days and visit us in Maryland. You’ll see! Yes, we’re building a house, but it’s just a simple rancher. We don’t have servants or chauffeurs. I promise you, nothing has changed. We’ll do a barbecue on the deck, just like the others we’ve had.”

Harlan rolled his eyes. “Maybe not! We don’t need to try and set the deck on fire like we did in Fayetteville!”

“Oh, shit, no! That was all Marilyn’s fault anyway!” Marilyn flipped us both a middle finger as we recounted the last barbecue, last summer before I went to Honduras. Marilyn had come out to the rear balcony and tripped on the little hibachi grill, kicking it over and spilling hot coals all over everything. Harlan and I had to hop around and put it out with the only thing we had available — our beers!

It’s like I said before. Anything involving Marilyn and food has a tendency towards disaster. She has superhuman powers in this regard.

Chapter 75: Back Home

We flew home on Saturday. Harlan and Anna Lee were treating us like normal again by Wednesday, which was a damn good thing. They were too good a pair of friends to lose because they couldn’t handle our having money. Tusker and Tessa had handled it well, but Tusker had figured it out on his own. We made them promise to visit us sometime in the summer of ’83 when he had built up some leave.

We flew home on Saturday, and since the time zones are working against you, we landed sometime on Sunday. We were both totally exhausted, and fell asleep as soon as we got to the town house. It was at times like this that I truly envied Marilyn’s ability to fall asleep anytime and anywhere, within ten seconds of closing her eyes. Now, if I could only figure out a way to control her snoring…

Monday morning I woke up early, did my workout, and then cleaned up and left early. I drove over to the house and discovered that the framing was finished and it was actually starting to look like a house, and not a war zone in the mud. Happy, I headed back towards civilization and went to the office. We had our regular Monday morning meeting, and it was pretty positive.

“Well, I’m simply going to start off by saying thank you to everybody here. There were a whole lot of ways this thing could have fallen through, and it didn’t. This was what will prove to be a potentially gargantuan deal,” I told them. “So, here’s my agenda for today. First and foremost, thank you all. We worked hard, we worked as a team, and we got this accomplished faster than I thought we could. I just came back from vacation. Now it’s your turn. Everybody needs to call Taylor and schedule a vacation.”

John and Jake looked surprised at that, Junior had a thoughtful look, and Missy smiled, but otherwise seemed a touch distracted. Jake said, “A vacation?”

I nodded. “I don’t care whether the company pays for it or I pay for it. Everybody gets a week. Get crazy, Jake.”

“Huh?”

I grinned at him some more. “Let’s put a limit on it. You get one week anywhere in North America or the Caribbean, airfare, rooms, whatever. Take a cruise, go skiing, hang-glide over the Grand Canyon. I don’t care. Take your wife, too, if you want. Or your mistress. Hell, take them both!” That got me a bagel thrown in my direction. “Just call Taylor and sort it out.”

Junior smiled and muttered, “Wow!” The others just looked at each other and smiled.

“Second item on the agenda. We need to debrief what we did right on this deal and what we did wrong. We can always improve. We’ll be doing more deals as time goes on. How do we do them better? Third item — over the next few days I want to meet with each of you individually. Same questions, what are we doing right, what are we doing wrong, how do we do things better? The final item is what do we do next? I want to go over that with you all as well.” I looked around the table and saw everybody nodding in agreement and understanding. I grabbed a notepad and a pen, and said, “Let’s get started.”

The next few days were busy and productive. If nothing else, doing the Microsoft deal had boosted our confidence that we could actually pull something like this off. Maybe we weren’t all crazy! There were some valid concerns. For one thing, we would need to boost the staffing on the legal and accounting ends, in order to do the due diligence and reviews necessary. If we did that, then we needed to start accounting for costs involved in the purchases and investments, so we had to set something up for that. There was considerable concern about where we would come up with the next few deals. If we got big enough, people would come to us, but for the time being, it was much more likely that we would need to find the deals, and not the reverse.

By mid-week it was obvious to me that John had been correct about Melissa. She was definitely distracted about something. I asked her about it when we met one-on-one. “Melissa, is everything all right? You’ve seemed a little distracted lately.”

She shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

“Are you sure? I’ve been noticing you’re acting differently lately, and it’s not just me. John and Jake mentioned it also.”

She reacted angrily to that. “Is that what you guys do? Gossip about me behind my back?”

I held up my hands pleadingly. “Missy, you’ve known us a long time now. You know we wouldn’t do that. We’re your friends and we’re worried for you. Are you feeling all right? Is it your health? Or is it something at home?”

That got a bit of a response, if only in the way her eyes flickered around. “My health is just fine. I don’t see why this is anybody’s business!” I just sat there silently and waited for a further response. A few seconds later she sighed and continued, “It’s not my health. It’s Bob. We’ve been drifting apart. It’s only getting worse these days. When I told him the other night about the vacation trip, it was like he didn’t care.”

It was my turn to sigh. Personal lives are a minefield for a boss to get involved in, but Melissa was the type of person who wore her heart on her sleeve. Some people can compartmentalize their work and personal lives, but some can’t, and Melissa Talmadge was the latter. “Has this been going on for some time?” I asked.

That got me a shrug and a nod. “I had been hoping that the baby would bring us closer again, but it hasn’t. Things have been shifting, sort of, since last year.”

That made me think a bit. Melissa had had her baby the first week of July, so it was now a couple of months past that. “I don’t know what to tell you on this one, Missy. Do you think it’s over?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t said anything, but something’s wrong. I mean, it’s been a couple of months now, and he and I, well, nothing, you know.”

I gave a wry grimace at that. Missy was a good looking woman, and had certainly lost the weight she had gained with the baby. If her husband wasn’t taking care of business again, there was something wrong. As delicately as I could, I asked, “Do you think his interests have… shifted?”

She looked at me some more and shrugged. “If you’re asking is he cheating on me, I don’t think so. I mean, I know the wife is always the last to know, but there’s no strange phone calls, he’s not suddenly staying late at work, or taking sudden trips. There’s no lipstick stains on the collar. And I’m not fooling around on him, either. I think we’re just drifting apart.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. If there’s anything that I or the rest of us can do, let us know.”

“Is it that obvious? Is it affecting what we’re doing?” she asked.

“It’s obvious, but it’s not a problem. We just want you to be happy.”

“I wish I could separate myself like that. You seem to be able to do it. How do you keep your business and personal lives separate?”

I scratched my head at that. “Years of practice, I guess,” I answered. “I’ve always been able to do that, even as a kid. Maybe it comes from having to keep secrets from a psychotic family. It’s not always great. I know Marilyn would like me to be more open at home, and sometimes I’m not. You can be too separated, and that’s what I have to watch out for.”

We split apart at that. I didn’t know how to help, but I knew it wouldn’t help if I blabbed it out to the others. I just mentioned that she was having a few issues at home, and to leave her be.

It was now into early September, and it was obvious to everybody that the severe slump the stock market had been in for a few years was ending. We were getting concrete indications that the coming computerization of almost everything was underway, and was having a profound effect on the entire economy. Missy and I went over our holdings and where we thought they were heading, and began shifting the portfolio. For years we had been invested in a high oil cost and recession based portfolio. Now we were going to shift into a tech mode. That was where the biggest returns were.

Our next investment was in late September, and was brought to us, surprisingly, by Jake Junior. He announced it at a Monday morning meeting in a roundabout manner. “What’s the procedure for introducing a business proposal?” he asked.

I looked at the others and shrugged. “I think you just did. What’s up?”

“Well, I have this close friend from college, and he’s gone into business for himself. This is sort of like you and your friend Jim Tusk, I think. Anyway, back when we graduated, he wanted me to go into business with him, but I was already planning on law school. We’ve stayed in touch, and he’s invited me back on board a couple of times. I want to help him, but I don’t want to leave here, and I am pretty sure he is looking for an investment, and not just me. He’s legit, though, not just looking for me to bring money,” he stressed.

“What’s his name? Do I know him?” asked Junior’s father.

“It’s Barry Bonham. You met him a couple of times, at school. He was my roommate my junior and senior years.”

“What kind of business is it?” asked John.

“Well, that’s the thing. It’s not anything computer related, and I know that’s where we’re headed. It’s a pet supply company.”

“Pets?!” asked John.

Junior nodded sheepishly, as if it was embarrassing. “It’s called ‘Tough Pup’, and they make pet toys and chews.”

Tough Pup?! That name rang a bell! A good bell! “Like what?” I asked.

“Well, you know, tug of war toys and ropes, rawhide chews, for dogs. Really good ones, too! The ropes and toys are practically indestructible!” Junior was getting excited about this.

“Where is this company?” asked Melissa.

“Here! Well, Baltimore, actually. Barry rented an old warehouse over in Pimlico and set up inside it. He’s been in business for a couple of years, and has been growing the business, but to get bigger, he needs capital, and nobody wants to invest. He was telling me that unless it had a computer in the name, nobody was interested.”

I snorted at that. If he thought it was bad now, wait a few more years. I remembered a company named Tough Pup that made all sorts of pet supplies, it was a brand name for Hartz or Sargent or one of the big pet care companies. Maybe this was how it started out!

I looked around the table and shrugged. “I think it all depends on the company’s growth potential and how much we would be on the hook for and how much we would get out of it. I like the idea of investing locally. It’s not like Baltimore is overflowing with jobs, either.”

Jake Senior and John nodded agreement, and Missy simply shrugged. “We’ll need to know more, a lot more,” she said.

“Agreed,” I added. I looked over at Junior. “Well, let’s figure this out. You’re obviously the point guy. Get together with your buddy and work up a business plan. You mentioned my friend Tusker. Before I ever loaned him a penny, I made him go over the business plan a dozen times, with all sorts of stuff detailed, just like in business school. He might be your friend, but we have to do it like a real business.”

Junior’s eyes lit up. “So, we’ll do it!?”

His father squashed that. “No, we’ll think about it! We’ll want to see a plan, we’ll need to review the books, see the facilities, meet the principals — you know, like a business!”

I smiled at Junior. “Jake, we’ll give it a fair shake. Give it a shot. We’re here to back you up. Meet with your friend and see what he has to say, and then go to work on it. This is your baby. Let’s see how it goes.”

After the meeting, he bounced out full of energy. The rest of us simply smiled at each other and shook our heads in amusement. His father said, “I’ll ride herd on him. I won’t let him screw this up, if it’s real.”

“Just remember, you’re not just his partner, you’re his father,” I told him.

Jake snorted. “At home I’m his father. Here I’m his partner and I’m going to ride him ragged. Let’s see how he likes it in the big leagues.” That got a laugh from the rest of us.

A few weeks later, Marilyn decided to have a birthday party for Charlie. Just how much a one year old gets out of this is beyond me, but I wasn’t asked, and any opinions I had were not to be volunteered. Of course Tusker, Tessa, and Bucky were invited, and so was Missy and her brood, along with several moms and babies from around the town house complex. I simply wish she had done the party on Charlie’s birthday, October 12, which was a Tuesday. That way I could have pleaded work or something, and skipped out. No, she did it on the Saturday before, and I was stuck. I love my son, but exactly what a one year old was going to do was questionable at best.

Charlie was now walking, sort of, somewhat unsteadily, and with the same manic energy as a Marine hitting the beach — he didn’t go around obstacles, he went through them! I was detailed to put several items together. Some assembly required, no batteries included, etc. etc. etc. It’s too bad the party was non-alcoholic. Both Tusker and I would have enjoyed it more.

We would close on the Tough Pup investment in November, and Jake Junior was our man on the Board of Directors. He was nervous about it and I sat him down in my office to talk about it. “What am I supposed to do as a director?” he asked me. We were scheduled to sign the papers at the end of the week, Friday November 19.

I smiled at that. Calendar wise, at 27 I was only a year or so older than Jake; experience wise I had many decades on him. “You do what has to be done. Here’s a hint, though. God gave you two ears and one mouth, so use them in that proportion. Keep your mouth shut, to start with, and just listen. It’s their company. We’re just buying a piece of it, not the majority, so they get to decide what to do.”

Jake nodded, so I continued. “For one thing, the most important thing for you to remember is who you work for. By that I mean the Buckman Group, not Tough Pup. You’re our representative. Always remember that whatever you do over there, and whatever they do, will reflect back on this company and on me personally. We can always make some more money. We can’t always make a new reputation!”

“Carl, I would never…”

I held my hands up to forestall him. “I never thought you would, or you would never have been invited in. All I’m saying is you need to keep an eye on the things that you are involved in. This goes to your personal life, too. The last thing in the world anybody wants to see in the newspaper is your name, Jake Eisenstein, Vice President of the Buckman Group, in the police blotter for drunk driving or something equally stupid.”

Jake smiled and rolled his eyes. “My old man would kill me!”

I smiled. “I’ll hold you down and let him! Anyway, as far as the business goes, your biggest job is to understand what their plans are and to let us know about them. They seem like a good operation, otherwise we wouldn’t be doing this. Learn from it. Keep your mouth shut. If you don’t understand something, ask them. Always praise in public, always chew somebody out in private. Management 101 stuff. Have some fun, too. Maybe you’ll meet a girl who’ll be impressed by your being on the Board of Directors of something!”

Jake’s eyes widened at that. He was single, and as far as I knew, between girlfriends. He grinned. “I don’t think I’ll tell my mother that idea.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed.

That Friday morning we all drove down to Pimlico to sign the papers. Despite his tough persona with his son, it was obvious that Jake Senior was very proud of how Jake was working out. For this deal, we had hired a couple of tax lawyers to review what we were doing. There’s just a shitload of crap that has to be reviewed! One thing I noticed on this last trip was a bulletin board with pictures of various dogs and puppies on it. These guys really loved their animals!

We had some time before the signing, and I was looking over some of the photos, when a young black girl came over and put a Polaroid on the board, showing some black and brown puppies, along with a note about how they were available for adoption. She looked up at me and asked, “You looking for a puppy, mister?”

I laughed. “Haven’t really thought about it. You guys are big into your pets here.”

She smiled and nodded. “It’s practically a requirement. You coming to work here?”

“No, not really. You work here?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’m over in the rawhide chew section.”

I noticed she had on a hair net and a white smock. “That your uniform? What do you do with rawhide chews?”

“We have to be real clean over there. I do quality control. You don’t want a bunch of sick puppies, do you!” She was a nice girl, maybe about twenty, tops, with a very earnest look to her.

“No, that would be a really lousy thing to do. You like your job?”

“Yes, sir.” She tapped the picture of the puppies. “You looking for a puppy? My brother’s got a new litter. They’re adorable!”

I looked at the photo again. Momma was laying on her side, with a bunch of brown and black puppies surrounding her. Momma looked like a beagle, but I wasn’t so sure about the father. “Hadn’t really thought about it. What type are they?”

“Well, the mother is a beagle. The father is what we call a traveling man! We think he’s the boxer from next door, who managed to jump the fence,” she answered, laughing.

I had to laugh as well. “A boxer and a beagle! Now there’s a mix for you! Depending on who’s who, it’s either assault or ambition!”

“There’s no cost. We just want them to have a loving home.”

I gave it some thought. We would probably be able to move into the new house by Christmas, although we might take it slow. We had a number of months more to go before the lease on the town house was up. I liked dogs and had raised a number of them over the years. The puppies looked awfully cute, too.

A boy needed a dog. A house needed a dog.

I reached out and tore one of the little tabs off the sign, with a phone number and name on it. “Is this your name and number?”

“Yes, sir. The dogs are at my brother’s down the street. You interested?”

“Maybe. How old are they?”

We talked a few minutes more about the puppies, and the girl repeated several times how nice they were. At that point, John’s friend, Barry, the owner of Tough Pup, came out and asked, “Everything all right?”

The girl looked a touch nervous, but I just smiled and said, “Taniqua —” I turned and faced her. “Did I get that right?” She nodded mutely. “Taniqua is trying to talk me into a puppy for Christmas.”

“How’s her sales pitch?”

“Pretty good. I think you need to move her off the line and up the ladder.”

At this point Taniqua twigged to the fact that I was more than just hanging around the bulletin board, and got very nervous. “Excuse me, Mister Bonham, I’ll get back to work!” She scooted out of there quickly.

I just smiled at Bonham. “She seems like a nice kid.”

“She is. Are you really looking for a dog?”

“I’ll need to clear it with the boss, at home, but I might be. We’re in a town house now, but we’ll be in a new house by the end of the year. I’ve had dogs before.”

He glanced at the photo and smiled. “I can’t imagine working here if you didn’t like dogs. Cats, too. Once we get the funding, we’re already thinking about cat toys.”

“Good. I think the market for that is even larger.” We went into the conference room to sign papers.

I talked to Marilyn about it that night, and wasn’t surprised when she said yes. While the Lefleur family hadn’t owned pets, Marilyn certainly had nothing against them, and over the years we owned many dogs and cats. Saturday I called the phone number and got the directions to Taniqua’s home and we drove down there. It was in Pimlico, about half a mile from the race track, in a nice and neat black working class neighborhood. Marilyn was a touch nervous, but I had been in the area before, and it was quite safe. My father’s parents had owned a home in the neighborhood back before all the whites moved to the suburbs. Only the color changed; it had been a working class neighborhood before and still was. We met Taniqua, who was still living at home, and then she walked us down the street to her brother’s house. We set Charlie down to inspect the puppies, and five minutes later were the proud owners of a mutt!

She was just two months old, and barely weaned. Momma wasn’t looking at us very happily, playing with her baby. Charlie thought this was all just marvelous! He wanted all of them! I’m not that crazy. Taniqua asked who I was and what I was doing at the company, so I told her, and her eyes just about popped out of her head. I laughed and told her to tell her boss that she moved one of the puppies out, and ask him about that job in sales.

Five minutes after we got home, while Charlie stood there and watched, the puppy peed on the carpet. I was in the kitchen scrounging up an old newspaper to start paper training her. Marilyn called out, “Oh, honey, your dog just made you a present!”

I came back just in time to see the puppy starting to poop. “Oh, good Lord! You little dummy.”

Charlie was fascinated. He was also just starting to talk. He had figured out ‘Ma’ and ‘Da’ and was now in the point and babble stage, as well as trying to repeat whatever he heard. You spend the first year teaching them to walk and talk, and the next seventeen telling them to sit down and shut up! His eyes lit up and he started going, “Dum dum dum dum.”

And that’s how Dum-Dum got her name.

Chapter 76: Suzie’s Graduation

Saturday, May 28, 1983

The house was mostly complete by Thanksgiving, but there were still enough items on the punch list to keep us from moving in. The kitchen needed some more work, as did the hardwood floors, and the driveway was going to be gravel until the following spring, when the weather would allow us to lay down some blacktop. We were ready to move in by Christmas, but that was just too hectic. We would wait until January.

Dum-Dum got some nice presents at Christmas. Following the closing on the investment, everybody at the Buckman Group was added to the list for Tough Pup Christmas presents. We all got a gift basket with Tough Pup chew toys and rawhide chews, including some rope toys from their new red, white, and blue All American Pup collection! It warmed my heart to know that my dedicated service in the armed services of our great nation allowed us to protect our right to have patriotic puppies! Dum-Dum growled and tried to pull my arm from the socket when we played with the ropes. She was an official Tough Pup!

Marilyn’s family, all bazillion of them, came down the week between Christmas and New Years. They were on the way to Orlando and the time shares they had bought there. We offered to put them up for the night, but we only had the one spare bedroom, and they had a convoy of five cars and about twenty-some people! I made arrangements for them at the nearest motel, and let her parents and youngest siblings stay with us. The little ones camped out on the living room carpet in blankets. We did take them up to the new house, and they oohed and ahhed appropriately. We promised to come up in the spring, after the move, and stay for a few days before taking another parents-only vacation.

Business went smoothly. I hunkered down with Missy to come up with names of various investment possibilities. I also took her out to Bellevue for a board meeting, and introduced her to Bill Gates. The three of us tossed around various company names that he was familiar with, through his contacts on the west coast. One thing I had quickly figured out was that the venture capital business was much more about the size of your Rolodex than it was your wallet.

Our next technology deal was with a guy named John Walker, who lived in the San Francisco area. He had bought his company, Autodesk, in 1982 for $10 million, but that was mostly in deferred royalties. They were definitely cash-poor and idea-rich. Bill got us in the door and we put in 500 grand, which got us ten percent, and an option for another million before the IPO. I knew this was one of the companies that would last and be an industry leader, so I handed over my money and let him think he had put one over on us. This was going to become another multi-billion capitalization company.

We did a couple of small deals in the Baltimore area, and hired a couple of additional people for the tax law and due diligence aspects. They got a decent paycheck, but they didn’t become partners. By our accounting, the value of our investments was already worth quite a bit more than what we had started with, between the general market rise and the specific private equity deals we had done. When some of these outfits did their IPOs, we would be worth a fortune. Everybody started tossing ideas around for new investments. John, Jake Senior, and Melissa knew the local business environment better than I did (especially John, a very well connected lawyer), and Melissa and I were able to network with people for Silicon Valley deals.

Missy’s marriage collapsed shortly after the turn of the year. She didn’t talk much about it, but I got the impression that the pair just drifted apart. She never said he was catting around on her, and I didn’t think she was the type to fool around on him. John helped her find a decent lawyer, and while he didn’t take her husband to the cleaners, he did keep him from getting his hands on Missy’s shares in the company.

Missy moped around for a bit, and Marilyn and Taylor got to talking about it, and they decided to do an ‘intervention.’ They roped Andrea and Tessa and a few other women they knew into a Chippendales party. Okay, I don’t know if they were technically speaking the ‘Chippendales’ dance group, but it was a bunch of male strippers. She had done this a few times my first time around, too, and I knew exactly how it would turn out. I smiled when she told me she’d be home by eleven or so. As I expected, she came home somewhere around four in the morning, drunk as a skunk (they had rented a limo, I insisted on that), and horny. She had her way with me, I rolled over and went back to sleep, and Marilyn had a two day hangover the rest of the weekend. I have no idea what Missy did when they got her home, but she seemed happier afterwards.

Dum-Dum proved fairly easy to train, Marilyn not so much. It’s easy to train a dog and I had done it several times over the years. As soon as you catch them pooping or peeing in the wrong spot, you grab them, yell at them, rub their nose in it, and smack them with a newspaper. This is pretty standard stuff. On the other hand, Marilyn had never raised a puppy before, and thought I was heartless and cruel, since I was beating a poor and defenseless animal and rubbing their nose in it. I should only yell at them, or something like that, and I swear she actually found a book that she thought agreed with her. It didn’t, but it was so full of New Age bullshit, it was hard to tell. I had Dum-Dum trained by February.

The nice thing about the town house layout turned out to be the multi-level aspect to it. Our room was upstairs, and I made Dum-Dum sleep down in the kitchen, walled off by a baby gate. She whined, but you couldn’t hear her upstairs. Charlie just loved his new buddy, and they chased each other all around the place. Once she was housebroken, and we let her have free run of the place at night, she mostly slept in Charlie’s bedroom, which was just fine with Marilyn and me! On my first trip, we once had a dog that slept in bed with us, between and perpendicular to us! It made for difficulties in the romance department.

We moved into the new house the week after the Chippendales episode, and if Marilyn was still feeling under the weather, she had only herself to blame. Strangely, she didn’t appreciate my informing her of her own culpability in this state of affairs. In fact, every time I laughed at her, she extended her middle finger and said words that an impressionable young lad shouldn’t hear his mother saying!

The night after we moved in, the lights went out. We had a county-wide blackout. The next day I ordered up an emergency generator. What a pain in the balls!

I hate moving! This was the second time in a year we had done this, and both Marilyn and I vowed not to move again until they put us into pine boxes. I had a local moving company handle it, and it went smoothly, even if the entire process is a clusterfuck.

Everything in the house was muddy by the time we were done. One thing I had learned over the years is that all those beautiful construction site pictures had grass magically edited in. A real construction site is a muddy disaster! We had grass seed planted, and some hay blown around as cover, but it would take several months for anything to look like something other than raw construction.

By April Charlie’s language skills had developed to the point where he was speaking in complete sentences. “Dum-Dum poop!” is a sentence, right?

In April I took a couple of weeks off and made some arrangements with Taylor for another nice vacation. First we drove up to Utica in the Town Car, since it was the only thing big enough for the three of us plus Dum-Dum in a car cage. That was a long trip; by the end of the trip I was wishing we had Dum-Dum in the seat and Charlie in the cage! We stayed a few days with the Lefleurs, with Charlie and Dum-Dum living at the house, while Marilyn and I stayed at the Sheraton. Then we got a lift over to the Oneida County Airport, where Taylor had a Cessna Citation II waiting for us.

Our vacation was going to be in the Caymans, which was a place we had been to several times in a previous lifetime. The Citation II wasn’t as big as the G-II I had ridden in from Hawaii to Bellevue and back. It was a bit larger than the Learjet we had last year, with a longer range. I teased Marilyn about rejoining the Mile High Club, but she refused, pointing at the open doorway to the cockpit. I laughed and told her they could put their headphones on, and Marilyn’s eyes opened wide and she stared at me until I broke down and laughed at her. That wasn’t on my list of fetishes.

Taylor had rented us a villa on Grand Cayman, on the inner North Sound side of Seven Mile Beach. It wasn’t quite as large and as private as the estate on Eleuthera had been, but it was still private. Marilyn managed to work on her all over tan around our pool. I liked the place, but then I had always liked the Caymans. It consists of three islands, Grand Cayman, Little Cayman, and Cayman Brac, but almost the entire population lives on Grand Cayman, around 50,000 or more. The place is clean and civilized and modern, and simply very nice. There are a lot of restaurants and places to go and things to see and do.

I got Marilyn to talk about what she might want in a vacation home. “You’re serious?!”

“Sure, why not?”

“I thought you were joking.”

“I’m always serious about goofing off,” I said with as straight a face as I could muster.

My wife snorted at that. “That’s true enough. So you’re serious about this? We can buy a place somewhere?”

I nodded. “Yeah, why not? I don’t want to do it until we’re worth about $100 mill, but I figure that’s only another year or two, tops. Also, we’re only talking one place. I’m not going to buy a place on a half dozen different islands. So, what do you want in a vacation spot?”

Marilyn shook her head in mystification. “I have no idea!”

“Well, compare this place to last year, in Eleuthera. That was a lot smaller island, lower population, but the place we stayed was larger and had a much bigger beach and was more private.”

“Oh.” Marilyn gave it some thought and shrugged. “Maybe something in between. La Valencia was simply gorgeous, and it was so private, but there wasn’t anything to do there. Maybe something like that on a bigger island?”

I nodded and smiled. “Okay, that’s a good start. For our next trip, let’s ask Taylor about that. I want something that we can take the kids to for family vacations, but also come to by ourselves for an adult vacation.”

“Just how adult did you have planned?”

I smiled at her. We were just back from lunch, and we were both wearing t-shirts and shorts. Well, I was wearing shorts, and Marilyn had on a denim skirt, and I knew she had nothing else on. I crooked my finger at her and said, “Let’s talk about that,” and we spent the next few hours discussing in detail just what kind of adult vacations would be planned.

Both Dum-Dum and Charlie were growing like weeds. Dum-Dum was a bit of an odd looking mutt. She looked sort of like a small boxer, at least in shape and form, with bow legs and a barrel chest, and both parents had been short haired, but her head and face looked like her beagle mother, although a bit wrinkly. She was putting on about a pound or two a week all through the spring, but then leveled out at around 35 pounds. Charlie didn’t grow that fast, but he seemed to take after his mother’s family, with the blond hair of his uncles and a stocky build. He sure didn’t look like any Buckman I’d ever met!

During May, a date occurred that I was simply dreading. Suzie was graduating from the University of Delaware, with both her Bachelor’s in Nursing and her Registered Nurse credentials. I had missed it the first time around, but I couldn’t say that I was too busy now. In fact, Suzie really wanted me to come, and Marilyn was pushing for me to go.

Hamilton had loomed over the graduation on the first time through, with his failure to finish college. I had felt unbelievable pressure to succeed from my parents, to graduate, to marry, to have children, and to be successful. In later years, after talking to Suzie, she had told me the same had occurred with her. I remember how I felt so incredibly relieved when she graduated from college, simply so she could carry the burden of the family name along with me.

Now, things were even worse. My much greater success and independence had driven my brother over the edge, along with Mom, and Suzie found the pressures intolerable. She already had a job lined up at Johns Hopkins, and an apartment, and didn’t plan on moving back home.

We argued several times in the weeks leading up to the graduation. “This is simply a lousy idea, honey,” I told Marilyn. “There is no good reason for me to go, or you for that matter, and many good reasons not to. Suzie will understand. We can take her to dinner or have her out to the house.”

Marilyn looked at me in a manner to scare me! “Your sister loves you dearly and has specifically invited you to be there. You are going to her graduation. If you die along the way, I am to drag your corpse to the show! You will be there!”

“This is you and Suzie trying to get me and my family back together, and it won’t work. Why can’t you just accept this?”

“Because we love you and we know it kills you to be apart from them. Your father wants to talk to you, and you want to talk to him, I know you do!” she answered, in a pleading wail.

“It doesn’t matter! None of this matters! This isn’t about me or my dad, or even my mom. This is about Hamilton, and not one blessed thing the two of you cook up will change the fact that my brother is a raving lunatic, at least as far as I’m involved. This simply won’t work.”

We argued some more and she stomped away. We had several such arguments in the days leading up to the graduation, and I wasn’t winning any of them. Finally the day of the graduation came. We left at the crack of dawn in my car, with Charlie bundled into his car seat in the back. Dum-Dum we locked into the laundry room, with water and some Puppy Chow. It takes about an hour-and-a-half to get to Newark from our house, no matter whether you drive down to the Beltway and around the city to I-95, or cut across northern Baltimore County to pick up 95 directly. Both Charlie and Marilyn slept on the way. I was simply praying for a massive car crash to delay us for eight or nine hours.

Graduation was being held in the college stadium, which is certainly big enough, but made me wonder what would happen if it rained. Delaware is a fair sized state school, much larger than RPI, and would probably be graduating about 4,000 students. If everybody had four guests, and I knew that was probably low, there were probably going to be at least 16,000 in the throng. Joy!

I was right. The place was a zoo. The stadium only holds about 20,000 people, and it was full. Thankfully the weather held off and was nice. I had on a lightweight suit and Marilyn was wearing a very pretty dress, and even Charlie had on a new outfit. We sat there through the ceremony, couldn’t see where Suzie was, never heard her name being called, and waited until we could escape. Marilyn had a much better opinion of it all then I did. Afterwards we were to meet Suzie at one of the numbered side gates, so as soon as everybody got up, we headed down to the gate.

We maneuvered down to the designated gate, which was near where we sat, and waited for my sister to show. I couldn’t see any sign of my family, so maybe they were the ones in the car crash. I could always hope.

I looked over at Marilyn and thought she looked good. I thought the same about myself and Charlie. I felt like an idiot worrying about how we looked in front of people who weren’t expecting us and didn’t want to see us. Objectively, I was probably about as good looking and healthy as I had ever been in my life, either lives. I was staying fit, about 185 or so, and since I had gotten out of the service I had let my hair grow out. It wasn’t long, but it showed some of my natural waviness, and I had trimmed my mustache and goatee earlier in the week. I was still my natural dirty blond shade, and I hadn’t started graying yet. I was in a good suit, a muted light charcoal plaid, and I had my good black and brass cane. Marilyn looked just as good. She was still going to the gym with me most mornings, even if she grumbled and complained about it, and was far more toned and in shape than in our previous life. Today she was wearing a very nice blue print knee length dress, along with medium heel open toed pumps. Even Charlie had on a nice clean blue and yellow outfit, along with a little ‘Blue Hen’ sunhat on, all of which had been a Christmas present from Suzie. (The school colors are blue and yellow, and the school mascot and teams are the Blue Hens.)

After about five minutes we heard a squeal and Suzie came running towards us, her gown flapping in the breeze, and one hand up and holding her mortarboard on her head. “You made it!”

She looked more than cute, she looked beautiful. She had really blossomed as she grew up, and was very much the image of her mother, although she smiled a lot more. As soon as she got closer she waved at Charlie. “Charlie! Remember me? I’m your Aunt Suzie!”

Charlie’s face lit up, and it was obvious he did remember her. He babbled out, “Aun’ Soo! Aun’ Soo!” and struggled to get out of his stroller. Marilyn set him loose and he toddled over to Suzie, who laughed and picked him up.

“Well aren’t you a big boy!”

“Aun’ Soo! Aun’ Soo!” Both Marilyn and I smiled at this. Not all of my family was fucked up. Charlie reached up and began grabbing for Suzie’s tassel, which fascinated him. Eventually she simply took her mortarboard off her head and put it on his, and he crowed with laughter. “Aun’ Soo!”

“Oh my God!” I heard from the side, in a very familiar voice. I turned away from my sister and my son, to face my mother. She was standing there on the walkway, as people moved around her, a look of disbelief on her face, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She was still as tall and as slim and as coldly beautiful as ever. Following behind her, on her right side was my father, also with a startled look on his face, and on her left side was Hamilton, with a much less accepting look. It was more like sheer hatred on his part.

“Hello, Mother, Father.” I said. Around me I could feel the temperature dropping. Marilyn inched closer to my side, and then went behind me and took Charlie from Suzie.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” hissed Hamilton.

I turned to face him. “Good morning to you, too, Hamilton.” I turned away from him and looked back at my mother. “You’re looking well, Mom. You, too, Dad.”

Hamilton was on the verge of saying something more. His face was red and had nothing but rage on it. Mom laid a hand on his arm to restrain him, and my father glanced at him nervously. “I didn’t know you were coming, Carling,” said Mom.

I didn’t have to answer, since Suzie piped up, “I invited him.”

Mom looked at her. “You should have mentioned something to me.”

Suzie simply answered, a touch belligerently, “Carl is my brother, and he will always be invited to any family events with me.”

Across from me, my father visibly winced at this, but his eyes never left Charlie. He half-whispered, “Is that…”

“This is our son, Dad. Charles Robert Buckman.”

“We named him after both our fathers,” added Marilyn, unnecessarily, to my mind, anyway.

Mom was very tight lipped, but Dad was on the verge of crying. He looked good. His hair was totally white by now, and he had lost some weight, but he had it to lose. I guessed he was about 235, which was about 15 or more pounds down from the last time I had seen him, at the wedding.

He tore his eyes off his grandson and looked at me. It had been four years for him as well. He looked me over and eyed the cane. “What happened?”

I shrugged. “I made one jump too many. I’m out of the service now, Dad.”

“Nice kid,” sneered Hamilton. “Who’s the father?” Marilyn and Suzie looked daggers at him, and Mom tightened her grip on his forearm. I ignored him. I was on the verge of saying something to Dad, when the idiot had to pipe up again, he couldn’t stand to be ignored. “I asked who the father was.”

I looked over at my brother. “We heard you the first time, Hamilton. We’re simply ignoring you. Now behave and let the grownups talk. Thank you.”

Hamilton’s face reddened further, but Mom kept a grip on him.

Dad looked over at Marilyn, who was now holding onto Charlie tightly. Charlie could sense something was amiss, and was clinging to her. “What do you call him?” he asked.

“Charlie,” she answered. She turned her face to our son and said, “Charlie, this is your grandfather. Can you say hello?” Charlie simply turned his head away and tried to hide.

Dad said quietly, “Charlie,” and then looked at Marilyn. “Can I hold him?”

Marilyn looked at Charlie, and then at me. She looked nervous, so I answered, “I think Charlie’s a little shy. Maybe later, after he gets used to you.”

Dad didn’t like it, but he just nodded. He turned back to me and asked, “When did you get out?”

“About a year and a half ago. I had a bad landing, Dad, and blew my knee out.”

“It was more than that, Carl,” interjected Suzie. She turned to Marilyn and asked, “Did you bring it?”

“I made sure to pack it,” answered my wife. I looked at Dad, and then the two of them, and wondered what they had cooked up. I didn’t have a good feeling. Marilyn handed Charlie to Suzie, and then rooted around in his gigantic diaper bag, strapped to the back of his stroller. She pulled out a large package, wrapped with some gift paper, and my stomach dropped. She handed it to my father. “This is for you. It was from Carl’s last drop.”

“This is a mistake,” I said quietly.

My father looked at me for a second, but then turned away and opened the package. It was what I suspected it to be, a duplicate of the plaque that Marilyn had made for her family, the one with the photo of me getting the Bronze Star and the commendation underneath it. He looked at it and then looked up. “What is this?”

“That is from when your son was awarded the Bronze Star. Carl saved his men…”

Dad’s head swiveled to me, and I interrupted Marilyn. “That’s classified, honey. I can’t say anything about it.” I just wanted this to be over. This was just a horrible mistake.

“You won the Bronze Star?”

It was too much. I watched the rest of it like watching a car crash in slow motion on television. Practically screeching, Hamilton yelled, “You shouldn’t be here!” and then grabbed the plaque out of my father’s hands and dashed it to the ground, where a corner broke off. “GET OUT!”

Mom stared in shock. Dad simply roared, and backhanded my brother across the face, viciously. Hamilton went flying off his feet, as everyone around us turned to stare. Dad advanced on him and looked like he was going to kill him, with his arm brought back for another blow, and Mom blocked his path. “Charlie, get them out of here before they cause any more trouble!” she demanded.

I thought for sure Dad was going to hit Mom. He had never done this before, not even when he got Alzheimer’s and got aggressive and lost his mind. He brought his hand back to strike her, and then stopped. Around us I noticed several men debating whether to get involved. “Shirley, I’ve had it with him and I’ve had it with you! They haven’t caused any trouble. He has and you have!” He was pointing at Hamilton, cowering on the ground. “Thanks to you two I’ve lost a son, and now I’ve lost a grandson. I don’t want to see either of you again.” He turned on his heel and marched away.

Suzie was utterly dumbfounded, crying as her wonderful plans collapsed. Charlie was crying too, scared by what was going on. Marilyn tried to comfort him. I looked at the shambles, and kissed Suzie on the cheek. “I think it’s time we left. Call us when you get home.” I motioned Marilyn to start for the parking lot, and pushed the stroller away. I left my mother and brother behind with Suzie, and the broken plaque I left on the ground.

What a fucking disaster.

Charlie calmed down once we got him into his car seat. It took me several minutes to work my way out of the crowded parking lot, and get on the highway. Marilyn was crying quietly on her side of the car. Once it was safe to do so, I reached out and took her hand. Every fiber of my being wanted to scream out, “I TOLD YOU SO!” but I refrained. After a bit, Marilyn stopped crying, but she looked miserable and ducked my gaze. It was a long and silent drive back to Hereford.

We got home in the early afternoon, and while Marilyn made something for Charlie, I made something for Marilyn and myself. I simply did up a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches, and cracked open a couple of bottles of beer. We ate in the living room, which I normally was loathe to do. We had done that a lot in my first life, and I had learned my lesson. The dining room is there for a reason — use it!

I was half laid back in my La-Z-Boy, when Marilyn set her plate down and came over. I looked up at her and she said, “Move over.” I smiled and she crawled onto my lap and laid her head on my shoulder, sighing as she did so. It wasn’t romantic; she just needed a cuddle. Across the room, Dum-Dum spotted an opportunity and leaped into action, running across the room to stare at the remainder of my wife’s sandwich, and then grabbing it before anybody could say anything. Marilyn sat upright and cried out, “Why you little… oooh, nothing worked out today!” She lay back down against me. I just quietly rubbed her back.

Eventually she said, quietly, “You were right.”

“Hmmm?”

“I said you were right, about the graduation.”

“I heard you the first time. I just wanted to hear you say it again. It might never happen again in my lifetime,” I teased her.

“Very funny! Do you want to get punched in the nose?”

I hugged her and laughed. “I just wish I had a tape recorder going. I could play it back over and over, for the rest of my life!”

“You are really asking for it!”

I laughed some more. “It’s just too easy. You know what else I want to do?”

Marilyn snorted and nudged me in the side. “Say ‘I told you so?’”

“Bingo!” That got me another nudge to the side. “Nothing to do about it now. Suzie will call us sooner or later, and let us know what’s going on.”

Suzie didn’t call us later, she came over that night! Dad had dragged Hamilton up to Newark the day before graduation, for the nurse’s pinning ceremony (I guess nurses get a special pin for being an RN) and had brought up a U-Haul van to take her stuff home. They had loaded it and left it overnight. Hamilton would follow Dad home after graduation, driving the van. After the disaster following the graduation, Dad had stomped off to the parking lot and left Hamilton and Mom behind. Mom was reduced to riding home with Suzie, with Hamilton following behind them in the van. Suzie dropped Mom off and peeled out of the neighborhood before Mom could stop her. Dad wouldn’t let either her or Hamilton back in the house!

We let Suzie stay the night, in one of the spare bedrooms. She drove back the next day and Dad helped her move into her apartment. He told her he had thrown both Mom and Hamilton out, and was calling a lawyer on Monday.

What a clusterfuck! The road to hell may be lined with good intentions, but in this case, I was the one going to hell, and my sister and my wife had the good intentions. I didn’t want to find out where this was all going to end up, but I didn’t like any of it.

Chapter 77: Reunion

Saturday, June 25, 1983

Intellectually I knew that my family’s meltdown was not my fault, but rather the fault of my insane brother and his equally culpable mother. I was as much a victim as anybody. Emotionally, I knew otherwise. They were all the same people as on my first trip through, only I was different. That made it my fault, ipso facto, ergo sum, quod erat demonstradum, etc. etc. etc. Intellect had nothing to do with it.

Marilyn helped me. She simply couldn’t understand my family; she had no idea how to react to them. Her family was so much closer. It was one of the things I found so appealing on my first time around. I had spent far more time with them than my own family.

Over the next few weeks things continued to fall apart back at the Buckman homestead. Dad had been absolutely serious about not letting the pair of them back into the house, and Mom had to load Hamilton into her car and spend the night at a motel. They stayed there until Monday, and then snuck in when Dad went to work. He got home and then threw them back out on the street. I heard from John Steiner that Dad was going a bit loco himself, and wanted John to be his divorce lawyer. John had refused and had given him the name of a good divorce lawyer in Towson. Dad didn’t back down and Mom was served papers by the end of the week. John did mention that he didn’t think Dad knew anything about the Buckman Group, so presumably Suzie was keeping her counsel on that.

On the plus side, the only person in the family who knew my address was Suzie, and she had come to the realization that giving it out would be a really fucking bad idea! My dad had our phone number, but it was unlisted, so nobody else could get it. He didn’t call. Suzie told us that Mom was trying to enlist our aunts and uncles on her side of the fight, which probably wouldn’t work out so well, since they were all on Dad’s side of the family. I hadn’t seen or heard from them since the wedding, either, so presumably I was not one of the good guys as far as they were concerned.

Suzie asked me if I wanted to use this chance to get back together with my dad, but I killed that idea real damn quick! I didn’t have any use for him either. After putting up with this since I was fourteen, he had burned all his bridges with me. I knew that he loved Mom far more than he loved us kids. What if he decided that the way to get back in her good graces was to hurt my baby? I couldn’t believe that he would actually have the gumption to stay away from her for good. They’d get back together. No way was I about to chance it. I just didn’t trust him anymore.

What a damn nightmare!

There was nothing to do but slap a smile on my face and pretend everything was just peachy. On the plus side, it had been forever since I had really been involved with my family, other than my sister, so I still didn’t have anything to do with them. It was simply depressing, but it didn’t have any day to day impact on me. Marilyn worked at keeping my spirits up, and watching Charlie and Dum-Dum was amusing in its own right. I argued several times with my wife over which one of them was smarter, occasionally on different sides of the question. How much trouble could a 20 month old boy get into? The answer — an immense quantity!

Two weeks after the graduation we had our official house warming party. Everybody from the Buckman Group was there, along with their families (not including Missy’s ex-husband), along with Andrea and Taylor and their families, Bill Marsbury and his foremen, some friends of Marilyn’s from her church, Tusker and Tessa and Bucky, and Barry Bonham and his family. We just kind of threw it open to anybody who wanted to come. Suzie showed up, too. The weather was fine and we held it out on the back deck, which was brand new, and did hamburgers and hot dogs on an immense Weber gas fired grill Marilyn got me as a pre-Father’s Day gift. That and a couple of galvanized steel tubs full of ice, beer and soda, and a bunch of lawn chairs, was all we needed to have a very nice time. Even Dum-Dum got in the act. Somebody, probably one of the little kids, managed to let her out into the back yard without being put on her tie-out, and she ran romping all over the yard until Jake suckered her with a hamburger and we could grab her and re-incarcerate her in the laundry room. We already had the back yard staked off for a potential future swimming pool and fence, but wanted to delay that for another year.

Marilyn was still making noises about another baby, which I had resigned myself to. I agreed that the next vacation was going to be a family vacation, maybe to Disney World in the fall, when Charlie turned two, and then over the winter we’d do a parent’s vacation, and start working on our next child then. That got her so excited I got very lucky that night! If somebody had invented Viagra back then, I could have used it!

And then we had the next big event of the summer. Why I agreed to it I will never know. Marilyn certainly wanted to go, and Tusker and Tessa were behind it, and they talked Marilyn into pushing it. I think she actually got me to agree when I wasn’t wearing any pants, so by all rights, the contract was illegal and invalid. Still, I couldn’t get out of it.

It was 1983, and it was the 10^th Reunion of the Graduating Class of 1973 at Towson High School.

I had only gone to my 20^th reunion before, and that was because we had planned to be visiting Maryland that week anyway. On my first trip through, Towson High was something that I endured and survived. I hadn’t even bought a high school ring until my mother found out and forced me to buy one. Certainly by the time the reunions started, I was hundreds of miles away, and had absolutely nothing in common with my old life.

I didn’t have any excuses this time. I had missed the 5^th reunion because I was living in North Carolina at the time, but now I was only 20 miles away or so. Either Tusker or Tessa must have given my new address to the planning committee, since we found several invitations and reminders in the mail. Marilyn wrote them a check for two tickets without even asking me if I wanted to go.

It’s no use arguing with Marilyn when she gets something into her head. For proof of that, we only had to go back to Suzie’s graduation. This wasn’t going to be that bad, but it was probably going to be pointless. “Honey, it’s been ten years. Nobody will even remember who the fuck I was.”

“Tusker and Tessa will remember you!”

“That’s it! Nobody else will know me, that’s for sure,” I replied.

“How do you know that!?”

I just smiled at her and shook my head. “Honey, I wasn’t even there half the time. The last couple of years, I spent half the day over at Towson State. Trust me; nobody will know who I am.”

“Well, I want to go, so you have to go.”

Why she wanted to go to a reunion of a school she had never attended mystified me, but so much about my wife always would mystify me. I sort of liked it most of the time. I just smiled and shrugged. “Okay, we’ll go. We can stay for an hour or so, and after we get tired of the blank stares at my name badge, we can leave and go out for dinner or something.”

Marilyn squealed happily and kissed me on the cheek, and then scampered off to call Tessa and tell her that we would be going. I just rolled my eyes.

The morning of the reunion, I told Marilyn that we would go, but to dress for going out to a nice dinner afterwards. I would dress casually — chinos and a dress shirt, no tie — and toss a sport coat in the back of the car. Marilyn decided on a button front long denim skirt and a peasant top. She wore some high heeled sandals to look classy, but she kept laughing about how we would end up staying the day at the reunion. She was up to something, but I had no idea what.

The one thing I definitely wanted to do was to take my new toy. I had been over to Tusk Cycles a few months ago when one of his customers drove up in a Mercedes Benz 380 SL, a new one, and I saw it through his front window. Memories came flooding back of the 380, which I thought at the time was one of the most beautiful cars ever made. Even the way they built the hard top, with the lowered center section, looked exotic. I just stared at it through the window while my buddy dealt with his customer. The next day I drove down to Towson and went to the Mercedes Benz dealership.

They had one in the showroom, and it was like getting an instant erection! Back before, the idea that I could ever actually afford one of these cars was like the idea that I could ever actually become an astronaut and go to the moon. They only built them in the late Seventies through the mid Eighties, and I always stared when I saw one. To me, they were the sexiest car around. I wanted to have a mid-life crisis so I could solve it by buying a sports car; never mind that I was nowhere near mid-life.

I left the dealership that day, but came back about a week later, and this time I convinced myself to take a test drive. I wasn’t going to actually buy one, but it wouldn’t hurt to drive one. The sales rep must have thought I was nuts, or maybe he had seen this before. I took the drive, which was sort of like a mechanical wet dream, and then left the dealership again. A week later I was out with Marilyn and Charlie and I stopped into the dealership again to show her the car. I think the cat was out of the bag when the salesman smiled and said, “Welcome back, Mister Buckman.”

I looked guilty when Marilyn commented, “Been here before, have we?” I hemmed and hawed, and she just rolled her eyes and said, “Well, how much does it cost?”

“If you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it,” I told her.

She gave me a “Hmmppphh!” at that, and then looked at the sticker in the window, at which point she gave a small shriek and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” The sales rep never batted an eye; I at least had the good taste to blush with embarrassment. “Oh, hell, do what you want!” she said, shaking her head.

“Seriously?”

“It’s your money! Feel free to waste it!” She juggled a laughing Charlie and said, “Daddy’s being silly!”

So I bought myself a dark blue 380 SL model. Dealer prep — waiting for the check to clear — took a few days. The day I could pick it up, Marilyn and Charlie drove me down, and then I drove it back, stopping at Tusker’s to give him a ride. He agreed with me, it was like an orgasm on wheels. He also, even more importantly, offered me a place to store the hard top if I wanted to drive it with just the soft top or topless.

So, if I was going to the reunion, I was taking the 380 and Marilyn and I would dress for an afternoon and evening out. The reunion was bound to be a bust, so we could do a date night afterwards. Marilyn had joined Our Lady of Grace over in Parkton, and had a babysitter in the form of the fourteen year old daughter of a friend in the parish. Becky arrived around 11:00 or so, and Marilyn gave the poor girl a complete breakdown of Charlie’s entire life and every conceivable emergency. I finally rescued Becky by dragging Marilyn out the door.

The reunion was being held at the Loch Raven Tennis and Swim Club, north of Dulaney Valley Road on the Jarretsville Pike, north of the reservoir. Becky had assured us she would be fine for the afternoon and into the evening, and in fact was looking forward to it, since it was worth extra money for her. It was about a half hour drive to get there, and Marilyn had a rather self-satisfied smile on her face most of the time. I couldn’t figure it out, since I just couldn’t understand why Marilyn had wanted to go to my reunion. My wife was astonishingly unromantic about the schools she went to. She never went to any of her reunions, or even her graduations for that matter.

It was just before noon when we pulled into the parking lot. It was surprisingly full, with about a half dozen motorcycles parked over at one side. “It looks like Tusker and his friends are here already,” I told Marilyn, pointing at the bikes.

“I never have figured out how you ended up hanging out with the bikers! It’s not like you ride.”

“Not in a million years!” I said, laughing. “I might be an organ donor, but I want to hang on to them a little while longer. Listen, I’m just not that judgmental, and mostly they weren’t either. I remember one time when the vice principal, a real tool of an asshole, was giving out a lot of shit. He had this little VW Bug, so I rounded up a few of the bikers and a few of the lacrosse players, and we picked it up and carried it over to the school entrance and wedged it between a couple of the pillars at the front door, sideways, so it couldn’t be driven out. He was so pissed!”

“You’re so pleased with yourself over that, aren’t you?!” she responded primly.

“You’re damn right I was pleased. I’ll bet you never did that with the nuns.” Marilyn was almost apoplectic at the thought, so I just laughed at her some more, and teased her about getting back at the nuns, perhaps by smacking them with rulers. Thank God I never had to put up with parochial schools!

I parked the car and we got out; I left my cane in the car for later. My knee was better early in the day, generally, so I might not need it until later. I reached out and we held hands as we walked across the parking lot. There were a couple of really gargantuan tents behind what looked like a clubhouse, and several tennis courts and a swimming pool over to the right. Nobody was playing tennis or swimming, though, and it was a beautiful day, so it made me think that the reunion group had reserved the club for the day. Regardless, the only way to go in was through the clubhouse, so I opened the door and ushered Marilyn inside.

There was a big banner stretched across the far wall, ‘WELCOME BACK TOWSON HIGH 10 YEAR REUNION!’, and below that was a long table with what looked like spread out name tags. Behind the table were three girls, women actually, and they looked familiar. Also on the table was a pitcher of beer and several Solo cups. I looked around the clubhouse for a second, and then walked towards the table. I figured it to be a registration table.

Before I could say a word, a short brunette squealed, “Oh my God! You made it! Carl Buckman!” The other two women grinned madly at this. The little brunette came scampering around the table and wrapped her arms around me. “It’s been so long!”

What the hell?! I glanced over at Marilyn, mortally embarrassed by whoever this woman was, now embracing me in front of my wife. Marilyn, however, was anything but shocked. She was grinning madly at me.

The little brunette stepped back. “Carl! I can’t believe you don’t remember us!” She tapped a name tag on her substantial chest — ‘TAMMY (BRAXTON) BRONSON’.

I glanced at the name tag and it all came flooding back. It was Tammy Braxton, one of my old girlfriends! She was also about six months pregnant! Oh, God, could it get any worse? I was being hugged by an old girlfriend in front of my wife! Nothing to do but brazen it out! “My, God, Tammy, I can’t believe it! You look great! So you ended up marrying Randy after all?” I turned to Marilyn. “This is my wife, Marilyn. Marilyn, this is one of my friends back in high school.”

Marilyn smiled. “I thought so.”

Tammy looked my wife over and said, “Well, she’s definitely your type!” which caused Marilyn to grin broadly, even more so at my discomfort.

“Huh?”

“Short, curvy, brunette!” answered Tammy. She threw her arms out in a modeling pose.

Then I noticed that one of the other women behind the table had come out, too. She struck the same pose, and on her name tag it said, ‘SHELLEY (TALBOT) MOORE’. She was now back to being a frosted blonde, but she told Marilyn, “I was a brunette when we dated.”

I looked over at Marilyn and swallowed. “We were just friends.”

“I’ll just bet you were friendly!” said Marilyn. Behind the table the third woman, a tall and slender blonde, simply smirked and tried to stifle her laughter.

“I’m so glad you could come! Tessa said she was going to get you to come. It’s been so long!” said Tammy.

Tessa? She was involved in this? I began to smell a rat! “Oh?” I glanced over at Marilyn, who was grinning and nodding and laughing at me. “Tessa talked to you about this?”

“You know it! She told me I’d get to meet all your old girlfriends and talk to them about you. I couldn’t wait!”

“Oh, sweet suffering Jesus! No, please God, no!” I said. I could see my life flashing before my eyes! “Marilyn, I swear, we were just friends!” I reached over to the table and poured myself a beer into a clean cup.

Tammy inserted herself between my wife and I, and Shelley got on the other side of Marilyn, and they began steering her through the clubhouse towards the rear. “We have got so much to talk about!” said Shelley.

“We used to call it the Carl Buckman Experience,” I heard Tammy say, just before they left the room.

At that I spewed the sip of beer out and across the lobby. “Oh my God! This just keeps getting better and better!”

The blonde, whose tag read, ‘JOY (GAYLORD) SIMPKINS’, just laughed at me. “So you had a type?! All those times I flirted with you and you never acted on it, now I know why. I could have dyed my hair, but no way was I doing anything about the short and curvy parts.”

I remembered Joy now, a very pretty, but tall and slender blonde. I didn’t remember her flirting with me, but it had been many years. “Sorry about that.” She just laughed, and then handed me a couple of nametags. “I think this is going to be a disaster,” I told her.

“Karma’s a bitch, Carl,” she laughed.

“How come we’re here?” I asked, deflecting the conversation. I waved my hands at the surrounding tennis club. “Why’d we meet here and not down in Towson?”

“You don’t like it here?” she asked, a touch defensively.

“No, just curious.”

She nodded. “The price is right. It’s free!” She gave me a big smile. “My husband and I own the club!”

“No kidding, well, good for you! It looks very nice. I guess that explains it, then.”

She waved me on through, and then turned to wave at somebody else coming in. I didn’t even look behind me at them, but just shambled on through. My thoughts were on what trouble my wife was getting into.

The first person I ran across who I immediately recognized was Tusker, who was sitting at a table on the right side with a few of the other bikers from back in the day. He saw me and laughed. “Well, look what the cat dragged in! Where’s Marilyn?”

“Filing for divorce. Do you know what Tessa has done?! She told Marilyn that she would introduce her to all my old girlfriends! I’m a dead man!”

The rest of the table exploded in laughter, Tusker included. “Oh, it’s worse than that! After you agreed to come, Tessa got on the phone with some of her old friends and they made a list, and invited as many of them to come as they could! Your wife is about to find out all your old secrets!”

I stared at him. “Oh, tell me you’re joking! I might be divorced, but you are about to become a widower, because I am about to kill your wife! How could you let her do this!?”

Tusker poured me some beer. “Oh, buddy, you deserve this!” he said, laughing.

“Some friend you are!” I clipped my nametag on, and then shook hands with the rest of the table, some of whom I remembered, some of whom I didn’t. After a few minutes, I excused myself and went in search of Marilyn.

I found her at a table, surrounded by about a half dozen women, all of whom I recognized, none of whom I particularly wanted to see talking to my wife. “Ladies, good to see you all.” There were several squeals and waves, and Linda Bravo jumped up and kissed me on the lips, as the rest of the table snickered. I handed Marilyn her nametag. “Just remember, we were all just friends, that’s all, just friends.”

Linda piped up, “That’s not the way I remember it!”

“Oh? Well, maybe I should go find your husbands and let them know just how friendly all of you were?!”

There was a gabble of noise at that, some protesting but most laughingly telling me to go ahead. Tammy waved it off and said, “Go ahead, see if I care. He already knows, don’t you think!”

That was true; Randy had started dating her after we broke up. “Maybe I’ll tell him the truth about you, then.”

“Honey, please! What I learned with you, I refined. Nobody talks about the Carl Buckman Experience anymore. Now it’s the Tammy Bronson Experience people want to know about!” That earned me a tableful of catcalls and laughs, and I just surrendered the field to them.

I wandered around the tents. The reunion was doubling as a crab feast, which I heartily approved of. There was some fried chicken if you didn’t like crabs, which Marilyn didn’t, but it had been a few years since I had steamed crabs, and as soon as I could peel my wife away from the hen party ratting me out, I would have some. I suppose it was like any reunion. Some people you remember, a lot you don’t, and even more you realize you didn’t know them before to begin with.

I found myself sitting at a table with Tusker, Randy Bronson, Ray Shorn and his wife, Mike Misner and his wife, and Katie Lowenthal. Katie was still single (and looking hotter than hell, she had lost all the weight from high school!) and Tessa and Tammy were still talking to Marilyn. I looked at Randy and Tusker, and told them, “I am going to kill your wives for this.”

Tusker just snorted. Randy said, “Live by the sword, die by the sword, man. You earned this.”

“Oh?”

He gave me a look of disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You were the biggest cockhound in school!”

“Me?!”

“You!” agreed Katie. “Everybody knew it! Just because nobody complained didn’t mean it wasn’t true.”

“We were just friends,” I protested.

“Yeah? It’s a good thing Tessa’s a blonde and not a brunette, since then I’d have to punch you out!” added Tusker.

“Some friend you are!” I told him.

At that point, Marilyn, Tessa, and Tammy came back. I made room and Marilyn grabbed a seat next to me, and Tessa sat next to her husband. Running out of seats, Tammy sat sideways on her husband’s lap. He wrapped his arms around her. I smiled at them. “I always knew you two would end up married. How many years has it been now?”

They looked at each other and smiled. “It was just last year.”

“Last year? What kept you?”

Most of the others laughed at that, although Katie looked mystified. She had been in California going to medical school and doing an internship. “Oh, we got married,” said Randy.

“Just not to each other!” added his wife.

“What?!”

“Well, after graduation Randy went to Maryland, and I went to Penn State. We talked about staying together long distance, but it just didn’t work out,” said Tammy. Randy just grinned and hugged his wife’s ample belly. “We both met other people and we both got married as soon as we got out of school.”

“And we both figured out a year or two later it wasn’t working and got divorced,” added Randy.

“Then we met again a year ago, and realized we were meant for each other.” Tammy twisted around and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank God we didn’t have any kids! This will be our first, for both of us.”

“Huh! Well, you two must have been fated to be together then. Congratulations!” I told them.

That got us started talking about our kids. We admitted to having a 20 month old, and Tusker and Tessa told about having Bucky at our wedding. Ray and his wife had two, Mike was an intern, but he and his wife had one. At that point we all got up and got in line to bring back some steamed crabs to the table. Conversation was a little limited for a few minutes after that. You can eat or you can talk, but it’s hard to do both. Marilyn finished her chicken before the rest of us were even halfway through the crabs. Well, Katie, too, since she didn’t like crabs either. That was okay, even if a bit strange for a true Marylander. We discussed it and decided not to have her stoned to death.

Tusker asked what everyone else was doing these days, and Ray said he worked for a paving company in Columbia as an engineer. Ray’s wife stayed at home with their two kids. Randy and Tammy worked for an insurance company in Baltimore, which was how they met up again. Mike and Katie were still interns, Mike in Delaware and Katie in California. Then everybody looked at Tusker and me. I just waved my hand and said, “I work for an investment company out in Hereford. We live out there now, over towards Hampstead.” Heads swiveled to the Tusks.

Tusker simply smiled. “You are now looking at the newest Honda motorcycle dealer in the state!”

I must have lit up as well. “Congratulations! It came through?!”

He nodded and reached out to shake my hand. “I just got the word yesterday. Next week I have to review the floorplan documents and then I’ll place my first order.”

“That is simply tremendous. We’ll talk next week.” A few of the others looked at me curiously. “My company invested some money in Tusker’s business. I’m the point man.”

We were taking a break after the first round of crabs, and Tammy said, “I just have to ask, did you actually do all the stuff you said in your speech?” The rest of the crowd looked at me curiously.

“My speech?” It took me a second to recall. “You mean my valediction speech? Oh my God, I haven’t thought about that thing in ages! I was such an asshole with that thing. I figured everybody was going to boo me off the stage!”

Marilyn looked at me and asked, “You gave a speech?”

Ray laughed. “He was valedictorian. He had to give a speech.”

Marilyn looked at me accusingly. “You never told me you were valedictorian!”

“I’ve never told you a lot of stuff.”

“So I am finding out!”

I laughed at that, but then Tammy hopped up. “I’ve got a copy of it somewhere.” She scampered off.

“Good Lord! Somebody actually kept that damn thing?” I asked incredulously.

Randy nodded. “She had some stuff stored away, as did a few other people. She dug it out for the reunion.”

“I want to hear it,” said Marilyn.

“It was bad enough the first time around. I’m not sure I can stand it twice,” I replied.

“It was a pretty good speech,” countered Katie. “That’s not just me, either. I heard it from a few other people, too.”

“It made me change my major from pre-law to engineering,” added Ray.

I stared at my old friend. “You’re kidding me, right.”

“Nope. Pissed my old man off, too. I became a civil engineer. The pay might not be as good as a lawyer but it’s not bad, and I probably sleep better at night.”

Huh! I didn’t know what to say to that, and not sound like a total jerk.

Tammy returned in a couple of minutes with a plastic bag with a copy of the Baltimore Sun inside. “Did you know they printed your speech in the Sun?”

“It must have been a real slow news day,” I told her.

“Read it!” asked Marilyn.

“No!” I told her.

“Then I’ll read it,” said Tammy, and damned if she didn’t! She opened the bag and pulled out the yellowed newspaper and opened it to the page on the graduations, and read it out loud. I probably turned about five shades of red, as the others at the table listened and watched me.

After Tammy was done, Marilyn said, “Wow! That was great! You wrote that?”

“That’s me at my most pretentious!” I told her.

“No, that’s you! You’re all about taking control and responsibility. That sounded just like you!” she argued.

“So, tell us, did you do all that stuff?” asked Katie.

“What stuff?”

“At the end. You gave three different commitments. Did you do them?” she pressed. The others around the table also wanted to know.

“Uhhh…”

Not content to let it go, Tammy picked up the newspaper again and scanned through to the appropriate part. “Okay, here’s the first — … go to a school that teaches science and engineering… — you did that, right? Weren’t you going to school for math or something?”

Marilyn answered, “Doctor Buckman earned a doctorate in mathematics at 21.”

Around the table there was a buzz, including from the two real doctors, Katie and Mike.

Tammy nodded. “Okay, yes on that one. Next, where was it, oh here — … I will be a soldier… — Well?”

“Captain Buckman won the Bronze Star as a paratrooper with the 82^nd Airborne,” said Marilyn.

The buzz got louder at that, and Marilyn got out her wallet picture of me getting the medal.

“Well, Doctor and Captain! We’re two for two! Now, for number three! — … my final commitment is that when the time comes, every April 15^th, to pay my taxes, I will do so with a smile… — So? Do you pay your taxes with a smile?”

“I think I was reaching with that one!” I answered, laughing.

“What about the part before that, about making some money?” asked Randy.

I glanced at Marilyn and the Tusks, and shook my head. I didn’t want to get into that with these guys. Tusker sidestepped it a touch. “Okay, I am not going to go into details, but if you go out to the parking lot right now, there’s a brand new Mercedes 380 SL out there that I know for a fact he paid for in cash. Does that qualify?”

“Thanks a bunch, buddy!” I protested.

There were a few whistles at that. I just waved them off as best I could. Then I stood up. “I need some more crabs and beer. Who’s with me?”

The most curious event of the day occurred an hour or so later. I had been circulating around the room, meeting a few more people, and introducing Marilyn to them, and had returned to the table we had been sharing with Tusker and Tessa. Out of the corner of my eye I saw somebody approaching from my right. “Captain Buckman?” he asked tentatively.

The others eyed me curiously, and I swiveled my head. “Well, I used to be, but that seems a long time ago.” I looked at this new person. He was a large man, blond, crew cut, heavily muscled, wearing a pair of worn fatigue pants and a very tight camo pattern tee-shirt. For some reason he looked familiar, very familiar. I slowly stood up, now favoring my right knee, and turned to face him. “You look familiar…”

“Yes sir, I’m…”

Suddenly his speech pattern came back to me, along with the Texas accent. My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped for a second. “Corporal Janos!?”

“Yes, sir, you remembered me.” He stuck his hand out and I reflexively shook it.

“Corporal Janos! I will be damned! What in the world are you doing here?”

“It’s sergeant now, sir, and I’m attending the reunion,” he told me.

“Well, good Lord, have a seat. Sergeant? Well deserved, very well deserved. I thought you were from Texas. What are you doing here?”

He nodded and grabbed a seat across from Marilyn and I. Tusker and Tessa were at our side, and watched all this curiously, and Katie and Tammy came up as well, standing and listening in. I introduced Marilyn again, and then named my friends, and said, “Well, don’t stop. What brought you here?”

“My wife. This is her reunion.”

“Your wife?! She went to Towson High, Class of ’73?”

“Yes, sir!”

“What was her name, then, I mean?”

“Jennifer Goodwin. Did you know her?” he asked.

I searched my memory in vain, but couldn’t come up with anything. Neither could those around me. “Sorry, Sergeant, but it was a big school. Maybe if I saw her…”

Janos promptly popped to his feet and let out a shrill whistle, heads turned and when he spotted his wife, he made the hand signals for ‘You’, ‘Me’, and ‘Regroup’. I noticed a woman working her way through the tables and come over. When she got closer, he said, “Jennie, this is Captain Buckman, he was with us in Honduras. I told you about that, right? He went to school here, too!”

I stood up to reach across the table and shake her hand. Her face looked marginally familiar, but not anything more than that. “It’s Mister Buckman, now. You were Class of ’73, also?”

She had a light alto tone. “Yes, but I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you either.”

“It was a big school. Don’t worry about it. Your husband saved my bacon in Honduras,” I told her.

She grinned and gave him a one armed hug. “We had just started dating then. We got married last year.”

“Jennie’s actually a year older than I am, but it’s not like it matters anymore. I was Class of ’75 back home,” he said.

“What do you do, Jennifer?” asked Marilyn.

“Waitress and bartender in a restaurant near the base. It’s a good job. No matter where he gets stationed, I can always find a job as a waitress or bartender.” She had the look of a professional waitress or bar staffer. I nodded. She was right, there was always work like that near an army base.

“Congratulations. He’s a good man.” I turned to Janos. “So, still with the division?”

Janos sat down, and his wife made herself comfortable on his lap. He shook his head. “No, sir. Last year, after you got your medal, I put in for Ranger School. I made it through that and got my third stripe.”

“I’ll be damned!” I turned to Marilyn. “No wonder why we got back! We had an Airborne Ranger with us!” To Janos, I said, “Rangers Lead The Way, right Sergeant?” repeating the Ranger motto.

“You led us, sir. That numbnuts lieutenant would have gotten us all killed! What the hell happened with him, anyway? After you got arrested, he was never seen again. And what was with you getting arrested, anyway?” asked Janos.

The table erupted with questions! Arrested? What was that about? Well, I couldn’t say specifically, and I didn’t want to break the Top Secret classification, so I had to dance around it. I just waved it down. “That was just a misunderstanding, nothing more. That idiot lieutenant complained that I had taken command illegally, and I had led a mutiny. Once we got back to headquarters and they sorted it out, they cut me loose. A doctor took one look at my leg and had me flown to Walter Reed. It was nothing, really.”

“And the lieutenant?”

I had to grin at that. “Last I heard he was sent to the Congo as military liaison to the cannibals. With any luck, he became dinner!”

That got me a laugh from Janos, who then said, “They probably got indigestion.”

Tusker chimed in. “I have to ask! I know he got a medal and I’ve seen the picture Marilyn has, but he won’t tell us what happened! He just keeps saying it’s Classified! If you were there, what happened?”

I interrupted Janos before he could say anything. “Sorry, but it’s Classified!”

“That’s bullshit!” protested Tusker.

“Okay, I’ll tell you a little bit.” I drank a little more beer, and then leaned forward. I lowered my voice, and said, “You have to swear never to tell anyone!” I waited for a moment, and when nobody said anything, I pushed, “Well? Do you swear?”

Tusker gave me a startled look, and said, “Okay, I swear.” Around the table, the others nodded and agreed. Across from me, I could see Janos starting to smile.

I nodded theatrically, and then glanced around to see if anybody else was listening. “Okay. This all happened in Honduras. The brass was very nervous about the health of the men, and the medal was because of that.” I paused for as much dramatic effect as I could muster. “Our unit — we had the lowest incidence of venereal disease in the entire battalion!”

Around me the table exploded in laughter and outrage. I just sat back and smiled as Tusker sputtered. “It’s true, just ask the Sergeant. He was there.”

Janos was laughing too hard to do much, but he nodded and said, “Yes, sir, we were as clean as a whistle!” and then started laughing some more when his wife nudged him in the ribs. He laughed, and then picked up his Solo cup of beer. Holding it out towards me, he got serious, and said, “Absent companions.”

I knew the old toast, and I knew I was now part of that tradition. I picked mine up and tapped my cup to his. “Absent companions.” We drank some beer together.

At that point, Jennie announced they had to get moving, and she crawled off Janos’ lap. As he stood, I stood also, and said, “Sergeant, it was really good seeing you again. I’m out now, but if you or any of the men need anything from me, look me up.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir. It was a real privilege to have served with you, Captain.” Then he stood straight and gave me a textbook salute, straight from the field manual. I returned the salute, and then shook his hand. He departed, as the others stared at me.

I ignored it and sat down again, my thoughts going back to that miserable march in Nicaragua. Marilyn noticed me lost in my thoughts, and said, “You okay?”

I smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You never know who you’re going to meet. I’d have never made it home without Janos and the others. He was the first guy I found when we landed, and he was my lead scout on the ground. Hell of a soldier. He’ll be a good Ranger.”

“What the hell happened?” asked Katie.

I just shook my head. “It really is classified. I can’t say. Hell of a story, though.” I smiled and shook my head.

I had a surprisingly good time, and promised we’d come back for the next reunion, especially if the women would promise not to tell Marilyn any more stories. At the end of the afternoon, after washing up in the restroom, I met my wife at the door, and we headed out to the parking lot. As we walked, hand in hand, she swung her hips and gave me a bump. “So, exactly what is the Carl Buckman Experience?”

Chapter 78: The Carl Buckman Experience, Part II

“Give me a break! There is no such thing as the Carl Buckman Experience!”

“That’s not what your friends said,” teased Marilyn.

“We were just friends!” I protested.

“Yes, it certainly sounded friendly!”

I refused to answer, but unlocked the car and opened the door for her. As I went around to my side, I couldn’t help but think about the movie, still years in the future, with Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson, A Few Good Men. - ‘I want the truth!’ ‘You can’t handle the truth!’ — I redid it in my mind as ‘I want the Carl Buckman Experience!’ ‘You can’t handle the Carl Buckman Experience!’ I chuckled to myself as I opened the driver side door.

Marilyn started up again as soon as I got in the car. “I think there is a Carl Buckman Experience, and you’re embarrassed to tell me what it is!”

It was too much for me! I stopped putting my key in the ignition and just started laughing. It was just too much. I kept laughing long enough for Marilyn to start getting pissed at me. Eventually, as she started to stew, I calmed down. “Okay, you want the Carl Buckman Experience? I don’t think you can handle it, but I’ll give you a shot.”

“You’ll give me a shot?!” she asked incredulously.

I kept laughing. “The others had to work their way up to it, but I’ll let you have a shot at the title.”

“You’ll give me a shot at it! You are such a… a… a jerk!” That just made me laugh some more.

After a minute more, I turned the key in the ignition. I grinned at her. “Do you really want the full Carl Buckman Experience? I warn you, it will ruin you for other men. Once you’ve had the Carl Buckman Experience, no other man will ever be able to satisfy you!”

Marilyn snorted and had a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll just have to take the chance.”

“Well, it might be safe… for me, at least.”

“What?!”

“Well, the others I had sign a waiver of liability, but since you’re my wife, you can’t testify against me in a court of law.”

“Oh, you are so full of crap!”

“Okay by me, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” I put the car in gear, but only drove up to the entrance to the tennis club. I hopped out and said, “Just wait, I’ll be back in a moment.”

I went inside and found a pay phone. I really missed cell phones! They had just started coming out this year, and we had bought some stock in Motorola, but the phone was the DynaTac system, and about the size of a brick. I was thinking about getting one and simply keeping it in the rear of the car. It would be a few more years until they came out with something a lot more portable. Once I found a pay phone, I called home and told Becky that we wouldn’t be home for several more hours. I was taking Mrs. Buckman out to dinner and we probably wouldn’t be home until after dark. I promised her a nice tip, and she laughed and thanked me, and said she would call her mother and let her know. I hung up, and contemplated the rest of the day.

I gave an evil laugh as I climbed back behind the wheel. “I just called Becky to let her know we were going to be home late. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Give me a break!” laughed Marilyn.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” I put the car back into gear and headed out of the parking lot. Marilyn just laughed some more.

I decided to drive up the Jarrettsville Pike to Jacksonville, and then head west on Paper Mill Road until I got to the Harrisburg Expressway. Once we got on the Jarrettsville Pike I looked over at my wife and smiled. “Ready to start the Carl Buckman Experience?”

“What? Here? Now? I thought it was something you did in bed!”

“Oh, no, no, no! The Carl Buckman Experience isn’t something that can be mass produced and distributed! No, we at the Buckman Group have developed highly customized tools and systems to bring the full experience to each client on an individualized basis! It is different for each client!”

“Yeah, right! You are so full of crap!” laughed Marilyn.

“So, are you ready?”

“Sure.”

“Do you trust me?”

At that she looked over at me. “What?”

“Do you trust me? If you don’t trust me, the Carl Buckman Experience can’t be fully savored.”

Marilyn rolled her eyes, and then said, “Sure, I trust you. What now?!”

“Okay, that was your final warning. There is no turning back now.”

“Whatever! You are still full of crap!”

I shrugged. I let it go for another mile or so, and then as we approached Jacksonville I told her, “Okay, take off your panties.”

“What!?” she protested. Her head whipped around towards me. “Is that what you used to do with those girls?”

“I told you, each customer gets their own unique experience.”

“Now I’m a customer? Don’t think I’m going to be paying you!”

I laughed. “Trust me, by tomorrow morning, you’ll be taking out full page ads praising the service you’ll be getting!”

Marilyn laughed at that, so I reminded her to take off her panties. She laughed some more, but then agreed. She unbuttoned her skirt almost to the waist, and then reached under and shimmied them down off her hips and legs. I noticed they were simple white nylon bikinis, nothing too extreme. “Toss them in the back.” The 380 really didn’t have a back seat, just a small area with some fold down seats that nobody ever used. Right now it simply had my sport coat and my cane.

“Happy?” commented my wife. She tossed them in the back, and then began to button her skirt back up.

“Hold on there. I didn’t say anything about buttoning back up. In fact, finish unbuttoning your skirt.”

Marilyn’s eyes opened wide at that. It wasn’t the first time we had done this, but up until now it had always been late at night when we were alone, or maybe taking a parents vacation. She reversed course and undid all the buttons on the skirt, and laid it open, so that she was now naked from the waist down, except for her high heeled sandals.

“Now, lose the camisole. That’s what you have under your top, right? A camisole?”

Marilyn turned back to look at me, but I just gave her a serious expression and nodded. “I can’t do that! People will see!”

“Not my problem,” I told her.

Marilyn gave me a dirty look, but then pulled her peasant blouse top up from her waist, and above her boobs, and then pulled her arms out of the sleeves, leaving it around her neck. She repeated this with the camisole, then managed to put her arms back in the sleeves of the blouse, pull it down, and then pull the camisole up and through the top of the blouse and over her head. That went behind her. “Happy now?”

“We are only just getting started!” I told her. I looked her over closely as we stopped at a light. She looked pretty good there! Marilyn blushed as I inspected her. The peasant top wasn’t sheer or tight but it was obvious she was naked beneath it, and her nipples were beginning to stiffen.

As we started up again, I said, “Now begin to touch yourself.” She looked at me oddly at that, and I nodded. “Go ahead, you know what to do.” Marilyn stiffened slightly as she slipped her hands between her legs. Her back arched slightly as her body began to respond. “Now, I want you to tell me what all the ladies were saying was the Carl Buckman Experience.”

“That’s cheating!”

“That’s market research! We need to make sure that your experience is different!” I smiled over at her. “Be explicit. Be very explicit!” I reached over with my right hand and tweaked a nipple through her blouse; Marilyn moaned and arched her back in response. I pulled my hand back and said, again, “Tell me!”

“You’re mean!” she answered. It was difficult for Marilyn to talk about such things to me. I would often tease her when we were making love, and my wife was perfectly content to writhe and moan beneath me, but not happy when I made her tell me her fantasies or desires. Still, she would when sufficiently prodded, and I kept prodding her.

It always astonishes me that women will talk among themselves about stuff that if a guy talked to them about, would have them calling the cops! It seemed that what most of the ladies at the table had mentioned to Marilyn had to do with one of two topics, my willingness to eat them out (which for quite a few of them was something completely new) and the fact that I knew so many different positions. In retrospect, I wasn’t surprised, since that sort of thing only comes with practice, and let’s face it, I had a hell of a lot more experience than they did back then.

I also tormented Marilyn during the drive by frustrating her. After a few minutes, when I sensed she was getting close to orgasm, I said, “Stop! Put your hands on the dashboard!”

Marilyn stopped and turned her head. “What? What are you doing?”

“I said to stop!” Marilyn was still playing with herself, so I reached out and tugged her hands away. “Now, behave and stop.”

Her eyes widened and she gave me an angry look. “You are just plain mean!”

I laughed at that. By then we were on the Harrisburg Expressway driving north. After about five minutes, I relented. Reaching over, I flicked her nipple through her top and said, “Back to work!”

She groaned, and put her fingers back on her clit, slumping down and spreading her legs wide. There was a definite aroma of her musk in the car. I kept driving north, past our normal exit to Hereford, and Marilyn was out of it; she never noticed. A mile or so later I ordered her to stop. I heard a half muttered, “Bastard!” from her.

When we hit the Pennsylvania line I allowed her to start again. Marilyn hissed at me, but put her hands back between her legs, and asked, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise!” To me, too, since I wasn’t sure what I was up to, not at all! I just wanted to do something memorable for her. I kept letting her touch herself for a few minutes, and then stopping her until we hit the outskirts of York, and an idea came to me. I pulled off the highway and said, “Put your skirt back on.” Marilyn hurriedly moved to comply, but I stopped her after a moment. “No, only button the top four buttons.” I pulled into a small strip mall that had a drug store.

I parked outside the drug store and said, “Now, you are to go in there and buy a home enema kit.”

Marilyn’s eyes widened to the point of panic. “I can’t go in there dressed this way!”

“You can and you will! Give me a break. Nobody here knows you or cares. You could wander in there in a string bikini with a sign around your neck saying ‘Rent me!’ and nobody would care. Now, get out of the car and do it. Do you have any money in your purse?”

Marilyn groaned and rolled her eyes. “Yes!”

“Then go, and don’t think you can cheat. I’ll be watching!”

I did, too. I got out of the 380 about a minute after Marilyn went into the store, and followed her surreptitiously through the store, and watched her find an enema kit and take it up to the counter. As I told her, nobody cared or noticed. I followed her out to the car, and let her back in. The bag went into the back, and I ordered her to undo her skirt again.

I think some of Marilyn’s nervousness was about what the enema kit signified to her. Anal sex was something we did on occasion, and while Marilyn certainly enjoyed it, it was also something terribly taboo to her.

From the drug store, we drove to Harrisburg, with me alternating allowing her to touch herself with not touching herself, and I drove to an industrial part of town, and pulled into the parking lot of an adult video store. “Now, we are going in together,” I told her. “Only button the top two buttons on the skirt.”

“Just two?” she asked weakly.

I gave her a big grin. “Don’t complain or I might make it just one!”

It was late, but the store was still open. I led her inside, and Marilyn was very nervous. I expect she thought that white slavers were about to descend upon us and whisk her off to parts unknown. She clung to my arm as we went inside. I had been here once before, to buy a vibrator for her. It was about what you would expect, simple industrial concrete block construction (cheap), no windows (nothing to break when the natives rioted), and nondescript. Inside were several aisles with various toys, videos, and magazines, all sexual in nature.

Marilyn had never been in an adult store before, and it was all I could do not to laugh at her. From behind her, I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Your custom tailored Carl Buckman Experience involves you leaving your comfort zone and exploring what you are capable of. I’ll bet you’ve never seen a place like this before.” Marilyn couldn’t even answer, but simply shook her head. I prodded her and we started going down the aisles.

Marilyn’s eyes were as wide as a five-year-old’s on Christmas morning. There were things in that store she had never heard of before. I kept up the torment, asking her what she thought of different vibrators, did she want a large one or a small one, long or wide. I had already determined to simply have her pick a vibrator and a movie, and then have her go to the counter and pay for them herself.

The movie I had her pick was called Anal Island, about a group of tourists who visit a Caribbean island where everybody mysteriously ends up having anal sex with each other. She selected a fairly average sized vibrator on her own, but we had frequently used toys before. Remembering a few times we had gotten playful, when we went through a section with bondage equipment, I had her select a pair of fur padded handcuffs, and by the way her breath caught in her throat and her nipples crinkled, I knew that was a hit. Then at the counter, I whispered into her ear to select a couple of tubes of flavored lubricant. Her face was red but her nipples were standing at attention when she finally opened her purse to pay for everything.

Outside, the first thing she said to me was, “I can’t believe the things you get me to do!”

“We at the Buckman Group pride ourselves on the Carl Buckman Experience, and work hard to make sure it is memorable.” I stepped up behind her and rubbed against her rump. I knew she could feel me stiff inside my pants. “We work very hard.”

Marilyn whimpered. “Okay, you win! Please, can we go home and fuck! Just take me home and fuck me! Please?”

“Oh, but the Buckman Group has an entire evening of enjoyment planned out for you!” No we didn’t, I didn’t have a clue actually, but I wanted to keep her guessing. Certainly, seeing her frustrated like this was quite interesting.

Still, we had to get home and get Becky back to her family. Once in the car, I allowed Marilyn to put the batteries in the vibrator and give it a test. We got back on the highway and I drove south, back towards York, and through, towards the Maryland line. A few miles north of Maryland I pulled off the highway and drove to a small Italian restaurant. I teased her that I was going to make her sit half naked at the bar, but they didn’t have a bar, and we were seated at a booth towards the back. It was dark enough that I had my wife undo all but the top button of her skirt, and when the waiter wasn’t around I slid closer and slipped my hand between her thighs under the table cloth. It was like a sauna there, she was so hot and moist.

When I touched her there, Marilyn almost jumped out of her skin. “Please, let’s go home and go to bed! I need you so bad! Please, let’s go!”

I shook my head, and we had a quick dinner and a glass of wine. I wanted to get to bed, too, but it was almost as much fun teasing her as screwing her would be. Almost.

On the way home, as the sun sank in the west, Marilyn used the vibrator on herself, and I stopped teasing her and allowed her to come repeatedly. It was less than a half hour drive, and she got herself off at least three times. Finally, as we neared the house, on a small bend on Mount Carmel Road around the corner from the house, I pulled over. “You’ll probably want to get decent, unless you really want to shock Becky.”

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea!” Marilyn giggled, and tossed the vibrator in the bag with the other purchases, and reached behind her and grabbed her clothing. The panties went into the bag, but she managed to pull her camisole back on and not look so much like a wanton harlot out for a good time.

“Not unless you want to get burned as a witch! The rest of the Carl Buckman Experience will have to wait for later.”

“There’s more?” she asked, eagerly.

“The best part!”

I waited for her to finish getting dressed, and then put the car back in gear. We drove around the corner and looked up at the house. Flashing red lights were in the driveway.

Chapter 79: Trouble

“What in the hell?” I said, half to myself and half to Marilyn. Suddenly I was glad we had gotten our clothing back together. I turned up and into the driveway, and parked behind the Baltimore County Police cruiser with the lights flashing. When I had laid out the grounds, we put in a large circular driveway, able to hold more than just the two cars we had at the time. At least we weren’t blocking him in.

I climbed out of my side of the car and looked around. At the front door a policeman was talking to Becky, who was holding Charlie in her arms, and Dum-Dum was on her leash, straining to get loose. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but what was going on? Everybody had turned towards us when I pulled into the driveway. I limped over as Marilyn ran towards her baby. Charlie didn’t seem all that bothered, but simply held his arms out towards his mother, who took him from Becky. Dum-Dum tried to climb up Marilyn’s leg to play.

“What’s going on?” I asked. Both Becky and the officer tried to talk at once, with Dum-Dum barking and Charlie talking up a storm to Marilyn. I made the time out signal. “One at a time.”

“Who are you?” asked the police officer

“I’m Carl Buckman, and this is my wife Marilyn. We live here. What happened?”

Becky was nodding in agreement. Any further response was stopped when another car pulled into the driveway and Becky said, “It’s my mom! I called her, too.”

Lauren Devlin hopped from her station wagon and came running up. “Are you all right? What happened?” She looked very accusatorily at both me and the cop.

I just shrugged. “We just got here, too.” I turned back towards Becky and the officer, Branson according to his name tag.

“Who are you, ma’am?” asked Branson.

“This is my mother. I called her right after I called the police,” answered Becky. “I thought I saw somebody and I got scared.”

My eyes opened at that, and I looked at Branson. “We got a call about a suspicious vehicle, and I was routed out here. Whoever was here, they weren’t here by the time I got here.”

Dum-Dum was being a real nuisance by now, what with all these visitors here to play with her. I took Charlie, who was very curious, but otherwise fine, from Marilyn, and she dragged the mutt inside. She really didn’t miss any of the conversation. Becky tried to explain what was happening, but her mother kept badgering her for more details. Mom seemed more concerned than Becky.

The gist of it was that Becky had noticed a green car driving up and down our side road three or four times, parking several times near the driveway. The driver never got out, and she couldn’t clearly see who was driving the car, but she thought it was a man. The first time she hadn’t thought about it, and Becky was hazy on how many times it happened. Once she had seen the car parked there, but when she went to a different window to get a better look, the car left. Another time, she only saw the car as it pulled away. When the sun started to go down, she got nervous, and eventually called both the State Police and her mother.

As Becky went through her story, Marilyn and I looked curiously at each other. It got stranger when the police officer started asking everyone some questions. Did we know anybody with a green sedan? Did Becky know somebody with a green sedan? Who knew we were going out tonight? Who knew Becky would be here alone? It was curious to consider that maybe somebody was following Becky and not us, but maybe it was a disgruntled boyfriend.

Nobody knew anything, and Officer Branson decided it was time to go back on patrol. I delayed him for a second. “Becky, your family lives in Hereford, right?” I looked at both Becky and Lauren as I asked this.

Becky nodded and Lauren replied, “Yes, about five miles from here, back down Mount Carmel Road. Why?”

“Well, maybe Officer Branson can follow you and make sure everything is okay. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Both women looked relieved at that, and Branson agreed to follow them home.

Next I pulled out my wallet. Good babysitter wages at the time might have been a couple of bucks an hour, maybe $20 for the night. I pulled out a pair of fifties. I laid one in the palm of her hand and said, “This is for taking care of Charlie. He obviously had a fine time and is none the worse for the wear, and a nice tip on top of that.” Then I laid the second fifty next to the first one. “And this is for being smart and brave and knowing what to do. That’s worth a nice bonus.”

Lauren protested it was too much, and Becky just gabbled, “Oh my God!” That was probably more money than she would make the rest of the month combined.

I smiled. “It’s not too much. You did the smart thing, and we appreciate it. Besides, this way I get guaranteed future baby-sitting service!”

“Meaning what?” asked Lauren, curiously.

“Meaning that even if Becky didn’t want to babysit, or couldn’t, you know she’s going to tell her girlfriends at school and church. Marilyn will be able to line up any number of girls to help!”

Lauren laughed at that and Marilyn groaned. “Okay, enough of you being a businessman. Let’s let Lauren and Becky go home, and I need to change Charlie and put him to bed. This is way past his bedtime!” She hugged Lauren and Becky, and headed inside. I shook Branson’s hand and gave Becky a shoulder hug, and waved as they all left. Then I cleaned out the back of the car and followed my wife inside.

I let Dum-Dum out of the laundry room, where Marilyn had locked her, and put her on her tie-out in the back yard. Then, while she did her business, I took Marilyn’s purchases down to our bedroom and dropped them off. I could hear her in Charlie’s room reading him a bedtime story, and trying to get him to go back to sleep. It had been an exciting evening, and he wasn’t interested. I smiled to myself and then went back and let Dum-Dum back in. She ran around in circles in the living room until I sat down in my recliner, and then she jumped up with me, and I rubbed her belly while she licked my face, and I calmed her down.

When Marilyn finished with Charlie, she came out looking for me. “Hey, that’s my seat!” she protested to Dum-Dum.

Our dog looked up at her with supreme indifference. “I think Dum-Dum thinks it’s the other way around,” I told her.

“Lazy mutt!”

I chuckled and sat upright, dropping Dum-Dum to the floor (gently). “You want some wine? I think I could do with a drink?”

“Me too!” agreed Marilyn. She followed me out to the kitchen, where we had our wine rack on the side counter. I pulled out a bottle of Louis Jadot Macon-Villages Chardonnay, and dug out the corkscrew. Marilyn plopped onto a bar stool and asked, “Do you think there’s a problem?”

“What, with what Becky saw?” Marilyn nodded. “No, I don’t think so. She doesn’t know what she saw! A green car that may or may not have been stopped on the road, but that she didn’t see very well — you did see that her glasses have lenses like the bottoms of a couple of Coke bottles, right? For all we know, somebody up the road just bought a green car, and was out taking a test drive.”

“So you think it’s nothing?”

“Probably. Just keep an eye open the next few days. If you see anything odd, let me know,” I assured her. Seriously, it sounded like absolutely nothing to me. The only reason anybody could possibly be looking the place over was if they wanted to kidnap Charlie for ransom. But how would they know I had any money? I wasn’t well known in the business field, and even in the private equity business we were small potatoes. Nobody had written about us in the paper or a magazine. If it was a kidnapping attempt or setup, it seemed incredibly amateurish. Why drive back and forth around the house first? It had to be a neighbor.

“It kind of put a damper on the festivities, tonight!” commented Marilyn, with a wicked smile to her face. “I was planning on getting ready while you took Becky back home. I wasn’t figuring on having Charlie awake when we got home.”

I gave a light laugh at that. “Kind of killed the mood, huh?” I smiled and shrugged. “We’ll have to plan a crazy night by ourselves this winter, when we take that Mommy-Daddy vacation.”

We kept chatting for a moment, keeping an ear out for Charlie, who woke up once and Marilyn had to settle him back down. He was over-tired, a strange concept unless you have small children, and didn’t want to sleep. He was fighting it, but I knew once he did fall asleep, he would be out all night. When my wife came back, I topped off my glass and then poured the rest of the wine in her glass. “I think I’m going to sit and read for a bit.” I told her.

“I’m going to take a quick shower.” Marilyn took her glass of wine and headed for the bedroom. I nodded and followed her, but stopped in the living room and sat down. Dum-Dum was in the room, but gnawing a bone on an old throw pillow in the corner.

Fifteen minutes later I decided I needed to take a piss. The hall bathroom was too close to Charlie’s room, so I continued down to our bedroom to use our bathroom. Marilyn wasn’t in the shower, but was in the bathtub, up to her neck in bubbles. I looked around, surprised she was bathing and not showering. The bag from the drug store had been opened, and the enema kit had been opened and was set on the vanity. Marilyn’s razor was sitting on the side of the tub. Her wine glass was empty and she had a very wicked smile on her face.

“My glass is empty, Carl. Can you get me a refill?” she asked sweetly.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Good. I decided I didn’t want to go to sleep after all.”

“Back in a bit,” I told her. I headed back to the kitchen. I guess the evening wasn’t going to be a total bust after all! I cracked open a second bottle of Chardonnay and topped my glass off again, and then carried it and the bottle back to the bedroom.

I stopped in my tracks when I saw what Marilyn was up to. No longer under the bubbles, she was now sitting up on the edge, her legs splayed wide, with a coating of shaving cream at her crotch and a razor in her right hand. BOING! I might not be a soldier anymore, but I was sure standing at attention!

Marilyn smiled innocently at me. “I like to be really, really smooth. Don’t you like that, too, honey?”

It took me a second to respond. “Uh, yeah, absolutely!” I filled her glass from the bottle, and watched her shave her pussy clean.

“I really want it smooth. Come here, feel if it’s smooth enough,” she asked.

Well, I’m nothing if not helpful! I set my glass down and went over to Marilyn and put my fingers to her pussy. My wife had a dreamy smile on her face as I ran my fingers over her pussylips and down into her slit, and played with her clit. I kept it up until she grabbed my arm and sighed in orgasm. “I think it’s pretty slick,” I told her.

“All right, hand me my glass and get out. I’ll let you know when I’m ready. Just don’t drink all the wine.”

I smiled at that, and Marilyn sank back down under the bubbles. I swallowed some of my own wine, touched it up, and then left the bottle next to the tub, so she could pour her own. I set her glass on the tub and wandered out of the room. I stopped in our bedroom. The Boy Scouts always say to be prepared, so it was my turn. I hadn’t been wearing an undershirt, but I had worn some briefs. I pulled my pants off and stripped out of them, and then pulled my pants back on commando fashion. I also kicked off my shoes and removed my socks.

What the hell! I had been looking forward to some fun and games when I got my wife home. She wanted the ‘Carl Buckman Experience’ and I wanted to give her one! I went back out to the living room and sat back down in the recliner. I wanted to watch Marilyn some more, but she had something in mind. If it involved the enema kit, I wasn’t interested in watching. I went back to reading my magazine.

It was about half an hour before Marilyn came out of the bedroom, and it was worth the wait. My wife had a pair of ankle strapped stilettos on, and a very sheer baby doll top, and nothing else but a spritz of perfume and a smile. She came over to where I was leaning back in the recliner, and leaned down. Her own musk was combining with the perfume to create an entirely new type of scent, something that would be worth billions if it could be bottled and sold. She began rubbing the front of my pants, and then whispered into my ear, “I really think I want the full ‘Carl Buckman Experience’ tonight. You up to it?”

I swallowed and nodded. “A man’s got to die sometime. Tonight’s as good a time as any, I suppose.” I dropped the footrest on the recliner and stood up, and then followed her swaying ass down the hallway back to the bedroom.

Marilyn had done some cleanup in the bedroom, too. The television was on, and the remote control was set by my side of the bed, and there was an empty videocassette box by the television, so that must be cued up and ready to go. Likewise, she had put several of her toys on the nightstand, along with one of the tubes of flavored lube she had picked up earlier. Even the lights had been dimmed. Marilyn must have wanted the full shot tonight!

I sprawled out on the bed and Marilyn climbed on after that, snuggling up against me and throwing a leg over mine. She was on my left side and her head was laying on my chest. I grabbed a pillow and added it to those behind me, propping me up some, and then reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the remote. I flicked the proper button and the movie started.

We cuddled through the beginning, which involved three pairs of beautiful twenty-somethings arriving at a Caribbean island resort. The first scene was when the first couple hit their room and immediately got undressed and had sex. The blonde was extremely… pneumatic!.. and the guy looked like a steroid freak body builder. It didn’t matter to Marilyn; my wife was rubbing herself against me and very quickly had my shirt and pants undone and was reaching inside to stroke my cock. I helped by lifting my hips up off the bed and she pushed my pants down my thighs. Then I handed her one of the tubes of lube and she opened it and squirted some on my cock, and then proceeded to give me a very nice hand job.

At the start of the second scene, Marilyn stripped my shirt and pants off completely, and said, “I think I know where you want to put this.”

“Oh?”

“You’re going to fuck me with it, aren’t you?”

I smiled. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Any other ideas?”

She began stroking me again. “You probably want me to suck you first.”

“Good idea!” I pushed Marilyn’s face gently towards my mid section, and she shifted around on the bed. On screen, a busty brunette told her boyfriend, while they were out walking through the ‘jungle’ (which looked suspiciously like southern California) that she was feeling strange primal urges to get her ass fucked. They stripped off right there in a ‘jungle glade’ and got it on. Marilyn gave me head throughout this scene, and I held her head in place while she sucked me off completely, swallowing my load.

I sighed contentedly afterwards, and we both had some more wine. Marilyn was pretty lit, and she was going to have a headache in the morning, but tonight she was supremely horny. I set my wine glass back on the night stand and began playing with her body, and I could sense she was ready. Still, I needed to come back to life. During the third scene, the obligatory girl-girl scene between a pair of blondes, I had my wife get into a sixty-nine with me, and I ate her while she sucked me back to life. The last scene we watched was the second blonde getting a TP session on some sort of jungle altar, and that was when I began playing with Marilyn’s asshole, lubing it up with my fingers and opening her up with the new vibrator. She was moaning as loudly as the girl on the video by the time I knelt behind her and slipped my cock into her ass.

“You wanted the Carl Buckman Experience, didn’t you?” I whispered in her ear, as I fucked slowly into her rear. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Oh, God! Fuck me!” she begged.

“Only sluts want the Carl Buckman Experience,” I whispered, “Ass sluts! Sluts like you!” I kept pumping into her, slamming my cock into her greasy asshole, teasing and tormenting her as she whimpered and moaned. Marilyn’s hands were beneath her, diddling her clit furiously as I assfucked her, and I could feel her squirming and writhing beneath me. It became too much. I grabbed her hips and rammed into her, collapsing down onto the bed with her, and unleashed another pulsing load into her backside.

We lay there for another couple of minutes, catching our breath and getting back to normal. I slipped out of her rear, and Marilyn and I headed into the bathroom. She used the toilet and I washed up at the sink. When I came out of the bathroom, I ejected the tape, now in another scene, and put it and the toys away. I finished my wine, and slipped on a pair of clean briefs. Marilyn came out a minute later, blushing with embarrassment. “Well, was it what you expected?” I asked teasingly.

Marilyn turned beet red at that, and didn’t answer.

I laughed, and we finished cleaning up and getting ready for bed. We crawled under the covers and I turned out the light on the nightstand, and Marilyn twisted around to kiss me good night. Then, with the lights out, she whispered, “It was better!”

I went to sleep with a smile on my face!

Chapter 80: More Trouble

We didn’t give the suspicious green car any more thought. Neither of us saw anything out of the ordinary. Nobody was driving past the house and stopping, nobody was following us around, nobody was watching us. At least, not that we could tell. All I knew about counter-surveillance was from reading spy novels and mystery novels, and who knows how correct those are. Marilyn would have been oblivious anyway. We never gave it any more thought.

At least not until a couple of weeks later. Mid-July, I got a panicked call at the office from Marilyn, who was at the grocery store with Charlie. I was in a meeting with Missy and John about a possible investment, when Grace knocked on the door and told me to pick up the phone, it was an important call. I looked at the other two, mystified, and shrugged my shoulders. I told them to stay seated, and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

“Carl?! You have to come get us, we’re stuck at the mall!” It was Marilyn’s voice, sounding half exasperated and half scared.

“What do you mean, you’re stuck at the mall?” Across from me, Missy smiled over at John. I knew this sounded like Marilyn being crazy about something.

“It’s the car! All the tires are flat!”

Well, that made me sit up in my chair. All four tires flat?! I’ve had flat tires before, who hasn’t, and back in a previous life I once lost two tires on a construction site. But all four? That pushed the odds way beyond anything to be expected. “Where are you at?”

“The Hunt Valley Mall.”

“Was there anything else disturbed on the car? Anything broken?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t look. Why?”

I didn’t answer directly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be along in a few minutes.” Marilyn told me where to find her in the mall, and I called the meeting short.

“Is everything all right?” asked Missy.

I made a waffling motion with my hand. “Eh. Marilyn’s car has four flat tires. She’s stuck at the mall and I have to go pick her up. Can you get Grace to find a tow truck or a wrecker to go out there with some new tires? Maybe the Toyota place can do something.” I grabbed my jacket and headed towards the door.

John caught up to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Hold on a second, Carl. Something’s wrong here. Four flats isn’t an accident, it’s vandalism.” I opened my mouth to argue, but couldn’t. He was right. It was way too unlikely to be an accident. “You should call the police.”

“Call the cops? For vandalism? They won’t be able to do anything.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Didn’t you say a few weeks ago that your babysitter saw a car at your house? How do you know it’s not the same thing?”

“John, that’s crazy!”

He pushed back. “You should call the cops. I’m your friend as well as your lawyer. Listen to me.” He turned me back to my desk and pointed at the phone.

I muttered, “This is nuts!” and then dialed 911. The Baltimore County Police said they would send somebody in about fifteen or twenty minutes, which would allow me some time to get over there and find my wife and Charlie.

I looked over at John, who was leaning against the doorframe and smiling. “Happy now?”

“Happy.”

“You know, I already had one mother. Look how that worked out!”

He laughed. “Get out of here. Go find Marilyn and take her out to lunch. She’s too good for you anyway.”

“Very true!”

I took off and drove to the mall. Fortunately I had driven my Lincoln to the office that day. It was only about ten miles away, if that, and I found her and Charlie standing outside one of the entrances to the mall. Charlie was sitting in his stroller, and Marilyn was talking to one of the Rent-A-Cops at the entrance. I pulled up in front of the entrance, and Marilyn finished her chat and pushed the stroller and her purchases towards me. I climbed out and waved at Charlie, who waved back. The security guard took off.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Well, it’s the car. The tires are flat, and the guard at the security office thought it looked weird. He said I should call the police. What do you think?” said Marilyn.

“I already did that. Come on, get in, and let’s go to the car. Where’d you park, anyway?” She pointed, just in time to see a Baltimore County patrol car come into the mall road. I flagged him down. He rolled down the window, and I asked, “Were you sent over to check on a vandalism complaint?”

He nodded. “You the one who called it in?”

“Yes, sir. I just got here. I’m loading my wife and son in the car, and then we’ll go over there, if that’s all right.”

“Yeah, sure.” He picked up the dashboard microphone and started mumbling into it, so I went back to the car and loaded Marilyn’s bags into the trunk, while she put Charlie in his car seat. Then we drove through the rows of parked cars to where Marilyn had left her Toyota.

The security guard was right, something did look weird. It didn’t look like anything random, and none of the other cars nearby were touched. Things got stranger when the cop knelt down and touched the valve stem on the rear right tire. Then he moved forward to the front tire. He looked up at me and said, “Your valve stems have been cut. This isn’t just flat tires.”

“Cut!” I exclaimed. What the hell?! I turned to stare at my wife in disbelief.

He checked all four tires, and then looked over the rest of the car. He stopped at the gas cap cover and looked at that carefully. He repeated the inspection at the trunk and hood latches. “Somebody was trying to get into your gas tank and trunk, too.” He went over to his patrol car. Before I knew what was happening, he had called back to his dispatcher and requested a crime scene investigator to come out. He made another call about five minutes later, after the wrecker from the Toyota dealership showed. It was decided to have the tow guy load the car on the flatbed and haul it to the Towson impound yard, which was close to the lab people.

All during this, he was peppering both Marilyn and me with questions. Did we have any enemies? Did we have any recent problems with neighbors? Were we involved in any law suits? What did I do for a living? What did Marilyn do? Did we have any other children? It was mostly background, but when Marilyn mentioned the problems the night of the reunion, you could see his ears pricking up, almost like a dog on a scent. That caused another call to headquarters, to talk to an investigator of some sort.

When the car was loaded on the flatbed, he released us, with instructions to follow the truck to Towson and go inside to ask for a Detective Lewis Carstans. Then he took off, to go back on patrol. I looked over at Marilyn. “What the hell is going on?”

“No idea!”

“One of your old boyfriends back in town?” I asked, jokingly.

She snorted. “It’s more likely to be one of your old girlfriends!”

That made me scratch my head. It made more sense then I wanted to think about. If this was related to the green car at the house, the night of the reunion, then it made a lot of sense. What if somebody at the reunion was trying to get back at me for something? What? Who? Why? None of this made any sense to me.

Detective Carstans asked us the same questions that the patrol officer had asked, and he asked for any details of the night of the reunion we could think of, which weren’t many at all. At least I knew the date, so he could go through their records and find the patrol officer who had come to the house. Then he took our fingerprints, both mine and Marilyn’s, to compare against anything they found on the car. I couldn’t believe they were taking this that seriously!

Marilyn fed Charlie some cereal she had in her bag; the kid went through Cheerios like I could go through salted cashews! It still wasn’t enough, and he was getting fussy by the time we were finished. It would take a couple of days to process the car (read that as 30 minutes to process it, 15 minutes to figure it out that nothing was there, and 2 days of hurry up and wait while this happened. They would call us when we could pick it up. I wrote off the rest of the day and drove us all home. Marilyn could drive my Town Car for a few days and I would drive the 380.

Let’s face it; the rest of the day was shot for us. We settled Charlie down by stuffing food into him. He was a bottomless pit. I was going to need to start a second corporation just to keep him fed. Then I made us a very late lunch, and we sat down in the living room to talk while our son napped. Neither of us could make any sense of this. Could it have been an ex-girlfriend? Everybody seemed happy the day of the reunion, and I hadn’t seen any of them for ten years. Hell, I hadn’t been involved with any of them since I was 16! That was a ridiculous amount of time to hold a grudge this serious.

Two days later we drove to Towson and picked up the car. Detective Carstans said the forensic report was inconclusive. The valve stems had definitely been cut, but they couldn’t tell by what. What was interesting was that there was a palm print, the same print, on the car body panels at each tire location. We looked blankly at him, and he demonstrated by kneeling down and placing his left hand on the body panel while he mimed cutting the stem. Same print, same location, each tire. If we ever caught the guy doing something else, we could use his prints to tie him to this, too. Or her. Nobody knew if it was a guy or a girl.

Marilyn wanted to know if they could use computers to find who it was, by comparing fingerprints or something. I shook my head. That sort of thing would take massive computing power and databases of prints, and wouldn’t be seen for another twenty years or more.

I was slower to forget about this incident, and I tried to stay more vigilant. Still, whoever it was, they weren’t targeting me. They were targeting Marilyn! Two weeks later Marilyn’s Toyota was vandalized again, this time while she was at the grocery store. A couple of witnesses reported that somebody had driven up to her car, while she was inside shopping with Charlie, and hopped out. Whoever it was, and the eyewitnesses couldn’t agree on anything other than that he or she was driving a green car, had taken a tire iron to Marilyn’s car, busting a headlight, driver’s side mirror, and a couple of windows and the windshield. Then he or she jumped back in the car and took off.

This was getting very serious! Whatever was going on was obviously directed at Marilyn, and the level of violence was escalating. The Toyota was put back through the wringer by the cops, and they found a few more prints, some of which matched the prints found earlier. Whoever was doing this, they weren’t being all that careful. Now we had two detectives questioning us, and they took down the name of every girl I had ever dated, if I could remember them, and quizzed Marilyn about everybody at the reunion she had talked to.

They also started asking me about my family, and that really set me back on my heels! The only person in my family who would do this was Hamilton, but I just couldn’t believe it. I went through my family history with them, but didn’t have much to say. I hadn’t seen any of them since the wedding, except for the disastrous college graduation of Suzie’s and that was a month before the stalking started. I gave out the information I could, but it wasn’t much, and I never heard any more from the cops about my family.

Marilyn was very nervous when we left the police station that day. I drove over to the office and we told what was going on to John, who immediately called a security company. I didn’t like it, but I liked Marilyn being threatened even less. Marilyn was going to get a bodyguard, at least during the day when I wasn’t around. The security guards were from a company John had used in the past, and the company was owned by a former Secret Service agent. We also had a guard posted at the office.

Marilyn wasn’t amused by any of this. Neither were some of my friends from high school, who suddenly found themselves being questioned by the cops about a guy they knew ten years before. Hell, I wasn’t amused!

After a couple of days at home with Marilyn, she decided to go shopping, so I called the security company and got somebody to come out. Once they left, I did something I didn’t think I would ever do again. I went into my den and unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk. Inside was a small case with my.45 Colt from the Army, along with my web belt holster. I didn’t know what was going on, but I just didn’t like it. I took it out to the kitchen and scrounged up some cleaning supplies, and knocked the dust off it. I didn’t like the results, so I put it in a towel, and went out to my car, where I put it in the back of the 380, and then I drove into Parkton. I knew of a gun shop in the town and needed a cleaning kit and some ammo.

While I was there, I asked the guy behind the counter about a concealed carry permit. Maryland is a relatively liberal and Democratic state, which means they don’t just let you wander around carrying a loaded piece! In general, they would prefer that you didn’t, but they couldn’t get around that pesky Second Amendment and ban handguns completely. It sounded like all I needed to do was prove I was an upstanding citizen and have documented proof I was in danger, generally a police report of some form. By now I had this crap in spades! I added a shoulder holster for the Colt.

I took everything back home, and cleaned the gun properly. Then I left Dum-Dum in the laundry room, while I took the gun and a box of ammo up into the woods on my property. I paced off a reasonable distance, and then pulled the gun from my pocket. I stared at it for a moment. I hadn’t fired it since Nicaragua, and when I got it back in Fayetteville, I had simply put it in a drawer. Now, cleaned and loaded, it was as deadly again as it had been when I had used it to kill the four narcos. Ancient history. I flicked off the safety and put seven rounds downrange, aiming at an oak tree.

Three hit. I reloaded and got another four in the X-ring, so to speak. I worked my way through the box of ammo until I was back to my old self, where I felt confident with the gun again. I would need to go to a shooting range to get better, but at least I wasn’t going to shoot myself in the foot. I went back into the house, released Dum-Dum from jail, put her on her tie-out, and then cleaned the gun again.

I let Dum-Dum back in and played with her for a few minutes, and then put her back in jail. Marilyn, Charlie, and the bodyguard came back at that point, and I had the guard stick around. Marilyn was curious, but I explained I needed to go out for a while. I tossed the Colt and the holster into a plastic bag, scrounged up some paperwork, and carried it all out to the Mercedes. I drove down to Towson and went to the police department.

Lew Carstans handed me the form to fill out to get a concealed carry permit, and then he talked to me about carrying a gun. It was a depressing conversation. “Carl, I sympathize with you, I really do, but forget it. You’ll never get a permit.”

“Why not? I can show all the ID, get the references, show my military separation papers, and you know there’s a threat. What’s the big deal?”

He shrugged. “Listen, it’s not up to me. The State Police and the State Attorney General simply aren’t in favor of the Second Amendment. Go ahead and fill out the paperwork. In ninety days it will be turned down. Absent a documented threat to your life, like bullet holes in your car, and not your wife’s, or a job requirement like being a security guard, they simply won’t issue a permit.”

“Ninety days? Are you kidding me? We could be dead in ninety days!” This was insane!

He shrugged. “They just don’t care about that. Better that you be dead then they issue a carry permit, and I am not kidding you about that. There are even rules against deputies and corrections officers carrying weapons while off duty. They just don’t like it. In your case, since the threats are against Marilyn, she might — repeat, might — be able to get a permit. You, as her husband, don’t have a chance.”

“So, what am I supposed to do until we’re dead?” I asked sarcastically.

He lowered his voice. “You never heard me say this. If you were to carry a gun, and a cop stopped you and arrested you, you’ve got enough money and lawyers to get out of it.”

“This is nuts!” I drove home.

I had to think about this. If Marilyn didn’t like having a bodyguard, she was really not going to like me carrying a pistol around the house! Best to brazen it out. Once I got home, I sat her down in the kitchen, while the security guy was still there, and I told her what Lew Carstans and I had discussed. The security guard weighed in on this, describing the steps he and his security company had gone through. Surprisingly, Marilyn’s only comment was to make sure I kept it away from Charlie. I swore six ways from Sunday to keep it locked up if I didn’t have it on me. Otherwise she was fine. She was really spooked by all this! The security guard asked me a few questions, and I had a few for him as well. He carried a 9 mm Beretta, and we talked shop for a few minutes. I don’t think Marilyn even knew he was armed until that point. Then he took off, after checking schedules with us. I needed to get to the office for a few days, so he promised somebody would be by in the morning before I left.

The guard was carrying an M9 Beretta 92 9 mm with a magazine carrying 15 rounds. My Colt.45 could only carry a 7 round magazine, with an additional round in the action, since it had a single stacked magazine. More modern guns, the Berettas and Glocks and Sig Sauers, all had double stacked magazines, where the rounds were side by side. If something happened and I couldn’t handle it with 8 rounds, I was probably well and truly fucked, regardless. On the other hand, if I got it out and on target, I was also confident the target was going down, and going down hard. Nines reportedly didn’t have the same stopping power. I had never fired one, but that was what I had heard, at least.

Nothing much happened for a few more days. Marilyn didn’t like the fact I left the gun on the nightstand, but Charlie was still sleeping in a crib. I couldn’t see the sense of having the gun at home and locked away in the den. Dum-Dum was an excellent guard dog; she would immediately jump on any intruder and try to lick them to death. I wanted something a little more lethal at hand.

A couple of days later, while Marilyn and Charlie were in a store in Towson with the bodyguard trailing along behind them, her Toyota was firebombed, along with the two cars nearest it. That made the local news. The cops investigated some more, but short of assigning a surveillance team 24/7, we had to wait until whoever was doing this made a mistake.

Marilyn chafed a bit being with a bodyguard, but I couldn’t blame her. This eased some once she got used to it, and learned to accommodate the requirements. She needed to plan her days out ahead of time, and let the guard know her plans, so somebody could always be around. If I was home, and Marilyn and Charlie were home, I could handle the detail. After about a week we had a routine down. Nothing really happened during the two weeks since her little Toyota was trashed. During that time, we usually had one or two guards around during the day. When we both left the house, a guard was left with Dum-Dum, in case whoever it was came after the house.

We still had no idea who it was. Lew Carstans had already ruled out all the potential names we had come up with, like my ex-girlfriends. He had checked alibis for them and determined that no single person could have been at every instance of harassment and vandalism. The same was true of any names Marilyn could come up with. As for my family, we got nothing. Dad drove a grey Toyota and didn’t know where I lived. Hamilton drove a red Nissan, and lived with Mom in an apartment in White Marsh. Suzie was living in an apartment down on Charles Street. Besides, the evidence was pointing to a man, not a woman.

It was very frustrating. It even affected our love life; who would dare to start fooling around at night when we were worried somebody might be outside the house. Everything was locked down, but still, who knew?

Two weeks after that, on the night of August 18, a Thursday, was the next incident. It was late at night, probably about midnight. The security guys were long gone, and it was just the three of us plus Dum-Dum. We had taken to joking about the mutt, but she was actually a decent watchdog. She had incredible hearing, and as soon as somebody would come to the house, she would perk up and jump around and make some noise. Of course, she would try to lick them to death, but as long as we knew somebody was around, I could handle the rest of it.

Anyway, it was about midnight, both Marilyn and I had gone to bed, although nothing had happened. Marilyn was too nervous to get romantic, and I wasn’t going to push it. Just as I was about to drop off, Dum-Dum started going nuts. She came running into our bedroom and jumped up on the bed, barking towards the window. Then she would jump off the bed, race over to the window that faced the road, bark some more, and then run back and jump back up on the bed. She kept doing that and driving both Marilyn and me crazy.

Marilyn said it first, “Something or somebody is out there.”

Before I would have made a comment about rabbits or deer, both of which we had wandering the property. Now, I wasn’t so sure. “Yeah,” I responded, and I rolled upright. I immediately grabbed the Colt and stood upright, dressed only in my briefs. I grabbed Dum-Dum by the collar and said, “Knock it off!” She jumped back up onto the bed and Marilyn grabbed her and calmed her down. I went to the window and looked out.

There was nobody in sight. There were no cars on the road. There was, however, a flickering glow out on the lawn. I couldn’t make it out, so I moved to the dresser and put on my glasses, and then went back to the window. The lawn was on fire!

“Call 911! The lawn’s on fire!” I told Marilyn. I grabbed my pants and slipped them on, and then headed out of the bedroom. Marilyn was already grabbing for the telephone. On the way out the door, I cocked the hammer on the.45. Barefoot and shirtless, I slipped out the front door to try and figure out what was going on.

It was a Molotov cocktail, but something had gone wrong. It looked like some sort of liquor bottle, but it was laying on the ground, in the middle of some burning fuel of some sort. Whoever had thrown it, they had missed the house. Or weren’t they aiming at the house? This was getting really serious!

I went back inside. Marilyn had a robe on and was looking at me nervously. “Did you call 911?” I asked.

She nodded. “They said they would send out a police car and the fire department. What is it?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure. Let’s wait until they get here.” I went back to the bedroom, and slipped into a pair of loafers and then pulled on a shirt. I tried to tuck the pistol into the back of my pants, but couldn’t figure the trick of it. It seemed a lot easier on TV shows. I couldn’t get it to stay, so I just held it in my hand. When people with flashing lights began to show up, I put it on the end table in the living room.

First to arrive was a Baltimore County policeman. The fire department showed up with a rescue squad truck and a pumper. The pumper was sent back to the station and the guys in the rescue truck put out the remaining flames with a hand held extinguisher.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked, though not to anybody specific. The police officer looked from me over to one of the firemen, and I followed his gaze.

The fireman nodded. “If you think it’s a Molotov cocktail, then you’re right.”

“So, why is my lawn burning, and not my house? I mean, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t that the general idea behind these things?” Marilyn was standing in the doorway, still in a long robe and slippers, and looking nervous. I turned to her and said, “I think you should call the security company. This is getting a lot more serious.”

Marilyn’s eyes lit up, and she scurried back inside. I turned back to the fireman, and asked, “So, what happened with it?”

He shrugged. “Don’t believe all the stuff you see in the movies. These things are a lot trickier than you would believe. The fuse can fall out, the bottle might not break, hell, half the time the guy throwing it sets himself on fire! You only use these things when you can’t do it a better way. My bet? Whoever threw this had never done it before. He didn’t throw it hard enough or far enough, and the bottle landed on the lawn. The glass didn’t break, the rag came out, and all the gas spilled and started the lawn fire.”

The second fireman, the guy who had used the fire extinguisher on it, said, “We should save the bottle. Maybe they can get some fingerprints or something off it.”

“I think that’s a very good idea,” agreed the cop. They scrounged up a bag to carry the empty bottle in, and the police officer put it in the trunk of his car. The rescue truck cleaned up and left, just about the time a car showed up with a pair of security guards. We filled them in, and the police officer left.

One of the security guys started patrolling outside, while the other came into the house with me. Charlie had slept through everything, bless his little heart, but Marilyn was very nervous, and looked to be on the verge of tears. “We need to get you and Charlie out of here. I don’t know who is doing this, but it’s getting worse.”, I told her.

The security guard who came in with us was a supervisor. He said, “I agree with that. We don’t have a handle on who is doing this, but whoever is doing this is an amateur. That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous, but he’s going to get caught sooner rather than later. So far he’s been lucky. Is there a place you can go?”

Marilyn looked confused. “No. Where would we go?” I didn’t know, either. I just shrugged at her.

The security guy started asking about places — vacation spots, summer homes, my family, her family — that sort of thing. When he mentioned Marilyn’s family and summer places, something came to mind. “Sacandaga Lake!”

“What’s that? Where’s that?”

Marilyn answered. “My folks have a summer place in the Adirondacks, on Sacandaga Lake.”

“Would they let you stay there?” he asked.

“Uh… I guess so. I can call them in the morning.”

“No, not from here. Call them from somewhere else. Not your office either,” he told me. “We don’t know what capabilities this person has. Don’t use the phones.”

I started at that. I stared at both him and Marilyn for a bit. Wiretaps? This was getting crazy! “Let’s set it up. I know where we can call from tomorrow. I want a guard with the two of you until this is over. We’ll fly you out tomorrow.”

“No, wait! What about you!?”

“I’m staying behind. This is going to end, one way or the other.”

“NO!” Marilyn cried, loud enough to wake Charlie, who started fussing.

I ignored him. “Yes. We need to finish this. We get the two of you out of here, and we hide my car somehow. I’ll be the bait.” Since Marilyn’s car had been torched, she had been using my Lincoln while I had been driving the Mercedes.

This did not seem a good plan to my wife. She ignored Charlie long enough for him to fall back asleep, and tried to argue me out of it. On the other hand, after a few minutes, the security guy started tossing some ideas into the mix.

Marilyn and I went into the bedroom and I pulled out the suitcases, much to my wife’s distress. We continued to argue, even as I opened them up and pulled open her dresser drawers. It finally came down to, “Marilyn, we have to do this. You won’t be safe until you and Charlie can leave. Charlie won’t be safe without you. I have to finish this. If somebody comes after me, I can handle it, but only if I’m not worried about you. This won’t take long. Whoever is doing this is getting crazier. It’s escalating. If we get rid of the 380, and leave the Town Car, maybe whoever it is will think I’m the one who’s gone, and try to come after you again.”

Marilyn kept arguing, and was crying, but I insisted. Neither of us got any sleep that night, but we got her bags packed. In the morning, we packed Charlie’s stuff, and then I drove over to Tusker’s. He asked what was going on, but I wouldn’t tell him. I just asked to use his phone and he left. My buddy knew about the problems we had been having, so he assumed it was something to do with that. I called Harriet and gave her the Reader’s Digest condensed version of the story. That simply meant I had to repeat it all to Big Bob five minutes later. He didn’t like any of this, but he went along with it. That was all I wanted, or expected. I hung up and left, telling Tusker I would explain it all to him soon, but I had to keep it secret for the moment.

By noon, everything was in place. Lloyd Jarrett had a plane warmed up at the Westminster airfield, and a small convoy of security people had Marilyn, Charlie, and Dum-Dum out of the house and on the road, taking the 380 with them. I would have given anything to be with them, but the plan still made the most sense, and I stayed behind. The security guys would brief the people at the office. (Even they had been investigated; they all had alibis for the various incidents.)

It was very quiet around the house after they left. I finally got a nap mid-afternoon. It would take some serious surveillance assets to track Marilyn’s movements, and whoever was doing this simply seemed determined and crazy, but not all that sophisticated.

I stayed in the house for the next few days, with only the Town Car out front. Carstans came out the next day, after having been briefed by the security company, and we talked inside. He had a preliminary report on the bottle from the lawn. It was a champagne bottle, and the heavy glass had kept it from breaking. There was a partial print that matched one of the prints we already had found on Marilyn’s car. It was the same person, but we still didn’t know who. On the other hand, it seemed to be a man. The size of the handprint from the tire stem incident had been measured and was way outside the range for a woman. This meshed with a couple of reports that said it was a man in the green car.

After about two weeks on my own, without even the ability to call Marilyn, I was starting to go stir crazy. One of the security guys would come out every morning, the same time, and bring in some groceries in a small van with a security marking on it. If anybody was watching, it would look like we had taken some precautions, but not much. I stayed in and out of sight. I would give the security guy a message to forward on to Marilyn, just to let her know I was safe.

It happened on Labor Day weekend, Saturday, September 3^rd. The guard had just left, and I was using the bathroom in our bedroom when I heard something. It sounded like the side patio door being opened. I zipped my pants as quietly as I could, even though it sounded like a freight train, and then tiptoed out to the bedroom. I had left the Colt on the dresser. I hadn’t heard anything else, and was starting to wonder if I was just getting spooked. Then I glanced out the bedroom window and saw a green Buick parked in the driveway.

Oh, shit!

Thank God I was barefoot, because whoever it was would have heard my shoes on the hardwood floor. How they didn’t hear my heart pounding was a different question. I thumbed the hammer back on the Colt, but kept my index finger extended along the barrel. I carried the gun down at my side. I slipped out the door to the hallway and began moving slowly towards the great room. When I got to the great room, I peeked around the arched opening and didn’t see anybody. I did see the patio door was open, and I heard somebody off towards the side of the kitchen, down by the laundry and weight room.

Bronze Star or not, I have no idea how the infantry guys do this for real without having a heart attack. I swear I was terrified. I moved across the great room towards the kitchen, expecting to have somebody come around and blast me to shreds. I kept going until I made it across the room to the archway near the kitchen. I could hear somebody moving around in the kitchen clearly now. I said a silent prayer and looked around the corner.

“Hamilton?!”

Chapter 81: Consequences

Saturday, September 3, 1983

I stared at my brother, standing there in my kitchen. Of all the various scenarios that had run through our minds, my family was never included. Yes, they had been questioned, but it had never seriously crossed any of our minds. To the best of our knowledge, the only person who even knew where we lived or even our phone number was Suzie, and she certainly wasn’t involved. However, there he was, standing in my kitchen, a look of sheer hatred on his face, and carrying a gigantic Bowie knife.

“Hamilton?!” I repeated. “What are you doing?”

He stopped and sneered at me. “Nothing, now. You surprised me. Where’s the bitch and the brat? The car is outside.”

Hearing him call Marilyn a bitch brought me back to reality. My brother was the one behind everything. He had been the one to vandalize and torch her car, he had been the one who tried to firebomb my home, he was the one trying to kill us. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

“It’s all your fault! You’re the reason we had to move out. You’re not supposed to be here! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”

“Hamilton, that’s crazy!” I was staying out of arm’s reach of my brother. He was still holding that ridiculous knife, and the way he was talking, he was almost raving.

Saying the word crazy was not my best choice. Hamilton’s face turned red and he started sputtering and screaming. “I’M NOT CRAZY! DON’T EVER SAY THAT AGAIN! DON’T CALL ME CRAZY!” He advanced on me.

Screw that! I slowly stepped back, staying out of range. My gun hand was down by my side and he hadn’t twigged to the fact I was also armed. I didn’t want to provoke him any further than he already was. I held up my left hand and said, as soothingly as I could, “Hey, okay, sorry about that. Why don’t you sit down? We can talk this over.”

He sneered at me. “No, I’ll just come back someday when the bitch is here. I’ll talk to you later.” He lowered his arm and started to turn away.

I felt something cold and clammy grip my heart. Hamilton wanted to kill Marilyn and Charlie, and only then kill me! I fought down the urge to vomit. “Wait! Hamilton!” I called to him.

He turned to face me, and brought the Bowie knife up again. “What?”

I brought the Colt up and fired twice, hitting him in the chest, both times. It’s not like in the movies, where people go flying across the room. Hamilton simply fell backwards, to lie on the kitchen linoleum and begin leaking. I kept the gun trained on him and got closer, but it was obvious he was dead. I had hit him center of mass, just like they tell you to, and one or both of the heavy slugs had blown through his heart. Probably out the back, too, since massive quantities of blood were now seeping out from underneath him.

I felt shaky as the adrenaline washed through me. I took a deep breath and fought the urge to toss my cookies. After another minute, I set the pistol on the kitchen counter, and moved off to the bedroom. I slipped on my shoes, and then grabbed the phone. I dialed 911.

“Emergency! What is the nature of your emergency?” said the voice at the other end.

“There’s been a shooting. You’ll need to send the police and the coroner.” I gave my name and the address.

If the operator felt anything emotionally about these calls, she didn’t let it through on the phone. “Is the shooter still present?” she asked.

“I’m the shooter. I won’t leave.”

“Please stay on the line.”

“I’m sorry; I need to make a few more calls.” I hung up, which was probably a crime in itself, but I really didn’t care. I called John Steiner. As expected, he told me to be cooperative but to keep my mouth shut until he got there. No surprise there. I hung up on my long time attorney, with the realization I needed him now more than ever.

I went back out to the kitchen. Hamilton was still lying there, surrounded by a pool of blood. Part of me was thinking I should have done this years ago. Part of me was thinking I should have drowned him at birth. Most of all I was just saddened by the waste of it all. Now my family was completely and utterly destroyed. There was no going back from this, even though I had to do it. He was insane. He would have killed my wife and my son, and then tried for me. It would have never ended. Even if I had managed to capture him, or had told the cops what had happened and they had brought him in, he would have gotten out sooner or later. Unless you are foaming at the mouth crazy, or can be proved to be a menace, they have to let these nut jobs loose again. They wouldn’t have locked him up for good until after he had killed somebody!

I heard the siren long before it got to the driveway. Leaving my brother where he lay, I went to the front door and stepped outside. As soon as the police arrived I very slowly raised my hands above my head. The first car there was a Maryland State Trooper. He got out of the car and gave me a hard look. “Are you the person who phoned in the shooting?” he asked, his right hand on his pistol butt.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you still carrying the gun?”

“No, sir.”

“I want you to move very slowly, and lean against the door, with your legs spread and your hands on the door frame.”

“Yes, sir.” I assumed the position, which everybody knows who has ever seen a police show on television, and found myself quickly but thoroughly frisked.

At the end, slightly more relaxed when he didn’t find me carrying a weapon, I was allowed to stand upright again. “You’d better take me inside to the body. Is anybody else here?”

“No, sir.”

He kept his hand on his gun butt and I walked slowly ahead of him. We went into the kitchen, where he took in the gruesome scene, along with the pistol on the counter. “You want to tell me what happened? What’s your name?”

“My name is Carl Buckman. As for what has happened, I have already contacted my attorney, and he has told me not to say anything until he is present.”

At the mention of my lawyer, the cop’s face hardened. “Who is the victim?”

“His name is Hamilton Buckman.”

By now we could hear more sirens approaching. The clusterfuck was beginning. “Was he a relative?”

“My brother.”

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered. Then he nodded, “Well, put your hands behind your back.”

I guess he figured possession was nine points of the law, or something. I turned away and put my hands behind my back. Shortly after that I felt handcuffs going on. It wasn’t the first time I had felt them, but this time it seemed a lot more significant.

I just stood there silently while the circus came to town. Next on the scene was a Baltimore County Police car, followed closely by an ambulance. Maybe the coroner wasn’t coming; maybe they only got the body after the hospital pronounced it dead. The ambulance guys didn’t waste more than ten seconds determining Hamilton didn’t need their professional talents, so they just sat down in the living room while more cops showed up.

Next up was a Baltimore County Police sergeant, who knew something about the case, and who argued I should be turned over to them. No dice. I was probably a valuable bargaining chip for the Troopers, so I got hustled out the door and put into the Trooper car. I sat there, mute, for another ten minutes while the sergeant and the Trooper argued, and then the Trooper solved the problem by driving me over to the barracks in Westminster.

I gave my name to the cops in the barracks, again, and was dumped into a holding cell. John would have to dig me up there. It turned out he didn’t. Before he ever showed, the sergeant and a lieutenant from the Baltimore County Police showed up, and they got custody of me. I was recuffed and loaded into a Police car and driven down to Towson. That was fine with me; Towson was where Carstans was based and I suspected he was going to be involved in this mess very quickly.

I waited in the holding cell in Towson about three hours before I was yanked out and taken to an interrogation room. Inside I found Carstans, a Baltimore County Police lieutenant, a Maryland State Trooper sergeant, John Steiner, and another man I had never met before. Almost immediately as I showed up, the sergeant and the lieutenant started arguing again over who had possession of me. I was cuffed to the table.

Carstans slipped around them and came over to me. He asked, “Was it your brother who did all this?”

I was on the verge of answering when I felt John’s hand on my shoulder. “We need to talk to our client.” I just looked over my shoulder at him and nodded. The unknown man next to John must have been another lawyer.

Carstans just nodded and muttered an assent. He went to the door and knocked on it, and it opened. The sergeant and the lieutenant kept arguing as they went out the door.

Once we were alone, John sat down. “How are you doing, Carl?”

“Okay, I guess. Better than Hamilton is doing.” I turned to the other fellow and asked, “Who are you?”

John answered for him. “This is Robert DeAngelis. He’s a criminal attorney here in Towson, probably the best in the county.”

“Mister Buckman,” he said by way of greeting.

“Pleased to meet you. I’d shake your hand but, well…” I rattled my handcuffs and smiled at him. I turned back to John. “A criminal attorney? You can’t handle this?”

“It’s one thing for me to dig you out of a school fight when you’re thirteen. It’s quite different when you’ve killed somebody. You need him, Carl.”

I turned back to DeAngelis. I shrugged and said, “Nothing personal. Welcome aboard. Has John told you what’s been going on in my life?”

DeAngelis had a pleasant baritone and a look of confidence and surety. He probably did great with juries, especially if they had a lot of women on them. “Yes, but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, have they processed you into the system yet? Fingerprints, photographs, that sort of thing? Have you been booked yet?”

“No. I’ve just been sitting in a cell since I got here. I think they’re still trying to figure out who owns me,” I answered.

He smiled at that. “That actually makes things a touch simpler. Now, I want you to tell me what has happened, right from the start. Just imagine I’ve never heard of you or your case, and have never talked to anybody about you. Start from the beginning.”

For the next hour and a half, I went through everything with the pair of them, starting with the night Becky called the cops the night of the reunion. About halfway through the talk, there was a rap on the door and Detective Carstans came in. “Any idea when we can talk?” he asked.

DeAngelis answered, “We’ll let you know,” dismissing him.

Carstans snorted and smiled. “You just do that. By the way, for the time being, you belong to us. That can always change, though, so be nice to me.” He left and I finished my tale.

One interesting thing that DeAngelis asked about several times was the knife that Hamilton had carried. “And you say that it wasn’t your knife? It wasn’t a kitchen knife or something like that?”

“No, no way. It looked to me like a Bowie knife or something. It was ridiculous, way too big to be useful. Besides, I know the knives around the house, it was nothing like them.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Well, there’s the butter knives in the kitchen, and the steak knives, and the kitchen knives — you know paring knives and chef’s knives and stuff. I got them all as a set, you know what I mean?” He nodded and I continued. “Other than that, I have a pocket knife, a Buck knife with a lockback blade. That’s in my bedroom right now. In the den I have a couple of Gerber combat knives, including a mini-knife I use as a letter opener, but they’re nothing like what he had with him.”

He quizzed me some more about the knife and also the timing of his visit today. I also had John tell him some more about the security company who was watching over Marilyn and Charlie.

The one thing I left out was that Hamilton was on the verge of leaving, when I called him back and shot him. I knew enough to know that if I said he was advancing towards me, I could call itself self defense. What really happened, which was just as much a case of self defense to my mind, would probably be called murder. I would have to take those last few seconds to the grave with me. Hamilton would probably meet me in hell to exact his revenge.

I asked a question. “When can I call Marilyn and let her know what happened?”

“Maybe later today. She won’t be able to come home, though. Right now your house is a crime scene,” said John.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Still, she’ll be better knowing this is over. Do we talk to the cop now?”

John looked at DeAngelis, who nodded. John went to the door and knocked on it. The door was opened and John spoke to whoever was on the other side. The door shut again and we waited another ten minutes for Carstans to show up. He had a thick folder with him.

First, however, John said, “Let’s get the cuffs off our client first. You know him by now. He’s not a flight risk and he’s not dangerous.”

Carstans shrugged. “Probably not. Try not to run on me, Carl. I’d hate to let the Staties shoot you.” He undid my cuffs.

I immediately stretched and then rubbed my wrists. “Thanks, Lew,” I said to him.

“You want to tell me what happened now?” he asked.

I glanced over at DeAngelis, who nodded, and told Carstans everything. He already knew about the firebomb attack, and how I had sent my family away for safety. He also knew I had owned the Colt. He hadn’t been out to the house, but the reports were already filtering back that the bullets went in the front, so it wasn’t like I had chased Hamilton down and shot him in the back. DeAngelis stressed several times that any knife found needed to be examined and possession needed to be determined, and how it wasn’t my knife. If Hamilton was the owner of the knife and brought it into my house, it was case closed, self defense.

“When can our client be released?” asked DeAngelis.

Carstans stared at him. “That’s a very good question, counselor. I’m not even sure he’s going to be released.”

“Detective, please, you know and I know this is never even going to trial, let alone jail time. Why don’t you save the state the cost of a trial they will never possibly win and let him loose now?”

“Maybe it will and maybe it won’t, but that isn’t for me to decide.”

I held up my hand for a moment, and then leaned over to whisper to my two lawyers. “Does it help any if we can prove that Hamilton was crazy? I mean real go-see-a-shrink crazy?”

“You have proof of that?” asked DeAngelis.

“I have a copy of a psychiatric report, stating he was a paranoid schizophrenic. I also have a copy of a police report from when he was a teenager and tried to sabotage my car.” I turned towards John. “Remember, that’s the reason I moved out of the house back then.”

He looked at DeAngelis and nodded.

DeAngelis sat upright, so John and I did, too, and he said, “Detective, would it make any difference if we offered proof that the deceased was clinically insane, and had threatened our client before?”

That made Carstans sit upright. “Really? Why didn’t you ever tell us this before?”

“Hey, until today, Hamilton wasn’t even on the radar screen. I had no idea he was involved. I don’t even know how he found us! Besides, with all of the people you asked me about, we never knew who was important. Marilyn and I’ve known he was nuts from the time he was a kid!”

He didn’t say anything, but left again. Half an hour later, he returned. “Okay, you can go. For now! I need to know where you will be, and how to reach you, and you can’t move back home. That’s still a crime scene and hasn’t been released yet.”

John handled that. “Can we send somebody over to get clothes from the bedroom at least? I can get somebody from the security company over there.”

Carstans agreed to that, and John said he would put me into a suite at the Hyatt downtown, under his name. I would stay there until they needed me, after the investigation was over and the house could be released and cleaned up. I promised to get the various reports on Hamilton to both the cops and the lawyers, and I was led outside. DeAngelis made a comment about how there weren’t any reporters yet, which made me cringe. John loaded me in his car, and we drove down to Baltimore.

It was the early evening, and it had been a long day, and I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. I was tired and hungry. I sat there in the car while John went inside to make arrangements, and only got out when he came out to fetch me. We went directly to the elevators and then rode up to a mid-size suite. He left me after telling me to call Marilyn and order room service. Under no circumstances short of a hotel fire was I to leave the suite, and if anybody called, I was to let him know before answering any questions. I was on lockdown, which suited me just fine. John would handle calling my father, who was far and away the best grounded of my parents.

I’m ashamed to say that the first thing I did was call for a meal. Only after I ordered a burger and a beer did I call the camp at Sacandaga Lake. The telephone was answered by the security guard, who had already been alerted by his boss. John had been busy. He set the phone down and got Marilyn to pick it up.

“Hello? Carling? Is that you?”

“Yes, honey, it’s me. You can come home now. It’s all over.”

“What happened?! Who was it?!”

“It was Hamilton, Marilyn. He finally cracked up. He was coming for you and Charlie. It’s safe now, you can come home,” I told her.

“What happened? Did you catch him?”

“I killed him. Come home, honey, I’ll tell you all about it. It’s over now.”

“Oh my God!” she cried.

“Come on home, honey. It’s safe now.” I had her put the security guy on the phone and told him to confirm it with his office, but that the situation was over and Marilyn and Charlie and Dum-Dum could come home now. He was to get them to the Hyatt, however, and not let them near the house. Dum-Dum would need to be kenneled at the vet’s. We hung up. There was too much to tell on the phone.

I spent the weekend at the Hyatt, and half the time I was on the phone with John and the security company. Mid-afternoon Sunday, one of the security guys showed up at the suite with several plastic bags of clothing, including a couple of suits and underwear and khakis and a bunch of other stuff. He also dug through my desk in the den to find my file on Hamilton, with the copy of the psychiatric report and police report from when he tried to vandalize my car in high school. He also told me that the house was a disaster. The cops had basically been through everything, looking for weapons, knives, guns, and anything to tie me to Hamilton (as if being his brother wasn’t enough!) Worse, although the body was gone, enough people had rampaged through to track blood all over the place. He even had to kick out a reporter who had ignored the crime scene tape and was going through photographing my wife’s lingerie. He handed me all the film he had confiscated, and we yanked it from the canisters and rolls and destroyed it. A security guard was now on site to keep the curious away.

Marilyn arrived just before six, just in time to see her loving husband being discussed on the local news. Fortunately, nobody had any photos of us. Unfortunately, somebody managed to track down and stick a camera in front of my mother, who told the entire world that I was Lucifer incarnate and generally ranted like a crazy woman. Then the cameras segued to a shot of my father punching out a reporter on the front lawn of the house in Lutherville. This was a clusterfuck and a half!

I told Marilyn the chilling story of what had happened, including Hamilton’s plan to kill her and Charlie first. She simply cried and shivered in my arms. That night she just slept in my arms, exhausted.

On Tuesday we got the word from John that the District Attorney was not going to be pursuing any charges against me. They had been able to verify that Hamilton actually was crazy, and they had found the knife and traced it back to the store where our mother had purchased it for him for Christmas the year before. Furthermore, although Hamilton drove a red Nissan, our mother owned a green Buick, and she let him drive it whenever he wanted. Thanks, Mom, a whole bunch! The autopsy had shown that one bullet had blown through his heart and continued on out the back (it was found in the wall of the kitchen), while the other had gone through his sternum and heart, and then buried itself in his spine. Either shot was immediately fatal.

Marilyn asked me if I thought my mother knew what Hamilton was up to, and I said “No.” That seemed farfetched even for my mother, but the fact we could even raise the question was chilling. The house was released as a crime scene, and I contacted the contractors for the kitchen and the flooring to come in and start ripping out and replacing. I wasn’t going to let Marilyn see what had happened. A cleaning company was brought in for everything else.

The media frenzy was not letting up. Cain and Abel was just too good a story to let go, especially when Mom kept stirring the pot. Then she had a nervous breakdown and ended up in Sheppard Pratt under observation. That was reported, too.

Bob DeAngelis found part of the problem. The State Troopers were having a pissing contest with the Baltimore County Police over me. They wanted me arrested and charged with first degree murder. (They were claiming I had ‘lured’ Hamilton to my home and then ‘trapped’ him in the kitchen, and that this constituted ‘intent’, the prerequisite to a first degree murder charge.) They didn’t care that it would get thrown out of court, since they had done their job by getting a murderer off the street, and the courts and prosecutor’s offices would take the blame for letting a killer go. DeAngelis said it really wasn’t about me, but about budget issues. It didn’t really matter though, they were leaking like a sieve, pushing edited versions of everything they were copied in on right out the back door to the media.

I told John I would do a single press conference, but it would be by our rules. He was to bring in one print reporter from the Baltimore Sun, and one local television reporter from either WBAL, WJZ, or WMAR. They could share coverage or go without. In return, I would make a statement, and then answer questions, as long as they were polite and didn’t misbehave. Under no circumstances would we allow them to see inside our house.

John made some phone calls, and the best we could do was a counteroffer, one print reporter, one shared camera, but a reporter from all three television stations. He agreed and Thursday morning a camera was set up in a conference room downstairs at the Hyatt. That way everyone could make the 6 PM news. Wednesday afternoon he and I sat down and made copies of the various police and psychiatric reports, and wrote out my initial statement. We also ginned up a short biography for me, but left Marilyn out of it.

The next morning, I dressed in a conservative suit in order to do the press conference. Surprisingly, Marilyn dressed in a nice blue knee length wrap dress and a pair of heels. “Where are you going?” I asked her.

“I’m going with you,” she told me.

“Marilyn, this is not a good idea. Just because I have to swim in a cesspool does not mean it has to be a group swim!”

She came over to stand in front of me, a hard look to her face. “Carl Buckman, if you don’t know me better than that by now, I really will be disappointed. I married you, warts and all, and if this is the worst of your warts, I’m not impressed. I am going to stand beside you, just like I always will, so get over it.”

I felt like crying, but big boys don’t cry, so I shrugged and said, “You’re going to be sorry!” I shrugged my suit coat on, grabbed my cane, and took her hand. Somebody from the hotel was watching Charlie, and Marilyn and I left the room and headed downstairs to the conference room.

John stopped me outside the room. “Are you sure about this? Last chance!”

“Too late to stop now,” I told him.

He turned to my wife. “You?”

Marilyn gripped my hand hard enough to tell me how scared she actually was. “Yes.”

“Give me thirty seconds, and then follow me in.” He slipped inside the door, and I mentally counted to thirty. Then I opened the door and went inside, with Marilyn behind me. At a podium in front of the conference room, John was standing. “Let me introduce Carl and Marilyn Buckman.”

Almost immediately a young man started yelling out, “Mister Buckman, how does it feel to have murdered your brother?!” He kept yelling questions at me as I approached the podium. John’s face was red with fury, and he was yelling back for the reporter to be quiet. I just gave John a quiet smile and waved a hand at him to get him to calm down. The reporter kept badgering me, and I noticed he was the only one of the four to be doing so. I simply smiled and put my right elbow on the podium and leaned forward, resting my chin in my cupped palm. I just stood there, chin resting on my palm and smiling, until the guy ran down.

When he stopped, I stood upright and said, “Does everyone understand the format of this press conference? First I am going to make a statement and then I will take questions. All right?”

Big Mouth immediately cried out again, “How does it feel to have murdered your brother?!”

I waited for him to run down again, and the asked, “Excuse me, who are you?”

“Bob Turcos, WJZ-TV. Answer my question!”

“Mr. Turcos, did you or did you not agree to the format of this press conference when you agreed to participate?”

“Journalism cannot be suppressed in this fashion…” he began, pompously.

“Agree or leave. You will no longer be part of this press conference if you do not agree to simple courtesy.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Mister Turcos, I can do whatever I want. You all want to talk to me, not the other way around. Now, we are acting like adults,” I said, pointing to my wife and John, still seething to the side. “And your counterparts are acting like adults,” I added, pointing at the other reporters. “You, on the other hand, are acting like a four year old who wants more candy. Now grow up or leave.”

The asshole immediately started protesting, so I left the podium, took Marilyn’s hand, and left the room. John stayed behind. I stopped in the hallway outside the room and Marilyn said, “So much for that.”

I smiled. “Give it five minutes.”

“What?”

I just smiled and patted her hand, and waited two minutes. Then John came out of the room, giving me a surprised look when he saw us standing there. He came over, and I asked him, “Are they going to behave?”

“How did you know?”

“The others want this too much, and that jackass is the junior in the bunch. You think they all don’t know each other, and each other’s bosses? Is he going to behave now?”

“They chewed his ass ragged and I told them I would try to get you back.”

“Go back in and tell them we’ll be back down in two minutes.” John laughed and I shooed him back down the hallway.

Marilyn looked at me. “You think you’re so smart!” I just laughed at her.

Two minutes later we went back into the room, and the asshole kept quiet. His face was red, however, and I knew he would have the rudest questions at the end. I strode up to the podium and pulled my statement out, and then waited for the camera operator to give me a signal.

“Thank you for coming. My name is Carl Buckman and this is my wife, Marilyn. As you know, last Saturday I found it necessary to defend my life with deadly force during an attack by my brother, Hamilton Buckman, at our home. It is our intention today to detail the events that led up to Saturday’s fateful events.”

For the next fifteen minutes I detailed the increasing harassment, from the stalking to the vandalism and burning of Marilyn’s car to the firebombing attempt at the house. Then I segued into Hamilton’s past history, including his psychiatric diagnosis and the police report from when he tried to sabotage my first car. I also detailed the forensic evidence, specifically the fingerprints left on everything, which all matched up to the prints taken from his body. Summing it all up, I finished with:

“Finally, I would like to comment on all this in general. I understand the public interest nature of this tragedy. Brother kills brother, Cain and Abel, that sort of thing. Keep in mind that it was my family that was harassed, my home that was invaded, my life that was threatened. If it hadn’t been for the fact the criminal was related to me, none of you would care about this, and the whole thing would be buried on Page 17. I have committed no crime and the police and district attorney have acknowledged this. Thank you.”

At the end of this, John came to the podium again, and said, “We have copies of each of these reports. Now, I will hand these out, and Carl and Marilyn will give you all fifteen minutes to review this documentation. After that, we will begin the question and answer portion of the press conference. All right?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!” argued Turcos.

I stepped back in front of the podium. “Then you don’t want any supporting documentation or a chance to review them?” I asked in my most incredulous tone.

One of the other television reporters, the guy from WBAL, told Turcos to shut up. I nodded to John and left the room with Marilyn. Behind us I saw John passing out clipped stacks of documentation.

We waited out in the hallway almost twenty minutes, until John came out and signaled us to return. I went back to the podium, and this time I brought Marilyn up to stand next to me. Almost immediately Turcos started yelling out questions again. I sighed and turned to him. “Please, for once in your life, try to act like one of the big kids! I am going to start on the left and work my way to the right. Everybody gets a question, and then we move to the next, alright?”

Turcos turned bright red again, but he shut up. I turned to the left and said, “Please, your name and who you represent first.”

“Jim Murray, the Baltimore Sun. You say you had no idea it was your brother who was making the attacks on you and your family, but your mother is reported to have said that you have a vendetta against your family. Care to comment?”

“I had no idea who was coming after my family. I had only seen my brother once in the last nine years, and that was in May. As we have shown you, he has a documented history of mental illness and of attacks against me. As for my mother, all I can say is that she is deeply distraught, and is currently under observation and treatment at Sheppard Pratt, and that this is not the first time she has been there. I won’t be saying any more about her, she is still my mother, no matter what she says about me. Next.”

I turned to the next person on the right. He introduced himself as Jonathan Markham, from WBAL. He wanted to know more details on the various attacks and the harassment, which I gave him. Next in line was the loudmouth from WJZ, Bob Turcos. He was the youngest of the bunch, and was trying to move from Baltimore to a larger station, hopefully on my back.

Or Marilyn’s back. He directed his question to her. “Mrs. Buckman, what is it like being married to a man who some are claiming is a cold blooded murderer?”

Well, I wanted to murder the bastard myself, but Marilyn gave him an angry look, and then calmly replied, “My husband is the bravest man I have ever known. After sending our son and me away to safety, he had his car hidden, so that he could impersonate me. He set himself up as a target for a madman! We owe him our lives! I met Hamilton several times, and he was insane. He wanted to kill me and our son, and Carl stopped him. That was a very stupid question!”

I cringed at that, and Turcos smiled. Never give an asshole a break! Before I could move to the fourth reporter, the guy from WMAR, he spouted another question, “Then why are there so many reports stating otherwise, from official sources, that your multimillionaire husband is buying his freedom from the Baltimore County Police?!”

Marilyn gasped in disbelief, and I stepped back in front of the podium. I kept my face calm. I hadn’t expected that attack. “Have your official sources stated anything for the record, and if not, have you considered their motives in making such outrageous and unsupported statements? You have here copies of official documentation, in some cases going back a decade or more. I would suggest you check your facts a lot more carefully.”

Jim Hallstead, the reporter from WMAR, asked, “So there is no truth to these stories that the County police have shown you preferential treatment?”

“I think it is a slander on the outstanding police that we are fortunate to have in Baltimore County. I have met a lot of police officers and detectives during this trying time, and I never found them anything less than professional and caring. Their work was first rate.”

He pressed on. “So, why, then, didn’t they have you and your home under surveillance? They could have caught your brother before he got into your house!”

I simply shook my head. “Do you have any idea how many police officers it would take to maintain that kind of long term surveillance and protection detail? I think you guys are watching too many of the police shows on your networks. No police force in the world has that many officers available for a long term surveillance and protection.”

Turcos interrupted again. “Isn’t it true that your money was used to gain you police access and action that ordinary citizens don’t get?”

I stared at the guy for a moment. “First you say I am using my money to get away from the cops, and then you say I was using my money to get them to hang around me. You want to try making up your mind? No more questions from you, you keep butting in on the grownups!”

At one point, Hallstead asked how Hamilton was able to find us. I nodded at him and commented, “That’s actually a very good question. The detectives and I have tried to figure that out, and we don’t really have an answer. Our best speculation is that it was because he worked in the billing department at the phone company. Our number is unlisted, and we don’t publicize the address, but we think he was able to find my address through our phone bill.”

Turcos popped up and shouted out, “Are you planning to sue the telephone company over this negligence?”

Oh, good Christ, spare me from this idiot!

And so it went for the next half an hour. Turcos kept interrupting with idiotic stuff that he had been fed by ‘official sources.’ It was obvious the others had gotten the same information, but only the guy from WJZ was buying into it. A couple of them asked about the Buckman Group, and I simply said I was the president, and we were an investment company. Turcos demanded we open our books to him so he could verify how much money we were paying to keep me out of trouble. I just laughed at him and answered we were a private company, and the IRS seemed happy with us, and that was all I was going to tell him about it.

Finally I just called it to a close. Nobody was asking anything new, and Turcos was getting even goofier. We excused ourselves, and John went into the hallway with us. “I am getting in touch with that idiot’s boss. If he starts spouting that crap without any kind of verification, I am going to sue their pants off!”

I shrugged. “Don’t forget, never get in an argument with people who buy ink by the barrel. Same goes with television. Let’s see how bad it is tonight on the news.” There wasn’t a whole lot that could be done about it in any case.

“I have VCRs taping all three channels, and am cutting out the stories in the newspaper!”

“Listen, I’ll be in on Monday, but until then, I am just staying here with Marilyn and Charlie. If it starts to die down, we’re going to try to take a walk around the Inner Harbor this weekend.”

“I’ve had Grace taking messages and sorting them out. She’ll give them to you on Monday. You’re going to be returning calls all morning long!”

“Thanks!” I said wryly. “I need to get back to the business. I feel like I’ve just been wasting my time on all this! It feels like it’s never going to end.”

“For what it’s worth, by this time next week, somebody else will be on the news. These guys have the attention span of a puppy, and about the same IQ. Next week somebody else will be caught doing something or getting hosed over and nobody will remember you. Go upstairs and play with your son. That’s the important thing to concentrate on now.”

We shook hands and Marilyn and I went upstairs, to play with Charlie. Thankfully, the only thing Charlie was noticing about all of this was that he missed his ‘Daw-eee!’ — his ‘doggie’ who was currently in the kennel. Truth be told, it had been almost a month since I had seen Dum-Dum, and I missed her, too. Just like I missed my home, my brand new home, now with blood stains tracked throughout it and our possessions dumped everywhere. It would be at least another week before we could come home, although the cleaning service was promising miracles.

When would this ever end!

Chapter 82: Back To Normal

It did end, of course, and not with a bang, but with a whimper. Sort of, anyway. That sounds a lot more poetic than what it felt like at the time.

That evening, the lead story on all three local stations was the press conference and the reports we had provided. WMAR and WBAL pretty much gave the truth, although they couldn’t help sensationalizing it. WJZ reported that I was the owner of a shadowy investment company with unreported ties to local politicians, and that it was doubtful that the truth would ever come out. The Baltimore Sun gave a very thorough breakdown of the reports, along with a second report on some of the wilder stories being reported by unnamed official sources.

That was pretty much it for the news. By Friday we were way down the list of things to talk about, although WJZ kept us on their headlines. Then that issue went away. My friend Turcos landed a job at a TV station in Philly, and left Baltimore so fast it took his ass a week to catch up! By Saturday I was able to take Marilyn and Charlie for a walk around the Inner Harbor area, with only a few people pointing at me (and then hustling their children away from the ‘killer’.)

Monday morning I drove out to Hereford and went to work for the first time in almost four weeks. The welcome was heartening, a standing ovation when I came in the door. I thanked everybody, and then moved off to my office, with John and Grace following me. John had gotten all our phone calls to the house routed to the office, and Grace had been taking the messages. Grace had broken down all the messages into different categories. In one pile were the purely business messages, including calls from both Bill Gates and John Walker asking why I had missed their board meetings and why I wasn’t returning their calls. Another group was from various reporters, and got shitcanned. A third pile was from people known to be friends, like Tusker and Tessa (who knew what was happening) and Harlan and Anna Lee (who didn’t). I grabbed those first. Another very large pile was of people who were just calling to offer either support or tell me I was a murdering bastard who was going to hell. That pile got shitcanned, also. Finally there was one more small pile of messages, from people who had been investigated by the cops, and who called angrily to demand I leave them alone. Shelley Talbot was in this group, as was her husband, who was threatening me as well.

I spent the morning on the telephone. First I called my friends. Tusker was angry with me for not letting me in on the problem and letting him help. How he was going to help neither of us knew. I simply invited them downtown to dinner; Tessa would sort his ass out just fine. I couldn’t call Harlan until the afternoon, since they were six hours behind us. I called the various companies on the west coast we had invested with, and apologized for being out of contact. I promised a trip out west to discuss things in a few weeks. I let Bill in on my problems, since we had started to become friends. I would have never have thought I would ever be friends with a guy like Bill Gates, but he was a pretty decent guy

I spent the day at the office, not even going out for lunch, and then drove back down to the Hyatt. Despite the closeness to the house, I didn’t drive out. I didn’t want to see what was going on. I was starting to contemplate simply selling it and starting over. I mentioned it to Marilyn that night over dinner. She gave me a very hard look and set her fork down on her plate. “That is my house. That is my home. You may move out if you wish, but I am moving back home. Is that understood?”

I smiled at her. So much for that idea. “Okay.”

“Is that clearly understood?”

“Okay, okay, we are moving back. I get it.”

She nodded and picked up her fork again. “Good. And you need to get out of this funk you’re in. It is getting old.”

“What are you talking about?”

She set her fork down again, and then leaned towards me. “Do you remember last year, when we were in the Bahamas, and you told me that you would protect Charlie and me — the exact words were that you would do whatever it would take to keep us safe. Remember that? Remember when you told me that? You asked me if I could handle it, and I said I could. Well ask yourself the question now. Can you handle it?”

I stared at her for a second, and picked up my own fork to work on my own meal. Then I set my fork down again. “I don’t know.” I stood up and carried my plate into the kitchenette. I had barely eaten anything, and what I had eaten was sitting like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach. I went into the sitting room and sat down in an armchair facing the window. It was dark out, but the view over the Inner Harbor was well lighted. I could twist my head and see the houses up on Federal Hill and the lights on the walkway over by the Torsk.

Marilyn was quiet as she moved around behind me, cleaning up and taking care of Charlie. Then she came in and sat down on a couch near me but not next to me. I just sat there and wondered what I was doing.

By now I was well into my 90s in terms of experience. When I came back, I just had a few goals in mind. Survive junior high and high school. Meet Marilyn again. Win her again. Have a few bucks and not live paycheck to paycheck. What more does the average guy really want, or need? There was nothing in that list about being valedictorian or getting a doctorate in math or joining the Army or becoming a hero or starting an investment company or becoming a multimillionaire. Certainly there was nothing in that list about destroying my family, which I had most certainly done. Hamilton was dead, my mother was in and out of the loony bin, my parents were divorced, and even Suzie had told me she couldn’t talk to me or see me for awhile.

What had I become? What was I becoming? What would I become?

I had never killed before, never even been in a situation where that could happen. Now it seemed routine to me. Back on my first trip, I had only been in one fight after I got out of junior high school, and that was nothing but a tussle in a pizza joint. Now I had lost track of them. What kind of monster had I become? What was next for me? Serial killer? Had I been like this before, but suppressed?

I sat there looking out over the Inner Harbor until my bladder complained. I roused myself and found Marilyn asleep on the couch. I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Time to go to bed.” Marilyn got up and went into the bedroom while I went into the bathroom. When I got out, she was asleep again. I went to bed without any answers, only more questions.

The next day Marilyn insisted on coming out to Hereford with me, and she had Charlie ready to go on time. There was no arguing with her, so we drove out, and she dropped me off at the office, and then she continued on. I wasn’t sure where she was going, but she had to be as stir crazy as I was by then. At lunchtime she returned, and after parking the Town Car, she brought our son in for a visit. Missy and Grace wanted to talk to her about what she had been through, and most everyone else said hello as well. Not everybody, however, since there were a couple of new faces in the accounting department that didn’t know her. She was just the boss’ boss’ wife.

At the rate we were growing, we would be needing some larger office space before the end of the year. That was one of the good things that had occurred. Jake and Missy had spent some time with me over the last couple of days outlining our current financial position and holdings, and we had discussed future investments. In our first year of operation, The Buckman Group had achieved a rate of return of almost 50 %, most of which we had kept in the firm. I couldn’t believe what they were telling me, but Jake laid it out for me. Our Microsoft investment had, in its first year, roughly doubled in value, at least on paper, and that wasn’t the only investment we had with an incredible rate of growth. Even Tusk Cycle was worth far more than it had been, and looked to be growing even faster. Tusker and Tessa were working their asses off!

Jake and Missy even raised the topic of growing even faster, by becoming an investment company for real. Currently we were just investing our own money (mostly mine, but they had ponied up some cash, also). What if we were to sell investment partnerships, or Class B shares with lower voting rights; we could raise a lot of money and also begin collecting fee income on our work. I had no idea how that sort of thing worked, and was a bit skeptical, but I told them they could look into it. One thing I told them, for sure, if we did something along these lines, we would need some people who actually knew more than we did about it, and the whole thing would have to be squeaky clean for me to go along with it.

When it came time to go to lunch, Marilyn kept driving, which surprised me, since she normally lets me drive when we are together. Instead, she drove us out Mount Carmel Road, and to the house. “Charlie and I came out here this morning and looked around. Now it’s your turn.”

“I was wondering where the two of you went. I wasn’t sure if you were going shopping or what,” I replied.

“Also, you need to get your other car. We can’t be sharing this one down in Baltimore.”

She was in an ‘I will be obeyed!’ lecturing mood, so I just said, “Okay.”

There was a van in the driveway from a flooring company that had been one of the subcontractors on the house. We pulled into the driveway and got out. It was with considerable trepidation that I got out of the car and went inside.

Marilyn led the way inside, carrying Charlie to keep him from wandering off on his own. It looked like a mess, but a somewhat organized mess. The cleaning company had come and gone, and they had taken care of a lot. The kitchen, unsurprisingly was in the worst shape. There was a patch on the wall where the drywall had been ripped out and replaced. The island had been unbolted from the floor and the linoleum had been taken out. The fellow who was there from the flooring company told me that new linoleum was scheduled to be brought out tomorrow, and he had a crew of guys coming to install it and then rebuild the kitchen. Also, I was lucky — the bloody footprints through the rest of the house had all been able to be scrubbed and sanded off the hardwood floors, although they needed to be refinished, starting tomorrow. Only some of the throw rugs would need to be thrown out.

I went through the house with Marilyn. The damage was mostly cosmetic. The cops had been through everything, even Charlie’s stuff, and clothing was strewn all around. My desk in the den wasn’t any better, and the locked drawers had been busted open with a pry bar. The desk was ruined and would need replacement. Our kitchen knives and my knives in my desk and bedroom had all been taken away. I had no idea why, since Hamilton had brought his own knife. I called DeAngelis and told him about the condition of things. There was very little he could do; since there was a bona fide reason to search (a dead body) they didn’t even need a warrant. He did think he could get the Troopers to release my possessions, including my knives and my gun.

I went back through the house to find Marilyn and Charlie straightening up his room. Well, Marilyn was straightening; Charlie was playing with his toys. At least he had his priorities straight. I kissed my wife farewell and headed to the office in the 380. I would meet her again in Baltimore that evening.

The next day I got a call from Carstans telling me to drop by his office. He had all my stuff and was releasing it. He couldn’t explain why the Staties had grabbed my knives, but they had turned them over along with my Colt when they turned me over. The forensics report on the gun matched the autopsy results. The bullets had been fired from the gun at a distance of six to seven feet, with a ballistics match and the proper level of powder residue. No surprise there. I went over after lunch and picked it all up and thanked him. He had been pretty decent throughout the whole affair, even if the State Troopers had been assholes.

We moved home on Friday. Marilyn and Charlie had spent the week cleaning up everything the cops had tossed around, all except my office. We checked out of the Hyatt that morning and I had a small heart attack with the size of the bill. I started totaling up all the expenses of this nightmare and had another heart attack. When you added in the cost of the security detail on Marilyn and Charlie, flying the bunch of them to Sacandaga Lake, the lawyers, and the repairs and cleaning to the house, I was about two hundred grand out of pocket! DeAngelis’ bill alone was over ten grand! When I mentioned this to John he simply shrugged and told me to pay it, smile, and say thank you. If I had been arrested and charged, and then gone to trial, we would have just started adding zeros to the check! I told him that I was obviously in the wrong business, and he laughed and threw me out of his office.

How do normal people do it? Mostly, they don’t. While some of the house damage costs are covered by home insurance, good lawyers and security companies are beyond the average person’s means. In cases like this, if they have somebody stalking them, they end up hurt or dead. If they kill their attacker, they go to jail. DeAngelis had told me it was even money that I would be charged with murder, since they could argue I had a duty to leave Hamilton in the house and run away. Hell of a system!

I spent Friday evening cleaning my den, with Charlie playing with his toy trucks on the carpet and Marilyn puttering around the house, wandering in and out of the den and serving me iced tea. I was going to have to buy another desk, but I got everything sorted out and put away properly. I silently showed Marilyn my Colt, which I had kept locked in my desk. That was no longer an option. When Charlie was looking at something else, I slipped it inside a plastic bag and put it up on top of my tallest bookcase. She didn’t look happy, but until I could lock it up again, that was the best I could think of. I just wanted to pack it all away. If I never had to use it again, that was just fine by me.

By eight, Charlie was asleep. Marilyn stayed up with me until I went to bed at eleven, even though she normally goes to bed earlier than me. She followed me into the bedroom, but went into the bathroom ahead of me. Nothing too unusual about that, so I turned down the bedspread and stripped down to my briefs. When Marilyn came out of the bathroom, we switched places, and I took a leak. When I came back to the bedroom, Marilyn was slipping on a white chemise with a red cherry print that I had bought her for Valentine’s Day. I crawled into bed and Marilyn crawled in next to me.

I turned off the lamp on the nightstand, darkening the room. “Good night.”

Marilyn rolled towards me and kissed me, but tonight she laid her head on my chest. I felt her hand on my chest near her face, but then she slowly moved it down my body.

I hadn’t been with Marilyn since before I had flown her and Charlie to the Adirondacks. This last week, after I got loose from the cops, staying in the Hyatt, hiding from the world and ducking everybody, I had been staying up late and thinking dark thoughts. Now, it seemed like it was a lifetime ago. “Marilyn, I don’t know…”

“Ssshhh… Don’t worry, I know.”

I shut up. Marilyn began kissing my chest as her hand slid lower down my torso. It took me a moment or two, but by the time her hand reached the waistband of my briefs, Carl Junior was getting pleasantly stiff. I was very happy when Marilyn continued kissing my chest, lower and lower down my body, even as she reached inside my briefs and began stroking me. Marilyn stopped long enough to tug my briefs off, and I lifted up enough to give her some help. Then she began kissing me again, moving her lips ever closer to my stiff dick, which was straining to get into her mouth.

I groaned when Marilyn began licking my cockhead, as she gently pumped my shaft. I knew she had to taste my pre-come, and Marilyn was licking it up like an ice cream cone. My hands were in her hair and running down across her shoulders and back, and I began humping my hips up, trying to drive myself into her mouth. After a few minutes of this, Marilyn opened her mouth and moved her face lower, and took me deep into her mouth. I groaned again.

I began to moan and whisper to her, “That’s it… don’t stop… like that, just like that… suck me, suck me…” Marilyn continued sucking and pumping as I got ever closer. “I’m going to come… oh God, I’m going to come… suck it, suck it… don’t stop…” Then it happened, I just started coming, and Marilyn kept pumping and sucking as she swallowed a month’s worth of jism.

Marilyn finished me off, and there was enough light coming in from outside to let me watch her licking her lips and her fingers. Then Marilyn crawled up my body. I expected her to kiss me and say something, but she kept crawling, until she was sitting on my face. Marilyn didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to, I simply got to work. I began licking her pussy, and when she began moaning and moving around on my face, I reached up and grabbed her ass and pulled her down against me. It was her turn now to whine and whimper, and I kept it up until she was shaking and shivering with orgasm.

At that point, Marilyn gasped and crawled off my face, and since I was stiff again, decided to save a horse and ride a cowboy. I wasn’t complaining. She rode me and pulled her chemise off, so that I could suck on her tits while she did so. After I came, we collapsed in each other’s arms and fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning feeling better than I had in weeks. I was alone in the bed, but I could hear my wife fooling around down the hallway and taking care of Charlie. I got up and took a quick shower, and pulled on some pants and an old fatigue shirt I used to putter around the house in. I went out to cook breakfast for Marilyn and myself. So far this was shaping up as a fairly normal weekend. What wasn’t normal was what I found when I went out to the kitchen. Marilyn was feeding Charlie, and had on a blouse tied under her breasts and an extremely short denim skirt.

“I like the outfit,” I told her. “Charlie have any comments on it?”

Marilyn blushed, and grinned at me. “He hasn’t said anything yet.”

“Well, I certainly approve, but I have a funny feeling your days of running around like that in the house are sadly coming to an end. Wait until he tells the other kids at nursery school about how Mommy runs around half naked in the house.”

“You wouldn’t say that, would you Charlie?!” she said to him, while he stuffed Cheerios into the hole in the front of his face. He gabbled something out and kept stuffing them in. He was up to using a spoon, sort of, but usually finished off with his fingers.

“Maybe he’ll be busy playing with Dum-Dum later,” I added.

“I certainly hope so!” Marilyn turned to face me and grinned. “It’s been almost a two month long dry spell, and we’ll never be making him any siblings at that rate.”

Siblings? “Uh, si… siblings?” I stammered out.

“Remember how we talked about that. We were going to start working on that this fall? Well, buster, it’s the fall!”

Oh, shit! “I thought we were going to take a family vacation first, and then work on it, maybe over the winter.”

“Change of plans. Charlie and I called the two weeks at Sacandaga Lake a family vacation. We’re starting the other project now!”

I glanced over at our son. “Charlie called it a vacation? Since when does he get a vote? This isn’t a democracy! This is a benevolent dictatorship, and I’m the benevolent dictator!” I protested.

Marilyn stood upright and slipped around behind and to the side of Charlie in his high chair where he couldn’t see her. She popped her tits out of the blouse, and then pulled her skirt up to her waist and started fingering her slit. “You sure about that?”

I stared at her, suddenly hungry for something other than bacon and eggs. “You fight dirty!”

She dropped her skirt and played with her nipples. “Charlie needs a baby brother or sister.”

Hearing his name, Charlie started yammering around his food in his mouth. I just rolled my eyes to the heavens for strength. “Brothers! Girls are yucky! They have cooties and stuff! Boys only!” I told him.

Marilyn laughed at that. “See if you get any more of my cooties! Make breakfast!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

I dug out the skillets and eggs and bacon, and started to work on breakfast. Marilyn cleaned up our offspring and put him in his playpen in the great room. Dum-Dum followed and they watched Saturday morning cartoons together. My wife returned to perch decorously on a bar stool while I cooked. “Are you dessert?” I asked.

“Sounds good to me, but it’s only until this afternoon. Tusker and Tessa are coming over for dinner.”

“Oh?”

“Remember how you invited them to dinner down at the Hyatt this weekend? We’re not there anymore, so they’re coming out here.”

I nodded. I remembered inviting them. “Fine by me. I haven’t seen them since I sent you two up north. I guess I should explain what happened.”

Marilyn agreed. After breakfast, which we ate in the kitchen, Marilyn checked on Charlie, now napping in his playpen, and we tore off a quickie in the kitchen. Later that day, right after lunch, we did it again in our bedroom. That was it, however. The Tusks were coming over, and we had to behave. Marilyn changed before they came over.

Tusker and Tessa and Bucky got to the house about five or so, and it was surprisingly good to see them again. The last time I had seen him had been when I used the phone at his dealership to call Big Bob and Harriet when I had flown my family to safety. Then, I hadn’t been able to tell them anything, but they had learned a lot, mostly wrong, from watching the TV news the last couple of weeks. While Bucky played with some toys, and Charlie pestered Bucky, the four of us sat down in the living room to talk about what happened.

“Man, you should have told us! We could have helped!” exclaimed Tusker. Tessa was nodding along with him.

“It was just too dangerous. We couldn’t figure out who was doing it or why, and every time he did something it would get worse. What if he had started going after my friends? He tried to firebomb our house! What if it had been you?” I replied.

“Still, you should have said something,” he argued.

“The police didn’t want anybody to be told,” answered Marilyn. “Since we couldn’t figure out who it was, we didn’t know how they were getting any information on us.”

“How did he find out what you were doing?”

“Best anybody can figure out, he found me through the billing department of the phone company. He was probably able to monitor who I was calling that way, too,” I answered. That was a nicely chilling thought.

“Jesus Christ!” muttered Tusker.

Eventually we got off that topic, and onto something a lot more amusing, how Tusk Cycle was coming along. It was now about three months since they had become a Honda dealer, and their most recent quarter was showing some excellent numbers. The numbers were so good, in fact, that they had just bought a house! “Congratulations! We had no idea!” I commented for the both of us.

Tessa said, “Well, Bucky can’t live in the dining room forever, and certainly not with a baby brother or sister.”

It took us a second to catch on, but then Marilyn squealed and jumped up to hug the pair of them. I shook Tusker’s hand and said, “Uh, is this congratulations or condolences?”

“Very funny, jackass!” he replied.

“It’s congratulations!” said Marilyn, wagging a finger at me. “Don’t forget, we’re trying, too!”

That caused Tessa to squeal happily, too. Tusker gave me an amused look, and I said lowly to him, “I think I like my end of the deal better than her end.”

He muttered back, “No shit!”

“Come on, let’s get a drink.” I led him out to the kitchen, and opened up the bar in the bottom of the island.

“Is this where…” he asked.

I pointed at the other side of the island. “Right there, and I was over there.” I pointed towards the archway. “He had a Bowie knife, for God’s sake! Who the hell has one of those? It’s like a small sword!”

“Christ!”

Dinner was coq au vin, my signature chicken, ham, and wine sauce over rice meal. While I was preparing it, we opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and shared it around. Bucky and Charlie kept wandering through, and they got some crackers. We were still talking about Hamilton and the stalking and attacks, and Tessa wanted to know why they had been questioned by the cops.

“I think it was standard operating procedure for them. They had this detective talking to everybody! We had no idea who was doing this, and they kept asking us questions? Who did you go to school with? Who do you do business with? Who knows Marilyn?”

“And you had no idea it was your putz of a brother?”

I simply shook my head. “No clue! I hadn’t seen him since May, at my sister’s college graduation.” I hooked my thumb over at my wife. “She and my sister decided I needed to be reunited with my family. Boy, did that turn out to be a bust!”

“Don’t blame us! We were just trying to get you back with your father,” protested Marilyn.

I snorted. “Yeah, look how that worked out!”

“What happened?” asked Tusker.

“Hamilton lost it and went crazy. Then my father punched him out, and when my mother tried to stop him, he threw him and my mother out of the house. Now Hamilton’s dead, my mom’s in the loony bin, my folks are divorced, and my sister won’t talk to me. Please, nobody try to fix my family again.”

Marilyn stuck her tongue out at me and gave me a raspberry, which Bucky noticed and imitated. That got him a mild rap on the noggin by one of his father’s knuckles, and then he was sent off to play in the living room with Charlie and the dog.

Tessa asked, “So what was Hamilton’s problem? Was he really crazy?” Everyone looked at me.

I nodded. “Pretty much. We have a psychiatrist’s report from a few years ago that said he was a paranoid schizophrenic, and that he had a fixation on me. I was the cause of all his problems. The older I got and the more successful I got, that just meant I was doing something to hold him back. If I had just been some routine schlub, he’d have probably ignored me.”

“Tell them about the pictures,” prompted Marilyn.

“What pictures?” asked Tessa.

I shrugged. “This part actually made some sense. My mother removed all the pictures of me from around the house, like I didn’t exist or something. Suzie and I thought she did it to calm him down, pretending I wasn’t around. That’s probably why he freaked and broke down when he saw me in the spring. It pushed him over the edge.”

“And you never connected the dots?” asked Tusker.

I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t like it started the next day. His car wasn’t seen at the house for another month, and it wasn’t even his car. The first vandalism didn’t happen until July. We had no idea what he was up to. I think he was either building up his courage or just getting crazier over time. Nobody knows.”

“Damn!” he muttered lowly.

We promised that our next meal would be at their new house after they moved, and that if they needed help moving, to just give us a call. Tessa offered to give us Bucky for the day, which we laughingly agreed upon. At five, he was more nuisance than help. At least they didn’t have a dog to help mess things up!

Chapter 83: The End Of The Year

And thus ended 1983, a momentous year for so very many reasons. Tusker and Tessa had a new place to call home by Christmas. We helped them move in and kept an eye on Bucky as needed. By the time they moved in, Tessa was visibly showing; she’s slimmer than Marilyn to begin with, so when she shows, everybody knows!

My hopes that the death of my brother had finally been put behind me were just that, hopes. My mother sued me in civil court for his wrongful death. Every reputable lawyer in town turned her down, already knowing what had happened and who they would go up against, but she found a shyster ready to take the case on a contingency basis, and he had me served one day at the office.

Q: What’s the difference between lawyers and lab rats?

A: There are some things even lab rats won’t do!

I dumped it on John and DeAngelis. DeAngelis promptly invited the shyster to his office and explained the facts of life. Specifically, he laid out the evidence and said we would countersue my mother, since she was the person who had bought Hamilton the knife he had brought to the house and loaned him the car he used to stalk us. The crook promptly dumped my mother’s lawsuit. I got another bill from DeAngelis, for another five grand.

I kept him on retainer, though, since my parents then started suing each other, with me being named willy-nilly. That was when we learned that my parents had managed to secretly disown me back in the fall of 1978, shortly after I married Marilyn, without letting either me or John Steiner know. I guess they really didn’t like my wife. That was very upsetting, for both of us. I tried to stay in touch with Suzie, but she told me that our parents were trying to use her to fight each other and me, and she had stopped returning any calls from them and was getting an unlisted number and a new apartment. She would call me when she could talk, but otherwise it was best to leave her alone for awhile.

The Buckman Group kept moving forward. After a year and a half of operation, I was noticing several interesting trends. Jake Junior was definitely ambitious. He really wanted to grow the outfit and do bigger deals, and wanted to hire some specialists from Wall Street to help. I kept an eye on him, but otherwise let him. I still did the strategic guidance — I kept an eye on which companies he wanted to work with and red-flagged some that I knew would be a disaster. I did let him lose a little money on one or two that I knew wouldn’t work out, simply so he would learn from the experience. Missy’s role was interesting. Technically she was just a stock broker, but she had the world’s biggest Rolodex. If we needed to find somebody, the odds were she knew someone who knew someone. Very useful. After the collapse of her marriage, she was supporting three children. She could afford decent child care now, as well as some good vacations with them. What she did about male companionship, I never asked. About once a quarter we would travel to the west coast to confer with people in Bellevue and Silicon Valley.

At Christmas time I took a few weeks off and we went up to Utica, all four of us. Charlie and Dum-Dum stayed at the Lefleurs while Marilyn and I started our vacation early. We spent an inordinate amount of time explaining to Marilyn’s family what had happened that summer and fall, and I got some pretty strange looks from some of her family. It was one thing to know that I had been in the Army, and that the Army was involved in killing, but that was a whole different level of abstraction than sitting down to dinner with a guy who had shot his brother. I worked my way through it; it was still better than being on the news for a week.

Marilyn had taken care of all the arrangements with Taylor, simply stating that we wanted something about as private as we had done on that first trip to the Bahamas, but on a larger island with some night life on it. Other than that, it was all supposed to be a surprise to me, and for once, Marilyn kept her mouth shut. Two days after Christmas, we got Big Bob to drive us over to the Oneida County Airport, where a G-II was waiting to whisk us away.

By that time, the need to fly away for a Mommy-Daddy vacation to make a new little Buckman had vanished. The incredibly potent combination of Buckman spermatozoa and Lefleur ova had done its usual magic and Marilyn had caught in late October. Marilyn had insisted on going, however, since (her words, not mine) it was her last chance to wear a swimsuit without looking like a beached whale! I figured I would be delicate about it and simply said that meant there would be more of her to love. She replied, “Does that mean I can stop exercising with you?”

“No, by keeping your weight down, you get more love per pound!” That earned me an elbow to the ribs. Sometimes being a mathematician can get you in trouble.

Marilyn had bullied me back into exercise and aikido practice. While she had been away at Sacandaga Lake, I had stayed home, out of sight, to lure the stalker into showing himself. I won’t say I was flabby by the time it was all over, but I needed to start up again. By the time I felt comfortable getting out of the house, without worrying about running into a reporter on the front lawn, it had been over a month.

We were still planning on doing a pool in the spring, as soon as the weather broke, with a fence around that as well. We’d have another big barbecue then, and combine it with a pool party. I remembered how Big Bob had always done a big party every Fourth of July, for company and family, and it had always been a good time. Maybe we could do that sort of thing here.

So Big Bob drove us over to the airport and helped us load our stuff on board, and then Marilyn and I peeled off our winter coats, tossing them inside the car, and scampered inside the plane. It was cold out there! As soon as we were onboard, the pilot closed the door and locked it up. This was a fellow I had never met before, and all he said to us was, “Welcome aboard. Please sit down and buckle up. There is some champagne in the cabinet and glasses here.” He tapped a built-in cabinet in the front bulkhead. “As soon as we get to cruising altitude, I’ll let you know, and you can unbuckle and move about.”

One thing I was learning about these small jets was that every one of them was different, even if they were the same model. When you bought one, either new or used, there existed a whole industry set up just to custom remodel the interiors. This one differed slightly from the one I had ridden from Hawaii to Seattle. There was a half bath in the back, and there was a cabin door separating the cockpit from the passengers, but the arrangement of the seats was slightly different. With this one, two of the seats were facing aft, so that a fold down table between them could be lifted up and everybody could work or play cards.

Marilyn moved me along until I was in one of the chairs in this grouping, and I sat down facing forward. She surprised me, however, by sitting down in the seat facing me, and not across the aisle at my side. We both buckled our seats, and the engines began their whine up to speed. “I really need this,” I told her with a smile. “I have a funny feeling next year is going to be hectic.”

“Oh?”

“Well, let’s face it, I mean, you’re going to have some different priorities soon enough, right?” I said with a laugh.

“My priorities won’t be changing that much.”

“Oh?”

“No,” she replied. Then my wife surprised me by spreading her legs apart in the seat as she faced me. She had been wearing a short sundress under her winter parka, and now I looked at her closely. It was strapless, with an elastic tube top, and was knee length. Otherwise she was wearing a pair of high heeled sandals, and I surmised some underwear. Well, so I thought, anyway. She spread her legs apart, and quietly tugged her dress up her thighs a touch, until she could see me staring at her freshly shaved pussy. “I don’t think my priorities have changed that much.”

The engine pitch went higher, as the pilot put more power on them, and we began taxiing away from the terminal. “Do you have a matching bra?” I asked.

Marilyn smiled, and pulled the tube top down. Her 34Cs popped into view causing me to smile. She may have started out as a B cup, but after Charlie was born, she blossomed to a C. I wondered what another child would do. If she could keep her weight in check, I wasn’t one to complain about even bigger tits. I’d be happy to buy her a new wardrobe if her shirts and blouses got too tight.

A man’s got to do what a man’s go to do, right?

“I think I’m going to like this vacation,” I told her.

Marilyn giggled. “Let’s just hope they keep that door shut. I told Taylor we wanted a plane with the cabin door that was shut…”

“You told her that?” I blurted out. That was so unlike Marilyn.

She giggled and nodded.

“What did she say?” Great, if Taylor blabbed even half like Marilyn, most of northern Baltimore County knew I was a member of the Mile High Club by now!

“She winked and asked me to tell her what it was like. Then we told Grace and Missy.”

“You didn’t!” Holy Christ!

“Jesus! No, I didn’t! You call me gullible! No, I just told her to get a plane with a cockpit door. If she drew any conclusions from that, then she has a mind as dirty as yours!”

I slapped my head. I knew I was going to get teased about this at the office, no matter what. “You know, if we were to ever buy a place down in the islands, we’d have to let your family go down if they wanted. Could you imagine if we were to fly your parents down like this? What if they were on a plane with a closed cockpit door?”

“Gross! I don’t want to think about that! Yuck, yuck, yuck!” protested Marilyn loudly.

At that point the engine power increased dramatically, and I was pressed back into the seat as the pilot released the brakes and began speeding down the runway. Marilyn was leaning forward, towards me, since she was facing me, and it did some interesting things to the way her boobs were sitting on her chest. Marilyn passed the time by teasing me, with her skirt pulled even higher, and one hand between her legs and the other playing with her nipples.

A few minutes later, the jet leveled off, and a light chime came over the cabin intercom. We were free to unbuckle our seat belts, and the co-pilot said he would announce when we were about fifteen minutes out from our destination. Unfortunately, he didn’t say what that destination was, and Marilyn still hadn’t told me. I just hoped the guy was driving us south and not north. I hadn’t packed any warm clothing, and it looked to me like Marilyn hadn’t packed much at all!

Marilyn popped her seat belt off and pulled her top back up, and then stood up. She went to the forward bulkhead and fiddled around with it until the door to the refrigerator popped open and she pulled forth a bottle of champagne. She waved it at me, and said, “Woo hoo!” and then rooted around in a different cabinet and found a pair of champagne flutes. She brought them back to our seats and handed the bottle to me.

“Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to shake a bottle of champagne?” I asked.

“You’re a fuddy duddy!”

I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Okay, so I’m going to aim this at you.”

That made her open her eyes. “Don’t you dare!”

I just shrugged noncommittally. Marilyn sat down again and I very carefully opened the bottle up. The cork popped loudly and flew around the cabin, but it didn’t foam and fizz everywhere, so I took that as a success. I poured the champagne into the glasses she held, and then set the bottle into a very convenient holder on the side of the cabin. One of these days I’d be able to afford a plane of my own, and it would definitely have to have some champagne bottle holders scattered around!

We clinked glasses and sipped. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” I said, imitating Bogart. It totally went past her. The only movies she was familiar with were the ones Disney made.

“Cheers.” She smiled again, and spread her legs on the seat, slumping down slightly and allowing her skirt to ride up her thighs. I watched and nodded approvingly. “Any ideas about how I can keep from spilling my champagne on my dress?”

“Well, one certainly comes to mind.”

“I thought it might. Hold my glass.” I took her glass in my left hand, and Marilyn sat upright and pulled her dress up and off. She was now facing me naked, wearing nothing but her high heeled sandals and a smile. “Better?”

“Well, if you do spill anything, just let me know, and I’ll see about licking it off you,” I offered.

She slipped a finger into the glass and rubbed a few drops of champagne over her right nipple. “I’ll remember that.” She continued to tease me while she sipped her champagne.

I was rock hard inside my slacks. When I finished my champagne, I tossed the empty glass onto the seat next to me and stretched out. Marilyn giggled and finished hers off, and set her glass aside as well. “Would you like me to help you get comfortable?” she asked.

“Please!”

She giggled again, and then slipped down to the floor and knelt at my feet. Marilyn unzipped my pants, and pulled them and my briefs down to my ankles. “You’re violating the rules, remember?” she said when she saw my shorts.

“Punish me later, if you don’t mind.”

Marilyn’s slow motion blow job was punishment enough. She licked and teased my cockhead with her tongue while she slowly ran her fingers along my shaft. I ended up pulling her face forward and demanding she finish me off, and I held her head to my crotch until she suctioned the come from my balls. I sighed, then, and Marilyn reached out and grabbed our glasses, and I refilled them. “That was a nice snack,” she said, “but can I get something a little more filling in a few minutes?”

“Happy to oblige. Come over here and let me have a nibble or two.”

Marilyn came over and straddled my thighs, and we had another glass of champagne while I sucked on her tits and my cock got stiff again. As soon as I was hard enough, we finished our glasses and tossed them aside again, and then Marilyn crawled forward and impaled herself on me. She rode me while I ran my hands across her ass and back, and I sucked her nipples. She came at least twice before I did, and since I had already come once, I lasted a fair bit before I filled her pussy.

Marilyn glanced at my watch and said, “I don’t think we have enough time for another round. You’re not as young as you used to be.”

“Hey!” I protested. “You’re older than I am!”

“I’m just approaching my sexual peak. You’re already going down the far side. Anyway, we need to clean up and get dressed.” She stood up and grabbed her dress, and then went to the bathroom in the back. I stood and pulled my pants up. When she came out, we swapped places, and tucked in my shirttails and otherwise made myself presentable. When I returned to my seat, Marilyn was sitting in the seat next to me, and we finished off the bottle. Then my wife took a nap while I looked out the window at the blue ocean and white clouds until the pilot announced we were fifteen minutes out and were beginning our descent. I still didn’t know where we were going!

We landed on what looked like a very sunny tropical airfield. As soon as we taxied to the terminal, we stopped, and the co-pilot came out. He popped the door and said, “You have to stay on board for customs, but welcome to Nassau.”

I looked out the open hatch. “I assume you are not referring to Nassau County, Long Island, because that would be very disappointing.”

Marilyn laughed behind me. “You don’t know?” he asked, incredulously.

“No idea. This was all her idea.” I leaned towards him and said, “I’m not really her husband. More like her boy toy, if you know what I mean.”

Marilyn laughed some more. “I think I want a refund! It’s the Bahamas, you dork!”

The guy laughed, and pointed out the door. “Whatever. Tell it to them. Bahamian customs has arrived.”

I dug out our passports and we went through the usual rigmarole, and then we deplaned. Marilyn had a cheat sheet from Taylor she was referring to, and at the rental counter we found a Cadillac waiting for us. Considering the price of oil, it was probably worth its weight in gas, but it was definitely better than the POS we had on Eleuthera. We loaded all our stuff in the trunk, and then Marilyn had me drive while she gave me what were purported to be directions to a house rental office. We only got lost twice. “Left… no, the other left… right, no not right, left…” When Marilyn uses a map, if the road she is on is marked in red, she starts looking out the window for red pavement.

Thankfully, our journey ended about five miles later at an office on the outskirts of Nassau. Once inside, we found ourselves being greeted by a large black man named Peepers about twenty years older than us, who was the rental agent. He greeted us, grabbed a few papers, and ushered us back outside. We were to follow him to the villa.

We drove south, across the island, to a road that ran along the beach, and then headed west a few miles, before driving down a long road to the waterfront. The view was simply breathtaking! There was a long beach, white sand, palm trees, and then back away from the beach was the villa, low slung in a modernistic concrete and glass style. “Welcome to Hougomont,” said Mr. Peepers.

“Hougomont?” I said. “Wasn’t that the name of a location at the Battle of Waterloo?”

“Something like that, I believe,” he replied. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

“It’s beautiful!” gushed Marilyn.

I simply nodded in agreement. I looked around, and it seemed like almost a mile or more of beach front. “Is all of this part of the estate?”

Peepers smiled. “Sorry, but no. This is actually the first of a series of villas here along this stretch of beach, perhaps ten or so, going from about there, all the way to down there.” He pointed with his hands at the long stretch of beach, running east to west and facing south. “Would you like to see the house now?” He made an ushering gesture, and we moved up the foot path to the house. I could see at the side a place to park the cars near a side entrance.

The house was quite modern, but not sterile, which some designs are. The walls were done all in white, with what looked like Jackson Pollack knockoffs on them. Very modern. Six bedrooms, five baths, lots of glass looking down over the beach, one side facing an infinity pool, and then down to a deck with another pool, and a path to the beach. Very nice. I was going to have to thank Taylor for finding a way to spend so much of my money! This place must cost a fortune!

Marilyn looked very excited by it all. Maybe that made it worth it.

Peepers explained the rules of the villa. Unlike La Valencia, there was no custodial service, although he could arrange it if necessary. Likewise, there was no breakfast or meal service, again, unless we ordered it up. I assured him we could rough it, and then made sure we got a map and some directions to some nearby stores. I signed a few papers, got a key, and then he left.

“Isn’t this great!” gushed Marilyn.

“Great,” I said, smiling down at her.

She gave me a very sly look. “It’s almost deserted. Nobody will ever be able to see you chasing me around on the beach.”

I wrapped my arms around her. “Now why would I be chasing you around the beach? I’m on vacation, and that sounds a lot like work.”

“You’d be chasing me around to have sex with me!”

“Maybe I ought to let you chase me around. I am a cripple, after all,” I replied.

Marilyn’s response was to reach between us and grab my crotch through my slacks. “I don’t think so!” Then she pushed me away and scampered towards the living room.

Well, two can play at that game! I chased her around the living room, making sure to keep between her and the front door, and managed to corner her by the dining room. Marilyn bolted for the door, laughing and giggling, but I grabbed a wrist and pulled her over to the couch. She struggled, sort of, in between laughs, and I ended up laying on top of her, with Marilyn face down and her skirt pulling up over her rump. I quickly undid my pants and pushed them and my briefs down, and then pushed my wife’s legs apart and entered her from behind. Reaching around, I tugged her tube top down, and we humped madly there on the couch.

Afterwards, I rolled off her, and Marilyn twisted around to lay half on my side, half thrown over me. “I told you you’d be chasing me around,” she told me.

I moved my free hand and swatted that nice little rump. “I don’t think you were trying too hard to escape.”

“Did you want me to?”

“Just keep wearing clothes like this, and I’ll keep chasing you,” I said, smiling.

“I’m hungry. We need to get something to eat,” she said.

I had something else in mind. “I’m not quite dressed for that, right now.” I took her hand and placed it on my sticky, soft cock. I held it there until it started to get stiff, and then Marilyn began stroking me back to hardness. As soon as I was ready, I rolled on top of her, and we made love again on the couch. Then we got up, cleaned up, and dressed again, me in some clean khakis and a sport shirt, Marilyn in a different sundress.

Lunch was handled first, at a small outdoors restaurant near the beach, followed by shopping for groceries and booze. Afterwards we went back home and put everything away, and took a nap (a sleeping nap, not the other type), and then just hung around for the rest of the day. It was a long day, with a lot of travel, and we just goofed off until the evening. After dinner (burgers and fries) we sat out on the deck and just watched the sun sink in the west. Then we went inside, went to bed, made love, and went to sleep.

And so things went for our week in Nassau. Technically we were on the island of New Providence, which has the capital city of Nassau on the north coast. Paradise Island is separated by a small strait from New Providence, and can be reached by a short causeway; they are treated as one island. The whole island is fairly small, only about 5 miles long by about half that wide. We spent our days goofing off and playing grab ass on the beach. At night we would go out to dinner and maybe find a night club or bar. There was a casino on Paradise Island that we visited one night, and I got Marilyn to shut up and let me concentrate at the blackjack table long enough to win enough to put a dent in our vacation bill.

Mostly we screwed around. The day after we got there, Marilyn came out to the deck pool in the morning after breakfast in her satin robe. I was taking a breather after some exercise, and she came out with a towel. She lay it down on a long cushion, and then turned to me and said, “Can you rub some suntan lotion on me?” At that, she untied the robe and dropped it to the deck, and was standing there in her birthday suit. “Oh, dear, I forgot to put on my swimsuit! Should I go back in and put it on?”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Marilyn giggled and lay down on the towel, and pulled another cushion over and tucked it under her head. I grabbed a bottle of suntan lotion and squirted some on her legs, a long thin line up each. These I worked in slowly, and then I repeated the process on her arms. Long before I got to her torso, Marilyn’s nipples were stiff and pointy, and her pussy was puffy and moist. I squirted some more lotion on her body, and started massaging it in, working north to south. Marilyn was whimpering while I oiled her breasts up, and was almost humping herself up at my hands when I moved them down to her pussy. When she began demanding that I fuck her, I smiled widely and pushed my swim shorts down and got on top of her. Marilyn was almost babbling, “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” as I pounded into her sweet little pussy. Her arms were wrapped around me, and her legs were lifted and crossed behind my back, and she was hanging on for sweet life as I slam fucked down into her.

Eventually I groaned and exploded, my balls churning as I pumped a heavy load into her greasy little snatch. I collapsed on top of her, for several minutes, and was surprised when, after I rolled off of my wife, she rolled over onto her stomach. “Don’t forget to do my back!” she said, sighing happily.

So I oiled up her back and did her that way, too. I aim to please!

One afternoon we drove into Nassau and spent some time wandering around the shopping district on Bay Street. It’s not quite Rodeo Drive, but it’s probably about as close as the Bahamas is going to get. Or at least it was until the Nineties, when some of the new megaresorts set up shop. There were a number of high end shops like Gucci and Louis Vuitton, and some absolute schlock and tourist traps. While window shopping outside one place, I realized it primarily sold clubwear for twenty-somethings, you know, the beautiful and rich, or for girls who were trying to find the beautiful and rich. Laughing about it with Marilyn, I dragged her inside. “Let’s find you something to go clubbing in tonight!” I told her.

“You’re kidding me, right?” she replied, in her most incredulous tone. Maybe that was because she was looking at a black leather mini-dress, with the accent on the mini, which had a series of cutouts up the side. No way could any woman wearing it wear anything under it.

A clerk, a gorgeous young girl who looked barely old enough to drink legally, came up. “How can we assist you this afternoon?”

I grinned at the girl. “Where would you wear an outfit like this here in Nassau?” I asked. I glanced at the price tag, and was astounded to find it had four digits in it. I guess Commodore Vanderbilt was right; if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it!

The sales clerk started gushing about various clubs, none of which we had heard of, but which seemed to be near or associated with some of the resorts, and the Princess Casino on Paradise Island. I nodded, and said, “So, what would you recommend for my, uh, friend.”

“Your friend!” exclaimed Marilyn. “We’re married!”

I patted her hand and winked at the sales clerk. “Yes, I know, just not to each other. It’s all right, honey. Your husband has no idea we’re here! He thinks you’re in Cabo!”

Marilyn was just gaping at me, especially after the clerk nodded and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Trust me, your secret is safe with me. Just use first names only, and pay in cash when you have to,” she told Marilyn.

I smiled and nodded. “It’s like I told you, darling. My wife thinks I’m at a board meeting in Paris. We’re perfectly safe.”

Marilyn gave me a look that threatened to fry me, but then smiled at the clerk. “I’m just waiting for the divorce to kick in, and then I’m going to take the lousy bastard for every cent he’s worth!”

“Good for you!” said the girl. Then she sized Marilyn up professionally. She held a hand out to the mini-dress and said, “This would work for you, but it really works best if you’re taller, you know, longer legs. What we need is something that plays to your highlights.”

“Oh?”

The girl nodded. “Your figure! It’s to die for! I wish I had your… bust.” She glanced at me. “You need to go have a seat, and let us girls do our thing.” Marilyn gave me another dirty look, and then allowed herself to be pulled away.

Over the next half an hour, Marilyn was trotted out in several different outfits which generally showed a lot of cleavage. I would give enthusiastic approval to each. Finally she came out in a scarlet red outfit. Marilyn looked very nervous about this one, although the clerk was very confident. It was essentially backless, with a halter top that was deeply cut down the front and with a loose cowl front that allowed her to move freely inside it. The most interesting feature, however, was the calf length skirt, which was slit up each side practically to the waist. Marilyn even had on a pair of matching red stilettos, and she looked around to see if anyone else was in the shop to see her. Her lack of underwear was obvious, although if she moved carefully, she wouldn’t show anything.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. At the clerk’s order, Marilyn slowly turned around. It was also obvious that Marilyn had been tanning without a swimsuit. “Wow!”

“Carl, I can’t wear this!” she protested.

“Oh, baby, that’s the one! Why your husband would let you go is a mystery to me!” For that I got another dirty look and she flipped me the bird. I just laughed. “We’ll take it!” Marilyn simply stared at me in disbelief, and was led away by the girl. She came back out about ten minutes later in her original clothing, a tee shirt and denim skirt and low sandals (no undies) with the girl carrying the red dress and stilettos in boxes.

“What about the other dresses? I thought you liked the green mini-skirt and bustier combo.”

I agreed and took both of them, even as my wife just shook her head. I just gave her a hug as the girl packed everything up and took my American Express card. “I can’t believe your husband would ever let a fox like you go,” I told her.

Marilyn kicked me in the shins. “Very funny! I think I really will divorce the bastard now!” I just laughed and moved out of range of another kick. “I will never be able to wear a dress like that!”

“You’ll wear it tonight! We’ll go to that club at the Princess Casino. I’ll even put on my suit. We’ll look like trendy jetsetters out for the night.”

She laughed at that, because otherwise we were just incredibly boring back home. The she whispered, “Maybe tonight, but in a few weeks more, I won’t be able to fit into either dress!” She pantomimed what her belly was going to grow to.

“So we’ll go out two nights, and you wear each dress once.”

“If we get caught, my husband is going to kill you!”

I just laughed at that.

That night I begged, cajoled, and pleaded, and finally got my wife to wear the red dress to the night club at the Princess. I wore the suit I had packed, and Marilyn wore the dress and red heels. She refused to go to dinner in the outfit. I got her to wear all of the jewelry she had brought and that would at all look good on her, a pair of large gold loop earrings, several gold necklaces, and a pair of heavy gold bracelets. She looked amazing! She had to move carefully, and I think the valet saw more than she wanted him to see when she climbed from the Cadillac. The walk to the night club took us through the main lobby and the casino, and heads turned as we went though, and I heard several whistles, which made her both blush and smile at me. “I can’t believe the things you get me to do!” she told me several times.

Marilyn had several drinks that night, and pretty much raped me once we got back to Hougomont. I let her have her way with me. Afterwards, as we lay in each other’s arms, I whispered to her that her husband must be crazy to let a woman like her divorce him. She let out a muffled squawk and tried to elbow me in the ribs, so we wrestled around on the bed and ended up making love again.

Lucky guy, Marilyn’s husband. She decided not to divorce him after all!

Chapter 84: Progressions

John sat me down in January and did the Dutch uncle routine. As much as I wanted to pretend I was an average suburban dad, I wasn’t, not anymore. I was a multimillionaire, and at the pace we were growing, I stood to become the richest man in Baltimore County and maybe the entire state in the next ten or fifteen years. I needed to start acting like it, and start taking security seriously. What if the next crazy we ran up against wanted to kidnap Charlie or Marilyn? I tried to protest, but I couldn’t. Too much shit had happened. I had a sit-down with the head of the security company we had used.

Some of the problems were simple. While I wasn’t planning on living under lock and key, I could at least put in a fence around the place. The driveway was rearranged so that somebody would have to go a gate further away from the house, and then loop up to the house. The good news — since Maryland is relatively warm most of the year, the fencing contractor could put in a fence even in the winter. The bad news — Do you have any idea how much over 4,500 linear feet of fence cost?! Even the cheap galvanized steel chain link fence wasn’t cheap; something more decorative and strong would (and did) cost me an absolute fortune! I offered up my first born male child but the contractor laughed and turned the offer down. It wasn’t enough!

I also rebuilt the house. The house had a brick façade all the way around, but I had the windows ripped out and bullet proof glass installed, and the doors were replaced with all steel frames and steel cores. I also had a professional quality alarm system installed. Yes, somebody could still break in, but they were going to have to work at it.

I balked at having armed guards living with us. I did, however, buy a piece of property across the road from the driveway. If it came down to it, I could put in a discreet little guard shack over there. Likewise, we arranged to have Marilyn continue with a traveling escort. I wasn’t sure what we would do when Charlie and his sibling(s) went to school. I wasn’t worried about anybody coming after me.

We weren’t completely safe, because that is simply impossible. We were certainly safe against an average burglar or kidnapper. To get into the place would require a pro, and would take longer. Of course, if a pro got in, it made for a completely different set of circumstances. It was the best we could come up with — you buys your ticket and you takes your chances. Even the Secret Service can’t keep somebody perfectly safe. The best you can do is raise the cost to a level the bad guys aren’t willing to pay.

Within just a few weeks of our return home, Marilyn was showing a noticeable baby bump and any hope of wearing either club outfit again would have to be delayed for a year or so. Marilyn told me that her obstetrician wanted her to come back in a few weeks, at the end of February, for an ultrasound examination. I didn’t think too much about it. Marilyn hadn’t had one for our second child before, in what was then 1982, but that was at a small clinic in upstate New York. Now it was 1984 and we lived, relatively speaking, in the big city. It was more common.

Marilyn was quite excited by it all, and wanted me to come with her. “We can find out if it’s a boy or a girl! Which would you prefer? A boy or a girl?”

“Ten fingers and ten toes, honey. After that it doesn’t matter.” I just wanted another healthy child.

“You’re no fun! Which would you prefer?”

I smiled at her. “A boy, of course! Girls are yucky! I might get cooties from them!”

She blew me a raspberry. “I am going to tell your daughter that her father is an awful person!”

I snorted out a laugh. “Truth in advertising!”

Charlie didn’t care about this at all. He was not quite two-and-a-half, and even though Marilyn told him he was getting a baby brother or sister, it just didn’t register. To be fair, I am sure my mother told me at the same age that I was getting a sibling, and I didn’t remember it either. If I had known, I could have drowned him at birth and saved myself infinite aggravation!

And so it came about that the last Friday in February, the 24^th, 1984, I found myself driving Marilyn to her doctor’s office in Cockeysville. I sat there in the waiting room with Marilyn surrounded by some very pregnant women, quite uncomfortable with it all. I remember at one point leaning over to my wife and asking if I should announce her husband wasn’t able to make it, so she had brought her boyfriend instead. Marilyn shook her finger at me and warned me in no uncertain terms to “Behave!”

Eventually it was Marilyn’s turn, and the nurse asked her to go back. Then she turned to me and asked, “Do you want to come, too?”

It’s one thing to head downtown when I’m in bed with a woman, it’s quite another when her legs are up in the stirrups! I swallowed hard and gurgled out, “Uh… uh… that’s okay. I’ll stay here.” She gave me a smirking smile and led Marilyn down the hallway. I felt like every woman in the waiting room was staring at me and finding me wanting.

Twenty minutes later, the nurse reappeared. “Mister Buckman? Could you come with me? The doctor would like to see you along with your wife.”

That jolted me out of my complacency! Doctors never want to see the relatives unless something really bad is happening! “What’s wrong? Is Marilyn all right? What happened?”

“Your wife is fine, Mister Buckman. Just come on back and the doctor will talk to you.”

That just meant that it was so awful it couldn’t be mentioned in public! I walked down the hallway as scared as I had ever been in my life. The nurse opened the door and motioned me forward. Inside my wife was up on the exam table, her legs stretched out and not in the stirrups, and covered with a sheet. She was looking at me with a smile. “What’s wrong?!” I blurted out.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mister Buckman. Your wife is fine,” answered Doctor Harrington. She was a middle-aged woman with a strong face and a bright smile.

“Then what’s the problem?”

The doctor rolled her eyes, so this must be a common enough occurrence. Marilyn answered, “Well, I thought you might like to see the ultrasound!”

“Oh!” I breathed deeply. “I thought… never mind. Yeah, okay, sure.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about it,” she said peevishly.

“No, I’m fine. Sure, let’s do it.”

She looked only slightly mollified, and I moved closer and held her nearest hand while the doctor started her procedure. The ultrasound equipment was located on a rolling cart. She threw some switches, turning on a cathode ray tube monitor, and then she washed her hands and squirted some jelly on the end of a flat ended tube sort of thing, the transducer. The sheet was pulled away from Marilyn’s midsection, showing her oversized belly, and Doctor Harrington placed the flat end of the tube against Marilyn’s stomach.

Marilyn jumped at the contact. She blushed and said, “It’s chilly!”

Doctor Harrington laughed and said, “We keep it stored in the freezer, next to the stethoscopes. It will warm up in a moment.” She began moving the wand around and ghostly black and white images began flashing on the monitor. “Okay, here we go!”

For the life of me, I have no idea how anybody actually can read this stuff. The same goes for X-rays. It’s all black and white and weird shades of gray, and none of it looks like the pictures in the human biology books I’ve seen. Of course, I can’t see shit in a microscope either.

The doctor was still talking, half to herself and half to Marilyn. I wasn’t paying all that much attention, just standing there by Marilyn’s head and holding her hand. Then I started paying attention when she said, “Well, that’s interesting! Look at that!”

Huh?! “Look at what?” I asked. I just stared at the screen, looking at blobs of gray and white.

“Your children.”

I stood there dumb for a couple of seconds, and then replied, “Excuse me?”

Marilyn was grinning madly by now. “Twins!”

Doctor Harrington smiled and, while holding the wand against Marilyn’s belly, traced a pair of blobs on the screen with the index finger of her free hand. “That’s one head and that’s the other.”

I stared in disbelief. “Oh my God!”

I almost missed Marilyn asking, “Boys or girls?!”

“Girls!”

“Holy Christ!” I exclaimed. Now it was Marilyn holding my lifeless fingers. I just stared at the screen in horror!

“What’s wrong?” asked the doctor, looking at me with concern.

“Carl! What’s wrong!?” demanded Marilyn.

I stared at them, first the doctor, and then at Marilyn. “Twin girls? You’re sure?”

The doctor smiled and nodded. “Well, we won’t know for sure until July, but I’d put it over 90 %.”

“Twin girls?” Suddenly I felt light headed. The nurse grabbed a chair and pushed me into it. I took a deep breath and looked at my wife.

“Isn’t this exciting!?” she said.

Exciting? This was a disaster! All I could think of was what Maggie had been like as a teenager and what having two of her at the same time would be like. Yes, I knew Charlie and Parker were nothing alike, and I knew these girls would be nothing like Maggie, but still! Maggie hadn’t been a bad kid, but it’s never a good thing when your daughter knows all the deputy sheriffs in the county by name!

“You know what twin baby girls grow up into, don’t you?” I asked.

Marilyn was smiling now. “Tell me, what?”

“Twin teenage girls! Marilyn, how could you do this to me! One at a time would be bad enough, but two!”

“You bastard!” The doctor and the nurse just laughed at me, and Marilyn sputtered indignantly. Then she brightened even more. “Just wait, the next time we’ll have triplets! One, two, three!”

I slapped my forehead and groaned. “That’s an arithmetic progression — one, two, three, four. What if it’s a geometric progression!? One, two, four, eight… oh, my God! Marilyn! We’re getting a divorce!” Marilyn just laughed at me now. The doctor snorted and rolled her eyes.

I just sat there shaking my head while the exam finished and Marilyn got dressed. Marilyn was ecstatic about the idea of twin girls. I just shook my head in disbelief. At one point, she got so bubbly, I had to ask, “So, who’s the father? There’s never been twins in the Buckman family!”

“You bastard!” she laughed. “There have been a few in the Lefleurs.”

“Yeah? You guys have also been known to marry your cousins!”

She gave me another raspberry for that one. “These are all yours!” I was told. She wrapped me in a big hug. “This is so exciting!”

“Ancient Chinese curse — ‘May you live in exciting times!’”

“You’re just a fuddy duddy!”

“Let’s go.” I loaded Marilyn back into my car and headed, not towards Tusker and Tessa’s to retrieve Charlie, but kept going, down to the Dodge dealership in Timonium.

“Where are we going?” asked my wife.

“You’ll see.” I pulled into the lot and parked in front of the showroom. “Out!” I said.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

I smiled at her. “Do you honestly think you can cram Charlie and a pair of twins into your midget-mobile? You need something a bit bigger.”

“I like my Toyota just fine,” she protested.

I nodded. She had liked her Toyota, but way back when, on the first trip through, after she drove her first Dodge Caravan she fell in love with the whole minivan idea, and kept buying them for the next thirty plus years, even after the kids were out of the house. “Just give it a shot. You need the room.”

We headed inside, where we were descended on by a pack of hungry wolves. Well, at least one hungry wolf. He took one look at Marilyn’s baby bump (which was really more than just a bump these days!) and gave a big smile. He was already spending his commission check!

To be fair about it, when Chrysler invented the minivan in the mid-Eighties it was a marketing breakthrough. It was a station wagon for baby boomers who wouldn’t be caught dead in their parents’ station wagon! Built on a car chassis, it was roomy and comfortable, handled nicely, wasn’t ludicrously expensive, and really fulfilled a need. Chrysler had only started selling them a few months ago, and nobody else had anything like them. For the next thirty years we probably drove every single type, and the Chrysler versions were generally above average. They invented them, and pretty much defined what they could do and be.

We talked Marilyn into a test drive, and as I suspected, she liked it. It handled like a car, not a typical van, and she liked that. Then I had the sales rep show us one of their fancier Dodge Grand Caravan models with all the whistles and bells. By that point the guy was practically drooling. I started signing papers and the asshole damn near came in his pants.

From there we drove over to Tusker and Tessa’s, where Tessa was being terrorized by our son. Bucky was now almost six years old. He was off at school in the first grade! With two pregnant women in the room with me, I was suffering from estrogen overload. Tessa was as excited as Marilyn about our having twins. I wondered how happy she would be when we called on ‘Aunt Tessa’ and ‘Uncle Tusker’ for baby-sitting duties.

And, slowly, life began getting back to normal. I wasn’t sure how normal normal was going to be, what with twin girls coming into the picture, but my family’s disaster began receding from my thoughts. We were no longer in the papers, I could go somewhere with Marilyn or Charlie without worries about anybody pointing at me and whispering, I didn’t have to worry about reporters tracking me down. Mind you, the Buckman family was generally in the shitter. My parents were now divorced, Mom blamed me for everything, and Suzie hadn’t talked to me since the shooting. She had sent me a letter apologizing for causing all the trouble (by inviting me to her graduation, I guess) and stating that she was taking a job at the Mayo Clinic, and asking that I not chase after her. Dad? Who knew! I had killed a son of his and he hadn’t talked to me other than through lawyers. What a miserable clusterfuck!

The Tusk’s second child was also a son, and he was born on Friday, April 20, 1984. I remember that day because I ended up watching over Bucky for a few hours. He was home from school because it was a teacher’s conference day, and right after lunch I got a call at the office from Tusker. Tessa was having contractions, none of their parents could be reached, Marilyn couldn’t be reached (out grocery shopping), and could I come over and watch Bucky until somebody else got there? I just laughed and agreed, and then left the office. From Hereford to their house was less than fifteen minutes.

It was Bucky who opened the door for me when I walked up their walkway; he must have been watching for me out the living room window. “Hi, Uncle Carl! Mom says you’re going to stay here until Nana and Papa get here!”

“So I’m told. How you doing, Bucky?”

“I’m okay.”

“Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?” The Tusk’s cars were both out in the driveway, so they were still here.

“They’re upstairs. They said they have to go out and I have to stay here with you. Nana and Papa are coming over, too.” He didn’t seem overly concerned. I wondered how much he understood about what was happening. I was about the same age as he was when Suzie was born, but that hadn’t been good. My mother had gone into labor in the middle of the night, after Hamilton and I were asleep, and the next morning I woke to find the next door neighbor watching us and our parents gone. I was only five-and-a-half and got scared and started crying. Bucky seemed a whole lot calmer, or maybe it was simply because he was awake to get used to it.

“That’s cool. We’ll just goof off until your Nana and Papa show up.” I wasn’t sure which set of grandparents were Nana and Papa, but I had met both and Bucky would be in good shape.

I heard a clatter up the stairs, and Bucky’s parents came down the stairs, Tessa in the lead, groaning and waddling, with Tusker behind her carrying a small suitcase. He was a lot calmer with this child than he was with the last one! He saw me and smiled. “Great! Thanks a bunch, man!”

“It’s cool, guys. Bucky and I are just going to hang out. We’ll drink whiskey, play poker, watch dirty movies, and smoke some cigars. You know, guy stuff.”

“Yeah, guy stuff!” chimed in Bucky.

Tusker grinned at this. Tessa was less amused. “Guy stuff! I hate you, Carl.” She turned to Tusker and said, “I hate you, too. I hate all men. You are never going to touch me again!” After another groan, Tessa headed for the door.

Tusker just grinned at me. “Didn’t she say that once before?” I asked him lowly.

“I heard that! This time I mean it!” she said loudly.

“What’s a dirty movie, Uncle Carl?” asked Bucky. He was way too smart for my good.

“It’s a movie about pigs at a farm. Forget about it,” I answered.

“I hate men!” repeated Tessa as she headed out the door. Tusker just laughed and shook his head and followed his wife outside. Bucky and I waved good-bye through the picture window.

Okay, we didn’t drink whiskey, play poker, watch dirty movies, or smoke cigars. We had milk and chocolate chip cookies and played War with a pack of cards Bucky found. Nana and Papa turned out to be Tessa’s parents, who got the message first and came over to rescue their grandson. Bucky proudly announced we were doing ‘guy stuff’, which amused his grandparents considerably. They took over and I headed home, to tell Marilyn the good news.

We attended Carter Henry’s (he was named after both grandfathers) christening at St. Paul’s, which was Tessa’s church from when we were kids. That was very uncomfortable, since both my parents were there, though sitting in separate pews. My father started to cry when he saw us with Charlie, and Marilyn so visibly pregnant. He sat there staring at us as we walked down the aisle. Marilyn got very nervous, and picked up Charlie in her arms, and held him tightly, while staying behind me. She wasn’t letting them get anywhere near her family! Thankfully, Mom hates ‘creating a scene’ so she didn’t have another meltdown there in the church. I had heard from John Steiner that she was seeing a psychiatrist on a regular basis now, and taking medication.

One other curious thing occurred in April. I became a philanthropist! It all came about when I was doing my taxes, which I actually had to sign off on every quarter. Actually, I had an accountant from Jake’s old firm do them for me, since at my income level, the last thing I needed to do was fuck up my taxes. He was at the office reviewing them with me when he commented that I could afford to significantly raise my level of charitable contribution, especially considering the tax advantages of doing so. When I asked how much he thought I could give, he gave it a little thought, and then commented, “Well, a hundred thousand would be well within the range, probably more.”

I sat back, stunned. A hundred Gs? That was almost as much as I made in my best year on my first go around. It wasn’t like I was being a cheapskate, I gave the local fire department several hundred every year, going back to when Marilyn almost burned down our apartment in Fayetteville, and I always gave to the Red Cross and the United Way, but I was off by several orders of magnitude. I grabbed the phone and called in Jake Senior for confirmation.

He came through the door and asked, “What’s up?”

“Tell him what you just told me,” I told the accountant.

This fellow gave me a confused look, and then turned to Jake and said, “Well, I was just telling Mr. Buckman here that at his income level a significant increase in charitable donation would have a positive impact tax-wise.”

Jake nodded and shrugged his shoulders, and then turned back to me. “Yeah? So?”

“Tell him the amount you told me!” I added.

“A hundred thousand would be well within the realm of reasonable donation, and more could be accommodated,” added the accountant.

Jake looked at me again, and repeated, “Yeah? So?”

I stared at him briefly. “A hundred thousand dollars?! Are you serious? What the hell would I give a hundred grand for?”

Jake rolled his eyes, and then grabbed a chair and sat down. “Give me a break! Okay, let’s make it simple. What do you give out now?”

Back on the first trip around, I had religiously given the local volunteer firemen $25 or $50 every year, I always gave RPI $75 or $100, and the local Boy Scouts or Red Cross always got a handout. Some years it had hurt, especially after the Great Recession hit, but I always gave something. Marilyn had always given a $20 to her church every week, and I figured she was doing the same now. This time around I had added a zero to most of the figures. I outlined what I had donated the previous year.

He looked at me for a bit, and then said, “That’s it? You’re a real cheapskate, Carl!”

“What!?”

“Carl, you do know that charitable contributions are tax deductible, right? Anything you give to charity effectively lowers your income by that amount, thereby reducing your tax liability by whatever percentage your income would be taxed at. If you were in the top tax bracket, you would get taxed at a 50 % marginal rate. You give a hundred grand to charity, it is the equivalent of only giving fifty grand.”

“I’m not in the top tax bracket?” Just how much money did you need to be in that bracket?

“Yes and no. Most of your income is in the form of capital gains, since most of your money is in investments, which means you pay 20 %. Still, donations cut your income by a certain percentage. You should come up with a number and give it away.”

“Huh! It’s like a business!”

“Damn straight! Treat it like a business. Determine how much you want to give, who you want to give it to, and make sure you get receipts.”

“Don’t just let it out in dribs and drabs, either,” added the accountant who started this all. I turned to him with a curious expression. “Say that you want to give ten thousand to heart research. You’ll do more good in the long run by picking one charity for that and giving that one all ten than you will finding ten charities related to heart research and giving them one each.”

“Huh.” That made sense, I guess.

Jake grinned at that. “Maybe you get some perks out of it, too.”

“Like what? A free heart transplant?” I asked.

“No, but say you give money to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. Give enough and maybe they throw in season tickets, hmmm?”

I stopped at that. Smiling, I replied, “Actually, I like the orchestra every once in a while. I am going to have to give this some thought.” I turned back to the accountant. “One hundred thousand?”

“Why not figure that for 1984 and you can review things in six months.”

“Anything else?” asked Jake, rising from his chair. “Or can I get back to work so you have money to give away?”

“Yeah, actually, stay seated. I think I am going to need some cash this year,” I told him.

“Oh? How much?”

“Probably a few million.”

That perked Jake’s ears up. “Oh?”

I nodded. “I think so. Listen, back a few years ago, when Marilyn and I took our first trip to the Bahamas after I got out of the Army, I told her that we could buy a place like that someday. Well, anyway, we got to joking about it, and I said that if I ever got my net worth up to a hundred million, I would do it. I never thought much more about it for a while, but then we started this company up, and we have been doing well. I would think we’ll be at that point by the end of the year, don’t you?”

“Probably over that. We haven’t even included the value of the investment you are making in that Michael Dell fellow — Is he really worth it? You once said to never buy a hardware company! Why buy this guy, who is building a hardware company?”

I nodded. I had just gotten Dell’s name from Bill Gates, who didn’t want to invest, but as soon as I heard it, I knew I did. I had made a quick trip to Austin and moved Dell’s plans forward by at least a year’s time by a judicious yet reasonably small investment. “Trust me on this one. What he’s doing isn’t building a hardware company. He’s building a whole new type of production system. It’s like Henry Ford a hundred years ago. You wouldn’t be investing in the car, you’d be investing in the guy who invented the assembly line. Michael Dell is going to invent a whole new way to buy computers.”

“You say so.” Jake shrugged. The amount we had invested was well under a million, and gave us twenty percent of the company. Ten years from now that chunk would be worth billions. “So what about the Bahamas?”

“So, I told Marilyn that we would buy a vacation place when I got to a hundred mill. At the time I was half joking, but now that I’m at that point, we’re starting to get serious about the idea. I need to figure out how to do it.”

“You got a place in mind?”

It was my turn to shrug. “Maybe. I haven’t started asking price or anything, but the last place we stayed was new and looking for a buyer. I can find out.”

Jake stood up again. “Okay, you make a few phone calls and find out what the numbers are. I’ll talk to Jake and Melissa and figure out how to do it. I warn you, however, it will probably dilute your ownership slightly to drag that much cash out. Not much, but a few percent.”

“It’s going to affect your taxes, too,” added the accountant.

I nodded in understanding. If we had a company worth $100 million and I owned 90 %, then I was worth $90 million. However, if I took $10 million of my money out and spent it, then the company was worth only $90 million and my chunk was only $80 million, meaning I now only owned about 88 % of the company. “It’s probably going to change over the future anyway. Your son and Missy are still talking about creating investment pools and bringing in outside money, and using other people’s money for investments, and not just ours.”

Jake nodded. “He’s definitely feeling ambitious. How do you feel about that?”

“I know it can be done and other outfits make money doing it. I have no moral objection to any of this. I would say we try this on a small scale, keep a close eye on the whole thing, and give it a shot. If it works, we can repeat it, and the next one can be bigger. You?”

“Pretty much the same. If he screws up, I’ll hold him down while you give him a thumping.”

“How about we tell him to put together a proposal for the next board meeting. He and Missy can figure out about where I am coming up with cash by then, too.”

Jake nodded and wandered off, whistling happily. I would have a sit down with Jake Junior and go over his ideas for expansion sometime soon, too. I could see how opening up the firm to outside investors could make me even richer, and grow us that much faster. If I owned 90 % of a $1 billion company, I was worth $900 million; if I owned 70 % of a $2 billion company, I was worth $1,400 million. Either way, my cut was enough to make me the boss. I needed to sit down with Missy and find out how the big investment outfits ran this stuff.

So I sat down with Marilyn that night and told her we had to give away some money. She was very excited. She wanted to give it all to the Catholic Church! I put an immediate kibosh on that idea. It was my money, not hers, and I was nowhere near as religious as she was. If she wanted to put a C-note in the offering plate every week, rather than the twenty she had been giving, that was fine. That was five grand a year. No way in hell was I giving them one hundred grand to play with. I was going to hell anyway, and Marilyn couldn’t commit a hundred thousand dollars worth of sin if she lived ten lifetimes! We picked out several different places to donate money, including the local firehouse, the Red Cross, our colleges, and so forth. I would talk to John about some other ideas, and see if he had any thoughts. The idea of season tickets down at the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra was intriguing, too. Back on the first go, when I had been living in Lutherville, or even just visiting, it hadn’t been all that difficult to con my parents out of their tickets every once in a while. I like an occasional night of the classics. It makes me look classier than I really am!

Chapter 85: A Growing Family

Monday, July 23, 1984

Marilyn seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds herself. She seemed to be getting bigger every time I looked at her, but she disagreed, and it wasn’t a subject to dwell on. She’d get very upset with me if I mentioned it, alternating crying and yelling at me. I made sure she was working out with me every morning, and she swore that she wasn’t gaining any more weight than she had with Charlie. How she could tell, I wasn’t sure, since there was no way in hell she could see down past her belly to the scale on the floor!

I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. On our first trip through, we had three children, and Marilyn gained weight with each one. With Alison she put on about five pounds that she never really lost, and the same happened with Parker. When Maggie came along, her weight just went to hell! She ballooned by over 60 pounds during the pregnancy, and didn’t lose very much at all afterwards. For the next twenty years, Marilyn was heavier than I was. It had been a killer for her health, too. For years she was heavy enough to be a borderline diabetic, and all the weight messed up her joints, screwed up her blood pressure, and generally had her taking a half dozen pills or more a day.

On the other hand, this time around, Marilyn was working out with me three or four times a week, and was generally in a lot better shape than she had been before. It wasn’t like she was fat the other time, but she simply relied on her twenty-something metabolism. Now she was toned and fit. Maybe, if I kept her working out with me now, she wouldn’t let herself go. I wasn’t blaming her for this, though. Back then, I hadn’t been any better, and had eventually grown fatter than she was.

Every father should go through the experience of having twins. It’s an excellent penance for your earlier sins. Not only was Marilyn peeing for three, she was grumpy for three. I began to debate the merits of visiting Honduras and Nicaragua again.

As soon as the weather was favorable, I had the pool contractor in and digging up the back yard. This was a fair sized project. I wasn’t going crazy and putting in an Olympic pool; I would be happy with a 20’x40’ swimming pool, 3’ deep at one end and 8’ deep at the other. Still, a pool is more than just a pool. We had to extend the deck over to the pool edge area, run power for lighting, pumps, and filters, and put up some fencing so the insurance company wouldn’t go totally bat-shit. The contractor wanted to do a pool house as well, but by the time that idea was raised, Marilyn was running out of patience and I tabled it for a year or two. On the plus side, the sound of the excavator revving up drowned out her complaints to me.

Part of Marilyn’s problem centered on the fact that she was pregnant during a hot and humid summer, blamed entirely on me. She seemed to think that if we were living in upstate New York, the summers would be delightfully balmy and blissful. I seemed to recall they could be just as miserable as Maryland summers, just not as long. When I commented that she would have complained about having twins during a Maryland winter, she threw a wet dishcloth at me.

I escaped the worst of this thanks to Carter Henry Tusk. Marilyn was heavily involved in the baby shower and after the birth would frequently head over to the Tusks’ to gossip with Tessa and some other friends. Tusker called me once to complain that they were sitting around damning all men and warned me to take Charlie and head for cover. I offered to turn the swimming pool excavation into a bunker, but he was caught before he and Bucky could escape.

The pool wasn’t completed until the beginning of July, just a few weeks before our daughters were due. It was definitely looking like daughters. A follow-up ultrasound had failed to detect any sort of dingle-dangle on either fetus. Regardless, the pool was usable just in time for a small heat wave, and Marilyn spent several days floating weightless in the water wearing granny panties and an oversized tee shirt of mine. We were delaying the summer barbecue until August, since our regular time of June or July was simply too much for her to help with. Tessa brought Carter over several times, to commiserate with Marilyn and show us the baby.

Bucky approved of his new baby brother. He was a boy, which was a lot better than a girl! I was almost to the point of agreeing with him.

The plan was that Marilyn have a C-section instead of doing it the normal way. That made sense, since I knew that with multiple births, most doctors refuse to do it any other way. I did tell Marilyn to ask her doctor what type of C-section she was getting, the traditional vertical cut, or the ‘bikini’ cut, which is lower down and runs the other direction. Recovery times are supposed to be better that way, and scarring is supposed to be a lot less, as well. She promised to ask.

Doing it this way seemed to promise to be a way we could schedule things a lot better. She would be able to schedule something 9–5, as opposed to the middle of the night, like Maggie did. When we headed to the hospital, I was to first call her parents, and then pack Charlie up and take him over to visit Tessa and Bucky and Carter. Charlie loved hanging out with Bucky. At six years old, Bucky was like a god to my son. I wasn’t quite sure what Bucky thought about this, but he seemed to handle it well.

The big day happened to be Monday, July 23. Marilyn started having contractions about 8:00 AM, and I could tell by the look on her face that this wasn’t a false alarm. She had never had that sort of thing with any of our kids the first go through, and I hadn’t heard of it with Charlie. She just grabbed the kitchen counter and looked over at me with a worried face. “Carl…”

“Is it time?” I asked.

She nodded, and then panted briefly while it passed. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Time to make some calls?”

“Please.” She sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen island, and I grabbed the phone off the wall. The first call was to Doctor Harrington’s emergency number, and she told us to head down to GBMC. The next call was to Big Bob and Harriet, and they said they would drive down and arrive by that afternoon. I told them that I would leave a key over the back door, in case I wasn’t home yet. Then I called the Tusks and told them Charlie and I were on the way.

Marilyn had two more contractions during this time, so I didn’t think it was going to be a long labor. I had enough time to let Dum-Dum pee in the back yard before I locked her in the utility room, then we hustled Charlie out to the minivan and put him in his car seat. I grabbed our bags and helped my wife waddle outside. We dropped Charlie off, and then made it to the hospital by about 9:15.

At 9:16 Marilyn’s water broke. She got loaded onto a wheelchair and hurried off to the maternity ward, with me following. Doctor Harrington found us a few minutes later helping Marilyn onto a bed, and after taking a look up Marilyn’s dress, she smiled and said, “It’s show time!” I turned green and Marilyn looked panicked. “You’ll be fine. We’re going to get you wheeled into the delivery room, I’m going to go change and scrub up, and then we are going to meet your new daughters.”

The nurse piped up, “We’re going to have a multiple?”

Doctor Harrington nodded. “Twins.”

“Ooh, goodie! I’ll make sure we’re all set.”

I doubt it was twenty minutes later, but it sure seemed like hours, before the nurse came in with an orderly and Marilyn was wheeled out of the room. I followed along, but didn’t get very far. This was surgery and they weren’t going to let me in to watch. That really didn’t bug me all that much; while I don’t get squeamish at the sight of blood, I don’t feel all that compelled to join in, either. Marilyn was getting a general, so she would be out of it anyway. I found a seat in the hallway and waited to find out what was happening. I suppose it was the same way back when my Dad was waiting for my Mom to deliver us, although I didn’t smoke two packs a day like he did then. I even paced up and down the hallway for a while. An hour and a half later, Doctor Harrington came out into the hallway and found me.

“Your wife and daughters are fine, Mr. Buckman. Everything went as smooth as silk,” she announced.

I think I exhaled for the first time in three hours at that. “Daughters. Huh.”

She smiled. “You don’t approve?”

I gave her a wry smile. “I’m still getting used to the idea of twins. It’s not like I can send them off for a refund, right? Ten fingers and ten toes?” Were my babies healthy!?

I got a grin in return. “Twenty fingers and twenty toes!”

“Oh, well, yeah, right.” I just smiled and shook my head. Twins! “Can I see my wife?”

“You can see her, but she’s still out of it. She probably won’t wake up for a few more hours. Your girls are in the nursery.”

“Can I see them? Can I hold them?”

“You can see them, but that’s about it. You can come back in a few hours and maybe Marilyn will be awake then. You should call your families,” I was told.

That brought me up short. “I don’t have a family,” I said. “Marilyn’s parents are coming down, but they live in New York, and probably won’t get here for a few more hours.”

“Well, she’s in the recovery room right now, but you can wait back in her hospital room. Or go home; there’s really nothing for you to do now.”

“Thanks, Doctor.” She pointed me towards the nursery, and I did the squinting-through-the-glass routine. Even with my glasses on, I couldn’t read the labels on the bassinets, and I couldn’t tell one baby from another anyway.

Then I went to her room to wait for her to come back from recovery. I had made a big mistake when Parker was born. He had come into the world in the late afternoon, and Marilyn looked like she had been dragged through a knothole. She was in and out of it. After seeing our son and visiting with her, she had sent me away. So I went away! I came back bright and early the next morning to find her fuming at me for doing what she wanted me to do! She wanted me to use my Jedi mind reading abilities to know that I wasn’t supposed to do what she told me to do. (This ranks up there with ‘You don’t need a Christmas list. If you really loved me, you’d know what I want!’)

Marilyn was back in the room by the early afternoon, by which time I had managed to grab lunch in the cafeteria and call Tessa with the good news. Marilyn slept until about four, at which time she woke up groggy. I held her hand while she came to, and then a nurse came in to check her out. She wanted to see the girls, but then fell asleep again.

I just rolled my eyes. I turned to the nurse and said, “Listen, I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m going to go home, find her parents and our son, and bring them back. Just tell her I haven’t abandoned her, okay?”

She laughed and shooed me out.

I found Harriet and Big Bob at the house, with Dum-Dum running around being a nuisance. She was put outside, and I had a chance to talk to my in-laws. “Welcome! When did you get here?” I asked.

“Half an hour ago,” answered Big Bob.

I glanced at my wristwatch; they must have gotten here by half past three. “You made good time.”

“How’s Marilyn?” asked Harriet.

I smiled. “Good. Asleep, when I left her. They had to do a C-section with the twins, so they gave her a general. Give me a few minutes to shower and change, and then we’ll go. Alright?”

Dum-Dum began scratching at the door, so I let her in and then went to our room. We could put Marilyn’s parents up in the spare bedroom. All three kids’ bedrooms were slightly different in size. Originally, Charlie had been in the largest of the three, next to our room, but he had been transferred across the hall, so the twins could share a room. Charlie didn’t mind, or didn’t really notice. Big Bob and Harriet would have the room at the end of the hall.

I took a quick shower and changed my clothes, since I had been sweating nervously all day. Now, fresh and sweet smelling, I was ready to go back. I found Big Bob playing with Dum-Dum, so we locked her away again, and then I loaded my in-laws into the Town Car. I knew we wouldn’t be using the minivan for all the kids until we left the hospital in a few days. From the house we drove over to the Tusks and retrieved Charlie, who was eager to see his grandparents and his mother. I think Tessa was eager to get him out from underfoot as well. She promised to come over tomorrow, and leave her boys with Tusker.

We got to GBMC by about six, and I held Charlie’s hand as we walked through the parking lot. He was now at the stage where he only had two speeds, fast and faster, and he wanted to tear through. We got up to her room just in time to see a pair of bassinets being wheeled in.

Marilyn was awake and propped up in the bed. She looked pale but awake, and her eyes lit up when we all came in. She was about to say something, but a nurse handed her a small bundle. “That’s one. Does the father get the other?” she asked, smiling.

“Absolutely!” I answered, and the other bundle was handed to me. I looked at my daughter, who looked a lot like her mother, sort of. “Which one is this?” I asked.

“You don’t know?!”

“Well, yes and no. They look kind of alike. Is this number one or number two?”

She nodded and looked at the bracelets on their wrists. “You’ve got number one, and your wife has number two. Do you have names yet?”

I looked over at Marilyn, who grinned and nodded. “You really want to do this?” I asked.

“Yep!”

“They are going to curse your name when they get old enough. Last chance to change your mind!?”

“Nope!” she said.

“Okay.” I turned to the nurse. “Got your pen handy?”

She pulled a pen from a pocket and grabbed the clipboard from where it was hanging at the bottom of the bed. “Shoot!”

“The oldest here is Holly Marie.” I spelled it for her, so that we didn’t get a repeat of how Marilyn got her name. “And her sister is Molly Lynn.” I spelled that, too, and looked over at Marilyn. “I get that right?”

Marilyn smiled broadly. “Yes!”

I came around to the side and bent down to kiss Marilyn. Then I held my bundle up next to hers to compare. I thought they looked the same. I didn’t think there was a test for identical versus fraternal, but they looked alike.

Charlie tried to butt in. “Let me see!” he said.

“Hi, Charlie,” said his mother, but he ignored her. He was trying to get a view of what I had.

Big Bob and Harriet went around the other side of the bed, and I bent down to show Charlie his new sister. “This is your new sister Holly.” I told him.

“She’s a girl, right?”

I nodded. “They’re both girls.”

“Can we get a boy?”

Big Bob and Harriet spluttered in laughter. I just gave Marilyn a look. Turning back to my son, I answered, “You’ll have to talk to your mother. I’m in management. Mom handles production.”

Charlie turned to face her, and Marilyn said, “Thanks a bunch! See if you ever get to see the assembly line again!”

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” asked her father.

“Good. Tired. How are you doing? How was the trip?”

We all chatted for a bit, passing the babies around and oohing and ahhing appropriately. The nurse came in after a half hour, and wanted to see if they would eat. Since Marilyn planned to breast feed for a few months, this involved a bit of work. Big Bob, Charlie, and I headed for the hallway, while Harriet gave her daughter a hand. With one baby, a woman can throw a blanket over that side and cover things up, but not with two! Maybe Marilyn was going to have to work the problem in series and not in parallel.

We stayed until they tossed us out, and then I drove us over to a Friendly’s for dinner. Charlie was asleep by the time we got home. Big Bob and Harriet weren’t far behind him. Tuesday I showed them around the latest changes to the house and the new pool, and then I had them follow me over to the hospital in their car. That way they weren’t shackled to me all day long. On the way over we drove over to my office to tell everyone the good news. I also gave the approval to Jake Junior and John to go ahead with our move. We had outgrown our original office space, and were now going to lease a much larger space in the same business park, one which could handle double our current roster. I hoped it would be enough. I drove over with my in-laws and showed them our new digs.

The Lefleurs didn’t stay at the hospital too long this morning, just long enough to say hello and pass the news from home. After half an hour Charlie was bored and fussy, so they took him home. I stayed with my wife and our daughters. By late morning she wanted to rest, so I took off with a promise to come back later. I grabbed some lunch, went to the office and did some paperwork and checked my mail and messages, and at the end of the day went back to the hospital. They had Marilyn up and walking, slowly, after we left Monday night, and she was able to move even more now. Tuesday night they were going to remove her catheter, and if that went well, she could come home on Wednesday.

The doorbell buzzed on Wednesday morning, and Charlie got to it first, racing through the house trying to beat Dum-Dum. He opened the door, and I heard his little voice saying, “Aunt Tessa! Hi! Mommy’s not here!”

The door opened up and Tessa came in, shooing Dum-Dum in front of her. She had a car seat with Carter in it, and a giant diaper bag. “I know. I came over to keep an eye on things while your Daddy goes and brings Mommy home.” She looked up as Big Bob and I came into the foyer. “Hi, Carl. Everything still on schedule?”

I nodded. “Should be. I called and nobody said anything was going wrong.” I introduced her to Big Bob and Harriet. Tessa had met them at our wedding, but that was six years ago, and she had other things on her mind that day.

Tessa said, “Well, you go on over whenever you want to. Charlie and Carter and I will stay busy. I need to be out of here by two at the latest, or Tusker will have to go home for Bucky.”

“Who’s Bucky?” asked Harriet.

“Buckman James Tusk, our first son. He was born when we got to the hospital in Utica, during the reception,” she answered with a laugh.

“You named him Buckman? After him?” asked a curious Big Bob, tilting his head towards me.

Tessa laughed, and I just protested, “It’s not like that!”

“Carl and Tusker are, like, best friends,” explained Tessa. “And Tusker would never have gone to college or been able to go into business without Carl pushing him.”

“And now we’re Uncle Carl and Aunt Marilyn, and they’re Uncle Tusker and Aunt Tessa,” I finished. “Let me get my shoes on and I’ll go get Marilyn’s minivan ready. You guys need to get one of them, too,” I told Tessa.

“Maybe this fall, we’ll see. I’ll talk to Marilyn about it.” She kept chatting with my in-laws.

I finished getting ready and went outside to see if I needed to prep the minivan. I cleaned up some of Charlie’s crap, and then came back inside. I had a surprise for Marilyn, a brand new side-by-side twin stroller, which I had kept hidden in the trunk of my car, along with a pair of matching car seats. The stroller went into the back of the van. The car seats took fifteen minutes of assembly and installation. I looked forward to the day when they would have doors on both sides of the minivan.

Big Bob rode up front with me on the drive over, with Harriet all the way in the back, and the two empty car seats in the middle. The actual pickup was somewhat anticlimactic. Our daughters were asleep the entire time, Marilyn was moving slowly, but she was moving, and her color had improved, and we got everybody wheeled out to the van in a reasonable time. I went off and drove the van back to the front entrance, and the nurses inspected the car seats and loaded us all in. Then we drove home.

Charlie and Dum-Dum greeted us at the door. Charlie wanted Mommy to pick him up, but she had to decline, saying she wasn’t feeling all that well, but she would, soon. Then Marilyn went to our room to use the bathroom and clean up, while I brought our daughters inside. They slept through everything, thank the Lord! When Marilyn returned, she promptly headed for her La-Z-Boy and reclined it. Both Charlie and Dum-Dum climbed up and kissed her, and she survived that, so I pulled Dum-Dum off, and Marilyn hugged and kissed her son back. Then he went wandering, while she rested and chatted with Tessa and her mother.

Marilyn fed the girls one at a time although she alternated sides with them. She just lay there in her recliner with a comforter draped over her while she did this. Her father was a little uncomfortable about it all, but Harriet had seen some of her other daughters-in-law doing this, too. I puttered around making lunch and keeping Charlie busy, although he seemed quite fascinated by it all.

A little after three, an unholy racket erupted in the driveway. Tusker came roaring up with a motorcycle, and when I looked out the front door, I saw that he had a sidecar on the thing, with Bucky strapped in, wearing a helmet and goggles and grinning maniacally. I turned back to the living room and said, “Marilyn, you are going to have to see this to believe it!”

“I’m not moving!” she protested.

“Your loss!”

I held the door open, and Bucky led the way in. “Hi, Uncle Carl! Hi, Aunt Marilyn!” He trooped in without taking off his goggles or helmet. Marilyn’s parents stared at the sight.

“Good Lord! You’ve had him out riding again?” asked Tessa.

“You bet! We’re going to stop by the dirt track on the way home and practice a little more, too!” answered my friend.

“Practice what?” I asked.

“Riding! Bucky’s in his first motocross this Saturday! Want to come out and watch?”

I rolled my eyes. Harriet and Big Bob looked horror stricken. “He’s too young for that!” Harriet protested.

“No he’s not. He’s in the Pee Wee division. He’s pretty good, too. A real natural. Wait until Charlie wants to try!” Tessa just smiled and shook her head.

I groaned at the thought, and Marilyn protested mightily, but I knew better. Charlie idolized his older friend. If Bucky did it, Charlie would have to try. “We’ll see. It’s going to be a few years, though.” I promised to try and make it to the race, but I wasn’t sure if I could, while taking care of Marilyn. If I went, Charlie would want to go, too. Boys and their toys!

Marilyn’s parents stayed until Sunday, allowing Charlie and me to go to Bucky’s first race on Saturday. He did okay, too. He didn’t win, but he made it through each of the various heats, didn’t get hurt, didn’t dump the bike, and finished in the top half of the riders.

Charlie’s eyes were gleaming! I knew what he had in mind! Marilyn was going to kill both Tusker and me!

Chapter 86: Fall 1984

I came home from the office on Friday a week later, and was greeted at the door by my son. “Hi, buddy, what’s up?”

“Mommy’s crying,” he told me.

“Mommy’s crying? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you do something?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

“Did I do something?”

“I don’t know.”

I just nodded down at him. “Okay, I’ll go talk to Mommy. I’m sure we did something.” He headed back to the living room and I followed him. I dropped my briefcase in the living room, and then went down the hall to our bedroom.

As Charlie reported, Marilyn was sitting on the bed in her fluffy bathrobe, crying and looking very sad. I loosened my tie and sat down on the bed next to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her against me. Marilyn started crying again and leaned her head on my shoulder. “It’s all right, what’s wrong?” I asked soothingly.

I was worried that my wife might be experiencing post partum depression. She hadn’t on our first time, but we didn’t have twins then. Or was this just some routine thing? Marilyn jumbled out the story in her usual confusing fashion, and I just nodded and listened and smiled to myself. She was working on toilet training Charlie, which was generally going okay, but he had a couple of accidents today. The girls were squawking and wanted to eat at the same time. Dum-Dum got into the pantry and started eating her kibble from the bag. She missed two phone calls. Blah blah blah, nothing very life threatening.

The real kicker, though, was when she tried to dress in some pre-pregnancy clothes, and couldn’t fit into her old jeans. Not her ‘skinny jeans’ either, just regular stuff. “I’m still fat and ugly!” she wailed.

I tried to keep from laughing, biting my lip to do so. Charlie came in then, and he must have heard her, because he came up and wrapped his arms around her knees and said, “That’s okay, Mommy. We still love you.”

I cracked up at that point and started laughing. I hugged Marilyn again, and agreed, “Yes, Mommy, we’ll still love you even though you’re fat and ugly!”

“You’re awful! I hate you both!” she screamed at me. I just laughed harder and fell back on the bed, with Marilyn still hugged up against me. I laughed for several more minutes, while Marilyn complained about men in general and Charlie protested he still loved her.

After a few minutes, I pushed myself upright, and smiled down at our son. “Mommy will be fine. You need to go on out to the living room now, while Daddy talks to Mommy.”

“Okay!” he scooted on out of the room.

Marilyn sat upright. “Great! He’ll still love me if I’m fat and ugly! Should I kill him now or later?”

“You can’t kill him. Don’t forget, one of these days he’ll be the one to pick out the old folks home we get sent to!”

“You’re no help at all!” Still, she smiled at me as she said this.

“Come on, get up, there must be some clothing you can fit into. No more of this.” Marilyn grumped at me some more, but I pulled her to her feet and nudged her towards the dresser. “Listen you went through this with Charlie, too. Yes, you’re bigger now than before, but you didn’t grow much more with the girls than with him, and we’re going to get you back in shape.” This was true. Charlie had come in at just shy of 8 pounds, but his sisters had averaged just over 5 pounds each.

“Hmmph!”

We were standing in front of the mirror over the dresser and I wrapped my arms around her from behind and hugged her. “You know what you need to do. You’re going to eat sensibly and work out with me every morning and you’ll be back in shape in no time flat.”

“What if I don’t lose all the weight?”

I grinned at her. “Depends on what stays bigger!” I waggled my eyebrows at her.

“Men! You can forget about that! That’s never going to happen again! Ever!” she protested.

I smiled at her in the mirror and rubbed against her rump. I knew it was going to be a couple of months before anything could happen anyway. “We’ll see. I think you’ll want another Carl Buckman Experience before too long!”

“NEVER!”

I laughed and pushed her towards the closet. “Now, get dressed. You can have a drink again, so I am opening a bottle of wine. No excuses.”

Marilyn calmed down after that. She began walking on her treadmill again every morning with me while I worked on the weights and did some katas. (Charlie would sometimes come in as well, and try to lift the weights just like his old man. He wasn’t very successful, but it made me laugh regardless.) Sometimes she walked while feeding the girls. I found that interesting but not arousing. That’s not one of my particular kinks. She claimed that she was going to wean them onto bottles after a few weeks anyway, which was fine by me. I could hold out on any urges I had — and I was definitely feeling some urges — until she was all healed up and no longer lactating. Her mood improved immensely a week later when she had lost a couple of pounds and fit into a pair of jeans again.

Marilyn continued to proclaim, for a little over two months, that I was never again going to satisfy those urges. That changed by the end of September. She had her eight week checkup with Doctor Harrington, who pronounced the girls healthy and Marilyn healthy, too. She didn’t tell me her plans, but that night, after putting the girls in their cribs, she went into our bedroom and changed into a pink peignoir set I had bought her for Christmas. I was glad Charlie was a sound sleeper, because otherwise he would have been very surprised to see what his parents were up to out on the couch in the living room!

The business moved ahead quite nicely through the fall. We created our first investment pool for outside investors, the Buckman Investment Pool. Missy wasn’t really qualified to run it, but she was definitely qualified to dig through her endless Rolodex and find somebody who could run it, with our supervision. She and Jake Junior got our blessing and thanks. They raised $25 million and we put it into a number of different companies throughout the fall and winter, some of which I remembered from history, and some of which I didn’t. This was a different kind of business. While the Buckman Group invested in shares of the Buckman Investment Pool, we sold shares to others (minimum investment, $250,000) and took a management fee off the top and got a managing partner’s cut of the profits and distributions. There was a different dynamic involved, to a certain extent, in that we were more interested in pushing these investments to an IPO, so we could generate a big return on the investment, although we reserved the right to hold onto the shares after that.

Harlan, Anna Lee, Roscoe, and their new daughter, Mary Beth, visited us in October. Harlan saved up a year’s leave and flew the family home. The big problem in living in Hawaii is that it takes you a full day to fly anywhere on the east coast, and a full day to fly back, which just kills your vacation and leave time. They visited for a long weekend, Friday through Monday, and we put them up in the spare bedroom, with Roscoe bunking with Charlie and Mary Beth bunking with the twins. Friday was the 12^th and we celebrated Charlie’s third birthday. That Saturday we went to a Pee Wee motocross race, and watched Bucky win his first race! Very exciting, and Charlie thought it was just fantastic! Then we went over to the Tusks’ and had a barbecue.

(Previously I would have taken Harlan, a really big football fan, to a Colts game down at Memorial Stadium. That spring, however, the Colts had decamped in the middle of the night to Indianapolis. My mother was as big a fan as Harlan, and if she hadn’t been homicidal before, she probably was now! Oh, well…)

In November, I made arrangements with Taylor for a family trip to the Bahamas again, and we stayed at the same villa, Hougomont, that we had stayed at in the spring. This time we took the kids, to see how the place worked with children and whether it was practical to take kids back and forth. Holly and Molly were a handful, and Charlie was only slightly less trouble, but we survived. By the middle of the week, I called the real estate office down there and had Mr. Peepers over, and we started haggling over price. I bought Hougomont plus the two empty parcels, one on each side. That gave us well over 1,000 feet of private beach, and plenty of room for privacy. John overnighted me a check for $1,000,000 as a deposit, and I promised to fly down for a quick trip before Christmas to close on the sale.

At Christmas, Charlie got a bicycle and a helmet. He fell a lot, but he kept trying, going in circles in the driveway. He would make ‘VROOM VROOM’ sounds as he pushed and rode it around. Bucky was facing some future competition!

We gave Charlie his bike about a week before Christmas, actually. We were going to Utica for Christmas, and taking a few weeks off for a long family vacation in the Bahamas. In a few years the kids would be in school and that schedule would rule. For now we were still fairly flexible. We kenneled Dum-Dum for a couple of weeks and then flew up.

As I mentioned once before, the Lefleur tradition is that they celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve, actually in the afternoon, not the evening. There were now so many kids and grandkids that adults pulled names from a hat in the fall, and they were only responsible for that child, and you didn’t buy for everybody. Nobody could afford buying a present for every single person! Today, however, Marilyn and I were going to break the rules.

Everything went fairly normally. Santa showed up about 1:00 and did all the ‘Ho, ho, hos!’ and handed out a small present from Big Bob and Harriet to each child. They also had to pose for a picture with him. Even the adults had to sit on his lap! Afterwards, Santa was sent packing, and the presents for the kids were passed around, which always ended up in a whirlwind of wrapping paper and a cacophony of noise. Normally after that happened, a bunch of folding tables and chairs would be brought out for dinner. However, before that happened, Marilyn and I interrupted things.

“Excuse me! We have something to say,” I said to the room. It fell on deaf ears. Nobody was listening to anybody, just to the screaming kids running around. “Excuse me!” Nothing. I looked at my wife. Maybe she could bring order to the chaos. It was her family, after all.

“You need to be louder.”

“I was loud.”

“Well, yell, then!”

I rolled my eyes. Great! I stood up and waved my arms, and then yelled out, “EXCUSE ME! WE HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY!” At that point the adults, at least, looked in my direction. The kids kept yelling, but the parents saw me standing. I repeated myself, “EXCUSE ME! I NEED TO SAY SOMETHING!”

Marilyn’s family started shushing the little ones, and I turned to my wife. “Okay, they’re your family. You want to say this?”

Marilyn waved me off. “This is your idea.”

“Some help you are!” I turned back to the others. “Okay everybody, give me a minute or two, please.” Most of the others nodded, including Big Bob and Harriet. We had told them of our idea before, and they liked it, and now they started telling everybody to be quiet and listen.

“Thank you. As most of you know, for the last few years I’ve been in business down in Maryland, and we’ve been pretty lucky and done fairly well. Anyway, this year I bought, uh, actually, we bought a vacation home in the Bahamas. This family has been very good to me, and Marilyn and I would like to offer everyone here some time there. If you’d like to use our place for a week, let us know, and we’ll make the arrangements for you. All you’ll need to do is get to the airport.”

As expected, the room broke out in a state of barely controlled pandemonium. The kids didn’t understand any of it, but they sure understood the word vacation! The teenagers were interested, too, and wanted to know when. It was the older Lefleurs, Mark, Luke, and John, and their wives and children who wanted to know more.

Marilyn and I had decided on some ground rules ahead of time. They could call Marilyn and schedule something and Marilyn could keep a schedule (or more likely tell me, because I wouldn’t lose the schedule!) We’d pay for flights out of Syracuse, which was the nearest big airport. I wasn’t paying for them to fly down on a chartered jet, but I would cover business class. Syracuse connected to New York, for instance, and New York has daily flights to the Bahamas. They would have to pay for their own food and amusements while down there. We had decided the same rules would apply to any of the original brain trust at the Buckman Group, too.

If somebody didn’t like it, they didn’t have to go!

We figured that no matter how you added it up, this only added up to about eight to ten weeks per year of people going through the place. The odds that there would be a conflict were low. Besides, I knew enough about my wife’s family to know that they were pretty close. It would not surprise me if several of the boys and their families wanted to go down together. There were enough bedrooms to accommodate grownups, and the kids could always sleep on the couches. Or they could sleep on the beach, for all I cared. If I caught them I’d throw them in jail and fine them!

Over the next few days we talked to all the older kids about this, and reviewed the ground rules and grabbed a calendar. Mark and Lauren scheduled a week in April, and Luke and John and their families decided to share a week in May. We would sort out the flying part when we got back to Maryland. I explained how we subcontracted travel arrangements out and would figure out the specifics in a few weeks time. In the meantime, we were on vacation, and weren’t going to worry too much.

We showed everybody some photos we had taken the last time we were down there. It seemed unreal to some of them. Well, half the time it still seemed unreal to me! Part of the reason Big Bob and Harriet were so enthusiastic about the idea was that they were taking the first trip. When we flew down on the Friday after Christmas, we took them along. Their vacation included a flight on the G-II that Taylor had chartered for us. For once they left the kids home. Even the youngest was now six years old, and there were enough older kids at home to watch them for a week. Winter was the slow season for Lefleur Homes anyways, so they could take off.

I think a big part of the reason we offered to bring them and they agreed to come was to see if it was all true. Were the photos real? Did we actually have a place on the beach? Was this bullshit? For a long time, Big Bob and Harriet had figured that they were going to have to support their idiot son-in-law who couldn’t get a real job and ended up in the Army. The idea of me owning an investment company and supporting Marilyn on my own was just barely sinking in. The idea I was worth so much more than that really hadn’t registered at all!

Taylor had made sure the jet was stocked with a couple of bottles of champagne. Big Bob drank some, but he was much more of a beer kind of guy. Harriet and Marilyn got a little tanked, on the other hand, but not out of control. Charlie was very excited by it all; the twins slept the entire trip. That was a blessing in and of itself! They were now teething, and when one would start crying, she would set off the other one. When I die and go to hell, it will be packed with teething twin daughters! A minivan and a Cadillac were waiting for us at the airport, so that we could split apart and drive separately if we wanted to. From there, we drove to Hougomont and I fished the keys from my pocket.

Well, if we were trying to impress the relatives, it worked! It reminded me of the time when Marilyn and I had lived in northern New Jersey on the first go-around, and her brother Mark and her Aunt Lynnette came down to visit us. We took them to Rod’s 1890s for dinner, a very nice place Marilyn and I liked to go to, with a private Pullman dining car on one side, and a two story bar/dining room with an open well connecting the rooms. The pair of them had just gawked like a pair of rubes right off the farm. We got the same impression this time around from Marilyn’s folks.

As vacations go, it was nice and went well, although I would have preferred more alone time with my wife. We hadn’t done a parents-only vacation since before the girls were born. Still, there were a couple of nights we wanted to go out on our own, and her parents played babysitter, and they went out a night or two on their own also. If we were trying to impress them, it worked. Yes, I know they had been to our home in Hereford, but that simply looked like a nice suburban rancher. Hougomont was a lot more impressive, and we obviously owned it. For one thing, they came with us one day to buy some furniture; the furniture in the place wasn’t ours, but was the demo stuff from when it was still a demo unit.

Big Bob and I talked business and politics several times. He was a die-hard and hard core liberal Democrat; I was a much more moderate Republican. He didn’t think much of Reagan. I think Big Bob was hoping for the return of FDR! I was more ambivalent on the subject, and kept my mouth shut. If you want to keep your friends, don’t talk religion or politics. Some of what Reagan did I liked, some I didn’t, and the guy tended to invent the truth he wanted to believe in. Maybe that’s just part of being a politician.

On business I was on a lot firmer ground. For one thing, back on my first try, I had spent as much time in the trailer business as he had, and could speak with some authority. I knew a lot of the history of the business and how it operated and why, and could speak intelligently, and my money made him at least consider my opinions.

It was still strange, though. Way back when, I had first started working for Lefleur Homes in the summer of 1984. Back then, I had been an industrial chemist. That was what my degree was in, and even my MBA was geared towards running a factory. Unfortunately, my specialty was in specialty organics and pharmaceuticals, and I ran head first into an industrial nightmare.

A few years before, Congress had decided, in its infinite wisdom, that Puerto Rico needed more jobs and that the best way to do that was to give tax breaks to pharmaceutical companies who put up factories in Puerto Rico. Well, that certainly sounded good at the time. Puerto Rico is a part of the U.S. and jobs are good, right? Enter the Law of Unintended Consequences! Cue the drum roll. Half the pharmaceutical companies in America built brand new factories in Puerto Rico, got them running, and then shut down all the old factories back on the mainland! New factories could be depreciated faster and had lower operating costs, and the new employees got paid peanuts compared to older (now unemployed) unionized employees in the northeast.

Lots of Congressmen got free vacations to Puerto Rico courtesy of the pharmaceutical companies, too. They were called fact finding tours. It’s surprising how many facts are hidden in the beach sand and at the Bacardi refinery.

I bounced from factory to factory, company to company for seven years, getting laid off as companies shut down. Eventually I landed at a German chemical company as a junior foreman, and worked my way back to the top of the QC department. I was the only guy on the line with one college degree, let alone two, but since German chemical companies are run and managed by chemists with PhDs, I was told I would never rise higher than a senior foreman.

I threw in the towel at that point and got out of the business, selling insurance for a brief period. Big Bob offered me a job at his Cooperstown office, his first satellite office, and I jumped at it. I was never sorry, at least not until the Great Recession hit, and even then I knew that if I was an employee and not an owner, I wouldn’t have survived.

I worked for Matthew in the office as a salesman for that first year, learning the business, with the understanding that if I worked out, I would eventually run the office. I worked out better than they expected, and took it over in January of 1985 — right now, in fact. Matthew went back to being the dispatcher and driver. On this trip through, Matthew was still running the office and unhappy about it. Big Bob’s problem was that he didn’t trust anybody but family to run things (for one thing, he could treat family like shit and get away with it!) and all the older boys had been put into the delivery and setup sides of the business. Only Mark had gone into sales, and he ran the Utica lot. The next available boys were Gabriel and Rafael, still in college, and Michael, still in high school.

Big Bob asked me what he should do, and I told him he would either have to hire outside sales professionals or promote an existing salesperson. He nodded and agreed, but I already knew what would happen. He ended up doing both over the years, never trusting a one of them, and would fire them all within six months. Eventually his younger sons got through school and he put them in, treated them like shit, and was happy. Hell of a way to run a railroad!

House trailers are not necessarily a good product or a bad product. Like most things in business, it comes down to a question of who you’re dealing with. In that regard, the trailer industry has nobody to blame but themselves! Some of the homes are built as nicely as any stick-built home, and some of the dealers are as honest and trustworthy as you can ask for. Big Bob had a good reputation in that regard, and he only sold high end homes. However, as a whole, for most of their past, trailers had been rickety death traps sold by salesmen who failed the ethics qualifications to sell used cars. The factories all knew it, but they didn’t care; they just pumped out tin boxes as fast as they could and as cheap as they could to whoever lined up at the back door with a truck and a check. The death trap part ended in 1976 when Congress began to regulate the business and put in a building code, but the damage had been done. They were still being sold by dealers who were crooks and that never really changed.

A big part of the problem was the ridiculously low cost of entry into the business. It was entirely possible to become a trailer dealer without ever actually having to make an investment. You could lease the property. The homes would actually be floorplanned by a bank or the manufacturer and all you have to pay would be the interest. You use one of the homes as an office, so the bank owns that, too. You lease or rent all the office equipment. The factory will ship the homes, and you can subcontract out the installations. You’ve got absolutely no skin in the game!

A cure existed, but Big Bob and I didn’t agree on it. The industry needed to consolidate around a handful of major players, and most importantly, begin taking responsibility for their product with the buyer. A trailer factory didn’t sell to the buyer, it sold to the dealer and the dealer sold to the buyer. However, if you bought a home and it was a lemon, the dealer had no legal requirement to even answer your phone calls. The warranty was through the manufacturer and the dealer didn’t even need to have a service department. You would have to call some company you might never have heard of to ask for help, and they would get to you the next time they had a truck in the area. Since you might live in New Hampshire, and most of the manufacturers were in Indiana or Pennsylvania, you might be shit out of luck for six months or more! This totally skewed the dynamics of the industry. Manufacturers didn’t want to deal with buyers, only dealers. Dealers didn’t want to be held to any kind of requirement to service what they sold. Buyers were totally screwed unless they found an honest dealer like Big Bob. That was just one of the many problems in the industry.

The only way things would ever change was by legislation and regulation, and on this Big Bob and I disagreed. He thought the present system was just peachy, and I was simply horrified by it. I knew what was going to happen. The reputation of the industry got so bad in the Nineties that when the Great Recession hit and the banks began shutting down credit, they stopped financing trailers. No financing means no buyers means no sellers means no manufacturers. The entire industry collapsed. Some dealers had begun selling modular homes by then, like we did, but the housing business was in the shitter no matter what.

Anyway, we discussed this quite amicably and simply agreed to disagree. He did have a rather oblique question as to how I invested in companies and industries, and I returned with an equally oblique reply about how we bought ownership positions, and didn’t lend money. I suspected he was looking for a cheaper bank loan (well, fair’s fair — who wouldn’t!?) but I’m not a banker.

So the week went well. As the owner of the property, it was a whole lot easier dealing with Big Bob and Harriet then when we were their guests. Regardless, they were going to go home with glowing reviews of Hougomont, and the kids were going to love their vacations. It was the least we could do for Marilyn’s family, a family that really had gone out of their way to welcome me both this time and last.

Chapter 87: An Ordinary Life

I’d like to say how every day for the next few years was exciting and filled with thrilling stuff, but it wasn’t. Marilyn and I are actually really boring, and we led boring lives. That suited us both just fine! We’re really very average people, just ones who didn’t have to worry about money. We lived in a fairly average suburban rancher. Yes it was a little larger than the average, and it was on 25 acres, but it would not have been out of place in most developments. That suited us just fine. Neither of us wanted a castle, and besides, castles need servants. The entire idea of servants made both of us feel kind of creepy.

If the idea of servants was creepy, the idea of armed security people were even more so. The Buckman Group continued to grow, and I continued to become more wealthy. Still, at the time Marilyn was being stalked, we had increased security at the office, with a professional security guard in the lobby. Now, after our move to the new offices, we paid a lot more attention to that sort of thing. The door between the lobby and the rest of the offices was locked, and the lobby had both a receptionist and a security guard (dressed professionally, not like a rent-a-cop.) A guard was on duty even after hours, since some of what we were doing was quite confidential. We couldn’t chance a break-in for espionage purposes.

After the disaster with my family, I kept security at the Mount Carmel Road residence, as well. No, we didn’t install a guard shack, but when Marilyn and the kids went anywhere, they were trailed by a black GMC with dark windows. Likewise, when Marilyn went into a store, a professionally dressed security guard would follow her at a distance. Tessa once joked that they were being shadowed by the War Wagon. I didn’t have any personal security. I wasn’t worried about myself, only my family.

Marilyn loved her minivan. I kept two cars, a big Cadillac or Town Car that I kept for driving larger groups with, and my little 380 SL, which I would drive whenever it was just me or my wife with me. If I was going out to dinner with Marilyn, we took the 380. If it was with the family, we took her minivan. The Cadillac (I replaced the Town Car in late 1984) didn’t actually get driven all that much.

Marilyn cut her hair. Before, it had been long, going several inches down her back, but after the girls were born, she cut it in a shag, shoulder length. It was still curly, but I think she figured that as a 30 year old married woman, she couldn’t have long hair anymore. Who comes up with these rules? On the plus side, after Marilyn got back in shape with a decent workout routine with me, her tits had grown another cup size. I approved, but I was hoping that she drew the line at this. If we kept going with this pattern, after our next child she’d be so top heavy she’d fall on her face. D cups were just fine by me!

Holly and Molly, as far as we could tell, were identical twins. Marilyn and I could always tell them apart, however. There was something about them, from the time they were born, that subtly differentiated them. Maybe it was the way their hair curled, or the pattern of faint freckles on their noses. Something about them that only their mother and I could sense separated them. They were also the spitting image of their mother, as best we could tell from pictures of Marilyn at that age. It was spooky, but we first figured it out when Aunt Lynette pulled a black and white picture of Marilyn from a photo album and showed it to us. They were identical!

Marilyn was a stay-at-home mom, and that suited the both of us. Charlie didn’t start kindergarten until the fall of 1985, and we would still have the girls at home for a few more years. Marilyn was a housewife and took care of the kids and the laundry and the cleaning. I worked in an office and cooked dinner. How mundane and boring can you get? I’d come home, play with the kids and Dum-Dum, listen to Marilyn tell me about her day, and then watch television with her after we put the kids to bed. It wasn’t a bad life.

In many ways, it was what I needed to do with my life. The fall of 1983 had been one of the worst times in my life, certainly worse than having to leave home as a teenager, even worse than my jaunt through Nicaragua and having to leave the Army. Having Marilyn and Charlie stalked and attacked, especially by my brother, and the subsequent arrest and publicity and family breakdown, it had all been just too much for me. I wanted nothing more than to put it all behind me and live quietly and anonymously with my family.

Going into the office gave me a routine. I could have just sat back and counted my money, but I knew how to do better than that, and I liked having an impact. We were now investing in companies that I would never have heard of from before, and our investments were doing well. It wasn’t just the big names I knew from before, where I could just buy a stock at the date of the IPO and tuck it away and be a playboy. I was making a difference, helping companies start and grow.

My original brain trust had been one of my biggest advantages in all of this. John and Jake Senior were cautious and acted like the grownups. Jake Junior kept growing the company. He and Missy started up a second investment pool, Buckman Investment Pool II (we’re real inventive in this business), and did as well with it as they did with the first. This time around, we allowed insiders, the members of the brain trust, to buy shares directly, and both Jake Junior and Missy did just that. I happily agreed to this — golden handcuffs are much better than golden parachutes when running an operation! I also let Harlan and Anna Lee know that they could invest with us, without becoming a full partner. They put some of their pension money into shares. At this rate, the Buckman Group was going to be a major player in the private equity business in a few years.

I supervised and worked with the others on identifying investment targets, but then stood back and let the professionals do the work. If that meant I got to go home early one or two nights a week, nobody seemed to mind. I also made sure that we could take some vacations. We tried to take at least a week at Hougomont with the family and another week by ourselves. During the summer we took another couple of weeks. If I got really lucky, we would leave the kids with the Lefleurs every once in awhile, and I would take Marilyn on a business trip to the west coast by ourselves. I introduced her to Bill Gates in the summer of 1985 during a board meeting in Bellevue, and then we took a quick side trip to San Francisco and rode the trolley around. I like cities, Marilyn not so much. She does like nice restaurants and hotel rooms, though, so I just made sure we had a limo on standby for traveling. We also did the same thing when traveling to New York for whatever reason. We’d stay at the Four Seasons and I’d make sure to take Marilyn to a Broadway show or two. Cats was excellent, but I really looked forward to seeing Phantom of the Opera when it came out in a few years.

We had begun giving away money to charity in 1984. Serious money, anyway, at least by my old standards. Five grand a year each to the Hampstead and Hereford Volunteer Fire Departments was a significant sum to them. While we were actually in the Town of Hereford in Baltimore County, we were physically closer to the Town of Hampstead across the county line in Carroll County. Be safe and give to both! We also donated to the Jacksonville and Reisterstown Departments, just in case. Most of these towns offered mutual aid support to each other. It was a good idea to cover all the bases. Besides, those crazy bastards run into burning buildings! Everybody else, those of us in our right minds, runs out! They needed the money for psychiatric treatment! Let’s add in some money for the local ambulance and EMT companies, too.

The Red Cross got a healthy chunk. If there was one outfit that could be counted on to show up during a catastrophe, it was the Red Cross. God save you if you have to wait on the government for assistance. (Unless, of course, you were in a hot air balloon that was losing lift, and you could get Congress to start talking about the problem. They could fill it with plenty of hot air, and nothing else!)

Rensselaer got a nice piece of the pie. I had always given them some bucks, now I gave them more. Marilyn never quite understood why I gave them money every year, but she never quite understood all that the school gave me — like her! I would have never have met Marilyn if I hadn’t gone to RPI. I offered to donate money to MVCC and Plattsburgh State, but Marilyn wasn’t interested.

A few other outfits got some money, too. I gave to the USO, and the 82^nd Airborne has a charitable scholarship fund that would get some money. In general, the Army had been good to me. Okay, Hawkins was an asshole, but the vast majority of the outfit had been good people.

The interesting thing is how much nicer they treat you the more money you give somebody. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a college or the Red Cross or the United Bumfuck Charitable Trust, the result is always the same. You’re a fish on the line, and they want to reel you in.

$0 to $250 — You are classified as a Guppy. Thanks a lot, we’ll put you on the mailing list, we’ll send you a receipt.

$250 to $500 — You are now upgraded to a Minnow. You get a much nicer thank you letter and get upgraded to our premiere mailing list, so we can ask you again in six months.

$500 to $1,000 — Anybody who gives this much has to be a Big Minnow! The thank you letter is computer printed, but signed by hand, and in the future you get a phone call asking for money from a Junior Fisherman.

$1,000 to $5,000 — You have moved up to Flounder. Everything is done by humans now, generally a Senior Fisherman, and you will probably get a call and an invitation to lunch from a Super Senior Fisherman.

$5,000 to $25,000 — If you’re this rich, you get an immediate upgrade to Mega Flounder! Congratulations! You now will be offered oral sex from the Super Senior Fisherman, be placed permanently on the Monthly Fishing Mailing List, and be given a brass plaque on the classroom/storage-locker/large-piece-of-expensive-equipment of your choice. Keep paying though, or that item will be ‘re-donated’ in the future by another Mega Flounder.

$25,000 to $250,000 — Wow! You are a Tuna! Your item will never be re-donated, at least not until it breaks and has to be replaced. The Super Senior Fisherman has now been replaced by a Senior Executive Fisherman, and the oral sex has been replaced by anal sex, giving or receiving, your choice.

Anything above $250,000 — Now you are a Whale! They hand you the keys to the place and offer you free coeds/interns/assistants. The number is determined by just how much you fork over. With enough zeroes on the end of the check, they name the place after you. You have reached the peak of the food chain!

As far as RPI was concerned, I was a Mega Flounder, a fish they had managed to sink a big hook into and they were planning on reeling me in for years to come. Much effort would come in the future to convert me to a Tuna and beyond. Dollar signs were flashing in the eyes of Dan Berg, President of RPI. Berg was a non-entity as far as I was concerned, but I was hoping to get him to offer the coeds both to me and Marilyn.

When I was at Rensselaer, the President was a zero named Richard Grosh. To be fair, I’m sure he was a nice guy, and beloved by his dog, but as far as the students were concerned, he was a nobody. Our senior year, 1977, however, he was replaced by a real superstar, a guy named George Low. Low was an RPI grad who had grown up to become a senior administrator at NASA during the Apollo years, which gave him some really serious street cred at RPI. Even better, he was very personable and frequently met with the students and gave standing room only lectures on space related stuff. Hell of a guy! Unfortunately, he died in 1984 of cancer, and was succeeded by a number of nobodies for the next fifteen years, when another science heavyweight, Shirley Jackson, a world class physicist, took over. For the next few years it would be Berg chasing after me and my dollars.

My worries about geometric progression came true by the start of 1985. No, Marilyn wasn’t pregnant again, but the twins started crawling around. They weren’t twice as troublesome as Charlie had been — they were four times the trouble! It was an exponential relationship. Unlike Charlie, they didn’t go through obstacles, but they got into everything, even the stuff we had childproofed. We set up a large playpen in the living room and dubbed it ‘The Jail.’ Several times a day they would get into something they shouldn’t be into, and get corralled and put in jail.

In the summer of 1985 Dum-Dum lived up to her name. One night in August she was barking up a storm by the patio door, so we put her out on the tie-out, and she went racing out, barking madly. Big fucking mistake! She was barking because a skunk managed to slip inside the fence around the pool. Moments later Dum-Dum came roaring back and tried to come inside. Marilyn opened the door, and then yelled and we dragged the dog back outside. Tomato juice was supposed to kill the smell, and we found a can and I went out and we gave her a bath, but oh God did she stink! I looked around and didn’t find a dead skunk, so I didn’t even have the satisfaction of knowing the little bastard had paid for his sins. Dum-Dum and the deck stunk for days!

In the fall of 1985 I revived an old pastime of ours, old to me at least, from my first life, new to Marilyn. I taught her how to make jams and jellies. On our property in Cooperstown we had about five acres of mostly scrub, but it had an abundance of blackberries and elderberries and a few apple trees on it. After we started picking berries, we decided to try making jam. It isn’t very high tech at all, it’s fairly easy, if time consuming, is relatively cheap, and it works. Every year we would do several batches of blackberry and elderberry, and Marilyn would go out and buy blueberries and strawberries. The apples we made pies from and she learned how to cook them into apple sauce. Then we cooked up some pumpkins and made pie filling.

We called it all ‘Buckman’s Berries’ and put it in Mason jars and saved it and gave it to friends and family. Since the only way to do it required the both of us working on it, it was an excellent way to do something together on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. We would do a few batches and chat and talk about the kids or the business or the school or anything, and just work together for a few hours. It was good for us then, and it was good for us now. I knew all the little tricks, because we had done it for almost forty years. The end result was jam better than anything that Smucker’s ever made, because ours was made with love! For Maggie’s wedding, she had us make 140 jars of strawberry jam as the combination wedding centerpieces/place-tags, and we made jam for weeks before the wedding!

As for the pies, well, there is no such thing as a bad pie!

Like most parents, we found the most hilarity with our children. Charlie liked me to take him to Bucky’s races, and Marilyn was happy to let us go and get out of her hair. The babies didn’t like the noise and would fuss a lot. Once Charlie was comfortable riding his bicycle, he and Bucky started dirt biking around the lower half of our property. We figured this out during the summer of 1985, when the Tusks were over for a Saturday barbecue. As we all sat there on the back deck, we watched as the Daring Duo headed up the hill into the woods, and dragged back a fallen down tree. Well, Bucky mostly did the dragging, but Charlie tried to help. When we asked, mystified, what they were up to, plans to build a jump ramp were announced. Marilyn was not amused, and threatened both Tusker and me if Charlie got hurt.

Tusker and I just shook our heads in disbelief. This deserved another beer, at the minimum! We had a pair of adrenaline junkies on our hands.

It became quite apparent that both Bucky and Charlie were little daredevils. We got to calling them Batman and Robin. Bucky would come up with some crazy stunt and Charlie would join in. It wasn’t like Bucky even had to talk my son into it, either. Charlie volunteered!

This all came to a painful head in February of 1986. It doesn’t snow all that much in Maryland, but it does snow, and we got several inches one Friday night. The next morning we called the Tusks and invited them over to go sledding. By ten or so they pulled up in their minivan and piled out. Their house was a nice high-ranch model with a wonderful finished basement set up as a playroom/prison for their boys, but they lived in a development and only had about a quarter acre of flat lawn. We, on the other hand had a nice gentle slope perfect for sledding.

Once they arrived, we quickly dressed the kids and went outside. Holly, Molly, and Carter got propped up in a toboggan and Marilyn and Tessa began pulling them around the back yard, inside the pool area where Dum-Dum could be turned loose inside the fence. This worked for about fifteen minutes before they started getting chilly and fussy. In the meantime, Charlie and Bucky disappeared up the hill with their sleds. We took the little ones inside and left the boys to their own devices. They’d come in sooner or later.

They did. Mid-morning we saw them from the breakfast nook, looking out through the patio door as we sat there sipping hot chocolate. Bucky was half supporting Charlie, who seemed to be holding his arm and limping. I looked over at Marilyn, who was shoveling rice gruel into Holly and Molly, and asked, “Now what have those two gotten into?”

She glanced out the window and said, “Don’t know, but they’re your problem. I’m in charge of girls. You’re in charge of boys, remember?”

I grunted in acknowledgement of our pre-baby agreement. Tessa stood up and went to the patio door and let the boys in. It was obvious that Charlie had a look a pain on his face, and was favoring his left side and cradling his left arm. “What happened?” she asked.

Charlie limped over to his mom, and Bucky answered, “We crashed.”

“You crashed?” asked his father.

“On the ski jump,” he answered, nodding happily.

“What ski jump?” I asked. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew they were the stupidest words I had ever said. What was I thinking?! They were little boys! Of course they had a ski jump!

Bucky started talking and pointing, and I just looked over at Tusker and said, “This I got to see!”

“Me, too!”

We stood up and slipped on our boots and coats, and I grabbed the leash for Dum-Dum. Tusker and I followed Bucky out through the patio door with Dum-Dum straining at the leash, and were led down to the bottom of the hill. “We crashed here,” we were told, with Bucky pointing to a big pile of snow.

Tusker and I looked at the pile, and then at each other. “Just how did you two knuckleheads manage to do that?” asked his father.

“Well, we started up there, and then when we got here we crashed,” was the explanation, accompanied with a lot of pointing.

We continued quizzing Bucky, and then sent him back to the house. I stood there looking at everything for a moment. The plan was simple enough, if audacious, and bird-brained to the point of idiocy. The boys mounded snow up down at the bottom of the hill, down near a small bump close to Mount Carmel Road. Then the intrepid pair grabbed their toboggan and headed up the hill, all the way to the tree line about three hundred feet uphill from the house. The plan was that they would start as far up the hill as they could, race down the snowy slope, hit the ski jump, and be launched into the air. At that point, airborne, they would sail over the drainage ditch, over the fence, over Mount Carmel Road, and finally come down for a gentle landing in John Caples’ cornfield, a distance I conservatively estimated at well over one hundred feet.

It was impossible, of course. The slope was too gentle, the jump was too shallow, the distance was too great. Evel Knievel with jets up his ass couldn’t have made that jump! Instead, the boys had scooted down the slope, blown through the pile of snow, and tumbled ass over teakettle into the ditch, where they finally fetched up against the fence.

I looked over at my buddy. “Can you believe this shit?”

Tusker smiled and shook his head. “All too easily!”

We headed back in, Dum-Dum leading the way. We got inside and I said, “You won’t believe what these two were doing.”

Marilyn was pulling her coat back on. “I’ll believe it later. We’re going to the hospital now.”

“WHAT!?”

“Your son has a broken arm,” she announced.

“What?!” I turned to Charlie, who was sitting at the kitchen table, still cradling his arm and looking unhappy, but not crying. I knelt down in front of him and asked, “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“My arm hurts,” he answered, still cradling it.

“Here, let Daddy see.” I reached out and looked at his arm as best I could, despite his histrionic complaints. It was obvious something was wrong, and there was a big lump under the skin at his wrist. I looked up at the others, and nodded. “I think you’re right,” I told Marilyn.

She snorted. “I ought to make you put that in writing. I might never hear it again!” She went to the utility room and grabbed Charlie’s coat.

“When can Charlie go out and play again?” asked Bucky.

Marilyn looked like she was going to yell at Bucky, but then her face softened. “Not, today, Bucky. Charlie got hurt and we have to take him to the doctor.”

“Oh.” Then he looked worried. “Are we in trouble, Aunt Marilyn?”

She smiled, as did the rest of us. “No more than usual, Bucky. No more than usual.” To me she said, “You stay here with the girls. The last thing we need is all of us going to the hospital.”

“Emergency room at GBMC?”

She nodded. “You’re in charge of the girls.”

I eyed my daughters, now imprisoned in the jail, and wondered who might be getting the better part of this deal. Marilyn put Charlie’s right arm into his coat sleeve, and then zipped it up, rather than try to force his left arm through the sleeve.

Tessa and Tusker decided to take their pair home at this point as well. “Call me later and let us know how it went,” Tessa said. They took off and I helped Marilyn get Charlie into his car seat, and they left as well.

They returned several hours later, with Charlie’s arm wrapped in a gigantic Ace bandage, and an appointment to see an orthopedics doctor on Monday. Yes, he had a broken arm, specifically his left radius bone was broken down near the wrist. Monday morning I went to the office as normal, and Marilyn dropped the girls off with me for a few hours while she continued on with Charlie. They returned around lunchtime, with Charlie in a big white plaster cast and an even bigger smile. This was just so cool! He couldn’t wait to go sledding again, and this time they would get the ski jump right!

God save me!

The whole office signed Charlie’s cast and we sent them on their way to go to Friendly’s for ice cream. I debated calling Andrea and having her book me a flight to Timbuctoo. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around when those two figured the ski jump out!

The ski jump idea got a lot closer the next summer. On Bucky’s eighth birthday, his father got him a larger motorbike for motocross racing. Bucky got a 65 cc. dirt bike, and Tusker asked Marilyn and me if we wanted his older and smaller 50 cc. bike. Marilyn wasn’t all that thrilled, but we’d never hear the end of it if we didn’t at least give him a shot at it. Tusker gave us the bike; we simply had to go down to his store and buy him a helmet and some racing leathers. Tusker sold them, too, and I think they cost more than the bike! Tusk Cycle was a full stop shop, and would happily relieve you of all the money in your wallet, and then sell you a biker’s wallet. On the other hand, since I was a part owner, I was recycling my money. Sort of.

Regardless, Charlie was in seventh heaven with that thing. Once we got it home, he started it up and put on his helmet and then immediately began riding. It turned out that Bucky had been giving him lessons whenever the various parental units weren’t looking! Within two days, Charlie was riding all over the property, driving Dum-Dum crazy, and carving our 25 acres into a dirt bike track.

Marilyn watched him with considerable trepidation. What she secretly wanted, I knew, was for Charlie to have an accident, nothing serious, but enough of one that he would convince himself to stop riding a motorcycle. I knew better. I wasn’t any more thrilled than she was, but at almost five, Charlie was as much of a biker as his Uncle Tusker. By the end of the summer, we let him ride in his first official race. He placed second, and wanted to know when he could come back again, because he wanted to win! His mother and I congratulated him, and then looked at each other with concern. We had created a monster!

Chapter 88: Celebrity

In July of ’86 my happily anonymous life came to an end. I suppose I should have realized it was going to happen, but it just never occurred to me. It was my fault, of course, but I never thought it through.

I made the cover of Fortune magazine.

If I had stayed home and just counted my money, nobody would have ever have known about me. No, I let my friends, people that I trusted, talk me into becoming a businessman, so it was all my fault.

I should have known better. When you become successful, people want to know about you, and other people start writing newspaper and magazine stories about you. In this case, Fortune decided to write an article about the venture capital and private equity business. Well, that was our business, and we were one of the smaller but more successful firms in the field. It was probably inevitable that this would happen sooner or later, and it’s better to be in the newspapers for being successful than for going bankrupt.

Looking back on it, we figured that the press first learned about us when we were listed in Microsoft’s prospectus prior to their Initial Public Offering, or IPO. As owners of 6 % of the company, we were named. By July, the prospectus for Adobe Systems was out as well, and we were listed there, too. We had already been named in the IPO for Autodesk the year before, but nobody had come to ask us then. Three tech companies going public in the space of a year, with the same small and unknown private equity outfit listed? That was too much of a coincidence!

We had prepared for this eventuality, to a certain extent. We had created brief bios on all five of the principals in the company, both for SEC purposes and for various prospectuses. These were limited to our professional qualifications and history, and pretty bland. ‘Mr. Buckman graduated from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in 1977 and then served four years in the United States Army… ‘ — that sort of thing. We worked them up for all of us.

Initially, Melissa got the call from the New York office of Fortune, asking for a response and assistance in a story about the private equity and venture capital business. When I asked her why she agreed to help, her response was simple. “They’re going to write a story either way. You want them to print that the Buckman Group was unresponsive and secretive?”

I grimaced but agreed with her. In Hollywood they might say that the only bad publicity is no publicity, but that didn’t necessarily apply to us. Her response had been to send them our curriculum vitae, and we generated a nicely bland press release acknowledging our involvement with the recent IPOs. I never gave it another thought. I figured they would focus on the big name firms out on Sand Hill Road, like Kleiner Perkins and Sequoia Capital, or maybe a couple of the New York or Boston firms. We would be, at best, a blip in a paragraph at the bottom of the piece.

It didn’t quite work out that way. They never explained why, but it had to have been the three big tech IPOs in a row that made us known. It wasn’t like we handled them, either. We just owned pieces of the three hottest offerings in a year. Who were we? Where did we come from? How did we operate?

Both Melissa and John agreed we had to cooperate. If you don’t control your story, somebody else, somebody who doesn’t have your best interests at heart, will control it. I couldn’t fault their logic. I simply reminded everybody that we couldn’t speak about non-public deals or divulge confidential information of any sort. Any communications would be by one of the five of us.

The reporter showed up on Wednesday morning a little before ten. Missy had warned us all he was going to be there in the morning, but I didn’t give it a lot of thought at the time. When he didn’t get there at nine, I figured he would show when he showed, and went into a meeting in my office with Jake Junior and a couple of the tax lawyers and accountants. At ten, John knocked on my door and came in without waiting for a reply. He found us working at my conference table, and we all looked up when he came in. “Quick, guys! It’s the boss! Look busy!” I said, and picked up some papers in front of me and shuffled them. We had pulled this stunt on John before, so everybody picked up their papers and rattled them loudly.

John turned to the man behind him and said, “See what I have to put up with? Are you sure you want to interview anybody here?”

There was a pleasant laugh and a tall, slim figure came around from behind John and stepped into the room. “I’ll take my chances.”

“On your head be it!” He came closer and said, “Carl, this is Geoff Colvin from Fortune Magazine. Behave or I’ll tell Marilyn on you.”

I dropped the papers on the table and stood up. I came around the table and extended my hand. “Mister Colvin, welcome to the Buckman Group.” I turned back to the others. “We’ll finish this up later, but you guys have the general idea. Pack it up and get to work. Jake, stick around a bit.”

Jake nodded and leaned towards the others to speak quietly. I turned back to Colvin. For some reason he looked familiar, but not completely. Then it hit me. In another thirty years or so he would be one of the senior editors at Fortune and a nationally recognized speaker on business — and bald! “I’ll behave. He really will tell Marilyn on me! How can we help you, Mister Colvin.”

“Call me Geoff. Who’s Marilyn?”

“I’m Carl. Marilyn is my wife, and she is already convinced I’m not ready to play with the other children yet. If John tattles on me, I’m a dead man.” Jake came over to my side as the others filed out, and I introduced him. “This is Jake Eisenstein, Jr., our Vice President of Operations. I’m sure you’ll want to talk to him about your story. He actually makes things work around here.”

“I’m sure I’ll be talking to him, but maybe later,” he answered smoothly. He wasn’t being palmed off, not yet, anyway.

“And on that cue, I’m going to go and earn my living. Nice meeting you, Mr. Colvin.” Jake shook hands and departed, leaving me in my office with the reporter.

I ushered the writer over to the corner of my office, where I had a sofa and a few armchairs set up around a coffee table. When we got our new offices I made sure we had someplace to work (the conference table) and chat, besides just my desk. I could meet people comfortably as needed. I knew enough about Colvin to know he was a very sharp guy, and I didn’t need to be antagonistic.

“How was your trip? You managed to find us, I see,” I started.

“Yes, eventually. I was told that your company was in Baltimore, but it’s not, is it?” he said.

“Not precisely. We’re in Baltimore County, not the City of Baltimore. We’re probably forty minutes away from the downtown area.”

“So, what made you start a company out here?”

“Very simple. It’s where we all live. My entire team is from the northern Baltimore suburbs, including me. I live even further away from the city, so we put the office here as a compromise.”

“Baltimore is not what comes to mind when somebody mentions venture capital,” he replied.

I shrugged. “Money is fluid, as are ideas. A hundred years ago you might have been right. Now, the world gets smaller by the day. Communication gets easier and cheaper. How will we be communicating a hundred years from now? We could be anywhere on the planet and communicating instantly without even thinking of distance.”

“So you think we’ll all be separated in the future, spread out over the planet?”

I shook my head. “Hardly. For one thing, the long term historical trend is for increasing urbanization. By sometime in the early 21^st century the majority of humans on this planet will be living in metropolitan areas. We aren’t separating, but congregating. Second, there will always be a need to sit down with others over a cup of coffee at a diner and shoot the breeze and toss ideas around. In that regard, we are at a disadvantage here, but it’s a very nice place to live.”

Colvin was a smart, well-read, and articulate talker, not terribly surprising for a top notch writer. We spent several minutes discussing future trends, and then I asked, “So, Geoff, what brings you to Hereford?”

“Well, you and the Buckman Group. I started writing an article on the face of venture capital and private investing in high tech areas, and for the last few years, you and your company have been popping up. I’m here to find out why,” he answered.

“Well, we’ll be happy to talk to you, but you understand that we can’t discuss any current or upcoming deals. We’ve signed confidentiality agreements, that sort of thing. Otherwise, I’ll introduce you to the people who really make things happen around here.”

“My understanding is that you’re the one who makes things happen. It’s your name on the door, after all.”

Great! I just waved this off and smiled. “No one man can do all that you think I can. I have several partners, and this is a team business.” I stood up and said, “Let me show you around.”

Colvin got up and I led him out of my office and down the hallway. I pointed at John’s closed door, and said, “You’ve already met John. He’s our chairman of the board, and is one of the designated grownups.”

“You have more than one?”

“Number two is Jake Eisenstein. He’s our Treasurer.” Jake’s office door was open and directly across from John’s. When we looked in, he was looking at us and scratching his head, but he was scratching it with a middle finger. “Jake’s not only old, he’s grumpy, too!” I continued down the hall and stopped at Missy’s door. It was open, but I knocked on the doorframe anyway.

“Hello?” she said, looking up from her computer screen.

I stepped inside, bringing Colvin with me. “Melissa, I’d like you to meet Geoff Colvin, from Fortune. Geoff, this is Melissa Talmadge, our Vice President of Investments. Melissa deals with a lot of the stuff involving Wall Street.”

Missy rose up and came around her desk. “Hello. Welcome. I think I talked to either you or your editor once or twice.”

“Both, actually. First me, then him.”

“Well, you obviously made it. You find us okay?”

He nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t know you were actually so far from Baltimore.”

I commented, “He got the county mixed up with the city.”

Missy smiled and gave a small shrug. “They’re not precisely the same thing. You drive down?”

“I flew, actually, but I wonder if that was such a good idea. We must be an hour from the airport.”

She nodded. “If I need to go to New York, I usually take the Metroliner from Penn Station, and then take a cab or limo in Manhattan. You don’t have to come in from JFK that way.” I nodded in agreement with that. In another life, I had frequently taken the trains from Albany to New York, and then from New York to Baltimore. I thought it beat the bus or flying all to hell.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Colvin. “What made you guys decide to operate way out here? I’d think downtown Baltimore would be the business district.”

“Yes, to a certain extent it is, although a lot of stuff has moved out of the city. It’s just that, well, we’re all from the Towson and Timonium area, and we didn’t want to work in the city. When we set up things, Carl was building his house out in the sticks, so we compromised and came here. Office rents are a lot lower, too.” She looked at me, and asked, “Have you introduced him to everyone?”

“Yes, though Jake Senior was just in passing.”

“Why don’t we all get together over lunch? We can run down to the Wagon Wheel,” she said.

I glanced at Colvin, who nodded. “Fine by me. Let the others know. I don’t think anybody has anything else planned today.”

She shook her head. “Nothing much this week, but next week is jammed, remember. I have to spend a few days in the city, and you and Jake Junior are flying out to the west coast.”

“Dig us up at lunchtime, and we can go over.” I led Colvin back to my office and we sat down. “Okay, shoot!” I said, starting the interview.

Until lunch, Colvin asked me a variety of questions about the three deals we had done with the three tech firms. He also wanted to know why I was going to the west coast. That question I deflected, since it was to meet with a few outfits we were not public with yet. He took that rejection with good grace.

A little after noon, Melissa stuck her head in the door and announced they were heading over to the nearby restaurant for lunch, so I stood and we followed. I drove Geoff over with me, and they followed in Melissa’s mom bomb minivan. The Wagon Wheel is actually over towards Parkton, but is a decent local restaurant. Lots of comfort food, and the pies are first rate.

Over lunch we were all quizzed about how we had all first gotten together and what our backgrounds and histories were. Then, after lunch, I dumped him on John, and let him make the rounds with everybody. The next day was more of the same, only a photographer showed up, and took individual photos of us, as well as a group portrait or two. The only disquieting note came on Wednesday afternoon, when Colvin asked if he could meet Marilyn. I hesitated at that, and he pushed a bit. “You know, meet the wife and your children, get a little background, that sort of thing.”

It had been a few years, but the thought of my children in the public eye again made my blood run cold. I answered slowly, but precisely. “I realize that to a certain extent I am newsworthy, and by extension, my wife is also, but my children are not. They are minors, and my understanding of the law is that they may not be photographed or mentioned by name without my express consent, and that consent will not be made. I do not wish to cause you trouble, but this is nonnegotiable. Is that clear, or do I need to bring one of my lawyers in?”

“Understood, sir.”

I nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, but I have my reasons.”

The issue came out a month later. I know this because Melissa came into the office after lunch carrying a half dozen copies. She came into my office with a big shit-eating grin on her face. “Carl, can I get your autograph?” She dropped one on my desk, and I just stared!

I figured we might have been part of a blurb, or maybe a boxed paragraph besides the article on private equity groups. Instead my picture was on the cover, sitting on the edge of my desk, one foot on the floor and the other dangling, a smile on my face, wearing a good gray suit. The cover article was titled, ‘The New Face Of Venture Capital’. “Oh, Holy Christ!” I exclaimed.

“You’re famous, boss!”

“You’re fired! This is all your fault! Yours and John’s. Go tell him he’s fired too! You’re all fired!”

Missy laughed at this and left a copy on my desk. You could hear the uproar throughout the place as people began reading the story.

I couldn’t help it. It was like watching a car crash in a race. You know you shouldn’t be watching it, but you can’t tear your eyes away. I knew I had work to do, but I had to read it anyway. I got up and closed the door to my office.

One of the first things Carl Buckman said to me after I introduced myself was, “I can’t imagine why anybody would want to read about me. I have got to be the most boring guy on the planet!”

Not hardly.

I rolled my eyes at that. I remembered saying it, and it looked like it was coming back to haunt me. What else had I blathered on about?

Buckman, 30, is the President and CEO of the Buckman Group, a virtually unknown private equity and capital firm. Unknown, that is, until they were discovered to be the venture capitalists behind three of the biggest and hottest tech IPOs of the past decade. Now they hold ownership positions and board seats on three of the fastest growing companies in Silicon Valley — Microsoft, Adobe, and Autodesk — and they are just getting started.

The company is the creation of Carl Buckman, one of the most intriguing Renaissance men to be seen in recent years. In an industry filled with accountants and lawyers, he is neither. His own story is even more interesting than that of his company. A combination of triumph and tragedy, he is one of the most unique individuals to shake up Wall Street in recent history.

I debated crossing things out with a black Magic Marker, but realized I would do better with a paint brush. I wondered if the fire sprinklers would go off if I burned the thing. I kept reading.

Physically, Buckman is just under six foot tall, with a tough and wiry build. His nose was obviously broken and never rebuilt properly. He is extremely fit; he spends an hour every morning exercising and lifting weights. His voice is a gravelly baritone, and he speaks with a distinct southern accent. He is normally courteous and well spoken, but that can change. When I asked if I could meet his wife and family, for background purposes, the temperature of the room dropped precipitously, and I was told in no uncertain terms that his children were off limits. “Or else!” Buckman is extraordinarily protective of his family. He has good reason to be. More on that later. [Editor’s Note: Fortune does not publish photographs or names of minor children without a parent’s permission.]

Wait until Marilyn reads this shit! I was never going to hear the end of it!

The article seemed to alternate between segments about my personal life and discussions of what the company was doing. It was very obvious that Mr. Colvin had done his research. He had quotes from both Bill Gates and John Warnock of Adobe about what I had brought to the table besides money. A typical paragraph was:

When asked by Gates why Microsoft should accept an investment from a relatively unknown company, Buckman boldly replied, ‘Because of me. Everyone else you’ll ever deal with will be either a lawyer or accountant. I’m the only guy you’ll ever deal with who can actually understand what you do.’ Then, at the closing of the deal, after signing the paperwork, Buckman gave Gates the code, free of charge, to create a DOS menu system, the highly popular Batch Menu Builder system, which he had written in his own spare time. The program was embedded, virtually unchanged, in DOS 2 and all subsequent versions. The system, which allows average users to create DOS menu systems, was considered internally at Microsoft to be almost as valuable as the money Buckman invested.

I snorted at that. The only thing I did with that was to point out to Bill, who was notoriously non-user friendly in his coding, that somebody other than us geeks had to use the stuff. This was a big difference from my first time through, when I had to do that just for Lefleur Homes and our network. Still, the story went on.

That he could do such a thing came as no surprise to the people who know him. Carl Buckman is considered by most to be a mathematical prodigy. At the age of 14 he entered his junior high school’s science fair. Rather than get one of his teachers to help, his faculty adviser was a professor at nearby Towson State College, and the project resulted in his first two published papers. By 16 he was spending half the school day at Towson State. At 17 he was valedictorian of his high school class. At 21 he had earned his doctorate in applied mathematics from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. His thesis adviser, Dr. John Rhineburg, explained that Buckman’s work provided a theoretical underpinning for advanced computer networking. Rhineburg reported that both MIT and Stanford had contacted him about offering a position to Buckman upon his graduation.

Interesting! John Rhineburg had never told me about any job offers, but maybe he just told them I was already taken.

And then he walked away from it all. When he graduated from high school he had turned down every scholarship but one. He had applied for an ROTC scholarship. Buckman has frequently commented that his family has a tradition of military service going back to the War of 1812. Every generation has produced soldiers and sailors, and it was now his turn. Even more so, rather than select the Signal Corps, where his mathematical skills would be most useful, he went through parachute and artillery training and joined the elite 82^nd Airborne Division as an airborne artillery officer.

By all accounts, Buckman was as successful an Army officer as he was as a mathematician. Within three years he was commanding an artillery battery that was reportedly the finest in the division, and he was promoted twice, both times earlier than expected. Then on his final mission, now classified Top Secret, he earned a Bronze Star, very unusual during peacetime, and was injured badly enough to force his exit from the Army. He still has a limp that gets worse as the day gets longer. By the end of the day he needs a cane. He has never been heard to complain once.

How the hell did Colvin get this stuff?! Did he somehow get his hands on a copy of my DD-201 service record?

When asked where his initial funding came from, Buckman looked surprisingly sheepish and John Steiner, the Chairman of the Buckman Group laughed. Most of the other principals were laughing at this as well. According to Buckman and Steiner, it all started after a schoolyard fight on his 13^th birthday, when three bullies tried to take his lunch money. When the fight was over, Buckman had a black eye, but the bullies were crippled and in the hospital. The laughter was over two related items, that either Carl Buckman could be intimidated or that the three attackers thought they could beat him up. Among his friends, Buckman is considered both fearless and lethal. He has multiple black belts in the martial arts.

Buckman escaped the fight with a black eye, but it didn’t end there. He was arrested and expelled from school. That was when he met Steiner, then his father’s attorney. Between the two of them, and each gives the other the credit, they got the police to investigate, the charges to be dropped, Buckman to be reinstated in school, the three bullies to be arrested, and then capped it all off by suing them for damages. He got $15,000 for his efforts, and immediately began investing in the market. He was a millionaire by the time he turned 18.

There was a section recounting our lunchtime conversation about how we set up the company.

Buckman built the Buckman Group around what he refers to as his ‘brain trust.’ The first member of the group was his lawyer, John Steiner, who had helped him get his seed money originally. The second and third members were Melissa Talmadge, his stockbroker, and Jake Eisenstein, Sr., who was his accountant. The newest member is Eisenstein’s son, Jake Eisenstein, Jr., a tax lawyer who had recently graduated from law school and was working at his father’s accounting firm.

“None of us had a clue what we were doing,” commented Buckman, over lunch with the group at a local eatery. “Jake Junior was green and ambitious, I was just out of the Army and clueless, the grownups had never done anything like this either. I think we succeeded because we didn’t know we weren’t supposed to.”

“Carl is really loyal, and that’s a very nice feeling. It makes you want to justify that faith,” said Talmadge. “By all rights, I was a mistake. I was a stockbroker, basically a salesman, and what Carl needed was really a stock analyst. He thought I could do the job.” The others all nodded at this, including Buckman, but they also commented that Talmadge earned her paycheck from Day One. Certainly the Group’s latest effort, creating and marketing investment pools, owes much of its success to her efforts.

A lot of the story was puffery. I am nowhere near as interesting as Colvin must have found me. Still, portions were surprisingly painful.

If Carl Buckman’s public life is an unending stream of successes, first academic, then military, and now financial, his personal life has been anything but. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.

The oldest son of upper middle class professionals in Baltimore’s wealthy northern suburbs, Carl Buckman was destined for a similar future. That was only the surface picture. His mother was a cold and abusive perfectionist who doted on his younger brother. His father was a weak man who loved his wife more than his children. His younger brother, Hamilton, suffered from paranoid schizophrenia and was fixated on destroying Carl. Only his younger sister, Suzanna, was at all normal, and her only goal was surviving the family and escaping.

Buckman’s mother had an idealized dream of her eldest son as a corporate drone, with detailed plans for him. Carl’s life was planned from the moment he was born — the schools he would attend, the Ivy League college he would graduate from, the type of girl he would marry, the job he would take, the home he would live in. Buckman’s successes meant nothing to his parents, since they were not the successes they had planned for him. He rebelled by becoming even more successful.

Worst of all was his psychotic brother, the favored child. The older Hamilton got, the more aggressive and dangerous he became towards Carl. By 16 Carl was living with his possessions under lock and key, and sleeping in a locked room, just to survive. At that point his parents solved the problem by evicting the troublesome son — Carl! He moved into an apartment that he paid for himself with his trading profits.

If there is one constant to Carl Buckman’s life, it seems to be his wife Marilyn. They met freshman year at a fraternity party, where various accounts have him winning her in a drinking contest. Regardless, they have been together ever since. They were married in 1978 shortly after she graduated from college. Unfortunately, Marilyn was not the woman his parents wanted him to marry. A few weeks after the wedding they secretly disowned him.

In 1983 it all came to a head. Now out of the army and living back in Maryland, he had begun the Buckman Group. Suddenly his wife was being stalked, and her car was vandalized and then burned. Following an attempted firebombing at their rural home, Buckman brought in bodyguards for his family and flew them to a secret location. He stayed at home and kept his service pistol handy. The police investigated and questioned close to a hundred people, friends, family and business associates, even going back as far as high school and quizzing his old girlfriends. Nothing turned up.

It turned out to be his brother. Hamilton broke into Carl’s home armed with a 14" long Bowie knife, essentially a short sword, with the announced intention of killing Marilyn and their son. Instead he found Carl and attacked him. Carl was forced to shoot and kill his own brother in his kitchen. Forensics tied Hamilton to the earlier attacks. It was ruled self defense, but that wasn’t the end of it. His mother was hospitalized briefly herself. His parents divorced and tried to play their daughter Suzanna off against each other and against Carl. Suzanna, a nurse at nearby Johns Hopkins Hospital, was forced to leave and run away from both of them, and is now working in California at an undisclosed hospital.

I had told Colvin Suzie was working in San Francisco. No need to let him chase her down. I kept tabs on her through the security company, but she was living her own life now. She was reportedly telling people she was an orphan.

I read the story twice, groaning each time. My afternoon was totally shot! I packed my briefcase and headed out the door. If I got lucky, Marilyn wouldn’t have been down to the post office box to pick up the mail, and she wouldn’t see the magazine. I had been subscribing to Fortune since I was a teen. She never read it, but I figured she might read this one.

I was delayed getting out of the office when half a dozen people asked me to sign their copies of the magazine. Most of them I signed, “Get back to work! Carl Buckman”, which elicited considerable laughter. John really made my day when he announced he was going to buy a picture frame and frame the cover. Just what I needed!

When I got home, everything looked normal, but the post office box had already been emptied. Charlie was running around the back yard, jumping in and out of the swimming pool, and Dum-Dum was barking and chasing him and jumping in herself. I didn’t see Marilyn, which was unusual, but I found her inside the house, sitting at the kitchen table, watching our son through the patio door and drinking a cup of coffee. The twins were napping in jail.

My copy of Fortune magazine was on the kitchen table, and open to the cover article. The article had opened with a group picture of the five of us grouped around the front of my desk and laughing. Marilyn looked up at me and smiled. “You’re famous!”

“I’d rather be anonymous,” I replied.

“Good luck with that!” She went back to reading, and then looked up and said, “You’re in charge of your son. I want to find out more about you.”

I snorted at that and dropped my briefcase. I went out through the patio door to the pool area. Dum-Dum immediately started barking happily and scrambled up the steps at the shallow end. “Oh, shit! NO!” The dog bounded towards me and tried to jump up on me, and when I pushed her away, she paid me back by shaking herself vigorously. She only weighed 35 pounds, but she must have had at least that much in water in her fur. My suit was going to the cleaners. I rubbed her head and she ran back to the pool and jumped in again. Charlie never got out, but simply waved and said hello.

I waved back and then went inside. “One of these days we need to invent a doggy water vacuum. Shove a wet Dum-Dum in one end, straight from the pool, and five minutes later a dry and fluffy Dum-Dum comes out the other.”

Marilyn smiled at me. “I never knew you were so wonderful,” she teased, tapping a finger on the article.

I muttered something and went to the bedroom to change. Our daughters were still snoozing. I tossed my now wet suit jacket and trousers into the pile for the dry cleaners, and pulled on some swim trunks and a sport shirt, then wandered back to the kitchen barefoot. Maybe I could jump in the pool, too.

“Since when do you get to decide who I can and who I can’t speak to?” asked my wife.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

She waved the magazine at me. “Since when do you get to decide if I talk to a reporter?”

“What? That wasn’t about you, that was about the kids!”

“You should have asked me!”

Charlie came in at that moment, dripping on the kitchen linoleum. I looked outside and saw Dum-Dum sleeping on the deck. “Are you guys fighting? Cool!” he said.

I looked over at Marilyn and just rolled my eyes. She snorted out a laugh and said, “No, we weren’t fighting. Mind your own business.”

“You want fighting? I’ll show you fighting,” I said, balling up a fist and waving it around in the air.

“I want fighting!” Charlie came over and balled up a fist of his own, and made a wild roundhouse wing at me, all the while laughing. I blocked the fist with my own, and then gently reached out and poked him in the nose. He jumped back a few feet and then ran from the room, to turn and run back to the archway. “Let’s fight!” I balled up both my fists and advanced on him, at which point he yelled “Can’t catch me!” and ran squealing and laughing down the hallway.

Kids! I turned back to Marilyn and wrapped my arms around her. “Want to fight?”

“No!”

“You sure? I hear make-up sex after fighting is pretty good!”

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth! I think I’m going to turn all the kids on you, see how you fight your way out of that!”

Charlie came screeching back through, yelling, “You can’t get me! You can’t get me!”

Marilyn pushed away from me and tried to snag our son. “If you wake your sisters up, I’ll catch you alright!”

I headed outside. “I’m going for a swim. You should put on that little string bikini and join me.”

The girls began fussing. Marilyn answered, “In your dreams!” I laughed and left, while she went to the twins. Charlie was banished outside a minute later, and he jumped back into the pool. Dum-Dum continued sleeping on the deck in the warm sun. Charlie must have worn her out. I pulled off my shirt and did a cannonball into the pool near my son, and then did a few laps, while he laughed and tried to hold me back. We horsed around, and the next time I looked at the dog, she was laying on her back, all four paws up in the air, squirming around with an itch, and snoring. Charlie really had worn her out!

Dinner was hamburgers on the grill, with the girls working over cut up burgers without rolls, and their brother, mother and me eating cheeseburgers with all the fixings. The twins were covered with ketchup and grease when they finished, and I offered to just dunk them in the swimming pool, but Marilyn called me a barbarian and took them inside for baths.

“Daddy, what’s a barbarian?” asked Charlie.

I laughed. “I guess it’s me. You’d better go ask your mother about that.” I laughed some more, when he ran off after Marilyn.

A moment later I heard his little voice going, “Mommy…” I laughed some more.

I swam a bit more, and then went inside and opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and brought it and a couple of glasses outside with me. Marilyn was in the laundry room at the time, searching for some clean pajamas for the kids, and I held the wine and glasses up and tilted my head towards the back deck. “Let me get these guys to bed first,” she said.

Twenty minutes later she came through the patio door and flopped down beside me on a chaise lounge. “Tell me again why I wanted children,” she told me.

I chuckled and poured her a glass of the Pinot. “Can’t help you there. I just wanted sex. You’re the one who wanted kids!”

“You’re no help!” She took the glass from me and said, “Thank you! Thank you!”

“What did you tell Charlie about barbarians?”

Marilyn laughed hard enough to spill a drop of her wine. “Speaking of barbarians — He’s a whole tribe all on his own! I can’t wait until school starts and he goes all day long, and not just mornings.”

I glanced over at her, and noticed the drop of wine on her tee shirt. “You spilled some wine. Take your shirt off.”

Marilyn rolled her eyes. “Forget it! You have ulterior motives! I fell for that once before, and look what happened!” I smiled and topped off her glass. After a second, she drank some more, and then said, “No, no, no! That’s not going to happen! You’re just trying to get me drunk and have your way with me!”

I gave her my most innocent look, and just gaped in a silent protest. I kept topping off her glass, and when the bottle was done, I went inside and opened a second.

Marilyn promptly held out her glass for a refill. “It won’t work, you know,” I was told.

“What won’t work?”

“Getting me drunk and thinking it will make me horny!”

“Never crossed my mind!” I had to laugh at this, since the way my wife was talking, she was getting both drunk and very horny! “I’m shocked you could think that of me!” I poured some more wine in my own glass. “Sure you don’t want to take you shirt off? What if you spilled some more wine?”

Marilyn snorted and sipped some wine, but then she sat upright. Setting her glass down, she peeled her shirt off and tossed it on the table. Then she took her glass and lay back on the lounger. She noticed me watching her, and said, “Don’t get any ideas! It’s hot out here!”

“Whatever you say, honey. What about your shorts?”

“It’s not that hot!” was her reply. I just shrugged. Five minutes later she unzipped her shorts and pushed them off as well, to leave her in her panties and bra. She looked at me accusingly and said, “It’s still warm. Don’t get any ideas!” She finished her wine and I poured her some more.

“I didn’t say anything,” I said innocently. I glanced at my watch. It was almost eight, and while it was still light out, the kids were in bed. I looked at Marilyn out of the corner of my eye. Working out with me in the mornings had done her a world of good. She had a few stretch marks, but nothing to be ashamed of, and she was fairly tight and toned. Her bikini cut scar was mostly gone, and what there was was hidden by her underwear. She had on ‘everyday’ underwear, but still looked pretty good. I could feel my dick stiffening as I looked at her. Then I saw her glancing in my direction, and she had a ghostly smile on her face.

“You know, if you’re still hot, maybe you should jump in the pool,” I said.

“If I go inside now to change, I’ll wake up the kids.”

“Go swimming in your underwear.”

Marilyn smiled to herself, and then said, “I couldn’t do that! It’s not right.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She smiled some more, and then sat upright. “It really is warm!” She stood up and went towards the pool. I pulled my shirt off and followed her by just a few seconds.

Marilyn tried to swim away from me, towards the deep end, but she knew I was behind her and wasn’t trying too hard. I swam behind her, closely, and ended up ‘herding’ her over towards the shallow end, at about the four foot level. There I trapped her against the side of the pool, with my arms holding onto the sides of the pool, trapping her in front of me. “I don’t actually think it’s all that hot,” I said.

“No?”

“I think it’s you that’s hot!” I reached behind her and flicked the catch on her bra, and pulled it off. I tossed it up on the edge of the pool. Then I pushed her panties down. I missed catching them, but didn’t want to bother looking for them at that moment. Next went my own swim trunks, which ended up around my left foot, but at least didn’t go floating away.

Marilyn reached down between us and spread her pussy lips apart, and guided me inside as I pushed closer to her. I pushed completely inside in a single motion, and she whimpered as I bottomed out. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and raised her legs, to wrap around my waist, and I began fucking her against the side of the pool. If the hard tiles of the poolside bothered her, Marilyn didn’t let on. I couldn’t really pound into her, what with the resistance of the water and the position, but we definitely made waves before I filled her pussy with jism, and then pistoned it out into the water surrounding us.

My wife sighed happily as we clung to each other afterwards. “You know, it won’t be long before we won’t be able to get away with this!”

“Huh?”

She nodded towards the house. “One of these days we’re going to look up and find somebody looking back!”

I smiled at the thought. “Another good reason to take vacations without the kids. I think we are due for another trip to the Bahamas.”

“Without the children?”

“What else would we be without?” I teased.

“Any underwear?”

I helped Marilyn out of the pool and led her over to the grass, where there was a towel spread out from earlier in the day. I pushed her down onto the towel, and then had her lay face down with her legs spread apart. I moved behind her and entered her again, and began moving. I whispered in her ear, “I think we should take those two party dresses we got you. Maybe look for a few more.”

Marilyn moaned and thrust back at me. The sound of our two bodies slapping wetly was magnified in the still night air. The only thing louder was her cries of, “Fuck me! Fuck me!” and my grunts. When I began whispering how I was going to assfuck her on the beach, it drove us both over the edge, and I unloaded again. We collapsed on top of each other, and lay there until we could catch our breaths.

“Should I call Taylor and schedule a week before Charlie goes back to school?” I asked. I sat upright and then climbed to my feet.

Marilyn took my hand and got up as well. She kissed me and giggled, “You bet!”

I wandered around the pool area and retrieved our clothing. Marilyn looked around and said, “Where’s my underwear?”

I looked around. I had her wet bra, but not her panties. “In the pool, maybe? You’ll need to look for them in the morning.”

“Well, what if it gets into the pool filter?”

“Yet another good reason to only go skinny-dipping.” I took her hand and led her away from the pool. “We’ll worry about it in the morning.”

Chapter 89: Letters To The Editor

We made a parents-only trip to Hougomont in mid August, and did pretty much everything we had talked about around the pool that night. We didn’t pack any underwear, we did pack some club dresses for Marilyn, and we did screw every way possible down there. I even went skinny-dipping with her one afternoon and then used the suntan lotion as lube for an assfuck on the beach. It was an excellent diversion before coming home and getting back to normal.

Normal was really rather… normal! We put Charlie in the local elementary school, Fifth District Elementary, which, despite its totally unimaginative name, seemed like a nice enough school. Besides, the most important part of any school is whether the parents want their child to succeed. I could put Charlie in the fanciest prep school in the country, but if I don’t do my job as his father, he’d flunk. Neither Marilyn nor I would allow our kids to flunk that way.

We had debated putting Charlie and the girls in parochial school, but I was resistant. For one thing, Fifth District was barely five minutes from our house, right down Mount Carmel Road in Upperco. Our Lady of Grace was in Parkton, at the corner of York and Middletown, and probably fifteen to twenty minutes away. Secondly, my taxes were already paying for the public schools, and while I could buy both schools out of petty cash, it seemed really wasteful.

Finally, I just have an inherent bias against parochial schools. I did just fine in public schools, both this time and the last, and I was nowhere near as impressed with the job the Catholic schools in Utica had done with the Lefleurs. Or it could just be that what little religious belief I’ve retained, I still consider myself a Lutheran, hard core Protestant, and more than a little skeptical of Catholicism and their schooling. Well, all except the Jesuits, who have a solid reputation as scholars, and run some first rate colleges. You might graduate a convert, but you’ll have learned how to think!

If there was a problem with Fifth District, we could always reconsider. Until then, it was a whole lot closer to run down the road. Charlie didn’t seem to mind. You know those commercials where the child tearfully clings to his parents rather than climb on the school bus? (Marilyn had driven him to kindergarten last year.) Forget it! Charlie scampered down the driveway, climbed up the steps into the bus, and never looked back! I had gone outside with Marilyn to watch this momentous occasion. Marilyn and I just looked at each other and laughed. “Isn’t this supposed to be real sentimental? Isn’t he supposed to cry or something?” I asked.

“So much for missing Mommy and Daddy!” she replied.

“Wait until he starts asking to ride his little motorcycle to school.” Marilyn just rolled her eyes at that. I stood there for a moment watching the black GMC following behind the bus. It had followed the bus from the bus garage, would hang around in the parking lot of the school, and then tail the bus home again. Fifth District wasn’t thrilled, but I bought them off with a new computer system.

I gave Marilyn a quick kiss good-bye, and then climbed into my car to go to the office. “I’ll be back by 5:30 or so.”

Charlie was still five when he started first grade, just like I had been. In Maryland the cutoff date was the calendar year, so if you turned six by December 31, you started school when you were five. Charlie was an October baby, I was born in November, and Hamilton had been born in December, so we all started school at five. The twins, born in the summer, would start at six. It didn’t seem a problem for Charlie, though. While Hamilton and I had been small as little kids, Charlie was big for his age.

The article in Fortune proved to be a mixed blessing. Now that the world knew of us, people started beating a path to our door. It got worse when somebody at Dell blabbed that we were involved with them, too. Mike Dell wasn’t too amused when this all came out, but the article in Business Week clearly stated it was a Dell insider who spilled the beans. Both Business Week and Forbes ran articles on venture capital and high tech, and we were listed prominently with the other outfits who specialized in this area. At least I didn’t make the cover, though my picture was on the insides in both magazines.

I was a little embarrassed by it all, but Marilyn took it with a great sense of humor. After reading the Forbes article, she had spent the rest of the night teasing me about it, whenever the kids were out of earshot, and gushing about how she got to sleep with a celebrity! I ended up giving her a good swat on the behind, which earned me some more laughter, and then later, after she put the kids to bed, I gave her a totally different kind of punishment!

Business wise, the publicity was generally a good thing. It gave us a lot of legitimacy in the industry, which brought both business and employees to our door. We began to debate opening a California office, maybe in the Palo Alto area, and trying to figure out how we would run that. It would mean additional travel for both me and Jake Junior, since neither of us wanted to move. He had started getting serious about a girl in the Perry Hall area, who was divorced and shared custody of their son with her husband, and who wasn’t about to move. One possibility was finding somebody at one of the Sand Hill Road outfits and enticing them to jump ship and start up a new branch. We’d have to cut him in for a piece of the pie, for sure, but there just might be benefits to it. Fortunately, I remembered a lot of the names who made it big in the business, and I knew which ones to avoid, no matter what their pedigree was.

As for the new business, some was good, a lot was bad, and some was just ridiculous. We were approached by one guy who wanted us to back him on a chain of vending machines selling fresh roasted peanuts! This guy was convinced that people across the country were dying to stand next to a vending machine for five minutes or more so that they could get fresh roasted peanuts from it. The craziest ideas would get tacked to a bulletin board in the break room and was known as the ‘Hall of Shame!’ That one certainly qualified.

In early 1987, one of the strangest opportunities opened up. I became an author! Well, co-author, I suppose, and really, more like a glorified editor. It all came about because of one of my more innocuous habits. Generally speaking, it’s harmless, and almost never gets me into trouble. Most of the time nobody even knows about it. I certainly don’t advertise it, although it’s not really very shameful.

I write letters to the editor.

It started innocently enough. On my first go through, when I was 14, I had read an article in Popular Science about canoeing, and I wrote back, adding my two cents worth about something I can’t remember anymore, but it got published two issues later. It was like that first hit on the crack pipe, and I was hooked! Over the years I kept reading magazines and newspapers and smoking the crack. What I didn’t realize when I started it, but learned later on when I had to edit the company newsletter, was how desperate most publishers and editors are to fill in all the white space.

I had letters published in everything from the local newspaper to major national magazines. An article on pharmaceutical sales techniques in Time earned a response that was printed. Two scholarly notes on Iran and ship building programs got published in the Proceedings of the Naval Institute. One amusing time was when a local bridge in Otsego County was closed for repairs, and took three years to reopen. I wrote in the Oneonta Daily Star how I wasn’t voting for the local state senator until it got fixed, and I urged other readers to do the same. Within two days I was placed on the senator’s mailing list and received weekly updates on all he was doing about the bridge. Marilyn thought this was just as funny as I did. Another time I wrote a response to an article in the RPI alumni magazine after they wrote that KGS had bought a new chapter house in 2010 that had once been a home for unwed mothers. My response was that this was quite appropriate, since so many Keggers had spent so much time helping girls fill the home to begin with. That earned me some hate mail from that generation of Keggers and general applause from everybody else.

Nothing had changed on this go around. You write a letter that either vents about something or refutes some asshole. Nine chances out of ten, the editors shitcan it anyway. It doesn’t matter, since just writing it makes you feel better anyway, and gives you a reason to turn to the Letters page first.

In this case, the Baltimore Sun had written an article about the cost of maintenance on the Bay Bridge. Some jackass had written saying that the cost was excessive and that taxpayer money shouldn’t be spent maintaining a bridge that was incorrectly and incompetently built to begin with, and that the contractors should be sued. I had responded with an even longer piece that countered that the cost was not excessive, that it was well within the expected costs forecast originally, and that maintenance needed to be performed on all equipment. My response got picked up and published on the op-ed page as a guest editorial, which surprised the hell out of me. My note sparked a number of responses, both pro and con, which was probably why they published it in the first place.

One of those responses turned out to be very interesting. A professor of civil engineering at UMBC wrote back with a lengthy dissertation on infrastructure maintenance that was way too long and technical for the Sun to publish, but they sent it to me along with a personal note. Maybe I wanted to talk to this guy. I read through his stuff and quickly jotted a note back to him, letting him know I had received his information from the Sun, but that they didn’t plan to publish it. I agreed with much of what he was saying, and thanked him for the interest.

What happened next surprised me. I received a second note, sent directly to me this time, with about a two inch thick stack of scientific papers, some by him, and some by others, on the effects of deteriorating infrastructure and the costs of repair. It was actually rather interesting. I spent the better part of an afternoon at the office working my way through the papers, and then figured out his phone number over at the college. Then I called him and thanked him, and he invited me to a symposium he was a part of on Thursday evening, on Infrastructure Requirements and Maintenance.

And that was how I met Professor Harold Johnson. Wednesday night I told Marilyn I would probably be late coming home on Thursday, and that I would probably be eating in town. When she asked why, I explained about the papers I had gotten. “Going back to being a scientist?” she teased.

I put on my best haughty demeanor, and answered, “I’ll have you know I’ve always been a scientist, and you lesser breeds should recognize my inherent superiority!”

“Oh, really? Maybe such a superior person should sleep in the library tonight, so that the ideas in those books can seep in.”

I came around the kitchen island and hugged her shoulder. “No, I think that if I sleep with you, maybe my superior ideas and thoughts could seep into you!”

“With an attitude like that, nothing else is going to be seeping in!” she replied.

“Hmmm… Maybe I could come up with a special sleep teaching technique.” We kept teasing back and forth until after dinner. Later that night Marilyn allowed me to sleep in our bed, and I worked on that special technique with her.

UMBC, the University of Maryland — Baltimore County, is in Arbutus, down on the southwestern side of Baltimore. It is right next door to Catonsville Community College, otherwise known to us locals as either USC, the University of Southern Catonsville, or UCLA, University of Catonsville, Left at Arbutus. Depending on the time of day, it is about 40 minutes from Hereford. Run down to the Beltway and then turn right, and travel around the city. The symposium was at 7:00 PM, so I drove down to Towson, had some dinner in town, and then drove down to Arbutus.

The symposium was held in a lecture hall in the Engineering Building. I parked in a lot to the west of the building and went in. Traffic had been heavy on the Beltway, so I got there about fifteen minutes late. I slipped in a door in the back of the room and sat in one of the rear seats. The symposium had professors of engineering and economics and political science, and the audience was composed of what looked like grad students for the various professors. No surprise there. I must have been the only member of the general public to attend, and I wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t been specifically invited.

Nothing new was discussed, although I generally found it interesting. Most of the discussion was about roads and bridges, and how the nation’s infrastructure was deteriorating. This was pretty much true at the time, and was only going to get worse. By the time of the Great Recession, vast areas of the country were being left to rot without any maintenance at all. If a bridge collapsed, it was left that way, and the residents were shit out of luck. Potholes became the new roadways. Putting up traffic cones was cheaper than replacing guardrails when somebody went off the road. Nobody at the symposium came up with any ways to stop the problem, and at the end the grad students left, their mandatory attendance duly noted.

It was just shy of 9:00 when the meeting broke up, and I got out of my chair and walked down the aisle to the front of the lecture hall. Dr. Johnson was the resident expert on bridges and roads. I stepped over the low railing around the stage area and went up to him. “Professor Johnson?”

He looked up at me. “Yes? Can I help you?”

I smiled and put my hand out. “Carl Buckman, Doctor. You invited me to the symposium, remember?”

“Oh, yes, thank you for coming. It’s nice when we can get somebody other than just us academics to one of these things.”

“I quite agree. I remember those days myself.”

“Oh?” he asked.

I handed him one of my business cards with the PhD behind my name. “Yes, a few years ago I was a grad student myself.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Where did you go to school?”

“Rensselaer. I got a doctorate in applied mathematics about ten years ago. It seems like another lifetime.”

“I know RPI. I got my bachelors at Clarkson.”

“Do you still follow hockey?” I asked. Clarkson-RPI had been a major Division I rivalry for years.

He grinned. “Not for many years. It was always good for a date, though.” I smiled and nodded along with him. “I should have known by your response to that idiot letter to the editor you had a mathematical background. I just wish more people cared about these things. Nothing gets done until something terrible happens.”

“It’s the nature of the beast, Professor. When times are good we don’t want to spend the money. When times are bad we don’t have the money to spend. Unless you’ve figured out a way to re-engineer humans, nothing happens unless you make it happen,” I answered. I glanced at my watch. We were the last ones in the lecture hall, and it was after 9:00. “I suppose we need to leave. It looks like they are about to lock us in for the night.”

“I wish we could talk longer.”

I was on the verge of saying goodbye, but for some reason I postponed it a bit. “I could do with a late bite to eat. How about you, Professor? Anywhere nearby we can grab a cup of coffee or something?”

He looked a little startled at that. “Not really sure. I think most of the local diners are closed. We might find a sandwich shop or something. There’s a pretty nice place down South Rolling Road on Frederick, Russel’s, but it might be pricey for a cup of coffee.”

I waved this off with a smile. “My treat. It feels good to get back into the scientific world.” Johnson gave me an odd look at that, so I said, “I’ll explain when we get there.”

I waited while the professor packed his briefcase and then followed him outside. Five minutes later I followed him into a parking lot on Frederick. I led him inside. Very nice, large, with lots of tables and a few booths. By now the evening rush was long over and we were among the last wave of diners.

The hostess seated us in a booth and gave us our menus, and a pretty young waitress came over. “Hello. My name is Gretchen and I’ll be serving you. Can I get you gentlemen something to drink while you decide what you want?”

I smiled and nodded. “It’s been a long day. Can I get a gin and tonic?” I looked over at Johnson and said, “Remember, my treat.”

He smiled back and ordered a Manhattan. Then, after Gretchen left, he said, “Well, I don’t turn down too many free meals. What do you normally do? What’s your day job?”

I nodded. “Ah, what did I do when I left RPI with my doctorate?” He nodded, and I said, “Well, for a few years I worked for Uncle Sam. I went to school on an ROTC scholarship, so after graduation I went into the Army. When I got out of the Army, I started an investment company. That’s what I do now.”

“You started an investment company?” he asked incredulously.

I smiled. “Mathematics offers a number of very lucrative career choices, Doctor.”

“I guess so.”

We chatted a few minutes about RPI and Clarkson, and I admitted that I had hurt my leg in the Army, and that was why I used a cane. When the waitress came back with our drinks, she asked, “Ready to order now?”

I had glanced at my menu, and knew what I wanted. “Are the crab cakes good?”

“The crab cakes are great!”

“Sounds good to me.” I handed Gretchen the menu and we looked at Johnson.

“I’m sold. The same for me, please.”

“Two crab cake orders coming right up.” She left.

I sipped my drink and it was just what I needed. “Ahh, that hits the spot. I have to drive tonight, so I can’t have more than two, but it’s been a long day.”

Johnson drank some of his and gave a childish grin. “I feel like I’m breaking the rules, drinking on a school night. My wife and I usually just have a few drinks over the weekend.”

We chatted a little more. Johnson was a few years older than me, perhaps 35 or 36, married to an English professor at the college, with two girls, both in junior high school. He was a fairly average fellow. The absent-minded professor stereotype is just that, a stereotype. Shortly before the waitress brought out our crab cakes, he asked, “So, why did you come to the symposium?”

“Well, I think just because you invited me. I doubt if I would have even heard of it otherwise.”

He shook his head. “I just wish more people were interested in the infrastructure they depend on. Nothing ever happens until something collapses and somebody dies.”

Gretchen came out with our plates at that moment, so I was delayed in responding. I did order a second round of drinks. Then, after sampling my crab cake (very tasty!), I said, “Without a decent advertising and public relations campaign, you’ll never get people to care about infrastructure. It’s just not very sexy, and it costs money.”

He shrugged. “I know. You’re right. What do you do about it?”

“Not really sure. I can tell you one thing, though. If what you’re doing isn’t working, don’t continue doing it in the hopes it will suddenly work. Do something different. Even in the little things.”

“Like what?”

Thankfully I had just started chewing a piece of crab cake, so I had a few seconds to think. I had opened my fat yap without thinking. I held up a finger as a timeout while I chewed and swallowed, and then washed the bite down with my gin and tonic. “Okay, well, something simple. I was reading your papers. They had titles like, oh, ‘Adverse Oxidation Effects On Infrastructure Cost Scenarios’. Nobody outside of the engineering field will ever read that. What regular people will read, what politicians and newspaper people will read, is ‘Rusty Bridges Cost Money!’”

“Well, yes, but that’s not how technical papers get written!” he protested.

“I know that. I’ve written some myself. What I’m saying, though, is that if you want to get the attention of people who aren’t technical, you can’t write technical. You have to write in terms they can understand and relate to. They won’t understand scenarios. They’ll understand a bridge collapsing and their taxes going up. You need to gear your public information to the public,” I answered.

I continued, “That’s just one thing. I’m sure there are others. For instance, politicians love to be photographed opening a bridge or breaking ground doing something. You need to convince them that it’s just as sexy to be photographed filling in a pothole or placing a traffic cone on the street. Tell them how it makes them look practical and thrifty. Hit them over the head with dollars, not tech reports and journals.”

He smiled. “You sound like somebody without very much trust in our public servants.”

“I trust them to do whatever they think will get them re-elected. Convince them that filling potholes will get them re-elected, and they will fill in potholes.”

“That’s very cynical.”

“That’s very realistic,” I replied.

He thought for a second and said, “You should run for office.”

I practically spit out my drink. “Not in a million years!”

“Then how will you ever get things to change? If you don’t help, who will?”

“Figure out a different way, Professor. I haven’t sunk that low, yet,” I responded.

After our late dinner, I thanked Johnson for an interesting evening and went home. I got to bed around midnight. Marilyn was already fast asleep, with Dum-Dum warming my side of the bed. I let the dog out to pee in the back yard, and when she came back in she went to Charlie’s room. I climbed into my pre-warmed bed and fell asleep.

Friday morning Marilyn was snuggled up against me. As per our normal schedule, she woke up before me, and headed into the bathroom to get a shower first. Since Marilyn’s normal morning routine takes thirty-plus minutes, I caught a few more winks. Dum-Dum woke me a few minutes later and whined until I put her out in the back yard. While she peed, I went into the bathroom and did the same. I returned to let her in and then headed back to the bathroom for my shower and shave.

“Morning! How was your lecture?” asked Marilyn.

“Interesting, and it was a symposium, not a lecture.”

“Only you would care about the difference.”

I had to smile at that. “Sorry I got home so late. I ended up talking to the professor late. Did you stay up waiting for me?”

“No. After I got the kids to bed, I fell asleep on the couch.”

“Well, sorry about that.”

Just then, the girls came stumbling into our bathroom, gabbling about breakfast. I hastily wrapped a towel around my waist. “You two are going to get an anatomy lesson one of these days!” I protested.

“It’ll be a short lesson,” commented their mother.

“Oh, that is cold, lady! That is cold!”

Marilyn blew a raspberry at me and then herded the girls back out through the bedroom and down the hall. I hopped in the shower and did my morning ablutions in about half the time it takes Marilyn. On the other hand, a major portion of her regimen includes rubbing body lotion all over — and I mean all over. On kid free vacations, I tended to treat this as a spectator sport. I had decided that there was a certain downside to complaining about this use of her time.

That was about it for my re-immersion in the world of science, or so I thought. I took the afternoon off and we drove the kids up to Deep Creek Lake for the weekend. It’s very scenic up there in the springtime, and I remember that in another lifetime, Suzie and her family had frequently gone camping up there. Now Suzie wouldn’t be camping at Deep Creek.

In no possible way would I ever want to take Marilyn camping. No matter how much enjoyment I would get in watching her fumble around in the woods, it couldn’t possibly match the overall nuisance she would prove.

I knew this for an absolute fact, and a certain portion of my psyche, the dark and demented portion, longed for the day when she would attempt camping. The deal we had made back when she told me she was pregnant the first time was that I would do boy stuff and she would do girl stuff. So, I would be the adult with Charlie in the Boy Scouts, and Marilyn would join the Girl Scouts with Holly and Molly. Charlie was already a Tiger Cub, and I was his designated adult. Charlie was finding this to be loads of fun, and was looking forward to when he was old enough to go camping overnight, when he made it to Webelos. I was looking forward to the day when Marilyn had to go camping with the Brownies, or whatever age group of girls went camping. With any luck, one of the other parents would make a home movie, and I could bribe them into giving me a copy. I would be willing to pay a serious bribe to get movie footage of Marilyn stumbling around in the wilderness!

For this weekend, however, we simply stayed at a lakefront cabin and did some hiking and tourist type stuff. Sunday afternoon we drove back to Hereford and hosed off the kids and then put them to bed for a nap. Monday Marilyn would pick up Dum-Dum from the kennel and I would go back to the office.

By the end of the week, however, science reared its ugly head again. Harry Johnson called. “Doctor Buckman, I wanted to call again and thank you for coming to the symposium, and for dinner afterwards. I hope you didn’t get home too late.”

“Nothing I wasn’t expecting. Thank you for calling.”

“Do you remember how we were talking about what you could do to help me?” he asked.

My brow wrinkled at this. Either I had forgotten this part of the conversation, or Harry Johnson was a better salesman than I had figured. “I remember telling you I wasn’t ever going to run for office.”

He laughed at that. “I remember that, too. No, I’m talking about other things I could do to bring the problem to the public’s attention.”

That part I remembered. “Okay, I remember talking about that. Did you have something in mind?”

“We could write a book!”

I stared at my phone for a second. It almost sounded to me like Johnson had said something about writing a book. “Excuse me?”

“I said we could write a book.”

“That’s what I thought you said. For a second there I thought Timothy Leary had gotten loose with the LSD again. A book?”

Harry laughed. “I’m serious. Let me explain. Last fall I was approached by Simon and Schuster about a book on infrastructure. I turned them down. I tried to get started, but it was a disaster. You could make it better, a lot better.”

“I am definitely thinking that Timothy Leary is on the loose again.”

“Give me a chance. Let me talk to you about this. Please.”

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, but I agreed. The earliest that we could meet was Thursday after lunch. Harry agreed to drive to my office this time, since I had driven to see him previously. I let Grace know I had an appointment.

On Thursday Professor Johnson showed up at our offices around 1:00 PM. I had given him the directions, but I never really explained what the place was like. My intercom buzzed and Grace said, “Mister Buckman, your appointment is here.”

I hit the button on my phone and said, “Out in a second.” Then I stood up and left my office, going down the hall. I found Johnson in the lobby, looking around in a somewhat bewildered fashion. “Harry! Good to see you again!” I held my hand out to shake his.

“Carl, thank you. What is this place? What do you do here?” he asked.

I smiled. “Remember how I told you my degrees were in applied math?” He nodded, and I continued, “Well, the application is money! We’re a private venture capital firm.”

“Wall Street? That sort of thing? And the company is named after you? You must be pretty important, then.”

I smiled at that. “You could say that. I’m the majority owner. Come on back to my office.”

“How come the receptionist didn’t call you Doctor Buckman?”

Trust a scientist to worry about titles. One place I worked, on my first go, was a research lab, where the size of your desk was based on your college degree. Lab techs didn’t get a desk, lab techs with an associates degree got a rickety standup desk, a bachelors degree earned you a four foot long desk with drawers on one side, a masters upgraded you to a five foot desk, and PhDs had a six foot desk with drawers on both sides. “I’m lucky she said ‘Mister.’ Most of the time it’s Carl or ‘Hey, you!’ We’re pretty informal around here.”

Once in my office, I directed Harry over to the lounge area, where I had my couch and the armchairs. “Okay, shoot! What’s this about a book?”

Harry explained his ideas. Last year, in 1986, he had been approached by the non-fiction arm of Simon and Schuster, the publishing house, about writing a book about infrastructure and economics based on a series of papers he had written. At the time, he had turned them down, because it was obvious that what they wanted was something he didn’t know how to write. Like I had said the other night, they needed something in layman’s terms. They came to him because he was a leading authority in the field.

They came back to him last month, shortly after the Schoharie Creek Bridge on the New York State Thruway was washed out. The time was right for a book on the subject. I actually knew a fair bit about this, since in my previous life, I knew about the bridge. Unfortunately for the sake of the book, the collapse was not due to poor maintenance, but because unprecedented flooding had washed the supports out from under the bridge. Ten people died.

The more Harry talked, the more I warmed to the subject. In a way, it reminded me of my valedictory speech, which had been reread at the reunion a few years ago. Taxes are what we pay so we can have bridges and roads and sewers and water and stuff. This shit is boring and expensive and nobody wants to hear about it, but it is also important!

I sat there and listened, and about the time when Harry began to repeat himself, I held up my hands and made the Time-Out gesture. “Okay, I think I am getting the gist of this. Now, how do you see this book working? Break out the relevant sections. What makes this book special? Why should anybody buy this book?”

Harry Johnson was not accustomed to thinking like this. In his academic world, you wrote dense papers with arcane stuff for fellow specialists, published it in specialized journals, and talked about things to other specialists. I had never written a book either, but my life had never been the pure science and engineering lifestyle. Harry began stumbling through some ideas and slowly a vision began forming in my mind.

In the work section of my office, near the conference table, I had a wall full of white boards. I motioned for Harry to follow me and I grabbed a dry erase marker and began outlining various sections of the book. “For one thing, we can’t make this just about roads or bridges. Infrastructure covers a lot of other stuff — dams, sewer systems, water systems, canals — all sorts of things. Nobody is going to read about just one thing, but if we do a just a chapter or two on each item, we can do a survey style book for the public.”

“I don’t have information on those things. My specialty is bridges and roads,” he protested.

I shrugged this off. “So what?! You know who does know this stuff, you can find the relevant papers and technical info, and you can make sure we credit everybody involved. Then we have to find relevant and current examples of problems, and put them in the appropriate chapter.”

“There was a dam collapse in Italy a couple of years ago. We could put that in the section on dams,” he offered.

I shook my head. “No, we need American examples. Don’t get me wrong, I am sure it was a tragedy, but American readers won’t care about disasters somewhere else. We’ll need examples from places the readers have heard about and can relate to. They won’t care about stuff that happens overseas.”

“That’s incredibly callous!” he protested.

Unfortunately, he was right. I sat down on the conference table and nodded to him. “I know. This is a situation where we’re both right. The problem is that I’m talking about a book designed to appeal to the American reader. People can be very insular on these things. For one thing, like I said, they at least will have some idea where a location in the U.S. is, and may have heard about it on the news. For another thing, you tell the average guy on the street that a bridge in a foreign country collapsed, they will immediately figure, ‘Of course it did! It was built by a bunch of foreigners!’ It won’t matter if the entire work force went to MIT or not.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yes it is, but very human. Take a look at our own news on TV. A fishing boat that sinks with three people drowning will get more television time on the news than a ferryboat in the Philippines that sinks and loses a thousand!” I just shrugged and held my hands up in a what-can-you-do-about-it gesture. “It’s not fair and it’s not right, but you know it happens.”

“So you see this book as appealing to the average reader?”

I had to think about that. “You know, I just don’t know. We’d need to talk to the publishing house about that. I would think it would appeal more to the college educated intellectual types rather than high school educated readers. The guy who reads Scientific American, not Field and Stream. Also, probably the readers of political books.”

“Why politics?”

Professor Johnson really was a babe in the woods. “Infrastructure means money, money means politics.”

“Oh, yes.”

“So, still interested?” I asked him.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yeah, actually, I am. I’ll need to do some of this at home or after hours, but I get a certain amount of leeway with my schedule. It helps to have your name on the door. Who do you see doing what?”

“You’ll have to do most of the writing, with me providing the technical information.”

“Okay, but you’ll need to go through and edit it, and then I’ll have to edit your edits, and then the publishing house will probably toss the entire thing anyway and make us start over again from scratch,” I answered.

That made Harry smile. “Fifty-fifty split?”

“You can even have top billing.” I held out my hand and we shook on it. Then I went to the door to my office and opened it. “HEY! WE GOT A LAWYER AROUND HERE?” I yelled out the door.

A couple of people down the hallway stopped and stared at me, and then both John and Jake Junior stuck their heads out of their doors. “What have you done now!?” asked John.

“Just the man I want to see.” Junior just rolled his eyes and smiled, and went back into his office. John came down the hall and entered my office. “John, this is Professor Harold Johnson from over at UMBC. Harry, this is John Steiner.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chairman of the Board, otherwise known as Carl’s lawyer and bail bondsman. What’d he do now?”

“I’m hurt, John, hurt at that,” I protested.

John ignored me and looked at Harry with a smile. “We’re going to write a book. I don’t know why he called you in,” answered the professor.

John looked over at me. “You’re going to write a book?!”

“Yeah, maybe. Know anything about publishing or writing?” I asked.

“No. Should I find somebody who does?”

“That might be a good idea.” I turned back to Harry and said, “You get in touch with whoever you know at Simon and Schuster and let them know you’re interested in something. No matter what, though, don’t sign anything unless we get a lawyer to look at it.”

“Right! Got it.”

“Does Marilyn know you’re planning on writing a book?” asked John with a touch of amusement.

“No, not yet.”

“This ought to be good. Listen, I’ll find you somebody who knows about books, and you’re going to take me to a very expensive lunch to tell me all about this.”

“Deal.”

John took his leave and then Harry shook my hand again and left. I just shook my head. What had I gotten myself into now?

Chapter 90: Eat Your Peas

And so it began. The following week Harry called his contact at Simon and Schuster, and a literary agent took the train down and met us for lunch. We outlined our ideas and he told us their ideas and we pretty much came to a compromise on that. We were left with a tentative contract for our review, along with a proposed time frame for publication, and we promised to get it back to them in another week. One thing I was expecting and found I was correct with — there are a lot fewer zeroes on the checks when you’re dealing with non-fiction than with fiction.

Regardless, that wasn’t our primary motive in any case. Yes, money would be nice, at least certainly to Harry, but his big reason was to publicize the need to take better care of our infrastructure, and mine was to get back into science, at least in a roundabout way. I figured that my skills at communication and knowing how the world worked would complement his skills in engineering and analysis.

Marilyn’s reaction was not at all the one I was expecting. After I explained the idea, she just nodded and said, “Good! You need to do something different.”

“Huh?”

“Carl, you get bored doing the same thing over and over. You’re getting that way now, with the firm. I can tell.” I didn’t know what to say to that, and she continued. “Seriously, you’re not just about making money. I know you’ve sometimes wondered what it would have been like to teach instead of going into the Army. Give this a shot.”

Well, I actually knew what it was like to teach at the community college level as an adjunct, but I was curious about teaching at the four year college level full time as a professor. I wasn’t going to do that, but this was an interesting idea. Could I write a book, or just half a book? I gave my wife a big hug and a smooch, which grossed out Charlie, and then called Harry and said my wife was game. A week later John’s publishing lawyer friend had approved and we signed some papers and were authors-to-be.

The timing worked out. As soon as school was out, we packed the kids up and flew down to Orlando for a vacation at the House of Mouse. Harry would spend the time we were gone digging up some technical reports and journals on each of the various topics we had outlined for each chapter. Once we got back, I would start pulling things together and writing the ‘popular’ version. I made sure that we had the same word processing software, WordPerfect 4.2 for DOS, so that we could edit stuff easily and swap diskettes.

Disney World was old hat to me personally, since I had been there several times in my old life, but Marilyn had never been there, and certainly not the kids. The one thing I had never done before, though, was to stay at a Disney hotel on the site, and I figured that would be a whole lot easier. Charlie was not quite six, and the girls were almost three and potty trained. I had Taylor book us a suite in Disney’s Contemporary Resort, the gigantic A-frame structure that had the monorail going through it. It’s so expensive that the only people who stay there have more money than sense, so I certainly qualified this time around.

If you’ve ever been to Disney, you already know what it’s like. If you’ve never been to Disney, there is no describing it. Hordes of families with kids cram into the place on vacation weeks when school is out. If you can go a different time, do so. We couldn’t, not any longer. On the plus side, staying at a Disney resort allows you to beat the crowds to the starting gate in the mornings, with a direct monorail ride to the entrance. You can have breakfast with Mickey some days, and they have the Mouseketeer Club, which is a babysitting service if parents need to escape their loving offspring.

In 1987, Disney World consisted of just the two theme parks, the original Magic Kingdom and EPCOT. They were already building the Disney-MGM Studios complex, but that wouldn’t open for a few more years. It was still more than enough for us to see. Marilyn and I alternated duties, with one of us pushing the twins’ side-by-side stroller and the other trying to corral Charlie whenever he came in arm’s reach. I lost track of the times I sat in the little boat with Holly and Molly as we went through ‘It’s A Small World’ — I could sing the damn song by heart by the end of our stay! They loved it! I mimed hanging myself to Marilyn while she took a picture of me floating past one spot. On the other hand, she got the girls while Charlie and I explored Adventureland and Frontierland. Since I don’t do roller coasters, I let Marilyn take Charlie on Space Mountain. He made her take him on that three times!

(I did Space Mountain once, on the first trip through, with Marilyn’s little brother Paul, when he was only Charlie’s age. It was brand new and I had no idea what this gigantic silver Hershey’s Kiss was. After we got off, with me shaking and swallowing hard, Paul looked up at me and said he had been so scared he had almost cried. I just put my arm around his shoulder and said, “Me, too, buddy! Me, too!”)

I’m not sure who was more exhausted at the end of each day, the kids or the grownups. We spent two days in the Magic Kingdom and one day in EPCOT, saw the fireworks every night, and spent another day over at Sea World. By the time we flew home, I was thoroughly theme-parked out.

Then Marilyn got really silly. “Could you imagine doing this with four children?” she asked.

I swallowed hard and looked over at her. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

She started at that. “No! I’m just saying, if we had another child…”

“Come here for a second. I haven’t punched you lately, and I think I’m way overdue!”

Marilyn laughed at that and ignored me. Jesus Christ! Four kids!? That wasn’t funny!

When we got home, I got to work writing. I spent most afternoons and several hours every evening working on the book, although a lot of the time was going through various reports with a highlighter, and trying to turn truly awful scientific jargon onto something that could be even remotely interesting to an average human being. I usually spent a few minutes at the end of the day on the phone with Harry, asking him to find me examples of an issue that were from this country, not someplace else.

After the introduction, we had a chapter on roads and the highway system. From roads we segued into bridges, from bridges we moved on to water systems, which led to septic systems, which led to flood control sewers, then dams, etc. etc. etc. Part of each chapter was a history lesson, on why this stuff was important and how it had affected the growth and prosperity of the United States. One helpful thing, to me at least, was that way back when, I had been an avid viewer of the History Channel and the Discovery Channel, which had yet to be invented. It was amazing the oddball stuff that I retained.

We had the book mostly done by mid-August. The one thing we had the most problem with was the title. Non-fiction books like this need two titles, a main title to catch people’s attention, and the sub-title to tell what the book was really about. You know, like Horny Sluts In Action: The Effect Of Birth Control On American Economic Productivity. Nobody pays attention to productivity; everybody pays attention to horny sluts. (Okay, that might be a little extreme, but not by much!) Our sub-title was pretty straight forward, America’s Crumbling Infrastructure And the Need To Rebuild It. What we needed now was something in the way of a title, and both Harry and I kept coming up with a blank.

First we tried The Coming Crisis, next came The Coming Collapse, then we were stumped for a bit, and went back to Crisis, and then on to The Looming Disaster. That one lasted a week before we both decided it really sucked. By that point it seemed like the real looming disaster was the book. Simon and Schuster sent back a first draft with more red edits than book. Fortunately, most of the red simply required us to move things around some and cut and paste some sections.

And then it became easy, because the publishing house named it. Our agent/editor went through the second draft and found it acceptable, and used something from the prologue.

Eat your peas!

That’s what you were told when you were little. Eat your peas and you’ll grow up big and strong. Maybe it was your Mom who told you, or your grandmother, or maybe Aunt Tilly, but they all told you to eat your peas. If it wasn’t your peas, it was your corn or your carrots or your green beans. Whatever it was, you had to eat it so that you would become big and strong.

Needless to say, you didn’t want to! That stuff was yucky! It was a weird color and tasted bad and was mushy. You weren’t going to eat it! They couldn’t make you! No! No! No!

What you really wanted to do was eat dessert. Dessert was fun! Dessert tasted good! Dessert three times a day was a great idea!

It didn’t quite work out that way. Mom or Granny or Aunt Tilly made you eat your vegetables — or else! No dessert unless your plate was clean. You might sneak a green bean to the dog occasionally, but they usually caught you and made you eat two for every one you dumped on the floor. Eventually you got to dessert.

At some point you grew up. By your teens you realized that vegetables could actually be tasty, and you knew they were good for you, and you were mature enough to work your way through them. Mom and Granny and Aunt Tilly no longer had to yell at you and could pass along their wisdom to your younger brother or sister.

Infrastructure is a lot like the vegetables at dinner. Nobody wants to eat them, but you have to, because they’ll make you big and strong. Everybody wants dessert, the fun stuff we do with our money — lowering taxes and raising benefits. The difference is that even though as adults we know to eat our vegetables at the dinner table, we don’t always know this the rest of the time. At home you know that if you only eat dessert, sooner or later your teeth will fall out and you’ll get weak and flabby and eventually you’ll get sick. It’s the same with infrastructure, the roads and bridges, the sewers and water treatment plants. If you ignore them, sooner or later a nation gets weak and sick.

So read this book and eat your peas! You’ll grow up big and strong!

So the book was titled Eat Your Peas! America’s Crumbling Infrastructure And the Need To Rebuild It. We sent our final draft, along with everything on diskette, to Simon and Schuster, and after it was accepted, Harry and I took our wives out to dinner in the Inner Harbor. We felt both exhausted and exhilarated. I had never done anything like this before, and neither had Harry.

It turned out that the next step involved printing and publishing, none of which either of us had to do anything with. We didn’t even have to find anybody to do a review of the book, so they could come up with the blurbs on the back cover. Simon and Schuster had some tame celebrities to do that. I mentioned to Harry that we would probably get tapped for that in the future on somebody else’s book. He just shrugged and nodded agreement. The cover art work involved a dinner plate full of peas and a fork. There would probably be a book tour in the late fall, but what that would involve nobody was sure.

In the meantime, I needed to make some money! Some serious money! We were on the verge of the biggest market ripple since the start of the bull market in 1982. Now, five years in, the market was about to take a serious nosedive, a major dump that would be called Black Monday. The problem was that I wasn’t sure when it would happen! All I remembered was the name, Black Monday, so I was reasonably sure it would happen at the beginning of the week, and that it had been in the fall.

So, what to do about it? First off, come up with a believable cover story! This wasn’t me betting big on silver or oil all on my lonesome. I now had a major operation watching me. Throughout the spring I had been commenting to some of the others, especially those involved in trading operations, that the market was getting overheated, that a correction was due. By the summer I was saying it louder, and in July I had Missy, Jake Junior, and our trading team sit down with me one evening and we developed a few strategies.

What happens if the market tanks? How much warning might we get? What do we do about it? With our money? With our clients’ money? What do we do after it tanks and we’ve hit bottom? We outlined some scenarios and I started paying close attention to the market. I knew it would be in the fall, but to me that meant September, October, or November. That’s a pretty big window.

It happened in mid-October, the 19^th, and the trading team picked it up overseas first. The Hong Kong market collapsed first, followed almost immediately by Australia and New Zealand. The turmoil moved westward, smacking London and the other European markets next, before hopping the Atlantic and pummeling the U.S. On the plus side, American markets and exchanges had the most warning, and we were hurt least of all. Hong Kong lost over 45 % on their market, and the effects mitigated slightly as the tidal wave went westward. The American market, reflected in the Dow, only lost 22 %, a still horrendous blow.

Why did it collapse? Who knows why, but the fact was that after five straight years of stellar returns, something was bound to happen. The market had grown softer, certainly since the springtime, and was getting nervous. The American Navy was trading shots in the Persian Gulf with the Iranians for a few days already, and that had the energy markets spooked. There was some profit taking, some general correction to the market, and the automated trading programs went crazy, overreacting and forcing the rest of the system to overreact.

The Buckman Group did well, however. My motto is that there is just as much money to be made on the downside as there is on the upside. What made the difference was that everybody else only suspected a problem, and I knew it for a fact. It made our reflexes much faster. Missy and the trading team worked up some strategies to both take some profits and short some stocks when I called a ‘Code Red’. Then, when the market bottomed out, we could flip the switch, call a ‘Code Green’, and cover our positions and catch the rise. Another factor was that this wasn’t a long lived blip. The market would generally keep rising through the rest of the decade and right to the end of the ’90s.

Midnight on Sunday the 18^th, Missy called me at home with knowledge of the Hong Kong crash. I knew immediately that this was the big one I had been waiting on. I told her to assemble the team and to be in the office at 4:00 AM. I rolled out of bed and told Marilyn I was going into the office. I showered and dressed, made myself a hot tea and finished it off, and then drove into Hereford and let myself in. Missy showed up at 3:30, lugging some doughnuts from an all night Dunkin Donuts franchise.

The others all arrived by 4:30, some of them looking bleary eyed and nobody was in their usual suits. I didn’t care. Everybody logged onto the market networks and we followed the turmoil in London. They all turned to look at me nervously. I just nodded and said, “This is it. I’m calling the Code Red.” Then I went to the break room and made myself some more tea, and snagged a cream filled bun. It was out of my hands.

We had a small trading operation, with Missy overseeing three traders. We didn’t touch our tech positions, and certainly not the companies we were on the boards of. We only messed with the stuff we had liquid, and I didn’t trust to the automated programs — I wanted humans making these decisions. By 8:00 we started seeing the early birds come in, and it was obvious to them that something was happening. By the time John and the two Jakes showed up, the market news was boiling, and I spent almost as much time calming them down as I was spending keeping Missy and the traders calm. None of them had ever been through this before. I shuttled in and out of the trading room, keeping a smile on my face and calmness in my demeanor. I was nervous myself; one misstep on our Code Red and Code Green scenarios could really fuck us over!

Well, let’s be fair about it. I had never been through this before either, but I at least knew how it was going to end. By the end of the day, the Dow lost 22 %, but the Buckman Group gained 10 %. Tuesday morning I called the Code Green bright and early, and we picked up another 20 %. By the end of the week, we had picked up another 20 %, and at that point I called it off and we went back to our normal trading routines.

Missy and the traders were nervous wrecks by then, and I was working overtime to keep them sane and centered, but it worked. At the close of trading Friday, I posted the increase in our net worth on the wall, and then led a round of applause by the entire office. I also doubled their bonuses for the year and gave each of them a week at Hougomont for a vacation. I went home and had several drinks!

In one week, the Buckman Group had become a billion dollar operation.

Otherwise things went along normally. Charlie started second grade and the twins started pre-K. The house at the end of the day was only slightly less noisy and confusing than the main trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange. I would come in the front door, and be greeted with a kiss from Marilyn, reach down and scratch the head of a manic Dum-Dum, wave to Charlie who was heading outside to get into some sort of trouble, and try and figure out which of my daughters was trying to climb me. Sitting in my recliner only let the girls and Dum-Dum climb on top of me easier. Marilyn would bring me some iced tea.

It was a very good life. I knew it would come to an end someday, but that didn’t mean it would end badly, just that it would end. It reminded me of my previous life, when I would go camping with Parker and the Boy Scouts, and Maggie was young and would be bringing all her girlfriends over. I could see the same dynamics going on now. At the time I had thought it was barely controlled chaos, but later, when they grew up and went off to college and their own lives, I discovered I missed it.

Now, I simply savored it.

Chapter 91: Oprah

At the end of October our literary agent called. Our book had “tested well” (whatever the hell that meant) and the initial publication run had been increased. Now they wanted to do a book tour, and wanted to schedule us for this. So far we had been conversing on a conference call, but at this I scratched my head and asked the agent to take the train down with details. Then I called Harry down at UMBC and asked him what he thought about this.

“Well, I can’t do it! It’s the end of the semester and I can’t just break away for weeks at a time!” he protested.

“I figured you would say that,” I replied. “Let’s talk to this fellow and see what he says. Maybe I can break free for a few days. Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“No, never,” he replied.

“Me neither.”

The next day the agent showed up and we met in Harry’s office at UMBC. The plan was to release the book officially on October 27, a Tuesday, and we would start our tour by the end of the week. Harry and I just looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Nothing like a little warning! That was next week! The tour was to start on the east coast and work its way west, and last about two weeks.

“This is crazy! I have classes! I can’t just leave for two weeks!” protested Harry.

I nodded. I pulled a calendar off of Harry’s wall and started reviewing the time frame. “You have us starting this tour on Friday the 30^th and going for two weeks.” That would take us through the 13^th, although they might keep it going if it went well.

“Uh…” the agent stammered.

“Let me see your proposed schedule,” I asked. He handed it over and I looked it over. “How definite is this?” We had television and radio interviews in Boston, New York, Cleveland, Chicago, St. Louis, Denver, Seattle, San Francisco, and LA, with a few other places penciled in the margins. San Antonio, Atlanta, and Miami were noted as possibilities towards the end of the schedule.

“What about Baltimore and Washington?” asked Harry. “I could do those, I suppose, if the timing was right.”

“Those were secondary markets,” commented the agent.

“Secondary to publishing, maybe, but Washington is a primary market for the type of people who will be reading this book,” I replied. “Let me ask you, what’s a typical day for one of these things?”

“Well, normally you would fly to the city the night before. The next morning we try and have you do a morning talk show on the radio. After that, a book signing at a local bookstore, the bigger the better, then maybe another radio show or a local television station to be interviewed by one of the local people. Maybe another book signing after that. In New York and LA we’ll try and get you on one of the late night shows. Then, after that, you fly to the next stop.”

“And who does this? Do we both have to be there?” I asked. I knew that this could help sales of the book, but Harry had a real dilemma with timing.

“Oh, no, we only need one at each location. In your case, we could split you up and have you do different parts of the country.”

“Okay. So do you go with us? Does somebody meet us at each location? How does that work?” I pressed.

The agent started going over the mechanics of it all. No, nobody would travel with us. That would be too expensive and time consuming. We would get a schedule, and fly from city to city, take a cab from the airport, and stay in a local hotel. The rule was to travel cheap and save your receipts. We would get a daily budget — and allowance.

I rubbed my face with my hand. I looked over at Harry. “I’ll let you do anything local or in DC. I’ll handle the travel parts, but I am calling the limit at two weeks. Anything after that, and you can travel.” I turned back to the agent. “Get the schedule finalized and sent to me as soon as possible and I’ll have my travel agent set up my flights. With any luck, in New York and on the west coast I’ll be able to schedule some visits with some outfits I do business with. Any chance you can simply give me a lump sum payment based on the per diem allowance?”

That took him by surprise. “That would be very unusual! What if your charges are less than that?”

I barked out a short laugh. “Trust me, they won’t be.”

“How can you be sure?” he asked.

I shook my head and smiled. “Because charter flights cost more than the per diem you’ll be allowing, and I won’t be catching cabs or staying at the Best Western. I’m not doing this for the money, but just so the book gets out there and noticed. This is important.” The funny thing was just how much I believed it, too. I had always believed in the importance of infrastructure, and now, after going through Harry’s work and the other reports I had read, it meant even more to me.

“The money’s not important to you?” he asked, confused.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I ever mentioned this at the beginning, but any of my share of the proceeds I’ll be donating to the Red Cross. I assume you can handle this?”

“Exactly what do you do?”

I gave him an odd look at this. I had provided him the same bland biography we provided everybody, but he obviously never connected the dots. “I’m president of the Buckman Group. We’re an investment company. I thought you knew that.”

“Well, yes, but you’re listed as Doctor Buckman, along with Doctor Johnson.”

“Right, I have a PhD in applied math from RPI. I thought you knew that already.” I looked over at Harry and he just shrugged his shoulders back at me.

“So what is this Buckman Group? Do you work for your family or something?”

Oh, Lord! “Let me make this very simple for you. It’s my company. We’re an investment firm and do private equity and investment deals. I am worth about three quarters of a billion dollars. I’ll have my staff handle the transportation details. With any luck, I’ll be able to meet some clients and investors in my off hours.”

“You’re worth a three quarters of a billion dollars?” asked an incredulous Harry Johnson.

“There’s no need to bow to me, Harry. Kissing my ring will suffice.” I turned back to the agent, who was just staring at me. “It’s not that big a deal. I’ll have my travel agent arrange for a small plane to fly me around, a car and driver in each city, and a decent hotel room. If there are any changes to the schedule, get them to her. I’ll give her a heads up when I get back to the office.”

“How come nobody’s ever heard of you?” asked the agent.

“Because I don’t advertise. We’re not a public company. We’re very private.” It amused me at times. I had qualified to be on the Forbes 400 list for the last three years, but they had never twigged to me. That probably wouldn’t last, but as long as it did, I would enjoy the anonymity. Besides, I was way down the list. My friend, Bill Gates, was much higher up than I was.

He left shaking his head, and Harry and I chatted a little while longer. He had seen our operation, but never really understood the amounts of money tied up in the business. He asked about getting involved, but I told him the minimum buy-in to our pools was currently set at a fifty grand, and we weren’t structured like Merrill Lynch or one of the other stock brokers. Then I told him it wasn’t that big a deal. In many ways I still considered myself a mathematician.

That night I told Marilyn over dinner what was happening. She knew about the book, of course, since I had often spent a few hours at night working on it in my study. She also knew we had sent it off, finished, and had met Harry and his wife. “When does this start?” she asked.

“Next Friday, I think, or maybe the following Monday. I can’t imagine we would get all that much accomplished over the weekend.”

“And you’ll be gone for two weeks?”

I shrugged. “I guess so. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know whether it will be enjoyable or a pain in the tuchas. I am betting it will be the latter.”

“What’s a tookis?” asked Charlie.

“It’s what gets walloped when you interrupt grownups,” I replied with a smile.

“What’s walloped?” asked Holly.

“That’s when Daddy spanks the two of you for being girls,” he told her.

That got the twins to squawking and Marilyn to laughing, and Charlie hopped off his seat and ran off to the kitchen with a big smile on his face, while I simply muttered under my breath about my smart-assed son. “Oh, brother! And you wanted kids?” I asked Marilyn.

“Well, I know what you wanted!”

“We’ll talk about that later!” I answered. “You know, he’ll be the perfect soldier some day. He just loves to pull the pins on hand grenades and toss them around.” That earned me a derisive snort.

In one way, I was glad to get out of town. The Securities and Exchange Commission had decided to investigate the Buckman Group’s ‘miraculous’ returns on Black Monday and the following week. This was our biggest single return in a one day or one week period since we had started the firm. They were naturally curious, and asked for some ‘informal’ talks. Of course, if you wanted to stonewall, feel free. They’ll simply crawl up your anus and take up residence until you decide to cooperate.

When I made my first million betting on the Yom Kippur War raising oil prices, I was such small potatoes nobody knew my name. When I made my next big killing on the Hunt Brothers and the silver market, I was still too small to notice. They were betting billions, and I was betting a few millions. The biggest chunk of cash since then was in private equity, investing with Bill Gates and Michael Dell, and the other direct investments we had made. Black Monday had gone back to my pattern of gambling on the market, only now with hundreds of millions of dollars. Somebody had noticed.

I wasn’t going to delay the book tour over this. Melissa was going to be point on this one. She had the various SEC credentials. Most importantly, she could sit there and testify on a stack of Bibles how we had spent the spring and summer discussing the weakening market and developing plans to counter it. She and the various traders could swear how we discussed it ahead of time, that she had been the one to call us into the office, and how we had made the Code Red and Code Green calls based on the market moves and the other’s input. Unless they could prove I was a time traveler, we were going to be pretty safe.

To a certain extent, I had debated with myself making the big gains, even though I was probably inviting Federal scrutiny. Still, I couldn’t get past the fact that while we would make a fortune, it wouldn’t be off a single company. The big charge that brought down so many Wall Street high fliers was insider trading, where an Ivan Boesky or Martha Stewart knew somebody on the inside and made bets in a single stock. We had bet on the market as a whole. Nobody could track this to a single stock or company. We would be safe.

Sunday night, November 1, I drove over to the Westminster airport, where Taylor had a Beechcraft King Air waiting for me, along with a pilot. I was flying into Logan in Boston, well within the plane’s range, about an hour and a half flying time. If I was flying commercial, which is what Simon and Schuster had planned, it would take me half the day. There was a limo waiting for me at the charter office and I was at the Ritz-Carlton fifteen minutes later. If there is one truly wonderful thing about having serious money, it is the ability to fly charter.

The next morning, I was in the studio of WBZ, “NewsRadio 1030”, getting ready to sell the book. Glamorous, it ain’t. Small rooms, cramped spaces, listening to idiots yammer half the time. I had ten minutes from 7:46 to 7:56, with a commercial break in the middle. Then it was out of there and off to WRKO, AM680, “Boston’s Talk Station”, to repeat it all from 8:31 to 8:41. The topic was the “Big Dig”, a new tunnel across the harbor which had been part of a federal roadwork bill passed into law over President Reagan’s veto. Some people were for it and some were against it. I just said that if we don’t take care of bridges and roads, they collapse. I didn’t tell them that the Big Dig would be a colossal boondoggle. That wasn’t because it was a bad idea, but because Boston politicians have enough graft and corruption in their veins to make any politician proud!

After that I did two book signings, at which a total of four people showed and only two bought the book, and then went off to WCVB, Channel 5, the local ABC affiliate, for a brief talk there. That might get cut down to 60 seconds and slipped in if it was a slow news day. Again, the topic was the Big Dig.

From there I went to the hotel, packed my crap up and went to the airport. I didn’t know or care if it made it to the news. My only thoughts were about how in the world anybody actually put up with the horseshit of a book tour! This was Day One, and we had nine more to go, not including the intervening weekend.

Monday night I flew to New York, and I had two nights there. Tuesday I did some radio stations and a book signing, and nothing was scheduled for the afternoon. Melissa had taken the train up, so that we could talk to some people on Wall Street. I took a nap in the afternoon, and then we had dinner with some people from Prudential and Bain. Wednesday morning I did a local talk show on WNBC after the Today Show was over, and then went to a book signing. The big doings were later that day, fifteen minutes on the Late Night With David Letterman. That was a pretty big deal!

One of the things Harry and I had been told before we went off on our tours (and I was already wishing I had the short and local tour) was to try and find a way to ‘connect’ with the local host or audience. In Boston this meant talking about the Big Dig. In New York, I focused on something else. If you can do it humorously, all the better. This is part of ‘humanizing the news.’ Slap a smile on your face as you announce the bridge collapsed and killed two dozen nuns and schoolchildren.

Letterman: So you say that it’s a good idea to block traffic at all times of the day to fix potholes.

Me: What I say is that if you don’t fix the potholes, sooner or later the road collapses, and traffic is blocked anyway.

Letterman: But shouldn’t these things last longer?

Me: They do, but you still have to keep fixing them. This is nothing new; we’ve been doing it a long time. For instance, well, I’m not very familiar with New York, but I’ve been told there’s a small town somewhere to the east of here. I’ve never been there myself, but I think the name is… Brooklyn? Maybe you’ve heard of it?

(Audience laughter!)

Letterman: Yes, I’ve heard of the place.

Me: Anyway, this town — again, I don’t know much about it — it has this bridge, and I’m told it’s pretty nice.

(More audience laughter!)

Me: Seriously, though. The Brooklyn Bridge is a prime example of infrastructure that is maintained properly and can last forever. It’s over a hundred years old, and is a landmark to the entire world. It’s something the citizens of this city [and here I waved my arm towards the studio audience] can be justifiably proud. It would cost billions of dollars to replace, so a few million every year in maintenance is cheap insurance!

From New York I went to Cleveland, and from Cleveland I was going to Chicago, but that got changed. Instead I went to St. Louis, and Chicago would be the end of the tour. I spent the weekend in Redmond with Bill Gates, generally just goofing off. He couldn’t believe the amount of time I was wasting doing this book tour. Sunday night I flew down to San Francisco. Tuesday I went to Los Angeles, where I spent two days, and on Wednesday did The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson.

That was interesting! Talk about meeting a living legend! He did Carnac the Magnificent that night, and that was just amazing. I sat there in the Green Room and watched in utter disbelief — I was about to meet an American god! As I had been told, Carson didn’t schmooze with the guests, either before or after they came on, and he ran the operation tightly. I asked if I could get a photo standing next to him, and was refused, but they did have a photographer who could take shots when we were on the set together, and that was plenty good enough for me. I don’t really remember what we talked about, and it probably wasn’t my best appearance, but I didn’t get the bum’s rush, which he was known to do on occasion.

It didn’t matter. I met Johnny Carson!

Thursday was Houston, and then I flew to Chicago to finish the book tour. If I never did this again, it would still be too soon. Still, Chicago looked to be interesting. Simon and Schuster was happy with the reaction and sales (even if nobody showed up at the signings — what a waste of time!) and I was booked as a guest on the Oprah Winfrey Show. This was the only time I was booked for a nationally syndicated daytime talk show.

In November of 1987 she was still doing her show from the studios of WLS in Chicago. Right now it was done there, but I knew that within a few years, she would build a much bigger Harpo (Oprah spelled backwards) complex elsewhere. That day, though, I ended up down in the Loop at WLS.

Oprah wasn’t yet the big deal name she was going to become. She was only a year older than I was, and had only been on the air nationwide for about a year. The nightly shows I had been on had a different format. They were basically a standup comic doing some material and running through whoever was lined up, bing, bang, boom! They taped in the late afternoon or early evening and aired later that night. Oprah was more likely to tape a week or two ahead of time, her studio audience was mostly women, and her viewers were mostly women, also. The woman herself was an American success story. Born dirt poor in rural Mississippi into an abusive family, she clawed her way into school and college and eventually made it big beyond belief.

As an interviewer, her skills were at heart an immense empathy, which was why she played well with women and often did well with the ‘crisis of the week’ which she would highlight. She was not considered a tough interviewer, but nobody much cared. She was also immensely well read, and was the only interviewer who had actually read our book! Every other interviewer received highlights and suggestions from Simon and Schuster, and it was doubtful that anybody had even read those. Oprah had read our book, and she blocked out an entire half hour to talk to me!

I had never much cottoned to her show back on my first go, simply because it was a daytime woman’s show. Too many tears, too much tabloid nonsense, too many ‘crisis of the week’ style shows. On the other hand, I knew Marilyn and Alison liked her, and you can’t say she didn’t make it to the big time. She was already a ‘big deal’, and was getting bigger!

In person she was quite personable and smart. The first half of the show had been some celebrity chef and how to cook something with vegetables. After he got done, they cleared the smoke out of the studio and wheeled the kitchen set away, and it was just the two of us in chairs in front of the audience. Oprah introduced me, saying, “And now I’d like to bring out the author of a new book called Eat Your Peas! America’s Crumbling Infrastructure And The Need To Rebuild It. This book is a fascinating look at what is happening with our roads and bridges and dams. Please help me welcome Doctor Carl Buckman!” The applause started and an assistant signaled me to go, so I walked around the curtain. Unfortunately for me, my knee had been acting up for a few days, and I needed the cane, even as early in the day as it was, and I was limping.

I came over and switched my cane to my left hand and held out my right to Oprah. “Thank you for having me on your show.”

We settled ourselves on our chairs, and she started with, “So Doctor, explain what you mean about eating your peas!”

“Well, first, call me Carl. I almost never use the title. And second, I have to say, I’m not the author, but the co-author. The other guy who wrote this book, whose idea it really was, is Professor Harry Johnson, and he’s back home teaching engineering to students, so that our roads and bridges stay safe.” That got quite a bit of applause.

Oprah smiled at that. “Well, that is pretty important. Still, what does that have to do with eating peas?”

I spent a few minutes talking about how as a parent we always were trying to get the kids to eat their vegetables, which got us talking about how the tricks we used on my children and what our mothers had made us do. That played very well with the mostly female audience. Then we got into a little more substance, about how eating your vegetables made you strong, and that as a nation our infrastructure made us strong.

“You mentioned in the book that it was the Erie Canal that made New York the city it is today. How is that? The canal is 150 miles away from New York,” she said.

“That’s true, but the real outlet to the canal is not Albany or Schenectady, it’s at the end of the Hudson River, which is New York. This gets into a bit of the history of America. If you look at a map, there’s at least a half dozen major ports up and down the East Coast.” I started ticking them off on my fingers. “You have Boston, New York, Philly, Baltimore, Norfolk, Charleston, and Savannah, for instance. Each of them has a fine port and a good anchorage. So why did New York become the biggest seaport on the East Coast?”

I continued, “Let’s go back in time a couple of hundred years ago. There’s no cars, no trains, no decent roads, and a few hundred miles to the west, there’s this big mountain range. It’s actually very difficult to get through the Appalachian Mountains to the lands on the other side. If you were a farmer in Ohio, for instance, it was actually cheaper to send your grain down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to New Orleans, load it on a ship, and sail it to New York, than it was to try to drive a mule train overland.”

There were some incredulous murmurs at that, but I just smiled and nodded. Horses and mules would eat their weight in grain hauling stuff that distance. Oprah said, “So the Erie Canal solved that problem?”

“It’s incredibly cheap to ship stuff on a barge. Shipping costs dropped to one-twentieth of hauling things overland. The Erie Canal was the biggest infrastructure project of the era, like the interstate system of its day. All of a sudden, you could ship corn or wheat or ore from the Midwest to the East Coast quickly and cheaply. Trade grew over the course of the 1800s by an incredible margin. It went the other way, too. Now the East Coast could ship cloth and plows and glass and all sorts of other expensive and exotic items to the Midwest. One of the most important items shipped was salt! To make salt you needed sea water, and the lakes and rivers west of the Appalachians are all fresh water. And it all shipped over the Erie Canal to the Midwest.”

“And that was here in Chicago?” she asked. “Why not any of the other cities on the Great Lakes?”

“Well, they were helped too. It was at this time that all the big cities of the Great Lakes area were founded or grew big. Cleveland, Detroit, Milwaukee — all of them made the big time after the Erie Canal opened up the Midwest. The big thing that Chicago had going for it is that within just a few miles from here, the rivers stop draining north and east, and start draining south. The people here in Chicago are pretty smart! They saw what was happening elsewhere, and how much trade was going to New York. They looked around and figured out that if they built a canal of their own, they could ship stuff from the Great Lakes down the Mississippi, and that gave them access to the entire center of the nation.”

“It’s like two ends of a giant bridge, between the East Coast and the Midwest,” she commented.

“And that’s why this stuff is so important! It’s not just that we have roads or bridges or canals or sewers or dams. This stuff shapes how a country grows, and if you don’t take care of it, it stops growing. We’re seeing that now with the Interstate Highway system.”

“How so?”

“Well, the interstates are like the canals of the last century. Look at the changes in society in the last thirty years, the growth of the suburbs, the increase in trucking, the changes to the inner city. Now, the highway system was developed in the late Fifties, and most of the roads and bridges have 40 year life spans. If we don’t start taking better care of them now, we are going to see some pretty spectacular collapses over the next ten years!” I told her.

“What caused your interest in this subject? You’re a mathematician, not an engineer,” Oprah asked.

I smiled at that. “It was just by chance. Harry, that is Professor Harry Johnson, my co-author, and I exchanged some letters to the editor by way of the Baltimore Sun, and that’s how we met.”

Oprah’s eyes opened wide. “The Baltimore Sun!?”

I grinned and nodded. “That’s right. We share that in common, don’t we? You worked in Baltimore for a few years before you made it to the big leagues, here in Chicago. I remember watching you on the news every once in a while.”

She excitedly added, “Yes, I worked for WJZ!”

“I remember you from back then. Harry and I are both Baltimore boys. He teaches engineering down at UMBC in Arbutus, and I live and work up in Hereford.”

“That brings up another question,” she said. I looked at her curiously, and she segued into what I had hoped could be avoided. “You have a most interesting biography! You went to college and earned your doctorate in mathematics at the age of 21, is that correct?”

I nodded. “Yes. I went to Rensselaer in Troy, New York, and got my math degrees there.”

“But you didn’t go into research or teaching! You entered the Army.”

Again I nodded, with a shrug and a smile. “Well, I went to college on an Army scholarship, so at some point Uncle Sam was going to come calling for some payback”

“What would a mathematician do in the army?” she asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Oh, there’s any number of things! Codes and cryptography, signals, engineering — I was in the artillery, and that’s a huge amount of mathematics!” I answered.

“Is that where you hurt your leg?”

I wasn’t sure how much info was in my bio that had been sent out. The average host could care less. “Yes, I made that one jump too many and landed wrong.”

“Jump? You were a paratrooper?”

I smiled and nodded again. “I had a battery of 105s with the 82^nd.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Sorry. I commanded Bravo Battery, 1^st Battalion of the 319^th Airborne Field Artillery Regiment, in the 82^nd Airborne Division. At least until this happened,” I said with a wry shrug. “Don’t ever jump out of a perfectly good airplane!”

There was a smattering of applause at this. A decade earlier I might have been booed, since the Viet Nam War had been so unpopular. Still, we hadn’t become so wildly enthusiastic about our soldiers as we would be following Desert Storm. I just smiled and nodded to the audience as they politely applauded.

“And now you work for an investment company? Or own an investment company? I understand you are part of the Buckman Group. What is that?”

“We’re in the private equity and capital investment business. We’re small and private.”

Oprah finished the interview with a few questions about my wife and children, and then we broke for a commercial and that was it. I was yanked away, and she finished the show talking to the audience and the camera, and happily for Harry and me, she gave a healthy plug for the book.

After the show, before I could head out to Midway for the flight home, Oprah buttonholed me and asked me a few questions about the Buckman Group. I gave her my card and told her to have one of her investment professionals contact Missy. For a variety of SEC related reasons, I couldn’t act as a salesman myself.

And then I got the hell out of Dodge and went home. By the time I landed back at Westminster and drove home, dinner was over and the girls were already in their pajamas. I was mobbed happily by the kids and Dum-Dum, and Marilyn gave me a kiss that boded well for later that night.

“So, how did it all go? Did you have fun?” she asked.

“The next time somebody asks me to write a book, go find my gun and shoot me! Please!”

She just laughed.

Chapter 92: Same Old, Same Old

I made it back home the week before Thanksgiving 1987. It was enjoyable to just get back to normal again. For Thanksgiving I did the whole stuffed turkey routine, but I really missed my Mom’s oyster dressing. Marilyn simply refused to allow me to bring ‘those disgusting things’ (the oysters) into the house. I occasionally wondered what my family was up to, but after the lawsuits were done, I ignored them. Suzie I kept track of, but I never contacted her. She had changed her name to Buckner shortly after arriving in Rochester. I wasn’t sure how secure that actually made her (compared to Buckman, anyway.) It would probably keep the casual reporters away, if they were trying to track any relatives of mine, but any sort of a pro could find her in under a day.

Charlie was now a little over six, and the girls were about three-and-a-half. Charlie was pretty rambunctious, but not in an overly bad way. He was just a boy. One of his teachers advised us to have him tested for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, and Marilyn and I shut that idea down real fast! Charlie was simply a boy, and did routine boy stuff. He didn’t need to be drugged. A routine grab-him-by-the-scruff-of-the-neck and an occasional swat on the bottom were sufficient to keep him in line. On the plus side, there was none of that ‘Wait until your father gets home!’ bullshit. Marilyn was more than happy to keep the kids in line on her own.

Occasionally he got stupid. One time he got into a tussle in school with a classmate, Johnny Parker, and the two knuckleheads did the ‘My father can beat up your father!’ routine. We got called to school and met the Parkers, who were equally exasperated with their offspring. I stood and shook Johnny’s fathers’ hand and said, “Mister Parker is my friend, and I don’t beat up my friends!” Then we made the boys shake hands.

Afterwards, I enrolled Charlie in karate classes at the dojo I went to. Marilyn wasn’t at all in favor of this, figuring he would just get in more trouble. I knew better. The first thing they teach you in any of the martial arts is self discipline. Then I told my son that if he ever used anything he learned in karate class in a school fight, his next session would be with me! His eyes opened wide at that!

The twins were an absolute delight. They were constantly running around outside and bringing back dandelions and grasshoppers and salamanders and such. In this they were a lot like Maggie, who had brought back every conceivable critter she could get hold of. I knew it wouldn’t last. Sometime around when they hit twelve, the hormones would kick in, and my little angels of sugar and spice would morph into the evil twin spawn of Satan.

Have you ever wondered who came up with the idea of dowries? Then you’ve never had daughters! A dowry is where a man pays another man to take his daughter off his hands. The longer she hangs around, driving him crazy, the more he’s willing to pay. In this regard it’s similar to divorce, where a man pays his wife to go away. I pointed this out to Marilyn once, and she wasn’t amused. Go figure.

We tried to live fairly normally, like your average suburban parents. We’re just not a flamboyant pair. Okay, when traveling we flew by a private jet, and had a limo or car waiting for us, but back home I drove a car and Marilyn drove a minivan. We didn’t live like hermits, either. Every summer we had a big barbecue/pool party and anybody who could come up with a reason was invited. We had the office and teachers and neighbors and friends over. After Charlie joined AYSO soccer, every fall, during soccer season, we had another one for the entire team and their parents, and it just got bigger when the girls got old enough to play.

Until now most people knew I had money, but generally not that I was ridiculously wealthy. After my face was on the cover of Fortune it was known, and when half the housewives in town saw me on Oprah it just got worse. Generally it wasn’t bad. It also didn’t hurt that we were easy touches for local fundraisers. Still, some people thought that since I was Mr. Moneybags, I should foot the bill completely, so they didn’t have to contribute.

The only time it became an issue was in the Scouts. Charlie was now in the second grade, and was a Wolf Cub Scout. It came to a head in early ’88, before the annual Blue and Gold Dinner. It’s actually pretty cheap to run a troop or pack. The leaders are all volunteers, usually parents of the Scouts, and work for free. A common joke in any troop or pack is “I’ll double your pay if you do such-and-so!” — which was meaningless, since your pay was zero to begin with! There are some costs for camping trips and hikes but they weren’t much more than food and some badges, maybe $5 to $10 per event, and the boys (read that as parents) coughed that up for each event.

You could actually run a troop or pack for maybe a grand or two a year. Back on my first go, in New York, we had done the occasional bottle drive, to collect bottles and cans and return them for the nickel deposit. The boy and a parent would spend a Saturday morning driving around and collecting, and then sorting out and returning various bottles and cans, and get smelly and sticky and yucky in the process. Everybody had fun. Maryland didn’t have nickel deposits, so we sold Boy Scout popcorn, sort of like the Girl Scouts with cookies, only not as well organized. Again, generally everybody has fun and eats a lot of popcorn.

Well, we were at one pack meeting talking about this and some woman pops up wondering why certain parents weren’t pulling their weight! She shouldn’t have to drive around and she had to work and she shouldn’t have to sell popcorn, when some parents, who she wouldn’t name, could obviously afford to do more! I just looked at my wife and we rolled our eyes, but otherwise kept our mouths shut. The Cubmaster immediately popped up and said that there was no way we were going to have an income tax on the parents of the boys, and that helping to raise the funds was good for the boys’ confidence and pride, and they generally liked it. She gave a loud “Harrumph!” and sat back down, to glare at us for the rest of the meeting.

After the meeting, the Cubmaster buttonholed the woman and told her in no uncertain terms how things operated. Shortly after that, she yanked her son from the pack. It was his loss. I had enjoyed Scouting, and so had Parker. Now it was Charlie’s turn and he was taking to it like a duck to water. It certainly never hurt a boy to be involved, and he generally learned a few useful things. I had been with him all through Tiger Cubs, and it looked like I was going to keep going in the future.

Some of this took time, and ever since I had started work on the book, I had scaled back my time at the office. Now I scaled it back a little more, and stopped going in on Fridays. I spent most of my time schmoozing clients and attending board meetings of companies we were involved in, and otherwise just let Jake Junior run the show. Missy, too, since she had really grown into the investment job. In some ways I was even more proud of her than I was of Junior. John began cutting back his time, too, but he was in his 60s and had earned a break.

Over Christmas, we took a couple of weeks off and went to Utica and then Hougomont. The difference was that this time, on the way south from Utica, we landed at Westminster and picked up the Tusk family, and flew them down with us. We had room at the house, and really enjoyed ourselves. We spent a lot of time running after Holly, Molly, and Carter as they chased seagulls, and trying to keep Bucky and Charlie from swimming to another island. It was also really convenient to have ready babysitters for when one set of parents wanted to go out without the kids. Marilyn and I wanted to invite the Buckminster clan down for a week, too, but Harlan had made major, and was in Germany as a battalion exec. We might not see them for another year or two!

I skipped my 10^th reunion at RPI in ’87. Somehow it just felt weird. That seemed so long ago, and like a different life. I had been a scientist then, and only in ROTC so I could pledge Kegs and meet Marilyn again. Life had been so simple. I just wanted to find Marilyn again, and then settle down without any money problems. Instead I had gotten a doctorate, gone career in the army, become a zillionaire, and written a book. I wasn’t sorry about any of it, but it sure seemed strange at times!

One thing did work out about having money — it was easy to get babysitters! Like I had told Marilyn back in 1983, on the night of my high school reunion when Hamilton had first started stalking us and had scared poor Becky Devlin, that girl wasn’t about to keep her mouth shut about the tip I paid her! The Buckmans were known as generous tippers, and we had a choice of girls to babysit the kids.

We did a date night about once a month, usually out to dinner and a movie, or sometimes down to the Meyerhoff to see the symphony. Date night would always involve stockings and not pantyhose, and Marilyn usually went braless and commando style, and we often detoured on the way home to go parking. If any of the babysitters noticed that Mr. Buckman was always smiling when he got home, and that Mrs. Buckman was always giggling, they didn’t say anything.

I surprised myself when I got a call early that spring from Simon and Schuster. They wanted me to write another book. The surprise was that I didn’t hang the phone up on them! They wanted another book similar to the first one, but on a different topic. The topic was to be political economics, which we had touched on in Eat Your Peas! Specifically, they wanted me to expand my thoughts on how politicians were constantly starting things without ever figuring out how to pay for them, like the various Social Security/Medicare/Medicaid programs. You pick a field, there was a program started by a politician, with no idea if it worked or how to pay for it.

I was intrigued. A big part of Eat Your Peas! was that our politicians lacked the discipline to finish what they started and make it work. You had to hold their feet to the fire. When I was a kid, it was the Democrats who would pass all these crazy programs as part of LBJ’s ‘Great Society’, and the Republicans were constantly hounding them because the Democrats couldn’t pay for this stuff. The Republicans weren’t any better, since they cut taxes under Bush II, and radically raised spending.

I told them I would need a co-author or two, somebody to do the research, maybe an economist, to help. The nice thing about academics is that they always have these students around who need extra credit or a paper or a thesis, and you can tap them to find things out. If they found somebody for me to work with, we could write it and have it ready by the fall. When I told Marilyn, she just laughed and asked when she was supposed to get my gun to shoot me.

Tessa and Marilyn coerced me into attending our 15^th high school reunion in June of 1988. It was pleasant, but not as fascinating as our 10^th. To be honest, it brought back a lot of memories of Hamilton and my family. The collapse had started that night. Well, it started a month earlier, during Suzie’s graduation, but Hamilton started stalking us that night. I ended up explaining what had happened to several people, including Shelley Talbot and her husband. The cops had questioned them, but they had questioned just about anybody from high school who knew me, and she wasn’t the only girl they talked to. Worse, several people I barely knew treated me as their long lost buddy, and then hit me up for an investment in their business. I wasn’t sorry to leave at the end, and we simply went home. I wasn’t sure I would come back for the 20^th.

Meanwhile, we continued to just live our normal lives. Charlie was really getting into the whole dirt bike and motocross thing! Many weekends would see us taking him and his bike to a race somewhere. He was actually pretty good, and was winning some of his races and climbing in the standings. He finished the season in second place overall, which only made him want to do better.

There was some real high comedy with this. The twins had gotten over their fear of the noise and crowds, and now were eager to go and watch. However, since they were so small, they insisted we put them up on our shoulders to watch the races. I would load one of the girls up, and Marilyn would load the other. That was still a problem, in that I was still seven inches taller than Marilyn, so one girl was always sitting higher than the other. If the ground was uneven, we could stand so that Marilyn was up higher than me, but in mid-June we were out near Hagerstown and our spot was level. The girls kept fussing and we kept swapping them back and forth. Finally, Holly, who was sitting on my shoulders at the moment, said, “Daddy, you need to get a taller Mommy!”

I tried to keep the smile off my face as I looked at Marilyn, who was starting to stew. Molly got in on it then, adding, “We need a Mommy your height, Daddy!”

I did my best to keep a straight face, and told my wife, “You know, they’re right! I’m thinking maybe blonde, blue-eyed…” I held my hands in front of my chest, like I was playing with a pair of bowling balls.

“Very funny, the three of you!” I just started laughing, and for the rest of the afternoon, every time we swapped the girls, I would start laughing again.

It got worse that night, back at the house. After dinner, with the kids all washed up and fed, and Marilyn and I laying back in our recliners, the girls came into the living room and went up to their mother’s feet. I noticed Charlie, however, hanging back by the archway, so I knew he was up to something. Marilyn was laying back, barefoot and watching the news with me, and the twins went up to her and each went up to one of her feet. Then they looked over at their older brother.

“One foot for each of you. You have to pull evenly,” he told them.

Holly and Molly grabbed their mother’s ankles and began pulling. Marilyn looked up at all of this and said, “What in the world are you two up to?!”

“Charlie says that in order to make you taller, we need to stretch you!” answered Holly.

Unbelievable! I slapped my face and turned to stare at my son, who was grinning from ear to ear and scampered off down the hallway. Then I started laughing helplessly as our daughters tugged on Marilyn’s ankles. She was laughing too, and ordering them to stop, it wasn’t going to work!

“It will work better if you start to tickle Mommy’s feet,” I told them.

That really got the girls to working, and Marilyn, who is very ticklish, started crying out! “No, NO, NO! Stop it! Don’t tickle… NO!.. Stop!” She began kicking her legs up and down, and the girls kept trying to hold on. “Stop!” She looked over at me. “Get them to stop!” I just laughed until my sides hurt and the tears came. Marilyn had to finally reach down and snag the girls and drag them into her lap, and tickle them back. For years after I could tease her about her height by telling her we’d get the girls to pull her ankles again.

Then, in late June Marilyn blackmailed me into something I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to do. Well, maybe blackmail isn’t the proper term. Fraud doesn’t seem right, either. Coercion, that’s what it was, coercion! I was totally unprepared for her idea. My pants were on the floor, and Marilyn was giving me a blowjob, when, right at the point where I should have been happily sighing in bliss as she swallowed, she stopped and said, “Carling, I was thinking, maybe we could have another child…”

All contracts entered into when the parties aren’t wearing pants are to be considered null and void! All contracts entered into when the parties are exchanging bodily fluids are to be considered especially null and void! I couldn’t even argue about it at the time, since we were sixty-nining, and Marilyn was sitting on my face at the time she made this announcement. I was being smothered and sexually tormented at the same time. It’s just not fair!

This time I didn’t cave in completely. First I made her finish me off, then we discussed it reasonably and rationally. By that I mean that I agreed to it. Marilyn agreed that if she didn’t catch immediately, she was to give me blow jobs and let me fuck her ass when she was on the rag. Then we sealed the deal missionary style.

I’m not completely sure that any of this made for a valid contract. I seem to remember something from a business law class about the elements of a contract, and I don’t ever recall oral sex being part of the list.

Anyway, by the end of August, Marilyn had missed her latest period, which she enthusiastically told me about that night. Very enthusiastically, too, as in lock Dum-Dum out of the room and break out the handcuffs and lube enthusiastic. She was expecting our next child in May of 1989.

We decided to call the new book Paying the Bills: America’s Need For A Balanced Budget. While I am personally socially liberal, without a doubt I am a fiscal conservative. This new book gave a history of political economics in America, and showed the effects of entitlement growth, and the effect on government policy. I had almost no hope that anything would ever be done about the problem, because people just didn’t want to deal with the problem.

Much of it dated back to FDR, who simply cranked up the printing presses to pay for the New Deal. One of those programs of his was Social Security, which was considered by most, and sold to the public as, a government run annuity. You paid into the insurance fund, and then at the end, you retired and collected what you had paid in. The reality was that Social Security was actually a massive Ponzi scheme. It was never funded, and politicians routinely increased what was being paid out and routinely cut the taxes needed to fund it. There was never a requirement that you could only get out what you had paid in. It was a pyramid scheme that depended on ever increasing numbers of young workers to pay for older retirees.

That was just the start. The Great Society brought us medical insurance programs like Medicare and Medicaid, which did the same thing. Sold to the public as insurance programs, they were anything but, funded entirely out of current revenues and taxes. By the Eighties the numbers were becoming large enough to worry about. By the Nineties they became scary, and by the turn of the century they were totally out of control. By some calculations, the bulk of American taxes and borrowing were going to pay for mandated entitlement programs.

Paying the Bills detailed these issues. It wasn’t new stuff, but it was important stuff. The average politician wanted to do two things — lower taxes and raise spending. These were the things that got them re-elected. The American public didn’t want to hear the truth, that they couldn’t have their cake and eat it too. They wanted a steady diet of cake, cake, and more cake! A politician who promised them cake, and then told them it was good for them and non-fattening and, best of all, free, got elected. Very few presidents were able to balance the budget, and most of the time it was by accounting miracles and tricks. Some of these we exposed and some we simply recited the problems with.

Ultimately the problem was with the American public itself. They knew they were being lied to, but that was still better than facing the music and paying the piper. Every poll ever taken showed that the American public wanted these programs, along with every other government subsidy or handout available. They simply didn’t want to pay for them, definitely not at the level necessary. It would require a national sales tax or value added tax, and income tax levels would need to rise significantly, as in they would probably need to double or more.

So how was it all paid for? Simple! First, simply crank up the printing presses and print more dollar bills, but that caused inflation, and had the problem in that it added to the deficit. Second, and ultimately more corrosive, was to borrow the money. The U.S. had the world’s best credit rating, but eventually even America can only borrow so much money before people figure out it can’t pay it back. That was the ultimate problem and cause for the Great Recession. Economies are cyclical, and recessions and depressions happen with regularity, but it makes a whole lot of difference whether you have money in your pocket when it happens, or if you owe the bank a shitload of money. It’s no different for countries.

Paying the Bills came out just after Thanksgiving, and proved a sensation, though perhaps not in the way we had intended. It had been an election year, and George H.W. Bush had handily beaten Michael Dukakis, one of the most ineffectual candidates the Democrats had ever run. Within days of publication, it had made the New York Times Non-Fiction Best Seller List, and was the talk of the chattering classes across the country. Liberals condemned the book, saying it vastly overstated the costs of these wonderful programs, and that I wanted to throw the old, sick, and poor off the American gravy train. Conservatives, on the other hand, lauded these ideas, but said I had overstated the costs involved — we didn’t need to raise taxes, but lower them! Worst of all, newly elected President Bush had famously (and stupidly) made his ‘Read my lips! No new taxes!’ pledge, and here I was saying he was wrong.

Joe Throttlemeyer, my co-author, an economist at Penn State, couldn’t handle the nonsense and he dumped all the questions on me. For this book, my name had been listed first, and I thanked him ever so sweetly for giving out my number. Two weeks after the book came out, our agent at Simon and Schuster called me and told me that the Sunday talk shows wanted me. I had eschewed a book tour this time, but I couldn’t turn down This Week with David Brinkley. Saturday night I drove down to Washington and spent the night in the Hay-Adams again, but without Marilyn. We had stayed there when I received the award lo those many years ago from the Bahamian government. She was staying home with the kids and promised to tape the show.

Welcome to the big leagues! David Brinkley was not Oprah Winfrey! He was a smart interviewer and had been around the Washington news game since before I was born. He was not going to be a pushover and ask puff questions. Worse, I wasn’t his only guest that morning. He had me on along with ‘The Lion of the Senate’, Massachusetts Senator Ted Kennedy, perhaps the most liberal Democrat in the Senate. Kennedy had already been quoted disparaging the book. Nothing like a friendly audience to give you that warm and fuzzy feeling.

Mercifully I went through the makeup business fairly quickly. I had felt like an idiot doing it before going onstage with Oprah, and I still felt like an idiot. At least I didn’t have to do it with Kennedy in the same room. That would have probably been awkward. I don’t know why we had to do makeup, anyway. If you’re a dark complexion they want you lighter, otherwise they want you darker, and not so shiny, and the camera adds ten pounds and all sorts of horseshit is going on. I left makeup and was sent off to the green room. I bet that Kennedy got his own dressing room. Then again, he had a house in Washington, on DuPont Circle I believed. Maybe he would just show up already polished and primed.

Eventually I was called out during a commercial break, and put in a chair at a table across from Brinkley. I looked around uncertainly, noticing where all the cameras were. Kennedy came out, all smiles, and greeted half the crew by name, and immediately sat down at his chair, a few feet away. He had probably done this a hundred times before. I was ignored, being beneath the great man. The setup was so that they could focus on each of us without anybody interfering with a shot of somebody else.

Brinkley started off by introducing the topic, and giving a quick synopsis of the book, and was surprisingly fair with it. Then he turned to me and asked, “Doctor Buckman, throughout your book, you state that any number of government programs have costs far higher than what have been stated by a number of people, and that in order to pay for them, taxes have to be dramatically increased. Surely you don’t expect tax rates to be doubled, as you suggest in your book?”

“It’s not a matter of what I expect to happen as it is that these are basic facts, and we need to acknowledge them if we are to have any hope of stabilizing the finances of this country. If you go to the store and buy something, sooner or later you have to pay for it. Congress has gone to the store and has bought a bunch of things. They’ve bought pensions, which is what Social Security is, and medical insurance, which is Medicare and Medicaid, and highways and dams and water treatment plants. Somebody has to pay for this stuff. Right now, we’re just getting by, telling the entire world that, ‘Sure, we’re good for it.’, but sooner or later the bill is going to come due, and the bill will be beyond belief.”

“Senator, your response?”

Senator Kennedy gave a lengthy discourse on how the costs were nowhere near what I was stating they were, and that this simply was the Republican mantra of killing off needed social programs. He could have rambled on for the entire show, but Brinkley cut him off.

“Doctor Buckman, do you really advocate ending these social programs? What do you expect the millions of people who are on Social Security and Medicare to do without them?” he asked.

“I have never said we should end these programs. We have done a lot of good with Social Security and Medicare, for instance. What I am saying, though, is that we have to pay for them. My employees have pensions and health care, but I pay for them, in full, up front. If I stop paying, they don’t get them. As it currently stands, we are only paying a fraction of the cost, and promising the world we’ll pay sometime in the future, but that future keeps getting farther and farther away, and the amount we need to pay keeps getting larger and larger. At some point in the next thirty years — in our lifetimes! — the numbers will get so large we won’t be able to pay, no matter what we do!” I replied.

“That is simply not true!” interrupted Kennedy. “Doctor Buckman surely knows that payroll tax deductions are paid into a trust fund, a trust fund which fully pays for all future benefits!”

“And Senator Kennedy surely knows that money is a fungible commodity. Payments into the trust fund are immediately and automatically used to buy Treasury Bills, so the funds immediately flow into general revenues, and the Treasury Bills simply add to the budget deficit,” I countered.

“It is astonishing that at a time like this that a seemingly intelligent man like Doctor Buckman would be so willing to consider shutting down essential social programs that keep our weakest and most vulnerable citizens alive! It is simply unconscionable and unspeakably heartless!”

“Your response?” prompted Brinkley.

I smiled. “Well, my wife would surely agree that I’m unconscionable and unspeakable and heartless, but that’s a totally different subject. It is complete nonsense to say that I want to shut down Social Security or Medicare. This is a wealthy and powerful nation, and there is no reason we can’t have a strong safety net for all our citizens. What I want is for our political leaders to honestly explain how they plan to pay for it. Right now we aren’t paying for it, and we don’t have a plan to pay for it.”

“Which is simply not true. Social Security and Medicare and Medicaid are vital to the lives of millions of people, and this pathetic attempt to eliminate these programs is simply horrid in a modern society.”

Brinkley looked at me, and I countered. “Again, I repeat, I have no desire to end these programs, simply to pay for them. Listen, I’m not a lawyer, or an economist, or a politician. I’m a mathematician, and the one thing they teach you how to do as a mathematician is to add and subtract. When I tell you that two plus two equals four, then it equals four. It doesn’t equal five, and it doesn’t equal six, and it certainly doesn’t equal twenty-two. The math doesn’t add up, and unless we develop a way to pay for these programs, we’ll be bankrupt in our lifetime. If I ran my company this way, my company would be bankrupt and I’d be in jail!”

Brinkley called the argument to a close at that point and we went to commercial. That was it for me. I got hustled off the stage and got sent off to a dressing room to clean off the makeup. Kennedy went elsewhere, and I never saw him again. I cleaned up and left and drove home.

I got back to Hereford shortly after lunch, and was greeted by my son, who ran up to me saying, “You were on TV! I saw you on TV!”

I grinned down at him. “Really? You sure it was me?”

“Mommy said it was you!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the foyer and into the living room.

Marilyn was coming out of the kitchen and she laughed at us. “The TV star is home! How was it?”

I kissed my wife hello, and then grabbed for Holly as she scampered past. She giggled and scooted free, and then ran down the hallway with Molly and Dum-Dum. I snorted at them and then told Marilyn, “I need this like I need more holes in the head!”

“You were great! I don’t think Senator Kennedy knew what hit him.”

I just shook my head. “I bet your old man isn’t too happy with me. How dare I dispute the great man!?” Big Bob was a major fan of the Kennedy family.

“Well, you’re my great man, so who cares what my father thinks. Have you had lunch yet?”

I shook my head and followed her into the kitchen. Lunch was ham and cheese sandwiches and iced tea, with the kids and the dog running through on occasion. Afterwards, Marilyn pushed me into the living room and hit the remote on the television and the VCR. I was too tired to do much more than sit there and vegetate while Marilyn rewound the tape and then started it up again.

“Hey! You’re on TV again!” yelled Charlie as he climbed up on the couch.

I snorted. “It must be magic.” He kept babbling and we finally had to tell him to be quiet — or else! That made him quiet down, but it also bored him, so he scampered away again.

The first half of the show went pretty much like I remembered, with Kennedy and me sparring. I kept telling him the numbers didn’t add up, and he kept saying I was an inhuman monster to consider throwing sick and old people out with the garbage. The curious part was during the second half of the show, when Brinkley called out his discussion panel of fellow journalists, the Roundtable. Today’s panel consisted of George Will, Sam Donaldson, and some other fellow I didn’t recognize. If I had known they were there that day, I might have stuck around to watch. I had been watching the Sunday morning talk shows for years, both before and after my recycle. I didn’t recognize the third guy with Brinkley, so he never made it big, but I just loved Will and Donaldson. Donaldson was on the liberal side of the fence, and Will on the right, but they were smart and articulate and just plain interesting!

The discussion focused on two specific areas, whether Kennedy or I won the debate and whether we were correct, and what effect, if any, this would have on the future Bush presidency. The answer to the first part was that I had the facts on my side and Kennedy had emotion on his side, so Kennedy lost the debate and won the election, so to speak. As for the second question, it was universally agreed that politicians couldn’t care less about the facts, and that there was going to be no effect on government policies.

It made me wonder why I ever wrote the damn book to begin with.

Chapter 93: Wreckage

That wasn’t the end of it, of course. Both Time Magazine and the New York Times came calling, since Paying the Bills came out in time for their yearend gift ideas and non-fiction book lists. The Times quoted me as ‘one of the leading young intellectuals of the fiscal conservative agenda’, which made me wonder just how many of them were there. There obviously weren’t very many at all, if I was a leader. Time did a puffy human interest piece, and I let my mouth run away with me. They pushed how Kennedy was still damning me as a billionaire out to savage the sick, poor, and elderly, so I hit back. A few memorable quotes included, “I earned my money. Senator Kennedy’s father earned his money.” and “Senator Kennedy’s family gave him millions. Mine gave me the back of the hand when they threw me out at sixteen.” The one that made the most news was, “The day I start using Ted Kennedy as a moral compass we’ll be throwing snowballs in hell!” That last line might have been over the top, but the man was a drunk with a zipper problem, who bought his way out of more problems than I can remember. I heard about that one from a number of people, including Marilyn’s parents.

John chewed on me to watch my mouth. It wasn’t that he disagreed with me, just that I needed to be careful what I said. What I did could reflect on the company, and not all of our clients and investors would agree with me. Missy chewed on me since she was a good and loyal Democrat. I promised to behave myself in the future. That promise didn’t last too long. Shortly before Christmas I was invited to speak at a meeting of the American Conservative Union in Washington, and that made some headlines, too, when I stood up at the podium and said that while I was fiscally conservative, I was not a social conservative, and if the Republican Party wanted to stay relevant in the future, they needed to keep their noses out of people’s religion and bedrooms. That made both Time and National Review.

It wasn’t all politics or business, though. Two weekends after Thanksgiving, Marilyn and I took a long weekend by ourselves down at Hougomont. Tusker and Tessa took care of the girls. Charlie and Dum-Dum stayed with the Parkers (yes, the same Parkers who he wanted me to punch in the nose or something. He and Johnny were now best friends.) We left Friday morning and flew home Monday afternoon, and packed very light. Pregnancy made Marilyn very horny, and she didn’t spend much time wearing anything more than high heels and sunglasses.

Realistically, this would be our last child. We were now 33 years old, and we had spaced the kids out some. By the time Marilyn wanted another, it wouldn’t be possible. After 35 a woman’s fertility starts dropping drastically. By 40 her childbearing years are over. Forget about the tabloids and their reports of women in their fifties and sixties giving birth. Those types of events are one in a million, and require massive medical support to allow.

I teased my wife several times about what our son thought about all that athletic activity going on around him. She responded that I was getting old, and that the athletics were slowing down! Why, I was only able to make love twice in a row anymore, and that just had her getting warmed up! My response? Quality, not quantity! It made for a pleasant argument, and we tried to solve it many times that weekend.

Yes, we were having a boy. The ultrasound showed that the littlest Buckman was a male Buckman! That made us start picking names. I suggested Carling Parker III, as the start of a dynasty. Marilyn put the kibosh on that! Then, at Christmas in Utica, she found a book on the history of the saints from her mother, and suggested some saints’ names, like with her brothers. I rolled my eyes and took the book from her hands. After I went through the index I came up with Nicholas Cayetano.

“Nicholas Cayetano!? Where did that come from?” she asked, taking back the book.

“The patron saints of prostitutes and gamblers,” I replied, keeping a straight face.

“Carl! That’s not funny!” scolded Harriet.

“No, it’s not!. Now, behave!” ordered Marilyn.

I shrugged and smiled. I turned to Mark, who was sitting on the couch next to me. He was grinning back at me. “So, who was the patron saint of trailer salesman?” I asked.

He laughed while Marilyn stewed. “That would be Saint Big Bob!”

I laughed, too. “Sorry, that name is already taken.” Charlie’s middle name was Robert.

Marilyn protested, and then looked up the patron saint of salesmen, who turned out to be Saint Lucy. Unless the youngest Buckman turned out to be a drag queen, Lucy wasn’t going to cut it. We spent the next few minutes coming up with other strange patron saints (Saint Drogo, patron saint of ugly people, got a lot of commentary around the kitchen table, with everybody claiming that this brother or that brother qualified) but never came up with an answer. We tabled it for a bit longer.

We took the kids down to Hougomont again right after Christmas. That would probably be our last vacation until after the birth. In January we settled on James Ryan, though I was still making a strong push for Nicolas Cayetano.

In January we all went over to Fifth District for the winter concert, featuring Charlie in the chorus. He was as much of a soprano as any of the girls. I whispered that to my wife, earning a giggle and an elbow in the ribs. I was glad when we left, though, because the weather was closing in. It doesn’t snow all that much in Maryland, but it does snow somewhat, and the locals simply can’t handle it. They don’t get enough snow to need the investment in plows and sanders like they do up north. When you get more than about half an inch, they start shutting down the state. We had almost an inch when we left the concert, and there was an announcement for everyone to drive carefully, because it was getting slick. Joy!

It was slick as snot out on Mount Carmel Road. It was about a five mile drive, and I was going very slow. We made sure the kids all were buckled in, and Marilyn grumbled about the seat belt across her expanding waistline, but she buckled up, too. We drove home slowly.

Then there was a light and the sound of crashing metal, and things got very dark.

I came to with that sickening feeling of a bright light, and a smell you don’t get outside of a hospital. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening, and then I tried to sit up, but I was strapped down and could only thrash around. I settled down and tried to figure out what was happening, and somebody in white came around. “Mister Buckman! Calm down, please. Calm down!”

I lay back and nodded, and said, “Where am I? What happened? Where’s Marilyn? Where’s my children?” At least I could talk. When I woke up in Gitmo, I was so dehydrated I couldn’t speak. Now I just had a blinding headache.

“Calm down, Mister Buckman. A doctor will be in shortly,” she answered.

“What happened? Was there a car wreck? WHERE’S MY FAMILY!?”

“Stay calm, Mister Buckman…”

“I need to know about my family!” I yelled.

The curtain opened up, and a doctor stepped in. He put his hands on my shoulders and pressed me back down. I didn’t even realize I had levered myself up. “They’re fine, Mister Buckman!” he told me.

That calmed me some. “Where are they? What happened?”

“You were in a car wreck in the storm. Your children are fine. They just got some bumps and bruises. You can see them later.”

“Marilyn! WHAT HAPPENED TO MARILYN!?” I demanded.

“Calm down, Mister Buckman. Your wife is in surgery right now, but she’s alive and should be okay. Now, you have to calm down! Your family is going to be all right!”

I sagged back into the bed and my heart stopped pounding. Then I started thinking. Surgery? What was wrong? “The baby?”

The doctor’s voice caught at that, and I saw him glance at the nurse. I already knew the answer before he said anything. “I’m sorry, Mister Buckman, but there was nothing we could do.”

Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! I started crying for little James Ryan, and for Marilyn. She would never forgive me for this! I was the one driving, I was the one responsible. It was all my fault.

I lay there in the hospital bed sobbing for a few minutes, until I remembered the doctor and nurse standing there. I opened my eyes and looked at them through blurry eyes. “Where are our children?” I asked with a raspy voice.

“They’re here, in the hospital. We’re keeping them overnight. We’ll let you see them in a few minutes, if you wish.”

I just nodded. They must be terrified. “What happened?”

The doctor turned halfway and raised a hand, signaling to somebody. A Maryland State Trooper came closer. “Trooper Margolies can go over that with you.”

“Mister Buckman, I’m sorry to meet you this way. Can I ask you some questions?”

The trooper was a short and swarthy man with dense curly hair, who looked like he had a Mediterranean heritage. “Yeah, sure. What happened?” I wiped my face. I must have looked like hell.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Do you remember what happened?” he replied.

I shook my head, which damn near killed me. I called out to the nurse, “Hey, can I get some morphine or something? My head is killing me!”

She came over and shook her head. “Maybe later, but you’ve had a concussion. We can’t chance it right now. Maybe later.”

“Shit!” I muttered. I looked back at the trooper, moving my head slowly. “Sorry, but no. I just don’t remember anything. I saw a bright light, and then things went blank. What happened?”

He shrugged. “You got t-boned near Fifth District Elementary. You were going home, correct?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It happened about a mile west of the school, going towards your home. We talked to the other driver. He reported that as he approached the intersection, he lost control. For what it’s worth, there was a lot of black ice on the roads. There have been a lot of accidents.”

“So he hit us? Where? Marilyn’s side?”

“Marilyn is your wife?” he asked, referring to a notebook.

“Yeah.”

“Yes, sir. He impacted your car on the right front quarter panel. That pushed you across the road and down over an embankment. Your car rolled over a couple of times and landed on the roof.”

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed quietly. Back on the first go, I had been in fender-benders, but never in something serious. How the hell had we lived?

“The first people to get there were some other parents behind you. They had a cell phone and were able to call it in. I got there about five minutes later, and we got an ambulance right after that. The sliding door had popped open and blown off, but all of your kids were still in their car seats, hanging upside down. All of you were.”

“Jesus! Where are we?” I asked.

“Carroll Hospital, in Westminster. It was the nearest emergency unit.”

“I want to see my kids.” I looked around slowly, focusing on the nurse. “Hey, I’d like to see my kids now.” I turned back to the cop. “What happened to the other driver?”

He shrugged. “He’s somewhere else. He busted an arm and cut his face up. I’m not telling you his name, not now.” He stopped as the nurse rolled a wheelchair up. “Mister Buckman, I don’t want you looking for the driver. It was an accident, nothing more. You weren’t responsible. He wasn’t responsible. The weather was lousy. He wasn’t driving fast or crazy. He wasn’t drunk. It was just an accident.”

“Yeah,” I replied, tiredly.

It was about four in the morning. The nurse handed me a hospital robe; I was wearing the outfit that had my ass hanging in the breeze. I had no idea where my clothes were. The trooper helped the nurse put me in the wheelchair, and then said he would finish with his paperwork. The wheelchair had an IV rack attached, and the IV bag connected to me was hung from the rack. I was wheeled out of the room and down a hallway. A few minutes later I was in a room with my children. They had managed to cram in a third bed into the two bed room. My daughters were sleeping, my son was crying.

His head whipped around when he saw me. “Daddy!”

“Hey, buddy, how you doing?” Charlie looked scared and banged up, but otherwise okay. He had some bruises on his face, and a couple of Band-Aids over his right eye, but otherwise seemed fine. As soon as the wheelchair stopped, I stood up and reached out and took his hand.

“Daddy! There was an accident. Where’s Mommy?” He grabbed onto me and hugged me.

I simply rubbed his back and hugged him. The nurse moved my IV bag to a rolling rack.

I turned back to my son. “It’s okay. Mommy’s getting taken care of by the doctors. I’m going to stay with you guys for a while, okay.”

“Yeah!”

“So just quiet down a bit and lay back. Don’t wake your sisters. I’ll stay with you.”

Charlie lay back on his bed, and I held his hand until he fell asleep. I stayed with him until the morning. Around eight in the morning a doctor came around. Charlie and the girls were still asleep, so I stepped outside of the room, dragging my IV rack. A nurse had swapped it out earlier, so with the constant hydration I was pissing like a racehorse. I was looking forward to losing the damn thing.

“When can I see my wife?” I asked.

“Mister Buckman, your wife is in recovery now. She’s resting and will be able to see you in a bit.”

“How is she? What happened?” I asked.

“You know she lost the baby?” I nodded. He continued, “The impact was just to the front of her position. The worst part was that the seat belt compressed on her abdomen while she was hanging there in the seat upside down. It was just too much. Mrs. Buckman broke her right ulna.” He used his left hand to point to a place on his lower right arm. “There were some internal injuries, so that’s why we had to do surgery. That, and to remove the…”

I held up my hand. “Yes, my son.” Not just a dead fetus.

He shrugged and nodded. “Yes, your son. You children were better off. Your daughters got a few bruises, but they were practically cocooned in those car seats of theirs. You really got some good ones. Your son…” He looked at me for a second, and then said, “Your older son, Charles, was a little more banged up. He got some bruises, and a few cuts over his right eye, and he has a greenstick fracture on his left radius. He won’t need a cast, but will have to keep it wrapped for a couple of weeks. Otherwise your children will be fine.”

“When can I see Marilyn? Does she know about the baby yet?”

“She’s been unconscious.”

“I need to be there.”

He glanced back at the room where the children were sleeping. “Is there anybody who can come and stay with the children? Can you call some family?”

If only! “I have no family, Doctor, and Marilyn’s is in New York. Do you have a phone? I can call some friends.”

He directed me to a telephone, and I called the Tusks. Tessa answered it, and promised they would come over, but it might be a few hours. They had to get a babysitter, and then come out. The storm was over, but nobody was quite sure how the roads were. I just reiterated that I needed somebody to sit with the kids while I sat with Marilyn. She promised to be there as fast as possible. Then I called the security company. They would get some people over here as well.

I heard my daughters fussing, so I went back into the room. Charlie was still out, so I sat with the girls, who were very scared and crying. The kids had been awake all through the crash and the rescue, and were terrified. I had slammed my head into the driver side window, which had knocked me out and given me a concussion, and Marilyn had been out as well. I couldn’t imagine the kids hanging there upside down while their parents were lifeless around them. I just sat there on the bed and held them while they cried and whimpered. Charlie eventually woke up, but once he saw me with his sisters, he calmed down and smiled.

I wanted to get up and go see my wife, but the girls would act up whenever I tried to move. I was rescued about an hour later when Tessa showed up, along with the security team. “I got here as fast as I could! The roads are fine today. Tusker was waiting until the neighbors showed up to watch the boys, and then is going out to the house to bring some clothes out here.”

“Oh, jeez, I never even thought of that!” I replied.

One of the security guys said, “We can handle that, Mr. Buckman.”

I looked over at him and nodded. “Okay, either one of you guys go over to the house, or call your office and send somebody over. Please?”

“Yes, sir, we’ll handle it.” He stepped out of the room and pulled out a cell phone.

Tessa turned back to me. “How are you? What happened? Where’s Marilyn?”

I took a deep breath. Where to start? “We got hit by another car last night, on Mount Carmel Road, and got rolled into the ditch. The kids are banged up, but okay.” Tessa came over and sat on Holly’s bed, and the little girl instinctively wrapped her arms around her. The kids didn’t have any IVs, so I lifted Molly up and set her next to Tessa.

Tessa hugged the girls and looked across the room at Charlie. “How you doing, Charlie?”

“Okay, Aunt Tessa. Where’s Mommy?”

“Your dad’s going to check on that. You can come over here, too, if you want.”

He clambered down off his bed and climbed up next to Tessa. She looked at me and asked quietly, “Marilyn?”

“She’s alive. She got the worst of it, and was in surgery. I haven’t been able to leave the kids to go see her.” I leaned over and whispered in her ear, “She lost the baby.”

“Oh, shit!”

Molly looked up at that and said, “That’s a bad word. Mommy yells at Daddy when he says that.”

Tessa smiled at the girls. “Well, I’m very sorry.” She was crying, but looked at me and said, “Go! Go find her and stay with her. I’ll watch these guys.”

A rather officious nurse came around when I stepped up to the counter in the hallway. “Is she a relative?”

“Yes, an aunt. The kids’ uncle will be along later. Can I go see my wife now? And when can I get this IV out!?”

“The doctor has to say when that can be removed. You can’t see your wife yet, she’s not out of recovery,” she told me. Her tone was one where the patients and their families were the major annoyance in her life. She wasn’t a nurse so much as a bureaucrat.

I started seeing red, and fought to keep my temper under control. “Nurse, get that doctor and get him here now, or get yourself a lawyer. You have ten minutes!”

“You can’t speak to me that way! Now, you get back to your room before I call Security!”

“Then you call them right now. The clock is ticking. I want a doctor and I want to see my wife. Now!” I just stood there and waited.

Well, damn if she didn’t call Security! A beefy rent-a-cop showed up, listened to the nurse for a second, and then grabbed the telephone. He called for a more senior nurse, who showed up quickly and called for the doctor. The rent-a-cop and the first nurse traded dirty looks, and he took off.

The doctor showed up about ten minutes later, took one look at my chart, and ordered the IV yanked. This doctor and the nurse got my polite thanks. He then scrounged up a pair of slippers (I had been wandering around barefoot up to this point!) and pointed me in the direction of the elevators. The senior nurse took me up a floor and down a hallway to where Marilyn was.

Marilyn was awake, and looked awful, but she was able to look at me. As soon as I saw her, I knew she knew she had lost our child. She just started crying; it looked like she had already been crying. I went over to her and simply held her hand. I couldn’t sit on the bed without disturbing her, and she had all sorts of lines going into her. I cried, too.

“The kids?” she asked.

“They’re fine. Tessa’s with them right now. They just got some bumps and bruises. They’ll be fine. Once I woke up, I spent the night with them. They wouldn’t let me see you until now.”

“Oh, Carl, I lost the baby!” she wailed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“I know, I know. It’s not your fault. I was driving. It was all my fault. I’m so sorry!” I got as close to her as I could, and leaned down and hugged her as best I could. Marilyn’s body was just racked with sobs, and I cried with her.

After another hour, Marilyn was moved from the recovery room to a regular room, mercifully empty except for her. By 9:30 the surgeon showed up and talked to us. He confirmed what everybody else had told us. Marilyn would be fine, but that she lost the baby, and they had to operate to repair some internal damage and bleeding. She would be in the hospital until Monday or Tuesday. The kids could come by later, but only for a few minutes.

I followed him out the door. “Doctor,”, I asked him lowly, “how long before Marilyn can have another child. This was going to be our last.”

He just shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mister Buckman, but the damage was too severe. Your wife can’t have any more children.”

That dropped in my stomach like a ball of cold lead. “When can we take our son? We’ll need to arrange a funeral.”

He gave me a horrified look. “I’m very, very sorry, Mister Buckman, but we couldn’t save… your son wasn’t… there won’t be a funeral, sir.”

Shit! He was just so much medical waste, to be disposed of. I started crying again, but thanked him and let him go his way. It wasn’t his fault.

It was mine.

I don’t think I had ever felt lower. I had killed our son with my lousy driving. I think that if I didn’t have to take care of our other children, I might have gone off and found some deserted corner of the hospital and quietly killed myself. Maybe Marilyn could find somebody better. She couldn’t do any worse.

I went back into Marilyn’s room and sat with her, holding her hand. She cried until she fell asleep, and I felt her grip loosen. I was all cried out at the moment, and when I looked up, I saw Tusker standing in the doorway. I stood up and wrapped my robe around myself, and then shuffled over to him. We went out into the hallway.

“Hey man, how you doing?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve been better.”

He handed me a bag of clothes. “I just saw Tessa. She’s down in the room with the kids. I gave them some clothes, also. She told me about Marilyn.”

“I killed our son, Tusker.”

“No, you didn’t.” I started to argue, but he stopped me. “No you didn’t. Now shut up. It wasn’t your fault. You’re going to go get dressed, and we’re going to get the kids home, and then it will be tomorrow, and tomorrow you’ll think it was your fault just a little bit less. Then you’re going to make it through that day, and the next day you’re going to think it was your fault just a little bit less. This is never going to get better, but you will make it through, one day at a time, until you know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I really fucked up this time, Tusker.”

“Right, whatever, get through today first.” He looked around and found a nurse. “Is there a place he can shower and clean up?” We were pointed to a bathroom down the hall; the individual rooms didn’t have showers. He pushed me towards it and then pushed me inside with the bag of clothes. “Get cleaned up and get dressed.”

When I came out, I found Tusker sitting there on a bench. I had stuffed the hospital gown and robe into a hamper, but still had on my slippers. I went up to the nurses’ counter, where the bitch who had pissed me off earlier was missing. Maybe she had gone off shift. A new nurse came over. “Any idea where my clothes are?” I asked.

“Marilyn’s, too!” added my friend.

She shrugged. “Not really. Did they actually admit you to the hospital, or just to the emergency room?”

It was my turn to shrug. “Just the ER, I think.”

“Maybe they have them.”

“Probably the same for my kids?” I asked.

She held her hands up in a perplexed look. “Either there or on the floor where they were admitted.”

I went back into Marilyn’s room, and found her awake again. My head was still pounding, but not as bad as earlier. When she saw me, she didn’t look as bleak. Tusker came in with me. “I thought you’d left me,” she said. I swallowed hard and tried not to gape at her. Had I sunk that low to her? I started to tear up again. She saw the look in my face, and her eyes opened wide. “I was just making a joke! I know you hadn’t left me!”

“I’m sorry. I was getting cleaned up.”

She grabbed for my hand. “It’s alright! We’ll be okay. How are the kids?”

“Tessa’s with them. They’ll be fine,” said Tusker.

“Go see them. They need to see their father,” she replied.

Tusker took the bag of clothing from me. “Go find the kids. Tell them you saw Mommy.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. I shuffled out of the room towards the elevator. The bitchy nurse was back, and gave me a dirty look. I went down to the kids’ room, and found them sitting there with Tessa reading the girls a Dr. Seuss story, Green Eggs and Ham, which was one of their favorites. There must have been a library cart in the pediatric wing.

They all looked up when I came in, and clamored to know how Marilyn was. “Mommy is awake and wanted me to check on you guys again. She has to stay here for a few more days, but if you get cleaned up and dressed, maybe I can sneak you in to see her.”

Charlie had already gotten into some clothes. Tessa pulled the curtain around the girls’ bed, and I asked her, “Seen the kids’ clothing?”

“No. Maybe you can ask the nurse.”

I just nodded and headed out to the nurses’ station. This bunch was a lot friendlier. They didn’t have the clothing, but a nurse called the Emergency Room and found it all down there. They sent an orderly to go fetch it. Well, not Marilyn’s since it was covered in blood and had to be cut off of her. The kids and I could leave once a doctor came around to sign us all out — around noon! In the meantime, they could get dressed and go upstairs and see their mom, if they went in with me, one at a time.

I went back into the room. Tessa had the girls in the bathroom, washing and scrubbing, and Charlie was sitting there reading the book again. I sat down next to him and read it with him. ‘Say! I like green eggs and ham! I do!! I like them, Sam-I-am!’ “Sounds delicious to me,” I commented.

Charlie grinned up at me. “Sounds kind of yucky!”

I laughed. “Watch it, or I’ll make green eggs and ham for breakfast someday!”

“Close your eyes!” ordered Tessa, and I slapped my hands over my face. Charlie did the same, and a pair of squealing girls giggled and ran back behind their curtain. Ten minutes later, the curtain opened up and they came out. “Let’s go see Mommy!” said Tessa, taking each one by hand.

I led the way with Charlie, and Holly and Molly alternately dragged Aunt Tessa along, or tried to hold her back, one of their games with her. My children, the living ones, were getting back to their normal playful selves.

Upstairs, the bitchy nurse looked like she wanted to have us all thrown out, but I think somebody must have chewed her ass out, because she only said, “One at a time!”

I ignored her and ushered the kids through the door. Tessa and Tusker stayed outside. All three children squealed, “Mommy!” and tried to run to her, but I held them back as best I could. Marilyn was sitting up slightly, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw them.

“You can’t jump on Mommy! She’s not feeling very good,” I told them.

“No, but if you climb up here carefully, I could really use a hug and a kiss!” she told them.

Charlie was first, and scrambled up the side of bed and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. Marilyn winced, but returned the kiss. I thought it better to lift the girls, and do it more gently than Charlie. First Holly and then Molly got to say hello and kiss her.

“Are you guys okay? Were you scared?”

I smiled when the girls said they had been scared, but Charlie said, “No! It was like the time I dumped the bike last fall at Endicott!” I just rolled my eyes at that, and tried to stifle a laugh. Trust a little boy to say he wasn’t scared, when I knew he had been terrified.

I only let them stay for about ten minutes, and then herded them out of the room. Then I stayed in the hallway with them, while Tusker and Tessa stuck their heads in. Tusker came out first, when the women started discussing ‘female shit’ (as he whispered to me.) Tessa came out ten minutes later.

Tessa said, “Okay. We’re taking the kids down to their room and waiting for the doctor to release them. Go see your wife and then come back and join us.” I went inside and saw Marilyn, who essentially gave me the same instructions. I kissed her goodbye and went downstairs.

Both Tessa and Tusker had a car seat in their cars, so we split the twins and stuffed Charlie in with Tusker, and they took off, followed by one of the security team. Then I went back upstairs. Marilyn was waiting there in her bed, and held her hand out for me. I took it, and she pulled me down to hug me. Then she pushed me upright. “You need to go home and take care of the kids.”

“I need to be with you,” I answered.

She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. Tusker and Tessa have their own children. They can’t do both things. You need to go home and get them back into a normal mode.”

I knew she was right, but I argued anyway. “What about tomorrow?”

“When you get home, you need to call my parents. Maybe they can come down. If they can’t, you need to call some of the names on the babysitter list on the wall next to the kitchen phone. One of those girls will come out after church. They can watch the kids and you can come over here.”

“But…”

She wagged a finger at me. “No buts! I’m not going anywhere for a few days. You need to do this and you know it. Now, you should go home. You look like hell!”

I just slumped down on the chair. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t be both places at once. We just held hands for another half hour, until a nurse came in. I was kicked out and Marilyn told me to go home.

I went down to the lobby and realized I couldn’t go home. Marilyn’s minivan was all messed up and gone. The second security guy took me home in his car.

Tusker was waiting for me with the kids; Tessa had gone home to take care of the boys and rescue the neighbor. As soon as I came in, Tusker took his leave, and I was able to get the kids settled down and back to normal. Then I had to make the phone calls. Marilyn’s parents were tough. I had to tell them we lost the baby. They promised to drive down Sunday afternoon. Then I went down the babysitter list until I found somebody who could come over Sunday after church. Finally, I went into my bedroom and took a shower and then scrounged up an ancient Tylenol with codeine and washed it down with a beer. If I could just make it through the day, maybe a massive dose of aspirin or Tylenol would help.

I fumbled through the rest of the day running on autopilot. I read to the twins and got the kids to bed, and then fell asleep in my recliner with Dum-Dum in my lap. We skipped Sunday school and church the next morning, and I waited until Janey Marocoski was dropped off by her mom. I climbed into my Caddy and drove back to the hospital. My headache was now down to a dull roar, and I could control it with Tylenol. I sat with her until about dinner time, and then promised to come back in the morning. She was to be released then.

Marilyn’s parents arrived just around the time I got back to the house. They stayed with the kids while I drove Janey home and paid her. I got home just in time to have Harriet serve up something warm and awful for dinner. Her culinary skills had not improved. The kids didn’t care, and I just smiled and ate it. I filled them in on the accident after dinner.

The biggest thing I told them was that because Charlie and the girls had been buckled up, they had remained safe. Back on the first go, in 1990, Mark and Lauren had been traveling to Florida in the winter for a vacation. They hit some black ice in Pennsylvania in the middle of the night, and lost control of their minivan, and rolled it down an embankment on the highway. This was eerily familiar. There were two big differences, though. First, only Mark and Lauren, riding up front, were buckled in. Their four children in the back, trying to sleep, were allowed to be unbuckled. When the minivan started rolling, they bounced around the inside of the van like pinballs in an arcade game. Every one of them had multiple broken bones, and two needed to be airlifted to a trauma center. Worst of all, their oldest girl, Nicki, was thrown out through the side door of the van and broke her neck when she was thrown into a tree.

The second big difference was that it was late, and Mark and Lauren had switched driving. Mark was dozing in the passenger seat when Lauren hit the black ice. No matter what my differences with Mark, I always admired how he handled the accident. It would have been so incredibly easy to blame his wife, and so incredibly destructive. He never said anything to her.

Now I pushed Big Bob and Harriet to let the others know to keep their little ones buckled up no matter what. Maybe they could learn from our tragedy, like I had learned from that one. Was that a different somewhere or somewhen? I couldn’t figure out the causality of it. Very odd.

Sunday I called the Trooper Barracks and found where the minivan had been hauled away to. I drove over and retrieved what I could from it. All the stuff from the glove box, like the registration and insurance, came with me, along with what could be salvaged of the various possessions inside. I didn’t want to chance the car seats being any good; I would just buy new ones. The thing was totaled. Even my cane, which I had set between the seats, had gone flying and broken.

Monday afternoon they released Marilyn to go home and rest in bed. Despite Marilyn’s parents being down, I went and picked her up myself. Big Bob is pathetically helpless about anything domestic, like handling kids, so Harriet had to stay home, and Big Bob never traveled anywhere without her, not even to the store. So they stayed home with the twins, after I loaded Charlie on the school bus, and then I drove my car over to the hospital.

We were cleared to leave shortly after lunch. Marilyn had a number of bandages covering her lower abdomen, and a lot of bruising around the area. She moved slowly and tentatively, but she was able to walk from the wheelchair to the car when I brought it around. I drove slowly back to the house.

Big Bob had to hold onto Dum-Dum when we got home. I got my wife into her recliner and covered her with an Afghan. Dum-Dum was going apeshit out of control, and I had to smack her twice to calm her down. Then I let her scramble into the recliner with Marilyn, which calmed her down to normal. Marilyn winced as the mutt moved around, licking her face before settling down at her feet. Then I carefully let the girls cuddle with her. It would have been a beautiful little scene if it wasn’t for the fact that she had been damn near killed by my driving a few days before. After a bit, the girls got bored and took off, but Charlie climbed into the chair with her when he came home from school.

Marilyn’s parents stayed until Wednesday, when they took off. I took the week off while Marilyn recuperated. Quite a few of Marilyn’s friends from the office or church called or came over. Tessa brought the boys over after school a few times.

Things got a little tense on Wednesday. That evening, after the kids were put to bed, Marilyn asked me to help change her bandages. Up to that point it had been her mother or Tessa who had helped. The bruising had begun to fade by then, but there was no hiding the ugly red zippers along her lower abdomen. These were larger and not as neatly stitched as the now almost invisible scar from her C-section with the girls. I applied the antibiotic ointment as instructed before putting on some fresh gauze and tape.

When I looked up, I found Marilyn crying. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Marilyn turned away and began crying into her pillow without answering me. I climbed up closer on the bed, and I tried to pull her towards me, but she resisted and stayed turned away. “Marilyn, what’s the matter?” She just kept crying.

I couldn’t do anything but try and hold her, but it was like she didn’t want my touch. I just sat there. I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong, but then I realized she was angry with me. I was the guy who caused the accident, who caused her to lose the baby, and caused her to get all messed up. Of course she was angry with me! I let her go and rolled away from her. No way would she want me even touching her! “Tomorrow I’ll get a nurse to come out. I’m sorry. I won’t touch you.”

That only made things worse! She sat upright and slapped my face, hard, and then tried to hit me again. I just grabbed her arms and held her, so that she didn’t hurt herself. “Marilyn! What’s wrong?! I told you I’d get you a nurse. That way you won’t have to put up with me! What do you want!?”

“You don’t want me! I’m damaged goods! You don’t want to touch me!” she blubbered, and she struggled in my arms.

“Marilyn, that’s nuts! Of course I want you! You’re the one who moved away from me! I just thought… well, I thought… I mean, I’m the one who caused all this. I thought you didn’t want me touching you!”

She kept blubbering, and managed to slap me again. “This is not about you! I can’t stand to have you see me like this! I feel so ugly!” she wailed.

Oh Holy Christ! I never heard of such a thing! Who the hell would be so callous as to think that? I just wrapped her in my arms and held onto her, rocking her like a baby. “I love you! You’re just a little banged up. I still love you. You’re going to get better.” I just repeated this stuff over and over until she calmed down.

“Now, can we talk?” I asked. She nodded silently. “Okay. I guess I understand. You can’t have any more children, so that makes you less of a woman?”

She nodded. “Yes! Doesn’t it!? Didn’t you want another child?”

I shrugged and smiled. “Yes, but that isn’t going to happen. That has nothing to do with how much I love you. If you want another child, we can always adopt, I suppose.”

“No!” she said, shaking her head. “It wouldn’t be the same. I mean, unless you wanted to.”

I shook my head, too. “No, it’s not the same. We’ve already got three great kids. You were woman enough to make them. Are you worried I won’t find you attractive any longer?” Marilyn averted her face and wouldn’t answer, so I knew that was part of it. Partially this was my fault, since the exercise routines she did with me had kept her weight down and she looked a whole lot better this time than on my last time. I wrapped my arms around her again. “Right now you look crappy because you’re crying and upset. I don’t care about the scars or bruises. You’re supposed to look lousy right now. Give it a few weeks.”

“You’re sure?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was starting to sound normal again. “Okay, let’s give it a few weeks. You’re a mess right now. If the scars don’t heal nicely, we can find a plastic surgeon to work on them.”

“A plastic surgeon!”

“Sure, why not? Maybe he could work on the scars, if there are any.” I just shrugged again. “Seriously, if you need to see a doctor for that, or for anything else, we’ll take care of it. I know we can’t do anything until you heal, but you’re still my wife and I still love you. We’ll get you through this. Maybe you should see somebody, you know, a psychiatrist or therapist or something.”

That got me an amused snort. “Like Hamilton did?”

“Like Hamilton didn’t! Maybe he would have turned out differently if Mom had let him be seen by a doctor.”

“Maybe we should both go,” she told me.

I just nodded. “Maybe. Let’s wait a few days, see how things go.”

It turned out that we didn’t end up seeing a therapist. Over the next few days, Marilyn kept healing, and she spent as much time healing me. After about a month, she felt well enough that she very nervously reached over to me one night in bed. The lights were off, and I guess that made her feel somewhat safer. It didn’t matter. Carl Junior had been going without for a month, and he quickly responded. We made love twice that night, once with her on top, and once with me on top, and that seemed to convince her I was still interested in her as a woman. That was getting ahead of myself, though.

Chapter 94: Family Business

Over the next few weeks we all started healing. Charlie wore an elastic bandage on his arm for a couple of weeks before the X-rays showed his arm wouldn’t fall off. He wasn’t all that impressed, however, since he wanted a big bandage and a really cool scar to show off in school, and he didn’t get either. Boys! Holly and Molly had hardly anything wrong with them, and were just fine.

I took the rest of that first week off and played nursemaid and cook. By the following Monday I had worn out my welcome. Once Marilyn could move around easier, she threw me out and told me to go to work and get out of her hair. I left her my Cadillac and took the 380, promising to pick up a couple of car seats for the twins. Next weekend we’d go car shopping for her and pick up another mom bomb.

One night I sat down with my wife after the kids went to bed. I had with me a copy of my will, as well as a copy of hers. “I want to talk about these,” I told her.

“What?”

“Our wills.”

“Oh! Feeling a little more mortal these days, Carl?” she teased.

I nodded, but wasn’t feeling all that humorous at the moment. “Aren’t you?”

Marilyn shrugged. “Maybe a little. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, right now you and I are each other’s inheritors. If I die you get my money and if you die, I get yours, remember?”

“Well, considering that all the money is in your name, I’ll do better bumping you off than you will bumping me off,” she laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’m taking all the sharp objects away from you.” Somehow I wasn’t too worried. Marilyn might talk me to death, but that was her most dangerous ability. “The thing is, when we wrote these, it was right after we got married. I was nowhere near as wealthy as I am now. I mean, you didn’t even know how much money I had, did you? These are just really standard wills.”

She nodded. “Yeah, so? What’s the problem?”

“What if we had both died!? It all goes to the kids, right? I am worth a billion dollars! Do you want little kids to have a billion dollars to play with?”

Marilyn looked at me curiously, but then her eyes slowly widened, and I could see the chipmunks inside pedaling furiously as she started thinking it through. Nobody had ever heard of Paris Hilton yet, but there was always some jet set kid with Daddy’s credit card and more money than sense in the tabloids. However, nobody had the kind of money that our kids would get if we bought the farm together! The closest I could think of was Gloria Vanderbilt, who became a multimillionaire at the age of 18 months, and ended up in years of court cases and custody battles.

“Wow! I mean, I never thought of that! What do we do?”

It was my turn to shrug. “I’ve been thinking about that, but you have to agree with me. Right now Tusker and Tessa are named as the guardians of the kids, and I don’t see changing that, do you?”

“No, they’d be real good,” she agreed.

“So, if the kids are being taken care of, I was figuring I’d just give it all away.”

Marilyn stared at me. “What? Give it all away? Give away a billion dollars?”

I grinned back at her. “Sure, why not! It’s not like we can take it with us, right?” My wife just stared at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Okay, maybe not everything, but at least ninety percent. If we leave them ten or twenty million apiece, they’ll be able to do whatever they want in life, and that’s not even ten percent of my holdings. Marilyn, you really don’t understand my money. I make more in a day than we spend in a year. If we bought a half dozen vacation spots, and jetted from one to the other, we still wouldn’t begin to touch the money we have. Let’s give it all away, do some good with it!”

She just stared at me and shook her head in disbelief. “This is crazy!” she replied. “You’re serious? You would give away a billion dollars?”

“Probably more. We’re only 33 right now. What if we live to our sixties or seventies? At some point we’ll be some of the richest people in the world. Just how much money do our kids need? There are very few good things I can think of that would happen if the kids became instant billionaires!”

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. Marilyn shook her head. “I need to think about this!” I nodded sympathetically. It was a lot to take in. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.” I got up and followed her into the kitchen. I was wearing my regular slacks and a Hawaiian shirt. Marilyn had on pajamas under her heavy robe. She was still on the mend, and we hadn’t gotten around to testing out how well the stitches were holding, so she wasn’t trying to get me drunk and have her way with me, not yet, at least. She sat down on a bar stool at the island and looked at me expectantly.

I stared back. “Wait a minute! You invited me out here for a drink, and you want me to make the drinks?” I exclaimed.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Christ on a crutch!” I grabbed a bottle of semi-dry Riesling off the rack. “Wine okay?”

“Thank you.”

I just rolled my eyes and pulled a corkscrew out, and opened it up. I poured two glasses and sat down at the corner of the island, facing her. “You really know how to push your luck!”

“Giving away your children’s money isn’t pushing your luck!? They’ll starve without you!” she said teasingly.

“It’s my money, not my children’s money, and if they can’t survive on twenty million, they’re too stupid to pass their genes on to the next generation!” I replied, snorting at the thought.

Marilyn wagged her finger at me. “You’d better be nice to me. What if I decide to divorce you and take my half of your money?”

“Just how nice do I have to be?” I asked lewdly, waggling my eyebrows.

Marilyn blushed. “Men!” She shook her head. “You know, this is one of the most bizarre conversations I have ever had! We are talking about just giving away billions of dollars! What in the world would you do with that kind of money?”

I smiled at her. Just her asking that question made me think she would go along with the idea. “I have no idea. We are talking about some really serious money, like curing cancer or stopping malaria or something. I have absolutely no idea. I mean, the numbers are just staggering! I’m not talking about making the kids’ school a little better. With the amount I can spend, I could buy every school in the state, and have enough left over to buy the school buses, too! What do you think we should do?”

Marilyn just stared at me, dumbfounded. I don’t think she ever really comprehended the financial resources I had at this point. Yes, I went to work and always had some money for nice Christmas presents and we had the vacation home and a nice car, but the only really extravagant thing I did was fly charter and use limos in strange places. In this I was strongly influenced by the likes of Warren Buffet. His kids all went to public schools and he ate in local restaurants and was a boringly normal guy — and one of the richest men on the planet! (He also liked flying in private jets; he said it was his one serious vice.) Last year he had announced his plan to give away almost all of his money, too. I found that quite interesting.

If you are going to be a billionaire, there are a lot worse examples to emulate than Warren Buffet. Hell, if you’re a human, there are a lot worse examples to emulate than Warren Buffet!

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that,” commented Marilyn. “Can you do that? Just give it all away in your will?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I think what we would do is set up a charitable trust, and then, when I die, most of my assets go into the trust. Then a trustee, maybe even you, gets to decide how to give out the money. Some of these trusts last for years and years, and give out millions every year. Howard Hughes’ trust is worth billions, and he died back in the Seventies. They give out hundreds of millions a year to medical research.”

“Huh. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Well, will you at least think about it?” I asked. “I don’t think I can legally do it without you agreeing to it. I wouldn’t want to try, in any case.” I refilled our glasses. “We need to do something in any case. As it stands, if we don’t really do some serious estate planning, when we die, the government will make out like bandits. Inheritance taxes will kill it all anyway.”

“Well, give me some time. This is just unreal!” Marilyn replied.

We finished off the wine and chatted about some outlandish charities to give the money to. I suggested a home for unwed mothers, as long as I got to be the father. That got her spluttering up her wine while I laughed at her. She wanted to donate it to a charity for out of work trailer salesmen, which made me almost cough up my wine as well. We went to bed laughing at it all.

A couple of weeks later I had her come to the office and speak to John and Jake Senior. They had been on my ass for years about this, and now they got to do some serious estate planning. Missy weighed in, too, and used her bottomless Rolodex to find an estate guy from New York to fly down and sit in.

That was how the Buckman Foundation started. We put a few million in now, the money I was giving away anyway, and got used to the idea. Marilyn was made the trustee, but she had no real authority as long as I was still around. She was happy to let me run it, anyway, since she just didn’t have the grasp of all those zeroes. There were sure a lot of them!

In mid-March, I loaded Marilyn on a plane and had her flown to Miami, and I took a couple of weeks off to play Daddy. I had a limo meet her at the airport and take her away to a clinic run by a top-notch plastic surgery operation. We had been referred there by a doctor at Johns Hopkins. It seems that the best plastic surgeons are in Hollywood or Miami. Marilyn’s abdominal scarring wasn’t severe, but it made her very self conscious, and they promised that they could reduce it substantially. I told her to ask for a discount package on a pair of DD cups and a face lift, which she refused.

Marilyn came back with just a trace of red on her abdomen, which was supposed to heal and be practically invisible. She was ecstatic about the work done, and told me about the most amazing things they were doing with hair transplants. No, I wasn’t bald, not yet; yes, I was starting to get thin in the back. I countered by asking her if she had her tits done, and then checked them out later. They were still her original equipment, but after a couple of weeks missing them, I didn’t mind.

In June we flew up to Utica and dumped the kids and Dum-Dum on Marilyn’s parents, and then we flew to Hougomont for a week, and then took a small seaplane with our luggage to Puerto Rico, and took a cruise through the southern Caribbean. We hadn’t done a cruise since our honeymoon, and Marilyn and I deserved an extended vacation. We didn’t take one of those ridiculous owner’s suites for twenty grand a week, just one of the fairly big suites one deck down. At Hougomont we worked on Marilyn’s all-over tan, but on the ship I talked her into wearing a couple of really skimpy one piece suits around the pool. The work at the clinic had been so good she didn’t feel self-conscious about it.

After the cruise, we flew back to Utica and landed in a different type of family problem. That summer her parents had bought a new home over in one of the nicer sections of Utica, just off the Parkway, and had torn down the old farmhouse out on the property and put a new modular office building up on the spot. We went over to see it (I had seen it way back when, but this was all new to Marilyn.) She was a bit sad to see her old home destroyed. I thought the thing was a firetrap and a rat motel, and wished I had pictures! Harriet sidetracked us, and said that Big Bob wanted to see me in his office. I glanced at Marilyn and shrugged, and wandered over.

I should have stayed in the Bahamas! In Big Bob’s office was a second man, tall and cadaverously thin and bald, who I also knew from the past. It was Mark Falwell, Big Bob’s accountant, and his presence could only mean one possible thing.

Big Bob wanted me to loan him some money.

Big Bob was a wonderful guy. He was an excellent father, a generous donor to church related charities, and well thought of around Utica. He was an excellent Mom-and-Pop scale businessman, selling a quality product, treating his customers honestly, always paying his debts, and servicing his products far better than the industry standard.

He was an absolute disaster at running a large scale commercial enterprise.

I had known the man for decades, and I admired Big Bob immensely. Aside from some initial pushing and testing back when we first met, the Lefleurs had welcomed me to their family, and they proved far more of a family than mine had ever been. Still, Big Bob had his issues, and they all directly related to Lefleur Homes.

Big Bob ran his company with several priorities. First and foremost, he pulled cash out of that sucker like there was no tomorrow. If it was a cow he would have drained so much milk that the thing wouldn’t be able to stand and move to another plot to graze. Second, one of the family jokes was that he had to grow the company, just to give all of his kids a job. He treated Lefleur Homes as a giant employment agency dedicated to hiring his children. Third, he did whatever he could to lower his tax liability, which is generally a good thing, unless your business decisions related to this are detrimental to the growth and operation of the company.

A final priority was operating his company as a growing and profitable firm. This priority was way, way down the list of important priorities. It was such a low priority, in fact, that most years his company barely turned a profit. Mark Falwell was the poor bastard with the unenviable task of resolving these priorities. I’ll give the devil his due, though. If Mark had to dance around the accounting standards, he danced like Fred Astaire.

The cash suction priority was handled through any number of means. Before I met Big Bob and got to know the company, I had heard of these tricks, all legal, of course, but I had never seen any single outfit use them all. For instance, for many years, while the house was on the property, the electric feed was on the office with a subfeed going to a panel box in the house. That way the company paid the electric bill for the family. He used the same technique with his telephone bills, running the house line off the company switchboard. All the cars the family drove were company vehicles. The summer house on Sacandaga Lake was listed as branch office, so all the costs there ran through the firm. Whenever Big Bob and Harriet went out to eat, which was three or four times a week, the bills went through the company.

The most amazing technique, which sucked cash as well as lowered taxes, involved the other priority of employing his children. Since all of his children went to parochial school, which he had to pay for out of pocket, he had two basic choices. If six children were in parochial school at any one time, and if the yearly tuition averaged $3,300, he needed $20,000 to pay for it. Choice One — pay himself enough money so that after taxes he has twenty grand left over. Choice Two — hire all six kids at no show jobs for enough money so that they could pay their own tuition! Their tax rate was nonexistent.

Marilyn was just the first kid who did this. It got bigger, actually. Eventually, the kids were getting $5,000 or more a year, and would be expected to buy their own food, clothing, and other supplies. If they went to college, it continued, with their college tuitions. This lowered the amount Big Bob had to pay himself to care for his children, and moved income from his higher tax rate to his children’s lower tax rate. As far as I knew, the kids never actually saw the money, and Big Bob and Harriet controlled it completely. It was the most amazing scam.

The other problem related to family was that Big Bob put all his kids to work. Okay, lots of family outfits do that. Big Bob wasn’t the guy who invented nepotism. Big Bob simply took it to the extreme, and did it badly. He ran the company like his family. So, since in a good family (unlike mine) all the children get the same weekly allowance, apply that principal to the company. All family members get the same pay. Mark, who was serving as Big Bob’s general manager, got paid the same amount as Ruth, who was functionally illiterate, had an IQ in the high 80s, and cost us more money than we paid her. Sales managers, like Gabriel and Michael, were paid salaries — and you never pay a salesperson a salary! You pay them a commission, and then turn them loose to make as much as possible, but that would mean they might make more than their brothers. You had secretaries, truck drivers, setup trainees, and salesmen making the same money as the general manager of the firm.

Then there was the general corporate structure. Lefleur Homes was actually an amalgamation of any number of companies. The original farm was owned by Harriet, who then leased the land to Lefleur Homes (at three times the going rate for farmland.) Lefleur Homes was owned by Big Bob, not Harriet. Then, when we opened the Cooperstown facility, which I ran through the Eighties, he created a new corporation, Cooperstown Acres, so that if we discovered radioactive waste on the property nobody could grab Lefleur Homes. Lefleur Homes would lease the Cooperstown Acres property. To make it more interesting, Big Bob gave shares in Cooperstown Acres to all thirteen children. He did this stunt every time we started a new sales center, creating a new corporation, and then had one of the existing companies loan money to the other company. One side effect was that this allowed him to funnel cash, through rent payments, to family members who didn’t work for the company.

To say that this made everything ridiculously complicated would be an understatement! After he died, it took us five years and three family lawsuits to sort it all out. Some of the kids didn’t talk to each other for years.

It was a real eye opener when I discovered the extent to which Big Bob was draining the coffers. Through the Eighties I ran the Cooperstown office, and I was the first person to ever run divisional level profit and loss statements. Prior to this, they only ran them at the corporate level. Big Bob was so impressed by this that in the Nineties I was yanked to Utica and named the comptroller. This was all Big Bob’s idea, since I hated accounting, but short of quitting a really well paying gig, I had to do it. So, I started doing division level P&L statements throughout the company — including general and administrative expenses, the cost of running the headquarters.

You can’t figure accurate costing until you know what all the G&A expenses are, because a portion of those expenses have to be allocated to each division. As soon as Big Bob discovered this, he shut me down in no uncertain terms. I was not to examine the books in headquarters! Still, I soldiered on, since I was a good little comptroller.

It wasn’t that hard. If you know all the costs assigned to the divisions, and you know all the costs of everyone who works for headquarters, and you know all the other costs you can nail down, then you can subtract them from the total costs of the entire corporation. What’s left had to be the costs for Big Bob and Harriet, the only people not being accounted for until then. This is really a simplistic explanation, but if you look at the numbers carefully, you can work it all out.

By my calculations, which I told Marilyn and a few of her more responsible and senior brothers, by the mid-Nineties Big Bob and Harriet were pulling about fifty grand a month out of the company, or an average of about half a million a year. It was no wonder they could afford a house on an acre of waterfront on Sacandaga Lake, two boats, and fourteen weeks of time shares in Orlando (one week for them and one week for each child, whether they used it or not. Marilyn and I only used it three times in thirty years.)

Ultimately this left the company chronically cash poor. Everything you could see or touch was mortgaged to the hilt, in some cases with multiple mortgages, and the banks were constantly pushing Big Bob to tighten up his operation, and imposing rigorous loan covenants. It looked like they were being tougher than normal this year, and Big Bob wanted to find some money somewhere without those pesky restrictions.

Like his billionaire son-in-law!

In no way did I want to give him cheap money — he’d just blow it. The only discipline he acknowledged was the discipline required by the banks.

I just kept my mouth shut and listened to Mark lay out a suggestion that the Buckman Group loan Lefleur Homes a buttload of money. Big Bob was ambitious, I’ll give him that much. He wanted $4 million as a floorplan loan, which would allow him to increase the number of homes they had on display, remortgage the properties at headquarters and the other locations, and provide another $2 million in lines of credit for operating capital. All in all, as I added it up in my head, he wanted the Buckman Group to retire all his old debt and provide extra debt, to the tune of a total of $8 million dollars. The company only had annual sales of $20 million! It was all I could do to keep from both laughing and crying. It was the definition of chutzpah!

It was actually even worse. Since his beloved son-in-law would never be so crass as to actually demand repayment on anything, Big Bob would be free to keep borrowing from other sources. I might as well just pile the dollar bills on his desk and set them on fire.

On the other hand, turning him down could fuck up my marriage. It was like the line in The Merchant of Venice — ‘My daughter! My ducats!’ I would probably have to do something, but what?

I listened and thought for a moment, and then tried to answer very, very carefully. “I have to tell you, Bob, this takes me by surprise.”

“Carl, Harriet and I have told you, call us Mom and Dad,” he responded with a smile.

I only gave a half smile in return. “If we are doing business, it will need to be Mister Lefleur, hmmm?” Big Bob didn’t look as if he liked the sound of that, though Mark seemed content with it. “First things first — the Buckman Group is not a bank. We are not empowered to make business loans, nor have we ever done so. The same applies to the floorplan business. We have nobody who would be able to do the monthly verifications necessary in any case.” Floorplan lenders make a monthly drive-through on a sales lot, to check that the home or car or RV is actually there, and hasn’t been sold off without the loan being paid back. If you don’t pay the floorplan off when the vehicle leaves, then you are ‘out of trust’, and have just committed title fraud. A bank will shut you down fast enough to make your head spin!

Mark nodded in understanding. “Perhaps an alternate choice might be to provide a loan guarantee to an alternate floorplan source, where they already have the mechanisms in place,” he said, a little too smoothly. He already knew we weren’t doing the floorplan.

“Uh huh,” I replied in my most noncommittal voice. “As I said, we aren’t a bank, and anything of this nature would require approval by my board of directors, and that is not a guarantee. The Buckman Group buys equity in a company, stock positions. Is that what we are talking about here? A sale of stock to us?” That was a nice shot across the bow.

Big Bob took it as such. He looked like I had just pissed in his coffee cup. “That wouldn’t be fair to the other kids.”

I didn’t make a response other than a subtle shrug of the shoulders. I turned back to Mark. “What’s going on here? You are looking to replace all of your financing. Why? What’s wrong with your existing package?”

“GE is making noises like they are getting out of the floorplan business, or at least changing their rates and terms. Very few local banks are going to be interested in floorplanning homes,” explained Mark.

“What about Greentree or Conseco? Tammac? GMAC?” These were all names that had been in the floorplan business at one time or another.

Big Bob’s eyes opened wide as I rattled them off. I don’t think he realized just how much I knew about his business. Mark took it in stride. In many ways he was a much more sophisticated businessman than Big Bob. “Most of them don’t want the entirety of the business, so we would need to split floorplan between them, and there would probably be some changes in secondary agreements involved.”

“In other words, they want stricter loan covenants, don’t they?” Loan covenants are requirements that the borrower agrees to, above and beyond the repayment of the loan. Typical covenants might include maintaining a maximum debt to equity ratio, prohibitions on other financing or on the use of the financing, requirements for independent auditing of financial results, minimum cash flows, and so forth. Even if you are current on your loan payments, if you violate a covenant, you are in technical default and the loan can be called. It’s a gun the bank can hold to your head to make sure you don’t waste their money.

Mark grimaced slightly, and Big Bob looked like he was swallowing a shit sandwich. “There have been some indications that loan covenants might become more restrictive,” replied Mark.

I nodded. “Well, I can understand that. I would imagine any new lender would want to build a history before relaxing on the covenants. Certainly if that was the type of business the Buckman Group was in, and we took on a new client, we would expect similar sorts of covenants in place.” Another shot across the bow — we would be just as pushy as the banks.

This was not working out like Big Bob had figured. He was looking at this like a father, and I was looking at it as a business. He really couldn’t conceive of any of his children not going along with him on something business related, and he had absolutely zero control on me, other than the fact that he could turn his daughter against me. He tried telling me about the wonders of the business and I just asked about what the proposed covenants were that he didn’t like. Emotion versus logic, but I was the one with the money.

After a few minutes I made the time-out sign. “Give me a few minutes. I want to talk to Marilyn first.” I stood and left the room, and Big Bob immediately lowered his head and started talking quietly to Mark. If I was a betting man — and I was — I would have bet that Mark had already told him this was a crappy idea and I wouldn’t go along with it. If I was smart enough to make my kind of money, I was too smart to invest in Lefleur Homes!

I left the office and found Marilyn chatting with her mother in the kitchen of the new building. I came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “We need to talk,” I said.

Her face lit up when she saw me. “Mom was just saying you’re investing in the company!”

I looked at Harriet but didn’t smile. “Yeah? Like I said, we need to talk.”

Both Harriet and Marilyn stopped smiling. Marilyn stood up and I led her outside. I walked away from the office building and over to the home lineup, where I sat down on one of the steps and Marilyn sat down next to me. “What’s up? You don’t look happy.”

“I’m not. Did you know about this ahead of time?”

“No, Mom told me what was happening after you went and saw Dad.”

“You had absolutely no hint about this?” I pressed.

“No! Like I said, she only told me after you left. Why? What’s wrong? You don’t want to invest in the company?” she asked.

I sighed. “Not in a million years! They don’t want me to invest in the company. They want me to loan them eight million dollars with no restrictions on what they do with it! We’re not a bank! We buy and sell stocks and pieces of companies! We don’t loan money! This is insane!”

“That’s not the way Mom explained it to me. Eight million dollars? What in the world? You don’t want to loan them the money?”

“It’s like I said, we don’t loan money. We buy portions of companies, and only if they are well managed and growing companies. If I was the owner of this company, the first thing I would do is fire your father, and then I’d fire half your brothers and sisters! They’re a disaster!”

“Carl!”

“Marilyn, I love you with all my heart, but it is the God’s honest truth. Your father is an absolutely great father, and an absolutely horrible businessman. Get rid of him, and stop running this place like an employment agency for your family, and you could grow this company to three times the size it is now! No sweat! It’d be easy!”

“Carl! That’s awful!”

“Yeah, I know. So you tell me. What do you want me to do?”

She looked at me confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re more important to me than eight mill,” I told her.

That made her eyes open wide. “He really wanted you to loan him eight million dollars? Whatever for?”

I shrugged. “What it is is that his banks want him to stop blowing his money on shit and keep it in the company, and they won’t keep lending to him until he starts acting like a grownup. He figures that his good old son-in-law can loan him the money and not notice that he’s screwing around.”

It was her turn to sigh. “I want to protest, but I really can’t. It sounds like him. Can you do something for him?”

“Honey, for you I would give him the money, but I can’t put the company at risk. There’s more than just me there, you know. If I do this, it will have to be out of my own pocket.”

“That’s just insane. He expects me to make you go along with him, doesn’t he?”

I nodded. “You’re the loving and dutiful daughter, and I’m just the idiot she married.”

“Well, you’re my idiot! Do you want me to tell him no?”

“No, just be with me when I tell him no.” I stood up. “Let’s go bell the cat.”

Marilyn took my hand and I helped her to her feet. We walked back to the office holding hands. I knocked on Big Bob’s door and found him still inside with Mark Falwell. I introduced him to Marilyn. “I asked Marilyn to be here during the discussion. Maybe you’d want Harriet to be here, too?”

He gave me a very strange look at that. Harriet was a woman, and thus had no place in a business meeting. Still, he shrugged and went to the door and yelled out, “MOTHER!”

Harriet came scurrying in. She found the rest of us seated, and she sat down as well. “I want to discuss a counterproposal. First off, the Buckman Group will not be making any loans. As I said earlier, we aren’t a bank, we buy equity. If you want to sell us your company, then we can talk, but we won’t be loaning any money.”

“On the other hand, you are my father-in-law, and I care quite a bit for the family. Bob, I don’t know what you need the money for, and I don’t want to know, but if you need cash, I’ll give you some money. I’ll write you a check today for a million or two, or whatever you want, no questions asked, as a gift. Or I can have a bank check overnighted to us tomorrow. Do with it whatever you want. Your choice. But I won’t loan you or the business the money or invest in the business. This would be from me, not the Buckman Group.”

I think everybody looked shocked at this. Marilyn seemed happy, her father not so much. He started stewing about not needing charity, and how Lefleur Homes was such a great place to invest. I just sat there and let him run down, and then he stood up and stomped out of the room, followed by his wife. That left me with Marilyn and Mark. I looked back at the door they had left through and said to Mark, quietly, “Now that the kids have left, you want to come up with something reasonable I can do to help?”

“I told him you wouldn’t go for it.”

I shrugged. “Big Bob has a terminal case of selective hearing disorder. He only hears what he wants to hear.” Marilyn giggled at that.

Mark gave a wry smile and nodded. “So true, so true. Some kind of loan guarantee would be sufficient. We can arrange floorplanning over at Rome Savings Bank if you put some money into an account there to act as collateral against the proceeds. That gets us the floorplan covered, and he’ll just have to live with the loan covenants.”

“What’s he want to do with the other money?” I asked.

“A whole fleet of new vehicles, and a fourth lot down in Binghamton.”

I rolled my eyes. He now had three lots, with the third being in Syracuse; the Sacandaga Lake home didn’t count in this. “Tell him to buy rebuilt haulers and cargo vans, it will cost him only fifty cents on the dollar, and a better choice would be going north towards Lowville. He’ll pick up more traffic out of Watertown and the Adirondacks there.” Binghamton turned out to be a money pit back on the first go-around. “Hell, the banks just want him to run this place like a business! Is that so hard?”

Mark didn’t answer, and I waved it off anyway. “Put something together I can live with, and I’ll do it out of my own pocket, but I can’t tie up my company. Unlike Big Bob, I have to look my partners in the eye, even if they are junior partners.”

“I hear you.” We stood up and shook hands, and then exchanged business cards. Afterwards Marilyn and I headed out. We drove back to her parents’ new house, while Mark explained the facts of life to Big Bob. I was actually pretty glad that we were leaving the next day to go home. Mark and I could negotiate the terms of the guarantee by phone, and overnight any paperwork back and forth. Big Bob would just have to live with what Mark and I came up with.

Don’t mix business and family. It never works.

Chapter 95: A Dinner Party

Whatever my desires are to stay quiet and out of the spotlight, I have an annoying tendency to open my fat yap every now and then and spout off about something. This manifested itself in my co-authoring the two books, and getting into a high profile pissing match with a U.S. senator. I promised Marilyn I would behave, and she just nodded and shook her finger at me, and then I turned around and accepted a speaking engagement in front of the American Conservative Union. I think at that point Marilyn gave up on making me behave, and just focused on making me be polite.

I continued talking, scheduling things when convenient. I was invited to appear on Meet the Press at the end of March, and Marilyn pushed me to go, simply to get me out of the house and out from underfoot while she recuperated. I drove down to Washington the night before and went through the same process as before, and found myself in a panel discussion with three reporters on one side, and me and a fellow named Grover Norquist on the other side, discussing balancing the budget. Yes, that Grover Norquist, the fellow who singlehandedly introduced gridlock to Washington by getting Republicans to essentially gut the federal tax system and destroy the federal budget process. In 1989 he simply seemed an interesting gadfly. The damage he managed to do didn’t become apparent until much later. I was chosen because Paying the Bills had recently been quoted by several Democrats as an example of what was wrong with the Republican Party. This had generated a reprint, and more media interest. We were considered the ‘new, young faces of the Republican Party.’

Garrick Utley was the host at that time, and he had Tim Russert and some other nobody with him as the reporters. Norquist’s position was that government was simply too big, and ate up too much in the way of tax revenues. The only way to make government smaller was by cutting taxes. Starve the beast, and the beast will get smaller. This narrative, which he had been spouting since his college days in the late ’70s (he was a year younger than me) fed directly into Ronald Reagan’s worldview — “Government is not a solution to our problem, government is the problem!” In a number of ways, he was an interesting man, and unlike what some said, was not a radical bomb thrower. The problem was that the world was a lot more complicated than he made it out to be. There is a saying that for every serious problem there is a solution that is quick and simple — and wrong! This was just such a solution.

The panel discussion started with Utley letting Norquist talk for a few minutes about the wonderful things that would happen once we cut taxes and forced the government to live on a reduced diet. He used the ‘starving the beast’ line twice. Then Utley turned to me. “Doctor Buckman, in your book Paying the Bills, you argue that taxes need to be maintained at current levels, or actually be raised, to meet budgetary demands. That’s pretty unusual talk for a Republican, isn’t it?”

“That’s not really what we said in the book. What we said was that the current budget scheme is not working. Revenues don’t match our outlays. We need to do one of two things, either increase revenues, or decrease outlays. If you don’t decrease what we spend, and it is wholly unrealistic to think that Congress or the President plan to do that, then revenues must be raised to a level sufficient to pay for the outlays.”

Norquist immediately piped up. “But that just makes the problem worse. We can’t keep feeding money to Washington in the vague hope that the problem will be fixed. We have to turn off the spigot, and the sooner the better!”

Russert, who was one of NBC’s rising stars, turned to me for a response. “So why won’t reducing revenues, ‘turning off the spigot’ as Mr. Norquist says, work?”

It turned my head to face him. “Because it is simplistic and unrealistic. Imagine the following scene. Tomorrow morning you get called to a meeting with your bosses here at NBC, and they have the following words for you. ‘Tim, you know how the camera adds ten pounds? Well, we saw you on the show yesterday morning and you were looking a little chubby! So we have a solution for you. We are cutting your pay ten percent, and that way you won’t be able to buy as much food, so you’ll eat less!’ Think that will work?”

The reporters on the other side of the table exploded in laughter, although Norquist wasn’t amused. After a moment, Russert said, “Please, God, don’t give them any ideas!” through a huge smile. Then he looked at the camera and said, “Maureen, it’s not true! Don’t divorce me yet!”

I continued, “You can see, though, it won’t work. Your income is now cut by ten percent, but you still have mortgage payments and car payments and saving to put your kids through school, and now you have to pay a divorce lawyer because your wife thinks you’re chubby, too! So, what do you do? Well, if you’re like most of us, you start putting stuff on your credit card.”

Norquist popped up. “No, what will happen is that you’d have to adjust, by lowering your expenses! Outlays will have to be cut to match lower revenues!”

“Never going to happen! What will happen is that you start paying for things with the credit card. Now, for you and me, and presumably Tim over there, sooner or later we are going to max out our credit cards and the credit card company will cut us off and we’ll go bankrupt. The United States is the same way. Right now we are paying with Treasury bills and bonds, borrowing against the full faith and credit of the government, but what happens when budget deficits go from the billions into the trillions? What happens when the rest of the world realizes we can’t pay back the money they have loaned us?”

There was nothing I was mentioning here that was unusual, at least to me. It was the history of political economics circa 2020. By 2010 the Chinese, who were the big buyers of American debt, were running a foreign policy not to our liking and holding us hostage to their plans. By 2020 they were buying American companies for pennies on the dollar, and paying for them with American debt. That’s how GE ended up a Chinese company, and Maggie ended up in Canada.

Norquist kept arguing that this wouldn’t happen, that this would force politicians to reduce costs and eliminate programs. I just countered, saying, “Again, it sounds great, but it won’t happen. Politicians spend money! It’s what they do. Fish swim, birds fly, politicians spend. They can either tax and spend, or borrow and spend, but they all spend. There is no legal or constitutional requirement for them not to spend. The only way to get them to balance the budget is by requiring that every new program must contain the provisions necessary to fund it, in full, from Day One.”

We went around like that for another couple of minutes before Utley brought it to a close. Afterwards I watched the rest of the show from off stage, although Norquist stormed from the studio. Utley, Russert, and No-Name talked about the discussion, and there was considerable amusement at Russert’s expense, with mention of ‘Chubby’s’ new diet plan and how his wife was dumping him.

When the show broke and Utley was left on stage to do the finish, Russert came back and found me watching. He laughed as soon as he saw me. “I’ll never hear the end of this! It’s all your fault!”

I simply had to laugh back. “You’ll just have to start on that diet then. It’s either that or the bosses are going to give you a haircut!”

He laughed some more. “I don’t think Grover likes you all that much.”

I shrugged. “He’s fixated on taxes as the be all and end all of fiscal policy. It’s a simple approach, and that allows him to sell it to people who want a simple approach. It fits in a sound bite. It’s not important if it’s right.”

“So, when are you going to run for office?” he asked, turning reporter on me.

“Never going to happen! I couldn’t afford the pay cut,” I said, laughing.

“Well, it was good to meet you, even if I do have to go home and rescue my marriage now,” he said, sticking out his hand to shake mine.

I laughed and took it, shaking it in response. “Listen, if you’re ever in Baltimore, call me. We’ll get a babysitter and I can bring my wife and you can bring yours, and all of you can yell at me. I’m sure I’m going to hear about this one from Marilyn!”

“I’ll do that.”

I drove home, and Marilyn teased me about getting poor Tim Russert a pay cut and a divorce in just ten minutes. It got me to thinking, though. Tim was going to eventually die at the age of 58 of a massive heart attack caused by a coronary thrombosis. A fat plaque was going to block one of the arteries in his heart and drop him like a stone. What if I could somehow get him taking better care of himself, lose a pound or two? Would that make him live longer? It was working with Marilyn, who was in much better shape now than in our first life. Tim Russert was too good a journalist and too good a man to let die so young.

I knew so much of what was going to happen in the world, the bad things. It was so tempting to get up on my high horse and yell, “The Marine barracks in Lebanon will be bombed!” or “Pan Am Flight 103 is going to be blown up over Lockerbie, Scotland!” and it wouldn’t have meant a damn thing. As soon as somebody asked how I knew that, what was I going to say? “I’m a time traveler from 2022 who has travelled to an alternate space-time reality.” That buys me a one way ticket to a room at Sheppard Pratt. Maybe Mom and I could get a group rate.

We did end up having dinner in Baltimore later that summer, although without our wives. He drove up to see me after an article came out in April in The Economist. I had enough material left over after we wrote Paying the Bills, that I could write a lengthy piece on public unionization. I showed it to Simon and Schuster, and though they turned it down, they passed it along to The Economist, who ran it as a cover piece. This had surprised me, and Eat the Strike! made a stir among the chattering classes in Washington.

My premise had been that while unionization had been an overall plus in the private workforce, as far as the public workforce was concerned it had been a disaster. Politicians had no incentive to control a public union’s demands. In the private sector, if Ford, for example, gave too much pay and benefits to their unions, sooner or later their costs would be too high and they would lose money to their smarter and cheaper brethren at GM and Chrysler. In the public sector there was usually no other alternative (if you let the police go out on strike, who are you going to call when there’s a robbery?) and the politicians who cave in to exorbitant demands, especially in pensions and long term health care, probably won’t be around to clean up the mess anyway.

I ran some of the numbers and showed what would happen in the future, when the baby boomers currently employed began retiring after 2000. By 2010, some cities began mass layoffs of city workers to pay for pensions. This was seen in police and fire departments and teachers. The most pernicious effect was in accelerated pension vesting for hazardous duty. This was the concept where somebody in a dangerous job, a policeman for instance, would get credit for extra years when they retired. If they retired after 20 years, they might get credit for an extra 5 years, and get a pension based on 25 years. Otherwise, they could retire at 15 years and get their full 20 year pension. The theory was that since their jobs were so hazardous and so physically demanding, they were wearing their bodies down by an extra 5 years. What happened was that other unionized groups began demanding similar rights, even though they didn’t have the same excuse. So police secretaries began getting extra credit because their jobs put them in police stations with criminals, even though they were never anywhere near them. The net effect was to massively increase pension and health care liabilities.

After the article came out, I was on both Meet the Press and This Week with David Brinkley again. Marilyn teased me by saying that I should get an apartment in Washington if I was going to spend so much time down there. I teased her right back, saying it would be a great place to stash my mistress, which got her hooting and hollering at me. Later that night I showed her all the sorts of things I had my mistress do for me. I also was featured on the MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour, with me broadcasting from Maryland Public Television in Owings Mills, which I had also done during the hoopla after Paying the Bills came out. Louis Rukeyser had me on twice to do his show Wall $treet Week with Louis Rukeyser, which he ran from there.

Not every article was related to economics or politics. In the fall of ’89 Fortune was back on our doorstep, followed closely by Forbes. Back in 1986, following the publicity surrounding our initial successes with Microsoft, Autodesk, and Adobe, we had managed to snake the Staples deal out from under Mitt Romney and Bain Capital. Now that Staples had gone public, we had made another big killing. Even better, the Bain deal would have been done mostly with invested capital, and not with a whole lot of Bain money; our deal had been predominately our money, with some invested money on the side. Their deal had the lowest risk, but our upside was far higher. The best part, at least for the firm, was that I had very little to do with the deal, being focused at the time on tech deals. This was totally Jake Junior’s and Melissa’s project.

Fortune was the first to piece it all together, tracing it with somebody inside Staples and a rather disgruntled junior VP at Bain who had lost his job when they lost the deal. Our team had kept their mouths shut, unsurprising since we had been the winners. Now that the deal was public and Staples’ stock was blowing through the roof, we could talk. I let Jake and Missy do most of the talking. Fortune was focused on the deal, Forbes was focused on me. Their piece focused on the growth of the Buckman Group and my rise in the standings of the Forbes 400. I found this massively distracting. Let them talk about Jake and Missy; they had earned it. The day of the IPO, I had a tub full of chilled champagne bottles brought to the office (along with limo service home!)

In late October, John invited Marilyn and me to a dinner party at his house. What I found curious, though, was when he mentioned I should wear a suit, which was a bit more formal than usual. “Yeah, okay. Marilyn to wear a dress, too? She can’t wear her bag lady sweat suit then?” I asked.

“I’m going to tell her you said that, and Helen, too, so they can both hit you.”

I laughed. “They probably hit like girls!” That got a laugh out of John.

And so, the third Friday in October, Marilyn and I drove over to the Steiners. When I was a kid, John had lived in Timonium, in a mid-sized Cape Cod style home off Timonium Road. Now, however, after his investment in the Buckman Group had paid off, they had bought a new home out in a development in Hunt Valley. Bigger house and bigger property and very nice. Not quite a McMansion, but close. We got there at seven, which is when he said cocktails would start.

We weren’t the first there. Both of John and Helen’s kids, Allen and Rachel, had left the nest years ago, so I knew it wasn’t their cars in the driveway. We walked up the driveway and rang the bell, and Helen opened the door. She had a cordless telephone to her ear and looked terribly distracted. “Oh, good, you’re here!.. No, some people at the door…” she then said into the phone. I smiled at Marilyn. Helen kept on with her two way conversation until her husband came up to us, and took the phone from her hands.

He spoke into it. “This is wonderful news, Pumpkin! You come home next week and visit, and your mother can plan the rest of your life for you. Bye!” He hit the END button.

Helen gushed, “Rachel just called! She’s engaged!”

“Congratulations! Now we know what you’re going to spend money on next year, John,” I said, grinning.

“Don’t laugh! You have two,” he replied.

I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll just live in sin.”

That earned me an elbow in the ribs from Marilyn. I turned to her, smiling, and found her wagging a finger at me. “My daughters are going to be married in a church!”

“Yes, but are they my daughters? How do I know you didn’t subcontract out the first half of the job? I only know I was there for the second half,” I responded. That earned laughter from the Steiners and spluttering from Marilyn. John led us through the foyer into their living room.

There were five other people in the room, a couple in their late fifties, another couple in their forties, and a young man a few years younger than Marilyn and I. John made the introductions. The older couple were Bob and Millie Destrier, and the younger couple were Rich and Renee Miller. The single guy was Brewster McRiley, otherwise known as ‘Brew.’ I didn’t recognize any of them from anything business related, so I wondered why I was meeting them like this.

John made me a gin and tonic, and Marilyn got a whiskey sour, and we chatted for a bit with the other guests. They seemed to know me, although I didn’t know them. The Destriers were from Frederick, and Bob owned a farm supply operation out there. The Millers and McRiley were from out of town, however, Alexandria, down in Virginia, and I never quite learned where they worked. Bob noticed my cane, which I had left leaning by the archway to the foyer, and asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you hurt your leg?”

“I don’t mind,” I answered. “I used to be a paratrooper, and I made one jump too many. I had a bad landing and had to leave the service.”

“Really? You were in the Army?” asked Rich.

I nodded. “Eighty-Second Airborne. I had a battery of 105s.”

“You were an officer?”

“A captain. Bravo Battery, 1^st of the 319^th.”

“I was Navy,” replied Rich. We talked for a bit about the service. He had seen duty on a destroyer out of Norfolk after college during the Viet Nam era. I mentioned my father’s service during World War II.

There were a number of questions from Rich Miller and Brew McRiley about the two books I had written, along with the article in The Economist. There were also a number of questions about my appearances on the Sunday morning talk shows, and a couple of the speeches I had given over the last two years. After a few minutes, I realized I was being interrogated! It was gentle and polite, but I was answering a whole lot more questions than I was asking.

During a lull, I cornered John over by his bar. “John, who are these guys? What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” he answered. “Refill?”

“Please.” I handed him my glass, and Marilyn slid hers across the bar to him also.

He started making fresh drinks. “They’re just some friends of mine. I’ve known Bob and Rich for years. The young fellow, Brewster, I just met. He was brought by the Millers.”

I sipped my fresh drink. “Yes, but you didn’t really answer my question, did you?” I smiled at him and let it pass.

Over dinner there were a few more questions — political questions! I tried to beg off, saying, “I learned a long time ago not to talk about two things — religion and politics! You get in trouble otherwise.”

“Well, maybe so, but I think we’ve all seen you on television. I loved that debate you had with Ted Kennedy! He looked like he was going to blow a gasket! Who is this young upstart daring to argue with me?” said Bob.

“The argument with Grover was interesting, too. He told me he wasn’t very amused with you. He thought he was the featured speaker, and instead you got the reporters laughing at him,” added Brew.

I looked over at McRiley. “You know Grover Norquist?”

“I’ve known him for a number of years,” he admitted, without explanation.

We continued in this vein through dinner. Over dessert and coffee, Bob Destrier asked, “Have you heard anything about Andy Stewart running again in the Maryland Ninth?”

I shrugged at that. Andy Stewart was the long serving Democratic Representative for the Maryland Ninth District, which covered most of northern Baltimore, Carroll, and Frederick counties. “I am assuming he will be. He hasn’t made any announcements stating that he isn’t. Why, have you heard anything?”

“No. The last I heard he was running again, but he’s probably looking at a primary challenge. He’s vulnerable,” he replied.

“Good. He’s not the world’s greatest Congressman.” In my opinion, actually, he was a self serving dipstick. In this he ranked right up there with most of the rest of Congress. “Who’s going to run against him, Jenkins or Blusinski? Or are we going to have a contested primary?” Tim Jenkins was a contractor in Frederick who had run and lost against Stewart in 1988. Ted Blusinski was a County Commissioner in Carroll County, who had publicly announced his interest in running.

Curiously, the others all looked at each other before answering, so I should have known something was up then. So I’m stupid. Instead, Miller shook his head. “Neither. Tim Jenkins was recently diagnosed with lung cancer. He won’t be running for anything.”

“Damn! He was a nice guy. I met him a few years ago when he hit me up for a donation to the local clinic in Frederick,” I replied.

“Yes, he told me that,” he said.

“What about Blusinski?” Ted wasn’t what I would call a friend, but he was a county commissioner and I knew him. I had met pretty much every local politician, for the simple reason that they all had their hands out. I refused to donate to their election campaigns, but I was known as an easy touch for a local firehouse or clinic or police department benefit.

John answered that one. “Keep it under your hat, but Ted Blusinski is going to be in a different kind of fight next year. A grand jury is sitting in Annapolis and an indictment is pending. It seems his accounting practices were a little lax in regards to a certain set of building permits in Westminster.”

I rolled my eyes at that, especially when Bob added, “Maybe he can get Ted Agnew’s old cell.”

Then I just looked around the room at the others. “So, Tim and Ted are out. What am I doing here? Who are you guys? I know John is with the Republican committee in Baltimore County, but I’ve always thought every man should be allowed one vice.”

That got me a nudge in the side from Marilyn, and Brewster chuckled. John snorted and asked, “So, what’s your vice?”

I grinned and looked at my wife, and then waggled my eyebrows. The rest of the room laughed, even as Marilyn blushed redly. I got another elbow in the ribs at that, making me laugh.

“So, I repeat, who are you guys? Republican organizers? Are you looking for a donation?”

It was Rich who answered. “Well, Bob is the head of the Republican Committee in Frederick County. John you already know, and he’s the head of the Republican Committee in Baltimore County for the Maryland Ninth. I’m with the Republican National Committee out of Washington, as is Brewster here, and I’m involved with recruitment, finding new candidates to run for Congress.”

I nodded in understanding. “And you want me to think up some names of candidates? I guess I can come up with some.”

McRiley laughed, and John slapped his head and muttered. Rich answered, “No! We’re here to recruit you!”

The blood roared in my ears for a second, and then I shook it off. I looked around the room. Marilyn’s face looked stunned, and the others looked expectantly at me for an answer. I shook my head for a second and smiled. “You know, I must be losing my hearing. I thought I just heard you say you wanted me to run for Congress.”

“You heard us right,” agreed Bob.

I laughed loudly at the others. “That is the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard of, and I hear ridiculous ideas on a daily basis! What on God’s green earth would make anybody think I wanted to be a politician!?”

The others started talking all at once. It was Renee Miller who overrode the others and spoke up. She had been quiet up to this point, but she said, “You’re a national figure, whether you realize it or not. Your books, your speeches, your appearances on television — these things have put you in the national spotlight. You have a history of standing for law and order, even at your own risk — yes, we know about your capturing the gang in the Bahamas. Whether you want to be or not, you are now one of the next generation of Republican thinkers. This is your time to do this.”

Rich agreed with her. “This is your time. If not now, when? Are you just going to continue speaking truth to power, or are you going to work for that power, and then grasp it and use it to build a better country.”

I stared at them for a second. “What were you before you got into politics, a used car salesman?”

“Carl, that was out of line!” commented John.

I turned to face him. “John, this is nuts. Stewart won’t even have to run a campaign! All he’ll have to do is print up ten thousand posters with my picture and the words ‘Billionaire Murderer!’ underneath. There is nothing I can do to change that. I would have a better chance of winning with a picture of me in a Nazi uniform at Auschwitz!” I leaned back in my chair. “Now, you tell me, how does anybody campaign for election when they are a billionaire murderer?” I gestured for him to start.

It was the young guy, Brew McRiley, who answered. “I think you’re overstating the situation by a long shot. Break that down into two parts. First, the billionaire label. There isn’t a single Congressman who isn’t already a millionaire or about to become one. The Jeffersonian ideal of the citizen-servant didn’t even exist in Jefferson’s day. Second, you aren’t a murderer. You defended yourself in the sanctity of your own home against a diagnosed psychotic, and validated the Second Amendment while doing so.”

I stared at this kid for a second. He couldn’t even be thirty, was clean-shaven and small and spare, with short trimmed hair. “Ladies, pardon my French, but sonny, just who the fuck are you!?”

He didn’t bat an eye or back down a notch. “I’m the guy who’s going to be your campaign manager.”

“Well, you made a trip for nothing. Why in the world would I want to do something that stupid?”

“Because I’ve listened to you. Because I’ve read your books and articles. Because I was at your speech at the Conservative Union last year. I believe in you, Mister Buckman! Why don’t you!?”

That set me back a peg. Whatever he was, this kid wasn’t an ass-kisser, which was the usual run of the mill political types I ran into. I shook my head in disbelief. “It still doesn’t matter. The Democrats could run Lucifer for election, and the campaign posters will still read ‘Billionaire Murderer!’ Why should I drag my family through a mud pit when the entire idea is hopeless?” I glanced over at Marilyn but she simply had a stunned expression on her face.

Bob Destrier asked, “Do you want Stewart to be in Congress for another two years?”

“No, but…”

“Do you think you could do a better job than he could?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then what is the problem?! What’s the problem, that you’re a billionaire or that you’re a murderer? We know the first part is true. Is the second part true? You were the only one there that day. Was it murder?” he demanded.

I stood up without answering and went over to the bar, and poured myself a shot of whiskey. Everybody was quiet behind me. That awful day in 1983 came welling up inside me. I drank down the shot, and then turned to face them. “Yes, I was the only one there. I shot and killed my kid brother — my kid brother, for God’s sake! — and more than a few would argue that I did just that, murder him. You think those posters are going to be bad? Wait until they trot my mother out to say on camera that I’m a murderer! My own parents disowned me, for God’s sake! You don’t think that’s going to make a wonderful family values campaign ad?”

I went over to the corner I had left my cane in, and took it. I walked back to my wife and held out my hand. “I think we need to go home, honey.”

Marilyn silently stood up and took my hand. I looked at the others. “Folks, I hate to break off like this, but it is time we go. Thank you for an interesting evening.”

John followed us to the door. “We’re going to talk about this on Monday,” he told me.

“Oh, I think I can agree with that,” I said, and not too pleasantly, either.

It was a quiet drive home, and whatever conversation there was was limited to the vague and innocuous. I just couldn’t get the image out of my mind of that day in ’83, with Hamilton bleeding out on the kitchen floor. The bastard still was bugging me, six years after they buried the son of a bitch!

We got home, and I paid the baby-sitter off. She had driven over in her own car, so I didn’t have to drive her home. The girls were already in bed, and Charlie was heading there. I said good night to him, and Marilyn headed off to tuck him in. I sat down in my recliner and just stared at the television, which wasn’t even turned on. Dum-Dum jumped on my lap and lapped my face.

Marilyn came back into the living room and sat down in her recliner, prompting Dum-Dum to switch to her chair. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that, tonight.”

“I can’t believe John set me up like that! Set us up, really. I can’t believe they think I want to run for Congress!” I agreed.

“That’s not what surprised me,” she said. She was scratching Dum-Dum’s head and the little mutt was whining happily at the attention.

“Hmm?”

“No. What surprised me was seeing you run away.”

I turned my head and stared at her. “What?!”

“Oh, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just… listen, if you don’t want to do this, then just say, thank you but no, I don’t want to do it. Don’t try to duck out on it.”

I just shook my head. “Marilyn, you have no idea how ugly this will get. Wait until Stewart goes after you and the kids! Wait until Charlie comes home from school with a black eye when some kid calls his father a murderer. What about the girls? They don’t even know about this yet!”

“I am a grown woman! Don’t try to hide behind me and the children. If you don’t want to do this for your own reasons, fine, but don’t say it’s because of us. I’ll handle it just fine, and it probably won’t be the only black eye Charlie ever gets. He’s too much like you. No, you ask yourself if you think you can do something good. You already know the answer to that! I’ve read your books and heard your speeches, too.”

Marilyn stood up, and Dum-Dum came back over to my lap. My wife bent down and kissed my thin spot on the back of my head. I tried to reach around and swat her, but couldn’t reach. She giggled and said, “It’s late and I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Just remember, I love you, no matter what you decide.”

I sat there after my wife went down the hall to our room. I went out to the kitchen and opened the liquor cabinet, and poured myself a shot of whiskey. I sat down on one of the bar stools at the island while Dum-Dum slept on in my recliner. I just stared at the shot for a bit. Was I running away? Could I bring something to the job? Could I actually do something like this?

Was my wife ashamed of me?

I had nothing to prove and so much to lose. To go through all that it would take to run for Congress and then lose ignominiously would be almost too much to bear. To say I could just go back to my old life at that point was naïve. It would certainly affect the business. At that point I should just move to the Bahamas and start over again.

Was my wife ashamed of me?

Could I do it? It would take a year just to run and find out I had lost, and had lost my reputation in the process. Why would anybody in their right mind actually want to go through this? As the saying goes, the cream rises to the top, and then curdles. Andy Stewart had probably started out an idealistic asshole. Where had he gone wrong? What would this do to me?

Was my wife ashamed of me?

I drank the shot of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slowly went down my throat. I poured a second, and put the bottle away. I drank the second shot, and then put the glass in the kitchen sink. I stood up and turned off all the lights, and then limped down the hall to the bedroom. Marilyn was already asleep. I went to the bathroom and then climbed into bed.

Marilyn seemed normal again the next morning, and I tried to tuck it all away in the back of my mind. We took the kids to soccer, and then drove them to Friendly’s afterwards for ice cream. Dinner was hamburgers, and we simply avoided the topic the rest of the day. It was like Marilyn had forgotten it all, but I hadn’t. “You ran away,” kept echoing in my head.

I watched the Sunday morning news shows until noon, stewing at the nonsense I saw. I knew what needed to be done, and what I could do, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stared at the television, and then grabbed my jacket and the leash, and took Dum-Dum for a walk around the property. I had only one thing to think about.

Was my wife ashamed of me?

When we came back into the house, I turned Dum-Dum loose, and let her chase the twins around the kitchen. I glanced over at where Charlie was watching television, and Marilyn was loading dishes into the dishwasher. I limped over to the telephone, and dialed a number I knew by heart.

John Steiner answered. “Hello?”

“John, it’s Carl. I’ll do it.”

Chapter 96: In the Running

After I hung up the phone, Marilyn looked over at me from the dishwasher. “I thought you told me you didn’t want to run for Congress.”

“I thought you told me you did want me to run for Congress!”

“I never said that! Besides, you never listen to me anyway,” she responded with a smile.

I stared at my wife for a moment, and was interrupted in my reply by the twins racing through. I snagged Holly and asked, “Do you know where Mommy keeps the camera?”

“No.”

“Well I want you and Molly to go look for it. I’m going to strangle Mommy and I want a picture for when I go to jail.”

The two girls squealed and giggled and ran out of the kitchen. Marilyn gave me an amused look and said, “That’s not going to get you the family values vote!”

“You are pushing your luck, lady!”

That got her to laughing at me, and she threw the dish towel at my head. “Dry the dishes and put them away, Congressman!” I made a rat tail out of the towel and flicked it at her rear. “You just lost the women’s vote, too!” she added.

“Yeah? Well, I just picked up the exasperated husbands voting block, so I’m covered.”

Tuesday morning John convened a meeting in my office. When we had talked on Sunday, he had told me not to talk to anybody about this but Marilyn, and that Marilyn wasn’t to tell her friends either. Or family, a pack of lefto pinko Commies if ever there was one! Okay, my words, not his.

Tuesday we had John, Brew McRiley, Bob Destrier, Rich Miller, and Jack Nerstein in my office, and we bolted the doors, closed the drapes, and lowered the Cone of Silence. Jack was the equivalent of John in Carroll County, the head of the Republican Committee for the Maryland Ninth. He had been out of town on Sunday. It was time to talk politics.

It was Jack who started it off. “I heard you turned down the idea on Sunday. What made you change your mind?”

A good question. “I talked it over with Marilyn, my wife, over the weekend. She told me not to worry about her and the kids, but to do it if I thought I could make a difference. I think I can.”

“What kind of difference?” asked McRiley.

I smiled at him. “I thought you wanted me to run?”

“I’m serious. We’ll need something more than just platitudes and feel good stuff to do this. We’ll need to develop what makes you different and what makes you right. Answer the question.”

“You’re a pushy little bastard, aren’t you!? Okay, what do I believe in? My biggest position is going to be the need to balance the budget. Fiscal policy in this country is a disaster. If we can’t draw a distinction between me and Stewart on that, we all need to rethink this!”

“There’s more to it than that. What about on social issues? Where do you stand on gun control? Abortion? Are you pro-life? Defense? What about the Republican platform?” asked Rich.

“If we make this about social issues, we are screwed! Maryland is one of the five or six most liberal states in the nation. If we start harping on Democratic hot buttons, they will bury us,” I replied.

“We’re not that liberal, Carl,” responded John. “Maryland voted for both Reagan and Bush, remember.”

I shrugged. “Maryland voted for Reagan in ’84. In ’80, they voted for Carter. In ’84, Jesus would have lost against Ronald Reagan, and in ’88 my eight year old could have beaten Mike Dukakis. You ain’t making your point, John. We can’t make this about Democratic hot buttons. We will go down in flames!”

We spent some time going over the 1988 Republican platform. Somebody actually had a copy of the platform, so for each item we marked off where I stood. Sometimes it was amusing. McRiley asked, “What about gun control?”

“I’m in favor of gun control. I always hit what I aim at!” I answered. That set the others to laughing, and that was written down as a line to be used. I thought it was a bit glib, especially when the last thing I had hit was my brother.

It was less amusing when they got to abortion. Pro-life or pro-abortion? “I’m pro-choice, guys,” I told them.

That set Destrier and Miller back a peg. It was Destrier who pushed, “That’s definitely not in the platform, Carl.”

I shrugged unrepentantly. “Then it’s not in the platform. You want a pro-life candidate, then fine. You go find one and see how he does. You will piss off three quarters of the woman in the district and half the men, but hey, what do I know? I will say this until I am blue in the face. If you want to win this election, you have to focus on economic issues. If you want to lose, focus on social issues. This is Maryland, not Arkansas.”

“Meaning what?” asked Miller.

“Meaning, this is not the Bible Belt! Now, there are plenty of rural areas in Baltimore, Carroll, and Frederick counties, but this district is becoming more and more suburban. They have pushed out from Baltimore and Washington along 83 and 795 and 70. There’s a whole lot more soccer moms and commuting dads than farmers. You start thumping a Bible and you will be playing to deaf ears! We need to play to what the people want, which is how the Republicans are going to help their pocketbooks and keep them safe, and not tell them how to pray and behave.”

Miller looked like he was about to explode. “This is a Christian nation! Are you even Christian? It certainly doesn’t sound like it!”

That caused the others, the locals and Brew McRiley, to stare at Rich Miller curiously. “Is that what this is about? I need to be vetted by a church before running? Oh, boy, that ain’t going to go too far!” I told him.

Miller calmed down slightly. “No, but we can’t have you making disparaging remarks like that in public.”

Again, I shrugged. “That’s fine, I won’t. What happens when somebody stands up while I’m speaking and wants to know about some social issue? Abortion or religion or evolution or birth control or something? What do you want me to say then?”

“Well, we can simply create ahead of time some neutral sounding quotes that won’t contradict the platform,” he told me.

“Uh, huh.” I glanced at the others. John looked a bit horrified by this all, McRiley was rolling his eyes, and Destrier and Nerstein looked like they wanted to dump Miller in a river somewhere. I got the overall impression they wanted the guy to drop it.

I was right. Nerstein smoothly interjected, “Well, let’s table that for the moment, shall we. We can develop some responses more closely attuned to local needs.” The rest of us just nodded.

We all took a potty break at that point, and when Miller headed out to the bathroom, I leaned over towards Jack Nerstein and asked quietly, “Do you think I should mention my wife is a Democrat and a Catholic to him?”

Jack, who I had met a few times before at fire department fundraisers in Hampstead and Westminster, grinned and shook his head. “No! He’s a hard core evangelical. He’d probably have her tarred and feathered.”

“Great! We’ll just have to get them together!” I replied.

Destrier chimed in at that. “Just keep your mouth shut until we can send this guy home. Let us work with you on the local stuff.”

I nodded in agreement.

When we got started again, the topic was what I had mentioned at the dinner party. No matter what I believed in or didn’t believe in, we had to overcome the issue of the Billionaire Murderer campaign posters. Everybody seemed to feel that the ‘billionaire’ part of the poster was a non-issue. “Stewart’s a millionaire himself,”, commented John, “and he doesn’t even live in the state!”

I looked at him curiously at that. “He doesn’t? Isn’t that, like, a requirement?”

He shrugged. “Eh. Not really, but residency is kind of questionable in a lot of things. He mostly lives in Alexandria, Virginia, and has an apartment in Cockeysville, just inside the limit. He’s never there, but it allows him to claim he lives here. You actually live here, full time, year round!”

“Speaking of money, how much is this going to cost me?” I asked.

That got me a few stares. “Well, under normal circumstances, I would say at least a half mill, but with what Stewart is going to pull, double that. If we don’t raise one million dollars, we won’t have a chance,” answered Brewster.

I shrugged at that. “Okay. I assume we need to set up some kind of a bank account. Can I just start with the half million, or do I need to deposit the entire amount up front?” I asked.

You could have heard a pin drop at that. Miller’s jaw dropped to the floor, and the locals simply stared in disbelief. It was McRiley who answered. “You are going to pay for the campaign?!”

“Uh, yeah, why not? Is that illegal or something?” Maybe this violated some sort of campaign finance rule, but I didn’t think so.

“Oh my God! No, it’s not illegal, it’s just damn near unheard of! You need to collect campaign contributions!” he replied.

“Uh, huh. Let me make sure I have that straight. I am going to spend the next year of my life selling my soul to whoever wants to cough up some cash. Then, after I get elected, I promise to vote their way so they keep coughing up cash. That’s the way it works, right?”

“Well, yeah! Haven’t you heard, the definition of a good politician is one who stays bought!” he replied.

“You’re almost as cynical as I am. I like that,” I told him. “That’s how Stewart made his money, isn’t it? Campaign contributions, and some of it stuck to his fingers, right?”

The others nodded. Destrier commented, “It’s not quite as bald as that, but in effect, yes. He’s a man of the people, don’t you know?”

John added, “It’s illegal now, but at one time, any money you raised above what the campaign cost you could keep as income. That’s really sticking to your fingers!”

Rich Miller brought us back on track. “If you don’t take campaign contributions, but pay for a campaign out of pocket, you’ll be accused of buying the election.”

“Flip that around,” I said. “Instead say that I can’t be bought! What campaign contributor could possibly afford to buy my vote, on anything?”

“Holy Christ!” he muttered to himself. I got the feeling that Mister Miller was starting to wonder at the wisdom of putting me on this path. I wasn’t feeling all that sympathetic to him.

“Let’s table that for the moment. We can figure a way to handle campaign contributions. Maybe we can funnel them directly to the RNC,” added McRiley. The RNC, the Republican National Committee, was always looking for money. They often provided extra funding above and beyond what an individual could raise on his own, and my understanding was that a candidate could divert contributions the other way as well. Some of the big name politicians, the ones who could command top donations, but were assured of re-election, often sent money to the national organization, and in return got lots of political favors they could call on in the future. Miller’s eyes gleamed at the thought of contributions going to the RNC. That would probably earn him some Brownie points, also.

“That would be best,” commented Destrier. “By taking campaign cash, you are promising the contributors that they will have your ear, regardless of whether you agree with them or not. You’re going to need their support.”

Brewster chimed in, “You’re in investments. When they make a contribution, they are buying shares in Carl Buckman, Politician, Inc. They’re going to want you to succeed so that their investment pays off. After you get their money, then you ask them for their time, which is even more important.”

Miller said, “You ever heard the line about grabbing them by their balls and their hearts and minds will follow? That’s for amateurs. Grab them by their wallets and their hearts and minds will follow!”

I nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. I never thought that through. I’ve got a lot to learn, don’t I?”

“You do, so be a quick study,” said John, which got a few chuckles around the room.

McRiley wanted us to get back to the topic of my brother. “Just how bad is the murderer part of the equation going to be?” he asked.

“Bad enough. Are you old enough to remember it? This was six years ago, back in 1983. What grade were you in then?” I asked.

“Droll, very droll,” he responded. “I was in law school at the time, Yale, if you must know.”

“Really? You know what you have when you bury a lawyer in the sand up to his neck?” I asked.

“Yeah — a good start. Are we going to trade lawyer jokes the rest of the day? Trust me, I’ve heard them all!” he riposted, and quickly, too.

“Carl, before you piss off the other five people in the room, all of whom are lawyers by the way, why don’t you go over what happened. Get it out in the open, right here and now. I was there at the time, but they weren’t, and they need to hear it from your side, because you’re right, we will surely hear it from the other side,” said John.

We broke for a bit and I got my assistant to bring in some coffee, and some tea for me. After we were all settled around the table again, I said, “Okay, this is going to take a bit of time, but hear me out. John knows all about this. He’s been my lawyer since I was a kid, and I do mean kid. I’ve known him since I was 13.” I pointed at Brewster. “You don’t know about this, though, right?”

“I’ve read your bio. The best one I found was the one from a few years ago in Fortune magazine. After lunch, we’ll be reviewing that. Once we announce your name, you can guarantee that Stewart’s team will do the same.”

I nodded and turned to the others. “You guys know about this?”

Both Bob and Jack admitted to seeing it in the papers and on the television back when it happened. Miller didn’t know anything more than what was in that magazine bio McRiley was referring to.

“Okay. Well, let me just start out by saying that if you look up dysfunctional in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of my family there,” I started. It took me about fifteen minutes to take the others through my family, specifically related to the fact that my brother was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic and my mother was depressive, which John and I had found out through the security agency we used.

Then I got to Hamilton’s final meltdown. “So, anyway, that’s just the background. After I got out of the Army, I moved back home and John and I, and the others, started the company. That was in ’82. I don’t think my family even knew I was back in town. We met again in the spring of ’83, when my sister invited us to her college graduation. Hamilton freaked out, big time, and he and Mom and Dad got into it. Dad threw the pair of them out, and my mother and Hamilton ended up in an apartment in Towson. Hamilton figured it was all my fault, and decided to go after my wife and son, and Charlie wasn’t even two yet. Over the next few months he began stalking Marilyn, vandalized her car repeatedly, and even tried to firebomb the house.”

“Couldn’t you get the police involved?” asked Miller.

“Oh, they were involved, all right. We got them involved almost immediately. They ended up checking alibis on almost a hundred people, but Hamilton slipped through it all,” said John.

“Right. By then we had a security company bodyguarding Marilyn and our son, and I sent them away. I stayed home, and stayed in the house with my old Army pistol, in the hopes that whoever was doing this would make another run at us, and he did. We had no idea it was going to be my brother, but he broke in one day with a gigantic Bowie knife, and when he found it was me, and not my family, decided to attack me instead. I had to shoot him.”

“Jesus!” whistled Brewster. He looked around the room. The three locals all nodded their remembrance of it. Miller looked a bit horrified. McRiley rubbed his jaw for a moment, and then took over. “Okay, let me ask a few questions. Did you own the gun legally?”

I shrugged. “It was my.45 from when I was in the Army. The cops didn’t bitch about it and the Army never came looking for it,” I answered.

“Hmmm, interesting. Where were you when you shot him?”

“We were in my house. In my kitchen, actually, maybe six or seven feet apart. It was all fully investigated by the cops,” I said.

John interjected, saying, “It was really obvious what had happened, and Carl wasn’t even brought up before a grand jury. It was simply dismissed as self defense.”

McRiley waved this off, and kept asking me questions. “Were you ever arrested and charged with anything, even if the charges were later dropped?”

“Never. I’ve never been arrested for anything. I mean, they handcuffed me and took me to the station, but once there, I was questioned and released and sent home again.” Technically true though I have seen the insides of more than my fair share of police stations. “There was this one time in college when some buddies and I got busted for falling asleep on the beach in Florida. Does that count?”

“You fell asleep on the beach?” asked Brewster incredulously.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug. “You know, a summer road trip? Anyway, we all fell asleep one night on the beach, and a couple of cops rousted us for their nightly quota and threw us in a holding cell for the night. We paid a fine and got the hell out of Dodge. You can’t tell me that disqualifies somebody for Congress. That was in college for Christ’s sake! We were 18!”

“No, but I wouldn’t brag about it, either,” he answered. I just shrugged. I hadn’t thought about it in years.

“I remember it now,” tossed in Destrier. “It made all the papers and the TV stations. Big story at the time, you know, Cain and Abel, that sort of thing, but it all went away years ago. There wasn’t a crime, and not even a scandal, really. Your mom didn’t handle it well, as I recall.”

I shook my head. “She spent a week ranting about me, and then ended up hospitalized. My parents ended up suing each other and me, and it all got tossed out of court. My sister moved out of state to get away from it all.”

McRiley listened a bit more, while Miller looked like he had just swallowed a healthy heaping spoonful of sewage. I was guessing that he had bought the general version of my bio without looking any deeper. Now he was looking at a disaster in the making. It was McRiley who spoke up. “Well, it’s an issue, alright, but not insurmountable. It all depends on how we play it.”

“How we play it?” I asked.

He nodded. “You flip it around. You didn’t kill your brother, you defended your wife and child and upheld the sanctity of the Second Amendment.” Most of the others were slowly nodding their heads. Brewster continued, “Normally I’d say to release this early on, but not this time. Let Stewart release it. The smart trick would be to sit on it until right before the election and then dump it before you can react. This is too juicy. Somebody will dump it early on. That allows us plenty of time to defuse it. What’s your mother going to do about this?”

“Shit. She’ll go nuts again.”

“Bad?”

I stood up and paced around the room. This mercenary little bastard was going to use my whack job mother to deflect the grief from me. ‘No wonder his brother was nuts! Look at his Mom!’ What a clusterfuck! Did I owe them anything, though? They had made this life a living hell for years. “Hell! I don’t know. She might not say anything. The only things she hates worse than me are Catholics and Democrats! That’s why she had me disowned. Marilyn is a Catholic and a Democrat. I might as well have married the bride of Frankenstein as far as my parents are concerned. She’ll freak if she thinks that running me down is helping Andy Stewart.”

“Christ, Carl, I never even thought of that!” admitted John.

“Are you serious?” exclaimed Jack.

John shrugged. “It wasn’t the Cleavers. Carl moved out when he was sixteen, and not a moment too soon, either. Still, being reminded he killed her beloved Hamilton might push her over the edge, and she’ll decide to speak out to the reporters. You know they’re going to track her down, Carl.”

“I’m sure. Based on what happened the last time, if she says anything, she’ll go off the wall and blame me for everything up to and including the fall of western civilization. And then she’ll have another meltdown, quite probably on camera, and get carted off to Sheppard Pratt for another vacation. I just don’t know,” I admitted.

Brew pushed some more. “What about your father?”

“Oh, that’s easy. The first reporter to get in his face is going to get punched in the nose. It happened the last time, too. Probably on camera, too.”

“And your sister?”

I shook my head. “It’s not an issue. She changed her name and moved to Minnesota. She hasn’t been home in years. I’ve tried to throw off anybody curious by saying she was in California.” She was still a nurse at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, and had married a Minnesota State police officer and they had a couple of kids, as well as one of his own from a previous marriage. She didn’t know it, but I had the security company keep track of her and give me an update every few months.

McRiley grimaced. “That was a mistake. Stewart’s people will track her down in about ten minutes.”

I stared at him for a second. “How? I thought that was why you changed your name, to separate yourself from your past?”

The lawyers in the room all rolled their eyes. “Forget it. They’ll track her old credit cards, her nursing license, even her name change paperwork. Wait until they trot her out on camera. What will she say?” said Destrier.

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll have to talk to her. I haven’t talked to her since she left.”

“Is there anything good to all this?” asked Miller, the guy from the RNC.

“Absolutely!” answered Brew. “This plays out on several levels. You have the defending his family part that I mentioned earlier, along with the Second Amendment issues. When his family goes bonkers, we play up his ability to overcome his background, how Carl has risen to each new height. It plays to the need to build a story. Everybody already knows the Andy Stewart story. Now we can play a new one for our guy.”

We broke for lunch at that point, by which I meant that we sent out for sandwiches and stayed in my office. I insisted that we not talk business over lunch. That made for a quick lunch, though, since everybody wanted to start grilling me about my bio. These guys were prepared, too. In addition to the Fortune article, they had a copy of the bio we had originally prepared for the SEC and a copy of my Army service record. I was also told to sign a few releases, in order to obtain copies of my school and college transcripts.

There is no goodness to be found in any modern candidate for office, only varying degrees of badness. Jesus Christ could not be found good enough. (’Whipping the moneylenders from then Temple? That’s civil disobedience! You’re increasing regulation on small businessmen! You know, the job creators!’)

We started right at the beginning. “Tell us about this fight you had when you were thirteen,” demanded Miller. I shrugged and explained what had happened. Everybody but John had questions. What happened to the three boys? What are their names? Where are they now? Have you heard from them again? What other fights did I get into? With who? What happened to them afterwards? Were there any witnesses? (No idea. I don’t remember. No clue. Not since that day — it was twenty years ago!..)

We got into some incredibly personal details that afternoon. Do you do drugs? Have you done drugs? What types? When? Why did you stop? Have you ever hired a prostitute? Have you ever had a homosexual experience? Are you cheating on your wife? Have you ever had an affair? Has your wife ever had an affair? Do you have any movies or pictures of you or your wife naked?

Miller got into religion again. Where did I go to church? Nowhere. Marilyn and the kids were Catholic, and I was Lutheran. I would take them to Mass a few times a year, but I wouldn’t join a separate church. He grimaced at that, but a few looks from the others kept him under control.

Nobody seemed happy that I had joined a fraternity in college. All fraternities are sources of drunkenness and moral depravity. (’Hey guys, that was why I joined!’ — I was admonished that I wasn’t being helpful.) When they got my transcripts they would be examined. My military service record was ripped apart. I refused to explain what happened on the final mission in Nicaragua, and simply cited national security and the top secret classification. Still, I had to come up with the names of any commanding officers I could remember. When we got to my time with the Buckman Group, my tax records were demanded. I had known that would happen, but I balked at releasing the corporate records.

Marilyn’s family was probed, too. I had to provide names and addresses for their home and business. Had any of them been to jail? (Not a problem — Harriet would kill them when they got out!) I didn’t have addresses for the brothers, but private investigators would find them and check on them.

I didn’t remember huge numbers of answers. Some of the questions related to events from my teens. Not to worry, they would have private investigators pick through my life.

Through all of this, I was repeatedly informed that if I thought this was bad, wait until Andy Stewart started doing it. Forget about privacy. Sealed records would be unsealed, personal records would be opened, my garbage would be examined, my phone records would be pulled, my credit cards would be fair game, my driving and police records would be looked into and published. If I had a speeding ticket, it would be front page news. Forget about any promises of privacy, they were meaningless. Any government records might as well be sent directly to Stewart headquarters.

Of course we would return the favor, but Andy had been in the business for a long time. He knew how to hide things he wanted hidden.

Is it any wonder nobody wants to run for office?

We worked until dinner and beyond, and I was told this was just the start. Nobody had found anything that seemed to invalidate me as a candidate. That obviously meant they had to search some more. However, it would be a few more days before they could ask me some more questions, and I was to use that time to get in touch with my sister.

Everybody but John left, and he stayed behind in my office. “Welcome to public life,” he said to me. “Do you really want to do this, Carl? You were right the other day. This will get ugly at some point. Andy Stewart is not going to go gently into that good night. It will be more like being dragged kicking and screaming through a septic system. He will play dirty.”

I dug out the whiskey and poured us a couple of glasses. I slid one across the coffee table to him and then sat down and sipped my own. “John, I have been dancing around my family for over twenty years now. At what point am I allowed to live my life without giving two shits about them? They disowned me for Christ’s sake! I have spent most of my life trying to make my family proud of me. Everything I’ve ever done — valedictorian, getting a doctorate, the military, the medal, starting a company — none of it was ever good enough! Screw it; I’m going to do this for me!”

He just hung his head and shook it. “I’m sorry about this, Carl. I never understood them. How did it ever come to this? I just don’t know them anymore.” It was his turn to drink.

“They did it to themselves, John. I am washing my hands of them.”

“I’m sorry, Carl.”

I met McRiley in my office the next day, to go over some of the legal and paperwork aspects of my running for Congress. My first question was whether this meant that the others had approved my running for Congress. He waved this off as a given. In some ways, my ability to pay for the campaign on my own meant that I actually had a chance. It wasn’t going to be cheap, and Republicans had never been able to raise much money in the district.

I asked him if he had ever done this before, because he sure seemed damn young to me. It turned out this was his second Congressional campaign, but the first he had been an assistant on, last year down in the Maryland Eighth, Connie Morella’s seat. “So, now you’re shooting to do this on your own?”

“Something like that.”

“Listen, nothing personal, but do I have to use you? Don’t get me wrong, but are there rules on these things? Am I required to use the campaign manager assigned to me?” I asked.

He snorted at that. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the corner of my desk. “No, you can use whoever you want for that. And just to be clear on this, I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, either. I will be a paid employee of the campaign.” He named a figure which made my eyes water, but on reflection, I realized it was not unreasonable for an essentially mercenary figure whose job could disappear at any time.

“I’m curious. How does somebody go about becoming a campaign manager? I’ve never met one before.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been interested in politics and the law. I was in the Young Republicans Club at Harvard, where I did my pre-law. I’m actually from Hagerstown, if you can believe it. I studied political science at Harvard. Then I went to Yale, and was active in Republican politics again. At that level it’s all unpaid volunteer work. When I graduated I clerked for a judge in Towson, and got involved with the local party groups, again, unpaid. Two years ago I managed to work my way up to assistant manager, and that I got paid for. When Miller started looking around, he asked me to look into you and I tagged along. So far I’m doing this on my own dime, but that is going to have to change at some point.”

He outlined the plan he had come up with. The filing deadline was in January, and we wouldn’t file until that time. The primary would be in April. Nobody else was planning on running, at least as far as anybody knew, although it was theoretically possible somebody else could decide to run. Certainly there had been nobody nosing around any of the party big wigs. The issues with both Tim Jenkins and Ted Blusinski happened too late in the game for anybody else to start thinking about them. Their problems weren’t even widely known yet.

Another paid position was going to be the campaign finance manager, an accountant who would oversee all expenses and contributions. Again, it’s a bit of a specialized field, and a good one wouldn’t be cheap, but could be paid out of the campaign budget. We would also have a variety of lawyer types as counsels, also paid professionals. Then there was the matter of finding a campaign headquarters. The perfect spot might be an unused section of a strip mall on a short term lease. I gave him Andrea’s phone number, since she would be the best to handle that.

Finally, he asked, “So, are we doing this or not? And if yes, am I your guy or not?”

“God save me, but yes, and yes.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a week’s time with a finance manager. I want you to get a haircut and shave your beard and mustache off by then.”

“You want me to shave?” I asked, confused.

“You look like a pirate. Nobody elects pirates,” said Brew.

“Yeah? Checked out the Senate lately?” Actually, life would be a lot more interesting if we did elect pirates, but I suppose that wasn’t going to happen.

“Do you go anywhere for Christmas?”

“Yeah, we have a vacation home in the Bahamas.”

“Well, take your vacation over Christmas, because after that you won’t get one until after November 6,” he ordered.

“You know, the last time I took orders like this I was in the Army,” I said, smiling.

“You think it’s bad now, wait until after we are officially running. Have a check ready next week for a hundred grand, and we’ll start setting up everything officially. We’ll set up a campaign account, and start preparing the paperwork.” He stood up. “We’re going to win this! You won’t be sorry.”

I smiled at him. “I think I already am.”

Chapter 97: The Rottingens

I made a few phone calls that afternoon to the security company we used. I needed an updated profile on Suzie’s situation. Brewster and John had spooked me about the possibility of Suzie being used against me. I also told Marilyn I was going to travel out to Rochester to see her and talk. Marilyn asked if she should go as well, and I simply said that it was better if I made the first visit alone. I didn’t want to overwhelm her. I just didn’t know enough.

The report came back, pretty much the way it had before. Now, after talking to the various lawyers, I realized just how much was available without any kind of effort. It had her address and unlisted phone number, valuations of her home from county tax records, and her salary at the Mayo Clinic. It also had the same information on her husband, a State Police officer, including his work history and a summary of his first marriage and subsequent divorce. It had the names and ages of their children, as well as the schools they went to.

Their work schedules were listed as well, and they were pretty normal day shifts. I packed my bags and ordered a plane gassed up for a flight to Rochester on Friday. Knowing my luck, they would be spending a long weekend camping or something, but I had to take a chance. I needed to do this in person, and not on the phone. On the phone, Suzie could duck me if she wanted to. Before I left the house that morning, Marilyn stopped me and said, “Give your sister my love. Tell her we’d like to see her for a visit.”

I nodded. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

I was booked into the Kahler in downtown Rochester, right next door to the Mayo Clinic. I was tempted for a second to make my visit there, but that would probably just cause problems. No, it was best to do this at her home. I had a secure driver and a small limousine at my service, so after checking in and unpacking, I had a late lunch or early supper, and then we drove out to her home. I was glad I had worn my heavy lined trench coat and gloves! It was cold in Minnesota in the winter! Once again I was reminded of the wisdom in moving back to Maryland and not New York. This place was even colder than upstate New York! Why the hell anybody actually wants to live in the snow is beyond me.

My driver drove us out into the suburbs and eventually turned into a rabbit’s warren of streets. A few minutes later he pulled up to a mid-sized colonial and stopped. Lights were on inside, and I could see a few shadows through the curtains. “We’re here, sir,” commented my driver.

I glanced at the number on the side of the house and it matched the address on the dossier. I tucked that inside my coat and pulled on my gloves. “Thank you. I don’t know how long I’ll be. It could be quite a while.”

“Yes, sir, understood. Do you think there’s any kind of security risk, above the usual, I mean?”

I almost laughed at that. “Probably not. The lady inside is my sister. You have family?”

He did laugh at that. “Yes, sir. That’s the most dangerous type of situation.”

“Very true. Well, if I think I’m going to be awhile, I’ll come out and let you know.” I let myself out of the car and walked up to the front door. “Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself.

I pressed a button on the side of the door and I could hear a bell ring on the inside. I heard the scamper of very small feet rushing and then a little face peered out of a sidelight at me. “Somebody’s at the door!” cried out loudly.

In response, a much deeper and louder voice said, “Out of the way, I’ll open the door.” The little feet went scampering off again, and a few seconds later the door opened. It was a stocky guy, but shorter than me, with a shaved head and no neck, who looked like a serious weightlifter. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello. Sergeant Rottingen?”

“Yes.”

“Could I see Mrs. Rottingen, please?”

He eyed me curiously, but then half turned down the hallway. I could see the little face who had peeked at me through the window looking around the corner at me. I just smiled at him and he ducked back out of sight. I smiled at that. Bullet-Head called out, “Suzanna!?”

I heard a familiar voice yell back, “Who is it?”

“Somebody for you.”

“Hold on.”

I heard a clatter coming from the rear of the home, and then a woman with short blonde hair was backing down the hallway towards us, scolding a child mildly and drying a sippee cup with a dish towel at the same time. After a moment she turned and looked at her husband, and then, getting closer, turned to face me.

“Long time, no see, Suzie,” I said.

Well, damned if she didn’t drop the cup and drop dead in a faint! Bullet-Head grabbed her from behind and picked her up easily.

I looked at him and said, “I guess I should have called ahead of time.”

He gave me a hard look, and then said, “You must be Carl Buckman.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, come on in. I’ve been wondering when we’d be meeting you. Come on in.” He stepped back and I let myself in, closing the doors behind us. He led the way into a front living room, where I found myself being stared at by three boys, the oldest of whom was demanding to know what was going on. Their father ordered them out of the room and laid Suzie down on the couch. He gently tapped her on the cheek a few times until she stirred awake.

She looked around in confusion, and then saw me standing there a few feet away. At that she turned white as a ghost. Her mouth began moving but no coherent words were coming out. “Suzie, why don’t you give me a chance to talk to your husband?” I asked.

Her husband nodded and pulled her upright. “Go upstairs and freshen up. I want to talk to your brother for a bit,” he told her.

She looked at him wildly. “You know?!”

“I’ve known for years, Suzanna. Just give us a few minutes.”

My sister looked at us both wildly, and then left. Her husband pointed at an armchair and ordered, “Sit.” Then he sat down in a matching chair a few feet away.

I sat down and said, “Thank you. You know who I am?”

He shrugged. “The only people who could have caused that reaction in Suzanna would have been her family, and you’re not old enough to be her father, so you have to be her brother. You’re Carl Buckman, right?”

I nodded and repeated, “That’s me. Suzie doesn’t know that you know?”

“Suzie… I’ve always known her as Suzanna. Strange, isn’t it?” I just made a wry smile and shrugged. “My name is John, by the way. I met Suzanna shortly after she moved to Rochester and started at the Mayo Clinic, and we hit it off almost immediately. At the time, she told me she was an only child, and her parents back home had been killed in a car crash. Anyway, we kept seeing each other and it was getting a lot more serious, and I wanted to know more about her, but it was like nothing had happened before she showed up in Rochester. I’d been a cop long enough to know something wasn’t right.”

I nodded, and he continued. “So, anyway, before I asked her to marry me, I had a detective buddy of mine run a background check on her. I mean, was I about to marry a mob hit-woman or something? A day later he told me her parents weren’t dead, but she had changed her name and left home after one brother killed the other brother. That got us both to wondering and we checked it out with the local cops.”

“And you never said anything to her?”

It was his turn to look embarrassed. “And let her know I had been investigating her? Whatever the problem was, it didn’t involve her, so I let it slide. We got married in the winter of ’84.”

I smiled at that. “And now we both have to let her know her secret is out. Don’t be too hard on her. It’s not her fault that her family was a disaster. She was the only normal one in the bunch! She was just trying to escape.”

At that point the three boys came around the corner and looked in. The oldest one, who looked to be about ten or eleven, said, “Dad, is Mom all right?”

John’s face softened and he said, “Your mom isn’t feeling good right now, and she’s lying down. She’ll be fine. Now, you guys scoot. I need to talk to Mister Buckman, here.”

The two older boys looked at me curiously. The baby, a two year old, toddled off to his father. John picked him up and said, “Whooh! Somebody stinks! Jack! Get back here!”

The oldest boy came in and looked at his father with horror. “No! Dad! No!”

“You just got promoted! I don’t want to hear it!” There was another pro forma protest and a final order of “GO!”

We looked at each other again. “He’s my boy from my first marriage. Suzanna’s more his mother than his real mom. I have full custody, and Suzanna’s offered to adopt him, but his mother won’t hear of it.”

“I bet Suzie gets the evil stepmother jokes, though.”

That earned a big grin. “More than you can believe! Anyway, tell me more about her family.”

We talked for another fifteen minutes or so, until Suzie came back down the stairs. She was still white faced, but was now clutching a small box of some sort. She looked terrified, but came into the living room, followed closely by the toddler, who ran up to her and wrapped his arms around her knees. The older two boys came around the corner and stared. Jack, the oldest, said, “Mom, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” He gave me a dirty look.

“Nothing’s wrong. I… nothing’s wrong.”

“Who is this guy? Did he say something to you?!”

“Jack! You don’t talk like that to grownups!” said his father.

Suzie reached over and pulled her stepson to her side and hugged him. “It’s all right. He just surprised me. This is your Uncle Carl.”

That earned me a very confused look. “I don’t have an Uncle Carl.”

“This is my brother, Carl, so that makes him your uncle.”

“You told us you didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, but… someday you’ll understand. Jack, this is your Uncle Carl.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack. You’re named after your father?”

That earned me a surly, “Yes sir,” but nobody minded. I was also introduced to Alex, the four year old, and Harry, the toddler. I already had their names from the dossier, but there was no sense in introducing that element yet.

Suzie shooed the boys out of the room, so it was just us three adults. She turned to face her husband. “You knew?”

“I’ve known since before we got married.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

He shrugged. “Tell you what? That I knew you were lying to me? That I didn’t trust you and had you investigated? None of it seemed that important, so I let you continue on. You can tell me at your own speed.”

“Even after your last wife, you married me?” Suzie was crying now, quietly. I got the impression that John Rottingen’s first marriage had not been a joyful union.

“I guess I’m attracted to screwed up ladies,” he joked. Suzie groaned at that, and kept crying. He handed her a tissue.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then looked over at me. “Carl, why are you here? How long have you known about me here?”

“I’ve known about you being here since you moved. My security company has an investigation arm. I had them trace you and keep an eye on you.”

The Minnesota State Trooper eyed me coldly at that. “You’ve had us under surveillance?”

I raised a hand pleadingly. “Absolutely not! I’ve simply had them give me a periodic update as to phone numbers and addresses, that sort of thing. About like what your detective friend and you did to track down Suzie’s background,” I pointed out.

I turned back to my sister. “Suzie, I don’t claim to understand why you think you had to run away like that, but both Marilyn and I honored your wishes. Now, though, I have to talk to you. Things are changing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that your little secret is about to come out. As a businessman, nobody cares about who my sister is. As a politician, they care. I’m going to be running for Congress next year, and people will be looking into my background. You need to know before reporters start camping out on your front lawn and asking your kids a bunch of questions,” I told them.

Both their eyes opened wide. “Oh, Christ! You’re serious, aren’t you?” asked John.

“Very. The experts back home all seem to think my opponent will stop at nothing to discredit me. My killing Hamilton will just be the start. They think he’ll go after Mom and Dad, too. I used to tell people you had moved to California, but I stopped when my lawyers said that would turn back and haunt me. He’ll come after you, too.”

Suzie rolled her eyes. “What does he want me to say, that you should have let Hamilton kill all of you?”

“He doesn’t care what you say. You left, so there has to be a big bad secret involved. Throw enough mud at me, maybe a voter thinks I’m dirty.”

“Nobody’s camping on my front yard!” avowed her husband. “I don’t know about Maryland, but you start harassing a trooper’s wife in Minnesota and you’ll find out about the limits of freedom of the press real damn fast!”

I shrugged and nodded. “Fine by me. They were a pain in my tail back the first time around on this.”

There was a bit of commotion in the family room and Suzie got up to sort it out. She came back in a moment later. “Little ones need to go to bed. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be down again.” She left at that.

I turned to John. “Is there a place I can stash my driver? He’s out in the car.”

“You have a driver?”

“Slash bodyguard. I usually have security when traveling. Uh, he’s armed, if that’s a problem.”

My brother-in-law muttered under his breath. “He’d better be licensed. I’ve had more than enough fun and games tonight.”

I went out and brought in the security driver and we stashed him in the family room with a cup of coffee. I went back to the living room and talked to John some more. Suzie came back after a bit and sat down with us. She was quiet, and then picked up the box she had brought down earlier. She called out, “Jack! Come on in here!”

He came zooming back in. “Yeah?”

“Come on over here. I want to show you some pictures. I’ve had these saved away, but I won’t lie anymore. These are from when I was younger.” She opened the box and started going through them with her stepson and husband, who then passed them over to me.

It was a wrenching look into the past. Not everything was bad, not by a long shot! Especially when we were little, and before Hamilton and I hit our teens, there were a lot of smiles on our faces. Young Jack was absolutely awestruck when he saw the photos I had taken of Suzie when I gave her that tandem skydive in Fayetteville, which made me laugh all over again. There were some shots of her at college, and on the occasional trip out to see us. Then they all stopped suddenly. She collected the pictures and put them away.

“Why did you change your name?” he asked.

She sighed. “I wonder that myself at times. I had to move away. It was just too crazy at home. Maybe someday you’ll understand better.”

He turned to me and said, “It was your fault, wasn’t it?”

Suzie gasped and John looked angry. I just answered, “Yes, it was.” I held a hand up to forestall the others. “This is going to be hard to understand, but as you get older, it will make more sense. My brother had a disease, a mental disease…”

“You mean he was crazy!”

“Yes, that’s the easy explanation.”

“Like on TV, right? Brothers are always crazy on TV!”

I snorted a laugh at that. “Wait a few years, and I’ll tell your brothers you said that.” That earned me a big grin. “Anyway, my brother was very sick, and one day he came to my house and tried to kill my wife and my baby. I mean, could you imagine somebody trying to come into your house and trying to kill your mom and your brothers?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Whoa! For real?”

“For real. They weren’t home, though, but I was, and then he tried to kill me. I had to stop him.”

That got us another, “Whoa!”

“Jack, I think it’s time for you to go to bed. We’ll talk some more tomorrow, okay?” said Suzie.

He looked at me. “So, it’s your fault, but it’s not? That’s what you meant?”

“You’re a smart guy, Jack. We’ll talk again,” I told him.

The boy headed out of the room. His father looked after him, and then glanced at Suzie and me, and then followed his son up the stairs. “Why did you leave?” I asked my sister.

“I had to get away from Mom and Dad. You know that. They were as crazy as Hamilton and you were involved and I had lawyers chasing me about it, making me pick sides. It was easier to just move away and start over again.”

I nodded. “I know that, but why change your name and never call? It wasn’t any easier for us than it was for you.”

“Carl, you were always the strong one in the family! You made me strong, not the other way around! I had to leave!” she cried.

“You couldn’t even send a letter? Not even to your godson?”

At that she broke down and began crying. I sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulder, and she began crying into my shoulder. That’s how her husband found us a few minutes later. She looked up as he entered and went to him and began crying onto him. I looked at him and just shrugged my shoulders. Now what?

She sniffled to a stop and said, more to him than to me, “I got all caught up in the lies. Once I changed my name it was easy to pretend I had a new life. Each lie led to another, and then another, and there was no going back, and I was ashamed to admit it. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” She started crying again.

John Rottingen nodded towards the door, so it was time to take my leave. “Can I visit again, tomorrow, before I go home?”

Suzie silently nodded. “Come over after lunch tomorrow,” said her husband.

I nodded and collected my driver, and we headed out. It was too late to call my wife, so I simply went to bed. I slept late, and then called Marilyn mid-morning.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Okay, I guess. She fainted dead away when she saw me at the door, but her husband already knew she had been lying about her background, and he married her anyway. I guess that’s a good thing,” I replied.

“It means he loves her, you nincompoop!”

I chuckled at that. “I guess it does. I’m to go back after lunch.” I told her more about the conversation last night, and Marilyn reiterated that I was to invite her and her entire family for a visit, as soon as possible. I promised I would do so, and gave her my love, and then we hung up. I cleaned up and dressed, and then headed downstairs. I was able to get in a workout in their Nautilus room, and then went back upstairs, showered and shaved, and dressed. I called my driver and told him I planned to have lunch and wanted to be picked up at 1:00 at the front entrance.

By half past I was back at the Rottingen’s. Suzie was looking a lot calmer, although I don’t think she had slept much. She told me, in fact, that she and her husband had stayed up half the night talking.

The years had been relatively kind to my sister. She was still blonde, but it looked like some of the highlights came from a hairdresser. She had put on about twenty pounds, but it was fairly evenly distributed. Her face was a little puffy, but that could have been because she had been crying so much in the last day or so.

Today I was invited into the family room. Suzie showed me around the first floor of the house. I could tell she was proud of her life and her family. John warmed up to me a bit more, especially after I asked how he and Suzie had met. “I got sideswiped in my cruiser and broke my arm, and ended up on her floor over night. She was my nurse.”

I smiled. “That sounds like a really cheesy made-for-TV movie,” I told him.

“Pretty much!” he admitted. “I asked her out on a date, and she said yes.”

“That was in 1983?”

“March 1984. We got married in December.”

“And a baby the next fall?” I commented, looking over at Alex. “Fast work!”

He nodded and smiled at her. “It was worth it.”

Suzie blushed deeply. She turned to me and said, “I can’t believe I haven’t asked about your family yet. How are Marilyn and Charlie? Did you have any more children?”

“Marilyn’s fine. She keeps getting prettier every year. Charlie’s eight now. He races motorcycles, if you can believe that!”

“Oh my God! You let him?!” she gasped.

I laughed at that. “Remember my friend Tusker, the biker? He owns a couple of cycle shops now, and his son races them, too. They got Charlie into it. In 1984 we had twin girls, Holly and Molly…” I pulled my wallet out and passed over a few photos.

“Twin girls! Oh, I’d die to have a little girl!” she exclaimed.

“Fine, come on over and I’ll sign the paperwork,” I responded.

“Forget it!” said John. “One would be bad enough, but no way do I want two!”

“There’s always the old fashioned way,” teased his wife.

“Three kids is about three too many!” he replied.

At that moment Alex commented loudly that Harry was stinky, which made all of us laugh. Suzie took care of that problem, and then came back over. “How are Mom and Dad? Do you see them anymore?”

I shook my head. “No reason to. Were you aware that they disowned me after the wedding? I haven’t heard from either since the craziness after I shot Hamilton. Mom tried to sue me, but I think you know that.”

“I didn’t know they disowned you. I guess that’s why you didn’t get a wedding present,” she replied. Suzie had to explain all of this to her husband, who simply stared in horror.

I got us off the topic, saying, “Marilyn has ordered that you come and visit us, all of you. I was thinking maybe you could come see us for the holidays. You’ll need to come to sign the papers, anyway.”

“What papers?” she asked.

I gave a wry smile. “Way back when, before everything went to hell in a handbasket, I put some shares in the Buckman Group away for you. I always figured I’d give them to you as a wedding present, but you took off before I could give them to you.”

“Shares? I own a piece of your company?” she asked, confused.

“Well, at the time it was $50,000 worth. I don’t remember how many shares that actually worked out to at the time. Since then, it’s grown quite a bit more valuable,” I said, smiling. I should have brought out a financial statement for her. “I’ll have to send you a statement. You have to sign some paperwork before you can cash them or whatever.”

“How much are they worth now?” she asked.

I looked at the three boys. No need for them to hear the surprisingly large number. “Let’s just say that you won’t need to scrimp and save for college funds and mortgage payments.”

Suzie slowly turned to stare at her husband. “Oh my God!” Her jaw was open and she was gaping like a fish.

He stared back at her, and then turned to me. “These are what, shares in your company?”

I nodded. “When you were investigating Suzie’s past, my name must have come up.”

“Yeah, as an investor or something. What are you, a millionaire or something?”

I pointed a finger towards the ceiling. “Billionaire, actually. About one point five, specifically.”

It was his turn to gape. “So, the bodyguard business…”

“There’s a reason for it. Back home, Marilyn and the kids are usually tailed by security. When I travel, I take protection. I usually am safe enough at home on my own, though. That’s what I meant by offering security last night. I can offer security if you think it’s needed when reporters start coming around,” I replied.

He shook his head. “I’ll just have my friends shoot them.”

“Sounds good to me.” I thought about my schedule for a bit. “Listen, the best time to come would be over the holidays. Why don’t you come down to the Bahamas with us?”

“The Bahamas?!”

I nodded. “We bought a place down there several years ago. Hey, it won’t cost you a thing. I’ll send a plane for you. We’re bringing Marilyn’s folks down for a few days, too, to break the news to them. They’re Democrats, so they just might disown their daughter.”

Suzie gave me a sharp look. “That’s not funny, Carl!”

I shrugged. “Maybe not.” I looked around at their children and their house, and then turned back. “Listen, I should get out of here, give you guys some time to talk.” I pulled out a business card and wrote our home phone number on the back. “That will get you to me at the office, or Marilyn at the house. We’re in the same house as before, but we added a pool way back when. Call Marilyn. She’s dying to hear from you. I’ll let you know when I file for Congressman. Make sure you let me know if any reporters come around.”

I stood and took my leave, collected my driver, and left. I made it back to Westminster by early evening.

Chapter 98: The Powers That Be

The next day, I shaved off my beard and mustache and went to my regular stylist at the mall for a haircut before I went to work. Everybody stared, and I called the brain trust into the office. “What’s with the beard and mustache? You look like you’re going back in the army!” commented Jake Junior.

“That’s why I called you all in here. Have a seat.” We all sat down around the coffee table. “Okay, I have something to tell you all. John already knows this, but now you have to hear about it.”

“You’re not sick, are you?” asked Missy, a concerned look on her face.

John snorted out a laugh at that and I gave him a dirty look. “Only sick in the head. I am filing next month to run for Congress in the Maryland Ninth District as the Republican candidate.”

“Holy Christ!” she exclaimed. Jake Junior’s reaction was pretty much the same.

Only Jake’s father’s face didn’t have a strange look on it. “I can’t say I’m surprised. What with your books and speeches, and the appearances on TV, I figured it was just a matter of time before somebody asked you to run. Was it John here?”

I nodded. “Yeah, we’ve been planning this for a few weeks. I got drafted by the various county committees and the RNC in Washington.”

He just nodded in understanding.

Jake Junior and Missy looked at each other. It was he who spoke up next, and I knew before he opened his mouth what the question would be. “So, what happens to the Buckman Group?”

I nodded. This was a pretty big deal, and no matter what happened, there would be some changes. “Okay, very good question. First things first. The election isn’t until November 6, so we have damn near a year to worry about this. While I’m running, I will still be in charge, but pretty much like now. In other words, you guys are doing the work and I am reaping the benefits.” Normally that line would get a chuckle from the others, but not today. Too serious, I guess.

I shrugged. “Okay, not so funny. Listen, there are two possible outcomes. First and foremost, I am running as a Republican in a liberal Democratic district in a liberal Democratic state. More likely than not, I am going to go down in flames that will make the Hindenburg look like a birthday candle. On November 7^th I may have to hightail it out of town to escape the laughter!”

Jake Senior looked thoughtful and nodded at that. “Maybe, maybe not. You’re not all that conservative, and you’re probably smarter than Andy Stewart. You have a chance.”

“Okay, so outcome number two — I win. Then we have to make some changes. I can’t run this place and be a Congressman at the same time. That doesn’t mean we shut this place down. This place is too good to break up. No, I resign, but I keep my shares, and the rest of you keep running it. We are not going to shut down this place! We have all worked too hard to do that.”

There was a brief sigh of relief around the room, and some nods. I turned to Missy, a potential wild card. “What are your feelings about this? I know you’re a Democrat.” Then I looked at the two Jakes. “What about you guys?”

Jake Senior admitted he was a Democrat and Junior replied he was a Republican. Senior’s response was, “You can’t be any worse than some of the idiots in there now. Hell, I’ll vote for you.”

Missy smiled. “I’m a little more dedicated than that, but I won’t be leading any protest rallies outside your door. You’d better be nice, though. I know where we keep the stash of silly photographs!”

That got some laughter, and then we turned to business. We had to craft a response to media inquiries, and Jake Junior was designated the responsible ‘talking head.’ We needed a statement that would both reassure our investors and our clients, and demonstrate corporate neutrality. Then we worked on my responsibilities. Missy pointed out that since I was a director at Microsoft, Dell, and Adobe (I had given up the one at Autodesk) I had a fiduciary responsibility to inform them, and possibly resign my directorships. I knew I would be making some phone calls that afternoon. I wondered what Bill at Microsoft would think of this.

I got a call from Rich Miller to be available Tuesday afternoon of the following week to be in Washington. The reason — meet the powers that be! I had a command performance in front of the Minority Leader and Minority Whip. That would be Bob Michel and Newt Gingrich. In one sense I was expecting to meet them ahead of time, but in another, I was a touch surprised. There were 435 Congressional seats in the House, the majority of which were Democratically controlled. Would they be meeting all of the contenders one on one? That would be well over 200 meetings. Maybe they would split them up? Or maybe this was so important they would take the time? I just didn’t know.

I quizzed Brewster on this and he said it was important that I attend. He didn’t need to be there, but Miller would be, to sponsor me, so to speak. I could assume that they would have some sort of background on me, whether provided by Miller or somebody connected with the Maryland Ninth. Michel I knew very little about; he was on the way out, so to speak. He would be retiring in a few years. Newt I knew quite a bit about! He was brand new to the Whip position, getting it when Dick Cheney was selected by Bush 41 as his Secretary of Defense. Over the next decade he would rise to become one of the most powerful men in Washington, and then self-destruct and be cast out.

I drove down Tuesday morning and Rich and I went to lunch. Our appointment was at 2:15. I asked, “So, am I meeting with both Michel and Gingrich? Together? One and then the other? Is it a group thing?”

Rich shook his head. “Actually it will just be Newt. I found out this morning that Bob had to fly back to Chicago for a funeral.”

“As long as it wasn’t his own,” I quipped, which earned me a smile. “What’s Gingrich like?”

That got me a little shrug. “Smart, very smart, that’s for sure. He can turn on the folksy country charm when he needs to, but don’t let the down-home West Georgia good old boy routine fool you. He has a doctorate in history and taught college before running for office. You two will get along on that score. You’ve got the accent, too. How’d that work for you up north, by the way?”

I grinned. “City girls just love a country boy, don’t they,” I replied with my thickest drawl.

That earned me a smile and a snort. “I’ll bet. Anyway, he’s one of the sharpest political minds in the city. He’s got a memory like an elephant, too, and an ego even bigger. Don’t ever piss him off. You’ll have to drive a stake through his heart and shoot him with a silver bullet to be free of him.”

We had to wait about ten minutes in Gingrich’s anteroom before we could see him, but I didn’t get the impression he was playing power games with us. When the door opened, a few people scurried out, and we were shown in only about five minutes after that.

Newt stood and came around his desk, smiling and extending his hand. “Doctor Buckman, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned and shook hands with Rich Miller next. “Rich, good to see you again.”

“Thanks for seeing us, Newt.”

“I appreciate the opportunity, Congressman. By the way, you don’t have to call me Doctor. I almost never go by that,” I said.

He showed us over to a sitting area and we sat down. “Why is that, Mister Buckman?”

“Please, call me Carl. It’s just that I haven’t been an academic since the late Seventies. I keep it on my business cards because some people seem to like that sort of thing, but it’s almost a totally different life now.” I explained. I cocked my head to the side a touch and asked, “How do you feel about that? You have an academic background even more than I do. I’ve never taught, for instance. Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes, or at least some parts of it. I don’t think anybody can really enjoy reading some of the term papers I received,” he answered lightly. “Were you ever tempted to teach?”

“I never really gave it any thought. Maybe if I hadn’t gone to school through ROTC, but that trumped everything. I had to do a few years before I would get the chance.”

“I never served, myself. I sometimes wonder what I missed. Did you like your time in the Army?”

I nodded. “Quite a bit. Before I was injured, I was planning to go career. When I blew out my knee, that ended my plans.”

“Career? With your kind of money? That would have been pretty unusual, wouldn’t it?” he commented.

“You know about that? Well, unusual, yes, but not unheard of. There have been other officers and soldiers with money. Look at the Kennedy’s, for instance.”

“That was their family’s money, not their own. I must admit, I am curious why you are running for Congress. I’ve seen your name on the Forbes list. You can buy a Congress! What in the world do you want to give up being an influential businessman for, and become a junior Representative?”

I laughed at that. “I’ve been asking myself that for a couple of weeks now. The quick answer is that I was talked into it by some friends and my wife, and someday I might just be on speaking terms with them again.” That earned a chuckle, but Gingrich was watching me closely. “The more accurate answer is that money isn’t everything. I’m actually a fairly simple fellow. I don’t have a dozen houses or boats or sports cars. My family lives nicely but simply. I have more money than I will ever spend, and I passed that mark several years ago. About that time I started wondering about the direction our country was headed. If we just go along our merry way, I think we as a people and as a nation have some serious problems ahead of us. I’ve written about this since then, and given a few speeches and talks. Those friends I mentioned, and my wife, they told me to put up or shut up. To make a real difference I needed to get involved, and not just with money. I needed to step up.” I held my hands wide. “So, here I am.”

“This isn’t a neat and clean business, not compared to actually running a business,” he remarked.

“That just means you’ve never been involved in running a business,” I countered. “If you mean that it’s not like anything I’ve ever done before, that I will agree with. I thought I knew a lot about politics, but I am getting a masters class right now.” I smiled at him. “Any advice?”

“Maybe. What are your primary focuses? You should be talking to somebody who can help.”

That made me smile. “In many ways, I think I am. My biggest personal focus is in balancing the budget. We can’t keep continuing in this fashion. It is unsustainable. I think the only way we will possibly do that is by taking control of the House back. The Senate, too, of course, but the budget starts in the House. If we don’t do that in 1990, then we do it in ’92, and if we don’t do it then, we do it in ’94. We don’t stop fighting until we can take control and balance the budget. Then we fix the rest of it.”

And there it was. I was proffering myself at the altar of Newt. The man had two main concerns, balancing the budget, and most important of all, taking control back of the House of Representatives. By telling him that was my interest, I had just gotten the backing of one of the most powerful Republicans in Washington. I knew it was true, too. Suddenly there was a gleam in his eyes, and you could almost see his dick getting stiff!

We didn’t speak much more that afternoon, since he had other people scheduled as well, but I had accomplished what I needed to accomplish. By linking myself to Gingrich I was linking myself to the most powerful Republican leader of the decade. The trick would be to ride his coat tails as long as I could, but then to distance myself from him when he blew up, which he invariably would. Neat trick, if I could pull it off.

Oh, yeah, and get myself elected in the process!

Chapter 99: Changes

As 1989 ended, we did the normal stuff before life would change utterly in 1990. Charlie was now in the third grade, which made him a Bear Cub Scout. He thought that was pretty cool, but still didn’t want to wait another year before he could go camping.

Holly and Molly were in kindergarten, and Marilyn had them in the local Girl Scout ‘Daisy’ group. I was curious how that was going to work out. Neither Alison nor Maggie had liked the Girl Scouts up in Cooperstown. Of course, they sold some Girl Scout cookies, which I’m always a fan of. Thin Mints and Shortbreads are my favorites, but Samoas are pretty good, too.

We did two weeks at Hougomont this winter break. The first week we invited Big Bob and Harriet down, and took the kids with us. While there, we broke the news of my running for Congress to them, which certainly bamboozled them. While they were fairly proud of me, they were also Democrats and I was a Republican, and therefore the enemy. We had several lively discussions over beers around the pool that week. At least they didn’t threaten to disinherit their daughter.

At the end of the week, Big Bob and Harriet flew home. From Utica, the plane would fly on to Rochester, where it would refuel, spend the night, and then pick up the Rottingens and fly back to Nassau. They would arrive tomorrow morning.

For the next day, we just walked the beach and watched the kids play. We also talked an awful lot about what would be involved in the oncoming election campaign. One of the things that Brew had said was that any vacations we had during the campaign season had to be taken in the district, and were going to be photo opportunities as well. No flying off to our multimillion dollar island vacation home. No, we needed to do some family activities in the area. You know, like normal people. Ridiculously rich normal people.

We didn’t think it would be that much of a problem. The kids liked it at Hougomont, but the girls were too young to care, and Charlie was now at the point where he was getting busy. If we didn’t go away, that meant he could ride his motocross bike in another race, and he was turning out to be a very tough competitor. I’m not sure I was ever going to understand the scoring system, but he seemed to have it down pat, and he was routinely placing in the top three on the races he entered, and was likely to finish this season at the top of the standings. He was actually doing better in his age group than Bucky had at that age.

My sister and her family flew in the next morning. I met them at the airport with a minivan we had rented for them; Marilyn stayed at Hougomont with the kids. Marilyn and Suzie had several long talks on the phone prior to this, and my wife had repeatedly told my sister to feel free to pack anything they thought they might need. They wouldn’t have to worry about luggage restrictions.

I hung around the terminal chatting to the Bahamian customs officer. Before we could load their gear up, he would need to admit them to the country. Once the hatch had been opened and the steps unfolded, he went on board. A minute later he returned, smiling and nodded to me. Suzie came out next, carrying Harry in her arms, and she look stunned. “It’s suddenly hit me that this is real!” she cried out to me.

I had to laugh at that. “Come on, let’s get you and your stuff into the van. I picked up a couple of car seats, and Marilyn and I put them in, but you’ll need to adjust them.” I waved at Jack who had scampered out the door and down the steps. “Hi, Jack! You bring any stuff?” John came last, holding Alex’s hand. “Welcome to the Bahamas! Let’s get your gear!”

“This is unreal! You own that plane?” he asked.

“Huh? No, it’s just a charter. I’ve been thinking about it, though.” I shook his hand. “You want to know the truth? The best thing about having my kind of money? It’s not the houses or the vacations or the cars or whatever. It’s being able to not fly commercial! No waiting around airports, no luggage limits, no being crammed into miniature seats, none of the stuff that makes flying more nightmare than dream.”

Suzie was put in charge of corralling her sons and loading them into the minivan, and the pilot, copilot, John, and I unloaded their bags and put them into the rear. They had taken us at our word, and packed tons of stuff! Or maybe it just seemed that way. Our kids were out of the toddler stage now, and that was a huge amount of stuff right there! Finally we got everything inside, and I waved goodbye to the pilot and copilot.

“Ready to start your vacation? Okay! I’ll drive, but later, you can use the minivan as you need to. We have one of our own here. Next stop, Hougomont!” I started the minivan and put it in gear.

“What’s Hugo-whatever you said?” asked Suzie. She was sitting in the middle row, where she could fuss with the boys.

“Hougomont. That’s the name of the house.”

John looked funny at me. “You gave your house a name?”

“Eh, not really. It had a name when we bought it. Hougomont was the site of a famous piece of the Battle of Waterloo. No idea why they named the place that. It’s more the name of the estate. You’ll see when we get there,” I replied.

A few minutes later I pulled into the driveway and rolled down to the house. Marilyn was out there, practically jumping with joy. Charlie and the girls were there too, but more controlled than their mother. They were simply curious. They really didn’t understand my family’s… problems.

I pulled up to the house and said, “End of the line! Everybody out!”

Marilyn pulled the side door open almost before I had the minivan in Park. “SUZIE!”

“Oh my God! Marilyn!? I can’t believe it!” My sister fumbled with her seat belt and then managed to get it off. She jumped out and the two women began hugging each other and crying.

“Holy Christ!” I muttered to myself.

John asked, “Are they going to be like this the entire week?”

I could only shrug. “Probably not. At some point they’re going to dehydrate. Come on, let’s get unloaded. They’re in charge of offspring.”

He turned and told his oldest. “You get to help. Grab some gear and take it… well, follow us.”

I dragooned Charlie into helping as well, and we carried the first load inside. We were only using three rooms (the girls shared a room just like at home — they liked to be together) so there were enough rooms for the others. We gave the largest remaining room with a bathroom to Suzie and John, put Jack in his own room, and put Alex and Harry together. If Alex and Harry couldn’t put up with each other, we could split them and combine Charlie and Jack. We went back for a second load, and Marilyn and Suzie were still yapping away. Marilyn was holding Harry, and Molly and Holly had taken Alex down towards the beach.

“Okay, ladies, take it inside, and grab some stuff on the way,” I told them. We waited a few minutes while they grabbed kid stuff, and then I led the way inside again. Marilyn showed her sister-in-law where things were, and I dropped my load off. I turned to John and asked, “Care for something to drink? Beer? Wine? Mixed drink?”

He smiled at me. “A little early, don’t you think?”

I glanced at my watch. It was a little after noon. “It must be five o’clock somewhere. Anyway, we should probably feed the kids.” I led the way into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and lifted out a couple of bottles of Red Stripe, and gave him a quizzical look. He nodded, so I opened them. I pushed one across the island to him. “What do the kids eat? In my experience, little ones can be picky.”

“Jack and Harry are pretty good. All Alex eats is boiled hot dogs!”

I snorted and opened the freezer and pulled out a package of hot dogs. “We can cover that. Hey, when I was his age, all I would eat was Braunschweiger and apple butter sandwiches! Drove my mother nuts for years.”

He gave me an odd look at that. “Literally?”

I blinked and smiled. “That was a figure of speech. Mom’s issues go way beyond me.”

“Your sister filled me in on some of it.”

I sat down on a bar stool, and sipped my beer. “John, I had no idea how much this all hurt my sister. I was going through a living hell at the time, but I didn’t see what she was going through.”

He sat down across from me. “What was she like growing up?”

I shrugged. “Normal. She was always the normal one. Hamilton was the crazy one. Mom went along with anything he wanted, and Dad went along with anything Mom wanted. I was the boy genius and ne’er-do-well nobody wanted around. Suzie, well, she was just normal. She’s five and a half years younger than me, so it wasn’t like she was always around me. We went to different schools. By the time she started growing up and dating, I had already escaped. I made sure to stay in touch with her in high school and college, if simply to make sure she was safe. I figured she was doing all right; she was Dad’s favorite and Hamilton never went after her like he did me. Maybe I was wrong about that all along. She told me before she graduated from college that she already had an apartment lined up and was moving out as soon as she got home.” I drank some more beer. “Maybe if I had been there for her, she wouldn’t have run away.”

“Running away brought her to me,” he replied.

I smiled at that. “So, please, make her happy. She’s a big girl now, but I never wanted anything else for her.”

I led him out through the patio door onto the deck and showed him around. Maybe I was getting jaded, but John was astonished. He couldn’t believe we owned almost a quarter of a mile of prime beachfront property. After a bit we went back inside.

At that point the rest of the crew came in. Marilyn carrying her baby nephew, Suzie shooing Alex in front of her, and Holly and Molly wandering in behind the others. Out the window I could see Charlie showing Jack around the beach and deck and pool. “I should have known the two of you would be drinking!” protested my sister.

“Outrage? Or jealousy?” I commented.

Suzie refused to answer, so Marilyn simply pulled two more bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. “Glass?”

My sister smiled and shrugged. “The bottle is fine for me.”

“You’re still a Buckman, all right, barbarian to the core!” She poured her own beer into a glass.

I simply made a funny face at her and gave her a loud raspberry. The others laughed. Marilyn stuck her tongue out at me, and then we made lunch. Boiled hot dogs. We could get creative later.

My sister and her family stayed the rest of the week with us. We kept the kids a couple of nights and let Suzie and John have some adult time out on the town, and they returned the favor one night. The rest of the time, we talked. There was a lot of catching up to do. The twins spent a lot of time playing with the littlest Rottingens, although by the end of the week Alex’s constant trailing around after them was proving quite exasperating, and Charlie delighted in showing Jack all the various hiding places and nooks and crannies around the place. At the end of the week, we all loaded onto the plane and flew back to Westminster. They came out to the house for a night with us to see our regular home. The verdict — appallingly normal! Marilyn and I were happy with that and sent them on their way the next day.

It was good to have my sister back in my life, and I was really glad she had found a good guy and a good life. Still, things just weren’t the same anymore. Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe we had both changed too much. I wasn’t sure how that was going to work out.

Chapter 100: The Race Begins

One thing I did with Brewster was to start spending some money. In the military they teach you very early on the value of reconnaissance. In business, it’s no different. If you are going to win, or just even hold your own, you need to know who you’re going up against, and what they have planned. In the Army you can add espionage to the mix. That’s a bit frowned on in the business world, at least if you get caught, so we generally avoided that, but I knew of companies that did it.

Why should politics be any different? Andy Stewart was not going to conduct a gentlemanly campaign, not against Bill Worley, who had already announced a primary battle, and certainly not in the general election against me. The more information we had on him, the better. The first thing that McRiley and the accountant and I agreed on was the need to have Stewart investigated.

One aspect was to look for ‘gotcha’ moments, where he had said one thing and voted for something different. Why would a dedicated public servant do such a thing? Not to seem cynical about it, but perhaps he had been paid to change his mind. That led to a second subject for investigation, Stewart’s campaign finances. Who was donating money to Stewart, and what were they getting in return?

The sort of thing we needed was his financials, as well as some very discreet inquiries into everything else. Specifically, how had a guy who had never once worked in the private sector, but had always worked for the government somehow, become a multimillionaire? Inquiring minds wanted to know! We needed to hire a forensic accounting team, and perhaps not look too closely at the techniques they used to get some of the information we asked for.

Who was to do all these wonderful things? A quick answer was to hire a clipping service, to go through newspapers and magazines and find anything being reported on Stewart. John suggested we expand the search to what they were reporting on me, since Andy was certainly going to do that. We needed professionals to do the investigating of the finances, but for a lot of the other work we needed volunteers. There was no way I could afford paid personnel to do all the scut work; that would blow through our campaign budget way too fast. I needed campaign volunteers, and fast. One of our first priorities after officially announcing my candidacy was to start rallying the troops. McRiley laid out a timetable and a plan for doing this. We would start out with captive audiences, the local Republican groups. One problem we had was that there was only a couple of colleges in the district, Carroll Community College and Western Maryland College in Westminster. College kids make for great volunteers, but on the downside, they are usually Democrats. Win some, lose some. I would certainly rely on whatever resources the local Republican committees had available.

Campaign finance was one area where I had the advantage. The estimate we had out of the RNC was that it would cost approximately $350,000 to run for Congress this year, but that was a national average. I knew that number would skyrocket; I remembered reading (back on my first go) that by 2010 the cost would be three times that, and by 2020, it would double yet again. Senate runs could cost five or six times as much, easily. For a typical Congressman, every moment of their day is spent trying to come up with cash for their next campaign. That’s their job, and if they can work on laws or fix the country in the meantime, that’s nice, too. They have to come up with at least $500 in campaign funds every day for two years to even have a chance. If you have a primary battle, or a rich competitor, you can double or triple those numbers.

The need to pay for a home and schools in the D.C. area only made it worse. Various ethics rules allowed for some of those speeches to be considered not as fund raisers, but as personal educational discussions, which could be considered income. Income that could go towards paying their local mortgage. Income from book sales was also income and not allocated to the campaign. There was never enough money to go around.

So, how to come up with that cash? Congressmen are constantly holding fundraisers, dinners, and speeches where they can pass the hat and collect money. A $100 a plate dinner, with 50 paying guests, collects $5,000, with maybe only half of that going into the coffers. That covers five days worth, but there are only so many dinners and speeches you can give. Also, there is a limit to how much you can charge. Presidents get $10,000 and above; Congressman wannabes get maybe $50. You end up constantly begging for money.

Enter the lobbyist. He’ll be happy to funnel some cash to your campaign, because he knows you’ll be happy to give the group he represents an adequate hearing and consideration on their concerns. The quid pro quo is obvious — vote our way or there is no more cash. There are thousands of lobbying groups in Washington. Some of them compete against each other and some duplicate each other. The money comes from various corporations. Even Big Bob and Lefleur Homes hired lobbyists. They paid a small amount on every home they sold to the New York Manufactured Housing Association in Albany, which funneled some of their proceeds to the Manufactured Housing Institute in Washington, and there were at least another half dozen housing related lobbying groups I knew of, not including the ones for construction and real estate.

The other option is to elect rich people who could finance their own campaigns. Yes, we would be happy to take donations, and Brew and I were working on some fundraisers, but if you can write the big check yourself, or get a few rich friends to help, it becomes vastly easier. Congress was rapidly becoming a millionaire’s club; the Senate had been one for years. Brew was figuring I would need to raise more than the average, because Andy Stewart was a power on the Banking Committee and was going to have a fat war chest courtesy of the banks who liked him. We would need almost a million dollars, he thought.

What does the money get spent on? At the heart of every campaign is a small group of paid professionals, like Brewster and our accountant, Mike Finnegan. Add in a few media consultants and pollsters. Stir in a few lawyers for extra flavor. You have expenses related to a campaign headquarters — ours was in a strip mall in Westminster that Andrea found for us — plus office expenses related to that. Somebody has to pay for flyers and banners and posters and billboards. A huge expense is advertising, specifically television and radio. Realistically we were going to have to match Andy Stewart ad for ad. He had a campaign fund of at least a mill and a half, although he’d probably have to spend at least a third of that fighting off Bill Worley. We even joked about donating to Worley, to force Stewart to spend more!

So, with the official race not starting until the end of February, we spent the time until that point getting ready and preparing. For instance, I started hitting every pot luck dinner and pancake supper in the district! I wasn’t sure how much Stewart was aware of me, and we didn’t get hit by any reporters in the meantime. We assumed that once we started getting volunteers, at least one of them would be a plant from the Stewart campaign. We would return the favor. Need-to-know stuff was held closely by me and the professionals and the long-time party people like the local committee chairmen.

I asked Brewster if I would need to debate Stewart at some point. They are always on the schedule for Presidential campaigns, and even the Vice-Presidential candidates could be expected to debate. What about Congressmen and Senators? Brew laughed. “The last thing in the world Andy Stewart wants to do is stand up next to you and be caught in photos. He’s sixty-three, going on a hundred and sixty-three, and just had a hip replaced. Without makeup and airbrushing, he looks like death warmed over! You, on the other hand, are young and vigorous and studly.”

“I don’t feel that way in the morning, let me tell you. You’ve noticed the cane, right?”

He laughed again. “So what!? You’re a wounded military hero, and he’s a lawyer. He says anything, and you can smack him with the cane.”

“I was injured, not wounded. There’s a difference.”

“Po-tay-toe, po-taht-toe. Nobody cares!”

The Maryland Ninth had a northern boundary of the Pennsylvania line. Below that we had a rough semicircle shape. It encompassed Northern Baltimore County to about Cockeysville, and then went west through the middle of Reisterstown and on south of Westminster, before turning north again around Thurmont. It was mostly northern Baltimore and Carroll Counties, with just enough of Frederick that I needed to campaign out there. There are some changes in the electorate as you traverse the district, as well. Baltimore County is relatively suburban and sophisticated, Carroll County similar though more rural, and northern Frederick County can be very conservative. You go much further west and you end up in the Appalachian counties, and parts of those look like Deliverance is still playing.

Shortly after we filed in January, I began speaking to some of the Republican groups, working my way west. A typical one might be at the local high school. I was introduced as ‘a decorated soldier and local entrepreneur, a man who lives in the district and not one who has moved out of state, and somebody whose children probably go to school with yours. He is nationally known, and you’ve probably read his books and seen him on his appearances on Meet the Press and This Week with David Brinkley.’ I suppose there was a semblance of truth to that. I would then come out on stage, or from wherever they had me stashed, waving and go to the podium. We had blocked out a fairly standard stump speech, which didn’t say much, but had some wonderful sound bites to it.

I would give my speech, and then, in a thoroughly scripted ‘impromptu’ move, would come around the podium with the microphone to take questions from the audience. Depending on what was there, I might lean against the podium or sit on the edge of a table. Then, towards the end, I asked everybody for help. I couldn’t do this alone, I needed their help, I needed their money, I needed their support, I needed their time. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…

When the audience was first collecting in the room, everybody was asked to sign in and give their name and address. The volunteer sheets did the same. Brewster said we could expect to follow an 80/20 rule with the volunteers; out of every 100 people who signed up to help, 80 would duck out and 20 would help. Still, you always got their names and numbers. We could call them for donations and sell or give their names to various Republican fundraising outfits, and anybody who helped would go into a special category to be called on during re-elections.

There were some basics that had to be learned and obeyed. Fortunately I knew several of them already, from my experience as a salesman on my first go. Every donor got a thank you, from a form letter up to a handwritten note. Big donors got the note plus a phone call. If they volunteered to help, I was to personally call each one and ask how and when they could help. If I couldn’t reach them, I needed to leave a message. Brewster had a computer system installed in campaign headquarters with some rudimentary software to follow this stuff, and he gave me a daily phone list of people to call and thank/beg/plead/cajole.

I wondered what Larry Ellison would think if I contracted Oracle to develop the database software needed to track donors and volunteers, and automate communications. Was I thinking ahead of the curve or behind it? I had never paid attention to that in the past. It would take too long to help me now, but in the future? Who knew? We would just have to survive this election first.

Brewster gave me a rundown on what the volunteers would actually be doing. He said, “Everybody thinks they are in charge of the bee hive. Some of them are real worker bees. They will make signs, wave signs, put signs up, make phone calls, drive people to the polls, trail Stewart’s appearances with tape recorders, you name it… You never get enough worker bees.”

“Worker bees — got it!” I replied.

“The next best category is the queen bees. These guys actually have some management chops to them. They can figure out where to put signs, how to run a phone tree, supervise the worker bees. They can also work with the worker bees without pissing them off. Very useful,” he continued.

“Queen bees,” I said, nodding.

“The worst category is the drones. They volunteer for whatever damn reason, maybe just to say they worked on a campaign, but they don’t actually work, and they occasionally piss off the people that do.”

“So why keep them?” I asked.

“Because they might just know somebody who is useful, like a major donor or the head of a local company. You don’t want to piss anybody off by proxy.”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Any other bees?”

“Killer bees! Those you get rid of! Killer bees are wonderful people you don’t want anywhere near you, like the paroled rapist or porn star who just happens to agree with your politics and wants to help.”

“Yikes! You get those?”

Brewster nodded and grimaced. “Scary thought, isn’t it!? Your — and my — biggest job is figuring out what category to put the volunteers. This thing is going to get very big very quickly, and the two of us won’t be able to do it all. We need some of those queen bees as quick as we can get them!”

At the end of every stump speech, I would get some questions. Some of the questions I got were pretty straightforward. How do you plan to balance the budget? (Cut expenses and require that all future programs specify how they are to be paid for as part of the legislation.) What do you feel about the defense budget? (We need to maintain a strong defense budget, but the best way to do that is by making sure our economy is strong — a weak economy will mean a weak defense.) The serious questions we worked out some answers ahead of time.

Some of the questions were trivial — Where do my kids go to school? (Fifth District Elementary.) How old am I? (Thirty-four, but I’ll be thirty-five by the election.) Is my wife here? (No, she’s at home with the children.) Some were silly — Boxers or briefs? (Only my wife gets to know that answer!) Some I could laugh off — How rich are you? (Really, really rich!)

Some were loaded guns! Pro-life or pro-choice? Do I believe in evolution? Have I been washed in the blood of the lamb? A lot of these types of questions got raised in the more conservative northwestern part of the district, although the abortion one could be anywhere. Sometimes things went well and sometimes they didn’t. A typical exchange might be one that I had with a fellow out in Thurmont. We were meeting in a hall provided by the local Chamber of Commerce. During the question and answer period, this fellow stood up and wanted to know if I was pro-life or pro-choice.

“Pro choice,” I said.

As I expected, there was a low murmur of disapproval from the crowd. Sometimes it ended at that, but in this case, the fellow wanted to argue with me. I let him ramble about a minute before I made a time-out sign and interrupted him. “Excuse me, but I know this is important to you. What’s your name?”

“Why do you need to know that?” he asked belligerently.

“Because I’m a polite guy, and it’s nicer to call you by your name than by saying ‘hey, you!’”, I replied, smiling.

That got a few chuckles around the room, and I got an answer a lot less belligerent. “Tim Timmerman.”

“Tim, I’m Carl. Nice to meet you. Okay, like I said, I know this is important to you. To you abortion is wrong. We’re ending a life. I understand that, I truly do. To me it’s a matter of women’s health and control over her own body. Now, you and I are probably never going to agree on this, am I right on that?”

“It’s wrong! Killing the unborn is a sin!”

Great, the guy is on the religious side. “Okay, Tim, I understand you, but like I said, I don’t agree with you. That leaves you with a couple of questions. Ready?”

He looked startled at that. “What?”

“First, is that the only thing you care about? And I mean the only thing at all! Because if it is, I’ll respect you, but I’ll tell you, right now, not to vote for me, because I don’t think I’m changing my mind on this one.”

That caused a stir. A politician who said not to vote for him? They must have been expecting me to say something mealy-mouthed and promise to consider it or something. I could see several people looking at each other in confusion. I just pushed on. “And here’s the second question to ask yourself. Do you think Andy Stewart is going to agree with you? You already know the answer to that one.”

I stopped talking to Tim and addressed the group as a whole. “And that is something for everybody to think about. Let’s be fair about this. There are probably going to be some things I believe in that you might disagree with. It might be the budget, or programs like Social Security or Medicare or Welfare, or defense. It might be something else, like abortion or gun control. There are probably going to be some things we are just going to have to agree to disagree on. You all have to ask yourself if you can live with that, or if you have to go with Brand X — and you know he’s going to be a lot more liberal than I am on this stuff. I’m here to tell you how I feel and plan to do the job. I am not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you something I don’t believe.”

Sometimes this defused the situation nicely. I remember after the meeting, as I was shaking hands, I met Timmerman again. He tried to convince me about the evils of abortion again, and I spoke a little more on it with him. “Tim, in some ways I agree with you. My wife and I love our kids. We have three. Last year we were in a car wreck and we lost a fourth child while Marilyn was still pregnant, and it was just devastating to us. It was simply terrible, and now we can’t have any more children. We could never do this ourselves. Marilyn agrees with you, by the way. She is totally pro-life. She and I disagree on this, and I think you and I are going to disagree as well.” He looked a bit perplexed as he realized I was missing the horns and tail, and shook my hand and departed. A few minutes later I saw him head over to the ‘tip jar’, the big jar we kept on a table for contributions, and drop a twenty in it. He saw me looking at him, and we nodded at each other.

(I dug his name out of the sign in sheets the next day and called him and thanked him and asked him to work for the campaign. He turned out to be a very useful queen bee.)

Sometimes it bombed. Somebody got up on his high horse at a meeting at the Westminster High School and demanded to know if I believed in evolution. After I said yes, I was denounced as a godless heathen who was going to burn in the fires of hell and damnation. School security had to drag him out. That made the evening news the next day. Joy!

Chapter 101: Getting Ugly

I had predicted that the race would get ugly and it did, in a hurry. Andy Stewart had a tough fight with Bill Worley, and he spent far more money than he planned to. In April he eked out a narrow 52–48 percent win, and then immediately turned his sights on me. He had neither the record to run on nor the inclination to do so. He went negative immediately.

Every political campaign has both positive and negative aspects to it. Every candidate promises to run only a positive campaign, a campaign that focuses on his or her accomplishments, and the wonders they will perform. Only their opponent will run a negative campaign, because, of course, that’s just the type of person they are! Right off the bat you are going negative! Negative campaigns focus on your opponent’s faults, either real, perceived, or made up. The theory is that if you can’t make the public love you, then you can at least get them to hate the other guy!

I tried to stay positive, but McRiley immediately began preparing ads to go after Stewart. In this we were helped by the nasty campaign between Worley and Stewart. We saw what had worked for both men and what hadn’t, and could move on from that.

Andy started low key but slimy. For Memorial Day, Andy claimed I wasn’t patriotic enough! He was one of those guys who always wears a flag lapel pin, and I wasn’t. We both went to various Memorial Day parades in the area, and we heard from some people that Andy was loudly claiming that I was disrespecting our nation by not wearing a flag pin. Brewster immediately came to me and handed me a bag of flag pins, large ones, and told me to always have one on me.

“You don’t think this is going to look like we’re reacting to him? I put one of these things on, and the next thing you’re going to hear is that I’m only doing it because I’m scared of him,” I told him.

“In this case we are scared of him.” He pushed the bag towards me.

I pushed it back. “No we’re not.” What I couldn’t figure out was why Stewart was attempting this. He must have known I was a decorated veteran by now.

“Carl, you are speaking to the American Legion in Parkton this Friday night. You don’t wear one of the flag pins, you might as well write off their votes.”

I put the bag in my pocket, just to humor Brewster. “You worry too much, Brew. Come with me to the Post Friday night. It will be fine.”

We got a babysitter for the kids that night, and Marilyn and I both went to the Legion Post in Parkton, where Brewster was to meet us. I had on a nice blue blazer and white shirt, with pressed khakis, and the only thing patriotic was a red, white, and blue striped tie. Marilyn was wearing a very pretty knee length dress, also in red, white, and blue, though it was a flowered print. I didn’t have a flag pin.

Brewster took one look at me and immediately pulled a pin from his pocket. I noticed he already had one in his own lapel. “Did you forget, or were you just planning to piss these guys off?”

I stopped him. “Behave Brewster. I know what I’m doing. Now, knock it off and watch.”

Before I was called up to speak, I met with several people, many of whom were wearing a flag pin on their lapels. By now I knew Andy’s whispering campaign was in full stride, since almost everyone was glancing at my bare lapel. That was fine by me. When I was introduced, I decided to grab the bull by the horns.

I picked up the microphone and spoke into it. “Thank you all for inviting me here to the Post. It’s a pleasure to meet you all, and I can say that I already know a few of you. Right there in the second row is my neighbor, John Caples, who owns the farm across the road from me. My wife Marilyn and I have bought a lot of sweet corn from him over the years. I also saw Bill Elliott and Barry Henderson; didn’t know you guys were in the Legion. Thanks for inviting me.” It was a typical American Legion crowd, with some old timers going back to World War II and Korea, and others from Viet Nam and more recent conflicts.

“Anyway, before I get too much further along, let’s get something taken care of. I would bet that everyone here has now heard the complaints that I don’t wear an American flag pin in my lapel. Is that true? Have you all heard that?” I asked. I looked around and smiled. “Go ahead! Raise your hands!”

There was a fair bit of surprise at my bringing this up, and several voices spoke up in agreement. Slowly a few hands were raised, and then eventually most of the room raised their hands. In the back I saw a couple of reporters jotting in notepads. I wondered whether they had been invited by Brewster, or more likely, by Andy Stewart.

“I’ve certainly heard the stories. Where better to address the issue than here at the American Legion. My answer is this. I think we’ve all been taught that actions speak louder than words, right?” I looked out over the room and smiled at the number of people murmuring to each other and nodding their heads. “Okay, then. I’m just not the kind of guy who really wears much in the way of jewelry or pins. I don’t wear much more than my wedding band, my college ring, or my watch.” In each case I held up the appropriate hand. “Well, there is something else I wear.” I moved my spare hand under my tie and unbuttoned my shirt. I reached inside and pulled out my dogs tags. “I still wear my old dog tags.” I tucked them away, and then reached in my left pants pocket. “And here’s one last piece of jewelry I could wear if I wanted.”

This was the reason I wasn’t worried about the lapel pin. Let them all stare at my lapel. It was pretty obvious to me by now that Andy still didn’t really know who the hell I was. He must have researched me beyond the fact that I was a billionaire murderer. I pulled out the oblong metal case that military decorations are presented in and set it on the podium. There was a loud murmur as people saw me lift the top up. I hadn’t opened this since I had gotten it years ago, except for earlier in the day, when I dug it out of my desk drawer. I pulled out my Bronze Star and held it up for the audience. “I’m not one to wave around my medals, but I think you all know what a Bronze Star is.” I pinned it to my lapel.

“Now, in case anybody here thinks I went down to Sunny’s Surplus this morning and picked this up, here’s something to read. Marilyn?” I gestured to my wife, and she stood up and came over, and opened up this gigantic purse she had. “Folks, this is my wife Marilyn. Now, to be honest, she earned this even more than I did, because while I was deployed overseas, she was back home in Fayetteville having our son. Anyway, she had this plaque made up for me. We’ll pass it around for you to look at. The photo is from my retirement parade. You’ve seen my cane; it was from my last jump, when I earned that. Back then I was known as Captain Buckman, Bravo Battery, 1^st Battalion, 319^th Airborne Field Artillery Regiment, 82^nd Airborne Division.” I motioned Marilyn to hand the plaque to somebody in the audience.

“Now, when Andy Stewart was 24, he was going to law school. When I was 24, I was commanding some of our nation’s finest troops! When he was studying how to sue people, I was studying how to defend them! When he was firing lawsuits at people, I was teaching my lieutenants to fire 105s at them! If Andy Stewart wants to thump his chest and wave his flag pin, great! I’m not going to thump my chest and bray like an ass. I used to defend the real flag! Now, ask yourself, who do you think is more qualified to figure out the real issues with our nation’s defense, Andy Stewart or Carl Buckman!?”

The room was stunned, but then erupted in applause. I kept going. “Now, I’m not going to sit here and brand myself a hero. Andy Stewart picked this fight, not me — but I will finish this fight! I will bet long odds that some of you out there earned medals. You know why I don’t wear this routinely, because you don’t wear it for yourself, you wear it for those who can’t. I look around this room and I see men who served just like me. Some of you were drafted. Some of you volunteered.” I gave a big grin, and continued, “And some of you volunteered one step ahead of the draft board or a judge. Yeah, I know how it works.” That got some chuckles around the room.

“Why are you going to vote for me? Because I’m the guy who knows what it takes to keep your sons and grandsons prepared as best they can be. Not safe, but prepared and trained and supported. I won’t promise to keep them safe, because you and I both know it can be a dirty and dangerous business. However, if they get hurt, I’m the guy who spent time at Walter Reed, and knows what it takes to make sure their medical treatment is the best it can be. Then, when they are out of the service, I’ll be the guy who can make sure that they are treated properly as veterans, just like you would want! And guess what? It might not be your sons or grandsons! More girls are enlisting every day. It might be your daughters and granddaughters!”

“Now, who do you want making sure your concerns are being addressed? Andy Stewart can wrap himself in the flag and sing himself to sleep with the National Anthem, but do you really think he’s the guy to help you, to help your children and grandchildren? Or do you think a guy who served like you is the one to help? I can help because I understand. Can Andy Stewart say that?”

I pushed it a little bit longer and ended up with a standing ovation. I was also asked to speak to the post in Westminster, which I accepted. Brewster was astonished, both by my speech and by the level of donations I received. I just laughed at him. “Brewster, I told you not to worry. Just watch. Andy Stewart is going to learn about this and shut down this attack real damn fast!”

John Caples came up to me at the end of the evening. He was a quiet and weathered man about ten years older than myself. “Carl, I had no idea you were in the service.”

“Same here. Viet Nam?” I asked him.

He nodded. “Da Nang, ’68 to ’69.” He picked up the plaque from where it was laying. “That’s a pretty vague citation.”

Another man with us laughed. “That’s the kind of citation you get for when you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be and doing something you’re not supposed to be doing, and nobody is allowed to know about it.”

I smiled. That was about as perfect a description for that Nicaraguan hike as I could imagine. “Close enough!”

Afterwards, Brewster excitedly told me we needed to push the Bronze Star and heroism as campaign hot buttons. I shut him down in no uncertain terms! “Brew, this is not a winner for us,” I told him.

“The Republican Party always looks good on defense and national security. This plays to that,” he replied.

We were outside in the parking lot at that point, so I just leaned up against the car. I shook my head. “Listen, I don’t know why Andy decided to pick the fight, but he screwed up. He should have gone after me on the Bronze Star itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brew, I’m not saying I didn’t earn the damn thing, but it’s not like on television. Things got very messy on that mission. I’m actually kind of surprised he didn’t have that already.”

McRiley shrugged. “He’s tied in tight to the various banking regulators, but as far as I know, he doesn’t know shit about the military. Maybe he simply saw the medal and decided not to push on a hero, but then why push the flag pin routine? Maybe he just doesn’t know what any of it means.”

“I don’t know either, buddy, but in my opinion, let sleeping dogs lie.”

Andy Stewart shut down the flag pin campaign quick enough, but immediately began pushing elsewhere. The obvious one was that I was trying to buy an election. No matter what I did, I was too rich. If I gave money to a local charity, I was trying to buy their support. Then, no matter what I gave, it wasn’t enough, and with my massive funds, I was being cheap. He loudly called on both the IRS and the SEC to investigate how I had come about by my ill gotten gains (he actually used that phrase) and when both agencies ignored him, he called on the Attorney General and the Justice Department to investigate how I had bribed the investigating agencies.

There was a small grain of truth to some of what Stewart was claiming. For years I had been donating to any number of local civic and service groups. Five or ten thousand dollars was a lot of money for a volunteer fire department or health clinic, and I routinely gave a few hundred thousand every year to groups all over the area. Most were in the district, simply because I lived relatively close to the center of the Ninth. Brewster simply made my routine donations into photo opportunities. We never gave any campaign speeches at these events, but if asked, I was always able to say some kind words for the people involved and the fine and necessary work they were doing.

To be fair about it, Stewart was doing many wonderful things by giving away money, also. At least once a week he would have a press conference or a photo opportunity and be shown talking about a new government grant, or tax benefit, or road improvement. Of course, the money he was giving away didn’t cost him anything, whereas mine did.

We pushed back on two fronts. One was the Horatio Alger story about how I had built my business from nothing, even to making a drive-by movie of my parent’s house. They no longer lived there, having sold it as part of the divorce. Still it showed I hadn’t grown up in a mansion. The other front was the negative one. I had made my money in the stock market. How did Andy Stewart, who had been working in the public sector non-stop since he got out of law school, build a net worth of over $20 million? When reporters started questioning our information, we released some very carefully sanitized versions of the info our investigators had uncovered. No account numbers were given, but banks were named. The result was a predictable level of chaos, with Stewart fulminating about the release of the information and dancing around whether it was true or not.

A big part of Andy Stewart’s money was due to his position as the fourth highest ranking member of the House Committee on Financial Services, also known as the House Banking Committee. As such, he had taken over a half million dollars in the last ten years from various banks and Wall Street finance companies as campaign donations. Even better, leaving aside whether Andy had ever dipped his fingers in the till inappropriately, was the way members of Congress got to legally benefit from insider trading.

Very specifically, if a Congressman learned something as a result of his routine Congressional duties there was no prohibition against playing the stock market to profit from this knowledge. As a private citizen, I could go to jail for buying or selling stocks based on information I learned in a board meeting. Like in any number of other matters, the federal laws on insider trading did not apply to members of Congress or the Senate. If Stewart learned something from a banker or lobbyist, it was perfectly legal for him to call up his broker and act on it. Stewart was heavily invested in the banking business.

It might have been legal, but it was definitely tacky, and I enjoyed watching him squirm under repeated questioning from the Baltimore Sun and the local television stations. I didn’t enjoy the second half of the ‘Billionaire Murderer’ label I predicted would be tossed around. There was no way in the world I could label Andy Stewart a killer. He was proudly declaring his push for strong gun control laws, and tying this to me as well. Not only was I a murderer of my baby brother, my ownership and use of a gun validated the need for control of guns.

For starters he dug up all the mud that had been tossed back in 1983, especially the various allegations originally tossed around by the State Police in their pissing match with the Baltimore County Police. Some of those allegations, reported by that jackass WJZ reporter, were that I had used my wealth to buy my way out of jail. (If only! If I could have done that, I would have used it to bury the whole damn mess!) Then he started going after the rest of my family. My father, quite predictably, punched out a reporter outside of the condo in Perry Hall he had bought with his half of the house proceeds. Equally predictably, my mom was waylaid by a camera crew at the door to her apartment, made an incoherent statement, and then ended up hospitalized at Sheppard Pratt for ‘exhaustion.’

I heard from John Rottingen early on that reporters from Baltimore were calling. They hadn’t shown up on his doorstep yet, but at least one managed to find his unlisted phone number and bug them at home. They were taking it pretty well so far. So far I couldn’t see any of the local television stations or the Sun coughing up the cash to send somebody out to Rochester to bug them in person. I asked him to keep me informed, and then let Marilyn know the latest.

Brewster had the media people working overtime on this, because it was pretty much as awful as we had thought it would get. We ended up with a television ad that seemed to go over well.

(Extreme close-up of a giant Bowie knife, slowly pulling back until you saw a hand holding it angrily. Over laid was a slow, deep voice.)

“Carl Buckman’s family was being terrorized by a psychotic madman. A stalker came after his wife. Her car was vandalized and firebombed. Their house was firebombed. On September 3^rd, 1983, he broke into their home with a fourteen inch long knife and announced his intention to butcher his wife and infant son, and then attacked Carl Buckman. Carl Buckman killed his attacker. His attacker was a known paranoid schizophrenic with a history of violence.”

(Pause.)

“He was Carl Buckman’s brother.”

(Longer pause.)

“Was the last sentence really that important?”

(Different baritone voice.)

“There’s a reason for the Second Amendment!”

We did that in print as well as radio, deflecting the murder into a defense of the Constitution. I wasn’t so sure how well that was going over. Polling just didn’t say.

The strangest part was when Andy Stewart tried to turn my family’s abandonment of me when I was young back against me, as if it was my fault. If they had thrown me out and disowned me, then it must have been my fault. I must have been evil to deserve the treatment I received.

By August it was getting totally surreal. The national news had begun following the story of the billionaire running for Congress, and Stewart’s narrative of my murder of my brother and my denouncement by my mother, who finally calmed down enough to give a statement damning me. It culminated with a dual interview on Meet the Press. Andy refused to meet with me, since that would be a debate. He went to the NBC studios in Washington, while Brew and I drove down to the WMAR-TV studios on York Road in Towson. I would be broadcast from there.

The regular moderator, Garrick Utley, was out sick and the duties of host were being performed by Tim Russert. I had met Russert before, during an appearance on the show the previous year, and two dinners since then. We were friendly, but I wasn’t ready to call him a friend, and I didn’t think he was going to be favorable to me.

The interview started out pretty normal. We were introduced with a quick head shot and a hello from each of us, and then Russert turned to the camera and announced that we were the contenders in “… one of the nastiest campaigns in recent American history. On the one side we have the Republican contender, Carl Buckman, billionaire investor and one of the leaders of the ‘Young Republicans’ vying for public office. His opponent is eight term Democratic Congressman Andy Stewart, a member of the House Banking Committee, now fighting for his political life.”

Tim turned to Andy, and asked, “Is that a fair assessment, Congressman? Is this a fight for your political life?”

Andy snorted derisively. “Hardly! Carl Buckman’s candidacy is a symbol of the Republican Party’s contempt for the struggles the average American is having in today’s difficult economy. They are running a billionaire with a bottomless wallet who plans to buy a Congressional seat. I have called on both the Federal Election Commission and the Department of the Treasury to investigate this flagrant violation of the election laws in the State of Maryland.”

“Mister Buckman, are you trying to buy the election? Have you heard from the FEC or Treasury Department yet?” asked Tim, turning to the camera he was using to talk to me.

I smiled and shook my head. “The Federal Election Commission and the Treasury Department? Those are new ones. The Congressman has been complaining about me to the Maryland Board of Elections, the IRS, and the Securities and Exchange Commission, and they’ve all told him to go jump in a lake. I can’t imagine who’s next. The real issue is that somebody dared to actually run against the Congressman, and who has a program aimed at solving the very problems he admits his constituents are having a problem with under his representation.”

Russert turned back to Stewart. “Congressman, Mister Buckman is not the first wealthy man to run for office, and more than a few of them have been Democrats. Jack Kennedy comes to mind, and it wasn’t even his money. It was his father’s.”

“That may be true, but Jack Kennedy was representing the people. Carl Buckman is only representing himself. He has a history of eliminating his problems, problems like his brother, a problem he eliminated by murder!”

Tim knew of the current allegations being thrown around by my opponent, but hearing me being bluntly called a murderer was still unusual. Most politicians would weasel around it, calling me a killer, or saying ‘alleged’ or ‘presumed.’ He had a shocked look on his face as he turned to face me. “Those are astonishing allegations, Mister Buckman. What do you say to them?”

“It’s simple, Tim. Congressman Stewart is a liar. There are no allegations of a crime. Does the law allow a sitting Congressman to lie and slander anybody he wants? He is lying to you, just like he has been lying to the voters in the Maryland Ninth. What else has he been lying about?”

Stewart didn’t even wait for Russert to ask him anything. He immediately protested. “I did nothing of the sort. Carl Buckman killed his brother and then used his fortune to cover it up! His own family knows the truth about him. They threw him out of the family when he was sixteen, and then had him disinherited and disowned a few years later. Who would know him better than his own parents?”

Off camera I could see Brewster wincing. We knew it was coming, but it still sounded terrible. Nothing to do but brazen it out. “Yes, I killed my brother, a paranoid schizophrenic with a long and documented history of aggression towards me and my family. I covered up nothing, and was thoroughly investigated by both the police and the district attorney.” Then I reached into my inside jacket pocket and pulled out a sheathed Bowie knife. I unsheathed it on camera and held it up. “This is the knife that my brother came after my family with. I got it from the Baltimore County Police Department after the investigation was over. He brought this into my home and told me he planned to butcher my wife and baby son, and then he attacked me and I killed him. As for my mother, she has a history of instability, and she is the one who purchased this weapon and provided it to my brother, along with the vehicle he used to carry out his attacks on us. I’m not sure how seriously you should be taking her statements.”

“That’s the knife?” asked Russert, his eyes wide open.

“I have the evidence tag available, along with photos to verify it,” I replied.

“That’s almost a sword!” he exclaimed. I nodded silently, and Russert turned to Stewart, visibly angry at being upstaged. Wild accusations are great, but I had evidence!

“Movie set props aside; Carl Buckman cannot deny his cold blooded killing of his brother!”

“Cold blooded!? Movie set props!?” I was outraged! “Does this look like a prop!” I held up my left hand and drew the blade across my palm. A red bead of blood welled up, and I held my hand up to the camera. “This is what my brother wanted to do to my wife and son. Andy Stewart would have been rooting for him, I’m sure, since at least it wasn’t a gun!” Then I stabbed the knife point down into the surface of the mahogany table I was sitting at, to leave it standing vertically.

The screens immediately went blank. Tim Russert knew he had lost complete control of the show and he pulled the plug, going to commercial. I held my hand over the desk, slowly dripping blood, while I fished out my handkerchief. It wasn’t a bad cut, nothing I hadn’t had happen over the years from any number of things, but I was sure it looked gruesome on camera. A staffer from WMAR ran out and then came back with a first aid kit. Brewster came hustling up to the desk. “Jesus Christ, Carl! What the hell were you thinking there!?”

“He just pissed me off!” I responded.

“Jesus Christ!” he repeated. He took the first aid kit and fished out some gauze and some tape. He kept muttering while he bandaged my hand. Around us people were staring at me.

Finally he sat back and stared at me. I shrugged at him. “I guess I fucked up big this time.”

I was surprised when he answered, “I have no idea. I just have no idea what to make of this, or what is going to come of this. I just don’t know.”

“You staying in?” I asked him.

“Are you?” he replied.

“It’s too late to back out now. I’m going to have to see this through, one way or the other. I might be going down in flames.”

“Shit! Well, it’s too late for me to back out now. Either you lose by the biggest margin since the Civil War and I have the shortest professional career in political history, or you win big and I run the next Presidential campaign.”

I laughed at that. I stood up. “Let’s get out of here. I need to go home so that Marilyn can yell at me.”

As we headed out to my car, Brewster asked, “Just how rich are you? Really rich or ridiculously rich?”

“Beyond that. Ludicrously rich.”

“Buy an island rich?”

I laughed. “Sure. Why?”

“Because if we lose, you’re going to have to buy an island and move there, and I’m going to have to move next door.”

I laughed. “Then we better not lose!”

My reception at home was about what I expected. Marilyn’s first words to me as I entered the door were, “ARE YOU CRAZY!? YOUR CHILDREN WERE WATCHING THAT SHOW!” Then she stomped off irately.

My children, on the other hand, took it much better than their mother. All three wanted to see, so I took off the bandage and showed them. Holly and Molly thought it was ‘Gross!’ and Charlie thought it was ‘Cool!’ I checked it out. It wasn’t actually all that bad, being not a whole lot more than a bad papercut, and a lot more dramatic looking that it really was. I rebandaged it with a giant Band-Aid and went back to the living room. Marilyn was unhappy with me the rest of the day.

It was no surprise when all three networks ran the scene that night on the evening news, along with the mandatory “What you are about to see is graphic and violent, and you may want to turn away.” warning. Since they ran it at dinnertime, this just guaranteed a wider audience. Several commentators raised the possibility that I wasn’t all that stable. Curiously, though, several also spoke out about the tactics and slanders by my opponent.

Monday morning’s Baltimore Sun featured a video capture of me holding the knife up to the camera, along with Brew McRiley’s spin, and Stewart’s denouncement of my ‘detestable’ tactics. Still, there was a lengthy piece about the incident in 1983, and how Stewart had gone beyond the limits of spin to outright lies. In 1990 the truth still mattered; it would be another 22 years before the Romney campaign began lying outright and commenting that ‘We’re not going to let our campaign be dictated by fact checkers.’ (Not that Obama was any better, but at least his people were tactful enough not to brag about it.) It got stranger from there. Mid-week, WJZ managed to track down Bill Worley, who had gone through this nonsense during the Democratic primary. He stated on camera, “Andy Stewart would sell his mother for a vote, and then haggle over the price!” So much for party unity!

Brew had a poll run mid-week. We had done these a few times since the primary ended, and I had been consistently trailing Stewart, not by much, but by more than the three percent margin of error. For the first time, we were in a statistical dead heat. I had picked up some among men, but even more among women, who seemed to think it was a good idea to protect my family. Polling ain’t cheap, and we wondered whether Andy knew this.

By now the national press was reporting on us. Both Time and U.S. News and World Report called for telephone interviews on Wednesday. The Saturday after the show was the weekend for the annual summer party, and a reporter for Newsweek showed up on Friday, not knowing about it. What the hell! We invited him along with the other political reporters in town. Brewster had made me invite everyone we could think of.

This was going to be our biggest party ever. We had started out back in 1983 with just the people from the office and the business, the Tusks, and a few others who had been involved in the purchase and construction of the land and house. Since then it had grown. Now, along with the core related to the Buckman Group, we had people from Our Lady of Grace, Fifth District Elementary, families of the kids’ friends, and this year various political types from around the district. Everybody was warned to bring swimsuits and an appetite. We had a rental company bring in a gigantic red and white striped tent, and plenty of tables and chairs, and we had the bathrooms in the main house as well as the pool house. Marilyn and I had even installed a monstrously large grill station on the deck, the type where it is permanently installed with a fixed gas line going to the main tank behind the house.

We kenneled Dum-Dum for the day in Hampstead. That little mutt was one of the sweetest and friendliest dogs I’ve ever owned, but she was also very excitable, and tended to jump and race around. Last year she had scratched one of our guests’ children with her claws. No harm was done, but the little girl was scared. You knew somebody was going to let her out of the house without being on the tie-out, and then she’d run loose. It was safer for us and for her to put her in the kennel for the day.

By late morning people started to show up. Tusker and Tessa and the boys were among the first, and the first thing we did was get the keg station going. The new grill center was totally in stainless steel, had a pair of eight burner grills, six side burners for pans and pots, and built in cold storage underneath. At the far end it even had a cooler capable of holding a pair of half kegs of beer. The beer distributor had brought out a pair of kegs two days ago, along with some bottle beer and soda, and the kegs were cold. Tusker took one look at the system and pronounced it, “Awesome!” I laughed and delegated him to run the keg. We got the first two beers.

Tessa helped Marilyn bring the food out, before getting a beer of her own. Marilyn went with a wine cooler. Then, as guests arrived, Marilyn and I greeted them. You could tell who had been to a previous party. They showed up with their kids already wearing swimsuits, and with spare clothes in a bag in their car; the kids promptly made a beeline for the pool and jumped in. People who never had been there before, arrived fully dressed, and with a swimsuit in a bag. They were directed to the pool house if they wanted to change. Parking was simple — anywhere in the front yard and around to the far side of the house. No way did we have enough driveway to hold everybody! One of the security guys, in shorts and a sport shirt, directed traffic.

The press connection was looking problematical. The Newsweek reporter, a guy named Bill Grass, showed up around noon, after spending half an hour driving all over northern Carroll County, lost. Already present was a reporter from the Sun, Fletcher Donaldson, a young fellow in his mid-twenties. On the other hand, of the three local television stations, only WJZ sent a truck out, and as soon as they figured out that the summer barbecue party really was a summer barbecue party, and not a gathering of the Republican powerful, they took off without even recording any B-roll or doing a voice-over.

Donaldson introduced himself and then promptly stuffed his notepad in his pocket, grabbed a beer, and began circulating. When Grass arrived, he was the only guy wearing a suit. I just shook my head in amusement and waved him over.

“Mister Buckman?” he asked.

I smiled and shook his hand. “Call me Carl. What in the world are you dressed for? This is a party, not a convention! Lose the jacket and tie, and roll up your sleeves, or you don’t get a beer.” He blinked in surprise, but then complied. I tossed his jacket and tie inside the house, and then handed him a beer. He still wasn’t as informal as I was (shorts, Hawaiian shirt, straw hat, sunglasses, and deck shoes, no socks) but he wasn’t completely stiff now. I had Tusker pump him a beer, and refreshed mine as well. “Now, welcome to the party!” I said.

“Thanks. I didn’t know what to expect.”

“We’ve been having this little shindig ever since we built the house, back in ’83, and it just keeps getting bigger every year. Last year we started doing a smaller one in the fall, when the kids are playing soccer. We don’t have the pool open then, but we bring over the teams, and let the kids run around. It’s fun.”

“It looks it.” Just then a pair of small ones, maybe four or five, went racing through the kitchen area, so I corralled them and sent them back out the way they came. They went screeching away and headed towards the pool.

“I’m not big on rules, but they might burn themselves on the grill,” I explained. I drank some beer and waved at Brewster, whose eyes widened when he saw me talking to somebody who looked like a reporter. I smiled over my cup. “I bet you didn’t start the week thinking you’d be attending the party of some two-bit Congressional wannabe this weekend.”

“Is that what you think you are? A two-bit wannabe?” he asked. Brewster arrived as the question was raised, and his eyes popped open.

“I think that’s what Andy Stewart thinks of me. What do you think?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet, Mister Buckman…”

“Carl!” I interrupted him.

“… Carl. I have to tell you, I’ve been covering politics a long time now, and I’ve never seen anything like what I saw Sunday morning. What in the world were you thinking?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure now. Mostly I was just incredibly pissed off!” Brew winced at that, since serious people don’t say the words ‘pissed off.’ Screw it, I might be going down, but if so, I’d go down in flames! “The man’s a lying scumbag, and I just got angry! That’s all it was. I lost my temper.”

Tusker had been listening in from by the beer keg. He laughed at this, and Grass looked over at him. If he thought I was informal, I wondered what he thought of Tusker. Tusker had on cutoff shorts and a sleeveless ‘Harley Davidson’ tee shirt, and sandals, with his hair tied together in a pony tail. His shoulder tattoos were quite visible. “Remind me not to piss you off,” he laughed.

“You’re not helping much, buddy,” I told him. “I didn’t need to have a party in order to get grief. I am getting a perfectly fine load of grief from my wife already, thank you very much!”

“Your wife isn’t happy about this?” Grass asked.

Tusker laughed again, especially when Marilyn came up from behind the reporter and answered, “No, she isn’t, and if he ever pulls a stunt like that again, I’m going to kill him!”

“Yes, dear, I promise! I’ll behave!”

She wagged her finger at me and said, “You’d better!” and then stood on her tiptoes and kissed me. She turned to the reporter. “If you want to try fitting into a pair of Carl’s shorts, I can try to find some, but I don’t think he’s your size.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be fine.” Grass was probably about twenty pounds heavier than me, and it was mostly around the middle. Marilyn left, going out to the back yard and greeting some people from Fifth District. She was wearing a tight pair of shorts and a tank top, and looked cuter than hell!

“In case you didn’t figure it out, that was the long suffering wife of the candidate,” I said. “And this is Jim Tusk, my best friend.”

“Really? Don’t take this wrong, but you don’t look like the best friend of a billionaire.”

Tusker laughed. “Really? You don’t say! You’re probably saying he looks like a crazy biker.”

“Actually, yeah.”

Both Tusker and I laughed at that. “Can’t imagine why!” I laughed.

“Well, I am a crazy biker. On the other hand, I’m also the biggest Honda motorcycle dealer in the state, and with any luck, I’ll pick up Harley Davidson this year.”

“Did you hear back from them?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you about it later.” To Grass he said, “Carl’s actually in business with me. He owns ten percent of the dealership.”

“You own a motorcycle dealership?”

“Sure, why not? The financials were good, they had a good business plan, and simply needed some angel investing. That was back in ’82. We’ve known each other for twenty years or so, going back to high school. He might look like a crazy biker, but he’s the smartest biker since Malcolm Forbes! He and Tessa do all right.”

Tusker started handing out a few cups of beer to the guests, and we both refilled our own glasses. I had the grills turned on, and Marilyn brought out a giant Crock-Pot full of Michigan Sauce. “Is the grill ready?” she asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Well the little ones are going to be getting hungry.”

“Okay.” Marilyn went back inside, to check on things. I pulled a stack of burgers and some franks from the refrigerator under the grill. I opened the top of the grill, and started tossing on some burgers and hot dogs. Marilyn brought out a stack of paper plates, and we started lining up some rolls. We had a whole separate table for condiments and veggies and other stuff.

Grass kept asking questions, almost as much about my business as about my politics. Jake Junior introduced him to Barry Bonham from Tough Pup, which had just announced a major expansion. Even though the economy was slowing, people still were paying to take care of their pets. He asked the business people what would happen if I were to win, and they all pretty much shrugged. “Whatever happens, we’re not shutting the company down. I won’t be running it, but what we’ve built is too good to stop,” I explained. The others all agreed with me.

And then we had to stop talking, as the meat cooked and people started lining up for lunch. Some of the little ones had eyes bigger than their stomachs, and wanted two of everything. I would just laugh and tell them to come back for seconds, there was plenty more. Charlie’s friend Johnny Parker came through a second time, after everybody else had firsts. Johnny asked, “Can I have another burger?” I drank some more beer, and smiled over at Bill Grass.

“Please!” prompted his mother, standing behind him.

“Please!” he said.

“I don’t know. Do you want a Republican burger or a Democratic burger?” I asked, giving his mother a wink.

Lurlene Parker laughed at this, and Johnny looked perplexed. “I’m too young to vote.”

I looked over at Grass. “I’m courting the independent vote!” He snorted and laughed. I put a burger on Johnny’s bun, and sent him on his way.

Lurlene held her plate and bun out as well. “What’s the difference between a Republican burger and a Democratic burger?”

“Republican burgers are juicy and delicious. Democratic burgers get dropped on the ground.”

That got another laugh. “Today I’m a Republican.”

“Yeah? Why do I think that is going to last only until you get your burger?”

I put a burger on her bun and sent her off after her son. After she got a few feet from me, she looked back over her shoulder and yelled out, “Vote for Stewart!”

“You’re killing me, Lurlene, you’re killing me! I swear to God, I’m going to raise your taxes, Lurlene!”

She laughed maniacally and wandered off. A minute later I saw her laughing with my wife and a few of the other women. I knew I was going to get requests for a few more Republican burgers before the end of the day. The first request came from Fletcher Donaldson. His I mimed dropping on the grass.

The party began winding down around six or so. We suffered through the usual stuff. A little boy stubbed his toe running around the pool and had to get bandaged up and sent home. Somebody had too much beer and was napping in the pool house. A little girl managed to step in puppy poop that we had missed during the cleanup and cried. By seven it was down to just about a half dozen of us, Marilyn and me, the Tusks, Brew McRiley, Jake Junior and his fiancé, and John and Helen. The reporters had gone and we were all just sitting around the back deck.

“Screw it,” I announced. “We’re doing the cleanup tomorrow.”

“I am with you!” agreed my wife.

“So, Carl, what are you going to do after you win?” asked Junior.

“That assumes I’m going to win. Right now it’s too close to call,” I said, shrugging.

He snorted. “Have you ever lost at anything? You’re going to win!”

I laughed and looked at my wife. “Who are you voting for, me or Andy? Who’d you vote for in the primary?”

There were several astonished reactions around the group, since most people weren’t aware Marilyn was actually a Democrat. She immediately protested, “You, of course!”

“Okay, you get a Republican burger next time,” I told her, which got quite a few more laughs.

“How are you going to live in Washington?” asked Tessa.

I made a wry face at that. “No idea. Whenever I’ve gone there before, we usually stayed at the Hay-Adams, but I don’t think I can do that long term.”

It was John who said, “Get an apartment or buy a house. Something big. You’ll need to entertain occasionally.”

I nodded in understanding. “I’ve heard that.” I looked over at Marilyn who looked back, curiously. “Cocktail and dinner parties, etc, etc. If I win, we’ll have to buy a house down there. You don’t want an apartment, do you?”

“No. Does that mean we have to move!?”

“No. You mean, away from here? No way! I bet it’s close enough I can drive down, stay a night or two, and then drive back easily enough,” I told her. No way did I want to move!

Marilyn looked relieved at that. Then John said something interesting. “Why drive? Fly! It can’t be a half an hour by plane or helicopter. Go from Westminster right to downtown DC at National.”

I gaped at my old friend for a moment, and then turned to Marilyn. “You know, that might actually work! I might even be able to make it home for dinner some nights. Or you could bring the kids down occasionally. I know you hate driving.”

“You can drive, I’ll fly!”

Melanie Something-or-other, Junior’s fiancé, stared at us for a moment, and then she exclaimed. “You would fly back and forth to Washington from here!? That would cost a fortune!”

Some of the others laughed, since Melanie obviously didn’t know how much money I had. It was compounded when John added, “Sure, why not? You’ve been wanting to buy a jet for a few years now. This is a good excuse!”

“Give me a break! I am not buying a G3 — and you know that’s what we’d need anyway — just to fly fifty miles back and forth! We’d barely get the wheels up before we were landing again! That’s silly, even for me!”

John laughed at me, and Melanie gaped. “You’d buy an airplane?”

I just waved a hand. “Yes, but not to commute like that! For that trip I just need a Piper Cub on steroids.”

Junior asked, “So, what happens with the company after you leave? They’ll never let you run it and be a Congressman at the same time.”

“No, that won’t happen. I’ll still be the majority owner, but they can’t make me sell my shares.” I glanced over at John, who simply smiled and nodded back. “Okay, now’s as good a time as any. If I win, and right now that’s a damn big if, well, I’ve already talked it over with John and your Dad. If I win, you’ll be named Chairman, and Missy will be named President. John goes into semi-retirement as Chairman Emeritus, and your father stays as the Treasurer, and they still run around and smack your heads. You and Missy going to be able to get along that way?” I asked.

Junior nodded slowly, thinking about it. “We can live with that.” I raised an eyebrow the way he said it. “I’ve talked to Melissa about it. We thought we might get to run it. We just thought I’d be President and we’d make her the Executive VP, or something like that. We weren’t expecting John to leave, at least not right away…”

“I’m still here, you know. I’m not dead yet,” interjected John drily.

Jake Junior gave him a raspberry, and then said, “Anyway, we’ve talked it over, and we can make this work. I really think we need to open an office out in Silicon Valley, now. You’ve been handling that end of the business, but I think we’re going to have to hire a pro out there, maybe buy a small firm or something.”

I nodded in agreement. “Okay, start putting out some feelers. Get Missy cranking through her Rolodex. Talk to Dave Marquardt. Maybe he’d be interested in a joint venture, or if not, can help with names. Like I said, this is all a big if, but if it goes right, then we need to have something in place by the end of the year, no later.”

Melanie gave her fiancée a strange look. “I thought you said you worked at a brokerage.”

He smiled. “No, I said an investment firm. And I do work there. Now, vote the Buckman ticket, so I can run it, too.” He looked over at me and laughed. “You need a campaign contribution? Maybe something to push you over the top and move me into your office after you leave?”

“Funny, very funny!”

“Shut up, Carl! Take the check!” ordered Brew.

“Holy shit!” she muttered.

Chapter 102: The Westminster Diner

Wednesday, October 3, 1990

Political campaigns, at least in America, are designed to produce winners by wearing the participants down to a nub. The survivor gets elected. There comes a point where you have to wonder just how many hands can be shook, how many rubber chicken dinners do you have to eat, how many old people do you have to make nice to? It really helps to be rich, since doing all of those things and actually trying to earn a living are impossible. Early on you start wondering whether it’s all worth it. You start saying there just has to be a better way to pick a government!

America made a big mistake way back when we revolted against the British. Most people think it was in allowing slavery, but considering that half the colonies were slave states, we’d never have broken loose fighting that battle, then. The big mistake was that in our desire to rid ourselves of all things British, we got rid of a parliamentary system of government, and saddled ourselves with the mess we have now. Most Europeans look at how we elect our government and shake their heads in disbelief. When they hold elections, they just announce them and then everybody has six or eight weeks to make their bets and vote. Congressional and Senate races in America go for about a year, and Presidential races typically run at least two years, regardless of what the rule books state. It’s a miracle anything actually gets accomplished!

As you go through it, you really start thinking there has to be a better way to do things, because there can’t possibly be a worse way!

Wednesday, October 3, was supposed to be a relatively normal day. It was a long day. I started out with a few hours over at the office, mostly answering and returning phone calls and emails. The Sun had sent Fletcher Donaldson out to trail me around for a day, a day-in-the-life type of exercise. Brew and I shrugged our shoulders. The Sun still hadn’t gotten around to endorsing anybody and we didn’t dare to chance pissing them off. The Sun is a Baltimore City paper, but it’s read all across the state.

It was going to be a long day, with a radio interview in Westminster, two visits to old folks homes in Reisterstown (known as ‘senile silos’ in the business), a visit to a ladies book club in Taneytown, and then finishing up with a rubber chicken dinner and a speech at the American Legion hall in Westminster. Thursday and Friday I would get to repeat the process in Baltimore County. I just kept repeating to myself that I only had another month to go. We were still in a dead heat with Stewart.

Donaldson got to campaign headquarters mid-morning, and spent some time chatting with some worker bees. I got there about eleven. Then I took off with Donaldson riding with me. Brew had a cold and was under the weather, so it was just me. It shouldn’t be a problem. By now I pretty much had the stump speech ingrained on my DNA, even with the changes we made from time to time to answer Stewart’s latest nonsense. We had taken to using a line from the movie Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, which wouldn’t be made for many more years to come. Whenever somebody started spouting something pro-Stewart and patently false about me, I would just hit back with, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop telling the truth about Andy Stewart the same day he stops telling lies about me!”

In the meantime, you smile a lot, shake hands, and pray to God they remember to pull the lever next to the big ‘R’ on November 6, if they remember to get out of bed and go vote. There has to be a better way!

We finished up around 8:30 or so, and I just wanted to go home, but as we drove through Westminster I felt my stomach rumble. The rubber chicken dinner had been especially rubbery tonight, and I just pushed it around the plate some, all the while thanking them for my delicious meal. I began to wonder which circle of Hell I was going to end up in, and settled on the Eighth Circle, for Fraud. I only had one more to go before I was hopelessly doomed.

I saw a light up ahead, near the corner of Manchester and Baltimore, near the mall. “You hungry?” I asked Fletcher.

“Not really.”

I smiled and shrugged at him. “Well, I need something to forget about that delicious chicken dinner. You can have coffee if you want.”

“Sure, why not!”

I nodded and pulled into the diner’s parking lot. It was getting late and it was after the evening rush. I had been here any number of times over the years. It’s a nice place owned by a Greek immigrant and usually staffed by members of his innumerable family. We parked and went inside.

I held the door open for Fletcher and then followed him inside. At that hour there was a man at the cash register near the door, and I recognized him as the owner, Nick Papandreas, although he didn’t recognize me. He greeted us and showed us to a booth about four down from the door, and said a waitress would be out in a moment. As we followed him, I noticed a woman, a young woman, sitting huddled up in the first booth inside the door, sipping a cup of coffee. We sat down, and it was just by chance that I had the seat facing the door, and Fletcher took the seat opposite me, so that his back was to the door.

A girl who looked like she was college age came out from the back of the restaurant and saw Nick pointing at us. She said something to him and smiled, and then grabbed a couple of menus. She approached and flashed a big smile at both of us. “Hi there, fellas! Can I start you off with some coffee?”

I smiled back. “Coffee for my friend, and I’d like some tea, please.”

“Sweet tea?”

I shook my head. “Hot tea, please.”

“Sure thing!” She gave us the menus and said, “Back in a jiffy!”

Fletcher twisted his head to watch her leave. “Cute kid.”

“They’re all cute at that age. I think I was born older than that,” I replied with a smile.

When the young lady returned with our coffee and tea, I asked, “So, are you Nick’s daughter or niece?”

She laughed. “Neither. I’m a second cousin, but we all call him Uncle Nick. Care to order?”

“Well, I’m not up for a meal, but if you have any pie left…”

“Best pie in the county! We have apple, cherry, blueberry, and strawberry still available.”

I set my menu down and looked at Fletcher. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a nice slice of pie.”

He nodded and agreed. “Apple for me, a la mode, please.” He set his menu on top of mine.

“Sure thing, sugar,” she said to him. She turned to me.

“Cherry, a la mode, too.”

“Nothing like cherry pie on a night like tonight,” she replied, winking at me.

I chuckled and waved her on her way.

Fletcher smiled. “I think she’s flirting with you.”

“Yeah, and a married candidate for Congress is going to try something with a reporter across from him. Right!”

He laughed at this. “Still…”

“Fletcher, of course she’s flirting with me. Waitresses flirt with their customers. That’s like saying birds fly in the air. It gets them good tips. Aside from that? I’m damn near twenty years older than she is, and married to boot.” I waved my ring finger at him. “If she didn’t kill me one way, Marilyn would kill me another way!” He just laughed at that.

As I talked to him, I had one eye vaguely on the young woman in the booth by the front door. I had taken my glasses off after sitting down, and didn’t bother putting them back on, but something about her seemed a bit off. Maybe it was the way she had her jacket wrapped around her, or the way she seemed to be holding her left arm, or the sunglasses she was wearing when it was dark out. She just seemed a bit off to me, but I didn’t pay her all that much attention. I couldn’t see what she was eating, but she seemed to be dawdling over it. Then again, maybe I was just seeing something that wasn’t there.

Nick’s second cousin returned with our pie, and flirted a little more with us. At that point I stopped paying attention to the girl at the front, and Fletcher and I just talked politics while we ate. It was a quiet night. Nick said something to the waitress and he went back into the kitchen. That was when things changed.

A big guy pushed through the front door to the diner and started looking around. He was dressed in what looked like mechanic’s coveralls, but torn and greasy. He looked dirty and disheveled. He was very tall and fat, but probably the kind that had some muscle underneath. I saw the waitress go up to him and say something that I couldn’t quite make out. He ignored her and pushed past her and kept looking around her. She protested, and he shoved her aside, startling her. She staggered against the counter, and then ran back into the kitchen.

That was when I noticed the woman sitting at the booth near the door trying to slide down in the bankette seat and slip under the table. The big guy saw her out of the edge of his vision and turned towards her. “WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, YOU STUPID CUNT!?” he roared. Then he reached out and grabbed her arm, causing her to cry out.

Fletcher and I stopped talking, and he turned around in his seat to see what was going on. “What the hell?” he commented.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s good,” I replied.

“GET UP, BITCH! WE’RE GOING HOME! MOVE YOUR FAT ASS, YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT!”

At that point Nick came hustling out of the swinging doors to the kitchen, followed closely by his cousin. He looked angry; she looked nervous. “What going on?! You get out of here!” I don’t know how long Nick had been in the country, but he still had his heavy Greek accent.

“FUCK YOU!” The newcomer swung and connected with Nick’s chest. It wasn’t much of a contest. Nick looked like he was in his early fifties, and it was obvious he had eaten too much of his fine cooking. The big guy was bigger, at least a foot taller, and a lot heavier. Nick went back on his ass.

“Uncle Nick!” screamed the waitress, who went running towards Nick.

The big guy roared and grabbed a carafe of coffee and swung it at her. He caught her on the side of the head and the carafe shattered. She went down like a sack of potatoes. Then he turned back to the young woman in the booth and grabbed for her again. She began to fight against him, but when he grabbed her arm, she cried out again and slumped in the booth. “GET UP, BITCH!”

“Oh, shit!” I said, as much to myself as anyone else. I reached across the table and tapped Fletcher on the arm. He turned back to me and I reached into my coat pocket. I pulled out my cell phone and pushed it across the table. It was a Motorola MicroTAC which I got last year to replace my original DynaTAC ‘brick.’ “You stay here and call the cops.” Then I stood up and slipped off my suit coat; I had pulled off my tie in the car on the drive over. Fletcher was watching the big guy, so I snapped my fingers to get his attention. “Stay here and call the cops.” Then I turned and went towards the big asshole at the front of the diner.

“Time to go, buddy. Get lost,” I said. “The cops are on the way.”

Behind him, I could see Nick scrambling on the floor to get to his feet. I couldn’t focus on that, though, because the big guy roared at me and swung his right at me in a wild roundhouse swing. Now that I was closer to him, I could smell a delightful aroma of four days of body odor, overlaid with enough beer to cause a contact buzz. Great! The roundhouse right missed me by a mile, and as I stepped closer, he threw a left at me. I focused on his timing, and he came back with another right.

It was my turn. I let the right swing past and then stepped behind his swing. My right hand grabbed his wrist and my left grabbed his elbow. Then I twisted and pushed him forward as hard as I could. Never counter power with power. Instead let the attacker’s power work against him. He went face forward and I put my weight into the move, and slammed his face down into one of the booth tables. There was a satisfying crunch and he almost bounced off the table. This time I pulled him back up and twisted his arm so that he went backwards. I kept twisting and kicked his legs out from under him. I put my weight into it again, and he went down on his back all the way to the floor, with his head bouncing twice on the tile. He was out like a light.

I doubt it took fifteen seconds, including the swings he took at me, and I wasn’t even breathing all that hard. My first reaction was how angry Marilyn would be with me, but I smiled at the thought and shook it off. She’d get over it.

I found Nick on the floor next to his waitress, who was sitting upright, although she was bleeding from a cut on the side of the head. I knelt down next to them both, just as a couple of men came through the swinging doors from the kitchen. They were dressed in white tee shirts and had aprons on, so they must have been cooks or dishwashers. They stared in disbelief, and I yelled at them to call the cops. They scurried into the back again. I looked over my shoulder and saw Fletcher talking to somebody on the phone, so maybe he got through already. A second call couldn’t hurt.

The girl was showing signs of coming around, so Nick and I lifted her up and set her on one of the seats at the counter. Her eyes fluttered open, and she mumbled, “Wha… what…”

“Hi. What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She focused on me. “Amy. What happened?”

“Amy, how do you feel?” It looked like a relatively minor cut just above her right jawbone, but it was freely bleeding, as head wounds have a tendency to do.

“My head hurts.” She reached up to touch it and yelled, “Oww! What happened?” Then she looked at her hand, now with blood on her fingers. “I’m bleeding!”

I looked at Nick. “Mister Papandreas, you got a first aid kit?”

He moved behind the cash register and grabbed a white box with a red cross on it. Then one of the cooks came back and said, “The cops are coming. What the hell happened?” Nick started telling him and Amy what had happened.

I stayed focused on Amy. “Okay, darling, this is going to hurt a touch, so don’t move.” Then I reached out with my right hand and gently plucked a couple of shards of glass from the cut on her face. She was a bit of a mess, covered in blood and coffee, and I was debating whether to let the blood flow freely or put pressure on a head wound. All I knew about first aid was the stuff they teach you in the Boy Scouts and boot camp.

I didn’t have to make the decision. We all heard a siren and I looked up to see some flashing lights approaching. The first vehicle to show was an ambulance. Two guys came running in with what looked like oversized tackle boxes, and Nick started telling them what happened.

I stood up and motioned for the cook to come over. I leaned over the counter to him. “Think you can make a couple of pots of coffee? I think it’s going to be a long night.”

He glanced past me to see a Westminster Police car pull up, also with lights flashing. “I think you’re right,” he said.

“And get me the makings of some hot tea while you’re at it, please?” I asked. He nodded and went back into the kitchen.

I looked around and found Fletcher still yapping on the phone. I went over to him and said, “You can hang up now. The cavalry is here.”

He covered the mouthpiece and said, “Oh, that was my first call. I’m talking to the night editor now.”

“What?! You’re calling the paper!?” Jesus H. Christ! This was turning into a real three ring circus!

Fletcher Donaldson just smiled at me with a really wicked shit-eating grin, and then he started talking into the phone again. Short of smacking the bastard and taking my phone away, it was out of my control. I rolled my eyes and went back over to the counter.

The cook came out with a cup of hot water and set it and a tea bag down on the counter in front of me. “This thing is going to be a real clusterfuck,” he said to me lowly.

“My friend, you have no idea!” I replied.

By this time the policeman was inside the diner, and he was using a radio to call for backup and a second ambulance. The EMTs had put some gauze and tape on Amy, who seemed mostly shaken up, and were now working on the fat jackass who had started all this. He looked like he had a broken nose and jaw, so they were immobilizing his neck and preparing to put a breathing tube down his throat. That woke the bastard up, so he tried to fight off the EMTs, which got the cop into it as well. I stayed out of it. It took a second cop and another pair of EMTs to get this asshole strapped onto a gurney and restrained, and they never did get a tube down his airway!

By then we had a third police car show up, along with the second ambulance. The third car was a sergeant, and he started talking to Nick. I found it amusing that every cop who came in called Nick by his name. If this had happened any other moment of the day, there’d have been half the police force in northern Carroll County there, drinking coffee and eating a donut. We just got lucky.

The jackass got hustled out, strapped to the gurney, and one of the cops peeled out after the ambulance, because the asshole was still cursing and fighting. The EMTs started working on Amy again, but they decided she needed to go to the hospital, too, for a few stitches and X-rays. The sergeant started asking who all of us were, and I said, “My name’s Carl Buckman. Listen, that young lady over there…” I pointed her out to him, it was the young woman the asshole was trying to grab. “I think she’s hurt, too. That guy was trying to haul her out of here, but every time he grabbed her, she was crying.”

The sergeant raised an eyebrow at this, and nodded to one of the EMTs and a spare policeman, and they went over to her. She was still crying, and when they helped her off with her coat, I got a better look at her. She had a black eye under the sunglasses, and was a good six months pregnant. There was a real suspicious bump on her right forearm, too. The EMT took one look at her and said, “Miss, you’re going to the hospital, too. I think your arm’s busted. Did that guy do this to you?” She didn’t answer, but just kept crying.

The sergeant looked back at me. “Nice catch. Now, who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Like I said before, Sergeant, my name is Carl Buckman. I’m with the guy over there, and we just came in for some pie and coffee.”

“And you’re the guy who took him out?”

I nodded. “That would be me.”

“Stick around.”

He headed towards Fletcher, and I decided to follow. Fletcher was still yammering on the phone to his editor, probably working on his Pulitzer Prize speech. The sergeant asked, “Who are you and who are you talking to?”

“Fletcher Donaldson, Baltimore Sun. Who are you, officer?”

“A reporter!? How the hell did you get in here already?”

“I was already here. I’m with him,” Fletcher said, pointing at me.

“Yeah, well call’s over. Hang it up.”

“But I’m talking to my editor.”

The sergeant was nowhere near as impressed with Fletcher’s ongoing use of his First Amendment rights as Fletcher was. “Hang it up, or I’ll hang it up for you,” he growled.

“Got to go,” Fletcher said into the phone, and then he flipped it closed.

“Thank you. I’ll hold onto that,” I said, and took it away from him and stuffed it in my pocket.

By now a plainclothes cop had arrived, and the cook had brought out a couple of pots of coffee and a plate full of doughnuts. None of us were going anywhere until this got sorted out. Amy and the young girl at the center of all of this were hustled off to Carroll Hospital in the same ambulance. The rest of us started making statements.

Donaldson was writing things down as fast as the cops! I just ignored him as best I could. This was undoubtedly the end of my political career. A fight in a diner, and with a reporter present. The only way this could possibly have been worse was with video.

Guess what? It got worse! We had video!

Nick had a couple of video cameras in the diner, and one of them was aimed right at the front of the diner, where the cash register was, along with the first few booths. The sergeant and the plainclothes guy found it and started watching, and then called me over. Fletcher tagged along like an eager puppy. There was no sound, so they asked me to provide a running dialog.

“You handled yourself pretty good there. You want to explain that?” asked the plainclothes cop.

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“I’m Lieutenant Hughes. So, what gives?”

“Real simple, Lieutenant. I have a couple of black belts, aikido and tae kwan do. And I used to be in the service. I was a paratrooper. This guy, whoever he was, didn’t worry me. Who was he, anyway?”

The lieutenant looked mystified at that; it was the sergeant who answered. “That is a wonderful fellow named Haywood Collins. She’s his wife. They have a dump apartment north of town, and we go out there about once a month on a domestic. He likes to use her for a punching bag, and she won’t leave him, and we can’t make her.”

I shook my head. “Crap! Do you know how many of these things end up with dead wives? Any way we can get her into a shelter or something?”

“We’ve tried, but she always goes back.”

“Maybe if he’s in jail she can break free from him,” I said. “I’ll charge him with attempted assault on me, if I have to.”

Lieutenant Hughes shrugged. “Fine by me, but this guy really screwed up this time. We have him dead to rights on assault and battery on Nick and the waitress, and even when he grabbed his wife. You’ll just be icing on the cake. This guy’s going to be spending a few years in Hagerstown. Maybe we can get her loose from him by then.”

“She has got to be terrified of him. Any chance we can get her in a shelter before then? What if he gets out on bail?” I asked.

“Who the fuck is going to bail this loser out!? Nah, he’s got a few priors. The judge is not about to let him loose, and the ACLU ain’t going to make a Federal case over this guy,” said the sergeant. “We can get in touch with a shelter. Maybe they can help. Maybe there’s something the hospital can help with.” He shrugged.

“What’s it to you?” asked the lieutenant. “Besides, where the hell have I heard of you from? For some reason I’ve heard of you.”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Great. Two hundred grand in television ads, and all I get is you might have heard my name. I’m running for Congress!”

It clicked, and his eyes opened wide. “Holy shit! It is you! That’s where I’ve seen you!” Several of the cops came over at that point and shook my hand, and even Nick came over.

Well, I suppose it was nice to be recognized, but a month from now, I’d be ancient history. If Marilyn didn’t kill me, Andy Stewart was going to beat my brains in about my fighting in a diner.

“Hey, any chance I can get out of here? My wife is going to kill me,” I said.

“Sure, just give us a number to reach you at. The DA might want to hear from you, too.”

I gave him a couple of my business cards. “Listen, give one of those to the shelter when you find one. I’m a pretty easy touch for charities, and that might tip the balance about getting that girl some help.”

“Sure.”

“And keep this guy here. Throw him in jail! Give him the rubber hose treatment! Reporters are a pain in the ass!” I said. I turned to Fletcher. “You need a lift back to your car?”

He smiled. “No. I’ll get a lift with the cops, unless they want me to spell their names wrong.”

Hughes and I just rolled our eyes at that. He said, “I’m really liking the rubber hose idea.”

I shook a few hands and headed home. It was late when I got home, a bit after eleven. Marilyn was sleeping in her recliner. I momentarily debated leaving her there, but she’d get pissed at me. I simply made enough noise that she struggled awake. Dum-Dum wandered sleepily out of Charlie’s room, yawned, and then went over to the patio door to be let out. I put her out on her tie-out while Marilyn got out of her chair. “You’re home late! Big night?”

“Sort of. You’ll read about it in the papers for sure tomorrow.”

“Oh?” That woke her up.

“Oh!” I needed a drink, but it was too late, and I didn’t want to open a bottle or get too involved. I settled on some iced tea.

“What happened?”

Marilyn waited until I was sitting in my recliner, and then crawled onto my lap after letting Dum-Dum back in, and laid her head against my shoulder. She cuddled there while I told her about my latest adventure in the wonderful world of campaign politics. Afterwards, she said, “And you think this is going to hurt your campaign?”

“I think it’s going to kill it! Fighting in a diner? With a reporter watching? I might as just well hang it up now, and save everybody the trouble of the election,” I told her.

“Well, I think you’re wrong, and I’m proud of you,” she told me.

“Huh?” I was obviously too tired to think. “I figured you’d be really pissed at me.”

Marilyn sighed. “Well, I’d probably be happier if you were a really quiet salesman and home every night at five, but that’s just not who I married. I married a hero, whether I like it or not. You weren’t going to let those girls get beat up, and if you lose the election, so be it. I’d rather you be an unelected hero than an elected coward.”

“Huh!”

“You know what Andy Stewart would have done, don’t you?” she asked, teasingly.

“No, what?”

“He’d have run out the back door, and then complained the cops didn’t get there fast enough!”

I nodded. That sounded true enough. “That’s our Andy! He’s going to make hay out of this for sure.”

“I think you are worried about nothing. Either way, though, you need to relax. Want me to help you relax?”

That made me smile. “Sure! Here?”

“No, silly! Your children are getting too old. We don’t need them wandering out into the living room to see that!”

“You’re no fun anymore. You’re an old married lady now!” I laughed.

“We’ll see about that. Anyway, I am going to call Taylor tomorrow, and tell her we’re going to the Bahamas, just you and me, the day after the election. We’ll get my parents to come down and stay with the kids. Win or lose!”

“Sounds like a plan.” I began tugging the zipper down on her sweatshirt. “Sure about the fooling around part?”

Marilyn grabbed my hand and stopped me. Laughing she said, “Forget it! In the bedroom!” Then she climbed up off my lap and headed towards the hallway, giving her rear a nice shake as she did so.

That worked, too.

Chapter 103: The Women’s Vote

I was wrong about the effect the fight would have on the election, very wrong. Brew McRiley called me about seven in the morning, while I was still struggling to wake up. Marilyn answered the phone and then passed it over to me. I heard Brew’s voice even before I got the phone in my hands. “CARL! CARL! PICK UP! COME ON, CARL!”

I fumbled the phone for a moment before I could get it to my ear. “Brewster, calm down! What!?”

“Why didn’t you call me!?”

“What? Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Last night! You should have called me!”

I sat up in bed, remembering the disaster. “Brew, I figured I would let you get a night’s sleep before telling you we were all out of jobs.”

“What are you talking about!? Haven’t you read the paper yet?!” he gushed. He was almost frothing at the month with excitement.

“Brewster, it’s only seven. The only thing I’ve read is the alarm clock. What’s going on?”

“Jesus, Carl, I had to read about it in the Sun! This is great!”

Great? Something didn’t sound right! “Brewster, what the hell happened? Andy have a heart attack while laughing at me?”

“Carl, what are you talking about? This is great news! You made the front pages of the Sun! They damn near put you up for sainthood!”

“WHAT!?”

“Go read the paper!” he ordered. “I need to work on this!”

Marilyn asked, “What’s going on?”

“Damned if I know. The Sun is doing something strange, I guess.” I grabbed my bathrobe and stumbled down the hall and went to the front door. The newspaper was in a tube on the same post as our mailbox, and I had it open before I ever got back to the house. There it was, a quarter page article, just below the fold on the front page. ‘HERO CANDIDATE STOPS ASSAULT, SAVES DINER!’ There was even a photo of the Westminster Diner, and I have no idea how they did that, since I didn’t see Donaldson with a camera. I stopped reading and headed back to the house.

By the time I got back to the house, the phone was ringing again. It was a request from WBAL for an interview. I stumbled through telling them yes, but to check with my campaign manager. As soon as I hung up, there was another call, this time from WJZ. How did they get my unlisted number? I was going to have to change phone numbers again.

At the next call I simply told Marilyn to answer and take a message. I sat down at the kitchen table and spread the paper out. Fletcher Donaldson had really outdone himself. He must have been staying up late on this one. After I left, he managed to get interviews with Nick and Lieutenant Hughes, and he must have driven over to the hospital and gotten in to see Amy and Collins’ wife. The story continued on to page three, and there were separate but attached stories on domestic violence and the need for more women’s shelters. He even managed to dig up the story they had on me from back in 1982, when they picked up the AP report on the fight in the bar in the Bahamas. The man had been very busy last night!

Another couple of calls came in while I was reading, and Marilyn told people I was in the shower, but then she said, “It’s Brewster, and he doesn’t believe you’re in the bathroom.” I didn’t get to argue; she simply handed me the phone.

“Yeah, Brew.”

“This is great! Did you read the Sun yet? We have to jump on this right away!” McRiley was so excited he was babbling! It was like a political orgasm to him.

“I’m reading it now, Brew.”

“Great! I’ll meet you at your office at nine! Wear a good suit! We’re going to be doing some interviews! We have to follow this up!” He hung up before I had a chance to say another word.

I hit the button on the phone to hang it up. Marilyn looked over at me and asked, “Well?”

“Brewster’s so excited he just came in his pants.”

“That’s disgusting!” she said, grimacing.

“I agree!” I stood up and headed back to the bedroom. “I’m under orders to get to the office by nine. I’m not sure who’s working for whom.” I headed back to the bedroom. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet.

I hung around long enough to kiss my daughters before they went to school (Charlie didn’t get kisses, he was a big boy!) Then I kissed their mother, perhaps a little more enthusiastically, and headed out. When I got to the office, I got a standing ovation as I entered the lobby. I just rolled my eyes and ordered everybody back to work! That earned me a mixture of laughs and raspberries. John and Brewster simply grabbed me and hustled me into John’s office.

“You’re supposed to call me when you get involved with the cops!” said John.

“I’m supposed to call you when I get in trouble with the cops. I wasn’t in any trouble!”

“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” was his response.

“Hey, it wasn’t anything somebody else wouldn’t have done.”

“Yeah, but it was you,” said Brew. “Now we build on it. This is great!”

“How so?” I asked.

“Okay, so far you and Andy are running neck and neck. Now, that’s not bad, considering you’re a complete novice and he’s the incumbent, but it’s still too close to call. We need something to move you ahead, far ahead, and this is it. This helps on two fronts. First, it really shows you as the ‘law and order’ candidate. Normally that benefits the Republican candidate, and you were polling ahead on this, but this really cements it. The important part is the women’s vote. Women normally vote Democratic over Republican. There’s a real gender gap, and it is very difficult to close! You just nailed the gender gap!”

“Huh?”

“Listen, you already have them half in the bag because of your stand on abortion and women’s health issues. Fletcher Donaldson just reported you wanted to donate to a woman’s shelter. Were you serious on that?” he asked.

“Absolutely. I have no problems with that,” I told him.

John just nodded. “And that takes care of the women’s vote. If the gender gap is normally on the order of ten to fifteen percent, and you just broke even, that gives you at least a five percent edge over Stewart.”

“Huh!” I said, as it sank in. “We probably should be polling again.”

He nodded. “We need to ride this. I’ve got you set up for a lunchtime interview down at WJZ and then something in the early afternoon with WMAR and WBAL.”

I nodded. “What do you think Andy’s going to do? Newton’s Third Law, remember. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction! He’s going to do something.”

McRiley blinked as he gave it some thought. It was John who answered first. “He’s going to label you as an out of control vigilante.”

Brew nodded. “Good, very good. That’s what I’d do. Then I’d get creative!”

“And lie,” I said, feeling like I was sucking a lemon.

“Andy doesn’t lie. He’s just morally flexible,” said Brew.

“Like a rubber pretzel!” I retorted.

John laughed. “Okay, get out of here the pair of you. I have to earn a living, you’ve got to make phone calls and answer emails, and you’ve got to figure out our response to Andy,” he said, pointing first to me and then to Brewster.

“Already working on it!” assured Brewster.

At the appointed time, Brew and I drove out for the rest of the day. As usual, once I had agreed to run for office, I had been driving either the Caddy or Marilyn’s minivan. The 380, my beloved 380, was up on blocks for the duration. The day after the election, one way or the other, I was going to drive it around! In the meantime, I had to be seen in an American car. If somebody commented on my driving around an expensive car, I usually said one of two things. “You got to love that big Detroit iron!” was the first thing, usually along with, “It’s a great car!” If they were still pissy, I would just say that I wasn’t going to apologize for being successful.

The WJZ interview was live on their noon news broadcast. The other two would be aired on the six o’clock news, as would highlights from the WJZ interview. Everybody wanted to know the gory details and how I handled the problem. I simply reiterated a few key points, like the fact that the first thing we did was call for the cops, that I had several black belts and knew how to handle myself, and that I simply did what anybody else would have done. The interview with the guy from WBAL was the last of the day, and by the time I did that one, Andy Stewart had just denounced me as a rogue vigilante. I was asked for a response, so I simply chuckled and said, “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious what Congressman Stewart would have done, and it’s the same thing he does on everything related to the safety of the citizens of the Maryland Ninth — nothing!”

Throughout the day, while I drove us around, Brew was busy yapping on his cell phone, a MicroTAC like mine, only he carried a pair of spare batteries around with him. He just smiled after we heard what Andy had to say, and then gave me marching orders for Friday. Marilyn and I were to meet him at the Westminster campaign headquarters at eleven in the morning, looking ‘presentable’ (by which I guessed a suit for me and a dress for Marilyn.) He had a grin on his face like a cat dining on a canary dinner.

As we drove over the next morning, Marilyn asked, “Do you know what Brewster has in mind?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue, but he is having way too much fun with this. He’s got something big planned.”

“He’s like an evil puppeteer!” she said, laughing, her hands making controlling motions over an invisible marionette.

“And I’m the puppet!” I agreed.

I wasn’t surprised when the campaign staffers applauded when we entered the campaign office, and then Brewster yelled out, “I give you the next Congressman for the Maryland Ninth!” which got me another round of cheers and applause.

“Thank you! Thank you! Now let’s make sure this happens!” I said back, smiling. “What do I need to do to help you do that?!” I wandered around asking what people were up to and making encouraging noises. You have to make sure the ‘little people’ know they’re appreciated, because there are no little people. The lowest level person in an organization, any organization, can screw things up royally if they get pissed at you. If you start treating them as little, you will be sorry, and sooner rather than later!

At half past, Brew bundled us back outside and into my car. “Will you tell me what is going on?” I asked.

He smiled at me. “We are going over to the Westminster Diner for a press conference…”

“At the diner?”

“… where the Chief of Police is going to endorse you for Congress!”

“Holy crap! That’s my first endorsement, isn’t it?”

Brew nodded. “With this one, I bet we can get a bunch of others. We’re also going to announce a $5,000 contribution to the local women’s shelter, and Nick and the waitress are going to be there, too.”

“Well, haven’t you been a busy little beaver,” I told him.

“So get in the car and drive!” he ordered.

I got in the car, and turned to Marilyn. “Did you bring the checkbook? Chuckles here is enjoying himself so much he never mentioned bringing the checkbook!”

“Drive!” ordered Brew. “And think of something nice to say on camera. ‘Thank you!’ would be appropriate.”

“Screw you, Brewster,” I said with a laugh.

It was only a few minutes to the Westminster Diner, and it was obvious that Brewster McRiley really had been a busy little beaver! There was a podium with several microphones on it out in front of the diner, with a Westminster Police car to the side, and several cameras in front, in position to catch both the diner and the police car in the background. Both WMAR and WBAL had vans in the back of the parking lot, and there were heavy electric cables running around the area.

There were several people in the doorway to the diner I recognized. Nick Papandreas was in a suit that looked a touch tight around his middle, Amy was looking nervous and had a large white bandage on the side of her head, and the Westminster Chief of Police, George Tilden, was standing there and drinking from a cup of coffee. I waved at them, but Brew held me back from going over to say hello. Both Amy and Nick waved back, and George nodded and gave me a two fingered salute.

Instead, Brewster went over to the trio and spoke to them, mostly to George, but also to Nick and Amy, gesturing towards the podium. Then he went over to a couple of television reporters, and after talking to them, moved out of the way. Suddenly, a pair of camera operators lifted their cameras and lights came on. For the next five minutes the on-air talent talked to the cameras and adjusted their hair and then did it all again. I assumed that this would end up being cut and edited before it actually went on the air.

Then it was time, and George strode up to the podium and set some papers on it. George was about ten years older than Marilyn and I, and I had met him several times over the last few years, usually when he was accepting a check for the police fund. Now it looked like it had been money well spent! Brewster whispered for Marilyn and me to move into the shot, but to stay back and to the side of George.

George glanced down at his speech, but then looked up and waited for the red lights to light up on the cameras. Then he started talking. “Thank you for coming. My name is Captain George Tilden, and I am the Chief of Police of the Westminster Police Department. Two nights ago there was an incident here at the Westminster Diner. Since then there has been a great deal of attention from the press as well as political interest in the case.”

“The facts of the case are as follows. On Wednesday night at approximately nine in the evening Mister Haywood Collins entered the Westminster Diner in search of his wife, Jolene Collins. Mrs. Collins had run away from her husband earlier in the evening. Mister Collins located her here at the Westminster Diner and attempted to forcibly return her to their home. Mrs. Collins resisted, attracting the attention of the owner of the Westminster Diner, Mister Nicholas Papandreas. Mister Collins then assaulted both Mister Papandreas and Miss Amy Smith, a waitress at the restaurant. At that point Mister Carl Buckman, a patron of the restaurant, subdued Mister Collins. Subsequent to this, paramedic and police units arrived on the scene to provide medical assistance and transport Mister Collins, Mrs. Collins, and Miss Smith to the Carroll Hospital Center.”

“This morning, Haywood Collins was transported to the Carroll County Courthouse and arraigned on multiple counts of assault and battery. He is currently being held at the Carroll County Detention Center. Bail was denied due to a prior history of violence towards his wife. Mrs. Collins and Miss Smith were released from the hospital yesterday morning and were both sent home at that time. Mister Papandreas’ injuries were treated at the scene.”

“There has been considerable interest in this case due to the fact that Mister Buckman is currently running for Congress. In light of this fact, I have taken a personal interest in this case. I have personally interviewed all the police officers who answered the call to the Westminster Diner that evening, all of the paramedics and ambulance personnel, and a number of the employees of the restaurant. I have also reviewed security videotape from the restaurant, and copies of these will be made public at the end of this press conference. Allegations have been made as to the conduct of Mister Buckman, allegations of excessive force and vigilante behavior.”

“These allegations are false. Eyewitness testimony clearly shows that the first thing Mister Buckman did was arrange for a call to the police. The video clearly shows that his actions used the minimum of force necessary to subdue Haywood Collins, and then after Collins was subdued, he immediately released him and began treating Miss Smith for her injuries. He has cooperated fully with this investigation. These are not the actions of a vigilante.”

“The officers who responded to the assault that night were wearing protective vests purchased with a donation made by Mister Buckman. The paramedics who treated and transported Mrs. Collins and Miss Smith did so with equipment provided, in part, by a donation made by Mister Buckman. They were treated at the Carroll Hospital Center in an emergency room also supported by a donation from Mister Buckman. After Mrs. Collins was treated for her injuries, Mister Buckman then offered to make a donation to the Carroll-Coleman Women’s Shelter to make sure that she was kept protected.”

“There is no question that Carl Buckman is a friend of the law enforcement community. He is a friend of the fire department community. He is a friend of the health care community. One of the most amazing things to me is that Carl Buckman isn’t even a resident of Westminster. He doesn’t even live in Carroll County; he lives on the other side of Hampstead, in Upperco. I’ve asked around, and he supports police and fire departments and hospitals and clinics all over northern Maryland. It is for these reasons and many others that I am endorsing Carl Buckman for Congress!”

From around the scene there was a lot of applause from various policemen and the employees of the diner. George stepped back from the podium and Brew nudged me forward. I shook hands with George, and then I stepped up to the podium. I looked at the cameras and said, “I would like to thank Chief Tilden for both his kind words and his endorsement. Even more than an endorsement of my run for Congress, this is an endorsement of my belief that the police and fire departments and emergency squads are the first line of defense for all of us, and they need to be supported by all of us. When I was a kid, there was a popular bumper sticker that said, ‘You don’t like cops? Next time you’re in trouble call a hippie!’ Back in the Sixties that sounded pretty funny, but the older I got, the less funny it seemed. Policemen and firefighters and paramedics and doctors and nurses truly are the first line of defense all of us have, and I promise that as Congressman, I will do everything I can to support them. I urge everyone here to do the same.”

I paused and there was a round of applause from around the group. I made a few other quick campaign remarks, and then asked if anybody had any questions. I knew they would. The first one was easy — ‘Can you tell us in your own words what happened that night’

“Sure. Well, it had been a pretty normal day so far, with several campaign events and a dinner at the American Legion. I got to meet a lot of really nice people that day. I had with me a reporter, Fletcher Donaldson of the Baltimore Sun, who was doing a ride-along with me. Anyway, it was the end of the day, and we decided to stop for some coffee and pie at the Westminster Diner before calling it a day. We had just been served when this really big guy comes in, totally out of control. He grabs this woman in one of the booths, and then smacks around Nick and Amy. I grabbed my cell phone…” I lifted it out of my belt holster and showed it. “… and handed it to Fletcher, and told him to call the cops. Then I got up and told this guy to leave the diner. That’s when he started swinging at me.”

The reporter from WMAR asked, “How were you able to subdue Haywood Collins if he is so much bigger than you?”

I smiled at that. “Haven’t you ever heard that the bigger they are, the harder they fall? Seriously, though, I have two black belts in the martial arts and have been in these types of situations before. I was never in any danger, and somebody needed to stop him before he killed somebody!”

“Congressman Stewart has claimed that you only did this for the headlines,” commented WBAL.

“Congressman Stewart claims a lot of things. It doesn’t make them true.”

“Then why didn’t you wait for the police to arrive?”

“Because there simply wasn’t time to do that. Haywood Collins was about to haul this woman out, dragging her if necessary. I had no idea she was his wife, but I suspected she was a relative. By the time the police arrived — and I do not mean to imply that they were late showing up — he would have left with her. Unless the police were in the parking lot already, he would have gotten away. What would have happened then?! You do know that most violence against women comes from family members, don’t you?” I wasn’t sure of the exact statistics, but I knew this was true.

“Why did you feel the need to make a donation to the women’s shelter?” asked Fletcher.

“Domestic violence and spousal abuse is a national problem, but right here and now, it’s a problem that we can help with on a local level. I didn’t know it at the time, but Jolene Collins was six months pregnant, and was suffering from a broken arm and a black eye. Her husband has been using her as a punching bag for years. She was so afraid of him she only left after he threatened their unborn baby. A shelter can protect women like Jolene Collins and give them options for the future. I urge everybody here to support shelters like this.”

Some of the questions were unexpected. “Are you a regular diner here?”

I blinked at that one. “Well, I have eaten here a few times. I mean, who hasn’t!? Still, it’s not like I’m a regular on a first name basis with Nick Papandreas.”

“Had you ever met Mister Papandreas before?”

I shook my head. “No, we had never been introduced before, although I knew who he was.”

“How did you know who he was?”

Good Lord! Time to draw this to a close! “Probably because his picture is on the menu. Listen, I think it’s time to close this down. I appreciate all of you attending and I promise you all that once I am elected I will do my best to support the first responders in our community. Now, I want to take my lovely wife Marilyn inside for some pie and coffee, and then we have to get home for when the kids get home from school. Here’s an endorsement from me — Nick Papandreas and the Westminster Diner serve up the best pie! Now, come on in. The pie’s on me!”

I stepped away from the podium and led Marilyn over to the side and introduced them to Nick and Amy. I wasn’t the first politician Nick had ever run across, but the young waitress was starstruck. She wasn’t quite stuttering, but she was tongue-tied and red-faced. I teased her a touch, and Marilyn put her at ease by asking her if she was a Democrat or a Republican.

Amy shyly admitted, “Democrat,” as she blushed in embarrassment.

“That’s okay. I’m a Democrat, too. I still haven’t made up my mind who I’m voting for. Is this going to be your first election?” Marilyn and Amy started talking, and I led them inside. Amy insisted on being our waitress. A handful of other people from the crowd came in. Brew McRiley and George Tilden sat with Marilyn and me in the same booth this all started at the other night. I pointed out what I had witnessed and how it went down.

The security video made the entire event the lead item on all three Friday night news shows, and by Sunday had made the national news. I drove down to Washington with Brew and we made the round of the Sunday morning talk shows, this time without Andy Stewart able to toss in his two cents worth. That was fine by me. CBS had even commissioned a poll in conjunction with the Sun that showed me for the first time leading Stewart, and by a ten point margin to boot.

This was just totally surreal to me. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I mean, really, there was no way anybody was going to vote for me for Congress.

Chapter 104: Momentum

The campaign continued to gain momentum after the diner incident. During the next month I picked up another fourteen endorsements from various local police chiefs and fire department captains. We were on a roll! Okay, the Sun had endorsed Stewart, but everyone had known that was going to happen. He was a Democrat and the Sun was a City paper, which heavily favored the Democrats, and they had endorsed him for every election he had run to date. It wasn’t an issue for us; we didn’t expect it to matter to anyone out in the Ninth.

Andy Stewart was running scared. He was spending money like he owned a printing press, and he had bankers donating cash to replace it. We matched him ad for ad, and what surprised me was how many donations I was pulling in. It wasn’t all coming out of my own pocket. I was constantly calling people and thanking them and writing notes to them. He was slinging mud left and right, and any semblance to the truth was accidental. He brought up the ‘billionaire buying a seat’ theme, the ‘murderer’ theme, the fact I was disowned, that I was a ‘rogue vigilante’, I was ‘unstable and mentally deranged’ (that one he got from some shrink he bought who never even met me.) He even claimed that I didn’t need a cane and that I was faking the limp for sympathy! We just released the medical report from Walter Reed declaring the damage to be permanent and qualifying for a medical discharge from the Army.

One of the silliest points in the entire campaign came when Andy Stewart dug up my valedictory address from Towson High and used highly edited excerpts to show my many flaws. “We are the largest, the richest, the most privileged, and the most pampered generation of Americans yet born” and “Ours seems to be a legacy of entitlement” and “We will be known as a bunch of whiny bastards.” He even sliced words out of multiple sentences. All these were plastered in ads and television ads to show how out of touch I was with my own generation and with my fellow citizens.

We responded by taking out a full page ad and reprinting the speech in full. It was too long to make a television ad out of, but we did highlight some of the better phrases and had an actor with a nice deep baritone repeat them. Brewster was all over me about not telling him about the speech. He loved it and would have used it earlier in the campaign. I simply told him I had forgotten it; it happened seventeen years before, for Christ’s sake! Brew just chewed my ass and asked what else I had forgotten. (How do you ask for something that somebody has forgotten? There’s a major logical inconsistency in that!)

At that point even the Baltimore Sun began to be exasperated by their favorite son. They began reporting a tally of the lies coming from Stewart headquarters. The Sunday Sun two days before the election even ran a cheeky cartoon on their editorial page. It showed a couple examining two identical graphs, one showing a rising line called ‘Buckman’s Poll Figures’ and the other showing a matching line called ‘Stewart’s False Claims’. One character was saying to the other, ‘It looks dead even to me.’ That one we cut out and put into a scrapbook.

And then, suddenly it was over. I campaigned right through Sunday and Monday and called it quits at dinner time. Marilyn’s parents drove down Monday. My wife had told them that no matter what happened in the election, we were going on a vacation, and we needed them to babysit for a week. Tuesday we got a sitter for the kids and then we drove her parents over to campaign headquarters and showed them around. The place was practically deserted, though. We had done what could be done. There would be no more ads, no more interviews, no more mailers or flyers, no more posters. We had a few people in making phone calls to see if supporters had made it to the polls yet, and a few volunteers were out driving old folks to the polls. Otherwise, we were done. If we hadn’t won by now, there was very little we could do on Election Day to change things.

At lunchtime, we drove Big Bob and Harriet over to the Westminster Diner. They had seen the video, like about half of America had. To be honest, when we walked into the place, I damn near died laughing. Nick Papandreas had festooned the place with “Buckman for Congress!” posters, which simply astonished Big Bob. A hard core Democrat from before he was born, it was a wrenching change in his worldview to realize that by this time tomorrow his baby girl might be married to a Republican Congressman!

Nick came out of the kitchen as we came in the door, and he rushed over to us. My hand was shaken so vigorously I thought it was going to come off, and he gave Marilyn a hug. “Come in, come in! I get you a good table!”

“Nick, thank you! I want to introduce you to some people. These are Marilyn’s parents, Bob and Harriet Lefleur. Bob, Harriet, this is Nick Papandreas. He owns the Westminster Diner.”

“Welcome! It’s nice to meet you! Come, follow me!” He led the way over towards a large round table on the side, and then snapped his fingers at a young man who scurried over. “Get water and have Anastasia come out.”

“Sure thing, Uncle Nick.”

To Big Bob and Harriet I said, “Nick’s got more relatives working for him than you two do.”

We sat down, and Nick stood there at the side. “Anastasia will be your waitress today.”

“Where’s Amy?” I asked.

“She has school today, but she’ll be in this evening.”

“How’s she feeling? She alright now? No scarring?”

“No, she’s fine. A little scar, but it is fading away. I tell her tonight you asked,” he replied.

I smiled. “You do that, but more important, you tell her to make sure she votes for me. I need all the help I can get!”

“I do that, too! I tell everyone, ‘Vote for Buckman!’ I tell all my family, too! I a Democrat, but I tell them to vote for you.”

I laughed at that. “If I can get your entire family to vote for me, I’ll win for sure! Thank you, Nick, I appreciate it.”

“After that night, I have to vote for you. That was a bad night. Me down, Amy down, that poor girl getting beat up in my own restaurant… that was a bad night! Congressman Stewart, he should be ashamed of himself!”

Harriet was just sitting there open mouthed, listening to all this. Some more customers came in, and Nick went off to help them. A twenty-something waitress came out of the kitchen and smiled at us. She looked as Greek as Nick did, but her accent was pure Maryland. “Uncle Nick bending your ear, Congressman?”

“I only get to be Congressman if enough of your family votes for me,” I told her.

“Uncle Nick will get you in. Just keep coming around for lunch when you’re here,” she replied.

“That’s a campaign promise I can keep, for sure.”

Anastasia gave us our menus and gave us a few minutes to look at them. I went with one of my favorites, a Reuben and a chocolate shake. After she took our order, Big Bob said, “So this is where you had that fight?”

I nodded. “Yeah, right over there.” I pointed towards the entrance and cash register. “The one girl was in that booth, and Nick and Amy, the waitress who got clobbered, were over there. You guys saw that on the news?”

“We saw it. We weren’t sure we liked seeing you on the news that way.” He glanced over at his wife, and Harriet just shrugged her massive shoulders.

“It wasn’t my idea. I couldn’t let him just keep beating people up, though, could I?”

Marilyn came to my defense. “Let’s face it. I married a hero!” She leaned over and kissed my cheek, and I blushed.

“You know, if Nick really does get his family to vote for me, I’m a shoo-in, but I’ll have to keep eating a lot of meals here.”

After lunch, we drove over to Hereford and I showed the Lefleurs around the office. We had expanded even more since the last time they were around, and now we had the entire office building in the office park. (There were still three other buildings around us.) We had moved some of the legal and accounting functions upstairs, and left the traders and partners downstairs. After that, we drove to the high school and voted. It was rather strange to see my name on the voting machine, but I pulled the little lever and smiled. Then we went home and rescued the sitter.

Over dinner Charlie asked, “Are we going to have to move if you win?” The girls were still a little young to understand about the election, and only pointed out when Daddy was on the television, but Charlie was a bright little shit! He had learned about some of this stuff in school already.

“I wasn’t planning to. Why?”

“Well, won’t you have to go to Washington? Isn’t that, like, really far away?”

I nodded in understanding. “Ah, well, it’s not that far away. It’s a couple of hours by car. Maybe I’ll have to get a girlfriend down there and stay at her place when I’m in Washington.” I winked at Marilyn’s parents as I said this.

Charlie started laughing. Marilyn fell into the trap, though, and started hooting and hollering! “There’s not going to be any girlfriends! You’ll be coming home!” She kept going like this for another minute, and even the Lefleurs were laughing at her. She then did the usual finger wag and said, “You think you’re so smart! See if I ever vote for you again.”

“You told me you were voting Democrat, that way we’d cancel each other out.”

“Smartass!”

“Better than being a dumbass,” I responded.

“With you, they’re the same thing!”

Holly and Molly were laughing at their mother now, too. I just sat there and smiled.

The polls were going to close at eight, and we wanted to be at the campaign reception before then. We had rented the Westminster Best Western, which was about the biggest banquet hall in the area. Anything bigger was down inside the Beltway, probably. We had a podium set up at one end of the room with a few flags behind it, and space for cameras and reporters in front of it. I figured we would get a few of each, considering the colossal nonsense we had gone through with this campaign! Oh, and the free drinks for the reporters wouldn’t hurt, either. Everybody else simply got tickets for two free drinks, after which they had to buy their own.

We got there around half past seven, and found the place surprisingly filled. It was more than just the campaign volunteers, too. My partners at the Buckman Group were there, along with the Destriers and Jack Nerstein. Brewster McRiley was running around, nervous as all get-out, and driving people nuts.

I finally grabbed him and pulled him out of the room. “Brew, you’re going crazy. Now settle down before we tie you into a chair.” I led the way to the suite we had booked as our little headquarters. The powers that be followed along.

“But there’s so much to do,” he protested.

“No, Brewster, there isn’t. It’s all over by now, except for the counting. There’s nothing left to do except give a speech and have a party.” I pushed him towards an armchair and pushed him down into it. “Now, stay there. Do you have a girlfriend? Do I need to have her sit on you to keep you in place?”

He smiled at me. “No, no girlfriend.”

“A boyfriend then?”

His eyes popped open. “Jesus, NO!” I just smiled at him until he realized I was goofing on him. “Marilyn’s right, you really are a son of a bitch!”

“There you go. Now calm down and relax. Have fun and say thank you to all the volunteers. Either we win and I give a victory speech and we have a party, or I lose and I give a concession speech, and we all get drunk and cry. It’s what us mathematicians call a binary outcome, a zero sum game. I will let you stand up if you promise to go find a beer and have a drink.”

Brew rolled his eyes but promised, and I laughed as I sent him out. John and Jack Nerstein came in with some Solo cups and a bucket of ice, and a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of Sprite. We poured ourselves a round of drinks. “Mud in your eyes, gentlemen!” Jack said.

“Down the hatch!” I agreed.

“Skoal!” said John. He drank some, and then asked, “You ready for this?”

“It’s too late to back out now.” I had another swallow. “I don’t know which scares me more, losing and having to face people afterwards, or winning and actually having to be a Congressman! What in the fuck do I actually know about being a Congressman!?”

“Well, you can’t be any worse than Stewart, and maybe we get some good out of you,” answered Nerstein with a smile.

“Boy, there’s a rousing campaign slogan — ‘He can’t do any worse than the current asshole!’ Remind me not to have you involved in my next campaign.” Both men laughed at that.

We had a couple of televisions around the place, one out in the big room and another in the suite’s bedroom. One was tuned to WMAR and the other to WJZ. At eight, Marilyn and Helen Steiner came in, along with Brew and Missy, and we started watching. All they said at eight was that the polls were closing. They didn’t offer any predictions based on exit polls yet. We all had a round of drinks. Helen asked, “What are you going to do with the campaign headquarters?”

I shrugged. “If I lose, we clean out and I slink off home and cry. If I win, though, I was thinking of just buying it. We can make part of it my local district office, and leave the other part for storage and future campaigns. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“I’ll ask you again, tonight!”

We were running a war room in a corner of the main room, with a couple of phones set up. At about a quarter after eight, we started getting calls from various precincts around the district, and they started writing totals on a blackboard. We had a lead at the start, but when the total is less than one percent of the vote, it’s meaningless. By nine, however, the lead was pretty significant. There were approximately 210,000 votes that would likely be cast in the election, and the running total was 19,571 for me and 17,223 for Stewart. The television stations still weren’t calling it, though.

I was too keyed up to think. I made myself another drink, and Marilyn followed me, and I made her one as well. “You need to calm down.” She pushed me down on the couch and then sat down next to me. People came in and out, and every once in a while somebody would let out a whoop as another precinct was phoned in.

The lid blew off the place at ten. There was some screaming out in the main room and Jack Nerstein yelled, “You won! You won!”

I started to get up off the couch, when a worker bee ran in. “WBAL just called it. You won!”

I turned to stare at Marilyn, who was just staring back. Brew McRiley went to the television in the living room and switched it to WBAL, but stopped as the WMAR news came on at the top of the hour. We stopped there and watched. “We now have a stunning upset to call. In the Maryland Ninth, with 38 % of the vote in, we are predicting that Republican billionaire investor Carl Buckman will unseat the eight term Democratic incumbent, Andy Stewart. In what is widely considered one of the nastiest campaigns across the country this election season, Buckman is beating Stewart by over twenty points.”

There was a graphic on the screen, with both our names listed, and the vote count. Buckman was listed as 48,995, 61 %, and Stewart was listed as 31,047, 39 %. The total vote count was specified as 38 %. There was a big check mark next to my name, and my picture was on the screen. Then there was a blip, and the results went to 52,325 and 32,029, and the percentages went to 62 % and 38 %.

Around me everybody was damn near screaming, but I just stared as the announcer went on to call the Maryland Fourth. I turned to my wife and just stared at her. “Holy shit!” I muttered.

Marilyn’s face was as lit up as everyone else’s. She squealed and threw herself at me, and I grabbed her by sheer reflex. I felt numb. Brewster grabbed my hand and started shaking, and I just looked at him and stared. “Carl! Carl?”

“Holy shit!” I said to him.

Brew laughed at me. “Yeah, holy shit. Dude, you need to sit down!” He pushed me back towards an armchair. “Make a hole! Dead man walking!”

Marilyn was laughing at me, and after I was pushed down into the chair, she sat on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. I finally came around when she began kissing me, so I returned the favor. She pulled back after a moment, as my friends laughed at me. “Wake up, Dopey! You won!”

I finally grinned back at her. “Holy shit, I won!”

Marilyn kissed me again, but then hands were on me, pulling me to my feet and slapping my back and shaking my hand. “Now what?” I asked, to nobody in particular.

“Now we wait until I can confirm this with Stewart’s people,” replied McRiley. “In the meantime, don’t drink anything more. I want you sober when this goes on television.”

“Shit!” I muttered. I turned to Jack. “Hey, you think you can call anybody over at the police station? Maybe they could send somebody over to run a few breathalyzer tests. You know and I know, somebody is going to get wasted here tonight.”

“Maybe even you!” he replied, smiling.

“Yeah, just maybe!” I answered, grinning back at him.

I circulated around the room, shaking some hands, and waiting for a call to come through. After a few more minutes a cell phone rang. We crowded around as Brewster pulled it out and answered. I couldn’t really hear what he was saying, but he had a very consternated look on his face, and then he hung up the phone, shaking his head. He looked up at us and said, “Well, now I’ve heard everything. Andy Stewart isn’t going to call to concede.”

“He thinks he’s going to win?” I asked.

“No, he’s just not going to call you and concede.”

I looked around me and found some other very confused faces. “I’m not following you,” said John.

Brew shrugged and said, “I’m not sure either. That was his campaign manager, Bart Billings. Bart told me that Andy knows he’s lost, and they talked about it, but Andy refuses to call you and give you the time of day. He said to tell you to go…” Brew looked around and saw the women in the room, and stopped. “He said to tell you to go, uh, pound salt.”

I gave him a very confused look. “So, what does that mean? He’s going to contest it? Demand a recount or something? Wait until the election is certified?” That wouldn’t happen for several more weeks.

“No, he’s conceding, I guess, he just doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Christ, what a prick!” commented Bob Destrier. “Sorry, ladies!”

None of the women seemed to care. His wife, Millie, however, asked, “So, what do we do?”

“Let’s throw it back into his face, force it on him,” I replied. “I go down there and make my victory speech, and specify that we have heard from his staff. If he wants to complain about it, he can take it up with the news stations tomorrow. Let him answer their questions.” There were a lot of agreeing nods around the room. “Okay, let’s do it!”

I made a few shooing motions towards the door, and everybody started heading out into the main room. I checked my appearance in a mirror, and took a deep breath. I turned to Marilyn, who was standing next to me, and said, “Show time!”

“Let me go first. I need to tell the reporters you’re coming in, so they can report it live, or whatever. Give me five minutes!” ordered Brew.

I nodded and we waited. After a few minutes one of the worker bees, a wildly grinning car salesman who had joined the campaign after hearing me speak at a Chamber of Commerce gathering, came running up, to tell us Brewster said we could go. As I left the room, cheers erupted, along with some applause, from some people in the hallway. I just grinned at everybody and continued on into the main room, where the pandemonium became truly raucous! I went up to the podium we had put at the end of the room. We had a backdrop there, along with an American flag and a Maryland flag. The noise continued until I made some quieting motions, and then things got quiet. I looked over at McRiley, who was talking to the reporters. Some really bright lights came on and then he turned and gave me the go-ahead.

“Thank you. We just received a call from the Stewart headquarters conceding my victory tonight in the Congressional race for the Maryland Ninth. This is it, folks. We won!”

There was a bunch of cheering and applause, and it took a moment to get things under control.

“I have so many people to thank for this, I’m not sure where to start. First and foremost, I have to thank the voters who voted for me. They have placed an awesome trust in me. I promise not to abuse that trust, to be a Congressman that every citizen of the Ninth can be proud of, whether they’re a Republican or Democrat.”

There was a smattering of boos at the mention of the Democrats, but I had been expecting that. I held my hands up and said, chidingly,

“Now, let’s be fair. There is no possible way I would have won without the votes of a lot of good Democrats, people who are trusting that I will represent them better than they have been represented in the past. I am not the Republican Congressman, I am the Congressman for the entire Maryland Ninth, for all of us, Republican and Democrat, and I welcome and appreciate their support!”

“Next, I have to thank the people in this room, and elsewhere — you guys!”

There was a lot of cheering at this.

“This is a team sport, and you were the team! I wouldn’t be up here without you! I could never have done this alone! Thank you for all the hard work you’ve performed! I won’t forget it!”

“Next, I need to thank the people responsible for getting me into the race in the first place — John Steiner, Jack Nerstein, Bob and Millie Destrier! They were the ones to convince me to give it a shot. I’ve spent the last year alternately thanking them and cursing them, and I’m still not sure which I want to do more, but they got me into the race, for better or worse! We can always figure out a way to blame them!”

That got some laughter.

“I have to thank Brewster McRiley, our beloved campaign director. I had no idea what I was getting into when I started this. Brewster did, but he never told me! Brew come up here!”

Brewster was dragged up to the podium amidst more than a little joking, and I gave him a one-armed hug around the shoulders. Then I sent him off.

“One of these days I might just forgive him!”

More laughter, and then I reached out and took Marilyn’s hand and pulled her close to me.

“And finally, more than anybody else in the room, I need to thank my wife, Marilyn. No matter what happened, Marilyn believed in me and supported me, just like she has since we first met back in 1974. Whatever I’ve done in my life, she’s the one who said I could do it. No matter how dark it seemed during this campaign, Marilyn believed in me. She’s the reason you can all be sure I’ll do the best job I can as Congressman, because whatever I do, I want to make her proud of me, and not ashamed. So thanks, honey, because none of this means anything without you by my side!”

I looked down and found her crying. I was on the verge of saying I was sorry, but then she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. I handed her my handkerchief and she wiped her face and gave me the best smile in the world.

“Okay, so much for the great words! This is a really big night, and I think it’s time to party. Now, let’s not get stupid and drunk and crazy. We’re going to check everybody as they leave and take your car keys away if you can’t drive. I have no intention of ruining this night, and I’m going to need your help to make me the best Congressman I can be. Can we all agree on that?!”

There was a mix of cheers and good-natured jibes. Then somebody popped a cork on a champagne bottle and passed it forward. It had been years since I had drunk champagne from the bottle, but I had some, and then passed it to Marilyn. More cheering erupted as we drank the champagne and laughed.

Then we stepped away from the podium and I passed the bottle around. Marilyn looked up at me and grinned. “Now what?”

I smiled and shook my head. “I have no fucking clue!”