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From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Laura Alban Hunt Ch 13 {Gina Marie Wylie} (FF, Ff, inc, con)
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Date: Tue, 27 Jul 2004 17:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Laura Ch 13.doc" begin>


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: FF, Ff, inc, con.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Chapter 13 -- The Ogre's Lair

I learned something new in the next few minutes.  I'd done most
of my driving up in North Scottsdale; I'd never lived in this
kind of suburb before.  Oh, there were a lot of stores where we
lived in New York, but they were older and smaller.  In
Scottsdale the stores were neither small nor old.  Further, just
about any store you could imagine was within a mile or two.

In spite of all the stores, the traffic moved much better than
traffic ever had in New York.  I had gotten spoiled in just a
couple of months.

As I got closer to Phoenix, I learned that not all traffic jams
are created equally.  It took a lot longer than I'd figured to
get to the CPS office; I was ten minutes late.

I had just gotten seated when a short, thin Hispanic woman
appeared.  "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Hunt.  We are just so
busy..."

"I just walked through the door," I told her.  "Traffic," I
explained.

"I'm Lydia Sanchez, please, come in."

We went into her office and we talked for a few minutes in
general terms, then more and more specific.  She was obviously
eager to recruit a new foster parent, "We never have enough," she
told me.  She was less pleased when I said I had someone
particular in mind.  "We do that, but usually when a child first
enters the system."

After an hour, I was sick and tired of hearing about "the
system"; only the memory of Amy's smile and the thought of her
foster mother's plight kept me there.  The Sanchez woman was
mildly disbelieving when I told her my husband had died on 9/11;
more disdainful that I told her I wasn't working, but was
thinking of starting a business.

"And your net worth?"

"With the stock market trending steeply down, it's not what it
once was, but I bailed early."  Well, my father-in-law had seen
to it that I bailed early.  "Low 90's."

"Ninety thousand isn't very much."

"Million," I told her.  

She looked at me, disbelief clear on her face.

"We'll check, of course."

"Of course."  I wrote down a phone number, and my father-in-law's
name on a slip of paper.  "The phone number is the main
switchboard at Citibank in New York; Phillip Hunt is my
father-in-law.  Tell his secretary you're calling about me." 
Otherwise sweetie, you will never, ever get past the secretary.

"We'll check."  She handed me a thick wad of paper, started going
over what each form was.

"This is a request for criminal background investigation, you
give it to the Department of Public Safety..."

"I just did that last week, can I use the same one?"

"Of course.  They send you the original, you just copy it and
give the copy to me."

"I'm volunteering to help with the Scottsdale High cheerleading
program.  I asked DPS to send it there."

"Well..."

"Just a second," I told her.  I dialed Nancy on my cell phone.

"Nancy, Laura.  Sorry to bother you again, but could I ask a
favor?"

"You're never a bother, Laura.  What do you need?"

"I told the DPS to send that form to you.  Could you let me know
when it comes in?  I need to make a copy."

"Oh gosh!  I was so busy I forgot all about that."

"About what?"

"Promise you won't get exercised."

"About what?" I asked, curious.

"I got it Thursday.  They sent an officer to hand deliver it.  I
laughed and told him that it usually takes weeks; that I'd never
had one hand delivered before.  He told me that there wasn't a
policeman or fireman in the country who wouldn't go out of their
way to do something, anything, for someone who lost family on
9/11."

"Can I get a copy?"  I was choking back tears.

"Sure, Laura."

"Thanks, sorry to be a pest."

"You're not."

I looked at the woman.  "I'll have a copy for you tomorrow."  I
hefted the papers.  "I will have all of this for you tomorrow."

She looked at me.  I looked steadily back at her.  "I'll stop by
your home tomorrow at 1:00 pm," she told me.  "We can get the
first inspection out of the way at the same time."  Her grin was
supercilious.  "Unless it's the maid's day off and you'd like a
little more time to prepare."

"I don't have a maid, I've never have had one.  If you like, we
can drive over now.  Early bird gets the worm."  I'm the early
bird, lady.  Guess what you are?

"Oh, I'd like to combine things; I really am busy.  I have other
appointments today.  Tomorrow afternoon at 1:00 pm."

"That's fine," I agreed.

"Until then."  We politely shook hands and I left, mildly
furious.

Don't do anything to queer this, I thought.  That broke my mood;
I laughed for a couple of seconds in the privacy of my car as the
air conditioning worked to overcome the afternoon sun.  I'd used
that expression a million times before today; I would never use
it again.

It took hours to fill out the forms; there was a lot of
redundancy.  Still, by six I was finished.  A bit later, Sherrie
and Ann came in the living room.

"What's your schedule for tomorrow, Sherrie?"

"My last class gets out at 11:30.  I'm coming home to fix lunch.
Ann will be over around 1:00, we're going to study."

"A social worker is going to stop by around 1:00."  I grimaced,
which got Sherrie's curiosity.  I explained about Amy.

"That's really nice, Laura!  Gosh, I thought it was nice you
letting me stay...  But that's beyond nice."

"Sherrie, she just wants to fuck the girl," Ann said, her voice
rising in tone and volume towards the end of the sentence.

Sherrie turned to Ann, obviously upset.  "Ann, I talked to
Jackie, I talked to some of the other girls on the team."  She
waved at me.  "Laura is nice, everyone likes her.  She even went
to bat for one of the left's -- when was the last time anyone did
that?"

"Another fuck," Ann's voice was bitter.

I saw Sherrie's face suffuse red.

"Sherrie, chill," I commanded.

She looked at me.  "Please," I added.

I turned to Ann.  "You're right... and you're wrong.  I like some
girls in a way that most people, including you, think is wrong. 
I do like Amy, and I do want to be with her.  I like Fred, but
I'm less sure about her; there are some issues there.

"I told you why I've applied to be a foster parent.  For Amy. 
Not for me, not so I can have someone to fuck besides my daughter
or some of the other cheerleaders who come to visit.

"I helped Fred because you guys, all of you who've gone before,
have created a Frankenstein monster of a system.  I told Nancy
off about it, too.  Right to her face.  It's unconscionable to
have girls show up at an event like last weekend, knowing they
have zero chance of making the team, and telling them about their
wonderful opportunities, their future in cheer.  Yeah, sure they
have opportunities -- so long as they go to another school.

"That sucks; so I told Nancy that I was going to try to change
it.

"And you, Ann.  Tell me, have I hit on you?  On Sherrie?  Has
anyone bothered you in this house?  Have I told you what to do or
how to do it?  Has anyone?"

"We're too old," she sniffed contemptuously.

I laughed.  "Nancy is older than you, I spent most of Thursday
evening in her bed.  Marybeth taught me how a finger fuck is
done; I can't wait until we can be together again.  Yet last
weekend I told them what to do, over and over."

"Ann," Sherrie sounded despairing.  The anger was gone from her
voice, replaced by pain.

Ann looked at her.  "Laura would be totally justified asking you
never to come back, because of what you just said."

"I don't have a problem with that," Ann said with finality.

I knew where this was going.  "Please, both of you, me too! 
Let's declare a moratorium on this!  Let's think about other
things!  Please!"

It had gone too far, though.  "Ann, I'm going to be here.  I like
Laura, I wish my mom was like her."  Sherrie told her lover.

"You want your mom to fuck you like Laura's fucking her own
daughter?"  Ann was red-faced, barely able to think rationally,
striking out all around her.

"I want to be around people I like, people I respect," Sherrie
said with as much gravity as she could muster, tears draining
down her cheek.  "Ann, please..."

Ann simply shook her head, grabbed her things and stalked out.

"I never meant..." I told Sherrie, wishing I could just sit there
and not talk.

"I know."  She looked at me.  "In truth, it's been going bad ever
since I got kicked out.  Ann is totally paranoid that my parents
are going to talk to hers.  For the last two weeks, she's been
getting more and more distant."

Sherrie took a breath and held it for a second.  That seemed to
calm her.  "For the first couple of years in cheer, we joked
about the girls who wanted to be with one of the adults.  It
seemed crazy to us."  She looked at me.  "It still seemed crazy
until I met you."

She waved at the door.  "At the end of our junior year, at the
retreat...  Ann spent the weekend with Marybeth.  I didn't see
Ann hardly at all, not for the weekend, and then not for most of
the next week.

"She came back and apologized, finally.  She told me it was
something she had to get out of her system.  I just let it go,
happy to have the love of my life, back in my life.  Now, I
wonder if she's feeling guilty.  When she decided to drop out a
few months later, I didn't mind."

"I never wanted to come between you two," I told her.

"I know; we both know that it was Ann that scored the own goal
just now."  She waved at the door to her room.  "I'm going to lie
down for a while.  I promise, tomorrow I will be a proper lady
when the social worker is here, back to my bouncy cheerleader
self."

Susan came home just before dinner.  She seemed to understand
that Sherrie wasn't in a mood to talk.  About the only good thing
about PMS, I thought, is that you quickly learn to recognize the
symptoms -- even if PMS didn't cause them.

Later, Jackie showed up, late in the evening.

Sherrie had gone back to her room; Susan had been falling asleep
and had gone to bed.

"I was over at Marybeth's.  We were talking about things.  Ann
showed up; she was really loud, kept wanting Marybeth to fuck
her.  That's what she said over and over."  Jackie nodded at
Sherrie's door.  "I take they had a fight."

"Yeah.  I'm not going to talk about it, okay?"

"Sure."  She waved at Sherrie's door again.  "Should I talk to
her?"

"You can try."

Jackie knocked; after a minute, she went in to talk to her
sister.

Much later Jackie came out, gave me a hug, a smile and left.  I
was just thinking about bed myself when the phone rang.

"It's Marybeth."

I sighed, and she did too.  "I think we've talked her out of
killing herself."

I gasped in surprise.

"Nancy's with her now; some of the girls from the team, past and
present, who knew her."

"She and Sherrie had a fight."

"Over you."

"About me."

"Over you," Marybeth insisted.  "There you were, someone Sherrie
could look up to.  For the first time, I guess, Sherrie has found
a positive adult role model.  Sherrie made no bones about it,
talking to Ann."

"I wouldn't even call Sherrie and I friends.  She's someone I
rent a room to."

"Sometimes it's just that you're there."  Marybeth sighed again.

"I suppose when you're as close to these girls as we are, you
lose sight of the simple things.  You think because you're there,
that they all look up to you.  Amy, now Sherrie...  right now
there are too many undercurrents, Laura.  The undertow is a lot
stronger than I thought.

"But, not to worry," Marybeth went on briskly.  "This isn't the
first time we've had someone despondent over lost love, lost
this, that, or the other thing.  You know me, I have a plan for
everything."

"And I've got more than an inkling of what lies ahead,"
I told her soberly.  Human emotions, I thought, are like
explosives.  You mess with them at your own risk.  Sex?  That was
the part most fraught with risk.

"Having second thoughts?"

"More like tenth or fifteenth.  Push on, said the big fool.  Push
on."  I can deal with this, I thought.  I can.  There are ways to
go about this, ways that Marybeth and her friends have exploited
for a long time.  Fifty years, she said; that was a long time.  A
very long time.

Marybeth echoed my thoughts.  "You haven't done this long enough,
Laura, I have.  There are the occasional Anns.  One day you will
know the pleasure of meeting someone five or ten years down the
line.  You will see her bright smile, her happy eyes; feel the
warm hug of shared memories.  You will listen to her stories of
success, the stories of personal satisfaction and happiness,
family and friends.  That happens dozens of time for each Ann. 
That alone is worth it.

"And we never, ever leave a sister hurting, not if we can help
it."

"And Sherrie?"

"Be a comfort, be a role model, be Laura Alban Hunt.  Of all the
people I've worked with, few are as strong as you.  Maybe none of
them."

"Have there been others like Ann?"

"Oh sure.  Three, or four, along the line.  It can be hard,
sometimes, sustaining some of the girls.  Even with the strongest
desire to help, it can be hard to keep them sheltered from the
real world.  They have problems with parents, with school, with
lovers... ten thousand rocks in the road, ready to trip up the
unwary.  We do our best; I personally think we've done a whole
lot better than anyone else could.  We have to focus on success
in the long run."

I knew Marybeth was paranoid about phones.  I'd deliberately kept
my comments vague and over general. But that, I thought was a
coded message.  Sometimes your conscience catches up.  I imagine
it wouldn't take very long, once you started having doubts at
all, for your conscience to consume you.  Of course, I had
doubts.  Why hadn't I been consumed?

My passion, I thought.  Yes, for sex.  But also just for the
girls.  I honestly wanted them all to have the best shot at cheer
I could give them.  It was something they would be able to look
back on in the future, like Marybeth said -- something to be
proud of.  And if there were additional happiness to be found
along the way, personal as well as athletic, that was okay too.

"Well," Marybeth said into the silence, "I think I'll go apply a
little more TLC."

Tuesday morning started with a trip to school to drop off Susan.
Then came the visit from Lydia Sanchez; to say that it wasn't a
high point in my day was a vast understatement.

"I looked at Amy Becker's file," Lydia Sanchez said after we'd
toured the house.  "We would take serious exception if you are
attempting to circumvent the rules.  To, shall we say, insure
that Amy Becker spent considerable time with her current care
parents.  That causes the child confusion."

"You could always leave her where she is."  I regretted saying
that almost the instant the words were out of my mouth.  But
there are times when if you don't speak your mind, no one will
ever hear you.

"That's against the rules.  They are certified for temporary
custody only, just like you will be."

"Except, I can get my status changed.  Why can't they?"

"I'm sure you know why.  The woman is going to die."

"That woman," I spat, "has a name.  Ann Bowden.  And yes, she's
going to die.  So am I; it could happen tomorrow.  It did happen
to my husband.  If I'm not disqualified for being a widow, why
should Jack Bowden be disqualified for being a widower?"

"Two things.  It's traumatic for a child to lose someone close to
them.  That, and of course, she's too old to be placed with an
adult male."

I wanted to pop my cork.  "I'll give you that last; I can
understand, even if I disagree.  If it had been me that died on
9/11 and my husband had survived, I wouldn't have the least qualm
about him raising Susan.  Not the least.

"Do you think Amy's not going to find out when Ann Bowden dies? 
Do you think it will make it better for her, not being with
someone she loves when that person is in pain and dying?"  I bit
back the next thing I was going to say:  Do you have any concept
what family means?  What it means to love someone?

"I was talking to my husband on the phone when he died.  If Susan
had been there, he'd have been on the speaker.  He knew what was
going to happen, had to have known for some time.  His last
thoughts were for me and for Susan, not about what he had to
face."

"Denial," she said.  She saw the black look of rage on my face
and stepped back.  "I'm sorry."  Her voice showed she was
shaken.

I just stood there, trying to calm down.  This is for Amy, I told
myself over and over.  For Amy.  For any other girl I could save
from this monster without a soul.

Sherrie came in and saw me.  "Are you okay, Laura?"

"I'm getting there," I said, trying hard not to grind my teeth.

"Who's this?" Sanchez asked.

My first instinct was to be angry again.  Hey stupid!  You've
gotten me so pissed; I forgot to tell you about Sherrie!

I took a deep breath, lifted my head and looked at Sanchez. 
"Sherrie Licht, Lydia Sanchez, a social worker from CPS.

"Lydia, I'm renting Sherrie a room for a while; she's had some
family problems."

It was like offering a crumb to a pigeon, I learned later.  You
never lose that pigeon... or all it's friends.

"How do you do, Sherrie."  Sanchez held out her hand, and Sherrie
shook it.

I realized that Sanchez was trying to guess Sherri's age. 
"Sherrie is going to Scottsdale Community College," I offered
blandly.  "Her sister is one of the cheerleaders at Scottsdale, I
offered to help her out."

"You realize that we have to check on everyone living in the
household?"

"I do, I put all of that down on the form."

"She'll need a DPS card, too."

"Okay.  Is Friday soon enough?"

She frowned.  "It takes two or three weeks."

I shrugged.  "Whenever, then."

There was a little more, and then Sanchez took her pound of paper
and was gone.  I looked at my watch, remembering that the Highway
Patrol didn't take applications after 4:30.  I could do it, if I
hustled.

"Care to go for a ride, Sherrie?"

"I guess.  To get that form?"

"It's called a criminal background investigation.  You've never
been arrested for anything, have you?"

"No."

"I'd appreciate it, then."

"No problem."

We got in the car and headed for the highway patrol station.

"I've kind of been picturing you in my mind as a nice version of
Coach," Sherrie said as we hit the freeway.  "Back there, with
that woman."  She shook her head.  "You're really a very nice
version of Marybeth."

"I hope that's a compliment," I laughed.

"Oh yes!"

I thought I heard something in her voice.  "Jackie was enough for
me," I said softly.

Sherrie giggled.  "Jackie told me some of the things you told
her.  About your 'she's interested radar.'  What is it telling
you about me?"

I glanced at her breasts.  Nothing.  "Not interested."  I
breathed a mental sigh of relief.

"And you don't mind?"

"I meant what I said, Sherrie.  Never, ever.  It's two way or
there's no way it's going to happen.  Zero push; I don't even
ask.  If you change your mind, you'll have to ask me."

"Oh, cool!"

I contemplated this and that.  Decided that Sherrie had a right
to know, just like Amy would have a right to know when the worst
happened to her foster mom.  It's not nice, but it was her right
to know what happened to someone she cared about.

"Changing the subject radically...  Ann."

Sherrie made a face.  "She went over to Marybeth's; wanted a fuck
for old times sake, I guess," Sherrie said.

"That's what Jackie said.  However, Jackie didn't stay long
enough."

"I don't understand."

"Marybeth said Ann really went there to kill herself."

"Oh, my god!" Sherrie exclaimed, horrified.  "Is she okay?"

"I assume good news; bad news has a way of traveling much faster
than the good.  Marybeth called late yesterday, said it was going
well.  The team rallies around in support of someone in
trouble."

"I've heard of it happening, there are stories.  Coach told us
about them."  She looked at me.  "It really isn't just about
fucking little girls, is it?"

"No and yes.  Some, for sure.  But not nearly all of it."

"Can I say something really awful, and you promise you won't jump
on me?"

"I'm human, if it's too awful... no promises."

"I used to wonder how people like Coach, Marybeth... how their
conscience could let them do it.  To take advantage of young
girls the way the do."  She paused before continuing.  "You
explained it, it makes sense.  They come to you, mostly.  Even if
you ask, they can say no.  None of you would let that affect the
way you treat them.  They know that.  So they're confident, they
feel safe and secure."

"Did you or Ann take advantage of each other, because you were
sleeping together?"

"No."

"Do you think most people take advantage of the person they are
sleeping with?"

"Some do."

"Yes, some do."  I sighed.  "A couple of years ago, we were in
France.  Roger, Susan and I were walking through downtown Paris.
Just off exploring, no real destination in mind.  We'd only been
walking a few minutes when this man in a suit stopped, whipped it
out and pissed on the side of the building.  Shook it and walked
away.  Didn't hesitate or blink.  Just pissed."

"Eww!  Gross!"

"A couple of blocks later I could see a woman squatting in an
alley.  I couldn't really see what she was doing, but I sure knew
what it looked like.  We went back to our hotel and didn't wander
away from the tour areas after that.

"Or, a long way to say, not everyone in the world is perfect. 
Some things that would trouble a person's conscience here doesn't
even get a raised eyebrow somewhere else.  It goes back to where
the lines are drawn, Sherrie."

She nodded.  "I'm beginning to understand."

We got to the Highway Patrol office, I found the same man as
before at the desk, handling the applications.

"Hi." 

"Mrs. Hunt, nice to see you again.  Is there a problem?"

"No.  First, I want to thank you for the trouble you went to
before."

"It was no trouble."

"Then I wanted to ask another favor."

"No trouble," he repeated with a smile.

I waved at Sherrie.  "Sherrie Licht is a college student I'm
renting a room to."  The officer smiled at Sherrie, spent a lot
longer checking her out than he'd spent looking at me.

"I'm trying to get into the foster parent program, and they want
a CBI on anyone not in the family who lives under my roof. 
Please could you...?"

"Sure, Mrs. Hunt.  I'll put a priority on it."

Sherrie did the fingerprints, filled out the form.  I handed over
the fee and thanked him again.  "Oh yes, if this time, if you'll
call me; I'll be happy to come and get it."

"The sergeant was going by the school anyway; it was no
trouble."

"You like cookies?"

He laughed. "Part of the job description."

"You call me and I will come, bearing cookies."

He smiled.  "That's fair."

When we were back in the car, Sherrie was laughing.  "You are so
amazing!  Just seeing a policeman makes me nervous.  You make
jokes.  I'd think you'd be terrified."

"We're driving down the freeway, we could be in an accident. 
Surely you've seen cars after an accident?"

"Yes, it's scary."

"Yet, there you sit.  You don't look that scared."

"I guess it's because you get used to it."

"Back there at the police station, the young officer who kept
looking at you."

Sherrie blushed, but I went on.  "He's got a gun on his hip.  You
understand why, don't you?"

"To shoot bad guys."

"Just that.  And sometimes the bad guys shoot back.  That's why
they are helping me."

"I don't understand."

"A lot of policemen and firemen were killed on 9/11.  They went
and did their jobs; God knows how many more would have died if
they had run away.  But they didn't run.

"Sherrie, that could happen here, this minute.  Boom!  Crash! 
And he'd be one of those to run and help.  Sure, he might be
scared, but he'd do what he could.  And it sure doesn't stop him
from thinking a girl has cute breasts."

She laughed and I added, "Or cute anything else."

"So, why was he so nice?  Besides liking my breasts?"

"A lot of people died on 9/11.  A lot of very different people
now share that one thing; all of them.  I don't know how long it
will last, forever would be too short a time.  The policemen and
firemen who risk their lives for us, they share some of it too. 
And so they go the extra mile for people like me."

We got home and I promptly called Marybeth, with Sherrie
listening on the speaker.  "Marybeth, this is Laura and Sherrie.
How is Ann doing?"

"Irony, Laura, irony.  The only word to describe it.  I think
she's fine now.  A bunch of them are off, pigging out on
chocolate ice cream."

"Ann likes fudge sundaes," Sherrie said, a little wistfully.

"We all do," Marybeth agreed, "but some of us don't dare touch
them."

"Irony?"  I asked.

"Brenda Zeeman, I think she started it.  She started tickling
Ann; Ann tickled back.  Pretty soon it degenerated into a pillow
fight.  They kept at it for a simply amazing amount of time. 
Then they all curled up in a pile on the bed and slept past
noon."

"I never wanted to hurt her," Sherrie said.  "She's just gotten
really paranoid about being outted."

"Sherrie, I tell you true: you're never going to see me at a gay
pride event, burning my bra or any of that.  It's our choice to
make.  I don't have a problem with someone it scares the pee out
of.  If anyone had found out when I was working, my career would
have been over a whole lot faster than my husband's."

"I really appreciate your helping Ann.  The others too," Sherrie
told her.

"I'll pass on the message; although it may take a while.  Ann
told them it wasn't anything you did, but won't talk about it. 
Naturally, they think she's lying."

"If anyone, it was me," I interjected.

"No, it wasn't anyone but Ann," Marybeth stated emphatically. 
"Unlike her friends, I didn't have any trouble believing what
little Ann said.  It was pretty clear.  It'll take a day or two
to sink in, then the others will wake up."

I waved goodbye to Sherrie, who nodded, turned and left the room.
 I killed the speaker button.  "It's just me, Marybeth.  I wanted
to ask you for a favor."

"Just about anything," she said with a laugh.  "Be happy to come
over and rub your back or something..."

"That sounds good!  This is a personal favor.  I told you about
Amy's foster situation."

"And that you were going to do something about that.  I have a
few reservations, but on the whole, I think if it's what you want
-- go for it."

"I went to CPS yesterday, the case worker came out to the house
this afternoon.  Let's just say she and I have some bad
chemistry."

"You were wondering if I know someone who might help?  A
different case worker is a piece of cake; you could do it
yourself if you wanted."

"Well, I'm afraid if I made the request, it would look bad."

"Dear sweet Laura, whoever asks that she be replaced, it won't
take a rocket scientist to figure out who the original source
was.  But, not to worry; everyone understands bad chemistry."

"Well, I don't know any social workers.  I was wondering if we
could go just a little further and get a good one?"

"If you don't know any social workers but one... oh, you lucky
girl!  I know lots of them.  A good one?  Laura, the good ones
quit in disgust after a month or two.  Sometimes after just a few
days."

"Well then, maybe someone who's worked there less than a month?"
I was grasping at straws.

Marybeth laughed.  "Out of the mouth of a babe!  Sure, why not? 
You understand such people are under extra scrutiny by people
who've been social workers for a long time?"

"I'm not concerned about the facts on the ground.  Just personal
chemistry."

"When I saw the numbers on your financial statement, all those
zeros..."  Marybeth laughed.  "You certainly got my attention!  I
mentioned it to Nancy and she said you'd told her, but she didn't
really believe you.  Believe, I told her."

Marybeth turned brusque.  "I think the chocoholics are back.  I
think I can do something for you Laura.  You realize, of course,
that while I'm not the Godfather type, I seriously admire his
methods."

"I owe you, yes," I told her.

"Yes you do.  Like I said, could I come over and rub your back?"

"And Ann?"

"At some point the bird has to fly."

"And Jackie?"

"I am ashamed of myself, Laura.  What with one thing and another,
I wasn't keeping track of the time... and neither was Jackie. 
She's grounded for a week for staying out too late.  It's not
like she could explain where she was."

"Bummer.  What time could you stop by?"

Marybeth laughed.  "Sevenish?"

"I'll rush dinner."  We both laughed at that.  I hung up, and
went to start dinner.

<1st attachment end>


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