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From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Laura Alban Hunt Ch 20 {Gina Marie Wylie} (a spicy mouthful, but no sex)
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Date: Wed, 15 Sep 2004 01:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Laura Ch 20.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: nosex.

	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/

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

Laura Alban Hunt

Chapter 20 -- Lunch with Lou

Monday morning was a school day; it seemed relatively uneventful
to have only Susan to send out the door.  I did a few chores
around the house, and then got ready to meet Louise Carter for
lunch to talk about the cheerleading summer camp.

I was beginning to think it must be a strange place in Scottsdale
that you couldn't reach in half an hour or less.  I went to the
office and they called her.

Louise Carter was about Nancy's age, maybe a year or two older. 
She had dark hair, not black, but about as dark brown as I'd ever
seen.  Like most PE coaches and former cheerleaders, she wore her
hair done up in a ponytail.  She wasn't very tall, perhaps five
six, and had a compact and muscular build.

We walked out to the parking lot, talking.  "Everyone calls me
Lou," she told me, as we got in her car.  "It's been that way
since kindergarten.  But our Principal here doesn't believe
teachers should have nicknames, so inside those walls it's
Louise."  We drove a mile or so to an Applebee's and ordered.

Both of us had spent the time appraising each other; I didn't
mind the scrutiny.

"I talked to Nancy last night," Lou said, eventually.  "We talked
a bit about Denise."  My eyes couldn't help widening.

She smiled.  "The three of us were inseparable in cheer.  If we
weren't trying to best the other in routines, it was trying to
beat each other's time with Coach Farmer.  The saving grace about
that, though, was that two of us could comfort each other in our
sorrow."

I nodded in understanding.

She went on, "I talked to Denise Friday, I thought she was doing
much better, and I told Nancy about it.  I'm really sorry about
what happened at your party."

I shrugged.  "She has problems, obviously."

"Denise was the only one of the three of us who wanted anything
but cheerleading.  She had such dreams!  She aspired so high! 
Then she met Terry and got so pregnant!  Her first baby
miscarried; it really tore Denise up.  So she tried again and got
Carolyn.  Carolyn is Carolyn... a little strange, but nice
enough.  But motherhood has rather consumed Denise's life."

"I told Marybeth I thought Denise should see a professional," I
confessed.  "What I really wish she would do is listen to her
daughter, pay attention to her and respect her.  I don't think
going oh-for-three is a very high mark for my problem resolution
skills."

"Some problems are more intractable than others," Lou told me. 
Not to mention fiating changes in people is well-nigh hopeless!"

I smiled.  I liked Lou.  "Tell me about your camp," I asked.

"Well, I have about thirty girls a session, staying in four
cabins.  I have a dozen adults, most of whom are paid damn little
beyond room and board.  George Cook cooks and does light
maintenance around the place.  He's the only man there during the
first two sessions.  I have a friend who comes to help with the
guys during the third session.  There aren't many, sometimes just
one or two.  A few years ago we had four young men.

"I draw from the entire city.  A large fraction of the Scottsdale
girls go the second session and I can usually put them by
themselves in a single cabin."  Her eyes met mine and I knew she
was trying to clearly state that she understand the special
nature of the program at Scottsdale -- without actually saying
it.

"Adults stay two to a room, with the exception of George, who has
his own wing of the admin building.  The rest of us sleep on the
other side."  She met my eyes.  "Usually Nancy and I share a
room."

I nodded, again taking the message being given me.

"You said you were interested in being the go-to person for
discipline and disputes."

"Yes, I would be.  I was thinking that I would volunteer my
services."

"Surely you'd like a little money?" she asked.

"It's not necessary.  I'd pay Susan's way, of course."

She smiled thinly.  "I should find a dozen like you, and maybe I
finally could turn a profit at this!  A few of the women have
brought along their daughters; no one's paid before."  She
paused, and then went on.  "I think it would be a good idea not
to discuss financial arrangements with the others.  I'm not sure
everyone would be happy with them."

"Not a problem," I told her.

"The camp is pretty, it's a state park these days, though.  When
I was a girl and started going there, it was privately owned."

"It's a natural bridge?"  I asked.

She grinned.  "In the same sense the Brandenburg Gate is a gate.
It's a place where water has dissolved the travertine rock,
leaving a sort of cave that runs under a big chunk of rock. 
There are caves, in fact, all through the area, but none are very
large.  There is a pool suitable for swimming underneath the
bridge, but you have to bring your thermal underwear to do it. 
The water temperature is in the forties.  There's a pool for the
main lodge guests, but we don't use it.  Too many legal issues."

"Reminds me of Long Island, back in New York," I quipped.  "On a
warm day you were still cold half the time."  That, and sometimes
I wondered just why people didn't rise up and give a primal
scream about the "legal issues" that were messing things up for
everyone.

She drove us back to her school.  Before she went back inside she
handed me two information packages, one for me, another for
Susan.  There would be, she told me, a meeting for the staff in
mid-May, another after Memorial Day.  We would get to know each
other and get some idea of who and how many girls would be
attending.

It was just a little before one in the afternoon.  I decided that
I'd made a short Costco run on Saturday, but I had the time now
to do a proper one this afternoon.  Having so many people to
dinner for so many days had put a serious dent in my meat
stocks.

Roger had laughed at Costco.  There was one in Nesconset, not far
from our house.  He looked around, shook his head, and told me he
didn't see any need to ever go there again.  I explained that the
prices were significantly less than in the supermarket, but that
wasn't enough to convince him.

When you buy thirty pounds of chicken, thirty pounds of pork and
thirty pounds of beef at once, at a savings of 20-30 cents a
pound, what wasn't to like?  Maybe it wasn't the most wifely
thing I'd ever done, not telling him you had to pay a membership
fee to shop there, but I knew my husband.

I filled my shopping basket and went through the check out line.
Say what you want, there were long lines, but they weren't as
long as I remembered when I was a girl, helping my mother shop at
a supermarket.  Sharon Pope, whose husband had died not far from
mine on 9/11, and a friend until that day, once joked that she
would know that it was getting chilly in hell if she could ever
get away from Costco without spending a hundred dollars.  Sharon
had moved away from New York even faster than I had.

I was pushing my cart towards the door when I heard my name
called.  I stopped and looked around.  Elena from the "toy shop"
was sitting at one of the tables by the food service area.

I pushed my basket over to her table.  "Sit down," she said,
waving across from her.

I did with alacrity.  Why hadn't I come back in an hour and
shopped then?  When Susan could have given me a hand moving the
stuff out of the car?

Elena waved at a plate in front of her.  "I have this secret
addiction to their polish sausages.  If my sisters ever found
out, they'd drum me out of the cheerleaders!"

I'd tried them several times.  Elena wasn't the first person who
exclaimed about how good they were.  They were good -- for polish
sausage.  Like asparagus and rutabaga, not high on my list of
foods.

"I heard you were going to talk to Lou this afternoon."

"I did," I told her.  "I'm going to help out this summer at her
camp."

Elena brightened up.  "I'm going to be there, too!  And Nancy! 
Some others!  It's a lot of fun!"

I smiled.  It really was like a sorority or sisterhood, I
thought.  I had to stop mentally kicking myself for messing up my
chance to be a cheerleader when I'd had my chance, I told myself.
 I doubted if I'd ever be able to forget it completely.

"Last year," Elena went on, "I went to visit my sister who lives
in Houston.  My car broke down a hundred miles the other side of
Albuquerque.  I called up a girl I knew in cheer, and she and her
boyfriend went to a car parts store, got the part and brought it
to me.  I was stopped less than three hours."

Would I do something like that for a friend?  I'd like to think
so.  I smiled, but I was back to thinking about friendship, trust
and all the related topics.

After a second, Elena chuckled.  "It can be a little much,
sometimes."

I looked at her, nodding.  I decided I wasn't going to give her
my sob story about missing my chance.  I settled for saying, "I
wish I'd done cheer when I was in school."

"I had to sweat the books," Elena told me.  "There were a couple
of times only my sisters kept me from flunking some classes. 
Then, one day I was a senior and it all clicked.  It all made
sense.  I went from barely 2.0, to A's in every single class."

I really wished at that moment that I was alone.  I wanted to
have a nice little cry.  Poor Laura Alban, growing up the way she
had.  No friends.  She didn't need help studying because that was
about all she ever did, particularly in the last two years of
high school and all of undergraduate college after I dropped
dance and hadn't discovered boys.  Or sex.

"I'm sorry," Elena said, her voice soft.  She nodded in
understanding.

I looked up and met her eyes.  "Right now, I'm so full of
self-pity that it's making me a little upset with myself.  I've
had years to think about the mistakes I made in school.  You'd
think I'd have had plenty of time to get over them."

The problem was, at the time, I'd thought there'd only been the
one mistake.  Now, the older I got, the more I realized how much
I'd missed.  I stopped myself from going where I'd been a moment
before.  That was then, this was now.

"I think you need a good friend," Elena told me.

I looked at her, suddenly back to wallowing in self-pity.  Who
did I have, really?  Susan was my daughter, and I was sure we
were friends.  Linda?  An acquaintance that I had some serious
doubts about.  Nancy?  A woman who had more irons in the fire
than most people.  Marybeth?  I was tolerably sure she had a lot
of irons in the fire as well.  Sherrie was a friend, I thought,
but she'd spent some of Sunday afternoon on the phone.  I
seriously doubted that she was talking to Ann or her parents. 
Sherrie had her own life.

I shrugged.  "It would be nice, I'm working on it."

Elena laughed.  "That's the spirit!  The sisters are great
support for that part of a person's psyche, but friends are what
keeps it all together!"

Well, I knew what part of psyche support she was talking about! 
She was right.  

"What are you up to now?"  Elena asked, suddenly.

I gestured at the basket, heaped with meat.  "Shopping trip," I
told her.

"Tell you what, you show me the way to your house, we'll put all
of that in your fridge, even if we have to use a shoehorn!"

"I have a big fridge.  In the next day or so, it'll get cut and
packed and loaded into the freezer."

"Cool!" she said with a laugh.  "The freezer, anyway!  Then, once
we get that done, you and I, Laura, will go for a walk!"

I'd already noticed that cheerleaders never did things by halves
and had as much or more bounce and enthusiasm away from cheer as
they had during a practice.

We went out to my car and loaded the stuff in the trunk, and then
I gave Elena my address and directions.  I waited for her at the
entrance and led the way.

It's a mathematical fact: you get the most bang for your buck
when two people do a job.  Add a third people and you get done
even faster, but the incremental change in the time it takes
isn't as great.  Besides, any job is just plain easier when you
share it.

Then Elena patiently waited in my living room while I changed
from slacks and blouse to shorts, tennis shirt and tennies.

Then we were in her little red pickup.  I'd always thought I was
a fast, but careful driver.  Elena drove very fast, but not only
that, it was like she could read the minds of every other driver
on the road.  Her head never stopped moving, looking every which
way, constantly.  The most bizarre thing was that she hardly ever
changed lanes.  Most people who drive much faster than the
traffic around them swerve in and out of traffic with abandon.  I
wasn't sure how she did it, but it was impressive!

We turned off Loop 101 onto Arizona 51, which was another
freeway.  A few minutes later, we were off the freeway, driving
through what looked to be residential areas.  Nice houses, too.

We parked in a City Park and she got out.  I climbed out after
her, and Elena waved at a trail that led away from the parking
lot.  "Now, tell me true.  What kind of shape are you in? 
Excellent, good, medium, or not so hot?"

"I'd say excellent, but I have a feeling I'm about to find out,"
I told her.

"Like I said, we could walk."

"Walk where?"  I asked.

Poor me, I was used to parks in New York.  She pointed at a
mountaintop.  "There."  She grinned at me.  "My best time, going
up, is twenty-five minutes.  It's a mile and a third from here to
the top."

"Well, let's try and we'll see where I fall.  Literally."

She laughed at my joke and we started up.

It was a little after two in the afternoon, the temperature was
in the high nineties, there were hardly any clouds in the sky.  I
was surprised; it didn't feel bad at all.  I'd never been much of
a runner and I kept expecting to fold at any moment.  Instead, I
followed Elena up, up and up.  The trail was wide and well kept;
it wasn't hard at all.

I kept waiting to fold, and waited and waited.  I did start to
puff during the last couple of hundred yards, which was a lot
steeper than any other part of the trail.  Then we were at the
top.  I stopped next to Elena, who looked at me.  "Darn right,
excellent!" she exclaimed.

I started to sweat almost the second I stopped running.  It ran
off in rivers.  In a few seconds, I was having trouble keeping it
out of my eyes.

"Walk around," Elena suggested, "it's a little much to take if
you're not used to it.  It's like working outside and coming
inside to air-conditioning.  It seems like you start to sweat
buckets; instead you were sweating all along, just it isn't
drying as fast.  A little movement will fix that!"

It didn't take much, I found, and I did seem to feel better.

	I took a look around.  I'd known Phoenix was large.  But from on
top of that mountain you could get a real idea of just how huge
it was.  In every direction the built-up city stretched out as
far as the eye could see.  Either mountains blocked your view or
the city faded into the distance.  It was truly impressive.

	"Welcome to my town," Elena said.

	"Your city!  It's hard for me to imagine New York City as a
piker, but this is huge!"

	"Well, the population density there is much higher and you can
make a case that there's really one town from Boston to
Washington DC.  But yeah, this is impressive."  She reached out
and put her wrist to my forehead.  "How are you feeling?  Any
dizziness?  Nausea?"

	"Nothing, the sweating seems to have stopped, too."

	She smiled.  "So long as you're outside on a warm day like this,
it's pouring off you.  Your body has a thermostat and it controls
how much pours off.  When you get home, drink something like
orange juice, not ice tea.  Eat a banana, too.  Or drink
Gatorade, if that's your thing."

	"Not!"  I said with feeling.

	"Me either.  I usually have orange juice and a banana after I
run.  Fluids, carbs and electrolytes.  Phosphorous and potassium.
 A salty dog or margarita is nice, too."

	"I'm not much of a drinker," I told her.  "Wine now and then."

	"Booze is something cheerleaders stay away from.  But now and
then..." She smiled at me.

	"Now," Elena said, waving back down hill.  "How are your
knees?"

	"My knees?"  I was mystified.  "Fine, why?"

	"Ever run a four minute mile?" she asked, her eyes dancing.

	"That's world record time, no, I don't think I've ever managed
to run a mile, much less in world record time."

	"Follow me, Laura!"  She held up her watch, pushed a button and
started down the mountain.

	It was easy to get started, and then it got exciting.  I could
see where she'd learned to drive: running down this mountain. 
You might have been able to slow to a walk in some places, but
there weren't many.  Most of the time you spent worrying about
making the turns.

	Then we were at the parking lot and she pushed the button on her
watch, but continued to jog towards the opposite end of the lot,
but much slower.  I pulled up next to her.  "That was fun."

	"That, Laura, was seven minutes, fourteen seconds.  For a mile
and a third.  Aren't you glad I kept my pace down?"

	I shook my head as we crossed the parking lot, slowed even more,
returning to her pickup.  "That, Elena, wasn't running.  That was
a controlled fall."

	She laughed at that.  We got to her truck, and she pulled out a
plastic bottle of water and handed it to me.  "Take a few, small
sips."

	The water was warm, almost hot.  But it still tasted good.

	Elena took some, and then handed it back to me.  In the next ten
minutes, we drank half of the quart.  "Slow, that's the secret,"
Elena told me.  "You ever get parched, don't drink cold water and
don't drink a lot at a time.  Small amounts of room temperature
fluids.  Cramps are simply no fun at all."

	I nodded, filing it all away.  She looked around.  The parking
lot was nearly empty; we'd seen no one on the trail.

	She's going to kiss me, I thought.  Instead, Elena grinned at
me.  "Do you think we've started being friends?"

	"I think so.  You led me through fire and water, you shared my
burdens and I've shared your water bottle.  Sounds like
friendship to me."

	She waved at the mountain.  "I never thought you'd get up and
down as well as you did.  You are in good shape."

	"I swim," I told her.  "I have a pool."

	"You are my friend!" she exclaimed.  "Swimming is a much lower
impact form of exercise!  We might be able to run down the
mountain quicker than bunnies, but let's face it: our brains are
pretty jumbled by the time we bottom out."

	"There's that," I agreed.

	"I imagine you'd like to get back and take a shower."

	I looked at my watch.  "My daughter will be getting home from
school here soon.  If I'm not there to watch her, she'll probably
find someone to start smooching."

	Elena's arched an eye, so I added, "Girlfriends."

	"Ah, I thought so!"

	We drove back to my house, talking about a lot of personal
things, but minutia of life, not the important things.

Standing inside my front door, she looked me up and down.  "I was
thinking the other day, I needed to make some new friends.  Cheer
is all well and good, but I've known most of them since junior
high.  The people I meet in the store... you'd be surprised how
many men come in to buy things for their wives and girlfriends,
and then try to ask me out on a date while they're at it."

	I shook my head in disbelief.  "Friends, Laura, friends can take
things slow, even if in their heart, they want to race ahead."

	"We raced ahead earlier, like you said, you can get pretty
jumbled up, going too fast."

	"That said, could I come over tomorrow and swim?  In the
afternoon, after I get off work?"

	"Sure," I told her.  "I'm going to be here all day."

	She turned and walked away, back to her truck.

	I watched her go.  There was no doubt in my mind that she was
interested -- and interesting.  It struck me then: exactly what
would it be like if I met someone like myself?  Someone who
wasn't about to make the first move?  Whose whole self-image
revolved around not pushing at all?

	Susan came walking up, Jamie by her side.  Jamie smiled at me,
and went past me, heading into the house.  Susan stopped to say
something.  When she got close, she looked at me and wrinkled her
nose.  "Eew!  Mom!  You smell like an old sock!"

	"One of these days," I told her, "I'll show you where I found
it."

	I turned and went inside to get a shower.  At least Jamie had
thought it was funny.

	Sherrie met me when I came out of my room, cool and refreshed
once again.  "June and the others came by this afternoon.  They
wanted to swim, but understood why I said no.  They said they'd
be back later."

	"Thanks," I told her.

	Susan and Jamie, it turned out, were studying for a test; making
out was taking second place to that.

	June, Toni and Sylvia arrived a while later and swam laps.  In
spite of the fact I was tired, I joined them.  At least swimming
I got to use my arms as much as my legs.

	I pooped out even sooner than usual and sat on the steps to
watch June and the others.

	They got done and Toni and Sylvia went to the diving board,
while June came and sat next to me.  "You didn't do too well
swimming today," she told me.

	It was a stab in the dark, but I thought it was worth trying. 
"Have you ever climbed Squaw Peak?"  I asked.

	She nodded.  

"A few hours ago, I ran up, then I ran back down.  I plead
fatigue!"
	
	June smiled.  "Oh!  That's hard!  And in the middle of the day?
Mom would have me in to the doctor to have my head examined!"

	"If you're careful," I told her, "it's something you can do. 
But it's tiring."

	"I bet!  Were you with someone?"

	"Yes."

	She grinned.  I knew what she was thinking, and in a way, she
wasn't far off the mark.

	Sherrie came out of the house, "Laura, Nancy's on the phone. 
She says it's important."

	I stood up, not bothering with drying off, just heading into the
kitchen to take the call in there.

	"Something terrible has happened," Nancy said.  "It's Carolyn. 
I don't know all the details, but please, Laura,  could you come?
 I'll pick you up in a few seconds, I'm almost at your place."

	"Sure," I said, "I was swimming, I just came on in, I'll be
dressed in a second."

	I ran into my room, dropped the wet suit in the tub and dressed
hastily.

	Nancy was just pulling up when I got out, and she barely slowed
down, before we were off.

	"Terry called me.  Denise came home from work and Carolyn had
made a cake.  Terry works graveyards, and when he got up Carolyn
showed it to him.  It was, he said, chocolate with white icing, a
big heart with 'I love you Mom' written on it.  

"He went to get a shower, and after a few minutes he heard
screaming.  Last I heard he was trying to stop Denise from
battering Carolyn's door down with a chair.  She was incoherent
with rage."

	She looked at me.  "I think someone called the police."

	Someone had.  At first they wouldn't let us in, but a man with
sergeant's stripes came out and talked to us.  "The girl seems to
be okay, but she's terrified out of her mind.  The paramedics had
to restrain the mother and per a doctor's order, have mildly
sedated her.  She'll be transported here shortly for observation.
 The girl keeps asking for you, Mrs. Hunt."

	I looked at Nancy, who asked if she could see Denise.  The
policeman shook his head.
	
	I followed him inside.  Denise was on a stretcher, staring
straight up, unblinking.  It was unnerving.  A short, skinny man
was standing next to her, looking distressed, wringing his hands
in frustration.

	"I'm Laura Alban Hunt," I told him.

	"Please, could you talk to Carolyn?  She's barricaded herself in
her room.  I think she pushed everything against the door; we
haven't been able to budge it.  They've been talking about
busting in through the window, but I called Nancy and she said
you'd come."

	I could see the ruins of the cake, smashed into a wall in their
dining room.  Denise must have had a good windup when she'd
thrown it; it looked like it had hit the wall going a thousand
miles an hour.

	I followed him down a short hall to where a policewoman was
standing in front of a door that looked like someone had taken an
axe to it.  There were gouges in the wood, even a few places
where the gouges went all the way through.

	"Carolyn," I said speaking quietly, "this is Laura.  Can you
hear me?"

	I heard movement, then a faint voice.  "Is it really you?"

	"It's really me."

	"My mom went crazy."

	"I don't know, Carolyn.  They have people seeing to her, she's
resting and quiet.  They're going to take her to the hospital in
a bit."  I didn't want to out and out ask her if she wanted to
see her before she went, but I wanted her to think about it.

	"I'll come out when she's gone."

	"Carolyn, I'm here.  Your dad's here.  Nancy's here.  There are
some very nice police officers here.  No one is going to hurt
you, Carolyn.  I promise."

	There was a dragging sound, then another.  Then another.  Then I
saw the doorknob move.  I heard a rattle, then another.  "Laura?"
 Carolyn said after a second, "the door's stuck."

	I rolled my eyes.  No one needed this, and no one needed any
further aggravation.  Then I remembered what had happened once in
the dorm in college when a girl down the hall had tried to commit
suicide.  I looked, and sure enough, it was true here as well. 
The hinges were on the outside of the door.

	Terry looked like he was thinking about ripping the door off its
hinges anyway, so I asked calmly if he had a large screwdriver. 
He nodded, dashed into the kitchen and came back with one.  I
took it and knocked out the first hinge pin without a problem. 
The second was tougher, and the third wouldn't budge.  Terry
might have been short and slight, but I think he shared some of
June's genes.  He gave the screwdriver a solid thump, and then we
had to pry the door away from the jamb to finally get it off.

	The Carolyn launched herself at me, holding me tightly about the
waist, crying, but not saying anything.

	The policewoman looked at me and all I could manage was a shrug.
 "Children's Services will be here shortly," she said calmly.

	My mind flashed on Lydia Sanchez and I met the woman's eye.  "Do
you know who?"

	She shook her head.

"Could you find out?"  I persisted.

	She spoke into a radio and told me the bad news, "Lydia
Sanchez."

	"Any way to change that?"  I asked, knowing it was hopeless.  I
reached down and put my arm on Carolyn's shoulder.  She seemed
oblivious, just quietly sobbing.  She did not need Lydia Sanchez,
but barring a miracle, that's who she was going to be talking to
shortly.

	I reached for my cell phone and dialed Marybeth.  "I'm at
Denise's," I told her.

	"I thought you didn't like Denise?  Are you trying to talk to
her?"

	I gulped.  Usually the cheerleaders gossiped at lightning speed.
 Evidently, I'd beaten them to the punch today.  Gosh, that was a
stupid metaphor!

	"She had a breakdown, Marybeth.  She took after Carolyn, tried
to batter her daughter's door down.  The police are here, the
paramedics are here and Lydia Sanchez from Children's Services is
on the way.  Denise has been sedated, and they said they are
going to take her in for observation shortly."

	Marybeth grunted.  "I'll see what I can do.  Is Terry there?"

	"Yes."

	"Let me talk to him."

	I handed the phone to Terry, who was obviously surprised.  He
listened to Marybeth for a few minutes, then handed the phone
back.

	Marybeth spoke quickly to me.  "I'll get Denise a lawyer, it
might be better if you can get one for Carolyn and maybe Terry. 
I told him not to say anything until he has a lawyer there, at
least for Carolyn.  Now, I have some calls to make."

	I called my newly minted attorneys, knowing it was after hours.
Still, like most big firms, I was called back within a minute.  I
explained the situation and they told me someone would be at my
location within thirty minutes.

	I hoped Sanchez spent two hours in the world's biggest traffic
jam.  Which wasn't fair to the residents of Phoenix and
Scottsdale, but it sure would help.

	Terry was called away, I was pretty sure that meant that Denise
was going to be taken away.  He was gone for fifteen minutes,
during which I spent just resting my hand on Carolyn's shoulder,
saying nothing.  She said nothing, but just clung like a
starfish.

	When Terry came back, he knelt on one knee, and touched
Carolyn's arm.  "Are you okay, sweetie?"

	She looked at him for a second, smiled and nodded.  She wiped
away some tears.  "I'm sorry, Daddy.  I made Mommy mad at me."

	He shook his head.  "Mommy's not been feeling good.  It was
nothing you did, Carolyn.  It was a very pretty cake."

	I could feel her tremble, but I was sure he knew what he was
doing.

	He looked at the policewoman.  "What happens now?"
	
	The officer looked distressed, looking at Carolyn and back at
him.  Obviously, she didn't want to speak in front of Carolyn.

	"My daughter might not be at her best right this moment, but
that doesn't mean she doesn't want to know what's going to
happen."

	"A representative from Children's Services will be here shortly.
 They will listen to our report, talk to the persons involved and
render a temporary custody decision.  Children's Services will
conduct a further investigation and file a report with the Family
Court."

	As if that was her cue, Lydia Sanchez arrived, and immediately
tried to take charge, demanding that Carolyn accompany her to
"answer some questions."

	"Ms. Sanchez, Carolyn isn't quite up to answering questions at
the moment, why don't you talk with the police first.  She'll be
able to talk in a few more minutes."  I smiled at her and she
smiled back.  Tomorrow, I thought, be damned with the
consequences, I'll call Children's Services and tell them I don't
want to be within a dozen miles of Lydia Sanchez, ever again.

	A tall man, on the heavy side, came in from outside.  He was
Hispanic in appearance, wearing a priest's hassock.  I saw a
grimace of distaste on Sanchez' face and I decided that even
though the priest hadn't opened his mouth, I liked him.

	"I'm Father Luis Bustamonte," he said, introducing himself to
Terry.  He turned to me.  "I believe you know my daughter, Elena,
Mrs. Hunt."

	I tried to keep the surprise from my face.  "Elena is your
daughter?"  I tried not to gargle in shock.

	He smiled slightly.  "My faith requires celibacy from its
priests, but not from its congregation.  My wife died six years
ago, Elena is an adult."  His smile was gentle as he ran his
fingers over his rosary.  "I saw this calling as an
opportunity."

	Then the attorney arrived.  I had, I thought, enough arrows in
the quiver to deal with Lydia Sanchez.  I asked Carolyn to
explain what had happened when her mother got home from work.

	Carolyn spoke quietly, telling her story with simple words, no
hint of emotion in her voice.

	The policewoman quietly took notes, as did Lydia Sanchez and the
lawyer.  Then the policewoman asked Terry Gamble for his
description of what had happened.  He spoke a little longer, his
voice apologetic.  "Denise has had a bad spell," he told us. 
"She blames Carolyn for not moving forward with her life."  He
lifted his eyes and met mine.  "She blames me, she blames her
friend, Nancy.  I've tried to explain that the one person who
shouldn't be exempt is herself."

	He stopped and sighed.  "That's not an argument she's willing to
accept."

	The lawyer spoke for the first time.  "Carolyn, my name is Devin
Hannigan, I am an attorney whose firm handles Mrs. Hunt's legal
affairs."  He looked at Terry Gamble.  "Mr. Gamble, Mrs. Hunt is
a new, but highly valued client.  We can be of help here, if you
let us."

	"I don't know about the fees."

	"An early Christmas gift," I told him.

	Terry nodded then.

Hannigan turned to Carolyn.  "Carolyn, has your father ever
shouted at you?"

	Carolyn glanced at her dad and shrugged.  "Sometimes he raises
his voice.  But Dad can't shout, because his voice box is messed
up from an infection when he was a kid."

	"Has he ever hit you?"

	Carolyn shrugged again.  "When I was little and did bad things,
he'd swat me on the bottom.  Not hard enough to hurt, it was just
to get my attention and to tell me I was wrong.  I love my dad; I
love my mom.  I wish Mom wasn't messed up right now.  But Dad is
nice, really nice."

	"Has your mother shouted at you?"

	"Not so much before, but lately..."  Carolyn nodded.
	
	"Has she hit you?" the lawyer asked.

	"No.  Today was the first time she tried.  She scared me." 
Carolyn started to cry.  "I just wanted it to be like it was
before.  I made a cake that said 'I love you.'  I don't know what
I did to make her so mad."

	Father Luis spoke quietly.  "Sometimes, young lady, the problem
doesn't lie within ourselves, but outside.  Blame yourself for
things you really do that are wrong, not for the actions of
others."

	For the first time since Nancy had picked me up, I thought of
myself and not Carolyn.  I was looking into the abyss myself. 
All it would take would be one incautious word from Carolyn and
I'd be sunk without a trace.  It was the most sobering experience
of my life.

	Carolyn nodded, but didn't say anything.

	Nancy returned right then.  "I went with Denise to the hospital,
but once she was admitted, I had to leave."

	"And your relationship with Denise Gamble?"  Sanchez asked, her
voice frosty.

	"Denise and I went to high school together.  We've been friends
ever since.  I teach PE at Scottsdale High and I'm the faculty
sponsor of the Cheerleaders."

	She smiled at Father Luis, "And I've known the Father since he
was the father of one my students."

	 Hannigan spoke up then.  "I haven't heard any reason why
Carolyn shouldn't stay with her father."

	Lydia Sanchez must, I thought, get some sort of perverse
pleasure in breaking up families, at least that's what I thought
the sour expression on her face meant.

	"I will write the order," Sanchez said, a vinegar expression on
her face.  "Pending further investigation and pending a
determination of the fitness of the mother to return.  At the
current time, I would not recommend that the mother should have
any contact with her daughter," Sanchez turned to the
policewoman.  "We will have to be notified if the woman is to be
released."

	I'd put my instincts firmly under control, but once again
Sanchez had gotten my goat.  "Ms. Sanchez, one of the things
feminists had high on their agenda was to a desire to stop men
from objectifying women.  It's not a pleasant thing to be an
object and not a person.  So please, Carolyn's mother is named
Denise Gamble.  She has problems right now, and while you and the
police have legitimate interests here, you do not help the
situation by your comments."

	Sanchez had a leather folio she'd been taking notes in.  Now she
closed it with an audible crack.  "We'll be in touch," and she
was gone.

	 Devin Hannigan looked at Terry.  "Sir, now we come to the legal
position of your wife.  You might want to have your wife's friend
take Carolyn into another room."

	Terry looked at Carolyn who shook her head.  "No, Carolyn wants
to stay," Terry replied.

	The lawyer smiled at Carolyn.  "If I say something you don't
understand, you get to ask questions, just like anyone else.  If
you have a question, now is the time to get it answered."

	He looked at the policewoman.  "Who will you be giving your
report to?"

	"The detectives, I'm not sure which one will have the case. 
They will look at the report, they'll probably interview the
mother, er, Mrs. Gamble, at the hospital.  Then the city
prosecutor will review the case and decide what charges to file.
Mr. Gamble, there will be charges filed.  I can't say what, but
in view of the violence done here, it's virtually certain."

	"That's our job," Devin said, sounding smug.  "We'll talk to
Mrs. Gamble, the police, the city attorney... we will cover all
the bases."

	 Devin smiled at the policewoman who understood the message. 
Then the policewoman left without another word.

	"What is going to happen to my wife?"  Terry asked.

	"That will depend a lot upon her," Devin said without flinching.
 "She has some issues, if nothing else, anger management issues.
It isn't likely she will go to jail, but she will almost
certainly be placed on probation.  Without any prior record, in a
case where no one was hurt, they pretty much let it slide.

	"You have to understand, Mr. Gamble, this isn't always a good
thing.  If your wife does have significant issues, it can get
worse and worse until someone gets hurt.  Then they throw the
book at her.  It's not the greatest system in the world if
there's a real problem, but it works okay if someone loses it,
but no one gets hurt.

	"You need, Mr. Gamble, to see that your wife seeks professional
help.  A counselor at least.  The Children's Services
representative says your daughter and your wife shouldn't be
together without them reviewing it.  In real life, there isn't
much they can do about it, absent a court order, which she isn't
likely to get."

	"I can help with the counseling," Father Luis told Terry.

	"We're not Catholic, Father," Terry replied.

	"You are human beings, as am I.  That's all I need to know."

	There was more talk, and then it was time to go.  Carolyn gave
me a hug, and I hugged her back.  She had a half smile, and then
she went back and stood with her dad.

	Nancy drove me back home, neither of us talking.  "I'll talk to
Marybeth when I get home," she told me.  "Marybeth will probably
call you tomorrow.  Thanks, Laura."

	I reached home, found Susan and Sherrie had fixed dinner for
themselves.  I decided to make myself some soup and ate that
outside by the pool.  The day was cooling off, but I still
sweated.  Was it the soup or the close call?

<1st attachment end>


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