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Message-ID: <51357asstr$1118261404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 39 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, cons)
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Date: Wed,  8 Jun 2005 16:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 39.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: teen, mff, cons.

	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/

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

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 39 :: Lessons

I was nearly asleep when Wanda came in.  She was wearing one of
her long t-shirts and I smiled, remembering how easy it was to
get her out of one of them.  She saw my expression and shook her
head.

"Davey, we need to talk.  At least, I need to talk."

She settled herself into my bed and then snuggled up.  I wasn't
sure why, but she was my big sister this time, not the usual
small armful when she wanted to snuggle.

"Once upon a time I thought sex was the greatest thing in the
world," she told me.  "I could indulge my whims as I wanted.  I
knew I had to be careful to avoid jerks who slept around; I had
to make sure my birth control was working.  I did that; I was
careful, I was sure of it.

"Then I found out I was a lousy judge of character.  But you know
what?  For the longest time I never thought about that; I thought
about what he'd done to me.  It was bad, I kid you not; it was
very bad.  I got over the physical trauma; I had friends to help
bring me back from the psychological trauma.  I had family, a
doctor who listened, even if I hardly talked.  A therapist who
listened, too, but who never really conveyed any insight into my
real problems.

"Now I know and understand that you can't just ignore what goes
on around you.  You can't give friends free rein.  Sure, you
should give them a break now and then, but you have to set
limits.  I've known Pamela pushed for a long time.  When she
pushed me, it was a joke.  When I didn't want it, it took
convincing, not coercion to make it happen.  Mostly it happened
because she would realize pushing wasn't going to work and she'd
try seduction, which does.

"I swear, Davey, I swear, it wasn't until the other day when I
saw her with Shellie that I realized that she was capable of
ignoring someone who really, truly didn't want to be with her.  I
talked a bit to Shellie tonight; I told her I was sorry.  You
know what she said?"

I chuckled.  "Wanda, I like Shellie.  Mercedes likes Shellie. 
Ellie likes her.  Wanda, Shellie may look and sound diffident and
lacking in confidence -- but she's not."

Wanda grimaced.  "Yeah, that's what she said.  She said that
Pamela just kept coming; that if she'd taken her time and been
less insistent, it might have happened.  But towards the end, she
was beginning to piss Shellie off.  She had pissed Mercedes off.
And then I came in on my white horse, saw the tail end, about two
seconds before they were going to throw Pamela out on her ass.

"But Karen's not like those two or you," she concluded.

"It must be hell to be so far from family and friends, with no
one you can trust to turn to.  Do you know what Colonel Terrell's
daughter said to me when I walked in and Karen started hugging
me?" I asked her.

"I'm not sure I want to know.  This is the geography teacher,
right?"

"Yeah.  A retired Marine Colonel.  His daughter is in the Marines
now.  She smiled at Karen and said, 'I assume this isn't one of
the ones you want dead.'"

Wanda started crying.  This wasn't the first time, but like the
times before, I just hugged her.  Words weren't necessary, not
for what she needed.

Eventually she spoke in a low voice.  "She was pissing me off
more than a year ago.  I should have spoken up then.  As it was,
I just slapped her down and didn't pay any attention.

"Now I wonder if it was really Chuck that Karen was upset at --
or Pamela."

"Wanda, I talked to Chuck.  I think he was pushing, too."  I
stopped.  "I'm sure he was," I said, deciding not to waffle about
it.  "So I told him to stop.  I thought for sure I'd get punched
out -- but I think maybe he wasn't exactly proud of himself.  So
instead, he stopped.  But I don't think I plan on introducing
Chuck to Colonel Terrell's daughter."

"I thought sex was without consequences," Wanda told me.  "Mom
told me it always has consequences but I'd watch her breeze here
and there, seemingly unconcerned.  But now I understand: she's
like a professional ice skater.  She can do all those things and
make it look effortless, when what it really is, is long
practice."

She was silent for a few minutes.  "Our sewing class, you know it
was more than sewing, right?"

"I know it was none of my business."

"Mom and Pamela went at it hot and heavy for a few sessions, then
Mom pulled away.  She didn't say anything to me; she just pulled
back.  Pamela didn't say anything to me, and we got together for
a few times.  Mom taught Emily and Karen a lot about sewing;
really, I mean it.  Just sewing.  I learned a pretty fair amount
about sewing myself.  At the end, just before things blew up,
that's all we were doing.

"I was sailing along with Jack, and it was okay.  Then he came
back changed and I had second thoughts.  Second thoughts, Davey,
aren't good for you.  Because once you have doubts, you look at
the whole package in a way you never did before.  Jack's nice, do
you understand?  But the fact is, he's not my type.  You are,
which is why I'm still dressed and talking."

She turned to me.  "Mom had it right about sex.  You can only do
it a time or two with someone and then you have to decide if it's
just sex or something else.  And after a few more times, you
pretty much have to decide where you mean to go, because it's not
casual any more.  I've never had a problem with the bus, Davey. 
Never.  I've gone down on a lot of guys, made love to a few and
it was good to okay.  A couple of guys weren't anything to write
home about, but there are girls who like them; I left those guys
for them.  No sweat.

"Jack and I are becoming something I would never have imagined:
damn good friends.  Like you and I are going to become, Davey."

I thought about a lot of things in the next few seconds, but
nothing I wanted to talk about.  "Are you pissed, Davey?"

I giggled.  "No.  Maybe relieved.  Wanda, sex with you has been
something that leaves me confused after each time.  The sex is
just incredible, but when I try to see you and me in my mind,
trying to do anything else -- it just doesn't work.  You know
something?  Just now when you said you wanted to be friends, I
realized that I never thought of you as a friend.  We didn't get
along; I thought you hated me and I hated you back.

"But I was just being childish, because the issues were just the
stupid things people do that don't mean anything.  Now, I'm
thinking there is nothing I'd be happier about than being your
friend."

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and sighed contentedly.  "One
last thing, Davey."

"What's that, Wanda?"

"Next time I call you 'little brother' tickle me silly."

"No problem!"  We both laughed together.

"Oh, and one day, when we've both learned to skate a lot
better... I want to check out how much you've learned."

I hugged her and she hugged me, then she was up and gone.

I lay back in my bed and grinned.  After a second, the grin
faded.  Growing up wasn't easy; things happen and you realize
only too late how badly you messed up.  I was going to give my
life a lot of thought, and I was going to keep my eye on the
ball.  I sure wished Pammie had done that.  And it was equally
clear that rape came in all sizes and shapes, but at the core it
was getting your way without regard to what someone else wanted.

Once upon a time, Fesselhof had slammed his fist into my stomach.
 It hardly had any effect.  But Desmond had hit me there, too --
and there had been bruises, plenty of them.  Some of us could
take a blow without hurt, but there was always someone out there
who could hurt us, hurt us bad.  And that's what Pammie had done
to Karen, I was sure of it.  She might not have left bruises you
could see, but they were real nonetheless.  Pammie had landed
those punches on me, on Wanda, on Shellie even -- probably even
Mercedes.  And they'd bounced off.

It was something to think about, that was for sure.  And in a
way, Chris had bruised me.  Not intentionally, I realized, but
she had landed a punch that had taken my breath away.  You didn't
have to intend the result: sometimes it just happens.  The trick
is to be careful and if you hurt someone, you had to try to make
amends, or if it was a friend who'd hurt you when there was no
intent, why you gave them a pass.  Once.



When I went out to swim the next morning, a dangling object on
the sliding glass door caught my eye.  It was one of those "I'll
be back at:" signs, with a clock face on it.  Only instead of the
"I'll be back" message I recognized Wanda's writing on a piece of
duct tape.  It was "Ok to Swim:" and the hands of the clock were
set at six thirty.

Since it was after that, I hit the water.  I didn't swim a whole
lot, but got out and showered, then sat down at my desk with the
Ranger's yellow pad and started on my life story, at least so far
as Terry Toohey and his friends were concerned.

I had some breakfast, and went back to my computer and created an
Excel spreadsheet and listed the date and time and what I had to
eat.  I was able to go back over the last week with my meals and
times, after that it was pretty spotty.

Then it was time for baseball practice.

Mercedes arrived with her father and Shellie.  Mercedes looked
her usual self, but it didn't take long to realize she was
grumpy.  She was, however, trying very hard not to grump at her
friends.

We drove over together, my parents and hers, Shellie, Wanda and
Emily to the school.

I walked into the locker room and saw Coach Delgado talking to
the man who had talked to me in the shower.  The man saw me
watching and finished his conversation and walked over to me. 
"I'm Louis Rain, Lou," he told me.  "You've met my son, Kyle,
right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Kyle got messed up three years ago.  He was doing well, coming
right along, and then wham, bam!  Someone tail-ended him on the
I-10 in San Antonio.   At first the back-spasms prevented him
from doing anything, just about.  He had a hard time getting out
of bed.  Then he had an operation on his back, the docs fixed the
bad disc and he was back to normal.  Not that the goddamn pros
gave a shit.  They don't want to deal with back problems, there's
too much downside and not much upside.

"So Kyle went to the San Antonio Police Academy, finished top of
his class.  Vic Ortega and I go way back, and he offered Kyle
this job.  Kyle's first wife split as soon he was dropped from
the pro rosters; it really broke him up.  Then he met a nice girl
here in San Angelo and nature took its course.  He's been married
again now almost two months."

I thought about it. "Do you know my father, sir?  Phil Harper?"

"Of him, of course.  You said he's a football player; I was
always baseball."

"Yes, sir."

"You'd better hustle, son, getting suited up."

So I went and pulled on the uniform and joined everyone else for
warm-ups.

It was a long morning.  It started off on the cool side, but
rapidly warmed up.  Scrimmage was a relief in more ways than
one.

Chuck was one of the captains and he promptly picked me.  The
other guy grinned at me and picked Mercedes.  I couldn't hear
what she said to him when she went to stand next to him, but at a
guess it wasn't a thank you.

This time we batted first and I was slated for the third batting
position.  I tried not to let that bother me.  What was the logic
in not letting me go first?  I was going to get on base, most
likely.  Wasn't that a good thing?

Chuck rapped a single through the gap between first and second,
but the right fielder got to it quickly and Chuck stopped at
first.  Then the next guy went up, and just as quickly sat down,
swinging at three bad pitches.

I stared at the pitcher who promptly threw a ball that had my
name written all over it.  I backed hastily away, without ever
lifting my bat off my shoulder.  Coach Delgado went out and had a
chat with pitcher.  I doubt if he was congratulating him on the
pitch.

The next pitch bounced about a foot in front of the plate and I
just stood looking at the pitcher without any expression on my
face.  The next pitch hit the front of the plate and bounced
straight up.  Somewhere on the trip up, I realized it was going
to be coming straight back down, too.  What were the rules on
hitting it?  What the heck, I thought, at worst I was out, or it
was a strike.

I hit the ball hard, but there wasn't any momentum on the pitch.
It took off though, arcing out towards the gap between center and
right field.  I started off towards first, sure that it was going
to be a base hit, because there was no way the right fielder or
center fielder could get to it.

I was halfway to first, when I realized the ball was curving. 
I'd never seen a hit ball curve like that.  The only reason I
wasn't out was because the right fielder had made an error of
judgment, thinking he could get to it; by that I mean he had his
glove up to catch it, not down low to scoop it up from the
ground.

As a result, the ball sailed over his head and bounced behind
him, heading for the corner.  I put my head down and really
started to run.  Chuck had slowed down, afraid, I guess, that it
was going to be caught.  He started moving faster, too.  When I
rounded second, he was moving much faster than me, heading home.
However the third base coach was windmilling his arm, waving me
home.  I didn't have eyes in the back of my head; I had no idea
what was going on behind me.

Still, going home was good.  Maybe I'd even get an "attaboy" for
a change from the coach for actually doing something I was told.

When I rounded third and headed home I looked for the ball.  The
right fielder was in the corner, just coming up with it.  I
grinned and didn't bother to slide.  Mercedes didn't even bother
to throw home either, after she cut off the throw.

An inside-the-park homerun!  You don't see many of those!

It was when I turned and looked at the scoreboard, where they
were putting up a "2" on the visitor's line, when it hit me. 
What if I'd batted first?  They'd be putting a "1" up there now.
Two is better than one, isn't it, Davey?

I was sitting on the bench, chewing on that when batter number
four, Jack, walloped a double into the right field corner.

Maybe, I thought, fourth position would have been better for me.
Cleanup.  That's what they called batting fourth.  I'd never
really thought about the name or what it meant.  I'd never really
thought, I realized, anything beyond the simplest, barebones
basic rules.

Chuck laughed and waved at the right fielder.  "Poor Pete!  This
is the most he's had to work all year!"  Everyone laughed, except
me.  I looked down the first base line, ignoring Mercedes for
maybe the first time in my life.  Wouldn't it be cool if everyone
pulled their hits to right?  I could see the guy's face; it was
red and flushed.  He'd been doing a lot of running, Chuck was
right.

Except, I couldn't be bothered to learn to pull my hits or hit
inside the park.  I just wanted to swing for the fences.  Sure,
there were major league players like that, but even they, at
times, did what they were told.  If I hit every ball out of the
park, I was going to get a lot of walks.

Mercedes had been smart, really smart, that first scrimmage.  She
took me right out of the game.  Life isn't as simple as stupid
thirteen-year-olds think, is it?

When I went out to the mound, the score was four to zero.  For
the first time, as I started my warm-up pitches, I contemplated
strategy as a pitcher.  Not whether or not to strike out the
other side; that went without saying.  Three up, three down was
good.  Doing it in ten pitches was good.  But you could do it
three, couldn't you?  Three pitches, three simple fly balls or
infield grounders.

But beyond that, in a three inning game where was the best place
for me to pitch?  First, second or third?   I realized the answer
to that required a crystal ball.  Shutting down the other side in
the first inning was a good thing; it would make them nervous, a
little desperate.  On the other hand, if they broke loose in a
later inning, it would be cool to have someone shut them down at
their next at bat.

Rob came up and I was told a curve.  I put it low, and he swung
and missed.  Trace asked for another, and I put it a little
higher.  Well, that was my intention, anyway.  It went belt high,
and Rob managed to hit it on the handle of his bat.

I reached up and snagged it easily.  Rob headed for the bench and
it was Mercedes' turn.  Trace said fastball, low.  I really can't
do those well, so it too was higher than I wanted and Mercedes
hit it foul.

I shook off Trace's call for a curve and got another fastball
request.  The second time I kept it down better and she simply
swung and missed.

I swallowed.  Mercedes was swinging much slower than usual.  Did
"that time of the month" cause that to happen?  Was it right to
use knowledge like that against your girlfriend?  I saw her
standing at the plate, ready to swing.  Davey, she's not up there
to strike out, she's up there to hit the ball as best she can. 
And if she gets home, she's going to take the high-fives from
everyone and be happy.  If her team wins or loses, she was going
to be happy if she'd done the best she could.

I got another curve request and I threw it belt high.  She took
the called strike with as much grace as anyone ever does, turning
around and glaring at the umpire, before walking over to sit
down.

The third batter got a changeup on the first pitch and promptly
whacked it right up the middle.  I'd have needed stilts to snag
it, but the second baseman took a couple of quick steps back and
fielded it neatly.  We headed for the bench, and I was grinning.
Yep, three up and three down, ten pitches was pretty good.  Yes,
three strikeouts were pretty good.  But three up and three down,
one strikeout, but only six pitches is better yet if I wanted to
conserve my pitching arm.

I batted again in the second inning, launching one over the
centerfield fence.  I batted a last time in the third inning and
that was funny.  Everyone was playing me back, which told me that
I wasn't going to be walked.  So, on the first pitch, I knocked
the ball down with something like a bunt.

The only player who had a chance at the ball was the pitcher and
he barehanded the throw and missed Mercedes by a mile, putting
the ball into the bleachers, so I ended up on second.

We ended up winning eight to nothing; the only person on the
other team to bat twice was Rob.

In the team meeting, Coach Delgado asked if anyone had a comment.
 I raised my hand.  "Davey?"

"Sir, momentum's really nice when you've got it.  I'm not sure
why it is, but it's a lot easier to do well when things are going
your way.  I think we need to find a way to work on how to play
when the momentum is against us."

He nodded.  "Every coach worth his or her salt has little pep
talks about how it ain't over until it's over or the fat lady is
singing or whatever.  What all those pep talks, speeches and
whatnot mean, though, is that you have to reach down inside
yourself and play just as hard when you're losing as when you're
winning.  I've seen teams play double headers.  The first game
one team jumps into the lead and wins going away.  The second
game, the other team gets an early lead and walks away the
winners.

"Yeah, good pitching helps, but good pitching only keeps the
other side from putting runs on the board.  It's the offense that
puts up the runs you need to win.  Only you, yourselves, can dig
down and find what you need.  There have been some great games
played where one team comes back from what looks like certain
defeat.  We talk about those for a long time, we remember them
easily, where after a while the usual, unexceptional games get
hard to remember."

Then we were done and I escorted Mercedes out.  She grinned at
me, which made me feel better than I had been -- and I'd been
feeling pretty good.

I went out and met my parents and everyone, and we discussed what
was going to happen next.  Shellie was going with Mercedes and
her parents for lunch, and then the two of them were going to
come over to my house later to help Rob and Emily with their
filming.  Afterwards, the two of them were going back to
Mercedes' parents', while I played poker.

Then Lou Rain showed up, walking up to Dad, not me.  He held out
his hand to Dad, first.  "Lou Rain."

"Phil Harper.  Davey said you were talking to him about possibly
coaching him."

"I did make the offer."  He grinned at Dad.  "As I told him, I
find I'm a better coach than I ever was a player.  I'm a retired
mail carrier, with entirely too much time on my hands.  My son is
just coming off back surgery, and I came to lend a hand. 
Frankly, I like San Angelo a lot better than I like San Antonio,
and it's not just because I grew up here."

"I don't want to sound entirely crass, Lou, but how much?"

Lou laughed at that.  "I remember you just a bit.  When I was a
senior, you were a freshman.  I played baseball and you were
determined to be a football player.  I'll tell you what, I'll
charge Davey what I charged my own kid: a buck a day.  If it
doesn't cost something, it's not worth learning."

Dad looked at him then nodded.  "It'll be up to you and Davey,
then.  Of course, I still get to lobby him to go out for football
next year."

"I understand that a lot of the young men do both."

Dad agreed.

Lou Rain turned to me.  "Think about it a bit more, Davey. 
There's no rush."

"Yes, sir."

Mom gave me a hug, and then headed off on her own errands and Dad
headed for the plant.  Wanda drove me home, while Emily went with
Rob.

After lunch Emily and Rob started talking about how they wanted
to set up the family room for Emily's interview.  There was a lot
of discussion about lighting, which I thought was odd because
there was plenty of light.  But when Rob closed the drapes, there
wasn't nearly as much.

Mercedes and Shellie arrived and we ended up doing this and that,
as Rob tried one thing after another.  Finally Emily was sitting
on a dining room chair, against a backdrop of a light blue sheet
that Rob had brought with him.  We had pinned the sheet over the
sliding glass door curtains.

Rob had two light poles, that is, poles with three fixtures for
lights.  One he had almost directly in front of Emily, with two
of the lights aimed at her.  One was directed higher than the
other.

On the other side, at about forty-five degrees, he had the other
light pole set up.  Only one of the lights was directed at Emily,
while the lights not aimed at her were pointed towards her, but
not right at her.

"It's all about shadows," Rob explained when he was satisfied. 
"The lights right on Emily are the key lights, the rest are fill
lights, that is, they're there to remove shadows."

That was true; Emily sat composed throughout the setup, barely
moving.  There were no shadows that I could see on her face.

Then Rob showed me how to hook up the microphone and boom.  "This
is harder than it looks," he told me.  I hefted the microphone
and boom; I doubted if they weighed a pound.  "You can't let the
boom droop, you understand?"

"I guess," I said, unsure why this was worth more than a "stand
there, hold this so," command.

"Two things.  One, never drop the mike.  I know it's a little
thing, and if you were to look inside, you'd see the actual
microphone is smaller yet.  Nonetheless, it's fragile.  Drop it,
and it's toast.  Three hundred dollars worth of toast."

"Oh." I felt like an idiot.  "I won't drop it."

"An hour from now, it'll be sagging into the frame and we'll
probably get someone else to do it for a while," Rob said.  He
waved at the expensive microphone and boom.  "It's a directional,
condenser microphone.  Not cheap, even on eBay.  The boom is
carbon composite, so it's very light.  I could use a stand, since
Emily is just going to sit there, but it would be cool if you
learned how to hold a microphone -- cause if we make a movie, the
actors aren't going to be sitting still."

That made sense.

Finally everything was ready and Rob stood next to the camera,
which was mounted on a tripod.  He grinned at Emily, gave her a
thumbs up and said, "Tape's rolling!"

He started asking questions, simple questions.  Her name, where
she went to school.  Then, when Emily was as relaxed as she was
going to get, he asked about "that day".

She kept it simple, walking home and being knocked down, dragged
into some bushes, threatened and raped.  Not much detail, which
was fine with me.  Rob just listened at this point, saying
nothing and just glancing occasionally at the camera screen to
make sure Emily was still centered in the camera.

After that his questions were more like gentle requests, quite
simple.  "Then what happened," and "After that, what did you
think about..."

One thing Rob was right about, after about a half hour, it was
getting increasingly difficult to hold the microphone still. 
Once Rob turned to me, and made a "lift up" gesture with his
thumb, and I did.  A few minutes later, my best intentions aside,
it was starting to drop again, and Shellie moved up next to me
and I carefully handed the boom to her.

After ninety minutes, Rob was done.  Mercedes had had a chance on
the microphone as well as Shellie taking a second turn.

It was with relief when Rob smiled at Emily and said, "That's a
wrap!  Camera's off!"

Rob had me take the boom over to a corner and carefully lay it
down.  "Don't lean it on something, because it might slide down.
It doesn't take much of a bump to deep six a mike."

He patted the camera.  "What I'll do is transfer the tape to my
computer, then I'll make a copy and we'll work from that.  I told
Emily that she could review it and decide if she wanted me to cut
parts out or just junk the whole thing."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Emily said.  "All
the preparation and thinking about it really helped."

It was nearly three in the afternoon at that point, and for a
while we sat in the family room, drinking cokes and talking about
movies and stuff.  After about an hour Shellie went to her book
bag and pulled out some paper.

"I wrote this script," she told us.  "It's short, not two pages.
I don't think it's very complicated.  It's some people meeting
out in the forest and talking."

We all took copies of the script and Shellie explained what she
wanted.  "I thought Davey, Mercedes and I could do the acting,
Rob could be on the camera and maybe direct a bit.  I could do
some of that too.  Emily can hold the microphone this time."

Rob sighed.  "I'm willing to do this, if you want, Shellie.  But
it's not as easy as you think.  Let's not even worry now about a
set.  We can just pretend the sheet is a backdrop of some sort. 
In fact, if you have a JPEG of a forest scene, I can composite it
in and it'll look like you are in a forest.

"But, that's all relatively simple." Rob waved at me, then at
Mercedes and Emily.  "Let Emily stand in for you, at first.  Put
them where you want them to stand."

Shellie directed us to where she wanted us, and then Rob called
her over to the camera.  I saw the look of surprise on Shellie's
face.  "That's not good.  You can't see Davey's face at all
because his back is to the camera; Mercedes' face is in shadow
and hardly shows up.  Even Emily is in shadows."

Rob nodded.  "That's because all of this," he waved around the
room, "is important.  Filming one person sitting is a slam-dunk
if you have a little time to arrange things.  It's why I drew the
curtains.  It's after three; the light outside would have been
changing constantly as the sun went down.  You and I might not
see it, but the camera does.

"Just like the camera sees that the lighting isn't right for
three people."

"How do you film three people?"

Rob grinned, came around and moved us more into a line than a
cluster of people talking.  Shellie was dubious.  "That doesn't
look right."

"True.  Now, look through the camera."

Shellie did and she grimaced.  "You can only see half of Davey
and Emily, on the ends."

"We can do something about that," Rob told her, and pushed a
button on the camera.  I saw the lens move.  "I've zoomed out a
bit.  Now look."

Shellie did and she shook her head.  "Now they look far away."

"Trade-offs, Shellie," Rob told her.  "But in the movies, they
don't do it like this, they have another way.  It all starts with
planning."

Rob waved at us.  "Get back like you were before."

We obliged.  I sensed Mercedes was getting pissed at being moved
around like some sort of dummy in a store window.  I reached out
and squeezed her fingers.  For a second, she was angry with me,
and then she grimaced.  "Sorry, Davey."

"Hey, think about what it'll be like for our octopi."

She laughed and stuck out her tongue.

"In the movies," Rob was talking to Shellie, "they don't just
shoot a scene once, they shoot it several times.  Actually, it
can be quite a few times, if things don't go right.

"For something like this, you do what's called a 'master shot',
the camera zoomed out, showing the group of people.  They'd talk,
and you'd get it all on tape.  Then you move the camera.  An over
the shoulder shot, for instance, from Davey's Point of View. 
P-O-V," he said the letters separately.

He moved the camera tripod closer to us, cranked it up so the
camera was even with my ear, and aimed it at Mercedes and Emily.
"Stop fidgeting, Davey," Rob said.  It was said absently, but it
stung.  How many times had I posed with my parents and Wanda for
pictures and been told that?

Shellie said something I didn't catch and Rob agreed.  "Yes, you
can't hardly see Davey at all, just his ear.  But, when you're
making a movie, you start with the master, then move in closer. 
People can relate to what they are seeing, because it's what they
see themselves, talking to someone.  Davey's ear just gives a
reference point.

"So, they say their lines, as exactly like the time before as
humanly possible.  The same hand gestures, the same everything. 
When you shoot a scene on more than one day, it gets real
exciting, making sure they get into the same clothes, have their
hair the same, have everything the same.

"Then you move the camera, to say, here."  He moved the camera
around, so that it was between Emily and Mercedes, aimed at
Mercedes and me.  "Now, they say the lines again.  It has to be
exactly the same, because when the film is edited, they are going
to be taking chunks of it and putting it with other chunks. 
Watch a DVD or tape sometime, without the sound, you'll pick up a
lot of this," Rob said.

"There's a lot more than I thought," Shellie said, sounding
dejected.

"Yes and no," Rob told her.  "It just takes getting used to it,
like anything you have to learn."  Shellie perked up at that. 
Well, she was really good at learning things.

Rob touched Shellie's hand.  "Look, two last things.  It's good
to have people read script lines, trying to be as much in
character as possible.  Script writing isn't my thing, but I've
read some about it.  It's easy to write stuff that doesn't work.
It really helps to have someone read it.  Further, if you have a
camera, you can film it, and get an idea how you want to do it
later."

He smiled at her.  "Why don't you go and take Emily's place, and
we'll run through the script.  You guys read, and I'll move
around with the camera.  Do a couple of run throughs and I can
probably put together something that looks okay."

So we did.

I was the warrior, Ozawa.  Unsurprisingly, Shellie was Chibisama,
and Mercedes was Mariko, a girl lost in the forest.  We'd found
her and wanted to convince her that we'd come to rescue her.

It was clever, witty dialog, and Mercedes was having a lot of
fun.  We ran through it five times, with Rob moving around with
the camera.

Then Mercedes had to go pee, and that pretty much broke the
spell.  While she was gone, Rob talked to Shellie.  "I've seen
your art, Shellie.  You could do animation, I'm sure.  Then all
you need is to do the voices.  That's not nearly as hard."

She nodded.  "I do that now, when I dub a voice for an anime.  I
just...  I don't know how to describe it.  I want to do
something..." She put a lot of emphasis on that last word.  "I
just don't know the best way of doing it."

"Well, the problem with using your friends for live action is
that they don't make very convincing Ozawas and Marikos.  Sure,
they can say the lines, but your characters are supposed to be
Japanese."

"I know," Shellie said, a little dispiritedly.

Mercedes had come back.  "Hey, Little Red Riding Hood is a
universal classic.  Just change the names."

Rob nodded, "That'll work.  Look, like I said, I would love to do
a real, live action film.  I know people who'd like to help too,
and they know people.  We could do it, Shellie.  I swear to you,
if we have an interesting script, we can do it."

"I'll think about it," Shellie told him.

"Now," I said, "think about this.  I want to take Shellie to see
'Blue Crush' tomorrow.  It was in the newspaper that this is the
last week.  I'd be pleased if everyone could come."

Rob laughed.  "A date with Emily!  You bet!"

"Ah," I said, "maybe not a date.  Just a bunch of us going to a
movie."  Then I remembered what had happened yesterday and I
blushed.  I spoke quickly, then, trying to cover my
embarrassment.  "My treat, too."

Rob grinned.  "Davey, buddy, I've never been on a date with a
guy.  I'm afraid that's going to have to wait for a long, long,
time."

Everyone laughed, but he went on.  "I'll get my ticket.  Emily's
too."

Mom appeared at the door.  "Young man, Emily is a guest in my
house.  Would you like to ask me if you can take her out?"

I'll say this for Rob; he has balls.  He walked right up to her
and looked her in the eye.  "I'd like to take Emily to the movie
tomorrow."

"Okay," Mom said.  "Just checking, you understand?"

Rob grinned.  "I guess I understand."

"Now, if I were you, young man, I'd ask Emily if she wants to go.
 My son might want to check, too."

That didn't take much time and we were agreed.  We'd meet here
tomorrow at one thirty and be at the theater by two for the
two-fifteen showing.

Then Rob was gathering his stuff, while the rest of us restored
the family room to its original shape.  Rob left first, then
Mercedes and Shellie.  I got hugs and kisses from both, and a
surprise from Shellie.

"Tonight, while you're playing poker," she told me, "I'm going to
take some books over to Chris."

"Books?" I asked, a little confused.

"Sure, she read the first "Circle of Magic" book, I've got the
rest and I'm going to loan them to her.  Mercedes is going to
come along."

Then they too were gone and I was left a little dizzy.  Shellie,
Mercedes and Chris.  It seemed unreal.  Chris was twelve...

And I was thirteen, and in a few days Chris would be thirteen as
well.  Stupid, I thought, I'm being stupid.  A year ago I was
pretty clueless.  I'd grown up a lot before Labor Day and even
more since then.

I was still standing in the family room, contemplating just what
difference it makes in a person's life when it's threatened, when
Dad touched my arm.  "Hate to interrupt what is obviously a
fascinating soliloquy, but interested in dinner?"

"Sorry," I said.

"I was expecting 'yes' or 'no'," he told me.

I had to laugh.  Once upon a time, I'd have stomped off to my
room, the "no" implicit.  "What's for dinner?"

"Chinese take out.  Your mother and sister are off fetching it
now."

"Ah so!  What am I having?" I asked.

"Since you've never had anything but Kung Pao chicken, given a
choice, that's what we ordered."

"Ah, so!" I told him.

Later, dinner was cleared away and I helped put up the poker
table.  By then, Blade, Hammer and Willy Coy arrived.  I didn't
know what to say, so I simply sat mute in my usual seat, while
the adults talked.  A few minutes later Chief Ortega arrived with
the Texas Ranger.

It was pretty clear to me that Blade and Company knew the Ranger.
 At least there was no excuse not to get right down to poker.

It was an odd night, and odd goings-on.  The first hand set the
mood for the rest of the night.  The Ranger dealt first.  He was
sitting to my left, then Willy Coy, Blade, Hammer, Chief Ortega
then my father.

I stayed in, the betting was light as everyone was interested in
sizing up the new player, I thought.  Still, I won the hand with
three tens, beating Blade's three sevens.

When Hammer dealt, I won with two pair, my pairs of queens and
eights beating Dad's two pair: sixes and treys.

There wasn't much talk, except the minutiae of the deal and the
hands.   I was winning every second or third hand; not much, but
still, I was regularly winning.  To put it mildly, the cards were
running cold.

After an hour, Dad and Blade went to fetch drinks, chips and
dips, while the rest of us sat at the table.  The Ranger turned
to me.  "You've started on the 'Story of my Life?'"

"Yes, sir," I told him.  "I started making some notes, and I'll
put them all together tomorrow."

His smile turned to frozen slush.  "Davey, there was a reason for
the instructions.  Did you read them?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then please, write long hand, write what you remember from the
most recent time, going backwards.  Make corrections as you were
told.  I realize it doesn't sound like it makes sense, but it
does, believe me."

"Davey," Willy Coy spoke up.

I looked at him, really not terribly interested in what any of
the trio had to say.

"It's not a comfortable thing; kind of like a verbal enema.  The
idea is to see what you remember first, in what order after that,
when things come back to you.  And yes, shrinks will be looking
at it.  I can't stress, Davey, how important this is.  It was
important from the moment someone tried to run you down in the
mall parking lot.  It got very important when Hammer took a round
in the arm and you lost the tip of your ear.  Now, with a dead
Highway Patrolman... it's gotten deadly serious.

"We are going all out on this, Davey.  No stone is being left
unturned.  This is just one more tool in the arsenal."

He was a guest in our house and pretty clearly a friend of my
father.  I did not candidly inform him of what I thought of their
efforts.

"I understand," I told him evenly.  I looked at the Ranger.  "I'm
sorry I didn't understand the importance of doing what I was
told.  I'll do it as you ask from here on out."

The Ranger smiled.  "I have on my desk a file of messages;
orders, really, telling me what I'm supposed to do.  Everyone and
their cousin wants a piece of this.  Even these nice gentleman
have some paper in the stack.  I know just as much as you do,
Davey, how much it bites to have someone else telling you what to
do, telling you how to do your job.  Those of us down on the
bottom of the food chain get to do what we're told.  Of course,
the first thing we're told is that we're being asked to cooperate
as opposed to given no choice."

Chief Ortega laughed.  "You think you're on the bottom of the
food chain?  I mean, you should see my desk!  I have phone
messages piled a foot high.  At least I can tell you, Davey, I
appreciate your input on the Karen Grissom matter."

I shook my head.  "All I did was make suggestions."

"Suggestions," the Chief said, "that were right on the money. 
Her parents are having conniptions, her uncle, the Reverend, is
having multiple conniptions, but the bottom line is a mystery
resolved for the best.  And if certain people aren't too happy
with it... well hey, what is the Children's Services Department
for anyway, but to take the flack?"

The Ranger laughed, even if no one else did.

By ten the table was filled with six thoroughly disgruntled poker
players and me, just a little thunderstruck.  I was still
winning, although it had tapered off a bit, so it was now every
third or fourth hand.  There were no spectacular hands, a few
flushes and straights, an occasional three of a kind.

A couple of times Blade had tried to bluff, but I was so far
ahead, and he bet so small, I didn't have a problem calling his
bluff; all three times he lost, too.

At eleven, Willy Coy leaned back in his chair and stretched. 
"Gentlemen," he said a second later, "this has been real.  This
has been fun, a little.  But I can't say it's been real fun, not
even a little.  There are nights where the cards are cold, stay
cold and it's best to just leave it at that."

Dad chuckled.  "You have no idea how happy I would have been to
see these cards last week, even if we hadn't been interrupted! 
To see the Amaling Twins held at bay... Gosh, we could have sold
tickets!"

"They didn't seem that bad," Hammer offered.

Chief Ortega doubled over laughing.  "Phil, listen.  Invite them
back.  I'll gladly buy a ticket.  You're right.  You could make a
fortune!"

"I'd be only happy to!" Hammer said.  "No one's that good!"

The Ranger laughed so hard he had to take a drink.  "Son, let me
tell you.  Couple, four years ago, the Boss invited them down to
Austin to play him and the district commanders.  Oh brother!  I'm
here to tell you, we had SRO back in the office; someone had
planted a video and audio feed in the room.  Awesome!  Simply
awesome!  The only reason those boys didn't leave in their jockey
shorts was the Twins laughed at the idea."

"We'll see.  In any case, it won't be next week, because next
week we're on vacation.  You all feel free to invite them in our
place," Dad said.

Willy grinned.  "Would we need a replacement for you, Vic?"

"You bet!  If we hadn't done so good the other day against the
football team, we might have gotten some more young blood.  Let
me think if I can come up with someone with more balls than
brains."

A little later I was helping Dad clean up after everyone had
left.  "How did you do, Davey?"

"Forty-five dollars to the good, sir."

He smiled.  "Just about pay for tomorrow, then."

A few minutes later I sat on the edge of my bed.  I really did
want to go to Corpus Christi with my friends.  But it would be
really cool to see the Amaling Twins leave Willy, Blade and
Hammer in their jockey shorts...  I turned off the light and
curled up to sleep.  Yep!  That would be cool!

<1st attachment end>


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