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Message-ID: <62254asstr$1342570201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Why Me?_2" -- Uther -- MF wl
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Date: Tue, 17 Jul 2012 20:10:01 -0400
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If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read
electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is copyright, 2012, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I
specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy
for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting
requires previous permission.

If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to me at
nogardneprethu@gmail.com.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures
in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to
persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.


Why Me?_2
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF wl


Carolyn Pierce stopped for a minute on her way through the dining room. She
looked at the large picture of her that Bill had hung there. It showed her
smiling in her then-new doctoral robes holding her then-new twins. "If only
you'd known," she told the picture. Then she went on to her home office.
She was a parent, an economist, and a teacher of economics. She'd spent
years doing basic research and presenting papers in regional economics --
mostly in the summers. She still had done grunt-level research the summer
of '79 and she'd do more the next summer, but she had enough reputation to
do survey papers, and that was what she was working on this October. She
could do those in her own house with only occasional excursions to the UIC
library and even fewer to the library at Northwestern.

Johnny and Paul were big kindergarten boys -- as they would gladly tell you
themselves -- and Mrs. Jackson was a wonder. She could work at home without
dealing with the boys every other second. Life wasn't exactly easy -- UIC
might be happy that their economics courses were taught by a practicing
economist, but they didn't count the hours spent doing economics in the
work-week they expected from a teacher. Still, life was a lot less
impossible than it had been the first four years. She looked at her first
draft of the intro to her next paper.

{blockquote}Boundaries are as important in Chicago as in any other city. In
Chicago, sprawled across the flat plain, they are less available than in
many other cities. One boundary, inescapable and virtually uncrossable, is
Lake Michigan.{/blockquote}

She'd polish that later, but the influence of the lake on the placement of
Chicago residences, retailers, and civic institutions would be her theme.
She wouldn't present that paper at a conference, except in the unlikely
event of Northwestern or the U of C sponsoring a conference and announcing
it fairly soon. It would, however, almost certainly be published. Her plans
were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Mama?" It was Johnny. Another knock. "Mama!" She went to the door.

"What do you want, my second-favorite son?"

"Why do you like Paul better than me?" So much for the emergency which made
it necessary to interrupt Mama in her work.

"Because he isn't bothering me right now." And, when he did, he would be
the second-favorite. Johnny giggled. Sometime, he'd get tired of that joke.
Sometime, he might even take the hint. Neither possibility looked like a
probability for the near future. Gladys kept telling her that she'd miss
the involvement in their lives when they grew a little older; she couldn't
wait.

"Mama, Mrs. Jackson didn't leave me a snack."

"That's because it's almost time for dinner. See my watch?" She showed it
to him. "See, the little hand is practically at 6 and the big hand is at
50. Daddy will be home any minute now, and we'll eat in forty minutes. You
just have to wait 'til then."

"I'm hungry."

"Then you'll eat a big dinner." Someday, the guys will figure out that when
Mrs. Jackson said 'no,' it was because Mama had told her to.

"Why are you going out tonight?" If Johnny couldn't cadge a snack, he would
make her feel guilty.

"I'm going to the Priscilla Circle meeting. It's a church group for mamas,
and your Mama goes every month. We talk about how to be better mamas." It
also gave her a little breathing room. The department at UIC had a huge
gender imbalance; she had three males in her family; Mrs. Jackson went home
every night. She *needed* a hen party. Then, God bless him, Bill came in
the door. Johnny promptly forgot Mama and sandwiches. Bill had turned Paul
upside down, and Johnny ran to tickle both.

She retreated into her office. She couldn't concentrate over the noise the
two -- or three -- little boys made. She could get a little done, and she
didn't really want to witness the violence. At 6:20 she emerged to get the
food Mrs. Jackson had left to the kitchen table. She could hear Bill
getting the boys into the downstairs bathroom.

Bill, whatever his many faults as a husband, even as a human being, was a
hands-on parent. They split the kids for dinner if they both were home, but
he'd take the kids and have them in their beds at the agreed-upon time.
(She and Bill had agreed. The boys thought their bedtime should be later
than they could possibly have held their eyes open.)

When dinner was over and it was time for her to go, she gave each of her
men a kiss. Johnny and Paul accompanied their loud kisses with tight hugs
around her neck. Bill's kiss was quieter, but he slipped his tongue between
her lips for a second. He squeezed one bottom cheek instead of hugging her.
How much the boys saw, she didn't know. Well, if they grew up with the idea
that Daddy liked to stroke Mama, they would be less shocked when they
discovered where babies came from.

The Circle gathered slowly. Aside from two of the pregnant women, they all
had kids at home. They gossiped companionably. She suspected that not many
would be disappointed if they ended a meeting with no business at all. Just
before the quarter hour, though, Peggy got up.

"Look. The executive committee thinks we're too big. They don't run our
show, but they have a point. We run from third graders to unborns. None of
the other circles have that great an age range; none of the others have as
many members. I think we have several issues. Do we split? If so where? We
need one new name, I don't hear anybody who has problems with Priscilla,
but we might need two new names. Then we need at least one new chairman."

The overarching UMW held meetings which were formally structured with
motions and seconds and votes and officers. Peggy had no more use for that
than she had when she was the organizer-chairwoman.

"You know," Barbara put in, "they're right. And, if we do split, we should
split so the older group is larger. The younger group has obvious growing
space."

"I don't know," said Debbie. "What if I have questions about breast
feeding." Carolyn had become the resource for that.

"Well," she said, "we're talking about meeting separately, maybe on
different nights. We aren't talking about some brick wall. You have my
number; you see me in church. If there are a couple of women with
questions, I can come to the new group's meeting. We can even set up
another time for only those who have questions about that. But I think
Barbara and Gladys are right. We sure can't go on adding expectant women
without dropping somebody, and we oldest ones are the obvious ones to drop."

"If it comes to a name," Linda said, "I have a suggestion. Now you guys
have been great about Lucy, really great. But there are books on baby care.
When I came to you, I didn't know shit about being pregnant. I hadn't even
seen a gynecologist since Cincinnati. Well, you were wonderful, and I think
the new group's name should reflect that.

"Now, when Mary was first pregnant," she continued, "she went to visit her
cousin Elizabeth. All we're told is that John The Baptist gave his first
kick when Mary walked through the door. I think, though, that Mary went to
Elizabeth to ask her what pregnancy was like."

Maybe. The conversation went over to other issues. Finally, Peggy called it
quits.

"We haven't really decided anything, and I didn't expect to decide anything
this meeting. The first Tuesday in December we'll meet in the church again.
One thing about how many we are is that we don't have all that many homes
this group can comfortably meet in. We'll decide who is in the Priscilla
Circle and who is in the Elizabeth Circle unless somebody wants another
name. Then the Elizabeth Circle will schedule its January meeting. There it
will elect its chair. I'm going to unilaterally declare that the old
organizer rules apply to the smaller Priscilla Circle. If there is any
nomination for a chair for the new Priscilla Circle, then we'll hold an
election the next month and I won't be a candidate. Otherwise the election
will be July of '80." Peggy, though, was the obvious choice for chairman.
If you wanted to be chairman, you wanted to run things. And the group
didn't want anyone running things. So, they wanted a chairman who didn't
want to be chairman.

They trickled out. When she got home, she kissed her sleeping boys. She
loved them all the time, but perhaps most when they were sleeping like
angels. The only time they bore any resemblance to angels was when they
were in bed.

"Do I get a kiss, too?" Bill asked.

"You, on the other hand, look most demonic when you're in bed." She gave
him his kiss, though. His was on the mouth, and their tongues got involved.
This time the feel he copped was far less subtle than the one after dinner
had been. Well, the boys couldn't see, even if they had been awake. "You're
wrinkling my skirt."

"Then take it off. Better yet, let me." She retreated to their room.
Despite Bill's posturing, they were an old married couple. He let her alone
while she did her night-time ritual. He was in bed waiting for her when she
got done. He was lying on his back, and the bulge in the sheet meant that
he was already partially erect. She locked the door and hung her nightie
over the headboard before getting under the sheet.

"You're way ahead of me," she said. She relaxed back, and he turned so that
his head was over hers for the kiss. Warned, Mr. Foreplay proceeded to
arouse her slowly and thoroughly. She was on the edge before her entered
her. His strokes carried her over, and he followed soon afterwards. He lay
on her for a little while, and then returned to his own side of the bed. He
pulled the light blanket over them before they coddled.

"Love you," he said.

"Love you."

"The coven didn't persuade you that I'm unnecessary?"

"No, but I've been thinking of buying a vibrator.... Actually, the circle
is thinking of splitting apart."

"Huh! And I thought you all got along."

"Problem isn't the getting along, it's the 'all.' There are too many of us
with small kids."

"Never too many small kids." Bill's credo.

"Don't be greedy! You have 2 of your own." And, to be fair, Bill didn't
neglect his own at all.

"Not so small any more. They're big boys, now. Just ask them."

"Maybe they are too old to see Daddy groping Mama."

"You want to lock them in their room?" Bill was implying that he would
grope her anyway. The only alternative they had was to bar the twins from
their company.

"I had another solution in mind."

"You're no fun."

"Wasn't what you said half an hour ago."

"Okay, you're a sexy wench when I can get you alone. You just want to be
Little Miss Priss as a parent." She wasn't sure that 'Little Miss Priss'
would be a parent at all. Well, Bill was an opinionated SOB, but he was
warm. She snuggled back against the warmth and went to sleep.

The paper progressed. The kids took to reporting their day at kindergarten
at dinner. It was their day -- singular. They were in the same class and
reported the same events. That didn't keep them from each making the
report. Should they try to get them in separate rooms for first grade? How
did you do this? The Circle might have some idea of dealing with the school
administration, but none of the mamas with older kids had twins.

Teaching went, if not smoothly, along the accustomed track. She no longer
revised her lesson plans each year. Except for the class in Regional
Economics she taught Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings, she had
undergraduates, and she gave the undergraduate classes honest attention
when she was in front of them and forgot them until she graded their
papers. Then, one Monday morning, that wasn't enough.

"Prof. Pierce, could I speak with you?" She looked at the student who'd
asked that. The girl looked jittery. That was strange because Carolyn was
quite aware of the students who were failing or almost failing the course,
and this wasn't one of them. She'd remember her name in a moment.
"Privately?" That sounded worse.

"Now?" She did have an hour before the next class.

"Please!" That sounded worse.

"Well, my office should be private this next hour. Let's go there." She
started towards her office, trying to remember the girl's name without
consulting her roll. She had it. "Candace, isn't it?"

"On the roll. I'm usually called Candy." Her friends called her 'Candy.'
Well, Carolyn wasn't planning to be a friend. She hoped that this didn't
disappoint Candy -- but she didn't hope very hard. Well, they were in the
hall and alone. What was this about?

"What did you want to talk about?" When she didn't get a response, she
turned to the girl.

"I think I was raped," she whispered.

"Shit!" Well, now she could understand the need for a little privacy. But
Carolyn thought, 'Why me?' She wasn't a counselor, much less an
administrator. She was an economist. Why couldn't this Candy go to the
proper authorities? Anyway, when she got to her office, David Kasper, the
instructor who shared the space, was there working on his grades.

"David, could we have the office for the next hour? Could you do that in
the library?"

"Well, I need to do something else in the library." He started to put the
grades away and get out his research folder. "Anything for you, Carolyn,"
he said in his mildly-flirtatious way. He was in the closet, or thought he
was, and he regarded an older married woman with two kids as safe.

"Tell me about it," she said when David had shut the door behind him and
Candy still hadn't said anything.

"Well, it was a date. Jerry Lambert, you know him?" Double shit! The guy
was on the basketball team.

"I know of him."

"He took me to a dance Saturday night. It was a University dance. We went
back to his room after. We made out, drank some. We were making out on his
bed. I told him to stop, but he didn't listen." Yeah, she could picture it.
Hell! she could remember it. She'd been is somewhat similar situations once
or twice.

"And you had sex with him?" Let's be clear about this. The girl 'thought'
she had been raped.

"Yeah. At least he had sex with me, in me."

"Had he stopped when you asked him on previous dates?" How was this one
different? Was this a couple who had been having sex and the girl changed
her mind? Girls were entitled to change their minds, but...

"This was our first date." Double shit! She'd thought that before. Triple
shit!

"Shit! Well, you have a mama to tell you to not to go back to the guy's
apartment on first dates. I don't have to tell you that." Candy hadn't
acted at all wisely. On the other hand, Carolyn had been known to leave her
keys in the car; if somebody had stolen it, the cops would still prosecute.
Raping foolish girls was still a crime.

"I feel so stupid." Justly so. On the other hand, stupid girls didn't
deserve to be raped. If they did, her freshman classes would be orgies.

"Don't blame yourself. Blame the prick." She shouldn't be the first person
to tell Candy that. "Who did you tell?"

"You're the first one." Shit! Why me? Well, she knew why her. Probably she
was the only woman teacher Candy had. Even so, she couldn't do anything.
Candy should tell the cops.

"Well," she told Candy, "you should tell the cops. I don't know whether
campus security or the Chicago Police."

"I couldn't." Now Candy was getting all reticent. She could sympathize, but
it put her in one hell of a bind. She had knowledge of a crime. Was she
responsible for reporting it? And what if she reported it and Candy changed
her mind? Carolyn would be far off on a shaky limb. And, while Candy hadn't
said so, she obviously thought she was telling her story in confidence.
What if Candy complained to her friends that Carolyn had broken a
teacher-student confidence. Maybe she should ask Eric what her legal
obligations were.

"Well, I was saying 'should.' I feel your frustration." She should feel it;
she now shared it. Wait! Candy seemed ready to talk. Instead of her telling
Eric, maybe Candy could tell Eric. "Well, how about a states attorney, a
prosecutor? I know a guy." Candy looked dubious for the longest time, but
then she nodded. Well, if Candy changed her mind later -- which looked
likely -- Carolyn would still have acted with her permission.

She got out the church directory. 'Stewart,' she remembered. The directory
was alphabetized by last names, but everyone went by first names. Well, she
dialed his number and got the answering machine.

"Eric? This is Carolyn Pierce. I've something related to your job. Could
you call me at home after 5:00? Thanks.

"He's probably at work, but he'll get that message. Look, do you want to
talk more?" she asked Candy. You couldn't call that putting pressure on the
girl. Some of her earlier questions might have been pressure, but that sure
wasn't.

Nevertheless, Candy began to shiver and tear up. Carolyn held her in her
arms, partly to give her the hug she obviously needed, partly to support
her in case her knees gave out. Candy turned in her arms. She was soon
bawling on her shoulder. Well, she had a little mothering experience,
although Candy easily outweighed both twins together. She hugged Candy and
patted her back.

Finally, the flood of tears dwindled to a trickle and the girl let go of
her and supported herself. She let go.

"I shouldn't have done that," Candy said. That was arguable.

"The rape was Saturday night?" she asked. Candy confirmed it. "How often
have you broken down in tears since?"

"That might have been the first time." Well it shouldn't have been the
first time, and Candy didn't talk as if she'd spent the intervening hours
cursing the mother fucker who'd done it. That would have been healthy, too,
maybe even healthier.

"Well, there is nothing wrong with crying now. You probably should have
cried earlier. You going to be okay?" This was one healthy-sized chick. She
didn't want to try to catch her if she keeled over.

"I don't know." And if Candy didn't know, Carolyn damned-well didn't know.

"Take the chair." Candy walked back to the desk chair and plopped into it.
Carolyn kept leaning against the desk trying to figure out what to do
between now and when she could hand the problem over to Eric. Candy was
sniffing but not sobbing. Probably she had run dry. She'd have to get her
phone number so she could get her in touch with Eric.

"Who is he?" Candy asked suddenly. It was a weird time to get interested in
some male. When she looked, though, Candy was gesturing at the snapshots on
her desk. Which one was 'he'? Oh, she was another one who couldn't tell
them apart. To be fair, though, Paul's photo was a year older than
Johnny's. It could easily be the pictures of the same kid at different ages.

"They," she corrected. She couldn't see the pictures from here, and picked
one up to look. "This is Paul." She turned it so that Candy could see it
again. "The other one is Johnny. Twins, fraternal twins. Mine.

"Johnny, John Maynard Pierce, was born first and was two ounces heavier
then. Paul, Paul Anthony, is now a few pounds heavier and half an inch
taller. I love them dearly, but I'm surrounded by males." A complaint that
might bring more sympathy from Candy today than it would have brought a
week ago.

Candy brightened at the description. Probably any topic was better than her
own thoughts just then. She continued. After all, she was a proud mama;
she'd enjoy talking about the boys as long as her audience wanted that talk.

"You guys done in there?" David called from the hall. He'd been very good,
really, and she had a class fairly soon. When she looked at Candy, the girl
got up.

"I think we are, David." When he'd returned to his desk, she and Candy left
the office. "Indeed," she said, "I have a class coming up. Can you give me
your phone number?" Candy wrote the number down, and they went their
separate ways. She got to the next Econ. 101 discussion section while the
last students were filing in.

She put Candy out of her mind until her last class was done, but her return
to her office reminded her. Well, the day was nearly over. She checked that
Candy had given her her number, tucked that paper into a compartment of her
purse, and went home. She beat the rush.

She was about to call the guys to supper when Eric called back.

"Who has the ticket?" he asked. Eric was really a prosecutor for traffic
cases.

"Nothing like that. I have a student in class who was raped. She needs to
talk with somebody. She's balking at cops, but she said okay when I said I
knew somebody in the States Attorney's Office."

"Raped in class? Your class?"

"No. She's in my class three days a week, but she wasn't there when she was
raped. Apparently, it was after a dance."

"Date rape?"

"Yeah."

"It's not really my department, Carolyn."

"Yeah. And my job description for teaching doesn't involve law enforcement,
either. But she came to me, and I tried to do something. Can you talk to
her? I thought here." She really didn't like that happening in her home,
but every other possibility looked worse.

"Well, the longer it waits, the worse it looks. When did it happen?"

"Saturday."

"Ouch. You want it there? Tonight?"

"I don't think I could get her tonight. Tomorrow? I'll serve you some
dinner."

"And twin time?"

"That's no problem. Tomorrow, Bill will go to the finance-committee
meeting."

"Okay. Six?"

"Thanks, Eric. I owe you one." The dinner was getting cold through that
conversation, but the boys didn't notice. Bill, though, raised his eyebrows
when they came back from their hand-washing time.

"Later," she said. When dinner was over, she read to the boys while Bill
cleared the table. Monday was bath night, and they both supervised. She
kissed the boys after they'd climbed into bed. Then Bill read them a story.
She waited downstairs for him.

"Trouble?" she might complain of his insensitivity, but sometimes Bill
could read her like a book.

"One of my students was raped. She told me rather than the cops. Anyway, I
got her to okay talking with Eric. He's coming tomorrow at 6:00, and I want
to invite her to meet him if it's okay with you."

"I've got the finance meeting. Do you want me to skip it?"

"Well, I don't see the point. I'm sure she doesn't want to tell you. It
took her days to work up the nerve to tell me."

"Okay. I'll be here at 6:00 or thereabouts, and I'll leave not long after
7:00. Think you'll be able to tear the guys away from Uncle Eric?"

"I don't think that will be my major problem."

"You know, I don't really see how being a professor is necessary. You could
stay home all day doing economics."

"And Mrs. Jackson?"

"Well, you'd spend less -- gas if nothing else. I think we could swing it."
They could, but could they swing the college savings, too? Even so, her
papers had 'Assistant Professor, UIC' on them. She wasn't sure how a
free-floating economist would be received. He was sweet, though.

"You're sweet. Watch your programs while I make a phone call."

"Hello?" A man's voice.

"Candy Wharton, please." Candy had been scared, needing to talk but
reluctant to talk. What if she'd given the wrong number? But the man called
Candy to the phone.

"This is Candy."

"This is Professor Pierce. Look. The guy I called says that you shouldn't
waste time. Can you come by my house tomorrow? As soon after 6:00 as you
can make it?"

"Sure." Candy would use the CTA, and she told her the directions. She left
Bill to the TV, and went into her office. She got squared away for classes
in an hour, and spent most of the rest of the time blocking out her current
paper.

Before the news came on, she thought back over Candy's problems. Well, when
you meant 'no,' you should say 'no' loudly and clearly. Probably, you
shouldn't go too far in making out, either. But she was no one to talk. She
thought back to when she'd first visited Bill's apartment. He'd brought her
to release and applied the condom before she had said 'no.' It was easy to
think of Bill as crude, especially easy when he was dealing with the boys.
He had his good points, though. When she'd said 'no,' admittedly late, he
had stopped. He hadn't tried to force her; he hadn't even pouted all that
much. She loved him as often as she was mad at him, and she decided that
she loved him a lot right now.

She went into the living room to watch the news with him. For a wonder,
nothing had happened that day for them to fight over.

When Bill came in from his bathroom time, he found her in bed with her
nightie hanging on the headboard. She was covered by the sheet, but he
could figure out that this was her only cover.

"Darling," he said before shedding his pajamas. For a while, she lay there
and let Mr. Foreplay work his magic. She was starting the evening feeling
loving and grateful, but not particularly excited.

"Lie flat," she said when she felt ready. He turned over on his back and
moved himself towards the middle of the bed. She got the sheet over to her
edge of the bed and then straddled him. "Remember the first time you
invited me back to your apartment for a nightcap?"

"Yeah. Do I still owe you that drink?" Maybe, but that was beside the
point. She took his hands in hers and placed it between her legs. He began
stroking her again.

"Well, you were exciting, but I didn't have my diaphragm with me. So, when
you wanted to go farther, I said 'no.'" She leaned forward on her hands,
and then moved to her right until her left breast dangled over his mouth.
He caught the nipple with his lips. He alternated between sucking and
licking that nipple. "Well, you took 'no' for an answer, and that's the
kind of guy you are." She enjoyed his fingers and tongue for another minute
before she felt herself getting close. She wouldn't be able to do this
post-orgasmic.

She leaned back pulling her nipple from his mouth. She continued until she
was kneeling straight up over his groin. She held his cock and settled down
slowly. His hand was still on her pussy, and he cooperated by spreading her
lips. She settled back until he was just entering her.

"Thank you for the kind of guy you are," she said. Her eyes locked into his
as she lowered herself. She felt his cock enter her until she was holding
it all. She took two more slow, full-length strokes. Then she felt the
section which excited her most. She moved back and forth along that
section. She no longer had to worry about Bill. He was plainly delighted.
She went for her own. It was coming, it was near; it was here!

She flew. As the fire flowed through her, Bill caught her waist to pull her
down on his groin. Vaguely, through her own pleasure, she felt him pulse in
the depths of her pussy. When she sagged down onto him, he held her.

When she had the energy to move from to a more comfortable position, he had
come out, unnoticed, some time earlier. Bill went into their bathroom and
came out with a washcloth to offer her. She wiped herself off, and he
returned the washcloth to the bathroom before returning to the bed. She had
already put on her nightie, and he pulled on his pajama pants before
climbing between the sheets and pulling up the blanket.

"Woman, I'm glad I married you."

"Likewise."

The next morning, she left a note for Mrs. Jackson that there would be 2
guests for dinner, a total of 6. She drove the kids to kindergarten and got
to Circle in plenty of time. Her only TTS classes were Regional Economics
and a 1-semester course in Micro. For her sins, and she couldn't figure out
which sins but she knew she'd committed plenty, she had to inculcate
credulous sophomores with the same unrealistic generalizations that others
had so imbedded in Bill's mind. 'This is how you have to say the market
works on your exams, suckers, even if no single business on the entire
planet actually works that way.'

She got home early, to find that the menu for that night was a hearty beef
stew, quite appropriate for the weather. Mrs. Jackson got the dining-room
table set before she left at 5:00. All Carolyn had to do was to stir the
stew occasionally, toss the salad, cook the peas, and listen for explosions
from the kids' space upstairs. There weren't any explosions, but two
monsters crashed down the stairs and ran into the kitchen demanding snacks.
She wasn't going to feed them when Bill was coming home any minute to turn
them upside down. They hadn't vomited on the carpet in *this* living room
yet, and she wanted to keep it that way.

By the time she had said 'no' in every way she could think of, the stew
needed stirring again. Then the doorbell rang.

"Baby sitter," shouted Paul. Johnny shouted something, and they both ran
into the living room to see. Why they thought their parents would leave
them without any warning, she couldn't see. They never had since the kids
knew enough English to understand the warnings. Anyway, Tuesdays were
special, and kindergarten students should know it was Tuesday.

"Don't open the door," she called. She finished stirring the stew, turned
the fire a little lower, rinsed off her hands, and answered the door. It
was Candy. If Candy had blown her off, it wouldn't have greatly surprised
her, but apparently she had decided to see this thing through. She was even
a little early. The weather was responsible for a little of her hang-dog
look, but Carolyn would bet not much of it.

"I'm sorry," Candy said. "Three ELs and a bus. I couldn't judge the time."

"Quite all right. Tell me your last name again."

"Wharton." That's what the kids would call her. Anyway, those were now
running around imitating a tornado.

"Freeze!" The boys froze, but glared at poor Candy. "This is Miss Wharton.
And, no, she's not a baby sitter. Mama's going to be home all night. That
one is Johnny. That one is Paul." She indicated which. "They may now move,
but only one foot at a time.

"Give me your coat," she finished. Candy greeted the boys before doing so,
which showed good manners. She even got the names right.

"You're not a baby sitter?" Johnny asked.

"No. I'm not."

"For which she can thank God." The boys were both going through a
possessive streak, odd for guys who spent half the day at kindergarten.
They tended to take out their frustration on those left home with them. She
went through baby sitters fairly rapidly. Maybe they should offer combat
pay. "She's an economics student in college. Why don't you show her your
books while I get dinner ready?" Candy seemed to be wise in kids' ways, and
Bill would be home any time now. He drove these days, which made his
schedule less predictable. Anyway, she had a meal to get to the table. It
was time to boil the peas.

While she was doing that, she heard Bill come home. Soon, the boys were
screaming again. She hoped Candy wouldn't take away the impression that the
Pierce family was utterly uncivilized -- not that this would be too
inaccurate an impression. Then she heard the bell again, and what must have
been Eric coming in.

The dinner conversation was mostly about the kids. Eric was fond of them,
and Candy must have been grateful for any subject other than the one for
after dinner. Bill got up at the end of the meal, and kissed his family
good bye. He licked her lips and patted her butt during their kiss. In
front of the kids was bad enough, doing it in front of her student was
totally improper. Bill had timed his exit, though before the kids had
finished their second brownies. They stayed at table while he left the
house. When she got up, Eric and Candy did too. The boys wiped a finger
each over their plates and licked that finger. Then they got up, too. When
she began to clear the table, Candy picked up some dishes.

"You don't have to..." She might have been a student, but Candy was a guest.

"Please!" Candy's tone was pleading, not polite. Well, she would have to
deal with Eric soon enough. They cleared the table together. Even with six
place settings and the dining room instead of the kitchen table, it wasn't
all that much work, and even less work for two.

"Look," she said when the last dish was in the machine. "You have to talk
with Eric, and I have to get the boys to bed. I can stay up there until you
call. I've intruded on your privacy enough. Or..." It couldn't be good for
Candy, but she could choose her evils.

"Please. I want you there." So be it. They went into the living room where
Uncle Eric was reading the kids a book -- much better preparation for bed
than Bill would have provided. She and Candy sat there until the bedtime
came, and then until that book was finished.

"Time for bed," she said. "Give Uncle Eric a kiss." The boys would expect
to kiss any visitors. Was Candy amenable? When she looked at her, she was.
"And give Miss Walton a kiss, too."

"Nighty-night," Paul said after the kiss.

"Good night, Paul."

"Nighty-night."

"Good night, Johnny."

"She wants me down here before the conversation gets serious," she told
Eric as she followed the boys up the stairs. She gave Paul a little spank
to encourage his progress.

This wasn't a bath night, but there was still one bathroom for two boys.
You'd think they could brush their teeth simultaneously, but you'd think
wrong. They were still in one room, though, and she got through one book
for the two of them. She kissed their foreheads and turned off the overhead
light. You might think the ravening hordes could sleep in the dark, but
you'd be wrong there, too; they had a night light. She relieved herself and
washed her hands before returning to the living room. While she was coming
downstairs, Eric was rearranging furniture. He took a dining room chair
facing the sofa. That obviously left a space on the sofa beside Candy for
her.

"Look," Eric said, "this is painful. I know it. But it's not going to get
less painful with more delay.... Mrs. Pierce tells me that you were raped.
Tell me about it."

"I was stupid..."

"You were, are, a college freshman. That's not being stupid; it might be
being less cautious than an older woman might be. That's not the point.
Where were you? Who was with you? What did he do? Start where you want. If
I need more details, I'll ask for them."  Eric was a decent tenor and a
fond godfather. She had thought him pretty ineffectual in general. This
Eric sounded kind but firm.

"I was at a dance with this boy," Candy began. "He had taken me there on a
date. On the way home, he invited me to his apartment for a drink. I said
yes. Anyway, one thing led to another. We were making out. I wanted him to
stop, but he wouldn't."

"Did you tell him to stop? When?"

"When he took my panties off, and my pantyhose. He ignored me. Then, later,
I found that he was naked, too. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't."

"He wouldn't stop?"

"No."

"You told him to stop?"

"Yes."

"There was intercourse? He was inside you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's rape. Unless, of course, you're married to him."

"I'm not."

"I didn't think you were. It's just the law. If you don't like that, write
your state legislator. Anyway, you've been saying 'he.' What was his name?"

"Jerry Lambert," Candy said. She should warn Eric. He probably didn't
follow the Flames, maybe didn't even follow basketball.

"BMOC."

"Like Prof. Pierce says, he's important." With her last statement, Candy
began to cry. Maybe she had just realized how bad her situation was
accusing a basketball star. Maybe, she'd just got to the end of her tether.
You couldn't blame her for crying in either case. She gathered Candy into
her arms and rocked her a little.

"Look," Eric said, "I'm not the enemy."

"I didn't say you were," Candy said.

"No, but Mama Bear was protecting you from me." She hadn't really been.
She'd just been rocking Candy. "Anyway, this isn't the end. Did you report
this to the police?" A lawyer, she'd heard somewhere, never asks a question
unless he knows the answer. It couldn't be true; didn't woman lawyers ask
directions? In this case, though, Eric had known the answer. She had
already told him.

"No."

"Well, you're going to have to tell this all over again. At least you'll be
telling it to a woman. Can I make an appointment for you?"

"If you have to."

"Look, I repeat. I'm not the enemy. This MF, Jerry, is. Nothing's going to
happen to him if you hide yourself away. We're not putting you through this
because we're evil. He's putting you through this because of what he did
and because that's the only way that he'll suffer at all. Anyway, I know
the woman at the States Attorney's Office you should talk to. I don't know
whether she's on trial tomorrow. How do I get in contact with you? And
when? Are you going to be home tomorrow?"

"I don't want to be home. I haven't told Mom." Which made her wonder what
Candy's home situation was like. This was the second time she'd hugged
Candy; was it the second time Candy had been hugged since it happened?

"Well, sometime, you'll have to. Why don't you give me your phone number,
and when you'll be home tomorrow. We'll assume an appointment sometime
Thursday. I'll call you tomorrow night with the time and the room number.
You know the County Building? It's really the same building as City Hall,
only we have the east side." Candy wrote down her number and gave it to
Eric.

"Take my work phone, too," Eric said, giving Candy a card. "That way, if
you call me in the early afternoon, you can learn the appointment without
my calling you and raising questions at home."

They sat there like the end of a circle meeting when the meeting is
finished, but nobody has said so.

"Anyone want more dessert?" she asked. Candy, being of an age which
constantly watches its weight, wouldn't, but brownies were probably a
specific for the feeling that your whole life has blown up. Still, nobody
moved. Nobody even said 'no thanks.' "Somehow, I don't think this is the
night to suggest a few hands of gin rummy."

"You have been awfully kind already," Candy said. Presumably, she was
talking about the offer of more brownies, not about cards.

"I could drive you home," Eric said. Now that was service for a crime
victim.

"Really, I can..." Candy began. She trailed off, perhaps realizing how
little she could do.

"I won't take it personally if you would rather ride in the back seat. You
have a damned good reason to be off men, but don't think of me as a man;
think of me as a driver." Eric was being more forceful than she would have
expected. Still, she didn't want Candy standing on a lonely corner waiting
for an infrequent bus. Eric and Candy went out together, the issue not
completely resolved. She went up to kiss her boys again.

She was in bed but not asleep when Bill came in. He joined her soon after.
He reached over.

"I'm thinking that you're only entitled to one grope a night," she told
him. "You got your ration after dinner."

"That was hardly a grope. That was a kiss. We always kiss good bye when one
of us is going out."

"A kiss good bye is all very well. I don't like your hand on my butt when
others can see -- not the boys, and certainly not my student."

"But it's all right in front of Eric?"

"I didn't say that. It's just that I need to keep up my reputation in front
of my students. Eric already knows I'm married to an utter pig; I might not
like his being reminded of that."

"Well, I'm married to you. They both know that. I'll bet your student even
knows where babies come from."

"Sure she knows we fuck, except kids that age sometimes think we all lose
our ability when we pass 30. Knowing is one thing, and seeing it happen is
another."

"Well, in that case, the only way to maintain her blissful ignorance is to
fuck in secret, and she's gone now. So, it's our duty to the purity of
girlhood to fuck now, while she's gone." She had to laugh at that.

"Bill, you're impossible."

"Are you saying no?"

"No, but your reason is pure bull shit." After all, she was married to the
guy and had to put up with his personality. If she didn't get his cock,
too, she had all the costs with none of the benefits.

She saw Candy the next day in class, but neither mentioned the previous
evening. As far as she was concerned, the matter was out of her hands.
She'd signed up to teach economics; rape counseling wasn't in her job
description. Candy didn't look any better Friday, nor did she pay any more
attention. She made it a habit to call on students who weren't paying
attention, but she didn't try that on Candy.

Another week went by without any information except that Candy was looking
even more woebegone. Then the department chairman came to her office and
chased David away. That was ominous. Normally, you visited the chairman.

"Look, you have a student, Candace Walton."

"Yeah." That was indisputable.

"She's been making some accusations about another student -- accusations to
the police. Some people think you had something to do with that. Now, I
know you didn't, but I want to hear it from you."

"Well, Candy came to me. She said she had been raped. I put her in contact
with the States Attorney's Office. They must have contacted the police."

"Well the accusations are all over the school. You should have warned her
about that. Jerry Lambert is a fine young man."

"Let me get clear about this. A girl comes to me and tells me, tells me as
her teacher, that she has been raped. I should tell her to keep it secret
because going to jail would ruin Lambert's *eligibility?*"

"Well, the police aren't going to pursue it. It was a false accusation. You
shouldn't help girls spread false accusations."

"The police aren't going to pursue it. That I can believe. It didn't sound
false to me, and she sure as hell wasn't going around spreading the story.
She reported a crime to the police. She reported it too late, and I
suggested that to her, although it was already too late before I heard
about it. Are you saying that crimes shouldn't be reported to the police?
Are you saying that it's school policy that crimes by sports stars should
be hushed up?"

"All I'm saying is that you have a position here, and I have a position
here, and you're making both your position and mine very rocky."

"Drew, listen to me carefully. I'm sure Candy doesn't want this widely
known. She's ashamed of being the victim. Her privacy was violated in the
very worst possible way. I don't want to violate it any more. And that is
the reason, the God-damned *only* reason, I'm not on the phone to Royko
right *now*. And as for my position, I'm a fucking assistant professor when
my publication record is better than most of the department. I've had
favorable, sometimes glowing reviews."

"That might change."

"It might. And I'm a dues paying member of AAUP. I knew there was a
reason." Aside from her first reason, which was to piss off Bill, but this
would be another reason. "Make trouble for me over this, and people will
know why who don't even know that UIC exists right now."

"This has gone far enough."

"Fine with me. The next move is yours. If there's no next move, there'll be
no next move. But my husband has asked me to stay home and write papers.
I'm not so scared of getting canned that I'm going to cover up a felony."

"Nobody's asking you to cover anything up."

"Then there is no subject for this discussion. Just remember. The burglary
didn't finish Nixon; the coverup did."

When he left, she called not the *Chicago Sun Times* but the States
Attorney's office. They reported that Eric Stewart was on trial. They took
a message, and he called back before she left the office.

"Carolyn?"

"Eric. They said you were on trial. I didn't even know that you'd been
arrested."

"It means involved in the courtroom. Not only defendants are on trial; so
are counsel." She had figured that out, but she liked to rib Eric. He was
too solemn.

"Anyway. What's going on at your end with the Candy deal. I'll tell you
somebody's throwing some weight around at my end. Are you feeling the heat
there, too."

"No. Get some perspective. He might well be a big man *on campus* as you
said. He's not a big man in the county. Fixing a rape is as hard as fixing
a murder, maybe harder considering Miss Murphy. Anyway, there is no reason
for anyone to throw his weight around. She spoke to Murphy, and then she
filed a police report. The perp denied it, and there wasn't much else the
cops could do. Some people are bad witnesses, and Candy is one."

"They didn't believe her?" She had believed Candy.

"Oh, they, that is to say Murphy, believed her implicitly. What she didn't
believe is that she could convince a jury. Some very bad people are good
witnesses; some very good people are bad witnesses. Anyway, there is a
police report on file. The next time he rapes some woman, the cops will
pull the file and know that neither report is bogus."

"Assuming, of course, that the next woman reports it."

"Yeah. Murphy thought that he was a repeat offender, and Candy was just the
first girl brave enough to come forward. This was, however, speculation.
She would never go to the jury with that."

Candy wasn't looking any better, and wasn't participating any better,
Friday than she had Wednesday. Well, she didn't know Candy's schedule, but
she would have Sunday and probably most of Saturday off. She'd never taught
a class Saturday afternoon. If the weekend didn't do anything for Candy,
she'd talk to her Monday.

Monday, Candy looked more harassed, if anything, than she had Friday. She
called her at the end of class and took her to the office. David was
researching the fifth paper he'd started since beginning to teach a year
ago. He had never submitted any of the others, never finished them
apparently. Anyway, he was in the library.

"How is it going?" she asked Candy.

"Fine," Candy said without making it sound fine, or even bearable.

"Really?"

"Worse than I can say. Jerry has been to see me, and people are talking
about me, and I told my parents, and they don't believe me." At this point,
Candy began sobbing. Carolyn held her. This was beginning to become a
habit. Well, *somebody* should be holding Candy. Carolyn was a fucking bad
choice, but she might be the only choice Candy had right then.

"I'm sorry," Candy said when her crying had eased off.

"Well, I'm sorry, too. And I'm mad as hell. But you don't have anything to
apologize for. Look, do you have any support network? any group who are
standing up for you?" Somebody more fitting than the economics professor
who is going to flunk you unless you get your act together enough to study
the course she teaches.

"No. My family isn't, and I don't know anybody in school. And I used to in
high school, but they all moved on and went our different ways." If the
language wasn't clear, the answer was.

"How about church?" That was a last chance, but churches had been part of
her support, even before Aldersgate. If Candy were attending Aldersgate,
she could name women who would support her.

"I don't go much." Which could mean anything.

"You don't have any objection to going?" She was beginning to see a
possibility. All the women who had been grad students along with her had
moved on. Which meant the names and faces were different, but the roles and
styles were still remarkably similar. She knew the ones who insisted on
non-sexist language. If Candy's friends wouldn't support her, maybe the
feminists would.

"No."

"Well, let me give you an address. Meet me there 11:00 Sunday. Better make
it 10:45. You have to have somebody in your corner. Fucking University
isn't in your corner. Probably too late to stop payment on your tuition
check." For that matter, there was probably a NOW chapter on campus. Still,
she could drum up support at Aldersgate more easily.

"Are they making trouble for you?" Oh, Candy had picked up on her
bitterness with regard to the University. Well, that wasn't Candy's
problem.

"Look, don't worry about me. I'm an assistant professor. I have a
publication record that shines in the department, and they don't have
anyone else to teach Regional Economics. If they want to come after me for
a lousy basketball player, they're biting off more than they can chew."

"Do you want me to withdraw the charges?" Shit! The girl was suffering, and
she wanted to help Carolyn. Carolyn didn't need help, and that wouldn't
help, anyway.

"They were true, weren't they?"

"Yes."

"Then the worst thing you could do would be to withdraw the charges. In the
first place, I don't think they're pursuing the case. Jerry already has
destroyed you enough. Don't let him destroy the rest of your life. If you
cave to him, then you're saying that he can go along and rape anyone he
wants to. As for me -- and you shouldn't be thinking of me; you have
greater problems -- but as for me, it's better that I went to bat for a
student who was raped than that I went to bat for a student who lied about
being raped."

"Well, that's what he's saying."

"That's what he's saying, and the law says 'beyond a reasonable shadow of a
doubt.' But as long as he's saying that, we should be saying that he's a
liar as well as a rapist.

"Anyway come there this Sunday. I'll see if I can't get you some support."

She kept a church directory in the office, and she looked up some numbers
in it. That took some time, as these weren't last names she remembered,
maybe not last names she had ever heard. She saved the phone calls until
after the boys were in bed. She started with Claire, because she had a
phone. Joan was on a hall phone like she had been.

"Claire? This is Carolyn Pierce from church."

"Carolyn. How are you doing?" Claire sounded like she did when she thought
somebody wanted her to serve on some committee. Well, she almost did.

"Look you're a fairly active feminist, aren't you."

"Yeah. I'm on the leadership team of the NOW chapter. I know you aren't..."

"Don't think married women don't believe in feminism. We're on the front
ranks. I have to beat back an MCP every day. But I'm not the only one.
Look, I have a student. She was raped and reported that rape to the cops.
Now, she's getting grief because the rapist is a BMOC."

"That's horrible. Do you want me to see if anyone will go south to picket?"

"That's probably the wrong response. The thing is that I figure that she's
a hero of feminism. I mean reporting a rape does more to protect women than
anything your chapter has done or is ever likely to do."

"That's putting it a little strongly."

"Maybe so, but right now that woman needs support, and she doesn't have
enough support. She's so desperate that she's come to me for support. And
you can see how that's not my style."

"I don't know. A mother and everything."

"I have a uterus that made me a mother. It damn-well didn't make me an
adequate mother figure. What I think the woman needs is some sisters. So,
will the sisterhood rise to that challenge?"

"What do you want concretely?"

"She'll be in church Sunday. Will be there unless the bastards wear her
down before then. I want you, Jane, maybe someone else but I can't think of
who, to sit with her, support her, let her know that they are there for
her."

"Well, I'll try."

"I'll be there. Bill will be there, too, but he's not the sort of support
she needs."

"I'll try."

When she called Jane, the conversation was quite similar, except that Jane
said she would try to get someone else to come, too. By that time, she'd
figured out that Candy and her new sisters should have longer to bond. She
considered asking them all to Sunday dinner, but Sunday dinner, more than
40 hours after Mrs. Jackson had left for the week, was always hard to bring
off. Instead, she offered to pay Candy's bill if they went to McDonald's or
something.

She saw Candy in the next two classes, but they didn't speak. Her
relationship with the girl was weird. Candy had cried in her arms 3 times,
but she hadn't been all that great an Economics student before she'd been
raped, and she was no use in class now. She really wanted to be like
Kindle. His students were permitted to have private lives as long as those
lives didn't intrude on important things like papers and tests. Instead,
she was some sort of mother-substitute for a girl about 12 years younger
than she was. She called Gladys to tell her that she wouldn't be singing
that Sunday. Gladys could tell Dennis, the choir director, so he didn't
wait for her, but telling him through Gladys kept him from asking why. She
and Gladys had traded that favor before.

Sunday, she waited in the narthex with Bill and the kids. Claire got there
before Candy did, but Candy actually showed. So did Gwen, who was from the
NOW chapter but not an Aldersgate regular. Jane, who had recruited Gwen,
was late. Bill got the kids to Sunday School and got back himself before
the choir processed.

Candy seemed to appreciate the chance for a little fellowship with
supportive women. They stood in back of the church for a few minutes after
the service, a cluster of people who had no reason to stay but had yet to
figure out that they should leave . At first, she and Bill were waiting for
the boys; then they were all waiting for someone to suggest the next move.

At which point, Eric showed up. He was on his way down to the choir room to
leave his robe, but he stopped to greet the boys. Since they wanted to be
spun, and he didn't want to do that, she couldn't see why he had bothered.
Then he saw Candy.

"I owe you an explanation," he told Candy. "Let me get this robe back to
the choir room, and I'll drive you home. I can explain on the way." That
was an impressive amount of effort that Eric was willing to expend, even if
it interfered with her plans.

"We're taking her to lunch," Claire said.

"Well, I can do that," Eric answered. That would take care of the food
part, but not the bonding part.

"You are?" Candy asked Claire. Her preference for company was clear.

"The three of us."

Candy accepted the women's invitation, and turned Eric's down politely. The
4 women took off for McDonald's in 2 cars. The 4 Pierces went home in 1.

"Happy?" Bill asked.

"Happier. What do you think of her?"

"She has all the pieces of a pretty girl."

"Isn't that all you look at? The pieces?" Some days, she thought he'd
married her breasts.

"Not for long. Was she a beauty before it happened?" They weren't going to
say 'rape' while the kids could hear.

"Can't really remember. She wasn't a memorable student before she came to
me."

She got a report from Claire that night. Claire was fine with her paying
her back after church the next week. They had offered their presence, and
-- if Candy decided to catch up -- help doing that. Carolyn figured that
the presence was more what Candy needed. Still, the 3 were grad students;
they'd offered what they had to share.

Monday, Candy looked better, if not good. Wednesday, she even participated.
She decided that she would offer Candy the final exam grade for a course
grade. She wasn't going to give her a grade on the basis that she could
have learned the subject if the ass hole had let her alone. The grade meant
how much the student had learned, not how much she *could have learned*. On
the other hand, if Candy learned it later than the schedule called for,
there had been a reason.

Mrs. Jackson had Thanksgiving and the day after off. She left the turkey
prepared, but Carolyn had to do the actual roasting. She looked around the
table, the dining room table even though it was a family meal. She had
things to be thankful for. The boys, how ever much she might complain about
them, were treasures. Bill, for all his faults -- and he had tons of faults
-- loved her and stood by her. She hadn't told him all that she was risking
by telling off the department chair, but he would back her.

Aldersgate, however petty it could be -- and the guy who said that academic
politics was vicious because the issues were so petty had no idea. The
issues were often much smaller and the politics more vicious in a
congregation. But, when she thought of support, she thought of Aldersgate,
even support for Candy who had never darkened the door until she needed it.

And Mrs. Jackson. Carolyn had served her family a huge traditional feast,
and she could do that because Mrs. Jackson had done the work. And the boys
were bearable and more disciplined than they had been -- as undisciplined
as they were -- because of Mrs. Jackson.

Bill led the boys upstairs after dinner to watch football. They had a room
for being boys with a TV in it, and he sometime watched up there with them
rather than in the living room. That kept her office quiet. When she had
cleared the table and started the dishwasher, she went to the office. She
got a couple of hours of work in on what she had nicknamed "the lake-effect
paper."

After she had kissed the boys good night and Bill had read them the book,
the 2 of them retired to the kitchen for turkey sandwiches.

"I'm getting too heavy," she told Bill. "We both are." On the other hand,
what was Thanksgiving without breaking your diet?

"You always wanted to starve away." She had always worried about her
weight, and she'd never got down to her target weight, even before the
pregnancy. The target weight would still have left him something to hold on
to, even beside her breasts.

"Bloated," she told him later in bed.

"Does that mean we shouldn't?"

"I won't go that far." She turned away and backed towards him. He took the
invitation. Soon he was in her from behind. She lifted her leg to allow his
hand to reach her clit. His finger was busy while his cock simply rested in
her until she got so close that she began to move back and forth. He was
driving in and out, his belly slapping her butt, when she flew. He followed
soon after. They rested in the spoon, both breathing heavily.

"Another thing for which I'm thankful," she finally said. "Your skillful
fingers."

"Only the fingers?"

"All 11 fingers." She could feel him laughing behind her, though his laugh
was silent. They drifted off to sleep.

Friday, she prepared the meals, which ran heavily to left-overs. Bill
mostly had the kids, and she worked in her office when she wasn't needed in
the kitchen. When her paper went cold, she got caught up on the Micro
class. In the afternoon, she and Bill met in the kitchen where both were
getting Cokes.

"Cranberry sauce?" she asked. Her head was in the refrigerator.

"I'm about cranberried out. TV'd out too. You thought we were bloated last
night. The turkey overdose then is nothing to the kids' TV overdose now.
How can they watch all that?" She'd thought the same about his crime shows.

"It flickers. It draws their eyes."

"If the weather was bearable, I'd get them to play a little catch." At
least he wasn't throwing the ball in the house. "Getting pages written?"

"Can't quite get the section on residence to gel. I'm catching up on prep
for Micro. You know what pisses me off about business schools?"

"That your husband attended one?"

"That's not their fault. I knew before I married you." The arrogant prick
knew how to use his prick, and she'd decided that this made up for the
rest. She'd cursed herself millions of times for that decisions, but she'd
never blamed the U of C for it. "No. You learn two different sets of rules:
This is how businesses behave in the market, and that is how you should
behave when you run a business."

"Well, every field has theory and practice."

"Yeah. Medicine has rules and exceptions, and Dr. Reynolds is always
telling me that this should have this result, but to call him if it
doesn't. But med schools don't teach that rice is for constipation in
theory and corn is for diarrhea."

"Well, if you eat too much of either, that might be the result."

"I meant as cures. Let me ask you a question. A student in your school
submits a business plan. He's going to produce widgets. He's going to make
them in precisely the same design that his competitors do. He's going to
sell them for the same price. He's really going to produce them and hope
that they sell at the same price. What's his grade?"

"Doesn't sound like much of a business plan."

"But the same school has a Micro class which says that that's what
businesses do. They all produce the same sort of goods and take them to the
auction market and let that set the price. Well, Andalusia doesn't."

"Andalusia is a special case. We make special goods; we're regulated up the
ass; we mostly sell prescription drugs, and we don't advertise those."

"Well, you don't advertise them to the ultimate consumers."

"That's what I meant."

"One problem of Micro over against how the market actually works is that
the classical theory has people making things and -- sort of automatically
-- selling them. Well, there are two expertises involved here. Sometimes
the people who can make things hire the people, like you, who can sell
them. Sometimes, it goes the other way."

"Even in the grocery stores, the house brands are usually made by somebody
else." Bill was the 3rd choice for grocery shopping, but he'd noticed that.

"Which means that the corporation which sells them hires the corporation
which makes them. But I was thinking of the moon rockets."

"Go, on. You're good, but I don't think even you can bring this off. The
moon rockets are made by aero-space companies -- experts in their field."

"Go back a bit. Before the First World War, flying airplanes was a hobby.
Some hobbyists flew them, and some hobbyists built them. The first, of
course, were the Wright brothers... Wilbur, Orville, and Sam." Probably she
shouldn't joke right now, but she didn't want this to get too intense.

"Sam? Are you sure?"

"Most people haven't heard of him 'cause he's still circling O'Hare."

"Ha. Notice how hard I'm laughing?"

"Anyway, the war demonstrated that airplanes were useful to kill people.
The government got interested in them. Some of those hobbyists building
planes founded commercial companies to build planes. But the builders were
the designers. The government wants a post office, it says: 'Here's the
blueprints; here's the location. What will you charge for building it?'
Contractors submit bids. They want airplanes, they say: 'What airplane can
you produce that will fit these objectives and how much will it cost?'

"Meanwhile, before the Second World War, another bunch of hobbyists were
building rockets. They organized into societies, the American Rocket
Society, the British Interplanetary Society, the Society for Space Travel
in Germany. War comes, and rockets turn out to be useful in killing people,
too. After the war, the government wants to buy rockets. Does it go to the
people who know how to build rockets? No. It goes to the companies who know
how to sell airplanes to the government. These hire the people who know how
to build rockets."

"Okay. I'll take your word on it. But just because the government acts that
way doesn't mean that the market acts that way. The professors in the B
School were quite clear that the government and the market were
alternatives."

"Yeah, but it's not *just* the government, it's *even the government*. The
government, which is in a theoretically dominant positions, what we
economists call 'monopsony' -- one buyer where 'monopoly' is one seller --
as well as being able to write the rules, deals with the people who can
sell to it. Look at you. Doctors go to school for even longer than I did.
They have professional publications. If there were any consumers in the
entire fucking world who could go to the manufacturers without a sales
force in between, it should be doctors."

"Well, doctors go to school. Then they graduate. Then new medicines are
developed."

"Information asymmetry."

"Huh?"

"The market, the theoretical market which doesn't resemble anything real,
assumes perfect information. Both buyers and sellers know everything about
the product and the market. That is obviously bullshit." She stopped and
listened for a moment. This was the time for a boy to break into their
discussion and learn a new word, but it didn't happen. "Well, something
nearly as rational can be established if the information is symmetric, if
the buyer and the seller both know as much. That is almost as rare.
Usually, it's the seller who knows more. There are situations where the
buyer knows more. Business plans to build a huge office building on a block
owned by a bunch of different people. He buys the parcels one at a time
because the sellers don't know what it is worth to them." She stopped,
realizing that this was not covered by regional economics. They weren't as
unrealistic as micro, but they didn't have every aspect of reality in their
model, either. She realized something else, too.

"I've really wandered off my point."

"I didn't say it." He hadn't even said that she made a habit of that, not
that they weren't both aware of the habit.

"Anyway, the seller usually has more information than the buyer. The
organization almost always has more information than the individual. The
one with the most information wins. And, of course, the seller provides
most of the information that the buyer sees. That gives the buyer damned
little protection. What could go wrong? Nothing that the seller will tell
you."

"Well, not in my business. We have to supply information about
contraindications and possible side effects."

"Yeah. The evil government makes you say, 'By the way, if you turn blue and
start to choke, stop taking these pills and contact a doctor immediately.'
Insufferable government interference in the marketplace."

"Well, I never said that we wanted to get rid of that rule. Andalusia would
probably follow it anyway."

Bill's acceptance of one government regulation could be counted as a
victory. Her problem was that she kept trying to chip away at the basis of
his fixed opinions. But he'd long forgotten the basis. The economics books
he'd studied had started with the simplified market, but he'd only brought
away the conclusions. And his business buddies remembered the same
conclusions, and they reinforced one another. Bill kissed her before they
parted ways, she to her office, he to the kids again.

The question Bill didn't ask, but should, was: 'Well, if supply and demand
don't determine prices, what does?' And, in truth, nothing did, at least
nothing on the general level. To some extent supply and demand determined
volume. If chicken drumsticks were too expensive, she wouldn't buy them.
And if nobody bought them, the price would go down. But even that only
sometimes worked. She gave shopping lists to Mrs. Jackson, who had never
come back and said that Carolyn's choices were too expensive. Whether Mrs.
Jackson considered price when she was shopping for the Pierce family on her
own, she didn't know. Probably she thought that they were too rich to
consider price.

Still meteorology was just as complex, and there was no school of
meteorologists who said that it would rain on the first day of every month.
They might be wrong, but they weren't so fucking *certain*.

Saturday was clear but cold, and Bill got the kids outside until he was
chilled. They were chilled, too, but they didn't feel it until he called
them in. She fed them some hot soup for lunch as well as cold turkey. She
wondered briefly whether drug withdrawal had originally been done right
after Thanksgiving.

Sunday, she came up from leaving her choir robe to find that Candy had
returned. Luckily, Jane had been there for her. Claire wasn't there, and it
would have been hard to reimburse her in front of Candy, anyway.

She was involved with the boys' hugs while she thought. What did Candy
want? She'd offered her some support. Was this really the best support
Candy could get? Why me? Didn't she have a real mother of her own? Well,
she'd offer her some dinner. There was *lots* of left-over turkey. Eric had
come up behind her, though, and he greeted Candy.

"Miss Wharton! I still owe you an explanation. Do you have something else
scheduled for this afternoon?" Well, that would work if Candy were willing.
It wouldn't be much in the way of support, but Candy had to get the news
that the case wouldn't be prosecuted sometime, and better from Eric than
from her.

"Well, if you have something to tell me..."

"Wait here. My car's two blocks away, and the weather's miserable." She
stood with Candy in the mob waiting for rides for the same reason. When she
pointed out Eric's car, Candy went towards it. Eric, who had never seemed
the type to her, got out of his car to open the door for Candy. Soon after
they'd driven off, Bill drove up.

"You, after all," Bill said on the drive home, "have some experience with
weaning." So she did. Maybe she would have to use that experience.

On Monday, though, Candy actually participated in class. With 4 days to
prepare, most of the students had done no preparation, but Candy had.

The End
Why Me?_2
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2012/07/16

These same events from Bill's perspective:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/pie_19m.htm
Bill's experience

The first adventures of Carolyn with Bill:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/pie_01f.htm
"Get a Room - F"

Another story about another couple trying to deal with others' sorrows:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/bla_04f.htm
"In the Morning - F"


The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm
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