Chapter 2

[note: I have taken great liberties with the publication dates of a quite famous television series that went into reruns--MASH and the release dates of two acclaimed movies--Zulu and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. What can I tell you? Fiction is a constrained set of lies by definition.]

Early April, 1987.

Tuesday. Why did I ignore all my other possible choices and go directly to the University of Illinois? During my selection process they came in second.

After calling the admissions office at the University of Illinois in Champaign/Urbana to inquire as to their policy on respecting credits earned at another state institution I somewhat delicately inquired into the availability of housing for the physically challenged.

"What sort of disability is involved? The entire campus is wheelchair friendly."

"The difficulty is I stand two feet ten inches tall in stocking feet."

there was a pause. "Oh my. That is different! Let me check my resources."

I heard the rapid clattering of computer keys over the phone. I interjected a bit more information.

"Miss, I'm in this for the long run. I'm quite willing to purchase a small property close to the campus. As I'm studying to be an author I can foresee quite a bit of time being spent in a library." I heard the clattering come to a halt as apparently, she digested what I'd said.

"Why, I've got just the thing! We have a small house that has given us nothing but trouble as everyone complains about the five foot ceilings! It's on the disposable property list but it hasn't sold yet. It's behind a fraternity and a sorority so that could be why. I'll pull the listing right now and have it waiting for you when you come to town."

"Thank you! You're quite kind. Could you possibly tell me the selling price?"

"For a property adjacent to the campus it's quite a steal. It's listed at thirty thousand dollars."

I smelled a rat. This was on the order of the legendary 'deal that was too good'. "Has it been inspected recently?"

"Oh, yes. Each rental property is thoroughly inspected after each tenant moves out." I heard a printer zzzipping down a page. "The inspection states that the water heater will need replacing in roughly three years and the furnace in one or two. The roof is just over one year old and the refrigerator is, and I quote, 'a relic from a time long past'."

"How refreshingly honest! I'll be bringing my own nearly-new refrigerator and stove with me. I'll contract out the replacement of the water heater and the furnace once I sign the paperwork. I'll see you in less than a week."

I hoped that I wouldn't have to have a noise abatement berm built between the house and the Greek establishments. I hired a national moving firm to pack up my household, hired a residential cleaning company to polish the place up and put the house on the market. I crossed my fingers and listed it for forty-four thousand. I still had over two hundred forty thousand in my index account and just over forty six thousand in my checking account. If the house sold quickly I wouldn't have to touch my income account. That was my goal.

Thursday. I was driving out of town, headed for Indianapolis and points west with my suitcase before the end of the week. Thankfully my grant would follow me.

Friday. Once in Champaign I turned over the sealed copy of my transcript to the registrar, then inquired as to where I could find the relocation office. They had no clue as to what strange language I was speaking until I brought up Mrs. Burris' name, the name associated with the helpful voice on the other end of my phone call. That was the coin of the realm--a contact. It bought me a campus map with two points inked in, noting where I was and where I wanted to be. I thanked them and left, grateful that I'd accomplished something despite the scale of the bureaucracy that I'd witnessed. My next step was to secure a place to lay my head that evening. The campus map I'd been given was designed with visitors in mind. With its help I located a Holiday Inn located just north of the campus. Once they understood that I was an adult I took a room for a week. They were quite accommodating and took the frame off the bed so that it was scaled for my height. I had a quick lunch and found the campus relocations office, or whatever its name was that week.

I finally met Mrs. Burris face-to-face. She was a pleasant lady and was quite happy to find that my claimed height wasn't a fabrication. She brought out a large envelope with a local map pointing out the location of the house, a picture of the front of the property, a contract to purchase the property, a copy of the latest assessment and a set of keys. "Would you like the grand tour?" I most certainly would!

It was a small, understated building set back from the street. There was no garage but there was a driveway. It was the narrowest residential lot that I'd ever seen. With a long enough arm I thought it possible to reach out of my window to filch my neighbor's salt shaker off his table. Well, I exaggerate a bit. However if my neighbors adored loud music this could be a problem. We first walked around the house. It was a fairly deep lot with a brick wall at the 'bottom of the garden'. I saw a front door and a back door, as well as a gravel path around the rear from the back door to the end of the driveway on the other side of the house.

Once inside I found the place quite acceptable. Granted, the pre-fabricated house that I'd given up in Lexington was much nicer but the current place was literally two blocks from the east edge of the campus. Its address was 707 west Iowa street in Urbana. The place had a stairway leading down to a small mechanical room that gave access to the crawl space. Both the water heater and the boiler looked to be from the 1960s. The stove and refrigerator were museum pieces. The electrical outlets were not grounded. The floor badly needed refinishing and the windows were single-pane and would no doubt rattle in the wind. There was but one floor broken up into a living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. I'd have to investigate the possibility of having a three-season room added to the rear of the house. Mrs. Burris was looking more and more apprehensive as I investigated the place. I turned to her and commented, "It needs quite a few upgrades to make it truly habitable. The wiring has to be re-run and grounded power points installed, the bathroom needs remodeling, the floors need refinishing and the windows are drafty old 1940's-style single pane units. I hesitate to invest even thirty thousand in this place as it'll need nearly ten thousand in work. If the plumbing is bad then ten thousand is a low estimate."

She sighed and agreed. "You're right. It's a dump. If it were a horse it would be taken out and shot."

I was glad that she'd not learned to barter. "Do you think they'll take twenty-two thousand? That should get me a place to live for close to thirty-five thousand once it's all said and done. And remember, I'm still paying storage fees on my household goods. That's an ongoing expense while this place gets a make-over."

She scratched her ear and said "I'll sign for it. It gets this eye-sore off our books. It's certainly not appreciating in value, is it?" We shook hands. Upon returning to her office I signed a check for the balance due. She called it in and we signed the paperwork. I took ownership the keys and a receipt confirming my ownership of the property. I also wrote down the service account numbers and the phone numbers of the associated companies for the electricity, telephone, gas and postal delivery. I was to return to her office in a week to pick up the deed.

"Would you suggest a contractor that you deal with?"

"No, I'm sorry but the university uses its own people." She must have remembered something because she brightened. "I've got one name for you. He did a kitchen make-over for me at my home. Let me find his card." She began rummaging through her purse. A couple minutes later she produced a business card for me. "Great! May I borrow your phone? I need to get this rolling as soon as possible."

I made an appointment to speak with the contractor's agent Monday. They agreed to send someone out to the property and meet me at eight A.M. I thanked Mrs. Burris profusely and left a happy man.

After a Dismal Dinner at Denny's and a shower I went to bed. Once again it hit me what I'd done. I'd killed four people. Back in the San Fernando valley I'd had to break the jaw of another actor that thought my ass looked cute and that I was too small to stop him. I'd had to break both arms of a director that decided to turn a shoot into an "anything-goes" orgy. But this--this was beyond the pale. I curled up in bed. Reality looked awfully gray that night.

I spent the next day arguing with various bureaucracies about changing the state hosting my driver's license, getting the house services turned on and having them put in my name. Sunday was spent exploring the house and making a list of what I wanted done to the place. I was right. The windows rattled.

Monday. The morning was a bit wet but not a downpour. I had on a light jacket and a baseball cap from the car. As I drove to the house I marveled at how centrally located the place was to where I needed to be. I bought pastry and coffee then got to the house a bit early. Soon I heard a knock on the door. I shouted out "Watch your head!" as I walked into the front room. I met a florid faced gentleman that carried a bit of extra weight. He wore a jacket, denims and engineer's boots. I grinned as I watched his eyebrows shoot up once caught sight of me.

"Mornin. Name's Tom. Got a project for us?"

"You bet. A full makeover. New boiler, new water heater, re-run the electric for three-wire, refinish the floors, new thermopane windows all around, check the insulation, maybe re-plumb the place too. The kitchen and bathroom need to be torn out and re-done with a mind for my height. I'm bringing in furniture, an almost new stove and refrigerator. I want solid core doors front and rear and the frames strengthened too. That enough?"

"It'll do! When do we start?"

"Whoa! how about a quote first? An assessor's gone through it and said the structure's sound, if you can trust the university's pet assessors." We walked into the kitchen where I offered him a danish and a coffee.

He waggled his hand back and forth as if weighing the issue. "Meh. They're an optimistic bunch." He got out a pad and pencil then started scribbling. "You want a tile floor in the kitchen and bathroom?"

I nodded. "Wood everywhere else. Level it up and make sure the sub-floors are strong near the walls. I've got a lot of books." He nodded. I continued, "No marble or granite countertops. Commercial stainless. Good quality double sink, tub, toilet, bathroom sink and taps. Include a shower enclosure too. Green-board or blue-board the bathroom. Somebody's got to check the water lines for obstruction and flow. If the walls are hollow I'd like them filled with foam. No urea crap, please. Any attic space probably needs insulating as well."

"I can guarantee that you'll want the pipes re-run. The water around here runs to lime."

I nodded. "Do it. I see this as three, maybe four subs. You guys work as my general?" He grinned and nodded. "Okay. Let's talk time and money. Start with fast. Is a month do-able?"

He got a sour look on his face. "Do-able, but the permits and inspections are going to be hell to coordinate. This is a small place, though." he said as he looked around. "The mechanicals are a fixed cost. Hmm, you want cooling too? It's just a couple hundred when installed with the furnace."

I piped up, "Sure. If nothing else then for humidity control in the summer."

"I'll try to get the permit started today and send a couple guys over to pull the furnace and water heater. A couple of our guys run a gizmo through the ducts to get the dust and crud out. It's a lot simpler to do it when the furnace is out of the picture. We'll get a half-dumpster out here and start the demolition of the kitchen and bathroom tomorrow. That's about a two day job for a place this size. I'll get the subs lined up as soon as I get back to the office." He pulled out a tape and measured from the floor to the bend of my elbow, then whistled. "Damn. I'll have to build up the height of the bathroom floor so you can sit on the stool, and the kitchen sinks will almost be on the floor." He cocked his head a bit. "Mind if we raise the floor by eight inches? That way we'll avoid refinishing the floor and that's pricey. With a good 2x8 frame under 3/4 inch plywood it'll make the windows, switches and outlets more proportional for you. We'll just have to make sure the doors open out, and add a step."

"Please make it six inches, not eight, and plane off enough so that with the underlayment and flooring it's all six inches. Oh, I forgot. Nix the steps. Put in a ramp front and back, please. I use a grocery hauler everywhere." He nodded and scribbled a bit.

"If we pull up the current floor and lay new joists on top of the old that should work out fine without resorting to planing all the big lumber."

"I know that it's a whole separate issue, but would that permit cover a three-season room tacked onto the back of the house? There's got to be enough room as it's a long lot."

He crossed his arms and grinned. "Ya know, that's really do-able. It's done as a simple rider added onto the remodeling permit. I've done a few. Pour a few footers, assemble the panels, drill some holes, run some nuts and bolts, finish the roof and hang the door. We can even get it finished inside that month deadline you wanted. Now, as to cost. How big a room?"

I shrugged. Half to three-quarters the building's width, the same deep to square it. I want to put a shed outside for a bicycle and a mower. Oh, I'd like the outside door to the new room right beside the house on the same side as the driveway. That way I'll have a protected entrance once the shed goes up. The current back door will have to be moved to point to the rear rather than the side."

"Gotcha. Ten by ten is a sweet spot. Solid core doors all around?"

"Yup."

"All together I'm ball parking this at ten to eleven grand." I was surprised. I'd expected another three or four thousand over that with the three-season room.

"Will my power cover the baseboard heaters?"

"Yeah, no problem. They don't draw that much unless someone leaves the damned door open and it's real cold out. Those things are really insulated. Besides, you'll be getting a new electric panel with breakers."

"Great. Half up front?"

"That'll make the boss happy."

I pulled out a pen and my checkbook. I wrote him a check for fifty-five hundred. He looked up some more precise numbers from the material he had in his briefcase, scribbled out a time and materials quote for me and gave me a receipt for the check. We shook hands and locked the place up. I left him with one of the keys. It had been an interesting morning. It wasn't even ten yet! I spent the balance of the morning and part of the afternoon getting my grant transferred, sat for my student ID card and arranged for an advisor. Once back at the hotel I called the number left me by the moving company's agent. I gave them my job number, destination address and estimated date for delivery. It had been a full day. I went out for a pizza for dinner. It was time to start evaluating the local pub grub.

Tuesday. In the morning I had a talk with the manager to see if he could cut me a better rate for a month's stay. He was adamantly opposed to moving an inch. I thanked him for his time and went back to my room. I looked through the phone book for a place with a better deal. I was about to start haggling with the Motel Six out by the airport but then was struck by ad advertisement for a residence inn. Their monthly rate was better than anything else I'd seen. Probably because they cleaned the rooms once a week rather than once a day. I packed up, paid my bill and hauled ass.

Because of my size, the convenient location of my house and the dearth of parking on the campus I elected to buy a bicycle. A gas-powered scooter would be nice but I wouldn't be able to park it at the bicycle racks. I hit several shops around town looking at options and collecting quotes. By the end of the day I had quite a few to choose from. One guy came up with what looked like an off-road bike with fat tires. I liked it. I bought it and a little tow-behind cart.

Wednesday. I had a little sit down with my check book and drew up a budget. My grant pitched in a few grand per semester for a housing allowance but that didn't patch the wound, it just slowed the bleeding a bit. I had an idea. I could trade on my past, make it an asset rather than a shameful secret. A big college town like Champaign Urbana was much more liberal than Lexington Kentucky, where the blue laws still made selling liquor on Sundays illegal. I dug out my old film awards and my unexpurgated resume. I made the rounds of the escort services. Not to find a date, but to find a job! If the ladies in premed could strip for their tuition there was nothing to say that I couldn't do something similar. I was already familiar with the business and I could pretty well guarantee that anything I'd find in a college town would be soft-core compared to the valley.

I laid my cards on the table. I handed out copies of my resume and asked that I be given a trial run of a month. Several agencies had a cooperative agreement in place. I agreed to let them schedule my appointments. I went back to my morning exercise and running regimen to keep my tone and wind. If ya can't run then ya can't fuck, no matter what Ron Jeremy said.

I kept writing and practicing guitar on the side. I bought a new/factory reconditioned laptop as my Mac was in storage. I refused to write on paper when I could type over sixty words a minute, despite my small hands. It made editing magnitudes easier as well.

I signed up at a clinic for a weekly communicable diseases test. They didn't bat an eye. From that alone I suspected that the town had a healthy adult sub-culture. I just had to crack the shell to find it.

Thursday. I exchanged my time running on the track with bicycling about the campus, map in hand. I had no problems with traffic as the university was off-term. Oh, the place wasn't deserted per se, just not wall-to-wall students. I noted wryly that this happy accident was to change, and soon. I found several restaurants bordering the campus. Most offered delivery. I wished that there was some sort of rating service available but it was not to be.

Friday. I took possession of the deed to my house and property. I must have been smiling a mile wide. I was then almost at the point which I'd enjoyed before the debacle occurred at the University of Kentucky. I'd been grimly climbing back to that place in my mind for nearly a month. It was soothing yet exhilarating to see my goal within sight.

I picked up my health card for the evening's appointment and checked in with the service for the type of dress desired for my appointment. I shined my shoes, did a little light exercise and ate lunch low in excitement. I didn't need a fractious bowel during the clinch. I'd gone through more than my share of oatmeal in the business.

I wrote a sexy little love story and did my damnedest to do a professional editing job on it. Then I sent it off to Penguin I sent a cover letter along with it and a picture of me in tight black leather pants and a black silk V-cut shirt, all pumped up. Standing next to a yardstick. That got their attention! I got a telephone interview and a chance at the bigs. They sent back my story for a post-edit review. I was surprised as they were that it wasn't bleeding red. [Ed: editor's red ink.] I signed off on it and it went to press. I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. It did fairly well on the romance shelves and I pulled down a check that paid for my property tax for the year. I did it again with the memories I had of another actress I'd met. I made enough to cover the yearly home owner's insurance bill. Maybe this would work!

I spent a lot of time investigating exotic locations and distant places. The librarians began to recognize me.

My 'night work' began picking up. I was chosen by a psychology professor that had read my books. She wanted to interview me. I convinced her that since she'd paid to frolic it would be a damned shame to turn down a good time with a professional. She became a regular. It was amazing how many big, plain or older women wanted a little slap and tickle with an unthreatening partner. Business women, professors, housewives, single parents, you name it. I even got set up once by a police woman. They tried to bust me on a prostitution rap, but since when does the word 'frolic' directly imply 'sex'?

I kept to a frugal existence. It is not expensive to write or to practice guitar. My gym rat fees were paid by my grant. At thirty years of age I knew that I had a limited shelf life as a companion as I traded on my looks.

While wandering through the main campus library I came upon a production-ready screen play, with scenery calls, lighting direction, stage directions and dialog. I read it with fascination. I could close my eyes and see the play acted out before me. I realized that I could do this! I also realized that I must be very careful for another reason. I needed to read the contract involved in my grant, or have it analyzed by a lawyer. I had no idea what the termination conditions were. If it said 'degree or degrees' then I was set. I could become a professional student while underwriting my career as an author. Even if it was more restrictive then I still had two years and a semester to finish my education and work at becoming a prolific, entertaining and popular author.

A lady in her mid-to-late-forties had heard of my reputation from her friends. She set out to hire me for a weekend. Her goal? It wasn't to provide her with a memorable experience. It was to provide here niece with a memorable experience. The young lady in question was eighteen, slender and quite lacking either in confidence or posture. I realized that my employer's objective would take much longer than a weekend to bring to a satisfactory conclusion.

Irregardless of that I took the contract. I set about to pursue my target. I went swimming where she did. I visited "the mall" and hung out where she could see me, and I her. I asked her out on a date, which she reflexively refused. I bought her a small bouquet of flowers and asked again. Once again she shot me down. I stood steadfast. I turned to her aunt to learn the girl's loves and hates, the musicians she adored and those she reviled. I learned that she loved the music of the Beatles. Fine. I set about learning from a Beatles song book and polishing my skills on the guitar. Hell, if it worked for Romeo it would work for me. I planned to bushwhack serenade her. I prepared carefully. I dressed all in black and took my precious guitar to the mall on the day that she was to spend with her friends. I co-opted one of her girlfriends to lead her in my direction. The mall manager agreed to allow a little busking in the name of romance. I played love songs, ballads and whatever I could think of. I played my fingers off. I got my date!

I took her to a nice low-energy Italian restaurant and paid the Maitre 'd enough to fawn over her. I didn't think that it was such a chore for him. She looked gorgeous. We talked about her home life, the books she had read and similar books that I thought she may enjoy reading. We talked of current events and the hysterical foolishness that passed for news of the day. At the end of an enjoyable evening dinner I presented her with a delicate little silver bracelet engraved with her name--Jenny. I could tell that she was touched even though she tried to deny it. I took her hand and led her back to the car. I drove us out to the park near my home where we sat and enjoyed the gorgeous weather and the newly leafed trees. Daffodils were everywhere yet at the time were closed for the evening. A small bed of forced bulbs perfumed the night. I held my arm about her shoulder as she leaned her head upon my mine. Soon it was time to take her home. I placed a small, sweet kiss at the corner of her lips and handed her into her home. I smiled to myself. Sometimes reality can resemble a fairy tale. That date was not only pleasant but left a good feeling, like an after-taste.

I called her the next morning in hopes of securing another date, something a bit more energetic. It was the spring baseball season, when hopes were high and the playing was fast. Neither one of us was a big baseball fan but it was a chance to sit in the bleachers while being caressed by the sun, to eat sloppy hot dogs and drink fizzy drinks. It wasn't very romantic but it pushed the barriers defining what was fun. We agreed to meet the next morning for a trip to the zoo.

Now, zoos can be fun, boring or tragic, depending on how one interprets the actions of the animals. once in front of the monkey cage I convinced her to follow my lead. I jumped and clapped my hands. She did too. Soon we had a few of the inmates doing the same thing. Then we played the slap game from grade school ... Slap your thighs twice, your mate's hands once, your thighs three times alternating and your mate's hands four times alternating, then two double slaps on the thighs, clap twice, two claps to your mate then four more claps. Do it fast enough and it looks like a punch and judy show. After a bit we had them slapping each other and playing tag. We did it again, slowly, for four cycles. Some of them got it and showed the others. By damn, it was a blast.

I took her out for ice cream, a snog and a squeeze. She grinned and licked my nose. She laughed delightfully at my expression. I kissed her thoroughly, escalating the level of our relationship. The next day being Saturday, she agreed to go to a matinee with me. We had a spirited debate to determine which movie to see. I, of course gave in to her powerful arguments. Besides, I wanted to see the latest Star Trek big screen extravaganza as much as she did.

We smuggled in chocolate bars and sat near the front. The sound effects were amazing! What truly amazed me was her dragging my hand off her shoulder and onto her breast. I kneaded it most thoroughly and attempted to bring in radio free Europe on her nipple while she nibbled on my ear. This young love stuff had a lot going for it.

This went on for quite some time until,

"You know, I have a house between the high school and the university."

"Really? You can afford a house? You've never told me what you do for a living."

"I'm still a student, but I've published two books so far. I plan on being a writer."

"Really! Come on, show me what you've written." I took her to a Barnes and Noble and showed her my little outpost in the romance section. "Cool!"

"They're kind of mushy and kind of sexy."

"She grinned at me. "Cool--buy them for me and I'll read them. Cross my heart."

"I'll do better than that." I took her to my "Residence Inn" room and gave her two hardbacks. "These are my author's proof copies. They're sent to me to evaluate the typesetting job, to look for typographical errors before the first print run goes to the floor. Read these."

She was over the moon. She took my shoulders and danced around like a thing demented. She gave me a strong kiss, then drew back a bit as if to see if she'd gone too far. I wrapped her up and kissed her back like no tomorrow. We dropped to the mattress where she lay on top of me. I stroked her back and kissed her again. She seemed quite happy with the situation. I took her head in my hands, then gently sucked on her lips and nibbled down her throat. I brushed her nipples as she twisted back and forth, then humped her mound into me. I took a sweet butt cheek in either hand and raised my knee. Her humping became more enthusiastic. She soon came to a satisfactory conclusion. Then, winded and a bit bashful, she hid her face in my neck. I petted her back and slowly scratched her scalp. She'd had a nice, innocent romp and there was nothing to be ashamed of. I managed to lift her chin and kissed her again.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, you're behaving more and more like an adult each day. Your mother may froth and bitch about it, but it'll be because her darling baby girl is growing up and thinking grown-up thoughts".

I stood up, then lifted her by the hand. "Come on, I'll show you my house. It's almost ready. I've had the contractor in to nearly rebuild it from the ground up. The dull little shell is the same but the rest is a surprise!"

I took her to the house where we found it dark and locked up. "The workers must have gone home for the day. I've got a spare key. Come, follow me." I climbed the ramp and opened the front door. The raised floor was in and finished. I knelt down to touch it, verifying that the finish was dry and wouldn't be harmed by our walking on it. The tongue and groove work was magnificent in my eyes. I reached over and flipped on a light switch. The overhead fixture responded. The electrical work was done!