Chapter 5

Mark's next interview was in the middle of the state, in a smaller community where most of the sidewalks roll up about sundown. The only reason he agreed to meet with the candidate was that someone in her family had sent him a check for two thousand dollars in advance. He had not seen her application, nor had he talked to her mother prior to the visit, and had no idea what to expect. He arrived at the motel early, as was his custom, and went directly to the suite that he had reserved. When the desk clerk called to his room later to tell him that he had visitors asking for him in the lobby, he was surprised to find a very well dressed older woman, graying gracefully but retaining every bit of the beauty that she had as a young woman, accompanied the candidate, a girl of extraordinary beauty.

"Mr. Wilcox, I am Jennifer Mason, and this is my granddaughter, Sandra. Mr. Wilcox, are you, by any chance, related to General Cadmus Wilcox?"

"Hello Mrs. Mason. It is a pleasure to meet you." Mark was extremely courteous to the older woman, "and hello Sandra."

"Oh please, only my grandmother calls me Sandra. It's Sandy."

"Okay, Sandy. It is a pleasure to meet you also. Yes, Mrs. Mason, I am directly related to the General. He was my great grandfather, or so, way back there."

"Oh, you must be so proud. He was a fine person. I believe that I knew your grandfather when I was young. We met on the first day that I entered the university and we spent many, many days together. He was a professor and I was a very young, impressible girl. Oh my, those were some wonderful times! Of course, then the Great Depression arrived, and many things changed for many people."

"Mrs. Mason, I think it is fair to say that every person who has carried the name of the General before me has been an outstanding individual, successful both in public and private life. I am honored to be able to carry his name forward."

There was a pause in the conversation as Jennifer Mason reflected upon her memories. Her granddaughter stood quietly, with a look of puzzlement on her face. Suddenly she clasped her hands to her face, her eyes opened wide and she smiled broadly. "Oh, now I know who you are!" Sandy said, as if she had just had a revelation. "You're the guy that saved those three kids from that burning house. That is so cool..."

"Well, I am not here to talk about me. I'm here because someone told me that you want to be a cheerleader at Florida State, and I need to find out much more about you to see if we can make that happen. I have all of my things in my office on the fourth floor, if you'd like to join me there."

As if on cue, Sandy Mason's grandmother bid goodbye and asked Sandra to call her when she was done with the interview.

Mark put off the initial questioning session until Sandy's first round of photos was complete. He was anxious to see how those turned out, because in his opinion, Sandy was one of the most attractive high school aged girls that he had ever met. She wasn't just pretty -- she was drop dead gorgeous! Her facial features were classic beauty -- high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, a slightly longer neck that drew your eyes to her face and, from what he could see even with her dressed, a figure that would be a perfect companion to her beauty. By far the most striking part of her was her hair, long, with soft flowing curves that reached to the middle of her back.

"Okay, Sandy, we need to start at the beginning. I know almost nothing about you or your family. Please tell me."

They sat in upholstered chairs, not quite facing one another but positioned so that they both sat at angles, facing the window in the room. Mark had configured the room in that way so that it was not necessary for the girl to look directly at him while answering his questions. Sandy began, "I'm sixteen years old, almost seventeen really, and I am a senior in high school. I know -- I skipped a grade. My grade point is 3.99 on a 4.0 scale. I live with my grandmother. My mother died when I was born and I was raised by my father until I was ten." She stopped momentarily, and then added, "I don't know how much of this you want me to tell."

"I want to learn all about you, your life, your interests, your dreams and goals."

"Well, my father was killed in a construction accident when I was ten, and I came to live with my grandmother then -- been there ever since."

"Where was your home before that happened?"

"We lived near Washington, D.C."

"What kind of work was your father in?"

"He worked at the Pentagon."

"And he died in a construction accident?"

"It's easier to say it that way. Then people don't ask so many questions. He died when the plane crashed into the building." She paused and he looked up at her and could easily see her discomfort. "It doesn't matter how I tell it, he's not here anymore, either way."

Mark backed off his normal list of questions. He wasn't sure if he was just hypersensitive to the tragedies of 9-11 or if he was just reacting to the sadness in her voice.

His pause gave her an opportunity to question him. "What about you? Where do you live, and where did you grow up?"

"My home is in Atlanta. My parents live in Rome, Georgia."

"Where did you go to college?"

"I went to the University of Georgia, got a Bachelors degree and my law degree in about four and a half years. I also skipped a grade, and could have skipped two if my dad had approved."

"What does your dad do? Are you married?"

"My dad and I do the same job, just concentrating in different states. No, I am not married, and no, before you ask, I do not have a steady girl friend. And this isn't supposed to be about me."

"Well, if we're going to be partners in this, I'd better learn just who it is that is on my team."

Mark wasn't sure just how or when this interview went out of his control but he did have the feeling that it was on a fast train going the other way. He had no clue as to why. He was beginning to have a very strange feeling about this girl, different from any previously interviewed candidate. For a change, he was becoming very interested in her as a person, not just a sexy body. He wasn't sure why, really; maybe it was just the way she asked questions about him, or simply how she spoke.

"Okay, let's get back to my list of things I need to know about you. Does your grandmother allow you to date? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, I can date, but I do not have anyone in particular that I date. It all depends on who asks me. I had a boyfriend last year, but that ended." She didn't elaborate and waited before saying anything else, as if asking if details were necessary.

"How far have you gone with a guy?"

"Are you asking if I have had sex with a guy?"

"Yes."

"No, I have not."

"Is that was caused you to break up with your boyfriend?"

"More or less, yes. We had been dating for about three months. We went to a school dance and afterwards went to a party with some other kids in a park. We got into an argument because he demanded that we have sex and I would not agree. He pushed me down and tried to force me. He grabbed at my dress and when he tore it, I grabbed his arm and did a little thing and it broke. After that happened he stopped asking me for dates. It's funny how that works, isn't it?"

"You did a little thing? What kind of a little thing?"

"Yes, it was a defensive move that my father taught me when I was young. You know, living in D.C. as a little girl and having to walk home after school is not always the safest thing. He and I would practice that move every Saturday morning until it got to the point where I didn't have to think about it anymore. If someone grabbed at me with his arm, I just did it automatically. I had never had call to use it before, but when this happened, it just came to me naturally and I did it." She paused for a minute, looked up and then said, "Thank you, Daddy."

"What did the other kids say when that happened?"

"Well, the worst thing was that he was a basketball player for our team, and he did not get to play this year. The boys in my school seem to think that girls owe them sex. I don't agree. All they want to do is paw my breasts, tear my clothes and spread my legs. If I am going to give my body to someone, they will have to understand just what that means, and what that means to me is that they need to have earned my respect, my trust and my love, and they sure as heck better respect me. That's just the way it is."

"But you do still go out on dates, don't you?"

"Not so much one on one, more like group dates."

"What about your girlfriends? Do they give in to the boys' demands?"