Chapter 1

In late August of 1981, our four-car caravan arrived in Knoxville and I followed my parents’ station wagon as we turned onto the University of Tennessee campus. Around us, traffic slowed to a crawl. I’d seen the campus on football game days, but it seemed even more crowded now—crowded with new students, their possessions, and their families, as well as purposeful-looking older students.

Beside me, my soon-to-be-sixteen-year-old sister, Erin, pulled the rubber band from her blonde hair and glanced at me as she let down her ponytail. I grinned as she turned to watch the stream of people moving along the sidewalks. I guess there were a lot of cute guys for her to look at. I certainly had my fill of cute girls to look at.

Then I looked into my rearview mirror. Behind us, Gina and her sister Leah rode in Gina’s yellow convertible Bumble Bug. Her parents, Chris and Elizabeth, brought up the rear in their station wagon. I chuckled to myself when I realized that I’d been girl-watching. I had more than enough girl in Gina. In Gina and Kendall, I thought.

It had been two years since Gina, Kendall, and I had become lovers. During that time, our relationship had evolved. Gina’s family also lived in Atlanta, so I’d spent far more time with her. But I sometimes felt closer to Kendall. At nineteen, Kendall was only a year older than Gina and me, but she was two years ahead of us in school.

While both girls were smart, sexy, and very beautiful, they were also very different. Gina was adventurous and outgoing; Kendall was more studious and introverted. Kendall was the reflective one, while Gina tended to act before she thought things through. Both of them wanted to be medical doctors, but even in that regard, they were different. Gina wanted to be an OB/GYN, while Kendall wanted to be a psychiatrist.

And what about me?

In 1979, when I began my junior year in high school, I took an art class simply to fill a requirement. Not only had I been surprised to learn that I loved fine art, but I enjoyed drawing as well. For months, I drew things in my notebooks. And if I finished a test before the end of class, I’d often find myself sketching window frames, doorways, or building façades. I still couldn’t draw people very well, but I could look at a building and then sketch it—completely from memory—down to the last detail.

When Gina’s family decided to build a new house, in early 1980, my life gained some much-needed direction. I watched the architect breathe life into the house plans, combining simple elements to create an overall look, a design. In my mind’s eye, I didn’t see the plans—dark blue lines on paper—I saw the house. All through the spring and early summer, I watched their house come together exactly as I’d imagined it. At that point, I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

I wanted to be an architect.

So I turned down a wrestling scholarship (to UNC Greensboro) and began looking at architecture schools. I applied to the University of Tennessee, Auburn, and my hometown school, Georgia Tech. I also applied to Virginia Tech and UCLA (even though I wanted to stay in the southeast; it was a compromise decision).

In the end, three things convinced me to go to UT. First, their College of Architecture had an excellent design program. Second, they were spending millions of dollars on their program and constructing an entirely new Art & Architecture building. And finally, Kendall was already a student at UT. She was probably the most important factor in my decision, since I could find a first-class design school and an A&A building virtually anywhere. I couldn’t find Kendall just anywhere.

My decision to go to UT had been the spark for my first real fight with Gina, since she wanted to go to UCLA. I didn’t want to break up with her, but I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to go to UT and be happy with me. She, of course, wanted me to go to UCLA and be happy with her.

We argued about it for weeks. In the end, she tearfully decided to go to UT. Then I made the mistake of trying to talk her out of it. I knew she was making the decision for the wrong reasons, but it was her decision to make. Finally, I let the matter drop, and her mood improved drastically. I knew she still wanted to go to UCLA, but she actually seemed happy about going to UT with Kendall and me.

So here we were. As the traffic moved, I shook off my reverie and returned my attention to the present. Then I glanced over at Erin.

While Gina and I were looking forward to seeing Kendall, Erin and Leah were eager to see Kendall’s brother, Drew. Over the past two years, he’d grown to look even more like his father. Where I’d stopped growing at 5’9”, Drew topped me by at least six inches. And while I weighed a solid 180 pounds, he probably tipped the scales at more than 230 pounds.

Surprisingly, Drew and I actually enjoyed each other’s company. He didn’t have Kendall’s keen intellect, but he did have her sense of people. And where Kendall was sometimes shy, Drew was outgoing and friendly. I guess that’s why he attracted girls like bees to honey. He certainly had Erin’s attention, her long-distance boyfriend notwithstanding.

“When are Drew and Kendall going to get here?” Erin asked, as if reading my mind.

“Their dad couldn’t get off work today. So they’re driving up from Chattanooga tomorrow.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“You’re really looking forward to seeing Drew, huh?” Despite her tanned complexion, I could tell that Erin was blushing. “What about Sean Sullivan?” I asked. “I thought he was your boyfriend.”

“Duh,” Erin said. “I’m not going to do anything with Drew. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see him.”

“That’s cool.”

“But just because I’m not going to do anything with him doesn’t mean I can’t ... um... think about it,” she said, wiggling her fingers and grinning.

“You’re horrible,” I said to her, laughing.

“No, I’m just hot.” Then she fanned herself. “And I don’t mean that in a good way. Can we open the windows?”

“Yeah, sorry. Having the windows up on the interstate is nice, but...”

“Now, we’re roasting,” she finished.

With that, we unzipped the Jeep’s windows and rolled them down. It wasn’t much cooler, but at least we had some air movement.

“I wonder what’s taking so long,” she said.

“I dunno. I guess there are a lot of people moving into the dorms today.”

Down the street from the Presidential Complex, traffic came to a dead stop. The Complex held my dorm, North Carrick Hall, Gina’s dorm, South Carrick Hall, another dorm for men, Reese Hall, and an identical dorm for women, Humes Hall. The middle of the Complex was a large concrete courtyard, with benches and a few scattered tables.

The Carrick dorms were really two towers of the same building, which sat on the west side of the courtyard. Reese Hall was on the north side, while Humes Hall faced it from the south. The east side of the courtyard held the Presidential Court, which was a fancy name for the dining hall.

The entire Presidential Complex was fairly new, and the suites each had air conditioning and private bathrooms. If I had gotten my housing forms in too late, I might’ve had to settle for living in Hess Hall, with no air conditioning and communal bathrooms.

Kendall would live in the comparative luxury of the Apartment Residence Hall. That was the official name, but everyone called it the Andy Holt Apartments (since it was on Andy Holt Avenue). The suites were actual apartments, with two bedrooms, one bath, and a kitchen. I hadn’t actually seen the apartments, but they looked spacious on the housing form diagrams. Unfortunately, they were for upperclassmen only.

Kendall and her roommate, Abby, had originally planned to live in Morrill Hall—an upperclassman dorm between the Presidential Complex and Andy Holt Apartments—but they’d gotten a break at the last minute. Two of Kendall’s friends needed roommates for their apartment, so Kendall and Abby had changed their housing requests.

When traffic moved again, I looked up at the Presidential buildings and thought about how I’d handle having Gina or Kendall over to visit. Since the dorms were intended for freshmen and sophomores, the visitation was mostly Option C. With C visitation, I could have a girl in my room any time between noon and midnight on Thursday and Sunday, and between noon and two in the morning on Friday and Saturday. (We had no visitation on Monday through Wednesday.)

Those hours didn’t sound all that generous until I started reading about A visitation, which offered no opposite-sex visitation. Both North and South Carrick had A-visitation floors, which everyone called the “Virgin Vault.” Fortunately, The Vault was by request only, so I wouldn’t accidentally be stuck on a floor where I couldn’t bring Gina or Kendall to my room.

By contrast, the Andy Holt Apartments had 24-hour visitation and very few restrictions. The floors were segregated by gender, but other than that, the staff didn’t really care who came and went. So I’d be able to visit Kendall whenever I wanted to.

When traffic still hadn’t moved much after ten minutes, my mom got out of the station wagon and walked back toward us.

“I’m going to go see what’s going on up there,” she said. “I’m sure it’s just the normal rush of students moving into dorms, but I’d still like to see for myself.”

Erin and I both nodded.

“I’m going to get Elizabeth and we’ll scout ahead. Okay?”

Once again, we nodded.

Then Mom walked back to Gina’s car. In the rearview mirror, I watched as she told Gina and Leah what she was doing. A minute later, she walked back to the Coulters’ station wagon. Elizabeth got out and the two women walked up the sidewalk toward the Presidential courtyard.

When they returned, about fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth went to Gina’s car and Mom came to the Jeep.

“Yep,” she said, “it’s just a crowd of students and their parents.”

“Okay.”

“The dorms have luggage carts we can use to haul your stuff upstairs, but you have to have a student ID to use one, and the waiting list is already pretty long.”

I nodded.

“Also,” she continued, “the driveway for both dorms is only a couple of cars wide and there’s not much parking, so that’s the biggest hold-up. You and Gina should probably park your cars somewhere and then walk back here. As soon as you can, use your IDs to get on the waiting list for a cart. Then we’ll just wait till it’s our turn,” she said.

“Okay.”

With that, she straightened, waved to Elizabeth, and then stepped back. I checked my mirror and saw that Gina was already taking advantage of a momentary lull in traffic. As she waited for me, I pulled out in front of her.

I figured that parking was going to be a problem, but as soon as we got past the cluster of residence halls, traffic thinned out. We drove for less than a minute and then parked in a large non-commuter garage at the end of Andy Holt Avenue.

“God,” Gina said as we got out of our cars, “I had no idea there’d be this many people here today.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess everybody decided to move in at once.”

“I guess.”

Even though summer in Knoxville was about as hot as Atlanta, I was glad to be out of the Jeep. My shirt was sweaty and stuck to my back, but at least there was a slight breeze.

As the four of us walked back toward the Presidential Complex, we mostly gawked at all the people and cars. We’d thought that getting to campus early on the first day of move-in would mean we wouldn’t have to wait long. Unfortunately, a lot of people evidently thought the same thing. By the time we got back to our families’ station wagons, they’d moved about twenty feet.

Gina and I merely waved and then headed up the hill toward the dorms themselves. Erin and Leah tagged along, excitedly talking about guys, different families, guys, anything that caught their interest, and guys. Gina and I merely grinned at each other.

Outwardly, I tried to project an air of calm, but inside, I was incredibly nervous. I really had no idea what we were supposed to do, but I didn’t want to appear uncertain (or ignorant) by asking someone. So I basically kept my mouth shut and followed the crowd.

Unfortunately, following the crowd left me ample time to think, which meant I had too much time, so I worried. What if they didn’t have my room ready? What if they’d lost my paperwork? Would I have to live in Hess Hall? What if they accidentally put me in the Virgin Vault? What if my roommate was some big, dirty redneck? What if he was a militant Rastafarian?

Militant Rastafarian?! What the...?!

I had to laugh at myself for that one. Treacherous imagination. Gina looked at me, her expression puzzled.

“It’d take too long to explain,” I said.

From the look on her face, she was just as nervous as I was. Tentatively, she reached for my hand. As we twined our fingers together, a feeling of calm washed over me. I was still anxious, uncertain, and a little lost, but at least I had Gina beside me.

When we reached Carrick Hall, it was a confused mass of people, cars, trucks, luggage carts, and too many other things to take in at once. People and their belongings were everywhere, in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

One family was unloading the trunk of a Mercedes, while the people behind them were taking things out of a beat-up old pickup truck. Some people were dressed nicely while others apparently wore whatever wasn’t too dirty that day. One family of six was dressed entirely in UT’s orange and white. Another family had a U-Haul trailer and a loaded station wagon, and I wondered where they thought they were going to put all that stuff. Yet another family had a...

“What’re we supposed to do?” Gina asked, breaking my train of thought.

“Let’s head inside and get our names on the waiting list for luggage carts,” I said as confidently as I could. “Have you got your ID with you?”

She nodded and patted her purse.

We’d gotten IDs when we came to Knoxville for Freshman Orientation. I pulled out my wallet, retrieved my card, and brandished it with a flourish. I was still nervous, but at least I had a purpose, if only for the moment.

“Is there a line?” Gina asked.

“I guess it’s inside,” I said, pointing toward the entrances to the dorms. “Let’s get on your dorm’s list first, then we’ll get on mine.”

“Um ... okay.”

When she didn’t move, I looked a question at her.

Then she laughed nervously. “Um ... which one is South Carrick?”

I laughed and pointed to the building closest to us, on our right. With Gina, Erin, and Leah in tow, I started making my way through the crowd.

Once we reached the lobby desk, a woman took Gina’s ID card, wrote her name on the list for luggage carts, and then returned the card. Gina was about to walk away when I stopped her with a gesture.

“How long is the wait?” I asked the harried woman at the desk.

“What’s this look like,” she asked, “a help desk?” When she saw my shocked expression, she gave us an apologetic look. “Sorry. I guess it’ll be about an hour.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

As we stepped away from the desk, a girl returned a cart. Instead of heading over to North Carrick, I stopped to watch what happened. The woman behind the desk returned the girl’s ID and then immediately glanced at the list. Almost before the girl turned away, the woman looked out at the dorm lobby.

“Sheldon!” she shouted. “Karen Sheldon!”

Across the lobby, a brunette and her mother stood up. When the brunette reached the desk, she handed over her ID. While she did, her mother held the cart and then they headed toward the exit.

“What’re we waiting for?” Gina asked.

“I wanted to see how that cart thing worked,” I explained, indicating the cart exchange with a toss of my chin.

“Oh. Okay.”

With that, Erin and Leah joined us and we threaded our way through the foot traffic in the breezeway. Heading into North Carrick, we got behind a guy with a heavily loaded luggage cart. At the threshold, the cart lurched and then abruptly halted. The guy shoved it, but it didn’t budge. He shoved again, but it was so heavily loaded that he couldn’t move it.

“You get the front,” I suggested to him when people started to bunch up behind us. “I’ll push from back here.”

The guy’s mother, who was smaller than Erin, smiled at me gratefully.

“Thanks, man,” the guy said. Then he backed the recalcitrant cart out of the doorway, skirted around it, and shoved his way through the other door. While he lifted the front wheels, I heaved from behind. We repeated the maneuver at the second set of doors and then entered the dim coolness of the lobby itself. “Thanks again, man,” he said once we were inside.

“No problem,” I said.

“Thank you very much,” his mother said softly.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Have a nice day.”

With that, they headed across the lobby to the elevators, only to join another line of people. Around us, utter chaos reigned. I counted three carts, loaded or empty, moving within the lobby. A lot of people had decided to forgo the carts and were simply ferrying things upstairs by hand.

“You know,” I said, “if our cars get to the front of the building before we get a luggage cart, I say we should just carry our stuff upstairs by hand. I mean, neither of us have too much.”

Gina nodded.

“And with all eight of us, it won’t take long to get things to our rooms.” Then I glanced around and spotted the guy with the luggage cart list.

“ID?” he asked when I stepped up to him.

I handed it over.

“Welcome to UT, Mr. Hughes,” he said as he wrote my name on his list.

“Um ... thanks.”

When he handed my card back, he used his pen to point to the group of people manning the desk.

“One of the Resident Assistants can get you checked in and give you your move-in packet,” he said.

“You mean you’re not a Resident Assistant?” I asked.

“I’m the Hall Director,” he said. Then he held out his hand. “Wade Snow.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Snow.”

“Pleased to meet you, Paul,” he said. “Everyone around here just calls me Wade.”

“Oh, okay. Hey, how’d you know my name?” I asked.

He grinned and nodded toward the ID I still held.

“Oh. Duh!” Jeez, I haven’t been here five minutes, and I’m already making a fool of myself.

“That’s okay, Paul,” he said. “I was a little overwhelmed on my first day too.”

“Yeah. Lots of stuff to figure out.”

“Lots and lots,” he agreed. “One of the guys’ll take care of you,” he said, glancing to his left.

I turned and realized that people had formed a short line behind me while I was blithely chatting. “Thanks,” I said. Then, “About how long is the wait for a cart?”

“Probably an hour, maybe more,” he said. “But check back every fifteen minutes.” Then he pointed to a chalkboard. “I post the names of the next men on the list.” Three names were written on the chalkboard: McArthur, Fox, and Witter.

“Oh, cool.”

“Uh-huh. Have a nice day, Paul,” he said. “Enjoy your stay at North Carrick.”

As I nodded politely and stepped aside, he was already looking past me to the next person in line.

“He seems cool,” Gina said as we headed toward the closest available Resident Assistant.

“Yeah,” I agreed

Behind us, Erin and Leah took up station by one of the groups of couches. They seemed to be having fun just people-watching, so I turned my attention back to the desk.

“ID?” asked the RA. He was about my height, but softer. He wasn’t pudgy, exactly, but he looked sort of cherubic. “Welcome to North Carrick, Paul,” he said as he read my ID. Then he turned to a desk at the back wall. From a box marked “G-H-I,” he sifted through manila envelopes until he found the one marked “Hughes, Paul Dean.” He read the label and then smiled. “You’ll be on my floor,” he said. “I’m your RA, Cary. Cary Prescott.”

I held out my hand. “Paul Hughes. Oh, duh. You know that.” That’s twice! Jeez!

“Nice to meet you, Paul,” he said with a grin. Then he opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Okay,” he said, turning it so I could read it, “this is your Move-In form.” He pointed to a line on the form. “You’re in room 415D. Once you’re in the suite, that’s the room on the right, but there are signs on all the doors. Okay?”

I nodded.

“I don’t think your roommate has checked in yet,” he continued, “so you’ve got first choice of beds.” Then he pointed to the envelope. “Your dorm handbook, room key, and mailbox combination are in here, along with a copy of this form. Okay?”

Once again, I nodded.

“This is your mailing address,” he said, pointing to the form. “The post office is in the South Carrick lobby. Use your mailbox combination to open the box with ‘N’, for North, and your room number on it, so you’re N415D.” He looked up to make sure I understood.

“November four one five delta,” I said. “Roger.”

He gave me a funny look.

Inwardly, I cringed. Paul, you dork.

“I’ll stop by this week to do your room inspection,” he continued.

“Room inspection?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding. “Just to see what’s already damaged so we don’t charge you for it.”

“Damaged?” I asked.

“Well, not really damaged,” he explained. “More like nicks, scrapes, and scuffs. The rooms are clean and everything works, but they’re not brand-new.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“Anyway, I’ll post a list of inspection times on my door—my room is the first room to the left, once you get off the elevators. Okay?”

I nodded.

“We have a mandatory floor meeting on Friday at five o’clock, in the fourth floor lounge. I’ll post a notice on the floor’s bulletin board. Okay?”

“No problem,” I said.

“Great,” he finished with a smile. “Do you have any questions?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, then.” With that, he grabbed a pen and pointed to a line on the form. “Sign here,” he said. “This basically says that you’ve gotten your move-in packet.”

I signed.

“Here you go,” Cary said, taking the form and handing me the packet. “Welcome to North Carrick.”

“Thanks.” When I turned, I almost knocked Gina over. “Sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay,” she said. Then, “Do you think we should go get my move-in packet now?”

“Sure.”

With that, we rounded up Erin and Leah and headed back across the breezeway to South Carrick. I could tell that Gina was a little nervous, so I put my arm around her while we stood in line.

Compared to the relative efficiency of North Carrick, South Carrick was a madhouse. My dorm had seven or eight people working the front desk, but South Carrick had only three. And they all looked stressed. We ended up standing in line for almost fifteen minutes. Finally, Gina got her move-in packet (she was on the sixth floor, in 607A).

“Why don’t we head down to the street and see where our parents are,” I suggested.

Then the four of us wended our way through the crowd and walked to where our families’ station wagons should have been. It took us a moment to find them, though, since they’d moved farther than I’d expected. When we approached the cars, Mom and Elizabeth got out and met us. We quickly told them about checking in, and how long the wait for carts would be.

“Your dad thinks we’ll get to the front of the dorm in the next thirty minutes,” Mom said. “So the wait for a cart isn’t going to kill us.”

“Have you seen your rooms yet?” Elizabeth asked.

Gina and I shook our heads.

“You should go see what they look like.”

Tentatively, Gina nodded.

“Leah,” Elizabeth said as we turned to go, “why don’t you and Erin stay here with us.”

“But Mom,” Leah protested.

Instead of complaining, Erin took one look at Mom—who nodded discreetly—and agreed.

“You can see their rooms when we move their stuff in,” Elizabeth said. Then she turned to Gina and me. “We’ll see you when you get back.”

As we walked up the sidewalk, Gina reached for my hand. I clasped it and then smiled at her.

We decided to see her room first. When we got on the elevator—after ten minutes of waiting—we huddled together in the back corner, packed between a luggage cart and several people carrying armloads of stuff. I wrapped my arms around Gina and pulled her against my chest. When she turned her head and smiled gratefully, I kissed her temple.

The people with the cart got off on the second floor, and then the other group got off on the fifth floor. On the sixth floor, we got off and went looking for Gina’s room. It was close to the elevator, so we found it quickly. With a deep breath, I opened the door.

Each suite held an entryway that spanned the width of the two rooms. Instead of being rectangular, the foyer was deeper in the middle, so each of the room doors was set at an angle. A black phone with a long, long cord hung on the wall to our left. The shower was also to our left, while a door enclosed a long, narrow toilet room to our right.

Both room doors had hand-made signs on them (with flowers and butterflies). The sign on the left read “A – Gina Nicole Coulter / B – Faith Catherine Bennett.”

“Do you know your suitemates’ names?” I asked. When she shook her head, we wandered over to the other doorway.

The sign on the right read “C – Naomi Michelle Ackerman / D – Iris Eliza Weinberg.”

“I wonder what they’re like?” Gina said.

“Probably just like you ... nervous,” I said with a grin.

“You’re nervous too,” she accused.

“Yeah. I guess I am. But we’ll survive. Now c’mon, let’s see what your room’s like.”

We walked back to the left door and Gina opened it with her key. From the doorway, we surveyed the room. It was about ten feet wide and fourteen or fifteen feet deep. The right wall held metal sliding-door closets at each end and a vanity counter in the middle (complete with a sink). A mirror was mounted on the wall above the sink, with two medicine cabinets flanking it. The space beneath the vanity held dresser drawers, three on each side.

One bed was against the inner wall, to our left, and the other bed was across the room by the outer wall. Between them—on the room’s left wall—was one long metal double desk with shelves above it. Each side of the desk had a pull-out drawer, a chair in front of it, and a fluorescent light underneath the shelf.

All the metal surfaces (the closets, drawers, and desk) were covered with a dark wood-grain vinyl veneer, while the floor was plain linoleum tile. The walls were bare off-white-painted cinder block and the ceiling was equally bland. In other words, the room was stark.

“Great,” Gina said sarcastically.

“It’ll look better once you get some posters up and some sheets on the bed,” I said as positively as I could.

“I guess. But it’s hot, too.”

“I can fix that right now,” I said. Then I headed across the room to the air conditioner. I turned it to High Cool, and with a whine of protest, it clattered to life. The air wasn’t exactly cold, but it was cooler than the sweltering room.

“So this is where I get to live for the next year?” Gina asked rhetorically.

“Yep. Which bed do you want?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only to you, I guess,” I said.

“Then I guess I’ll take the other bed,” she said, nodding to the far wall. “It’d be nice to be by the window.”

“Sounds good to me.” At her glum expression, I pulled her close. “What’s the matter?”

“I dunno,” she said. “I guess I just wasn’t ready for how ... bare the rooms are.”

“Would you like to get bare in the bare room?” I asked with a grin as I made a show of eyeing the door.

She shrugged noncommittally.

I cupped her ass and ground my hips against her.

“I guess I’m not in the mood to fool around,” she said.

“That’s okay. We probably don’t have time anyway.” In reality, I wasn’t in the mood to fool around either, but I wanted to cheer her up.

“We’d better go see what your room’s like,” she said, “and then go back downstairs.”

“My room probably looks exactly like yours, only in reverse.”

“Reverse?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“Yeah, reverse. I’m in 415D, the room on the right. So my room will probably have the closets and sink on the left, with the desk on the right.”

“I guess.”

“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go see if I’m right.”

After we locked her room, it took us several minutes just to get an elevator. Fortunately, we were near the top of the building, so it was nearly empty when the doors opened.

On the way through the North Carrick lobby, I checked the chalkboard: Vaughn, Malin, and Estores. It took us another ten minutes to get an elevator. My suite was all the way at the end of the hall, right beside the fire exit.

The suite’s foyer was exactly the same as Gina’s, with the shower on the left, the phone by the door, and the toilet room on the right. Before I looked at my door, I checked the door to the left. The sign on the door wasn’t as elaborate at the one on Gina’s, but it served its purpose. It read, A – Glen Carter Otis / B – Tracy James Ingram. The sign on my door read, C – Robert Terrence Marion / D – Paul Dean Hughes.