Victory Tour (Part 253)

I stepped out of the office to see several chairs from my dining table spread out in the living room where the occupants could see the TV without blocking the view from the couch. I noticed the state troopers accompanying the governor and a couple of the Tri-Star guys who'd come with the general had departed. I guess they had to get back to work after gorging on barbecue.

I was glad to see Lanny was still here. I had some tech questions I wanted to ask him, primarily about satellite phones.

Marv's comment about the evidence upstairs prompted me to hurry to the northwest bedroom and strip the bed. All I needed was for Dick Stirling to stop by to pay his respects. At least his daughter had lost her hymen before last night, but those sheets needed to be washed ASAP.

I tried to project a casual, unhurried air as I came down the stairs with soiled sheets bundled under my arm. It must have worked. My guests paid me no attention as I scooted from stairwell to kitchen to utility room. Or it might have been the game they were all watching. It involved our state's other NFL franchise and the governor was paying rapt attention. I think he was buds with the team's owner or something.

I just threw the whole bundle into the washing machine and punched buttons until it turned on. I'm not real sure I had it on the proper cycle and I didn't even look for detergent, but figured I could just run the load two or three times. Or maybe I should get Marie over here to do it for me.

A look in the fridge when I returned to the kitchen showed me Jed had completed his mission. Four gallon jugs of tea filled a shelf and four two-liter bottles of Coke sat in the door. I grabbed a tea jug that had been opened and one of the red SOLO cups stacked on the counter. That'd work for now, but one of these days I needed to find out where Mrs. Osborne kept the dishes.

Jed and Chuck were attacking the barbecue on the dining table.

"Save some for me," I said, taking my drink with me.

"There's plenty, dude," Jed mumbled around a mouthful. "The dads got enough to feed the whole team."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but the whole team better not be coming," I said. "I don't have that many chairs."

"Nah, we didn't invite everybody," Chuck said. "Reggie's off on a college visit and Marshawn's got somethin' goin' on at church. Coach might swing by, though."

As long as he realizes I didn't provide the booze, I thought.

Just as I was contemplating snagging some brisket for myself — not that I was all that hungry after brunch, but free food, ya know? — the doorbell rang.

"Bet that's Coach," Jed burped.

"Wanna get that, Gary?" Dad called out.

I internally debated the need to hire a doorman as I went to answer yet again, taking my drink with me. What I found when I opened the door only reinforced the idea.

A city police officer and a woman with a severe expression stood on the porch. Hazel Thackeray hovered behind them, looking like she couldn't wait to ruin my day. We'd see about that.

"May I help you, officer?" I asked.

"Just checking on a report of a party going on," the cop said in a tone that indicated he had better things to do today. "Ms. Carswell, here, is with CPS. Gotta make sure there's no child endangerment."

"Douglas Robinson," I called over my shoulder, "your presence is requested. Might oughta bring Bill, too."

Mrs. Thackeray scowled at me as I continued blocking the door.

"If we could just step inside, young man, we can see what the situation is," the CPS lady said, taking a step forward.

"Not without a warrant," I snapped. "Security is a concern for some of my guests."

The woman sputtered indignantly, the cop scowled and Mrs. Thackeray couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Security?" she screeched. "They're drinking in there! He's got the cup in his hand!"

"What's goin' on?" Dad asked from behind me.

"Mrs. Thackeray of the HOA called the cops and CPS," I said.

I noticed Marv and one of the state troopers accompanying the governor come around the corner of the garage and hold up as they assessed the situation. Dad pushed past me to deal with the authorities, but I could feel the presence of others behind me.

"I assure you there is no underage drinking going on here," Dad said. "No children under 18 have been left unsupervised."

The cop still wanted to see some ID and just what was in my cup. That got Bill involved, citing some legal opinion about unlawful search. That'll probably cost me a few hundred dollars.

Then the rest of my guests joined the fun.

"Hello, Hazel," Mr. Patterson said with what sounded like a particularly savage smirk. "Still upholding the image of the HOA, I see."

"Oh, her," Grandpa grunted. "Millie told me about yesterday."

Then the biggest gun came out.

"It wouldn't reflect well on me nor my office if I was found to be contributing to the delinquency of a minor," the governor said, causing the cop and the CPS lady to gasp. "And the young man's correct. My security wouldn't be very happy if we just allowed every passerby to come in."

"No, we wouldn't," the trooper growled, causing the uninvited visitors to damn near jump out of their skins.

"I think we're good here," the cop admitted, shooting Mrs. Thackeray a rather sour look. "You gentlemen enjoy your afternoon. Congratulations on the election, sir."

"You be careful out there, officer," the governor said. "Ms. Carswell is it? Do you by chance work out of June Thomas' office? Tell her I said hello."

"Yes, sir," the woman said with a fiery blush.

The two civil servants couldn't get out of there fast enough, but Hazel Thackeray had to get in one last shot.

"Don't give me that look," she snapped at me.

"Then don't give me reason to," I snarled. "And be glad it's just a look. I ought to put you over my knee."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she spat.

"Naughty girls at Daddy's House get spanked on their naked tushies," I said, unleashing my best Clint Eastwood. "I know what you're thinking. 'Will he give me six swats or only five?' Well, to tell you the truth, in all the excitement I'd probably lose track myself. But being my right hand is specially designed to fit the curvature of a naughty girl's tushy and sturdy enough to spank her until she learns her lesson, you've gotta ask yourself one question: 'Have I been ... naughty?' Well, have ya, little girl?"

"You can't talk to me that way, you little pervert!" she shouted as Marv moved in her direction.

"Fine," I snapped. "Mr. Richards, what'll it take to keep this woman off my property?"

"I can file for a restraining order tomorrow morning," the lawyer laughed, sounding like my legal fees were about to increase substantially. "If I can get hold of a judge in a good mood, might even have it before the closing."

"I bet I can help find you one," the governor said. "A couple even live around here. All the ones elected last week need my signature before they can take their seats, but enough of them are already on the bench that it's just a matter of renewing their position."

The woman sputtered in outrage as Marv herded her toward the street. I don't think she expected the kind of backup I had on hand for her power play. Not that I was expecting the governor to pull rank, but I was glad he was there now. I'd have to do something to show Mr. Patterson my appreciation for inviting him. I just hoped it didn't involve marrying Staci anytime soon.

I went back inside with the men, who all headed to the kitchen to refresh their drinks. I don't know if the cop had smelled whiskey, but at least all I had in my cup was iced tea.

"Dude, that was epic!" Jed chortled as I slapped a couple of slices of brisket onto a piece of bread. "We're gonna hafta start callin' ya 'Dirty Gary.' I don't know if that gal was gonna pee her panties or cream ’em!"

"Let's hope that was the last time," I sighed. "I don't need to deal with that woman every time I come over here."

"Thought ya handled that pretty well, boy," Grandpa said as he made his way back to the couch.

"It helped that there were adults around," I said before taking a bite. "I think she was expecting a bunch of rowdy teenagers."

"Probably shouldn't tell your mother about it, though," Dad said, reaching for some more brisket for himself. "She'd gut both of us if she knew you were threatening to spank that woman."

"Tell her to take it up with Mrs. Thackeray," I said. "She was being ... naughty."

I consumed my sandwich — still not very hungry, but free groceries, remember? — as the gentlemen worked around each other in the kitchen. Once some space opened up, I went in for another shot of tea.

"Tell me about this foundation you're trying to set up," the governor said, pouring a slug of Coke atop some Jack. "George has been pestering me to get it approved."

"I don't know what all Mr. Richards put in the paperwork," I said, putting the two-liter bottle back in the fridge and grabbing a tea jug, "but I was just thinking of a basic philanthropic organization. I'd like to set up a scholarship fund for my high school, there's a need for a women's shelter the local Catholic parish is willing to help with, maybe donate some to cancer research and the like."

"And where is the funding coming from?" he asked only a little suspiciously.

"An anonymous donor," I said. "It seems a business tycoon from the Valley died suddenly and left a bequest. All I'm trying to do is use it to help those in need."

"I'm only aware of one 'business tycoon from the Valley' who's passed recently," the governor mused. "Are any of his associates among those in need?"

"Not hardly," I said. "It seems they're rather ... naughty. They're a big reason we're trying to start the women's shelter. Mr. Patterson and Gen. Rackham can fill you in on the details. Tri-Star is in charge of everything south of the river. They're also helping with the women's shelter."

"George is right," the governor snorted. "We need to get you in a poker game. Might want to learn how to lie a little better if you ever do try for my job."

"Not while my grandfather's alive," I grinned.

Our state's chief executive had another topic I totally wasn't expecting.

"Have you considered filing for emancipation?" he asked. "Might help with situations like you just faced."

"I did bring it up about a month ago," I admitted. "Bill Richards was of the opinion it wouldn't be worth the trouble. I might get it done by April if I was lucky and my birthday's the first week of June. And my mother wasn't in favor of it. I haven't pursued it any further."

"I may be able to help," he said, piquing my curiosity. "I could just sign an executive order declaring you emancipated."

"Would that be legal?" I asked.

"That'd be up to the courts to decide," he said. "But by the time a challenge could work its way through the system, you'd probably already be 18. This would just allow you to have more control over your finances for the next few months. Make it easier for your philanthropic endeavors, allow you to sign contracts, make political contributions, that sort of thing. You still won't be able to buy alcohol until you're 21, though."

The governor's knowing grin offered a hint as to which politician should receive the first contribution. I'd let him work out the details with Mr. Patterson. I got the feeling this one would be significantly larger than the $1,000 that was offered after my corporation got chartered. What the hell. It was Alejandro de la Vega's money. I was just spending it.

"Couldn't hurt to try," I smiled, telling myself I hadn't just agreed to pay the man a bribe, simply make a campaign contribution. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

As the governor returned to the living room, Marv and the general stepped into the kitchen. At least neither was armed that I could see. I still moved away from the booze just to be safe.

"I've informed all our local assets to keep an eye out for that lady," Marv said as the general replenished his drink. "Her residence is now under surveillance until further notice."

"Thank you," I said. "I hope you'll make it obvious to her. Maybe she'll get the hint that she's not welcome here. I was about ready to push my panic button."

"You can probably expect at least an attempt at a fine from that HOA," the general said, adding a little ice to his cup. "She's worse than some of the paranoid types at Langley. Maybe they should offer her a job."

"Great idea," I said. "Be nice if she had to move to Virginia."

"What'd you do to set her off, anyway?" he asked.

"Bought this house without going through a realtor," I said. "I think she must have a piece of the action around here. And she wasn't real happy that I had some of my teammates help move furniture yesterday. Doesn't want a bunch of hooligans having wild parties in her neighborhood."

"I didn't think we were being that wild," the general snorted, not denying being a hooligan. "I guess we should tone it down."

While I had their attention, I broached the possibility of converting the garage attic into something useful for the security folks.

"I was thinkin' y'all could access it from the northwest bedroom or install a stairway on the alley side," I said. "We'd need to have it plumbed and insulated, but there'd be plenty of room for one or two people to work there. Keep an eye on Mrs. Jenson's place at the same time."

"We'll consider the matter, but it could take time," the general said. "Lanny's already got the convent and your farm to set up."

"Probably just be easier to use Mrs. Jenson's apartment," Marv said. "It's already wired."

There's an idea, I thought. We just had to get Arlene's approval.

The general reclaimed his spot on the couch while I started the washing machine again, then took a chair from the table. I just vegged out, not paying a bit of attention to the action on the screen, until the doorbell rang again.

At least this time it wasn't a cop with a CPS worker, just Marshawn Taylor. The way his expression fell when he saw who was on "his" couch made it worth the effort of answering the door.

"This ain't gonna work," he pouted.

"Tell them that," I said.

I don't know what his problem was. We just had the governor and three men wealthy enough to buy an NFL franchise sitting there. It wasn't like I invited them specifically to keep Marshawn off the couch.

"There's some tea and Coke in the fridge," I said. "Might still be some dessert on the table if Jed and Chuck haven't eaten it all."

"What kinda dessert?" Marshawn asked, his mood suddenly brightening.

"Chess pie," Chuck said, hefting another forkful of brisket. "Better hurry, though. It's been tauntin' me since I got here. I'm ’bout to have to learn it some manners. It's been actin' pretty ... naughty."

"You just chill," the linebacker commanded. "I'll handle the discipline."

I had to leave them to it because the doorbell rang again. Jesus, the damn thing was going to burn out before I even got moved in!

I barely got the door opened before a bundle of energy slammed into me.

"Gary!" my little cousin Kirsten squealed, wrapping her arms around me. "We came to see your house!"

"We" turned out to include Aunt Patty, Kinsey, Coach Tucker and Stephanie. I noticed all three girls wore little jeweled pendants on chains. At least it wasn't Gucci pendants on chokers.

"Come on in," I said to the group, trying to hold the door and spin Kirsten out of the way at the same time.

I got hugs from the females, including Stephanie, and a look from Coach as my little cousin remained plastered to my side. It may have been my imagination, but I think Kirsten was a little taller and Kinsey a little bustier.

Coach and Patty introduced themselves to the other guests as the three girls scampered for the stairs. My math told me we were about out of chairs.

"I've got another chair in the office," I said, hoping to avoid seeing something I didn't want to, like my aunt sitting in my coach's lap.

"Before you do," Coach said after shaking hands with the governor, "a quick word please. You three, as well."

Jed, Chuck and Marshawn, carrying a paper plate with what must have been the last slice of pie, followed us into the kitchen. Coach pointedly looked at the half-empty bottle of Jack on the counter before rounding on us.

"I'd better not have to say it," he warned us.

"I've had nothing to drink but tea," I said.

"And I brought the tea," Jed said. "My dad'd shoot me if I tried to sneak his hooch."

"I haven't even been in the kitchen yet," Marshawn said, holding up his plate as proof.

"I had a Coke," Chuck said.

"Just so we're clear," Coach said. "What else ya got? I'm a little thirsty."

"Tea and Coca-Cola in the fridge," I said.

Coach opened the door and looked inside.

"Who brought the beer?" he asked, pulling out a yellow can.

"One of the gentlemen in the living room, I suspect," I said. "I didn't inspect every item they brought in."

"I owe them one, then," Coach said, popping the top. "You fellows stay out of it. And you never saw this."

"Yes, sir," we chorused.

Satisfied we weren't breaking team rules, Coach returned to the living room as the girls came downstairs. Which may not have been the best thing for me.

"When can we have a sleepover?" Kirsten chirped just loud enough to set off about a dozen coughing fits. "We can watch movies on your big TV!"

"Just as soon as your mom grants permission," I said once I finally got my fit under control.

Yeah, you're more than welcome to have a sleepover here, chipmunk. Just don't expect me to be in attendance. Probably oughta warn Karen if she plans on living here. And come up with a way to convince Aunt Patty and/or Grandma to supervise.

"Don't encourage her," Aunt Patty said.

Keeping with the theme of the day, the doorbell rang before I could decide on my next move. This time, the door swung open before I could answer it and Grandma swept in leading a procession that included Mrs. Metzger, Arlene, Jan, Marie, Jo, Lupita, Mom, Karen, Dr. Ramakrishnan, Mrs. Ensberry, Mrs. Richards, Mrs. Patterson, Mrs. Stirling and a woman who better have been the governor's wife based on the way she greeted the man.

OK, we are officially out of chairs now.

"Marshawn, there's a dining chair in the office over there," I said, pointing the way before turning to the offensive linemen. "Would y'all please get that little couch in the utility room and bring it up here? At least a couple of these ladies will have a place to sit. Like your mom, Jed."

"On it," my buddy said.

"Have you boys been behaving yourselves?" Grandma asked as several men rose to give their spouses seats.

"Except for one visit from that Thackeray woman with a cop and CPS," Grandpa said. "Gary handled things and sent her home with her tail between her legs. You ladies get your bidness done?"

"Got it started," Grandma said as she, Mrs. Patterson and the First Lady took up spots on the couch. "I need to check with Douglas on the availability of a suitable location and contractors before we take the next step, but we've agreed in principle."

"What do you need from me?" Dad asked.

"A site in town that will allow Cookshack to relocate from that strip mall," Grandma said. "It needs to be big enough to hold a restaurant that'll seat between 50 and 100 as well as sufficient parking and a couple of pits for Earl. I've agreed to invest in their enterprise. I want access to all of Miss Maisie's recipes they have."

While Kirsten chattered away about her plans to have a sleepover here, Mom moved in my direction with Coach Tucker following closely. Both had their arms crossed. Neither looked amused.

"Police and CPS?" Mom asked with an arched eyebrow and tapping foot. "Tell me what happened."

"And don't leave anything out," Coach growled.

I took a deep breath and collected my thoughts. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Mrs. Thackeray came over yesterday when we were helping the Osbornes and threw a fit about the house being sold without her knowledge," I said. "She came back this afternoon with an officer and a social worker. I think she was expecting to catch us having a kegger or something."

"And how did you handle things?" Mom demanded.

"I turned it over to Dad and suggested he bring Mr. Richards for backup," I said. "The governor had more to do with calming things down than I did. He said it wouldn't reflect well on him or his office if he was found contributing to the delinquency of minors."

"And just what did you say?" Coach asked authoritatively.

"Just that I ought to put her over my knee if she continued to misbehave," I admitted. "Naughty girls at my house get spanked on their naked tushies. Mrs. Thackeray was being especially ... naughty."

"That's not fair, Daddy!" Marie piped up from behind Mom and Coach. "It's been a whole week since you spanked my naked tushy!"

"We'll discuss it later, Marie," I said in a warning tone. "And I've asked you not to call me that in front of others."

"Oh, most of them already know, including your mother," my first pet said dismissively. "You'll just have to punish me for being ... naughty."

"I think you should come home tonight," my mother said, looking like she was trying very hard to maintain her composure.

"That would probably be a good idea," Coach growled. "Give this situation a chance to settle down. And it might be a good idea to keep your teammates away from here as long as we're still playing. Wouldn't want y'all contributing to the delinquency of an elected official."

Well, no more than I was already committed to, I thought.

"I'll have to get this place cleaned up first," I said, noting the state of the dining table. "Make sure these gentlemen take their refreshments with them. That's probably going to take a while, a few hours at least."

"You've got until 10 p.m.," Coach said. "Curfew's still in effect."

"I'll make sure your father and his friends stay to help," Mom said.

They left me to deal with Marie, who wore a particularly saucy expression.

"We can go to my room," she whispered hopefully.

"You can go to your room and think about your behavior, young lady," I said sternly. "I need to take care of my guests. Might do ya some good to go without for a few days."

"That's not fair, Daddy!" she shrieked, stamping her foot and drawing the attention of some not in the know, like the governor and his wife.

"That's enough, Marie," I snarled, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the kitchen. "How'd you like to go without for a few weeks or months, instead? Now, quit causing a scene and go to your room!"

I marched the little waif through the kitchen and utility room to the back door as she protested the unfairness of it all. Why was I willing to spank an old hag like Hazel Thackeray and not her?

"Because she fired the first shot," I snapped, dragging the little waif out the door into the growing gloom — when had it gotten so late? — and across the yard to the gate. "Do you really think I'd go for an old woman like her? She needs to learn who's really in charge at my house."

Opening the gate, I pushed Marie through toward the walk to Arlene's kitchen door.

"Go to your room!" I commanded, slamming the gate shut on her anguished wail.

I swear to God, if people don't back off with their bullshit, someone's going to get hurt. Doc better clear me for contact so I can take it out on the Wildcats.

I stepped back into the house to find Arlene, Jan, Karen and Dr. Ramakrishnan waiting for me in the utility room.

"That was ... interesting," the redhead said as I came to a stop just far enough inside for the door to close. "What brought that on?"

"Marie's upset that I threatened to spank Hazel Thackeray when I should be spanking her," I said. "I sent her home because she was causing a scene."

"Who's Hazel Thackeray?" Karen asked.

"Wife of the president of the HOA," Arlene said. "She doesn't have any real authority, but that doesn't stop her from trying to act like the queen of the neighborhood. I've already quit appealing the phony fines she tries to levy in her husband's name. The only reason he still has the job is because no one else wants it."

"She tried to roust today's gathering by bringing a policeman and a CPS worker," I said.

"So you threatened to spank the old bat," Jan snorted. "Wish I'd seen that."

"And now you're punishing Marie by ... not spanking her?" Dr. Ramakrishnan asked, fitting the pieces together. "I should go talk to her. I could get another paper out of this! Thanks, Gary! We'll have to find time to get together this week. I still want to talk to you."

"Don't stay too late," Karen called after the psychologist, who was already moving past me to open the door. "I have school tomorrow and you need to be at the women's shelter!"

Dr. Ramakrishnan just waved a hand in the air as she went in pursuit of my submissive bitch.

"Good Lord," Karen muttered. "That girl will do damn near anything if it means getting published!"

"We should be going, too," Arlene said, pulling Jan toward the door. "The bus is supposed to be here by 6 and we need to be on the road by 6:15."

"Have a good trip," I said, collecting smooches as they followed the Punjabi bint out.

After all that, I was ready for some food. Brunch and the little sandwich had pretty much worn off.

"Would you mind if I asked Chanda to move in here with me?" Karen asked, hooking my arm as I restarted the washer again before heading back to the kitchen. "I don't think she needs to live at that convent."

"Sounds like a fine idea," I said. "Y'all can each pay a third of the utilities. The corporation can cover the rest. And you can help Patty if Kirsten ever does get to hold a sleepover here."

"That's still a better deal than we'll get anywhere else in town," my aunt/English teacher/fucktoy said.

Stepping out of the kitchen showed the majority of the guests — Grandma and her gang of women; Coach, Patty and the girls; the governor and First Lady; the general and a few other Tri-Star types — had departed. The dining table was cluttered with the food containers that had been brought in. Karen, citing the need to be ready to teach in the morning, gave out hugs to me, Dad and Grandpa and reminders to my teammates about "Hamlet" before joining the exodus.

And, just because I was finally ready to eat, there was absolutely no brisket left. Not even crumbs. And, yes, I checked all the pans. Nothing but a little juice that had almost dried to a crust.

"I called in for enough pizzas to get us through the game," Jed said. "There's still two gallons of tea and two bottles of Coke in the fridge."

"How much is that going to cost us?" I asked, wondering if the delivery person would let me pay with my debit card if we didn't have enough cash.

"I'm getting it," Mr. Patterson said as I started cleaning up the table. "Tom and Hal went halvsies on the barbecue. I'm still getting off easier than they did."

"Thank you, sir," I said, carrying an armload of empties to the kitchen counter.

It was way too much for the little trashcan I'd found under the sink a few nights ago when Karen and I fell off the wagon. But a little searching in the same space revealed a box of trashbags. They weren't very big, but better than carrying all that out to the alley loose.

Returning to the dining area, I noticed the TV was showing the replay of our game.

"Is it past 7 already?" I asked, looking around for something that displayed the time without success. Clocks were added to the growing shopping list.

"Nah, they started at 6 because of the NFL game," said Marshawn, who was sprawled out on the little couch placed toward the front wall. "Haven't even got to my touchdown yet. I just wanna see how many replays the give me, then we can change channels.

At least I didn't have to endure the reaction to my Senior Night introduction again.

"You don't wanna watch Gary play quarterback again?" Chuck laughed. "This is the drive where he abused that dude who went after Reggie."

"I'll be seein' Supermodel play quarterback ever'day this week," the linebacker snorted. "He better be ready, ’cause our defense ain't gonna fall for his little tricks like the Badgers did."

"Just make sure you're ready for the Wildcats' little tricks," Mr. Richards said.

The dads sounded more knowledgeable about what the scout offense was doing than Tweedledumber and Tweedledumbest as we ran toss sweep right three plays in a row. But, I reminded myself, they'd had nearly 48 hours to get the story. The announcers were caught flatfooted just like the Badgers.

I didn't even have time to finish clearing the table before Marshawn recovered the muffed kickoff to make it 20-0. He got four replays, including a high-angle end zone shot that showed his eyes widen in anticipation as he neared the ball.

My remaining guests didn't even bother with the next kickoff before switching over to the NFL broadcast, which was still showing highlights from afternoon games.

"And you're sure this gadget's recordin' y'all's game?" Grandpa asked.

"Yes, sir," Jed said. "Lanny programmed the DVR function and showed me how to retrieve it before he left. It'll stay in memory until it's deleted."

"You'd better teach me how to do that," Grandpa said. "Millie's got me waitin' here for furniture deliveries tomorrow after we get done closin' on the house. Be nice to watch y'all while I'm doin' that."

I finished clearing the table, then started retrieving unoccupied dining chairs from the living room, leaving one for me, as the network shills continued hyping tonight's matchup from Philthydelphia. I wasn't holding out much hope. The sorry fuckers were 3-5, a game behind the Plucked Chickens ... er, Eagles in the division, and winless on the road. The Deadskins had won today and led the division at 6-3. Only the Giants, who were 1-7 going into the Monday night game, were worse off than the locals.

I needed to start paying more attention to a team like the Chiefs. They were 9-1 and had won four in a row.

With the dining table cleared, I loaded three trashbags and went into the office to pack up my laptop. I'd need it for school tomorrow. At least the phone was fully charged after being plugged in for nearly seven hours. The dads could take the trash out before they left.

With things as clean as I was going to get them, I moved the laundry to the dryer, poured myself another glass of tea and settled in to see how bad things would get. So, of course the doorbell rang right as the teams lined up for the kickoff. I think that was, like, the 193rd time today, but I hadn't really been keeping count.

"Pizza's here!" Jed called out, sounding amazingly like his dad had when the barbecue arrived several hours ago.

"I'll pay, you carry," Mr. Patterson said, rising from the couch as the locals' kicker sent the ball through the end zone for a touchback.

"Sounds like a deal," Jed grinned, following the rich and powerful man to the door.

As Mr. Patterson handled the finances, Jed toted four large boxes to the table, where Chuck and Marshawn were already waiting. Dr. Ensberry, Dad and Mr. Richards weren't far behind, while Grandpa stayed in his seat. Of course, the men had been grazing on barbecue all afternoon, so there should be plenty to go around.

At the risk of missing something important in the game, I joined the line and grabbed a couple of slices. I needn't have worried. Both teams punted on their opening possessions. I was back in my seat when the locals picked off a pass that was returned to the Philthydelphia 38. The locals reached the 7 in nine plays, converting a pair of third downs, before settling for a field goal.

"Gotta stick it in when ya get that close," Jed groused.

"Words to live by," Dr. Ensberry smirked, receiving full agreement from the other men.

I was just glad we had a lead. On the road. Against a division opponent.

Phuck Philthydelphia.

The teams each punted again as the game moved into the second quarter. I grabbed some more pizza and tea while the Plucked Chickens ... er, Eagles got a drive going. Facing second-and-2 at the locals' 21, the defense rose up and stuffed them three plays in a row to take over on downs at the 23.

"Now that's how ya do it!" Marshawn crowed.

Facing fourth down at the 31, our guys pulled off a fake punt that had us making enough noise to make Hazel Thackeray call the cops again. After overcoming a penalty to move across midfield, the stud running back popped through a hole created by the left guard, much to Chuck's delight, and took it down inside the 10. Then a sack on third-and goal from the 4 forced another field goal.

"We can't keep settlin' for three!" Jed complained. "Gotta get it in there!"

The Eagles got three on their next possession, but the locals responded by going 75 yards in eight plays to score a TD with 19 seconds left in the half. A pass for 25 yards converted third-and-15, followed by two more nice gains to set up first-and goal at the 1.

We all grabbed some more pizza as Philthydelphia ran out the half.

"You'd better get movin,'" Dad said. "It's almost 9. Coach Tucker'll be callin' soon."

"Lemme get another slice," I said. "And y'all are supposed to help me clean up. Make sure ya take all your goodies with ya. Coach already got on us for havin' adult beverages on hand."

My father wrangled two of his golfing buddies to help take the trash out to the alley, but we were all back in our seats before the third quarter commenced. The mood soured considerably as Philthydelphia pulled even at 13-13 after the locals punted and missed a field goal on their first two possessions.

"It's enough to drive a man to drink," Grandpa grumped as he went to the kitchen for a refill.

I hung around long enough to see the locals regain the lead, capping off a nice drive early in the fourth quarter, and prepared to depart. My teammates were of the same mind. It was almost 10.

I made sure Dad had a key to lock the house, grabbed my backpack and headed for the garage. It was only after loading up and hitting the garage door opener that I discovered I wasn't going anywhere. Dr. Ensberry had me blocked in.

Heading back inside, I informed the gentlemen of my predicament.

"Oh, yeah," the dentist said. "Lemme go move it."

He wasn't even to the door when my phone rang. It was Coach Tucker.

"Evening, Coach," I answered.

"You where you're supposed to be, Robinson?" he asked brusquely.

"Not exactly, sir," I said before explaining the situation.

"That's gonna cost ya 50 gassers," he snapped before disconnecting.

"What'd he say?" Grandpa asked.

"I get to run 50 extra gassers," I sighed, putting my phone back in its pocket.

"Karma," Mr. Patterson grinned savagely. "Your past misdeeds coming back to haunt you."

As long as that's the only price I have to pay, I thought as the Plucked Chickens drove toward the tying touchdown. Maybe Marv would let me out to run them in the morning. I could do them all and get a quick shower in less than one class period.

At least Jed and Chuck would be happy. I was continuing the streak.

Dr. Ensberry, totally oblivious to the havoc he'd wreaked in my life, returned just as the Eagles pulled even at 20-20. I bade them all farewell again and returned to my car before I got in more trouble. I'm sure Mom'd have something to say about it.

The first thing I did was tune the radio to the locals' flagship station before backing out of the garage. I made sure the door was closed and headed home as the sorry fuckers picked up 40 yards on their first two plays. As I turned toward the subdivision, they faced third-and-8 at the Philly 32 when a receiver got loose for a 23-yard gain.

I loved the way the play-by-play guy's voice went up in pitch every time they popped a big play. You could just hear the excitement.

With first-and-goal at the 9, we were all but assured of a chip shot field goal. The left guard was credited with another nice block on first down, enabling the stud running back to take it to the 2 as I moved through the neighborhood. A yard on second down as I turned onto our street and the go-ahead touchdown on the next play as I pulled into the drive.

I eased into my spot in the carport next to Kacie's Rover as the extra point made it 27-20 with 3:19 to go.

Grabbing my backpack, I hurried into the house. I could listen to the rest on my phone.

"You're late," Mom said from the couch as I stepped into the family room. Looked like she was watching some kind of Lifetime or Hallmark movie. Didn't she know there was a game on?

"My car was blocked in," I said, heading to my room. "Coach knows and has already passed judgement. I have to run 50 gassers."

"Do you have any homework?" she asked, delaying my resumption of the game, whether intentionally or not, I couldn't tell.

"No," I said. "I spent nearly two hours going over some reading this afternoon while the men played with the gift they brought me. I'm all caught up."

"Is your father on his way?" she asked as I tried to take another step.

"You'll have to ask him," I said, fighting to keep the exasperation out of my voice. "They were still there when I left. There was still three minutes left in the game when I came into the house."

"Get to bed," she commanded. "And don't disturb your sister. I think she's having a rough time this month."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, thinking I really didn't need to know that last tidbit as I bolted for my room. I guess the main thing was it meant she wasn't pregnant.

I had my phone out, poking at the screen to open the satellite radio app before I got the door closed. By the time I called up the locals' feed and got it playing, Philthydelphia had first down at the locals' 38 with 2:29 remaining. One more play took it to the two-minute warning.

I was tempted to call George and instruct him to offer the governor whatever he wanted to sign that damn executive order granting me emancipation. The only reason I was late getting home and assessed extra gassers was because my mother insisted I come home in the first place. I would have been quite content staying at the Osborne house.

Then she had to waste my time and make me miss nearly a minute of the game with questions I'm pretty sure she already knew the answers to. I tell ya, the sooner I'm out from under that woman's control, the more pleasant my life will be.

Life got a bit more pleasant after the commercial break when the dude who'd set up the first score with an interception and big return slipped through to drop a running back for a loss on a third-down swing pass. Then the Phucktards almost converted fourth down, immediately throwing the challenge flag after being ruled short.

I really wished I had a TV in here so I could see if they had an argument. The radio color guy sounded convinced it was the correct call. Dude coulda been standing in the end zone with the ball and the analyst would still swear he'd been stopped. He was paid to take the locals' side.

After a lengthy delay, the ruling was "confirmed," the NFL's way of saying "we were right, quitcherbitchin." Our guys took over on downs at their own 29 with a little over a minute to go. They couldn't even run off 30 seconds as the Plucked Chickens used all their timeouts to force a punt.

Taking over at its own 32 with 38 seconds left, Philthydelphia hit a couple of passes to reach our 32. As the clock ticked under 10 seconds, a pass to the tight end down the middle got to the 10, but we had pretty much the entire defense playing deep. A lateral to a wide receiver didn't work (do they ever?) and the clock ran out before they could get lined up.

Whew!

That was closer than it needed to be, but we finally had a road win. Life looked a little better now.

I shut things down and undressed, dropping my clothes in the hamper. At least I still had enough things here to get through tomorrow. I'd just have to wear a white polo to avoid clashing with my windbreaker.

Sleep came easily after such a day, but my mood seemed to be on the upswing as I hit the lights and snuggled under the covers.

Phuck Philthydelphia. Glad I don't have to live there.