Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are...!

Sam was on the phone, with his back to his office door. I padded silently in and sat carefully down in his sidechair.

Sam:  Next week, Baby.  It's all set.  I'll be back in Lubbock Sunday
morning...I'm all yours...neither can I, Honey...yeah...say, you heard
from...you did...Baby, did she tell you where she is?...HERE?  Where?...
she didn't tell you...naturally...no, Honey, it's not your fault...well, 
if you her from her again, you tell her...

Deb:  Why don't you tell me yourself, Sam?

Gerard jumped, oh, three feet out of his chair and slammed the phone down
in Beth's ear.

Deb:  Hey, dude, way to earn brownie points with your lady.

Sam:  Where've you been?

Deb:  Around...visiting people.

Sam:  Visiting who?

Deb:  Well...Harvey Dent.  You ever met Harvey Dent?  Interesting character,
but serious looneytunes.  Then I finally got a chance to meet Doctor Jake.
Wonderful guy, Sam, really super fellow.  I'm so glad I got to meet him.
Then I went to Texas and I spent some time with Ryan Gaerity.  You know,
Ryan's not nearly as bad as you think he is.  He might be good with bombs,
but he's really a very gentle soul...

Sam came swiftly around his desk, leaned over me menacingly.  I was 
scared half out of my wits, I had never had such a malevolent look directed
at me.  I knew I half deserved it, I had led him a hell of a chase and all
but spit in his eye, even so, I was shook up.  I did my best to hide it.

Deb:  Seriously, man, it worked a lot better last time.  I understand if
you're saving all that for Beth, I don't blame you, but it worked a lot
better last time.

Sam:  I oughta bust you myself.

Deb:  On what grounds?

Sam:  Obstruction -

Deb:  - of justice.  Take your show on the road, Sam, they might be 
impressed in Buffalo.  I haven't done anything and you know it.  In fact,
the one goof I did make, I came here to confess, and to ask you to help
me undo it.

Sam:  What's that?

I pulled Tommy's shirt out of my purse.  It was breaking my heart to
give it up, but it was only right.  I had washed and dried it, and now I 
was going to ask Sam if he knew a way to get the shirt back to its owner.

Deb:  This.  You know Tom slightly...could you get it back to him for me?

Sam:  What are you doing with it?

Deb:  Long story.

Here I was on shaky ground.  I started to wish I had simply FedExed
the thing to Mrs Caretaker and had done with it.

Sam:  So...I'm bored.  I like stories.

Deb:  But I don't tell them well at all.  Look, Sam, if you don't want to
do me a favor then I'll figure out some other way to return Tom's property.

I rose from the chair.  Tried to, anyway, as it was something of a 
challenge to attempt to squeeze out from under Sam's scowling visage.

Sam:  Sit!  Down!

I sat.  What choice did I have?  I covered up my nervousness with a big
cheesy grin and for a minute I thought Sam was going to explode right 
before my eyes.  While I would have been sad to see it, not to mention 
dismayed at being splattered with steaming Sam-goo, at the same time the
sight of Sam Gerard going utterly, freaking postal would have been a hell
of a sight.  The phone in the office rang again.  It probably saved my
neck.

Sam:  Gerard!  What?...Beth?...sorry, sorry...she's here...can't say for
how much longer since she's lettin' her mouth ger her ass in trouble again
...okay, Baby, here she is...

Sam extended the phone to me.  The expression on his face was priceless.
He didn't know if he was happy to hear from Beth again or furious that he
wasn't going to get another crack at me.  He looked precisely like he'd
swallowed a bug.

Sam:  She wants to talk to you.  I don't know why my sensible girl wants...

Deb:  Thank you.  Now, do you mind?  I'd like to talk privately.

Sam turned on his heel, stalked out of the office, muscles rippling
under the tight polo shirt.

Deb:  The Incredible Hulk has gone to pound holes in walls.  Beth, how
are you?  Did you hear him?  Now you're sensible.

Beth:  We are in the process of getting to know each other.  I'm just
dandy, how's by you?

Deb:  As well as can be expected.  Is it as good as it sounds?

Beth:  It's everything I expected, plus.  I don't know how long it'll last
but I'm not about to mess things up with a lot of questions.  I can say
this, he's a frustrated romantic at heart.

Deb:  Iron-Pants Gerard!  No way!

Beth:  Yup.  He sends flowers, his back rubs are even better than Bill's
because you're relaxed but you don't feel like you've been through a mangle
iron, and the things he says...

Deb:  I won't ask, but I'd bet I wish somebody would say them to me.

Beth:  If you're waiting for the Rottweiler, all I can say is, don't
bother.  He doesn't work that way.

Deb:  That's another kettle of fish.  I'm just glad that I could have a
hand in throwing you two together enough so that you could see how much
you like each other.  I can't tell you how pleased I am for you.  Both of
you.

Beth:  Sam, too?

Deb:  Just because I like tweaking that fine butt doesn't mean I like him
any less.  They don't make 'em like Sam.  You've got a keeper, there, girl.

Beth must have noticed something I didn't.  Her next words were not for
me.

Beth:  Sam, get off the phone.

Sam:  Baby, I...we...

Deb:  She makes him stammer!  Excellent!

Beth:  Careful, Deb.  You are on his turf.

Deb:  Pooh, too many witnesses.

Beth:  Sam, hon, it's just girltalk.  You don't want to listen to it.
Please, hang up.

Deb:  I think he's about to tie a knot in the handset.  Whoops, now he's
kicked a huge dent in a wastepaper basket.  Temper, temper, Sam, that's
government property.

Cosmo and Bobby had to walk Sam out of the office.

Beth:  You're enjoying that!

Deb:  Yes and no.  I don't like risking my neck, but at least he looks
forward to going to you after he gets done with me.  One of us is getting
what she wants, anyway.

Beth:  Speaking of that, have you and Bill...

Deb:  Hah!  Halfway up here they thought of a better place, dropped me off
in the driveway and blew this popcorn stand.

Beth:  Didn't he ever do anything?

Deb:  The European treatment - roamin' hands and rushin' fingers, that's 
all.  Puppy's stringin' me along.  It's like he's got me on a leash or
something.

Beth:  He'll come across when he's good and ready.  Then you'd better
batten down the hatches, trust me.  But he likes to work that way.  It's 
fair, but he tends to see women the same way he sees beer and indoor
plumbing.  Necessities, nothing more.

Deb:  And you don't get attached to your toilet.

Beth:  No, but you miss it when it's gone.

Deb:  I'll have to take your word for that.

Beth:  But now you're at loose ends?

Deb:  For the moment.  Oh, no...here he comes again.  Wanna talk to him?

Beth:  You know I do.

Deb:  Hang on, then...hey, Cyrano, Roxanne's holdin' for ya.

Sam snatched the phone away from me.

Sam:  I'm not through with you.

Deb:  Beat me.  Whip me.  Call me trash.

Sam gestured impatiently at me.  Had he connected, I'm sure I'd have
hit the wall for a ground rule double.  As it was, Sam turned his back to
me and began to speak quietly into the phone.  I took my chance and
padded out as quietly as I came in.  I spent a couple of nights in the
Skeptic's spare room, knowing Sam would be on a rampage.  When I thought
it was safe to go home, I found my voicemail was full.

MSG 1:  Ma, Doctor Jake signed for my license!  Can I get a car!

MSG 2:  Where the hell are you?

MSG 3:  Mama, I learned to swim!  Doctor Jake taught me!  Can we get a pool?

MSG 4:  For a good time, call Bill at...no, I'll call you, baby.

MSG 5:  Deb, Sam wants you to call him.

MSG 6:  You'd better call me right the hell this minute!!

MSG 7:  Okay, baby, what's up?

MSG 8:  Ma, Doctor Jake let me take his Mustang out!  What about a car?

MSG 9:  Ma, Doctor Jake found us a ferret.  Can we keep it?

MSG10:  Deb, you'd better touch base with Sam.  He's fit to be tied.

MSG11:  Say, girl, the Dawg get you?  Ain't you talkin' to your boy?

MSG12:  Dammit, woman, I mean it!

MSG13:  Will you just call Sam and get him off the rest of us?

MSG14:  Lass, William's getting worried here.  Where are you?

MSG15:  Mama, Doctor Jake got me rollerblades.  Can we build a ramp?

MSG16:  Deb, Sam's about to pop a bolt.

MSG17:  When I see you next, baby, you better clear the decks, cause
this boy's comin' in fast and low.

MSG18:  Mama, can we go to Disney World?

MSG19:  Ma....

MSG20:  Shit, shit, shit!

By this point I thought I had better assume there was a tap on my phone.
Sam would want to know the minute I turned up.  I hadn't been home for half
an hour when the thing started going off like a firebell.  I took to
answering creatively.

Deb:  Gerard's a bumhug!  Hello?

Beth:  What?  Deb, girl, you want to die, don't you?

Deb:  Not particularly, but I thought he might have told his kids to put
a tap on the phone.  Besides, he's down there with you, isn't he?

Beth:  He's in the shower...

Deb:  And you're not?  Opportunity knocks, sister.

Beth:  I thought I'd better try to find you again.  He's about ready to
rupture something.  I'll keep him down here as long as I can, but you're
gonna have to watch your back.

Deb:  Thanks for the warning.  I've already planned on making like a
shepherd and getting the flock out of here.

Beth:  Don't tell me anything.  That way Sam won't get it out of me.  Oops,
here he comes...right, tommorow at eight...see you there...bye.

Deb:  Bite me, Sam!  Hello?

Billy:  I like that, baby.

Deb:  You turd!  Where are you?

Billy:  Close enough to touch, baby.

Deb:  Right.  You're in Texas, aren't you?

Billy:  Get your ass down here.

Deb:  Can't.  No money and Sam's in San Antonio.

Billy:  Hell with the Dawg, baby.  I'll get you the money and you get
yourself down here.  Call the pipsqueak's number once you hit Amarillo, I'll
tell ya where we are.  Get a move on it.

Deb:  Sam's a bunghole!  Hello?

Sam:  WHAT???

Deb:  Oops, wrong number!

It was time to go.  I called Beth's number, waited for the answering
machine to kick in and yelled 'BILLY!'.  Within five minutes, he called
me back.  His voice was oddly restrained and gentle.

Billy:  Whatsa matter, baby?  You okay?

Deb:  I need to leave.  Now.  Sam's probably on the horn right now yelling
at the bambini in six languages to get the hell down here now and bust me.

Billy:  Settle down, baby, it'll be okay.  D'you think that shit car of 
yours'll make it down here?

Deb:  I don't know if I'd trust it.  Besides which, they've probably got
my license plate and Sam'll put out an APB with the CIA and the FBI and
the ATF and the DEA and the INS...

Billy:  You like that alphabet soup shit, don't you.  Here...go to 
Rochester.  I'll have somethin' waitin' at the airport.  You go where it
says.  Hey, what'd you do?

Deb:  I said Sam's a bunghole when I answered the phone and it was him.

Billy:  Damn, woman, you got a death wish?  Git yourself down here.  I got
somethin' for you.

When I got to Rochester, I barely had time to get through the airport
terminal doors before I heard myself being paged to the white courtesy
phone.  I was told to take an Air Wisconsin flight to Milwaukee, a
Northwest flight to Fargo, another Northwest flight to Duluth, a Delta 
flight to Dallas and finally a Southwest Airlines flight to Lubbock.  I'd
heard of throwing off pursuit, but this was ridiculous.  Still, Billy had
saved me again, and now I had a reason to look forward to seeing him.

TO BE CONTINUED...