Porro, Quirites, Libertatum Perdimus
 

FROHIKE:

I thought I might actually have a relaxing night for a change.

The dinner was entertaining and soothing. I came home to find my little boy sound asleep. I figured, what better way to top off such a fine evening than with a call to my favorite phone sex operator?

As I drive the 3.5 miles to the office, I ask myself: Why am I doing this?

I've had one contact with this woman. I don't think I could recognize her in a crowd. I don't even know where the offices for this operation are located. She could be in Los Angeles or Guam or Barbados for all I know.

But I need to find out.

Appeasing my conscience became a full-time job over three decades ago...and it's not getting any easier.

Thank God it looks like everyone's in bed.
 

LANGLY:

God, that was unbelievable.

We get home, and the girls are like, we're tired, we're going to bed, don't bother us.

Oh, like we would! Usually it's the other way around.

We dump Patrick in his bed. He's still sleeping in this alcove off the living room. We got to get that kid a real room.

We should probably let the Commonwealth of Virginia know he's with us, too...on the other hand, we haven't located a birth certificate yet, and the state thinks Scott was dead more than two decades before he really was.

Fuck it. He's ours. And he's gonna stay ours.

So we go in our room, I'm real tired, but Ally's like still in her sarong and her bikini top...

I was a very, very bad boy.

I walk up behind her, like junior-high style, and I pull the back string on her bikini top. She's like Langly, what the hell are you doing, and then she turns around-

And we start devouring each other. I mean, usually making love with us, it's real tender and slow and it's a chance to kind of show the other one how much we love and appreciate them...

This was different. This was like, pure animal lust. She kissed me so hard I thought she bit my lip.

Looking at her there, her bikini top off, I just went nuts, and she must've been thinking the same thing, she starts ripping my clothes off, it was amazing.

We almost lost our glasses in this. We did lose the clothes in record time.

We're like on this attack with one another. I never made love so hard in my life. Yeah, this was the breath-sucking, hip-slamming variety you see in Frohike's videos.

Except a whole lot better. And the girl was prettier.

We were both begging.   Moremoremore. She's like, fuckmenow!

Oh baby. With pleasure.

I came so hard I thought I was gonna pass out. It almost hurt...but wow.

Good thing the kiddies were asleep. My quiet little Ally was just about screaming.

She's not screaming now...think we wore each other out. She's gone to sleep all curled against the left side of my chest, like she always does when we're done.

All I can think is, I had the most incredible birthday ever.

I'm almost down for the count...I think someone just turned the lights on in the office?

Don't know. Don't care. I'm going to sleep.
 

FROHIKE:

I have the place to myself, and I'm happy about that. I don't have to waste time and energy explaining myself.

Not that I would have to anyway, but I know that if Byers or Langly were here, they'd get curious, and I'd feel compelled to tell them something. And if Michael were here, I'd probably feel I had to make up some sort of excuse.

I don't know why. He's of majority. He has adult responsibilities. He's made it abundantly clear that he has adult sexual drives.

I guess in my heart of hearts, he's still my little boy.

Thank God he's old enough to stay home by himself tonight.

Tracking indicates that the offices are located in Baltimore. I laugh at the rich irony of this. Baltimore. My hometown.

The address indicates that if they were taken to the police station, it would be the East Side precinct...I know that place well.

It's where I spent my first night with my two compadres.

I have to believe they haven't upgraded the...guest facilities since we were there 12 years ago.

I don't even know this woman's last name...or if she has given me a real first name. I know that most phone-sex operators have a persona they adopt for work.

Why am I doing this?

Somehow, this woman seemed so genuine...so warm...so real. Not like your typical phone-sex floozy.

Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm on my way to Baltimore.
 

Baltimore's East Side late at night is not a place for the uninitiated. It's a fairly rough neighborhood during daylight hours. At night...

Why am I suddenly ill at ease here? I lived here, for Christ's sake. Hell, we spent years in Southeast DC, which makes this place look positively tame. I don't ever remember being afraid of the locals in either place. Both during our time in Baltimore as well as in DC, we got along with all the local color. Cops, drug dealers, prostitutes, shopkeepers, bartenders...we were equal-opportunity guys all the way. The checkers in the supermarket knew us. The bartenders knew our drinks and who to call when we'd had too much. We cashed checks in the package store on the corner, all the time, and never had to show identification.

I don't feel that same sense of community in the pleasant suburb of Alexandria. Why, I'm not sure. Maybe we're not bound by a common enemy or something there.

Baltimore's East Precinct Station is as dirty and depressing as I remember it. I shudder at the thought of a lady having to spend the night here.

There is no way I will let her. I was her last call, and I feel responsible.

I ask the night clerk if there is a Martha that was brought in. The clerk looks at me skeptically.

"What, you a sugar daddy or something?"

As if I could pass for a sugar daddy. I'm clad in my work uniform-jeans, henley shirt, Doc Martin boots, and my Kings Dominion hat.

Yeah, I really look the part, don't I?

"No, I'm looking for a woman named Martha."

"Last name?"

"No idea."

The expression on the clerk's face is one of pure disgust and mockery. "Uh-huh. Sure. No last name, I can't help you."

I may be short, but I'm a lot older than this punk...and I'm not in the mood for his shit. He's about Michael's age, and if Michael spoke this way to me, I'd smack the daylights out of him.

"Listen. You will go through everyone who was brought in on the bust from 1-900-HOT-BABE. You will find a woman named Martha, or who goes by the name of Martha. At which point you will inform me, I will post her bail, and we will get the fuck out of your life. Clear?"

He sulks, but he must have a father somewhere. I think I hit a nerve.

"Okay, okay, whatever. Gonna take a while though. They're not done processing everybody."

"Fine." I sit down in one of the chairs that make hospital furniture appear positively luxurious. I think these were the same chairs that were here when we were unceremoniously dragged in here one night a dozen years ago.

I wonder if my old buddy Detective Munch is still working here.

Not that I'm particularly eager to see him...but forewarned is forearmed.

What am I doing here?

I can come out in the middle of the night, to post bail for a woman I've never met, who probably does not want to meet me, in one of the crappiest neighborhoods in Baltimore...

Yet I have not contacted my own daughter since she departed.

In a sense, I cannot blame her.

I wouldn't change the course of action I took that night. Priorities are still priorities. I had to be there.

But I need to talk to Leslie...make her understand that she is important to me...that I love her...

As I'm thinking guiltily on my own baby girl, the desk clerk snaps me out of my stupor.

"You! In the horrible hat! Looks like you can get your girl out!"

What does he mean, horrible hat? I love this hat. It reminds me of a wonderful day of child's play.

I go to the bail bondsman and he announces that bail is 25K, which means I need to write a check for $2,500...

"Isn't that a little high for such an...offense?"

"Tell it to the judge," he sniffs. He may share my opinion, but he's got a living to make.

Tonight, I'm guessing he's doing all right.

As I write out the check for $2,500, I silently thank Ms. Russell for taking me on...I'm going to have to keep working for her if I keep spending at this rate.

Maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on Michael for getting a $200 speeding ticket.

After all, there was a lady involved.
 

I'm assuming they're calling my bank to make certain I can cover the check...and finish processing the young lady.

Finally, she appears.

She looks familiar...I'm trying to place her.

Now I know. She was one of Byers's nurses when he was quarantined...

Working as a phone sex operator?

"Mr. Frohike?" The soft voice she uses on the phone is not an affectation. It's the real thing.

"Martha...I can't recall your last name..."

"Small. I...thank you for coming out...why?" She looks both grateful and puzzled.

"I seem to have played a part in getting you into this mess."

She gives her head a firm shake. "No. It was a bust. And I had no idea we were doing anything illegal...these lines have been in existence for years...and the firm I work for is reputable..."

I lock on to her steady brown eyes. Epicanthic folds. She appears to be at least partly Oriental...Japanese?

She is a short, pretty woman, buxom, and she wasn't lying about the breasts.

They're gorgeous.

Dressed in a long summer skirt and a short-sleeved cotton sweater, she looks more like a catechism teacher than a phone sex operator...

"Would you like to go for coffee?" I ask her. She's had a long night, and so have I...I could use some caffeine reinforcements for the trip back to Virginia.

She looks down a bit shyly. "I'd...like that very much."

I notice that her hair is dark reddish brown and she's got freckles...very much like another woman who became the heart of my heart...

Down, Frohike.
 

We wait for the desk clerk, who seems to be annoyed with actually having to do work, to give her back her purse and her eyeglasses.

Same style of glasses Dee used to wear. Oh. My. God.

My favorite diner is not far from the police station, but we drive over there-no way am I leaving my car in the parking lot of Baltimore's finest.

I didn't see any of the cops from the old neighborhood while I was there. Probably either got promoted, quit...or died.

Always an occupational hazard.

The diner is fairly full-the bar crowd is in full swing at this hour-and I recognize a few of the people there. I always recognize people in this diner. I wave to a few, but make no attempt at conversation.

I'm with a lady.

And she is a lady.

"Martha...I'm curious. You have a career in nursing...why are you doing this...job?"

She sighs as she sips her coffee. Yes, the coffee here is terrible; no Starbucks here. But it's strong and they keep it coming. And she doesn't complain.

"It's a long story."

"Do you feel like telling someone?"

She looks uncertain. This is not a woman given over to confidences. I sense she keeps very much to herself.

But I think, since I came to get her, she feels compelled to tell me. And maybe it will take a load off her. She looks severely weighted down by concern.

"I've been a nurse for 20 years," she begins softly. "I've been working with Gizzie for the last five."

"I remember Gizzie."

"Everyone remembers Gizzie. She's a bit unforgettable." She laughs.

"I would think they pay you all right. At least I hope they do." Nurses are universally underpaid and undervalued. And when you're in the hospital, they're the ones that keep you comfortable and cared for...and alive.

I don't know that Byers would be alive today were it not for the ministrations of these two angels in disguise.

"Well..." She looks down at her hands.

I notice her third finger, left hand, carries a gold band. Simple. Unadorned.

But definitely there.

"Martha, whatever you tell me, I'll tell no one. I promise."

She lifts her eyes again. "My husband...is very seriously ill. He has a degenerative nerve disease that nobody can quite define...but he's no longer able to work...and he now requires round the clock nursing care."

"When did this begin?" I ask gently.

She is composed, but the strain is beginning to wear on her pretty features.

"He was a commander in Desert Storm...he was fine when he left. And about a year after he came back...he became ill." She sips more coffee. I notice she takes it black.

Just as Dee did.

"Mr. Frohike-"

"Melvin to you."

"Melvin. I have access to the best medical specialists in the world, working at Georgetown. And I've taken advantage of all my contacts. My husband has had every test known to God and man. They can tell me he's dying. But they can't tell me why."

"You love him very much."

"I do."

"Was this job...to pay for the nursing care?"

"Yes. Mr. Fro-I mean, Melvin...our insurance has run out, and even though I have the skills to care for him, I really need the break, mentally. I take care of people six days a week, ten hours a day, on a normal week. And it's not enough to cover everything. I'm afraid we may lose our house. I needed a second job...one where I could sit down. One where I could...sort of lose myself."

I nod.

"Most people have this image of phone-sex operators as just a bunch of sluts who like to talk on the phone...in fact, most of us are mothers, teachers, nurses, people trying to get by. It's a second job for many of us, and we need it."

She is unbelievably strong. Her composure may be ragged, but it hasn't cracked.

"And most of the people that call us...they're just normal guys who need someone to talk to. Yes, we do the dirty talk...but if you think about it, that's not what we're mainly about. People are lonely out there. Myself included."

Oh, I know that one, honey.

"You say your insurance has run out."

"Yes. We already reached the lifetime maximum. And since nobody knows what's wrong with Daniel...we have no idea how long this could go on." She looks around at nothing in specific. "Daniel...doesn't know I have this job. He thinks I do extra hours at the hospital."

"Sounds like you do."

"I do. But it's not enough."

"What about the VA? They're supposed to take care of all veterans." My health care delivery system is not supposed to turn away a veteran...but who knows?

This creates an expression of scorn on her pretty face, and she just about spits out the words, as though they have a foul taste. "The VA...denies that this is related to his service in our government...in fact, they have refused to look into this in any way...Daniel gives himself in the service of our country, and what do they give him in return? Nothing!"

Pretty much standard operating procedure, I'm afraid.

"I have no idea what I'm going to do...and now I have an arrest record...Melvin, I've never even had a speeding ticket!"

I can believe that. This looks like a woman who's been such a good girl all her life...

She doesn't deserve this.

I think, carefully. We don't speak for a while. And it's fine. This is a woman who can do comfortable silence.

Like Dee.

"I know some people...who may be able to help you."

She shakes her head. "I can't ask complete strangers to do that...you've already done more for me than I ever expected...and I'll pay you back, a little-"

"No." I won't have her do that.

"I have to."

"No, you don't, and you won't." I won't have it. "And these people are not complete strangers. You know them."

"I do?"

"Well, you know Byers."

"John Byers? Our patient?"

"Yes. He is a...wealthy man. And a grateful one. I know if you went to him for assistance, he would be happy to help you." And I know he would. I can say this with confidence.

"I didn't realize he was in that sort of financial position."

"He doesn't wave it around...but his grandfather left him nicely off. And he lives modestly, and continues to work for a living. Thanks to you ladies."

She blushes a little. "We were just doing our job."

"And you did it well. The other person...is a former nurse with ties to the VA. She might know of resources that can assist you. Did you meet Joanna Gilfillan when Byers was ill?"

"I don't recall the name."

"Small blonde woman, fiftyish...she's a good friend." And in spite of her own troubles, Jo will go out of her way to help someone in need. Particularly another nurse. I'm sure of it. "Here's her number." I give her Jo's work number. "And ours. This is the number to our offices...think about it."

She looks flustered, but grateful.

She is SO hot.

If only she weren't married...

Her husband is incapacitated...

No, Frohike. Don't go there.

She is a married woman, whether or not loss of consortium is an issue...and you don't do it with married women.

But you could be a friend.

"And Martha? If you ever need someone to talk to...please call."

She's crying a little now. "Melvin...why did you help me?"

I smile a little. "I can't resist a damsel in distress."

That makes her laugh...and it's a lovely sound.

Oh Christ. Why did she have to be married?
 

I take her to her car, which is still parked at the now-empty offices. The lot is still full. I suspect a number of her cohorts will be sleeping at the Hotel Baltimore East Precinct.

Which has lousy beds and no room service.

At least I was able to do something so that this woman can go home and sleep in her own house...

She looks as if she hasn't slept in years.

"Try to get some rest," I tell her.

"Melvin...thank you."

"It's no bother...go on home, Martha. Call if you need anything."

I wait for her to safely leave the parking lot.

And wish to God she didn't have a husband.

END OF PART 70