Part 1, Episode 24: Are You In Or Out?

The balance of the day at Ferret Fest flew by for Conrad. He again felt himself flashing back to his younger days, but instead of picturing himself as an awkward goof he remembered the few, precious times when he had met someone new and began the blissful period of infatuation. He knew they did not last long, but they were enough to make a lasting impression, all the way back to when he hooked his first girl friend as a 16-year old. Few things in his life had ever felt better than that.

As Conrad and Kate walked by the area set up for youngsters, he thought back to one event that had topped everything, the birth of his daughter Connie. He saw a little girl that somewhat resembled Connie being led around on the pony ride and unconsciously stopped and stared at her. After a few moments, Kate asked, “Conrad, are you alright?”

Hearing her voice snapped him back to the present. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Kate. I was just thinking about my daughter?”

“I didn’t realize you had a daughter,” Kate said.

“Yeah, she’s a beautiful little four-year old girl,” Conrad said wistfully. “She lives out in San Diego with her mother.”

“I guess you don’t get to see her very often, do you?” Kate asked.

“No, but I didn’t see her too much when her mother and I were together,” Conrad replied. “I was too caught up in my work.”

They stood together near the pony ride for a moment, then Kate asked, “Would you like to sit for a bit? I could use something to drink.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Conrad said. “I wouldn’t mind another cup of lemonade. What are you drinking?”

“Lemonade would be fine,” Kate replied.

Conrad walked Kate over to a picnic table and then went to fetch drinks. He rejoined her shortly carrying two large lemonades. Kate thanked him, and they both became preoccupied with their drinks waiting for the other to take the next step. After a few moments, Conrad told himself he was too old to get tripped up in these adolescent moments and took the initiative.

“I hope I’m not too forward in saying this,” he told Kate, “but for someone who is known as Satan’s Mistress, you are a lovely lady.”

He thought he saw Kate’s cheeks redden after he said that and wondered if he had, indeed, been too forward.

“Thank you, Conrad,” Kate replied. “That’s a very nice thing to say, at least the second part was.”

“I’m sorry if you hadn’t heard the first part before,” Conrad offered.

“Heard it,” Kate chuckled. “Hell, I started it.”

Conrad felt his eyebrows arch and had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Kate, sensing that, sported a sly grin as she continued.

“You know,” she said, “that person, that evil bitch I am at work is just a role I play. It’s critical that I’m an effective gatekeeper for Mr. Farnsworth, and having people being scared to death of me really helps.”

“I’m sure it does,” Conrad said. “But isn’t that hard? Don’t you miss having friends at work, you know, someone who you can talk to and confide in?”

“I hear what you’re saying,” Kate said, “but I don’t believe in having friends at work. As a rule, it’s a bad idea. You don’t really know anyone when you just see them from 9-5. Particularly in my position, there are a lot of people that have agendas opposite to mine. You know, I’m supposed to give Mr. Farnsworth space and time to work, but there are those who want nothing more than to grab a chunk of that for themselves. It’s a naturally adversarial position, and I want everyone to know I’m a tough adversary.”

“So how do you spend your time away from work?” Conrad asked, genuinely interested.

“I don’t do much exciting,” Kate said. “I go to church, I do some volunteer work for a women’s shelter here in Midville, I read a lot, and watch old movies.”

“You don’t have a lot of cats, do you?” Conrad asked with a grin.

“Nooo, I’m not a crazy cat lady spinster yet,” Kate replied. “I’m saving something for my old age.”

“That sounds awfully lonely,” Conrad said.

“It can be,” Kate agreed, “but at least I don’t have the scars of bad relationships. I don’t have anyone to answer to but myself.”

“Simple doesn’t always mean good,” Conrad offered.

Kate looked down at the table for a few moments, then said softly, “I know.”
They quietly finished their lemonades and resumed their carefree tour of Ferret Fest. As dusk arrived and the festivities came to an end, Conrad and Kate parted ways with more questions than answers about each other and the nature of their relationship.


The next day back at the office, Conrad was distracted, and Gretchen picked up on that fact.

“Hey boss,” she said shortly before noon, “do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Conrad asked.

“What’s on your mind,” Gretchen said. “And don’t tell me it’s hiring a new football coach because it’s too early to start sweating that.”

“Well, Ms. Applebuns,” Conrad grinned, “you get an A for perceptiveness today.”

“Let me see if I can get the extra credit answer,” Gretchen said. “Would you have a certain executive assistant for a certain school president on your mind?”

Conrad gave her a bemused look and said, “A gold star for Ms. Applebuns today! Is that all around campus now?”

“No, no,” Gretchen assured him. “I just have my sources.”

“Have you thought about joining the CIA?” Conrad asked. “They need some help you know.”

“No thanks,” Gretchen said, “I’m sure the CIA is not nearly as entertaining as life with the Fighting Ferrets.”

“You’re probably right there,” Conrad agreed. “So what do you think?”

Gretchen looked down at the floor for a moment. Oddly, Conrad thought, she was not projecting any animal noises.

Finally, Gretchen said, “I think you’re all grown up and can spend time with whoever you want.”

“I appreciate that,” Conrad said, “but you know that’s not what I was looking for. Come on now, don’t be shy. You’ve got something to say, don’t you?”

Gretchen nodded, still looking at the floor. She eventually made eye contact with Conrad and said, “I know OF Kate but I don’t actually KNOW her. From what I’ve seen and heard, you can’t just stick one toe in the water and check the temperature. With her, if you’re in, you’re in all the way. I don’t think she understands or acknowledges the concept of casual dating.”

Conrad wasn’t surprised by this view since it was one possibility he had considered. “That’s good to know,” he said. “Thanks a lot Gretchen. I really appreciate your insight.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Now let me ask you a question.”

“Fair enough,” Conrad said. “What would you like to know?”

“Well,” she hesitated for a moment and then proceeded, “are you going in?”

“You certainly worked through that shyness,” Conrad said. He stroked his goatee in a studious manner as he considered Gretchen’s question. “Not quite yet,” he finally answered. “I’ve got to get myself on more solid footing here, and I think any significant lifestyle changes would only distract me.”

“That sounds like a very wise approach,” Gretchen said, “just what I would expect from you. I noticed, though, that you didn’t say no.”

“That’s correct,” Conrad confirmed.


Conrad returned to his suite that evening for a disgustingly healthy dinner consisting of grilled chicken, carrots, and green beans washed down with spring water. He kept telling himself he would eventually adjust to his new healthy lifestyle, but it had not happened yet. In his mind he knew how silly it was to so desperately want to run down to Galaxy Burger and order a Star Burger combo (no cheese, only ketchup, of course), but he could not deny the constant yearning he had for the blissful combination of red meat, potatoes, and grease. Ummm, grease.

While he waited for Freddie to get home, Conrad looked around for something to occupy his time. He actually had plenty of work he could do, but he needed something to distract him and burn off this fast-food craving. He wondered, not for the first time recently, if there was a patch for recovering Galaxy Burger-holics. If not, he was convinced there should be.

As Conrad scanned the suite, his eyes locked onto the giant wheel. Freddie had on more than one occasion offered him the opportunity to take a spin in it, so it’s not like he would be violating Freddie’s space or anything like that. He decided this was the time to go for it. How difficult could it be?

Of course, that thought was the proverbial kiss of death. Conrad positioned himself delicately at the bottom of the wheel, trying to balance himself. He felt like he was a piece of fabric softener getting ready to be tossed around a spinning dryer, but he also took it as a challenge. If Freddie could navigate this contraption so easily, then by God so could he.

Conrad took a step forward with his right foot, then his left. As the wheel started moving, he lurched forward, holding onto the wheel while he tried to get his feet back under him. He thought if he tried to run faster inside the wheel, his feet would move ahead of the spin of the wheel and he could get himself upright. He was sadly mistaken.

As Conrad exerted more pressure with his feet, his right foot got caught between two of the bars on the wheel. Before he knew what happened, he had succeeded in stopping the motion of the wheel, but his foot was still caught in the spoke that was now at the top. He was hanging straight down, his hands still gripping a spoke now directly below his head.

Conrad felt his face redden with warmth as blood was flowing to it and wondered how he would get out of this mess. At this point, Junior popped through the trap door to Freddie’s room and scampered over to Conrad. Junior surveyed the situation for a moment, then proceeded to nibble on Conrad’s nose again.
Looking at Freddie’s adopted son, Conrad told him, “You know, Lassie would go for help.”

Fortunately, Freddie himself came through the door moments later and quickly rescued Conrad.

“You okay, buddy?” Freddie asked as he freed Conrad’s foot and helped him out of the wheel.

“I’m a little dizzy,” Conrad said, moving unsteadily toward his recliner while Freddie held his right arm, “but I’ll be okay.”

“Do you look for ways to get yourself in trouble?” Freddie said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Don’t have to,” Conrad said as he plopped into the chair. “It finds me with no problem at all.”

“Well, rest up pal because we’ve got a big day tomorrow,” Freddie bubbled.
“We do?” Conrad asked.

“You betcha,” Freddie replied. “First, I’m filming a commercial for the new Freddie Ferret energy drink, then we’ve got to go to Happy Trails to see Ferret Face run.”

“Whoa, back the truck up a minute,” Conrad protested. “Freddie Ferret energy drink?”

“Yeah, isn’t it great?” Freddie asked, the excitement clear in his voice and body language. “Two guys who graduated from Farnsworth came up with a new drink that’s supposed to be better than Gatorade or Powerade. They asked Mr. Farnsworth if they could name it after me and use me for the commercials. He said it was fine with him and then asked me. I said hell yes! Look out Michael Jordan, I’m starting my own product line!”

“Wow, Freddie,” Conrad said, his face beginning to regain it’s normal color, “you never cease to amaze me. What’s the drink taste like?”

“I haven’t actually tried it yet,” Freddie said. “The guys told me it’s thicker than Gatorade, more like a smoothie.”

“Smoothies are good,” Conrad asked. “Where’s the shoot?”

“It’s here at the Forum,” Freddie said. “They’ve got some students coming in to be extras, like fans in the stands. I’m going to do some of my routines, then the announcer will say, ‘This is Freddie Ferret, mascot and spirit leader at Farnsworth University. Freddie, where do you get all of that energy from?’ I’ll stop, take a swig of the drink, and say, ‘From Freddie Ferret Energy Drink.’ Then the announcer will talk about what makes it so good while I go back into my routine.”

“Not exactly Oscar material, there,” Conrad quipped.

“No, but Michael Jordan sells millions of dollars worth of stuff without being able to act his way out of a jock strap,” Freddie countered.

“Point taken,” Conrad said, knowing a good comeback when he heard one. “I’ll try and drop by.”

“Please do,” Freddie said. “I really want you to be there.”

“I’ll make sure I am,” Conrad assured him. “What time does Ferret Face run at Happy Trails?”

“Post time is 7:00, and he’s in the third race, so probably somewhere around 7:45,” Freddie said.

“It’s a good time to be the Ferret,” Conrad said.

“Damn straight,” Freddie agreed.


At about 3:30 the next afternoon, Conrad kept his promise to Freddie and entered the basketball arena in Farnsworth Forum to watch the filming of the “Freddie Ferret Energy Drink” commercial. The crew had been working for a while, and they were finishing their sixth take when Conrad arrived. Freddie saw him during the next break and bounced over to his friend.

“Hey buddy, glad you could make it,” he said to Conrad.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Conrad said. “How’s it going?”

“Okay, I guess,” Freddie said. “They’re shooting different angles, getting me to mix up some of my moves. The producer says dance, I dance. He tells the crowd to yell, they yell.”

At this point, Conrad looked up and saw several hundred youngsters in the stands, the majority of them likely being Farnsworth students who had responded to ads posted in the student union.

“The camera loves you, Freddie,” Conrad told him.

“And I love the camera,” he replied. “This is great! Hey, I’d better get back. It looks like they’re just about set for the next shot.”

“Yeah, man, go for it,” Conrad said. He stepped back toward one end of the arena and marveled at how much fun Freddie was having. He really was a natural and he fed off the energy of the crowd as the producer began to whip them into a state of frenzy for the next take. Conrad caught himself smiling and shaking his head in amazement as his furry friend performed.

During the next break, Conrad walked up to one of the crew members and asked, “You guys got any extras of this stuff? I’d like to see what it tastes like.”
“Sure buddy,” he said. “We’ve got some over in the cooler over there. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Conrad said, and he made his way toward the cooler. He noticed several flavors: strawberry, raspberry, and banana seemed the most common. Since strawberry was always a favorite of Conrad’s he grabbed one of the plastic bottles and twisted it open. It had a nice strawberry smell to it, and he proceeded to chug down a couple of swallows of the drink.

He then looked around frantically for somewhere to spit.

Conrad had never tasted anything quite like “Freddie Ferret Energy Drink” before, and hoped he never would again. The closest thing he could compare it to was like drinking wet cement. He was convinced that if he drank the whole twelve-ounce bottle he would surely poop out a brick, although probably not in the near future. “My God, that was vile!” Conrad thought. He then slipped out the nearest door and made his way toward the student union in search of something less disgusting he could drink to wash that awful taste out of his mouth. Liquid cleanser would probably be more pleasant, he thought.

Conrad struggled for the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out what to say to Freddie about that horrible product. Freddie was very excited to have something named after him, and Conrad didn’t know how to break it to his friend that he would have to be at gunpoint to even consider drinking it again. He then came up with a rationalization: There were plenty of food and drink items he didn’t like that were very popular: sushi quickly came to mind, as did most items served at Chinese or Mexican restaurants. Therefore, the fact that he detested “Freddie Ferret Energy Drink” didn’t mean it was bad, it just wasn’t for him. Yeah, that’s it, he thought.

Freddie arrived back at their suite at 6:00, tired but still excited. He waved at Conrad, who was watching SportsCenter, and headed into his room to take a shower. Twenty minutes later, a refreshed Freddie Ferret emerged, ready for the trip to Happy Trails Race Track to see his namesake horse race for the first time.

Conrad listened intently to Freddie’s recounting of the day’s activities, enjoying the enthusiasm Freddie clearly displayed about the process. As he was wrapping up, Freddie asked Conrad, ‘By the way, did you taste any of the drink?” Conrad had been dreading this moment all afternoon. He gave Freddie a clipped “yep” reply.

“Tasted like crap, didn’t it?” Freddie said.

“Like liquid cement,” Conrad replied without thinking, then felt his blood run cold at the flip way he had responded.

“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate,” Freddie agreed. “I told the guys they needed to take my name off it. If they can sell this rotgut, more power to them, but it’ll have to be without any help from me.”

“What about the commercial?” Conrad asked with amazement. “I thought you were so excited about it.”

“Oh I was,” Freddie concurred. “It was a great experience, and I hope I get another opportunity to do one. That being said, however, I’m not going to compromise either my integrity or the school’s by advertising a drink that would probably be better used for spackle than a replacement for Gatorade.”

“Are they going to let you out of the contract?” Conrad asked.

“Oh yeah, it’s no problem,” Freddie said. “I had a clause inserted that gave me the right to pull myself and my name out of the process at any time if I did not like the product.”

“You’re a slick little ferret, my friend,” Conrad marvelled.

“Well, when you’ve been in college for over seven years like I have,” Freddie said, “you get the chance to study a lot of subjects. I took some classes in business and contract law a couple of years ago, just in case.”

“Maybe I’ll get you to negotiate my contract with the Old Man if he decides to keep me,” Conrad said.

“My services are at your disposal,” Freddie said.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Conrad said.

Freddie raised his index finger and pointed out, “Only the cute ones.”

Part 1, Episode 23: Days of the Unexpected

Conrad felt the vibration of his cell phone ringing and instinctively knew it was bad news. It was his version of the “batphone.” No one ever called Batman on the batphone to tell him he had won an award, it was always a plea for help because the Joker or Riddler was creating havoc somewhere. Similarly, a call on his cell phone usually meant Conrad had to deal with some joker or other manifestation of chaos or just plain stupidity. This time proved to be no exception.

“Hello,” Conrad answered, the dread discernable in his voice.

“Sir, it’s me John Smith,” the panicy voice at the other end of the line said.

“What’s up John,” Conrad said, “and what’s that racket in the background?”

“I’m at the pool, sir,” John began, “and we’ve got a problem.”

“What else is new,” Conrad said as he felt his shoulders slump.

“Well, like you anticipated, we’ve got some media folks here for the water polo game,” John said.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Conrad persisted.

“Coach Fishwell stepped out of the locker room and saw the writers waiting for him,” John continued. “He ran back into the locker room and locked himself in the coach’s office. He won’t come out and the game is getting ready to start! What should I do?”

Conrad shook his head in disgust as he quickly decided on a course of action. “Tell the writers I’ll be down there in a few minutes with a statement,” he told John. “Just keep them out of the locker room until I can drag Biff out of there.”
“Yes sir!” John replied. “Ten-four!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Conrad said as he pushed the end button on his cell phone. He walked out to Gretchen’s desk and told her, “I’ve got some damage control to do down at the pool. After that, I think I’ll take my afternoon walk. Don’t wait up.”

“Good luck, Conrad. Hee-haw! Hee-haw!” Gretchen said.

How appropriate, Conrad thought as he hustled down to the pool, which was located on the opposite side of Farnsworth Forum from the athletic offices.
As promised, Conrad arrived at the pool within a few minutes of talking to John Smith. The writers were huddled near the door to the locker room waiting for any interesting development. Conrad approached the door and quickly addressed them. “Folks, I need to have a little chat with our coach. I will instruct him not to speak to the media until the conclusion of the season. Once I extract him from the locker room, I’ll make a brief statement.”

Conrad heard several questions being shouted at him by the gaggle of writers despite his preemptive strike, but he ignored them for the moment. He quickly walked to the coach’s office door and shouted at Biff Fishwell, “Biff, this is Conrad. Get your ass out of there now and come coach your team!”

“I can’t do it, Conrad,” Biff said. “I can’t face the media. I can’t face anyone.”

Conrad took a deep breath, then plowed forward. “Look, I told the writers you were off limits until the season was over. You don’t have to talk to them, Biff.”

There was silence for a moment, then in a voice more appropriate for a scolded eight-year old boy, Biff softly asked, “Really? I don’t have to talk to them?”

“That’s what I said,” Conrad continued. “I already told them that. All you have to do is pull yourself together and go out and coach your team. Dammit, you owe that to those kids.”

The room was again silent for a moment, then Conrad saw the door to the office slowly open. “You’re right, of course,” Biff told him. “Tell them I’ll be right out.”
“I’ll think I’ll walk out with you, if you don’t mind,” Conrad replied.

“Okay, let’s go,” Biff said, and followed Conrad out into the hallway.

Again, the reporters shouted questions, but Conrad ran interference until they reached the entrance to the pool. At that point, Conrad stopped and spread out his arms. “Hold on a minute, folks,” Conrad began. “While coach Fishwell is getting his team ready for the game, let me say a couple of things.”

Conrad paused to make sure he had everyone’s attention. He would be addressing writers from the Washington Post, Baltimore Sun, Annapolis Capital, the Hagerstown Herald-Mail, and numerous other local newspapers, all because of that single paragraph in Sports Illustrated.

“First,” Conrad began, “let me say we are proud of our student-athletes for hanging in the way they have. Obviously, our water polo team has not been nearly as successful as any of us here at Farnsworth had hoped, but that lack of success has not diminished the work ethic of the players. They have worked very hard and I think they will all learn something from this experience.”

When Conrad paused to draw a breath, one of the writers he did not know shouted out, “So how much of an embarrassment has this team been to the school, since they haven’t even scored a goal this season?”

Conrad, angered by the question, snapped, “See, that’s why I’m not going to answer any questions here. I just told you we were proud of the way the players have handled this. Now how do you get embarrassment out of that?”

Conrad glared at the writers, who took the hint and did not ask any more questions. “As of this moment, anyone associated with the Farnsworth Water Polo team is off-limits to the media until the season is over. We don’t want this turning into a circus and let the media have their fun at our students’ expense. Any requests for access after the season will need to be directed to me and expect any interviews to be chaperoned. That’s all for now.”

Conrad then turned his back on the writers and walked out to the pool. He stood behind one end to see that Fishwell had indeed gathered himself enough to organize his team and get them ready, at least on some level, to face Little Falls College. He watched the first few minutes of the game and saw the Ferrets fall behind 2-0. Convinced a miraculous victory was unlikely today, he found John Smith. “John, keep an eye on the game and call me if there is any more trouble or, God forbid, we score a goal,” Conrad said. “Make sure the media people don’t try to ambush Fishwell after the game. Everyone is strictly off limits.”

“Yes sir,” John replied.

“Oh, by the way, that means you too,” Conrad added. “If anyone starts firing questions at you, tell them I said you’re also off limits.”

“Ten-four,” John replied.

Conrad turned back toward John and said, “John, that’s unnecessary on the phone and just plain dumb in person, okay?”

“Yes sir,” John replied as he stared sheepishly at his shoes.

Conrad walked out of the Forum and headed toward the field where the Ferrets’ field hockey team was facing Little Athletic Conference rival St. Mary’s. The Ferrets still had a chance of tying for first in the regular season standings if they won the rest of their games. The way they had been playing, that goal seemed well within reach.

He walked at a fairly brisk pace as he had been trying to do the last few days. One thing Conrad’s doctor had recommended to help lower his dangerously high cholesterol was more exercise, and brisk walking helped fill that prescription. It was a brisk fall day, but he was comfortable in his lined Farnsworth windbreaker. As he approached the field, he saw the scoreboard, which showed the Ferrets leading 2-0 late in the first half.

Then Conrad saw Coach Cage on the sidelines and did a double-take. Why didn’t he have a jacket on in this weather, he wondered? An even better question was why didn’t he have a shirt on? From his movements, Conrad could tell that Cage was cold, so why wasn’t he wearing a full compliment in clothes? Well, at least he was winning, so Conrad told himself he wouldn’t get worked up over a wardrobe malfunction, but he was still curious.

Conrad stayed around to watch the rest of the game, which the Ferrets won by a convincing 4-1 score, then made a dash for Coach Cage when the game was over.

Catching up with the coach just before they reached the Ferrets locker room, Conrad said, “Nice game coach. Your girls are on quite a roll.”

“Thanks Conrad,” he replied. “We’ve won twelve in a row and still have a chance of getting top seed in the conference tournament.”

“That’s outstanding,” Conrad added. “It’s nice to have a winner on campus. There’s one thing I have to ask, though. What’s up with the outfit, or lack of such?”

Coach Cage looked at Conrad very sheepishly and finally said, “I’m sending a message to the team. If I can take the cold, they can be tough on the field without whacking the other players with sticks.”

Conrad looked at Cage suspiciously, then shrugged and said, “Okay, whatever works. Just keep it decent.”

Cage laughed awkwardly and said, “Sure will, Conrad. Thanks for the good words.”

Conrad began his walk back to the office, wondering if he would ever figure out the strange crew at Farnsworth.

Conrad and Troy Flemstone suffered through another dismal football game on Saturday, a 38-6 beating, but didn’t let it get them down because they had something to look forward to the next day—Ferret Fest. During the second half of the most recent weekly drubbing, more of their on-air conversation was focused on the festival than the game.

Ferret Fest was an annual festival on the Farnsworth campus where the students and community came together for food, fun, and festivities. The first Ferret Fest was held eleven years ago, only weeks after Farnsworth University first opened its doors. Mr. Farnsworth wanted to have an event to invite the Midville community to check out and hopefully embrace the university. He spared no expense, and it was an immediate hit. It had grown bigger every year and now commanded two year-round employees to coordinate.

Freddie had actually stayed in Saturday night, resting up for his biggest day of the year. No one was more popular or busier during Ferret Fest than the Ferret himself. Freddie had looked forward to this since the beginning of the semester, not unlike a young child anticipating Christmas morning.

Conrad had arranged to pick Troy up and bring him to the festivities. When they arrived back on campus, it was as if the school had been transformed into a combination carnival/arts & crafts/concert venue. Everywhere Conrad and Troy turned, they saw booths with vendors, stages with acts playing music ranging from rap to jazz to country, or games and refreshment stands set up by various fund-raising organizations from both on and off campus.

They stood for a few moments and took it all in, then Troy said, “Wow, thith it really thomething! I’ve never theen anything like thith!”

“It is pretty incredible,” Conrad agreed. “It’s obvious the athletic department didn’t have much to do with this, or else something would be collapsing, exploding, or on fire.”

“Boy, thath pretty harth,” Troy replied.

“Just think about all of the chaos around here the last few weeks,” Conrad said.

“I know,” Troy said, “I didn’t thay it wathn’t accurate.”

After walking around for a while, they stopped at a refreshment booth run by the Farnsworth Catholic Student Union. Troy bought two slices of pepperoni pizza, an order of Ferret Fries, and a Coke. Conrad, refusing to yield to the temptation to violate his diet, ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and a cup of lemonade. As they walked over toward a group of picnic benches, Troy nudged Conrad.

“Hey buddy, you’ve got thomeone checking you out,” Troy said.

“Oh really,” Conrad said, his interest piqued. He turned toward the direction Troy was looking and made eye contact with a familiar face—Kate. Conrad smiled and waved to her, and Kate smiled and waved back.

“Look, I’m going to walk around for a while and enjoy the thighth,” Troy told Conrad.

“Hey, I’m not going to ditch you,” Conrad protested, “I’m the one who suggested we hooked up today.”

“Don’t take thith the wrong way,” Troy replied, “but if you would rather be with me than an attractive lady who’th giving you the eye, well, I’m not comfortable with that.”

A grin spread across Conrad’s face. “You’re a good man, Troy,” he said, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Or not,” Troy said. “I’ll cath a ride with thomeone elth, don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Conrad said. “Enjoy yourself.”

“You too,” Troy said with a sly grin.

As Troy headed off, Conrad walked over toward Kate. He had recognized her face, but the rest of her looked like a completely different woman. As Mr. Farnsworth’s secretary, she always had a harsh look about her, nearly devoid of any trace of feminism. Her hair was tied back behind her head and her features were sharp and bare with little or no makeup. Conrad had assumed that represented who she was. As he gazed at her now, trying hard not to stare, he wondered if that was all an act, a costume she put on every day in order to play a convincing role.

The woman Conrad saw now bore almost no resemblance to the shrew he saw during the week. Her red hair was unbound and flowed over her shoulders with a fullness most models would envy. She looked like one of those women in a shampoo or hair coloring commercial. Kate had applied a judicious amount of makeup, just enough to soften her features and accentuate her piercing green eyes and soft skin, which was lightly sprinkled with freckles. Instead of her weekday outfit of a plain blouse and equally plain slacks, she wore a form-fitting sweater that announced her firm, round breasts and curvy figure. The tight jeans and high-healed sandals that completed her outfit led Conrad to an inescapable conclusion—Kate Sargent was a babe!

Kate had remained in the same spot where she caught Conrad’s eye and waited for him to approach. When he reached her, Conrad said, “So Ms. Sargent, I have discovered your secret identity.”

Kate chuckled, and Conrad thought that wasn’t a bad opening line. “Are you here with anyone?” he asked.

“No,” she replied softly with an underlying tone of sadness. “I hope I didn’t chase Troy off.”

“No, we’re not dating,” Conrad quipped, “we’re just friends. It’s amazing how quickly you can get close to someone after a building collapses on both of you.”
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt more seriously,” Kate said. “It looks like Troy is on the mend.”

“Yeah, it was a nasty fracture,” Conrad said, “but it appears he’s a quick healer.” A moment of awkward silence followed. Conrad flashed back to his high school days when he would struggle to approach a girl at a school dance. He shook off that image and moved forward.

“Since I’m new here, I could use a tour guide,” Conrad coyly told Kate. “Are you available?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she replied with a glowing smile.