Scott Chadwic Summer Associate

This is a prequel to "Hell Hath No Fury Like A Drag Queen's Wife."

Saturday, July 1st

"Are you staying here, Quint?" asked Scott.

"Yeah," replied Quentin Daniels, one of Scott's two roommates. "With you and Tompkins gone, it'll be like a vacation just staying here."

Scott Chadwick, Quentin Daniels, and Melvin Tompkins shared a three-bedroom townhouse owned by Elkington, Townsend, Meier, Castanini, the law firm at which they were summer associates after their first year of law school. After four weeks of intensive research, the Fourth of July weekend was a welcome break. Scott looked forward to this weekend--four whole days not thinking about law, since the Fourth fell on a Tuesday, making coming in on the third futile. Melvin was using the occasion to visit his family, two states away. Being the first in his family to go to law school, he planned on being the family hero at the weekend's family picnic. He had gone straight to the airport from the office.

The law partner to which Scott was assigned, Laura Klijsters, to turned out to be one of the biggest assholes in the firm--Scott did not want to be sexist and call her a bitch--the case they were working on was against them--on the law, on the facts, on the appeal of their clients, on everything. Mrs. Klijsters had no intention of accepting blame for failure. As with many successful women in the professions, rumors abounded about the sexual orientation of Mrs. Klijsters. No one had ever seen Mr. Kllijsters, Laura explaining that the only lawyer he liked was her, and insisted that he had as much right not to be a Stepford husband as she had not to be a Stepford wife.

His fellow summer associate working under Klijsters was Evelyn Van Dyke. Evelyn was very cute, in a pixy kind of way. Only five one, with a page-boy haircut, she had adopted the pantsuit style of their boss within a week after arriving at the firm. Her devotion to Klijsters, to becoming a lawyer, and to their losing case led to envy and jealousy, which led to rumors, not the least helped by her surname. Working sixty-hour weeks with her, Scott got to see many facets of her personality, and realized that Evelyn had a wry sense of humor, was quite insightful about the staff of the firm, and shared his interest in rock climbing and hiking. She had spurned all his suggestions that might be construed as a date, although she all ways took her breaks and most lunches with him, and they went together to the firm's dinner for summer associates. So it was a surprise when she asked to go with him when he mentioned he needed a partner for rock climbing.

Climbing the rock faces of Mt. Tulahoma would give him the physical release he needed.. If he could get laid by Evelyn that would take care of the other source of tension in his life--no nookie all summer. They left the city around seven a.m. Saturday morning. It was a three-hour drive to the mountains. Scott would have preferred to drive, but Evelyn insisted on taking her car. She's pushing this independent woman thing rather hard, Scott thought. The drive was pleasant, the countryside changing from urban downtown to suburban to small town to rolling countryside to mountains. The conversation was light, covering work, colleagues, college, law schools, bosses. Scott noticed that Evelyn changed the subject whenever he asked about her family, and was downright hostile when he called Mrs. Klijsters a bitch. He backed off that assertion quickly, turning the conversation to her experiences as a rock climber.

She was quite experienced, more than him. Being a local, she'd tackled Mt. Tulahoma once, but did not reach the summit. This was a team mountain, and the team should be at least three. But rockers aren't common among law students, and she didn't have the time or inclination to be a rock bum. So Scott was her best opportunity, and she his. He hoped that she meant this in more ways than one.

Mt. Tulahoma was the third highest peak in a range of mountains that was a state park and wildlife recreation area. As they approached the entrance to the park, they noticed as many cars were coming toward them as were approaching the park. They reached the entrance only to have the park ranger, a thirty-something blonde woman who was a poster girl for outdoor living give them the bad news.

"Good morning," she smiled effusively. "Planning on staying long?"

Evelyn spoke before Scott could say anything. "Climbing Mt. Tulahoma. Be here a few days."

The smile faded. Putting on her best gee-I'm-sorry face, the ranger said. "Gee, I'm sorry young lady, but the mountain's closed to climbing.

"Closed?" they both said in unison.

"Yeah," the ranger continued, her voice full of concern. "Two climbers fell yesterday. Real bad. The mountain's closed until we can get all the climbers down. Make sure only experienced climbers are on Tulahoma, Widowmaker, and Tingnatchkoot. You can check with the ranger station inside the park for the other mountains. They're not as dangerous."

As soon as she said it the ranger knew these two would not be staying. They had come for danger. Tingnatchkoot and Widowmaker were the highest and second highest peaks, respectively. Widowmaker was the most difficult, having earned its name a century and a half earlier when it killed the first seven men to try to reach its summit. All the other peaks in the park had hiker's trails leading to their summits, as well as rock faces. Evelyn and Scott didn't want to go where any determined walker could go, even if they chose the more difficult method of reaching the summit. They thanked the ranger and drove into the park.

They by-passed the ranger station and went straight to the resort center. The desk clerk came from the same Stepford family as the ranger.

"Gooood morning," she beamed, nearly singing her greeting.

Again Evelyn spoke first. "Rooms. Two. Van Dyke and Chadwick. Reservations for four days, three nights. We'd like to cancel and get our money back."

The desk clerk was younger than the ranger, about the same age as Evelyn and Scott. Evelyn's rapid fire delivery. She stood there frozen, looking from Evelyn to Scott to Evelyn, her smile fixed. Scott remembered how his father handled these situations. He stepped forward.

"Please excuse us. It's been a long drive. We have reservations for the holidays. Scott Chadwick and Evelyn Van Dyke. Separate but adjoining rooms. Could you look them up, please."

Evelyn was insulted at Scott taking charge, especially reversing the order of their names. The look of disdain and embarrassment he shot her didn't help. When she looked at the desk clerk again and saw the young woman fighting back tears, she realized how rude she had been. Damn! Why do some women respond to every adversity with waterworks? Maybe the same reason she responds with hostility. Maybe she should let Chadwick handle things and see what he does.

The desk clerk had typed their names in the computer. She looked up from the screen, smiling at Scott. "Oh yes, Mr. Chadwick. You and the young lady are in 411 and 413."

Evelyn did not like being referred to as "the young lady." If Chadwick had a name and an honorific title, then so should she. Scott spoke up before she could respond.

"Thank you. But we have a problem. We came to climb Mt. Tulahoma." The desk clerk lost her Stepford smile again. "Now I know it's not your fault, but the ranger at the entrance to the park said no one is allowed on Mt. Tulahoma this weekend."

The desk clerk's programming for this type of problem clicked. "I'm sorry, Mr. Chadwick," she smiled, with just a hint of sorrow. "But that's just for

this

weekend. It really was unfortunate what happened to those climbers. But we do have other mountains and trails and ..."

"I know," he interrupted. "The ranger explained all that. It's just that ..." He looked at Evelyn and smiled, then at the desk clerk. "But we really wanted to climb Mt. Tulahoma. If we can't climb, then we'll just take a refund and go home."

Evelyn would have been angry if she hadn't been so shocked. Chadwick was insinuating that there was a relationship between them, to a complete stranger. The desk clerk thought there was also, but didn't connect the dots of two separate rooms. She also had instructions not to permit cancellations or give refunds, if possible.

"We'd be glad to refund your deposits," she lied, "but there are many things two people can do besides climb mountains."

"Yeah," Scott smoozed, "but we can do

those things

anywhere. Only here can we climb Mt. Tulahoma." He raised his eyebrows in mock exasperation. "And if we can't climb that mountain ..." He shrugged his shoulders.

The desk clerk now began to think, hard. The deposit covered one night. If she could get them to stay one night, no refund. "Where are you two from?"

"Capital City," Evelyn blurted out. She was more than a little peeved that Scott and the desk clerk were treating her as the little woman.

"Wow! That must have been a long drive! You two must be tired." The desk clerk said solicitously.

Scott knew where this was leading, and was about to counter the desk clerk's line when Evelyn interjected, "Yes, it was a long drive. And it's a long drive back, so just give us our money and we'll be on our way."

The desk clerk looked at Evelyn. 'Bitch! I'd like to jump over this counter and smack your face,' she wanted to say. But she said instead, "Certainly, Miss Miss ..." She turned to look at the computer screen.

"Ms." Evelyn said, drawing it out to 'Mizzzzzz.' "Van Dyke." Hard on the 'Dyke.' "We came to climb a mountain. The mountain ain't available. I want my money back. Chadwick here can stay and 'do those many things two people can do' with you ... or anyone else he takes a fancy to."

The desk clerk thought she had upset the female half of a couple. Scott knew he had let things go too far. As the clerk was trying to think what to say to soothe Evelyn's feathers, Scott suggested "Evelyn, let's discuss this outside."

Evelyn turned and strode to the wide porch outside the office. She stood defiantly, arms folded. Scott followed a few seconds later.

She exploded when he reached her. "What was that all about, Chadwick!"

"We're here, Evelyn. Why not make the best of it?" He eased up to her. Slipping his arm around her shoulder, he continued. "Let's just enjoy each other's company."

The desk clerk was glad she had stayed on her side of the counter as she saw Evelyn deliver an elbow to Scott's solar plexis then kick his legs out from under him. Both she and Scott wondered how a five foot one inch pixie could be so strong. Evelyn headed for the door to the front desk. Just as she reached it the desk clerk handed her a form.

"Your refund has been credited to your credit card, Ms. Van Dyke," the desk clerk hurriedly explained. "Just sign here, please."

Evelyn signed. "What about Chadwick's" she asked as the clerk tore off the resort's copy and handed Evelyn the customer half.

"Is Mr. Chadwick leaving also?" the desk clerk asked in false wonder. Evelyn looked at the desk clerk, who quickly typed something into the computer. A few seconds later a second receipt came out of the printer. "If Mr. Chadwick will just sign ..."

Evelyn grabbed the paper signed her own name, tore off the customer receipt and strode for the door. The desk clerk was not sorry to see the back of her. Scott had just regained his feet when Evelyn came out of the door.

"Chadwick," she yelled, handing him the receipt, "I'm going home. You can come with me or find your own way back!" He had to run to catch up with her by the time she got to her car. Only the heavy traffic in and out of the park kept her within the speed limit.

Tulahoma, Widowmaker, and Tingnatchkoot are snow-covered in winter, but by Memorial Day the snows have all melted. In the dead of winter they are not as cold as the inside of Evelyn's car was on that drive home. As Evelyn pulled to the curb in front of Scott's townhouse, Scott noticed another car in his customary spot. So that's why Quentin wanted to stay, Scott smiled. Sly fox. Pretending to be the lonely left-behind when he planned his own sexual weekend. At least some one in this house is getting laid this weekend. Scott wondered if the girl was with Elkington, Townsend, Meier, Castanini. He parted with Evelyn as silently as had been their return home.

Scott turned the key forcefully, pushing open the door to the townhouse. He had expected to see Quentin and his date in the living room or kitchen. After all, it was only 3 p.m. The downstairs was empty. Then he heard the telltale sounds of bedsprings creaking. As he ascended the stairs, he began to hear the unmistakable sounds of people fucking. Heavy breathing, low murmurs. At the top of the stairs he saw that Quentin's door was open. Slight problem. Quint's room was the first one from the stairs, his the last. He'd have to sneak past the room if he didn't want to disturb them. Which he didn't want to do. After all, he is a Chadwick.

He began walking on tiptoes, not thinking that this was unnecessary on the plush carpet in the hallway. As he passed Quentin's doorway, he reflexively looked inside. What he saw caused him to stop and drop his duffel bag. In Quint's bed, flat on his back, was Wilson Woodrow, the only black lawyer at Elkington, Townsend, Meier, Castanini. Six foot, seven, two hundred and eighty pounds, star football player in high school and college, who had turned down a pro offer to go too law school, nearly coal-black, laying there with his legs drawn up to his chest. And between those legs was skinny, one hundred and sixty-five pound, five foot, nine, Quentin Daniels, his forearms resting on Woodrow's massive chest, as he drove a surprisingly large white cock into Wilson's black ass. The contrasts between their sizes and their coloring each would had been remarkable. That they were fucking each other even more so. As Scott stood there, Quentin arched his back and drove into Wilson one final time, a loud moan coming from him as he came.

Wilson cradled Quentin, like a mama bear cuddling her albino runt of a cub. Quint began kissing Wilson's nearly hairless chest as he caught his breath. Shifting to pull out of the massive Black man, he turned his head toward the door just as his cock cleared Wilson's ass.

"Chadwick!" he shouted.

Wilson turned his head sharply to the doorway, his eyes wide and white with fear. Quentin jumped from his arms and rushed to the door, shutting it in Scott's face. But not before Scott noticed that Quentin possessed a dick at least eight inches long and nearly two inches thick. And Wilson's limp cock reached nearly to his waist! Scott stood there, staring at the closed door. Shock, embarrassment, curiosity--all rooted him to the spot. Some how, some sense of decency or of appropriateness or fear of further embarrassment moved him to his own room. He found himself sitting on his bed, dumbfounded, when a fully-dressed Wilson Woodrow appeared at his doorway. Or rather the massive torso of Woodrow appeared, outsizing the door frame. Stooping, Woodrow stuck his head in the doorway.

"Chadwick, we need to see you downstairs. ... Now!"

Scott followed Wilson's hulk down to the living room. Wilson was a superior, an associate not just a summer intern. Wilson was a lead attorney in his specialty--mergers and acquisitions. Wilson had been a team captain from high school on. Wilson was used to being obeyed. And he was big as a house--and as a horse! Quentin was already downstairs, wearing a dress shirt, Dockers without belt, loafers without socks. Wilson went to the fridge and took out a six-pack. Leaning over the breakfast bar seperating the kitchen from the living room, he ripped out three cans, placing two on the counter while he opened and drained the third. Neither Quentin, who was sitting at the breakfast bar, nor Scott, standing sheepishly at the foot of the stairs, took one.

"Have a seat, Chadwick," Wilson commanded, indicating a stool at the bar next to Quentin. Scott moved to the bar and sat. Woodrow looked at him, almost a glare. Scott looked down at the counter. "So," Woodrow continued, "what do you plan on doing?"

"I don't know what you mean," Scott answered.

"Don't play stupid white boy with me, Chadwick!" Wilson bellowed. Scott cringed. First he gets knocked on his ass by a five foot white woman, now he's about to be beaten to a pulp by a six foot seven Black fag. It ain't easy being a white boy!

Wilson took a few seconds to control himself. "You now know about me. You know about Quentin. You gonna tell?"

Scott had not thought that far. He wasn't a homophobe, although he did not know that word existed. Different strokes for different folks, as his parents use to say. He had been hit on a few times himself, being a jock, but a simple 'no' or 'not interested' always ended it. Now he was rooming with one. Quentin hadn't put any moves on him, indeed had been so closeted that Scott would never had guessed he was gay. They all got along, and he had no contact with Woodrow other than seeing him at the firm.

"Why should I tell?" Scott finally said.

A sigh of relief issued from Woodrow. He placed his forearms on the counter, bowing his head between them. Suddenly his massive shoulders began shaking. Slowly Quentin and Scott realized he was crying. Straightening up, he turned a tear-streaked face to Quentin.

"You said we'd be alone. You said we'd have the run of the house." His voice was totally accusatory.

Quentin did not know how to answer. He looked at Scott, his gaze followed by Wilson's. Scott looked at Quentin, then Wilson, then Quentin. For the first time since he entered the living room, Quentin's glaze was more hostile than Wilson's.

"Well!" Quentin asked when no explanation was forthcoming.

Scott mumbled, "Things didn't work out."

"Would you repeat that so that the jurors at the back of the jury box can hear you, Mr. Chadwick," Quentin said. He was interning with litigation, another fact that made his being with Wilson Woodrow unexpected.

"The mountain was shut down."

Quentin and Wilson were incredulous. "The mountain was shut down!" they repeated, in unison. "How do you shut down a mountain, Chadwick?" Quentin sneered.

Scott turned his head and looked at Quentin fully for the first time that day. "A pair of novice climbers got themselves killed Friday and the mountain resort was closed for an investigation."

"Couldn't you just find another mountain?" Wilson asked, sincerely.

For the first time that day Scott brightened. Now he could talk about something of interest to him. "It's not that simple. You want to pick a mountain that'll test you, but not one that'll kill you, like it did those other two climbers. I'm not from this area. I don't know all the mountains. I've heard about Mt. Tulahoma from my friends back home, and it sounded like my mountain. A challenge, but not a coffin-filler."

Wilson understood; Quentin did not. But Wilson's nod of understanding settled the matter. Almost.

"What about Van Dyke?" Quentin asked.

"Van Dyke?" Wilson queried.

"Yeah," Quentin answered, facing Wilson. "Scotty here's been wanting to get inside her pants since day one." Turning back to Scott. "If you couldn't climb a mountain, why didn't you just climb her?"

Wilson's guffaw startled Quentin. He looked at the black man-mountain he had climbed twice since last night, perplexed.

Wilson had to compose himself, wiping his face with some paper towels. The tears of relief were now replaced with tears of laughter. "You got the hots for Van Dyke, Chadwick?"

Scott now looked sheepish. He didn't want to tell what had happened, how she knocked himm on his ass.

Wilson continued, "Why do you think she's named Van Dyke."

Scott was pained by this comment. "Not you too, Mr. Woodrow." It would not occur to him until weeks later that it was unseemly for a closeted gay male to be making snide references about the sexuality of a supposedly gay female.