THE STUDENT COUNCIL

Hours after Friday night’s game, most of Oil City continued to celebrate a 4-0 start to the football season. Grant Westin sat alone in his office, deep in thought. Emily had just taken him on a joyride down memory lane – at least for several hours. Out of nowhere, she had reappeared as her former self. Actually, she was an even livelier, funnier, more attentive version of his wife than the one he remembered. After the meeting with Ed Barner’s lawyer confirmed acquisition of the bond, she’d apologized for having doubted him, praised him for saving the company.

At the dinner table, after Ames announced she wouldn’t be going to the game, his wife had whispered to him. “Just the two of us! Date night!”

She held his hand in the bleachers for the first time in years. While he broadcasted the game to Sadie on his phone, Emily did the same for their younger daughter. They had laughed while trying to outdo one another with their play-by-play. By the end of the first half, he was ready to take his wife on the vacation that Amy suggested.

And then came the explanation for Emily’s behavior. A man seated behind them was talking to a lady. “Did you hear about Noble Toyota? Old Denny hired an actor to sell his cars. That Crocodile Dundee guy isn’t even Australian!”

“He’s very good though,” she said. “I love those commercials.”

“He’s very gone,” a man behind them interrupted. “People were pissed when they found out. He left town right away.”

Another spectator exclaimed, “That’s a good one! They expected a car salesman to be honest?”

“I wonder who Denny will hire next,” another offered. “Maybe a Michael Jordan look-alike. Be like Mike! Drive a friggin’ Corolla!”

Grant had glanced at Emily to check her reaction. She was looking the other way, perhaps being a pretender herself. Pretending not to hear. Pretending not to care. Did she now view her husband of twenty-three years as a consolation prize? Is that why she was reprising her former role as the perfect companion? He’d felt an urge to stand up and leave.

But he didn’t. His anger was tempered by other emotions. Relief. Gratitude. Could her apparent indifference to the car salesman’s departure be real? Maybe she hadn’t cared about the man after all. That was something he needed to ponder.

And then there was the business itself. How could he manage a project like the new school construction without her? Why would he even want to try? His wife was indispensable. She always had been.

Grant heard the trailer door open, followed by footsteps. He had nearly called to cancel the get-together, which had been agreed to yesterday. Why did he feel guilt all the sudden?

Trisha Berman entered his office, wearing a red Spandex outfit that made her breasts look like candied apples. “Sorry I’m so late. We did over nineteen thousand in Samaritan sales at the game! Took a while to get everything tallied up.”

“That’s nice.”

“Nice? That’s all you can say? They’re raising the money for you! The council added money to the mall lease all on their own. They probably did it because Amy’s their friend. They must love her.”

“Please excuse me. I must have been distracted by someone I’m staring at.”

The beauty kicked off her shoes and peeled the Spandex from her body like a candy wrapper. “Give me two minutes to shower. I ran all the way over here.”

Outside of a desk and filing cabinets, Grant’s only office furnishing was an old leather couch. Normally the two didn’t linger after sex, but tonight they were in no rush to leave. They rested beneath a single soft blanket.

“You called me Em,” Trisha whispered. “Twice.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“It’s not a habit at all. You never did that before.”

“I’m sorry. By the way, I mentioned Amy’s early graduation to her. Sorry for that too.”

Trisha sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “What? I told you that was a secret!”

“You did. It popped out in conversation.”

“Oh, no! What did she say?”

“She asked if I heard it from the superintendent. See? She must have told others. No big deal.”

“So what did you say?”

“I told her the truth, of course. Her English teacher whispered it to me while we were making love.”

Trisha slapped his shoulder. “How’s Amy doing? Her friends said she fell and hurt herself.”

Grant cursed himself for joking around while his daughter suffered. “She might need some dental work. Breaks my heart.”

“Can I go to the house and visit? I know that would cheer her up.”

“Please, I’ve told you over and over. No more trips to my house. No more getting chummy with my daughter. Look what just happened with the early graduation thing. Your intentions are fine, but might cause problems.”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll keep my distance. She really needs a female friend, though.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Her mother has it covered. They’re thick as thieves, those two.” Now he had to wonder. Had Amy brought up the whole vacation idea at Emily’s request?

Saturdays seemed to roll around quickly. After her best night’s sleep in forever, Amy was ready for her weekly spin on the lawnmower. She wouldn’t need music to entertain her, no earphones today. Pleasant thoughts would do the trick. Her mother was back!

Last night, Emily had come home for dinner as a new person. She was so vibrant that Amy felt embarrassed to serve a meager meal of spaghetti and salad. At least there had been merlot to pour. All evidence pointed to a painless ending to the Roger Cooper affair; Amy wished she could ask for details. The transformation was apparent to her father as well. The more he talked, the more his wife laughed. Like a comic in front of a receptive crowd, he kept the stories coming.

The real story began when the meal ended. Her parents went to the game together. Just the two of them! Emily said she would broadcast every play for Amy, just like Grant did for Sadie. Except better.

Her mother certainly made the contest entertaining. She awarded Paul a pie for every exceptional play he made. “He grabbed Number Twenty-four by the back of his pants and tossed him to the ground like a doll. That’s a pie. Paul chased that quarterback right out of bounds for a big loss. Another pie.” The Barn Door had a thirty pie night. Meadville played tough defense, but scored only once on a kick return. Even then, Paul earned a pie by blocking the extra-point attempt. The final score was 19-6. Oil City was officially ecstatic.

Her mother had come home alone. She showed up in Amy’s room with a bottle of wine, a great sign in her case. Emily drank only when she was happy. “Dad went to the office to work,” she explained. “I think he really just wanted to gather his thoughts. Things are going to be different around here, Amy. I decided that today. I’ve been wrong to be angry at your father all this time. I owe you an apology too. We’re going back to being the old Westins.”

Amy was mowing the last of three lawns when the homeowner came outside to visit. She carried a glass of orange juice in one hand and a sweatshirt in the other. Her smile turned into a gasp when she saw Amy’s face. “What happened?”

“Hi, Missus Arnold. Tripped on the stairs. I’m fine.”

“Thank goodness! It looks painful. Here, drink this.” She handed Amy the glass. “You’re such a hard worker.”

“Thanks. In a couple weeks, the grass will stop growing.”

The woman nodded. “I love winter. Can’t wait. Here’s a little gift that will keep you warm. I bought it for you at the game last night.”

Amy held up the navy blue hoodie. The letters were gold with a white border. The three A’s in SAMARITANS had gold halos around the tops, an idea borrowed from the California Angels baseball team. The simple design was her own, sent to Google with the message: Suggestion? “I love it!”

Her neighbor beamed. “I’m so glad. The line was long, but I had to get one. I’m so proud of what that student council is doing with the new school and everything. They’re making our little city famous.”

Amy downed the juice and returned the glass. “Thanks again. I’m proud of them too.”

When her work was complete, Amy hosed off the mower and parked it in the garage. As she closed the door, Paul’s Hummer turned into the driveway. When the three amigos climbed out of the huge rig, there were no nods, waves or smiles. She sensed a problem.

“We need to talk,” William said sternly.

Amy looked to the right as they approached, concealing the dark swelling. William added, “What? You can’t even face us?”

She turned her head and they all recoiled. “Ouch,” Paul exclaimed. “That totally sucks.”

“Hurts me to look,” William squinted.

Amy grinned crookedly. “You should see the other girl!” Nobody laughed.

“To the patio,” William pointed. “Your parents are gone, right?”

“At work,” Amy said.

Paul pulled a chair out from the table and directed her to sit.

The three boys stood over her, glaring. William said, “Over a hundred and twenty pies, as of this morning! Like over thirty thousand dollars! Explain yourself, Amy.”

She decided they already knew the answer. The marijuana bargain couldn’t remain a secret for long. Not in Oil City. “Great pie? Generous people? Good Samaritans? You choose.”

Google crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Our answer is none of the above.”

“How did we become drug dealers?” William asked angrily. “Are you trying to get us all thrown in jail?”

“Amy, you’ve gone too far,” Paul said, shaking his head.

She wagged her own. “You guys are over-reacting. If a citizen wants to support a good cause by donating whatever, that’s none of my business. Not yours either.”

“You’ve left us no choice,” William proclaimed. “We’re reporting this to the police.”

Amy smiled at him, at all three. “Get a grip, Billy.”

Big Seven Three stepped forward, towering over her. “No, Amy. You get a grip!” He held his hand out to her. “You’re a genius! How did you pull this off?”

“Funniest damn thing I ever heard of,” William shouted, breaking into laughter.

While Paul shook Amy’s right hand, Google reached for her left. “Fincredible! You foutdid yourself! How’d you get Leo Sykes to kick in all that weed?”

“Hold on,” Amy replied. “Easy with the handshakes. You’re rattling my teeth. Whose idea was it to mess with me?”

“William’s,” Google answered.

“He’s been taking shit from his dad about that Cooper guy,” Paul added. “He wanted to spread some pain around.”

Google stared at her, grinning. “But you don’t even feel pain, Amy. We barely made you blink! You’re a frock!”

Amy zeroed in on William. “What about the Australian?”

“Somehow word got out. Kids came to the lot and started teasing him. He quit and left town without a word to my father, who now blames me. He thinks I said something.”

Paul patted William’s shoulder. “We all know you’d never tell anyone.”

William pushed the big paw away. “Hey, I only told the three of you. It was probably you that blabbed, Barner. The boys that made fun of Roger were on the football team.”

“Wasn’t me.” Paul shrugged, looking back to Amy. “Once I heard about free weed, I found the receipts from the two pies I bought last Monday. Leo handed over two freakin’ ounces! The stuff is the same as you gave me. Seems the same anyway.”

Amy stood. “Listen up. I know nothing about any marijuana. None of you do either. Understood? Paul, you should never be seen around Leo’s truck.”

“I’ve got no problem with any of this,” William said. “Weed’s practically legal.”

Google nodded. “It’s totally legal in Colorado. The state sells it. You know what they use the money for? Public education! This is the same deal.”

“Much more ethical than raising money from lotteries or other gambling,” William added. “Gambling preys mostly on poor people. Everybody enjoys weed.”

“Enough,” Amy said sharply. “This isn’t a debate. I heard a rumor that the weed offer was a short-term thing, probably over already. That’s no reason for pie sales to stop. William, talk up the Samaritan pie donations every time you do an interview. Mention how many there have been. Give the phone number for the Venango Bakery.”

“That’s a lot to remember,” the council president said. “Berman already has me pushing Samaritan apparel.”

“They sold almost twenty thousand bucks worth at the game last night,” Google announced proudly. “There was nothing left but water bottles, coffee cups, and a few small T-shirts.”

Paul reached into a pocket and took out his keys. “We’re going over to the mall. Want to come see your school?”

Amy pointed to her injury. “I’d rather go when there’s nobody there. It must be busy.”

Paul removed a key from his ring. “Norm Johnson gave the three of us our own keys! Too cool, right? I’ll never use mine, so here you go!”

Amy took the gold key and hugged it in her fist. “School starts Monday?”

“At noon for half a day,” William said. “Then it’s rock and roll.”

Gary Cole always took Saturday mornings off. He customarily dropped by the Venango Bakery for a bear claw and coffee at noon, before going into the law office for a few hours of work. The sugar and caffeine energized him.

A sign on the bakery window stopped him in mid-stride. Paul Barner’s All American Apple Pies? SupportYour Samaritan Student Council? $250? What were those damn kids up to now?

His humiliation at the hands of the Barner boy, in front of a gymnasium full of people, had scarred him forever. He would never stand tall in Oil City again, not after being forced to resign from his school board seat. Making matters worse, the student council was basking in the glory of national attention. The attorney considered boycotting the bakery, but why take it out on his taste buds? Paul Barner’s name wasn’t on the bear claws.

Gary stood in line behind two other customers, boys barely out of their teens. “Hey, man, you got another twenty?” one asked the other.

Mrs. Kaminsky, the bakery owner, stood at the cash register. “Boys, we won’t have any more Samaritan pies until three o’clock.”

“It’s all good,” the same boy said. “We’ll pay now and pick it up later.”

The other boy sat down on the tile floor and unlaced a sneaker. After removing the dirty shoe, he shook out some crinkled bills from inside it. “Here you go,” he said, handing his friend a balled-up twenty. “Got it covered.”

Gary blinked surprise as the standing boy put cash on the counter. These were donors to the school? They looked more like beggars than benefactors.

The disheveled young man on the floor put his shoe back on. He stood without bothering to retie it. “That pie’s gonna taste nice at three. Reeeal nice.”

After waiting for a written receipt, the two bolted for the door. “Leo’s parked right around the corner,” one whispered.

“Totally convenient,” the other laughed.

Gary glanced at the owner, who was straightening out the last bill. “Bear claw and large black coffee. I’ll be back in a second.”

The lawyer followed the boys outside. Standing at the corner, he watched them approach Oil City’s infamous Wiener Wagon. One pushed the white bakery sales slip through the side window and got a small brown bag in return. He removed a hot dog from the sack and passed it to his friend. After checking the rest of the bag contents, he tucked it inside his shirt and the two scurried off.

Joyce Kaminsky had his pastry and drink ready when Gary returned. “That’s three-twelve,” she announced.

He dug for his wallet and change. “You selling many of those Samaritan pies?”

She lifted thick eyebrows and nodded. “Can’t bake them fast enough to keep up. Everybody wants to support the council.”

“How many have you sold?”

“Hundred and sixty or so. We’re buying apples by the truckload.”

Gary considered asking about the sales slips and the Wiener Wagon, but thought better of it. He took out his checkbook instead. “I’ll take one. I’ll pay in advance like those boys.”

“Lots of people are doing that. You know, anxious to donate. Pies will be out at three. I’ll hold one for you.”

Like the boys before him, Gary strolled to the white truck and handed his receipt to the goateed proprietor. Leo scribbled a red slash across the paper and handed it back, along with a bag.

“That’s about the last of the complimentary wieners,” Leo said. “You might let your friends know. Help yourself to the ketchup and mustard.”

Cole nodded and hurried to his car to examine the contents of the sack. After removing a napkin-wrapped hot dog, he found a huge helping of marijuana in a plastic bag. A weed giveaway? What the hell was going on?

One thing was certain. The student council was involved. They wouldn’t have the audacity to ask for such a large donation otherwise. Paul Barner’s All-American Pies? Outrageous! The bag on his lap shouted opportunity - a chance to destroy those cocky little bastards and regain his reputation.

How should he go about it? If he went to the local police with the information, they’d probably laugh and stand in line to buy pies for themselves. Such incompetent fools! The local state troopers were no better. He needed a real investigator. Someone sharp and from the outside. A person who could get to the bottom of everything and seal an ugly fate for Paul Barner and that damn council. He would make some calls immediately.

How much would an investigator cost? Hours. Expenses. Those things could add up. Why not let the school district pay? The state just tossed a couple million their way. He’d call the superintendent. Rachel and he were still friendly. She wasn’t happy about taking orders from kids either.

Gary pulled the pie receipt from his pocket and snarled. He walked back to the bakery and Mrs. Kaminsky. “I’ve had second thoughts about this donation,” he said, holding out the slip to her. “I’d like my check back.”

She opened the cash register and returned it to him. “No problem. Have a nice day.”

“It’s already been a very nice day!”

He watched her drop the receipt in the money drawer without hesitation. At least the bakery owner was innocent. She didn’t seem to have a clue.