Chapter Four

By Chris Fulmer

Buck reclined back in his swivel chair inside his guidance office. Vernon, whenever he'd pay a call to the guidance office, would consistently warn him about how he was going to break the chair if he kept doing that, but Buck didn't care what the often abrasive superintendent thought of his styles.or anyone else really, for that matter. Not that the chair was the only thing Vernon had an apparent grudge against. He also disliked the racehorse motif Buck had concocted for his office, which he claimed induced students to take up gambling themselves. Buck may not have been a sociologist, but he thought that just seeing posters of racehorses hanging on the walls, countless thoroughbred figurines on his desk, and the large clock over his filing cabinet with each number on it accompanied by a Triple Crown winner (with a question mark at the 12 to be filled in when there was a twelfth winner) would not really get one to spend all their time at local tracks. And speaking of tracks, Buck was at the moment going through the morning's Daily Racing Form, trying to pick out which horses he felt would be good bets for today's races at the brand new Cedar Creek Park, about twenty miles to the rest of Chicago. He'd been there just about every other weekend since it opened in March, with decidedly mixed results. The problem was, there wasn't really a clear-cut favorite this day, and he decided, after much deliberation, that he'd put off calling the track and trying the pari-mutuels for the moment. He tossed the magazine onto the floor along with the last several days' editions, and was contemplating how long he'd have to wait before he'd earn enough from his current position to finally be able to buy the racehorse he'd always wanted, when there came the infrequently heard buzzing noise from his intercom. "Yeah?" he said into it.

"A student's here to have his college application verified, Mr. Russell," came the voice of Janet the guidance secretary from her desk just outside. "Sent him right in," Buck told her. A bespectacled boy who seemed to be in the early stages of going bald entered. "I hope you're having a nice morning," Buck told him warmly. "And you are...?"

"Billy Hopkins," the boy told him as he sat down in the visitor's chair. "And which college are you interested in, Billy?"

"Wabash," Billy told him.

"Wabash, huh? Well, offhand the only thing I know about Wabash U. is their long-standing rivalry with DePauw; the old Battle for the Monon Bell game," Buck said, a little befuddled, as he hadn't done anything concerning college applications since he'd arrived on the job. "Let's see what I have on file about Wabash." He got up and strode over to the filing cabinets, and reached down for the one marked V-Z. Unfortunately, for some reason or another, the drawer was stuck shut. Buck pulled harder and harder, to still no effect. "Okay, don't do this to me right here and now," he muttered under his breath to the drawer. "Come on and open up for Daddy, come on, come on, COME ON!!!"

He yanked with all his might until, just when he was about to give up, the drawer suddenly shot out of the cabinet, barely missing Billy's head, and going right through the office window with a loud crash! "Is everything okay in there, Mr. Russell?" Janet asked him through the big hole in the glass.

"Uh, sure, everything's A-OK, Janet, could you just pick up the cabinet for me," Buck called back.

"Um, Mr. Russell, you really didn't need to go through all that trouble to get the file out," Billy told him, "All I need is for you to verify that my application's OK."

"That's it?" Buck asked, feeling very sheepish now.

"That's it."

"All right then, let me take a gander at it," Buck took the application from Billy and skimmed through it quickly, not really looking too closely at all the information on it. "OK, everything seems in order from where I'm standing," he said not more than a minute after he'd taken it in hand. "Are you sure about that, Mr. Russell? The university's policy clearly says."

"Oh, there shouldn't be a problem, most of these universities are a lot less stringent and picky these days," Buck said reassuringly. "Now where am I supposed to sign this.oh yeah, right down here." He quickly affixed his signature to the form and dated it. "Oh, and one more item before you go," he told Billy as he gave him back the form, "Are you fixed for a date to Friday night's dance, because my niece Tia is in need of one, and I'm trying to find anyone who may be open."

"Thanks, Mr. Russell, but I've already got a date," Billy said quickly.

"Oh well, I was just curious, that's all," Buck said. "You have a nice day, and I hope they accept you right away."

"Thanks, Mr. Russell." Billy got up and walked out. Buck smiled to himself: another easy job well done. Now maybe he could get back to the downtime he enjoyed with the job, that for some reason or another, guidance counselors aren't supposed to have.

His downtime would be short-lived, however, as the sound of sobbing could now be heard through the hole in the window outside. "Oh great, now what: another emotionally unstable character who needs someone to hold and hug them?" he thought to himself disappointedly.

As it was, his next client was at first glance just that: a curly-haired blond senior girl whose general sadness generally turned Buck off most of the time. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked her, taking semi-refuge behind his desk.

"If you can," the girl sobbed, "please just give me someone I can talk to, be it you or anyone else."

"And the problem is?"

"I'm all alone!" she broke down. "I've been here at this school for the past two years, and I haven't been able to find one person who I can really called a friend!"

"Well, can't you just ask someone nicely?"

"That where I'm doomed!" she wailed, "I've got ADD, and part of its curse on me is that I'm not as social as other people. As much as I want to, I can't bring myself to talk to others, so I weave my own destructive web!"

"One moment, please. You've got, what was that, add?"

"A.D.D.: Attention Deficit Disorder," she informed him. "It's some kind of mental disease, I don't know the full effects myself, but it makes most people who get it retarded. I'm one of the so-called lucky one who can live a normal life, but right now, I wish I was retarded, so the pain wouldn't hurt so much!"

"No, you don't want to say that," Buck said somewhat reassuringly. "There's someone for everyone in this world, believe me. I myself was often very alone in my life, but I found friends in the end, and so well you if you just have faith. Tell you what, how would you like to meet my niece Tia? I'm sure the two of you can get along well; after all, she's quite independent, and isolationist, and."

"With all due respect, Mr. Russell, I've heard about your niece, and she's not of my moral standards," the girl said firmly.

"Well, that was the old Tia, the one before I managed to help her see the light, if you'd give." Buck saw in his client's eyes that she wasn't interested in meeting Tia face to face. "OK, maybe not. But perhaps if you'll give me your name and phone number, I can set up an appointment with you and your folks to discuss the matter before the break."

"Very well," the girl wasn't overly thrilled with this notion. "It's Chandra Oaks, at 444-5678."

"Oaks?" the name rang a bell to Buck. It took him a minute to fully realize where he'd heard it before. "Is that any relation to Mayor Oaks?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm his daughter," Chandra said, apparently not overly happy about this fact either.

Buck commented. "You know, I was going to tomorrow night's council meeting to propose to him about having a ball drop at the Shermer high rise on New Year's. I've always been fascinated with how they do it in New York, and I've wanted to do it myself for the last couple of years, but couldn't get zoning permission from the Chicago council when I lived in the city. If he's open to the suggestion-and I know it's rather late in the year to approach him about something like this, but..."

The bell rang for the next class, and for Chandra, it looked like it couldn't have come any sooner. "I'll give you a call when the day's over, or if I come across anyone whom I think you'll like," Buck called after her as she left for her next class. She didn't respond.

"What a morning!" Buck said to himself. It was time he took a break. Reaching into his desk, he withdrew his pipe and some tobacco. "I'm just going out for a smoke, Janet," he told his secretary as he closed up his office and headed for the main school hallways. "Come and get me if there's an emergency that needs my attention."

"Okay, Mr. Russell," Janet said without looking up from her newspaper. Buck couldn't help but smile again. He liked having other people call him "Mr. Russell" rather than the usual "Buck." It felt like he was respected every time he was called that, which he'd rarely experienced growing up in the heart of Chicago, having spent much of his after-school time at the racetrack, in the penny arcades, or, in particular, in one of the many pool halls in the South Side, especially in the curiously-named Mother's Family Pool Parlor, which was just loaded with disreputable types, some of which were even to bad for Buck to want to be around. He still frequented Mother's when he had the time; he had become good friends with Steve the owner. Although he'd loved the place when he was young, Buck considered it, with all the hardships his life had gone through growing up in mind, to push other youngsters trying to live the same life as him at the Pool Parlor away to better, more fulfilling lives. Although Buck's life was a dead-end one from the world's perspective, he hated to end up a role model to decent, everyday kids.

Buck went into the men's room with his pipe. He quickly checked under the stalls to see if the restroom was deserted. It turned to be just that way indeed. Relaxed, he filled his pipe with tobacco, and then pulled a match out of his pocket. He struck it and lit the pipe, then doused the match in the sink, but no sooner had he taken his first puff when.

"BRRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNGGG!!! BRRRRRIIIINNNNNNGGG!!!! BBRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG!!!" The school's fire alarm went off shrilly. The next thing Buck knew, the bathroom's sprinkler system exploded over him, drenching him with water. He tried to shield himself from the maelstrom, with little effect. Realizing that his pipe had set the works off, he looked around the bathroom desperately looking for a way to effectively get rid of it. He decided on one of the stalls, and, rushing into it, tossed the pipe into the toilet and flushed it. It got stuck momentarily in the drain and look for a minute like it wouldn't go away before finally disappearing down into the septic system. Relieved, Buck headed outside, trying to appear as calm as possible. The students and faculty were all streaming toward the exits. Buck got in line and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. The students were all mumbling about pranksters who got big laughs out of throwing the fire alarm. They all spilled out onto the grass in front of the school to assemble in their last classes. Buck headed for the parking lot, hoping to distance himself from the others. It didn't work, as no sooner had he reached his chosen spot near his car, Vernon's voice rung right in his ear, "Did you enjoy that, Russell?"

Buck spun around. The superintendent was not more than two feet behind him, glaring sternly. "I know it was you, Russell, because I know you have that pipe on you, and since your not required to leave the building during school hours unless in an emergency, I knew you'd go into the bathroom," Vernon continued. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Um, well, uh,." Buck thought out his next words carefully, ".uh, well, Richard, I, uh, figured that since everybody uses the bathroom for smoking, I, um, how do you say it, um, wouldn't really make much more of a difference."

"Smoking in the bathroom used to be a problem, Russell, but since we added the smoke detectors in their, the students have learned not to press their luck in there," Vernon said curtly. "And if I were you, I'd refrain from leaving your office at all during the day from now on, so you don't cause this school any more problems. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" "Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir," Buck said, saluting his boss. Vernon was not at all amused. "Watch yourself, Russell, you've got a real attitude problem!" he snapped to his employee. "Mock me like that one more time and you're out of here! Dismissed!" He turned and marched off. Buck stuck out his tongue at Vernon's retreating backside. "Yell all you want, Dickie; you're full of more hot air than a zeppelin!" he said under his breath.