Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Adoré

   A Tale of Romance By The Star*

   Chapter Three - School and Babies

   [Author's note: When a reader pointed out some glaring errors in the
prior version, it seemed appropriate to make the simple changes to correct
most of his--valid--complaints.  There were a couple of placed where I
disagree.  But making simple changes makes the story more historically
accurate.  One must remember that these events are in the late 60s.  The
unrest on campuses and in the cities was volatile and the civil rights
marches had changed to riots and "Black Power" demonstrations--especially
on campuses.  Hope my changes make the story more palatable.]

   When they arrived, tired but happy, at Steele Ranch, they found a couple
more welcome surprises.  Champ had been shipped back to the ranch.  And Ad
decided that Marty's old jalopy was not suitable for a wife and family.  So
he'd sold it and bought a new, shiny black Ford pickup, with 4-wheel drive
and an extended cab.  The truck had a trailer hitch and towing package,
just in case they wanted to pull a horse trailer and take Champ along to
school.

   "A bit spendy for a graduation present, isn't it dad?" Marty asked.

   "Well, I thought of it more as a wedding present.  After all, the
Parmentiers bought a house for you in Corvallis.  I don't like them
thinking I'm too poor to help you take proper care of their little
darling." Ad's grin took any possible sting out of his words.  Adoré gave
him a big hug.

   They set up housekeeping in the back bedroom that was Marty's and
enjoyed the ranch and each other the rest of the summer.

   When school started in the fall, there was no trouble enrolling Adoré as
a freshman, too.  They both took the general classes freshmen have to take:
English, history, and math.  Adoré took French, and Marty took biology 101.

   Her dad bought a nice three-bedroom house within easy walking distance
of the campus, then made sure it had all the modern amenities.  The kitchen
was new, as was the carpeting.  The furnace was augmented with a heat pump
and high-efficiency filters.  A high capacity, fast recovery water heater
was added, with a pump on the system to constantly provide hot water right
at the taps.

   Her mother wanted to hire a cook/housekeeper for them, but Adoré
insisted that she would take care of them, herself.  After all, college is
where you learn what you need to succeed in life, right?  Well, they were
not going to have any servants on the ranch and she was not going to start
her marriage with one.

   Their first term went about how they expected.  They were deliriously
happy with each other and enjoyed the school and their home.  Even though
they bitched about the Teaching Assistants--many of whom were Asian, and
didn't speak English well enough to teach in the language--they liked
learning in the atmosphere of committed students desiring to learn.

   Their classes were tough and they thrived on the challenge.

   It seemed they'd just arrived there when they finished their first term
finals, and it was time to go home for Christmas.

   After the rain and gloom of the Willamette Valley in December, the sunny
days at the ranch, though cold, were welcome.  Adoré was obviously very
pregnant now, and the sunshine visibly lifted her spirits.

   The second day home, after wandering around the ranch headquarters all
morning, Marty asked, "Honey, why don't we leave Champ here?  You aren't
able to ride and I want to put him to work."

   "How?"

   "Well, we have a few mares I'd like to have him service.  I think we can
come up with some pretty good horses.  I'd like to try it anyway, just to
see if I'm right."

   "OK, dear.  You're right about my riding.  It will be months before I
can ride again."

   "Great, baby....  Er, the income we make from the colts goes into the
ranch.  Is that a problem?"

   "Why can't it be our income?" she asked.

   "Well, the way it's always been here is that the family owns and works
the ranch.  Mom and dad are in charge.  But it's always been understood
that any expenses Rick or I have, the ranch pays.  And any income we have
goes to the ranch...  I suppose if I were to move to Virginia permanently
it would change, but that's the way we've been for four generations
now--soon to be five."

   "I suppose that's OK.  It sounds like a fair deal to me," Adoré agreed.
"My dad might have a bit of problem if my trusts are expected to be dumped
into the ranch, though."

   "Let's let mom work that out with him, next time she visits Richmond."

   They settled on that, and Champ began his new life as head stud for the
Steele Ranch horse herd.

   The next day, they walked together around the area again, needing the
exercise.  A couple hundred yards south of the "big house" was a copse of
cottonwood and aspen, in a spot sheltered from the wind, but catching
plenty of the eastern Oregon sunlight.

   "Marty, I'd love to have a house right here," Adoré said.  "Can we?"

   "Well, let's talk to dad and see if the money is there for that.  We may
need to wait a year or two--but we won't be here that much until we
graduate anyway."

   Over supper, they broached the subject.  Ad thought it was a great idea,
especially if the kids were willing to take it slow.  Rick was in college,
too, a sophomore at UC, Davis.  Their expenses were higher than normal as a
result.

   "We've done OK.  And we can afford both of you in college.  But we'll be
strapped if we have to build you a new house all at once, on top of it. 
Seems to me, though, if we get the permits and put in water and septic this
spring, and the foundations this summer, we can do the rest over a couple
of years, and have it all done when you're ready to move in."

   "Uncle Ad?" Adoré said...

   "Just 'Ad', Dory.  'Uncle' sounds strange from a daughter-in-law."

   "OK.  Ad...?  I just wanted to say that I can afford a house for us."

   "Dory, we take care of ourselves here.  Always have.  When the time
comes for you to start spending some of your inheritance, I hope you'll
want to invest it in the ranch.  Maybe a few more good horses, to improve
the herd even more than Champ will?  Whatever, we can handle it fine, if
you don't need it all at once.  OK?"

   "OK Ad.  If you say so.  But I don't feel I'm carrying my share of the
load..."

   "Sure you are.  You're making my grandson.  I can't ask any more from
you until you've finished that job.  Then we'll see about what else. 
Besides, Dory, you're a mighty pretty girl and just having you around
brightens my days a lot."

   "I'd say you're a flatterer.  But Marty says that's not correct.  You're
a bullshitter, Ad...  but I love it!"

   Second term, Adoré--starting her third trimester--was _very_ pregnant.
Beautiful before, now she glowed.  'Waddling' to classes or to the commons,
she still turned heads wherever she went.

   One eye she caught belonged to a junior at OSU, Darnell Hollins.  Raised
by a welfare mom in the inner city in Portland, Darnell had only a couple
of things going for him.  He was big, and he was pretty good on the
basketball court.  He was not as good as he thought he was, though, and his
idea of strolling into the NBA with a big-money contract was pure pipe
dream.

   Normally, his carnal appetites were more than adequately handled by the
girls who thought athletes were cool and who offered themselves to most any
jocks who wanted them.  As at most major colleges, there were plenty of
them, and Darnell was never lacking.  Few hung around very long,
though--soon learning that there was nothing to Darnell beyond basketball.
He had no thoughts or conversation and was a completely selfish lover,
treating his 'conquests' like a used Kleenex when he was done with them.

   No one knows why, but something in Adoré struck a chord in his mind and
he soon began looking for her on campus.  Then he looked up her class
schedule--she was only taking French and English composition that term--and
was in position to watch as she left a class and walked to the commons for
lunch or the library to study in the hour before the next class.  Soon he
was saying hello to her and then offering little conversational gambits.

   Adoré had been well trained in avoiding unwanted social contacts.  But
she was also trained--and her basic friendly personality reinforced
this--to be pleasant to everyone.

   She tried to be polite, but give him a brush-off.  He persisted.  She
displayed her wedding ring prominently--her pregnant belly also prominent.
He continued.  She finally confronted him one day, in the commons, when he
persisted in trying to engage her in conversation when she obviously wasn't
interested.

   "Look, Darwin, or whatever your name is.  I'm a married lady.  A VERY
married lady who is about to become a married mother.  Whatever you're
peddling, take it somewhere else.  I'm not interested.  And I'm not
flattered by your attention; I'm offended.  Now: Leave me alone!  Is that
clear?"

   Darnell just laughed it off and watched for her the next day.

   Adoré and Marty went to their academic advisor for advice.  He hadn't a
clue, as it turned out, and suggested that there was little to be done
unless Darnell broke the law.

   That night, they mentioned it to Hazel, during a routine call home. 
Hazel asked how late they would be studying.  Told they'd be awake until
midnight, she said, "I'll call you back.  Your advisor's full of shit.  We
can get this stopped and we will--right now."

   Hazel's next call was to an old friend--a Parmentier cousin who was an
Oregon State grad and had a very successful law practice in Portland.  She
explained the problem and received the help she expected.  Then she called
the kids and asked that they do nothing for a day or two, but that Marty
should be with Adoré whenever he possibly could until it was solved.

   Mr.  Parmentier, who had made substantial contributions to OSU and to
its athletic program, made just one phone call--to the Athletics Director
(the 'AD').  He explained the whole situation to the AD, and that the kids
had received 'wait until you're raped' advice from their advisor.  He
stated politely but firmly that he wasn't satisfied with that and that he
felt his cousin should be able to attend OSU without being intimidated by
some sexual predator.

   Knowing he was dealing with a man who was not only a big contributor,
but whose word could dry up a lot of other contributions, he promised to
take action immediately.

   He called in the basketball coach, who professed to know nothing about
any of it.  In the sixties, sexual assaults on college campuses were not
considered that big a deal.  Sexual harassment wasn't even on most
administrators' radar screens.  The coach really didn't want to be
bothered.

   So the AD paid a visit to the Registrar, where he pulled Darnell's file.
The kid was barely eligible to play--and could not possibly graduate, since
the courses he'd taken were calculated to give him passing grades--and he'd
had trouble passing them anyway.  Seems class attendance wasn't high on his
priorities, either.

   Summoning the coach to his office the following morning, the
conversation was strained.  "Bob, if you don't do something about that kid,
I will."

   "He's OK.  Just high-spirited."

   "Yeah.  He's so high-spirited, he's stalking a pregnant, married woman,
when he has all the free pussy any man can use.  He's also so high-spirited
he hasn't taken a single upper-level class in three years.  Now, I expect
you--today--to explain to the young man that if I hear one single complaint
about his behavior towards women on the campus, he's out of here.  And I
expect your counseling session to include the startling revelation that
he's expected to go to class.  If he doesn't, he's out of here in June."

   "Well, that might be hard.  He never had to do a lot of class work, in
the lousy high school he went to in Portland..."

   "Coach, do you know the school rule?"

   "Sure...  Oh...  you mean about being on a degree track?"

   "Exactly.  He's not.  I expect you to correct that...  In fact, I expect
you to review the courses and results of all your scholarship players, to
make sure they are complying with the rules.  Are there any questions about
that?"

   "Kind of...  Some of these kids...  They just never learned how to do
this kind of work.  We tutor them and help all we can, but, well..."

   "Seems to me you need to set your recruiting sights a little higher."

   "Easy to say.  Not so easy to do, when everybody expects me to win with
this program."

   "That's what you get the big bucks for--figuring these little situations
out.  Now are we clear on Hollins?  I'm not fooling with you on this.  He
cleans up his act or he's history!"

   The young man who left the coach's office was not chastened--he was
pissed off.  The coach hadn't done a very good job of concealing his
displeasure with the AD, so Darnell had some justification in believing the
coach wasn't really ready to come down on him.  Besides, they were playing
Washington on Friday and needed his rebounding.

   The next day, he caught up to Adoré just as she left her English class.
Marty was across campus, awaiting his calculus session.

   "I hear you think you're too good to associate with me," Darnell started
out, truculently.

   "Not at all.  But I am a married woman and want to be respected and left
alone."

   "Dunno what you got you think's so shit-hot.  I've screwed half the
white chicks on this place already."

   "Fine.  Go find some willing ones and leave me alone."

   "Or what?  You'll go whining to the coach again?"

   "No.  I'll have you arrested.  Get out of my face!"

   She turned to walk away, when Darnell roughly turned her back to face
him, his face a mask of rage.

   "Don't walk away from me, bitch!  Nobody walks away from me!  You got
that?"

   "What I got, is that you're too stupid to be allowed to exist.  Let go
of me, now!" As she wrenched her arm free, a campus security officer
approached, tipped off by another student who had seen a situation
developing.

   "Anybody want to tell me what's going on?" he inquired, mildly.

   "Nothin' for you, pig!" Darnell snarled, grabbing her arm again.

   "Maybe.  What do you say, miss?" he asked Adoré.

   "Nothin' from her, either.  Get lost," the arrogant young man
interrupted.

   "I think, young man, you better 'get lost', unless you want me to write
you a citation."

   "Fuck you, man.  I was havin' words with this bitch here.  My business,
not yours."

   "Buster, back off, or you're coming in with me."

   "I ain't goin' nowhere with you.  I'm talkin' here.  Now get lost."

   "OK.  That's it.  Give me your student ID."

   "Fuck you," he said, taking a swing at the officer.  He still had hold
of Adoré's arm, so his swing was off balance and lacked range.  He did
manage to connect with the officer's chest.  The unarmed security man just
backed up and reached for his radio, requesting immediate assistance to
subdue a student who had attacked him.

   In a matter of seconds, three other security men were visible, hustling
towards them.  It finally penetrated Darnell's head that he couldn't win
here.

   "Come on, bitch!" he snarled, trying to pull Adoré with him, away from
there.  Adoré promptly collapsed.

   "You stupid cunt!  Get up!" he snarled, as he slapped her hard, once
with each hand.

   Then he was tackled by four enraged security men, who managed to get his
wrists restrained behind him.  When he tried to kick one of them and gave
another an elbow, the one who carried a police baton used it--behind his
knee, in his solar plexus, and on the back of his head.  It didn't put him
out, but was effective in putting him down, where two men sat on him while
they awaited the Corvallis police to come haul him to the pokey.

   He was charged with menacing, five counts of assault, three counts of
battery, and resisting arrest.

   In that era of emerging "Black Power", anti-war protests, and draft-card
burnings, campus security people weren't very interested in allowing
"situations" to develop and reacted quickly.

   The Athletic Director heard about it almost immediately, of course, as
did the basketball coach, who spent his lunch hour getting his ass royally
reamed by a very upset AD.

   "I told you what you had to do with that young man.  What did you say to
him?"

   "Well, you can't just talk that way to these inner-city kids..." the
coach whined.

   "The hell you can't.  You let him think it was no big deal, that you
were talking to him just because I said to, right?"

   "Well...  sorta.  But it wasn't..."

   "What is aggravated assault, if 'it wasn't?' "

   "Look, he's not a bad kid.  I'll get him out and we'll straighten it
up..."

   "Let's get a few things straight around here.  You work for me, right?"

   "Well, yeah..."

   "And I gave you very specific instructions about that kid, didn't I?"

   "Yeah..."

   "I'm going to give you some more.  You will not go near that kid.  You
will not allow your assistant coaches to go near that kid.  You will not
call him or accept any phone calls from him.  You will have absolutely
nothing to do with that kid: Darnell Hollins.  And that applies to your
coaches, your trainers, all of your staff--and your team!  Are you clear on
that?"

   The coach nodded.

   "Repeat it back to me, so I know you're clear on that."

   "I will have no contact of any kind with Darnell Hollins.  Nor will my
coaches, staff or team.  Uh, that may be a problem.  Some of the brothers
on the team are friends of his."

   "Damn you have a problem understanding plain English, don't you?  If
they don't follow these instructions, they are no longer members of the
team.  Then they can do whatever they want--and we'll have some more
basketball scholarships to give away.  Can you get that message across, or
do I have to come to your practice and get it across myself?"

   "I can do it," he muttered.

   "What?  Speak up!"

   "I said, I can do it!" the frustrated coach nearly shouted.

   "I hope so...  One other thing I want you to do when you leave my
office."

   "Yes?"

   "You will go to the Athletic Department press office and issue a
statement that Darnell Hollins has been kicked off the team--none of this
nicey-nice 'suspended' shit.  He's kicked off.  And if you can't do that, I
want to know right now."

   Visibly gathering himself, the coach demanded, "How in hell do you
expect me to recruit, if you make me do this?  My best prospects are from
the inner cities.  If I have to treat Darnell this way, I won't have any
credibility there."

   "Well, coach, that puts you between a rock and a hard place, doesn't it?
I really don't give a shit.  You'll carry out my instructions, and do it
right, or I'll expect your resignation on my desk in an hour...  Ball's in
your court."

   "Fuck you.  I'm outta here!" the coach said.

   "Fine.  Write it down." He slid a tablet and pen across the desk, where
the angry coach hand-wrote a two line, immediate resignation.

   "Don't go back to the gym, coach.  Go straight to your car and leave the
campus.  I'll have all your things sent to you.  You'll have your check in
two days." The assistant basketball coach was called in, brought up to
speed on what had happened, and asked if he wanted to coach the team for
the remainder of the season.  He appreciated the opportunity, but felt that
he could not honorably do that, given the debt of loyalty he owed his
mentor, the old coach.  He did agree to run the team until Monday morning.

   Not wasting any time, the AD called the president of the university, to
fill him in on what had happened and what he had done about it.  He made a
special point that he felt the basketball coach deserved no consideration
from the school in terms of references or anything else.  The assistant was
an honorable man and would receive good recommendations.  The president was
not, obviously, happy about it, and wanted to know how it had gotten to
that point.

   "Hard to do anything until there is something to go on.  We had a minor
incident, which I handled--that is, I gave detailed instructions to the man
responsible on how to handle it.  He blew it and now we have a not so minor
incident.  I've taken decisive steps to ensure that the people involved
will not embarrass the school like this again.  That's about all I can do.
I didn't hire the coach, but I sure as hell fired him!"

   "OK, Charlie.  I'll see what I can do to keep it from getting messier."

   "Thanks, sir.  I need to get busy and line up another coach for the rest
of the season."

   "Good luck.  Keep me posted."

   A quick call to the Los Angeles Lakers front office, where he had
several close friends, resulted in three names of possible candidates.  The
AD had no sooner hung up the phone and was looking up one of the names he'd
been given when the UCLA head coach was on the line.

   "Hey, Charlie.  Hear you had a bit of dust-up down there."

   "You got that straight.  What's up with you?"

   "I just got through talking to the guy in the Lakers' office that you
talked to.  The names he gave you are OK, but how about a really good man?"

   "Who?"

   "You know Peter Wilkins?"

   "Sure.  Who doesn't?"

   "The press doesn't know it yet, though they've had suspicions--but he's
retired on account of those stress fractures he has.  The Lakers' orthopod
confirmed that he can't play any more.  But he loves the game, works well
with kids, and has a real ability to teach what he knows--and that's a hell
of a lot."

   "Can I trust him?"

   "Shit, Charlie.  If Peter says it, you can take it to the bank.  He's no
poker face.  It's all right up front.  He's squeaky clean and as honorable
a man as I've ever known.  And I've known some good ones."

   "Sounds too good to be true.  Where is he?"

   "Would you believe he's working as a volunteer at the Boys' Club here in
town?  He uses their gym for his rehab, too."

   "Think maybe he's bored?"

   "Might be."

   "Can I say you sent me?"

   "Any time Charlie.  I owe Peter a big one.  I think maybe this is it. 
And then you'll owe me a big one."

   For the first time that afternoon, the AD laughed out loud.  "Thanks
coach.  I'll let you know how it works out."

   The AD met with the basketball team in a closed-door meeting.  It was a
rocky session.  He laid out what had happened and what he had done about
it. Some players made comments like, "If coach goes, I go too." He allowed
that that was their privilege.  When he demanded that there be no contact
of any kind with Darnell, a few team members got angrier.

   "Who you, tellin' me who I can see and who I can't see?  I don't turn my
back on friends." And so on.

   Again, he said that it was a free country.  Any of them was free to
contact Hollins.  And, if they did, he was free to revoke their
scholarships.  He made his point.  Then he told them that the assistant
coach would take the team through the weekend's games.  On Monday, they
would have a new coach...  Peter Wilkins.

   Telling his wife about it that night, he chuckled.  "You should have
seen their eyes.  There wasn't a guy in the room who wouldn't kill to play
for Wilkins.  It sure changed some attitudes in a hurry."

   In plenty of time to make the evening news broadcasts, the AD had press
releases out.  Darnell Hollins was kicked off the OSU basketball team and
his scholarship revoked, as a result of unacceptable behavior in violation
of team and University rules, compounded by his refusal to take courses
relevant to his major.  The University was investigating his actions, to
determine whether to suspend or expel him.  The coach and his assistant had
resigned in protest.  The University took the position that university
policy, and simple civic duty, were more important than coddling an
unqualified thug.  And by the way, the university was pleased to announce
that former NBA star, Peter Wilkins, had been hired as the new head coach
of the team.

   TV stations in Portland and Eugene sent crews to Corvallis.  Darnell
Hollins was not available, nor was the old coach.  The AD and the president
of the school both made brief statements, as did the new Coach Wilkins, who
was thrilled with the chance to pass on his knowledge of the game he loved
so much to a new generation.

   Unable to make bail--Darnell was held in jail until Friday, when he was
arraigned on the assault charges.  Pleading not guilty, he was bound over
for trial, with bail set at $50,000.  Thinking, in his arrogance, that he
was a cinch to make the NBA, he called an agent who represented one of the
guys who graduated last year.  The agent did take his call, but cut off his
rambling 'street talk' speech as soon as he figured out what Darnell
wanted.

   "Listen, turkey: You don't have a prayer of making the NBA.  I'm sure as
hell not going to bail out your sorry ass.  Don't ever call me again."

   He tried to call a couple of teammates, but they would not take his
calls.  Monday morning, a public defender met with him, and gave him the
bad news--they had him cold.  The best he could hope for was a plea bargain
of some sort, maybe a few months in the county jail and some community
service.

   Hollins was furious.  He felt 'they' were trying to 'get' him.  He
wasn't about to take that shit from nobody.  Just wait till he got out of
there, he'd show them honky muthafuckers--and that snooty white bitch, too.

   "Well, Mr.  Hollins, I'm giving you the best advice I can.  You will, of
course, make up your own mind.  But you can get two to five in the state
pen if this goes to trial."

   "Isn't that what you're for?  To make sure I don't?"

   The lawyer gave a tired smile.  "I'm trying to do that.  In my
professional opinion, a plea is your only chance to avoid prison.  But it's
up to you."

   Darnell was adamant that he would not plead anything other than 'not
guilty'.  He truly felt that the security guards had attacked him, rather
than the other way around.  And beating Adoré was just what she deserved,
not something he should be blamed for.

   The evening of the attack, the kids called home again--they wanted their
folks to get the story straight from them, not the news reports on TV.

   While happy that Hollins was in jail, they were worried about Adoré's
safety.  "He won't be in jail very long.  When he gets out, who knows what
he'll do?" Hazel said.

   Ad agreed.  "You two stick together.  If you need to rearrange some
classes, do so.  But stay together--and avoid places where just the two of
you will be alone."

   "I think you're making too much of this, dad," Marty said.  "But we'll
do it your way for a while, until it all goes away."

   Hazel called her cousin again.

   "There's only so much the courts can do, Hazel.  I can and will sue the
bastard in civil court for the attack on Adoré.  And I'll get a permanent
restraining order keeping him away from both of them.  But that's about all
I can do.  He's an inner-city kid with a welfare mom.  We won't get
anything if we win the suit.  Further, guys like him wipe their asses with
restraining orders.  Oh, we'll go through the motions, but I'm afraid I'm
not going to be much help."

   "That's a help.  You said straight out that the justice system can't
protect us against this kind of thug.  OK.  Knowing that, we're back to the
old ways.  The Steeles take care of themselves.  Adoré's one of us.  She'll
do her part just fine."

   "Sure, Hazel.  But I'm going to call Dory's dad.  He'll kill me if I
don't.  And I suspect he'll have some ideas, too."

   "Good.  They need to know, but I'd rather you call, first.  I'll call
them tomorrow after you've talked with them."

   "Good-o.  Night, Hazel."

   "Thanks."

   Once in the cafeteria and once in the bookstore, Adoré was accosted by
two or three very large, black students.  Both times, she was assured that
they were sorry about what had happened to her, that it was completely out
of line, and that if there was anything they could do to make it up to her,
they'd try.  Her response was that, should they ever see Hollins or talk to
him, to convince him to just leave her alone.

   She sported a pair of matching shiners that were pretty spectacular but,
she insisted, not as painful as they looked.  It made Marty furious,
though, that his wife had been attacked and hurt when he was unable to
defend her.

   Adoré's father, unknown to the kids, arranged a security service to keep
them and their home under surveillance, with instructions to do whatever
was necessary to protect them if they were threatened.  He also contacted
the OSU chapter of his fraternity and arranged for them to keep an eye on
things.

   Late in January, Adoré woke Marty after he'd only been asleep an hour.

   "Sorry, darling.  But you need to get me to the hospital.  My water
broke.  I'm contracting real hard."

   Swimming up from deep sleep, Marty realized what she was telling him.

   "OK, baby.  Lemme pee and splash some water on my face.  Five minutes,
OK?"

   "You can have ten--but no more than that unless you want to deliver this
little guy yourself." She was panting, but still had her sense of humor.

   He was ready in five and so was she, having packed a small bag a week
before.  The hospital was only fifteen minutes away and the staff wheeled
her right in, when he arrived at the emergency entrance.

   While Marty parked the car and brought in her bag, Adoré was taken to a
birthing room.  Common now, this was a new concept at that time.  The nurse
told him that the room would be home for a day.  After that, Adoré would be
moved to a regular room, but on the same floor.

   Marty gave his wife a kiss, squeezed her hand and told her she was
beautiful.  Then he called his mother.

   "Mom, I'm at the hospital in Corvallis.  Dory's in labor."

   "Great son.  Tell her we're praying for her.  Do you need anything?"

   "Can't think of a thing, mom, unless you want to take our classes for us
next week?"

   "Ha ha, son.  I only had one year of college, and that was so long ago I
can't even remember what school it was."

   "Yeah.  Right, mom.  Well, I'd better go.  I promised to call Dory's
mom."

   "OK, son.  Good luck to you both."

   When he called Adoré's mother, he learned that she would hop on the
family Lear and be there in five or six hours.

   "Don't worry about picking me up or anything.  We'll take care of
everything from this end.  You just take care of Adoré."

   "OK.  I can do that."

   "See you soon."

   Adoré had an uneventful, though painful delivery and, seven hours later,
delivered a healthy baby boy they named Robert Adolph after their fathers.
They decided they'd call him Robby.

   Again, Marty called parents, hers first this time.  The call was
forwarded to the airplane, which was just ready to land at Albany, Oregon,
that being the closest airport that could handle the jet.  The new
grandparents, though still not too sure about the Steeles, were very
pleased to be the first to hear about the new member of the family.  Ad and
Hazel were thrilled, too, and said they'd drive down the next day.

   The Parmentiers arranged two suites in the local hotel.  They would have
one and the Steeles one.  That way, there was no problem about Marty having
to put up parents in the house.

   After meeting and properly admiring their new grandson and fussing over
Adoré some, they demanded the key to the house.  "I'll go get some dinner,
Marty.  You just stay here and keep Adoré company.  Whenever you get
hungry, come home.  OK?" Marty had long since learned that the best way to
get along with Mrs.  Parmentier was to acquiesce immediately with
everything she wanted.

   Normally, in those days, a woman stayed in the hospital about three days
after giving birth, assuming no complications.  An hour later, a nurse and
an orderly came in, to move Adoré to another room.  When she was safely
tucked into her new bed, she quickly fell asleep.  Marty left her a note by
her water glass, saying he was going home for a few hours, but that she
should call him at once if she woke up.

   At home, Mrs.  Parmentier greeted him in an apron, vacuuming the floors.
In the kitchen was a fairly elaborate deli dinner.  "Just pop what you want
in the microwave, Marty.  Robert and I will join you."

   "Thanks," he said, when they were all seated.  "This is a treat.  I'd
have just ordered in a pizza...  And I didn't know you could operate one of
those machines.  I thought you had maids for that."

   "Oh hush.  Of course I do.  I couldn't keep up that big mausoleum by
myself.  That doesn't mean I don't know how.  And it's the least I can do.
Adoré won't be up to it for a month or so.  This way our grandson will come
home to a clean house."

   Marty later learned that she had completely cleaned the bathrooms and
had bought all new bedding for the entire house, especially for the crib
they'd installed in the second room--as well as a bunch of teddy bears and
mobiles.  Little Robby's arrival was a welcome event.



   ~~ * * * * * ~~

   Darnell Hollins insisted on a trial, contending he'd done nothing wrong.
The result of his intransigence was a sentence of three to five years in
the state prison, plus more restitution than he would ever be able to pay.



   *(c) 2001 Extar International, Ltd.  All rights reserved.  Single copies
for personal, non-commercial use may be downloaded or printed.  Any other
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permission from Extar International.  Comments always welcome. 
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