Chapter 10: What Are You Doing for New Year's Eve?

Chet Morton climbed the third flight of stairs with heavy feet. Why did he and Biff agree to an apartment in a building without an elevator?, he lamented for not the first time. Sure, it was close to the hospital and the gym, they could save on gas. Rent was lower. But after a twelve-hour shift in the Emergency Room, the hike up to the fourth floor was a work-out Chet could do without.

"You nurses eat that sorry hospital food and drink Red Bulls all shift to keep going. I know you can't come to the gym as much as you used to, but hey, you worked too hard to let it all go, man. And think about your dad! Those stairs are a good thing." Biff would preach whenever Chet put up a fuss. He did have a point, Chet no longer resembled the stout boy of his adolescence, despite still being naturally large framed. And the stress of his sister's death and Mama Morton's home-style cooking had finally caught up to his dad, he suffered a heart attack and required a triple by-pass during Chet's first year of college.

That's part of what had inspired Chet to enter the field of medicine. He knew he'd never be able to afford med school, so nursing seemed a good fit. Anyway, he liked the fast pace of emergency medicine, so long as there was coffee to fuel him. He had received his R.N. the June after Joe and Vanessa graduated from the university back in May. It was a thankless, stressful career, and getting the R.N. definitely helped with his paycheck. However, at the end of the day, when he looked back on how many lives he and his team had saved or comforted, it was well worth it.

And now back to those damn stairs, he had finally reached the landing to his floor.

"Praise Jesus!" Chet muttered as he entered the apartment.

"Lucy! I'm home." He called out, but his ears were met with soft snores coming from the sofa.

Since Biff had come home the day after Christmas he'd gone back to his new routine of putting in extra time at the gym. But he hadn't taken the news of Carl Newby's death well at all. For the first time in months Biff got plastered the evening Chet and Joe broke the news to him. They struggled to get their muscle-bound friend to his bed that night, the whole way he kept mumbling nonsensical things like "He didn' kill 'is selllffff…", "Is a trick!", "They're here ya' know…" , "Is happenin' again…"

"Someone's been watching way too much cable T.V." Joe said.

Chet let Biff sleep as he dropped his jacket and keys on the kitchen bar. He opened the refrigerator door. Chinese leftovers? Nope. Leftover turkey and stuffing from Mama? Ugh, the low-sodium stuffing and baked turkey cutlets didn't hold a candle to the way she used to make it. Pass. Maybe if he woke Biff he'd be interested in going down to Los Tres Magueyes* for dinner. He'd get the fajitas, with rice, and some cheese dip to go with the chips and salsa…

"Ow! Motherfu…!" The ringing of the telephone woke him from the food dream and Chet banged his head on the inside of the fridge. Biff had left the cordless phone on the convertible kitchen/poker table. When he clicked the talk button, an authoritative, masculine voice spoke before Chet could even say hello.

"Allen!"

"Uh, I'm sorry this is Chet." There was coughing, hacking. Then a weaker, ancient voice was on the line.

"Chester? That you?
"Uh, it's Chet. Yes Mr. Hooper, Biff's here, but he's asleep. Can I take a message?"

"Would you wake him up and tell him I'm calling him?"

"But he's…"

"Put him on the phone Chubby Checker!" the older man barked, then another fit of coughing. "Please, I really need to talk to him, sonny."

"Sure Mr. Hooper." Chet went to the sofa, and pushed on Biff's shoulder.

"Biff?"

"Uh?" another shove.

"Biff!"

"Wha?" Biff opened his eyes, blinking blearily.

"Your grandpa's on the phone." Chet handed the larger boy the phone as Biff sat up quickly.

"Papa? Yes sir. Yeah, that's what I was kinda thinking too…" The taller boy stood from the couch and headed to his bedroom. Chet shook his head. Old man Hooper was getting more crotchety with every passing year. He felt for Biff, he'd seen his own grandfather's decline into dementia and Alzheimer's disease. Sharp as a tack and in the here-and-now one minute, then thinking he was in foxhole somewhere in France, pointing his cane at Chet screaming "Die you fuckin' Kraut!" the next.

Thoughts of his grandfather left as his stomach rumbled in hunger again, but he was just too comfortable right now. After his long day the sofa cushions felt so good. He happened to glance at the laptop sitting on the coffee table, Biff probably fell asleep while he was on Facebook. As he leaned forward to close it he noticed it wasn't the social networking site Biff had been reading, but the local news site. The article that was up was the story about Carl's suicide.

Oh no. Not again. Biff really needed to get some fresh air or he was going to turn into Frank. Well, the old my-boyfriend-left-me-but-I'm-too-busy-for-a-social-life-anyway Frank. Chet liked the new Frank. Yeah, two of his childhood guy friends were dating, each other. It was a little weird at first, but they were still the same people as before. And hey, the girls seemed to be drawn to them regardless, even seemed to go all a-twitter whenever they realized Frank and Phil were an item. And whatever drew the ladies in couldn't hurt his chances.

That decided it then. Chet reached down in the pocket of his medical scrubs and pulled out his cell phone. He started dialing Frank's number. It had been months since all the guys had gone out together, and New Years Eve was Saturday night anyway. Besides, Biff was in dire need of a little intervention.

…..

"I don't think that should be a problem, it's been a little slow this week anyway. Yeah? Well don't forget to ask for Tony personally when you call to make reservations, that hostess of his can be a real snob. You too, man. 'Bye!" Frank hit "end" on his cell phone and rocked back on his heels. He couldn't wait to tell Phil that he had made plans for them for New Year's Eve.

Frank nearly skipped to Phil's, eh, office. The raven haired boy was typing away madly, not really aware of Frank's presence until he felt strong hands on his shoulders.

"You're not hacking into the Pentagon again are you?" Frank joked as he applied a light kiss to the top of the hacker's head.

"Actually I was looking for a nice B&B in Charleston for Valentine's Day weekend, you've got to book early. And that's all the details you're getting for now, mister." Phil returned the kiss to Frank's cheek.

"Well, what do you say to New Year's at Pasquale's with the guys and Van?"

"What do I say?" Phil grabbed Frank around his waist, pulling the brunette down onto his lap. "I say you've got a date."

…..

New Year's Eve? The dark woman pondered the upcoming night as she graceful paced the rooftop's concrete edge, skipping lightly over a mortared joint like a girl playing hop-scotch. She really didn't want to make an appearance in Pasquale's yet, or any of the establishments in Bayport. It really hadn't been long enough for their memories to fade. Given another year and she could walk in virtually a complete stranger. However, the night spot would be crowded because of holiday.

She had been trying to find a seamless way to draw her little broer's plaything out. He had way too many ties to be severed, but desperate times called for desperate measures. A plan started to formulate in her mind. It wasn't the best plan, but it would be effective. Father wouldn't be pleased at first, but she'd known him long enough that as long as they received the desired results in the end, most would be forgiven.

The hardest part would be to make sure little broer kept to the plan, he was still too young and impulsive to be trusted completely. And there was no way he could show his face in Pasquale's, at least not for a long, long time. Give a decade or two.

Author's Note:

*Los Tres Magueyes – My favorite Mexican restaurant in my hometown. Woot!