To Bophobean: Thank you. Actually, before you posted your chapter 10 review, I had been discussing with a reader how some fans have expressed disappointment in the way Muffy has been handled in the past. My desire to do something drastically different from anything anyone else has done with her is a big part of what got her where she is, and I'm glad you appreciate it! Regarding chapter 11, I agree. Feeling as if those around you are shoving their happiness in your face, especially when it seems like your happiness has been stolen, can be tough.

Thank you for reviewing.

Chapter 12

Don't You Know Who I Am?

2003

Chip's phone rang while he wandered around his room at Omega Psi Phi Monday night, from his closet to his chest of drawers to the open duffle atop his bed, lazily packing for his upcoming trip home for Thanksgiving weekend. His first thought, first hope, was that it might be Lexie Thompson, the hot blonde from Theta Alpha, hitting him back. Lexie had been hooking up with Todd from Gamma Gamma Mu, but she had been quick to hint that was no longer the case when Chip chatted her up at a party Saturday night. He had plugged his number into her phone after making out with her, and they had been quick to meet up on Sunday. And this afternoon. He had texted her minutes ago, asking her to call if she was free, aching to get with her one last time tonight before leaving Florida tomorrow. He frowned when he saw that, instead of Lexie, it was his father, then he gasped audibly, realizing he had forgotten his promised phone call.

His father had sounded disappointed when Chip informed him of his recent speeding ticket, which Chip found surprising. More surprising still was the fact his father could do nothing about it.

"You'll have to pay the fine," his father had told him matter-of-factly over the phone. "Make that I'll have to pay it. And make sure you show up to get it done. You can't let it slide or forget it like with other things. This isn't a missed exam, Chip. Understand? You got caught speeding through a work zone. Call me when it's paid off, so I'll know for sure you didn't forget."

His father's uncharacteristic sternness had been jarring enough for Chip to commit the due date to memory, even though he had used his Portolex's calendar feature to help remind him. Chip had paid his citation this morning, on time and with his father's money, but he had forgotten to call his father, and his father had not sounded amused when Chip joked that he was worrying too much.

"I hope you've learned a lesson from this, son."

"Yeah," Chip said, rolling up his swim team tee as best he could with one hand and stuffing it into his duffel. "Try harder not to get caught."

There was a pause. Lexie could call any minute, and Chip wished his father would wrap up the call, but he had a feeling he would not be so lucky.

"Well, yeah. There's that. Always. But more importantly, your takeaway should be that Tallahassee isn't Elwood City."

Fricken great, he's in speech mode.

His father could be long-winded while in speech mode, especially when he talked about family or the family business.

"The Crosswire name means something around here, different things to different people, and that affords us clout, with privileges and advantages others will never have. And that's a good thing. Right?"

Speech mode or not, his father had a point. A ticket like the one he had just paid off never would have happened back in Elwood City. Chip's lead foot had gotten him into trouble several times before. Usually, it was because some rookie did not know who he was. Less often, it was because he had been snagged by a seasoned, unwavering hard-ass, bound and determined to stick it to him. Whatever the case, nothing had ever come of his encounters with law enforcement. One call from his father, and all citations seemed to dissolve into thin air.

Chip held the receiver away so he could sigh. "Right, Dad."

"Even so," his father continued, "there are limits, and our clout should be respected. Even here in Elwood City, we Crosswires have to toe the line sometimes, if for no other reason than to uphold our reputation. You can't act like a fool all the time and not expect people to think you're one. Right?"

"Right."

His response was automatic, but Chip was taken aback after the fact by his father's word choice. Fool? Was that what he thought of him? Surely not. Crosswires were not fools. His father was just being rhetorical, or whatever. But Chip could not help the small, hollow sensation in his stomach at the notion. His father went on.

"What do you think happens, the more distance you put between yourself and Elwood City?"

Chip had an idea what happened, but his father answered before he could even try.

"I'll tell you what happens: your clout diminishes, shrinks until it's nonexistent. Something maybe you should've thought about when you chose to go to school so far away. No one knows who you are in Tallahassee, and that means you've got to toe the line all the time. Right?"

"Right."

Why was he going in on him like this?

"Of course I'm right… You know I only want what's best for you?"

He did. Chip knew it because his father told him that all the time. So he had to believe it.

"I know, Dad."

"All right, then. A thousand dollars later, and your ticket's all paid for, but the rest is on you. You've still got three demerits. I can't fix that for you, and I can't prevent your license from being suspended if you get too many. Then you'll have to say "goodbye" to the Porsche. You can't have the best if you screw things up for yourself."

"Yeah… I get it. Thanks again."

"Don't rack up any more fines, and that'll be thanks enough. I'll see you soon. Remember to arrive at your gate early. And don't lose your parking deck voucher again. Twenty-two dollars a day is already highway robbery without the added fee."

"I won't. And I'm driving to the airport right after class, so I'll be there in plenty of time. No speeding," he was quick to add.

Chip was about to sign off, fighting the niggling feeling that facing his father this weekend would be a least a little awkward after their exchange today, when his father spoke one last warning before ending the call.

"And change into something proper for Thanksgiving dinner, better than the Lacoste polo you wore to Doré," he said, speaking of the restaurant at which the family had dined during Chip's last visit. "Your mother didn't say anything, but I could tell she was let down… Have a good flight."

Present day

The dashboard clock read 1:11. Chip exited Tarver Ranch and Rescue in the pitch-black Wednesday morning, resisting the urge to roll down his window at the front gate and flash a playful peace sign to Janice Tarver, who would undoubtedly notice both his arrival and departure when she skimmed the security footage later that day. But it was cold outside, and he did not want to spoil his car's toasty interior. Instead, he left Catherine's apartment sleepy, satisfied, and eager to get home to Belmont and go to bed. Longing for extra sleep before the workweek ahead of him, he pressed the gas pedal more firmly. The highways were pretty much desolate this time of night, and he could take advantage of that. The faster he went, the sooner his head would meet his pillow.

He came upon him too quickly to do anything about it. Two miles out from the ramp, a sheriff's deputy sat, parked underneath an overpass, lights off. The reflective gold star on the cruiser shimmered in Chip's high beams, and he instantly knew what was coming next. Blue and red flashed in his rear-view in a near-blinding strobe, and Chip, defeated, slowed down so he could pull over.

The deputy had caught him, fair and square. He had been doing over eighty-five in a sixty-five. Chip reminded himself of this as he waited, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. Still, he did not desire to shell out extra money right now, not after dropping hundreds of dollars on the ultimately-useless Splendor of Light tickets, and especially not after the financial burden he was about to take on so he could give his girlfriend the gift she truly deserved.

Just take your lumps and watch your spending for the next few weeks.

Easier said than done with Christmas around the corner. His sister had certain expectations.

Maybe suck up to the Waterfront guests a little more. Should I start flirting again?

Though once employed chiefly as a tactic to help inflate his income, Chip no longer flirted with female guests out of respect for Catherine. It was a self-imposed policy to which he strongly adhered, but if it meant his survival, he might be able to get past the skeevy feeling flirting gave him.

Only if things get desperate, he decided, and his thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the deputy at his window.

The deputy, a young and fit aardvark man, announced himself as Donaldson.

"The reason I pulled you over," Donaldson said in a cadence that sounded monotone yet somehow screamed authority, "is because I clocked you going eighty-seven miles per hour in a sixty-five-mile-per-hour zone."

Donaldson left Chip to wait again after demanding his license and proof of insurance, and Chip was lost to the mental math of figuring out how much this ticket would cost him. It had been ages since he had been stopped for speeding. He had learned the hard way to toe that particular line. It seemed as if hardly any time had passed before Donaldson was back, a sheepish smile that looked weird on his previously-impassive face, sounding apologetic.

"All right, Mr. Crosswire, I'm going to let you off with a warning tonight. I just want to make sure you're being safe out here." His voice softened even further. "I apologize for not recognizing you at first, sir. I'm pretty new to this office. But I have heard a lot about your work. I actually hoped I'd get to meet you some day—just not like this, heh-heh… My first car was from Certified Pre-Owned of Elwood, by the way…"

Oh, god. He's not letting me go because he knows I'm a Crosswire—he actually thinks I'm the big guy. Gross.

Screw that.

"Yeah, you've got the wrong guy," Chip said, emboldened by Donaldson's affront. "And look—I know I was speeding and I shouldn't have. I've done it a lot in the past, believe me. So just give me the citation, and I'll be happy to pay it. It's the only way I'll learn."

Donaldson stared blankly at Chip before bursting into laughter that was obviously forced.

"Chief didn't tell me you were funny, too! You have a good night, sir," he said, then added before walking away, "We sure appreciate all you do…"

Chip sat in his car, stunned, until the frigid air blasting through the still-open window reminded him to roll it up and get moving. The cruiser was still parked behind him, Donaldson apparently waiting for him to leave first.

"The hell…?" Chip muttered, still grappling with what had just happened, as he put his car into gear and eased back onto the highway.

Donaldson followed behind until they reached the next exit ramp, and then he took it, possibly to circle back to his original post while Chip stewed, his hopes of a good night's sleep dashed. He continued to Belmont, angry for the first time in his life, that the big guy had gotten him out of a speeding ticket. In Elwood City, the Crosswire name meant just as much as it used to, maybe even more.

To be continued…