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Have you read this week's epistle from Jules?

Episode 146

Do You Come Here Often, What's Your Sign, and I Once Met Beck's Mother-In-Law

     Camel(l)ia Maru wants to win the JV division more than she can remember wanting anything more in her life.

     The continuing chatter at the Nighten Day table has been driving her crazy. What she wants to do is go over her case a few more times before quarters begins, to have it down cold. She would like to work with her sister, who is also still in the tournament, but Jasmine has disappeared and left Camel(l)ia on her own for a while. Not that Camel(l)ia depends on Jasmine to educate or entertain her at tournaments, but it is comforting to have one's older sibling nearby to dispense warmth and wisdom. Well, she can work alone if she has to. She picks up her briefcase and heads to an empty corner of the hallway outside the cafeteria. The floor may not be as comfortable as sitting at a table, but it is peaceful.

     For about two minutes.

     "Hi there."

     Camel(l)ia looks up into a pair of dark, slightly Satanic eyes, and immediately lowers her own. "Oh, hi," she replies softly.

     "What are you doing?" Binko asks. He is still wearing his suit, but his shirt color is open, one of the many sure signs of a debater who is no longer in the competition.

     "Prepping for my next round." Camel(l)ia looks back at her case.

     Binko slides down to the floor next to her. "You know who I am, right?" he asks.

     She nods without looking at him. "Bingo Marcellus. From Bisonette."

     "Binko, not Bingo. You can call me Jon."

     "Jon. From Bisonette."

     "You're one of the Maru sisters. Camel(l)ia, right?"

     "Camel(l)ia," she agrees.

     "Am I bothering you?" he asks. "I mean, if you want to prep alone, I'll go away."

     Camel(l)ia says nothing.

     "I'm bothering you. I'm sorry." He rises to his feet. "I'll talk to you later," he says.

     And then he disappears as quickly as he arrived. Camel(l)ia watches as he walks back into the cafeteria, wondering what that was all about. But at the same time, sort of enjoying it, whatever it was.

     He was just acting friendly, she tells herself. That's what debaters do. People are thrown together, so they act politely and get to know one another. What's the big deal about that?

     "Hi there."

     Camel(l)ia looks up to her left into the teddy-bearish face of Quilty Prep's Tom Abelard. Abelard is wearing his standard-issue outfit of disheveled tweed jacket, low-slung chinos and boating shoes, and his hair is hanging in his eyes like a Grease extra who's forgotten his Vitalis.

     "What are you doing?" he asks with a goofy smile.

     "Prepping for my next round."

     Abelard slides down on the floor next to her, until he is sitting so close to her that their shoulders are touching. For reasons she does not understand, she does not pull away. "I'm Tom Abelard," he says. "From Quilty."

     "I'm Camel(l)ia Maru," she replies. "From Nighten Day."

     "Jasmine's sister?"

     "Yes."

     "Aah!" It is a very knowing Aah! "Am I bothering you?" he asks. "I mean, if you want to prep alone, I'll go away."

     "No," Camel(l)ia says. Even though he is bothering her.

     "The word is that this is Nighten Day's last tournament. Is that true?"

     She nods. "We're out of money. Mr. Jutmoll has to close the team down."

     "That really sucks."

     "It does."

     There is a short silence, but Camel(l)ia surprisingly finds it not uncomfortable.

     "I'll let you finish prepping." He rises to his feet. "I'll talk to you later," he says.

     And then he disappears as quickly as he arrived. Camel(l)ia watches as he walks back into the cafeteria, wondering what that was all about. But at the same time, sort of enjoying it, whatever it was.

     Two in a row. A personal record. Of course, one in a row would have been a personal record too.

     He was just acting friendly, she tells herself. That's what debaters do. People are thrown together, so they act politely and get to know one another. What's the big deal about that?

     With Binko, there was one answer. With Tom Abelard, there seems to be another answer altogether.

     "Hi there."

     Camel(l)ia looks up at her sister.

     "I see Animal Magnetism has found you."

     "Animal Magnetism?"

     "Tom Abelard. He comes on to everybody, sooner or later."

     Camel(l)ia is saddened at the thought. "What about Binko?" she asks. "Is he like that too?"

     "Who?"

     "Binko. Jon Binko. From Bisonette."

     Jasmine shrugs. "Never heard of him. What are you doing out here, anyhow?"

     "Prepping for my next round." Camel(l)ia looks back at her case.

      "Am I bothering you?" Jasmine asks. "I mean, if you want to prep alone, I'll go away."

     "I was looking for you in the first place, before I came out here."

     Jasmine slides down to the floor next to her. "Let's work," she says.

     They were was just acting friendly, Camel(l)ia tells herself. That's what debaters do. People are thrown together, so they act politely and get to know one another.

     What's the big deal about that?

Is that Er, as in Uh, or ER as in Emergency Room?

     There is a Norman Rockwell tint to the scene. The mother and the father standing concerned at the hospital bedside, the child stretched out looking wan and distracted, the physician in his white jacket glowing with authority and promising a happy prognosis.

     Of course, Mr. Lo Pat thinks as he sits in his wheelchair in a corner of the room, how bad a prognosis could you get from a sprained wrist and a chipped tibia? The worst of it is that the doctor has told the collected Melvishes that young John won't be able to take gym for the rest of the school year, at which point Mr. Lo Pat thought that young John would leap from the bed and do a saber dance despite his war wounds.

     Mr. Lo Pat shakes his head and whirrs out the door. No one notices his leaving. His job here is done.

     It took a little over four hours from when Mr. Lo Pat first called them from the hospital for the Melvishes to arrive in Algren-on-the-Beach. During that telephone call the first words out of Mr. Lo Pat's mouth were, "Your son is fine," because he has learned over the years that unexpectedly calling parents when their child is with you causes them to immediately leap to the conclusion that the youngster is dead at the very least, and it is always good to get the worst possibility excluded right away. "But there has been a little accident -- he fell down some stairs and hurt his arm and his foot -- and it would be a good idea if you were to come up here." He had all that out before the parents could even think of a worst-case scenario. The Melvishes had asked no further questions, but simply high-tailed it in their Mercedes from Quilty up to Algren, and now they have taken their scion in hand, and that is the end of Mr. Lo Pat's responsibilities in the matter.

     As he whirrs down the hospital hallway toward the elevator, he has the thought that he has had a thousand times since the accident. What if someone saw it? What if someone knew what had really happened? It was an accident, certainly, but it was an accident with Mr. Lo Pat at the center of it, and a situation like this can turn from accident to lawsuit to total vilification in no time.

     Mr. Lo Pat could become the next Seth B. Obomash.

     But Mr. Lo Pat is as certain as he can be that he and Melvish were the only witnesses to the event, and Melvish is far from a reliable witness in that if he had seen Mr. Lo Pat in the first place, he never would have bumped into him. As far as Melvish is concerned, he walked into a wall. As far as Mr. Lo Pat is concerned, he is happy to keep that wall standing.

     Still, what if someone did see? He's ninety-nine percent sure no one did, but there's that niggling one percent. It would have to be a student, because an adult would have run to the rescue. What if there is some kid out there…

     As Mr. Lo Pat whirrs to the reception desk to arrange a taxi to take him back to the school, he erases the thought from his mind. Even if someone did see him, it would be his word against theirs, and what student in the forensics universe would challenge the word of a Debate God as high up as himself?

     It would never happen.

If You Were Mexican, You'd Eat Mexican Food Three Times a Day

     Across the street from the Veblen Mall, in that line of restaurants stretching off into shopping infinity in either direction, in that franchise themed in a faux-Mexican style, Braun Saxon is sitting nursing a Corona (he is from the school that the lime slice is to be immediately tossed into the ashtray), a brunch menu on the table beside him again, the chair across from him empty, awaiting the arrival of Cartier Diamond. He is at the same table as earlier in the day when he met his estranged -- and now perhaps no longer estranged -- wife. Braun can look out through the window and see Cartier's Miata pulling into the parking lot. She is not alone. That chubby little red-faced kid, Mordred, is with her.

     What is he here for? Braun thinks. But as Braun watches Cartier talk to Mordred beside the car, Mordred heads off toward the mall, leaving her to enter the restaurant alone. Why Cartier lets that little creep follow her around Braun can't imagine.

     "Hi," Cartier says silkily, sinking into the chair across from Braun.

     Braun smiles. "Hi." He is allowing his memory to be refreshed with Cartier's sound and scent and look, and he remembers why he has always been so attracted to her.

     "Where were you this morning? I called your motel like a million times."

     Oh. In an instant Braun realizes that he is now no longer cheating on his wife with Cartier, but that he has just cheated on Cartier with his wife, and that he is about to go back and cheat on his wife again with Cartier. He is losing track of who exactly he is betraying. For the sake of simplicity, he decides to veer as close to the truth as is humanly possible without actually indulging in it.

     "I met my wife this morning. She's leaving today," he adds quickly, sensing the edge of a frown in Cartier's expression.

     "What did she want?"

     He shrugs. "She wanted to talk. We were married, after all."

     "Until she threw you out," Cartier adds triumphantly.

     "Until she threw me out. That's what she wanted to talk about." He pauses. "She said I could move back into the house while she's away."

     "I don't understand." Cartier's violet eyes narrow.

     "She knows what it's like for me to live in that hellhole motel. She's just being nice."

     "Oh." Cartier is tapping on the menu with the fingers of her right hand, her perfectly shaped nails going tip-tip-tip, tip-tip-tip. tip-tip-tip. She stops suddenly, and her face lights up. "Why don't we go there?"

     "Sure. We could do that."

     "No. I mean now. Right now."

     "What about lunch?"

     "What about lunch? I could live without a meal for a while. Take me to your house again, Braun."

     Her voice has dropped enough octaves to cause a quiver in his viscera. He can remember wanting to break up with her only days ago, and once again he finds himself being pulled along by her.

     "I'm going into the city tonight with Daddy," she adds. "Just the two of us, and I've got to meet him soon. Let's go. Now."

     Braun stands up and reaches into his wallet, throwing down a five-dollar bill for the beer.

     Carmen strikes again, and Don Jose is more than ready.

Will Camel(l)ia become the new belle of debate?

Is there someone lurking at Algren who knows Mr. Lo Pat's deep dark secret?

Is Braun at the point in this Mexican restaurant that he can just start ordering the usual?

Will Elian get the hell out of here so we don't have to listen to his ridiculous relatives anymore?

Billy Crystal is to Bob Hope as Ricky Martin is to...?

They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven or in our next episode: That damned elusive Pimpernel, or, who the hell is Ernel anyhow, and why is she on the streeets?

Go to the next episode due April 5, 2000.