March Madness

"Brilliant girl," Wyatt said. "She's in MENSA, majors in applied math at Maryland."

Barry chuckled. "Smarter than you and me put together. First time offender?" Wyatt nodded. "Okay, so downgrade her to minimum. Just make sure she pays her restitution on time."

Minutes later, after Barry left, Lindie called to see how things were going. "So far, so good," Wyatt said. "My sup doesn't suspect a thing. Even better, he let me downgrade your case from intensive to minimum, which means you report every three months instead of once a month."

"That's great," she said, "except I hope we can arrange INTENSIVE supervision on weekends. I miss you terribly."

*****

The Crease was a cozy watering hole in suburban Baltimore popular at happy hour with students and working class stiffs alike. Lindie didn't come here much, but on the Thursday after her snowbound weekend with Wyatt, her roommates persuaded her to join them after the day's classes. Patrons filled most of the seats, forcing the girls to stand a few feet from the bar stools, downing their Coors light and talking as best they could above the noise. Helen and Sally were now more amused than concerned over their friend's hookup with her PO. In fact, they wished her well for the coming weekend. Lindie couldn't wait to see Wyatt and she wasn't shy about letting her friends know.

Meanwhile, somebody else was here, a one Barry Shaw, standing alone and sipping his white Merlot, checking out the scene. Barry wore brownish pants with matching vest and a light blue shirt sans tie. He wore his wiry brown hair short on the sides, long on top, sort of a modified post-punk style that drew laughs from some of his co-workers. A single guy, he came here to unwind and also to possibly meet a nice lady, and he had Lindie in his sights. He thought she was very pretty. He also thought she looked familiar, though he couldn't place where he might have seen her. With drink in hand, he pushed his way through the crowd and then made his move. "I know you'll think this is a line," he said, "but I know I've seen you somewhere before."

Lindie shook her head. "I don't think so. I rarely come here." Sally and Helen looked on amused.

Barry pursed his thin lips. "Well, perhaps some place else."

She gulped some brew and shrugged. "Sorry dude, but I think you might have me confused with someone else."

He rubbed his jaw, thinking. "Well, I don't know, you look awfully familiar. The name's Barry by the way." He stuck out his hand.

"Hi Barry." Reluctantly, she shook it.

He squinted, struggling to make conversation. "What was your name again?"

"I never gave it." She rolled her tongue inside her mouth, then shot him a condescending grin, as if to say, 'I'm onto your game.'

"Right, you didn't. Tell me and I might remember."

She exhaled. "Look, Barry, not to be mean, but I've got a boyfriend, so if you're hitting on me, you're wasting your time."

He smiled and nodded. "Girls that look like you always have a boyfriend. You look like a student. Are you?"

"Yes, we all are."

"Maryland?"

"Yes."

"Go Retrievers!" He offered up a toast to the team's recent upset over Virginia. The girls raised their bottles of Coors.

"So, what's your major?"

Lindie shook her head, glanced at her friends and then looked back at him. "Is that like, what's your sign? You don't give up, do you?"

He glanced down at the floor and laughed. "Just trying to make conversation."

"What's YOUR major?" Helen cut in.

"Do I look that young?"

"No, just trying to make conversation." Lindie and Sally laughed, gave Helen a thumbs up.

"Actually," he said, ignoring their mocking, "I majored in psychology."

"Hmm...same as my boyfriend."

"He's a Retriever also?"

Lindie felt more comfortable now that he had steered the conversation away from her. "He finished collage. Now he works as a parole and probation agent."

Barry felt a lightning-like bolt of excitement. "Really? What office?"

She hesitated, then told him. "Catonsville."

He knew. Well, he was ninety-nine percent certain that he knew. He had seen this girl on Wyatt's laptop. Lindy Nicholson. Easy to remember, almost the same as Wyatt's. And, if she just implied, inadvertently, of course, what he thought she implied, then Wyatt might be in big trouble. In a playful kind of way, he felt emboldened. "Catonsville, huh? His name wouldn't be Wyatt Nichelsen, would it?"

Suddenly feeling dizzy, Lindie grabbed onto Helen's arm for support. Who was this guy? "How did you know...I mean, how do you know Wyatt?"

Barry's gotcha grin widened. "I work for parole and probation myself as a supervisor. Wyatt's one of my agents. You must be Lindie Nicholson."

Alarmed, Sally and Helen looked on while Lindie fished for something that wouldn't incriminate her or Wyatt. "Okay, so now you know my name," she said. "Happy?"

"Always. So what did you think of Monticello?" He was enjoying this.

Lindie swallowed hard. She knew that Wyatt wouldn't have dared mentioned what happened in Virginia. Not unless he wished to commit professional suicide. "I guess Wyatt told you about the coincidence of us purchasing the same tour tickets online."

"He did. He also told me that he was forced to stay overnight on Saturday because of the inclement weather. You also?" Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he took a sip of wine.

"Um, no...luckily I made it out in time."

"Well, that's good. Did you see all those accidents I heard about?"

"Accidents..."

"On the interstates and even secondary roads."

"None. Guess I was lucky there, too."

"Guess you were. Did you do the driving?"

She shook her head. "Look, Barry, no offense, but I don't appreciate this interrogation of yours." She knocked back a hard swig.

"Oh, come on, Lindie, I'm just trying to make conversation. Bar talk. That's all this is."

"Then you'll just have to make your bar talk with someone else, because ours is over." With that, she and her friends turned and began moving through the crowd.

Later that night, she called Wyatt. "In the course of trying to hit on me, he learned that I'm on your caseload. Worse, he suspects something we both dread he might find out. I lied, told him I came back on Saturday. But he didn't seem to buy it." She started to cry. "I'm so sorry, Wyatt, I didn't know who he was until it was too late."

"Honey, look, don't get upset. I'll figure something out. I wish I was there to hug you."

"I wish you were too."

*****

If only he was as confident as he sounded over the phone to Lindie. As Wyatt expected, Barry called him into his office the following day. His office, like all supervisors' offices, was an actual room, not a glorified cubicle, a room with windows that afforded views of the three-block town center, recently spruced up with new signage and a Starbucks.

Hands folded neatly on his desk, Barry said, "Look, Wyatt, I'm going to get right to the chase." Not yet aware of Lindie's head's up phone call, Barry filled him in on the "bar talk." Then: "So I suspect that you and this Lindie—beautiful girl, by the way, even prettier in person than her photo—might have something going on which this agency frowns upon. And that's putting it mildly. What say you?"

Wyatt squirmed in his seat, pulled on his tie. "She called me last night, told me all about it."

"She's got your cell number?"

"You were hitting on her, weren't you?"

"I'll ask the questions, Wyatt. Does she have your cell number?"

"Yes, for emergencies. Agency policy says we're on call twenty-four hours a day, right?"

"Yes, but not for—"

"So there you have it. She was upset, understandably so. She sought solace with her probation agent."

"Did she now."

"Yes."

"And what else?"

Wyatt's eyes drifted over toward the windows.

"What else, Wyatt?"

"You're overstepping your bounds, Barry. If need be, I'll get a lawyer."

"You're not serious."

"Try me. You've proved nothing and you're interfering in my personal life. That's called harassment."

Barry wrapped his knuckles on his desk. He knew the last thing the agency wanted was a lawsuit. Lawsuits tended to reflect worse on management more than they did on agents filing suit. It was bad publicity. Plus, he could just hear Lindie now, testifying that he, Barry Lawrence Shaw, Field Supervisor One, attempted to hit on her in a sports bar. No thanks, he didn't need the aggravation.

"Wyatt, the way you're carrying on—or the way I think you're carrying on—is madness, utter madness."

"As in March Madness?"

"Hah ha, very clever. Anyway, because you're an otherwise outstanding agent, I'm going to let you trade cases. Transfer Miss Nicholson to agent Janice Seagal, and then have her transfer a case to you. Will that work?"

"I think so, thanks."

"One more thing," Barry said when Wyatt was at the door. "Whatever you're doing with this girl outside the office, just be discreet. Okay?"

"Of course."

"Now get the hell outta here."

*****

"Barry called it 'madness, utter madness,'" Wyatt said laughing.

"Madness is right," Lindie said. "As in, I'm mad about you."

They cuddled in the darkness of Wyatt's bedroom, naked and relaxed. Wyatt rested against the headboard, his arms wrapped around her, planting soft kisses on her neck. "So what do you think of this intensive supervision?"

She reached back and felt his cock, flaccid after their first go-around. "I'd like more of it. Can you accommodate?"

"Coming right up. Well, maybe not RIGHT up, but I'd say I'll be good to go soon enough." Pause. "And, by the way, I'm mad about you also."

Wyatt's affection bathed her young self like warm sunshine. She closed her eyes and smiled. "From such madness love grows."

"Lindie, I didn't know you were a poet as well as a mathematician and painter."

"I've been known to bang out a verse or two when the spirit moves me. When I'm with you, the spirit always moves me."

"Be careful, you're gonna make me love you."

Her eyes misted. "We'll get there together, Nicholson and Nichelsen. You'll see."

"I have no doubt."