No Legal Grounds by James Scott Bell Page A

think of Tinker Bell. They did that mutual looking across the room at each other. In the overstuffed apartment, the stereo was blaring Beach Boys and Elton and Chicago and Stones. People were gyrating in what some would call dance, but Mary was standing by the wall, looking lost.
Sam made a beeline.
“How you doin’?” His well-thought-out opening line.
“I’m looking for someone,” she said.
“Here I am.”
That made her smile.
“Sam Trask.” He shook her hand.
“Mary Delano.”
“From?”
“Austin.”
“Texas?”
“You’re sharp.”
He liked her instantly. At least he thought he did, sotted as he was. They spent the next two hours talking, dancing, walking to Del Playa to look at the ocean and the sky. They ended up back at her dorm. Her roommate was gone for the weekend. They had the room all to themselves.
And so began a two-week romance, cut off by Sam when Mary started to get a little too serious. He put off the inevitable talk as long as he could, but eventually it had to be done. Mary did not take it well. At last it was over.
But it wasn’t.
It was during a history lecture — Professor Marston on the Peloponnesian War, he would never forget — that Mary motioned for him to come outside the lecture hall.
“I’m pregnant,” she said without a moment’s hesitation.
In the Chinese restaurant, Sam rubbed his eyes at the memory, seeing Mary’s tormented face, remembering the guilt. Now it was all coming back at him, courtesy of —
“Hey, buddy!”
Nicky Oberlin was standing at his elbow, smiling down at him.
4.
    “This is it,” Sam said. “You’re not going to contact me anymore.” “You want some orange chicken? This place has orange chicken
to die for, my friend.”
“I’m not your friend, okay? That’s obvious.”
Nicky slid into the booth like some long-lost relative. “I think
you’re misreading this whole thing, Sammy.”
“Misreading? You threaten to tell my wife something from my
past? And by the way, she would support me.”
“Sure, she would. She’s a great lady.”
Sam felt a current shoot through his body. “You don’t even know
her.”
“I know so much more than I used to.” Nicky leaned over the
table. “You sure about the orange chicken? Because — ” “What do you want from me?”
“Friendship, Sammy.”
“Don’t call me Sammy.”
“A sort of you scratch my back, I scratch yours sort of thing.” “I told you, that’s not going to happen. I don’t want to have anything to do with you, especially after you threaten me.” “Threat? The sharing of information? That’s the new currency,
Sammy — Sam.”
Nothing could sway this guy. It was like Nicky was on another
channel. Sam had been reading a lot lately about the negative side
of the information techno-explosion. Studies documented the definite harm done by too much time with computers, games, iPods,
whatever. They isolated people, kept them from the counterbalance of family and community.
And if a person was a loner to begin with — like Nicky appeared
to be — the results could be a skewed mind that cooked bizarre
thoughts.
“Nicky, let me ask you something.”
Nicky shrugged.
“You have any family, anyone close?”
“That’s very nice of you to ask, Sam. Thank you very much. But
I’d rather talk about your family, Sam.”
Undeterred, Sam kept his voice even. “What about a church
family? You have a church, Nicky?”
In Nicky’s eyes Sam saw the slightest flicker of something coiled
and hot.
“Not a churchgoer, Sammy. I prefer to make my way on my
own.”
“That doesn’t work.”
“And you know all about what works, don’t you? You have the
perfect life, am I right?”
“Nothing’s perfect. But I do have a family, and I have a faith I
hang onto. My church is very important to me.”
“What church is that again, Sam? The one where the preacher
talked at you?”
“Solid Rock Community, here in the valley — ” Sam stopped
on the verge of an invitation. What would Jesus do? Invite.