"It's a lot of fun actually," Scott said fondly. "It tests my ability to reduce things to the basics. The real basics. Trying to teach a seventy year old widower about digital is like trying to get a square ball bearing to roll." Even so, Scott looked forward to those evenings with his mom. He couldn't imagine it, the inability to understand the simplicity of either 'on' or 'off'. But he welcomed the tangent conversa- tions that invariably resulted when he tried to explain how the VCR could record one channel and yes mom, you can watch another channel at the same time. Scott never found out that his mother deprogrammed the VCR, cleared its memory and 'Twelved' the clock an hour before he arrived to show her how to use it. And after he left, she repro- grammed it for her tastes only to erase it again before his next visit. If he had ever discovered her ruse it would have ruined her little game and the ritual starting point for their private talks. "By the way," Scott said to Tyrone. "What are you and Arlene doing Sunday night?" "Sunday? Nothing, why?" Tyrone asked innocently. "My mom is having a little get together and she'd love the two of you . . ." "Is this another one of her seances?" Tyrone asked pointedly. "Well, not in so many words, but it's always possible . . ." "Forget it." Tyrone said stubbornly. "Not after what happened last time. I don't think I could get Arlene within 20 miles of your mother. She scared the living shit out of her . . .and I have my doubts." "Relax," Scott said calmly. "It's just her way of keeping busy. Some people play bingo, others play bridge . . ." "And your mother shakes the rafters trying to raise her husband from the dead," said Scott with exaperation. "I don't care what you say, that's not normal. I like your mother, but, well, Arlene has put her foot down." Tyrone shuddered at the thought of that evening. No one could explain how the wooden shutters blew open or the table wobbled. Tyrone preferred, just as his wife did, to pretend it never happened. "Hey," Tyrone said with his head back behind the newspaper. "I see you're making a name for yourself elsewhere, too." "What do you mean?" Scott asked. "Don't give me that innocent shit. I'm a trained professional," Tyrone joked. He held up the New York City Times turned to Scott's Christopher Columbus article. "Your computer crime pieces have been raising a few eyebrows down at the office. Seems you have better sources than we do. Our Computer Fraud division has been going nuts recently." "Glad you can read." Scott enjoyed the compliment. "Just a job, but I gotta story much more interesting. I can't publish it yet, though." "Why?" "Damn lawyers want us to have our facts straight. Can you be- lieve it?" Scott teased Tyrone. "Besides, blackmail is so, so personal."