All Bets Are On

This piece is not finished, it is a work in progress. Ideas and comments are encouraged as they help make a piece better. I need to add more details about the family members, and some of the scenes are a bit awkward. Nonetheless, enjoy what's available at this time, and as I continue working on this, I will share more.

xoxo

Crystal

All Bets Are On

Crystal J. Casavant-Otto

I stretched as I stood up from my seat on the small aircraft owned by The Manitowoc Company. I was accustomed to the short flights between Michigan and Wisconsin. This particular flight was a bit longer and I was cramped and uncomfortable. I was eager to sit down with my older brother and tell him about my upcoming date with the pretty, young, girl from the greasy spoon. We had arranged it before I left and I hadn’t had time to share the news. I grabbed my things off the plane, thanked pilot Joe and headed for my car.

I opened the heavy door of my 1972 Chevelle SS. She was the first automobile I had purchased new and the smell of leather hit my nose immediately bringing a smile to my face. She was ascott blue with white wall tires and a she didn’t blow smoke or rattle down the road like the cars I’d had before her. I had worked for The Manitowoc Company for a decade and last year they went public. I didn’t much care about all of that business stuff, but when the first dividends were paid, I called my old high school buddy who owned a Chevrolet dealership and I ordered myself a new car using the dividend as my down payment. I didn’t own a home, but I felt like a millionaire after signing on the dotted line. I could hardly believe that it was 1972 and so was my car!

I stopped to take in the beauty of this car, her sleek lines, the rich color of her paint, and then turned slowly and sauntered to the trunk to place my bags inside. No one was around and I was so enamored by the beauty of the SS. As I opened the trunk, I felt confident, a man and his car. Even the carpeting in the trunk was soft and had been skillfully installed. This vehicle was nothing like those I had driven in the past – there were no coat hangers or duct tape holding things together, no holes in the floor boards, and no gaps allowing snow to collect on the interior. The engine roared to life and we were soon on the road headed to my Brother Donald’s house in Two Rivers, Wisconsin (along the pristine shores of Lake Michigan). Donald’s wife Carol was fretting about my being single and was happy to cook me a meal and do my laundry when I got in from these weekly business trips. It was enjoyable to spend time with Carol and Donald and their family. The house was filled with noise, laughter, and it had warmth to it. My apartment was above a bar; I chuckled at the comparison.

“What is this?” Donald was asking Carol in a raised voice when I came through the side door. I chuckled despite myself; I was very familiar with these arguments and I recognized a Simplicity pattern in Donald’s hand as he shook it in frustration at his sweet wife. This was apparently pattern 5318 and was called ‘Bikini Pants & Bell Bottoms’ and Donald wasn’t having his 16 year old daughter wearing anything with the word ‘bikini’ in it.

Donald raised his voice: “Carol? A dollar? You wasted an entire dollar on this garbage? No daughter of mine is wearing a bikini like some, some, woman of the”

Carol cut him off: “It’s the name of the pattern Donald. It has nothing to do with a swimsuit, much less a bikini. The reference just means that the pants fall right on her hips or just”

It was Donald’s turn to cut her off this time: “Hips? Do you think I want to talk about my daughter’s hips? What kind of mother are you, wanting to talk about her hips? Does she even have hips – no…don’t tell me. This conversation is over!”

They all looked quite relieved at the distraction that I created as I dropped my bags on the floor of their kitchen.

“Charles – it’s so good to see you. Can I get you a drink?” asked Carol as she firmly hugged me. She was such a cheery woman; my brother was a fortunate man. Carol was a fine woman. She exercised daily to keep a slender form, her hair was always in place, and she had even pushed baby strollers wearing modest heels and a skirt (with a slip of course). She really was the type of woman Mum had intended for each of us to marry. She had described her as “sensible and sweet” and I would have to agree with that assessment. Carol reminded me “Charles – what did you decide on that drink?” I couldn’t turn her down and agreed to a martini on the rocks and my brother joined me. I greeted the children who were busy discussing the new shows they wanted to see at either the Mikadow or Lakeview Drive in Theater the following weekend. Mary wanted to see ‘Pay it Again, Sam” and Terry wanted to see “The Godfather” while their youngest sister, Holly, just wanted to be included in whatever they were so animated about. “Do you kids know that Uncle Charles worked at a theater here in town  when he was your age?”  Donald asked the children to get their attention. They quickly gathered around as I explained: “Your dad is telling the truth, that was my first job. You kids know where Evans Department store is, well that was the Rivoli. I worked the late shift and was responsible for cleaning and making sure that everyone was out at night before we locked up.” The children were getting restless and I could smell something amazing wafting from the kitchen.  I quickly wrapped up “I’ve seen the second half of most movies shown in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s. Don’t laugh; I had the biggest crush on Ethel Merman after hearing her sing and seeing those long eyelashes in Irving Berlin’s Call Me Madam. I even went back on my day off to watch the entire show; she was a knockout!”

“Supper is ready.” called Carol (just in time, I was struggling not to mention my love of large breasts). Story time was over and the children scampered gleefully in the direction of the food. I was still smiling at the good times I’d had (the smell of buttery popcorn, and the silly antics of my friends – ahhh the memories). “Where do you want me?” I asked Carol as I gave her a wink. She always saved me the best seat at the head of the table opposite my oldest brother. This made it easy for sibling banter. She gave me a smile as she pointed to my usual seat. Carol was a great hostess and had a fresh martini and a glass of water already waiting at my spot. She often called us bookends when we sat like this. Donald and I looked very much alike and were often mistaken for one another if we happened to be out and about in town. We had been blessed with thick, wavy, dark hair and olive skin. Neither of us put on weight, and we weren’t very tall. Fortunately for us, Carol was an amazing seamstress who often hemmed our pants, and took in the seams to make up for our lack of cushion on our backsides. If we were bookends, we were the oddest looking bookends, but her reference was endearing and I was proud to look like my older brother.

“Well Donald, what did I miss?” I usually began this way. Donald was happy to fill me in on the local happenings and he wasn’t jealous that I was paid to travel. Donald had traveled out of the country as a pilot in the Air Force. He was content with his factory job, family life, and was relieved to sleep beside the same woman each night. He went on about recent orders at the factory, the new houses going up on the North side of town, and the family news about our little sister who was expecting her third child. We chatted casually while enjoying Carol’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some steamed carrots. I was already dreading the drive across town to my small apartment most difficult. Nights like this were a reminder that I was alone. I was a bit lonely. This home cooked meal was of some consolation; the meatloaf wasn’t greasy at all and had such a robust flavor that I could have easily asked for seconds and thirds. The mashed potatoes were lumpy, just the way I liked them. I smiled at the differences between the potatoes and the gravy I had placed carefully in the center of them – I probably was a bit strange, but I love lumpy potatoes and smooth gravy. Carol had prepared things just right; even the light glaze of butter and brown sugar on the carrots tasted exactly the way I liked. She must have caught the expression on my face “It’s a bit of honey that makes them magical Donald. Was that going to be your next question?” she asked as she passed me the bowl for another helping.

We chattered comfortably while enjoying each bite. “Charles, now that I’ve caught you up on everything around here, it’s your turn. Don’t you dare tell me about Nixon becoming president or that silly blimp; I want to know what’s new with YOU!” I guess I couldn’t argue with that. I had responded sarcastically a few too many times and he was onto me. This time I did have something worth talking about.  I told them about the adorable young waitress I had stumbled upon when having a cup of coffee at the greasy spoon right here in our own home town “You’ve been to Arvy’s Restaurant downtown Donald. Do you remember seeing that young blonde with the ice blue eyes?” Donald had never found a blonde to be the least bit attractive so I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t remember her. I went on to explain that her name was Elizabeth (Bet for short) and that she had agree to go to dinner with me this weekend. Donald didn’t seem interested. Carol was excited at the possibility of my settling down locally and starting a family.

“How much do you know about her Charles?” Carol inquired. I explained that she was originally from somewhere in the upper peninsula of Michigan and she had recently moved here to find some long lost relatives. She was a bit younger than me (actually, she was 15 years younger, but I claimed not to know her exact age since it likely wouldn’t go over well) and she drove a motorcycle. That sure got everyone’s attention. Riding motorcycles was cool if you were a man, and I could tell from the ten eyes looking at me in dismay that not one of them were impressed that I was going on a date with a motorcycle driving woman. I had the feeling Donald was picturing the model on the front of Simplicity pattern 5318 with her bikini pants and bell bottoms.

“Oh Charles.” Carol sighed. “I had so hoped that you would find a pleasant girl with a good sense of humor,  get married, and settle down … does this um … what’s her name? Elizabeth? Seem like the marrying and settling down type?” I reminded my lovely sister in law that this was a first date and thought Elizabeth and I had known one another for over a year, we had never been more than acquaintances. “Carol, I am one of the town’s most notorious confirmed bachelors. I have no intention of settling down after less than a single date.” What I didn’t tell her was that I was sure that this young blonde with the curvy figure, bouncy hair, and motorcycle had no intention of anything of the sort either. She hadn’t even told me where she lived, she insisted I give her my address so she could meet me out front of my place and we could walk to dinner. I had sensed she was overly cautious if anything. I visited for a while longer, collected the clothes I had dropped off the week before, and headed back the two miles to my apartment. I thanked my brother and sister in law, but didn’t stay as long as usual. I was hoping that if I left early I would avoid the inquisition about Elizabeth.

The SS was waiting outside; I skillfully slid behind the wheel after placing my clean clothes over the back of the passenger seat and putting my bag in the trunk. Carol was an amazing woman. She worked and managed to iron every piece of cloth and clothing in her own home as well as my things. Donald told me she ironed their bed sheets, bath towels, and of course I knew she ironed underwear since mine were always pressed when I picked up my laundry. No wonder all the girls in town wanted to date me, I really looked dapper with my clothes so neatly cared for. Carol had also took over shopping for me, so my clothes were fashionable and she found an imported cologne at the drug store that made me smell foreign and mysterious. I was hoping Elizabeth would at least find me intriguing, if not mysterious. I laughed to myself at the thought. I was nervous about this date. I hadn’t been nervous with any of the other girls. There was just something about her ice blue eyes that made my toes tingle.

Back at my apartment, I settled in. I took my shoes off at the door, hung up my laundry, made myself the final martini of the evening, and relaxed on the floral print couch that had conveniently come with the apartment.  I looked around to make sure this would meet with feminine approval, just in case Elizabeth came in before or after our date. Northing was new, but everything was well taken care of, tidy, and orderly. It would do – and who was I trying to impress anyway? She didn’t seem like a prude, but it was highly unlikely we would end up here. I closed my eyes and imagined what we would do if things got romantic.

… knock …

… knock …

“Who is it?” I woke with a start and glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning; my drink was still in my hand (except the ice cubes which had melted hours ago). The glass made a thud as I set it on the end table. I headed to the door and thought I was dreaming. Elizabeth had tears in her eyes and her shirt was clinging to her youthful breasts. She was shivering and cold and quite possibly the most gorgeous woman I had laid eyes on. It took a moment to confirm that I was awake and this wasn’t some sort of vodka induced illusion. Something was obviously wrong but my heart said something was oh so right … I invited her in and poured her a drink.

I suppose pouring a drink at three in the morning for a complete stranger may seem a bit odd. At the moment, I hadn’t given it much though. It wasn’t light out, so my instinct told me to go with an evening beverage and nothing was triggering my coffee impulses (those internal sensors seemed to work simultaneously with my alarm clock). Elizabeth didn’t argue or turn down the dirty martini with olives, so at the time I hadn’t felt it was an inappropriate gesture. I handed her an afghan and she cuddled up on the davenport near the window. I was a bit disappointed that I could no longer have direct visual access to her breasts and perky nipples. I reminded myself that she hadn’t come over to seduce me and if I had any manners at all, I would ask what was troubling her (instead of picturing her in my bed).

“To what do I owe this delightful surprise visit?” I asked as delicately as I could as she seemed to be calming down and I didn’t want to upset her. She went on to explain how she had invited her parents to visit and they turned her down. I listened attentively as she spoke about her childhood. It was a tough story to follow, but apparently Elizabeth and her brother Robert had been placed for adoption. Their birth mother had died and their father was a raging alcoholic who couldn’t control their six older brothers and had no interest in caring for twin toddlers. The twins lived for several years at an orphanage and Elizabeth had traumatizing memories of feeling unwanted and disliked by adults and her peers. When Elizabeth and Robert were finally adopted, Elizabeth said she still felt unwanted.

“They really only wanted to adopt Robert, but the nun running the orphanage made them take me too. They didn’t want me from the start. The day they took us home, we stopped for lunch and I asked for a weiner. The woman who adopted us laughed and belittled me until I cried and couldn’t eat anything anyway.” I had to ask what was so wrong with asking for a weiner and she blushed and told the story of how her new parents felt that weiner was to only be associated with a penis and if it was something for a child to eat; it should be called a hot dog. She had such big tears in her eyes. I couldn’t imagine being so cruel to a child. This had obviously happened many years ago, and she was still struggling with the words and emotions. Part of me didn’t understand why she was here and why she needed to tell me everything. Part of me would have listened forever, just for the opportunity to spend time with her.

We talked until dawn. I stopped thinking about her beauty and began to see just how broken she was. As the stories of her childhood unfolded, I began to understand why her eyes were sad. The couple that adopted her treated her like a maid and allowed her brother to enjoy his childhood. The twins grew further apart and then the couple who had claimed to be unable to bear children had a child of their own. After the birth of her sister, Elizabeth was expected to care for the house and the baby. Their mother spent her time smoking cigarettes, drinking old fashioneds, and complaining about how clumsy, slow, and incompetent Elizabeth was. The longer she talked, the more confused I became. I really wanted to ask why she would have anything to do with such awful people. I couldn’t understand why she would invite them to see her apartment above the diner in town or why she would cry if they turned down the invitation. I couldn’t find the right time to ask these questions; I listened attentively and eventually placed an arm around her shoulder to offer my support.

I was fighting sleep and as she was telling the story about her brother’s broken arm, I must have dozed off. The next thing I knew, she was moving my arm so she could get up. “Oh, I’m sorry Elizabeth. I must have dozed off.” She explained that she had to get going since it was her weekend to work the lunch shift at Arvy’s. The mention of lunch prompted me to look at the clock. I was shocked; it was nearly ten in the morning. We spent seven hours cuddled up on the davenport and I hadn’t even kissed her. All bets were off that it would happen now … she was on her way to the door and I hardly had the energy to undress myself, much less fiddle with a bra and buttons. I should have gotten up to see her out, but I just couldn’t find the energy.

“What’s so funny?” she asked while reaching for the door handle. I didn’t want to tell her that I was laughing at myself and my seasoned skills when it comes to women. I would brag to the guys about being able to unfasten a bra with one hand while driving down a dark country road, but it didn’t seem an appropriate story to share with the femme’ fatal. I thought fast and came up with a lame explanation about how much fun I’d had and how time went by quickly when I was with her. Those weren’t necessarily lies, but they weren’t necessarily the truth either. She was flattered and blushed at my foolishness. Here I was lounging on the couch as a beautiful woman was letting herself out with not so much as a lingering embrace. I reminded her about our date, yawned, and pulled the afghan up to my chin to take a little cat nap of my own.

I stretched but did not open my eyes. I knew it was morning, but for a change that knowledge was not gained by an alarm blaring or the ringing of a phone with a hotel wake up call. I knew it was morning, because even through my closed eyelids, there was a hint of light. The birds were chirping in the bushes outside my window. This must be what it feels like to be royalty – now if only someone else had filled my fridge and could make me some fried eggs, bacon, and buttered toast. I thought to myself ‘who thought it was a good idea to sleep with this belt on?’ Opening my eyes, I saw a green scarf on the chair across from me. It didn’t smell like the expensive perfume the stewardesses wore. It smelled clean, with a hint of something familiar. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it smelled like, but I draped it over my shoulder as I sauntered to the kitchen.

Green? Had she even been wearing green? I scratched my head as I opened the fridge. I thought about the outfits she wore and they were a bit outlandish and never seemed to match. I suppose, Elizabeth would wear a green scarf regardless of the rest of her outfit. I kept trying to remember what she had been wearing. It didn’t seem to matter really, but I was curious about this gorgeous woman. I tipped my head slightly to inhale the green silk scarf once more, but noticed a hideous smell where there had once been such a lovely fragrance. Shit. I had left overs that were left over from who knows when. They looked more like a science experiment than something one might enjoy for breakfast. Glancing at the clock, I decided I would go out for brunch.

I checked the mirror and didn’t think I looked too terribly haggard. My pants were made to withstand the flight, and the couch hadn’t wrinkled too badly. My hair was another story. The dark curls and waves that drove the ladies wild, did not withstand a nights rest. I would have to do something about my hair before I went out to the diner. I started the water while I used the toilet and then ran my comb under the warm water. A wet comb seemed to do the trick. I brushed my teeth, tossed on some Aphrodisiac cologne by Faberge, and picked out a blue shirt that I had been told made my brown eyes sparkle. I thought about last night as I grabbed the door handle. I was intrigued by the visit and by Elizabeth herself – but yet I was bewildered about her overwhelming sadness and why she chose me to share the stories with. Was she crazy? Was I crazy? “Oh hell – the whole world’s gone crazy I guess.” I muttered to myself as I headed out with my billfold in hand.