Greetings!

Hi! I'm Crystal - nice to meet you!
I have a business blog for Relax Consulting and a personal blog that focuses on life's events and turning life's lemons into lemonade and features book reviews and guest bloggers/authors. My 'blog dresser' if you will needs another drawer. A drawer where I can store poems, short stories, and other literary works I have written. This way, the 'dresser drawer' that was meant for lemonade thoughts can stay filled with only those thoughts, and similarly, the 'dresser drawer' filled with business information for Relax Consulting will not be bogged down with things that don't belong.

Now that we got that out of the way - enjoy! (and if this isn't what you are looking for, best of luck with your future endeavors and I hope one of my other pages meets your needs)

Luv,
~Crystal

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Official



This is a piece I am considering entering in a flash fiction contest - feel free to leave your thoughts and suggestions in the comments.
XOXO~Crystal



Official

“I wasn’t always the unwanted kid. I remember back when my mom and dad were together. Anyway, yah…um….here’s that book you lent me. It’s official; I’m um switching schools at the end of the week.”
He gave me the news without shedding a tear and set the copy of El Capitan Alatriste gently on my desk. 

Stoic would be the only way to describe his posture, the tone, everything about the conversation. He was on the thin side, but a well groomed, well mannered, clean cut young man. My heart was breaking, but what could I do? I’m just his 6th grade Spanish Teacher. My lips opened to say thank you while my heart screamed ‘come home with me, we will love you, we always wanted a child’. The tears in my eyes must have been evident. He looked at me and shook his head while he tried to explain “This aint no big deal anymore. This will be my seventh placement. Hopefully these people won’t be so old – Ron and Marge just didn’t have a clue … it’s not their fault really …”

I had heard the stories. Nathan, or Nate as they called him had trouble getting along with boys his age, and got along with the girls a little too well. The county had a hard time finding a placement home without other children. This last placement was with a couple in their early 60’s. They didn’t know how to handle someone Nate’s age and they often called the school, agency, or anyone that might listen. They weren’t necessarily complaining; they were looking for direction. Truth was, no one had time for it. Instead of finding a solution, they just moved Nate.

“Nate, I know you’ll find a great place. You’re a smart kid. Just keep the book. Really.”
He took it, lowered his head so all I could see was his thick brown hair. Then he thanked me in perfect Spanish: “Gracias. Eres una persona muy especial. “   (Thank you. You are a very special person).
I was thankful to have prep during the next hour. The classroom would be empty and I could sort through the thoughts and emotions currently doing the bachata dance in the pit of my stomach. We had tried everything before accepting that our four bedroom ranch would never be filled with the pitter patter of little feet. I turned the nursery into a work-out room and went from a size 20 woman who wanted to bake cookies with little children who wanted to lick spoons to the size 6 health nut who spends all her time and money on the right clothes, the right hair, and perfectly matching accessories (not that my husband noticed the change or my unhappiness).  Lee made it quite clear that adoption was not an option. He would divorce me if he knew what was on my mind this afternoon.

I really didn’t know much about Nate. I knew he was a fast learner if the subject interested him. The music teacher down the hall adored him. His math teacher had problems, but from what I could tell, he just didn’t see how algebra would help him in the future. He had confided in me early in the year that it was his dream to travel to New York and star in a Broadway musical. He loved all things artistic and bright; this likely explained why he was drawn to the Spanish culture. He was a joy in my class, but who was I kidding? Our marriage was in ruins, Lee hadn’t been working since his military discharge and back injury, and we had long ago given up on those dreams of parenting.

He never told me what it was about the book that intrigued him. I never told him that it was only the first in a series of books about 13 year old sword for hire Captain Diego Alatriste y Tenorio. I nodded off picturing Diego’s relationship with the famous actress María de Castro … except it wasn’t Diego’s face I saw … it was Nate who found love in Madrid. As my head jerked up with the realization that I was dreaming, I chastised myself for not being more brave and daring like the characters in my head. I didn’t want to carry a sword or change history. I just wanted to approach my husband, but like Captain Diego who was never an official captain, I would never be an official mother.



Tuesday, February 5, 2013

All Bets Are On (take 3) - A Work in Progress - Scenes from a Small Town 1972


There are an additional 3,108 words as of this post. Believe it or not, I did manage to grocery shop and get some work done today too. I have to thank the folks that were at Connie's Diner this morning. They helped me piece together some information that was a little cloudy to me. We had a great conversation about the best places to go on a first date in Two Rivers in 1972, what types of restaurants were popular, and then I was given some great directions of where things were over 40 years ago. That part went something like this: "do you know where Tippy's is? Across the street, caddy corner, but not all the way to the fish market - can you picture it? that's right where it was - they had great perch" It was wonderful to reminisce about my home town and some of the people at the restaurant knew my family and my father in particular. I could have stayed all day had I not needed groceries and gas.


Thank you again to all you early readers. I am hopeful this will be published by the end of this year - at least as an e-reader book and potentially as a physical book in years to come. If nothing else, it's been a fun project. Enjoy!!

~Crystal


All Bets Are On (3)
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 the SS was a 1972 and so was the year. For the first time, I wasn’t driving someone else’s cast off.
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 gin martini – dry 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 at 6:30 Saturday evening. 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 one point six 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 (good thing I liked my martinis without ice, this one could still be enjoyed). 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 gin 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 and my shirt 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, 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 and pictured Elizabeth’s hand gripping the same knob as she exited. 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.  I realized I had forgotten the most important part of the ensemble – I ran back for a splash of Faberge’ Aphrodisia. Carol had bought the cologne. It drove the women wild. I referred to it as my lady killer cologne, although I specifically remember the box and the manufacturers description: Fabergé Aphrodisia is a “fresh-mossy-aldehydic” chypre that includes top notes of bergamot, lemon, neroli and fruit; middle notes of rose, honey, ylang-ylang, carnation and jasmine; and base notes of oakmoss, vetiver, civet, ambrein and musk. I wasn’t sure if I cared about mossyness or middle notes, but I sure appreciated the compliments and attention this magic potion brought me.
I couldn’t decide if I should walk or drive. Truth be told, I didn’t even know where I was going. If I went to Arvy’s, Elizabeth may think I was a bit pushy. I shook my head at the thought – wasn’t she the one who had shown up at my door in the middle of the night to share her life story? But then again, if I went to Phil Rohrer’s Diner, and she heard about it, she might think I was avoiding her and that her stories had scared me away. All of this thinking was ridiculous! This woman was making me crazy and I hadn’t even touched her. My stomach growled and I decided to choose the closest restaurant with the best food. The decision was clear – I was going to Arvy’s for two eggs over easy, toast, and bacon with a generous helping of coffee.
“Look who the cat dragged in!” hollered my old buddy Pete as I pulled the heavy door closed behind me. I smiled and gave him a wink and rebutted “I am the cat – there’s no dragging going on here old man!” Pete was as round as he was tall and it had been years since there was any trace of hair on his head. We sure didn’t look the same, but we had been friends since grade school. The drinking age had been 18 when we were growing up. Pete always looked older based on his size, but he was two years younger than me. I turned 18 and we started going to the local taverns. It was Pete and Dick who were the same age and then me. When the bartender would ask about our age, I would offer up my license first and the other two scoundrels would come up with an excuse for not having theirs along. Since Dick and Pete looked older than me, once the bartender knew I was of age, we were all allowed in for drinks and a few games of pool. We still went out, but less frequently because Pete was the Chief of Police and was busy with a career, a wife, and two young children. Dick was also busy; he had a child with some sort of condition who needed constant care. Dick was working two jobs to care for the little one and his wife, who was expecting another child sometime soon. It was nice to run into them once in a while like this though. I was disappointed that Dick wasn’t around, but I took a stool next to Pete and listened attentively as he told me what was going on with his family.
“Do you remember Milly? I think she was in your grade.” Pete asked as he jabbed me in the rib cage with his elbow. I remembered an awkward girl name Mildred. I figured that was who he was talking about. “Just a second Pete – I gotta order real quick. I’m starved.”
“Excuse Me”
“Excuse Me”
I was trying to catch Elizabeth’s attention. This is not at all what I expected; it was hard to believe that she would ignore someone who she had spilled her life’s story to just hours before.
“You may be out of luck Charles. She’s really in a mood today. Sally and Dick from the shoe shop were in earlier and they left because she wouldn’t get them a cup and saucer for their coffee. They sat at that table over there for a half hour with a pot of coffee between them – and nuthin’ to drink it out of.”
“You’re kidding, right? Pete?” I asked in disbelief as he nodded his head. I couldn’t believe it. She had always been the best waitress this place had. I was somewhat relieved that it wasn’t just me she was ignoring though.
I hopped out of my seat and scooted behind the counter. I grabbed a saucer and cup, filled the cup with coffee, and returned to my seat. At least I had some coffee, but I wasn’t going to last long without my breakfast. I whistled loudly to get the attention of Gary the cook. We had been classmates and his mother owned the restaurant (which doubled as a nightclub after dark). Gary smiled and came out in his apron with spatula in hand. “Gary, sorry to be a bother, but Elizabeth is um…well…”
“You’re telling me? – she’s been like this all morning!” he interrupted knowing immediately what I was trying to explain. “I’m sure she’ll snap out of it, in the meantime, what can I get for you old friend?”
I ordered up my usual with specific instructions that the yolks needed to be ‘dunkable’ and not fully cooked. By this time, Elizabeth had settled in at the end of the counter and was folding napkins. The look on her face was telling. She wasn’t happy and had something on her mind. She seemed completely unaware of anything going on around her. I got up twice and filled my own coffee; usually she would have chastised me for being behind the counter, but there wasn’t even a look of disgust or acknowledgement. Pete and I got back on the subject of Milly. She had married some guy from the next town over and they were in the process of building a new house. She had come home to find him behind the wheel of their 1966 Chrysler. The garage door was closed and the car was running. She insisted it was an accident, but the word around town was he had been changing some important numbers and stealing money from Mirro Aluminum Company where he had been working in the accounting department. Pete said it was the most exciting case the force had seen and he was hopeful they would get to the bottom of it. I shrugged my shoulders “poor Milly, such an unfortunate situation” and Pete went on to explain that the builders had stopped working on her house, because there was no money. She was understandably upset over the entire situation. Pete knew the moment it was out of his mouth that he shouldn’t have said it, but nonetheless, he had said “can’t blame a guy – when you’ve got a crazy wife, you’ve got no reason to live.”
Gary had brought my breakfast and my stomach was as thankful for the food as my mind was for the interruption from the talk of suicide and insanity. I was thankful my stomach would finally stop growling and as I had hoped, Pete stopped talking. The eggs were hot and creamy as I dipped my toast into the perfectly cooked yolks. The toast had just the right amount of butter; it tasted great but wasn’t dripping or greasy, and the bacon was crisp and thick. The only thing that would have improved upon this meal would have been another glimpse of Elizabeth’s curves being restrained by that tight white uniform. She might turn out to be crazy, but I could handle a little crazy with a body like that. Mum would be unhappy with my thoughts, but I was definitely the kind of man who appreciated a woman’s body – especially a body like hers. She was curvy in all the right places. Mum had been quite small and might describe Elizabeth as being ‘built for child bearing’ or ‘sturdy’ but I just appreciated every curve and how she carried herself.
“Charles? Charles? Did you hear a thing I was saying?” I had to admit to Pete that I hadn’t been paying attention. “What is it with people today? First it’s Elizabeth and now it’s you. What could be so important that you’d ignore an old friend?” I apologized and then explained that it must be from lack of sleep or something – likely due to the traveling and stress at work. He went on to explain that some local teenagers had broken into a boarded up shack down by the river and had been caught smoking their parents’ cigarettes. Pete was confident his children would never do any such thing. I smiled and reminded him of all the laws we had broken through the years. It was fun to tease him about all those years of trying to avoid the police, and now he had joined them. I never would have imagined Pete as an officer of the law, but he seemed to enjoy it. He would have great stories to tell; it sounded like an interesting job.
“Elizabeth?” I tried to get her attention again. I didn’t want to leave without saying good bye and it was nearing time for me to go. I said goodbye to Pete, left a few dollars on the counter and a little note that said s m i l e with a happy face. I figured she would see the note and hopefully it would smooth things over. I didn’t want her to cancel our date, but it would be awkward if she went with me and then refused to speak to me. Again I asked myself why I wouldn’t just go out with one of the other girls who had asked me. Why was I working so hard for this particular girl? “I hope she’s worth it” I muttered under my breath – shaking my head as I walked home.
I quickly tidied up the apartment, and truth be told I wore the scarf around my neck while I was dusting. I tried telling myself that it made the most sense, instead of moving it from place to place or putting it in a drawer, but the truth was it smelled like her. I couldn’t get her out of my mind and I couldn’t wait for our date later that evening. As soon as things were dusted and cleaned (and that terrible experiment removed from the fridge), I settled in for a little nap on the couch. “That smarted” I said out loud hitting my hip quite hard as I landed on the floor. I had been having the most exquisite dream and had not wanted to wake up, and certainly hadn’t planned on falling off the couch onto the hard floor. I stood up rubbing the tender spot on my hip. This was going to leave a bruise I thought to myself as I tried to recall the details of my oh so pleasant dream. I remembered firm nipples and full breasts – they had been large, the size of grapefruits with milky white skin that felt soft as silk. It was definitely Elizabeth’s body I had been dreaming about. For some reason Milly’s face was attached to Elizabeth’s body…maybe it was a good thing I woke up when I did. It was Elizabeth I wanted to make love to; not just her body, but her hair, her face, those ice blue eyes. It was a cruel joke that Milly the Widow’s head had ruined such a lovely experience. I shuddered at the thought.
The afternoon went by slowly as I tinkered around my apartment. It was finally time to hop in the tub and begin getting ready for my big date. She hadn’t called to cancel, so I was assuming she would arrive as planned at 6:30 to walk to dinner. The bath felt great and I wasn’t in much of a hurry, so I leaned my head back and settled in. I closed my eyes in hopes of more milky white skin with no Milly this time. It worked, it was just Elizabeth in the dream this time and I was just about to kiss her soft narrow lips when I awoke with a start. The water was cold, and there was a tapping noise I couldn’t quite place. I blinked a few times trying to figure out what woke me and why. It took a bit, but I figured out that Elizabeth was at the door and I had fallen asleep for far too long in the cozy warmness of the porcelain tub. “How do I explain this – oh what the hell…” I laughed as I answered the door in my towel. Elizabeth looked bewildered.
“I’m very sorry Elizabeth. I fell asleep in the tub and as you can see, I’m not quite decent enough to leave straight away.” I explained as embarrassment crept across my face, turning my cheeks bright red.
She asked shyly “You’re not canceling are you?”
“Of course not! I’ll just need a few moments to wash up and dress. You’ll wait won’t you?” I asked a little more enthusiastically than I had meant to.
She agreed to wait and with one hand firmly holding onto my towel, I hung up her coat, returned her scarf, and headed back to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how to mix her a drink with one hand, so I didn’t even offer her anything. I was hoping she wouldn’t think I was rude, but I thought accidentally losing my towel and showing her my privates might be more inappropriate than leaving her for a few minutes without a beverage. My hair would look greasy if I didn’t wash it, but I could probably get away without shaving. I was mentally calculating what I could accomplish in ten minutes and what could be skipped. I let the water out of the tub, started the shower, and kept myself on task by going through my list of things to do. Thank goodness Carol had my clothes washed, dried, ironed, and hung. Once I was clean, it wouldn’t take long to get dressed. It was that moment that it hit me. The bathroom and the bedroom were on opposite ends of the apartment. I hadn’t brought clothes into the bathroom because I hadn’t anticipated getting dressed with company. I felt my temperature rise as I pictured myself walking through the living room for a second time with a towel around my waist. Here I had been wondering if Elizabeth was crazy, and I’m the real crazy one … some sort of nudist she’d be thinking. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Carol wanted me to meet some nice girl and settle down; no nice girl would be impressed with a half-naked man BEFORE the first date.
I took a deep breath and announced that I would be walking through the apartment in a towel “Elizabeth, I’m sorry to do this again, but I’m…um… going to be walking through in a towel. My clothes are clear on the other end of the apartment. Would you mind closing your eyes a bit?” She said that it would be fine, but there was a bit of a faint giggle after. My cheeks were bright red as I moved quickly to the bedroom – my knuckles white from the firm grip I had on the towel. As I was getting dressed, I thought about how odd it was that I was embarrassed. I had been with my fair share of ladies before, in the day light, in the moonlight, with the lights on…you get the picture…why would I be embarrassed if Elizabeth saw me without my clothes on? Maybe I just wasn’t ready to share my story with her? Maybe this was going to be different? I slid into my undershirt, briefs, and black wool socks first before surveying my closet. I was not the type of gentleman that wore jeans. They weren’t comfortable I had decided in my twenties as I tried on a pair at Schroeder’s Department Store. I told Bob, the store clerk, as much and have honestly never owned or worn a pair. I thought to myself that most men would wear a pair of jeans and a sweater on a first date, but not this guy. I chose a pair of sky blue slacks, a black belt, a sky blue and navy print button up shirt, and a gray cardigan. Looking in the mirror, I felt confident and self-assured. I slid into my loafers, grabbed my jacket, and headed to the bathroom for a splash of good old lady killer cologne.
Elizabeth was examining Yahtzee box sitting on the coffee table. I was happy to see she wasn’t bored or annoyed. I struck up a conversation asking if she had ever played before. “I haven’t, but it sounds interesting. Do you play often?” I wasn’t sure what she was digging at, or if she was. I explained that we play board games at my brother’s house once a week and we take turns choosing the game. “When it’s my turn to choose, I show up with the Yahtzee game. My nephew loves to play and you can see his eyes light up when I walk in the door with it!” She smiled in response so I continued…”do you know my brother Donald and his wife, Carol? They come into the restaurant on the weekends once in a while.” She had a look on her face like she was thinking about it but wasn’t sure if she knew them or not. It was cute, her lips were pursed and her forehead was wrinkled. I smiled at the child-like concentration she was showing. I grabbed her hand saying “I have their family picture right here, come see if you recognize them”. She followed me across the room, my hand still gripping hers gently.

“Oh yes, I have seen them before. He likes his eggs poached and she usually just has toasts with strawberry jam and black coffee…I think…” she sure had a good memory. That would be exactly how Carol would order. I nodded my head in confirmation and she continued “I should have known that was your brother; now that you mention it, the resemblance is uncanny. You two could pass as twins! Oh – you’re not, are you?” I couldn’t help but give her a hard time so I launched into what was supposed to be a witty joke that we often told at the bar when people would ask that question but wouldn’t listen to the response:
“We aren’t twins, in fact I just had a birthday on July 2nd so I’m a little older. We are only twins during between his birthday in February and mine in July.”
Elizabeth had been paying attention. Her eyes widened at first and then her brow furrowed. She cocked her head to the side and gave me the queerest look. I could no longer keep silent. I burst out laughing so hard I was coughing. Her bewilderment gave way to concern. “Oh my, are you going to be alright? Do you need a glass of water?” she asked very sweetly. I explained that it was somewhat of a chronic condition and that I was indeed just fine, but since the air was a bit damp with the leaves falling and such, we should maybe drive instead of walking as we intended. She agreed and we headed for the Chevelle. She seemed impressed with the car, but not so much so that she commented. She looked good sitting in the passenger seat; I closed the door gently and smiled at the beautiful girl sitting inside my beautiful car. She’d probably get offended, so I kept the comment to myself about the similarity of her ice blue eyes and the blue paint of the car and them being twins.
Originally we had planned on staying in town, but since we were driving, I thought we might head to Port Sandy Bay, a pizza joint just out of town. Elizabeth had never been there and they it was a great hangout I had been going to for years. I told her about the pizzas they made on snowcoasters. These gigantic pizzas were enough to feed the football team after a game – they were huge! One of my buddies worked there and introduced me to the owner who could toss pizza dough like they did on the cartoons. The drinks were reasonably priced. I went on and on about the restaurant and talked Elizabeth’s ear off during the entire six minute scenic drive from my place there. She didn’t once yawn, reach for the radio, ask me to slow down, or interrupt my nostalgic banter about hanging out at Port with my high school friends. I was thinking how lucky I was as I opened her car door and took her hand to walk inside.
I had been so busy worrying about my own clothing choice, that I hadn’t noticed what Elizabeth was wearing. It was the moment she placed one foot on the gravel of the parking lot that I noticed her slender ankle, green high heels, and the hem of her skirt that hung below her knee when she was standing but which had shown a smooth and slightly tanned thigh just moments before. The skirt was the same color green as her shoes and I couldn’t wait for her to take off her coat so I could get a better look at the blouse she was wearing. I was already intrigued by the lack of stockings. Carol would certainly categorize Elizabeth as a rebel or a bad girl, because the good girls wore stockings. I myself enjoyed stockings, but only the kind with the garters. I never explained that to Carol though, and at this particular moment I was only thinking about the texture of Elizabeth’s skin. It looked smooth and I wouldn’t rush things but was hoping I might rest a hand there after a golden Cadillac or other after dinner drink.
“Where is the ladies room?” Elizabeth asked and broke the trance I had entered into. There was just something about her that left me feeling breathless. I pointed her in the direction of the ladies room and promised I would wait before going into the bar area. Knowing she was a bit rebellious, I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do or not. I wanted her to know I was a gentleman and yet I didn’t want to insult her either. My mother had always said that no lady enters a building in front of a man or enters a bar by herself. That really stuck in my head and since the dining area and the bar were separate here, I didn’t want to disrespect Elizabeth in any way by allowing her to enter the bar by herself. Why was I over thinking everything with this girl? Why didn’t I just go up to the bar and order a drink like I did with other dates? I’m worrying about my clothes, my words, my manners; I sounded more like one of my sisters than myself. I was still pretty self-assured, but for some reason I was more worried about Elizabeth and her comfort level than my own.  
“I’m all set, but boy is it chilly in there. Someone must have been smoking and they left the window open a crack.” Elizabeth shivered as she intertwined her am and mine, moving in close while we walked to the bar. “I hope you don’t smoke, because I really think the smell is awful and my adopted mother, Dorothy always said kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray, and…” she blushed and stopped mid-sentence. I was hoping she was going to say something about wanting to kiss me. I could see how uncomfortable she was so I assured her that I didn’t smoke, had never smoked, had no intention of smoking, and then clarified that I didn’t like cigarettes, chewing tobacco, cigars, or pipes.
“I’ll have a gin martini extra dry with olives, and for the lady, a…” and I turn to Elizabeth realizing I haven’t taken her drink order. Thankfully, she confidently orders her own drink and there is no awkward moment for the bartender, Elizabeth, or myself. She ordered a pop, which I thought was amusing until she explained that in Iron Mountain Michigan where she had grown up, that was what it was called. We called it soda, she called it pop. There was something else she was trying to tell me about when we were interrupted by a booming voice from behind “well, if it isn’t Donald and…” it was Clyde from the garage downtown and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Elizabeth and realized he must be talking to the wrong brother. I greeted him warmly “Clyde, it’s me Charles, and this is my girlfriend Elizabeth.” It rolled off my tongue so quick and smooth that it was out before I realized what I was saying. Elizabeth blushed and shook Clyde’s hand as they exchanged pleasantries. Clyde apologized for calling me by the wrong name, and Elizabeth was answering his questions quickly and without hesitation. I was learning more about her as the conversation went on, so I had no reason to interrupt. She had grown up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in a town called Iron Mountain. She had a brother and sister, no nieces or nephews, and her brother, Robert, was in the Coast Guard stationed somewhere on the East Coast – she wasn’t sure just where. Her father had worked for the mining company and then for a trucking company driving potatoes around the State of Michigan. She worked at an ice cream shop and babysat through high school and just as the conversation turned to the topic of graduation I realized all eyes were on me.
Elizabeth had told Clyde that she graduated less than ten years before. As the date 1963 rolled off her tongue, Clyde turned to me and his jaw dropped. She was looking at me pretty confused about the reaction her revelation had caused. Of course, Clyde knew that I had graduated in 1948 because he was only two years ahead of me in school. All I could say with a twinkle in my eye was “Well old man, when you’re trading your 50 in on 2 25’s, I’ll still be living the good life” and we both roared with laughter. Elizabeth had apparently never heard that joke, because her eyes were welling up with tears as if I had offended her. Clyde excused himself. I ordered Elizabeth a drink called a Rob Roy (which I heard other young ladies order) and we sat down the bar for a quiet chat.
“It’s usually a joke between spouses Elizabeth. Donald teases Carol all the time that when she turns 60 he is going to trade her in on two wives that are 30, and others do the same thing…I was simply trying to make a joke of things. Clyde didn’t seem too impressed that we are 15 years apart in age, and instead of listening to his criticism, I made a joke. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Silence…
More Silence…
I had to say something “do you understand? I wasn’t trying to make you cry” I said as yet another tear rolled down her cheek landing on the smooth skin just above the edge of her blouse. I handed her my handkerchief. She dapped away the tears, took a sip of her drink, made the funniest face and burst out laughing “What is in this? It tastes like witch-hazel with a cherry on top.”
I was laughing at the outburst and utterly relieved to be laughing together instead of crying. I guess my next question would be what type of drink she liked. “Elizabeth, I am so sorry. This is probably the most tragic first date you’ve ever had. I am going to try to make it up to you. What is your favorite drink?” I asked her and hadn’t even realized I had taken both of her hands in my own as I was apologizing. There we sat; neither of us uncomfortable. In fact, if I had to use a single word to describe the moment, I would say comfortable. 
“Don’t worry about it Charles. I haven’t exactly been on many dates, so I have no expectations. Don’t laugh about my drink choice, it’s hard to say and I feel silly ordering it. I really don’t drink much of anything with alcohol in it. My cheeks get flushed and I feel funny. I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that I didn’t really drink the cocktail you made me at your place the other night either. I can tolerate a wine if it’s sort of sweet, it has to be pink, and with a few ice cubes. Dumb isn’t it?” I assured her it wasn’t dumb at all and I ordered her a glass of white zinfandel over ice. She looked at me and argued that she really only liked pink wine. I promised that she wouldn’t be disappointed, and she wasn’t…but she was surprised when her white zinfandel appeared and it was pink. She hugged me and smiled. It was that moment that I told myself ‘well Charles – she might be crazy, too young for you, and a few inches too tall, but this is the woman you need to spend the rest of your life with’.
I tried to shut off the voice in my head. I tried to think about things that would divert my attention from this lovely girl with the soft pink lips, ice blue eyes…there I go again…
“What’s good here? I know you talked about those sled pizzas, but I don’t think the two of us can eat that much. Look here, they have a pizza with olives on. I love olives and onions. How about you Charles?” With that we leaned a little closer and examined the menu together. She smelled clean and fresh; there was no way I could concentrate on the menu. I was happy to be at a restaurant I knew so well. I ordered another martini and told her I would eat anything on the pizza, as long as it was something she would enjoy. It took her the better part of the evening to finish her wine, and we were so busy talking we hardly made a dent in the Port Special pizza we had ordered. She was astonished by the generous layer of onions, mushrooms, olives, pepperoni, sausage, and of course cheese. With a mischievous grin on my face, I turned to her and asked “aren’t you glad I took you to the finest joint in town Miss Elizabeth?” and as she answered, I placed my hand on the knee that had been flirting with me earlier; I was not disappointed and her skin was as soft and smooth as the petal of a tulip.
I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. We didn’t rush through dinner, but since feeling her thigh was the highlight of my evening, I was excited to tell you about it. The dinner conversation was relaxed and comfortable. She didn’t mention anything about her childhood and I didn’t ask. I was flattered that she had shared what she did during our late night chat, and since it was a sensitive subject I didn’t want to bring it up. I am patient and figured she would expound upon things if and when she felt it necessary. The thought crossed my mind that maybe she was attracted to me because the man that adopted her wasn’t much of a father. I quickly pushed those thoughts away; I had been on plenty of dates with women a decade or so younger than me. I was handsome, successful, and most people enjoyed my sardonic wit. I was reminding myself of this to squelch my concerns about our age difference. I told myself ‘she may very well be broken, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy her company.’
“I’m glad we didn’t go to Kurtz’s; I like it here.” She said politely as she raised her water glass to her lips. I was a bit surprised because Kurtz’s had an entirely different feel than Port Sandy Bay. Most people would think that Kurtz’s were more romantic than Port. I asked if she would explain, to which she did: “I don’t mind their sandwiches, but since I live alone, I don’t eat pizza very often, so this is a special treat. I passed on a chance to visit the Pizza Garden in Manitowoc (one town over on the Lake) last week and I’ve been kicking myself. You don’t have pasties like we do back home, and pizza seems like the next best thing.” I was following her story just fine and had been to the Pizza Garden on occasion, loved the variety of beers at Kurtz’s, but she lost me at pasties…and a confused look crept across my face, giving me away. She wrapped up her story rather abruptly, tilted her head to the side, and asked me if I was feeling well. I was silent for a bit as I thought about an appropriate answer. She was saying “past T’s” and they were obviously a food. I had traveled a great deal, but had honestly never heard of this meal or treat. I was spelling the word in my head slowly p a s t I e s … and trying not to think about the Golden Cage. The Golden Cage was a tavern downtown that had gogo dancers. I was certain Elizabeth wasn’t the kind of lady who went there, and the pasties those girls wore weren’t the edible type. I couldn’t think of a good way to get the answers I needed and I was stuck feeling confused and not as worldly as I claimed to be. ‘She’s saying Past-T’s you moron – NOT Paste-T’s’ my brain kept chastising me.
She was the first to speak “you’ve never heard of pasties, have you Charles? Most people here haven’t; don’t feel badly.” I was relieved. I had also had enough martinis that I was still thinking about nipple covers as she explained about the crust filled delicacy with diced potatoes, rutabagas, carrots, onions, and ground beef. That didn’t sound at all appetizing and didn’t appeal to me sexually either. She patiently explained that pasties are something unique to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula which explained why I had never seen them on the menu in my travels to Detroit, Traverse City or Lansing. The Lower Peninsula had pasties and go go dancers, the Upper Peninsula had pasties and potatoes…my words, not hers. I thanked her for patiently explaining and then cracked a joke about the importance of pronouncing pasties correctly. Now it was her turn looking perplexed. ‘Oh shit…she doesn’t know what pasties are. Why can’t you keep your mouth shut you dirty old fool?’ my brain was screaming at me through the gin fog. Things had been going so well and I just messed it all up. There would be no talking myself out of this with any sort of grace. Good thing I stopped going to mass years ago, or I would be confessing plenty to the father after this date.
“Have you ever heard of pasties Elizabeth?” I asked and carefully pronounced ‘Paste-T’s’ and then I shut my mouth while she thought about it for a bit. She didn’t seem flustered or embarrassed, so I assumed an explanation would be needed. I tripped and fumbled my words as I explained that female dancers weren’t allowed to show their nipples, so they had small tassels that would cover their nipples while they danced and those were called pasties. I told her about the decorations that would sometimes adorn them and how the ladies could spin them around during some dance numbers. My explanation was too lengthy but I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t picturing a stranger or a dancer wearing them, I was picturing Elizabeth. We weren’t at a club, we were at my apartment. I had to stop talking, so I wrapped up the explanation saying “not that I’m the type of guy that spends my entire paycheck at the Golden Cage; you don’t think poorly of me, do you?”
Silence…
More Silence…
During the painful silence I was replaying so many of our exchanges. The first time I saw her at the restaurant, my hand lingered a bit too long as I took the bill from her. The second time at the restaurant, when I stared at her name tag, the letters of her name lingering on my lips and my eyes fixated on her bosom. The crying incident at my place; me in my towel, and now, this horrendously inappropriate joke – I feared I was placing nails in my own coffin. I had speculated that she might be a bit broken and crazy. At this point, I was hoping she was both; any girl with any sense at all would run back to Michigan as fast as possible and wouldn’t give me a second date. I wasn’t a church going man, but I had a strong faith. I said a quick prayer ‘ Dear God – Please let her be crazy enough to forgive me my trespasses. A-Men ‘
As my heart finished the prayer, she spoke. My breath caught in my throat and I swore my heart was going to burst.
“I wonder how they get them to go round and round; it sounds sort of difficult.”
The tense feeling left my shoulders, I relaxed in my chair, my heart-beat slowed, I could breathe, and I began laughing. It was a genuine sort of laugh. The kind I had as a child. I wasn’t humoring a client, or being polite, and after a few minutes I found myself with tears in my eyes. I grabbed her hands from across the table, looked into her eyes, and said “I’m not sure, but if you ever want to try it, I’d be happy to help.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. There we sat, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, tears in our eyes, laughing like fools. I knew we were making a scene, but I didn’t care. I wanted the whole restaurant to see me with this beautiful girl and I wanted them to see how happy we were together. Shit – let’s go further than that. I wanted the whole damn world to know what I knew – this was the girl I wanted to spend my life with. Broken or not, wearing pasties or eating pasties – I didn’t care. I wanted her. She had broken the curse and I no longer cared to remain a bachelor. Of course it was too soon to tell her how I felt, and I wouldn’t tell Carol, but I already knew there would be no need for this guy to go on another first date!
I ordered my final martini of the night as I paid the bill at the bar. Elizabeth insisted on leaving the tip. I wasn’t impressed, but it was better than the ‘dutch treat’ method of dating she had originally proposed. That also must have been a Upper Michigan philosophy where the man pays just 50% and the woman pays 50%...I was hoping I’d never have to go to Upper Michigan because their customs seemed very foreign to me. What man would go on a date and allow a lady to pay a portion of the bill? I relented and allowed her to leave the tip, but made it quite clear that if she was with me, I would be paying and tipping in the future. The End.
I went out to warm the car and then pulled it around to pick up Elizabeth. I walked to the door, took her hand, led her to the car, opened her car door, closed her car door, and smiled like a fool until I got behind the wheel. That was the first time since ordering the Chevelle that I didn’t even stop to admire the paint; I was too busy admiring the blue eyed beauty sitting in the passenger seat. The thought took my breath away, and unfortunately triggered a coughing jag. Elizabeth waited patient until my coughing subsided and asked with concern “Charles, you seem to be coughing a lot. Are you coming down with something?” This was the question I knew was coming, I wanted to tell her the truth, but this was an answer I didn’t want to face, much less explain.
I launched into the story of how I was born at home and was sickly from the moment Mother delivered me. How my family lived in a dirty shack and couldn’t afford groceries but found ways to purchase my expensive cough syrup. I left out the part about physicians thinking I wouldn’t live to see graduation day. I left out the part about staying at the Maplecrest Sanitarium in Whitelaw to recover from the terribly painful surgery where each of my ribs was broken. I summarized my life by saying that I had a chronic cough and that my early living conditions contributed to scarring that caused constant shortness of breath with a deep phlegmy cough. All of that was true, I hadn’t lied to Elizabeth. I just neglected to tell her anything that might scare her away. She would find out soon enough about the scar that ran from my shoulder to my hip, cross ways along my back … the ugly, hideous scar that made me ashamed to take my shirt off in the summer. The painful reminder of the surgery that removed half of each of my lungs; the surgery that was meant to relieve my pain and stop the coughing. The surgery that didn’t work; the failed surgery that was meant to heal, but didn’t.    
She looked at me sympathetically, but without pity and said “glad you’re not coming down with anything; I was hoping we could take a little walk and keep chatting once we get back to town. I don’t want the night to end.” Those words and her reaction landed on my ears and felt the same way her skin felt. There was something natural and honest about the exchange. The fear I had originally had subsided. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me and I didn’t want her to walk away. I was hopeful that the way I explained it would be truthful and wouldn’t give her cause for alarm. I had apparently done a great job. I asked if she had ever been to either Picnic Hill or Neshotah Beach. Both were popular spots for young couples to sit and chat (and occasionally watch submarine races as they were called…aka: make out). She hadn’t been to either spot and chose Neshotah Beach.
I drove cautiously on the winding road and asked Elizabeth to keep her eyes open and help me watch for deer. It was common to see plenty of wild and domestic animals in this area and I didn’t want to wreck my car or hurt either one of us. We saw the reflection of a few eyes on the side of the road, but there were no close encounters with deer, skunk, or raccoons. I made the sharp left and turned onto the road that went past the sandy beach. Just after the turn, I rolled down my window and rested my arm on the exposed track in the door. I wasn’t much of a swimmer, but the waves and the sand had always appealed to me in a way I couldn’t explain. The sound was music to my ears, and even as a child I longed to feel the sand between my toes. I saw her pearly white teeth, Elizabeth had smiled at my foolishness and opened her window as well. It was a little late in the year for such shenanigans, but we were both smiling and laughing.
The night should have lasted forever. The blueprints, plane tickets, and my suitcase were waiting at the apartment. I tried to forget about my professional responsibilities, but within 24 hours I would be boarding the company plane headed to Atlanta and I wouldn’t be home for at least two weeks. Usually I looked forward to these trips and the characters I would meet on my journey. This time was different. I had no idea if she would want to see me again, but I had a feeling she would and knowing there was someone special back at home meant my heart would remain in Two Rivers regardless of where my travels would take me.
We agreed it was too chilly to sit in the sand, and neither of us felt like making a bonfire on the beach. Our original plans to walk to the beach had luckily been changed and since we were there in the car, we decided to listen to the radio and just sit next to one another while we talked. Things were going well until I affectionately called Elizabeth “Betty” – her ice blue eyes turned to fire and she hollered at me using a voice entirely different than her regular speaking voice “Don’t you ever call me Betty again. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” Her chest was moving up and down like a bull ready to charge. The Eagles were singing the lyrics to Take It Easy and that’s exactly what I wanted to say. This should have confirmed my original suspicions that she was crazy, but instead I calmly apologized. It would be years later when she would explain that the people who adopted her had referred to her as Betty while referring to her twin brother at Berty. When someone called her Betty she was brought back to the awful treatment she had received as a child. “Call me Bett, Ellie, Liz, or Beth, but please don’t ever call me Betty again. Thank you.”
There sure were a lot of rules, but from what I could see, they were worth the trouble if it meant spending time with such a pretty young lady. We talked so long I was hungry again. “Phil Rohr’s is open right now. How do you feel about grabbing some greasy food?” Of course she had been there, but she admitted that she had never had raw fries and gravy which was a local favorite. I promised her a breakfast she would not soon forget. Lots of people liked raw fries and gravy; they weren’t half bad, but I was craving french-fries with gravy. Those martinis had worn off and left an empty spot in my belly that could only be filled with crinkle cut french-fries and thick brown gravy. She wasn’t convinced and admitted she preferred her french-fries with ketchup or occasionally vinegar and salt, but she agreed to give it a try. We drove to the little diner on 22nd Street and found the perfect parking spot, right out front and then grabbed the booth in the back so we would have some privacy. Elizabeth surprised me by sitting next to me instead of across from me.
I longed to put my arm around her shoulders, but I didn’t want to rush that type of intimacy. After we ordered and received our drinks (soda for me and a pop for her), she shivered. I figured it was the perfect time to stretch a bit, relax, and put my arm over her shoulder. She smiled and thanked me as she leaned in. I was a little shorter than she was, but Elizabeth adjusted herself a bit until she fit perfectly next to me in the safety of my half embrace. Her hair smelled sweet and I knew that if I looked down I might get a glimpse of her bare thigh. Luckily, our food came before I sinned again. With food on the table, I would have something to keep my gaze busy with. “These raw fries are great Charles; did I really promise that I’d try your fries? They look sort of like a mess of something.” I teased her and told her it was too late to go back on the deal now. She reluctantly tried the smallest french-fry she could find and with a peculiar expression she said “I won’t be fighting you for those; you can have every last one.”
I threw my head back and laughed for a moment before looking right in her eyes “I guess you aren’t perfect after all Miss Elizabeth. I suppose I could take you out on another date, but this was really the deal breaker for me.” I sighed dramatically and curled my lower lip in a pout. She hesitated briefly and then responded similarly “Well Sir Charles – I wouldn’t want a second date with someone who claims to be French but has no idea how to properly eat a french-fry.” She mocked me with a fake pout and teasing smile. I loved the thought of a relationship that included a fair amount of teasing. As I was growing up, I would complain about my siblings teasing me and my father would remind me that people only tease those they love. In my mind, she had just promised me her undying love and affection. This still wasn’t enough to get me to church in the morning, but I thanked God just the same for this opportunity and the feeling that was taking over my entire body.                                                                                 



Monday, February 4, 2013

All Bets Are On (take 2) - A Work in Progress - Scenes from a Small Town 1972

There are an additional 2,718 words as of this post. If you were reading before, there were only 6,519 and I want to thank my special friend Cathy for helping with some grammatical edits and improvements. I hope everyone is enjoying this story as it unfolds - I encourage your feedback please and thank you!

~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 the SS was a 1972 and so was the year. For the first time, I wasn’t driving someone else’s cast off.
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 gin martini – dry 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 at 6:30 Saturday evening. 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 (good thing I liked my martinis without ice, this one could still be enjoyed). 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 gin 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 and my shirt 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, 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 and pictured Elizabeth’s hand gripping the same knob as she exited. 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.  I realized I had forgotten the most important part of the ensemble – I ran back for a splash of Faberge’ Aphrodisia. Carol had bought the cologne. It drove the women wild. I referred to it as my lady killer cologne, although I specifically remember the box and the manufacturers description: Fabergé Aphrodisia is a “fresh-mossy-aldehydic” chypre that includes top notes of bergamot, lemon, neroli and fruit; middle notes of rose, honey, ylang-ylang, carnation and jasmine; and base notes of oakmoss, vetiver, civet, ambrein and musk. I wasn’t sure if I cared about mossyness or middle notes, but I sure appreciated the compliments and attention this magic potion brought me.
I couldn’t decide if I should walk or drive. Truth be told, I didn’t even know where I was going. If I went to Arvy’s, Elizabeth may think I was a bit pushy. I shook my head at the thought – wasn’t she the one who had shown up at my door in the middle of the night to share her life story? But then again, if I went to Phil Rohrer’s Diner, and she heard about it, she might think I was avoiding her and that her stories had scared me away. All of this thinking was ridiculous! This woman was making me crazy and I hadn’t even touched her. My stomach growled and I decided to choose the closest restaurant with the best food. The decision was clear – I was going to Arvy’s for two eggs over easy, toast, and bacon with a generous helping of coffee.
“Look who the cat dragged in!” hollered my old buddy Pete as I pulled the heavy door closed behind me. I smiled and gave him a wink and rebutted “I am the cat – there’s no dragging going on here old man!” Pete was as round as he was tall and it had been years since there was any trace of hair on his head. We sure didn’t look the same, but we had been friends since grade school. The drinking age had been 18 when we were growing up. Pete always looked older based on his size, but he was two years younger than me. I turned 18 and we started going to the local taverns. It was Pete and Dick who were the same age and then me. When the bartender would ask about our age, I would offer up my license first and the other two scoundrels would come up with an excuse for not having theirs along. Since Dick and Pete looked older than me, once the bartender knew I was of age, we were all allowed in for drinks and a few games of pool. We still went out, but less frequently because Pete was the Chief of Police and was busy with a career, a wife, and two young children. Dick was also busy; he had a child with some sort of condition who needed constant care. Dick was working two jobs to care for the little one and his wife, who was expecting another child sometime soon. It was nice to run into them once in a while like this though. I was disappointed that Dick wasn’t around, but I took a stool next to Pete and listened attentively as he told me what was going on with his family.
“Do you remember Milly? I think she was in your grade.” Pete asked as he jabbed me in the rib cage with his elbow. I remembered an awkward girl name Mildred. I figured that was who he was talking about. “Just a second Pete – I gotta order real quick. I’m starved.”
“Excuse Me”
“Excuse Me”
I was trying to catch Elizabeth’s attention. This is not at all what I expected; it was hard to believe that she would ignore someone who she had spilled her life’s story to just hours before.
“You may be out of luck Charles. She’s really in a mood today. Sally and Dick from the shoe shop were in earlier and they left because she wouldn’t get them a cup and saucer for their coffee. They sat at that table over there for a half hour with a pot of coffee between them – and nuthin’ to drink it out of.”
“You’re kidding, right? Pete?” I asked in disbelief as he nodded his head. I couldn’t believe it. She had always been the best waitress this place had. I was somewhat relieved that it wasn’t just me she was ignoring though.
I hopped out of my seat and scooted behind the counter. I grabbed a saucer and cup, filled the cup with coffee, and returned to my seat. At least I had some coffee, but I wasn’t going to last long without my breakfast. I whistled loudly to get the attention of Gary the cook. We had been classmates and his mother owned the restaurant (which doubled as a nightclub after dark). Gary smiled and came out in his apron with spatula in hand. “Gary, sorry to be a bother, but Elizabeth is um…well…”
“You’re telling me? – she’s been like this all morning!” he interrupted knowing immediately what I was trying to explain. “I’m sure she’ll snap out of it, in the meantime, what can I get for you old friend?”
I ordered up my usual with specific instructions that the yolks needed to be ‘dunkable’ and not fully cooked. By this time, Elizabeth had settled in at the end of the counter and was folding napkins. The look on her face was telling. She wasn’t happy and had something on her mind. She seemed completely unaware of anything going on around her. I got up twice and filled my own coffee; usually she would have chastised me for being behind the counter, but there wasn’t even a look of disgust or acknowledgement. Pete and I got back on the subject of Milly. She had married some guy from the next town over and they were in the process of building a new house. She had come home to find him behind the wheel of their 1966 Chrysler. The garage door was closed and the car was running. She insisted it was an accident, but the word around town was he had been changing some important numbers and stealing money from Mirro Aluminum Company where he had been working in the accounting department. Pete said it was the most exciting case the force had seen and he was hopeful they would get to the bottom of it. I shrugged my shoulders “poor Milly, such an unfortunate situation” and Pete went on to explain that the builders had stopped working on her house, because there was no money. She was understandably upset over the entire situation. Pete knew the moment it was out of his mouth that he shouldn’t have said it, but nonetheless, he had said “can’t blame a guy – when you’ve got a crazy wife, you’ve got no reason to live.”
Gary had brought my breakfast and my stomach was as thankful for the food as my mind was for the interruption from the talk of suicide and insanity. I was thankful my stomach would finally stop growling and as I had hoped, Pete stopped talking. The eggs were hot and creamy as I dipped my toast into the perfectly cooked yolks. The toast had just the right amount of butter; it tasted great but wasn’t dripping or greasy, and the bacon was crisp and thick. The only thing that would have improved upon this meal would have been another glimpse of Elizabeth’s curves being restrained by that tight white uniform. She might turn out to be crazy, but I could handle a little crazy with a body like that. Mum would be unhappy with my thoughts, but I was definitely the kind of man who appreciated a woman’s body – especially a body like hers. She was curvy in all the right places. Mum had been quite small and might describe Elizabeth as being ‘built for child bearing’ or ‘sturdy’ but I just appreciated every curve and how she carried herself.
“Charles? Charles? Did you hear a thing I was saying?” I had to admit to Pete that I hadn’t been paying attention. “What is it with people today? First it’s Elizabeth and now it’s you. What could be so important that you’d ignore an old friend?” I apologized and then explained that it must be from lack of sleep or something – likely due to the traveling and stress at work. He went on to explain that some local teenagers had broken into a boarded up shack down by the river and had been caught smoking their parents’ cigarettes. Pete was confident his children would never do any such thing. I smiled and reminded him of all the laws we had broken through the years. It was fun to tease him about all those years of trying to avoid the police, and now he had joined them. I never would have imagined Pete as an officer of the law, but he seemed to enjoy it. He would have great stories to tell; it sounded like an interesting job.
“Elizabeth?” I tried to get her attention again. I didn’t want to leave without saying good bye and it was nearing time for me to go. I said goodbye to Pete, left a few dollars on the counter and a little note that said s m i l e with a happy face. I figured she would see the note and hopefully it would smooth things over. I didn’t want her to cancel our date, but it would be awkward if she went with me and then refused to speak to me. Again I asked myself why I wouldn’t just go out with one of the other girls who had asked me. Why was I working so hard for this particular girl? “I hope she’s worth it” I muttered under my breath – shaking my head as I walked home.
I quickly tidied up the apartment, and truth be told I wore the scarf around my neck while I was dusting. I tried telling myself that it made the most sense, instead of moving it from place to place or putting it in a drawer, but the truth was it smelled like her. I couldn’t get her out of my mind and I couldn’t wait for our date later that evening. As soon as things were dusted and cleaned (and that terrible experiment removed from the fridge), I settled in for a little nap on the couch. “That smarted” I said out loud hitting my hip quite hard as I landed on the floor. I had been having the most exquisite dream and had not wanted to wake up, and certainly hadn’t planned on falling off the couch onto the hard floor. I stood up rubbing the tender spot on my hip. This was going to leave a bruise I thought to myself as I tried to recall the details of my oh so pleasant dream. I remembered firm nipples and full breasts – they had been large, the size of grapefruits with milky white skin that felt soft as silk. It was definitely Elizabeth’s body I had been dreaming about. For some reason Milly’s face was attached to Elizabeth’s body…maybe it was a good thing I woke up when I did. It was Elizabeth I wanted to make love to; not just her body, but her hair, her face, those ice blue eyes. It was a cruel joke that Milly the Widow’s head had ruined such a lovely experience. I shuddered at the thought.
The afternoon went by slowly as I tinkered around my apartment. It was finally time to hop in the tub and begin getting ready for my big date. She hadn’t called to cancel, so I was assuming she would arrive as planned at 6:30 to walk to dinner. The bath felt great and I wasn’t in much of a hurry, so I leaned my head back and settled in. I closed my eyes in hopes of more milky white skin with no Milly this time. It worked, it was just Elizabeth in the dream this time and I was just about to kiss her soft narrow lips when I awoke with a start. The water was cold, and there was a tapping noise I couldn’t quite place. I blinked a few times trying to figure out what woke me and why. It took a bit, but I figured out that Elizabeth was at the door and I had fallen asleep for far too long in the cozy warmness of the porcelain tub. “How do I explain this – oh what the hell…” I laughed as I answered the door in my towel. Elizabeth looked bewildered.
“I’m very sorry Elizabeth. I fell asleep in the tub and as you can see, I’m not quite decent enough to leave straight away.” I explained as embarrassment crept across my face, turning my cheeks bright red.
She asked shyly “You’re not canceling are you?”
“Of course not! I’ll just need a few moments to wash up and dress. You’ll wait won’t you?” I asked a little more enthusiastically than I had meant to.
She agreed to wait and with one hand firmly holding onto my towel, I hung up her coat, returned her scarf, and headed back to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how to mix her a drink with one hand, so I didn’t even offer her anything. I was hoping she wouldn’t think I was rude, but I thought accidentally losing my towel and showing her my privates might be more inappropriate than leaving her for a few minutes without a beverage. My hair would look greasy if I didn’t wash it, but I could probably get away without shaving. I was mentally calculating what I could accomplish in ten minutes and what could be skipped. I let the water out of the tub, started the shower, and kept myself on task by going through my list of things to do. Thank goodness Carol had my clothes washed, dried, ironed, and hung. Once I was clean, it wouldn’t take long to get dressed. It was that moment that it hit me. The bathroom and the bedroom were on opposite ends of the apartment. I hadn’t brought clothes into the bathroom because I hadn’t anticipated getting dressed with company. I felt my temperature rise as I pictured myself walking through the living room for a second time with a towel around my waist. Here I had been wondering if Elizabeth was crazy, and I’m the real crazy one … some sort of nudist she’d be thinking. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Carol wanted me to meet some nice girl and settle down; no nice girl would be impressed with a half-naked man BEFORE the first date.
I took a deep breath and announced that I would be walking through the apartment in a towel “Elizabeth, I’m sorry to do this again, but I’m…um… going to be walking through in a towel. My clothes are clear on the other end of the apartment. Would you mind closing your eyes a bit?” She said that it would be fine, but there was a bit of a faint giggle after. My cheeks were bright red as I moved quickly to the bedroom – my knuckles white from the firm grip I had on the towel. As I was getting dressed, I thought about how odd it was that I was embarrassed. I had been with my fair share of ladies before, in the day light, in the moonlight, with the lights on…you get the picture…why would I be embarrassed if Elizabeth saw me without my clothes on? Maybe I just wasn’t ready to share my story with her? Maybe this was going to be different? I slid into my undershirt, briefs, and black wool socks first before surveying my closet. I was not the type of gentleman that wore jeans. They weren’t comfortable I had decided in my twenties as I tried on a pair at Schroeder’s Department Store. I told Bob, the store clerk, as much and have honestly never owned or worn a pair. I thought to myself that most men would wear a pair of jeans and a sweater on a first date, but not this guy. I chose a pair of sky blue slacks, a black belt, a sky blue and navy print button up shirt, and a gray cardigan. Looking in the mirror, I felt confident and self-assured. I slid into my loafers, grabbed my jacket, and headed to the bathroom for a splash of good old lady killer cologne.
Elizabeth was examining Yahtzee box sitting on the coffee table. I was happy to see she wasn’t bored or annoyed. I struck up a conversation asking if she had ever played before. “I haven’t, but it sounds interesting. Do you play often?” I wasn’t sure what she was digging at, or if she was. I explained that we play board games at my brother’s house once a week and we take turns choosing the game. “When it’s my turn to choose, I show up with the Yahtzee game. My nephew loves to play and you can see his eyes light up when I walk in the door with it!” She smiled in response so I continued…”do you know my brother Donald and his wife, Carol? They come into the restaurant on the weekends once in a while.” She had a look on her face like she was thinking about it but wasn’t sure if she knew them or not. It was cute, her lips were pursed and her forehead was wrinkled. I smiled at the child-like concentration she was showing. I grabbed her hand saying “I have their family picture right here, come see if you recognize them”. She followed me across the room, my hand still gripping hers gently.

“Oh yes, I have seen them before. He likes his eggs poached and she usually just has toasts with strawberry jam and black coffee…I think…” she sure had a good memory. That would be exactly how Carol would order. I nodded my head in confirmation and she continued “I should have known that was your brother; now that you mention it, the resemblance is uncanny. You two could pass as twins! Oh – you’re not, are you?” I couldn’t help but give her a hard time so I launched into what was supposed to be a witty joke that we often told at the bar when people would ask that question but wouldn’t listen to the response:
“We aren’t twins, in fact I just had a birthday on July 2nd so I’m a little older. We are only twins during between his birthday in February and mine in July.”
Elizabeth had been paying attention. Her eyes widened at first and then her brow furrowed. She cocked her head to the side and gave me the queerest look. I could no longer keep silent. I burst out laughing so hard I was coughing. Her bewilderment gave way to concern. “Oh my, are you going to be alright? Do you need a glass of water?” she asked very sweetly. I explained that it was somewhat of a chronic condition and that I was indeed just fine, but since the air was a bit damp with the leaves falling and such, we should maybe drive instead of walking as we intended. She agreed and we headed for the Chevelle. She seemed impressed with the car, but not so much so that she commented. She looked good sitting in the passenger seat; I closed the door gently and smiled at the beautiful girl sitting inside my beautiful car. She’d probably get offended, so I kept the comment to myself about the similarity of her ice blue eyes and the blue paint of the car and them being twins.
Originally we had planned on staying in town, but since we were driving, I thought we might head to Port Sandy Bay, a pizza joint just out of town. Elizabeth had never been there and they it was a great hangout I had been going to for years. I told her about the pizzas they made on snowcoasters. These gigantic pizzas were enough to feed the football team after a game – they were huge! One of my buddies worked there and introduced me to the owner who could toss pizza dough like they did on the cartoons. The drinks were reasonably priced. I went on and on about the restaurant and talked Elizabeth’s ear off during the entire 17 minute drive from my place there. She didn’t once yawn, reach for the radio, ask me to slow down, or interrupt my nostalgic banter about hanging out at Port with my high school friends. I was thinking how lucky I was as I opened her car door and took her hand to walk inside.
I had been so busy worrying about my own clothing choice, that I hadn’t noticed what Elizabeth was wearing. It was the moment she placed one foot on the gravel of the parking lot that I noticed her slender ankle, green high heels, and the hem of her skirt that hung below her knee when she was standing but which had shown a smooth and slightly tanned thigh just moments before. The skirt was the same color green as her shoes and I couldn’t wait for her to take off her coat so I could get a better look at the blouse she was wearing. I was already intrigued by the lack of stockings. Carol would certainly categorize Elizabeth as a rebel or a bad girl, because the good girls wore stockings. I myself enjoyed stockings, but only the kind with the garters. I never explained that to Carol though, and at this particular moment I was only thinking about the texture of Elizabeth’s skin. It looked smooth and I wouldn’t rush things but was hoping I might rest a hand there after a golden Cadillac or other after dinner drink.
“Where is the ladies room?” Elizabeth asked and broke the trance I had entered into. There was just something about her that left me feeling breathless. I pointed her in the direction of the ladies room and promised I would wait before going into the bar area. Knowing she was a bit rebellious, I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do or not. I wanted her to know I was a gentleman and yet I didn’t want to insult her either. My mother had always said that no lady enters a building in front of a man or enters a bar by herself. That really stuck in my head and since the dining area and the bar were separate here, I didn’t want to disrespect Elizabeth in any way by allowing her to enter the bar by herself. Why was I over thinking everything with this girl? Why didn’t I just go up to the bar and order a drink like I did with other dates? I’m worrying about my clothes, my words, my manners; I sounded more like one of my sisters than myself. I was still pretty self-assured, but for some reason I was more worried about Elizabeth and her comfort level than my own.  
“I’m all set, but boy is it chilly in there. Someone must have been smoking and they left the window open a crack.” Elizabeth shivered as she intertwined her am and mine, moving in close while we walked to the bar. “I hope you don’t smoke, because I really think the smell is awful and my adopted mother, Dorothy always said kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray, and…” she blushed and stopped mid-sentence. I was hoping she was going to say something about wanting to kiss me. I could see how uncomfortable she was so I assured her that I didn’t smoke, had never smoked, had no intention of smoking, and then clarified that I didn’t like cigarettes, chewing tobacco, cigars, or pipes.
“I’ll have a gin martini extra dry with olives, and for the lady, a…” and I turn to Elizabeth realizing I haven’t taken her drink order. Thankfully, she confidently orders her own drink and there is no awkward moment for the bartender, Elizabeth, or myself. She ordered a pop, which I thought was amusing until she explained that in Iron Mountain Michigan where she had grown up, that was what it was called. We called it soda, she called it pop. There was something else she was trying to tell me about when we were interrupted by a booming voice from behind “well, if it isn’t Donald and…” it was Clyde from the garage downtown and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Elizabeth and realized he must be talking to the wrong brother. I greeted him warmly “Clyde, it’s me Charles, and this is my girlfriend Elizabeth.” It rolled off my tongue so quick and smooth that it was out before I realized what I was saying. Elizabeth blushed and shook Clyde’s hand as they exchanged pleasantries. Clyde apologized for calling me by the wrong name, and Elizabeth was answering his questions quickly and without hesitation. I was learning more about her as the conversation went on, so I had no reason to interrupt. She had grown up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in a town called Iron Mountain. She had a brother and sister, no nieces or nephews, and her brother was in the Coast Guard stationed somewhere on the East Coast – she wasn’t sure just where. Her father had worked for the mining company and then for a trucking company driving potatoes around the State of Michigan. She worked at an ice cream shop and babysat through high school and just as the conversation turned to the topic of graduation I realized all eyes were on me.
Elizabeth had told Clyde that she graduated less than ten years before. As the date 1963 rolled off her tongue, Clyde turned to me and his jaw dropped. She was looking at me pretty confused about the reaction her revelation had caused. Of course, Clyde knew that I had graduated in 1948 because he was only two years ahead of me in school. All I could say with a twinkle in my eye was “Well old man, when you’re trading your 50 in on 2 25’s, I’ll still be living the good life” and we both roared with laughter. Elizabeth had apparently never heard that joke, because her eyes were welling up with tears as if I had offended her. Clyde excused himself. I ordered Elizabeth a drink called a Rob Roy (which I heard other young ladies order) and we sat down the bar for a quiet chat.
“It’s usually a joke between spouses Elizabeth. Donald teases Carol all the time that when she turns 60 he is going to trade her in on two wives that are 30, and others do the same thing…I was simply trying to make a joke of things. Clyde didn’t seem too impressed that we are 15 years apart in age, and instead of listening to his criticism, I made a joke. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Silence…
More Silence…
I had to say something “do you understand? I wasn’t trying to make you cry” I said as yet another tear rolled down her cheek landing on the smooth skin just above the edge of her blouse. I handed her my handkerchief. She dapped away the tears, took a sip of her drink, made the funniest face and burst out laughing “What is in this? It tastes like witch-hazel with a cherry on top.”
I was laughing at the outburst and utterly relieved to be laughing together instead of crying. I guess my next question would be what type of drink she liked. “Elizabeth, I am so sorry. This is probably the most tragic first date you’ve ever had. I am going to try to make it up to you. What is your favorite drink?” I asked her and hadn’t even realized I had taken both of her hands in my own as I was apologizing. There we sat; neither of us uncomfortable. In fact, if I had to use a single word to describe the moment, I would say comfortable. 
“Don’t worry about it Charles. I haven’t exactly been on many dates, so I have no expectations. Don’t laugh about my drink choice, it’s hard to say and I feel silly ordering it. I really don’t drink much of anything with alcohol in it. My cheeks get flushed and I feel funny. I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that I didn’t really drink the cocktail you made me at your place the other night either. I can tolerate a wine if it’s sort of sweet, it has to be pink, and with a few ice cubes. Dumb isn’t it?” I assured her it wasn’t dumb at all and I ordered her a glass of white zinfandel over ice. She looked at me and argued that she really only liked pink wine. I promised that she wouldn’t be disappointed, and she wasn’t…but she was surprised when her white zinfandel appeared and it was pink. She hugged me and smiled. It was that moment that I told myself ‘well Charles – she might be crazy, too young for you, and a few inches too tall, but this is the woman you need to spend the rest of your life with’.
I tried to shut off the voice in my head. I tried to think about things that would divert my attention from this lovely girl with the soft pink lips, ice blue eyes…there I go again…
“What’s good here? I know you talked about those sled pizzas, but I don’t think the two of us can eat that much. Look here, they have a pizza with olives on. I love olives and onions. How about you Charles?” With that we leaned a little closer and examined the menu together. She smelled clean and fresh; there was no way I could concentrate on the menu. I was happy to be at a restaurant I knew so well. I ordered another martini and told her I would eat anything on the pizza, as long as it was something she would enjoy. It took her the better part of the evening to finish her wine, and we were so busy talking we hardly made a dent in the Port Special pizza we had ordered. She was astonished by the generous layer of onions, mushrooms, olives, pepperoni, sausage, and of course cheese. With a mischievous grin on my face, I turned to her and asked “aren’t you glad I took you to the finest joint in town Miss Elizabeth?” and as she answered, I placed my hand on the knee that had been flirting with me earlier; I was not disappointed and her skin was as soft and smooth as the petal of a tulip.