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
~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.
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