The Pike

It was the best of places and the worst of places. It was a gaudy, noisy seaside attraction where frenzied people tried to cram as much fun as they could into the short hours they had to spend there. It had a bad reputation for panhandlers, grifters, prostitutes, and drunken sailors. Yet there was an illusion of elegance in the ballrooms where amateurs competed with professionals for the attention of single men, and where respectable couples tried to ignore the competition. It was the day and the night feeding on the energy of the earth’s rotation until sunlight and darkness tumbled into each other and the garish man made lights blurred the distinction between them. It was a past built for the present and a future that was out of sight and mind. It was a diversion and a contradiction, a world unto itself that could not escape the misery and the joy of the larger world around it. It was a state of mind that varied from individual to individual and age group to age group.

The Korean War had finally ended and Chad Richards had just turned eighteen. He was a high school athlete who was forty pounds too light and one step too slow to compete at the college level. He also wore thick spectacles that made people overlook his impressive build. When he was awarded an academic scholarship at USC his religious, middle class parents were delighted. It was a religious school, and his parents were certain that the atmosphere on its campus would discourage him from going to evil places like the Pike. What they did not take into account was his roommate, Buddy McCall. Buddy was a tall kid with a deep baritone voice that instantly drew your attention. Like Chad, he was a serious scholar, but he was much more gregarious and adventurous than Chad was. Chad returned to his room after taking the last final examination of his freshman term.

“How’d you do?” Buddy asked.

“I nailed it.”

“I nailed mine too. Now it’s time to celebrate. Put on your bathing suit and bring some clothes.”

They had gone to the beach a few times during the term, but they were rarely there long enough to need clothes. He knew Buddy had grown up near Long Beach, and he thought they might be joining some of Buddy’s friends.

“Are we going to a beach party?”

“Better.”

“Better?”

“You’ll see.”

Much to Chad’s surprise Buddy drove down to the Pike.

“I heard this place was dangerous,” Chad said.

“Like most of the things you hear about the Pike, the danger is overstated.”

They walked to the other side of rainbow pier, to a place where the waves were better.

After body surfing for several hours they walked back to the car.

“Put on your shirt so you’ll have a pocket for your change. We’ll wander around until our suits dry.”

They took a walk down Main Street. It was like the fun zone at the county fair times ten. Chad quickly discovered that his wet bathing suit was not out of place there. Most of the people in wet bathing suits were teenagers, ranging in age from fourteen to nineteen. Like Chad, their suits were wet from playing in the surf. The adults preferred to use the dressing rooms at the plunge where they and their children could rinse off the brine and change into dry clothes. For teenagers noise and fun are inseparable, and they eagerly added their voices to those of the barkers trying to lure them into the attractions. All of those voices competed with the sound of the calliope on the carousel, the laughter of the mechanical fat lady at the fun house, the new sound of rock and roll from at least one of the arcades, and the sound of the motors powering the rides. The place smelled of hamburgers, onions, cotton candy, taffy, and deep fryers cooking French fries, shrimp and other delectable items. Chad and Buddy went into one of the arcades playing rock and roll. Some of the kids were dancing in the aisles.

A very pretty young lady in a bathing suit approached Buddy. “Hey, Buddy!” she said. She took both of his hands and started dancing. Chad played one of the pinball machines as they danced. When he was through with the game Buddy and the young lady approached.

“So you’re Chad.”

“I am.”

“I’m Emily.”

She started dancing before he could say anything else.

“Join me!”

Chad was not much of a dancer but he did his best. When they finished dancing Buddy kissed Emily on the cheek. “See you later,” he said.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going to put some jeans on over our bathing suits. Then I’m going to introduce Chad to the Cyclone.”

Emily laughed. “Have fun!”

“She’s beautiful,” Chad said as they walked to the car.

“Yeah, but she’s only sixteen.”

“Damn!”

“Yup.”

The Cyclone Racer was named that because there were two sets of tracks running parallel to each other so that the two sets of cars appeared to be racing. The seedy looking ride operator greeted Buddy.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

“Too long,” Buddy agreed.

“I’ll charge you for only one rider. Half price today.”

“Thanks Karl.”

Chad interpreted Karl’s grunt as your welcome. Buddy climbed into a car on the outer track and Chad followed him. The cars started climbing the steep grade.

“We’re lucky. I really like the outer track.”

Why Buddy liked the outside track quickly became apparent. They plunged down the steep grade at break neck speed and made a sharp turn over the water. The tilt of the car and the view of the water below added to the sense of danger as the car pitched around the tight turns.

Chad let out a loud yell as the car coasted to the station. “This has to be the greatest roller coaster ever!”

“I think Karl will let us go again,” and Karl did.

The sun was setting as they took the last of the rides they would go on that day. By then Chad was running low on money.

“You hungry?” Buddy asked.

“Not too hungry.”

Buddy laughed. “What I have in mind isn’t very expensive.”

“Okay.”

They went to one of the concession stands. The woman working there had skin that was beginning to wrinkle from the sun and long hours, but her eyes sparkled with life and a keen sense of humor. Her accent indicated that she was from one of the states bordering the Mason Dixon line. Chad’s parents would have probably called her an Okie.

“Buddy, you young rogue. I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to see you again.”

“You know they couldn’t keep me away from you, Sue.”

She laughed. “Promises, promises. Are you having the shrimp?”

“Yes, and so is he.”

“What’s your name, Darling?”

“Chad.”

“Glad to meet you, Chad.”

“Nice meeting you.”

He dug into his pocket and paid her. Much to his relief, he still had a nickel after-wards. The shrimp was wonderful.

The neon signs were standing out in sharp contrast to the encroaching darkness when the rest of the lights came on. It was the time of transition when people dressed up for the ballrooms began to walk down the same streets as people dressed in bathing suits or Bermuda shorts. Many of the sailors were now crowding into the bars and restaurants, while others were heading for the ballrooms. Swing music was soon adding its voice to the cacophony. Some provocatively dressed women walked past Chad and Buddy.

“Are they hookers?” Chad asked.

“Yeah, they’re the ones who work the bars. The higher class ones dress like the other women who go to the ballrooms to dance and maybe meet Mr. right.”

“The hookers must make it difficult for the women who just want to dance.”

“It also confuses some of the sailors.”

Chad laughed. “I wonder how many of them get slapped.”

“I don’t know, but I bet it happens.”

“I guess you have to treat all of the women there with respect and wait for the hookers to make the first move.”

“That would be easy for you. You always wait until you’re sure a woman is interested in you before you make a move.”

“And if she’s a hooker she’s going to be disappointed because I doubt that I could afford her services.”

Buddy stood up. “That’s why they concentrate on the sailors. They know most of the sailors have just been paid.”

They started walking to the car.

“I’m glad you took me here. I wouldn’t have come on my own.”

Buddy smiled. “You obviously had a deprived childhood.”

“I was deprived of this; that’s for sure.”

“Would you like to work here?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I start here next weekend. I’m sure I could find you something.”

“Well, I’m taking one of the summer night courses.”

“What days.”

“Tuesday and Thursday.”

“That means you’re available Friday through Monday, which is when someone will need you most.”

“All right, I’m interested.”

The job Buddy found for Chad was at a hamburger stand. Buddy worked as a barker at the freak show. Buddy’s voice was easily distinguishable from the rest of the sounds. “Come one! Come all! Behold these amazing works of nature! There is nothing artificial here; no smoke, no mirrors, no slight of hand.” If people stopped to listen, a small bouquet of flowers would magically appear from his cane. “What you will see is as real as these flowers.” He would then toss or hand several flowers to ladies in the audience. Because of the expense of the flowers, he only did the flower trick on the weekends when there were enough people to make it worth while. He had the flair and style of a natural born showman, and he was soon considered a part of the attraction.

The wife of the owner of the hamburger stand was the manager. She was also the cook during peak hours. Her name was Roberta. People who knew her called her Berta. Chad would not say that she had a rough exterior, but she was all business. She was very efficient on the grill, and she expected her employees to follow her example. Chad was really proud of himself on those few occasions when he made her laugh. Like most of the people at the Pike, however, there was more to her than met the eye. Although she rarely smiled, she had a reputation for being a soft touch for anyone who was down on his luck.

Emily frequently bought a burger there for lunch. She was so pretty and charming that Chad could not resist flirting with her.

“Careful,” Berta said. “I know she has a woman’s body, but she’s still young enough to think she can trust everyone. Don’t spoil that.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Good.”

At seven thirty that night business slowed down, and Berta told him to take a break. He usually made a burger and ate it near the stand. Tonight was different. For some reason he wanted to get away from the stand for a while. He ordered some of that wonderful shrimp from Sue. A young lady dressed for the ballroom was standing behind him. She also ordered the shrimp. She was pretty in an unspectacular way. He thought she was the girl next door type, if you were lucky enough to have a good looking young lady living next door to you. He took the shrimp to a nearby bench. She sat down next to him.

“Hi, I’m Bunny,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bunny. I’m Chad.”

“You work at the burger stand, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you dance?”

“Not very well.”

“I’m taking lessons. I’m not good enough to it do professionally yet, but I have had a few singing roles.”

“So you’re an actress.”

“Amateur stuff at community theaters for now. I’ve been an extra in a few films, but I think it’s the stage work that will get me discovered.”

“I hope I get a chance to talk you again. I want to brag about knowing you when you make it big.”

She favored him with a beautiful smile. “I’d like that. Well, the music should be starting soon.” She stood up and threw the empty shrimp container in the trash. “See you later.”

He watched her walk away. After the hamburger stand closed that night he walked by the ballroom. Bunny was standing outside with a sailor. She was so engrossed in her conversation with the sailor that she did not see Chad. The next night she came to the hamburger stand.

“Hi, Chad. I’d like a cheese burger, but hold the onions.”

“One cheese burger, hold the onions,” Chad said. “Add another cheeseburger if I can take my break now.”

Berta looked at Bunny and nodded to let Chad know he could take a break.

“May I join you,” he asked.

“Of Course.”

They sat down at a table together.

“Where are you from?” Chad asked.

“Nebraska. I was a farm girl.”

“This must be quite a departure.”

“You have no idea. Farms are really isolated. They’re like islands where good things and bad things happen. All you have is your family. Forget about the community; it’s too small and restrictive to be much help. I really had to get out of there.”

“So you came here to pursue your dreams.”

“Everyone should pursue their dreams, particularly when they’re not giving up much to do it. What are your dreams?”

“I’d like to tell you, but they’re pretty vague right now. I haven’t even chosen a major yet.”

“Are you telling me you’re going to college?”

“It’s not what you think. I’m not one of those rich snobs. I’m there on an academic scholarship.”

“I’m impressed. Maybe I can brag about knowing you when you make it big.”

“It would be nice if it were mutual.”

She laughed. “Yes, it would. Well, I’d better be going now.”

Later that night she walked by the stand. She was on the arm of a sailor. She turned her head and winked at Chad. He had no idea what to make of that. The worst part was that he actually felt a bit jealous. He did not see Bunny the next day, which was Sunday. He was closing the place when Buddy showed up.

“Come on we’re going to a party.”

“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

“Everyone does. It won’t last long, and I gave Karl some money to buy us some beer.”

“All right.”

They went to a run down apartment building. Many of the people who worked at the Pike lived there. It was really more like several parties than one. In spite of the cold sea air, the doors of several apartments were open and people were wandering from apartment to apartment.

“Hey, Buddy!”

It was Karl. It was easy to locate him. He was a big man with tattoos running down both arms. It was amazing that he could shout like that without dislodging the cigar in his mouth.

“Karl,” Buddy said. He and Chad walked up the stairs to Karl’s apartment.

Karl pointed at a cooler in the corner of the room. “Your beer is in that cooler.”

“Thanks Karl.”

Buddy opened a beer and handed it to Chad. He then opened another for him self and set the church key back on top of the cooler. Karl sat down on the couch, next to a short, stout lady that also worked at the Pike. She was his wife.

Buddy looked at Chad. “You know you’ve been awfully quiet lately. Is something going on?”

“I’ve met a girl I really like.”

“Congratulations!”

“It’s not that simple. I think she works the Lido.”

“You mean she hooks there?”

“Yeah.”

Karl grinned. “Well, any woman who spends most of her time making a lot of men happy rather than one man miserable is all right with me.”

This comment earned him an elbow in the ribs from his wife. “Of course my wife makes one man happy,” he added.

“Don’t be so quick to judge her.”

Chad turned around and saw that it was the bearded lady from the freak show who said it.

“I sell my body as surely as she sells hers. I put myself on display because that’s what I have to do. We all play the hands we’re dealt.”

“But hooking is different.”

“You don’t know what she’s been through, do you?”

“No,” he admitted. Now she had him thinking. He remembered Bunny saying farms were like islands where good things and bad things happen.

“Do you think a member of her family molested her?”

“Probably,” Karl’s wife said. “He probably started doing it when she was still very young, and you can bet that the son of a bitch made her feel like it was her fault.”

“I agree,” the bearded lady said, “but I wouldn’t ask her about it. She’ll tell you what she wants you to know.”

“Well, I guess we can still be friends.”

The bearded lady assured him that that was no small thing. He tried not to stare at her beard. The fact that he had to struggle to keep from doing it made her statement all the more poignant.

“It’s nice to meet you, Helen. I’m Chad.” He remembered her name from one the signs.

“I’m glad to meet you, Chad.”

Karl poured some whiskey into a glass and held it out to Chad. “What you need is something to numb that judgmental mind.”

Chad took the glass and drank the whiskey. Although the party only lasted a few hours, it was more than enough time for Chad and Buddy to get too drunk to drive home. They woke up on the floor of Karl’s apartment. Karl was standing over them yelling, “Rise and shine!”

They both stood up.

“Grab a beer to cure the hangover. You can shower at the plunge.”

They did as they were told. Berta was setting up the cash register when Chad arrived.

“Jesus Christ! You smell like a damn brewery.”

“Sorry.”

“Make your self a burger and put fresh onions on it to hide the smell of the booze.”

She waited until he made and ate the burger.

“You’re not too drunk or hung over to work, are you?”

“No ma’am.”

“Good. I’ll be back to cash out when you close.”

“Thanks for the burger.”

“Don’t do it again, you young idiot.”

“I won’t.”

Over the next several weeks he joined Bunny during the quick meals she ate before going to the ballroom. She talked about her dreams rather than what she did for a living, and she never mentioned what happened to her on the farm. He wanted to help her, but he did not know how to do it. As much as he would have enjoyed it, sex was out of the question. Paying for it would have spoiled it for both of them. He was also afraid that she enjoyed being with him because he was one of the few men she could talk to without worrying about what he wanted from her.

Unlike Buddy, Chad did not work at the Pike the next summer. He did not see Bunny again either. In many ways Chad considered what he learned at the Pike to be as valuable as what he learned at USC. He got to know most of the people working there, including the people with physical abnormalities that earned them the label of freak. As difficult as it was to ignore their appearances, he soon discovered that those freaks were like the rest of us in every way that really matters. The owners who worked at the businesses at the Pike put in very long hours, but they were lucky enough to make a decent living by doing this. The same could not be said for most of their employees. Their employees put in very long hours just to survive. In this respect the Pike was a culture of poverty. Remarkably, the people working there did not complain about that. Life was tough and so were they. They still found ways to enjoy what they were doing, and they were often surprisingly generous.

What Chad learned is that people do what they think they need to do to survive. This means that they often do things polite society does not approve of, but this does not necessarily make them bad people. Most people do their best to avoid hurting others, and they will lend a hand when they are in a position to help someone. They are rarely all good or all bad. What his father said about business ventures could also be said about dealing with people. “Assume the best, but be prepared for the worst.”

Bunny never became a movie star. Chad hoped that she was still able to build a good life for her self. Buddy earned a degree in marketing, but it is doubtful that he ever used most of the things he learned in class. He became one of the voice actors everyone hears but few ever see. Chad became a history Professor who worked at a small college where the classes were small enough to allow him to interact with his students.

First published in macsbackporch.foxtail-farms.com on Jul. 7, 2010

Grumpy Old Man Time

I do not know if age is making me grumpier or if the world has become that much more annoying. I have a spam filter to protect my blog and email from being overwhelmed by the unscrupulous marketers. I also have an answering machine and caller ID so that I can screen my calls. I do not want to hear some disembodied voice urging me to re-elect Congressman bumblefuck, who I have been voting against for some thirty years now. What I wish I had is something that would allow me to deal with the standardization built into the inter-net databases everyone wants me to use. My HPO has been encouraging me to give them my email address so they can use it to confirm appointments and give me the results of lab tests and such. They promise that there are safeguards there to protect the information we are exchanging. Unfortunately, one of those safeguards is to match the information in my file. What they obviously fail to realize is that we do not get street delivery here in the mountains. Thus when their form asked me if my street address was still my proper mailing address, I said no. That is when I discovered that the form did not provide any way for me to enter the proper mailing address. This means that I cannot complete the form to give them my email address.

I mention this because I have recently run into some digestive tract problems. I have to admit that I have a white coat phobia. I really dislike being poked and probed. The first thing the doctor did was to scold me for not seeing a doctor in twenty years or so. He then looked down my throat and probed my rectum to see if there was any blood there. After that he sent me to the lab to have them run blood tests. He had me wait until some of the blood tests were complete. He seemed pleased by the results of the completed tests. He told me the other tests he needed to do could be done on an out patient basis.  He also mentioned something about a colonoscopy.

I told him that if he wanted to shove something up my butt he was going to have to get in line behind my insurance company and bank.

“We can postpone the colonoscopy,” he said. “I want them to insert a scope down your throat first.”

Perhaps it is a genetic flaw, but we simply do not have an orifice well suited for inserting cameras into our digestive systems. This is not something I am looking forward to having done, and they are going to do it tomorrow. There is little doubt in my mind that they will also want to do a colonoscopy sometime soon. The only good thing about reaching my age is that it beats the alternative.

I am sure you will be relieved by the fact that I do not intend to burden you with the results of those probes. I am already working on a story for next week.

First published in macsbackporch.foxtail-farms.com on Jun 29, 2010

To whom am I speaking?

One of the things I have learned in life is that the intended audience is often not the person we appear to be addressing. Sometimes this ruse is benevolent in the sense that we are trying to avoid a direct confrontation with the real target of our comments. Other times this indirect approach is merely deceptive. I offer the following as an example of the latter motive.

A couple, Dennis and Jan, were on the dance floor swaying gently to the soft romantic music. This was when the sumptuous meal they had consumed came into play. Dennis ripped a fart so loud that the heads of many people on the dance floor pivoted in his direction. Jan, being a proper lady, was prepared to ignore this unwanted outburst. Dennis was not. In a stage whisper just loud enough for the dancers near them to hear, he said:

“Don't worry, I’ll tell them I did it!”

Phrasing is everything, and his statement followed most of the basic rules of communication. It was simple, it was brief, and it was seemingly well directed. The problem was that his intended audience was not really Jan; instead it was an audience comprised of the people who were close enough to hear the fart. Those of us who know Dennis well enough to be familiar with his sense of humor found the statement quite funny. Jan was not amused. She stopped dancing and looked at him with an open mouth expression that said “you outrageous son of bitch” far better than any words she could have uttered. In fact, words would have made her situation even worse. Her protestations of innocence and his confessions would have simply kept the subject alive.

I think it would be safe to wager that her private statements to him regarding this issue were neither brief nor simple. It is not enough to ask to whom am I speaking. As funny as we found the joke, he should have also considered the consequences of what he was saying. The one saving grace was that Jan forgave him, but I doubt that she will ever forgot it. I know we will not forget it.

First published in macsbackporch.foxtail-farms.com on Jun 15, 2010

Brain Farts and Grunt Heads

He sat in stink

Broken hearted

He strained to think

And only farted!

A brain fart is a sound signifying nothing. It is an argument that holds less water than an old man with prostate glands the size of grapefruits. Too often what passes for a person’s thought is whatever that person can grunt out. It is no wonder that so much thinking takes place in the outhouse. The Sears catalog was resting in Jeb’s lap. It was collecting the sweat from his bare thighs. The heat increased the stench of what had passed for knowledge not so long ago. He removed a page from the catalog and used it to clean himself before pulling up his trousers.

The sun hit him full in the face when he stepped outside. He turned and closed the door of the outhouse. “The Epistemology of Scatology,” how is that for a title? It is not what we think that gets us into trouble; rather it is what we believe. Thoughts become malleable whereas beliefs become rigid and unyielding. Belief in the theory of humors caused doctors to use purging and bleeding to kill more patients than they cured. The Hippocratic oath as practiced is not to do no harm; rather it is to do no intentional harm. People want to be cured. They expect doctors to do something, and the doctors oblige them. The problem is that what is logical is not always factual and what is factual often defies what we have accepted as being most logical. Once a theory is accepted we play hell trying to change it. This is where epistemology comes into play: What do we know and how do we know it? It is also where scatology comes in. It takes a discerning nose to recognize as crap some of the things we accept as knowledge. The worst brain farts are the arguments we use to justify rejecting out of hand any observation or experiment that refutes accepted theories or beliefs. Jeb called such rejections stupid. Ignorance is curable because willing students can learn. Stupidity is forever because stupid students refuse to learn. In a very real sense we are all students. There are always new things to learn as well as theories and beliefs that need to be changed or replaced.

Jeb was thinking of writing a paper on those subjects because people had started calling him the do nothing doctor. It all stemmed from his refusal to bleed and purge his patients. The evidence, however, was overwhelming. The experiments of Louis Pasteur proved the germ theory. It was germs that caused illness rather than an imbalance of humors. Jeb even went beyond saying there was no reason to bleed or purge. He said that excessive bleeding and purging were actually deadly. He came to this conclusion when he saw soldiers bleed to death during the Civil War and when he saw how weak severe cases of diarrhea made the soldiers he was treating. Of course, he had to admit that the weakness could be due to the germs causing the diarrhea rather than the diarrhea per se. But if you are going to do no harm you have to reject ineffective treatments that might be harmful. The germ theory was further bolstered by the observation that soldiers in clean camps suffered fewer illnesses than soldiers in dirty camps. Sanitary commissions were even set up to keep the camps clean.

Why the doctors did not extrapolate and start washing their hands was a brain fart of the first order. Ignorance about the germ theory was no excuse, the connection between filth and disease should have told them to keep their hands clean. It had been years since the Civil War, and doctors still had not learned that lesson. Jeb’s criticism of doctors who did not wash their hands made him unpopular with his fellow physicians, and his patients did not take kindly to him telling them to clean their houses. The only thing that saved his practice was the fact that everyone acknowledged him as the most talented surgeon in the region. As one of Jeb’s fellow surgeons said: “Jeb is an eccentric cuss, but he’s the surgeon other cutters would choose to carve on them.”

Jeb had just finished a difficult surgery. It was six o’clock on a Wednesday night. A revival meeting was being held at place he had to pass on his way home. He paused there to watch and listen. The evangelist was a charlatan faith healer who had placed shills in the audience to fake ailments and miraculous cures. Jeb shook his head and resumed his journey. Some day we’ll be able to identify more of the germs and kill them without harming the patents, he thought. Until then people will rely on God and will insist on doctors doing something even if what the doctors are doing is wrong. As long as there are things we cannot cure thought will always have to stand in line behind faith. People who flagellated themselves to atone for the world’s sins were considered heroes during the black plague. We may have learned a lot about our relationship with the physical world since then, but our instincts have not changed much. We still take our mortality too personally to be rational about it.

First published in macsbackporch.foxtail-farms.com on Jun 15, 2010

Defining Moments

The smoke filled air was as stale as the story Art was telling about a school yard fight he had won. He always told that story when he had too much to drink. His friends paid deference to his inebriation by enduring the tale in silence. Julia walked over to the refrigerator to get another beer. She was not a woman of great physical beauty, but she was attractive. Her eyes sparkled with good humor and her smile was contagious. Rod always found her charming. He sat alone, admiring her from across the crowded room.

Rod was just under six feet tall. He had weighed one hundred and eighty pounds when he played baseball in high school. Not having the talent to make the college baseball team was one of the major disappointments in his life. Since he had not been in training for years his weight had risen to two hundred pounds. Although most people would not describe him as fat, the extra pounds had added the love handles he was self-conscious about. He was frequently gregarious and entertaining, but there were times when large gatherings of people seemed overwhelming to him. Tonight was one of those nights when he did not feel like competing to be heard over the cacophony of inebriated voices. He did what he always did under those circumstances. He faded into the background. He rose from his chair and walked out on the deck. He had just settled into a chair when the door opened and Julia stepped out on the deck.

“Getting some fresh air?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty stuffy in there.”

“And Artie is telling his battle tale again.”

“It’s one of his defining moments.”

“That’s his defining moment?”

“Yes and your reaction to it is understandable. That’s one of the sad things about defining moments. Since other people are not emotionally invested in those events they can’t hear your imaginary crowds cheering the touch down you scored in gym class or the school yard fight you won.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t impressed with it a hundred tellings ago.”

Rod smiled. “Odd, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“How we can attach so much importance to something others see as mundane.”

“And that we can forget how often we’ve told it to the same people. What’s your defining moment?”

“You must be awfully generous to invite a boring story about my uneventful childhood and adolescence.”

She favored him with a dimpled smile. “Are you saying you don’t have a defining moment?”

“Cold fish that I am, I haven’t become that emotional about anything. I usually bore people with same joke instead.”

“The ‘fucking chocolate’ joke.”

“The fact that you know that confirms my suspicion that I tell it far too often.”

She laughed. “Maybe, but you do show some restraint. You rarely tell it unless someone new joins us.”

“I suppose that’s some consolation. What’s your defining moment?”

“It’s going to sound silly. I’m not sure that a man would understand it.” She paused as if considering whether or not to tell him.

“Try me.”

“It’s when I received my first bra.”

“Ah, recognition that you were entering the sorority of womanhood.”

“That and more. Girls are more competitive than you might think. Boobs say you’re becoming more attractive and desirable. Believe me, the girls who lag behind aren’t happy about it.”

“I can understand that,” he said.

He gulped the last of his beer, and she drank the last of hers. She held her hand out to him.

“Give me your can, I’ll get us some more.”

“Thank you.”

He handed her the can. Her walk was the deliberate walk of someone who is feeling the effects of the alcohol but has not quite reached the staggering stage. Art had his back facing the refrigerator. Furthermore, he was so focused on the audience in front of him that he did not bother to find out who might be behind him.

“It’s the average guys like me who have a hard time picking up women,” he said. “The pretty boys latch onto the beautiful women early, and the ugly guys soon settle for what they can get. Guys like me always think they can do better. So we continue to compete for women who are out of our league until it’s too late to hook up with anyone. I’ve settled for Julia for now, but I have to admit that I’m still competing for something better.”

Julia took two cans of beer out of the refrigerator, and quietly walked away. What Art said hurt her, but she was not about to make a scene over it. She walked out to the deck.

“Here,” she said, handing Rod a beer. “Let’s take a walk.”

Rod took the beer and said okay. The party was in a large condominium complex. They walked the length of the quad to the club house and swimming pool. It was now two in the morning on the fifth of July, and all of the revelers were either asleep or partying in one of the units. The clubhouse was dark. They walked through it to the swimming pool. The fact that she had not said anything during the walk told Rod something was wrong.

“Are you okay?”

“I just heard Artie say he settled for me, but he’s still looking for someone better.”

“He’s drunk and stupid.”

“Yes, but he’s also right. We grew up together. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know him. I guess I settled for what I knew, and he decided to content himself with me until he found the girl of his dreams. Well, neither one of us should settle!”

Rod pulled two chairs close to each other and sat in one of them. “No, you shouldn’t. And any man who thinks of you as a consolation prize is out of his mind.”

“Thank you for saying that, Rod. I know I’m not a raving beauty, but I’m not exactly dog meat.” She sat in the chair next to his and sighed. “I guess I should lose some weight.”

“I don’t think you need too. You may not be a super model, but you’re very attractive.”

She took a sip of beer and touched Rods arm. “I’m buzzed.”

“Me too.”

“I better stop drinking now or I might give in to the temptation to go skinny dipping.”

“Finish your beer!”

This made her laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“A swim would feel good.”

“It would be awfully bold.”

“There’s no one here, and its dark enough. We should be okay if we’re quiet.”

“Ah, what the hell.”

She stood up and started taking off her clothes. Rod followed suit. He was expecting her to ease her way into the water, but she had something else in mind.

“Last one to the other end is a rotten egg!” she said. She performed a shallow dive, which took him by surprise. She had a large lead. He rapidly closed the distance between them, but she touched the wall before he did.

“I guess I’m a rotten egg.”

“If you beat me to the other end, I’ll take it back.”

Although he held back a bit to make the race look competitive, he easily touched the wall first.

“So you’re not a rotten egg. I also think you were right when you said I’m attractive rather than beautiful.”

“I didn’t say rather than beautiful. You’re what a lady should be. You make the people around you smile, and you move that lovely body of yours with a grace that makes me want to watch you. Believe me, you are beautiful!”

“Why haven’t you asked me out?”

“Art’s a friend.”

“You certainly don’t have to worry about spoiling anything for him now.”

Rod leaned forward, gently pressing his lips against hers. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.

“If we don’t stop now, we’re gong to have to find a room,” he said.

“The changing room’s open.”

He picked her up and carried her there. He gently set her down and opened the door. She entered the room and he followed her, closing the door behind them. The light was off. It was so dark they had to feel around for each other. They made love as quietly as they could. When they exited the room they discovered that their clothes were missing.

“Oh, shit! What are we going to do now?” she asked.

“Do you think we can cover ourselves with the bunting in the club house?”

“I think we have to. We can’t return to the party naked.”

There was light filtering into the room from the high windows of the wall facing the parking lot. The light was dim but it allowed them to see the outline of objects in the room. Luckily, they found some scotch tape. The bunting decorating the lower part of the wall was made of paper. Rod carefully tore off a large sheet of it. Julia draped it around her self like a toga, and Rod taped it into place.

“Now you.”

“No sense in getting fancy about this. A kilt will do.”

“I agree.”

She taped the bunting around him like a kilt.

“Okay, Rod Roy. I guess we’re as ready as we’re going to get.”

“After you, lassie.”

They started walking back to the party.

“As embarrassing as it is to think of one of our friends watching us skinny dipping, I hope one of them took our clothes as a joke.”

“I’m guessing your keys and wallet were in your pants.”

“They are.”

“Then I hope so too. It can’t get much more embarrassing.”

“Unless the paper rips or falls off.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Sorry.”

The hostess, Margie, let out a little shriek when she saw them entering. “How patriotic! Where are your clothes?”

“Someone took them while we were skinny dipping,” Rod said. “I’m hoping it was someone here.”

The guests were laughing and shaking their heads to indicate it was not any of them. The host, Jack, walked over to Julia and Rod.

“I’m afraid it was Art.”

Julia looked concerned. “Artie?”

“Yeah, he went looking for you, and he hasn’t returned.”

“I was going to break up with him anyhow, but I didn’t want to rub his nose in it. This is going to make it even more awkward.”

“Everyone’s too drunk to drive home,” Margie said. “Let’s see if we can find something for you to wear.”

Jack looked at Rod. “You can probably squeeze into a pair of my sweats.”

The sweats Margie loaned to Julia fit fine. Rod was not as fortunate as Julia.

“Sexy,” Margie said when she how tightly Jack’s sweats fit Rod.

Julia giggled. “Now you know why he was able to talk me into skinny dipping with him.”

Most of the guests slept on the floor. Their slumber was interrupted at five in morning by a collect telephone call from the jail. The caller was Art. He had been arrested for drunk driving.

“It serves him right for taking our clothes,” Julia said, “but I guess we should bail him out.”

“I’d help you with that, but he has my identification.”

“It’s my debt anyhow.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She gave Rod a ride to his place. “I’ll come back with your keys and wallet,” she said.

The manager used the spare key to open the door of Rod’s apartment. Julia bailed out Art and took him to the impound lot to pick up his car.

“I thought you were loyal!” Art felt free to pick that fight now that he was out of jail and near his car.

“And I was foolish enough to think you actually loved me. I’m sorry, but I don’t think either of us should settle.”

“What?”

“That’s what you said. You said you settled for me, but you were still looking for someone better.”

“I was drunk.”

“That’s no excuse. The worst part is that you were right.”

“So it’s over?”

“Yes.”

He smiled but it was a forced smile. “Then I guess you found someone before I did.”

Fortunately, Art had put their clothes in his car rather than throwing them away. He gave them to Julia.

“Taking them was a pretty dirty trick,” she said.

“What would you have done if you had seem me naked with another woman?”

Julia smiled. “I guess I have to give you that one.”

She kissed Art on the cheek. “Good luck, Artie. I hope you’re able to find that woman of your dreams.”

When Rod answered the door he was wearing his usual blue jeans and polo shirt.

“Better than bunting, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Are you ready to get your car.”

“Are you ready for our first dinner date.”

“A little early for dinner.”

“I think we can find something to do until it’s time to eat.”

“Let’s go get your car.”

Her response was less than encouraging. He waited until they were on their way to the scene of the party before asking her.

“Are you regretting what we did last night?”

“I can’t help thinking about Artie. I’m sorry if I hurt him. You’re not settling, are you?”

“Not by a long shot. I’m looking forward to learning everything about you.”

She smiled. “The discovery phase, it’s always the most exciting time.”

“Spoken like a true legal secretary.”

“And as such I can tell you that what follows is often a trial.”

“No risk, no gain. Who knows, that swim just might be my defining moment.”

“If it is, I’ll thank you not to talk about it.”

He laughed. “Too many people know about it already.”

She glanced over at him with a slight smile on her face. “The last thing I ever wanted to become was a party legend.”

“I know what you mean, but look at what we gained.”

“I have to admit that I like that part of the story.”

“Then that’s the part I’ll tell. I’ll describe it as the night I finally won the heart of the girl of my dreams.”

“And you can say it as often as you want. It’ll bore the hell out of our friends, but I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

She almost asked if she really was the girl of his dreams, but she was afraid such an expression of doubt might spoil it. She told herself that they had just begun. There was no reason to bother him with her insecurity. She would simply enjoy the moment and let the relationship develop as she thought it would.

First published in macsbackporch.foxtail-farms.com on Jun 8, 2010