For a Good Time
Sonny Webster had rotten luck when it came to women. Why? That was hard to say. It wasn't a question of looks or personality since Sonny wasn't lacking in either of them. He had a good job, a nice apartment, a fashionable wardrobe and a late-model sports car. He was also intelligent, witty, generous and fun-loving.
Yet the women he dated invariably wound up casting him in the role of a friend rather than a lover. Regardless of the sparks that flew at the beginning of a relationship, Sonny always became the confessor and confidante, the big brother figure.
One night after work, Sonny met his friend, Alvin Penniston, at The Dugout sports bar on Route 692. Over a few beers, they watched the Boston Red Sox play the New York Yankees on the bar's widescreen television.
After Big Papi struck out with bases loaded to end the eighth inning, Alvin turned to Sonny and asked, "Are you still seeing that blonde who works at the Subaru dealership?"
"You mean Toni? No. We stopped dating about a month ago."
"No kidding? I thought you two were perfect for each other. What happened?"
Good question, Sonny thought.
What exactly had happened with Toni? For that matter, what happened with all the women he dated? You would think by now Alvin would stop asking the same question.
"You know, a new girl moved into my building about a month ago, a real looker. Maybe I should introduce you to her. Or, better yet, I'll have Nina invite her over for dinner one night, and the two of you can get to know each other. What do you say? Are you interested?"
"Sure," Sonny replied without much enthusiasm. "What have I got to lose?"
It would undoubtedly turn out to be nothing more than another blind date, another relationship destined to go nowhere.
Sonny and Alvin finished their beers in grim silence as the Yankees scored two runs in the ninth inning, beating the Red Sox 2 to 1. It had been New York's fourth straight win at Fenway Park and another series sweep.
"I guess we can forget about the postseason this year," Alvin said with disgust. "There's just no beating those damned Yankees."
"I've been a Red Sox fan all my life, Al, and it breaks my heart when they lose, but I've also got a lot of respect for the Yankees. No team in the history of baseball—or any other professional sport, for that matter—has come close to matching their win-loss record." Having given the Bronx Bombers their due, Sonny rose from his seat and announced, "I'll be right back. Nature calls."
"That's the bad thing about beer ...," Alvin said, lifting his empty glass in a mock salute.
"... you can't buy it; you can only rent it," Sonny finished the sentence.
The two friends had been tossing the same stale joke back and forth since their senior year in high school. It had become as much a habit as saying "God bless you" when someone sneezed. As Sonny walked toward the restrooms at the back of the bar, he felt the monotony of his existence close in on him. There had to be more to life than working, watching the Red Sox and drinking beer with Alvin.
When he entered The Dugout's men's room, the first thing Sonny noticed was the graffiti on the wall: FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL MAGDA 556-9873. Seeing women's names scrawled on men's room walls had become as much an adolescent cliché as the renting beer joke. Usually, Sonny took no notice, but this particular "endorsement" had been written in large, bold letters with either red marker or paint. It was pretty hard to miss.
Magda. An unusual name, he thought. It sounds like a character in a Forties spy movie or a femme fatale in an old film noir.
As he washed his hands, Sonny tried to imagine what a woman named Magda might look like. Perhaps she would be dark-haired and exotic like Gene Tierney or Heddy Lamaar, or maybe she would be a classy blonde like Grace Kelly or Veronica Lake.
He was still conjuring up the faces of Forties movie queens in his mind when he reached for a paper towel to dry his hands. Written above the chrome dispenser in bold red letters was another message: FOR A NIGHT YOU'LL NEVER FORGET, CALL MAGDA 556-9873.
Oh, Magda, he thought, you must have really pissed some guy off to have rated not one but two such insults.
Smiling, Sonny tossed the used paper towel into the trashcan and walked out of the men's lavatory. On his way back to the bar, he passed the pay phone mounted on the wall between the restrooms, which, in keeping with the sports theme, were appropriately marked "Bat Boys" and "Ball Girls." There again on the wall next to the phone kiosk was a message: FOR THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE, CALL MAGDA 556-9873.
On a wild impulse, Sonny picked up the receiver, listened for the dial tone and punched in the numbers 556-9873.
This is crazy ... this is crazy ... this is crazy.
The words played in his brain like a mantra or a broken record. But he didn't put the receiver back on its cradle. The phone rang once, twice.
This is crazy ... this is crazy ...
"Hello?"
The woman's voice was like satin—no, more like velvet.
"Hello!" the seductively feminine voice repeated.
"Hi," he replied, tentatively.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Sonny. May I speak to Magda?"
"This is Magda, but I don't know anyone named Sonny."
This is crazy ... this is crazy ...
"A mutual friend gave me your number."
Now that WAS crazy. She was bound to ask the friend's name. Couldn't he have come up with a better line than that?
"Okay, so now that you've got me on the phone, what is it you want, Sonny?"
Gulp.
"I guess I'd like to meet you."
There was silence on the other end of the line. But that was better than the sound of the receiver being slammed in his ear.
"It'll be completely innocent," he said. "I promise. We can meet in a public place."
Silence.
This is crazy ... this is crazy ...
"Okay. When?"
"Tomorrow evening around six o'clock?" he asked hopefully.
"No. I can't make it that early. Why don't we say ten?"
"That's fine with me. Where do you want to meet?"
"How about Charlie's Bar? Do you know the place?"
"Yeah, I've been there before."
"Okay. I'll see you there tomorrow at ten. Bye, Sonny."
"Wait," he said and then realized the line had gone dead.
He walked back to the bar where Alvin had ordered another round of beers.
"I thought you fell in," he laughed.
"You're not going to believe what just happened," Sonny said and proceeded to tell his friend about Magda.
"You made a date with a woman whose name you found on a bathroom wall! Are you nuts? You don't know a thing about her. She could be a dog."
"It's not a real date. I'm just going to meet her at Charlie's and maybe have a drink with her. If I don't like her, I'll just say, 'It was nice to meet you. I've gotta go now. I'll call sometime.' It's not much different from the blind dates you always set up for me."
"No, I prescreen the women I set you up with."
"Well, it's over and done with. For better or worse, I'm going to meet Magda."
"Good luck, pal," Alvin laughed, shaking his head. "Better you than me."
* * *
The following night Sonny Webster walked into Charlie's Bar at 9:45. He sat at the bar with his eyes glued to the front entrance. In the forty minutes he waited, only three unescorted women came through the door. None of them had been named Magda. He waited twenty minutes longer and then decided to go home. On the way back to his apartment, Sonny had to drive past The Dugout.
This is crazy, he thought for the umpteenth time, as, on impulse, he parked his car and went inside the sports bar.
He headed directly toward the men's room, hoping some conscientious cleaning woman hadn't removed the graffiti from the wall. No, he saw with relief, it was still there: FOR THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE, CALL MAGDA 556-9873.
Sonny took out his pen and wrote the number on the back of one of his business cards. Then he tucked the card into his wallet. The next day he tried phoning Magda several times from his office, but there was no answer. She didn't have an answering machine, so he couldn't leave a message.
Why am I even bothering trying to contact her? he wondered.
All that he knew about her was that she had an exotic name and a sexy voice, a very sexy voice. Sonny tried phoning her the next day and again on the next, but there was still no answer.
Why not just forget it?
Besides, Alvin and Nina had invited him to dinner to meet their new neighbor. Maybe things would work out with her.
* * *
"This is my good friend, Sonny Webster," Alvin announced, introducing him to an emaciated blonde with crooked teeth and a bad complexion.
Obviously, Alvin's definition of "a looker" differed greatly from his own.
"Sonny, huh?" the anorexic young woman asked. "Like in Sonny and Cher? Awesome!"
"Don't tell me your name is Cher?" he laughed.
"No, it's Barbara. Barbara Aguilar, but all my friends call me Babs."
"Sonny and Babs it is, then," Nina called from the kitchen.
Sonny looked at Alvin, sending him an unspoken message: Not a chance, pal!
Dinner was a long, drawn-out affair. Babs was a bore. Sonny couldn't wait to leave, even if it meant going home alone. It wasn't until after eleven that he returned to his apartment. Tired, disheartened and lonely, he reached into his pocket, took out his wallet and looked for Magda's number.
What the hell! So what if it is crazy?
The phone rang once, twice, three times.
"Hello?"
It was that same velvety sexy voice.
"Hello, Magda?"
"Sonny, is that you?" she asked. "I'm glad you called again."
"I tried calling several times this week, but there was no answer."
"I'm never home during the day. I usually don't get in until after nine."
"I waited for you at Charlie's, but I guess you couldn't make it."
She emitted a low laugh that was just as sexy if not more so than her speaking voice.
"I was there. You just didn't see me. I was sitting at one of the tables in the back of the room. I watched you sitting at the bar checking out all the women who came in."
"Okay, so I'm obviously not your type. I won't bother you again."
"No, don't hang up!" she said urgently. "What makes you think you're not my type?"
"You didn't come over and introduce yourself, so I guess you weren't interested."
"I'm very interested," she admitted. "I didn't approach you because, to be honest, I wanted to check you out first. A strange guy calls out of the blue and says he wants to meet me. I was a little suspicious. A girl has to be careful, you know. You might have been a rapist or even a murderer."
Now it was Sonny's turn to laugh.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. There must be all kinds of monsters lurking out there in the dark, waiting to prey on innocent victims. So, Magda, now that you've seen me, what do you think? Care to meet me again?"
"Yes. How about tomorrow night at ten?"
"Same place?"
"No. Let's meet someplace a little more private. How about the old mill pond on Gloucester Street?"
Her suggestion took Sonny by surprise. Why would a girl so obviously concerned with her safety want to meet a strange man in such an out-of-the-way location?
"Are you sure you wouldn't want to meet someplace else? The park is usually dark and deserted at that time of night."
"I know, but it's so romantic. Besides, I got a good look at you, and I think you're pretty safe."
"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult!"
"It's a compliment. Trust me."
* * *
Sonny was in good spirits the following day, anxiously awaiting his meeting with Magda. It was completely illogical, and he knew it. She could turn out to be another Toni or—God forbid!—another Babs. Still, his gut feeling told him this would not be the case. His romantic dreams that had been dashed so many times over the years had, like the mighty Phoenix, risen again. Maybe this one, he hoped, would be the right one.
The temperature was warm, and there was no humidity, just the right weather for an evening walk. The moon was almost full, and the sky was aglow with stars.
Sonny hummed nervously as walked along the footpath to the old mill pond. He still didn't know anything about Magda except for her name and the sound of her voice.
A single street lamp burned, illuminating the park bench beneath it. He sat down and waited.
She came up behind him, her steps so soft he didn't hear them.
"Hello, Sonny."
He jumped, startled, and turned to face her. The woman who stood before him was not like any of the Forties femmes fatales he had imagined. She was no Gene Tierney, Heddy Lamaar, Veronica Lake or Grace Kelly.
He estimated that she was about 5'6" or 5'7", an average height. But that was the only thing about Magda that could be considered average. Her long, silky hair was a vibrant shade of red, her eyes a deep green and her complexion clear and creamy. These features, taken individually, do not necessarily amount to beauty. Yet when they are combined with the fine bone structure, a dazzling smile and a perfect figure, the result is breathtaking.
Magda was dressed casually in loose-fitting jeans, a tight-fitting black T-shirt and a pair of well-worn Reeboks.
"I asked you to meet me here because this is where I work out. I don't have time to go to a gym, so I jog through the park every night."
"Are you sure it's safe for a pretty girl like you to be in the park alone at night? What about all those monsters stalking innocent victims in the dark? I would think that the park would be the perfect hunting ground for them."
"I'm not worried. I can take care of myself."
When Magda sat down beside him, the scent of her perfume captivated him. In fact, he was already falling in love with her.
For hours they sat on the park bench together beneath the starry sky and talked. The moonlight shone on her red hair, making it glow like burning embers.
"I have a confession to make," he finally told her. "No mutual friend gave me your number."
"Oh, no?" she asked with a laugh, showing no surprise. "Let me guess. Was it written on a men's room wall?"
"Well, yeah," he admitted sheepishly.
"So, you decided to have the time of your life and give me a call, right?"
Sonny blushed and turned away.
"Actually, it was your name that caught my attention," he confessed. "Magda—it seemed so romantic and mysterious. What is it, Hungarian? Russian?"
"I honestly don't know. My family was originally from somewhere in Eastern Europe. That's all I know."
Running out of things to talk about, Sonny finally put his arm around her and kissed her. Surprisingly, the beautiful redhead didn't resist. After several minutes she broke the kiss and rested her head on his shoulder.
"It's getting late," she said with disappointment. "It'll be dawn soon. I'd better be going."
"I'll walk you home," he said and stood up.
"That's not necessary," she replied, putting her arms around his back and pulling him close to her.
Her kiss was warm and soft. Sonny clung to her, as her lips left his and grazed his cheek, his neck, and his throat. His passion mounted as he felt her mouth open and her teeth sink lightly into his tender, slightly salty-tasting flesh.
* * *
When Magda finally let go of Sonny, his lifeless body slumped to the ground at her feet. Her soft pink tongue licked the last drop of his blood from her lower lip.
What a shame, she thought.
He had been such a nice guy, the nicest one by far to call the phone number she had scribbled on the wall of practically every men's room in town. But she couldn't let herself care for Sonny or any of the others. She had to look out for herself. After all, as Sonny, himself, had pointed out, there were all kinds of monsters out there preying on innocent victims. She should know; she was one of them.
Magda took one last look at the lifeless body of Sonny Webster. Then she spread her arms and let her sleek human body change into its bat-like form. Just before the morning sun appeared on the horizon, Magda flew back to the old, abandoned cemetery to sleep through the daylight hours in the safety of her crypt.
Salem is always up for a good time. In fact, he's the original "party animal."
